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diff --git a/75518-h/75518-h.htm b/75518-h/75518-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b051ad --- /dev/null +++ b/75518-h/75518-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,33982 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Just Steward, by Richard Dehan +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 85%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75518 ***</div> + +<h1> +<br><br> + THE<br> + JUST STEWARD<br> +</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t2"> + RICHARD DEHAN<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + AUTHOR OF "THE DOP DOCTOR," "BETWEEN<br> + TWO THIEVES," ETC.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + NEW YORK<br> + GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + COPYRIGHT, 1922,<br> + BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t4"> + THE JUST STEWARD. II<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="poem"> + <i>TO THAT DAY WHEN ALL FAITHS<br> + SHALL BE MERGED IN ONE FAITH.<br> + TO THE HOPE THAT LIVES WAITING<br> + THE OPENING OF THE GATE.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> + <i>Beeding, Sussex,<br> + July 5, 1922.</i><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + CONTENTS<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> + <i>Book the First:</i><br> + <a href="#chap0101">THE SEEKING</a><br> +</p> + +<p> + <i>Book the Second:</i><br> + <a href="#chap0201">THE SENDING</a><br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + <i>Book the Third:</i><br> + <a href="#chap0301">THE FINDING</a><br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + <i>Book the Fourth:</i><br> + <a href="#chap0401">THE PASSING</a><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +<i>PREFATORY NOTE By THE AUTHOR</i> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>This is a work of fiction and the characters +moving through its Pages are imaginary, save +in the instance of Hamid Bey, whose sinister +activities were exercised as Commandant of a +War Prisoners' Camp near Smyrna in 1917. +Care has been exercised to avoid the use of +surnames and titles belonging to actual persons. +Where these have been inadvertently employed, +apology is made beforehand.</i> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0101"></a></p> + +<p class="t2"> +THE JUST STEWARD +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<h2> +<i>Book the First:</i> THE SEEKING +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +Beautiful even with the trench and wall of Diocletian's +comparatively recent siege scarring the orchards and +vineyards of Lake Mareotis, splendid even though her broken +canals and aqueducts had never been repaired, and part of her +western quarter still displayed heaps of calcined ruins where +had been temples, palaces and academies, Alexandria lay +shimmering under the African sun. Between the turquoise of the +Mediterranean on the north and west, the beryl green of the +Delta on the east, and the flaming opal of the Desert south +and again east of the Delta, the Queen city of the dead old +Ptolemies, set about with vineyards, fair orchards and stately +palm-groves stretching in a broad band of shade and fruitfulness +from the Lake across the Desert, and fringing both sides +of the Nilotic canal, well merited the title: "Queen Emerald of +the Jewelled Girdle," bestowed upon her by the librarian who +unloaded upon Posterity a geographical treatise in heroic +verse. +</p> + +<p> +The vintage of Egypt was in full swing, the figs and dates +were being harvested. Swarms of wasps and hornets, armed +with formidable stings, yellow-striped like the dreaded nomads +of the south and eastern frontiers, greedily sucked the sugary +juices of the ripe fruit. Flocks of fig-birds twittered amongst +the branches, being like the date-pigeons, almost too gorged +to fly. Half-naked, earth-brown or tawny-skinned native +labourers, hybrids of mingled races, with heads close-shaven +save for a topknot; dwellers in mud-hovels, drudges of the +water-wheel, cut down the heavy grape-clusters with +sickle-shaped copper knives. +</p> + +<p> +Ebony, woolly-haired negroes in clean white breech-cloths, +piled up the gathered fruit in tall baskets woven of reeds and +lined with leaves. Copts with the rich reddish skins, the long +eyes and boldly-curving profiles of Egyptian warriors and +monarchs as represented on the walls of ancient temples of +Libya and the Thebaïd, moved about in leather-girdled blue +linen tunics and hide sandals, keeping account of the laden +panniers, roped upon the backs of diminutive asses, and +carried to the wine-presses as fast as they were filled. There +would be a glut of the thin sweet drink that was exported in +clay flagons with round bases; a vintage as disesteemed in the +era of the last Queen Cleopatra by the wine-bibbing +Alexandrians, as to-day under the joint sway of the Emperor +Diocletian and his co-regent, the swineherd Maximianus. +</p> + +<p> +The negroes sang as they set snares, and the fig-birds +beloved of the epicurean fell by hundreds into the limed +horse-hair traps. Greek, Egyptian and negro girls, laughing under +garlands of hibiscus, periwinkle and tuberoses, coaxed the fat +morsels out of the black men to carry home for a supper-treat; +while acrobats, comic singers, sellers of cakes, drinks +and sweetmeats, with strolling jugglers and jesters, and Jewish +fortune-tellers of both sexes, assailed the workers and the +merrymakers with importunities, and made harvest in their +own way. +</p> + +<p> +Despite the scars left by the siege of Diocletian,—whose +clemency in stopping the pillage of the city was recalled by +a bronze statue of the tyrant, placed on the summit of a +column in the middle of the Serapium,—Alexandria was still +not only mistress of her own huge trade in corn, but the port +through which the European trade of India and Arabia passed. +</p> + +<p> +The Great Port and its fellow basin of Eunostus were +crowded with shipping both native and foreign, the quays +were choked with merchandise of innumerable kinds, and +thronged with men of all the world's known nations. The +copper-hued Egyptian, the diamond-eyed, sharp-witted Greek, +the olive-skinned, aquiline-featured Hebrew with his furred +robe, high headdress, long beard and side-curls, jostled the +supple Italian, the lively Gaul, the slow Boeotian, and the +Ethiopian cloaked with leopard-skins, displaying ivory rings +in his dark ears, and on his arms and fingers, and ivory suns +and moons suspended from a thread of sacred knots upon his +naked breast. Here merchants from the scarce-known Tsin +State, south of Hind, pig-tailed, slant-eyed men in cartwheel +hats of woven grass, embroidered silks and felt-soled shoes—again +encountered, on this neutral soil of Egypt, their ancient +enemy, the Tartar. Here also were Hindu Buddhist pilgrims +wearing yellow robes, and carrying begging-bowls and +armpit-crutches, Fire-worshippers in snowy white, and Persian +merchants in long-sleeved caftans and tall lambskin headdresses. +The nomad of the Desert—his black leather head-veil bound +by thongs about his lean, brown temples, his great striped +mantle of camel's hair cast about his painted nakedness, +bartering spices and frankincense from Arabia Felix, for gold and +silver jewellery and strings of pink and blue pearls from the +eastern shores of the Red Sea to deck his womankind, rubbed +shoulders with the Scythian, thick of tongue, solid of bone +and heavy of shoulder, bow-legged with continual riding, his +shaggy head protected by a cone-shaped cap of hairy horse-hide, +his back cloaked, his feet shod, and his loins clouted with +tanned horse-leather, which also covered his brass-nailed shield +and sheathed his short iron sword. And among the slaves of +many nations, staggering under great crates and bales between +the quays and the warehouses, were seen huge semi-naked men +with matted yellow hair, and blue or grey eyes; whose white +skins were decorated with animals, birds and flowers traced in +blue pigment, and upon whose limbs were soldered the heavy +bronze anklet and armlet, with rings to accommodate a chain, +often needed by the refractory slave. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"They are Britons," the Alexandrians would say, fanning +themselves and smiling. "We have mercenaries of the race +in our Tenth Legion, but these are dull fellows, too stupid to +fight. What can you expect from a country that produces +nothing but tin and oysters? Strong slaves and comely +enough, but dangerous when goaded. And in captivity they +never laugh!" +</p> + +<p> +A charge which could not be laid to the accusers, for +ground as they were to the earth beneath the iron heel of a +despotic Roman government, the Alexandrians laughed in +season and out. They made their successive rulers dread to +provoke the onslaughts of their waspish ridicule. Wit was the +point of the dagger that could find its way through a tyrant's +harness, a venomed jest could make him writhe with much +more safety to the community than the contents of the poison-phial +dropped into the dish before its cover was put on, and +the steward's clay seal affixed. They were tepid in their +religion, vain, proud, boastful and spiteful, unstable in their +friendships, languid in business, indifferent to reputation, +fickle in friendship, furious in lust, unrelenting in vengeance, +merciless in jealousy, cold in their natural affections, and +faithless in love. They wrote no histories, but had a cultured taste +in cookery, perfumes, dress, music and dancing; erotic poetry, +and exotic vice; and on the stars of the theatre, of the +Gymnasium and the Hippodrome, they lavished all the enthusiasm +they possessed. The famous charioteer, the great singer or +dancer, the comic actor whose jokes set the whole city in a +roar; the unconquerable wrestler, or swordsman, or pugilist +who happened to be the idol of the moment, daily walked +surrounded by his admirers on the promontory of Lochias, or +in the public gardens under the palm-groves, attired in the +scarlet robes of the ultra-fashionable, loaded with jewelled +necklaces, carrying in gem-encrusted fingers a golden-handled +fan of flamingo or parrots' feathers, and wearing scented +garlands on his crimped and perfumed hair. Banquets were given +to famous fighting-cocks, which, perched at the right hand +of the couch of the host, fed upon sesame from golden platters, +and sipped distilled water from precious bowls of white +and purple Murrhine spar. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Amidst the luxury and corruption of this city, whose roaring +floods of traffic rolled between buildings marvellously +diverse in their mingling of Egyptian, Greek, Roman and Semitic +styles of architecture, the clash of creeds was never wanting, +and ancient faiths and newer revelations struggled for +supremacy. The glorious psalms of David, rising from the +Synagogue, mingled with the shrill rattle of the sistrum, and +the strains of the hymn addressed to Isis, the goddess of the +Throned Moon. Serapis, lord of the under-world, was yet +worshipped though the Serapium lay in ruins,—the Persian +Mithra had his following, and the annual festival of Pan was +celebrated in the temple—wrought in pink African granite to +the semblance of a phallus, that dwarfed every other building +in Alexandria save the Lighthouse of the Pharos, soaring four +hundred feet above its base of Cyclopæan rock. And a purer +and more radiant light than that of the Pharos burned in +Alexandria, where the Mysteries of the Catholic Church of +CHRIST were celebrated in temples converted from the service +of the deities of Egypt, Greece, and Rome. +</p> + +<p> +The four hundred columns of the ruined Serapium overhung +the quadrangle of thick-walled, buttressed stone buildings +where the Christian Patriarch, his clergy, monks, deacons +and aspirants were unpretendingly housed. Of his followers, +religious and secular, thirty thousand mustered in Alexandria, +whilst the lay helpers, organised in the vast Guild of the +Parabolani, literally "<i>those who expose themselves to danger</i>" +laboured by day and night amongst the miserable, the homeless, +the famine-bitten and the fever-stricken, rotting in the +purlieus, the prisons and the poorest quarters of the city, +sufferers chiefly of Greek and Egyptian nationality, for the +population of the teeming Jewish quarter were as always, charitable +to their own. Thus Christian schools and orphanages were +set up, supported and instructed; hospitals established, staffed +and maintained; catechumens brought to the priests for +instruction, and the dead buried with all decency by Christian +men who went forth in the coarse habit of sackcloth, with the +cowl that covered the entire face, and only showed the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The persecution of Maximianus, much more severe than that +following the issue of the New Law of Diocletian, had now +exposed the disgraceful practices of these besotted dupes. For +weeks past the city had buzzed and stung like a veritable +nest of hornets, poked into venomous life by the secret +activities of Arius the Presbyter, the open malevolence of the +Pagans, and the bitter enmity of the Jews. +</p> + +<p> +The deceased Prefect of Egypt had been a ruler not +favourably disposed towards the Christians. By his successor, +Mettius Rufus, the savage Imperial edict was ruthlessly +enforced. +</p> + +<p> +Christian prelates, priests, monks, nuns, deaconesses and +catechumens had been arrested, imprisoned, executed or +tortured by the soldiers of the Third Egyptian Legion,—far +more accustomed of late years to quelling street riots and +displaying their glittering harness and handsome persons at +military and civic spectacles, than to making wholesale battues +of unarmed and unresisting men and women. Detachments +of cohorts stationed throughout Libya were sent to raid the +hermitages, monasteries and nunneries on the Nile banks and +upon the borders of the Desert. At Mount Nitria and in +Scete as at Scyras, they had made many captures; though at +Tabenna in the Thebaïd, where the venerable Abbot Pachomius +had gathered about him thirteen hundred followers, so +stout a resistance was made by the monks, with staves, great +stones and boiling pitch and water, that three maniples of +soldiers of the Fourth Lusitanian Legion, compelled to +abandon the siege, returned, to exhibit their wounds and burns to +Perocles, the military prefect of Apollinopolis, entreating him +with tears of rage, to send them back in sufficient force to wipe +out the shame of defeat sustained at such abominable hands. +</p> + +<p> +All classes of society were sifted by a process which netted +a number of suspects. Amongst the labourers in the vineyards, +the toilers on the quays, in the thronged marts of commerce, +as amongst the crowds at the baths, the lecture-halls, the +theatre, the Gymnasium and the Hippodrome, moved close-lipped, +silent men in plain clothing, with sharp, greedy ears +and keen, observant eyes. These were called The Listeners, +and carried in the sleeve short rods tipped with a gilt Roman +Eagle, and the maw of that fierce and bloody bird was never +satisfied. Apostasy was rewarded by temporary immunity. +Obduracy merited what it received, in banishment to the mines, +forfeiture of property, exile, slavery or torture to the death. +Many persons accused, even before coming into Court, +renounced the Faith and reverted to Paganism, or after +imprisonment and some degree of torture, sacrificed, and were set +free. Yet others escaped into Syria, where the law, though +the same in effect, was less unmercifully carried out. But +others who held public posts were fettered by their official +duties, and even had it been possible, would have scorned to +seek safety in flight. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>Whither wouldst thou go, O My Servant<br> + Whom I have chosen to die for Me?</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In the case of certain men and women, wealthy or poor, +highly placed or humble, the Voice that speaks to the destined +martyr cried and would not be shut out. Thus the comic +singer Metras whose impromptu verses were wont to set +the whole city in a roar, the famous retiarius Apollos, +conqueror in twenty battles against armed gladiators, and the +aged historian Sinias, confessed themselves Christians and +were dragged away to death. +</p> + +<p> +Hesychius, the editor of the Septuagint, heard the call as +he worked amongst the rolls of papyri in his study, and like +others, he sustained the ordeal and claimed the crown and +palm. And it came to the noble Roman, Philoremus Florens +Fabius, Prætor of the taxes of Egypt, and a personal friend +of the Prefect: Fabius, who sat daily in public as a judge in +Alexandria, purple-robed, attended by lictors, <i>librarii</i> and +<i>commentarienses</i>; surrounded by a guard of the Third Egyptian +Legion; deciding all causes relative to the taxes, and +administering the law.... +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0102"></a></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +The official and private dwelling of Philoremus Fabius was +a handsome building of Roman architecture, situated in the +fashionable Street of the Winds, south of the quadruple +marble gateway that marked the junction of the city's four +great thoroughfares; running east from the Canopic Gate, +west from the Gate of the Necropolis; and respectively north +and south from the Gates of the Sun, and of the Moon. +</p> + +<p> +Before the gnomon of the sun-dial on the column of the +Forum indicated the hour previous to noon-day, a traveller +mounted on a large white mule, and followed by an attendant +riding a dun-coloured animal, and leading another laden with +baggage, reined out of the double stream of horse-drawn, +carved, painted and gilded chariots conveying fashionables +of both sexes; litters and chairs borne by slaves; burdened +camels guided by negroes or Saracens; curled and scarlet-robed +dandies walking with boon companions, fiery barbs +bestridden by Roman officers; and little asses carrying Copts or +Jews,—that ceaselessly traversed the Street of the Winds. +</p> + +<p> +As the small hoofs of the mules slipped on the uneven flagstones +before the mansion of the Prætor of Taxes, the man +on the white mule uttered an involuntary cry. His eyes had +fallen on a square plaque of bronze fixed on the wall beside +the courtyard entrance, displaying the device of the Roman +Imperial Eagle with the thunderbolt, above the name and +official titles of the master of the house. A narrow strip of +parchment some twelve inches long, secured by an official seal +at either extremity, was pasted across the name of Philoremus +Fabius and inscribed with the words; +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "<i>SUSPENDED FROM OFFICE UNDER<br> + SUSPICION OF CHRISTIANITY.</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The seal was that of Lollius Maxius, governor of +Alexandria, a personal friend of the official thus disgraced. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment the rider of the white mule remained with +open mouth and staring eyeballs, livid as a mask of yellow +wax under the hood of his black riding-cloak of felted camel's +hair. His strongly marked visage with its arched black +eyebrows, large mobile black eyes and boldly curving profile, +showed, like the face of his attendant, the characteristics of +the Jewish race. Large rings set with beryls were in his ears, +and massive bracelets of gold clasped his swarthy arms above +the elbow; while his carefully curled hair was protected from +the dust of travel by a square-shaped bag of fine black leather, +embroidered with seed-pearls. He endeavoured to control his +voice, but it shook as he said to his companion, in Hebrew: +</p> + +<p> +"Now in the name of the God of our forefathers! ... Tell +me, O Ezra, son of Ephraim! do I see the thing that is, or +that which is not? It may be that the fever I suffered at Joppa +still troubles my brain and heats my blood!" +</p> + +<p> +His eyes had entreaty in them as he appealed to the other, +and his pallor grew more livid as he heard the reply: +</p> + +<p> +"Health is yours, O Hazaël, son of Hazaël, but misfortune +has befallen our master. He is suspected of Christianity, and +suspended from office under the Governor's seal." +</p> + +<p> +"Some enemy hath done this thing!" said Hazaël fiercely. +"Be the Mighty One blessed that I have speedily returned +home! Hold the mule's rein while I knock upon these doors +that were never shut till now in the face of Hazaël." +</p> + +<p> +And hastily dismounting while Ezra held the stirrup, Hazaël +plucked a metal-shod staff from a bucket-holster slung behind +his saddle, and beat loudly upon the bronze doors fixed in a +frame of square beams of yellow Numidian marble, until a +metal bolt groaned in its grooves of stone, a leaf of the door +moved inwards, and the black face of an Ethiopian slave +peered out between the valves. White eyeballs and dazzling +teeth flashed in the ebony visage: +</p> + +<p> +"By Isis the Dog Star!" he jabbered in his bastard Græco +Egyptian, "The Jew Hazaël has come back to us again!" +</p> + +<p> +"Son of abomination, make way!" said Hazaël, violently +thrusting back the door upon the astonished Ethiopian, and +striding into the vestibule, over a square of mosaic let into +the marble pavement, representing a black dog spotted with +white, secured by a chain attached to a red leather collar, and +displaying a formidable mouthful of teeth as in the act to +bite. A second Ethiopian, liveried like the first in a green +tunic with a broad girdle covered with plates of silver, stooped +low in humble salutation, touching with his yellowish +fingertips the booted feet of the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +The walls of the vestibule, from either side of which +opened a waiting-room for clients, were painted light red, +divided into panels by a vertical ornament, a black caduceus +wreathed with a vine. Along the base of either wall ran a +broad bench of black walnut, on which sprawled or sat four +unhelmed and ungirt Legionaries, of whom two slept on the +shady side—for broad sunshine poured through the overhead +opening—two were playing dice, with a flagon of Mareotic +wine standing between them, from which one or the other +drank a draught at every lucky throw—while two more stood +on guard, rigid and immovable as statues of men in glittering +cuirasses, on either side of the curtained portal leading to the +<i>atrium</i>, a hall of some forty feet in length, paved with <i>tesseræ</i> +of black and yellow marble, and centred with a square pool, in +the midst of which a little fountain played. Yet two other +Roman soldiers, with shield on arm and grounded javelins, +kept ward outside the curtained entrance of the large apartment +at the farther end. When the first two Legionaries with +their drawn swords, made as though to prevent his passage, +Hazaël said with cutting irony: +</p> + +<p> +"The Prætor Philoremus Fabius labours beneath the displeasure +of the Prefect, Mettius Rufus. Thus he is at present +a prisoner beneath his own roof. But the Chief Secretary +of the Prætor of the Taxes is also an official of the Roman +Empire. Until I am deprived of this token of mine office"—he +lifted the end of a heavy golden chain that peeped beneath +his sheathed beard and lay upon his bosom—"I hold and use +it. Lower your swords!" +</p> + +<p> +And he thrust beneath the curtain of many-coloured Egyptian +linen, and moved on to the doorway of the room that lay +beyond. The guards at this point had overheard; and when +Hazaël moved aside the end of his beard and pointed to the +broad gold chain of office ending in his hairy bosom, they +struck the butts of their javelins twice upon the pavement in +salutation, and without a spoken word suffered him to pass. +</p> + +<p> +And so the Jew stepped in, moving noiselessly as some +creature of prey in his high black felt knee-boots soled with +elephant's leather, and heeled with sections of the nails of the +brute, powdered like his skin and garments with the vitreous +dust of the Desert and stained with the sweat of the beasts +that had carried him. +</p> + +<p> +You saw him as he dropped his great cowled cloak, just +within the threshold, to be a man not yet thirty; salient, strong +and full of energy, with brawny limbs revealed by the short-sleeved +tawny robe hitched mid-leg high by the girdle of +hippopotamus-calf hide, that sustained, as well as a wallet and +water-gourd, a pair of long sharp daggers and a formidable +double-edged sword. From beneath the high, square, +fur-trimmed cap that the cowl of the mantle had hidden, a bushy +growth of night-black curls, soiled with travel and like the +fringes of his tawny robe, tangled with thorns and prickly +burrs, fell about his shoulders. He breathed quickly, as +though he had been running; and in the stern, bold, swarthy +face, and the intent wide gaze of the burning black eyes +shadowed under beetling eyebrows, there was sorrow beyond mere +words, and devotion too deep, and pure, and selfless to be +passionate, as Hazaël after many months stood in the presence +of his patron and friend. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The room, or rather hall, had been originally meant for a +triclinium, but by reason of its imposing size and height, and +the suitable elevation of the mosaic floor at its upper end, the +Prætor of the Taxes had set apart the lengthy side-wing and +the upper apartments for his private occupation, and +transacted here such daily business as did not necessitate his +appearance at the Forum. A frieze of lofty height depicted in +brilliant hues on a white ground, the combats of the Greeks +and Amazons; upon the raised platform at the upper end +stood an ivory arm-chair, and a table of ebony inlaid with +silver. Small statues of the twelve divinities of Rome, +wrought in bronze, ivory or precious metal, adorned the top +ledges of two ebony bookcases, set against the walls on the +right and left hand, and filled with scrolls that were volumes +of reference, and treatises upon Roman Law and Finance. +</p> + +<p> +In the ivory chair sat a man of forty, in a white tunic +bordered with a wide stripe of purple, plunged deep in the +perusal of a small scroll of papyrus thickly inscribed in the +clear rounded characters of Aramaic Greek. An oblong opening +in the wall behind him, running from wall to wall of the +court-room, gave a view, across an open loggia (where more +Roman guards were posted), of the lawns, alleys and fountains +of a well-kept garden-enclosure; so that the advantage +of light from behind was for the Receiver General of Taxes +hearing cases at his table, with the equally desirable boon of +fresh air. +</p> + +<p> +No clients thronged to the tribune to-day, vacant were the +desks and chairs of his recorders and notaries; the scratch of +the ink-filled reed upon the papyrus, the smell of wax tablets +virgin of the stylus, the whispering of the clerks and +accountants no longer came from the adjoining room.... +</p> + +<p> +How pleasantly quiet it was. The reader slightly shifted +his feet, shod with <i>cothurni</i> of scarlet leather, ornamented +with golden crescents at the instep, upon the dappled leopard-skins +that spread beneath his chair. The skins covered a +skilfully-concealed trap-door leading down into a strong vault +underneath the tribune, where were stored vast sums in gold +belonging to the State. +</p> + +<p> +To the man reading and thinking in the ivory chair, and as +yet unconscious of the witness on the threshold, the room held +no other living creatures save himself and a late butterfly, +with peacock wings of gorgeous beauty, that had fluttered in +at the window, perhaps attracted by the garlands of wonderfully +painted roses forming part of the decorations below the +cornice of the wall. A moment the insect wavered to and fro +beneath the cornice; mounted—sought to settle—realised the +deceit, and would have flown back into the garden, to feast +upon the nectar of Truth and Reality—had not a hawking +swallow intervened. +</p> + +<p> +There had been no swallows yesterday. To-day, the blue +sky above the palms and figs and oleanders, the vine-wreathed +sycamores and acacias of the gardens, was alive with the black +and white specks of vitality, darting and wheeling, hovering +and poising as though sporting with their own swift shadows; +hunting their prey of flies, gnats and winged beetles with shrill +squeaks of bird-delight—while under the tiled coping of a +walled court with a westward aspect, nests were being built +in the selfsame spots, from whence they had been dislodged +by the gardener's pole earlier in the year. +</p> + +<p> +The swallow's swoop and dart, more rapid than the eye +might follow, captured the insect of the jewelled wings. But +the man moved; and the startled bird darted upwards towards +a brilliant square of blue sky framed in a gilded trellis covered +with those deceptive roses, and no less false and treacherous +a painted lure than they... +</p> + +<p> +The infinitesimal tragedy was over in a moment. The +arrow-like flight cleaved no waves of blue æther, but was +arrested by a surface as hard as adamant. The bird dropped +close to the foot of Philoremus. He reached down and took +it up. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0103"></a></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +It was quite dead, a tiny corpse, a mere pinch of black and +white feathers; with its prey—still feebly moving legs and +<i>antennae</i>—yet held crosswise in the thorn-small, jet-black beak. +What lesson would He Whose Divine teaching the Aramaic +scroll of the Gospel of Matthew, the Evangelist, set forth,—have +drawn from the desire of the insect for the flowers of +delusion, the delirious rush of its swift-winged captor for +illimitable space and aerial freedom—arrested by that killing +crash against a tinted stone? +</p> + +<p> +Poor tiny feathered migrant from—what wild northern +homeland? That of the Alamanni, who built and garrisoned +forts of mud and tree-boles on their Rhine frontiers; fierce +red-haired giants, savage mercenaries of Rome, like the Gauls +with their pointed brazen helmets and painted tunics, covered +with cuirasses of leather strengthened with plates of iron, +adorned with armlets, collars and bracelets of heavy virgin +gold, and perched rather than seated on their high wooden +saddles, girthed back on the hindquarters of great horses with +cropped ears.... Or perhaps the bird came from the freezing +steppes of Scythia, peopled by shaggy savages with flat noses, +slant eyes, and hairy legs bowed from continually riding their +shaggy little beasts. Or from Britain, a province of which +country Philoremus had ruled as a pro-consul under Carausius, +who, with piratical intentions of his own, had been sent by +Maximianus, co-Emperor with Diocletian, to suppress the +Saxon pirates and the yellow-haired rovers from Scandinavia. +</p> + +<p> +The swallow, though fully fledged, was young. This must +have been its first day in Egypt. How strange, to have crossed +continents and seas for such an end! thought the Roman +Prætor, and then his glance reverting to the scroll, found there +a saying of the Master: +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"<i>Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing, and not one +of them shall fall to the ground without your Father?</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +What bearing had the words with reference to the dead +swallow stiffening on his warm, living palm? What Divine +purpose could be served by such a waste of effort? What +wrong had the innocent creature done in hunting its insect +food? He read on: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.<br> + Fear not therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.<br> + Whosoever, therefore, shall confess Me before men,<br> + I will also confess him before my Father Who is in Heaven.</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Perhaps the dead swallow had crossed the sea to bring this +message to the disgraced public servant. With the thought +a reviving warmth crept about his chilly heart. He looked +downwards, slightly smiling, from his tribune to a bronze +tripod altar placed upon a square of mosaic in the body of +the hall. On either side of the altar a Roman sword and +spear were planted upright. Upon the tripod stood a silver-gilt +chafing-dish containing several sticks of smouldering charcoal. +The dish rested upon a pan of pierced pottery, and near +it were three small vessels respectively containing corn, wine +and incense; also a bowl of lustral water in which was +immersed a leafy olive-twig. A Latin inscription beneath the +upper ledge of the tripod might thus be translated: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "O HOLY SABUS DIUS FIDIUS SEMIPATER, BE PROPITIOUS!"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +It was the altar on which oaths were taken; solemnly +reconsecrated to the Sabine deity on each recurring fifth of June. +Perhaps if the thoughts behind the broad brow and the blue +eyes of the ex-Prætor had been rendered into speech, they +would have run thus: +</p> + +<p> +"Yesterday at this hour I was wealthy, powerful and +dreaded: To-day I am an outlaw without rights or possessions, +waiting the summons to appear before the judges, who +are as likely to condemn me to death by torture, as to send me +to the mines or accord me banishment. And why has this +happened? Answer, Ego of Philoremus! Because something +within me revolts from even the semblance of worship offered +to the deities of Rome. Revengeful, lustful, treacherous as +Man; subject like him to base passions and earthly frailties; +stained with unnatural crimes and vices, I know them to be +demons; I will no more of them!" +</p> + +<p> +"The Pythagorean teachings, the sugared theories of the +Platonists, the philosophy of the Stoics, I have in turn swallowed +and rejected in the reversed condition, as the owl deals +with infant moles and mice! Vainly I have sought refuge in +the Eleusinian Mysteries. If there were but one snake in the +sacred basket of the priestess, what a nest of writhing cobras +did I not find behind the Veil! Isis lured, and I sought her; +after long weeks of trials and austerities I was conducted to +the sanctuary. Initiate, O Mother and Queen of Harlots!—only +to be again disillusioned! The religious cults of Syria +and Asia Minor, the philosophical speculations of the +Gymnosophists of Hind beckoned, and I followed, only to be again +betrayed! Yet could I not have concealed my doubts and +disgusts, made my convictions march with my interests? This +Voice, speaking within my bosom, says emphatically No! +Some change has taken place in me, some growth has germinated +unnoticed, even as the fields of the Delta rush into life +and verdure, when the garment of water is withdrawn from +the land by the subsidence of the Nile. This is my right hand +with the callosity upon the third joint of the third finger—that +reminds me of the signet that is missing from it—the thick +gold ring—set with a black onyx carved in intaglio with the +head of the club-bearing Hercules,—that was a wedding gift +from my wife. But the Me within me is changed—since +yesterday—as though I had been touched by the living Hand +that over three hundred years ago gave sight to the blind, +cleansed the leper, and raised up the dead." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +A deep voice broke upon the muttered soliloquy. It said +in shaken accents: +</p> + +<p> +"O my master!—" and broke off. For the light of joy that +shone in the clear blue eyes that turned to him was almost +too much for Hazaël's sick heart to bear. He crossed the hall +in three long strides, bent his knee at the foot of the tribune, +mounted its steps, and kissed with his bearded lips the hand +that had worn the black onyx intaglio, even as its owner +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +"Hazaël! The man I most wanted. Welcome back, good +friend, to this house that was my home!" +</p> + +<p> +"Now may the Holy One be blessed and praised Who has +led me back to Alexandria in time," responded Hazaël, "to +serve my most gracious lord! Well has the Prophet said there +is no man so virtuous that he shall escape calumny. Even +Philoremus, I knew had enemies. But that does not explain—" +he gulped,—"the suspension from office, the soldiers placed on +guard over their own commander—or read the accursed riddle +of those seals upon the door!" +</p> + +<p> +"The answer is very simple, my excellent Hazaël," returned +Philoremus with a quizzical smile. He rolled up and thrust +the sacred scroll in the breast of his purple-bordered tunic, +and motioned the Jew to seat himself on a stool beside his +chair. "If suspension from office be public dishonour, at least +it means a private leisure seldom enjoyed. Sit and let us +talk, nobody will disturb us! I go before the Prefect of +Alexandria to answer to mine accuser—but not before to-morrow +at the sixth hour." +</p> + +<p> +"Sir—in the name of the Holiest I conjure you to enlighten +me! What is this accusation?" burst forth Hazaël. "Who is +the accuser whose testimony hath such credit as to blacken +so great a personage as yourself in the eyes of men?" +</p> + +<p> +And as the hoarsely-spoken words escaped the Jew's mouth, +that was parched with anguish even more than by the acrid +dust of the deserts which he had traversed, Philoremus +answered: +</p> + +<p> +"It is said that I am a Christian and I may not deny it. +For the man who hath accused me is none other than +Myself!" +</p> + +<p> +"Woe, woe!" cried the anguish-stricken Hebrew, tearing +his beard and striving to rend the tough material of his +garment, while great tears brimmed his under-eyelids and made +furrows in his dusty face. He checked the violence of his +grief, on seeing a slight shade of disgust pass over the delicate +patrician features of the Roman, and smeared his tears roughly +away with the back of a hairy hand. "Pardon!" he gasped. +"Forgive me! ... Pray, tell me more!" +</p> + +<p> +"First drink some of this wine!" said his master, filling a +crystal goblet from a golden-lidded crystal flagon that stood +upon the table conveniently at hand. "A Prætor suspended is +as good as hanged—in the estimation of his slaves and +freed-men," went on Philoremus whimsically, as the Jew gulped +down the draught of which he stood in sore need: "and I make +no doubt that my rascals have been robbing me—from the +noon-hour of yesterday—when I received the mandate of +Lollius Maxius, until this moment of thy return. Therefore +art thou thrice welcome. For since the seals were placed, and +my own guards set over me, I have brooded over the trapdoor +of this vault that contains the half-year's tax-money of +Egypt—like a hen sitting upon an addled egg." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, all through the night," he added, whimsically smiling +at the indignant astonishment of Hazaël, "until this moment. +Nor would the fellows bring me a meal—doubtless they have +been too busy plundering me to feed me. A lump of cheese, +a barley-cake and this flagon of Mareotic, I obtained through +one of my Legionaries, who coaxed it out of the cook!" He +added, as the breast of Hazaël heaved, and a hoarse sound like +a sob escaped him: "Now you are come to take charge of the +Egyptian tax-money, O excellent Hazaël! a weight is off my +mind. By Hercules and the Twelve, I find it a relief! Come, +be not so cast down!" +</p> + +<p> +The Jew choked out with difficulty: +</p> + +<p> +"To find you accused—proscribed—perhaps ruined—suffocates +me with indignation!" +</p> + +<p> +"The Gymnosophists," said the ex-Prætor, "who dwelt +upon a mountain in Ethiopia nearly two thousand years ago, +and are said to dwell there still, would have asked you why +you are disturbed at this intelligence? 'Your patron,' they +would say, 'who enjoyed the semblance of Happiness for many +years, is now to undergo the appearance of Misfortune.' Happiness +and Misfortune being equally Illusions, why on earth +are you mopping your eyes?" +</p> + +<p> +He drew a perfumed handkerchief of fine Egyptian byssus +from a gold-embroidered wallet of gazelle-leather that hung +at his girdle, and said with a smile as he tossed it to Hazaël: +"Waste no more time in tears for one who sees no cause. We +may thank the banquet the Prefect gives to-night for this +opportunity for conversation. May he bring as fierce an appetite +to his tunny pickled with oysters, his stuffed and roasted +sucking-pig and larded quails and ortolans as I brought to bear +on my barley-cake and goat's cheese. Come, my good fellow, +own the truth! Did you never yet suspect me of coquetting +with Christianity? Think! ... Not even when I have gone +secretly forth in a sackcloth gown and cowled mask,—plague +or fever having broken out in the purlieus of the city—or +in a time of scarcity, when famine pinched the poor?" +</p> + +<p> +The Jew shook his shaggy head. +</p> + +<p> +"Whatever I saw was seen and forgotten, not being intended +for these eyes. What presumption had it not been, had I +ventured to question the movements of my patron; who might, +the noble lady his wife being long dead, have entered without +grievous sin into some union of the temporary kind. Besides, +you forget, O most excellent! that day now fifteen years +past, when a certain Roman officer of high rank, disguised as +a Frankish traveller, sought adventure in the Jewish quarter +of Alexandria." +</p> + +<p> +"I have not forgotten!" Philoremus chuckled. "We had +received intimation the previous year that the Jews of +Alexandria were prospering exceedingly. Marriages at the +synagogues constantly took place. Births—yours is a prolific +race!—inevitably followed each union. Immigrations from Ethiopia +and the towns of the Upper Nile continually swelled the +population.... Trade flourished. Money-bags grew fat,—and the +coins, being put to usury, bred like maggots. Yet no Jew +was other than poor—when it came to paying the tax." +</p> + +<p> +"Most excellent, I have observed it!" acquiesced Hazaël +gravely, wondering that his patron could so forget the present +peril in these memories of the past: +</p> + +<p> +"Therefore, O Hazaël! I came disguised into Jewry with +the laudable desire to find out for myself the condition of the +miserable and oppressed race. It was a Feast Day, and the +narrow and winding streets were foul, and stank exceedingly. +But wreaths of anemones and violets ornamented the +windows, while fat and soot from myriads of twinkling lamps, +shed dubious blessings on the heads of the passers-by. Within +each house were displayed rich curtains and costly carpets +from the looms of Persia and Babylon. The goodwives spread +their tables with finest Egyptian linen cloths, and dishes and +cups of silver—indeed—I will not take oath that some were not +of gold! Rich jewels twinkled in their ears, and decked their +wigs and bosoms, and maidens of Israel were among them, +gazelle-eyed, ivory-skinned, beautiful as the virgin daughter +of Demeter.... Frown not, Hazaël, for even when my blood +was young I knew how to respect the virtue of the women +of Israel! Later, when I turned about to retrace my steps, I +saw an exceedingly unwashed urchin peering in with longing +eyes at a window I had quitted a moment previously. No +Jewish maid was the object of the young Hazaël's admiration. +On the meagrely-spread table were a dish of lentils dressed in +oil and a common crockery wine-jug; some bread cakes, and +a large flank of tunny in a red pottery dish, swimming in +vinegar." +</p> + +<p> +A spark of amusement kindled in the gloomy eyes of Hazaël. +The Roman went on: +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps that Jewish urchin might have reached twelve +years. He was small for his age, filthy exceedingly, and +meagre. And he hugged his lean stomach, droning a kind +of song with the burden: '<i>I wish!—I wish!</i>' ... 'And +what dost thou wish?' I asked, coming up unseen behind +him...." +</p> + +<p> +The stern lips under Hazaël's matted beard were parted +now in laughter. He said with a flash of strong white teeth +showing in his dark face: +</p> + +<p> +"And I answered: 'I wish it were Sabbath all the week +long!—or that I had a stomach like a camel's!' And you asked +'Why?' and I answered, 'Because on Feasts and Sabbaths I +may eat my fill at the tables of the Chosen, while on other +days I fight with dogs upon the quays for the scraps thrown +us by sailors and foreigners. Thus I am empty six days in +a week of days, and full to bursting on the Seventh!' Then +you, my lord, said to me,—I can hear your voice this +moment, 'Come with me, Hazaël, small descendant of Abraham, +and thou shalt eat thy fill of lawful food, every day!' And +so your greatness took me thence, and placed me in the +household of a Jew who served as scribe to you,—and stooped to +ask my common, sordid story. And I told thee how, having +reached my twelfth year—my good father being a Rab, an +interpreter of the sacred books and a pleader before the Courts +of my people in the town of Acanthon upon the Lower Nile,—was +brought home dead, having been struck upon the forehead +by a beam of cedar borne upon the back of a camel +led by a Copt.... And that my mother, being a poor widow, +had married a cousin of my father. And—that I had found +truth in the saying that the breath of a stepfather chills the +broth. <i>My</i> broth was not only cold, but salted overmuch +with the tears of many beatings. Wherefore I ran away from +the village where we dwelt; and begged my way to Alexandria. +That was in the third month <i>Sivan</i>, and it was well into the +seventh month, even <i>Tishri</i>, before I found," he gulped, "a +friend!" +</p> + +<p> +"And I," said the ex-Prætor, "the most faithful and discreet +of servants, if a little too peppery of temper at times +for the comfort of my freedmen and slaves. You developed +with years a genius for the calling of the scribe, akin to that +of Cæsar for the command of armies. The most disorderly +rabble of ciphers that ever disgraced the pages of a ledger +were transformed beneath the hand of Hazaël into legions +worthy of Rome! The advancement for which you thank me +came as the reward of your own labours. My disgrace cannot +blight you,—my fall cannot bring you toppling. All +Alexandria knows my Chief Secretary to be an orthodox Jew and +devout Christian-hater! In how many of the old street-riots +between the Chosen and the monks of Alexandria,—hast thou +not played the warrior to the tune of cracked crowns and +broken shin-bones, with that great staff of thine?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is true!" A rush of scarlet invaded the Jew's bearded +face, dyeing his forehead and injecting the whites of his eyes. +He dropped his head upon his breast and stammered: +</p> + +<p> +"It is verily true! Ever since my father—on whom be +Peace!—taught me to stammer Shema I have abominated the +Christians. Since his death, and mine oath, I have rejoiced +with the rest of the Chosen at the revival of persecution, little +dreaming that—" +</p> + +<p> +He broke off, convulsed by a shudder that shook him from +head to foot. Then he nerved himself, with an effort that +brought sweat-drops starting upon his cheeks, and temples and +forehead, for a final appeal. "O my loved patron!" he +entreated, "hear me! Break the abominable spell that has—I +know not how—constrained you to embrace a religion only +fitted for unlearned fishermen, common criminals, slaves or +unfortunate persons, publicans and sinners—" +</p> + +<p> +"A Prætor of Taxes is a publican, I imagine!..." the +Roman official suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"Even," returned Hazaël, "as Leviathan among the lizards, +and the Lantern of the Pharos beside a farthing candle or a +glow-worm's light. Shall one so illustrious as yourself bow +down to the deity that came out of—Galilee? The son of +Joseph the carpenter, speaking Aramæan,—who called +himself, in the madness of delusion or the blasphemy of +possession—the Son of the Most Holy One, the Lord Who is God! +Who preached the sordid creed of poverty, humility and love; +love not only to kindred and friends, but to enemies, betrayers, +traducers, murderers! Who was abandoned in disgust by +those who had followed him, and died a shameful death upon +the cross!" +</p> + +<p> +Said the Roman, looking out across the loggia at the blue +sky and the darting swallows: +</p> + +<p> +"When the white-robed flamens of Jupiter Capitolinus, +standing upon the steps of the portico of the temple, bid the +Romans come and celebrate the mysteries of their god, they +cry, 'All ye that are pure of heart and clean of hands, come +to the sacrifice!' Yet Jupiter is neither a pure nor a +particularly clean god. And when the white-robed priestesses of +Ceres bear the round basket through the streets of Alexandria, +do they not scream like so many peahens? 'Sinners, away, +or keep eyes on the ground! Only the Worthy may dare to +approach us!' Yet those who participate in the Eleusinian +mysteries do not return worthier than they went!" +</p> + +<p> +He poured out a little wine, drank, and said as he set down +the emptied goblet: +</p> + +<p> +"When that young wolf in the Christian fold, the evil presbyter +Arius, gave me the password and the sign, that disguised +in the sackcloth robe and masked cowl of the Parabolani, I +might mingle with them in the meetings of their sodalities +and penetrate even to the house of the Christian Patriarch—the +wretch little knew what a burning curiosity was veiled by +my expressed desire for his rascally aid. For the Master +to Whom the glory of the world was a transitory spectacle—the +Teacher Who revealed Himself to the poor and the humble, +and opened His Heart as a Gate of Hope to the sinful +and despised—discovers in His teaching such absolute +unworldliness as to make it starry clear that He came from +beyond the stars...." +</p> + +<p> +The ex-Prætor was silent, but his heart added: +</p> + +<p> +"O Divine Man, if only I had known Thee! O Son of God! +Who could take upon Thee the burden of our earthliness!—but +to have heard Thy Voice! but to have seen Thy Face! +Perhaps an hour may come—not too far distant—" +</p> + +<p> +And so wonderful a radiance shone upon the brow and in +the eyes of the speaker, despite the ravages of sleeplessness +and anxiety, that Hazaël was stricken dumb. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0104"></a></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +Suddenly the Jew winced as though stung, exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +"How could I have forgotten? Your son, Florens?" +</p> + +<p> +"Florens is well," said the Roman, "and in safety. Not +here," he answered to Hazaël's look, "but at your own house, +in the care of your excellent wife. To whom else should I +entrust my most valued possession? Florens is not yet a +Christian, but I would have him one. This, should I die, is +my last command to you. Let me hear you say that I shall +be obeyed!" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël wrung his hands and cried in anguish: +</p> + +<p> +"O, my master! as God lives I swear that I will obey you +faithfully! Were the boy to be dedicated to the Evil One, it +should be done though I were damned for it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks, my friend!" said the father, with moisture showing +in his bright blue eyes. Silently a hand-grip was +exchanged between the ex-Prætor and his Chief Secretary. Then +the former resumed: +</p> + +<p> +"Further attend. I shall pass from the tribunal of the +Prefect to the Hall of the Judges. Should the decision of the +Court be that I suffer the extreme penalty, take Florens +secretly to the Monastery of Tabenna, in the Upper Thebaïd. +Some time will pass before the Prefect of the Stationaries +of Apollinopolis sends another force to attack that wasp's nest! +You have heard how sturdy a defence they maintained during +the recent siege! The tribune in command of three maniples +was compelled to withdraw his soldiers. Though at the +Monastery of Mount Nitria, and that of Scete, and at Scyras, as +at Aphroditopolis, raids were effected without opposition. +Melittus, Abbot of Scete, was brought to the tribunal three +days ago. He was condemned to be beaten to death with +rods. Three of the five monks who were in bonds with +Melittus went to the torture. Two novices they sent to the +mines, in consideration of their youth. I myself was in the +Hall of the Question, sitting on the high seat with the judges +commissioned by the Prefect of Egypt. And as Melittus and +his monks were brought forward to be sentenced, each one +looked up to the right of the Catasta* with a brightened face, +and smiled. For He was there!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* A platform corresponding to our prisoners' dock. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Hazaël started, so full of awe was the ending of the sentence. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you—you do not mean that you beheld in a vision +Jesus of Nazareth, the Crucified?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not He!" The ex-Prætor bent his head reverently. "Not +the Lord, but one who in visions has often seen Him. The +Egyptian, called the Athlete of Christ, the Saint who founded +the Monastery of Tabenna which stands between Diopolis and +Tentyra on the eastern bank of the Nile. For this house, now +under the rule of the venerable Abbot Pachomius, was built +upon the ruins of a tomb or temple of the bygone people, +where the Saint, to enjoy contemplation of things Divine, lived +in solitude as a hermit for twenty years. Now his eyrie is +upon a high mountain looking towards the fastnesses of +Sinai and the Red Sea. Once, he came down—during the +persecution of Diocletian, and travelled to Alexandria with +the chain-gangs of Christians, being brought to the city to +confess their Faith and die. No man laid a hand on him, +though he went in and out of the prisons freely, bringing +clothes and food and medicine; tending the sick and comforting +the wretched, preaching and exhorting openly, showing +himself in the Courts under the eyes of the judges, as though +he would have said, 'If ye seek me, come and take me; here +I am, here I am!'" +</p> + +<p> +"I have heard of this hermit," Hazaël assented. "He was +protected by some great person. That is what was said at the +time." +</p> + +<p> +"Then the people of Alexandria spoke truth for once. +He was protected by the greatest of all Persons." +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël's face was as a stone mask. He said: +</p> + +<p> +"And so Christ's Athlete shows himself again.... Will he +escape this time, I wonder?" +</p> + +<p> +Said the Roman, not observing or perhaps ignoring a +peculiarity in the Jew's look and tone: +</p> + +<p> +"He followed the captive monks from Nitria, not only to +bear witness to Christ in the prisons and churches, but to +confute and crush the heresy of Arius. Each day in the Hall +of the Judges he stood up upon the left of the Catasta, +wrapped in a white linen cloth reaching from his ankles to his +middle, and mantled with the snowy fleece of his long hair +and beard. He leaned upon a staff topped with the Cross, +and as the doomed were led away he blessed them, crying in +a voice that vibrated through the building like the sound of +a silver gong: 'Blessed are ye, called by Divine Grace to testify +to the Lord, even Christ Jesus! On with a good courage! for +to you He holdeth open the Gate of Hope!' None laid +a finger on him. But the Chief Judge, in whose full view +the Athlete stood, called a lictor and said to him softly: +'Command that man in my name to withdraw himself from the +Court!' And the Athlete, hearing this, cried in that voice of +silvery sweetness; 'I go from this place, O unjust judge! not +at thy command, but because I have discharged the errand +of my Lord. My way leads through the Libyan Desert to +Scete in Nitria, and from the White Monastery of +Aphroditopolis to Tabenna; and from thence I return through the +Desert of Arabia to mine abode. Who would overtake me let +him follow; who would find me let him seek me in the ruins +of the Pagan temple that stands above the Limestone Torrent, +under the crown of the mountain that is called Derhor, standing +between the Arabian Desert and the Gulf of Heroöpolis, +looking across the Wilderness of El Ka to the Mount of Sinai!" +</p> + +<p> +"And he departed?" +</p> + +<p> +"He went out from the midst of us, no man daring to touch +even his garment, and I returned somewhat late, to find some +tax-gatherers of the Onophites waiting to pay gathered gold +into the Treasury of the State. And to these I must +administer the oath, first covering my head with the lustrated +woollen cap, sprinkling incense on the coals and invoking the +Sabine deity.... And, as has been my wont of late, I +refrained from doing these things.... Then a man in mean +clothes rose up and pointed to me, and cried out: 'Question! +Question! Is an oath made before a Roman Prætor valid and +binding, when the usage and wont of the sacred ceremonial +are scamped after a fashion like this? Dip the olive-twig! +Purify the wool with the consecrated element! ... Throw +the incense on the coals, therewith invoking Dius Fidius! Or +else confess that thou, Philoremus Fabius, art a worshipper of +Christ!' Then—I do not quite know what came over me. I +threw the cap upon the floor, and said to all present: 'You +have heard the Accuser! Now hear me! I am a Christian +man!'" +</p> + +<p> +The Jew groaned: +</p> + +<p> +"Madness. Possession! A casting away of reputation, +honour, and it may be, very existence! ... And for +what? ... You have never renounced the gods of Rome! ... You +have never been baptised by a Christian priest, or broken," +he spat, "consecrated bread, or drunk wine at one of their +accursed love-feasts! You have only mingled among them +unseen, in the robe and cowl of the Parabolani. Idly listened +to a sermon or two—helped to carry one plague-bit to the +hospital.... Listen! ... All may yet be well! ... Only +consent to write plainly, stating these facts to His Excellency +Lollius Maxius, and to the Prefect Mettius Rufus, and entrust +both letters to me.... Upon my head and my son's head be +it if you find me fail you! Hasten, O Master! Every +moment of delay lessens the chance of averting ruin. For the +sake of the boy Florens do this—if you will not for your +own!" +</p> + +<p> +"My good Hazaël," the Roman said, as the Secretary thrust +tablets and stylus upon him, and drew forward his vacated +chair, urging him to sit down. "To my shame be it said, I +have already appealed to the friendship of the Prefect, though +not in such pusillanimous terms as these you suggest. Until +this moment I have waited for an answer in vain. As for the +boy, these white hairs that have appeared upon my temples +since yesterday, testify to the anxiety I suffer upon his +account. Being a child of tender years, you might claim of the +State in his name some portion of my confiscated property. +But in this case he will be placed under a Roman guardian, +and reared in the worship of the gods of Rome. Better be +still! Now tell me while there is time, what of your errand +to Ælia Capitolina? Did you discover Annius Jovius Priscus, +the Senator, guardian of my late wife's property? And does +her inheritance, the ancient Israelitish fortress, once given by +King Solomon to Balkis, Queen of Sheba, yet stand among +the vineyards near Joppa, or has Kirjath-Saba resolved itself +into a mountain of disjointed stone?" +</p> + +<p> +The Jew drew a folded skin of parchment from his bosom +and gave it to the Roman as he answered: +</p> + +<p> +"I found the man you bade me seek, in the city that was +once Jerusalem! As for the tower of Kirjath-Saba, it stands +as though fresh wars might yet rage and beat upon its +ruggedness, and new nations arise and flourish and pass, yet leave +it there unharmed. Here, sent to thee by the Senator Priscus, +are the writings made when the Tower with the land about +it, was conferred upon the Tribune Justus Martius of the +Tenth Roman Legion, by decree of the Emperor Vespasian, +on the tenth day of the month of August, in the second year +of his reign." +</p> + +<p> +Philoremus murmured, scanning the faded ink characters +upon the sheepskin: +</p> + +<p> +"Justus Martius, ancestor of my wife, led a party of Roman +Legionaries with scaling-ladders in the siege of Titus against +Antonia. He found a breach in the fortress-wall, got through +and killed—" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël nodded grimly: +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, killed the Jewish sentries, and slew the rest of the +defenders. That was the beginning of the Massacre and the +Destruction—to which that of Nebuchadnezzar the Assyrian, +was as a passing shower to the fury of a storm. With this +deed I have to deliver back to you the signet ring with the +head of Hercules, cut in intaglio upon a black agate, that I +carried with me into Palestine; and also my pack-mule's burden +of two thousand sestertia, in good <i>aurei</i> of Hadrian, at 30 +to the pound of gold; and with the money a message from +Priscus." +</p> + +<p> +"Keep the black onyx intaglio in memory of me. The +fellow ring—the same head cut in relief—is in the coffer with +my dear wife's jewels. Worn by her from her marriage until +her death, it will be a precious legacy for Florens. Give it +him when he shall have reached the age of nineteen. Take the +parchment also and keep it in trust for my son, and the +mule-load of money, for I have no need of these." As the +sheep-skin vanished under the Jew's upper garment, "Give me now," +said the Roman, "the message of Annius Priscus." +</p> + +<p> +"It was: 'Tell the husband of my departed ward to find +another steward to husband her vineyards of Kir Saba and +receive the grape-money from the wine-presser, for I weary +of the dust and glare of Palestine, and desire to end my days +in my native city of Rome.'" The Jew added: "I found +Priscus setting forth with his household and slaves to take +ship for Rome at Joppa. Had I arrived at a later hour, my +journey had been in vain. Wherefore, thanking the Most +High, Who had aided me in the execution of my lord's business, +I accepted the invitation of the Senator to accompany +him as far as Lydda, now known as Diospolis; from whence +I went to Kirjath-Saba, two days' journey by road. There +gushes forth to water the green plains of Sharon a river of +fattening for the vineyards that stand about the Tower. Six +hundred <i>schaeni</i> of land, I judged, measuring roughly by the +eye. The two thousand sestertia I received represent but a +tithe of the value of the yearly gathering, judging by the fruit +that yet hung upon the vines." +</p> + +<p> +"Old men are easily duped by smooth-tongued stewards." +</p> + +<p> +"The rogue at Kir Saba is a Phœnician, and slippery as an +adder. Yet will he not lose the stiffness of his back-muscles +and haunches until he shall have sacrificed a goose or two to +his goddess Tanit, and caused a slave to rub him with the +grease." +</p> + +<p> +A spark of amusement twinkled in the tired eyes of the +Roman. +</p> + +<p> +"You beat him?" +</p> + +<p> +"My staff has an affinity with the backs of robbers that may +not be denied. This one, by virtue of the authority bestowed +on me, I summarily deprived of his office; replacing the thief +with one Simeon, a Jew of Joppa, a faithful man and, moreover, +a kinsman of mine own." +</p> + +<p> +"That is well if you judge it well. And now let us speak +no more of money. My son and his future are safe in your +true hands." +</p> + +<p> +"Your son's father were also safe, were he to follow the +counsels of his servant," said the Jew with a passionate +eagerness. "But consent to exchange clothes,—giving me your +purple-edged prætexta—taking this travel-soiled robe of mine, +this girdle, sword and dagger—this parchment deed and this +purse of money—and topping all with my mantle of camel's +hair! ... Let me sit here, covering my head and arms as one +that weeps, with the folds of this, your mantle!" He caught +up a fur-trimmed hooded outer garment of crimson that lay +upon a neighbouring chair. "Pass the guards!—in your +disguise the thing may be done, I swear it! Hasten to my house. +Give to my wife a written line from me—here are inkhorn, +reed and paper—and she will deal with you faithfully even +as myself. Consent! Accept!" +</p> + +<p> +"The sacrifice of your life for mine! A thousand times +No!" said the ex-Prætor, sternly. +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël urged in a low, fierce voice, illustrating his speech +with rapid gestures towards the window; pointing to the +helmed head, muscular brown neck and powerful shoulders +of the Legionary posted in the loggia beyond. +</p> + +<p> +"My life will be in no peril. I swear to you I will but make +sure that you have passed out safely, before I leap upon the +guard there, stab one—strangle the other—and escape. Once +in the Jews' Quarter I am safe as you will be. By a hundred +avenues known to none but the Chosen we can escape from +Alexandria. Only consent—" +</p> + +<p> +But the Roman was firm in his refusal. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, you wish to die, it is clear to me!" exclaimed Hazaël. +"The thirst for death consumes you even as those other +Christians, who think the heavens will open amidst their tortures +and the Crucified appear, surrounded by the Shekinah; and +extending His nail-pierced hands to them; whilst hovering +angels offer them the martyr's crown!" +</p> + +<p> +"You forget, I am not even baptised," said the Roman. "I +have not received the instruction of a catechumen. I have +abjured the gods of Rome without knowing whether Christ +will accept me.... And yet—and yet—" +</p> + +<p> +His calmness made the Jew shudder. He looked from the +window with a glance that sought above the palm-trees and +acacias, the blue sky, crossed and recrossed by the airy dance +of the swallows, and said with a smile: +</p> + +<p> +"And yet I have never experienced such wondrous peace of +mind. An ichor runs in my veins that is clear as crystal, cool +as snow and yet glowing as the fire of sunset.... Never +have I tasted in my life a joy so deep as this!" +</p> + +<p> +"He is mad!" groaned Hazaël in his anguished heart. But +the ex-Prætor was again speaking: +</p> + +<p> +"Listen, most dear and faithful friend! ... Should that +thing happen which means that I am not quite rejected, being +permitted to die for the faith of Christ,—take my boy, secretly +as I have said, to the Abbot of Tabenna, and explain that I +wish Florens to be baptised and reared in the Christian faith." +He went on as the Jew's face again darkened, and his eyes +once more dilated with horror, "Should Florens shrink from +the life of a monk, let him be a soldier, like the father who +sends him his blessing. Deposit my wife's jewels with the +Abbot of Tabenna,—to be sold for the boy's benefit—all save +the fellow-ring to the signet I have given you—which is to be +Florens' when he is of age. Tell him that the Hercules must +stand for manliness and valour; the knotted club for Truth +and Honesty; and the lion's skin for the wisdom that cloaks +itself against the malice of the world in the experience of +trials overpast." +</p> + +<p> +"I will remember!" the Jew said sullenly. "Have I all your +instructions? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"There is but one thing more!" the Roman returned, speaking +low and hurriedly. "The boy being left with the Abbot +at the Monastery of Tabenna, I entreat you to return by way +of the Arabian Desert, seek out the hermitage of Christ's +Athlete upon Mount Derhor and deliver to the Blessed One a +message from me. Say to the Saint: 'I bring greetings from +Philoremus Fabius, once Prætor of the Taxes of Egypt in +Alexandria. Without having formally embraced Christ, or +received the waters of baptism, this man has testified to the +Faith and died!' ... Further, say: 'He entreats thee to pray +that his sins may be forgiven. And that for him also the Hand +that was pierced may open the Gate of Hope!'..." He added, +visibly paling as the distant sound of a trumpet broke upon his +utterance, "All is now said. And it is well, for that is the +trumpet-call of the Prefect's Bodyguard. My examination +takes place before the banquet, it may be! Well, well! I have +no envy of the flower-crowned guest whose place should have +been mine!" +</p> + +<p> +Again the trumpet shrilled, and the two men sat in silence, +as the rhythmical tread of wooden-soled, heavy-nailed sandals +falling on the pavement of the street drew nearer,—grew +louder until the solid walls vibrated: and then—as a harsh +voice, echoed by other voices, was heard to issue some +military command—stopped dead. The curtain at the portal +bellied inwards with the draught from the opening of the +house-door: and as the harsh voice issued another command, the +regular tramp of the wooden, iron-nailed shoes of the soldiers +wakened the echoes of the outer vestibule. The Jew caught +his breath, and the Roman, frowning, laid a hand upon his +sinewy arm: +</p> + +<p> +"No demonstration of anger," he said sternly, "I forbid +it! And now, for this world, my son—for as one I have +loved you!—Farewell!" +</p> + +<p> +"And O farewell, my kindest friend!—my generous +protector!" stammered Hazaël, with tears raining down his +bearded cheeks as they hurriedly embraced. "May the God +of Israel so deal with me and mine as I deal with your +son! ... They come!" +</p> + +<p> +The trampling iron-shod footsteps halted at the threshold. +The metal rings shrieked on the rod as a brawny, red-haired +arm, partly sheathed in glittering brass, thrust the heavy +curtains back.... Sunlight flashed from naked steel, and the +gilded plates of armour. A Roman officer of the Bodyguard +stepped into the room. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0105"></a></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +In consideration of great services rendered to the Empire, +the ex-Prætor of the Egyptian Taxes was beheaded without +torture. The body, exposed upon the public execution-ground +according to the law, mysteriously disappeared. It was whispered +that it had been spirited away by persons with Christian +leanings, and secretly buried in the crypt of some unknown +church. +</p> + +<p> +For three days following the death of his patron, the house +of Hazaël was strictly closed.... The Jew, with hair and +beard sprinkled with ashes, mourned, sitting on the floor in +a coarse black tunic, rent at the hem; and observing silence, +ate bread and drank water once a day at the sunset hour. He +even said Kaddish for his dead benefactor, though an act so +presumptuous would have scandalised the Rabbinate. On the +fourth day he rose: washed and reclothed himself, and +returned to his family as though nothing had transpired. But +on a day following the celebration of the Feast of +Tabernacles, the large white mule on which Hazaël made his +journeys, with the beast that usually carried his attendant Ephraim, +stood waiting with the pack-mule at the Chief Secretary's +door. +</p> + +<p> +A long basket of woven osiers now being brought out by +Ephraim and another servant, and carefully strapped upon the +burden of necessaries carried by the pack-mule, the Chief +Secretary, armed as before, and in the plain travelling garb +that he had worn previously, bade farewell to his wife and +family; thrust his mighty bronze-shod staff once more into +its leathern bucket; and rode out of the City of the Pharos +with his small following, by the Gate of the Moon. +</p> + +<p> +A flat-bottomed boat paddled by four negroes, conveyed both +men and beasts across the vineyard-fringed Lake of Mareotis, +and for some miles south-eastwards along the Canal of +Alexandria, between palm-groves, gardens, orchards and the estates +of wealthy Greeks, Egyptians and Roman officials. Above +Andron, the ancient city fast falling through Roman misrule +into neglect and dilapidation, the party landed; Hazaël gave +money to the master of the rowers, received his salutations, +and the four negroes, reversing their positions, soon conveyed +the boat away. +</p> + +<p> +Then the Jew, no longer hiding the anxiety that had +devoured him, leaped with fierce energy upon the pack-mule, +unstrapped the heavy osier basket and with the aid of Ephraim, +carefully lowered it to the ground. With shaking hands he +unfastened the lid of the pannier, and as the smiling but +bewildered face of a boy of twelve years old looked up at him, +with blue eyes blinking in the sudden glare of the sun: +</p> + +<p> +"Now thanks be to the Holy One that all is well with thee!" +he stammered. "Not a word, not a movement—your father's +true son! See now—this pad from under thy head, my hands +beneath thy armpits. Leap—and fresh as a salmon from the +British Thamesis—a sturgeon from the Hyperborean Ocean, +or a lamprey from Lake Moeris—out you come!" +</p> + +<p> +He hugged the boy against his breast with almost womanly +tenderness, and running his hands rapidly over the slight +body, assured himself that all was well. Then mounting +Florens before the saddle of his own mule, and followed by +Ephraim with the other animals; the Secretary, following a +southward-running road that crossed some ripening cotton-fields, +presently drew the rein, and looked back at Ephraim, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +"The idolaters are true to their word. See, there are their +tents and camels!" +</p> + +<p> +And he pointed to where low black tents were pitched upon +a stretch of scrubby ground lying between the crop-land and +the reddish-coloured desert, upon which camels eagerly grazed +upon withered vetch and wiry grasses; while a small band of +Saracens crouched round a small fire, wrapped in capacious +mantles woven of white wool and black camel's hair, their +loaded staves beside them, and sharp broad-bladed spears +planted haft downwards in the ground near by. +</p> + +<p> +The Saracens rose, seeing men on beasts coming, seized +their staves and plucked forth their spears. Then, comprehending +who it was that approached, their demeanour altered, +and they received the Jew with respect. +</p> + +<p> +"I am Mafa Oabu," said the eldest of the company. "If +evil come to thee, or those who are thy companions, I pay to +him whom thou knowest, with my life and the lives of my +sons!" +</p> + +<p> +He touched himself with the right hand upon the breast +and brow, and laid his hands in the hands of Hazaël, as also +did the men of his following. Three young camels were +chosen for the travellers to ride. Two others were loaded +with the water-skins, provisions, fodder, and baggage. Mafa +Oabu mounted one of the pack-animals. Two strong young +men, marching with the caravan, would ride by turns upon the +other, the old Saracen said, when either of them required +rest. As for the mules, they remained in the keeping of the +Saracens, to be reclaimed upon the return of the travellers. +The price of the journey, not to be paid until then, was to be +one hundred silver <i>sestertii</i> a day for each of the five camels; +fifty <i>sestertii</i> for Mafa Oabu, and a gift for each of the young +men. +</p> + +<p> +The departure was accompanied by shrill ululating cries +made by the women of the Saracens, who kept veiled their +faces, painted like their naked bodies with green and scarlet +fishes, serpents and the signs of the Zodiac, and smeared their +hair with butter. Then the caravan struck southwards into +the Nitrian Desert. That night they encamped under a grove +of palm-trees, near a Roman well hollowed in the living rock, +amidst the bellowings of the camels, which purposely had not +been watered before the start. +</p> + +<p> +Water-skins brought by the Jews being filled by Ephraim, +that the pure element might not be contaminated by the +touch of idolaters, the Saracens filled their own, and drew +water for the camels, which was given the thirsty beasts in a +pitch-smeared skin trough. Mafa Oabu took no share in these +labours, but prostrating himself upon the sand with his +forehead towards the setting sun, remained absorbed in silent +adoration. The Jews washed, gave thanks and ate; sharing +with the child the bread, eggs, figs and dried fish they had +brought with them; drinking a little wine diluted with water, +and keeping their own side of the fire. The Saracens washed +down their sparing diet of dried bread, dates and sheeps'-milk +cheese with a drink of charred corn, crushed, and boiled +in water mingled with honey, which they sipped from the +shells of young tortoises, showing their white teeth in smiles +at the hearty appetite displayed by the child. Yet while the +novelty of all about him pleased and excited Florens, he would +pause in the midst of a mouthful to ask Hazaël: +</p> + +<p> +"When we reach where we are going, shall we find my +father there?" +</p> + +<p> +"If the Almighty so wills!" was the Jew's invariable answer. +The young Saracens, whose names were Marduk and Belias, +pitched a black tent to shelter the travellers, when sleeping, +from the rays of the new moon. Small, marvellously bright +and silvery, it hung high in the south, rivalling the blue +radiance of Jupiter, the evening star.... In the north-west the +Pharos of Alexandria blazed on the horizon at intervals of an +instant. Hazaël looked at the distant splendour of the city, and +muttered, as he thought of his benefactor murdered there: +</p> + +<p> +"But for the Chosen, and my Miriam and my children, who +dwell in the shadow of thy painted temples like to doves +among the rocks, I could wish that fire and brimstone might +descend from Heaven and consume thee utterly, thou thrice +accursed Harlot of the Sea!" +</p> + +<p> +For in the bosom of the Jew, who had witnessed massacres +of Christians without a sentiment of pity or horror, the +commission of that single crime had caused a strange revulsion. +Before he lay down, he looked at the boy, who wearied, was +soundly sleeping; and a heavy tear dropped from his stern +eyes upon the woollen covering he held back. Then he +replaced it over the tossed curls and the flushed face of the +sleeper, commended himself to the Almighty care, and +stretched himself upon the ground beside Florens. +</p> + +<p> +Rising to repeat the Shema for the first night-watch, he +stepped outside the tent to leave to Ephraim, who had also +wakened, the freedom of solitude which intensifies prayer. +The young Saracens slept beside the pink embers of the fire, +enveloped in their mantles of camel's hair. Mafa Oabu did +not sleep, but sat apart, alert and wakeful; spear at hand and +staff in readiness; his sling lying beside him, with a supply of +rounded stones. +</p> + +<p> +Placing ten small pebbles in front of him, he reckoned that +ten days must pass before the arrival of the caravan at +Memphis. Adding ten more for the return-journey, he +surrounded each of the twenty pebbles with five hundred grains +of maize, reckoning up his gains by the light of the moon +and of the fire—which he often fed with dead wood and dried +camel's-dung—regularly discovering to his chagrin that he had +not added the sum due for his own labours, and must begin +once more. When the stars began to pale towards the dawn, +he ceased, and prostrated himself, rising to find Hazaël +standing near. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you worship?" the Jew asked him. +</p> + +<p> +"We pray," said Mafa Oabu, "to the Great and Lesser +Lights, to the starry Hosts of Heaven and to the Djinns and +Afrits both good and evil, that eavesdrop at the celestial gates +and thereby learn much of the divine plans of Allah, the +Eternal, the Creator of All. The brilliant lights that sometimes +shoot across the sky are in fact these beings, driven by the +Angels from the celestial threshold, whence their master Iblis, +the Peacock of the Angels, was banished when he rebelled +against Allah. We also reverence as the holiest thing from +Kaf to Kaf, the pure white stone that fell with our father +Adam from the Garden of Paradise. It is now no longer +white, having wept so much for the sins of the world, and +silver bands prevent it from bursting. It is imbedded in the +wall of the Kaaba, the Holy House containing more than three +hundred and fifty images, built and carved by Seth, son of +Adam, and washed away by the Deluge. Later, Ishmael, +guided by the Archangel Gabriel, discovered the marvellous +stone, buried in the mud left by the retreating waters, and +made new images in place of those lost. We call the period +at which these events occurred, The Time of Ignorance. You, +my lord, being of the People of the Book, the Sons of Isaac, +look back with ourselves—the People of the Desert who are +the Children of Ishmael—to Abraham, our common ancestor." +</p> + +<p> +"So it is said," observed Hazaël, unwilling to offend the +master of the caravan, while he turned aside to spit upon the +sand, making a mental act abjuring kinship with idolaters, +condemned by the Almighty to burn forever in hell. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0106"></a></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +Keeping to the south, they passed that day through some +long-neglected orchards, lying upon the outskirts of a town +almost in ruins, sparsely inhabited by a degraded population +of mingled Greek, Egyptian and Libyan blood. Satyrs and +fauns in the fig-groves pelted them with ripe fruit in return +for a volley of stones thrown by the Saracens. +</p> + +<p> +"What are they?" asked Florens of Hazaël, puzzled at the +sight of these strange semi-human beings, sprung from the +iniquities of forgotten peoples; covered with hide, and having +horses' ears and tails, or goatish horns and hairy legs, ending +in cloven hoofs. But Hazaël muffled the child's eyes and +dragged him roughly away. +</p> + +<p> +The groves of the dying city left behind, the ground became +rugged, bare and stony. That night the camels grazed upon +the <i>safsaf</i> weed, after the next they might have to rely upon +the fodder they carried. A milky mirage made the scrub-bushes +of the distant plain appear as tall as sycamores. Passing +through them, they barely reached the knees of the Saracens +who went on foot. White snails covered them, glistening +like some strange pale fruit amidst their foliage. These the +young Saracens gathered and threw into a bag with salt. Thus +purged, they explained, these snails were excellent eating +either roasted in the ashes or stewed. +</p> + +<p> +On their left as they travelled, a pearly haze tinged with +jade-green signified the vegetation of the banks of the Nile. Ranges +of low hills in the south were vested in violet, and palest +primrose. The sun smote fiercely, yet when the shadows of men +and beasts were shortest, the children of the Desert, as though +enlivened by the burning atmosphere, quickened their steps +and those of the camels and even began to sing. They passed +through part of a petrified forest, the thickest trunks of the +stone trees being of the girth of a man's thigh. A herd of +gazelle broke from covert, Mafa Oabu slung a stone after +them, and a doe followed by a young fawn fell with a broken +leg. A Saracen slit the throat of the mother, and would have +killed the fawn also, had not the boy Florens begged with tears +that the little creature should be given into his care. +</p> + +<p> +"It will die," said Hazaël, "without milk to nourish it!" And +he signed to Ephraim, who took charge of the little +creature, meaning to slaughter it after the ritual of his people, +so that it might lawfully be used for food. +</p> + +<p> +They passed Saracen grave-mounds and trains of camels, +and rested at another well where were more camel-trains being +loaded with iron vessels of water to carry into the Desert to +the military outposts. Near the well was a fortress garrisoned +by Roman legionaries. Roman officers driving chariots +hailed the Jew, with whom they seemed acquainted, to ask +the news from Alexandria. The moon rose early, and rode +high before the caravan, as the blood-red disc of the sun sank +into the invisible western sea. A mist rose from the burning +ground about the legs of the Saracens and the camels, so that +they seemed to wade through the waters of an opaque milky +lake. That night the Saracens ate the meat of the doe-gazelle +roasted on sticks before the fire, and drank boiled broth. +And Ephraim killed the fawn, and dressed the meat in the +Jewish way, saving the delicate dappled skin to make a belt +and hanging purse for Florens. But even the promise of the +belt did not pacify the boy. +</p> + +<p> +"I would have reared it and tamed it too," he said, changing +colour: "You are cruel!" Nor would he taste of the flesh +of the fawn, nor had Hazaël, in concern for the boy's distress, +any great appetite for Ephraim's cookery. +</p> + +<p> +Dew did not drench the tents that night, nor soak the heavy +striped mantles worn by the three Saracens. The breath of +the Desert filled the lungs, the sun poured down like molten +brass, the hard red ground ascended under the feet, and +travelling became difficult, owing to ridges of petrified coral and +banks of fossil shells and sponges. Urged by the whistling +of the Saracens the camels exerted themselves painfully. This +haste was of necessity, as the water began to thicken and grow +murky in the goatskins. That night they rested three hours +and travelled instead of sleeping. Before dawn they found +the track they pursued wind among low broken hills, rising +to jagged bluffs and full of yawning chasms. When the day +broke, they perceived on looking back, these low hills +magnified by a mirage to a towering range of mountains. Florens +cried out in wonder. But the old Saracen made signs that the +boy should be silent, as Djinni, Afrits and phantoms of the +Desert inhabited the chasms, and resented the presence of +beings of the human race. Skeletons of camels, and the +mummy-dry bodies of men were found upon the track they +followed. Mafa Oabu said that these were the remains of +travellers who had offended the Djinns. +</p> + +<p> +Now they descended a steep ravine, the sides of which were +clothed with petrified forests. The pass ended in desert, the +hot reddish expanse of which, was broken by the glittering +shield-shaped basin of a lake. This lake was salt, the Saracens +explained by gestures, and the travellers, who sickened at the +stench and taste of the putrid water in the goatskins, +moistened their cracked lips with a few drops, and turned away +their parching eyes from the tormenting sight. +</p> + +<p> +At the bottom of the defile appeared now the white tents of +a Roman outpost, the eagled standard set up under a little +wooden penthouse, close to the quarters of the officer in +command. A square wall of rocks enclosed the encampment, +which was protected by an encircling trench. Not far off were +seen camels feeding, and the low black tents of a tribe of +nomads, of mingled Ethiopian and Arab race. +</p> + +<p> +Now soldiers approached bringing water to the travellers, +yellow and muddy and full of the larvae of flies. Filtered +through a cloth, they drank of it eagerly. The soldiers were +fever-smitten, and covered with scabs and swellings, from the +stings of poisonous insects which swarmed amidst the herbage +on the borders of the salt lake. Red fruit grew on tall thorny +bushes, a thin fodder-grass showed with the <i>safsaf</i> upon the +arid dunes. Springs of the brackish water were to be found +here, by digging holes of six feet deep in the sandy gravel. +Wild-duck haunted the lake-borders; those of the Roman +soldiers who were bowmen, habitually shot the birds for a +change of food. That night a black-and-white lamb, purchased +by the Jew Hazaël from the camp of the Ethiopians, was +sacrificed to the moon, and eaten by Mafa Oabu and his men. +</p> + +<p> +They filled the water-skins with the turbid fluid, and left +the Roman outpost by the salt lake on the following night. +The heat grew fiercer towards daybreak. Waves of burning +reddish gravel rose about them to the height of the head of +a man. Mingled with the gravel were yellow crystals, +perfectly spherical and glittering in the moonlight. The boy +begged to be allowed to dismount and gather these stones, +which the Saracens collected for the adornment of their +women. To pacify Florens the Jew bought a handful or so +from the young men. +</p> + +<p> +They crossed a low range of broken hills, and at noon saw +Mount Nitria and a mirage of two salt lakes. Pied birds of +grey-and-white with long tails, appeared towards evening, +feeding on minute winged insects that rose from the burning +sand, and signalling to each other with sharp, whistling calls. +Jackals howled during the hours of rest, and, looking back +when they had quitted the place of their encampment, they +saw it alive with these foul creatures of prey. +</p> + +<p> +Now the ground became paved with slabs of shining mica. +Bushes of wormwood, tamarisks and thorny shrubs with red +fruit, eatable by men and greedily devoured by camels, grew in +the friable red soil at the base of stony cliffs. Herds of gazelle +grazed here. Hills shaped like cones with broken tops rose +up on either side of them. Towering rocks of black basalt +looked like giant Ethiopians menacing the caravan with +uplifted clubs and spears. The full moon rose in radiance whilst +the sun was sinking over the unseen western ocean, amid +splendours of amber, topaz and ruby, sapphire and emerald. +</p> + +<p> +They marched before day. The Libyan sun had never +burned with fiercer intensity. For fear that the boy would +swoon and fall from his camel, Hazaël transferred him to his +own. The young Saracens ran by the wearied beasts, whistling +to them to march in line,—singing songs and jesting +clumsily to distract the thoughts of the wearied travellers. +Hazaël said within himself: +</p> + +<p> +"When upon the hump of an accursed camel I fry alive in +the sun of Libya, shall I be solaced because a cricket chirps +at the doorway of mine ear?" Yet he pretended to listen with +pleasure, and bade the exhausted child take notice how the +shadows of the Saracens gambolled beside them like black +monkeys on the rocks. But the boy, feverish from the bites +of the swarms of flies beside the salt lake, or sickened by the +muddy water, drooped more and more. Sometimes he revived +sufficiently to reiterate: +</p> + +<p> +"Shall we really find my father when we reach the +journey's end?" +</p> + +<p> +Or he would vary the question by asking: +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I have thy son Levi and thy little Leah to play with +there?" +</p> + +<p> +To which the Jew, tender as a woman, and fearful of +increasing the child's distemper by thwarting him, would reply: +</p> + +<p> +"If God willed it, thy father would be waiting to receive +thee. If the All Highest commanded, thy playmates would +be there also. All things are disposed and directed by the +Almighty." +</p> + +<p> +"Where is He?" the child asked. Hazaël answered: +</p> + +<p> +"He is at the zenith and at the nadir. He encompasses the +world with His fingers, and takes up His abode in the hearts +of holy and pious men." +</p> + +<p> +"May a little boy see Him? Shall I see Him?" the child +queried. +</p> + +<p> +And Hazaël answered, groaning in spirit at the thought of +the eternal burnings destined for the soul of this innocent, +who must be reared in the heresy of Christianity: +</p> + +<p> +"The Cherubim gaze perpetually on Him, and know no +weariness!" +</p> + +<p> +The child seated on the pad before him, felt the heaving of +his breast, turned in his supporting arms, and looked up into +his gloomy countenance. Then, seeing the black brows, +knotted over the bloodshot eyes, the strange convulsion that +twisted the mouth, and the haggard temples and hollow cheeks +bedabbled with sweat, Florens grew pale and stared at him +in fear. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you angry?" he faltered, and Hazaël forced his brows +to unbend, and his lips to smile as he answered: +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps, but not with thee!" +</p> + +<p> +"That is well," returned the boy, "for I would have you +love me as much as you love Levi and little Leah!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then be content," said Hazaël's deep voice, "for even as +these do I love thee!" +</p> + +<p> +Yet as he answered in gentle words, the spirit of some dark +forefather who served Canaanitish idols with bloody rites +ages before the Lawgiver received the Divine revelation upon +the holy Mountain of God—tempted Hazaël to pluck away +the sinewy arms that sustained the child in front of him—and +let him fall to certain death upon the stones beneath +the camel's feet. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0107"></a></p> + +<h3> +VII +</h3> + +<p> +After another day's journey over stones and thorny scrub-bush, +Mount Nitria and her ranges walled out the southern +horizon, while the Pyramids of Memphis showed small upon +the east. The ascent grew more steep, then the ground sloped +down and the camels entered the Natrûn Valley. Here <i>safsaf</i> +weed, tamarisk and thorn gave place to olives, vines and +harvested fields, upon the drying straw of which, camels, black +goats and numerous flocks of sheep were feeding. Presently +the valley divided into two: at the bottom of one lay the salt +lakes, at this time of the year but six in number. Beside the +lakes dwelt colonies of salt-workers who cultivated fields of +corn, vineyards and olive-trees along the banks of a waterless +channel that had once, according to tradition, formed a branch +of the Nile. In the bed of this vanished river, and where +some of the lakes had dried up, huge bones of unknown creatures, +encrusted with glittering saline crystals, projected from +the salt-streaked mud. These, the Saracens said, were the +remains of some terrible giants, sons of Eblis, Lord of the +Djinni and master of the Afrits. Upon the further range of +hills rose the temples, pylons, palaces and streets of Scete, an +ancient city of the Egyptians, dedicated of old to the worship +of Horus the hawk god. The suburbs to the east were +inhabited by Greek and Copt salt-merchants, their families and +their Libyan and negro labourers; but the magnificence of Scete +lay abandoned to foxes, bats and owls. +</p> + +<p> +The Saracen master of the camels believed this place to be +the abode of evil Afrits, and pointing to some pillars of fine +dust set whirling by a breeze that was blowing from the +north-east across the deserted courtyards and huge empty squares:— +</p> + +<p> +"See!" said Mafa Oabu to Hazaël, "how the Accursed +Ones make sport here. Beyond those groves of columns +topped with lotus-buds, within those vast palaces are halls +where the Sons of Eblis sit on thrones, crowned and immovable +with their stone hands resting upon their stony knees.... +Women with the heads of cows, carrying the Moon between +their horns, look down on them. Troops of <i>peris</i> carrying +flowers and ornaments, men with the heads of hawks, +crocodiles, and other creatures are limned on the walls.... +At night they come to life, descend and serve the Sons of +Eblis, who between moonset and cockcrow are released from +their bonds of stone. But all the rest of the time the place is +but the playground of the Afrits. Evil is certain to befall us +if we pause to look on them!" +</p> + +<p> +Right and left of Scete, on the shoulders of the hills, were +chapels and rows of cells, wrought by Christian monks and +hermits with infinite patience of labour out of the Cyclopean +rock. Lower down a stream of pure water descending a +rocky gorge, made fruitful the fields and vegetable gardens, +the olive-groves and date-palms cultivated by the Solitaries +and the "communities with tireless industry and patience; and +manured by loads of rich black mud, transported on the backs +of asses and of men from the banks of the distant Nile. +</p> + +<p> +Beyond these fields and gardens stretched the great Libyan +Desert. To the south the massive battlemented walls of the +Monastery of Scete, backed by the distant mountain of the +Cow, rose from the summit of a flat-topped mound of red +gravel covered with black pebbles. +</p> + +<p> +Seen near, this place resembled a fortress with loopholes +pierced in its Cyclopean masonry. An ancient bronze shield +depended by two rusty chains from the wall beside the low +doorway, through which the venerable Abbot Melittus, with +three monks and two novices, had been led away to Alexandria +to suffer for Christ: and a stone hammer hung below +the shield: but it was not possible to reach the door, because +two millstones had been rolled into the entrance before it by +the monks: who had then re-entered the monastery by means +of a rope let down from a window above the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Beat upon the shield!" Hazaël signed to one of the Saracens. +The heathen obeyed, but so long the monks within delayed +in answering the summons, that the child, suffering from +fatigue, and fevered by the recent bites of the innumerable +winged insects that swarmed in the neighbourhood of the salt +lakes, began to cry. +</p> + +<p> +This innocent clamour evoked the apparition of a bearded +monk at the window over the doorway. After anxious +scrutiny and much questioning, the monk vanished. A pale +beardless face now appeared at the aperture, and a weak but +singularly distinct voice addressed Hazaël: +</p> + +<p> +"O Jew of Alexandria!" it said, "we have now no Abbot of +Scete, until our Chapter nominate a successor to Melittus, who +hath been called, with certain of the brethren, to reign with +Jesus Christ. But for the present, I who am called Paule, +serve as Brother Superior. Tell me, therefore, what you seek +of us?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing for myself nor my companions, O monk!" said +Hazaël roughly, "but lodging for the night and tendance for +this child, who is weary with travel, and somewhat feverish. +He is the only son of Philoremus Florens Fabius, late Prætor +of the Taxes of Egypt in Alexandria, who—" +</p> + +<p> +"Let down the basket with Brother Theodore!" interrupted +the thin voice of Paule. +</p> + +<p> +Then as a deep basket of osiers, containing a pleasant-faced +young monk, was let down from the window by a rope worked +by windlass and pulley: +</p> + +<p> +"O Jew, give Brother Theodore the child of the servant of +Christ, Philoremus," said the weak voice of Paule. "Happy +is the hour that brings us our martyred brother's son!" +</p> + +<p> +Then, as the camel ridden by Hazaël knelt at a word from +its Saracen driver, and the boy, whose tears had ceased to +flow, willingly submitted to be taken in the arms of Brother +Theodore; and even showed pleasure as the basket ascended +with its burden through the air,—the Jew, unable to restrain +his surprise that intelligence of the manner of the Prætor's +death should have reached this distant place, motioned to the +Superior that he wished to speak in private. And as the +monks drew in the basket at the window, and Paule leaned +out, the Jew asked: +</p> + +<p> +"How can it be, O monk, that this was known to you?" +</p> + +<p> +Paule looked down at him with luminous eyes, and answered: +</p> + +<p> +"O faithful man! who for the sake of thine oath doest that +which is abhorrent unto thee, didst thou not know that the +great Saint, the Solitary of Derhor, rested here upon his +way to Tabenna in the Thebaïd? Four days ago he left us, +having seen in a vision the confession, the arrest and +martyrdom by decapitation of the Prætor Philoremus Fabius!" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël said, striking his great metal-shod staff upon a +millstone so violently that the sparks flew: +</p> + +<p> +"Where now is this Saint of thine? Can a swift camel +overtake one who seems to have not only the legs of the +ostrich, but the eagle's wings? For I have a message for the +man from my master!" +</p> + +<p> +Paule asked, with his luminous eyes bent upon the +contorted features of the Hebrew: +</p> + +<p> +"Does the message concern the child?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, monk, not so!" Hazaël answered, "for the boy is to +be delivered to the Abbot of Tabenna with certain jewels +which are to be sold for his keep." He added as great drops +of sweat started again upon his cheeks and temples, and his +eyebrows knotted like breeding snakes: "He is to be baptised +and reared as a Christian. These were the Prætor's last +commands!" His great voice leaped up from him like a hound +unleashed. He roared, striking his staff upon the stone +again. "But better he should die to-night and be gathered to +his Pagan ancestors. Yea, better ten thousand times! Monk, +do you hear?" +</p> + +<p> +Paule bent his small wrinkled head upon its fleshless neck, +and answered placidly: +</p> + +<p> +"Jew of Alexandria, marvellous is thy probity! Wilt thou +accept at our hands shelter and nourishment?" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël glared at Paule with bloodshot eyes, and angrily +answered: +</p> + +<p> +"Monk of Scete! I require from you neither compliments, +nor anything else. There is a spring beneath some +date-palms a bowshot from your monastery. There I and my +companions will encamp, unless the trees are yours?" +</p> + +<p> +Paule smiled and said, shaking his bald head: +</p> + +<p> +"Like the crystal water, the fruitful trees belong to none +save Him Who made them. Rest there, and to-morrow at the +second hour come to me for news of the child!" +</p> + +<p> +That night, whilst the Saracens sacrificed a black-and-white +goat in honour of their Moon goddess and to propitiate the +Afrits of Scete, Hazaël went apart into a solitary place in the +wilderness and prayed to the God of his forefather Abraham. +All night he prayed, kneeling with his forehead lifted to the +sky, or lying prone with his face in the dust of humiliation. +Then, remembering that when Joseph the Zaphenath-Päanea +was borne in the second chariot in the royal procession of +Pharaoh, the precious images of the false gods of Egypt +figured in these displays; and that Joseph, in exercising +vigilance over the goods of Pharaoh, was obliged to watch over +and faithfully preserve these idols, he rose up and shook the +sand of the Desert from his beard and robe. +</p> + +<p> +At the second hour of the day he went to the Monastery. +The millstones had been removed from before the door, as +for an honoured guest. He beat upon the shield. Bolts +groaned in their grooves of stone, and the small but heavy +gate swung back upon its hinges, showing a courtyard within +a square wall, set about with small cells built of rough stones +and roofed with reeds. Date-palms and fig-trees, with a few +olives were growing in a grassy enclosure about a stone-curbed +well, over which was a wheel with a windlass, chain and +bucket. Upon the threshold of the gate was Paule, tall, +emaciated and with strangely luminous eyes, standing surrounded +by a group of other monks in similar coarse brown habits. +The Sacrifice was over, the board was beaten to summon the +brethren to the refectory, as Hazaël, frowning, stooped almost +double to pass under the squat archway of the gate. But as +he rose to his great height the boy Florens came running to +him with so noticeable a return of health and vigour, that the +Jew could not repress an exclamation of surprise. As Florens +caught at his arm, and raised towards the swarthy lips a face +all fresh and smiling, framed in fair locks on which light +drops of pure water hung glittering, Hazaël asked, looking +keenly into the clear eyes: +</p> + +<p> +"What have these monks done to thee?" +</p> + +<p> +The child frowned with an effort of recollection, and said, +pulling at a silken cord that now hung about his neck: +</p> + +<p> +"Abbot Paule has given me a silver medal, and also a new +name. I am now called Mark!" +</p> + +<p> +At which Hazaël, seeing that the medal bore the Image of +the Crucified, and a reverse of the great Apostle of Christian +Alexandria; and comprehending that the drops on those +golden hairs were the lustral waters of baptism, thrust the boy +violently from him. He turned red and said reproachfully: +</p> + +<p> +"Why are you always angry with me now?" +</p> + +<p> +That night the caravan left Scete. Travelling southwards +they came before dawn to the camel-route running between +the Oasis of Ammon and the Nile, and thenceforward +followed it to the east. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving the camels and the Saracens to await them at +Memphis, the two Jews with the boy entered the sailing-vessel +of some Coptish sailors, who for a certain sum conveyed them +up the river to Tabenna. This place, the boatmen told the +boy, was once Taben-Isi, the City of Isis. The religious house +ruled by Abba Pachomius was built of great stones which +had once formed part of the ancient temples. Thirteen +hundred monks of the tonsure were under Pachomius in the +Monastery of Tabenna; and in the mountains of that region +were many other monasteries and nunneries, also seven +thousand hermits, following their several Rules in their own +cells, there waging war against the world, the flesh and Satan; +or living in tombs and caves after the method of the Athlete +of Christ. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is the Athlete of Christ?" the child asked the boatmen. +</p> + +<p> +The Copts looked at the Jews, and observing that Hazaël +listened, they were troubled, because they were Christians. +But Hazaël said to them: +</p> + +<p> +"Speak without fear. As the Most High lives, I will not +betray you! This is a Christian child, my master's son, I +carry to the monks." +</p> + +<p> +Then the boatmen told of the deeds of Christ's great servant, +the Egyptian, who had been born of wealthy parents near +Aphroditopolis, and upon their death inheriting their lands +and wealth, had given all to the poor, crossed the River, and +became a Solitary; living first in an empty tomb in a +burial-place hewn by the ancients out of the mountain, being +supplied by a peasant man who visited him, with bread, salt and +water, weaving ropes of palm-leaves and sleeping on the +bare ground. +</p> + +<p> +"Here," said the master of the boat, "the Adversary +appeared to this holy man tempting him; and devils, sent by the +lord of devils, assailed him with execrations and blows, whilst +apparitions continually beset him, in the shape of lions, +wolves, hyænas, serpents and other reptiles—which he +banished by the power of the Word. Then, still a young +man, he went out alone into the Desert and there lived in a +ruined temple that was in the mountains above Panopolis for +more than twenty years. In time his fame drew all the monks +that were then in Egypt, and great folks and the curious, and +those who were sick." +</p> + +<p> +"And," said the other Copt, "when the Saint would not +show himself to them, they lifted the gate out of its hinges, +threw themselves down on their faces, and supplicated: 'Man +of God, come forth!' And when he came, he seemed to those +that had known him, as young as when he had entered. His +look converted, his touch healed, his speech was exceedingly +wonderful. And in the might of the grace that was given +them, the monks reared a great Monastery near Panopolis +that they might live there in holiness and be ruled by this +Blessed One. But sixteen years ago he withdrew himself by +the Desert of Arabia into the upper fastnesses of the +mountain called Derhor, leaving another to be their Abba and +spiritual guide. Since when, all here is quiet, though of old, +even to men passing in their vessels on the river, the sound +of great tumult and hideous outcries used to come down from +the rocky eyrie where this eagle of God had made his nest. In +the time of the first Persecution of the Christians by the +Emperor, he descended from his mountain and went down to +Alexandria to minister to the Confessors in prison there. He +wished, they say, for martyrdom, but it was denied him. This +very year, before the grapes and mulberries were ripe—when +the Roman soldiers came to Tabenna, and the monks withstood +them with boiling pitch and scalding water—they had +sight of the Saint again!" +</p> + +<p> +"His white hair and beard clothed him," the master of the +vessel continued, "like a fleece newly bleached. He stayed +but a few hours with the monks at Tabenna. Then he came +down to the banks of the river, made the Sign of the Cross, +lifted up his arms and sang a psalm, both powerfully and +sweetly: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + '<i>Come and behold the works of God<br> + Who turneth the sea into dry land!<br> + In the river they shall pass on foot;<br> + There shall we rejoice in Him.</i>'<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +We have no knowledge that any one ferried him over, and +whether angels conveyed him we are not able to say! But +almost immediately he was seen continuing his journey to +Alexandria upon the further bank!" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël broke out, forgetting his profession of tolerance: +"Surely you saw this Athlete, who in three strides can +traverse the distance between the Red Sea and the Thebaïd, +separate the waters with his staff like the Lawgiver of Israel, and +pass dryshod through their midst! Or perhaps he walked on +the surface like the Nazarene Prophet, who was skilled in +theurgy, and did many wonderful things?" +</p> + +<p> +The Copts were silent and exchanged glances. But now +the Monastery of Tabenna appeared in the distance, seated +upon the skirts of the mountains, amidst groves of palms and +olives, reaching to the river's brink. A great cemetery was +near it, with many tombs both old and recent. A boat rowed +by Egyptians, carrying a bier, with a corpse swathed and +bound with garlands of bay-leaves and myrtle, and surrounded +by mourners, now crossed the bows of the sailing-vessel and +pulled for the Tabenna shore. Monks in black robes, with a +cross-bearer and a boy-novice carrying a thurible waited at +the landing-steps to take charge of the body, which was that +of a Christian desirous of being interred in the cemetery's +consecrated earth. As with the chanting of a hymn, the bier +was lifted from the boat and raised on the shoulders of four +of the brethren, the vessel containing the Jews and the son +of Philoremus, touched the land. The monks moved on, +carrying the bier, the mourners followed, and the strangers +brought up the rear. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0108"></a></p> + +<h3> +VIII +</h3> + +<p> +Seen in the distance the great Monastery of Tabenna was +not unlike an Egyptian temple set between the mountain's +rocky knees. So great was it that the sight of its fortress-like +exterior inspired astonishment. Without the house were +fields, gardens and orchards, and the Monastery, built +four-square, contained a cruciform Church, a huge refectory where +all the monks ate together; a school, a library, and a vast +warren of cells where the monks dwelt, illuminated by little +windows looking on the inner courtyard. Seats were their +beds, for their Rule prevented them from taking their rest +lying down: they wore sandals of hemp, coarse habits of black +wool with leather cinctures, and skull-caps without nap, worked +with a purple cross. The Abbot Pachomius was so bowed +with the weight of years, that the upper part of his body +was bent into a half-circle, and his face looked out from the +middle of his breast. So many and so deep were the furrows +upon that countenance—Time might have used it as a sailing-chart. +Yet so kindly a smile beautified its ugliness, that the +boy went to the Abbot without fear. The faithfulness of +Hazaël in carrying out so strictly the commands of his dead +master, while he would not even permit himself to enter the +Monastery filled Pachomius of Tabenna, as it had Paule of +Scete, with admiration of the man. +</p> + +<p> +He said, having received the message of the martyred +Prætor from the Jew,—whom he received in the inner courtyard, +under a giant baobab that towered above the lofty walls +of the building: +</p> + +<p> +"It shall be said of you, O Hazaël, son of Hazaël, paraphrasing +the saying of the Master: '<i>You entered not in yourself, but +him who would enter you hindered not!</i>' Verily to one who +hath proved himself so faithful in this matter, much shall +be given by Him one day." +</p> + +<p> +"All that I require," replied Hazaël, "is a writing acknowledging +the delivery of the boy to your safe keeping, and the +receipt of these valuable jewels which I now place in your +hands. They are to defray the cost of Florens' living and +instruction, and the accounts of the rent of the vineyards of +Kir Saba, the boy's inheritance, I will render when once in +every third year I visit him in this place." +</p> + +<p> +"If it be the will of God, friend," interposed the Abbot +gently, "for death spares not even the just." +</p> + +<p> +"Should the Holy One, blessed be He! sever my cord and +cause the vessel of my life to be shivered on the well-stones," +returned Hazaël imperturbably, "a kinsman will discharge the +duty in my stead. Or my son Levi when he attains the years +of discretion. Or the son of Levi, possibly." +</p> + +<p> +"By the time thy Levi's son was ripe enough to undertake +the business," said Pachomius smiling, as he seated himself +on a stone bench beneath the shadow of the great baobab, and +stroked the fair hair of the boy who stood beside him; "this +little Roman might be a father also!" +</p> + +<p> +"He is to follow his desire, whether he wishes to become a +monk or a soldier," returned the Jew, who had declined the +Abbot's previous invitation to be seated on the stone bench +under the towering baobab. He delivered his master's +message concerning the black onyx, and continued: "And now +give me this writing of acknowledgment, for I must go upon +my way." +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot drew from a leathern wallet at his girdle some +squares of papyrus, and said as he took a writing-reed and +an inkhorn from a shabby palm-wood case: +</p> + +<p> +"Of eating meat I say to thee nothing. But wouldst thou +depart without breaking bread or tasting wine in the house +of the Master?" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël answered, drawing down his black brows and scowling +at the Abbot: +</p> + +<p> +"A Christian is a Christian, and a Jew is a Jew!" +</p> + +<p> +Pachomius returned the smouldering fire of the glance with +a look of mildness. +</p> + +<p> +"The First of all the Christians was the greatest of all the +Jews." +</p> + +<p> +The dark face sneered, and the whites of the black eyes +glittered as the strong teeth flashed under Hazaël's tangled beard. +Pachomius added: +</p> + +<p> +"Yet in the days of your youth, were you not nourished by +a Christian?" +</p> + +<p> +"In those days my master worshipped Jupiter and the other +gods of the Romans," said the deep voice out of the thicket of +tangled black curls. "If the camel that bore the beam that +killed my father, Rab Shemuel, had belonged to a Pagan +idolater, I would, in revenge of the mockery wherewith that +camel-driver mocked my father, have hated the Pagans, as I +hate Christians to this day!" +</p> + +<p> +"So that is the bitter reason of thy virulence!" +</p> + +<p> +Pachomius, seated on the stone bench, had finished the +receipt in rounded Coptic writing, and scattered upon it a +pinch of sand. He was now waving the square of papyrus +gently in the air to dry it. Hazaël went on, standing upright +in the sun-blaze, with his shortened shadow squatting like a +negro at his feet: +</p> + +<p> +"The reason! And from the cup of my bitterness since +manhood came to me, many Christians have drunk death! +Now it is clear to you why I accept no seat under a Christian +roof, O Pachomius!" +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot's mild eyes looked out of the midst of the many +wrinkles, without resentment, only seeing the indomitable +honesty of this man. The quiet voice said: +</p> + +<p> +"You were Chief Secretary to Philoremus the Prætor of +Taxes. It was easy for you ... I understand! Had you +acquaintance with Arius the Heretic?" ... +</p> + +<p> +The deep answer came: +</p> + +<p> +"Monk, I know Arius the Presbyter. And I have aided that +treacherous and ambitious priest to encompass his ends,—for +the serving of my own, that were righteous in the eyes of +Israel!" +</p> + +<p> +"Was it then your aim to destroy your benefactor?" +</p> + +<p> +The question shot like an arrow to the mark. A dark flush +rose beneath the swarthy skin, and the mouth under the forest +of black tangled hair underwent a grim convulsion. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord on High knoweth that it was not! For though +I was well aware my master went secretly forth in a habit +like that of the Parabolani, yet to mingle with the people in +various disguises had ever been his secret whim. It was not +until I returned from a journey into Palestine that—" he +choked—"that I learned the Accusers had testified against +him—that I found him a prisoner under guard beneath his own +roof—with the seal of the Military Governor upon his +door!" +</p> + +<p> +Pachomius regarded the speaker with compassion. He said: +</p> + +<p> +"It may not then be known to you that Arius accused the +Prætor in a letter sent to the Prefect of Alexandria purporting +to plead on behalf of Christians outlawed by Maximianus. +'<i>For,</i>' said he, '<i>O Mettius Rufus! if Christianity be a crime, +first banish it from your public tribunals. How long is it +since your Prætor of Taxes has administered oaths to the +public without burning incense, and invoking the Sabine deity? +The Prætor's Chief Secretary, Aben Hazaël, the Jew, might +be able to throw light upon this question. Indeed, it was from +him I gathered these interesting facts!</i>'" +</p> + +<p> +A strange sound issued from the twisted mouth of the +hearer. +</p> + +<p> +"O poisonous serpent! Unclean, slavering hound! ... And +my master knew of this?" +</p> + +<p> +"Knew, but would not believe that you could be guilty of +treachery. Did not Philoremus receive you as cordially as +of old?" +</p> + +<p> +The blazing eyes under the fierce black brows were +suddenly veiled with water. Hazaël stammered as the heavy +drops fell and glittered on his beard: +</p> + +<p> +"He opened his arms to me as a father! ... He trusted +me with his flesh and blood, and all the State had left to +him.... He never gave me to suspect by a word or even +a sign.... Give me that paper you have in your hand, for +I am in haste to begone from here. I have yet another errand +to carry out for him!" +</p> + +<p> +He struck his staff deep into the sand, took the papyrus, +cleared his bleared vision with a sweep of his hairy wrist, and +read the monk's receipt. Then he stowed it in a wallet hidden +within the bosom of his robe, grasped his staff and looked +round as though seeking for something. The boy, who had +strayed some distance away during the conversation, was +standing before a row of pens containing the pets of the +Monastery. Some guinea-fowls, with knobs of horn upon their +beaks, and blue fleshy lappets upon the sides of their heads; +a large brown-and-white eagle, chained to a perch, who +observed his surroundings with half-veiled, ruby-coloured eyes, +and a pair of graceful gazelles, brought from the Arabian +Desert, enraptured Florens: +</p> + +<p> +"Can they be mine? ... Shall one of them be mine?" he +asked breathlessly. Then as the shadow of Hazaël darkened +the enclosure, and the Jew's hand closed upon his arm: "You +took away the other," the child said with a quivering lip, "and +told Ephraim to kill it for supper. But you cannot take +away either of these, because they belong to the monks!" +</p> + +<p> +"Even as you do, from this time forth," said Hazaël, with an +attempt at pleasantry. "So send a kiss by me to my wife, +whom you wept so much to part with—and another to the +playmate Levi—and another to little Leah—whom you love +best of all!" +</p> + +<p> +Then as the boy hung shyly back, estranged by recent harshness, +he caught him roughly to his breast, kissed him, pricking +his soft cheeks with the rough beard, and set him down again. +The gazelles instantly absorbed him: Hazaël was completely +forgotten: or else with the mimetic instinct of the child, +Florens feigned forgetfulness. +</p> + +<p> +Then the Jew looked round from his great height for the +crooked little figure of the Abbot. Pachomius was standing +under the wide-spreading branches of the baobab, with his +crossed arms hidden by his wide, loose black sleeves, and his +eyes closed as though in prayer. He opened them as suddenly +as though he had been touched, and said, as though replying +to a question of Hazaël's: +</p> + +<p> +"He whom you design to seek out is in the inner fastness +of Mount Attaka, below the dome called Derhor. Take a +swift camel with bread, dates and water and a Saracen to +guide thee and lead the beast. Follow the Desert to the North +for the space of three days.... Climb the path over the +Mountains and traverse the Great Valley of the Chariots of +Pharaoh towards the rising of the sun. Cross the torrent-beds, +and follow the pilgrim-way that leads north over the skirts of +the mountains, the Gulf of Heroöpolis being upon thy right. +Then pursue the pass that ascends to the west. This summit +is the gate of the Outer Mountain, where thou wilt find a +spring, with palms, a corn-patch and a garden-plot. This +is the garden of the Athlete of Christ, who first broke the +ground and tilled it, sowing lentils and vegetables. And +though at first wild animals destroyed the crops when they +came to drink water, he bade them cease from doing harm +in the Name of the Lord! and the creatures obeyed the voice +of His Saint. Take what you need of the growing things, +they are there for the use of the Blessed One—and the +comfort of those pilgrims who from near and far resort to him." +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël saluted Pachomius and said: +</p> + +<p> +"Of the water I shall drink, for the Most High caused it to +spring in the midst of the wilderness. But of the vegetables +I will not take, for the reason that you know. Farewell!" +</p> + +<p> +"Stay!" said Pachomius with sudden, unexpected energy, +"for I have more to say to thee, who art just and unjust, +generous and revengeful, savage as a leopard, and faithful as a +hound. Hear, thou that consumest the children of Christ in +the flame of thy hatred for the man that killed thy father! +If thou wouldst pierce the fastnesses of the Holy Mountain +and attain speech with its Saint,—be not tempted to turn +aside by the sight of gold or beauty! And forget not that to +him who endures all things in patience, the Gate of Hope will +open at last!" +</p> + +<p> +"'The Gate of Hope!' Who spoke to thee—who has told +thee?" Hazaël stammered, growing livid beneath his swarthy +skin. +</p> + +<p> +But the Abbot made no reply. His eyes were closed and +his lips were moving, as in fervent but inaudible prayer. +Some time had elapsed after the tall gaunt figure of the Jew +had crossed the courtyard threshold, when the eyes of radiant +light reopened in the brown mask of wrinkles, and the Abbot +of Tabenna sighed, and rose upon his feet. +</p> + +<p> +"O Keeper of the Secrets of Heaven, and Conqueror of +Satan!" he said. "How clearly thy voice came to me but now, +speaking at the inner ear. And Thou, O Lord my God! how +marvellous are Thy dispensations! Thy Wisdom, how +measureless, like the Eternity that sprang from It...." +</p> + +<p> +He made the Sign of the Cross upon his brow, lips and +breast, as the board was beaten that called the brethren to the +church for recitation of the Second Office. Later he ascended +the wall that made a fortress of the Monastery; and +looked upon the wide Nile, flowing north-westwards between +its borders of fertile land and the sterile sands of the desert, +studded with perishing cities and the crumbling ruins of +temples; mysterious labyrinths, petrified forests; banks of shells +and seaweed, coral and bleached bones of monstrous creatures +that bred in the primæval slime before the sea was separated +from the land, and their Maker created Man. +</p> + +<p> +The sun of early noon beat down relentlessly. Pulling his +cowl over his bald skull and shading his eyes, the monk looked +searchingly to the north. In the distance a mirage created +a marvellous effect of blue lake, bordered by palaces +embosomed in groves that were reflected in the shining depths. +The broad stripe of yellow desert lying between the mirage +and the habitations, monasteries, gardens and fields that lay +about the ruins of the town and the Holy House of Tabenna +showed some caravans approaching, but the monk paid no +heed to them. +</p> + +<p> +A moving speck, rapidly lessening in size upon the glaring +yellow distance, he knew to be the camel ridden by Hazaël. +A speck much smaller would be the camel-driver and guide. +In three days, travelling at that rate of speed, they would +reach the eastward-going track over the mountains, and +descend into the valley of the Chariots of Pharaoh. Four days +more would bring them to the Gate of the Outer Mountain +and the spring of the Athlete of Christ. +</p> + +<p> +"I obeyed," Pachomius thought, "the word of the Saint +without question, the message coming to me from him who +is the chosen messenger of God. Yet sinful as I am, I +question now, and wonder. Why, O Holy One, didst thou but now +command me to warn this relentless Jew—who like another +Saul of Tarsus digs pits and traps for the destruction of +Christians!—as though the stubborn enemy of Christ were to +be tempted like a Christian Saint? Surely the Calumniator, +knowing this man Hazaël for his own—will not trouble to +ensnare him? Never have I encountered a soul more +upright—or more remote from grace!" +</p> + +<p> +A thrill Pachomius knew well, passed through his breast +into his inner being. Not for the first time by many, a voice +well-known, reduced by distance to a gossamer thread of +infinite tenuity, spoke at the Abbot's inner ear. +</p> + +<p> +"And if, even as that Saul who slew the Prophets, the Lord +hath chosen such a man to be His servant, shall not the Judge +of all the world do righteously? And if this man, blinded by +pride and wrath, reject the offered grace—turn from the Light, +and quit the threshold ere the Gate be opened—shall He Who +planted in the human breast the soul—that is a spark of His +Divinity—and dowered Man with Free Will that Man might +choose Him!—shall He be blamed because His creature hurls +back the gift into the Giver's Face?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have erred!" said the Abbot, striking his breast—"O +Lord, do Thou forgive thy silly servant!" +</p> + +<p> +And all through the rest of that burning day, Pachomius +knelt upon the wall of the Monastery of Tabenna, purging +himself of sin by penance, and praying for Hazaël the Jew. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0109"></a></p> + +<h3> +IX +</h3> + +<p> +At the spring of the oasis at the summit of the pass +leading to the Outer Mountain, bronze-coloured doves, several +oryx, and a herd of wild asses were drinking, greyish-red +creatures these, white bellied, and marked by a broad black +stripe down the back. The birds took wing, the beasts +scattered over the plain at the approach of the camel and its two +riders, who halted to water the animal and fill the goatskins, +and take food and rest. +</p> + +<p> +Bands of painted, naked Blemmyes, the fierce Ethiopian +nomads of the south and eastern desert had shown themselves +occasionally, but made no attempt to attack the travellers, +whom they perhaps judged to be too poor to plunder, or too +strong, fierce and well-armed to be despoiled without exacting +tribute of life in return. +</p> + +<p> +Before sunrise Hazaël and the Saracen camel-driver, who +had agreed to guide him,—struck northwards through a rocky +and difficult defile. This was the opening of the road that led +to the inner fastnesses of Attaka, that stupendous mountain of +pale red granite, streaked with limestone, and sometimes veined +with porphyry, from whose summit, it was said, one could view +the distant Mediterranean upon one hand; and upon the other +look over to the Sinai ranges, across the Gulf of Heroöpolis, +that widens into the Red Sea. +</p> + +<p> +The region in which Hazaël now found himself was savage, +bare and solitary. At the top of the defile the camel halted +and knelt. The Jew dismounted and looked back. A crimson +glow spread over the shining waters of the Gulf of Heroöpolis, +and every object possessed two shadows; one cast by the +sunrise and the other by the moon. The yellow plain of the +desert, looking west, exhibited an illusory vista of cool blue +waters, out of which rose little islands plumed with palm +groves, reflected in the depths. +</p> + +<p> +"Return," the Jew said to the guide, "and wait for me with +the camel at the spring of the oasis. Yet first describe to me +again, in number and device as I shall find them, the various +signs by which pilgrims to the hermitage that is on Derhor, +may find their way." +</p> + +<p> +He listened as the guide spoke, storing these things in his +strong memory. Here a column of porphyry set up; there a +pile of oddly-shaped granite boulders; at the mouth of the +defile an arrow scratched on a limestone rock with a lump of +crystal; at the parting of ways a rude Cross fashioned of the +pieces of a broken staff, and jammed between two great stones. +</p> + +<p> +"Swear to me by your gods," said the Jew when the idolater +had ended his recital, "that you have named these marks in +the order in which they come!" +</p> + +<p> +"By the Face of Truth!" swore the camel-driver, who was +a wild and savage-looking object, with tangled hair smeared +with rancid butter; grotesquely painted of face and body; hung +about with charms and wearing a waist-cloth of gaudy colours +under his mantle of camel-hair. "I have not lied! Follow +these directions and you will return to find me waiting for you +with the <i>heggin</i>. Yet pay me now the sum agreed, in case +you lose your purse upon your way!" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël reluctantly paid down half, and set out upon his +solitary journey. +</p> + +<p> +The steep defile being ascended, the first sign was recognised +in the shape of a rude pillar of porphyritic rock. This passed, +the surface of the ground began to be more gently inclined. +Heat radiated from the huge pinkish-granite boulders that +almost scorched the flesh. The ground was covered with +blocks of this stone, between which showed the arid yellow +soil of the desert. A scrubby bush with black stems set with +long white thorns, also tufts of seeding wild garlic and a spiny +red-fleshed wild cucumber, bitter exceedingly, with wild +fig-trees, grew between the granite rocks. Wild goats with great +horns walked upon the verge of towering precipices and +bounded from ledge to ledge. White eagles and huge ravens +screamed or croaked from inaccessible eyries. The defile being +passed, the rocks sank down. Barely a dry weed relieved the +barren aridity. The yellow gravelly ground began to billow +upwards, and into the troughs of these billows the sun poured +down like molten brass. +</p> + +<p> +Climbing over one of these extraordinary ridges, the Jew +made an astonishing discovery. It was a dish or charger, +circular as a Gaulish buckler, wrought with the victories of +forgotten kings, and of the purest gold. The love of the Semite +for this precious metal,—of which were carved the lions that +adorned the throne of Solomon,—plates of which covered the +Temple built by Herod,—and of which the Vine above its +chief entrance was gloriously made,—caused Hazaël's sight to +dim and his powerful frame to tremble. Such a mass of gold, +all his by the right of discovery! ... He threw himself upon +the treasure with such eagerness that his foot slipped upon a +rolling pebble. He fell—and the gourd water-bottle he +carried at his girdle was smashed into bits. +</p> + +<p> +Moments passed before he grasped the full extent of his +misfortune. With all his strength he could barely lift the +massy charger, which might have contained a wild-deer or a +calf roasted whole. Sweat streamed from him, and a raging +thirst was aggravated by his efforts. He moistened his throat +with a few drops of water left in a fragment of the bottle, +covered the golden dish with sand, and marked the place with +three stones. Then he rose up and strode onwards. Another +defile presented itself before him,—not leading upwards but +bending to the north. +</p> + +<p> +To the south another opened, floored with huge granite +slabs, frowned on by precipices. At its mouth on the left side +was a conical mound of rounded black stones. Night rushed +down before Hazaël had decided which of these forbidding +roads it would be best to follow. That indicated by the mound +looked the worst.... He was beginning to doubt the honesty +of the camel-driver. If the hermitage beneath the summit +of Derhor was to be reached, he must trust to his own good +wits. +</p> + +<p> +He chose the northern defile, and presently—with the rising +moon—came into a wide valley walled in by sheer cliff-faces of +limestone. At its eastern side rose a precipice of coal-black +stone, down which appeared to flow a foaming waterfall. This +appearance was caused by snow-white quartz, issuing like a +solid torrent from a point high above, and flowing down into +the rocky valley. There was no way out of this trap but the +way by which Hazaël had come in. With his agony of thirst +increased tenfold by the unreal show of water, he lifted his +arms above his head and savagely cursed the deceptive flow. +And as the echoes of his deep voice resounded from the +precipitous walls of the valley, he turned about sharply—for a +high whinnying laugh had answered from behind him—and +the clatter of hoofs, light and small as an ass's or goat's, +followed—galloping over the pavement of broken stone.... +</p> + +<p> +"Who laughed there?" the Jew cried, but no human voice +answered, and the moon was veiled behind a light cloud that +afforded no hope of rain. When the planet looked forth, no +sign appeared of the supposed ass and his laughing rider; and +Hazaël, suppressing the desire to bestow another curse upon +the cheating torrent, made the two benedictions, and repeated +the Shema for the first night-watch,—fortifying himself +against the attacks of evil spirits within an iron wall of prayer. +Then he painfully retraced his steps through the defile +previously traversed,—munching the dates he carried in his +wallet,—as the dried bread without saliva to moisten it could not be +swallowed without pain. And as he went, he slept by snatches,—often +wakened from one of these dozes by tripping amongst +boulders, or jagged sharp-edged stones. +</p> + +<p> +Walking still with indomitable determination, he had just +repeated the prayer for the third night-watch, when he stepped +into daylight across the edge of dawn. A dazzling play of +colour was smitten by the sunrise from the wilderness of stone +beneath and about him. Broad veins of purple and greenish-white +porphyry, with red granite, and yellow and black limestone, +with outcroppings of snowy quartz, streaked the towering +sides of the defile: the stones and gravel beneath his great +travelling boots of hippo-hide,—whose heels of elephant-nail +kept him from slipping,—was composed of fragments of these. +Looking about he came to the conclusion that in sleep, or +during an interval of darkness, he had turned aside into another +path. This led steeply up, and up,—the vari-coloured rocks +closing in until a mere streak of fierce blue sky between the +walls at the tops of the defile showed where egress might be +obtained. To delay here was to die. Therefore Hazaël +determined to go on. +</p> + +<p> +Now, as he toiled upwards under the increasing torture of +the sunrays, delusions born of thirst and weariness began to +haunt his path. The faces of his wife Miriam, of Levi his +first-born son and of his little daughter Leah,—rose up before +him in the vivid hues of life. His dead master; the child +Florens, or Mark as he must now be called; the monk Paule +and the Abbot of Tabenna, moved with him among the scorching +stones, on which the lizard rarely basked; and between +which a few dry bushes lived without visible nourishment. +Through a strange roaring in his ears he distinguished the +voices of these phantoms. Sometimes he answered them +without ceasing to walk. +</p> + +<p> +He retained by this time barely the semblance of humanity. +His eyes beneath the beetling brows were red as those of the +captive eagle of Tabenna: and his long hair, and curling beard, +uncombed; tangled with burrs; soaked with sweat, and clotted +with the dust with which his ragged garments were covered, +had the appearance of a wig carved in stone. Blood flowed +from cuts upon his gaunt sun-blackened limbs—sustained when +he had fallen. He realised that without water he could not +now live long. Should there be dew that night, he might find +sufficient relief by licking the stones, to endure forty-eight +hours longer. Did no dew fall, he might possibly survive yet +another day. What grieved him most was, that as the news +of his death could not reach Alexandria for a long time after +the return of Ephraim by way of the Libyan Desert with +Mafa Oabu and the Saracens; his son Levi—who had already +begun to study the Mishnah—would not say Kaddish for his +father for many moons to come. And the thought of the +anguish of his widowed Miriam would have moistened his +parched eyelids, had in their dry and gritty channels one single +tear remained.... +</p> + +<p> +Stumbling amidst boulders, striding from stone to stone, +falling, dragging himself to his feet, and staggering on again, +the recurrent image of Miriam tormented him more sorely. +The fancy that at the top of the pass—where the rocks +approached each other so nearly—her well-loved figure would +appear with that square of blue sky behind it, became +conviction. He bounded on, obsessed by the idea.... +</p> + +<p> +"Miriam! My loved one! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He breathed like a beast roaring. His parched gullet and +dried-up lungs would barely admit the air. He was bruised +from head to foot and wounded in many places; but beyond +that square of burning blue he would find—he knew it—home.... +Home,—where he was welcomed as a King on each return +from a journey,—the rooms festively adorned even as on +the Sabbath! the table spread with fair linen, rich porcelain +and costly plate,—the dishes such as he loved best; the thin +sweet Mareotic wine cooled exquisitely in snow.... +</p> + +<p> +"Miriam.... My wife! I come!" +</p> + +<p> +He heard a sweet voice singing.... He was nearing the +square of burning blue framed in the porphyritic rock when a +waft of perfume came to him, and a figure filled the frame. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0110"></a></p> + +<h3> +X +</h3> + +<p> +A woman, but not Miriam. He stared at her blankly. He +strove to speak, but his stiff tongue only clicked against his +dry palate. His mouth gaped. He drank her in with long +pants, veritably as though her beauty had been the luscious +wine of Ephesus, chilled with Mount Hermon's snow. +</p> + +<p> +She was draped in a robe of fine Egyptian byssus with +crimson and purple borders, fastened about her rounded +hips, and drawn over her beautiful bronze-tinted shoulders and +bosom in many transparent folds. From beneath an Egyptian +headdress of enamelled guinea-fowl's feathers her rich hair, +plaited with gold wire strung with orient pearls and other +jewels, fell down in broad bands on either side of her small +face of purest oval, from which piercing glances were launched +as arrows under eyebrows like ebony bows. Her wide silken +trousers were red as the heart of a cut pomegranate; yet +shot with green and purple in the folds. Her tiny sandals +were of white leather, ornamented with golden studs. +</p> + +<p> +"O Isis! Mother of the Dog Star!" ... +</p> + +<p> +She veiled herself at the sight of the stranger. The rich +amber and crimson tints of her cheeks and lips, glowing +through the diaphanous covering, suggested ripe nectarines +in a dish of frosted crystal. Her long eyes, under their +jetty brows, were luminous and beryl-green. The voice that +issued from her scarlet lips was as the cooing of doves in +the sycamores; as the gurgling of waters from the heart +of a mossy hill, as she continued: shading her face with an +amber-handled fan of red flamingo-feathers, and rocking with +her quickened breaths the heavy necklace of huge pearls +suspending an emerald talisman between her swelling breasts.... +</p> + +<p> +"Pardon, my lord! but you appeared so suddenly! And O, +the gods!—being a woman unprotected—and this so wild and +terrible a place—" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël knew that his aspect must be terrifying. But the +perfume of roses that exhaled from the fair woman mounted +to his brain in waves of dizziness. Hush! Again the doves +were cooing: +</p> + +<p> +"I am the wife of an Egyptian noble. We live across the +Bay, at Arsinoë, but pass the vintage-months in our summer +palace at Aënus. And—my lord is stricken in years and yet +desires posterity!—" There was a dancing gleam of mockery +in the sleepy beryl eyes. "We have visited the shrine +of the god at Pannias, but alas!—without remedy. So my +lord commanded me, poor me!—to seek out the dwelling of +this Christian hermit, offer him rich gifts, and ask him to +pray for us to The Crucified.... Indeed, to be rich and +without heirs is sad for the poor old man, is it not? Yet am I +to blame for this?" She reared her little head upon the +rounded throat, and the beryl eyes blazed angrily. "No, by +Hathor! My lord Makrisi has been young and handsome; +even, dear stranger—" the feathers of her fan softly touched +the cheek of Hazaël,—"as thou thyself! ... Now is he a +withered branch. And"—she shrugged—"would even the +fields of Egypt bring forth their abundance, without the +fertilising waters of the Nile? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Insensibly he had approached, his long, heavy footsteps +setting the loose stones of the steep pathway sliding downwards. +His bloodshot eyes were at the level of her scarlet lips, between +which rows of milk-white teeth were gleaming; his bearded +mouth was dangerously near the wooing fragrance of her +bosom. She sighed, and warm sweet fragrance assailed his +expanding nostrils, and caressed his parched temples and +cheeks. And the heat of the morning sun was like the +downward draught of a white-hot smelting furnace. And the +dazzling blue above and behind her seemed to burn in azure +flame.... +</p> + +<p> +"O speak again! ... Do not cease!" he heard himself croaking, +as though the cool, sweet, gurgling voice had power to +quench the thirst with which he burned. She laughed +beautifully; and said, pointing with her fan to a great reed pannier +with a carrying-strap, set within the shadow of a deep cleft or +cave in the face of the porphyry rock: +</p> + +<p> +"See how this surly Saint has treated me, a Princess of the +house of Schabak! Look upon this basket of purple figs, +and black grapes bursting with honeyed ripeness! and green +melons with scarlet flesh dripping with cloying golden juice.... +By Phthah! the weight is as much as my black slave Zet can +bear, and this man would not even open the door of the ruined +temple under the shadow of the dome of Derhor, where he +dwells with the Lili and the Lilith—the bat and the +screech-owl—and the great white eagles, and the falcons of the +rock—or answer me a word. So I wept, I was so angered, and Zet +wept also,—for to carry the pannier down the mountain was +abominable to him. And when we heard you coming he set +it down and ran away. And for this he shall be beaten with +rods until the blood runs, when we return home. Why do +you look at me so strangely, O Satrap? for I see by your +mien that you are governor of a province, in Assyria or Persia +possibly? Am I less fair than the women of your country? +Have I no beauty in your sight?" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël answered in his thirst-cracked voice, with reddened +eyes devouring her: +</p> + +<p> +"O Princess! Even in dreams I have never beheld a woman +to compare with thee! But—but—I am wedded. A fountain +springs in the courtyard of my house, and a fruitful vine +shadows my threshold; and as apples of gold in a network +of silver, precious unto me is the love of my wife!" +</p> + +<p> +He reeled as he spoke and clouds passed before his eyes as +though the steam of the blood boiling in his veins had rushed +into his brain-pan. Blindly he sought to push them away. +And a soft small hand closed on his huge wrist, and his arm +became powerless and fell across her shoulder. He swayed +like a giant palm-tree whose trunk is sawn through. And +with astonishing strength the Princess supported him, saying +in that voice like the gurgle of cool waters: +</p> + +<p> +"Thou art famished. Men unfed ever talk of virtue. There +are other things in the pannier besides figs and melons and +grapes. Rolls of Egyptian flour, white as snow and light as +foam-flakes; and roasted quails in peppered jelly, wrapped in +fresh green leaves. And meat-balls with spices, cheese-cakes +and saffron-curds, and bottles of cool Nile water and also +a flask or two of yellow Theban wine. Let us go into yonder +cave and eat and drink together. When thou art refreshed, +we will talk, or if thou wouldst—sleep!" +</p> + +<p> +And the movement of her lips in framing such words as +"eat," "drink" and "together," had infinite allurement, but less +than "refreshed" and "sleep." Her utterance of these bewitched +and bewildered. Hazaël felt as one smothering in roses, or +sinking in the embrace of perfumed arms upon a bosom smooth +and cool as silk. And realising in a flash his desperate +predicament: +</p> + +<p> +"O Lord my GOD!" he cried aloud, "look upon my shame +and see my sorrow! From the evil impulse, from the evil +companion: from Satan the Destroyer and from judgment, +do Thou in Thy Mercy deliver me!" +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon the Princess Schabak with a burst of high, +whinnying laughter, skipped backwards,—and nimbly as a +mountain goat—leaped upon a ledge of rock jutting from the +cliff-face high above the level of the astonished Israelite's +head. At the same time the pannier in the cave fell over and +burst open, disgorging a cataract of repulsive creatures; vipers +with horns, chameleons with popping eyes, lizards, tarantulas, +scorpions and huge brown bats,—which flying round and round +in the dazzling sunshine beat about Hazaël's ears with their +leathery, hooked wings and entangled themselves in his hair. +Deafened, appalled, exhausted and choked with thirst, heat +and stench, he fell down swooning,—fortunately for his +reason!—within the shadow of the cave.... +</p> + +<p> +When he revived, the rocky gorge was filled with the +crimson of the sunset. The blazing heat had abated somewhat, +the fresh smell of water came to his nostrils, and he groaned +and opened his eyes. Then he cried out in thankfulness to +God, Who had sent him water in his extremity,—for at the very +back of the cave a thread of wet showed on the wall above +a natural basin in the rock bordered with delicate black-stemmed +green ferns, that contained a draught or two. As the +cool liquid flowed down his dried throat; life revived in him +newly. He ate of his bread, soaking it, and also took some +dates. +</p> + +<p> +Then he found his staff, went up the pass, and squeezed +through the narrow aperture. The path now became little +more than a goat-walk upon the barren mountain's flank. +</p> + +<p> +A vast prospect spread about and beneath him, upon the +right hand of the desert and the Nile beyond it:—with the +islands, cities, gardens, palm-groves, temples; the distant +cataracts, and the ranges of sandstone and syenite beyond the +towns on the Libyan bank. Looking to the east his eye +embraced Mount Serbal and the terrible splendour of Sinai, the +Tih Mountains and Desert of Sin. Nearer, he looked down +upon the Gulf of Heroöpolis,—the town at its mouth, and +the city of Clysma upon the plain of the promontory, with +the Wilderness of Etnam, and the Arabian Desert beyond.... +North to Syria, bordered with the blue fillet of the +Mediterranean, his glance ranged; and then with a cool breath +fanning his brow, and stirring in the folds of his garments, he +lifted up his eyes—and beheld the immense round summit of +Mount Derhor, gleaming—white as though hoary with +innumerable ages, touched with the fading rose of the sunset +and crowned with the evening star. A vast tract of snow-white +limestone, not level, but tilted at a steep angle, traversed +with innumerable waved ridges, crevices and fissures and +resembling a petrified cataract, spread between the traveller and +the base of the stupendous dome. An irregular building, +like a Pagan tomb or temple, partly in ruins, could be seen +upon the dome's eastern side. +</p> + +<p> +Desolation. Not a grass-blade, not a bush, nor tuft of +wormwood found nourishment enough to sustain life in all that +arid region. Yet here the Athlete of Christ had lived since he +quitted Tabenna; eating every third day of dried bread—of +which a store was left for him at the oasis every six +months—moistening the flint-hard cakes with water fetched from the +spring in a heavy stone jar. When the water in the jar came +to an end too soon, according to the monks of Tabenna and +the Coptish boatmen, the Blessed One would eat the snow if it +were winter; or gather the dew,—soaking it up with linen rags, +or that porous fungus that much resembles sponge. And +these he would suck, to quench the thirst that tormented him, +nor would he, were this relief withheld, descend the mountain +to fetch more water, until the arrival of the appointed +day. +</p> + +<p> +Night fell. So close together and so deep were the fissures +in the limestone, that Hazaël determined not to attempt to +reach the hermitage until the rising of the moon. So he +waited, seated upon a boulder; a strange, wild figure, dishevelled, +scarred and bleeding; with battered weapons, and robes +dusty and ragged; burning with impatience to do his errand +and return to the oasis whilst strength remained to him.... +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the Mount from its base to its summit was girt +with sheaves of towering flame of strange and marvellous +colours. At the same moment a tumult broke forth of +indescribable and hellish violence. Awful voices thundered +opprobrium, or wakened the echoes of the precipices and +chasms with shouts of hideous laughter, answered by other +invisible beings from the fissures in the plain. +</p> + +<p> +"Filthy monk! Scourge of the desert! Master of wild +asses! ... Preacher to lizards! ... Awaken! Rise and get +you gone out of this place!" ... +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! ... Ah!" ... other unseen beings wailed in chorus: +"Shall we never be rid of thee, thou Dweller on the Threshold? +Begone! Depart from us! ... Were not the desolate places +given to us, and the lands wherein no water flows?" ... +</p> + +<p> +A frightful voice bellowed: +</p> + +<p> +"Drive him forth! Assault him! Torment him with +serpents! Worry him with jackals and wild dogs! Borrow +the beaks and claws of eagles! Bid the lions devour him! +Or if the wild creatures refuse, send against him from the +Shrine of Pan another furious Satyr! ... Beleaguer him with +phantoms in myriads of forms!" +</p> + +<p> +And dancing fires girt the dome, playing over the moveless +waters of the stony cataract, and pale figures of wraith-like +mistiness, and dark shapes of mountainous stature seemed +to surround and hem it in. And suddenly these appearances +sank down and vanished before the terror-stricken sight of +Hazaël: with groans, and yells, and blasphemies that caused +the hair to stiffen upon his head, and cold sweat to bathe his +limbs. +</p> + +<p> +A flood of brilliance dazzled his eyes. From the violet-purple +vault of the sky, in which the hosts of heaven were now +gleaming, a ray of Light, of indescribable whiteness and +luminosity descended, seeming to pierce the roof of the ruined +temple beneath Derhor's giant dome. And Hazaël heard the +sound of a harp masterfully played, and a man's deep voice +singing: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Let GOD arise!<br> + And let His enemies be scattered.<br> + And let all those who hate Him flee<br> + Before Him!<br> + Let them be destroyed<br> + Even as smoke is made to disappear;<br> + And as wax melteth before the fire—<br> + Let the wicked perish<br> + Before GOD!"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When the psalm ceased the column of light faded into a +mild bluish radiance that lingered still above the dwelling of +the Saint. Such absolute stillness reigned that the sigh of +the night-breeze, and the groan of a metal bolt in grooves of +stone, came to Hazaël across the distance. A door swung +inwards; a light—not supernatural, but that of a palm-torch,—shone +across the threshold, and a voice, strong and mellow as +that of a young man, cried down across the steep expanse +of sinister shadows: +</p> + +<p> +"O man of Alexandria, seeking here a sinner!—draw near +if you desire to, and do not be afraid!" +</p> + +<p> +Hearing, Hazaël rose from the rock he sat on, and cried +back in a tone of wrath: +</p> + +<p> +"I am not afraid, O Athlete of Christ!—if it be you who +speak to me! But wisdom counsels not to ascend this steep +of perilous abysses—at least until the rising of the moon!" +</p> + +<p> +Before his voice had ceased to echo amongst the stony +waves of the tilted sea of shadows, the strong melodious voice +of the solitary called back: +</p> + +<p> +"The crevices are deep, and strange things abide in them!—and +there is peril as you say. Yet if in the Name of the +Crucified you struck out boldly among these solid waters, +nothing of harm would come to you. For neither earthly +dangers nor the malevolence of devils, have terrors for one +armed with the Might of the Cross." +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël shouted back, with a dinning at his ear-drums: +</p> + +<p> +"The Eternal One, who brought the Chosen forth of this +land of Egypt,—will guide me safely to thy door! For it is +written that He does not forsake the righteous. Have I not +in the strength of mine uprightness this day prevailed against +a Succuba? Lo! before me the accursed demon fled, showing +feet like the split hoofs of goats." +</p> + +<p> +The voice replied melodiously across the distance: +</p> + +<p> +"Blessed and glorified be He Who delivered thee! Glorified +and blessed be Christ Jesus, His only begotten Son! Glorified +and blessed be the Paraclete, the Comforter! Praised, blessed +and magnified be the Holy Trinity, One in Three! Amen!" +</p> + +<p> +Panting with defiance Hazaël thundered: +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord is One! He is holy and His Name is holy, and +the Holy Ones praise Him every day! Selah! Blessed art +Thou, Jehovah, the Shield of Abraham! And blessed is he +who even as Rabba Jehudah, called the righteous, can lift up +both his hands to heaven, affirming that not one of the ten +fingers upon them, is guilty of breaking the law of God!" +</p> + +<p> +He ceased, and the voice of the hermit answered, saying: +</p> + +<p> +"Nay!—but a thousand times more blessed is he, who,—not +daring to lift a finger,—falls down prostrate before his Master, +crying: 'Lord, have mercy upon me a sinner!' For it is written +that He pitieth the humble, and turns away His face from +the arrogant." +</p> + +<p> +Now the moon, in her last quarter, rose from over the Red +Sea. The limestone cataract, illuminated, took on a milky +whiteness, in which the innumerable cracks and chasms showed +like wavy bands of black. Hazaël grasped his staff and strode +upwards, confident that within so many minutes he would be +pounding at the ascetic's doors. But a dark cloud, not often +seen save in the rainy season, suddenly veiled the lustre of +the planet, and the Jew found himself standing in pitchy +darkness, upon an ascending ridge between two deep chasms, +unable to advance, or to retrace his steps. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a gust of wind rushed down a cleft in the mountains, +dragging at Hazaël's garments as though with invisible +hands. A jagged double flash of violet lightning followed. +Dazzled, the Jew trod upon a pebble of limestone; fell—and +still retaining his grip upon his staff, found himself sliding +towards the brink of the abyss upon his left hand. A +deafening peal of thunder preceded a flash still more vivid, +which illuminated the depths beneath. With starting eyes +Hazaël beheld at the bottom of the gulf—which seemed about +to swallow him—the monstrous putrefying body of a creature +part-human and part-animal. And the thought of tumbling +down to wallow in the Satyr's corruption, and share one +tomb with the shag-thighed offspring of unnatural and hideous +lust, wrought on the brain of the man so that he shrieked in +desperation: +</p> + +<p> +"Save me, O man of Christ!—I perish!" +</p> + +<p> +And heard the voice of the hermit answer calmly: +</p> + +<p> +"Man cannot save, but only Christ!" +</p> + +<p> +Upon which, as the lightning hissed and crackled about him +like flights of spears steeped in burning pitch and naphtha, +and feeling his strength about to fail, Hazaël groaned out: +</p> + +<p> +"Then pray to thy Christ to deliver me!" +</p> + +<p> +And hearing no answer out of the distance, he resigned +himself to despair. But from some source unknown, strength +suddenly flowed back into him. His brain cleared, and by a +sudden muscular effort he was enabled to draw back his body, +rise—and stand upon his feet.... +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks,—thanks!" he stammered out, as though to the +owner of some hand that had plucked him from peril. Then, +in sudden anger, he dug his teeth into his lower lip. +</p> + +<p> +The storm had passed. The calm light of the moon irradiated +the immovable cataract of limestone: the Jew traversed +the remaining distance safely, and stood before the door of +the recluse. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0111"></a></p> + +<h3> +XI +</h3> + +<p> +The lotus stems of the pillars had been once crowned by +the sculptured heads of long-eyed women. These had in course +of ages, by some convulsion of Nature or by the hands of man, +been broken off. Their shattered fragments lay scattered near, +and the stone beams supporting the roof rested upon the stems +crookedly. The door-lintel supported a slab still displaying +the winged orb of Ammon Ra. But through the symbol of the +Sun had been roughly but deeply chiselled the Sign of the +Crucified. +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël knocked upon the heavy doors. Of massive cedar-wood +strengthened with bronze plates, they would have resisted +the assault of a catapult. The melodious voice said from +within: +</p> + +<p> +"If thou that knockest art a being of the Pit, begone unto +thy master, Satan! But if thou art a son of man, state thy +business and be brief." +</p> + +<p> +And Hazaël cried: +</p> + +<p> +"I am no phantom of the Pit, but the man who but now +spoke to thee! Verily, as the God of Israel liveth, I speak +truth, and mean no harm! Now open the door, O Athlete +of Christ!—for I have a message for thee. But first thou +must give me water to drink, for my tongue is stiff with +thirst." +</p> + +<p> +Upon which the voice said from within: +</p> + +<p> +"Upon the threshold at thy feet in a wooden bowl, is water." +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël groped with his hands, for the shadow of the wide +lintel shrouded the portal in blackness; found the bowl, full +to the brim; gave thanks, and swallowed the contents at one +long draught. The Athlete's voice spoke again as the Jew +replaced the empty bowl, inverted, on the threshold: +</p> + +<p> +"Jew of Alexandria, it had been wiser to have saved some +of the water. For until the sun sets again, in fulfilment of +my Rule which I have taken on me, I neither open the cell +door; nor—unless in prayer to God—or in holy songs glorifying +Him, or in prophecies inspired of Him—utter one single +word, unless He bids!" +</p> + +<p> +With a fierce surge of anger, overpowering his previous +sensations of awe, Hazaël struck his fist upon the solid +cedar. He kicked it with his heavy boots of hippo-hide, and +beat upon it with his metal-shod staff. No sound issued from +within, in answer to entreaties or objurgations. Worn out +at length, the Jew sat down upon the threshold. But then the +suspicion budded that there might be a rearward door of +egress, and he dragged himself to his feet and made the circuit +of the place. +</p> + +<p> +In vain his toil. No opening presented itself, except a chink +one might barely have thrust a hand through.... Stooping +and looking through this orifice he obtained a glimpse of the +interior of the dwelling, which was filled with a pale, bluish +light. +</p> + +<p> +By this light could be distinguished the figure of the aged +Christian ascetic, tall, and so emaciated by fasting and watching +as to resemble a skeleton clothed with brown skin. A coarse +white cloth which formed his outdoor habit had been laid +aside, and clad only in a sleeveless vest of haircloth, he stood +bolt upright, with joined uplifted hands, and eyes closed in +recollection, in a stone niche built on the left side of the door +of the cell; which contained nothing further beyond a mat of +woven palm-leaves, a stone water-pot lying on its side empty, +and a sickle, possibly used by its owner for cutting leaves and +reeds. +</p> + +<p> +There was something so grand and imposing about the venerable +figure, with its white hair hanging upon its shoulders +like a mantle, and its snowy beard reaching far below the +waist, that violent words seemed profanation, and Hazaël +remained dumb. The impulse to depart without delay was +urgent, when on drawing back his head and standing erect, +he became aware that the mysterious ray of celestial radiance, +sign of the intimate and wonderful communion between this +pure and fiery soul and the Divine Spirit from Whom all souls +have emanated, had again descended from the heavens upon +the dwelling of the Saint. Venturing again to look in, he found +the cell irradiated, and felt a mysterious shock traverse him; +realising that the eyes of the Saint had opened, and were +gazing upon him from their ambush of white hairs. And +they were the fiery eyes of a lion, and the radiant eyes of +a child, and the eyes of a man who has seen and talked with +Angels, so that it was not possible to support unmoved their +scrutiny. Yet they were mild, kind and beneficent; and meeting +the eyes that peered at him through the aperture, the old +man thrice nodded his head. As who should say: +</p> + +<p> +"Although my Rule prohibits me from speaking, it does +not forbid me to listen. Say what is in thy mind, and return +to the dwellings of men!" +</p> + +<p> +And Hazaël cried to the anchorite through the wallhole: +</p> + +<p> +"O Athlete of Christ!—I am a Jew, and from the bottom +of my soul I hate and loathe the Christians, but thou art a +just and virtuous man! Now hear my tale!" +</p> + +<p> +The ascetic nodded as though replying: +</p> + +<p> +"Say on, thou hater of Christians! but be not over tedious. +For all my time I need for prayer." +</p> + +<p> +And Hazaël cried: +</p> + +<p> +"Listen then! My youth was spent at the town of Acanthon +on Lower Nile, my father being a Rab, an interpreter of the +Scriptures, and a pleader before the Courts. Small was his +wealth, yet great his name, being descended in the male line +from Ben-Hadad, King of Damascus, and in his veins on the +female side flowed the Royal Blood of Israel. And one day +he was carried home to our house dead!—having been struck +upon the forehead by a beam of cedar carried through the +Lentil Market on the back of a camel led by a Copt. And +the bystanders told me concerning the Copt;—that seeing my +father fallen and the blood from the wound covering his head, +the camel-driver mocked him, crying: 'Which wouldst thou +rather have, O Rab? The beam thou hast in thine eye now, +or a mote? Answer!' And child as I was, I took an oath +to be revenged for that man's hard-heartedness on all Christians. +And to this day I have faithfully kept that oath." +</p> + +<p> +He paused for breath and the recluse now answered: +</p> + +<p> +"I know it, O Hazaël! Thou hast been a very scourge of +Satan to the Servants of the Lord!" +</p> + +<p> +And Hazaël cried back: +</p> + +<p> +"Hear again, O Athlete of Christ! My mother married +again, and my step-father was cruel, and I fled from +the beatings and the evil words, to Alexandria. Awhile I hung +about the quays, living on stray scraps thrown me there, and +in the Jews Quarter, and then I met a noble man, a Roman +in the Public Service,—who took me into his household, and +fed and sheltered me. I grew up under his roof, and presently +became his steward, and zealously I served him, using my +power when I might, to keep that oath of mine. And knowing +not that my patron had secretly become a Christian,—I brought +upon him Ruin, Dishonour, Imprisonment and Death. Dost +thou hear?" +</p> + +<p> +The hermit returned mildly: +</p> + +<p> +"Unhappy man, I hear thee. Thine excuse must be, thou +hadst no thought of evil towards thy friend!" +</p> + +<p> +"No thought, God He knows! And whether my patron +suspected the truth, that I know not. But to the very +last—he loved and trusted me! And when he had suffered the +penalty of decapitation for his faith—torture being spared +him in consideration of great services rendered to the Empire,—I +stole his body secretly under cover of night. In the crypt +of a deserted church it was reverently burned to ashes. These +I placed in an urn—and swore an oath upon the urn in the +name of the God of Israel,—that I and my sons and my sons' +sons,—while there remains a living male of the blood of +Hazaël—will be Keeper of the Ashes and Guardians of their +Shrine! And I from the Abode of Shadows, the Lord Most +High permitting!—will stretch forth mine hand upon those that +descend from me—and counsel them aright! And when the +last male of the race hath served and passed,—the debt shall +be paid—and I cleansed of blood-guilt towards the man who +was my friend!" +</p> + +<p> +"The prayer being made from a repentant heart, hath +reached the Throne of the Highest. Is that all thou hast to +say, O Jew?" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël cried angrily to the anchorite through the wall-hole: +</p> + +<p> +"Not so! For I have taken this journey to bring thee a +message from my master, the noble Philoremus Fabius, late +Prætor of the Taxes of Egypt at Alexandria, who is now +amongst the Shades." +</p> + +<p> +From the tangled ambush of his snow-white hair, fixing his +radiant eyes upon the fierce eyes glaring through the wall-hole, +the Athlete of Christ demanded: +</p> + +<p> +"Was the man baptised a Christian?" +</p> + +<p> +Hazaël answered roughly: +</p> + +<p> +"Have I not said to thee but now,—that without having +formally embraced the Faith of the Crucified, or received the +waters of baptism,—Philoremus testified to Christianity, and +suffered the penalty. Melittus, Abbot of Scete, Peter, the +Patriarch of Alexandria, the monks Philip, Ammon and Geta, +Theodore and Pæsius and others, underwent death by torture +on the same day. In consideration of his great services to +Rome, Philoremus suffered only decapitation by the sword. +And I am commanded of him to entreat thee to pray that his +sins may be forgiven. And that for him the Hand that was +pierced may open the Gate of Hope! Dost thou +comprehend? Hast thou heard distinctly?" +</p> + +<p> +The head of the Saint inclined in assent. +</p> + +<p> +"And—thou wilt pray as he desired?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, if thou consent to forgive the Copt who slew the Rab +thy father many years ago. For I declare to thee by the light +that is vouchsafed me, that the blow from the beam was given +unwittingly; and those who told thee that the man mocked, lied. +And cease from saying and working evil against the Church +of Christ. For dear to the Lord are His servants!" +</p> + +<p> +And the Jew, struggling with himself, promised; and then +cried: +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me, O holy man! what is this Gate of Hope? ... Shall +my master be admitted? ... Or—hath he already entered +therein? ... I know that thou hast power to vanquish +devils, and canst see beyond the Three Veils that baffle human +vision. Therefore, answer me, I pray!" +</p> + +<p> +The aged hands stiffened in the attitude of supplication. +The eyes of the Saint looked upwards, seeming to pierce +through the roof of stone, from which great bats hung in +clusters, into Infinite Immensity. Moments passed and Hazaël +waited. But when an hour had gone by: +</p> + +<p> +"Wilt thou not speak?" he cried angrily. +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer. Looking more narrowly he could not +observe that the breast of the rigid upright figure lifted or sank +with the natural act of respiration. He found himself shuddering +with terror lest the anchorite should be dead. The weight +of vast solitudes peopled only by eagles, bats and diabolical +phantoms descended upon him crushingly. And in the voice +of a suppliant he entreated: +</p> + +<p> +"In the name of the Most High, give me a sign that thou +livest!" +</p> + +<p> +The hands fell apart. The upturned eyes quivered. A +long sigh heaved the wide emaciated chest, and the great +prominent ribs of the fleshless brown body, tenanted by the +fiery soul of the great Athlete of Christ. Without otherwise +stirring he reached down, seized a small harp from its place +in the niche behind him, poised it upon his breast, swept the +strings with his fleshless hands; and chanted in the powerfully +melodious voice that had thundered upon the ears of the Jew +down the cataract of limestone: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Not through the wisdom of strange words:<br> + Not by the power of incantations<br> + Have the children of Christ acquired the Mystery of Life.<br> + Nay! but by the power of Faith<br> + Given to us by God,<br> + Who is the Lord and Master of all!<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Faith is the Sign of Love<br> + In the Soul made perfect.<br> + The wisdom of the heathen<br> + Is naught but words!<br> + Where is divination?<br> + Where the magicians who were of Egypt?<br> + Where are the phantoms of the errors of the Sorcerers?<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Perished, broken, cast down and destroyed!<br> + Despised and contemned utterly<br> + Wherever the glorious Cross of Christ our Saviour<br> + Hath been upraised!<br> + O Tree of Victory!<br> + Triumphant throughout all the earth:<br> + Through thee doth chastity flourish<br> + And Virginity shed its light abroad!<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Rejoice, ye martyrs!<br> + By whom death has been despised<br> + Because of the victory<br> + Of the conquering Cross!<br> + Sing, ye innumerable congregations<br> + Where is divination?<br> + Of virgins, male and female,<br> + Who preserve your bodies in holiness<br> + By the Power of the Cross!<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O Gate of Hope!<br> + Carved in the Living Rock by the spear of the Roman!<br> + O Precious Blood<br> + Of Him Who was Crucified!<br> + O living Waters!<br> + Mingled in the Chalice of the Sacrifice—<br> + For the regeneration and cleansing of souls!<br> + O little pain!<br> + O despicable torture!<br> + O paltry ordeal<br> + That Christ's athletes endure,<br> + Compared with His—<br> + Who in His Body<br> + Suffered for the sins<br> + Of the whole world!<br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O great reward!<br> + Inestimable recompense,<br> + O crown of Victory!<br> + Triumphant palms!<br> + Entreat for me, ye legions of martyrs—<br> + Supplicate for me, ye myriads of Confessors—<br> + That like Phileas, Bishop of Thmuis—<br> + Like Melittus, Abbot of Scete—<br> + Like Peter, Patriarch of Alexandria—<br> + Like Faustus the Presbyter, Rachobius and Eodoras—<br> + Like Theodore, Ammon, Philip and Geta—<br> + Like Paesius and Philoremus Fabius—<br> + And like the Jew Hazaël—<br> + (Who, rejecting the Gospel of JESUS<br> + Yet shall perish at the hands of idolaters<br> + For the upholding of His Honour)<br> + Even I,<br> + Littlest among Christ's servants—<br> + May enter in at the Gate of Hope<br> + And drink of the new-pressed wine of Paradise!"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The singer ceased as dawn whitened the eastern sky, and the +dome of Mount Derhor was reddened by the first rays of the +sun. The harp, clutched in his rigid hands, still vibrated with +the last chords struck upon it. But the Saint was once more +rapt in contemplation, from which neither appeals nor threats +could rouse him. Boiling with indignation at what he had +heard, Hazaël shook the dust from his garments, and set off +with rapid strides down the crevassed limestone slope. +</p> + +<p> +He returned by the path round the shoulder of the precipice, +and through the narrow cleft into the pass where he had +suffered temptation of the demon; found some water yet +remaining in the cave's tiny hollow, and, eating his last dates +as he went, emerged at length from the porphyry ravine upon +the desert plain upon whose burning soil he had discovered the +charger of gold, saying to himself: +</p> + +<p> +"I will hurry forward to the oasis of the spring,—fasten the +camel to a tree there, and bring the Saracen back to assist +me. It cannot be meant that so much treasure should be +abandoned to serve no useful end! It should realise when sold, at +least ten thousand talents. Half of this money belongs to +the Athlete, seeing that his dwelling is in the mountain. With +the rest I shall enrich myself, and return with my household +to Palestine!" +</p> + +<p> +But when he arrived once more in sight of the spot where +he had found the treasure, he found there, gathered about it, +a horde of savage Blemmyes from the Red Sea wilderness, +who periodically penetrated the fastnesses of Derhor by some +of the eastern defiles. Enraged at seeing these naked, painted +heathens hoisting the mass of gold upon their shoulders, amidst +shrill ululations of joy from the fierce, hawk-eyed women who +accompanied them, the Jew swung his great staff high, +shouting: +</p> + +<p> +"Restore the spoil that another found before you, ye +abominable ones!" and charged the Blemmyes, scattering them +with tremendous blows. +</p> + +<p> +But the savage idolaters only dispersed like jackals or vultures +scared from a carcass, to gather again at a distance; and +from thence discharged stones from their slings so skilfully +that Hazaël was wounded and beaten to the ground. Then +overpowering him, the barbarians strongly bound his wrists +and ankles, and drawing them apart, secured each limb to a +stake, driven deep into the soil. +</p> + +<p> +Then, concluding that all men returning from the Inner +Mountain must needs be Christian pilgrims, the chief of the +band set his foot upon the breast of the Israelite and—speaking +in bastard Greek—and brandishing his spear with menacing +gestures—commanded him forthwith to blaspheme Christ, +and abjure the Faith—or die amidst tortures unspeakable. +</p> + +<p> +Upon which Hazaël shouted furiously: +</p> + +<p> +"You ignorant rabble! I am a devout Jew, and will never +accept the Nazarite Prophet as Messiah! and I have even +brought persecution upon those who worship Him! +Nevertheless, for love of Him my master Philoremus Fabius +suffered death at Alexandria, and in His name the Saint of +Derhor performs marvellous works. And I have sworn before +the God of my fathers henceforth to abstain from speaking +or doing evil against Christ's servants: yet I am not a +Christian, and never will be!" +</p> + +<p> +But the Blemmyes clustered about him like bees, stinging +and pricking him with their sharp spear-points, and the savage +women, reaching between the legs of the men, prodded him +with thorns and tore his flesh with sharpened stones, so that +there was not a whole patch upon his body, that was all gory +red from head to foot. And they jabbered at him to blaspheme, +urging incessantly: +</p> + +<p> +"Execrate Christ and thou art free!" +</p> + +<p> +He whom they tortured shouting lustily: +</p> + +<p> +"Ye vultures of the Desert, I will not!" +</p> + +<p> +Then, failing to work their will, they made upon his body a +fire of dried camel's dung, and took the gold and went away. +</p> + +<p> +While to the tortured Jew, dying amidst horrible agonies, +it seemed that he saw his master Philoremus, joyful and +smiling, standing near a Young Man apparelled in white, and of +sublime and radiant visage, who extended towards the sufferer +His beautiful wounded Hands.... And amidst a great Light +and many voices, One Voice spoke, saying words inconceivably +wonderful.... And the bands of mortality were peeled +from Hazaël's vision, and his spirit passed beyond the Veil +of the Unknown. +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +In the same hour the Abbot Pachomius at Tabenna, being +in prayer at the conclusion of the morning Sacrifice, received +a revelation and cried out: +</p> + +<p> +"Lord! do Thou multiply Thy mercies upon the Jew Hazaël +Hazaël, who rejecting the Gospel of the New Testament, hath +yet died for Thee!" +</p> + +<p> +And sending a messenger to the quayside where the faithful +Ephraim waited aboard the vessel with the Coptish sailors, +the Abbot warned the servant of Hazaël that evil had come to +him.... Then Ephraim went forth into the desert with a +strong party of armed Saracens on swift camels, and traversing +the Valley of the Chariots, and climbing the pass north of +the oasis of the spring, reached the place where the Blemmyes +had put the Jew to death. The head, limbs and extremities, +though scorched and shrivelled, remained unconsumed. The +charred trunk had burst asunder, and within the hoops of the +great blackened ribs, the indomitable heart of the just steward +lay amidst grey ashes; all red, like a newly-quenched coal. +Upon one of the dried-up hands hung a tarnished signet-ring +that the Blemmyes had not noticed,—or had feared to meddle +with, lest it might be a talisman. +</p> + +<p> +It was the signet with the black onyx, given by the Roman +Philoremus Fabius to Hazaël.... And Ephraim, taking the +ring from the dead hand, scraped a shallow grave in the +hot sandy gravel; buried the remains, and made above the +spot a great pile of stones. +</p> + +<p> +Then he journeyed back to Alexandria, carrying the news +and the ring, and goods of Hazaël; and Miriam and little +Leah wept sorely; and the boy Levi said Kaddish for the dead. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0201"></a></p> + +<h2> +<i>Book the Second:</i> THE SENDING +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +John Benn Hazel lived with his mother, and Maurice, +his younger brother, at Campden Hill Terrace. Mrs. Hazel +was a widow of long standing; well-to-do, well-preserved, +well-powdered, dyed and corseted, and experienced in +the ways of the world. Formerly, as she admitted, "a frightful +flirt," she was still prone to recurrent attacks of the milder +kind of friskiness. Of her two sons, she was chiefly mother +to the more gifted Maurice—an illustrator of books of the +exotic, precious, subtle type—and periodicals of the same pale +cerulean hue. Before the War Maurice possessed a Marcelle +wave and a Beardsley Line—both attained by infinite perseverance. +Later he acquired the certificate of a Pilot-Aviator, and +flew a Handley-Page bomber on the Western Front. +</p> + +<p> +Mother and sons agreed marvellously, unless when one of +Mrs. Hazel's elderly adorers, persons of ripe years and +desirable financial solidity, endeavoured to persuade her to +forsake her widowed state. The most favoured of these was a +certain Mr. Herman Van Ost, London partner and representative +of a thriving and long-established firm of Dutch +bulb-merchants. As a stepfather John Hazel would have regarded +the Dutchman with more or less placidity. But Maurice found +the idea intolerable, and thus the bulb of Van Ost's hopes +remained in the shop window; showing a pale green spike at +intervals, in earnest of latent possibilities in the flowering +line,—but never achieving more. +</p> + +<p> +All three Hazels were members of the same mixed Club,—(who +does not know "The Tubs" in Werkeley Street, W.)—and +firmly believed the Parish of St. James's the hub of the +civilised world. All three were ardent votaries of Bridge; all +yearned to be admitted into the inner circles of Society, but +were content to grasp at the outer fringe. All three adored +Russian Ballet, Musical Comedy, Film Plays and up-to-date +Revues. Each revelled in the Tango and thought no fashion +in modes, colours, coiffures, furniture, manners and morals, +so quite too frightfully fetching as the last. They were of +sport, sporting; but their talk turned chiefly upon things of the +theatre theatrical; and they always knew to a thousand how +much the last Big Production had cost the Syndicate running +such-and-such a West End house. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes they disagreed as to the exact weight of the +gloves worn by the French pugilistic champion, and So-and-so, +the hope of England—in their classical contest at the Punching +Club; or as to the precise source whence Didi Debée obtained +her celebrated strings of pearls, or grew warm over the rival +merits of famous exponents of the Tango; or contradicted one +another touching the precise terms in which Betty Ballorme +had notified the Duke of Blankshire that a less economical +nobleman would be more welcome in her flat. But if they +quarrelled they made friends again over some more recent +item of gossip. Jimmy Greggson had got a new gag, or a +fresh wheeze in the Second Act of "The Filberts" at Riley's +Theatre, just before the famous 'Dance of The Varalette.' Or +a new supper-dish or a fresh dance-step would have +appeared upon the menu of some eclectic restaurant cum-night-club, +run by managers who catered for every variety of taste. +</p> + +<p> +It will be seen that the sons of Mrs. Hazel were happy in +their parent, whose business gift was not to be despised. In +partnership with a peeress of somewhat clouded reputation +she ran a millinery and flower-shop at a double frontage in +Dove Street, Piccadilly: adding to her annual life-interest on +her late husband's not inconsiderable fortune, a really +handsome sum. +</p> + +<p> +Probably her elder son inherited Mrs. Hazel's business aptitude +though such a legacy is more usually held to be derived +from the paternal side. The product of one of the lesser +public schools (Loamborough may be quoted) and graduate of +Brazingham University, he decided that it was possible to do +Big Things without a string of piffling letters tacked on to +your name. So, the City of London happening to beckon +at that juncture, he leaped gladly to her grimy embrace, and +his thirty-second birthday, occurring on the third of July, +1914, found him formally received and accredited as Junior +Partner in the thriving firm of Dannahill, Lee-Levyson and +Hazel, insurance-brokers of Cornhill. He was engaged to +Beryl Lee-Levyson. He looked forward—under the summer +sky fast blackening with fearful presages of tempest—not +exactly with rapture, but with content—to their approaching +marriage; a house in Eaton Terrace, S.W.,—Eaton Square +being the address of the Lee-Levysons—having been inspected +and approved, a week before the gates of Terror opened and +the world grew pale with dread. In that first fierce spate of +blood the elder son of Lee-Levyson, a promising young +lieutenant in a crack Hussar regiment, was overwhelmed and +swept away. The favourite grandson of Dannahill, Head of +the Firm, a Sergeant in a London Territorial Regiment, +later rendered distinguished service, and died gloriously on +the thirteenth day of the First Battle of the Aisne. That +September evening John Hazel got home to Campden Hill +unusually late for dinner, bringing with him a clumsy parcel +which contained: +</p> + +<p> +<i>Item</i>: one coat highly polished at the elbows, kept for +office night-work. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Item</i>: a silver inkstand, a birthday present, inscribed: "<i>From +S. and M.H.</i>" (Sara and Maurice Hazel) "<i>to J.B.H., July +6th, 1914.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Item: a tinted photograph of Beryl Lee-Levyson, a tall, +willowy young woman in narrow diaphanous garments, with +tightly-banded hair of pale gold, a bluish-pink complexion, a +straight nose with a ripple in the bridge, large and well-opened +light grey eyes, and the kind of smile that advertises an +excellent set of teeth. It bore the inscription: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "<i>From Girlie, with Love to Her Best Boy.</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +A box of cigars, a silver cigarette box, some well-browned +meerschaum holders, and a burned briar-root pipe, completed +the inventory of the property contained in the shapeless parcel +which John Hazel lugged up to his room, and dumped upon +his bed. +</p> + +<p> +"What are these things?" asked his mother, coming in to +tell John not to wait to dress, as she and Maury were going +to look in at Riley's to see the 'Dance of the Varalette' once +again before Jimmy Greggson went to the Front.... +</p> + +<p> +"Of course; good old Jimmy's a London Terrier! ... Did +you ask about those? ..." said John, who stood at the +looking-glass in shirt-sleeves, brushing his coarse strong curly +hair with two big ivory-backed brushes, and meeting the +maternal eyes in the mirror with something not unlike a scowl. +All the principles instilled at Loamborough, by dint of many +poundings, forbade him to embrace his mother and weep; yet +strange wild impulses urged him to commit this sin against the +Code of Correct British behaviour. He went on, looking at her +in the glass, deepening his scowl and speaking gruffly: "They'd +be frightfully in the way at the office.... I rather thought +you'd look after them until I get back from the Front!" +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment's pregnant silence in the room, while +Mrs. Hazel with a wildly thumping heart, was realising how +awfully she had dreaded that it would be Maurice who would +have to go! ... Then she rustled over to John's side, reached +up on tiptoe, though she was a tall woman, and giving him +two little pecking kisses on the angle of his blue-shaven brown +jaw, murmured something about getting up some champagne +to-night to make up for the tinned <i>entrées</i> at dinner, and +rustled out of the room—John knew—to tell the news downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +"What? Old J. going? ... Good for him!" was Maurice's +languidly-approving comment on the intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody grumbled, though John did delay to change, and +came down arrayed in the gladdest rags his well-supplied +wardrobe boasted, to tell his mother and Maurice of Sam +Dannahill's glorious death. Such a frightful knock for the +Firm, coming on the heels of the bad news about Beauchamp +Lee-Levyson!—and how the Boss had taken the grim wire +from the War Office "like a regular First Class Old Brick." +</p> + +<p> +Ah, if in that bad quarter of an hour succeeding the opening +of the telegram John could have looked through the fortunately +opaque glass of the door with "Senior Partner" painted +on it,—he would have seen no dignified white-haired City +Insurance-broker, telling with a dry eye but a trembling lip +how bravely Sam had died! but a frantic old grandsire, +tearing his hair and beard, and crying even as David in the high +gate-chamber: "My child!—my hope and comfort! O if it +had been granted that I might die for thee, my boy, my +beloved one!" +</p> + +<p> +Pray observe John Benn Hazel, standing on the Daghestani +hearthrug, with his back to the fern-filled fireplace in the +Briton's customary style. +</p> + +<p> +You saw him as a broad-shouldered, lean-flanked, deep-chested +young man of thirty-two, six feet three in his stockings +and proportionately powerful. His huge frame of bone, +knit with solid muscle, was sparingly padded with tough hard +flesh, covered with dull, dry brown skin that looked as though +it needed to be soaked in blazing sunshine to become sleek and +soft. Coarse, wiry, curly hair, densely black as the broad +beetling brows and the deep-set eyes under them, closely +capped his high dome-topped skull, and grew low upon his +forehead,—tinged with blue where it was most closely clipped +on the temples and about the ears,—and at the nape of the +long thick neck, that needed the razor's frequent application +even as the strong jaws, the long, deeply-channelled upper-lip, +and the chin, quite abnormally long, with a dent in its +squared end. His was a huge salient nose, thick and boldly +curved, with mobile nostrils; and a large, rather loose-lipped +mouth, purplish-red and frankly sensual, with a quirk of +humour at the deeply-cut corners, and displaying a formidable +array of big white teeth when he laughed. His large, well-shaped +ears did not lie sufficiently close to his head for beauty, +and the prominent Adam's apple of his muscular brown throat +was the despair of City collar-makers; while no glove that +hosier ever supplied could be got to button over his great +wrist,—the joint of the ulna, Maurice bragged,—being as big +as a pony's pastern. His feet were huge and clumsy as his +hands, a fact too well known of Mrs. Hazel's Pomeranian. +His excellent opinion of himself was much evident when he +talked in his loud, deep, booming voice, or laughed at jokes +of his own manufacture, which appealed to him more than +others. When his sense of humour was really touched, his +guffaw was an outrage on the nerves of other people, and +fragile articles within reach of his lengthy arms were wont +to be swept from shelves or stands. But Maurice was not +driven to put his fingers in his ears, on this particular +evening; nor was Mrs. Hazel to glance even once in apprehension +at her Dresden china shepherdesses simpering on the mantel-shelf. +</p> + +<p> +She came into John's room again that night, long after they +had parted, with an excuse about being anxious to make sure,—in +case he should not yet have switched off the electric +lights,—that his blinds were closely drawn down behind the open +windows, and the new curtains of green casement-cloth properly +closed. The police had warned householders all along +the Terrace. Not in the least deceived, John sat up in bed, +looming bigly in a blatant suit of pink-striped silk pyjamas, +conscious that upon his pillow was a big wet patch of which +a Briton's hardy eyes ought to have been ashamed. The +mother looked absurdly young, it seemed to her son,—with her +still abundant auburn hair, as yet only lightly crisped with +grey,—hanging in a thick loose plait down the back of her +pale blue <i>crêpe</i> dressing-gown, as she retreated from the +window,—to examine the War-arrangements of which she had +had to switch on the light:—pecked him again—upon his +forehead this time—and said with elaborate casualness: +</p> + +<p> +"You told us—among other amusing things—to-night at +supper"—John was pleased to find that he had been amusing—"about +the papers you had had to fill at the Army Recruiting +place." ... +</p> + +<p> +"Saying how old I am, and where I was born,—and what +my father's nationality was—and what my religion is," John +told her with a cheerful grin: adding as she lingered, +apparently in expectation: "But the really funny things—regular +howlers!—were on the spoiled papers lying about." His big +body shook with a chuckle that was not genuine. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind the funny things just now! How did you +answer that question about your father? ... What nationality +did you say his was?" Her blue-grey eyes, still brilliant +and effective, sparkled feverishly under knitted eyebrows. +Her voice was sharp and strained, in the ears of her son. +He answered with a dull flush darkening his heavy features: +</p> + +<p> +"I said he was British. Isn't that good enough?" He +added as he hugged his great bony knees, and stared over their +barrier at the worried face of his mother: "You don't +suppose I'd be ass enough to make a false declaration, even +though the Pater's governor happens to be a Palestine Jew! +Is the old chap still alive, by the way? If so, he must be +getting on for a hundred!" +</p> + +<p> +"He was sixty-nine when I saw him at Malta thirty years +ago, and taller and broader than any of his sons—as upright +as a column. You've a look of him—there are times when I +see it!—but you take after your father more! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"At any rate my father was naturalised an Englishman, +and Hazel sounds English enough," said John. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—oh, yes!" +</p> + +<p> +As she drummed on the foot-rail of the bedstead, imparting +a rather unpleasant vibration to the tautened nerves of her +elder son, John coughed a deep hollow cough to cover his +embarrassment, and said gruffly; +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter with your telling me about my father +and his people? I've never asked before, but I think I'd +better know!" +</p> + +<p> +"His first name was John, like yours, but the name is really +Hazaël. The Hazaëls were wealthy merchants, exporters of +produce from the Mediterranean Coast—and wines—chiefly +from vineyards of their own." +</p> + +<p> +"That stuff I've seen advertised—Palestine Port, Tokay +and Muscatel,—sound and nourishing, twenty-five years old?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's very good—and your father has often told me that +even before the Colonies were founded in 1827,—when I've +heard there were only ten Jews at Jaffa—his father's father's +great grandfather was a vine-grower and exporter of wine. +The business originally started in Egypt—they have a business +house to-day at Alexandria—and another at Jaffa and a +branch at Malta—where your father and I first met." +</p> + +<p> +"Stop! ... What about you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Me.... Oh—well! I was sixteen, and frightfully romantic, +and supposed to be going in for what people called 'a +decline.' ... Anæmia would be the proper name for it in +these days: and Hull, where your grandfather had his place of +business, was cold and gloomy; and Malta was supposed to be +the cure.... I loved Malta! What girl wouldn't? All +sunshine and flowery gardens, and violet sea, and turquoise +skies. And all the fruit and' flowers one wanted—and a +handsome man to squire one about! For your father was quite +charming. He spoke beautiful English, and French like a +native; he had been educated at Paris, they said, and when +my father told me of John's intentions, I was ready to jump +over the moon!" +</p> + +<p> +She broke off, and John roused himself to say: +</p> + +<p> +"Anyway, if the Pater was a Syrian Jew, your governor +was British enough! ... Of course I never saw him, as the +old man was dead and buried before we went to live with my +grandmother. But Symons does sound like a good old +English name!" +</p> + +<p> +"That's why your grandmother persuaded your grandfather +to adopt it. His real name was Simonoff, and she never +liked it! She was a Yorkshire Isaacson!" +</p> + +<p> +There was a pregnant silence before John asked in +muffled accents: +</p> + +<p> +"Was my grandfather on your side a Russian?" and was +clubbed by the reply: +</p> + +<p> +"He was a Russian Jew from Moscow." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, come! Don't rub it in!" The bedstead creaked +protestingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Dearie, you must have guessed! You've always known +that he did business in hides and tallow and tar, between +Hamburg and Hull." +</p> + +<p> +"I remember Hull when I was a kid, and the warehouse, +and Old Mendel, who used to bring me peppermint-rock +when he came to see my grandmother. He managed the +business for her, didn't he, until my Uncle Ben took it +over? But—my grandfather a Russian Jew! Let's bless our +stars he wasn't a German! Where were you married to my +father?" +</p> + +<p> +"In a Maltese Synagogue. We lived at Malta until your +father brought us to England, to establish a business-branch +at Southampton. And we had hardly been settled there a +year—you were only three when John died.... +Pneumonia—this climate never really suited him! And I went +home to mother with you and Maury, a baby of six months +old. There was no bother about money. You know your +father left us comfortably off!" +</p> + +<p> +John cleared his throat and nodded. The bitterness of the +last pill Fate had administered puckered his palate yet. +Between the Jew of Palestine and the Jew of Russia, he had +been wrought all Jewish. Not a single globule of British +blood mingled with the Oriental tide that galloped through +his veins. He asked, not wanting to know particularly: +</p> + +<p> +"Did my father's people drop you, after he died, or was it +you who decided to drop them?" +</p> + +<p> +His mother returned with a sprightlier air—she was now +sitting on the bedside. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!—well!—it was like this. While John was alive, his +father, old Mr. Hazaël, sent me kind messages very often +in his letters,—always written to John in Hebrew, by Amos +the eldest son. For John came third in the family. Amos +and Isaac had been years married and had heaps of children +before John met with me. And after John died and we went +to live at Hull, the letters kept on coming. It was my father's +head-clerk who always translated them—Old Mendel was a +learned man!—and wrote back the answers I dictated. Then +my father died—poor father!—he never could forgive me for +being only a daughter!—and Cousin Ben took the business +over—and mother and I, with you and Maury—came here to +London to live. Do you think I did wrong in dropping the +correspondence? You know how your father's fortune was +settled on you two children, with a life-interest for me; we +need not go into that! There was nothing more to come to +us—under any circumstances! And I wanted my two boys +to be brought up as English gentlemen, and I don't think +I've done quite so badly—do you?" +</p> + +<p> +Her tone was almost pleading. John reached out a lengthy +arm and hugged his mother warmly: +</p> + +<p> +"Not by half, Old Thing! On the contrary. You thought +it would be best for me and Maury to be British, and you +rubbed it into us that we were, from the time we began +to talk.... I remember at Loamborough, a Fifth Form fellow +said to me over some rotten boggle of mine at Sunday Ques: +'With that bally big nose of yours, Hazel major, you ought +to know all about the Children of Israel—' And, by George! +I welted the beggar until he apologised. Later on, when I knew +more about the Pater, I told myself that the English strain +came from the mother's side. Now you've exploded that idea; +I don't know that I mind much! ... Lots of people we're +friendly with are as much Hebrews as ourselves,—and taking +us in the lump, I call us a loyal lot!" He dug his long chin +into the bedclothes covering the big knees he hugged; and +went on speaking: "And Jewish blood is strong red stuff +to have in one's veins, mind you! Great lawyers, great financiers, +great actors, singers, painters, writers—people who are +things and do things!—people who count—how many of them +have got it!—in bulk or else diluted. And some of the +prettiest women—and girls—" +</p> + +<p> +"You're thinking of Beryl!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I was thinking of Beryl...—Lee Levyson may belong +to a Yorkshire family. He says so, and I've no wish to +contradict him. And Dannahill blows a frightful lot about his +good old English ancestors. But all the same—" He broke +off to smile at his mother, who,—not as a rule demonstrative +towards her elder son,—was stroking his big wrist, and +half-absently trying to span it with the inadequate measure of her +thumb and middle-finger; and ended: "You can take it from +me that there ain't a single member of the Firm who oughtn't—if +the truth were worth telling—to have a capital 'J' on +his disc." +</p> + +<p> +"His disc?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I was speaking metaphorically. I mean the round tin +identification-tag that's sewn inside of Tommy's khaki jacket, +and worn on a chain soldered round his wrist when he's +going to the Front. Mine'll be 'Private J.B. Hazel, No. 000, +X Platoon, F. Company, 4th Battalion, 448th City of London +(Fenchurch Street) Royal Fusiliers.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Do they put all that?" +</p> + +<p> +"I rather think so, with letters for your religious denomination. +Con. for Congregationalist, Wes. for Wesleyan, Meth. for +Methodist, Bap. for Baptist, P.B. for Plymouth Brethren, +C.S. for Christian Scientist, Mug. for Muggletonian, C.E., +Church of England, R.C., Roman Catholic; J. for Jew, and +<i>Nil</i> if you aren't of any religion. And I'd put down '<i>Nil</i>' +for mine!" +</p> + +<p> +"What made you do that? Why not Church of England?" +</p> + +<p> +"But I'm not Church of anything, any more than you and +Maurice or the Lee-Levysons—or anybody!—belonging to the +set of people we visit and meet and dine.... Nice, pleasant, +sociable heathens—that's what we are, every one of us! We +have plum-pudding at Christmas; and salt-fish with egg-and-oyster +sauce on Good Fridays; and we drop in at Westminster +Abbey to hear the Carols; and at Westminster Cathedral or +Farm Street for the Passion Music;—or the Greek Church +near the Russian Embassy, because the singing is worth +hearing,—and other people go! And we scrum into St. Paul's for +a Public Thanksgiving—or a Day of Humiliation, or a big +Funeral or any other kind of Function.... And St. George's +Hanover Square for Society weddings,—or the Brompton +Oratory.... But religion.... Have any of us got it? ... 'You +can search me!' as the American fellow says in the +revue.... Still, if you'd like me to alter the letters on my +disc I don't mind doing it. Only—instead of '<i>Nil</i>' there'll be +a big 'J' for Jew!" +</p> + +<p> +She waxed shrill, driven beyond herself, used words long +forgotten: +</p> + +<p> +"But you're not one. You've never even set foot inside a +Synagogue. We don't observe the Shabbos—I mean the +Sunday!—we eat <i>triphah</i> meat like Gentiles. We're +<i>Meshumad</i>—apostates, don't you understand? Orthodox Jews wouldn't +even speak to us!—aren't we well enough as we are?" +</p> + +<p> +"Would my grandfathers have thought so? Or my +father?" ... +</p> + +<p> +She caught her breath and clutched at her bosom, the deep, +slow voice was so unlike the younger John's. Unobservant +of the consternation in her face, he went on speaking, +gradually recovering the manner and tone most usual with him: +</p> + +<p> +"Alive, they'd have disowned us. Not being alive—what +we observe or don't observe, can't affect them! The notion +of a dead man stretching out a hand from the grave, and +grabbing hold of his son by the scruff to drive the unlucky +beggar on in the ancient ruts of his own prehistoric prejudices +is exploded. For the dead are DEAD. There's no getting over +that! And to let their thoughts, feelings, desires, convictions, +influence us in Anything is to my mind, sheer sentimental +piffle." John blew himself out importantly and waved away +the subject, but came back, having something more to say: +"I'm an ambitious chap in my way.... I'd like to make +enough money on the Stock Exchange to buy the freehold +of Covent Garden; and turn the Market,—the Arcades,—the +shops and the Opera House into a Pleasure City,—run on +American lines. But I've no ambition to live after I'm +dead,—that I know of! ... If I get wiped out at the Front it +won't make any difference to me whether they stick a cross +over me—or a shield with some Hebrew letters painted on +a white deal board.... Beryl can get married the day after +if she wants to! ... <i>I</i> shan't ever know she's being kissed +by another man. Nor shall I be one jot worse or better off +because of the Good or Bad marks set against me. It matters +how you live your life, because Morality is necessary—to +preserve Health and maintain Decency, and so uphold the Law. +But when one dies one's done with!—and the wisest rule of +existence is, to live as long as possible, and enjoy things while +one can! To succeed, to become famous, that's the only +immortality—and to leave a son to carry on your name is a +way of cheating Death!" He ended this confession of his +creed by saying rather wistfully: "I meant to ask you.... +Do you—do you think there's any chance of Beryl's marrying +me before I go?" +</p> + +<p> +"To the Front! ... Why shouldn't there be? Why not +ask her?" ... +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks awfully for the tip. I will!" +</p> + +<p> +He was cheered by her absolute belief that he could not +but prevail. For if she had forgotten her faith, and turned +her back upon her people; she was a mother and a loving +one. There was motherhood in her face and in her voice +as she asked John: +</p> + +<p> +"Haven't you even told Beryl—what you—where you're +going, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"No! so if she's got a white feather keeping up her sleeve +for me, she'll be disappointed, that's all! My hat!—listen +to that clock striking! Do you understand it's gone two! +You won't have any beauty-sleep,—and I've got to be at +Regimental Headquarters at ten sharp to-morrow, to get my kit +with the rest of the Fourth Battalion, and weigh in at Eaton +Square at 11.30 to break the great news and show myself +to the girl." +</p> + +<p> +But when Mrs. Hazel had finally departed, John got out of +bed, switched on a light and searched on the shelf that +contained his private library, for a fat one-volume Encyclopædia +that had been a School Prize. After some delving in this mine +of knowledge, he emerged the wiser by the information +appended: +</p> + +<p> +"JEWS, an Asiatic race (Semitic), descended from the +Hebrew Patriarch Abraham. Original stock migrated 2,000 +B.C. from Ur in Chaldea, an important centre of civilisation, to +the land of Canaan (Phœnicia) and from thence in time +of scarcity to the rich pasture-lands of Egypt; from whence +tradition has it that their leader and lawgiver, Moses, was +divinely inspired to lead them, by way of the Red Sea Gulf +and the Sinaitic Wilderness. Through his teachings they +renounced polytheism and adopted a monotheistic form of +worship. Language, Hebrew, a variant of the Canaanitish branch +of the Semitic Group, approximating closely to Phœnician or +Moabite." +</p> + +<p> +The richer by this gem, John put back the book, switched +off the light and got back into bed. +</p> + +<p> +Sleep delayed in coming. As he stared wide-eyed into the +darkness, fragmentary recollections of that long-dead father +formed fresh pictures in his brain. He saw a room, with a +table laid for dinner with white napery and glittering silver, the +high child's chair by which he stood, a chubby boy in petticoats, +waiting for strong, gentle arms to lift him to the seat. +While the owner of the arms, a tall man, dark and grave, +washed his hands at a shining metal laver hanging on the +dining-room wall beside the door. The tall man wore his hat +during this ceremony, and the towel he used was long and +narrow, and had embroidered ends.... +</p> + +<p> +A similar laver had hung on the wall in his grandmother's +private sitting-room, John remembered; carefully dusted, but +never used by anybody as far as he had known. And over the +laver had hung a plaque of metal, embossed with Hebrew +characters: such a <i>mezusah</i> as one saw affixed to doorposts in +the City: thickening as one got nearer to Houndsditch: becoming +dense in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel Road and the +Commercial Road, E.... +</p> + +<p> +He was destined to enjoy no beauty-sleep that night. +</p> + +<p> +For this materialistic, hard-headed, commonplace young +City insurance-broker was loyal of nature, capable of warm +attachments; faithful in friendship and honourable; according +to his somewhat narrow Code. And the country in which he +had been reared, the home in which Life had unfolded for his +infant consciousness, the associations amongst which he had +developed from a gawky boy into a tall young man, were +English: and he had not known previously how much that meant +to him. +</p> + +<p> +England was John Hazel's England, the City of London his +by choice and adoption; the Tom Tiddler's Ground where he, a +citizen and a patriot, had meant to pick up as much of the good +stuff Money as he possibly could get. He loved Great Britain, +her history, traditions, rulers and institutions with a love blind, +instinctive, and deeply rooted, that embraced her Colonies and +the Dominions Beyond the Seas. He had never lumbered up +on his huge feet to do honour to the National Anthem; or +cheered the King and Queen and the Prince of Wales, and +other notabilities passing in procession to the Guildhall or +elsewhere,—or listened to a patriotic speech at a City dinner,—or +a West End public charity-function, without a big lump rising +in his throat. +</p> + +<p> +And since the blizzard of War had burst upon this, his +mother-country, and the new, strange, dreadful life had +replaced the pleasant, easy-going old one, his love for England +had become a rage. The tramp of martial boots going through +the darkened streets; the heavy roll of guns, ammunition and +baggage-lorries; the columns of bronzed faces under khaki +cap-peaks, streaming under arches of railway stations; the +dreadful news bruited by the newspapers, shouted in the +streets, clubbing you when you opened your Latest Edition;—the +mourning weeds on the backs of strangers and friends; the +darkness of streets and restaurants and public places; the +thickly-curtained windows of one's own home and one's +neighbours' houses; the Spy Scare—and the hovering, haunting +menace of Invasion by Aircraft—increased his patriotic fever +day by day. Great tears had splashed upon the dirty drab +paper he had signed when he enlisted. And they were the +tears of an Asiatic;—a Semite whose ancestors had come out +of Ur in Chaldea—and whose native language was a variant of +the Canaanitish thingumbob. Perhaps no genuine Englishman +would have shed them. And yet, some pathetic parting-scenes +at Railway Stations had removed John's previous impression +that hefty, hardy, masculine Britons are never known +to cry. +</p> + +<p> +One is sorrowful to remember that beyond the narrow range +of this young man's prejudices, and the stultifying influences +of his environment, extended boundless vistas of which a more +liberal and comprehensive range of reading;—fuel for the +engines of the winged chariot of Thought and Imagination—might +have made John Hazel free.... +</p> + +<p> +But he lay prone, dull and unimaginative; staring over the +bedclothes at the pale watery gleam of the dressing-mirror +opposite, while out of the mighty Past—reverberating and +flashing to this hour with the thunders and lightnings of +Sinai,—Patriarchs, Law-giver, Judges, Prophets and Sages, Poets, +Kings, Statesmen, Patriots, Preachers, Warriors, Artificers and +Craftsmen of vanished Israel and living Judæa—dominated by +One Figure, unspeakably more benign and glorious—looked +down in solemn pitying wonder on the young City insurance-broker, +who was depressed by the sudden discovery, that not +only on the father's side but on the mother's,—he had been +born a Jew. +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind, Old J.B.H.!" he told himself encouragingly. +"Even if your ancestors did come out of Egypt with Moses, +you're a pup of the Big Bull Bitch. And I'll tell you what, +my boy! Good old England may count herself thundering +lucky, if she gets a few hundred thousand others of the same +breed to fight for her in this War!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0202"></a></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +Panoplied for battle, in shoddy—misnamed khaki—of a +deadly stale-mustard hue, bound with braid of whitey-yellow, +garnished with the customary brass badges, buttons and +buckles, and completed with the brown leather belt, bayonet-sling +and bandolier; Private John Hazel—with a wire stiffener +in the crown of his cap, and his pampered flesh wincing from +the contact of the single Army rasper supplied him (for which, +in the first flush of patriotism he had discarded his customary +underwear)—presented himself before Beryl, his betrothed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, come now, Bur'l!" expostulated Muriel, Beryl's +younger sister, compassionate of John's immense discomfiture, +as Beryl subsided on the Rossmore couch in tears; and her +unlucky lover, standing huge and awkward in the middle of +the Wilton carpet, opposing his own full-length reflection in +a wall-mirror, realised that the collar of his tunic was +strangling, that his hands were bigger than he could have believed +them; and that the boots supplied by a grateful country would +have comfortably fitted a Brontosaur. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell him," moaned Beryl, "to leave me to my misery!" +</p> + +<p> +"She never used to mind poor Beechy in kharks," the +chagrined lover somewhat heatedly protested, on being +banished from the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +"Beauchamp was so handsome," said Beryl's sister Muriel, +with her dancing dark eyes suddenly softening in tears, "and +then you know,—he was an Officer of Regular Cavalry—and +you're only a Common Tommy. Of course at the bottom of +her heart Bur'l loves and respects you—but that's what's the +matter, John, old thing! Wangle a Commission as soon as you +can manage it"—the term "wangle" was coming into use just +then—"do something Frightfully Distinguished—and she'll be +as right as rain with you, really she will!" +</p> + +<p> +"Think so? ..." said John, with obviously artificial +lightness. "Well, say good-bye to her for me for now, will you! +And—my crowd were guarding the line of the South Western +until a day or so back—and if I'd screwed myself up to the +point of joining up before,—I might have wangled a +D.C.M. by dropping on a German in the act of laying a time-fuse +bomb in a tunnel. Now they've sent 'em out to Malta to train, +and yours truly and a band of other Brave Hearts—late +washouts!—are being sent after 'em! So by-by, little girlie—for +I've got to buy a Cardigan jacket and a few other things I +want. You might tell me Beryl's full Christian name—it's +got to go down in my Will, naturally!—and be entered for +reference with the Nearest of Kin, at the War Office—so that +they can let the old thing know if I get wiped out!" +</p> + +<p> +John felt in a baggy front-pocket for a pigskin note-book, a +parting gift from Maurice, and produced it, with a +gold-mounted fountain-pen. Muriel dimpled again roguishly, and +said with her bright eyes daringly challenging his own: +</p> + +<p> +"We've only one first name apiece—but they're not 'Beryl' +and 'Muriel'; nor are they particularly Christian, that I'm +aware...." Then the consciousness of their recent loss, and +her new black lisse, displaying a generous amount of slender +black silk-stockinged leg, failed to subdue her girlish sense of +humour. She clapped her hands and broke into a fit of +laughter while John stared at her uncomprehendingly, the +fountain-pen suspended over the memorandum-book. "Oh, +don't goggle at me like that!" cried the girl. "You're too +killing for anything! And so is your mother, and so is +Maury—and so are Dad and Mater, and nearly every one in +our set. And yet I'm Miriam—and Beryl is Rebekah—and +poor darling Beauchamp was Benjamin—though they aren't +going to have it on his memorial card, or stone! Do we really +forget we're Jews—or do we all pretend until it's second +nature? And why do we pretend—unless we're ashamed!—and +why on earth should we be ashamed, that's what I want +to know?" +</p> + +<p> +Thus Muriel, confessedly Miriam; and John had found no +better answer than: +</p> + +<p> +"Why you or any of us should be ashamed I'm hanged if +I know myself! But if ever I find out I'll write and tell you." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't forget!" said Muriel-Miriam. "I'm coming to the +door to see you off. Good-bye for now, J. old Bean! Put +one for Bur'l here;—" the tip of a pretty, well-manicured finger +indicated a particularly peachy place on Muriel-Miriam's right +cheek,—"and another of the same on this side, for me. Ta-ta! +I'll send you lots of cigs, when I know where you're training—and +parcels no end when you get out to the Front! And tell +me you'll go in for a Commission, and get a V.C. or +something,—just to brisk old Bur'l up!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! Tell her," said John with somewhat forced and +clumsy humour, masking the slowly-kindling resentment in his +heart, "that I mean to finish up my service in this War a +private in the ranks—where I began it. And that when I—if I +come back, she'll hear me singing: 'They've All Got a Sam +Browne But Me,'—long before I come in sight." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall listen for you!" said Muriel-Miriam, bursting with +laughter, "but you don't think I'm going to give that message, +I hope!" +</p> + +<p> +She did not pass it on; but her younger sister Ida, a sharp +child aged thirteen, who happened to be lingering in the +neighbourhood of the umbrella-stand, communicated to Beryl her +lover's parting message; to which,—or to the superior +attractions of a certain Captain Hawtin-Billson (back from the +Front with a shattered left arm and a Mention in Despatches) +may be attributed Beryl's subsequent breakage of the engagement +between herself and John Hazel, and the return of his +ruby and diamond ring.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +During the strenuous period of training that followed on +John Hazel's joining up, his large reserve-fund of conceit +was lowered by the merciless chaff of the ranks, and the vigorous +language of his platoon-Sergeant, whose little red-veined +eyes, glaring into his own, reflected in their muddiness his +puny insignificance. +</p> + +<p> +He learned to put on his puttees properly, clean his accoutrements, +make his bed and condense his pack to regulation limits, +under the instruction of one Lance Corporal Harris,—an +ex-Boy Scout of appalling efficiency—as well as to gulp +down his morning mug of tea, in defiance of the probability +of the fluid containing in solution an ounce of Epsom salts. +And by the time the Fourth Battalion of the Fenchurch Street +Fusiliers quitted their training-quarters at Malta, replaced +there by a Fifth Battalion created in the interval—and were +transferred to the fighting-line in Flanders; he had acquired +the soldier's much-prized gift of summoning sleep at will. +Also, he had learned to dispense with sleep, were the sacrifice +required.... After months of bitter fighting at the Front +he had learned to go unshaven, unwashed, and with unchanged +linen,—endure the plagues of vermin in a crowded, +unventilated dugout—share a fag with a man who had none; +smoke the Army gasper in lieu of anything better,—and +consume biscuit and bully mingled with dirt, and washed down +with burnt-bread coffee; or Pimmington's Perfect Soup +Substitute, boiled in a rusty jam-tin over a Tommy's Cooker,—with +a gastronomic rapture that a dinner at the Carlton, the +Ritz or the Savoy had previously failed to evoke. +</p> + +<p> +Also, John Hazel had learned to hold the Battalion in +limitless esteem; to regard the Regiment he had once despised +as a mob of clerks, shop-boys and warehousemen—as the pick +and pride of the Territorial Forces, and to graft on the slang +of the modern Londoner, the polyglottic argot of the War. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, and subsequently to Beryl's defection, he had +reconstituted his standard of the Ideal in Woman, after what +fashion and under what circumstances may now be set forth. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0203"></a></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +In the April of 1915, east of "that mad place called Ypres,"—a +city of ruinous white towers reddened by an angry sunrise, +lying ahead and to the left. A grim grey road leading from +Divisional Headquarters to the battle-front, a double crescent +of blown-in trenches ankle-deep in water, and bottomed with +West Flanders mud. A road fanged with the stumps of trees +shattered by H.E. and scarred by iron-shod wheels; pitted with +shell-holes, and generally knee-deep in sludge of an adhesive +character. A road along which progressed, under cover of the +darkness, long columns of men, guns and Army-lorries; +A.S.C. cars and motor-cycles carrying ammunition, supplies, mails +and despatches for the advanced trenches; unless German +star-shell or searchlights made it daylight, when traffic stopped +dead, to move on when the menace passed. +</p> + +<p> +Day found the road deserted as a rule, though German hate +played on it regularly at intervals, with rifle and machine-guns +and clouds of poison-gas. But sometimes under the leaden +scowl of a rainy day, or the brassy glare of a sunny one, the +road displayed a double moving line. This, when one of the +myriad little wars, presently to be merged in Warfare,—demanded +the attainment of some objective infinitely insignificant,—at +the cost of some great sacrifice of human life. +</p> + +<p> +On this particular April day, what time the British line +from Ypres southwards was strengthened—in default of missing +sandbags—with tins of uneatable jam of the apple-blackberry +brand, and equally bad corned-beef: columns of muddy +Londoners and Scotsmen with helmets and gas-respirators at +the alert, were going up to Support-trenches. Afoot +now,—having disembarked at a marked danger-point from the grey +Army lorries—or green and yellow motor 'buses that had carried +many of the Londoners to business in the days that seemed +so dim and so far off. And as they went, though shrapnel +burst about them, and High Explosive dug new craters beside +old, and wiped out a platoon or so in doing it,—they sang to +the accompaniment of mouth-organs; "<i>Keep the Home Fires +Burning</i>," or "<i>Piccadilly</i>," or "<i>I Love a Lassie</i>," or +excruciatingly-parodied hymns. +</p> + +<p> +But the troops that were coming down from the fighting-line +to rest-billets (mostly Canadians, red with rust, muddy to +the eyebrows, marching raggedly in companies or jumbled up +anyhow in the lorries), did not sing "<i>The Maple Leaf</i>" or "<i>My +Little Grey Home</i>." Many wore First Aid bandages smeared +with iodine; nine out of ten hobbled and coughed and vomited; +and the mucus they wrenched from their labouring lungs was +yellow and mingled not infrequently with blood. It was their +first experience of a German gas-attack, and the horror of +the strange and evil thing was upon them; and the reek of it +was in their clothes and breath. Yet those who could—called +out cheerfully to recognised friends; or grinned with their +cracked and swollen mouths in answer to cheery hails. Their +reddened eyes of sleeplessness stared out of haggard, unshaved +faces, and their muddy shoulders humped under their muddy +kit-packs, as though the muddy ground were drawing them +to lie down upon it and sleep. And every now and then one +would falter in his stride and smile stupidly; and heavily and +soggily collapse in the gluey mush. A comrade who had +energy enough left in him would kick and shake such a sleeper +into temporary wakefulness; or one of the men who perched +beside the drivers of the Hospital cars and +ambulances,—R.A.M.C. orderlies or Red Cross bearers, would play the +Samaritan thus, when the subject would stagger on, to fall +again. Or room would be made for him in some omnibus or +lorry where lightly-wounded or badly-gassed men were packed +like bloaters in a barrel, and so the game went on. +</p> + +<p> +Private John Hazel, crunching a muddy apple, trudged +through the sticky mud as part of a somewhat straggling +route-column representing the Fourth Battalion of the +Fenchurch Street Regiment. One novel sensation had that +morning thrilled the Terriers, stale with the deadly boredom +of life in the rear lines. Necks were yet being twisted to get +the last of it, and joyous comments tossed it from tongue to +tongue. A cow,—hidden away for months by an ancient +peasant in some subterranean stable in No Man's Land +(whence her milk had been retailed at the price of Veuve +Cliquot to the Canadians in the firing-line)—was being brought +down to the rear by her proprietor; her late lodgings having +been discovered and thoroughly spring-cleaned by a German +H.E. shell.... +</p> + +<p> +"Moi hoi, if it be-ant a cow!" said a voice that had the roll +and twang of Berkshire. "Coosh-coosh, Snowdrop, ole +beauty!" +</p> + +<p> +"My Gawd, she don't 'arf look natural, do 'er?" came from +a Cockney tongue.... +</p> + +<p> +Not a human unit of all those trudging columns but had +slewed his head to stare at Crummy, and sniff the homely +odours of hay and farmyard-muck that shook from her muddy +flanks as she kloop-klooped by. What though she had raw +patches of mange upon her withers—testifying to the poorness +of her diet and the closeness of her quarters! To men who +had not seen a cow, pig, cock or hen for weeks, moving upon +that devastated country of once prosperous farms, productive +fields, fruitful orchards, and stately rural mansions, the sight +was comforting; bringing reassurance that in regions as yet +unscathed by the frightfulness of War, yet were to be found +quiet and order, laughter and pleasure, savoury food, sleep +in one's own bed, and the humble, harmless things of +everyday use, that make life sweet by their very homeliness. +</p> + +<p> +Another sensation was in store that day, and though the +novelty of it wore off with retrospection, John Hazel's keen +enjoyment of the episode never blunted.... +</p> + +<p> +Down through the return-traffic on his left hand side, came +a stately fleet of motor-waggon ambulances of the Red Cross, +British and American; escorted by a train of Auxiliary Army +Service cars of all imaginable makes, nationalities and sizes, +from the aristocratic Rolls-Royce to the runabout Ford; from +the Mercedes-Daimler of the Parisian boulevards to the roomy +Schneider touring-car,—bringing wounded from the advanced +dressing-stations down to the clearing-hospitals six miles back +of the Reserve Lines. +</p> + +<p> +The grey ambulances passed, in a mingled whiff of carbolic +and iodoform: leaving a sense of grey paint, mystery and +merciful swiftness. The cars, mostly carrying sitting-cases—flowed +after them; steering neatly among the shell-holes, picking +their way with practised smoothness among the various +obstacles encumbering the road. And they left behind an +impression of still figures wrapped in brown Army blankets: +and grey-green or livid faces with closed or staring eyes, +shaded by sacking-covered steel hats or bloody bandages: of +an even stronger blast of carbolic and iodoform, and of Beauty, +calm, alert, composed and eminently practical. +</p> + +<p> +For all these auxiliary ambulance-cars were driven by +women: in the black leather overcoats of Foreign Service, with +D.B. Kitchener collars, and plain shoulder-straps with the +button of the Red Cross Society's V.A.D. The pick and pride of +the Old Country they seemed,—all young, or in the splendour +of the early thirties. The best blood in Britain, John Hazel +could have sworn,—raced under the sunburn of those quiet +clear-cut faces, topped by peaked storm-caps of Navy blue +cloth. He saw the neck of the lieutenant leading his platoon +blaze red between his sweat-blackened collar and the edge of +his tin hat, and the muddy glove swing up in the salute, as a +clear voice rang out gaily from a driving-seat: +</p> + +<p> +"He knows one of 'em. Lucky beast! I wonder—" John +had reached thus far in his conjecture when a pip-squeak burst +overhead with three sharp crashes; and a shell from a German +howitzer dropped in an ancient neighbouring shellpit, considerably +enlarging it—and producing the fantastic smoke-effect +known as "Woolly Bear." +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel bolted the core of his muddy apple, and +mechanically made sure that "they" had not got him this time. +The head under his tin hat was ringing, his eyes and lungs +were full of acrid vapour: but no shrapnel was located in any +portion of his frame. The cars were running by as smoothly +as ever.... You could see through the thinning fumes the +faces of the drivers, set like rock to confront War's risks and +chances: and a blatant pride in them surged up in John Hazel +and he caught his breath... They were his countrywomen.... +Then Wallis, his front-file man, suddenly fell back upon him, +knocking him breathless with his pack, and cutting his top +lip badly with the edge of his shrapnel hat. With blood +running over his long chin, blue and stubbly with bad shaving, +John held up Wallis, who was making queer, clucking, +farmyard noises: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Auch—auch—auch!</i> ..." +</p> + +<p> +"The bloody 'Uns," growled John's left-hand man to his +neighbour, "'as copped pore Ginger!" and the lieutenant ahead +looked around. Wallis had ceased clucking by now; and the +hand of John's supporting arm, where it went round across +his cartridge-belt under his tunic-pockets, was wet with the +usual warm, sticky stuff. And a voice that was clear-cut and +ringing called out something, and a car slowed down its +speed, and those behind it swept round and on.... And the +lieutenant was shouting through the myriad noises of traffic: +"If you can, it would be topping of you.... This isn't a +healthy road to stop on. Thanks frightfully! ... You, +Hazel, hoist him in and catch us up after! ... Forward. +March! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The V.A.D. driver had never quite stopped her car, John +Hazel remembered. She had checked it to a crawl and he had +kept pace with it, carrying the now rapidly-buckling Wallis—whose +head had dropped forward, and whose helmet had +fallen off—at the full stretch of his long arms since he stripped +the pack from him. A Red Cross orderly had taken it +together with Wallis's rifle. +</p> + +<p> +"No room behind!" came in the ringing, feminine tones. +"We're four over the proper load already! ... This seat +beside me ... the orderly can sit on the step. You'll be all +right there, won't you, Martynside? Now please lift when +I give the word; <i>Go!</i> ... Don't worry about the blood. Lean +your head against my shoulder!" She added for the cheer of +Wallis, who was trying to say something apologetic: "Quite +all right, if you're careful of my steering arm.... +Comfortable? ... All right, Martynside! And—don't be too anxious +about your friend. We shall look after him!" +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps something in the comrade's gaunt brown face, a +flare of wistfulness burning in his big hollow black eyes had +drawn the attention of the speaker. As a matter of fact, the +way in which her strong womanly shoulder had swayed to +meet Wallis's limply sagging head, had given John Hazel a +sensation as of plucking at the heartstrings. And—where had +he heard that voice before? ... She went on, answering +the hungry look in the gaunt black eyes that met hers: +</p> + +<p> +"You shall hear of him, if news can possibly be got to you. +I'll send a post-card if you'll give me your name. 'Private +John Hazel, No. 000, X. Platoon, F. Company, 4th Battalion, +448th City of London Regiment, Support Trenches, Ypres.' That's +quite all right! ... Your Reserve is at St. Jean.... +Hang on to this!" This being a thick, squat packet of Dundee +Butterscotch. "Good-bye and good luck! ... You'll be +coming down this way in a week or two." +</p> + +<p> +"If I don't get gassed or wounded.... Good-bye and +thanks tremendously!" +</p> + +<p> +John grinned, showing his big white teeth with the effect +of a sudden illumination in his gaunt brown face; and there +and then,—with a snort from the now rapidly-moving car, and +a nod and smile from the driver,—the little episode had ended. +Leaving John Hazel with a pleasanter flavour upon his mental +palate than the sour American apple had left in his mouth. +Something that was sweet with the aromatic sweetness of the +ripe gold-and-crimson pippin whose rich juices have been +perfected by the lightest touch of frost. And She had had the +frankest and most candid eyes, of the clearest cairngorm +golden-brown, that John had ever seen in a woman's head, +and a wide, kind, charming mouth, that had shown two rows +of dazzling teeth in a parting smile that had crinkled the eyes +deliciously at the corners.... And so they had parted; going +east and south-west, the V.A.D. to her clearing-hospital, the +Londoner with a new, strange warmth about the heart, catching +up his Company on the edge of a new-made crater, in time +to take over the duty of Harris, now platoon-Sergeant, killed +with three other men by a shell from "Silent Lizzie," the +terrible 5.9 German Navy gun. +</p> + +<p> +Thus the mantle of heroism had been transferred to the +broad, unwilling shoulders of John Hazel, from those of the +energetic young N.C.O. who had been to him as a thorn in +the flesh. He had loathed Harris, with his pink and white +complexion, his auburn quiff, and his appalling, crushing +efficiency. And Harris, who as a Boy Scout had passed every +imaginable test of ability and gained every badge obtainable,—had +warmly abhorred John, as the shrieking example of everything +a British soldier should not be.... +</p> + +<p> +"It's for your good I keep on what you call nagging at +you, Hazel!" would be the introduction to every exordium: +"A dirty soldier is a disgrace to his King and Country, and +that's what you'd be if you couldn't afford to bribe men you +consider your inferiors to wind your puttees tight, and fasten +'em properly, and keep your straps and buckles clean." +</p> + +<p> +Or: +</p> + +<p> +"It's for your good I follow you up, as you express it; and +when you're able to make a fire out of mud and rotten beet-leaves, +and an 'ot meal out of bully beef, ration-biscuit and +an onion, more like an Egyptian 'All professor of ledgerdemang +than a British Tommy'—which is like your nerve to use such +language, so much the better it'll be for you! Don't tell me +you can't keep your puttees from trailin' about your legs like +snakes and the rust from disguising the metal on your +'coutrements. Don't say you can put up with 'ardships, and that you +mean to stick it, ... To make Bad Better is your duty! and +to 'unker like an 'og in the slush of Belgium, when you could +sit on a faggot and keep reasonable dryish: and shiver when +you could 'eat yourself inside and out by a bit of +forethought—is your disgrace and not your praise!" +</p> + +<p> +And Harris would light the fire and set the stew going, or +thrust on his unwilling subordinate a portion of his own; and +depart cheerfully whistling, and ostentatiously in possession +of the equable temper which a Scout must never, never +lose!—leaving the prodded object of his zealousness frothing with +impotent rage. +</p> + +<p> +Small wonder that the alert personality of Harris, his +observant glance, unsparing criticism and unfailing Preparedness +in every emergency were,—with his orange quiff and the +trench-rings on his little fingers—by Private Hazel utterly +abhorred. +</p> + +<p> +After the clubbing of a certain German prisoner who had +treacherously shot a comrade of John's, Harris did not hesitate +to denounce Private Hazel as "a butcherly brute." Yet dying +on the edge of the big new crater hollowed at the roadside by +"Silent 'Lizzie," he used his last forces to faintly shout in +the stooped ear of his platoon-lieutenant: +</p> + +<p> +"Let Hazel carry on in my place, Sir! He's a filthy fighter—but +the best man we've got!" +</p> + +<p> +So, ex-Scout Harris died, true to the last to his ideals, having +played the game for his side right up to the end.... And +within twenty-four hours of reaching the second-line trenches, +Harris's reluctant deputy, saddled with the necessity of keeping +up Harris's reputation as a daredevil, had led a company to the +support of the front line in the place of a lieutenant wounded—and +had won the D.C.M. by a single-handed bomb-attack upon +an enemy machine-gun position,—which enabled our London +Terriers to charge over the parapet and clear out the wasp's +nest. Had been offered and respectfully declined promotion—on +the grounds that he didn't like responsibility!—and +had subsequently, in the act of drinking tea at the door of the +platoon dug-out—been knocked out of action by a splinter of +shell. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, adhering in death as in life to his policy of well-meant +aggravation, Sergeant Harris came between his bugbear and the +promised, longed-for post-card. For if indeed it had been sent, +it had never reached John.... Damn Harris! But what good +was there in damning Sergeant Harris? Hell wasn't the place +you'd catch that efficient young beggar going to. Hadn't he, +assiduously as he kept his body, looked after his cocky little +soul! In the gusts of fever that shook his brain as he lay in +his cot at the Receiving Hospital, John pictured Harris with +his quiff all curled and shiny,—dressed in the spruce white +clothing of the righteous—heard him with the ears of +imagination, shouting hymns that went with a marching swing. +</p> + +<p> +The fever subsided by and by, and, after four months of +bitter fighting, Private John Benn Hazel, No. 000, X. Platoon, +F. Company, 4th Battalion, (subsequently to a brief sojourn +at a French Base Hospital) found himself back in Blighty, +well pleased to be alive. He ended his final period of +residence as a patient at the Auxiliary Military War Hospital of +Colthill in Middlesex, in the July when German South-west +Africa surrendered to Smuts and Botha: and was pronounced +convalescent by the C.M.O. in the first week of December, +1915; the self-same raw, bleak and nipping day that saw the +Fenchurch Streets'—with other British forces transferred to +the Egyptian Expeditionary—embark for Salonika. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0204"></a></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +The bit of shrapnel irritating his left lung,—located there +by the X-Ray, but deemed by the surgeons unreachable, had +ceased to bother much; and the gas-bronchitis—another +souvenir of that mad place called Ypres—had quieted down to a +wheezy cough. John was lying back, rather damp and +exhausted after an access of this cough, when the Ward Sister +in charge that afternoon looked round the screen—there had +been three; but two of them had been taken away because the +patient was getting on so nicely,—to say that a visitor wished +to speak to him, Number Forty—if he felt well enough? +</p> + +<p> +"Tell the old girl they won't allow me to eat anything but +apples or Brazil-nuts,—and that I'm not to smoke more than +two cigarettes at a time!" +</p> + +<p> +John's homely effort at wit evoked an approving nod and +smile from the Sister. She vanished as the Hospital porter, a +one-armed ex-Guardsman who previously to Mons had been +a famous Regimental pugilist—came stepping lightly as a +cat over the highly-polished floor, carrying a 200-weight +coal-bucket. As the replenished fire began to crackle and blaze, +the Ward Sister returned, ushering a little, frail, bent old man, +with flowing hair and a patriarchal beard of the white that +has passed into straw-colour; sharp twinkling eyes under +penthouse eyebrows lighting a face of innumerable wrinkles, +reddish-pink and leathery like a marmoset's. He carried a tall +hat in one hand and a brown leather bag in the other, and +wore a black velvet skull-cap, greasy with faithful wear. A +round-collared, single-breasted overcoat of brown cloth, with +yellow horn buttons, revealed the bottoms of shiny black +trousers, ending in square-toed, black cloth-topped boots. The +boots were clogged with Middlesex mud, as though he had +walked from the station. A purple woollen comforter and +mitts to match, defied the December blasts. +</p> + +<p> +Firelight played bo-peep on the white ceiling, and chased +dodging shadows in and out between the neat beds, ranged +along the creamy walls of the long, cheerful ward, and winked +in the dark polish of the boards, and was reflected in the +glass-topped tables supporting pots of hyacinths and daffodils as +well as big blue-glass stoppered bottles of Perox: Hydro: and +Mercurial Sol:. But the unexpected appearance of his ancient +visitor had cast a glamour over Number Forty. His body +lay in bed in Colthill War Hospital. But in spirit he stood +in his Grandfather Simonoff's Hull counting-house, a boy of +three in diamond socks, strap-shoes and a blue jean +round-about, straining his sharp young ears for the rustling of a +paper bag. +</p> + +<p> +Peppermint rock, brown or white, was John Hazel's darling +weakness. His letters Home, during his sojourn in the trenches, +had invariably ended with a prayer for more peppermint rock. +And the sight of this queer old man evoked all sorts of +pungent memories connected with the favourite sweet stuff. His +big black eyes and the sharp little red-veined old eyes met, +and something like an electric shock passed between them. +And the shaggy penthouse eyebrows of the old man came +down, and then shot up to meet his velvet skull-cap—or the +cap came down to meet them,—and at the same moment his +ears wagged, and John Hazel knew him again. Twenty-seven +years were temporarily blotted out, and he was once more a +five-year-old—and old Mendel was feeling in the pocket that +bulged—and John Hazel found himself licking his lips—but +nothing but a blue-spotted cotton handkerchief came out of +the bulgy pocket. With this, Mendel—had he ever had another +name?—loudly blew his nose, and as the Ward Sister placed +a chair, and vanished with a whisk of cotton-print skirts +(notably shorter in this December of 1915 than the previous +uniform pattern), he uttered something in a strange, unknown +and yet familiar tongue: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Shalôm—shalôm!</i>" He added as he met the astonished +stare of John's gaunt black eyes. "You are like your father +as pea is like pea; and yet—when I wish peace to you in the +Holy Tongue, you don't understand me! A shame and a +sin!—but I'm not here to reproach you for being a Meshumad! +That's not my affair! You're not my grandson,—the Holy +One be praised!" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Bartoth—" John had exhumed the other name by +a strenuous effort of memory: "whether you are pleased to +see me or not, I'm very glad to see you! Do you object +to shaking hands?" +</p> + +<p> +"Behold!" Mendel blew his nose again loudly, and said as +he restored the blue-spotted handkerchief to the bulgy pocket; +"I am 'Mr. Bartoth' to the child I dandled.... You have +not kept the good way, but there is a good heart in you.... +You sit there with your medal on your breast—" a famous +Divisional Commander, visiting Blighty to enjoy a brief leave, +had looked in at the Hospital on the day previous, and +conferred on Private Hazel—with some laudatory expressions, +the Medal for Distinguished Conduct in the Field—"and you're +not too proud to offer your hand to Old Mendel—nor you've +not forgotten his name! Yet you were a babe of three years +when your father died, peace be upon him! and but four when +we lost your grandfather, peace be upon him! and too young +to say Kaddish; and now that your grandfather and your +uncles and your cousins are dead, peace be upon them! you, a +grown man of thirty-three, are ignorant as a babe. <i>Shaigatz!</i> +But it's no use to be angry. Besides, I must get back to +London in time to catch the four o'clock Express from St. Pancras. +I came by the 5.48 from Hull and got in at two o'clock noon." +</p> + +<p> +"Haven't you had anything to eat?—Won't you—" John +was beginning when the old man, who had sunk upon the +chair with a boneless limpness eloquently expressive of his +weariness, silenced him with a gesture of fierce abhorrence, +and he was fain to hold his tongue. +</p> + +<p> +"I have had all I want. Do you think my wife sent me +forth upon this journey without provision for my necessities?" He +had unbuttoned the brown coat and was fumbling in an +inner pocket, from which he finally drew forth a little packet +and a key. "Here—this belongs to you. It comes from your +grandfather Eli Hazaël—peace be upon him! and may his soul +be bound up in the Bundle of Life!" +</p> + +<p> +John received in his big palm a small but heavy something +rolled up in tissue-paper and tied with a little wisp of black +floss silk. Without opening, he sat staring at it, while Mendel +boggled about opening the shabby brown bag with a tarnished +Bramah key. +</p> + +<p> +"How did my grandfather and my uncles and my cousins +die?" he queried, rousing himself from a state of mental +stupefaction accompanied by a profound physical weariness, a +singing in his ears, and a familiar sweetish-saltish taste at the +back of his throat. And Mendel looked up from rummaging in +the now open bag with his veinous, knotted, shaky old hands, +to say resentfully: +</p> + +<p> +"How does any one die in these days except through the +War? ... The people of all the nations of the earth are +tearing at each other's throats—and not only the young +fighting-men, but the children and the aged, both men and +women!—these must suffer also.... Soon after the +Ashkenazim—" John knew he meant the Germans—"invaded Belgium, the +Turkish Army was—what is the word?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mobilised. Yes, the dirty beggars!" said John, employing +a less savoury term than beggar, "they've been stuffed up +with lies about the Kaiser being a Mohammedan, and they're +ready to back him for all they're worth. At Abu Zenima and +at Tor they gave us plenty of trouble; and they nearly rushed +Aden, last summer, when our best brigades and batteries +serving on the Suez Canal had been sent to the Dardanelles. +Lucky we gave them a gruelling at Serapeum—and stopped +their little game at mining the waterways of the Canal. As it +was they jabbed up the Grand Senussi to make Western +Egypt hot for us. His Bedwân are sniping at British troops +like blazes—our black garrison at Port Sollum are just sitting +on their thumbs. But anyhow we're keeping up our end +at Anzac and Gallipoli, and my crowd will be helping, I expect, +pretty soon. They've—damn this beastly cough! They've—" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Tsch—tsch!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +John stared as Mendel, who raised himself from stooping +nearly double over the bag, gesticulated at him violently with +papers in his withered claws. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Tschah!</i> ... Have I time to hear you tell of what is in +the newspapers these three weeks back? ... What I have to +do is to make known to you what the British Press thinks not +worth telling—the griefs of our people—and the manner of +their deaths. The idolaters—accursed be they! mobilised after +the Invasion. As their Young Turk Constitution of 1909 +made Arabs, Christians and Jews equally liable to military +service, your cousins,—like all other young men of the +district,—were marched to the recruiting office by the Turkish +soldiers who accompanied the <i>mouchtar</i> who came with the lists. +They were not allowed to return home for food, or money, +or clothing,—or to obtain the blessing of their parents,—but +hurried off to the <i>Hân</i>, locked up like animals with hundreds +of filthy Arabs: and sent from thence like prisoners—bare-footed +and half-naked—to reinforce the garrisons in Northern +Galilee. And your grandfather—he was living at the house +of his son Isaac, a country place near Haffêd—for years were +growing heavy on Eli Hazaël.... Even the strong back bows +under the burden of ninety-nine! And the spirit of Prophecy +came on him as he watched the young men Elias and Jacob +departing,—and he turned to his son Isaac and said: 'They will +not return, they are gone from us for ever, and you and your +brother will be the next to go!' This was on the 8th of August +of the Christian Era 1914, or, as we say, the 30th Ab of +5674.... Meanwhile the German Consul at Haifa is going +about the country, preaching to the Arabs how Germans are +not Christians like the French or British, but Children of +Mohammed the camel-driver, and worshippers of the Black +Stone. And that their Kaiser is the Messiah of Islam:—and +in all their Mosques prayers are made for the Sultan and +Hadji—" +</p> + +<p> +"Bill! ... Haw-haw!" John guffawed, pleased and tickled +by his own apt joke. +</p> + +<p> +"Peace, boy! and let me finish. This is no <i>chine</i> to set a +<i>Schlemihl</i> grinning. There is blood in it and anguish, and +tears! For Jewish and Christian recruits at the training-camps +were disarmed and stripped of their uniforms,—(khaki +and <i>enveriehs</i> which most had bought new at Turkish value +for fear of getting infected garments),—and put to labour +under the whips of Turkish gang-masters in the <i>taboor amlieh</i>. +Those are the working-corps that are building a new railway-branch +of the Central Palestine from El Tineh in Philistia +southwest to Gaza and southward to Beersheba—and making +military roads for the Turks between Saffed and Tiberias—in +case the railways should be cut off by the British by and by! +And others are sent to labour at construction-camps at Hebron +and Samaria. While at home in the other towns of Palestine +and the villages of the Colonies—the goods of Christians and +Jews were requisitioned, and silver and gold and jewels +plundered; fences torn up and olive-groves cut down, and evil +worked in many ways. Worse than all, shame has been +brought upon the matrons and daughters of Israel, even such +as Esther, the only daughter of your Uncle Isaac, a virgin of +eighteen years!" +</p> + +<p> +John flushed dark purple under his mahogany skin and +rapped out an ugly epithet: +</p> + +<p> +"Who was the ——— hound?" +</p> + +<p> +"He is one Hamid Bey, a Colonel of Turkish gendarmerie, +Vali of the labour-camps near Nazareth—high in the +confidence of the Turkish commander of their Eighth Army Corps, +and, like all the rest of the idolaters, lustful as an ape. And +she—<i>Achi Nebbich!</i> she was as a rose of Sharon! And word +came to her brother Jacob, who was working with the road-gangs +at Tiberias, his cousin Elias being a labourer on the +railway near Beersheba—peace be upon them! Therefore, +Jacob, with one Reuben Ephraim—their playmate from childhood, +and a fellow-labourer—who had an affection for Esther—as +she unto him, poor creature!—broke out of camp and +struck across the hills to Nazareth—careless of peril, raging +like furious wolves." +</p> + +<p> +"Wish I'd had the chance to make one of the party!" John +murmured. Old Mendel's croaking voice went on: +</p> + +<p> +"Now these two had determined to purchase exemption from +service,—notwithstanding that they were already enrolled,—for +such things can be done where the officers are Turks!—and +they brought with them the money, forty gold pieces of twenty +francs for each,—that is eighty pieces!—meaning to buy with +them the honour of the girl! They found out where Hamid +Bey was quartered—in the large new <i>Khân</i> near the <i>Hammâm</i> +that is at the north-east end of Nazareth, looking towards +the fig-orchards and vineyards and olive-groves that are as a +green fringe upon the borders of the Tiberias Road. News +had come through that Turkey was at War, and there was +terror in the hearts of the people.... First, the French +Christian Orphanage—then the Scotch Medical Mission—then +every hospital, school, convent or mission in the town had +been taken over by the Turkish Army Corps' Commander for +military uses—and Jewish and European houses were gutted +by the score. The streets were full of howling rioters—there +was concealment in such confusion,—so the young men lurked +in the gardens through the day, and Jacob kept close to the +sentry-posts and heard the password—thus when dusk fell +they passed the sentries, and came into the lower part of the +<i>Khân</i>. And with cunning they made their way up to the Bey's +apartment—and found him there with Esther. <i>Achi Nebbich!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Mendel's parchment forehead was wet with perspiration. He +mopped it and went on, screwing up his nose and blinking: +</p> + +<p> +"When she leaped from the divan shrieking and fell upon +her face at the feet of her brother and lover, the Bey's eyes +barely followed her,—he was already weary of his toy. He +covered the boys with his big German Army revolver—his +companion even in pleasure—and told them that he was +willing to hear what they had to say.... They said it, and +offered the money—as the price—not of Esther's honour—for +she was ruined already!—but to purchase her deliverance from +slavery with him." +</p> + +<p> +The veins on John's forehead were swollen and blackening. +Mendel's voice had sunk to a penetrating hiss. +</p> + +<p> +"The Turk—may Fire from Heaven consume him!—was +immovable by arguments and deaf to prayers. He would take +the eighty gold pieces—what Turk can resist money!—but his +Jewish concubine he would keep also. Then Jacob asked to +speak to Esther apart. No farther than the end of the room, +distant from the door and windows.... To this the Bey +agreed, smiling, turning his tongue between his lips, +and—keeping the German Army revolver—they all have them—and +Zeiss binoculars!—ready in his hand. Then—Reuben says:—" +</p> + +<p> +"Was it <i>he</i> who told you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of that presently! Then Jacob embraced Esther and +Reuben as one that taketh farewell for a journey—while +Reuben watched them shudderingly, knowing what should come! +The Turk signed that Jacob should hand him the bag of money—and +this Jacob did. Bowing obsequiously before the son of +Satan—who, thrusting the revolver in its pouch—gripped the +bag, with one hand—and with the other patted the youth upon +the cheek that was as fair as Esther's—and touched with the +first growth of the black silken down...." +</p> + +<p> +John would have said "Go on," but he couldn't. The little, +eyes like glowing embers held him spellbound, as they burned +into his own.... +</p> + +<p> +"Suddenly Jacob sprang like a leopard on the revolver, +wrenched it away and leapt to his feet. The Bey set his +whistle to his lips and blew,—and his servants and orderlies +came running in tumultuously. But not so quickly but that +two shots had cracked out—and the room was ringing!—and +the brown cordite smoke hung under the ceiling in a thin +cloud, smelling of aniseed, and mingled with the smell of +scorched flesh and hair. For—Jacob—peace be upon +him!—had thrust the pistol-muzzle close against the girl's temple +when he shot her—and fired the next bullet into his own +mouth!" +</p> + +<p> +"How on earth did Reuben get off?" +</p> + +<p> +"He cannot tell me. The Lord knoweth! But he found +himself running through the night like a deer,—with shots and +shouts dying out upon the distance—and when he ran into the +dawn of the mild November day, lo! there was blood upon +his naked feet! Esther's and Jacob's! ... But why should +there have been blood upon his hands, and a dagger in +one of them—bloody also? ... He does not know! ... A +frenzy was upon him. The country was searched for him, +but he had found a friend who kept him well hidden. He was +the American Consul at Jaffa, and in the safety of his shadow +Reuben dwelt for many days. Then he found means to +communicate with his family. From them he learned that +Elias—the cousin of Jacob and Esther who was working on the +Beersheba Railway,—had suffered the punishment of the +<i>falagy</i>. Why? For abetting his cousin—of whose deed he +knew not!—in an attempt upon the life of the Bey at +Nazareth—" +</p> + +<p> +"What is the <i>falagy</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"The bastinado. Beating with green rods—<i>asâyisi</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"On the soles of the feet. Oh—well! One's often heard +of that, hasn't one?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Schlemihl!</i> Are there not beatings and beatings? The +<i>asâyisi</i> to punish—the <i>asâyisi</i> to maim and torture! The +<i>asâyisi</i> until there is no shape of humanity left in the body, +and even the mother of the man would not know the putrid +mass of bloody flesh for the child she bore and bred! So thy +cousin Elias died. And after that there was no peace for the +house of thy grandfather Eli. His son Amos, and Shemuel,—the +second son of Amos,—were mobilised to go south with +Labour Corps of Jews and Syrians.... Digging trenches +for the Turks to hold the railway at El Arish, they dug their +own graves, upon them be peace! The two sons of their sister +Sara were taken prisoner by the British at Kantara, and +related their story, and were kindly used. They joined the Zion +Mule Corps and went to Gallipoli. Perhaps they live, +perhaps they met their deaths—carrying ammunition under +shell-fire on the Peninsula! But they are the sons of +daughters—not the sons of sons! To make an end—being warned that +the vengeance of Hamid was to fall upon his house, thy +Uncle Isaac—the father of Esther and Jacob—took the child +that remained to him, even Benjamin, his darling—who was +not of age to serve,—and with money and papers hidden upon +them, the two escaped in disguise. I will not tell you after +what fashion—but wives and mothers are cunning at these +deceits when their dear ones are in danger!—and father and son +arrived in safety at Beirut." +</p> + +<p> +"And did they get away?" +</p> + +<p> +"Woe, woe! Isaac was recognised by the Turkish wharf-inspector +even as he lifted the boy into the boat that was to +take them to the American steamer. They were dragged to +prison—they died in prison, and that last blow slew your +grandfather. Peace,—peace upon them all! The wives of +Amos and Isaac live still, and two of Amos's daughters; but +what are women to a house that needs sons that are begotten +of sons! Now that the old man's white hairs have been +brought to the grave by sorrow, the house of Eli Hazaël is +represented by whom?" Mendel blew his nose sonorously +and finished: "Whom but your brother Maurice and yourself!" +</p> + +<p> +John was conscious at the back of his mind of a tingle of +eager—let us call it expectation. He asked, carefully +divesting his tone of excitement in any undue degree. +</p> + +<p> +"Do I understand that—there's money in this business?" +</p> + +<p> +"There is much property, both in land south of Mount +Carmel, and in the export business-houses at Alexandria, and at +Jaffa and elsewhere. There is money lying at the <i>Crédit +Lyonnais</i>," John's black eyes kindled. "Also at the <i>Deütsche +Palästina</i> Bank Branch at Jaffa,"—John whistled dismally—"and +the Anglo-Palestine Banking Co."—John blew a sigh +of relief. "And there is the stewardship of the olive-groves +and vineyards of Kir Saba—the title-deeds of which property +(the original mortgage on it having now expired, and the sum +lent having been recovered, with the interest)—must—this is +the word of your grandfather!—be formally given over to +those to whom it rightfully belongs. Here! Take the +documents! Thou hast the ring aready!" +</p> + +<p> +Mendel jumped up quite briskly, and deposited a double-handful +of documents, account-books and bank pass-books +of foreign appearance and exotic odour, in the hollow where +the coverlet dipped between John Hazel's knees. +</p> + +<p> +"A copy of your grandfather's Will is with them—" He +picked out a long, tough, yellow envelope, directed in a round +Levantine banking-house handwriting to "John Ben Hazaël, +Esquire, London, England," and resumed: "This is it. The +original is in the keeping of the old gentleman's solicitors, +'Abel Manasseh, Ephraim & Co., Rue Jerusalem, +Jaffa.' Reuben,—who brought the news and the papers!—is the junior +partner in the firm. There's a holograph letter from your +grandfather, peace be upon him! written in Hebrew—and a +sheet with a translation I have made for you, seeing that you, +Eli Hazaël's heir, know nothing of the Holy Tongue!" +</p> + +<p> +"His heir! ... Look here! ... You ain't talking through +your hat when you say there's a goodish property?" +</p> + +<p> +"Your English slang sounds unto me as Hebrew to you, a +mere gibberish without sense or meaning!"—Mendel shook off +the large, loose grip of the young man from his arm. "The +Sons of Perdition—the Turks!—have wasted and spoiled +much land that lay under cultivation; and the wine-vaults of +the Colonies have been gutted, by those of them who break +the Law of their Prophet,—and also by their German Allies. +Also, of the money in the Deütsche Palästina little, if any, +may be recovered now. But, despite this, and the provision for +the females living—there is still a great property! Supposing +three hundred and eighty thousand pounds British," the +glowing eyes were watching John's face narrowly: "is enough to +make it worth your while to live as a good Jew?" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0205"></a></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +"What? ... Who? ... Me! ... Great Moses in the Bulrushes!" ... +</p> + +<p> +"Profane not the name of the Lawgiver," said Mendel +sternly. "Is it not reasonable that the father of your father +should desire you to cast off your Epicureanism, take upon +you the Yoke of the Torah, and cease to become a sinner in +Israel?" +</p> + +<p> +"Reasonable—from his point of view! But—Me kiss a +Mezuzah nailed on the doorpost, and reel off long prayers in +a synagogue with my hat on—and my head wrapped in a +shawl!" +</p> + +<p> +"The Orthodox would respect instead of despising you." +</p> + +<p> +"But my own set! What price they, I should like to know?" +</p> + +<p> +"Their price—do you ask their price?" The fierce eyes +flashed, the beaky nose looked capable of pecking. "For half +of the great sum that is in question, there are not three among +your associates—lewd men and loose women!—that would not +kiss the buttocks of the Goat of Mendes, and spit upon the +Cross! For they are not even Christians. They are as the +brutes that perish. And you—another brute!—plant your +hoofs and lay your ears back—and bite at the hand that tries +to pluck you by the garment back from the brink of the +bottomless Abyss!" +</p> + +<p> +"Look here! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Under the accusing glare of Mendel's little red-hot eyes, +various deviations from the straight path of morality +condoned by John as natural and even pardonable,—assumed a +much less harmless character, and even took on an ugly and +sinister hue.... +</p> + +<p> +Since John Hazel had left school at the age of eighteen, a +string of young women of garish attractions and uncommonly +easy virtue,—flaunting blossoms plucked by the wayside—in +the City or the West End—had succeeded one another in his +temporary affections. There had been several more or less +quite serious entanglements, one of which had threatened to +effloresce in a Divorce Case, but fortunately had not. There +had been—previous to John's engagement—numberless rather +rowdy jaunts; all-night Launch Parties; excursions to Pleasure +Resorts: Seaside-hotel, Thames-side-hostelry-Saturday-to-Mondays,—enjoyed +by John as member of an association, +small, select, eclectic, expensive; rather artistic, decidedly +sporting; semi-literary, slightly theatrical and wholly +Bohemian in character,—rejoicing in the title of the Cocky-Locky +and Henny-Penny Club. +</p> + +<p> +Not so out-and-out Improper, these gay and giddy galas.... +Of course you couldn't take your mother to them! but you +could, with a little careful editing, tell her amusing stories +about them—now and then. +</p> + +<p> +It was at a symposium of Club members, assembled at a +riverside hostelry in the summer of 1913, that John had +encountered Birdie Bright. Ostensibly a Beauty of the Chorus, +Birdie, a young person of lowly origin, pronounced good looks, +accommodating affections and expensive tastes in jewelry, furs, +sweets and <i>lingerie</i>, had played the part of Zobeide to John's +Harûn Er Raschid—practically until the arrival of Beryl on +the scene. +</p> + +<p> +She had vowed herself "broaken harted" in several despairing +letters, written in an immense angular hand in ink of +vivid green, upon sheets of pink ribbed note. But John had +been generous—even Birdie admitted it!—as she took his +advice, and put away the consolatory wad of crisp ten-pound +notes that had sweetened the bitterness of parting, carefully +in the Brixton Branch of a solid and reliable Bank. +</p> + +<p> +Since Beryl's heartless breakage of her betrothal vows, the +image of Miss Birdie Bright, previously effaced from the +surface of John's heart, had revived in all its pristine charm +through the whitewash that had coated it. To a letter from +John in Hospital, Birdie had effusively responded—in +passionate purple ink this time,—and in a bigger hand-writing than +ever. The telegram appointing a day and an hour for her visit +to her erstwhile lover's bedside was written, and wrapped +round a half-crown in the pocket of his pyjama-jacket, in +readiness for despatch. +</p> + +<p> +That wire would have been sent an hour ago—had not the +convalescent Sapper of Engineers—to whom belonged the +next bed—gone off in such a hurry to the Pictures with his +young woman that he forgot—and now Birdie would never +get it! Nor would the letter enclosing John's cheque, soliciting +from the Secretary of the Cocky-Locky and Henny-Penny +Club, re-election as a member of that interesting association, +ever be posted now.... +</p> + +<p> +Seen through the stern medium of Old Mendel's spectacles, +the periodical revels of the C.L.H.P. took on a tinge +of hellishness—became a very Witches' Sabbat. And Birdie, +viewed through the same merciless, unsparing lenses, became +even as one of the harpies that devour young men and lead +them in the Way of Destruction. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0206"></a></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +"And what more is required of you, young man," the +harsh voice went on croaking, "in return for this fortune, than +to carry out the instructions of your elders: to follow cleanliness; +to do justly; to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy +God! But I have done. Time does not avail for more. Study +what is written on that paper I have pinned within the letter +in Hebrew. I am old, and the fountain of my tears is dry, +but mine eyes were moistened when the good old man +entreated of his last descendant—even with his foot upon the +threshold of Death.... Stay, I will read to you his letter. +Listen to this!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>John, son of John, my youngest and best-beloved! All thine +elders being removed by the Will of the Most High, it falls to +thee to take upon thee the Guardianship of the Sacred Ashes, +and the Keeping of the Ancient Shrine. Thou wilt not refuse? +Oh, child of my child!—the hand that pens this page, before my +very eyes into the dust is crumbling. Wouldst thou live as +long? Then be dutiful. Wouldst thou be happy? Happiness +is the gift of Heaven, but a good conscience brings peace. +Seek then the peace, and happiness will follow. If the dying +prayer of an old man is granted, Those Others that have been +before me may be permitted to guide thee in the Way wherein +thou shouldst go. Farewell! Forget not to say Kaddish for +thy father's father;—Eli Ben Hazaël.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The voice: not Old Mendel's croak, but a deep voice rolling +out of the mist of centuries, wakening sub-conscious memories, +thrilling along the nerves to energise long-atrophied cells +in the listener's brain, ceased: and the icy thrills left off +coursing down John Hazel's spinal column, and his strong, wiry +hair left off bristling and lay down. The paper crackled as +it was thrust once more into the envelope, and tossed back +upon John's lap. John said, clearing his throat and speaking +with some degree of huskiness: +</p> + +<p> +"I don't quite tumble to the meaning of all this about the +Guardianship of the Ashes and the Keeping of the Shrine, +but, of course, I'd say Kaddish for him—like a bird—if I +knew it! I'm not quite such a howling brute as you seem to +think! Didn't you make me say it for my father when I was +a little kid in petticoats? I seem to remember something of +the kind." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if I did, was it not a good deed? But now that you +are man grown you have cast off the faith of your fathers. +And Kaddish cannot lawfully be said by one who is not a +Jew! When you have made up your mind whether you will +be a rich Jew—or a heathen no better off than many +others—write to me at your uncle's Hull address!" Mendel, who had +resumed his seat, snapped his mouth shut, and snapped shut +the calfskin bag—and stood up and went on—in the act of +buttoning the single-breasted brown great-coat. "As to the +Shrine, it's at Alexandria, and the Ashes are naturally where +the Shrine is—not that I've any information to give you on +that point. But the other—less sacred obligation—you may +discharge as soon as you see fit. The accounts and the +documents touching Kir Saba—some of them are very old and +should be handled carefully!—must be taken to Scotland and +delivered to the representatives of the original mortgagor, +whose address is there written—by no other hands than your +own. A gift of five hundred pounds English has been +bequeathed you by your grandfather,—without further condition +than that you render him this service. The cash will be +paid you by a cheque upon London as soon as I receive the +receipt for the documents. You will naturally not part with +them without receiving this acknowledgment. Take care! +Haven't I warned you?" +</p> + +<p> +John's big fingers were prying into a flat wallet of mouldy +parchment sewn with something like ancient silkworm-gut, and +containing an oblong of crumbly brown.... +</p> + +<p> +"What on earth is it? ... It looks like seaweed.... Or +an old felt sole out of somebody's boot! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"It is the original Title Deed of the Tower of Kirjath +Saba and the lands about it, granted by the Emperor +Vespasian to the Tribune Justus Martius, of the Tenth Roman +Legion: on the tenth day of the month of Ab—that is, August, +in the second year of his reign." +</p> + +<p> +"My holy hat! That was Anno Domini 70, when the Romans +under Titus took the Temple at Jerusalem and burnt—" +</p> + +<p> +"Not burned but demolished, according to Josephus—the +walls of the Upper City alone being left standing—to shelter +the garrison chosen from the Roman Tenth Legion!—together +with the three great towers built by Herod—in order to +demonstrate to Posterity how glorious a city had been cast +down.... Woe! for the madness and the wickedness of the Pagans. +Alas! for the Sacred City, a chattel in the hands of the +filthy unbeliever even to this day! Who shall restore the +glory of Jerusalem, or give back life to the dead place, or +cleanse the robe of snowy wool that hath been defiled by +pitch?" +</p> + +<p> +"I've heard you reel off things like this before, haven't I, +when I was a little beggar? I say! Do you know this rotten +old sheepskin is pretty well priceless? Why, it's about one +thousand eight hundred and forty-five years old! Those +Johnnies at the British Museum would hand over a pot of +cash for it." +</p> + +<p> +"Have I not told you to lose no time in returning the +document to its owner? Let him deal with it as he will! There +is another parchment, the original Deed of Mortgage dated +in your Christian Era 1146. Money was lent by Issachar Ben +Hazaël, of Joppa (they spell it 'Jaffa' in these days)—to +the Mortgagor, Sir Hugh Forbys, (they write his name +'Hew'), Knight, and lord of the Strong Tower of Kir +Saba, in return for the right of user of the Tower, with its +groves, gardens, springs and vineyards; and all the 'purtnans' +for the 'makyn of wine.' When the cash with the interest, +should be recovered, the Title-Deed was to be given back +to Forbys.... These later records continue unbroken up to +the June of the Christian year 1914. Examine them at your +leisure. They are faithfully translated and clearly typed." +</p> + +<p> +John answered and said unto the aged man, not being +unmindful of the bequest of £500. +</p> + +<p> +"You make my head spin, chuckling about centuries as +though they were marbles! But I give you my word of +honour, I'll swot all the documents up. When have I to go +down to hand them over to these Scotch people? ... I +suppose they do have some sort of a name?" ... +</p> + +<p> +"They are a family of high repute and ancient standing +on the Border. The Forbis of Kerr's Arbour, Tweedburgh, +N.B. Have you at any time heard of them?" +</p> + +<p> +"Never in my natural! They seem to have been thunderingly +pally with us Hazels somewhere about the Bronze Age.... +Do you know 'em at all?" ... +</p> + +<p> +"Ask not foolish questions. What are the people to me? +For a reason that the documents will clearly explain to you, +they have had no intercourse with your family since the time +of the Seventh Crusade." +</p> + +<p> +"I wonder whether they'll be likely to know me when they +see me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Be not a Schlemihl! Where is the ring?" +</p> + +<p> +"Which ring? You know, my head is fairly buzzing with +all this business! ... You've dropped on me like a sandbag +out of an Observation Rupert. Here—I've got it! Some +ring!" ... +</p> + +<p> +"It is a black onyx, a Greek gem of price, carved with a +head of the Pagan Hercules and in an ancient setting of gold. +It was given to your ancestor, Hazaël Aben Hazaël, by the +Roman Prætor Philoremus Florens Fabius, at Alexandria, in +the reign of the Pagan Emperors Diocletian and Maximianus—about +the beginning of the fourth century of the Christian +Era." Mendel added as John groaned again at this fresh +evidence of antiquity, "This signet now belongs to you as +head of the House of Hazaël. Let me see you put it on the +third finger of your right hand!" +</p> + +<p> +John obeyed. The great ring fitted the big finger as though +it had been made for it. The intaglio, worn thin by time +and chipped at the edges, was still beautiful, and though the +tiny Greek letters at the lower left-hand corner signified +nothing to its new owner—the signed work of a master-hand. +John commented: +</p> + +<p> +"He must have been a hefty chap, that old Hazaël!" +</p> + +<p> +Mendel responded, buttoning up the brown overcoat: +</p> + +<p> +"Your race have always been noted for breeding men of +extraordinary strength and stature. There is a fellow-ring +to this, I am given to understand, in the possession of the +Forbis family. It is in high relief, this being the intaglio. +Remember, you will bequeath the signet to your elder son, +after you: as an heirloom which must always be in the +possession of the chief male of the line." +</p> + +<p> +"Carrying on as though one was Rob Roy M'Gregor," John +remarked mentally. Then as Mendel made a strangle-knot +in the purple woollen comforter, adjusted his mittens and was +about to re-lock the brown bag: +</p> + +<p> +"Here," he said suddenly, "you had better keep this for +putting those papers in. Can't leave them lying about on the +bed! It's a bit old, like me, and the worse for wear, like both +of us. But I shan't improve, and you're getting over the +wound you got"—he jerked his thumb as indicating a +locality,—"over there. In the trenches. In Belgium." +</p> + +<p> +John explained at some length, Mendel seeming to expect +it—that the bit of shrapnel in his lung-tissue was of +exceedingly small size. That the symptoms of slight pain and +breathlessness which had persisted long after the healing of the +chest-wound, had almost vanished under treatment which had +involved absolute rest: the avoidance of talking; a sitting +position maintained constantly, and small but frequent doses of +morphia. +</p> + +<p> +"Morphia, eh? Dangerous stuff. Done with it now, let's +hope!" said Mendel jerkily. "Put back the papers in the bag +when I've gone, and mind you always keep it locked! Look +here!—I've left you the key. And so you're convalescent!" He +went on in quite a different tone, suggesting that he had +only dropped in to inquire about the patient's health about +five minutes previously: "Well, well! And going out of +Hospital in another week—I think you said?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not quite that, I didn't say!" pronounced John in his +English. "The C.M.O. pronounces me Posh, and the Military +Medical Examination Board'll be sure to certify me Fit for +Service. I expect to be drafted out to the Mediterranean +pretty shortly—my battalion of the Regiment having got +transferred to the Eastern Expeditionary Force." +</p> + +<p> +"Say not to Gallipoli, that shambles whither British soldiers +are sent as sheep to the slaughter! Stay, I babble +foolishly! Have I not knowledge that the British forces were +yesterday withdrawn?" +</p> + +<p> +"The hell you have! Why, where did you get it?" +</p> + +<p> +"I made no reference to the Place of Burning. As to my +knowledge, it is common to the elders among our people: a +nation that received enlightenment from the Most High in +dreams and visions, when the naked woad-daubed savages of +these British Isles were howling to the Moon.... Make not +calf's eyes at me! ... Did not naked savages cry news for +hundreds of miles from hill-top to hill-top in the War with +the Booren!—and was not the murder of the Gentile General +Gordon at Khartoum known within the hour to the idolaters +in Damascus! What I tell you is—there is no doubt at all!" +</p> + +<p> +"But—but—they don't say a word about it in the papers!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Prrtsch</i>! Is not that what the papers are for? And now, +when do you think to get back to business? I mean business +in the City—not that of killing other men. Though, as to +the slaying of enemies," added Mendel, with strange yellow +fire burning under his shaggy eyebrows, "the Kings and +warriors of Hebrew race have slain when slaying was necessary. +Saul his thousands and David his tens of thousands and +Joshua—who knows how many hundreds of thousands of the +Amorites and Canaanites! Nay, in your own veins there runs +the blood of famous men of battle. You should inherit, with +your frame and muscles, a measure of their fighting blood." +</p> + +<p> +"Can that be why I sing whenever there's a scrap on?" +asked John, reflectively rubbing his ear. +</p> + +<p> +"When scraps are on what? Tell me again, employing +plainer language," acidly commanded the old man. +</p> + +<p> +"I mean, when I've—not often it's not been—worse luck!" +returned the young man in his slipshod grammar, "but now +and then—come really to close quarters with the—the enemy, +you know." ... +</p> + +<p> +"The Germans? Have no fear!—I am a Damascus Jew +and not an Hebrew of the Ashkenazim.... It matters not a +<i>yod</i> to me how many you have killed. What is this about +singing—when do you sing?" +</p> + +<p> +John scowled and the dark red flush began to creep up +under his dull brown skin. He said gruffly, avoiding the +inquisitive old eyes that raked him, by looking past the edge of +his sole remaining screen down the vista of the long, clean, +shining ward, at the big fire blazing in a deep old-fashoined +grate.... +</p> + +<p> +"Why, at first when I went to the Front—no amount of +stabbing stuffed sacks and shooting at dummy men—and +bombing others—could"—his prominent Adam's apple jumped +as he gulped, and his speech came from him in spurts of +broken sentences—"bring me to swallow the idea of—killing +them. Well!—first two hours of the Real Thing—I was sick +and cold with sheer fright—just gibbering with horror! Then +we advanced, went in with the bayonet—and I—began to +like it, quite! Though when—some of us—got back and I +saw—a—a—Hair and a—a—Blood on my—on mine!—that +I'd got to clean off or get Hell from the Sergeant!—I was +as sick—I give you my word!—as a chap who's been ordered +to drink a tin-cupful of cold-drawn castor without a bit o' +lemon to chew. Well, then, you see, as I was retching, comes +along the N.C.O. and hands me out some chaff! 'Sick now +bedad!' he was a wiry little Irishman, with a brogue thicker +than the mud—'Sick, are ye?—the big bucko that was singin' +as he hoisted Huns to glory wid the Haymaker's Lift!' Well, +of course I thought the beggar was joking—but next time—" +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, yea!—what happened the next time?" +</p> + +<p> +Old Mendel rubbed his withered hands and smiling widely, +revealed the fact that his still sound and white teeth were +worn down quite level with the gums. +</p> + +<p> +"Next time? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Next time was—rather a personal affair. Mind you—I've +never talked about this to any other Service fellow. There's +something different about their point of view. It was in +March last—we'd been doing reserves at Richebourg St. V.—in +the Neuve St. Chapelle racket, and after the battle we were +taking our turn in the front-line trenches and making +barricades! Shooting, you may guess, for all we were worth, +and Fritz was handing it back with the Mauser, besides +throwing 15 and 17-inch shells at us and enfilading our parapet +with sprays of bullets from one of their machine-guns. The +air was full of bangs and squeals and whistles, and every +minute men were toppling over: and the fellow on my right +was a pal of mine: we'd chummed up together like—a—like +bricks! Well, there was a badly wounded German near, lying +outside in the thick of it. Harding—my chum—put down his +gun, gave me a wink—went over the top—sniped at like +anything!—brought the lousy beggar back—gave him a drink,—put +a coat under his head: and stowed him away behind us +at the bottom of the trench, to wait for the stretcher-bearers. +Then he came back to his place by me, loaded and went on +shooting." +</p> + +<p> +"And then?" +</p> + +<p> +"Then, he—my pal—Harding—started rotting in his usual +way; and I'd just said to him in my usual way, 'Do dry up, +you silly, brainless lunatic!' when a revolver banged behind +us, and Harding fell over on me, and I was all one smother +with blood and brains—<i>his</i>! When I'd just told him he +hadn't—you see the point of it?" John's mouth was stretched +in laughter, but he shuddered as though cold. +</p> + +<p> +"He—" Old Mendel's eyes were fierce under their bushy +brows as he nodded, saying: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Day—day</i>! ... It does not need to be more plain. I +understand thee clearly. The German lying at the bottom +of the trench had shot the man who brought him in, through +the head, from behind.... We have wolves in the +Anti-Lebanon—and when taken they will fight to the death.... +It is wisest to despatch them at once with the loaded club, +whenever you find them trapped. But what didst thou do +to thy wolf, O David! when the blood of thy Jonathan was +wet upon thee?" +</p> + +<p> +"I—went for the brute with the butt,—like mad!—and +bashed him into jelly." John shuddered and felt for his +handkerchief and mopped his face and neck. "He shot at +me—twice—and nearly got me, but I—just bashed on!" +</p> + +<p> +"And didst thou sing as thou didst smite?" +</p> + +<p> +"They—they said—when they got me away, and it took a +lot to hold me!—they said I talked a gibberish that nobody +could understand." +</p> + +<p> +"But I—possibly—might have understood it!" Old Mendel +nodded knowingly and briskly rubbed his hands. "Well, +well?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, after that I made no bones about killing Germans. +There were nights when I used to creep out of the trench +(nights when there was nothing much doing) with a white +cotton Pierrot's costume I'd picked up pulled over my khaki, +because of the star-shell showing me up dark against the +snow—and until the enemy got too knowing, I made quite a bag +every week—of Lonely Fritzes on Advanced Posts. Fellows +began to look at me rather queerly. I think I'd got a name +for being a bloodthirsty kind of beast. And the officers of +my platoon'd say to a man who was noisy and wanting in +caution: 'If you let a cheep out of you, So-and-so, during such +and such an expedition—I'll tell Hazel to kill you!' and he'd +shut up—tight as a box." +</p> + +<p> +"Aha!" Mendel hugged himself with his stiff brown sleeves +and chuckled. "I, Jew of Damascus as I am, do not wonder!—do +not wonder, knowing the stuff of which thy forefathers +were made! Now I should depart, for we have talked much, +and the young woman in starched linen is nodding at me and +frowning. We Jews daily thank the Creator that He did +not make us women: but when there comes pestilence, or War +with wounds and fever, He cannot make too many women +to satisfy us! Now is there anything more to ask before I +leave you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing, I—Here, hold on for half a mo'! There is a +question. If I stick to my guns and don't turn Hebrew, what +becomes of my grandfather's cash?" +</p> + +<p> +"Provision in the event you name is duly made in the +Will. The three hundred and eighty thousand pounds will go +to found an Orthodox Jews University that is to be built +near Jerusalem—the money being vested in the hands of +certain Trustees. There are three Trustees. Lord ——, Sir +Arthur —— and Professor ——" the speaker named three +names of power—not only in Israel:—"but you will not let the +money go to found the University. <i>Shalôm!</i> Is that not all?" +</p> + +<p> +"All—except that I've not yet asked after my Uncle +Benjamin Simonoff at Hull." +</p> + +<p> +"Thy Uncle Benjamin prospers exceedingly. Trade failed +with Russia when the North Sea Ports were closed; but the +warehouses were full—and Government paid much money for +tallow, tar, green hides and tanned skins. Benjamin is +enlisted in a Home Defence Corps, and both his sons are on the +sea, serving in converted Hull trawlers. They sweep for +mines, set snares for what they call 'tin fish' and seem +content with life.... Woman, I have said that I am departing! +Had I not, it is not seemly for your sex to thrust +themselves into the private talk of men!" +</p> + +<p> +"But you've been here already over an hour, and the doctors—" +</p> + +<p> +The Ward Sister had swept down on him: +</p> + +<p> +"I go, I go! ... Nay, but, look to the boy! He is +swooning! ... Woe to me! heedless and forgetful of his +weakness.... I thought but of confuting the errors of an +Epicurean—and lo! I have injured the child I loved!" +</p> + +<p> +John, struggling in the clutches of a return-attack of +breathlessness, propped up high against hard pillows, tried to tell +Old Mendel not to bother, that he, John, was as right as +nine-pence, or would be in the shake of a guinea-pig's tail. But +the words were lost in suffocating gasps and pantings; from +which, administered by Nurse's skilful hands, the prick of a +subcutaneous injection of morphia presently delivered him.... +</p> + +<p> +The semi-relapse entailed another fortnight in Hospital: its +tedium infinitely relieved by the fulfilment of John's promise +to swot over the documents and papers in the bag. Which +contained, besides a pair of well-darned spare socks, and a +clean blue-spotted handkerchief of Mendel's, a bag of brown +peppermint-rock, of the highly-flavoured kind most fondly +associated by John Hazel with the blameless days of infancy. +Alas! that the writer should be bound to the Wheel of Truth +as concerning this young man, so unheroic a hero. As soon +as he was well enough, he ate it all up. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0207"></a></p> + +<h3> +VII +</h3> + +<p> +Three weeks at a Soldier's Seaside Convalescent Home on +the outskirts of a West Coast Winter resort, intervened +before John's return to Campden Hill Terrace. +</p> + +<p> +It had been strange to recognise upon his mother's cheerful, +well-preserved comeliness the strained and sharpened look +that is the stamp of War upon the human countenance. +Maurice—who was later on to develop into a mechanic-private +in what was then the Royal Flying Corps—the chrysalis +or pupa-stage of ultimate transformation into a Lieutenant-Pilot—was +Overseas at an Advance Depot of the A.S.C. and +didn't write punctually. And the double-fronted millinery +and florist's business in Dove Street was languishing. Fruit +and flowers were only bought to be sent on to the Wounded +in the Hospitals. Nobody wanted ravishing hats when the +men the hats were meant to slay were being killed in the +trenches; besides, British women were all agreed by now that +in War-time some kind of uniform was the only possible +wear. So Lady Delphinia had departed to France to open +a Hostel for Officers at one of the Allied Bases, and the huge +benevolent octopus of Organised Activity had enveloped within +its tentacles Mrs. Hazel and her set. They spent their days +strenuously at various West End Centres, in making every +imaginable aid,—from list slippers to body belts, from +artificial legs and arms to life-saving waistcoats—for the Fleet +and the Forces; and if they took comfort from the knowledge +that their neighbours at the trestle-tables in the crowded +work-rooms were occasionally Duchesses, who shall grudge John's +mother and her intimates the gratification they derived from +this fact! +</p> + +<p> +Of the visit of Mendel Bartoth to the Hospital at +Colthill, John said nothing to his mother. After all, it was +his affair. His and Maurice's—because it was provided under +the conditions of the Will of Eli Hazaël that, should the +elder of the two surviving male representatives of his House +decline to adopt the Judaism of his forefathers (and +incidentally forfeit a sum of £380,000), the younger should be +offered the fortune thus foregone. +</p> + +<p> +Justice and wisdom went to the making of the Will, with +consideration and magnanimity. John was to have two years +clear in which to make up his mind. In the meanwhile, there +was the acceptable sum of £500 to be earned by taking a run +up North as soon as his health was sufficiently restored. +</p> + +<p> +Consequently upon a bitter grey-white morning in the +February of 1916, Private John Hazel found himself seated in +a grimy third-class compartment of the Kelso Express, steaming +out of a vast and murky London terminus, upon the +strangest errand of his life. +</p> + +<p> +The thing was real. He might have dreamed old Mendel: +but that there could be no doubt in face of all those proofs. +The typewritten papers and the queer crumbly parchments +were in the brown calfskin bag beside him. And, queerest of +all, the ring: the intaglio of the bust of Hercules in black onyx +in its ancient setting of pale greenish gold, incredibly battered, +was on the third finger of his big left hand.... +</p> + +<p> +He squeezed the back sheet of his <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i> into a +ball, observant of the inferior quality of the paper—cleared +away the clammy fog and grime that obscured the window +next him—and settled down to read the News. +</p> + +<p> +Front after front had burst into roaring flame; the brown +shuttle of the Army and the dark blue shuttle of the Navy, +driven back and forth with dizzying rapidity, wove the bloody +web of War upon the loom of Fate daily, hourly, momentarily.... +</p> + +<p> +Sir Douglas Haig had succeeded Sir John French in command +of our Forces in France in the previous December. De +Wet and other South Africans had been pardoned. General +Smuts had been appointed to command in East Africa; the +Germans had been repulsed at Loos, a Zeppelin raid on Paris +had twice been unsuccessfully attempted; the Senussi Arabs +had been beaten in West Egypt, the Kut Relief Force were at +grips with the Turkish forces;—France was fighting superbly +to hold Vimy Ridge her own. And the Military Service Bill +was effective in Great Britain; and the final act of the +Evacuation, ringing down the curtain on the unsuccessful tragedy of +the Gallipoli Peninsula was fading from the minds of men.... +A bad, bad business! John commented mentally. He +wished the Blooming Bungler who was responsible for all that +waste of blood and prestige and money could be jammed into +a British trench-mortar of the old-fashioned, big-bellied, +Jumbo pattern—and biffed—say 450 yards—into the Turkish +lines! And then he fell to staring at the women in blue +overalls not innocent of grease, with the initials of the Railway +Company in braid that was no longer white—and blue caps +with shiny peaks and white braid badges. And the other +women who tapped and greased wheels, and rattled along +luggage trucks, and trolleys of lamps and foot-warmers;—not +forgetting yet other women in dark blue serge uniforms with +bright steel buttons, who had clipped his ticket for Scotland +when he passed the Barrier. +</p> + +<p> +For London was astonishingly altered by the War. Not +only by the temporary War Constructions, the Specials, and +the sand-bagging and wire-netting of public and private +buildings: not only by glassless windows—shattered walls and +holes in the concrete pavement,—wounds torn by High +Explosive bombs dropped by Zeppelins and Gothas on the grey +breast of the City, that in John Hazel's estimation was built +about the hub of the world. The most remarkable of all the +War-changes was in the women. In Belgium and France the +women young and old had done men's work, and sometimes +looked as though they enjoyed doing it. Somehow one +expected it of Continental womanhood. But that British +womanhood should conduct trams and omnibuses in dark grey +jackets with black leather buttons and belts, short skirts to +suit, and black leather gaiters, slouch hats or shiny-peaked +caps,—intrigued John Hazel wonderfully. A young woman +had driven him to King's Cross from Campden Hill, smart +and business-like in a yellow oilskin coat, peaked yellow +oilskin cap—<i>toujours</i> the peaked cap—big leathern gauntlet-gloves, +strap-satchel and general air of confident competency.... +She had not overcharged: and had thrust back John's +proffered <i>douceur</i> with the succinct statement: "We don't take +tips from soldiers, <i>these</i> days!" +</p> + +<p> +And whizzed smoothly out of John Hazel's ken, leaving the +young man standing staring after her, with the calfskin bag +in one hand and a suit-case in the other; amidst the very +audible smiles of the lady-porters and luggage-clerks. +</p> + +<p> +The door of the compartment opened at this juncture, +admitting a drab-faced elderly woman in greasy blue overalls. +With a grimy duster she flapped the seats of the comfortless +third-class, raising a cloud of cindery dust that made the sole +passenger sneeze; whisked a collection of orange-peel, +nut-shells, toffee-papers and "Puss-Puss!" and "Woodbine" cigarette +wrappers under the opposite seat, and fell out again over +John Hazel's boots, leaving the atmosphere murkier than +ever. +</p> + +<p> +Fear—the acquired fear of encountering the glare of a +Sergeant, or the chilly stare of the wearer of a Sam Browne, +had hitherto arrested the hand of the Junior Partner in the +thriving Cornhill firm of Dannahill, Lee-Levyson and Hazel, +Insurance-brokers,—when it would fain have placed on the +rubber pad of the Booking Office pigeon-hole, the fare for a +First Class Return. +</p> + +<p> +But now, the prospect of a run of some three hundred and +fifty odd miles North in captivity so grim, chilly and +unsavoury, prompted a young man with muscles still soft from +confinement to a Hospital bed, and the kindly coddling of +Hospital Sisters,—and with the warning of the C.M.O. with +regard to avoidance of bronchitis still fresh in mind,—to +extract a soiled ten-shilling note or "pinky" from a pigskin +wallet; to project the upper half of his big body from the +carriage-window, and endeavour, not unsuccessfully, to catch the eye +of the guard. +</p> + +<p> +"Na, na, nae Second Class. Ye'll have hearrd that ava' at +the Booking Office!" +</p> + +<p> +The silver-braided functionary, checked momentarily in his +stride by the appeal of an agitated old lady, presented his +highly-dried and sandily-bearded countenance upon a level +with the buttons of John's front tunic-pockets, and inclined +a freckled ear to the young man's appeal. The answer came +in the droning chant of Berwick: +</p> + +<p> +"Ye can pay the differ between the firr'st an' third-class—I'm +no' for stopping ye. Though, ye ken, wi' ilka officer that +gets in, ye'll rin the same risk!" +</p> + +<p> +"Of being turned out with a flea in my ear, you mean," +returned John Hazel, not unobservant of the mahogany <i>reflet</i> +of certain Sam Brownes, isolated or in knots, upon the +platform, in juxtaposition with open carriage-doors, or mingling +with the scanty groups of would-be passengers under the +arc-lights (camouflaged with blue paint) that cast false pallor on +the freshest cheek, and made sickly faces masks of Death; and +threw long purplish shadows of people and things (at angles +suggestive of Futurist Art) upon the greasy asphalte of the +Northern terminus.... +</p> + +<p> +"O, ay! If ye're willin' to tak the risk...." +</p> + +<p> +The glitter of a certain medal on the Private's breast, and +the shine of two parallel strips of gold braid upon his cuff, +had caught the sharp grey eyes of the guard. He thrust back +the offered note on the confounded John, leaped at his suitcase +and tore it from the rack, and shepherded his huge charge +through the clank and rattle and roll of luggage trucks, +foot-warmer barrows, and lamp-trolleys, shouting: +</p> + +<p> +"Come awa' wi' you, man!—there's a firr'st weel forward, +wi' a twa—three women-bodies that would gie guid skelps to +the officer that daured look crookit at ony Tommy—forbye +a lang black lad wi' the D.C.M.!" +</p> + +<p> +Thus John Hazel, suffering for once from an acute attack +of bashfulness, found himself installed in a corner of a +fairly-warmed if faintly-lighted first-class compartment, +containing in addition to many cloaks, rugs, pillows, tea-baskets, +and other cosy accompaniments of travel,—three ladies of +uncertain ages, but very definite position in life,—also a Young +Person of highly-coloured exotic charms, clamorously +perfumed; whose crimson hair was surmounted by a French +officer's tasselled <i>képi</i>, and who displayed, below marvellously +abbreviated skirts, silk stockings of open trellis-work, ending +in such boots of yellow leather with tinsel cross-laces as are +commonly associated with Principal Boys in Pantomime.... +</p> + +<p> +Of the three ladies, two carried the dark blue uniform of +a Voluntary Aid Detachment of the British Red Cross Society +and held officers' rank of sorts, for both were pipped. While +the third, an incredibly tall, thin woman, with eyebrows arched +and black as musical slurs, pale greenish-gold hair, a white, +triangular face, and a V-shaped mouth as scarlet as a Pierrot's, +wore upon her khaki sleeve the brassard of the Liberal +Ladies' War Service Legion, with the lapel, shoulder and +hat-badges distinctive of a Commandant. +</p> + +<p> +All three displayed the roughened hands and damaged +finger-nails characteristic of British womanhood at this +strenuous period. Theirs was the unabashed and frank +regard, born of the calm self-confidence which springs—not from +the conviction, but from the established fact of being Somebody +in Society. All three were loud of voice, long of limb, +easy if abrupt of movement: prone to discuss their own and +their friends' private affairs in the presence of strangers; as +though the man or woman in the corner, palpably an alien +from Their Set, must in consequence be deaf and dumb. +</p> + +<p> +"Howling swells!" was John Hazel's pithy mental comment, +recognising upon three of his fellow-travellers the +unmistakable cachet of Good Society. "The Mums," he reflected, +rather wistfully—one of the Nice Things about John was his +belief in his mother—"the Mums would be in her element +here!" And he leaned luxuriously back upon a plump cushion +that one of the V.A.D. ladies had deftly thrust behind him, +in the corner that had been unostentatiously vacated when +the big young man, with hollow black eyes and prominent +cheek-bones, and khaki baggily hanging upon a huge frame +wasted by hæmorrhage and strict dietary, had heaved in sight. +And the Commandant handed him the day's issue of an +expensive <i>Illustrated Society</i>; saying, with a characteristic +emphasis suggestive of large capitals: +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, I really don't believe you'll Cotton Much to +this, but it may get you over an hour! Pass it on to +somebody else when you've done—I Don't want it back!" +</p> + +<p> +She nodded smilingly in acknowledgment of Hazel's gratitude, +and the young person in the gilt-tasselled French <i>képi</i> +followed suit by giving John the current number of "<i>Frillies</i>," +a purely feminine publication—devoted to the puffing of silk +pyjamas and embroidered underwear, with Piffel Pearls +(warranted to outshine real ones) and Face Creams guaranteed +to remove Complexion Blemishes contracted at Munition +Factories, or in Labour on the Land.... +</p> + +<p> +Then she suddenly saw a friend, seized her handbag and +suit-case, and departed on the corridor-side of the compartment +in a gale of violent perfume. John opened the sliding-door, +shut the same on her departure; pulled up his rug and +began to sip the honeyed sweetness of "Loveliness in Lingerie," +and the three ladies, as the savage tang of verbena died upon +the air, unleashed their loud, high voices apparently upon the +trail of some subject mooted before. +</p> + +<p> +"You have heard that Evelyn Graynger has consoled herself?" +asked the startlingly thin woman in khaki, lifting her +musical slurs of eyebrows towards the peak of her badged +cap, from the back of which a short square veil depended, +and momentarily glancing as she did this, at a three-inch band +of black crape upon her left arm. "Though I am quite sure +that the poor child <i>really</i> did care for my poor Wastwood +and my poor Jerry—you know she became engaged to Jerry +not long after Wastwood—" She blinked and broke off. +</p> + +<p> +"Really! ..." the dark blue ladies chorused; and the elder +exclaimed sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +"How awfully difficult it must have made their mother's +position! Didn't it, Trixie dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Now Evelyn is going, I hear, to marry the popular Anglican +preacher, Mr. Amice-Bellows," continued the khaki Commandant. +"He likes to be called 'Father,' don't you know!—and +has still a great many wealthy lady-penitents; never having +felt any irresistible call to volunteer as a Chaplain +accompanying Forces to the Front. He opens Soldiers' Refreshment +Buffets with prayer, and figures on Red Cross Bazaar +Committees, and visits wounded Tommies in Hospital and all that, +and of course there must be people to do these things.... +And they say he has a consoling manner with his clients—I +should say Congregation—when they're knocked out by Bad +News! Though I remember when the second bomb dropped,—I +mean in the shape of another wire from the Casualty +Department of the War Office—and I was rather off colour +in consequence—he advised me to drink a pint of hot water +regularly every morning with Bi—something-of-something-or-other +stirred in." +</p> + +<p> +The two V.A.D. ladies shrieked. The triangular-faced +Commandant in khaki continued, all unconscious that the +illustrated periodical bestowed on John Hazel displayed her +photograph, with the appended description: +</p> + +<p> +</p> + +<p> +"Trixie, Lady Wastwood. Mother of the late, and aunt of +the present Earl. Who has been doing splendid service as +a Commandant of the Liberal Ladies' War Service Legion +at one of our principal Bases in France, in adherence to +the well-known motto of the Legion: <i>Do Anything, Go +Anywhere, Stick at Nothing, and Never Grouse</i>!" +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +"Well-meant"—the elder of the two blue women was speaking +through her laughter, "but hardly tactful of Mr. Amice +Bellows—to suggest that biliousness and bereavement produce +symptoms practically the same!" +</p> + +<p> +"Anyhow," the khaki woman's laugh rattled out as though +a stick had been drawn over the keys of a piano, "I took +the parson's counsel—vicariously. Went down every day +to Waterloo Station and poured tea and coffee into thirsty +Tommies at a Soldiers' Free Refreshment Buffet—instead of +irrigating myself. Found it swamped the blue devils quite +as effectually. And"—she touched her khaki lightly—"that's +how this—began. Same with both of you—I rather +fancy?" ... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I entered as Probationer at St. Francis and St. Clara's +after the Third Reserve Battalion of the Loyal North +Linkshires got gassed at Ypres last Spring," said the younger of +the V.A.D. women, who had also a mourning armlet, and +could not have been older than twenty-two or three. "And I +found scrubbing floors and carrying buckets better—oh!—miles +better than all the veronal in all the chemists' shops." +</p> + +<p> +"I agree with Cynthia," said the other blue lady, "I think +the V.A.D. was meant to keep the women who have lost +their all from lying down and dying—or running <i>amok</i>. Hark! +Was that a Take Cover?" ... +</p> + +<p> +A detonation in the distance had been followed by a wailing +hoot of peculiar ugliness. Silence descended upon the Terminus. +Most of the faces that turned to each other in inquiry, +seemed to have suddenly been powdered white. The three +women in John's carriage betrayed no emotion. They waited +in silence, but no second detonation followed. And John Hazel +said as his gaunt black eyes, met Lady Wastwood's, that were +green and singularly brilliant: +</p> + +<p> +"I think the tyre of a motor-'bus burst—just before they +sounded the dinner-hooter at some near-by factory. I know +Longmore's Locust Bean chocolate used to be turned out at a +place close here." +</p> + +<p> +All three women nodded and smiled in recognition of the +soldier's civility. The hollows about his eyes, and under his +cheek-bones, the bagginess of his khaki—in favour of which +he had gratefully abandoned the suit of Reckitt's Blue flannel +with white lapels, and the scarlet cotton necktie of Hospital +wear, had—in combination with the medal and the +wound-stripes, won him favour in their eyes.... +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wastwood gave him another paper, a <i>Morning Post</i>, +and the younger of the V.A.D.'s was following suit with a +packet of chocolate, when the first starting-gong clangalanged,—the +carriage-door was wrenched open, and a tall thin officer, +followed by a porter carrying a Gladstone bag and tartan +rug, was in the very act of entering when he encountered +Lady Wastwood's glance.... +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0208"></a></p> + +<h3> +VIII +</h3> + +<p> +Private Hazel had fainted in spirit at the sight of a Brass +Hat, a double row of multi-coloured ribbons, and the badges +of a Lieutenant-Colonel; and his ears had already begun to +tingle with the expectation of official rebuke—when the officer, +arrested in the stride of entrance on the brass-bound threshold +of the Railway Company—reddened and paled as he saluted. +His singularly unhappy grey eyes had met the eyes of Lady +Wastwood. Freezing as green Arctic icicles, they held those +of the victim in a hostile and repellent stare. Her mouth, +devoid of its V-shaped Pierrot smile—straightened to a frigid +line of sheerest disapproval. Her chin combined with the +mouth and the eyes, in the admission that somewhere between +sickened Earth and revolted Heaven a wretch like this dared +to draw breath.... +</p> + +<p> +The situation lasted one intolerable moment, its poignancy +even penetrating John Hazel's pachydermatous hide. He +found himself wincing in sympathy with the sufferer, whose +lashed blood rose darkly under his clear nut-brown skin. Still, +not a muscle twitched to betray him. His deep-set eyes +ranged from face to face of the occupants of the carriage, +searching for one gleam of sympathy, possibly. His mouth +opened as though he would have spoken, then shut; and his +face became as a granite mask. He saluted again formally, +backed out, lightly jumped from the step, carefully shut the +carriage-door, and walked away down the platform, the laden +porter at his heels, as the two V.A.D. women exclaimed in +shocked accents: +</p> + +<p> +"How <i>could</i> you? ... Who is he?" +</p> + +<p> +"What <i>rows</i> of decorations!" +</p> + +<p> +"And, <i>my dear</i>!—what can the man have done to deserve a +cut like that?" +</p> + +<p> +They of the High Caste paid no heed to John, ambushed +behind the current issue of <i>Frillies</i>, with both ears cocked for +the name of the protagonist.... +</p> + +<p> +"It is Edward Yaill," said Lady Wastwood, as though prefix +and patronymic offended the palate, and blistered the reluctant +organ of speech. "Colonel Edward Yaill. Of the —th Tweedburgh +Regiment." +</p> + +<p> +The younger of the V.A.D. ladies exclaimed, as though +in pain for him: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>The</i> Colonel Yaill! ... That brave, unlucky man!" +</p> + +<p> +"And your County neighbour!" This from the elder blue +lady, to whom Lady Wastwood returned: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, when I happen to be in Scotland. But I so seldom +am at Whingates now. However, since poor Jerry's successor +made a point of my looking up his womanhood, I promised +to run up there next time I felt washed out. Colonel Yaill +was my fellow-passenger on the Boat for Boulogne one day +last March.... Now again we encounter—rather +unfortunately for him!" +</p> + +<p> +"Do, do forgive him, next time you tumble against him!" +begged Yaill's previous champion. +</p> + +<p> +"Edward Yaill has had a sample," said Lady Wastwood +icily, "of what he may expect from me in the near as in the +distant future. Let us hope he will be wiser than to rush +upon his doom. What wouldn't I have given to possess the +Early Victorian stare of my old great-aunt, the Duchess of +Strome. <i>She</i> could cut—until you saw the blood!" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, it was quite bad enough!" the elder V.A.D. assured +her. "Mercy! I can't forget his wretched, <i>wretched</i> +eyes! I do hope I'm not going to dream of them! There +must be something to be said for a man who looks like +that!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The drab-grey terminus was sliding away.... The clank +of milk-churns and trolley-wheels grew fainter.... A signal +jerked down, with a wink of a red-green eye, the points clicked +over, and the Express was launched upon her shining way +across a tangle of intersecting metals terminated by grim black +signal boxes, and gathering speed,—shot out of the jaws of a +Goods Station into the foggy day. And stations were flying +past, and the crowded drab streets of mean houses were flowing +under the belly of the rushing Express like a river of dirty +bricks and mortar,—and the ladies were moving and settling +down, amongst rugs, cloaks, pillows, tea-baskets and other +accompaniments of feminine travel; hugely amused by the +temporary return to the prehistoric joggliness and stuffy safety +of trains. And Lady Wastwood had mentioned that she had +had two cars crumped by German H.E. in France—and it +had transpired that the elder V.A.D. had had hers badly +biffed in September outside a Theatre in the Strand when a +Zepp dropped a bomb quite near,—and that the younger had +hers temporarily put out of action through tyre wear, taking +convalescent Tommies for drives—when Lady Wastwood suddenly +betrayed the tenor of her thoughts by remarking with +emphasis: +</p> + +<p> +"After all, if there IS anything to be said for Edward Yaill, +Katharine Forbis will be the first to say it!" +</p> + +<p> +The uttered name plucked at some fibre in John Hazel's +brain. He dropped <i>Frillies</i>, and one of the blue ladies reached +down a long arm, and picked the paper up, and gave it back +to him, with the manner of one well-used to doing these +things for sick men. But she looked at Lady Wastwood, not +at John, as she did this, saying: +</p> + +<p> +"'Katharine Forbis.' ... You must mean the handsome +Miss Forbis who went out to the Front to drive ambulance-cars +for her Detachment, some time in last March,—and was +afterwards invalided home. Miss Forbis of Kerr's Something—?" +</p> + +<p> +"Kerr's Arbour, Tweedburgh. A quite modern house built +against a dear old Border Peel Tower. Twenty miles from +us at Whingates. Not as the crow flies, but as the +woodcock.... That was my poor Jerry's annual joke. He hadn't +a shadow of humour, bless his heart!" +</p> + +<p> +With which pronouncement John perfectly agreed. He +had been electrified into attention by a sentence of the previous +speaker's, and was tinglingly alert for another reference to a +name by now uncannily familiar.... "Forbis of Kerr's +Arbour, Tweedburgh" seemed to have plucked at a fibre in his +brain. He was made to gnash metaphorical teeth by one or +two divagations from the main point, before Forbis cropped +up once more. Then came another mental jerk with an +utterance from Lady Wastwood: +</p> + +<p> +"As a matter of fact, Edward Yaill and Kathy Forbis had +been engaged quite for ages. You understand, I was a County +Neighbour then, and saw what was going on. Edward Yaill's +Infantry Regiment—'The Tweedburgh Foot-Sloggers' they call +themselves—there aren't many of the poor dears left to +answer to the old name!—Edward's Regiment distinguished +itself equally in the Boer War of 1900. And Edward—with +his Majority and a D.S.O.—came back after the War to be +made a great deal of—and Kathy—then a quite beautiful girl +of seventeen—vows that she fell in love with him then and +there. But the engagement didn't come off until years +later—and has been dragging on since in a most annoying way. +Kathy—one of those Fine People who make sacrifices for +others—didn't want to leave her father, a courtly old dear with +a beautiful manner! after her mother—a Sweet Creature!—died. +So the wedding was continually postponed. The last +date arranged being the October of 1914." +</p> + +<p> +Both the V.A.D. ladies uttered sounds of sympathy; and +Lady Wastwood went on, while, thanks to the oil-smooth +running of the Express,—and perceptions sharpened by War's +savage exigencies—John Hazel, ambushed behind the ample +pages of the feminine periodical—followed the trend of the +high-voiced narrative as easily as though he had been sitting +in the stalls at a new play.... +</p> + +<p> +"In that August—Edward was then staying at Kerr's +Arbour,—came the Bolt from the Blue! ... With the —th +Brigade of the —th Division of our First British Expeditionary, +goes Yaill, then Senior Major of the First Battalion of 'The +Tweedburghs' ... Katharine's pride in him was touching. +She said very little, I remember, but her eyes—do you +remember her wonderful eyes?" +</p> + +<p> +One of the V.A.D.'s agreed: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, oh, yes! Quite wonderfully beautiful eyes!" +</p> + +<p> +"'Gold and bramble-dew,' to quote Robert Louis Stevenson's +celebrated simile. His wife, to whom reference was made, I +believe—was a Scotswoman though American-bred. But to +go back to Edward—then Major Yaill,—you will remember—who +does not? that at Le Cateau-Cambresis that August his +Battalion underwent an Ordeal of Fire. So terrible, that +Major Yaill and two junior officers, with a handful of men +alone remained. Wounded, his uniform burned to rags—they +say he fought like a god or a devil!—he escaped being taken +by the Boches. But all the world knows the splendid story. +I'm making myself a Perfect Bore!" +</p> + +<p> +The V.A.D.'s assured her she wasn't in the least; and she +went on volubly talking, above the oily purring of the Kelso +Express. +</p> + +<p> +"Escaped, and wandered, starving, wounded and in tatters; +hiding in farmyards and amongst ruins by day,—and tramping, +guided only by his luminous compass—at night-time. Fed +by Walloon and Belgian peasants who were too scared—poor +Things! one well knows why!—to give him even a few hours' +shelter. Five days and nights, and he reached the Belgian +frontier—passed the guard unnoticed—and got upon the +Flushing Boat. And if you suppose that Kathy Forbis fainted +when she had his wire, or even Cried for Joy all over +everybody, you'd be Wrong. Absolutely!" +</p> + +<p> +John knew you would have been wrong. Under cover of +<i>Tailor-Made Talks</i> he nodded his head, with a kind of +proprietorial pride in Katharine Forbis. +</p> + +<p> +"What did she do?" asked one of the blue women. +</p> + +<p> +"She simply said 'Thank God!' and went on with her First +Aid bandaging. Then—after some delay because of Dutch +Neutrality—Edward Yaill managed to get out of Holland +and came back home." +</p> + +<p> +"Rather a wreck, one supposes?" hazarded a V.A.D. +</p> + +<p> +"Haggard and worn," admitted Lady Wastwood. "With +those hollows in the temples one knows so well, and that queer +tense, sleepless look they can't get rid of. One would +naturally have expected that He and Katharine would have been +Married Instantly. But I have absolute knowledge, that the +subject was Never Broached!" +</p> + +<p> +"Rough on Miss Forbis, rather!" hazarded one of the +hearers. To whom Lady Wastwood retorted: +</p> + +<p> +"Fortunately for Miss Forbis—as things have now developed! +But that she would have jumped with Joy had Edward +breathed a hint of marriage—Nobody could doubt who saw her +look at him.... Sweetheart and wife and mother, mingled +in her expression. 'She makes me want to cry!' said that Old +Rip Delaguett. And he meant the thing.... It's odd how +those Bad Men adore Pure Women. Let us do Delaguett +justice—he <i>swore</i> she was too good for Yaill!" +</p> + +<p> +"Did <i>he</i> agree with Lord Delaguett?" asked one of the blue +ladies. +</p> + +<p> +"If he had," returned Lady Wastwood, "Kathy would have +disagreed. And one task absorbed him, body and soul. Assisting +the Authorities to reconstitute the Battalion that had been +wiped out. This was done, and he was offered the post of +Second Military Secretary to Sir Charles Carberry at +Gibraltar. Wouldn't you have expected him to take the goods the +gods provided, marry his Nice Katharine, and sail for the +Rock? Kathy would have risked tin fish in shoals!—and a +nuptial couch at the bottom of the Atlantic or the +Mediterranean. But—" +</p> + +<p> +"But—?" +</p> + +<p> +"But Edward Yaill wouldn't hear of such a thing! Took the +post—went out—absolutely fed—simply hated it! Groused +away at G.H.Q. until they gave him what he wanted most." +</p> + +<p> +"One can guess what that was!" +</p> + +<p> +"Naturally. Command of the new old Tweedburgh Regiment, +and Active Service in France again. 'To get back +just a bit on account from those blighters!' he told me: 'I'd +take over a Territorial Regiment from Hell. And to lead +one's own Border men again is too—'" +</p> + +<p> +"Absolutely topping!" suggested Yaill's original champion. +</p> + +<p> +"You have the expression. Well, one perished to <i>trancher +le mot</i>, but in view of Katharine's splendid attitude—" +</p> + +<p> +"Backed him for all she was worth, I'll bet!" said John +Hazel internally. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wastwood's high voice went on, through the Express's +oily running: +</p> + +<p> +"Calm, hopeful and encouraging beyond all—one couldn't +have ventured to say a Thing! On one point she was +adamant—She would do her bit like others. Home Service wasn't +enough—you comprehend!—for Kathy Forbis. She had got +her First Class Certificate and Qualifications—and went to +the Front, dear sweet thing! early in March, 1915, to drive +cars for the Red Cross." +</p> + +<p> +"And so Colonel Yaill—" +</p> + +<p> +"Went out again to take over command of his Regiment, +Colonel Muir-Rosyll, an old friend of mine—having gone +West. And just as though Fate had been lying in wait for +Edward!—in September—somewhere South of Loos—the +Horror Happened Again!" +</p> + +<p> +"The 'Tweedburghs' were wiped out in the assault upon the +village! ... Oh! one remembers...." +</p> + +<p> +The elder of the blue ladies shuddered, the younger bit her +lip. +</p> + +<p> +"Swept away.... 'Exterminated'—that's what the newspapers +called it. And Edward Yaill's name was on the early +list of killed. It seems that he had gone out from Battalion +Staff Headquarters—all his officers but two being dead—to +take over Telephone-Communication at their Forward Station +Dug-out, and got there in time for a terrific bombardment of +High Velocity Shell." +</p> + +<p> +"What unutterably Awful luck! Was he very badly +wounded?" +</p> + +<p> +"Hardly a scratch on him, when they found him—one has +heard so much of the queer fantastic tricks that High +Explosive plays. Nearly naked and covered with yellow powder. +Quite Dazed—not a notion of his own identity! Which of +course was established by a gold curb wrist-chain with an +Identification Disc, and an officer's silver whistle with his +name upon it still hanging round his Neck—when they took +him to a General Casualty Hospital on the Communication +Lines. Where the Poor Thing was treated with scores of +other Shell Shock cases, until he came round enough to +remember his rank and name." +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't Miss Forbis wring out leave and rush from the +Front to comfort him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Katharine was badly wanted just then, where she +was, at her Receiving Hospital. And personal interests must +give place when Duty is in question. I imagine that we're +all of us pretty clear on that!" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wastwood added, as confirmatory sounds came from +both her feminine hearers: +</p> + +<p> +"There's no question but her going to him would have +saved Yaill. But unhappily, it was not to be. Nice +Katharine—poor dear!—was invalided home from the Western +Front a month later. Muscular strain, lifting wounded +Tommies under Fire. Had to come back for Massage and +Electrical Treatment. While Edward Yaill, who had been +transferred to a Convalescent British Officers Canvas Camp at the +B—— Base (up-to-date place under Red Cross Management, +with pines and heather and bracken, and little streams gurgling +down steep sandy cliffs)—Edward had been making steady +progress towards complete recovery. Until—not quite a +fortnight back—he Socially Cut His Throat!" +</p> + +<p> +The ladies exclaimed. The narrator continued: +</p> + +<p> +"Cut his throat by suddenly marrying a Trained Nurse +belonging to a Unit of the Red Cross, doing duty at the +B—— Base C.O.C.... Having obtained the necessary +permit from his Brigadier. Whether the young woman got +leave from the Matron-in-Chief on the West Front, or did +without it, I couldn't tell you! I think the latter, as she +had previously sent in her papers asking leave to retire for +reasons of health. At any rate, the ceremony was +performed by the Church-of-England Chaplain attached to the +C.O.C." +</p> + +<p> +The narrator added, raising her arched eyebrows: +"Quite legal, of course, but one Would have expected the +thing to have been clinched by a Roman Catholic Priest. +Yaill being R.C. like Poor Dear Katherine—to whom, one +hopes, her Religion,—always so Much to her—may bring +True Courage to Bear the Blow!" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wastwood added, through her listeners' horrified +exclamations: +</p> + +<p> +"Subsequently to the wedding the couple sailed for +England, all arrangements having been Cleverly Camouflaged.... +Nobody seems to have realised what had happened.... My +own enlightenment was to come from Our London Headquarters, +where I reported myself yesterday. A Wireless +Message had been Received by Our Deputy Assistant Director-General +from the Matron-in-chief on the Western Front in +France. Our D.A.D.G. happens to be Colonel Yaill's cousin. +That's how the item of news got dropped in. And subsequently +she 'phoned me in Code at my Mayfair diggings—to +say that her Sister-in-law, Lady Ridgely,—Red Cross +Commandant of a Tommies' Convalescent Hospital at Coombe +Bay, Devon—had encountered Colonel and Mrs. Yaill, upon +their honeymoon." +</p> + +<p> +The elder V.A.D. lady moaned despairingly: +</p> + +<p> +"And now he tumbles in on us here—a passenger going +North.... How can he? Why, why set foot in Scotland, +of all places on the globe?" +</p> + +<p> +The newspaper rustled in a pair of big bony hands, that +were shaking with rage as though with ague. There was a +roaring in John Hazel's ears.... Spots of red, ringed with +paler colour, grew and dimmed and faded out upon the page +before him. If the harmless periodical had slipped from his +hold, the sight of the mask of murder it had screened might +have led to the pulling of the communication-cord and the +subsequent appearance of the guard. For the man was not +the same man who had shed the black frock coat and silk +topper of Cornhill in the September of 1914. He had spilled +blood since then, for duty's sake, and for revenge; and found +sharp pleasure in the shedding. And much, very much, he +wanted to kill Edward Yaill. But Lady Wastwood was +answering the two blue ladies: +</p> + +<p> +"That is what I ask myself. Why? and How Can he? ... Unless, +indeed, he were going up North to tell—to break the +news to Katharine! Or does he possess sufficient Nerve to +attend the Funeral?" She added, meeting the ladies' +uncomprehending eyes: "Perhaps you have somehow missed the +advertisement in Wednesday's <i>Morning Wire</i>! Heading the +List of Deaths.... 'General Sir Philip Forbis, K.C.B.' and +so on.... 'Result of accident.... No Flowers, By +Request.' (He hated paraphernalia!) ... 'R.I.P.'" ... +</p> + +<p> +Under cover of the ladies' sympathetic exclamations, John +secured the front page of the <i>Morning Wire</i> without any +results. But the "Obituary Notices" in the <i>Illustrated Society</i> +of that morning's issue supplied him in full with the +intelligence he desired.... +</p> + +<p> +At Kerr's Arbour, Tweedburgh, N.B., had died on the +previous Saturday, the man John was going up North to meet. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"A notable figure in Society and oldest living representative +of one of the most ancient Catholic families upon the +Border," stated the chronicler, "has now passed away in the +person of Major-General Sir Philip Forbis, K.C.B., C.M.G., etc. +Born at Kerr's Arbour, Tweedburgh, 1834, the seat of his +family for sixteen generations. Married Muriel Helen +(d. 1910), dau. of C. Colleston, Esq., J. P., of Wyond Hall, +Norfolk. Edu. R.M.A. Woolwich. Entered Royal Horse +Artillery 1852. Col. 1882, retired as Hon. Maj. Gen. 1884. +Served in Crimean Campaign 1854-7. Wounded eight times. +Medal, clasp and Turkish Medal. Prepared five contingents +for the War in South Africa. Upon the outbreak of War +with Germany in 1914 Major-General Forbis, having kept +abreast of modern military progress, raised and trained a +Yeomanry Regiment of Light Cavalry for Kitchener's New +Army, three squadrons of which are now serving with distinction +in France. The deceased officer met his death, as perhaps +he would have chosen,—while leading a charge of the +Fourth and Fifth Squadrons, on the Cauldstanes Muirlees +Racecourse, ceded by the Local Racing Committee to +Government as a Military Exercise Ground." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +John thought the Major General deceased must have been a +jolly fine old fellow. Mentally picturing him as lightly-built, +active, wiry and upright, with a keen light blue eye, crisp +white hair and close-clipped white moustache, giving the +brusque touch of soldierly decision to an aquiline-featured face +of many criss-cross wrinkles. He added a peppery temper +when put out, and a light hand on a bridle, before he proceeded +to the paragraph below: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"General Forbis' elder son, Captain Mark Forbis of the +'Gray Hussars,' went out with the First British +Expeditionary Army in August, 1914, and was killed before Mons, +while rendering a service for which he was posthumously +awarded the Victoria Cross. The second son, the Rev. Father +Julian Forbis, of the Order of St. Gerard (now head +of the family), has served with distinction as a Chaplain +with the Mediterranean Forces recently withdrawn from +Gallipoli. Miss Forbis, V.A.D., has rendered excellent service +in France as an Ambulance Driver for the Red Cross +Society. She has fortunately recovered from the muscular +strain, for the treatment of which she was invalided home +some months previously; and pending her return to more +active duties, has been assisting the overworked Nursing +Staff at Cauldstanes County Hospital." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +A paragraph below continued: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"The origin of the name of 'Kerr's Arbour,' which has +always distinguished the ancient mansion dignified by the +massive peel-tower (built by a certain Sir Hew Forbis in 1147 +and which has been for nearly nine hundred years the seat +of the Forbis' family), is lost in the mists of antiquity. Owing +to the loss of some ancient documents, the Scottish Herald's +College and collateral authorities can throw but little light +upon the question, when broached. The Forbis coat of +arms consists of a shield with three escallops <i>argent</i> on a +<i>fesse</i> between two chevrons <i>sable</i> and <i>gules</i>, with the crest +of a wolf's head and the motto: 'FORBYS FOES FA.' But +that the original founder of the Forbis family was a Roman +tribune named Marcus Fabius, who, reared in Egypt by a +Community of Coptic monks, brought his Christian faith +with his sword to Britain, in the service of the Emperor +Constantius, seems to be generally agreed." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +John wondered how the bigwigs at the Scottish Herald's +College would like a dip into the contents of that calfskin +bag of Old Mendel's. Stowed well within touch of elbow, +beside him on the seat, it struck him as wearing a +consciously-secretive air. For the bag knew all about the antecedents of +the Forbis's (going back a whole generation before Marcus +F.). It could have told how the Crusader Sir Hew Forbis +(whom John would have liked to kick for a family reason)—built +the Tower:—and where the bags of French gold came +from that paid the architect and the workmen, and quarried +the stone, and "bocht ye lyme an ye clypins of a troop of ye +Scots Kyng's Horsys ye betyr for to bynd ye same." ... And +why Sir Hew called the place Kir Saba,—transmogrified in the +course of centuries to quite another name. +</p> + +<p> +But on these points Scottish Herald's College must perforce +remain in ignorance, unless Katharine Forbis—of Kerr's +Arbour—who had driven a Car for the Red Cross in France, +and had got somehow hurt in lifting wounded Tommies,—and +had eyes of "gold and bramble-dew"—John Hazel was mightily +taken with that simile of Stevenson's—unless Katharine Forbis +should consent to share the secrets of the calfskin bag.... +</p> + +<p> +Katharine Forbis, the Ideal Woman.... Devoid as John +was of any knowledge of her personality, the vague outlines +supplied by the gossip of his fellow passengers adapted +themselves quite wonderfully to the image stamped upon his mental +retina one April day in Flanders on the grim road that led +from the British Reserve Trenches to the Firing Line. Had he +received that post-card—and it must have been sent, for She +had promised—would it have been signed with the initials +K.F.? +</p> + +<p> +Katharine Forbis.... Katharine Forbis. What luck if this +Katharine were She? He leaned back and shut his tired eyes, +and fell to dreaming of this Katharine: a Princess of the North +with cairngorm eyes; to whose court was momentarily drawing +nearer—out of the Orient from whence all Mystery springs—a +swarthy legate,—bringing neither apes nor parrots, embroideries +or spices,—but the rare jewel of an ancient oath of fealty, +unbroken by the use and wear of more than sixteen hundred +years. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0209"></a></p> + +<h3> +IX +</h3> + +<p> +Certain passengers travelling by the Kelso Express were +presently switched off on a Branch Line, to rumble for a chilly +hour in unwarmed and feebly-lighted carriages, between +low-breasting heathery hills patched with larch and oak-woods, +shagged with gorse and delicately topped with snow. Upon +the left hand, beyond the blue-green riband of a river narrowing +between its encroaching icy borders; lying between low sandstone +cliffs hollowed by spates from the hills, the last embers +of a fierce red sunset were smouldering away.... +</p> + +<p> +Signs of the Day were apparent, in the significant age or +suggestive youth of the plaided shepherds who moved as isolated +dots upon the cheerless landscape; their collies bounding +at their heels, or harrying flocks of black-faced sheep back to +the round, stone-built folds upon the hills. Or in the macintosh +and shawl-enveloped women driving shaggy ponies in the farm-gigs; +or kilted and breeched, wearing the green armlet with the +red Crown and lettering,—carting mangolds or forking swedes, +herding rough-coated milch-cows back to the byres—or wheeling +red Post Office bicycles up steep brae-roads. +</p> + +<p> +A fanged east wind spattering icy sleet, blew from the North +Sea across the Cheviots, and lights began to twinkle from +grey stone-built manses and slate-roofed farms. Dark had +come down when the train stopped at Cauldstanes, the bleak +little granite station of the Border market-town. The +dazzling blue-white headlights of a big Rolls-Royce car blazed in +the dark beyond the platform fence-rails. A one-armed, +silver-badged male servant waited on the wet asphalte under +the jumping gas. The Station Master, stout, white-bearded +and important, passed towards the rear of the train, demanding +a "ledda for Whingates." Presently to return, loaded +with rugs, pillows and suit-cases, ushering the sought-for +lady,—who said in her characteristically staccato accents as +she bade her fellow-traveller adieu: +</p> + +<p> +"Good-night and good-bye, if we never meet again! +Though this is a small world, isn't it?—and most roads seem +to cross at the Front. No! you are Not to help with the +things! ... Mr. Smellie will be so obliging.... And here +is Padsworth. Glad to see you so fit, Padsworth. I've not +forgotten to bring the artificial arm!" +</p> + +<p> +Thus Lady Wastwood, who vanished away into the conjectural +regions beyond the platform fence-rails, tall, thin, +triangular-faced, graciously smiling; attended by the laden +station-master and followed by the one-armed groom.... +</p> + +<p> +A red-cheeked girl in a macintosh and scarlet Tam O' +Shanter took the soldier's ticket at the gate in the +platform-railing, and cried in a strident key, intended for some +unseen ear: +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Govan, mem! ... Is Mrs. Govan no' ootside wi' the +doug-cairt frae the <i>Cross Keys</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +A voice pleasanter, rounder and more womanly, came +back out of the blackness of the station entrance-yard, +crying: +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, am I, Leezie! Is Cornel Yaill there?" +</p> + +<p> +Leezie shrieked back as the headlights of the Rolls-Royce +revolved, and the big car turning,—backed, snorted, forged +ahead and sped away on soundless tyres into the chilly +darkness: +</p> + +<p> +"I kenna, but there's a sodger seekin' a nicht's lodgin'!" +</p> + +<p> +"Tell him the <i>Cross Keys</i> wi' guid supper an' clean beddin' +is inside the meenute's walk frae here!" called back the +matronly voice. "Losh me! Whatna's that?" +</p> + +<p> +As John Hazel stood outside the platform gate, in the +wind-blown flare of its solitary gas-lamp, another tall figure in +khaki had appeared from the velvety blur of blackness under +the eaves of the preposterous little booking-office; and +passing close to the head of the quiet beast between the shafts, +had halted by the off-wheel and spoken to the driver.... +</p> + +<p> +"Eh, Cornel!" the womanly voice went on, "Gude guide us, +but ye scairt me sair! Risin' up oot o' the dairk richt under +auld Broonie's nose! ... But that the meir kens ye, the puir +beast micht have boltit. An' wha' wad manage the <i>Cross +Keys</i> then, I wad weel like to know!" +</p> + +<p> +The answer came in a man's deep voice, with an inflection +of melancholy underlying its pleasantness: +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry, Mrs. Govan. But how is it I find you here, +on such a bitter night?" +</p> + +<p> +"Huts! The nicht's no' waur than ither for the time o' +year," Mrs. Govan retorted from her perch on the driver's +seat. "An' the guidman being laid by wi' a sair hoast—forbye +a lad we canna' trust wi' a guid beast on a mirk night—there's +nane but mysel' to drive ye to Kerr's Arbour!" The +speaker added, in the high keening tone which a Scotswoman +of her class invariably assumes in speaking of things having +reference to death and mourning; "An' haud ye back ae mair +half-hoor from ane that's thinkin' lang until ye come to +her—I wouldna'! Not to win my ain lad Alec back frae the +Front the night!" She went on as the person addressed +made a responsive sound of indeterminate meaning: +</p> + +<p> +"But whatna's to hinder ye, Cornel Yaill, knowing the +road's weel as yer pocket, frae driving yersel—as ye've done to +my knowledge—mony an' mony a time before noo. Up wi' +ye!" She relinquished the reins and jumped down, nimbly +enough considering her years and matronly proportions, adding +as the man she addressed promptly assumed her vacated +seat.... "Bid them gie Broonie a het mesh, puir thing, she's +nane sae yoong as has been!—and mind ye send her back +wi' the cairt early in the morn's morn. She'll be wantit to +bring Mr. Kellar, the lawyer, oot on business conneckit wi' +the Will! Na, na! I'll no' be needing a lift to the <i>Cross Keys</i>! +Here's a soger-man from Lunnon that's bound for the inn, +and needin' a wise body to guide him. Gang yer ways wi' +guid luck! Gie my love to Miss Forbis!" +</p> + +<p> +The woman added as Yaill tightened the reins, and the +mare, answering a whip-touch with an indignant snort, +trotted away with the dog-cart into the sleety darkness: +</p> + +<p> +"Your road's lang and ower rough. But, O, Man! there's +a braw, braw leddy waiting to greet ye at the ither end!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0210"></a></p> + +<h3> +X +</h3> + +<p> +She was so braw a lady,—not only in the physical meaning +of splendid height and just bodily proportion; noble outlines +and sweet, healthful hues; hair as richly black-brown as +the bracken of her wintry braes, and eyes as tawny-golden as +the crystals of her Scottish mountains,—that the heart of the +man who loved and had lost her, seemed to shrivel and blister +in his bosom, as though some fierce corrosive acid had been +poured upon the throbbing flesh.... +</p> + +<p> +Again and again he said what he was coming to say, as +the willing mare, urged by no sparing hand, made good her +journey towards Kerr's Arbour. Straining up steep bare +brae-roads; picking her way down slippery descents; plashing +through muddy bottoms walled with high cliff-banks clad with +funereal firs and shadowy larches, revealed by passing gleams +from the dog-cart's lamps. As the high-road changed to a +hilly private road bordered by a plantation of conifers backed +by a wire park-fence, the beast, which had given signs of +distress unheeded by the man—checked at the steep with almost +a woman's sob.... +</p> + +<p> +Something in the sound wakened a dull pity in Edward +Yaill. He got down, and walked beside Brownie, as she +slipped and stumbled on stones washed loose by the rain-scour; +and as a soldier will, he cursed the badness of the +road. It was in a rotten state, compared to what it had been +before the War came to take its super-toll of human energy. +Sweeping into its huge and bloody maw gentle and simple, +noble and infamous, ignorant and learned, penniless and rich. +Nothing was the same. Nothing would, could, ever be the +same again. Life had been transmuted, not into gold—but +from honest silver into a strange, new ugly metal—in this vast, +comprehensive crucible of War.... +</p> + +<p> +Most hopelessly, irremediably changed of all human beings +was Edward Yaill. Once a man meant by his Maker to inhabit +an earthly Paradise, by the warm, fragrant side of the +tenderest of mates. To that sick-hearted wretch, dogged by a +pitiless Fate: outcast, or it seemed so to him—from decent +Society: traitor to the woman unswervingly worshipped +through the long years of a drawn-out engagement, it was +meagrest comfort to know himself blamelessly loyal. Even +as a Saint who in the delirium of fever has heard his own +crazed voice blaspheming God.... +</p> + +<p> +In the horrible wreck and wastage of Yaill's plans, one +thought was clear. He must get to Katharine first, and tell +her himself before others carried the tale. He looked up at +the thin, pale face of the new moon coldly staring down at +him between overshadowing branches, and thought it judged +and condemned and repulsed him; like the face of the woman +in the train. The woman knew Katharine Forbis—might even +have written to her. He might find Kerr's Arbour mined, +when he got there. A hundred things might have happened +to ruin his chances.... What chances he meant he did not +clearly know. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes his mood was cold as he tramped by Brownie, +and sometimes hot,—but always he tramped in Hell. He was +going—going unless another had been before him, to break +the heart of the dearest of living women with five words of +his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +"Listen! I have married another!" Afterwards adding: +"Even with my soul and body worshipping none but +you!" Then—would she die with her great wide eyes reproaching +him? Or would she drive him from her with words of scorn? +Scornful words would be unlike Katharine Forbis—Katharine +who rarely judged and seldom blamed. But the silence +in which she would hear him out to an ending, would be +infinitely more tragic, unspeakably more terrible than wrath.... +</p> + +<p> +Insensibly beneath his feet the steepness levelled. Another +mile and Kerr's Arbour would be in sight. But Yaill walked +on, now obsessed and held by visions. In mental flashes +Katharine came and went. +</p> + +<p> +A hundred times they had climbed this hill together. He +felt as though she moved beside him now. He could see the +sleet-drops glistening on her smooth cheek, whipped to a sweet +carnation by the chilly wind. The scent of camphor from her +furs came back to him, with the light pressure of her gloved +hand upon his arm. In his ears were the tones of her nice +voice,—the frank glance of her fair eyes seemed to meet his, +for him were her gay words and her tender ones—like the +sweet smile upon her rather large mouth. A smile that +expressed its owner's innate conviction—shared by the majority +of her acquaintances—that never under any imaginable +circumstances could Miss Forbis be unwelcome or undesirable +in the estimation of any being she chose to bless. No wonder +her wretched Edward was wrung and tortured. In vision +after vision she came and vanished, as he tramped beside the +now exhausted Brownie under the thin new February moon. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The iron-hard ringing ground, slippery with cat-ice; +whitened with powdery hoar-frost; flowed on unheeded under +the footfalls of brute and human, who marched together to +a worsting Fate. All Nature seemed to reproduce Yaill's +mood—the desolate, wintry hills, the eerie scream of the +whaups—frozen out of their feeding-grounds in marsh and +bogland,—the wailing cry of the hunting-owls, were in tune +with him. The skirl of the north-east wind, honed to a razor-edge +on the Jutland coast—tanged with the freezing salt of the +wild North Sea; mined, patrolled, netted, guarded,—watched +from bleak shore to shore, and from the oozy depths, and from +the immeasurable heights of Air, by friends and foes, indomitable +in hatred,—echoed through the chambers of his desolate +heart.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +In the Spring of 1910 they had become engaged, and were +to have been married in the Winter of that year,—but her +mother had died—and Katharine had been unwilling to leave +her father, and there had been delays and delays.... And +then the wedding had been arranged to take place in the Autumn +of 1914, and the War had prevented it—the damnable War! +</p> + +<p> +He ground his teeth, thinking of what the War had done +for him and for many another man as wretched—and the +distant hooting of the owls, freezing as they hunted freezing +rick-mice—and the shriek of the north-east wind—sounded like +Irish Banshees wailing the coming death of beautiful love.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +For Katharine's love had always been perfectly beautiful. +She had been the ideal mate—the sweetheart who never palls. +She had fed her lover's heart with the wholesome bread of +tenderness, and never let his soul lack nourishment. She had +met him full at every turn and exigency of Life—even as they +had moved to meet it side by side. In the purest, most +spiritual sense these betrothed lovers were wedded—though +their ancient Church had not yet made them one. +</p> + +<p> +And now he was hastening to meet her and pull down his +tower of love about his ears. Why hurry? whooped the owls +and skirled the curlew. If you are going to tell her as you +purpose, will you not reach Kerr's Arbour far too soon? But +if you have the wisdom that men boast of—take what Life +yet may give ere you lose all.... +</p> + +<p> +He topped the crest of the final steep, and halted to let his +dumb companion breathe awhile.... Now the sharp tuff-tuff +of a motor-cycle came out of the distance behind him, and +he wondered who was having so cold a ride upon that road +to-night. Even from this point he looked on his journey's +ending, with the sensation that a man may have in meeting +with a dying friend.... +</p> + +<p> +Nothing of beauty characterised Kerr's Arbour, an irregular +mass of masonry rising from a walled garden-courtyard shut +in by high yew-hedges: a stone wall and a <i>porte-cochère</i> of +ancient wrought-iron, beyond a bridged dry moat at the +bottom of the private road. It showed as a rambling house of +Early Jacobean architecture tacked on to the peel-tower reared +by Sir Hew Forbis the Crusader, somewhere about 1147. The +ancient battlemented tower was squat and clumsy, the rooms +with rare exceptions were low-pitched, the ancient casements +small, the stairways narrow, and the stone-flagged passages +anything but level to the tread. But set in a fold of the +snow-tipped hills and shielded on North and East with plantations +of oak and evergreen, with the snow-veiled mirror of a little +lake, burn-fed, trouty, haunted with heron and other +waterfowl,—lying beyond the wintry gardens to the southward; with +chilly moonlight on its frosty battlements and lying in pools +upon its stone-flagged terrace; and smoke curling from its +clustered chimneys; with mingled firelight and lamplight +winking from well known windows—it caught at the wanderer's +heart as a vision of Home. +</p> + +<p> +He looked up at the black-white sky, and it seemed to +his misery, that beyond that inky wrack and livid cumulus—hurrying +south like a curse rushing to fulfil itself—dwelt One +who in His high austere remoteness looked coldly on the pigmy +woes of men. To Whom his pangs were the struggle of the +fly in the milk-jug,—the writhings of the worm severed by the +gardener's mattock,—the pain of the snail being beaten by the +thrush on the stone.... +</p> + +<p> +What, O what was it to Him that Katharine's love had +always been perfectly beautiful! And that to live beggared +of all that wealth of sweetness—perhaps through all the years +of life to follow—would be sheer Hell to her lover, Edward +Yaill. +</p> + +<p> +Yaill shrieked at the thought, as a man at the stab of the +bayonet—and the sweat broke out upon him, despite the cold. +His hand went out and gripped the shaft of the dog-cart, so +fiercely that the dogskin glove split.... Baulked passion, +thwarted desire rent and tore him. Oh, what were Honour +and Truth but pithless meanings! He would go down to +Kerr's Arbour where she waited, and love and be loved before +the ending came. He would drink one draught of the wine +his soul and body craved for—before Fate dashed the cup out +of his hands. +</p> + +<p> +So said, so it should be done. He took the reins from the +hame-spike, and the flare of the wind-blown candle-lamp +showed his smile. He sprang to his seat and snatched the +whip from the socket, and lashed the mare—who broke into +a furious gallop—the cart swinging and lurching perilously +behind her as she pounded madly down the steep descent. At +the bottom lay the curve of the dry moat, crossed by what +had been a wooden drawbridge, converted in the reign of the +last Stuart monarch, into an arch of rough-cut granite blocks. +Beyond the bridge and a short avenue of beeches rose the +rust-red iron gates of Kerr's Arbour, with the arms of the +house wrought into their ancient tracery: a wolf's head crest +with the motto "FORBYS FOES FA" above a shield with the +plain device of three escallops <i>argent</i> on a <i>fesse</i> between two +chevrons <i>sable</i> and <i>gules</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The gates stood open for the guest of honour. On their +cracked stone pillars, topped with grotesque lead effigies of +wolves, each supporting the sword of a Crusader, oil lanterns +burned, dangling by chains from iron cressets (meant to hold +flares of greased or tarry tow). A dog barked within, and the +cracked familiar voice of Whishaw, the butler, snapped out +angrily: +</p> + +<p> +"Down, Dawtie! Quiet, bitch! Gin ye dinna ken the +Colonel, ye daumned eediot, canna ye haud yer tongue like +Laddie an' Bran?" +</p> + +<p> +The dog-cart's worn tyres shirred on the gravel of the +courtyard. Yaill leaped down. The heavy nailed hall-door stood +wide open. Warmth and light rushed together on the exile, +and the scent of flowers, the pretty smells of burning peat +and apple-wood, lavender, camphor and sandal from the great +Japan cabinets ranged in the hall, came to him in a satisfyingly, +fragrant whiff. This was home.... Katharine's home.... +And Katharine.... He trembled and a mist blurred his +vision—and then his sick heart leaped—because she came. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0211"></a></p> + +<h3> +XI +</h3> + +<p> +Came with a rush, and a whisper of silken draperies, straight +as an arrow to his starving heart. The chastened passion of +her embrace of welcome—the guarded flame of ardour in her +kisses—the rapture in her pure eyes told her lover that he was +loved as dearly as of old. Unchanged, O God! She who +must learn to-morrow, perhaps to-night, to loathe the name of +Yaill.... +</p> + +<p> +She led him in, moving with the elastic step and upright +carriage that gave her, amongst other women, the air of an +uncrowned queen. As they passed the chapel door he saw +through the stained glass that more lights burned there than +the ruby star of the Sanctuary Lamp. She caught his puzzled +look, and whispered to him: +</p> + +<p> +"Because my father lies there until his Funeral. Presently +you shall see him, dearest Edward. He always loved you like +another son." +</p> + +<p> +Her father.... So he was dead, the fine old General. It +was true that Yaill had been fond of the dear old fellow, in +some remote and shadowy long ago.... Now Katharine was +saying, in that blessed voice of hers: +</p> + +<p> +"I was quite sure that when you got my cable, you would +come to me, if the surgeons said you were fit. Not unless! ... I +made that clear! You understood that, Edward? You +would not have been so cruel as to come if it hurt you, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +He moved his head after a non-committing fashion. He +had to hide his ignorance of this cable, sent to the Convalescent +Camp at the B—— Base, announcing the death of which +he now first learned. He realised that he brought with him +into this honourable dwelling, subterfuge, pretence, +concealment and evasion.... By use of these he must make his +way, warily, as over duckboards laid on quaking mud. Presently +one would be lying.... Lying to Katharine, the crystal +soul of candour and honesty.... +</p> + +<p> +Now he was sitting upon her right at the dinner-table, +wondering at the keen appetite provoked in him by the savour +and sight of well-prepared, well-cooked food. A pink-eyed, +silver-haired, Shetland-shawl-enveloped elderly lady, a +Mrs. Bell—once nursery governess to the Forbis children, and now +occupying an indefinable position in the household,—opposed +him upon Katharine's left hand; the carved oak arm-chair +usually occupied by the master of the house, remaining in its +place at the head of the table; a Persian cat, the dead man's +favourite, curled up asleep upon its faded seat.... Nor did +the dogs,—a collie, an old pointer-bitch, and a Scotch +deer-hound—desert their accustomed posts upon the threadbare +patches of the Turkey carpet; though uneasy whimpers testified +to their sense of strangeness, and their wistful eyes were +always on the door.... Once their tails drubbed and their +jaws slavered a welcome, when a thin elderly priest came in, +and bowing with the formal grace of the seminary—as Miss +Forbis introduced Colonel Yaill to Father Inghame—made a +remark about the bitter weather, and took the cover evidently +laid for him—upon the right of the master's empty chair. +</p> + +<p> +He was fasting, for a dish of spinach with eggs was brought +to him, though Friday's dishes figured on the board. He +looked fagged and ate with evident lack of appetite; admitting +in reply to Katharine's inquiries that the road to Peelston +Bridge was uncommonly trying—even for a cyclist inured to +conditions in France. It transpired presently—for the priestly +reserve yielded to the charm of Yaill's voice, his courtesy and +soldierly frankness—that Father Inghame was not a Secular +priest but a Religious of the Order of St. Gerard; who had +served as chaplain attached to a Division of the First British +Expeditionary Force; received a shrapnel-wound in the First +Battle of the Aisne, and had come home in charge of a Hospital +convoy. Further, that he was discharging the easy duties +incumbent on the resident chaplain at Kerr's Arbour, until his +health should be sufficiently re-established, in the opinion of +his Superior—to warrant his return to the Front. +</p> + +<p> +"Which I hope may be soon, very soon!" he ended. "For +I think that Miss Forbis will not misunderstand me, when I +say that I want to get back to real work. To eat the bread +of idleness in comfort and safety while brave men are dying +hourly in muddy trenches, is not—for a priest who is +able-bodied and hardy enough—" +</p> + +<p> +"To subsist upon the rocky biscuit, and munch the iron +ration of War!" said Yaill's deep, soft voice with the +under-note of melancholy; "Men who have done far less than +yourself, Father," he went on, "are content with ordinary +War-conditions at home. Would not the charge of a crowded +Mission in the East or West End of London—or possibly in a +Hertfordshire village, with the certainty of—say two +bomb-raids per week, be sufficient to satisfy your thirst for risks?" +</p> + +<p> +Father Inghame returned with a queer hot light burning +in each of his hollow eyes, and a flush rising under his sallow +skin: +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed, Colonel, you overrate the small part that I have +been permitted to play in the opening acts of this unfinished +drama of Armageddon." He went on, prompted to pay a +genuine tribute of admiration to the distinguished soldier +whose heroism was as proverbial in the mouths of men as the +record of his misfortunes: "Compared with the experiences +that you have passed through, such as have fallen to my lot +are, to say the least of them, trivial. Except with regard to +the conduct of those Catholic soldiers whom it has been my +privilege to confess and communicate. How often when I +have passed through the trenches under heavy shell-fire, +carrying the Blessed Sacrament,—I have seen them take off +their shrapnel-helmets—though shell-splinters were flying +about, and machine-gun bullets whistling overhead. And with +what childlike simplicity and faith they would kneel in the +stinking mud to receive their Saviour! And with what +sublime endurance and resignation they have rendered up their +souls to God.... All my life long, I shall be rich in such +memories: bequeathed to me, not only by Catholics, but by +Protestants, Presbyterians, Dissenters, and members of the +Church of England,—whom I have seen die with the light of +Faith upon their blackened faces—whispering the prayer that +was made by God for men!" +</p> + +<p> +"The splendid men!" said Katharine's full warm voice. +"Oh! how can we ever be proud enough of these men of +ours! Haven't I <i>hugged</i> myself whenever I remembered—'I +am your countrywoman, you great dears!'" +</p> + +<p> +Yaill's eyes met hers, and an exquisite thrill was +interchanged between them. When they were once more conscious +of the outer world, the Father was saying—with some lack of +tactful prevision: +</p> + +<p> +"It is said there were a good many Catholics in the rank +and file of your regiment. In the First and Second Battalions +of 'The Tweedburghs,' in 1914—as in those battalions +reconstituted," he hesitated, "after the disasters of Le +Cateau-Cambrésis and Loos—I have heard the percentage estimated at +twenty-five." +</p> + +<p> +"The estimate is correct," Yaill answered, speaking with +admirable composure, though a tell-tale muscle fluttered in his +lean brown cheek, and Katharine drew a quick breath of +painful sympathy. He added, with a curious intonation: "Yet, +despite scapulars, medals, rosaries, badges and other practical +life-assurances—the Catholic men you speak of lie under +stinking mud with other fellows now. Ha, ha, ha!" +</p> + +<p> +And he laughed with such unnaturally loud and mirthless +violence, that Whishaw at the sideboard jumped and dropped +a dish-cover, and Katharine's sweet eyes went to him in grave +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +Those eyes of Katharine's, "of gold and bramble-dew," never +strayed long from the face of her dear one. She was nurse +as well as lover, and that strange laughter had filled her with +dismay. She wished that the Father had been wise enough +to shun the agonising subject. Why had it not occurred to +her to warn him not to refer to Edward's terrible experiences, +she asked herself, aching in sympathy with Edward's pain. +But thin ice is a lure to some skaters,—these not the most +brilliant performers. Father Inghame pursued, in a tone that +was not untinged with rebuke: +</p> + +<p> +"You would not suggest, I feel sure, Colonel, that the +Catholic men of your own or any other regiment regarded +rosaries, scapulars and medals as charms and mascots—and +not as legitimate aids to faith?" +</p> + +<p> +Yaill's face hardened to a mask of pale brown granite. His +fine dark brows drew sternly into line. His grey eyes +gleamed, and below the clipped moustache a faint smile +hovered. He played with the stem of an antique wine-glass of +cut green crystal; twirling it in the long sensitive fingers of +a hand as beautifully shaped as strong. And he returned, +while feigning to admire the delicate workmanship of the +long-dead engraver: +</p> + +<p> +"You are right. I intended to convey no such suggestion." He +changed the trend of the conversation by asking the little +pink-eyed Mrs. Bell when she had last heard from her son in +India. And his agreeable, well-bred tones gave no hint of +the frenzy of impotent resentment raging within him against +the Supreme Power Who set the pellet Earth with her sister +planets, to follow their orbits round the white-hot Sun—and +modelled the lord of the world—Man, in the form of the +Creator; and set in his breast a spark of Divine Intelligence; +and bade him live, and love, and be loved again—O anguish!—a +finite being with immortal yearnings—condemned to dwell +in the upas-shadow of Death. +</p> + +<p> +To house an immortal Soul in the breast of a pigmy, in +the blood of whose veins armies of microbes make War. +Whose tiny gullet can be blocked by a swallowed fish-bone; +whose seeing eye, that miracle of miracles, by a thorn-prick +or a blow can be rendered blind! Whose brain, that has +solved the secrets of Creation; reduced the Universe to its +chemical constituents; made an ally of the once tameless +lightning; abolished Time, and annihilated Distance; set bounds +which Plague and Pestilence may not overpass; made ships to +fly in Air and sail below water—may by a blow be mashed in +its eggshell skull. Or by the detonation of a shell packed with +High Explosive, be churned to merest pap of grey matter, +dead to sensation, incapable of Thought. Or be so thrown +out of gear as to order the body to speech, impulses, acts, in +opposition to the Will. Seemingly sane, O horrible, horrible +mockery! until the awakening from trance or stupor, or +whatever the vile bedevilment may be. From the condition of +No. 40, Shell Shock Ward 8, General Casualty Hospital 70—and +the state of No. 80, Convalescent British Officers Camp, +B—— Base—to the present plight of the complainant; captive +within the enclosure of a sacramental vow! +</p> + +<p> +This was the rankling grievance nursed by Edward Yaill +against his Maker. The son of a Catholic house, reared in +the Faith, loyal to the Church, scrupulous in the discharge +of religious duties, he had never for one instant imagined +himself at variance with his God. That he could quit the fold +of Catholic Christianity on the grounds of intellectual doubt, +he knew to be impossible. Like the devils, he believed—even +while he revolted. His was the pain of the child who, loving +the father, has discovered him to be unjust. The muscle +twitched in his lean cheek, and a quiver passed over his stern +features as a ripple will traverse the surface of still water. +And to Katharine's tender, watching eyes, it seemed that all +was not well with Edward. She breathed a little silent prayer +to Our Lady for him, and unconsciously her large white +hands folded together on the tablecloth. They were +beautifully-modelled hands, with tapering fingers, and nails that had +been exquisite in pre-War days. The damaged nails that gallant +British women were not at all ashamed to show. +</p> + +<p> +Yaill knew that those fair hands had done distasteful, +rough, laborious tasks with glorious goodwill and cheerfulness. +He loved them and admired them all the more. He +could picture them holding up the drooping head of a wounded +man—or offering cool drink to the parching lips of the dying. +He had sipped sparkling burn-water from their cupped palms +many a time on a hot day up yonder on the moors. He had +seen them folded in prayer, he had covered them with kisses +by her sweet permission. When he had bidden her good-bye +upon leaving for the Front—she had taken his head between +those hands, and kissed him solemnly upon the forehead—and +traced the sign of the Cross there—as his mother might have +done, had she been alive. And God, Whom he had served +and trusted—had for no fault of his, taken from Yaill who +worshipped her—this pearl and paragon among women. And +upon this count he held himself betrayed. +</p> + +<p> +There would never be "<i>Nil</i>" upon Yaill's disc, but he had +finished with prayer, and the Sacraments, and Mass-going for +ever.... Unless—by some marvellous—miraculous happening, +the Great Wrong should be set right. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0212"></a></p> + +<h3> +XII +</h3> + +<p> +Dinner ended. Little, pink-eyed Mrs. Bell enveloped herself +in her Shetland shawls and discreetly vanished, with a plaintive +murmur of good-night. Yaill, with set, formal courtesy, +giving precedence to the Church—followed Father Inghame +and Katharine through a curtained archway communicating +with the adjoining drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, Miss Forbis, but I will not stay for coffee. I +have to make a visit to the chapel—and write some letters, and +after night-prayers I shall go to bed, for I am beat out. I +only wanted to say that Father Haildon, the priest in charge +of your Parish Church at Birkleas, will celebrate the Requiem +Mass on Monday; and that the Father Superior of the Monastery +at Scraeside," he named a place some miles distant from +Birkleas,—"will esteem it an honour to be permitted to assist. +He will bring a Jesuit priest from London who is staying at +the Monastery (Father Bevan, of Farm Place, Grosvenor +Crescent)—and all are agreed that ten o'clock will be the most +suitable hour. The boys of the Birkleas choir will drive over +in the break with Father Haildon; and the lady who acts as +organist will take the place of Mrs. Bell. That is all, except +to wish you a very good night!" He shook hands with Miss +Forbis and moved in the direction of the door opening on the +hall, adding: "Mass will be at half-past seven as usual +to-morrow. Perhaps—" his eyes went doubtfully to the tall khaki +figure and downward-bent, thoughtful face of Yaill, who stood +upon the worn tiger-skin hearthrug with a hand gripping +the ledge of the mantelshelf: "perhaps as Whishaw's grandson +has influenza, Colonel Yaill would like to serve Mass?" +</p> + +<p> +There was an instant's pause before Yaill answered. He +stared into the wood and peat fire blazing in the antique +bowed steel grate, and seemed as though he had not heard. A +log hissed; spurted brilliant flame; broke and fell—scattering +sparks upon the old Dutch hearth-tiles. Two or three lodged +upon the tiger-skin, mingling the fragrance of the charring +apple-wood with the ugly acrid tang of frizzling hair. Then +Yaill said, punctuating the sentence with stamps of his boot-heel: +</p> + +<p> +"I fear I must—ask—to be excused, sir." +</p> + +<p> +The priest's response was the gentle opening and closing of +the door. Then with her long light step and a whisper of +silken draperies, Katharine crossed over and stood on the +hearth at her lover's side. He did not move or lift his head, +but his starved heart answered the call of her nearness with a +leap of fierce delight. His arm went out and round her, and +she leaned lightly against him, and whispered against his cheek, +close to his ear: +</p> + +<p> +"If you knew what joy it is to me, to have you! ... Dear +Edward! I am not much good at words—but you understand?" +</p> + +<p> +He said, stiffening his lips against his teeth to check their +trembling: +</p> + +<p> +"No words have yet been made to express what you are +to me—Dearest of all women!—and have been always, since +the blessed hour when I saw you first!" +</p> + +<p> +She was not a woman from whom to exact caresses. You +waited the moment when she was pleased to give. Now she +swayed nearer and her bosom brushed his—and the world +went dim as they exchanged a kiss.... +</p> + +<p> +Last time they had met she had worn a Regulation tunic and +short uniform skirt of blue serge, thick high Service boots +and a plain blue felt hat with an enamelled Red Cross badge, +and had been no less beautiful in his eyes. Now her tall lithe +shapeliness was in silken raiment, like the beautiful arched +feet in their buckled shoes. The rigorous plainness of her +mourning dress added to her beauty, with its pure strong +outlines and rich creamy skin. Her high-bred simplicity was +the dominant note of her—or was it her generosity, her +sympathy, or her piety? ... +</p> + +<p> +A man had once said to Yaill in the early stages of the +friendship that had changed so quickly into passionate +love: +</p> + +<p> +"She would be enchanting if she were not so holy!" +</p> + +<p> +And Yaill had answered, with his grave eyes following her: +</p> + +<p> +"Holiness is the bloom upon the nectarine." +</p> + +<p> +Well, it was true. She was all the more attractive for +the piety that graced her beauty, the devotion that exhaled +from her, unconsciously as the fragrance from the rose.... +Like Yaill's dead mother, she had no use for a man who was +not religious. She had a standard and expected her beloveds +to live up to it. And Yaill had done so, according to his +lights. +</p> + +<p> +She leaned closer, and her long, beautiful arm curved across +his tunic, and her fond hand stroked the ribbons on his breast. +Lingering over them, enumerating with silently moving lips +the list of her man's distinctions, from the orange-centred +blue and red of the Queen's medal of the South African War +of 1899-1901, to the red ribbon of the Victoria Cross; the +rainbow of the Star of Mons: the blue-edged red of the +D.S.O. the white-mauve-white of the Military Cross; and the green, +red-lined ribbon of Belgium's Croix de Guerre—with the sweet +colour coming and going in her cheeks, and her dark lashes +lowered over the shining cairngorm eyes. His sick heart ached +anew, she was so wifely; and so womanly in her insistence on +her point. For she went on urging: +</p> + +<p> +"Then, I may tell Father Inghame that you will serve Mass +on my father's last day in the old home, and in his place? ... He +would yield the privilege to no one—unless it were my +brother Julian—so gladly as to you. Say that I may say +'Yes!'" +</p> + +<p> +Yaill's deep voice answered, slowly and heavily: +</p> + +<p> +"He was a good man. No better ever lived, I am quite +certain. And under most conceivable circumstances—to me his +wish would be law. But I cannot take his place beside the +altar or even attend at Mass." +</p> + +<p> +He felt her start. She asked him quickly: +</p> + +<p> +"There is some reason—" +</p> + +<p> +"There is of course a reason!" He stirred a smouldering +log with the toe of his high boot. +</p> + +<p> +"Your health?" Her voice had the sharpened edge of +anxiety, and her bosom rose and fell with her quickened breath. +His starved eyes dwelt on the modelling of her wide brows, +the black lashes of the sweet eyelids that dropped under his +scrutiny, the setting of her head on the throat's white column, +the superb width of her shoulders, the arch of her deep +chest.... +</p> + +<p> +"Your health.... There is more to hear than I have been +told—is there not? Don't keep—anything back from me, +Edward. Nothing is so terrible to bear as suspense." +</p> + +<p> +"There is nothing.... Have you ever known me keep +anything back from you, my dearest?" he asked, in wonder +at his own hypocrisy. For he knew that to have answered, "I +have lost the Faith" would be to her an overwhelming blow. +"Now tell me of Julian. You wrote to me that"—the speaker +hesitated, mentally groping, "that he had applied to his +Superior General and got leave to volunteer for service as a +Chaplain with the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force." +</p> + +<p> +"That was in last December. But the permission was +delayed, as I wrote you later, and he sailed for Lemnos with +the 29th Division a year ago this February. We heard from +him next from Gallipoli,—such brave, cheerful letters. But +since August 21st.... Oh, Edward!" She caught her breath +sharply and paled and reddened. "Since the 21st not a +line—not a single line!" +</p> + +<p> +Yaill's forehead knitted in the effort to remember. Thin, +thin ice here. He must go warily.... +</p> + +<p> +She went on: +</p> + +<p> +"We know from the despatches published in the newspapers +and from letters written to us by friends of Julian's, that he +went forward with his brigade when the 29th Division fought +through the scrub-fire to the top of Scimitar Hill.... When +the terrible Turkish shrapnel swept them back down the +hillside Julian stayed with the wounded—giving First Aid and +comforting the dying. A brother Religious of St. Gerard who +was with the Eleventh Division, visited us here afterwards and +told us; 'Father Forbis was splendid!' ... 'One of the +Church's many heroes!' he called him. But he could enlighten +us no more than the people at the War Office.... And it +broke my heart to look at Father—as the weeks went by and +by without bringing any news.... He bore it in silence, but +he has suffered dreadfully. I have heard him over and over, +walking up and down at night in his bedroom. And by day +one could see him hanging on the hope of a wire from +Whitehall. Oh, Edward!—the wire that never will come, perhaps! +That last day I saw Father alive, when he rode out with his +Adjutant to put the last polish on the Fourth and Fifth +Squadron of his Yeomanry at Cauldstanes Muirlees +Racecourse—he looked so beautiful that my heart swelled big for +pride in him,—and so sorrowful that I had to run away to +cry. And he waved to me and rode up the brae without +looking back to wave again, and—" +</p> + +<p> +Here Katharine broke down and sobbed, and Yaill caressed +his love and soothed her, setting fresh tears running in the +channels that had long been dry. She had wept bitterly when +Mark had been killed at Mons, though when the Tweedburgh +Regiment had been wiped out near Loos, and Yaill had suffered +in the blowing-in of the advanced telephone-communication +dug-out, the news had reached her on the morning of an +attack by German aircraft on the Clearing Hospital, and there +had been not a single moment to spend in selfish grief. This +last blow, coming as it had, had left her numbed to the +centre of her being. Until this moment she had not cried at +all ... +</p> + +<p> +Yaill said, when she grew calm at last, lifting his strong +brown hand to his lips, and drying with a kiss a shining drop +that had fallen on it: +</p> + +<p> +"We must hope for the best for Julian. He may be a +prisoner with the Turks, or wounded,"—he spoke hoarsely—"or +suffering after some such fashion as—makes it impossible +to communicate with—those whom he loves." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear," she said, knowing that his own case rose in +mind, "my poor, poor dear!" And the wretched man grew +sick at heart and shuddered. The mothering note in her voice +called to him across the years of an engagement senselessly +prolonged, that he might have heard it cooing to their children, +or whispering love-words through many, many wasted nights. +And the more hopelessly he yearned to her, the more he +shrank from the solicitude in her sweet eyes. He had seen +those eyes flame with generous anger, and sparkling with mirth, +and dewy with tenderness. Now they were full of sorrow +mingled with love for him. He tried to imagine how they +would look her scorn.... +</p> + +<p> +For when she knew all the truth, she must despise him. +That was the thing that made his heart a hell. The knowledge +that no one could possibly believe in the innocence of the fellow +who had done this hideous, brutal, beastly thing. +</p> + +<p> +"Shell-shock, no doubt!" He heard the voices saying it, +and saw the shake of sympathetic heads. "Shell-shock! ... How +quite frightfully sad!" And through the eyeholes of the +masks of sympathy, pity, commiseration—he saw the wriggle +of the little snake of Doubt. +</p> + +<p> +Were the truth known to the world, no one could ever +believe it. He would lie, therefore, until it came to light. +He would have the joy of these last hours spent beside +Katharine, to remember when she banished him for ever from her +side. +</p> + +<p> +To Katharine, whose sore heart was eased by that burst of +weeping, the joy of Edward restored shone through her sorrow +as the sun through a snow-fog or a mountain mist. By and +by, when Yaill settled into a well-known arm-chair, she hesitated +but another instant before sinking with one swift, supple +movement, down upon the hearthrug at her lover's side. He +refused to smoke; she knew out of respect for the presence +of Death in that bereaved, masterless house. She whispered, +leaning her forehead against his shoulder, surrendering her +hand to the warm, strong, masculine clasp: +</p> + +<p> +"By and by we will go in together and see him. Shall we +not, dearest? He would wish it!" +</p> + +<p> +Yaill muttered, looking at the engagement-ring of Indian +turquoises that he had placed years back on the fair womanly +hand within his own: +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly. If it will not be—too hard for you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Too hard! O no, dear Edward!" The hearth-blaze lightened +on her broad forehead as she raised it. "The hardness +will be when he is there no longer, to talk to and to look at +and to pray for.... To pray to, as well, being with the Holy +Souls. It is wonderful to think now; '<i>He is with my mother!</i>'" +</p> + +<p> +"And Mark, and your little sister Rosamond." +</p> + +<p> +"And Julian, perhaps. He knows now, whether Julian was +killed or taken prisoner.... Turks are cruel to their captives, +are they not?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sometimes...." +</p> + +<p> +The muscle in Yaill's thin cheek twitched. He moved restlessly: +</p> + +<p> +"Sometimes.... But do not dwell on these possibilities, +or torture yourself with useless conjectures. Even in the +shadow of the bereavement that has fallen upon this dear home, +we are together.... Together, Katharine!" +</p> + +<p> +She turned and kissed the fine dark khaki cloth of his sleeve, +lingeringly echoing: +</p> + +<p> +"'Together.' Doesn't it seem—rather too good to be real? +After all that has been—the cruel years of parting, the shock +of calamity; the rush and roar of events, the ugly things of +War, the horror of dreadful news—the suspense of waiting—for +letters from you—letters that never came—" +</p> + +<p> +"I could not—did not—" he stammered miserably and broke +off. +</p> + +<p> +Her strong, fine hand closed upon his reassuringly. +</p> + +<p> +"My own love, did I ever for a moment, lose faith in you? +Did I ever cease to write, though I never heard? ..." +</p> + +<p> +He groaned in spirit, remembering his discovery of those +letters.... Square envelopes containing two or three sheets +of ribbed linen note-paper, covered with Katharine's clear free +script.... The pocket of an old writing-case of his was +stuffed with them—they had crammed that damned Japanese +workbox to the lid! +</p> + +<p> +Again she breathed: +</p> + +<p> +"Though I never heard from you I kept on writing. Each +letter like a cry from my heart to yours." +</p> + +<p> +Words burst from him: +</p> + +<p> +"As God hears me, I never got one of those letters!" +</p> + +<p> +She drew a troubled breath and said wonderingly, with +sweet, perplexed eyes seeking light from his: +</p> + +<p> +"Not at the time they were written, dear, possibly. But +your nurse did read them to you, Edward?—as soon as you +could bear it, that is." +</p> + +<p> +"Did she?" +</p> + +<p> +"She was very kind. I was very grateful to her." +</p> + +<p> +"Was she? ... Were you? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The sweat stood in beads upon his brow and temples, and +his strained knuckles showed white through the sunburnt +skin. +</p> + +<p> +"Kind, I mean, in writing to break the cruel truth to me, +that you—Edward!—let us forget about this!" +</p> + +<p> +"It will be best," he said in a low constrained tone, not +looking at her. "But tell me first what truth she broke to +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"The truth—" He felt her warm mouth upon his hand, +"that your mind was quite a blank with regard to me. That +was the news that came in her first letter from the +Convalescent Camp at B—— Base. I have not kept the +letter—I could not!—but the date I shall remember always. October +28th, 1915." +</p> + +<p> +It had been true then. The effort to remember; to conjure +up figures, faces, associations, places, out of the Great +Blank that had followed the shell-burst—had been attended by +blinding headache, spasms of sickness and nights of insomnia. +Katharine went on: +</p> + +<p> +"I wrote to her—Nurse Burtonshaw—at the Camp,—and +thanked her, and said that I would go on writing to you +exactly the same. My work involved some risk. If I had been +killed, you would have learned from those letters that I never +once forgot you, Edward, dear! So I asked your nurse to put +them by in some safe keeping-place, and when God in His +Mercy should restore my darling's memory, to give them +to him, with his Katharine's love. For I never doubted that +you would recover, Edward. If I had, for one moment—how +could I have gone on working? I must have given up hope! +I must—" +</p> + +<p> +The break in her dear voice supplied the missing end to +the sentence: +</p> + +<p> +"I must have broken down and died!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0213"></a></p> + +<h3> +XIII +</h3> + +<p> +When a man's own organs, senses, wits conspire against +him, in league with an enamoured woman who plays traitress, +what earthly chance has the man? +</p> + +<p> +Yaill stared into the glowing rose-red heart of the fire, +conjuring up for the thousandth time that part played +by one brown puppet of a myriad of puppets similarly attired, +in War's dread drama; cheek by jowl, night in and day out—with +the grim tragi-comedian Death; whose paces, poses and +antics, grown commonplace by dint of familiarity—at length +ceased to cause a shudder, or provoke a passing jest.... +</p> + +<p> +The War.... A waking nightmare of cold, heat, thirst and +hunger; exertion, anxiety, responsibility, fatigue; sleeplessness +and NOISE, NOISE, in a ceaseless, maddening crescendo, until +that flaming white-hot moment when the German 5.9 H.E. shell +blew in the Advanced Telephone Communication dug-out. +When consciousness of these things abruptly ceased for Yaill. +</p> + +<p> +So it came to pass that stark-naked as when he was born +into this world, save for a platinum disc-chain on his wrist, +bearing his name, religion, rank and regiment, and a small +gold Crucifix slung by a blackened cord about his neck, Number +40, Shell Shock Ward 8, General Casualty Hospital 70, +on the Lines of Communication, came into being. Later on, +when the Great Blank had given place to a drab-hued mental +twilight, wherein men, women and children; animals, trees +and houses could dimly be conjectured or unemotionally +discerned; and a little later yet, when one began again to realise +oneself a living puppet, playing a dull, dull part in a dreary +production called Life,—with some character dimly sensed as +missing from the cast, whose presence would have made a +world of difference!—Number 80, Convalescent Officers' +Camp, B—— Base, began to take what other nurses called +a "good deal of notice" of Nurse Lucy Burtonshaw. +</p> + +<p> +You are to conceive of Nurse Burtonshaw as anything but +a purposeful Delilah. The piously-reared daughter of one +Burton, a respectable West of England dairy-farmer,—calling +herself "Burtonshaw" for reasons of her own, while serving +in concert with thousands of other admirable young British +women, enrolled for Service at Home and Overseas under the +auspices of the Red Cross,—how shall she be held blameworthy +because there beat under her Navy blue lustre overall, and +white bibbed apron with its badge of red twill Turkey, a +woman's heart, susceptible to Love.... +</p> + +<p> +Does any woman wonder? Does any man ask Why? Nurse +Lucy Burtonshaw had washed Number 80; combed him, fed +him, dressed him,—and put him to bed again. Administered +general massage and tonics, and superintended the ministrations +of the orderly-barber, unwearying, for months on end. +She had soothed him,—waking from brief daylight sleeps in +panics bred of hideous, nerve-shattering visions,—reproductions +of such sights,—burned in upon the brain and reproduced +by the subconscious memory, as made the nights grim ordeals +of dread. She had alternately scolded and encouraged her +patient, gaining strength mentally and physically under her +unselfish, able care, until she had established herself as the hub +of his universe. The sky and sea, the flowers and trees, and +that fresh West Country face with its blunt features and +well-opened grey-blue eyes, were the only books the patient ever +cared to read in. The printed lines, the written sheets, were +torture to Yaill's dazed brain and astigmatic vision. So the +Commandant's private secretary attended to his business letters, +and the correspondence of his friends was dealt with by +Nurse.... +</p> + +<p> +Upon her arm at first, by her side later, he took his first +walks in the Convalescent Camp grounds. When later still, +he was taken for drives in the company of other shell-shocked +officers, it was Nurse Burtonshaw who persuaded him not to +rebel against this order of the C.M.O.... Nurse, who waited +for the return of the big, crowded car and unpacked him, +smiling, at the gates of Canvas Park Row, the double avenue +of roomy tents pitched on the green, tree-clumped slopes rising +North of the Base Port, behind the big square stone house +where the Staff officers and quarters were,—and the huge, +shapeless, plank-built zinc-roofed bulk of the Hospital. +</p> + +<p> +"There now, you're back again and no bones broken. And +whether you liked it or not, the air has done you good," +she would say cheerfully, unwinding his muffler, knitted by +herself in her scant spare time. For all Yaill's personal, +immediate baggage had been destroyed by a Boche bomb-raid upon +Battalion Staff Headquarters, and as Number 80 never wrote +letters, such lacking necessaries had been replaced by Red +Cross gifts. +</p> + +<p> +Subsequently, when some battered portmanteaux were received +from Regimental H.Q. in France,—but of that later in +the chapter.... You are to see Nurse taking off the muffler, +over which her patient stared down at her with grey, brooding, +mournful eyes. Those eyes followed her about, burning holes +in her grey print. If she had established herself as the hub +of Number 80's universe, she was none the less the adoring +slave of him whom—in private and at his entreaty she called +"Teddy." +</p> + +<p> +For Lord help this bedevilled man! he who in all his +thirty-five years of life had been "Edward" to all who loved him, +holding pet names in abhorrence,—had invited Nurse +Burtonshaw to address him by this fond diminutive. "My mother +used to call me 'Teddy,'" he would say, with his sad eyes +brimming: "and though she has married again—" the poor +widowed lady being dead and buried years previously—"and I +am nothing to her now, I somehow like to hear it." +</p> + +<p> +So Nurse called him "Teddy," scrupulously selecting +moments when they were quite alone and out of earshot. Then +Teddy, who was a Border laird of ancient lineage, as well as +a Squire in Cumberland, with a solid rent-roll of four thousand +a year, some thriving home-farms and a park of many acres, +confided to Nurse that he was a poor man—without a rap +beyond his pay. But if Lucy had no fear of poverty, shared +with a poor broken wretch who loved her—one to whom the +love of woman had been a sealed book until he saw her +face.... +</p> + +<p> +"You're getting too stuck on that Colonel man of yours, +Burtonshaw!" expostulated a friend some hours later on, when +the day-nurses went off duty. "Because when it comes to +kissing Good-night—and I couldn't help but hear!—the +partition between the O.C. wards being merely canvas! Of course +you can trust me not to talk, though I hope you won't again!—a +warm handshake as between friends being properer, and +not against the Regulations—which I will say I never knew +you go against before. Now own up. Am I right, or wrong?" +</p> + +<p> +"I did, I'll own it.... I do truly feel for Number 80," +admitted Nurse Burtonshaw. "He's alone in the world and +quite poor, though three hundred and seventy pounds a year, +which is his pay—not counting War allowances,—seems like +riches to little me." +</p> + +<p> +"Bless me!" cried the friend, "then you've actually +clicked! ... He's asked you to marry him? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Nurse Burtonshaw demanded, with rather a defiant flare +lighting up her well-opened grey-blue eyes, and with a decided +deepening of the steady bloom on her broad, blunt-featured +West of England face, nunlike in the setting of flowing white +linen hiding the rich red-gold hair that was her one +undeniable beauty: +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think I'd let him kiss me—a girl brought up like +I've been—unless he'd behaved himself honourable? Not one +of my friends can say a word—" +</p> + +<p> +"But what will <i>his</i> friends say about you?" asked the other +nurse acutely, "when they hear how you've fixed things? To +marry a Regular Army toff, who not so long ago was queer in +his head, and had to be mothered and seen to and fed as if +he'd been a blinking baby—" +</p> + +<p> +Nurse Burtonshaw asserted: +</p> + +<p> +"He's well, and going to get his discharge next week. +They say his cure's my doing. And he's got no friends. He's +told me so, over and over again!" +</p> + +<p> +"That makes it better for you. And I'm not saying that +you won't turn out a happy pair, not for a minute! Don't +lots of patients marry their nurses and live happy ever after? +And, whenever I've read your teacup, Fate has seemed to point +that way. But as to his having no friends—that won't half +wash!" +</p> + +<p> +"And why won't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Just because your Teddy's a Society Toff, poor or not poor! +Belongs to a crack Scotch regiment.... Gets lots of letters +in lovely envelopes with the names of topping County places +on some of 'em—and coronetted crests and monograms...." +</p> + +<p> +"The smart folks who wrote those letters don't count. Hasn't +he told me? 'Not one of them,' he says,—'matters to me a +straw.'" +</p> + +<p> +"He may have said so, but are you <i>sure</i>? I'm asking out of +friendship. Wasn't there a woman—isn't there a woman who +writes as if he mattered to her more than several stacks of +straw? Oh, Luce! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Nurse Burtonshaw stood her ground obstinately: +</p> + +<p> +"I've questioned him over and over.... 'I may have liked +her, since she says I did,' he says.... 'But all the same, she's +less than nought to me.... What did you say her name +was?' he asks in that simple way of his." ... +</p> + +<p> +"And did you tell him?" +</p> + +<p> +"What does that matter to you?" +</p> + +<p> +"It'll matter to you one of these days, as sure as I'm +certificated! And you told me she'd begged you to keep the +letters until he was able to read them without hurting his head. +You haven't given them to him! ... Straight—are you going +to? Infirmary-trained we both may be, and not Hospital—but +I hope we know what's due to the professions to say +nothing of the Red Cross! When will you give him those +letters?" +</p> + +<p> +Behind Nurse Burtonshaw's blue-grey eyes a red flame +kindled. She retorted, confronting her interlocutor: +</p> + +<p> +"When he asks me to! Haven't I told you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not much, you haven't. And about your first venture—with +the Didlick boy—poor thing! Killed at Mons and buried +no one knows where—are you going to tell him about that?" +</p> + +<p> +"I—am—NOT! ... Is that plain enough? ... Now let me +get to bed!" +</p> + +<p> +When Katharine should learn that those letters, written +from her post of service at the Receiving Hospital in France, +and later from a London Nursing Home,—and later still from +Kerr's Arbour,—had never been delivered to Nurse Burtonshaw's +patient, would she believe—Yaill wondered dismally, +or doubt like all the rest of the world, the man who had +married the nurse? +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0214"></a></p> + +<h3> +XIV +</h3> + +<p> +He had told the girl, according to her, that though the letters +on his disc proclaimed him Catholic, he was just as much +a Protestant as anything.... And a Church of England +clergyman—not the Chaplain attached to the Convalescent +Camp—but the pastor of a Protestant church in the town had +been consulted, and under his advice the Special license had +been procured: +</p> + +<p> +Yaill had written to his Brigadier and Divisional Commander.... +As for Nurse Burtonshaw, she had already applied +to the Principal Commandant of the Women's Detachments +and the Matron-in-Chief at the Front for her discharge. And +obtained it—on account of her health,—she had always been +anæmic,—and of late headache and indigestion born of +chocolate-creams and cigarettes, of which Nurse consumed +quantities when off duty, had troubled her a good deal. +</p> + +<p> +"And besides, duck," she told her pal, "if it comes to +choosing between Teddy and my profession, my first duty is to +Teddy. I do really think it was Providence prevented me +signing on for the Duration of the War!" +</p> + +<p> +And so they had been married only a week ago. O God!—O +God!—why had nothing happened to prevent the affair? +Why hadn't the officiating Church of England clergyman had +a fit or a belated attack of scruples? Why out of all the +flotillas of aircraft scouring the charted skies on War's endless +business, had not one (preferably a bomb-carrier) crashed on +the roof of the church? +</p> + +<p> +They had had breakfast at the Conronne—where Brass Hats +and Red Tabs did congregate and foregather. In the private +room above the restaurant, looking across the short side of +the gardens across the Ouai Clemenceau. The hotel was +crowded with British khaki and French grey puppets playing +the talky interludes that enliven the grimmest tragedy of War. +</p> + +<p> +Nurse Burtonshaw had looked her best in her off-duty dress +of pale blue alpaca, with bishop sleeves, and black Red Cross +buttons, a white lawn collar and cuffs to match—a black patent +leather belt with a sprig of artificial white heather tucked in +it, and a white straw hat with the regulation Service ribbon +crowning her wonderful red-gold hair. Her Teddy's +engagement-ring, chosen by herself, set with three smallish +rubies—did duty as keeper to the plain gold ring he had placed—not +quite an hour before—on her large, capable left hand.... +</p> + +<p> +The popping of corks, the clinking of glasses, and the polyglot +roar of male voices from the restaurant below, discussing +the one burning topic of the day in every civilised tongue +used on earth saving one, came to them as they ate their +omelette and sole <i>matelotte</i> at the round table in the big bay +window—looking across the Quai upon the outer Port—crammed +to the jaws of the long channel between the light-housed +jetties—with Allied steamers of all imaginable grades, +types and sizes: from Leviathan troopers, converted Cunarders +and P. and O. boats disgorging endless streams of men, horses, +lorries, guns and munitions; and Hospital ships ceaselessly +swallowing processions of walking wounded and stretcher-cases—poured +out from the long khaki-coloured Red Cross +trains drawn up at the platforms—to T.B.D.'s, British and +French mine-sweepers, submarines, American or Eastern +oil-tankers, seaplane-carriers, Wireless Service boats and +Canadian or Argentine cattle-ships. With a myriad others brought +from the world's airts to serve this single end of War. +</p> + +<p> +Lucy Burtonshaw, now Lucy Yaill,—while eating her <i>déjeuner</i> +with an unspoiled appetite, saw with relief her newly +wedded husband unmoved by this stirring spectacle; long +unfamiliar to one laid-by for months in the placid backwater of +the Convalescent Camp. His sad grey eyes swept the +wonderful panorama without seeming to take it in. Presently +they came back to her; and she smiled into them affectionately, +as she laid down her fork, and spared her rather large +hand, with its brand new wedding-ring under the ruby keeper, +to give his a protecting, reassuring squeeze.... +</p> + +<p> +"Ducks!" she cooed. (Lucy could coo.) "Sure all this +hasn't given you a cooker of a headache?" +</p> + +<p> +He did not seem to hear. He was looking at the sprig +of imitation white heather. She followed the direction of +his gaze, and took it from her belt. +</p> + +<p> +"That what you're looking at? ... My bit of white +heather! ... Pidge"—Pidge being the Hospital nickname of Nurse +Pringle, the pal of some pages back—"Pidge gave it me 'For +luck' when we said good-bye to each other this morning. 'Not +the real thing, but as near as I could get for two frongs!' she +said. Want it, Ducks?" +</p> + +<p> +She put in his hand Pidge's parting gift—a caricature of +Nature with its gummed green-and-white paper leaves and +bells, and trumpery glass dewdrops—and he stared at it as +though it held the secrets of the Past and of the Future +both.... +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it did for Ducks. For something wakened in him. +Some atrophied nerve vibrated, it may be: some long-numbed +brain-cell quickened into life.... +</p> + +<p> +Who knows what change took place? ... At any rate, the +sight and touch of the little shrub with the white-belled flower +that grows amongst the purple ling of Northern moors and +mountains, made Teddy's slowly-beating heart perform a +curious demivolt. Remembrance began to waken from her hazy +trance, or dream, or lethargy.... Somewhere, some time, +Some One had given him a bit of white heather.... Some +One, some time, somewhere—and the gift had meant the world! +The round world floating in her ocean of air, and all the +planets swinging in their orbits.... A woman utterly, +unspeakably beloved by Nurse Burtonshaw's Teddy ... the +woman, whose love had been sweet as the honeycomb of the +Singer of the Canticles—fragrant as myrrh and ambergris and +frankincense; the utter bliss of the body—the soul's bread +and wine.... +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>How beautiful are thy steps, O King's daughter! ...<br> + How beautiful art Thou, and how comely my dearest, in delights ...<br> + Thy stature like unto a palm-tree ... thy throat like the<br> + best wine ...<br> + Put me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thy arm:<br> + for love is strong as death: ... if a man should give<br> + all the substance of his house for love he shall despise<br> + it as nothing...</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"What are you mumbling, Teddy dear? Sounds like a bit +out of the Bible." +</p> + +<p> +He lifted his dropped head and said, regarding his wife +austerely. +</p> + +<p> +"It is as a matter of fact, something from the Canticle of +Canticles. I once got the eight of them by heart, when I +was a boy." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—well! ... Don't mutter, but I thought it came out +of the Bible...." +</p> + +<p> +"It does, as I said.... What are you doing?" For Lucy +was twisting and tilting her coffee-cup, and peering into it +curiously at each new tilt or twist. +</p> + +<p> +"Laying my cup—trying to read my fortune. Though you +can't do it with coffee-grounds as well as with tea-leaves, and +even with them I'm not a patch on Pidge. Who's Pidge, did +you ask? ... Why, Nurse Pidge, my best pal, who gave me +the bit o' white heather.... How you do stare—as though +you'd never seen me before!" +</p> + +<p> +She trembled with alarm as she reached over to pat +her Teddy's cheek. Had not Nurse Pidge, that seeress of +things to come <i>per</i> medium of "Best Household Black" or +"Liphook's Luscious Tea-Tips" prophesied truly that Nurse +Burtonshaw would reap the whirlwind over those letters in +the Japanese box.... +</p> + +<p> +She shivered as though a chilly draught had pierced her +blue alpaca. Nurse Pidge had not let the topic sleep. She +had reverted to it often in that odd <i>argot</i>,—(compound of +homely, commonplace, modern English; up-to-date scientific +terms; Public School, Clubland and Army slang),—which +comes so trippingly from the tongue of the trained nurse of +To-Day. +</p> + +<p> +Pidge had quoted her idol Wyers, Oppenshaw Wyers, +F.R.C.S., of Harley Street, Lieutenant Colonel R.A.M.C. (T.), +Consulting Surgeon attached to the Staff of the Base Hospital +of which the Convalescent Camp was an offshoot. +</p> + +<p> +Who has not heard of Wyers, coarse, gross and tubby in +his khaki, who showed the tenderness of an angel and the +insight of a demigod in his dealings with shell-shocked +men—victims of War's dire curse, hysteria—whose limbs and +members, flaccidly limp, or strangely twisted and distorted, refused +to obey the bidding of their owners' brains. Who, seized by +epilepsy, would fall down foaming, or weep and sob like +heart-wrung women; or stumble in their gait and speech like the +infant members of a Kindergarten; or sit, staring vacantly, +lost in a grey dream of infinite bewilderment—as Teddy used +to sit—as Teddy was sitting now..... +</p> + +<p> +"Helpless and hopeless, beyond the aid of Science, dead to +the voice or touch of old, sweet love, seemingly unhelped by +prayer. Until—just as the stopped watch begins to tick on the +removal of some globule of oil, or speck of dust that clogged +the mechanism—the paralysed nerve thrills once more into life, +the unlocated lesion heals, the infinitesimal blood-clot +dissipates, and the man rises up, sane, freed from bonds, healed +of his infirmity." +</p> + +<p> +Thus Wyers, as many other men no less great have said +before and will say after him, honestly trying to deal with +the problem that to the end of all Time will baffle the human +race: "And how or why that change takes place cannot even +be conjectured by any of us wiseacres.... Call it a Miracle +if you will,—it's as good a word as any other. But until +that Miracle takes place—and the Angel troubles the +pool—Medicine and Surgery must twiddle their thumbs." +</p> + +<p> +Were the waters moving now? Edward Yaill's new-made +wife asked herself, timorously watching him. When he had +spoken in that new, masterful tone—looked at her with that +new glance, so cold and keen and observant, a little shiver +had run through her underneath her blue alpaca. The Miracle, +she knew in her soul, would spell for her Disaster. Secretly +she must have wished that the Angel would never trouble +the pool.... +</p> + +<p> +The best laid plans will gang agley. Nurse Burtonshaw, +formally relieved of her duties by ukase from the Chief Matron +on the Front in France, had quitted the Convalescent Camp +on the previous afternoon. Two or three letters had been +brought in on Number 80's breakfast-tray that morning.... +A bill from a Bond Street tailor, a communication from +Cox's Bank, London, and a square envelope of thick ribbed +linen note with the Cauldstanes postmark, addressed in a clear, +firm handwriting—a letter that would, one conjectures—but +for the interposition of Destiny,—have joined its fellows in +that Pandora casket, the Japanese Box. +</p> + +<p> +Teddy, always indifferent where correspondence was concerned, +had not had time to read the letters, hurrying to tie +the Knot that takes so much undoing. He had thrust his +mail hastily into a breast-pocket of his Service jacket—it +would well keep till by and by. Now he fished the letters out +and laid them on the clean coarse napery of the breakfast-table, +with another envelope containing two official leaflets +badly printed on thin yellowish paper, duly stamped and <i>viséd</i> +by Military Authority, and having names and personal details +filled in with red ink. Ensuring to Lieutenant-Colonel Edward +Angus Sholto Yaill, etc., etc., late C.O. Tweedburgh Regiment +of Infantry, Discharged from the Convalescent Hospital Camp +B—— Base, and Proceeding Home on (indefinite) Leave—as +to Lucy Alice Burtonshaw T.N. of such and such a Nursing +Detachment. Invalided Home from Service in France under +the British Red Cross—transit at the expense of the British +Government, per steamer and rail to Folkestone, London +and Coombe Bay, Devonshire. The passes arrested Yaill's +eye. He did not open the letters. He thrust them back in +his pocket; and said with a glance at the new, cheap silver +wrist-watch that had been the wedding-gift of his bride: +</p> + +<p> +"We have just time to catch the boat without hurrying +you, I think, dear!" +</p> + +<p> +And so they had gone out by the <i>Couronne's</i> side-entrance +to the debilitated fiacre that waited on the cobblestones in +the cold bright forenoon, and for the moment the guilty fears +that throbbed under the blue alpaca were lulled to treacherous +rest.... +</p> + +<p> +Old friends—these chiefly warriors going back on Blighty +leave—came up to Colonel Yaill upon the Folkestone boat, +with hearty greetings and crushing hand-grips. Service and +Club acquaintances saluted and spoke. People were frightfully +glad to see Yaill looking so beany, and generally tophole.... +Every one was expecting soon to hear of his going back to the +Front.... Meanwhile a rest—well-earned, by the Living +Tinker!—discreetly combined with recreation, would soon set +him on his legs. Country-house Bridge, and pillow-ragging, or +London jazz and champagne-parties only good for lieutenants.... +A bit of huntin' and a pleasant house-party just the thing, +etc., what? ... Shooting and fishing had generally gone to +the dogs, all the junior keepers having been called up—but there +were woodcock and snipe and hares—that place of yours in +Cumberland must be stiff with 'em! and up North—the Gala +Water—or at a pinch—(the speaker twinkled knowingly)—the +Rushet where it ran through the Kerr's Arbour +property,—might supply a decent fish or two.... +</p> + +<p> +So, as the Folkestone steamer pushed through the crowded +War-traffic of the English Channel waters, chaperoned by the +dim grey shape of a T.B. destroyer,—watched from the air by +a pilot seaplane,—the desultory chatter ran on.... With a +reference or so to the War news of the month-end; the German +aircraft-raid on the Kentish coast, the Arabs of the Senussi +dispersed in West Egypt, the impending declaration of War +by Albania on Austria: winding up with a proposed adjournment +to the bar for drinks; though Government-controlled +Scotch, thirty-five under proof—and Government-brewed +malt-liquor—cursed rotten swipes—eh, what? ... +</p> + +<p> +The speaker pulled himself up with a surprised glance at +the fresh-coloured young woman in the white straw hat and +the pale blue alpaca gown peeping from underneath a starred +Regulation cloak, who had laid her rather large ungloved hand +on the arm of the fellow-officer addressed, saying: +</p> + +<p> +"No! ... It wouldn't be good for you! ... Please not, +Teddy!" +</p> + +<p> +"Beg pardon, Nurse! ... I thought my friend alone. +Didn't seem to realise you'd got him on a lead. Quite right +to give me the tip. Colonel, the invitation's off! ... Unless +you'll pledge me in something soft; lemon-squash or +ginger-beer!—pretty rotten, I expect!—or tea, or coffee. Perhaps +Nurse'll join?" He thought as he screwed his eyeglasses +tighter: "<i>What glorious hair! ... My favourite colour.... +Yaill strikes me as rather a lucky kind of chap!</i>" ... +</p> + +<p> +"No, thank you!" Lucy drew herself up and looked at her +husband. +</p> + +<p> +With that possessive hand upon his arm, Yaill hesitated +the fraction of an instant, then took the header: +</p> + +<p> +"'No thanks!' for both Mrs. Yaill and myself.... We +breakfasted rather late, didn't we, Lucy? ... Let me +introduce Major Scales-Packard, my wife...." +</p> + +<p> +"Awfully delighted!" +</p> + +<p> +The eyeglass of Scales-Packard, who knew Katharine +Forbis,—leaped out of its orbit as his eyebrows shot up under the +peak of his cap. He grew red,—stammered something +congratulatory, saluted and speedily vanished. And Lucy breathed +more freely. Dimly she sensed that she had stepped across +the frontiers of a new, and possibly hostile country. That +man, Teddy's friend, had looked at her—when Teddy had +introduced him,—as though she had been guilty of child-stealing.... +</p> + +<p> +Had she? ... The question probed to the quick, so that she +paled and shivered; and found relief in the solicitude her +convalescent displayed: permitting Teddy in his new role of +guardian and protector, to envelop her in plaids and waterproofs, +to find her a seat upon the smutty leeward side of the grimy +after-deck saloon-cabin—and supply her with Captain's biscuits +and tea, both of War's villainous brand. Her mental qualms +would have been justified had she overheard Scales-Packard +confiding to numerous acquaintances on board: +</p> + +<p> +"See that tall, good-lookin' man with a blue Hospital +brassard? ... That's Yaill, late C.O. of the Tweedburgh +Regiment! Gassed and shell-shocked last September +somewhere north of Loos.... Married his nurse at the Base +C.O.C. and comin' home—poor silly blighter!—to break it to +the finest woman God ever made—who's waited for him years +and years." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0215"></a></p> + +<h3> +XV +</h3> + +<p> +There had been—Yaill remembered, staring into the red-gold +heart of the fire, where sapphire and violet and emerald flames +played over the burning turfs and hissing oaken billets, making +as they devoured them a little purring sound;—there had +been a little hitch over baggage when they got to Folkestone. +Two heavy strapped cowhide trunks, recovered from Regimental +Headquarters; now found to be lacking some necessary +red or blue chalk lettering,—were nearly being shipped back +to the Base. Battered, mildewed, smeared with whitewash, +they presented a deplorable appearance on the truck with +Teddy's brand new Gladstone, (War manufacture, of American +cloth masquerading as leather) and Lucy's green +canvas-covered box. +</p> + +<p> +The keys of the trunks had long been lost,—necessitating +an explanation with the Representative of Customs. But Yaill +had needed nothing that those leather trunks might contain +during the three days they had spent in London, on the third +floor of a vast caravanserai of a hotel, looking on the +myriad-voiced Strand. But he had sent for a locksmith on the second +day, and had fresh keys fitted. And on the morning subsequent +to the arrival of the bride and bridegroom at the Tor +View Hotel, Coombe Bay, he had gone into the dressing-room +adjacent to their nuptial chamber, fresh from his bath, +rumpled as to the hair,—and opened one of the battered +receptacles in search of a khaki tie. Quite haphazard, and as +chance would have it—on the top—between a mouldy Field +Service mess-frock, and some khaki shirts with burnt holes in +them made by red-hot shell-splinters—he had found a +silver-mounted leather photograph-frame, much tarnished, and gone +white in spots.... +</p> + +<p> +The frame held a portrait of large panel-size, and at the +back was a strut to stand it up by. He lifted the frame and +set it up against the lid of the open trunk, on the top of the +mouldy clothes, and Ah!—what a warm, rich, fragrant gale of +memories blew through the man's sick brain and desolate +heart as those dear eyes of Katharine's looked candid love into +his own! Something like a cry escaped him—he choked it +back fiercely.... +</p> + +<p> +"Did you call me, Teddy?" asked his wife from the next +room, where she sat in a blue Japanese kimono, brushing her +wonderful red-gold hair before a modest display of +nickel-silver-backed brushes and toilet-bottles. For through the +partly-closed door of the dressing-room, or so it seemed to Lucy, +she had heard a woman's name.... And to Lucy's Nonconformist +mind, the woman a man cries out for must be his +lawful married helpmeet; and if she isn't, then the wife has +got a (legal, mind you!) right to know the reason why.... +"Did you want me, dear?" she reiterated,—and saw reflected +in the toilette-glass behind her blue kimono-covered shoulders +and round fresh country face—from which the bloom had +faded suddenly,—the half-open door of the dressing-room +close softly, and heard the key turn in the lock upon the +other side.... +</p> + +<p> +The chambermaid came through with Yaill's shaving-water, +and said that the bath was ready for the lady; and Lucy went +at once. Purposely prolonging her matutinal ablutions, so that +Teddy had dressed and gone down to the coffee-room by the +time she returned, much more composed in mind.... +</p> + +<p> +When she came down the wide shallow staircase with its +artificial palms in mock-bronze vessels, and British-made +Turkey carpet,—he was waiting for her there.... The manager, +an alleged Swiss, had given them a table in the window, +and—sensing the honeymooners with the infallible instinct of his +tribe—enclosed it with lincrusta screens—and placed by each +cover a sprig of white heather of the artificial kind. It is +strange how Fate and Destiny, twin-balances of the scales in +which poor human lives are weighed, will be tipped one way +or the other by gewgaws such as this.... +</p> + +<p> +Within the glass of the photo-frame, against the knee of +the tall, erect, womanly-gracious figure, was a withered sprig +of the real white heather, plucked on the moors above Kerr's +Arbour, and placed there by Katharine.... Against the +raging heart of Yaill lay Katharine's latest letter.... He had +found it on the dressing-glass with the notification from Cox's +Bank, and the Bond Street tailor's bill. +</p> + +<p> +He knew that letter word for word. He saw the short, +poignant sentences in the beloved handwriting written on the +walls of the coffee-room, across the imitation-tapestry paper; +on the white tablecloth and serviettes; on the alleged Swiss +manager's badly-starched shirt-front, and smug dingy-pale +face. +</p> + +<p> +He refused ham and eggs; broke War-bread toast, and +drank down cup after cup of doubtful coffee, unseen by Lucy, +who was fluttered by the observant lorgnette of a large lady, +breakfasting with one obese elderly gentleman in the silver-grey +of the Local Coast Defence Corps—and two tanned young +men in khaki with shabby Sam Browne belts and sword-straps, +sufficiently like the large lady, to be, as in fact they were, +her sons.... +</p> + +<p> +Now the large important lady—upon the shoulder-straps +of whose blue serge jacket glittered the four-pointed gold star +of a Commandant above the numeral of the Detachment—the +honoured title of the Red Cross Society and the name of +her County—happened to be Lady Ridgely, Commandant of +a Convalescent Hospital for Private Soldiers, a large white +mansion standing in neatly-kept grounds, above the Tor View +Hotel, on the same side of the Torcliff Road.... For certain +reasons of her own Lady Ridgely had taken to breakfasting +at the Tor View Hotel; and being a rigid martinet <i>re</i> the +observance of Regulations, the sight of Lucy's pale-blue alpaca +Foreign Service Off Duty dress had very much shocked her,—worn +in combination with an officer so manifestly an invalid: +"For even without his Hospital brassard, which he must have +forgotten to take off—the man looked simply ghastly, my +dear!" +</p> + +<p> +Thus Lady Ridgely afterwards, per telephone, (the receiver +being held by her sister-in-law, the Deputy-Assistant +Director-General of the L.L.W.S.L. at the London Headquarters)—and +a cousin, as Fate would have it, of the protagonist. Of +whom Lady Ridgely took no note at first, being wholly +absorbed in the blue alpaca—and not unconscious of the fact +that its wearer was embarrassed by the rigid glare of her +lorgnetted eye. +</p> + +<p> +When at length she lowered the instrument, it was to +signal the Coffee-Room Manager, alleged Swiss, who hurried +to her side.... +</p> + +<p> +"Kindly tell me the names of those two persons breakfasting +at the table in the window. The invalid officer and the pale +blue nurse," commanded Lady Ridgely. And the alleged Swiss +Manager of the Coffee-Room, relieved—for very private +reasons, to find another than himself the object of Lady Ridgely's +lorgnette—bounded away to consult the Visitor's Book in the +vestibule-office—returned with the information, was thanked, +and gratefully effaced himself. Subsequently interned under +the Defence Of The Realm Act, upon conviction of communication +by flashlight with certain undersea activities in the +Channel—we are to see his pasty German face no more. +</p> + +<p> +The dreary meal came to an end. When his wife rose, +Yaill went with her to the staircase-foot and said in a quiet, +level tone: +</p> + +<p> +"You were so—kind as to put some letters of mine away +in a box for me.... Might I ask you to be so good as to let +me have them now?" +</p> + +<p> +She tried, poor goose!—a mingling of self-assertion and +coquetry: +</p> + +<p> +"Give 'em you now? ... I like that tone of yours.... +Now that we're married and one flesh ... I'm not at all so +sure I shall!" +</p> + +<p> +He looked her full in the eyes and said to her quietly: +</p> + +<p> +"You will go upstairs to our—to your room,—and bring +them to me here!" +</p> + +<p> +"Will I? ... Oh! well,—I suppose I must, since you're so +set on it." +</p> + +<p> +She dropped her head like a sulky child, and mounted the +wide stairs slowly. Yaill stood at the stairfoot watching, while +the blue alpaca was in sight. She did not return. He followed, +and knocked at the door of their bedroom. She cried "Come +in" and he went in, to find her with a tear-stained, sulky, mulish +face, standing at the bedside.... The Japanese workbox—a +tawdry thing of imitation lacquer—was lying on the counterpane. +She gulped to him that she had mislaid the key that +opened the stupid thing. He responded: +</p> + +<p> +"Break open the box. I will buy you—others!" +</p> + +<p> +"My hands aren't strong enough!" +</p> + +<p> +She feigned that those broad, strong dairywoman's hands +that had put up many a twelve-pound frail of muslin-enwrapped +pats for the market,—that had held down delirious men upon +their Hospital beds—were too feeble to break the flimsy lock +of Japanese manufacture. He accepted her explanation with +unmoved countenance. +</p> + +<p> +"Then be good enough to allow me!" +</p> + +<p> +The letters were in his hands. But even as they poured forth +from their camphor-scented prison, so from his wife's swollen, +trembling mouth poured a stream of wordy defence. He +could hear the voice pleading now with its broad, soft +Somerset accent.... +</p> + +<p> +"How was I to be sure she told the truth? ... And didn't +she ask me—and didn't you too—to put by the letters? ... Haven't +I said to you over and over, when you swore how +much you loved me. '<i>Tell me, Teddy, on your oath! Are you +sure you're not engaged?</i>'—And you always swore you weren't, +and that till you met me you'd never known what it meant to +love any woman! Am I to be blamed—called wicked and +treacherous—because I believed you? Oh, Ted!" +</p> + +<p> +He had ground his heel into the carpet beneath his feet, and +set his teeth to keep back the curses he longed to shriek at +her. That plump, fresh-coloured, well-proportioned, +deadly-commonplace young woman would never know what +murderous frenzy boiled in her Teddy's blood, and tautened his +muscles then. But he crushed down the ugly, murderous +impulse and said to her with elaborate gentleness: +</p> + +<p> +"I do not blame you.... I have not reproached you +with—anything. And—I have spoiled your box, and you were fond +of it. You shall have one ten times as good as soon as they +can send it from Liberty's." +</p> + +<p> +So, with the promise of a new box instead of the smashed +one, he carried away his letters, and went up on the moors +where he might be alone to read.... And the larks were +singing in the pale harebell skies of late January.... And the +spicy smell of the larches, the raw-red trunks of the pines, and +the rasp of the wintry ling underfoot reminded him of +Scotland. And the rust-brown of the frost-nipped bracken was +the shade of Katharine's hair. And the colour of the little +streams, running crystal-bright over dead drowned leaves and +red-brown Devon sandstone had the very, very colour of +those beloved eyes.... Stars that would never now look +down upon the slumber of their child.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +To Wyers of Harley Street, Lieutenant-Colonel (T) R.A.M.C., +Consulting Surgeon attached to the Staff of the Base +Hospital in connection with the Convalescent Camp at B—— +the Chief Medical Officer, was at that moment saying—Wyers +having just returned by 'plane from a professional visit to +the Front: +</p> + +<p> +"You know Yaill left us for Blighty on Tuesday morning? +I'm wondering whether it wouldn't have been better to have +kept him on here a bit? Or have sent him to that Hydro at +Les Bonnes Eaux." +</p> + +<p> +"Instead—" Wyers flicked off the ash of his inevitable +Trichinopoli, and deftly picked up a little sheaf of papers +clipped together from the big leather-topped writing-table in +the C.M.O.'s official room. He reversed the chart, to glance +with cool professional interest at the history-sheet behind it, +and turned back to the doctor's card with the inky scrawl +beneath the heading: +</p> + +<p> +"Discharged.... Convalescent" ... and the date of three +days back. +</p> + +<p> +"Instead of striking him off the sheet with leave to get +married! I don't see why not, for my part. He's as well as +ever he will be, unless—you know my theory! And marriage +may help him. Should, certainly—supposing him to have got +hold of a woman of the right sort." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, but has he? Query,—is she?" The Chief Medical +Officer, deftly packing fragrant Navy Cut into a well-burned +briar-root, looked up from his deft thumb-work, under an +anxiously-puckered brow. "You're not aware that he's +married the chart-nurse of No. 8. Hut Ward C.O.C. That little +Burtonshaw—you remember Burtonshaw? Blonde and blue-eyed, +faintly frisky, but a model of provincial propriety for +all of that. And a good nurse—to do her justice!—now +discharged invalided, after two years' Foreign Service with her +unit of the Red Cross." +</p> + +<p> +"H'm!" The nod of Wyers conveyed his knowledge of +Nurse Burtonshaw. "There's only one thing to say for a +match of that kind. It may turn out successfully. One hopes +of course it will. But for a man of that stamp—ultra refined, +highly-bred, and used—going by what one has heard—" +whatever Wyers had heard, he retained with Sphinx-like +taciturnity,—"to a very different type of woman,—Happiness will +not depend on his ultimate return to the normal,—do you +follow? But on his stopping exactly where he is. For the +Miracle wouldn't benefit him—under the present circumstances. +Better for him that the Angel should never trouble +the pool!" +</p> + +<p> +Thus Oppenshaw Wyers, who may or may not have heard +the name of Katharine Forbis. But the Miracle had happened, +Yaill had returned to the normal.... And the thin +chance of happiness in an unequal union with the poor thing +he had married—lay shattered into fragments at his unlucky +feet. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Sitting on a crumbling ledge of the grey-pink cliffs of Devon, +he read his love's letters—that had come so much too late. +Such fond womanly letters—and gallant and courageous, +written from her Receiving Hospital in France, and from the +Base—and from a London Nursing Home and from Kerr's +Arbour. +</p> + +<p> +Here was one dated from the Receiving Hospital in +Belgium in the previous April. It shall be quoted here: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"MY MAN OF ALL MEN.... +</p> + +<p> +"To-day I met a Tommy (one of a great many) on the +frightfully muddy road that leads from Our Shop to the +fighting-line. We were bringing down wounded—(Canadians +chiefly). This long-legged, gaunt, black-a-vised man was +going up with the Relief. A Jew unmistakably—going by his +leading feature—and in evident trouble about a chum who had +got crumped. So your Kathy, wangling a spare seat from +under an orderly—undertook to convey Private Abrahams' +chum back to Hospital...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Added some hours later: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"There isn't so much wrong—and I'm going to drop a postcard +to Abrahams in the Support trenches, to tell him so and +cheer his heart. The queer thing about it is—that the +moment I saw Abrahams—(whose real name is Hazel)—I +felt I knew the man! ... Somewhere, his huge hooked +beak and great shoulders have risen up before me. Somehow—this +can't be love at first sight, Edward!" Ah, wicked +Katharine!—"because my heart is so hopelessly lost to +you!—somehow his very ordinary—rather Cockney voice wasn't +quite the voice of a stranger. Oddly I felt that I could trust +the man!—had trusted him—somewhere, in many a tight +place! ... Newspaper has come in.... Must stop here.... +Finish this idiotic epistle to-night when I get a chance—" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +This bore a date in September, 1915. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"MY PRECIOUS DEAR, +</p> + +<p> +"I've had your last letter. So you're lonely wanting your +Katharine! My dear, don't be! I AM with you, though not +bodily—yet in heart and soul. Please God—" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There was a break. The handwriting of the rest was shaky +and irregular, showing what storms of mingled emotions had +swept through the writer. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"This was begun the day before yesterday. I left off to +read the News of the War. Read—Oh! my dearest—with +what mingled joy and anguish, the story of the combined +assault on Loos. My love, my love!—what awful loss! How +you must grieve for your glorious regiment! Thanks to Our +Lord and His dear Mother! you are alive!—you are alive! +The report that you were missing was contradicted in a later +bulletin. I've been crying until I'm hideous, for sorrow and +joy and pride in you, my Edward! And, for gratitude that +you're alive—and longing to be with you.... How I should +love to pitch duty to the wide and rush away to nurse You! +Wouldn't I? WOULDN'T I?—if it were only playing the game. +But I must,—MUST stop here and do my job for the Red +Cross. My own Edward—these silly X's are all meant for +kisses.... The blots are where I've cried! ... Oh! how +I've cried—how I would love to cry all over the shoulder of +your dear khaki jacket. With love and such unutterable pride +in my dear lover—Your own for this world and the next, +please Heaven! Katharine." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The third bore a date in October, 1916, and the address of +a Distributing Hospital on a Base in France. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"MY DEAREST DEAR, +</p> + +<p> +"I've been desperately wretched, writing and WRITING and +never getting a scrap from you. Now comes a letter written +by your nurse. She tells me that your dear eyes can't stand +print or handwriting, and that even being read to is dreadful +agony. Edward, how selfish I have been—and how stupid, +with all my experience of the results of shell-shock—not to +realise the extent and nature of my dear one's suffering! Now +I beg and command you never to dream of writing until you +are fit to! I have asked your kind nurse not even to read you +my letters, until you are able to hear them without distress or +pain. To think that loving lines from me should cause you +suffering, Edward! And yet I understand, my own! how such +a condition may exist. For the moment I leave off. They +are beating the gong and some signal rockets have just +warned us—" +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +Four hours later.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"An attack by German bomb-carrying Taubes on the Hospital, +in spite of air-scouts and L——s barrage of +anti-aircraft guns. There is a British Army Corps H.Q. close by. +I try to think they wanted that—and not really to bomb the +Hospital with all those poor, poor bandaged men helpless in +their beds. +</p> + +<p> +It was terrific. They got us with H.E. every time—and +the Hospital looks like a squashed bandbox. But, you see, in +spite of the Boche's worst, your loving Kathy stays alive. +Casualties only three, thank God! A convalescent Tommy +killed, an R.A.M.C. orderly badly wounded; and a +V.A.D. ambulance-driving woman somehow got an internal +injury—helping to carry some of the worst cases out of the blazing +wards down into the cellars of the Commandant's +house—luckily close by. +</p> + +<p> +Be prepared to find my next letter written from London, +for I'm going to be invalided back to Blighty. Address, +'<i>Hospital of SS. Stanislaus and Theresa, Copse End Road, +St. John's Wood. Care of the Matron.</i>' Don't worry the least +bit! ... I'm tophole, though no good for driving. It +will be a rest, really, for me. And by and by, if God is +good—" crossed out—"He is, has He not saved you, Edward?—I +shall come rushing over to B—— and carry you home. +Home to Scotland. Oh, my dear, what it would be to have you +to myself at Kerr's Arbour! All the memories of our happy +days langsyne are waiting for us, Edward,—under the blessed +old roof-beams, and on the moors and in the fir-wood—(miles +of bluebells, you remember, in May—growing under the +black-green trees)—and where wee Rushet winds away +between the green braesides, to tumble into Teviot. I've still got +some of the primroses we gathered there one April. Oh! the +good times, before the dreadful War. Let us both look +forward steadily, and hope, and pray, Edward,—that they may +come again. If this is a dismal letter, forgive: +</p> + +<p> +Your Katharine." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Another written a fortnight later, from London. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "HOSPITAL OF SS. STANISLAUS AND TERESA,<br> + COPSE END ROAD,<br> + ST. JOHN'S WOOD, N. W.<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"My DEAREST MAN, +</p> + +<p> +"The operation—quite a small affair, happily over, and your +Kathy pronounced to be well upon the mend. I get the best of +care at this dear place, where matron and Sisters spoil me. +Everybody in town is overwhelmingly kind, and if I set down +all the messages of affection and goodwill that I am charged +with for you, and repeated all the admiring speeches that have +been made to me about my sweetheart—I should need half-a-dozen +sheets of letter-paper to write to you instead of one. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you able to read for yourself a little, dearest, or do +you still depend on the kind offices of your nurse? If the +answer is 'Yes' to my question, she has of course given you +my letters. I have her assurance that she will do this on the +very earliest opportunity. For I should not like her to read +them to you, you know, Edward! For one thing, my epistolary +style is open to criticism—and for another—what I set +down for your dear eyes was and will always be meant for no +other's. Ah, but you understand! +</p> + +<p> +"This is a dull scribble. But I'll do better next time. Too +tired to write another. God bless you, darling! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +K. F. +</p> + +<p> +"If only you could write! ... I'm hungering for a line +so. But not—not a scratch—if it's bad for you, my own! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"K." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There were many letters, and Yaill read them all, haphazard +at first, and then in regular sequence, down to the +very last.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"KERR'S ARBOUR, TWEEDBURGH, N.B. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"<i>January 20th.</i> +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, Edward, can't you write, my darling? Your +nurse sends me news of your wonderful improvement, for +which I thank God, with all my heart and soul! But if you +are so much better that you can read without pain and +endure being read to, why not a scrap of a line to me? ... It +seems to me that I have some right, forgive me for reminding +you, to have news of you from your own hand, my dearest +one.... Oh! to have to beg the bread of one's heart.... +I was proud once—men used to say so. Now I am only your +very lonely, horribly unhappy KATHARINE." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +And yet until a door had clicked open in Yaill's brain, that +handwriting had meant nothing. He asked his Maker in the +depths of his wrung soul, why that Open Sesame of the bit +of white heather—why the leather baggage-trunk with its +guarded secret,—why the letter with its cry of wounded +passion had come to the man who loved Katharine, too late? +</p> + +<p> +"<i>It seems to me that I have some right....</i>" Proud, +delicate-minded Katharine. What suffering must have wrung +that sad reproach from her, that cry of a wounded soul.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Oh! to have to beg the bread of one's heart.... I way +proud once—men used to say so. Now I am only your very +lonely, horribly unhappy Katharine.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Lonely.... Unhappy, his joy, his treasure, his worshipped +one.... Well, Yaill would go to her now, though Hell's gulf +yawned between. He had had this in his mind when he passed +up the cliff-road, breathing the unheeded spices of the sea and +the pine-trees, with the warm morning sunshine full upon +his back.... +</p> + +<p> +Now, sitting high upon the cliffs with the booming of the +Channel waters in his ears and the mourning cry of the hovering +gulls about him, he faced a dim crimson sun, going to bed +in blankets of grey fog. The letters lay scattered on the +grass between his feet. He gathered them up and buttoned +them away safely in his pockets. Then he got up and went +back to his wife at the Tor View Hotel. +</p> + +<p> +He would say he had been called away on business. She +must stay there—the woman who bore his name, until he +had seen his lawyers.... He would provide for her +generously. Things would be arranged, he told himself as he +hurried down the cliff-road in the clammy, blanketing fog.... +</p> + +<p> +The excuses were not received as easily as he had anticipated. +He had left a sulky, tearful girl alone the whole day. +And he came back to a resentful, jealous woman.... +</p> + +<p> +He shuddered, remembering how he had bowed his head to +meet the storm of reproach. +</p> + +<p> +Well, well! Forget,—now one was here under the dear roof +of Kerr's Arbour, by the warm side of the beloved—the +perfect, the ideal mate. He looked at her as she sat there by his +side with her proud head bent, and the dark fringes of her +dreaming eyes lowered upon the soft blush that graced her +cheeks,—Love's exquisite carnation flag, always displayed for +Edward. +</p> + +<p> +She was happy, poor, faithful soul, with just a little tang +of guilt spoiling the happiness. Mark had been killed at +Mons, and Julian had been gulped down by the insatiable +War-monster; and Death had taken their father and hers, +but her man of men was left. How could she help, by his +dear side, being a little happy? She turned and gave him +look for look, and his strength began to ebb away. +</p> + +<p> +Yaill's determination to play the game fairly was weakening. +The barriers were breaking down. His tense muscles twitched, +his blood ran liquid fire. In another moment he would have +snatched her to him, stifled her surprise with furious +kisses—assailed her virgin ears with frantic pleadings—but that a +bell clanged at the hallward end of the corridor. Whishaw's +asthmatic cough sounded outside,—he knocked and came in. +</p> + +<p> +The old man's lean figure, with its stooping, rook-like gait, +was invested with new, dignified solemnity, his well-worn +blacks, even the wide-flanged Gladstone collar that framed his +frosty-apple chops, and the rusty-black silk neckerchief +knotted under his chin, the short end sticking out at a perennial +right-angle, while the other flowed over his starchless shirt-front, +to lose itself in the hollows of his baggy waistcoat,—were +as vestments of one readied for some sacerdotal rite. +He carried a three-branched silver candlestick of antique form, +with lighted wax-tapers, and a Missal bound in faded crimson +leather was tucked under his other arm.... +</p> + +<p> +"Ye'll be for the nicht-prayers noo, Miss Forbis? The +Father has gane ben the chap<i>ell</i>, sae I juist bode to ring the +bell." +</p> + +<p> +"We are coming now, Whishaw." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine rose, took a folded black lace veil from the corner +of the mantelshelf, shook out its scrolled and patterned length—with +firelight flashing through the dark transparency, draped it +with one swift upward movement, over her noble head—and +held out a hand to Yaill. He cursed the intruder mentally as +he got up and the warm fingers met his own—because those +wild words surging to his lips had been so baulked of +utterance. But he took the Missal Whishaw offered him, and led +his love out and down the long corridor—following the lean, +black figure with its upheld light over the flagged pavement, +whose uneven stones could be felt through thickness of matting +and worn Turkey carpeting. +</p> + +<p> +Whishaw held open the Chapel door, Katharine passed in +and Yaill followed mechanically; conscious as might be a man +in a dream, of the mingled perfume of incense and flowers, of +the hollow square of benches in the little nave, framing the +long coffin on its black-draped trestles, with the tall brown wax +tapers in their man-high wooden candlesticks burning at the +head, and the sides, and the feet.... +</p> + +<p> +Still as in a dream he bent his knee as Katharine sank down +before the Presence in the Tabernacle, and rose up from her +genuflection to take his hand again. He felt her lead him +up the narrow aisle ... heard her say to that strange, +familiar face, young-old, wax-white, framed in the shining +oaken wood against the background of the narrow pillow: +</p> + +<p> +"Dear Father, Edward has come." +</p> + +<p> +And he knew as he looked on the still face of the old man, +guardian even in Death of his House's honour—that those +traitorous words that had been upon his tongue would never +be spoken now. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0216"></a></p> + +<h3> +XVI +</h3> + +<p> +Katharine said to him next morning as they sat together at +breakfast: +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad to hear of a good night's sleep. I fancied that +you would rest better in your old bedroom, dear." +</p> + +<p> +Yaill said, rejoicing in the clear sparkle of her eyes, the +fresh, sweet tinting of her cheeks, the gloss upon her springy +hair, and the dozen other charming signs that proved her an +early-morning woman: +</p> + +<p> +"You knew that I should prefer my langsyne nest of +old-fashioned rosebud-chintz to any other. When I went inside +and shut the door, all the old memories came crowding round +me. The great carved four-post bed, the big blaze in the +bowed Queen Anne grate, the General's arm-chair opposite +mine—" +</p> + +<p> +"Where he always sat, dear love! to smoke that last +good-night-cigar, that seemed to have no end." She blinked back a +tear resolutely and Yaill said, feeling in the side-pocket of his +Field Service jacket: +</p> + +<p> +"Here is something I found last night on the chintz-room +chimney-piece." He displayed a blackened briar-root pipe +with the initials E.A.Y. engraved on its tarnished silver +mounting. "The first birthday-present I ever had from you. +And in the camphor-wood William and Mary press"— +</p> + +<p> +"Your dear, shabby old shooting-suit. Lying there ever +since August, 1914." +</p> + +<p> +Men know so little even of the women they love. He never +dreamed of the kisses and tears, the wild words whispered, +the secrets told to that belted Norfolk-jacket of rough tweed, +smelling of cigars and heather. Breakfast over, he filled the +briar-root and went to smoke it on the terrace, while after +conference with the housekeeper, and a brief visit to +Mrs. Bell, who breakfasted in her bedroom, Katharine tied on a +vast apron of blue and white checked cotton, covered her head +with her black lace veil, and went to renew the Altar flowers, +replace the burnt-out brown-wax tapers—and sweep and dust +the Sanctuary. +</p> + +<p> +Her doubly-sacred duties done, and the prayer that followed +ended, her heart flew back to Edward, and she went whither +it tugged. He was pacing, bareheaded, on the gravel of the +lavender-walk below the flagstoned terrace that ran before the +drawing-room windows. His pipe was gripped askew between +his teeth,—his hands were driven deep into his breeches-pockets. +The frozen lavender-bushes were not greyer or +dourer than his face.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You dear! ... You dear! ... Come here! ...</i>" +</p> + +<p> +She imitated the blackbird's challenging Spring call, a +quaintly pretty gift of hers; and he looked up and took his +pipe out of his mouth, and his wintry face was gone—and it +was Spring. He smiled and beckoned, and she hoisted her +carnation flag,—unlatched the French window and was +stepping out to join him,—when Whishaw's voice said behind +her: +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Forbis, mem, there is a gentleman—" +</p> + +<p> +"A gentleman, Whishaw! But, of course, you mean Mr. Keller." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm no!" Whishaw retorted. "I'm no' meaning the lawyer-body!" +</p> + +<p> +"But I can receive no visitor! At a time like this..." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Forbis' dismay rang in her tones. Her dark brows +straightened. Her mouth hardened a little as she turned to +confront her servitor: +</p> + +<p> +"I'm no' saying stric'ly a veesitor," Whishaw amended: +"A caller I'se ca' the body—gin need's be ca' him onything." As +Whishaw showed a card upon a Benares silversalver, his +red-rimmed old eyes blinked, and his frosty-apple visage +assumed an expression of scandalised dismay. "I'm sair loth +to bring my mistress sic' a message, an' the General's corp +lying in the chap<i>ell</i>—an' the Funeral on Monday,—and yoursel' +an' the Colonel set mourning by a maisterless hairth! But +the big, black lad in khaki that rode oot on Alec Govan's +motor-cycle frae Cauldstanes the morn's morn, is deid set on +winnin' an answer from ye.... He says—an' Gude kens!—for +a' his medal an' his wound-stripes, the man may be +lying!—that ye're prepared to see him, an' hear what he has +to say!" He added: "An' I'm boun' to testify, gin he's nae +respeckitable the dougs are deceivit; for Bran an' Laddie an' +Dawtie are fell freendly wi' the man." +</p> + +<p> +Yaill had approached the drawing-room window, by the +steps leading up to the terrace from the lavender-walk. He +had heard, and his heart contracted in a spasm of fierce +suspicion, and his brows drew down over narrowed, glittering +eyes. He watched the face of Katharine as she pondered +over the card of the intruder. It at first occurred to him that +the stranger had ridden over from Whingates with a note from +Lady Wastwood, telling all. He had no sooner dismissed the +idea than another took the place of it. That woman, whom he +had left at Coombe Bay, had somehow discovered his +destination. From her—and from no other—this urgent stranger +came.... +</p> + +<p> +"You will not think of seeing the fellow, Katharine? ... Under +the circumstances you might very well decline." ... +</p> + +<p> +His voice, sounding strange in his own ears, brought +Katharine's head round, and called her absorbed eyes back to his +beloved face. She said, as Whishaw clacked his tongue +noisily against his palate, and fidgeted from one gouty foot to +another: +</p> + +<p> +"The name upon this card was familiar to my father. He +told me some weeks before his death, that he looked forward +with great interest to the coming of a Mr. Hazel—I suppose +the Mr. John Benn Hazel of the firm of Dannahill, Lee-Levyson +and Hazel, Insurance Brokers, of Cornhill—London—whose +name is on this card.... I know it was his intention +to offer Mr. Hazel hospitality. His family—I am told they are +Jews of Palestine—has been for more years than I dare to +estimate—closely associated with our own.... He has a +right—should he wish to exercise it—to attend my father's +funeral. Should he even ask to see him—I should not venture +to refuse." +</p> + +<p> +Whishaw said, straightening his stooping back to soldierly +erectness, and holding the Benares tray against the seam of +his trouser-leg: +</p> + +<p> +"Vera' gude, Miss Forbis, mem. Will I bring Mr. Hazel +here to ye, or show him in the morning parlour? 'My business +wi' the leddy,' says he, 'is maist private, ye ken.'" +</p> + +<p> +Katharine's order to show the visitor into the morning +parlour was forestalled by Yaill's saying: +</p> + +<p> +"Receive Mr. Hazel here. While you talk to him I shall +smoke another pipe in the garden, if I may?" ... +</p> + +<p> +He hardly gave back the smile that accompanied Katharine's +assent. She untied her blue apron and laid aside her +veil. Yaill touched her hand swiftly with his lips, and went +out again into the frosty morning sunshine, as Whishaw +quitted the drawing-room, clacking softly yet.... +</p> + +<p> +The door re-opened, showing his black, rook-like shape, +bald brow, sharp, little red-rimmed blue eyes, and +withered-apple-visage, plimmed into an expression of sour disapproval, +behind the vast khaki shoulders of a huge man who stooped +low upon the room's threshold, saluting its mistress with +almost Oriental reverence.... +</p> + +<p> +If the accompanying words had been: "Hail to you, O +lady!" instead of "I'm glad to have the pleasure—" as John +Hazel bent his gaunt shoulders and lowered his square black +head before the tall, womanly shape that towered against its +sunlit background of terrace and garden, woodlands and +snow-tipped hills, Miss Forbis would hardly have been surprised. +For his long right arm had shot out and downwards, sweeping +back with the fingers incurved, to touch breast and lips and +forehead. As he rose up to his great height of six feet four +inches, and some invisible, resistless hand—with the weight of +many centuries behind it—ceased to press down his head—the +glamour of his Eastern salutation fell from him like a +discarded robe.... +</p> + +<p> +Katharine saw a big, raw-boned, brown-skinned man, of +powerfully Semitic type, probably a year or two over thirty; +too gaunt to be coarse, and too frankly middle-class in tone +and manner to be mistaken for a gentleman. And +somewhere—somewhere—she had met the man before.... +</p> + +<p> +To John as Whishaw closed the drawing-room door and its +owner moved forward with graceful, gracious greeting, the +first sight of Katharine brought its disappointing shock. For +it was not the woman he had unreasonably expected. Taller—he +had only seen the Ideal seated, remember! Older, with +great, sad eyes, rust-coloured as the withered leaves, +surrounded with brownish circles. The rich carnations that had +bloomed in the other woman's cheeks, under the peaked blue +cloth storm-cap of Foreign Service, were missing. It was not +she, but a woman who was like her! Extremely like her,—John +conceded that. But older, paler, graver and more +self-contained; without the gay good-fellowship, the heartening +smile—the buoyancy—the atmosphere of youth.... +</p> + +<p> +And yet, as he stood by the chair to which she had pointed, +waiting impassively until she should have chosen and taken +her own seat, he knew that he stood in the presence of his +very liege lady, whom by virtue of an ancient oath one John +Hazel was bound to serve, honour, reverence, defend and +obey.... +</p> + +<p> +He said to himself that he was glad the real Katharine Forbis +was older than <i>that other</i>. More dignified, more reserved, +and all that sort of thing. He was saying it again when the +tall shape of a man in khaki passed the open window on his +left hand,—there were four of these opening like doors on a +level with the terrace—and a red spark kindled in John's +gaunt black eyes,—because he knew the man again. He would +deal with him presently. Meanwhile—he looked back at Miss +Forbis, and roughly caught his breath. Who had deemed +her less than young, with such eyes of gold and bramble-dew, +and such roses blooming in her cheeks, as her wide, beautiful +mouth curved in a happy smile. And that she WAS the Woman +of the muddy road that had led in April, 1915, to the Fighting +Line east of Ypres—there could be no doubt.... +</p> + +<p> +"Then it <i>is</i> you!"—broke from him.... "I give you my +word that hundreds of times since that day on the Menin +road, I've said to myself I'd know you again anywhere—even +if they'd shown me your skin on a gate! But—up to this +minute I've not been sure. Now I'm certain!" +</p> + +<p> +In the same breath she found him again: +</p> + +<p> +"Private John Hazel, No. 000, X. Platoon, F. Company, 4th +Battalion, 448th City of London (Fenchurch Street) Fusiliers! +.... Well, I sent the postcard to tell you about your friend.... +Wallis—you see I remember his name—shot in the +shoulder with shrapnel. He wasn't very badly hurt. +What!—you never got my message?" +</p> + +<p> +John grinned, showing his mouthful of big, white teeth. +</p> + +<p> +"No such gay luck! Fritz handed me a Blighty one that +same afternoon, and I went down to the dressing-station +dug-outs by the Meat-Tray Express—the Wheeled Stretcher Line, +I mean!—and then back to the Base by the Gingerbread Chuff. +Sucking your toffee.... My word! that was some toffee. +I kept the wrapper a long time—till the nurses said it was +germy, and pitched it in the fire." +</p> + +<p> +Her heart warmed to the familiar soldier-slang. She gave +back his smile frankly. +</p> + +<p> +"I think," she said, "I knew you from the first. But how +wonderful that you should be <i>the</i> Hazel. The man my +father"—She was graver and older now, with that shadow +of grief upon her face "—the man of whose coming my dear +father spoke, so often, and with such interest. And now you +will never meet on earth. Why, I wonder why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Give it up. Altogether, this is a jolly queer stunt. So +queer that I've left off being astonished. Wasn't it one of +those old Shakespearian Johnnies who said: '<i>There are more +things in Heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your +philosophy.</i>' Not that I'm by way of cooling my heels outside Pit +doors to see the Bard played—give me a tuney Musical +Comedy or a rattling Revue! But all the same, old W.S. has +got a knack of putting his finger on the spot,—now hasn't +he, Miss Forbis? ... But you ... I heard of your being +invalided Home. A strain, they called it. Did you get it that +day near Ypres?" +</p> + +<p> +Katharine smiled. He remembered the smile, breaking over +the face like sunshine.... +</p> + +<p> +"Oh no! but in the September following, when the German +airmen bombed our Hospital. You see, they'd set on fire, +and—" +</p> + +<p> +"And you carried a man out. Hulking brute! Ought to +have died before he let a woman lift him. And—where were +the orderlies, I should like to know?" +</p> + +<p> +The blustering tone angered Katharine. "What business is +it of yours?" was written on her stiffened face. +</p> + +<p> +"The man had no choice because he was unconscious, and +the orderlies' hands were full. There were precious few of +them anyhow.... Army Nurses and V.A.D. girls evacuated +the wards before you could turn round. Lifting is +nothing really—once you get the knack of it. And—in those +days I was as strong as a man. A really hefty man, I +mean!" She stretched out a long arm with slow, powerful grace, +looking down its fair rounded length with critical approbation, +and then rose up, impressing John not only by her splendid +height, but by her air of authority, and supple grace of +movement. She said, moving to an ancient rosewood +writing-bureau, unlocking one drawer of many in its upper part, and +taking a letter out: +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me, if in view of the business in hand I remind +you that we're side-tracking. This letter my father received +on December 21st. He gave it me to read—it is signed with +the name upon your card—'John Benn Hazel.' Do I understand +that it was written by you?" +</p> + +<p> +He explained, keeping his big, black eyes upon her: +</p> + +<p> +"From Colthill War Hospital, Middlesex. I was there +when Old Mendel—when a confidential clerk in a relative's +counting-house brought me—just as he'd received 'em from +the East—a copy of my late grandfather's Will, and the +documents and other things concerned in this business.... There +has been delay.... I ought to have explained that a little +keepsake here—a love-token from Brother Boche—" he tapped +his big chest, somewhere above the left clavicular region—"kept +me from getting on to the job before.... I'm really +frightfully sorry!" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course. How could I forget your wound!" Her eyes +softened as they took in the two gold stripes that graced his +cuff, the bagginess of his khaki on the giant frame, and the +brand-new ribbon of the D.C.M. "You have been only +recently discharged from Hospital and are hardly quite strong +yet. Are you?" +</p> + +<p> +"First-class. It only touches me up in the puff now and +then, like hell—I beg your pardon!" +</p> + +<p> +John flushed darkly under his tough mahogany hide, and +amended: +</p> + +<p> +"I meant to say that I lose my breath and can't get it back +again. But this is side-tracking." It was Katharine's turn to +flush. "About—about that letter.... You see, I regularly +got the wind up when I sat down to write to your father.... +And so—I naturally fell back upon the translated draft of the +letter of instructions written by my grandfather before his +death and sent me with his Will." +</p> + +<p> +Her doubtful face grew clear. +</p> + +<p> +"At last I begin to understand.... The original letter +and the Will were written in Hebrew?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, naturally, since Hebrew was the old man's native +tongue, when he wasn't talking French or Modern Greek, or +Arabic or Syriac...." +</p> + +<p> +There was a spark of humour in the visitor's cavernous +black eyes, and Miss Forbis' wide, beautiful mouth began to +curl a little at the corners. +</p> + +<p> +"This clears the air. Will you think me—I hope you will +not think me offensively personal, Mr. Hazel, if I say that I +found between your language and the phraseology of your +letter, shall I say—a discrepancy that rather mystified me." +</p> + +<p> +"Sure that!" +</p> + +<p> +He pounded his knee as he used the Colonial word that the +War has grafted upon our English speech for ever—and broke +into his big coarse laugh, stopping short to glance at her +mourning dress, and redden to his beetling eyebrows, and the +cap of coarsely curling hair that capped his high-domed head, +as naïvely as a schoolboy. +</p> + +<p> +But Katharine had forgotten to be critical. In glancing +over the letter in the big black handwriting of this big-nosed, +black-avised young man, its sentences had once more cast their +curious glamour over her. Her lips moved soundlessly as she +whispered to herself: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>To the present lord of the Towers of Kir Saba in North +Britain, and in Palestine, be it known by the word of Eli Ben +Hazaël, present Head of the House of Hazaël of Alexandria in +Egypt, and Jaffa in Palestine.</i> +</p> + +<p> +"<i>The sum of moneys lent by Issachar Ben Hazaël, Merchant, +in the Year 1146 of the Christian Era to Sir Hew Forbys, +Knight, upon the fields, streams, vineyards and groves with the +Tower of Kir Saba in Palestine hath been recovered with the +interest thereupon due. The Tower of Kir Saba with the +groves, vineyards, streams and fields appertaining, stand free +from debt. Therefore are the sealed writings returned, with +the moneys that are over the sum of the indebtedness: by the +hand of a son of the House of Hazaël, who will receive +writings of acknowledgment for the same.</i> +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Let the present lord of the Tower of Kir Saba in Palestine +and in North Britain duly apprise the writer of this as to when +it will be convenient to him, to receive the representative of +Eli Ben Hazaël.</i> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<i>Kindly address:</i> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + PRIVATE JOHN BENN HAZEL,<br> + CITY OF LONDON (FENCHURCH ST.) FUSILIERS,<br> + WARD NO. 8.,<br> + COLTHILL WAR HOSPITAL,<br> + MIDDLESEX."<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0217"></a></p> + +<h3> +XVII +</h3> + +<p> +Katharine looked up from the queer, absorbing letter, four +pages of big plain note with the printed address of the +Hospital, to meet the intent black stare of the representative of +the House of Hazaël.... +</p> + +<p> +She said, returning the letter to the envelope, and keeping +it in her hand as she went back to her chair opposite him: +</p> + +<p> +"Your grandfather—was an old man?" +</p> + +<p> +"He was nearly a hundred years of age, and mentally in +topping condition when the War happened and swept away +all his sons and grandsons too, except my brother and myself. +And that broke his heart. Peace be upon him!" added John +without intending it. +</p> + +<p> +"Peace be upon him!" echoed Katharine Forbis. "I think +that is a beautiful thing to say. He would have said it for +my dear father had he known!" she added. "But they have +met by now, in that good place where all good men foregather. +Do you not think they have?" +</p> + +<p> +"My grandfather was a devout Jew," said the big fleshy-lipped +mouth opposite her. +</p> + +<p> +"And my father was a faithful Catholic," said Miss Forbis. +"And Catholics and Jews who have served God according to +the light He gave them, are equal in His sight. Do you not +believe so?" +</p> + +<p> +"I've never given much time to theological and—ar—ar—dogmatic +questions. But at Lloyds it stands that all ships are +good ships if the insurance has been paid. Now as to these +documents and things—" John reached down a long arm and +hauled out from under his chair a business-like bag of shabby +cowskin. "Here in this bag you see, I've got the whole +caboodle!" (Really this was a very objectionable young +man.) "But first, if you don't mind, the rings have got to be +verified. That black agate you're wearing—and this of +mine...." +</p> + +<p> +He wagged a huge third finger. Katharine repressed a sense +of this big, florid, hook-nosed young City insurance-broker's +having taken a liberty, when she admitted, glancing at one of +the large, beautiful hands lying lightly clasped together on her +black lap: +</p> + +<p> +"It is odd. This ring—which is a family heirloom worn up +to the day of his death by my dear father—and that you have +on, are practically identical...." +</p> + +<p> +"With this difference, that mine is the original intaglio, and +yours a facsimile of the design in relief. The 'mate to the +gem' I rather think they'd call it." He looked at the black +agate with the head of Hercules shouldering the club, and +crowned with the lion-mask, once the signet of Philoremus +Fabius, given by his patron to Hazaël the Jew. +</p> + +<p> +"Would they? ... Oh, well, it's possible!" Katharine +admitted. He went on: +</p> + +<p> +"I was given to understand that this is no end of an +heirloom. Been handed down in my grandfather's branch of the +family—the trunk, I suppose I ought to call it—since the year +308...." He rubbed the antique greenish-gold setting on +his sleeve, and looked at it closely, then drew it from his big +third finger, and rose up from his chair. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Katharine Forbis as though he would never +have finished getting up. With a strange sensation she also +realised that she was up against Antiquity and Tradition, in +the person of this Territorial Tommy grafted upon a Cornhill +insurance-broker; who spoke the colloquial English of the City, +mingled with the slang of the camp and the trenches,—as a +foreign language painstakingly acquired. Great as was her +sense of race, it was belittled by Hazel's, with that history +behind him that was written by the Eternal Finger on the +living rock of Sinai.... +</p> + +<p> +And he was towering over her as she sat there—salient, +masterful—endued with an authority ancient as the hills. +Saying in his deep bass tones as he bent over her: +</p> + +<p> +"It need not take a moment, Miss Forbis, but the form is +absolutely necessary. It proves beyond doubt that you are +you, and that I am—whom I say I am! ... May I ask you +to hold out your left hand!" +</p> + +<p> +She obeyed him, lightly resting the downward-turned palm +of the hand that wore the black onyx upon the upturned palm +of Hazel's. Now he brought the faces of the rings together, +carefully adjusting them until the intaglio of his own ring +covered the relievo of its counterpart, and the gems wedded +into one chipped and shabby black onyx square.... +</p> + +<p> +"Good!" The young London business man was once more +merged in the Jew of Syria. "There could be no proof more +convincing than the marriage of these gems." He lifted his +hand, and the rings were two again—and Katharine saw him +return to his chair and become once more a large young +London Territorial grafted on an insurance-broker, of Cornhill, +E.C. +</p> + +<p> +"Now I must hand you over these...." He was opening +the cowskin bag, dipping in his big hands and bringing out—were +these shrivelled things parchments? Wrapped in squares +of faded yellowish silk, tanging the homely-sweet atmosphere +of the room with myrrh and benzoin and other Eastern odours, +spicy, pervasive, suggestive and queer. "First of all—" he +handed the surprised Katharine the flat wallet of mouldy +parchment sewn with antique silkworm gut—"this contains +the original Title Deed of the Tower of Kir Saba, with the +fields, streams, wells, vineyards and groves appertaining, +granted to the Tribune Justus Martius of the Tenth Roman +Legion by the divine Emperor Vespasian, on the tenth day of +August in the second year of his reign...." +</p> + +<p> +He paused to explain that the year was A.D. 70, when the +old Roman Johnnies under Titus took the temple at Jerusalem, +and then dealt with the remainder of the documents from the +deed of mortgage between Sir Hew Forbis, and Issachar Ben +Hazaël in the year 1146, down through the lengthy list of +accounts and vouchers, the latest cleanly typed in purple ink +on yellowish Levantine foolscap in the Jaffa offices of +Messrs. Abel Manasseh, Ephraim and Co. Winding up: +</p> + +<p> +"And I think you'll agree with me, Miss Forbis,—what with +Wars, earthquakes, locusts and dry seasons; the raids of the +Saracens and the Third and Fourth Crusades—not forgetting +the Fifth in 1197 when Pope Innocent III issued a Bull dooming +the people of the Ten Tribes to perpetual servitude,—that +during what we Jews have got some excuse for calling the +Dark Ages—there was nothing doing to any extent in the +wine- and olive-trade." +</p> + +<p> +"You talk," Katharine murmured, "as though all this +happened yesterday." +</p> + +<p> +"Speaking in my sense," said John Hazel, "it happened in +December last...." +</p> + +<p> +He went on,—seeming to feel his way,—garnishing his +sentences less and less with the argot of the City and the slang +of the trenches,—falling unconsciously more and more into the +dignified archaic English of the translated typescript: +</p> + +<p> +"Christianity had a grudge to work off on us Hebrews. +When one of those jolly old mediæval jossers wanted to +cleanse his crime-stained soul, he had it rubbed into him at +G.H.Q. that the best Sapolio was the blood of a Jew. If +kings or nobles wanted to raise an extra bit of pocket-money, +they'd only to squeeze a Jew between a brace of +paving-stones"—Katharine shuddered—"and drain away the gold. +Between imposts and confiscations, spoliations, expulsions and +massacres, not only in Syria but in West, North and Central +Europe,—we Hazaëls had hardly a fighting-chance to develop +our own, or another's property! The lands of Kir Saba had +long lain desert round the ruins of the Tower,—when my +ancestors were driven into Spain, to join the Sephardim there.... +In Spain we struck root and prospered, they tell me. Near +the end of the fourteenth century Spain became too hot for +us. With luck at low-water-mark and all the hounds of +Torquemada's Inquisition baying at our blistered heels, we flew +the coop into Mohammedan Turkey—and under the protection +of the Infidel we spat upon—Sultan Bayazet the Second—settled +on friendly soil and held up our heads again. By +the middle of the Eighteenth Century things began to pick +up. An astonishing discovery, originally touched upon by +Shakespeare in <i>The Merchant of Venice</i> blazed like a meteor—I've +seen meteors blaze in France, but they were nothing +to the German star-shell!—across the mentality of intellectual +Christendom. 'The Jew pays better as a citizen than as a +pariah. Pen him in the Ghetto and he cuts no ice—because +Gentile laws cripple his energies. Let him out—he will be +more useful still! His money is the golden manure of +successful speculation. His Jewish brains are the pith and +marrow of every progressive plan. In Law, Literature, Science, +Poetry, Music and Art the alien leads—only God knows the +reason!'" +</p> + +<p> +The great clenched fist struck the mantelshelf heavily, making +its vases of ancient Persian pottery tremble on their ebony +pedestals: +</p> + +<p> +"Fools! When He showered these flaming gifts upon the +leaders of His Chosen People—did He not know that the Jew +of all men would use to most advantage what he had received. +So, from the kick-ball of the Dark Ages he has become the +hub of Civilisation. The golden grease that oils the World's +axles as it spins between the Poles!" +</p> + +<p> +He pulled up and looked at his listener like a man suddenly +awakened. His big black eyes burned with a dull red +glow in their gaunt caves, and his bluish-shaded temples and +prominent forehead shone with little beads of wet. +</p> + +<p> +"These things were nothing to me once," he explained with +a rather embarrassed shrug of his shoulders, "and now they +pretty well run the show. Awfully sorry if I've talked too +much about ourselves, Miss Forbis. But an explanation's +necessary, especially after"—his big white teeth showed as he +smiled—"our failure to hand in our accounts for nearly nine +hundred years. Of course we have kept a base in Alexandria +since the beginning of the Fourth Century, and later +we established branches in Smyrna, Constantinople, Malta +and so on.... But it wasn't until 1833 that we got foothold +in Palestine and the vineyards of Kir Saba began to bear +again...." +</p> + +<p> +"You make wine there?" Katharine asked with interest. +</p> + +<p> +"We used to, on rather a big scale. We have, or rather, +we had vaults on the property, on an area of about 5 +<i>hectares</i>—(we use the French method of mensuration)—with cellars +and fermentation-rooms for use in vintage time, and an +ice-machine and dynamo for running the machinery.... The +Turks have smashed all that by now, and blown up the vaults +I daresay,—as they did our vaults at Rehon and Zicron-Reuben. +But I don't expect they let much of the wine run to +waste. There are too many German officers with the Sultan's +Army Corps—and our Medocs and Sauternes—sweet wines—to +say nothing of our special Tokay—would be likely to appeal +to 'em! Now may I trouble you with this cheque for a balance +due to you." +</p> + +<p> +He handed Miss Forbis a pale green-and-blue slip, +representing a draft Payable to Order upon a London Branch of +the <i>Crédit Lyonnais</i> for £8,149.16.10, and requested her +acknowledgment for the same. +</p> + +<p> +"Please to write 'Received by cheque—'" (Did he guess +what a wonderful windfall that eight thousand dropped into +her lap at this pinched juncture, seemed to Miss Forbis of +Kerr's Arbour, with an income reduced to microscopic +proportions by the War-slump in Home and Foreign Securities.) +"That's the best way to word it." He took the acknowledgment +from her, adding: "That's posh!—I mean, correct! Perhaps +you would kindly keep my card, in case you needed help of +any kind—that I could possibly give." +</p> + +<p> +Something in the tone made Miss Forbis look round from +the Chippendale writing-chair in front of the old rosewood +bureau to whose drawer she had transferred the papers, and +the pale green and blue cheque on the <i>Crédit Lyonnais</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"You are most kind, Mr. Hazel, but there can be no +legitimate reason why I should trouble you...." +</p> + +<p> +"There's a reason, if it comes to that, and a thundering +good one!" +</p> + +<p> +She laid down her pen and turned to him in smiling +inquiry: +</p> + +<p> +"We of the House of Hazaël are bound to serve you and +yours.... It follows that we do so." +</p> + +<p> +"You do not mean that you are bound by any provision or +clause in that old mortgage of the Tower?" +</p> + +<p> +He returned in the calm authoritative tone that alternated +so oddly with his modern slanginess: +</p> + +<p> +"I speak of a great debt of gratitude incurred by a remote +ancestor of mine to an early founder of your House—Philoremus +Florens Fabius, Prætor of the Egyptian taxes at +Alexandria—at the close of the Third Century, in my ancestor's +early youth." +</p> + +<p> +"'Philoremus Florens Fabius, Prætor of Egyptian taxes at +Alexandria.' ..." +</p> + +<p> +She leaned her cheek upon her hand, thoughtfully repeating +the name. And all that was noble, patrician and austere in +her proud, frank, healthful, vigorous beauty irresistibly +appealed to the man who looked on her. Not at all in the sexual +sense, though his was a sensuous nature. But once and for +all he throned her in his heart as the noblest, dearest, most +worship-worthy of living women; and knew that she would +reign there as long as life should last.... +</p> + +<p> +She seemed to have forgotten John, so unrebuked he feasted, +revelling in the grace of the long limbs, the fair hands lying +folded together in her lap, the exquisite bend of the musing +head upon the long white throat. No beauty she owned but +went home to him with a sudden poignant joy of recognition, +such as a man might experience, if, after years of hopeless +separation, he were to find himself face to face with a beloved +friend:—"As if a chap with a bayonet had jabbed me in the +ribs!" he thought,—puzzled by the bliss that hurt,—reverting +to Private Hazel.... And then he caught his breath, for her +eyes had come back to his again. And they were kind as she +asked: +</p> + +<p> +"This money—this eight thousand pounds odd, you have +just paid me. Can your firm afford to part with so much, +when you have suffered such losses since the Turks joined +the War?" +</p> + +<p> +"We've got a bit put by against a rainy day." His face +was mask-like in imperturbability as he recalled that trifling +balance of three-hundred-and-eighty-thousand. Noting the +smoothing of the slight, anxious line between Miss Forbis' +handsome eyebrows, John guessed that the family were not +over-flush. Who knew but that the eight thousand hadn't +dropped into the lap of Katharine in the very nick of time. +Proving his acumen, for indeed those unexpected thousands +were a Godsend. But she was saying with a rather bewildered +smile: +</p> + +<p> +"I shall take a little time to get quite used to the idea of +having property in the Holy Land.... And how odd that there +should be one Kerr's Arbour here—and another over in +Palestine—and that my father should never have heard of the +existence of such a place!" +</p> + +<p> +"The papers will make all that clear to you.... And—'Kerr's +Arbour' is merely a corruption of 'Kir Saba,' as Kir +Saba is a contraction of Kirjath Saba. The Tower of Kir +Saba in Palestine has given this place its name.... 'The +Walled Place of Saba' is the English translation from the +Hebrew." +</p> + +<p> +"Good Heavens! ..." murmured Katharine. +</p> + +<p> +The huge dark man got up from his chair and leaned an +elbow on the mantelshelf, and went on speaking in a deep +slow tone that seemed the very voice of Time.... +</p> + +<p> +"The Philistines built the stronghold in the Year of the +World 1160—when they came from the nor'west in their +bird-beaked galleys, with shields set round the carven bulwarks, +and scarlet lug-sails.... They set their ships on waggons +drawn by great teams of oxen, and pushed up from the southward +into Northern Syria and took the Coastal Plain.... Ashdod +was Aasgaard then, and the Sons of Odin held revel there—with +deer and hogs roasted whole, and barley-loaves baked +in the ashes, and wine and beer and mead. Making sacrifices +and libations to the stone image of their bearded long-staffed +god, with the high hat and travelling mantle—just as +blue-painted Teutons with long yellow hair, worshipped the wooden +effigy in the clay, wattle and tree-trunk temples of Alemannia—and +under the tall hanging-stones of Britain's Holy Rings.... +But it was razed to the ground—I speak of the stronghold +later known as Kir Saba—in the time of Solomon the King. +And when King Solomon,—peace be upon him!—gave the +City of Gaza to Balkis, Queen of Sheba,—woman-like she +coveted, and asked, and got for her asking, the new Tower +built by the King among the vineyards north of Joppa—that +were famous for the greatness and sweetness of their grapes." +</p> + +<p> +He removed a great brown hand from the marble to rub +his forehead, and went on in the deep slow tone: +</p> + +<p> +"Long after the glory of the King, like the beauty of the +Queen—had passed into a dusty legend,—the Philistines +possessed the land once more. And Kir Saba was destroyed +again,—and again rebuilt—and burned, as I have said, by the +Kharezmian Tartars in the year of the Christian Era, 1244." +</p> + +<p> +He coughed, stuck a thumb in his belt and continued in +quite a different tone: +</p> + +<p> +"As for the building as it stands now—supposing the Turks +have left any of it,—it dates from somewhere in the Tenth +Century, rather more than a hundred and seventy years before +the time of Sir Hew." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0218"></a></p> + +<h3> +XVIII +</h3> + +<p> +"Ah, yes, Sir Hew! ..." Katharine responded. "Naturally +as the builder of Kerr's Arbour, Sir Hew's name is more +familiar to us than that of many a later ancestor. I will except +Sir Mark, at whose portrait you are looking now...." +</p> + +<p> +Her glance followed her visitor's to a noble Vandyke canvas +set in the panelling above the mantelshelf. +</p> + +<p> +"'Sir Mark Forbys,'" John read out from the rusty-gilt +lettering beneath, "'Captain-General In The Royal Forces, +1645. Killed At The Battle of Naseby.'" +</p> + +<p> +Below the lettering was the coat-of-arms whose faded +gilding shone on the courtyard-gates. The jut of the hooded +hearth, below the narrow mantelshelf, showed the coat again, +sculptured in bold relief: and wrought in enamel on the guard +of Sir Mark's sword—embroidered on the crimson scarf that +crossed his breast, and on the corner of the velvet saddle-cloth +of the Arab charger held in the background by a handsome +waiting page; the three silver scallop-shells on a <i>fesse</i> between +two chevrons black and gold, were topped by the crest of the +wolf's head, scrolled with its legend, indecipherably minute, +or clear and plain to read: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "FORBYS FOES FA"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +John's eyes softened as they rested on the brilliant, clear-cut +face, of which Katharine's was a softer feminine replica. For +all the laces, velvets and silks of his splendid figure in its +damascened steel-plate, with the rich brown curls hanging in +heavy masses on the rose-point of its Stuart collar, Sir Mark +bore the cachet of a dominating race. A proven blade in a +velvet sheath, a fighter for all his frippery.... +</p> + +<p> +Bringing his glance back from the portrait to Sir Mark's +living descendant, John Hazel, with a queer thrill of proprietary +pride, promised himself that the foes of this Forbis should +not for want of a champion, remain standing upright! +</p> + +<p> +Had she an enemy? If so, let him look out for himself +if ever John Hazel had the chance to get at him. And then, +with a sudden blinding flare of recollection—as though a +searchlight had found at last a thing that had been hovering +in the dark of semi-forgetfulness—beyond the range of active +consciousness—came the memory of the story heard in the +train—the incredible tale of Katharine's betrayal—the +dreadful news that soon would have to be broken, that might come +crashing down upon her any moment now.... +</p> + +<p> +Treacherous hound.... Damnable, lying, sneaking—No! +The face of the man seen upon the day before, rose up in +Hazel's memory. Not a face easily forgotten. Thin, brown, +handsome, refined,—with straight, clear-cut features, and-grey, +miserable, desperate eyes.... +</p> + +<p> +Again Katharine addressed John Hazel, and he started. +His heavy Army boot ground on the kerb of the fireplace +as he turned to answer her. In the same instant, beyond and +behind her as she sat before him in her chair,—framed in +the open glass-doors of the more distant of the terrace-windows,—he +saw the tall khaki figure and the haunted face of +Yaill. +</p> + +<p> +Their looks met. Something in the nature of an appeal and +a reply passed between the gaunt black eyes and the miserable +grey ones. Then the tall khaki figure moved on. Not so +swiftly but that the sound of his booted footsteps on the +terrace tiles reached the keen ear of Katharine. Her head turned +the fraction of an inch towards the window ... a wonderful +light broke over her, transfiguring, irradiating.... Marvel +of marvels.... John Hazel found himself looking for the +first time in the face of Beautiful Love. +</p> + +<p> +Love.... Not at all the kind of love familiar to John +Hazel. Not the cocktail-kindled emotion of the restaurant or +supper-club. Not the love of a Birdie Bright or any of her +venal sisters,—but the love of a clean-souled, pure-hearted +Katharine for her chosen lover, her one "Man of all men." +</p> + +<p> +Submerged for a moment in a great wave of emotion, John +Hazel caught his breath, reddened and gulped. Such facial +characteristics as a prominent forehead, tanned and +tough-skinned as the knee of a Highlander, and capped with wiry +closely-curling hair of inky blackness,—the heavy smudge of +eyebrows thatching those glowing eye-caverns—the great +salient hooked nose, coarse fleshily-lipped mouth and portentously +lengthy chin with a cleft in it—could not be said to +constitute a sympathetic visage. And yet, Katharine found +herself seized with a sudden, irresistible conviction that this +strange young man was sorry for her.... +</p> + +<p> +Just as she had caught a passing glimpse of Edward, her +man of men, her precious dear one!—pacing the terrace up and +down in the nipping sunshine, threading the frosty garden-walks +with no better companion than his pipe to cheer him, +until his Kathy should bestow her company on him again.... +</p> + +<p> +Sorry. Why should the grandson of Eli Hazaël be so +sorry for Katharine Forbis? For the man had pitied her—it +had been written in his face. Ah, now Katharine +understood, and understanding, blushed a little. Mark had been +killed.... Julian was Missing, and—when to-morrow's +solemn rites should be concluded—and that dear sleeper be +carried from the chapel to rest in the Forbis' vault under the +shadow of the Tower—Katharine would be alone.... +</p> + +<p> +Utterly alone, had it not been for Edward. Oh, thanks to +God! for that gift of his faithful love. And what was the +deep bass voice of this extraordinary John Hazel saying? +She roused herself to attention with a little, secret sigh: +</p> + +<p> +Edward was waiting for her in the garden after long years +of separation, but Father would have wished her to be +particularly gracious to this queer young man from Cornhill. +Father had looked forward to his coming with extraordinary +interest.... He would have towed him off to his den; and +they would have been boxed up hours together, questioning +and answering.... And you would have heard the Jew's big +voice booming down the gallery in spite of the thickness of the +old oak door.... +</p> + +<p> +She broke a silence that grew awkward, saying in her +mellow tones: +</p> + +<p> +"About the borrowing of the money for the building of the +Tower, here on our Scottish Border, there must be some +story.... He—my dearest—" her thought went tenderly to +the sleeper lying not far off in the sacred silence of the +chapel—"he always said there must be one, and that we should +light on it some day. We have our legend about the Roman +tribune Marcus Fabius (who must have been a son of Philoremus +Florens Fabius). He was bred by a community of Coptic +monks in Egypt, and came over to Britain in the service of +the Emperor Constantine. But beyond his signature appended +to a queer lead-sealed parchment covered with crabbed brown +Gothic handwriting—a kind of Twelfth century builder's +estimate—kept with other family papers in our strong-room—where +the wonderful crumbly Title Deed of Kir Saba and all +the rest shall join it presently!—of Sir Hew, hardly anything +is known." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll tell you what I've crammed of Hew." The speaker +went on, feeling for his sentences, sometimes using the +excellent if archaic English of the translated letter, other times +reverting to modern slang: "He was a Crusader who had +served Baldwin I, King of Jerusalem"—(the thick mouth under +the cropped black moustache sneered a little)—"first as page +and cupbearer, afterwards as body-squire, and later on as a +Knight, in Baldwin's last campaign of 1118. He got what +one might call a Blighty wound—an arrow through the fleshy +part of the thigh—in 1145—driving the Egyptians under +Nureddin, their Sultan, out of the castles and coast-towns of +Palestine; and the fever of the country—malaria, we'd call +it!—seems to have given him beans. But being recovered of +his wound under the care of Issachar Ben Hazaël, who +tended him as his own son in his house near Joppa, he rebuilt +and adorned the Tower of Kir Saba, which had been +held as a fortress by the invading Paynims—that means the +Egyptians under the Abbasside—and then 'wearying of +Palestine'—this was in 1146—'bethought him of quitting the Holy +Land and returning to Britain straightway.' ..." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine was listening, fair cheek on white hand, as some +twelfth-century lady of the Forbis race might have listened +to the tale of Hew.... +</p> + +<p> +"But want of boodle intervened, according to Hew's +chronicler. Restoring castles even in those days, sometimes +spelt bankruptcy, and '<i>being impoverished</i>'—I'm quoting from +a contemporaneous document—'<i>firstly by the great cost of +hewn stone and timber; and secondly by his excessive love of +good wine, feasting and prodigality; the shows of jugglers, the +songs of minstrels—and the company of the daughters of +Delilah, this Knight cast about to raise money upon loan.</i>'" +</p> + +<p> +The narrator broke off to comment: +</p> + +<p> +"A sporty boy, Hew, evidently,—and not the first Brass +Hat who's enlivened his H.Q. on a War Front—with imported +talent and beauty—of the Musical Comedy kind. So +being short of cash to settle his accounts, and charter ships +to carry him home, and incidentally rebuild the Tower of Kir +Saba in North Britain 'so as to make the dwelling seemly for +a lord of his estate,' Sir Hew engineered a loan from the Jew, +Issachar Ben Hazaël of Joppa—the Joppa of those days is +Jaffa to-day,—and the facts I'm giving are taken from a letter, +written in the Twelfth Century <i>lingua Franca</i>, and the usual +Gothic hand. I've a translation as well as the original, which +of course is our property.... Means nothing to me but brown +scratches on mouldy sheepskin, though to my pal Harding, +ex-Curator of the Mediæval Manuscript Dep. at the British +Museum—it would have been toffee and peppermint-rock. +First-class man, my pal Harding—killed last March at +Richebourg St. V." He answered Katharine's look of +interrogation. "A German prisoner shot him from the rear, in our +trenches.... And I went balmy and laid out the Hun! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean that you—killed the prisoner who did it?" Miss +Forbis' cairngorm eyes were cold and judicial in their +regard. +</p> + +<p> +"Exactly." John nodded, and Katharine told herself that +the man was a brute as well as a bounder. "But I seem to +have been getting away from Sir Hew...." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps you have!" Sarcasm was lost upon this pachydermatous +person, who murdered prisoners in calm defiance +of the Geneva Convention. "Why did he want to build another +Kir Saba here on the Border?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because—though he'd got a Tower here already, he didn't +consider it seemly for a lord of his swagger, being only 'of +great stones unmortared and unbevelled, standing inside a +paled enclosure of wattle and posts and earth.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Then that is why the old chronicles call it a +pale-tower?" Katharine's interest was eager and vivid now.... +</p> + +<p> +"A pale-tower. I expect so. And the bags of French gold +were wanted to pay the architect's fee and the wages of the +stone-quarriers; and 'the lime and sand wherewith to mortar +the stone, and the cost of the clippings of a troop of the +Scots King's horse, the better to bind the same.' So the +mortgage of Kir Saba was drawn up, signed and sealed—you've +got it there with the rest—and you ought to have a duplicate +somewhere! And the bags of French gold were packed in +boxes and sent down to Sir Hew's ship. He had three of 'em, +high-sterned three-banked galleys with scarlet-lug-sails, to take +him and his servants, and his Arab horses, and the rest of his +baggage home to Britain—and the one he chose for his own +use was called <i>The Scottish Crown</i>...." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—do go on!" Katharine began to see Sir Hew, healed +of his arrow-wound by the Jew's skill, with the brown of +Syrian suns on his fair skin, and their bleach on his yellow +hair—going home to rebuild his Tower and rear his long-legged, +broad-shouldered race of Forbis. "This part of the +story is wonderfully interesting. If only Father had been +alive to hear it to-day!" +</p> + +<p> +"There's not so much to tell. Hew got ready to sail. Old +Issachar Ben Hazaël loaded him with gifts; myrrh and spices, +incense and dried raisins,—Egyptian hangings and silk +embroideries, mother-of-pearl and turquoises; ivory and rare +woods—fresh fruit for the voyage and so on.... And Hew +took all that he could get—not that I'm inclined to blame him! +But at the last minute he wanted a thing with which my +ancestor wasn't inclined to part.... Issachar Hazaël had a +daughter.... It seems—" The tone changed.... The +sentences came dropping from the heavy mouth like strings of +cold, weighty, slippery, polished beads of jade—or so it seemed +to Katharine: "It seems that my ancestress and Sir Hew had +met at our house—it is our house still!—if the Turks have +left it standing amongst the orange and olive-groves to the +nor'east of Jaffa. And—the girl was beautiful, and +Hew—was a Crusader...." +</p> + +<p> +"He—wished to marry her?" The tone was enigmatical. +</p> + +<p> +"He broached the subject of marrying her—an hour before +he sailed." +</p> + +<p> +"With what success?" +</p> + +<p> +"With the—result that might have been expected." +</p> + +<p> +Their looks crossed like swords. And resentment burned +in Katharine. She stiffened and drew more upright in her +chair. +</p> + +<p> +"The Jew—refused to entertain my ancestor's proposal?" +</p> + +<p> +"Just that. He said to him"—the voice of the speaker +changed and deepened: +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>Thou hast the gold and the goods. Depart with that +which is thine to the country of thine adoption. When the +money is recovered in the fulness of time, the title-deeds +concerning Kir Saba will be given back again.... For</i>'"— +</p> + +<p> +The big voice echoed among the rafters of the heavily-beamed +room, making a brass Chinese gong hung upon a stand +at the further end, vibrate with a faint tenor humming.... +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>For by a great oath sworn by a forefather of our race in +ancient times, we of the Hazaël are bound to succour the +children of thy House unto the final generation. That oath we +have kept, and will keep, Sir Knight. But we do not defile the +pure stream of Jewish lineage with the blood of Gentile +veins. I have spoken!</i>' ..." +</p> + +<p> +Fierce scarlet leaped to the roots of Katharine's hair. As +though the speaker had struck or insulted her, she rose from +her seat with one swift supple movement,—and so stood facing +him, quivering with wrath. He too had risen—and thus the +woman and the man opposed each other in a silence that both +knew hostile; pregnant with hatred, racial, religious—sprung +green and poisonous from the dust of nearly two thousand +years.... +</p> + +<p> +"He dared to speak so to a Scottish gentleman! A Jew!" ... +</p> + +<p> +The great black eyes beneath Hazel's heavy eyebrows burned +like live coals. His deep voice echoed: +</p> + +<p> +"A Jew, Miss Forbis. A representative of the People who +received the Law from Sinai. Who possessed, besides the +Torah, Literature, Poetry, Arts and Sciences—even when a +rabble of Aryan nations, swept North by the besom of some +Assyrian conqueror—rolled into the Caucasus through the +Pass of Dariel. Verily, verily!—and peopled Russia and +Germany,—crossing lakes and seas and rivers on log-rafts and in +boats of osiers and skins. And paddling across the North +Sea—and building forts of tree-trunks at the mouth of an +estuary—laid the foundations of the British Nation of which +you boast to-day!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0219"></a></p> + +<h3> +XIX +</h3> + +<p> +So they stood face to face, the Occident and the Orient, +until the tact of the woman, the subtlety of the man—suggested +the compromise of an exchanged smile. +</p> + +<p> +"After all it is very Ancient History.... I think," said +Katharine with a gleam of mirth in her eyes of gold and +bramble-dew, "that your ancestor was discourteous, and +mine—" +</p> + +<p> +"A little bit premature. Or tardy from another point of +view,—in asking for what he'd got already. For Sir Hew and +my ancestress had been married a week or so back—by a +Catholic friar who had baptised Judith—after having received +her abjuration of her Jewish faith. Between them they broke +the news to Issachar Hazaël, 'who at first made naught of the +Lady Judith's entreaties, but after many tears, embraces and +cajoleries, suffered himself to be persuaded to sit with them +at meat.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Did he? ... I should have suspected—" +</p> + +<p> +"Rats—if I'd been in the sandals of the Lady Judith—and +I'd have made an inner bull if I had! '<i>He would taste of no +dish</i>'—according to my Twelfth Century scribe—but he '<i>filled +an ancient silver cup with the best wine of Kir Saba, and +touched it with his lips once: seeming to drink while dropping +into the goblet under cover of his beard, which was white as +the snow of Herman, and fully an ell long—a ring of black +onyx incarven very curiously, having a head of the Greek +Hercules-with his club and lion-mask.</i>'" +</p> + +<p> +"The ring you wear. The fellow to my ring! And it was +poisoned?" +</p> + +<p> +"This ring I wear—the signet from his hand. There's a +little compartment with a spring-lid, back of the setting, so I +suppose it held poison—as you say, when he '<i>did hand the +goblet to the Lady Judith, bidding her pledge him. But Sir +Hew, stretching forth his hand in sport, laid hold of the +goblet, whereupon said Hazaël: "Drink first, my Lady Forbis!" +and she answered: "That will I right gladly, O my father! but +thou and mine husband must kiss me first!" So she took the +kisses and gave them back, and quaffed off the cup right +merrily—and died as though she had been struck by lightning, not +falling down, but sitting stiff and smiling in her chair....</i>'" +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence in the room. Then Katharine murmured, +still vibrating: +</p> + +<p> +"Women knew how to love in those days!" ... +</p> + +<p> +"And men knew how to hate!" ... +</p> + +<p> +"And is that all?" +</p> + +<p> +"All, except that Sir Hew leaped up, and cried, when the +corpse fell down out of the chair upon the daïs strewn with +lion-skins: '<i>We were wed by a priest! I dealt honourably by +her!</i>' And Issachar said,—and I think he comes out of it +pretty well on the whole: '<i>What is honour in thine esteem is +dishonour in mine! For the girl, she was begotten of these +my loins.... Take what is thine, Sir Knight, and depart an' +thou will to thine own adopted country. I deal as I choose +with that which is mine own!</i>' Straight off the ice, I call that. +Fine old fellow!" +</p> + +<p> +Katharine said, a little breathlessly, for the thrill of a great +tragic happening seemed to be in the air: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it was great, and terrible and merciless...." +</p> + +<p> +"Hardly to Judith. When he'd once got her over in Britain, +Hew would have gone back to the Beauty Chorus. For I'm +not over struck on Hew," said John Hazel with a queer quirk +of his fleshy underlip. "He appears to have anticipated the +Profiteer's motto of the present date. Perhaps you've heard +it? '<i>Self first, me next, and I'll take whatever's left over!</i>' +Now I've gone and made you wild with me all over +again!" +</p> + +<p> +His huge size, and his genuine ruefulness, contrasted so +queerly that Katharine, still tingling to the finger-tips at the +insult to Sir Hew, was forced to smile. +</p> + +<p> +"It is a mercy we are not likely to meet often, Mr. Hazel. +We should quarrel inevitably. And yet—" There was sweetness +in the smile of her eyes of cairngorm brown as she +stretched out her long arm and offered her hand to him, saying: +"And yet, in a tight place, I would trust you before most +men!" +</p> + +<p> +"Give me the chance, Miss Forbis!" His black eyes flashed +in their deep caves as her white hand was engulfed in his +huge brown one. +</p> + +<p> +"If there is need," she said, "I will not fail to!" +</p> + +<p> +"It's a bargain then!" said John Hazel, and released the +hand. "Now I must be going. I have trespassed on your +time most frightfully." He turned and reached down to the +floor and picked up the cowskin bag.... +</p> + +<p> +"One moment, Mr. Hazel!" For he was striding towards +the door, and urgently as she desired to be quit of her strange +untimely visitor, the sacred bond of old fidelity, exerted its +strong invisible influence between these two, so utterly +dissimilar—making her add, even as she laid her hand on +Whishaw's summoning bell: "You would—would you not wish +to attend my father's funeral?" +</p> + +<p> +"I meant to, whether you were willing or not! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The tone robbed the assertive words of all offence. She +answered: +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you. He will be laid to rest in the vault in our +little private burying-ground the day after to-morrow. +Monday morning, immediately after the Requiem Mass at ten. If +it will be difficult or bad for you,"—her glance was kind for +the hollow cheeks and the bagginess of the khaki on the great +wasted body—"to drive over from Cauldstanes in this sharp +weather at so early an hour—I know my father would have +been glad to—to have you stay...." She added as Whishaw +opened the door: "Perhaps you would dine with us to-morrow +and sleep the night here?" +</p> + +<p> +"It would put you out." His vast shoulders filled the open +doorway, the lintel of which just cleared his towering head. +He added as Whishaw faintly clacked behind him: "It's +awfully good of you to suggest finding me a bivvy, but the +motor-bike that brought me over here to-day—it belongs to +the son of the landlady at the <i>Cross Keys</i>—will hold together +long enough—at least I hope so!—to carry me over the distance +again. But there's one thing I'll ask you. Not, as a +favour, mind you!—but as a right, to let me—<i>see him</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +Whishaw again forgot himself so far as to clack, this time +distinctly. Miss Forbis' momentary hesitation was dissipated +by the sound. She bent her head in grave assent, took her +black lace veil and blue-check apron from the writing-table, +saying to John Hazel: +</p> + +<p> +"Wait here one instant!" and quitted the room, closely +followed by her ancient serving-man. +</p> + +<p> +As the door shut behind them John Hazel's expression +altered. His beetling eyebrows drew into a savage line over +his great hooked nose, and his swarthy colour faded to ashen +brown. His coarse mouth hardened grimly as he crossed with +long, noiseless strides to the open terrace-window, and stood +there for a moment, quietly looking out. At the first glimpse +the sunshiny terrace showed deserted of the pacing khaki +figure.... Then the crack of a kindled match broke the +silence. Yaill stepped from behind the buttress that had +sheltered him as he had paused to light another pipe. The +fragrance of the good weed came to Hazel's nostrils, as their +eyes met for the second time that day.... +</p> + +<p> +"Did you wish to speak to me, by any chance?" +</p> + +<p> +The great menacing figure blocking the window-frame +slewed its head in the customary quarter-turn, and raised ar +hand in the usual salute. +</p> + +<p> +"As man to man—not as private to field-officer—I have +something urgent to say to you, Colonel Yaill." +</p> + +<p> +A pale light flickered in the sorrowful grey eyes he looked +at. Was it irresolution, anger, apprehension? The actual +truth he utterly failed to guess. Relief.... The die cast, the +doubt resolved, the tangle straightened.... The path clear +for the lonely feet till death.... +</p> + +<p> +"Have you? Well, carry on! We have no hearers. Will +you come outside, or shall I come in? ..." +</p> + +<p> +John stepped back. Yaill entered. The men confronted +each other. There was one instant's pause before Hazel said: +</p> + +<p> +"This is Saturday forenoon—" +</p> + +<p> +"Twelve pip emma precisely." Yaill glanced at the cheap +new watch upon his wrist. A flush burned his thin brown +cheeks as he remembered that the bauble had been Lucy's +wedding-gift. +</p> + +<p> +"Twelve Saturday.... The Funeral is to be on Monday +at ten o'clock...." +</p> + +<p> +"You are incorrect. Monday at ten-thirty...." +</p> + +<p> +"I aim at being plain and short with you, sir. If by three +o'clock on Monday afternoon you have not told Miss Forbis +of your marriage, I am going to save you the trouble, Colonel +Yaill." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed?" ... Yaill's face was deathly under its sun-tan. +"Perhaps you'll tell me who the Hell you are?" ... +</p> + +<p> +John answered with a grim inexpressive visage: +</p> + +<p> +"You can see for yourself. A London Territorial.... +Ranker as long as this blasted old War goes on.... And a +kind of—family friend of this house of Forbis.... If you're +taking any further explanation—I'm bound to tell you you +won't get it here...." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well. Your name? ..." It was the crisp, curt tone +that marks the caste of the officer, making the other stiffen +against his will: +</p> + +<p> +"Private John Benn Hazel, No. 000. X Platoon—Company +F. 4th Battalion, 448th City of London Fusiliers, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall remember. Good-day to you, Private Hazel. And +carry on!" +</p> + +<p> +"You may be sure I will!" +</p> + +<p> +The door-handle turned as the short, stern colloquy ended. +Both men looked round and saw Katharine standing near the +door. Her black lace veil draped her head with mystery. In +her hand was a little bunch of purple violets, whose perfume +made rich sweetness in the air.... She made a sign to Hazel +that he should follow her, gave one swift glance of tenderness +to Edward, and left the room, followed by his enemy.... +</p> + +<p> +"I was going to give him these. Perhaps you would like +to?" she said, putting the flowers in John's great hand. He +mumbled something she did not catch, but she understood +that he would like to, as she led the way down the vaulted +corridor—pausing before opening the chapel door to stroke the +decrepit pointer-bitch Dawtie, who lay with her muzzle +between her forepaws, keeping guard over the sleeper who would +wake in Time no more.... +</p> + +<p> +Then she passed into the sacred place; bent in reverence +before the Presence in the Tabernacle, and led the way up the +little aisle closely followed by John. He heard her say in a +low, clear voice, as he stood near the feet of the old man who +lay in the long oak coffin: +</p> + +<p> +"Father dear, here is a friend of ours whom you have +wished to see! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Just as though the old man lying there had not been dead +at all.... He—Sir Philip—must have been a tall man, rather +narrow than broad-chested; and in youth his fine aquiline-featured +face, now set in the sternness of death, might have +belonged to his ancestor Marcus Fabius—that Tribune of +Constantine,—who superintended the building of fortified camps +on the Scottish Border—and planted millions of barbed iron +prongs on the brae-sides and in the moss-hags for the +bedevilment of naked Celtic feet. +</p> + +<p> +So John laid the bunch of violets below the stiff grey hands +that were clasped over a Crucifix and had a Rosary threaded +between their rigid fingers,—and rode back on his borrowed +motor-bike to the <i>Cross Keys</i> at Cauldstanes—an ancient stone +box full of prehistoric smells (stale beer and boiled cabbage +predominating)—and slept in a bedroom with an uphill floor, +crowded with glass-fronted cases of stuffed salmon and trout, +owls, heron, and moth-eaten brocks and foxes. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0220"></a></p> + +<h3> +XX +</h3> + +<p> +On Monday John attended the Funeral, driving out to Kerr's +Arbour in the dog-cart, in company of Mr. Kellar, the +Cauldstanes solicitor and notary, who had heard, possibly through +Mrs. Govan, that the big black sojer-man from London was +"somehow conneckit wi' the family at Kerr's." +</p> + +<p> +Khaki predominated, for the General commanding at the +P—— Depot attended with his <i>aide-de-camp</i>, and the officers +of the Fourth and Fifth Squadrons of the Tweedburgh Light +Horse officiated as pall-bearers at the burial of their Chief.... +In the company of the handful of troopers detailed to act +as escort, John Hazel remained near the door of the chapel +throughout the Requiem Mass. Declining with obstinate +shakes of the head Whishaw's hoarse-whispered invitations +that he should "tak' a move up and sit wi' the family" in +the parallel rows of benches close-packed by County friends +and tenants, and a relative here and there.... Red Cross +uniforms were worn by many among the women,—nor was wanting +the khaki of the L.L.W.S.L. If the green eyes of Trixie +Lady Wastwood picked out among the troopers on the benches +near the west door, her fellow-traveller of two days +previously—John remained ignorant of the fact. +</p> + +<p> +Bolt upright against the plastered wall left of the chapel +door, his great height lifting him above the heads of the +congregation, his hawk-vision showed him through an +unfamiliar, glittering haziness—the long coffin covered with the +Union Jack, on its black-draped trestles, with its single wreath +of violets, gathered and placed there that morning by the +daughter's loving hand.... +</p> + +<p> +An old-type long brass-scabbarded R.H.A. sword with the +heavy-fringed sash of faded crimson, rested on the Red, +White and Blue, with the soldier's medals and decorations.... +The Burmese War Medal of 1826, the four-barred +Crimean medal with its faded blue yellow-edged ribbon, the +medal of the Indian Mutiny, ribbon white and scarlet; the +Turkish Order of the Medjidie with its star and crimson circle, +the Maltese Cross of the C.B., the K.C.V.O., the Belgian Order +of Leopold; and the eight-pointed, red-enamelled gold Cross +of the Pontifical Order of St. Gregory.... +</p> + +<p> +Two figures kneeling on <i>prie-dieux</i> on the right of the coffin +nearest the gate in the Communion-rail, drew and held the +black hawk-eyes from the beginning of the Rite to its close. +A tall brown-haired man in khaki, and a woman in deepest +mourning, tall also, and bending like a palm in tempest under +her shrouding black crape veil. When the fragrant incense +rose at the chant of the Responsory: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "<i>Libera me Domine, de morte æterna.</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +When the Kyrie Eleison wailed out, and the Paternoster +filled the silence; when the priest circled the bier, asperging +the feet, the middle and the head of the corpse with the +consecrated Water; when the prayer of Hope and Faith ended +with the intoned "Amen" and Yaill rose to his feet and +stepped to the head of the coffin—John Hazel got up too from +the back-bench, where he was sitting: glowering, reluctant but +driven on by a Force he could not but obey.... +</p> + +<p> +That unseen hand that had thrust down his head when +he entered the presence of Katharine had him again in its +resistless grip.... He went up the little aisle between the +packed benches, moving with long, noiseless strides, and took +his place opposite Yaill. Had he been asked why he did this, +he would have mumbled that it had seemed only the decent +thing to lend a hand, and yet the impulse, rendered into words, +would have been capable of a nobler interpretation: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Thou hast here no son to bear thee to thy tomb. Therefore, +let me render thee this service, whom, never having heard thy +voice or touched thy living hand,—I, by the oath of my +forefather, nevertheless am bound to serve. And after thee those +that are thine, as long as life remains to me!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +The muttered word of command was drowned by the harmonium. +The troopers detailed as bearers clanked up the aisle, +Yaill's hand steadying the coffin as they lifted it—John Hazel +taking upon his shoulders his full share of its weight. Seeing +the words, "Because thou hast no son," written in letters of +golden fire upon the frescoed stone walls, in violet and orange +and fiery crimson across the face of the rose-window in the +ogive over the West door, as the escort formed in file at the +head of the procession and passed out by a side-exit, heralding +the bearer of the Crucifix with its child-borne lights, the +chanting choir, the tall young officer with the black-craped +regimental Standard, and—carried by five tall Light Horsemen +and one taller infantryman—its pall borne by officers of the +Fourth and Fifth Squadrons—the coffin of their dead +Chief.... +</p> + +<p> +So they bore him to the little private burial-place at the +foot of the wood-shagged hill that rose behind Kerr's Arbour, +touched by the long shadow of its Tower when the sun moved +towards the south.... +</p> + +<p> +Before the steps leading to the gate of the open vault, +the escort of troopers halted and turned inwards, making a +lane for the dead man to pass through, as they rested on +arms reversed. The coffin was lowered, again asperged by +the celebrating priest and incensed with the words: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Eco sum resurréctio et vita, qui credit in Me etiam—si +mórtuus fuerit vivet....</i>" +</p> + +<p> +During the singing of the Canticle Edward Yaill led +forward Katharine Forbis. John Hazel, standing in rank with +the bearers, caught full view of her death-white, tear-drenched +face. Something wrenched at his heart as the priest assisting +offered her a silver shell of sacred earth, and she scattered +some upon the lid of the coffin—from which the Union Jack +with the sword and decorations were now removed. Yaill +followed suit: some old friends and Mrs. Bell and the lawyer, +Mr. Kellar, pressed forward to take part in this significant +act. But Katharine's eyes beckoned and Hazel's answered. +He held his palm; she poured from the silver shell—and the +soil from the Mount of Olives streamed between his fingers +in a thin brown stream, dulling the purple petals of the +violets.... +</p> + +<p> +And then, moving slowly under the weight of the burden, +came the slow descent of the steps leading into the vault, +where—to the solemn company of the departed—ranged upon +rock-hewn shelves in their modern oak or old-world lead, +or antique granite coffins,—Philip, last Forbis of the male line +save Julian,—supposing Julian yet to be numbered amongst +the living,—was joined with the solemn blessing of his Church. +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel's stern black eyes met Yaill's grey ones, as in +unison with others they lent their strength to place the heavy +coffin on the stone shelf appointed for its repose. When it +slid to its place, their glances again encountered. Yaill was +livid and spent and panting, for the effort had taxed him. But +he gave back the other's look with cold composure, brushing +a little dust from his ringed sleeve. Then, only delaying +to replace upon the coffin its wreath of violets—he mounted +the moss-grown steps—following the celebrant—and drew +Katharine's cold hand once more within his arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Attention! Present! ... Slope arms!" +</p> + +<p> +As the ponderous door of the vault was shut and locked, +the sharp voice of the commander of the escort broke the +awed silence. The trumpeter sounded the Last Post—and +three times the ringing crash of the volley startled to flight +the rooks of the home-wood and the jackdaws of the Tower. +As the small procession of friends, mourners and clergy +returned from the burial-ground to the slow recital of the <i>De +Profundis</i>, Yaill thought bitterly: +</p> + +<p> +"Out of the depths I have cried, and no One has heard me. +Yet, what had I done amiss?" +</p> + +<p> +The County, with genuine regret tinging its discreetly-conventional +condolences, rolled away in its landau-limousines +or open cars. The officiating priests,—Father Haddon of the +parish church at Birkleas,—the Father Superior of the +Benedictine Monastery,—his guest the Jesuit from Farm Place, +and Father Inghame,—pleaded an engagement to early dinner +at Scraeside. The cars that had brought the General and his +aide, and one or two elderly County magnates, remained +outside the courtyard railings; their owners having stayed to +lunch, as did the officers of the Tweedburgh Light Horse. At +the board, Yaill did the honours, aided by Mr. Kellar, the +Mistress of Kerr's not being present. A strange, ungenial +banquet, crowning a strange, sorrowful day, that,—like how +many others that had preceded it,—seemed to the host to be +woven of the stuff of dreams. Only the rosy Kellar and one +or two of the juniors grew merry over the Forbis port, while +John Hazel,—who had shortly declined all hospitable offers +of refreshment, rode back to Cauldstanes on Alec Govan's +rickety "Sunray,"—thinking of the eyes that had silently +bidden him participate in the final rite that only the nearest +share. +</p> + +<p> +The reading of the Will in the dead man's library followed +the departure of the guests. There were a few personal +legacies to friends and pensioners. Kerr's Arbour, with its +eleven-hundred acres of moss-hag and moorland, its few +productive farms and its neglected coverts, would, did Julian +live, be Julian's, with reversion to Katharine and her heirs. +</p> + +<p> +Over that windfall of £8000, rosy Mr. Kellar chuckled, +or would have, had the solemnity of the occasion allowed. It +would apply at this juncture to pay outstanding debts of +Captain Mark's,—who had been something of a spendthrift—patch +up yawning holes in the rent-roll, where the master of +Kerr's Arbour had foregone the rents of such tenants as had +volunteered for military service—pay the expenses of the +funeral,—and swell with the balance remaining the tale of odd +thousands, that, with her mother's little fortune,—would, if +invested in four per cent War Bonds—provide Miss Forbis +with an income approximating to £700 a year. +</p> + +<p> +"This is a sad day, Colonel Yaill—a sad black day for a' +of us!" said the lawyer, as Whishaw helped him into his +shaggy overcoat. "But Gude be thanked! the warst o't is +ower. We're looking to yoursel' now, an' to Miss Forbis, to +bring back life and happiness to Kerr's. Ye'll be blessed in +your pairtner—" the good man was sorely henpecked—"a +sonsy, sweet body that can be relied on neither to stick nor +fling! Not but housekeeping in these times is a trial an' a +hertbreik. Mrs. Kellar is sore put to it by the scarceness o' +sugar an' fat. She made ninety-eight punds of blackberry-an'-apple +jam for the Expeditionary Arrmy last September—an' +some clever billie put her up to the eking out the sugar wi' +saut. I fand mysel' sadly the warse for having tasted it by +accident, an' Toch!—if the lads at the Front get muckle o' +that stuff intil them, I tell her she'll be fechtin' on the side o' +the Huns. Here comes the meir an' cairt. Is there no one +wanting a cast to Cauldstanes? ... Put in the black bag, +Erchie Whishaw, no' in the well to be overlooked, but juist +between my feet. And Gude-bye again to ye, Colonel Yaill, +and an auld freend's love to Miss Forbis! This has been a +black sair day for a' of us ... but thanks be to Providence! +we're at the end o't!" ... +</p> + +<p> +Yaill thought as the gravel of the courtyard shirred under +the wheels of the retreating dog-cart, "More black, more sore +than the good man dreams! And my part in it is not yet +finished. Old Webster never conjured up a grimmer tragedy. +For at ten o'clock I lend a hand to bury Katharine's father. +Upon the stroke of three I stab the daughter to the heart. And +having killed her love for me—at four—possibly earlier—I +say Farewell to God's Forget—unlucky Edward Yaill!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0221"></a></p> + +<h3> +XXI +</h3> + +<p> +He went to Katharine, before three o'clock, in the little oak +parlour, a panelled, chintz-hung, feminine nest that her dead +mother had loved—looking over the South garden, across the +now frozen expanse of a curlew-haunted lake. +</p> + +<p> +She rose up out of her low chair by the hearthside at the +welcome sight of Edward, and at her dear look his fetters +seemed to fall from him and for one blessed minute he +forgot—in the bliss of their embrace.... +</p> + +<p> +Attar of roses is composed of two essential oils, both +scentless. When these meet and mingle, a divine perfume is born. +So from the meeting of two pure and noble souls an ideal +passion is engendered. Love that is founded on the rock of +Reality,—yet capped with the cloud-domes of Imagination, +cloaked with the glamour—exhaling the sweetness of Poetry +and Romance. +</p> + +<p> +It may be that these two had loved each other too purely +for their earthly welfare. But as they settled into talk, fond, +intimate, personal—tinged with Katharine's sacred sorrow, and +yet illuminated with their joy—it seemed to Yaill that he had +never yet tasted such happiness, as in this long-delayed, +long-desired exchange of touch and thought and feeling—this +perfect comradeship between woman and man. +</p> + +<p> +Three o'clock sounded from the clock upon the mantelshelf, +a Tudor toy in enamel openwork, whose tiny chime had rung +for many a lover's meeting—and hastened many a lover's +parting—but never heralded one more tragic than was coming +now. He raised his head from its sweet rest on her beloved +shoulder, and slowly loosed the yearning arms that had girdled +her supple waist. Now,—now let the revelation come—the +sooner the better. But how to bring it about? ... +</p> + +<p> +Unwitting Katharine assisted here, by telling him how that +morning Dawtie, the General's old pointer-bitch, had been +found dead and already stiffened at her post outside the chapel +door. Yaill said, scarce knowing what he uttered: +</p> + +<p> +"You will be even—lonelier—without her. You must let +me find you another dog to fill her empty place." +</p> + +<p> +"Edward?" +</p> + +<p> +Her sweet eyes lifted to his face. She saw him +changed—changing. Deep lines graven on the broad brow that had +smoothed under her kisses. Folds of bitterness from either +wing of the large sensitive nostrils to the corners of the lips. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear Edward, Dawtie was very old, and very seldom with +me. And there are Bran and Laddie—if I should need the +companionship of dogs. But soon now, very soon—there is +nothing to prevent it"—She looked calmly in his face as he +knelt on the rug beside her, stiffly upright, not touching her, +both hands gripping the arm of her chair—"in a very few +weeks—we shall be married, shall we not?" +</p> + +<p> +He did not speak, and her eyes wavered from his, and a +blush burned over her whole fair body: for was it not the +man's part to speak such words as these? She said again: +"Shall we not?" ... There was a terrible pause.... The +clock chimed the quarter-hour.... +</p> + +<p> +"Shall we not, Edward, loving as we do—after these cruel +years of delay?" ... +</p> + +<p> +Unable to credit her own vision, she saw creeping into his +grey eyes—was it reluctance, distaste or dismay? ... A shock +went through her.... Rushing sounds filled her ears and +through them she heard her own voice crying to him: +</p> + +<p> +"Edward! ... For God's sake, don't look at me so! +Something is wrong.... My dearest, tell me!" ... +</p> + +<p> +Her arms went out to draw him close, and came back +empty. He had drawn back, avoiding them, and risen to his +feet. A quiver passed over his thin brown face, such as in +windless weather will ripple the sleeping surface of some +quiet forest pool. And the question came from her that she +had never dreamed of asking: +</p> + +<p> +"Is it that you do not love me—in the marriage sense—any +more? Am I nothing but a friend? ... Answer.... I +command you—answer!" +</p> + +<p> +Yaill's face was drawn and grey. He said,—keeping stiff +control upon the muscles of his lips: +</p> + +<p> +"You are the one woman I worship.... I have never +known another whose person so charms me, whose nature so +appeals to me,—whose mind is so clear and full,—whose +sympathy is so warm, so sweet, whose soul so answers to +mine—" +</p> + +<p> +"Edward!" ... +</p> + +<p> +All reassured, she breathed the name in a tone of exquisite +tenderness. He made her a sign that he had not done, and +went slowly on: +</p> + +<p> +"I have desired—desire you now as man desires the woman +he worships. When our marriage was postponed by the +death of your mother—when the Regiment was ordered to +India and you could not leave your father—when this +thrice-accursed War burst on the world in a blizzard of fire and +steel, and I had to leave you almost at the church-door—God +is my witness that I suffered! Far more than I could tell you, +Katharine!" +</p> + +<p> +"Love of my heart, I know it! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He signed to her again for silence: +</p> + +<p> +"Do not interrupt me! All this is hard to say.... But +though my heart often cried out to you in those mad years of +filthy fighting—living, eating and sleeping—did we ever +sleep?—in the company of the Dead—while the world one had +known and lived in—the world of pretty women—decent +clothes, pleasant week-ends, jolly shooting-parties, sport, play, +good hunters and easily-running cars—seemed—except in short +flashes of intervals—to have been dead for cycles of ages—I +was buoyed up by my hopes of you, my thoughts of you—your +letters and our short rare blessed meetings. Glimpses of +Paradise to a soul in Purgatory! You will believe that, will +you not, Katharine?" ... +</p> + +<p> +One tear glittered on his hard cheek. Oh! to have dried +it with her kisses, and whispered comfort to her dearest, +wrought to this desperate mood by some unknown cause.... +But she sat still as he had bidden, soothed by his words of +tenderness, yet with a little shivering premonition beginning +to quicken at the roots of her heart: +</p> + +<p> +"Then came the Great Disaster.... Oh! why didn't I +marry you, when I got back to England—" +</p> + +<p> +"My love," she said, "my precious dear!—I asked you to, +you know!" +</p> + +<p> +He made a despairing gesture of assenting: +</p> + +<p> +"And I would not accept the gift you offered in your +generosity—dear love, sweet woman!—best friend an unlucky +devil ever had or could have! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +That "Why?" came like a moan from her. He answered +sadly: +</p> + +<p> +"Because I wanted to go away alone somewhere. To look +my new self in the face, or to recapture the lost me. +Thousands of men have felt the same—feel like that even at this +moment—coming back with raw nerves and jumbled brains +out of the hell of War." +</p> + +<p> +"Then God help the women who love them!" said +Katharine Forbis. +</p> + +<p> +"They will suffer," said Edward Yaill, "until they have +learned to understand the men. As you, pearl of +women!—understood me, and pitied me. Can I ever forget that!" +</p> + +<p> +"Stop!" She held up her hand in warning. "Do not praise +me. For I believed your heart had changed to me. For a +long time I believed it, and suffered horribly.... And then +thank God, I found out one day that it was not so." ... +</p> + +<p> +"When I came Home to tell you I had got back the +Regiment.... There was just time—we could have made the +time—to have got married then.... What stepped +in? ... Fate! Was it Fate, Katharine? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She knew their chance of happiness had been baulked again +as ever by the inconquerable vacillation of this brave man she +loved. But unshaken in her loyalty, she looked back at Edward, +repeating with unfaltering lips: +</p> + +<p> +"Just Fate—I suppose. Let us leave it at that and look +forward to the Future. And the years we may have to spend +together if it be God's Will." +</p> + +<p> +Her voice blurred with held-back tears; +</p> + +<p> +"But—don't keep me waiting any longer, dear Edward! +I never have—never could have dreamed the possibility of +changing towards you.... But if I get more lonely—if I get +much more lonely than I am now—" +</p> + +<p> +Was it possible that cry of tortured womanhood could have +come from Katharine? Must she, his proud one, stoop, and +stoop to plead? With clasped hands and yearning eyes of pain +entreating— +</p> + +<p> +"O Edward! don't keep me waiting long! Think of the +years—" +</p> + +<p> +He said with forced deliberation: +</p> + +<p> +"We may even yet have years to spend together—if you +have courage to forgive a grievous wrong!" +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean? ... How have you wronged? ... Have +you not told me—" +</p> + +<p> +Her voice had the sharpness of the stab he had dealt her, as +she rose up out of her fireside chair. +</p> + +<p> +"I will tell you what I mean—what I meant to have spared +you, had not the man who came here yesterday with the +documents from Palestine—had not that man threatened to +tell you if I did not." +</p> + +<p> +"To tell me what? Let me hear it now! You look ill, +Edward!" +</p> + +<p> +"To tell you that I am married!" said Edward Yaill.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +As she stood before him, straight and tall, he saw the life +go out of her. For an instant he looked on a dead, bloodless +thing. Then the banished blood rushed back from about her +heart. Her lips and eyes retained the look of life, but the +face was a stranger's, and not Katharine's. Nor was it +Katharine's voice that said: +</p> + +<p> +"To tell me that you are married? ... Who is she?" +</p> + +<p> +He hardly recognised his own voice saying: +</p> + +<p> +"She is a nurse.... She was attached to the Convalescent +Camp at B—— Base." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! ... And her name?" ... +</p> + +<p> +"Lucy Burtonshaw." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The interjection dropped from her pale lips like an icicle. +But her breeding wrapped her in an impregnable mantle of +dignity. His sense of her new remoteness was desolating as +she asked him: +</p> + +<p> +"And why are you here with me and not with Lucy Burtonshaw? +I beg her pardon!—I should have said, Mrs. Edward +Yaill. Can you explain?" +</p> + +<p> +"I can explain absolutely. Whether you would believe +me—that is another thing!" +</p> + +<p> +"Let—let me think! ..." She put her hand to her forehead, +pushing back her hair with a gesture of bewilderment. +All her world lay in ruins round her, since those few sentences +had fallen from his lips.... +</p> + +<p> +Rejected.... Betrayed.... Cast off.... She, Katharine +Forbis, so great, so beloved, so beautiful,—the desired of +many honourable, brave, high-born, handsome and wealthy +men. Edward Yaill had never been told how many aspirants +had sought her,—how many brilliant offers she had steadfastly +set aside. Choosing for years to walk in maiden +loneliness—keeping her priceless treasure of splendid womanhood +stored up,—hoarded away to this unutterable end.... +</p> + +<p> +She moaned, and put her hand to her heart an instant when +he said she would not believe if he explained himself. Nothing +cut deeper or more cruelly than that. She said with the +calmness of a mortally-wounded gentlewoman: +</p> + +<p> +"I have not deserved that you should so judge me.... Say +what you think is to be said for you.... This person—this +lady who is now your wife—is the nurse—unless I am +mistaken?—to whom I entrusted my letters to keep in charge for +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"The same. And she betrayed the trust.... She kept your +letters. It was only on Thursday morning they first reached +my hands." Always chary of gesture, he stretched them out +to her, and drew them back and clenched—and let them fall +again. "But for the accident of my getting the last letter you +wrote me, upon the morning I was discharged from the +Convalescent Camp—I might never have known—never +remembered—" His voice broke. He turned away and leaned upon +the mantelshelf, and bowed his shamed head over his folded +arms. +</p> + +<p> +"Edward! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Her hand went out and lightly touched his shoulder. He +thrilled at the tone in which she spoke his name: +</p> + +<p> +"Edward, tell everything, and I will listen! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He said in a choked voice, averting his face from her that +she might not see the tears that brimmed and fell: +</p> + +<p> +"God bless you for your mercy to me, Katharine! ... But +the story is so wild and so incredible—I dare not hope for +your entire belief.... You have believed in my devoted love +for you.... I have lived, all these years, for you alone.... +Yet last Thursday, when I awakened from that strange +illusion—in the room at that Coombe Bay hotel"—Katharine +shuddered—"I was married," he made a despairing +gesture,—"married to a poor, weak, commonplace girl." +</p> + +<p> +"She is your wife.... You are bound to remember it...." +</p> + +<p> +He said: +</p> + +<p> +"I have done so far more than she deserves.... I have +written to my solicitors—have provided for her generously.... +Do not think me capable of leaving her to poverty.... +But I cannot—will not share my life with her! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Loneliness can be worse to bear than poverty. And—once +again—remember—she is your wife!" +</p> + +<p> +"She is welcome to what good may be got from that +position! She has schemed for it—" +</p> + +<p> +"Be just to her.... You have owned to me that you told +her you were poor. Why? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Heaven knows why—or Hell! I have no answer.... +But she had only to ask—to make inquiries—to be +enlightened on the subject of my money!" +</p> + +<p> +Chivalrous Katharine flashed out in defence of her +enemy. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you suppose the surgeons at the Camp would have +told her? Or that your medical report would have supplied +such details? Or do you think Burke's '<i>Landed Gentry</i>' is +a work of reference accessible to nurses? ..." +</p> + +<p> +He broke out with whirling words—frantic asseverations. +He would get a divorce.... A suit for Nullity could be +obtained under the circumstances—once the circumstances should +be made clear. Another touch of contempt frosted her tone +as she said to him: +</p> + +<p> +"The marriage is legal. And though you seem to have +forgotten your religion—when you speak of divorce to me, I +must ask you to remember that I am a Catholic woman, +Colonel Yaill!" +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He sat down haggard and exhausted.... She, too, +resumed her seat, for her strength was failing fast.... And +so they sat in a sorrowful-grim travesty of the old happy +comradeship. She looked so sorrow-stricken and yet so sweet as +she sat there in her mourning for her lost one,—that the heart +of Yaill was more than ever tortured by the fierce agony of +hopeless love. +</p> + +<p> +"Think!—" he said to her desperately, "for I cannot.... +Is there no way of escape from this horrible pitfall into which +I have tumbled with open eyes? Think! ... Or cannot you +think of anything, Katharine? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She said to him gently: +</p> + +<p> +"Wait.... I will think, and tell you presently.... Only +wait and be patient a little, my poor dear!" +</p> + +<p> +For she could not withhold her compassion and forgiveness +from this man with the furrowed face of anguish, and the +haunted, desperate eyes. No longer her hero, her ideal of +perfect manliness and honour,—but a mere man, to be loved +and pitied, and made excuses for. Or—her sick heart knew a +ray of Hope.... In her white cheeks dawned a tinge of +colour.... Was he one of the innumerable, blameless martyrs +made by the accursed War? +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0222"></a></p> + +<h3> +XXII +</h3> + +<p> +She could bear to live if Edward proved a martyr and not +a traitor. Oh! let him be the other woman's husband if it +must be—as long as Katharine knew him guiltless. She bent +her brow and set her rare mental powers of clear thought, +reasonable argument and logical deduction, to trace a mean +between a biassed partisanship and common justice.... One +had known such strange, abnormal things result from +shellshock.... And Edward loved her.... Oh! most entirely +loved her.... It would be possible to live on, empty of joy, +bare of all happiness—if Edward were a martyr.... God +send it might prove so.... +</p> + +<p> +She gripped the arms of her chair and shut her eyes, striving +to reconstruct the situation, assembling all the evidence upon +his side; trying to live through all those twilit months the life +of the man with the jangled nerves, and the numbed and +blunted brain.... Just, generous, noble-minded Katharine, +incapable of pettiness, great in her desolation.... She opened +her eyes, to encounter the sorrowful stare of his—and began +to speak, calmly, almost cheerfully—drawing him on insensibly +to talk to her of <i>that day</i>.... +</p> + +<p> +That day in September of the previous year, when in those +trenches south of Loos the First Battalion of the "Tweedburghs" +had been wiped out, almost to a man, for the second +time in the War. +</p> + +<p> +"Why should you want to hear that story again—and now?" +he pleaded: "My God, don't ask me to tell it now! ..." +</p> + +<p> +But she asked it with her steady eyes upon him; and he +obeyed her with knitted brows and twitching lips and cold +sweat upon his face: +</p> + +<p> +"The Germans had started shelling our front-line parapet +at 5.30 that morning.... At a rough calculation they pounded +us with eleven hundred guns.... Half the battalion were in +the front line, and half in supports. And we had been given +instructions to hold those trenches at any cost...." +</p> + +<p> +He licked his dry lips and threw her a dog-like glance of +entreaty. But she waited inexorably and he went on: +</p> + +<p> +"We had taken them by assault and we weren't willing to +lose them. Our guns gave back Hell for leather, but we kept +getting Super-Hell. News kept coming through to us at +Battalion Headquarters, of casualties, fresh casualties.... +Always killed—hardly ever wounded! ... My God—my +God! ... And at last I and my Adjutant—Cameron-Bain—were +left at Headquarters with a few orderlies, cooks and +bottle-washers. We'd sent up practically every man through the +barrage to help 'em carry on.... And all my officers were +killed except two. Jameson and Kinray-Heptown, the officers +in charge of the Advanced Line Wireless and Telephone +Communications. Don't ask to hear the rest. What good can it +do? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"It is my right," she answered him, "to hear this story from +you.... And I am waiting...." +</p> + +<p> +So he went on: +</p> + +<p> +"There came a minute when Cameron-Bain and I stared +at each other blankly across a pit of horror. We found the +Advanced Line Communications getting queer and dribbling +into incoherency.... Then they stopped.... And we knew +that the worst had happened—though we waited, hoping +against hope that Kinray-Heptown would speak again. Then +we tossed up a penny to decide which of us— This +hurts! ... Must I carry through with it to the end? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Her great maternal heart wept tears of blood for him. +But yes.... For his sake she compelled him to carry +through.... +</p> + +<p> +"I called 'Tails' and won, though Bain swore I hadn't.... +Then we shook hands and I went up through the German +barrage. Trains of stretcher-bearers and wounded—our +stretcher-bearers and our wounded—lay dead upon that +horrible road.... And I got to Supports—and found them +evacuated, except for the Dead—there were plenty of dead men! +Gas was being sent over from our Advanced trench by +somebody—the wind being in our favour—if nothing else was! But +the German guns kept on sending over High Explosive—5.9 +shell—and shrapnel: and the fire of their machine-guns—they +were enfilading us from two angles—came at us like a solid +wall of lead! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He wetted his parched lips and rubbed his forehead. And +still she waited for him to tell the rest. +</p> + +<p> +"I got to the Advanced trenches.... Hardly even challenged! +The few men left alive there looked at me as if I'd +been a ghost. But they carried on, and I pushed through to +the T. & W. dug-out, to find it had been blown in by a High +Velocity Shell. Kinray-Heptown, our T.C.O., lay +dead—sprawling over the table, his blood and brains and so on—all +mixed up horribly with the <i>débris</i>. And his assistant—Jameson—was +in the same case. But the Wireless and telephone +installations were in working-trim,—so I took them both +over—receiving and transmitting messages in Morse Code from +the connected Advanced Posts through Cameron-Bain to Brigade +Headquarters, until one by one they left off talking, and +I took off the head-band and put down the receiver—" +</p> + +<p> +He might have but now come in out of the rain, his haggard +face so streamed with wet.... +</p> + +<p> +"Because I knew they were all dead and that I was alone.... +Then a blaze of hot yellow light filled the place—and the +table reared on its hind-legs—and Kinray-Heptown—dead as +stone and covered with blood, and with his skull—you +know!—I've told you!—Heptown stood bolt upright a second—and +then went for me!" +</p> + +<p> +He laughed, the loud, unnaturally harsh laugh that had +startled Katharine on the night of his arrival.... +</p> + +<p> +"High Explosive plays queer tricks. Another 5.9 shell had +landed in the dug-out—and I was pinned down with Heptown +on top of me—and the heavy case of the Wireless outfit on +top of him—and the corrugated zinc, and sandbags, and earth +of the roof on top of all! And I lay there with his awful face +crushed down on mine, and remembered," he laughed again +harshly, "what a silly kind of ass he used to be.... Always +running after new women and howling for sympathy—because +he was such a poor devil, without a rap beyond his pay—and +hadn't a living relative in the world...." +</p> + +<p> +"Edward! O Edward! my poor love! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He did not hear her voice of throbbing tenderness. He +was passing through that unspeakable ordeal again: +</p> + +<p> +"A dismal man. They called him 'Gummidge' in the Regiment, +and the nickname fitted the beggar to a 'T.' How I +crawled out from under him ... can't imagine for the life of +me! Probably my tin hat saved me from smothering.... +They say I'd not a rag on when they found me—yellow as a +guinea from melinite and smeared with blood—not mine, but +Heptown's! Poor devil!—not a rap beyond his pay—not a +living soul belonging to him in the world! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He shuddered, and knitted his hands together closely, and +so sat rigid—battling with some invisible power that strove +with him for mastery of will.... +</p> + +<p> +"Edward! ..." +</p> + +<p> +She was kneeling by his chair,—her arms wrapped round +about him, her cheek to his,—the swell and heave of her +bosom close to his—her warmth and sweetness his—all his +once more.... +</p> + +<p> +"All is quite clear to me now. You have not wronged me! +You are blameless—my man of men! Listen, dear Edward! +In some way strange to us, clear to neurologists—when you +lay buried alive, pinned down helpless by the body of that +poor dead officer, the horror of those dreadful minutes—or +hours—stamped his personality—branded it, I might better +say—upon your memory so that you could not forget it if you +would! The story you told to that poor girl afterwards—your +conviction that you were poor, unloved and friendless—all +came from that—were part of the strange obsession. Dear, +in my eyes you are quite blameless. Forgive me, Edward, +if"—he felt the sob she bravely kept back—"in the first agony +of hearing what you have told me—I let myself feel resentful +towards you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Katharine!" +</p> + +<p> +He drew a great breath of relief, and his load was lightened. +She believed.... Oh, wonder of wonders, she believed.... +He faltered: +</p> + +<p> +"Then you do not hate and despise me? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Her swift kiss touched his hands. He heard her saying: +</p> + +<p> +"On the contrary, I admire, I love, I worship you!—my +hero, my martyr—my King—my man of men! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"KATHARINE!" +</p> + +<p> +In the rapture of that declaration Yaill would have +embraced her; clasped her close to his starving heart and covered +her with caresses. But she freed herself from him gently +and with decision, though he pleaded humbly for a single +kiss. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, when we say Good-bye, then I will kiss you. It is +my right, I shall not waive my claim. We were husband and +wife in soul if not in actuality—we are parted—not through +any mutual change of feeling, but by an act of the inscrutable +Will of God. You have a wife—it is for us to remember it!—and +so I ask you to go away from here—" +</p> + +<p> +"'Go!' ... Leave you now? ..." +</p> + +<p> +His face grew hard and obstinate. +</p> + +<p> +"Why should I leave you? Do we not love each other? +Have we not, as you say yourself, been one in heart for all +these years! ... We have done no wrong, so why should we +suffer? And, if I leave you, where am I to go? Not back to +that woman? ..." +</p> + +<p> +A spasm contracted her white face to a pinched mask of +jealousy. He hardly knew the voice that came through the +clenched teeth and stiffened lips: +</p> + +<p> +"Why not? She <i>is</i> your wife!" +</p> + +<p> +"My wife through a vulgar deceit. Don't say you hold +her guiltless?" +</p> + +<p> +"Almost, if she believed you!" she forced herself to say. +</p> + +<p> +"And this is your love!" he snarled at her, stung to injustice. +</p> + +<p> +She answered—and the voice was once more Katharine's: +</p> + +<p> +"This is my love! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He wheeled to the fireplace and stood in thought, resting +his elbow on the mantelshelf. When he looked back at her it +was to say: +</p> + +<p> +"And if I obey you now and leave you, what are your plans? +What do you intend to do?" +</p> + +<p> +She told him: +</p> + +<p> +"I had made up my mind—supposing you had left me this +time without settling a definite date for our marriage—that I +would get drafted out to the East to help Hilda. You +remember Lady Donnithorpe? She was a great friend of mine, I +have often told you, when we were girls together at +Chalkcliff—fellow-pupils at the Convent of the Sisters of the Sacred +Heart.... Sir Hugo is on the Staff of the Commander-in-Chief +at Cairo. Hilda is Commandant of the Red Cross Hospital +at Montana—seventeen miles from Alexandria—standing +in wonderful grounds. It was formerly, or so I understand—a +palace of the ex-Khedive. I could drive a car for them, or +nurse—I have my certificate—" +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to have got your plans all ready cut and +dried—without much reference to me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +His face was wrung as he looked round at her. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be cruel, Edward! Do not let me remember by-and-by—that +on this day that sees me shorn of everything, you +were unkind—for the first time...." +</p> + +<p> +He gave a short, impatient groan. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is unkind to both of us but yourself? But you shall +be obeyed—I will leave Kerr's Arbour." +</p> + +<p> +Each of the five words gave her its separate stab. She +never winced, but said to him unfalteringly: +</p> + +<p> +"There is a train from Cauldstanes at six o'clock. You +could catch the King's Cross Express by changing at +Carlisle...." +</p> + +<p> +"And it is now four-thirty." +</p> + +<p> +From habit he had glanced at the cheap watch strapped upon +his wrist.... The heavy lines between his knitted brows +deepened and a vein throbbed in his temple, as he stripped the +poor trinket from his wrist and dropped it into the glowing +heart of the fire. The glass burst with a sharp little crack—and +the leather strap writhed among the hot, devouring flames +so like some reptile dying in torment that Katharine turned +her eyes away. As Yaill's hard, level voice went on saying: +</p> + +<p> +"From Cauldstanes, six o'clock! ... Thanks! that train +would suit me very well. Please no—don't ring!" Her hand +had gone out to touch the stud of the bell beside the fireplace. +"Don't trouble to order any kind of trap.... I had much +rather walk. Some hard tramping in the frosty air will do me +good.... Really.... I should prefer it! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"But—your luggage!" She looked at him anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"My kit! ..." He could have laughed outright, but he +controlled himself by main force, and went on in the same stiff, +formal tone: "Send it to-morrow morning by an early train to +my Club in Pall Mall. I shall take care to leave it properly +addressed, so that you have no trouble of any kind—" +</p> + +<p> +"Edward.... Be just ... be fair! Don't—torture me like +this!" +</p> + +<p> +The cry broke from Katharine barely of her volition. She +caught him by the wrists. +</p> + +<p> +"How am I torturing you?" he asked her coldly. +</p> + +<p> +"What have you decided to do?" Her eyes were on a level +with his, begging, commanding. "Tell me! ..." She caught +him by the wrists. "Are you going back—to her? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"No!" +</p> + +<p> +Her hands had been like steel upon Yaill's wrists. Her eyes, +tawny and fierce as those of an enraged lioness, were fixed +upon his. The pang of pity she had felt for the poor giver +of the destroyed watch was lost in her anguished sense of her +own despoliation,—her own helpless impotence to hold her +usurped rights.... But at that deep, stern No! from him her +hands grew weak upon his wrists, and the lioness-fury in her +eyes died out and left them tender.... +</p> + +<p> +"I have said to you that I cannot share my life with her—the +woman I have married. I swear to you she shall want for +nothing—be treated honourably! As to my plans—the most +definite is to go to the Near East and find your brother Julian. +Not to fight with Turks for the Holy Sepulchre. My faith +is dead in me. When God gives me back You, then I will be +friends with Him! Until then—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Edward, hush! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I will not shock you more, dearest of living women. Give +me that one last kiss, and say: 'Good luck to you on your +road!' For at the end of the road I may find your brother +Julian. In some Turkish prison—enclosure or labour-camp, +working under the lash. Now will you kiss—" +</p> + +<p> +"Not here, dear Edward! ..." +</p> + +<p> +She draped her head with the black-lace veil that had been +her dead mother's, and smiled—how could she bear to +smile?—as she held out her hand.... +</p> + +<p> +"We will say our Good-bye in the chapel.... Come, my +dearest! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He could not resist her look, her touch.... Together, they +went out.... +</p> + +<p> +The fragrance of incense was sweet in the still place, the +treasure-chamber of this Catholic dwelling; where you felt the +Blessed Sacrament as a guarded Flame, a vital Essence, a +Presence mysterious and impalpable, yet instinct with latent +Power and conserved Force. When Katharine bowed in +adoration of her Lord and Master, Yaill stood erect, silently defying +Him,—with set jaws and scowling brows, and hard glittering +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +But when Katharine rose, and again took his hand, his icy +armour melted. His eyes softened and he yielded to her touch +like a big, docile child. She drew him to the small +Communion-rail—knelt on the worn red cushion, and was silent; +gathering strength to speak, fighting with her anguish; while +the haggard frowning man stood stiffly waiting at her side. +</p> + +<p> +A moment more and Katharine's low voice flowed out upon +the silence. She said, to the Living Presence in the Veiled +Tabernacle: +</p> + +<p> +"My Saviour and my God, Thou seest at Thy Footstool two +of Thy servants, who after long years of love and fidelity, +and patient waiting and hopes often frustrated, are parted—for +life perhaps—as if Death had come between. We do not +know—" +</p> + +<p> +The sweet voice wavered and then went on steadily: +</p> + +<p> +"We do not know why we must suffer—we only know it is +Thy Will. And we offer Thee—O give us strength to offer +Thee! this agony of parting—in submission to Thy Majesty +and in expiation of our sins— +</p> + +<p> +"What sins?" Yaill asked her in a deep, stern voice. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed not to hear, and went on speaking: +</p> + +<p> +"The sins that we weak mortals have committed in our +lives. And now to Thy care, Who didst offer Thyself a +living Sacrifice for the redemption of the world upon the Altar +of the Cross—I commend my beloved whom Thou hast taken +from me! Preserve him in body and in soul from every sort +of danger. Guide him, guard him—lead him upon his path +in life.... And if—" +</p> + +<p> +She heard Yaill's boot-heel grind upon the stone, and knew +that he was trembling.... +</p> + +<p> +"Let this end! ..." he said below his breath. "Do you +hear me! End now, Katharine! ..." +</p> + +<p> +But she went on, fighting,—had he known the truth,—for +the soul of him, her dearest: +</p> + +<p> +"And if we may never be one on earth, O let us be one +in Heaven! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Yaill gritted his teeth savagely, and a rending sob tore +through his frame. The tears were streaming down his face +as he stammered out to her, gulping and choking: +</p> + +<p> +"Lend me ... hanky ... Kathy! I can't find—" +</p> + +<p> +She gave him her handkerchief as a mother might a child, +and went resolutely on to the end of her prayer. +</p> + +<p> +"And now before Thee, here present in the Blessed Sacrament +as truly as when Thou didst walk with Thy Beloved +upon this sorrowful earth,—I promise to be faithful to Edward +Yaill my lover, in body and soul, through Life till Death, and +in the Eternal Life! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He gave a hoarse inarticulate cry and sank to his knees beside +her. She turned and folded him in her arms, and his face +sank on her bosom, and the black-lace veil that draped her +head fell over his too. It smelt of violets. His scalding tears +wetted her neck.... She lifted his face and kissed him,—with +all her soul kissed him. But a fold of her mother's +black-lace veil came between her mouth and his. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0223"></a></p> + +<h3> +XXIII +</h3> + +<p> +Long after Edward Yaill had gone, and Night had settled +down upon Kerr's Arbour, old James Whishaw hobbled noiselessly +into the chapel to find Katharine kneeling there. He +bent his own stiff rheumatic knees upon a chair behind her, +and waited, and said a prayer for the daughter of his dead +master, dear to him as a daughter of his own. Her face +was hidden in her hands, her lace veil fell over them. No +movement stirred its patterned folds, no sigh nor sob escaped +her.... She might have been the statue of a kneeling woman, +wrought in black marble or ebony. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Forbis, mem!" the ancient servitor whispered after +an interval. There was no response. Grown desperate, he +ventured a fresh appeal. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Katharine! ... Miss Kathy, for your ain sake!—for +a' our sakes—" +</p> + +<p> +The quavering terror in the cracked, familiar voice reached +her. She stirred, and answered: +</p> + +<p> +"You, Whishaw? ... Am I wanted? ... Who—" +</p> + +<p> +She tried to rise to her feet, but could not. The old man +hurried to her and lent his feeble strength to help her, and +she rose up and they came out of the church together, slowly, +arm in arm. As the door swung-to behind them, she put back +her veil and whispered: +</p> + +<p> +"Has Colonel Yaill?—" +</p> + +<p> +The butler hardly recognised the drained white face she +turned to him. Her voice was a mere thread of sound, the +shadow of itself. +</p> + +<p> +"He has gone this hoor an' mair," he said, "an' a wire has +juist come for him. My bairn—Miss Katharine, dearie!—there +is anither for him that's gane! An' O I doot bad news in +baith, by word the bringer dropped wi' them—" +</p> + +<p> +"Give me the wires.... I understand...." she said. "The +messenger has gossiped?" +</p> + +<p> +"They're weel kent for loose-tongued, claverin' bodies at +Cauldstanes Post Office," owned Whishaw, adding bitterly: +"Nor ye'll no' bind Discretion on Meggy Proodfoot, wi' the +King's Croon on her airm." He took the salver with the +two orange envelopes from a console table in the hall, and +brought it to his mistress, entreating: "Gin' ye could see yer +ain face ye wad be frichtit, Miss Katharine. Let me get ye +a glass o' wine before ye'se open them, my lamb!" +</p> + +<p> +But Katharine mingled no juice of the grape with this, her +latest draught of the strong black wine of Sorrow. She opened +the envelope that bore Yaill's name, and by the light of the +great wood fire that blazed in the hall hearthplace, deciphered +the message it contained. +</p> + +<p> +"This must be re-telegraphed to Edward's London Club," +flashed through her mind before the vile sense of the words +upon the sheet drove clearly home to her; and then she started +as though their concentrated venom had seared to the very +bone. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Have discovered where you are. Return instantly or I +shall follow. Your wife, Lucy Yaill. Tor View, Coombe +Bay.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +A moment Katharine staggered under the shock. Then with +the fierce blood burning in her cheeks, she won her shaken +composure back, saying as she encountered the Watery blue +stare of her ancient servitor: +</p> + +<p> +"There is nothing to trouble us in this. I know it to be +not important." And she crumpled up the flimsy sheet and +dropped it into the midmost of the fire, adding: "We will not +trouble Colonel Yaill by forwarding it at all." +</p> + +<p> +Then she opened the other orange envelope. It held a +communication from the Casualty Department at the War +Office, and told her with official brevity that her brother Julian +was dead. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Regret to inform news received from eye-witness confirms +report that Father Julian Forbis, O.S.G., R.C. Chaplain —th +Brigade, 29th Division, Mediterranean Forces, Gallipoli, was +killed on August 21st by direct hit Turkish shrapnel shell +during storming of Scimitar Hill. No remains recoverable.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +She read out the withering message of disaster in a low +clear voice devoid of a trace of expression. The butler and the +servants who had gathered in the hall broke into sobs and +lamentations. But what avail are tears and outcries? They are +only of use to vent the sorrow that is neither poignant or +profound. Miss Forbis went to the drawing-room and penned +some telegrams; one to the Father Superior of Julian's Monastery +at Clerport, one to Julian's dearest friend, in the trenches +before Arras,—a brief note to the lawyer and notary, +Mr. Kellar,—already (through that local Post Office leakage) in +possession of the intelligence,—and a third telegram for Colonel +Edward Yaill, addressed to his London Club. +</p> + +<p> +And then, moving mechanically as an automaton, she went +from the room, encountered Whishaw and gave the messages +to be taken into Cauldstanes that night by a mounted groom. +The wires to be left at the private house of the postmaster +for despatch in the early morning; the note to be handed to +Mr. Kellar, sitting with his old cronies over his toddy and +his well-loved rubber of whist. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Bell, Miss Forbis's elderly companion (worn out by +the day's sorrowful ceremonial) had long retired to her room. +Time enough to break the news to her upon the following +morning. Katharine ordered the wearied servants to shut +up the house and go to bed, and herself set the example. +But when her tearful maid had quitted her for the night, +reluctantly and wistfully,—she could not bear the notion of lying +down in that now desolate house to rest. It stifled her. So +she dressed again,—threw over all a hooded woollen mantle, +took a small electric lantern and went out of the room.... +</p> + +<p> +To ascend above the level of ordinary daily existence, to +climb a height and draw into the lungs long breaths of purer +air, seems to be a craving shared by not only those whose +bodies are racked and worn by chronic suffering, but by those +others who in heart and soul are wrung by mental pain. The +Lawgiver of Israel ascended into the fastnesses of Sinai—not +only to receive the commands of the Most High—but to hide +his anguish at the backslidings of his rebellious people—turning +to unholy commerce with Egyptian god-devils and Canaanitish +idols,—from the pure worship of the One God. And His +Son was wont to climb the solitary heights of mountains, when +He was weary with the healing of multitudes—and oppressed +with His burden of human woe! And since His day, how +many others have known the need, and sought the same +alleviation: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "When on the heights I drink the air<br> + And watch the budding of each star<br> + Out of the dusk, this grief I bear<br> + Is somewhat soothed; my load of care<br> + Lightens, and Thou art not so far—"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Descending to the ground-floor, Katharine, barely of her own +volition, passed through a small, heavy baize-covered door at +the northern end of the hall. It led into the Tower, and she +crossed a great stone-flagged, stone-vaulted room lighted by +narrow window-slits high in the massive stone walls, unlocked +another door with a key that was in the lock, huge and +old-fashioned, but oiled and working smoothly, and came out at +the foot of the narrow stone stairway that spiralled, storey by +storey, to the top of the Tower. +</p> + +<p> +She was weary, but the turmoil and anguish of her spirit +set the claims of the body out of court. She moved on, tall +and stern and beautiful, flashing her guiding light on a jutting +stone in the wall here, or a broken step there,—just as though +she were conducting some visitor to admire the famous view +from the battlements. +</p> + +<p> +The young moon of February rode high in the southern +heavens. The Standard hung at half-mast from the flagstaff +of the Tower. There was little wind to stir its heavy pendent +folds, what there was came almost balmily in drifts from the +west. +</p> + +<p> +Some belated workman or field-labourer was going home +across the policy,—or possibly some gamekeeper or shepherd +may have been setting out upon his nightly rounds. The +night being dark and still, he sang; perhaps because he was +sorrowful, possibly because he was happy; it may have been +to cheer his loneliness. But whoever he was, he had a voice; +a sweet, if untutored baritone,—and the matchless beauty and +poignant pathos of "The Land o' the Leal" beat in wave upon +wave of anguish, and sorrow, and yearning, upon Katharine's +tortured soul.... +</p> + +<p> +"O God!" she cried aloud in her anguish, "I cannot bear +it. Desolate, desolate, stripped bare of everything! ... All of +them taken!—Mark and my father, and to-day Edward! ... O +Edward, my love! and Julian! ... Ah! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And her own cry was flung back from the battlements, so +thin, so weirdly eldritch that she shuddered at the sound.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Madness was near my Katharine in that hour of abandonment. +But when the wild spirit of Marioun Forbis, whose +tragic tale I have not time to tell here, cried to her: "Be bold! +One leap will end it!" and the thin ghostly hands of proud, +sinful Countess Edith plucked at her garments to drag her +to the battlements; and Mistress Juliana, who starved herself +to death for grief because her too-severely punished babe +had died in a fit in the dark cupboard where it had been +shut up after a whipping, lent her impalpable, invisible aid to +urge her kinswoman to the desperate deed,—the saintly Mother +St. Edward, Abbess of the Brigittine Convent of Syon +(stripped of all and driven thence to exile with her Community +by the edict of fierce Elizabeth), whispered of submission to +the Divine Will. And heroic Madam Lucy—who nursed her +smitten household back to life through the days when the Great +Plague raged in England,—and only lay down to die at length +when all she loved were safe,—leaned to her ear and +whispered "Courage!" and countless other noble women of her +ancient race gathered about her then.... +</p> + +<p> +And at last the memory of her own lost, beloved mother rose +up to aid her, and the Mother of All Mothers—pitying her +faithful daughter's anguish—interceded with Her Divine Son +that the gift of prayer might be restored to ease the breaking +heart.... +</p> + +<p> +It came like a spate among the hills after long drought, and +Katharine fell upon her knees, and leaned her aching head +against the rough-hewn stone, and told God all her trouble, +and knew that He heard.... Then she rose up calmed and +comforted, and so went down the Tower stair and back to her +bedroom. And slept and dreamed of a gigantic man,—tawny-brown +of skin, and with a vast black beard, fierce black eyes +and a great hooked nose exactly like John Hazel's,—wrapped +in a vast hooded mantle—carrying an iron-shod staff like +St. Christopher's—and wearing immense boots such as are never +seen now. He went before her over a desert which she needs +must traverse, seeking for the lost Julian—a waved expanse +of scorching yellow sand, peopled by ugly Things that lived in +burrows, and kept popping up their diabolical horned heads +to mock and gibe at Katharine.... Then the Bearded One +stood in the midst of a raging torrent (which it seemed that +Katharine must negotiate), and leaned on his immense staff to +steady himself, stretching out the other hand to help her +across.... There was a black onyx intaglio of Hercules in +an antique setting of greenish gold on his huge forefinger.... +And his vast hand, as it enfolded hers, felt warm and +friendly and kind. And she asked, for the black eyes under +the dense black brows were more like than ever: +</p> + +<p> +"You're John Hazel, really, aren't you? ..." +</p> + +<p> +And the huge man answered, in a booming bass, showing +great white teeth in the thicket of his hirsuteness: +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, daughter of the race of him I loved! But John +Hazaël is of me!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0224"></a></p> + +<h3> +XXIV +</h3> + +<p> +Wonderful times, these of which I write, fruitful in +world-shaking happenings, hecatombs of slaughtered men; +sledge-hammer strokes of Fate and Destiny. Sudden descents of +long-suspended swords upon anointed heads. Tragedies, calamities, +dazzling adventures, murders and massacres, high deeds +of patriotism, stirring deeds of heroism, wakening admiration, +pity or terror. Who shall marvel that into this whirlpool of +great events the Mysterious Disappearance of A Well Known +British Commanding Officer (as recorded by the Press under +the above and similar headings) dropped with as little sensation +as the fall of a pair of binoculars from an aviator's hand. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Staying at Kerr's Arbour, N.B."—I quote from one of the +newspaper paragraphs, "the officer, a well-known personality +in Society, possessing a great record of distinguished service +with the famous Tweedburgh Regiment of Infantry, left the +house at which he was an honoured guest, after the funeral +of Sir Philip Forbis, which he had attended in the morning, +and has not been since heard of. It transpires that Colonel +Yaill had intended to walk to Cauldstanes Station, for the +purpose of taking a late afternoon train to the junction of +Carlisle. He had ordered his luggage to be forwarded to his +London Club on the morning following, and carried with him +nothing but a trench-coat and a walking-stick. The calamity +which has again befallen the 'Tweedburghs' since the appointment +of Colonel E. A. Yaill to command the regiment, will be +fresh in the sympathetic memory of every reader. On +September 1915, Colonel Yaill made his way to the front-line +trenches through a blizzard of German H.E. and finding of +the few living men left in them not one unwounded, took over +and carried on the Telephone and Wireless Communications +with Brigade and Divisional H.Q. until for the second time +the dug-out containing the installations was blown in by a +High Velocity shell. Severe shock was sustained by the gallant +officer, who was discovered later, alive but quite dazed, +and taken to Hospital. Since then he has successfully +undergone treatment at the B—— Base Hospital Camp, which he +quitted little more than a week ago, with a convalescent +discharge. To add to the strange interest, and thicken the +mystery of the case, it has transpired that on the morning he left +the Hospital Camp at B—— the missing officer was married +to a young and attractive lady, by name Miss Lucy Burtonshaw, +serving with her Red Cross Unit at the B—— Base +Convalescent Camp, as a certified nurse. Up to the present we +can only record that whether the disappearance of Colonel +Yaill may be ascribed to foul play, or a sudden loss of +memory, no clue has been discovered up-to-date which throws any +light upon his whereabouts. At his country home, 'The +Grange,' Scraefell, N. Cumberland, his sisters, the Misses +Olive and Isabella Yaill, are in the utmost distress and anxiety +regarding his probable fate. At his Club <i>The Services</i>, in +Pall Mall, no communication has been received from him, nor +can his brother, Mr. Anthony Yaill, K.C., or Sir Arthur Ely, +head of the eminent firm of Ely and Ely, for many years +solicitors to the Yaill family, supply any information +whatever concerning the missing officer." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Private John Hazel, returned to the bosom of his family +at Campden Hill, read this, or a similar paragraph, in the +morning Wire, and somewhere towards forenoon of the same day, +received a telegram, the perusal of which gave him another +unexpected thrill. It ran as follows: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Can you come? In great anxiety. Katharine Forbis Kerr's +Arbour T.O. Cauldstanes Tweedburgh N.B.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +He had written a brief, business-like note from the <i>Cross +Keys Hotel</i> on the day of his return from her father's funeral, +taking leave of Miss Forbis, repeating his offer of service, +and enclosing an address from whence, in case of need, he +might always be communicated with. Strangely soon the call +had come. Strangely natural, as in the run of long-accustomed +things it seemed to be responding to the appeal, to answer +by the messenger waiting the reply: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Thank you. Coming by next train.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +He pitchforked a few necessaries into a battered suit-case, +left a pencilled note upon the lid of Mrs. Hazel's large, +responsible Red Cross work-basket—for his mother now invariably +left home directly after breakfast, for the Work Rooms in +Mayfair—where, in the delectable company of Duchesses—she +spent the hours in the manufacture of Life-Saving Waistcoats +for the Fleet, and felt Hospital slippers, until six-thirty. +Consuming luncheon, carried in a plated box, and rigorously +relegated to such forms of nourishment as may without reproach +be assimilated by patriotic British digestive organs in War-time; +taking a frugal tea on the scene of activity; and returning +at seven to partake of a dinner of generous succulence. +Having thus discharged his duty as a son, John departed by taxi +for King's Cross, catching the very next express leaving for +the North.... +</p> + +<p> +The room he had previously occupied at the <i>Cross Keys</i> was +vacant. He stepped into its queer conglomeration of ancient +smells, and the glass-eyed society of the birds and beasts and +fishes in their musty cases, and it might have been that he +had never gone away, but that Mrs. Govan in person served +his supper in the clammy coffee-room, a part-knitted +khaki-coloured sock, bristling with steel knitting-needles, tucked +under a stout arm, and the ball bulging the pocket of her apron +of black silk. +</p> + +<p> +"Eh, dear!" Mrs. Govan had ceased to address John as +"Private" since she had realised his somewhat indeterminate +yet undeniable connection with "the family" at Kerr's. "Eh, +Mr. Hazel! but this is grievous! ... And to think that I met +Cornel Yaill wi' the meir an' cart the vera' nicht he cam' down +to atten' the Funeral. Gin' auld Sir Philip cud have kent! +But Providence was mercifu'. And sair it has irkit me to +think o' Miss Forbis a' alane there at Kerr's, like the last +aipple on the strippit tree, as I hae said to Govan, an' +telegrams rattlin' ower the wires wi' 'Reply Paid' to the lave o' +them—from a' the warld and's wife, beggin' an' prayin' till +her: 'Darling Katharine, let us come to you, or if not, winna +you come to us,' and gettin' answer: 'A thousand thanks, but +no. Lovingly, Katharine.' An' sae, when I e'en kent she had +sent for ye, I juist drew a free sough." +</p> + +<p> +Evidently there had been a serious leakage from the Cauldstanes +Telegraph Office. John mentally registered the evidence +as Mrs. Govan continued: +</p> + +<p> +"Ye'll have haird the latest news o' Cornel Yaill, dootless?" +</p> + +<p> +"Has he been found?" her guest inquired, eliciting the shrill +disclaimer: +</p> + +<p> +"Na, na! We'se hae the Police traipsin' in an' out the +bar makin' their inquiries—an' the wee laddies in the short +breeks—the Boy Scouts I suld say! scoorin' ower the face o' +the lan', but neither bone nor feather o' the man hae they +fand for a' their pains! And mair nor me an' Govan thinks," +she pursed her lips mysteriously, "that it'll be no' for's ain +guid when they rin the Cornel doon—wherever's his hidie-hole! +Weel free o' siccan a mislaird rogue Miss Forbis may +coont hersel! Marriet on a stranger wumman—faugh!—an' +the bauld, traipsin' craitur huntin' him doon, un' telegrams to +the verra door o' Kerr's Arbour. 'Have knowledge whaur ye +are. Return instantly, or I will follow. Your wife, Lucy +Yaill.' Set her up for a shameless hussy!—an' the brawest +leddy in Tweedshire—ay', an' the haill o' Scotland—wi' grand, +gentlemen many a ane etchin' to pit a ring on the white hand +o' her—" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Govan broke off in the midst of her tirade with a +sense of genuine alarm. For the blazing black eyes under the +heavy brows of John Hazel were sternly set upon her; and +the great hooked nose—"siccan glowering e'en, an' siccan a +hawk's neb!—eneuch to fricht a body!" seemed fraught with +threatenings of doom to come. He said in his deep voice: +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Forbis will hardly thank you for your praise of herself +personally, if you couple with it such confoundedly libellous +abuse of her nearest and dearest friend." +</p> + +<p> +"Guidsake! ... I'm sure I never thocht.... To be sure +naething is kenned for certain.... Ye'll keip it frae Miss +Forbis, sir, if I said onything to offend! ..." and the flurried +woman bumped down the dish upon the cloth and vanished, +leaving John Hazel wondering why on earth he had stuck up +for the man. +</p> + +<p> +He slept with the stuffed birds and beasts that night, and next +morning, after breakfast, the mare Brownie being under the +veterinary for a chill, the old black horse, her stable-companion, +having been sent to the blacksmith's for roughing, +and Alec Govan's motor-cycle having been requisitioned +for the postman's uses—John set out on foot for Kerr's Arbour. +</p> + +<p> +It was piercing cold; the east wind carried the bitter tang +of the North Sea, the country lay under a fresh cloak of +new-fallen snow, and the chilled thrushes and blackbirds and robins +huddled disconsolately in the cropped hedges, and the low +bushes and plumps of ivy swaddling old tree-stumps in the +plantations by the roadside. As John Hazel's long active legs +left the miles behind—what was a road ankle-deep in snow +to a Territorial who had wintered in Flemish trenches!—he +wondered somewhat as to the nature of the service Katharine +Forbis would require at his willing hands. +</p> + +<p> +Help, it might prove, in some further efforts to gain +intelligence of the man who had vanished so suddenly.... Who +could not be traced, nor ever would be, until the body should +be found.... For Edward Yaill was dead, most certainly. +Once Katharine Forbis had showed you plainly she despised +you, how could you bear to live any more? Yaill had had that +much of manhood left in him. So he had gone out with a +definite purpose,—and in some dense plantation, or lonely +granite quarry, thick-draped with curtains of bramble, had +shot himself; creeping well in under the growths to be securely +hidden, and died—and there an end of him.... +</p> + +<p> +Odd how those miserable grey eyes, with their haunting stare +of agony, kept rising up before John Hazel, as he tramped +over the hog-backed Roman road over which how many old +dead-and-gone Forbis of Kerr's had led their bow and +spearmen against the Picts, or Viking pirates from the wild +North Sea; or pricked forth to the Wars of Balliol or Bruce—or +set out in state and pageantry, with fair ladies in painted +litters, or on gaily-caparisoned palfreys—to the Court of the +Scots' King at Stirling or Edinburgh. And he wondered at +the strange, impersonal love he felt for them, so brave, so +bold, so tender, so gallant and gracious—from the Roman +Prætor of Alexandria—who had given the black onyx ring +to his (John Hazel's) ancestor—down to Sir Rupert the +Cavalier, and the fine old General and the lost Julian, and +Katharine.... +</p> + +<p> +Ah, Katharine! ... Again he saw her noble face irradiated +by the glow and glamour, the mysterious beauty that transfigure +even a plain woman when she loves with all her soul. +</p> + +<p> +And then the face of Yaill, with its anguish and despair, +rose up before him clearer than ever. He heard the +compassionate voice of the V.A.D. woman saying: +</p> + +<p> +"His wretched, <i>wretched</i> eyes! ... I <i>hope</i> I'm not going to +dream of them! Oh! there <i>must</i> be something to be said for +a man who looks like that! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Suppose the man were innocent—the luckless sport of +horrible circumstances! ... Had John Hazel been of Scottish +blood, he would have said, "I'm fey." Being what he was, +he said vigorously, "I'm a bally idiot!" and continued +tramping along the snowy road. +</p> + +<p> +Past the hollow way, crossed by a strip of ice, where the +snow on the overhanging trees was thawing in long drips and +splashes, and the benumbed birds showed more active signs +of life. Out of the hollow way, on the left a dense plantation, +on the opposite side to, and about a quarter of a mile below +the iron gate of the entrance to the Kerr's Arbour private +road. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0225"></a></p> + +<h3> +XXV +</h3> + +<p> +A whistle shrilled near by, keen, sharp and silvery. John +Hazel stiffened at the sound, as a seasoned soldier will. But +nothing was in sight but a wee tow-headed laddie, "a kid" John +would have called him—in a ragged suit of moleskins, cut down +from adult-sized garments, who perched on the topmost round +of the hog-backed stile leading into the plantation, and blew +a shining whistle, from which a lanyard hung. +</p> + +<p> +The small boy saw John start, and thrilled with secret exultation. +To own a silver whistle and have no one to admire you +is really little better than having none at all. So he blew +again, lustily, with one eye on the big black "soger," and John +Hazel pulled up steaming, and passed the time of day.... +</p> + +<p> +"Who are you, you queer little beggar, and where did you +get that whistle?" he began. +</p> + +<p> +At this the small boy scrambled down from the gate, and +came to the roadside. He was a freckled child of eight or so, +with wide gaps where first teeth had retired from the conflict, +and a nose that sadly needed wiping, and broken festering +chilblains on his swollen ears and hands. But his sharp blue +eyes were bright on the stranger's as he answered: +</p> + +<p> +"I am nae no beggar ava, but Meggy Proodfoot's wee laddie. +An' I fand the bonny whistle in yonner woodie the morn." +</p> + +<p> +By the jerk of the cracked and swollen thumb John guessed +"woodie" meant plantation. He said, blowing out his long +brown cheeks, and scowling with mock ferocity: +</p> + +<p> +"That's a real soldier's whistle, not a thing for a kid to +play with. You should give it to your daddy. He's a soldier, +I suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +The small boy returned, grinning: +</p> + +<p> +"I dinna ken—for my daddie is no' a kirk daddie. Some +say he maun be Keeper Todd, but my mother says it's no'! +She's thinkin' he's the engineer that cam' wi' the +steam-thrasher,—an' she ca's me a puir come-by-chance when she has a +drappy on. I'm no mindin'!" The freckled face turned up to +John's grinned hardily: +</p> + +<p> +"Give me hold of that whistle a minute, you infantile +philosopher," said John Hazel, and took it in his hand. It bore +the silver hall-mark,—was an officer's signal-whistle. On the +butt was engraved in clear fine letters: +</p> + +<p> +"E. A. Yaill (R.C.) Lieut. Col. R. Tweedburgh Infantry +Regt." +</p> + +<p> +Here was the clue. Was the secret hidden in that plantation? +John Hazel's face became so grim that it terrified the +boy. +</p> + +<p> +"Gie me my whustle back, man, an' let me gang awa' hame, +noo! Ye'll no tak it fra' me?" he stuttered, blinking back +the tears. +</p> + +<p> +"I must take it from you, for I know the man who lost it. +But I'll give you half-a-crown instead, to buy another," said +John.... "You'll like the new one awfully!" ... John +added as the coin changed owners. "And I'll give you another +sixpence for sweeties if you'll tell me what else you found in +the wood." +</p> + +<p> +"Naething at a' but a bit o' broon cloth—soger's cloth like +yon—" A stubby finger pointed at John's sleeve—"stickin' +oot o' a tod's howe, an' the bit white string near by." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean the lanyard. Well, then—" +</p> + +<p> +"Eh, then I pu'ed the wee bit string an' the siller whustle +cam' oot wi't, an' sae I took the whustle an' ran awa' to +pley. An' when I saw ye comin' I thocht ye were the Man. +Noo gie me the bawbee!" +</p> + +<p> +"You mean the sixpence! Tell me about the Man you +mean,—and earn a shilling instead." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay! The Man was dressed like yoursel is—but grand, +like an officer, wi' gowd on his bonnet an' sleeves, an' mair +ribbons on his breast. No the day's day, but back in the +week, I'm thinkin' it was Monunday!—I seen him comin' doon +the road, an' he fleyt me wi' his een." +</p> + +<p> +"He scared you with his eyes? What did you do then?" +</p> + +<p> +"I bude to rin awa' at first, because 'twas gettin' fell +mirk-like. An' sair I wantit my tea and lardy-piece. But I didna' +rin ower far. I muntit the fence an' keeked roun' a buss, +an' saw him loup in ower. An' he gaed intil the woodie, an' +cam' oot nae mair!" +</p> + +<p> +Come By Chance pointed with a chilblained hand to the +stile of the plantation, and brought the hand deftly back to +show its empty palm. The shilling having followed the +half-crown into a pocket of the cut-down corduroys: +</p> + +<p> +"Hae ye anither?" the recipient demanded avidly. +</p> + +<p> +"No, but I might give twopence more to hear how the Man +came out." +</p> + +<p> +"He didna!" +</p> + +<p> +A shadow seemed to fall on the brightness of the snow, +and the wind's bite grew keener. John Hazel echoed: +</p> + +<p> +"Didn't come out? Are you quite sure?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, yea! for though I hing aboot to see, he showed nae +bone nor feather. An' at lang last—when I'se fell hungert for +my piece—an' fain to rin hame to my mither—anither man +louped oot intil the road, an' cam' alang by." +</p> + +<p> +"How do you know it wasn't the Man?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because he was no' braw like the ither! He had nae +gowd on his bonnet, an' his claithes were hamely like my +daddie's,—or they wad be, gin my mither wad own that my +daddie was Keeper Todd." +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel suddenly knew that the chill shadow had passed, +and that the sun was shining. And he tossed another shilling to +Come By Chance, saying: +</p> + +<p> +"There's another bob for you, you queer little rascal. Cut +before I change my mind and want the money back!" +</p> + +<p> +And as the tow-headed took to his chilblained heels, revealing +in his hurried flight that his shirt-tail hung out through a +ragged hole at the back of his corduroys, John Hazel jumping +the hog-backed stile, dived into the plantation. Something told +him that he would come out much wiser than he went in. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0226"></a></p> + +<h3> +XXVI +</h3> + +<p> +The dull tramp of heavy Service boots, following the maid +who was that day John Hazel's guide, over the carpeted stone +flags of the corridor to the little panelled morning parlour, +brought an unexpected, welcome sense of relief to Katharine's +overstrained nerves. The door opened, and she moved swiftly +to him—stopping him with both hands held out, when he would +have made his strange, half-Eastern salutation—saying in her +full, womanly tones: +</p> + +<p> +"How can I thank you, Mr. Hazel?" +</p> + +<p> +He answered, tritely and clumsily, but with very evident +sincerity: +</p> + +<p> +"By showing me straight off the reel, how I can be of use +to you." +</p> + +<p> +Some aching spot in her sore heart was touched by his +genuine eagerness to serve her. For a moment she could not +speak.... So they stood, her fine white hand engulfed by +Hazel's great brown one, his strong black eyes, unrebuked, +dwelling on his lady's face. +</p> + +<p> +She looked older, with wide purplish shadows round about +her beautiful eyes, and their clear golden-amber changed to +sorrowful rust-colour. The clear cream and carnation of her +skin was dulled to a pale olive.... The rich brown hair upon +her temples, and above her brow, showed here and there a +thread of silver. She began, speaking with a curious, hurried +breathlessness: +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hazel, I know you must have seen newspaper accounts +of the inexplicable disappearance of—a friend who—I +have no need to hide the fact!—is very, very dear to me.... +You must know that I speak of Colonel Yaill. You saw him +here the Saturday you came here first, and later at my father's +funeral. You—<i>Ah—!</i> ..." +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were on John Hazel's when the memory leaped +into them. They dilated, blazed with tawny fire.... John +thought of a lioness.... She snatched her hand instantly +away from his, crying: +</p> + +<p> +"What am I thinking of? Why,—it was you who threatened +him!—he told me so himself! You said you would save him +the trouble if he did not tell me of his marriage. How could +I have forgotten? Is my memory failing me? And you.... +How could you have come by the knowledge with which you +menaced him? ... In Hospital? ... No! Where and how, +then? The whole thing is a horrible mystery to me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel told her, in a few bluntly-spoken sentences, just +how the story of Yaill's marriage had been given him. She +heard him to the end of it, and said, with the ghost of a smile: +</p> + +<p> +"So you entered upon your hereditary office of champion, +straightway. And Lady Wastwood got the story from her +Headquarters—I understand the whole thing clearly! She is a +dear, and I love her, but a terror of a talker.... The whole +county must have rung with scandal, ages before I dreamed +that anybody knew...." She shuddered. "Oh, me! what +things they must have said about Edward!—must be saying +about him at this moment when he—" +</p> + +<p> +Her voice broke in a sob, and her full heart brimmed over. +John Hazel said roughly, for he could not bear to see her tears: +</p> + +<p> +"They may talk, but there's one thing nobody on earth—or +elsewhere!—will ever be able to say of him. That he isn't +a thundering brave man!" +</p> + +<p> +The sudden, fierce carnation that had flooded the wide oval +of her face a moment before, had given place to the olive +paleness. Now a faint tinge of the banished red came creeping +back again. +</p> + +<p> +"You threatened Edward Yaill—yet you defend him?" +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel answered simply enough: +</p> + +<p> +"I had to see that you were undeceived. You were, first +of all, my business. But knowing what shell-shock means—as +men have learned to know the hellish thing in this damned +War—how, in common justice, can I condemn Colonel +Yaill?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you! Oh, thank you! That does my heart good!" +</p> + +<p> +The wide, sweet smile curved Katharine's mouth again, and +her dimmed eyes found a sparkle to cheer their sombre +rust-colour. She went on: +</p> + +<p> +"To know that somebody besides myself pities him—you +don't know—you can't know, what it means to me! For no +one will have a kind thing to say for Edward. Beyond the +newspaper flummery and flapdoodle, there won't be a word, +nor a thought, that isn't—merciless to him! ..." +</p> + +<p> +She was sitting now in her hearthside chair and John was +standing on the other side of the fireplace. The antique +mirror above the little Tudor clock, that had reflected Yaill's +thin, handsome face and haunted grey eyes, gave back an +image of the huge black head, the portentous hooked nose, and +swarthy countenance of this new and strangely dominating +force that had moved across the threshold of Kerr's Arbour, +out of the veiled, mysterious Past, but a few days previously. +His elbow rested on the mantelshelf, where the other man had +leaned his: he clenched his great hand as he answered Katharine: +</p> + +<p> +"'Merciless.' ... And why on this rotten little planet should +people be merciless to the man?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because"—she frowned and looked at John from between +her narrowed eyelids—"because of the odd, clandestine fashion +in which—after his strange marriage—Colonel Yaill has gone +away.... I am not brilliant, it may be, nor very highly +cultured. But I know, and very thoroughly—the world to which +we belong. I speak, be it understood, of his world and +mine." John felt himself an alien. "The world we choose to call +Society. And Society will never pardon nor condone, nor +exonerate this act of Colonel Yaill's." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you think the pardon of Society particularly worth +having? Do you think the good opinion of a Society as +fat-headed, as thick-witted and as narrow-minded as you represent +it—matters a tin of ration apple-jam? ... Now listen, Miss +Forbis! If you think me rude, an offensive brute, say to +yourself, 'This man can't help it! He isn't in Society—but he is +out to work for me! The wag of a finger of my hand would +bring him from the ends of the world to serve or fight for +me!' Please don't interrupt, for time is time—and I have +more to say—" +</p> + +<p> +He drew a big breath that hurt his wounded lung, and +went on speaking: +</p> + +<p> +"When you sent for me, I believed you thought that Colonel +Yaill had put an end to himself. When I saw you I knew +you had never for a minute entertained the idea—" +</p> + +<p> +She broke in now: +</p> + +<p> +"Never! The suggestion of suicide has been spread by +people who know nothing of the man they slander. In +absolute confidence I will tell you now—for how could you be +of any help to me unless I absolutely trust you!—Edward Yaill +has gone to the East to find my lost Julian—my dear brother, +whom I have since heard was killed on August 21st—" +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel's black eyes flashed. He broke in: +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Forbis, something of that sort is what I have +suspected." +</p> + +<p> +"Wait," she said. "<i>He</i> told me that he would not return +to—to his wife—upon the old footing.... She had cruelly +tricked and deceived him—he could not, once he knew the +truth—endure to live with her! ... So he made up his mind to go +secretly away. He might have applied to the War Office—he +has powerful friends at Whitehall—for a transfer to the +Eastern Front. Why didn't he? That's one of the things I +can't understand! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you know? ..." +</p> + +<p> +John's big voice boomed out, drowning the little silvery +chime of the Tudor timepiece. +</p> + +<p> +"When questions like that crop up, the answer is, +shell-shock. A man who is possessed of ordinary, healthy nerves, +will act in an ordinary way. But the man who's been subject +to the devilries of High Explosive, will pop up queer +byways in his impatience of circumlocution—adopt unexpected +measures; reach his objective by methods as destructively +simple as—the rat's way of getting into a cheese. He +<i>might</i>—supposin' he'd been a normal man—have engineered the thing +at Whitehall. Being shell-shocked, he simply burns his boats +and swims." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine begged: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, go on! You're helping me!—you're helping me wonderfully. +Things that seemed crazy—out of the comprehensible—are +beginning to arrange themselves.... Now there's +another point. You saw, perhaps, a newspaper reference to +Sir Arthur Ely? Well, it has occurred to me as possible that +Edward confided his plans to Sir Arthur—that impenetrable +sarcophagus of Society secrets. You may have noticed that +Sir Arthur's reply to Press inquiries showed a—a considerable +degree of reserve?" +</p> + +<p> +John had noticed it. He admired Katharine's cool, clear, +masterful way of assembling her evidence, and making her +points tellingly, each in its turn. He kept back his own solid +piece of conviction until she finished— +</p> + +<p> +"He has gone, I am convinced that I know where—though I +can't make out how he managed going.... But one thing is +clear. I must get word to him! ... He has gone to find +Julian, whom he loved!—my Julian, who was killed by a +Turkish shell, in the storming of Scimitar Hill on August 21st. +That is where you come in!—that is where you can help me. +In getting the news through to Colonel Yaill in case he does +not know! ..." +</p> + +<p> +John thought a moment and said: +</p> + +<p> +"We might—in case he has gone out to the East believing +your brother to be living—get the news to him <i>per</i> advertisement +in sundry foreign rags. Personals, discreetly worded, +might do the trick—inserted in French and British papers, +published in the Levant,—in Egypt,—and at Salonika, and in +such others as are printed and disseminated by the Germans +in the Near East." +</p> + +<p> +She caught her breath. +</p> + +<p> +"Can you manage that last stroke? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll not swear I can, but there's a chance I may engineer +it. Write out the ads. and let me have them at once! In +English, French and German. Worded so that he'll +understand.... Some ought to be in Turkish,—and others in +Arabic, and some in Egyptian Arabic. For—your man's a bit +of a linguist, unless I judge him wrong!" +</p> + +<p> +Katharine's eyes brightened with pride in her man as she +answered: +</p> + +<p> +"He speaks most of the languages of the Orient, and Nearer +East." +</p> + +<p> +"Good! Now, are you quite sure your brother has been +killed?" He went on, meeting her startled look.... "Because +the War Office isn't infallible.... A pal of mine—reported +dead over eleven months ago—has spent about three +in trying to convince the authorities that he's very much alive! +Last week he heard from them, asking him to reconsider the +matter! and send in another detailed statement; and now that +he's convinced 'em of his existence—they've docked his pay +for the eleven months he's been officially dead! ... And I +know another man, a virtuous unmarried one-pipper,—who +gets paid an allowance, monthly, for a missus and three kids.... +They don't exist—and never did, but the Pay Department +says they do,—and returns him the money when he tries to pay +it back! One day they'll say he's robbed 'em—and call a Court +Martial—but till then he spends the cash in cigars, and other +forms of crime. Not as applicable as the first illustration, but +still a case in point." He grinned.... "And hasn't it struck +you, that Colonel Yaill, knowing the dudheads at Whitehall—would +be likely to go on looking for Father Forbis as long +as a chance remained? Now, what about those ads. you were +going to write for me? I'm quite certain they ought to go +in.... But mind you make it clear to Colonel Yaill that +you've no private, first-hand information.... Put it '<i>Julian +reported killed</i>' and then he'll understand!" +</p> + +<p> +She levelled her fine brows and thought a moment, then +rose from her chair, saying: +</p> + +<p> +"Would this do? '<i>Edward ... Julian reported killed +Gallipoli, August 21st. Seek no further</i>' or '<i>Search useless. Send +address for communication. K.</i>" Then as he nodded his +approval, "Very well, I'll write the advertisements at once," she +said. "Of course I don't know any Arabic, and my Italian is +simply rocky—it always sent Father into fits of laughter.... +But my German is passable, and my French is—quite decent.... +I was educated at the <i>Sacré Cœur</i> Convent, Chalkcliff—where +most of the nuns are Parisian ladies.... Smoke if you +care to, while I'm writing.... And do find yourself a +comfortable chair...." +</p> + +<p> +She crossed the room to a well-used escritoire, inlaid ebony +of Indian workmanship, glancing back to smile at John Hazel +as she drew up her writing-chair. Her Persian cat leaped +purring on her shoulder, and she rubbed her cheek against +his warm silver-grey coat, giving the caress craved by his +cattish little soul, before she gently set him down.... Then +she began to write, and John sat watching her, revelling in her +vigorous, healthful uprightness, and the grace with which her +long limbs disposed themselves in the seated pose.... +</p> + +<p> +"Don't rush it.... Take your time!" ... He was speaking +from behind her. "I'll see that the others are cautiously +worded.... A man in disguise as an Arab or a Turk might +betray himself unconsciously, if his eye happened to drop on a +line that was meant for him, you know." +</p> + +<p> +"'A man in disguise.' ..." She caught her breath. "Oh!—you +are wonderful!" +</p> + +<p> +"Not even my mother ever thought that," said Hazel, with +his gleaming grin. "But I'm ready to put money on my +theory that the Colonel—to get out of England in the quietest +way possible—has enlisted in some unit of the Mediterranean +Expeditionary Force." +</p> + +<p> +"As a common soldier—an ordinary Tommy! ... You +think so meanly of him? ..." +</p> + +<p> +For a moment her broad front of displeasure was turned +upon John Hazel. Then the anger died out of her as he said +quietly: +</p> + +<p> +"I've learned to think a lot of ordinary Tommies, since +I've been in this beastly War. And I stick to my +opinion—for a reason!" +</p> + +<p> +He got up. His big hand had been in his bulging tunic-pocket. +He pulled out a Brass Hat, ignominiously squashed, +and with the peak broken—and said as he offered it to Katharine: +</p> + +<p> +"Here's my reason! Good enough, I think!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh!" she cried, "where did you get that? ... It is +Edward's!" ... And snatched it almost fiercely, and crushed it +against her breast.... +</p> + +<p> +"This too!" ... John thrust on her the silver whistle.... +"A child was playing with it near the plantation below your +Private Road.... That put me on the scent.... I annexed +the whistle—here it is for you!—you'll see his name is on +it!—and went in and poked about.... To discover the complete +uniform of a British C.O., Field jacket, badges, Bedford cords, +and the whole posh kit, wrapped up in a trencher, strapped +with a Sam Browne, and stuffed into a fox's hole. Presently +when it's dark enough, I'll lug the rest of the kit up to +you.... Now, do you think I've grounds for my belief? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine was trembling. +</p> + +<p> +"You frighten me!" she said to him. "The police and their +helpers have searched and found nothing.... You come—and +these hidden things are uncovered at your feet.... What +does it mean? Do you believe that you and I have lived on +earth before now? ... Are we taking up old threads that were +broken ages ago? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Not for a second do I believe that!" answered John Hazel. +"But that we are influenced and guided by others who have +walked this earth before us,—yes!—I certainly think we are! +While they were about it they might have shown me where +the Colonel got the suit of civvies he changed into when he +gave his swank rags to Brother Fox for keeps. Plain clothes!" +... He answered Katharine's inquiring look as though she +had spoken. "And pretty well worn.... Don't stop to ask +me how I know!" ... +</p> + +<p> +"'Plain clothes'! ... A shabby shooting-suit...." Katharine +repeated. "Wait one minute—I must look! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And she was gone.... The sixty seconds were barely +ticked off by the gilded arrow of the Tudor timepiece before +the door opened to admit her, minus the finds of the +plantation,—panting a little, with flushed cheeks and radiant eyes of +joy.... +</p> + +<p> +"I have been to his room," she told John Hazel, breathlessly. +"There is a camphor-wood press there where—since +August, 1914,—I have kept the suit Edward was wearing +when the War call came to him. Rough grey homespun—with +a Norfolk jacket. And the things have gone out of the +press. He must have taken them—" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm dead sure he took them! Now another question crops +up, Miss Forbis. In these days of Compulsory Service—though +the Act's not a fortnight old—how's an able-bodied +man in plain clothes to avoid being captured by the +Government's Fine Tooth Comb? Tapped on the shoulder by a +Recruiting Officer or a policeman—and challenged to cough up +his Conscription papers, or produce his Exemption Sheet? +What would the Colonel's age be? Anything over the Limit?" +</p> + +<p> +The coarseness of his tone offended delicacy.... Her +brows contracted as she answered with chilly dignity: +</p> + +<p> +"He was thirty-nine in May. (<i>Thirty-nine. And he might +have married me when he was thirty-one!</i>)" her heart cried +rebelliously. What had Edward thought to gain by those +continued delays? She had been at her loveliest, she knew, when +they had first loved each other.... Twenty-three—and +between twenty-three and thirty-one—eight worse than wasted +years! +</p> + +<p> +Years lost—foregone—wilfully forfeited.... Her heart +wailed like a plover over its rifled nest.... And yet not +lost.... Five of them at least had been glorious with happiness. +There had been rare glimpses of sweetness even in these last +three years of War.... +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me!" she said, wakened from sad memories by +John Hazel's taking leave of her. "I was thinking.... I did +not hear you.... Must you absolutely go?" +</p> + +<p> +"I must not stay, Miss Forbis. The other things that are +hidden in the plantation I shall leave you to find for yourself. +The fox-hole is at the bottom of the bank facing south +beside a big stone—you can hardly miss it! You will hear +from me, when there is anything you should know—until there +is, good-bye!" +</p> + +<p> +She said, with her characteristic, cordial imperiousness: +"Good-bye comes after luncheon! ... You must not leave this +house again without breaking bread! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He yielded, and soon they were seated at a long, well-covered +table in a room whose sombre panelling was relieved by +inset portraits of dead-and-gone Forbises, glittering trophies of +Indian weapons, horns and heads of big game; some fine +pieces of Oriental porcelain and a noble buffet of silver plate. +That sense of strangeness still remained. Strongly as the +good things of the palate appealed to John Hazel's sensuous +nature, he found himself swallowing hot savoury Scotch +broth—demolishing cold game-pie and salad with the barest +appreciation of their excellence—and gulping down the +Chateau Margaux of the Kerr's Arbour cellars, as indifferently +as though it had been the beer of the canteen.... +</p> + +<p> +"Good-bye, Mr. Hazel," Katharine said at parting, "and +God bless you! I shall never forget what you have done. +Should I hear from Colonel Yaill, I shall communicate to the +address you have given me. Should you hear of him—you will +write to me here at Kerr's." +</p> + +<p> +She gave him both her white hands, returning his big strong +grasp with warm, sisterly friendliness, sending a strange and +wonderful thrill through the giant frame of the man. +</p> + +<p> +"May I—" he asked, almost humbly, with his black eyes +entreating hers, in the way that a woman who has been wooed +can never misunderstand.... +</p> + +<p> +"If you wish!" she answered, cordially, and he stooped and +touched with his fleshy lips the beautiful hands he held. Then +he released them.... He was at the door, looking back at +Katharine.... As he turned the handle she spoke impulsively: +</p> + +<p> +"Where are you going?—you haven't yet told me!" +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose because I thought you would guess," John Hazel +returned. "The fact is, I got orders yesterday to join my +old crowd—the 'Fenchurch Streets'—at Salonika. So I'm +going out to the Near East—to look for your friend!" +</p> + +<p> +"Not to fight?" Katharine asked, smiling, though touched +by his rugged simplicity. +</p> + +<p> +He answered: +</p> + +<p> +"To do that, and the other job too...." +</p> + +<p> +"It is almost certain that I, myself, shall be going out to +Egypt shortly," she told him, "to work at the Hospital of +Montana near Alexandria—with my friends of the Red Cross." +</p> + +<p> +He nodded gravely. +</p> + +<p> +"Good luck to you and them! There's a thing I'd like to +hear you say, Miss Forbis. Do you mind just telling me to +carry on?" +</p> + +<p> +"Carry on, John Hazel!" said Katharine royally. +</p> + +<p> +He waved a hand to her, and was gone. And the great +lonely, empty House of Kerr's Arbour was tenfold emptier +and lonelier without that vital, powerful embodiment of faith +and loyalty.... +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0301"></a></p> + +<h2> +<i>Book the Third:</i> THE FINDING +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +Weeks after John Hazel had sailed with a draft of +leave-expired "Fenchurch Streets,"—to join the Division +to which that gallant London regiment was attached—with +the British Mediterranean Expeditionary Forces at +Salonika—and while brave British men in Palestine were +cracking their teeth on that hard nut of Gaza—H.M. Transport +<i>Loyalty</i>, (an ex-Austrian Lloyd Liner captured at the beginning +of the War, and converted into a Mediterranean Hospital +ship), sailed for Egypt,—and in the <i>Photographic Puff</i> of the +week's issue appeared—under an enlarged snapshot of the +pre-War departure of the ex-Austrian Lloyd from Southampton +Docks—this announcement: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "POPULAR SOCIETY PEERESS, COMMANDANT OF L.L.W.S.L.,<br> + SAILS FOR EASTERN THEATRE OF WAR."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Another periodical of the type that daily caters for readers +of another order, published, under a portrait of Lady +Wastwood in exiguous dinner dress: +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "TRIXIE MAKES TRACKS FOR EGYPT TO FIND OUT WHY<br> + SPHINX SMILES."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +While in the <i>Daily Wire</i> of a few days' later issue was +published a brief paragraph to the effect that H.M. Transport +<i>Loyalty</i> had been torpedoed on the fifth day of her voyage +out to Alexandria; carrying some officers and men of the +Egyptian Expeditionary Force returning from sick-leave; a +detachment of Military Nurses and fourteen brand-new +ambulance-cars; many War Hospital stores and comforts destined +for our wounded, together with a complete unit of the British +Red Cross. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Forbis, V.A.D., of Kerr's Arbour, N.B., is included +in the list of the rescued, as also Trixie, Lady Wastwood, +O.B.E., Commandant L.L.W.S.L., who was on her way to the +East to employ her well-known powers of organisation in the +establishment of a Hostel for Convalescent Officers +(Auxiliary) in the neighbourhood of Alexandria." The famous +motto of the Legion is, doubtless, familiar to our readers: "Do +Anything, Go Anywhere, Stick At Nothing, and Never +Grouse." +</p> + +<p> +The usual boat-drill had not been neglected, and when the +alarm had once been sounded, everybody had dutifully turned +up at his or her allotted station in overcoat and cork lifebelt, +to be not at all astonished by the intelligence that the scare +was simply a dud.... No attack upon the part of enemy +submarines had been anticipated.... The <i>Loyalty</i>, with her three +vast squares of green paint bounding a white-edged Red Cross +(outlined at night by brilliant electric lights)—amidships on +each side, ought to be regarded as sacrosanct by German +submarines.... But of course people understood there were +loose mines in the Mediterranean, though the minefields were +all known. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wastwood had rather ruffled the good-humour of the +Captain by constantly asking him how he could be Certain of +this? But after he had personally conducted the Commandant, +life-belt and all—for from this practical insurance Trixie never +separated—to his chart-house on the Lower Bridge, and +displayed before her green eyes a chart of the Mediterranean, +ornamented with designs in coloured inks by the Navigating; +Lieutenant—indicating areas strewn with floating mines by the +Kaiser and the Sublime Porte, "G.M. at such-and-such a depth, +and T.M. at such-and-such another," and illustrated the uses +of the telephones between the Wireless Room and the chart-house, +and the telegraphs linking the officer on the bridge +with the engine-room, and the speaking-tubes communicating +with the batteries of quick-firing guns fore and aft,—Trixie's +anxieties were completely laid to rest. She thanked the +Captain effusively, and with a gracious smile and bow to the +Navigating Lieutenant, descended to the saloon-deck +cabin,—which she shared with Miss Forbis—to renew her complexion +for the 12.30 lunch. +</p> + +<p> +To wash your hands, arrange your hair and refresh your +complexion while arrayed in a life-belt being impossible, Trixie +removed her practical insurance, hanging it on the cabin +sofa-end while she monopolised the looking-glass. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I am a grouse—and a disgrace to the Legion, +I know it too well!" she owned to Katharine, as she intensified +her V-shaped Pierrot smile with a stick of scarlet paste, +"and instead of playing rounders and quoits and clock-golf—which +is exactly the same kind of thing as playing water +polo in a wash-hand basin—what I really long to do is to +huddle in a deck-chair, and look out for oily streaks and white +breaks in the water. But I am the victim of a morbid +imagination—that keeps telling me what happens to you when you get +wrecked at sea. You go down and come up three times—and +see all the events of your past life processioning before +you. That must be horrible! And they say it always +happens—the people, I mean, who have nearly been drowned—and +were only just saved in time!" +</p> + +<p> +"But nobody who has been quite drowned has ever given an +account of it," said Katharine, with her wholesome, +heartening laugh. +</p> + +<p> +Sea and sunshine had done much for Miss Forbis. Private +Abrahams would have recognised her for the bright-eyed, +smiling woman he had met that day on the Menin Road.... +We cannot always mourn the dead, or bewail the lost that are +living; though often her heart cried out in anguish for her +dear ones; and waking of nights upon the shallow pillow of +the upper bunk in the suffocating cabin, she would feel for a +silver whistle she carried in her bosom—and kiss it—and cry +herself to sleep again.... Or lie sleepless amidst the +creakings, the overhead tramplings and shoutings; the snorting of +electrically-driven ventilators; the occasional thump! of a +bigger sea than usual upon the bows of the <i>Loyalty</i>, and the +dismal sounds emitted by sufferers from the malady of the +sea.... +</p> + +<p> +"How sensibly you look at things, Kathy dear," said Lady +Wastwood, putting the final touch to her Pierrot smile.... +</p> + +<p> +Friendly and even affectionate as were the relations between +these two women,—no reference had ever been made by one or +the other to that February day of Trixie's encounter with +Edward Yaill on board the Scotch Express. But the subject +was in the air, and both felt it,—and possibly because of this, +their conversation was elaborately casual.... +</p> + +<p> +Trixie added, as she intensified the eyebrows that resembled +musical slurs, with a black pencil: "But really, my stupid +nerves are quieting down! The skipper has cheered me +wonderfully. There's something so refreshingly bluff and +reassuring about a big smiling sailor man with white ducks +and an Irish accent,—of the northern kind that one doesn't +associate with dynamite and revolvers and masks. He has +quite put my idiotic fears to bed. I shall never—AH!"— +</p> + +<p> +A hot, violet-yellow light seemed to fill the cabin, as the +terrible detonation shook the <i>Loyalty</i>. The air seemed flame.... +Dust filled their lungs and nostrils, and the shattering crash +of descending tons of water, mingled with the great cry +blended of innumerable voices, that goes up to Heaven from +a mined or torpedoed ship.... Then the shrieks and cries +ceased, as Discipline asserted itself. Through the deafening +roar of escaping steam—and the racket of shattered engines—the +bugle sounded the alarm—in deadly earnest now.... +</p> + +<p> +"Come!" said Katharine Forbis. She wrenched open the +cabin door, letting in a rush of water, seized both their +life-belts and gripped hold of Lady Wastwood, who, half-swooning, +wavered as though about to fall. Somehow Miss Forbis +dragged her charge through a jam of white-faced men and +women—along the broad gangway, oddly tilted forwards—ankle-deep +in water—up the main companion—tilted too, at +that queer forward angle—down which the sea was rushing +in a heavy waterfall. Drenched and gasping, to reach the +promenade-deck—emerging into the radiant beauty of a +Mediterranean day with the shout: +</p> + +<p> +"All passengers on deck with life-belts on! All passengers +on deck with life-belts on!" ringing in her ears.... +</p> + +<p> +Sun and sea, sea and sun,—and Death at its ugliest—an +uncanny combination.... There was no panic after the first +outcry and the headlong scrimmage for the upper deck. The +deafening boom of escaping steam made it necessary to shout +so as to be heard by those who stood nearest.... The forward +tilt of the smooth white planks increased momentarily. The +<i>Loyalty's</i> bow-plates and forward compartments had been +stove in by the explosion. She was settling down by the nose, +into the mirror-clear water—while the Military Nurses in their +grey cloaks,, and the men and women of the Red Cross stood +to attention on her tilting decks—and her officers went to and +fro.... +</p> + +<p> +There never had been panic, there was even a little +laughter.... No fear of horrors of thirst and starvation attending +on shipwreck in the crowded Mediterranean Sea.... The +low grey hulls of the <i>Loyalty's</i> two attendant Destroyers were +visible on her starboard a long way ahead.... They were +getting steam up.... "Coming to look after us!" shouted +somebody to somebody. Of course they had been apprised by +Wireless of what had occurred.... +</p> + +<p> +"Great invention, Wireless!" shouted somebody else to Katharine.... +</p> + +<p> +Katharine nodded back. She hardly felt depressed. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>B'mm. Hm'm! Oom'm m! ...</i>" +</p> + +<p> +A seaplane came droning out of the bright distance from +where the low grey hulls of Destroyers showed, shepherding +a stately procession of camouflaged troopers and battleships,—and +hovered in narrowing circles over the <i>Loyalty</i>. Her +pilot shut off—and his observer shouted something through +a megaphone. What he said could not be heard through the +roar of the escaping steam. Then he dropped a weighted note +and flew away southwards, and the Second Officer grabbed the +note and hurried off to take it to the Captain on the bridge.... +Katharine never saw him again.... But inside the space of +twenty seconds every soul on board the doomed vessel was +in possession of the ugly fact.... +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Loyalty</i> had got out of her course,—strayed miles from +the guarded ocean highway, traversed in comparative safety +by the shipping of the Allies, patrolled by British Fleet +hydroplanes, submarines and Argus-eyed T.B.D.'s.... She was in +the middle of a Turkish minefield, one of those fulminating +enemy areas marked out on her charts with lines and letters in +coloured inks, that had been displayed by her Captain to the +anxious eyes of Lady Wastwood. The powerful magnetos +of a German submarine,—hovering in her near vicinity, had +caused deviation in the British transport's compasses. Or, +there had been a blunder—the truth will never be known.... +</p> + +<p> +Of the boats that had got away from the ship,—the first were +crowded with women only; the next were packed with women +and a sprinkling of men.... They pulled away towards those +grey shapes on the southern horizon—topped by columns of +slanting smoke—and presently were mere specks upon the +straining sight.... +</p> + +<p> +As Katharine and Lady Wastwood were helped over the +rail into their boat, and it was lowered to the level of the +water—something like a shudder went through the <i>Loyalty</i>.... +Her stern-ports lifted at a greater angle, and her bows were +submerged more deeply. Looking up at her huge grey bulk, +it seemed to Katharine that some vast cetacean,—bombed and +harpooned—lay dying in agony upon the smooth and glassy +sea.... +</p> + +<p> +She saw the Captain on the bridge, binoculars in hand, +speaking to one of the minor officers. Urged in some way, he +shook his head as though in refusal, and as his subordinate +quitted the bridge—resumed his interrupted scanning of the +distant sea. Perhaps the binoculars had focussed the travelling +top of a periscope, and the breaking of white water, miles +away to the east.... +</p> + +<p> +When the double White Death Streak cleaved the blue sea, +and one after another two torpedoes hit the <i>Loyalty</i> on her +port side amidships—her bows plunged downwards, throwing +most of the people remaining on her decks, into the water. +Others clung to her rails and the roofs of her deck-structures, +as with a thunderous rattle of scrapping iron, her bowels fell +out of her mangled body,—and she dived and vanished in a +whirlpool of her own. As her stern heaved up perpendicularly, +lifting her huge triple screws sheer out of the swirling +water, a Portuguese sailor scrambled up upon her counter, +naked as in the hour of his birth,—and so stood poised; his +rich brown body gleaming,—his wild eyes and bared teeth +glittering in the sun: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Mao riao parta o' diabo!</i> ... (May the Thunderbolt split +you, devil! ...") +</p> + +<p> +He shook his dark clenched fist towards the east, shrieking +out the imprecation—meant perhaps for the Kaiser or the +Sultan or the Commander of the submarine,—and dived +magnificently as the ship sank, dragging down with her the last +boats.... +</p> + +<p> +And then, through suffocation, and roaring sounds of water +in her ears—flashes of sunlight piercing her smarting eyes, +wedges of blackness driving over mind and soul—lightning +flashes of consciousness—gasped-out prayers to God, wild cries +for help,—washed down her choking throat by volumes of +bitter waters—Katharine Forbis came up out of the depths—to +find herself floating in sunlight and strange silence, on a sea +covered with a strange confusion of floating <i>débris</i>.... +</p> + +<p> +Not alone, for all the silence. In the company of a good +many other people, pluckily bent on keeping their courage up, +and other folks' as well. Military nurses and Red Cross +V.A.D's, orderlies, officers, sailors, Tommies.... Some of the +men on duty forward had been horribly injured by the +explosion of the Turkish contact-mine. What could be done for +them had been done before quitting the sinking <i>Loyalty</i>. But +as the blood from their cruel wounds drained away into the +waste of water.... It was not the first time that Katharine +Forbis had seen brave men die.... Then a V.A.D. woman +perched with two others on a gangway, called to her across +a patch of water—a lagoon ringed-in with floating wreckage: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, do look at the Commandant!—I am afraid she is dying!" +</p> + +<p> +Treading water, paddling with a wooden fruit-dish, horribly +hampered by her cork panoply,—Katharine crossed the patch +of sea. The thin bluish wedge of Trixie's face lay tilted +upwards to the jeering sunshine, against the slab of cork +outcropping at the back of her belt. Her green eyes, half-open, +looked hard and glassy as enamel—the livid lips were parted, +showing the set white teeth.... +</p> + +<p> +"Oh try to live!" begged Katharine. "See—there are ships +in the distance!" She pointed to some grey shapes moving +on the southern horizon under their slanting columns of grey +smoke. "The boats that have left us will be picked up—they +will be sent back for us! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"No ship commanded by a sane man will stick her nose into +the middle of a charted Turkish minefield!" came from a +man who hung on to a deck-seat and a wooden hen-coop next +them, and had overheard. "When the contact stove in our +forward plates I sent out the S.O.S. and got through to +the Commander of one of those Destroyers...." He jerked +his chin angrily towards some slanting streaks of smoke to +the southward. "All he could do was to send that hydro +from the nearest Battle Cruiser to have a look at us; explain +what kind of a mess we were in—in case we hadn't guessed +it already!—and tell us to wait for the boats! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And the speaker, who had been the Wireless Operator on +board the <i>Loyalty</i>, whose head was swathed in a bloody towel +and whose right arm hung broken by his side,—grinned a forlorn +grin, and tightened with his teeth the buckle of the leather +waist-strap that supported him on his improvised raft, as +Trixie's head fell limply back, and a faint moan fluttered +from her lips, that were getting ashen grey.... +</p> + +<p> +"Please, please, don't give up!" said Katharine, mustering +all her forces. She splashed water on the grey, peaked face +and shook the thin shoulder. "Listen to me.... Do you +hear? Don't you <i>dare</i> to die! ..." +</p> + +<p> +But not Katharine's utmost efforts could have kept the +dwindling life in Trixie, as the hours dragged on, and the +blazing sun beat on their misery.... But that her good +Angel, or Trixie's, reminded her that the little courier-bag +slung about her shoulders, containing her money and papers, +accommodated a tiny brandy-flask. +</p> + +<p> +A sickness of sheer despair came over her as she realised +that, environed by the unwieldy cork slabs of her life-belt, she +could not possibly get at the bag.... Then she remembered, +when there had been a moment or two of delay in readying +the ship's boat—she had taken the flask out of the bag, and +thrust it in the breast-pocket of her serge jacket. With a +rush of thankfulness she felt for it, and found it there still. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed long to Katharine before she could unscrew the +flask-cap, and force a few drops of Cognac between the other's +tightly-clenched teeth. When Trixie sighed, and opened her +green eyes,—between her dazed vision and the marvel of a +Mediterranean sunset, leaned the even greater wonder of a +compassionate human face.... +</p> + +<p> +The glory of the sunset culminated to its utmost splendour. +Floods of blazing wine of rubies poured into the sapphire bowl +of the sea.... The water was calm as a mill-pond,—the air +was balmy sweetness—as the evening star kindled, under +the round breast of Asia's radiant moon.... And of all the +innumerable ships that passed and repassed along the crowded +sea-road on the southern horizon, not one altered her course +for the castaway passengers of the luckless <i>Loyalty</i>.... +</p> + +<p> +They had been so brave, talking and cracking jokes—singing +even,—asking riddles, and attempting recitations, "being +British" some of them would have called it—up to the last volt of +strength.... Towards morning they began to die,—the Wireless +Operator leading the way, slipping off quite easily.... +A baby went next, the only child on shipboard, and its +desperate mother,—the English wife of a native official at +Malta—shrieking—cast loose the rope that lashed her to some floating +deck-fittings and, clutching the tiny body to her—leaped into +the sea. And others died of exhaustion, and yet others; until +quavering voices bravely raised in familiar strains of +well-loved hymns, were dumb for sheer despair.... But, after all, +though not until Dawn had risen over the unseen Desert of +Syria—the boats that had pulled away, came back for yet +another freight.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Are we dead, you and I?" asked Lady Wastwood dreamily, +waking out of an exhausted sleep, in a cabin of the +trooper that had taken the rescued ones on board.... +</p> + +<p> +"Not yet," said Katharine Forbis gently, stooping over her. +"It seems that God has yet some work in this world for you +and me to do!" +</p> + +<p> +"It is a lonely world," said Trixie faintly, and turned her +peaked face to the bulkhead, "I had done with it! +And—though it sounds horribly ungrateful, dear! I am sorry that +you have brought me back!" +</p> + +<p> +"But I am glad you aren't dead," said Katharine, kissing +her, "because I love you, and you know that you are fond of +me!" +</p> + +<p> +"You saved my life.... I can never forget that," said +Lady Wastwood. "My dear! there ought to have been somebody +to photograph you doing it! What a success it would +have made on the screens! ..." She returned Katharine's +kiss with warmth. "It's quite true," she said. "I always have +been fond of you,—you dear thing! That is why I was so +frightfully down on poor Edward Yaill!" +</p> + +<p> +"Do not—do not let us go back to that!" begged the other, +wincing. +</p> + +<p> +"I remember cutting him," continued Lady Wastwood +reminiscently, "enough to have drawn blood. My Jerry always +said—you remember how keen he was on golf? 'Mums carries +too many clubs for one game, and always uses a niblick +when it ought to be a putter!' But, believe me,—I really meant +well!" +</p> + +<p> +And that was the sealing of a compact of sisterhood +between Katharine and Trixie.... For that we have striven +for we love as part of us.... And Friendship forged on +the anvil of Endurance is a metal that will stand strain. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0302"></a></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +Fresh from great triumphs in France, a Man came to Egypt +in June, 1917—burly and square-jawed, clear-eyed, vigorous +and outspoken; startlingly young in looks for his fifty-six +years,—until he removed his cap and you saw his bald, domed +brow. The successes at Romani and Magdhaba and Rafa had +whiskers. Plans for the taking of Gaza, that stoutly resisting +stronghold of the Turk—long since evacuated by all civilians—had +fizzled out; there was a hang-up somewhere, things had +to be set going again. He moved G.H.Q. from Cairo to +Kelat, in Southern Palestine—a huge wire-enclosed area on +the grass-covered slopes within sight of the Mediterranean—and +took things in hand. Two Rolls-Royce box-cars carried +him and his Staff,—three armoured Fords preceded him as +Scouts—and two others followed with Wireless and life's +necessaries. So he would appear unexpectedly in various quarters, +causing confusion it may be, to commanding officers—and +huge contentment to the rank and file. +</p> + +<p> +He looked, upon a certain day in July,—on the positions of +the forces attacking Gaza—from an observation-point affording +room for three.... The day was misty, the Turkish 5.9 inch +guns were silent; no warning drone of propellers counselled +care as his binoculars swept the enemy trenches towards +Beersheba, noting the railway-system for the shifting of big +guns; the defence-works—enormously strong, and a tangle of +barbed wire—running from Beersheba down to the sea. +</p> + +<p> +He came down, and went through the trenches asking questions: +sat on a gun-limber eating bully out of a tin with a +jackknife and commended the Engineers and the Egyptian Labour +Corps for the pace at which the railway had followed on the +heels of our Advance. Then he went away—and the rations +increased in quantity, and later certain trucks came up by +railway—containing barrels of a malty liquor much welcome to +the thirsty throats of British soldier-men.... +</p> + +<p> +Later in October, when the Irish Division, and the Indian +Cavalry and the entire strength of the Camel Transport Corps, +and the London Division which had fought with the assistance +of one John Benn Hazel in France and Macedonia—had been +added to the army of strange nations now mustered upon +the soil of Palestine,—and the capture of Beersheba, with the +well-springs of Sheria and the huge Turkish dumps that lay +to the rear of them—combined with a bombardment from the +hill tops round about her—from the sea to the West of her and +the hot sky above her—had brought the gates of Gaza toppling +down,—he swung into the camp of the battle-weary 'Fenchurch +Streets,' a stalwart stranger in a battered pith helmet, sleeveless +shirt, shorts and canvas shoes; and stooped under the door-fly +of a tent full of dusty undersized Cockneys; unwashed, +unshaven, bone-weary and just lying down to snatch an eyeful +of sleep. +</p> + +<p> +"How's things going, Londoners?" he asked with cheery +brevity; and a gaunt brown giant of six feet four with a +bristling two-inch beard, and a portentously hooked nose, +Acting Company Sergeant <i>pro</i> So and so, sick or wounded—I +forget which—recognised him, and said in a big bass voice, +displaying a mouthful of large white teeth: +</p> + +<p> +"All the better, Sir, because you've come! We fellows said +all along you'd be the man for the job!" +</p> + +<p> +"And, by G—" he said in his deep strong voice, "if you go +on doing as you've done at Sheria, it won't be long before +we carry through.... See you're wounded.... Anything +much?" He laid a finger on a naked brown left arm, knotty +with muscle, and decorated above the elbow with a bandage +of iodine-smeared gauze.... +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing, Sir, thank you, but a bit of a flesh-cut. A German +officer slashed at me with his sword, as he tried to shoot me +left-handed with his revolver." +</p> + +<p> +"Moral," he said, with his big schoolboy's chuckle, "don't +try to do two things at once! And a scratch may turn septic, +in this fly-cursed country, so don't neglect it, man! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And he passed on, to gladden the heart of the Battalion +Commander with discriminating praise, and drop a few curt +sentences;—pregnant with great issues—before he went away. +Pausing beside the step of his car to ask with the smile that +won the men and charmed the women: +</p> + +<p> +"Who's the big tyke overtopping the little Terriers in +F. Company's tent? Not an exotic in this climate, or I don't +know what it is to command a Jewish Battalion." +</p> + +<p> +"I think," said the C.O., "you refer to Private Hazel, Acting +Sergeant to F. Company in place of Langston.... We +call Hazel the 'Lightning Change Artist,' because he's always +doing somebody's duty, and doing it uncommonly well too! +Killed twelve Turks with the bayonet in the scrapping at +Sheria.... Sings as he fights—a habit when he's butchering +men...." +</p> + +<p> +"Sings, does he? Curious...." +</p> + +<p> +"Sings in Hebrew, the men'll swear to you. Some of them +call him 'The Musical Maccabee.' We've two other Jews in +the Battalion, both good men, but he's damned good! ... Peculiar +in his refusal of stripes and so forth, else he'd have +had his Commission long ago. Has the Distinguished +Conduct Medal for something he did in France...." +</p> + +<p> +"Glad to hear that. He seems a hefty kind of beggar. Have +noticed that he's wounded.... Would you recommend him +for the Military Medal when you're sending in the other +names?" +</p> + +<p> +The pleased Colonel reddened through dust and sun-tan: +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly, Sir, with pleasure, if you'll permit me! ... But +there are a great many names, and I was rather thinking—" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear Sir, never under any circumstances think that +there can be too many names!" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, Sir. With regard to Acting Sergeant Hazel.... +He has been very keen on leave for Alex., since Sheria—most +unusual thing with a man of that sort to risk the loss of +a scrap. Some family affair perhaps. Has big interests in +Palestine—chiefly wine and olives and so forth. Kind of a +millionaire, I am told, in his way...." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't care a Syrian curse about the millionaire! but +I'm ready to stretch a point to oblige the man who spits +twelve Turks—and sings while he's doing it! He's got a +knock from a German, too—and might have put in for a Red +Cross bag—a ride in the White train—and a cane chair on the +lawn at Montana on the strength of it! So send him down +to railhead at Gamli with the wounded.... He can put in +three weeks at the General Hospital at Alex, and attend to his +business there...." +</p> + +<p> +"Very good, Sir! But it occurs to me that an R.F.C. two-seater +scouting-plane in difficulties came down in our lines +about an hour ago,—Wing Major Essenian Pasha on board—an +Egyptian officer from the Ismailia Air Station—" +</p> + +<p> +"I know Essenian Pasha!" The tone was enigmatical. +"Copt or Moslem,—nobody seems certain. Some people seem +to think it's a case of being all things to all men. Though,—for +my own part—if I had to place him—I'd rank him with +the Advanced or Super-Jews. But the man's an incomparable +scout, and flies like one of the Sons of Eblis.... Some of +his reports have been damned useful! We sent for him to do +some special reconnaissance over the enemy's rearguard in the +hills. Have Djemal's sharpshooters potted the Pasha? Hope +he'd made his observations first!" +</p> + +<p> +"The Pasha's all right, Sir, but his observer was shot dead. +Flying-Lieutenant Usborn—there was a regular ding-dong +battle over Hebron with some Turkish fighting-planes.... +And Essenian Pasha would like us to bury Lieutenant Usborn—and +supply an observer to replace him for the home-flight +to Ismailia!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, can you?" +</p> + +<p> +"It appears, Sir, that the Pasha knows Hazel. They +foregathered at Salonika a month or so ago. And there being a +lot of dysentery among the men of the Pasha's Flying Squadron—and +Hazel having dabbled in aviation—five-guinea flutters +at Hendon, I suppose!—the Pasha took him on several +reconnaissance-flights. By the way, Sir, he has brought in a bit +of intelligence.... The Sherif of Mecca's tribesmen are at +Diariyeh—among the hills to the N.E. with the Emir Feisal +and a host of Bedwân cavalry. And they're waging guerilla +warfare against the enemy's rearguards and flanks." +</p> + +<p> +"Good for the Sherif Husain!" The keen blue eyes sparkled. +"And news worth having. We shall be able to shift +the —th Division outposts a good bit more to the N.E. Where's +the Pasha? <i>Marhabâ</i>, Essenian Pasha!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Marhabtain Gananâr Saiyid!</i>" came the quick response to +the greeting, as he turned to take the report from the dark hand +of the Egyptian Flying Officer, looking back a moment later +to say to the Colonel, with his parting handshake: "Well, +so-long, Colonel! Remember, your next objective is Huj, +the terminus of the Turkish branch-rail from Deir Sineid. +The Desert Mounted Corps—3 Cavalry Divisions—pushed for +there yesterday to cut off the garrison retreating from Gaza. +So-and-so with such-and-such another force of mounted +troops is working round by sea—to engage the enemy +rear-guard at Beit Hannu. Dyemal's Eighth Army Corps on our +right flankguard have rolled back towards Hebron." (Fifteen +miles north-east from Beersheba, among the Judæan Hills.) "The +only Turks now holding their ground are those facing the +53rd Division at Muweileh. They may not have heard of the +fall of Gaza—as we have the cavalry between them and the +rest of their Army—and Blank smashed the Gaza Wireless +installation when he bombed their big mosque! You'll find +the road to Huj nicely marked out with Turkish canteens, tin +gas-mask-cases, stretchers and trenching-tools, and the terrain +fairly continuous in its drop,—about forty feet to the mile.... +Don't contemplate much trouble for you from well-posted Austrian +batteries. The Warwicks and Worcesters and Australians +have accounted for 'em all!" +</p> + +<p> +And as the baking Earth rolled up, blotting out the huge +red-hot sun; and the short twilight heralded the sudden swoop +of Night on Syria, the Rolls-Royce box-cars carrying the +Chief and his Staff moved smoothly on, following the four +armoured scouters, and the other Fords swung out and dashed +after them.... And the dust of Philistia—watered with the +blood of brave men since Wars began on this sad earth—how +many times? rolled up and blotted out the moving specks, on +the safety of one of which hung the hopes of Christendom. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0303"></a></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +To Katharine Forbis, some seven weeks subsequently to +her arrival at the Red Cross Hospital of Montana, an +Egyptian Red Cross orderly brought a scrap of paper bearing a +pencilled scrawl: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Am back from the Front Palestine for ten days leave. +Can you see me? Important yours faithfully John Hazel.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +No more. But enough to call back the carnation bloom to +cheeks paled by the sub-tropical heats of Egypt, and +self-forgetful labours in the interests of wounded men.... +</p> + +<p> +Morning duty, consisting in the conveyance of a motor-car +packed with convalescents on an expedition to Ramleh and +back,—was over. Miss Forbis had just returned, and was +free for the afternoon. In her well-cut white drill uniform-skirt +and coat with its shoulder-titles, Special Service badges, +and scraps of medal-ribbon, her white blouse with its polo +collar and natty black silk tie; her brown silk stockings and +tan brogue shoes bearing the unmistakable cachet of Bond +Street, setting off the workmanlike ensemble, and her +handsome head crowned by a soft white Panama hat of the uniform +shape, with the Society's ribbon and badge,—she made a +gallant, gracious figure, bringing a mist before the eyes of the +big, battered-looking, sun-blackened man,—bristlier than ever +about the cheeks and chin, and arrayed in battle-soiled and +much-patched khaki drill,—who got out of his cane chair in +the wide white marble hall with pleased alacrity, knocking over +with a bandaged, sling-suspended left arm, the soiled and +dusty regulation sun-helmet he had put down on a little table +of inlaid Egyptian work. +</p> + +<p> +And as he saluted her in his Eastern way, now familiar to +Katharine, swift strangling emotion caught her by the throat. +For a moment she could not find voice. For John Hazel +brought the panelled parlour at Kerr's Arbour with him; and +set it like a scene between the white marble pillars where +whirred the electric fans, between the gilt and friezed and +painted walls, and under the fretted ceilings of the Egyptian +despot's palace, built on the rocky height at the foot of +which break the milk-warm surges of the Mediterranean. +And once again the old pain at her heart,—dulled by long +months without news; by change of scene and change of +work, to an aching sense of emptiness,—woke up and cried +for all that she had lost. +</p> + +<p> +She said with her wide heartening smile, as his huge hand +swallowed hers, still wearing its tan gauntlet: +</p> + +<p> +"You look wonderfully fit, though you're wearing a sling." +</p> + +<p> +"Fit's the word!" He grinned the big toothy grin so well +remembered.... "A walking testimony to the nutritive qualities +of Maconochie, tinned salmon, Prynn's Baked Beans, Army +brickbats, sticky flycatcher dates and chlorinated Nile water.... +For we've travelled a long way since the imbecilities of +the Crimea," he said, with his black eyes drinking her in. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank God, we have!" Katharine flushed a little under +his strange scrutiny, painfully conscious of the unrelaxing +grip of his huge, hard, blackened hand. For John Hazel +stood, oblivious of its crushing pressure, drinking in the joy +of her near presence, inhaling the rare sweetness of her fair, +wholesome womanhood; the fragrance of her hair and breath, +and garments, coming to him mingled with the perfume of +the half-opened red rose—still dewy in the heart of it—that +she had stuck in the buttonhole of her uniform jacket that +morning, and forgotten to take out again. +</p> + +<p> +And Katharine upon her side was conscious of a strange +environing atmosphere; a virile, heady compound of exhalations +from the desert, the march, the bivouac and the battlefield, +emanating from the garments and the person of the man. +The sun-baked blackness of his skin seemed its natural tinting. +Whiffs of the wormwood of desolate places mingled with +the aroma of thyme, clover and strong tobacco,—the smell +of horses and tanned leather; the sharp tang of melinite, and +the penetrating odour of sweating human flesh. +</p> + +<p> +A moment more and he released the hand he held, giving +a dismayed exclamation, and taking a long backward step. +</p> + +<p> +"Hold on! What have I been thinking of!" Concern was +in his voice. "I'm not fit to touch you! Do you know it's a +fortnight since I washed last!" His fleshy mouth twisted in +disgust, as he surveyed his martial griminess, continuing: +"We've been short of water lately. Only allowed a pint <i>per +diem</i>. Strictly for internal irrigation, nothing allowed for the +outer man! And when Essenian Pasha dropped me at the +Alex. Air Station—and thundering good of him too!—I'd +only time to grab a bite of breakfast at the N.C.O.'s Mess +Tent—swallow a mug of coffee—tumble into a car—borrowed +from the R.F.C. men!—and just chuffle along. Why I was +in such a cast-iron hurry—that's what I've got to explain to +you. And when I saw you I clean forgot what a beastly +sweep I am! I couldn't—" The deep, rough breath he drew +added quite plainly, "I couldn't think of anything but you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you imagine, if you and other brave men can put up +with Dirt for Duty's sake—that we women—even those of +us who don't wear this uniform—can put up with you men? +And you can have a hot bath here at any moment, +Mr. Hazel." Katharine's full tones were tinged with laughter as she added: +"And a second breakfast,—unless you don't mind waiting +the half-hour, which will make it the official noonday meal. +Now which will you do? Have that bath—or stay and talk +to me on, the lawn or in here until the Staff lunch?—at which +meal your picturesque battle-grime will make you the +admired of all?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's simply first-class here!—a kind of mix-up of the +Alhambra at Granada and an Egypto-Grecian temple," he +said to her, gratefully sensing the breezes from the whirring +electric fans. "And that little fountain, splashing and +gurgling—makes a man who was in the Syrian Desert east of Gaza, +up to the evening of day before yesterday, marching and +swotting Turks on a pint of doctored Nile water <i>per diem</i>—want +to stick his blooming head in the basin and drink it +all up." +</p> + +<p> +"I—think I'm beginning to comprehend!" Miss Forbis's +fine eyebrows relaxed their tension, and the puzzled expression +left her face. "You fogged me rather, a minute back—about +being in the Desert near Gaza up to the evening of the +day before yesterday.... But now—" +</p> + +<p> +"Now you're clear that it isn't a case of bats in the belfry. +Haw—haw!" He broke out into the big noisy laugh that had +once set Katharine's teeth on edge. "Of course it'd have +taken three days if I'd come by the Woggler from Railhead. +The Woggler, I ought to tell you, is the Desert Express. Trucks +roofed with packing-cases nailed together—nail-ends up—to +accommodate the troops. Pullmans,—seats faked with American +cloth over a thin film of tibbin,—specially reserved for +Officer Sahibs. Not that the Army ain't proud of the +Woggler! In its way, it's an epoch-marking, eye-opening Thing. +But I happened to be in a dithering hurry. And a chance +turned up of getting here by the Air Route, do you see? ... Safe +as houses, for we followed the coast and had no scraps—the +Turks are very short of fliers!—and we only came down +once, for petrol, at a seaplane station near the Rest Camp +at El Arish." +</p> + +<p> +The gesture of his blackened hand made light of fatigue, +risks, perils and privations attending the long flight from +Palestine.... Katharine admired the simplicity with which +he spoke, as she said with a touch of reproachfulness: +</p> + +<p> +"It seems very long since you came to me at Kerr's Arbour, +Mr. Hazel. And all these months you have never once +written—although you promised!" +</p> + +<p> +"I said I would not fail to write—if I had any news for +you!" +</p> + +<p> +That deep voice, and the simple words that meant so much +to Katharine.... The white marble pillars of the hall +appeared to sway and totter. The jewelled plume of a fountain +playing in a fretted basin seemed to leap to the patterned roof +and then shrink small again.... +</p> + +<p> +"Have you news—at last?" +</p> + +<p> +"Some!" he said briefly. +</p> + +<p> +"What?—" +</p> + +<p> +The sudden dilation and darkening of her lovely eyes betrayed +the desperate hunger gnawing in her. The eyes fastened +avidly on Hazel's blackened face. She held her breath for his +answer. It came as he slewed his head,—looking through the +triple arch of the Palace vestibule to the green, carefully +nurtured lawn, the glory of Montana—whence the smack of +racquet upon tennis-ball came, and the sound of cheerful voices, +telling of relaxations on the part of the Medical Staff, the +Nurses and V.A.D's. +</p> + +<p> +"This—that Colonel Yaill is alive and well. I have seen +him!" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank God!" Katharine said, "O—thank God! ..." +</p> + +<p> +She put out her hand to the back of a chair and gripped it +to steady herself. When her leaping heart had quieted she +addressed herself to a colossal back-view, so shorn of martial +dignity by patches of Army sacking, that Katharine's voice +wavered between laughter and tears: +</p> + +<p> +"And God bless you, John Hazel, for bringing word to me!" +</p> + +<p> +"I have better than a word!" He wheeled about and faced +her. "I have a letter from him for you! ..." +</p> + +<p> +As he drew it from a baggy front pocket of his tunic, the +radiance that broke over her was fairly dazzling to the man's +eyes.... He trembled as she stretched out both her hands +to him, entreating: +</p> + +<p> +"Give me his letter, dear John Hazel! ... Let me hold it +while you tell me where you met with him! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The object that caused such turmoil in Miss Forbis's bosom +was a single sheet of coarse yellow Levantine paper, folded +to oblong shape, stuck in three places along the edge and at +either end, with a mixture of white clay and beeswax, and +sealed with a ring given to Yaill eight years previously. How +well the giver of the old love-token remembered that hexagonal +sard, deeply cut in old Roman capitals with the name: +"KATHARINE." How dear and familiar the small neat handwriting +of the pencilled address: 'Miss K. M. Forbis, Kerr's +Arbour, Near Cauldstanes, Tweedshire, N.B.' ... +</p> + +<p> +"The morning after Sheria—before it was daylight"—how +she hung upon John Hazel's utterance, watching the movements +of his fleshy lips, drinking in every word—"we were +cleaning out enemy trenches, and blowing up ammunition-dumps +and testing wells for poison, and burying dead Turks—and +so forth!—I was passing the Intelligence Officer's +tent—quite a toney fit-up on the top of a mound—with a native +string-bed, and a camp chair, and a sugar-box table, and +lighted candles on that,—for the thermometer was climbing +up into the seventies and the front fly was up—for the sake of +fresh air.... When I tell you that the I.O. was questioning +Turkish prisoners—under a guard of Military Police,—and +putting Syrian and Arab scouts through their paces, and +interviewing village patriarchs—you'll understand that the +atmosphere was—well!—" +</p> + +<p> +"I can imagine! ... But, do please go on!" All unconsciously +she cuddled the precious letter to her bosom, holding +it with both hands and smiling over it at John.... +</p> + +<p> +"Well—as I was passing by and happened to glance in—an +Arab dressed much the same as the others—a thin, tallish, +sinewy Bedawi in a flowing black camel-cloth mantle, and silk +head-veil trimmed with tufts of coloured gimp—and topped +by the usual ring of twisted camel's hair,—rose up and made +obeisance to the Intelligence Officer sitting at the sugar-box +table,—and came out, followed by a brace of others—not +quite so well got up. Walking as Arabs have the knack of +doing—as if the round world and all that therein is—including +the Desert—was hardly good enough to be trampled under +the notched iron heels that they wear for killing snakes." +</p> + +<p> +She drank in the words that were heavenly music, bending +her high head the better to concentrate her gaze upon the +speaker's face. +</p> + +<p> +"And—?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the three Arabs—two of 'em not particularly +interesting, and the one who'd been talking to the Intelligence +Officer—no end posh in a necklace of gold-mounted lion's-teeth, +and with strings of blue and red seed-pearls twined in +his long side-locks,—the three Arabs were going to where their +hairies were picketed—munching tibbin and sesame off a +spread saddle-cloth—ragged looking yellowish-grey brutes +with ewe-necks, and queerly-sloped cruppers; and high-peaked +wooden saddles and big-bitted bridles, jingling with silver +amulets and jewellery of sorts.... One Arab had a kind of +cage-basket strapped on behind the saddle, with live birds +stirring about in it—I thought falcons trained for sport—until +they started cooing.... Well then!—in the sudden way it +happens in this East of ours,—Day jumped over the Hills +of Judea—and the Arabs got their prayer-rugs from behind +their saddles, and made ready to say their prayers...." +</p> + +<p> +His black eyes seemed to look past Katharine into the +scene that he described. He drew breath: +</p> + +<p> +"I was sitting on a sack of Turkish ration-biscuits—not +half bad if you've nothing else to eat!—smoking an Army +Issue Woodbine—and though the place was stiff with praying +Moslems, I watched these—or rather this one! He washed +in the sand—laid his praying-rug diagonally in the line for +Mecca, knelt down, and went through the whole programme—praying +with his forehead to the ground—praying with his +hands to the sides of his head—praying with his body straight, +resting on the knees, in the regular Mohammedan way. An +uncommonly swanky Arab too!—the stock of his long-barrelled +gun inlaid with bits of turquoise and mother o' pearl, +a curved nine-inch dagger in a gilded sheath stuck in the front +of his girdle—and a long silver-plated ivory-stocked +revolver—about 44 calibre I judge—on the other side. I was to left +of him: so when he slewed his head over his right shoulder +to smile at his Good Angel, I saw the back of it—and when +he twirled it back again to scowl at the Counsellor of Evil, I +found him staring full into my face and scowling at me!" +</p> + +<p> +"And you knew him!—it was Edward!" Her voice was +a song of joy! +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0304"></a></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +"I'd seen that scowl on the terrace at Kerr's Arbour, last +February," said John Hazel. "And though he gave no other +sign to tell that he recognised me, his eyes flickered for the +tenth of a second—and I saw they weren't black, but grey. +He took no more notice of me.... He'd finished his prayer, +and was squatting down cross-legged—running his beads +between his fingers—so I pitched away my fag-end, and began +to hum the tune of a song, sitting on the sack of Turkish +Army biscuits. It might have been an English hymn—for +all the genuine Arabs knew—" +</p> + +<p> +"What was the song?" +</p> + +<p> +"'Loch Lomond'—only the words were altered; to fit the +situation—see? Something like this: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + 'So I took the high-road<br> + And you took the low,<br> + And you got to Asia before me!<br> + And Katharine Forbis sat waiting for news<br> + At the bonny, bonny house of Kerr's Arbour!'"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Muted down to the softness of a mother's cradle-song, the +full mellow baritone breathed out the familiar refrain. +Bringing tears brimming over Katharine's under-lids,—for by +strangest chance the song was one of Edward's favourites, +often sung by her to him in the twilight—in the dear familiar +drawing-room of the old, distant home.... +</p> + +<p> +"So you.... It was wonderful of you to speak to him +in that way! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Not original." He grinned at her. "A variation on the +historic Blondel Stunt. Only Blondel was a London Tommy,—and +Cœur de Lion a British Brass Hat, camouflaged as a Son +of Islam. He took it like a rock, only I saw his eyelid quiver. +Yes'm!—that descendant of the Prophet winked at the infidel +with the eye that was next me.... Then I did a bit more of +the Blondel dodge...." +</p> + +<p> +The smile ceased to quirk the corners of his fleshy red +mouth, as he sang under his breath in the full sweet baritone: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "O Julian her brother was killed long ago!<br> + So seek you no further to find him!<br> + And give me a letter to take to her now<br> + Where she's working for the Red Cross at Alex.!"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"And what then? ..." Her colour came and went.... +"Didn't Edward—didn't Colonel Yaill manage somehow to +speak to you privately? ..." +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"Nix a word! He's far too old a hand at the risky business +of walking about in another man's skin, to give himself +away in that style. He got up and shook off the dust,—stepped +into his loose gazelle-leather boots,—rolled up his carpet, +mounted and rode off with his two Arabs—leaving me chewin' +the rag! And yet I knew it was Yaill—and that he'd got my +message!" +</p> + +<p> +"What did you do then? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"What did I do! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Forgetful in the excitement of his story, of his damaged +left arm, he had released it from the sling, and used it freely, +in the supple illustrative gesticulations that bespoke his +Eastern blood: +</p> + +<p> +"What? O, I sat tight on the sack of rooty, and smoked +another fag, until the sun got too hot even for me! Then I +got up and stretched myself, and caught my chameleon—who'd +been trying to desert—and put him back on my <i>sola topi</i>. +We all wear chameleons on our helmets, khaki drill or the +tin basin variety—the beasts are champion fly-destructors!—and +I believe that's how dragons, and wyverns, and other +metal wild-fowl of that kind came to be worn on Crusaders' +helms as crests.... Then I hied me back to my bivvy—it was +in a cave of the Wady Sheria, and had been used by the +natives for keeping goats—and other lively skippers!—and +breakfasted with some mates of mine—chaps belonging to my +Platoon. I think the menu consisted of rissoles, made of +bully-beef with onion, biscuit-crumbs and sand-flies; the bottom +of a tin of Dundee marmalade,—more sand-flies!—burned-bean +coffee, and dates—with sand-flies again. Barely finished +when we got the route. Our Division were to follow up +Djemal Pasha's Eighth Army Corps—what was left of +'em—over the hills towards Hebron, and before my company +marched off, a message came for me. The Intelligence Officer +wanted to speak to Acting Company-Sergeant Hazel—" +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes flashed comprehension: +</p> + +<p> +"Edward! ... My letter! ... Ah! I understand! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He nodded: +</p> + +<p> +"It was the one way to get the thing to me without drawing +suspicion.... And it was given me in a similarly—unobtrusive +style. It lay before the I.O. on the packing-box table +with a lump of mica schist on top of it for a paper-weight. +Says Intelligence: 'Acting-Sergeant Hazel, I believe you have +undertaken to forward this? ... The writer is much obliged!' So +I saluted, and stuffed it in my pocket, and—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—what?" cried Katharine Forbis, for the brown face +had changed to an ugly livid colour, as John Hazel swayed +giddily and caught at a column near. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing much! ... Got the sun on my head a bit yesterday. +Right as rain in a minute—if—if I may sit down? +But ... don't wait.... You haven't read your letter! And +you must hate me for keeping you from that!" +</p> + +<p> +He sat down heavily in the chair she drew to him, feeling +her cool firm hand touch his wrist and her long womanly +fingers encircle it, hearing her worshipped voice speaking +close by: +</p> + +<p> +"If one can hate one's kindest, truest friend, who has done +so much—so simply and unselfishly—" +</p> + +<p> +He shook his dizzy head in his heavy buffalo-like fashion,—and +muttered through the whirring of the electrically-driven +ventilating-fans: +</p> + +<p> +"What have I done? Nothing much, anyway!" +</p> + +<p> +"You have flown to me out of the midst of battle, bringing +Edward's dear message.... Wounded and with a touch of +fever, or I don't deserve my nurse's certificate! Do you call +that nothing? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Little or nothing!" He shook his great black head +doggedly as Katharine went on: +</p> + +<p> +"And I take it as my right! What claim have I to such +service?" +</p> + +<p> +"Every claim," said Hazel's deep voice. "Every imaginable +right!" +</p> + +<p> +"And—" Her voice broke between tears and laughter:—"And +you encourage me in selfishness. Why, I haven't even +asked you if you wouldn't like a drink! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"A drink!" he said with his old grin, though the brown of +his face still showed faded, and deep lines showed by his jaws +and at the wings of his great hooked nose. "A brandy and +Polly with a lump of ice, and a ring of lemon in it. Offer +me one now, Miss Forbis—and hear it boil as it goes down!" +</p> + +<p> +"You shall have it." Katharine said laughing, though once +her lip would have curled in scorn of the vulgarity of the +ex-insurance-broker. "But first you must come to the +Out-Patient's Department, and let the Surgeon in charge there +look at this arm.... A mere nothing, perhaps, as you say"—for +John was beginning to explain about its being a flesh-cut.... +"When was it dressed last? ... The day before +yesterday! ... That's quite enough.... You will come with +me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +So John Hazel, thrilling with well-concealed joy at being +the object of his lady's solicitude, was towed away to a +tile-lined, cement-floored Department on the Palace ground-floor, +where the sword-cut on his left arm, looking rather angry—was +bathed and cleaned, iodined, and strapped up by the doctor +and nurse on duty there.... And the longed-for goblet of +iced brandy and Apollinaris having been produced and duly +disposed of—John Hazel took leave of Miss Forbis and went +upon his way. +</p> + +<p> +"Where shall you be? ... What address will find you?" +she asked as she gave him her hand in farewell.... +</p> + +<p> +"I'm supposed to be quartered at a General Hospital at +Alex.... Number Thirty-Seven," returned John. "But I'm +not due there until to-morrow morning, and I'm going to +wangle leave to live and sleep at my own house...." +</p> + +<p> +"Your house! ... Have you a house at Alexandria? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"We have had a house at Alexandria for more than sixteen +hundred years!" +</p> + +<p> +Again Antiquity rose up and confronted Katharine in the +person of this big young man of powerfully Semitic type. +He went on: +</p> + +<p> +"Of course I never saw it until the Division came to Egypt. +I went over from Kantara, and entered into possession a +week or so before we got the route for Palestine.... I like +it! ... You would like it.... It is the kind of place that's +bound to interest you—for several reasons.... One of them +being that it's a wonderfully preserved example of Roman-Egyptian +Domestic Architecture. A relic of Alexandria—as +Alexandria used to be...." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine said with her characteristic sweet heartiness, +though Yaill's letter was burning to be read: +</p> + +<p> +"I should love to visit your house at Alexandria—if I may +bring a friend with me? ... Lady Wastwood, who came out +with me on the poor Hospital ship <i>Loyalty</i> and has been very +ill here. She is convalescent now and helping us in the +Secretarial Department, until she is fit to take over her own work. +And I believe she is rather keen on ancient inscriptions, +cat-headed goddesses and crowned <i>uræi</i>—and all that sort of +thing." +</p> + +<p> +"Then will you both honour me by coming to tea with me +in the City to-morrow?—Numero VII, Rue el Farad,—I'll +have a car waiting for you at the Palace gateway by sharp +half-past four." +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, well pleased, as Katharine consented; and heaved +up his great body, and reached for the battered drill sun-helmet, +as the silvery note of the luncheon-gong sounded from +the long corridor crossing the bottom of the pillared +entrance-hall. +</p> + +<p> +"That's settled then.... Thanks all the same!—but I won't +stay to luncheon.... Do you think I don't know how you're +longing to get rid of me—and run away and shut yourself +up, and read what you've got there! ..." +</p> + +<p> +His black eyes went significantly to the outline of Yaill's +letter, thrust by Katharine between the buttons of her white +silk blouse, when—at some juncture of the wound-dressing in +the Out-Patient's Department—she had come to the help of +the surgeon and charge-Sister with deft, accustomed hands. +</p> + +<p> +Her fine brows frowned a little at the familiarity, but there +was no use in being angry with the man. John Hazel was +just—John Hazel—Miss Forbis told herself; as standing in the +sun-blaze on the doorsteps of the Hospital, she watched his +great figure stride down the sanded avenue of swaying +casuarina-trees, on the way to find the borrowed car left waiting +at the entrance-gates. +</p> + +<p> +Women and doctors and V.A.D. members were streaming +towards the Palace from every quarter,—but for Katharine the +Staff luncheon-gong issued its second summons in vain. She +was hurrying down a shady side-alley of cypresses and +tamarisks—ending in a pavilion of marble fretwork—covered with +the royal mantle of a great Bougainvillia—standing in a riotous +tangle of November-blooming roses,—a dear resort of hers +and Lady Wastwood's in their free unworking hours.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Oh!</i> just like a girl of nineteen!" she murmured, conscious +of the thrill and tumult of her fair soul and pure body as she +drew Yaill's letter from its fragrant hiding-place. +</p> + +<p> +Ah, my Katharine, but there you were wonderfully mistaken. +Miss Nineteen would have failed to experience one-tenth +of your blissful emotion as you kissed the folded sheet +of coarse Eastern paper,—broke the clay and beeswax seals +bearing the impression of your love-gift, the cut +sardonyx—and read the words penned but a few days previously by +Yaill's beloved hand. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0305"></a></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> + "<i>A Camp In The North Syrian Desert,<br> + —th November—the Month of Asphodel.</i><br> + "KATHARINE, MY SWEET WOMAN, MY DEAR LOST LOVE."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +So wild a surge of memories came over her that her eyes +were momentarily blinded. He dated from his camp in the +Desert, as a pearler on some plunging lugger in the Indian +Ocean may top his home-destined scribble: "The Open +Sea...." +</p> + +<p> +She dried her eyes, and the lines were clear again. Something +that the folded sheet had contained had dropped out. A +white flower scarcely yet withered, and a little string of beads +of some sort. She thrust them in the envelope—and the +envelope in her bosom—and went on to read.... And the page +exhaled the wild strange odour of the acrid dust of the Desert, +mingled with the scent of horses and camels, of saffron and +resin, tobacco and thyme and myrrh.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Twice I have seen your advertisements, my beloved. In +a Greek gazette in a <i>café</i> at Constantinople. Again, in an +issue of the <i>Lisân-el-Arab</i>, a vernacular paper published at +Damascus; once again on a torn scrap of a captured Turkish +news-sheet, on the floor of the <i>maktab</i> of the Governor of +Akaba—the seaport at the head of the Gulf, where the Fleet +of King Solomon unloaded their freights of ivory and ebony, +gold and spices and apes and peacocks, close on three +thousand years ago. +</p> + +<p> +"How did I come there? do you ask me, Katharine. What +was I doing in the hall where the Governor gives audience to +the Bringers of News from the Desert—sitting on the Carpet +of Interrogation, smoking the <i>argili</i> that aids thought? +Because I was one of them—am one of them!—a petty chief +of the Hejaz Bedwân, able to speak a little English—a spy +set to supervise the doings of the spies. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I picked up the paper, as became a scrupulous +Mohammedan. Who knew that it did not bear the letters of +The Sacred Name! And I kissed it, and burned it on the +charcoal of the brazier, under sharp eyes that had not +glittered on the message it brought to me. Though the Governor +of Akaba is one of those few men who share my secret. Had +One great man not known it from the first, it would not have +been possible to have vanished into thin air with such celerity. +</p> + +<p> +"You never doubted for a single moment, sweet friend, dear +comrade! that I had gone to look for Julian. Had I believed +you would think otherwise, I would have managed to write +to you.... But not to write was wiser—and the plan +matured so suddenly.... When I took my last kiss from you, +and went out of the chapel at Kerr's Arbour, I was uncertain +what to do. +</p> + +<p> +"Then through the jungle of my thoughts I saw a way +blazed for me. I went to my room, and took from the press +an old tweed shooting-suit, and hung the things on my arm, +under my waterproof trench-coat. I took my stick, and shook +hands with Whishaw, and said Good-bye to him. His old +eyes were red with tears, and my grip thanked him for them. +Then I climbed the private road, and turned at the brae-top +to take my farewell look of Kerr's Arbour. And oddly +enough, the refrain from 'Loch Lomond' kept droning in my +head. You were taking the high-road of Duty and Honour—and +I was taking the road of subterfuge and concealment. +But not, God knew! for any base end of mine! He +Whose Hand has torn us apart—two lovers married in heart +and soul—if ever lovers were,—my Katharine!—He must be +just to me! Harsh though I knew him,—yet even then I saw +He had tempered His harshness with mercy. For you, O my +dearest—you had believed in me! +</p> + +<p> +"So I took initiative from that, and followed the plan I +had thought of. I changed in the plantation opposite, but +rather below, the gate of Kerr's Arbour private road. Then—seeing +no one but a child—I came out of the plantation, having +buried my khaki kit in a biggish badger's burrow. Cauldstanes +people knew my face—so I struck across country for Stotts +Junction, some twenty miles farther South, where—as of +course you know—the Carlisle-bound trains stop. I got in at +midnight—the time most favourable—as a troop-train of dingy +second-class carriages and the usual string of cattle-trucks +lumbered in. +</p> + +<p> +"Troops were entraining, the —th Lowland Territorials, +bound for Havre, Marseilles and the East. In the seething +turmoil of my mind, some vague idea of enlisting as a ranker +had been uppermost. I dismissed it as I sat waiting for the +next Carlisle-bound train. +</p> + +<p> +"My twenty-mile tramp to the Junction had cleared away +the brainstorm. I realised that I had acted without reflection, +like a savage, or a child. Stuffing away the khaki husk of +Edward Yaill in a red-hot hurry,—changing into the old +tweeds, and launching back into the world as an unobtrusive +civilian, was, in a country in a state of War, and under Martial +Law, about the crudest and riskiest mode of escape I could +have chosen. +</p> + +<p> +"But I got to London safely without being asked for papers, +and slept at a coffee-house in the King's Cross Road. Next +day, quite early, I saw Sir Arthur Ely, told him my plans +(which he did not approve of), left in his care my keys +and private papers; and by an ante-dated cheque which he +passed through his bankers—obtained sufficient ready cash to +carry on for a couple of years. +</p> + +<p> +"And then I telegraphed in Code to a man I loved and +honoured. You know him. He showed me much friendship +when I was in the East. He wired back, appointing a +place and an hour. The straight, piercing look of his full +eyes under their thick lids—the grip of his hand, and the sound +of his deep voice, rolled back the years—they always did—and +made me a boy again. For I was little more when, +eighteen years ago, I brought a despatch from my Colonel +to his Headquarters at Fort Atbara. I was a lieutenant on his +Staff when from the hill-top behind Kerreri—he—the +Sirdar—swept Omdurman with his binoculars. A mud-walled +Mohammedan city—I have been back there since I left you, +Katharine!—with a great host of white-robed Darweeshes in +battle-array before it—and the whitewashed dome of the +Mahdi's tomb all gleaming in the sun. +</p> + +<p> +"He is dead—and in him England has lost much more than +a great War Minister. She has lost her truest friend. He +heard my story out and believed me,—even as you believed, +my true love! He was ready to help, upon condition that I +followed up definite lines.... +</p> + +<p> +"Arab co-operation being essential for the crushing of the +Red Crescent, and the liberation of Northern Palestine and +Syria—a door lay open towards the East for a man such as I +was—such as I am! who does not greatly fear peril, having +no great use for existence. To whom hardship signifies little, +comfort and pleasure not being for him. Who welcomes +loneliness because denied the one companion with whom life +would be Life indeed. +</p> + +<p> +"So I got my Mission from my Chief of old,—he being +willing that my six months of Home leave, and the indefinite +period of Home duty destined to follow it,—should be merged, +for an equally indefinite period, in a Mission connected with +the Secret Intelligence Service of Great Britain in the East. +Now you know why I was sitting in the audience-hall of the +Governor of Akaba when I saw that torn fragment of the +Turkish news-sheet lying, and picked it up and read, for the +second time, your message to me. +</p> + +<p> +"Twice then I have seen your message, and once I have +seen You. You were driving a Red Cross Daimler car, full +of Hospital convalescents, six weeks ago near the ruins of +Canopus, by Aboukir. I was not an Arab of the Hejaz on +that never-to-be-forgotten morning. Perhaps I was that +coffee-coloured Copt—in the blue cotton <i>galabiyeh</i> of the +Egyptian Labour Corps—squatting on a sandheap near a gang +of others busy at excavation.... Or I may have been the +Australian Dinkum who leaned against a Ptolemaic pillar +smoking a cigarette.... You remember that his felt hat was +slouched so as to hide his eyes! +</p> + +<p> +"I do not smile, though I write cheerfully. Imagine what +it would feel like to have a farrier thrust his steel pincers into +your breast and twist your live heart round? Well, that is +what I felt that day when I saw you at Aboukir. And yet +I did not yield to the desire to speak to you—or try to see you, +or communicate with you in any way. For to do that might +have balked me of reaching my end,—prevented me from +doing what I am more than ever bent on.... Had not Hazel +recognised me that day near Sheria, I swear to you I would +have resisted—until the finish. Perhaps I have drunk in a +belief in Destiny from the Arabs. But I feel that man John +Hazel is linked up with my Fate! +</p> + +<p> +"So I write: and this will be conveyed to him through the +officer representing —th Division, British Secret Intelligence, +who firmly believed me,—until I disillusioned him—to be the +Emir Fadl Anga, a pigeon-fancying petty Arab chief of the +tag-rag-and-bob-tail of the Sherif of Mecca. Fortunately +for my peace of mind! For the time is ripe.... I have traced +a leakage of information from Headquarters in Egypt to its +source in a native officer who holds the confidence of the +British Government—and now move to the centre where the +spy's activities are manifested. On the completeness of +disguise—not only the garb of the outer man,—and the technical +proprieties of speech and bearing—but the mentality +distinguishing an Arab nomad from a city-inhabiting European—hang +the two issues:—that a traitor should meet the fate he +richly merits,—and that out of the barren desert of my life +I may gather a joy for Katharine. +</p> + +<p> +"For Julian is alive!—sweet friend, lost sweetheart! He +sends you the Rosary that comes with this. He has been +shifted four times since the Turks took him prisoner on the +Scimitar. From Gallipoli to a War Hospital staffed by German +surgeons, and Bulgarian and German nurses of the Red +Crescent, at Constantinople. From Hospital to a filthy Prison +Camp near Smyrna. From Smyrna to Belemeki, a small and +even filthier station in the Taurus Mountains—the +headquarters for labour-gangs of prisoners working on the +uncompleted tunnels of the Adana and Constantinople rail. From +thence to Beersheba and Shechem. He is now at Shechem. +In such misery and under such privations that to describe +them would harrow you uselessly.... I do not mean to try.... +But this you may know: that the starved and vermin-ridden +mob of tatterdemalions,—British Yeomanry, Regulars, +Australians, Indians, Jews, Frenchmen and Roumanians—who +swelter and starve and toil at Shechem under the loaded +Turkish hide-whips would be in infinitely worse case, but for the +self-effacing tenderness of the priest whom even the Turkish +guards have learned to respect. Recent negotiations between +the Allied Governments and the Porte have brought about a +movement towards the release or exchange of many of these +prisoners.... But for some reason,—the name of Father +Julian Forbis has been omitted from the official lists of those +selected for exchange. His physical sufferings, I have learned, +would have been lessened if he would have consented to be +removed from the mud barrack-prison, and quartered in the +huts of the Wired Enclosure east of the town with the officers,—who +receive less villainous treatment—and are more decently +housed than the men.... It was like the Julian whom we +know, not to desert his charges; knowing his presence to be +some check upon the inhumanity of Turkish officials, and the +brutality of Turkish guards. Pray for your living brother, my +beloved,—for it may be God will hear you! and for me who +am no better than dead though living,—being cut off hopelessly +from you.... If in dreams I kiss your eyes, and your +sweet mouth,—and the soft little place under your chin, you +cannot be angry.... For I have nothing left on earth but my +one hope of rescuing Julian, and my dreams!—and they come +every night, Katharine!—such cruelly-sweet,—vivid dreams of +you and you, and You.... E.A.Y." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There was a postscript above a rough ink outline that +suggested something familiar to Katharine: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I picked the flower I enclose with the Rosary a day or +so back at your Tower of Kir Saba, little thinking how soon +I should be sending it to you! The Turks holding Jaffa have +fortified the Tower on the E. and S.:—fixed an aërial for +Wireless on the top of it—driven their trenches through the +gardens and vineyards—cut down the olive-groves covering +the hillside N,—and used the vaults as dumps for the storage +of cartridges, H.E. shell, bombs and hand-grenades.... +There is something of Kerr's Arbour about the place, despite +the second, smaller Tower to the W, the round bastion at the +middle of the eastward wall, and the absence of the buildings +later reared against the keep.... So there, my Katharine, +stands your ancient heritage, its feet deep in blossoming +asphodel, and tapestries of grape-vines—now laden with ripe +fruit—draping its Time-worn stone...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The withered flower the envelope had contained was the +snapped-off top of a slender green stem, bearing white blossoms +in branching clusters; lily-shaped, and exhaling a delicate +fragrance, recalling the scent of freesia to Katharine. +</p> + +<p> +The Rosary was a hempen string, with brown-black shiny +seeds of the oval type of <i>canna Indica</i>, arranged in the familiar +decades—with black lupin-beans for Paternosters—ending in a +Crucifix rudely hacked from palm-wood—fruit of hours of +secret labour with the prisoner's pocket-knife.... +</p> + +<p> +Katharine knew that Julian must have blessed it, before +sending it to Edward. Thenceforth in daily prayers to the +Mother of Consolation, for her dear ones living and dead, +she would use instead of her own Rosary this:—made even +more sacred by the sorrow of the sender and the maker's +martyrdom. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0306"></a></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +In search of Lady Wastwood, temporarily busy in that +Department, Katharine later on betook herself to the cool +and pleasant quarters on the Palace second floor, devoted to +Secretarial Work and Accounts. +</p> + +<p> +"Be good enough to explain why you cut the Staff lunch +to-day?" Miss Forbis said with severity, as Trixie's white +triangular face and bright green eyes came out of a big +parchment ledger to smile a tired welcome at her friend. +</p> + +<p> +"Because of the food!" said Lady Wastwood briefly. +</p> + +<p> +"The food is ripping!" pronounced Miss Forbis. +</p> + +<p> +"I admit that! It's seeing you other people eat it that I +mind!" +</p> + +<p> +"So you avoid meals, and live on eggs and coffee, and fresh +dates, and figs and bananas and grapes and custard-apples. +You'll be in for Gippy Tummy if you don't take care!" +</p> + +<p> +"Precious Person, I will take care. But fruit is so simply +gorgeous here!—and it reminds me of Old Diplomatic Service +days at Constantinople and Calcutta, when I and Wastwood +used to eat figs and mangoes and fresh-picked oranges +one against the other, for bets in gloves. And neither of us +died—though I suppose we ought to have. Don't go, my +dinkie! I'm nearly done!" +</p> + +<p> +And Trixie, coming out of the big ledger with a sheaf of +pencilled extracts, arranged a huge sheet of foolscap on the +blotter and began to write, while Katharine waited, looking +out of the window across the lawns and the elaborately-cultivated +shrubberies to the line where the blue sea,—traversed +by innumerable Allied steamers,—and the bluer sky, threaded +by French and British aircraft—met and mingled beyond a +wide expanse of light brown sand-dunes, and a belt of +casuarina-trees, and tall, waving palms: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Report On The Working of the Red Cross Motor-Ambulance +and Cars For the Month of October, 1917. +</p> + +<p> +"During October our 11 Cars used for General Administrative +Work and for the Conveyance of Convalescents, ran +9576 miles on 636 gallons of petrol, making an average of +15.05 miles to the gallon. +</p> + +<p> +"159 Convalescent Patients were taken out for Drives, +and nearly all of them given tea at the Nouzah Gardens—" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I wonder," Katharine began, after watching the long thin +hand move over the paper for a minute or so, "whether you +ought to be doing that?" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wastwood's incredibly arched, impossibly-black eyebrows +moved nearer her green-golden hair. +</p> + +<p> +"Because my heart goes biff after a ducking, I resolutely +decline to be treated as an invalid. Isn't it bad enough to +know that another woman is doing my work of organisation +at the Convalescent Officers' Hostel at El Naza—and +doing it on rottenly unimaginative lines! A woman more than +a dozen years younger,—who learned from me in the days +of flapperdom how to camouflage a shiny nose? No, you +mustn't try to take my work from me. It helps me to forget +my unrealised visions of green lawns of rabbia shaded with +palms and dotted with snow white sleeping tents, and golden +haired English nurses in pale blue linen overalls, ministering +to hundreds of weary War-worn men." +</p> + +<p> +"But the nurses mightn't all have been golden-haired," +objected Katharine. +</p> + +<p> +"Peroxide," said Lady Wastwood, brainily, "is fairly cheap +in Egypt. And I know a Contractor who would have supplied +it in seven gallon glass jars." Her small triangular face +regained its old vivacity, and her green eyes their brilliancy as +she pursued: "Then, I meant, to have a restaurant built far +out on the sea shore, where the surf ran up under the tables as +the patients sat at lunch, or tea. Rowing, riding and fishing, +camel-rides and picnics would have been part of the treatment +under my <i>régime</i>. And now—" Trixie's voice wobbled +a little and she cautiously dabbed with a minute lawn handkerchief +at the corners of her bright green eyes—"when I think +of all those Convalescent Officers and what they have lost +through Me, I get pippy. To have pulled the thing through +and made a success of it would have got back my credit with +Wastwood and the boys." +</p> + +<p> +"My dear!" Katharine began, and hesitated: "You don't +believe <i>really</i>—" +</p> + +<p> +Trixie dabbed her eyes again,—and dabbed her nose as an +afterthought, and resolutely put away the handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't quite think Wastwood—my husband—would judge +me hardly. He took me three times round the world with +him, and though I was a jelly of terror all the time at sea, I +somehow managed to camouflage my cowardice. It's only +when I remember how I groused on that ship that I imagine +I can hear my Jerry saying to his brother: 'Old Man, I don't +half like to say it, but the Mums is rather letting us down +... What?' And Wastwood—" +</p> + +<p> +"If Wastwood or Jerry said anything so unjust," Katharine +broke out, "they ought to—to be thoroughly well +spanked—both of them!" She went on as Trixie reluctantly +yielded to laughter, "I don't know whether you've found it +out yet,—but Nurse-Superintendent Bulleyne is in charge +of No. 2 Ground Floor Ward at the Harem. And she has +told Lady Donnithorpe and every one else here how—when +the Incendiary Bomb from the Zeppelin dropped through the +roof of No. 100, West Central Square—where you used to +have your Red Cross Work Rooms,—and killed two poor +orderlies, and dear Alicia Macintosh!—you went into action +with sand-boxes and water-buckets, and fire-extinguishers,—and +saved the place from being burned out! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"That was nothing to brag about," declared Trixie. "Things +that go off with a bang and a piff never much frighten me, +and anyone with an iota of sense knows what to do in a fire. +But shipwreck"—she shuddered "and drowning—" +</p> + +<p> +Katharine saw the look on the white triangular face, and +came to Trixie's side protectingly. Ever since the sinking of +the Hospital Transport <i>Loyalty</i>, the terrible experience had +been renewed in Lady Wastwood's nightly dreams. She +looked frailer and more startlingly attenuated than ever, as +she sat among the ledgers heading a fresh sheet of foolscap: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + MONTANA WAR LIBRARY—AUGUST, 1917<br> +</p> + +<pre> + Requisitions received ........................... 288 + Hospitals, Depôts, etc., supplied ............... 73 + Bound books ..................................... 1,000 + Papers .......................................... 1,190 +</pre> + +<p class="t3"> + <i>Lent to Patients, Montana, and Auxiliary Canvas<br> + Convalescent Camps, Boulboul and Osra</i><br> +</p> + +<pre> + Magazines ....................................... 1,866 + Penny Stories ................................... 647 + Periodicals ..................................... 8,904 + Bridge, Whist and Poker ......................... 10,966 + Blighties ....................................... 19,230 + French and Italian Books ........................ 30 + Political Economy, Works on ..................... 1 + Poetry .......................................... 4 + Classics ........................................ 0 +</pre> + +<p class="t3"> + GIFTS OF BOOKS FOR THE MONTH<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + <i>The Kiss That Changed The World</i>—By Massy<br> + B. M'Dudgeon ............................. 1 copy<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + <i>Pond and Pink Powder</i>—By Gertie Stumps ... 1 copy<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + <i>Sermons For War Time</i>—By the Bishop of<br> + Bayswater ............................. 100 copies<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Come now, you really have done enough. Stop at the +Bishop." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish he would pay the freightage on his stupid sermons. +Forty piastres to pay on the parcel. And he expects to be +thanked for it. Well, I'll knock off if you'll come and laze +with me for a bit in the garden.... Do I shine? I feel +like it!" +</p> + +<p> +Trixie gathered up her long thin limbs, stood up and +produced a vanity-case. +</p> + +<p> +"Here and there.... But every one does.... I'm beginning +to get used to it. No! I'm not coming to smoke your +new Macedonian cigarettes, and have iced-tea with lemon in +the garden this afternoon. You are coming to tea with me, +in the house of a great friend of mine." +</p> + +<p> +"Who is your friend?" asked Trixie, intent on the little +circular mirror. +</p> + +<p> +"A Jew." +</p> + +<p> +"I rather like Jews. Where does your friend live?" +</p> + +<p> +"Numero VII., Rue el Farad, Alexandria. His house," +Katharine went on, quoting John Hazel, "is one of the few +relics extant of the ancient city, a wonderfully-preserved +example of the Roman-Egyptian Domestic Style." +</p> + +<p> +"'I guess I shall admire to come,' as that American +Nursing-Sister said when you asked her to drive to the Antoniadis +Gardens. And is your friend like his house—a wonderfully +preserved example of the ancient what-do-you-call-it style?" +</p> + +<p> +Katharine answered promptly and warmly: +</p> + +<p> +"He certainly is a wonderfully-preserved example of +unspoiled Faith, and unstained Honour, and old-world Loyalty." +</p> + +<p> +"How nice!" said Lady Wastwood, sweetly. But she said +to herself: "I would never have believed it—Kathy Forbis +being Kathy Forbis. But—if she is able to forget poor +Edward Yaill, even for a wonderfully-preserved example of +all the old-world virtues, with shiny jet-black curls and a +curly profile—it would be—for her, poor girl—rather a good +thing." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0307"></a></p> + +<h3> +VII +</h3> + +<p> +He was not in the waiting car before the guarded entrance +to the Hospital, as Katharine and Lady Wastwood gave the +pass to the sentry, and stepped forth upon the dusty metalled +road. +</p> + +<p> +The car proved a large, white-enamelled Clement-Talbot of +some 22 h.p., luxuriously appointed and finished exquisitely +as a gun. The chauffeur was a mahogany-skinned, almond-eyed +Egyptian, in a crimson felt <i>tarbûsh</i> and snow-white +silver-braided native livery. The attendant, a grave, middle-aged +man, with long curling side-locks and olive aquiline +features,—who stood by the car door, imperturbably waiting the +arrival of the ladies, wore the plain black <i>kaftan</i> and high +black felt cap distinctive of many middle-class Jews in the +East. +</p> + +<p> +The machine ran like oil along the seventeen miles of dusty +metalled roads lying between the green foliage and verdure +of Montana and the great fortified Egyptian seaport,—in its +environs of palm-groves and fig-gardens, tennis-lawns and +golf-grounds; its streets (roaring with motor-lorries; +grid-ironed with tram-lines; rattling with hack-<i>gharis</i> and <i>arabâyis</i> +full of English, French or Italians, their drivers kept from +running people over by the red-fezzed mahogany-hued Military +Police)—traversed by swinging processions of laden camels, +strings of tiny overladen donkeys, Arab hawkers, stately +veiled women with clashing silver anklets, Anglo-Egyptian +ladies in last season's Paris fashions; soldiers of the Egyptian +Army, sherbet and sweetmeat and coffee-sellers; gangs of +blue-uniformed Turkish prisoners; working-parties of the +indefatigable little men of the Egyptian Labour Corps; portly +native stockbrokers or merchants in the red <i>tarbûsh</i> and +single-breasted blue frock-coat; <i>saisis</i>, vendors of antiques made +yesterday, Dagoes and Bedwân chiefs; verminous and crazy +beggars; impish native youths and urchins pressing copies of +the <i>Alexandrian Post</i>, and the <i>Egyptian Mail</i>, <i>John Bull</i>, <i>La +Bourse</i>, the <i>Messagéro</i>, the <i>Sydney Bulletin</i> and the +<i>Palestine Gazette</i>, upon tall Australians in slouched felt hats, New +Zealanders in red-banded smashers, lean, bearded Indian +Lancers, little Ghurka Riflemen, and newly-arrived Tommies +with comparatively pink-and-white faces; respectfully lavish of +drinks and sticky native sweetmeats to veterans bronzed to the +colour of their own khaki by the suns and dust-winds of the +Desert and Palestine.... +</p> + +<p> +A huge, endless, living screen-picture, various and polyglot, +backed and reinforced by an infinite variety of smells.... +Colours of all imaginable hues; scents and reeks, stinks and +fragrances. The hiss and purr, the nasal whine of Oriental +tongues, mingled with the Western click and rattle, and the +clang and ring of the dominating North.... Pierced by the +all-pervading yell, for backsheesh, Backsheesh, BACKSHEESH!—the +never-ceasing slogan of the dominated East. +</p> + +<p> +Beyond the crossing where the Road of the Rosetta Gate +debouches into the Rue Sherif Pasha,—whither Trixie's +inward being yearned because of the cream-puffs, pink-melon +ices, and Persian tea to be had at Groppi's Restaurant,—the +big white car swirled into the Rue el Farad, past the +beautiful tree-adorned and well-kept grounds of the Armenian +Church and School. +</p> + +<p> +The thoroughfare occupies the ancient site of the Street of +the Four Winds, south of where used to be the quadruple +marble gate, the Tetrapylon, turning off the ancient Street of +the Moon. No asphalte was here, but pavement of huge blocks +of ancient flagstone, not all cemented together, on which the +traffic of the city, the motor-lorries, hack-<i>gharis</i>, +country-carts and trains of laden small-hoofed donkeys, made an +atrocious sound.... Tall palms, overtopping the roofs of the +houses set at intervals on either side of the thoroughfare, +spoke of garden-grounds behind them.... Here and there, +built into a courtyard-wall, some chipped and broken column, +or capital of Græco-Roman carving, some incised stele of +yellowish limestone-marble, black basalt or the red granite of +Assouan, incised with ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, or the +symbols of the Sun, and Moon Mother, spoke to the remoteness +of the city's antiquity.... +</p> + +<p> +Midway of a courtyard-wall, forbiddingly high and thickly +whitewashed, before a high closed portico having a deep +square depression on the right-hand as though a sculptured +slab or plaque had been removed from beside the entrance, +the Clement-Talbot stopped. The heavy, green-painted door +bore, in its central compartment of white, red Hebrew lettering +instead of an Arabic inscription; the Roman numerals VII. were +on a small brass plate above the heavy metal ring +surmounting the huge clumsy lock, a lock straight out of <i>The +Arabian Nights</i>.... +</p> + +<p> +The grave attendant got down and opened the car. Alighting, +Katharine and her companion passed in, over a square of +ancient mosaic, representing a black dog spotted with white, +secured by a chain attached to a scarlet collar, and displaying +a formidable mouthful of teeth. +</p> + +<p> +The vestibule guarded by the mosaic dog was of yellowish +Numidian marble, yet stained a faded red in places, and +showing traces of having been divided into panels by a slender +incised ornament, partly obliterated, but recognisable as a +black caduceus wreathed with a black vine. +</p> + +<p> +And the vestibule guarded by the mosaic dog was long +rather than wide, and ventilated by horizontal apertures below +the roof, filled in with metal lattice-work. Through a similar +but larger opening overhead poured the golden sunshine of +the November noonday,—making a thick black strip of shadow +beneath the long wooden bench that ran along the right-hand +wall. The air of the place was cool and sweet,—in spite of +an array of native shoes,—of all grades and descriptions from +jaunty red morocco with pointed turned-up toes, and heels +with sharp rims of brass or steel for the killing of snakes and +scorpions,—to venerable footgear of soiled buff or yellow +leather,—and the clumsy hide sandals commonly worn by +peasants,—ranged along the left-hand wall. Even as she +observed the rows of shoes, Katharine's keen ears were greeted +by a curious deep-toned humming—as though innumerable, +invisible bees, of Brobdingnagian proportions—were gathering +honey from conjectural flowers in the near neighbourhood.... +</p> + +<p> +The negro porter who had opened the door, a huge Ethiopian +of ebony blackness, dressed and turbaned in snow-white +linen, salaamed deeply to the ladies; displaying as he did so +a mouthful of teeth as dazzling in whiteness and sharply-pointed +as those of the mosaic dog. +</p> + +<p> +Then the negro shut the heavy door and locked and bolted +it. They heard the car snort and move away as the metal +bolts scrooped in their ancient grooves of stone. But, as they +glanced back, towards the entrance, the imperturbable +attendant in the black <i>kaftan</i> waved them forward to where +another man, exactly like himself in feature, colouring and +costume, waited as imperturbably on the threshold of a larger +hall beyond. On its right-hand doorpost was affixed a cylinder +of metal <i>repoussée</i>, with an oval piece of glass inset—something +like a human eye. And the big invisible bees went on +humming as industriously and as sleepily as ever: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Bz'zz'z! .... Bzz'z! ... Bzz m' m'm! ...</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it was the bees' thick, sleepy droning that made +Miss Forbis feel as though she had previously visited this +house in a dream, in which,—though the mosaic dog had +certainly figured, together with a negro who had opened +doors,—the rows of shoes along the wall, the figure of Trixie at +her side—the two dark, ultra-respectable men in black +<i>tarbûshes</i> and <i>kaftans</i> had had no place or part. Only John +Hazel had bulked big.... He was there,—beyond the grave +Semitic face of the second Jewish secretary—on the farther +side of the torrent of boiling amber sunshine pouring through +a central opening in the roof of the inner hall that succeeded +the vestibule of the mosaic Cerberus. An atrium some forty +feet in length, paved with squares of black and yellow marble, +with an oblong pool in the midst of it—upon whose still, +crystal surface pink and crimson petals of roses had been +strewn in patterns,—and in the centre of which a triple-jetted +fountain played.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Bzz' zz m'm! ...</i>" +</p> + +<p> +The humming of the unseen bees came louder than ever, +from a doorway in the wall upon Katharine's right hand.... +A wall of black polished marble, decorated with an inlaid +ornament in porphyry of yellow and red and pale green. The +curtain of dyed and threaded reeds did not hide what lay beyond +the doorway. You saw a long, high-pitched, whitewashed +room, cooled by big wooden electric fans working under the +ceiling, and traversed by avenues of creamy-white Chinese +matting, running between rows of low native desks; before +each of which squatted—on naked or cotton-sock-covered heels, +or sat cross-legged upon a square native chintz cushion, a +coffee-coloured, almond-eyed young Copt, in a black or blue +cotton nightgown, topped with the <i>tarbûsh</i> of black felt or a +dingy-white or olive-brown muslin turban; murmuring softly +to himself as he made entries, from right to left, in a huge +limp-covered ledger, or deftly fingered the balls of coloured +clay strung on the wires of the abacus at his side. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! ... Wonderful! I'm so glad you brought me!" +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wastwood's emphatic exclamation of pleasure in her +surroundings brought cessation in the humming,—caused a +swivelling of capped or turbaned heads all down the length +of three avenues,—evoked a simultaneous flash of black +Oriental eyes, and white teeth in dusky faces lifted or turned.... +Then at the upper end of the long counting-house, where +three wide glassless windows looked on a sanded palm-garden +(and the leather-topped knee-hole tables, roll-top desks, copying +ink presses, mahogany revolving-chairs, telephone installations, +willow-paper baskets, pewter inkstands and Post Office +Directories suggested Cornhill and Cheapside rather than the +Orient)—one of the olive-faced Jewish head-clerks in <i>kaftans</i> +and side-curls coughed,—and as though he had pulled a string +controlling all the observant faces,—every tooth was hidden +and every eye discreetly bent on the big limp ledgers again.... +</p> + +<p> +All the Coptic bees were humming sonorously in unison as +Katharine went forward to a lofty doorway, framing brightness, +where waited to receive her the master of the hive.... +</p> + +<p> +The light being behind him may have exaggerated his proportions, +but he seemed to Trixie the biggest man she had ever +seen, and nearly the ugliest. Close-curling coarse black hair +capped his high-domed skull; and his stern, powerful, swarthy +face, big-nosed and long-chinned,—with a humorous quirk at +the corners of the heavy-lipped mouth that redeemed its +sensuousness—was lighted by eyes of the intensest black, burning +under heavy beetle-brows. His khaki uniform, though of fine +material and admirable cut, was that of a common ranker, and +a narrow strip of colours over the heart, and the fact of his +left arm being bandaged and slung,—intimated to Lady Wastwood +that Katharine's Jewish friend had already served with +some degree of distinction,—and had been wounded in the War. +</p> + +<p> +As he advanced to Miss Forbis, plainly unconscious of any +presence save hers, Trixie's observant green eyes saw him +bend his towering head, and sweep his right arm out and +down, with slow Oriental stateliness, bringing back the supple +hand to touch breast, lips and brow. Whether or not he had +raised the hem of Katharine's skirt to his lips and kissed it, +Lady Wastwood could not definitely determine. She was left +with the impression that he had done this thing. And—as +he rose up from the deep obeisance, there sounded in her +ears these words of salutation spoken in English by a deep +voice, with the timbre and volume of an Arab war-drum: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Hail! Lady of the noble house of Philoremus Fabius. Be +welcome to this dwelling, the cradle of your race. Mine +to-day as my forefathers' through bygone centuries, since your +footstep crossed the threshold, we are stewards, and you are +Queen!</i>" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0308"></a></p> + +<h3> +VIII +</h3> + +<p> +He might have been quoting from some classical play, it +occurred to Trixie,—perhaps he was an actor, this colossal +khaki man.... Though Katharine had certainly said that he +had offices and warehouses in the city. That was his +counting-house, that populous hall, where rows and rows of Coptic +clerks did sums in huge ledgers. And Katharine was presenting +him as "Mr. John Hazel." And he was saying to Lady +Wastwood, the usual civil nothings, in the voice that had the +resonance of a Somali war-gong, the deep vibration of a +Dervish battle-drum—and the clipped accent of the ordinary +middle-class Londoner. +</p> + +<p> +"Frightfully glad to meet you.... Miss Forbis said she'd +bring you.... Won't you come inside? This is my room!" +</p> + +<p> +"What a room!" +</p> + +<p> +The exclamation came from Lady Wastwood, but the room's +owner looked at Katharine. The stamp of her approval was +evidently required. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You</i> like it? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine answered, with a long-drawn breath, in utter +sincerity: +</p> + +<p> +"—Much more than like it! It is—perfectly wonderful!" +</p> + +<p> +It had probably once served as the triclinium of this ancient +Roman house. Of spacious width, it might have been some +sixty feet in length, and twenty feet from the mosaic floor to +the frescoed ceiling, representing a sky of intense blue, with +stars of rusty gold. Framed, the blue starry sky, in a square +of trellised roses, their hues faded and dimmed by the passage +of centuries, the yellowish marble showing in patches through +the gesso groundwork—as through that of the deep frieze +below the Attic cornice,—painted by some ancient master in the +noon of Alexandria's heyday,—and representing in hues still +fresh and brilliant the Battles of the Greeks and Amazons. +</p> + +<p> +Below the frieze an ebony shelf supported a collection of +Oriental pottery and porcelain, interspersed with antique vases +and statuettes in ivory and bronze. Down one side of the long +room were glass-doored book-cases, built in recesses,—and +cabinets stored with objects of beauty and rarity. A wide +divan strewn with silken cushions and covered with brocade +of Damascus, ran along the opposite side and under the +window at the upper end,—where the floor—raised some eight +inches, made a kind of daïs, upon which Persian carpets of +beauty and evident value were laid.... +</p> + +<p> +The window, glassless, and closed at need, with delicately-carved +wooden lattices, ran across the upper end of the room, +nearly from wall to wall. Where the window ended, a door +between twisted pillars of red and green serpentine—such as +were set between the frames of the window-lattices—led to an +open loggia, supported by slender columns. From the window +and through the door—across the cool blue belt of shadow +made by the fluted tiled roof of the loggia—were the green +lawns and springing fountains, the groves and alleys and +shrubberies of a well-kept and spacious garden; over whose +fruit-burdened vines and fig-trees hosts of finches and orioles +and fig-birds kept up a perpetual chirping and twittering. +</p> + +<p> +It was restful and cool in the wide, lofty room,—would have +been so had no wooden fans, driven by electric power—kept +the air in continual movement underneath the frescoed ceiling. +The heavy door at the hall-end being shut, the hum of +the busy Coptic bees of Hazaël & Co.'s counting-house could +not penetrate, where after months of keen anticipation John +Hazel welcomed his liege lady, with outward stolidity and +grave, rather clumsy politeness—masking the shy rapture—say, +of an Eton Fourth Form boy doing the honours of his +study to the prettiest sister of his chum. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, where'll you perch?" he said to Lady Wastwood, +after carefully installing Miss Forbis in the divan's right-hand +window-corner. He was hospitable in the extreme, Trixie +decided, and any thing but well-bred. How odd that such a +man should possess sufficient insight and discrimination to +admire Katharine as profoundly as John Hazel evidently +did.... +</p> + +<p> +"By the way, Mr. Hazel," Katharine's fresh voice called +to him, as he found a suitable resting-place for Lady +Wastwood—and Trixie's observant green eyes saw him jump, and +flush under his mahogany hide; "I've seen your name starred +in to-day's paper. 'Commander-in-Chief's Despatches +retelegraphed from Whitehall. Recommended for the Military +Medal, Acting Company Sergeant John Benn Hazel—448th +City of London (Fenchurch Street) Royal Fusiliers. +Extraordinary valour displayed at Sheria.... Twelve Turks +bayonetted, one after another....' Congratulations with all my +heart!" +</p> + +<p> +Her long arm swept out to John, and he took the hand, +reddening, and promptly returned it, stammering: "Awfully +obliged for what you say!—but as regards the M.M. there's +no accounting for the way they have of ladling out these +tin-and-gilt things. Mean well and one's obliged, but the men +who earn 'em never get 'em!" He smote his giant palms +together, evoking a terrific detonation. "Sorry if I made you +jump." Nervous Trixie had done so. "But this is how we +do in the East when we want 'em to bring tea!" +</p> + +<p> +Two blue-shirted, white-gowned Egyptian boys and a bulky +middle-aged negress, black as coal; with a high silk turban of +rainbow hues, a skirted yellow over-robe, full striped trousers +of orange and green, and clashing rows of bangles, responded +to the summons, setting heavy silver trays, laden with good +things, many and various, on inlaid ebony stool-tables before +their master's guests.... The arrival of the trays heralded +the entrance of an elderly lady, sad-faced, olive-skinned, +black-eyed and white-haired, attired in an old-fashioned grey silk +gown. As "My Aunt Esther," their big host referred to this +lady, presenting her—against all the rules of precedence, first +to Miss Forbis and inversely introducing Lady Wastwood.... +With whom the sad-faced elderly lady shook hands cordially, +though she had curtseyed ceremoniously and profoundly as +she had taken the hand held out by to her by Katharine.... +</p> + +<p> +The tea poured out by the sad little grey lady, was Persian, +and far superior to Groppi's, in Trixie's opinion,—as were the +cream-tarts and pistachio-nut, and date-cakes,—the delicate +Egyptian rolls and creamy curls of butter, the pink-melon ices +and sherbet of fresh limes, and newly-gathered grapes, figs +and oranges.... Indifferent to the possible result of an attack +of Gippy Tummy, Trixie enjoyed herself, listening with amused +interest to Mrs. Hazaël's gentle chatter, as the little lady's +thin hands, loaded with magnificent rubies and emeralds, darted +about amongst the cups.... +</p> + +<p> +In fluent English, spoken with a strong French accent,—both +languages having been acquired in her girlhood, she +explained—at a Maltese Convent boarding-school, where she had +spent eight years,—she entertained her guest with arid +recollections of the Early Eighties, mingled with more welcome +details of the cost of housekeeping in the East. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared that the negress,—whose name was Fatmeh, and +who came from Upper Nubia,—was responsible for the +making of the cream-tarts and the date-and-pistachio cakes.... +But the crowning culinary achievement of Fatmeh was +<i>kunaféh</i>, which could not be properly offered with tea, being +a dinner-dish; made of sesame-flour, clarified butter and +honey, with eggs and raisins, and fried in a pan.... If +Miladi would honour the house by coming to dinner, the hostess +added, the <i>kunaféh</i> should be forthcoming, made and fried +in Fatmeh's finest style.... +</p> + +<p> +"You are quite too infinitely kind, Madame," Trixie +responded, and as she abominated pancakes, the description +of <i>kunaféh</i> left her chilly. "But though to dine with you would +give me the greatest pleasure,—my acceptance of the invitation +must naturally depend on the engagements of Her Majesty +over there...." +</p> + +<p> +And the Commandant's smiling nod indicated Miss Forbis, +seated in the divan's opposite corner, drinking Persian tea out +of exquisite porcelain, and revelling in the beauty of the +gardens,—where palms tasselled with golden fruit, and laden +fig-trees on spreading trellises, and sycamores draped with +grapevines heavy with purple clusters, made islands of shadow and +fruitful luxuriance,—while shrubberies of myrtle and rose and +oleander invited the footsteps of stranger and <i>habitué</i> to +explore the winding pathways that threaded them—under the hot +blue sky of the November noon.... +</p> + +<p> +"You call her Queen? ..." The lustrous dark eyes of the +white-haired lady studied the fine face, and dwelt on the superb +lines of the gracious womanly figure for an instant before +she said: "And you are right! <i>C'est une physionomie très +noble!</i> I have seen Queens and Empresses in Europe—and +here in Asia, who would have looked like peasants beside +her! ... As for the arrangement of the date—that is not for me +to make—or for my nephew. It is she who gives orders—in +this house!" +</p> + +<p> +"But I thought that like myself, Miss Forbis was a stranger! +I understood from her," said Trixie munching her third +cream-cake, "that though Mr. Hazel is a great friend and pal +of hers in England, she has never visited this house before." +</p> + +<p> +The reply was given with Eastern dignity: +</p> + +<p> +"When I, who am fifty-eight, was a child, her father came +to Alexandria. My grandfather, who was then living—entertained +him as a King.... His daughter has never entered the +house before,—and the house is the house of Hazaël. But the +stones of it would call to her 'Mistress!' if the lips of Hazaël +were dumb...." +</p> + +<p> +The sudden fire that had lightened in the soft dark Eastern +eyes died out of them, and the olive face resumed its sad +tranquillity. But not before Lady Wastwood had realised a +piquant, baffling strangeness, in the relations between Kathy +Forbis and these Alexandrian Jews.... +</p> + +<p> +"One has one's own secrets wild horses wouldn't drag +from one," was her quaint mental comment, "and so, of +course, have others. But mysteries and Kathy Forbis don't +seem to go together. Why—" +</p> + +<p> +Trixie broke off, for at that particular juncture the huge +left hand of the little Syrian lady's big black nephew was +coolly drawn from its supporting sling, and stretched towards +a dish of fruit upon a tray that stood near. And there came +to the Commandant's ears the full, warm voice of Katharine: +</p> + +<p> +"No, thanks! I learned to distrust green figs the first week +I spent in Egypt. And—I think you were told yesterday at +the Hospital not to use that wounded arm! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You see, I forget," said the big man, very humbly and +apologetically. "It's only a flesh-cut, and doesn't hurt, as I +told the Assassin-in-charge. And I'm left-handed—like the +Hun who slashed me with his sword as he tried to pot me +with his revolver. Has it been dressed since yesterday? ... Oh, +yes, I had to report at the General Hospital this morning, +and they looked to it all right. And I kiboshed the C.M.O. about +my living at home. They're fearfully crowded for space +at the General—and don't want well men blocking the +wards—luckily for me...." +</p> + +<p> +He laughed, and as he stuffed his bandaged arm back into +the sling, the gleam of a ring on the third finger of his left +hand,—a great antique ring in a pale greenish gold setting, +attracted Trixie's eye. The eye gleamed,—for a similar signet +was always worn by Katharine. Could it be,—Oh, really!—it +couldn't—Couldn't be possible!—that Edward Yaill's +successor would be this colossal Jew.... +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, being a woman myself," Trixie reflected, "I +ought to be used to women having—even before the War +came to effect a fusion between the classes—such astonishing, +Extraordinary, INCOMPREHENSIBLE tastes in men! And +naturally, after being engaged to Yaill all those years—an +officer of the old Conservative type,—thoroughbred to the +backbone, conversant with Society, high-tempered, rather +irritable, affectionate, gentle, tinged with Celtic melancholy; this +man—what is he?—must be a complete change. Dressed +as a Territorial Tommy, living as an Alexandrian Jew +merchant, talking in the shibboleth and with the accent of the +modern City Nut,—the young man of the Theatrical Syndicate +and the West End Supper Club—dashed with something out +of the Book of Kings! Dear me! I'd like to shriek with +laughter—if I didn't feel nearer shedding tears of vexation at +the idea of my splendid Kathy caring for the kind of person +who says to a woman 'Where'll you perch?' when he wants +her to sit down." +</p> + +<p> +Preoccupied with the absorbing theme, Trixie returned but +absent replies to Mrs. Hazaël's mild observations; and +conversation languished between the pair. Until the +Commandant's languid attention was prodded to wakeful keenness by +a chance observation on the part of her host's aunt.... +</p> + +<p> +"I do not know, Miladi...." This in reply to some reference +to the wearer of the ring similar to Katharine's. "My +nephew John Hazaël was educated in England. He has been +in business in the City of London—he never was in Egypt +until he came here with the English soldiers, to fight the Turk +who has driven us from our homes in Palestine!" The sad +dark eyes lightened fiercely, the drooping figure straightened, +the toneless voice vibrated with passion as Mrs. Hazaël went +on: "Before then I had not seen my brother's son. Indeed, +knowing him to be <i>Epikouros</i>,—I had thought of him but +little! Imagine what for me it meant to find John Ben Hazaël +the image of his grandfather! ... For they are alike, Miladi—as +citron resembles citron,—though the years of one were a +hundred, and the other is but thirty-five. True, he has not +learnt to observe our ancient customs, nor has he been reared +according to the Law. He is blind to the beauty and splendour +of the glorious Hebrew religion. But even as a myrtle in the +midst of the Desert remains a myrtle,—John Hazaël, the +eldest son of John, the son of Eli Ben Hazaël,—will live the +life and die the death of a good, believing Jew!" +</p> + +<p> +"To know that," Trixie returned, conscious of feeling her +way amidst unseen pitfalls, "must be a great pleasure to you, +Madame...." +</p> + +<p> +"I do not look for pleasure," came the sad-toned answer. +"And comfort there is none for me, whom the Turk has +stripped of all. When this terrible War broke out in Palestine, +Miladi, I had a husband,—and two sons,—and a daughter!"—A +convulsion rippled under the olive skin of the withered +face as the waters of a lonely forest-pool will stir on a +windless day.... "My son Jacob they took first,—to labour with +the road-gangs between Sailed and Tiberias.... My +daughter—my Esther, my darling and my treasure—the golden joy +of her father's heart—" +</p> + +<p> +"Pray, pray, do not tell me!" Lady Wastwood whispered +entreatingly, for the speaker's dark eyes were bloodshot and +her mouth had twisted in the involuntary grimace of weeping +with difficulty restrained, "I can guess something terrible.... +Please believe that I deeply feel for you!—I who have lost +husband and children too! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"'Husband and children! ...' <i>Achi nebbich!</i> ..." +</p> + +<p> +The little grey woman bowed her lace-draped head, and +folded her jewelled hands in her grey silk lap as she +continued: +</p> + +<p> +"But such deaths were those of my loved ones, Miladi, that +nothing that you could imagine could approach the terror of +the truth! Yet it might have been worse—oh, infinitely!—had +not Jacob possessed the courage of a lion. He shot his +sister, Miladi, in the room of her destroyer,—and turned the +pistol on himself and died also! ..." There was a clang of +pride in the dull tear-soaked voice. "Then Reuben Ben +Ephraim—who was with Jacob in the den of the hyena—Hamid +Bey Effendi—Commander of the Turkish soldiers at +Nazareth"—there followed some rapid guttural words in a +tongue unknown to Trixie, probably a bitter Hebrew curse +upon the hated name.... "then Reuben, seeing both dead, +escaped by the Mercy, and sent word to us, me and my +husband—in our house near Jaffa—of what had befallen the +children of our love! ... And hearing that the vengeance of +Hamid was to be wreaked upon us, my husband Isaac, the +uncle of John Hazaël! ... may Peace be upon him! as it is +our custom to say—Isaac escaped to Beirut with our last +child, Benjamin. Miladi—the fierce wolves seized them. +They both died in prison at Beirut—under the Turkish +rods! ... The young child first, Miladi—under the eyes of his +father.... Then the father!—Peace be upon them both! ... And +the shock of the news killed Eli Ben Hazaël, for he was +close upon a hundred.... Thus am I widow, and childless, +and fatherless in this house that has sheltered my people for +more than sixteen centuries. Ah, Miladi!—I have made you +weep! ... I have no tears—they were all shed long ago!" She +rose, a little tragic figure in her old-fashioned silk gown, +and held out to Trixie a withered, jewelled hand. "My nephew +is looking at me.... He wishes me to show you the garden, +while he speaks of business with Mademoiselle Forbis...." A +slight cry escaped her as her eyes went to the window, and a +faint gleam of pleasure lightened in their hopelessness as she +lifted the wasted, glittering hand: "See! O see! Look, +Miladi! ... Look, my children! ... Once again, the swallows have +come! ..." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There had been no swallows a moment previously. Summer +in the North, warmer that year of 1917 than in the three +preceding, had delayed their autumn journey overseas. Now the +deep blue sky above the tamarisk and acacia Nilotica,—the +vine-draped sycamore figs, the tall imperial palm-trees, the +orange and lemon groves, and the myrtle and rose-thickets +behind the house in the Rue el Farad, were crossed and +recrossed by innumerable downy black-and-white bodies, borne +upon darting, quivering pinions, and the continuous twitterings +of the fig-birds were drowned by their shrill squeaks.... +</p> + +<p> +From the eaves of the round-tiled roof of the loggia, where +some old nests were yet remaining, a rope of swallows swayed +and dangled; clinging one to the tail of another—the weight of +the whole rope sustained by the first usurper of the disputed +nest.... A moment more and the feathered rope resolved +into its original atoms. They rose in a cloud,—squealing, +wheeling, hovering and poising, and launched themselves in +joyous chase of the flies and mosquitoes, whose deadliest +enemies they are.... +</p> + +<p> +And then one of the darting things—possibly a new-fledged +stranger—keen on the capture of some gauze-winged morsel, +flew in at the window, and hawked about the room.... +</p> + +<p> +The blue sky frescoed on the ceiling by the ancient artist, +framed in its trellis of dimmed and faded roses, must have +deceived the eager bird. Its upward flight ended in the tiniest +thud possible.... Vitality quitted its infinitesimal being.... +It dropped, a mere puff of black and white feathers, at +Katharine Forbis's feet.... +</p> + +<p> +"Again.... Each year, the same thing happens! A bird is +killed—just in this way. It is sad, but there's no help for +it...." sighed Mrs. Hazaël. "Throw it away, dear +Mademoiselle, it is only a dead bird! ..." +</p> + +<p> +But Mademoiselle, who had picked up the tiny body to +cherish and croon over, did not follow her hostess's advice. To +sense the divine quality of maternity inherent in Katharine's +beauty, you had to see her petting an invalid, or a child. Or +as now, with some helpless, injured creature,—looking at it +under drooped eyelids of soft solicitude, cherishing it with +compassionate touches of deft, womanly hands.... +</p> + +<p> +Those kind hands had touched John Hazel, yesterday, in +helping the Hospital surgeon and Sister with the dressing of +his wounded arm.... It was not until their contact had sent +shocks of keen, scarce bearable delight thrilling through nerve +and tissue, that John Hazel had discovered—what you have +guessed ere now.... +</p> + +<p> +All the night through he had lain awake, living those +moments over, and over!—cursing himself for a fool thrice +soaked in folly, a bally idiot, and a presumptuous cad.... +But daylight had found him no whit more wise, nor one iota +less besotted; even more gnawed with desperate hunger to feel +her cool breath fanning his bared shoulder, and know the +rapture of her touch again.... +</p> + +<p> +Now the soft, compassionate eyes, the tender touch and the +sweet solicitude were given to a bird, while the man hungered. +John Hazel, one is compelled to own—was keenly jealous of +the stunned swallow—as the thorn-like beak opened and shut, +and the sealed eyelids quivered apart—and Katharine's cry of +womanly joy greeted these signs of life.... +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't dead, dear Madame!" she cried gaily to the Syrian +lady, as she dipped a finger-tip in a flower-vase that stood +near, dropped some water in the open beak, and wetted the +velvety head.... The swallow quivered in her palm, gasped +convulsively and swallowed the water; swallowed another +drop given in the same way, and regaining strength, struggled +to free itself from the protecting hand.... +</p> + +<p> +"Kiss it, Trixie, and give it a message for its little +brothers! ... Now you shall go, my dear," said Katharine, when, +Lady Wastwood having dutifully kissed the top of the bird's +head, she touched the featherless, velvet crown with her own +lips. Then, still cherishing the struggling bird in her cupped +palms, she passed through the door at the head of the divan, +stepped out upon the loggia, and with a sweep of her long arm, +sent the captive, squeaking with rapture, to rejoin its +long-winged comrades in the playgrounds of the air. +</p> + +<p> +"How's that, Umpire?" she called to John Hazel, following +with attentive eyes the rocket-like upward rush. "It rather sets +one thinking"—she broke off in the middle of the sentence as +John stooped beneath the lintel of the doorway, and joined +her on the loggia. +</p> + +<p> +"Thinking of what?" he asked, for her face was grave and +troubled. +</p> + +<p> +"Of prisoners and captives," Katharine answered, "and what +they must feel when their fetters are broken and their dungeons +lie behind them, and the free sky is over them and the +free earth underfoot.... Talking of earth, I rather think you +promised to show me your garden, or if you didn't I should like +you to.... Your aunt has spirited Lady Wastwood away—" She +nodded at Trixie's tall, thin retreating shape, upright and +workmanlike in its badged, light-weight smasher hat and +short-skirted khaki cotton-drill uniform; as side by side with +Mrs. Hazaël's black lace mantilla and old-fashioned trailing grey +silk gown, it turned the corner of a myrtle-hedge, and was +lost in the shrubbery. "And I rather want to consult you.... +There's a seat under that moss-cup oak—it is a moss-cup, +isn't it?—it's getting beautifully cool, and the tree looks nice +and shady. And you could smoke—or I could—and talk +comfortably there...." +</p> + +<p> +He got her green-lined sun-umbrella and insisted on holding +it over her, as they crossed the verdant, well-watered lawn +to the patriarchal moss-cup oak of Miss Forbis's desire. A +curve-backed, scroll-ended seat of red granite stood under its +wide-spreading branches. Near the seat was a great bed of +balsam and heliotrope. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, sweet, sweet!" He had gathered a huge handful of +the fragrant-flowered, nettle-leaved plant and laid it on +Katharine's knee as she seated herself, and her sentences were broken +with rapturous sniffs. "How I—do—love—the smell of +heliotrope! ... I thought it heavenly in England,—but it was +nothing to this! ... And the view of the house from where I +sit! ... Who would have dreamed that behind the hideous +whitewashed wall of your courtyard, so much of the wonderful +lost city of Alexander the Great, and of the Ptolemies, in +whose Museum Euclid and Aristophanes, and Hypatia were +Professors,—lay snugly tucked away!" She went on wistfully: +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me why I feel as though my heartstrings were tangled +up in the foundations of this dear, dear house of yours, and +there were memories and voices in the stones of the +walls! ... Why don't you smoke? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I will if I may.... It'll keep off the mosquitoes. May I +offer you one?" He produced a case. +</p> + +<p> +"No, thanks! I'll smoke mine. Yours look good, but too +large and solid for feminine creatures to appreciate. Though +when I worked at the Front in France, I've been glad to fall +back on Army Gaspers. Or ten <i>sou</i> packets of the rank Régie +beloved by the Poilu." +</p> + +<p> +"You used to smoke before the War?" He asked it as he +gave her a light, and she answered, as the Turkish tobacco +kindled, breathing out a delicate puff of the fragrant bluish +vapour: +</p> + +<p> +"After a luncheon or dinner-party, one smoked—just to keep +other people in countenance. But afterwards—in France—and +here, to quiet one's jangled nerves!" +</p> + +<p> +"You don't look like a woman with jangled nerves," he said, +considering her steadily. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps not, but still they play up sometimes.... Look at +the swallows—they've already begun to build! In the corner +of the window of that big upper room with three large +windows latticed up, and groups of columns between them—and +a dome, rising behind the pediment—it is a pediment, isn't it? +that long triangular stone? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The deep voice said to her: +</p> + +<p> +"No one ever uses that room where you see the swallows +building. It is kept locked all through the year except on one +day...." The great brown hand pointed to the three windows +below the pediment, the deep voice so like and so unlike +John Hazel's went on: "There is an altar in that room with a +Christian shrine beneath it.... We strip the gardens bare +each year to make the chapel beautiful,—we who have been +Guardians of the Shrine for more than sixteen hundred +years...." +</p> + +<p> +"But—but this is a Jewish house! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"That is quite true." The brown hand waved. "The house +belongs to Jews indeed, but it was not theirs always.... +Nor do we break the Jewish Law in honouring the dead. +Should you, who are of his race and faith, desire to visit the +chapel ... here is the key.... Whenever you will, I am +ready to take you there." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0309"></a></p> + +<h3> +IX +</h3> + +<p> +He rose, and took from his pocket, and held out to Miss +Forbis, a flat metal spatula of Eastern make, attached to a +silver chain. She looked from the clumsy object in the big +brown hand to the grave face above it, whose dense black eyes +had a reddish glow; and saw that his temples and blue-shaven +upper-lip and jaws glistened with points of moisture, though +the sun had but the tempered heat of these first days of +November, and a sea-breeze coming out of the West whispered among +the leaves. +</p> + +<p> +"How am I of his race?" she asked, after a moment's +hesitation. "Please be good enough to keep the key.... One of +these days I may muster curiosity to visit the shrine in the +chapel. Just now, to tell the truth, I want more to talk to you. +I've put it off, as one does dodge sorrowful things, but now +I've got to tell you...." Her voice wavered and her lips +were tremulous. "It has to do with the letter you brought me +from Palestine...." +</p> + +<p> +"I am quite as anxious to hear as you are to tell me. But +first, Miss Forbis, you must visit the shrine in the chapel. +You ought to have gone there before, but you wished to see +the garden, and your wish is a command here,—I could only +obey! But now—" +</p> + +<p> +He offered her the clumsy key, coolly and imperturbably. +There was incredulity in her tone, as she inquired: +</p> + +<p> +"You don't mean that I must go, whether I wish it or do +not?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry to coerce you," he said with stern distinctness. +"You must understand that. But, before we hear the Sunset +Call to Prayer from the Mosque of Sidi Amr, it is necessary +that you should visit the shrine. Understand me—it is +incumbent upon you as the representative of your family. You +have to!" +</p> + +<p> +"'Have to! ...'" +</p> + +<p> +She rose to her feet, and her angry eyes swept over him +contemptuously. To be ordered about by this man was +intolerable—absurd.... They faced each other, and the old gulf +opened and yawned between them—as it had in the drawing-room +at Kerr's Arbour, eight months before. +</p> + +<p> +"'Have to!' ... You rather forget yourself, don't you, +Mr. Hazel? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I do what is my duty in enforcing respect to <i>him</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +He drew himself to his towering height, folded his great +arms, and looked at her calmly. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke again, and the profound tones vibrated through +her, like the sound of a Buddhist temple-bell.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Through the centuries since he died for the Faith of the +Nazarene, Christian priests have blessed his ashes on one day +in every year. Not even when Alexandria lay in cinders and +ruin, was there lacking a son of the Hazaël to guard his relics +here. But since Marcus Fabius the Tribune came here on +his way to Britain with the Tenth Legion of Constantine,—and +the son of Marcus, Florens Fabius—journeyed from Rome +twenty years later,—and the Crusaders Fulk and Hew came +eleven hundred and sixty years after, and Bishop Ralph in +1809, and Philip in 1881, to kneel before his shrine; no heart +filled with his blood has beaten in the lonely chamber, no lips +warm with his life have touched the chilly stone.</i>" +</p> + +<p> +The clang of the great voice ceased to oppress her sense of +hearing. She bent her noble head in splendid humility, a +great lady, rebuked by the descendant of an Hebrew steward, +and said: +</p> + +<p> +"You have reproached me very justly. My only excuse +is—that I did not understand!" +</p> + +<p> +He went with her across the lawn, and ushered her through +the loggia door into a passage, and up a wide staircase leading +by one short flight of steps to the single floor above. She took +the curious Eastern key he silently offered her, and put it in +the lock of the door he had stopped at. The lock yielded +easily.... +</p> + +<p> +"Won't—won't you come too?" she whispered, oppressed +with an increasing sense of awe, and John Hazel's voice +answered from behind her: +</p> + +<p> +"We are the Guardians of the Shrine, and yet we may not +enter. It would not be according to the Law!" +</p> + +<p> +Thus Katharine went in alone, her heart-beats quickened +by the startled whirr of wings, as the busy swallows quitted +their nest-building in the upper corner of one of the three tall +windows, filled in with lattices of carved and painted marble, +and looking on the garden, now all golden in the rays of the +westering sun. +</p> + +<p> +The ceiling rose to a frescoed dome, with an opening at the +apex. The spice of incense and the perfume of flowers yet +sweetened the still air of this place of memories. It was a +revelation of wonderful art, its dome and walls covered with +ancient frescoes, representing in all the opulent symbolism of +early Christianity, the anchor, the palm, the Dove with the +olive-branch; the Vine, the heavy ear of Wheat, the Fish, the +Chalice encircled with rays of glory,—the Good Shepherd +carrying His lamb. The carved and inwrought and costly +screens of cedar and ebony-wood were all inlaid in mother o' +pearl, silver and ivory. Nothing had been spared in money or +labour, to perfect this—the replica in miniature, of the interior +of a Coptic Christian Church. Save that seemly, exquisite +neatness, and scrupulous cleanliness reigned here instead of +dust and dirt, spider-webs, and bird and bat-droppings; and +the disquieting disorder which too often, in the East, prevails +in such a sacred place.... +</p> + +<p> +Katharine passed over the mosaic floor of red and green +porphyry and grey crystalline syenite, and through the central +opening in the latticed outer screen. The gates stood open, +showing an altar, wrought of black Egyptian basalt, standing +under a baldaquin of inlaid ebony-wood borne on four carved +and inlaid columns, the rich embroidered curtains of the +baldaquin being drawn back. Four man-high candlesticks of +silver, holding great unlighted tapers, were set one at each +corner of the basalt altar. On the altar was an upper covering +of rich silk, embroidered with gold. On this were a censer +of silver open-work, a silver-gilt or golden incense-box, and +two golden candlesticks of magnificent workmanship flanked +the usual copy of the Four Gospels, sealed in a gold and +jewelled case. +</p> + +<p> +Three silver lamps hung before the altar. In the central +lamp alone burned a tiny votive flame. The altar was not +raised above the floor.... Its front was uncovered, and a +small square opening in this resembled a doorway. +</p> + +<p> +In the cavity revealed by the opening stood an alabaster urn +of funerary type and evidently of great antiquity. Katharine, +kneeling on the upper step of the little sanctuary, could, despite +the tempering of the light by the screens and window-lattices, +clearly distinguish below the Greek monogram of the Sacred +Name, in irregular lines of incised Roman capitals,—still +rusty-bright with antique gilding,—the epitaph in faulty Latin: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> + "MARTYR CHRISTI, AMICVSPAVPERVM.<br> +</p> + +<p> +EGO PHILOREMUS FLORENS FABIVS. CLARISSIMVS. PRÆTOR +VECTIGALIVM ÆGVPTORVM. ALEXANDRIA. SEPTIMVS ANNO +AVGVSTI MAXIMIANVS ÆGYPTI IMPERATORIS. QUE VIXIT. +ANN. XL. MENS. V.D. VII. MENSIS OCTOBRIS IDIBUS. +PORTA SPEI INTROGRESSVS SVM." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +A rough translation of which might run: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>The Martyr of Christ, the Friend of the Poor. I, Philoremus +Florens Fabius, of Senatorial Rank, Receiver-General +at Alexandria of the Taxes of Egypt. In the Seventh Year of +the Reign of Cæsar Maximianus, Emperor of Africa. Aged +Forty Years, Five months and Seven Days. On the Ides of +October, Entered in at the Gate of Hope.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0310"></a></p> + +<h3> +X +</h3> + +<p> +Katharine Forbis came out of the chapel, noiselessly shutting +the door behind her, and stood, looking silently down at a man +who knelt there. He raised the head that had been bowed +nearly to the floor, and rose to his feet at the sound of her +footstep, removed his cap, and, standing aside made room +for Miss Forbis to pass him before he re-locked the door. +Then he followed her downstairs, through the passage and +doorway leading to the loggia, and back into the garden they +had left.... +</p> + +<p> +Copts with tied-back sleeves and tucked-up <i>gelabiyehs</i> were +moving among the flower-beds with wheeled tanks and syringes, +setting water running in the channels bordering the paths of +the rose-alleys and shrubberies. Already the perfume exhaled +from wet rich soil and dampened petals freshened the air, +and the sultry heat had abated. Coolness was coming with +the short Eastern twilight, the sky above, and to the west, was +streaked with pomegranate and amber; the elongated shadow +of the house, with its dome and pediment and flat loggiaed +roofs, stretched dusky-blue over the grass to the foot of the +red granite seat under the moss-cup oak. +</p> + +<p> +Katharine's heliotropes were lying on the seat, faded already +but still exhaling sweetness.... As she lifted them from the +hot red stone, the faint south breeze brought to her across the +crowded buildings, and the traffic of Khedive street, the mellow +voice of a muezzin from the minaret of the Mosque Sidi Amr, +crying, as it cries thrice a day, from thousands of minarets +in four world-continents: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Allah is most great! I witness that there is no God but +Allah! And Mohammed is the apostle of Allah! Come to +prayer! Prayer is better than work! Come to salvation! God +is most great! There is no God but Allah!</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When the voice from the mosque, and its myriad human +echoes had vibrated into silence, and the distant noise of +the crowded streets had rolled back into hearing again,—Katharine +said to the man who stood silently beside her, his khaki +cap dangling from his big right hand: +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hazel, you have to forgive in me an indifference that +may have wounded you. But until I found myself in that +chapel, in the presence of the reliquary urn that speaks of his +martyrdom, my ancestor was no more to me than a legendary +old Roman, who lived and died in a remote Past, in a distant +part of the world. But since I said a prayer for him before +that altar, it was—as though he had only died a month or two +ago! ... Now, it crushes me to realise that through more +than sixteen centuries, you and yours have guarded those +ashes in the urn! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"It is true. Since the forefather of Ephraim—you have seen +Ephraim—it was he who attended you here from Montana—brought +back the ring to Alexandria, and the widow opened +the sealed packet—the wishes of the Founder of the House +of Hazaël have scrupulously been carried out. There has +always been a Christian hand to clean the lamp and feed it +with oil daily, and place fresh flowers in the vases on one +day in the year.... Though I have heard that in the days of +the Great Earthquake—when fifty thousand people perished +in the fire or were buried beneath the ruins,—there was no +oil for the famine that then prevailed...." +</p> + +<p> +The deep monotonous voice that spoke in somewhat archaic +English—was and was not the voice of John Hazel.... And +suddenly, with a shudder and a crisping of the nerves as she +looked at and listened to him,—Katharine doubted whether +he realised that he was speaking at all.... +</p> + +<p> +"Chosroes the Persian King," the deep voice went on, "laid +siege to the city,—and the Arab Amru, general of Omar's +Saracen armies,—wrested it from the Persians and held it:—but +before the urn,—hidden in a secret chamber of this dwelling, +the votive lamp burned still! And as a weaker hawk by +suddenness snatches a quail from a hawk that is by far the +stronger—and as the stronger pursues and wrests it from the +first, even so the Greeks took Alexandria by cunning from the +Saracens—and the Saracens won her back again—yet the lamp +went on burning, for the hands that tended it were faithful, +and the children of Hazaël's children's children were sedulous +to do his will. Then in the Fourteenth Century of your +Christian Era came the Crusaders and sacked and spoiled +the city. But the lamp was not quenched even then! ... Nor +when the French seized Alexandria—nor when the British +took and held it—nor when they ceded it to Mehmet Ali—did +the lamp cease to burn.... Jewish oil is very good, and +Jewish hearts remember! The Past is living as the Present in the +mind of the Jew. The negress whom you saw to-day, and her +husband Zaid, are Christians. It is they who are entrusted—like +their forerunners, with the keeping of the place...." +</p> + +<p> +His tone changed. He spoke now in his own clipped and +slangy vernacular. +</p> + +<p> +"By the way—I want to say—with reference to the apology +you were—so—gracious as to offer me, that I think it was +awfully ripping of you! But for a thing I said, a bit back, +that rather rattled you.... <i>I</i> don't apologise at all! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear John Hazel, I haven't even asked you!" In her frank, +womanly, impulsive way, she stretched out a hand and lightly +pressed his. "I have learned from you the priceless worth of +Jewish loyalty and Jewish honour;—and a devotion for which +I don't know even how to begin to express my gratitude and +esteem! Unless in some way like this—" +</p> + +<p> +He started, and his dark hand clenched; for carried away +by an irresistible impulse, Miss Forbis had bent aside and +brushed it lightly with her lips. The instant the impulse had +had its way she realised her mistake.... For the man's great +frame quivered from head to foot as though the ague fit of +fever were upon him.... He mastered the trembling with an +effort that left him rigid; and said,—his face yet stiffly averted +and his black eyes bent upon the ground: +</p> + +<p> +"You asked me a good many months ago,—I don't mistake—for +I remember everything you've ever said to me!—if I +thought that you and I had ever lived on earth before now?" He +went on as she bent her head, sensing the movement rather +than seeing it. "What I said then, I say again! ... I don't +believe either of us is by way of making a second visit to this +little old planet.... But somehow we are influenced by those +who have passed on! Not by the hanky-panky, table-rapping, +automatic pencil-scribbling Spooklets you summon up as with +your thumbs crossed,—points downwards—and your little +fingers jammed against those of your right-and-left hand +neighbours,—you sit round a rubber-covered table in a stuffy, +darkened room.... Spirits of dead poets who've forgotten how +to turn a rhyme!—dead historians who mix up Alexander +the Great with Napoleon the Little—and perpetrate +howlers that would disgrace a Fourth Standard Board School +kid.... Dead Editors who can't spell for peanuts.... And +dead chemists who're knocked out by the formula of H2O!" +</p> + +<p> +He moved behind the seat and sat on the other end of it, +crossing his long legs, slipping his left arm from the sling, and +nursing a big-boned knee in both powerful hands as he went on: +</p> + +<p> +"Put it that those who carried in their blood the germs +that you and I have sprung from—living on the Other Side as +conscious Intelligences,—are permitted by the Divine Power +Who rules things visible and invisible,—to sway us, help us, +prompt our actions, check our impulses and desires—and you +have what I believe, concentrated down to tabloid form! On +the whole, your Catholic faith in Guardian Angels isn't much +unlike it. Only, instead of a bright-winged spirit hovering +somewhere near me, I've felt as though a big old man, dark +and strong, like my father,—was keeping his eye on me.... +And the bias of the lead he gave,—quite definite when you +shut your eyes—and felt back in the dark of your mind along +the spider-thread that led to him,—was definitely for Right +and clearly opposed to Wrong! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Hugging his knee, he looked for the first time directly at +Katharine, since that swift incautious touch of her lips had +levelled the last barrier, and turned his blood to flame. There +was no shamed consciousness in the pure eyes that met his.... +She listened, and his thoughts were mirrored in the swift +changes of her face.... +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't shape out this theory of mine, till I was getting +close on thirty. I'd lived all my life amongst Christians and +Jews who faithfully believed in Nothing!—and what one saw, +and touched and tasted was quite enough for them and for +me! That I ran anything but straight, there's not the least +earthly use denying...." His memory went back to Birdie +Bright, and others of her liberal sisterhood, and a dusky flush +burned under his tawny, sun-baked skin. "But when the +War broke out, and I joined the London Terriers—and saw +men dying in the mud of France and Flanders, as up to date +I'm seeing 'em die in the dirt of Palestine!—the advantage +of living clean and being ready to answer to one's number came +home to me as it never had before.... And Life was sweet, +because it was so damnably uncertain! ... Men dealt Death +every hour to the son of some mother, and no one could have +guessed when it mightn't be his turn! Fellows used to tell me +I killed men as if I liked doing it!—and I'm bound to +admit I did! ... They said I sang as I fought,—in Hebrew +one learned bloke swore it was! Though, as I hardly knew a +word,—it couldn't have been the truth. But this is true, that +in the blinding thick of the scrap I'd feel that big man near +me.... I've seen him—or as good as!—signing and waving +me on.... And when I came back to Hospital, and got that +letter from Jaffa, and took over the Title Deeds, and the +Guardianship of the Ashes; and put on the onyx signet-ring—" +</p> + +<p> +"Then?" Her clear eyes were intent upon him.... +</p> + +<p> +"Then, instead of one old man, big and dark and +brawny, strangely dressed—standing somewhere back of me, +grimly willing me on; I seemed to be—I seem now!—to be +looking back through Time down an interminable line of such +men.... And the biggest of all the big old men is right away +at the end! ... That's all! ..." He put down the knee he +had nursed. +</p> + +<p> +"We Catholics believe that the souls of our dead love us +and pray for us; and by Our Lord's permission—may sometimes +help us in need. Do you think—do not answer unless +you wish!—that he—your Big Old Man—ever suggests +answers to you? ... Or prompts you with knowledge having +reference to bygone matters? ... Forgotten, old, long-buried +things, of which you could not otherwise know? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I think—" He turned his face to Katherine, and it was +no longer stern and grim, but wore the toothy, cheerful grin +of Private Abrahams—"that sometimes that Biggest Old Man +of All is quite close to me. Towering up over my head, and +sticking out all around me! And the thing he wants I've got to +do, and the line he points I follow. And have to until Kingdom +Come, and All the Rest, Amen! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Is he huge and tawny-brown with coarse curls of jet-black +hair—and a great beard—and a fillet of white leather, set with +green stones—round his forehead? ... Has he a face much +like yours, but stern as Destiny? ... Is he wrapped in a great +black mantle with a hood like a Dominican's? Does he wear +immense thigh-boots and carry an iron-shod staff? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The memory of her dream, months back at Kerr's Arbour, +had prompted Katharine's question. John Hazel turned and +looked at her in utter amaze. +</p> + +<p> +"That's how <i>I</i> see him, but how do <i>you</i> come to know? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know,—but I saw a man like that in a dream, +once.... I seemed to be in danger, threatened by evil beings, +and he came to the rescue. That's absolutely all! But, let +me out of the depth of my own ignorance, give you a word of +warning. This strange gift of yours ought to be held +reverently. Kept a profound secret, and never under any +circumstance? whatever submitted to a stranger's control. You +understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"All right! I'll be wide—O!" His black eyes snapped as he +answered, and she went on: +</p> + +<p> +"Now to come back to usual things, look at this flower, and +tell me whether you know it?" She was holding out to him +a withered spike of multifold white blossoms, exhaling a faint +and delicate smell: +</p> + +<p> +"That lily-thing...." He took it carefully in his big +fingers. "All through October it was blooming in Palestine. +Acres and acres of it—all white and yellow—when I left the +Front to come down here. Smells nice!" He sniffed at it +cautiously. "Something between a West End church got up +for a Society wedding,—and the hall of a house blocked up +with florist's boxes—where there's going to be a first-class +funeral.... Presently, when the Spring comes along, there'll +be scarlet tulips, and rose and purple anemones, and pink-and-white +turncap lilies, and flowers I couldn't as much as name +to you—miles and miles of 'em swarming over the plains, and +covering the knees of those old Judæan Hills. The name +of this is asphodel. I forget who told me! Where did you +get it? ... I haven't seen it here! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"It came in the letter you brought me from Palestine...." She +took back the withered flower and slipped it back within +her blouse. His eyes followed it, and she went on: "It is of the +letter I wanted particularly to speak to you. For it tells me +that Julian—my brother—is alive! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"And a prisoner! ..." He spoke with certainty.... +</p> + +<p> +"And a prisoner at a Turkish labour-camp!" +</p> + +<p> +"What are you going to do? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Her bosom heaved in a perplexed sigh. Her broad brows +knitted, and her clear eyes were clouded as she turned them +upon John: +</p> + +<p> +"Move Heaven and earth in any way possible to get my +poor boy out of that earthly hell! Meanwhile one must wait, +I suppose—" +</p> + +<p> +"Does it strike you as a case likely to benefit by waiting?" +</p> + +<p> +"No!—and in spite of that there is nothing to do but wait. +Unless—unless you, who were so prompt to help in those +troubled days at Kerr's Arbour, could suggest any—definite +plan of action to me now? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll do my best, you may be sure!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know you will," she responded gratefully. "But first I +must put you in possession of the facts. Julian—" +</p> + +<p> +"Is at Shechem.... I know it already.... No!" For +her eyes had cried out to him "Edward! ..." "From another +informant than Colonel Yaill. The airman who brought me +here,—an Egyptian reconnaissance-officer I met at +Salonika—happens to be on special duty at the Palestine Front just +now.... Wing-Major Essenian Pasha.... Perhaps you've heard +the name? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She thought, and answered: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I have often seen it mentioned in Despatches, in association +with feats of aviation; bombing-raids carried out single-handed +for the most part; dazzling reconnaissances over strongholds +held by the enemy...." +</p> + +<p> +"That's my man. 'A vivid personality,' my mother'd have +ticketed him.... He was an officer of the Khedive's Artillery +in prehistoric ages—at the time of the Egyptian Army Revolt +under Arabi Pasha. That was about 1881. And he was with +Hicks Pasha's Expedition in 1883—against the Mahdi—which +got wiped out by the Baggara near El Obeyd.... He had a +command under Baker Pasha in 1884, and was with the +Dongola Relief Advance,—and with the Khartoum Column in +1897 ... Emin Pasha was a pal of his—and Gordon thought +no end of him.... When the South African War of 1900 +broke out he'd retired—was living at Ismailia—as a wealthy +Egyptian ex-officer of Engineers.... Took up aviation and +started a Flying Club here in Alexandria about 1911.... +Gave the Club an aërodrome—with hangars and everything!—the +big place you've seen near the Water Works,—and another +at Ismailia where he lives—and another on the Upper +Nile! ... And as he flies like Satan, the Government snapped at +him, when he volunteered for the Royal Flying Corps in +1914...." +</p> + +<p> +"He must be a brave man! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Got nerve enough for anything! ... And to look at him +you'd guess him to be thirty-five as the limit.... Yet there +are old men here in Alexandria who've known him since they +were gay young Johnnies,—and they're ready to bet their wigs +and false teeth that he's always been the same! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Could Essenian Pasha be of use in this particular +emergency? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean your brother's case? ... He had the facts +from me at Salonika.... I said the brother of a friend of +mine—a Chaplain serving with the Expeditionary—was missing +since the storming of Scimitar Hill and supposed to have +been killed.... And I mentioned his being a Catholic priest, +and added his name, and a few particulars. For instance, I'd +heard from the landlady at the <i>Cross Keys</i>, Cauldstanes, +months ago, that Father Forbis was very handsome. 'As like +oor Miss Forbis as gin they were twins'—I can't do her Scotch +for peanuts, 'but blue-eyed and wi' fair hair.'" +</p> + +<p> +"It is true. Except about us being so much alike," she said, +her eyes now openly brimming over. "For Julian has almost +the beauty of an angel, and when he sings, the voice of one. +My father worshipped him.... So did Mark—and I for that +matter! ... So did the priests and the students at the +Seminary, the Prior and the Fathers at the Monastery, and the +officers and men of the Brigade with which he served.... +You should see the letters they wrote me when his death was +reported. And now!—Don't be scared!—I'm not going to +cry." +</p> + +<p> +She brought out a little filmy handkerchief and dried the +tears bravely, and put it away again.... +</p> + +<p> +"Crying isn't of any use. Forget that I was stupid enough +to shed tears!—they are over and done with now. Tell me +how your friend of the R.F.C. could help us in this strait?" +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel hugged his knee again, and said, with knitted +eyebrows: +</p> + +<p> +"You mean, how I think, and he believes, he could help +us,—since he dropped down in our lines the day after Sheria. +He'd been doing a lot of reconnaissance over Hebron and +Shechem, and a shell from a Turkish A.A. had burst near +them—and Captain Usborn of the Engineers, his observer—was +lying over, stone-dead—behind his Lewis gun.... Shot +through the head. See—this is the bullet that did it!" He +slipped two fingers inside a front-pocket of his tunic, drew out +and showed her the dented cone of lead.... +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't that," her fine brows frowned, "rather a gruesome +relic to carry? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you know!—that's as you happen to look at it. I +wasn't out for mascots—the thing came my way, and so I +just froze on.... And"—he dropped the bullet back again, +"then Major Essenian Pasha sent for me, and asked me—I'd +flown with him several times near Salonika—" +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel spoke in a low voice calculated just to reach +her ear: +</p> + +<p> +"He asked me whether I'd replace Usborn on the flight +back to Ismailia,—if permission could be wrested from the +Powers that Be? ... Then he went on to tell me of something +he'd got from an Arab, with reference to a British +prisoner in the labour-camp at Shechem. A Catholic priest, a +tall fair man, astonishingly handsome,—who was suffering +brutal ill-usage at the hands of Hamid Bey...." +</p> + +<p> +"'Hamid Bey!'" She caught at the name. "Colonel Yaill +speaks of that man in my letter.... He is the Turkish +Commandant of the prison-camp at Shechem." ... +</p> + +<p> +"He ought to be Commandant of a Division in Hell, going +by what I've heard of him! By the way, may I ask you not +to mention his name in the hearing of my aunt.... For we +Hazaëls," said John with a bitter sneer—"have a little family +score of our own to settle with His Excellency, Hamid Bey, +Miralai of the Shechem Prison Camp...." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall not forget. I will make a point of being +careful! ... But forgive me if I ask you again, how you think +this officer—Major Essenian Pasha—could help my brother +now? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, for one thing, knowing the lie of the camp pretty +well, the Pasha could carry a passenger.... A man who'd be +prepared for risks—to some place in the neighbourhood of +Shechem. At night, of course I mean,—and drop him there +quietly, and fly back at a stated hour—and pick him up +again! He could even—given a suitable machine, made to +carry more weight and bulk than a mere two-seat scouter—pick +up two men near Shechem—and take them to the British +lines!" +</p> + +<p> +She drank in the words, her fascinated gaze fixed on the +long mahogany-hued hawk-face, which held her with the +unwavering stare of its glowing black eyes. She asked with a +catch in her hurried breath: +</p> + +<p> +"And the—the 'man prepared for risks,' who would undertake +to venture—?" +</p> + +<p> +"Disguised as a Bedawi of a tribe on good terms with +the Turks.... I know enough Arabic to get on with. That +takes the edge off the risk ... lessens the handicap! Call +the chances seventy-five to one against—" said John Hazel +coolly,—"and I suppose you wouldn't be so much over the +estimate! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"But"—she heard her voice coming from a long way off, +out of a breathless stillness: "where is the man who would +undertake so perilous a thing?" <i>Edward!</i> her heart throbbed +in her, <i>he is thinking of Edward!</i> ... +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel answered quietly: +</p> + +<p> +"You see the man here! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Her heart gave a great leap against Yaill's hidden letter, +stopped—and then went on beating again: +</p> + +<p> +"You mean yourself?—and I thought—" +</p> + +<p> +"I told you I estimated the chances against, at seventy-five +to one. So it isn't quite the sort of job you start another +man on! It's the kind of thing you calculate to carry through +on your own hook. The only thing that badgers me is the +chance that your friend the Colonel—" +</p> + +<p> +Their eyes met. He went on, slowly syllabling the words: +</p> + +<p> +"Might be—calculating to play his own game about when I +start mine. And for us to clash—" +</p> + +<p> +The startled intake of her breath did not escape him. She +finished: +</p> + +<p> +"Would be fatal.... Yes—I can understand! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"For us to clash would bally well upset the apple-cart. +You've no idea when Colonel Yaill—" +</p> + +<p> +"He has not named a date! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"But he is going to have a shot at getting your brother out +of that labour hell at Shechem...." He studied her face, +with its clear eyes and sweet determined mouth.... "And he's +told you so in confidence—and you're not going to give away +the show! ... Of course you're right! Still—you'll own—it's +a bit of a handicap.... 'Too many cooks....' But I'm +forewarned, so we'll hope the broth won't be spoiled! Wish +we could send the Colonel the tip—but in that line there's +nothing doing! One thing I'm sure of. He'd know me again +wherever he happened to knock up against me!—and I'd know +him if I saw his skin nailed on a gate!" She shuddered, and +he added, as a short, slight, dark-skinned officer came out at +the lower door opening on the loggia, ushered with scrupulous +respect by the black-robed Ephraim. "Now,—may I present +to you Major Essenian Pasha? ... He has something to say +to me on the quiet about this—projected excursion, or he +wouldn't have dropped in here! ... Lives at Ismailia, as I've +said.... And before him, better drop no hint of knowing +what I've told you.... I'll explain later, why I think it +best...." +</p> + +<p> +She said, proudly rearing her beautiful head on her long +white throat: +</p> + +<p> +"You need fear no incautious betrayal of your confidence +from me...." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0311"></a></p> + +<h3> +XI +</h3> + +<p> +John Hazel got up from the granite seat, saluted Miss Forbis, +and moved with long strides across the lawn, to meet the +visitor.... +</p> + +<p> +With strained interest Katharine watched the meeting. +The Egyptian Flying Officer, a dark-skinned, bright-eyed, wiry +man, whose short and slight, but muscular and active figure +was set off by his well-cut uniform of khaki cotton-drill,—said +something in a rapid undertone as he met Hazel. Hazel +replied. Their colloquy lasted barely a minute, but to +Katharine, vibrating with the sense of great issues, it seemed as +though the few words spoken by the Egyptian had settled the +question at stake. +</p> + +<p> +Then both men crossed the greensward together, the top of +the Pasha's sun-helmet barely on a level with Hazel's middle +arm. Hazel presented Major Essenian Pasha. The Egyptian +bowed like a Frenchman, from the hips, and was profoundly +honoured to meet Miss Forbis, of whom he had heard so much +from Lady Donnithorpe. And Katharine, responding with her +high-bred grace and composure to his frothy compliments, +found herself at once repelled and attracted by something in +this man. +</p> + +<p> +Small, alert, dark-hued as bronze, with the long, narrow eyes, +the wide brows and curving profile of the statues of the +Egyptian god Horus, Essenian Pasha might have been barely +past thirty, and certainly conveyed the idea of mental vigour, +abounding health and restless vitality. +</p> + +<p> +"I had the pleasure some years back," he said to Katharine, +"of meeting in Cairo an English officer who may be +your relation! Captain Mark Forbis, of a regiment belonging +to the Brigade of Guards.... He was for a short period, +A.D.C. to the Commander-in-Chief at Ismailia. Captain Forbis +was exceedingly handsome. May I say, although he was a +blond man, and blue-eyed, that I detect a remarkable +resemblance to him in you...." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine answered as the speaker waited, with his gleaming +eyes upon her: +</p> + +<p> +"My brother Mark held a Captaincy in a well-known +Guards Regiment, the 'Cut Red Feathers.' He was killed at +Mons in August, 1914." She added, of purpose, "My younger +brother Julian is a Catholic monk of the Order of S. Gerard. +He served as a Chaplain with our troops at Suvla and +Gallipoli...." +</p> + +<p> +The Pasha's beryl eyes suddenly lightened. He said in his +most suave and dulcet tones, his slender fingers smoothing his +clipped black moustache: +</p> + +<p> +"Your brother has then undergone some terrible experiences. +May I venture to ask if he was present at the assault on +Scimitar Hill?" +</p> + +<p> +"He was with his brigade when the 29th Division fought +their way up through the scrub-fire." Too late she caught a +warning glance from John Hazel's sombre eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"He was not wounded? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I—hope not! I—I believe not...." +</p> + +<p> +"It must have been a great joy to welcome him back again!" +</p> + +<p> +"It would be, if—" +</p> + +<p> +"If I had!" the sentence would have ended.... But she +broke off, her cheeks and the rims of her delicate ears and her +fair temples crimson. Yet, after all, why should she +prevaricate? What matter if the man did know, thought candid +Katharine? Was he not going to help Julian—at least, +according to John Hazel? Why, then, had John enjoined reserve +and secrecy? ... +</p> + +<p> +Her quick flush faded, but it had not escaped the observation +of Essenian. The Horus smile on his dark, smooth lips was +subtler and more insinuating, and the gleam between the lids +of his long-lashed eyes more languid than before, as he said: +</p> + +<p> +"I understand. Though the Allied Forces have been +withdrawn—and the Campaign of the Dardanelles is relegated +to the pigeon-hole where Whitehall keeps its failures—your +brother has not been lucky enough yet to obtain leave? ..." +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to be probing, with his bland, persistent questions +and veiled looks of sympathy, in Katharine's aching heart. +She gave a little, irresistible shudder. He saw it, and +continued in his smooth, caressing voice: +</p> + +<p> +"Or possibly the duties of a priest detain Mr. Forbis +elsewhere? We Easterns have a proverb—it may be new to you:" +The insinuating tones were even more gentle and velvety: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>For a plain man to become a priest is robbery of one +woman. For one handsome man who becomes a priest a +hundred women are robbed!</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The tone, rather than the words, conveyed something +indescribably offensive. John Hazel started, palpably, and his +scowl was thunderous. Wrath surged in Katharine's blood and +she tingled to the finger-tips with a momentary, almost +ungovernable desire to strike this man's smooth face. Scandalised +at herself, furious with him, she commanded herself sufficiently +to say in cool unruffled tones, rising from her seat: +</p> + +<p> +"Charmed to have met you, Major Essenian Pasha.... +Mr. Hazel, ever so many thanks for showing us your beautiful +house. Now I must go and say good-bye to your aunt, and +collect my friend, Lady Wastwood, for we are due at the +Hospital. No!—please don't come with me—though you +might 'phone for the car! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Mine is at the door.... I should be honoured and charmed +if Miss Forbis and her friend would use it!" came in the soft +ingratiating tones of Essenian.... +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel, already striding towards the house, halted and +wheeled, looking at Katharine. Something in the expression +of his black eyes conveyed the warning: It would be wiser not +to snub this man! And, with revolt and distaste thrilling in +her blood, Miss Forbis forced herself to smile and be gracious, +and accept the officious offer of the Pasha's automobile. +</p> + +<p> +"One moment, my King of Damascus, while I instruct my +chauffeur where to take the ladies, and call for me later.... +'The Palace, Montana,' is it not?" Essenian said to John Hazel, +glancing at a platinum watch in a band of grey gazelle-leather, +strapped on his slender dusky wrist. +</p> + +<p> +If a second rapid exchange of glances between Katharine +and Hazel did not escape his observation, he gave no sign. He +smiled, and went back across the lawn to the house, +a small, slender figure, moving with short rapid steps, almost +mincingly, and—for the Pasha's presence oppressed her +physically—Katharine could breathe freely again.... +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Forbis!" John Hazel spoke quickly and in an undertone: +"It's for your own sake I presumed to dictate to you just +now in the matter of accepting the Pasha's civility. You see, +when you let out your brother was a priest, you put Major +Essenian wise to the prisoner's identity. Can't very well snub +a man when he's going to risk his life for you! And the +thing's fairly settled. We leave Ismailia Air Station for +Shechem at the latest," he glanced at his wrist-watch, "by three +to-morrow morning!" +</p> + +<p> +"To-morrow morning! ..." She caught her breath, and he +could see her heart's tumultuous throbbing under the thin +white silk of her dainty blouse. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh dear John Hazel!" she said with passionate fervour, +her wide eyes, their irises mere tawny circles round the dilated +pupils,—fixed upon his swarthy, excited face.... "May God +protect and keep you!—and help you to save him!—my dear +old Julian—my poor boy! ... Tell me how long I have to +wait before I may hope to hear from you! How and when +shall I hear? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"If things go wrong I can't answer for your hearing...." +John grinned with the grin of Private Abrahams.... "Unless +they let me come back from the Other Side to report! +But if things go right,—and we get your brother out of +that"—he did not finish the sentence, "I pledge you my word you shall +hear from me within twenty-four hours of the snatch!" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you. And—Mr. Hazel," she was holding out two +letters, one inscribed only with a name, the other addressed +twice over—once in a large, ornate, feminine hand, to +"Lieut. Col. Edward Yaill, Kerr's Arbour, Cauldstanes, Tweedshire, +N.B." and again in old Whishaw's staggering round-hand to +"Care of Miss Forbis, No. —th Unit V.A.D. Royal Red Cross +Society, Care of the Commandant Convalescent Hospital, +Montana, Alexandria, Egypt." +</p> + +<p> +"Were these a charge for me?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I am going to ask you to take them with you, in +case you should again meet Colonel Yaill. One is my answer +to the letter you brought. There is a line in it for Julian.... +You see," she turned the envelope, "I have sealed it with my +onyx ring. That is Julian's really—and a day may come when +I shall be able to hand it over to him! The other came +yesterday with my mail from Home.... I do not know, but I +imagine—it is from the lady who—is Colonel Yaill's wife...." +</p> + +<p> +"Righto! I'll take 'em both along. If I can't get 'em where +they ought to go, you shall have 'em back anyway." +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks!" She drew a breath of sheer relief as he took the +letters from her. Ah! my sweet-hearted Katharine. How +womanfully you had striven with the urgent desire to tear that +buff-coloured envelope, leprous with stamps of different hues +and scored with many postmarks, into a thousand infinitesimal +pieces; and how thoroughly, as things turned out,—you would +have been punished if you had.... +</p> + +<p> +"Does it strike you as it does me," John glanced at the +concave impression of her ring, "that just about here is +where—" He stooped his tall head nearer and dropped his voice to a +tone even lower, "that just here's where the signet both of us +wear may be useful! Don't take any screed you get from me +as Gospel truth—because it happens to be signed 'John Hazel'! +Even suppose you got a line from me, saying, '<i>Come at once!</i>'—don't +come unless the paper bears an impression of this...." He +thrust forward the big left hand that wore the onyx head +of Hercules. "Stuck underneath the signature, in sealing-wax, +or clay, or mud—or bread, even.... And test it by the +ring you wear, before you accept it.... And seal your +communications to me in the same old way. Do you tumble? I +mean—do you say 'Done!'" +</p> + +<p> +"Done! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"And—you trust me? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I trust you absolutely! Even though you sent for me, not +saying why I was needed, the signet-seal would be enough—I'd +say 'Julian,' and come! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Then that's arranged! ..." He saw in the sudden change +of her face that something menaced. Even before he turned his +head the smooth voice of Essenian said, a long way below the +level of his own great shoulder: +</p> + +<p> +"I have given the necessary instructions to my chauffeur. +He will take the ladies out to the Hospital, Montana, and +come back to pick us up, at the 'Aviators' Club.' For, +remember, you are engaged to dine with me there, my King of +Damascus, and sleep at my house at Ismailia to-night.... I +have obtained you the necessary leave from your C.M.O. at +the General Hospital." He turned to Katharine, and the beryl +eyes and the dazzling teeth gleamed together in the bronze face +as he resumed: "Dear lady, do you wonder why I bestow that +title on our friend? ... Because it belongs to him. He +descends—although he may not know it—in an unbroken line +from Hazaël, King of Damascus—the son and successor of the +Scriptural Ben-Hadad—against whom Shalmaneser II. of Assyria +waged war, in the year 842, before your Christian Era. +In one of the cabinets in that room"—he pointed to the +windows looking on the loggia—"is a clay tablet inscribed in +Semitic—Assyrian-Cuneiform,—an heirloom preserved in your +family," he looked at John, "for many centuries." +</p> + +<p> +"How tremendously interesting!" Katharine commented, +doing her best to be pleasant with this man, for whom she +had conceived, what she was wont to term, one of her loathings: +"My brother Julian used at one time—I suppose he has +forgotten it all now!—to dabble a good deal in Semitic—tell +me if I pronounce the rest of it badly!—Assyrian-Cuneiform. +He was secretary and amanuensis to the Father General of his +Order, Abbot Lansquier, of whom perhaps you may have +heard." +</p> + +<p> +"He is a great man. I have heard of him," said the Egyptian, +quickly. "He would be interested in this tablet. It is," +he went on addressing John, "a letter from Achab, King of +Israel, in answer to some communication from Hazaël.... +Your late grandfather and I were much interested in deciphering +it at one time. We translated it into Hebrew, French, +and English—and though I might miss out a word occasionally, +I could repeat the substance of the letter by heart." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And he began to repeat in his smooth voice: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Now let us measure our strength together against this +scornful King of Assyria, fat with the conquest of Tabul, and +Milid, where are the silver, salt and alabaster mines. I, the +King of Israel, with two thousand chariots and ten thousand +soldiers, and thou the King of Damascus with seven hundred +horsemen and twenty thousand unmounted men. And thou +and I will be brothers, and thy son shall take to him my +daughter; and the dowry I will give him with the Princess shall be +twenty talents of gold, twenty-three thousand talents of silver, +five thousand talents of copper, with coloured raiment from +Egypt, mantles adorned with embroidery, a jewelled diadem, +an ivory couch, a parasol of ivory studded with jewels, all +which shall be delivered thee in Damascus, in the chambers +of thy palace there. This is the word of Achab, King of +Israel, to Hazaël the King of Damascus.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +As the Egyptian repeated the final words, looking at John +Hazel, Katharine, whose eyes had followed Essenian's, recognised +with a thrill of alarm, the now familiar transformation +of the swarthy face with the great hooked nose, into a mask +of stone. The light died out of the man's black eyes. He +seemed to be mentally searching. She knew that he groped +for the end of the spider-thread that linked for him the Present +and the Past. +</p> + +<p> +Essenian, in the same instant, saw the change and stopped +in sheer amazement. He was about to speak, when the +monotonous voice came from the mouth of the mask: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>So it was, and there was a compact, and peace between +Hazaël and Achab; and Istâr the Princess of the House of +Israel, was wedded to the son of King Hazaël. And Achab +and Hazaël went forth together to meet the King of Assyria; +and he fought with them and defeated them, and destroyed +with weapons sixteen thousand soldiers, and took eleven hundred +chariots, and four hundred and thirty horses, and all the +treasures of their camps. And he drove King Hazaël from the +Fortress of Mount Saniru, and laid waste towns and villages, +and hemmed him in Damascus, even the city of his glory. Its +gardens of trees he cut down. And he slew the King with a +stone from a war-engine, even in the Court of his Palace; and +his son reigned instead of him, and paid tribute to the King of +Assyria. But the Queen said, 'Must I bear a son to the son of +him who has been worsted in battle?' And she ceased not—day +nor night to taunt—him, like Lilith—who—</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The voice faltered, broke, and stopped short. And Katharine, +noting Essenian's rapid breathing, guessed, despite his +well-maintained composure, that curiosity and interest raged +in him. +</p> + +<p> +"Is there no more, my King?" he almost whispered. "Think +again.... There must be more to tell!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>And the Queen, Istâr, said: 'Woe is me! For the star +of this house is declining, and the days of its glory are done! +I cannot go back to my father, for Achab has turned himself to +idols. But if this that I bear in my womb be a son, he shall +worship the God of Israel in His Temple at Jerusalem.... +For there is none other than Him!</i>'" The dragging voice +stopped. +</p> + +<p> +"And then ... what more? There must be more!" urged +the Egyptian, avidly. +</p> + +<p> +"I—I—cannot! ..." +</p> + +<p> +John Hazel stared glassily at Essenian, and as Essenian +looked back at him with long gleaming eyes of beryl, he +lifted a hand to his forehead as though bewildered, and a dew +of fine globules of perspiration broke out and glittered upon +his temples, and cheeks, and jaws.... And, then, stirred +to solicitude, warned by some inward voice to interpose, +Katharine stretched forth her own hand and touched +John Hazel lightly on the hand he lifted, saying in her clear, +full, womanly tones: +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hazel!" +</p> + +<p> +"You ... you wanted me?" +</p> + +<p> +He asked the question dully, but in his natural, ordinary +voice. His black eyes lost their glassy stare as they +encountered Katharine's.... And holding them with her own +bright, steady gaze, she spoke to him again. +</p> + +<p> +"It is getting late. Will you please find your aunt and the +Commandant and tell Lady Wastwood that a car is waiting; +and that we have only sufficient time to get back to the +Hospital by seven!" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly. In half a jiff! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He shook himself, and moved off with his lengthy strides +in the direction of the shrubbery. And the beryl eyes of +Essenian were on Katharine, scintillating evilly, and the +smooth lips were stretched in that inscrutable, hateful +smile.... +</p> + +<p> +"A very remarkable type of man—our good friend Hazel!" +Essenian said, still smiling; and Katharine returned in cool, +unruffled tones: +</p> + +<p> +"Remarkable, and interesting." +</p> + +<p> +"You find that? ..." What hinted meaning lurked behind +that smooth interrogation? "Physically and <i>psychologically</i>, I +myself find him quite uniquely interesting. His is a curiously +dual personality; does it not strike you as being so? What +wonderful powers of clairvoyance are his! What a link +between the Seen and the Unseen, such powers might forge, for +one who could employ them well! A Seeker after Wisdom, +such as I am myself...." He drew out a fine white linen +handkerchief exhaling some delicate essence, and passed it over +his face, and dried the palms of his dark hands. The hands +shook; their owner was the prey of some overmastering +agitation as he went on: "But why should I speak ambiguously to +one who understands? I saw him pass into the trance, from +which you roused him by the exercise of your will.... You +who can control—naturally you desire to keep to yourself, +such a gift as Mr. Hazel's—a source of knowledge beyond all +estimate...." +</p> + +<p> +He went on, with increasing earnestness and persistence, +as, conscious of increasing dislike and resentment, Katharine +looked at him without making any reply: +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Forbis, you may not know that I am rich.... +Whether you are so yourself or not, ladies appreciate exquisite +jewels, and I own many that are unusually fine.... Gratify +me in connection with my desire to see your friend in a similar +condition to—that I just now had the privilege of witnessing! +Permit me to question him—and name your price! ... Do +not be offended, I entreat!" the Egyptian pursued, warned by +the flush on Katharine's cheek, and the frown that gathered +on her forehead—"There may be something in which I can +serve you.... If so, command me.... I ask no more! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He changed his tone as John Hazel returned, accompanying +Lady Wastwood and Mrs. Hazaël. +</p> + +<p> +"I mentioned to you a little previously that—several years +ago,—your late brother, Captain Forbis, honoured my poor +house at Ismailia by being my guest. May I hope that you +will similarly honour me? The gardens are really worth +seeing.... Though the house, naturally, does not boast the +interest attaching to this...." +</p> + +<p> +"You are most kind, Essenian Pasha," Katharine returned, +somewhat hesitatingly, conscious on the one hand of the +insolence of the native who had presumed to offer her a bribe, +painfully sensible, on the other, of the fact that Julian's +freedom possibly depended on the co-operation of this +unspeakably objectionable man. "But the time at my own disposal +being so exceedingly limited, it would be impossible to give +you a date." +</p> + +<p> +"My profound regrets!" He bowed from the hips with his +acquired French elegance. "Though I hope that a day will +come yet when you will consent to honour me! Most of +the beautiful English ladies who have visited our country +have praised the house and garden.... Must the dwelling be +darkened, and the trees about it wither, because denied the +presence of the most beautiful of all! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The flourishing Eastern hyperbole was delivered with +Essenian's velvety softness, and accompanied by a display of +glittering eyes and teeth. And Katharine, stifling her acute +dislike as might best be managed, thanked the Egyptian in +some formal phrase of polite regret and gratitude—cut short +as John Hazel returned accompanying Trixie and +Mrs. Hazaël, by the less formal utterances of leave-taking.... +Mrs. Hazaël, in taking Katharine's offered hand, made the +slight curtsey appropriate to Royalty. And Katharine, as she +bent to kiss the little lady's cheek, was conscious that Essenian's +strange eyes leapt out of their drowsy languor into glittering +curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +She had longed to give John Hazel another hearty hand-grip, +to have whispered another parting word,—but the Egyptian +intervened.... +</p> + +<p> +It was Essenian who conducted Miss Forbis to the car, +a palatial Daimler of huge size, enamelled black and violent +red; overloaded with solid silver and ivory fittings; lined with +primrose satin brocade upholstery, and driven by a handsome +Italian chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +"How gorgeous! And in what native taste!" cried Trixie, +delightedly as the springy yellow cushions received her. "And +does it belong to the Egyptian Flying Officer—the little, +purring Pasha with the extraordinary eyes? I shall call him 'The +Basilisk' because he reminds me of one!" +</p> + +<p> +They had quitted the dust and racket of the city, and as +they passed through the Rosetta Gate, and out upon the +Aboukir Road, and were in the quiet suburbs on the east, +near the European cemetery, Katharine rose and looked back, +and gave a cry of admiration. For Alexandria,—with her +domes and minarets and huge square blocks of modern +buildings,—bathed in the rose and amber light of an Egyptian +sunset—was beautiful with something of the beauty of the +Past.... +</p> + +<p> +"That is something to have seen," Katharine said with a +sigh, as she dropped back on the springy primrose cushions. +"Thank you, dear Lady Wastwood, for a wonderful afternoon! +You have been happy, haven't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Quite amused," Lady Wastwood answered. "And if I +haven't been quite happy, well, then neither have you!" +</p> + +<p> +She moved nearer to Katharine, and took her hand, and +patted it, affection mingling with solicitude in the green eyes +that questioned the face of her friend. +</p> + +<p> +"I won't make pretences to you, dear Commandant," Katharine +returned after an instant's hesitation. "I have cause +to be happy, and cause to be anxious. And the anxiety weighs +so heavily that Happiness kicks the beam." +</p> + +<p> +Trixie patted her hand again, and said as the car bowled +along the Aboukir Canal Road with its charming country +villas shaded by palms and casuarina-groves: +</p> + +<p> +"If I can help in any way, you promise—you will let me? +Won't treat me like a stranger—will give me the chance I'd +like.... To show you that I don't forget—what I can never +speak of, but what I live through in my dreams—nearly every +night! Promise! For I am a lonely woman, Kathy dear, +though I keep my end up and don't go round howling for +sympathy!—and I am truly fond of you." +</p> + +<p> +"I promise, dear friend. And I would tell you now what +the trouble is—because I trust you absolutely—where I +myself am concerned! But I am not free to give away the +confidence of another." +</p> + +<p> +"Meaning the Jew Colossus with the great hooked nose," +said Trixie mentally. And Katharine went on: +</p> + +<p> +"You're looking better. You've not had that dream of late. +Probably because it has done you good—sleeping in the +open." +</p> + +<p> +For Lady Wastwood and Miss Forbis shared one of the +roomy sleeping-tents in the grounds of the Palace, distinguished +from other similar groups as the "V.A.D's Annexe." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall hate it when the rains come and drive us back +indoors," Trixie responded. "And to-night at any rate I +shan't dream of shipwreck,—I shall dream of The Basilisk! +That man gives me cold shivers all down my spinal column. +Why, I couldn't exactly explain. Some people have a horror +of cats—the gentlest and most faithful pets to those who love +and understand them. Others simply abominate dogs—I'm not +keen on them myself! But my feeling for the little Pasha isn't +one of those mild antipathies. Shall I tell you what those +basilisk eyes of his keep saying to me? No!—it's all +right—the chauffeur can't hear! They say: 'My dear lady—I'm a +wealthy Gyppo Notability, esteemed an Ace of Aces in the +hand of the R.F.C.... I've a chestful of decorations—all +earned brilliantly. <i>But my Mother was a Tigress—and my +Father was a Snake!</i> ...'" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Est ce que les dames feront un petit tour en campagne, +ou retourneront elles directement à l' Hôpital?</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"Will the ladies take a little tour in the country, or return +directly to the Hospital?" +</p> + +<p> +The question, asked in French through the speaking-tube +fixed above the seat in front of them, made Katharine and +the Commandant start. Briefly informed of the ladies' desire, +the Italian turned the car upon the sanded road curving past +the Khedivial Palace; and after half-a-dozen miles, swept round +in a northward curve and presently was climbing a gradient +between the orchards of peach and apricot trees, the +fig-groves and pine-woods and gardens of beautiful Montana, +gleaming like a fairy palace of rosy mother o' pearl in the +fires of the sunset; on the square green promontory at whose +shoreward base break the pearl and sapphire surges of the +Western Sea. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0312"></a></p> + +<h3> +XII +</h3> + +<p> +"The name of Forbes is common enough in your North +Britain—the name of Forbis sufficiently unusual, to put me +on the scent. And—one looks for the lady in these affairs!" +purred Essenian, as he left the house in the Rue el Farad +with John Hazel—profiting by the coolness of the evening to +walk to the Aviators' Club. "Let me add, your taste is +unimpeachable. I have never seen a handsomer Englishwoman +than your friend." +</p> + +<p> +Now he pursued, in his smooth, book-learned English, +drawing out a platinum cigarette case—opening and offering +it to John: +</p> + +<p> +"Take one. The Macedonian leaf failed last year, but not +so the crops of Shiraz, grown and ripened side by side with +the purple-petalled afiyûn. You perhaps may not know this +Club..." he added a little later, as they entered the wide, +cool vestibule of a handsome granite building in Sherif Pasha +Street. "No! Well, I anticipated you would not! ... Originally +an association of mere amateur civilians, meeting +periodically to exchange experiences—the Club has become,—since +Government took over our aërodrome and hangars—you know +them!—near the Water Works due east of Aboukir Road—a +resort for Flying Officers of all grades and branches of the +Service.... Since then, if much more social—we are a damnable +lot more noisy and a good deal less exclusive.... Still, +our Club remains distinguished by its European comfort, and +its excellent <i>cuisine</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +The dining-room into which a demure Levantine waiter +ushered Essenian and his companion, was perfectly ventilated +by electric appliances, and open along the whole of one side +towards a sanded court containing a fountain, a great many +long cane-chairs and several palms; and of the many small +tables dotted over the spotless matting covering the floor, +the majority were empty, though apparently reserved for +diners. A few were already occupied. With the men who +sat at them,—officers of the R.F.C. from the land-stations in +the neighbourhood, and others of the R.N.A.S. from the +sea-plane-stations at Ramleh, Port Said, Wara in the Delta,—and +the seaplane-carrier anchored at the moment in the Port, +Essenian exchanged nods and salutes of smiling courtesy. +Several of the younger men stood up to greet him—though +none approached the table where the Egyptian airman sat +with a long-legged private of Territorials, wearing the badges +of a London Regiment.... +</p> + +<p> +The temperature of the room approximated to that of +London in July, thanks to the incessant movement of the +wooden ceiling-fans. The dinner began excellently, with <i>hors +d'œuvres</i> of giant prawns, miniature cucumbers and fresh +olives, and a shell-fish of delicate flavour, served on +miniature mountains of finely pounded ice. A Comet hock +accompanied, and a clear soup was succeeded by a <i>turban de turbot</i>, +perfectly cooked, and a curry of tiny whitebait-like fish from +the Canal. +</p> + +<p> +Roast lamb and duckling followed, both of remarkable +succulence, and John Hazel, who had lived for weeks on +bully-beef and onions, tough Palestine goat-mutton, and +slabby rice-pudding speckled with the bodies of defunct +flies,—having—in the unavoidable absence of these—cheerfully +battened on iron rations, the bottom of a tin of jam and a +handful of sticky dates,—yielded now to the immemorial allure of +the Egyptian fleshpots; and attacking dish after dish with the +ferocity of an ogre, slaked his huge thirst with repeated +draughts of the well-iced champagne supplied.... +</p> + +<p> +The magnificent red roses massed in a crystal and silver +rose-bowl in the centre of their table, and the gratification of +satisfying the hunger that raged in him, prevented him from +grasping a fact to which he awakened later,—when quail from +Upper Egypt with egg-plant and quince salad, and snipe from +the marshes of the Delta succeeded the lamb and duckling, +and he paused to gather breath.... For Essenian sat smiling +on the other side of the roses, before unused cutlery and silver, +and an array of wine-glasses innocent of wine. +</p> + +<p> +"My hat! Pasha, what must you think of me?" John began, +nearly dropping the fork and spoon that were lifting a +plump quail from the offered dish: "This ain't your Ramadan, +is it, by any chance? No, of course, that comes in May. +Has anything put you off your feed, or don't you ever eat?" +</p> + +<p> +"Have no anxiety on my account, my King of Damascus," +returned Essenian, narrowing his long eyes as he smiled upon +his guest: "I am well, and that I continue so, I owe to +precautions which may seem absurd to you. But every advantage +we enjoy in this world has to be purchased—and I purchase +vigour and health at the expense of my appetite.... +Pray do justice to the quail, while I follow my usual rule." +</p> + +<p> +He clapped his hands, and an Egyptian body-servant, who +had stood immovable in the background, holding a silver tray, +moved noiselessly forwards and set before Essenian a goblet of +crystal and a long-necked crystal beaker;—together with some +small covered dishes of delicate porcelain, revealing when the +covers were lifted—nothing beyond a few fresh dates, a small, +snow-white cream cheese, and a delicate napkin, enveloping +a round cake of bread. +</p> + +<p> +"Distilled water and freshly-gathered fruit, with bread of +the purest sesame-flour.... Of these, in limited quantity, +I may eat twice in the day. Preferably, at dawn, and after +sunset; though by religion I am no more Moslem than I am +a Christian," said Essenian, daintily filling the crystal goblet, +"or a Parsi, or a Hindu, or a Buddhist, or a Jew...." He +broke bread.... "What is this? ..." He turned with feline +suddenness on the dusky servant who stood behind him, and +said harshly, speaking in Arabic: "There is error! The sesame +has been mingled with wheaten-flour. It is impure.... I +cannot eat of it! ... Take it away at once...." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>La yâ Sidi—Allâh yisallimak!</i>" the man protested, paling +under his chocolate skin. +</p> + +<p> +But Essenian had sniffed the bread-cake remotely and delicately +as a fox might sniff at some slily-poisoned titbit, and +now replaced it on the dish, and thrust the dish away.... +</p> + +<p> +"Carry it to the cook and inquire into the matter!" He +said to Hazel, as the servant removed the dish and vanished +straightway: "Do not be disturbed on my account! To one +so well schooled in abstinence as myself, it would matter little +if the meal consisted only of dates. Mixed in a draught of +this pure water, a few drops of an excellent tonic (to the +virtues of which I am a living testimony) will more than +supply the deficiency.... Meanwhile, do not neglect our <i>chef's</i> +excellent <i>omelette soufflée</i>. Or the <i>bombe glace</i> of +custard-apple on which he prides himself.... And then—since I +know better than to offer cheese to a man who has been 'fed +to the wide,' with that as an article of Army rations,—I will +join you in a cup of Arabian coffee, black, thick and bitter as +the nectar of Mocha should be." +</p> + +<p> +He took from a front pocket of his Service jacket a little +case of shining yellow metal, and opening it, showed three +slender crystal vials, reposing in a velvet bed. He unstoppered +one,—tinging the air laden with the savour of meats and +viands—with a whiff of something delicately pungent—rather +suggesting the fragrance of lemon-plant to John.... Then +with dainty, scrupulous care, he dropped seven drops into the +goblet of distilled water; re-stoppered the vial, wiped the lip +with a green leaf, returned the vial to its bed, and pocketed +the case,—watching through narrowed eyelids the turbid +changes taking place in the clear liquid, until as it deepened +from cloudy red to clearest ruby, he glanced across the +rose-bowl to encounter Hazel's eyes.... +</p> + +<p> +"A pretty colour, is it not?" he said critically, holding up +the goblet. "Now I will drink, and you must join me. I hope +you do not find fault with our Club champagne? ..." He +continued, signing to the attendant, who stood ready with +another napkined bottle: "That you have been drinking came +from von Falkenhayn's Headquarters in Transylvania,—when +we bombed him out of them in the summer of 1916.... That +defeat of the Vulkan Pass must have been a crushing blow to +the Emperor's magnificent favourite,—coming after the +tremendous failure of the Second Attack on Verdun." +</p> + +<p> +To the rout of the Vulkan Pass, John knew, Essenian's +prowess had contributed. When Roumania had joined the +Allies in the August of 1916, and massed her Army on the +Carpathian frontier for an invasion of Transylvania, +Essenian had acted as Wing Commander of a squadron of +Allied Aircraft, acting in concert with a Roumanian Army +Corps,—and for his services had been distinguished with the +Order of the Roumanian Crown. At Salonika, later on,—for +the first time meeting Essenian—John had encountered the +French observer who had accompanied the Egyptian's flights. +</p> + +<p> +"They are greatly strong in artillery, the Austro-Germans +of von Falkenhayn! ... We are not so.... The Roumanians +are only strong in men. As we march on they retreat,—for two +weeks it is a triumph.... Then their von Falkenhayn gives +the signal, and their guns begin to play on us.... I who +speak have been under fire!—was I not in the advanced +trenches at Verdun with my storming-party, before I joined the +<i>Service Aëronautique</i>! But this was super-gunnery—a torrent +of steel and fire and German High Explosive, sweeping—as +with the Devil's broom—the mountain-passes clear! All +through October continues the fight—every day we are flying! +In fog, and rain—zut! rain of shrapnel and fog of poison-gas—we +never cease to fly.... When we are not observing—we +are bombing! Or making more rain on the Austro-German +Divisions—a rain of steel <i>flechettes</i>! Me, I am no +coward! but whenever M. Essenian Pasha says to me: 'Prunier, this, +day or night, my friend, you accompany me in my <i>avion</i>....' I +say to myself as we used to say with my storming-party +at Verdun: '<i>Ça va barda, mon ami! Prepare ton +matricule!</i>' For M. le Major will fly with a broken wing, or +a bullet through the petrol-tank, and all the juice +running! ... <i>C'est un as!</i> ... He puts in me the fear of +God—that man who has none at all! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Essenian ate of dates and cheese sparingly, +sipped his tonic drink appreciatively, and waited for the man +on the other side of the crimson roses to talk. +</p> + +<p> +"Here is the port." He added as the servant filled Hazel's +glass from a cobwebbed and ancient-looking bottle: "Don't +drink yet. Let us follow the ancient fashion, the first glass +of the bottle to a lady's health! ... I propose: 'The beautiful +Miss Forbis! ...' What, do you break the glass?"—for John +had nodded, and his huge brown fingers had snapped the stem +of the wineglass like a match-stick as they set it, emptied, +down. "Take a fresh one,—finish the bottle,—and meanwhile +try those cheroots.... Or the others—excellent Havanas, +though I smoke cigarettes for my own part, or else the +water-pipe—our Egyptian <i>ârgili</i>. Ah, here is the coffee," said +Essenian pleasantly, as the Egyptian servant previously +dismissed, re-appeared at his elbow with another tray. "Black +as the eyes and perfumed as the breath of the brides who lead +the sons of Islam into the green pavilions of Paradise. +Though," he smiled amiably at John over the cigarette he was +lighting, as the attendant removed the empty bottle and placed +a flask of Benedictine with the coffee beside the guest—"your +personal predilection leans to something statelier and less +seductive than the gazelle-eyed, moon-faced <i>haura</i> of the glorious +Koran.... What says our Saadi: 'The tresses of Beautiful +Ones are chains upon the Feet of Prudence, and a snare upon +the wings of the Bird of Wisdom..... We Easterners hardly +credit the existence of Friendship between those of opposite +sexes," pursued the Egyptian, letting the sentences trickle over +his smooth lips as though they had been honey, "and yet, +subsisting between an intellectual man, and a mentally-superior +woman, it may be productive of more lasting gratification than +the merely sensual tie." +</p> + +<p> +"What are you getting at, Essenian Pasha?" asked his +guest, bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +Essenian had paused as though inviting a reply, and this +was the response forthcoming. A faint line showed between +his smooth black eyebrows and his tones were less sweet and +liquid as he resumed: +</p> + +<p> +"But this,—that such a union between man and woman +might lead to great discoveries—in those psychological regions +which we are beginning to explore. Two such adventurers, +mutually keen, mutually gifted with spiritual perception, +bound by sympathies unblunted by the earthly passion of love, +might pass back along paths long buried beneath the <i>débris</i> +of extinct civilisations—trodden by the footsteps of generations +who went before them, to the furthermost limits of the +Mysterious Unknown." +</p> + +<p> +He waited. This latest opening proved no whit more +successful than others previously given. John Hazel continued +to drink, and smoke, and answered nothing. To pry out the +diamond hidden in this lump of living clay,—to wrench open +the rugged valves of this human mollusc housing the pearl +of priceless knowledge,—was going to be more difficult than +Essenian had thought.... +</p> + +<p> +"Your friend, Miss Forbis," he resumed, and now the heavy +eyes were on him, "strikes me as possessing an unusual +degree of psychic force and energy, in combination with her +remarkable physical beauty and charm. That she is less +handsome than her brother, one would be disinclined to credit, +were her own testimony not corroborated by the evidence of +T.R.S. 43." +</p> + +<p> +"And who might the gentleman you mention be, and what +the—what does he know about it?" demanded John Hazel, +regarding his host with a decided scowl, and speaking in an +aggressive tone. +</p> + +<p> +"T.R.S. is a Turkish Renegade Spy whom I recently met +and interviewed at the B.S.I. Office Ismailia," returned +Essenian smoothly, "on a subject of vital interest to your +attractive English friend.... 'Describe,' I said, 'this British +priest who lies in prison at Shechem,' and the man answered +'<i>Mashallah!</i>' Describe the Archangel Jibrail when he came +from the Ninth Heaven to announce to Mary the Pure One +the Miraculous Birth of the Messiah—between Whom and +the touch of Satan, at the moment of His Nativity—the Lord +of Creation interposed a veil!' He was quite serious—Turks +are idolaters of physical perfection.... Incidentally, he +wound up with a few details concerning the—disposition, and +predilections distinguishing the Turkish Lieutenant-General of +gendarmerie who is at present Commandant of the Prison +Camp at Shechem,—which throw a rather lurid light upon the +conditions there...." +</p> + +<p> +He chafed his delicate finger-tips softly against each other +as he leaned both elbows on the cloth and smiled over the +roses into Hazel's gloomy eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Hamid is a—let us say a protégé of the notorious Djemal +Pasha, once Turkish Minister of Marine—now Commander of +the Fourth and Eighth Turkish Army Corps. Of mean birth, +a Turk from Crete—he bids fair to out-Djemal Djemal.... +I need not remind you that Crete is—the country of the +Minotaur! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The speaker's beryl eyes shone green in the light of the +electric globe-lamps. His voice had a little poisonous hiss +through its delicate silkiness. +</p> + +<p> +"Since the prison camps of Beersheba were shifted to Shechem, +their Commandant has a narrower field for the exercise +of his peculiar bent.... According to my Turkish spy, he +has what you would call 'a down' upon your friend's brother,—whose +refusal to be removed from the Barracks to the wired +camp set apart for the officer-prisoners has offended the Bey.... +Perhaps the presence of the priest is a check upon his +usage of the soldiers, whom Father Forbis nurses in fever +and other sickness, and for whom he has obtained consular +funds for the purchase of medicines, charcoal for fires, meat +for broth, and so on...." +</p> + +<p> +He satisfied himself by a swift glance that John was +absorbed in listening, and resumed: "Turks are—Turks!" He +made as though to spit, but checked himself, and went on: +"You have said to me: 'We Hazaëls have an old score to +settle up with Hamid....' Two years have not changed the +Bey. He is still the Minotaur! ... And unless Fortune, or," +he shrugged "the favour of Heaven, operate in the interests +of this brother of your friend, his may yet be the fate from +which self-slaughter saved your Cousin Jacob—Catholics being +forbidden that last resource of the desperate.... Escape +from torture or degradation by the Gate of Suicide...." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0313"></a></p> + +<h3> +XIII +</h3> + +<p> +Drifting down a sluggish stream of drowsy after-dinner +reflections; brooding between a bellyful of varied meats, and +a brain addled with wine;—lost to the guiding, dominant idea +of the Big Old Men, ranged one behind the other like a +sculptured procession of Assyrian planet-gods, reaching back +to the Beginning of Actualities whence looked down the Biggest +Old Man of All—John Hazel had been recalled as suddenly +as though a 5.9 shell had exploded in the Club courtyard, +and starting to his feet, upset the chair he had sat on; +its fall—with the crash of a breaking glass—making the men +at other tables look round. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>In peril such as this, and you sit here drowsing!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +It rang in Hazel's singing ears—the voice of the worshipped +woman. And in a moment the gorged Sybarite was gone. +With a curt apology he resumed the chair the Club attendant +had picked up and now replaced for him. A cool, resourceful +man, instinct with force and energy, sat looking at Essenian +across the rose-filled bowl. +</p> + +<p> +"If things are as desperate as you've said, why not have +told me? Let's thrash this out, Essenian Pasha, please!" +</p> + +<p> +"With pleasure, but I must first know how Miss Forbis +discovered that her brother was living. For that she knows, +in spite of her very remarkable reticence,—was plain to me +to-day. Was it you who broke that news to her? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"No ... She told me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"When? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"This afternoon! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"That is curious! ..." The tone was incredulous.... +"Through whom did she learn the fact?" +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't enlighten you! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"How long has she known? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm unable to say! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Scrutinising his guest between narrowed eyelids, sifting +the unwilling replies with inquisitorial care, it was patent to +Essenian that John knew, but would not tell. He tried again +with no better result. +</p> + +<p> +"Has Miss Forbis by any unlucky chance, embarked—any +other person—in an effort to rescue her brother from the +prison at Shechem?" +</p> + +<p> +This time John flatly lied: +</p> + +<p> +"No! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"That is well. I should certainly withdraw from the +attempt if its success were to be so handicapped." +</p> + +<p> +"Handicap or none, whether you withdraw or not, I'm +entered for the running!" +</p> + +<p> +"I did not say that I withdrew. On the contrary!" +</p> + +<p> +"Good egg you! Now—" +</p> + +<p> +John poured out a brimming glass of iced mineral water, +emptied it, and finished as he set down the empty glass: +</p> + +<p> +"How far is Shechem from Ismailia?" +</p> + +<p> +"Following the old Pilgrim's route overland—a distance +of about 232 English miles. As the crow flies—or as I shall +fly"—Essenian smiled—"about 195 miles...." +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks. When can we start? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"For Shechem? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"For Shechem! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"That depends!" said Essenian with his titter, as John +glanced at his wrist-watch, and then at the elaborate +clock,—mounted in captured German gun-metal—that occupied a +bracket over the door of the dining-room: "That depends +on your readiness to accept my conditions! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"'Conditions'? You wait till now to talk of conditions!" +</p> + +<p> +The black eyes were full on Essenian, and they had an +angry stare. +</p> + +<p> +"I have purposely waited until now! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The cool, sinister strength that lay behind Essenian's veneer +of finical affectation, came home to Hazel as it had not +previously. This was the Essenian of his French +observer-mechanic, the man who had flown with a broken wing-stay, +and a leaking petrol-tank, through the hellish Austro-German +fire in the battle of the Vulkan Pass. +</p> + +<p> +"To push an advantage, consolidate a position and advance +to a point beyond is the science of warfare, and the secret +of social influence. Shall we discuss these conditions in my +private room upstairs—or would you prefer to stay here?" +</p> + +<p> +John, looking round, saw no occupied table in their near +vicinity, and grunted surlily: +</p> + +<p> +"Here's good enough for me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"My own experience supports your view.... Here is +quite good enough.... For the arrangement of the details +of a plot, for the carrying-out of a delicate and dangerous +discussion, the ideal place is—under the electric lights in the +middle of a drawing-room, in the stalls at a theatre—in the +dining-room of a Club or restaurant, or in the Throne Room +at a Royal Levée...." +</p> + +<p> +"Then let us get to biz. You've sprung a surprise on me—at +the last minute...." John added, fixing his heavy black +stare on the gleaming green eyes of the tiger-snake ambushed +behind the roses; "Still,—trot out your conditions! ... How +much do you want in cash? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You are rude, Mr. Hazel.... But the young are always +insolent!" Essenian gave the little bleating laugh. "I want no +money of you.... Rather I am what the British merchant +would call a warmer man than you are, in spite of the fact +that you inherited from your grandfather more than three +hundred and eighty thousand pounds...." +</p> + +<p> +"Upon conditions, Pasha! upon conditions!" jeered John, +grinning over the table; and roused to sudden venomous +wrath, Essenian hissed at him—leaning over the crimson +flower-hedge until his fierce breath beat on the other's face: +</p> + +<p> +"Do I not know you have accepted those conditions? ... Are +you not living—in some degree—in your grandfather's +house as a Jew? ... Have you not the letter 'J' instead of +'Nil' on your identification-disc? ... Do you not wear upon +a chain about your neck an enamelled Shield of David? If +you die, or are killed—will they not bury you, if anything +be left of you to bury—under the Mogen David as they bury +a Jew?" +</p> + +<p> +The sudden transformation of the languid, smiling oval +into a face of bitter fury evoked a sudden flash of intuition +that made Hazel say: +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to know something about it.... Do you happen +to be Hebrew yourself by any chance? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You are perspicuous." The face was bland again. "I +am in fact descended from an ancient Israelitish family of +Elephantis. Not all the sons of the Tribes followed the +Law-giver out of Egypt. Many had grown to love the land +and—its many gods were good to them.... So they stayed and +prayed to the many, instead of following the One...." +</p> + +<p> +"I know. Lots of shirkers stopped behind to make bricks +for Pharaoh, and to-day their descendants are laying sleepers, +or digging trenches, or piling shells for the good old British +Government." +</p> + +<p> +"You have perfectly mastered the shibboleth of loyalty, +Mr. Hazel...." The dark lips curled contemptuously. "I +congratulate you! But it is hardly necessary to maintain the +pose. There is no third person present, and I speak as an +Asiatic to an Asiatic, as a Hebrew to a Jew.... For many +years I have served the British Government in our East. +These," he touched the rows of ribbons on his tunic, "testify +to the truth of what I say. While Britain's aims and my +own interests are synonymous, I shall continue to serve +her...." +</p> + +<p> +"I should jolly well hope so! It's a cleaner job than +plotting for the Kaiser's dirty pay." +</p> + +<p> +"And a more profitable—for Germany is finished. A burst +bladder, like her sister State with whom she hoped to +dominate the world. The sun of Russia sets in a morass of blood +and mire and filth unutterable.... Britain and France have +reached their apogee of greatness, and must now inevitably +decline. The Ottoman Empire fights to her fall. From the +Farther East the Power will arise that will sweep armies like +straws before it—and entangle the necks of the Northern +nations within its weighted throwing-net! But of this another +time. Let us come to my conditions.... Do not interrupt me +until I have said my say! ... I am no Spiritualist—I laugh +at those who bear the name as babes, who try to peep behind +the curtain when the showman is admitted to the courtyard +of the <i>harîm</i> to amuse them with his Shadow Play of the +puppet Kharaguz. But in Spiritism I believe.... Is it not +the corner-stone of all revealed religions, that deep conviction +of the existence of a World Unseen! ... I have myself +made efforts—and not all unrewarded! to lift the border of the +Veil that hides the Future—to pierce through the thick mists +that screen the terrors of the Abyss Beyond...." +</p> + +<p> +Artificial as were ordinarily the speaker's tone and bearing, +he spoke now, and looked like a man stirred to the very +depths. His hands vibrated, Hazel thought, like the limbs of +a weaving spider. He breathed quickly,—and a hundred lines, +furrows and crowsfeet previously unnoticed, appeared crossing, +re-crossing and puckering the dark skin of his agitated +face.... +</p> + +<p> +"Mediums and clairvoyants in the European capitals—have +I not seen and heard them? With what result? This, that a +few threads of truth, undeniable and genuine,—were woven +into a tissue of lies! Seers and Descryers here in our +East—with them I have fared better. They only practise for the +Initiate—they scorn to prostitute their mystic gifts to the +uses of the common herd. But by the greatest—one day you +shall meet them!—never have I known done what you did +to-day in my presence.... I mean—when you so marvellously +supplied the context of that cuneiform letter, filling up +with a bridge of Truth the gap between the Known and the +Unknown.... How strange that Eli Hazaël never dreamed +of your astonishing faculty! How wonderful, the combination +in your person of the temperament of the clairvoyant with +the physique of the athlete! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Why keep on calling me a medium and clairvoyant when +I'm nothing of the sort! When I tell you I've never dabbled +in that sort of thing. And what is it—about the letter? Do +you mean your translation of the wedge-writing on the tile +in the cabinet, that you reeled off this afternoon? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The Egyptian's eyes stabbed at John's face out of deep +caves that had suddenly hollowed about them. But he could +not doubt the look and tone of absolute sincerity. He blinked +and muttered: +</p> + +<p> +"You do not deceive.... You are speaking truth! ... By +the Fire that burns without Heat or Smoke!—you are +an extraordinary young man! ..." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The room had gradually emptied about them: they sat in a +desert of unoccupied tables, from whose cloths soft-footed +Levantine and native waiters were clearing wineglasses, coffee-cups +and empty liqueur-bottles,—decanters, fruit-dishes, plates, +and ash-trays full of burned matches, and the stubs of cigars +and cigarettes.... +</p> + +<p> +"You have not sought the terrible Gift—yet it has come to +you. You are not of the Baal Obh, who evoke the voices of +departed spirits from corpses and mummies—or of the +Yideoni, who utter oracles and prophesy, by putting into their +mouths a dead man's bone. You are a Teraph—a living +Teraph—not the head of a first-born of a first-born—prepared +with salt and spices, having under the tongue a gold plate +on which magical formulas have been engraven.... And it +is she, the handsome Englishwoman, who controls the Man +and the Power! Who says to your mind, as the Chinese +fisherman says to the tamed cormorant: 'Dive!' ... And +at the command you vanish into the Unguessable!—you +return, carrying in your pouch a fish from the Sea on +which swims the Serpent that bears up the Throne...." +</p> + +<p> +He drew towards him an unused plate, reached with a +shaking hand for the part-emptied port-bottle, poured a +little into a glass, and dipping in a finger, rapidly traced in +thick red wine upon the shining white porcelain a square, +divided into nine smaller by horizontal and perpendicular +lines.... +</p> + +<p> +"Dastûr. By your Permission, ye Blessed Ones!" John +heard him mutter, as he scattered a drop or two of wine at +each corner of the figure and filled in the squares with numerals. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you up to, Essenian Pasha?" John leaned across +interestedly. "Looks to me like hanky-panky of the Egyptian +Hall kind." +</p> + +<p> +"It is the Budûh of el Gazzali, a figure much used in our +East. Only instead of letters I am using numerals. Tell me, +my friend—for of course you are acquainted with it—what +is the month, and the day, and the hour, of the English lady's +birth? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Damned if I know! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"How can I believe you do not know, when she is so intimate +a friend that she wears a facsimile of the onyx gem +that is on your hand now? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Why she has it I couldn't say.... It's an heirloom in +her family.... Now cough up your conditions, for I've +waited long enough. What do you want me to do in return +for taking me somewhere near the Prison Camp at Shechem, +dropping me and picking me up—at a given hour—with +another man in tow? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Consent to be again—for me—as you were in the Rue el +Farad." The Egyptian obliterated the figure on the plate +with a sweep of three fingers, pushed the plate contemptuously +from him and sat erect in his chair. "Use your power—pass +behind the Veil as you did this afternoon. Here as you +sit at this table—it can easily be managed. For one +half-hour!—" He pointed to the round-faced gun-metal timepiece +solemnly ticking over the dining-room door. "A quarter +even—calculated by that clock...." +</p> + +<p> +"But haven't I already told you that's all tosh about my +being clairvoyant? ... Can't—" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Muakkad</i>! Yes, you have told me, but I have eyes and +ears.... Think, O man! ..." Both supple hands darted +at John over the roses.... "Lord of the Daystar! cannot +you understand? Would it be no help to the success of this +expedition if I were able to send you in advance to the Camp +at Shechem? A spy no sentry can arrest—no walls keep +out, no bullet silence.... Who hears—sees all and remains +invisible as the Afrit who flies by noonday, or the Angel +who witnesses sin!" +</p> + +<p> +"But you.... Where do you come in? What's your particular +little stunt, Essenian Pasha?" The voice was heavily, +oppressively surcharged with suspicion and doubt.... +</p> + +<p> +"I will tell you, you who suspect one who has served you +and eaten and drunk with you. This is the year of Fate for +me, this of the Hejira 1335—by the Kalendars of the Ifranjis +1917. This coming First of Safar—their November +Sixteenth—is the beginning of the month of my dread.... All +may yet be well with me—for who knows his danger is armed +against it. And to have lived as I have is to have learned to +value Life! Only a few years more to wait until great chemists +have grown wiser.... A little, little span of years,—and +Man, created but to perish, will have done away with Sickness +and abolished Old Age,—and finally conquered the Enemy, +Death.... Listen! ... I cannot be killed whilst flying—the +Signs are all against it. But in a year that has its birth in +el Dali and el Jadi—in a month that has the signs Akrab, and +of the planets Mirih,—I am in danger from a man and a +woman. Peril had threatened me the other day, when I +dropped down in the midst of your lines—and its source had +been removed and my breast was broadened.... But the +Shadow still broods—the Finger points—and I must know who +these Two are—the people who menace me!" +</p> + +<p> +"What happened before you landed in our lines, Essenian +Pasha?" John's interest had been prodded into life by the +previous reference. "Three days ago—or about—when the +Turkish Anti-Aircraft guns peppered you over—Hebron, +wasn't it?—and Captain Usborn was killed.... You see, I've +been wanting to ask you about that poor bloke. How did he +get his gruel? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"How?" The crouching khaki figure sat erect and the +snaky eyes glittered angrily. "You saw the corpse.... You +handled it. A shrapnel bullet killed him. And it was not +at Hebron it happened,—but at Shechem." +</p> + +<p> +"That's odd! ... You said Shechem at first.... And—it +wasn't a shrapper! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean? ..." The voice was a snarl. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you see, I've got the bullet...." +</p> + +<p> +"Where? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Here.... In my pocket.... And—the queer thing is—it's +a revolver-bullet. Not a German—it isn't nickel-coated. +Might have come from an English Webley of ordinary Army +size." +</p> + +<p> +"Show it me!" +</p> + +<p> +John produced and handed over the little blunted cone of +metal. The deadly cold of the dry finger-tips that touched his +in taking it reminded him uncomfortably of the contact of a +snake. He watched as they turned the bullet about, and then +held out his hand for it. +</p> + +<p> +"You want this back again?" the harsh voice asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Rather, if you don't mind!—" John grinned. "It's my +latest mascot." He took back the bullet, avoiding the other's +touch, and dropped it in his pocket again. +</p> + +<p> +"How did you get it?" Avidly the sharp glance had followed +the action. "How can you be certain—that it is the +bullet that killed the man?" +</p> + +<p> +"I helped to lift—the body—out of the observer's cockpit, +and mine was the head end...." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Th' h h!</i> ..." +</p> + +<p> +It was a sound like the hiss of a snake, betraying desperate +interest. +</p> + +<p> +"He—Usborn—had been shot through the head.... There +was a scorch on the left temple. On the right—a clot of +brains and blood. And—when I took hold of his head the +bullet came away with that, and dropped into my hand. +That's curious, now I come to think of it ..." +</p> + +<p> +"What is curious?" +</p> + +<p> +"That burn on his left temple...." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps the bullet was incendiary. The Germans use such +things." +</p> + +<p> +"You forget! I've got it—and it isn't!" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!" The voice had recovered its suavity. "I am now +able to account for its being a revolver-bullet. There were +German officers on the defence-works at Shechem—that they +have strengthened since the evacuation of Beersheba. And as +they directed the gunners—we circling the while and +reconnoitring—Usborn also photographing—they potted at us with +their revolvers now and then...." +</p> + +<p> +"How high were you flying?" +</p> + +<p> +"A mile. I remember I looked at the indicator the moment +before—it happened." +</p> + +<p> +"You're kidding, Essenian Pasha.... You know lots better +than I do that the range of a revolver taking a bullet of this +calibre would be barely 1,550 yards...." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Wannebi!</i>" Foam stood on the writhing lips, and the +veins on the back of the clenched hand that shook at John +across the roses stood out against the bronze skin like knotted +blue cords. "By the Prophet! though I am no son of his,—you, +Hazel, tax my patience.... Usborn is dead, and buried +two marches from Sheria. Let us discuss the cause of his +death when we have time to lose. Aid me to gain enlightenment +as only you can aid me!—and I help you to rescue this +Christian priest—this tonsured Franghi dervish—from the +barbed-wire cage at the Prison Camp of Shechem. Is it +agreed? Speak, for suspense devours my liver!" +</p> + +<p> +"All right." John glanced round at the clock over the door +of the dining-room. "Nine-fifteen. I'm at your disposal till +the long hand marks the half-past." +</p> + +<p> +"Give me time to get something I shall need from my room, +and swallow a draught of stimulant." Essenian beckoned +one of the Levantine waiters, gave a rapid order in his fluent +French and clapped his hands for his own man. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Saiyad</i>, I am here!" The Mohammedan body-servant who +had waited, erect and immovable in the background appeared +at his master's elbow. "What does my lord command?" +</p> + +<p> +"Go to the room where I sleep, and bring me the velvet +case from the table at my bedside." +</p> + +<p> +"My lord has said," the man quavered, paling under his +coffee-coloured skin, "that the low-born may not lay a hand +upon the Eye of Radiance, but at peril of blasting as by fire +from the skies!" +</p> + +<p> +"Unless thou art commanded. Go, and return in safety!" +</p> + +<p> +The servant vanished and Essenian commented, with his +little contemptuous shrug: +</p> + +<p> +"Even as the beasts are the rough and unlettered. What +says Shaikh Saadi in <i>The Garden of Roses</i>? I would quote +the original,—but it may be you do not know Arabic sufficiently +well to appreciate the pun." +</p> + +<p> +"Some play upon <i>wahish</i> and <i>wahsh</i>, I suppose?" Hazel +suggested, unexpectedly, as the servants stripped the table +and fenced it round with screens. "What's your poison this +time? Something extra special?" he inquired, as Essenian, +with a shaking hand, drew his little case of medicines again +from his pocket and half-filled a liqueur-glass from another +of the vials it held. +</p> + +<p> +"Something I seldom need to take, my King of Damascus. +Unless after severe physical exertion,—or unusual mental +strain. To your health! <i>Sirrak!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +He swallowed the colourless, scentless contents of the +liqueur-glass; drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders,—and +under the surprised stare of John, became the man he had +been.... +</p> + +<p> +"That is good! Now we get to what you call 'biz.' ..." He +was smiling again suavely as he took a shabby green velvet +case from the willing hands of his servant, banished the man +beyond the enclosure of the screens with a look and a brief +order couched in the vernacular,—and placed the case carefully +on the cleared table-cloth before his guest. +</p> + +<p> +"Fine stone! What is it?" John asked curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"A beryl, merely. Do not touch it with your finger lest the +contact dim its brightness." +</p> + +<p> +Essenian had opened the case out flat upon the smooth white +linen surface, disclosing a sphere of radiance, resting on the +slender base of a little metal stand. +</p> + +<p> +"Sit easily in your chair," he went on; "rest your hands on +either side of it.... Ah, I had forgotten! Where are those +<i>mallâhe</i>?" He took a pile of common native glass salt-cellars +from a corner of the table, where a demure-faced Levantine +waiter had just placed them. "Raise yourself on the chair +a little. So! Now sit down again." John complied, finding +the seat rather higher than it had been before. "Now I place +one of the <i>mallâhe</i> under each leg of the table...." The +table kicked four times gently. "Now the Earth-currents +cannot deviate astral—or Other Influences—and the table is not +too low. You are comfortable?" +</p> + +<p> +"Fairly cushy, thanks! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Dentists had asked John a similar question. +</p> + +<p> +"You are not nervous, Mr. Hazel? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Why on earth should I be? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"There is no reason. Look at the beryl, and do not remove +your eyes." +</p> + +<p> +"All right, I'm on! ... Mind! From the word 'Go!' +fifteen minutes." +</p> + +<p> +"Fifteen minutes.... Look steadily in the beryl. Now +give the word!" +</p> + +<p> +"Go! ..." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +Resting a hand lightly on the table, on each side of the +little cup-topped pedestal supporting the gleaming, spherical +stone, John leaned forwards, steadily looking in it,—and the +fold between his beetling eyebrows smoothed, and the spark +of excitement that had kindled in his black eyes slowly +smouldered out.... +</p> + +<p> +He had gone much further than he meant to have done, +but there had been no help for it. Katharine's desperate need +of help, the more desperate need of Julian, had thrust him over +the edge of this pit the astute Egyptian had dug. But whether +Essenian were a wizard or a charlatan—and at moments John +was inclined to the wizard idea—he had struck a bargain with +the man, and he meant to stick to it. So he held himself +motionless, breathing easily, letting his mind range whither +it would, as he stared in the depths of the stone.... +</p> + +<p> +He had thought it shallow, and it was unfathomably deep; +clear, and it was opaquely green as sea-water.... And yet +translucent as sea-water can be,—with smooth swirls and +rounded folds below the jewelled surface—suggesting veils +wrapped on veils, hiding some mystery.... +</p> + +<p> +He checked an inclination to yawn. He was feeling sleepy +and stoggy. To keep awake he clung to the details of a +certain September evening in 1914. News had come that day +to the office of the death of young Dannahill,—and he, John, +had returned by taxi to the family roof-tree, to break to his +mother and his brother Maurice—Maurice who was now +piloting a Handley-Page bomb-carrier 'plane on the Western +Front—the news that he, J.B.H.,—the John of the "Tubs" +Club in Werkeley Street, the John who was a votary of +"Tango" and Progressive Bridge; who talked knowingly of +Russian Ballet, Musical Comedy and smart Revues; the John +whose cherished ambition was to make a pile big enough +to buy Covent Garden and turn it into a Pleasure City to be +run on American lines—was going to the Front. +</p> + +<p> +He—the said J.B.H., had dined, and was comfortably full, +after the lean weeks of bully beef and rubber-tough Palestine +mutton.... And he had had a deuce of a lot of hock, of +Heidseick Dry Monopole, and three, or was it five Benedictines +with coffee, to take away the bitterness of that over-lauded +Arab stuff.... +</p> + +<p> +Enough, perhaps, to make an ordinary man squiffy, but +J.B. Hazel was no ordinary man.... In fact, going by +what Essenian Pasha said,—was that Essenian Pasha +talking? ... Or whose was that voice, mumbling, mumbling.... +Not in Arabic, of which John had a smattering, or in +Hebrew—he knew a little Hebrew— +</p> + +<p> +In whatever language the voice was talking it was trying +to push John over the brink of Things Normal, into the abyss +of Things that are Not. +</p> + +<p> +The launch of a battleship at Portsmouth Dockyard, +witnessed years previously, now came vividly back to the +protagonist; a picture thrown by the passing moment upon the +screen of Memory. As Royalty with mallet and chisel had +severed the cord supporting the bow—weights, whose fall +knocked away the last dog-shores propping the Dreadnaught, +her vast steel hull had shuddered visibly.... The +thin wind keening through her glassless upper port holes and +along her vast unfitted decks—gaily beflagged, and speckled +with adventurous human pigmies—had sounded as though she +wept.... Then a hand had touched an electric stud—a bottle +in a ribboned net had crashed against the cliff-like bows of +grey-painted steel, figured with Roman numerals—and the +giant, vibrating from stem to stern, had begun to slide down +the well-greased slipway,—towards the oily-looking expanse of +chill green water, speckled with floating chips and +orange-peel—smoking with little drab-white curls of clammy Solent +fog.... +</p> + +<p> +And John Hazel was the ship ... the sinister, relentless +will that thrust him down must be resisted.... He would +not go! ... Had he not promised somebody called Katharine... +</p> + +<p> +Who was Katharine? ... He was rushing to the dreadful +brink.... Without the anticipated shock or jar, he glided +smoothly over.... +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +"The big Inglizi soldier is very drunk," a Levantine +waiter—one of a silent group gathered near the dining-room +door, whispered to a comrade behind the shoulder of +Essenian's Mohammedan body-servant. "Hark, how he snores +behind the screens!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> do not think the <i>tomi</i> drunk," whispered a countryman of +the Levantine's, speaking the same bastard Turkish-Egyptian +dialect. "For when the Effendim called for sealing-wax I +peeped between the screens, slily, and the Inglizi seemed to me +more like one drugged with the smoke of henbane sprinkled +on the embers of a charcoal fire.... Thus did he sit, with +open eyes, staring into that thing that shines so.... And—and +the eyes were empty as the eyes of a dead man—it was +not good to look in them!" +</p> + +<p> +"O son of a Maghribi dog! What is that to thee?" Essenian's +Mohammedan body-servant, who had overheard, hissed +fiercely at the offender. "Since when hast thou found it good +for thee or thy like to speak of the doings in this house! My +lord and his guest confer together upon matters too high for +thee. What has it to do with thee if they practise the <i>es +Semiya?</i> Do not persons of known probity work magic both +White and Black—and cast nativities! Cudgel thy stupid +wits and tell me how long since thou didst stop the clock +there? ... 'An hour-and-a-half....' Watch now for the +signal! ... When my lord's hand flickers between the screens, +the weight is to be set a-wagging.... Have the <i>ôtomôbilyâ</i> +ready at the door—the Effendim travels with the Englishman +this night to Ismailia—I, Yakub Ali, sitting in front with the +<i>wûgâkgi</i> who drives,—running on the solid earth made by +Allah for the sons of Adam—instead of flying in the air like +a Jinni of the Jann." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0401"></a></p> + +<h2> +<i>Book the Fourth:</i> THE PASSING +</h2> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<h3> +I +</h3> + +<p> +In the Central Range of Western Palestine is an ancient +Samaritan township, the Shechem of the Patriarchs. High +set above shore-level, sheltered by mighty mountains on the +North, East and South, looking down a wady beaten in by-gone +days by the hoofs of the cavalry of Omri,—rutted by +the silver and ivory chariot-wheels of King Ahab and Queen +Jezebel,—across low, undulant hill-ranges, to the twenty-mile +distant sea. +</p> + +<p> +High set above sea-level, it lies on the floor of a long, +fish-shaped valley, between two towering limestone mountains. +Distant a mile-and-a-half at their summits, their bases nearly +meet. One is Ebal, the other Gerizim. They are the mounts +by which the Chosen stood to receive blessings and cursings. +</p> + +<p> +The Samaritan Temple, that place of sinister mysteries, +once stood where are now great terebinth-trees, shading the +ruins of an ancient fortress upon Mount Gerizim. The rock +of their Place of Sacrifice shows its channelled surface above +ground. To-day, a man standing with the wind at his back, +upon the crown of Ebal or Gerizim and speaking loudly, +would be heard at the summit of the opposite Mount, and in +the streets of the town.... +</p> + +<p> +The town, upon which the towering limestone heads of Ebal +and Gerizim and their fellows look down sternly, was in its +heyday a place of wealth, where luxury and lust ran riot, +and men and women walked in purple robes, or were carried +in ivory litters; crowned with high jewelled head-dresses, dust +of gold powder lying thick in the spiral curls of their jet black +beards, and the frizzled waves or towering coils of +richly-luxuriant hair. Now their ancient place of abiding is set about +with ruinous stone mansions, girt with groves of waving +palms, fig-trees, olives and mulberries. Mean dwellings crowd +on narrow vaulted streets, under whose pavement you can +hear the water rushing. For there is no lack of water in +Shechem. The crowded mud Barracks behind the bazar has +a well of pure water in its courtyard. So cheap is the element +that no one grudges this solace to the prisoners of War. +</p> + +<p> +Before the War the chief seat of the Turkish administration +in Palestine, the old town boasted a population of some +25,000 souls. Thinned by conscription of the younger Jews, +Samaritans, Arabs and native Syrian Christians, it might +have contained some fifteen thousand, counting the garrison +of Turkish infantry officered by monocled and braceleted +Germans,—when the fortified area of Beersheba fell to the +strategy of Allenby, and the routed left wing of the Fourth +Army Corps of Djemal Pasha, with the formidable motor-driven +siege-guns from the boasted stronghold fell back in +rout and confusion upon the area of Shechem. +</p> + +<p> +Some directing Teutonic mind ordained, weeks previous +to the evacuation, that the Allied prisoners from the camps of +Beersheba and its vicinity, packed on Railway cattle-trucks +or Army motor-lorries,—should be transferred by railway to +the town of Shechem. It was to be converted by German gold, +forced labour and modern resources, into a stronghold of +Ottoman power, against which the expeditionary army of Britain +should expend itself in vain.... +</p> + +<p> +There are already British War prisoners in the mud-walled +Barracks at Shechem, built round the courtyard containing +the well. When on these hunger-gnawed, vermin-ridden men +rolls the flood of human wretchedness from the camps of +Beersheba and its neighbourhood,—they are to learn the bitter +truth that there are grades in Misery. +</p> + +<p> +For a squat, sandy, pale-eyed Lieutenant-General of Turkish +gendarmerie, who acted as Commandant of the Beersheba +prison-camps, now supersedes the tyrant who has ruled at +Shechem. The inmates of the prisons there have been robbed, +stripped, and beaten. They have slept in tattered blankets +upon mud or stone floors,—lived on a daily quarter of a coarse +brown loaf per soul—and a handful of beans in oil.... They +have undergone insult, and occasionally kicks and blows, but +Home parcels have occasionally reached them, and though +pinched, they were not famished.... Now the parcels are +looted or their contents rendered uneatable.... A loaf is +shared amongst twenty men, the pannikin of boiled beans +yields each a bare spoonful. Driven out at dawn by Turks +with loaded hide-whips, to dig trenches south and east of the +old fortifications,—make emplacements for Austro-German +artillery, and lay down a system of interchangeable rails for +the Krupp motor-guns,—they are herded back at night to the +filthy pens where they are packed so closely that they cannot +lie down to sleep without lying on each other. Whence in +the mornings men suffocated by the press of the bodies of +their comrades are taken out dead.... +</p> + +<p> +These victims belong to the rank and file. Some officers +are quartered in the old stone-built prison. Yet others live +in Turkish Army tents in a barbed-wire enclosure at the +eastern end of the town. A ramshackle hut serves as their +mess, when they have anything to mess on. But they are not +too crowded for decency, and sickness spares them. Presently +the officers are drafted away, four only remaining,—and +the congestion at the mud-built Barracks is somewhat +relieved. But Hunger, Overcrowding and Dirt have bred +Dysentery, septic skin-eruptions and Typhus Fever, and these +claim their victims by the score. +</p> + +<p> +The Hospital near the new Turkish Barracks by the +Arsenal, staffed by the German Red Cross and the nurses and +orderlies of the Red Crescent,—being crowded with Turkish +and German wounded—cannot admit more than a few of +the gravest cases of dysentery. The typhus patients are +removed to the Hospital under the auspices of the Established +Church of England Missionary Society, and another,—devotedly +tended by the Catholic Sisters of the Cross. Helpers +come from the Mission House of the Latin Patriarchate, who +unweariedly give their services wherever there is need.... +But desperate indeed would be the plight of the War +prisoners—save that through the blizzard of misery raging through +the mud Barracks—the courage and charity of one man shine +like a steadfast star.... +</p> + +<p> +The man is a Catholic chaplain who has served with the +Expeditionary Forces at Gallipoli; has been taken prisoner +and kept for awhile in Hospital at Constantinople; has been +drafted to Smyrna, and later, by such haphazard chance as +governs the lives of prisoners, has been shifted to Beersheba, +and thence to Shechem. +</p> + +<p> +Unweariedly he alleviates, whilst sharing, the common +misery. Shaking with fever, hunger-bitten to the bone, ragged +as any scarecrow, red-eyed with sleeplessness, he moves from +room to room distributing such poor comforts as are +obtainable. Helping the convalescent, ministering to the sick, +dispensing the Sacraments of the Mother Church to the Catholic +dying—cheering those of other creeds with the words that +are of God.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +On a day in November, half-an-hour later than the morning +prayer-call from the minaret of the Great Mosque that was +once a Church of the Canons of the Holy Sepulchre—you +are to see Father Julian Forbis going his daily round.... The +mud-walled courtyard is closed in on three sides by the +mud-built Barracks, and on the fourth by a high wall topped by +rusty iron spikes—a wall in which there is an archway closed +by a double gate, flanked on either side by guard-rooms. Over +the gateway is the office of the Turkish Commandant. +</p> + +<p> +To-day the courtyard of the mud-built Barracks is full +of sunshine and packed with prisoners. Lying, squatting or +standing, the majority are squalid spectres on whose gaunt +frames their foul and tattered clothing hangs baggily, though +some are bloated like the corpses of men who have been +long drowned. Though the assemblage is sprinkled with +Roumanians, Syrians, Jews, Armenians and Arabs,—these last +having a dungeon to themselves, of unutterable filthiness, the +bulk are of the rank and file of Britain's Crusading Forces. +Australians, Indians, New Zealanders, and British +Territorials.... Actors, clerks, printers, shopwalkers and jockeys; +farm-labourers, electricians, gardeners, photographers, bakers, +University students,—representatives of every class and +calling. One and all strung to endurance by the spirit that makes +heroes of ordinary men.... +</p> + +<p> +The shadows of Ebal and Gerizim as yet fall westward. +Their towering summits and those of the lesser mountains, and +the minarets of the Great and the two smaller mosques look +down into the dirty mud-walled court, baking in the rays of +the early sun, though the November nights are chilly. Every +stench the prison fosters seems intensified by the heat. The +loud buzzing of millions of flies mingles in a bagpipe-drone +with the noise of many voices, Eastern and European,—talking +in half-a-dozen languages and a hundred dialects—and +the hubbub has for its accompaniment the thudding of distant +guns. From the southwest, where the 54th British Division is +engaged with the enemy between the sea and Gaza. Nearer +South, where a bitter struggle is being waged by British +Cavalry, armoured cars, and the bombers and machine-gunners +of the Royal Flying Corps, for the possession of Junction +Station—the next point after the fall of Gaza, of tactical +importance in Palestine. From the hills towards Hebron those +enemy forces, who have previously retreated to this vantage, +have descended into the Coastal Plain, to relieve the pressure +and stiffen the resistance of their comrades by demonstrating +a counter-attack. For if Junction Station, the key of the +northern railway-system, with its vast dumps of rolling-stock, +supplies, War-material and its camps of prisoners, shall fall +into the hands of the British—Jerusalem will be cut off from +communication save by Wireless with Turkey and Germany.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Day wears apace.... The winged hordes of Baal Zebub, +like the humans whom they feast on, are making the most of +the sunshine. Fat white maggots that will be flies presently,—and +vermin still more loathsome—crawl in the dirty straw +on which the prisoners are squatting or lying. Deep in the +well the clear water shines like a huge blue eye, reflecting the +shadowless heavens above. +</p> + +<p> +A man hanging over, seems to stare in the water, apparently +sheltering his eyes with both hands from the glare. He has +the crowned wings of the R.F.C. on the shoulder of his ragged +shirt of khaki flannel, and the clear water of the brimming well +reflects the three chevrons and crown of a Flight Sergeant, +tacked upon its tattered sleeve. Also the glittering lenses of +a small pair of folding binoculars, cunningly concealed by the +curve of their owner's hands. +</p> + +<p> +"What be 'ee lookin' vor, Tom?" cautiously whispers a +freckled trooper of Devon Yeomanry, digging a painfully +sharp elbow in the airman's lean ribs. +</p> + +<p> +Barney Mossam takes it on himself to answer,—being the +accredited wit and jester of the knot gathered about the well. +He is a little, broad-shouldered, bow-legged London Territorial, +with a nose that has suffered in bouts of fisticuffs; a +carroty head, a broad humorous grin, and a squint that points +a joke. He speaks with the thick catarrhal snuffle of the East +End. Even in khaki his type proclaims him of the Race of +Costermongers.... Covent Garden Market is thick with +Barneys, all alike as peas from the pod.... +</p> + +<p> +"Ticklebats, my flash top," says Barney winking, "kind you +used to ketch a while back, wiv' a bottle tied on a string." He +adds in a thick whisper directed at the ear of the absorbed +Flight Sergeant, "Wot d'yer pipe, old Sky-gazer? Thinkin' +it's abaht time we 'ad another look-in from ours affectionately +the Two-Faced Nightingale?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ay. Unless he happened to come in the night!" The +cautious whisper of the reply only just reaches the ears for +which it is intended.... +</p> + +<p> +"I 'eard a 'plane go singin' over 'ere 'bout twelve-thirty by +my gold ticker," says Barney. "But she was one of them there +seaplanes wiv' little canoes instid o' wheels. There ain't so +many 'Un 'planes abaht as there used to!—an' Turkey 'planes +is gittin' as rare as—as glass in the Strand an' Covent Garden +Market—after the bloomin' Zepps and Super Goths 'as paid +the usual mornin' call...." His thick whisper is barely +audible even to the other: "Reckon that's why it pays Old +Two-Face to play the double game. Wiv' a patent trick +lever-switch—Gorblime 'im!—but 'e's clever! to cover the Union +Jacks on 'is under-wings with Red Crescents when 'e tips +the stud.... 'Wish <i>I</i> 'ad a Turk face to pull over my reel +one! Wouldn't take me long to 'op out of 'ere! Wonder if +'e 'as the syme dodge fitted on 'is top wings? Give one o' my +last three fags—I would!—to find out 'oo 'e is!" +</p> + +<p> +"He's not an Englishman, thank God! He's pretty nearly +a black one. Dark as a Gyppo—or a Hindu. The other was +white. Inside as well as out. <i>That's</i> why he was murdered!" +returns the Flight Sergeant in his wary whisper, without +lowering his hands.... +</p> + +<p> +"Some blokes gits all the fun. 'Ow come you to see it, +Sergeant?" +</p> + +<p> +For once the Cockney's jest provokes no appreciative smile. +The thin hands sheltering the prized binoculars shake.... +The whispering voice shakes also—and its hurried sentences +are punctuated by the thudding of those distant guns.... +</p> + +<p> +"I've told you.... It's just a week since.... I was up +in our room there," the speaker contemptuously jerks his ear +towards an upper window of one of the Barrack buildings—"looking +through this little Zeiss glass that magnifies by 20. +(I've told you how I took it off a dead German airman at +Huy.) ... And the Two-Faced Nightingale—hovering not +more than four hundred feet above the Square in front of +the big Khan,—was picking the place, damn him! where he'd +settled to drop his despatch-bag. He switched his Red +Crescents on over the Union Jacks—and the stunt brought the +usual roar of laughter from the people. Every one was out +to stare,—the streets as far as I could see, were packed, as +well as the roofs.... Then he dropped his bag, plumb for +the square,—swung round and steered Southward. And,—keeping +the glasses focussed on them, I saw his white observer +stand up, lean forward and touch him on the back. He looked +round and his white teeth flashed in his face sort of +spitefully.... The other fellow was handing him out cold truth +in ladlefuls, shaking his fist and raving like mad. Then—it +happened before you could wipe an eye! He—the pilot—cut +out his engine—turned round, and I caught the glitter of a +revolver in his hand. Then came the flash and the crack. +And the white man buckled up in the bottom of his +cockpit—and the Two-Faced Nightingale switched on and flew away +South. And nothing was left on the blue sky but a puff of +brown cordite." +</p> + +<p> +"The murderin' dawg!" Barney carefully moves from the +coping-stone of the well a burnt match, and a wisp of straw, +that some eddying draught of the hot breeze might carry into +the water. "No fear of 'im gittin' copped. This 'ere queer go +wot we calls Life's more on the lines of a Drury Lyne Autumn +Show than I twigged when I rallied up 'long o' my pals on +Fust Nights outside the good old Gallery Entrance. On'y it's +turned the wrong w'y raound. Vice gits all the limes from +both wings, an' all the clappin' from the Pit an' Gallery. An' +Virtue kips on the bare boards of a stinkin' Turkish barrack-room, +or 'unkers in the stinkin' mud, and 'unts things wot +'ops and crawls." He goes on, talking to himself, for the +airman, staring in the reflected patch of sky is suddenly absorbed +to deafness. "S'trewth! Wherever it does pay—off of the +boards of a Theayter—the 'Eroic Line don't go for nuts—not +'ere in Palestine!" +</p> + +<p> +"Ye are richt! It pays nae better than it paid twa thousan' +years agone. But which is it better to be on—the de'il's +side—or the Lord's? I wuss to Him some voice frae Heaven wad +speyk an' answer me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The utterance—unmistakably Scotch—breaks in several feet +above the level of Barney's monologue. He looks up at a tall, +gaunt, red-haired Scot in the Border bonnet and ragged khaki +kilt, and badges of the Tweedburgh Regiment, and says with +his characteristic wink: +</p> + +<p> +"'Ullo, Corp'ral Govan! Thet you? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Nae ither that I ken...." He is quite young, but he +moves like an old man, as he lets his long length slowly down +on the mud beside the Cockney, unheeding the invitation to +take a straw, and hugs his hairy knees. "Man! I wad gie the +twa dirrty Turkish notes in ma pooch, an' a guid British florin +to the back o' them, to be anither chap than Alec Govan the +day. For I have seen what a man may scarce see, an' keep his +brain frae madness—ay! an' his tongue from cryin' oot on +God!" He rocks himself in silence, then says with a stifled +groan: "Man! dinna gawp at me. Do ye no' ken I hae been +wi' Ullathorne? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ullathorne. That's your chum, ain't 'e? Wot abaht 'im?" +</p> + +<p> +"Hae ye no' heird?" The long Scot stares at the Cockney +wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Nuffin' but that 'e didn't come back last night wiv the +workin'-party. 'As 'e turned up?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ay. They pitched him back intil oor room last nicht—a' +the green rods had left o' him. Weel I kenned they would +do their warst once they got their chance." There is foam +on the livid lips. "They drove him oot wi' the rest o' us to +the Defence Warks yesterday mornin', though he had the fever +on him sair, an' couldna' stand alane.... Weel, weel I wat +why!" He is shaking as though with ague. "An' he staggered +an' reeled, an' knocked up against ane o' the sentries—an' +Hamid Bey was standing by wi' some of his gang o' +police.... By the grin on the pasty face of him, ye could +tell he was oot for murder. An' he ordered Ullathorne a +hundred strokes for brutally attackin' the man. They held us +up an' made us watch whiles they laid on to him. O Christ +Jesus! ... First on the feet, twenty-five strokes—then the +back an' belly an' breist.... An' when he fainted an' lay for +dead, they drove us oot wi' their whips an' left him lyin'; an' +when we came back for the nicht-shift he was gane awa' from +there.... In the mirk o' the nicht, as I hae said, they flung +him in amang us,—nakit as a new-born wean—an' his raw +flesh hangin' in strips. As though the butcher had stairted to +collop him—an' changed his min' aboot it. A braw sicht for +the mither that bore him, an' the lass he should hae wed!" +</p> + +<p> +"Gorblime the bloody beasts!" says Barney, gulping. His +coarse hand touches the thin arm in the tattered sleeve with the +Corporal's stripes, and does it gently too. "Will Ullathorne +live? They don't often live—our own chaps—do 'em?—though +Turks seems some'ow diff'rent." +</p> + +<p> +"He was deein' when they broucht him back, puir lad! +I hae left him barely breathin'.... Father Forbis is wi' him +noo.... Ullathorne is nae no Catholic, but the Father has +the Gift o' the Word. Sune—sune he will be dead, my chum +that I made at Gallipoli, the last o' the auld company left +aiblins mysel'!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +No tears come to the burning grey eyes that stare into +vacancy. +</p> + +<p> +"A' nicht I held him i' my airms! His bluid is wet upo' +me. An' I made a sang to sooth to him—we Govans aye had +the bard's gift, they say, in the braw auld days. And when +he is dead—for I promised him!—the haill Barracks shall +hear't. The bonny sang o' the Christian men killed by the +Turkish hound!" +</p> + +<p> +"Look wide O! One o' them Mo'ammedan guards 'as got +'is ugly eye on you," urges Barney, apprehensive that the +recklessness of grief may bring Govan the fate of his friend. +"While there's life there's 'ope! ... Pre'aps Ullathorne +might git round yit!" +</p> + +<p> +But Govan shakes his haggard head: +</p> + +<p> +"I doot—I doot it sairly. But what can be done Father +Forbis will dae. He promised me he wouldna leave him as +lang as there was breith i' him. An' Forbis aye keeps his +word. Here he comes! Luik at's face..... Ullathorne has +passed to his Maker!" +</p> + +<p> +The Scot starts to his naked feet, and Barney Mossam sits +up and salutes, as through an archway on the ground-floor +of the sordid block of buildings opposite comes the figure of +a tall, emaciated man, followed by a burly, slovenly Turkish +soldier and a grotesque, hunchbacked shape,—recognisable +only by the voluminous folds of the coarse biscuit-coloured +veil that covers its head, and falls to the hem of its soiled +blue cotton robe—as a Syrian peasant woman. +</p> + +<p> +"Good morning, Mossam!" The intonations of the priest's +voice, and the smile that curves the mouth hidden by the +reddish-golden beard, and lights the sunken blue eyes, are very +like Katharine's.... "You are up and about again! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't lay up in the lap o' luxury no longer, Father!" +drolls the indomitable jester. "A man in my condition 'as to +'ave exercise to sweat the suet off 'is bones." +</p> + +<p> +The bones show as though the tattered uniform hung on +clothes-props. The priest glances at them compassionately, +and then with gentle friendliness at the haggard faces that +turn to him, as he picks his way delicately between the prone +and squatting men. +</p> + +<p> +"Move!" says the Turkish military guard in the greenish-yellow +khaki served out to the Ottoman forces in the War +with Serbia, a huge <i>posta</i> whose fez sits on the extreme summit +of his pointed head like the red-paper-cap on a bottle of +liquorice-powder,—who wears good boots stripped from a +British prisoner: and who speaks a bastard mixture of bad +Turkish and worse Arabic: "<i>Haide git</i>! Make way for the +<i>kassis</i> and the woman! <i>Imshi</i>! Must ye be as the beasts?" +</p> + +<p> +For a hyæna-like yell of joy has greeted the discovery that +there are oranges in one, and almonds and walnuts in the +other, of two heavy palm-fibre baskets carried by the +misshapen, limping being who follows behind the priest. The +wretched creature is one of those nondescript hangers-on that +in the negligent East haunt such places of misery as the mud +Barrack-prison,—gaining a meagre subsistence by washing the +prisoners' tattered linen, running errands to the <i>bâzâr</i>,—boiling +broth or carrying water for the sick and convalescent, and, +when the guards can be bribed into acquiescence—washing and +laying out the bodies of the dead. +</p> + +<p> +Bundled in her soiled rags—shrouded in the voluminous veil +that hides a face so disfigured by accident or disease, that no +European who has glimpsed can think of it without a shudder, +and Orientals express their abhorrence by spitting on +the ground—the Mother of Ugliness—thus nicknamed by some +coarse wit among her countrymen—passes without insult, +ill-usage or outrage, where no other of her sex, unprotected by +deformity and hideousness, could have escaped.... +</p> + +<p> +"Orangees. Glory be to God!—an' where did yer Reverence +git thim?" asks the owner of the unmistakably Irish voice, +stretching gaunt hands, shaking with fever, for one of the +luscious golden globes. +</p> + +<p> +"A friend brought them," briefly answers the priest, as he +distributes the fruit and nuts generously on all sides. +</p> + +<p> +"God bless the friend! ... An' that's yourself, I'm +thinkin'," grunts the Irishman, driving his teeth deep into +the juicy fruit. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Sullivan, it was not I. You see the giver...." +</p> + +<p> +"The Mother av' Ugliness, bedad! More power to her!" +splutters Sullivan, as the priest points to the crooked shape +swathed in its sordid veils. +</p> + +<p> +"She has earned a prettier name here among us," says Father +Forbis, looking round at the faces,—pinched and white, +or livid, or fever-flushed, that crowd about him, and speaking +with mild authority. "She shall be called henceforth The +Mother of Kindness...." +</p> + +<p> +He turns to the shrinking creature at his heels and repeats +it in Arabic. +</p> + +<p> +"Sidi!" the woman implores in muffled tones, trembling so +that the folds of her coarse veils wave as though some vagrant +breeze were stirring amongst them: +</p> + +<p> +"I have spoken! By you and other British in this place—" He +looks round sternly at the men, "the old name is forgotten. +She is the Mother of Kindness.... Let all of you remember +that!" +</p> + +<p> +"We'll not forgit, yer Reverence! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Verra weel, Sirr! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Sure we'll remember, Boss! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"A' right, Sir! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Han, Hâzrât!</i> ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Right O Father! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"A'ay, Zur, for sure! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Yea, verily, it shall be as the Sahib orders!" +</p> + +<p> +They answer him in a hundred voices, resonant bass, or +cheery tenor, coarse and refined, illiterate or educated,—flavoured +with the accent and in the dialect of every shire or +county in the United Kingdom—every country of the Dominions +Overseas. And standing in his ragged clothes, with a +battered enamelled can of broth and another of barley-water +dangling from one lean hand, while the other eases the heavy +weight of a wallet of canvas, broad, slung about his thin +shoulders, and containing such medicines and dressings as may +be had—the Father surveys them smilingly—but with the +spark in his blue eyes that they know can leap to flame.... +</p> + +<p> +You are to see him as a tall, emaciated man of twenty-nine +or thirty, chalky-pale with famine and worn with lack of +sleep. Eagle-featured, broad-browed, blue-eyed; with long, +untrimmed hair and tangled beard of ruddy yellow-brown. +Without the eight-pointed black metal star on the lapel of his +tattered khaki jacket, or the wisp of Roman collar that still +hangs about his neck, or the bartered Breviary and Office book +that bulges a front tunic-pocket—a ragged strip of purple stole +between its well-thumbed pages—you could not fail to recognise +the Religious by vocation; the cultured priest, the man +born to dominate, sway and rule. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Haide</i>! Let us go!" growls the Turkish guard, thrusting +two oranges and a handful of nuts in a pocket of his soiled +tunic, and kicking a man squatting in his path less viciously +than as a matter of form. +</p> + +<p> +And the little procession of the tall priest, the red-fezzed +guard, and the bundle of soiled feminine clothing—brought up +in the rear by Corporal Alec Govan, moves towards the +ground-floor archway on the other side of the courtyard. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0402"></a></p> + +<h3> +II +</h3> + +<p> +"Sirr!" +</p> + +<p> +"You, Govan? ..." The priest glances back as he passes +out of the sunshine and smells of the courtyard into the +squalor and reek of the fetid passage, and the guard, kicking +out a palm-wood stool from behind the heavy wooden-locked +door, squats down upon it to crack and eat nuts.... +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, Sirr.... It is a' ower? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The priest gravely bends his head, and the red light in +Govan's eyes is momentarily quenched in bitter waters, as he +goes on, gulping his agony down: +</p> + +<p> +"I weel kent that was sae, or ye wad no' have left him. +Did he no' speyk ane worr'd o' his mither, puir cratur!—or o' +the lass he bude to marry—or o' me, his frien'—before he +passed?" +</p> + +<p> +"He spoke of one Friend—just at the last—even a better +one than you were," says Father Forbis, gently touching the +man's clenched hand. "He Who was scourged by Roman rods +for poor Ullathorne and you, and all of us. Who died that +we might live with Him for all eternity. Where Death +cannot come—or cruelty—or suffering...." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, Sirr.... Ye are verra gude. We a' ken that o' ye!" +</p> + +<p> +"And God is good," says the priest, "though Man may make +men doubt it. Where are you going? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I am ganging back to Ullathorne. He maun be washed an' +straikit an' berrit dacently. He maunna be pitched intil a hole +like a doug!" +</p> + +<p> +The priest shudders and his face contracts painfully. +</p> + +<p> +"Very well. You shall have what little linen I can find, +and all the help I can spare.... I must finish my rounds +among the sick men now.... But, Govan! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"In the name of the old friendly days—" The thin but powerful +white hand goes out and rests on the other's shoulder,—"when +you and I—two long-legged lads—tickled trout in the +Rushet and went rabbiting on the high moors—and made toffee +over the stove in the harness-room at Kerr's Arbour—and for +your own sake and the sakes of all here!—let me beg you not +to provoke the evil man who has us in his power, by a rash +display of the wrath and scorn that can do no good—to him!" +</p> + +<p> +"Meanin' Ullathorne! I hear ye, Sirr." A strange smile +shows on the grimly-set mouth, and the dour grey eyes sullenly +shun the appeal of the blue ones. "Wi' your leave I will +be ganging back to him the now.... He aye likit me to make +queer sangs to sooth to him in the lang hoors when we lay +in the trenches at Gallipoli. An' I hae a sang—the queerest +ane o' a'—he wad fell like to hear! Guid day to ye, Sirr!" +</p> + +<p> +He salutes, with the strange smile fixed upon his face, wheels +about, and strides out of the fetid passage-way back into the +sunshine, and the priest's heart sinks within him as he goes. +Fresh furrows line his high, white brow, and anxiety deepens +the caves about his eyes, as he says—speaking in Arabic to +the bowed figure waiting humbly as a dog at the bottom of +the broken staircase: +</p> + +<p> +"He is mad with grief. God pity him! ... Follow, and +give what aid thou canst, O Mother of Kindness!" +</p> + +<p> +"If the Sidi would graciously—not call me by that +name...." +</p> + +<p> +The timid whisper barely reaches the ear it was meant for. +They have moved farther down the murky, fetid passage-way, +blocked at its entrance by the burly body of the nut-cracking +Turkish guard. Father Forbis asks in surprise: +</p> + +<p> +"Why not, when thou dost merit it? ..." And she answers: +</p> + +<p> +"Sidi, in ugliness there is Protection! Could a woman—with +two eyes and a whole face—instead of a half-one—dwell +in this evil place one hour—and fare forth unharmed? ..." She +makes as though to pull aside her veil with her dusky, +slender fingers, but does not, and goes on in the same swift +cautious undertone: +</p> + +<p> +"True, there are British soldiers here, and nearly all that +I have met were respecters of decent women! But when even +the British soldiers are beaten and tortured—made the sport +of devils in forms of men!—what can avail a woman better +than to be hideous? Sidi,—if a Turk thrust forth a hand to +pluck aside my veil, he—he!" she chuckles with a dry, clacking, +mirthlessness, "see you—he retches and spits and curses—and +does not do it again! <i>Shâf—Shâf!</i> ... See, O see!" +</p> + +<p> +She pulls the veil ruthlessly from the left side of her hidden +face and shows to the priest's pitying eyes the ruin it has +concealed. The scar of an old burn puckers the olive-tinted +temple and cheek that have caved where the bone has been +shattered—the blinded eye has vanished under ridged folds of +skin. The bridge of the nose—enough left of it to show that +the feature has been of the curved Semitic type—has been +ruthlessly shattered;—the upper lip, torn partly away, has +healed into shapelessness.... He does not see the other +side of the face—and the woman evinces no desire to show it. +But the little ear, daintily formed and shaded by hair that is +yet jet-black and silken—shows that the Mother of Ugliness +may once have been beautiful.... +</p> + +<p> +"A gunshot wound—and a terrible one." He says it to +himself ponderingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, Sidi. The weapon was a revolver." +</p> + +<p> +"What say you? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The priest starts. He has spoken his thought in his English +tongue, and this Syrian woman has answered in her own. And +it is the Arabic of the cultured classes, not the peasants' +primitive speech. He looks at her, and she draws her veil over the +poor ruined face that may once have been lovely and goes on +speaking in her cultured Arabic: +</p> + +<p> +"Verily, Sidi! A revolver-shot, fired so near that the muzzle +touched the skin. There was little time—" She gives her +dry, rustling chuckle. "Little time, and he wished to make +sure. He did not mean to miss! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"A heartless crime, O woman! But thou dost forgive the +doer?" +</p> + +<p> +"He was not mine enemy!" she says with her mirthless +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"Thy lover.... And jealous.... Forgive him all the +more for that having loved—he hurt thee in his frenzy. This +was" (of course, the woman is old) "done many years ago?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, Sidi! When I was young." Her laugh is like the +crackling of burning brush.... "Three years ago—no longer! +And he who did the thing was my brother, not my lover," says +the flat, toneless voice from within the folds of the veil. "And +jealous truly—but for his sister's honour. He dared not slay +mine enemy—a <i>Zabit</i> of the <i>Osmanli</i>,—for that would have +brought sword and fire and destruction upon our house. My +lord understands? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Surely!" +</p> + +<p> +"Therefore he gave me the wound thou seest—and thinking +he had killed me,—he shot himself to escape death by +torture and degradation. May God reward him a +thousand-fold in the bosom of Abraham! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The priest starts slightly: +</p> + +<p> +"Thou art a Jewess?" +</p> + +<p> +She is silent.... +</p> + +<p> +"Or perhaps a Samaritaness, like that woman of this city, +who near two thousand years ago held drink to the parched +lips of a Traveller beside Jacob's Well?" +</p> + +<p> +"What I once was does not matter, but I am no +Samaritaness!" There is something like resentment in the faded, +toneless voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Thou art Charity's very daughter to the sick ones in this +prison. For one para that they give thee, they get ten piastres +back. Dost thou think that I am blind?" Smiling, he shakes +his finger at the Mother of Ugliness. She bows her head and +answers, trembling like a reed in the wind: +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, Sidi.... I have feared not! ... But for the love +of Him Whom thou dost serve—seem to be blind a little +longer! There is" (another spasm of trembling passes through +her)—"There is no medicine for the wretched like helping +Wretchedness! Here I am somewhat.... They do not +shrink from me. Me whom the children in the streets hoot +and run from!—at whose hidden face the women in the doorways +spit and point their amulets, lest its influence blight +before birth the unborn babe in the womb! And—were I driven +from this place—" The faint voice is silent: +</p> + +<p> +"Be it so, O Mother of Ugliness! Henceforth I am dumb +as to thy virtues, and blind to the beauty of—thy deeds! +Come—and I will give thee some linen for the swathing of that +poor broken body that was a live man yesterday. What ails +Thee, O woman? What dost thou fear? ..." +</p> + +<p> +For the bowed figure crouches down, shaking as though +with ague, a mere heap of sordid clothes on the filthy floor at +his feet. A stifled voice falters out: +</p> + +<p> +"Didst thou not hear the bugle? ... The gates—the gates +are opening! ..." +</p> + +<p> +They are, indeed, with a clanking of rusty iron bolts in +stone groovings; with a turning out of the slovenly guard +from the bare rooms flanking the high archway of the gate. +With a stiff uprising of the lolling, nut-cracking <i>posta</i> at the +doorway—a susurrous of fierce whispers—a nameless commotion +of hate and fear and loathing unutterable—amongst the +packed bodies of the prisoners squatting, standing, or lying +on the beaten mud pavement of the prison courtyard.... +</p> + +<p> +"The Bey!" The thick whisper reaches the priest and the +woman, flung over the shoulder of the Turk as he stands at +attention in the doorway: "Hamid Bey Mutasarrif comes, +bringing a Mushir of the Almanis to inspect the prisoners...." He +adds, under his hurried breath: "Allah and the +Prophet of Allah be with me, Hasan Ali—and deliver me from +smitings this unpropitious day!" +</p> + +<p> +The guard have turned out. They raggedly present arms, +and Hasan Ali, and such others of his fellows as are on duty +in the courtyard—or posted at the portals of the mud +Barrack-buildings—shoulder their Sniders or more modern Remingtons +with the smartness engendered of fear; as a squat, sandy +officer of Turkish gendarmerie—topped with the ugly khaki +compromise between the turban and the helmet—patented by +Envey Bey in 1912—and adorned as to the epaulettes with the +two stars, and as to the cuffs with the four longitudinal gold +lace bands and the three diagonal gold bars of a Turkish +Lieutenant General—walks with a tall, brick-faced—very +much decorated German Staff officer, in amongst the stenches +of the crowded prison-yard. +</p> + +<p> +Several persons succeed these. Two German Staff officers +of inferior rank to the first, evidently his <i>aide</i>, and a secretary, +come swaggering and chatting behind their Chief. A bearded +Turkish Surgeon Major, fat and apoplectic, in black gauze +spectacles, waddles after—with a nondescript Greek person, +evidently of the interpreter-class. And a half-company of +Turkish mounted gendarmerie troop after, rather stragglingly. +The big bushy-bearded, red-fezzed men, uniformed in old-time +dark blue Hussar tunics, with orange and black facings, +braided pantaloons and long shiny thigh-boots, are all +well-armed with Winchester repeating-rifles, and carry big +German Service revolvers in holsters at their belts. +</p> + +<p> +There is a dull shuffling sound, mingled with thuds and +stifled swearing, as the Turkish guards, with assiduous kicks, +and blows of the rifle-butt, assist sitting or lying War +prisoners to assume a perpendicular position; and herd their +charges into rank right and left, leaving a central avenue down +which the Bey and the visitors may pass. Holding his breath +in an agony of suspense as he peers into the crowded courtyard +over the broad shoulder of the soldier blocking the passage, +the priest scans the faces that he knows for signs of +coming storm. As the squat, pale-eyed, bow-legged Asiatic, +uniformed in greenish khaki-drill, wearing with clownish +awkwardness the wide-thighed riding-breeches, the belts, pouches, +and gauntlets of russet leather, and the polished riding boots +with silver spurs, that set off the tall soldierly figures of the +Germans, steps with them across the threshold of the prison +courtyard it seems to every prisoner that the very sunshine +fails of its warmth, and the faint hot breeze blows cold.... +</p> + +<p> +The Bey looks about him with a pale oblique slyness, his +cigarette elaborately poised between his thick gloved fingers, +and says, speaking in Turkish, (which language the priest, +held for months in durance vile at Constantinople and at +Smyrna, has relieved the tedium of prison-life by studying, +and fairly understands): +</p> + +<p> +"Good-morning, my children!" +</p> + +<p> +"Good-morning, O Bey! ... May Allah favour your Excellency," +lustily chorus the <i>postas</i>. But at the sound of the +hated voice the faces of the prisoners have darkened threateningly, +and the silence that falls on the tainted enclosure is +heavy as a pall. +</p> + +<p> +"Your Excellency wished to inspect the British men before +seeing the British officers. These guests of our Empire"—Hamid's +leering smile and the glitter in his pale flat eyes +show the Bey's enjoyment of his own sarcasm, and the stiff +faces of the German general and his <i>aides-de-camp</i> and secretary +exhibit a faint grin as he continues: "—these guests of +our Empire are not at work to-day.... It is a holiday for +them. They sit and chat and eat fruit," (his sharp glance has +lighted on the scattered nutshells and orange-peel), "and smoke +tobacco about the well in their courtyard. Your Excellency +sees!—a capital well! ... Praise be to Allah for the blessing +of pure water! Show the well to his Excellency.... Make +room, O you there! ..." +</p> + +<p> +A gap being made in the ragged ranks by <i>postas</i> with the +rifle-butt, the brick-faced German general stalks to the low +parapet of the sky-reflecting eye of clear water, and +pronounces it in Turkish of the Prussian brand, to be an +exceedingly good well. The Bey, pretending to look at it too, +enriches the water with his chewed cigarette-end; and spits in +it slyly behind the back of the German general—to the +chuckling delight of his immediate following—and the more +controlled amusement of the German <i>aide-de-camp</i> and +secretary. As for the Greek interpreter and the fat be-goggled +Surgeon Major, whose pharmacopæia is limited to Epsom +Salts, pills of a rending nature, sulphur and iodine; who knows +no disinfectant beyond chloride of lime, and never heard of +sterilisation; whose surgical equipment is limited to a saw +or two, some needles, a scalpel—all beyond words unclean!—lint +made by Turkish ladies in secluded harems; sticking-plaster +of the most adhesive kind, splints and First Aid bandages, +these two parasites fairly wallow in enjoyment. +</p> + +<p> +The dirty bit of buffoonery is such a success that Hamid Bey +is about to repeat it, when a heavy blow upon some dense, +non-reverberating surface arrests him in the act. He starts, and +looks round for the offender. So do the German officers, +though their hard eyes are expressionless, and their sunburned +faces as blank as brown tiles. So do the parasites, so do the +military police of the Bey's escort, and the <i>postas</i> of the guard. +Then as the dull, pounding blow is repeated on the sill of +a second-floor window of the mud wing facing the entrance-gates +of the courtyard, every eye rolls up to there expectantly +and men hold their breath. +</p> + +<p> +Crash! ... The weapon falls again.... It is the leg of a +wooden stool, gripped in a fist that is strong and hairy ... +and a face—unmistakably a madman's now!—appears at the +window above. And in the hush that falls upon the parched +courtyard, a crazy voice begins to sing—the leg of the stool +coming down with a terrific crash at the end of every line: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "Say, ye Deid that hae gane before us!<br> + (Mithers too, that conceived an' bore us,<br> + Prayin' at hame an' greetin' for us—)<br> + <i>What for the Hound wi' the jaws that tore us?—<br> + What for the Turkish Hound?</i><br> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What for the beast that killed Tom Warren?<br> + Nichols, Greenbough, Smith and Beeching,<br> + Austin, Frenchard, Lark and Mansur—<br> + <i>Hear ye no their voices answer—<br> + 'Hell to the Turkish Hound!'</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The storm has broken with a vengeance. But even the +white-faced priest, peering over the unsteady shoulder of the +scared Turkish soldier, is carried away by the tingling +excitement of the thing. Knowing that the gates of Terror are +burst open—and that Vengeance shall issue forth.... +</p> + +<p> +Upon the wild, discoloured face with the glaring eyes, all +other eyes are glued expectantly, as through the rictus of a +dreadful laugh that is stamped upon it by Insanity, it sings +to the wild droning tune—to the accompaniment of the wooden +club upon the crumbling window-sill—its rhymeless hymn of +hate. Faces nearly as ghastly as the singer's appear at and +crowd the windows of the Barracks. And in time to the crazy +chant; the crazy buildings, the mud-walled and paved +courtyard begin to shake with the measured stamping of the +prisoners naked feet: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "What for the Man that made of Arthur,<br> + Thomas, Chauncey, Dee, O'Brien;<br> + Brown and Somers, Davys, Brenon,<br> + Custance, Trevor, Ricketts, Blanchard;<br> + Foltringham, Bellayse and Bidmead;<br> + Jones and Kirby, Evans, Foljambe—<br> + <i>Meat for a Turkish Hound?</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The place is thick with dust now; men's lungs are choked +and oppressed by it.... They stamp—nothing can stop +them stamping in time to the blows of the stool-leg on the +window-sill of the room where lies the shapeless body of the +comrade whom the <i>asâyisi</i> have beaten into pulp. +</p> + +<p class="t3"> + "What for the deil that killed Ted Ullathorne—"<br> +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +The wild song breaks off here, as the madman ducks below +the level of the window-sill—and a cry of rage goes up from +a hundred throats as he rises again, with the disfigured body +in his arms, its head lolling helplessly beneath his own.... +Then—a German Army revolver cracks—and with blood pouring +over the face that is still laughing dreadfully, Govan, with +his awful burden, reels back into the room.... +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0403"></a></p> + +<h3> +III +</h3> + +<p> +The voice of a German officer breaks in, giving a sharp +order in Prussian-flavoured Turkish. There is a rush of +<i>zabtiehs</i> and <i>postas</i> to the door of the building where the +madman is.... As they jostle in the filthy entry, the boots of +those who have got in first, thunder on its crazy stairs; and +savage shouts and the tumult of a desperate struggle break +out in the sordid room where Govan—bleeding from a bullet-wound +in the head—but equal to a dozen men in the strength +of his insanity—stands over the disfigured corpse laid out +upon a dirty sack. +</p> + +<p> +In the mud courtyard below, as Hamid Bey, with the German +officers; his following and escort of police are retreating +discreetly backwards to the vantage of the courtyard gate—a +prisoner with a savage curse, dashes a handful of muddy +orange-peel full in the livid face of Hamid. The Bey, smothered +with filth and choking with rage, jerks his revolver from +its holster, and promptly scatters the offender's brains. +</p> + +<p> +Were the Bey unaccompanied, a volley from the Winchesters +of his escort would silence for all time the rioters about him. +But the German commander has previously informed him +that on the morrow the War prisoners under his jurisdiction +at Shechem will be deported for purposes of exchange.... +</p> + +<p> +Wild shouts, and British cheers break out.... Old War-slogans +are heard again.... There is a furious rush of naked +feet, but the Military Police and the <i>postas</i> of the guard beat +back the unarmed mutineers with rifle-butts, and drive them +back on either side, clubbing and kicking them. But less +because of this the tumult is quelled than because a tall, ragged +man with long tawny hair and beard has rushed from the +archway of one of the Barrack buildings; and bringing, in this +desperate hour, the authority of the priest to reinforce the +influence of the friend and helper, exhorts, implores, +commands the maddened prisoners to submit to the brutal +authority they have no power to resist. +</p> + +<p> +They are not cowed, but they obey. The clenched hands +drop whatever missiles they have chanced to seize on,—their +owners, in a storm of kicks, curses and blows with the +rifle-butt, are herded back into the Barracks by their guards. +</p> + +<p> +Barney, the jester, for once at a loss for a gag, huddles +on a sack half-filled with straw on one of the wooden +platforms,—six feet wide and two above the floor—a couple of +which, running parallel, longitudinally divide each room. +Divided into sections by upright planks, each section of platform +accommodates or discommodes six War Prisoners. Perhaps +Barney's room, and others on the upper floors are a thought +less vile in flavour than these on the lower storeys. He smokes +his last remaining fag, then whistles a dreary ragtime, +staring through the barred window in front of him at the +unbarred window of a room that is over the courtyard gate.... +</p> + +<p> +It is the window of the Commandant's office: the bare, +seldom-used room where, on Sundays, as a signal favour,—the +priest has been allowed to celebrate Mass and hold a +Bible-class, and on rare occasions an impromptu smoking-concert +has been given. It is full of Turkish <i>postas</i> in khaki, and the +braided blue of the Osmanli gendarmerie. It is at first not +possible to get a glimpse of what is going on inside, but in +obedience to some order the window is cleared of the bodies +blocking it.... Now it can be made out that the officers are +Hamid Bey and the German general, seated with the secretary +and <i>aide</i> at a table, before which—with two troopers of +Mounted Police behind him, stands a tall, pale, emaciated +man with long red-gold hair and beard. +</p> + +<p> +The man seems to be answering a series of interrogations. +He asserts, he denies emphatically, he pleads, but he does not +cringe. Driven to silent frenzy by the difficulty of seeing, and +the doubtfulness of the trend of the events that are taking +place in the room over the gateway, Barney looks at his +neighbour, the Sergeant of the R.F.C. +</p> + +<p> +"Sergeant!" +</p> + +<p> +"Eh?" +</p> + +<p> +The Flight Sergeant's broad hands are sheltering his eyes +as he lies on his stomach on the platform. The little folding +binoculars that magnify by 20 are solving for their owner the +problem of the Commandant's Room. +</p> + +<p> +"D'yer pipe wot's goin' on? In the office over the gytew'y? +Where 'Amid, blarst 'im! an' the two German orficers is +settin' at the table and the Father standin' up in front? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay. They're playin' a scene out o' the Old Testament!" +says the Flight Sergeant, with a sarcastic twitch of a muscle +in his thin cheek. +</p> + +<p> +"Wod'jer call it? ..." Barney breathes hard.... +</p> + +<p> +"The Scapegoat!" +</p> + +<p> +"The 'ow much? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"The Scapegoat. The beast the ancient Jews burdened with +the sins of the congregation—and drove into the Wilderness +every year. Only—the Padre's the Scapegoat—in this case." +</p> + +<p> +"'Oo? ... Not Father Forbis?" +</p> + +<p> +"Father Forbis right enough! 'Left—turn. Quick—march. +Party—shon!'" mimics the Sergeant, as the high fair head +and stern aquiline profile of the priest, with a <i>zabtieh's</i> fezzed +head before, and another behind him,—passes across the field +of vision limited by the frame of the window, and by the +opening of a door an angle of light is thrown on the +whitewashed office wall. "Now the <i>sira-châwush</i> is ordering out +the Prison Guard escort.... It's all over.... They're +taking him away! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Dismissed after interrygation.... That's all.... Cheero! +In a minnit 'e'll come back through the yard-gyte an' go to 'is +quarters as gay as a bloomin' bird...." +</p> + +<p> +Barney defends his opinion with desperate optimism. But +his heart is sinking leadenly and a lump is in his throat. +</p> + +<p> +"All serene! Have it your own way. You'll see which is +right of us!" The Sergeant cautiously raises himself up. +"Do you hear the escort's looted British boots trampin' down +the stairs? Now they'll either turn in here or march out at +the Main Entrance. And if they do that, there'll be no Mass +for the Catholics on Sunday morning—and no Prayers for +the rest of us when Mass is through. And no one to get us +the allowance from the Consul. And a dog's death for the +sick, ay! and a dog's burial. There! ... Do you +hear? ... That's the outside gate shutting..." +</p> + +<p> +"Yus. O my Gawd! Shall we ever see 'im agyne?" +</p> + +<p> +The inner gate of the Barrack courtyard has not opened. +The sentries posted right and left of it maintain their position +unmoved. But the groaning of rusty bolts in stone grooves, +and the sound of the ponderous outer gate of the Main +Entrance opening and slamming, falls, heavy as a clod of +churchyard clay, on the hearts of many men. +</p> + +<p> +For their priest, their helper, their counsellor and friend +has gone from his place among them, and the blank he leaves +is beyond mere words to express. And even worse than the +sense of loss is the cruel uncertainty. Wondering, conjecturing, +they lie on their verminous benches as the long hot +Palestine day creeps to the sunset hour. The prayer-call from the +mosques heralds no supper. Prisoners who resent massacre +and villainous usage must, in the opinion of the Bey, have +been too lavishly fed. The soldiers of the guard divide the +beans in oil; and Barney Mossam, tightening his belt, is more +than ever certain that Virtue, outside the walls of the +T.R. Drury Lane—is not a game that pays.... +</p> + +<p> +The breeze freshens, the great bats come out to steal fruit, +and the lesser ones to hunt moths and mosquitoes. Night +suddenly unfolds her wings—and down comes the Dark. The +jackals howl on the confines of the town, and the pariah dogs +bay hideously. The Turkish equivalent for Lights Out! is +sounded by the prison <i>boruzan</i>. Silver clear, the trumpets and +bugles of the German-Turkish garrison challenge the echoes +of Ebal and Gerizim. The radiant Hosts of Heaven come +forth, and the moon, in her last quarter, hangs over the Hills +of Gilead. +</p> + +<p> +Sleep has come to the prisoners. The mud walls shake with +their snoring. Only a few are wakeful. The Flight Sergeant +is one of these. Towards the middle of the night a 'plane goes +over Shechem: +</p> + +<p> +"A raiding or reconnoitring hydro from some carrier in +the Mediterranean? No! There's no rattling from the floats. +It is a land machine...." +</p> + +<p> +The airman leaves the crowded bench, and steals to the +window. In the white effulgence of the moon all objects stand +out clear. The German look-out with the telescope on the +minaret of the Great Mosque of el Kebir.... The hooded +searchlight with its dozing and waking guardians, on the +balcony lower down.... A little figure moving on the ragged +shoulder of Ebal.... A child? ... No! a woman—scrambling +up from limestone terrace to terrace.... He forgets +her, for, with the deep, vibrating song that he remembers—into +the field of his vision swims The Two-Faced Nightingale.... +</p> + +<p> +At about a thousand feet up, she circles smoothly above +Shechem. The search-ray from the balcony of the Great +Mosque slashes at her viciously. Its fellow from the flank +of Gerizim, leaps out, but sinks down again. Her pilot fires +an orange light—and the scimitars of radiance from the +Mosque and the Mount return to their scabbards; no strings of +green rockets explore for the range of her—and no shells from +the anti-aircraft guns in the Square of the Khan scream up +at her winged shape.... +</p> + +<p> +As the biplane hovers against the jewel-bright blue of the +Eastern night, the little Zeiss glasses tell their owner that her +pilot has a native observer. A big Arab in a striped mantle, +and headcloth bound by a rope.... Now her pilot fires a +second orange light, drops his weighted despatch-bag, banks +and climbs, launching at a dizzy height into a descent of +sweeping spirals.... Evidently he is going to land +somewhere in the neighbourhood of Shechem.... +</p> + +<p> +There is silence as the engine is cut out.... The big 'plane +dives out of sight behind the shoulder of Ebal, where the +lowest tiers of greyish-yellow limestone terraces are merged +in the sandy, rolling plain.... +</p> + +<p> +The Flight Sergeant holds his breath and waits, his eyes +glued to the binoculars. In a wonderfully short space of time +the aëroplane, a powerful tractor biplane of D.H.6 type, +climbs into his field of vision,—rises in wide, masterly spirals, +banks, turns and flies away Westwards,—leaving the Flight +Sergeant wondering with his chin upon the window-sill.... +</p> + +<p> +For the Two-Faced Nightingale has shed her observer, the +big man in the striped Arab <i>abâyi</i> and roped <i>kuffiyeh</i>. Puzzled, +the Flight Sergeant creeps noiselessly back to his place +on the wooden platform, and lies awake, chewing the cud of +mystery, for the rest of the long miserable night. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0404"></a></p> + +<h3> +IV +</h3> + +<p> +Dawn brings surprise to him, and the other War prisoners +of the Barracks. After the distribution of the morning +half-brick of gritty black bread, they are given a second ration, +and told to get ready, as they are all going away. +</p> + +<p> +To this end they are presently mustered in the courtyard, +carrying their various packs and bundles. Sick and well, +unwashed, haggard, unshorn; on naked feet, or feet that are +bandaged with the remnants of puttees. Some in tattered +khaki tunics, others in cast-off German or Turkish jackets; +many bareheaded, others covered with German military caps +or broken sun-helmets,—as sorry a collection of scarecrows as +Turco-German neglect and brutality can make of two hundred +and twenty brave men.... A Turkish bimbashi of infantry, +attended by a châwush, gravely pretends to inspect the French +and British prisoners. In the name of his Empire he bids +them farewell. Some try to raise a feeble cheer when both +sets of big wooden gates are thrown open,—and they see a +string of some half-dozen German motor-lorries waiting in the +sunny road. Sick and well, they are marched forth under +guard and packed into these vehicles,—those unable to stand +being carried out by <i>postas</i>. Then, followed by some weeping +wives, the Arabs, Jews and Armenians, chained neck to neck +in double file,—are led away—a disconsolate procession, bound +for no man knows where.... +</p> + +<p> +Even as they leave the foul place of their captivity, the +Barracks is filled from wall to wall by an entering battalion of +Turkish Reservist Rifles, part of a Brigade hastily summoned +by Von Kressenstein from the Caucasus, to be launched on +the journey to Mespot, and now brought down here. Swarthy, +hairy men, armed with the old long Martini, some covered +with the fez, others with the drill <i>enverieh</i>, some shod with +sandals and leggings, others with German Army boots. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, the Railway-line from Shechem not being available—it +was extensively damaged a little while back by British +bombing aircraft—and on the repair of it many of these War +prisoners have bitterly toiled!—they are bumped over villainously +bad roads to railhead at Nakr—en route for the fierce +red city of Aleppo, where as they are now aware and Heaven +knows how they have got the knowledge!—the sick and +disabled are to be picked out for Exchange to England, <i>via</i> +Smyrna—and the able-bodied (such as they are!) sent north +to Belemkh, a station in the Taurus Mountains, headquarters +for gangs of War prisoners working on the rails.... +</p> + +<p> +The villainous road that buckjumps through the tumbled +Palestine landscape is crowded with Turkish Field, Horse, and +Mountain Artillery, conjured back from Mesopotamia by Von +Kressenstein, and rushing forward to the defence of Junction +Station South. Battery after battery rolls by in the blinding +dust; guns and waggons pulled, and riders carried by tough +Anatolian horses, bitterly ill-used and evidently poorly fed. +But not the roll of iron-shod wheels and the clatter of +iron-shod hoofs, nor the roar of human voices talking in many +Oriental dialects, nor the curses and jeers and viler things +that are hurled at the prisoners in the jolting lorries, can shut +out the savage, irregular thudding of Turkish Krupp 75 mms., +Turkish Mountain Artillery, and machine-guns; and the +steady, dogged slogging of British Royal Garrison Artillery +motor-howitzers; British Field Artillery eighteen-pounders; +and the clat-clat-clatter of Lewis machine-guns, waging bitter +battle in the west and south.... +</p> + +<p> +At Nakr, where there is to be a delay of several hours, +owing to the detrainment of forces from Mespot, they find +a composite train of second and third-class compartments full +of Turkish War Prisoner guards and their commanders, and +horse-trucks, packed with British officers, waiting under steam +for a German Staff Deputy Director of War Prisoners,—and +a Controller of Transport,—who are going to Aleppo and +thence to Smyrna to arrange the conditions of their exchange. +The British officers are the recent captives of the stone-prison +and the wired enclosure at Shechem. Very sunburnt are +they:—very haggard, weary, thirsty, shabby and ill-shaven, and +burdened with tattered valises and heterogeneous odds and +ends of personal property, but bright of eye, elastic of +bearing—full of the indomitable spirit that from the days of +Agincourt and long before them—has been the birthright of their +warlike race. +</p> + +<p> +Crowding like schoolboys at the half-doors of the padlocked +and guarded horse-trucks, they shout cheery greetings, salutations +and scraps of information to the rank-and-file, clustered +like swarming bees on the grilling stretch of platform beside +the iron track.... +</p> + +<p> +"Hear the guns, W. and S.? Putting the wind up Djemal, +aren't we?" +</p> + +<p> +"Halloa! Mossam of B—— Company, my late Platoon! +I've not seen you since I launched you with a note to the +O.C. the water-camels at Rashid.... Have you got hold of a +new song, or are you still denying relationship with Potsdam?" +</p> + +<p> +"Aren't you Jollife, you chap with the Turkish fez and your +eye in a sling? My Orderly in front of Gaza! What price +that leg of roast goat with the skin and hair on? I'll bet +you'd tuck into it quick enough now—if you got the chance!" +</p> + +<p> +A graver, older officer leans out and calls to the soldiers: +</p> + +<p> +"Can any of you men give us news of Father Forbis? +We've been on the look-out for him since we heard we were to +be moved." +</p> + +<p> +"The Padre! ... Where's the Padre? ... What are you +shaking your heads about? Damn you, you hairy brute! +Why do you savage the man? ... What the hell has he done +to you? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Thus the ringing British voice, sharp and acrid with +indignation. For Barney Mossam, screwing himself up to answer, +has been clubbed by a <i>posta's</i> rifle-butt full in the mouth. He +spits out blood and broken teeth, and grins pitiably; and for +his sake and his comrades', the officers address them no more. +Now the Turkish Station-Master and the German R.T.O. who +is his master, appear on the platform, as the Deputy Director +of War Prisoners and the Controller of Imperial Transport +and their escorts arrive on the scene in German Army motor-cars. +They board the dirty first-class compartment specially +reserved for them. Their orderlies and servants stow away +their luggage, the signal falls—and the train—with a +non-commissioned officer on the platform of the corridor-car +conveying the German officials—armed with binoculars and sharply +on the look-out for British bomb-carrying aircraft, jolts over +the warped, unevenly-laid metals for El Fuda Junction and +Deraa, the first stages of its journey North.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +An Arab horseman, stationary beside the track with two +mounted companions, controlling his fiery dapple-grey mare +with a master-hand upon her jingling bridle—resplendent with +the gold and silver jewellery lavished on horse-furniture by +the wealthier Bedwân, gravely salutes with his long lance +tufted with sable ostrich feathers, as the composite train jolts +out of Nakr. And the Deputy Director of War Prisoners +and the Controller of Imperial Transport, sitting opposite +one another in their dusty first-class compartment, with tall +tumblers of Munich beer, (iced, in this land of dust and +drouth) on a table fitted between them ... smoking the fat +cigars of Hamburg and discussing German Military Supremacy +and German World-politics—gravely finger the brims of their +sun-helmets in recognition of the salute.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Wer ist es!</i> Who now, is that Arab? ..." asks the Controller, +whose bulging, light-grey eyes are sharp-sighted behind +their tinted glasses. "A personage of some consequence, by +the gold embroidery on his <i>burnus</i> judging; the gold twist in +his head-rope, the gold-hilted sword in his waist-cloth—and +the also-with-precious-metal-enriched trappings of his +Blauschimmel mare." +</p> + +<p> +"He," the Deputy Director replies, "is one of the lesser +Emirs of the Irregular Cavalry of the King of the Hedjaz, +who—as the Herr General Controller knows,—secretly under +British leadership—upon the City of Mecca seized in June +and annexed Akaba in July." +</p> + +<p> +"And is now wrecking trains on the Hedjaz Rail, containing +German Ottoman forces, under the very noses of our Allied +patrols,—blowing Turkish Railway-bridges with charges of +nitro-glycerine sky-high—and in the North and East our +rearguards harassing. <i>Donnerwetter!</i> Why is this rogue of an +Arab not in fetters? What makes he, hanging about trains +containing military officials of the Fatherland?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because, Herr General, the Emir Fadl Anga and his +followers are of those who the solid worth and philanthropic +aims of Germany recognise, and scorn the windy emptiness +and rapacious greed of England, the Great Swashbuckler.... +They what we Germans have done for the Turkish Army also +see—and are convinced that under similar auspices, Arabia, +hand in hand with Egypt and India, might become a powerful +and war-capable State. Emir Fadl Anga estimates the +number of his party—headed by a nephew of the Mecca Sherif—as +very considerable. 'They are many,' he in his Oriental +hyperbole, says, 'as the stars of Heaven, or the Desert +sands!' Also, information has by him been supplied, which, had the +difference between German and Arabic clock-time at our +Shechem Headquarters been better understood—might have +resulted in a <i>Handstreich</i> very gratifying to Imperial Majesty +at Berlin. The officer guilty of this so gross ignorance was +brought to a drumhead Court Martial and degraded, the Herr +General will be pleased to hear! However, the Emir's intentions +were agreed to be excellent, and he has now brought us a +basket of carrier-pigeons from his Chief, the nephew of the +Sherif—and the Emir is to convey back with him of these +birds a similar basket, trained at the Nazareth Headquarters +of the Herr General-in-Chief, Liman von Sanders—as soon +as the pigeon-master-Sergeant with them arrives.... Also, +this is good beer! What does the Herr General say to another +bottle?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ja, ja</i>. <i>Mit Vergnügen</i>. It is hellishly hot! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The Emir Fadl Anga, ingenious purveyor of genuine but +post-dated intelligence—salutes gravely, and wheels his +dapple-grey about as the composite train bumps out of Nakr. A +muscle in his lean, dark cheek jerks, and his thin lips under +the Arab beard smile scornfully—as his glance falls on the +rank-and-file of the War Prisoners—clustered on the platform +beside the iron way.... +</p> + +<p> +They are hot, faint and weary under the bite of the sun, +amidst this jumble of naked hills, on whose chalk and +limestone knees they have driven elaborate systems of trenches +for the enemy, under the lash of the loaded hide-whips. But +Barney Mossam, with a split top-lip and a scarlet gap where +several front teeth are missing, is making a gallant effort to +buck the others. In the middle of a spirited rendering of "I +HAVEN'T seen the Kaiser for a VERY long time. He's the +leader of a German Band, an' he AIN'T no cousin of mine!"—breaks +in the fierce interruption of an Arab voice, bitterly +abusive: +</p> + +<p> +"You—O you! Sons of <i>farrâshes</i> prostitute concubines!—silence +that brother of howling apes!" +</p> + +<p> +Thrusting his lance-butt in the embroidered leathern +bucket, Fadl Anga leans low from his saddle—appears to +pick up something, no doubt a pebble—rises erect, and hurls +the missile savagely into the brown of the crowd of men. It +hits Barney, who picks it up, and white teeth flash in the black +beards of the other mounted Arabs, and a laugh goes up from +the Turkish guards, who are smoking and chatting and eating +water-melons, as the supposed emissary of the traitorous +nephew of the Sherif of Mecca touches his mare with the +sharp edge of the broad copper stirrup—and with a ringing +shout of <i>"Allah ho Akbar!</i>" gallops down the rocky road +towards Shechem, followed by his two companions, and +leaving Barney Mossam gaping—with an embroidered Arab +purse—heavy with Turkish silver coins, clutched in his hand.... +</p> + +<p> +Long before the composite train went jolting out of Nakr +the keen grey eyes under the <i>kuffiyeh</i> of Fadl Anga—eyes less +miserable now that by day and night sharp danger gives a +spice to life, so empty void of Katharine—have assured their +owner, Edward Yaill,—that Julian Forbis is not with the +officers in the cattle-trucks any more than he is with the men +clustered like swarming bees upon the grilling platform, +beside the iron track. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0405"></a></p> + +<h3> +V +</h3> + +<p> +The weather changes before dawn. Soggy clouds roll inland +from the sea, hide the sky of Eastern azure, blot out the +shining faces of the stars and invest the pale beauty of the +Queen Planet of Night with the flowing sable veil of a recent +War Widow. It has come on to rain—a slashing downpour +of Palestinian intensity, under which the wadis speedily +become shallow cataracts of khaki water—the trenches slashed +in the terraced Judæan Hills, and manned by Turks, Germans, +or British Crusaders—mere troughs of sandy or chalky +mud. +</p> + +<p> +Sangars ramparted with boulders may offer some practical +assurance against shell-splinters or bullets, but against rain like +this they offer no security. Bivouacs built of stones, and roofed +with ground-sheets may in some degree keep out the rain, but +they freely admit the cold. A Scotch mist, clammy, freezing +and blinding in its damp opaqueness blankets the Hills of +Ephraim, and broods over the Maritime Plain, as on the edge +of one of the limestone terraces that fringe the robe of +Mount Ebal,—a big, brawny Arab sits—nursing a badly-ricked +ankle, and swearing in the fruitiest vernacular of his adopted +land. +</p> + +<p> +It is lucky for the Arab in the brown camel-hair shirt, +striped <i>abâyi</i> and roped white linen head-cloth, that he has +no audience but the scorpions and lizards sheltering from the +slashing downpour under the grey-white boulders—as he rocks +himself and nurses his ricked ankle—and curses his luck. +Presently, as the Scotch mist lifts, and the plain is irradiated +by the watery moonlight, he sets his teeth for an effort and +crawls to where a bundle tied in native cloth, and a long, +metal-tipped Arab walking-staff lie on the chalky, puddled plain +where they fell when he dropped them from the machine at +the beginning of the volplane, and screwed himself as the plain +rushed up, to wait the throttling down of the engine—the long, +smooth final glide—the flattening out following the pilot's +raising of the lever—and the slight jarring impact of the +thick-tyred wheels with the ground.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Now</i> jump!" the sharp, strident voice of the Egyptian +called when the expected shock seemed imminent, and John +Hazel set his teeth and jumped promptly. Aware even before +he crashed to ground that the word had been given too soon. +Even as he sprawled on the chalky plain, with all the wind +knocked out of his body—the machine just missed landing on +top of him. How he rolled out of the way of the thick +squat wheels, and the steel framework of the under-carriage +of the biplane, a powerful and heavy machine of D.H.6 type—he +does not know now.... +</p> + +<p> +Sick, faint and shaken, he picked himself up, but not before +Essenian, lithe as an acrobat, freed himself from the +safety-belt, jumped out, adjusted the controls, and swung the +big propeller. As the engine started he leaped back to his +seat, looked round at Hazel, shouted "Good-bye!" and opening +the throttle, raced over the plain, and rushed up into the +air as though pursued by a fusillade of machine-gun +bullets. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Damn and blast the Egyptian beast!" John snarls, and, +as the ricked joint rapidly swells to cricket-ball size, swears +again, and thinks as he rubs it, "Might have guessed he was +out for some treachery or other. Though how could I?—until +he signalled to the enemy over Shechem by firing the Verey +light, and gave away the whole show by dropping a message-bag! +Making me swear before the start by all we Hazels hold +most holy, never by word or sign to let out anything I might see +him do. Consequently I'm his confederate—tarred with the +same brush. And now I know he murdered Captain Usborn! +It was his own revolver-bullet I showed him at the Club. +If ever I get out of here I stand some chance of getting shot +myself for being back at the Front on the quiet when I'm +supposed to be on leave in Alex. But anyhow I hope I'll see +Essenian Pasha get his dose of British lead before I do. +Unless I get a chance to settle him myself. Wouldn't I let +the beggar have it! Right in the neck—where Winnie wore +the beads. But what a flier! Holy Smoke! what an A1. flier! +Unless he's a devil, which I trend to believe!—there's not +a man his match." +</p> + +<p> +The rain that began at two a.m. by his wrist-watch (hidden +under a broad band of untanned sheep-leather, laced on John's +big wrist by a slender thong) shows no sign of abating. +Fitfully and at intervals through the night, those guns in the west +and south have held debate. Now they begin again with +redoubled energy. John has seen as the D.H.6 travelled through +the clear azure Palestine night, how the enemy's line has +been thrust back from Gaza towards Jaffa. Now with a great +blowing-up of Turco German ammunition-dumps, Junction +Station,—key of the northern railway system—announces to +the echoing hills the success of British arms. +</p> + +<p> +"Good for us!" John chuckles, rather drearily—as the sullen +sky in the south is illuminated by Aurora Borealis-like effects +of orange, green and crimson—and Brock-like sheaves of flame +spurt from the horizon to descend in gold and silver showers. +"Djemal Pasha's Fourth Army Corps seems to be getting it +rather badly. We're putting the breeze up Von Kressenstein, +unless I much mistake...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Even as John Hazel hugs the thought, the train containing +Djemal Pasha's German Corps Commander is rushing towards +Jerusalem. The Turco-German Army, broken in two, is +retiring eastwards upon the Holy City and north-west through +Ramleh towards Tul Keram. The brigades that rolled into +Shechem overnight—rested and fed, are rolling out again. +Fresh batteries from the Caucasus, diverted from Mesopotamia, +new battalions of infantry of the Redif and Mustafiz, +and brigades of irregular Cavalry from Kurdistan and Northern +Albania, are swarming down to reinforce the Nizam and +its Ikhtiât. +</p> + +<p> +Dawn comes with cessation of the freezing, pelting rain +and the sun glows fiery red through the curtain of leaden-coloured +mists that yet hang over the Mediterranean. Wounded +and stragglers on foot, German Army motor-lorries laden +with escaping Teuton officers, begin to arrive at the Holy +City. It is whispered in Jerusalem the Weary that the days +of Ottoman rule in Palestine are numbered, that the +German, Turkish and Austrian officials and residents are even +now preparing to quit the town. And indeed German depots +are hurriedly emptied; sugar sold as cheap as the dirt that is +in it—long held-up flour and cereals disposed of in haste. +From the high towers of the City and from the Mount of +Olives one can see the roads that are muddy now—and will +be dusty presently, crowded with lorries, carts and +pack-animals carrying fugitives with their baggage, munitions and +essential stores, north to Shechem or east to Jericho.... +</p> + +<p> +John, unaware of this, yet senses great happenings, as he +stands propped on his Arab staff, cursing the temporary +uselessness of a man with a sprained ankle-joint. He must lie up +somewhere until the anguish abates and the cricket-ball reduces. +A hut—there are clusters of drab-white specks, indicating a +village on the northern fringes of the stretch of plain—boulder-strewn, +bush-dotted, thinly grassed, thick with tufts of mandrake +and tall blue Campanulas, and knee-deep in growth of +late-blooming, white and yellow asphodel—on which Essenian +elected to come down.... Westwards towards the sea there +are other, larger villages. South there is a broad defile, +curving east between humpy limestone hills, leading, John knows, to +the town of Shechem. Over him rises the huge and bulky +Shape of Ebal, three thousand six hundred and ninety feet +above sea-level. From terrace to terrace, a path winds up to +her towering rounded crest between hedges of tamarisk, broad-leaved +grey-green cactus, and prickly pear plentifully laden with +knobby red fruit. On her summit the map has shown John +the ruins of an ancient fortress. Near the top, on this, the +west side—stands a little whitewashed cupola surmounting +a wall of mud and stone encircling a Moslem well. +</p> + +<p> +Water is there; and hidden away with his revolver and +cartridges on John's big person, is a case of First Aid +necessaries, a small flask of brandy and some meat-lozenges in case +of need like this. He determines to crawl up to the place of +the well, hide, and doctor himself for a day, or even two days +until the sprain is reduced, and he can get about. +</p> + +<p> +"Hard luck," he mutters to himself, "but there's no good in +grousing.... Now buck up and help me—O all you Big +Old Men!" +</p> + +<p> +But the Big Old Men give no sign, and their descendant, +shouldering his bundle (to bear out his role of Arab there ought +to be a donkey or a woman to carry it), limps, leaning on his +staff and sweating with pain, up the narrow pathway leading +between the hedges of cactus and prickly pear. +</p> + +<p> +Blood-red, the Sun rises over the distant horizon, the glittering +drops upon the leaves, the drying puddles under John's +naked, slippered feet are reddened by the reflection. From the +broad, prickly leaves the wet begins to steam; the tufts of +snapdragon, pink and crimson, white and yellow and orange; and +the blue campanulas, growing in the tissues of the rock, stand +gallantly upright, refreshed by the dampness; the lily-like +asphodel exhales its delicate, characteristic smell. +</p> + +<p> +There are goats on the Mount, John notices, presently. +Their droppings are thick upon the path he climbs. He hears +them bleating, and sees them, feeding under the ruins of the +Fortress. Indeed, the next wind of the path brings him out +upon a ledge where a heavy-uddered female is cropping the +thyme that grows there, with a jet-black kid nuzzling at her +side. If one could catch the mother, thinks John, the question +of subsisting here for days would be easily settled. Prickly +pears are eatable.... Goat's milk is good.... There were +lots of milch-goats in the caves of Sheria, and modern +Crusaders, dry with the drouth of battle, and as yet uncertain +whether the enemy had not poisoned the wells—milked the +goats into their tin hats and other receptacles, and drank and +were mightily refreshed. If only—even as John licks his lips, +the too-nimble dairy, skipping from ledge to ledge, recedes +from view. Bleating, the little black kid scrambles after +her—and the Moslem well near the summit of Ebal seems farther +off than it did before. +</p> + +<p> +John sees now a path, branching off to his right hand, which +may lead to the hut or cave of the goatherd. He strikes out +upon it, and makes some progress, until the curve of it, +trending southwards, suddenly shows him a narrow road, deeply +rutted with broad-tyred wheels, and pitted with hoof-prints, +leading up the Mount from its base on the south-eastern side. +The erect brown figure of a sentry—reduced by distance to +the size of a doll—stands out against the background. A +Turkish Artillery waggon is jolting up the steep roadway.... +John hears the panting of the toiling horses, the creak of the +straining rope traces, the jingle of chains and the cracking of +the drivers' thick-lashed whips.... +</p> + +<p> +From behind a bush he now looks down into a sangar built +of boulders, sheltered at one end with green tarpaulin and full +of Turkish machine-guns. The tarpaulin quivers with the +snores of sleeping gunners, whose legs project beyond it, and +from a nest of camouflage lower down the mountain, the +blunt nose of a howitzer snuffs at the sky. +</p> + +<p> +Still farther south a Field battery of Krupps has been posted +on the flank of Ebal; the whinnying of horses eager for their +morning barley and forage comes from a hollow where the +Turks have stabled their teams, the smell of some aromatic +burning wood spices the air with sweetness. Blue smoke +columns up from fires of hidden bivouacs. There are picquets +along the foothills, and on the plain are outposts. The +Mount—except on the west and north whence danger is not +apprehended—has been converted into a veritable wasps' nest. +</p> + +<p> +Holding his breath, John Hazel turns, and noiselessly +retraces his footsteps between the cactus hedges and along the +path to where it first branched off. As he sets his lame foot +gingerly upon it, he encounters a veiled native woman, toiling +upwards, who carries—not an excessive burden in this land +of laden women—a bundle of canes, and an empty gourd, and +has a coarse jar of red earthenware balanced on her head. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the earthen Jar contains water, or milk, or <i>laban</i>, +that mixture of excessively sour milk with finely-chopped mint, +peculiar to Syria. The bare idea intensifies John's thirst. +</p> + +<p> +"O my mother!" he begins in quite passable Arabic: "In +the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate—" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ai—e!</i>" The woman has started and dropped the gourd, +and stands before him trembling, "What—what wouldst thou?" +</p> + +<p> +"Somewhat to wet my throat. Thou lookest on a thirsty +man. Hast thou, by any lucky chance, drink in the vessel?" +</p> + +<p> +"The vessel is empty. See you, I have spoken truth!" She +takes the jar from her veiled head and turns it upside +down, and John's heart sinks to the bottom of his famished +stomach. "May God relieve your need! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Allah favour thee! Black is my fortune. Thou seest," +he thrusts out the swollen foot with the bulge at the side +of the ankle-joint, "what evil has befallen me through a slip +upon the Mountain side." +</p> + +<p> +"It hurts thee? ..." He cannot see the hidden face, but +in the faint voice there is a note of pity.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Wallah</i>! It hurts like very hell! Worse than the hurt is +the lameness. Now hear! By the life of my head I say: If +thou, being a woman, couldst help it somewhat! ... If thou +knewest a place of shelter where I could lie and tend the +hurt, and—and—have somewhat to eat and drink while it +was mending, for this I would pay thee. By Allah! I am no +beggar, I!" +</p> + +<p> +The Fellaha thinks, while a little dusky hand holds the +edges of her veil together. Then she says faintly: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ala râsi</i>. I have—I know of a place of shelter. It is not +very far from here. There thou couldst lie, it is a cave between +two boulders and I would bring thee food and drink." +</p> + +<p> +"Allah requite thee, O my sister! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Come, then, Sidi!" She returns her empty vessel to its +place upon her head, with the deft, accustomed swing of the +Eastern woman, and moves on before him, striking into +another lateral path, a mere goat-track to the unpractised eye, +that scores the mountain-side, running north. For perhaps a +quarter of a mile her little bending figure hurries along and +the tall Arab, leaning on his staff, hobbles painfully after. +Where the cave between two boulders is—and less a cave than +a hollow under a projecting ledge of nummulite limestone—he +finds her waiting him.... +</p> + +<p> +"In here, Sidi!" +</p> + +<p> +"Call me not Sidi! I am no person of degree." John +thinks it well to try on the woman the story he has invented. +"No person of degree am I. Only Ali Zaybak the Bedawi, a +man who once had three camels, and ten sheep, and five goats, +and a father and two brothers, and a wife also; and now +has none; my brothers, my wife and two camels being killed +and all the rest lost...." +</p> + +<p> +"May the Dispenser of Mercies atone to thee, O Ali Zaybak!" +says the thin faded voice from under the woman's veil. +"How came about thy loss? From whom dost thou claim the +blood-wreaks?" +</p> + +<p> +"From the Inglizi, (English) the thrice-accursed ones! who +came flying over our village—we dwelling in the Shadow of +Allah in the caves of the Wadi Sheria—I and my brothers +having bought exemption from service with the Army of the +Osmanli (Turks) with the savings of all our lives." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, ay," the thin voice assents, bitterly. "Few and small +were the gold and silver coins remaining on thy wife's +head-tire, when the Dispensers of Exemption had signed thy card." +</p> + +<p> +"Verily, Allah be my witness! and it is a black shame to +take the money that was the woman's marriage-gift. We +were then very poor—but we had the three camels and the +sheep and the goats also—though the beasts were little and +thin. Then came the War, rolling all about us—with marchings +and counter-marchings of hosts of men—and we sent my +brothers south so that they might sell to the Inglizi soldiers +before Gaza, all the olives stored in old oil-tins, and all the +oranges, and tobacco, and grape-treacle, and figs of last year, +that the Almani and Osmanli had not taken away...." John +cannot for the life of him restrain this vitriolic touch. "And +they went, and made much money—the Inglizi being fools and +wealthy, moreover—as all these sons of Sheitan are. This was +in the month Shbât; and coming home my two brothers +encountered Fate, in the person of a Commander of the Almani +(Germans), who seized upon the young men—they being far +from their native village and not having their <i>warakas</i> of +Exemption on them—and sent them to dig trenches at the Bir-es +Saba Works." +</p> + +<p> +"A bitter tyranny the Most High beheld, and will avenge +upon the doer!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then there was fighting at the Wady Sheria—because having +taken the strong place of Bir-es Saba, ay! and the ridges +down to the sea, the British desired the Place of Good +Wells." John is beginning to believe in Ali Zaybak, the Bedawi +farmer, to the point of getting hot over that individual's +fictitious woes.... "Came they—they came, and were as hornets +about us, their <i>killis</i> bursting with stench, and smoke, and +ruin—and their Devil-Birds fighting the Devil-Birds of the +Almani, and driving them down out of the air. One dropped +an egg of Eblis that killed two of our camels, and broke the +leg of the third. My father cried out on Allah and fell face +downwards.... So my wife cried out and fell, and when +I went to lift them, lo!—they were dead.... Yet was there +no wound on either.... <i>Wallah</i>! Upon neither was there +a wound! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Well do I believe thee. I have seen Death come after that +fashion many times since the beginning of this War. What +more, O Ali Zaybak? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"This,—that my goats and sheep being gone from me—for +the <i>Osmanli</i> took them when they retired before the Inglizi—I +have come to Shechem to seek my brothers, if haply they +be alive and there! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, but why seek them on the Mount of Cursing, and not +within the town? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Woman-like, she has put her little wasted, dusky finger +on the weak spot in John's trumped-up story. Having done +it, she goes on, as he racks his brain for a +sufficiently-convincing figment: +</p> + +<p> +"Thou wilt do this to-morrow, O Ali Zaybak the Bedawi, +when the swelling of thy joint hath abated and thou art rested +and fed. So creep in here between the stones—there is a +sheepskin thou canst lie on—and in somewhat less than an +hour I will come back to thee with food and drink." +</p> + +<p> +"May Allah prolong thy years, O woman!" says John with +the extravagant hyperbole and the sing-song inflection proper +to Oriental gratitude. "May thy fortune be doubled upon thee, +and, fair as thou art already, may the radiance of thy beauty +out-dazzle the full moon!" +</p> + +<p> +She gives a queer little rustling laugh behind the folds of +her coarse, yellowish head-cloth. +</p> + +<p> +"Sweet words, sweet words from a widower bereaved in +Shbât! Belike," she cackles again, "thou hast come to the +Mount of Cursing in search of another bride? Dost thou lust +for the Unrevealed? See, then, O Ali Zaybak! what beauty +hides behind this screen! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And accompanying the words with a swift revealing movement, +she whisks back the heavy veil from that mutilated left +side.... +</p> + +<p> +"My God!" John very nearly exclaims, bleaching under his +natural mahogany-colour, for a man old in War and hardened +to the sight of wounded men may yet sicken at the sight of a +woman mutilated like this. But he swallows the exclamation, +and substitutes: +</p> + +<p> +"I—am sorry! May Allah pity thee, poor soul! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"And increase the wisdom of the Sidi! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The Fellaha is re-veiled and between the pendent linen folds +comes her little rustling whisper; chilling the blood of the +pretended Ali Zaybak, under the now nearly vertical rays of +the blazing Syrian sun.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Who, desiring Secret Intelligence for his War-Chiefs of +the British Army, ventures into the midst of the enemy, +disguised as an Arab and alone! ...</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The words drop, coldly as lumps of hail, on the adventurous +heart of the man. Discovered, and in the first hour by a Syrian +peasant woman.... He forgets his pain, and drawn to his full +height, fixes his black eyes threateningly upon her hidden face. +</p> + +<p> +"What sayest thou? Hast thou no fear?" +</p> + +<p> +"None—of a British officer, nor of a British soldier!" +</p> + +<p> +The words, spoken in English with a Syrian-French accent, +are such an unexpected shock, that John jolts temporarily back +into his own adopted tongue: +</p> + +<p> +"How the hell—ahem! How did you know—I'm—what you +say I am?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because" the voice is soft and refined, though it is thin +and toneless: "Because—sir!—when I showed you my face—you +did not—spit like a Mohammedan, or laugh like a German! +And who"—the voice suggests the shadow of a mocking +smile—"who but an Englishman would venture here—so +ill-disguised and speaking such bad Arabic, and carry himself so +confidently as almost to deceive me—in spite of the testimony +of my two good ears—and my one very good eye." +</p> + +<p> +The poor face she has shown to John is blind on that shattered +left side. He knows a thrill of pity even as he asks: +</p> + +<p> +"You won't give me away? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"If 'give away' means to betray—no, I will not betray you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks. You're out Scouting on your own," says John, +"unless I'm very much mistaken?" He adds still in English, +as she lets this broad hint pass.... "Since we're to be pals +of sorts, do you mind telling me your name? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She gives her faint little whispering laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, surely. It is Ummshni.... 'Mother Ugly' in your +English tongue. In Arabic, 'Mother of Ugliness.' ...!" +</p> + +<p> +"But—but I can't call you that! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You must. It is my name here. For you I have no other." +</p> + +<p> +"Then shake hands, little Ummshni," John says promptly, +and thrusts out his own huge, brown right hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Need we?" She hesitates.... +</p> + +<p> +He says, encouragingly: +</p> + +<p> +"Just once. To seal the bargain and show we're pals!" +</p> + +<p> +"Once then...." +</p> + +<p> +She hesitates an instant more. Now from enveloping folds, +a small, shrunken, dusky hand steals out, and is engulfed in +John's. And then a breathless cry, not loud, nor shrill, but +terrible in its dire, agonised intensity bursts from the mouth of +the distorted face that is mercifully hidden by the veil.... +</p> + +<p> +"God of my fathers! Who art thou?" The gasped-out +words are once more Arabic. "From whence didst thou get +the Ring of the House of Hazaël? ... Thy face, too.... +It is the face of Eli! Thy voice.... Do not deny +it! ... Thou art of the Blood! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Since you know it already I'll tip you the garden truth. +I'm John Benn Hazel, old Eli's grandson from London. But +who in the name of—wonder—are you? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Thy—thy unhappy Cousin Esther!" The words come +stumblingly, between terrible, dry sobs.... "Oh, do not check +me. Let me weep! I have not for so long! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Now by—the whole blooming, blessed row of Big Old +Men, back to the Very Biggest!" John says between his teeth, +as leaning on his heavy staff he stands staring blankly down +at a little heaving bundle of coarse and common feminine +drapery that crouches at his big sandalled feet amidst +the short thyme-scented grass, "This is—this is the cherry in +the cocktail! Just when I'd begun to think I wouldn't carry +through—comes along the very sort of little woman to help +me! This isn't Coincidence or anything like it. This +is—just—Fate! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Help thee?" Her sobs have abated, she lifts up her bowed, +head. "In what manner can I help thee? I can feed thee, +tend thy hurt and hide thee. But there is something more +than these.... Tell me what thou wouldst do? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Save a man!" No one is near, but he whispers it, stooping +over the little figure. "A War Prisoner they've got here. +Get him out—and get him away! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—yes! Willingly will I help thee. Hath an Hazaël +ever failed to answer to the Call of the Blood?" The little +dusky hand clutches at his brawny wrist. She rises, and +her eager breath mingles with his, and an eye diamond-bright, +black as his own, flashes between her veils.... "What strength +I have—what cunning and courage—are thine, to the threshold +of Death and beyond it. But—but, John, my cousin! If I +help thee to free thy man—thou must needs deliver mine." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not sweet on conditions—they're things that handicap. +Who's your man?" The tone is decidedly gruff. +</p> + +<p> +"He is an English officer.... There is no other in +Shechem since the big German petrol lorries rolled out this +morning. For the Turks have sent them all away ... I heard, to +Aleppo." +</p> + +<p> +"The hell you say! Forgive me, little Esther, but this is—pretty +rough! For I'm here—bad Arabic and all—on the +track of a British War Prisoner." +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me his name," says the thin rustling voice, shaken still +with emotion.... +</p> + +<p> +"Julian Forbis.... Father Julian Forbis," John answers, +and she falters: +</p> + +<p> +"O my cousin! in thine hour of need and mine the Most +High, Blessed be He! hath verily sent thee. For—for—thy +man and my man—are one! Come now to the secret place +where I dwell alone with my sorrow. There we can talk +freely—it is safer than here. Thy hand on my shoulder—what +a big hand, like that of our grandfather Eli! ... Lean +on thy staff, but on me too. I am stronger than thou wouldst +dream...." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0406"></a></p> + +<h3> +VI +</h3> + +<p> +The line held yesterday by the Turco-German forces has +bent northwards at its western extremity, and southwards at +its eastern end. Jaffa, the ancient Port of Jerusalem, has been +occupied by Allenby's forces. Junction Station, the key of the +north, now being in British hands, the enemy's Army, cut in +two, has retired partly east into the mountains towards +Jerusalem, and partly northwards along the Coastal Plain. The +nearest line upon which its several portions can re-unite is the +line Tul-Keram, Shechem. Reports from the Royal Flying +Corps indicate the intention of Djemal Pasha and the other +Corps Commanders to evacuate Jerusalem and withdraw to +organise on the line Tul-Keram, Shechem. +</p> + +<p> +It being vital to obtain a hold of this invaluable artery of +thoroughfare, which traverses the Judæan range from north +to south from Shechem to Jerusalem,—our Advance has +wheeled to the right, and struck into the Hills with the object +of wresting from the enemy the Jerusalem-Shechem Road. +</p> + +<p> +At the eastern end of the long fish-shaped valley, whose sides +are shagged with olive-woods and running with springs, and in +which lies Shechem, is a grassy, level expanse in the shape of +an isosceles triangle—one of its longer sides being the road +that runs east and west past the new Turkish Barracks, the +Arsenal and the Hospital—and the other the road that—north +of this—passing the Mohammedan Cemetery and the ancient +Tombs that are upon the fringe of the limestone robe of Ebal, +runs into an ancient Roman road, that completing the shape +of the isosceles, goes north along the eastern flank of Mount +Ebal to the little hamlet of Sichar, and south to the Holy +City,—leaving on the left a Mohammedan well that has been built +over the Tomb of Joseph, and some quarter of a mile farther +on, a hillock shaded by mulberries and figs, and covered with +ruins, enclosing <i>Bir Samariyeh</i>, or the Samaritan Woman's +Well. +</p> + +<p> +The top of the triangular patch of waste ground ends at +the very gate of Shechem, being lost in the great mounds of +immemorial ashes, brought down in ancient days from the +Temple on Mount Gerizim. Wild fig and mulberry, olive and +tamarisk—and thickets of the <i>zizyphus</i> set with formidable +thorns, that give the tree its name of Spina Christi—make a +shabby jungle of the Ash Heaps, haunted by kites, crows and +owls, pariah-dogs and jackals, who come to feast where the +offal and refuse of the town are thrown. Here, too, lepers +congregate; sick animals are thrust to die, dead ones are +thrown to bleach and putrefy; and sometimes—even before the +War—bodies of people robbed and murdered, or too destitute +of friends to be given burial—huddle amongst the rank weeds +and tangled undergrowth, or lie stark and dreadful, with blind +eyes beaten by the lashing rains of Palestine, or staring at +its pitiless sun. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When Allied War Prisoners first came to the town of Shechem, +the isosceles triangle of waste ground—its shortest side +indicated by the road that runs by the Tomb of Joseph towards +the Well of the Samaritaness—was enclosed within a twelve-foot +double fence of German barbed-wire, for the keeping of +certain French and British officers, who declined to give parole. +These lived in Turkish Army tents and messed in a ramshackle +wooden hut near the eastern end of the enclosure; their rations, +such as they were, being brought from the Turkish Barracks +twice a day. Those officers who gave parole, causing less +trouble to the authorities—were somewhat better treated, it may +be allowed. The old stone prison near the Suk was alloted as +their quarters. They were permitted to take exercise within +certain bounds, even to visit the Latin Fathers, and the +headquarters of the Protestant Mission, and better their diet by +making purchases in the town bazar. To-day, Shechem, with +her numerous mosques and her flat-brown roofs embowered in +orange and pomegranate-trees—is bursting full of Turkish +troops, and their German military masters; and destined ere +long to rival Tul Keram as an Army H.Q. No British War +Prisoners are left in her since the exodus of early morning, +save four Berkshire and Devon Yeomen lying desperately +sick at the Turkish Hospital—two London Territorials, and +three Indian troopers in the charitable care of the Sœurs de la +Sainte Croix.... +</p> + +<p> +Ah, and the solitary captive of the leaky wooden shanty in +the Wired Enclosure, from which the Turkish Army tents have +been removed, leaving round yellow patches of parched and +trampled grass. Saving the Bey, certain of his German friends, +several Mounted Police, and a guard of infantry from the mud +Barracks—no other persons in Shechem suspect that Father +Julian Forbis did not leave yesterday for Aleppo with the other +British officers,—though possibly that dust-like one, the Mother +of Ugliness, may have a certain inkling of the truth. +</p> + +<p> +Upon a native <i>anghareb</i>, a short-legged, palm-wood bed-frame +with coarse sacking laced upon it, he lies within the hut +that used to be the Mess. Although it leaks in the winter rains, +its timbers are of solid oak, and its door is heavy, and secured +on the outside by a huge wooden lock. A padlocked iron fetter +on the priest's ankle is linked to a chain finishing in a ring, +running on an iron bar,—the ends of which, being bent, have +been driven into the corner-posts at the end of the hut that +is farthest from the door. Having thus secured the prisoner, +the <i>bash-châwush</i> of Mounted Police went away with his troopers +and the escort. That was yesterday morning, possibly in +the neighbourhood of nine o'clock. The common watch of +gun-metal on the priest's wrist has stopped—as the result of +brutal usage.... He can only calculate Time by the +prayer-call from the mosques of the town.... +</p> + +<p> +No hint of the possible length of his confinement has been +given, the <i>bash-châwush</i> being an old hand and quite thoroughly +understanding the torture of Uncertainty. No food was +brought the prisoner yesterday or to-day; they have not even +given him water.... Nothing has passed the man's lips—since +on that morning of the Bey's visit he broke fast with the +thin boiled wheat-porridge and the black bread on which War +Prisoners are fed. +</p> + +<p> +Mere hunger he can endure.... As a Religious of a strict +Order he is well inured to fasting. But the thirst, aggravated +by mental distress, sleeplessness and anxiety, is torture. His +lips are cracked, and his throat and tongue so dried and leathery, +that the effort to speak above a whisper would be positive +pain. +</p> + +<p> +The two narrow apertures that serve as windows are some +eight feet above the floor-level. It is not possible to see out of +them. Through chinks and knot-holes in the walls of stout +though ancient timbers—it might be possible to get a glimpse +through the twelve-foot fence of barbed-wire—out upon the +road running east from the gates of the city, and the road +running north and east by the Wadi Farab to the Jordan Valley, +and southwards from Shechem to Jerusalem.... But the +man chained to the iron bar lies in a feverish stupor on the +sacking of the <i>anghareb</i>. There are strange noises in his ears +like the clamour of voices in many tongues—like the clatter of +innumerable hoofs, the rattle of wooden wheels and the vibrating +grind and din of heavy motor-traffic; but he is too faint +and weary to be curious as to their cause. +</p> + +<p> +We know, that even as reinforcements of Turkish troops of +the Redif and Mustaphiz are being rushed from the Caucasus +to form reserves upon the fissured Plain of Ephraim—has +begun the exodus of such inhabitants of Jerusalem as are not +strict Mohammedans—or known to be Turco-German in views +and sympathies.... Since the noon prayer-call, vehicles of +every type, loaded with fugitives of the better class, have been +rolling into Shechem, the roads leading to the town are +blocked—a haze of dust envelops everything since the sun dried up +the torrents of rain that fell at break of day.... +</p> + +<p> +Came yesterday, Von Geierstein, the once famous War +Minister—now Field Marshal and Commander-in-Chief on +Germany's Battle Front in Asia—post haste from his Great +Headquarters at the red city of Aleppo. To meet Enver Pasha, +Djemal, and the other Turkish Commanders at Jerusalem, +harangue the defeated generals, and reorganise the +Turco-German War Plan on more successful lines.... +</p> + +<p> +Fallen into eclipse at the Court of Berlin as the result of +his military failures at Verdun, horribly disconcerted by the +disaster of the Vulkan Pass, inexpressibly sickened by the +taking of Beersheba, the fall of Gaza and the loss of Junction +Station,—the brilliant ex-favourite of Imperial Majesty (whose +ambition has had more to do with the kindling of the brand +of War than that of any other man in Germany—saving Von +Tirpitz)—after warning Enver and Djemal of the uselessness +of endeavouring to hold Jerusalem now the Gaza Line has +been broken—left the Holy City this morning for Shechem, in +his Œstler-Daimler, another with his Staff Officers, following, +half his escort of armoured Scheff cars preceding him—the +remainder, with his servants, bringing up the rear. +</p> + +<p> +Even as the Governor, Izzet Bey, and Ali Fuad Pasha, +Commander of Turkish Forces in the Holy City—issue the +proclamations of their masters to the people, our troops are +pushing up the passes into the Judæan Highlands; the sound +of British guns comes even from the Vale of Sorek, +thenceforward the din of battle grows louder hour by hour.... +</p> + +<p> +Already in Shechem, in Samaria and in Jericho—whither the +Latin, Greek, Armenian and Coptic Patriarchs have been forcibly +deported, with other ecclesiastics and notables, and wealthy +Zionist Hebrews—the reign of terror that has prevailed in +Jerusalem since Turkey joined issues with Germany—has +begun. Ten Turkish pounds are asked, and got, by Mohammedan +drivers for a seat in a carriage. Large numbers of the +wealthier inhabitants, with the remaining chiefs of religious +communities, have been warned by the Turkish Police to be in +readiness for exile. No more vehicles being available for +the transport of the victims, Djemal Pasha—venomous always, +seasons the order with the intimation that the deported +population will be compelled to travel on foot.... +</p> + +<p> +Spies swarm everywhere. Fear presses like a heavy hand +upon the public mouth. Arrests, confiscations and requisitions +redouble—populations quail under the lash of tyranny. +Gallows are set up at the Jaffa Gate—there are hangings and +shootings daily. The bodies of the victims of the last battue +are left exposed for hours, to impress upon the population that, +after four centuries of oppression, the Tartar is not disposed +to surrender one of the Holy Cities of the Turkish Caliphate +without a final orgie of extortion, brow-beating and blood. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The day wears on, no succour comes, and the priest's stupor +of exhaustion deepens. Towards sunset there is a heavy knock +upon the door of the hut. +</p> + +<p> +"Come in!" +</p> + +<p> +The captive's first effort to speak aloud results in a croaking +whisper. The heavy Turkish lock scroops in its wooden +mortice, and something like a smile twitches the lips of Julian +Forbis. Is it not the very brutality of irony to knock upon +a starving prisoner's door? +</p> + +<p> +Now the door swings inwards, letting in a wedge of noon-tide +brightness, but the visitors delay a moment on the threshold. +And a strange voice says, as though in answer to a +question, speaking in cultured Arabic, softly and melodiously: +</p> + +<p> +"No! Nothing may be done in the Holy City; the influences +there are too adverse. But at Banias!—and here on Mount +Gerizim—" +</p> + +<p> +Even as the utterance strikes with a strange, premonitory +shock and thrill upon the consciousness of the prisoner, the +door is pushed open to admit three men. +</p> + +<p> +Two German Staff officers, tall, burly and swaggering, and +a slight man, dark-hued as smoke, bearded, and of forbiddingly +handsome countenance, arrayed in a dazzlingly white brocaded +silk <i>kaftan</i>, girt with a gold embroidered crimson cincture, and +a flowing <i>kuffiyeh</i> or head-drapery of the same fierce +sanguinary colour, bound with a thick twist of silver and gold +cords. +</p> + +<p> +Two German officers of inferior rank, with a lieutenant and +sergeant-major of Turkish Mounted Police and several troopers, +are seen beyond the threshold. Now the heavy door shuts +the four men in together.... The priest lowers his feet to +the stamped earth floor and rises to receive the visitors. But +so weak is he that he totters, and sways as though about to +fall. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +His giddiness passing with the dimness of his sight, he +discerns that one of his visitors is the tall, sunburned, +trap-mouthed German general who visited the Barracks yesterday +in company of the Bey, and whose order put the period +of a shot from a gendarme's repeating Winchester, to Govan's +crazy song. +</p> + +<p> +His companion is a handsome person, as yet in the early +fifties, superbly built and of heroic size and stature. The +grey-green Field Service dress suits him to admiration; not +a button or buckle is out of its true alignment; his gloves, +belts, revolver-holsters and boots are of immaculate earthy-brown. +His spurs are of steel and gold; his single-breasted +Norfolk-shaped Service jacket shows, as does the other man's, +the narrow silver lace, the crimson collar-edging and shoulder-cords +of the Great General Staff—the Iron Cross dangling at +the buttonholes of both by its ribbon of black and white. Both +wear the ribbons and brochettes of many decorations. But +the taller man displays, in addition to these, the Order of the +Prussian Black Eagle with diamond swords, hanging by a +swivel under his collar-hook. And noting this distinction, +together with the wearer's physical beauty—for he is yellow-haired, +blue-eyed, straight-featured, handsome still, as the Viking +hero of some old Teutonic Saga—it flashes on the priest +as his own blue eyes, set in hollow caves of exhaustion and +hunger, encounter the visitor's—that the man can be no other +than the fallen favourite of the Emperor of Germany, now +Commander-in-Chief of his army in Palestine.... +</p> + +<p> +Nor is the priest's conjecture wrong. It is the man, weary +and disgruntled, sick with conscious failure, savage at the +fancied triumph of old rivals and ancient enemies—wounded +in the one vulnerable spot of his hard, vain, shallow heart +by the death of his son, a brave young Flying Officer—killed +in a duel with a British airman in January, 1915. +</p> + +<p> +He spent last night at the old Army Headquarters, the +Kaiserin Augusta Victoria Hospital on the Mount of Olives. +Ah, with what heartiness has Von Geierstein cursed the Turks +as he turned his back upon the Holy City; as his fleet of cars +ate distance upon the road to Shechem—where he is to dine, +and sleep, if he can. He is keenly alive to their military +blunders. For there are good Teutonic brains behind the brilliant +eyes that light the handsome face to which he owes his rescue +from bankruptcy—and his subsequent promotion from the rank +of Chief of the General Staff of the 4th Army Corps, Magdeburg, +to the dignity of Prussian War Minister—and the more +dubious position of alter ego to William of Hohenzollern. +</p> + +<p> +Over, over, the meteoric and splendid career. Fallen, beaten, +ruined. Rich in the world's goods still, but bankrupt in the +world's envying admiration. Left by the tide of Success on +which he has floated so buoyantly,—he sees himself once more +high and dry on the mudbank of Failure—not by the utmost +expenditure of cleverness to be floated off again. His +magnificent blue eyes are dark with wrath. He grinds his teeth, +eminently white, and all his own—as he devotes the Ottoman +Allies of Imperial Germany to the uttermost depths of Hell. +</p> + +<p> +Unlucky favourite! never again to draw all eyes in the White +Hall of the Imperial Palace at Berlin, while morning sunshine, +streaming through the tall windows, shines upon the opening +Session of the Reichstag—makes glittering play with the silver +livery of Prussian State flunkeys, and strikes multi-coloured +sparks of fire from the decorations and military orders of the +members of the Federal Council, ranged on the left of the +Throne. Never again to stand, the dazzling centre of a blazing +constellation of Generals, by the daïs under the black, red and +white Canopy—topped with the blazon of that Bird of ill-odour, +whose greedy claws and rapacious beak, and insatiate maw +are not yet glutted—though twenty millions of men and women +have perished to slake its quenchless thirst for human blood. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"The Herr General Von Krafft, that you speak good German +has informed me, Reverend Father? ..." +</p> + +<p> +His own English is guttural, but passably decent. The priest, +master of several dead, and some half dozen modern tongues, +replies as well as his parched throat and palate will allow. His +German, the distinguished visitor concedes, is very good for +an Englishman.... +</p> + +<p> +"Though you belong to a Scotch family, I am given to +understand by the Herr General.... I am deeply grieved +that your much-desired reunion with your relatives has been +farther delayed by your own unfortunate lack of tact. I refer +to your regrettably-insolent treatment of the Bey, Our +Ottoman Ally, who should command respect." +</p> + +<p> +He is sick to nausea of Germany's Ottoman Ally even as +he says it. His handsome lips twist with hatred of all things +of the Turk Turkish, under his glittering up-brushed moustache. +He is revolted by the fetid, stifling hut, by the pallid +prisoner chained to the dirty native bed, but most by the sense +of Failure dominating everything.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Over, over, over!</i>" says the voice that is always in his +ears, sounding above the roar of moving Divisions and the +crashing of artillery from the workshops of Krupp and Skoda, +keeping time with the throbbing of the blood in his temples +and the irregular beating of his wearied heart. "<i>Beaten, +beaten, beaten! ... Fallen, fallen! ... Total Kaput! ...</i>" +</p> + +<p> +"Sir—" +</p> + +<p> +Not "Your Excellency" or other flattering title. Under his +lowered lids, set thickly with dark lashes,—they accused him +of using cosmetics, in his younger, more effeminate days,—he +looks at the wasted, high-bred face, and meets its pure +glance. His dead son, killed at twenty-two in the air battle +with the English aviator, had eyes like this man's. +</p> + +<p> +"Sir, an accusation similar to this was brought against me +yesterday in the presence of," the blue eyes go dauntlessly to +the other German's face, "General Von Krafft. I said then, +as I reiterate now—that the charge is without foundation! +As a man of honour and a Catholic priest, I deny it absolutely. +I can bring creditable witnesses to refute it whenever there +is need." +</p> + +<p> +"Kindly name your witnesses. Where are they to be found, +sir?" +</p> + +<p> +They have all left for Aleppo, the priest remembers with a +shock. He says, with a sinking heart: +</p> + +<p> +"The guards of the Barracks would give evidence in my +favour." +</p> + +<p> +"It is they who accuse you! and I myself heard +you-with-words-encourage, and saw you by gestures stimulate the +mutineers to fresh acts of violence!" +</p> + +<p> +The harsh voice of the Bey's friend, the tall brick-faced +General, says this with a rasp of something like ill-will. The +priest draws himself proudly up and meets the glance of the +false accuser. +</p> + +<p> +"Sir, I can only say that you—are mistaken." +</p> + +<p> +"Prisoner, though you be a priest, you shelter yourself +behind a lie!" +</p> + +<p> +The white face flushes scarlet, and the blue eyes blaze +indignantly. He draws from his tattered tunic-breast a small wooden +Crucifix, touches the Feet of the Victim with his pale lips, +and lifts the Crucifix high. As he does this the dark bearded +man in the white silk <i>kaftan</i> and crimson kuffiyeh glides +hurriedly towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +"So help me God, I have spoken the truth!" +</p> + +<p> +Very quietly the words have been uttered. Thrusting the +sacred symbol back within his breast, he confronts his +enemies, awaiting what may come. The momentary silence past, +the highest in military rank addresses the priest +grandiloquently: +</p> + +<p> +"Prisoner, as the Military Representative in the East of His +Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Germany, I assure you that +investigation will be made into this affair. But as the +testimony against you is absolutely unshakable," the tall and +splendid personage who speaks gracefully salutes the brick-faced +general, "it is equally my duty to tell you that the decision +of your judges will go against your oath. As a guest of +the Turkish Empire you will naturally be considerately +treated—" +</p> + +<p> +The blue eyes meet his again.... <i>Gott im Himmel!</i> how +like the dead boy's.... The white lips smile ironically.... +The weak voice rings strong: +</p> + +<p> +"Your words sound like sarcasm, sir, to the guest of the +Turkish Empire, who has been confined without food or even +water since early yesterday...." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0407"></a></p> + +<h3> +VII +</h3> + +<p> +The stuffy interior of the prison hut swims about the priest +as he speaks. He sees a look of something like irritable +compassion cross the handsome face on which his eyes are fixed. +Its owner regrets the oversight, and will give orders that it +shall not be repeated. Even as the prisoner voices thanks, +he has a fleeting glimpse of an ugly, mocking grin on the flat +brown features of the brick-faced German General. He hears +a little, hateful, malicious laugh from the dark, bearded, +white-robed personage who stands in the background.... He sees +him approach the brick-faced man, and whisper in his ear. +</p> + +<p> +And his ordinary senses, wrought to preternatural acuteness +by suspense, hunger and sleeplessness, and that sixth sense +which belongs to some anointed Servants of Heaven, warn +Julian Forbis—have warned him since the mysterious shock +and thrill that accompanied the stranger's entrance—of +something more than sinister—more than terrible or dangerous, in +connection with this white-robed, bearded man. He feels, +emanating from his personality, an aura of sheer +Evil—poisonous to the soul's health, paralysing to the will.... +</p> + +<p> +"I—" +</p> + +<p> +His voice dies away. He is dizzy with weakness. Lights +flash before his eyes, the hut spins round, and the two tall +German officers and the man in the red head-drapery seem +to join in the giddy whirl. Now he staggers, and sinks down +fainting, his head and shoulders resting against the framework +of the bed: +</p> + +<p> +"It is damnable!" impatiently says the wearer of the Order +of the Black Eagle, pulling out a gold pocket-flask, and +finding it to be empty. "The man is dying—useless! See if +there be not water somewhere. Tell somebody to bring some +here! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Immediately, Excellency." +</p> + +<p> +The flat-faced general is going to the hut door when the +wearer of the red head-drapery gracefully interposes: +</p> + +<p> +"What says the Shaykh? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Excellency, that wine will be better than water!—and that +if you will observe a moment's silence, I will undertake that +some shall be brought...." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed. Most exceedingly interesting, my very dear friend +Sadân! ..." +</p> + +<p> +A meaning look is exchanged between the two German officers. +Smiling, the smoke-dark, bearded man steps into the +middle of the floor-space, faces to the East, and looks back at +his companions, saying in a sharp, clear tone: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Uskut!</i> ... By your Excellency's leave, I must strictly +enjoin respect—and silence...." +</p> + +<p> +He lifts the long, wide ends of his gold-embroidered girdle, +with them covering his dark, slender, joined hands, and turns +to the East again, saying: "<i>Dastûr!</i> By Your Permission, O +Ye Blessed Ones! ..." Their spurred heels aligned, their +hands rigidly at the salute, the two officers standing behind him, +erect, unwinking and stiff, might be mistaken for coloured +statues—save that their broad chests heave slightly with their +noiseless breathing, and the glittering hairs of the +Commander-in-Chief's moustache bristle like the whiskers of a watchful +cat. There is a sobbing gasp or two from the fainting man +lying propped against the <i>anghareb</i>; from the man in the red +head-drapery, whose joined, covered hands are lifted—comes +a sibilant low murmuring, but in the hut there is no other +sound.... +</p> + +<p> +Until with a sharp, hissing final utterance, that might be the +close of an invocation, the covered hands of the Shaykh are +lowered. He bows his red-veiled, gold-crowned head over them, +and turns round with a flashing smile: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Kolossal! Wunderbild!</i>" the Germans mutter, relaxing +their attitudes of stiff respect, and exchanging glances of awe +and astonishment.... +</p> + +<p> +For whereas the dark hands beneath the girdle-flaps were +empty, their slender fingers, now uncovered, are seen to be +enlaced about the stem of a glittering beaker of delicate, +iridescent glass or crystal, brimming with pinkish-tinted liquor +that diffuses an exquisite bouquet upon the mouldy atmosphere +of the hut. +</p> + +<p> +"It is nothing, O my lords! The Messengers are swift-winged +and duteous," he says with his glittering smile.... +</p> + +<p> +Both Germans hugely admire the marvellous glass vessel, +but neither is over-eager to handle and examine it. Or, when +pressed, to taste the fragrant wine, which the Shaykh Sadân +proceeds to pour down the throat of the swooning prisoner, +lifting his head and shoulders with an ease that shows the +great strength latent in his own small-boned Asiatic frame +and delicate extremities.... +</p> + +<p> +The glass is nearly empty now, and between gulps of strange, +poignant, reviving sweetness, Julian Forbis is coming to the +use of his wits again.... As he sits up, then staggers to his +feet by the help of a hand—he knows not whose!—except +that it is small and strong, and that its strength is as +unexpected as its deadly, stinging coldness—the Shaykh Sadân +turns away and empties the remainder of the wine upon the +beaten floor. A light flame flickers unperceived upon the spot +as the earth drinks the liquor.... The Shaykh, smiling, +offers the empty goblet to the German Commander-in-Chief. +</p> + +<p> +"Beautiful indeed. And of immense antiquity. The value +of this must be great, very great! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Somewhat reluctantly the Chief has taken the thing, but its +strange beauty and evident rarity tickle the <i>connoisseur</i>. It is +thin as a soap-bubble, and as light. It might be blown of +melted jewels—so dazzling are its minglings of ruby and topaz +and jacinth,—of sapphire and emerald and dusky amethyst. +Flawless, it rings like a bell as he taps it with his finger-nail. +Now, wearying of the inanimate toy, he looks about for a +shelf or table, but finds none; the hut being innocent of furniture +other than the bed, a battered metal bowl lying in a corner, +and a bottomless palm-wood stool.... +</p> + +<p> +"Permit me, O Excellent Lord!" +</p> + +<p> +Seeing the Chief's evident difficulty, the Shaykh Sadân +relieves him of the fragile goblet, and with supple ease and a +graceful carelessness, sets it down upon the unsubstantial air. +Where it stands a moment—under the surprised observation of +the Commander-in-Chief and his satellite—until, with a slight +yet perceptible shrinking of its outlines, and dulling of its +jewel-bright colours—such as might have been observed in the +soap-bubble to which it has been likened—it delicately +vanishes away.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Himmelkreuzbombenelement!</i>" sputters the brick-faced +general. His dull eyes protrude with genuine alarm, and his +morale having deserted him, he makes a hasty movement in +the direction of the door. +</p> + +<p> +"See now, you have scared Von Krafft," says the Chief with +a laugh that is not quite natural. "A hundred years ago, in +England or in Germany, they would have burned you for +that, O Shaykh Sadân!" +</p> + +<p> +"It may be, O Excellent Lord!" he answers with the smile +that is so ingratiating and yet so sinister. "But not in +Egypt—nor in Arabia, where—when the Lands of the North were +girt with ice, and inhabited by savages, the Divine Art of +Magic had for cycles of centuries been known.... Lo! the +good Shiraz wine hath worked its own witchcraft. Speak to +the priest now—and he will hear and understand...." +</p> + +<p> +"Prisoner, listen to me and prove yourself worthy of the +consideration I have shown you. Admit frankly, that as a +Catholic ecclesiastic, you have so far forgotten your cloth, and +misconceived your duty, as to egg on the Allied War Prisoners +of Germany and Turkey to insult their conquerors.... Append +your signature to a confession of your offence, and in +return take my assurance that what mercy it is possible to show +you shall be extended forthwith...." +</p> + +<p> +The priest's thin face is suffused with crimson as he listens. +He is bewildered; that wine was strangely potent in its effects. +But his candid eyes rest quietly on the Chief's angry face +and he answers without passion: +</p> + +<p> +"Sir, you have already heard me declare most solemnly, +that I am guiltless of inciting the prisoners to rebel. Against +their torture, and outrage at the hands of the Bey, I have +protested strenuously, and will continue to do so as long as I +have voice." +</p> + +<p> +"You persist in accusing the Bey of crime and violence?" +</p> + +<p> +"Most certainly and most truthfully I do!" +</p> + +<p> +"Das ist nicht wahr! Have I not already the testimony of +my Staff Officer? Added to that of Hamid Bey, who is an +honourable man. Consider, if you exhaust my intolerance, what +fate awaits you! Admit your guilt, sign the paper, and you +shall immediately be released from this vile place, and admitted +to parole." +</p> + +<p> +"Sir, as a priest I refuse to accept your offered conditions! +My body is your prisoner—my soul is not in your hands. +Beware what you do! ... I refer my case to my Bishop—to the +Latin Patriarch, and the other high Catholic dignitaries in +Jerusalem...." +</p> + +<p> +"Were you in Jerusalem at this moment, my good sir!—they +would be equally impotent to assist you." As the priest does +not know that these ecclesiastics to whom he refers have been +forcibly deported from the Holy City, the barbed point of +the jest is lost on his ignorance. "For even if your protest +reached them—which is unlikely!—after what fashion would +these persons enforce their authority? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I do not know! ..." The voice breaks upon a note of anguish, +and the priest's head droops for a moment on his breast. +He lifts it, and his hoarse, faint voice gathers power and +rings out bravely. "But one thing I do know, that He Whom +I serve and trust in, will not desert His poor servant in this +extremity." +</p> + +<p> +"Your faith is more admirable than your wisdom, sir. But +I will waste no more words upon your obstinacy. Understand, +that if when I leave you," for he has lent his ear to a +soft whisper on the part of the dark man in the red <i>kuffiyeh</i>, +"the Shaykh Sadân will, of his goodness, endeavour to bring +you to reason. If he does not succeed—I wash my hands of +you! The Prison Commandant Hamid Bey,—whom you have +so vilely slandered,—may deal with you as he will! ..." +</p> + +<p> +A terrible shudder convulses the priest's thin frame. As the +heavy tread of the spurred boots shakes the crazy floor, words +rush to his lips that—were they uttered—would be a cry of +surrender. The footsteps reach the door, the door opens, but +still his teeth are clenched and his lips firmly shut. His soul, +beaten upon by gusts of terror, striving in blackness jagged +with infernal lightnings, is like a ship in the fury of a cyclone. +Of all the great and noble things—that are jewels in the crown +of classic Literature, of all the texts of Holy Writ—of all the +liturgies of the Mother Church, with which he has stored and +enriched his memory—only six words come to him in his dire +necessity: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +The door opens. Red sunset dyes the floor. The long shadows +of the two German officers appear to stretch across a pool +of blood. Now the door is shut, and Julian Forbis is alone +with him from whom his spirit and flesh shrink in an agony +of terror and loathing—all the more that his person is superbly +handsome, that his smooth, cultured voice is exquisitely +melodious—that from him radiates a power that allures, and +persuades and charms.... He does not mock or gibe now. He +is all delicate sympathy. But the priest traces the outline of +the sneer through the smile of the Shaykh Sadân, and the +mockery that grins behind the compassionate mask. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"O Darweesh of the Inglizi, listen to the words of the Shaykh +Sadân of the Beni Abba, a poor recluse of the Desert of +Igidi! For believe me—I speak as a friend, and not as an +enemy!" murmurs the smooth caressing voice, +</p> + +<p> +"Unhappy man, be not bigoted! ... This obduracy works +to your own undoing. The great pity I—Sadân the Shaykh—feel +for you—compels me to speak thus! Surely the garment +of a priest is cut of the cloth of <i>tasalidn</i>—the rendering of +obedience to superiors—and <i>tahammul</i>, endurance of injury.... +And is not the heritage of the Prophets, Wisdom? And +to prefer life to Death—is not that wise? ... And who gains +Wisdom but at the cost of Sacrifice—ever since in the +Spring-tide of the World, Isis—the Sister-Queen of King Osiris of +Egypt, yielded her beauty to the Angel Amnaël, one of the +Fallen Sons of Radiance,—in return for the secrets of Magic +and Chemistry.... Consider, also, that by this great Chief, +on whose breath hangs thy life, but little is required of thee? +Nothing injurious to thine honour, or inimical to British +interests in the East. Yield, as under the death-threat!—for verily +the mercies of a furious elephant—or a hungry lion—were +preferable to those of Hamid Bey.... Bear thy share! ... Do +as thou art bidden—and solace thy soul by saying: '<i>This +would I not have borne!—that would I not have done.... +But He Who ruleth all things willed—and it was so? ...</i>'" +</p> + +<p> +Smiling, the speaker ceases, receiving answer: +</p> + +<p> +"Sir, I have no need for sugared sophisms, nor specious +consolations.... I know too well the source from which they +come. Set my hand to a lie will I never!—nor shield the +crimes that a tyrant has committed—to save my body at the +cost of my soul!" +</p> + +<p> +"'Your soul!...'" +</p> + +<p> +The last two words are re-echoed by the Shaykh with delicate +contemptuousness. +</p> + +<p> +"Who barters in souls in these days, O priest?" he asks +with terrible contempt, shrugging his supple shoulders. "For +verily in the market they are as a worthless drug! ... Come! ... Decide, +for I waste my kindness on you. What is your +answer? Yes, or No? Here are paper, pen and ink." He +draws an Arab writing-case from the folds of his girdle. +"Write now, and sign...." +</p> + +<p> +"No!" +</p> + +<p> +Julian Forbis adds in a hoarse whisper—for the strength of +the strange liquor he has drunk is ebbing out of him, as his +numbing hand gropes blindly for something in his breast: +"Tempt as you may, I shall not yield!—He Whom I serve +being my helper! 'VADE RETRO SATANA! RECEDE A ME, +MALEDICTE DIABOLI! IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET +SPIRITUS SANCTI. AMEN....'" +</p> + +<p> +In faith and courage he rises above his bodily weakness. +He plucks from its concealment the hidden Symbol, and lifts +it high as he utters the terrible words. And as they vibrate +upon the sultry atmosphere, there goes forth a terrible, +ear-splitting cry upon it, and a gust of air icy as the breath of +the Polar frost, and dry as the wind of the Sahara—moans +through the darkling place. He is alone, the Enemy has left +him, and as Night falls, he sinks down senseless on the crazy +floor of the hut. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0408"></a></p> + +<h3> +VIII +</h3> + +<p> +On the summit of Ebal, a little east of the ruined fortress, +is the wreckage of <i>Khirbet Kuneisch</i>—in Syrian Arabic, "The +Little Church." Some twelve feet distant from the skeleton of +its tiny sanctuary there is a tomb hollowed in the living rock. +</p> + +<p> +And in this place the Mother of Ugliness dwells alone with +her sorrow. Secured against the intrusion of the curious or +thievish (did either discover the jealously-guarded secret) by +the belief common to Syria and the East generally, that Afrits, +ghouls, and vampires inhabit such ancient tombs. +</p> + +<p> +Goats are cropping the short, sweet herbage. They are +Ummshni's and come—like the willow-wren and chiffchaff, the +robin and the yellow-and-white European wagtail—at her low, +twittering call. Others, feeding lower down on the wild +gum-cistus and the thyme that clothe the crumbling limestone +terraces, have recognised their mistress, and follow her footsteps, +as, with the big hand of the lame Arab leaning on her frail +shoulder, she toils up the path upon Ebal's northern side. +</p> + +<p> +"See, here is my little house, O Ali Zaybak, Bedawi...." Panting, +she shows him a broken flight of limestone steps +descending to the eastward-facing entrance of the tomb. +</p> + +<p> +Supported in deep-cut grooves, on either side the low square +aperture that serves as the entrance, is the circular stone +employed of old times as the door of such a burial place; a +block of the shape and size of a millstone—having no central +hole to admit the shaft. A knob that projects from the surface +of the stone some three or four inches below its upper rim, and +another at an equal distance above its lower rim, can be used +as the fulcrums of the human lever, that when necessary, rolls +back the stone. From within, the tomb can be opened or +closed in the same way. +</p> + +<p> +"Canst thou roll away the stone, cousin?" asks Ummshni-Esther, +"for 'tis a task that tries me sorely. Yet must I +ever close my little house in this fashion when I leave +it,—more need than ever now since Turks came to the Mount!" +</p> + +<p> +"But if they came when thou wert here, and found the +door open?" asks John Hazel, from midway down the steps. +</p> + +<p> +She nods her head, and from between the folds of the Syrian +veil comes her dry, rustling chuckle. +</p> + +<p> +"Knowest thou what I would but need to do to send them +down the Mountain quicker than they came up it? Even step +boldly into the doorway, and—by the sunlight if 'twere day,—or +by the flare of a brand from my fire if it were night—unveil +and show them! This—that makes the Turk spit, and +the German show his teeth in a grin, and the Englishman say, +'Poor devil!' or 'Poor thing!'—and all three hurry away from +the sight. My one-eyed, crumpled face, that save thyself, O +John my cousin! and one other!—is the best friend I own. +What, dost thou hold back at the threshold until thy hostess +bids thee enter?" For as the great stone rolls groaning into +the opposite groove, leaving a narrow irregularly-shaped +entrance, John has turned towards her, reaching up a long +mahogany-coloured arm and huge hand to help her: "Verily then, +in the name of Him Who sent thee, be thou welcome under +this roof!" +</p> + +<p> +So the two, so strangely met, so far apart and yet so nearly +related—pass into Ummshni's strange, desolate home—out of +the early morning sunshine, for it is barely seven o'clock. +Three milch-goats with their kids troop after, their little split +hoofs making a soft pattering; and at a sign from his cousin, +John Hazel closes the entrance with the stone.... +</p> + +<p> +It is not dark within the tomb, nor is there any closeness in +the atmosphere. This has a pleasant, dry coolness that is +soothing, like the tempered light. Both the air and the light come +through long cracks and chinks in the roof of limestone slabs, +dressed with the hammer in bygone centuries, and intersected +by glittering streaks of crystalline carbonate; and the sloping +sides that, like the roof, Nature has thickly clothed with +bracken and bramble. The place may be about ten feet in +height—and owns three rooms or mortuary chambers—in +whose sides are shelves, hollowed in the limestone rock—to +receive the embalmed and swaddled bodies—of which (if any +have ever rested there), the passing ages have left no trace.... +The third chamber is some thirty feet in length and +reaches under the ruins of The Little Church. Here, within a +hearth of mud and stones, a wood fire smoulders; its smoke +escaping unnoticed through a hole in the roof above it into the +nave of the ruined building overhead, that is thickly mantled +with tamarisk, and choked with cactus, prickly-pear, and the +spina-Christi thorn. Various cooking-pots and vessels hang +from pegs driven into chinks in the walls of limestone. Here +are a stool or so, and a small folding-table. Here, too, a native +bed—brought up here piece by piece—stands on one side, with +some coarse woollen coverings folded on it. Some clean, but +ragged draperies of blue cotton-print, and veils of coarse +towelling such as Ummshni wears,—hang on a cord stretched from +wall to wall, with a thick overgarment for use in winter, an +Arab <i>abâyi</i> of woven camel's hair. +</p> + +<p> +And that is all. No anchorite could own less than little +Ummshni, but the poor soul makes John welcome with what +she has. +</p> + +<p> +She makes him lie down on the <i>anghareb</i>—folds the camel's +hair mantle into a pillow for his head—milks the goats, and +brings him a bowl of the thick, frothing-white, pleasant +beverage. He empties it and says, setting down the bowl: +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks, O my hostess! May milk never be wanting in +thy house! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"May God bestow upon thee long life and prosperity!" +returns the thin, shadowy voice, in the set terms of the response +to the formal expression of gratitude: "You have honoured +me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"By your life, O lady! I have honoured myself! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"By your eyes, O my guest! I am the distinguished one!" She +laughs her queer little dry laugh, and says, kneeling by +the hearth, and rousing the embers into a glow by puffs of +breath from between her veils, and bits of dry fuel discreetly +thrust into the reddest places: "Yet why should thou and I +talk as Mohammedans? Are we not Jews?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I dunno! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Thou dost not know? Not even that this is New Moon? +Wouldst thou not be in Shool this morning, if 'twere +possible?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I can't say for sure. That is, about myself. Of +course, I'm certain about you and your mother! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah'h!" She winces as at a sudden knife-thrust and sinks +back on her heels, trembling visibly. "The beloved one—is—is +alive?" +</p> + +<p> +"Alive and well, that is—as well as she can be! ... You +didn't know?" John asks in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"How should I know within a year? ... News filters in but +very rarely." She masters herself, rises to her knees, and +goes on coaxing the fire, but the reddening embers hiss as +her tears keep dropping on them from underneath her veils. +"And it is best she should believe that—that I am—that I died +when Jacob! ... O, my cousin, have pity! ... Let us speak +of her no more! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"All right. Count on me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He watches as the little flitting shape glides about the dusky +chamber, and in and out of the narrow door,—bringing to +feed the fire,—more dry fuel, of which she has a heap in +the outer chamber, that serves as a store-room. From whence, +presently conjuring ripe figs and olives; fresh eggs, green +coffee-beans, salt and rough sugar, and a little stone mortar +and pestle; some flaps of unbaked native bread and a wooden +dish of goat's-milk butter, she boils the eggs; roasts and pounds +the coffee; bakes the bread upon a metal cone placed amongst +the embers; and assembling the constituents of a decent +meal—including a jug of fragrant coffee, and another of boiling +goat's milk, upon a little battered metal tray—sets it upon the +little table at his side, and brings him a bowl of water, a bit +of soap and a coarse, clean cloth. +</p> + +<p> +"Washing and—benediction, Cousin John." +</p> + +<p> +He washes and mumbles something, reddening under his +head-cloth. +</p> + +<p> +"Now eat and drink, mingling the coffee with milk in the +good French fashion." She gives a small sigh. "Would I +had better to offer thee! But than this there is nothing else." +</p> + +<p> +"The tucker's A-1. But you—" +</p> + +<p> +"Trouble not for me. I am a Syrian woman.... I eat my +food after the man has fed...." +</p> + +<p> +Intuitively perceiving that she shelters behind this excuse +her sensitive horror of her own disfiguring mutilation, John +protests no further, but applies himself to the eggs, coffee, +bread and butter and fresh fruit, with hearty good will. +</p> + +<p> +When he is satisfied she clears away; pours boiling water +into a big earthen bowl; fetches lint, bandaging and arnica +from a burial-shelf where she seems to have some store of +things like these, and tying back her long sleeves in true +Fellaha style, by knotting the ends and slipping them over her +head, addresses herself to the fomenting and bandaging of the +sprained ankle, saying: +</p> + +<p> +"If thou hast tobacco with thee, smoke, O my Cousin John!" +</p> + +<p> +And so he brings out a packet of maize-leaf paper, and a +bag of good Arabian tobacco, stowed away with divers other +requisites upon his large person, and rolls himself a thick +cigarette. She gives him a light with a flaming stick from the +fire, as he is feeling for his matches; and at his: +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, little Esther!" +</p> + +<p> +—bends her poor face low over the damaged ankle, to hide +the tears that will break forth anew. For thus did old Eli +Hazaël speak to his daughter's child, and this deep voice is +very like his: and the familiar words re-open deep, unhealed +scars in her wounded and suffering heart. Thus there is deep +silence in the tomb, broken only by their breathing; by the +flitting sound of Esther's movements within the cool, dusky +place—and by the soft munching of the three goats and their +kids in the outermost chamber—where a heap of grass and +herbage has been heaped to meet their needs. Indeed, this +newly-found friend who has come into the desolate creature's +life, as though dropped from the skies—which in fact he has +been!—is so silent that Ummshni looks up in wonderment. +John is smoking his strong Arab cigarette with deep, regular +inhalations of enjoyment, and staring at a piece of ancient +sculpture that catches the sunshine—still that of early morning, +that falls through an aperture overhead more strongly as the +Day-Lord climbs higher in the eastern sky. It is the bust of a +man, nearly life-sized; carved in the shallowest relief, and +bearing remains of colouring; surrounded by a half-circle of +reddish rays, from which, possibly, the gold has centuries ago +faded. His head is noble, haggard and mild—the long tresses +of waving, reddish-yellow hair mingle with the beard, which is +slightly pointed—the splendid forehead is deeply scored with +lines, there are premature markings of care about the eyes. +These are blue, and austere under dark, widely arching +eyebrows, though the stern lips smile sorrowfully. Under this +ray-crowned half-length—which is bounded by a line of blackish +colour—is roughly chiselled the Sacred Monogram. Below +the letters of the Holy Name is the date of the Year 400 of +the Christian Era. As the lengthening ray reaches this, the +soft voice asks from between Esther's veiling draperies: +</p> + +<p> +"At what art thou looking, my Cousin John? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Just at—that." He points to the stern and gentle Face +rather awkwardly. +</p> + +<p> +"It is the Messiah of the Christians. Didst thou not know?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, of course I'm aware of that. Only, as you're a strict +Jewess, it struck me as somehow curious to see it here." +</p> + +<p> +"It is of great ancientness. It was here when this grey, +evil world was young and golden-haired, and perhaps even +more evil than it is now." +</p> + +<p> +"Then it was pretty rotten! But, in fact, I was thinking as +I looked at that sculpture, that the man who did it must have +seen the ah—the Original. Though unless he happened +to have a dream or a vision, the date quite puts the lid on +that idea." +</p> + +<p> +"If by chance it should be really like the Founder of +Christianity, He hath a servant who resembles Him. For—that is +the very face of the man whom thou and I would deliver! He +lies in the hut of the Prisoners' Field, with the high fence of +barbed-wire about its edges—that is beyond the gate of the +city, opposite the Mohammedan Tombs. And—and," there is +a quavering break in the faded voice, "since yesterday before +the Prayer-Call they have not given him food or water—obeying +the strict orders of—one whom I dare not name!" Quick +panting breaths heave the wasted bosom under the old +blue cotton garment, the little dusky fingers clutch nervously +at her coarse veil. "All day I waited near the gates—thinking +by some cunning wile, some secret bribe, such as hath often +served before now—to win over the Turks on guard to give +me entrance. But, though they licked their lips at the promise +of wine and tobacco, and sweetmeats, and love-messages to +be carried to the women of the Suk and the Bazâr—they did +not dare to let me in. O, my cousin, I fear for the life of the +Master!—I fear! ... And all night I lurked near, hiding +whenever they changed the guard, in some covert of the Waste +Places where they throw the city refuse—and jackals and owls +and pariahs and lepers and malignant spirits dwell. And when +the day-brow lifted I left one to keep watch—even a poor leper +woman who is faithful. And I bought meat, and wine, and +came back here to boil soup and milk for him. For to-night I +shall try again," her glance goes to the bundle of canes she has +leaned up in a corner, "and this time, by the help of the Most +High!—this time I shall not fail!" +</p> + +<p> +"Look here, aren't you ever afraid?" John asks, in mingled +pity and admiration. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, I am always terrified!" Her veils are shaken with +her trembling and he can hear the chattering of her teeth. +"Ever since I took upon me this work of helping the miserable +and those who suffer, I have been frightened, John my cousin,—to +the very core of me.... But I go on! ... There is no +choice!" She wrings the little, shaking, dusky hands, and now +once more quick sobbing shakes her. "Were there not things to +do—sick folks to serve—dangers to evade or face—what were +life worth to The Mother of Ugliness? Think, O think! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Looking at the little quivering thing crouching down beside +the now faintly glowing embers, John thinks, and comprehends, +though not quite all. +</p> + +<p> +"When I recovered sense and partial sight—after the horrors +of which thou knowest!—it was to find myself in the house +of a good, poor Jew of Nazareth, whither—may the Holy One +reward his charity! he had bribed the soldiers to carry me +under cover of night. They, who were bidden—I being as +one dead and covered with blood—to dig a pit and cast me +in with quicklime—were glad to be saved the trouble at gain +of certain moneys. Later, by the secret sale to another man,—a +Hebrew jeweller,—of an emerald necklace I had worn on +the day when the <i>sabtiehs</i> arrested me—and which I had +stitched into my clothing in the first hours of captivity—I +know not whether it was overlooked or whether they did not +dare to seize it—because!—" she does not finish the +sentence—"I repaid the good Jew, though I found it hard to thank +him. Hard as I find it even now...." +</p> + +<p> +There is such tragedy in the low, whispering voice, such +blistering truth in its plain, naked utterances, that John Hazel +shudders as he listens to her.... +</p> + +<p> +"For I desired to die, when I did not remember Jacob! +When I thought of him—what I wanted more than Death +was—" A coal-black diamond-bright eye, sends a shaft from +between the veils straight into the man's eyes. "Thou +knowest. Three little words will hold it all:" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Revenge on Hamid....</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Her veiled head nods at each slowly-uttered word. +</p> + +<p> +"Verily, ay! but I did not want to say it. For that it was +possible to endure this ordeal of Life. To kill him in some +slow, strange, unimagined way, I would have given"—she +laughs dryly. "What had I left to give, my soul being dead +in me,—my body the foul thing his touch hath left it!—and +the face my mother used to kiss, a mask to scare babes and +men? Then I said,—I will wait and hate! ... Patience and +hatred may bring me that I crave for. Meanwhile, keeping +near him—I will succour those whom he hath wronged, feeding +my hungry hatred with their curses—until the day comes +when I shall hunger no more! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"And surely the day of reckoning will come. Only be +patient a little longer!" says the deep, stern voice that +Katharine Forbis knows. +</p> + +<p> +"How like thy voice is to our grandfather's. Almost I +could believe that Eli spoke then! How strange, that he and +thou, so greatly resembling, should never have met," sighs +the woman beside the fire. "Of Hebrew hast thou any?" +</p> + +<p> +"None but a word or so." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well, it matters not! Go on speaking in Arabic, or +in the English that is thy home-speech—or in French if it +pleases thee—thou art Hazaël in any tongue." +</p> + +<p> +"It pleases me best to listen to thee. Tell me now, after +what fashion wouldst thou have thy vengeance? ..." The +man's voice sinks lower, and his face is very grim. +</p> + +<p> +"My cousin, let us not speak of it!" she entreats in a whisper. +He sees a wave of trembling pass over the fragile creature, +huddled in her coarse disguise beside the rude stone hearth. +</p> + +<p> +"Yet when a man bitten by a mad dog, goes to a Pasteur +Institute for inoculation, he must—if it be possible—take the +head of the dog." The fierce black eyes are upon her, and +their strength seems a palpable weight bearing upon her +frailness. "Since the beginning of this War, surgeons have +attained wonderful skill in building up the bodies and faces +of men, that other men have broken. When thou shalt go +to the greatest of these, saying: '<i>Give me back my beauty!</i>' +I promise thee, little Esther, thou shalt carry the head of +the dog!" +</p> + +<p> +The big teeth gleam in the dark face, and she answers with +her chuckle, the thin derisive cachinnation that is so far +removed from mirth: +</p> + +<p> +"And if such a miracle might be wrought, could thy great +surgeon's scalpel cut from my woman's soul the scars that +make it hideous? Could he burn from my memory with his +electric wire, the things that I have borne? Could he set +my feet amongst the flowers on the hills near Kir Saba, with +Jacob's and Reuben's, and Leah's, and little Benjamin's—and +brim my heart with the happiness that was Life's golden wine? +Could he give me back my father and our grandfather, the +good old man who so loved me? How strange it is to +remember that if I had not vexed my mother—and worn the chain +of emeralds that were old Eli Hazaël's birthday gift, that day +the <i>zabtiehs</i> seized me, walking in the olive-groves near my +father's house at Haffêd—I should have had nothing of value +to sell for the wherewithal to live." +</p> + +<p> +"It was Fate! Tell me, my little Esther, how old art thou?" +</p> + +<p> +She laughs in her strange way. +</p> + +<p> +"On that day—the thirtieth of Ab, in the Year of the World +5674,—the 8th of August, 1914—as thou wouldst write it—I +was eighteen, my cousin John...." +</p> + +<p> +Sickened to the very core, the man can barely keep back a +groan. Twenty-one last August, and "beautiful as a rose of +Sharon," to quote Old Mendel, and aged, withered, warped, +body and soul, into the Mother of Ugliness. Words escape +him, born of a sudden thought: +</p> + +<p> +"Jacob and thy Cousin Eli are dead, like thy father, and +our uncles, and our grandfather and thy little brother +Benjamin. But—but Reuben the son of Ephraim lives. Has no one +told thee?" +</p> + +<p> +"Verily, I knew it. But"—her head is bowed and the words +come faint between her veils—"the young girl whom Reuben +loved lives no more. Even though thy surgeons might work +the bodily miracle. Even if the herb Forgetfulness sprang +from these stones, I would not gather it, and lose the memory +of certain things that have lightened my labours, and sweetened +my sufferings in this cruel place. As for my vengeance—more +than once I have been very near it! Wilt thou believe?—I +have opened mine hand and let the thing go!" The little dusky +hand quivers into sight, shuts, opens and vanishes. "So—and +so—the sharpness of desire for Hamid's blood having abated, +since—since I came—to the knowledge of him!" +</p> + +<p> +The little hand waves from the covert of her veils towards +the ray-encircled head, past which the illuminating beam of +sunshine has travelled. John, seeing this, says with +something of astonishment: +</p> + +<p> +"Knowledge of—the Christ? ... And thou a Jewess?" +</p> + +<p> +"I speak of the servant, not of the Master, good Cousin +John. For that stern, beautiful face is strangely like his +whom thou didst come here to seek." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll make a note of that. It may be useful." John Hazel's +strong black eyes glue themselves upon the Face upon the +wall, as the Mother of Ugliness goes on, whisperingly: +</p> + +<p> +"This I have thought, seeing the life of the Sidi who is +His servant. Thou art listening? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Verily, my little Esther. For it is needful for me to hear +these things concerning the man." +</p> + +<p> +So, with a full heart trembling on her timid lips, sometimes +speaking in her swift, cultured Arabic, sometimes in +her English that is tinctured with a Parisian accent—always +speaking of the priest as the Sidi, or the Master, she tells +John all she knows, up to the moment of Father Julian's +arrest. +</p> + +<p> +"And what happened then?" John asks. +</p> + +<p> +"They took the Master to the—the Bey's room, over the +gateway. The—the Bey accused him of pricking on the +prisoners to rebellion. A German officer who was there bore +testimony that the Master had so acted. He boldly—for he is as +a lion, without fear—denied this, in the face of his enemies. +All this I heard from a Turk, a <i>posta</i> of the guard at the +Barracks. The man loves a shameless woman of the +Bazâr—and—and I carry messages between them, no office being too +low for Ummshni, the Mother of Ugliness. Can dirt defile +dirt?" +</p> + +<p> +In her faint voice she asks the bitter question. John says, +grinding his teeth: +</p> + +<p> +"Damn it, Esther, drop that! I can't bear it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Swear not, my Cousin John, but hear. <i>He</i>—" John knows +she is speaking of Hamid—"He says to the Master: 'You tell +me this, that and the other thing I do, gives offence to your +Christian Messiah. I pay no heed, and, He lets me alone, +because He has no power to punish me. For it is Allah and +Allah only who rebukes the evil and rewards the virtuous. +And to prove this, I shall put you under guard—in the barbed-wire +enclosure where we kept the British War-prisoner officers. +There is plenty of room to walk about, and a wooden hut +where you may sleep. You will have grass, and clean air, +but nothing to eat or drink—unless you sign this paper that +I have here—saying that you repent of the slanders you have +spoken against me before my face. Sign it now in the presence +of witnesses, and you will be sent down to join the other +War Prisoners at Smyrna. Do not sign it—and you will be +taken to the wired enclosure, and any one found giving you +food or water, will be beaten to death with <i>asayisi</i>. This will +give your Nazarene Prophet, Whom we Turks and the Kaiser +of the Alamani and his officers—who are all good +Mohammedans—esteem very highly!—a chance to prove how great He +is, and how He values you—by keeping you alive....'" +</p> + +<p> +John licks lips that have suddenly grown dry. +</p> + +<p> +"And what did Father Forbis say to this—not particularly +original devil?" +</p> + +<p> +"He told Hamid he was an ordinary priest, with no +pretence to extra sanctity, and that if this was a challenge +to the Christ, he as His servant refused to take it up...." +</p> + +<p> +"And then?—" +</p> + +<p> +"'Deprived of food,' the <i>posta</i> says the Master said, 'I +perish like any other miserable mortal. Yet if it were my +Maker's Will that I should live through such an ordeal—I +should live! ...'" +</p> + +<p> +"Some priest that!" John imagines a voice like Katharine's +saying 'I should live!' and a thrill goes through him. +"And Hamid?—" +</p> + +<p> +"Hamid said: '<i>We will wait and see!</i>' and all the Germans +laughed. It is a phrase well known in England? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"And dam' well hated too! But your Father Forbis is a +peach.... Worthy to be his sister's brother...." +</p> + +<p> +"She is so beautiful and noble? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"All that," says loyal John, "and more! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! I am glad. For I have thought much since I have +known the Sidi, and learned in watching, somewhat. This +amongst other things: that to be abject, ill-used, poor and +despised, even as a lame sparrow in the sight of men—and to +go about doing good, with one hate in the nest of the heart that +chirps for vengeance, that is human, human enough! But to +be all this, without hate or bitterness—to be wronged and pity +the wronger!—being sinned against, to pardon and love the +sinner, this is Divine! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The softly-breathed words fall upon the air like scattered +rose-petals, diffusing sweetness as they fall. +</p> + +<p> +"If Jesus of Nazareth were not the Son of the Most High, +O John, my cousin! after no other fashion will He come when +He comes. Taking nothing from the world but a crust, and +a garment to cover Him. Seeking the things that are held +despicable by men. His Gospel Love, Forgiveness, Sacrifice. +His only diadem the Shekinah. His path beset by thorns— His +triumph Failure.... His end a gibbet! ... What other +could it have been?" ... +</p> + +<p> +John admits.... +</p> + +<p> +"No other. For if there's one thing more prejudicial to +a man than sheer Disinterestedness—I'm at a loss to name it! +The world must have a motive—and it likes a mean one best. +I don't pretend I've ever gone particularly deep into the +subject, but I've sometimes thought—that if it were possible to +see Jesus of Nazareth clearly for the Christians—we Jews +might find Him to be very much a Jew!" +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps we shall see Him so, one day! ..." +</p> + +<p> +She rises with noiseless, supple ease, and takes her bundle +of sticks from the corner. +</p> + +<p> +"Thou art weary. Deny it not, thy jaws ache with yawning, +and already I have seen thee nod.... Take off thine +upper garment and head-cloth, for it is warm here. Lie down +and sleep, though the bed be somewhat short for legs as long +as thine. For I have things to do—for the Master! '<i>What +things?</i>' Oh! the man! ever asking questions! ... Broth +to make, milk to scald, these pipe-stems," she shows her +bundle of new, clean canes, five feet long, bound by a generous +length of red India-rubber tubing, "to fit together after a plan. +The Master shall not die of hunger to-night, the Most High +being my helper. For I shall be helped!" She nods her small, +veiled head. "It is borne in upon me, since I have found +thee, the Bedawi who did not spit when I let him see my face. +There is another Arab here," she gives her dry little rustling +chuckle, "an Emir with his following. He did not spit or +curse, either, and his grey eyes said, '<i>Poor thing!</i>'" +</p> + +<p> +"The hell you say! ..." John, who has been horizontal, +sits up suddenly and blurts out in English. "Forgive me, +little Esther, but I happen to be on the track of an Arab with +grey eyes. Where does the bloke hang out?" +</p> + +<p> +"If thou speakest of the Emir Fadl Anga, he who lodges +at the Khan et-Talab under that title—having with him two +Bedu of the Beni Asir, and the horses of all three—" +</p> + +<p> +"Good egg!" John sits up on the string bed in his brown +camel's hair <i>kumbas</i>, grinning joyfully, and hugging his knees: +"Does one of 'em carry a reed-cage chock-full of pigeons, +strapped back of his saddle? Think!" +</p> + +<p> +"Ay, verily, the Emir Fadl Anga being pigeon-master to one +of the Princes of Mecca. Or such is the story that is told in +the Bazâr." There is incredulity in the weary voice. "He +hath brought the birds as a gift to the German General +commanding at Nazareth, for use, so they say, in the Intelligence +Department there. When the pigeon-master Sergeant Major +comes from Nazareth, he will take them—and leave a cage of +birds that have been trained by himself. All this I had in the +Bazâr.... Where art thou going? ..." +</p> + +<p> +John, lowering his feet to the stone floor, and reaching for +his Arab head-cloth, very decidedly replies: +</p> + +<p> +"To the Khan et-Talab, to dig out my man. For he's my +man, this Fadl Anga." +</p> + +<p> +"And how wilt thou get to the Khan, lame as thou art?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> dunno!" John gingerly tests his bandaged leg: "You've +handed me a poser. What's to be done?" +</p> + +<p> +"What wouldst thou do, if it were possible for thee to go? +Think now and say! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He rests his brawny arms upon his knees, and says, slowly, +as the fierce light in his black eyes dies out and leaves their +surface dim and lustreless: +</p> + +<p> +"I'd find out which was Fadl Anga's room—loaf into the +courtyard among the horses, camels, goats, Arabs and Fellah +grooms—squat down under his window, and sing—not out +loud, but just between my teeth—" +</p> + +<p> +Sagely she nods her little veiled head: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Bouche fermée</i>,—some English song that is a sign agreed +upon between you. Sing it me now, for I will go, and carry +thy disguised Englishman the message, while thou remainest +here—watching the soup that it be not burned or boil +over." +</p> + +<p> +For all unnoticed while they talked, she has set a covered +earthen pot containing water, and some kind of meat that she +brought up with her, and has chopped fine and mixed with +herbs, amongst the glowing ashes; and a faint steam, not +unsavoury, is already beginning to spiral through the hole in +the knobbed lid. +</p> + +<p> +"Is it agreed upon? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I should smile! ..." +</p> + +<p> +She understands the odd utterance as assent and says with +a diamond sparkle between her veils: +</p> + +<p> +"Now sing me thy song. And give me thy message, but +otherwise advise me in nothing of how I am to do. For, verily, +I am the Mother of Cunning as well as the Mother of Ugliness, +and have carried the lives of many men between these +hands of mine!" Laughing softly, she stretches them out. +"And they are not as big as thy hands, my giant Cousin +John." +</p> + +<p> +"You blessed little brick!" +</p> + +<p> +He reaches out and captures in his own, one of the little +dusky hands, gently squeezes it, lets it go, and takes from +his neck a square of parchment that hangs there, suspended +by a slender green silk cord. On one side are two interlaced +triangles outlined in thick black ink. On the other a square +containing Arabic letters of the Sacred Name—within a double +circle in which have been traced and thickly inked—the Signs +of the Zodiac. +</p> + +<p> +"That's that! ... Makes some Arab amulet, doesn't it? ... I +cribbed the figures from the title-page of Pittaker's +Almanac, and the Name off an inscribed tile. Two letters are +stitched inside this—I've another letter hidden away inside my +<i>tarbûsh</i>, but that I'll deliver myself to Father Forbis. +Meanwhile, you're to get this somehow into Fadl Anga's hands. +If—but mind you not <i>unless</i> he tumbles to the first bars of +'Loch Lomond.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Is it 'Loch Lomond'? That was one of the English songs +we learnt to sing at my Paris boarding-school," says the Mother +of Ugliness. "Hear now, O my cousin, if I remember it +aright? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She has a little faded voice, sweet but thin, and in this she +sings to him the familiar refrain of the ballad that—hummed +by a battered private of London Territorials—sitting on a +captured bag of Turkish Army biscuits after Sheria—conjured up +the chintz drawing-room at Kerr's Arbour, and Katharine +Forbis singing at her piano in the twilight—before the stern, +absorbed eyes of an Arab who knelt at prayer.... +</p> + +<p> +So it follows that, having taken a sparing meal of bread +and fruit, and milk, the amulet containing the letters being +hidden upon her person, and the song stowed away in her head, +Ummshni-Esther sets forth, under the blaze of the sun of +twelve o'clock midday (going by the watch under Ali Zaybuk's +sheepskin wristlet, which is set at European time). He limps +to the entrance of the tomb to let her out, and stands watching +until the little slender, veiled figure—wrapped in the ample +outer garment of coarse yellow-white sheeting, worn by Syrian +women, passes from his sight. +</p> + +<p> +"Good luck to you, you regular little Maccabee!" he mutters. +"Now all You Big Old Men, butt in and help her! ... It's +up to you to help her.... For she's thoroughbred to the +backbone, if ever a woman was...." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>Thud, thud—thud! Thud thud thud—thud! THUD!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +The guns are still arguing heavily and persistently—in +the hills west of Jerusalem, and in the vicinity of Hebron.... +South, over Junction Station, the inflated grey bulks of three +observation balloons wallow against the cloud-piled horizon, +over the huge ark-like hangars that kennel them, as the experts +in the dangling baskets read off, and transmit to their Headquarters +by Wireless, the silvery flashes of helios from the hills. +A Fokker biplane of pusher type with a Falk machine-gun +mounted in her bows, is trying to drive down one of the +observers; the rattle of the aviator's weapon sounding like the +clickett of a typewriter. While a single-seater monoplane +<i>Taube</i> with a "Roland" bomb-dropping device, is endeavouring +to deal in a similar manner with the other O.B.'s, and a +British Anti-Aircraft gun mounted on a motor is spraying +vicious little shells of H.E. and shrapnel at the Germans, from +rapidly-changing vantages upon the ground below. +</p> + +<p> +Even as John gets interested in the battle, the Fokker, hit +in her petrol tank by a projectile, suddenly vomits flame, and +drops like a singed moth, downwards. The Taube departs in +haste for Hebron—seeing a half-squadron of D.H.6's coming +over from the aërodrome near G.H.Q. further down south.... +Germany has few eyes in the air in these days, and the Turk +is well-nigh wingless. But difficulties of transport threaten +to hold the British up at Nebi Samwil; and knowing this, the +enemy's resistance stiffens. The sun will not sink on +Ottoman dominion in Palestine, while the Turco-German forces +hold the Jerusalem-Shechem road. +</p> + +<p> +There is a glorious view from the summit of the Mount +of Cursing, silvered with streams on her lower slopes, clothed +with her groves of olive and almond, fig and apricot, orange +and pomegranate, as high as there is soil enough to hold their +roots. Through a gap in the Hills of Galilee, snow-crowned +Hermon stands out in splendid relief against the deep blue +sky. East, across the Jordan, are the Mountains of Gilead, +Osha's summit conspicuously capped with a streaming panache +of cirro-stratus; the coastal Plain of Sharon rolls emerald to +the turquoise lip of the Mediterranean, and the huge bulk of +Carmel thrusts out into the glittering distance a fortress +defying the uttermost assaults of Time. +</p> + +<p> +"Some view!" John comments, baldly, in his acquired idiom, +narrowing his eyes under the hand that shields them from the +sun. Yet in his heart he is drunken with the beauty—captive +forever to the spell of this land of Palestine.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Thud, thud!</i> ... BOOM! ..." +</p> + +<p> +A colossal tree-shaped column of woolly brown vapour rises +in the west where lies Jaffa. "We" are blowing up Turkish +ammunition-dumps and provision stores. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Rat, tatt, tatt—tatt 't tat!</i>" go the machine-guns in the hills +to the south.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Thud, hud, thud 'd 'd! ...</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Great happenings are in the air. Trained as John Hazel +is in the unimaginative school of London's Stock Exchange +and the City, his keen Oriental brain is quickened to this +consciousness. Time, after many ripening centuries, is giving +birth to The Event foretold by and foreshadowed in prophecies, +dreamed of by vision-seers. Can it be that after all these +centuries of exile, Christianity is to give back Palestine to +the Jews? ... +</p> + +<p> +The onyx ring attracts the man's black eyes as he brings +down the hand that shaded them. He tells himself that, after +all, he wasn't quite such a blooming mug as little Esther +thought. He remembers binding a cotton rag about the finger +that wears the ancient heirloom, on the eve of the start from +Ismailia. Somehow, the rag must have come off, either before, +or when, he jumped from the aëroplane, at the signal of Essenian. +</p> + +<p> +"The treacherous Egyptian brute! One of these days—" There +is a promise in the hiatus that bodes ill for Essenian. +There is also a token, adhering to the ring, that bodes not +over-well for John. Only a speck of bright green sealing-wax, +sticking in a fold of the lion-skin of Hercules, that was not +there when its wearer left the house in the Rue el Farad, to +dine with the Pasha at the Aviators' Club. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0409"></a></p> + +<h3> +IX +</h3> + +<p> +The Khan of et Talab, or The Fox, is a thoroughly Oriental +caravanserai; flat-roofed, two-storeyed, and built upon three +sides of a square courtyard. The ground-floor rooms are +deposits for travellers' baggage and stores, the windows of the +guest-rooms look out upon the courtyard, the fourth side of +which is a row of stables, with small rooms above them for +Arab and Fellah camel-drivers and horse-keepers, cooks and +scullions, and the tag-rag-and-bobtail of the Khan. +</p> + +<p> +The rooms occupied by the Emir Fadl Anga, pigeon-master +to the nephew of the King of the Hedjaz—purveyor of +Intelligence to German Headquarters at Shechem, and owner of the +dapple grey Arab mare, are upon the top floor, and possess +the exclusive monopoly of the roof. Thus the smells which rise +from the area of the courtyard and the harsh cries of itinerant +fruit and sweetmeat sellers, pedlars of fish, hawkers of bread +and vegetables; with the wrangling of servants and horse-boys, +camel-drivers and muleteers, washermen and scullions, are +somewhat tempered before they ascend to the nostrils and ears +of the Emir. +</p> + +<p> +The room is large, whitewashed and fairly lofty, with a cool +tiled floor, on which are spread a few mats and Damascus +carpets. Some stools, a few cushions, a low table; a carved +chest with a huge, wooden lock, and the inevitable divan, are +all its furniture. Opening on a broad balcony communicating +by a staircase at each end with the housetop and the courtyard, +the high, wide window is also the door. +</p> + +<p> +On the right-hand side of the divan nearest the window, +the Emir lies outstretched; pillowed on the embroidered saddlebags +which contain his travelling-gear, and smoking his water-pipe. +Its flexible tube snakes over the smoker's body, down +across the dark red tiling; the roseleaves dance in the water +that fills the glass vessel, the blue-brown incense of the good +Persian tobacco spirals up from the burnt clay bowl. The +carrier-pigeons in their reed cage upon the shaded balcony outside +coo slumberously. The <i>argili</i> gurgles as is its wont—the flies +that blacken the remnants of the midday breakfast of soup, +chicken stewed in rice, pancakes fried in fat and honey, melon +and figs—maintain a steady, persistent buzzing, and the rapid, +minute tap-tap-tap of small hard objects hitting the clean +starched cover of the divan never ceases. For, if the King of +the Fleas of Palestine reigns—as is reported, at Tiberias—Abu +Brârit, the Father of Fleas, lives at Shechem. +</p> + +<p> +Of the Emir's companions, a tall, grizzled, elderly Bedawi +in a purple and black <i>jelabia</i> with an ample white <i>jerd</i> swathed +over an orange silk <i>kuffiyeh</i>, and a short, broad-faced young +man, dark-skinned as a roasted coffee-berry, with a fine mouthful +of dazzling white teeth, and flashing black eyes, in a thin +<i>kaftan</i> of black camel's hair over an under-robe striped red and +white, with a <i>kuffiyeh</i> of white, bound with a green head-rope—the +junior squats on his heels beside a little stove of burned +clay in which glows charcoal, which is placed on the broad +balcony outside the window-door. On the stove boils a +coffee-kettle of <i>repoussé</i> metal, whose fragrant vapours mingle with +the smells of the Desert, and the smoke of the Persian weed. +Meanwhile the little porcelain coffee-cups in their <i>repoussé</i> +metal holders, the coffee-pot, the mortar in which the berries +have been crushed, the brass pestle belonging to it, and a +lime-bark box of broken candy-sugar, sit naïvely on the floor. That +the son of the Shaykh Gôhar, a noted leader in the guerilla war +between the King of the Hedjaz and the Sultan of Turkey, +should preside over the coffee-pot, is in strict accordance with +Bedwân etiquette. For to drink coffee that has been prepared +by a woman, is a thing derogatory to masculine dignity. +Hence Namrûd, his striped mantle doffed, squats on his +slipperless brown heels beside the burning charcoal, and watches +the bubbling pot. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The coffee boils, the smoke spirals up from the thin, well-cut +lips, closed on the amber mouthpiece of Fadl Anga's +<i>argili</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Of what is Fadl Anga thinking, as the roseleaves dance in +the bowl? Some ancient Arab palace with palm-gardens and +apricot-groves sheltered from the sandstorms of the Dehna by +forests of cedar and oak-trees, shielded from the burning +winds that blow from the Gulf of Aden, by the mountain-ranges +of Hadramaut? Of his horses and hawks, pigeons and +hunting-leopards, or of some slender bride, with gazelle-eyes +and henna-reddened fingers, and the rounded oval face that +Eastern Asiatics liken to the full-orbed moon.... +</p> + +<p> +Actually, Fadl Anga is watching a man in a shabby grey +tweed shooting-suit, burying the Service uniform of a British +field-officer of infantry, in a fox-earth in a wood. A plantation +of snowy Scotch firs knee-deep in wintry bracken. He has +rolled the things in a trench-coat, strapped with a sword-belt. +Now he savagely jams them down, and rises from the burial +of Edward Yaill, panting and with a streaming face, though +the wind has the nip of February.... He rubs the dry dust +from his hands—crashes to the stile through the frosty covert—leaps +out on the high-road. And goes his lonely way, oblivious +that the end of the lanyard attached to the silver whistle +sticks out among the briars for Meggy Proodfoot's wee laddie +to pounce on by and by.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The flies buzz, the pigeons coo, the roseleaves dance in the +water-bowl.... Now through the smoke comes the low command +in the Bedwân dialect of the ancient Semitic language +that is even more archaic than the Babylonian Semitic of 6000 +years ago: +</p> + +<p> +"O Gôhar, Shaykh of the Beni Asir! and thou, Namrûd, +son of Gôhar! hearken to my word! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"We hear, O Emir! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Friends, I have taken tracings of the despatch that was in +the bag, dropped by the airman who came at dawn yesterday, +and before sunrise I launched near Mount Gerizim, a pigeon +carrying one of these for British Intelligence Headquarters at +Lydd. The wise old blue <i>dîk</i> with the crumpled foot, who +has served us well before, is my messenger. Now, here for +safety's sake, is a duplicate tracing for each of you." +</p> + +<p> +White teeth gleam in Namrûd's brown face as he takes the +filmy square of tissue paper, touches it to his forehead, and +says: +</p> + +<p> +"O Fadl Anga! by thy favour, there is no place like the inner +whorl of the ear-rim, for hiding a paper rolled up within a +lump of bees-wax." +</p> + +<p> +"O Fadl Anga!" the Shaykh's mimicry of his junior's +self-important tone is really creditable, "by thy favour, since the +clipping of the ears of spies hath not gone out of fashion, I +will hide the tracing thou hast given me, in a place that is of all +the safest, even beneath the eyelid of this my left eye." +</p> + +<p> +"I will remember, O Gôhar! Yet a little pride is permitted +when a young man hath carried out a stroke so cleverly." Namrûd's +black eyes glow gratitude as the Emir continues: "Yesterday +there was consternation at the Shechem Headquarters +of General von Krafft, Chief of the German Secret Intelligence +Department on this front, when the bag dropped from the +aëroplane was opened, and found to hold a dummy message. And +last night there was a smart young orderly Staff Sergeant-Major +of the Department—who was exceedingly sorry for himself." +</p> + +<p> +"Thou shouldst have seen, O Emir! to taste the jest of it. +By Allah! 'twas like a monkey trying to carry two watermelons +in one hand. Under the archway of the Street of +Mabortha, looking on the Square yonder," the dark hand of +Namrûd waves towards the rearward wall, "by the fifth +hour after sunset I fell upon my prey." +</p> + +<p> +"Had I not known, I had been gulled even as the German." The +tone of the Shaykh is not untinged with fatherly pride. +"When the old woman passed, and squalled like a peahen at the +gleam of the white face under the archway—and then took +courage because she found it fair! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Thou hast the wrong end of the stick, O my father! +She dropped in the mud a letter she was carrying from her +mistress, the wealthy young widow of Abu Husain the +jeweller, to the handsome soldier of Germany, who waited under +the arch." +</p> + +<p> +"So, so, that was it! And was there a letter? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, she could not find it, having trodden it into the +mud. +</p> + +<p> +"True, it rained heavily yesterday morning. And what kind +of a tale didst thou spin to tangle the dupe?" +</p> + +<p> +"But this, that having seen him thrice, close upon the +blink of dawn, standing at his post under the archway, +the jeweller's widow had fallen into the very rage of love. +'<i>Her eyes, that were like torches, are extinguished with +weeping. Verily thou wouldst have pity on her, O Sidi! if thou +couldst see. Woe's me! this letter!</i>' (Thus I, the go-between,) +'<i>May the mercy of Allah defend me if I have lost it! for truly +she knew no better, poor demented creature! than to wrap +up in it a costly ruby ring!</i> ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ha, ha! ... That was well thought of!" +</p> + +<p> +"It made my gull begin to hunt about in good earnest, +and, under pretence of the ring's having rolled, I lured him +farther down the street. While with his little electric torch +he was groping amid the stenches of the gutter, I heard the +song of the Bird while yet afar off.... But cackling of lust +and vanity, and greed, now in one of his fat red ears—now +in the other, I deafened him,—else at a move, my grip had +fastened round his throat.... Then the signal pistol cracked, +and the orange light flared, and he grunted an oath: +'<i>Boppis</i>'—what tongue is '<i>boppis</i>'? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Fadl Anga laughs. +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>Potzblitz</i>,' it may have been...." +</p> + +<p> +"And, like the pig he is, he charged for the archway, +knocking all the breath out of the old woman, who had got in his +way. And while we twain rolled among the garbage on the +pavement, I, dealing him scratches and cuffs, and squealing,—but +not too loud! the second cartridge cracked out, and the +bag dropped into the Square...." +</p> + +<p> +The Shaykh takes up: +</p> + +<p> +"And I ran out from my lurking-place and changed it for the +dummy, ere the German floundered, snorting, from under the +archway.... He will be wiser in future,—if they ever trust +him further." Gôhar lights another powerful cigarette. "He +will lend his ear to no sugared tales told by old women—when +next he is waiting for despatches to drop out of the +sky...." +</p> + +<p> +"It may be so. But once a fool, twice a fool. That is my +experience," says the quiet voice of the Emir. "Now, friends +of mine, be it understood! Our work here is done, with the +capture of the despatch, and the proof that Essenian Pasha is a +traitor to England. To-night we throw the salaam to Shechem, +taking with us the English priest." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Wallah!</i>—but that is good hearing!" The Shaykh Gôhar +nods beamingly. "My blood warms to the word of a raid. +Look at the boy!" +</p> + +<p> +Namrûd is wreathed in grins as he squats on his heels—clearing +the boiling coffee with a dash of cold water, splashed +in at the critical time. +</p> + +<p> +"He is thy very son. Now, tell me once more, O Shaykh +Gôhar! what the War Prisoner officer told thee yesterday. +Secretly, at the <i>Mahatté</i> (Station) of Nakr, before the German +<i>Mudîr</i> came." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Masha'llah</i>! At thy behest, O Emir! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And the lean-faced Shaykh, sitting on a carpet beside the +divan, in his purple and black silk <i>jelabia</i> and silver-corded +orange head-drapery, smoking innumerable cigarettes of strong +Arab tobacco, re-commences the low-voiced tale: +</p> + +<p> +"Thus, as I made pretence to bargain with him for a silver +cigarette-roller he had, that I said had caught my fancy, +he stoutly maintaining that he did not wish to sell—the +English officer said to me secretly at Nakr: 'The furrow watered +with our sweat shall yield us no harvest—yet are we not losers +but gainers thereby. Since, refusing to give our parole to the +Turks, they shut us up in the barbed-wire enclosure without +the eastern gate of Shechem, we have taken it by turns to +scrape out a tunnel—working in shifts throughout the nights, +and taking it in turns to keep watch. From the wooden hut +on the east side of the enclosure to the wire-fence is seven +paces of a man. Inside the hut we began our tunnel, covering +the hole with planks nailed together—scattering earth upon +these, and setting the <i>anghareb</i> over the top, the better to +hide the place. Two days ago we tunnelled under the wire. +Now we are well under the road that runs by the Tomb of +Yûsuf to the Well of Yakub, and so passes into the +Shechem-Jerusalem Road. We are three paces south from the Turkish +sentry-box that is outside the wire there. We should have +broken through to-night!" +</p> + +<p> +"That would be the night of yesterday," Fadl Anga +murmurs, loosening his lips from the long amber mouthpiece. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Masha'llah</i>! 'But,' saith the English officer, 'that we heard +we were going to Aleppo for Exchange. Now, finding thee a +friend in disguise, we would have thee know of the tunnel, +lest haply other War-prisoners—British or of the Allies—be +put in the Wired Place. <i>Remember, the hole begins under +the earth-strewn planks that are beneath the </i>anghareb<i> in the +wooden hut that used to be the Mess, The tunnel passes three +paces south of the Turkish sentry-box that stands outside the +wire. Four paces from the wire, where the broken-down +Turkish grain-cart stands upon the road</i>—it hath stood there +ever since the Taking of Beersheba and no man sets hand to +it!—under the grain-cart is where we should have broken +through.' <i>Wallah</i>! And they would have thrown the <i>salaam</i> +to the Turks and departed, but for the news of the Exchange." +</p> + +<p> +"Praise be to God for men of good wit! Did the officer +say no more to thee?" +</p> + +<p> +"This, O Emir! that they had scratched the story with a +nail on the inside of a metal bowl and left it lying in the hut for +the next British prisoner. In the bowl are written the times +when the Turks go the rounds by day and night; and the +hours for relieving-guard, and divers other things time served +him not to tell." +</p> + +<p> +"But which," interrupts the younger man, proudly, "I, thy +son Namrûd have since found out...." +</p> + +<p> +"Hence, to thee we owe it that we can make the essay +to-night, O Namrûd, rightly named 'The Hunter'! Is the coffee +ready, thou cleverest of spies?" +</p> + +<p> +"O Haji," Namrûd answers, tingling with the praises of +his hero, "the coffee is ready even now!" +</p> + +<p> +The Emir wears a flowing <i>kuffiyeh</i> of vivid green silk secured +by the octagonal gold and silver head-rope, over his black +felt <i>tarbûsh</i>, so the title bestowed by the Shaykh's son is no +empty compliment. The long Arab <i>jubba</i> under his loose, +open <i>jelabia</i> is of white silk, delicately stitched, the <i>jelabia</i> +is of heavy black brocaded silk, tagged with gold at the +seams, his red Arab slippers are gold-embroidered, there are +diamonds in the hilt of the curved, gold-sheathed dagger his +girdle supports. It must pay uncommonly well to breed +carrier-pigeons for the nephew of the ex-Sherif of Mecca, +now by the right of descent from the Prophet; by the strength +of the sword (and the brilliant brains of an Oxford graduate) +Commander of the Armies of Arabia and of the Hedjaz, +King.... +</p> + +<p> +Now Fadl Anga lifts his slender, muscular frame, tense +and wiry even in repose, higher against the saddle-bags and +takes from the dark hand of Namrûd the little half-filled +cup. The young man serves the Shaykh, his father; then, but +not until formally invited, fills his own cup, and they drink +ceremonially. Twice the cups are replenished; then Fadl +Anga says, as Namrûd refills the clay bowl of the <i>argili</i> and +puts, with his tough-skinned fingers, a bit of glowing charcoal +on the top: +</p> + +<p> +"Didst thou go to the <i>mashásheh</i> in the Bazâr, as I bade +thee, O Namrûd?" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Wallah</i>! As thou didst bid me, I went to the <i>mashásheh</i> +in the Bazâr." +</p> + +<p> +"And didst thou buy the drug—the sweet conserve of +hashish? And of the tobacco-seller, giving him the discreet +wink, the cigarettes that are drugged with opium?" +</p> + +<p> +"Verily, O Fadl Anga, these things I got, after the <i>magúngi</i> +and the tobacco-seller had denied for a long time that they +had any. And—<i>Wallah!</i>—the cost of both was as though I +had bought jewels." +</p> + +<p> +"It may well be, O Namrûd, yet I grudge not the money." +</p> + +<p> +The Emir puts by the mouthpiece of his water-pipe, and +takes from the young Arab chief a stout package of thick, +rank-smelling cigarettes, with a Turkish label on it, and a +little sticky cardboard box of square, dull greenish jujubes, +saying with the smile that curves his finely-cut mouth under +the short henna-dyed beard, but never reaches his grey eyes: +</p> + +<p> +"For, to a man who would pump a spy, or stupefy a +sharp-witted jailer, either of these were worth a handful of jewels." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Masha'llah!</i>" grunted the Shaykh, sending out a volume of +cigarette-smoke. "Have I not proved that true?" +</p> + +<p> +"Many times, O Shaykh Gôhar, and I also. Now, son of my +friend and ally, go thou to the bath, which as thou hast found +out, the Turkish <i>Yuzbashi</i> (Captain) who will be in command +of the guard at the Wired Enclosure to-night, uses to-day,—his +duty commencing after the hour of sunset,—and challenge +him to a bout of wine and tobacco and salt stories to-night +in his tent. His tent is on the left-hand side of the +Enclosure and serves by day as his office. He smokes opium, and +his sergeant, who is his crony, is a drunkard, and they leave +the <i>onbashi</i> (corporal) to take roll-call and go the rounds, +whenever the two are minded for a fuddle"— +</p> + +<p> +"All Turks are dogs and sots!" the Shaykh says succinctly. +"Thou dost not forget the number of the guard at the +Enclosure, and the places where they are posted, O Emir?" +</p> + +<p> +"They are inscribed in the register wherein I set down such +things." Smiling, the Emir lightly touches his forehead. "But +if thou wilt hear—" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Masha'llah</i>! Let it not be said that I doubted thee." The +Shaykh holds up a lean, protesting hand. "I, who am as +a suckling compared to thee in wit-craft, and the science of +hiving knowledge in the brain." +</p> + +<p> +"Yet will I rehearse to thee here in the room, what Namrûd +learned, and thou didst tell me last night on the housetop. +Listen. On guard at the Wired Enclosure, all told, thirty-four +men. By daylight at any hour, eight Turkish <i>postas</i> on sentry." +</p> + +<p> +"By Allah! Plenty to guard one Englishman." +</p> + +<p> +"As follows: One outside the Wired Enclosure at each corner. +One in the middle of each long side, north and south, +and two at the entrance.... The guard-tent is opposite that +of the Yusbashi.... Roll-call is in English time, 7.30 a.m. and 8 +p.m. The rounds of inspection are 9 p.m., 12 midnight, 5 a.m.... +Three times between sunset and sunrise. The <i>châwush</i> +(sergeant) makes them, if he is sober. At other times the +<i>onbashi</i> (corporal) is left to carry-on. The guard is relieved +every seventh hour, counting from sunset to sunset." +</p> + +<p> +"Good! But there was no need to repeat it all. I am +humiliated by thy grace and courtesy. Now, boy, thy lesson!" +</p> + +<p> +"Hear then, O my father!" +</p> + +<p> +Smiling, the dark-skinned Namrûd begins: +</p> + +<p> +"There are eight <i>postas</i> continually on guard-duty at the +Wired Enclosure. One at each corner outside, and one in +the middle of each long side, where there are sentry-boxes." His +dazzling teeth flash, and his black eyes twinkle as he adds +demurely: "I have not heard the Emir tell that! There are +two more <i>postas</i> on duty at the entrance. Of the eight men +all told—who will be on sentry from sunset to daybreak—seven +smoke tobacco and drink wine, but one does neither. He +is the priest of his platoon, and a Darweesh of the sect of +El-Hoseyn, the Prophet's grandson, and neither eats, drinks, +chews nor smokes, any of the Forbidden Things." +</p> + +<p> +The Shaykh rolls his eyes cynically and spits: +</p> + +<p> +"Wallah! By the life of thy head! A Darweesh and an +abstainer! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Fadl Anga asks, narrowing his eyes to a grey, glittering +line: +</p> + +<p> +"Thou art sure? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I have the testimony of the seven who are his comrades. +Not all of them love him, but notwithstanding, not one can +pick a hole in his coat." +</p> + +<p> +"It needs a woman's little fingers for work like that!" suggests +the Shaykh, hopefully. He pitches his last cigarette-stump +backwards over his shoulder, muttering: "<i>Dastûr</i>. By +your permission, Ye Blessed!" in case of offending some Afrit +of the house, and rises from his carpet saying: "O Namrûd! it +is time for sleep. Leave we the Excellent One to rest. Fresh +talk will come after. And there are yet two hours to pass +before thou goest to the bath...." +</p> + +<p> +And so, with formal exchange of courtesies, and high +protests against the Emir's uprising, the Shaykh Gôhar and his +son assume their slippers and depart; leaving behind them the +perfume of sandal and musk and myrrh, mingled with the +wild chamomile and wormwood of the Desert, and the odour +of dressed gazelle-leather. And Edward Yaill is free—for an +hour—to sleep and dream of Katharine.... +</p> + +<p> +It is grilling hot in the upper room of the Khan of the Fox, +and the mingled stenches of the courtyard intensify as it +approaches high noon. The fleas hop, the flies buzz over the +unremoved <i>débris</i> of the midday breakfast.... Sleep still delays, +though Yaill has trained himself to summon the Healer at will. +In his brain the memory of a familiar refrain thrums in +insistent, maddening repetition. He must yield, or sleep will never +come. So under his breath he hums "Loch Lomond" so softly +that the hairs of his henna-dyed moustache scarcely flutter to +the measure. And then, for a few moments, he appears to doze. +Until wakening, he stretches out a slim sun-browned hand, as +one who wistfully beckons, and whispers, yielding to the +craving of body and soul: +</p> + +<p> +"Katharine, Katharine, where are you hiding? ... All +night and all day I have felt you near me. Come out and show +yourself, my Sweet, my Sweet! ..." +</p> + +<p> +But Katharine delays to reveal her bodily presence, though +that strange haunting sense of her nearness does not abate. +</p> + +<p> +Yielding to the divine spell, Yaill holds out his hand, palm +upwards. A pause, and he feels the light pressure of fine, +smooth fingers. Hers! ... He shuts his eyes, and her breath is +cool upon the quivering eyelids. Now she bends over him, +and for one rapturous instant, her mouth is upon his. Now the +illusion passes, but it leaves his heart hungering. He cannot +thrust the thought of Katharine from him. He abandons the +idea of the noonday siesta. He will write to his lost love. +</p> + +<p> +And so Fadl Anga, otherwise Edward Yaill—takes from his +girdle his Arab pen-case, feels in a pocket within his <i>kaftan</i> for +a roll of coarse yellowish paper, tears off a suitable square, +and begins to write, using in correct if uncomfortable Oriental +fashion the palm of his hand for a desk. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"DEAREST OF WOMEN, +</p> + +<p> +Here in this Samaritan Khan of The Fox at Shechem, I +write to you—my two Arabs—Namrûd, the Hunter, and his +father the Shaykh Gôhar, of the Beni Asir, having gone about +their business, and left their supposed Chief in the state of +'<i>kef</i>!' <i>Kef</i> proper, meaning a full stomach, a divan, coffee and +tobacco—incidentally everything else that affords gratification, +notably wine—and the Daughters of Eve. I have eaten a +greasy Syrian midday breakfast, I lie on a divan apparently +stuffed with radishes, and evidently populous! I smoke excellent +tobacco, and Namrûd's coffee corresponds in quality, but +there is no wine, and the One Woman earth carries for me, +her lonely lover, is some three hundred miles away. +</p> + +<p> +"Beloved, these scrawled lines may never reach you! But +there is news and I must write.... Yesterday, the War +Prisoners in this place, with the exception of some few too +sick to be moved, have been deported <i>via</i> Aleppo to Smyrna, +for purposes of Exchange. Your brother's name has again +been excluded from the list. Hamid Bey accuses him—I +heard last night—of instigating certain of the rank-and-file to +mutiny, and the slander is supported by witnesses suborned +by him. +</p> + +<p> +"Julian has been secretly removed from the Barracks prison, +where up to the present he has been confined. We could not +trace his whereabouts at first, but lighting on the fact that +34 Turkish rank-and-file were still assiduously guarding a +wooden hut at the eastern end of the rectangle of wired-in +ground outside the east gate of the city where War Prisoner +officers are no longer—we came to the conclusion, now proved +correct—that our man would be found there! Pressure so +monstrous has been brought to bear, to compel him to sign +a paper, exonerating Hamid Bey from certain charges at the +expense of his own integrity, that our attempt at rescue will be +carried out to-night.... +</p> + +<p> +"Shall we succeed or fail? What has Fate in store for us? +The answer to the question lies upon the knees of the gods. +You would scold me well if you were here, for so Pagan an +utterance—" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The moving pen is arrested. The keen ears of Fadl Anga +have heard the soft padding of naked feet upon the balcony. +The paper on which he writes vanishes, and with magic celerity +a half-written Arabic poem takes its place upon the palm of +the Emir's slender hand. The pen moves from right to left, +as a shadow falls upon the paper. The voice of a Fellah +servant breaks in upon the poet's reverie: +</p> + +<p> +"O Saiyid! O Emir, this slave craves permission to remove +the dishes! Also there is a woman below in the court-yard...." +</p> + +<p> +The flies rise with a roar from the rinds of the melons and +the greasy remains of the dishes, as the blue-shirted Fellah +waiter deftly lifts the tray, and poises it upon his head. +</p> + +<p> +"A presumptuous one, who knowing that at this hour thou +wouldst be in the state of <i>Kef</i>, or under the influence of the +Healer, yet clamours to be brought before the Presence. Wilt +thou that I bid her begone?" +</p> + +<p> +"A woman, sayest thou? Who is the woman, and what is +her business with me?" +</p> + +<p> +The question is put with low-voiced indifference, the Emir's +half-closed eyes surveying the ceiling, now blackened with a +moving pattern of flies. +</p> + +<p> +"O Emir, it is the Mother of Ugliness! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"'Ummshni,' sayest thou? ... And who is Ummshni? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"O Prince, Ummshni is known to every one. Ummshni +is—Ummshni. Touching her message, which greatly presuming, +she dared to send thee—" +</p> + +<p> +"Out with thy message, O father of fools unborn!" +</p> + +<p> +"O Master and lord, the message was this, thy slave kissing +the dust beneath thy feet for the sender's presumption: '<i>Tell +the Emir Fadl Anga that his greatness takes the high-road +and my humbleness treads the low. But, in the matter of the +lost carrier-pigeon of whose whereabouts my lord deigned +to question Yuhanna Nakli, the Samaritan divineress in the +Bazâr</i>—" +</p> + +<p> +"I remember. Bid the messenger of the Samaritan divineress +come hither!" The long lashes veil the Emir's grey eyes, +and as he speaks with languid pauses between the words, he +hears the measure of that well-known refrain in the throbbing +of his arteries and the beating of his heart: "Take away +the dishes and send her up here. Or—" There is a whiff of +myrrh and sandal as the tall slight figure in, its rustling silken +garments rises from the divan: "Here, from the window, point +her out to me!" +</p> + +<p> +"O Prince, behold the daughter of Sheitan! dancing and +singing to the camel-men and horse-boys in the <i>haush</i> below." +</p> + +<p> +The tall figure of the Emir steps out on the balcony as a +guffaw of coarse merriment comes up from the courtyard +borne on a stronger wave of stinks. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0410"></a></p> + +<h3> +X +</h3> + +<p> +A circle of Fellah grooms and Arab camel-men, coarse-mouthed, +evil-eyed, old in the ways of vice—are gathered about +a little creature in the dingy blue print robe, yellow-white +outer-robe of sheeting and coarse double veil of the Fellaha. +To the majority of these Ummshni is known, not so to the +others; who crowd round, eager to taste the joy of baiting the +veiled woman who has ventured alone into the crowded court +of the Khan. +</p> + +<p> +"Hail, O Beauty, in search of a lover!" jests a squint-eyed +Arab. "Couldst thou not pay an old woman to tout for thy +customers? Has business been so bad that thou art driven +forth under the eye of daylight? Nay then, show thy face for +a foretaste of pleasure. <i>Insh'allah!</i>—unless thou art ugly as +a daughter of the Jinniyeh, here is Abu Mulâd the Tuareg +camel-man, ready and willing to take thee on!" +</p> + +<p> +"The Daughters of the Jinniyeh have legs shaggy with hair, +and not seldom one eye in the middle of the forehead," squeals +a scullion, as Abu Mulâd, a huge and hideous Tuareg from +Central Sahara, whose face, arms and legs are dyed with indigo, +whose back hair is plaited in tails with straw, and whose +top locks are hogged like a cob's mane under the black tribal +head-cloth, is thrust into the forefront of the circle by a dozen +officious hands. "While this moon's husband fell down dead +for sheer joy when his bride was first unveiled to him. Is it +not the sheer truth, O Bestower of Delights?" +</p> + +<p> +"Verily thou dost not lie, for once, O Kasib the scullion!" +says a thin but audible voice from behind the close-drawn +veil. "Wilt thou risk the same fate, O Abu Mulâd the +Tuareg? Then—then put forth thine hand! ... Or—shall I +save thee the trouble? See then the face that killed a man +upon his wedding-night!" +</p> + +<p> +With a thin, shrill cackle of derisive laughter, she draws the +screen of coarse towelling. Abu Mulâd stares, grimaces +behind the strip of black cloth covering his mouth, curses and +spits copiously.... While the little active figure, galvanised +into sudden activity, revolves before him in an impish dance, +chanting to a weird, unholy tune, words in a strange, +unknown tongue:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>O, you rode the Desert and he flew the Air!—<br> + And now he has sent me to find you;<br> + A message from him, and a letter I bear—<br> + From the bonny bonny Maid of Kerr's Arbour!</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +There is something so gnome-like about the little capering +figure, revolving lightly as a withered leaf, or an eddy of +Desert sand, upon the unclean litter of the courtyard of the +Khan, that—and there is not one man of all the throng who +does not believe in witchcraft—even those who know Ummshni +best, quail at the possibility of falling under some evil spell, +blasting in its effect upon the body as upon the soul. +</p> + +<p> +Kasib the scullion claps his hand before his mouth, as do a +dozen others, invoking the Protection. But Abu Mulâd is of +the type of man that, ordinarily slow, dilatory and lumpish as +a buffalo, is rendered tigerish by fear. He shakes in his hide +sandals and bleaches under his indigo mask as he splutters +through the V-shaped gap between his filed front teeth: +</p> + +<p> +"Be thou accursed, thou one-eyed sorceress! abominable +ghoul, conceiver by the seed of devils! <i>Insha'llah!</i> this good +blade of mine shall purge thee of thine evil blood!" +</p> + +<p> +Not a man puts out his hand to save the woman, as the +Tuareg leaps upon her, grasps her frail shoulder, and the +curved iron knife flashes out, when a sharp clear voice, with +the unmistakable ring of authority in it, arrests the lifted +hand. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Shwai!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +The whites of eager eyes roll, as the dark, excited faces are +lifted to the balcony where stands the Emir Fadl Anga. Now +his sharp, authoritative voice rings out again: +</p> + +<p> +"Release the woman and bid her come up hither. Who +shows her violence will reckon with me!" +</p> + +<p> +The Tuareg's heavy blue fingers fall from the slender, +bruised shoulder. Ummshni mutely salaams to the imperious +Presence above, and moves with her customary, artificial limp +to the outer staircase leading to the balcony, as the crowd of +idlers, frustrated of the pleasant thrill that is born of the sight +of bloodshed, disperse to their various quarters. +</p> + +<p> +Imperiously beckoning the woman to make haste, the Emir +moves back into the room, and presently the shadow of the +little feminine figure is cast across the balcony and the +three-inch high window-sill, that is grooved to receive the heavy +shutter that closes the room at night.... +</p> + +<p> +With a strange premonitory thrill, Yaill speaks to the little +creature: +</p> + +<p> +"Enter without fear, O Mother of Ugliness!" He goes on +as her fragile, dusky arms curve out, the hands touch the veiled +brow in the Eastern salutation from an inferior, and noiselessly +as a moth she flits into the room: "And without fear—for +here we are in privacy—tell me who taught thee that +song?" +</p> + +<p> +"O Saiyid!" How faint and whispering a voice is hers.... +"I learned the song from a big man—-a soldier of the Army +of Ingiltarra—who sat on a sack of biscuits after Sheria, and +hummed while the Sons of the Desert made the Prayer of +Afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +"Where is the man to be found?" +</p> + +<p> +"Saiyid, he lies in hiding in a tomb upon Mount Ebal, having +been lamed in leaping from a landing aëroplane. His liver is +charred with anger at so untoward an accident. Strong is his +brain to help thee plan, and strong as iron are his hands—that +could choke the life out of an enemy's throat—even as a child +twists a rotten cucumber. But he is lame!" Yaill marks the +falling note of anguished pity in the voice. "He can but limp +upon a stick, he cannot leap or run...." +</p> + +<p> +"Tell him from me.... Stay! ... Tell me first how thou +didst encounter him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Sir," Ah, the woman knows too much, she is actually +speaking English, "Sir, to me, a woman of many sorrows, +secretly dwelling in that desolate place of which I speak, he +came as a stranger seeking succour. Then, by the Will of the +Most High, was discovered between us kinship: the bond of +religion, the call of race, and the unbreakable tie of blood." +</p> + +<p> +"Madam—" +</p> + +<p> +"Give me not that title. I am no man's wife!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then, Miss Hazel—" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Chut</i>! Call me only Ummshni." A black eye sparkles at +Yaill from between her veils and a little finger, slender and +supple as a lizard's tail, signs to him to beware. "I heard a +footstep overhead, but now!" the thin voice whispers, reverting +to Arabic, "And it did not pass on, and see there—that +hole!" +</p> + +<p> +With an upward gesture of her supple hand she barely +indicates the whitewashed ceiling, in which there is certainly a +hole, rat-gnawed, or made by human hands for spying +purposes—and reaching to the surface of the flat mud roof above. +</p> + +<p> +"O Ummshni, there is a hole indeed, cleverly made for +eavesdropping, but the man who keeps guard above it is a +follower of mine. Stay—thou shalt prove it so!" Fadl Anga +whistles, shrill and sharp, the call of the pigeon-master; and +there is a rap on the roof above, and an answering, echoing +call. "Now take a message for thy man. Tell him from me, +that since by Fate he is doomed to be out of the adventure—" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Give me a message worded in some other way. I will +not wound him so!" There is sensitive pride in the thin, +whispering voice. "And first let me discharge mine errand. Here +are the letters I spoke of in the song." +</p> + +<p> +"Give, then," says the Emir briefly.... +</p> + +<p> +She draws from beneath her coarse white outer robe John's +square of sewn parchment-paper, inked with the signs of the +Zodiac, touches with it her veiled forehead, and offers it in +both her outstretched palms. +</p> + +<p> +"The letters are stitched within, I was to tell thee. And +that one of them comes from the hand of her—who is dearest +to thee of all!" +</p> + +<p> +A great wave of emotion goes through Yaill, as he takes +the inky double square of soiled parchment-paper. His hand +trembles for a moment, and there is a dimness before his +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank—" +</p> + +<p> +"Do not thank me, sir," the little creature quietly says in +her Paris-learned English, "I acted in obedience. Shall I +not carry out the orders of him who is Head of my House? +Now give me the message to carry to John Hazaël in the +Mountain, for at dark I have business that brings me back +to this town." +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I write, Miss Hazel, or shall you remember?" +</p> + +<p> +"It will be safest not to write, and I shall not forget. Tell +me in English, time and all.... It will be clearer for John +Hazaël, I being commanded to repeat your very words." +</p> + +<p> +"Then tell John Hazel from Edward Yaill that I have +received the packet, and that as earnestly as ever man thanked +man, I thank him for what he has done! To-night, between +twelve-thirty and two o'clock—European time—we break into +the Wired Enclosure. We have learned of an easy way to get +in; and except for one man, who cannot be dealt with, I +think we can dispose of the guards." +</p> + +<p> +"To-night between half-past twelve—no! ... Twelve-thirty +and two o'clock you break into the Wired Enclosure, +having learned of an easy way to get in...." The tone is +studiously calm, but the throbbing of her heart shakes her. +"Is that all, or is there more to tell? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"There is a tunnel running from the wooden hut that was +used as a mess-room by the English officers. Do you follow? +It begins under the bed that is in the hut, and running +eastward, passes under the broken cart that stands near the side +of the road. Five paces from the sentry-box of the man we +cannot deal with—the Darweesh who neither drinks wine nor +smokes." +</p> + +<p> +"Nay. But it may be—" The talk has swung back to +Arabic, and the voice that is thin and soft as a trickling rivulet +of hill-water, sounds as though Ummshni's hidden mouth +were smiling behind her veil. "It may be that Ishak Baba +the Darweesh, who drinks no wine nor tobacco, and cannot +be drugged into blindness—hath no strength to refrain his +lips from the offered goblet of love?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah! So there is a weak place in his priestly garment, +that," Yaill remembers something the Shaykh Gôhar has said, +"that the little fingers of a woman might widen to a hole?" +</p> + +<p> +"Verily, O Emir! To-night when the Dark comes, Ishak +Baba going on guard at sunset—it is a pact twixt him and me, +that I, Ummshni, may feed the—the English prisoner, if—if +a shameless woman of the Bazâr, a gipsy whom Ishak Baba +loves—visits the Baba in his sentry-box. I, Ummshni, keeping +watch the while." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Isht</i>! (Bravo!) O woman of a thousand! Hast thou +carried the assignation to the gipsy courtesan?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, not yet." +</p> + +<p> +"Then, do not carry it!" The Emir's grey eyes gleam, +under the green silk <i>kuffiyeh</i> that drapes his <i>tarbûsh</i>, and +the thin lips under the henna-dyed beard curve into a smile +that shows his white, rather irregular teeth. "One of my +men will keep the love-tryst, walking with a mincing, womanly +carriage—and swathed in the white <i>izar</i>. Was the gipsy not to +pass the Baba on his beat, dropping an almond or a flower, +and before he wheeled about, slip into the sentry-box? Dost +thou nod? Ay, I well thought thou didst, it is an ancient +game!" +</p> + +<p> +The Emir's white teeth gleam in his red-dyed beard, and +Ummshni gives her little mirthless titter. +</p> + +<p> +"As my lord says, the game is old, but while Earth spins +between the Poles it will not lack for players. One thing +there is to ask...." The voice falters and the little figure +trembles. "Thy man ... He will not kill the <i>posta</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nay. Do not tremble. He will only gag him well, and +bind." +</p> + +<p> +She gives a small sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +"There will be the green rods for him, the luckless +one! when the prisoner's escape is discovered." +</p> + +<p> +The Emir's thin eyebrows mount in his bronzed forehead. +He says in his languid, high-bred tones: +</p> + +<p> +"So there be an escape to find out, I am even content that +he should taste the <i>asayisi</i>. I do not love Turks." +</p> + +<p> +"Nor I, Saiyid! But—" and another wave of shuddering +goes over the little shrouded figure: "since the ninefold curse +of War fell upon this my unhappy country, I have seen such +rivers of blood flow—" +</p> + +<p> +"O lady, the whole world bleeds; nor shall its wounds +know stanching until the enemies of Peace are brought low. +They are the Turk and the German, and yet another who +wears the skin of many races, and plots evil in many tongues. +He works underground, and flies by night, and does not show +his face in sunshine; but when his hour comes, he will be +revealed! Russia has the disease of him—and Ireland is rotten +with him!—and in India and the Far East the papers that bear +his teachings are cast abroad, and carried on the winds, and +shower down like the falling leaves." +</p> + +<p> +"And here. Even in this town—" +</p> + +<p> +The black eye sparkles between the folds of coarse towelling, +and the grey eyes lighten in an answering look. +</p> + +<p> +"So! ... Thou couldst tell a tale—" +</p> + +<p> +"Saiyid." The eye-gleam is hidden in the folds, the tone is +humbly deprecating. "I am only Ummshni. Who looks over +his shoulder when a thing so despicable limps by with her +basket or <i>sharbi</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"I understand. Now, attend. Tell your John Hazel that +we four men—I with my two Bedwân and Father Forbis, +ride out of Shechem before dawn, having the password and +making the pretext, that a carrier-pigeon being to fly for +Mecca at daybreak, we mean to launch her from the Mount. +There is a good chance that—Shechem being full of strangers—the +fourth mounted man of us shall pass unobserved. But, +in any event, for us there is no turning. Dost thou understand?" +</p> + +<p> +The lean sunburned hand touches the butt of one of the +Emir's silver and ivory-mounted revolvers. +</p> + +<p> +"O Saiyid, I understand!" +</p> + +<p> +"Good. Tell John Hazel to wait for us a mile west of +Shechem, where the Road of the Wady Azzun—going to Jaffa, +turns southward through a deep defile among the hills. Is +that clearly understood, or shall I repeat it?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is understood, and John Hazaël will meet thee, where the +road of the Wady Azzun, going to Jaffa, turns southward +through the defile among the hills." +</p> + +<p> +"Can he, being so lame? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"He can if <i>I</i> say he can. I will see to it!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then we will leave it so. Near the mouth of the defile, +is a Turkish Army Service motor-lorry. It broke down there +yesterday and it is there to-day. Let Hazel wait in the +shadow of it, for the sound of our horses. If we can get +a spare horse we will bring it. If not, one of those we ride +will have to carry two men. For Hazel is our partner in the +adventure. We are not going to leave him in a hole!" +</p> + +<p> +"I hear, O Saiyid! and I shall not forget. By the broken +Turkish lorry where the road turns south, running between +the walls of the defile.... It is for Jaffa that you ride?" +</p> + +<p> +"For Jaffa, where the British are.... Naturally." +</p> + +<p> +Nationality unconsciously asserts itself in the tone. She +answers in her whispering accents. +</p> + +<p> +"There are British, five miles nearer here than Jaffa, +striking north from the Cross-Roads of Gilgal—over the levels, +and again west at Nebi Karen.... For there is the Tower +of Kir Saba, and Kir Saba is the Headquarters of—what +you call—a Mounted Brigade.... Not of soldiers from +England—but British of the Dominions—and yet not Australians, +though looking like them.... Dark, stern-faced men with +crimson bands and little green tufts on their soft brown hats—riding +little, thick-necked, active horses, sitting not loosely +as does the Arab, but close, as though horse and rider were +one." +</p> + +<p> +"They are New Zealand Mounted Rifles. You have +certainly a gift for detail, Miss Hazel." +</p> + +<p> +The grey eyes of the Emir lighten appreciatively under the +Hajj's green turban. The little veiled creature, as unmoved +by his praise as she was by the Tuareg's insult, goes on with +what she has to say: +</p> + +<p> +"'Anzacs,' that is their name. And since yesterday their +Headquarters is Kir Saba, whose Tower stands north from the +Cross-Roads two miles upon the slope of the hills. The Turks +and Germans drove their trenches through the vineyards +and gardens, but, though they emptied the vaults, and +wine-cellars, and broke the refrigerating plant, they did not cut +down the orchards and olive-groves that stretch for miles +over the Hills. They were wire-fenced and gated in the +time of Eli Hazaël. Lest the wire should not have been cut, +or the locks of the gates broken,—I will place in thy charge +this key that I have here." +</p> + +<p> +She is holding out to Yaill a clumsy metal spatula, evidently +the work of an Eastern hand. +</p> + +<p> +"There are other keys upon the ring," she shows the +slip-ring of copper wire on which some smaller metal spatulas +are strung. "They are the keys of the habitable rooms that +are on the Tower ground-floor. We lived there part of every +year, during the Spring and vintage. Turks having been +there—" the slight inflection given to the word conveys a +contempt that is boundless; "the rooms may contain nothing +that is fit for usage; yet were it otherwise, all is at the service +of my lord." +</p> + +<p> +"You are very kind!" Yaill says, more than a little +awkwardly, for one to whom the sonorous speech and stately +bearing of the Bedwân are second nature by now. +</p> + +<p> +"By the Saiyid's leave," again Yaill has the impression that +the hidden mouth smiles coldly, "I speak of another—to whom +the Tower belongs." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, yes, of course." +</p> + +<p> +Yaill is suddenly switched on to a fact he has forgotten: +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, the Tower of Kir Saba and the land about it, +have been for many generations the property of the Forbis +family. And Father Julian is the only living male heir. But +how do you know?" +</p> + +<p> +There is pride in the low voice that answers: +</p> + +<p> +"Saiyid, though but a woman, I am of the race of Hazaël. +For sixteen hundred years and more our men have been +Keepers of the Tower and Guardians of the Shrine. Thou +wilt deliver the keys to my lord? It is a promise?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is a sacred promise. Pardon that I forgot!" +</p> + +<p> +"Now I go back to carry thy words to John Hazaël on +Mount Ebal. Then I return to Shechem. At sunset Abu +Ishak goes on guard, at the end of the Wired Enclosure +where the wooden hut is, and when it is dark, I feed the +prisoner." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it wise to risk so much for that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Being a man," the little voice is very cold, "the Saiyid +speaks man-fashion. Being a woman, descended from Her +who is the Mother of all men save Adam, I speak after the +manner of my sex. How shall the lord of Kir Saba ride for +life—and over the hill-roads—if he be fainting? Will he not +sit the saddle better if he be strengthened with broth and wine?" +</p> + +<p> +"O daughter of our Mother Eve, wise art thou, and full +of forethought! One thing before we part. What time shall +the gipsy-woman come to the sentry? It shall be for thee +to say!" +</p> + +<p> +She thinks an instant, then says: +</p> + +<p> +"When the <i>boruzan</i> of the guard sounds his bugle, and the +lights of the camp are darkened, let her come, stepping softly, +and pass the Darweesh on his beat—dropping a white flower, +or a piece of white paper—and then slip swiftly as a snake, or +a lizard, into the sentry-box. When the Baba returns—" +</p> + +<p> +"In the hope of finding waiting—the only one of the Forbidden +Things he hath not power to forego—he will kiss a gag +of oiled camel-hide, smooth and tight-fitting and greasy, +instead of his gipsy's hot, painted mouth. She will come when +they sound 'Lights Out' at the camp of the Wired Enclosure.... +And so, good-bye, Miss Hazel," says the Emir Fadl +Anga, and his sorrowful grey eyes are kindly as they rest +on the little shape. "Forgive me for asking the question, +but under the circumstances—seeing that we clear out of here +to-night—what is to become of you? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Of me? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She gives her queer, rustling laugh, and by the sound of it +he knows himself in the presence of a despair that is greater, +because more hopeless than his own. +</p> + +<p> +"What becomes of the Dust when the puff of wind hath +passed over? Does it not settle down again—to be trodden +underfoot by men?" +</p> + +<p> +"But," Yaill feels something like awe of her, so small, so +desolate, so set apart, enfolded in her tragic sorrow, "at least, +in case of trouble at the gates to-night, you had better let me +give you the pass." +</p> + +<p> +"I am Ummshni.... I need no pass! ... Again I am like +the Dust in this—that when men tread me underfoot I am +carried on their sandals, wherever I would go. Farewell, O +Saiyid! May the Most High preserve you and your +companions—and grant my lord deliverance by your brave hands, +to-night!" +</p> + +<p> +And she is gone, and Edward Yaill takes a dagger from +his girdle, and rips open the inky, stitched-up double square +of tough parchment note. +</p> + +<p> +Two letters tumble out of it into his eager fingers. One +is in the familiar, beloved script of Katharine Forbis, the +other—the buff envelope, blurred with postmarks, patched +with stamps and scrawled with re-addresses he thrusts +carelessly into a pocket within his silk <i>kaftan</i>. +</p> + +<p> +One shivers, contemplating the loss of that wonderful buff +envelope, and the consequent slip between the cup and the +lip. But Yaill has no thought but this! To him, on the eve +of the Great Adventure, has come a God-speed message from +his love.... +</p> + +<p> +"My Man of all the Men that walk this world!" she cries +to him. "My full heart lies between your darling hands +to-night. And your dear, dear letter—O Edward! I have it close +to me. It lies where my own love's head rested when we said +'Good-bye.' You remember that sweet, sad parting in the +chapel at Kerr's Arbour? ... I shall never smell violets again, +or put on my mother's black lace veil to wear to Communion, +without going back in memory to that day ..." +</p> + +<p> +It is a long letter, written all over eight pages, and running +along the edges of the filled sheets. Love and solicitude and +anxious wistful yearning, overflow into the smallest corners, +curling and flourishing like tendrils of the vine. It is not a +high-browed letter, nor even a passionate one, though pure +womanly passion throbs through it from beginning to end. It +is Katharine in her fullest expression—and than Katharine, +Edward Yaill, her lover,—asks nothing better for this world +and for the next. +</p> + +<p> +"Dearest," it ends, "John Hazel has promised to get this +letter through to you, and the other that I have written for +Julian,—and yet another that was sent to Kerr's Arbour for +you. How strange that at the parting of our ways, so true +a friend should have risen up to help us. With you I feel—more +strongly than I can say here—that this man is linked +with my Fate! With 'our' fate, I would once have said—but +must not now, Edward. Ah, though I do not speak or write +thus, I always think in the plural, dear! ... +</p> + +<p> +"My own, though you make so little of it, you are in +danger. An accent misplaced, an unguarded gesture—a twitch +of a muscle—might bring you Death. If it add to your peril +to give you this—John Hazel has my authority to destroy it, +this letter that I have kissed where your dear, dear hands +should touch! Julian's Rosary and your bit of asphodel I keep +where I can feel them, as I go about my business of driving +cars in Egypt for our Red Cross. Thank God, I have lots +to do! And I do it, as well as I can, with both of you tugging +at my heartstrings,—lie down to sleep with a prayer for you +on my lips—wake in the night, crying for joy, because I have +dreamed that you are safe, and we are happy as we used to +be. And rise to another day of anxiety and loneliness.... +</p> + +<p> +Oh, well! it can't go on for ever! Even suspense like this +must come to an end. God keep you both, my Precious Ones! and +bring you back safely to— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "Your loving, faithful, anxious,<br> + "KATHARINE."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Yaill reads the letter three times and kisses it lingeringly. +Then he puts it carefully away. With certain other documents, +maps and diagrams of fortified places, tracings on silk +tissue-paper, and two or three other letters in Sanscrit and +Arabic, in a small flat case of tough glass, double, and +metal-jointed; covered with green gazelle-leather, stamped with an +Eastern design. The flat paper-case closes hermetically; and +a twirl of a stop-screw liberates the acid contained in a +reservoir at the top. Thus, its contents may be destroyed,—or +rendered completely illegible, at the will of the agent who carries +the case.... +</p> + +<p> +At the last moment Yaill remembers the buff envelope, brings +it out, turns it over and sniffs at it.... It exhales no cheap +and violent perfume, displays no gaudy monogram.... The +handwriting, large, flourishing and square, is quite unknown +to him, and yet—as it lies under his incurious eyes, the +image of his wife, Lucy Yaill—once Burtonshaw—is flashed +upon his brain. +</p> + +<p> +He will not open the buff envelope just now.... The thing +with its English superscription, being dangerous to carry, he +puts it away with the other papers in the glass-lined case, +one twirl of whose lever-screw can blot out words, penned +in the sprawling hand, that mean Hope renewed, Happiness +restored, Union with the woman so faithfully loved, a blessed +possibility—granted that Katharine's tender prayers for her +beloved's protection and safety are heard, and answered +soon.... +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0411"></a></p> + +<h3> +XI +</h3> + +<p> +A huge Arab, mounted on a very little ass, ambling along +the stony roads while a woman trudges in the dust behind +him, is so common a spectacle in Palestine as to occasion no +remark. Were the positions reversed,—did the woman ride +the donkey and the man tramp after, then by so unprecedented +a breach of etiquette, popular comment would naturally +be provoked. +</p> + +<p> +After the fashion indicated above, Ummshni, conjuring the +little beast from some source unknown, has conveyed her man +to Fadl Anga's appointed meeting-place, a mile west of +Shechem, where the road of the Wady Azzun, switchbacking +down to Jaffa—or more properly Gilgal—turns southward, +running down a steep-sided defile among the hills. There, +where the broken-down Turkish motor-lorry stands by the +roadside, she has left him, taking with her a cherished asset +he has carried hidden about him, in the shape of a pair of +insulated wire-cutters. Her parting words still sound in his +ears: +</p> + +<p> +"Thou art the Head of our House, my cousin. Bless me +before I go! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Now John tingles with a scalding sense of her worth, and +his own unworthiness, as he remembers how he put his heavy +hand on the small veiled head, and muttered some incoherent +words. Then she turned, and went from him so quietly that +he has barely realised the risk that she is taking. Now that +she has gone, it comes sharply home to him, and salt stinging +moisture gathers under his eyelids, and a lump is in his +throat. +</p> + +<p> +The little donkey, hobbled by Ummshni before she went, +to prevent its straying, grazes contentedly by the roadside, +where rich green weeds, and grass and brake, and clumps of +late-flowering asphodel betray the presence of moisture in +the soil.... +</p> + +<p> +The sides of the hill-pass opening here, are chocolate-brown +where the soil shows bare, as those of any cliff at home in +Devon or Somerset, and trickling with little streams, +thick-fringed with maidenhair.... Snapdragons of many hues, +cyclamen white, and violet, and pink, spring in the crannies +of the rocks, with the purple amaryllis, and a smell suggesting +violets is sweet upon the air. +</p> + +<p> +It is close upon the hour of sunset now. There is a great +view here, from the top of the stiff up-gradient that climbs +up from Shechem to plunge in a long series of downward +curves, westward towards Jaffa, until, Gilgal reached—it turns +at an acute southward angle and leaps the Cana Road. +Nobody comes, though Turkish cavalry patrol the wadys at +irregular intervals, and there are outposts with machine guns +among the hills. Save for the thudding of those restless guns +south-west and east, it would be even sweet and peaceful. +For the air is divinely spiced with that rare perfume that is +so like the smell of violets; the orange-winged Syrian +blackbird pipes out his good-night song; and every thorn, or +wild-olive, or mulberry-tree of all that mantle the sides of the +defile, seems to accommodate its pair of bulbuls, warbling +and jug-jugging in the very rage of ecstasy—sometimes breaking +off to mew—after the provoking habit of nightingales. And +John Hazel lights another strong Arab cigarette, swings +himself to the driver's seat of the broken-down Turkish motor-lorry, +and for a brief space, listens and smokes, and thinks.... +</p> + +<p> +He recalls the great experiences of War, forgetting War's +miseries and discomforts. The social joys of the camp-fire, +the long, confidential talks of the bivouac, the short, hard +hand-grip pals exchange before going into action; the parting +kiss that a soldier may set on the lips of a dead or dying +friend. Men have seen men's souls face to face in the midst +of hideous slaughter—in the pauses between horrible +explosions—and until the heavens are rolled up as a scroll, and +the sea is dry from shore to shore—and the Earth stops +spinning between her poles, they will not forget these things.... +Perhaps not even then.... +</p> + +<p> +And then John's thought goes back, as it has not done for +long, to the thriving Firm of Dannahill, Lee-Levyson and +Hazel, Insurance Brokers, of London City; and Beryl Lee-Levyson, +John's former love—Muriel, Beryl's sister, and his +brother Maurice—now piloting a Handley-Page bombing 'plane +on the Western Front, Old Mendel, and Miss Birdie Bright, +pass in imagined rotation over a stage, oddly backed by a +composite drop, in part representing the Underwriting Room at +Lloyds, the Office in Cornhill, and John's bedroom at +Campden Hill.... +</p> + +<p> +Dannahill, still haggard from the shock of his grandson's +death, (the wire had only come from the War Office that +September morning) and Lee-Levyson and Copples the Senior +Clerk, are shaking the Junior Partner's hands, as he comes +out of his stuffy little office with his working coat in a brown +paper parcel, containing a lot of odds and ends, some pipes, +and Beryl's tinted photograph in a flamboyant silver frame. +John is in a full suit of pink-striped silk pyjamas, and there +too is Mrs. Hazel, John's mother, handsome in her pale blue +<i>crêpe</i> dressing-gown, with her still abundant auburn hair in +a thick plait down her back. To her John hears himself +saying in his acquired British accent: +</p> + +<p> +"Anyway, if the Pater was a Syrian Jew, your governor +was British enough, anyway! Symes sounds like a good old +English name." +</p> + +<p> +And the answer comes like a douche of cold water on his +secret hopes—like a crunch on the pill deftly concealed in the +middle of a spoonful of jelly: +</p> + +<p> +"That was why your grandmother adopted it. After your +grandfather's death, of course. His name was Simonoff.... +A Russian Jew from Moscow...." +</p> + +<p> +The chill of the cold water, the bitterness of the pill. How +John Hazel has shivered at the one and grimaced over the +other. Some shock! to learn that between the Jew of +Palestine and the Jew of Greater Russia he has been wrought all +Jewish. That not one globule of British blood mingles with +the strong Semitic tide that gallops through his veins.... +</p> + +<p> +And now—though his big body sits still and smokes, his +spirit is abroad to-night on these hills of Samaria. He snuffs +the sweet wild November breeze with wide, distended nostrils, +and shows his big white teeth in a silent laugh. +</p> + +<p> +This Hither Asian land of Syria.... How he has despised +and belittled it—this Garden of Miracles from whose teeming +soil—burrowed by a nation of cave-dwellers and idol-worshippers, +and tracked by the footprints of nomadic shepherds—prophets, +sages, seers, philosophers, poets, musicians, artists, +architects—leaped into birth at the Divine Bidding, while as +yet the world was a jungle of ferocious human beasts.... +This Palestine, no bigger than the County of Middlesex, in +Religion, History, Science, Law, hygiene and moral teaching—has +she not ever led the way and pointed to the zenith? +What if her star, after long eclipse, should now be in the +ascendant? Strange, strange, if after all the centuries of war, +exile and oppression, Christian hands are to give back +Palestine to the Jews! ... +</p> + +<p> +He hugs himself, muttering: +</p> + +<p> +"A hell of a country to get hold of you, and no mistake +about it. But she is IT, this little old Palestine! She's got +it in her to whack the globe—given the men and the money. +I'm one of her men.... I've got some money. And it's going +to be spent with lots more to set her going again. Golden +blood pumped into her veins to set her heart beating—and +make her buried splendours, her Temple with its golden dome, +her matchless Holy City—her towns, and gardens, and +hippodromes and palaces jump out of her yellow soil as quick +as mustard-and-cress." He chuckles. "I'm a bit potty! ... 'Fey,' +a Scotchman'd call it.... I feel as if all my Big +Old Men—those dead old Hazaëls—right away down from +the Kings of Damascus who laid siege to Ahab, King of Israel, +and afterwards joined up with him against the Assyrians!—were +alive and swarming over these hills of Samaria to-night...." +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the man, in his normal state, is oblivious of the +postscript he supplied to the story of the inscription on the +tablet. He may not know the blood of the Hazaëls is tinctured +with the Israelite blood of Istâr the Princess, daughter of +Jezebel of Tyre and Ahab of Samaria. Half a mile north of +where he sits on the lorry,—parallel with the road to Gilgal, +runs the great seaward-going road of the Wady-es Sha'ir, +forking off at Anebta, past the Watch Tower hill of Omri, +to Carmel and the sea. +</p> + +<p> +From her nest of purple cushions in the high balcony-window +of her ivory palace at Samaria, Jezebel, Ahab's Queen, +daughter of King Ethbal of Sidon, looked—when her people's +god, red as though dyed with the blood of the murdered +prophets—was blotted out of sight by the rising curve of the +earth.... Famine withered the rainless land, and beasts and +men were perishing, as the Prophet of the Most High lay +prostrate on the summit of Mount Carmel, pressing his face +against the sod.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>And while he turned himself this way and that,</i>" as a +worm might writhe in anguish, the little cloud rose out of the +sea. And the troubler of Israel rose up and sent word to King +Ahab: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Prepare thy chariot and go down, lest the rain prevent +thee!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Over this broad Road of the Wady-es Sha'ir, the fleet horses +of Ahab's jewelled ivory chariot thundered, as "the heavens +grew dark with clouds and wind, and there fell a great rain." And +the King raced down to Samaria before the pelting storm, +while the lean prophet, the swift Hound of God, scoured fleetly +on before.... +</p> + +<p> +And Elias, being threatened with the vengeance of Jezebel, +because he had killed the priests of her golden temple of Baal +Zebub, fled south to Beersheba, and being miraculously fed, +journeyed to Horeb, and lived in a cave. And after the +Vision on the Mountain, returned by the Divine Command +through the desert to Damascus, and anointed Hazaël of +Damascus to be King of Syria.... +</p> + +<p> +Now John, lineal descendant of the race,—inhales the rank +smoke of his Arab cigarette, and pursues his train of thought. +Sitting on the broken-down Turkish motor-lorry, with knees +drawn up to his long chin, and his long arms hugging them; +with his Arab head-cloth pushed awry, and prickly burrs +tangled in his coarse black hair, that is powdered with +limestone-dust like his mahogany skin—the huge man with the +great nose and the fierce black eyes that blaze under their +bushy, knotted eyebrows, is an awesome spectacle—having +much more in common with the lean and dusty Prophet than +with his own remote ancestor the Baal-worshipping King. +</p> + +<p> +He is engaged, as he sits there, in a death-struggle with the +strongest and most ruthlessly selfish of all human passions. +That smell of violets brings Katharine back—dwarfing as great +artists will—every other player on the stage of his mental +theatre. He sees her on a certain February day, standing +in the chintz-hung drawing-room looking on the terrace at +Kerr's Arbour, with a bunch of greenhouse violets in her +beloved hand.... +</p> + +<p> +"I was going to take him these.... Perhaps you would +like to?" she had said, giving the violets to John.... Then +he followed her up the little aisle of the chapel, and stood with +her beside the General's long coffin, looking down at the grand +old face, and the rigid clasped hands.... +</p> + +<p> +"Father, dear, this is a friend of ours, whom you have +wished to see!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Again he hears her, speaking as though the old man +were not dead but in a quiet slumber. She touched his hand +in showing him how to place the violets under the rigid fingers, +that held a Crucifix and had a Rosary threaded between.... +</p> + +<p> +On that first day she seemed to John, older, graver, sterner +than afterwards, when Edward Yaill came upon the scene. +He remembers how their eyes met, and she kindled into beauty. +He recalls his brief, stern interview with Yaill, and that +parting "Carry on...." +</p> + +<p> +He conjures up the Funeral, and Katharine veiled and +draped in black—offering him in a silver shell some earth +from Palestine to sprinkle on the coffin. He recalls her +summoning telegram, and the finding of the khaki kit of the +"Missing British Officer" hidden away in the fox-earth in the +wood. He glows again with joy as she comes to greet him +at the Hospital, beautiful, strong and womanly, in her +uniform of cool white drill. He welcomes her to the +cradle-house of her Roman race, the House of Philoremus Fabius, +on the ancient Street of the Four Winds, now lost in the Rue +el Farad. Again he waits for her outside the Chapel of the +Shrine, again they sit on the granite seat under the moss-cup +oak. And once more he thrills exquisitely at the velvet touch +of her warm, sweet mouth upon his clumsy hand. +</p> + +<p> +It was a cruel thing to do, but she had no thought of +coquetry. He knows that the kiss was a belated tribute from +a woman of her race, to the last male Hazaël but one. That +she looked past the recipient of the kiss to the huge, swart, +bearded ancestor, who first held the onyx ring in trust, guarded +the Title Deeds, and preserved the house at Alexandria—and +the Tower of Kir Saba in Palestine, to be handed down, a +sacred charge—by his children's children, and their children, +down to the present day.... A tribute of gratitude and +respect, that kiss, and nothing further. But it was set by a +woman's mouth upon the hand of a man.... +</p> + +<p> +He knows that there is no hope for him, this ungainly +worshipper of Katharine, even though her lover should never +be free to marry her—though the tie that binds Yaill to Lucy +Burtonshaw should endure for both their lives. He, John, +has hated Yaill with the virile strength of jealousy. He has +conquered that baseness in himself.... He hates the man +no more.... He has risked and borne much to carry Yaill +her letter. He has been even warmed and heartened by his +enemy's gratitude: +</p> + +<p> +"Tell him that I have received the packet, and that as +earnestly as man ever thanked man, I thank him for what +he has done! ..." +</p> + +<p> +But even with Yaill's message fresh in mind, John is not +cured of hoping. He hopes—and sets his huge foot upon the +neck of his hope—while yearning over it as a man may yearn +over his first-born. For this that has come to him is the +knowledge of true Love, and even as Jacob in old days wrestled +with the Angel,—John Hazel strives with his masterful, +bright-winged passion—not trying to detain Love, but rather to +compel Love, by force of thews, to go.... +</p> + +<p> +The blood-red sunset glorifies the West, fills the defile from +cliff to cliff, and now smoulders out in amber and jade-green, +peacock blue and rose-madder. Grey twilight comes—and the +birds are still, as a giant owl flies over, and sinks, as a shadow +sinks, amongst the shadowy trees.... No one draws near. +The cavalry patrols of the Turk are oddly infrequent on this +particular Shechem end of the Jaffa-going road.... +</p> + +<p> +John gets up and shakes his dreams and hopes and memories +from him, as a swimmer emerging from a sluggish stream +might shake off clinging weeds. His hopes are scarcely weeds. +Rather are they trails of blossoming lotus or water-lily. But +lilies or weeds, they hamper. And there is work to do. +</p> + +<p> +He stretches himself, shakes his giant frame, pitches away +the stump of his cigarette—gets down from the driver's seat, +climbs into the body of the lorry and proceeds to inspect the +boxes that form its load. They are heavy wooden cases +roughly dovetailed together, painted a dirty stone-blue and +grossly daubed with the Crescent and Star in bright vermilion +paint. They are branded with the initials of the Turkish +A.S.C., carry the stamp of the shell-factory at Makrikeui, +and belong to the 2nd battalion of the 4th Infantry Regiment, +(Headquarters Salonika) of the IIIrd Ottoman Ordu. +</p> + +<p> +John thinks it would be as well to have a look inside a few +of those blue boxes, with the assistance of a spanner, and his +pocket electric torch. He looks about for a spanner and +presently finds one in the tool-box aft of the driver's seat. +It is a large spanner of good steel, and—in the hands of John +Hazel—makes a most efficient substitute for the key of the +Turkish lock. The nails draw, the wood splinters, the lid is +lifted.... The box—instead of being full of packets of +Mauser cartridges, proves to be packed with metal spheres +the size of biggish cricket-balls, painted a bilious brown.... +</p> + +<p> +"Bombs ..." With a thrill of pleasurable recognition +John picks up one of the cricket-balls and weighs it in his +hand. "Our make too. Some find!" he thinks. "Now, where +did they get these? ... Snapped up a string of mules at the +tail of an ammunition-convoy, or found 'em in some +abandoned dump on the Peninsula, when the Expeditionary Army +evacuated Gallipoli! ... Anyhow they come in handy. +Damned handy! ... Let's look in another box...." +</p> + +<p> +He breaks open four more, with the assistance of the +spanner. Two out of the lot hold bombs, British-made, pitched in +higgledy-piggledy, with the recklessness that may be born +of Mohammedan fatalism. The others prove to contain paper +clips of cartridges, marked for use in the 1890 pattern Mauser +magazine-rifle of 7.56. mm. +</p> + +<p> +Two boxes of British bombs, at this especial juncture, come +to John Hazel as manna from the skies. If there is a weapon +the ex-insurance broker of Cornhill prefers before all known +devices for killing other men—that weapon is the bomb, of +the cricket-ball, hand-pitched variety, that makes of one +long-armed man, the equal of many men armed.... +</p> + +<p> +At Rondes Poix in the March of 1915, a party of Fenchurch +Street Fusiliers being hemmed in at an advanced post by the +enemy, Private Hazel and Private Spurge—a rival star-artist +in the line of effective bomb-throwing—kept the Hun at bay +for eleven hours by pitching cricket-ball bombs. +</p> + +<p> +Again, in the April of that year, east of "that mad place +called Ypres," John, possibly urged to derring-do by the +urgent spirit of Sergeant Harris, and armed with a bag of +bombs of this variety—crawled through a hole in the enemy's +barbed-wire, and single-handed—argued in such wise with +the Germans established at a certain machine-gun position, +that the Fenchurch Streets—charging over the front-line +parapet at the critical moment, were able to clear three hundred +yards of the trench in question, and held the same triumphantly +for the rest of the fighting day. The D.C.M., that silver disc +bearing his Sovereign's bust, which he calls his "bit of tin" +and is secretly vain of,—was subsequently bestowed on Private +Hazel when a patient at the Auxiliary Military War Hospital, +of Colthill, Middlesex, in recognition of this feat. +</p> + +<p> +"Given they're not duds," he murmurs now, lovingly toying +with the spring-pin of one of the cricket-balls, "I could hold +up a half-battalion of Turks with these, until the cows come +home! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He looks up to his left and right, roughly estimating the +height of the defile, the perpendicular walls of which are +somewhat lower on his left than on his right-hand—and calculates +the width of the road here at under twenty feet. More +like eighteen-and-a-half. Well, given that to-night's attempt +at the rescue of Father Julian Forbis does not prove a +washout—here is the wherewithal to keep the road, in case of a +pursuit.... +</p> + +<p> +Twilight creeps on. The crickets chirp, and noiseless as +a shadow, the great owl slips from the thicket and takes his +soundless flight. The little owls hunt in the grass for frogs, +lizards and beetles, and the great bats come out of the +crannies in the rocks to gorge themselves with fruit. +</p> + +<p> +For a while the guns have ceased to argue, and the night +is still and breathless; not the clear violet night of Syria, +radiant with dazzling silver light of moon and starshine, but a +moonless night of semi-obscurity, and diffuse and formless +shadows, with menacing rumbles of thunder in the east, +where sheet-lightning flickers now and then. Venus suspends +her sapphire lamp above the hills of Judæa, and the Pleiades +shine almost directly overhead. Bright-armed Orion rises in +splendour over the ramparts of blue-black cumuli that brood +in the east over the Mountains of Gilead. Low down, through +a jagged cleft in these, twinkles the star Y Crucis, that forms +the summit of the Southern Cross.... +</p> + +<p> +No trot of hoofs on the stony road draws nearer from the +eastward; no clink of spur on scabbard, or bit against +chain-bridle, tells of the approach of a cavalry patrol along +the Jaffa Road. There are yet three hours and more to wait +for the sound of hoof-beats coming from Shechem, that may +signify the escape of the prisoner from the Bey's wire cage. +</p> + +<p> +Does all go well? Has Esther Hazaël carried out her +stratagem? She has shown John how—when the Dark comes +down—she will feed the prisoner. By a device almost absurd +in its direct simplicity—used, in this Eastern land, millions +of times ere now. Women are cunning in such tricks, and +full of subtle resources.... Well for men that it is +so!—especially in time of War.... +</p> + +<p> +Ummshni is at her business now. John feels certain. He +nods to himself, solemnly, and sitting on the lid of one of +the broken bomb-boxes, folds his great arms, narrows his +eyelids and sends his Thought ranging abroad in search of her. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps he sleeps and dreams, sitting there. Who knows +whether he does or does not. But after some moments of +silent concentration, he sees his messenger go forth. A tiny +thing—human in form, light as a puff of thistledown, no bigger +than a locust—it leaps down to the big Jew's knees, and thence +to the bottom of the lorry; drops from it into the dust and +scours down the road. Swift as the wind, it passes over the +highway—reaches the west gate of Shechem and slips through +a crevice in the ponderous iron-studded timbers, lodging +between the sandalled feet of the Mustahfiz infantry guard.... +Now it goes by the Khan of the Fox, darts through the square +where the archway is (under which the Orderly Staff +Sergeant Major of the German Intelligence Department waited +for the dropping of the despatch-bag from the Two Faced +Nightingale), traverses the town, thronged to-night with +variously attired strangers of many nations, and—lightly as a +withered leaf, and inconspicuous as a dust-swirl—traverses +the main thoroughfare of the ancient town. +</p> + +<p> +Shechem is packed to the walls to-night with the exiles from +Jerusalem. And in addition to these, with strangers in +foreign clothing, diverse in type, sinister-faced and stern-eyed, +speaking unknown languages.... There are many Turkish +officers, young and old, in uniform and out of it, and German +officers of many ranks and decorations, accompanied by +women, painted and overdressed. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +So many strange feet, bringing strange dust from strange +lands. Yet the little thing no bigger than a leaf finds a way +between them all. Now it spins out at the east gate and rolls +down the rutted road towards the Wired Enclosure.... Here +storm-lamps hang outside the guard-tent and on either +side of the entrance. The officer's tent is lighted within, but +unlike the tent of the <i>postas</i>, it is furnished with a door-flap. +From inside comes the sound of laughter, the clinking of +glasses, and unmistakably, the rattle of shaken dice. Near +the gate, in conversation with the <i>bash-châwush</i> of the guard, +stands a tall, thin, elderly Bedawi, known to the reader as the +Shaykh Gôhar. +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, nay! Do not trouble the <i>Yuzbashi</i>." He waves a +hand in the direction of the tent whence comes the convivial +clink. "The affairs of the humble must wait upon the leisure +of the great ones. Yet if thy dignity were not lowered by +the mention of a hundred piastres—one <i>lira</i> Osmanli—" Gôhar +carelessly displays the coin. +</p> + +<p> +"O my friend! O my soul!" hiccups the <i>bash-châwush</i>, who +at this early stage of the evening is only amiably drunk. "I +will do thine errand with gladness for friendship's sake +only!" Having duly received and pouched the coin, he adds: "Now +tell thy business to me." +</p> + +<p> +"Briefly, it was but to ask thy <i>Yuzbashi</i> to accord me the +watchword, the Emir Fadl Anga having cause to pass the +gates to-night. In thine ear, O friend! he hath a pigeon to +fly at dawn for Mecca, and he is minded to loose the bird +from the Mount." +</p> + +<p> +The <i>bash-châwush</i> nods and disappears into the tent, whence, +sung in a high nasal tenor voice to lute-accompaniment, issue +the unblushing erotics of an Arab love-song. The Shaykh +turns to one of the <i>postas</i> lounging near the guard-tent, and +smilingly offers him a handful of thick Arab cigarettes. +</p> + +<p> +"Dost thou use the Consoler? ... Take, then!" +</p> + +<p> +"May Allah make it 'take' upon thee, O generous hearted +one! ..." +</p> + +<p> +As the handful changes owners, and other soldiers look +out of the corners of their eyes and sidle nearer, the Shaykh +plunges both hands into deep pockets beneath his mantle, and +draws them forth generously filled with the thick, strong +cigarettes. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the return of the <i>bash-châwush</i> with the information—willingly +placed at the service of the Emir—that the pass-word +of the night is "Baal Zebub," he, too, accepts a handful +of the cigarettes that are so heavily drugged with opium. And +then the Shaykh Gôhar, with ceremonious farewells, stalks +away from the Wired Enclosure, knowing his work begun. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0412"></a></p> + +<h3> +XII +</h3> + +<p> +Since the departure of the Shaykh Sadân, the man who +sank fainting to the floor of the wooden hut has moved once +only. It was when he revived, dragged himself to his knees, +and while his strength sufficed—lifting his clasped hands +above his head—sent forth his soul in prayer.... Exhausted +then, he collapsed once more, and dropped forwards, +falling with outflung arms across the palm-wood bed-frame, +and for how long he does not know, was lost in unconsciousness. +</p> + +<p> +When sight and hearing return to him, thick darkness +presses on his burning eyeballs, and the "Lights Out" of the +Turkish <i>boruzan</i> is ringing in his ears. Half kneeling by the +<i>anghareb</i>, half lying across it, his face is turned towards the +east wall of the hut. Through a biggish knot-hole in the +planks, he has found it possible to see—given sufficient light +outside—beyond the barbed wire fence a circumscribed patch +of the south-going road, the tumbled hills in the distance and +the dome of the Tomb of Joseph in the foreground.... These +intermittently blotted out by the figure of the Turkish sentry, +passing to the end of his beat at the south angle of the +Enclosure, or passing back to the angle at the junction of the +road that leads to the town's east gate, with the +Jerusalem-Shechem Road. +</p> + +<p> +Even in darkness, the edges of the knot-hole are outlined by +a fitful glimmer. The flash of an electric torch, the twinkle +of a firefly, the ray of a shooting-star—there are many in +this month of November—find their way through the +knot-hole in the wall. +</p> + +<p> +But the knot-hole is no longer there. They have stopped +it up from outside! he thinks, and a groan breaks from him. +He has borne so much that this little thing—fresh evidence +of studied malice on the part of his jailers—hurts, like the +brutal tearing of a bandage from a stiffened wound.... He +shudders, hearing a curious, scratching, rasping sound, +mingled with low whispering: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Sidi, Sidi! ... Sidi, Sidi!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +His blood freezes in his veins. What is that strange, soft +voice, and where does it come from? Can this be another +essay on the part of the Shaykh Sadân? He waits for the +next move—setting his teeth, steeling his soul with faith in +his Master. Now, now, the whispering comes again: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Sidi, Sidi!</i> Do you hear me? O <i>Sidi</i>, are you there? ..." +</p> + +<p> +It is the thin, rustling voice of the little Mother of +Ugliness. He utters a stifled cry of joy, and dragging his chain +with him, rolls off the <i>anghareb</i>, and in his weakness, sinks +down close to the hut's east wall. Passing his thin hands over +the wall in the darkness, he encounters a projection. The end +of a long rubber-covered cane, from which the whispering +comes: +</p> + +<p> +"If the Sidi hears my voice, let him be pleased to answer! +It is Ummshni! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I hear," he calls back through the improvised speaking-tube. +"May God reward thee, gentle heart! How didst thou +find me out? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"How, is a long story meet for telling elsewhere. Has the +Sidi a bowl, or other vessel? If not let him set mouth to the +end of this," the speaker taps on the tube gently with a +fingernail, "and I will pour milk through the canes. Tap thrice +when I am to pour! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He does so, and the tube is slowly tilted, and a cautious +trickle of boiled goat's milk flows over his parched tongue. +He sucks for life, and when he has drunk: +</p> + +<p> +"Rest now," says the whispering voice. "It is ill to take +overmuch at the beginning. Next time I will give thee broth, +and afterwards good wine. For the Sidi must be strengthened +against the hour when for the prisoner comes Rescue. Let +him tap thrice on the pipe if he has heard...." +</p> + +<p> +He taps on the cane-lined length of rubber tubing.... The +little voice goes on: +</p> + +<p> +"Listen, my lord! ... At midnight thy friends will come +to deliver thee. So, when thou hast well taken the soup and +wine, lie down on the bed and rest.... Sleep if thou canst, +but not too sound. When there comes a scraping in the earth +under the bedstead, rise up and move aside the <i>anghareb</i>. +My lord has clearly heard? ..." +</p> + +<p> +He signifies assent, and the voice goes on whispering, +sending a reviving stream of Hope into his empty, sapless heart, +that is invigorating to his drooping spirit, as the milk to his +famished body. +</p> + +<p> +"Lift up the <i>anghareb</i>, and thou wilt find a hole in the +earth under it. Planks covered with earth hide the hole. The +hole is the Gate of Hope for thee!—the Way that leads to +Freedom! Does the Sidi understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do, and thank thee from my soul! ... Who are the +friends, Ummshni? I only have known of one beside thyself. +But no word has reached me from that man, since the War +Prisoners were shifted from camp at Beersheba to the Barracks +here at Shechem!" +</p> + +<p> +"Thou hast four friends here besides myself!" +</p> + +<p> +He did not know he was so rich, and a thrill of joy goes +through him. +</p> + +<p> +"The chief of them is Edward Yaill. Thou dost recall +that name? Ay! Then comes John Hazaël...." +</p> + +<p> +That the prisoner has no knowledge of John Hazaël, his +silence seems to testify. +</p> + +<p> +"It does not matter!" The little voice is dry. "The friends +to whom we owe the most are often strangers to us. Now +it is time to give thee the broth!" +</p> + +<p> +He sucks the life-giving stuff through the tube. With her +womanly, maternal solicitude, she checks him after a little: +</p> + +<p> +"Stay, now.... The Sidi feels his strength increased? ..." +</p> + +<p> +He does, and says so gratefully. +</p> + +<p> +"Then—lest it make the Master sleep too heavily, I will +not give him the wine yet. Now let him lie down awhile on +the bed that is in there. I remain outside, watching. What +says my lord?" +</p> + +<p> +"The sentry.... How is it he does not see thee? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Something like Ummshni's little rustling laugh comes +through the rubber-covered pipe-stems. +</p> + +<p> +"Love hath no eyes, it is often said. Since a white flower +fell on the dust in the dusk, and a light foot went past him, +is Baba Ishak, the Darweesh, blind—and dumb as well, ah-hah! +Now he is at the other end of his beat, his face set to Ebal, +and the Tombs of the Sons of Mohammed. He is waiting +Opportunity, as a dog near the butcher's shop.... When the +butcher looks the other way—or goes into the house to speak +to his wife, the dog sneaks round the doorpost and—his head +is in the scrap-box! Sweet,—the first greedy crunch, and +gulp.... But then comes the butcher's chopper—down on +the dog's skull! Now lie thou down and try to sleep. I have +said I will keep watch here! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Holding his chain so that it may not clank, Father Julian +creeps back to the verminous bed, and tries to do her bidding. +But the throbbing of his anxious heart and the roaring of +the blood in his ears make sleep impossible. The cheap +gun-metal wrist-watch that he wears has not been taken from him, +and it has been kept wound up—it is ticking companionably +now. Four matches are left in his box. Sheltering the flame +within the coat that serves him as a bed-covering, he strikes +a match, and looks at the watch. It is twenty minutes past +ten o'clock, and Deliverance comes at midnight. How wait +through the long hours, for that knocking under the floor? +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The Darweesh who is <i>imâm</i> of his platoon, and can resist +all the Forbidden Things except the Cup of Beauty, stands +at the north angle of the Wired Place, looking towards the +Tombs. In his hot thick hand is a white rose, sweet and +musky-smelling, in his nostrils a whiff of sandal and some +pungent Bazâr perfume. The Baba is a little man, and his +inamorata a tallish woman, but she looked a strapping wench +to-night, as she passed him at the other end of his beat, with +a whispered word and a dropped flower, and a provocative +flash of her gipsy-eyes from the folds of her white <i>izar</i>. +</p> + +<p> +He wheels, smacks the butt of his Mauser rifle with the +flat of his broad hand, and licks his thick lips longingly. +Turning out his sandalled toes—for the second-line troops of the +Redif stick to the old-fashioned <i>chariks</i>, with bandages wound +round the leg from the calf down—he marches towards the +sentry-box where Delilah waits for him. +</p> + +<p> +There is little breeze on this muggy night of scant +starshine and blotted shadows, but a south-going waft sends a +withered leaf or a torn scrap of paper scurrying at Baba +Ishak's heels along the dusty road. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Tr'rp—tr'rp—tr'rp!</i>" ... +</p> + +<p> +A tiny sound, and yet it irks and fidgets. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Trrp—tr'rp ...!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Whatever it is, it scurries past, as the Darweesh halts +before the sentry-box. Snuffing the clamorous perfume of the +Bazâr with an anticipative smile on his thick lips, he stands +on the threshold and peers into the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +"Inaini!" he coos, amorously to the odorous obscurity. "My +soul! My eyes! Thou hast come to me! Tell me that thou +art there? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Undoubtedly Inaini is there, he can see her white figure +plainly against the shadowy background. It is late in the day +for Inaini to be coy, but too early not to humour her. He +stretches out a greedy, perspiring hand. It touches the folds +of her <i>izar</i>. Stung to enterprise, prodded by propinquity, +the Baba puts down his Mauser, carefully leaning it against +the side of the sentry-box, and blunders forwards. Aha! At +last he has her, the willing prisoner of his eager arms. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mashâllah!</i> how the gipsy hugs. All the breath is squeezed +out of the Baba. What is this that coils about him, binding +down his arms? Not a rope? <i>Chok</i>! <i>chok</i>! He opens his +jaws to expostulate—and a gag of oiled camel-hide is deftly +slipped between them—and strapped uncomfortably tight at +the back of his bull-neck. Swiftly his knees are bound, and +then his ankles, and he is tenderly lowered to the bottom of +the sentry-box. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The love affair of the Baba and the gipsy has ended with +dramatic swiftness. Now the dark figure of a man steps +out of the sentry-box, picks up the Mauser and resumes the +beat of galloping hoofs coming along the Shechem road, and +gleam glints on the bandolier taken from the victim, it shows +the face of Namrûd under the khaki <i>enverieh</i>. And caught in +some stray backwash of the sickly breeze that carried it, the +tiny thing like a withered leaf, flits down the road again. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0413"></a></p> + +<h3> +XIII +</h3> + +<p> +Whether John Hazel dreamed or not, things have happened +as he has seen them. Conscious thought returns to him, +sitting on the box of bombs. His lungs fill with a deep breath. +He yawns hugely, blinks his eyes, squares his shoulders and +looks about him. The constellation Orion blazes over Gilead, +the Pleiades are hidden from sight by sombre clouds. There +is a strange glare in the sky over the crest of Gerizim. +</p> + +<p> +In mid-song the bulbuls have fallen silent. Even the +pariah-dogs and the jackals are still. There is something abroad +upon the air to-night, that weighs upon the spirit of humanity, +and daunts the creatures, soulless as we imagine, with the +sense of evil, nameless and unseen, but dominant and powerful +to harm.... +</p> + +<p> +And now the man who listens at his post hears the quick +beat of galloping hoofs coming along the Shechem road, and +thrills with expectation: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"That's them!" In moments of keen excitement John's +grammar is apt to fail. "Them, for a quid! Or the Colonel +hasn't pulled off the snatch, and has had—" +</p> + +<p> +He breaks off as the horsemen round a curve of the road. +Where a patch of the grudging moonlight whitens the ground, +he makes out that there are only three of them. No! Four—! +Three riders in ample, flowing Arab dress, and a fourth in +the close-fitting kit of a European—who reels and sways +unsteadily in his saddle, and would fall—but for the help that +another gives—with a hand that is sometimes at his back, and +sometimes at his bridle. +</p> + +<p> +"By God!—" +</p> + +<p> +With a great exultant throb, John swings himself down +from the lorry upon the road, as the riders check the gallop +of their eager, snorting horses.... And the hot, white +limestone dust of Samaria rises in pungent clouds. +</p> + +<p> +Now through the dust an immense hand finds, grips and +wrings the priest's, and a deep resonant voice, not like any he +has heard before, and yet not strange, says rapidly: +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks be to the Most High, my lord is delivered! Now, +from the servant of his house, let him take this. It comes from +the Sister of my lord" (a crumpled envelope is thrust into +Julian Forbis's palm), "by the hand of John Hazel!" +</p> + +<p> +"A letter from my sister.... Sir, may God reward you! +You must be John Hazaël, I think! Though I never heard +that name until to-night, while I live I shall always bless it!" +</p> + +<p> +The voice sends an electric shock volting through John. It +is like the voice he loves, as a man's may resemble a woman's, +deeper, stronger, and hollow with fatigue. He returns: +</p> + +<p> +"My lord is right. I am the man John. Youngest and +last of all Hazaëls of the line save one only.... But all the +Hazaëls, from the first to the last, do battle for my lord this +night in Samaria. Now let my lord ride hard for Kir Saba. +Though his enemies pursue they shall not pass here! For, +God so willing, I, thy servant, will keep this road barred!" +</p> + +<p> +"My cousin John! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He hears a timid call he knows, and turning towards the +quarter whence it comes, traces it to its source in a small +rebellious bundle, held on the front of an Arab's saddle. +</p> + +<p> +"O John my cousin, dost thou hear me! Entreat the Most +Excellent One to set me on the ground!" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hazel, with your good leave, I mean to take this lady +to Kir Saba." It is the voice that spoke to him last in the +chintz drawing-room at Kerr's Arbour. Dimly seen in the +hazy moonlight, the eyes shaded by the silken <i>kuffiyeh</i> meet +John's, and although they are blazing with the fierce joy of +the successful raider, he recognises the eyes of Edward Yaill. +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, nay! I would remain here with John Hazaël," the +little creature pleads in her distress. +</p> + +<p> +"Thou wilt go with my lord and be his handmaid. When +he needs thee no longer, then return to me. Hearest thou, +woman?" the deep voice says, and Ummshni, bowing her +veiled head, humbly answers: +</p> + +<p> +"O Head of our House, I hear! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Farewell then, little Brave One!" +</p> + +<p> +In the dark John reaches out, and pats her small cold hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Not in this world, nor in the next will this that thou hast +lone go unrewarded. What is that? ... Cavalry on the +road!" His hearing, in this strange exalted mood of his, +being even keener than Namrûd the Hunter's,—has warned +him that a body of mounted men, coming from the direction of +Shechem, are pushing along the road. He relapses into his +ordinary, natural tone, as he says with a slap of his heavy +hand on the flank of Fadl Anga's thoroughbred: "Ride for +Kir Saba, Colonel Yaill, and all good luck to you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks, Mr. Hazel, and good-bye. Though I would prefer +your coming with us. You could take Namrûd's horse—and +he and I would ride and run by turns. Not the first time +we've covered distance that way!" +</p> + +<p> +There is an unalterable decision in the answer: +</p> + +<p> +"Much obliged, Colonel, but I've arranged to stay." +</p> + +<p> +"Good luck, then, and good-bye. You will shake hands at +parting? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The huge hand of the big Jew, and Yaill's leaner, slenderer, +smaller hand, meet and grip hard, then John steps backwards. +</p> + +<p> +"Ride like old hell, the lot of you. I stop—to carry on!" +</p> + +<p> +A clatter of hoofs and they are away, in a cloud of the +dust of Samaria, flavoured with the chamomile and wormwood +of the desert, the acrid sweat of man and horse, +tobacco, attar of roses, and leather tanned by Bedwân with +bitter laurel-bark. John Hazel looks about him, fills his lungs +with deep breaths and calculates his powers. How if one man +were able to move the lorry across the road! +</p> + +<p> +He frees himself from his Arab head-cloth and mantle, +ties the ends of the long sleeves of his <i>kumbas</i> together, slips +the knot Fellah-wise over his head, and pulls up the camel-hair +shirt to mid-thigh. Even as the lean, tanned Prophet +girded himself for the long race from Carmel up to Samaria, +before the King in his ivory chariot—and the rainstorm +hurtling on the heels of the King.... +</p> + +<p> +Now he swings himself to the driver's seat, manipulates +the steering wheel, and lifts the starting-lever. Now he gets +down, spins the crank, and heaves at the near fore-wheel. The +lorry shakes, the ponderous armoured wheel moves—and the +sweat pours off John Hazel. He sets his teeth, and braces +himself again, using the sound, uninjured leg as fulcrum of +the lever. With a sound like the dumping of a load of ancient +iron on the scrap-heap—the Turkish ammunition-lorry moves +across the road.... +</p> + +<p> +Just in time, for the clink of cavalry chain-bridles and +scabbards, and the clatter of hoofs come nearer with every +instant.... John fills the breast of his Arab shirt with +bombs, and stands up on the lorry, in the straddling but +purposeful attitude attributed to the Colossus of Rhodes. +</p> + +<p> +"Old Harris and the chaps of my platoon used to call me +a dirty fighter," he thinks, reverting to the vernacular of his +adoptive land. "Well, this is going to be the dirtiest fight I +ever put up. O all you old Hazaël men, back to the very +oldest, help me to keep the road that leads to Kir Saba, for +to-night! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Rattle and clink. The creak and wheeze of straining leather. +Half a squadron of Turkish Mounted Police spur round the +bend in the road. +</p> + +<p> +Well armed, well mounted, big and bearded Turks, the pick +of the Bey's squadrons of mounted gendarmerie. The darkness +hides the crimson fez and the smart Hussar uniform of +dark blue with red and orange braiding. But what light there +is is caught and given back by long shiny jack-boots—and the +barrels of Winchester repeating-rifles—and eyes that glitter in +swarthy faces that are ablaze with the hope of a reward. +</p> + +<p> +Crash! ... +</p> + +<p> +A bomb falls in the middle of the road in front of the +squadron-leader, and explodes with a shattering detonation +that calls loud echoes from the hills. The squadron-leader's +jaw is torn away. He and his horse go down, the poor brute +screaming in a pool of his own innocent blood and vainly +struggling to rise upon his shattered forelegs.... Two of +the other riders are wounded by flying splinters. +Crash!—another bomb falls and detonates in the road.... +</p> + +<p> +"A Forbis! A Forbis! May Forbis foes fall! A Forbis! +A Forbis! ..." +</p> + +<p> +With this strange foreign slogan the Hills of Samaria ring, +and a volley from the Winchesters of the Bey's men rattles +back in answer. Bullets flatten on the rocks—pass through +the sides of the lorry, shiver the lamps, rip the front hood, +and dent the engine-bonnet. A second Winchester-volley +clatters amongst the rocks—when a bomb, hurled by a phenomenally +long arm, falls in the midst of the squadron. And the +Bey's Mounted Policemen scatter and retreat in confusion, +leaving dead men and horses behind them on the road.... +</p> + +<p> +John draws breath. A revolver cracks behind him—a +bullet sings past his right cheek—and another, whistling +through his hair, burns as it scores a furrow in the scalp at the +top of his head.... +</p> + +<p> +"Bloody close! And fired from behind!" +</p> + +<p> +He looks round, and is shot at from the original quarter +to intimate that the retreat was only a feint. The baffled force +of gendarmerie—trained scouts for the most part—mountaineers +and hunters, has split into two parties; the hardier spirits—as +the breaking of branches and the fluttering of birds scared +from the coverts testifies—are scrambling down the steep face +of the defile, from the northern side of the road. +</p> + +<p> +Again a revolver-shot cracks out behind John. He slews his +head and catches a glimpse of the man who fired, crouching +behind a boulder, on the Jaffa side of the lorry. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Crash! crash!</i> ... +</p> + +<p> +Two bombs greet the renewal of the attack upon the +Shechem side.... Three, hurled one after the other with +dazzling rapidity, explode in the covert that clothes the +cliff-face. Another hits the boulder by the road, and lessens its +proportions. But the sharp brain behind it has foreseen that +it would come. +</p> + +<p> +Lying on his stomach, the Bey's man crawls to the opposite +side of the highway. Crouching in the shadows, he waits +unseen. The scene is handsomely illuminated now by +bonfires among the brushwood. Bombs explode east and west, +the arms of the giant on the lorry whirl like the sails of a +windmill. It is at this juncture that John begins to sing.... +</p> + +<p> +Never did light of moon and stars shine on a grimmer +spectacle. Foul with grime, whitened with dust, smeared and +raddled with blood from his scalp-wound, the leaping fires +on either hand show him black as a fiend from hell. The +Bey's gendarme is a plucky child of Islam, but he shudders. +What if no human, killable man, but one of the demon Sons of +Iblis be he who is capering and dealing Death on the +Jaffa-Shechem road to-night? Streaming with sweat, stricken with +deadly fear, he gasps: +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Mashallah</i>! I invoke the Protection of the Most High +against Satan the Stoned! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And springing up, sets a foot on the wheel, and leaps into +the lorry. Next moment, locked in a wrestling-hug, two black +shapes strive together, while the <i>zabtiehs</i> hold their fire for +fear of hitting their own man. +</p> + +<p> +The struggle is over in less than half a minute. The Turk +is strong, but in those great and ruthless hands, he is dealt +with easily. His foot slips in his opponent's blood, for the +giant is bleeding freely from chips in various places. He yells +as he is bent back.... Then his spurred feet are lifted. He +is tossed out of the lorry, landing on his head—and as John +continues bomb-throwing—loses temporarily, all interest in +the fight.... +</p> + +<p> +Now comes from the Shechem side, a charge of mounted +<i>zabtiehs</i>. John sings as he pulls pins,—pitches and proves the +impotence of flesh and blood, human and equine, pitted against +H.E. The police are shooting freely but wildly from behind +and before him. Right and left he gives them the last sigh +of No. 1 box—and is diving into the other—to rise up armed, +when a bomb, that has fallen in the roadway without the +customary explosion—is picked up by a plucky <i>zabtieh</i> and hurled +back into the lorry.... +</p> + +<p> +John realises as the projectile falls amongst the boxed +explosives that the fight is over. He leaps from the lorry on +the Jaffa side, and knows no more. Miles away southward, +as the huge detonation shakes the hills, and avalanches of +<i>débris</i> tumble from the cliffs, a Gunner Officer of a Field +Battery of the 52nd Division, holding the mud village of +Mughar, says to his colleague indifferently, shutting his +night-glasses: +</p> + +<p> +"The Huns are having the time of their lives to-night in +Samaria. Regular posh firework-display to-night on the +Shechem-Jaffa road. Now they've exploded an ammunition-dump, +or something uncommonly like it! Hope it's wiped out a +few more Turks!—there are plenty of 'em to spare!" +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0414"></a></p> + +<h3> +XIV +</h3> + +<p> +For Katharine Forbis those two days of suspense, so fraught +with fate for the two she held dearest, were ordeals of +anguish only made bearable by the work that filled the +daylight hours and the sleep, begotten of the work—that came +to her at night. On the morning following the bomb-fight on +the Shechem-Jaffa Road, the Base was ringing with the +seizure of Junction Station; the sensational escape of Von +Kressenstein's train, and the taking, by cavalry charges from +the north, of the strong place of Mughar—a mud village on +a hill, converted into a veritable wasp's nest by Turkish +mountain-howitzers, Turkish machine gunners and Turkish riflemen. +</p> + +<p> +The temper of the enemy stiffened. Resistance still was +stubborn—difficulties of transport still held up the Expeditionary +Army in full sight of the Jerusalem-Shechem Road. Yet +it was the Day of the White Arm.... Three Captains' +Crusaders of the Bucks Hussars and Dorset Yeomanry led the +dazzling charges that cleared the way for the 52nd Division, +and made of Mughar "not a sweet place to look at," as an +English War Correspondent put it pithily—for many Turkish +heads being cleft in twain after the approved mediæval method—the +place wanted a lot of cleaning up. One of the glorious +Three—son of a great English Statesman, himself an Under +Secretary for Foreign Affairs and one of the Chief Whips +of the 1915 Ministry—was shot barely twelve hours after the +victory. And before sunset on this day, a distinguished Jew; +financier, soldier, sportsman, philanthropist—met death almost +within sight of the Colonies founded by his family on the +Plains of Sharon, and south of Jaffa the Beautiful.... +</p> + +<p> +On this same date Maurice Hazel, piloting a Handley-Page +bomber on a raid over the Hindenburg Line, was killed by a +hit from German shrapnel.... And Lady Wastwood, reading +the War News in the late edition of the <i>Alexandrian +Courier</i> and crying over men who had been ancient flames, +and boys who had been her dead boy's School-chums—came +on this undistinguished item among the casualties, and +recognised the name. +</p> + +<p> +"'Maurice Benn Hazel' ... Kathy's huge Jew friend +mentioned having a brother Maurice in the R.F.C. As I +really want an excuse for a word with Kathy, I'll look her up +and mention the thing. Though it seems rather like making +use of the poor dear boy! How callous we're all getting. But +I suppose we have to be, to carry on at all!" +</p> + +<p> +With which conclusion, the day's work being over, Trixie +removed the traces of emotion with powder, and betook +herself in search of Katharine. +</p> + +<p> +She found Miss Forbis in the rose-garden pavilion, reading +letters from England that had come by the afternoon's mail. +Time had not served until now to open them, and the first +envelope had contained a type-written enclosure within, a +communication from Sir Arthur Ely, appended here below: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> + HOLBORN COURT,<br> + <i>November</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1917.<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"MY DEAR MISS FORBIS, +</p> + +<p> +Knowing you to be working with the Red Cross at Montana +Convalescent Hospital near Alexandria, and in the hope +that Colonel Yaill—from whom I have not heard since he +left England last February, may have communicated to you +his present address—I have thought it best to send you the +enclosed copy of a letter recently delivered at his Club, and +opened by me as his solicitor—having authority from him, in +his absence, to deal with his correspondence, and administer +his business affairs. I am sufficiently old a friend of his and +yours also, to add my heartiest congratulations to you both. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "Very sincerely yours,<br> + "ARTHUR CAMERON ELY."<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Here is the enclosure: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "PARK AUXILIARY MILITARY HOSPITAL,<br> + "HOODING,<br> + "SUSSEX.<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"<i>November</i> 2, 1917 +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +"DEAR SIR: +</p> + +<p> +"A friend of mine who you met under the name of Nurse +Lucy Burtonshaw at the Convalescent Officers Camp, B—— +Base in November 1915 has asked me to write you her hands +being full at present and feeling herself unequal to the task. +</p> + +<p> +"The fact is that while finishing her three years service +as a Probationer at the County General Hospital Leam Somerset +in 1913 she was married on the strict Q.T. at the Registrar's +Office Leam to Private J. Didlick of the 5th Lancers +a young man known from childhood and objected to by Lucy's +parents on the grounds of his being the son of the local baker +and too much given to drink. In August 1914 Private Didlick +went to the Front with the First Expeditionary Army and his +name duly appeared upon the list of Killed after the Battle +of Mons. Nurse Burtonshaw regrets that she omitted to +mention this at the time of your marriage her hands being +so full just then. +</p> + +<p> +"I will not detain you further except by saying that in +April last on the eve of the Battle of Arras Private now +Lance-Corporal Didlick with several other British prisoners +escaped from the zone of fire where they had been kept by +the Germans at forced work and very badly used Corporal +Didlick particularly being covered with boils and weighing +only 8st. 31bs. when drafted Home and later on sent to this +Hospital I could hardly recognise him. Later I communicated +with his wife and advised her to break the news to you her +proper place undoubtedly being by her poor husband's side. +Her hands being full she has put off writing up to the present. +Now at her request us being old friends I have taken up the +pen. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Didlick earnestly hopes you will regard bygones as +bygones and requests me herewith to enclose your cheque +received for her last quarter's allowance regularly forwarded +since February by your Solicitor, Sir Arthur Ely to whose +care this communication is addressed. In case of loss in the +post things being so uncertain in War Time I have sent +another letter similarly worded care of Miss Forbis, Kerr's +Arbour, Nr Cauldstanes Tweedshire, N.B. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + "I remain, Dear Sir,<br> + "Truly yours<br> + "DOROTHY PIDGE,<br> + "<i>Certified Nurse ——th Nursing Unit R.R.C.</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p> +"P.S. Excuse the liberty but I do hope you won't be hard +on Lucy! She means well but hasn't a particle of moral +backbone." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +If Katharine perused this queer letter with mingled sensations, +amazed joy and unutterable relief ruled predominant +above all. +</p> + +<p> +For it was over, the haunting day and nightmare of +loss and separation. Her bosom rose upon a long breath of +relief, as the burden passed away. The barrier dividing +Katharine from all she held dearest, had vanished at the +wholesome touch of loyal Nurse Dorothy Pidge. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank God! and thank you—you honest-hearted woman! +Now to tell Edward—if I knew where to reach him!" was +her thought. And the claws of suspense fastened in her soul +anew, and that moment's joyful lightening of her heart made +the weight that burdened it even more intolerable to bear. +</p> + +<p> +Not the cool sea-breeze that stole through the fretted sides +of the Khedive's marble pavilion, the beloved haunt of her +leisure, nor the fragrance of the November-blooming roses +that climbed its walls, and wreathed the balustrade of its +terrace with trails of pink and orange, cream and white and +crimson; not the nightingales that sang in the moss-cup oaks, +nor the orioles that built amongst the vine-trellises—where the +fireflies would twinkle and gleam at dusk when the nightingales +sang their sweetest—could bring soothing to her tortured +mind, or rest to her overwrought nerves. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't—stand—much more!" she said slowly, speaking +aloud of purpose, for the sheer relief of speech. "We have +all got a point beyond which we break, and this is my +breaking-point. Oh! for some news of those three men of mine!" +</p> + +<p> +Edward Yaill, Julian and John Hazel.... She saw them +individually, each reduced to the size of a gnat, at the end of a +long vista, striving, and striving desperately, yet unable to +meet and touch. She saw them in the midst of a cloud of +other human gnats, buzzing and stinging.... She saw them +borne down by numbers—she saw them emerge triumphant. +She saw— +</p> + +<p> +"Darling Kathy, do unclench your hands and iron out your +forehead," said the welcome voice of Trixie at this juncture: +"Even a woman with your appearance cannot afford to go on, +looking like Lady Macbeth, Clytemnestra and Antigone, +rolled into one, for long!" +</p> + +<p> +"Did I ... Do I?" Katharine asked absently.... +</p> + +<p> +"You both did and do," Trixie returned. She came and +sat on the balcony near Katharine and touched her lightly +on the shoulder with a long, thin but sympathetic hand. "You're +rather a terrifying person when you look like this, but I have +a reason for being venturesome. May I broach a subject I've +avoided for ages? I need hardly explain, I fancy, that the +subject is Edward Yaill?" +</p> + +<p> +Such burning colour flooded the face now turned to hers, +that Trixie experienced relief from forebodings that had +haunted her. The colossal coffee-coloured Jew with the coarse +black hair, Cockney accent and huge nose was nothing to +Kathy! She always had had that wonderful look when you +mentioned Edward Yaill. She was unchanged... It upset +you to imagine that women like Kathy altered. It did you +good to find out that she stuck to the old love.... +</p> + +<p> +The subject broached, Trixie told her tale. Faithful to +the motto of the Liberal Ladies War Service League, "Do +Anything, Go Anywhere, Stick at Nothing and Never +Grouse!" she had, pending her return to active usefulness, +been "rummaging out" cases in the General Hospitals who +wanted extra visiting, letter-writing and bucking. And at +No. 11 she had come across a Nice Man, newly convalescent +from a collection of intestinal symptoms prevalent among the +Expeditionary Forces,—assembled by the C.M.O. under the +heading "Bilharziosis," and simplified to "Bill Harris," in the +mouths of sufferers therefrom.... +</p> + +<p> +"A Sergeant of the 'Tweedburgh Regiment' transferred— Don't +ask me how! to a Lowland Territorial Battalion, and +perfectly devoted to Colonel Yaill. Nearly cried when he +talked of him. Desperately keen to get a letter written and +smuggled Home—for of course the Censor wouldn't dream of +passing it!—to Yaill's sisters at his place in Cumberland, and +another to Miss Forbis, 'her that the Colonel ought to have +been married on—saying the Colonel is alive and serving with +the Secret Intelligence Corps in the Front in Palestine.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Dear Lady Wastwood—" +</p> + +<p> +"My child, don't put me off with interruptions! Of course +I explained to my poor sick man that the letter couldn't be +properly engineered, and might do Colonel Yaill harm if the +contents got out. But I told him you were out here, and +should have his information. The man swears Edward to be +an intrepid Scout, famous for making his way through the +Turkish Lines, on foot or mounted on a swift horse, sometimes +alone!—sometimes with two companions.... He has been +seen in Cairo dressed as a French Staff Officer—we know he +speaks the language perfectly!—and in Constantinople as a +Greek Interpreter to one of the Embassies. And here in Alex, +he has gone about disguised as an Arab—or a Gippy of the +Labour Corps—" +</p> + +<p> +"I know it, dear Lady Wastwood, I was almost sure of it +before!—I have been certain since John Hazel came back +from the Front four days ago, to tell me—" +</p> + +<p> +Trixie's green eyes enlarged under their arched black +eyebrows, that so much resembled musical slurs. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course! I might have known. Do go on, like a Precious +Person! If a sieve about my own affairs, I'm a tomb +for the secrets of others!" +</p> + +<p> +So Katharine, knowing this to be true, told Trixie the reason +of her anxiety. Characteristically the long thin finger pointed +to the doubtful spot: +</p> + +<p> +"It's thrilling in the extreme. No wonder you're in tatters +with anxiety. But I can't help seeing that it's rather fatal to +have two different people plotting to save one man. Almost +like a brace of dentists tugging at a single tooth, isn't it? Why +couldn't they have Joined forces and worked it as a Syndicate? +That's what your John Hazel will try for, I feel it in my bones. +One thing I must say! I do wish the Basilisk hadn't anything +to do with it! That oily-tongued little Egyptian Flying Pasha +gives me the creeps! But the main thing just now is to buck +up, and believe that everything will come off rippingly. And +I have a feeling in my bones it will!" +</p> + +<p> +"And if it doesn't—if the news is the worst that can be +told, I hope that I shall be brave enough to bear it!" said +Katharine. "I hope that I shall never swerve from the belief +that Love—as it exists between clean-souled men and women—isn't +only for this world! And that the pain of frustrated +earthly passion may be so mingled with the Faith that looks +forward,—forward and Heavenward!—that parting for this +little life may be robbed of its bitterest sting!" +</p> + +<p> +"My dear, I can't climb up to your level," said Trixie, +blinking her green eyes and pursing her V-shaped, Pierrot +mouth. "This world—when my husband and boys were in +it—was good enough, I'm ashamed to say! And if they were +back, I'm not going to pretend I should bother much about +Heaven, and I do hope you've too much sense to believe that +I should! But this business of yours will be pulled off all +right. I feel it in my bones, and they never deceive me. Your +brother Julian and your friend the Jew, and poor Edward +Yaill—whom I treated so frightfully out of pure championship for +you when he fell over my feet into the Express for Carlisle—that +he fell out again!—All three will get safe out of the place +with the name that reminds me of Sunday School examinations. +And you and I will be standing here, like the heroine +and her bosom-friend in the scene that comes just before the +return of the hero in what American people call a +four-mile-reel-scream, when a letter or a wire will bring the glad news. +And you will read out the letter to me as they say the film +people do it, keeping your features intelligently in play, and +saying anything that comes into your head. Like this: 'Pepper, +mustard, Cerebos, olive-oil and salad dressing! Piccalilli and +catsup. O, Harrods! ... After all these months of beastly +eating—tinned brawn for lunch again!'" +</p> + +<p> +Trixie's well-meant nonsense served its end, for Katharine +could resist no more and burst out laughing. +</p> + +<p> +"You dear!" Miss Forbis's laughing eyes were soft as she +passed an arm round the long narrow waist and warmly +kissed the thin white cheek. She added, as Trixie returned +the caress: "You're priceless to me, Commandant! When +I feel down, or get the blues—with reason or without +them—you're a better pick-me-up than all the Worcester sauce in +the world." +</p> + +<p> +"Horrible stuff!" Trixie made a grimace, "I've always +loathed it. Once I had a dear old friend who drank herself +to death on that. Her husband—lucky man! never suspected +until she died—and they found the chimney in her dressing-room +simply blocked with empty shilling bottles. Who's +that? <i>Di ê di</i>? Have you a message there? ..." +</p> + +<p> +A cautious footstep on the gravel path, badly neglected since +the War, and overgrown with patches of rafia, had first +reached Lady Wastwood's ears. Now a man—recognised by +Katharine and her friend as the dapper French-speaking +Italian chauffeur who had driven them from Alexandria three +days previously, in the Daimler car belonging to Essenian, +stepped from the trellised shade of a path into the light of the +rose-wreathed doorway, and saluting the ladies without speaking, +held out a letter to Katharine. +</p> + +<p> +News.... +</p> + +<p> +Something in Katharine's bosom leaped.... She felt +stifled, as though the fretted, sun-flecked walls of the Khedive's +rose-pavilion were those of a brick-built prison, impervious to +light and air. But with an effort she mastered herself, and +took the offered letter—hoping the Italian did not note the +trembling of her hand. +</p> + +<p> +It was a square heliotrope envelope, violently scented with +some clinging Eastern perfume that revolted Katharine. The +address to "Miss Forbis, Convalescent Hospital, The Palace, +Montana," was typed in vivid violet ink. Unwilling to open +the letter in the presence of a stranger, Katharine hesitated, +looking at the Italian: +</p> + +<p> +"Is there any reply to this? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Lady Wastwood had spoken. The Italian answered in his +nasal French, looking at Katharine: +</p> + +<p> +"The car is waiting.... If Mademoiselle would read!" +</p> + +<p> +Katharine, conscious of the unsteadiness of her hands, +opened the type-addressed envelope. The sheet of paper it +contained bore this message: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Come at once. Urgent! J. H." +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The four-word message and the initials beneath were typed +in violet ink. Underneath was an impression in coarse green +sealing-wax of the onyx signet-ring.... +</p> + +<p> +Katharine was silent, mastering her deep excitement. That +green seal seemed to burn through her eyes and sear her brain +as she stared at it. Again she heard John Hazel saying: +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose I were ever to send a line saying '<i>Come at +once!</i>' ... Well, don't come!—unless the paper bears an impression +of this, in sealing-wax, or clay, or bread or mud.... And test +it by the ring you wear, before you accept it...." +</p> + +<p> +The test could be made at once. She glanced at the signet +on her left hand and then at the Italian chauffeur. His round, +black eyes were fixed on her, watching her eagerly. She +spoke to the man in quiet, level tones: +</p> + +<p> +"I will come in a few minutes. Be good enough to wait +for me...." +</p> + +<p> +"As Mademoiselle desires." The Italian's bird-bright eyes +snapped excitedly. "I will go back and wait for her. But—" +he shrugged and spread his olive hands, "we have a long way +to go. Mademoiselle understands that, naturally...." +</p> + +<p> +"I understand, and I will come in five minutes," Katharine +said, with her tone of calm authority. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear—" Lady Wastwood asked anxiously, as the +Italian saluted, wheeled and went out of the pavilion: "You've +had news!—I see it in your face." +</p> + +<p> +"No news!" Katharine said. "But a summons, most +certainly." Days previously, she had taken a careful impression +in scarlet sealing-wax of the relievo head of Hercules upon +her black onyx signet. Now she took from her cigarette-case +the card bearing the impression, and laying the letter +on the marble table the pavilion contained, placed the card +face downwards over the green seal on the heliotrope paper. +The surfaces of paper and card met and wedded, as the green +relievo sank into the scarlet intaglio, and the two Hercules' +heads became one. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm fearfully impressed." Trixie's eyes were circular with +interest and curiosity. "But what on earth is that for? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Just to make sure," Katharine said, turning away, "that +the message that says, '<i>Come At Once. Urgent!</i>' is really from +John Hazel. Now I must go. I've a suit-case ready packed +in our sleeping-tent, and the Commandant has been prepared +against my being called suddenly away. As for the duty, +Molly Lyne-Soames carries on instead of me. She's prepared—a +regular brick of a girl!—and so—this until you next hear +from me!" She caught the astonished Trixie in a warm +embrace, kissed her thin cheeks and left a tear on one of them. +"God bless you, you kindest of women!" she called, turning +on the threshold of the rose-pavilion to wave her hand. "And +so good-bye, until we meet again!" +</p> + +<p> +And flushed and radiant, Katharine was gone, taking with +her in her haste a trail of a thorny climbing rose that had +clung to her as though to keep her, and leaving its crimson +petals scattered on the stone. As her light hurried footsteps +died away—a little puff of the westerly breeze swept the card +and the heliotrope letter, with their green and red seals, off +the marble table to the floor—and hurried them into a corner +as though their work were done. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0415"></a></p> + +<h3> +XV +</h3> + +<p> +Near where Ismailia sits amidst her flowery gardens and +tasselled avenues, on the edge of the scorching Desert of el +Jifar, is an arid rectangle of sand east of the Canal, above +Lake Timsah, used at the time I write of as an Air Base. +Beyond Essenian, there were no native officers serving at the +Air Base, though the indomitable Gyppos of the Labour Corps +were employed at the aërodrome in building hangars, and +cleaning the machines. Here rows of 'buses, both B.C.'s and +D.H.6's—used for reconnaissance on the Canal, along the +shores of the Red Sea as far as Aden—and over the Front in +Palestine—were ranged in readiness in front of their great +hangars, and observers in double-breasted tunics of drill or +serge, with shorts and forage-caps—or yet more simply and +economically attired in flannel shirts, canvas shoes and +sun-helmets—stood on the summits of wooden towers, combing +the blue with high-powered binoculars for enemy aircraft, in +watches, relieved at three-hour intervals.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +Not without reason had the Pasha boasted of the beauty of +his villa, a white marble palace of Arabian-Turkish +architecture, standing well back from an avenue of casuarinas, +embowered in trailing roses, clothed with imperial Bougainvillea +and shaded with trees, rising from the green velvet lawns +that carpet what was a rectangle of barrenness wrested from +the Desert twenty-three years ago. +</p> + +<p> +Within the palace, suites of rooms—used in the Oriental +style as reception saloons or bedrooms—according to the needs +of the moment—were furnished in luxury rivalling the most +modern of Parisian hotels. Soft-footed, low-voiced servants, +chiefly Mohammedans, dressed in speckless white, and moving +like automata, waited upon the master's guests and did the +master's will. +</p> + +<p> +Here Nasr Ullah, the Pasha's elderly body-servant and +confidential messenger, ruled with rigidity, taking it out of his +subordinates when the Presence dealt hardly with him. In two +rooms of the vast warren of rooms opening on a rearward +court, his "house" and a small brood of sturdy boys were +accommodated. A little dark Moslemah the wife of Nasr Ullah, +well dressed and laden with solid silver jewellery. Plain, with +projecting rabbit teeth, and shallow forehead; meek, dutiful, +pious and greatly given to prayer. A grave for the secrets of +her husband Nasr, who was occasionally burdened with a +conscience, whose smarting called for soothing feminine balms. +</p> + +<p> +He stood on the threshold of his outer room, in the mild, +pale hour when the stars were flowering through the last glow +of the sunset, and his tall white turban was pushed awry, and +his high forehead was ridged with care. +</p> + +<p> +"'Tis a tyranny to force a man of kindly heart towards +God's creatures, to scatter poisoned barley for the birds," he +said uneasily. "And the carrier-dove is the Bird of Nun, +that went forth from the Ark and brought back the olive-leaf, +and a dove was the bird that the Son of Mariam—when as +yet but a babe of tender years—playing with others who knew +not His holiness—wrought by the riverside of clay." +</p> + +<p> +"And the boys laughed and mocked Him, because He had +made one bird instead of many. And He was not angry, but +said, 'Do ye then as I do!' And then He clapped His hands +and the dove flew away. Did it not so, O my father?" a +thready voice piped. +</p> + +<p> +"Since when," asked Nasr Ullah with affected sternness, +"have the babes permission to lift up voice when their elders +take counsel?" His lined face softened into tenderness as the +child clinging to the mother's skirts hid his head under her +veil. "Remember, O woman!" he went on, "I have said the +white powder is a deadly poison. If a speck, such as would +lie safely hidden under the finger-nail—find a way into the +child's milk-bowl, I were without a son." +</p> + +<p> +"It is all in there.... I boiled the barley until soft, and +drained the water away carefully—emptied the paper-packet +of powder in among the barley and stirred the barley well +with a little stick. Then I burned both the paper and the +stick, as thou didst order. Remains for thee to break the pot +to sherds when—when thou hast finished. O my misfortune! +What a task! My lord, Nasr Ullah, who hath the pride of +princes!—to creep about under cover of night—from the +courtyard of the Commandant-Sahib to the <i>haush</i> where the +<i>Ifrangis</i> keep their swallow-boats, scattering poisoned barley +for pigeons with messages—" +</p> + +<p> +"Hûs! ..." +</p> + +<p> +She had raised her usually quiet voice somewhat indiscreetly, +and the toddler, youngest save one of Fatimeh's brood of +four, scared by the unusualness of this demonstration, lifted +up his own voice in a lusty howl. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Hus—sus!</i> No one is vexed with thee, my joy!—nobody +is angry! Run out and play with the little grey goat awhile +before thy sleep-time comes!" And as the boy with a shrill +joyful chuckle toddled over the threshold to seek his +playmate, Nasr Ullah promptly clapped the door to and shot the +wooden door-bolt, and not content with this, pulled the heavy +leather curtains that kept out chilly winds and June and +February <i>samûms</i>, over the doorway and the latticed +window-screens. +</p> + +<p> +"By the life of the Prophet—peace on him!—by thy head! speak +lower. What Afrit hast thou vexed—throwing away +the carrot-tops and the water that washed the dishes?" he +demanded of his now hysterically-tearful wife. "Is this my +house, whom I deemed discreet as Kadijah—peace be upon +her! Raising the voice like a woman accustomed to go +unveiled? Trumpeting secrets as it were on the very housetops! +Wouldst be a widow? 'Nay?' Then shun the road to mourning! +Wouldst die thyself, knowing thy four sons cast out—to +whine for <i>faddahs</i> and broken bread at the doors of the +khans and mosques.... 'Nay' again? ... Then even hold +thy tongue. And, Fatimeh my beloved—" Nasr Ullah's lean, +dark, muscular hand caressed the woman's small head, adorned +with a smart black silk kerchief with a brightly coloured +border, and a forehead-string of coins—all gold ones, though +their value was but small,—"vex not thy soul overmuch about +the doves and pigeons. Are not their numbers countless as the +numbers of the flies? And tell me, my olive-tree, fruitful in +bearing—my Garment of Comfort," his tone had become +wheedling, "whether any of the veiled women serving about +this house be one-eyed? <i>Wallah</i>! I jest not! It is a new +order of the Presence that all such are to be dismissed!" +</p> + +<p> +"How soon?" Another tempest seemed about to shake Nasr +Ullah's fruitful olive. Her bosom under its many serried +rows of solid silver necklaces began to heave again. Her heavy +anklets clashed as her small, henna-stained feet shifted +nervously on the whitened clay floor of the family living-room +where the charcoal stove daily burned, and the cooking-pots +stood against the wall. "How soon?" +</p> + +<p> +"By Allah! no later than an hour after sunrise, and that +delay is granted as an especial grace." +</p> + +<p> +"And the mother of thy wife—the grandmother of thy +children—the guardian of thy house's honour—what of her?" +demanded Fatimeh; "Is she not one of the many decent ones +upon whose eyes the flies have sat in childhood? Is—" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Wallah</i>! I had forgotten her," exclaimed the man in dismay. +For the mother of Fatimeh, at that moment congenially +engaged in crooning the latest new baby to sleep, in the inner +room dignified by the title of the <i>harîm</i>, had suffered in early +youth, like many other Egyptian women of the lower classes, +the loss, through ophthalmia, of one of her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Now a faint grin showed on the face of her son-in-law, even +in the midst of his perplexity, as he said: +</p> + +<p> +"Rebuke is justly mine, wife, that I did not remember it. +But by the border of thine <i>usbêh</i> I swear it! Thy mother sees +more with her one eye than other women with two. Yet would +I not part with her. She is wise in dealing with the +teething-troubles of the lesser babes, and her slipper hath more sting +in it than thine, for the ruling of the elder. We will send her +away to thy brother at Kantara until this scare of one-eyed +women is over and done. Meanwhile,—" he glanced over his +shoulder at the door, and sitting on the hard-cushioned divan +that ran round three sides of the whitewashed room, drew +Fatimeh to sit beside him; "meanwhile I would speak to thee +of Khalid thine eldest. Where is the boy to-night?" +</p> + +<p> +"He is gone with his brother Amru to lay snares for fig-birds +in the orchard. They must be set at moon-dark, for the +birds to enter them at dawn." +</p> + +<p> +"He is a born hunter. Seven years old this month of Safar, +and witful as he is handsome—the praise be unto Allah Who +makes them of all kinds! Wife, if I told thee that the Presence, +seeing the boy so ripe for his tender years, and of goodly +promise, had bidden—" +</p> + +<p> +Nasr Ullah's tone had been studiously commonplace, but +the ridges in his high forehead had deepened, and his eyes had +an anxious stare. He winced as his wife without a word slid +from the divan, and next instant lay prostrate on the +white-washed floor, with her forehead on his feet. +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, nay! ... My pearl, my joy! ... Take it not so +hardly! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"O Everlasting, spare me this! O husband, in pity, hear +me. Hast thou forgotten Nasi, our joy and my firstborn? He +would have been nine years old, this Nile-Rise.... Hast +thou forgotten? Ay, ay, it was the old cry; 'This boy was +stupid—that one showed fear. This must have known sin,—for +he could see nothing at all in the ink-pools or in the Eye +of Radiance.' So the Presence takes my Nasi, and gives him +gifts and praises his excellence, and one day he comes home, +crying '<i>My head, my head!</i>' like the son of the woman who +fed the Prophet El Jah, peace be upon him!—and three days +later, thou, weeping bitter tears, dost hang my green-striped +shawl over the shabid of his tiny bier." +</p> + +<p> +"Peace, wife!" +</p> + +<p> +Sweat broke forth and stood on Nasr Ullah's face. He +wiped it with the sleeve of his white <i>kaftan</i>, repeating: +</p> + +<p> +"Peace, woman! ... It was a fever the boy had caught.... +Dost thou not remember what the <i>hakim</i> said? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ay! But I had watched by the bed of my sick child, and +shuddered at the visions he told of in his ravings. O, +Husband, I have sat in the house one year, and thou hast said +in thine heart, '<i>She is forgetting</i>' ... Yet all the time—" She +sat upright on the floor before him now, her strained eyes +glued upon his worried face, and the swift words poured from +her without his opposition. +</p> + +<p> +"Peace! thou sayest. How can there be peace in this house +where soothsayers and necromancers come and go, and the +sand-tables are forever cast, and fresh boys are brought each +new day to peer into the ink-pools.... Lo! I will speak my +mind. Ten years I have been thy wife, and a duteous and a +silent, but a mother in fear for her flesh and blood hath the +courage to defy Shaitan...." +</p> + +<p> +"Be not disturbed.... I will find some way. The boy +shall be sent to El Kantara with thy mother." +</p> + +<p> +"And when my Agib is of likely age, will not the ink-pools +claim him? Will the Presence have bowels to spare a child, +who in all these years hath loved no woman?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nay," was the reply. "What need hath He of women, who +is in love with Life? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"'Tis true. Save when the Inglizi ladies come with their +menfolk to see the house and gardens, and eat fruit and drink +iced sherbets, and say 'charmin'—charmin'' and +'rippin'—rippin','" thus the better-half of Nasr Ullah rendered the +English slang, "no woman ever comes here. What now?" for +the knee on which she rested her arm had jerked slightly. +</p> + +<p> +"I had forgotten. He hath said but now—that a woman +comes here at midnight! No <i>râziye</i> of the Bazâr, or other of +the shameless, but a lady-Sahib from the Palace of Montana +at Iskanderieh.... The car brings her by the fifth hour.... +The gates are to be open. When the car has passed in, the +gates are to be shut and locked...." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ya rabbi!</i>" The exclamation broke from the woman +involuntarily. "After all these years—it may be that He +changes.... How old is He, husband? Canst thou not even +guess? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps He is less old than He pretends, but He is many +years older than folks believe Him. Of that there is no doubt +at all...." +</p> + +<p> +"And it <i>is</i> done by devilry? Witchcraft and spells—and +philtres?" The woman breathed quickly. "Say, is't not?" +</p> + +<p> +"God knows! But from whomever the Presence buys his +youth, He pays a heavy price for it. See how He lives! Even +as one who carries in his breast a stolen jewel, and goes in +fear lest it be snatched from him. The pleasures of the +belly—He must shun them. The joys that are tasted on perfumed +cushions—He must fly them one and all. It is tyranny. Yet +He thinks He is envied. He is only wretched when Those I +may not speak of, ask—too high a price for the magical +drugs...." +</p> + +<p> +"The drugs. The devil-brews that keep Him youthful, who +else would be as dry and wrinkled as the mummies of the +ancient Kings?" +</p> + +<p> +"Verily. And—one thing I have seen of late—" Once +launched upon the sea of Confidence, Nasr Ullah grew less +fearful. "Whether Protection fails him, or the philtres lose +their power, I know not—but—He grows old!" +</p> + +<p> +"I too!—" Her eyes grew large with awe. "I have fancied +He is somewhat changed...." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Chut</i>! Do not interrupt. It goes deeper than the skin—this +change that I have seen in him. His moods vary like +those of a pregnant woman; he frames designs and throws +them aside as a monkey plucks, and bites, and casts bananas +away. He does not even hate as He used to hate. Once—if +an enemy rose up in the path, he removed that one with his +own hand, and troubled no more about the affair. Or said +to one he trusted, '<i>Kill!</i>'" the tone was studiously smooth, the +speaker's face expressionless—"and that man or that woman +died—more quietly than the <i>bowab's</i> daughter who ate the +nectarine. But now—since the killing of Usborn Sahib by +a Turk in Palestine,—and the night he dined at Iskanderieh +in the company of the big Jew Tomi—the Presence talks of +nought but sprinkling poisoned grain for carrier-doves and +dismissing of one-eyed females—and my heart is stricken with +fear for my lord! Spells, and charms, and philtres bought +from Those in the Distant Places will not avail forever against +the day of Fate. Azrael will come behind my lord with a touch +upon the shoulder. The Black Camel of Allah will tread upon +his heel. Then—even at a breath—the House of Life will +crumble!" Nasr Ullah started to his feet as a silvery sound, +momentarily increasing in volume, rolled into the stuffy closed +room, and hummed about their ears. "It is the gong from +my lord's room. He calls, and I must go! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He added, slipping the earthen pot of soaked and poisoned +barley within the bosom of his embroidered vest: "Sleep well, +my wife, if I see thee not ere morning. And call in the +children—it is time they went to rest! ..." +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0416"></a></p> + +<h3> +XVI +</h3> + +<p> +This was another moonless night, with Orion glorious in the +East, and the Great Bear blazing on the northern horizon, as +the headlights of the high-powered Daimler car, driven by +the Italian chauffeur, flashed on a high, wide <i>porte cochère</i> of +white-painted wrought iron, and the horn sounded a +well-known call. +</p> + +<p> +The massive gates were opened and shut by a hand-worked +windlass, over which ran an endless chain. Two white-clad +negro porters worked the winch, the gate slid smoothly back +in its groovings. The car rolled in, and the gate was shut as +it passed up the avenue. +</p> + +<p> +The Arabian-Turkish palace seemed to sleep under the starshine +of the November night, wrapped in its royal mantle of +roses and bougainvillea. Heavy drifts of perfume were +carried on the languid air-waves that came from the south-west +at intervals, swaying thick-foliaged branches and sighing +amongst the leaves. Not a blue-white gleam of electric light +or even the flame of a candle twinkled through the pierced +lattices, as Katharine, alighting from the car, observed with +some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +The wide-leaved doors of the house stood open. On the +steps and in the vestibule were drawn up a double row of +native servants; lean, dark Mohammedans in high starched +turbans, <i>kaftans</i> and baggy trousers of snowy muslin, +displaying gorgeously gold-embroidered vests. +</p> + +<p> +One elderly man stepped forward, salaaming low to the +visitor, with the words: +</p> + +<p> +"O lady, God give thee a happy night! His Presence awaits +thee." +</p> + +<p> +"Carry thy lord salutations from me," Katharine answered +in her laboured Arabic. "Say that—that I have come in +answer to the message. Is the Saiyid Hazel here in the +house?" +</p> + +<p> +The elderly man salaamed again and answered smoothly: +</p> + +<p> +"Surely, O lady, the desire of thine eyes and thine heart +shall be granted! With your coming a blessing hath entered +these doors...." +</p> + +<p> +The Italian chauffeur now appeared behind Katharine, carrying +the suit-case. A servant stepped forward and took it, as +Miss Forbis said to the chauffeur in French: +</p> + +<p> +"I don't yet know whether I shall need that case. Leave +it in the car, please, and let the car be waiting. I may return +to Alexandria to-night." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Mademoiselle!—" the Italian began, when a look from +Nasr Ullah silenced him. He saluted, and muttering: "As +Mademoiselle commands!" turned and went out and down the +steps. But he left the suit-case in the servant's hands—and +the hall-doors were shut and locked after him. And the +fragrance of the jasmine and roses of the garden gave place to +another perfume, heavy too, but sickly-sweet with sandal and +henna, the fumes of burning pastilles, and all the strange +suggestive odours of a shut-up Eastern house. And glancing at +the now barred doors and the double row of gleaming eyes, +and imperturbable dark faces, Katharine Forbis felt a little, +chilly shudder creep over her and stir amongst the roots of +her plentiful dark hair. +</p> + +<p> +"A goose walked over my grave, then," she told herself, +smiling bravely, fighting back the sinister sensation, as the +elderly major-domo addressed her again: +</p> + +<p> +"With permission, a message for the lady, from the Presence. +The Presence took food, as is his wont, a little after +sunset. It is now the fifth hour, and supper has been spread, +Ifrangi-fashion, in readiness for the lady's coming. If the +lady will deign to take of it, I pray her follow me...." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, but I need nothing," Katharine answered, as +the man prepared to lead the way down an interminable-appearing +hall. "And—I prefer to stay where I am." She +moved to a carved ebony seat, and spoke to the man again, +this time in English. "Please ask Essenian Pasha and +Mr. Hazel to come to me here. Unless—" She started as the +thought occurred to her, and ended: "Unless they should +happen to be engaged with—some one who is ill...." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Aiyân</i>...." The dark eyes under the much-ridged forehead +were wonderfully observant. The nasal voice belonging +to the eyes spoke in the English tongue: "Surely there is one +here who is ill exceedingly. The Presence and the Saiyid +Hazel have many fears for him," Nasr Ullah added as the +colour ebbed from Katharine's cheeks and lips and her hand +clenched involuntarily, "but by the Favour of Allah—he is +not like to die...." +</p> + +<p> +"Take me to him.... Now, please! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Forbis rose up, tall and impetuous, motioning to Nasr +Ullah to lead the way, scattering her scruples and her fears +to the winds like withered leaves. Which of her beloved Two +lay in some darkened room of this strange house? Julian or +Edward? Edward or Julian. Well, in another minute she +would know.... +</p> + +<p> +It occupied several minutes. The elderly Mohammedan produced +an electric torch, and by its radiance led her through +a vast suite of apartments on the ground-floor, their Arabesque +Ottoman elegance grotesquely overlaid with fashions imported +from the West. A curious jumble of furniture of many +different styles and periods was revealed by the blue-white +torch-flare—overcrowding the wide and lofty rooms. French +Directoire and the First Empire shouldered the Georgian +Regency, Early Victorian tables and Berlin wool-work settees +were reflected in splendid Venetian mirrors, and electric bulbs +depended from cut-glass chandeliers. Later Rococo—overlaid +with Art Nouveau and camouflaged with Futurism; Cubist +pictures, Cubist draperies and cushions of Cubist designs, +gibbered mockingly in Katharine's face as the electric torch led +the way.... And the stuffiness bred of Eastern neglect hung +heavy on the atmosphere, and dust rose in wreaths from the +velvety carpets under the lightest tread. +</p> + +<p> +The last door of the last suite led into a wide corridor paved +with black and white marble. Midway down, the elderly +servant stopped at the grille of a lift and switched on the +electric light. He snapped off his torch, pushed back the +sliding-door, followed Miss Forbis in, shut the grille and +started the elevator—a costly thing in nickel and enamelled +iron—conveying to Katharine the momentary impression that +she was calling on a London friend in a Sloane Street or +Mayfair flat. +</p> + +<p> +The lift stopped at the top floor after traversing three +storeys. The Mohammedan showed Miss Forbis out, and +opened a latticed door at the end of a short passage. She +drew a breath of relief as the night-air flowed about her, and +the rose-scents of the dew-drenched garden rose up in +delicious clouds. +</p> + +<p> +She was passing over a slender bridge, connecting the roof +of one of the wings of the Pasha's showy villa with that of +another building, evidently much older, distant perhaps some +forty feet from the ornate marble palace, and covering a +considerable area of ground in its rear. Built in the old +windowless Arabian way about an oblong courtyard, and crowned by +an open court or pavilion of green and white marble, its outer +walls were pressed upon by closely thronging trees. +Casuarinas and moss-cup oaks, peppers and tamarisks and tall +waving palms made coolth and greenness round it, and +nightingales were singing from the trees that girt it round. +</p> + +<p> +The bridge, of latticed iron, painted to dazzling whiteness, +ended under a pointed trefoil arch where heavy curtains hung. +The Mohammedan servant who showed the way was beckoning +to Katharine—lifting a gleaming, gold-embroidered fold, +signing to her to pass. She drew in a deep breath of +fragrance from the garden, and the song of the bulbuls rose in a +crescendo of sweetness as she glanced at the starry sky. Then +the dark hand signed to her—she passed under the archway, +and the curtain fell behind her with a soft, thudding sound. +</p> + +<p> +She stood on the threshold of an oblong room, or rather, +court, of pierced and latticed marble, covered and adorned +with mosaic, running nearly the whole length of a side of the +Arab house. Open to the sky overhead, and enclosed by +curtains of thick gold-embroidered silk, hanging under trefoil +arches between groups of slender pillars, it had a long divan +of dark, rich brocade running along one side. Two silver +lamps of antique design, swinging by chains from slender +rods, mingled their mellow radiance with the starlight. At +the farther end, closed curtains under a higher arch showed +the entrance to another court—or possibly an enclosed +apartment—beyond the pavilion that was canopied with the sky. +</p> + +<p> +The floor was of ancient Arab tiles, wonderful in colour. +Rare and beautiful prayer-rugs were laid on it here and there. +A pedestal of serpentine supported a great porcelain bowl in +which a little fountain played, and goldfish were swimming. +Clusters of lilies of Amaryllis type, thick-stemmed, fleshy, +purple and white and crimson, exhaling a heavy, languorous +fragrance, stood in jars of ancient <i>cloisonné</i> upon inlaid ivory +stools. In the centre of the room stood a broad divan, piled +with great embroidered cushions. Beside the divan was a +tripod of ebony, supporting something that looked like a green +velvet jewel-case.... +</p> + +<p> +A slight man in Eastern dress, his black <i>tarbûsh</i> turbaned +with snowy muslin folds, his long-sleeved <i>kaftan</i> of +orange-red opening to reveal a longer-sleeved garment of white, a +jewelled pen-case glittering in the folds of his green silk girdle, +rose up from the divan as the curtain fell—and advanced to +Katharine.... +</p> + +<p> +"Dear lady, my poor house is highly honoured—" he began: +</p> + +<p> +"Is Mr. Hazel here, Major Essenian?" +</p> + +<p> +In her surprise at finding the Pasha alone, Katharine's +hurried query broke in upon the Pasha's formal welcome, +scattering his elaborate sentences to the winds. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Hazel—" He affected for a moment to search his +memory. "Dear lady, I am sorry, but—" His shrug said +"No! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Then why did your chauffeur bring me the letter from +him?" Katharine demanded, looking down from her superb +height upon the suave and smiling face. +</p> + +<p> +"From Mr. Hazel?" Essenian asked with maddening +blandness. "Did he bring you a letter? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You know he did! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah yes, of course, I know!" admitted Essenian, his long +eyes narrowing as they encountered Katharine's. She mastered +her anger, knowing its display incautious, and said with +rather a poor attempt to smile: +</p> + +<p> +"You must make allowances, Pasha, if I seem excited and +nervy. But—I have been on tenterhooks since the day we met. +The 15th—and—isn't this the 18th of November? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly, going by your Western calendar. But in this +house that lies hidden behind another that is full of barbarous +Western inventions—Western customs do not prevail, and +Western fashions are abhorred. You are in Egypt when you +are here...." +</p> + +<p> +"The room is perfectly beautiful. But I can't spare time to +enjoy it. I can think of nothing but the matter that brought +me here to-night. Last night, rather"—Katherine glanced at +her wrist-watch—"because it is getting perilously near one +o'clock in the morning. Once for all, I ask you where you got +the letter that your servant brought me at the Hospital, nearly +five hours back? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"It was placed in my hands by Hazel, to be delivered in case +of emergency." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine's clear eyes questioned the dark face. Its narrow +eyes met hers, glittering imperturbably. She resumed, with a +little sickening thrill of hatred of the man: +</p> + +<p> +"Then—the emergency has occurred? Be good enough to +answer another question. Did you take Mr. Hazel to Shechem, +as he told me you had arranged to do?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly. We made the trip in record time." The long +beryl eyes shone green in the mingling of lamplight and +starlight, the smooth dark lips curved as Essenian smiled. +"Following the old Pilgrim's Route at first. Doing the +journey—about 195 miles, as the crow flies—in something under +three-and-a-half-hours, and reaching Shechem just before dawn." +</p> + +<p> +"And—when you got there—what went wrong? For something +has gone wrong," Katharine said breathlessly—"I feel it +in the air about me, though your face tells no tales." +</p> + +<p> +"'<i>The face that tells tales is a man's worst enemy. The +face that hides secrets is a man's best friend.</i>'" Essenian +quoted the stale truism gently and suavely. "But will you not +remove your outer wrap and take a seat on the divan?" +</p> + +<p> +He added, as Katharine unfastened a cloak she wore, an +ample double cape of Navy blue serge, lined with dark crimson +silk, and dropped it from her shoulders, and moving with her +supple grace to the divan, sat down: +</p> + +<p> +"I returned here yesterday, arriving before sunrise. To +remain in Palestine would have been useless. To be candid—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my God!" said Katharine in her anguished soul. "Does +this man ever speak candidly?" But she looked at him and +waited—summoning up all her reserves of self-command and +patience, seeming a calm-eyed, superbly-moulded goddess, +attired in a well-cut uniform of white cotton-drill. +</p> + +<p> +"I had arranged to return to Shechem," he went on, "before +sunrise on the 18th. There is still time to reach there while +the day is yet young. But something unfortunate happened +just before the landing. In fact, Mr. Hazel has had an +accident—" +</p> + +<p> +"An accident. Of what nature? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine's brows contracted and her colour faded. +Essenian pursued in his suavest tones: +</p> + +<p> +"Let me explain. To repose a confidence in you, which I +feel will not be misplaced." Would the man never get to the +point? "I employed at Shechem, a device of my own +invention—which has been approved at Headquarters by my Chief. +By a simple mechanical appliance—merely a spring-switch and +lock-clip—I can change the number and colour-plates on the +main-planes and tail of my machine. You understand? The +Red, White and Blue is replaced by the Red Crescent. Imagine +the advantage to the aviator of a simple device like this!" +</p> + +<p> +"But the type of your machine. You can't change that!" +Katharine spoke wearily. +</p> + +<p> +"I cannot, naturally. But our captured 'planes are generally +brought into use. And—I do not remain sufficiently long over +an enemy stronghold to give time—" the speaker shrugged and +ended—"for exhaustive scrutiny. Let me be brief—" +</p> + +<p> +"I beg that you will! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He recognised in her voice an accent of entreaty. It was +what he had waited for. +</p> + +<p> +"I dropped—in my strictly temporary role of Turkish +aviator—a dummy despatch-bag into Shechem. Then I flew +north, to a patch of level ground between Mount Ebal and +Samata—where I had planned to drop my man. As I passed +south of Mount Ebal, I saw"—he was telling the story plainly +at last "there were enemy batteries upon it. Mountain +Artillery of the Mustahfiz—machine-guns—a howitzer—the Mount +had been converted into a fortress of defence! And, in my +surprise at the discovery, I acted without due caution—or +rather, I acted as I had arranged to act—without deviation +from the first plan. I climbed, dived, and came down west of +the Mountain—giving Hazel the agreed-on-word to jump, +when I should touch the ground. But—as a result of the +surprise, I suppose—I gave it prematurely—" +</p> + +<p> +"And Mr. Hazel jumped—before you touched the ground!" +Her voice was very stern and deep. Her wide gaze held him. +"Answer my question plainly. Has he been killed? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"No. But he has sustained some hurt. I do not know its +nature. My military duty forbade me to remain." +</p> + +<p> +"I—understand. You flew away, leaving your passenger in +difficulties! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The deadly contempt of the tone bit like frost at 15,000 feet, +the splendid wrath of her cairngorm eyes told him that he, +Essenian, was a creature infinitely mean.... +</p> + +<p> +"I flew away. As you remark." The glittering eyes met +hers at last, and the lips smiled cruelly.... "What would +you have?" He folded his slender, dark hands within the +shelter of his sleeves. "Can men fight against Destiny?" +</p> + +<p> +"Men can fight against the temptation to do base things, +and sometimes fight and conquer. And now—" Anger and +grief were in her tone, "what will become of him? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Of your friend? ..." He stood imperturbably facing her, +his dark hands hidden in the sleeves of his orange-crimson +<i>kaftan</i>, and the delicate mingling of golden lamplight and +silvery starlight threw his shadow over the rich, pale carpets, and +the exquisite Arabesque mosaics, of green and blue, and amber, +that covered with their tracery the exposed spaces of the floor. +"How can I say what has or will become of him! ... If you +choose, it is for you to tell me...." +</p> + +<p> +An almost insupportable sense of the speaker's insincerity +went through Katharine's being like flame, and the agony of +suspense long drawn-out, spurred her—as Essenian had +calculated it would—to reckless utterance.... +</p> + +<p> +"How can I tell you? You play with me, Major Essenian, +knowing as you must, that if I could find out what has +happened to my—to my friend and my brother I would do so at +any sacrifice! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Then," said the Egyptian, gently and mellifluously, "place +yourself before the case that is on that tripod, open the case +and look in the spherical beryl it contains. I will not touch it +lest you should suspect me of some trickery. Indeed, I will +remain at a distance while you look.... All I ask is—that you +will tell me truthfully what you see—if Sight be vouchsafed +to you! Judging by what I have witnessed I believe you will +be favoured. No sacrifice is needed.... You have only to +look! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He lowered his voice almost to a whisper, yet every word +came to Katharine's hearing with a distinctness that oppressed. +</p> + +<p> +"After our meeting in Mr. Hazel's house at Alexandria, +where I had witnessed such a striking manifestation of his +clairvoyant powers, he dined with me at my Club, and after +dinner—in my eagerness to pursue further the investigations +that absorb me—I persuaded Hazel to look in the beryl that +case contains. He passed with ease into the condition +inseparable from Vision—but to my questions I received no +satisfactory replies. Now that you are here," the voice was +hurried, "the hour and the conditions alike being favourable, +stretch out your hand, open the case and—look in the crystal +ball!" +</p> + +<p> +"Do you really think that I should see—things? Find out +what is happening to—friends at Shechem?" +</p> + +<p> +Essenian's orange-red draperies rustled as he moved nearer, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +"I do not 'think.' ... I know that you would! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Holding his breath, he saw her white figure shift its position +on the divan. Now her white hands hovered like wistful doves +about the velvet case on the tripod—now the moony brightness +of the great spherical beryl shone forth as though some +lesser star of the innumerable hosts of heaven had fallen upon +the tripod in the Arabian room.... Now he heard her +say—speaking to herself rather than to him—with a fluttered laugh +of nervousness: +</p> + +<p> +"You know, I won't have anything to do with this if it's +dabbling in magic. But—just to look in the beryl can't be +much harm...." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no! What harm could there be? But wonderful +things are seen—sometimes—by gifted people. And you—I +would stake half that I own on the certainty that you have +the gift! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He moved softly here and there in the background as Katharine, +absorbed, bent over the beryl. Now he loosened a silken +cord, and shades descended, covering the silver lamps. He +moved his dark, supple hands among little brazen vases of +Benares-work ranged upon a stand resembling a Hindu altar, +and a slender column of incense, heavy and fragrant, rose up +and climbed, spiralling and twisting, towards the great stars +that looked down from Heaven's violet dome. Presently he +heard Katharine whisper to herself as a woman speaks in +dreaming: +</p> + +<p> +"The Church forbids dabbling in spiritism and magic. But +just—once to look—can't be so very wrong! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And now Essenian spoke, seizing the appropriate moment, +almost as he had spoken to Hazel at the Club: +</p> + +<p> +"Wrong.... How should it be wrong? Do not touch the +beryl—that is imperative. Neither bend so close above it that +your breathing dims its light. Sit comfortably, rest your hands +lightly on either side of the tripod. You are not afraid? Why +should you be? There is absolutely no reason.... Only look +steadily in the beryl, do not remove your eyes...." +</p> + +<p> +If Katharine had seen Essenian's, as they narrowly observed +her, she might have recalled a speech of Lady Wastwood's, +made a few days previously. For they indubitably resembled +the eyes of a cobra, and his soft noiseless movements were +horribly tigerish. But she knew nothing but the cold, gleaming +sphere upon its little cup-shaped metal pedestal—and the +smooth twists and coiling folds, suggesting veil upon veil of +mystery—that were beginning to reveal themselves beneath the +pale-green, shining surface that at first had seemed opaque. +There was a singing in her ears, and she heard her heart +throbbing, but as though it were the heart of some one +else beating a long way off. Edward's? ... Julian's? ... Neither +of these, she thought.... The heart that called so far +away was John Hazel's.... What was he doing? Where was +he? What had happened to him? Summoning all her +strength, she willed herself to see.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Oh, oh! Take it away! ... Hide it from me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Katharine was moaning, and begging not to see. And the +Egyptian, ashen of hue, dabbled with sweat, vibrating like a +wind-blown reed—was bending towards her, greedily drinking +in the disconnected utterances that broke from her—when she +sighed deeply, lifted her head, and fixed her eyes on him. +</p> + +<p> +"Go on! Go on! Look back to the beryl!" He lifted his +slender clenched hand as though he would have struck her. +"Do you want to ruin all? Why do you stop? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Because it makes my eyes and my head ache so...." She +opened and shut her eyes once or twice, and rubbed her +forehead with her handkerchief. "And because what I saw +was horrible—that was why I stopped!" +</p> + +<p> +"What did you see? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"The inside of a wooden hut. Dirty and sordid—with no +furniture in it except a native bed. All seen as by daylight, +through high-powered binoculars. And—on the bed—chained +to it—" She shuddered—"Something shapeless—something +bloody—something terrible—that once may have been a +man—" +</p> + +<p> +"Was it your brother?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, thank—" +</p> + +<p> +"Hush! ..." He stopped her with an imperative gesture. +"How do you know that it was not Father Forbis? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Because Julian is very fair, with reddish hair and beard. +The monks of his Order wear the beard like the Franciscans." +</p> + +<p> +"Was it John Hazel? Answer! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I dare not say! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You know it was!" He almost spat the words at her. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps. Oh! what have they done to him? ..." Katharine's +nerves were thrilling—little intermittent shudders +passed over her, cold damps stood upon her skin, and her heart +shook her as she sat. She fought for composure, steadying +her lips, drying her dewy temples with her handkerchief, "I +have seen things in War," she panted, "but nothing worse than +that! Pray order the car!—I must go back to Alexandria." She +repeated, thinking he did not hear her. "Have the +kindness to order the car! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He had moved round in front of her, and stood regarding +her with his arms crossed upon his breast. Now he said in his +velvet tones: "Not until you have looked again in the beryl, +Miss Forbis. And for me—for me, this time!" +</p> + +<p> +"You threaten to detain me here against my will? I should +not advise your trying it!" She rose up, dwarfing him by her +superb stature, adding as she lifted her mantle from the divan: +"You do not suppose that my friends at Montana are ignorant +of my whereabouts? Besides, your car was challenged at +all the guarded barriers, and more than once stopped upon the +road here by patrols of Military Police. The chauffeur +supplied your number and name, and I naturally took care to +give my own, 'Sergeant-Motor-driver, K. Forbis, Number 61, +—th Unit, V.A. Department, Red Cross....' This is the +Twentieth Century, Major Essenian...." +</p> + +<p> +"I threaten nothing. I suggest nothing," the supple hands +were extended towards her, palms uppermost, "I have no +designs against your honour. I am of those who see the +grinning skull behind the Face of Loveliness and the asp that +conceals itself beneath the blossom of the rose." He spoke +rapidly, illustrating his sentences with swift, expressive gestures: +"I merely entreat of you, at this juncture in my fortunes—a +man beset with dangers from sources all unknown!—look +in the beryl! Ask of me what you choose—I am wealthy +enough to give it you!—but first look in the beryl, and will +to see my Fate." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well." The womanliness inherent in Katharine +stirred her, in spite of her dislike, to pity the desperate anxiety +patent in the Egyptian's twitching face, and nervous, appealing +hands. "But your attempt at coercion was as misplaced +as your suggestion of bribery. You will not repeat either, if +you are wise. Since you entreat it, I consent to look once +more in the beryl. But first—order the car...." +</p> + +<p> +"I am your slave, and all I possess is at your service!" He +took a silver rod from a stand, and struck a small gong. It +had a wonderful resonance, and the sonorous note evoked, +spread in waves increasing in volume, until, the limit of its +power reached, the sound ebbed away. +</p> + +<p> +"That was to summon the car. Now, look—" Essenian +threw fresh incense on the burning embers in the censer on +the altar, muttering an invocation in his own tongue: "O ye +Influences, be propitious! O Tarshun, O Taryushun! Come +down! Come down! Remove the veil from the woman's +sight. Show her my Fate in the Eye of Radiance. Hear, O +Arhmân! Great Prince—thy servant calls! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Bending over the beryl, resting her hands on the tripod, +turning a deaf ear to the inward voice that warned her not to +look, Katharine saw in the body of the stone, framed in silky, +shining skeins of semi-opaque lustre, a little oval vignette of +her own face, crowned by the slouched felt uniform hat, with +its badge and ribbon banding, backed by the purple splendour +of the jewelled Eastern sky. She put up a hand and removed +her hat, and tossed it aside carelessly, without removing her +gaze from the sinister, gleaming sphere.... Then the pale +face with the intent eyes faded from vision, a wider space +began to clear between the silky folds.... +</p> + +<p> +"Essenian Pasha—I will to see the Fate of Essenian!" she +repeated mentally, concentrating her powers. The will to see +became intense. She forgot her loathing of the man, muttering +incoherent things, shivering with suspense behind her: "I +will to see! ... I will to see!" she told herself over and over. +And Seeing came as Katharine framed the words, with dazzling, +illuminating clearness. As previously, she might have +been looking through high-powered binoculars. +</p> + +<p> +She saw a whitewashed brick courtyard, clean and bare and +sanded, in early daylight, with blank brick walls on three +sides, and plain brick buildings on the fourth side, where two +sentries with fixed bayonets guarded a door. Drawn up in +the courtyard in two lines, a company of R.F.C. officers, +N.C.O.'s and men, stood at attention. The door opened, the +sentries presented arms, and a Sergeant-Major and party of +Military Police, with fixed bayonets, led by an officer wearing +a Staff brassard, and followed by four other Police, carrying +a plain, wooden coffin—marched into the courtyard, escorting +a prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner was Essenian—in khaki as she had first seen +him—save that his multi-coloured rows of ribbons, and the +badges on his uniform, had been ruthlessly slashed away. The +man himself was altered, shrunken, aged beyond believing. +His grey face with its glittering eyes staring from caves that +had been dug about them, lifted as the Sergeant-Major +touched his shoulder—took off his cork helmet—bandaged his +eyes carefully—opened his khaki tunic and hung a +white-painted metal disc immediately above his heart.... +</p> + +<p> +Now they were putting down the coffin before a blank wall. +Now the little shrunken figure stood against the wall in tragic +solitude—the Sergeant-Major was placing seven men in line +confronting it, taking their rifles from them, and showing +them, one at a time to the officer with the Staff brassard.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Ready...! Present....!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +The rifles had been given back, and seven muzzles steadily +pointed at the white disc hanging on the doomed man's breast. +In another second—sharp stabs of greenish flame leaped +beyond the shining bayonets, light puffs of brownish smoke rose +against the dazzling blue sky seen above the wall.... +</p> + +<p> +The shrunken body lay huddled up, in an odd unnatural +attitude, in a dark red puddle that soaked away in the sand. +The officer with the Staff brassard approached it, drawing his +revolver.... He stooped down, straightened himself, glanced +back at the Sergeant, and slipping the revolver back into its +holster, gave an order, wheeled sharply and walked away. +And as he did this the whole scene blurred and vanished. +With a slight, sharp sound like the snapping of a crystal rod, +a jagged fracture showed down the middle of the Eye of +Radiance. The Beryl had become opaque as a lump of volcanic +glass. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0417"></a></p> + +<h3> +VII +</h3> + +<p> +"What have you seen? ..." A fierce breath beat on +Katharine's cheek, and a steel-strong grip was on her arm, as +Essenian's swift whisper assailed her ear: "Deny not that you +saw!—the stone splits—that is enough!—it means the end for +me! I am deceived—" the shrill voice cracked despairingly—"I +to whom They promised Life—Life prolonged beyond the +age of elephants—Youth that should keep its freshness like +the flower in the block of ice. Speak, woman, say what you +have seen, or by Eblis! I will make you! I am strong yet, +and if Azrael's hand be at my throat, you shall feel mine at +yours!" +</p> + +<p> +Even as he leaped, Katharine swung out a long arm, striking +him across the body, breaking the force of his leap, as she +remembered to have once done when a savage cat, crossed +with the wild breed, had crept up behind, unnoticed, and +sprung upon her to bite. +</p> + +<p> +"You native cad!" rang her clear disdainful voice. "Are +you out for murder?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am out to make you tell me—" Breathing unevenly, he +stood back from the divan, his supple body tense for a second +spring, his glittering eyes watching her: "What have you seen +in the beryl? Answer!—it is my right to hear!" +</p> + +<p> +"But not your right to lay hands upon an Englishwoman," +Katharine retorted, tingling with insulted pride. "Do not +attempt it again, because I carry a revolver, and like most +women who have served in this War, I have learned to use +it well!" +</p> + +<p> +Brave words, yet her head was swimming as she spoke, and +her heart throbbed suffocatingly, and the hand that gripped +the butt of the little Colt's revolver, shook with the rigor of +fear. The strange and terrible experiences of the night—horror +of Essenian's vicinity and touch, the strain of long +anxiety and protracted fasting—were beginning to tell upon +Katharine. She despised women who fainted at dreadful +sights or in perilous situations, and yet—she realised herself +not far from fainting now.... +</p> + +<p> +Air—she was famishing for want of air! though the room +was open to the stars and the night-winds—though the +curtains behind that tigerish orange-red figure were bellying and +parting, blown inwards under their pointed triple arches by a +gale she could not feel. She could see the branches of the +thronging trees—the lateral limb of a towering moss-cup oak +swaying strangely under the weight of a climbing brown +figure. She caught the flash of eyes and teeth in a shadowy +face topped by a white sun-helmet—and ran towards the +archway as a man leaped into the room.... +</p> + +<p> +Others followed, dropping from the great elbowed tree-limb +to the wall, and jumping through the archway.... Men in +the well-known khaki drill, with sun-browned or pale +European faces under their sun-helmets—and the red brassard +of the Military Police.... +</p> + +<p> +"Sorry, but I have to arrest you, Major Essenian, in the +name of the King...." +</p> + +<p> +A young Lieutenant of M.P. with a tooth-brush moustache +of undeniable ginger was pressing a folded paper on Essenian +and mopping his own dripping face.... +</p> + +<p> +"Warm work, shinning up trees in this muggy Egyptian +climate. But I fancy we've dropped in just at the right +time... Certainly for the lady. Sergeant Whitmore, look +to the lady. Handcuff the prisoner, Corporal Rose. And, +Major, remember that anything you say will be used against +you in evidence." +</p> + +<p> +"There will be—there will be a formal Court Martial?" He +raised his face, the grey face, pinched and sweat-dabbled, that +Katharine had seen in the vision of the Stone: "I demand +it!—I demand it! Whatever the charges on this warrant which +I have not read, remember!—I can disprove them—I can +confute them—establish my honour in the face of the world." +</p> + +<p> +"You'll be lucky if you do! No, you can't change into +uniform. One of your servants can pack a kit-case, and leave it +for you at the Military Clink. That's your address—while +you require one. Hit that tin gong, will you, Corporal? It'll +fetch some of these Gyppo fellows to show the way to the +hall-door." +</p> + +<p> +"I can guide you, Mr. Martyn!" +</p> + +<p> +"Holy Smoke, it's Miss Forbis from Montana! How in +the wide— I beg your pardon!" +</p> + +<p> +The Lieutenant—not so long ago a convalescent patient at +the Hospital, broke off the end of the question, reddening, but +Katharine answered with her broad, sweet smile, looking in +the boyish face with candid cairngorm eyes: +</p> + +<p> +"How in the wide did I come here? Well, I'll tell you +strictly in confidence—in return for a lift back to Alexandria. +Can do? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Can do! Off duty—as soon as I've delivered the goods at +the M.P." His glance at the goods was highly expressive: +"<i>'Hê intē! Ya rajîl!</i>" This to an elderly Mohammedan +servant with a much-ridged forehead of anxiety—Nasr Ullah, +summoned in haste to the Pavilion by an alien stroke upon the +Presence's gong. "Oh, you! Show us the way downstairs!" +</p> + +<p> +"I will go, I will go! Do not handle me roughly.... +Remember that I am an old—a very old man! Miss Forbis, I +knew your father once! Speak for me! Use your influence! +Remember," the quavering voice broke in a fit of senile +coughing, the manacled hands extended to Katharine in +supplication, looked like those of a mummy, so discoloured and +shrunken were they: "You do not answer? You triumph in +my downfall?" The narrow eyes glimmered hatred out of +their deep-dug caves. "Do not forget your brother, and your +friend, Mr. Hazel—whose fate is practically in my hands!" +</p> + +<p> +"Their fate is in the Hands of God," Katharine answered +gently, moving beyond the reach of the withered, trembling +clutch. "Like yours and mine, and that of every other +creature. Good-bye, Major Essenian...." +</p> + +<p> +He made no reply. He was muttering to himself, and +looked, indeed, an old man. His head fell on his breast as +the word to move was given—and the party of policemen, with +the orange-robed figure tottering in their midst—tramped over +the white bridge in the bluish-pale light of the small hours, +and followed by Katharine and the Lieutenant, went down +through the airless house.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +When the tail-light of the last of the string of the four +Military Police cars had winked past the turn in the avenue, +and the <i>porte cochère</i> was closed, Nasr Ullah went back to his +"house" and found her waking. She hastened out of the inner +apartment and ran to him in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my eyes! Oh, my husband! <i>Alhamdolillah</i> thou hast +returned to us! Little sleep have we had this night. Strange +scrapings at the back of the house, and whistles as of Afrits +talking.... The children woke and wept, and I scarce had +wits to lie to them—thinking the Servants of Eblis were +carrying the Presence away! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"The Presence hath gone, sure enough, but Inglizi soldiers +took him. Always I have known," said Nasr Ullah, "that +some day the soldiers would come. They followed the woman +secretly, climbing the trees like monkeys, and leaped in upon +the Presence when she cried out.... Perhaps she was a +spy—God knows! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Praise be to Him the soldiers took thee not also! Tell +me—in this matter of the pigeons.... Didst thou—" +</p> + +<p> +Nasr Ullah shook his head: +</p> + +<p> +"My heart was straitened when I left thee,—but Allah +enlightening me—I dealt wisely. For at the compound of the +Commandant—at the Headquarters of Intelligence and at Garrison +Headquarters—one grain of barley threw I at each place,—and +picked it up again! Then, burying the pot and the grain +in a place where none will find them—I returned at the fourth +hour, and said to the Presence—'Lo! I have done thy bidding, +in the casting of poisoned barley.' And in this I spake the +very truth, yet Nûh's birds are safe for me!" +</p> + +<p> +"It is well. The Compassionate shielded thee. Think you, +my husband, the Presence will return?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think not, but if he does, he will not find Nasr Ullah. The +Eye of Radiance is broken, so even did he look in it he could +not find me. The Englishmen have opened his <i>maktabs</i> and +taken all his papers. Come, let us take the children, and thy +jewels, and our money and the best of the clothing and go +away from here!" +</p> + +<p> +"When the fleas leave the cat, he is dead!" said Fatimeh +acutely. +</p> + +<p> +"No flea am I!" denied Nasr Ullah stoutly. "Forty-two +years have I served The Presence, and by Allah! I have +served him well and faithfully. Now, I shall serve Allah, Who +is the better Master, and my sons shall grow up without +knowledge of ink-pools and wizardry...." +</p> + +<p> +"And the bag that is buried under the bed hath enough in +it to buy thee a homestead. Verily the Beneficent hath +hearkened to my prayers. Go we by day, or now?" +</p> + +<p> +"Now. Make haste and dress the children—hide thy jewels +about thee." He looked round for something to dig with, +and picked up a big brass ladle. "Strange, how a man may +feel like a thief in digging up his own hoard!" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"Will there—is there likely to be a Court Martial?" Katharine +asked the Lieutenant, as some hours later, a Police Ford +Car, diverted from official use for the purposes of chivalry, +ran between green fields of fodder on the road by the Canal, +and the Lieutenant—having fed his charge with sandwiches +of cold chicken, hard eggs, ripe figs and bananas, and hot coffee +out of a thermos—was pressing Turkish cigarettes on her and +offering a light. +</p> + +<p> +"Something in the nature of one, possibly. But precious +short, and to the point. I'm not broaching official secrets!—but +the evidence is solid. We've had quite a cloud of witnesses +to prove that the Pasha has been playing the kind of trick +with the British Government that he tried to play on you. +There were two of our Secret Intelligence men, in Shechem, +one of 'em a prisoner in the Barracks and the other in disguise. +And he was twice seen by these chaps to shed despatches into +the town-square...." +</p> + +<p> +"But weren't the despatches dummies?" Katharine asked. +</p> + +<p> +"That was the tale he fed 'em with at H.Q., but it won't +wash!"—the owner of the ginger toothbrush shook his head: +"We've got hold of the last lot and they're genuine enough. +Seditious propaganda—from centres in the Far East—that's +the sort of stuff he's been dropping in Palestine.... What's +more—it has just come out that he murdered his observer—the +S.I. man who was shut up with the other War Prisoners in the +Barracks saw the thing done—in mid-air over Shechem—just +as he'd focussed his binnics on Essenian's machine. 'The +Two-Faced Nightingale,' the War Prisoners used to call her—because +of her transferable number and colour-plates—a clever +invention of the Pasha's, you see...." +</p> + +<p> +"But I thought they'd approved of the invention at +Headquarters? ..." +</p> + +<p> +Said the Lieutenant, with a shrewdness that went curiously +with his youthful face: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, right enough, the Brass Hats approved of the invention! +But they didn't approve of its being approved of," he +twinkled at the alliteration—"by the fellows on the other +side. The man's a dud! And he's jolly well earned what's +he's going"—he looked at his wrist-watch—"what he's bound +to get—half-an-hour after morning gun." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Boom!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Even as the Lieutenant spoke, the radiant air vibrated, and +flocks of swallows, newly arrived, scared by the detonation, +rose and wheeled shrieking over the Fortress of Alexander's +Town.... +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The Hospital was already astir as Katharine passed in. +She did not go at once to the sleeping-tent she shared with Lady +Wastwood, but passed the white rows of canvas dwellings, and +turned into the dewy, deserted gardens, where odours of Eden +breathed from the newly opened roses, and all the thrushes and +blackbirds and bulbuls were singing in chorus to greet the birth +of another day. +</p> + +<p> +Her glance sought the table where she had left the card and +the letter. They were not there. Lady Wastwood must +have taken them. One could always count on Trixie for such +kind, considerate acts. +</p> + +<p> +She threw down her hat and the serge uniform-cape on +the table and stepped out upon the terrace to drink in the +sweet coolness, resting her hands on the balustrade as she +looked out over the gardens, and the Khedive's boasted +tennis-lawns of rafia—beyond the belt of palms, evergreen oaks, +tamarisks and stone pines and rustling casuarinas, that clothe +the slopes of Montana, to the changing blues and beryls of the +classic Western Sea. +</p> + +<p> +Among the cistus-blossoms at her feet, the early bees were +humming; orioles were busy weaving their nest in the overhead +vine. A light step sounded on the mosaic floor behind +her. Trixie had come out to look for her. No—not Trixie! +A sudden shock passed through her. Her heart leaped and +seemed to stop, then went on beating furiously. She felt, +without knowledge, that Edward Yaill was near.... +</p> + +<p> +Waves of carnation swamped her creamy fairness. Great +waves of joy surged in her heart. She held her breath and +looked down at the white hands folded before her on the +creamy stone of the balcony.... +</p> + +<p> +The hand that lay uppermost wore the ancient gem of Hercules. +Now a breath fanned upon her neck, the subtle scents +of the Desert surrounded and enveloped her, an arm in a khaki +sleeve gently stole round her, and a familiar hand covered the +onyx ring.... Yaill's hand. Beautiful and strong, masculine +and soldierly even in its slimness, scorched to the colour of +lion-hide by savage Asian suns. +</p> + +<p> +"O! Edward.... O my man of men! God gives you back +to me! ...." +</p> + +<p> +"Sweetheart! Dear woman! I had not hoped for this! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Wonderful, unexpected boon. Heaven's manna to the starving. +His Katharine's heart upon his own, her lips as freely +yielded as though the hateful barrier had never risen between.... +Soon he would wake, Yaill told himself—to aching +desolation. But for a little he would take what Katharine granted +him. +</p> + +<p> +"Julian? ..." She started in his arms. +</p> + +<p> +"Julian is safe, my sweetheart, but not yet fit to travel. I +left him in the best of care, at G.H.Q. at Lydd. The +General got me a passage down by one of their coasting +sea-planes. A Sopwith from the 'Raquin'—and she did it in +splendid time, too! Another kiss! ... For a fellow who has lived +on memories of kisses—since that day we parted at Kerr's +Arbour, Katharine! How your letter brought the whole +thing back, when it came to me at the Khan at Shechem...." +</p> + +<p> +"By John Hazel? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"A woman brought it, certainly—but Hazel sent it me...." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear Edward, where is he? You do not answer! ..." She +drew away from Yaill, looking in his troubled face. +"Where is John Hazel? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I would give much to tell you! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean that he is dead? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Frankly, we fear the worst. When we escaped from +Shechem, Hazel was lame through an accident. He would not +hamper us—he stayed behind to keep the road. The road +to Kir Saba.... It runs through a defile among the +mountains—just where a Turkish ammunition-lorry had broken +down...." +</p> + +<p> +"Go on! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"For long after we had passed we heard bombs bursting. +There seemed to be any amount of fighting going on at that +point on the road. Then there was an explosion—the lorry +had blown up sky-high. We learned that the day after, when +a British scouting-'plane came back from reconnaissance in the +neighbourhood. There were—human <i>débris</i> upon the road—and +several dead horses. If Hazel is dead—and I fear he is—he +died as a man should die...." +</p> + +<p> +"But if he is not dead?" Her great eyes held his: "If he +were imprisoned in—a wooden hut, chained down upon a +native bed—" +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" Yaill started. "Have you dreamed +you saw him so? There was a wooden hut in the War +Prisoners' Wired Enclosure at Shechem. Julian was there when +we found him—chained as you describe!" +</p> + +<p> +"It was not Julian whom I saw—somewhere between midnight +and two o'clock this morning—but John Hazel...." She +shuddered, "John Hazel, so brutally ill-used—so frightfully +disfigured, that the thing chained to the <i>anghareb</i> was +like anything but a man.... Yet I knew him. You cannot +mistake his eyes, once you have seen them. He is alive—and +a prisoner. O Edward, it was no dream!—I tell you that +I saw!—" +</p> + +<p> +"Since you feel like that," Yaill caught fire at the flame of +her intense conviction, "I'll go back—in another skin—and +fine-comb the Front for him." +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, dear Edward! That would be great of you!" +</p> + +<p> +"Not it. I am the man's debtor. He brought me word of +you at Sheria, and afterwards at Shechem. Shall I ever forget +the thrill it gave—the sight of that envelope with your +handwriting!" +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, but there were two letters...." Remembrance flooded +her. "Didn't you read the other? I don't believe you have!" +</p> + +<p> +"Frankly, there was no time. But I have it here upon +me." +</p> + +<p> +He felt in a baggy side-pocket of his khaki Service jacket, +pulled out a crumpled buff envelope, and held it out to her. +</p> + +<p> +"Read it now, Edward! O Edward, read it! ..." +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her whimsically, and opened Nurse Pidge's +letter. When he began to read, Katharine was standing. +When he looked round, she was seated in a chair. He crossed +the floor and knelt by her, and her yearning arms went out +to him, and drew him home from exile, to the shelter of her +breast. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0418"></a></p> + +<h3> +XVIII +</h3> + +<p> +Towards dawn, following the bomb-fight on the Jaffa Road, +those masses of sulphurous cumulo-nimbus, piled over the +Hills of Gilead, move without the push of a wind behind +towards the damp rain-clouds rolling inland from the +Mediterranean, and there is a great thunderstorm over Shechem. +Forked lightning strikes and splits the rocks, the echoes of +Nebo and Gerizim bellow in answer to the rattling volleys of +cloud-artillery. Wadis and passes became foaming cataracts, +field-bivouacs are flooded—men and guns are bogged in the +foot-deep mud of the hill-roads—and supply-columns of British +A.S.C. hopelessly held up in the vast cotton-soil morass +that was yesterday the Maritime Plain. +</p> + +<p> +By noon of the next day the sun regains sway, and the smells +of Shechem their wonted potency. Save for one Turkish sentry +at the gate, the guard has been removed from the Wired +Enclosure. In its littered desolation an offence to the eye—in +its neglected filth an outrage to the adjacent organ, it lies and +steams and festers under the baking rays; and all the winged +legions of Baal Zebub seem there to be holding revel—especially +in the neighbourhood of the wooden hut. +</p> + +<p> +A couple of hours after noon the Enclosure is visited by +the Bey. The <i>posta</i> at the gate stiffens to the salute as Hamid +passes in with the gauze-spectacled Medical Officer and his +bilious-looking secretary, his nondescript Greek interpreter, +and his usual following of big-bearded, red-fezzed <i>zabtiehs</i>, +armed with German Service revolvers, and repeating Winchesters. +</p> + +<p> +The fog of flies about the wooden hut thins a little as the +visitors approach its entrance. The heavy door—broken +now—stands as wide as though no prisoner were within worth +keeping. The odour of corruption fills the place. The Bey spits, +the Turkish Medical Officer in the black gauze spectacles +furtively sucks a formamint lozenge, and conveys one to the +interpreter—the Secretary holds his nose.... +</p> + +<p> +The wooden bed has been dragged aside from the patch of +ground it covered, where shows the mouth of the tunnel, which +has been hastily filled up with brickbats, sand, and gravel. +Flies rise in a roaring cloud from the bedstead as the visitors +enter, and the Bey, with a pale twinkle in his oblique sandy +eyes—the inevitable cigarette poised between his thick gloved +fingers—perpetrates one of his inimitable jests: +</p> + +<p> +"Come, see a greedy dog we have in here—a Yahudi of the +Yahud, who has eaten stick till his belly burst, and now can +eat no more! ..." +</p> + +<p> +At which display of wit the fat, goggled surgeon squirms +with laughter, the secretary and the interpreter, faint with +mirth, retire to the threshold, and even the flies buzz as though +they too appreciated the jest.... +</p> + +<p> +The Thing that lies upon the bed looks as though it, too, +joined in the merriment, for its teeth are set, and the swollen +lips drawn back—the Medical Officer learnedly explains—in +the rigor of the early stages of tetanus, so that it grins from +ear to ear. A mountainous bulk of bloody flesh, clothed in a +garment of feasting flies, and bound about with an iron chain +that is padlocked under the <i>anghareb</i>—he is no more than the +caricature of what was once a man. +</p> + +<p> +A man who has suffered the extremest punishment of the +<i>falagy</i>. Who has been beaten by the lithe green rods on the +feet and legs, on the belly and breast, on the loins and thighs +and face.... Beaten to kill by relays of men, skilled in the +use of the <i>asayisi</i>, and yet, for a wonder, is not dead.... +</p> + +<p> +Labouring breaths issue from the bloated lips, and puff from +the split nostrils. In the glazed eyes staring from their bleeding +orbits, black fire smoulders still.... He is even capable +of a croaking sound, which he reiterates at intervals, with his +bleeding eyes begging at the faces of those beside his bed.... +</p> + +<p> +"<i>So' ûk sû! ... So' ûk sû! ...</i>" +</p> + +<p> +All the Turkish the sufferer knows: "Cold Water!—cold +water! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"O Jew! you will get no cold water between here and Hell. +But stick—plenty more stick, if you are noisy." Thus the +Bey, illustrating the humour of the words with eloquent +pantomime. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not beat me any more!" the wretched being on the bed +stutters in broken Arabic: "Do not call the soldiers—beg the +Bey to be merciful!" Bright red blood jets between the +clenched teeth—his cracked tongue being moistened with this, +his utterance becomes clearer: "Tell Hamid Bey if he will let +me go, I can pay—I can pay him well! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Thou canst pay? That is speaking Osmanli sense." A +flat pasty face with oblique, pale, lashless eyes, and sandy +eyebrows, replaces the spectacled surgeon's. "How canst thou +pay?" +</p> + +<p> +"By—telling—but I will tell no one but the Bey—where the +money has been hidden away! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Hidden money—and where!" Sharp greed wakens in the +pale eyes. They dig in the smouldering black ones as if +treasure lay behind them: "I who speak am Hamid Bey. Now, +Jew—out with it!—where is the money?" +</p> + +<p> +"I will tell—I will tell, but only to the Bey," moans the +voice between the clenched teeth. "Send away thy people.... +Fasten the door lest they creep back and overhear. There was +a whole bag of English gold! I brought it to buy the freedom +of the Nazrâni priest—and coveting the money, buried +it—where I will tell thee...." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Peki</i>! Very good,—all right!" The Bey turns upon his +men, and dismisses them with an injunction to keep well out +of earshot, then kicks-to the broken door and returns to the +side of the <i>anghareb</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The fear of desire thwarted grips him now, for the face is +contorted in a ghastly grin, and the black eyes are rolling in +their bloody sockets. He stoops over and shouts in the bloated +ear, "Wake, dog! Tell now—or I call back the soldiers. Tell +of the hidden gold! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"I will tell! ..." The mountainous body heaves, the flayed +muscles stand out on the huge arms like thick blue cordage.... +"Stoop lower! Bend thine ear close! I buried—I buried +it—" +</p> + +<p> +"Where? ..." The thick yellow-pale ear approaches the +grinning teeth. "Where didst thou bury it? <i>Ai—y!</i> ..." +</p> + +<p> +The beginning of a shriek of pain is choked in the Turk's +fat throat, even as the big, white teeth sink into a bulging +fold of it—between the ear and the collar. Their owner growls +as a savage dog might do—and with an effort that rends the +tattered flesh, drags an arm from under the chain that binds +him down—and with a second wrench, releases the other.... +</p> + +<p> +Now both big hands are gripped round the Bey's throat, +and his pale eyes bulge, and his pasty face is blackening. No +sound escapes his gaping mouth, from which the saliva +streams. And the blood from the great artery, bitten through; +like a torrent of warm and sticky rain deluges the face and +breast of his enemy. +</p> + +<p> +"I buried the gold," the voice croaks in the now discoloured +ear, "in Esther's tomb. Dost thou hear me well, O Hamid? +But I have brought thee a gift instead—the gift that many +have had of thee. Even Death at these hands of mine—murderer, +fornicator, lecher! Another twist yet for thy fat +neck. For Jacob! ... This for Esther!—this for Julian +Forbis! ... And this last of all for John Hazaël—who takes +the head of the dog! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The strength is ebbing from the great hands.... The +fingers relax their hold upon the throat of the dead body.... +Now with the head bent under it at a suggestive, ugly angle, +it drops with a dull, heavy thud, upon the blood-slimed floor. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0419"></a></p> + +<h3> +XIX +</h3> + +<p> +The sun of a day in the second week of December, 1917, +rose on the last day of Ottoman dominion in the City that, +since fifteen hundred years before the Birth of the Saviour +at Bethlehem, has been, at regular intervals, the storm-centre +of the world. +</p> + +<p> +Panic followed on the arrival of some disintegrated units of +a Turkish transport-column with the news that the British +occupied Hebron; that their Advance held the Railway, and +would soon be within sight. "No lie," as ancient Fuller says, +for the London Division was at Lifta. +</p> + +<p> +Hence general stampede ensued, and Turkish <i>postas</i> of +infantry, indifferent alike to the loaded whips and the curses of +their officers, shed packs, bandoliers and rifles, and fled +incontinent. There was a running to and fro of Jewish and native +Syrian citizens. Wives and daughters called to husbands and +sons, and brothers—long hidden in underground vaults, or +unsuspected attics, "The Turks are running! Deliverance has +come! ..." +</p> + +<p> +By two o'clock noon Turkish troops, mounted and afoot, +muddy, weary and thoroughly disgruntled,—Field batteries, +machine-gun companies, baggage-lorries and ambulances of the +Red Crescent—poured through the Jaffa Gate from the west +and south-west. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Gitmeya mejburûz</i>—we have to go!" the <i>postas</i> called to +wounded comrades leaning from the Hospital windows, and +the muddy torrent rolled through the streets of the Holy City, +and out at St. Stephen's Gate upon the eastern side. +</p> + +<p> +Towards dark, the Governor Izzet Bey went to the +telegraph-office, discharged the staff of trembling Turks, smashed +the Morse instruments with a hammer, and leaving in charge +of the nervous Mayor a letter of surrender—borrowed the +Cape cart and team of an American resident, and left for +Jericho.... And by seven a.m. on the anniversary of the day +of the recapture of the Temple from Pagan Seleucids by Judas +Maccabæus in 165 B.C. the Ottoman inundation had drained +away into the sombre depths of the Valley of Jehoshaphat, +over the ancient Roman bridges of the Jordan—and cowed +and bullied citizens who had been beaten, dragooned and +plundered—were mustering courage to plunder in their +turn. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +The eagles of the R.F.C. wheeled in the azure overhead, +but no pageantry of any kind marred the entry of the +Conqueror. +</p> + +<p> +For years the gathering of more than three persons together +in one place had been punished by the Turkish police with fines, +imprisonment and beatings. Now the Turk had been thrust +out, but Fear lingered still. For, as the British +Commander-in-Chief—preceded by his <i>aides</i> and Staff, and accompanied +by distinguished representatives of the Allied Nations,—passed +through the Jaffa Gate on foot, the huge concourse of pale +and hollow-eyed residents and townsfolk mustered on the roofs +and gathered in the streets—witnessed the thing almost in +silence. Dumb, for the most part, pallid, immobile, like +people carved of stone. Only, when from the Gateway before +the Tower whose foundations were laid by David—and whose +walls were reared by Suleiman the Magnificent—the Proclamation +of Religious Freedom was read in the Four Languages, +a sob like the breaking of a great wave broke from innumerable +breasts, and eyes that had been dry for years were wet with +tears at last.... +</p> + +<p> +The work was done. By strategical pressure, without the +graze of a bullet on her sacred walls, the Holy City had +surrendered. He did not linger after the reading of the +Proclamation. He received in the square behind the Citadel the +civil and religious notables of the City—the Mayor of Jerusalem, +the Shaykhs in charge of the Mosque of Omar and Aksa, +the Rabbis of the Spanish, German and Syrian Synagogues, +the Fathers Representative of the Syrian, Greek, Abyssinian, +Armenian and Latin Catholic Churches (their Patriarchs +having by the Turks been forcibly deported)—the Anglican +Bishop, the American Episcopalian—and Dissenting Ministers.... +</p> + +<p> +The brief ceremony over, he passed away as he had come, +with his following, through the Gate of Jaffa; his soldierly +tread sounding over the deep-buried threshold crossed in past +ages by the war-horses of David, the chariot-wheels of +Solomon and Nebuchadnezzar—the slave-borne litters of the +Pharaohs, the tyrant-Kings of old Assyria—as by the +golden-studded white bull's hide sandals of Alexander of Macedon, +and from thenceonward how many conquerors more.... +</p> + +<p> +Freedom and Peace came to the War-ridden City of the +Prince of Peace with the Wire Road and the Pipe-Line. To a +mixed and breathlessly-waiting queue of strangely-variegated +nationalities, (per medium of a standpipe, an A.S.C Sergeant +and a turn-tap) the Nile waters—cool and pure, if strongly +flavoured with chlorine, were dispensed, and sent flowing +through Jerusalem.... Fulfilling the ancient Egyptian prophecy, +that when the waters of the Nile should flow into +Palestine—there should arise in the West a prophet, one Al-Nebi, +who should capture the Holy City that sits on three limestone +hilltops of old Judæa—and deliver the land from the loathed +dominion of the Turk. +</p> + +<p> +This having yet to be done, he went away to do it! perhaps +with a passing smile at the breach in the City Wall made for +the theatrical entry of the German No-Emperor in 1898. His +was the motive power behind the long lines of moving men +toiling northward under their packs through the mud of Judæa, +the long trains of groaning baggage- and water-camels, the +processions of waggons drawn by complaining mules, the +caterpillar-wheeled lorries, carrying tons upon tons of food and +ammunition, the Staff cars carrying red-tabbed officers swiftly +from point to point.... +</p> + +<p> +He was consolidating his positions on the Jerusalem-Shechem +Road, and thrusting his cavalry over the Jordan, while a +Sergeant and file of Military Police combed Alexandria for a +defaulting London Territorial, Acting Sergeant John Hazel, of +the Fenchurch Street Regiment,—who had failed to return to +the Front at the end of the fortnight's leave. He was moving +on Bethlehem, while the defaulter lay delirious on a string-bed, +swathed in sheets of wet boracic wadding—in the house of +a Jew of Shechem. One Benjamin Sebastia, a small dealer in +precious stones, and a loyal friend to Esther Hazaël—otherwise +known to readers of this tale as the Mother of Ugliness. +</p> + +<p> +The cellar in Benjamin Sebastia's house had often served +as a hiding-place, being clean and dry and fairly free from +stinks. Through its thick stone walls no curious ear could +catch the sick man's ravings—when he called on certain Big +Old Men to come to the rescue—or poured mad love-words in +the imaginary ear of a woman named Katharine.... +</p> + +<p> +It seemed, he thought, poor crazed and suffering wretch! that +he had kept back from a man named Yaill a certain letter +and, carrying out a rescue by his own unaided hand, had +claimed reward of this service from the aforesaid Katharine. +Through the long days and the longer nights, when the scourge +of self-reproach for this imaginary baseness bit deep into the +tortured soul housed in the tortured body, the woman who +sat beside him never once failed to answer: +</p> + +<p> +"But, John Hazaël, my cousin, thou didst not do the thing!" +</p> + +<p> +"Did I not? ... Is that true?" he would ask her over and +over. "But I wished to, I desired to...." +</p> + +<p> +"And desiring, thou didst resist." +</p> + +<p> +"That is good—if it be true...." +</p> + +<p> +"It is true. Does Esther ever lie to thee?" +</p> + +<p> +"No!" he would groan, lying there in his helplessness. "Now +tell me again how I was found, and brought to this place?" +</p> + +<p> +"When—" (she would lay fresh pieces of soaked lint on the +huge, swollen body, or ease the perpetual, torturing thirst +with some cool, refreshing drink.) "When I ran away from +Kir Saba, back to Shechem, I found—" +</p> + +<p> +"That I," there is a smile on the shapeless mouth—"that I +had kept my word to thee, and taken the head of the dog! I +think the people did not weep? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Nay. It was as the passing of a plague—the lifting of a +shadow—and the soldiers who had guarded the Wired Place +openly rejoiced. Many being set down for beating, and fines, +and so forth—because of neglect in the matter of keeping watch, +on the night of the Sidi's escape...." +</p> + +<p> +"They got good rest that night, I think? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"So good," she gives her little rustling laugh, "that all of +them swear they were bewitched, or that some friend of the +Sidi's drugged the rations sent from the Barracks—so that +they slept like the Seven, and waked to find him gone. So +they were glad the Bey was dead.... Especially the <i>sabtiehs</i> +of his command were glad, for their old <i>bimbashi</i> is now +Commandant—and his name hath favour among them—he being a +merciful man." +</p> + +<p> +"A merciful Turk is a rare bird," the formless mouth says +grimly. "And so—no suspicion attaching to her name—or +thine—the Dervish remaining silent—thou didst bribe the +Gipsy woman of the Bazâr to go with thee to the hut in the +Wired Place, and take my body away...." +</p> + +<p> +"Paying a price to the soldiers in the name of certain Jewish +townsfolk, who—it being known among them that thou wert +a Jew!—would have buried thee decently. And when—thinking +thee a corpse—I leaned over thee to cut away the knotted +rag that hid the Signet of Hazaël, from the cord by which thou +hadst hung it round thy neck—I saw, by the Mercy of the Most +High!—that thou wert still breathing. And even as I myself +was brought into this place of hiding, I and Inaini the Gipsy, +carried thee here that night.... Some help I gave in the +sickness of her child, she hath never forgotten. May the +Most High reward her! ... What had we done without her +strong arms to lift thee, and her poultices of healing herbs.... +Now sleep, for thou hast talked enough! See how thy poor +heart shakes thee! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"One question more...." The puffy lips are blue, and he +labours in his breathing: "When shall I be able to stand again +on these elephant's feet of mine? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She swallows her tears and answers: +</p> + +<p> +"Soon, it may be.... Only be content, only wait a little +longer!" +</p> + +<p> +And propped on high-piled pillows, he promises obediently, +looking down his long misshapen bulk at his huge distorted +feet. +</p> + +<p> +"Very well! I will wait a little longer. Thou hast money +to meet the charges?" +</p> + +<p> +"Plenty as yet, my cousin—without touching the sum that +was in the belt thou gavest me to keep. Tell me one thing.... +If thou couldst be moved—whither wouldst thou be carried, +we escaping under cover of night from this unhappy +place? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"To somewhere near Jerusalem," says the thick voice, feebly. +</p> + +<p> +"To Jerusalem? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She starts and looks at him, but the black eyes under their +calloused lids are fixed upon the opposite wall. +</p> + +<p> +"I said to somewhere near there. I may not go to the City +until I get a message from One who is my Friend...." +</p> + +<p> +"He has come there with the British since the Turks were +driven out of the City? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The black eyes slowly move to meet hers. He shakes his +scarred head: +</p> + +<p> +"Nay. He has been waiting there for long—a very long +time.... But when I get a Sign from Him, then I must go +up...." +</p> + +<p> +"There is some great reason compelling thee?" +</p> + +<p> +"There is something waiting for me at Jerusalem. I was told +it that night in the wooden hut. Tell me"—the voice is like +a child's—"if I cannot move, how shall I obey the Sign when +it comes to me? ..." +</p> + +<p> +She soothes him, thinking that his pain and weakness make +him wander. +</p> + +<p> +"Leave all to me. To-morrow may find thee strong. Only +rest and sleep now! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And he sleeps, with heavy broken breaths of utter exhaustion +and weariness. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0420"></a></p> + +<h3> +XX +</h3> + +<p> +He is kept concealed—for though Turkish vigilance is somewhat +relaxed in Shechem—there would be short shrift for the +slayer of Hamid, were he known to be living still. Perhaps +it may be because of this, that though his wounds slowly +heal, John grows no stronger. A Jewish surgeon, related to +Benjamin Sebastia, who is brought by stealth to see the patient, +examines him, and goes away, shaking his head. +</p> + +<p> +"Too late! It would always have been too late, however +soon you had called me," he says to Sebastia as he takes his +leave. "The man must have had a giant's strength to live +through such an ordeal. My brother was a powerful man, yet +he died under the rods.... Heart a wreck! ... Lungs.... +Pff! ... May die at any moment! ... <i>Shalôm!</i> To the +Downfall of the Ottoman Power, and the Restoration of +Jewry!" and he drains his glass of Palestine Tokay and refuses +his fee, and goes. And his verdict is cautiously broken to John +Hazel, who comforts weeping Esther, declaring the opinion of +a Hebrew in a <i>kaftan</i> and fur hat and side-curls, with a Paris +Diploma—not worth a British damn! He is even a shade +better next day, as though in sheer defiance of the owner of the +Paris Diploma and the side-curls and <i>kaftan</i>.... +</p> + +<p> +He has known how the months change by the flowers that +Esther brings him, and others that Inaini, smiling, produces +from the folds of her veil. Great clusters of crimson anemones, +crocuses, purple and white; grape hyacinths, tulips and +daffodils—and it is March. More anemones of varied, jewel-bright +colours, purple, pink, and crimson; jonquils, and white and +yellow Marguerites. Yellow, blue and lilac lupins—narcissus +and violets, iris and cyclamen—and wealthy April's here.... +He likes the anemones and looks at them for hours, drowsily +turning them in his well-nigh helpless hands.... For the +creamy ones are like Katherine's skin, and the rose-red are her +blushes, and the brown-gold are—or so he thinks—the colour +of her eyes.... The rows of velvety hairs that fringe the +centre of the corolla are black as her eye-lashes—black as her +hair.... But the scent of violets brings her back, complete +in her sweet womanliness, with the Chapel and Kerr's Arbour +for a background to it all.... +</p> + +<p> +Now come great sheaves of lilies, phlox and gladioli, and +it is May, the Month of the Rose. Masses of perfume, colour +and fragrance are brought to the cellar in the jeweller's +back-yard. And John plays with them, or stares at the whitewashed +wall, or listens as Esther reads to him from a copy of the +Jewish Scriptures, a volume belonging to their host, printed in +Hebrew and Arabic. The Messianic Prophecies are what he +hears most gladly, and oftenest asks for. One day as she +closes the Book at the end of a passage from Isaiah: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>And He was wounded for our transgressions, and bruised +for our iniquities, and the chastisement of our peace was upon +Him, and by His stripes we are healed.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"That—that is why it was said to me that night!—" she hears +the slow voice whisper: "'Thou hast suffered for obedience to +thy father's fathers, and for the keeping of the Oath, and for +the love of one woman. But I, that I might do the Will of My +Father—and thy Father—and for the love of all mankind.'" +</p> + +<p> +"O my Cousin!" Habitually now, the soft Arabic speech +flows to and fro between them, "Who was it said those words +to thee? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"It was on the night—" the scarred head turns on the +high-propped pillow—"the night after the beating. My hands and +feet were torture, and I had a great thirst. And there came a +light on the wall of the hut, and Somebody spoke to me, and +the blood cleared from my eyes, and I saw Him then...." +</p> + +<p> +"Who—who was He?" She draws an awed breath. +</p> + +<p> +"He said He was my Friend—and I believed Him. You +could not see Him as I did—and doubt any more. Dost thou +recall the fresco in the tomb on Ebal? It is not like—how +could it be His likeness? But the man who made it had seen +Him in a Vision, and caught the faintest shadow of His look." +</p> + +<p> +"I—do not understand...." +</p> + +<p> +"It does not matter. But that is why I was so sure I should +not die just then.... I cannot yet enter Jerusalem, for there +is blood upon my hands that has been shed in vengeance—but, +I am to wait near the City until I get the Sign...." +</p> + +<p> +"Dearest, art thou quite sure—" +</p> + +<p> +"I doubt not, being certain. Now, having breath enough—I +would speak of other things. When I am dead, thou wilt write +and tell the things to my mother—and go to thine own mother +at Alexandria. She is wealthy and so art thou, thou dost +need no provision, so the Fortune of Eli Hazaël, our +grandfather, will go to build and endow the Hebrew University." +</p> + +<p> +"But thy brother, Maurice, what of him?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is borne in on me," the black eyes are momentarily +dimmed, "that Maurice is dead. I have felt it for a long time. +My mother must be sorely grieved. He was her dearest son." +</p> + +<p> +"Art thou not dear to her also?" Esther asks sadly. +</p> + +<p> +"She will sorrow for me too—but not as she does for Maurice. +And she has a good friend, an old flame,—a Dutchman in +the City, Herman Van Ost his name is—and she will marry +him now. She would have married him years ago, but Maurice +did not wish it. There is another task for thee yet, my Sweet. +Dost thou shrink from it, Little One?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nay. For thou art Hazaël, and the Head of our House. +Surely I will obey thee. Have thou no doubt of me! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Kind One! ... Brave One! Little Judith in Israel!— Surely +thou wilt be rewarded for thy courage and thy faith. +Listen now! ... When I who am the littlest and least of all +the Hazaëls shall be gathered to our fathers—thou shalt seek +out Katharine Forbis—wherever thou shalt hear of her—and +carry word from me." The voice deepens and grows strong: +"Say—there is no longer an Hazaël left of the male line, to +guard the Ashes. The Oath is fulfilled—the Debt is paid! +Katharine and her children—and theirs following them—must +take upon them to be Guardians of the Shrine." +</p> + +<p> +"What Oath was it?" +</p> + +<p> +"The Oath made sixteen hundred years ago and more, by +Hazaël Aben Hazaël. Remember!—she is to take the Urn +back to Kerr's Arbour, and house it under the altar in the +Chapel there.... And her children will reverence it—knowing +its sacredness. Perhaps," the black eyes are shining now +with a light that is soft and gentle, "perhaps there will be a +little boy—with eyes like his mother's—who will ask for the +story oftener and love it more than the +others—because—because—his name will be John ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, dearest!—dearest! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Do not cry. All this when I have departed.... Till then +I would be forgotten by all I used to know." +</p> + +<p> +"Then thou wilt say I have done right when I tell thee that +some two months back—when thou wert very feeble—diligent +search was made for thee. Even under the eyes of the Turks +and Germans—a man whom thou knowest ventured into this +place." +</p> + +<p> +"One whom I know! ..." The black eyes flash, the scarred +head turns towards her on the pillow: "Is his name Yaill?" +</p> + +<p> +"His name is Colonel Edward Yaill, though sometimes he +calls himself the Emir Fadl Anga. He was garbed as a Moghrabi +sugar-merchant—but I knew his eyes again. So I sought +him out, and guessing at thy pleasure in the matter, I told +him thou couldst not be moved—and he went away from +here." +</p> + +<p> +"It is well. Now I talk no more, sweetheart, for breath is +hard to come by. Do one thing that I ask before the daylight +goes. Take off thy veil, little Judith, and let me see thee plainly. +For once! I will not ask again, if my asking hurt thee so!" +</p> + +<p> +She falters a refusal, then yields at his entreaty. +</p> + +<p> +"Shut thine eyes for a little moment, and open when I +call...." +</p> + +<p> +He shuts his eyes and opens them, to see Esther sitting at the +bed-foot.... A figure girlish in its youth fulness, pathetic +in its slender fragility, and veilless, save for the tresses of +her rich black silken hair. She parts the hair with two little +brown hands, then throws it back on either side, revealing the +face it has covered—and a sob catches in the man's throat, and +his eyes are wet with tears.... +</p> + +<p> +For that side of Esther's face that is never shown is beautiful, +strangely beautiful. The great dark eye under the arched +black eyebrow, the little aquiline nose, with proud curved +nostrils, the delicate mouth, the rounded chin, are of purest Hebrew +type. She bears his scrutiny awhile, then lifts the discarded +covering, adjusts it with quick, slender hands—and is Ummshni +once again. +</p> + +<p> +"Will that do? Hast thou looked enough?" she asks with a +touch of sharp regret for her lost heritage of Beauty. +</p> + +<p> +"I have looked.... And I have seen—as I knew I should!" +says John placidly, "that thy face, my little Esther—is lovely +as thy soul. Now I will rest, for I am done. Perhaps I shall +walk to-morrow...." +</p> + +<p> +Comes the month of June, with ardent suns, and July with +skies of fire. Esther reads to John in another Book—a copy +of the Syriac Gospels picked up on a stall in the Bazâr—of +One Whose teachings she has been reared to hold as rank +blasphemy. But her Hazaël has commanded it, and she obeys +Hazaël, and reads of Him Who raised the dead to life, and +opened the eyes of those born blind, and made the lame to +walk. Here in this land of Palestine nearly two thousand +years ago. But time goes on and this lame man does not +walk yet.... +</p> + +<p> +It is October, the month of Asphodel, and Shechem is swept +clean of Germans and Turks, as the brown line moves up +north. The great Commander-in-Chief of the E.E.F. has +carried out his leopard-pounce on Nazareth,—whence Von Sanders +and his Headquarters Staff have fled—Tiberias and Amman +have been occupied by British Forces, and the stronghold of +Turkish Power at Damascus has fallen, before the colossal, +tottering bulk can balance on its feet. +</p> + +<p> +No available garments of European make can be adapted to +John's hugeness. Esther and the jewel-dealer's wife are in +despair, then hit upon a brilliant idea. A vast pair of Turkish +drawers of yellow and white striped-cotton are tucked into +the baggy tops of immense soft yellow boots. Over an Arab +<i>jubba</i> of white cotton material goes a loose-sleeved Arab +over-robe of brown camel-hair. They cover him with a black felt +<i>tarbûsh</i>, and a white silk <i>kuffiyeh</i> bound with a scarlet +head-rope, and swathe him in the voluminous folds of a +primrose-coloured <i>jerd</i>. Now, with the beard that he has grown in +captivity at Shechem, the mother at home in London would +not know her son again. +</p> + +<p> +The German Commander with his merry men departed in +haste for Aleppo when the huge khaki torrent rolled upon +Samaria from the South.... The Turks of the garrison +escaped over Jordan, the batteries on the flank of Ebal were taken +by the British, and the Patriarchs and other notables deported +from the Holy City are chartering vehicles to take them back +again. +</p> + +<p> +Some of these are quaint enough. To witness, the ancient +travelling-landau, piled with luggage of a heterogeneous +description, packed with Armenian Fathers, and drawn by a tall +camel and a small, rebellious mule. But the hooded +bath-pony-chair of largest size, a venerable derelict of British make +left by some wealthy traveller years ago to moulder in the +courtyard of a Shechem hotel, to which a diminutive +red-tasselled donkey has been harnessed, and in which is seated a +prodigiously obese and bushy-bearded Arab, possibly takes the +palm.... +</p> + +<p> +Three women run beside the chair, drawn by the small +donkey driven by an Arab urchin with a sharpened palm-wood +stick. As the chair rolls through the east gate, and moves in +the rolling dust-cloud with a column of other vehicles, past the +Wired Place and the Mohammedan Tombs, the little donkey +stops. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Shalôm, Sidi</i>! Health and recovery be thine—and Happiness +with the Blessing!" says the wife of the jewel-dealer, +bidding John Hazel farewell. +</p> + +<p> +"Farewell, O woman of gentle heart.... Remember me to +thy husband. And farewell, kind Inaini.... Sometimes +remember us! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Farewell, my lord.... My lord will not soon forget Shechem!" +says Inaini, with a flash of brilliant eyes and teeth from +between her flowered veils.... +</p> + +<p> +"Nor thee. May the Most High reward thee for all thy +charity! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"It was nothing!" says the woman, almost sullenly, but John +can hear her sob.... +</p> + +<p> +"O my friend! O my sister! Farewell, good-bye! Little +Mother of Ugliness, my heart is sore to part! ..." +</p> + +<p> +The jewel-dealer's wife hugs the little white-robed figure. +Esther embraces her, and then Inaini—and the honest woman +and the courtesan go away together, both red-eyed with weeping +behind their shrouding veils. And the big bath chair drawn +by the little donkey—with the huge Arab in it and the little +woman and the native boy running beside it—is lost in the +stream of traffic on the Jerusalem-Shechem Road. +</p> + +<p> +It is a day of dust and sun, and the big man in the bath +chair drawn by the little donkey is as feeble as he is heavy, +and unfitted to bear fatigue. It is night by the time they have +left the plain, and the road climbs amongst the hills, that are +ridged and furrowed with the traces of War, as the face that +is shaded by the white <i>jerd</i>, and the body that the sick heart's +throbbing shakes, and the man's misshapen hands and feet are +scarred by the Turkish <i>asayisi</i>.... +</p> + +<p> +Sunset flames over the Western Sea and all the land is rosy-dyed +when at last he looks on the ancient City, the bourne of +his desires. Set between east and west upon three hills, of +which the lesser, Ophel, has vanished—the limestone spurs +of Sion and Moriah upholding her, she turns her back upon +the ocean plain and the mild damp airs that blow from it, to +fill her lungs with the burning winds and dust-storms of the +Wilderness—where the Son of God and Saviour of mankind +was tempted of Satan, and Jordan's yellow waters flow +towards the abyss of the Dead Sea. +</p> + +<p> +They go no farther that night, for the sick man cannot bear +it, but hire two rooms, almost clean, and newly whitewashed, +at the Khân of a little mud-built Mohammedan village that sits +on a hill beside the road. +</p> + +<p> +The left wing of the London Division were entrenched here +before the Occupation, and the Advance that moved them +north.... The whitewash of the Khân of Shafât has familiar +names scribbled upon it, attached to caustic comments on the +price of native eggs, dates, cheese, oranges and olives, as +compared with their quality and their size. +</p> + +<p> +And here the little party stay. For the big man in the +bath chair can travel no farther. Many days pass and he can +move again; and the little donkey is harnessed to the chair by +its tasselled traces, and the Arab boy with the palm-stick, and +the little veiled woman run by it—and the queer <i>cortége</i> halts +by and by where the broad dusty track that leads south and a +shade west to the Damascus Gate, forks off on the left to the +less broad, better-kept carriage way that—following the line of +the mountain-ridge, leads—south and a trifle east—to the +Mount of Olives, passing the Tombs of the Kings. +</p> + +<p> +In the shadow of the south wall of the royal enclosure, the +sick man signifies his wish to halt. All day he lingers there, +content, and for the greater part in silence; shares with his +meek nurse and the Arab boy such food as they have with +them—and when the short dusk heralds Dark, is loth to leave +the spot. Next day they are there again—and the next day +and the next. It is here, he signifies to his patient nurse, that +the Message he waits will reach him—and content that Hazaël +should be content, she knows no other will. +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0421"></a></p> + +<h3> +XXI +</h3> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the period of stagnation past, the current of life +begins to flow within and around Jerusalem. In the house of +an English Protestant Missionary Society without the walls, +a Division has its Headquarters. At the Sign of the Red +Triangle, guides may be obtained for the reverent conduct of +soldier-visitors to the Holy Places. Here also photographs +for the folks at home, with lightning hair-cuts and shaves, can +be supplied with light refreshments. Signboards along the +Jaffa Road invite Crusaders from the Land of the Ifrangi to +partake at their own peril of sweets, ices and cakes.... And +a Divisional Theatre flourishes in a tin-roofed shed, outside +the Gate of Jaffa, and a Cinema established in a ramshackle +booth is nightly packed to the walls. +</p> + +<p> +Though the trenches and gun-emplacements on the Mount +of Olives and Mount Scopas yet speak of War, there are local +tennis-parties on badly neglected lawns, and even small dances +to the accompaniment of the gramophone. The donkey-boys +and Cook's tourists are no more.... But there are Military +Races and Military Sports; and divers favourites, human and +equine, are duly backed by the men of the Expeditionary +Army.... +</p> + +<p> +Within the City English soldiers guard the Church of the +Holy Sepulchre and Mohammedans the Haram. The depot of +the A.S.C. is lodged in the courtyard of a Jewish School. +</p> + +<p> +English Military Nursing Sisters are housed in the Abyssinian +Patriarch's palace—the French Convent where the Turkish +Army Officers were, now shelters French soldiers—though +the Turkish Crescent and Star have not yet been obliterated +from the Jaffa Gate; and the Arab police, in black sheepskin +caps and dark blue drill uniforms, keep order as they used +to under the Turkish <i>régime</i>.... +</p> + +<p> +Though the solemn boom of heavy guns still wakens all +the echoes of the Hills of Judæa, though Turkish batteries +and Turkish troops move in the neighbourhood of Jericho, and +British motor-launches churn the waters of the Dead Sea, the +Holy City is wakening from her torpor of years.... +Kinder-gartens and boys' and girls' schools, Christian and Jewish, +Homes and Orphanages—the Teacher's University, the +Missionary Colleges, and the seminaries supervised by Catholic +Religious—revive like the withered blossoms of the so-called +Jericho Rose.... +</p> + +<p> +The Clothes-Market near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,—where +skin affections and fleas could be purchased at exorbitant +prices—re-opens. In the labyrinth of <i>bâzârs</i> under the +shadowy arcades, the Jew and Arab pedlars set up their stalls +of rosaries and medals, gaudy religious pictures, and common +household wares. Sleek-haired Levantines and Syrians behind +counters of modern shops, offer antiques and souvenirs in +mother o' pearl and olive-wood; ostrich feathers, roses of +Jericho, Syriac Gospels and Rolls of the Law. German stores +miraculously become Dutch, offer for sale liqueurs, cigars, +<i>sauer-kraut</i> in barrels, tinned sausage, pickles and chocolates. +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +And the People who Wait for Signs have come out of their +various hiding-places. The haggard man who carries a heavy +wooden Cross and wears a plaited Crown of Thorns, pants +under his heavy burden from station to station along the +Sorrowful Way.... And the other, long haired and wearing +robes of white, waits again near the Jaffa Gate, carrying his +brightly-polished lamp, well trimmed and filled with oil. He +says he is one of the Virgins waiting for the Coming of the +Bridegroom.... And again, there is another, a handsome, +martial figure, in the panoply of a Knight of Malta, folded in a +cross-embroidered mantle, girt with a Crusader's sword.... +</p> + +<p> +Who knows what compact these and many more have made +with One Whom they acknowledge Master. They are content, +for their belief in Him, to be despised as fools. Calm, +reasonable Christians shudder at, or ignore, while the Children of +Islam respect them. To their number another is added with +the passage of the days.... +</p> + +<p> +December draws to its end again. Tea-parties and concerts +are given, and the Representatives of the Three Great Faiths +may be said to fraternise. The Red Cross and the Society of +St. John of Jerusalem unite in splendid efforts for the good +of War-ridden Humanity. The olives are grey-green, and the +palms are yellowing, and the first pale mist of almond-bloom +pinkens on the hillsides, above the hedges of tamarisk—and +Christmas Eve is here.... +</p> + +<p> +The portly Arab in the bath-chair drawn by the tiny donkey +sits in his accustomed place, from which fierce gales and heavy +Winter rains alone may drive him, in the shelter of the south +wall of the Enclosure of the Tombs of the Kings.... +</p> + +<p> +Two chaplains of the E.E.F. go by in their cross-badged +khaki; accompanied by an elderly Armenian in flowing black +<i>kaftan</i> and high square head-dress. +</p> + +<p> +"There's the New Crank," says an Oxford voice. "And the +little Syrian woman, and the bath chair and the donkey-boy—and +the donkey possibly—all waiting as usual for the Sign +that doesn't come!" +</p> + +<p> +"'The Sign.' What Sign? ..." +</p> + +<p> +The second khaki chaplain looks with interest at the Arab. +The strong south wind has blown back the folds of his ample +head-covering, and it is plainly seen what kind of man the +drapery has concealed. His huge ears, swollen beyond all +shape, hang down on the bulgy, turgid flesh of the neck-folds, +his huge hooked nose, and long but shapeless upper-lip +dominate an extraordinary acreage of countenance that is ridged +and knobbed and crumpled like a new-dug potato-field. And +his great hands and gigantic arms, wherever these are +visible, present the same appearance, to the chaplain's +curious eye. +</p> + +<p> +"Would that be some obscure form of elephantiasis, do +you think, now?" he asks the Armenian ecclesiastic who walks +by his side. +</p> + +<p> +"It is not disease of any kind," the Armenian answers in +English. "The man has been beaten—nearly to death, and has +lived—that is all! ... Many of my friends, condemned to the +severest punishment of the Turkish <i>asâyisi</i>, have died under +the infliction—as this man was meant to do...." +</p> + +<p> +"Speak lower!" It is the second chaplain in khaki who is +speaking. "That Arab understands you.... I saw it in his +eyes...." +</p> + +<p> +"Not he!" the first speaker returns. "He's an Arab pure and +simple—and some of the Tommies have dubbed him 'The Father +of Buffaloes.' The little woman with him has a +nickname—somebody told me.... "<i>Sabâh-el-kheir</i>, Daddy Buffalo.... +<i>Khud</i>!—and good luck to you! ..." +</p> + +<p> +And a couple of Turkish <i>beshliks</i> clink into the Arab's lap. +</p> + +<p> +"Thy day be happy and blessed!" says a deep bass voice in +answer. The three pedestrians pass on, and the beshliks fall +amongst the straw in the bottom of the bath-chair. Unseen +save by the sharp glance of the Arab donkey-boy, who squats +in the shadow of the wall of the Enclosure, playing, with lines +scratched upon the smooth limestone, a game that is scored +upon the walls and flags of old Pompeii, as upon the recently +excavated guard-room of the Herodian Mercenaries, eighteen +feet under the level of the Sorrowful Way. A brace of coppers +thrown to a sick man sitting by the wayside are surely given +in charity. Yet when the sick one dies, the Fund amassed to +build and endow the Hebrew University (the foundations of +which are being even now blasted in the rock of Mount Scopas) +will be enriched by a legacy of three hundred and eighty +thousand pounds.... +</p> + +<p> +"What does it matter, Essie? Sweet One, why dost thou +tremble? Surely the gift was kindly meant!" +</p> + +<p> +The speaker thinks that his companion has been hurt by the +bestowal of the coins. But she has not even seen the gift made, +or heard the giver's words.... +</p> + +<p> +A moment since, a grey Staff car, driven by a soldier-chauffeur +with the Great Headquarters' brassard—coming from the +direction of the station beyond the Montefiore Hospice, by the +road that skirts the City wall, to debouch upon the Road of the +Damascus Gate—has passed by the Tombs of the Kings. +Driven at speed, it has flashed by, carrying strangers with it. +But one face was not strange.... One voice; borne on the +wind that blows from Samaria, has echoed in the ears of +Esther-Ummshni, bringing memories that brim the heart.... +</p> + +<p> +"I did not hear.... I thought I saw.... What is it, what +is it, Mabruk?" +</p> + +<p> +For the Arab boy has run down the road to meet a messenger +from the Khân. +</p> + +<p> +"What says he? ..." asks the deep, slow voice. +</p> + +<p> +"He says—Mabruk says—" Esther commences, shaking like +a wind-blown reed of the Jordan behind her shrouding veils: +"that strangers are at Shafât. He says—" +</p> + +<p> +"O Shaykh!—" Mabruk, a lanky crow-necked youngster, +son of the Mohammedan landlord of the Shafât Khân, importantly +steps forwards: "Great ones have arrived at my father's +Khân. Two lords of the Inglizi, and a lady, tall and beautiful. +They have sent me in the horseless carriage to bring back thee +and the Sitti. This letter also they have sent thee by thy +servant's hands.—Behold! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Mabrûk lifts the note to his eyes and forehead, and hands it +over. A folded sheet of paper, sealed with an impression of +a well-known onyx signet, and scrawled with some hastily +pencilled lines in a beloved hand: +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"I am here, at the Khân at Shafât, with my brother and +husband. Do not be angry that we have come! Your aunt is +with us. Tell your Cousin Esther, whom I long to see and +thank for my dear Julian, but not as I'm longing to see and +thank you! Alone, dear, dear John!—because I'm jealous of +the others. Your first word—your first look have got to be for +me. Come back in the car or send it back to fetch— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> + Your loving, grateful<br> + KATHARINE YAILL."<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p><a id="chap0422"></a></p> + +<h3> +XXII +</h3> + +<p> +Married. For a long time John has felt that she was married. +Well, well, it was to be. His sovereign lady, his dear Princess, +a wife, and soon, perhaps, a mother. God bless her and her +husband. He is glad, glad, because of their happiness.... +Holding the pencilled scrawl with the seal of the Hercules, his +shapeless hand drops heavily back upon his knees. +</p> + +<p> +"O John, my Cousin, answer me!"—Esther is eagerly +speaking—"The Sign that thou hast waited for so long, was it not +this? ..." +</p> + +<p> +"Nay, Sweet!" He shakes his head. "This is a token from +a friend beloved, but not the Sign I look for.... Now undo +the Ring of Hazaël from the cord about my neck. Carry it to +her at the Khân where she waits with her brother. Render +it back to them both from me. Giving with the Ring, the +Message I have taught thee!—I need not to repeat the words, +they are written in thy heart...." +</p> + +<p> +"But, dearest one—it was a message from the Dead, and +thou art yet living...." +</p> + +<p> +She looks anxiously in the speaker's face. Save that the +black eyes have a strange glaze, and the puffed lips are +lead-colour—and the beating of his damaged heart shakes the +flowing draperies that cover him—there is nothing to rouse her +fears. +</p> + +<p> +"Take Katharine," there is a clang of masterful authority in +the deep voice, "take Katharine the Message—from the departing +Guardian of the Ashes. Return in an hour. Leave the +child here to sit by me. One thing remains!—" He calls her +back as she is turning meekly to obey him: "Kiss me, my +Little Cousin, before thou dost depart." +</p> + +<p> +She goes, and presently the hoot of a car testifies to her +departure.... It nears the hour of sunset on this Vigil of +the Nativity. There was a tang of frost early in the morning. +But the rosy air is warm and still, the sky serenely splendid, +the orange-breasted blackbirds pipe and trill, and clouds of +little ash-coloured, grasshopper-like insects rise at the brush +of footsteps through the short dun-coloured grass.... +</p> + +<p> +He sits there for a long time or a short time, he is not +certain. To the soul upon the edge of Timelessness, many hours +are as one.... The tiny donkey, hobbled, grazes at a little +distance. The Arab child who drives the beast, plays the +game that the soldiers of the Roman Guard played in the days +of Herod, and then, grown weary, steals off to play +elsewhere.... +</p> + +<p> +The sick man dozes heavily now, with jaw a little fallen, +and black eyes that show glazed and dim between their parted +lids.... The breaths that shake the puffed lips come slower +and fainter. The Arab <i>jerd</i> that swathes him ceases to tremble +with the irregular beating of his heart.... +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, his eyes stare wide and a strange cold thrill goes +through him. He has been touched.... By whose hand? ... No +messenger stands near.... Can it be that so strange +a shock heralds the Sign that he has waited? ... +</p> + +<p> +Midnight!—yet when he closed his eyes it was not yet sunset, +the blind muezzin of the Mosque of the Throne of Solomon +had not given the Call to Prayer.... And now, the Hosts of +Heaven blaze from zenith to horizon. The full Moon stands +over Bethlehem and the flood of radiant pale light makes +Jerusalem a silver city, inlaid with jet and ebony.... +</p> + +<p> +Solemn black clouds heap over Moab. The Valley of the +Kedron and the Vale of Our Lady Mary are swallowed in a +gulf of shade. But Olivet is glorious in the brilliance that +pours down on her, making a prone black giant under every +lonely cypress, and a black cat crouching under every bush and +stone. +</p> + +<p> +Bells ring from all the convents, and churches in Jerusalem. +All over Palestine bells ring for Christmas Day. From +Bethlehem where He was born, comes the sound of joyful chiming. +On the north wind the sound of bells is brought from Nazareth.... +</p> + +<p> +"Peace on earth!" ... John Hazel stands and listens, as +from north, east, west and south the bells of Christmas ring.... +A great cry breaks from him, of wild despair and +anguish: +</p> + +<p> +"O Christ, there is no peace for me while yet Thou art +withholden. O Shepherd of all broken hearts! send me Thy +promised Sign! Speak to me at least, you Big Old Men," he cries, +"for I am lonely! ... Say to this John, the littlest and least +of all the Hazaëls—that I have done my duty, and ye are +content with me!" +</p> + +<p> +The shuddering cry dies on the breeze. And a terrible voice +answers: +</p> + +<p> +"Not the least, but the greatest of all art thou.... For thou +art our leader. Hear, now! The choice has fallen to thee. +Worthy art thou to rule us, who canst so well obey! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Wonderful sight.... On his left hand, on his right and +before him. From the skirts of the Mount of Olives, to the +Mohammedan Cemetery, and across the road of the Damascus +Gate, to the site of the Unknown Tombs.... Rank upon rank +of Big Old Men—stately as Kings, in flowing robes and high +jewelled tiaras, and others in less ancient garb, and others in +more modern garments—even down to the style of the present +day. He sees his grandfather, Eli, and his own father, and his +brother Maurice, and stretches his hands to them, crying, as +they smile and wave to him: +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me, is this the Sign that I was promised when I was +chained to the bed in the Turkish hut and the Voice spoke to +me? ..." +</p> + +<p> +And all the Hazaëls answer in deep, tremendous voices, and +then the turmoil quietens down, and the Biggest of all the Big +Old Men stands forth and gives reply: +</p> + +<p> +"We know not of any Sign, O John! Thou calledst, and +we answered. Now hear Hazaël Aben Hazaël, who made the +Oath of old.... Lead and we follow.... Command, and +we obey thee. Speak, and deliver counsels—thou greatest of +us all!" +</p> + +<p> +John hesitates a moment, and then words come to him: +</p> + +<p> +"O all ye Big Old Men, listen to me, the littlest! This is +the lore I have gathered in the thirty-five years of my life. +Human Love is a passing Breath—a rosy, flying Shadow. +Happiness, Wealth, Honour, Fame—are cobwebs on the wind. +Rank and Power are gilded stools, worm-eaten and rotten. +Nothing is Real—nothing is true—but the Truths ye would not +see! There is no gain save Sacrifice—no good save +Renunciation!—no Way except the Way of the Cross—no Hope but +in the Blood of CHRIST! He is our King! ... Now follow +me, and we will do Him homage. Or cast me out from among +you, and let me be forgotten. I, John, the littlest of all the +Hazaëls, have said my say! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"We hear!" The deep chorus of answering voices rose and +rolled down on him.... "We hear. Lead on—we follow +thee!" +</p> + +<p> +"It is well. Wheel and face southwards, O ye Hazaëls! and +form four men abreast in columns of companies." +</p> + +<p> +He gives the order loud and clear, and the extended ranks +of towering figures shift and change, and close in—and all the +faces are turned from him, except the face of the very Biggest +of all the Big Old Men. He says to John, in a voice that is +very like John's own: +</p> + +<p> +"I am the Captain of thy host. Give me the route of march." +</p> + +<p> +"First to Bethlehem, the Place of His Birth, and then to +His Death Place on Calvary," John answers, though his knees +seem melting under him, and he has hardly any breath. +</p> + +<p> +"And then? ... Whither go we? ... For the Gate of the +Place where we abode is now shut behind us.... Is there +not entrance for thee and me and these, by the Gate of +Hope? ... The Gate that opened for Philoremus Fabius—that I saw +when the Blemmyes gave me death! ..." +</p> + +<p> +"But I do not know the Gate of Hope! ..." John falters, +rather weakly, and the Biggest of all his Big Old Men answers +him sternly now: +</p> + +<p> +"The Crucified promised thee a Sign—and He deceives not. +Ask now His Father in His Name—to open His Gate of Hope!" +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +And John hears his own voice blundering in the petition: +</p> + +<p> +"O Christ, Who art the Very Truth, show now the Sign +Thou promised! Lead us into the Land of Peace by Thine +Own Gate of Hope! O look! ... Look, ye Hazaëls!—in the +sky, over the Holy City! ..." +</p> + +<p> +Obedient to the voice and the arm that is uplifted, the faces +of the mighty host, are upturned to the sky. Faces that are +dark and fierce, noble and mild, harsh and stern or gentle.... +Faces of Kings and prophets and sages, leaders of hosts and +seers of visions; men of the sceptre, men of the sword, men +of the crucible, men of the scalpel; men of the pen, men of +the spade and pickaxe—men of all ages and all climes—but +Hebrew every one.... +</p> + +<p> +Over the ancient City that stoned her prophets, and cast out +her Saints, having slain the Son of God—is another City, +shining-walled, with radiant domes and towers. Figures more +radiant walk upon her walls and crowd her housetops. John +knows the City. Of it he spoke to Esther a little while ago. +</p> + +<p> +A Gate is opened in Her walls between two shining towers. +A Man stands on the threshold more glorious than the Sun. +Majesty and meekness radiate from Him, with Love and +Compassion and Mercy.... His Hands are stretched in welcome. +They are Wounded, like His Feet. He speaks, touching His +naked Side, where the gash of the Roman spear is: +</p> + +<p> +"Come unto Me, My people! Here is the Gate of +Hope! ..." +</p> + +<p class="thought"> +* * * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +An earthly voice John Hazel used to think the loveliest of +women's voices, calls him with eager breathlessness. Now a +tall figure in a felt hat, with the Red Cross badge and ribbon, +and a flowing cape of red-lined blue, comes swiftly down the +road. A gallant, womanly creature with beautiful and tender +eyes that John has often dreamed of.... They lighten as +they fall on the great shapeless bulk of the man, who—dressed +like an Arab—is sitting in an old bath-chair.... +</p> + +<p> +The little donkey grazes near, the Arab boy is not visible. +It is just upon the flush of sunset, and the voice of the blind +<i>muezzin</i> at the Mosque of the Throne of Solomon comes +faintly out of the distance, giving the Call to Prayer. Other +voices take it up and die out in distance; and Katharine would +speak now, but pauses as the Angelus rings its mellow triples +from the Dominican Monastery behind the Tombs of the Kings, +and the Chapel in the garden of the Syrian Patriarch.... +</p> + +<p> +She ends the little Latin prayer with the Sign of the Cross, +and comes forward. Clouds of little dun insects like +grasshoppers rise under her footsteps as she comes.... A tiny +bird no bigger than a tit that is perched on the sick man's +shoulder takes wing with a fluttering, silken sound. And a +creature like a biggish mouse, with kangaroo-like hind legs, +leaps away as Katharine comes to the side of the rickety +bath-chair.... +</p> + +<p> +She calls the man who sits in it, and he does not answer, +but leans back against his pillow, staring fixedly before him +with his hands upon his knees. The Arab <i>kuffiyeh</i> partly hides +his face, so changed since she last saw it. But she catches +the jut of the great hooked nose, and the glitter of the stern +black eyes.... +</p> + +<p> +A cocksure woman is Katharine, who always thinks she is +wanted. He does not speak, but she is quite sure he is glad +that she has come.... +</p> + +<p> +"John Hazel! Are you vexed with me for thrusting myself +upon you? I had to come! ... I simply couldn't stay +away! ... You do know why, truest of friends! ... To thank +you—to bless you! For Edward and for me, and Julian!" The +eager words come pouring out as she kneels beside the chair. +"Dearest, best, bravest one—come back with us to England! ... I +will nurse you,—you will,—you shall get well! There +MUST be happiness and health for you—it couldn't be +otherwise! ... Say you'll come, or I shall kiss you. My husband +told me to! ..." +</p> + +<p> +She rises to her feet now and leans over him smiling, with +a womanly-tender impulse to hug him to her breast. Her +warm, sweet arm goes round the man's great neck, her pure +breath fans his forehead. Her lips touch the scarred +cheek—and the truth comes home to her. +</p> + +<p> +That longed-for kiss has come too late for the last of the +Hazaëls. He leaves it as his legacy to a new Keeper of the +Shrine. The little boy who is to be, with eyes like his +mother's.... The son of Yaill and Katharine—whose +Christian name is John. +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +THE END +</p> + +<p><br><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75518 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + + diff --git a/75518-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/75518-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0fa488f --- /dev/null +++ b/75518-h/images/img-cover.jpg |
