DEADHAM HARD

A Romance

BY LUCAS MALET

(MARY ST. LEGER HARRISON)

Author of "Sir Richard Calmady, " "The Wages of Sin, " etc. 

1919

"Youth has no boundaries, age has the grave. "--BULGARIAN PROVERB

TO MY DEAR FRIEND ACROSS THE OCEAN C. E. O. VEVEY 1899 LONDON 1919

CONTENTS

BOOK I THE HOUSE OF THE TAMARISKS

CHAPTER

 I. TELLING HOW, UNDER STRESS OF CIRCUMSTANCES, A HUMANIST TURNED HERMIT

 II. ENTER A YOUNG SCHOLAR AND GENTLEMAN OF A HAPPY DISPOSITION AND GOOD PROSPECTS

 III. THE DOUBTFULLY HARMONIOUS PARTS OF A WHOLE

 IV. WATCHERS THROUGH THE SMALL HOURS

 V. BETWEEN RIVER AND SEA

 VI. IN WHICH THE PAST LAYS AN OMINOUS HAND ON THE PRESENT

 VII. A CRITIC IN CORDUROY

BOOK II THE HARD SCHOOL OF THINGS AS THEY ARE

 I. IN MAIDEN MEDITATION

 II. WHICH CANTERS ROUND A PARISH PUMP

 III. A SAMPLING OF FREEDOM

 IV. OUT ON THE BAR

 V. WHEREIN DAMARIS MAKES SOME ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE HIDDEN WAYS OF MEN

 VI. RECOUNTING AN ASTONISHING DEPOSITION

 VII. A SOUL AT WAR WITH FACT

 VIII. TELLING HOW TWO PERSONS, OF VERY DIFFERENT MORAL CALIBRE, WERE COMPELLED TO WEAR THE FLOWER OF HUMILIATION IN THEIR RESPECTIVE BUTTONHOLES

 IX. AN EXPERIMENT IN BRIDGE-BUILDING OF WHICH TIME ALONE CAN FIX THE VALUES

 X. TELLING HOW MISS FELICIA VERITY UNSUCCESSFULLY ATTEMPTED A RESCUE

 XI. IN WHICH DAMARIS RECEIVES INFORMATION OF THE LOST SHOES AND STOCKINGS--ASSUMPTION OF THE GOD-HEAD

 XII. CONCERNING A SERMON WHICH NEVER WAS PREACHED AND OTHER MATTERS OF LOCAL INTEREST

BOOK III THE WORLD BEYOND THE FOREST

 I. AN EPISODE IN THE EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCE OF THE MAN WITH THE BLUE EYES

 II. TELLING HOW DAMARIS RENEWED HER ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE BELOVED LADY OF HER INFANCY

 III. WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF, INCIDENTALLY, WITH THE GRIEF OF A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCE AND THE RECEPTION OF A BELATED CHRISTMAS GREETING

 IV. BLOWING ONE'S OWN TRUMPET PRACTISED AS A FINE ART

 V. IN WHICH HENRIETTA PULLS THE STRINGS

 VI. CARNIVAL--AND AFTER

 VII. TELLING HOW DAMARIS DISCOVERED THE TRUE NATURE OF A CERTAIN SECRET TO THE DEAR MAN WITH THE BLUE EYES

 VIII. FIDUS ACHATES

 IX. WHICH FEATURES VARIOUS PERSONS WITH WHOM THE READER IS ALREADY ACQUAINTED

 X. WHICH IT IS TO BE FEARED SMELLS SOMEWHAT POWERFULLY OF BILGE WATER

 XI. WHEREIN DAMARIS MEETS HERSELF UNDER A NOVEL ASPECT

 XII. CONCERNING ITSELF WITH A GATHERING UP OF FRAGMENTS

 XIII. WHICH RECOUNTS A TAKING OF SANCTUARY

BOOK IV THROUGH SHADOWS TOWARDS THE DAWN

 I. WHICH CARRIES OVER A TALE OF YEARS, AND CARRIES ON

 II. RECALLING, IN SOME PARTICULARS, THE EASIEST RECORDED THEFT IN HUMAN HISTORY

 III. BROTHER AND SISTER

 IV. WHEREIN MISS FELICIA VERITY CONCLUSIVELY SHOWS WHAT SPIRIT SHE IS OF

 V. DEALING WITH EMBLEMS, OMENS AND DEMONSTRATIONS

 VI. SHOWING HOW SIR CHARLES VERITY WAS JUSTIFIED OF HIS LABOURS

 VII. TELLING HOW CHARLES VERITY LOOKED ON THE MOTHER OF HIS SON

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH WHICH IS ALSO CHAPTER THE LAST

BOOK I

THE HOUSE OF THE TAMARISKS

CHAPTER I

TELLING HOW, UNDER STRESS OF CIRCUMSTANCE, A HUMANIST TURNED HERMIT

A peculiar magic resides in running water, as every student of earth-loreknows. There is high magic, too, in the marriage of rivers, so that thespot where two mingle their streams is sacred, endowed with strangeproperties of evocation and of purification. Such spots go to the makingof history and ruling of individual lives; but whether their influence isnot more often malign than beneficent may be, perhaps, open to doubt. 

Certain it is, however, that no doubts of this description troubled themind of Thomas Clarkson Verity, when, in the closing decade of theeighteenth century, he purchased the house at Deadham Hard, known asTandy's Castle, overlooking the deep and comparatively narrow channel bywhich the Rivers Arne and Wilner, after crossing the tide-flats andsalt-marsh of Marychurch Haven, make their swift united exit intoMarychurch Bay. Neither was he troubled by the fact that Tandy'sCastle--or more briefly and familiarly Tandy's--for all its commonplaceoutward decency of aspect did not enjoy an unblemished moral or socialreputation. The house--a whitewashed, featureless erection--was plantedat right angles to the deep sandy lane leading up from the shore, throughthe scattered village of Deadham, to the three-mile distant market townof Marychurch. 

Standing on a piece of rough land--bare, save for a few stunted Weymouthpines, and a fringe of tamarisk along the broken sea-wall--Tandy's, atthe date in question, boasted a couple of bowed sash-windows on eitherside the front and back doors; and a range of five other windows set flatin the wall on the first floor. There was no second storey. The slateroofs were mean, low-pitched, without any grace of overshadowing eaves. At either end, a tall chimney-stack rose like the long ears of somestartled, vacant-faced small animal. Behind the house, a thick plantationof beech and sycamore served to make its square blank whiteness visiblefor a quite considerable distance out to sea. Built upon the site of someolder and larger structure, it was blessed--or otherwise--with a systemof vaults and cellars wholly disproportionate to its existing size. Oneof these, by means of a roughly ceiled and flagged passage, gave accessto a heavy door in the sea-wall opening directly on to the riverforeshore. 

Hence the unsavoury reputation of the place. For not only did it supply aconvenient receiving house for smuggled goods, but a convenientrendezvous for the more lawless characters of the neighbourhood--aback-of-beyond and No Man's Land where the devil could, with impunity, have things very much his own way. In the intervals of more seriousbusiness, the vaults and cellars of Tandy's frequently resounded to theagonies and brutal hilarities of cock-fights, dog-fights, and otherrepulsive sports and pastimes common to the English--both gentle andsimple--of that virile but singularly gross and callous age. Neverthelessto Thomas Clarkson Verity, man of peace and of ideas, Tandy'srepresented--and continued to represent through over half acentury--rescue, security, an awakening in something little short ofparadise from a long-drawn nightmare of hell. He paid an extortionateprice for the property at the outset, and spent a small fortune on theenlargement of the house and improvement of the grounds, yet neverregretted his bargain. 

For, in good truth, when, in the spring of 1794, the soft, nimble, round-bodied, very polite, learned and loquacious little gentleman firstset eyes upon its mean roofs, prick ears and vacant whitewashedcountenance, he had been horribly shocked, horribly scared--for all theinherited valour of his good breeding--and, above all, most horriblydisappointed. History had played very dirty pranks with him, which hefound it impossible as yet to forgive. 

Five years earlier, fired, like many another generous spirit, byextravagant hope of the coming regeneration of mankind, he hurried off toParis after the opening of the National Assembly and fall of theBastille. With the overture to the millennium in full blast, must he notbe there to hear and see? Associating himself with the Girondist party heassisted, busily enthusiastic, at the march of tremendous events, untilthe evil hour in which friend began to denounce friend, and heads, quiteother than aristocratic--those of men and women but yesterday the idolsand chosen leaders of the people--went daily to the filling of _la veuve_Guillotine's unspeakable market-basket. The spectacle proved tooupsetting both to Mr. Verity's amiable mind and rather queasy stomach. Faith failed; while even the millennium seemed hardly worth purchasing atso detestable a cost. He stood altogether too close to the terribledrama, in its later stages, to distinguish the true import or progressionof it. Too close to understand that, however blood-stained its cradle, the goodly child Democracy was veritably, here and now, in the act ofbeing born among men. Rather did he question whether his own fat littleneck was not in lively danger of being severed; and his own head--so fullof ingenious thoughts and lively curiosity--of being sent flying to jointhose of Brissot and Verginaud, of wayward explosive Camille and sweetLucile Desmoulins, in that same unspeakable basket. 

And to what end? For could he suppose the human race would be nearer, bythe veriest fraction of a millimetre, to universal liberty, equality, andprosperity, through his insignificant death? Modesty, and a naturalinstinct of self-preservation alike answered, "never a jot. " Whereuponwith pertinacious, if furtive, activity he sought means of escape. And, at length, after months of hiding and anxious flitting, found them in theshape of a doubtfully seaworthy, and undoubtedly filthy, fishing-smackbound from Le Havre to whatever port it could make on the English southcoast. The two days' voyage was rough, the accommodation and company tomatch. Mr. Verity spent a disgusting and disgusted forty-eight hours, tobe eventually put ashore, a woefully bedraggled and depleted figure, inthe primrose, carmine, and dove-grey of a tender April morning on the wetsand just below the sea-wall of Tandy's Castle. 

Never was Briton more thankful to salute his native land, or feel thesolid earth of it under his weary and very shaky feet. He, an epicure, ate such coarse food, washed down by such coarse ale, as Tandy's couldoffer with smiling relish. Later, mounted on a forest pony--anill-favoured animal with a wall-eye, pink muzzle, bristly upper andhanging lower lip, more accustomed to carry a keg of smuggled spiritsstrapped beneath its belly than a cosmopolitan savant and social reformeron its back--he rode the three miles to Marychurch, proposing there totake the coach to Southampton and, after a measure of rest and refitting, a post-chaise to Canton Magna, his elder brother's fine place lying in afold of the chalk hills which face the Sussex border. 

The pony moved slowly and sullenly; but its rider felt no impatience. Hishumour was of the kindliest. His heart, indeed, came near singing forjoy, simply, spontaneously, even as the larks sang, climbing up andupward from salt marsh and meadow, on either side the rutted road, intothe limpid purity of the spring sky. A light wind flapped thetravel-stained, high-collared blue cloth cloak which he wore; and broughthim both the haunting fetid-sweet reek of the mud flats--the tide beinglow--and the invigorating tang of the forest and moorland, uprollingthere ahead, in purple and umber to the pale northern horizon. Againstthat sombre background, fair and stately in the tender sunlight as achurch of vision or dream, Marychurch Abbey rose above the roofs andchimneys of the little town. 

During the latter half of the eighteenth century, not only werereligious systems very much at a discount among persons of intelligence, but the Deity himself was relegated to the position of an exploded idea, becoming an object of vituperation, witty or obscene according to thehumour of the individual critic. As one of the illuminated, Mr. Veritydid not escape the prevailing infection, although an inborn amenity ofdisposition saved him from atheism in its more blatantly offensive forms. The existence of the Supreme Being might be, (probably was) so he feared, but "a fond thing vainly imagined". Yet such is the constitution of thehuman mind that age confers a certain prestige and authority even uponphantoms and suspected frauds. Hence it followed that Mr. Verity, in theplenitude of his courtesy, had continued to take off his hat--secretlyand subjectively at all events--to this venerable theological delusion, so dear through unnumbered centuries to the aching heart and troubledconscience of humanity. 

But in the present glad hour of restored security--his head no longer indanger of plopping, hideously bodiless, into _la veuve's_ basket, hisinner-man, moreover, so recently and rackingly evacuated by thatabominable Channel passage, now comfortably relined with Tandy's meat anddrink--he went further in the way of acknowledgment. A glow of very vitalgratitude swept over him, so that looking at the majestic church--secularwitness to the soul's faith in and need of Almighty God's protectivemercy and goodness--he took off his hat, no longer metaphorically butactually, and bowed himself together over the pommel of the saddle withan irresistible movement of thanksgiving and of praise. 

Recovering himself after a minute or so--"Almost thou persuades! meto be a Christian, " he said aloud, shaking his head remonstrantly atthe distant church, while tears started to his busy, politelyinquisitive eyes. 

Then, striving by speech to bring his spirits to their accustomedplayfulness and poise, he soliloquized thus, still aloud:

"For, to be candid, what convincing argument can I advance, in the lightof recent experience, to prove that Rousseau, my friends theEncyclopeadists, or even the great M. De Voltaire, were really wiser intheir generation, truer lovers of the people and safer guides, than St. Benedict--of blessed memory, since patron of learning and incidentallysaviour of classic literature--whose pious sons raised this mostdelectable edifice to God's glory seven hundred years ago?--The tower isconsiderably later than the transepts and the nave--fifteenth century Itake it, --Upon my soul, I am half tempted to renounce my allegiance andto doubt whether our modern standards of civilization surpass, in theintelligent application of means to ends, those of these mediaevalcenobites, and whether we are saner philanthropists, deeper philosophers, more genial humanists than they!"

But here his discourse suffered mortifying interruption. He became awarethe pony stood stock-still in the middle of the road; and, turning itshead, so that he beheld its pink muzzle, bristly upper and hanging lowerlip in disagreeable profile, regarded him with malevolent contempt out ofits one sound eye, as who should say:

"What's the silly fellow trumpeting like this about? Doesn't the veriestnoodle contrive to keep a quiet tongue in his head out on the highway?"

Sensible of a snub, Mr. Verity jerked at the reins and clapped his heelsinto the creature's sides, as smartly as fatigue and native civilitypermitted, sending it forward at a jog-trot. Nevertheless hissoliloquy--a silent one now--continued, and that with notableconsequences to others besides himself. 

For his thought still dallied with the subject of the monastic life, aslived by those same pious Benedictines here in England long ago. Itsreasoned rejection of mundane agitations, its calm, its leisure, itsprofound and ardent scholarship were vastly to his taste, --A man touchingmiddle-age might do worse, surely, than spend his days between worshipand learning, thus?--He saw, and approved, its social office in offeringsanctuary to the fugitive, alms to the poor, teaching to the ignorant, consolation to the sick and safe passage heavenward to the dying. Saw, not without sympathy, its more jovial moments--its good fellowship, shrewd and witty conversation, well salted stories--whereat a man laughsslyly in his sleeve--its good cheer, too, with feasts on holy-days andhigh-days, rich and succulent. --And in this last connection, as hereflected, much was to be said for the geographical position ofMarychurch; since if river mists and white dullness of sea fog, driftingin from the Channel, were to hand, so, also, in their season, were freshrun salmon, snipe, wood-cock, flocks of wild duck, of plover and othersavoury fowl. 

For in this thankfulness of awakening from the hellish nightmare of theTerror, Mr. Verity's facile imagination tended to run to another extreme. With all the seriousness of which he was capable he canvassed the notionof a definite retirement from the world. Public movements, political andsocial experiments ceased to attract him. His appetite for helping tomake the wheels of history go round had been satisfied to the point ofnausea. All he desired was tranquillity and repose. He was free ofdomestic obligations and close family ties. He proposed to remainso--philosophy his mistress, science his hand-maid, literature hispastime, books (remembering the bitter sorrows of the tumbril andscaffold in Paris) in future, his closest friends. 

But, unfortunately, though the great church in all its calm grave, beauty still held the heart the fair landscape, the monastery, whichmight have sheltered his renunciation, had been put to secular uses orfallen into ruin long years ago. If he proposed to retire from theworld, he must himself provide suitable environment. Marychurch Abbey, at the end of the eighteenth century, had very certainly nothing tooffer him under that head. 

And then, with a swiftness of conception and decision possible only tomercurial-minded persons, his thought darted back to Tandy's, thatunkempt, morally malodorous back-of-beyond and No Man's Land. Its vacantwhitewashed countenance and long-eared chimney-stacks had welcomed him, if roughly and grudgingly, to England and to peace. Was he not in somesort thereby in debt to Tandy's bound by gratitude to the place? Shouldhe not buy it--his private fortune being considerable--and there planthis hermitage? Should he not renovate and transform it, redeeming it fromquestionable uses, by transporting thither, not himself only but his finelibrary, his famous herbarium, his cabinets of crystals, of coins, and ofshells? The idea captivated him. He was weary of destruction, having seenit in full operation and practised on the gigantic scale. Henceforth hewould devote all the energy he possessed to construction--on howevermodest and private a one--to a building up, as personal protest againstmuch lately witnessed wanton and chaotic pulling-down. 

In prosecution of which purpose, hopeful once more and elate, bobbingmerrily cork-like upon the surface of surrounding circumstance--althoughlamentably deficient, for the moment, in raiment befitting his positionand his purse--Mr. Verity spent two days at the Stag's Head, inMarychurch High Street. He made enquiries of all and sundry regardingthe coveted property; and learned, after much busy investigation thatthe village, and indeed the whole Hundred of Deadham, formed an outlyingand somewhat neglected portion of his acquaintance, Lord Bulparc'sHampshire estate. 

Here was solid information to go upon. Greatly encouraged, he took thecoach to Southampton, and thence up to town; where he interviewed firstLord Bulparc's lawyers and then that high-coloured, free-livingnobleman himself. 

"Gad, sir, " the latter assured him, "you're heartily welcome to the damnlittle hole, as far as I'm concerned, if you have the bad taste to fancyit. I suppose I ought to speak to my son Oxley about this just as amatter of form. Not that I apprehend Oxley will raise any difficulties asto entail--you need not fear that. We shall let you off easy enough--onlytoo happy to oblige you. But I warn you, Verity, you may drop moneybuying the present tenant out. If half my agent tells me is true, thefellow must be a most confounded blackguard, up to the eyes in allmanner of ungodly traffic. By rights we ought to have kicked him outyears ago. But, " his lordship chuckled--"I scruple to be hard on any man. We're none of us perfect, live and let live, you know. Only my dearfellow, I'm bound to put you on your guard; for he'll stick to the placelike a leech and blood-suck you like a leech too, as long as there's achance of getting an extra guinea out of you by fair means or foul. "

To which process of blood-sucking Mr. Verity was, in fact, ratherscandalously subjected before Tandy's Castle passed into his possession. But pass into his possession it finally did, whereupon he fell joyouslyto the work of reconstructive redemption. 

First of all he ordered the entrance of the underground passage, leadingto the river foreshore, to be securely walled up; and, with a finedisregard of possible unhealthy consequences in the shape of choke-damp, the doorways of certain ill-reputed vaults and cellars to be filled withsolid masonry. Neither harborage of contraband, cruel laughter of man, oryell of tortured beast, should again defile the under-world ofTandy's!--Next he had the roof of the main building raised, and given aless mean and meagre angle. He added a wing on the left containingpleasant bed-chambers upstairs, and good offices below; and, as crowningact of redemption, caused three large ground-floor rooms, backed by awide corridor, to be built on the right in which to house his library andcollections. This lateral extension of the house, constructed accordingto his own plans, was, like its designer, somewhat eccentric incharacter. The three rooms were semicircular, all window on the southerngarden front, veritable sun-traps, with a low sloped roofing ofgrey-green slate to them, set fan-wise. 

Such was the house at Deadham Hard when Mr. Verity's labours werecompleted. And such did it remain until a good eighty years later, whenit was visited by a youthful namesake and great-great nephew, undercircumstances not altogether unworthy of record. 

CHAPTER II

ENTER A YOUNG SCHOLAR AND GENTLEMAN OF A HAPPY DISPOSITION ANDGOOD PROSPECTS

The four-twenty down train rumbled into Marychurch station, and TomVerity stepped out of a rather frousty first-class carriage on to theplatform. There hot still September sunshine, tempered by a freshness offthe sea, met him. The effect was pleasurable, adding delicate zest to theenjoyment of living which already possessed him. Coming from inland, thenear neighbourhood of the sea, the sea with its eternal invitation, stirred his blood. 

For was not he about to accept the said invitation in its fullest andmost practical expression? Witness the fact that, earlier in the day, hehad deposited his heavy baggage at that house of many partings, manymeetings, Radley's Hotel, Southampton; and journeyed on to Marychurchwith a solitary, eminently virgin, cowhide portmanteau, upon theyellow-brown surface of which the words--"Thomas Clarkson Verity, passenger Bombay, first cabin R. M. S. _Penang_"--were inscribed in thewhitest of lettering. His name stood high in the list of successfulcandidates at the last Indian Civil Service examination. Now he reapedthe reward of past endeavour. For with that deposition of heavy baggageat Radley's the last farewell to years of tutelage seemed to him to bespoken. Nursery discipline, the restraints and prohibitions--in theirrespective degrees--of preparatory school, of Harchester, of Oxford; and, above all and through all, the control and admonitions of his father, theArchdeacon, fell away from him into the limbo of things done with, outworn and outpaced. 

This moved him as pathetic, yet as satisfactory also, since it set himfree to fix his mind, without lurking suspicion of indecorum, upon thelarge promise of the future. He could give rein to his eagerness, to hishigh sense of expectation, while remaining innocent of impiety towardspersons and places holding, until now, first claim on his obedience andaffection. All this fell in admirably with his natural bent. Self-reliant, agreeably egotistical, convinced of the excellence of hissocial and mental equipment, Tom was saved from excess of conceit by alively desire to please, an even more lively sense of humour, and anintelligence to which at this period nothing came amiss in the way of newimpressions or experiences. 

And, from henceforth, he was his own master, his thoughts, actions, purposes, belonging to himself and to himself alone. Really the positionwas a little intoxicating! Realizing it, as he sat in the somewhat stuffyfirst-class carriage, on that brief hour's journey from Southampton toMarychurch, he had laughed out loud, hunching up his shoulders saucily, in a sudden outburst of irrepressible and boyish glee. 

But as the line, clearing the purlieus of the great seaport, turnssouth-westward running through the noble oak and beech woods of ArnewoodForest, crossing its bleak moorlands--silver pink, at the present season, with fading heather--and cutting through its plantations of larch andScotch fir, Tom Verity's mood sobered. He watched the country reelingaway to right and left past the carriage windows, and felt its peculiarlyEnglish and sylvan charm. Yet he saw it all through a dazzle, as ofmirage, in which floated phantom landscapes strangely different insentiment and in suggestion. --Some extravagantly luxuriant, as setting tocrowded painted cities, some desert, amazingly vacant and desolate; but, in either case, poetic, alluring, exciting, as scenes far removed inclimate, faith and civilization from those heretofore familiar can hardlyfail to be. India, and all which India stands for in English history, challenged his imagination, challenged his ambition, since in virtue ofhis nationality, young and inexperienced though he was, he went to her asa natural ruler, the son of a conquering race. And this last thoughtbegot in him not only exultation but an unwonted seriousness. While, ashe thus meditated, from out the dazzle as of mirage, a single figure grewinto force and distinctness of outline, a figure which from his childhoodhad appealed to him with an attraction at once sinister and heroic--that, namely, of a certain soldier and ex-Indian official, his kinsman, to paya politic tribute of respect to whom was the object of his presentexcursion. 

In Catholic countries the World gives its children to the Church. InProtestant countries the process is not infrequently reversed, the Churchgiving its children to the World, and that with an alacrity which arguesremarkable faith and courage--of a sort! Archdeacon Verity had carefullyplanned this visit for his son, although it obliged the young man toleave home two days earlier than he need otherwise have done. It wasilluminating to note how the father brought all the resources of a finepresence, an important manner and full-toned archidiaconal voice to bearupon proving the expediency of the young man visiting this particularrelation, over whose career and reputation he had so often, in the past, pursed up his lips and shaken his head for the moral benefit of thedomestic circle. 

For the Archdeacon, in common with the majority of the Verity family, wasanimated by that ineradicable distrust of anything approaching geniuswhich distinguishes the English country, or rather county, mind. And thatSir Charles Verity had failed to conform to the family tradition ofsolid, unemotional, highly respectable, and usually very wealthy, mediocrity was beyond question. He had struck out a line for himself;and, as the event disclosed, an illustrious one. This the Archdeacon, being a good Conservative, disapproved. It worried him sadly, making himactually, if unconsciously, exceedingly jealous. And precisely on thataccount, by an ingenious inversion of reasoning, he felt he owed it toabstract justice--in other words to his much disgruntled self--to makeall possible use of this offending, this renegade personage, whenopportunity of so doing occurred. Now, learning on credible authoritythat Sir Charles's name was still one to conjure with in India, itclearly became his duty to bid his son seek out and secure whatevermodicum of advantage--in the matter of advice and introductions--might bederivable from so irritating a source. 

All of which, while jumping with his own desires, caused Tom much slymirth. For might it not be counted among the satisfactory results of hisdeposition of heavy baggage at Radley's that, for the first time in hislife, he was at liberty to regard even his father, Thomas PontifexVerity, Archdeacon of Harchester and Rector of Canton Magna, in a trueperspective? And he laughed again, though this time softly, indulgently, able in the plenitude of youthful superiority to extend a kindlytolerance towards the foibles and ingenuous hypocrisies of poormiddle-age. 

But here the train, emerging from the broken hilly country on theoutskirts of the forest, roared along the embankment which carries theline across the rich converging valleys of the Wilner and the Arne. Tomceased to think either of possible advantage accruing to his ownfortunes, or these defects of the family humour which had combined todictate his present excursion, his attention being absorbed by the beautyof the immediate outlook. For on the left Marychurch came into view. 

The great, grey, long-backed abbey stands on a heart-shaped peninsula ofslightly rising ground. Its western tower, land-mark for the valleys andseamark for vessels making the Haven, overtops the avenue of age-old elmswhich shade the graveyard. Close about the church, the red brick andrough-cast houses of the little market-town--set in a wide margin ofsalt-marsh and meadow intersected by blue-brown waterways--gather, as abrood of chickens gathers about a mothering hen. Beyond lie the paleglinting levels of the estuary, guarded on the west by gently upwardsloping cornlands and on the south by the dark furze and heath-clad massof Stone Horse Head. Beyond again, to the low horizon, stretches theChannel sea. 

The very simplicity of the picture gives it singular dignity and repose. Classic in its clearness of outline and paucity of detail, mediaeval insentiment, since the great Norman church dominates the whole, its appealis at once wistful and severe. And, this afternoon, just as the nearnessof the sea tempered the atmosphere lifting all oppressive weight from thebrooding sunshine, so did it temper the colouring, lending it an etherealquality, in which blue softened to silver, grey to lavender, while greenseemed overspread by powdered gold. The effect was exquisite, remindingTom of certain water-colour drawings, by Danvers and by Appleyard, hanging in the drawing-room of the big house at Canton Magna, and ofcertain of Shelley's lyrics--both of which, in their different medium, breathed the same enchantment of natural and spiritual loveliness, ofnameless desire, nameless regret. And, his nerves being somewhat strainedby the emotions of the day, that enchantment worked upon him strangely. The inherent pathos of it, indeed, took him, as squarely as unexpectedly, by the throat. He suffered a sharp recoil from the solicitation of thefuture, an immense tenderness towards the past. --A tenderness for thosesame years of tutelage and all they had brought him, not only inover-flowing animal spirits, happy intercourse and intellectualattainment; but in their limitation of private action, their security ofobligation, of obedience to authority, which at the time had seemedirksome enough and upon release from which he had so recentlycongratulated himself. 

Love of home, of England, of his own people--of the Archdeacon, in evenhis most full-voiced and moralizing mood--love of things tested, accustomed and friendly, touched him to the quick. Suddenly he askedhimself to what end was he leaving all these and going forth to encounteruntried conditions, an unknown Nature, a moral and social order equallyunknown? Looking at the peaceful, ethereally lovely landscape, set insuch close proximity and notable contrast to the unrest of that historichighway of the nations, the Channel sea, he felt small and lonely, childishly diffident and weak. All the established safety and comfort ofhome, all the thoughtless irresponsible delights of vanished boyhood, pulled at his heart-strings. He wanted, wanted wildly, desperately, notto go forward but to go back. 

Mind and body being healthy, however, the phase was a passing one, andhis emotion, though sincere and poignant, of brief duration. For youngblood--happily for the human story, which otherwise would read altogethertoo sad--defies forebodings, gaily embraces risks; and, true soldier offortune, marches out to meet whatever fate the battlefield of manhood mayhold for it, a song in its mouth and a rose behind its ear. 

Tom Verity speedily came to a steadier mind, pouring honest contempt uponhis momentary lapse from self-confidence. He was ashamed of it. Itamounted to being silly, simply silly. He couldn't understand, couldn'taccount for it. What possessed him to get a regular scare like this? Itwas too absurd for words. Sentiment?--Yes, by all means a reasonableamount of it, well in hand and thus capable of translation--if the fancytook you--into nicely turned elegiac verse; but a scare, a scare pure andsimple, wasn't to be tolerated! And he got up, standing astraddle tobrace himself against the swinging of the train, while he stretched, settling himself in his clothes--pulled down the fronts of his waistcoat, buttoned the jacket of his light check suit; and, taking off hiswide-awake, smoothed his soft, slightly curly russet-coloured hair withhis hand. These adjustments, and the assurance they induced that hispersonal appearance was all which it should be, completed his moralrestoration. He stepped down on to the platform, into the serene lightand freshness, as engaging and hopeful a youth of three and twenty as anyone need ask to see. 

"For The Hard? Very good, sir. Sir Charles's trap is outside in thestation yard. One portmanteau in the van? Quite so. Don't troubleyourself about it, sir. I'll send a porter to bring it along. "

This from the station-master, with a degree of friendly deference farfrom displeasing to the recipient of it. 

Whatever the defects of the rank and file of the Verity family inrespect of liberal ideas, it can safely be asserted of all its members, male and female, clerical and lay, alike, that they belonged to theequestrian order. Hence it added considerably to Tom's recoveredself-complacency to find a smart two-wheel dog-cart awaiting him, drawn bya remarkably well-shaped and well-groomed black horse. The coachman wasto match. Middle-aged, clean-shaven, his Napoleonic face set as a mask, his undress livery of pepper-and-salt mixture soberly immaculate. Hetouched his hat when our young gentleman appeared and mounted beside him;the horse, meanwhile, shivering a little and showing the red of itsnostrils as the train, with strident whistlings, drew out of the stationbound westward to Stourmouth and Barryport. 

Later the horse broke up the abiding inertia of Marychurch High Street, by dancing as it passed the engine of a slowly ambulant thrashingmachine; and only settled fairly into its stride when the three-arched, twelfth century stone bridge over the Arne was passed, and theroad--leaving the last scattered houses of the little town--turned southand seaward skirting the shining expanse of The Haven and threading thesemi-amphibious hamlets of Horny Cross and Lampit. 

CHAPTER III

THE DOUBTFULLY HARMONIOUS PARTS OF A WHOLE

A long, low, rectangular and rather narrow room, supported across thecentre--where passage walls had been cut away--by an avenue of dumpywooden pillars, four on either side, leading to a glass door opening onto the garden. A man's room rather than a woman's, and, judging byappearances, a bachelor's at that. --Eighteenth-century furniture, notignoble in line, but heavy, wide-seated, designed for the comfort ofbulky paunched figures arrayed in long napped waistcoats and full-skirtedcoats. Tabaret curtains and upholsterings, originally maroon, now dulledby sea damp and bleached by sun-glare to a uniform tone in which colourand pattern were alike obliterated. Handsome copperplate engravings ofPisa and of Rome, and pastel portraits in oval frames; the rest of thewhity brown panelled wall space hidden by book-cases. These surmounted bysoftly shining, pearl-grey Chinese godlings, monsters, philosophers andsaints, the shelves below packed with neatly ranged books. 

A dusky room, in spite of its rounded, outstanding sash-windows, two oneither side the glass door; the air of it holding, in permanent solution, an odour of leather-bound volumes. A place, in short, which, though notinhospitable, imposed itself, its qualities and traditions, to an extentimpossible for any save the most thick-skinned and thick-witted wholly toignore or resist. 

Young Tom Verity, having no convenient armour-plating of stupidity, suffered its influence intimately as--looking about him with quickenquiring glances--he followed the man-servant across it between thedumpy pillars. He felt self-conscious and disquieted, as by a smile ofsilent amusement upon some watchful elderly face. So impressed, indeed, was he that, on reaching the door, he paused, letting the man pass onalone to announce him. He wanted time in which to get over this queersensation of shyness, before presenting himself to the company assembled, there, in the garden outside. 

Yet he was well aware that the prospect out of doors--its amplitude ofmellow sunlight and of space, its fair windless calm in which no leafstirred--was far more attractive than the room in the doorway of which hethus elected to linger. 

For the glass-door gave directly on to an extensive lawn, set out, immediately before the house front, with scarlet and crimson geraniums inalternating square and lozenge-shaped beds. Away on the right a couple ofgrey-stemmed ilex trees--the largest in height and girth Tom had everseen--cast finely vandyked and platted shadow upon the smooth turf. Beneath them, garden chairs were stationed and a tea-table spread, atwhich four ladies sat--one, the elder, dressed in crude purple, the otherthree, though of widely differing ages and aspect, in light colouredsummer gowns. 

To the left of the lawn, a high plastered wall--masked by hollies, bay, yew, and at the far end by masses of airy, pink-plumed tamarisk--shut offthe eastward view. But straight before him all lay open, "clean away tothe curve of the world" as he told himself, not without a pull of emotionremembering his impending voyage. For, about sixty yards distant, thelawn ended abruptly in a hard straight line--the land cut off sheer, asit seemed, at the outer edge of a gravelled terrace, upon which two smallantiquated cannon were mounted, their rusty muzzles trained over swirlingblue-green tide river and yellow-grey, high-cambered sand-bar out to sea. 

Between these innocuous engines of destruction, little black cannon ballshad been piled into a mimic pyramid, near to which three men stoodengaged in desultory conversation. One of them, Tom observed as markedlytaller, more commanding and distinguished in bearing, than hiscompanions. Even from here, the whole length of the lawn intervening, his presence, once noted, became of arresting importance, focussingattention as the central interest, the one thing which vitally matteredin this gracious scene--his figure silhouetted, vertically, against thoselong horizontal lines of river, sand-bar, and far-away delicate junctionof opal-tinted sea with opal-tinted sky. 

Whereupon Tom became convicted of the agreeable certainty that nodisappointment awaited him. His expectations were about to receivegenerous fulfilment. This visit would prove well worth while. Soabsorbed, indeed, was he in watching the man whom he supposed--andrightly--to be his host, that he failed to notice one of the ladies risefrom the tea-table and advance across the lawn, until her youthfulwhite-clad form was close upon him, threading its way between the glowinggeranium beds. 

Then--"You are my cousin, Thomas Verity?" the girl asked, with a graveair of ceremony. 

"Yes--and you--you are my cousin Damaris, " he answered as he feltclumsily, being taken unaware in more respects than one, and, for all hisready adaptability, being unable to keep a note of surprise out of hisvoice and glance. 

He had known of the existence of this little cousin, having heard--onoccasion--vaguely irritated family mention of her birth at a time whenthe flame of the Mutiny still burned fiercely in the Punjab and in Oudh. To be born under such very accentuated circumstances could, in the eyesof every normal Verity, hardly fail to argue a certain obtrusiveness andabsence of good taste. He had heard, moreover, disapproving allusions tothe extravagant affection Sir Charles Verity was said to lavish upon thisfruit of a somewhat obscure marriage--his only surviving child. But thesaid family talk, in Tom's case, had gone in at one ear and out at theother--as the talk of the elder generation mostly does, and will, whenthe younger generation is solidly and wholesomely convinced of theoverwhelming importance of its own personal affairs. Consequently, incoming to Deadham Hard, Tom had thought of this little cousin--in as faras it occurred to him to think of her at all--as a child in theschoolroom who, beyond a trifle of good-natured notice at odd moments, would not enter into the count or matter at all. Now, awakening to thefact of her proximity, he awoke to the further fact that, with oneexception, she mattered more than anything or anybody else present. 

She was, in truth, young--he had been quite right there. Yet, like theroom in the doorway of which he still lingered, like the man standing onthe terrace walk--to whose tall figure the serene immensities of sea andsky acted as back-cloth and setting--she imposed herself. Whether she waspretty or plain, Tom was just now incapable of judging. He only knewthat her eyes were wonderful. He never remembered to have seen sucheyes--clear, dark blue-grey with fine shading of eyelash on the lower aswell as the upper lid. Unquestionably they surpassed all ordinarystandards of prettiness. Were glorious, yet curiously embarrassing; tooin their seriousness, their intent impartial scrutiny--under which last, to his lively vexation, the young man felt himself redden. 

And this, considering his superiority in age, sex, and acquirements, wasnot only absurd but unfair somehow. For did not he, as a rule, get oncharmingly well with women, gentle and simple, old and young, alike? Hadhe not an ingratiating, playfully flirtatious way with them in which hetrusted? But flirtatiousness, even of the mildest description, would notdo here. Instinctively he recognized that. It would not pay at all--inthis stage of the acquaintance, at all events. He fell back on civilspeeches; and these rather laboured ones, being himself ratherdiscountenanced. 

"It is extremely kind of you and Sir Charles to take me on trust likethis, " he began. "Believe me I am very grateful. Under ordinarycircumstances I should never have dreamed of proposing myself. But I amgoing out to India for the first time--sailing in the _Penang_ the dayafter to-morrow. And, as I should be so near here at Southampton, it was, I own, a great temptation to ask if I might come for a night. I felt--myfather felt--what a privilege it would be for me, a really tremendouspiece of luck, to meet Sir Charles before I started. Such a rare andmemorable send off for me, you know!"

"We were very glad you should propose yourself, " Damaris answered, stillwith her grave air of ceremony. 

"Awfully good of you, I'm sure, " the young man murmured. --No, she didn'tstare. He could not honestly call it staring. It was too calm, tooimpersonal, too reserved for that. She looked, with a view to arrivingat conclusions regarding him. And he didn't enjoy the process--not inthe least. 

"My father is still interested in everything connected with India, " shewent on. "He will like to talk to you. We have people with us thisafternoon whom he could not very well leave, or he would have driven intoMarychurch himself to fetch you. Dr. McCabe, who we knew at Bhutpur longago, came over unexpectedly from Stourmouth this morning; and my AuntHarriet Cowden telegraphed that she and Uncle Augustus would bring AuntFelicia, who is staying with them at Paulton Lacy, here to tea. --But, ofcourse, you know them quite well--Uncle Augustus, I mean, and my aunts. "

"Do I not know them!" Tom replied with meaning; while, humour getting theupper hand thanks to certain memories, he smiled at her. 

And, even at this early period in his career, it must be conceded thatTom Verity's smile was an asset to be reckoned with. Mischievous to theverge of impudence; but confidential, too, most disarmingly friendly--areally vastly engaging smile, which, having once beheld, most personsfound themselves more than ready to behold often again. 

Under its persuasive influence Damaris' gravity relaxed. She lowered hereyes, and the soft warm colour deepened in her cheeks. 

Her steady gaze removed, the young man breathed more freely. Hecongratulated himself. Intercourse was in act of becoming normal andeasy. So far it had been quite absurdly hind-leggy--and for him, _him_, to be forced into being hind-leggy by a girl of barely eighteen! Now heprepared to trot gaily, comfortably, off on all fours, when she spoke, bringing him up to the perpendicular again with a start. 

"I love Aunt Felicia very dearly, " she announced, as though in protestagainst some implied and subtle disloyalty. 

"But don't we all love Cousin Felicia?" he returned, promptly, eager tomaintain his advantage. "Isn't she kindness incarnate, Christiancharity personified? As for me, I simply dote on her; and with reason, for ever since those remote ages in which I wore scratchy pinafores andhorrid little white socks, she has systematically and pertinaciouslyspoiled me whenever she stayed at Canton Magna. --Oh! she is aninstitution. No family should be without her. When I was small she gaveme chocolates, tin soldiers, pop-guns warranted to endanger mybrothers' and sisters' eyesight. And now, in a thousand ways, consciousand unconscious, " he laughed quietly, naughtily, the words running overeach other in the rapidity of his speech--"she gives me such a blessedgood conceit of myself!"

And Damaris Verity, caught by the wave of his light-heartedness andinherent desire to please, softened again, her serious eyes alight forthe moment with answering laughter. Whereupon Tom crossed the thresholdand stood close beside her upon the grass in the brooding sunshine, thebeds of scarlet and crimson geraniums ranging away on glowing perspectiveto left and right. He glanced at the three ladies seated beneath thegiant ilexes, and back at his companion. He felt absurdly keen further toexcite her friendliness and dispel her gravity. 

"Only one must admit cousin Harriet is quite another story, " he went onsoftly, saucily. "Any conceit our dear Felicia rubs in to you, Harrietmost effectually rubs out. Isn't it so? I am as a worm, a positive wormbefore her--can only 'tremble and obey' like the historic lady in theglee. She flattens me. I haven't an ounce of kick left in me. And thenwhy, oh why, tell me, Damaris, does she invariably and persistentlyclothe herself in violet ink?"

"It is her colour, " the girl said, her eyes still laughing, her lipsdiscreetly set. 

"But why, in heaven's name, should she have a colour?" he demanded. "Foridentification, as I have a red and white stripe painted on my steamerbaggage? Really that isn't necessary. Can you imagine losing cousinHarriet? Augustus Cowden mislaying her, for example; and only recoveringher with joyful cries--we take those for granted in his case, ofcourse--at sight of the violet ink? Not a bit of it. You know as well asI do identification marks can't ever be required to secure her return, because under no conceivable circumstances could she ever be lost. She isthere, dear lady, lock, stock, and barrel, right there all the time. Soher raiment of violet amounts to a purely gratuitous advertisement of apermanently self-evident fact. --And such a shade too, such a positivelyexcruciating shade!"

But here a movement upon the terrace served, indirectly, to put a term tohis patter. For Sir Charles Verity, raising his voice slightly in passingemphasis, turned and moved slowly towards the little company gathered atthe tea-table. His two companions followed, the shorter of themapparently making answer, the words echoing clearly in genial richness ofaffirmation across the intervening space--"And so it was, General, am Inot recalling the incident myself? Indeed you're entirely right. "

"Come, " Damaris said, with a certain brevity as of command. 

"And feel a worm?"

"No--come and speak to my father. "

"Ah! I shall feel a worm there too, " the young man returned, an engagingcandour in his smiling countenance; "and with far better reason, unless Iam greatly mistaken. "

CHAPTER IV

WATCHERS THROUGH THE SMALL HOURS

Love, ill-health and debt being, as yet, unknown quantities to young TomVerity, it followed that insomnia, with its thousand and one attendantmiseries, was an unknown quantity likewise. Upon the eve of the stiffestcompetitive examination those, now outlived, years of tutelage hadimposed on him, he could still tumble into bed secure of lapsing intounconsciousness as soon as his head fairly touched the pillow. Dreamsmight, and usually did, visit him; but as so much incidental musicmerely to the large content of slumber--tittering up and down, tooairily light-footed and evanescent to leave any impress on mind orspirits when he woke. 

This night, at Deadham Hard, marked a new departure; sleep proving a lessabsolute break in continuity of sensation, a less absolute barrierbetween day and day. 

The Honourable Augustus and Mrs. Cowden, and Felicia Verity, not withoutlast words, adjurations, commands and fussings, started on theirtwelve-mile drive home to Paulton Lacy about six o'clock. A little laterDr. McCabe conveyed himself, and his brogue, away in an ancient hiredlandau to catch the evening train from Marychurch to Stourmouth. Dinnerfollowed, shortly after which Damaris vanished, along with hergoverness-companion, Miss Theresa Bilson--a plump, round-visaged, pink-nosed little person, permanently wearing gold eyeglasses, theoutstanding distinction of whose artless existence consisted, as Tomgathered from her conversation, in a tour in Rhineland and residence ofsome months' duration at the university town of Bonn. 

Then, at last, came the harvest of the young man's excursion, in theshape of first-hand records of war and government--of intrigue and ofsedition, followed by stern retributive chastisement--from that famoussoldier, autocratic and practised administrator, his host. 

In the opinion of a good many persons Tom Verity's bump of referenceshowed very insufficient development. Dons, head-masters, the pedagogicand professorial tribe generally, he had long taken in his stride quiteunabashed. Church dignitaries, too, left him saucily cool. For--so atleast he argued--was not his elder brother, Pontifex, private chaplain tothe Bishop of Harchester? And did not this fact--he knowing poor oldPonty as only brother can know brother--throw a rather lurid light uponthe spiritual and intellectual limitations of the Bench? In respect ofthe British aristocracy, his social betters, he also kept an open mind. For had not Lord Bulparc's son and heir, little Oxley, acted as his fag, boot-black and bacon-frier, for the best part of a year at school?Notwithstanding which fact--Lord Oxley was of a mild, forgivingdisposition--had not he, Tom, spent the cricket week several summersrunning at Napworth Castle; where, on one celebrated occasion, he bowleda distinguished Permanent Under-Secretary first ball, and, on another, chided a marquis and ex-Cabinet Minister for misquoting Catullus. 

Yet now, sitting smoking and listening to those records of eastern ruleand eastern battle, in the quiet lamp-light of the long room--with itsdark book-cases, faintly gleaming Chinese images, and dumpy pillars--hisnative cheekiness faded into most unwonted humility. For he wasincreasingly conscious of being, to put it vulgarly "up against somethingpretty big. " Conscious of a personality altogether too secure of its ownpower to spread itself or, in the smallest degree, bluff or brag. SirCharles Verity struck him, indeed, as calm to the confines of cynicism. He gave, but gave of his abundance, royally indifferent to the cost. There was plenty more where all this came from, of knowledge, ofinitiative and of thought. Only once or twice, during the course of theirlong talk, did the young man detect any sign of personal feeling. Thenfor an instant, some veil seemed to be lifted, some curtain drawn aside;while, with dazzling effect, he became cognizant of underlyingbitterness, underlying romance--of secret dealings of man with man, ofman with woman, and the dealing, arbitrary, immutable, final, of Deathand a Greater than Death, with both. 

These revelations though of the briefest, over before he fairly graspedtheir import, gone like a breath, were still sufficient to discredit manypreconceived ideas and enlarge his mental horizon to a somewhat anxiousextent. They carried him very far from life as lived at Canton MagnaRectory; very far from all, indeed, in which the roots of his experiencewere set, thus producing an atmosphere of doubt, of haunting andinsidious unrest. 

And of that atmosphere he was particularly sensible when, standing inthe hall, flat candlestick in hand, he at last bade Sir Charles Veritygood night. 

"It has been a wonderful evening, sir, " he said, simply and modestly. "You have been awfully kind in sparing me so much of your time; but, indeed, it has not been time wasted. I begin to measure a little whatIndia means, I hope. Certainly I begin to measure the depth of my ownignorance. I see I have nearly everything of essential importance stillto learn. And that is a pretty large order--almost staggeringly large nowthat, thanks to you, I begin to realize the vastness of the amount. "

"The majority of men in your Service never realize it, " Charles Verityreturned. "They run in blinkers from first to last. --Not that I underratetheir usefulness. They are honest, painstaking, thoroughly reliable, according to their lights. They do excellent journeyman work. But therelies the heart of the whole matter. --Are you content to do journeymanwork only; or do you aspire to something greater?--If the former, thenyou had best forget me and all I have told you this evening as fast aspossible. For it will prove a hindrance rather than a help, confusing theissues. --No--no--listen a moment, my dear boy"--

This kindly, indulgently even, as Tom made a gesture of repudiation andbegan to speak. 

"If the latter--well, the door stands open upon achievement by no meanscontemptible, as the opportunities of modern life go; but, it is onlyfair to warn you, upon possibilities of trouble, even of disaster, by nomeans contemptible either. For, remember, the world is so constitutedthat if you elect to drive, rather than be driven, you must be preparedto take heavy risks, pay heavy penalties. Understand"--

He laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. 

"I do not pose as a teacher, still less as a propagandist. I do notattempt to direct the jury. The choice rests exclusively withyourself. --And here rid your mind of any cant about moral obligations. Both ways have merit, both bring rewards--of sorts--are equallycommendable, equally right. Only this--whether you choose blinkers, yourbarrel between the shafts and another man's whip tickling your loins, orthe reins in your own hands and the open road ahead, be faithful to yourchoice. Stick to it, through evil report as well as through good. "

He lifted his hand off Tom's shoulder. And the latter, looking round athim was struck--in mingled admiration and repulsion--by his likeness tosome shapely bird of prey, with fierce hooked beak and russet-grey eyes, luminous, cruel perhaps, yet very sad. 

"Above all be careful in the matter of your affections, " Sir Charles wenton, his voice deepening. "As you value your career, the pride of yourintellect, --yes--and the pride of your manhood itself, let nothingfeminine tempt you to be unfaithful to your choice. Tempt you to be oftwo minds, to turn aside, to turn back. For, so surely as you do, youwill find the hell of disappointment, the hell of failure and regret, waiting wide-mouthed to swallow you, and whatever span of life may remainto you, bodily up. "

He checked himself, breaking off abruptly, the veil lowered again, thecurtain drawn into place. 

"There, " he said, "we have talked enough, perhaps more than enough. Youhave a long day before you to-morrow, so my dear boy, go to bed. Myquarters are down here. "

He made a gesture towards the dark corridor opening off the far sideof the hall. 

"You know your way? The room on the right of the landing. "

"Yes. I know my way, thanks, sir, " Tom answered--

And, thus dismissed, went on upstairs, carrying the silver flatcandlestick, while his shadow, black on the panelled wall, mounted besidehim grotesquely prancing step by step. 

The furnishing of his room was of a piece with all below, solid yet notuncomely. It included a four-post bed of generous proportions, hangings, curtains and covers of chintz, over which faded purple and crimson roseswere flung broadcast on a honey-yellow ground. The colourings werediscreetly cheerful, the atmosphere not unpleasantly warm, the quiet, save for the creaking of a board as he crossed the floor, unbroken. Outwardly all invited to peaceful slumber. And Tom felt more than readyto profit by that invitation this last night on shore, last night inEngland. His attention had been upon the stretch for a good many hoursnow, since that--after all rather upsetting--good-bye to home and familyat Canton Magna, following an early and somewhat peripatetic breakfast. Notwithstanding his excellent health and youthful energy, mind and bodyalike were somewhat spent. He made short work of preparation, slipped inbetween the fine cool linen sheets, and laid his brown head upon the softbillowing pillows, impatient neither to think nor feel any more butsimply to sleep. 

For some two hours or so he did sleep, though not without phantasmagoriaqueerly disturbing. The sweep of his visions was wide, ranging from thatredoubtable county lady, Harriet Cowden _née_ Verity--first cousin of hisfather, the Archdeacon, and half-sister to his host--in her violet-inkhued gown, to fury of internecine strife amid the mountain fastnesses ofAfghanistan, --from the austere and wistful beauty of the grey, long-backed Norman Abbey rising above the roofs and chimneys of thelittle English market-town, to the fierce hectic splendour of Easterncities blistering in the implacable sun-glare of the Indian plains. Dayson the Harchester playing fields, days on the river at Oxford, and stillearlier days in the Rectory nursery at home; bringing with them sense ofsmall bitter sorrows, small glorious triumphs, of laughter and uproariousfun, of sentimental passages at balls, picnics, garden parties, too, withcharmingly pretty maidens who, in all probability, he would never clapeyes on again--all these, and impressions even more illusive andfugitive, playing hide-and-seek among the mazelike convolutions of hisall too active brain. 

Then, on a sudden, he started up in bed, aware of external noise andmovement which brought him instantly, almost painfully, broad awake. 

For a quite appreciable length of time, while he sat upright in the warmdarkness, Tom failed either to locate the noise which had thus rousedhim, or to interpret its meaning. It appeared to him to start at theriver foreshore, pass across the garden, into and through theground-floor suite of rooms and corridor which Sir Charles had indicatedas reserved to his particular use. --What on earth could it be? What didit remind him of?--Why, surely--with a start of incredulousrecognition--the sound of hoofs, though strangely confused and muffled, such as a mob of scared, over-driven horses might make, flounderingfetlock deep in loose sand. 

Alive with curiosity he sprang out of bed, groped his way across to thewindow and, putting up the blind, leaned out. 

A coppery waning moon hung low in the south-east, and sent a pale rustypathway across the sea to where, behind the sand-bar, rippling wavesbroke in soft flash and sparkle. Its light was not strong enough toquench that of the stars crowding the western and the upper sky. Tomcould distinguish the black mass of the great ilex trees on the right. Could see the whole extent of the lawn, the two sentinel cannon andpyramid of ammunition set on the terrace along the top of the sea-wall. And nothing moved there, nothing whatever. The outstretch of turf wasvacant, empty; bare--so Tom told himself--as the back of his own hand. The sounds seemed to have ceased now that sight denied them visible causeof existence; and he began to wonder whether his hearing had not playedhim false, whether the whole thing was not pure fancy, a delusion born ofagitated dreams. 

He pushed the sash up as far as it would go and leaned further out of thewindow. The luscious scent of a late flowering species of lonercera, trained against the house wall, saluted his nostrils, along with afetid-sweet reek off the mud-flats of the Haven. Away in the village adog yelped, and out on the salt-marshes water-fowl gave faint whistlingcries. Then all settled down into stillness, save for the just audiblechuckle and suck of the river as the stream met the inflowing tide. 

The stillness pleased him. For so many nights to come there would be noneof it; but ceaselessly the drumming of the engines, quiver of the screw, and wash of the water against the ship's side. --All the same he did notquite like the colour of the moon or that frayed flattened edge of itwestward. Why is there always something a trifle menacing about a waningmoon? He did not like the smell of the mud-flats either. It might not beactually unhealthy; but it suggested a certain foulness. He yawned, drewback into the room, and straightening himself up, stretched his handsabove his head. He would get into bed again. He was dog-tired--yes, mostdistinctly bed!

Then he stopped short, listening, hastily knelt down by the window andagain leaned out. For once more he heard horses coming up from the shore, across the garden, into and through the house, hustling and trampling oneanother as they shied away from the whip. --There were laggards too--onestumbled, rolled over in the sand, got on its feet after a nastystruggle, and tottered onward dead lame. Another fell in its tracks andlay there foundered, rattling in the throat. 

The sounds were so descriptive, so explicit and the impression producedon Tom Verity's mind so vivid that, carried away by indignation, he foundhimself saying out loud:

"Curse them, the brutes, the cowardly brutes, mishandling their cattlelike that! They"--

And he stopped confounded, as it came home to him that throughout thecourse of this cruel drama he had seen nothing, literally nothing, thoughhe had heard so convincingly much. A shiver ran down his spine and hebroke into a sweat, for he knew beyond question or doubt not so much as ashadow, --let alone anything material--had breasted the sea-wall, passedover the smooth level turf, or entered--how should it?--the house. 

The garden lay outspread before him, calm, uninvaded by any alien being, man or animal. The great ilex trees were immobile, fixed as the eternalstars overhead. And he shrank in swift protest, almost in terror, beingcalled on thus to face things apparently super-normal, forces unexploredand uncharted, defying reason, giving the lie to ordinary experience andordinary belief. Reality and hallucination, jostled one another in histhought, a giant note of interrogation written against each. For whichwas the true and which the false? Of necessity he distrusted the evidenceof his own senses, finding sight and hearing in direct conflict thus. 

The two or three minutes that followed were among the most profoundlydisagreeable Tom ever had spent. But at last, a door opened below, letting forth a shaft of mellow lamp-light. It touched the flower-beds onthe left edging the lawn, giving the geraniums form and colour, layingdown a delicate carpet of green, transmuting black into glowing scarlet. Tall and spare in his grey and white sleeping-suit, Sir Charles Veritysauntered out, and stood, smoking, looking out to sea. 

Earlier that night, downstairs in the sitting-room, he seemed a stormcentre, generating much perplexity and disquiet. But now Tom welcomed hisadvent with a sense of almost absurd satisfaction. To see what wassolidly, incontrovertibly, human could not but be, in itself, a mightyrelief. --Things began to swing into their natural relation, man, livingman, the centre, the dominant factor once more. He, Tom, could now shiftall responsibility, moreover. If the master of the house was on guard, he might wash his hands of these hateful ghostly goings on--if ghostlythey were--leaving the whole matter to one far stronger and morecompetent than himself. 

Whereupon he went back to bed; and slept profoundly, royally, untilHordle the man-servant, moving about the bright chintz bedecked room, preparing his bath and laying out his clothes, awoke him to the sweetnessof another summer day. 

CHAPTER V

BETWEEN RIVER AND SEA

"We had a grand talk last night--Sir Charles was in splendid form. Ienjoyed it down to the ground. "

Tom Verity lay, at full length on the upward sloping, sun-warmed bank ofsand and shingle. Only to youth is given enjoyment of perfect lazinessjoined with perfect physical vigour. Just because he felt equal tovaulting the moon or long-jumping an entire continent, should suchprodigious feats be required of him, could he lie thus in gloriousidleness letting the earth cradle and the sun soak into him. Doubts anddisturbances of last night melted in daylight to an almost ludicrousnothingness and self-confidence reigned; so that he declared the world asuper-excellent place, snapping his fingers at problems and mysteries. Aspark of curiosity pricked him still, it is true, concerning the originof certain undeniably queer aural phenomena. He meant to satisfy thatcuriosity presently; but the subject must be approached with tact. Hemust wait on opportunity. 

A few paces from and above him, Damaris sat on the crown of the ridge, where the light southerly wind, coming up now and again off the sea, fanned her. A white knitted jersey, pulled on over her linen dress, moulded the curve of her back, the round of her breasts and turn of herwaist, showing each movement of her gracious young body to the hips, asshe leaned forward, her knees drawn up and her feet planted among thered, orange, and cream-grey flints and pebbles. 

Looking up at her, Tom saw her face foreshortened in the shade of herbroad brimmed garden hat, a soft clear flush on it born of health, freshair and sunlight, her eyes shining, the blue of the open sea in theirluminous depths. He received a new impression of her. She belonged to themorning, formed part of the gladness of universal Nature, an unfetterednymph-like being. To-day her mood was sprightly, bidding farewell toceremony. Yet, he felt, she remained perplexing, because more detachedthan is the feminine habit, poised and complete in herself. 

And this detachment, this suppression of the sentimental or socialnote--he being admittedly a very personable fellow--piqued Tom's malevanity, so that he rallied her with:

"But by the way, why did you vanish so early, why didn't you stay with usafter dinner last night?"

"I did not want to vanish, " she answered. "Nothing is more delightfulthan hearing my father talk. But had I stayed Miss Bilson would havesupposed herself free to stay too, and that would have spoiled theevening. My father doesn't choose to talk freely before Miss Bilson, because she gets into a foolish excited state and interrupts and asksquestions. She overflows with admiration and that annoys and bores him. "

"'She brought him butter in a lordly dish, '" Tom quoted. "The ill-advisedBilson. Can't one just see her!"

"And it is not her place to admire out loud, " Damaris continued. "Overand over again I have tried to explain that to her. But in some ways, sheis not at all clever. She can't or won't understand, and only tells AuntFelicia I am wanting in sympathy and that I hurt her feelings. She hasunreasonably many feelings, I think, and they are so easily hurt. Ialways know when the hurting takes place because she sniffs and thenplays Mendelssohn's Songs without Words on the schoolroom piano. "

Tom chuckled. She had a caustic tongue on occasion, thisnymph-like creature!

"Alas, poor Bilson!" he said. "For, as Sir Charles walked across thegarden with us down to the ferry, didn't I hear those same sugarymelodies tinkling out of some upper open window?"

"I am afraid you did. You see she had made up her mind to come with me. "

"And you were forced to intimate you found yourself quite equal toconducting the expedition unshepherded?"

"I did not mean to be unkind, but she would have been so dreadfully inthe way"--

Damaris gathered up a handful of little pebbles, and let them dribbledown slowly between her outspread fingers while, turning her head, shegazed away out to sea. 

"This is a day by itself, " she said. "It looks like jewels, topazes, turquoise, and pearls; and it seems full of things which half tellthemselves, and then hide from or pass you by. --I wanted to watch it alland think; and, she doesn't do it on purpose I know, but somehow MissBilson always interferes with my thinking. "

Both the tone and substance of this discourse proved slightly startlingto its hearer. They carried the conversation into regions transcendental;and to his blissful laziness, the rarefied air of those regions wasunwelcome. To breathe it demanded exertion. So he said, chaffingly:

"Do I interfere with your thinking? I hope not. But if I offend that way, speak but a word and I disappear like a shot. "

"Oh! no, " she answered. "How could you interfere? You are part of it. Youstarted it, you see, because you are going to India. "

Whereat, failing to catch the sequence of ideas, male vanity plumeditself, tickled to the point of amusement. For was not she a child afterall, transparently simple and candid, and very much a woman-child atthat! Tom turning on his side raised himself on one elbow, smiling at herwith easy good-nature. 

"How charming of you to adopt me as a special object of thought, and careso much about my going. "

But patronage proved short-lived. The girl's colour deepened, but hereyes dwelt on him coldly. 

"I have only been thinking how fortunate you are, and seeing pictures inmy mind of what you will see which will be new to you--and--andremembering. "

"Oh! of course, I am lucky, tremendously lucky, " he hastened to declare, laughing a little wryly. "Such a journey is a liberal education initself, knocking the insularity out of a man--if he has any receptivefaculty that is--and ridding him of all manner of stodgy prejudices. Idon't the least undervalue my good fortune. --But you talk of remembering. That's stretching a point surely. You must have been a mere baby, my dearDamaris, when you left India. "

"No, I was six years old, and I remember quite well. All my caring forpeople, all my thinking, begins there, in the palace of the Sultan-i-baghat Bhutpur and the great compound, when my father was ChiefCommissioner. "

Her snub duly delivered, and she secure it had gone home, Damaris unbent, graciously communicative as never before. 

"It was all so beautiful and safe there inside the high walls, and yet ateeny bit frightening because you knew there were other things--as thereare to-day--which you felt but couldn't quite see all about you. Sometimes they nearly pushed through--I was always expecting and I liketo expect. It hurt me dreadfully to go away; but I had been very ill. They were afraid I should die and so Dr. McCabe--he was here when youarrived yesterday--insisted on my being sent to Europe. A lady--Mrs. Pereira--and my nurse Sarah Watson took me to Paris, to the conventschool where I was to be educated. It was all very strange, but the nunswere kind. I liked their religion, and I got accustomed to the otherlittle girls. I had rooms of my own; and French friends of my father'svisited me and took me out on half-holidays. And Aunt Felicia came overto fetch me for the summer vacations and brought me here"--

Damaris pointed across the tide-way to the river frontage, including withone sweeping gesture the whole demesne of The Hard from the deep lane onthe one hand, opening funnel-like upon the shore, past sea-wall--toppedat the corner by pink plumed tamarisk, the small twin cannons and pyramidof ball--the lawn and irregular white house overlooking it, backed andflanked by rich growth of trees, to a strip of sandy warren and pinescrub on the other, from out which a line of some half-dozen purplestemmed, red branched Scotch firs, along with the grey stone built Innand tarred wooden cottages on the promontory beyond, showed through adancing shimmer of heat haze, against the land-locked, blue and silverwaters of Marychurch Haven. 

"I did not like being here at all at first, " she told him. "I thought ita mean place only fit for quite poor people to live in. The house seemedso pinched and naked without any galleries or verandahs. And I was afraidbecause we had so few servants and neither door-keepers or soldiers. Icould not believe that in England there is so little need for protectionagainst disaffected persons and thieves. The sunshine was pale and thin, and the dusk made me sad. At Bhutpur the sun used to drop in flame behindthe edge of the world and night leap on you. But here the day took solong dying. Aunt Felicia used to praise what she called 'the long sweetEnglish twilight, ' and try to make me stop out in the garden to enjoy itwith her. But I could not bear it. The colours faded so slowly. It seemedlike watching some helpless creature bleed to death silently, growinggreyer minute by minute and feebler. I did not want to watch, but goindoors where the lamps were lighted and it was warm and cosy. I used tocry dreadfully, when I could get away by myself where Aunt Felicia andthe maids could not see me, cry for my father--he resigned theCommissionership, you know, when I was sent home and took service inAfghanistan under the Ameer--and for my darling friend, Mrs. Pereira, andfor the Sultan-i-bagh, where I knew strangers lived now. For the lotustank and orange grove, and all my little tame animals and my prettyplay-places I should never, never see any more"--

Overcome by which intimate memories, Damaris' grave voice--which hadtaken on a chanting cadence, at once novel and singularly pleasing to theyoung man's ear--quavered and broke. 

"Poor little exiled princess!" he cried, all his facile kindness to thefore again. "Yes, it must have been cruelly hard on you. You must havesuffered. No wonder you cried--cried buckets full. "

And drawn by pity for that desolate, tropic-bred little child, Tom got onto his feet and crunched up the loose shingle to the crest of the ridge, full of a lively desire to pacify and console. But here the soft breezemet and caressed him, and the whole plain of the tranquil sea came intoview--turquoise shot with pearl, as Damaris recently figured it, andfringed with topaz where waves, a few inches high and clear as glass, broke on the yellow sand at the back of the Bar just below. 

"How wonderfully lovely!" he exclaimed, carried out of himself by theextreme fairness of the scene. And, his hands in his trouser pockets hestood staring, while once again the pull of home, of England, oftenderness for all that which he was about to leave, dimmed his eyes andraised a lump in his throat. 

"Upon my word, you must be difficult to please if this place doesn'tplease you or come up to your requirements, Damaris, " he said, presentlysitting down beside her. "No Arabian Nights palace in Asia, I grant you;yet in its own humbler and--dare I say?--less showy, manner not easy tobeat. Breathe this enchanting air. See the heavenly tints with which ourgood dirty useful old Channel has adorned itself. Can you ask for more, you insatiable person, in the way of beauty?"

Then, slightly ashamed of his outburst, Tom practised a delightful smile, at once sentimental and flirtatious. 

"No, on second thoughts, my dear princess, I keep my commiseration for mywretched self--every crumb of it. For I am the lonely exile--that is, Iam just about to be--not you. Be advised, don't quarrel with the goodgifts of the gods. Deadham Hard is frankly entrancing. How willinglywould I put off taking ship for your vaunted India, and spend theunending cycles of eternity here--with you, well understood--in this mostdelectable spot instead. "

Whereupon Damaris, with mingled gravity and haste, her head bent, sothat hat-crown and hat-brim were presented to the young man's observationrather than her face, proceeded to explain she had spoken not of thepresent but of the past. From the time Sir Charles returned to inhabitit, The Hard was transformed; his presence conferring interest anddignity upon it, rendering it a not unworthy dwelling-placeindeed--should any such happen that way--for sages, conquerors, or evenkings. He cared for the little property, a fact to her all sufficient. For him it held the charm of old associations. The pleasantest days ofhis boyhood were spent here with Thomas Clarkson Verity, his greatuncle--who eventually left him the property--nor had he ever failed laterto visit it when home on leave. In pious remembrance of that distant eraand of his entertaining and affectionate, if somewhat eccentric, host andfriend he forbade any alteration in the house or grounds. It continuedto-day just as old Mr. Verity left it. There was no break, even indetails of furnishing or arrangement, with the past. This, to SirCharles, added to the natural restfulness of the place. Now after thegreat achievements and responsibilities of his Eastern career he foundretirement congenial. The soft equable climate benefited his health. Rough shooting and good fishing could be had in plenty--stag-hunting, too, in Arnewood Forest, when he inclined to such sport. The Hard wassufficiently easy of access from town for friends to come and stay withhim. Convenient for crossing to the Continent too, when he took hisyearly cure at Aix or at Vichy, or went south for a couple of months, aslast winter for instance, to Cette, Montpelier and across, by Pau, to theAtlantic seaboard at St. Sebastian, Biarritz, and Bayonne. 

"When my father travels I go with him, " Damaris said, raising her headand looking at the young man with proud, deliberate eyes. "We bothsuffered too much, we must never be separated again. And when we goabroad, we go alone. There is no one to give advice or interfere. We takeHordle, to pack and look after the baggage. We are always together, andI am always happy. I wish we could live like that always, with no settledhome. But after a while, my father grows tired of hotels. He begins towish for the quiet of The Hard, and all the things he is accustomed to. And then, naturally, I begin to wish for it too. "

From which statement, made as he judged with intention, Tom apprehendedan attachment of no common order existing between these two persons, father and child. If, as family gossip disapprovingly hinted, theaffection given appeared to trench on exaggeration, the affectionreturned was of kindred quality, fervid, self-realized, absorbing, andabsorbed. Comparing it with his own humorously tolerant filial attitude, Tom felt at once contrite and injured. The contrast was glaring. Butthen, as he hastened to add--though whether in extenuation of his own, orof his father's, shortcomings remained open to question--wasn't thecontrast between the slightly pompous, slightly bow-windowed, provincial, Tory cleric and this spare, inscrutable soldier and ruler, glaringlikewise? To demand that the one should either experience or inspire thesame emotions as the other was palpably absurd! Hence (comfortableconclusion!) neither he, Tom, nor the Archdeacon was really toblame. --Only, as he further argued, once the absurdity of that samedemand admitted, were you not free to talk of exaggeration, or of the"grand manner, " as you chose? Were not the terms interchangeable, if youkept an open mind? His personal acquaintance with the "grand manner" inrespect of the affections, with heroical love, amounted, save inliterature, to practically nothing; yet instinctively he applied thosehigh sounding phrases to the attachment existing between Damaris and herfather. Both as discovery and, in some sort, as challenge to his ownpreconceived ideas and methods this gave him food for serious thought. 

He made no attempt at comment or answer; but sat silent beside the girl, bare-headed in the soft wind and sunlight, between the flowing river andtranquil sea. 

The "grand manner"--that was how, naturally, without posing or bombast, these two persons envisaged life for good or evil--for this last, too, might be possible!--shaped their purposes and conduct. Sir Charles, heknew, had played for big stakes. Damaris, he felt intuitively, youngthough she was, played and would play for them likewise. He looked at herwith awakened speculation, awakened curiosity. What, he wondered, wouldcome of it. Did it make her attractive or the reverse? Really he wasn'tat all sure. Whereat he grew restive, the claims of inherent masculinesuperiority, let alone those of public school, university and anhonourable profession, asserting themselves. He began to question whetherthis young lady did not take up an undue amount of room, thus crampinghim and denying his powers of conversation suitable opportunity ofdisplay. Was not it about time gently to reduce her, relegate her to amore modest position? To achieve which laudable result--he acted, ofcourse, for her good exclusively--he prepared to broach the subject ofthe unaccountable noises which disturbed his rest last night. He wouldcross-examine her as to their origin, thereby teasing and perhaps evendiscountenancing her somewhat. 

But before Tom could put his benevolent scheme into execution, hisattention was unexpectedly diverted, a quite new element projectingitself upon the scene. 

For some little while an open boat, a hoary though still seaworthy tub ofa thing, deep in draught and broad in the beam, loaded up withlobster-pots--the skeleton ribs of them black against the surroundingexpanse of shining turquoise and pearl--had slowly neared the Bar fromseaward. The bows, in which a small, withered old man bent double overthe oars, cocked up on end. The stern, where a young man stood erectamong the lobster-pots, was low in the water. Now, as the nose of theboat grounded, the young man clambered along the gunwale, and balancingfor a minute, tall and straight, on the prow, took a flying leap acrossthe wide intervening space of breaking wave and clear water, alighting onhis feet, upon the firm sand beyond. 

"Good for him! Neatly done, " Tom Verity murmured, appreciating the graceand vigour of the action. 

The young man, meanwhile, turning, called to the rower: "Thank youheartily for putting me ashore, Daddy Proud. I'll go across home by theferry. But see here, can you manage her by yourself or shall I help shoveher off for you?"

"Lord love 'ee, I can manage her sure enough, " the other called backshrilly and a trifle truculently. "I knows 'er ways and she knows hermaster--ought to by now the old strumpet, if years count foranythink. So don't 'ee go wetting yer dandy shoes for the likes ofher and me, Cap'en. "

And keckling with thin wheezy laughter he straightened his back, and, planting one oar in the sand, set the boat afloat again skilfully. 

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH THE PAST LAYS AN OMINOUS HAND ON THE PRESENT

Down here on the shore, in the serene morning atmosphere, voices carriedwith peculiar distinctness. Every word of the brief colloquy had reachedTom Verity; and one word at least possessed an Elizabethan flavourforbidden to ears Victorian, feminine and polite. Noting it Tom reddenedand glanced uneasily at his companion, all inclination to tease givingplace to a laudable desire to shield her from annoyance. But Damaris, judging by her demeanour, was unaware of any cause of offence; whence, with relief he concluded that either she had not heard, or that the rankexpression conveyed nothing intelligible to her mind. 

Her open hand pressed down upon the rough surface of the pebbles, sheleaned a little backward, her lithe body twisted sideways from the waist, while she scrutinized the man upon the sands below. And that the latterpresented a gallant and even distinguished appearance, though arrayed inleather-peaked cap, blue serge reefer jacket and trousers which hadevidently seen service, Tom could not but admit, as he stood just clearof the ripples of incoming tide staring idly after the receding boat withits cargo of black ribbed skeleton lobster-pots. --A spirited-looking, well-made fellow, no doubt; merchant captain or more probably mate--Tomtook him to be about eight-and-twenty--but in an altogether differentrank of life to themselves and therefore a quite unsuitable object forprolonged and earnest attention. His advent should be treated as anaccident, not elevated thus to the importance of an event. It was notquite good taste on Damaris' part Tom felt; and he made a show of rising, saying as he did so, by way of excuse:

"It is wonderfully charming out here. I am loath to break up our little_tête-à-tête;_ but time waits for no man, worse luck, and if I am tocatch my train I must start directly after luncheon. Sir Charles was goodenough to promise me various letters of introduction to persons in, highplaces. He told me to remind him about them. I don't want to be greedybut I should like those letters. Perhaps I ought to be getting back so asto see your father about them. "

But before Damaris had time to collect her thoughts and reply, the man inthe peaked cap had further asserted his presence. Either becomingconscious of her observation, or caught by something in Tom Verity'sspeech, he wheeled round and looked up at the two in swift, almosthaughty, enquiry. To Tom he vouchsafed little more than a glance, butupon Damaris his eyes fastened. For a good minute he stared at her, asthough in some sort holding her to ransom. Then with an upward jerk ofthe head and an ejaculation, half smothered oath, half sharp laughter--asof one who registers eminently ironic conclusions--he began deliberatelyascending the slope. 

Tom Verity, though possessed of plentiful cheekiness towards the majorityof his elders and betters, was no fire-eater. He preferred diplomacy towar; and would adroitly evade rather than invite anything approaching ascene, specially in the presence of a woman. Yet under existingcircumstances retreat had become, as he perceived, not only undignifiedbut useless. So in his best Oxford manner--a manner ornate, at thatperiod, and quite crushingly superior--he raised his shoulders, smiledfaintly, resignedly, and disposed himself in an easier attitude, saying:

"Better wait, perhaps, my dear Damaris. I would sooner risk losing thoseprecious letters than acquire a possible escort for you--and formyself--down to the river and across the ferry. "

And he threw a meaning glance over his shoulder, indicating theobtrusive stranger. 

So doing he received a disturbing impression. For seen thus, at closequarters, not only was the said stranger notably, even astonishinglygood-looking, but he bore an arresting likeness in build, in carriage, inexpression to--

Tom paused perplexed, racking his brains. --For who, the deuce, was it?Where had he seen, and that as he could have sworn quite recently, thissame forceful countenance lit by russet-grey eyes at once dauntless andsad, deep-set, well apart, the lids of them smooth and delicatelymoulded? The man's skin was tanned, by exposure, to a tint but a fewshades lighter than that of his gold-brown beard--a beard scrupulouslygroomed, trimmed to a nicety and by no means deforming the lower part ofthe face since the line of jaw and chin remained clearly discernible. 

Tom turned away and looked absently at The Hard in its broad reposefulframe of lawn and trees. The cool green foliage of a bank ofhydrangeas--running from the great ilexes to the corner of thehouse--thick-set with discs of misty pink and blue blossom took hisfancy, as contrast to the beds of scarlet and crimson geranium naming inthe sun. But below any superficial sense of pleasure in outward things, thought of that likeness--and likeness, dash it all, to whom?--stillvexed him as a riddle he failed to guess. Obligation to guess it, to findthe right answer, obsessed him as of vital interest and importance, though, for the life of him, he could not tell why. His sense ofproportion, his social sense, his self-complacency, grew restive underthe pressure of it. He told himself it wasn't of the smallestconsequence, didn't matter a fig, yet continued to cudgel his memory. And, all the while, the sound of deliberate footsteps crunching over thedry rattling shingle, nearer and nearer, contributed to increase hisinward perturbation. 

The footsteps halted close behind him--while for a sensible length oftime a shadow lay across him shutting off the genial warmth--and startedagain, passing to the left, as the intruder traversed the crown of theridge a few paces from where Damaris was seated, and pursued his way downto the river-shore on the other side. 

"At last--I thank you!" Tom broke out impatiently. 

He felt incomprehensibly nervous; and angry with himself for so feeling. 

"Commend me to our friend for taking his time about things, andincidentally wasting ours--yours and mine, I mean! What on earth did hewant? He certainly treated us to a sufficiently comprehensive inspection. Well, I hope he was satisfied. By the same token, have you any conceptionwho the fellow is?"

Damaris shook her head. She, too, appeared perturbed. Her eyebrows weredrawn into a little frown and her expression was perplexed to the pointof child-like distress. 

"Not any, " she answered simply. "Some one staying at Faircloth's Innpossibly. People come there from Marychurch to spend the day during thesummer. Old Timothy Proud, the lobster-catcher, who brought him round inhis boat, lives at one of the cottages close to the Inn. No, " sherepeated, "I have no conception who he is, and yet his face seemedfamiliar. I had a feeling that I knew him quite well--had seen him often, oh! very often before. "

"Ah! then you were puzzled by some mysterious likeness, "--Tom beganeagerly, smiling at her. And stopped short, open-mouthed, assailed by soapparently preposterous a recognition that for the minute it left himfairly speechless. 

But Damaris, busy with her own sensations, her glance still following theblue-clad figure along the shore and out on to the tumble-down woodenjetty, failed to remark his embarrassment and thus gave him time torecover his scattered wits. 

"Jennifer is bringing the ferry-boat across, " she said presently, "so youwon't have to wait much longer. Not that you need be at all anxious aboutthose letters. It is not my father's habit to forget a promise. Mostlikely they were written last night before he went to bed. He sleepsbadly, I am sorry to say, and is glad to cheat the wakeful hours byreading and doing his correspondence until late. "

As she spoke the young girl rose to her feet, pulling the close-fittingjersey down over her hips and, stooping, dusted particles of sand off thehem of her dress. 

"There--that's better. Now I am tidy. Shall we go home, cousin Tom?"she asked. 

Her eyes shone with inward excitement and she carried her head proudly, but her face was white. And he, sensible that she had suddenly hardenedtowards him and strove, he could not divine why, to keep him at arm'slength, turned perversely teasing again. He would not await a moreconvenient season. Here and now he would satisfy his curiosity--and ather expense--regarding one at least of the queer riddles Deadham Hard hadsprung on him. 

"I did not know your father suffered from sleeplessness, " he said. "Itmust be horribly trying and depressing. I am glad, in a way, you havetold me, because it may account for my seeing him go out into the gardenfrom the study last night, or rather very early this morning. It would beabout two o'clock. I put down his appearance to another cause, and"--

He smiled at her, delightfully ingratiating, assaugingly apologetic. 

"Shall I own it?--one which, frankly, struck me as a little upsetting andthe reverse of pleasant. "

"Weren't you comfortable? I am so sorry, " Damaris exclaimed, instincts ofhospitality instantly militant. "What was wrong? You should have calledsomeone--rung for Hordle. What was it?"

"No--no--my dear Damaris, don't vex yourself I entreat you. I was inclover, luxuriously comfortable. You've allotted me a fascinating roomand perfect dream of a bed. I feel an ungrateful wretch for so much asmentioning this matter to you after the way in which you have indulgedme. Only something rather extraordinary really did happen, of which Ihonestly confess I am still expiring to find a reasonable and not toohumiliating explanation. For, though I blush to own it"--

He laughed softly, humping up his shoulders after the manner of a naughtysmall boy dodging a well-merited box on the ear. --

"Yes, I blush to own it, but I was frightened, downright frightened. Iquailed and I quaked. The sight of Sir Charles stepping out of the studywindow filled me with abject rapture. Metaphorically speaking, my cravensoul squirmed at his heels. He was to me as a strong tower and house ofdefence. --But look here, Damaris, joking apart, tell me weren't youdisturbed, didn't you hear any strange noises last night?"

"No, none. " She hesitated, then with evident reluctance--"I sleep in thenew wing of the house. "

"Which you imply, might make a difference?" Tom asked. 

"The older servants would tell you that it does. "

"And you agree with them?"

Damaris had a moment of defective courage. 

"I would rather not discuss the subject, cousin Tom, " she said and movedaway down over the shifting shingle. 

At first her progress was sober, even stately. But soon, either from thesteep, insecure nature of the ground or from less obvious and materialcause, her pace quickened until it became a run. She ran neatly, deftly, all of a piece as a boy runs, no trace of disarray or femininefloundering in her action. More than ever, indeed, did she appear a finenymph-like creature; so that, watching her flight Tom Verity was touchedalike with self-reproach and admiration. For he had succeeded inasserting himself beyond his intention. Had overcome, had worsted her;yet, as it occurred to him, won a but barren victory. That she wasalienated and resentful he could hardly doubt, while the riddle he hadrather meanly used to procure her discomfiture remained unanswered asever, dipped indeed only deeper in mystery. He was hoist with his ownpetard, in short; and stood there nonplussed, vexed alike at himself andat circumstance. 

A soft wind, meanwhile, caressed him, as hesitating, uncertain what to donext, he glanced out over the smiling sea and then back at the delicateshore line, the white house, the huge evergreen trees and brilliantflower garden. A glamour covered the scene. It was lovely, intimately, radiantly lovely as he had lately declared it. Yet just now he grewdistrustful, as though its fair seeming cloaked some subtle trickery anddeceit. He began to wish he had not undertaken this expedition toDeadham; but gone straight from the normal, solidly engrainedphilistinism of dear old Canton Magna to join his ship. In coming here hehad, to put it vulgarly, bitten off more than he could chew. For theplace and its inhabitants seemed to have a disintegrating effect on him. Never in all his life had he been such a prey to exterior influences, been twisted and turned to and fro, weather-cock fashion, thus. It wasabsurd, of course, to take things too seriously, yet he could not butfear the Archdeacon's well-intentioned bit of worldliness and his owndisposition to court whatever family prejudice pronounced taboo, were inprocess of leading him a very questionable little dance. 

Reaction, however, set in before long, as with so lively, light-hearted atemperament, it was bound to do, the healthy scepticism, healthy optimismof untried three-and-twenty rising to the surface buoyant as a cork. 

Tom Verity shook himself, took off his hat, smoothed his hair, settledhis tie, hitched up the waist of his trousers, stamping to get them intoplace, laughed a little, calling himself every sort of silly ass, andthen swung away down the side of the long ridge in pursuit of Damaris. He acknowledged his treatment of her had been lacking in chivalry. Hehadn't shown himself altogether considerate or even kind. But shechallenged him--perhaps unconsciously--and once or twice had come nearmaking him feel small. --Oh! there were excuses for his behaviour! Nowhowever he would sail on another tack. Would placate, discreetly cherishher until she couldn't but be softened and consent to make it up. Afterall maidens of her still tender age are not precisely adamant--such atleast was his experience--where a personable youth is concerned. It onlyneeded a trifle of refined cajolery to make everything smooth and tobring her round. 

He overtook the fugitive as she reached the low wooden jetty crawling, like some giant but rather dilapidated black many-legged insect, out overthe stream. Its rows of solidly driven piles were intact, but the stagingthey supported had suffered damage from the rush of river floods, letalone from neglect and age. Handrails were broken down, planks rotted andwrenched away leaving gaps through which the cloudy greenish blue watercould be seen as it purred and chuckled beneath. Here, at the riverlevel, it was hot to the point of sultriness, the air heavy, evenstagnant, since the Bar shut off the southerly breeze. 

"Upon my word one requires to be in training to race you, my dearDamaris, " the young man said gaily, ostentatiously mopping his forehead. "And I'm disgracefully soft just now, I know. You beat me utterly andignominiously; but then you did have a good three minutes' start. Incommon honesty you can't deny that"--

The girl made no response, but began mounting the few sand-strewn stepson to the jetty. He saw her face in profile, the delicate upward curve ofher long dark eyelashes in the shade of her hat. Saw, too, that her softlips quivered as with the effort to repress an outburst of tears. Andthis affected him as the wounding of some strong free creature might, stirring his blood in a fashion new to him and strange. For not only didhe find it piteous; but unseemly, unpermissible somehow, yet marvellouslysweet, startling him out of all preconceived light diplomatic plans, plucking shrewdly at his complacently unawakened heart. 

He came close to her, and putting his hand under her elbow gently heldit. 

"Pray, pray be careful, " he said. "I don't trust this crazy little pierof yours one atom. Any one of these boards looks capable of crumbling andletting one through. --And, Damaris, please don't be cross with me or Ishall be quite miserable. Forgive my having asked you stupid questions. Iwas a blundering idiot. Of course, what I heard last night was just someecho, some trick of wind or of the river and tide. I was half asleep andimagined the whole thing most likely, magnified sounds as one does, don't you know, sometimes at night. Your father talked wonderfully, and Iwent to bed dazzled, such imagination as I possess all aflame"--

But Damaris shook her head, while her elbow rested rigid upon the palmof his hand. 

"No--what you heard was real, " she answered. "I heard once myself--andthe people here know about it. They say the dead smugglers still drivetheir ponies up from the beach, across the lawn where the old road was, and, as it sounds, through the round rooms downstairs, in which my fatherlives, on their way up into the forest. --You cannot help seeing--althoughyou see nothing--how the ponies are ill-used, hounded and flogged. Thelast of the drove are lame and utterly worn out. They stumble alonganyhow and one falls. Oh! it is cruel, wicked. And it is--was, reallytrue, cousin Tom. It must have happened scores of times before old Mr. Verity, your namesake, put a stop to the iniquity by buying The Hard--Ihave only heard the ponies driven once, about this time in September lastyear--just before something very sad, quite of my own, happened"--

Damaris stopped, her lips quivering again and too much for speech. 

"Don't tell me any more. I can't bear you to be distressed. Pray, praydon't"--the young man urged incoherently while his grasp on her elbowtightened somewhat. 

For he felt curiously flurried and put about; near cursing himselfmoreover for having helped to break up her high serenity thus. The wholething was manifestly impossible as he told himself, outside everyrecognized law of Nature and sound science. Even during the mistrustfulphantasy-breeding watches of the night, when reason inclines to draganchor setting mind and soul rather wildly adrift, he had refusedcredence to the apparent evidence of his own senses. Now in broaddaylight, the generous sunshine flooding him, the smooth river purringand glittering at his feet, belief in grim and ghostly happenings becamemore than ever inadmissible, not to say quite arrantly grotesque. YetDamaris' version of those same happenings tallied with his own in everypoint. And that her conviction of their reality was genuine, profoundindeed to the point of pain, admitted neither of question nor of doubt. 

CHAPTER VII

A CRITIC IN CORDUROY

William Jennifer, who successfully combined in his single person thevaried offices of ferryman, rat-catcher, jobbing gardener, amateurbarber, mender of sails and of nets, brought the heavy, flat-bottomedboat alongside the jetty. Shipping the long sweeps, he coughed behind hishand with somewhat sepulchral politeness to give warning of his presence. 

"Sweethearting--lost to sight and hearing, espoused to forgetfulness, " hemurmured, peering up at the two cousins standing in such close proximityto one another upon the black staging above. 

For William Jennifer was a born lover of words and maker of phrases, addicted to the bandying of pleasantries, nicely seasoned to theirrespective age, sex and rank, with all he met; and, when denied anaudience, rather than keep silence holding conversation with himself. 

The hot morning induced thirst, which, being allayed by a couple of pintsat Faircloth's Inn, induced desire for a certain easiness of costume. Hiswaistcoat hung open--he had laid aside his coat--displaying a broadstitched leather belt that covered the junction between buff corduroytrousers and blue-checked cotton shirt. On his head, a highthimble-crowned straw hat, the frayed brim of it pulled out into a pokein front for the better shelter of small, pale twinkling eyes set in afoxy face. 

The said face, however--for all its sharp-pointed nose, long upper lip, thin gossipy mouth, tucked in at the corners and opening, redlycavernous, without any showing of teeth, a stiff sandy fringe edgingcheeks and chin from ear to ear--could on occasion become utterly blankof expression. It became so now, as Tom Verity, realizing the fact of itsowner's neighbourhood, moved a step or two away from Damaris and, jumping on board himself, proceeded with rather studied courtesy to handher down into the boat. 

"Looks as there might have been a bit of a tiff betwixt 'em"--ThusJennifer inwardly. Then aloud--"Put you straight across the ferry, sir, or take you to the breakwater at The Hard? The tide's on the turn, sowe'd slip down along easy and I'm thinking that 'ud spare Miss Verity thetraipse over the shore path. Wonnerful parching in the sun it is for thelatter end of September. "

"Oh! to the breakwater by all means, " Tom answered with alacrity. 

For reaction had set in. Not only was the young man still slightlyflustered, but vexed by the liveliness of his own emotions. Everythingto-day savoured of exaggeration. The most ordinary incidents distended, inflated themselves in a really unaccountable manner. So that, frankly, he fought shy of finding himself alone with Damaris again. She seemed soconstantly to betray him into ill-regulated feeling, ill-consideredspeech and action, which tended to endanger the completeness of hisself-esteem. Therefore, although admitting his attitude to be scantilyheroic, he welcomed the prospect of the ferryman's chaperonage until suchtime as her father or her discarded lady-in-waiting, the innocent andpink-nosed Bilson, should effect his final deliverance. 

"Yes, it is uncommonly hot, " he repeated, while, with both arms extended, he worked to keep the side of the boat from bumping against the range ofpiles, backing it clear of the jetty into the fairway of the river. Hefound exertion pleasant, steadying. 

"Neither Miss Verity nor I shall be sorry to be saved the walk alongthat basting path. That is, " he added, smiling with disarminggood-temper, "if we're not blocking business and keeping you too longaway from the ferry. "

But Jennifer, mightily pleased at his company and having, moreover, certain scandalous little fishes of his own to fry--or attempt tofry--waved the objection aside. 

The ferry could very well mind itself for a while, he said; and ifanyone should come along they must just hold hands with patience till hegot back, that was all. But passengers were few and far between this timeof year and of day. The "season"--as was the new-fangled fashion to callit--being now over; trippers tripped home again to wheresoever theirnatural habitat might be. The activities of boys' schools, picnicparties, ambulant scientific societies and field-clubs--out in pursuit ofweeds, of stone-cracking, and the desecration of those old heathenburying barrows on Stone Horse Head quieted off for the time being. Deadham, meanwhile, in act of repossessing its soul in peace andhibernating according to time-honoured habit until the vernal equinox. 

Not that he, Jennifer, as he explained, owned to any quarrel with thealien invasion. Good for trade they were, that tripper lot, thoughwonnerful simple, he must say, when they came to talk, blessed with analmighty wide swallow for any long-eared fairy tale you liked to put onthem. Mortal full of senseless questions, too, fit to make anybodylaugh!--Whereat overcome by joyous memories of human folly, he opened thered cavern of his apparently toothless mouth, barking up audible mirth, brief and husky, from the depth of a beer-slaked throat. 

He leaned forward while speaking, resting chest and elbows on theoars--only now and again dipping the blades in the water to steady theboat in its course as it moved smoothly onward borne by brimming streamand tide. From out the shadow of his thimble-crowned hat he looked upknowingly, with the freemasonry of assured good-temper at Tom, who stoodbefore him hands in pockets, friendly and debonair, class distinctionsfor the moment quite forgot. For, let alone immediate convenience ofchaperonage, the young man found unexpected entertainment in this typicalSouth Saxon, relic, as it struck him, of a bygone age and social order. Might not that tough and somewhat clumsy body, that crafty, jovial, yetnon-committal countenance, have transferred themselves straight from thepages of Geoffrey Chaucer into nineteenth-century life? Here, was amaster of primitive knowledge and of arts not taught in modern Board (orany other) Schools; a merry fellow too, who could, as Tom divined, whencompany and circumstances allowed, be broadly, unprintably humorous. 

So, in this last connection perhaps, it was just as well that Damarisstill appeared somewhat implacable. Coming on board she had passedJennifer--who rowed amidships--and gone right forward, putting as wide adistance as conditions permitted between her cousin and herself. Now, asshe sat on a pile of red-brown seine nets in the bow of the boat, shekept her face averted, looking away down the cool liquid highway, andpresenting to his observation a graceful, white-clad but eminentlydiscouraging back. Her attitude repelled rather than invited advances, soat least Tom, watching her, certainly thought. This justified his notfollowing her but staying where he was, and leaving her to herself. Whereupon annoyance again beset him; for it was very little to his creditto have mismanaged his dealings with her and alienated her sympathiesthus. With her, it was very evident, he had not been at all a success. And it pricked his young vanity very shrewdly not to be a success. 

From these unsatisfactory reflections William Jennifer's voice, prefacedby a warning cough, recalled him. 

"Making any long stay in these parts, sir?" he enquired. 

And when Tom explained that a few hours from now would witness thetermination of his visit, and that, in all probability, many years ofabsence from England lay ahead--

"Indeed, indeed, to be sure. Who'd have thought it for a young gentlemanof the quality-like yourself! But, there, some are born under thetraveller's star, sir--created with a roving spirit. And the Lord help'em, I say, for they're so made as to be powerless to help themselvesseemingly. Rove they must and will, if they are to taste anycontentment--an itch in their feet from the cradle nought but foreignlands'll serve to pacify. The sight of the ocean now, seems fairlytormenting to 'em till they can satisfy themselves of what's on the farside of it. "

But, here, the boat being unduly drawn aside by the suck of some localcurrent, Jennifer was constrained to apply his mind to navigation. Hedipped the long sweeps, and with a steady powerful pull straightened thecourse to midstream. Then raising the glistening blades, off which thewater dripped white and pattering, he leaned forward again, restingelbows and chest on the butt-end of the oars, and once more addressedhimself to polite conversation. 

"Not as I've been greatly troubled that way myself. Had my chance ofgoing to sea and welcome many's the time when I was a youngster. Butalways a one for the land, I was. Never had any special fancy for saltwater, though I do make my living of it now, as you may say, in a sense. "

During this biographical excursion Tom Verity's attention wandered. Hiseyes dwelt on Damaris. She had altered her position turning half round asshe scanned the strip of sandy warren with its row of sentinel Scotchfirs bordering the river. Seen thus, three-quarter face, Tom realizedsuddenly not only how really beautiful she was--or rather could atmoments be--but how strangely she resembled Sir Charles her father. Therewas likeness not of features alone; but, for all her youthful freshness, a reflection of his strength, his inscrutability. Whereupon ratherunworthy curiosity reawoke in Tom Verity, to satisfy which he was temptedto descend to methods not entirely loyal. 

Damaris, sitting to windward, must be out of earshot assuredly, yet helowered his voice as he said:

"By the way, talking of going to sea, can you tell me anything about theyoung sailor whom you took across the ferry just before fetching MissVerity and me? I am pretty sure I have met him before and yet I can'tplace him somehow. "

Jennifer shot a sharply enquiring glance at the speaker; for here, atfirst sight, appeared rare opportunity of that same coveted andscandalous fish-frying! Yet he debated the wisdom of immediate indulgencein that merry pastime, inherent suspicion of class for class, suspiciontoo, of this young gentleman's conspicuously easy, good-natured manner, preaching caution. A show of friendliness supplies fine cover for thegaining of one's own ends. --Hadn't he, Jennifer, practised the friendlymanoeuvre freely enough himself on occasion? And he did not in the leastrelish the chance of walking into a trap, instead of jovially baitingone. So he dipped the oars again, and answered slowly as though thequestion taxed his memory sorely, his face vacant of expression as anempty plate. 

"Brought him across before I started to fetch you and the young lady, sir, did I? To be sure, there, let me see. I've had several sea-goingchaps of sorts back and forth this morning. Come and go most days, theydo, come and go without my taking any particular account--the Lordforgive me, for it ain't over civil--unless strangers should hail me, orsomeone out of the common such as Miss Verity and yourself. A passingshow, sir, half the time those I carry; no more to me, bless you, than somany sand-fleas a-hopping on the beach. --Mr. Blackmore--coast-guardofficer he is--I fetched him across early, with one of his men cominground from the Head. And that poor lippity-lop, Abram Sclanders'eldest. --Pity he wasn't put away quiet-like at birth!--Terrible drag heis on Abram and always will be. Anybody with an ounce of gumption mighthave seen he'd be a short-wit from the first. --I took him over; but that'ud the opposite way about, as he wanted to go shrimping back of the Barso he said. "

Jennifer paused as in earnest thought. 

"No, not a soul to merit your attention, to-day, sir, that I can call tomind. Unless"--with an upward look of returning intelligence--"but thatain't very likely either--unless it should be Darcy Faircloth. I'd cleanforgot him, so I had. Cap'en Faircloth, as some is so busy calling 'im, now, in season and out of season till it's fairly fit to make youlaugh. --Remarkable tall, Johnny-head-in-air young feller with a curlyyaller beard to him. "

"That's the man!" Tom exclaimed. 

He had distrusted Jennifer's show of ignorance, believing he was beingfenced with, played with, even royally lied to; but this merely served toheighten his curiosity and amusement. Something of moment must lie, hefelt, behind so much wandering talk, something of value, purposely andcunningly withheld until time was ripe for telling disclosure. 

"Darcy Faircloth--Captain Faircloth?" he could not but repeat, and withsuch honest puzzlement and evident desire for further enlightening as toovercome his hearer's hesitation. 

"No--not a likely person for you to be in any wise acquainted with, sir, "Jennifer returned, wary still, though yielding--"even if you didn'thappen to be a bit new to Deadham yourself, as I may put it. For beenaway mostly from his natural home here, young Faircloth has, ever sincehe was a little shaver. Mrs. Faircloth--owns the Inn there and all theappurtenances thereof, sheds, cottages, boats, and suchlike, shedoes--always had wonnerful high views for him. Quite the gentleman Darcymust be, with a boarding school into Southampton and then the best of theMerchant Service--no before the mast for him, bless you. There was a snuglittle business to count on, regular takings in the public, week in andweek out--more particularly of late years in the summer--let alone therest of the property--he being the only son of his mother, too, and she awidow woman free to follow any whimsies as took her about the lad. "

Jennifer gave some slow, strong strokes, driving the lumbering boatforward till the water fairly hissed against its sides. And Tom Veritystill listened, strangely, alertly interested, convinced there was more, well worth hearing, to follow. 

"Oh! there's always bin a tidy lot of money behind young Darcy, and isyet I reckon, Mrs. Faircloth being the first-class business woman she is. Spend she may with one hand, but save, and make, she does and no mistake, Lord love you, with the other. Singular thing though, " he addedmeditatively, his face growing wholly expressionless, "how little Darcy, now he's growed up, features old Lemuel his father. Squinny, red-cheekedlittle old party, he was; thin as a herring, and chilly, always chilly, sitting over the fire in the bar-parlour winter and summer too--smallsqueaky voice he had minding any one of a penny whistle. But a warm manand a close one--oh! very secret. Anybody must breakfast overnight andhurry at that--eat with their loins girded, as you may say, to getupsides with old Lemuel. "

He ceased speaking, and glanced round over his shoulder calculatingthe distance to the breakwater, for the boat drew level with thesea-wall of rough-hewn pinkish-grey granite along the river frontageof The Hard gardens. 

"There's some as 'ud tell you it was the surprise of old Lemuel's life tofind himself a parent, " he added, eyeing Tom slyly as he spoke, his mouthremaining open as in preparation for coming laughter. 

For those same scandalous little fishes were well into the frying-pan, now--sizzling, frizzling. And this was a vastly agreeable moment toWilliam Jennifer, worth waiting for, worth scheming for. Unprintablehumour looked out of his twinkling eyes while he watched to see how farTom Verity caught his meaning. Then as the young man flushed, suddendistaste, even a measure of shame invading him, Jennifer, true artist inscandal, turned the conversation aside with an air of indulgent apology. 

"But, lor, there, you know how people'll talk in a little country placewhere there ain't much doing!--And it ain't for me to speak of whathappened back in those times, being barely out of my teens then and awaycow-keeping over Alton way for Farmer Whimsett. Regular chip of the oldblock, he was. Don't breed that sort nowadays. As hearty as you like, andswallered his three pints of home-brewed every morning with his breakfasthe did, till he was took off quite sudden in his four-score-and-tentwelve months ago come Michaelmas. "

Upon the terrace, by the pyramid of ball and the two little cannons, SirCharles Verity stood, holding a packet of newly written letters in hishand and smoking, while he watched the approaching boat. Damaris rosefrom the pile of red-brown fishing-nets and waved to him. Jennifer, too, glanced up, steadying both oars with one hand while he raised the otherto the brim of his thimble-crowned hat. A couple of minutes more and hewould part company with his passenger, and so judged it safe to indulgehimself with a final fish-frying. 

"Mortal fine figure of a man, Sir Charles even yet, " he said to Tomadmiringly. "But anybody should have seen him as a young gentleman. Whenhe used to visit here in old Mr. Verity's time, none in the country-sidecould hold a candle to him for looks, as you may say. Turned the females'heads he did. Might have had his pick of the lot, maids and wives alikefor 'arf a word. Well, good-bye to you, sir"--and, as certain coinchanged hands--"thank ye, sir, kindly. Wish you a pleasant voyage and arare good picking up of honours and glories, and gold and silverlikewise, there across the seas and oceans where you're a-going to. "

BOOK II

THE HARD SCHOOL OF THINGS AS THEY ARE

CHAPTER I

IN MAIDEN MEDITATION

It was afternoon, about five o'clock. The fine September weather, hot andcloudless, lasted still. The air was heavy with garden scents, thearomatic sweetness of sun-baked gorse and pine-scrub on the warren, andwith the reek off the mud-flats of the Haven, the tide being low. Uponthe sandy skirts of the Bar, across the river just opposite, threecormorants--glossy black against the yellow--postured in extravagantangular attitudes drying their wings. Above the rim of the silver-bluesea--patched with purple stains in the middle distance--webs of steamersmoke lay along the southern sky. Occasionally a sound of voices, thecreak of a wooden windlass and grind of a boat's keel upon the pebbles asit was wound slowly up the foreshore, came from the direction of theferry and of Faircloth's Inn. The effect was languorous, would have beenenervating to the point of mental, as well as physical, inertia had notthe posturing cormorants introduced a note of absurdity and the taintedbreath of the mud-flats a wholesome reminder of original sin. 

Under these conditions, at once charming and insidious, Damaris Verity, resting in a wicker deck-chair in the shade of the great ilex trees, found herself alone, free to follow her own vagrant thoughts, perceptions, imaginations without human let or hindrance. Free to dreamundisturbed and interrogate both Nature and her own much wondering soul. 

For Sir Charles was away, staying with an old friend and formerbrother-in-arms, Colonel Carteret, for a week's partridge shooting overthe Norfolk stubble-fields. Sport promised to be good, and Damaris hadgreat faith in Colonel Carteret. With him her father was always amused, contented, safe. Hordle was in attendance, too, so she knew his comfortin small material matters to be secure. She could think of him withoutany shadow of anxiety, her mind for once at rest. And this she enjoyed. For it is possible to miss a person badly, long for their returnardently, yet feel by no means averse to a holiday from more activeexpenditure of love on their account. 

And Theresa Bilson--pleasing thought!--was, for the moment, absent also, having gone to tea with the Miss Minetts. Two maiden ladies, these, ofuncertain age, modest fortune and unimpeachable refinement, once likeTheresa herself, members of the scholastic profession; but now, thanks tothe timely death of a relative--with consequent annuities and lifeinterest in a ten-roomed, stone-built house of rather mournful aspect inDeadham village--able to rest from their ineffectual labours, support theChurch, patronize their poorer and adulate their richer neighbours totheir guileless hearts' content. 

Gentility exuded from the Miss Minetts, and--if it is permissibleslightly to labour the simile--their pores were permanently open. Owingboth to her antecedent and existing situation, it may be added, TheresaBilson was precious in their sight. For had she not in the past, likethemselves, sounded the many mortifications of a governess' lot; and wasshe not now called up higher, promoted indeed to familiar, almost hourly, intercourse with the great? Miss Felicia Verity was known to treat herwith affection. Mrs. Augustus Cowden, that true blue of county dames andlocal aristocrats, openly approved her. She sat daily at Sir CharlesVerity's table and helped to order his household. What more genuinepatents of gentility could be asked? So they listened with a pleasure, deep almost to agitation, to her performances upon the piano, herreminiscences of Bonn and the Rhine Provinces, and, above all, to heranecdotes of life at The Hard and of its distinguished owner's habits andspeech. Thus, by operation of the fundamental irony resident in things, did Theresa Bilson, of all improbable and inadequate little people, become to the Miss Minetts as a messenger of the gods; exciting in themnot only dim fluttering apprehensions of the glories of art and delightsof foreign travel, but--though in their determined gentility they knew itnot--of the primitive allurements and mysteries of sex. 

The moral effect of this friendship upon Theresa herself was not, however, of the happiest. Fired by their interest in her recitals she wastempted to spread herself. At first almost unconsciously, for by instinctshe was truthful, she embroidered fact, magnifying her office not only inrespect of her ex-pupil Damaris but of Damaris' father also. Sherepresented herself as indispensable to both parent and child, until shemore than half believed that flattering fiction. She began to reckonherself an essential element in the establishment at The Hard, the pivotindeed upon which it turned. Whereupon a rather morbid craving for theMiss Minetts' society developed in her. For, with those two credulousladies as audience, she could fortify herself in delusion by recountingall manner of episodes and incidents not as they actually had, but as sheso ardently desired they might have, taken place. --A pathetic form oflying this, though far from uncommon to feminine and--moreespecially--spinster practice and habit!

Still Theresa was not so besotted but that lucid intervals now and againafflicted her. One seized her this afternoon, as she prepared to bidDamaris good-bye. Either conscience pricked with unusual sharpness, orthe young girl's smiling and unruffled acquiescence in her departurearoused latent alarms. She began to excuse her action in leaving hercharge thus solitary, to protest her devotion; becoming, it may be added, red and agitated in the process. Her thick, short little fingers workednervously on the crook handle of her white cotton umbrella. Her roundlight-coloured eyes grew humid to the point of fogging the lenses of hergold-rimmed glasses. 

"But why should you worry so now, just as you are starting, Billy?"Damaris reasoned, with the rather cruel logic of cool eighteen in face ofhot and flustered nine-and-thirty. "Only at luncheon you were telling mehow much you always enjoy spending an afternoon at the Grey House. Ithought you looked forward so much to going. What has happened to turnyou all different, like this, at the last minute?"

"Nothing has happened exactly; but I have scruples about visiting myown friends and letting you remain alone when Sir Charles is from home. It might appear a dereliction of duty--as though I took advantage ofhis absence. "

"Nobody would think anything so foolish, " Damaris declared. "And then youknew he would be away this week when you made the engagement. "

Theresa gulped and prevaricated. 

"No, surely not--I must have mistaken the date. "

"But you were quite happy at luncheon, and you couldn't have mistaken thedate then, " Damaris persisted. 

Whereupon poor Theresa lost herself, the worthy and unworthy elements inher nature alike conspiring to her undoing. In her distraction shesniffed audibly. A tear ran down either side of her pink shiny nose anddropped on the folds of shepherd's-plaid silk veiling her plump bosom. For, with some obscure purpose of living up to her self-imposedindispensability, Miss Bilson was distinctly dressy at this period, wearing her best summer gown on every possible occasion and tucking abunch of roses or carnations archly in her waist-belt. 

"Do you think it kind to insist so much on my passing forgetfulness?" shequavered. "The habit of criticizing and cavilling at whatever I say growson you, Damaris, and it so increases the difficulties of my position. Iknow I am sensitive, but that is the result of my affection for you. Icare so deeply, and you are not responsive. You chill me. As I have tolddear Miss Felicia--for I must sometimes unburden myself"--

This hastily, as Damaris' eyes darkened with displeasure. 

--"For the last year, ever since you have nominally been out of theschoolroom, I have seen my influence over you lessen, and especiallysince poor Mrs. Watson's death"--

"We will not talk about Nannie, please, " Damaris said quietly. 

"Yes, but--as I told your Aunt Felicia--since then I have tried more thanever to win your entire confidence, to make up to you for the loss ofpoor Watson and fill her place with you. "

"No one else can ever fill the place of the person one has loved, "Damaris returned indignantly. "It isn't possible. I should be ashamed tolet it be possible. Nannie was Nannie--she had cared for me all my lifeand I had cared for her. She belongs to things about which you"--

And there the girl checked herself, aware of something almost ludicrouslypitiful in the smug tearful countenance and stumpy would-be fashionablefigure. Hit a man your own size, or bigger, by all means if you are gameto take the consequences. But to smite a creature conspicuously yourinferior in fortune--past, present, and prospective--is unchivalrous, notto say downright mean-spirited. So Damaris, swiftly repentant, put herarm round the heaving shoulders, bent her handsome young head and kissedthe uninvitingly dabby cheek--a caress surely counting to her forrighteousness. 

"Don't find fault with me any more, Billy, " she said. "Indeed I neverhurt you on purpose. But there are such loads of things to thinkabout, that I get absorbed in them and can't attend sometimes directlyon the minute. "

"Absent-mindedness should be corrected rather than encouraged, " MissBilson announced, sententious even amid her tears. 

"Oh! it amounts to more than absent-mindedness I'm afraid--a sort ofabsent-every-thingedness when it overtakes me. For the whole of me seemsto go away and away, hand in hand and all together, " Damaris said, hereyes alight with questions and with dreams. "But don't let us discussthat now, " she added. "It would waste time, and it is you who must goaway and away, Billy, if you are not to put the poor Miss Minetts into afrantic fuss by being late for tea. They will think some accident hashappened to you. Don't beep them in suspense, it is simplybarbarous. --Good-bye, and don't hurry back. I have heaps to amuse me. I'll not expect you till dinner-time. "

Thus did it come about that Damaris reposed in a deck chair, under theshade of the great ilex trees, gazing idly at the webs of steamer smokehanging low in the southern sky, at the long yellow-grey ridge of the Barbetween river and sea, and at the cormorants posturing in the hotafternoon sunshine upon the sand. 

Truly she was free to send forth her soul upon whatever far fantasticjourney she pleased. But souls are perverse, not to be driven at will, choosing their own times and seasons for travel. And hers, just now, proved obstinately home-staying--had no wings wherewith to fly, but mustneeds crawl a-fourfoot, around all manner of inglorious personal matters. For that skirmish with her ex-governess, though she successfully bridledher tongue and conquered by kindness rather than by smiting, had cloudedher inward serenity, not only by its inherent uselessness, but byreminding her indirectly of an occurrence which it was her earnest desireto forget. 

Indirectly, mention of her beloved nurse, Sarah Watson--who journeyingback from a visit to her native Lancashire, just this time last year, hadmet death swift and hideous in a railway collision--recalled to Damaristhe little scene, of a week ago, with Tom Verity when ho had asked her, in the noonday sunshine out on the Bar, for some explanation of hisstrange nocturnal experience. She went hot all over now, with exaggeratedchildish shame, thinking of it. For had not she, Damaris Verity, thoughnurtured in the creed that courage is the source and mother of allvirtues, shown the white feather, incontinently turned tail and run away?Remembrance of that running scorched her, so that more than once, awakening suddenly in the night, her fair young body was dyed rose-redwith the disgrace of it literally from head to heel. She was bitterlyhumiliated by her own poltroonery, ingenuously doubtful as to whether shecould ever quite recover her self-respect; glad that every day put twohundred miles and more of sea between her and Tom Verity, since he hadwitnessed that contemptible fall from grace. 

Nevertheless, after her first consternation--in which, to avoid furtherspeech with him she had sought refuge among the unsavoury seine nets inthe fore-part of Jennifer's ferry-boat--Tom Verity's probable opinion ofher undignified action troubled her far less than the cause of the saidaction itself. For exactly what, after all, had so upset her, begettingimperative necessity of escape? Not the apparent confirmation of thatugly legend concerning ghostly ponies driven up across The Hard gardenfrom the shore. From childhood, owing both to temperament and localinfluences, her apprehension of things unseen and super-normal had beenremarkably acute. From the dawn of conscious intelligence these hadformed an integral element in the atmosphere of her life; and thatwithout functional disturbance, moral or physical, of a neurotic sort. She felt no morbid curiosity about such matters, did not care to dwellupon or talk of them. --Few persons do who, being sane in mind and body, are yet endowed with the rather questionable blessing of the Seer's sixthsense. --For while, in never doubting their existence her reasonacquiesced, her heart turned away, oppressed and disquieted, as fromother mysterious actualities common enough to human observation, such asillness, disease, deformity, old age, the pains of birth and of death. Such matters might perplex and sadden, or arouse her indignant pity; but, being strong with the confidence of untouched youth and innocence, theywere powerless, in and by themselves, to terrify her to the contemptibleextremity of headlong flight. 

This she recognized, though less by reasoning than by instinct; and sofound herself compelled to search deeper for the cause of her recentdisgrace. Not that she willingly prosecuted that search; but that thesubject pursued her, simply refusing to leave her alone. Continually itpresented itself to her mind, and always with the same call for escape, the same foreboding of some danger against which she must provide. Always, too, it seemed to hinge upon Tom Verity's visit, and something inher relation to the young man himself which she could not define. Sherevolved the question now--Theresa being safely packed off to hertea-party--in shade of the ilex trees, with solemn eyes and finelyserious face. 

There was not anything unusual in receiving visitors at The Hard. Mencame often to see her father, and she took her share in entertaining allsuch comers as a matter of course. Some she "didn't much care about, "some she liked. But, with the exception of Colonel Carteret fromchildhood her trusted friend and confidant, their coming and going wasjust part of the accustomed routine, a survival from the life at theIndian summer palace of long ago, and made no difference. Yet, though shewas still uncertain whether she did like Tom Verity or not, his comingand going had indisputably made a difference. It marked, indeed, a newdeparture in her attitude and thought. Her world, before his advent, wasother than that in which she now dwelt. 

For one thing, Tom was much younger than the majority of her father'sguests--a man not made but still early in the making, the glamour ofpromise rather than the stark light of finality upon him. This affectedher; for at eighteen, a career, be it never so distinguished, which hasreached its zenith, in other words reached the end of its tether, mustneeds have a touch of melancholy about it. With the heat of going on inyour own veins, the sight of one who has no further go strikes chill tothe heart. And so, while uncertain whether she quite trusted him or not, Damaris--until the unlucky running away episode--had taken increasingpleasure in this new cousin's company. It both interested and divertedher. She had not only felt ready to talk to him; but, --surprisinginclination!--once the ice of her natural reserve broken, to talk to himabout herself. 

Half-shyly she dwelt upon his personal appearance. --A fine head andclever face, the nose astute, slightly Jewish in type, so she thought. His eyes were disappointing, too thickly brown in colour, too opaque. They told you nothing, were indeed curiously meaningless; and, thoughwell set under an ample brow, were wanting in depth and softness owing toscantiness of eyelash. But his chin satisfied her demands. It was square, forcible, slightly cleft; and his mouth, below the fly-away reddishmoustache, was frankly delightful. --Damaris flushed, smiling to herselfnow as she recalled his smile. Whereupon the humiliation of that thricewretched running away took a sharper edge. For she realized, poor child, how much--notwithstanding her proud little snubbing of him--she covetedhis good opinion, wished him to admire and to like her; wanted, evenwhile she disapproved his self-complacency and slightly doubted histruthfulness, to have him carry with him a happy impression of her--carryit with him to that enchanted far Eastern land in which all the poetry ofher childhood had its root. For, if remembrance of her remained with him, and that agreeably, she herself also found "Passage to India" in a sense. And this idea, recondite though it was, touched and charmed her fancy--orwould have done so but for the recollection of her deplorableflight. --Oh! what--what made her run away? From what had she thus run? Ifshe could only find out! And find, moreover, the cause sufficient topalliate, to some extent at least, the woefulness of her cowardice. 

But at this point her meditation suffered interruption. The threecormorants, having finished their sun-bath, rose from the sand andflapped off, flying low and sullenly in single file over the sea parallelwith the eastward-trending coast-line. 

With the departure of the great birds her surroundings seemed to losetheir only element of active and conscious life. The brooding sunlitevening became oppressive, so that in the space of a moment Damarispassed from solitude, which is stimulating, to loneliness, which is onlysad. Meanwhile the shadow cast by the ilex trees had grown sensiblylonger, softer in outline, more transparent and finely intangible intone, and the reek of the mud-flats more potent, according to its habitat sundown and low tide. 

It quenched the garden scents with a fetid sweetness, symbolic perhaps ofthe languorous sheltered character of the scene and of much which had ormight yet happen there--the life breath of the _genius loci_, an at onceseductive and, as Tom Verity had rightly divined, a doubtfully wholesomespirit! Over Damaris it exercised an unwilling fascination, as of somehaunting refrain ending each verse of her personal experience. Even when, as a little girl of eight, fresh from the gentle restraints and rarereligious and social amenities of an aristocratic convent school inParis, she had first encountered it, it struck her as strangelyfamiliar--a thing given back rather than newly discovered, making hermind and innocent body alike eager with absorbed yet half-shudderingrecognition. A good ten years had elapsed since then, but her earlyimpression still persisted, producing in her a certain spiritual andemotional unrest. 

And at that, by natural transition, her thought turned from Tom Verity tofix itself upon the one other possible witness of her ignominy--namely, the young master mariner who, coming ashore in Proud, thelobster-catcher's cranky boat, had walked up the shifting shingle to thecrown of the ridge and stood watching her, in silence, for a quitemeasurable period, before passing on his way down to the ferry. For, fromher first sight of him, had he not seemed to evoke that same sense ofremembrance, to be, like the reek off the mud-flats, already well-known, something given back to her rather than newly discovered? She was stillignorant as to who ho was or where he came from, having been far tooengrossed by mortification to pay any attention to the conversationbetween her cousin and Jennifer during their little voyage down thetide-river, and having disdained to make subsequent enquiries. --She had arooted dislike to appear curious or ask questions. --But now, reviewingthe whole episode, it broke in on her that the necessity for escape andforeboding of danger, which culminated in her flight, actually datedfrom the advent of this stranger rather than from Tom's request forenlightenment concerning unaccountable noises heard in the small hours. 

Damaris slipped her feet down off the leg-rest, and sat upright, tensewith the effort to grasp and disentangle the bearings of this revelation. Was her search ended? Had she indeed detected the cause of herdiscomfiture; or only pushed her enquiry back a step further, thuswidening rather than limiting the field of speculation? For whatconceivable connection, as she reflected, could the old lobster-catcher'spassenger have with any matter even remotely affecting herself!

Then she started, suddenly sensible of a comfortable, though warmlyprotesting, human voice and presence at her elbow. 

"Yes, you may well look astonished, Miss Damaris. I know how late it is, and have been going on like anything to Lizzie over her carelessness. Mrs. Cooper's walked up the village with Laura about some extra meatthat's wanted, and when I came through for your tea if that girl hadn'tlet the kitchen fire right out!--Amusing herself down in the stable-yard, I expect, Mrs. Cooper being gone. --And the business I've had to get akettle to boil!"

Verging on forty, tall, dark, deep-bosomed and comely, a rich flush onher cheeks under the clear brown skin thanks to a kitchen fire whichdidn't burn and righteous anger which did, Mary Fisher, the upperhousemaid, set a tea-tray upon the garden table beside Damaris' chair. 

"That's what comes of taking servants out of trades-peoples' houses, " shewent on, as she marshalled silver tea-pot and cream-jug--embossed withflamboyant many-armed Hindu deities--hot cakes, ginger snaps andsaffron-sprinkled buns. "You can't put any real dependence on them, doingtheir work as suits themselves just anyhow and anywhen. Mrs. Cooper and Iknew how it would be well enough when Miss Bilson engaged Lizzie Trantand Mr. Hordle said the same. But it wasn't one atom of use for us tospeak. The Miss Minetts recommended the girl--so there was the finish ofit. And that's at the bottom of your being kept waiting the best part ofa hour for your tea like this, Miss. "

Notwithstanding the exactions of a somewhat tyrannous brain and herconviction of high responsibilities, the child, which delights to bepetted, told stories and made much of, was strong in Damaris still. Thisexplosion of domestic wrath on her behalf proved eminently soothing. Itdirected her brooding thought into nice, amusing, everyday littlechannels; and assured her of protective solicitude, actively on thewatch, by which exaggerated shames and alarms were withered andloneliness effectually dispersed. She felt smoothed, contented. Fell, indeed, into something of the humour which climbs on to a friendly lapand thrones it there blissfully careless of the thousand and one ills, known and unknown, which infant flesh is heir to. She engaged the comelycomfortable woman to stay and minister further to her. 

"Pour out my tea for me, Mary, please, " she said, "if you're not busy. But isn't this your afternoon off, by rights?"

And Mary, while serving her, acknowledged that not only was it "byrights" her "afternoon off;" but that Mr. Patch, the coachman, hadvolunteered to drive her into Marychurch to see her parents when heexercised the carriage horses. But, while thanking him very kindly, shehad refused. Was it likely, she said, she would leave the house with SirCharles and Mr. Hordle away, and Miss Bilson taking herself off to visitfriends, too?

From which Damaris gathered that, in the opinion of the servants' hall, Theresa's offence was rank, it stank to heaven. She therefore, beingcovetous of continued contentment, turned the conversation to lesscontroversial subjects; and, after passing notice of the fair weather, the brightness of the geraniums and kindred trivialities, successfullyincited Mary to talk of Brockhurst, Sir Richard Calmady's famous place inthe north of the county, where--prior to his retirement to his nativetown of Marychurch, upon a generous pension--her father, Lomas Fisher, had for many years occupied the post of second gardener. Here wasmaterial for story-telling to the child Damaris' heart's content! ForBrockhurst is rich in strange records of wealth, calamity, heroism, andsport, the inherent romance of which Mary's artless narrative wascalculated to enhance rather than dissipate. 

So young mistress listened and maid recounted, until, the formerfortified by cakes and tea, the two sauntered, side by side--a tallstalwart black figure, white capped and aproned and an equally tallbut slender pale pink one--down across the lawn to the battery wherethe small obsolete cannon so boldly defied danger of piracy orinvasion by sea. 

The sun, a crimson disc, enormous in the earth-mist, sank slowly, southof west, behind the dark mass of Stone Horse Head. The upper branches ofthe line of Scotch firs in the warren and, beyond them, the upper windowsof the cottages and Inn caught the fiery light. Presently a little wind, thin, perceptibly chill, drew up the river with the turning of the tide. It fluttered Mary Fisher's long white muslin apron strings and lifted hercap, so that she raised her hand to keep it in place upon her smoothblack hair. The romance of Brockhurst failed upon her tongue. She grewsharply practical. 

"The dew's beginning to rise, Miss Damaris, " she said, "and you've onlygot your house shoes on. You ought to go indoors at once. "

But--"Listen, " Damaris replied, and lingered. 

The whistling of a tune, shrill, but true and sweet, and a rattle ofloose shingle, while a young man climbed the seaward slope of the Bar. The whistling ceased as he stopped, on the crest of the ridge, and stood, bare-headed, contemplating the sunset. For a few seconds the fiery lightstained his hands, his throat, his hair, his handsome bearded face; thenswiftly faded, leaving him like a giant leaden image set up against avast pallor of sea and sky. 

Mary Fisher choked down a hasty exclamation. 

"Come, do come, Miss Damaris, before the grass gets too wet, " she saidalmost sharply. "It's going to be a drenching dew to-night. "

"Yes--directly--in a minute--but, Mary, tell me who that is?"

The woman hesitated. 

"Out on the Bar, do you mean? No one I am acquainted with, Miss. "

"I did not intend to ask if he was a friend of yours, " Damarisreturned, with a touch of grandeur, "but merely whether you could tellme his name. "

"Oh! it's Mrs. Faircloth's son I suppose--the person who keeps the Inn. Iheard he'd been home for a few days waiting for a ship"--and she turnedresolutely towards the house. "It's quite time that silver was takenindoors and the library windows closed. But you must excuse me, MissDamaris, I can't have you stay out here in that thin gown in the damp. You really must come with me, Miss. "

And the child in Damaris obeyed. Dutifully it went, though the soul ofthe eighteen-year-old Damaris was far away, started once more on ananxious quest. 

She heard the loose shingle shift and rattle under Faircloth's feet as heswung down the near slope to the jetty. The sound pursued her, and againshe was overtaken--overwhelmed by foreboding and desire of flight. 

CHAPTER II

WHICH CANTERS ROUND A PARISH PUMP

Not until the second bell was about to cease ringing did TheresaBilson--fussily consequential--reappear at The Hard. 

During the absence of the master of the house she would have muchpreferred high tea in the schoolroom, combined with a certain laxity asto hours and to dress; but Damaris, in whom the sense of style wasinnate, stood out for the regulation dignities of late dinner and eveninggowns. To-night, however, thanks to her own unpunctuality, Miss Bilsonfound ample excuse for dispensing with ceremonial garments. 

"No--no--we will not wait, " she said, addressing Mary and her attendantsatellite, Laura, the under-housemaid, as--agreeably ignorant of thesentiment of a servants' hall which thirsted for her blood--she passedthe two standing at attention by the open door of the dining-room. "I amnot going to change. I will leave my hat and things down here--Laura cantake them to my room later--and have dinner as I am. "

During the course of that meal she explained how she had really quitefailed to observe the hour when she left the Grey House. Commander andMrs. Battye were at tea there; and the vicar--Dr. Horniblow--looked inafterwards. There was quite a little meeting, in fact, to arrange thedetails of the day after to-morrow's choir treat. A number of upper-classparishioners, she found, were anxious to embrace this opportunity ofvisiting Harchester, and inspecting the Cathedral and other sights ofthat historic city, under learned escort. It promised to be a mostinteresting and instructive expedition, involving moreover but moderatecost. --And every one present--Theresa bridled over her salmon cutlet andoyster sauce--everyone seemed so anxious for her assistance and advice. The vicar deferred to her opinion in a quite pointed manner; and spoke, which was so nice of him, of her known gift of organization. "So we claimnot only your sympathy, Miss Bilson, but your active co-operation, " hehad said. "We feel The Hard should be officially represented. "

Here the speaker became increasingly self-conscious and blushed. 

"What could I do, therefore, but remain even at the risk of being atrifle late for dinner?" she asked. "It would have been so extremelyuncivil to the Miss Minetts to break up the gathering by leaving beforefull agreement as to the arrangements had been reached. I felt I mustregard it as a public duty, under the circumstances. I really owed it tomy position here, you know, Damaris, to stay to the last. "

It may be observed, in passing, that Miss Bilson was fond of food andmade a good deal of noise in eating, particularly when, as on the presentoccasion, she combined that operation with continuous speech. This mayaccount for Damaris bestowing greater attention on the manner than thematter of her ex-governess' communications. She was sensible that thelatter showed to small advantage being rather foolishly excited andelate, and felt vexed the maids should hear and see her behaving thus. Itcould hardly fail to lower her in their estimation. 

As to the impending parochial invasion of Harchester--during the earlierstages of dinner Damaris hardly gave it a second thought, being stillunder the empire of impressions very far removed from anything in thenature of choir treats. She still beheld the fiery glare of an expiringsunset, and against the ensuing pallor of sea and sky a leaden-huedhuman, figure strangely, almost portentously evident. That it appearednoble in pose and in outline, even beautiful, she could not deny. Butthat somehow it frightened her, she could equally little deny. So it cameabout that once again, as Mary and her satellite Laura silently waitedat table, and as Theresa very audibly gobbled food in and words out, Damaris shrank within herself seeming to hear a shrill sweet whistlingand the shatter of loose pebbles and shifting shingle under Faircloth'spursuing feet. 

The young man's name aroused her interest, not to say her curiosity, themore deeply because of its association, with a locality exploration ofwhich had always been denied her--a Naboth's vineyard of the imagination, near at hand, daily in sight, yet personal acquaintance with which shefailed to possess even yet. The idea of an island, especially a quitelittle island, a miniature and separate world, shut off all by itself, isdreadfully enticing to the infant mind--at once a geographical entity anda cunning sort of toy. And Faircloth's Inn, with the tarred wooden housesadjacent, was situated upon what, to all intents and purposes, might passas an island since accessible only by boat or by an ancient pavedcauseway daily submerged at high tide. 

Skirting the further edge of the warren, a wide rutted side lane leadsdown to the landward end of the said causeway from the village green, just opposite Deadham post office and Mrs. Doubleday's general shop. --Aneglected somewhat desolate strip of road this, between broken earthbankstopped by ragged firs, yet very paintable and dear to the sketch-book ofthe amateur. In summer overgrown with grass and rushes, bordered bycow-parsley, meadowsweet, pink codlings-and-cream, and purple floweredpeppermint, in winter a marsh of sodden brown and vivid green; but at allseasons a telling perspective, closed by the lonely black and grey islandhamlet set in the gleaming tide. 

Small wonder the place stirred Damaris' spirit of enquiry and adventure!She wanted to go there, to examine, to learn how people lived cut offfrom the mainland for hours twice every day and night. But her earlyattempts at investigation met with prompt discouragement from both hernurse and her aunt, Felicia Verity. And Damaris was not of thedisposition which plots, wheedles, and teases to obtain what it wants;still less screams for the desired object until for very wearinessresistance yields. Either she submitted without murmuring or fearlesslydefied authority. In the present case she relinquished hope and purposeobediently, while inwardly longing for exploration, of her "darlinglittle island" all the more. 

But authority was not perhaps altogether unjustified of its decision, forthe inhabitants of the spot so engaging to Damaris' imagination were aclose corporation, a race of sailors and fishermen and, so said rumour, somewhat rough customers at that. They lived according to their owntraditions and unwritten laws, entertained a lordly contempt forwage-earning labourers and landsmen, and, save when money was likely topass, were grudging of hospitality even to persons of quality settingfoot within their coasts. 

To their reprehensible tendencies in this last respect the Miss Minettscould bear painful witness, as--with hushed voices and entreaties thesorry tale might "go no further"--they more than once confided to TheresaBilson. For one Saturday afternoon--unknown to the vicar--being zealousin the admonishing of recalcitrant church-goers and rounding up ofpossible Sunday-school recruits, they crossed to the island at low tide;and in their best district visitor manner--too often a sparkling blend ofcondescension and familiarity, warranted to irritate--severally demandedentrance to the first two of the black cottages. --The Inn they avoided. Refined gentlewomen can hardly be expected, even in the interests ofreligion, to risk pollution by visiting a common tavern, moreparticularly when a company of half-grown lads and blue jerseyed men--whomay, of course, have been carousing within--hangs about its morallymalodorous door. 

Of precisely what followed their attempted violation of the privacy ofthose two cottages, even the Miss Minetts themselves could subsequentlygive no very coherent account. They only knew that some half-hour later, with petticoats raised to a height gravely imperilling decency, theysplashed landward across the causeway--now ankle-deep in water--while thelads congregated before the Inn laughed boisterously, the men turned awaywith a guffaw, dogs of disgracefully mixed parentage yelped, and theelder female members of the Proud and Sclanders families flung phraseslamentably subversive of gentility after their retreating figures fromthe foreshore. 

Modesty and mortification alike forbade the outraged ladies reporting theepisode to Dr. Horniblow in extenso. But they succeeded in giving MissBilson a sufficiently lurid account of it to make "the darling littleisland, " in as far as her charge, Damaris, was concerned, more than evertaboo. Their request that the story might "go no further" she interpretedwith the elasticity usually accorded to such requests; and proceeded, atthe first opportunity, to retail the whole shocking occurrence to herpupil as an example of the ingratitude and insubordination of the commonpeople. For Theresa was nothing if not conservative and aristocratic. From such august anachronisms as the divine right of kings and the Stuartsuccession, down to humble bobbing of curtseys and pulling of forelocksin to-day's village street, she held a permanent brief for the classes asagainst the masses. Unluckily the Miss Minetts' hasty and waterywithdrawal, with upgathered skirts, across the causeway had appealed toDamaris' sense of comedy rather than of tragedy. --She didn't want to beunkind, but you shouldn't interfere; and if you insisted on interferingyou must accept whatever followed. The two ladies in question were richlyaddicted to interfering she had reason to think. --And then they must havelooked so wonderfully funny scuttling thus!

The picture remained by her as a thing of permanent mirth. So it washardly surprising, in face of the dominant direction of her thoughtsto-night, that, when the Miss Minetts' name punctuated Theresa'sdiscourse recurrent as a cuckoo-cry, remembrance of their merrilyinglorious retirement from the region of Faircloth's Inn should presentitself. Whereupon Damaris' serious mood was lightened as by suddensunshine, and she laughed. 

Hearing which infectiously gay but quite unexpected sound, Miss Bilsonstopped dead in the middle both of a nectarine and a sentence. 

"What is the matter, Damaris?" she exclaimed. "I was explaining ourdifficulty in securing sufficient conveyances for some of our party toand from Marychurch station. I really do not see any cause for amusementin what I said. "

"There wasn't anything amusing, dear Billy, I'm sure there wasn't, "Damaris returned, the corners of her mouth still quivering and her eyesvery bright. "I beg your pardon. I'm afraid I wasn't quite attending. Iwas thinking of something else. You were speaking about the carriagehorses, weren't you? Yes. "

But Theresa turned sulky. She had been posing, planing in mid-air aroundthe fair castles hope and ambition are reported to build there. Her fatlittle feet were well off the floor, and that outbreak of laughter lether down with a bump. She lost her head, lost her temper and heropportunity along with it, and fell into useless scolding. 

"You are extremely inconsequent and childish sometimes, Damaris, " shesaid. "I find it most trying when I attempt to talk to you upon practicalsubjects, really pressing subjects, and you either cannot or will notconcentrate. What can you expect in the future when you are thrown moreon your own resources, and have not me--for instance--always to dependupon, if you moon through life like this? It must lead to greatdiscomfort not only for yourself but for others. Pray be warned in time. "

Damaris turned in her chair at the head of the table. A station notunconnected, in Theresa's mind, with the internal ordering of those sameair-built castles, and consistently if furtively coveted by her. To SirCharles's chair at the bottom of the table, she dared not aspire, soduring his absence reluctantly retained her accustomed place at the side. 

"You need not wait any longer, Mary, " Damaris said, over her shoulder. 

"Why?" Theresa began fussily, as the two maids left the room. 

"Why?" Damaris took her up. "Because I prefer our being alone duringthe remainder of this conversation. I understand that you want to askme about something to do with this excursion to Harchester. What isit, please?"

"My dear Damaris, " the other protested, startled and scenting unexpecteddanger, "really your manner"--

"And yours. --Both perhaps would bear improvement. But that is by the way. What is it, please, you want?"

"Really you assert yourself"--

"And you forget yourself--before the servants, too, I do not like it atall. You should be more careful. "

"Damaris, " she cried aghast, confounded to the verge of tears--"Damaris!"

"Yes--I am giving you my full attention. Pray let us be practical, " theyoung girl said, sitting up tall and straight in the shaded lamp-light, the white dinner-table spread with gleaming glass and silver, fine china, fruit and flowers before her, the soft gloom of the long low room behind, all tender hint of childhood banished from her countenance, and her eyesbright now not with laughter but with battle. "Pray let us finish withthe subject of the choir treat. Then we shall be free to talk about moreinteresting things. "

Miss Bilson waved her hands hysterically. 

"No--no--I never wish to mention it again. I am too deeply hurt by yourbehaviour to me, Damaris--your sarcasm. --Of course, " she added, "I see Imust withdraw my offer. It will cause the greatest inconvenience anddisappointment; but for that I cannot hold myself responsible, though itwill be most painful and embarrassing to me after the kind appreciation Ihave received. Still I must withdraw it"--

"Withdraw what offer?"

"Why the offer I was explaining to you just now, when you ordered themaids out of the room. You really cannot deny that you heard what I said, Damaris, because you mentioned the carriage horses yourself. "

Theresa sipped some water. She was recovering if not her temper, yet hergrasp on the main issue. She wanted, so desperately, to achieve herpurpose and, incidentally, to continue to play, both for her own benefitand that of the parish, her self-elected role of Lady Bountiful, of"official representative of The Hard"--as Dr. Horniblow by a quiteinnocent if ill-timed flourish of speech had unfortunately put it. 

"The conveyances in the village are insufficient to take the whole partyto the station, " she continued. "An extra brake can be had at the Stag'sHead in Mary church; but a pair of horses must be sent in to-morrowafternoon to bring it over here. I saw"--she hesitated a moment--"Ireally could see no objection to Patch taking our horses in to fetch thebrake, and driving a contingent to the station in it next morning. "

"And meeting the train at night, I suppose?" Damaris said calmly. 

"Of course, " Theresa answered, thus unconsciously declaring herself arank outsider, and rushing blindly upon her fate. 

For what thoroughbred member of the equestrian order does not know thatnext--and even that not always--to the ladies of his family and, possibly, the key of his cellar, an Englishman's stable is sacrosanct?Dispose of anything he owns rather than his horses. To attempt touchingthem is, indeed, to stretch out your hand against the Ark of the Covenantand risk prompt withering of that impious limb. Yet poor Theresablundered on. 

"I told the vicar that, Sir Charles being from home, I felt I might makethe offer myself, seeing how much it would simplify the arrangements andhow very little work Patch has when you and I are alone here. It is apity there is not time to obtain Sir Charles's sanction. That would bemore proper, of course, more satisfactory. But under the circumstances itneed not, I think, be regarded as an insuperable objection. I told theMiss Minetts and the vicar"--

Here Miss Bilson blushed, applying fork and spoon, in coy confusion, tothe remains of the nectarine upon her plate. 

"I told them, " she repeated, "knowing Sir Charles as well as I do, I feltI might safely assure them of that. "

In Damaris, meanwhile, anger gradually gave place to far more complexemotions. She sat well back in her chair, and clasped her hands firmly inher flowered Pompadour-muslin lap. Her eyes looked enormous as she keptthem fixed gravely and steadily upon the speaker. For extraordinary ideasand perceptions concerning the said speaker crowded into her young head. She did not like them at all. She shrank from dwelling upon or followingthem put. They, indeed, made her hot and uncomfortable all over. HadTheresa Bilson taken leave of her senses, or was she, Damaris, herself infault--a harbourer of nasty thoughts? Consciously she felt to grow older, to grow up. And she did not like that either; for the grown-up world, towhich Theresa acted just now as doorkeeper, struck her as an ugly andvulgar-minded place. She saw her ex-governess from a new angle--a moreilluminating than agreeable one, at which she no longer figured aspitiful, her little assumptions and sillinesses calling for thechivalrous forbearance of persons more happily placed; but as activelyimpertinent, an usurper of authority and privileges altogether outsideher office and her scope. She was greedy--not a pretty word yet a trueone, covering both her manner of eating and her speech. Registering whichfacts Damaris was sensible of almost physical repulsion, as fromsomething obscurely gross. Hence it followed that Theresa must, somehow, be stopped, made to see her own present unpleasantness, saved fromherself in short--to which end it became Damaris' duty to unfurl the flagof revolt. 

The young girl arrived at this conclusion in a spirit of rather patheticseriousness. It is far from easy, at eighteen, to control tongue andtemper to the extent of joining battle with your elders in calm anddignified sort. To lay about you in a rage is easy enough. But rage istiresomely liable to defeat its own object and make you make a fool ofyourself. Any unfurling of the flag would be useless, and worse thanuseless, unless it heralded victory sure and complete--Damaris realizedthis. So she kept a brave front, although her pulse quickened and she hada bad little empty feeling around her heart. 

Fortunately, however, for her side of the campaign, Theresa--emboldenedby recapitulation of her late boastings at the Miss Minetts'tea-table--hastened to put a gilded dome to her own indiscretion andoffence. For nothing would do but Damaris must accompany her on thischoir treat! She declared herself really compelled to press the point. Itoffered such an excellent opportunity of acquiring archaeologicalknowledge--had not the Dean most kindly promised to conduct the partyround the Cathedral himself and deliver a short lecture _en route_?--andof friendly social intercourse, both of which would be very advantageousto Damaris. As she was without any engagement for the day clearly neithershould be missed. Of course, everyone understood how unsuitable it wouldbe to ask Sir Charles to patronize parish excursions and events. --HereMiss Bilson became lyrical, speaking with gasping breath and glowingface, of "a call to exalted spheres of action, of great Proconsuls, Empire Builders, Pillars of the State. "--Naturally you hesitated tointrude on the time and attention of such a distinguished person--that inpoint of fact was her main reason for disposing of the matter of thecarriage horses herself. How could she trouble Sir Charles with such ahomely detail?--But Damaris' case, needless to remark, was verydifferent. At her age it was invidious to be too exclusive. Miss FeliciaVerity felt--so she, Theresa, was certain--that it was a pity Damaris didnot make more friends in the village now she was out of the schoolroom. May and Doris Horniblow were sweet girls and highly educated. They, ofcourse, were going. And Captain Taylor, she understood would bring hisdaughter, Louisa--who was home for a few days before the opening of termat the Tillingworth High School where she was second mistress. 

"It is always well to realize the attainments of young people of your ownage, even if they are not in quite the same social grade as yourself. Your going would give pleasure too. It will be taken as a compliment tothe vicar and the Church--may really, in a sense, be called patrioticsince an acknowledgment of the duty we owe, individually, to the localcommunity of which we form part. And then, " she added, naively givingherself away at the last, "of course, if you go over to the station inthe brake Patch cannot make any difficulties about driving it. "

Here Theresa stayed the torrent of her eloquence and looked up, to findDamaris' eyes fixed upon her in incredulous wonder. 

"Have you nothing to say, dear, in answer to my proposition?" sheenquired, with a suddenly anxious, edgy little laugh. 

"I am afraid I have a lot to say, some of which you won't like. "

"How so?" Theresa cried, still playfully. "You must see how natural andreasonable my suggestion is. " Then becoming admonitory. "You should learnto think a little more of others. --It is a bad habit to offer oppositionsimply for opposition's sake. "

"I do not oppose you for the mere pleasure of opposing, " Damaris began, determined her voice should not shake. "But I'm sorry to say, I can'tagree to the horses being used to draw a loaded brake. I could not askPatch. He would refuse and be quite right in refusing. It's not theirwork--nor his work either. "

She leaned forward, trying to speak civilly and gently. 

"There are some things you don't quite understand about the stables, orabout the servants--the things which can't be done, which it's impossibleto ask. --No, --wait, please--please let me finish"--

For between astonishment, chagrin, and an inarticulate struggle toprotest, Miss Bilson's complexion was becoming almost apoplectic and herpoor fat little cheeks positively convulsed. 

"I dislike saying such disagreeable things to you, but it can't beavoided. It would be cowardly of me not to tell you the truth. --You shallhave the brougham the day after to-morrow, and I'll write to Miss Minettin the morning, and tell her you will call for her and her sister, onyour way to Marychurch, and that you will bring them back at night. Iwill give Patch his orders myself, so that there may be no confusion. AndI will subscribe a pound to the expenses of the choir treat. That is allI can promise in the way of help. "

"But--but--Damaris, think of the position in which you place me! I cannotbe thrust aside thus. I will not submit. It is so humiliating, so--so--Ioffered the horses. I told the vicar he might consider it settled aboutthe extra brake"--

"I know. That was a mistake. You had no right to make such an offer. "

For justice must take its course. Theresa must be saved from herself. Still her implacable young saviour, in proportion as victory appearedassured, began to feel sad. For it grew increasingly plain that Theresawas not of the stuff of which warriors, any more than saints, are made. Stand up to her and she collapsed like a pricked bubble. --So little wasleft, a scum of colourless soap suds, in which very certainly there is nofight. Again she showed a pitiful being, inviting chivalrous forbearance. 

"You are very hard, " she lamented, "and you are always inclined to sidewith the servants against me. You seem to take pleasure in underminingmy influence, while I am so ready and anxious to devote myself to you. You know there is nothing, nothing I would not do for you and--and forSir Charles. "

Theresa choked, coughed, holding her handkerchief to her eyes. 

"And what reward do I meet with?" she asked brokenly. "At every turn I amthwarted. But you must give way in this case, Damaris. Positively youmust. I cannot allow myself to be publicly discredited through yourself-will. I promised the horses for the extra brake. The offer was madeand accepted--accepted, you understand, actually accepted. What will thevicar say if the arrangement is upset? What will every one think?"

Damaris pushed her chair back from the table and rose to herfeet. --Forbearance wore threadbare under accusation and complaint. No, Theresa was not only a little too abject, but a little too disingenuous, thereby putting herself beyond the pale of rightful sympathy. Even whileshe protested devotion, self looked out seeking personal advantage. Andthat devotion, in itself, shocked Damaris' sense of fitness where itinvolved her father. It wasn't Theresa's place to talk of devotiontowards him!

Moreover the young girl began to feel profoundly impatient of all this todo and bother. For wasn't the whole affair, very much of a storm in ateacup, petty, paltry, quite unworthy of prolonged discussion such asthis? She certainly thought so, in her youthful fervour and inexperience;while--the push of awakening womanhood giving new colour and richnessto her conception of life--nature cried out for a certain extravagance inheroism, in largeness of action of aspiration. She was athirst for noblehorizons, in love with beauty, with the magnificence of things, seen andunseen alike. In love with superb objectives even if only to be reachedthrough a measure of suffering, and--searching, arresting, though thethought was to her--possibly through peril of death. 

In such moods there is small room for a Bilson régime and outlook. Aflavour of scorn marked her tone as she answered at last:

"Oh, you can lay the blame on me--or rather tell the truth, which amountsto the same thing. Say that, my father being away, I refused my consentto the horses being taken out. Say you appealed to me but I washopelessly obstinate. It is very simple. "

CHAPTER III

A SAMPLING OF FREEDOM

When two persons, living under the same roof, have the misfortune to fallout a hundred and one small ways are ready to hand for the infliction ofmoral torment. The weak, it may be added, are not only far more addictedto such inflictings than the strong, but far more resourceful in theirexecution. Theresa Bilson's conduct may furnish a pertinent example. 

From the moment of emerging from her bed-chamber, next morning, sheadopted an attitude which she maintained until she regained the chasteseclusion of that apartment at night. During no instant of theintervening hours did she lapse from studied speechlessness unlessdirectly addressed, nor depart from an air of virtuous resignation toinjustice and injury--quite exquisitely provoking to the onlooker. Twiceduring the morning Damaris, upon entering the schoolroom, discovered herin tears, which she proceeded to wipe away, furtively, with the greatestostentation. --Dramatic effect, on the second occasion was, however, marred by the fact that she was engaged in retrimming a white chip hat, encircled by a garland of artificial dog-roses, blue glass grapes andassorted foliage--an occupation somewhat ill-adapted to tragedy. Inaddition to making her ex-pupil--against whom they were mainlydirected--first miserable and then naughtily defiant by these manoeuvres, she alienated any sympathy which her red-rimmed eyelids and dolorousaspect might otherwise have engendered in the younger and less criticalmembers of the establishment, by sending Alfred, the hall-boy, up to thevicarage with a note and instructions to wait for an answer, at the verymoment when every domestic ordinance demanded his absorption in thecleaning of knives and of boots. Being but human, Alfred naturallyembraced the heaven-sent chance of dawdling, passing the time of day withvarious cronies, and rapturously assisting to hound a couple of wild, sweating and snorting steers along the dusty lane, behind the churchyard, to Butcher Cleave's slaughter-house: with the consequence that his menialduties devolved upon Laura and Lizzie, who, supported by the heads oftheir respective departments, combined to "give him the what for, " in nomeasured terms upon his eventual and very tardy return. 

It is not too much to say that, by luncheon time Theresa--whetherwilfully or not--had succeeded in setting the entire household by theears; while any inclinations towards peace-making, with which Damarismight have begun the day, were effectively dissipated, leaving herstrengthened and confirmed in revolt. Around the stables, and theproposed indignity put upon Patch and the horses, this wretched quarrelcentred so--as at once a vote of confidence and declaration ofindependence--to the stables Damaris finally went and ordered thedog-cart at three o'clock. For she would drive, and drive, throughout thecourse of this gilded September afternoon. Drive far away from foolishlyofficious and disingenuous Theresa, far from Deadham, so tiresome justnow in its irruption of tea-parties and treats. She would behold peacefulinland horizons, taste the freedom of spirit and the content which thelong, smooth buff-coloured roads, leading to unknown towns and unvisitedcountry-side, so deliciously give. 

She stood at the front door, in blue linen gown, white knitted jersey andwhite sailor hat, buttoning her tan doeskin driving-gloves, a gallant, gravely valiant young creature, beautifully unbroken as yet by any realassent to the manifold foulness of life--her faith in the nobility ofhuman nature and human destiny still finely intact. And that was justwhere her revolt against poor Theresa Bilson came in. For Theresa brokethe accepted law, being ignoble; and thereby spoiled the fair pattern, showed as a blot. --Not that she meant to trouble any more about Theresajust now. She was out simply to enjoy, to see and feel, rather thanreason, analyse or think. So she settled herself on the slopinghigh-cushioned seat, bracing her feet against the driving iron, whileMary, reaching up, tucked the dust-rug neatly about her skirts. Patch--whose looks and figure unmistakably declared hiscalling--short-legged and stocky, inclining to corpulence yet nimble onhis feet, clean shaven, Napoleonic of countenance, passed reins and whipinto her hands as Tolling, the groom, let go the horse's head. 

The girl squared her shoulders a little, and the soft colour deepened inher cheeks, as she swung the dog-cart down the drive and out of theentrance gate into the road--here a green-roofed tunnel, branches meetingoverhead, thickly carpeted with dry sand blown inward from the beach--andon past the whitewashed cottages, red brick and grey stone houses ofDeadham village, their gardens pleasant with flowers, and with apple andpear trees weighted down by fruit. Past the vicarage and church, standingapart on a little grass-grown monticule, backed by a row of elms, whichamid their dark foliage showed here and there a single bough ofverdigris-green or lemon-yellow--first harbingers of autumn. Into theopen now, small rough fields dotted with thorn bushes and bramble-brakeson the one side; and on the other the shining waters of the Haven. Through the hamlet of Lampit, the rear of whose dilapidated sheds anddwellings abut on reed-beds and stretches of unsightly slime and ooze. Adesolate spot, bleak and wind-swept in winter, and even under blue skies, as to-day basking in sunshine, degraded by poverty and dirt. 

Some half-mile further is Horny Cross where, as the name indicates, fourroads meet. That from Deadham to the edge of the forest runs north; theother, from Beaupres-on-Sea to Marychurch, Stourmouth and Barryport, duewest. Damaris, having a fancy to keep the coast-line out of sight, chosethe former, following the valley of the Arne, between great flat meadowswhere herds of dairy cows, of red Devons and black Welsh runts, feed inthe rich deep grass. In one place a curve of the river brings it, forthree hundred yards or more, close under the hanging woods, only thewidth of the roadway between the broad stream and living wall of trees. Here transparent bluish shadow haunted the undergrowth, and the air grewdelicately chill, charged with the scent of fern, of moist earth, leafmould, and moss. 

Such traffic as held the road was leisurely, native to the scene andtherefore pleasing to the sight. --For the age of self-moving machines onland had barely dawned yet; while the sky was still wholly inviolate. --Awhite tilted miller's wagon, a brewer's dray, each drawn by well-favouredteams with jingling bells and brass-mounted harness, rumbling farm carts, a gypsy van painted in crude yellow, blue, and red and its accompanyingrabble of children, donkeys and dogs, a farmer's high-hung, curtseyinggig, were in turn met or passed. For the black horse, Damaris driving it, gave place to none, covering the mounting tale of miles handsomely at aneven, swinging trot. 

At Lady's Oak, a noble tree marking some ancient forest boundary andconsequently spared when the needs of the British Navy, during the Frenchwars of the early years of the century, condemned so many of its fellowsto the axe--the flattened burnished dome of which glinted back thesunlight above a maze of spreading branches and massive powder-greytrunk--the main road forks. Damaris turned to the left, across thesingle-arch stone bridge spanning the Arne, and drove on up the longwinding ascent from the valley to the moorland and fir plantations whichrange inland behind Stourmouth. This constituted the goal of her journey, for once the high-lying plateau reached, leagues of country open out faras the eye carries to the fine, bare outline of the Wiltshire downs. 

She checked the horse, letting it walk, while she took stock of hersurroundings. 

It may be asserted that there are two ways of holding converse withNature. The one is egotistic and sentimental, an imposing of personaltastes and emotions which betrays the latent categoric belief that theexistence of external things is limited to man's apprehension of them--avilely conceited if not actually blasphemous doctrine! The other is thatof the seeker and the seer, who, approaching in all reverence, asks nomore than leave to listen to the voice of external things--recognizingtheir independent existence, knowing them to be as real as he is, aswonderful, in their own order as permanent, possibly as potent even forgood and evil as himself. And it was, happily, according to this latterreading of the position, instinctively, by the natural bent of her mind, that Damaris attempted converse with the world without. 

The glory of the heather had passed, the bloom now showing only assilver-pink froth upon an ocean of warm brown. But the colouring wasrestful, the air here on the dry gravel soil light and eager, and thesense of height and space exhilarating. A fringe of harebells, of orangehawkweed and dwarf red sorrel bordered the road. Every small oasis ofturf, amongst the heath and by the wayside, carried its pretty crop ofcentaury and wild thyme, of bed-straw, milkwort, and birdsfoot trefoil. Furzechats tipped about the gorse bushes, uttering a sharp, gay, warningnote. A big flight of rooks, blue-black against the ethereal blue of thedistance, winged their way slowly homeward to the long avenue of darktrees leading to a farm in the valley. The charm of the place was clearand sane, its beauty simple almost to austerity. This the young girlwelcomed. It washed her imagination free of the curious questionings, involuntary doubts and suspicions, which the house and garden at TheHard, steeped in tradition, thick with past happenings, past passions, were prone to breed in her. No reek off the mud-flats, any more than overluscious garden scents, tainted the atmosphere. It was virgin as the soilof the moorland--a soil as yet untamed and unfertilized by the labour ofman. And this effect of virginity, even though a trifle _farouche_, harsh, and barren in the perfection of its purity, appealed to Damaris'present mood. Her spirit leapt to meet it in proud fellowship. For itrouted forebodings. Discounted introspective broodings. Discounted eventhe apparently inevitable--since nobody and nothing, so the young girltold herself with a rush of gladly resolute conviction, is reallyinevitable unless you permit or choose to have them so. --Gallant this, and the mother of brave doings; though--as Damaris was to discover later, to the increase both of wisdom and of sorrow--a half-truth only. For manis never actually master of people or of things; but master, at most, ofhis own attitude towards them. In this alone can he claim or exercisefree-will. 

Then--because general ideas, however inspiriting, are rather heavy dietfor the young, immature minds growing quickly tired in the efforts todigest them--Damaris, having reached this happy, if partially erroneous, climax of emancipation, ceased to philosophize either consciously orunconsciously. The russet moorland and spacious landscape shut the dooron her, had no more to tell her, no more to say. Or, to be strictlyaccurate, was it not rather perhaps that her power of response, power tointerpret their speech and assimilate their message had reached its term?All her life the maturity of her brain had inclined--ratherfatiguingly--to outrun the maturity of her body, so that she failed "tocontinue in one stay" and trivial hours trod close on the heels of hoursof exaltation and of insight. 

With a sigh and a sense of loss--as though noble companions had withdrawnthemselves from her--she gathered up the reins and sent the horseforward. She fell into comfortable friendly conversation with theNapoleonic-countenanced Patch, moreover, consulting him as to theshortest way, through the purlieus of Stourmouth, into the Marychurchhigh road and so home to Deadham Hard. For, to tell the truth, she becameaware she was hungry and very badly in want of her tea. 

Theresa Bilson, setting out the next morning in solitary state, contrivedto maintain the adopted attitude until the front gates were safelypassed. Then she relaxed and looked out of the brougham windows with afussy brightness more consonant to the joys of impending union with theMiss Minetts and the day's impending trip. She made no further effort tosecure Damaris' participation in the social and educational advantageswhich it promised. On the contrary she left the young lady severely aloneand at home, as one administering well-merited punishment. Thuseffectively demonstrating, as she wished to believe, her personalauthority; and suiting, as she would have stoutly denied, her personalconvenience. For Damaris on a string, plus the extra brake and carriagehorses, was one story; Damaris on her own, minus those animals andmuch-debated vehicle, quite another. Unless the presence of her ex-pupilcould be made to redound to her own glory, Theresa much preferredreserving representation of The Hard and its distinguished proprietorwholly and solely to herself. So in the spirit of pretence and ofmake-believe did she go forth; to find, on her return, that spirit provebut a lying and treacherous ally--and for more reasons than one. 

It happened thus. Supported by the two brindled tabby house cats, Geraldine and Mustapha--descendants of the numerous tribe honoured, during the last half-century of his long life, by Thomas ClarksonVerity's politely affectionate patronage--Damaris spent the greater partof the morning in the long writing room. 

She had judged and condemned Theresa pretty roundly it is true, nevertheless she felt a little hurt and sore at the latter's treatmentof her. Theresa need not have kept up the quarrel till the very last soacridly. After all, as she was going out purely for own pleasure andamusement, she might have found something nice and civil to say atparting. And then the mere fact of being left behind, of being out ofit, however limited the charms of a party, has a certain small stab toit somehow--as most persons, probing youthful experiences, can testify. It is never quite pleasant to be the one who doesn't go!--The house, moreover, when her father was absent, always reminded Damaris of anempty shrine, a place which had lost its meaning and purpose. To-day, though windows and doors were wide open letting in a wealth of sunshine, it appeared startlingly lifeless and void. The maids seemed unusuallyquiet. She heard no movement on the staircase or in the rooms above. Neither gardener nor garden-boy was visible. She would have hailed thewhirr of the mowing machine or swish of a broom on the lawn. --Oh! ifonly her poor dear Nannie were still alive, safe upstairs, there in theold nursery!

And at that the child Damaris felt a lump rise in her throat. But thegirl, the soon-to-be woman, Damaris choked it down bravely. For nobody, nothing--so she assured herself, going back to the lesson learnedyesterday upon the open moorland--is really inevitable unless you sufferor will it so to be. Wherefore she stiffened herself against recognitionof loneliness, stiffened herself against inclination to mourning, refusedto acquiesce in or be subjugated by either and, to the better forgettingof them, sought consolation among her great-great uncle's books. 

For at this period Damaris was an omnivorous reader, eager for every formof literature and every description of knowledge--whether clearlycomprehended or not--which the beloved printed page has to give. Aneagerness, it may be noted, not infrequently productive of collisionswith Theresa, and at this particular juncture all the more agreeable togratify on that very account. For Theresa would have had her walk only inthe narrow, sheltered, neatly bordered paths of history and fictiondesigned, for the greater preservation of female innocence, by suchauthors as Miss Sewell, Miss Strickland, and Miss Yonge. Upon Damaris, however, perambulation of those paths palled too soon. Her intellect andheart alike demanded wider fields of drama, of religion and of science, above all wider and less conventional converse with average human nature, than this triumvirate of Victorian sibyls was willing or capable tosupply. It is undeniable that, although words and phrases, whole episodesindeed, were obscure even unintelligible to her, she found the memoirs ofBenvenuto Cellini and Saint Simon more interesting than the "Lives of theQueens of England; Vathek, " more to her taste than "Amy Herbert"; and, if the truth must be told, "The Decameron, " and "Tristram Shandy" moresatisfying to her imagination than "The Heir of Redcliffe" or "The DaisyChain. " To Damaris it seemed, just now, that a book the meaning of whichwas quite clear to her and could be grasped at sight, hardly repaid thetrouble of reading, since it afforded no sense of adventure, noexcitement of challenge or of pursuit, no mirage of wonder, no delightfulprovocation of matters outside her experience and not understood. Aboutthese latter she abstained from asking questions, having much faith inthe illuminating power of the future. Given patience, all in good timeshe would understand everything worth understanding. --That there arethings in life best not understood, or understood only at your peril, shealready in some sort divined. --Hence her reading although of the orderobnoxious to pedants, as lacking in method and accurate scholarship, wentto produce a mental atmosphere in which honest love of letters and ofart, along with generous instincts of humanity quicken and thrive. 

On this particular morning Damaris elected to explore to the Near East, in the vehicle of Eöthen's virile and luminous prose. She sat in one ofthe solid wide seated arm-chairs at the fire-place end of a long room, near a rounded window, the lower sash, of which she raised to its fullheight. Outside the row of geranium beds glowed scarlet and crimson inthe calm light. Beyond them the turf of the lawn was overspread bytrailing gossamers, and delicate cart-wheel spider's webs upon which thedew still glittered. In the shrubberies robins sang; and above the rivergreat companies of swallows swept to and fro, with sharp twitterings, restlessly gathering for their final southern flight. 

No sooner had Damaris fairly settled down with her book, than Mustaphajumped upon her knees; and after, preliminary buttings and tramplings, curled himself round in gross comfort, his soft lithe body growing warmerand heavier, on her lap, as his sleep deepened. Where a bar of sunshinecrossed the leather inset of the writing-table, just beside her in thewindow, Geraldine--his counterpart as to markings and colouring, butfiner made, more slender of barrel and of limb--fitted herself into thenarrow space between a silver inkstand and a stack of folded newspapers, her fore-paws tucked neatly under her chest, furry elbows outward. Hermuzzle showed black, as did the rims of her eyelids which enhanced thebrightness and size of her clear, yellow-green eyes. Her alert, observantlittle head was raised, as, with gently lashing tail, she watched animprisoned honey-bee buzzing angrily up and down between thewindow-sashes. 

An elfin creature, Geraldine, --repaying liberal study. Scornfully secureof the potency of her own charms where mankind, or Tomcat-kind, might beconcerned, royally devoid of morals, past-mistress in all sprightly, graceful, feline devilries, she was yet a fond mother, solicitous to thepoint of actual selflessness regarding the safety and well-being of hersuccessive and frequently recurrent litters. She suckled, washed, playedwith and educated those of her kittens who escaped the rigours ofstable-bucket and broom, until such time as they were three to fourmonths old. After which she sent them flying, amid cuffings and spittingsextraordinary, whenever they attempted to approach her; and, oblivious oftheir orphaned and wistful existence, yielded herself with bewitchingvivacity, to fresh intrigues and amours new. 

The long quiet morning indoors, with cats and books for company, at oncesoothed Damaris and made her restless. After luncheon she put on hat, gloves, and walking shoes, and went down across the lawn to the sea-wall. Waylaying her in the hall, Mary had essayed to learn her programme, andanchor her as to time and place by enquiring when and where tea should beserved. But Damaris put the kindly woman off. --She couldn't sayexactly--yet--would ring and let Mary know when she came in. If any onecalled, she was not at home. 

In truth her active young body asked for movement and exercise, whilescenes and phrases from the pages of Eöthen still filled her mind. Shelonged for travel. Not via Marychurch to Harchester, well understood, shepherded by Theresa Bilson, the members of the Deadham Church choir andtheir supporters; but for travel upon the grand scale, with all itsromance and enlargement of experience, its possible dangers and certainhardships, as the author of Eöthen had known it and her father, for thatmatter, had known it in earlier days too. She suffered the spell of theEast--always haunting the chambers of her memory and ready to be stirredin active ascendency, as by her morning's reading to-day--suffered thespell not of its mysterious cities and civilizations alone, but of itsvast solitudes and silences, desert winds and desert sands. 

And hence it came about that, as her mood of yesterday sent her inland topacify her imagination by gazing at the peaceful English country-side, soher present mood sent her down to the shore to satisfy, or rather furtherstimulate, her nostalgia for the East by gazing out to sea. 

The cause in both cases was the same, namely, the inward tumult of herawakening womanhood, and still more, perhaps, the tumult of awakeningtalent which had not as yet found its appointed means of expression. Shewas driven hither and thither by the push of her individuality todisengage itself from adventitious surroundings and circumstances, andrealize its independent existence. --A somewhat perilous crisis ofdevelopment, fruitful of escapades and unruly impulses which may leavetheir mark, and that a disfiguring one, upon the whole of a woman'ssubsequent career. 

Immediately, however, Damaris' disposition to defy established conventionand routine took the mildest and apparently most innocuous form--merelythe making, by herself, of a little expedition which, accompanied byothers, she had made a hundred times before. From the terrace she wentdown the flight of steps, built into the width of the sea-wall, whence atall wrought-iron gate opens direct upon the foreshore. Closing it behindher, she followed the coastguard-path, at the base of theriver-bank--here a miniature sand cliff capped with gravel, from eightto ten feet high--which leads to the warren and the ferry. For she wouldtake ship, with foxy-faced William Jennifer as captain and as crew, crossto the broken-down wooden jetty and, landing there, climb the crown ofthe Bar and look south-east, over the Channel highway, towards fardistant countries of the desert and the dawn. 

CHAPTER IV

OUT ON THE BAR

All which was duly accomplished though with a difference. For on reachingthe head of the shallow sandy gully opening on the tide, where theflat-bottomed ferry-boat lay, Damaris found not Jennifer but the witheredand doubtfully clean old lobster-catcher, Timothy Proud, in possession. This disconcerted her somewhat. His appearance, indeed--as he stoodamongst a miscellaneous assortment of sun-bleached and weather-stainedforeshore lumber, leaning the ragged elbows of his blue jersey upon thetop of an empty petroleum barrel and smoking a dirty clay pipe--was sofar from inviting, that the young girl felt tempted to relinquish herenterprise and go back by the way she had come. 

But, as she hesitated, the old man catching sight of her and scentingcustom, first spat and then called aloud. 

"Might 'e be wanting the Ferry, Miss?" Thus directly challenged, Damariscould not but answer in the affirmative. 

"Put 'e across to the Bar?" he took her up smartly. "Nat'rally Iwill--bean't I here for the very purpose?--Put 'e across I will and onthe tick too. "

And, after further expectoration, relinquishing the support of the oilbarrel, he joined her and shambled down the sandy track at her side, talking. Damaris hastened her step; but bent back and creaking breathnotwithstanding, Proud kept pace with her, his speech and movements alikeanimated by a certain malicious glee. 

"William 'e give hisself an 'oliday, " he explained, "to take the littledorgs and ferrets up to Butcher Cleave's ratting. Powerful sight ofvarmin there allers be round they sheds and places. Comes after theinnards and trimmings they do, as bold as you please. "

"Oh, yes--no doubt. I understand, " Damaris said, at once anxious toarrest the flow of his unsavoury eloquence yet to appear civil, since shewas about to make use of his services. 

"'Normous great rats they be, " he however continued, with evident relish. "'Normous and fierce as tigers, the rascals, what with feasting on fleshand fatness like so many lords. So 'mind the ferry for me, will you, Daddy, ' William says, coming round where was I taking my morning pintover at the Inn. 'You're a wonderful valorous man of your years'--and sothank the powers, Miss, I be--'can handle the old scraw as clever as Ican myself, ' William says. 'There ain't much about water, salt or fresh, nor whatsoever moves on the face of it, nor down below in the belly ofit, any man can teach you. ' Which may seem putting it a bit high yetain't no more than truth and justice, Miss, so you needn't fear to trustyourself across the ferry along of me. "

"I have no fear, " Damaris answered curtly and loftily, holding herselfvery erect, her face slightly flushed, her eyes war-like. 

For he was a repulsive old man, and said repulsive things such as she hadnever heard put thus plainly into words before. She felt soiled by eventhis brief association with him. She wanted to hear no more of his uglyhigh-coloured talk, although of his skill as a waterman she entertainedno doubt. Stepping lightly and quickly up on to the square stern of theferry-boat, she went forward and kept her back resolutely turned upon theold fellow as he scrambled on board after her, shoved off and settled tothe oars. The river was low, and sluggish from the long drought withconsequently easy passage to the opposite bank. It took but a short fiveminutes to reach the jetty, crawling like some gigantic, damaged, many-legged insect out over the smooth gleaming water. 

Instead of the legal twopence, Damaris dropped a couple of shillings intoDaddy Proud's eager hand--with a queenly little air; and, withoutwaiting for his thanks, swung herself up on to the black planking andturned to go down the sand-strewn wooden steps. 

"Pleased to fetch 'e back, Miss, any hour you like to name, " Proud calledafter her, standing up and fingering the shillings with one hand whilewith the other he steered the boat's side away from the slipperyweed-grown piles. 

"Thank you, I don't quite know when I shall be back, " she answered overher shoulder. 

For her main desire was to get quit of his unpleasant neighbourhood. Shewould go for a long walk by the coast-guard path across the sand-hills, right out to Stone Horse Head. Would stay out till sundown, in the hopethat by then Jennifer might have seen fit to exchange the manly joys ofratting for his more prosaic duties at the ferry, and so save her fromfurther association with his displeasing deputy. 

But, the ridge of the Bar reached, other thoughts and impulses tookpossession of her. For the sea this afternoon showed an infinitelybeguiling countenance. Not as highway of the nations, still less asviolent and incalculable, holding cruelties of storm and tempest in itsheart, did it present itself to her view; but rather as some gentle, softly inviting and caressing creature decked forth in the changefulcolours of a dove's neck and breast. Opaline haze veiled the horizon, shutting off all unrestful sense of distance. The tide was low and littlewaves, as of liquid crystal, chased one another over the gleaming sands. Out to where the haze met and covered it the smooth expanse of sea wasunbroken by passing boat or ship; nor was any person within sight uponthe long line of the beach. Damaris found herself alone--but deliciouslyalone, with this enchanted dream sea for companion in the sunshine, underthe vault of tender blue sky. 

And, for the present at least, she asked nothing better, humanity beingat a decided discount with her, thanks first to the extreme tiresomenessof Theresa Bilson and later the extreme unsavouriness of Timothy Proud. The element thus eliminated, nothing interfered, nothing jarred; so thatshe could yield herself to an ecstasy of contemplation, active ratherthan passive, in that imagination, breaking the bounds of personality, made her strangely one with all she looked on. Consciousness of self wasmerged in pure delight. Never could she remember to have felt solight-hearted, so happy with the spontaneous, unconditioned happinesswhich is sufficient to itself, unclouded by thought of what has been orwhat may be. 

Pushed by her own radiant emotion and an instinct, deriving from it, todraw even closer to that Everlasting Beauty of Things which is uncreatedby and independent of the will and work of man, she ran down the slope, and sitting on the shingle slipped off her shoes and stockings. Took offher hat, too, and leaving the lot lying there, just above high-tide mark, gathered her skirts in one hand, and, bare-headed thus and bare-footed, danced out over the wet gleaming sands a graceful flying figure, untilthe little waves played and purred about her ankles. Her action wassymbolic, born of the gay worship welling up within her, a giving ofherself to the shining infinite of Nature as just now manifest--thingsdivine and eternal glimmering through at her--in this fair hour ofsolitude and brooding peace. 

Till her mood softened, Damaris danced thus alone, unwitnessed on theshore. Then, as she sobered, happy still though the crisis of ecstasy hadpassed, smaller seeings began to charm her fancy and her eyes. --Pinkishyellow starfish, long ribbons of madder-red or emerald seaweed, theircolours the more living and vivid for the clear water covering them. Presently a company of five birds--their mottled brown and olive bodiesraised on stilt-like legs thin as a straw--claimed her notice. Sobewitched was she by their quaint and pretty ways, that she could not butfollow them as they chased one another in and out of the rippling waves, ran quickly and bowed catching something eatable floating upon the tide, scattered and then joined up into a joyous chorus of association withgentle twittering cries. Watching them, dreaming, standing now and againlooking out over the sweet wonder of the placid sea, sometimes wadingankle deep, sometimes walking on the firm floor of uncovered sand, Damaris passed onward losing count of time. 

The birds led her eastward, up channel, to the half-mile distant nose ofthe Bar, round which the rivers, released at last from their narrowchannel, sweep out into Marychurch Bay. Here, on a sudden, they tookwing, and Damaris looking after them, bade them an unwilling farewell, for their innocent society had been sweet. And with that she became awareshe was really quite tired and would be glad to rest awhile, theafternoon being young yet, before turning homeward. The longer she stayedthe more hope there was of finding Jennifer at the ferry; and more thanever, the glamour of her wild hour of Nature worship still upon her, didshe recoil from any sort of association with foul old Timothy Proud. 

Therefore she went up across the moist gleaming levels to thetide-line, and picking her way carefully among the black jumble ofseaweed and sea-litter which marked it, sat down in a fan-shapeddepression in the dry, clean, blown sand some few paces above. Thesunshine covered it making it warm to her bare feet. The feel and blondcolour of it brought to mind her reading of this morning--a passage inEöthen telling of the striking of camp at dawn, the desert waiting toclaim its own again and obliterate, with a single gesture, all sign ortoken of the passing sojourn of man. Clasping her hands behind herhead, Damaris lay back, the warm sand all around her, giving beneathher weight, fitted itself into the curves of her body and limbs--onlyit visible and the soft blue of the sky above. For a little while sherested open-eyed in the bright silent stillness, and then, unknowing ofthe exact moment of surrender, she stretched with a fluttering sigh, turned on her side and dreamlessly slept. 

And, while she thus slept, two events took place eminently germane to thefurther unfolding of this history. --The weather changed, and the localdegenerate, Abram Sclanders' half-idiot son--the poor "lippity-lop" who, according to Jennifer, had far better been "put away quiet-like atbirth"--committed theft. 

Of the first event, Damaris gradually became sensible, before her actualawakening. She grew restless, her bed of sand seeming robbed of comfort, bleak and uneasy, so that she started up, presently, into a sittingposition, rubbing her eyes with her fists baby-fashion, unable for theminute to imagine how or why she came to be lying like this out on theBar, hatless, shoe and stockingless. Looking about her, still inquestioning bewilderment, she observed that in the south-west a greatbank of cloud had risen. It blotted out the sun, deadening all colour. The opaline haze, turned to a dull falling mist, closed down and in, covering the sand-hills and the dark mass of Stone Horse Head and evenblurring the long straight lines of the sandbank and nearer shingle. Thesea had risen, but noiselessly, creeping up and up towards her, no lineof white marking the edge of its slothful oncoming. 

Damaris stood up, pulling her white jersey--the surface of it alreadyfurred with moisture--low over her hips. For she felt shivery, and theair was thick and chill to breathe causing a tightness in her throat. 

"The glory has departed, very much departed, so I had best make haste todepart also, " she told herself; but told herself gallantly, smiling ather own strange plight in a spirit of adventure, discovering in it theexcitement of novel experience. 

She picked her way over the shingle and black sea litter of high-watermark, and started to run along the narrow strip between it and theadvancing tide. To run would circulate her blood, warm her through andkeep her gallant humour up; still she had to own she found this heavygoing, for her feet were numb and the sand seemed to pluck at and weighthem down. Her run slackened to a walk. Then she ventured a yard or twoout into the shallow water, hoping there to meet with firmer foothold;but here it proved altogether too cold. She had the misfortune, moreover, to tread on the top end of a razor shell, buried upright, which cut theskin making her limp from pain and sharpness of smarting. So perforce, she took to the deep blown sand again above high-water mark, and ploughedalong slowly enough in growing weariness and discomfort. 

Never, surely, was any half-mile so long as this between the place of herfarewell to the mottled stilt-legged birds and subsequent sleeping, andthe place where she left her hat and shoes and stockings! In the dimnessand chill of the falling mist, it seemed to lengthen and lengthen to analtogether incomprehensible extent. Time and again she stopped andscanned the ground immediately before her, certain she should see therethose so lightly discarded and now so earnestly desired items ofclothing. Once in possession of them she would simply scurry home. Forvisions of warm, dry pretty garments, of Mary's, comely ministeringpresence, of tea, of lamp-light and--yes, she would allow herself thatculminating luxury--of a fine log fire in the long sitting-room, presented themselves to her imagination in most alluring sequence--thespirit of adventure, meanwhile, as must be owned, beginning to sing smalland hang a diminished head. 

But on a sudden, raising her eyes from their persistent search, Damarisrealized she must have missed and already passed the spot. For she wasclose upon the tract of sand-hills--a picture of desolation in the sullenmurk, the winding hollows between their pale formless elevations bearinga harsh growth of neutral tinted sword-like grasses. 

She had come too far by a quarter of a mile at least, so she judged, andmust turn her face eastward again and laboriously plough her way back. But the return journey was crowned with no better success than theoutward one. Carefully, methodically she quartered the beach; but simplyher things weren't there, had vanished, leaving neither token or trace. 

She was confronted moreover by the unpleasant fact that it grew late. Soon the dusk would fall, its coming hastened by the mist, now settlinginto a steady drizzle of rain precursor of a dark and early night. Tohunt any longer would be useless. She must give it up. Yet her maidenlypride, her sense of what is seemly and becoming, revolted from exposingherself to Timothy Proud's coarse leering glances or even--should he byluck be her waterman--to Jennifer's more respectful curiosity, dishevelled and but half-dressed as she was. And then the actual distanceto be traversed appeared to her dishearteningly great. For she wasweary--quite abominably weary now she came to think of it. Her feet werebruised and blistered. They ached. Her throat ached too, and sheshivered. Cold, though it was, she must wait a minute or two and restbefore attempting the ascent of the slope. 

Damaris sat down, pulling her skirts as low as they would come over herbare legs, and clasping her hands round her knees, bowed, huddledtogether to gain, if it might be, some sensation of warmth. For a littleshe thought of that only--warmth--her mind otherwise a blank. But soonthe consuming sadness of the place in the waning light penetrated herimagination, penetrated, indeed, her whole being. Only a few hours agoshe had danced here, in ecstasy born of the sunshine, the colour, theapparently inexhaustible beauty of things uncreated by, and independentof, the will and work of man. Contrast that scene, and the radiantemotion evoked by it, with this? Which was real, the enduring revelation?Was this truth; the other no more than mirage--an exquisite dissemblingand lovely lie?

Such thoughts are hardly wholesome at eighteen--hardly wholesome perhapsat any age, if life is to be lived sweetly, with honest profit to one'sown soul and to the souls of others. Yet remembering back, down the dimavenues of childhood, Damaris knew she did not formulate the question, entertain the suspicion, for the first time. Only, until now, it hadstayed in the vague, a shapeless nightmare horror, past which she couldforce herself to run with shut eyes. It didn't jump out of the vague, thank goodness, and bar her passage. But now no running or shutting ofeyes availed. It had jumped out. She stared at it, and, in all itsundermining power of discouragement, it stared back. --What if the deepestthing, the thing which alone lasted, the thing which, therefore, youwere bound in the end to accept, to submit to, was just darkness, sorrow, loneliness of worn body and shrinking spirit, by the shore of a cold, dumb, and tenantless, limitless sea--what then?

From which undesirable abyss of speculation she was aroused by the soundof her own name--"Damaris Verity, hey--Damaris Verity"--shouted, notroughly though in tones of urgent command, from above and behind her onthe crest of the Bar. Along with it came the rattle of shifting shingleunder a strong active tread. 

Hearing which the young girl's senses and faculties alike sprang toattention. She rose from her dejected attitude, stood up and faced round, forgetful of aches and weariness and of woeful ultimate questionings, while in glad surprise her heart went out to meet and welcome the--toher--best beloved being in this, no longer, sorry world. 

For even thus, at some fifty yards distant through the blur of fallingrain, the figure presented to her gaze, in height, build, and fashion ofmoving, was delightfully familiar, as were the tones of the voice whichhad hailed her--if in not quite equal degree the manner of that hail. Some change in his plans must have taken place, or some letter miscarriedadvising her of her father's earlier return. Finding her out he had cometo look for her. --This was perfectly as it should be. Had ColonelCarteret come home with him, she wondered. And then there flashed throughher, with a singular vividness, recollection of another, long, long agoescapade--when as a still almost baby child she had stepped off alone, indaring experiment, and fallen asleep, in the open as to-day. But insurroundings how amazingly different!--A place of fountains, cypressesand palms, she curled up in a black marble chair, set throne fashion, upon a platform of blood red sandstone, an age-old Oriental gardenoutstretched below. Colonel Carteret--"the man with the blue eyes" as shealways had called him--awakened her, bringing an adorable and, as itproved in the sequel, a tragic birthday gift. --Tragic because to itmight, actually if indirectly, be traced the breaking up of herchildhood's home in the stately Indian pleasure palace of theSultan-i-bagh at Bhutpur, her separation from her father and exile--asshe had counted it--to Europe. 

It is among the doubtful privileges of highly sensitized natures, such asDamaris', that, in hours of crisis, vision and pre-vision go hand inhand. As there flashed through her remembrance of that earlier sleep inthe open, there flashed through her also conviction that history wouldstill further repeat itself. Now, as then, the incident of sleep preludedthe receipt of a gift, adorable perhaps, yet freighted with far-reachingconsequences to herself and her future. Of just what that gift mightconsist she had no idea; but of its approach she felt as certain as ofthe approach of the man swinging down through the rain over the rattlingpebbles. And her gladness of welcome declined somewhat. She could havecried off, begged for postponement. For she was very tired, after all. She didn't want anything now, anything which--however delightful initself--demanded effort, demanded even the exertion of being verypleased. She shied away, in short. And then commendably rallied herforces, resolute not to be found unworthy or ungrateful. 

"Yes--come. I am here, " she called in response to that lately heardcalling of her name, desiring to make an act of faith whereby to assureherself she was indeed ready, and assure her hearer of her readiness toaccept the impending gift. 

"I am here, " she began again to affirm, but stopped abruptly, the wordschoking in her throat. 

For, as with decreasing distance the figure grew distinct, she saw, toher blank amazement, not Sir Charles Verity, her father, as she expected, but the blue reefer jacket, peaked cap, and handsome bearded face ofDarcy Faircloth, the young merchant sea-captain, emerge from the blur ofthe wet. And the revulsion of feeling was so sharp, the shock at once sostaggering and intimate--as summing up all the last ten days confusedexperience--that Damaris could not control herself. She turned away witha wail of distress, threw out her hands, and then, covering her eyes withthem, bowed her head. 

The young man came forward and stood near her; but an appreciable timeelapsed before he spoke. When he presently did so, his voice reachedher as again singularly familiar in tone, though strange in diction andin accent. 

"I'm sorry if I startled you, " he began, "but I hailed you just now, andyou told me to come. --I concluded you meant what you said. Not, I'mafraid, that your giving your permission or withholding it would havemade much difference in the upshot. Timothy Proud let on, in my hearing, that he set you across the river soon after two o'clock, and that there'dbeen no call for the ferry since. So I took one of my own boats and justcame over to look for you--in case you might have met with some mishap orstrayed among the sand-hills and couldn't find your"--

Thus far he spoke with studied calm and restraint. But here, as thoughstruck by a fresh and very objectionable idea, he broke out:

"Nothing has happened has it? No cowardly brute has interfered withyou or upset you? Dear God alive, don't tell me I'm too late, don'ttell me that. "

Upon Damaris this sudden, though to her unaccountable, violence and heatacted as a cordial. She raised her head, pushing back the damp hair fromher forehead, and displaying a proud if strained and weary face. 

"No, " she said, "of course not. Who would venture to be rude to me? Ihave not seen anyone all the afternoon--until now, when you came. And, "she added by way of further explanation--she didn't want to be ungraciousor unkind, but she did want, in justice to herself, to have thisunderstood--"in the distance I didn't recognize you. I mistook you forsomeone else"--

"Who else?" he took her up, and with a queer flicker--if of a smile, thenone with a keenish edge to it--in his eyes and about his mouth. 

"For my father, " Damaris answered. "It was a stupid mistake, because heis away staying in Norfolk for partridge shooting, and I have not anyreal reason to expect him home for several days yet. "

"But in this deceptive light, " Faircloth took her up again, while--as shecould not help observing--that flicker became more pronounced. It seemedsilently to laugh and to mock. --"Oh! to be sure that accounts for yourmistake as to my identity. One sees how it might very well come about. "

He took off his cap, and threw back his head looking up into thelow wet sky. 

"At night all cats are grey, aren't they, " he went on, "little ones aswell as big? And it's close on night now, thanks to this dirty weather. So close on it, that--though personally I'm in no hurry--I ought to getyou back to The Hard, or there'll be a regular hue and cry afteryou--rightly and probably too, if your servants and people have anynotion of their duty. "

"I am quite ready, " Damaris said. 

She strove to show a brave front, to keep up appearances; but she felthelpless and weak, curiously confused by and unequal to dealing withthis masterful stranger--who yet, somehow did not seem like a stranger. Precisely in this was the root of her confusion, of her inability todeal with him. 

"But hardly as you are, " he commented, on her announcement she was ready. "Let me help to put on your shoes and stockings for you first. " And thishe said so gently and courteously, that Damaris' lips began to quiver, very feminine and youthful shame at the indignity of her present plightlaying hold on her. 

"I can't find them, " she pitifully declared. "I have looked and looked, but I can't find them anywhere. I left my things just here. Can anyonehave stolen them while I was out at the end of the Bar? It is somysterious and so dreadfully tiresome. I should have gone home long ago, before the rain began, if I could have found them. "

And with that, the whole little story--childish or idyllic as youplease--of sunshine and colour, of beguiling birds beguiling sea, ofsleep, and uneasy awakening when the cloud-bank rising westward devouredthe fair face of heaven, of mist and fruitless seeking, even some word ofthe fear which forever sits behind and peeps over the shoulder of allwonder and all beauty, got itself--not without eloquent passages--quicklyyet gravely told. For the young man appeared to derive considerablepleasure from listening, from watching her and from questioning hertoo--still, gently and courteously though closely, as if each detail wereof interest and of value. 

"And now you know all about it, Captain Faircloth, " Damaris said inconclusion, essaying to laugh at her own discomfiture. "And I am verytired, so if you will be kind enough to row me across the ferry, I shallbe grateful to you, and glad, please, to go home at once. "

"By all means, " he answered. "Only, you know, I can't very well let youcut your feet to pieces on these cruel stones, so I am just going tocarry you up over the Bar"--

"No--no--I can perfectly well walk. I mean to walk--see, " she cried. 

And started courageously up the rough ascent, only to slip, after a fewpaces, and to stagger. For as soon as she attempted to move, she feltherself not only weak, but oddly faint and giddy. She lurched forward, and to avoid falling instinctively clutched at her companion'soutstretched hand. Exactly what passed between the young man and younggirl in that hand-clasp--the first contact they had had of oneanother--it might seem far-reached and fantastic to affirm; yet that itsteadied not only Damaris' trembling limbs, but her trembling andover-wrought spirit, is beyond question. For it was kind and more thankind--tender, and that with the tenderness of right and usage rather thanof sentimental response to a passing sentimental appeal. 

"There, there, " he said, "what's the use of working to keep up thislittle farce any longer? Just give in--you can't put off doing so in theend. Why not at once, then, accept defeat and spare both yourself and mepain? You are no more fit to walk, than you are fit to fly--to fly awayfrom me!--That's what you want, isn't it? Ah! that flight will come, nodoubt, all in good time. --But meanwhile, be sensible. Put your left armround my neck--like this, yes. Then--just a little hoist, and, if you'llnot worry but keep still, nothing's easier. "

As he spoke, Faircloth stooped, lightly and with no apparent exertionlifting her high, so that--she clasping his neck as instructed--the mainweight of her body rested upon his shoulder. With his right arm he heldher just above the waist, his left arm below her knees cradling her. 

"Now rest quiet, " he said. "Know you are safe and think only ofcomfortable things--among them this one, if you care to, that for once inmy life I am content. "

Yet over such yielding and treacherous ground, upward to the crown of theridge and downward to the river, progress could not be otherwise thanslow. Twilight, and that of the dreariest and least penetrable, overtookthem before Faircloth, still carrying the white-clothed figure, reachedthe jetty. Here, at the bottom of the wooden steps he set Damaris down, led her up them and handed her into the boat--tied up to, and the tidebeing at the flood, now little below the level of the staging. 

CHAPTER V

WHEREIN DAMARIS MAKES SOME ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE HIDDEN WAYS OF MEN

Throughout their singular journey--save for briefest question and answerabout her well-being at the commencement of it--the two had kept silence, as though conscious Faircloth's assertion of contentment struck a chordany resolution of which might imperil the simplicity of their relation. Thus far that relation showed a noble freedom from embarrassment. Itmight have continued to do so but for a hazardous assumption on his part. 

When first placing Damaris in the stern of the boat, the young manstripped off his jacket and, regardless of her vaguely expressed protest, wrapped it round her feet. It held the living warmth of his body; and, chilled, dazed, and spent, as Damaris was, that warmth curiously soothedher, until the ink-black boat floating upon the brimming, hardly lessinky, water faded from her knowledge and sight. She drooped together, passing into a state more comparable to coma than to natural slumber, herwill in abeyance, thought and imagination borne under by the immensity ofher fatigue. 

As Faircloth, meanwhile, pulled clear of the outstanding piles of thejetty, he heard voices and saw lights moving down by the ferry on theopposite shore. But these, and any invitation they might imply, heignored. If the hue and cry after Damaris, which he had prophesied, werealready afoot, he intended to keep clear of it, studiously to give it theslip. To this end, once in the fairway of the river he headed the boatdownstream, rowing strongly though cautiously for some minutes, carefulto avoid all plunge of the oars, all swish of them or drip. Then, thelights now hidden by the higher level and scrub of the warren, he satmotionless letting the boat drift on the seaward setting current. 

The fine rain fell without sound. It shut out either bank creating asingular impression of solitude and isolation, and of endlessness too. There seemed no reason why it should ever cease. And this delusion ofpermanence, the enclosing soft-clinging darkness served to heighten. Thepassage of time itself seemed arrested--to-morrow becoming anabstraction, remote and improbable, which could, with impunity, be leftout of the count. With this fantastic state of things, Faircloth had noquarrel. Though impatient of inaction, as a rule definite and autocraticenough, he really wasn't aware of having any particular use forto-morrow. Content still held sway. He was satisfied, profoundly, yetdreamingly, satisfied by an achievement long proposed, long waited for, the door upon which had opened to-day by the merest accident--if anythingcan justly be called accident, which he inclined to believe it could not. 

He had appointed, it should be added, a limit in respect of thatachievement, which he forbade himself to pass; and it was his habit veryrigidly to obey his own orders, however little disposed he might be toobey those of other people. He had received, as he owned, more than hecould reasonably have expected, good measure pressed down and runningover. The limit was now reached. He should practise restraint--leave thewhole, affair where it stood. But the effect of this darkness, and ofdrifting, drifting, over the black water in the fine soundless rain, withits illusion of permanence, and of the extinction of to-morrow--and theretributions and adjustments in which to-morrow is so frequently andinconveniently fertile--enervated him, rendering him a comparatively easyprey to impulse, should impulse chance to be stirred by some adventitiouscircumstance. The Devil, it may be presumed, is very much on the watchfor such weakenings of moral fibre, ready to pounce, at the very shortestnotice, and make unholy play with them!

To Faircloth's ruminative eyes, the paleness in the stern of the boat, indicating Damaris Verity's drooping figure, altered slightly in outline. Whereupon he shipped the oars skillfully and quietly, and going aft kneltdown in front of her. Her feet were stretched out as, bowed together, shesat on the low seat. His jacket had slipped away exposing them to theweather, and the young man laying his hands on them felt them cold as indeath. He held them, chafed them, trying to restore some degree ofcirculation. Finally, moved by a great upwelling of tenderness and ofpity, and reckoning her, since she gave no sign, to be asleep, he bentdown and put his lips to them. 

But immediately the girl's hands were upon his shoulders. 

"What are you doing, oh! what are you doing?" she cried. 

"Kissing your feet. "

Then the Devil, no doubt, flicking him, he let go restraint, disobeyedhis own orders, raised his head, and looking at her as in the enfoldingobscurity she leaned over him, said:

"And, if it comes to that, who in all the round world has a better rightthan I, your brother, to kiss your feet?"

For some, to him, intolerable and interminable seconds, Faircloth waitedafter he had shot his bolt. The water whispered and chuckled against theboat's sides in lazy undertones, as it floated down the sluggish stream. Beyond this there was neither sound nor movement. More than ever mighttime be figured to stand still. His companion's hands continued to restupon his shoulders. Her ghostly, dimly discerned face was so near his ownthat he could feel, now and again, her breath upon his forehead; but shewas silent. As yet he did not repent of his cruelty. The impulse whichdictated it had not spent itself. Nevertheless this suspense tried him. He grew impatient. 

"Damaris, " he said, at last, "speak to me. "

"How can I speak to you when I don't understand, " she answered gravely. "Either you lie--which I should be sorry to accuse you of doing--or youtell me a very terrible thing, if, that is, I at all comprehend what yousay. --Are you not the son of Mrs. Faircloth, who lives at the inn out bythe black cottages?"

"Yes, Lesbia Faircloth is my mother. And I ask for no better. She hassquandered love upon me--squandered money, upon me too; but wisely andcleverly, with results. Still--" he paused--"well, it takes two, doesn't it, to make a man? One isn't one's mother's son only. "

"But Mrs. Faircloth is a widow, " Damaris reasoned, in wonderingdirectness. "I have heard people speak of her husband. She was married. "

"But not to my father. Do you ask for proofs--just think a minute. Whomdid you mistake me for when I called you and came down over the Bar inthe dusk?"

"No--no--" she protested trembling exceedingly. "That is not possible. How could such a thing happen?"

"As such things mostly do happen. It is not the first case, nor will itby a long way, I reckon, be the last. They were young, and--mayn't weallow--they were beautiful. That's often a good deal to do with theseaccidents. They met and, God help them, they loved. "

"No--no--" Damaris cried again. 

Yet she kept her hands on Faircloth's shoulders, clinging to him in theexcessive travail of her innocent spirit--though he racked her--forsympathy and for help. 

"For whom, after all, did you take me?" he repeated. "If there wasn'tconsiderable cause it would be incredible you should make such a mistake. Can you deny that I am hall-marked, that the fact of my parentage iswritten large in my flesh?"

He felt her eyes fixed on him, painfully straining to see him through therain and darkness; and, when she spoke again, he knew she knew that hedid not lie. 

"But wasn't it wrong" she said. 

"I suppose so. Only as it gave me life and as I love life I'm hardly theperson to deliver an unbiased opinion on that point. "

"Then you are not sad, you are not angry?" Damaris presently and ratherunexpectedly asked. 

"Yes--at times both, but not often or for long together. As I tell you Ilove life--love it too well to torment myself much about the manner of mycoming by it. It might show more refinement of feeling perhaps to hang myhead and let a certain ugly word blast my prospects. But I don't happento see the business that way. On the contrary I hope to get every ounceof advantage out of it I can--use it as a spur rather than a hobble. AndI love my profession too. It gives you room and opportunity. I am waitingnow for my first ship, my first command. That's a fine thing and a strongone. For your first ship is as a bride to you, and your first commandmakes you as a king among men. Oh! on a small scale I grant; but, as faras it reaches, your authority is absolute. On board your own ship you aremaster with a vengeance--if you like. And I do like. "

Faircloth said the last few words softly, but with a weight of meaningnot to be misunderstood. He bent down, once more, chafed Damaris' feetand wrapped his jacket carefully round them. 

"And, while you and I are alone together, there is something--as we'vespoken so freely--which I want to tell you, so that there may be nomisconception about me or about what I want. --As men in my rank of lifego, I am well off. Rich--again on a small scale; but with meanssufficient to meet all my needs. I'm not a spend-thrift by nature, luckily. And I have amply enough not only to hold my own in my professionand win through, but to procure myself the pleasures and amusements Ihappen to fancy. I want you to remember that, please. Tell me is it quiteclear to you?"

"Yes, " Damaris said, "you have made it quite clear. "

Yet for the first time he jarred on her, as with a more than superficialdifference of breeding and of class. This mention of money offended hertaste, seeming to lower the level upon which their extraordinary and--toher--terrible conversation had thus far moved. It hurt her with anotherkind of hurting--not magnificent, not absorbing, but just common. That inspeaking of money he was protecting himself, proudly self-guarding hisown honour and that of his mother, Lesbia Faircloth, never, in herinnocence of what is mean and mercenary, occurred to Damaris. 

So she took her hands off his shoulders and clasped them in her lap. Clasped them with all her poor strength, striving even in this extreme, to maintain some measure of calm and of dignity. She must hold out, shetold herself, just simply by force of will hold out, till she was awayfrom him. After that, chaos--for thoughts, discoveries, apprehensions ofpossibilities in human intercourse hitherto undreamed of, were marshalledround her in close formation shoulder to shoulder. They only waited. Aninstant's yielding on her part, and they would be on to her, crushingdown and in, making her brain reel, her mind stagger under their stiflingcrowded assault. 

"Go back and row, " she said, at once imploring and imperious. "Rowquickly. I am very tired. I am cold. I want to be at home--to be in myown place. "

CHAPTER VI

RECOUNTING AN ASTONISHING DEPOSITION

Theresa Bilson bustled upstairs. Barring the absence of the extra brake, which had caused--and for this she could not be sorry since didn't itjustify her "attitude" towards her recalcitrant ex-pupil?--someinconvenient overcrowding in transit to and from the station, and barringthe rain, which set in between five and six o'clock, the expedition toHarchester passed off with considerable _éclat_. Such, in any case, wasTheresa's opinion, she herself having figured conspicuously in theforeground. During the inspection of the Cathedral the Dean paid herquite marked attention; thanks, in part, to her historical andarchaeological knowledge--of which she made the most, and to herconnection with the Verity family--of which she made the most also. Inprecisely what that connection might consist, the learned and timid oldgentleman, being very deaf and rather near-sighted, failed to gather. Hedetermined, however, to be on the safe side. 

"Our genial Archdeacon, " he said, "and his distinguished kinsman, SirCharles? Ah! yes--yes--indeed--to be sure--with the greatest pleasure. "

And he motioned the blushing Theresa to fall into step with him, and withDr. Horniblow, at the head of the Deadham procession. 

The afterglow of that triumphal progress irradiated her consciousnessstill, when--after depositing the Miss Minetts upon their own doorstep, with playful last words recalling the day's mild jokes and rallyings--shedrove on to The Hard to find the household there in a state of sombre andmost admired confusion. 

Thus to arrive home in possession of a fine bag of news, only todiscover an opposition and far finer bag ready awaiting you may wellprove trying to the most high-souled and amiable of temper. By this time, between success and fatigue, Theresa could not be justly described aseither high-souled or sweet tempered. She was at once inflated and onedge, and consequently hotly indignant, as though the unfairest marchpossible had been stolen upon her. 

She bustled upstairs, and crossing the landing turned into the schoolroompassage--a long, lamp-lit vista, hung with old Chinese wall-paper, therunning pattern of buds and flowers, large out of all proportion to thebridges, palms, pagodas and groups of little purple and blue-clad men andwomen disposed, in dwindling perspective, upon its once white surface. Half-way along the passage, their backs towards her, Mary and Mrs. Cooper, the cook--a fair, mild middle-aged, and cow-like person, of ampleproportions--stood conversing in smothered tones. 

"And it's my belief he's been and told her, or anyhow that she guesses, pore dear young lady, " the latter, with upraised hands, lamented. 

Theresa just caught these strange words. Caught too, Mary's hurriedrejoinder--"For mercy's sake, Mrs. Cooper, not a hint of that to anyliving soul"--before the two women, sensible of the swish and patter ofher self-important entry, turned and moved forward to meet, or--could itbe?--to intercept her. Their faces bore a singular expression, in Mrs. Cooper's case of sloppy, in Mary's of stern yet vivid alarm. Deeplyengaged though she was with her private grievance, Miss Bilson could notbut observe this. It made her nervous. 

"What is the meaning, " she began, her voice shrill with agitation, "ofthe extraordinary story about Miss Damaris which Laura reports to me?Someone is evidently very much in fault. "

"Please don't speak quite so loud, Miss, " Mary firmly admonished her. "I've just got Miss Damaris quieted off to sleep, and if she's roused upagain, I won't answer for what mayn't happen. "

"But what has happened? I insist upon knowing, " Theresa declared, ingrowing offence and agitation. 

"Ah! that's just what we should be thankful enough to have you tell us, Miss, " Mrs. Cooper chimed in with heavy and reproachful emphasis uponthe pronouns. 

To even the mild and cow-like revenge is sweet. Though honestlydistressed and scared, the speaker entertained a most consolingconviction she was at this moment getting even with Theresa Bilson andcleverly paying off old scores. 

"The pore dear young lady's caught her death as likely as not, outthere across the river in the wet, let alone some sneaking rascalmaking off with her stockings and shoes. When I saw her little nakedfeet, all blue with the cold, it made my heart bleed, regularly bleed, it did. I could only give thanks her Nanna, pore Mrs. Watson, whoworshipped the very ground Miss Damaris trod on, was spared living tosee that afflicting sight. "

Then with a change of tone exasperating--as it was designed to be--toone, at least, of her hearers, she added:

"I'll have that soup ready against Miss Damaris wakes, Mary, in case sheshould fancy it. Just touch the bell, will you, and I'll bring it upmyself. It's not suitable to give either of the girls a chance forprying. They're a deal too curious as it is. And I'm only too pleased towatch with you, turn and turn about, as I told you, whenever you feel torequire a rest. Lizzie will have to see to the cooking anyhow--exceptwhat's wanted for Miss Damaris. I couldn't put my mind into kitchen workto-night, not if you paid me ever so. "

And on large flat feet she moved away towards the back-staircase, leadingdown to the offices from the far end of the passage, leaving an odour ofpastry behind her and of cloves. 

"To think of what to-morrow may bring, ah! dear me, " she murmuredas she went. 

During the ten minutes or so which immediately followed Theresa Bilsonboxed the compass in respect of sensations, the needle, as may be noted, invariably quivering back to the same point--namely, righteous angeragainst Damaris. For was not that high-spirited maiden's imperviousnessto influence and defiance of authority--her, Theresa's, influence andauthority--the mainspring of all this disastrous complication? Theresafound it convenient to believe so, and whip herself up to almost franticdetermination in that belief. It was so perfectly clear. All the moreclear because her informant, Mary, evidently did not share her belief. Mary's account of to-day's most vexatious transactions betrayedpartizanship and prejudice, such as might be expected from an uneducatedperson, offering--as Theresa assured herself--a pertinent example of theworkings of "the servant mind. " Nevertheless uneasy suspicion dogged her, a haunting though unformulated dread that other persons--one person aboveall others--might endorse Mary's prejudices rather than her own, soreasonably based, conviction. 

"If only Mr. Patch had been in there'd have been somebody to depend on, "the woman told her, recounting the anxious search after vanished Damaris. "But he'd driven into Marychurch of course, starting ever so earlybecause of the parcels he had your orders to call for at the severalshops, before meeting the train. And the gardeners had left work onaccount of the wet; so we'd nobody to send to make enquiries anywhereexcept Tolling, and that feather-head Alfred, who you can't trust half aminute out of your sight. " Here she paused in her narrative and made amove, adroitly driving Theresa Bilson before her out on to the landing, thus putting a greater distance between that tormented spinster and theneighbourhood of Damaris' bed-chamber. Her handsome brown eyes held thelight of battle and her colour was high. She straightened a chair, standing against the wall at the stair-head, with a neatly professionalhand in passing. 

"Mrs. Cooper and I were fairly wild waiting down on the sea-wall with thelantern, thinking of drowning and--worse, --when"--she glanced sharply ather companion and, lowering her eyes altered the position of the chair bya couple of inches--"when Captain Faircloth's boat came up beside thebreakwater and he carried Miss Damaris ashore and across the garden. "

"Stop"--Theresa broke in--"I do not follow you. Faircloth, CaptainFaircloth? You are not, I earnestly hope, speaking of the owner of thatlow public-house on the island?"

"Yes--him, " Mary returned grimly, her eyes still lowered. 

"And do you mean me to understand that this young man carried MissDamaris--actually carried her"--Miss Bilson choked and cleared her throatwith a foolish little crowing sound--"carried her all the way into thehouse--in his arms?"

"Yes, in his arms, Miss. How else would you have had him carry her?--And, as gentle and careful as any woman could, too--into the house and rightupstairs here"--pointing along the passage as if veritably beholding thescene once more--"and into her own bedroom. "

"How shocking. How extremely improper!"

Theresa beat her fat little hands hysterically together. She creditedherself with emotions of the most praiseworthy and purest; ignorant thatthe picture conjured up before her provoked obscure physical jealousies, obscure stirrings of latent unsatisfied passion. More than ever, surely, did the needle quiver back to that fixed point of most righteous anger. 

"Such--such a proceeding cannot have been necessary. It ought not to havebeen permitted. Why did not Miss Damaris walk?"

"Because she was in a dead faint, and we'd all the trouble in life tobring her round. "

"Indeed, " she said, and that rather nastily. "I am sorry, but I cannotbut believe Miss Damaris might have made an effort to walk--with yourassistance and that of Cooper, had you offered it. As I remarked atfirst, someone is evidently very much to blame. The whole matter must bethoroughly sifted out, of course. I am disappointed, for I had greatconfidence in you and Cooper--two old servants who might really have beenexpected to possess some idea of the--the respect due to their master'sdaughter. What will Sir Charles say when he hears of this objectionableincident?"

"That's just what Mrs. Cooper and I are wondering, Miss, " Mary took herup with so much meaning that Miss Bilson inwardly quailed, sensible ofhaving committed a rather egregious blunder. This she made efforts torepair by sheering off hurriedly on another tack. 

"Not that I shall trouble Sir Charles with the matter, unlesscircumstances arise which compel me to do so--as a duty. My great object, of course, is at all times to spare him any domestic annoyance. "

She began pulling off her gloves, a new pair and tight. Her hands weremoist and the glove-fingers stuck, rendering their removal lengthy anddifficult. 

"To-morrow I shall have a thorough explanation with Miss Damaris anddecide what action it is my duty to take after hearing her version of theevents of this afternoon. I should prefer speaking to her to-night--"

"Miss Damaris isn't fit to talk about anything to-night. "

Theresa pulled at the right-hand glove--the kid gave with a littleshriek, the thumb splitting out. She was in a state of acute indecision. Could she retire from this contest without endangering her authority, without loss of prestige, or must she insist? She had no real wish tohasten to her ex-pupil's bedside. She would be glad to put off doing so, glad to wait. She was conscious of resentment rather than affection. Andshe felt afraid, unformulated suspicion, unformulated dread, againdogging her. That Damaris was really ill, she did not believe for aninstant. Damaris had excellent health. The maids exaggerated. Theydelighted in making mysteries. Uneducated persons are always absurdlygreedy of disaster, lugubriously credulous. --Yes, on the whole sheconcluded to maintain her original attitude, the attitude of yesterdayand this morning; concluded it would be more telling to keep up thefiction of disgrace--because--Theresa did not care to scrutinize her ownmotives or analyse her own thought too closely. She was afraid, and shewas jealous--jealous of Damaris' beauty, of the great love borne her byher father, jealous of the fact that a young man--hadn't she, Theresa, seen the young sea-captain once or twice in the village recently and beenfluttered by his notable good looks?--had rescued the girl, and carriedher home, carried her up here across the landing and along the familiarschoolroom passage, with its patterned Chinese wall-paper, gently andcarefully, in his arms. 

And these qualifying terms--gentle and careful--rankled to the point evenof physical disturbance, so that Miss Bilson again became guilty ofinelegantly choking, and clearing her throat for the second time with afoolish crowing sound. 

"I will postpone my interview with Miss Damaris until after breakfastto-morrow, " she said, thus leaving Mary Fisher virtually, if notadmittedly, master of the field. 

But long before breakfast time, in the grey and mournful autumnmorning, Patch rattled the dog-cart the seven miles into Stourmouth, asfast as the black horse could travel, to fetch Damaris' old friend, theretired Indian Civil surgeon, Dr. McCabe. For, coming to herself, inthe intervals of distracted fever dreams, she had asked for him, goingback by instinct to the comfort of his care of her in childishillnesses long ago. Since she was ill enough, so Mary said, to need adoctor, let it be him. 

"Not Mr. Cripps out of the village, or Dr. Risdon from Marychurch. Iwon't see them. I will not see anyone from near here. Keep them away fromme, " she commanded. "I know Miss Bilson will try to send for one or theother. But I won't see either. Promise you'll keep them away. "

When, after his visit, Theresa Bilson, considerably flustered andoffended, found McCabe breakfasting in the dining-room and offeredprofuse apologies for the inconvenience to which he must have been put byso early and unnecessary a call, the tender-hearted and garrulous, butcholeric Irishman cut her uncommonly short. 

"And would you be supposing then, that if the dear blessed child shouldbe desirous of consulting me I wouldn't have rejoiced to come to her athousand times as early and from ten thousand times as far?" he enquired, between large mouthfuls of kidney and fried bacon. "The scheming littlepudding-faced governess creature, with a cherry nose and an envious eyeto her"--he commented to himself. 

"But you do not apprehend anything serious?" Theresa saidstiffly--"Merely a slight chill?"

"With a temperature dancing up and down like a mad thing between ahundred and one and a hundred and three? I'm dashed if I like the looksof her at all, at all, Miss Bilson; and I am well acquainted with herconstitution and her temperament. She's as delicate a piece of femininemechanism as it's ever been my fortune to handle, and has been so from achild. Mind and body so finely interwoven that you can't touch the onewithout affecting the other--that is where danger comes in. --And I amglad to find she has so competent a nurse as Mary Fisher--a wholesomewoman and one to put faith in. I have given my full instructions to her. "

"But I"--Theresa began fussily, her face crimson. 

"Oh! I don't doubt you're devotion itself; only my first consideration ismy patient, and so I make free to use my own judgment in the selection ofmy assistants. No disrespect to you, my dear lady. You are at home inmore intellectual spheres than that of the sick-room. And now, " he wipedhis mouth with his napkin, twinkling at her over the top of it with smallblue-grey eyes, at once merry, faithful, and cunning--"I'll be biddingyou good-bye till the evening. I have told Mary Fisher I'll be glad tosleep here to-night. And I'll despatch a telegram to Sir Charles on myway through the village. "

"Sir Charles?" Theresa cried. 

"Yes, " he answered her. "I find the darling girl's illness asserious as that. "

CHAPTER VII

A SOUL AT WAR WITH FACT

The deepest and most abiding demand of all sentient creatures, strong andweak alike, is for safety, or, that being unattainable, for a sense ofsafety, an illusion even of safety. 

This, so universal demand, dictated, in Damaris' case, her prayer for Dr. McCabe's attendance. He belonged to the safeties of her childhood, to thesecurely guarded, and semi-regal state--as, looking back, she recalledit--of the years when her father held the appointment of ChiefCommissioner at Bhutpur. Dr. McCabe was conversant with all that; thesole person available, at this juncture, who had lot or part in it. And, as she had foreseen--when drifting down the tide-river in the rain anddarkness--once the supporting tension of Faircloth's presence removed, chaos would close in on her. It only waited due opportunity. Thatgranted, as a tempest-driven sea it would submerge her. In the welter ofthe present, she clutched at the high dignities and distinctions of thepast as at a lifebelt. Not vulgarly, in a spirit of self-aggrandizement;but in the simple interests of self-preservation, as a means of keepingendangered sanity afloat. For the distinctions and dignities of thatperiod were real too, just as uncontrovertible a contribution to herknowledge of men and of things, just as vital an element in herexperience, as chaos let loose on her now. The one in no degreeinvalidated the truth or actuality of the other. 

But to keep this in mind, to remember it all the time, while imaginationgalloped with fever brought on by chill and exposure, and reasonwandered, losing touch with plain commonsense through the moral shock shehad sustained, was difficult to the point of impossibility. She needed awitness, visible and material, to the fact of those former happierconditions; and found it, quaintly enough, in the untidy person andhumorous, quarrelsome, brick-dust coloured face--as much of the saidface, that is, as was discoverable under the thick stiff growth of sandyhair surrounding and invading it--of the Irish doctor, as he sat by herbed, ministered to and soothed her with reverent and whimsical delicacy. 

As long as he was there, her room retained its normal, pleasant anddainty aspect. All Damaris' little personal effects and treasuresadorning dressing and writing-tables, the photographs and ornaments uponthe mantelshelf, her books, the prints and pictures upon the walls--eventhe white dimity curtains and covers, trellised with small faded pink andblue roses--seemed to smile upon her, kindly and confiding. They wantedto be nice, to console and encourage her--McCabe holding them in placeand in active good-will towards her, somehow, with his large freckled, hairy-backed hands. But let him go from the room, let him leave her, andthey turned wicked, behaving as they had behaved throughout the pastrather dreadful night and adding to the general chaos by tormentingtricks and distortions of their own. 

The beloved photographs of her father, in particular, were cruel. Theygrew inordinately large, stepped out of their frames, and stalked to andfro in troops and companies. The charcoal drawing of him--done last yearby that fine artist, James Colthurst, as a study for the portrait he wasto paint--hanging between the two western windows, at right angles to herbed where she could always see it, proved the worst offender. It did nottake the floor, it is true, but remained in its frame upon the wall. Yetit too came alive, and looked full at her, compelling her attention, dominating, commanding her; while, slowly, deliberately it changed, thefeatures slightly losing their accentuation, growing youthful, softer inoutline, the long drooping moustache giving place to a close-cut beard. The eyes alone stayed the same, steady, luminous, a living silence inthem at once formidable and strangely sad. Finally--and this the poorchild found indescribably agitating and even horrible--their silence wasbroken by a question. For they asked what she, Damaris, meant to say, meant to do, when he--her father, the all-powerful Commissioner Sahib ofher babyhood's faith and devotion--came home here, came back?

Yet whose eyes, after all, were they which thus asked? Was it not, ratherthe younger man, the bearded one, who claimed, and of right, an answer tothat question? And upon Damaris it now dawned that these two, distinctyet interchangeable personalities--imprisoned, as by some evil magic inone picture--were in opposition, in violent and impious conflict, whichconflict she was called upon, yet was powerless, to avert or to assuage. 

Not once but many times--since the transformation was persistentlyrecurrent--the girl turned her face to the wall to gain relief from thesight of it and the demand it so fearfully embodied, pressing her drylips together lest any word should escape them. For the whole matter, asshe understood it was secret, sacred too as it was agonizing. No one mustguess what lay at the root of her present suffering--not even comfortabledevoted Mary, nor that invaluable lifebelt, Dr. McCabe. She held thehonour of both those conflicting interchangeable personalities in herhands; and, whether she were strong enough to adjust their differences ornot, she must in no wise betray either of them. The latent motherhood inher cried out to protect and to shield them both, to spare them both. Forin this stage of the affair, while the hallucinations of deadly fever--ina sense mercifully--confused her, its grosser aspects did not presentthemselves to her mind. She wandered through mazes, painful enough totread; but far removed from the ugliness of vulgar scandal. That hersacred secret, for instance, might be no more than a _secret dePolichinelle_ suspected by many, did not, so far, occur to her. 

Believing it to be her exclusive property, therefore, she, inspired bytender cunning, strove manfully to keep it so. To that end she made playwith the purely physical miseries of her indisposition. --With shiveringfits and scorching flushes, cold aching limbs and burning, aching head. With the manifold distractions of errant blood which, leaving her heartempty as a turned-down glass, drummed in her ears and throbbed behind hereyeballs. These discomforts were severely real enough, in all conscience, to excuse her for being self-occupied and a trifle selfish; to justify ablank refusal to receive Theresa Bilson, or attempt to retail and discussthe events of yesterday. All she craved was quiet, to be left alone, tolie silent in the quiet light of the covered grey day. 

In the earlier hours of it, silver rain showers travelled across the seato spend themselves, tearfully, against the panes of her bedroomwindows. But towards evening the cloud lifted, revealing a waterysunset, spread in timid reds and yellows behind Stone Horse Head and thecurving coast-line beyond, away to Stourmouth and Barryport. The fainttentative colours struck in long glinting shafts between the trunks andbranches of the stone pines and Scotch firs in the so-calledWilderness--a strip of uncultivated land within the confines of thegrounds dividing the gardens from the open Warren to the West--andgleamed in at the windows, faintly dyeing the dimity hangings andembroidered linen counterpane of Damaris' bed. 

Throughout the afternoon she had been less restless. So that Mary Fisher, judging her to be fairly asleep, some five minutes earlier had folded herneedlework together, and, leaving the chair where she sat sewing, wentsoftly from the room. 

But that brightening of sunset disturbed Damaris, bringing her slowlyawake. For a time she lay watching, though but half consciously thetinted radiance as--the trees now stirred by a little wind drawing out ofthe sunset--it shifted and flitted over the white surfaces. At first itpleased her idle fancy. But presently distressed her, as too thin, toochill, too restlessly unsubstantial, the veriest chippering ghost ofcolour and of light. It affected her with a desolating sadness as offailure; of great designs richly attempted but petering out into apitiful nothingness; of love which aped and mimicked, being drained ofall purpose and splendour of hot blood; of partings whose sorrow had lostits savour, yet which masqueraded in showy crape for a heart-break longgrown stale and obsolete. 

Her temperature rushed up; and she threw off the bedclothes, raisingherself on her elbow, while the shafts of thin brightness waveredfitfully. Through them she saw the photographs of her father step out oftheir frames again, and growing very tall and spare, stalk to and fro. Other figures joined them--those of women. Her poor dear Nannie, in theplain quaker-grey cotton gown and black silk apron she used to wear, eventhrough the breathless hot-weather days, at the Sultan-i-bagh long ago. And Henrietta Pereira, too, composed and delicately sprightly, arrayed infull flounced muslins and fine laces with an exquisiteness of highfeminine grace and refinement which had enthralled her baby soul andsenses, and, which held her captive by their charm even yet. A handsome, high-coloured full-breasted, Eurasian girl, whom she but dimlyrecollected, was there as well. And with these another--carrying verycertainly no hint of things oriental about her--an English woman and ofthe people, in dull homely clothing, grave of aspect and of bearing; yetbehind whose statuesque and sternly patient beauty a great flame seemedto quiver, offering sharp enough contrast to the frail glintings of therain-washed sunset amid which she, just now, moved. 

At sight of the last comer, Damaris started up, tense with wonder andexcitement, since she knew--somehow--this final visitant belonged not tothe past so much as to the present, that her power was unexhausted andwould go forward to the shaping of the coming years. Which knowledge drewconfirmation from what immediately followed. For, as by almostimperceptible degrees the brightness faded in the west, the figures, somysteriously peopling the room, faded out also, until only the woman inhomely garments was left. By her side stood the charcoal drawing of SirCharles Verity from off the wall--or seemed to do so, for almost atonce, Damaris saw that dreaded interchange of personality again takeplace. Saw the strongly marked features soften in outline, the face growbearded yet younger by full thirty years. 

Both the woman and the young man looked searchingly at her; and in theeyes of both she read the same question--what did she mean to do, what tosay, when her father, the object of her adoration, came home to her, cameback to Deadham Hard?

"I will do right, " she cried out loud to them in answer, "Only trust me. I am so tired and it is all so difficult to believe and to understand. But I am trying to understand. I shall understand, if you will give metime and not hurry me. And, when I understand, indeed, indeed, you maytrust me, whatever it costs, to do right. "

Just then Mary opened the door, entering quickly, and behind her came Dr. McCabe, to find Damaris talking, talking wildly, sitting up, parched andvivid with fever, in the disordered bed. 

CHAPTER VIII

TELLING HOW TWO PERSONS, OF VERY DIFFERENT MORAL CALIBRE, WERE COMPELLEDTO WEAR THE FLOWER OF HUMILIATION IN THEIR RESPECTIVE BUTTONHOLES

Cross-country connections by rail were not easy to make, with theconsequence that Sir Charles Verity, --Hordle, gun-cases, bags andportmanteaux, in attendance--did not reach The Hard until closeupon midnight. 

Hearing the brougham at last drive up, Theresa Bilson felt rapturouslyfluttered. Her course had been notably empty of situations and ofadventure; drama, as in the case of so many ladies of her profession--thepages of fiction notwithstanding--conspicuously cold-shouldering andgiving her the go-by. Now, drama, and that of richest quality mightperhaps--for she admitted the existence of awkward conjunctions--be saidto batter at her door. She thought of the Miss Minetts, her ever-willingaudience. She thought also--as so frequently during the last, in somerespects, extremely unsatisfactory twenty-four hours--of Mr. Rochesterand of Jane Eyre. Not that she ranged herself with Jane socially or as toscholastic attainments. In both these, as in natural refinement, propriety and niceness of ideas, she reckoned herself easily to surpassthat much canvassed heroine. The flavour of the evangelicalcharity-school adhered--incontestably it adhered, and that to Jane'sdisadvantage. No extravagance of Protestantism or of appliedphilanthropy, thank heaven, clouded Theresa's early record. The genius ofTractarianism had rocked her cradle, and subsequently ruled her studieswith a narrowly complacent pedantry all its own. Nevertheless in momentsof expansion, such as the present, she felt the parallel between her owncase and that of Jane did, in certain directions, romantically hold. Fortified by thought of the Miss Minetts' agitated interest in all whichmight befall her, she indulged in imaginary conversations with that greatproconsul, her employer--the theme of which, purged of lyricalredundancies, reduced itself to the somewhat crude announcement that"your daughter, yes, may, alas, not impossibly be taken from you; but I, Theresa, still remain. "

When, however, a summons to the presence of the said employer actuallyreached her, the bounce born of imaginary conversations, showed atendency, as is its habit, basely to desert her and soak clean away. Shehad promised herself a little scene, full of respectful solicitude, ofsympathy discreetly offered and graciously accepted, a drawing togetherthrough the workings of mutual anxiety leading on to closer intercourse, her own breast, to put it pictorially, that on which the stricken parentshould eventually and gratefully lean. But in all this she wasdisappointed, for Sir Charles did not linger over preliminaries. He camestraight and unceremoniously to the point; and that with so cold andlofty a manner that, although flutterings remained, they parted companywith all and any emotions even remotely allied to rapture. 

Charles Verity stood motionless before the fire-place in the longsitting-room. He still wore a heavy frieze travelling coat, the fronts ofit hanging open. His shoulders were a trifle humped up and his head bent, as he looked down at the black and buff of the tiger skin at his feet. When Theresa approached with her jerky consequential little walk--pinklyself-conscious behind her gold-rimmed glasses--he glanced at her, revealing a fiercely careworn countenance, but made no movement to shakehands with or otherwise greet her. This omission she hardly noticed, already growing abject before his magnificence--for thus did hisappearance impress her--which, while claiming her enthusiasticadmiration, enjoined humility rather than the sentimental expansions inwhich her imaginary conversations had so conspicuously abounded. 

"I have seen Dr. McCabe, " he began. "His report of Damaris' condition isvery far from reassuring. He tells me her illness presents peculiarsymptoms, and is grave out of all proportion to its apparent cause. Thismakes me extremely uneasy. It is impossible to question her at present. She must be spared all exertion and agitation. I have not attempted tosee her yet. "

He paused, while anger towards her ex-pupil waxed warm in Theresa onceagain. For the pause was eloquent, as his voice had been when speakingabout his daughter, of a depth of underlying tenderness which filled hishearer with envy. 

"I must therefore ask you, Miss Bilson, " he presently went on, "to giveme a detailed account of all that took place yesterday. It is important Ishould know exactly what occurred. "

Whereat Theresa, perceiving pitfalls alike in statement and insuppression of fact, hesitated and gobbled to the near neighbourhood ofpositive incoherence, while admitting, and trying to avoid admitting, howinconveniently ignorant of precise details she herself was. 

"Perhaps I erred in not more firmly insisting upon an immediate enquiry, "she said. "But, at the time, alarm appeared so totally uncalled for. Iassumed, from what was told me, and from my knowledge of the strength ofDamaris' constitution, that a night's rest would fully restore her to herusual robust state of health, and so deferred my enquiry. The servantswere excited and upset, so I felt their account might be misleading--allthey said was so confused, so far from explicit. My position was mostdifficult, Sir Charles, " she assured him and incidentally, also, assuredherself. "I encountered most trying opposition, which made me feel itwould be wiser to wait until this morning. By then, I hoped, the maidswould have had time to recollect themselves and recollect what isbecoming towards their superiors in the way of obedience and respect. "

Charles Verity threw back his head with a movement of impatience, andlooked down at her from under his eyelids--in effect weary and alittle insolent. 

"We seem to be at cross purposes, Miss Bilson, " he said. "You do not, Ithink quite follow my question. I did not ask for the servants' accountof the events of yesterday--whatever those events may have been--but foryour own. "

"Ah! it is so unfortunate, so exceedingly unfortunate, " Theresa brokeout, literally wringing her hands, "but a contingency, an accident, whichI could not possibly have foreseen--I cannot but blame Damaris, SirCharles"--

"Indeed?" he said. 

"No, truly I cannot but blame her for wilfulness. If she hadconsented--as I so affectionately urged--to join the choir treat toHarchester, this painful incident would have been spared us. "

"Am I to understand that you went to Harchester, leaving my daughterhere alone?"

"Her going would have given so much pleasure in the parish, " Theresapursued, dodging the question with the ingenuity of one who scents mortaldanger. "Her refusal would, I knew, cause sincere disappointment. I couldnot bring myself to accentuate that disappointment. Not that I, ofcourse, am of any importance save as coming from this house, as--as--insome degree your delegate, Sir Charles. "

"Indeed?" he said. 

"Yes, indeed, " Theresa almost hysterically repeated. 

For here--if anywhere--was her chance, as she recognized. Never againmight she be thus near to him, alone with him--the normal routine made itwholly improbable. --And at midnight too. For the unaccustomed lateness ofthe hour undoubtedly added to her ferment, provoking in her obscure andnovel hopes and hungers. Hence she blindly and--her action viewed from acertain angle--quite heroically precipitated herself. Heroically, becausethe odds were hopelessly adverse, her equipment, whether of natural orartificial, being so conspicuously slender. Her attempt had no backing inplay of feature, felicity of gesture, grace of diction. The commonestlittle actress that ever daubed her skin with grease-paint, would havethe advantage of Theresa in the thousand and one arts by which, fromeverlasting, woman has limed twigs for the catching of man. Her veryvirtues--respectability, learning, all the proprieties of her narrowlyvirtuous little life--counted for so much against her in the presentsupreme moment of her self-invented romance. 

"You hardly, I dare say, " she pursued--"how should you after thecommanding positions you have occupied?--appreciate the feelings of theinhabitants of this quiet country parish towards you. But they have alively sense, believe me, of the honour you confer upon them, all andseverally--I am speaking of the educated classes in particular, ofcourse--by residing among them. They admire and reverence you so much, sogenuinely; and they have extended great kindness to me as a member ofyour household. How can I be indifferent to it? I am thankful, SirCharles, I am grateful--the more so that I have the happiness of knowingI owe the consideration with which I am treated, in Deadham, entirely toyou. --Yes, yes, " she cried in rising exaltation, "I do not deny that Iwent to Harchester yesterday--went--Dr. Horniblow thus expressed it wheninviting me--'as representing The Hard. ' I was away when Damaris madethis ill-judged excursion across the river to the Bar. Had she confidedher intention to me, I should have used my authority and forbade her. Butrecently we have not been, I grieve to say, on altogether satisfactoryterms, and our parting yesterday was constrained, I am afraid. "

Theresa blushed and swallowed. Fortunately her sense of humour waslimited; but, even so, she could not but be aware of a dangerous decline. Not only of bathos, but of vulgar bathos, from which gentility revolted, must she be the exponent, thanks to Damaris' indiscretion!

"You require me to give you the details, Sir Charles, " she resumed, "andalthough it is both embarrassing and repugnant to me to do so, I obey. Ifear Damaris so far forgot herself--forgot I mean what is due to her ageand position--as to remove her shoes and stockings and paddle in thesea--a most unsuitable and childish occupation. While she was thusengaged her things--her shoes and stockings--appear to have been stolen. In any case she was unable to find them when tired of the amusement shecame up on to the beach. Moreover she was caught in the rain. And Ideeply regret to tell you--but I merely repeat what I learned from MaryFisher and Mrs. Cooper when I returned--it was not till after dark, whenthe maids had become so alarmed that they despatched Tolling and Alfredto search for her, that Damaris landed from a boat at the breakwater, having been brought down the river--by--by"--

Throughout the earlier portion of her recital Charles Verity stood in thesame place and same attitude staring down at the tiger skin. Twice orthrice only he raised his eyes, looking at the speaker with a flash ofarrogant interrogation. 

Upon one, even but moderately, versed in the secular arts of twig-liming, such flashes would have acted as an effective warning and deterrent. Notso upon Theresa. She barely noticed them, as blindly heroic, she poundedalong leading her piteous forlorn hope. Her chance--her unique chance, innowise to be missed--and, still more, those obscure hungers, fed by theexcitement of this midnight _tête-à-tête, _ rushed her forward upon theabyss; while at every sputtering sentence, whether of adulation, misplaced prudery, or thinly veiled animosity towards Damaris, she becamemore tedious, more frankly intolerable and ridiculous to him whose favourshe so desperately sought. Under less anxious circumstances CharlesVerity might have been contemptuously amused at this exhibition of futileardour. Now it exasperated him. Yet he waited, in rather cruel patience. Presently he would demolish her, if to do so appeared worth the trouble. Meanwhile she should have her say, since incidentally he might learnsomething from it bearing upon the cause of Damaris' illness. 

But now, when, at the climax of her narrative, Theresa--seized by a spasmof retrospective resentment and jealousy, the picture of the young mancarrying the girl tenderly in his arms across the dusky lawns arisingbefore her--choked and her voice cracked up into a bat-like squeaking, Charles Verity's self-imposed forbearance ran dry. 

"I must remind you that neither my time nor capacity of listening areinexhaustible, Miss Bilson, " he said to her. "May I ask you to be so goodas to come to the point. By whom was Damaris rescued and brought homelast night?"

"Ah! that is what I so deeply regret, " Theresa quavered, stillobstinately dense and struggling with the after convulsion of her choke. "I felt so shocked and annoyed on your account, Sir Charles, when themaids told me, knowing how you would disapprove such a--such an incidentin connection with Damaris. --She was brought home, carried"--shepaused--"carried indoors by the owner of that objectionable public-houseon the island. He holds some position in the Mercantile Marine, Ibelieve. I have seen him recently once or twice myself in thevillage--his name is Faircloth. "

Theresa pursed up her lips as she finished speaking. The glasses of hergold pince-nez seemed to gleam aggressively in the lamp-light. The backsof the leather-bound volumes in the many book-cases gleamed also, butunaggressively, with the mellow sheen--as might fancifully be figured--ofthe ripe and tolerant wisdom their pages enshrined. The pearl-greyporcelain company of Chinese monsters, saints and godlings, ranged abovethem placid, mysteriously smiling, gleamed as well. 

For a time, silence, along with these various gleamings, sensibly, even alittle uncannily, held possession of the room. Then Charles Verity moved, stiffly, and for once awkwardly, all of a piece. Backed against themantelshelf, throwing his right arm out along it sharply andheavily--careless of the safety of clock and of ornaments--as thoughovertaken by sudden weakness and seeking support. 

"Faircloth? Of course, his name is Faircloth. " he repeated absently. "Yes, of course. "

But whatever the nature of the weakness assailing him, it soon, apparently, passed. He stood upright, his face, perhaps, a shade morecolourless and lean, but in expression fully as arrogant and formidablycalm as before. 

"Very well, Miss Bilson, " he began. "You have now given me all theinformation I require, so I need detain you no longer--save to saythis. --You will, if you please, consider your engagement as my daughter'scompanion terminated, concluded from to-night. You are free to make sucharrangements as may suit you; and you will, I trust, pardon my addingthat I shall be obliged by your making them without undue delay. "

"You do not mean, " Theresa broke out, after an interval of speechlessamazement--"Sir Charles, you cannot mean that you dismiss me--that I amto leave The Hard--to--to go away?"

"I mean that I have no further occasion for your services. "

Theresa waved her arms as though playing some eccentric game of ball. 

"You forget the servants, the conduct of the house, Damaris' need of achaperon, her still unfinished education--All are dependent upon me. "

"Hardly dependent, " he answered. "These things, I have reason to think, can safely be trusted to other hands, or be equally safely be left totake care of themselves. "

"But why do you repudiate me?" she cried again, rushing upon her fate inthe bitterness of her distraction. "What have I done to deserve suchharshness and humiliation?"

"I gave the most precious of my possessions--Damaris--into your keeping, and--and--well--we see the result. Is it not written large enough, in allconscience, for the most illiterate to read?--So you must depart, my dearMiss Bilson, and for everyone's sake, the sooner the better. There can beno further discussion of the matter. Pray accept the fact that ourinterview is closed. "

But Theresa, now sensible that her chance was in act of being finallyravished away from her, fell--or rose--perhaps more truly thelatter--into an extraordinary sincerity and primitiveness of emotion. She cast aside nothing less than her whole personal legend, cast asideevery tradition and influence hitherto so strictly governing her conductand her thought. Unluckily the physical envelope could not so readily begot rid of. Matter retained its original mould, and that one neitherseductive nor poetic. 

She went down upon her fat little knees, held her fat little hands aloftas in an impassioned spontaneity of worship. 

"Sir Charles, " she prayed, while tears running down her full cheekssplashed upon her protuberant bosom--"Sir Charles"--

He looked at the funny, tubby, jaunty, would-be smart, kneeling figure. 

"Oh! you inconceivably foolish woman, " he said and turned away. 

Did more than that--walked out into the hall and to his own rooms, opening off the corridor. In the offices a bell tinkled. Theresascrambled on to her feet, just as Hordle, in response to its summons, arrived at the sitting-room door. 

"Did you ring, Miss?" he asked grudgingly. Less than ever was she infavour with the servants' hall to-night. 

Past intelligible utterance, Theresa merely shook her head in reply. Madea return upon herself--began to instruct him to put out the lamps in theroom. Remembered that now and henceforth the right to give orders in thishouse was no longer hers; and broke into sobbing, the sound of which herhandkerchief pressed against her mouth quite failed to stifle. 

About an hour later, having bathed and changed, Sir Charles Verity madehis way upstairs. Upon the landing Dr. McCabe met him. 

"Better, " he said, "thank the heavenly powers, decidedly better. Temperature appreciably lower, and the pulse more even. Oh! we're on theroad very handsomely to get top dog of the devil this bout, believe me, Sir Charles. "

"Then go to bed, my dear fellow, " the other answered. "I will takeover the rest of the watch for you. You need not be afraid. I can be anadmirable sick-nurse on occasion. And by the way, McCabe, something hascome to my knowledge which in my opinion throws considerable light uponthe symptoms that have puzzled you. Probably I shall be more sure of myfacts before morning. I will explain to you later, if it should seemlikely to be helpful to you in your treatment of the case. Just now, asI see it, the matter lies exclusively between me"--he smiled looking athis companion full and steadily--"between me"--he repeated, "and myonly child. "

All which upon the face of it might, surely, be voted encouragingenough. Yet:

"Should there be any that doubt the veritable existence of hell fire, "the doctor told himself, as he subsequently and thankfully pulled on hisnight-shirt, "to recover them, and in double quick time, of their heresylet 'em but look in my friend Verity's eyes. "--And he rounded off thesentence with an oath. 

CHAPTER IX

AN EXPERIMENT IN BRIDGE-BUILDING OF WHICH TIME ALONE CAN FIX THE VALUES

Damaris lay on her side, her face turned to the wall. When CharlesVerity, quietly crossing the room, sat down in an easy chair, so placedat the head of the half-tester bed as to be screened from it by thedimity curtains, she sighed and slightly shifted her position. 

Leaning back, he crossed his legs and let his chin drop on his breast. He had barely glanced at her in passing, receiving a vague impressionof the outline of her cheek, of her neck, and shoulders, of her head, dark against the dim whiteness on which it rested, and the long darkstream of her hair spread loose across the pillows. He had no wish forrecognition--not yet awhile. On the contrary, it was a relief to havetime in which silently to get accustomed to her presence, to steephimself in the thought of her, before speech should define the newelement intruded, as he believed, into his and her relation. Thoughlittle enough--too little, so said some of his critics--hampered byfear in any department, he consciously dreaded the smallestmodification of that relation. Among the many dissatisfactions andbitternesses of life, it shone forth with a steady light of purity andsweetness, as a thing unspoiled, unbreathed on, even, by what isignoble or base. And not the surface of it alone was thus free from allbreath of defilement. It showed clear right through, as some gem of thepurest water. To keep it thus inviolate, he had made sacrifices in thepast neither easy nor inconsiderable to a man of his temperament andambitions. Hence that its perfection should be now endangered was tohim the more exquisitely hateful. 

Upon the altar of that hatred, promptly without scruple he sacrificedthe wretched Theresa. Most of us are so constituted that, at a certainpass, pleasure--of a sort--is to be derived from witnessing the anguishof a fellow creature. In all save the grossly degenerate that pleasure, however, is short-lived. Reflection follows, in which we cut to ourselvesbut a sorry figure. With Charles Verity, reflection began to followbefore he had spent many minutes in Damaris' sick-room. For here theatmosphere was, at once, grave and tender, beautifully honest in itsinnocence of the things of the flesh. --The woman had been inconceivablyfoolish, from every point of view. If she had known, good heavens, if shehad only known! But he inclined now to the more merciful view that, veritably, she didn't know; that her practical, even her theoretic, knowledge was insufficient for her to have had any clear design. It wasjust a blind push of starved animal instinct. Of course she must go. Herremaining in the house was in every way unpermissible; still he need not, perhaps, have been so cold-bloodedly precipitate with her. 

Anyhow the thing was done--it was done--He raised his shoulders andmaking with his hands a graphic gesture of dismissal, let his chin dropon to his breast again. 

For the East had left its mark on his attitude towards women with oneexception--that of his daughter--Charles Verity, like most men, notrequiring of himself to be too rigidly consistent. Hence Theresa, andall which pertained to her, even her follies, appeared to him ofcontemptibly small moment compared with the developments for which thosefollies might be held accidentally responsible. His mind returned tothat main theme painfully. He envisaged it in all its bearings, notsparing himself. Suffered, and looked on at his own suffering with astoicism somewhat sardonic. 

Meanwhile Damaris slept. His nearness had not disturbed her, indeed hemight rather suppose its effect beneficent. For her breathing grew even, just sweetly and restfully audible in the intervals of other soundsreaching him from out of doors. 

The wind, drawing out of the sunset, freshened during the night. Now itblew wet and gustily from south-west, sighing through the pines andScotch firs in the Wilderness. A strand of the yellow Banksia rose, trained against the house wall, breaking loose, scratched and tapped atthe window-panes with anxious appealing little noises. 

Many years had elapsed since Charles Verity spent a night upstairs inthis part of the house, and by degrees those outdoor sounds attracted hisattention as intimately familiar. They carried him back to his boyhood, to the spacious dreams and projects of adolescence. He could rememberjust such gusty wet winds swishing through the trees, such petulantfingering of errant creepers upon the windows, when he stayed here duringthe holidays from school at Harchester, on furlough from his regiment, and, later, on long leave from India, during his wonderful littlegreat-uncle's lifetime. 

And his thought took a lighter and friendlier vein, recalling thatpolished, polite, encyclopedic minded and witty gentleman, who had livedto within a few months of his full century with a maximum of interest andentertainment to himself, and a minimum of injury or offence to others. To the last he retained his freshness of intellectual outlook, hisinsatiable yet discreet curiosity. Taking it as a whole, should his lifebe judged a singularly futile or singularly enviable one? Nothingfeminine, save on strictly platonic lines, was recorded to have enteredit at any period. Did that argue remarkable wisdom or defective courage, or some abnormal element in a composition otherwise deliciously mundaneand human?

Charles had debated this often. Even as a boy it had puzzled him. As ayoung man he had held his own views on the subject, not without lastingeffect. For one winter he had passed at The Hard, in the fine bodilyhealth and vigour of his early thirties, this very lack of women'ssociety contributed, by not unnatural reaction, to force the idea ofwoman hauntingly upon him--thereby making possible a strange and hiddenlove passage off the Dead Sea fruit of which he was in process ofsupping here to-night. 

He moved, bent forward, setting his elbows on the two chair arms, closing his eyes as he listened, and leaning his forehead upon hisraised hands. For in the plaintive voice of the moist, fitfulsouthwesterly wind how, to his bearing, the buried, half-forgotten dramare-lived and reenacted itself!

It dated far back, to a period when his career was still undetermined, hedged about by doubts and uncertainties--before the magnificent andterrible years of the Mutiny brought him, not only fame and distinction, but a power of self-expression and of plain seeing. --Before, too, his notconspicuously happy marriage. Before the Bhutpur appointment tested andconfirmed his reputation as a most able if most autocratic ruler. Before, finally, his term of service under the Ameer in Afghanistan--thatextraordinary experience of alternate good and evil fortune in barbaricinternecine warfare, the methods and sentiments of which represented aswing back of three or four centuries, Christianity, and the attitude ofmind and conduct Christianity inculcates, no longer an even nominalfactor, Mahomet, sword in hand, ruthlessly outriding Christ. 

He had done largely more than the average Englishman, of his age andstation, towards the making of contemporary history. Yet it occurred tohim now, sitting at Damaris' bedside, those intervening years ofstrenuous public activity, of soldiering and of administration, alongwith the honours reaped in them, had procured cynically less substantialresult, cynically less ostensible remainder, than the brief and hiddenintrigue which preceded them. They sank away as water spilt on sand--thusin his present pain he pictured it--leaving barely a trace. While thatfugitive and unlawful indulgence of the flesh not only begot flesh, butspirit, --a living soul, henceforth and eternally to be numbered among theimperishable generations of the tragic and marvellous children of men. 

Then, aware something stirred close to him, Charles Verity looked upsharply, turning his head; to find Damaris--raised on one elbow plantedamong the pillows--holding aside the dimity curtain and gazingwonderingly yet contentedly in his face. 

"Commissioner Sahib, " she said, softly, "I didn't know you'd come back. I've had horrid bad dreams and seemed to see you--many of you--walkingabout. The room was full of you, you over and over again; but not likeyourself, frightening, not loving me, busy about something or somebodyelse. I didn't at all enjoy that. --But I am awake now, aren't I? Ineedn't be frightened any more; because you do love me, don't you--andthis really is you, your very ownself?"

She put up her face to be kissed. But he, in obedience to an humilityheretofore unfelt by and unknown to him, leaning sideways kissed the handholding aside the curtain rather than the proffered lips. 

"Yes, my darling, very surely it is me, " he said. "Any multiplication ofspecimens is quite superfluous--a single example of the breed is enough, conceivably more than enough. "

But to his distress, while he spoke, he saw the content die out ofDamaris' expression and her eyes grow distended and startled. She glancedoddly at the hand he had just kissed and then at him again. 

"It seems to me something must have happened which I can't exactlyremember, " she anxiously told him, sitting upright and leaving go thecurtain which slipped back into place shutting off the arm-chair and itsoccupant. "Something real, I mean, not just bad dreams. I know I had toask you about it, and yet I didn't want to ask you. "

Charles Verity rose from his place, slowly walked the length of the room;and, presently returning, stood at the foot of the bed. Damaris still satupright, her hands clasped, her hair hanging in a cloud about her tobelow the waist. The light was low and the shadow cast by the bed-curtaincovered her. But, through it, he could still distinguish the startledanxiety of her great eyes as she pondered, trying to seize and hold somememory which escaped her. And he felt sick at heart, assured it could bebut a matter of time before she remembered; convinced now, moreover, whatshe would, to his shame and sorrow, remember in the end. 

The purity in which he delighted, and to which he so frequently andalmost superstitiously had turned for refreshment and the safeguarding ofall the finest instincts of his own very complex nature, would, althoughshe remembered, remain essentially intact. But, even so, the surface ofit must be, as he apprehended, henceforth in some sort dimmed, and thatby the breath of his own long ago misdoing. The revelation of passion andof sex, being practically and thus intimately forced home on her, thetransparent innocence of childhood must inevitably pass away from her;and, through that same passing she would consciously go forward, embracing the privileges and the manifold burdens, the physical andemotional needs and aspirations of a grown woman. The woman might, would--such was his firm belief--prove a glorious creature. But it wasnot she whom he wanted. Her development, in proportion as it was rich andcomplete, led her away from and made her independent of him. --No, itwasn't she, but the child whom he wanted. And, standing at the foot ofDamaris' bed, he knew, with a cruel certainty, he was there just simplyto watch the child die. 

Yes, it was a mere matter of time. Sooner or later she would put aleading question--her methods being bravely candid and direct. Of course, it was open to him to meet that question with blank denial, open to himto lie--as is the practice of the world when such damnably awkwardsituations come along. --A solution having, in the present case, thespecious argument behind it that in so doing he would spare her, save herpain, in addition to the obvious one that he would save his own skin. Moreover, if he lied he could trust Damaris' loyalty. Whether shebelieved it or not, she would accept his answer as final. No furtherquestion upon the subject would ever pass her lips. The temptation wasdefinite and great. For might not the lie, if he could stomach hisdisgust at telling it, even serve to prolong the life of the child?Should he not sell his honour to save his honour--if it came to that?

Thus he debated, his nature battling with itself, while at that battle hestoically, for a time, looked on. But when, at last, the climax wasreached, and Damaris commenced to speak, stoicism dragged anchor. For hecould conquer neither his disgust nor his sorrow, could find courageneither for his denial nor for watching the child die. Leaving the footof the bed, he went and sat down in the arm-chair, where the dimitycurtain screened Damaris from his, and him from Damaris' sight. 

"Commissioner Sahib, " she began, her voice grave and low, "it has comeback to me--the thing I had to ask you, but it is very hard to say. If itmakes you angry, please try to forgive me--because it does hurt me to askyou. It hurts me through and through. Only I can't speak of it. Ioughtn't just to leave it. To leave it would be wrong--wrong by you. "

"Very well, my darling, ask me then, " he said, a little hoarsely. 

"You have heard about my being out on the Bar and--and all that?"

"Yes, " he said, "I have heard. "

"Captain Faircloth, who found me and brought me home, told me something. "

Damaris' voice broke into tones of imploring tenderness. 

"I love you, Commissioner Sahib, you know how I love you--but--but iswhat Captain Faircloth told me true?"

Whereupon temptation surged up anew, inviting, inciting Charles Verityto lie--dressing up that lie in the cloak of most excellent charity, ofveritable duty towards Damaris' fine courage and her precious innocence. And he hedged, keeping open, if only for a few minutes longer, the wayof escape. 

"How can I answer until I know what he did tell you?" he took her up, atlast, almost coldly. 

"That he is your son--is my brother, " Damaris said. 

Even at this pass, Charles Verity waited before finally committinghimself, thereby unwittingly giving sentiment--in the shape of thePowers of the Air--the chance to take a rather unfairly extensive handin the game. 

For while he thus waited, he could not but be aware, through the tensesilence otherwise reigning in the room, of the tap and scratch of therose-spray upon the window-panes; of the swish of the moist gusty windsweeping from across the salt-marsh and mud-flats of the Haven--from theblack cottages, too, beyond the warren, gathered, as somewhat sinisterboon companions, about the bleak, grey stone-built Inn. And this servedto transfix his consciousness with visions of what once had been--heknowing so exactly how it would all sound, all look out there, thewistful desolation, the penetrating appeal bred of the inherent sadnessof the place on a wild autumn night such as this. 

"Yes, " he said at last, and putting a great constraint upon himself hespoke calmly, without sign of emotion. "What the young man told is true, Damaris, perfectly true. "

"I--I thought so, " she answered back, gravely. "Though I didn'tunderstand"--And, after a moment's pause, with a certain hopelessness ofresignation--"Though I don't understand even now. "

In her utterance Charles Verity so distinctly heard the last words ofthe--to him--dying child, that, smitten with raging bitterness of griefand of regret, he said:

"Nevertheless it is, in my opinion, disgraceful, abominable, that heshould have made the occasion, or, to put the matter at its best, havetaken advantage of the occasion, when you were alone and, in a sense, athis mercy, to tell you this most unhappy thing. "

"No, no, " Damaris cried, in her generous eagerness catching back thecurtain and looking at him nobly unselfconscious, nobly zealous to defendand to set right. "You mustn't think that. He didn't start with anyintention of telling me. He fancied I might have lost my way among thesand-hills, that I might be frightened or get some harm, and so camestraight to look for me, and take care of me. He was very beautifullykind; and I felt beautifully safe with him--safe in the same way I feelsafe with you, almost. "

Her mouth was soft, her eyes alight--dangerously alight now, forher pulse had quickened. As she pleaded and protested hertemperature raced up. 

"It happened later, " she went on, "when we were in the boat, and it waspartly my fault. He wrapped my feet up in his coat. They were very cold. And he believed I was asleep because I didn't speak or thank him. I wasso tired, and everything seemed so strange. I couldn't rouse myselfsomehow to speak. And as he wrapped them in his coat, he kissed my feet, thinking I shouldn't know. But I wasn't asleep, and it displeased me. Ifelt angry, just as you felt when you condemned him just now. "

"Ah! as I felt just now!" he commented, closing his eyes and, justperceptibly, bowing his head. 

"Yes, Commissioner Sahib, as you felt just now--but as, please youmustn't go on feeling. --What he had done seemed to me treacherous; and itpained as well as displeased me. But in all that I was unjust andmistaken. --And it was then, because he saw he'd pained me, displeased andmade me angry, that he told me in self-defence--told me to show he wasn'ttreacherous, but had the right--a right no one else in all the world hasover me except yourself. "

"And you believed this young man, you forgave his audacity, and admittedhis right?" Sir Charles said. 

He leaned back in the angle of the chair, away from her, smiling as hespoke--a smile which both bade farewell and mocked at the sharpness andfutility of the grief which that farewell brought with it. For this was agrown woman who pleaded with him surely, acting as advocate? A child, compelled to treat such controversial, such debatable matters at all, would have done so to a different rhythm, in a different spirit. 

"Forgave him? But after just the first, when, I had time to at all thinkof it, " Damaris answered with rather desperate bravery, "I couldn't seethere was anything for me to forgive. It was the other way about. Forhaven't I so much which he might very well feel belonged, or should havebelonged, to him?"

"You cut deep, my dear, " Sir Charles said quietly. 

Still holding back the curtain with one hand, Damaris flung herselfover upon her face. She would not give way, she would not cry, but hersoul was in travail. These words, as coming from her father, wereanguish to her. She could look at him no longer, and lying outstretchedthus, the lines of her gracious body, moulded by the embroidered linenquilt, quivered from head to heel. Still that travail of soul shouldbring forth fruit. She would not give in, cost what anguish it might, till all was said. 

"I only want to do what is right, " she cried, her voice half stifled bythe pillows. "You know, surely you know, how I love you, CommissionerSahib, from morning till night and round till morning again, always andabove all, ever since I can first remember. But this is different toanything that has ever happened to me before, and it wouldn't be rightnot to speak about it. It would be there all the time, and it wouldcreep in between us--between you and me--and interfere in all mythinking about you. "

"It may very well do that in any case, my dear, " he said. 

"No--no, " Damaris answered hotly, "not if I do right now--right by both. For you must not entertain wrong ideas about him--about Captain FairclothI mean. You must not suppose he said a word about my having what might, or ought to be his. He couldn't do so. He isn't the least that sort ofperson. He took pains to make me understand--I couldn't think why atfirst, it seemed a little like boasting--that he is quite well off andthat he's very proud of his profession. He doesn't want anythingfrom--from us. Oh! no, " she cried, "no. "

And, in her excitement, Damaris raised herself, from the small of herback, resting on her elbows, sphinx-like in posture, her hands andarms--from the elbows--stretched out in front of her across the pillows. Her face was flushed, her eyes blazed. There was storm and vehemence inher young beauty. 

"No--he's too much like you, you yourself, Commissioner Sahib, to wantanything, to accept anything from other people. He means to act forhimself, and make people and things obey him, just as you yourself do. And, " she went on, with a daring surely not a little magnificent underthe circumstances--"he told me he loved life too well to care very muchhow he came by it to begin with. "

Damaris folded her arms, let her head sink on them as she finishedspeaking, and lay flat thus, her face hidden, while she breathed shortand raspingly, struggling to control the after violence of her emotion. 

The curtain hung straight. The wind took up its desolate chant again. AndSir Charles Verity sat back in the angle of the arm-chair, motionless, and, for the present, speechless. 

In truth he was greatly moved, stirred to the deep places of perception, and of conscience also. For this death of childhood and birth ofwomanhood undoubtedly presented a rare and telling spectacle, which, evenwhile it rent him, in some aspects enraged and mortified him, he stillappreciated. He found, indeed, a strangely vital, if somewhat cruel, satisfaction in looking on at it--a satisfaction fed, on its more humaneand human side, by the testimony to the worth of the unknown son by theso well-beloved daughter. Respecting himself he might have cause forshame; but respecting these two beings for whose existence--whether bornin wedlock or out of it--he was responsible, he had no cause for shame. In his first knowledge of them as seen together, they showed strong, generous, sure of purpose, a glamour of high romance in theiradventitious meeting and companionship. 

This was the first, the unworldly and perhaps deepest view of the matter. In it Charles Verity allowed himself to rest, inactive for a space. Thatthere were, not one, but many other views of the said matter, verydifferently attuned and coloured he was perfectly well aware. Soon thesewould leap on him, and that with an ugly clamour which he consciouslyturned from in repulsion and weary disgust. For he was very tired, as henow realized. The anxiety endured during his tedious cross-countryjourney, the distasteful tragic-comedy of the _scéne de séduction_ soartlessly made him by unlucky Theresa Bilsen, followed by this prolongedvigil; lastly the very real tragedy--for such it in great measureremained and must remain--of his interview with Damaris and the re-livingof long buried drama that interview entailed, left him mentally andphysically spent. He fell away into meditation, mournful as it wasindefinite, while the classic lament of another age and race formeditself silently upon his lips. 

"_Comprehenderunt me iniquitates meae, et non potui ut viderem. Multiplicatae sunt super capillos capitis mei; et cor meum dereliquitme_, " he quoted, in the plenitude of his existing discouragement. 

At his time of life, he told himself, earth held no future; and inheaven--as the Churches figure it--namely, an adjustment of the balanceon the other side death, his belief was of the smallest. A sea ofuncertainty, vast, limitless, laps the shores of the meagre island of thepresent--which is all we actually have to our count. Faith is agift. --You possess it, or you possess it not; yet without it--

But here his attention was caught, and brought home to that very present, by a movement upon the bed and Damaris' voice, asking tremulously:

"Commissioner Sahib are you angry, too angry to speak to me?"

Whereupon Charles Verity got up, gathered back the curtain stuffing it inbetween the head board and the wall, and stood, tall, spare, yetgraceful, looking down at her. Whether from fatigue or from emotion, hisexpression was softer, his face less keen than usual, and the likenessbetween him and Darcy Faircloth proportionately and notably great. 

"No, my dear, " he said, "why should I be angry? What conceivable righthave I to be angry? As a man sows so does he reap. I only reap to-daywhat I sowed eight or nine-and-twenty years ago--a crop largely composedof tares, though among those tares I do find some modicum of wheat. Uponthat modest provision of wheat I must make shift to subsist with the bestgrace I may. No, don't cry, my darling. It is useless. Tears never yetaltered facts. You will only do yourself harm, and put a crown to myself-reproach. "

He sat down on the side of the bed, taking her hand, holding andcoaxing it. 

"Only let there be no doubt or suspicion on your part, my dear, " he wenton. "As you have travelled so far along this dolorous way, take courageand travel a little farther. To stop, to turn back, is only to leave yourmind open to all manner of imaginations worse very likely than the truth. I will be quite plain with you. This episode--which I do not attempt toexplain or excuse--took place, and ended, several years before I firstmet your mother. And it ended absolutely. Never, by either written orspoken word, have I held any communication with Lesbia Faircloth since. Never have I attempted to see her--this in the interests of herreputation every bit as much as in those of my own. For her station inlife she was a woman of remarkable qualities and character. She had madean ugly, a repulsive marriage, and she was childless. --More than this itis not seemly I should tell you. "

Charles Verity waited a minute or so. He still coaxed Damaris' hand, calmly, soothingly. And she lay very still watching him; but withhalf-closed eyes, striving to prevent the tears which asked sopersistently to be shed. For her heart went out to him in a new andover-flowing tenderness, in an exalted pity almost maternal. Never had shefelt him more attractive, more, in a sense, royally lovable than in thishour of weariness, of moral nakedness, and humiliation. 

"Not until I had rejoined my regiment in India, " he presently continued, in the same low even tones, "did I hear of the birth of her son. I havenever seen him--or made enquiries regarding him. I meant to let thedead bury its dead in this matter. For everyone concerned it seemed bestand wisest so. Therefore all you have told me to-night comes as news tome--and in some respects as good news. For I gather I have no reason tobe ashamed of this young man--which on your account, even more than on myown, is so much clear gain. --But I oughtn't to have brought you here tolive at Deadham. I ought to have taken the possibility of some accidentalrevelation, such as the present one, into serious account and saved youfrom that. To expose you, however remotely, to the risk was both callousand stupid on my part. I own I have a strong sentiment for this house. Itseemed natural and restful to return to it--the only house to call ahome, I have ever had. And so much has happened during the last eight ornine-and-twenty years, to occupy my mind, that I had grown indifferentand had practically forgotten the risks. This was selfish, self-indulgent, lacking in consideration and reverence towards you, towards your peace of mind, your innocence. --And for it, my darling, Ibeg your forgiveness. "

Damaris sat up in the bed, raised her face to be kissed. 

"No--no, " she implored him, "don't say that. I can't bear to have you sayit--to have you speak as if you had been, could ever be anything butbeautiful and perfect towards me. I can't have you, not even for a littleminute, step down, from the high place, which is your own, and talk offorgiveness. It hurts me. --I begin to understand that your world, a man'sworld, is different to my world--the world, I mean, in which I have beenbrought up. I know what is right for myself--but it would be silly tobelieve mine is the only rightness"--

"Ah!" Charles Verity murmured, under his breath, "alas! for the childthat is dead. "

And leaning forward he kissed her lips. 

CHAPTER X

TELLING HOW MISS FELICIA VERITY UNSUCCESSFULLY ATTEMPTED A RESCUE

With the assistance of the Miss Minetts, reinforced by a bribe of fiveshillings, Theresa Bilson procured a boy on a bicycle, early thefollowing morning, to convey a note the twelve miles to Paulton Lacy--Mr. Augustus Cowden's fine Georgian mansion, situate just within the Southernboundaries of Arnewood Forest. Miss Felicia Verity, to whom the note wasaddressed, still enjoyed the hospitality of her sister andbrother-in-law; but this, as Mrs. Cowden gave her roundly to understand, must not be taken to include erratic demands upon the stables. If sherequired unexpectedly to visit her brother or her niece at Deadham Hard, she must contrive to do so by train, and by such hired conveyances as thewayside station of Paulton Halt at this end of her journey, and ofMarychurch at the other, might be equal to supplying. 

"In my opinion, Felicia, it is quite ridiculous you should attempt to gothere at all to-day, " Mrs. Cowden, giving over for the moment her studyof the _Morning Post, _ commandingly told her. "If Damaris has got a coldin her head through some imprudence, and if Charles has called MissBilson over the coals for not being more strict with her, that really isno reason why Augustus' and my plans for the afternoon should be setaside or why you should be out in the rain for hours with yourrheumatism. I shall not even mention the subject to Augustus. We arrangedto drive over to Napworth for tea, and I never let anything interferewith my engagements to the Bulparcs as you know. I encourage Augustus tosee as much as possible of his own people. --I have no doubt in my ownmind that the account of Damaris' illness is absurdly exaggerated. Youknow how Charles spoils her! She has very much too much freedom; andlittle Miss Bilson, though well-meaning, is incapable of coping with aheadstrong girl like Damaris. She ought--Damaris ought I mean--to havebeen sent to a finishing school for another year at least. She might thenhave found her level. If Charles had consulted me, or shown the leastwillingness to accept my advice, I should have insisted upon thefinishing school. It would have been immensely to Damaris' advantage. Ihave known all along that the haphazard methods of her education werebound to have deplorable results. --But look here, Felicia, if you reallyintend to go on this wild-goose-chase notwithstanding the rain, let theboy who brought the note order Davis' fly for you on his way back. Hepasses Paulton Halt. I shall not expect you before dinner to-night. Nowthat is settled. "

With which she returned to her interrupted study of the _Morning Post_. 

The above pronouncement while rendering Felicia Verity somewhat uneasy, in nowise turned her from her purpose. Her powers of sympathy were asunlimited as they were confused and, too often, ineffective. Forever sheran after the tribulations of her fellow creatures, pouring forth on themtreasures of eager sympathy, but without discrimination as to whether thesaid tribulations were in fact trivial or profound, deserving ordeserved. That anyone under any circumstances, should suffer, beuncomfortable or unhappy, filled her with solicitude. The loss of aneyelash, the loss of a fortune, the loss of the hope of a lifetimeequally ranked. Illness and disease appealed to her in hardly less degreethan unfortunate affairs of the heart. She practised the detection ofextenuating circumstances as one might practise a fine art. She wallowedin sentiment, in short; but that with such native good-breeding andsingleness of mind, as went far to redeem the said wallowings frommorbidity or other offence. Her friends and acquaintances loved her, quite unconscionably made use of her, secretly laughed at her, grew wearyof her, declared that "of such are the Kingdom of Heaven;" and, havingsuccessfully exploited her, turned with relief to the society of personsfrankly belonging to the kingdoms of earth. Men petted but did notpropose to her; affected to confide in her, but carefully withheld theheart of their confessions. Tall, thin, gently hurried and bird-like, sheyet bore a quaint, almost mirthful, resemblance to her brother, SirCharles Verity. Such was the lady who responded, in a spirit of liveliestcharity, to Theresa's wildly waved flag of distress. 

By the time Miss Verity reached Marychurch the rain amounted to averitable downpour. Driven by the southwesterly wind, it swept in sheetsover the low-lying country, the pallid waters, drab mud-flats, dingygrey-green salt-marsh, and rusty brown reed-beds of the estuary. Thedusty road, running alongside this last through the hamlets of HornyCross and Lampit, grew hourly deeper in gritty mud. Beyond questionsummer and all its dear delights were departed and the chill mournfulnessof autumn reigned in their stead. 

With the surrounding mournfulness, Miss Verity's simple, yet devious, mind played not ungratefully. For it seemed to her to harmonize with thetrue inwardness of her mission, offering a sympathetic background to thenews of her niece's indisposition and the signals of distress flown byher little _protégée_, Theresa Bilson. The note addressed to her by thelatter was couched in mysterious and ambiguous phrases, the purport ofwhich she failed to grasp. Theresa's handwriting, usually so neat andprecise, was wobbly, bearing unmistakable traces of severe agitation andhaste. She hinted at nothing short of catastrophe, though whether inrelation to herself, to her ex-pupil, or to Sir Charles, Miss Veritycouldn't for the life of her discover. It was clear in any case, however, that affairs at The Hard had, for cause unknown, gone quite startlinglyastray, and that Theresa found herself entirely unequal to rightingthem--hence her outcry. 

Under these circumstances, it struck Miss Verity as only tasteful andtactful that her approach to the distracted dwelling should take placeunheralded by rumble of wheels or beat of horse-hoofs, should be pitchedin a, so to speak, strictly modest and minor key. On arriving at thefront gate she therefore alighted and, bidding her grumpy and streamingflyman take himself and his frousty landau to the Bell and Horns inDeadham village there to await her further orders, proceeded to walk upthe carriage-drive under the swaying, dripping trees. 

About fifty yards from the gate the drive turns sharply to the left; and, just at the turn, Miss Verity suddenly beheld a tall figure clad in aseaman's oilskins and sou'wester, coming towards her from the directionof the house. Youth and good looks--more especially perhaps masculineones--whatever rank of life might exhibit them, acted as a sure passportto Miss Verity's gentle heart. And the youth and good looks of the manapproaching her became momentarily more incontestable. His bearing, too, notwithstanding the clumsiness of his shiny black over-garment, had aslightly ruffling, gallantly insolent air to it, eminently calculated toimpress her swift and indulgent fancy. 

The young man, on his part, calmly took stock of her appearance, as shebeat up against the wind, her flapping waterproof cloak giving veryinefficient protection to the rather girlish dove-grey cashmere dress, picked out with pink embroidery, beneath it. At first his eyes challengedhers in slightly defiant and amused enquiry. But as she smiled back athim, sweetly eager, ingenuously benignant, his glance softened and hishand went up to his sou'wester with a courteous gesture. 

"What weather!" she exclaimed. "How fearfully wet!"--while her expressiontestified to a flattering interest and admiration. 

"Yes, it's a wild day, " he said, in answer. "I expect We've seen the lastof the sun, anyhow for this week. "

The incident, though of the most casual and briefest, gave a newdirection to Miss Verity's thought. It pleased and intrigued her, bringing a pretty blush to her thin cheeks. "Who and what can he be?" shesaid to herself. "Where can I have seen him before?" And the blushdeepened. "I must really describe him to Charles and find out who he is. "

This monologue brought her as far as the front door, at which, it may beadded, she--though by no means impatient--did in point of fact ring twicebefore the man-servant answered it. Although Mr. Hordle had the reputationof "being fond of his joke" in private life, in his official capacity hismanner offered a model of middle-aged sedateness and restraint. To-dayneither humour nor reserve were in evidence, but a harassed and huntedlook altogether surprising to Miss Verity. He stared at her, stared pasther along the drive, before attempting to usher her into the hall andrelieve her of her umbrella and her cloak. 

"Sir Charles doesn't expect me, Hordle, " she said. "But hearing MissDamaris was unwell I came over from Paulton Lacy at once. "

"Quite so, ma'am. Sir Charles has not left his room yet. He did not reachhome till late, and he sat up with Miss Damaris the rest of the night. "

"Oh! dear--did he? Then, of course, I wouldn't disturb him on anyaccount, Hordle. I had better see Miss Bilson first. Will you tell herI am here?"

"I can send Laura to enquire, ma'am. But, I doubt if Miss Bilson, willcare to come downstairs at present. "

"She is with Miss Damaris?"

"No, ma'am, Miss Bilson is not with Miss Damaris. "

Hordle paused impressively, sucking in his under lip. 

"If I might presume to advise, ma'am, I think it would be wise you shouldsee Miss Bilson in the schoolroom--and go up by the back staircase, ma'am, if you don't object so as to avoid passing Miss Damaris' bedroomdoor. I should not presume to suggest it, ma'am, but that our orders asto quiet are very strict. "

In this somewhat ignominious method of reaching her objective MissVerity, although more and more mystified, amiably acquiesced--to begreeted, when Hordle throwing open the schoolroom door formally announcedher, by a sound closely resembling a shriek. 

Entrenched behind a couple of yawning trunks, a litter of feminineapparel and of personal effects--the accumulation of a long term ofyears, for she was an inveterate hoarder--encumbering every availablesurface, the carpet included, Theresa Bilson stood as at bay. 

"My dear friend, " Miss Verity exclaimed advancing with kindlyoutstretched hands--"what is the meaning of this?"--She looked at themiscellaneous turn-out of cupboards and chests of drawers, at the displayof garments not usually submitted to the public gaze. "Are you preparinga rummage sale or are you--but no, surely not!--are you packing? I cannotdescribe how anxious I am to hear what has occurred. My sister, Mrs. Cowden, was extremely adverse to my facing the bad weather; but, I feltyour note could only be answered in person. Let me hear everything. "

She drew Theresa from behind the luggage entrenchments, and, puttingaside an assortment of derelict hats and artificial flowers strewn inmost admired confusion on the sofa, made her sit down upon the said pieceof furniture beside her. 

Whereupon, in the pensive, rain-washed, mid-day light, which served toheighten rather than mitigate the prevailing, very unattractive andrather stuffy disorder obtaining in the room, Theresa Bilson, not withoutchokings and lamentations, gave forth the story of her--to herself quitespectacular--deposition from the command of The Hard and its household. She had sufficiently recovered her normal attitude, by this time, to poseto herself, now as a heroine of one of Charlotte Bronte's novels, now asa milder and more refined sample of injured innocence culled from thepages of Charlotte Yonge. A narrow, purely personal view inevitablyembodies an order of logic calculated to carry conviction; and Theresa, even in defeat, retained a degree of self-opinionated astuteness. Shepresented her case effectively. To be discharged, and that in disgrace, to be rendered homeless, cast upon the world at a moment's notice, forthat which--with but trifling, almost unconscious, manipulation offact--could be made to appear as nothing worse than a venial error ofjudgment, did really sound and seem most unduly drastic punishment. 

Miss Verity's first instinct was to fling herself into the breech; and, directly her brother emerged from his room, demand for her _protégée_redress and reinstatement. Her second instinct was--she didn't, in truth, quite know what--for she grew sadly perplexed as she listened. 

Her sympathy, in fact, split into three inconveniently distinct andseparate streams. Of these Theresa's woes still claimed the widest anddeepest, since with Theresa she was in immediate and intimate contact. Yet the other two began to show a quite respectable volume and current, as she pictured Damaris marooned on the Bar and Sir Charles ravished awayfrom the seasonable obligation of partridge shooting to take his place athis daughter's bedside. 

"But this young Captain Faircloth, of whom you speak, " she presentlysaid, her mind taking one of its many inconsequent skippits--"who soprovidentially came to the dearest child's assistance--could he, Iwonder, be the same really very interesting-looking young man I met inthe drive, just now, when I came here?"

And Miss Verity described him, while a pretty stain of colour illuminatedher cheek once more. 

"You think quite possibly yes?--How I wish I had known that at the time. I would certainly have stopped and expressed my gratitude to him. Such amercy he was at hand!--Poor dearest Damaris! I hope his good officeshave already been acknowledged. Do you know if my brother has seen andthanked him?"

The expression of Theresa's round little face, still puffy and blotchedfrom her last night's weeping, held a world of reproachful remindings. 

"Ah! no, " the other cried conscience-stricken--"no, of course not. Howthoughtless of me to ask you. And"--another mental skippit--"and that youshould be forbidden the sick-room too, not permitted to nurse Damaris! Mypoor friend, indeed I do feel for you. I so well understand that musthave caused you more pain than anything. "

A remark her hearer found it not altogether easy to counter withadvantage to her own cause, so wisely let it pass in silence. 

"I know--I know, you can hardly trust yourself to speak of it. I am sogrieved--so very grieved. But one must be practical. I think you are wiseto yield without further protest. I will sound my brother--just find outif he shows any signs of relenting. Of course, you can understand, Iought to hear his view of the matter too--not, that I question youraccount, dear friend, for one instant. Meanwhile make all yourarrangements. "

"The village!"--Theresa put in, with a note of despair this timeperfectly genuine. 

"Ah, yes--the village. But if I take you away, in my fly I mean, thatwill give you a position, a standing. It will go far to preventunpleasant gossip!"

Miss Verity's soul looked out of her candid eyes with a positiveeffulgence of charity. 

"Oh! I can enter so fully into your shrinking from all that. We willtreat your going as temporary, merely temporary--in speaking of it bothhere and at Paulton Lacy. Of course, you might stay with your friends, the good Miss Minetts; but I can't honestly counsel your doing so. I amafraid Sir Charles might not quite like your remaining in Deadhamdirectly after leaving his house. It might be awkward, and give rise totiresome enquiries and comment. One has to consider those things. --No--Ithink it would be a far better plan that you should spend a week atStourmouth. That would give us time to see our way more clearly. I knowof some quite nice rooms kept by a former maid of Lady Bulparc's. Youwould be quite comfortable there--and, as dinner at Paulton Lacy isn'ttill eight, I could quite well go into Stourmouth with you myself thisafternoon. And, my dear friend, you will, won't you, forgive my speakingof this"--

Miss Verity--whose income, be it added, was anything but princely--gavean engagingly apologetic little laugh. 

"Pray don't worry yourself on the score of expense. The week inStourmouth must cost you nothing. As I recommend the rooms I naturally amresponsible--you go to them as my guest, of course. --Still I'll sound mybrother at luncheon, and just see how the land lies. But don't build toomuch on any change of front. I don't expect it--not yet. Later, who knowsMeanwhile courage--do try not to fret. "

And Miss Verity descended the backstairs again. 

"Poor creature--now her mind will be more at rest, I do trust. I amafraid Charles has been rather severe. I never think he does quiteunderstand women. But how should he after only being married forthree--or four years, was it?--Such a very limited experience!--It is apity he didn't marry again, while Damaris was still quite small--somereally nice woman who one knows about. But I suppose Charles has nevercared about that side of things. His public work has absorbed him. Idoubt if he has ever really been in love"--Miss Verity sighed. --"Yes, Hordle, thanks I'll wait in the long sitting-room. Please let Sir Charlesknow I am there, that I came over to enquire for Miss Damaris. He isgetting up?--Yes--I shall be here to luncheon, thanks. "

But, during the course of luncheon, that afore-mentioned split in MissVerity's sympathies was fated to declare itself with ever growingdistinctness. The stream consecrated to Theresa's woes--Theresa herselfbeing no longer materially present--declined in volume and in force, while that commanded by Felicia's affection for her brother soon rusheddown in spate. Perhaps, as she told herself, it was partly owing to thelight--which, if pensive upstairs in the white-walled schoolroom, might, without exaggeration, be called quite dismally gloomy in thelow-ceilinged dining-room looking out on the black mass of the ilextrees over a havoc of storm-beaten flower-beds--but Sir Charles struckher as so worn, so aged, so singularly and pathetically sad. He wasstill so evidently oppressed by anxiety concerning Damaris that, to hintat harsh action on his part, or plead Theresa's cause with convincingearnestness and warmth, became out of the question. Miss Verity hadn'tthe heart for it. 

"Be true to your profession of good Samaritan, my dear Felicia, " hebegged her with a certain rueful humour, "and take the poor foolishwoman off my hands. Plant her where you like, so long as it is well outof my neighbourhood. She has made an egregious fiasco of her positionhere. As you love me, just remove her from my sight--let this land haverest and enjoy its Sabbaths in respect of her at least. I'll give you acheque for her salary, something in excess of the actual amount if youlike; for, heaven forbid, you should be out of pocket yourself as aconsequence of your good offices. --Now let us, please, talk of some lessunprofitable subject. "

Brightly, sweetly eager, Miss Verity hastened to obey, as she believed, his concluding request. 

"Ah! yes, " she said, "that reminds me of something about which I do sowant you to enlighten me. --This young Captain Faircloth, who soopportunely appeared on the scene and rescued darling Damaris, I believeI met him this morning, as I walked up from the front gate. I wonderedwho he was. His appearance interested me, so did his voice. It struck meas being so quaintly like some voice I know quite well--and I stupidlycannot remember whose. "

The coffee-cups chattered upon the silver tray as Hordle handed it toMiss Verity. 

"You spoke to him then?" Sir Charles presently said. 

"Oh! just in passing, you know, about the weather--which was phenomenallybad, raining and blowing too wildly at the moment. I supposed you hadseen him. He seemed to be coming away from the house. "

Charles Verity turned sideways to the table, bending down a little overthe tray as he helped him. The coffee splashed over into the saucer; yetit was not the hand holding the coffee-pot, but those holding the traythat shook. Whereupon Charles Verity glanced up into the manservant'sface, calmly arrogant. 

"Pray be careful, Hordle, " he said. And then--"Is Miss Verity right insupposing Captain Faircloth called here this morning?"

"I beg your pardon, Sir Charles. Yes, Sir Charles, he did. "

"What did he want?"

"He came to enquire after Miss Damaris, Sir Charles. I understood him tosay he was going away to sea shortly. "

"Did he ask for me?"

"No, Sir Charles, " rather hurriedly; and later, with visible effort torecapture the perfection of well-trained nullity. --"He only asked afterMiss Damaris. "

"When he calls again, let me know. Miss Damaris wishes to see him if sheis sufficiently well to do so. "

"Very good, Sir Charles. "

And during this conversation, Felicia felt keenly distressed andperplexed. It made her miserable to think evil of anyone--particularly anold and trusted servant. But from the moment of her arrival Hordle'smanner had seemed so very strange. Of course it was horrid even tosuspect such a thing; but was it possible that he over-indulgedsometimes, that he, in plain English, drank? Poor dear Charles--if heknew it, what an additional worry! It really was too deplorable. --Anywayshe could alleviate his worries to a certain extent by carrying Theresaoff. She would do so at once. --Was there an evening train fromStourmouth, which stopped at Paulton Halt? Well--if there wasn't she mustget out at Marychurch, and drive from there. She only trusted she wouldbe in time to dress for dinner. Harriet was such a stickler foretiquette. 

From all which it may be deduced that the confessions, made to MissVerity to-day, had this in common with those habitually heard byher--that the point of the story had been rather carefully left out. 

CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH DAMARIS RECEIVES INFORMATION OF THE LOST SHOES ANDSTOCKINGS--ASSUMPTION OF THE GOD-HEAD

As Darcy Faircloth prophesied, the wild weather lasted throughout thatweek. Then, the rain having rained itself out, the wind backed and theskies cleared. But all to a different mode and rhythm. A cold white sunshone out of a cold blue sky, diapered, to the north above the indigo andumber moorland and forest, with perspectives of tenuous silken-whitecloud. Land and sky were alike washed clean, to a starkness and nakednesscalling for warm clothing out of doors, and well-stoked fires within. 

At the beginning of the next week, invited by that thin glintingsunshine--beneath which the sea still ran high, in long, hollow-backedwaves, brokenly foam-capped and swirling--Damaris came forth from herretreat, sufficiently convalescent to take up the ordinary routine oflife again. But this, also, to a changed mode and rhythm, having itssource in causes more recondite and subtle than any matter of fair orfoul weather. 

To begin with she had, in the past week, crossed a certain bridge thereis no going back over for whoso, of her sex, is handicapped orfavoured--in mid-nineteenth century the handicap rather than the favourcounted even more heavily than it does to-day, though even to-day, assome of us know to our cost, it still counts not a little!--by possessionof rarer intelligence, more lively moral and spiritual perceptions, thanthose possessed by the great average of her countrymen or countrywomen. Damaris' crossing of that bridge--to carry on the figure--affected herthought of, and relation to everyone and everything with which she nowcame in contact. She had crossed other bridges on her eighteen years'journey from infancy upwards; but, compared with this last, they had beenbut airy fantastic structures, fashioned of hardly more substantial stuffthan dreams are made of. --Thus, anyhow, it appeared to her as she layresting in her pink-and-white curtained bed, watching the looserose-sprays tremble against the rain-spattered window-panes. --For thislast bridge was built of the living stones of fact, of deeds actuallydone; and, just because it was so built, for one of her perceptions andtemperament, no recrossing of it could be possible. 

So much to begin with. --To go on with, even before Dr. McCabe granted herpermission to emerge from retirement, all manner of practical mattersclaimed her attention; and that not unwholesomely, as it proved in thesequel. For with the incontinent vanishing of Theresa Bilson into space, or, --more accurately--into the very comfortable lodgings provided for herby Miss Verity in Stourmouth, the mantle of the ex-governess-companion'sdomestic responsibilities automatically descended upon her ex-pupil. Thesaid vanishing was reported to Damaris by Mary, on the day subsequent toits occurrence, not without signs of hardly repressed jubilation. For"Egypt, " in this case represented by the Deadham Hard servants' hall, wasunfeignedly "glad at her departing. "

"A good riddance, I call it--and we all know the rest of that saying, "Mrs. Cooper remarked to an audience of Hordle and Mary Fisher, reinforcedby the Napoleonic Patch and his wife--who happened to have looked in fromthe stables after supper--some freedom of speech being permissible, thanks to the under-servants' relegation to the kitchen. 

"I never could see she was any class myself. But the airs and gracesshe'd give herself! You'll never persuade me she wasn't sweet on themaster. That was at the back of all her dressings up, and flouncings andfidgetings. The impidence of it!--You may well say so, Mrs. Patch. Butthe conceit of some people passes understanding. To be Lady Verity, ifyou please, that was what she was after. To my dying day I shall believeit. Don't tell me!"

Mary's announcement of the event was couched in sober terms, shorn ofsuch fine flowers of suggestion and comment. Yet it breathed anunmistakable satisfaction, which, to Damaris' contrition, found instantecho in her own heart. She ought, she knew, to feel distressed at poorTheresa's vanishing--only she didn't and couldn't. As an inherentconsequence of the afore-chronicled bridge-crossing, Theresa was morethan ever out of the picture. To listen to her chatterings, to evade herquestionings would, under existing circumstances, amount to a daily trialfrom which the young girl felt thankful to escape. For Damarisentertained a conviction the circumstances in question would call forfortitude and resource of an order unknown, alike in their sternness andtheir liberality of idea, to Theresa's narrowly High Anglican andacademic standards of thought and conduct. She therefore ascertained fromher informant that Miss Verity had been as actively instrumental in thevanishing--had, to be explicit, taken "Miss Bilson, and all her luggage(such a collection!) except two disgraceful old tin boxes which were tobe forwarded by the carrier, away with her in her own Marychurchfly. "--And at this Damaris left the business willingly enough, securethat if tender-hearted Aunt Felicia was party to the removal, it wouldvery surely be effected with due regard to appearances and as slightdamage to "feelings" as could well be. 

Later Sir Charles referred briefly to the subject, adding:

"When you require another lady-in-waiting we will choose her ourselves, Ithink, rather than accept a nominee of my sister Felicia's. She iscertain to have some more or less unsuitable and incapable person onhand, upon whom she ardently desires to confer benefits. "

"But must I have another lady-in-waiting?" Damaris meaningly andpleadingly asked. 

Charles Verity drew his hand down slowly over his flowing moustache, andsmiled at her in tender amusement, as she sat up in a much lace andribbon befrilled jacket, her hair hanging down in a heavy plait oneither side the white column of her warmly white throat. Her face wasrefined to a transparency of colouring, even as it seemed of texture, from confinement to the house and from lassitude following upon fever, which, while he recognized its loveliness, caused him a pretty sharppang. Still she looked content, as he told himself. Her glance was frankand calm, without suggestion of lurking anxiety. 

Nor was she unoccupied and brooding--witness the counterpane strewn withbooks, with balls of wool, a sock in leisurely process of knitting, and, in a hollow of it, Mustapha, the brindled cat, luxuriously sleepingcurled round against her feet. 

"Heaven knows I've no special craving your lady-in-waiting should find aspeedy successor, " he said. "But to do without one altogether mightappear a rather daring experiment. Your aunts would be loud in protest. "

"What matters isn't the aunts, is it, but ourselves?" Damaris quite gailytook him up. 

"But wouldn't you be lonely, my dear, and would you not find itburdensome to run the house yourself?"

"No--no, " she cried. "Not one bit. Anyway let me try, CommissionerSahib. Let us be by ourselves together--beautifully by ourselves, for atime at least. "

"So be it then, " Charles Verity said. 

And perhaps, although hardly acknowledged, in the mind of each the sameconsideration operated. For there remained a thing still to be donebefore the new order could be reckoned as fully initiated, still morefully established, --a thing which, as each knew, could be best donewithout witnesses; a thing which both intended should very surely bedone, yet concerning which neither proposed to speak until the hour ofaccomplishment actually struck. 

That hour, in point of fact, struck sooner than Damaris anticipated, thesound and sight of it reaching her without prelude or opportunity ofpreparation. For early in the afternoon of the second day she spentdownstairs, as, sitting at the writing table in the long drawing-room, she raised her eyes from contemplation of the house-keeping books spreadout before her, she saw her father walking slowly up from the sea-wallacross the lawn. And seeing him, for the moment, her mind carried back tothat miracle of interchangeable personalities so distressingly hauntingher at the beginning of her illness, when James Colthurst's charcoalsketch of her father played cruel juggler's tricks upon her. For besidehim now walked a man so strangely resembling him in height, in bearingand in build that, but for the difference of clothing and the beardedface, it might be himself had the clock of his life been set back bythirty years. 

Damaris' first instinct was of flight. Just as when, out on the Bar withher cousin, Tom Verity, now nearly a month ago, overcome by a forebodingof far-reaching danger she had--to the subsequent bitter wounding of herself-respect and pride--shown the white feather, ignominiously turnedtail and run away, was she tempted to run away now. 

For it seemed too much. It came too close, laying rough hands not onlyupon the deepest of her love and reverence for her father, but upon thatstill mysterious depth of her own nature, namely her apprehension ofpassion and of sex. A sacred shame, an awe as at the commission of somecovert act of impiety, overcame her as she looked at the two men walking, side by side, across the moist vividly green carpet of turf in the chillwhite sunshine, the plain of an uneasy grey sea behind them. She wantedto hide herself, to close eyes and ears against further knowledge. Yes--it came too close; and at the same time made her feel, as neverbefore, isolated and desolate--as though a great gulf yawned between herand what she had always counted pre-eminently her own, most securely herproperty because most beloved. 

She had spoken valiantly on Faircloth's behalf, had generously acted ashis advocate; yet now, beholding him thus in open converse with herfather, the wings of love were scorched by the flame of jealousy--not somuch of the young man himself, as of a past which he stood for and inwhich she had no part. Therefore to run--yes, run and hide from furtherknowledge, further experience and revelation, to claim the privileges, since she was called on to endure the smart, of isolation. --Yet to run, as she almost directly began to reason, was not only cowardly butuseless. Fact remains fact, and if she refused to accept it, rangeherself in line with it to-day, she in nowise negatived but merelypostponed the event. If not to-day, then to-morrow she was bound to emptythe cup. And she laughed at the specious half-truth which had appeared sosplendid and exhilarating a discovery--the half-truth that nothing isreally inevitable unless you yourself will it to be so. For this wasinevitable, sooner or later unescapable, fight against it, fly from it asshe might. 

Therefore she must stay, whether she liked it or not--stay, because to dootherwise was purposeless, because she couldn't help herself, becausethere was nowhere to run to, in short--

She heard footsteps upon the flags outside the garden door, speech, calmand restrained, of which she could not distinguish the import. Mechanically Damaris gathered the scattered house-keeping books lyingbefore her upon the table--baker's, butcher's, grocer's, corn-chandler's, coal-merchant's--into a tight little heap; and, folding her hands on thetop of them, prayed simply, almost wordlessly, for courage to hold thebalance even, to seek not her own good but the good of those two others, to do right. Then she waited. 

The door opened, closed, and, after a minute's pause, one of the twomen--Damaris did not know which, she could not bring herself tolook--coming from between the stumpy pillars walked towards her down thehalf-length of the room; and bent over her, resting one hand on the backof her chair, the other on the leather inlay of the writing-table justbeside the little pile of house-books. 

The hand was young, sunburnt, well-shaped, the finger nails well kept. Across the back of it a small-bodied, wide-winged sea-bird, in apparentact of flight, and the letters D. V. F. Were tattooed in blue and crimson. A gold bangle, the surface of it dented in places and engraved withJapanese characters, encircled the fine lean wrist. These Damaris saw, and they worked upon her strangely, awakening an emotion of almostpainful tenderness, as at sight of decorations pathetically fond, playfully child-like and ingenuous. While, as he bent over her, she alsobecame aware of a freshness, a salt sweetness as of the ocean and thegreat vacant spaces where all the winds of the world blow keen and free. 

"Sir Charles wrote to me, " Faircloth said a little huskily. "He told me Imight come and see you again and talk to you, and bid you good-bye beforeI go to sea. And I should have been here sooner, but that I was away atSouthampton Docks, and the letter only reached me this morning. Itelegraphed and started on at once. And he--Sir Charles--walked out overthe warren to meet me, and brought me up here right to the door. And onthe way we talked a little, --if he chose he could make the very stonesspeak, I think--and he said one or two things for which--I--well--I thankfirst Almighty God, and next to God, you--Damaris"--

This last imperatively. 

"You did ask for me? You did wish to have me come to you?"

"Yes, I did wish it, " she answered. "But I never knew how much until now, when he has brought you. For that is the right, the beautiful, safe wayof having you come to me and to this house. "

Yet, as she spoke, she lightly laid her hand over the tattooed image ofthe flying sea-bird, concealing it, for it moved her to the point ofactive suffering in its quaint prettiness fixed thus indelibly up in thewarm live flesh. 

At the touch of her hand Faircloth drew in his breath sharply, seeming towince. Then, at last, Damaris looked up at him, her eyes full ofquestioning and startled concern. 

"I didn't hurt you?" she asked, a vague idea of suffering, attached tothat fanciful stigmata, troubling her. 

"Hurt me--good Lord, how could you, of all people, hurt me?" he gentlylaughed at her. "Unless you turned me down, gave me to understand that, on second thoughts, you didn't find me up to your requirements or somemean class devilry of that kind--of which, by the way, had I judged youcapable, you may be sure I should have been uncommonly careful never tocome near you again. --No, it isn't that you hurt me; but that you delightme a little overmuch, so that it isn't easy to keep quite level-headed. There's so much to hear and to tell, and such scanty time to hear or tellit in, worse luck. "

"You are obliged to go so soon?"

The flames of jealousy had effectually, it may be noted, died downin Damaris. 

"Yes--we're taking on cargo for all we're worth. We are booked to sailby noon the day after to-morrow. I stretched a point in leaving at all, which won't put me in the best odour with my officers and crew, or--supposing they come to hear of it--with my owners either. I amgiving my plain duty the slip; but, in this singular ease, it seemed tome, a greater duty stood back of and outweighed the plain obviousone--since it mounted to a reconstruction, a peace-making, ridding thesouls of four persons of an ugly burden. I wanted the affair allsettled up and straightened out before this, my maiden voyage, incommand of a ship of my own. For me it is a great event, a great stepforward. And, perhaps I'm over-superstitious--most men of my trade aresupposed to be touched that way--but I admit I rather cling to thenotion of this private peace-making, this straightening out of anancient crookedness, as a thing of good augury, a favourable omen. Assuch--let alone other reasons"--and he looked down at Damaris with afine and delicate admiration--"I desired it and, out of my heart, Iprize it. --Do you see?"

"Yes--indeed a thing of good augury"--she affirmed. 

Yet in speaking her lips shook. For, in truth, poor child, she washard-pressed. This intimate intercourse, alike in its simple directnessand its novelty, began to wear on her to the point of physical distress. She felt tremulous and faint. Not that Faircloth jarred upon or wasdistasteful to her. Far from that. His youth and health, the unspoiledvigour and force of him, captivated her imagination. Even the dash ofroughness, the lapses from conventional forms of speech and manner shenow and again observed in him, caught her fancy, heightening hisattraction for her. Nor was she any longer tormented by a sense ofisolation. For, as she recognized, he stole nothing away which heretoforebelonged to her. Rather did he add his own by no means inconsiderableself to the sum of her possessions. --And in that last fact she probablytouched the real crux, the real strain, of the present, to herdisintegrating, situation. For in him, and in his relation to her, awonderful and very precious gift was bestowed upon her, namely anotherhuman life to love and live for. --Bestowed on her, moreover, withoutasking or choice of her own, arbitrarily, through the claim of his andher common ancestry and the profound moral and spiritual obligations, themysterious affinities, which a common ancestry creates. 

Had she possessed this gift from childhood, had it taken its naturalplace in her experience through the linked and orderly progress of theyears, it would have been wholly welcome, wholly profitable and sweet. But it was sprung upon her from the outside, quite astoundinglyready-made. It bore down on her, and at a double, foot, horse, and siegeguns complete. Small discredit to her if she staggered under its onset, trembled and turned faint! For as she now perceived, it was exactly thisrelation of brother and sister of which she had some prescience, some dimintuition, from her first sight of Faircloth as he stood among theskeleton lobster-pots on board Timothy Proud's old boat. It was this callof a common blood which begot in her unreasoning panic, which she had runfrom and so wildly tried to escape. And yet it remained a gift of greatprice, a crown of gold; but oh! so very heavy--just at this momentanyhow--for her poor proud young head. 

Lifting her hand off Faircloth's, she made a motion to rise. Change ofattitude and place might bring her relief, serve to steady her nerves andrestore her endangered composure! Brooding over the whole singular matterin the peace and security of her room upstairs, her course had appeared acomparatively easy one, granted reasonable courage and address. But theyoung man's bodily presence, as now close beside her, exercised anemotional influence quite unforeseen and unreckoned with. Under it herwill wavered. She ceased to see her way clearly, to be sure of herself. She grew timid, bewildered, unready both of purpose and of speech. 

Faircloth, meanwhile, being closely observant of her, was quick todetect her agitation. He drew aside her chair, and backed away, leavingher free to pass. 

"I am afraid we have talked too long, " he said. "You're tired. I ought tohave been more careful of you, remembered how ill you have been--and thatpartly through my doing too. So now, I had better bid you good-bye, Ithink, and leave you to rest. "

But Damaris, contriving to smile tremulous lips notwithstanding, shookher head. For, in lifting her hand from his, she caught sight of thetattooed blue-and-crimson sea-bird and the initials below it. And againher heart contracted with a spasm of tenderness; while those threeletters, more fully arresting her attention, aroused in her a fascinated, half-shrinking curiosity. What did they mean? What could they stand for?She longed intensely to know--sure they were in some sort a symbol, atoken, not without special significance for herself. But shyness and aquaint disposition, dating from her childhood, to pause and hover on thethreshold of discovery, thus prolonging a period of entrancing, distracting suspense, withheld her. She dared not ask--in any case darednot ask just yet; and therefore took up his words in their literalapplication. 

"Indeed, you haven't talked too long, " she assured him, as she went overto the tiger skin before the fire-place, and standing there looked downinto the core of the burning logs. "We have only just begun to talk, soit isn't that which has tried me. But--if you won't misunderstand--praydon't--the thought of--of you, and of all that which lies between us, isstill very new to me. I haven't quite found you, or myself in my relationto you, yet. Give me time, and indeed, I won't disappoint you. "

Faircloth, who had followed her, put his elbows on the mantelshelf, andsinking his head somewhat between his shoulders, stared down at theburning logs too. 

"Ah! when you take that tone, I'm a little scared lest I should turn outto be the disappointment, the failure, in this high adventure of ours, "he said under his breath. 

"So stay, please, " the young girl went on, touched by, yet ignoring, hisinterjected comment. "Let me get as accustomed as I can now, so that Imay feel settled. That is the way to prevent my being tired--the way torest me, because it will help to get all my thinkings about you intoplace. --Yes, please stay. --That is, " she added with a pretty touch ofceremony--"if you have time, and don't yourself wish to go. "

"I wish it! What, in heaven's name, could well be further from any wishof mine?" Faircloth broke out almost roughly, without raising his eyes. "Do you suppose when a man's gone thirsty many days, he is in haste toforego the first draught of pure water offered to him--and that afterjust putting his lips to the dear comfort of it?"

"Ah! you care too much, " Damaris cried, smitten by swift shrinkingand dread. 

Faircloth lifted his head and looked at her, his face keen, brilliantwith a far from ignoble emotion. 

"It is not, and never will be possible--so I fancy"--he said, "to caretoo much about you. "

And he fell into contemplation of the glowing logs again. 

But Damaris, seeing his transfigured countenance, hearing his rejoinder, penetrated, moreover, by the conviction of his entire sincerity, felt theweight of a certain golden crown more than ever heavy upon her devotedyoung head. She stepped aside, groping with outstretched hands behind heruntil she found and held on to the arm of the big sofa stationed atright angles to the hearth. And she waited, morally taking breath, toslip presently on to the wide low seat of it and lean thankfully againstits solidly cushioned back for support. 

"Neither for you, or for my ship"--Faircloth went on, speaking, as itseemed, more to himself than to his now pale companion. "I dare coupleyou and her together, though she is no longer in the dew of her youth. Oh! I can't defend her looks, poor dear. She has seen service. Is only abattered, travel-weary old couple-of-thousand-ton cargo boat, which hashugged and nuzzled the foul-smelling quays of half the seaports ofsouthern Europe and Asia. All the same--next to you--she's the best andfinest thing life, up to now, has brought me, and I love her. --Myaffection for her, though, " he went on, "is safe to be transitory. She issafe to have rivals and successors in plenty--unless, of course, by someugly turn of luck, she and I go to the bottom in company. "

Faircloth broke off. A little sound, a little gesture of protest anddistress, making him straighten himself up and turn quickly, his eyesalight with enquiry and laughter. 

"May I take that to mean I'm not quite alone in my caring, " he asked;"but that you, Damaris, care, perhaps, just a trifling amount too?"

He went across to the sofa, sat down sideways, laying his right arm alongthe back of it, and placing his left hand--inscribed with the fancifuldevice--over the girl's two hands clasped in her lap. The strong, leanfingers exercised a quiet, steady pressure, for a minute. After which heleaned back, no longer attempting to touch her, studiously indeed keepinghis distance, while he said:

"The other affection is stable for ever--safe from all rivals orsuccessors. That is another reason why I jumped at the chance SirCharles's letter gave me of coming here to-day, and seeing you, with thisroom--as I hoped--in which so much of your time must be spent, forbackground. I wanted to stamp a picture of you upon my memory, burn itright into the very tissue of my brain, so that I shall always have itwith me, wherever I go, and however rarely we meet. --Because, as I seeit, we shall rarely meet. We ought to be clear on that point--leave nofrayed edges. There is a bar between us, which for the sake of others, aswell as for your sake, it is only right and decent I should respect, awall of partition through which I shouldn't attempt to break. "

"I know--but it troubles me, " Damaris murmured. "It is sad. "

"Yes, of course, it is sad. But it's just the penalty that is bound to bepaid, and which it is useless to ignore or lie to ourselves about. --So Ishall never come, unless he--Sir Charles--sends for me as he did to-day, or unless you send. Only remember your picture will never leave me. Ihave it safe and sound"--Faircloth smiled at her. --"It will be with mejust as actually and ineffaceably as this is with me. "

He patted the back of his left hand. 

"Nothing, short of death, can rub either out. I have pretty thoroughlybanked against that, you see. So you've only to send when, and if, youwant me. I shall turn up--oh! never fear, I shall turn up. "

"And I shall send--we shall both send, " Damaris answered gravely, even alittle brokenly. 

The crown might be heavy; but she had strangely ceased to desire to berid of it, beginning, indeed, to find its weight oddly satisfying, even, it may be asserted, trenching on the exquisite. And, with this alteredattitude, a freedom of spirit, greater than she had enjoyed since thecommencement of the whole astonishing episode, since before her cousinTom Verity's visit in fact, came upon her. It lightened her heart. Itdispelled her fatigue--which throughout the afternoon had been, probably, more of the moral than bodily sort. Her soul no longer beat its wingsagainst iron bars, fluttered in the meshes of a net; but looked forth shyyet serene, accepting the position in which it found itself. ForFaircloth inspired her with deepening faith. He needed no guiding, as shetold herself; but was strong enough, as his words convincingly testified, clear-sighted and quick-witted enough, to play his part in thecomplicated drama without prompting. Hadn't he done just what sheasked?--Stayed until, by operation of some quality in himself or--couldit be?--simply through the mysterious draw of his and her brother andsisterhood, she had already grown accustomed, settled in her thought ofhim, untormented by the closeness of his presence and unabashed. 

And having reached this vantage-point, discovering the weight of thecrown dear now rather than irksome, Damaris permitted herself a closerobservation of her companion than ever before. Impressions of hisappearance she had received in plenty--but received them in flashes, confusing from their very vividness. Confusing, also, because each one ofthem was doubled by a haunting consciousness of his likeness to herfather. The traits common to both men, rather than those individuallycharacteristic of the younger, had been in evidence. And, in her presenthappier mood, Damaris also desired a picture to set in the storehouse ofmemory. But it must represent this brother of hers in and by himself, divorced, as far as might be, from that pursuing, and, to her, singularlyagitating likeness. 

Her design and her scrutiny were easier of prosecution that, during thelast few minutes, Faircloth had retired into silence, and an attitude ofabstraction. Sitting rather forward upon the sofa, his legs crossed, nursing one blue serge trousered knee with locked hands, his glancetravelled thoughtfully over the quiet, low-toned room and its variedcontents. Later, sought the window opposite, and ranged across the gardenand terrace walk, with its incident of small ancient cannon, to the longridge of the Bar--rising, bleached, wind-swept, and notably desertedunder the colourless sunshine, beyond the dark waters of the tide riverwhich raced tumultuously seaward in flood. 

Seen thus in repose--and repose is a terrible tell-tale, --the lines ofthe young man's face and figure remained firm, gracefully angular anddefinite. No hint of slackness or sloppiness marred their effect. Thesame might be said of his clothes, which though of ordinary regulationcolour and cut--plus neat black tie and stiff-fronted white shirt, collar, and wristbands--possessed style, and that farthest from the cheapor flashy. Only the gold bangle challenged Damaris' taste as touching onflorid; but its existence she condoned in face of its wearer's hazardousand inherently romantic calling. For the sailor may, surely, be here andthere permitted a turn and a flourish, justly denied to the safeentrenched landsman. 

If outward aspects were thus calculated to engage her approval andagreeably fill in her projected picture, that which glimmered throughthem--divined by her rather than stated, all being necessarily more anaffair of intuition than of knowledge--gave her pleasure of richerquality. High-tempered she unquestionably read him, arrogant and onoccasion not inconceivably remorseless; but neither mean nor ungenerous, his energy unwasted, his mind untainted by self-indulgence. If he werecapable of cruelty to others, he was at least equally capable of turningthe knife on himself, cutting off or plucking out an offending member. This appealed to the heroic in her. While over her vision, as she thusconsidered him, hung the glamour of youth which, to youth, displays suchroyal enchantments--untrodden fields of hope and promise inviting thetread of eager feet, the rush of glorious goings forward towardsconquests, towards wonders, well assured, yet to be. The personality ofthis man clearly admitted no denial, as little bragged as it apologized, since his candour matched his force of will. 

Taking stock of him thus, from the corner of the sofa, imagination, intelligence, affections alike actively in play, Damaris' colour rose, her pulse quickened, and her great eyes grew wide, finely and softly gay. 

Faircloth moved. Turned his head. Met her eyes, and looking into them hisface blanched perceptibly under its _couche_ of sunburn. 

"Damaris, " he said, "Damaris, what has happened?--Stop though, youneedn't tell me. I know. We've found one another--haven't we?--Found oneanother more in the silence than in the talking. --Queer, things shouldwork that way! But it puts a seal on fact. For they couldn't so workunless the same stuff, the same inclination, were embedded right in thevery innermost substance of both of us. You look rested. You lookglad--bless you. --Isn't that so?"

"Yes, " she simply told him. 

Faircloth set his elbows on his knees, his chin on his two hands, wristagainst wrist, and his glance ranged out over the garden again, to thepale strip of the Bar spread between river and sea. 

"Then I can go, " he said, "but not because I've tired you. "

"I shall never be tired any more from--from being with you. "

"I don't fancy you will. All the same I must go, because my time's up. Mytrain leaves Marychurch at six, and I have to call at the Inn, to bid mymother good-bye, on my way to the station. "

Was the perfect harmony, the perfect adjustment of spirit to spirit a weebit jarred, did a mist come up over the heavenly bright sky, Fairclothasked himself? And answered doggedly that, if it were so, he could nothelp it. For since, by all ruling of loyalty and dignity, the wall ofpartition was ordained to stand, wasn't it safer to remind both himselfand Damaris, at times, of its presence? He must keep his feet on thefloor, good God--keep them very squarely on the floor--for otherwise, wasn't it possible to conceive of their skirting the edge of unnamableabysses? In furtherance of that so necessary soberness of outlook he nowwent on speaking. 

"But before I go, I want to hark back to a matter of quite ancienthistory--your lost shoes and stockings--for thereby hangs a tale. "

And he proceeded to tell her how, about a week ago, being caught by awild flurry of rain in an outlying part of the island, behind the blackcottages and Inn, he took shelter in a disused ruinous boat-house openingon the great reed-beds which here rim the shore. A melancholy, forsakenplace, from which, at low tide, you can walk across the mud-flats toLampit, with a pleasing chance of being sucked under by quicksands. AbramSclanders' unhappy half-witted son haunted this boat-house, it seemed, storing his shrimping nets there, any other things as well, a venerablemagpie's hoard of scraps and lumber; using it as a run-hole, too, whenthe other lads hunted and tormented him according to their healthy, brutal youthful way. 

--A regular joss-house, he'd made of it. And set up in one corner, whiteand ghostly--making you stare a minute when you first came inside--aship's figure-head, a three-foot odd Britannia, pudding-basin bosomed andeagle-featured, with castellated headgear, clasping a trident in herhand. She, as presiding deity and--

"In front of her, " Faircloth said, his chin still in his hands and eyesgazing away to the Bar--"earth and pebbles banked up into a flat-toppedmound, upon which stood your shoes filled with sprays of hedge fruit andyellow button-chrysanthemums--stolen too, I suppose, from one of thegardens at Lampit. They grow freely there. Your silk stockings hung roundher neck, a posy of flowers twisted into them. --When I came on thisexhibition, I can't quite tell you how I felt. It raised Cain in me tothink of that degraded, misbegotten creature pawing over and playingabout with anything which had belonged to you. I was for makingSclanders, his father, bring him over and give him the thrashing of hislife, right there before the proofs of his sins. "

"But you didn't, " Damaris cried. "You didn't. What do my shoes andstockings matter? I oughtn't to have left them on the shore. It wasputting temptation in his way. "

Faircloth looked at her smiling. 

"No I didn't, and for two reasons. One that I knew--even then--you wouldfind excuses, plead for mercy, as you have just now. Another, thoseflowers. If I had found--well--what I might have found, oh! he shouldhave had the stick or the dog-whip without stint. But one doesn'tpractise devil-worship with flowers. It seemed to me some craving afterbeauty was there, as if the poor germ of a soul groped out of thedarkness towards what is fair and sweet. I dared not hound it back intothe darkness, close down any dim aspiration after God it might have. So Ileft its pitiful joss-house inviolate, the moan of the wind and sighingof the great reed-beds making music for such strange rites of worship ashave been, or may be, practised within. Any god is better thannone--that's my creed, at least. And to defile any man's god--howevertrumpery--unless you're amazingly sure you've a better one to offer himin place of it is to sin against the Holy Ghost. "

Faircloth rose to his feet. 

"Time's up"--he said. "I must go. Here is farewell to the most beautifulday of my life. --But see, Damaris"--

And he knelt down, in front of her. 

"Leave your shoes and stockings cast away on the Bar and thereby open thedoor--for some people--on to the kingdom of heaven, if you like. Butdon't, don't, if you've the smallest mercy for my peace of mind everwander about there again alone. I've a superstition against it. Somethingunhappy will come of it. It isn't right. It isn't safe. When--when Icalled you and you answered me through the mist, I had a horrible fear Iwas too late. You see I care--and the caring, after to-day, verycertainly will not grow less. Take somebody, one of your women, always, with you. Promise me never to be out by yourself. "

Wondering, inexpressibly touched, Damaris put her hands on his shoulders. His hands sprang to cover them. 

"Of course, I promise, " she said. 

And, closing her eyes, put up her lips to be kissed. 

Then the rattle of the glass door on to the garden as it shut. In theroom a listening stillness, a great all-invading emptiness. FinallyHordle, with the tea-tray, and--

"Mrs. Cooper, if it isn't troubling you, Miss, would be glad to have thehouse-books to pay, as she's walking up the village after tea. "

CHAPTER XII

CONCERNING A SERMON WHICH NEVER WAS PREACHED AND OTHER MATTERS OFLOCAL INTEREST

Before passing on to more dignified matters, that period of nine daysdemands to be noted during which the inhabitants of Deadham, all verymuch agog, celebrated the wonder of Miss Bilson's indisputabledisappearance and Damaris Verity's reported adventure. 

Concerning the former, Dr. Horniblow, good man, took himself seriously totask, deploring his past action and debating his present duty. 

"It is no use, Jane, " he lamented to his wife. The two had retired forthe night, darkness and the bedclothes covering them. "I am very muchworried about my share in the matter. "

"But, my dear James, you really are overscrupulous. What share had you?"

The clerical wife does not always see eye to eye with her spouse inrespect of his female parishioners, more particularly, perhaps, theunmarried ones. Mrs. Horniblow loved, honoured, and--within reasonablelimits--obeyed her James; but this neither prevented her being shrewd, nor knowing her James, after all, to be human. Remembrance of Theresa, heading the Deadham procession during the inspection of HarchesterCathedral, sandwiched in between him and the Dean, still rankled in herwifely bosom. 

"I overpersuaded Miss Bilson to accompany us on the choir treat. I forgotshe must not be regarded as an entirely free agent. She has showninterest in parish work and really proved very useful and obliging. Heracquaintance with architecture--the technical terms, too--is unusuallyaccurate for a member of your sex. "

"Her business is teaching, " said the lady. 

"And I can't but fear I have been instrumental in her loss of anexcellent position. "

"If her learning is as remarkable as you consider it, she will doubtlesssoon secure another. "

"Ah! you're prejudiced, my love. One cannot but be struck, at times, bythe harshness with which even women of high principle, like yourself, judge other women. "

"Possibly the highness of my principles may be accountable for myjudgments--in some cases. "

"Argument is very unrestful, " the vicar remarked, turning over on hisside. 

"But there would be an end of conversation if I always agreed with you. "

"Tut--tut, " he murmured. Then with renewed plaintiveness--"I cannot makeup my mind whether it is not my duty, my chivalrous duty, to seek aninterview with Sir Charles Verity and explain--put the aspects of thecase to him as I see them. "

"Call on him by all means. I'll go with you. We ought, in commoncivility, to enquire for Damaris after this illness of hers. But don'texplain or attempt to enlarge on the case from your own point of view. Sir Charles will consider it an impertinence. It won't advantage MissBilson and will embroil you with the most important of your parishioners. The wisdom of the serpent is permitted, on occasion even recommended. "

"A most dangerous doctrine, Jane, most dangerous, save under authority. "

"What authority can be superior to that under which the recommendationwas originally given?"

"My love, you become slightly profane. --I implore you don't argue--and atthis hour! When a woman touches on exegesis, on theology "--

"All I know upon those subjects you, dear, have taught me. "

"Ah! well--ah! well"--the good man returned, at once mollified andsuspicious. For might not the compliment be regarded as something of aback-hander? "We can defer our decision till to-morrow. Perhaps we hadbetter, as you propose, call together. I need not go straight to thepoint, but watch my opportunity and slip in a word edgeways. "

He audibly yawned--the hint, like the yawn, a broad one. The lady didnot take it, however. So far she had held her own; more--had nicelysecured her ends. But further communications trembled upon her tongue. The word is just--literally trembled, for they might cause anger, andJames' anger--it happened rarely--she held in quite, to herself, uncomfortable respect. 

"I fear there is a good deal of objectionable gossip going about thevillage just now, " she tentatively commenced. 

"Then pray don't repeat it to me, my love"--another yawn and an irritableone. "Gossip as you know is abhorrent to me. "

"And to me--but one needs to be forearmed with the truth if one is torebut it conclusively. Only upon such grounds should I think ofmentioning this to you. "

She made a dash. 

"James, have you by chance ever heard peculiar rumours about young DarcyFaircloth's parentage?"

"In mercy, Jane--what a question!--and from you! I aminexpressibly shocked. "

"So was I, when--I won't mention names--when such rumours were hinted tome. I assured the person with whom I was talking that I had never heard aword on the subject. But she said, 'One can't help having eyes. '"

"Or, some of you, noses for carrion. "

Here he gave her the advantage. She was not slow to make play with it. 

"Now it is my turn to be shocked, " she said--"and not, I think, James, without good cause. "

"Yes, I apologize, " the excellent man answered immediately. "I apologize;but to have so foul a suggestion of parochial scandal let loose on mesuddenly, flung in my teeth, as I may say--and by you! I was taken offmy guard and expressed myself coarsely. Yes, Jane, I apologize. "

"Then I have you authority for contradicting these rumours?"

The Vicar of Deadham groaned in the darkness, and rustled under thebedclothes. His perplexity was great on being thus confronted by thetime-honoured question as to how far, in the interests of publicmorality, it is justifiable for the private individual roundly to lie. Finally he banked on compromise, that permanently presiding genius of theChurch of England 'as by law established. '

"You have me on the hip, my love, " he told his wife quite meekly. 

But, as she began rather eagerly to speak, he stopped her. 

"Let be, my dear Jane, " he bade her, "let be. I neither deny or confirmthe rumours to which I imagine you allude. Silence is most becoming forus both. Continue to assure any persons, ill-advised and evil-mindedenough to approach you--I trust they may prove but few--that you havenever heard a word of this subject. You will never--I can confidentlypromise you--hear one from me. --I shall make it my duty to preach on theiniquity of back-biting, tale-bearing, scandal-mongering next Sunday, and put some to the blush, as I trust. St. Paul will furnish me withmore than one text eminently apposite. --Let me think--let mesee--hum--ah! yes. "

And he fell to quoting from the Pauline epistles in Greek--to the livelyannoyance of his auditor, whose education, though solid did not include aknowledge of those languages vulgarly known as "dead. " She naturallysought means to round on him. 

"Might you not compromise yourself rather by such a sermon, James?" shepresently said. 

"Compromise myself? Certainly not. --Pray, Jane, how?"

"By laying yourself open to the suspicion of a larger acquaintance withthe origin of those rumours than you are willing to admit. "

The shaft went home. 

"This is a mere attempt to draw me. You are disingenuous. "

"Nothing of the sort, " the lady declared. "My one object is to protectyou from criticism. And preaching upon gossip must invite rather thanallay interest, thus giving this particular gossip a new lease oflife. The application would be too obvious. Clearly, James, it wouldbe wiser to wait. "

"The serpent, again the serpent--and one I've warmed in my bosom, too"--Then aloud--"I will think it over, my love. Possibly your viewmay be the right one. It is worth consideration. --That must besufficient. And now, Jane, I do implore you give over discussion andlet us say good night. "

It may be registered as among the consequences of these nocturnalexercises, that Dr. Horniblow abstained from tickling the ears of hiscongregation, on the following Sunday, with a homily founded upon the sintale-bearing; and that he duly called, next day, at The Hard accompaniedby his wife. 

The visit--not inconceivably to his inward thanksgiving--provedunfruitful of opportunity for excusing Miss Bilson, to her formeremployer, by accusing himself, Sir Charles Verity's courtesy being of anorder calculated to discourage any approach to personal topics. Unfruitful, also, of enlightenment to Mrs. Horniblow respecting matterswhich--as the good lady ashamedly confessed to herself--althoughforbidden by her lord, still intrigued her while, of course, they mostsuitably shocked. For the life of her she could not help looking out forsigns of disturbance and upheaval. But found none, unless--and thatpresented a conundrum difficult of solution--Damaris' pretty socialreadiness and grace in the reception of her guests might be, in some way, referable to lately reported events. That, and the fact the young girlwas--as the saying is--"all eyes"--eyes calm, fathomless, reflective, which yet, when you happened to enter their sphere of vision, coveredyou with a new-born gentleness. Mrs. Horniblow caught herself growinglyrical--thinking of stars, of twin mountain lakes, the blue-purple ofocean. A girl in love is blessed with just such eyes--sometimes. Whereupon, remembering her own two girls, May and Doris--good as gold, bless them, yet, her shrewdness pronounced, when compared with Damaris, but homely pieces--the excellent woman sighed. 

What did it all then amount to? Mrs. Horniblow's logic failed. "Alleyes"--and very lovely ones at that--Damaris might be; yet hertranquillity and serenity appeared beyond question. Must thrillingmystery be voted no more than a mare's-nest?--Only, did not the factremain that James had refused to commit himself either way, therebynaturally landing himself in affirmation up to the neck? She gave it up. 

But, even in the giving up, could not resist probing just a little. Thetwo gentlemen were out of earshot, standing near the glass door. --HowJames' black, bow-windowed figure and the fixed red in his clean-shaven, slightly pendulous cheeks, did show up to be sure, in thelight!--Unprofitable gift of observation, for possession of which she sofrequently had cause to reproach herself. --

"You still look a little run down and pale, my dear, " she said. "It isn'tfor me to advise, but wouldn't a change of air and scene be good, don'tyou think?"

Damaris assured her not--in any case not yet. Later, after Christmas, sheand her father might very likely go abroad. But till then they had a fullprogramme of guests. 

"Colonel Carteret comes to us next week; and my aunt Felicia always likesto be here in November. She enjoys that month at the seaside, finding it, she says, so poetic. "

Damaris smiled, her eyes at once, and more than ever, eloquent andunfathomable. 

"And I learned only this morning an old Anglo-Indian friend of ours, Mrs. Mackinder, whom I should be quite dreadfully sorry to miss, is spendingthe autumn at Stourmouth. "

Mrs. Horniblow permitted herself a dash. 

"At Stourmouth--yes?" she ventured. "That reminds me. I hear--how far theinformation is correct I cannot pretend to say--that kind little person, Miss Bilson, has been there with Miss Verity this last week. I observedwe had not met her in the village just lately. I hope you have good newsof her. When is she expected back?"

Without hesitation or agitation came the counter-stroke. 

"I don't know, " Damaris answered. "Her plans, I believe, are uncertain atpresent. You and Dr. Horniblow will stay to tea with us, won'tyou?"--this charmingly. "It will be here in a very few minutes--I canring for it at once. "

And the lady laughed to herself, good-temperedly accepting the rebuff. For it was neatly delivered, and she could admire clever fencing eventhough she herself were pinked. --As to tea, she protested positive shameat prolonging her visit--for didn't it already amount rather to a"visitation?"--yet retained her seat with every appearance ofsatisfaction. --If the truth must be told, Mrs. Cooper's cakes wererenowned throughout society at Deadham, as of the richest, the mostmelting in the mouth; and James--hence not improbably the tendency toabdominal protuberance--possessed an inordinate fondness for cakes. Hehad shown himself so docile in respect of projected inflammatory sermons, and of morning calls personally conducted by his wife, that the lattercould not find it in her heart to ravish him away from these approachingvery toothsome delights. Nay--let him stay and eat--for was not suchstaying good policy, she further reflected, advertising the fact she boreno shadow of malice towards her youthful hostess for that neatlydelivered rebuff. 

After this sort, therefore, was gossip, for the time being at all events, scotched if not actually killed. Parochial excitement flagged the sooner, no doubt, because, of the four persons chiefly responsible for itscreation, two were invisible and the remaining two apparently quiteunconscious of its ever having existed. --Mrs. Lesbia Faircloth, at theInn, the Vicar's wife left out of the count. --If Sir Charles Verity andDamaris had hurried away, gossip would have run after them with liveliestyelpings. But this practise of masterly inactivity routed criticism. Howfar was it studied, cynical on the part of the father, or innocent uponthat of the daughter, she could not tell one bit; but that practically itcarried success along with it, she saw to be indubitable. "Face the musicand the band stops playing"--so she put it to herself, as she walked downthe drive to the front gate, her James--was he just a trifle crestfallen, good man?--strolling, umbrella in hand, beside her. 

All subsequent outbreaks of gossip may be described as merely sporadic. They did not spread. As when, for instance, peppery little Dr. Cripps--still smarting under Dr. McCabe's introduction into preserves hehad reckoned exclusively his own--advised himself to throw off a nastyword or so on the subject to Commander Battye and Captain Taylor, overstrong waters and cigars in his surgery--tea, the ladies, and thecard-table left to their own devices in the drawing-room meanwhile--oneevening after a rubber of whist. 

"Damn bad taste, I call it, in a newcomer like Cripps, " the sailor hadremarked later to the soldier. "But if a man isn't a gentleman what canyou expect?"--And with that, as among local persons of quality, thematter finally dropped. 

Mrs. Doubleday and Butcher Cleave, to give an example from a lower sociallevel, agreed, across the former's counter in the village shop, that--

"It is the duty of every true Christian to let bygones be bygones--and adownright flying in the face of Providence, as you may say, to dootherwise, when good customers, whose money you're sure of, are soscarce. For without The Hard and--to give everyone their due--without theIsland also, where would trade have been in Deadham these ten years andmore past? Mum's the word, take it from me, "--and each did take it fromthe other, with rich conviction of successfully making the best of bothworlds, securing eternal treasure in Heaven while cornering excellentprofits on earth. 

William Jennifer had many comments to make in the matter, and withpraiseworthy reticence concluded to make them mainly to himself. Themajority of them, it is to be feared, were humorous to the point of beingunsuited to print, but the refrain may pass--

"And to think if I hadn't happened to choose that particular day to takethe little dorgs and the ferrets ratting, the 'ole bleesed howd'ye domight never have come to pass! Tidy sum, young master Darcy's in my debt, Lord succour him, for the rest of his nat'ral life!"

BOOK III

THE WORLD BEYOND THE FOREST

CHAPTER I

AN EPISODE IN THE EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCE OF THE MAN WITH THE BLUE EYES

Thus far, for the surer basing of our argument, it has appeared advisableto proceed step by step. But the foundations being now well and trulylaid, the pace of our narrative may, with advantage, quicken; a twelvemonth be rounded up in a page, a decade, should convenience so dictate, in a chapter. 

To the furthering of which advance, let it be stated that the close ofthe year still in question marked the date, for Damaris, of two mattersof cardinal importance. For it was then Sir Charles Verity commencedwriting his history of the reign of Shere Ali, covering the eleven yearsfollowing the latter's accession to the very turbulent throne ofAfghanistan in 1863. --Colonel Carteret may be held mainly responsible forthe inception of this literary enterprise, now generally acclaimed aclassic. Had not Sir William Napier, so he argued, made the soldier, ashistorian, for ever famous? And why should not Charles Verity, with hisunique knowledge of court intrigues, of the people and the country, dofor the campaigns of the semi-barbarous Eastern ruler, that which SirWilliam had done for Wellington's campaign in the Spanish Peninsular?

Carteret prophesied--and truly as the event richly proved--a finelyfascinating book would eventually come of it. Meanwhile--though thisargument, in favour of the scheme, he kept to himself--the preparation ofthe said book would supply occupation and interest of which his oldfriend appeared to him to stand rather gravely in need. For thatsomething was, just now, amiss with Charles Verity, Carteret could notdisguise from himself. He was changed, in a way a little broken--so atleast the younger man's kindly, keenly observant, blue eyes regretfullyjudged him. He fell into long silences, seeming to sink away into someabyss of cheerless thought; while his speech had, too often, a bitteredge to it. Carteret mourned these indications of an unhappy frame ofmind. Did more--sought by all means in his power to conjure them away. 

"We must make your father fight his battles over again, dear witch, " hetold Damaris, pacing the terrace walk topping the sea-wall beside her, one evening in the early November dusk. "His record is a very brilliantone and he ought to get more comfort out of the remembrance of it. Let'sconspire, you and I, to make him sun himself in the achievements andactivities of those earlier years. What do you say?"

"Oh! do it, do it, " she answered fervently. "He is sad--and I am soafraid that it is partly my fault. "

"Your fault? Why what wicked practises have you been up to since I washere last?" he asked, teasing her. 

A question evoking, in Damaris, sharp inward debate. For her father'smelancholy humour weighed on her, causing her perplexity and a measure ofself-reproach. She would have given immensely much to unburden herself tothis wise and faithful counsellor; and confide to him the--toher--strangely moving fact of Darcy Faircloth's existence. Yet, notwithstanding her conviction of Colonel Carteret's absolute loyalty, she hesitated; restrained in part by modesty, in part by the fear ofbeing treacherous. Would it be altogether honourable to give away thesecret places of Charles Verity's life--of any man's life if it came tothat--even to so honourable and trusted a friend? She felt handicapped byher own ignorance moreover, having neither standards nor precedents forguidance. She had no idea--how should she?--in what way most men regardsuch affairs, how far they accept and condone, how far condemn them. Shecould not tell whether she was dealing with a case original andextraordinary, or one of pretty frequent occurrence in the experience ofthose who, as the phrase has it, know their world. These considerationskept her timid and tongue-tied; though old habit, combined withCarteret's delightful personality and the soothing influence of the duskyevening quiet, inclined her to confidences. 

"It's not anything I've done, " she presently took him up gravely. "But, quite by chance, I learned something which I think the Commissioner Sahibwould rather not have had me hear. I had to be quite truthful with himabout it; but I was bewildered and ill. I blurted things out rather I'mafraid, and hurt him more than I need have done. I was so taken bysurprise, you see. "

"Yes, I see, " Carteret said, regardless of strict veracity. For he didn'tsee, though he believed himself on the road to seeing and that somematter of singular moment. 

"He was beautiful to me--beautiful about everything--everybody, " sheasserted. "And we love one another not less, but more, he and I--of thatI am sure. Only it's different--different. We can't either of us quite goback to the time before--and that has helped to make him sad. "

Carteret listened in increasing interest aware that he soundedunlooked-for depths, apprehensive lest those depths should harbourdisastrous occurrences. He walked the length of the terrace before againspeaking. Then, no longer teasing but gently and seriously, he asked her:

"Do you feel free to tell me openly about this, and let me try to helpyou--if it's a case for help?"

Damaris shook her head, looking up at him through the soft enclosingmurk, and smiling rather ruefully. 

"I wish I knew--I do so wish I knew, " she said. "But I don't--not yet, anyway. Help me without my telling you, please. The book is a splendididea. And then do you think you could persuade him to let us go awayabroad, for a time? Everything here must remind him--as it does me--ofwhat happened. It was quite right, " she went on judicially--"foreveryone's sake, we should stay here just the same at first. People, "with a scornful lift of the head Carteret noted and admired--"might havemistaken our reason for going away. They had to be made to understand wewere perfectly indifferent. --I knew all that, though we never discussedit. One does things, sometimes, just because it's right they should bedone, without any sort of planning--just by instinct. Still I know wecan't be quite natural here. What happened comes between us. We're eachanxious about the other and feel a constraint, though we never speak ofit. That can't be avoided, I suppose, for we both suffered a good deal atthe time--but he most, much the most because"--

Damaris paused. 

"Because why?"

"I suppose because I'm young; and then, once I got accustomed to theidea, I saw it meant what was very wonderful in some ways--awonderfulness which, for me, would go on and on--a whole new country forme to explore and travel in, quite my own--and--and--which I couldn'thelp loving. "

"Heigh ho! heigh ho!" Carteret put in softly. "This becomes exciting, dear witch, you know. "

"I don't want to be tantalizing, " she answered him, still pacing in thegrowing dimness of land and sea. 

The dead black mass of the great ilex trees looked to touch the lowhanging sky. A grey gleam, here and there, lit the surface of theswirling tide-river. The boom of the slow plunging waves came from theback of the Bar, and now and again wild-fowl cried, faint and distant, out on the mud-flats of the Haven. 

"Listen, " Damaris said. "It is mournful here. It tells you the samethings over and over again. It sort of insists on them. The place seemsso peaceful, but it never lets you alone, really. And now, after whathappened, it never leaves him--the Commissioner Sahib--alone. It repeatsthe same story to him over and over again. It wears him as dropping waterwears away stone. And there is no longer the same reason for stayingthere was at first. Persuade him to go away, to take me abroad. And comewith us--couldn't you?--for a little while at least. Is it selfish to askyou to leave your hunting and shooting so early in the season? I don'twant to be selfish. But he isn't well. Whether he isn't well in his bodyor only in his thinkings, I can't tell. But it troubles me. He sleepsbadly, I am afraid. The nights must be very long and lonely when onecan't sleep. --If you would come, it would be so lovely. I should feel sosafe about him. You and the book should cure him between you. I'mperfectly sure of that. To have you would make us both so happy"--

And, in her innocent importunity, Damaris slipped her hand within ColonelCarteret's arm sweetly coaxing him. 

He started slightly. Threw back his head, standing, straight and tall, inthe mysterious twilight beside her. Raised his deerstalker cap, for amoment, letting the moist chill of the November evening dwell on his hairand forehead. 

Though very popular with women, Carteret had never married, making a homefor his elder sister, Mrs. Dreydel--widow of a friend and fellow officerin the then famous "Guides"--and her four sturdy, good-looking boys atthe Norfolk manor-house, which had witnessed his own birth and those of along line of his ancestors. To bring up a family of his own, in additionto his sister's, would have been too costly, and debt he abhorred. Therefore, such devoirs as he paid the great goddess Aphrodite, were butfew and fugitive--he being by nature and temperament an idealist and anotably clean liver. By his abstention, however, sentiment wasfine-trained rather than extinguished. His heart remained young, capableof being thrilled in instant response to any appeal of high and delicatequality. It thrilled very sensibly, now, in response to the appeal ofDamaris' hand, emphasizing her tender pleading regarding her father. Shetouched, she charmed him to an extent which obliged him rather sharply tocall his senses to order. Hadn't he known her ever since she was a babea span long? Wasn't she, according to all reason, a babe still, in as faras any decently minded male being of his mature age could be concerned?He told himself, at once humorously and sternly, he ought to feel so, think so--whether he did or not. And ought, in his case, was a word notto be played fast and loose with. Once uttered it must be obeyed. 

Wherefore, thus conclusively self-admonished, he put his cap on his headagain and, bending a little over Damaris, patted her hand affectionatelyas it rested upon his arm. 

"Very good--I'll hold myself and my future at your disposition, " he gailysaid to her. "As much hunting and shooting as I care for will very wellkeep. Don't bother your pretty head about them. During the Christmasholidays, my nephews will be ready enough, in all conscience, to let flywith my guns and ride my horses, so neither will be wasted. I'll go alongwith you gladly, for no man living is dearer to me than your father, andno business could be more to my taste than scotching and killing thedemons which plague him. They plague all of us, in some form or other, attimes, as life goes on. "

Very gently he disengaged his arm from her hand. 

"Take me indoors, " he said, "and give me my tea--over which we'll furtherdiscuss plots for kidnapping Verity and carrying him off south. TheFrench Riviera for preference?--Hullo--what the deuce is that?"

For, as he spoke, the two cats appearing with miraculous suddenness outof nowhere--as is the custom of their priceless tribe--rushed wildlypast. Fierce, sinuous, infinitely graceful shapes, leaping high in air, making strange noises, chirrupings and squeakings, thudding of quicklittle paws, as they chased one another round the antiquated, seaward-trained cannon and pyramid of ball. 

For a minute or so Damaris watched them, softly laughing. Then, in thecontent bred of Carteret's promise and the joy of coming travel, something of their frisky spirit caught her too--a spirit which, for allyoung creatures, magically haunts the dusk. And, as they presently fledaway up the lawn, Damaris fled after them, circling over the moistgrass, darting hither and thither, alternately pursuing and pursued. 

Colonel Carteret, following soberly, revolving many thoughts, did notovertake her until the garden door was reached. There, upon thethreshold, the light from within covering and revealing her, she awaitedhim. Her bosom rose and fell, her breathing being a little hurried, herface a little flushed. Her grave eyes sparkled and danced. 

"Oh! you've made me so glad, so dreadfully glad, " she said. "And I neverproperly thanked you. Forgive me. I never can resist them--I went madwith the cats. "

Her young beauty appeared to Carteret very notable; and, yes--althoughshe might disport herself in this childishly frolic fashion--it wasidle to call her, or pretend her any longer a babe. For cause to himunknown, through force of some experience of which he remainedignorant, she had undeniably come into the charm and mystery of herwomanhood--a very fair and noble blossoming before which reverently, ifwistfully, he bowed his head. 

"It's good to have you declare yourself glad, dear witch, in that caseI'm glad too, " he answered her. "But as to forgiveness, I'm inclined tohold it over until you leave off being tantalizing--and, upon my word, Ifind you uncommonly far from leaving off just now!"

"You mean until I tell you what happened?"

Carteret nodded, searching her face with wise, fearless, smiling eyes. 

"Ah! yes, " he said, "we can put it that way if you please. " Damarishesitated detecting some undercurrent of meaning which puzzled her. 

"I may never have to tell you. My father may speak of it--or you may justsee for yourself. Only then, then"--she with a moving earnestness prayedhim--"be kind, be lenient. Don't judge harshly--promise me you won't. "

And as she spoke her expression softened to a great and unconscioustenderness; for she beheld, in thought, a wide-winged sea-bird, abovecertain letters, tattooed in indigo and crimson upon the back of a leanshapely brown hand. 

"I promise you, " Carteret said, and passed in at the door marvellingsomewhat sadly. 

"Is it that?" he asked himself. "If so, it comes early. Has she gone theway of all flesh and fallen in love?"

And this conversation, as shall presently be set forth, ushered in thatsecond matter of cardinal importance, already referred to, which forDamaris marked the close of this eventful year. 

CHAPTER II

TELLING HOW DAMARIS RENEWED HER ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE BELOVED LADY OFHER INFANCY

The windows of the sitting-room--upon the first floor of the long, three-storied, yellow-painted hotel--commanded a vast and glitteringpanorama of indented coast-line and purple sea. Here and there, in themiddle distance, little towns, pale-walled and glistering, climbed upwardamid gardens and olive yards from the rocky shore. Heathlands and pinegroves covered the intervening headlands and steep valleys, save wheremeadows marked the course of some descending stream. To the north-east, above dark wooded foot-hills, the flushed whiteness of snow-summits cutdelicately into the solid blue of the sky. 

Stretched upon the sun-faded, once scarlet cushions of the window-seat, Damaris absorbed her fill of light, and warmth, and colour. Pleadingimperative feminine mendings, she stayed at home this afternoon. She feltdisposed to rest--here in the middle of her pasture, so to say--andresting, both count her blessings and dream, offering hospitality to alland any pleasant visions which might elect to visit her. And, indeed, those blessings appeared a goodly company, worthy of congratulation andof gratitude. She let the black silk stocking, the toe of which sheaffected to darn, slip neglected on to the floor while she added up thepleasant column of them. 

The journey might be counted as a success--that to start with. For herfather was certainly better, readier of speech and of interest in outsidethings. Oh! the dear "man with the blue eyes" had a marvellous hand onhim--tactful, able, devoted, always serene, often even gay. Never couldthere be another so perfect, because so sane and comfortable, a friend. Her debt to him was of old standing and still for ever grew. How shecould ever pay it she didn't know! Which consideration, for an instant, clouded her content. Not that she felt the obligation irksome; but, thatout of pure affection, she wanted to make him some return, someacknowledgment; wanted to give, since to her he had so lavishly given. 

Then the book--of all Carteret's clever manipulations the cleverest! Forhadn't it begun to grip her father, and that quite divertingly much? Hewas occupied with it to the point of really being a tiny bitself-conscious and shy. Keen on it, transparently eager--thoughcontemptuous, in high mighty sort, of course, of his own eagerness whenhe remembered. Only, more than half the time he so deliciously failed toremember. --And with that Damaris' thought took another turn, a moreprivate and personal one. 

For in truth the book gripped her, too, in most intimate and novelfashion, revealing to her the enchantments of an art in process of beingactively realized in living, constructive effort. Herein she found, notthe amazement of a new thing, but of a thing so natural that it appearedjust a part of her very self, though, until now, an undiscovered one. Toread other people's books is a joyous employment, as she well knew; butto make a book all one's own self, to watch and compel its growth intocoherent form and purpose is--so she began to suspect--among the rarestdelights granted to mortal man. 

Her own share of such making, in the present case, was of the humblestit is true, mere spade labour and hod-bearing--namely, writing fromCharles Verity's dictation, verifying names and dates, checkingreferences and quotations. Still each arresting phrase, each felicitousexpression, the dramatic ring of some virile word, the broad onwardsweep of stately prose in narrative or sustained description, not onlycharmed her ear but challenged her creative faculty. She put herself toschool in respect of it all, learning day by day a lesson. --This was theway it should be done. Ambition prodded her on. --For mightn't sheaspire to do it too, some day? Mightn't, granted patience andapplication, the writing of books prove to be her business, hervocation? The idea floated before her, vague as yet, though infinitelybeguiling. Whereupon the whole world took on a new significance andsplendour, as it needs must when nascent talent claims its own, assertsits dawning right to dominion and to freedom. 

And there the pathos of her father's position touched her nearly. Forwasn't it a little cruel this remarkable gift of his should so long havelain dormant, unsuspected by his friends, unknown to the reading public, only to disclose itself, and that by the merest hazard, as a lastresource?--It did not seem fair that he had not earlier found and enjoyedhis literary birthright. 

Damaris propounded this view to Colonel Carteret with some heat. But hesmilingly discounted her fondly indignant lament. 

"Better late than never anyhow, my dear witch, " he said. "And justpicture the satisfaction of this brilliant rally when, as we'd reason tobelieve, he himself reckoned the game was up! Oh! there are points abouta tardy harvest such as this, by no means to be despised. Thrice blessedthe man who, like your father, finding such a harvest, also finds it tobe of a sort he can without scruple reap. "

Of which cryptic utterance Damaris, at the time, could--to quote her ownphrase--"make no sense!"--Nor could she make sense of it, now, whencounting her blessings, she rested, in happy idleness, upon the fadedscarlet cushions of the window-seat. 

She remembered the occasion quite well on which Carteret thus expressedhimself one afternoon, during their stay in Paris, on the southwardjourney. She had worn a new myrtle-green, black-braided, fur-trimmedcloth pelisse and hat to match, as she also remembered, bought the daybefore at a fascinating shop in the Rue Castiglione. Agreeably consciousher clothes were not only very much "the right thing" but decidedlybecoming, she had gone, with him, to pay a visit of ceremony at theconvent school--near the Church of St. Germain-les-Près--where, as alittle girl of six, fresh from India and the high dignities of theBhutpur Sultan-i-bagh, she had been deposited by her father's old friend, Mrs. John Pereira, who had brought her and Sarah Watson, her nurse, backto Europe. 

The sojourn at the convent--once the surprise of translation from East toWest, from reigning princess to little scholar was surmounted--provedfertile in gentle memories. The visit of to-day, not only revived thesememories, but added to their number. For it passed off charmingly. Carteret seemed by no means out of place among the nuns--well-bred andgracious women of hidden, consecrated lives. They, indeed, appearedinstinctively drawn to him and fluttered round him in the sweetestfashion imaginable; he, meanwhile, bearing himself towards them with anexquisite and simple courtesy beyond all praise. Never had Damarisadmired the "man with the blue eyes" more, never felt a more perfecttrust in him, than when beholding him as _Mousquetaire au Couvent_ thus!

As they emerged again into the clear atmosphere and resonance of theParis streets, and made their way back by the Rue du Bac, the Pont Royaland the gardens of the Tuileries, to their hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, Carteret spoke reverently of the religious life, and the marvellousadaptability of the Catholic system to every need, every attitude of thehuman heart and conscience. He spoke further of the loss those inevitablysustain, who--from whatever cause--stand outside the creeds, unable toset their spiritual God-ward hopes and aspirations within a definiteexternal framework of doctrine and practice hallowed by tradition. 

"I could almost wish those dear holy women had gathered your little soulinto the fold, when they had you in their keeping and made a goodCatholic of you, dearest witch, " he told her. "It would have been arather flagrant case of cradle-snatching, I own, but I can't helpthinking it would have simplified many difficulties for you. "

"And raised a good many, too, " Damaris gaily answered him. "For AuntHarriet Cowden would have been furious, and Aunt Felicia distressed anddistracted; and poor Nannie--though she really got quite tame with theSisters, and came to respect them in the end--would have broken her heartat my being taught to worship images, and have believed hell yawned todevour me. Oh! I think it was more fair to wait. --All the same I lovedtheir religion--I love it still. "

"Go on loving it, " he bade her. --And at once turned the conversation toother themes--that of her father, Charles Verity among them, and the bookon Afghanistan, the fair copy of the opening chapters of which was justcompleted. 

Then, the stimulating, insistent vivacity of Paris going a little toDamaris' head--since urging, as always, to fullness of enterprise, fullness of endeavour, giving, as always, immense joy and value to thevery fact of living--she lamented the late development of her father'sliterary genius. A lament which called forth Carteret's consolatoryrejoinder, along with this--to her--cryptic assertion as to the thriceblessed state of the man whose harvest, when tardy, is of a descriptionhe need not scruple to reap. 

"Why, " she asked herself, "should he have said that unless withreference to himself. Reference to some private harvest which he himselfscrupled to reap?"

Damaris slipped her feet from the cushioned window-seat to the floor, andstooping down recovered her fallen black silk stocking. She feltdisturbed, slightly conscience-stricken. For it had never occurred toher, strong, able, serene of humour and of countenance as he was, thatthe "man with the blue eyes" could have personal worries, things--as sheput it--he wanted yet doubted whether he ought to have. Surely hisunfailing helpfulness and sympathy gave him the right, in fee-simple, toanything and everything he might happen to covet. That he should covetwhat was wrong, what was selfish, detrimental to others, seemedincredible. And the generous pity of her youthful tenderness, herimpatience of all privation, all disappointment or denial for those sheheld in affection, overflowed in her. She longed to do whatever wouldgreatly please him, to procure for him whatever he wanted. Wouldn't it bedelicious to do that--if she could only find out!

But this last brought her up against a disquieting lesson latelylearned. --Namely, against recognition of how very far the lives ofmen--even those we know most dearly and closely--and the lives of uswomen are really apart. She thought of her father and Darcy Faircloth andtheir entirely unsuspected relation. This dulled the edge of herenthusiasm. For wasn't it only too probably the same with them all?Loyalty compelled the question. Had not every man a secret, or secrets, only penetrable, both for his peace of mind and for your own, atconsiderable risk?

Damaris planted her elbows on the window-sill, her chin in the hollow ofher hands. Her eyes were solemn, her face grave with thought. --Verily theincrease of knowledge is the increase of perplexity, if not of actualsorrow. Even the apparently safest and straightest paths are beset with"pitfall and with gin" for whoso studies to pursue truth and refusesubscription to illusion. Your charity should be wide as the worldtowards others. Towards yourself narrow as a hair, lest you condone yourown weakness, greed, or error. Of temptation to any save very venial sinsDamaris had, in her own person, little conception as yet. --Still to amaiden of eighteen, though she may have a generous proportion of healthand beauty, sufficient fortune and by no means contemptible intelligence, noble instincts, complications and distresses, both of the practical andtheoretic order, may, and do, at times occur. Damaris suffered the shockof such now; and into what further jungles of cheerless speculation shemight have been projected it is impossible to say, had not persons andevents close at hand claimed her attention. 

The Grand Hotel at St. Augustin is situated upon a long narrowpromontory, which juts out into the sea at right angles to the main trendof the coast-line. It faces east, turning its back upon the littletown--built on the site of a Roman colonial city, originally named inhonour of the pagan Emperor rather than the Christian Confessor andascetic. Mediaeval piety bestowed on it the saintly prefix, along with around-arched cathedral church, of no great size, but massive proportionsand somewhat gloomy aspect. 

From the terrace garden and carriage drive, immediately in front of thehotel, the ground drops sharply, beneath scattered pines with undergrowthof heather, wild lavender, gum-cistus, juniper, mastic and myrtle, to thenarrow white beach a hundred feet below. Little paths traverse the roughdescent. And up one of these, halting to rest now and then on aconveniently placed bench in the shade of some spreading umbrella pine, to discourse to the company of gentlemen following in her wake, orcontemplate the view, came a notably graceful and telling figure. 

As the lady advanced with leisurely composure, Damaris, gazing down fromher point of vantage in the first floor window, received the impressionof a person almost extravagantly finished and feminine, in which allirregularities and originalities of Nature had suffered obliteration bythe action of art. Not art of the grosser sort, dependent on dyes, paintand cosmetics. The obliteration was not superficial merely, and must havebeen achieved by processes at once subtle and profound. The resultobtained, however, showed unquestionably charming--if in a line slightlyfinical and exotic--as she picked her way through the fragrantundergrowth of the pine wood, slanting sunshine playing on her dark blueraiment, wide-brimmed white hat, and floating veil. 

Coming completely into view at last, when stepping from the path on tothe level carriage drive, a gold chain she wore, from which dangled alittle bunch of trinkets and a long-handled lorgnette, glinted, catchingthe light. Damaris gave an exclamation of sudden and rapturousrecognition. So far she had had eyes for the lady only; but now she tooka rapid scrutiny of the latter's attendants. With two of them she wasunacquainted. The other two were her father and Carteret. 

Whereupon rapture gave place to a pang of jealous alarm and resentment. For they belonged to her, those dear two; and to see them even thustemporarily appropriated by someone else caused her surprising agitation. They had been so good, so apparently content, alone with her upon thisjourney. It would be too trying, too really intolerable to have outsidersinterfere and break up their delightful solitude _à trois_, theirdelightful intercourse! Yet, almost immediately, the girl flushed, goinghot all over with shame, scolding herself for even passing entertainmentof such unworthy and selfish emotions. 

"For it is Henrietta Pereira, " she said half aloud. "My own darling, long-ago Henrietta, who used to be so beautifully kind to me and give mepresents I loved above everything. "

And, after a pause, the note of alarm sounding again though modified towistfulness--

"Will she care for me still, and shall I still care for her--but I mustcare--I must--now I'm grown up?"

To set which disturbing questions finally at rest, being a valiant youngcreature, Damaris permitted herself no second thoughts, no vacillation ordelay; but went straight downstairs and crossing the strip of terracegarden, bare-headed as she was, waited at the head of the steps leading upfrom the carriage drive to greet the idol of her guileless infancy. 

To Colonel Carteret who, bringing up the rear of the little processionwas the first to notice her advent, she made a touching and gallantpicture. Her face had gone very pale and he saw, or fancied he saw, herlips tremble. But her solemn eyes shone with a steady light, and, whatever the excitement affecting her, she held it bravely in check. Noting all which he could not but speculate as to whether she had anyknowledge of a certain romantic attachment--culminating on the one handin an act of virtuous treachery, on the other in an act ofrenunciation--which had overshadowed and wrenched from its naturalsequence so large a portion of her father's life. He earnestly hoped shewas ignorant of all that; although the act of renunciation, made for her, Damaris' sake, represented a magnificent gesture if an exaggerated andalmost fanatical one, on Charles Verity's part. It gave the measure ofthe man's fortitude, the measure of his paternal devotion. Stillknowledge of it might, only too readily, prove a heavy burden to a younggirl's imaginative and tender conscience. Yes--he hoped she had beenspared that knowledge. 

If she had escaped it thus far--as he reflected not withoutamusement--the other actor in that rather tragic drama, now sounexpectedly and arrestingly present in the flesh, could be trusted notto enlighten her. He knew Henrietta Pereira of old, bless her hard littleheart. Not only did she detest tragedy, but positively revelled in anysituation where clever avoidance of everything even remotely approachingit was open to her. She ruled the sublime and the ridiculous alikeimpartially out of the social relation; and that with so light thoughdetermined a touch, so convincing yet astute a tact and delicacy, youwere constrained not only to submit to, but applaud her strategy. 

Had she not within the very last hour given a masterly example of herpowers in this line? For when he, Carteret, and Charles Verity, strollingin all innocence along the shore path back from St. Augustin, had totheir infinite astonishment met her and her attendant swains face toface, she hadn't turned a hair. Her nerve was invincible. After claspingthe hand of each in turn with the prettiest enthusiasm, she hadintroduced--"My husband, General Frayling--Mr. Marshall Wace, hiscousin, " with the utmost composure. Thus making over to them anyawkwardness which might be going and effectually ridding herself of it. 

Carteret felt his jaw drop for the moment. --He had heard of JohnPereira's death two years ago, and welcomed the news on her account, since, if report said true, that dashing cavalry officer had taken toevil courses. Gambling and liquor made him a nuisance, not to saydisgrace to his regiment, and how much greater a one to his wife. Poorthing, she must have had a lot to endure and that of the most sordid! Itwasn't nice to think about. Clearly Pereira's removal afforded matter forthankfulness. 

But of this speedy reconstruction on her part, in the shape of a thirdmatrimonial venture, he had heard never a word. How would Verity takeit?--Apparently with a composure as complete as her own. --And then theinherent humour of the position, and her immense skill and coolness inthe treatment of it, came uppermost. Carteret felt bound to support herand help her out by accepting her little old General--lean-shanked andlivery, with pompously outstanding chest, aggressive white moustache andmild appealing eye--as a matter of course. Bound to buck him up, andencourage him in the belief he struck a stranger as the terrible fellowhe would so like to be, and so very much feared that he wasn't. Carteret's large charity came into play in respect of the superannuatedwarrior; who presented a pathetically inadequate effect, specially whenseen, as now, alongside Charles Verity. Surely the contrast must hit thefair Henrietta rather hard? Carteret expended himself in kindlycivilities, therefore, going so far as to say "sir" once or twice inaddressing Frayling. Whereat the latter's timorous step grew almostjaunty and his chest more than ever inflated. 

If Henrietta carried things off to admiration in the first amazement ofimpact, she carried them off equally to admiration in her meeting withDamaris. It was the prettiest little scene in the world. 

For reaching up and placing her hands on the girl's shoulders herchiselled face--distinct yet fragile in outline as some rarecameo--suffused for once with transparent, shell-like pink, she kissedDamaris on either cheek. 

"Ah! precious child, most precious child, " she fondly murmured. "What anenchanting surprise! How little I imagined such a joy was in store for mewhen I came out this afternoon!"

And louder, for the benefit of the assistants. 

"Yes--here are my husband, General Frayling, and Mr. Wace his cousin--heshall sing to you some day--that by the way--who is travelling with us. But they must talk to you later. I can't spare you to them now. I amgreedy after our long separation and want to have you all to myself. "

And, including the four gentlemen in a gesture of friendly farewell, sheput her arm round Damaris' waist, gently compelling her in the directionof a group of buff-painted iron chairs, placed in a semicircle in theshade of ilex and pine trees at the end of the terrace. 

"I have so much to hear, " she said, "so many dropped threads to pick up, and it is impossible to talk comfortably and confidentially in a crowd. Our men must really contrive to play about by themselves for a littlewhile and leave me to enjoy you in peace. "

"But won't they mind?" Damaris asked, upon whom the spell of the elderwoman's personality began sensibly to work. 

"Let them mind, let them mind, " she threw off airily in answer. "So muchthe better. It will do them good. It is excellent discipline for men tofind they can't always have exactly their own way. "

Which assertion served to dissipate any last remnant of jealous alarmDamaris' mind may have unconsciously harboured. In its place shycuriosity blossomed, and quick intimate pleasure in so perfectlyfashioned and furnished a creature. For wasn't her childish adorationfully justified? Wasn't her darling Henrietta a being altogethercaptivating and unique? Damaris loved the feeling of that arm and handlightly clasping her waist. Loved the faint fragrance--hadn't itintoxicated her baby senses?--pervading Henrietta's hair, her clothes, her whole pretty person. Loved the tinkle of the bunch of trinketsdangling from the long chain which reached below her waist. She hadfeared disappointment. That, as she now perceived, was altogethersuperfluous. Henrietta enthralled her eyes, enthralled her affection. Shelonged to protect, to serve her, to stand between her and every roughwind which blew, because she was so pretty, so extraordinarily andcompletely civilized from head to foot. 

No doubt in the generosity of her youthful inexperience Damarisexaggerated the lady's personal charm. Yet the dozen yearsintervening--since their last meeting--had, in truth, dealt mercifullywith the latter's good looks. A trifle pinched, a trifle faded she mightbe, as compared with the Henrietta of twelve years ago; but immediatelysuch damage, such wear and tear of the fleshly garment, showed at itsleast conspicuous. She negotiated the double encounter, as Carteret hadnoted, with admirable sang-froid; but not, as to the first one in anycase, without considerably greater inward commotion than he gave hercredit for. She was in fact keyed up by it, excited, taken out of herselfto an unprecedented extent, her native optimism and egoism in singulardisarray. Yet thereby, through that very excitement, she recaptured forthe time being the physical loveliness of an earlier period. Beauty isvery much a matter of circulation; and the blood cantered, not to saygalloped, through Henrietta's veins. 

The sight of Charles Verity did indeed put back the clock for her inmost astounding sort. Henrietta was no victim of impulse. Each of herthree marriages had been dictated by convenience, carefully thought outand calculated. Over neither husband had she, for ever so brief aperiod, lost her head. But over Charles Verity she had come perilouslynear losing it--once. That, it is not too much to say, constituted thegreatest sensation, the greatest emotion of her experience. As a rulethe most trying and embarrassing part of encountering a former lover isthat you wonder what, under Heaven, induced you to like him so well?Here the position was reversed, so that Henrietta wondered--with asickening little contraction of the heart--what, under Heaven, hadprevented her liking him much more, why, under Heaven, she ever let himgo? Of course, as things turned out, it was all for the best, since herinsensibility made for righteousness, or anyhow for respectability--inthe opinion of the world the same, if not an even superior article. Sheought to congratulate herself, ought to feel thankful. Only just now shedidn't. On the contrary she was shaken--consciously and mostuncomfortably shaken to the very deepest of such depths as her shallowsoul could boast--sitting here, on a buff-painted chair in the shade ofthe pines and ilex trees, in company with Damaris, holding the girl'shand in both her own with a clinging, slightly insistent, pressure as itrested upon her lap. 

"Dearest child, I believe, though you have grown so tall, I should haverecognized you anywhere, " she said. 

"And I you, " Damaris echoed. "I did, I did, after just the firstlittle minute. "

"Ah! you've a memory for faces too?"

Her glance wandered to the group of men gathered before the hotelportico--Sir Charles and General Frayling side by side, engaged in civilif not particularly animated conversation. The two voices reached herwith a singular difference of timbre and of tone. Carteret spoke, apparently making some proposition, some invitation, in response to whichthe four passed into the house. 

Henrietta settled herself in her chair with a movement of sensiblerelief. While they remained there she must look, and it was not quitehealthy to look. --Her good, little, old General, who only askedrespectfully to adore and follow in her wake--a man of few demands andquite tidy fortune--and after poor, besotted, blustering, gambling, squashily sentimental and tearful Johnnie Pereira wasn't he a haven ofrest--oh, positively a haven of rest? All the same she preferred hisnot standing there in juxtaposition to Charles Verity. She muchpreferred their all going indoors--Carteret along with the rest, if itcame to that. 

She turned and smiled upon Damaris. 

"However good your memory for faces may be, I find it very sweet youshould have recognized mine after 'just the first little minute, '" shesaid, with a coaxing touch of mimicry. "You haven't quite parted companywith the baby I remember so well, even yet. I used to call you my downyowl, with solemn saucer eyes and fierce little beak. You wereextraordinarily, really perplexingly like your father then. A miniatureedition, but so faithful to the original it used, sometimes, to give methe quaintest jump. "

Henrietta mused, raising one hand and fingering the lace at her throatas seeking to loosen it. Damaris watched fascinated, in a waytroubled, by her extreme prettiness. Every point, every detail was soengagingly complete. 

"You are like Sir Charles still; but I see something which is nothim--the personal equation, I suppose, developing in you, the elementwhich is individual, exclusively your own and yourself. I should enjoyexploring that. "

She looked at Damaris very brightly for an instant, then looked down. 

"I want to hear more about Sir Charles, " she said. "Of all thedistinguished men I have been fortunate enough to know, who--who have letme be their friend, no one has ever interested me more than he. We haveknown one another ever since I was a girl and his career meant so much tome. I followed it closely, rejoiced in his promotion, his successes; feltindignant--and said so--when he met with adverse criticism. I am speakingof his Indian career. When he accepted that Afghan command, it made abreak. We lost touch, which I regretted immensely. From that time onwardI only knew what any and everybody might know from the newspapers--exceptoccasionally when I happened to meet Colonel Carteret. "

The explanation was lengthy, laboured, not altogether spontaneous. Damaris vaguely mystified by it made no comment. Henrietta raised herhead, glancing round from under lowered eyelids. 

"You appreciate the ever-faithful Carteret?" she asked, an edge ofeagerness in her voice. 

"The dear 'man with the blue eyes?' Of course I love him, we both lovehim almost better than anybody in the world, " Damaris warmly declared. 

"And he manifestly returns your affection. But, dearest child, why'almost. ' Is that reservation intentional or merely accidental?"

Then seeing the girl's colour rise. 

"Perhaps it's hardly a fair question. Forgive me. I forgot how long itis since we met, forgot I'm not, after all, talking to the preciouslittle downy owl, who had no more serious secrets than such as mightconcern her large family of dolls. "

"I am not sure the 'almost' was quite true. " Damaris put in hastily, hercheeks more than ever aflame. 

"Yes it was, most delicious child--I protest it was. And I'm not sure I'maltogether sorry. "

Slightly, daintily, she kissed the flaming cheek. 

"But I do love Colonel Carteret, " Damaris repeated, with much wide-eyedearnestness. "I trust him and depend on him as I do on nobody else. "

"'Almost' nobody else?"

Damaris shook her head. She felt a wee bit disappointed in Henrietta. This persistence displeased her as trivial, as lacking in perfection ofbreeding and taste. 

"Quite nobody, " she said. And without permitting time for rejoinderlaunched forth into the subject of the book on the campaigns of ShereAli, which, as she explained, had been undertaken at Carteret'ssuggestion and with such encouraging result. She waxed eloquent regardingthe progress of the volume and its high literary worth. 

"But I was a little nervous lest my father should lose his interest andgrow slack when we were alone, and he'd only me to talk things over withand to consult, so I begged Colonel Carteret to come abroad with us. "

"Ah! I see--quite so, " Henrietta murmured. "It was at your request. "

"Yes. He was beautifully kind, as he always is. He agreed at once, gaveup all his own plans and came. "

"And stays"--Henrietta said. 

"Yes, for the present. But to tell the truth I'm worried about hisstaying. "

"Why?"--again with a just perceptible edge of eagerness. 

"Because, of course, I have no right to trade on his kindness, even formy father's sake or the sake of the book. "

"And that is your only reason?"

"Isn't it more than reason enough? There must be other people who wanthim and things of his own he wants to do. It would be odiously selfish ofme to interfere by keeping him tied here. I have wondered lately whetherI oughtn't to speak to him about it and urge his going home. I wasworrying rather over that when you arrived this afternoon, and then thegladness of seeing you put it out of my head. But how I wish you wouldadvise me, Henrietta, if it's not troubling you too much. You and theyhave been friends so long and you must know so much better than I canwhat's right. Tell me what is my duty--about his staying, I mean--to, tothem both, do you think?"

Henrietta Frayling did not answer at once. Her delicate featuresperceptibly sharpened and hardened, her lips becoming thin as a thread. 

"You're not vexed with me? I haven't been tiresome and asked yousomething I shouldn't?" Damaris softly exclaimed, smitten with alarm ofunintended and unconscious offence. 

"No--no--but you put a difficult question, since I have only impressionsand those of the most, fugitive to guide me. Personally, I am alwaysinclined to leave well alone. "

"But is this well?--There's just the point. "

"You are very anxious"--

"Yes, I am very anxious. You see I care dreadfully much. "

Henrietta bent down, giving her attention to an inch of kiltedsilk petticoat, showing where it should not, beneath the hem ofher blue skirt. 

"I hesitate to give you advice; but I can give you my impressions--forwhat they may be worth. Seeing Colonel Carteret this afternoon he struckme as being in excellent case--enviably young for his years and content. "

"You thought so? Yet that's just what has worried me. Once or twicelately I have not been sure he was quite content. "

"Oh! you put it too high!" Henrietta threw off. "Can one ever be sureanyone--even one's own poor self--is quite content?"

And she looked round, bringing the whole artillery of her still great, ifwaning, loveliness suddenly to bear upon Damaris, dazzling, charming, confusing her, as she said:

"My precious child, has it never occurred to you Colonel Carteret maystay on, not against has will, but very much with it? Or occurred to you, further, not only that the pleasures of your father's society are by nomeans to be despised; but that you yourself are a rather remarkableproduct--as quaintly engagingly clever, as you are--well--shall wesay--handsome, Damaris?"

"I am deputed to enquire whether you propose to take tea indoors, MissVerity, or have it brought to you here; and, in the latter case, whetherwe have leave to join you?"

The speaker, Marshall Wace--a young man of about thirty years of age--maybe described as soft in make, in colouring slightly hectic, in manner asubtle cross between the theatrical and the parsonic. Which, let it beadded, is by no means to condemn him wholesale, laugh him off the stageor out of the pulpit. In certain circles, indeed, these traits, thisblend, won for him unstinted sympathy and approval. He possessed talentsin plenty, and these of an order peculiarly attractive to the amateurbecause tentative rather than commanding. Among his intimates he was seenand spoken of as one cloaked with the pathos of thwarted aspirations. Better health, less meagre private means and a backing of influence, whatmight he not have done? His star might have flamed to the zenith!Meanwhile it was a privilege to help him, to such extent as his extremedelicacy of feeling permitted. That it really permitted a good deal, oneway or another, displaying considerable docility under the infliction ofbenefits, would have been coarse to perceive and unpardonably brutal tomention. --Such, anyhow, was the opinion held by his cousin, GeneralFrayling, at whose expense he now enjoyed a recuperative sojourn upon theFrench Riviera. Some people, in short, have a gift of imposingthemselves, and Marshall Wace may be counted among that convenientlyendowed band. 

He imposed himself now upon one at least of his hearers. For, though theaddress might seem studied, the voice delivering it was agreeable, causing Damaris, for the first time, consciously to notice this member ofMrs. Frayling's retinue. She felt amiably disposed towards him since hisintrusion closed a conversation causing her no little disturbance ofmind. Henrietta's last speech, in particular, set her nerves tinglingwith most conflicting emotions. If Henrietta so praised her that praisemust be deserved, for who could be better qualified to give judgment onsuch a subject than the perfectly equipped Henrietta? Yet she shrank indistaste, touched in her maiden modesty and pride, from so frank anexposition of her own charms. It made her feel unclothed, stripped in themarket-place--so to speak--and shamed. Secretly she had always hoped shewas pretty rather than plain. She loved beauty and therefore naturallydesired to possess it. But to have the fact of that possession thusbaldly stated was another matter. It made her feel unnatural, as thoughjoined to a creature with whom she was insufficiently acquainted, whoseways might not be her ways or its thoughts her thoughts. Therefore theyoung man, Marshall Wace, coming as a seasonable diversion from theseextremely personal piercings and probings, found greater favour in hereyes than he otherwise might. And this with results, for Damaris'gratitude, once engaged, disdained to criticize, invariably tending toerr on the super-generous side. 

Yes, they would all have tea out here, if Henrietta was willing. And, ifHenrietta would for the moment excuse her, she would go and orderHordle--her father's man--to see to the preparation of it himself. Foreign waiters, whatever their ability in other departments, have nonatural understanding of a tea-pot and are liable to the weirdest ideas ofcutting bread and butter. 

With which, conscious she was guilty of somewhat incoherent chatter, Damaris sprang up and swung away along the terrace, through the cleartonic radiance, buoyant as a caged bird set free. 

"Go with her, Marshall, go with her, " Mrs. Frayling imperatively badehim. 

"And leave you, Cousin Henrietta?"

She rose with a petulant gesture. 

"Yes, go at once or you won't overtake her. I am tired, really wretchedlytired--and am best left alone. "

CHAPTER III

WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF, INCIDENTALLY, WITH THE GRIEF OF A VICTIM OFCIRCUMSTANCE AND THE RECEPTION OF A BELATED CHRISTMAS GREETING

Henrietta Frayling left the Grand Hotel, that afternoon, in a chastenedframe of mind. Misgivings oppressed her. She doubted--and even more thandoubted--whether she had risen to the full height of her own reputation, whether she had not allowed opportunity to elude her, whether she had notlost ground difficult to regain. The affair was so astonishingly sprungupon her. The initial impact she withstood unbroken--and from this shederived a measure of consolation. But afterwards she weakened. She hadfelt too much--and that proved her undoing. It is foolish, becausedisabling, to feel. 

Her treatment of Damaris she condemned as mistaken, admitting a point oftemper. It is hard to forgive the younger generation their youth, theinfinite attraction of their ingenuous freshness, the fact that they havethe ball at their feet. Hence she avoided the society of the young of herown sex--as a rule. Girls are trying when pretty and intelligent, hardlyless trying--though for other reasons--when the reverse. Boys shetolerated. In the eyes of young men she sunned herself taking her ease, since these are slow to criticize, swift to believe--between eighteen andeight-and-twenty, that is. --We speak of the mid-Victorian era and thenobtaining masculine strain. 

Misgivings continued to pursue her during the ensuing evening and eveninterfered with her slumbers during the night. This--most unusualoccurrence--rendered her fretful. She reproached her tractable anddistressed little General with having encouraged her to walk much toofar. In future he swore to insist on the carriage, however confidentlyshe might assert the need of active exertion. She pointed out the fallacyof rushing to extremes; which rather cruelly floored him, since"rushing, " in any shape or form, had conspicuously passed out of hisprogramme some considerable time ago. 

"My wife is not at all herself, " he told Marshall Wace, at breakfast nextmorning--"quite overdone, I am sorry to say, and upset. I blame myself. I must keep a tight hand on her and forbid over exertion. "

With a small spoon, savagely, daringly he beat in the top of hisboiled egg. 

"I must be more watchful, " he added. "Her nervous energy is deceptive. Imust refuse to let it override my better judgment and take me in. "

By luncheon time, however, Henrietta was altogether herself, save for apretty pensiveness, and emerged with all her accustomed amiability fromthis temporary eclipse. 

The Fraylings occupied a small detached villa, built in the grounds ofthe Hôtel de la Plage--a rival and venerably senior establishment to theGrand Hotel--situate just within the confines of St. Augustin, where thetown curves along the glistering shore to the western horn of the littlebay. At the back of it runs the historic high road from Marseilles to theItalian frontier, passing through Cannes and Nice. Behind it, too, runsthe railway with its many tunnels, following the same, though a somewhatless serpentine, course along the gracious coast. 

To the ex-Anglo-Indian woman, society is as imperative a necessity aswater to a fish. She must foregather or life loses all its savour; mustentertain, be entertained, rub shoulders generally or she is lost. Henrietta Frayling suffered the accustomed fate, though to speak ofrubbing shoulders in connection with her is to express oneselfincorrectly to the verge of grossness. Her shoulders were of an order fartoo refined to rub or be rubbed. Nevertheless, after the shortestinterval consistent with self-respect, such society as St. Augustin andits neighbourhood afforded found itself enmeshed in her dainty net. Mrs. Frayling's villa became a centre, where all English-speaking personsmet. There she queened it, with her General as loyal henchman, andMarshall Wace as a professor of drawing-room talents of most varied sort. 

Discovery of the party at the Grand Hotel, took the gilt off thegingerbread of such queenings, to a marked extent, making them lookmake-shifty, lamentably second-rate and cheap. Hence Henrietta'sfretfulness in part. For with the exception of Lady HermioneTwells--widow of a once Colonial Governor--and the Honourable Mrs. Callowgas _née_ de Brett, relict of a former Bishop of Harchester, theywere but scratch pack these local guests of hers. Soon, however, a schemeof putting that discovery to use broke in on her musings. The oldfriendship must, she feared, be counted dead. General Frayling'sexistence, in the capacity of husband, rendered any resurrection of itimpracticable. She recognized that. Yet exhibition of its tombstone, weresuch exhibition compassable, could not fail to bring her honour andrespect. She would shine by a reflected light, her glory all the greaterthat the witnesses of it were themselves obscure--Lady Hermione and Mrs. Callowgas excepted of course. Carteret's good-nature could be counted onto bring him to the villa. And Damaris must be annexed. Assuming the rôleand attitude of a vicarious motherhood, Henrietta herself could hardlyfail to gain distinction. It was a touching part--specially when playedby a childless woman only a little--yes, really only quite a little--pasther prime. 

Here, indeed, was a great idea, as she came to grasp the possibilitiesand scope of it. As chaperon to Damaris how many desirable doors would beopen to her! Delicately Henrietta hugged herself perceiving that, otherthings being equal, her own career was by no means ended yet. ThroughDamaris might she not very well enter upon a fresh and effective phase ofit? How often and how ruefully had she revolved the problem of advancingage, questioning how gracefully to confront that dreaded enemy, andendure its rather terrible imposition of hands without too glaring a lossof prestige and popularity! Might not Damaris' childish infatuationoffer a solution of that haunting problem, always supposing theinfatuation could be revived, be recreated?

Ah! what a double-dyed idiot she had been yesterday, in permittingfeeling to outrun judgment!--With the liveliest satisfaction Henriettacould have boxed her own pretty ears in punishment of her passingweakness. --Yet surely time still remained wherein to retrieve her errorand restore her ascendency. Damaris might be unusually clever; but shewas also finely inexperienced, malleable, open to influence as yet. LetHenrietta then see to it, and that without delay or hesitation, bringingto bear every ingenious social art, and--if necessary--artifice, in whichlong practice had made her proficient. 

To begin with she would humble herself by writing a sweet little letterto Damaris. In it she would both accuse and excuse her maladroitness ofyesterday, pleading the shock of so unlooked-for a coming together andthe host of memories evoked by it. --Would urge how deeply it affectedher, overcame her in fact, rendering her incapable of saying half theaffectionate things it was in her heart to say. She might touch on thesubject of Damaris' personal appearance again; which, by literally takingher breath away, had contributed to her general undoing. --On secondthoughts, however, she decided it would be politic to avoid thatparticular topic, since Damaris was evidently a little shy in respect ofher own beauty. --Henrietta smiled to herself. --That is a form of shynessexceedingly juvenile, short-lived enough!

Marshall should act as her messenger, she being--as she could truthfullyaver--eager her missive might reach its destination with all possibledespatch. A letter, moreover, delivered by hand takes on an importance, makes a claim on the attention, greater than that of one received bypost. There is a personal gesture in the former mode of transmission byno means to be despised in delicate operations such as the present--"Iwant to set myself right with you _at once_, dearest child, in case, as Ifear, you may have a little misunderstood, me yesterday. Accident havingso strangely restored us to one another, I long to hold you closely ifyou will let me do so. "--Yes, it should run thus, the theme embroideredwith high-flashing colour of Eastern reminiscence--the great subtropicgarden of the Sultan-i-bagh, for example, its palms, orange grove andlotus tank, the call of the green parrots, chant of the well-coollie andcreak of the primitive wooden gearing, as the yoke of cream white oxentrotted down and laboriously backed up the walled slope to the well-head. 

Mrs. Frayling set herself to produce a very pretty piece of sentiment, nicely turned, decorated, worded, and succeeded to her ownsatisfaction. Might not she too, at this rate, claim possession of theliterary gift--under stress of circumstance? The idea was a new one. Itamused her. 

And what if Damaris elected to show this precious effusion toher father, Sir Charles? Well, if the girl did, she did. It mightjust conceivably work on him also, to the restoration ofpast--infatuation?--Henrietta left the exact term in doubt. But her hopeof such result was of the smallest. Exhibition of a tombstone was themost she could count upon. --More probably he would regard it critically, cynically, putting his finger through her specious phrases. She doubtedhis forgiveness of a certain act of virtuous treachery even yet;although he had, in a measure, condoned her commission of it by makinguse of her on one occasion since, namely, that of her bringing Damarisback twelve years ago to Europe. But whether his attitude were cynicalor not, he would hold his peace. Such cogent reasons existed for silenceon his part that if he did slightly distrust her, hold her a littlecheap, he would hardly venture to say as much, least of all toDamaris. --Venture or condescend?--Again Mrs. Frayling left the term indoubt and went forward with her schemes, which did, unquestionably justnow, add a pleasing zest to life. 

The innocent subject of these machinations received both the note and itsbearer in a friendly spirit, though she was already, as it happened, richin letters to-day. The bi-weekly packet from Deadham--addressed in MaryFisher's careful copy-book hand--arrived at luncheon time, andcontained, among much of apparently lesser interest, a divertingchronicle of Tom Verity's impressions and experiences during the firstsix weeks of his Indian sojourn. The young man's gaily self-confidenthumour had survived his transplantation. He wrote in high feather, quiteunabashed by the novelty of his surroundings, yet not forgetting to payhonour where honour was due. 

"It has been 'roses, roses all the way' thanks to Sir Charles'sintroductions, for which I can never be sufficiently grateful, " he toldher. "They have procured me no end of delightful hospitality from thegreat ones of the local earth, and really priceless opportunities ofgetting into touch with questions of ruling importance over here. I amletting my people at home know how very much I owe, and always shall owe, to his kindness in using his influence on my behalf at the start. "

Damaris glowed responsive to this fine flourish of a tone, and passed theletter across the small round dinner table to her father. Opened a fatpacket, enclosed in an envelope of exaggerated tenuity, from MissFelicia, only to put it aside in favour of another letter bearing anItalian stamp and directed in a, to her, unfamiliar hand. 

This was modest in bulk as compared with Miss Felicia's; but whileexamining it, while touching it even, Damaris became aware of an inwardexcitement, of a movement of tenderness not to be ignored or denied. 

Startled by her own prescience, and the agitation accompanying it, shelooked up quickly to find Carteret watching her; whereupon, mutely, instinctively, her eyes besought him to ask no questions, make nocomment. For an appreciable space he kept her in suspense, his glanceholding and challenging hers in close observation. Then as though, not without a measure of struggle, granting her request, he smiledat her, and, turning his attention to the contents of his plate, quietly went on with the business of luncheon. Damaris meanwhile, conscience-stricken--she couldn't tell why--by this silent interchangeof intelligence, this silent demand on his forbearance, on hisconnivance in her secrecy, laid the letter face downwards on the whitetable-cloth, unopened. 

Later, Sir Charles Verity being busy with his English correspondence andCarteret having disappeared--gone for a solitary walk, as she divined, being, as she feared, not quite pleased with her--she read it in thesecurity of her bedroom, seated, for greater ease, upon the polishedparquet floor just inside an open, southward-facing French window, wherethe breeze coming up off the sea gently fanned her face. 

The letter began without preamble:

"We made this port--Genoa--last night. All day we have been dischargingcargo. Half my crew has gone ashore, set on liquoring and wenching afterthe manner of unregenerate sailor-men all the world over. The other halffollows their bad example to-morrow, as we shall be lying idle in honourof the Christmas festival. On board discipline is as strict as I know howto make it, but ashore my hand is lifted off them. So long as they turnup on time they are free to follow their fancy, even though it lead themto smutty places. My own fancies don't happen to lie that way, for whichI in nowise praise myself. It is an affair of absence of inclinationrather than overmuch active virtue. I am really no better than they, seeing I yield to the only temptation which takes me--the temptation towrite to you. I have resisted it times out of number since I bade yougood-bye at The Hard. But Christmas-night turns one a bit soft andcraving for sight and touch of those who belong to one. So much I daresay, though I go back on nothing I said to you then about the keeping upof decent barriers. Only being Christmas-night-soft I give myself thelicence of a holiday--for once. The night is clear as glass and the cityrises in a great semicircle, pierced by and outlined in twinkling lights, right up to the ring of forts crowning the hills, where the sky begins--asky smothered in stars. I have been out, on deck, looking at it all, atthe black masts and funnels of the ships ranging to right and leftagainst the glare of the town, and at the oily, black water, thick withfloating filth and garbage and with wandering reflections like jewels andprecious metals on the surface of it--the rummiest mixture of fair andfoul. And then, all that faded out somehow--and I saw black water again, but clean this time and with no reflections, under a close-drawn veil offalling rain; and I felt to lift you out of the boat and carry you inacross the lawn and up to your room. And then I could not hold outagainst temptation any longer, but came here into my cabin and sat downto write to you. The picture of you, wet and limp and helpless in myarms, is always with me, stamped on the very substance of my brain, as isthe other picture of you in the drawing-room lined with book-cases, wherewe found one another for the second time. Found one another in spirit, Imean; an almost terribly greater finding than the first one, because itcan go on for ever as it belongs to the part of us which does not die. That is my faith anyhow. To-morrow morning I will go ashore and into oneof those big, tawdry Genoa churches, and listen to the music, standing insome quiet corner, and think about you and renew my vows to you. It won'tbe half bad to keep Christmas that way. 

"I don't pretend to be a great letter-writer, so if this one hasfunny fashions to it you must forgive both them and me. I write as Ifeel and must leave it so. The voyage has been good, and my poor oldtub has behaved herself, kept afloat and done her best, bravely if abit wheezingly, in some rather nasty seas. When we are through here Itake her across to Tripoli and back along the African coast toAlgiers, then across to Marseilles. I reckon to reach there in sixweeks or two months from now. You might perhaps be willing to write aline to me there--to the care of my owners, Messrs. Denniver, Holland& Co. Their office is in the Cannebière. I don't ask you to do this, but only tell you I should value it more than you can quiteknow. --Now my holiday is over and I will close down till nextChristmas-night--unless miracles happen meanwhile--so good-bye. --Hereis a boatload of my lads coining alongside, roaring with song and asdrunk as lords. --God bless you. In spirit I once again kiss your dearfeet. Your brother till death and after. 

"DARCY FAIRCLOTH. "

Dazed, enchanted, held captive by the secular magic pertaining to thosewho "go down to the sea in ships" and ply their calling in the greatwaters, held captive, too, by the mysterious prenatal sympathies whichunite those who come of the same blood, Damaris stayed very still, sitting child-like upon the bare polished floor, while the wind murmuredthrough the spreading pines, shading the terrace below, and gently fannedher throat and temples. 

For Faircloth's letter seemed to her very wonderful, alike in its vigour, its simplicity and--her lips quivered--its revelation of loving. --How hecared--and how he went on caring!--There were coarse words in it, themeaning of which she neither knew nor sought to know; but she did notresent them. The letter indeed would have lost some of its living force, its convincing reality, had they been omitted. They rang true, to herear. And just because they rang true the rest rang blessedly true aswell. She gloried in the whole therefore, breathing through it a largerair of faith and hope, and confident fortitude. The kindred qualities ofher own heart and intelligence, the flush of her fine enthusiasm, sprangto meet and join with the fineness of it, its richness of promise and ofgood omen. 

For a time mind and emotion remained thus in stable and exaltedequilibrium. Then, as enchantment reached its necessary term and herapprehensions and thought began to work more normally, she badly wantedsomeone to speak to. She wanted to bear witness, to testify, to pourforth both the moving tale and her own sensations, into the ear of someindulgent and friendly listener. She--she--wanted to tell ColonelCarteret about it, to enlist his interest, to read him, in part at least, Darcy Faircloth's letter, and hear his confirmation of the noble spiritshe discerned in it, its poetry, its charm. For the dear man with theblue eyes would understand, of that she felt confident, understandfully--and it would set her right with him, if, as she suspected, he wasnot somehow quite pleased with her. She caressed the idea, while, sodoing, silence and concealment grew increasingly irksome to her. Oh! shewanted to speak--and to her father she could not speak. 

With that both Damaris' attitude and expression changed, the gloryabruptly departing. She got up off the floor, left the window, and satdown very soberly, in a red-velvet covered arm-chair, placed before theflat stone hearth piled with wood ashes. 

There truly was the fly in the ointment, the abiding smirch on theotherwise radiant surface--as she now hailed it--of this strangely movingfraternal relation. The fact of it did come, and, as she feared, wouldinevitably continue to come between her and her father, marring to anappreciable degree their mutual confidence and sympathy. At Deadham hehad braced himself to deal with the subject in a spirit of rathermagnificent self-abnegation. But the effort had cost him more than shequite cared to estimate, in lowered pride and moral suffering. It hadtold on not only his mental but his physical health. Now that he was ingreat measure restored, his humour no longer saturnine, he no longerremote, sunk in himself and inaccessible, it would be not onlyinjudicious, but selfish, to the verge of active cruelty, to press thesubject again upon his notice, to propose further concessions, or furtherrecognition of its existence. She couldn't ask that of him--ten thousandtimes no, she couldn't ask it--though not to ask it was to let the breachin sympathy and confidence widen silently and grow. 

So much was sadly clear to her. She unfolded Faircloth's letter and readit through a second time, in vain hope of discovering some middle way, some leading. Read it, feeling the first enchantment but allcross-hatched now and seamed with perplexity and regret. For decentbarriers must stand, he declared, which meant concealment indefinitelyprolonged, the love of brother and sister wasted, starved to the meanproportions of an occasional furtive letter; sacrificed, with all itspossibilities of present joy and future comfort, to hide the passage oflong-ago wrongdoing in which it had its source. 

Her hesitation went a step behind this presently, arguing as to how thatcould be sin which produced so gracious a result. It wasn't logical anevil tree should bear such conspicuously good fruit. Yet conscience andinstinct assured her the tree was indeed evil--a thing of license, ofunruly passion upon which she might not look. Had it not been her firstthought--when Faircloth told her, drifting down the tide-river in thechill and dark--that he must feel sad, feel angry having been wronged bythe manner of his birth? He had answered "yes, " thereby admitting theinherent evil of the tree of which his existence was the fruit--adding, "but not often and not for long, " since he esteemed the gift of life toohighly to be overnice as to the exact method by which he became possessedof it. He palliated, therefore, he excused, but he did not deny. 

By this time Damaris' mind wheeled in a vicious circle, perpetuallyswinging round to the original starting-point. The moral puzzle provedtoo complicated for her, the practical one equally hard of solution. Shestood between them, her father and her brother. Their interestsconflicted, as did the duty she owed each; and her heart, her judgment, her piety were torn two ways at once. Would it always be thus--or wouldthe pull of one prove conclusively the stronger? Would she be compelledfinally to choose between them? Not that either openly did or ever wouldstrive to coerce her. Both were honourable, both magnanimous. And, out ofher heart, she desired to serve both justly and equally--only--only--uponyouth the pull of youth is very great. 

She put her hands over her eyes, shrinking, frightened. Was it possibleshe loved Darcy Faircloth best?

A knocking. Damaris slipped the letter into the pocket of her dress, andrising crossed the room and opened the door. 

Hordle stood in the pale spacious corridor without. He presented MarshallWace's card. The gentleman, he said rather huffily, had called, bringinga message from Mrs. Frayling as Hordle understood, which he requested todeliver to Miss Damaris in person. He begged her to believe he was in nohurry. If she was engaged he could perfectly well wait. --He would do soin the hotel drawing-room, until it was convenient to her to allow him afew minutes' conversation. 

So, for the second time, this young man's intrusion proved by no meansunwelcome, as offering Damaris timely escape. She went down willinglyto receive him. Yesterday he struck her as a pleasant and agreeableperson--and of a type with which she was unacquainted. It would beinteresting to talk to him. --She felt anxious, moreover, to learn whatHenrietta, lovely if not entirely satisfactory Henrietta, couldpossibly want. 

CHAPTER IV

BLOWING OF ONE'S OWN TRUMPET PRACTISED AS A FINE ART

The slender little Corsican horses, red-chestnut in colour and active ascats, trotted, with a tinkle of bells, through the barred sunshine andshadow of the fragrant pine and cork woods. The road, turning inland, climbed steadily, the air growing lighter and fresher as the elevationincreased--a nip in it testifying that January was barely yet out. Andthat nip justified the wearing of certain afore-mentioned myrtle-green, fur-trimmed pelisse, upon which Damaris' minor affections were, at thisperiod, much set. Though agreeably warm and thick, it moulded her bosom, neatly shaped her waist, and that without any defacing wrinkle. The broadfur band at the throat compelled her to carry her chin high, with a notunbecoming effect. Her cheeks bloomed, her eyes shone bright, as she satbeside Mrs. Frayling in the open victoria, relishing the fine air, thevarying prospect, her own good clothes, her companion's extremeprettiness and lively talk. 

This drive, the prelude to Henrietta's campaign, presented that lady ather best. The advantage of being--as Henrietta--essentially artificial, is that you can never, save by forgetful lapse into sincerity, be untrueto yourself. Hence what a saving of scruples, of self-accusation, ofself-torment! Her plans once fixed she proceeded to carry them out withunswerving ease and spontaneity. She refused to hurry, her onlycriterion of personal conduct being success; and success, so shebelieved, if sound, being a plant of gradual growth. Therefore she gaveboth herself and others time. Once fairly in the saddle, she neverstrained, never fussed. 

Her cue to-day was to offer information rather than to require it. Curious about many things she might be; but gratification of hercuriosity must wait. Damaris, on her part, listened eagerly, askingnothing better than to be kept amused, kept busy, helped to forget. --NotFaircloth's letter--very, very far from that!--but the inward conflict ofopposing loves, opposing duties, which meditation upon his letter sodistractingly produced. Relatively all, outside that conflict and thedear cause of it, was of small moment--mere play stuff at best. But herbrain and conscience were tired. She would be so glad, for a time, onlyto think about play stuff. 

"I want you to go on being kind to Marshall Wace, " Henrietta in thecourse of conversation presently said. "He told me how charmingly youreceived him yesterday, when he called with my note. He was so pleased. He is exaggeratedly sensitive owing to unfortunate family complicationsin the past. "

Damaris pricked up her ears, family complications having latterlyacquired a rather painful interest for her. 

"Poor man--I'm sorry, " she said. 

"His mother, a favourite cousin of my husband, General Frayling, marriedan impossible person--eloped with him, to tell the truth. Her people, notwithout reason, were dreadfully put out. The children were brought uprather anyhow. Marshall did not go to a public school, which he imaginesplaces him at a disadvantage with other men. Perhaps it does. Men alwaysstrike me as being quaintly narrow-minded on that subject. Later he wassent to Cambridge with the idea of his taking Orders and going into theChurch. My husband's elder brother, Leonard Frayling, is patron ofseveral livings. He would have presented Marshall to the first which fellvacant, and thus his future would have been secured. But just as he wasgoing up for deacon's orders, Marshall, rather I can't help feeling likea goose, developed theological difficulties. They were perfectly genuine, I don't doubt; but they were also singularly ill-timed--a little earlier, a little later, or not at all would have been infinitely more convenient. So there he was, poor fellow, thrown on the world at three-and-twentywith no profession and no prospects; for my brother-in-law washed hishands of him when the theological difficulties were announced. Marshalltried bear-leading; but people are not particularly anxious to entrusttheir boys to a non-public school man afflicted by religious doubts. Hethought of making use of his really exquisite voice and becoming a publicsinger; but the training is fearfully expensive, and so somehow that planalso fell through. For a time I am afraid he was really reduced to greatstraits, with the consequence that he broke down in health. Throughfriends, my husband got to hear of Marshall's miserablecircumstances--shortly after our marriage it was--and felt it incumbentupon him to go to the rescue. "

Henrietta paused, thereby giving extra point to what was to follow, andpulled the fur rug up absently about her waist. 

"For the last eighteen months, " she said, "Marshall has practicallymade his home with us. The arrangement has its drawbacks, of course. For one thing the General and I are never alone, and that is a trial tous both. Two's company and three's none. When a husband and wife arereally devoted they don't want always to have a third wheel to thedomestic cart. "

Then, as if checking further and very natural inclination to repining, she looked round at Damaris, smiling from behind her thick white net veilwith most disarming sweetness. 

"No--no--I'm not naughty. I don't mean to complain about it, " sheprettily protested. "For I do so strongly feel if one sets out to do goodit shouldn't be by driblets, with your name, in full, printed insubscription lists against every small donation. You should plump foryour _protégé_, and that with the least ostentation possible. The Generaland I are careful not to let people know Marshall stays with us as aguest. It is rather a slip speaking of it even to you; but I can trustyou not to repeat what I say. I am sure of that. "

Damaris laid a hand fondly, impulsively upon the elder woman's knee. 

"For certain you can trust me. For certain anything you say to me is justbetween our two selves. I should never dream of repeating it. "

"There speaks the precious downy owl of long ago, " Mrs. Frayling brightlycried, "bustling up in defence of its own loyalty and honour. Ah!Damaris, how very delicious it is to have you with me!"

For, her main point having been made, she now adroitly discarded pathos. Another word regarding her philanthropic harbourage of the young man, Marshall Wace, remained to be spoken--but not yet. Let it come in later, naturally and without hint of insistence. 

"We must be together as much as possible during the next few weeks, " shewent on--"as often as Sir Charles can be persuaded to spare you to me. Whether the General and I shall ever make up our minds to settle down ina home of our own, where I could ask you to stay with us, I don't know. I'm afraid we are hopelessly nomadic. Therefore I am extra anxious tomake the most of the happy accident which has thrown us together, anxiousto get every ounce possible of intercourse out of it. --We quiteunderstand you have luncheon with me on Thursday, don't we?--and that youstay and help me through the afternoon. I am always at home on Thursdaysto the neighbours. They aren't all of them conspicuously well-bred orexciting; but I have learnt to take the rough with the smooth, the boringalong with the gifted and brilliant. India is a good school in which tolearn hospitality. The practise of that virtue becomes a habit. And I forone quite refuse to excuse myself from further exercise of it on comingback to Europe. The General feels with me; and we have laid ourselves outto be civil to our compatriots here at St. Augustin this winter. A fewpeople were vexatiously stiff and starched at first; but each one of themhas given in, in turn. They really do, I believe, appreciate our littlesocial efforts. "

"Who wouldn't give in to you Henrietta?" Damaris murmured. 

Whereupon Mrs. Frayling delicately beamed on her; and, agreeableunanimity of sentiment being thus established, conversation between thetwo ladies for a while fell silent. 

The little chestnut horses, meantime, encouraged with "Oh hè-s" and "Ohlà-s" by their driver, trotted and climbed, climbed and trotted, untilthe woodland lay below and the Signal de la Palu was reached. A widelevel space on a crest of the foot-hills--with flag staff bearing thevalorous tricolor, and rustic log-built restaurant offeringrefreshment--opening upon the full splendour of the Maritime Alps. 

Damaris stepped out of the carriage, and, patting the near horse on theneck in passing, went forward across the sparse turf, starred with tinyclear coloured flowers, to the edge of the platform. 

The Provençal coachman, from his perch on the box-seat of the victoria, his rough-caste crumpled countenance sun-baked to the solid ruddy brownof the soil of his own vineyard, followed her movements with approvingglances. --For she was fresh as an opening rose the young English _Mees_, and though most elegant, how agile, how evidently strong!

Innocent of the admiration she excited, Damaris stood absorbed, awedeven, by the grandeur of the scene. Many hundred feet below, the rentchasm down which it took its course steeped in violet gloom, themilk-white waters of an ice-fed river impetuously journeyed to thefertile lowlands and the sea. Opposite, across the gorge, amazinglydistinct in the pellucid atmosphere, rose the high mountains, theundefiled, untrodden and eternal snows. Azure shadow, transparent, ethereal, haunted them, bringing into evidence enormous rounded shoulder, cirque, crinkled glacier, knife-edge of underlying rock. 

They belonged to the deepest the most superb of life, this rent gorge, these mountains--like Faircloth's letter. Would beautiful and noblesights, such as these, always in future give her an ache of longing forthe writer of that letter, for the romance, the poetry, of theunacknowledged relation he bore to her? Tears smarted hot in Damaris'eyes, and resolutely, if rather piteously, she essayed to wink them away. For to her it just now seemed, the deepest, the most superb of life wasalso in great measure the forbidden. The ache must be endured, then, thelonging go unsatisfied, since she could only stay the pain of them bydoing violence to plain and heretofore fondly cherished, duties. 

But her tears defied the primitive process of winking. Not socheaply could she rid herself of their smart and the blurreddistorted vision they occasioned. She pulled out her handkerchiefpetulantly and wiped them. Then schooled herself to a colder, moremoderate and reasonable temper. 

And, so doing, her thought turned gratefully to Mrs. Frayling. Formercifully Henrietta was here to help fill the void; to, in a manner, break her fall. Henrietta didn't belong to the depths or the heights, that she regretfully admitted. With the eternal snows she possessedlittle or nothing in common. But, at a lower, more everyday level, hadnot she a vast amount to offer, what with her personal loveliness, hersocial cleverness, her knowledge of the world and its ways? She might notamount to the phoenix of Damaris' childhood's adoration; but she was veryfriendly, very diverting, delightfully kind. Damaris honestly believedall these excellent things of her. --She had been stupidly fastidiousthree days ago, and failed to do Henrietta justice. What she hadlearned--by chance--this afternoon, of Henrietta's unselfishness andgenerous treatment of Marshall Wace bore effectively convincing witnessto the sweetness of her disposition and kindness of her heart. Damarisfelt bound to make amends for that unspoken injustice, of which she nowrepented. How better could she do so than by giving herself warmly, without reserve or restraint, in response to the interest and attentionHenrietta lavished upon her?--At eighteen, to be wooed by so finished andpopular a person was no mean compliment. --She wouldn't hold back, suspicious and grudging; but enjoy all Henrietta so delightfully offeredto the uttermost. 

And there, as though clenching the conclusion thus arrived at, Mrs. Frayling's voice gaily hailed her, calling:

"Damaris, Damaris, here is our tea--or rather our coffee. Come, darlingchild, and partake before it gets cold. "

So after a brief pause, spent in determined looking, the girl bowed herhead in mute farewell; and turned her back perhaps courageously, perhapsunwisely and somewhat faithlessly, upon the mountains, and the raremysteries of their untrodden snows. She went across the sparse turf, starred with tiny clear, coloured flowers, her face stern, for all itsyouthful bloom and softness, her eyes meditative and profound. 

The owner of the log-built restaurant, a thick-set, grizzled veteran ofthe Franco-Prussian war, the breast of his rusty velveteen jacket proudlybearing a row of medals, stood talking to Mrs. Frayling, hat in hand. Hisright foot had suffered amputation some inches above the ankle, and hewalked with the ungainly support of a crutch-topped peg-leg strapped tothe flexed knee. 

As Damaris approached the carriage, he swept back the fur rug ingallantly respectful invitation; and, so soon as she ensconced herself onthe seat beside Henrietta, bending down he firmly and comfortably tuckedit round her. He declared, further, as she thanked him, it an honour inany capacity to serve her, since had not Madame, but this moment, sogracefully informed him of the commanding military career of theMademoiselle's father, possessor of that unique distinction the VictoriaCross--a person animated, moreover, as Madame reported, by sinceresympathy for the tragic sorrows of well-beloved and so now cruellydismembered France. 

Damaris heard, in this singing of her father's praises, a gratefulreconciling strain. She found it profitable, just now, to recall theheroic deeds, the notable achievements which marked his record. Hercoffee tasted the more fragrant for it, the butter the fresher, thehoney the sweeter wherewith she spread the clean coarse home-baked bread. She ate, indeed, with a capital appetite, the long drive and stimulatingair, making her hungry. Possibly even her recent emotion contributed tothat result; for in youth heartache by no means connotes a dispositiontowards fasting, rather does diet, generous in quantity, materiallyassist to soothe its anguish. 

This meal, in fact, partaken of in the open, alone with Henrietta, object of her childhood's idolatry--the first they had shared sincethose remote and guileless years--assumed to Damaris a sacramentalcharacter, though of the earthly and mundane rather than transcendentalkind. Its communion was one of good fellowship, of agreement incultivation of the lighter social side; which, upon our maiden's part, implied tacit consent to conform to easier standards than those untilnow regulating her thought and action, implied tacit acceptance ofHenrietta as example and as guide. 

Whether the latter would have found cause for self-congratulation, couldshe have fathomed the precise cause of this apparently speedy conquestand speedy surrender, is doubtful; since it, in fact, took its rise lessin the fascination of devotion given, than in that of devotion denied. She happened to be here on the spot at a critical juncture, and thus tocatch the young girl's heart on the rebound. That was all--that, joinedwith Damaris' instinctive necessity to play fair and pay in honest coinfor every benefit received. 

So much must be said in extenuation of our nymph-like damsel's apparentsubjection to levity--a declension which, in the sequel and in certainquarters, went neither unnoticed nor undeplored. But to labour this pointis to forestall history. Immediately her change of attitude announced itsexistence innocently enough. For the sacramental meal once consumed, andcourteous parting words bestowed upon the valiant soldier broken in hiscountry's wars, the coachman mounted the box, and gathering up the reins, with "Ho hè's" and "ho là's, " swung his horses half round the level andplunged them over the hill-side, along a steep woodland track, leading byserpentine twists and curves down to join the Corniche Road--a blonderibbon rimming the indentations of the five-mile distant coast. 

Damaris steadied herself well back on the seat of the carriage as itswayed and bumped over ruts and tree-roots to the lively menace of itssprings. She studiously kept her face turned towards her companion, amyrtle-green shoulder as studiously turned towards the view. For shefound it wiser not even to glance in that direction, lest rebelliousregrets and longings should leap on her across the violet-blotted abyssfrom out those shining Alpine citadels. While to strengthen herself inallegiance to Mrs. Frayling and to, what may be called, the lighter side, she pushed one hand into that lady's muff and coaxed the slenderpointed-fingers hiding in the comfortable pussy-warmth within. 

"Tell me stories, Henrietta, please, " she entreated, "about all thepeople whom you've asked to your party on Thursday. Dress them up for meand put them through their paces, so that I may know who they all arewhen I see them and make no mistakes, but behave to them just as youwould wish me to. "

"Gradate your attentions and not pet the wrong ones?"

Mrs. Frayling gave gentle squeeze for squeeze in the pussy-warmth, laughing a trifle impishly. 

"You sinful child, " she said--"Gracious, what jolts--my spine will soonbe driven through the top of my skull at this rate!--Yes, sinful intempting me to gibbet my acquaintances for your amusement. "

"But why gibbet them? Aren't they nice, don't you care for them?"

"Prodigiously, of course. Yet would you find it in the least interestingor illuminating if I indexed their modest virtues only?"

"I think the old soldier found it both interesting and illuminating whenyou indexed my father's virtues just now. "

"Sir Charles's virtues hardly come under the head of modest ones, " Mrs. Frayling threw off almost sharply. "Give me someone as well worthacclaiming and I'll shout with the best! But you scarcely quote yourfather as among the average, do you?--The people whom you'll meet onThursday compared to him, I'm afraid, are as molehills to the mountainsyonder. If I described them by their amiable qualities alone they'd be asindistinguishable and as insipid as a row of dolls. Only through theiraberrations, their unconscious perfidies, iniquities, do they developdefiniteness of outline and begin to live. Oh! nothing could be unkinderthan to whitewash them. Take Mrs. Callowgas, for instance, with one eyeon the Church, the other on the world. The permanent inconsistency of herattitude, as I may say her permanent squint, gives her a certain _cachet_without which she'd be a positive blank. --She is most anxious to meetyou, by the way, and Sir Charles--always supposing he is self-sacrificingenough to come--because she knows connections of his and yours atHarchester, a genial pillar of the Church in the form of an Archdeacon, in whom, as I gather, her dear dead Lord Bishop very much put his trust. "

"Tom Verity's father, I suppose, " Damaris murmured, her colour rising, the hint of a cloud too upon her brow. 

"And who may Tom Verity be?" Mrs. Frayling, noting both colour and cloud, alertly asked. 

"A distant cousin. He stayed with us in the autumn just before he wentout to India. He passed into the Indian Civil Service from Oxford at thetop of the list. "

"Praiseworthy young man. "

"Oh! but you would like him, Henrietta, " the girl declared. "He is veryclever and very entertaining too when"--

"When?"

"Well, when he doesn't tease too much. He has an immense amount to talkabout, and very good manners. "

"Also, when he does not tease too much?--And you like him?"

"I don't quite know, " Damaris slowly said. "He did not stay with uslong enough for me to make up my mind. And then other things happenedwhich rather put him out of my head. He was a little conceited, perhaps, I thought. "

"Not unnaturally, being at the top of the pass list. But though otherthings put him out of your head, he writes to you?"

In the pussy-warmth within her muff, Mrs. Frayling became sensiblethat Damaris' hand grew unresponsive, at once curiously stiff andcuriously limp. 

"He has written twice. Once on the voyage out, and again soon after hearrived. The--the second letter reached me this week. "

Notwithstanding sunshine, the eager air, and lively bumping of thedescent, Henrietta observed the flush fade, leaving the girl white asmilk. Her eyes looked positively enormous set in the pallor of her face. They were veiled, telling nothing, and thereby--to Mrs. Frayling'sthinking--betraying much. She scented a situation--some girlishattachment, budding affair of the heart. 

"My father gave Tom Verity letters of introduction, and he wanted us toknow how kindly he had been received in consequence. "

"Most proper on his part, " Mrs. Frayling said. 

She debated discreet questioning, probing--the establishment of herselfin the character of sympathetic confidante. But decided against that. Itmight be impolitic, dangerous even, to press the pace. Moreover the youngman, whatever his attractions, might be held a negligible quantity in asfar as any little schemes of her own were concerned at present, longleave and reappearance upon the home scene being almost certainly yearsdistant. --And, just there, the hand within the muff became responsiveonce more, even urgent in its seeking and pressure, as though appealingfor attention and tenderness. 

"Henrietta, I don't want to be selfish, but won't you go on telling mestories about your Thursday party people?--I interrupted you--but it'sall new, you see, and it interests me so much, " Damaris ratherplaintively said. 

Mrs. Frayling needed no further inducement to exercise her reallyconsiderable powers of verbal delineation. Charging her palette withlively colours, she sprang to the task--and that with a sprightlycomposure and deftness of touch which went far to cloak malice and robflippancy of offence. 

Listening, Damaris brightened--as the adroit performer intended sheshould--under the gay cascade of talk. Laughed at length, letting finerinstincts of charity go by the wall, in her enjoyment of neatly turnedmockeries and the sense of personal superiority they provoked. ForHenrietta's dissection of the weaknesses of absent friends, inevitablyamounted to indirect flattery of the friend for whose diversion thatprocess of dissection was carried out. 

She passed the whole troop in review. --To begin with Miss Maud Callowgas, in permanent waiting upon her ex-semi-episcopal widowed mother--in age areal thirty-five though nominal twenty-eight, her muddy complexion, prominent teeth and all too long back. --Her designs, real or imagined, upon Marshall Wace. Designs foredoomed to failure, since whatever hisintentions--Henrietta smiled wisely--they certainly did not include MaudCallowgas's matrimonial future in their purview. 

Herbert Binning followed next--the chaplain who served the rather staringlittle Anglican church at Le Vandou, a suburb of St. Augustin muchpatronized by the English in the winter season, and a chapel somewhere inthe Bernese Oberland during the summer months. Energetic, athletic, agreat talker and squire of dames--in all honesty and correctness, thislast, well understood, for there wasn't a word to be breathed against thegood cleric's morals. But just a wee bit impressionable and flirtatious, as who might not very well be with such a whiney-piney wife as Mrs. Binning, always ailing; what mind she might (by stretch of charity) besupposed to possess exclusively fixed upon the chronic irregularities ofher internal organs? Recumbency was a mania with her and she had adisconcerting habit of wanting to lie down on the most inconvenientlyunsuitable occasions. --To mitigate his over-flowing energies, which criedaloud for work, Mr. Binning took pupils. He had two exceptionably niceboys with him this winter, in the interval between leaving Eton and goingup to Oxford, namely, Peregrine Ditton, Lord Pamber's younger son, andHarry Ellice, a nephew of Lady Hermione Twells. They were very well-bred. Their high spirits were highly infectious. They played tennis toperfection and Harry Ellice danced quite tidily into thebargain. --Damaris must make friends with them. They were hercontemporaries, and delightfully fresh and ingenuous. 

Lady Hermione herself--here Henrietta's tone conveyed restraint, evencomparative reverence--who never for an instant forgot she once hadreigned over some microscopic court out in the far Colonialwilderness, nor allowed you to forget it either. Her glance halfdemanded your curtsy. Still she was the "real thing" and, in that, eminently satisfactory--genuine _grande dame_ by right both of birthand of training. 

"She won't condescend to tell me so, being resolved to keep me very muchin my proper place, " Henrietta continued; "but I learned yesterday fromMary Ellice--Harry's sister, who lives with her--that she is intenselydesirous to meet Sir Charles. She wants to talk to him about Afghanistanand North-west Frontier policy. A brother of hers it appears was at onetime in the Guides; and she is under the impression your father andColonel Carteret would have known him. --By the way, dearest child, theydo mean to honour me, those two, don't they, with their presence onThursday?"

"Of course they will, since you asked them. Why, they love to comeand see you. "

"Do they?" Mrs. Frayling said--"Anyhow, let us hope so. I can trustCarteret's general benevolence, but I am afraid your father will beunutterably bored with my rubbishing little assembly. "

"But, of course, he'll be nice to everybody too--as tame and gentle aspossible with them all to please you, don't you see, Henrietta. "

"Ah! no doubt, all to please me!" she repeated. And fell to musing, while the carriage, quitting at last the rough forest track, rattled outon to the metalled high road, white in dust. 

Here the late afternoon sun still lay hot. The booming plunge of thetideless sea, breaking upon the rocks below, quivered in the quiet air. Henrietta Frayling withdrew her hands from her muff, unfastened thecollar of her sable cape. The change from the shadowed woods to thisglaring sheltered stretch of road was oppressive. She felt strangelytired and spent. She trusted Damaris would not perceive her uncomfortablestate and proffer sympathy. And Damaris, in fact, did nothing of thesort, being very fully occupied with her own concerns at present. 

Half a mile ahead, pastel-tinted, green-shuttered houses--a village of asingle straggling street--detached themselves in broken perspective fromthe purple of pine-crowned cliff and headland beyond. Behind them thewestern sky began to grow golden with the approach of sunset. The roadlead straight towards that softly golden light--to St. Augustin. It ledfurther, deeper into the gold, deeper, as one might fancy, into the heartof the coming sunset, namely to the world-famous seaport of Marseilles. 

Damaris sought to stifle remembrance of this alluring fact, as soon as itoccurred to her. She must not dally with it--no she mustn't. To inanywise encourage or dwell on it, was weak and unworthy, she havingaccepted the claims of clearly apprehended duty. She could not go back onher decision, her choice, since, in face of the everlasting hills, shehad pledged herself. 

So she let her eyes no longer rest on the high-road, but looked out tosea--where, as tormenting chance would have it, the black hull of a bigcargo boat, steaming slowly westward, cut into the vast expanse of blue, long pennons of rusty grey smoke trailing away from its twin rusty-redpainted funnels. 

Hard-pressed, the girl turned to her companion, asking abruptly, inconsequently--"Is that every one whom you expect on Thursday, Henrietta?"

For some seconds Mrs. Frayling regarded her with a curious lack ofintelligent interest or comprehension. Her thoughts, also, had runforward into the gold of the approaching sunset; and she had somedifficulty in overtaking, or restraining them, although they went nofurther than the Grand Hotel; and--so to speak--sat down there all of apiece, on a buff-coloured iron chair, which commanded an uninterruptedview of four gentlemen standing talking before the front door. 

"On Thursday?" she repeated--"Why Thursday?"--and her usuallyskilful hands fumbled with the fastening of her sable cape. Theirhelpless ineffectual movements served to bring her to her senses, bring her to herself. 

"Really you possess an insatiable thirst for information regarding myprobable guests, precious child, " she exclaimed. "All--of course not. Ihave only portrayed the heads of tribes as yet for your delectation. Weshall number many others--male and female--of the usual self-expatriatedBritish rank and file. --Derelicts mostly. "

Lightly and coldly, Henrietta laughed. 

"Like, for example, the General and myself. Wanderers possessed of asingularly barren species of freedom, without ties, without anysheet-anchor of family or of profession to embarrass our movements, without call to live in one place rather than another. All along thissun-blessed Riviera you will find them swarming, thick as flies, displaying the trumpery spites and rivalries through which, as I startedby pointing out to you, they can alone maintain a degree of individualityand persuade themselves and others they still are actually alive. "

Shocked at this sudden bitterness, touched to the quick by generous pity, regardless of possible onlookers--here in the village street, where thehoof-beats of the trotting horses echoed loud from the house-walls oneither side--Damaris put her arms round Henrietta Frayling, clasping, kissing her. 

"Ah! don't, Henrietta, " she cried. "Don't dare to say such ugly, lying things about your dear self. They aren't true. They're absurdly, scandalously untrue. --You who are so brilliant, so greatly admired, who have everyone at your feet! You who are so kind too, --think of allthe pleasure you have given me to-day, for instance--and then thinkhow beautifully good you've been, and all the time are being, to poorMr. Wace"--

Whether Mrs. Frayling's surprising lapse into sincerity and baldself-criticism were intentional, calculated, or not, she was undoubtedlyquick to see and profit by the opening which Damaris' concluding wordsafforded her. 

"How sweet you are, darling child! How very dear of you to scold methus!" she murmured, gently disengaging herself and preening herfeathers, somewhat disarranged by the said darling child'simpetuous onset. 

"I know it is wrong to grumble. Yet sometimes--as one grows older--onegets a dreadful sense that the delights of life are past; and thatperhaps one has been overscrupulous, over-timid and so missed thebest. --That is one reason why I find it so infinitely pleasing to haveyou with me--yet pathetic too perhaps. --Why? Well, I don't know that I amquite at liberty to explain exactly why. "

Henrietta smiled at her long, wistfully and oh! so sagely. 

"And, indirectly, that reminds me I am most anxious you should notexaggerate, or run off with any mistaken ideas about my dealings withpoor Marshall Wace. I don't deny I did find his constantly being with usa trial at first. But I am reconciled to it. A trifle of discipline, though screamingly disagreeable, is no doubt sometimes useful--good forone's character, I mean. And I really have grown quite attached to him. He has charming qualities. His want of self-confidence is really hisworst fault--and what a trivial one if you've had experience of thehorrid things men can do, gamble, for example, and drink. "

Henrietta paused, sighed. The yellow facade of the Grand Hotel came intosight, a pale spot amid dark trees in the distance. 

"And Marshall, poor fellow, " she continued, "is more grateful to me, that I know, than words can say. So do like him and encourage him alittle--it would be such a help and happiness to me as well as to him, dearest Damaris. "

CHAPTER V

IN WHICH HENRIETTA PULLS THE STRINGS

Mrs. Frayling's afternoon party passed off to admiration. But this by nomeans exhausted her social activities. Rather did it stimulate them; sothat, with Damaris' amusement as their ostensible object and excuse, theymultiplied exceedingly. Henrietta was in her native element. Not foryears had she enjoyed herself so much. This chaperonage, this vicariousmotherhood, was rich in opportunity. She flung wide her nets, even to theenmeshing of recruits from other larger centres, Cannes, Antibes andNice. This more ambitious phase developed later. Immediately ourchronicle may address itself to the initial Thursday, which, for ournymph-like maiden, saw the birth of certain illusions destined to all toolengthy a span of life. 

Luncheon at the villa--or as Henrietta preferred it called, ThePavilion--set in the grounds of the Hôtel de la Plage and dependent forservice upon that house--was served at mid-day. This left a considerableinterval before the advent of the expected guests. Mrs. Frayling refusedto dedicate it to continuous conversation, as unduly tiring both forDamaris and for herself. They must reserve their energies, must keepfresh. Marshall Wace was, therefore, bidden to provide peacefulentertainment, read aloud--presently, perhaps, sing to them at such timeas digestion--bad for the voice when in process--might be supposedcomplete. The young man obeyed, armed with Tennyson's _Maud_ and a volumeof selected lyrics. 

His performance fairly started General Frayling furtively vanished insearch of a mild _siesta_. It inflated his uxorious breast with pride tohave his Henrietta shine in hospitality thus. But his lean shankswearied, keeping time to the giddy music. Wistfully he feared he must begoing downhill, wasn't altogether the man he used to be, since he foundthe business of pleasure so exhaustingly strenuous. And that was beastlyunfair to his lovely wife--wouldn't do, would not do at all, by Gad!Therefore did he vanish into a diminutive and rather stuffy smoking-room, under the stairs, unfasten his nankeen waistcoat, unfasten hiscollar-stud, doze and finally, a little anxiously, sleep. 

Whatever Marshall Wace's diffidence in ordinary intercourse, iteffectually disappeared so soon as he began to declaim or to recite. Thehistrionic in him declared itself, rising dominant. Given a character toimpersonate, big swelling words to say, fine sentiments to enunciate, hechanged to the required colour chameleon-like. You forgot--at least thefeminine portion of his audience, almost without exception, forgot--thathis round light-brown eyes stared uncomfortably much; that his nose, thinat the root and starting with handsome aquiline promise, ended in afoolish button-tip. Forgot that his lips were straight and compressed, wanting in generous curves and in tenderness--an actor's mouth, constructed merely for speech. Forgot the harsh quality of the triangularredness on either cheek, fixed and feverish. Ceased to remark how theangle of the jaw stood away from and beyond the sinewy, meagre neck, ornote the rise and fall of Adam's apple so prominent in his throat. --Nolonger were annoyed by the effeminate character of the hands, theirretracted nails and pink, upturned finger-tips, offering so queer acontrast to the rather inordinate size of his feet. 

For the voice rarely failed to influence its hearers, to carry you indeeda little out of yourself by its variety of intonation, its fire andfervour, its languishing modulations, broken pauses, yearning melancholyof effect. The part of the neurotic hero of the--then--Laureate's poem, that somewhat pinch-beck Victorian Hamlet, suited our young friend, moreover, down to the ground. It offered sympathetic expression to hisown nature and temperament; so that he wooed, scoffed, blasphemed, orated, drowned in salt seas of envy and self-pity, with a simulation ofsincerity as convincing to others as consolatory to himself. 

And Damaris, being unlearned in the curious arts of the theatre, listenedwide-eyed, spellbound, until flicked by the swishing skirts of fictitiousemotion into genuine, yet covert, excitement. As the reading progressedHenrietta Frayling's presence increasingly sank into unimportance. Moreand more did the poem assume a personal character, of which, if thereader were hero, she--Damaris--became heroine. Marshall Wace seemed toread not to, but definitely at her; so that during more than one ardentpassage, she felt herself go hot all over, as though alone with him, anacknowledged object of his adoring, despairing declarations. This sheshrank from, yet--it must be owned--found stirring, strangely and notaltogether unpleasantly agitating. For was not this _protégé_ ofHenrietta's--whom the latter implored her to encourage and treatkindly--something of a genius? Capable of sudden and amazingtransformation, talking to you with a modesty and deference agreeablygreater than that of most young men of his age; then, on an instant, changing at will, and extraordinarily voicing the accumulated wrongs, joys and sorrows of universal humanity? Could Henrietta, who usuallyspoke of him in tones of commiseration, not to say of patronage, be awarehow remarkable he really was? Damaris wondered; regarding him, meanwhile, with innocent respect and admiration. For how tremendously much he musthave experienced, how greatly he must have suffered to be able to portraydrama, express profound emotion thus! That the actor's art is butglorified make-believe, the actor himself too often hollow as a drum, though loud sounding as one, never for an instant occurred to her. Howshould it?

Therefore when Mrs. Frayling--recollecting certain mysteries of thetoilet which required attention before the arrival of her expectedguests--brought the performance to an abrupt termination, Damaris felt alittle taken aback, a little put about, as though someone should beguilty of talking millinery in church. 

For--"Splendid, my dear Marshall, splendid, " the lady softly yetemphatically interrupted him. "To-day you really surpass yourself. Inever heard you read better, and I hate to be compelled to call a halt. But time has flown--look. "

And she pointed to the blue and gold Sévres clock upon the mantelpiece. 

"Miss Verity is an inspiring auditor, " he said, none best pleased atbeing thus arbitrarily arrested in midcourse. "For whatever merit myreading may have possessed, your thanks are due to her rather than to me, Cousin Henrietta. "

He spoke to the elder woman. He looked at the younger. With a nervous yetponderous movement--it was Marshall Wace's misfortune always to take upmore room than by rights belonged to his height and bulk--he got on tohis feet. Inattentively let drop the volume of poems upon a neighbouringtable, to the lively danger of two empty coffee cups. 

The cups rattled. "Pray be careful, " Mrs. Frayling admonished him withsome sharpness. The performance had been prolonged. Not without intentionhad she effaced herself. But, by both performance and effacement, she hadbeen not a little bored, having a natural liking for the limelight. She, therefore, hit out--to regret her indiscretion the next moment. 

"Nothing--nothing, " she prettily added. "I beg your pardon, Marshall, butI quite thought those cups would fall off the table--So stupid of me. "

The fixed red widened, painfully inundating the young man's countenance. He was infuriated by his own awkwardness. Humiliated by Mrs. Frayling'swarning, of which her subsequent apology failed to mitigate the disgrace. And that this should occur just in the hour of satisfied vanity, ofagreeable success--and before Damaris! In her eyes he must be miserablydisqualified henceforth. 

But his misfortunes worked to quite other ends than he anticipated. ForDamaris came nearer, her expression gravely earnest as appealing to himnot to mind, not to let these things vex him. 

"I have never heard anyone read so beautifully, " she told him. "You makethe words come alive so that one sees the whole story happening. It iswonderful. I shall always remember this afternoon because of yourreading--and shall long to hear you again--often, I know, long for that. "

Wace bowed. This innocent enthusiasm was extremely assuaging to hiswounded self-esteem. 

"You have but to ask me, Miss Verity. I shall be only too honoured, too happy to read to you whenever you have leisure and inclinationto listen. "

But here Mrs. Frayling put her arm round Damaris' waist, affectionately, laughingly, and drew her towards the door. 

"Come, come, darling child--don't be too complimentary or Marshall willgrow unbearably conceited. --You'll put on flannels, by the way, Marshall, won't you?" she added as an after-thought. 

"I shall not play tennis this afternoon, " he answered, his nose in theair. "There will be plenty for a change of setts without me. I am notgood enough for Binning and his two young aristocrats, and I don't chooseto make sport for the Philistines by an exhibition of my ineptitude. Ihave no pretentious to being an athlete. "

"Nonsense, Marshall, nonsense, " she took him up quickly, conscious hisreply was not in the best taste. "You wilfully underrate yourself. "

Then later, as, still entwined, she conducted Damaris upstairs to herbed-chamber. 

"There you have the position in a nutshell, " she said. "Still am I notright? For hasn't he charm, poor dear fellow, so very much cleverness--soreally gifted isn't he?"

And as the girl warmly agreed:

"Ah! I am so very glad you appreciate him. --And you have yet to hearhim sing! That takes one by storm, I confess--Unhappy MaudCallowgas!--But you see how frightfully on edge he is--how he turns offfor no valid reason, imagines himself a failure, imagines himself outof it? In point of fact he plays a quite passable game of tennis--andyou heard what he said? These fits of depression and self-depreciationamount to being tragic. One requires endless tact to manage him andsave him from himself. "

Henrietta paused, sighed, sitting on the stool before her toilette table, neatly placing tortoiseshell hairpins, patting and adjusting her brightbrown hair. 

"I could have bitten my tongue out for making that wretched slip aboutthe coffee cups; but I was off my guard for once. And like all artisticpeople Marshall is a little absent-minded--absorbed to the point of notseeing exactly what he is doing. --Poor young man, I sometimes tremble forhis future. Such a highly strung, sensitive nature amounts almost to acurse. If he got into wrong hands what mightn't the end be?--Catastrophe, for he is capable of fatal desperation. And I must own men--with theexception of my husband who is simply an angel to him--do not alwaysunderstand and are not quite kind to him. He needs a wise loving woman todevelop the best in him--there is so very much which is good--and toguide him. "

"Well, " Damaris said, and that without suspicion of irony, "dearestHenrietta, hasn't he you?"

Mrs. Frayling took up the ivory hand-glass, and sitting sideways on thedressing-stool, turned her graceful head hither and thither, to obtainthe fuller view of her back hair. 

"Me? But you forget, I have other claims to satisfy. I can't look afterhim for ever. I must find him a wife I suppose; though I really shall berather loath to give him up. His gratitude and loneliness touch me somuch, " she said, looking up and smiling, with a little twist in hermouth, as of playful and unwilling resignation, captivating to see. 

By which cajoleries and expression of praiseworthy sentiment, Henriettaraised herself notably in Damaris' estimation--as she fully intended todo. Our maiden kissed her with silent favour; and, mysteries of thetoilette completed, more closely united than ever before--that is, sincethe date of the elder's second advent--the two ladies, presenting theprettiest picture imaginable, went downstairs again, gaily, hand in hand. 

CHAPTER VI

CARNIVAL--AND AFTER

Tall and slim, in the black and white of his evening clothes, ColonelCarteret leaned his shoulder against an iron pillar of the verandah ofthe Hôtel de la Plage, and smoked, looking meditatively down into themoonlit garden. Through the range of brightly lighted open windowsbehind him came the sound of a piano and stringed instruments, a subduedbabble of voices, the whisper of women's skirts, and the sliding rush ofvalsing feet. 

To-night marked the culmination and apex of Henrietta Frayling's socialeffort. It was mid-March, mid-Lent--which last fact she made anexcuse--after taking ecclesiastical opinion on the subject, namely, thatof Herbert Binning, the Anglican chaplain--for issuing invitations to aCinderella dance. Damaris Verity, it appeared, had never really, properlyand ceremoniously "come out"--a neglect which Henrietta protested shouldbe repaired. Positively, but very charmingly, she told Sir Charles itmust. She only wished the affair could be on a larger, more worthy scale. This was, after all, but a makeshift--the modest best she could arrangeunder the circumstances. But he--Sir Charles--must not refuse. It wouldgive her such intense pleasure to have the darling child make herofficial _début_ under her, Henrietta's, auspices. The hours would ofnecessity be early, to avoid disturbance of the non-dancing residents inthe hotel. But, if the entertainment were bound to end at midnight, itcould begin at a proportionately unfashionable hour. For once _tabled'hôte_ might surely be timed for six o'clock; and the dining-room--sinceit offered larger space than any other apartment--be cleared, aired, andready for dancing by a quarter-past eight. --Henrietta unquestionably hada way with her; proprietors, managers, servants alike hastening obedientto her cajoling nod. --Thanks to importations by road and rail, from othercoast resorts, she reckoned to muster sixteen to twenty couples. --Arubbishing apology at best, in the matter of a "coming out" ball, for agirl of Damaris' position and deserts--no one could know that better thanshe, Henrietta, herself did!

"A poor thing but mine own, " she quoted, when enlarging upon the schemeto Charles Verity. "But as at Easter we are fated to scatter, I suppose, and go our several roads with small promise of reunion, you must reallybe gracious, dear friend, and, for old sake's sake, give in to mydesires. It's my last chance, for heaven knows how long--not impossiblyfor ever. "

Carteret happened to be present during the above conversation. Had henot, it may be doubted whether it would ever have taken place--with thisdash of affecting reminiscence in any case. Allusions to a common pastwere barred for excellent reasons, as between these two persons, savestrictly in public. Even so it struck him as a humorous piece of audacityon the lady's part. Her effrontery touched on the colossal! But itsucceeded, always had done so. --In his judgment of Henrietta, Carteretnever failed to remember, being compact of chivalry and of truthfulness, that he had once on a time been a good half in love with herhimself. --All the same he was not sure her close association with Damarismet with his approval. 

That association had grown, Jonah's gourd-like, during the last sixweeks, until, as he rather uneasily noted, the two were hardly everapart. Luncheons, teas, picnics, excursions, succeeded one another. Afternoons of tennis in the hotel grounds, the athletic gregariousBinning and his two pupils, Peregrine Ditton and Harry Ellice inattendance. Sometimes the latter's sister, Mary Ellice, joined thecompany--when Lady Hermione condescended to spare her--or the long-backedMiss Maud Callowgas. Afternoons of reading and song, too, supplied byMarshall Wace. --Carteret felt self-reproachful, yet knew his charitytoo often threatened to stop short of the young man Wace--though thebeggar had a voice to draw tears from a stone, plague him!--At intervals, all-day expeditions were undertaken to Monte Carlo, or shopping raidsupon Cannes or Nice. 

Yes, verily--as he reflected--Henrietta Frayling did keep the ballrolling with truly Anglo-Indian frivolity and persistence, here in theheart of Europe! And was that altogether wholesome for Damaris? Hedelighted to have the beautiful young creature enjoy herself, spread herwings, take her place among the courted and acclaimed. But he prized hertoo highly not to be ambitious for her; and would have preferred hersocial education to be conducted on more dignified and authorized lines, in the great world of London, namely, or Paris. When all came to all, this was hardly good enough. 

No one, he honestly admitted, trumpeted that last truth more loudly thanHenrietta--at times. Nevertheless she went on and on, making the businessof this rather second-rate pleasure-seeking daily of greater importance. How could Damaris be expected to discriminate, to retain her sense ofrelative values, in the perpetual scrimmage, the unceasing rush? Instinctand nobility of nature go an immensely long way as preservatives--thankGod for that--still, where you have unsophistication, inexperience, aholy ignorance, to deal with, it is unwise to trust exclusively to theirsaving grace. Even the finest character is the safer--so he supposed--forsome moulding and direction in its first contact with the world, if it isto come through the ordeal unscathed and unbesmirched. And to ask suchmoulding and direction of Henrietta Frayling was about as useful asasking a humming-bird to draw a water-cart. 

He was still fond of Henrietta and derived much silent entertainment fromwitnessing her manoeuvres. But he was under no delusion regarding her. Heconsidered her quite the most selfish woman of his acquaintance, thoughalso one of the most superficially attractive. Hers was a cold, not ahot selfishness, refined to a sort of exquisiteness and never for aninstant fleshly or gross. But that selfishness, in its singleness ofpurpose, made her curiously powerful, curiously capable of influencingpersons of larger and finer spirit than herself--witness her ascendencyover Charles Verity during a long period of years, and that without evergiving, or even seriously compromising, herself. 

Into whoever she fixed her dainty little claws, she did it with an eye tosome personal advantage. And here Carteret owned himself puzzled--forwhat advantage could she gain from this close association with Damaris?The girl's freshness went, rather mercilessly, to show up her fading. 

At times, it is true, watching her pretty alacrity of manner, hearing hercaressing speech, he inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, believe her self-forgetful, her affection genuine, guiltless of design orafter-thought. If so, so very much the better! He was far from grudgingher redemption, specially at the hands of Damaris. --Only were things, inpoint of fact, working to this commendable issue? With the best will inthe world to think so, he failed to rid himself of some prickings ofanxiety and distrust. 

And from such prickings he sensibly suffered to-night, as he leaned hisshoulder against the iron pillar of the verandah at the Hôtel de laPlage, and looked down into the _claire obscure_ of the moonlit gardens, while over the polished floor of the big room at his back, the rhythmicaltread of the dancers' feet kept time to the music of piano and sweetwailing strings. --For that a change showed increasingly evident inDamaris he could not disguise from himself. In precisely what that changeconsisted it was not easy to say. He discovered it more in an attitude ofmind and atmosphere than in outward action or even in words said. But shewas not quite the same as the grave and steadfast young creature who hadasked his help for her father, and indirectly for herself, in the moistchill of the November twilight at The Hard--and who, receiving promiseof such help, had darted away over the drenched lawn in company with thewildly gambolling cats alternately pursuing and pursued. Nor was shequite the same as when he had walked with her, through the resoundingParis streets, to pay her devoirs to her former guardians and teachers atthe convent school; and, later returning, had spoken to her of the safetyof religion, the high worth of the doctrine and practice of a definitehistoric creed. 

Her relation to her father appeared--and this pained Carteret--to lackits old intimacy, its intensity of consideration and tenderness. Herinterest in the child of his brain, his belated literary experiment, wasless sustained and spontaneous. How could it flourish in its formerproportions when she was so much away, so often absent from morning tillnight?--Not without leave though, for she scrupulously asked permissionbefore answering Henrietta's gay call and taking part in that lady'sjunketings and jaunts. Sir Charles never refused the requestedpermission; but, while granting it, did he not tend to retreat into hisformer sardonic humour, fall into long silences, become inaccessibleagain and remote? The book went forward; yet, more than once recently, Carteret had questioned whether his friend would ever get himself fairlydelivered of the admirable volume were not he--Carteret--permanently athand to act midwife. An unpleasant idea pursued him that Sir Charleswent, in some strange fashion, in fear of Damaris, of her criticism, herjudgment. Yet fear seemed a hatefully strong and ugly word to employ asbetween a father and daughter so straitly, heretofore, bound to oneanother in love. 

And then--there lay the heart of the worry, proving him only too likely agraceless jealous middle-age curmudgeon, a senile sentimentalist, thusdid he upbraidingly mock himself--were there not signs of Damarisdeveloping into a rather thorough paced coquette? She accepted the homageoffered her with avidity, with many small airs and graces--_à la_Henrietta--of a quite novel sort. Old General Frayling--poor pathetic oldwarrior--was her slave. Peregrine Ditton, Harry Ellice, even the clericBinning--let alone the permanently self-conscious, attitudinizingWace--with other newer acquaintances, English and foreign, ran at herheels. And she let them run, bless her, even encouraged their running byturns of naughty disdain and waywardness. She was fatal to boys--that wasin the natural course of things. And fatal to those considerably olderthan boys--perhaps--

The music flew faster and faster--stopped with a shriek and a crash. Laughing, talking, the dancers streamed out of the hot brightly lightedroom into the soft peace, the delicate phantasy of the colourlessmoonlight. 

Carteret drew back, flattening himself against the iron pillar in theshadow, as they passed down the steps into the garden below; the women'spale airy forms and the men's dark ones, pacing the shining paths ingroups and couples, between the flower-beds, under the flat-headed pines, the shaggy-stemmed palms and towering eucalyptus, in and out massed banksof blossoming shrubs and dwarf hedges of monthly roses. 

Midway in the light-hearted procession came Damaris, Peregrine Ditton onone side of her, Harry Ellice on the other. Leaving the main alley, thetrio turned along a path, running parallel to the verandah, which openedinto a circle surrounding the stone basin of a tinkling fountain, immediately below Colonel Carteret's post of solitary observation. 

Damaris carried the demi-train of her white satin gown over her arm, thereby revealing a wealth of lace frilled petticoat, from beneathwhich the toes of her high-heeled, white satin shoes stepped with apretty measured tread. The two boys, leaning a little towards oneanother, talked across her, their voices slightly raised in argument, not to say dispute. 

"I call it rotten mean to bag my dance like that, I tell you. --Goaway?--No I swear I won't go away, won't budge one blessed inch unlessMiss Verity actually orders me to. If my dance was stolen, all the morereason I should have her to talk to now as a sort of make-up. So youjust clear out, if you please, my good chap, and leave the field to yourelders and betters. Remove your superfluous carcass till furthernotice. --Vamoose, my son, do you hear?"

This excitedly from Peregrine Ditton. They reached the fountain. Damarisstayed her measured walk, and stood gazing at the jet of water in itsuprush and myriad sparkling fall. Ellice answered chaffingly yet with anunderlying growl; and the dispute threatened to wax warm. But the girlheeded neither disputant, her attention rapt in watching the play of thefalling water. 

Throughout the evening she had easily been chief centre of attraction, besieged by partners. And those not only her present rival attendants orMarshall Wace; but by Mrs. Frayling's various importations, plus Mr. Alban Titherage--a fat, smart and very forthcoming young Londonstock-broker, lately established, in company of a pretty, silly, phthisis-stricken wife, at the Grand Hotel. Very much mistress ofherself, Damaris had danced straight through the programme with an air ofalmost defiant vivacity. Now, as it seemed, her mood had changed andsobered. For presently Colonel Carteret saw her bosom heave, while shefetched a long sigh and, raising her head, glanced upwards, her greateyes searching the shadowed space of the verandah. 

The cool lunar brightness flooded her upturned face, her bare neck andarms, the glittering folds of her satin gown. She was exceedingly fair tolook upon just now. For an appreciable length of time her glance metCarteret's and held it; giving him--though the least neurotic of men, calm of body and of mind--a strange sensation as of contact with anelectric current which tingled through every nerve and vein. And this, although he perceived that, dazzled by the moonlight, she either did notsee or quite failed to recognize him. An expression of disappointment, akin, so he read it, to hope defeated, crossed her face. She lowered hereyes, and moved slowly forward along the path, the boys on either sideher. Again Peregrine Ditton took up his tale--in softened accents thoughstill as one sorely injured and whose temper consequently inclines notunjustly to the volcanic. 

"Upon my honour, I think you might have given me just a minute's law, Miss Verity, " he protested. "It was no fault of mine being late. MaudCallowgas kept me toddling to the most unconscionable extent. First shewanted an ice, and then a tumbler of lemon squash; and then she lost herfan, or pretended she did, and expected me to hunt for the beastly thing. I give you my word I was as rude as sin, in hope of shaking her off; butshe didn't, or wouldn't, see what I was driving at. There was no gettingaway from her. I tell you she sticks like a burr, that girl, once shelays hold of you. Octopuses aren't in it. Her power of adhesion issomething utterly frantic "--

Here Ellice cut in with a doubtless scathing though, to Carteret, inaudible remark, at which Damaris laughed outright; and the fresh youngvoices trailed away in the distance alternately mocking and remonstrant. 

As he listened, still conscious of contact with that surprising electriccurrent, Carteret found himself taking stock of his own forty-nine yearswith swift and lively repugnance. To accept the sum of them, and thelimitations and restrictions that sum is currently supposed to entail, proved just now astonishingly difficult. Damaris, as beheld in thefantastic loveliness of the moonlight, her searching, unseeing eyesmeeting and dwelling upon his own, the look of disappointment and defeatcrossing her sweetly serious countenance, wrought upon him begetting adangerous madness in his blood. That it was dangerous and a madness, andtherefore promptly to be mastered and ejected, he would not permithimself an instant's doubt. Yet it very shrewdly plagued him, daring evento advance specious arguments upon its own behalf. 

For, when he came to consider matters, was he not in perfect health, moresound and fit than many a man but half his age? And were not hisfortunes just now at a specially happy turn, his sister, Mrs. Dreydel, having lately been blessed with a windfall, in the shape of yearlyincome, which--did he so choose--relieved him of much expenditure on heraccount. Her eldest son had received his commission. The three youngerboys had done well as to scholarships thereby materially reducing thecost of their education. Never had he, Carteret, been so free to consulthis private desires; and never, as he knew too profoundly well, had hisdesires taken so definite and delicious a form. Nevertheless it remaineda madness to be mastered, to be ejected. --His last thought, as his first, pronounced it that. 

Unconsciously, pushed by this stress of rather turbulent sensations, Carteret walked the length of the verandah and drew up in the full glareof the moonlight. From here he could see the curve of the shore; and, beyond the quay and esplanade and last scattered houses of the littletown, the lighthouse marking the tip of the western horn of the bay. Hecould hear the soft stealthy plunge and following rush of the sea up thewhite shelving beach. Could hear also--less soothing sound--through theopen windows of the drawing-room of the Pavilion, just across the garden, Marshall Wace singing, with all the impassioned fervour of his rich andwell-trained baritone, a ballad, then much in vogue, entitled "The LostChord. " The words, to Carteret's thinking, were futile, meaning anything, everything, or nothing, according to your private interpretation of them. But as to the fine quality and emotional appeal of the voice there couldnot be two opinions, as it palpitated thus in the mild night air. WasDamaris Verity a member of the singer's devout audience? Were her handsamong those which now enthusiastically applauded the conclusion of thesong? Under his breath, slowly, gently but most comprehensively, Carteretswore. And felt all the better for that impious exercise, even amused atthis primitive expression of his moral and sentimental disturbance, andso on the high-road, as he fondly imagined, to capture his habitualattitude of charity and tolerance once again. But heaven had furthertrial of his fortitude and magnanimity, not to say his good honest horsesense, in store to-night. 

For, as the clapping of hands died down, the whisper of a woman's dress, upon the asphalt of the verandah just behind him, caught his ear, andDamaris came rapidly towards him. 

"So you are here after all, dear Colonel Sahib, " she cried. "I felt youwere when I was down there looking at the fountain. It sort of pulled atme with remindings of you ages and ages ago, in the gardens of the clubat Bhutpur--when you brought me a present--a darling little green jadeelephant in a sandalwood box, as a birthday gift from Henrietta. Laterthere was a terrible tragedy. An odious little boy broke my elephant, onpurpose, and broke my heart along with it. "

Carteret made a determined effort over himself, taking her up lightly. 

"But not altogether past mending, dear witch--judging by existingappearances. "

"Ah! I'm none so sure of that, " Damaris answered him back with a prettyquickness--"if it hadn't been for you. For I was very ill, when you cameagain to the Sultan-i-bagh--don't you remember?--the night of the riotsand great fires in the Civil Lines and Cantonments, just at the breakingof the monsoon. "

"Yes, I remember, " he said. 

And wondered to himself--thereby gaining ease and a measure oftranquillity, inasmuch as he thought of another man's plight rather thanof his own--whether Damaris had knowledge of other occurrences, notunallied to tragedy, which had marked that same night of threatenedmutiny and massacre and of bellowing tempest, not least among them a vowmade by her father, Charles Verity, and made for her sake. 

"The whole story comes back in pictures, " she went on, "whenever I lookat fountains playing, because of the water-jets in the canal in theBhutpur club garden where you gave me Henrietta's present. You see it alldates from then. And it came back to me specially clearly just now, partly because I felt lonely--"

"Lonely?--How lonely, " he smilingly interjected, "with a goodly youth asa protector on either hand?"

"Yes--lonely, " Damaris repeated, ignoring the allusion to her devoted ifirascible escort. "Dance music always makes one rather sad--don't youthink so? It seems to ache with everything one wants and hasn't got; andthe ache goes on. --I turned homesick for--for India, and for my greenjade elephant I used to love so dreadfully much. --I've all that is leftof him, still wrapped in the same rice paper in the same sandalwood boxyou brought him in, put away with my best treasures in my own room atThe Hard. "

She came nearer, stood beside him, bending down a little as she restedher hands on the top of the iron balustrade of the verandah, while hereyes followed the curve of the bay to where the lighthouse rose, ablack column with flashing headpiece, above the soft glitter of themoonlit sea. 

"And homesick, Colonel Sahib, for you, " she said. 

"For me?" he exclaimed almost involuntarily, roughly startled out of hispartially recovered tranquillity and ease. 

"Yes"--she said, looking up at him. "Isn't that quite natural, sinceyou have stepped in so often to help me when things have gone ratherwrong?--I knew you must be somewhere quite close by. I sort of feltyou were there. And you were there--weren't you? Why did you hideyourself away?"

Carteret could not bring himself immediately to answer. He was perplexed, infinitely charmed, distrustful, all at once--distrustful, though forvery different reasons, both of himself and of her. 

"Are things, then, going rather wrong now?" he asked presently. 

For he judged it wise to accept her enigmatic speech according to itsmost simple and obvious interpretation. By so doing he stood, moreover, to gain time; and time in his existing perplexity appeared to him ofcardinal importance. 

"That's just what I'm not sure about. " Damaris spoke slowly, gravely, herglance again fixed upon the beacon light set for the safety of passingships on the further horn of the bay. "If I could be sure, I should knowwhat to do--know whether it is right to keep on as--as I am. Do you see?"

But what, at this juncture, Carteret did, in point of fact, mostconsciously see was the return of Henrietta Frayling's scattered guests, from the Pavilion and other less fully illuminated quarters, towards themain building of the hotel. From the improvised ball-room within chordsstruck on the piano and answering tuning of strings invited to therenewal of united and active festivity. In the face of consequentlyimpending interruption he hazarded a trifle of admonition. 

"Dearest witch, you elect to speak in riddles, " he gently told her. "I amin the dark as to your meaning; so, if I am guilty of utteringfoolishness, you must pardon me. But I own I could wish--just abit--that, in some particulars, you wouldn't keep on--I quote your ownwords--as you are, or rather have been just lately. "

"Why?" she asked, without moving. 

"Because, to be quite honest with you, I am not altogether satisfiedabout your father. I am afraid he is getting back into the habit of mindwe set out to cure him of, you and I, last November. "

Damaris sprang to attention. 

"And I haven't noticed it. I Wouldn't stop to notice it. I have been toobusy about my own concerns and have neglected him. "

Arrayed in her spotless virgin finery, her head carried proudly, thoughher eyes were sombre with self-reproach, self-accusation, and her lipsquivered, she confronted Carteret. And his clean loyal soul went out toher in a poignant, an exquisite, agony of tenderness and of desire. Hewould have given his right hand to save her pain. Given his life gladly, just then, to secure her welfare and happiness; yet he had struckher--for her own good possibly--possibly just blindly, instinctively, inself-defence. He tried to shut down the emotion which threatened tobetray him and steady on to the playfully affectionate tone of theircustomary intercourse; but it is to be feared the effort lackedconvincingness of quality. 

"No--no, " he said, "you take it altogether too hard. You exaggerate, dearwitch, to the point of extravagance. You have been less constantly withyour father than usual--you're the delight of his life after all, as youmust very well know--and inevitably he has missed you. Nothing worse thanthat. The damage, such as it is, can easily be repaired. "

"Ah! but the damage, as you call it, starts behind all that in somethingelse--something older, much deeper down, of which I doubt whether anylasting reparation is possible. I did try to repair it. All my going outwith Henrietta, and this rushing about lately, began in thattrying--truly it did, Colonel Sahib. And then I suppose I got abovemyself--as poor Nannie used to say--and came to care for the rushingabout just for its own sake"--

"My dance, I believe, Miss Verity. "

The speaker, Mr. Alban Titherage--well-groomed, rosy andself-complacent--pulled down the fronts of his white waistcoat. Heinclined to distinct rotundity of person, and the garment in question, though admirable in cut, showed, what with the exertions of dancing, adamnable tendency, as he expressed it, to "ride up. "

"And my dance next afterwards, Miss Verity"--this from Peregrine Ditton, his youthful, well-bred, if somewhat choleric, countenance presentingitself over the top of the stock-broker's smooth and not conspicuouslyintelligent head. 

Damaris looked from one to the other of these claimants for her favour, with instant and very becoming composure. 

"I'm dreadfully sorry, " she told them collectively, "but surely there issome mistake. Both those next dances--they are the last, I'm afraid, too, aren't they?--belong to Colonel Carteret. "

"The deuce they do!" Ditton exploded, turning scarlet. With a cocked eyeand a jaunty movement of the head Mr. Titherage shot out his right shirtcuff, and pointed a stout forefinger at certain hieroglyphics inscribedon its glossy surface. 

"Your name, Miss Verity, and written with an indelible pencil, to thepermanent embellishment of my best party-going linen and witness to yourinfidelity. "

"I can only repeat I am dreadfully sorry, " Damaris said, with a becomingair of concern, "if the confusion has arisen through my fault. But"--

She appealed to Carteret. 

"They always were your dances, weren't they?"

"Without doubt, " he affirmed. 

Amusedly and very kindly he smiled upon the angry boy and portly youngman, although the beat of his pulse was accelerated and his throat feltqueerly dry. 

"I am sure you understand how impossible it is for me to release MissVerity from her promise, " he said courteously. "Would you willingly do soyourselves, were the positions reversed and either of you happy enough tostand in my shoes at this moment?"

Titherage gave a fat good-tempered laugh. 

"By George, you have me there, Colonel. Under such A1 circumstances catchme making way for a stranger! Not if I know it. "

With which he attempted jovially to put his arm through that of hiscompanion in misfortune and lead Ditton away. But the latter flung offfrom him with a petulant, half-smothered oath; and, his back verystraight, his walk very deliberate, pushed through the cheerfullydiscoursing throng into the ball-room. 

Damaris turned about, resting her hands on the top of the iron balustradeagain and gazed out to sea. Her breath came with a catch in it. 

"Colonel Sahib, " she said, proudly if just a trifle brokenly, "areyou angry?"

"Angry?--good Lord!"

Then recovering control of senses and of sense--"But, dear witch, " heasked her--"since when, if I may venture to enquire, have you become anadept in the fine art of--well--lying?"

Damaris looked around, her face irradiated by laughter. 

"And you played up, oh! so beautifully quick! I was a teeny bit afraidyou might fail me. For the idea came all of a minute, there wasn't timeto warn you. And that was fortunate perhaps--for me. You might have hadscruples. And I was obliged to do it. After talking about the thingswhich really matter, I couldn't dance with that vulgar little managain--or with those jealous boys. They had an idiotic quarrel, actualquarrel, down in the garden. It displeased me. I told them so, and leftthem, and came here to find you--because of the fountain and the sort ofhome-sickness it gave me. "

Between laughing and crying, Damaris held out her hands, the whitemoonlight covering her. 

"Oh! I am tired of rushing about, " she said. "Come and dance withme--it's nonsense to tell me you can't dance, and that you've forgottenhow, because you have danced once this evening already--with Henrietta. Iwatched you and you dance better than anybody. "

"With Henrietta--that's rather a different matter!"

"I should hope it was, " Damaris took him up naughtily. "But dance withme, and then, then please take me home. Yes, " as he tried to speak. "Iknow I had arranged to stay the night at the Pavilion. But I'll find someexcuse to make to Henrietta--Haven't you just told me I'm proficient inlying?--You were going to walk back? Why shouldn't I walk with you? Iwon't be five minutes changing into my day clothes. It would be sofascinating down on the shore road at night. And I should get quiet allinside of me. I am tired of rushing about, Colonel Sahib, it hasn't beena success. "

She stopped breathless, her hands pressed over her lace and satinswathed bosom. 

"Now come and dance, --oh! so beautifully, please, come and dance. "

CHAPTER VII

TELLING HOW DAMARIS DISCOVERED THE TRUE NATURE OF A CERTAIN SECRET TO THEDEAR MAN WITH THE BLUE EYES

The beat of a tideless sea, upon the shore, is at once unrestful andmonotonous; in this only too closely resembling the beat of the humanheart, when the glory of youth has departed. The splendid energy of theflow and grateful easing of the ebb alike are denied it. Foul or fair, shine or storm, it pounds and pounds--as a thing chained--withoutrelief of advance or of recession, always at the same level, always inthe same place. 

Suspicion of this cheerless truth was borne in upon Carteretas--bare-headed, his overcoat upon his arm, the night being singularlymild and clement--he walked with Damaris through the streets of thesilent town. The dwellers in St. Augustin, both virtuous or otherwise, had very effectually retired to their beds behind drawn curtains, closedshutters, locked doors, and gave no sign. Vacancy reigned, bringing inits train an effect of suspense and eeriness, causing both our friendsinvoluntarily to listen, with slightly strained hearing, for sounds whichdid not come. Once a cat, nimble and thin, streaked out of a cavernousside-alley across the pallor of the pavement and cobbled roadway, to beswallowed up in a black split--knife narrow, as it seemed--between theblank house fronts opposite. And once, as they turned into the open spaceof the Grand Place--unreal and stark with its spidery framework ofstalls, set up ready for to-morrow's market, under the budding planetrees--they encountered a tired gendarme making his round, picturesque ofaspect in _képi_ and flowing cloak. His footsteps brisked up, as he metand treated them to a discreetly sympathetic and intelligentobservation, only to lag again wearily as soon as they had passed. 

These were the sole creatures in St. Augustin, save themselves, visiblyalive and awake. Yet whether other beings, other presences, unmaterial, imponderable, intangible, did not walk the streets along with them, isopen to doubt. More than once Damaris shrank close to Carteret, startledby and apprehensive of she knew not what. For who dare say in such aplace what leavings-over there may not be from times pre-Christian andremote, when mighty Rome ruled, and the ancient gods bore sway over thatradiant coast? On the outskirts of St. Augustin you may visit a fineamphitheatre, still perfect save for some ruin along the upper tier ofseats; and in the centre of the town, within a stone's throw of thesomewhat gloomy cathedral church, may trace the airy columns and portionsof the sculptured architrave of a reputed temple of Venus, worked intothe facade of the municipal buildings. 

Turning out of the Grande Place by an avenue on the right, Damaris andCarteret gained the esplanade following the curve of the bay. Here afreshness of the sea pleasantly accosted them along with that unrestful, monotonous trample of waves upon the beach. 

Not until they reached this stage of the homeward journey, and, settingtheir faces eastward, paced the pale level asphalt of this widepromenade, did any sustained effort of conversation arise. Thus far theyhad proffered fugitive remarks only, lapsing speedily into somewhatconstrained silence. For a coldness, or shyness, might appear to havesprung up between them, oddly holding them asunder in thought and moralattitude after the close association of the dance--a reaction from itscontact so surprisingly more intimate than any they had yet experienced, from that harmonious rhythmic unity of purpose and of movement which, indancing, alike excites emotion quasi-physical, and so alluringly servesto soothe and allay the emotion it excites. 

These aspects of their association affected Damaris but dimly, sincespeaking a language of which she barely knew the alphabet. Carteret theytook in a different measure. He read their direction and potency withclear understanding, the insidious provocations and satisfactions of themprinted in large type. With a rush, his youth returned and troubled him. Or was it the phantom of youth merely? His heart-beats but the beat of atideless sea. He feared as much. --Oh, these tardy harvests, these tardyharvests--are they not to most men a plague rather than a benison, since, in honour and fine feeling, so abominably perilous to reap!

For the greater promotion of calm and of sanity he welcomed the younggirl's change of dress. The powder-blue walking suit, with belted jacketand kilted skirt, brought her more within the terms of their ordinaryintercourse. But the impression of the fair young body, lately so closeagainst his own, clothed in bride-like raiment, fresh as an openingflower and vaguely fragrant, could not easily be dispelled. Strive as hemight to put it from him, the impression remained recurrent. Therefore itmust not be held to Carteret's discredit if his senses took part with hisnobler affections just now, against his considered judgment; or that hefared badly at the hands of the sea-born goddess--worshipped hero in hertemple in ancient days, with music, with dance and with nameless rites ofsex, when the moon rode high heaven at the full, even as to-night. 

Her influence was still abroad, and in his flesh Carteret shrewdlysuffered it; yet neither basely nor bestially, being clean of life and ofspirit. He whipped himself even, with rather sorry humour, seeing, inDamaris' willingness to entrust herself thus to his sole care in themidnight loneliness, a handsomer compliment to his morals than to hismanhood. How little, bless her, she knew what stuff men are madeof!--therein underrating her acquaintance with fact, as her conversationpresently and surprisingly proved to him. 

The revelation began in all apparent innocence--for:

"I'm not ungrateful to Henrietta, " Damaris said, breaking silence softlyyet abruptly, as speaking to herself rather than addressing him, inapology and argument. "And I'm dreadfully sorry to have vexed her--forshe was vexed with me for not staying at the Pavilion to-night, as Ipromised. She was really quite cross. "

"She will get over that--never fear, " Carteret answered off the surface. 

"Still it troubles me to have vexed her. I must have seemed sounreasonable, making silly sounding excuses--because I could not explainto her why I really wanted so much to go home. "

"You find a limit to the dear lady's powers of comprehension or ofsympathy?" he asked, again off the surface. 

"I suppose I must do so, because there are things it never occurs to oneto speak of to Henrietta. "

"Whole cartloads of them, " Carteret comprehensively agreed. 

"And yet I don't know why. "

"Don't you? Well, I think I do perhaps know why; and knowing, I mustconfess to being not altogether sorry your confidences are restricted, dear witch, in that particular direction. "

The use of the pet name, though involuntary--possibly on that veryaccount--eased his fever. Clearly he must get back to their formerrelation. Rejoice in her beauty, in her sweet faith and dependence, loveher--yes--he admitted the word, --but for God's sake keep the physicalside out of the business. Damaris' easily-aroused loyalty, meanwhile, caught alight. 

"Oh, but we've just been Henrietta's guests, " she said, with a prettymingling of appeal and rebuke--"and it seems hardly kind, does it, tofind faults in her. She has been beautifully good to me all this time, ending up with this dance which she gave on purpose to please me. "

"And herself also, " Carteret returned. 

--Yes decidedly he felt better, steadier, to the point of now trustinghimself to look at his companion, notwithstanding the strange influencesabroad in the magical moonlight, with his accustomed smiling, half-amused indulgence. The unremitting trample of the waves, there onthe right, made for level-headedness actually if a littlemercilessly--so he thought. 

"I don't wish to be guilty of taking Mrs. Frayling's name in vain asecond time, " he went on--"you've pulled me up, and quite rightly, fordoing so once already--but depend upon it, she enjoyed her ball everymorsel as much as you did. In respect of the minor delights of existence, she slumbers not nor sleeps, our perenially charming and skilfulHenrietta. "

"You think she enjoyed it too? I am glad. "

Then after an interval of silence, her whole figure alert, herspeech eager:

"See there--see there, Colonel Sahib--yes, far, far out to sea--aren'tthose the lights of a ship?"

"Yes, " he answered--"creeping westward--bound for Toulon, most likely, orpossibly for Marseilles. "

And he would have moved forward. But Damaris unaccountably lingered. Carteret waited a good three to four minutes to suit her convenience; butthe delay told on him. The night and hour down here by the shore, on theconfines of the silent town, were too full of poetry, too full ofsuggestion, of the fine-drawn excitement of things which had been andmight not impossibly again be. It was dangerous to loiter, and in suchcompany, though waves might beat out a constant reminder with mercilesspertinacity upon the beach. 

"Come, dear witch, come, " he at last urged her. "We still have more thana mile to go and a pretty stiff hill to climb. It grows late, you will beabominably tired to-morrow. Why this fascination for a passing steamer, probably some unromantic, villainously dirty old tramp too, you would notcondescend to look at by daylight. "

"Because, "--Damaris began. She came nearer to him, her expressionstrangely agitated. --"Oh! Colonel Sahib, if I could only be sure itwasn't treacherous to tell you!"

"Tell me what? One of the many things it would never occur to you toconfide to Mrs. Frayling?" he said, trying to treat her evident emotionlightly, to laugh it off. 

"To Henrietta? Of course not. It would be unpardonable, hateful to tellHenrietta. "

She flushed, her face looking, for the moment, dark from excess ofcolour. 

"You are the only person I could possibly tell. "

Carteret moved aside a few steps. He too felt strangely agitated. Wildideas, ideas of unholy aspect, presented themselves to him--ideas, again, beyond words entrancing and sweet. He fought with both alike, honestly, manfully. Returned and took Damaris' hand quietly, gently in both his. 

"Look here, dear witch, " he said, "all this evening a--to me--unknownspirit has possessed you. You haven't been like yourself. You have mademe a little anxious, a little alarmed on your account. "

"Oh! it isn't only this evening, " she caught him up. "It has been goingon for weeks. "

"So I have seen--and that is not good for you, isn't for your happiness. So, if I am--as you say--the only person you care to acquaint with thismatter, had not you better tell me here and now? Better worry yourself nomore with mysteries about it, but let us, once and for all, have thething out?"

"I should be thankful, " Damaris said simply, looking him in the eyes--"ifI could be sure I wasn't sacrificing some one else--their pride Imean--their--their honour. "

For a few seconds Carteret paused, meeting her grave and luminousglance. Then:

"I think you may risk it, " he said. "I promise you this some-one-else'shonour shall be sacred to me as my own. Without your direct request noword of what you choose to tell me will ever pass my lips. "

"Ah! I'm very sure of that, "--Her smile, her voice bore transparenttestimony to a faith which went, somewhat giddily, not only to herhearer's heart but to his head. "It isn't a question of your repeatinganything; but of your thinking differently of some one you care for verymuch--and who is almost as dependent on you, Colonel Sahib, as I ammyself. At least I fear you might. --Oh! I am so perplexed, I'm in sucha maze, " she said. "I've nothing to go on in all this, and I turn itover and over in my mind to no purpose till my head aches. You see Ican't make out whether this--the thing which began it all and happenedoh! long ago--is extraordinary--one which you--and most people likeyou--in your position, I mean--would consider very wrong anddisgraceful; or whether it often happens and is just accepted, taken forgranted, only not talked about. "

Carteret felt cold all down his spine. For what, in God's name, couldthis supremely dear and--as he watched her grave and sweetly troubledcountenance--supremely lovely child, be driving at?

"And I care so dreadfully much, " she went on. "It is the story of thedarling little green jade elephant over again--like its being broken andspoilt. Only now I'm grown up I don't give in and let it make me ill. There was a time even of that--of illness, I mean--at first just beforeyou came to The Hard last autumn. But I wouldn't suffer it, I would notlet the illness go on. I got over that. But then a second crisis occurredsoon after we came here; and I thought Henrietta's kindness opened a wayout. So I rushed about whenever and wherever she invited me to rush. Butas I told you this evening--just before we had our two dances, youremember. "

"Am I likely to forget!" Carteret murmured under his breath. 

"The rushing about has not proved a success. I thought it would help tostifle certain longings and keep me nearer to my father--more at one withhim. But it didn't, it made me neglect him. You see--you see"--the wordswere dragged from her, as by active suffering and distress of mind--"Ihad to choose between him and another person. One cannot serve twomasters. I choose him. His claim was the strongest in duty. And I love tosee him satisfied and peaceful. He always ranked first in everything Ifelt and did ever since I can remember; and I so want him to stay first. But I have been pulled two ways, and seem to have got all astray somehowlately. I haven't been really true to myself any more than to him--onlyfrivolous and busy about silly pleasures. "

"Don't let the frivolity burden your precious conscience, " Carteretcomfortably told her, touched by the pathos of her self-reproach. For hersincerity was surely, just now, unimpeachable and she a rare creatureindeed! Love, he could less than ever banish; but surely he might utterlybanish distrust and fear?--"As frivolity goes, dear witch, and greed ofpleasure, yours have been innocent enough both in amount and in quality, heaven knows!"

"I should like to believe so--but all that's relative, isn't it? The realwrongness of what you do, depends upon the level of rightness you startfrom, I mean. "

"Insatiable casuist!" Carteret tenderly laughed at her. 

And with that, by common though unspoken consent, they walkedonward again. 

Even while so doing, however, both were sensible that this resumption oftheir homeward journey marked a period in, rather than the conclusion of, their conversation. Some outside compelling force--so in any case itappeared to Carteret--encompassed them. It was useless to turn anddouble, indulge in gently playful digression. That force would inevitablymake them face the innermost of their own thought, their own emotion, inthe end. In obedience to which unwelcome conviction, Carteret presentlybrought himself to ask her:

"And about this other person--for we have wandered a bit from the pointat issue, haven't we?--whose interests as I gather clash, for somereason, with those of your father, and whose pride and honour you are sojealously anxious to safeguard. "

"His pride, yes, " Damaris said quickly, her head high, a warmth in hertone. "His honour is perfectly secure, in my opinion. "

"Whose honour is in danger then?--Dear witch, forgive me, but don't yousee the implication?"

Damaris looked around at him with unfathomable eyes. Her lips parted, yetshe made no answer. 

After a pause Carteret spoke again, and, to his own hearing, his voicesounded hoarse as that of the tideless sea upon the beach yonder. 

"Do you mean me to understand that the conflict between your father'sinterests and those of this other person--this other man's--arise fromthe fact that you love him?"

"Yes, " Damaris calmly declared. 

"Love him, "--having gone thus far Carteret refused to spare himself. Heturned the knife in the wound--"Love him to the point of marriage?"

There, the word was said. Almost unconsciously he walked onward withoutgiving time for her reply. --He moistened his lips, weren't they dry as acinder? He measured the height to which hope had borne him, to-night, bythe shock, the positive agony of his existing fall. At the young girl, _svelte_ and graceful, beside him, he could not look; but kept his eyesfixed on the mass of the wooded promontory, dark and solid against themore luminous tones of water and of sky, some half-mile distant. Set highupon the further slope of it, from here invisible, the Grand Hotelfronted--as he knew--the eastward trending coast. Carteret wished thedistance less, since he craved the shelter of that friendly yellow-washedcaravanserai. He would be mortally thankful to find himself back there, and alone, the door of his bachelor quarters shut--away from the beat ofthe waves, away from the subtle glory of this Venus-ridden moon nowdrawing down to her setting. Away, above all, from Damaris--deliveredfrom the enchantments and perturbations, both physical and moral, herdelicious neighbourhood provoked. 

But from that fond neighbourhood, as he suddenly became aware, he was insome sort delivered already. For she stopped dead, with a strange chokingcry; and stood solitary, as it even seemed forsaken, upon the wide greywhiteness of the asphalt of the esplanade. Behind her a line oflamps--pale burning under the moonlight--curved, in perspective, with thecurving of the bay right away to the lighthouse. On her left the crowdedhouses of the sleeping town, slashed here and there with sharp edgedshadows, receded, growing indistinct among gardens and groves. Thescene, as setting to this single figure, affected him profoundly, takenin conjunction with that singular cry. He retraced the few steps dividinghim from her. 

"Marriage?" she almost wailed, putting out her hands as though to preventhis approach. "No--no--never in life, Colonel Sahib. You quite dreadfullymisunderstand. "

"Do I?" Carteret said, greatly taken aback, while, whether he wouldor no, unholy ideas again flitted through his mind maliciouslyassailing him. 

"It has nothing to do with that sort of loving. It belongs to somethingmuch more beautifully part of oneself--something of one's very, very own, right from the very beginning. "

"Indeed!" he said, sullenly, even roughly, his habitual mansuetude givingway before this--for so he could not but take it--contemptuous flingingof his immense tenderness, his patient, unswerving devotion, back in hisface. "Then very certainly I must plead guilty to not understanding, orif you prefer it--for we needn't add to our other discomforts byquarrelling about the extra syllable--of misunderstanding. In myignorance, I confess I imagined the love, which finds its crown and sealof sanctity in marriage, can be--and sometimes quite magnificentlyis--the most beautiful thing a man has to give or a woman to receive. "

Damaris stared at him, her face blank with wonder. 

Set at regular intervals between the tall blue-grey painted lampstandards, for the greater enjoyment of visitors and natives, stonebenches, of a fine antique pattern, adorn St. Augustin's esplanade. Ourmuch-perplexed maiden turned away wearily and sat down upon the nearestof these. She held up her head, bravely essaying to maintain an air ofcomposure and dignity; but her shoulders soon not imperceptibly quivered, while, try hard as she might, setting her teeth and holding her breath, small plaintive noises threatened betrayal of her tearful state. 

Carteret, quite irrespective of the prescience common to all true loverswhere the beloved object's welfare is concerned, possessed unusuallyquick and observant hearing. Those small plaintive noises speedilyreached him and pierced him as he stood staring gloomily out to sea. Whereupon he bottled up his pain, shut down his natural and admirablyinfrequent anger, and came over to the stone bench. 

"You're not crying, dearest witch, are you?" he asked her. 

"Yes, I am, " Damaris said. "What else is there left for me todo?--Everyone I care for I seem to make unhappy. Everything I do goeswrong. Everything I touch gets broken and spoilt somehow. "

"Endless tragedies of little green jade elephants?" he gentlybantered her. 

"Yes--endless. For now I have hurt you. You are trying to be good andlike your usual self to me; but that doesn't take me in. I know allthrough me I have hurt you--quite dreadfully badly--though I never, nevermeant to, and haven't an idea how or why. "

This was hardly comforting news to Carteret. He attempted no disclaimer;while she, after fumbling rather helplessly at the breast-pocket of herjacket, at last produced a folded letter and held it out to him. 

"Whether it's treacherous or not, I am obliged to tell you, " she said, with pathetic desperation. "For I can't bear any more. I can't but try mybest to keep you, Colonel Sahib. And now you are hurt, I can only keepyou by making you understand--just everything. You may still think mewrong; but anyhow my wrongness will be towards somebody else, not towardsyou. --So please read this, and don't skip, because every word helps toexplain. Read it right through before you ask me any questions--that'smore fair all round. --If you go across there--under the lamp, Imean--there still is light enough, I think, for you to be able to see. "

And Carteret, thus admonished--partly to pacify her, partly to satisfy avery vital curiosity which stirred in him to compass the length, breadth, and height of this queer business, learn the truth and so set certainvague and agitating fears at rest--did as Damaris bade him. Standing inthe conflicting gaslight and moonlight, the haunted quiet of the smallhours broken only by the trample and wash of the sea, he read DarcyFaircloth's letter from its unconventional opening, to its equallyunconventional closing paragraph. 

"Now my holiday is over and I will close down till next Christmasnight--unless miracles happen meanwhile--so good-bye--Here is a boatloadof my lads coming alongside, roaring with song and as drunk aslords. --God bless you. In spirit I once again kiss your dear feet"--

Carteret straightened himself up with a jerk. Looked at Damaris sittingvery still, a little sunk together, as in weariness or dejection upon thestone bench. His eyes blazed fierce, for once, with questions he burnedyet dreaded to ask. But on second thoughts--they arrived to himswiftly--he restrained his impatience and his tongue. Mastering his heathe looked down at the sheet of note-paper again. He would obey Damaris, absorb the contents of this extraordinary document, the facts it conveyedboth explicitly and implicitly, to the last word before he spoke. 

Happily the remaining words were few. "Your brother, " he read, "tilldeath and after"--followed by a name and date. 

At the name he stared fairly confounded. It meant nothing whatever tohim. --That is, at first. Then, rising as a vision from out somesubconscious drift of memory, he saw the cold, low-toned colouring ofwide, smooth and lonely waters, of salt-marsh, of mud-flat and reed-bedin the lowering light of a late autumn afternoon--a grey, stone-builttavern, moreover, above the open door of which, painted upon a board, that same name of Faircloth figured above information concerning diversliquors obtainable within. Yes--remembrance grew more precise and stable. He recalled the circumstances quite clearly now. He had seen it on hisway back from a solitary afternoon's wild fowl shooting on MarychurchHaven; during his last visit to Deadham Hard. 

So much was certain. But the name in its present connection? Carteret'simagination shied. For, to have the existence of an illegitimate son ofyour oldest and dearest friend thus suddenly thrust upon you, and that bya young lady of the dearest friend's family, is, to say the least of it, a considerable poser for any man. It may be noted as characteristic ofCarteret that, without hesitation, he recognized the sincerity and finespirit of Faircloth's letter. Characteristic, also, that having seizedthe main bearings of it, his feeling was neither of cynical acquiescence, or of covert and cynical amusement; but of vicarious humiliation, ofapology and noble pitying shame. 

He came over and sat down upon the stone bench beside Damaris. 

"Dear witch, " he said slowly, "this, if I apprehend it aright, is alittle staggering. Forgive me--I did altogether, and I am afraid rathercrassly, misunderstand. But that I could hardly help, since no remotesthint of this matter has ever reached me until now. "

Damaris let her hand drop, palm upwards, upon the cool, slightly rough, surface of the seat. Carteret placed the folded letter in it, and sodoing, let his hand quietly close down over hers--not in any sense as acaress, but as assurance of a sympathy it was forbidden him, in decencyand loyalty, to speak. For a while they both remained silent. Damariswas first to move. She put the letter back into the breast-pocket ofher jacket. 

"I am glad you know, Colonel Sahib, " she gravely said. "You see howdifficult it has all been. "

"I see--yes"--

After a pause, the girl spoke again. 

"I only came to know it myself at the end of last summer, quite byaccident. I was frightened and tried not to believe. But there was no wayof not believing. I had lost my way in the mist out on the Bar. I mistookthe one for the other--my brother, I mean, for"--

Damaris broke off, her voice failing her. 

"Yes, " Carteret put in gently, supportingly. 

He leaned back, his arms crossed upon his breast, his head carriedslightly forward, slightly bent, as he watched the softly sparkling lineof surf, marking the edge of the plunging waves upon the sloping shore. Vicarious shame claimed him still. He weighed man's knowledge, man'sfreedom of action, man's standards of the permissible and unpermissibleas against those of this maiden, whose heart was at once so much and solittle awake. 

"For my father, " she presently went on. "But still I wanted to deny thetruth. I was frightened at it. For if that was true so much else--thingsI had never dreamed of until then--might also be true. I wanted to getaway, somehow. But later, after I had been ill, and my father let himcome and say good-bye to me before he went to sea, I saw it alldifferently, and far from wanting to get away I only longed that wemight always be together as other brothers and sisters are. But I knewthat wasn't possible. I was quite happy, especially after you came withus, Colonel Sahib, out here. Then I had this letter and the longing grewworse than ever. I did try to school myself into not wanting, notlonging--did silly things--frivolous things, as I told you. But I can'tstop wanting. It all came to a head, somehow to-night, with the dancingand music, and those foolish boys quarrelling over me--and then yourshowing me that--instead of being faithful to my father, I haveneglected him. "

"Ah, you poor sweet dear!" Carteret said, greatly moved andturning to her. 

In response she leaned towards him, her face wan in the expiringmoonlight, yet very lovely in its pleading and guileless affection. 

"And my brother is beautiful, Colonel Sahib, " she declared, "not only tolook at but in his ideas. You would like him and be friends with him, though he doesn't belong to the same world as you--indeed you would. Andhe is not afraid--you know what I mean?--not afraid of being alive andhaving adventures. He means to do big things--not that he has talkedboastfully to me, or been showy. Please don't imagine that. He knowswhere he comes in, and doesn't pretend to be anybody or anything beyondwhat he is. Only it seems to me there is a streak of something originalin him--almost of genius. He makes me feel sure he will never bungle anychance which comes in his way. And he has time to do so much, if chancesdo come"--this with a note of exultation. "His life is all before him, you see. He is so beautifully young yet. "

CHAPTER VIII

FIDUS ACHATES

In which final pronouncement of Damaris' fond tirade, Carteret heard thedeath knell of his own fairest hopes. He could not mistake the set of thegirl's mind. Not only did brother call to sister, but youth called toyouth. Whereat the goad of his forty-nine years pricked him shrewdly. 

He must accept the disabilities of the three decades, plus one year, which divided him in age from Damaris, as final; and range himself withthe elder generation--her father's generation, in short. How, afterall, could he in decency go to his old friend and say: "Give me yourdaughter. " The thing, viewed thus, became outrageous, offensive notonly to his sense of fitness, but of the finer and more delicatemoralities. For cradle-snatching is not, it must be conceded, agraceful occupation; nor is a middle-aged man with a wife still in herteens a graceful spectacle. Sentimentalists may maunder over it inpinkly blushing perversity; but the naughty world thinks otherwise, putting, if not openly its finger to its nose, at least secretly itstongue in its cheek. And rightly, as he acknowledged. The implicationmay be coarse, libidinous; but the instinct producing it is a soundone, both healthy and just. 

Therefore he had best sit no longer upon stone benches by the soundingshore, in this thrice delicious proximity and thrice provocative magic ofthe serene southern night. All the more had best not do so, becauseDamaris proved even more rare in spirit, exquisite in moral andimaginative quality--so he perhaps over-fondly put it--than ever before. Carteret got on his feet and walked away a few paces, continuing toheckle himself with merciless honesty and rather unprintablehumour--invoking even the historic name of Abishag, virgin and martyr, and generally letting himself "have it hot. "

A self-chastisement which may be accounted salutary, since, as headministered it, his thought again turned to a case other than his own, namely, that of Charles Verity. To pronounce judgment on his friend'spast relations with women, whether virtuous or otherwise, was no businessof his. Whatever irregularities of conduct that friend's earlier careermay have counted, had brought their own punishment--were indeed actuallybringing it still, witness current events. It wasn't for him, Carteret, by the smallest fraction to add to that punishment; but rather, surely, to do all in his power to lighten the weight of it. Here he found safefoothold. Let him invite long-standing friendship, with the father, tohelp him endure the smart of unrequited love for the daughter. To pretendthese two emotions moved on the same plane and could counter-balance oneanother, was manifestly absurd; but that did not affect the essence ofthe question. Ignoring desire, which to-night so sensibly anddisconcertingly gnawed at his vitals, let him work to restore the formerharmony and sweet strength of their relation. If in the process he couldobtain for Damaris--without unseemly revelation or invidiouscomment--that on which her innocent soul was set he would have hisreward. --A reward a bit chilly and meagre, it is true, as comparedwith--Comparisons be damned!--Carteret left his pacing and came back tothe stone bench. 

"Well, I have formed my own conclusions in respect of the whole matter. Now tell me what you actually want me to do, and I will see how far itcan be compassed, dear witch. " he said. 

Damaris had risen too, but she was troubled. 

"Ah! I still spoil things, " she wailed. "I was so happy tellingyou about--about Faircloth. And yet somehow I've hurt you again. Iknow I have. "

Carteret took her by the elbow lightly, gently, carrying her onwardbeside him over the wide pallor of the asphalt. 

"Hurt me, you vanitatious creature? Against babes of your tender age, I long ago became hurt-proof"--he gaily lied to her. "What do you takeme for?--A fledgling like the Ditton boy, or poor Harry Ellice, withwhose adolescent affections you so heartlessly played chuck-farthing atour incomparable Henrietta's party to-night?--No, no--but joking apart, what exactly is it you want me to do for you? Take you to Marseillesfor the day, perhaps, to meet this remarkable young sea-captain and goover his ship?"

"He is remarkable, " Damaris chimed in, repeating the epithet with eagerand happier emphasis. 

"Unquestionably--if I'm to judge both by your account of him and by thetenor of his letter. "

"And you would take me? Oh! dear Colonel Sahib, how beautifully good youare to me. "

"Of course, I'll take you--if"--

"If what?"

"If Sir Charles gives his consent. "

He slipped Damaris' hand within his arm, still bearing her onward. Thelast of the long line of gas-lamps upon the esplanade, marking the curveof the bay, was now left behind. A little further and the roadforked--the main one followed the shore. The other--a footpath--mountedto the left through the delicate gloom and semi-darkness of the woodclothing the promontory. Carteret did not regret that impendingobscurity, apprehending it would be less embarrassing, under cover of it, to embark on certain themes which must be embarked upon were he to bringhis purpose to full circle. 

"Listen, my dear, " he told her, "while I expound. Certain laws offriendship exist, between men, which are imperative. They must berespected. To evade them, still worse, wilfully break them is to beguilty of unpardonably bad taste and bad feeling--to put it no higher. Had your father chosen to speak to me of this matter, well and good. Ishould have felt honoured by his confidence, have welcomed it--for he isdearer to me than any man living and always must be. --But the initiativehas to come from him. Till he speaks I am dumb. For me to approach thesubject first is not possible. "

"Then the whole beautiful plan falls through, " she said brokenly. 

"No, not at all, very far from that, " he comforted her. "I gather youhave already discussed it with your father. You must lay hold of yourcourage and discuss it again. I know that won't be easy; but you owe itto him to be straightforward, owe it to his peculiar devotion to you. Some day, perhaps, when you are older and more ripe in experience, I maytell you, in plain language of a vow he once made for your sake--when hewas in his prime, too, his life strong in him, his powers at theirheight. Some persons might consider his action exaggerated and fanatical. But such accusations can be brought against most actions really heroic. And that this action, specially in a man of his temperament, may claim tobe heroic there can be, in my opinion, no manner of doubt. "

The path climbed steeply through the pine wood. Damaris' hand grewheavy on Carteret's arm. Once she stumbled, and clung to him inrecovering her footing, thereby sending an electric current tinglingthrough his nerves again. 

"He did what was painful, you mean, and for my sake?"

"Say rather gave up something very much the reverse of painful, "Carteret answered, his voice not altogether under control, so that itstruck away, loud and jarring, between the still ranks of thetree-trunks to right and left. 

"Which is harder?"

"Which is much harder--immeasurably, incalculably harder, dearest witch. "

After a space of silence, wherein the pines, lightly stirred by somefugitive up-draught off the sea, murmured dusky secrets in the vault ofinterlacing branches overhead, Carteret spoke again. He had his voiceunder control now. Yet, to Damaris' hearing, his utterance was permeatedby an urgency and gravity almost awe-inspiring, here in the lonelinessand obscurity of the wood. She went in sudden questioning, incomprehensible fear of the dear man with the blue eyes. His arm wassteady beneath her hand, supporting her. His care and protection sensiblyencircled her, yet he seemed to her thousands of miles away, speakingfrom out some depth of knowledge and of reality which hopelesslytranscended her experience. She felt strangely diffident, strangelyignorant. Felt, though she had no name for it, the mystical empire, mystical terror of sex as sex. 

"The night of the breaking of the monsoon, of those riotings and fires atBhutpur, your father bartered his birthright, in a certain particular, against your restoration to health. The exact nature of that renunciationI cannot explain to you. The whole transaction lies beyond the range ofordinary endeavour; and savours of the transcendental--or thesuperstitious, if you please to take it that way. But call it by whatname you will, his extravagant gamble with the Lords of Life and Deathworked, apparently. For you got well; and you have stayed well, dearwitch--thanks to those same Lords of Life and Death, whose favour yourfather attempted to buy with this act of personal sacrifice. He waswilling to pay a price most men would consider prohibitive to secure yourrecovery. And, with an unswerving sense of honour, he has gone on paying, until that which, at the start, must have amounted to pretty severediscipline has crystallized into habit. What you tell me of this youngman, Darcy Faircloth's history, goes, indirectly, to strengthen myadmiration for your father's self-denying ordinance, both in proposingand in maintaining this strange payment. "

There--it was finished, his special pleading. Carteret felt unfeignedlyglad. He was unaccustomed to put forth such elaborate expositions, moreparticularly of a delicate nature and therefore offering much to avoid aswell as much to state. 

"So you are bound to play a straight game with him--dear child. Believeme he deserves it, is finely worthy of it. Be open with him. Show himyour letter. Ask his permission--if you have sufficient courage. Yourcourage is the measure of the sincerity of your desire in this business. Do you follow me?"

"Yes--but I shall distress him, " Damaris mournfully argued. 

She was bewildered, and in her bewilderment held to the immediateand obvious. 

"Less than by shutting him out from your confidence, by keeping him atarm's length. "

"Neglecting him?"

"Ah! so that rankles still, does it? Yes, neglecting him just atrifle, perhaps. "

"But the neglect is over--indeed, it is over and utterly done with. "

And in the ardour of her disclaimer, Damaris pressed against Carteret, her face upturned and, since she too was tall, very close to his. 

"Just because it is over and done with I begged you to bring me backwith you to-night. I wanted to make a clean break with all thefrivolities, while everything was quite clear to me. I wanted, while Istill belonged to you, Colonel Sahib, through our so beautifully dancingtogether twice"--

"God in Heaven!" Carteret said under his breath. For what a past-masterin the art of the torturer is your white souled maiden at moments!

"To go right away from all that rushing about worldliness--I don't blameHenrietta--she has been sweet to me--but it is worldliness, rather, isn'tit?--and to be true to him again and true to myself. I wanted to returnto my allegiance. You believe me, don't you? You made me see, ColonelSahib, you brought my foolishness home to me--Oh! yes, I owe you endlessgratitude and thanks. But I was uneasy already. I needed a wholesomeshove, and you gave it. And now you deliver a much-needed supplementaryshove--one to my courage. I obey you, Colonel Sahib, without question orreservation--not on the chance of getting what I long for; but becauseyou have convinced me of what is right. I will tell him--tell myfather--all about everything--to-morrow. "

"It is now to-morrow--and, with the night, many dreams have packed uptheir traps and fled. "

"But we needn't be sorry for that, " Damaris declared, in prettily risingconfidence. "The truth is going to be better than the dreams, isn't it?"

"For you, yes--with all my heart, I hope. "

"But for you--why not for you?" she cried, smitten by anxiety regardinghim and by swift tenderness. 

They had reached the end of the upward climbing path, and stepped fromthe semi-darkness of the wood into the greater clarity of the gravelterrace in front of the hotel. Far below unseen waves again beat upon thebeach. The sound reached them faintly. The dome of the sky, thick sownwith stars, appeared prodigious in expanse and in height. It dwarfed theblock of hotel buildings upon the right. Dwarfed all visible things, thewhole earth, indeed, which it so sensibly enclosed. Dwarfed also, andthat to the point of desolation, the purposes and activities ofindividual human lives. How could these count, what could they matter inpresence of the countless worlds swinging, there, through the illimitablefields of space?

To Carteret this thought, or rather this sensation, of humaninsignificance brought a measure of stoic consolation. He lifted Damaris'hand off his arm, and held it, while he said, smiling at her:

"For me--yes, of course. Why not? For me too, dearest witch, truth isassuredly the most profitable bedfellow. "

Then, as she shrank, drawing away a little, startled by the crudeness ofthe expression:

"I enjoyed our two dances, " he told her, "and I shall enjoy taking you toMarseilles and making Faircloth's acquaintance, if our little schemeworks out successfully--if it is sanctioned, permitted. After that--otherthings being equal--I think I ought to break camp and journey back toEngland, to look after my property and my sister's affairs. I have gaddedlong enough. It is time to get into harness--such harness as claims me inthese all too easy-going days. And now you must really go indoors withoutfurther delay, and go to bed. May the four angels of pious traditionstand at the four corners of it, to keep you safe in body, soul andspirit. Sleep the sleep of innocence and wake radiant and refreshed. "

"Ah! but you're sad--you are sad, " Damaris cried, her lips quivering. "Can't I do anything?--I would do so much, would love so much--beyondanything--to make you unsad. "

The man with the blue eyes shook his head. 

"Impossible, alas! Your intervention, in this case, is finally ruled out, my sweet lamb, " he affectionately, but conclusively said. 

CHAPTER IX

WHICH FEATURES VARIOUS PERSONS WITH WHOM THE READER IS ALREADY ACQUAINTED

Some are born great, some attain greatness, and some have it thrust uponthem to the lively embarrassment of their humble and retiring littlesouls. To his own notable surprise, General Frayling, on the morningfollowing his wife's Cinderella dance, awoke to find himself the centreof interest in the life of the pretty pavilion situated in the grounds ofthe Hôtel de la Plage. He owed this unaccustomed ascendency to physicalrather than moral or intellectual causes, being possessed of atemperature, the complexion of the proverbial guinea, and violent painsin his loins and his back. 

These anxious symptoms developed--one cannot but feel rather unjustly--asthe consequence of his own politeness, his amenity of manner, and thepatient attentions he paid on the previous evening to one of his wife'sguests. He had sat altogether too long for personal comfort in a draughtycorner of the hotel garden, with Mrs. Callowgas. Affected by the poeticinfluences of moon, stars, and sea, affected also conceivably by paganamorous influences, naughtily emanating from the neighbouring VenusTemple--whose elegant tapering columns adorn the façade of the localMairie--Mrs. Callowgas became extensively reminiscent of her dear deadLord Bishop. Protracted anecdotes of visitations and confirmation tours, excerpts from his sermons, speeches and charges, arch revelations of hisdiurnal and nocturnal conversation and habits--the latter tedious to thepoint of tears when not slightly immodest--poured from her widowed lips. The good lady overflowed. She frankly babbled. General Frayling listened, outwardly interested and civil, inwardly deploring that he had omittedto put on a waistcoat back-lined with flannel--waxing momentarily moreconscious, also, that the iron--of the hard cold slats composing the seatof his garden chair--if not entering into his soul, was actively enteringa less august and more material portion of his being through the slack ofhis thin evening trousers. He endured both tedium and bodily sufferingwith the fortitude of a saint and martyr; but next morning revealed himvictim of a violent chill demanding medical aid. 

The native local practitioner was reported mono-lingual, and of smallscientific reputation; while our General though fluent in vituperativeHindustani, and fairly articulate in Arabic, could lay no claim toproficiency in the French language. Hence probable deadlock betweendoctor and patient. Henrietta acted promptly, foreseeing danger ofjaundice or worse; and bade Marshall Wace telegraph to Cannes for anEnglish physician. As a nurse she was capable if somewhatunsympathetic--illness and death being foreign to her personal programme. She attended upon her small sick warrior assiduously; thereby earning theadmiration of the outsiders, and abject apologies for "being such aconfounded nuisance to you, my love, " from himself. Her maid, aEurasian--by name Serafina Lousada, whom she had brought with her fromBombay a couple of years earlier, prematurely-wrinkled of skin andshrunken of figure, yet whose lustrous black eyes still held the embersof licentious fires--would readily have shared her labours. But Henriettawas at some trouble to eliminate Serafina from the sick-chamber, holdingher tendencies suspect as insidiously and quite superfluouslysentimental, where any male creature might be concerned. 

Carteret and Sir Charles Verity, on the other hand, she encouraged withthe sweetest dignity imaginable, to take turns at the bedside--and tolook in upon her drawing-room, also, on their way back and forth thither. A common object and that a philanthropic one, gives unimpeachableoccasions of intimacy. These Henrietta did not neglect, though touchingthem with a disarming pensiveness of demeanour. The invalid was, "thething "--the thought of him wholly paramount with her. Her anxiety mightbe lightened, perhaps, but by no means deleted, by the attentions ofthese friends of former years. --A pretty enough play throughout, as thetwo gentlemen silently noted, the one with kindly, the other withsardonic, humour. 

Her henchman, Marshall Wace, meanwhile, Henrietta kept on the run untilthe triangular patch of colour, straining either prominent cheek-bone, was more than ever accentuated. There was method, we may however take it, in the direction of these apparently mad runnings, since they soincessantly landed the runner in the _salon_ of the Grand Hotel crowningthe wooded headland. Damaris she refused to have with her. No--shecouldn't consent to any clouding of the darling child's bright spirit byher private worries. Trouble, heaven knows, is bound to overtake each oneof us more than soon enough! She--Henrietta--could endure her allottedportion of universal tribulation best in the absence of youthfulwitnesses. 

But let Marshall carry Damaris news daily--twice daily, if needs be. Lethim read with her, sing to her; so that she, charming child, should missher poor Henrietta, and their happy meetings at the little pavilion, theless. Especially let him seek the young girl, and strive to entertainher, when Sir Charles and Colonel Carteret were engaged on their goodSamaritan visits to General Frayling. 

"This break in our cherished intercourse, " Henrietta wrote, in one ofthose many Wace-borne bulletins, "grieves me more than I can express. Permit Marshall to do all in his power to make up for this hospitalincarceration of mine. Poor dear fellow, it is such a boon to him. Ireally crave to procure him any pleasure I can--above all the pleasure ofbeing with you, which he values so very highly. All his best qualitiesshow in this time of trial. He is only too faithful and wears himself topositive fiddle-strings in my service and that of the General. I send himto you, darling child, for a little change and recreation--relaxationfrom the strain of my husband's illness. Marshall is so sympathetic andfeels for others so deeply. His is indeed a rare nature; but one whichdoes not, alas! always quite do itself justice. I attribute this to anunfortunate upbringing rather than to any real fault in himself. So begood to him, Damaris. In being good to him--as I have said all along--youare being good to your fondly loving and, just now, sorely triedHenrietta Frayling. "

All which sounded a note designed to find an echo in Damaris' generousheart. Which it did--this the more readily because, still penitent forher recent trifle of wild-oats sowing, our beloved maiden wasparticularly emulous of good works, the missionary spirit all agog inher. She was out to comfort, to sympathize and to sustain. Hence shedoubly welcomed that high-coloured hybrid, Wace--actor, cleric, vocalistin one. Guilelessly she indulged and mothered him, overlooking hisegoism, his touchiness and peevishness, his occasional defects ofbreeding and of taste. She permitted him, moreover, to talk withoutrestraint upon his favourite subject--that of himself. To retail thedespairs of an ailing and unhappy childhood; the thwarted aspirations ofa romantic and sensitive boyhood; the doubts and disappointments of ayoung manhood conspicuously rich in promise, had the fates and his fellowcreatures but shown themselves more intelligently sensible of his meritsand his needs. 

For this was the burden of his recurrent lament. Throughout life he hadbeen misunderstood. 

"But you, Miss Verity, do understand me, " he almost passionatelydeclared, waving white effeminate hands. "Ah! a pure influence suchas yours"--

Here, rather to Damaris' thankfulness, words appeared to fail him. Hemoved to the piano and exhaled his remaining emotion in song. 

Affairs had reached the above point about ten days after Henrietta'sparty and Damaris' midnight walk with Colonel Carteret by the shore ofthe sounding sea. General Frayling, though mending, was still possessedof a golden complexion and a temperature slightly above the normal, whilehis dutiful wife, still self-immured, was in close attendance, when anevent occurred which occasioned her considerable speculation andperplexity. 

It came about thus. At her request Marshall Wace walked up to thestation early that morning, to secure the English papers on their arrivalby the mail train from Paris. After a quite unnecessarily long interval, in Henrietta's opinion, he returned with an irritable expression andflustered manner. Such, at least, was the impression she received on hisjoining her in the wide airy corridor outside the General's sick-chamber. 

"I thought you were never coming back, " she greeted him. "What hasdetained you?"

"The Paris train was late, " he returned. "And--wait an instant, CousinHenrietta. I want to speak to you. Yes, I am hot and tired, and I am putout--I don't deny it. "

"Why?" Henrietta asked him indifferently. 

Her own temper was not at its brightest and best. The office ofministering angel had begun most woefully to pall on her. What if thisillness betokened a break up of health on the part of General Frayling?Bath chairs, hot bottles, air-cushions, pap-like meals and such kindredunlovelinesses loomed large ahead! That was the worst of marrying an old, or anyhow an oldish, man. You never could tell how soon the natural orderof things might be reversed, and you obliged to wait hand and foot onhim, instead of his waiting hand and foot on you. Henrietta felt fretful. Her looking-glass presented a depressing reflection of fine lines andsharpened features. If she should wilt under this prolonged obligation ofnursing, her years openly advertise their number, and she grow faded, _passée_, a woman who visibly has outlived her prime? She could haveshaken the insufficiently dying General in his bed! Yes, insufficientlydying--for, in heaven's name, let him make up his mind and thatspeedily--get well and make himself useful, or veritably and finallydepart before, for the preservation of her good looks, it was too late. 

"I met Sir Charles Verity at the station, " Wace went on. "He was comingout of the first class _salle d'attente_. He stopped and spoke to me, enquired for cousin Fred; but his manner was peculiar, autocratic to adegree. He made me feel in the way, feel that he was annoyed at my beingthere and wanted to get rid of me. "

"Imagination, my dear Marshall. In all probability he wasn't thinkingabout you one way or the other, but merely about his own affairs, hisown--as Carteret reports--remarkably clever book. --But why, I wonder, washe at the station so early?"

Henrietta stood turning the folded newspaper about and idly scanning thehead-lines, while the wind, entering by the open casements at the end ofthe corridor, lifted and fluttered the light blue gauze scarf she woreround her shoulders over her white frilled morning gown. 

"He didn't tell me, " the large, soft, very hot young man said. "You maycall it imagination, Cousin Henrietta; but I can't. I am positive hismanner was intentional. He meant to snub me, by intimating of how slightaccount I am in his estimation. It was exceedingly galling. I do not wantto employ a vulgar expression--but he looked down his nose at me as if Iwas beneath contempt. You know that insolent, arrogant way of his?"

"Oh, la-la!" Henrietta cried. "Don't be so childish!"--Though she did inpoint of fact know the said way perfectly well and admired it. Once upona time hadn't Sir Charles, indeed, rather superbly practised it inher--Henrietta's--defence?

She sighed; while her temper took a nasty turn towards her yellow-faced, apologetic little General, waiting patiently for sight of the Englishnewspapers, under the veil of mosquito netting in his little bed. Even inhis roaring forties--had his forties ever roared though?--she doubtedit--not to save his life could he ever have looked down his nose at anoffending fellow-man like that. --Ah! Charles Verity--Charles Verity!--Herheart misgave her that she had been too precipitate in this thirdmarriage. If she had waited?--

"Of course, with my wretchedly short sight, I may have been mistaken, "Wace continued, pointedly ignoring her interruption, "but I am almostconvinced I recognized Colonel Carteret and Miss Verity--Damaris--throughthe open door, on the other side of the _salle d'attente, _ in the crowdon the platform about to take their places in the train from Cannes, which had just come in. "

Henrietta ceased to scan the head-lines or deplore her matrimonialprecipitation. 

"Carteret and Damaris alone and together?" she exclaimed withraised eyebrows. 

"Yes, and it occurred to me that I there touched upon the explanation, inpart at least, of Sir Charles Verity's offensive manner. He had been tosee them off and was, for some reason, unwilling that we--you and I, cousin Henrietta--should know of their journey. "

Even in private life, at the very head-waters and source of her intriguesand her scheming, Henrietta cleverly maintained an effect of secrecy. Sheshowed herself an adept in the fine art of outflanking incautiousintruders. Never did she wholly reveal herself or her purposes; butreserved for her own use convenient run-holes, down which she couldescape from even the most intimate of her co-adjutors and employees. Ifmasterly in advance, she showed even more masterly in retreat; and thattoo often at the expense of her fellow intriguers. Without scruple shedeserted them, when personal safety or personal reputation suggested thewisdom of so doing. Though herself perplexed and suspicious, she nowrounded on Wace, taking a high tone with him. 

"But why, my dear Marshall, why?" she enquired, "should Sir Charlesobject to our--as you put it--_knowing_? That seems to me an entirelygratuitous assumption on your part. In all probability Mary Ellice andthe boys were on the platform too, only you didn't happen to catch sightof them. And, in any case, our friends at the Grand Hotel are notaccountable to us for their comings and goings. They are free agents, andit does really strike me as just a little gossipy to keep such a verysharp eye upon their movements. --Don't be furious with me"--

Henrietta permitted herself to reach up and pat the young man on theshoulder, playfully, restrainingly. An extraordinarily familiarproceeding on her part, marking the strength of her determination toavoid any approach to a quarrel, since she openly denounced and detestedall those demonstrations, as between friends and relations, which comeunder the generic title of "pawing. "

"No, pray don't be furious with me, " she repeated. "I quite appreciatehow sensitive you naturally must be upon the subject of Damaris. "

"You have given me encouragement, cousin Henrietta"--this resentfully. 

"And why not? Don't be disingenuous, my dear Marshall. I have given yousomething much more solid than mere encouragement, namely active help, opportunity. In the right direction, to the right person, I haverepeatedly praised you. But the prize, in this case, is to him who hasaddress and perseverance to win it. You possess signal advantages throughyour artistic tastes, your music, your reciting. But I have neverdisguised from you--now honestly, have I?--there were obstacles and evenprejudices to be overcome. "

"Sir Charles despises me. "

"But his daughter gives ample proof that she does not. And--you don'tpropose to marry Sir Charles, do you?"

Henrietta laughed a trifle shrilly. The tone of that laugh pierced herhearer's armour of egoism. He stared at her in interrogativesurprise--observing which she hastened to retreat down a run-hole. 

"Ah!" she cried, "it is really a little too bad to tease you, Marshall. But one can't but be tempted to do so at moments. You take everything soterribly _au grand sérieux_, my young friend. "

"You mean to convey that I am ponderous?"

"Well--perhaps--just a shade, " she archly agreed. "And of ponderosity youmust make an effort to cure yourself. --Mind, though a fault, I considerit one on the right side--in the connection, that is, which we have justnow been discussing. When a girl has as much intelligence as--we needn'tname names, need we?--she resents perpetual chaff and piffle. They boreher--seem to her a flagrant waste of time. Her mind tends to scorndelights and live laborious days--a tendency which rectifies itselflater as a rule. All the same in avoiding frivolity, one must not rush tothe other extreme and be heavy in hand. A happy mien in this as in allthings, my dear Marshall. "

"I cannot so far degrade myself as to be an opportunist, " he returnedsententiously. 

"Yet the opportunist arrives; and to arrive is the main thing, afterall--at least I imagine so. --Now I really cannot stay here any longergiving you priceless advice; but must take the General hisnewspapers. --By the way, did Sir Charles say anything about coming to seehim this afternoon?"

As she asked the question Henrietta ran her eye down over theannouncements in the Court Circular. Marshall replied in the negative. She made no comment, hardly appearing to notice his answer. But, asshe stepped lightly and delicately away down the airy corridor to thedoor of the sick-room, over her blue gauze draped shoulder she flungback at him--

"This confinement to the house is getting quite on my nerves. I mustreally allow myself a little holiday. --Take a drive to-morrow if Fredericis no worse. I will call at the Grand Hotel, I think, and see darlingDamaris, just for a few minutes, myself. "

Information which went far to restore her hearer's equanimity. Hisaffairs, as he recognized, were in actively astute safe-keeping. 

Marshall Wace spent the rest of the morning in the drawing-room of thevilla, at the piano, composing a by no means despicable setting ofShelley's two marvellous stanzas, which commence:

"Rarely, rarely comest thou, Spirit of Delight!Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night?"

The rich baritone voice, vibrant with apparent passion, swept outthrough the open windows, across the glittering garden. Miss MaudCallowgas, walking along that portion of the esplanade immediately infront of the hotel, paused in the grilling sunshine to listen. Heavenupon earth seemed to open before her pale, white-lashed eyes. If shecould only ascertain what fortune she might eventually count onpossessing--but Mama was so dreadfully close about everything to do withmoney! The Harchester bishopric was a fat one, worth from ten to fifteenthousand a year. That she knew from the odious, impudent questions askedabout it by some horrible nonconformist member, in the House of Commons, just after her father's death. Surely Mama must have saved aconsiderable amount out of so princely an income? She had always keptdown expenses at the Palace. The servants left so often because theydeclared they had not enough to eat. 

Then through the open window of the villa embowered in roses, there amidthe palms and pines--and in a falling cadence too:

"How shall ever one like me Win thee back again?"

But Maud Callowgas needed no winning, being very effectually won already, so it was superfluous thus movingly to ask the question. The mid-day sunstriking through her black-and-white parasol made her feel dizzy andfaint. --If only she could learn the amount of her fortune, she could letMrs. Frayling learn the amount of it too--just casually, in the course ofconversation, and then--Everyone said Mrs. Frayling was doing her best to"place" her cousin-by-marriage, to secure him a well-endowed wife. 

CHAPTER X

WHICH IT IS TO BE FEARED SMELLS SOMEWHAT POWERFULLY OF BILGE WATER

Warm wind, hot sun, the confused sound and movement of a great southernport, all the traffic and trade of it, man and beast sweating in thesplendid glare. Rattle of cranes, scream of winches, grind of wheels, andthe bellowing of a big steamer, working her way cautiously through thepacked shipping of the basin, to the blue freedom of the open sea. --Suchwas the scene which the boatswain and white-jacketed steward, leaningtheir folded arms on the bulwarks and smoking, lazily watched. 

The _Forest Queen_ rode high at the quayside, having discharged much, andtaken on but a moderate amount of cargo for her homeward voyage. This wasalready stowed. She had coaled and was bound to clear by dawn. Now sherested in idleness, most of her crew taking their pleasure ashore, aSabbath calm pervading her amid the strident activities going forward onevery hand. The ship's dog, a curly-haired black retriever, lay on theclean deck in the sunshine stretched on his side, all four legs limp, save when, pestered beyond endurance, he whisked into a sitting positionto snap at the all too numerous flies. 

The boatswain--a heavily built East Anglian, born within sight of BostonStump five-and-forty years ago, his face seamed and pitted by smallpoxalmost to the extinction of expression and altogether to that ofeyebrows, eyelashes and continuity of beard--spat deliberately andvoluminously into the oily, refuse-stained water, lapping against theship's side over twenty feet below, and resumed a desultory conversationwhich for the moment had fallen dead. 

"So that's the reason of his giving us hell's delight, like he has allday, cleaning up?--Got a lady coming aboard to tea has he? If she's toofine to take us as we are, a deal better let 'er stay ashore, in myopinion. Stuff a' nonsense all this set out, dressing up and dressingdown. Vanity at the bottom of it--and who's it to take in?--For a tramp'sa tramp, and a liner's a liner; and all the water in God's ocean, and allthe rubbing and scrubbing on man's earth, won't convert the one into theother, bless you. "

He pointed away, with his pipestem, to the violet-shadowed mouth of oneof the narrow lanes opening between the slop-shops, wine-shops, and cheapeating-houses--their gaudy striped, flounced awnings bellying andstraining in the fervid southerly breeze--which lined the further side ofthe crowded quay. 

"As well try to wash some gutter-bred, French trollop, off the streets inbehind there, into a white-souled, white-robed heavenly angel, " hegrumbled on. "All this purifying of the darned old hulk's so much labourlost. Gets the men's monkey up too, putting all this extray work on 'em. "

He leaned down again, folding his arms along the top of the bulwarks. 

"And, angel or trollop, I find no use for her, nor any other style ofwoman either, on board this 'ere blasted rusty iron coffin, " he said. 

Whereat the stewart, a pert-eyed, dapper little cockney--amateur of theviolin and noted impersonator of popular music-hall comedians--took himup in tones of amiable argument. 

"Your stomach's so turned on the subject of females you can't do 'emjustice. Gone sour, regularly sour, it is. And I don't hold with youthere, Partington, never shall and never do. I'm one as can always find acosy corner in me manly bosom for the lidies--blame me if I can't, thepore 'elpless little lovey-doveys. After all's said and done Gawd made'em just as much as 'e made you, Partington, that 'e did. "

"And called you in, sonny, to lend 'im an 'and at the job, didn't 'e?All I can say is you'd both have been better employed putting in yourtime and talents somewhere else. "

After which sally the two smoked in silence, while the ship's dogalternately stretched himself on the hot boards, and started up with ayelp to snap at the cloud of buzzing flies again. 

The steward merely bided his time, however, and enquired presently with anice air of nonchalance:

"Never been married, Partington, 'ave you? I've often known that put afellow sadly off the sex. "

"Never, " the other replied, "though I came precious near it once, when Iwas a youngster and greener--greener even than you with your littlelovey-doveys and your manly bosom, William, which is allowing a lot. Butmy wife as was to 'ave been--met her down Bristol way, gone blind sillyon 'er I was--got took with the smallpox the week before the ceremony waspulled off, and give me all she had to spare of the disease with herdying breath. Soft chap as I was then, I held it as a sort of acompliment. Afterwards, when the crape had worn a bit brown, I saw it wasjealousy of any other female I might come to cast my eye over as made heract like that. "

"A private sore!" William commented. "To tell you gospel truth, Partington, I guessed as much. But you should learn to tike the largerview. Blimey, you should rise above that. To be marked like you are is amisfortune, I don't pretend to the contrary, looking at it along thelevel so to speak. But beauty's so much dust and ashes, if yer can justboost yerself up to tike the larger view. Think of all that pore dyingwoman mayn't 'ave saved you from by making yer outward fascinations lessstaring to the sex? Regular honey-pot to every passing petticoat youmight 'ave been. "

He broke off, springing erect and shading his eyes with one hand toobtain a better view. 

"My Sammy--whoever's the skipper a bringing 'ome 'ere with him? Dooks andduchesses and all the blamed airistorkracy?--English too, or I'm ablooming nigger. --Tea for a lidy?--I should rather think it. --Partington, I'm off to put meself inside of a clean jacket and make sure thecockroaches ain't holding a family sing-song on my best whitetable-cloth. --Say, that young ole man of ours don't stop 'arf way up theladder, once 'e starts climbing. Gets to the top rung 'e does strightorf, s'elp me. And tikes 'is ease there, seemingly, as to the mannerborn. Looks like he does any'ow, the way 'e's behaving of hisselfnow. --So long, bo'sun, " he added jauntily. "I'm called from yer side todescend the companion _ong route_ for higher spheres. Sounds like acontradiction that, but ain't so. --See you again when the docks 'asquitted this fond old floating 'earse of ours and took themselves back totheir 'ereditary marble 'alls to roost. "

On the other side of the quay, meanwhile, in the brave dancing breeze andthe sunshine, Darcy Faircloth stepped down on to the uneven paving justopposite to where the _Forest Queen_ lay. Colonel Carteret followed andstood aside, leaving him to hand Damaris out of the open carriage. 

For this was the younger man's day; and, as the elder ungrudginglyacknowledged, he played the part of host with a nice sense of taste, hishospitality erring neither in the direction of vulgar lavishness, nor ofover-modesty and economy. Breeding tells, is fertile in socialintuitions, as Carteret reflected, even when deformed by an ugly barsinister. During the past hours he had been observant--even above hiswont--jealous both for his friend Charles Verity and his dear charge, Damaris, in this peculiar association. The position was a far from easyone, so many slips of sorts possible; but the young merchant sea-captainhad carried it off with an excellent simplicity and unconsciousgrace. --In respect of a conveyance, to begin with, he eschewed hiring ahack, and met his arriving guests, at the station, with the best whichthe stables of the _Hôtel du Louvre et de la Paix_ could produce. Hadoffered a quiet well-served luncheon at that same stately hostelrymoreover, in preference to the more flashy and popular restaurants of thetown. Afterwards he had driven them, in the early hours of theafternoon, up to the church of _Notre Dame de la Garde_, which, perchedaloft on its eminence, godspeeds the outward bound and welcomes thehomecoming voyager, while commanding so noble a prospect of port andcity, of islands sacred to world-famous romance, and wide horizons ofrich country and historic sea. 

And now, before parting, Faircloth brought them to his ship. To thisprivate kingdom of his and all it implied--and denied too--of socialprivilege, social distinction. Implied, further, of administrative andpersonal power--all it set forth of the somewhat rugged facts of hisprofession and daily environment. Of this small world he was undisputedautocrat, Grand Cham of this miniature Tartary--of this iron-walledtwo-thousand-ton empire, the great white Czar. 

So far Carteret had lent himself to the extensive day's "outing" in aspirit of very sweet-tempered philosophy. He had been delightful, unfailing in courtesy and tactful address. Now, having analysed hishost's character to his own satisfaction, he felt justified in givinghimself a holiday from the office of chaperon and watch-dog. He hadfulfilled his promise, royally done his duty by Damaris in thatquasi-avuncular relation which he had assumed in place of a closerand--how profoundly more--coveted one; thereby earning temporary releasefrom her somewhat over-moving neighbourhood. Not but what he had beenkeenly, almost painfully, interested in watching this drama of brotherand sister, and gauging the impulses, the currents of action and ofemotion which lay behind it. Gauging too the difficulties, even dangers, inherent in it, the glamour and the clouding of shame--whetherconventional or real he did not pretend exactly to determine--which sostrangely wrapped it about. To use Damaris' favourite word, they werevery "beautiful" both in themselves and in their almost mystic affection, these two young creatures. And just on that very account he would be gladto get away from them, to be no longer onlooker, or--to put itvulgarly--gooseberry, fifth wheel to the cart. 

He went with them as far as the shoreward end of the up-slopinggangway. --A tall grey-clad figure, with an equally tall blue-clad figureon the other side of the young girl's, also tall, biscuit-colouredone, --a dash of pink showing in her burnt-straw hat, pink too at herthroat and waist seen between the open fronts of her dust-coat. --But atthe gangway he stopped. 

"Dear witch, " he said, "I have some telegrams I should be glad to sendoff, and another small matter of business to transact in the town, sohere, I will leave you, if you permit, in our friend's safe-keeping"--hesmiled upon Faircloth. "At the station, at five-thirty, we meet. _Aurevoir_, then. "

And, without waiting for any reply, he sauntered away along thesun-flooded quay between piled up bales of merchandize, wine barrels, heaps of sand, heaps too of evilly smelling hides, towering cases andcrates. His shadow--clear violet upon the grey of the granite--from hisfeet onwards, travelled before him as he walked. And this leading by, this following of, his own shadow, casual accident of light and ofdirection though in all common sense he must account it, troubled thepeace of the man with the blue eyes, making him feel wistful, feel pastthe zenith of his allotted earthly achievement, queerly out of therunning, aged and consequently depressed. 

Upon Damaris the suddenness of his exit reacted in a sensation ofconstraint. Carteret had been very exquisite to her throughout thisdelicate adventure, throughout these hours of restrained yet exaltedemotion. Left thus to her own resources she grew anxious, consciouslydiffident. The, in a sense, abnormal element in her relation to Fairclothdarted down on her, so that she could not but remember how slight, afterall, was her actual acquaintance with him, how seldom--only thrice inpoint of fact--had he and she had speech of one another. 

Upon Faircloth, Carteret's withdrawal also reacted, though with differenteffect. For an instant he watched the tall retreating form of this, as heperceived, very perfect gentleman. Then he turned to Damaris, looking herover from head to heel, in keen somewhat possessive fashion. And as, meeting his eyes, bravely if shyly, her colour deepened. 

"You are happy?" he affirmed rather than asked. 

"As the day is long, " she answered him steadily. 

"But the day's not been overlong, by chance, has it?"

"Not half long enough. "

"All's well, then, still. " He pressed her--"You aren't weary of me yet?"

Damaris reassuringly shook her head. 

Nevertheless she was very sensible of change in the tenor of theirintercourse, sensible of a just perceptible hardness in his bearing andaspect. For some cause, the nature of which she failed to divine thoughshe registered the fact of its existence, he no longer had complete faithin her, was no longer wholly at one with her in sympathy and in belief. He needed wooing, handling. And had she the knowledge and the artsuccessfully to handle this sun-browned, golden-bearded, rathermagnificent young master mariner--out here in the open too, the shout ofthe great port in her ears, the dazzle of the water and the push of thewarm wind upon her face?

"Ah, why waste precious time in putting questions to which you surelyalready know the answer?" with a touch of reproach she took him up. "Showme rather where you live--where you eat and sleep, where you walk up anddown, walk quarter-deck, when you are far away there out at sea. "

"Does all that really interest you?"

Damaris' lips quivered the least bit. 

"Why have you turned perverse and doubting? Isn't it because theyinterest me, above and beyond anything, beautifully interest me, that Iam here?--It would have been very easy to stay away, if I hadn'twanted--as I do want--to be able to fancy you from morning until night, to know where you sit, know just what you first see when in the grey ofthe morning you first wake. "

Faircloth continued to look at her; but his expression softened, gaininga certain spirituality. 

"I have questioned more than once to-day whether I had not been foolhardyin letting you come here--whether distance wasn't safest, and the hungerof absence sweeter than the full meal of your presence for--for both ofus, things being between us as they actually are. What if the bubbleburst?--I have had scares--hideous scares--lest you should bedisappointed in me. "

"Or you in me?" Damaris said. 

"No. Only your being disappointed in me could disappoint me in you--andhardly that, because you'd have prejudice, facts even, natural andobvious enough ones, upon your side. Faircloth's Inn on Marychurch Havenand your Indian palace, as basis to two children's memories and outlook, are too widely divergent, when one comes to think of it. When listeningto you and Colonel Carteret talking at luncheon I caught very plain sightof that. Not that he talked of set purpose to read me a wholesome lessonin humility--never in life. He's not that sort. But the lesson went homeall the more directly for that very reason. --Patience one little minute, "he quickly admonished her as she essayed to speak--"patience. You ask, with those dear wonderful eyes of yours, what I'm driving at. --This, beloved one--you see the waiting carriage over there. Hadn't we best getinto it, turn the horses' heads citywards again, and drink our tea, youand I, on the way up to the station somewhere very much else than onboard this rough-and-tumble rather foul-breathed cargo boat?--I'm sobeastly afraid you may be disgusted and shocked by the interval betweenwhat you're accustomed to and what I am. To let you down"--

Faircloth's handsome face worked. Whereat Damaris' diffidence took toitself wings and flew away. Her heart grew light. 

"Let me down?" she said. "You can't let me down. Oh! really, reallyyou're a little slow of comprehension. We are in this--in everything thathas happened since I first knew who you are, and everything which isgoing to happen from now onwards--in it together. What joins us goesmiles, miles deeper and wider than any petty surface things. Must I tellyou how much I care? Can't you feel it for yourself?"

And she stepped before him on to the upward sloping gangway plank. 

CHAPTER XI

WHEREIN DAMARIS MEETS HERSELF UNDER A NOVEL ASPECT

Damaris threw back the bedclothes, her eyes still dim with slumber, andgathered herself into a sitting position, clasping her knees with bothhands. She had a vague impression that something very pleasant awaitedher attention; but, in the soft confusion of first awakening, could notremember exactly what it was. 

To induce clearer consciousness she instinctively parted the mosquitocurtains, slipped her feet down over the side of the bed; and, a littlecrouched together and fumbly--baby-fashion--being still under thecomfortable empire of sleep, crossed the room and set back the inwardopening casements of the south window. Thereupon the outdoor freshness, fluttering her hair and the lace and nain-sook of her nightdress, brought her, on the instant, into full possession of her wandering wits. She remembered the nature of that charmingly pleasant something; yetpaused, before yielding it attention, held captive by the spectacle ofreturning day. 

It was early. The disc of the sun still below the horizon. But shafts oflight, striking up from it, patterned the underside of a vast dapple offleecy cloud--heliotrope upon the back-cloth of blue ether--with fringesand bosses of scarlet flame. Against this, occupying the foreground, thepine trees, which sheltered the terrace, showed up a deep greenish purplebordering upon black. 

Leaning out over the polished wooden bar--which topped the ironwork ofthe window-guard--Damaris sought and gained sight of the sea. This, darker even than the tufted foliation of the pines--since still untouchedby sunlight--spread dense and compact as molten metal, with here andthere a sheen, like that of the raven's wing, upon its corrugatedsurface. To Damaris it appeared curiously forbidding. Seeing it thus shefelt, indeed, to have taken Nature unawares, surprised her withoutdisguise; so that for once she displayed her veritable face--a face notyet made up and camouflaged to conceal the fact of its in-dwelling terrorfrom puny and defenceless man. 

With that the girl's thoughts flew, in longing and solicitude, toFaircloth, whose business so perpetually brought him into contact withNature thus naked and untamed. --By now, and over as sinister a sea--sincewestward the dawn would barely yet have broke--the _Forest Queen_ must besteaming along the Andalusian coast, making for Gibraltar and the Straitsupon her homeward voyage. And by some psychic alchemy, an influence morepotent and tangible than that of ordinary thought, her apprehension fledout, annihilating distance, bridging intervening space. For, just ascertainly as Damaris' fair body leaned from the open window, so certainlydid her fair soul or--to try a closer and more scientific definition--herliving consciousness, stand in the captain's cabin of the ocean-boundtramp, making Darcy Faircloth turn smiling in his sleep, he having visionand glad sense of her--which stayed by him, tempering his humour to apeculiar serenity throughout the ensuing day. 

That their correspondence was no fictitious one, a freak of disorderednerves or imagination, but sane and actual, both brother and sister couldconvincingly have affirmed. And this although time--as time is usuallyfigured--had neither lot nor part in it. Such projections of personalityare best comparable, in this respect, to the dreams which seize us in thevery act of waking--vivid, coherent and complete, yet ended by theselfsame sound or touch by which they are evoked. 

In Damaris' case, before the scarlet, dyeing the cloud dapple, warmed torose, or the dense metallic sea caught reflections of the sunrise, broadening incandescence, her errant consciousness was again cognizantof, subjected to, her immediate surroundings. She was aware, moreover, that the morning sharpness began to take a too unwarrantable libertywith her thinly clad person for comfort. She hastily locked the casementstogether; and then waited, somewhat dazed by the breathless pace of herstrange and tender excursion, looking about her in happy amazement. 

And, so doing, her eyes lighted upon a certain oblong parcel lying on herdressing-table. There was the charmingly pleasant something which awaitedher attention! A present, and the most costly, the most enchanting one(save possibly the green jade elephant of her childish adoration) she hadever received!

She picked up, not only the precious parcel, but a hand-mirror lying nearit; and, thus armed, bestowed herself, once more, in her still warm bed. 

The last forty-eight hours had been fertile in experiences and in events, among which the arrival of this gift could by no means be accounted theleast exciting. --Hordle had brought the packet here to her, last night, about an hour after she and her father--standing under the portico--wavedreluctant farewells to Colonel Carteret, as the hotel omnibus bore himand his baggage away to the station to catch the mail train through toParis. This parting, when it actually came about, proved more distressingthan she had by any means prefigured. She had no notion beforehand what areally dreadful business she would find it, after these months of closeassociation, to say good-bye to the man with the blue eyes. 

"We shall miss you at every turn, dear, dear Colonel Sahib, " she almosttearfully assured him. "How we are going ever to live without you Idon't know. "

And impulsively, driven by the excess of her emotion to the point offorgetting accustomed habits and restraints, she put up her lips for akiss. Which, thus invited, kiss Carteret, taking her face in both handsfor the minute, bestowed upon her forehead rather than upon thoseproffered lips. Then his glance met Charles Verity's, held it in silentinterchange of friendship needing no words to declare its quality ordepth; and he turned away abruptly, making for the inside of the waitingomnibus--cavernous in the semi-darkness--distributing largesse to all andsundry as he went. 

Damaris was aware of her father's arm passed through hers, holding heragainst his side with a steadying pressure, as they went together acrossthe hall on their way to the first floor sitting-room. Aware of poor, pretty, coughing little Mrs. Titherage's raised eyebrows and enquiringstare, as they passed her with her coffee, cigarette, and fat, floridstock-broker husband--who, by the way, had the grace to keep his eyesglued to the patience cards, ranged upon the small table before him, until father and daughter were a good half-way up the flight of stairs. Later, when outwardly mistress of herself, the inclination to tearssuccessfully conquered and her normal half-playful gravity regained, shewent to her bedroom, Hordle had brought her this beguiling packet. 

Inside the silver paper wrappings she found a red leather jewel case, anda note in Carteret's singularly definite hand, character rather thanscript, the severe yet decorative quality of Arabic about it. 

"To the dear witch, " it read, "in memory of our incomparable Henrietta'sdance, and of the midnight walk which followed it, and of our hours ofpleasant sightseeing at Marseilles. "

No signature followed, only the date. 

Now, sitting up in bed, while the day came into full and joyous being, Nature's face duly decked and painted by the greatly reconciling sun, Damaris read the exquisitely written note again. The writing in itselfmoved her with a certain home-sickness for the East, which it seemed insome sort to embody and from which to hail. Then meanings she detected, behind the apparently light-hearted words, filled her with gratitude. They reminded her gently of duties accepted, promises made. They gatheredin Faircloth, too, by implication; thus assuring her of sympathy andapproval where she needed them most. 

She opened the case and, taking out the string of pearls it contained, turned them about and about, examining, counting, admiring their lustreand ethereal loveliness. They were graduated from the size of ahemp-seed, so she illustrated it, on either side the diamond clasp, tothat of a marrow-fat pea. Not all of them--and this charmed her fancy asgiving them individuality and separate life--were faultlessly perfect;but had minute irregularities of shape, tiny dimples in which a specialradiance hovered. She clasped the necklace round her throat, and, holdingup the hand-mirror, turned her head from side to side--with pardonablevanity--to judge and enjoy the effect. 

Damaris was unlearned in the commercial value of such treasures; nor didmoney seem exactly a graceful or pretty thing--in some respects ourmaiden was possessed of a very unworldly innocence--to think of inconnection with a present. Still she found it impossible not to regardthese jewels with a certain awe. What the dear Colonel Sahib must havespent on them! A small fortune she feared. In the buying of thisall-too-costly-gift, then, consisted that business transaction he hadmade the excuse for leaving her alone with Faircloth, upon the quayalongside which lay the _Forest Queen_. 

Oh! he surpassed himself! Was too indulgent, too munificent to her!--Ason a former occasion, she totted up the sum of his good deeds. Hadn't hegiven up his winter's sport for her sake? Didn't she--and wouldn't anadmiring English reading public presently--owe to his suggestion herfather's noble book? When she had run wild for a space, and sold herselfto unworthy frivolities, hadn't he led her back into the right road, andthat with the lightest, courtliest, hand imaginable, making allharmonious and sweetly perfect, once more, between her father andherself? Lastly, hadn't he procured her her heart's desire in the meetingwith Darcy Faircloth--and, incidentally, given her the relief of freespeech, now and whenever she might desire to claim it, concerning thestrange and secret relationship which dominated her imagination and soenriched the hidden places of her daily life and thought?

Damaris held up the hand-mirror contemplating his gift, this necklace ofpearls; and, from that, by unconscious transition fell to contemplatingher own face. It interested her. She looked at it critically, as at someface other than her own, some portrait, appraising and studying it. Itwas young and fresh, surely, as the morn--in its softness of contour andfine clear bloom; yet grave to the verge of austerity, owing partly tothe brown hair which, parted in the middle and drawn down in a plainfull sweep over the ears, hung thence in thick loose plait on eitherside to below her waist. She looked long and curiously into her owneyes, "dear wonderful eyes, " as Faircloth, her brother, so deliciouslycalled them. And with that her mouth curved into a smile, sight of whichbrought recognition, new and very moving, of her own by no meansinconsiderable beauty. 

She went red, and then white almost as her white nightdress and the whitepillows behind her. Laid the mirror hastily down, and held her face inboth hands as--as Carteret had held it last night, at the moment ofparting, when he had kissed not her lips but her forehead. Yet verydifferently, since she now held it with strained, clinging fingers, whichhurt, making marks upon the flesh. --For could it be that--the other kindof love, such as men bear the woman of their choice, which dictatedCarteret's unfailing goodness to her--the love that he had bitterly andalmost roughly defended when she praised the love of brother and sisteras dearest, purest, and therefore above all best?

Was it conceivable this hero of a hundred almost fabulous adventures, ofhair-breath escapes, and cunningly defied dangers in Oriental, semi-barbarous, wholly gorgeous, camps, Courts and cities, thisphilosopher of gently humorous equanimity, who appeared to weigh allthings in an equal balance and whom she had regarded as belonging to anage and order superior to her own, had set his affections upon hersingling her out from among all possible others? That he wanted her forhis own, wanted her exclusively and as his inseparable companion, theobject of--

A sentence from the English marriage service flashed across hermind. --"With my body I thee worship, " it ran, "and with all my worldlygoods I thee endow. "

"With my body I thee worship"--He, her father's elect and beloved friend, in whom she had always so beautifully trusted, who had never failed her, the dear man with the blue eyes--and she, Damaris? Her womanhood, revealed to itself, at once shrank back bewildered, panic-stricken, and, passion-stricken, called to her aloud. 

For here Carteret's grace of bearing and of person, his clean health, physical distinction and charm, arose and confronted her. The visible, tangible attributes of the man--as man--presented themselves in finerelief, delighting her, stirring her heretofore dormant senses, begettingin her needs and desires undreamed of until now, and, even now, insubstance incomprehensible. She was enchanted, fevered, triumphant; andthen--also incomprehensibly--ashamed. 

As the minutes passed, though the triumph continued to subsist, the shamesubsisted also, so that the two jostled one another striving for themastery. Damaris took her hands from her face, again clasped them abouther drawn-up knees, and sat, looking straight in front of her withsombre, meditative eyes. To use a phrase of her childhood, she was busywith her "thinkings"; her will consciously hailing emotion to thejudgment-seat of intelligence for examination and for sentence. 

If this was what people commonly understand when they speak of love, ifthis was the love concerning which novelists write and poets sing--thisriot of the blood and heady rapture, this conflict of shame and triumphin which the animal part of one has so loud a word to say--she didn'tlike it. It was upsetting, to the confines of what she supposeddrunkenness must be. It spoilt things heretofore exquisite, by givingthem too high a colour, too violent a flavour. No--she didn't like it. Neither did she like herself in relation to it--like this unknown, storm-swept Damaris. Nor--for he, alas! couldn't escape inclusion--thisnew, unfamiliar presentment of the man with the blue eyes. Yet--and herewas a puzzle difficult of solution--even while this new presentment ofhim, and conception of his sentiment towards her, pulled him down fromhis accustomed pedestal in her regard, it erected for him anotherpedestal, more richly sculptured and of more costly material--since hadnot his manifold achievements, the whole fine legend as well as the wholephysical perfection of him, manifested themselves to, and worked upon heras never before?--Did this thing, love, then, as between man and woman, spring from the power of beauty while soiling and lowering beauty--bestowon it an hour of extravagant effulgence, of royal blossoming, only todegrade it in the end?--The puzzle is old as humanity, old, one may say, as sex. Little wonder if Damaris, sitting up in her maidenly bedchamber, in the unsullied brightness of the early morning hour, failed to find anysatisfactory answer to it. 

Her thoughts ranged out to the other members of her little localcourt--to Peregrine Ditton and Harry Ellice, to Marshall Wace. Had theypersonal experience of this disquieting matter? Was it conceivable theboys' silly rivalries and jealousies concerning her took their rise inthis? Did it inspire the fervour of Marshall Wace's singing, hisflattering dependence on her sympathy?--Suspicion widened. Everywhere sheseemed to find hint and suggestion of this--no, she wouldn't toodistinctly define it. Let it remain nameless. --Everywhere, except inrespect of her father and of her brother. There she could spend her heartin peace. She sighed with a sweetness of relief, unclasping her hands, raising her fixed, bowed head. 

The hotel, meanwhile, was sensibly in act of coming awake. Doors opened, voices called. From the other side of the corridor sounded poor littleMrs. Titherage's hacking cough, increasing to a convulsive strugglebefore, the fit at last passing off, it sunk into temporary quiescence. André, the stout, middle-aged _valet de chambre_, hummed snatches of gaymelody as he rubbed and polished the parquet flooring without. Thesenoises, whether cheerful or the contrary, were at least ordinary enough. By degrees they gained Damaris' ear, drawing her mind from speculationregarding the nature, origin, prevalence and ethics of love. SoonPauline, the chamber-maid, would bring her breakfast-tray, coffee androlls, those pale wafer-like pats of butter which taste so good, and thinsquares of beetroot sugar which are never half as sweet as one wouldlike. Would bring hot water and her bath, too, and pay her some nicelyturned little compliment as to the becoming effect of her night'ssleep. --Everything would pick itself up, in short, and go on, naturallyand comfortably just as before. 

Before what?

Damaris straightened the hem of the sheet over the billowing edge offlowered down quilt; and, while so doing, her hand came in contact bothwith the mirror and the open jewel-case. She looked at this last with anexpression bordering on reproach, unfastened the pearls from her throat, and laid them on the wadded, cream-coloured velvet lining. She delightedto possess them and deplored possessing them in the same breath. Theyspoke to her too freely and conclusively, told her too much. She wouldrather not have acquired this knowledge either of Carteret or ofherself. --If it really were knowledge?--Again she repeated the question, arising from the increasing normality of surrounding things--Before what?

For when all was said and done, the dear man with the blue eyes hadveritably and very really departed. Throughout the night his train hadbeen rushing north-north-westward to Paris, to England, to that Norfolkmanor-house of his, where his sister, his nephews, all his homeinterests and occupations awaited him. What proof had she that moreintimate and romantic affairs did not await him there, or thereabouts, also? Had not she, once and for all, learned the lesson that a man'sways are different and contain many unadvertised occupations andinterests? If he had wished to say something, anything, special to her, before going away, how easily--thus she saw the business--how easily hemight have said it! But he hadn't spoken, rather conspicuously, indeed, had avoided speaking. Perhaps it was all a silly, conceited mistake ofher own--a delusion and one not particularly creditable either to herintelligence or her modesty. 

Damaris shut up the jewel-case. The pearls were entrancing; but somehowshe did not seem to think she cared to look at them any more--just now. 

When her breakfast arrived she ate it in a pensive frame of mind. In alike frame of mind she went through the routine of her toilette. She feltoddly tired; oddly shy, moreover, of her looking-glass. 

Miss Felicia Verity had made a tentative proposal, about a week before, of joining her niece and her brother upon the Riviera. She reported muchdiscomfort from rheumatism during the past winter. Her doctor advised achange of climate. Damaris, while brushing and doing up her hair, discovered in herself a warm desire for Miss Felicia's company. Shecraved for a woman--not to confide in, but to somehow shelter behind. AndAunt Felicia was so perfect in that way. She took what you gave in aspirit of gratitude almost pathetic; and never asked for what you didn'tgive, never seemed even to, for an instant, imagine there was anythingyou withheld from her. It would be a rest--a really tremendous rest, tohave Aunt Felicia. She--Damaris--would propound the plan to her father assoon as she went downstairs. 

After luncheon and a walk with Sir Charles, her courage being higher, sherepented in respect of the pearl necklace. Put it on--and with results. For that afternoon Henrietta Frayling--hungry for activity, hungry forprey, after her prolonged abstention from society--very effectivelyfloated into the forefront of the local scene. 

CHAPTER XII

CONCERNING ITSELF WITH A GATHERING UP OP FRAGMENTS

An unheralded invasion on the part of the physician from Cannes haddelayed, by a day, Henrietta's promised descent upon, or rather ascentto, the Grand Hotel. 

That gentleman, whose avaricious pale grey eye belied the extremesilkiness of his manner--having been called to minister to Lady HermioneTwells in respect of some minor ailment--elected to put in the overtime, between two trains, in a visit to General Frayling. For the date drewnear of his yearly removal from the Riviera to Cotteret-les-Bains, in theArdennes, where, during the summer season, he exploited the physicalinfelicities and mental credulities of his more wealthy fellow-creatures. The _établissement_ at Cotteret was run by a syndicate, in which Dr. Stewart-Walker held--in the name of an obliging friend and solicitor--apreponderating number of shares. At this period of the spring he alwaysbecame anxious to clear up, not to say clear out, his southern clienètlelest any left-over members of it should fall into the clutches of one ofhis numerous local rivals. And, in this connection, it may be noted asremarkable to how many of the said clientèle a "cure" atCotteret-les-Bains offered assurance of permanent restoration to health. 

Among that happy band, as it now appeared, General Frayling mightbe counted. The dry, exciting climate of St. Augustin, and itsnear neighbourhood to the sea, were calculated to aggravate thegastric complications from which that polite little warrior sodistressingly suffered. 

"This, I fear we must recognize, my dear madam, is a critical period withyour husband; and treatment, for the next six months or so, is ofcardinal importance; I consider high inland air, if possible forest air, indispensable. What I should _like_ you to do is to take our patientnorth by slow stages; and I earnestly counsel a course of waters beforethe return to England is attempted. "

Thereupon, agreeable visions of festive toilettes and festive casinosflitting through Henrietta's mind, she named Homburg and other Germanspas of world-wide popularity. But at such ultra-fashionable resorts, asDr. Stewart-Walker, with a suitable air of regret, reminded her, theseason did not open until too late to meet existing requirements. 

"Let me think, let me think, " he repeated, head sagely bent andforefinger on lip. 

He ran through a number of Latin terms, to her in the mainincomprehensible; then looked up, relieved and encouraging. 

"Yes, we might, I believe, safely try it. The medical properties of thesprings--particularly those of La Nonnette--meet our patient's caseexcellently. And I should not lose sight of him--a point, I own, with me, for your husband's condition presents features of peculiar interest. Cotteret-les-Bains, my dear madam--in his case I can confidentlyrecommend it. Lady Hermione talks of taking the cure at Cotteret thisspring. But about that we shall see--we shall see. The question demandsconsideration. As you know, Lady Hermione is charmingly outspoken, emphatic; but I should be false to my professional honour, were I toallow her wishes to colour my judgment. --Meanwhile I have reason to knowthat other agreeable people are going to Cotteret shortly. Not the rankand file. For such the place does not pretend to cater. There thelucrative stock-broker, or lucrative Jew, is still a _rara avis_. Longmay he continue to be so, and Cotteret continue to pride itself on itsexclusiveness!--In that particular it will admirably suit you, Mrs. Frayling. "

To a compliment so nicely turned Henrietta could not remain insensible. Before the destined train bore Dr. Stewart-Walker back to his morelegitimate zone of practise, she saw herself committed to an earlystriking of camp, with this obscure, if select, _ville d'eaux_ as herdestination. 

In some respects the prospect did not smile on her. Yet as, next day, emancipated at length from monotonies of the sick-chamber, she drovebehind the free-moving little chestnut horses through the streets of thetown--sleepy in the hot afternoon quiet--and along the white glaringesplanade, Henrietta admitted the existence of compensations. In thebrilliant setting of some world-famous German spa, though she--as shebelieved--would have been perfectly at her ease, what about hercompanions? For in such scenes of high fashion, her own good clothes arenot sufficient lifebelt to keep a pretty woman quite complacently afloat. Your male associates must render you support, be capable of looking thepart and playing up generally, if your enjoyment is to be complete. Andfor all _that_ Marshall Wace, frankly, couldn't be depended on. Not onlywas he too unmistakably English and of the middle-class; but the clericalprofession, although he had so unfortunately failed it, or it so unkindlyrejected him, still seemed to soak through, somehow, when you saw him inpublic. A whiff of the vestry queerly clung to his coats and histrousers, thus meanly giving away his relinquished ambitions; unless, andthat was worse still, essaying to be extra smart, a taint of thefootlights declared itself in the over florid curl of a hat-brim orsample of "neck-wear. " To head a domestic procession, in eminentlycosmopolitan circles, composed of a small, elderly, very palpable invalidand a probable curate in mufti, demanded an order of courage to whichHenrietta felt herself entirely unequal. Preferable the obscurity ofCotteret-les-Bains--gracious heaven, ten thousand times preferable!

Did not Dr. Stewart-Walker, moreover, hold out hopes that, by followinghis advice, the General's strength might be renewed, if not preciselylike that of the eagle, yet in the more modest likeness of some good, biddable, burden-bearing animal--the patient ass, if one might so put itwithout too obvious irony? As handyman, aide-de-camp, and, on occasion, her groom of the chambers, the General had deserved very well ofHenrietta. He had earned her sincere commendation. To restore him to thatlevel of convenient activity was, naturally, her main object; and if asojourn at some rather dull spot in the Ardennes, promised to secure thisdesired end, let it be accepted without hesitation. For the proverbialcreaking, yet long-hanging, gate--here Henrietta had the delicacy to takerefuge in hyperbole--she had no liking whatever. She could not rememberthe time when Darby and Joan had struck her as an otherwise thanpreposterous couple, offspring of a positively degraded sentimentality. 

But there, since it threatened depressing conclusions, Henrietta agreedwith herself to pursue the line of reflection no further. --"Sufficientunto the day"--to look beyond is, the thirties once passed, to raisesuperfluous spectres. And this day, in itself supplied food forreflections of a quite other character; ones which set both her curiosityand partiality for intrigue quite legitimately afire. 

The morning post had brought her a missive from Colonel Carteretannouncing his "recall" to England, and deploring the imposed haste ofit as preventing him from making his adieux to her in person. Theletter contained a number of flattering tributes to her own charms andto old times in India, the pleasures of which--unforgettable by him--hehad had the happiness of sharing with her. Yet--to her reading ofit--this friendly communication remained enigmatic, its kindlysentences punctuated by more than one interjectional enquiry. Namely, what was the cause of this sudden "recall"? And what was his reason fornot coming to say good-bye to her? Haste, she held an excuse of almostchildish transparency. It went deeper than that. Simply he had wantednot to see her. 

Since the night of the dance no opportunity had occurred for observingCarteret and Damaris when together. --Really, how General Frayling'stiresome illness shipwrecked her private plans!--And, from the beginning, she had entertained an uneasy suspicion regarding Carteret's attitude. Men can be so extraordinarily feeble-minded where young girls areconcerned! Had anything happened during her withdrawal from society? Inthe light, or rather the obscurity, of Carteret's letter, a visit toDamaris became more than ever imperative. 

Her own competence to extract the truth from that guileless maiden, Henrietta in nowise questioned. "The child, " she complacently toldherself, when preparing to set forth on her mission, "is like wax inmy hands. "

The above conviction she repeated now, as the horses swept the victoriaalong the shore road, while from beneath her white umbrella sheabsently watched the alternate lift and plunge of the dazzlingultramarine and Tyrian purple sea upon the polished rocks and pebblesof the shelving beach. 

To Henrietta Nature, save as decoration to the human drama, meantnothing. But the day was hot, for the time of year royally so, and thisrejoiced her. She basked in the sunshine with a cat-like luxury ofcontent. Her hands never grew moist in the heat, nor her hair untidy, herskin unbecomingly red, nor her general appearance in the least degreeblousy. She remained enchantingly intact, unaffected, except for an addedglint, an added refinement. To-day's temperature justified the adoptionof summer attire, of those thin, clear-coloured silk and muslin fabricsso deliciously to her taste. She wore a lavender dress. It was new, everypleat and frill inviolate, at their crispest and most uncrumpled. In thisshe found a fund of permanent satisfaction steeling her to intrepidenterprise. 

Hence she scorned all ceremonies of introduction. She dared to pounce. Having ascertained the number of Sir Charles Verity's sitting-room sherefused obsequious escort, tripped straight upstairs unattended, rappedlightly, opened the door and--with swift reconnoitering of the scenewithin--announced her advent thus:

"Damaris, are you there? Ah! yes. Darling child. At last!"

During that reconnoitering she inventoried impressions of the room andits contents. --Cool, first--blue walls, blue carpet, blue upholstering ofsofa and of chairs. Not worn or shabby, but so graciously faded by sunand air, that this--decoratively speaking--most perilous of coloursbecame innocuous, in a way studious, in keeping with a largewriting-table occupying the centre of the picture, laden with manuscriptsand with books. The wooden outside shutters of two of the three windowswere closed, which enhanced the prevailing coolness and studiousness ofeffect. Red cushions, also agreeably faded, upon the window-seats, aloneechoed, in some degree, the hot radiance obtaining out of doors--these, and a red enamelled vase holding sprays of yellow and orange-copperroses, placed upon a smaller table before which Damaris sat, her backtowards the invader. 

At the sound of the latter's voice, the girl started, raised her headand, in the act of looking round, swept together some scattered sheets ofnote-paper and shut her blotting-book. 

"Henrietta!" she cried, and thereupon sprang up; the lady, meanwhile, advancing towards her with outstretched arms, which enclosed her in afragrant embrace. 

"Yes--nothing less than Henrietta"--imprinting light kisses on eithercheek. "But I see you are busy writing letters, dearest child. I am inthe way--I interrupt you?"

And, as Damaris hastily denied that such was the case:

"Ah! but I do, " she repeated. "I have no right to dart in on you thus _àl'improviste_. It is hardly treating such an impressive youngperson--absolutely I believe you have grown since I saw you last!--yes, you are taller, darling child--handsomer than ever, and a tiny bitalarming too--what have you been doing with, or to, or byyourself?--Treating her--the impressive young person, I mean--with properrespect. But it was such a chance. I learnt that you were alone"--A fib, alas! on Henrietta's part. --"And I couldn't resist coming. I so longed tohave you, like this, all to myself. What an eternity since we met!--Forme a wearing, ageing eternity. The duties of a sick-room are so horriblyanxious, yet so deadening in their repetition of ignoble details. I couldnot go through with them, honestly I could not--though I realize it is adamning admission for a woman to make--if it wasn't that I am ratherabsurdly attached to what good Dr. Stewart-Walker persists in calling'our patient. ' Is not that enough in itself?--To fall from all normaltitles and dignities and become merely a patient? No, joking apart, onlyaffection makes nursing in any degree endurable to me. Without its savinggrace the whole business would be too unpardonably sordid. "

She pursed up her lips, and shivered her graceful shoulders with theneatest exposition of delicate distaste. 

"And too gross. But one must face and accept the pathetic risk of beingeventually converted in _garde malade_ thus, if one chooses to marry aman considerably older than oneself. It is a mistake. I say so though Icommitted it with my eyes open. I was betrayed by my affection. "

As she finished speaking Henrietta stepped across to the sofa and satdown. The airy perfection of her appearance lent point to the plaintivecharacter of this concluding sentence. The hot day, the summercostume--possibly the shaded room also--combined to strip away a good tenyears from her record. Any hardness, any faint sense of annoyance, whichDamaris experienced at the abruptness of her guest's intrusion melted. Henrietta in her existing aspect, her existing mood proved irresistible. Our tender-hearted maiden was charmed by her and coerced. 

"But General Frayling is better, isn't he?" she asked, also taking herplace upon the sofa. "You are not any longer in any serious anxiety abouthim, darling Henrietta? All danger is past?"

"Oh, yes--he is better of course, or how could I be here? But I havereceived a shock that makes me dread the future. "

Which was true, though in a sense other than that in which her hearercomprehended it. For the studious atmosphere of the room reacted uponHenrietta, as did its many silent testimonies to Sir Charles Verity'sconstant habitation. This was his workshop. She felt acutely consciousof him here, nearer to him in idea and in sentiment than for many yearspast. The fact that he did still work, sought new fields to conquer, excited both her admiration and her regrets. He disdained to be laid onthe shelf, got calmly and forcefully down off the shelf and spent hisenergies in fresh undertakings. Once upon a time she posed as hisEgeria, fancying herself vastly in the part. During the Egerian periodshe lived at a higher intellectual and emotional level than ever beforeor since, exerting every particle of brain she possessed to maintainthat level. The petty interests of her present existence, still more, perhaps, the poor odd and end of a yellow little General in hisinfinitely futile sick-bed, shrank to a desolating insufficiency. Surelyshe was worthy--had, anyway, once been worthy--of better things thanthat? The lavender dress, notwithstanding its still radiantly uncrumpledcondition, came near losing its spell. No longer did she trust in it asin shining armour. Her humour soured. She instinctively inclined torevenge herself upon the nearest sentient object available--namely tostick pins into Damaris. 

"Sweetest child, " she said, "you can't imagine how much this room meansto me through its association with your father's wonderful book. --Oh!yes, I know a lot about the book. Colonel Carteret has not failed toadvertise his acquaintance with it. But, what have I said?"

For at mention of that gentleman's name Damaris, so she fancied, changedcolour, the bloom fading upon her cheeks, while her glance becamereserved, at once proud and slightly anxious. 

"Is it forbidden to mention the wonderful book at this stage of itsdevelopment? Though even if it were, " she added, with a rather impishlaugh, looking down at and fingering the little bunch of trinkets, attached to a long gold chain, which rested in her lap--"Carteret wouldhardly succeed in holding his peace. Speak of everything, sooner orlater, he must. "

She felt rather than saw Damaris' figure grow rigid. 

"Have you ever detected that small weakness in him? But probably not. Hekeeps overflowings for the elder members of his acquaintance, and in thecase of the younger ones does exercise some caution. Ah! yes, I've nodoubt he seems to you a model of discretion. Yet, in point of fact, whenyou've known him as long as I, you will have discovered he is a more thansufficiently extensive sieve. "

Then, fearing she had gone rather far, since Damaris remained rigidand silent:

"Not a malicious sieve, " the lady hastened to add, raising her eyes. "Idon't imply that for a single instant. On the contrary I incline tobelieve that his attitude of universal benevolence is to blame for thisinclination to gossip. It is so great, so all-enclosing, that I can'thelp feeling it blunts his sense of right and wrong to some extent. He isthe least censorious of men and therefore--though it may sound cynical tosay so--I don't entirely trust his judgment. He is too ready to makeexcuses for everyone. --But, my precious child, what's the matter? Whatmakes you look so terrifically solemn and severe?"

And playfully she put her hand under the girl's chin, drawing the graveface towards her, smilingly studying, then lightly and daintily kissingit. In the course of this affectionate interlude, the string of pearlsround Damaris' throat, until now hidden by the V-shaped collar of hersoft lawn shirt, caught Henrietta's eye. Their size, lustre and worthcame near extracting a veritable shriek of enquiry and jealous admirationfrom her. But with praiseworthy promptitude she stifled her astonishmentand now really rampant curiosity. Damaris but half yielded to herblandishments. She must cajole more successfully before venturing torequest explanation. Therefore she cried, soothingly, coaxfully:

"There--there--descend from those imposing heights of solemnity, or uponmy word you will make me think my poor little visit displeases and boresyou. That would be peculiarly grievous to me, since it is, in allprobability, my last. "

"Your last?" Damaris exclaimed. 

"Yes, darling child, the fiat, alas! has gone forth. We are ordered awayand start for Cotteret-les-Bains in a day or two. Dr. Stewart-Walkerconsiders the move imperative on account of General Frayling's health. This was only settled yesterday. Marshall would have rushed here to tellyou; but I forbade him. I felt I must tell you myself. I confess it is ablow to me. Our tenancy of the Pavilion expires at the end of the month;but I proposed asking for an extension, and, if that failed, taking upour abode at the hotel for a while. To me Dr. Stewart-Walker's orderscome as a bitter disappointment, for I counted on remaining untilEaster--remaining just as long as you and Sir Charles and Carteretremained, in fact. "

Here the bloom, far from further extinction, warmed to a lovely blush. Henrietta's curiosity craned its naughty neck standing on tiptoe. But, the blush notwithstanding, Damaris looked at her with such sincerity ofquickening affection and of sympathy that she again postponedcross-examination. 

For over this piece of news our maiden could--in its superficial aspectsat all events--lament in perfect good faith. She proceeded to do so, eagerly embracing the opportunity to offer thanks and praise. AllHenrietta's merits sprang into convincing evidence. Had not herhospitality been unstinted--the whole English colony had cause to mourn. 

"But for you they'd still be staring at one another, bristling like somany strange dogs, " Damaris said. "And you smoothed them all down sodivertingly. Oh! you were beautifully clever in that. It was a lesson inthe art of the complete hostess. While, as for me, Henrietta, you'vesimply spoiled me. I can never thank you enough. Think of the amusementspast counting you planned for me, the excursions you've let me share withyou--our delicious drives, and above all my coming-out dance. "

Whereat Mrs. Frayling disclaimingly shook her very pretty head. 

"In pleasing you I have merely pleased myself, dearest, so in thatthere's no merit. --Though I do plead guilty to but languid enthusiasmfor girls of your age as a rule. Their conversation and opinions areliable to set my teeth a good deal on edge. I have small patience, I'mafraid, at the disposal of feminine beings at once so omniscient and soalarmingly unripe. --But you see, a certain downy owl, with saucer eyesand fierce little beak, won my heart by its beguiling ways a dozenyears ago. "

"Darling Henrietta!" Damaris softly murmured; and, transported bysentiment to that earlier date when the said darling Henriettacommanded her unqualified adoration, began playing with thewell-remembered bunch of trinkets depending from the long gold chainthe lady wore about her neck. 

Watching her, Mrs. Frayling sighed. 

"Ah, my child, the thought of you is inextricably joined to otherthoughts upon which I should be far wiser not to dwell--far wiser to putfrom me and forget--only they are stronger than I am--and I can't. "

There was a ring of honest human feeling in Henrietta Frayling'svoice for once. 

"No, no--I am more justly an object of commiseration than anyone I leavebehind me at St. Augustin. "

And again she laughed, not impishly, but with a hardness altogetherastonishing to her auditor. 

"Think, " she cried, "of my sorry fate!--Not only a wretchedly ailinghusband on my hands, needing attention day and night, but a wretchedlydisconsolate young lover as well. For poor Marshall will beinconsolable--only too clearly do I foresee that. --Picture what a pairfor one's portion week in and week out!--Whereas you, enviable being, aresure of the most inspiring society. Everything in this quiet room"--

She indicated the laden writing-table with a quick, flitting gesture. 

"So refreshingly removed from the ordinary banal hotel _salon_--iseloquent of the absorbing, far-reaching pursuits and interests amongstwhich you live. Who could ask a higher privilege than to share yourfather's work, to be his companion and amanuensis?"--She paused, asemphasising the point, and then mockingly threw off--"Plus the smart_beau sabreur_ Carteret, as devoted bodyguard and escort, whenever youare not on duty. To few women of your age, or indeed of any age, isFortune so indulgent a fairy godmother as that!"

Astonished and slightly resentful at the sharpness of her guest'sunprovoked onslaught, Damaris had dropped the little bunch of trinketsand backed into her corner of the sofa. 

"Colonel Carteret has gone, " she said coldly, rather irrelevantly, thestatement drawn from her by a vague instinct of self-defence. 

"Gone!" Henrietta echoed, with equal irrelevance. For she was singularlydiscomposed. 

"Yes, he started for England last night. But you must know that already, Henrietta. He wrote to you--he told me so himself. "

But having once committed herself by use of a word implying ignorance, Mrs. Frayling could hardly do otherwise than continue the deception. Explanation would be too awkward a business. The chances of detection, moreover, were infinitesimal. There were things she meant to say whichwould sound far more unstudied and obvious could she keep up the fictionof ignorance. This, quickly realizing, she again and more flagrantlyfibbed. The voluntary lie acts as a tonic giving you--for the moment atleast--most comforting conceit of your own courage and perspicacity. AndHenrietta just now stood in need of a tonic. She had been strangelyovercome by the force of her own emotion--an accident which rarelyhappened to her and which she very cordially detested when it did. 

"Someone must have omitted to post the letter, then, " she said, with asuitable air of annoyance. "How exceedingly careless--unless it has notbeen sent over from the hotel to the Pavilion. I have been obliged, morethan once, to complain of the hall porter's very casual delivery of myletters. I will make enquiries directly, if I don't find it on my return. But this is all by the way. Tell me, dearest child, what is the reason ofColonel Carteret's leaving so suddenly? Is it not surprisinglyunexpected?"

"He was wanted at home on business of some sort, " Damaris replied, as shefelt a little lamely. She was displeased, worried by Henrietta. It wasdifficult to choose her words. "He has been away for a long time, yousee. I think he has been beautifully unselfish in giving up so much ofhis time to us. "

"Do you?" Henrietta enquired with meaning. "If I remember right wediscussed that point once before. I can repeat now what I then told you, with even firmer assurance, namely, that he struck me as remarkably wellpleased with himself and his surroundings and generally content. "

"Of course he loves being with my father, " Damaris hastened to put in, having no wish to enlarge on the topic suggested by the above speech. 

"Of course. Who doesn't, or rather who wouldn't were they sufficientlyfortunate to have the chance. But come--to be honest--_je me demande_, isit exclusively Sir Charles whom Carteret loves to be with?"

And as she spoke, Henrietta bent forward from the waist, her daintylavender skirts spread out on the faded blue of the sofa mattress, thecontours of her dainty lavender bodice in fine relief against the fadedblue cushions, her whole person, in the subdued light, bright andapparently fragile as some delicate toy of spun glass. She put out herhand, and lightly, mischievously, touched the string of pearls encirclingthe girl's throat. 

"And what is the meaning of these, then, " she asked, "you sweetlydeceiving little puss!"

It was cleverly done, she flattered herself. She asserted nothing, implied much, putting the onus of admission or denial upon Damaris. Theanswer came with grave and unhesitating directness. 

"Colonel Carteret gave them to me. "

"So I imagined. They are the exquisite fruit, aren't they, of the littleexpedition by train of two days ago?"

Damaris' temper rose, but so did her protective instinct. For thatjourney to Marseilles, connected as it was with the dear secret of DarcyFaircloth, did not admit of investigation by Henrietta. 

"About where and when Colonel Carteret may have got them for me, I knownothing, " she returned. "He left them to be given to me last nightafter he went. "

She unclasped the necklace. 

"They are very lovely pearls, aren't they? Pray look at them if you careto, Henrietta, " she said. 

Thus at once invited and repulsed--for that it amounted to a repulse shecould not but acknowledge--Mrs. Frayling advised herself a temporaryretreat might be advisable. She therefore discoursed brightly concerningpearls and suchlike costly frivolities. Inwardly covetousness consumedher, since she possessed no personal ornament of even approximate value. 

The conversation drifted. She learned the fact of Miss Felicia'sprojected arrival, and deplored her own approaching exile the less. Onlyonce, long ago, had she encountered Miss Verity. The memory afforded herno satisfaction, for that lady's peculiar brand of good breeding and--asshe qualified it--imbecility, did not appeal to her in the least. Therewas matter of thankfulness, therefore, she had not elected to join SirCharles and Damaris sooner. She would undoubtedly have proved a mosttiresome and impeding element. Unless--here Henrietta's minddarted--unless she happened to take a fancy to Marshall. Blamelessspinsters, of her uncertain age and of many enthusiasms, did notinfrequently very warmly take to him--in plain English, fell over headand ears in love with him, poor things, though without knowing it, theircritical faculty being conspicuous by its absence where their own heartswere concerned. --By the way that was an idea!--Swiftly Henrietta reviewedthe possibilities it suggested. --As an ally, an auxiliary, Miss Feliciamight be well worth cultivation. Would it not be diplomatic to letMarshall stay on at the Hôtel de la Plage by himself for a week or so?The conquest of Miss Felicia might facilitate another conquest on whichher--Henrietta's--mind was set. For such mature enamoured virgins, as she reflected, are almost ludicrously selfless. To ensure thehappiness of the beloved object they will even donate to him theirrival. --Yes--distinctly an idea! But before attempting to reduce it topractice, she must make more sure of her ground in another direction. 

During the above meditation, Henrietta continued to talk off thesurface, her mind working on two distinct planes. Damaris, off thesurface, continued to answer her. 

Our maiden felt tired both in body and in spirit. She felt all "rubbedup the wrong way"--disturbed, confused. The many moral turns and twistsof Henrietta's conversation had been difficult to follow. But fromamid the curious maze of them, one thing stood out, arrestinglyconspicuous--Henrietta believed it then also. Believed Carteret cared forher "in _that_ way"--thus, with a turning aside of the eyes andshrinking, she phrased it. It wasn't any mistaken, conceited imaginationof her own since Henrietta so evidently shared it. And Henrietta must bereckoned an expert in that line, having a triad of husbands to hercredit--a liberality of allowance in matrimony which had always appearedto Damaris as slightly excessive. She had avoided dwelling upon this sooutstanding feature of her friend's career; but that it gave assurance ofthe latter's ability to pronounce upon "caring in _that_ way" was she nowadmitted incontestable. 

Whether she really felt glad or sorry Henrietta's expert opinionconfirmed her own suspicions, Damaris could not tell. It certainly tendedto complicate the future; and for that she was sorry. She would haveliked to see the road clear before her--anyhow for a time--complicationshaving been over numerous lately. They were worrying. They made her feelunsettled, unnatural. In any case she trusted she shouldn't suffer againfrom those odious yet alluring feelings which put her to such shame thismorning. --But--unpleasant thought--weren't they, perhaps, an integralpart of the whole agitating business of "caring in _that_ way?"

Her eyes rested in wide meditative enquiry upon Henrietta, Henriettasitting up in all her finished elegance upon the faded blue sofa and sodiligently making company conversation. Somehow, thus viewing her, itwas extremely difficult to suppose Henrietta had ever experiencedexcited feelings. Yet--the wonder of it!--she'd actually been marriedthree times. 

Then, wearily, Damaris made a return upon herself. Yes--she was glad, although it might seem ungrateful, disloyal, the man with the blue eyeshad gone away. For his going put off the necessity of knowing her ownmind, excused her from making out exactly how she regarded him, thusrelegating the day of fateful decision to a dim distance. Henriettaaccused him of being a sieve. --Damaris grew heated in strenuous denial. That was a calumny which she didn't and wouldn't credit. Still you couldnever be quite sure about men--so she went back on the old, sad, disquieting lesson. Their way of looking at things, their angle ofadmitted obligation is so bewilderingly different!--Oh! how thankful shewas Aunt Felicia would soon be here. Everything would grow simpler, easier to understand and to manage, more as it used to be, with dear AuntFelicia here on the spot. 

At this point she realized that Mrs. Frayling was finishing a sentence tothe beginning of which she had not paid the smallest attention. That wasdisgracefully rude. 

"So I am to go home then, dearest child, and break it to Marshall that hestands no chance--my poor Marshall, who has no delightful presents withwhich to plead his cause!"

"Mr. Wace?--Plead his cause? What cause? I am so sorry, Henrietta--forgive me. It's too dreadful, but I am afraid I wasn't quitelistening"--this with most engaging confusion. 

"Yes--his cause. I should have supposed his state of mind had beentransparently evident for many a long day. "

"But indeed--Henrietta, you must be mistaken. I don't know what youmean"--the other interposed smitten by the liveliest distress and alarm. 

The elder lady waved aside her outcry with admirable playfulness anddetermination. 

"Oh! I quite realize how crazy it must appear on his part, poor dearfellow, seeing he has so little to offer from the worldly and commercialstandpoint. As he himself says--'the desire of the moth for the star, ofthe night for the morrow. ' Still money and position are not everythingin life, are they? Talent is an asset and so, I humbly believe, is thepure devotion of a good man's heart. These count for something, or usedto do so when I was your age. But then the women of my generation wereeducated in a less sophisticated school. You modern young persons arewiser than we were no doubt, in that you are less romantic, less easilytouched. --I have not ventured to give Marshall much encouragement. Itwould have been on my conscience to foster hopes which might be dashed. And yet I own, darling child, your manner not once nor twice, during ourhappy meetings at the Pavilion, when he read aloud to us or sang, gave methe impression you were not entirely indifferent. He, I know, has thoughtso too--for I have not been able to resist letting him pour out his hopesand fears to me now and then. I could not refuse either him or myselfthat indulgence, because"--

Mrs. Frayling rose, and, bending over our much tried and now positivelyflabbergasted damsel, brushed her hair with a butterfly kiss. 

"Because my own hopes were also not a little engaged, " she said. "Yourmanner to my poor Marshall, your willingness to let him so often be withyou made me--perhaps foolishly--believe not only that his sad life mightbe crowned by a signal blessing, but you might be given to me some day asa daughter of whom I could be intensely proud. I have grown to look uponMarshall in the light of a son, and his wife would"--

Damaris had risen also. She stood at bay, white, strained, her lipsquivering. 

"Do--do you mean that I have behaved badly to Mr. Wace, Henrietta? That Ihave flirted with him?"

Mrs. Frayling drew her mouth into a naughty little knot. There wereawkward corners to be negotiated in these questions. She avoided them byboldly striking for the open. 

"Oh! it is natural, perfectly natural at your rather thoughtless time oflife. Only Marshall's admiration for you is very deep. He has the poetictemperament which makes for suffering, for despair as well as forrapture. And his disillusionments, poor boy, have been so grievouslymany. --But Colonel Carteret--yes--dearest child, I do quite follow. --It'san old story. He has always had _des bonnes fortunes_. "

Since her return to Europe, Mrs. Frayling had become much addicted toembellishing her conversation with such foreign tags, not invariably, itmay be added, quite correctly applied or quoted. 

"Women could never resist him in former days in India. They went downbefore his charms like a row of ninepins before a ball. I don't deny apassing _tendresse_ for him myself, though I was married and very happilymarried. So I can well comprehend how he may take a girl's fancy bystorm. _Sans peur et sans reproche_, he must seem to her. --And so in themain, I dare say, he is. At worst a little easy-going, owing to hiscultivation of the universally benevolent attitude. Charity has a habitof beginning at home, you know; and a man usually views his owndelinquencies at least as leniently as he views those of others. But thatleniency is part of his charm--which I admit is great. --Heaven forbid, Ishould undermine your faith in it, if there is anything settled betweenyou and him. "

"But there isn't, there isn't, " Damaris broke in, distressed beyond allcalmness of demeanour. "You go too fast, Henrietta. You assume toomuch. Nothing is settled of--of that sort. Nothing of that sort hasever been said. "

Mrs. Frayling raised her eyebrows, cast down her eyes, and fingered thebunch of trinkets hanging from her gold chain in silence for a fewseconds. The ring of sincerity was unquestionable--only where did thatland her? Had not she, in point of fact, very really gone too fast? Indefeat Henrietta became unscrupulous. 

"Merely another flirtation, Damaris?" she said. "Darling child, I am justa wee bit disappointed in you. "

Which, among her many fibs, may rank amongst her most impudent andfull-fed, though by no means her last. 

Here, the door opened behind her. Henrietta turned alertly, hailing anyinterruption which--her bolt being shot--might facilitate her retreatfrom a now most embarrassing situation. After all she had planted morethan one seed, which might fruitfully grow, so at that she could leavematters. --The interruption, however, took a form for which she wasunprepared. To her intense disgust her nerves played her false. She gavethe oddest little stifled squeak as she met Charles Verity's glance, fixed upon her in cool, slightly ironic scrutiny. 

Some persons very sensibly bring their mental atmosphere along with them. You are compelled to breathe it whether you like or not. The atmosphereCharles Verity brought with him, at this juncture, was too masculine, intellectually too abstract yet too keenly critical, for comfortableabsorption by Henrietta's lungs. Her self-complacency shrivelled in it. She felt but a mean and pitiful creature, especially in her recenttreatment of Damaris. It was a nasty moment, the more difficult tosurmount because of that wretchedly betraying squeak. Fury againstherself gingered her up to action. She must be the first to speak. 

"Ah! how delightful to see you, " she said, a little over-playing thepart--"though only for an instant. I was in the act of bidding Damarisfarewell. As it is I have scandalously outstayed my leave; but we had athousand and one things, hadn't we, to say to one another. "

She smiled upon both father and daughter with graceful deprecation. 

"_Au, revoir_, darling child--we must manage to meet somehow, just oncemore before I take my family north"--

And still talking, new lavender dress, trinkets, faint fragrance and all, she passed out on to the corridor accompanied by Sir Charles Verity. 

CHAPTER XIII

WHICH RECOUNTS A TAKING OF SANCTUARY

Left alone Damaris sat down on the window-seat, within the shelter of thewooden shutters which interposed a green barred coolness between her andthe brilliant world without. That those two, her father and HenriettaFrayling, should thus step off together, the small, softly crisp, feminine figure beside the tall, fine-drawn and--in a way--magnificentmasculine one, troubled her. Yet she made no attempt to accompany or tofollow them. Her head ached. Her mind and soul ached too. She felt spentand giddy, as from chasing round and round in an ever-shifting circlesome tormenting, cleverly lovely thing which perpetually eluded her. Which thing, finally, floated out of the door there, drawing apersonage unmeasurably its superior, away with it, and leavingher--Damaris--deserted. 

Leaving, moreover, every subject on which its nimble tongue had lighted, damaged by that contact--at loose ends, frayed and ravelled, its inwovepattern just slightly discoloured and defaced. The patterned fabric ofDamaris' thought and inner life had not been spared, but suffereddisfigurement along with the rest. She felt humiliated, felt unworthy. The ingenious torments of a false conscience gnawed her. Her betterjudgment pronounced that conscience veritably false; or would, as shebelieved, so pronounce later when she had time to get a true perspective. But, just now, she could only lamentably, childishly, cry out againstinjustice. For wasn't Henrietta mainly responsible for the character ofher intercourse with Marshall Wace? Hadn't Henrietta repeatedly entreatedher to see much of him, be kind to him?--Wishing, even in her presentrebellion to be quite fair, she acknowledged that she had enjoyed hissinging and reading; that she had felt pleased at his eagerness toconfide his troubles to her and talk confidentially about himself. Shenot unwillingly accepted a mission towards him, stimulated thereto byHenrietta's plaudits and thanks. 

And--and Colonel Carteret? For now somehow she no longer, even inthought, could call him by her old name for him, "the dear man with theblue eyes. "--Could it be true, as Henrietta intimated, that he wentthrough life throwing the handkerchief first to one woman and then toanother? That there was no real constancy or security in his affections, but all was lightly come and lightly go with him?

How her poor head ached! She held it in both hands and closed hereyes. --She would not think any more about Colonel Carteret. To do so madeher temples throb and raised the lump, which is a precursor of tears, inher throat. 

No--she couldn't follow Henrietta's statements and arguments either way. They were self-contradictory. Still, whose ever the fault, that the youngman Wace should be unhappy on her account, should think she--Damaris--hadbehaved heartlessly to him, was quite dreadful. Humiliating too--falseconscience again gnawing. Had she really contracted a debt towards him, which she--in his opinion and Henrietta's--tried to repudiate? She seemedto hear it, the rich impassioned voice, and hear it with a newcomprehension. Was "caring in _that_ way" what it had striven to tellher; and had she, incomparably dense in missing its meaning, appeared tosanction the message and to draw him on? Other people understood--so atleast Henrietta implied; while she, remaining deaf, had rather cruellymisled him. Ought she not to do something to make up? Yet what could shedo?--It had never occurred to her that--that--

She held her head tight. Held it on, as with piteous humour she toldherself, since she seemed in high danger of altogether losing it. --Mustshe believe herself inordinately stupid, or was she made differently toeverybody else? For, as she now suspected, most people are constantlyoccupied, are quite immensely busy about "caring in _that_ way. " And sheshrank from it; actively and angrily disliked it. She felt smirched, feltall dealings as between men and women made suspect, rendered ugly, almostdegraded by the fact--if fact it was--of that kind of caring and excitedfeelings it induces, lurking just below the surface, ready to dartout. --And this not quite honestly either. The whole matter savoured ofhypocrisy, since the feelings disguised themselves in beautiful sounds, beautiful words, clothing their unseemliness with the noble panoply ofpoetry and art, masquerading in wholesome garments of innocentgood-comradeship. 

--A grind of wheels on the gravel below. Henrietta's neat limpid accentsand Charles Verity's grave ones. The flourish and crack of a whip andscrambling start of the little chestnut horses. The rhythmical beat oftheir quick even trot and thin tinkle of their collar bells receding intothe distance. 

These sounds to our sorrowfully perplexed maiden opened fresh fields ofuneasy speculation. For those diverse accents--the speakers beingunseen--heard thus in conjunction, seized on and laboured herimagination. Throughout the past months of frequent meeting, Damaris hadnever quite understood her father's attitude towards Henrietta Frayling. It was marked by reserve; yet a reserve based, as she somehow divined, upon an uncommon degree of former intimacy. Judging from remarks let dropnow and again by Henrietta, they knew, or rather had known, one anothervery well indeed. This bore out Damaris' own childhood's recollections;though in these last she was aware of lacunae, of gaps, of spacesunbridged by any coherent sequence of remembered events. A dazzling anddelicious image, the idol of her baby adoration--thus did memory paintthat earlier Henrietta. Surrounding circumstances remained shadowy. Shecould not recall them even in respect of herself, still less in respectof her father. So that question, as to the past, ruled the present. Whathad parted them, and how did they to-day envisage one another? She couldnot make out. Had never, indeed, attempted seriously to make out, shyingfrom such investigation as disloyal and, in a way, irreverent. Nowinvestigation was forced on her. Her mind worked independent of her will, so that she could neither prevent or arrest it. Sir Charles showedhimself scrupulously attentive and courteous to General Frayling. Heoffered no spoken objection to her association with Henrietta. Yet anunexplained element did remain. Subtlely, but perceptibly, it permeatedboth her father's and Henrietta's speech and bearing. She, Damaris, wasalways conscious of a certain constraint beneath their calm andapparently easy talk. Was their relation one of friendship or of covertenmity?--Or did these, just perceptible, peculiarities of it betokensomething deeper and closer still?

Suspicion once kindled spreads like a conflagration. --Damaris' handsdropped, a dead weight, into her lap. She sat, strained yet inert, asthough listening to catch the inner significance of her own unformulatedquestion, her eyes wide and troubled, her lips apart. For might it not bethat they had once--long ago--in the princely, Eastern pleasure palace ofher childhood--cared in _that_ way?

Then the tears which, what with tiredness and the labour pains of hermany conflicting emotions, had threatened more than once to-day, cameinto their own. She wept quietly, noiselessly, the tears running down hercheeks unchecked and unheeded. For there was no escape. Turn where shewould, join hands with whom she would in all good faith and innocence, this thing reared its head and, evilly alluring looked at her. Now it setits claim upon her well-beloved Sultan-i-bagh--and what scene could intruth be more sympathetic to its display? She felt the breath of highromance. Imagination played strange tricks with her. She could feel, shecould picture, a drama of rare quality with those two figures asprotagonists. It dazzled while wounding her. She remembered Faircloth'swords, spoken on that evening of fateful disclosure when knowledge ofthings as they are first raped her happy ignorance, while the boatdrifted through the shrouding darkness of rain upon the inky waters ofthe tide-river. --"They were young, " he had said, "and mayn't we allowthey were beautiful? They met and, God help them, they loved. "

The statement covered this case, also, to a nicety. It explainedeverything. But what an explanation, leaving her, Damaris, doublyorphaned and desolate! For the first case, that of which Fairclothactually had spoken, brought her royal, if secret compensation in thebrotherhood and sisterhood it made known. But this second case broughtnothing, save a sense of being tricked and defrauded, the victim of aconspiracy of silence. For nothing, as it now appeared, was really herown, nor had really belonged to her. "Some one, " so she phrased it in theincoherence of her pain, "had always been there before her. " What shesupposed her exclusive property was only second-hand, had been alreadyowned by others. They let her play at being first in the field, originaland sole proprietress, because it saved them trouble by keeping her quietand amused. But all the while they knew better and must have smiled ather possessive antics once her silly back was turned. And here Damarislost sight of reasonable proportion and measure, exaggerating wildly, herpride and self-respect cut to the quick. 

It was thus, in the full flood of mystification and resentment, CharlesVerity found her when presently he returned. Sensible of something verymuch amiss, since she stayed within the shadow of the closed shutters, silent and motionless, he crossed the room and stood before her lookingdown searchingly into her upturned face. Stubborn in her misery, she methis glance with mutinous, and hard, if misty, eyes. 

"Weeping, my dear? Is the occasion worth it? Has Mrs. Frayling thentaken so profound a hold?" he asked, his tone mocking, chiding her yetvery gently. 

Damaris hedged. To expose the root of her trouble became impossible underthe coercion of that gently bantering tone. 

"It's not Henrietta's going; but that I no longer mind her going. "

"A lost illusion--yes?" he said. 

"I can't trust her. She--she isn't kind. "

"Eh?" he said. "So you too have made that illuminating little discovery. I supposed it would be only a matter of time. But you read character, mydear, more quickly than I do. What it has taken you months to discover, took me years. "

His frankness, the unqualified directness of his response, thoughstartling, stimulated her daring. 

"Then--then you don't really like Henrietta?" she found audacityenough to say. 

"Ah! there you rush too headlong to conclusions, " he reasoned, still withthat same frankness of tone. "She is an ingenious, unique creature, towards whom one's sentiments are ingenious and unique in their turn. Iadmire her, although--for you are right there--she is neither invariablytrustworthy nor invariably kind. Admire her ungrudgingly, now I no longerask of her what she hasn't it in her to give. Limit your demand and youlimit the risks of disappointment--a piece of wisdom easier to enunciatethan to apply. "

Lean, graceful, commanding under the cloak of his present gentle humour, Charles Verity sat down on the faded red cushion beside Damaris, and laidone arm along the window-ledge behind her. He did not touch her; beingcareful in the matter of caresses, reverent of her person, chary ofclaiming parental privileges unasked. 

"In the making of Henrietta Frayling, " he went on, "by some accident soulwas left out. She hasn't any. She does not know it. Let us hope she neverwill know it, for it is too late now for the omission to be rectified. "

"Are you laughing at me?" Damaris asked, still stubborn, though hispresence enclosed her with an at once assuaging and authoritative charm. 

"Not in the least. I speak that which I soberly believe. Just as someill-starred human creatures are born physically or mentallydefective--deformed or idiots--so may they be born spirituallydefective. Why not? My reason offers no scientific or moral objection tosuch a belief. In other respects she is conspicuously perfect. But, verily, she has no soul; and the qualities which--for happiness ormisery--draw their life from the soul, she does not possess. Thereforeshe sparkles, lovely and chill as frost. Is as astute as she is cold atheart; and can, when it suits her purpose, be both false and cruelwithout any subsequent prickings of remorse. But this very coldness andastuteness save her from misdeeds of the coarser kind. Treacherous shehas been, and, for aught I know, may on occasions still be. But, thoughtemptation has pretty freely crossed her path, she has never been otherthan virtuous. She is a good woman--in the accepted, the popular sense ofthe word. "

Silence stole down upon the room. Damaris remained motionless, leaningforward gathered close into herself, her hands still heavy in her lap. Could she accept this statement as comfort, or must she bow under itas rebuke?

"Why, " she asked at last huskily--the tears were no longer upon hercheeks but queerly in her throat, impeding utterance, "do you tell methese things?"

"To prevent you beholding lying visions, my dear, or dreaming lyingdreams of what might very well have been but--God be thanked--never hasbeen--never was. --Think a minute--remember--look. "

And once more Damaris felt the breath of high romance and touched dramaof rare quality, with those same two figures as protagonists, and thatsame Indian pleasure palace as their stage; but this time with a notabledifference of sentiment and of result. 

For she visualized another going of Henrietta, a flight before the dawn. Saw, through a thick scent-drenched atmosphere, between the expiringlamp-light and broadening day, a deserted child beating its little hands, in the extremity of its impotent anguish, upon the pillows of adisordered unmade bed. Saw a man, too, worn and travel-stained from longriding throughout the night, lost to all decent dignities ofself-control, savage with the animalism of frustrated passion, rage toand fro amidst the litter of a smart woman's hurried packing, a trail ofpale blue ribbon plucking at and tripping him entangled in the rowels ofhis spurs. 

All this she saw; and knew that her father--sitting on the cushionedwindow-seat beside her, his legs crossed, his chin sunk on hisbreast--saw it also. That he, indeed, voluntarily and of set purpose madeher see, transferring the living picture from his consciousness to herown. And, as she watched, each detail growing in poignancy andsignificance she--not all at once, but gropingly, rebelliously and onlyby degrees--comprehended that purpose, and the abounding love, both ofherself and of justice, which dictated it. Divining the root of hertrouble and the nature of her suspicion he took this strange means todissipate them. Setting aside his natural pride, he caused her to lookupon his hour of defeat and debasement, careless of himself if thereby hemight mend her hurt and win her peace of mind. 

Damaris was conquered. Her stubbornness went down before his sacrifice. All the generosity in her leapt forth to meet and to acclaim the signalgenerosity in him--a generosity extended not only towards herself but toHenrietta Frayling as well. This last Damaris recognized as superb. --Hebade her remember. And, seeing in part through her own eyes, in partthrough his, she penetrated more deeply into his mind, into the richdiversity and, now mastered, violence of his character, than couldotherwise have been possible. She learnt him from within as well as fromwithout. He had been terrible--so she remembered--yet beautiful in hisfallen god-head. She had greatly feared him under that aspect. Later, shemore than ever loved him; and that with a provenant, protective and, babythough she was, a mothering love. He was beautiful now; but no longerterrible, no longer fallen--if not the god-head, yet the fine flower ofhis manhood royally and very sweetly disclosed. Her whole being yearnedtowards him; but humbly, a note of lowliness in her appreciation, astowards something exalted, far above her in experience, inself-knowledge and self-discipline. 

She was, indeed, somewhat overwhelmed, both by realization of hisdistinction and of her own presumption in judging him, to the point ofbeing unable as yet to look him in the face. So she silently laid hold ofhis hand, drew it down from the window-ledge and round her waist. Slipping along the cushioned seat until she rested against him, she laidher head back upon his shoulder. Testimony in words seemed superfluousafter that shared consciousness, seemed impertinent even, an anti-climaxfrom which both taste and insight recoiled. 

For a while Charles Verity let the silent communion continue. Then, lestit should grow enervating, to either or to both, he spoke of ordinarysubjects--of poor little General Frayling's illness, of Miss Felicia'splans, of his own book. It was wiser for her, better also for himself, tostep back into the normal thus quietly closing the door upon their dualact of retrospective clairvoyance. 

Damaris, catching his intention, responded; and if rather languidly yetloyally played up. But, before the spell was wholly broken and franknessgave place to their habitual reserve, there was one further question shemust ask if the gnawings of that false conscience, begotten in her byHenrietta's strictures, were wholly to cease. 

"Do you mind if we go back just a little minute, " she said. 

"Still unsatisfied, my dear?"

"Not unsatisfied--never again that as between us two, Commissioner Sahib. You have made everything beautifully, everlastingly smooth and clear. "

"Then why tempt Providence, or rather human incertitude, by going back?"

"Because--can I say it quite plainly?"

"As plainly as you will. "

"Because Henrietta tells me I have--have flirted--have played fast andloose with--with more than one person. "

A pause, and the question came from above her--her head still lyingagainst his breast--with a trace of severity, or was it anxiety?

"And have you?"

"Not intentionally--not knowingly, " Damaris said. 

"If that is so, is it not sufficient?"

"No--because she implies that I have raised false hopes, and so entangledmyself--and that I ought to go further, that, as I understand her, Iought to be ready to marry--that it is not quite honourable to withdraw. "

Charles Verity moved slightly, yet held her close. She felt the rise andfall of his ribs as he breathed slow and deep. 

"Do you want to marry?" he at last asked her. 

"No, " she said, simply. "I'd much rather not, if I can keep out of itwithout acting unfairly by anyone--if you don't agree with Henrietta, anddon't think I need. You don't want me to marry do you?"

"God in heaven, no, " Charles Verity answered. He put her from him, roseand moved about the room. 

"To me, the thought of giving you in marriage to any man is little shortof abhorrent, " he said hoarsely. 

For fear clutched him by the throat. The gift of pearls, the little sceneof last night, and Damaris' emotion in bidding Carteret farewell, confronted him. The idea had never occurred to him before. Now it glaredat him, or rather he glared at it. It would be torment to say "yes"; andyet very difficult to say his best friend "nay. " Anger kindled againstHenrietta Frayling. Must this be regarded as her handiwork? Yet he couldhardly credit it. Or had she some other candidate--Peregrine Ditton, young Harry Ellice?--But they were mere boys. --Of Marshall Wace he neverthought, the young man being altogether outside his field of vision inthis connection. 

Long habit of personal chastity made Charles Verity turn, with a greaterstabbing and rending of repulsion, from the thought of marriage forDamaris. She asserted she had no wish to marry, that she--bless her sweetsimplicity!--would rather not. But this bare broaching of the subjectthrew him into so strange a tumult that, only too evidently, he was nocompetent observer, he laboured under too violent a prejudice. He had noright to demand from others the abstinence he chose himself to practise. Carteret, in desiring her, was within his rights. Damaris within hers, were she moved by his suit. Marriage is natural, wholesome, theGod-ordained law and sanction of human increase since man first drewbreath here upon earth. To condemn obedience to that law, by placing anyparental embargo upon Damaris' marriage, would be both a defiance ofnature and act of grossest selfishness. 

He sat down on the window-seat again; and forced himself to put his armaround that fair maiden body, destined to be the prize, one day, of someman's love; the prey--for he disdained to mince matters, turning theknife in the wound rather--the prey of some man's lust. He schooledhimself, while Damaris' heart beat a little tempestuously under his hand, to invite a conclusion which through every nerve and fibre he loathed. 

"My dear, " he said, "I spoke unadvisedly with my lips just now, lettingcrude male jealousy get the mastery of reason and common sense. Put mywords out of your mind. They were unjustifiable, spoken in foolish heat. If you are in love with anyone"--

Damaris nestled against him. 

"Only with you, dearest, I think, " she said. 

Charles Verity hesitated, unable to speak through the exquisite blow shedelivered and his swift thankfulness. 

"Let us put the question differently then--translating it into thelanguage of ordinary social convention. Tell me, has anyoneproposed to you?"

Damaris, still nestling, shook her head. 

"No--no one. And I hope now, no one will. I escaped that, partly thanksto my own denseness. --It is not an easy thing, Commissioner Sahib, toexplain or talk about. But I have come rather close to it lately, and"--with a hint of vehemence--"I don't like it. There is something init which pulls at me but not at the best part of me. So that I am dividedagainst myself. Though it does pull, I still want to push it all awaywith both hands. I don't understand myself and I don't understand it, Iwould rather be without it--forget it--if you think I am free to do so, if you are satisfied that I haven't intentionally hurt anyone orcontracted a--a kind of debt of honour?"

"I am altogether satisfied, " he said. "Until the strange and ancientmalady attacks you in a very much more virulent form, you are free tocast Henrietta Frayling's insinuations to the winds, to ignore them andtheir existence. "

BOOK IV

THROUGH SHADOWS TOWARDS THE DAWN

CHAPTER I

WHICH CARRIES OVER A TALE OF YEARS, AND CARRIES ON

The last sentence was written. His work finished. And, looking upon hiscompleted creation, Charles Verity saw that it was good. Yet, as he putthe pen back in the pen-tray and, laying the last page of manuscript facedownwards upon the blotting-paper passed his hand over it, he was lesssensible of exultation than of a pathetic emptiness. The book had come tobe so much part of him that he felt a nasty wrench when he thus finallyrid himself of it. 

He had kept the personal pronoun out of it, strictly and austerely, desiring neither self-glorification nor self-advertisement. Yet his mindand attitude towards life seasoned and tempered the whole, giving itvitality and force. This was neither a "drum-and-trumpet history"designed to tickle the vulgar ear, nor a blank four-wall depository ofdry facts, names, dates, statistics, such as pedants mustily adore; but aliving thing, seen and felt. Not his subconscious, but that much finerand--as one trusts--more permanent element in our human constitution, hissuper-conscious self found expression in its pages and travelled freely, fruitfully, through them amid luminous and masterful ideas. At times theintellectual sweep threatened to be overdaring and overwide; so that, inthe interests of symmetry and balance of construction, he had been forcedto clip the wings of thought, lest they should bear him to regions tooremotely high and rare. Race, religion, customs and the modifications ofthese, both by climate and physical conformation of the land on the faceof which they operate, went to swell the interest and suggestion of histheme. In handling such varied and coloured material the intellectualexercise had been to him delicious, as he fashioned and put a fine edgeto passages of admirable prose, coined the just yet startling epithet, perfected the flow of some graceful period, and ransacked the Englishlanguage for fearless words in which to portray the mingled splendour andvileness of a barbaric oriental Court, the naked terrors of tribal feudsand internecine war. 

The occupation had, indeed, proved at once so refreshing and so absorbingthat he went leisurely, lengthening out the process of production untilit came nearer covering the thirty months of elephantine gestation thanthe normal human nine. 

With but two brief sojourns to England, for the consultation of certainauthorities and of his publishers, the said near on thirty months werepassed in wandering through Southern France, Central Italy, and, takingship from Naples to Malaga, finally through Eastern and Northern Spain. Charles Verity was too practised a campaigner for his power ofconcentration to depend on the stability or familiarity of hissurroundings. He could detach himself, go out into and be alone with hiswork, at will. But the last chapter, like the first, he elected to writein the study at The Hard. A pious offering of incense, this, to thepleasant memory of that excellent scholar and devoted amateur of letters, his great-uncle, Thomas Clarkson Verity, whose society and conversationawakened the literary sense in him as a schoolboy, on holiday fromHarchester, now nearly five decades ago. He judged it a matter of goodomen, moreover, --toying for the moment with kindly superstition--that thebook should issue from a house redeemed by his kinsman from base andbrutal uses and dedicated to the worship of knowledge and of the printedword. That fat, soft-bodied, mercurial-minded little gentleman--to whomno record of human endeavour, of human speculation, mental or moralexperiment, came amiss--would surely relish the compliment, if hiscurious and genial ghost still, in any sort, had cognizance of this, hisformer, dwelling-place. 

The Hard, just now, showed a remarkably engaging countenance, the yearstanding on the threshold of May. --Mild softly bright weather made amendsfor a wet and windy April, with sunshine and high forget-me-not blueskies shading to silver along the sea-line. The flower-beds, before thegarden house-front, were crowded with early tulips, scarlet, golden, andshell-pink. Shrubberies glowed with rhododendrons, flamed with azaleas. At the corner of the battery and sea-wall, misty grey-green plumes oftamarisk veiled the tender background of grey-blue water and yellow-greysand. Birds peopled the scene. Gulls, in strong fierce flight, laughedoverhead. Swallows darted back and forth, ceaselessly twittering, as theybuilt their cup-shaped mud nests beneath the eaves. Upon the lawncompanies of starlings ran, flapping glossy wings, squealing, whistling;to the annoyance of a song thrush, in spotted waistcoat and neatlyfitting brown _surtout_, who, now tall, now flattened to the level of theturf, its head turned sideways, peered and listened, locating thepresence of the victim worm. --Three or four vigorous pecks--the starlingsrunning elsewhere--to loosen the surrounding soil, and the moist pinkliving string was steadily, mercilessly, drawn upward into theuncompromising light of day, to be devoured wriggling, bit by bit, withmost unlovely gusto. --The chaff-chaff sharpened his tiny saw tippingabout the branches of the fir trees in the Wilderness, along with thelinnets, tits, and gold-finches. 

Such, out of doors, was the home world which received Damaris after thosemany months of continental travel, on the eve of her twenty-firstbirthday. To pass from the dynamic to the static mode must be alwayssomething of an embarrassment and trial, especially to the young withwhom sensation is almost disconcertingly direct and lively. Damarissuffered the change of conditions not without a measure or doubt andwonder. For they made demands to which she had become unaccustomed, andto which she found it difficult to submit quite naturally and simply. Awhole social and domestic order, bristling with petty obligations, closeddown upon her, within the bounds of which she felt to move awkwardly, atfirst, conscious of constraint. 

Sympathetic Mrs. Cooper, comely and comfortable Mary, and the NapoleonicPatch, still reigned in house and stable. Laura had returned to herformer allegiance on the announcement of "the family's" arrival, andother underlings had been engaged by the upper servants in conclave. Tothese latter entered that Ulysses, Mr. Hordle, so rendering theestablishment once again complete. 

The neighbours duly called--Dr. And Mrs. Horniblow, conscious of notablepreferment, since high ecclesiastical powers had seen fit to present theformer to a vacant canonry at Harchester. For three months yearly hewould in future be resident in the cathedral city. This would necessitatethe employment of a curate at Deadham, for the spiritual life of itsinhabitants must by no means suffer through its vicar's promotion. At themoment of Sir Charles and Damaris' return the curate excitement was atits height. It swept through the spinster-ranks of the congregation likean epidemic. They thrilled with unacknowledgeable hopes. The MissMinetts, though mature, grew pink and quivered, confessing themselves notaverse to offering board and lodging to a suitable, a well-connected, well-conducted paying guest. To outpourings on the enthralling subject ofthe curate, Damaris found herself condemned to listen from every femininevisitor in turn. It held the floor, to the exclusion of all other topics. Her own long absence, long journeys, let alone the affairs of the worldat large, were of no moment to these very local souls. So our young ladyretired within herself, deploring the existence of curates in general, and the projected, individual, Deadham curate in particular, with aheartiness she was destined later to remember. Had it beenprophetic?--Not impossibly so, granted the somewhat strange prescience bywhich she was, at times, possessed. 

For the psychic quality that, from a child, now and again had manifesteditself in her--though happily unattended by morbid or hysterictendencies, thanks to her radiant health--grew with her growth. To her, in certain moods and under certain conditions, the barrier between thingsseen and unseen, material and transcendental, was pervious. It yieldedbefore the push of her apprehension, sense of what it guards, what itwithholds within an ace of breaking through. 

Affairs of the heart would, so far, seem to have begun and ended with thewinter spent at St. Augustin. Now and again Damaris met an Englishman, orforeigner, who stirred her slightly. But if one accident of travelbrought them together, another accident of travel speedily swept themapart. The impression was fugitive, superficial, fading out and causingbut momentary regret. Colonel Carteret she only saw in London, duringthose two brief visits to England. He had been captivating, treating herwith playful indulgence, teasing a little; but far away, somehow--so shefelt him--though infinitely kind. And the dear man with the blueeyes--for she could use her old name for him again now, though shecouldn't quite tell why--looked older. The sentimental passage at St. Augustin assumed improbability--a fact over which she should, in allreason, have rejoiced, yet over which she, in point of fact when safefrom observation, just a little wept. 

From Henrietta some few letters reached her. One of them contained thenews that Marshall Wace, surmounting his religious doubts andscruples--by precisely what process remained undeclared--had at lasttaken Holy Orders. Concerning this joyful consummation Henrietta waxedpositively unctuous. "He had gone through so much"--the old cry!--towhich now was added conviction that his own trials fitted him to ministerthe more successfully to his brethren among the sorely tried. 

"His preaching will, I feel certain, be quite extraordinarily originaland sympathetic--full of poetry. And I need hardly tell you what animmense relief it is both to the General and to myself to feel he issettled in life, and that his future is provided for--though not, alas! in the way I fondly hoped, and which--for his happiness' sakeand my own--I should have chosen, " she insidiously and even rathercynically wrote. 

But, if in respect of the affections our maiden, during these two years, made no special progress and gained no further experimental knowledge ofthe perilous workings of sex, her advance in other departments was ample. 

For faith now called to her with no uncertain note. The great spiritualforces laid hold of her intelligence and imagination, drawing, moulding, enlightening her. In the library of a somewhat grim hotel at Avila, inold Castile, she lighted upon an English translation of the life of St. Theresa--that woman of countless practical activities, seer and sybil, mystic and wit. The amazing biography set her within the magic circle ofChristian feminine beatitude; and opened before her gaze mightyperspectives of spiritual increase, leading upward through unnumberedranks of prophets, martyrs, saints, angelic powers, to the feet of theVirgin Mother, with the Divine Child on her arm. --He, this last, asgateway, intermediary, between the human soul and the mystery of GodAlmighty, by whom, and in whom, all things visible and invisible subsist. For the first time some dim and halting perception, some faintest hintand echo, reached Damaris of the awful majesty, the awful beauty of thefount of Universal Being; and, caught with a great trembling, sheworshipped. 

This culminating perception, in terms of time, amounted to no more than asingle flash, the fraction of an instant's contact. An hour or so later, being very young and very human, the things of everyday resumed theirsway. A new dress engaged her fancy, a railway journey through--toher--untrodden country excited her, a picturesque street scene held herdelighted interest. Nevertheless that had taken place within her--call itconversion, evocation, the spiritual receiving of sight, as youplease--upon which, for those who have once experienced it, there is nogoing back while life and reason last. Obscured, overlaid, buried beneaththe dust of the trivial and immediate, the mark of revelation upon theforehead and the heart can never be obliterated quite. Its resurrectionis not only possible but certain, if not on the near side, then surely onthe farther side of death. 

And not only did faith thus call her, at this period, but art, in itsmany forms, called her likewise. The two, indeed, according to herpresent understanding of them, moved--though at different levels--side byside, singularly conjoined, art translating faith into terms of sound, form and colour, faith consecrating and supplementing art. All of which, as she pondered, appeared to her only fitting and reasonable--the objectof art being to capture beauty and touch reality, the substance of faithbeing nothing less than beauty and reality absolute. 

With Sir Charles sometimes, but more often with her aunt, MissFelicia--most enthusiastic, diligent and ingenuous of sightseers--shevisited buildings of historic interest, galleries of statuary and ofpictures. For here, too, in architecture, in marble god or hero, uponpainted panel or canvas, she caught, at moments, some flickering shadowof the everlasting light, touched at moments both by its abiding terrorand the ecstasy of its everlasting youth. But this appreciation of theheight and grandeur of man's endeavour was new in her. To Nature she hadfrom childhood, been curiously near. She sought expression andconfirmation of it with silent ardour, her mind aflame with the joy ofrecognition. And, as daily, hourly background to these her manyexperiments and excursions, was the stable interest of her father's book. For in the pages of that, too, she caught sight of beauty and reality ofno mean order, held nobly to ransom through the medium of words. 

And while this high humour still possessed her, alive at every point, her thoughts--often by day, still oftener in dreams or wakefulintervals by night--rapt away beyond the stars, she was called upon, asalready noted, to pass abruptly from the dynamic to the static mode. Called on to embrace domestic duties, and meet local socialobligations, including polite endurance of long-drawn disquisitionsregarding Canon Horniblow's impending curate. The drop proveddisconcerting, or would have eminently done so had not anotherelement--disquieting yet very dear--come into play. 

Meantime the change from the stimulating continental atmosphere to theparticularly soft and humid, not to say stagnant, English one, acted as adrop too. She drooped during the process of acclimatization. The fetidsweet reek off the mud-flats of the Haven oppressed and strangely pursuedher, so that she asked for the horses to take her to the freshness of thehigh lying inland moors, for a boat to carry her across the tide-river tothe less confined air and outlook of the Bar. Sight and sense of theblack wooden houses, upon the forbidden island, hanging like disreputableboon companions about the grey stone-built inn, oppressed and strangelypursued her too. She could see them from her bedroom between the redtrunks of the bird-haunted Scotch firs in the Wilderness. First thing, onclear mornings, the sunlight glittered on the glass of their smallwindows. Last thing, at night, the dim glow of lamp-light showed throughopen doorway, or flimsy curtain from within. They stood alone, butcuriously united and self-sufficing, upon the treeless inhospitable pieceof land, ringed by the rivers, the great whispering reed-beds and thetide. Their life was strangely apart from, defiant of, that of themainland and the village. It yielded obedience to traditions and customsof an earlier, wilder age; and in so much was sinister, a littlefrightening. Yet out of precisely this rather primitive and archaicenvironment came Darcy Faircloth, her half-brother, the human beingclosest to her by every tie of blood and sentiment in the world saveone--the father of them both. The situation was startling, alike in itsincongruities and in its claims. 

During those two years of continental wandering--following upon hermeeting with him at Marseilles--the whole sweet and perplexing matter ofFaircloth had fallen more or less into line, taking on a measure ofsimplicity and of ease. She thought of him with freedom, wrote to himwhen he could advise her of his next port of call. --To him at Deadham, byhis request, he being very careful for her, she never wrote. --Andtherefore, all the more perhaps, being here at Deadham, his home and allthe suggestive accessories of it so constantly before her eyes, did herrelation to him suffer a painful transformation. In remembrance she hadcome to picture him on board his ship, governing his little floatingkingdom with no feeble or hesitating sway. But here every impeding factof class and education, every worldly obstacle to his and herintercourse, above all the hidden scandal of his birth sprang into highrelief. All the dividing, alienating influences of his antecedents, hissocial position and her own, swung in upon her with aggravated intensityand pathos. 

Away, she felt sweetly secure of him. Sure his and her bond remainedinviolate. Sure his affection never wavered or paled, but stood always atthe flood, a constant quantity upon which she could draw at need; or--tochange the metaphor--a steady foundation upon which her heart couldsafely build. He would not, could not, ever fail her. This had beensufficient to stay her longing for sight and speech of him, her longingfor his bodily presence. But now, in face of the very concrete facts ofthe island, the inn, which bore his name and where his mother lived andruled, of the property he owned, the place and people to which--by halfat least of his nature and much more than half his memory--he belonged, the comfort of this spiritual esoteric relation became but a meagreevasive thing. It was too unsubstantial. Doubts and fears encircled it. She grew heart-sick for some fresh testimony, some clear immediateassurance that time and absence had not staled or undermined the romance. 

If only she could speak of it! But that was forbidden by every obligationof filial piety. Never had her relation to her father been more tender, more happy; yet only through sudden pressure of outward circumstancecould she speak to him of Faircloth. To do so, without serious necessity, would be, as she saw it, a wanton endangering of his peace. --If only thedear man with the blue eyes hadn't removed himself! She had counted uponhis permanent support and counsel, on his smoothing away difficultiesfrom the path of her dealings with Faircloth; but he appeared to havegiven her altogether the go-by, to have passed altogether out of herorbit. And meditating, in the softly bright May weather beneath thosehigh forget-me-not blue skies, upon his defection, our maiden felt quitedesperately experienced and grown up, thrown back upon her own resources, thrown in upon her rather solitary life. 

Throughout the summer visitors came and went; but never those two desiredfigures, Faircloth or Carteret. Dr. McCabe, vociferous in welcome, affectionate, whimsical and choleric, trundled over from Stourmouth on abicycle of phenomenal height. 

"On the horse without wheels I'm proficient enough, " he declared. "Knowthe anatomy of the darlin' beast as well as I do my own, inside and out. But, be dashed, if the wheels without the horse aren't beyond me quite. Lord love you, but the skittish animal's given me some ugly knocks, castme away, it has, in the wayside ditch, covering me soul with burningshame, and me jacket with malodorous mud. "

At intervals Aunt Harriet Cowden and Uncle Augustus drove over in statethe twelve miles from Paulton Lacy--the lady faithful to garments dyed, according to young Tom Verity, in the horrid hues of violet ink. Sheexpressed her opinions with ruthless frankness, criticized, domineered, put all and sundry in--what she deemed--"their place"; and departed forthe big house on the confines of Arnewood Forest again, to, had she butknown it, a chorus of sighings of relief from those she left behind herand on whose emotional and intellectual tastes and toes she somercilessly trod. 

Garden parties, tennis tournaments, the Napworth cricket week, claimedDamaris' attendance in turn, along with agreeable display of her foreignspoils in the matter of Paris hats and frocks. Proofs arrived in bigenvelopes perpetually by post; first in the long, wide-margined galleyform, later in the more dignified one of quire and numbered page. Thecrude, sour smell of damp paper and fresh printer's ink, for the firsttime assailed our maiden's nostrils. It wasn't nice; yet she sniffed itwith a quaint sense of pleasure. For was it not part of the wholewonderful, beautiful business of the making of books? To the artist themeanest materials of his art have a sacredness not to be denied orignored. They go to forward the birth of the precious whole, and henceare redeemed, for him, from all charge of common or uncleanness. 

Finally Miss Felicia, arriving in mid-June, paid an unending visit, ofwhich Damaris felt no impatience. Miss Felicia during the last two yearshad, indeed, become a habit. The major affairs of life it might be bothuseless and unwise to submit to her judgment. She lost her way in them, fluttering ineffectual, gently hurried and bird-like. But, in life'sminor affairs, her innocent enthusiasm was invaluable as an encouragingasset. It lent point and interest to happenings and occupations otherwisetrivial or monotonous. If silly at times, she never wasstupid--distinction of meaning and moment. --A blameless creature, incapable of thinking, still more of speaking, evil of the worst orweakest, her inherent goodness washed about you like sun-warmed water, ifsterile yet translucently pure. 

And so the months accumulated. The clear colours of spring ripened to thehotter gamut of mid-summer, to an August splendour of ripening harvest infield, orchard and hedgerow, and thence to the purple, russet and gold ofautumn. The birds, their nesting finished, ceased from song, as theactive care of hungry fledglings grew on them. The swallows had gatheredfor their southern flight, and the water-fowl returned from theirnorthern immigration to the waters and reed-beds of the Haven, SirCharles Verity's book, in two handsome quarto volumes, had been dulyreviewed and found a place of honour in every library, worth the name, inthe United Kingdom, before anything of serious importance occurreddirectly affecting our maiden. Throughout spring, summer and the firstweeks of autumn, she marked time merely. Her activities and emotions--inas far, that is, as outward expression of these last went--werevicarious, those of others. She glowed over and gloried in the triumph ofher father's book, it is true, but it was his adventure, after all, rather than her own. 

Then suddenly, as is the way with life, events crowded on oneanother, the drama thickened, sensation was tuned to a higher pitch. And it all began, not unludicrously, through the praiseworthy, ifrather ill-timed moral indignation of Canon Horniblow's newlyinstalled curate, Reginald Sawyer. 

CHAPTER II

RECALLING, IN SOME PARTICULARS, THE EASIEST RECORDED THEFT INHUMAN HISTORY

He was short, neat, spectacled, in manner prompt and perky, in age underthirty, a townsman by birth and education, hailing from Midlandshire. Further, a strong advocate of organization, and imbued with the deepestrespect for the obligations and prerogatives of his profession upon theethical side. He took himself very seriously; and so took, also, thedecalogue as delivered to mankind amid the thunders of Sinai. Keep theTen Commandments, according to the letter, and you may confidently expectall things, spiritual and temporal, to be added unto you--such was thebasis of his teaching and of his private creed. 

He came to Deadham ardent for the reformation of that remote, benightedspot, so disgracefully, as he feared--and rather hoped--behind the times. He suspected its canon-vicar of being very much too easy-going; and itspopulation, in respect of moral conduct, of being lamentably lax. Inneither of which suppositions, it must be admitted, was he altogetherincorrect. But he intended to alter all that!--Regarding himself thus, inthe light of a providentially selected new broom, he applied himselfdiligently to sweep. A high-minded and earnest, if not conspicuouslywell-bred young man, he might in a suburban parish have done excellentwork. But upon Deadham, with its enervating, amorous climate and queerinheritance of forest and seafaring--in other words poaching andsmuggling--blood, he was wasted, out of his element and out of touch. Theslow moving South Saxon cocked a shrewd sceptical eye at him, sized himup and down and sucked in its cheek refusing to be impressed. While byuntoward accident, his misfortune rather than his fault, the earliest ofhis moral sweepings brought him into collision with the most reactionaryelement in the community, namely the inhabitants of the black cottagesupon the Island. 

The event fell out thus. The days shortened, the evenings lengthenedgrowing misty and secret as October advanced. The roads became plashy andrutted, the sides of them silent with fallen leaves under foot. An oddsense of excitement flickers through such autumn twilights. Boys herdedin little troops on wickedness intent. Whooping and whistling to disarmtheir elders' suspicion until the evil deed should be fairly withinreach, then mum as mice, stealthily vanishing, becoming part and parcelof the earth, the hedge, the harsh dusky grasses of the sand-hills, theforeshore lumber on the beach. 

Late one afternoon, the hour of a hidden sunset, Reginald Sawyer calledat The Hard; and to his eminent satisfaction--for social aspirations wereby no means foreign to him--was invited to remain to tea. Theladies--Damaris and Miss Felicia--were kind, the cakes and creamsuperlative. He left in high feather; and, at Damaris' suggestion, took ashort cut through the Wilderness and by a path crossing the warren to thelane, leading up from the causeway, which joins the high-road justopposite the post office and Mrs. Doubleday's shop. By following thisroute he would save quite half a mile on his homeward journey; since theGrey House, where he enjoyed the Miss Minetts' assiduous and genteelhospitality, is situate at the extreme end of Deadham village on the roadto Lampit. 

Out on the warren, notwithstanding the hour and the mist, it was stillfairly light, the zigzagging sandy path plainly visible between theheath, furze brakes, stunted firs and thorn bushes. The young clergyman, although more familiar with crowded pavements and flare of gas-lamps thanopen moorland in the deepening dusk, pursued his way without difficulty. What a wild region it was though! He thought of the sober luxury of thelibrary at The Hard, the warmth, the shaded lights, the wealth of books;of the grace of Damaris' clothing and her person, and wondered howpeople of position and education could be content to live in so out ofthe way and savage a spot. It was melancholy to a degree, in hisopinion. --Oh! well, he must do his best to wake it up, infuse a spirit ofprogress into it more in keeping with nineteenth-century ideas. Everyonewould be grateful to him--

A little questioning pause--assurance in momentary eclipse. Then withrenewed cheerfulness--Of course they would--the upper classes, that is. For they must feel the disadvantages of living in such a back-water. Hegave them credit for the wish to advance could they but find the way. All they needed was leadership, which Canon Horniblow--evidently pasthis work--was powerless to supply. He, Sawyer, came as a pioneer. Oncethey grasped that fact they would rally to him. The good Miss Minettswere rallying hard, so to speak, already. Oh! there was excellentmaterial in Deadham among the gentlefolk. It merely needed working, needed bringing out. 

From the lower, the wage-earning class, sunk as it was in ignorance, hemust, he supposed, expect but a poor response, opposition not impossibly. Opposition would not daunt him. You must be prepared to do people good, if not with, then against their will. He was here to make them rebelagainst and shake off the remnants of the Dark Ages amid which they soextraordinarily appeared still to live. He had no conception so low astate of civilization could exist within little over a hundred miles ofthe metropolis!--It was a man's work, anyhow, and he must put his backinto it. Must organize--word of power--organize night classes, lectureswith lantern slides, social evenings, a lads' club. Above all was thereroom and necessity for this last. The Deadham lads were very rowdy, veryunruly. They gathered at corners in an objectionable manner; hung aboutthe public-house. He must undersell the public-house by offering counterattractions. Amongst the men he suspected a sad amount of drinking. Theirspeech, too, was so reprehensibly coarse. He had heard horrible languagein the village street. He reproved the offenders openly, as was his duty, and his admonitions were greeted with a laugh, an insolent, offensive, jeering laugh. 

Sawyer cut at the dark straggling furzes bordering the path with hiswalking-stick. Recollection of that laugh made him go red about the ears;made his skin tingle and his eyes smart. It represented an insult notonly to himself but to his cloth. Yet he'd not lost control of himself, he was glad to remember, though the provocation was rank--

He cut at the furze again, being by nature combative. And--stopped short, with a start, a tremor running through him. Something rustled, scuttledaway amongst the bushes, and something flapped upward behind him into thethick lowering sky above. A wailing cry--whether human, or of bird orbeast, he was uncomfortably ignorant--came out of the mist ahead, to beanswered by a like and nearer cry from a spot which he failed, in hisagitation, to locate. 

Under ordinary conditions the young cleric was neither troubled byimagination nor lacking in pluck. His habitual outlook was sensible, literal and direct. But, it must be owned, this wide indistinctlandscape, over which pale vapours trailed and brooded, the immenseloneliness of the felt rather than seen, expanse of water, marsh andmud-flat of the Haven--the tide being low--along with the goblinwhispering chuckle of the river speeding seaward away there on his left, made him oddly jumpy and nervous. No human being was in sight, neitherdid any human dwelling show signs of habitation. He wished he had goneround by the road and through the length of the village. He registered avow against short cuts--save in broad daylight--for his presentsurroundings inspired him with the liveliest distrust. They were to himpositively nightmarish. He suffered the nastiest little fears of whatmight follow him, what might, even now, peer and lurk. Heretofore he hadconsidered the earth as so much dead matter, to be usefully andprofitably exploited by all-dominant man--specially by men of his owncreed and race. But now the power of the earth laid hands on him. Shelived, and mankind dwindled to the proportions of parasitic insects, atmost irritating some small portions of her skin, her vast indifferentsurface. Such ideas had never occurred to him before. He resentedthem--essayed to put them from him as trenching on blasphemy. 

Starting on again, angry alike with himself for entertaining, and withthe unknown for engendering, such subversive notions, his paceunconsciously quickened to a run. But the line of some half-dozen raggedScotch firs, which here topped the low cliff bordering the river, to hisdisordered vision seemed most uncomfortably to run alongside him, stretching gaunt arms through the encircling mist to arrest his flight. 

He regarded them with an emotion of the liveliest antipathy; consciouslylonging, meanwhile, for the humming thoroughfares of his nativeindustrial town, for the rattle and grind of the horse-trams, thebrightly lighted shop-fronts, the push all about him of human labour, ofbooming trade and vociferous politics. Even the glare of a gin palace, flooding out across the crowded pavement at some street corner, wouldhave, just now, been fraught with solace, convinced prohibitionist thoughhe was. For he would, at least, have been in no doubt how to feel towardsthat stronghold of Satan--righteously thanking God he was not as thosereprehensible others, who passed in and out of its ever-swinging doors. While towards this earth dominance, this dwarfing of human life by thelife of things he had hitherto called inanimate, he did not know how tofeel at all. It attacked some unarmoured, unprotected part of him. Against its assault he was defenceless. 

With a sense of escape from actual danger, whether physical or moral hedid not stay to enquire, he stumbled, a few minutes later, through a gapin the earth-bank into the wet side lane. Arrived, he gave himself amoment's breathing space. It was darker here than out upon the warren;but, anyhow, this was a lane. It had direction and meaning. Men hadconstructed it for the linking up of house with house, hamlet withhamlet. Like all roads, it represented the initial instinct of communallife, the basis of a reasoned social order, of civilization in short. He walked forward over the soft couch of fallen, water-soaked leaves, his boots squelching at times into inches of sucking mud, and hisspirits rose. He began to enter into normal relations both with himselfand with things in general. A hundred yards or so and the village greenwould be reached. 

Then on his left, behind an ill-kept quick-set hedge that guarded a stripof garden and orchard, he became aware of movement. Among the apple treesthree small figures shuffled about some dark recumbent object. For themost part they went on all fours, but at moments reared up on their hindlegs. Their action was at once silent, stealthy and purposeful. Our youngclergyman's shortness of sight rendered their appearance the morepeculiar. His normal attitude was not so completely restored, moreover, but that they caused him another nervous tremor. Then he grasped thetruth; while the detective, latent in every moralist, sprang toattention. Here were criminals to be brought to justice, criminals caughtred-handed. Reginald Sawyer, having been rather badly scared himself, lusted--though honestly ignorant of any personal touch in the matter--tovery badly scare others. 

Standing back beside the half-open gate, screened by the hedge, here highand straggling, he awaited the psychological moment, ready to pounce. Toenter the orchard and confront these sinners with their crime, if theiractivities did by chance happen to be legitimate, was to put himselfaltogether in the wrong. He would bide his time, would let them concludetheir--in his belief--nefarious business and challenge them as theypassed out. 

Nor had he long to wait. The two smaller boys, breathing hard, hoistedthe bulging, half-filled sack on to the back of their biggercompanion; who, bowed beneath its weight, grunting with exertion, advanced towards the exit. 

Sawyer laid aside his walking-stick, and, as the leader of the processioncame abreast of him, pounced. But missed his aim. Upon which the boy castdown the sack, from the mouth of which apples, beets, turnips rolled intothe road; and, with a yelp, bolted down the lane towards the causeway, leaving his accomplices to their fate. These, thrown into confusion bythe suddenness of his desertion, hesitated and were lost. For, pouncingagain, and that the more warily for his recent failure, Sawyer collaredone with either hand. 

They were maladorous children; and the young clergyman, grasping woollenjersey-neck and shirt-band, the backs of his hands in contact with thebacks of their moist, warm, dirty little necks, suffered disgust, yetheld them the more firmly. 

"I am convinced you have no right to that fruit or to those vegetables. You are stealing. Give an account of yourselves at once. "

And he shook them slightly to emphasize his command. One hung on hishand, limp as a rag. The other showed fight, kicking our friend liberallyabout the shins, with hobnailed boots which did, most confoundly, hurt. 

"You lem' me go, " he cried. "Lem' me go, or I'll tell father, and firsttime you come along by our place 'e'll set the ratting dawgs on to you. Our ole bitch 'as got 'er teeth yet. She'll bite. Ketch the fleshy partof your leg, she will, and just tear and bite. "

This carrying of war into the enemy's country proved as disconcerting asunexpected, while to mention the sex of an animal was, in ReginaldSawyer's opinion, to be guilty of unpardonable coarseness. The atmosphereof a Protestant middle-class home clung to him yet, begetting in him asqueamishness, not to say prudery, almost worthy of his hostesses, theMiss Minetts. He shook the culprits again, with a will. He also blushed. 

"If you were honest you would be anxious to give an account ofyourselves, " he asserted, ignoring the unpleasant matter of the dogs. "Iam afraid you are very wicked boys. You have stolen these vegetables andfruits. Thieves are tried by the magistrates, you know, and sent toprison. I shall take you to the police-station. There the constable willfind means to make you confess. "

Beyond provoking a fresh paroxysm of kicking, these adjurations werewithout result. His captives appeared equally impervious to shame, contrition or alarm. They remained obstinately mute. Whereupon it beganto dawn upon their captor that his position risked becoming not a littleinvidious, since the practical difficulty of carrying his threats intoexecution was so great. How could he haul two sturdy, active children, plus a sack still containing a goodly quantity of garden produce, somequarter of a mile without help? To let them go, on the other hand, wasto have them incontinently vanish into those trailing whitish vapourscreeping over the face of the landscape. And, once vanished, they werelost to him, since he knew neither their names nor dwelling place; andcould, with no certainty, identify them, having seen them only in theact of struggle and in this uncertain evening light. He felt himselfvery nastily planted on the horns of a dilemma, when on a sudden therearrived help. 

A vehicle of some description turned out of the main road and headeddown the lane. 

Laocoön-like, flanked on either hand by a writhing youthful figure, Reginald Sawyer called aloud:

"Hi!--Stop, there--pray, stop. "

Darcy Faircloth lighted down out of a ramshackle Marychurch station fly, and advanced towards the rather incomprehensible group. 

"What's happened? What's the matter?" he said. "What on earth do you wantwith those two youngsters?"

"I want to convey them to the proper authorities, " Sawyer answered, withall the self-importance he could muster. He found his interlocutor'ssomewhat abrupt and lordly manner at once annoying and impressive, aswere his commanding height and rather ruffling gait. "These boys havebeen engaged in robbing a garden. I caught them in the act, and it is myduty to see that they pay the penalty of their breach of the law. I counton your assistance in taking them to the police-station. "

"You want to give them in charge?"

"What else?--The moral tone of this parish is, I grieve to say, very low. "

Sawyer talked loud and fast in the effort to assert himself. 

"Low and coarse, " he repeated. "Both as a warning to others, and inthe interests of their own future, an example must be made of thesetwo lads. "

"Must it?" Faircloth said, towering above him in the palebewildering mist. 

The little boys, who had remained curiously and rather dangerously stillsince the advent of this stranger, now strained together, signalling, whispering. Sawyer shook them impatiently apart. 

"Steady there, please, " Faircloth put in sharply. "It strikes me you takea good deal upon yourself. May I ask who you are?"

"I am the assistant priest, " Reginald began. But his explanation was cutshort by piping voices. 

"It's Cap'en Darcy, that's who it is. We never meant no 'arm, Cap'en. That we didn't. The apples was rotting on the ground, s'h'lp me if theywasn't. Grannie Staples was took to the Union last Wednesday fortnight, and anyone's got the run of her garden since. Don't you let the newparson get us put away, Cap'en. We belongs to the Island--I'm WilliamJennifer's Tommy, please Cap'en, and 'e's Bobby Sclanders 'e is. "

And being cunning, alike by nature and stress of circumstance, theypathetically drooped, blubbering in chorus:

"We never didn't mean no 'arm, Cap'en. Strike me dead if we did. "

At which last implied profanity Reginald Sawyer shuddered, looseninghis grasp. 

Of what followed he could subsequently give no definite account. Thedignities of his sacred profession and his self-respect alike reeledignominiously into chaos. He believed he heard the person, addressed asCaptain Darcy, say quietly:

"Cut it, youngsters. Now's your chance. "

He felt that both the children violently struggled, and that the roundhard head of one of them butted him in the stomach. He divined thatsounds of ribald laughter, in the distance, proceeded from the driverof the Marychurch station fly. He knew two small figures raced whoopingdown the lane attended by squelchings of mud and clatter of heavysoled boots. 

Knew, further, that Captain Darcy, after nonchalantly picking up thesack, dropping it within the garden hedge and closing the rickety gate, stood opposite him and quite civilly said:

"I am sorry I could not give you the sort of assistance, sir, which youasked. But the plan would not have worked. "

Sawyer boiled over. 

"You have compounded a felony and done all that lay in your power toundermine my authority with my parishioners. Fortunately I retain theboys' names and can make further enquiries. This, however, by no meansrelieves you of the charge of having behaved with reprehensible levityboth towards my office and myself. "

"No--no, " Faircloth returned, goodnaturedly. "Sleep upon it, and you willtake an easier view of the transaction. I have saved you from puttingunmerited disgrace upon two decent families and getting yourself into hotwater up to the neck. I know these Deadham folk better than you do. I'mone of them, you see, myself. They've uncommonly long memories wherethey're offended, though it may suit them to speak you soft. Take it fromme, you'll never hound them into righteousness. They turn as stubborn asso many mules under the whip. "

He hailed the waiting flyman. 

"Good evening to you, sir, " he said. And followed by the carriage, piledwith sea-chest and miscellaneous baggage, departed into themysteriousness of deepening dusk. 

Had the young clergyman been willing to leave it at that, all might yethave been well, his ministry at Deadham a prolonged and fruitful one, since his intentions, at least, were excellent. But, as ill-luck wouldhave it, while still heated and sore, every feather on end, his naturalcombativeness almost passionately on top, turning out in the high-road heencountered Dr. Cripps, faring westward like himself on the way to visita patient at Lampit. The two joined company, falling into a conversationthe more confidential that the increasing darkness gave them a sense ofisolation and consequent intimacy. 

Of all his neighbours, the doctor--a peppery disappointed man, strugglingwith a wide-strewn country practice mainly prolific of bad debts, conscious of his own inefficiency and perpetually smarting under imaginedinjuries and slights--was the very last person to exercise a mollifyinginfluence upon Sawyer in his existing angry humour. The latter recountedand enlarged upon the insults he had just now suffered. His hearer fannedthe flame of indignation with comment and innuendo--recognized Fairclothfrom the description, and proceeded to wash his hands in scandalousinsinuation at the young sea-captain's expense. 

For example, had not an eye to business dictated the sheltering fromjustice of those infant, apple-stealing reprobates? Their respectivefathers were good customers! The islanders all had the reputation of harddrinkers--and an innkeeper hardly invites occasion to lower his receipts. The inn stood in old Mrs. Faircloth's name, it is true; but the sonprofited, at all events vicariously, by its prosperity. A swaggeringfellow, with an inordinate opinion of his own ability and merits; but inthat he shared a family failing. For arrogance and assumption the wholeclan was difficult to beat. 

"You have heard whose son this young Faircloth is, of course?"

Startled by the question, and its peculiar implication, Reginald Sawyerhesitatingly admitted his ignorance. 

The Grey House stands flush with the road, and the two gentlemen finishedtheir conversation upon the doorstep. Above them a welcoming glow shonethrough the fanlight; otherwise its windows were shuttered and blank. 

"This is a matter of common knowledge, " Dr. Cripps said; "but one aboutwhich, for reasons of policy, or, more truly, of snobbery, it is thefashion to keep silent. So, for goodness' sake, don't give me as yourauthority if you should ever have occasion to speak of it"--

And lowering his voice he mentioned a name. 

"As like as two peas, " he added, "when you see them side by side--which, in point of fact, you never do. Oh! I promise you the whole dirtybusiness has been remarkably well engineered--hush-money, I suppose. Sometimes I am tempted to think poverty is the only punishable sin inthis world. For those who have a good balance at their bankers there isalways a safe way out of even the most disgraceful imbroglios of thissort. But I must be moving on, Mr. Sawyer. I sympathize with yourannoyance. You have been very offensively treated. Good night. "

The young clergyman remained planted on the doorstep, incapable ofringing the bell and presenting himself to his assiduously attentivehostesses, the Miss Minetts, for the moment. 

He was, in truth, indescribably shocked. Deadham presented itself tohis mind as a place accursed, a veritable sink of iniquity. High andlow alike, its inhabitants were under condemnation. --And he had soenjoyed his tea with the ladies at The Hard. Had been so flattered bytheir civility, spreading himself in the handsome room, agreeablysensible of its books, pictures, ornaments, and air of culturedleisure. --While behind all that, as he now learned, was this glaringmoral delinquency! Never had he been more cruelly deceived. He feltsick with disgust. What callousness, what hypocrisy!--He recalled hisdisquieting sensations in crossing the warren. Was the very soil ofthis place tainted, exhaling evil?

He made a return upon himself. For what, after all, was he here for saveto let in light and combat evil, to bring home the sense of sin to theinhabitants of this place, convincing them of the hatefulness of themoral slough in which they so revoltingly wallowed. He must slay andspare not. He saw himself as David, squaring up to Goliath, as Christianfighting single-handed against the emissaries of Satan who essayed todefeat his pilgrimage. Yes, he would smite these lawbreakers hip andthigh, whatever their superficial claims to his respect, whatever theirworldly position. He would read them all a lesson--that King Log, CanonHorniblow, included. 

He at once pitied and admired himself, not being a close critic ofhis own motives; telling himself he did well to be angry, whileignoring the element of personal pique which gave point andsatisfaction to that anger. 

He was silent and reserved with the Miss Minetts at supper; and retiredearly to his own room to prepare a sermon. 

CHAPTER III

BROTHER AND SISTER

Upon the Sunday morning following, Damaris went to the eleven o'clockservice alone. Miss Felicia Verity attended church at an earlier hourto-day, partly in the interests of private devotion, partly in those of aperson she had warmly befriended in the past, and wanted to befriend inthe present--but with delicacy, with tact and due consideration for thesusceptibilities of others. She wished earnestly to effect areconciliation; but not to force it. To force it was to endanger itssincerity and permanence. It should seem to come about lightly, naturally. Therefore did she go out early to perfect her plans--of whichmore hereafter--as well as to perform her religious duties. Sir CharlesVerity was from home, staying with Colonel Carteret for partridgeshooting, over the Norfolk stubble-fields. The habit of this annual visithad, for the last two seasons, been in abeyance; but now, with his returnto The Hard, was pleasantly revived, although this autumn, owing tobusiness connected with the publication of his book, the visit took placea few weeks later than usual. 

Hence did Damaris--arrayed in a russet-red serge gown, black velvetcollar and cuffs to its jacket of somewhat manly cut, and a russet-redupstanding plume in her close-fitting black velvet hat--set forth aloneto church. This, after redirecting such letters as had arrived for herfather by the morning post. One of them bore the embossed arms of theIndia Office, and signature of the, then, Secretary of State for thatdepartment in the corner of the envelope. She looked at it with a measureof respect and curiosity, wondering as to the purport of its contents. She studied the envelope, turning it about in the hope of gleaningenlightenment from its external aspect. Still wondering, slightlyoppressed even by a persuasion--of which she could not rid herself--thatit held matters of no common moment closely affecting her father, shewent out of the house, down the sheltered drive, and through the entrancegates. Here, as she turned inland, the verve of the clear autumn morningrushed on her, along with a wild flurry of falling leaves dancing to thebreath of the crisp northerly breeze. 

A couple of fine days, with a hint of frost in the valley by night, aftera spell of soft mists and wet, sent the leaves down in flutteringmultitudes, so that now all trees, save the oaks only, were bare. These--by which the road is, just here, overhung--still solidly clothedin copper, amber and--matching our maiden's gown--in russet-red, offeredsturdy defiance to the weather. The sound of them, a dry crowdedrustling, had a certain note of courage and faithfulness in it whichcaused Damaris to wait awhile and listen; yet a wistfulness also, sinceto her hearing a shudder stirred beneath its bravery, preluding thecoming rigours of winter. 

And that wistfulness rather strangely enlarged its meaning and area, asthe reiterated ting, tang, tong of Deadham's church bells recalled theobject of her walk. For English church services, of the parochial varietysuch as awaited her, had but little, she feared, to give. Little, thatis, towards the re-living of those instants of exalted spiritualperception which had been granted to her at distant Avila. 

In overstrained and puritanic dread of idolatory, the English Church hasgone lamentably far to forfeit its sacramental birthright. It savours toostrongly of the school and class-room, basing its appeal upon words, uponspoken expositions, instructive no doubt, but cold, academic. It offersno tangible object of worship to sight or sense. Its so-called altars areempty. Upon them no sacrifice is offered, no presence abidingly dwells. In its teaching the communion of saints and forgiveness of sins arephrases rather than living agencies. Its atmosphere is self-conscious, its would-be solemnity forced. --This, in any case, was how Damaris sawthe whole matter--though, let us hasten to add, she was modest enough toquestion whether the fault might not very well be in herself rather thanin our national variant of the Christian Faith. Many sweet, goodpersons--dear Aunt Felicia among them--appeared to find Anglicanministrations altogether sufficient for their religious needs. But toDamaris those ministrations failed to bring any moment of vision, ofcomplete detachment. She must be to blame, she supposed--which wasdiscouraging, a little outcasting and consequently sad. 

In a somewhat pensive spirit she therefore, pursued her way, until, wherethe prospect widened as she reached the village green, a larger skydisclosed itself flaked with light cirrus cloud. This glory of space, andthe daring northerly breeze blowing out from it, sent her fancy flying. It beckoned to journeyings, to far coasts and unknown seas--an offshorewind, filling the sails of convoys outward bound. And, with the thoughtof ships upon the sea, came the thought of Darcy Faircloth, and that withsharp revolt against the many existing hindrances to his and herintercourse. Freedom seemed abroad this morning. Even the leaves declaredfor liberty, courting individual adventure upon the wings of that daringwind. And this sense of surrounding activity worked upon Damaris, makingher doubly impatient of denials and arbitrary restraints. She sent hersoul after Darcy Faircloth across the waste of waters, fondly, almostfiercely seeking him. But her soul refused to travel, curiously turninghomeward again, as though aware not the prodigious fields of ocean, norany loud-voiced foreign port of call, held knowledge of him, but ratherthe immediate scene, the silver-glinting levels of the Haven and lonelystone-built inn. 

Deadham church, originally a chapelry of Marychurch Abbey, crowns a greenmonticule in the centre of Deadham village, backed by a row of bigelms. --A wide, low-roofed structure, patched throughout the course ofcenturies beyond all unity and precision of design; yet still showingtraces of Norman work in the arch of the belfry and in the pillarssupporting the rafters of the middle aisle. At the instance of a formervicar, the whole interior received a thick coat of whitewash, alike overplaster and stone. This, at the time in question, had been in placesscraped off, bringing to light some mural paintings of considerableinterest and antiquity. 

In the chancel, upon the gospel side, is a finely-carved tomb, withrecumbent figures of an armoured knight and richly-robed lady, whoseslippered feet push against the effigy of a particularly alert, sharp-muzzled little hound. The two front pews, in the body of thechurch, at the foot of the said tomb, are allotted to the owner andhousehold at The Hard. The slender, lively little hound and the twosculptured figures lying, peaceful in death, for ever side by side, touched and captivated Damaris from the first time she set eyes on them. She reverenced and loved them, weaving endless stories about them when, in the tedium of prayer or over-lengthy sermon, her attention, all toooften, strayed. 

This morning the three bells jangled altogether as she reached thechurchyard gate. Then the smallest tolled alone, hurrying stragglers. Shewas indeed late, the bulk of the congregation already seated, the Canonat the reading-desk and Mrs. Horniblow wheezing forth a voluntary uponthe harmonium, when she walked up the aisle. 

But, during her brief passage, Damaris could not but observe thelargeness of the assembly. An uncommon wave of piety must have swept overthe parish this morning! The Battyes and Taylors were present in force. Farmers and tradespeople mustered in impressive array. Even Dr. Cripps--by no means a frequent churchgoer--and his forlorn-looking, red-eyed little wife were there. The Miss Minetts had a lady with them--aplump, short little person, dressed with attempted fashion, whose backstruck Damaris as quaintly familiar, she catching a glimpse of it inpassing. Most surprising of all, William Jennifer headed a contingentfrom the Island, crowding the men's free seats to right and left of thewest door. An expectancy, moreover, seemed to animate the throng. Thenshe remembered, the new curate, Reginald Sawyer, had informed her andMiss Felicia two evenings ago when he had called and been bidden to stayto tea, that he would preach for the first time at the eleven o'clockservice. So far he had only occupied the pulpit on Sunday afternoons, when a country congregation is liable to be both scanty and somnolent. To-day he would prove himself before the heads of tribes, before thenotables. And Damaris wished him well, esteeming him a worthy young man, if somewhat provincial and superfluously pompous. 

In the servants' pew directly behind, Mary and Mrs. Cooper were dulyensconced, supported by Mr. Patch, two small male Patches, white-collaredand shining with excess of cleanliness, wedged in between him and hisstable sub-ordinate Conyers, the groom. The Hard thus made a commendablyrespectable show, as Damaris reflected with satisfaction. 

She stood, she knelt, her prayer book open upon the carved margin of thetomb, the slender crossed legs and paws of the alert little marble dogserving as so often before for bookrest. Canon Horniblow boomed anddroned, like some unctuous giant bumble-bee, from the reading-desk. Thechoir intoned responses from the gallery with liberal diversity of pitch. And presently, alas! Damaris' thoughts began to wander, making flittingexcursions right and left. For half-way through the litany some belatedworshipper arrived, causing movement in the men's free seats. This oddlydisturbed her. Her mind flew again to Faircloth, and the strangeimpression of her own soul's return declaring this and no other to be hisactual neighbourhood. And if it indeed were so?--Damaris thrust back theemotions begotten of that question, as unpermissibly stormy at this timeand in this place. 

She tried to fix her thoughts wholly upon the office. But, all too soonthey sprang aside again, now circling about the enigmatic back beheld inthe Miss Minetts' pew. Of whom did that round, dressy little form remindher? Why--why--of Theresa, of course. Not Theresa, genius and saint ofSpanish Avila; but Theresa Bilson, her sometime governess-companion ofdoubtfully amiable memory. She longed to satisfy herself, but could onlydo so by turning round and looking squarely--a manoeuvre impossibleduring the prayers, but which might be accomplished later, when thecongregation rose to sing the hymn before the sermon. 

She must wait. And during that waiting light, rather divertingly, brokein on her. For supposing her belief as to the lady's identity correct, must not dear Aunt Felicia be party to this resurrection? Had not sheknown, and stolen forth this morning to perfect some innocent plot ofpeace-making? In furtherance of which she now cunningly remained at home, thus leaving Damaris free to offer renewal of favour or withhold it asshe pleased. Was not that deliciously characteristic of Aunt Felicia andher permanent effort to serve two masters--to make everybody happy, and, regardless of conflicting interests, everybody else too?--Well, Damariswas ready to fulfil her wishes. She bore Theresa no ill-will. Aninclination to grudge or resentment seemed to her unworthy. WhateverTheresa's tiresomenesses, they were over and done with, surely, quiteimmensely long ago. 

The hymn given out and the tune of it played through, the assemblyscraped and rustled to its feet. Damaris standing, in height overtoppingher neighbours, discreetly turned her head. Let her eyes rest an instant, smiling, upon the upturned polished countenances of the two smallPatches--shyly watching her--and then seek a more distant goal. Yes, veritably Theresa Bilson in the flesh--very much in the flesh, full offace and plump of bosom, gold-rimmed glasses gleaming, her mouth openedwide in song. It was a little astonishing to see her so unchanged. Forhow much had happened since the day of that choir-treat, at Harchester, which marked her deposition, the day of Damaris' sleep in the sunshineand awakening in the driving wet out on the Bar. --The day wherein so muchbegan, and so much ended, slashed across and across with an extravaganceof lasting joy and lasting pain!--In the sense of it all Damaris lostherself a little, becoming forgetful of her existing situation. Shelooked past, over Theresa and beyond. 

At the extreme end of the church, in the last of the free seats wherethe light from the west door streamed inward, a man's figure detacheditself with singular distinctness from the background of whitewashedwall. He, too, overtopped his fellows, and that by several inches. Andfrom the full length of the building, across the well-filled benches, hisglance sought and met that of Damaris, and held it in fearless, highsecurity of affection not to be gainsaid. 

The nice, clean-shining little Patches, still watching shyly out of theirbrown, glossy, mouse-like eyes, to their extreme mystification saw thecolour flood Damaris' face, saw her lips tremble and part as in preludeto happy speech. Then saw her grow very pale, and, turning away, clutchat the head of the alert little hound. Mrs. Cooper delivered herself of aquite audible whisper to the effect--"that Miss Damaris was tookfaint-like, as she feared. " And Mary leaned forward over the front of thepew in quick anxiety. But our maiden's weakness was but passing. Shestraightened herself, stood tall and proudly again, looking at the knightand his lady lying so peacefully side by side upon their marble couch. She gathered them into her gladness--they somehow sympathized, she felt, in her present sweet and poignant joy. Her soul had known best, had beenright in its homing--since Faircloth was here--was here. 

That sweet, poignant joy flooded her, so that she wordlessly gave thanksand praise. He was in life--more, was within sight of her, hearing thesame sounds, breathing the same air. Across the short dividing space, spirit had embraced spirit. He claimed her. --Had not his will, indeed, far more than any curiosity regarding the identity of poor, plump littleTheresa, compelled her to look around?

She demanded nothing further, letting herself dwell in a perfection ofcontent--without before or after--possible only to the pure in heart andto the young. 

The hymn concluded, Damaris knelt, while Reginald Sawyer, having mountedinto the pulpit, read the invocation; mechanically rose from her kneeswith the rest, and disposed herself in the inner corner of the pew, sitting sideways so that her left hand might rest upon the carven marblemargin of the tomb. She liked touch of it still, in the quietude of hergreat content, cherishing a pretty fancy of the knight and his lady'ssympathy and that also of their sprightly little footstool dog. 

Otherwise she was deaf to outward things, deliciously oblivious, wrappedaway sweetly within herself. Hence she quite failed to notice howawkwardly Sawyer stumbled, treading on the fronts of his long surplicewhen going up the pulpit stairs. How he fumbled with his manuscript ashe flattened it out on the cushioned desk. Or how husky was his voice, to the point of the opening sentences being almost inaudible. The youngclergyman suffered, indeed, so it appeared, from a painfully excessivefit of nervousness. All this she missed, not awakening from her state ofblissful trance until the sermon had been under way some good five toten minutes. 

Her awakening even then was gradual. It was also unpleasant. It began invague and uneasy suspicion of something unusual and agitating toward. Inconsciousness of a hushed and strained attention, very foreign to thecustomary placid, not to say bovine, indifference of the ordinary countrycongregation. The preacher's voice was audible enough now, in good truth, though still under insufficient control. It roared, cracked upward, approaching a scream. Sentences trod on one another's heels, so rapid washis delivery; or bumped and jolted so overlaid was it with emphasis. He, dealt in ugly words, too--"lies, drunkenness, theft, profanity;" andworse still, "uncleanness, adultery, carnal debauchery. " For not venialsins only, but mortal sins likewise were rife in Deadham, as he averred, matters of common knowledge and everyday occurrence--tolerated if notopenly encouraged, callously winked at. The public conscience couldhardly be said to exist, so indurated was it, so moribund through lack ofstimulation and through neglect. Yet such wickedness, sooner or later, must call down the vengeance of an offended God. It would be taken uponthese lawbreakers. Here or hereafter these evil-livers would receive thechastisement their deeds invited and deserved. Let no man deceivehimself. God is just. He is also very terrible in judgment. Hell yawnsfor the impenitent. 

Breathless, he paused; and a subdued sigh, an instinctive shuffling offeet ran through the assembly. --Yet these were but generalities afterall, often heard before, when you came to think, though seldom soforcibly put. Every man made liberal gift of such denunciations to hisneighbours, rather than applied their lesson to himself. But ReginaldSawyer was merely gathering energy, gathering courage for more detailedassault. He felt nervous to the verge of collapse--a new and reallyhorrible experience. His head was hot, his feet cold. The temptationsimply and crudely to give in, bundle down the pulpit stairs and bolt, was contemptibly great. His eyesight played tricks on him. Below there, in the body of the church, the rows of faces ran together into irregularpink blots spread meaninglessly above the brown of the oaken pews, thebrown, drab, and black, too, of their owners' Sunday best. Here andthere a child's light frock or white hat intruded upon the prevailingneutral tints; as did, in a startling manner, Damaris Verity'srusset-red plume and suit. 

Time and again, since he began his sermon, had that dash of rich colourdrawn his reluctant attention. He recoiled from, oddly dreaded it--nowmore than ever, since to him it rather mercilessly focussed the subjectand impending climax of his denunciatory address. 

The pause began to affect the waiting congregation, which stirreduneasily. Some one coughed. And Sawyer was a sufficiently practisedspeaker to know that, once you lose touch with an audience, it is next toimpossible successfully to regain your ascendency over it. Unless he wasprepared to accept ignominious defeat he must brace himself, or it wouldbe too late. He abominated defeat. Therefore, summoning all his nativecombativeness, he took his own fear by the throat, straightened hismanuscript upon the desk, and vehemently broke forth into speech. 

--Did his hearers deny or doubt the truth of his assertions, suppose thathe spoke at random, or without realization of the heavy responsibilityhe incurred in advancing such accusations? They were in error, so he toldthem. He advanced no accusations which he could not justify by exampleschosen from among themselves, from among residents in this parish. Hewould be false to his duty both to them--his present audience--and to hisand their Creator, were he to abstain from giving those examples out ofrespect of persons. Other occupants of this pulpit might have--he fearedhad--allowed worldly considerations to influence and silence them. 

A nasty cut this, at the poor vicar-canon, increasingly a prey todistracted fidgets, sitting helpless in the chancel. 

But of such pusillanimity, such time-serving, he--ReginaldSawyer--scorned to be guilty. The higher placed the sinner, the moreheinous the sin. --He would deal faithfully with all, since not only wasthe salvation of each one in jeopardy, but his own salvation was in perillikewise, inasmuch as, at the dread Last Assize, he would be required togive account of his stewardship in respect of this sinful place. 

Thus far Damaris had listened in deepening distaste. Surely the young manvery much magnified his office, was in manner exaggerated, in matteraggressive and verbose? Notwithstanding its attempted solemnity and heat, his sermon seemed to be conventional, just a "way of talking, " and aconceited one at that. But, as he proceeded to set forth his promisedexamples of local ill-living, distaste passed into bewilderment andfinally into a sense of outrage, blank and absolute. He named no names, and wrapped his statements up in Biblical language. Yet they remainedsuggestive and significant enough. He spoke, surely, of those whosehonour was dearest to her, whom she boundlessly loved. Under plea ofrebuking vice, he laid bare the secrets, violated the sanctities of theirprivate lives. Yet was not that incredible? All decencies of custom andusage forbade it, stamped such disclosure as unpermissible, fantastic. Hemust be mad, or she herself mad, mishearing, misconceiving him. 

"Adulterous father, bastard son--publican sheltering youthful offendersfrom healthy punishment in the interests of personal gain. "--Of that lastshe made nothing, failed to follow it. But the rest?--

It was true, too. But not as he represented it, all its tragic beauty, all the nobleness which tempered and, in a measure at least, discountedthe great wrong of it, stripped away--leaving it naked, torn from itssetting, without context and so without perspective. Against this notonly her tenderness, but sense of justice, passionately fought. He madeit monstrous and, in that far, untrue, as caricature is untrue, cryingaloud for explanation and analysis. Yet who could explain? Circumstancesof time and place rendered all protest impossible. Nothing could be done, nothing said. Thus her beloved persons were exposed, judged, condemnedunheard, without opportunity of defence. 

And realizing this, realizing redress hopelessly barred, she cowereddown, her head bowed, almost to the level of the marble couch whereon thefigures of knight and lady reposed in the high serenity of love anddeath. Happier they than she, poor child, for her pride trailed in thedust, her darling romance of brother and sister and all the rare pietiesof her heart, defiled by a shameful publicity, exposed for every Tom, Dick and Harry to paw over and sneer at!

Horror of a crowd, which watches the infliction of some signal disgrace, tormented her imagination, moreover, to the temporary breaking of herspirit. Whether that crowd was, in the main, hostile or sympatheticmattered nothing. The fact that it silently sat there, silently observed, made every member of it, for the time, her enemy. Even the trustedservants just behind, comfortable comely Mary, soft Mrs. Cooper, thedevoted Patch, were hateful to her as the rest. Their very loyalty--whichshe for no instant doubted--went only to fill the cup of her humiliationto the brim. 

Reginald Sawyer's voice continued; but what he said now she neither heardnor cared. Her martyrdom could hardly suffer augmentation, the wholeworld seemed against her, she set apart, pilloried. --But not alone. Faircloth was set apart, pilloried, also. And remembering this, hercourage revived. The horror of the crowd lifted. For herself she couldnot fight; but for him she could fight, with strength and conviction, outof the greatness of her love for him, out of her recognition that theignominy inflicted upon him was more bitter, more cruel, than anyinflicted upon her. For those who dare, in a moment the worst can turnbest. --She would make play with the freedom which this breach ofconvention, of social reticence, of moral discretion, conferred upon her. The preacher had gone far in demolition. She would go as far, andfurther, in construction, in restitution. Would openly acknowledge thebond which joined Faircloth to her and to her people, by openly claiminghis protection now, in this hour of her disgrace and supreme dismay. Shewould offer no excuse, no apology. Only there should be no more attemptedconcealment or evasion of the truth on her part, no furtiveness in hisand her relation. Once and for all she would make her declaration, cry itfrom the house-top in fearless yet tender pride. 

Damaris stood up, conspicuous in her red dress amid that rather drabassembly as a leaping flame. She turned about, fronting the perplexed andagitated congregation, her head carried high, her face austere for allits youthful softness, an heroic quality, something, indeed, superlativeand grandiose in her bearing and expression, causing a shrinking in thosewho saw her and a certain sense of awe. 

Her eyes sought Faircloth again. Found him, and unfalteringly spoke withhim, bidding him claim her as she, claimed him, bidding him come. Whichbidding he obeyed; and that at the same rather splendid level ofsentiment, worthily sustaining her abounding faith in him. For a touch ofthe heroic and superlative was present in his bearing and expression, also, as he came up the church between the well-filled pews--thesetenanted, to left and right, by some who figured in his daily life, figured in his earliest recollections, by others, newcomers, to him, evenby sight, barely known; yet each and all, irrespective of age, rank, andposition, affecting his outlook and mental atmosphere in some particular, as every human personality does and must, with whom one's life, ever sotransiently, is thrown. Had he had time to consider them, this cloud ofwitnesses might have proved disturbing even to his masterful will andsteady nerve. But he had not time. There was for him--so perfectly--thesingle object, the one searching yet lovely call to answer, the one actto be performed. 

Reaching the front pew upon the gospel side, Darcy Faircloth tookDamaris' outstretched hand. He looked her in the eyes, his ownworshipful, ablaze at once with a great joy and a great anger; and thenled her back, down the length of the aisle, through the west door intothe liberty of the sunshine and the crisp northerly wind outside. 

Standing here, the houses and trees of the village lay below them. Thewhole glinting expanse of the Haven was visible right up to the town ofMarychurch gathered about its long-backed Abbey, whose tower, tall and ineffect almost spectral, showed against the purple ridges of forest andmoorland beyond. Over the salt marsh in the valley, a flock of ploversdipped and wheeled, their backs and wide flapping wings black, till, inturning, their breasts and undersides flashed into snow and pearl. 

And because brother and sister, notwithstanding diversities of upbringingand of station, were alike children of the open rather than of cities, born to experiment, to travel and to seafaring round this ever-spinningglobe, they instinctively took note of the extensive, keen thoughsun-gilded prospect--before breaking silence and giving voice to theemotion which possessed them--and, in so doing, found refreshment and abrave cleansing to their souls. 

Still holding Faircloth's hand, and still silent, her shoulder touchinghis now and again in walking, Damaris went down the sloping path, hoarylichen-stained head-and-foot stones set in the vivid churchyard grass--asyet unbleached by the cold of winter--on either side. The sense of hisstrength, of the fine unblemished vigour of his young manhood, hereclose beside her--so strangely her possession and portion of her naturalinalienable heritage--filled her with confident security and with arestful, wondering calm. So that the shame publicly put on her to shedits bitterness, her horror of the watching crowd departed, fading outinto unreality. Though still shaken, still quivering inwardly from theordeal of the past hour, she already viewed that shame and horror as butaccidents to be lived down and disregarded, by no means as essentialelements in the adventurous and precious whole. Presently they wouldaltogether lose their power to wound and to distress her, while thisfreedom and the closer union, gained by means of them, continuedimmutable and fixed. 

It followed that, when in opening the churchyard gate and holding it backfor her to pass, Faircloth perforce let go her hand and, the spell ofcontact severed, found himself constrained to speak at last, saying:

"You know you have done a mighty splendid, dangerous thing--no less thanburned your boats--and that in the heat of generous impulse, blind, perhaps--I can't but fear so--to the heavy cost. "

Damaris could interrupt him, with quick, sweet defiance:

"But there is no cost!"

And, to drive home the sincerity of her disclaimer, and further reassurehim, she took his hand again and held it for an instant close against herbosom, tears and laughter together present in her eyes. 

"Ah! you beautiful dear, you beautiful dear, " Faircloth cried, brokenly, as in pain, somewhat indeed beside himself. "Before God, I come nearblessing that blatant young fool and pharisee of a parson since he hasbrought me to this. "

Then he put her a little way from him, penetrated by fear lest the whitelove which--in all honour and reverence--he was bound to hold her in, should flush ever so faintly, red. 

"For, after all, it is up to me, " he said, more to himself than to her, "to make very sure there isn't, and never--by God's mercy--shall be, any cost. "

And with that--for the avoidance of the congregation, now streamingrather tumultuously out of church--they went on across the village green, hissed at by slow waddling, hard-eyed, most conceited geese, to the lanewhich leads down to the causeway and warren skirting the river-bank. 

CHAPTER IV

WHEREIN MISS FELICIA VERITY CONCLUSIVELY SHOWS WHAT SPIRIT SHE IS OF

Her attraction consisted in her transparency, in the eager simplicitywith which she cast her home-made nets and set her innocuous springes. To-day Miss Felicia was out to wing the Angel of Peace, and crowd thatcelestial messenger into the arms of Damaris and Theresa Bilsoncollectively and severally. Such was the major interest of the hour. But, for Miss Felicia the oncoming of middle-age by no means condemned thelesser pleasures of life to nullity. Hence the minor interest of the hourcentred in debate as to whether or not the thermometer justified herwearing a coat of dark blue silk and cloth, heavily trimmed with ruchingsand passementerie, reaching to her feet. A somewhat sumptuous garmentthis, given her by Sir Charles and Damaris last winter in Madrid. Shefancied herself in it greatly, both for the sake of the dear donors, andbecause the cut of it was clever, disguising the over-narrowness of hermaypole-like figure and giving her a becoming breadth and fulness. 

She decided in favour of the coveted splendour; and at about aquarter-past twelve strolled along the carriage-drive on her way to thegoose green and the village street. There, or thereabouts, unless herplot lamentably miscarried, she expected to meet her niece and thatniece's ex-governess-companion, herded in amicable converse by thepinioned Angel of Peace. Her devious and discursive mind fluttered to andfro, meanwhile, over a number of but loosely connected subjects. 

Of precisely what, upon a certain memorable occasion, had taken placebetween her brother, Sir Charles, and poor Theresa--causing the latterto send up urgent signals of distress to which she, Miss Felicia, instantly responded--she still was ignorant. Theresa had, she feared, been just a wee bit flighty, leaving Damaris unattended while herselfmildly gadding. But such dereliction of duty was insufficient to accountfor the arbitrary fashion in which she had been sent about her business, literally--the word wasn't pretty--chucked out! Miss Felicia alwayssuspected there must be _something_, she would say _worse_--it soundedharsh--but something _more_ than merely that. Her interpretations ofpeculiar conduct were liable to run in terms of the heart. Had Theresa, poor thing, by chance formed a hopeless attachment?--Hopeless, of course, almost ludicrously so; yet what more natural, more comprehensible, Charles being who and what he was? Not that he would, in the faintestdegree, lend himself to such misplaced affection. Of that he wasincapable. The bare idea was grotesque. He, of course, was guiltless. But, assuming there _was_ a feeling on Theresa's side, wasn't she equallyguiltless? She could not help being fascinated. --Thus Miss Felicia wasbound to acquit both. Alike they left the court without a stain on theirrespective characters. 

Not for worlds would she ever dream of worrying Charles by attempting toreintroduce poor Theresa to his notice. But with Damaris it wasdifferent. The idea that any persons of her acquaintance were at sixesand sevens, on bad terms, when, with a little good will on their partand tactful effort upon hers, they might be on pleasant ones was to heractively afflicting. To drop an old friend, or even one notconspicuously friendly if bound to you by associations and habit, appeared to her an offence against corporate humanity, an actual howeverfractional lowering of the temperature of universal charity. The loss toone was a loss to all--in some sort. Therefore did she run to adjust, tosmooth, to palliate. 

Charles was away--it so neatly happened--and Theresa Bilson here, not, itmust be owned, altogether without Miss Felicia's connivance. If darlingDamaris still was possessed of a hatchet she must clearly be given, thisopportunity to bury it. To have that weapon safe underground would be, from every point of view, so very much nicer. 

At this point in her meditations beneath the trees bordering the carriagedrive, their bare tops swaying in the breeze and bright sunshine, MissFelicia fell to contrasting the present exhilarating morning with thatdismally rainy one, just over three years ago, when--regardless of hersister, Mrs. Cowden's remonstrances--she had come here from Paulton Lacyin response to Theresa's signals of distress. Just at the elbow of thedrive, so she remembered, she had met a quite astonishingly good-lookingyoung man, brown-gold bearded, his sou'wester and oilskins shining withwet. She vaguely recalled some talk about him with her brother, SirCharles, afterwards during luncheon. --What was it?--Oh! yes, of course, it was he who had rescued Damaris when she was lost out on the Bar, andbrought her home down the tide-river by boat. She had often wanted toknow more about him, for he struck her at the time as quite out of thecommon, quite remarkably attractive. But on the only occasion since whenshe had mentioned the subject, Damaris drew in her horns and becamecuriously uncommunicative. It was all connected, of course, with the deargirl's illness and the disagreeable episode of Theresa's dismissal. --Howall the more satisfactory, then, that the Theresa business, in any case, was at this very hour in process of being set right! Miss Felicia hadadvised Theresa how to act--to speak to Damaris quite naturally andaffectionately, taking her good-will for granted. Damaris would becharming to her, she felt convinced. 

Felicia Verity held the fronts of her long blue coat together, since thewind sported with them rather roughly, and went forward with her quick, wavering gait. 

It was a pity Damaris did not marry she sometimes felt. Of course, Charles would miss her quite terribly. Their love for one another was sodelightful, so really unique. On his account she was glad. --And yet--witha sigh, while the colour in her thin cheeks heightened a little--lackingmarriage a woman's life is rather incomplete. Not that she herself hadreason for complaint, with all the affection showered upon her! The lasttwo years, in particular, had been abundantly blessed thanks to Charlesand Damaris. She admired them, dear people, with all her warm heart andfelt very grateful to them. 

Here it should be registered, in passing, that the resilience of FeliciaVerity's inherent good-breeding saved her gratitude from any charge ofgrovelling, as it saved her many enthusiasms from any charge ofsloppiness. Both, if exaggerated, still stood squarely, even gallantlyupon their feet. 

Her mind switched back to the ever fertile question of the married andthe single state. She often wondered why Charles never espoused a secondwife. He would have liked a son surely? But then, were it possible tofind a fault in him, it would be that of a little coldness, a littleloftiness in his attitude towards women. He was too far above them inintellect and experience, she supposed, and through all the remarkablemilitary commands he had held, administrative posts he had occupied, quite to come down to their level. In some ways Damaris was very likehim--clever, lofty too at moments. Possibly this accounted for herapparent indifference to affairs of the heart and to lovers. Anyhow, shehad ample time before her still in relation to all that. 

Miss Felicia passed into the road. About fifty yards distant she saw theservants--Mary, Mrs. Cooper and Patch--standing close together in aquaint, solemn, little bunch. The two small Patches circled round thesaid bunch, patiently expectant, not being admitted evidently to whateverdeliberations their elders and betters had in hand. 

Felicia Verity's relations with the servants were invariably excellent. Yet, finding them in mufti, outside the boundaries of her brother'sdemesne thus, she was conscious of a certain modesty, hesitating alike tointrude upon their confabulations and to pass onward without a trifleamiable of talk. She advanced, smiling, nodded to the two women, then--

"A delicious day, isn't it, Patch?" she said, adding, for lack of a morepertinent remark--"What kind of sermon did the new curate, Mr. Sawyer, give you?--A good one, I hope?"

A pause followed this guileless question, during which Mary looked on theground, Mrs. Cooper murmured: "Oh! dear, oh, dear!" under her breath, andPatch swallowed visibly before finding voice to reply:

"One, I regret to say, ma'am, he never ought to have preached. "

"Poor young man!" she laughed it off. "You're a terribly severe critic, I'm afraid, Patch. Probably he was nervous. "

"And reason enough. You might think Satan himself stood at his elbow, thewicked things he said. "

This statement, coming from the mild and cow-like Mrs. Cooper, causedFelicia Verity the liveliest surprise. She glanced enquiringly from oneto the other of the little group, reading constraint and hardly repressedexcitement in the countenance of each. Their aspect and behaviour struckher, in fact, as singular to the point of alarm. 

"Mary, " she asked, a trifle breathlessly, "has anything happened? Whereis Miss Damaris?"

"Hadn't she got back to The Hard, ma'am, before you came out?"

"No--why should she? You and the other servants always reach home first. "

"Miss Damaris went out before the rest, " Mrs. Cooper broke forth indolorous widowed accents. "And no wonder, pore dear young lady, was it, Mr. Patch? My heart bled for her, ma'am, that it did. "

Miss Felicia, gentle and eager, so pathetically resembling yet notresembling her famous brother, grew autocratic, stern as himalmost, for once. 

"And you allowed Miss Damaris to leave church alone--she felt unwell, I suppose--none of you accompanied her? I don't understand it atall, " she said. 

"Young Captain Faircloth went out with Miss Damaris. She wished it, ma'am, " Mary declared, heated and resentful at the unmerited rebuke. "Sheas good as called to him to come and take her out of church. It wasn'tfor us to interfere, so we held back. "

"Captain Faircloth? But this becomes more and more extraordinary! Who isCaptain Faircloth?"

"Ah! there you touch it, you must excuse my saying, ma'am. " Mrs. Cooper gasped. 

But at this juncture, Patch, rising to the height of masculineresponsibility, flung himself gallantly--and how unwillingly--into thebreach. He was wounded in his respect and respectability alike, woundedfor the honour of the family whom he had so long and faithfully served. He was fairly cut to the quick--while these three females merely darkenedjudgment by talking all at cross purposes and all at once. Never had thesolid, honest coachman found himself in a tighter or, for that matter, inanything like so tight a place. But, looking in the direction of thevillage, black of clothing, heavy of walk and figure, he espied, as hetrusted, approaching help. 

"If you please, ma'am, " he said, touching his black bowler as hespoke, "I see Canon Horniblow coming along the road. I think it wouldbe more suitable for him to give you an account of what has passed. He'll know how to put it with--with the least unpleasantness to allparties. It isn't our place--Mrs. Cooper's, Mary's, or mine--if you'llpardon my making so free with my opinion, to mention any more ofwhat's took place. "

Felicia Verity, now thoroughly frightened, darted forward. The fronts ofher blue coat again flew apart, and that rich garment stood out in aprodigious frill around and behind her from the waist, as she leaned onthe wind, almost running in her agitation and haste. 

"My dear Canon, " she cried, "I am in such anxiety. I learn something hashappened to my niece, who I had come to meet. Our good servants are sodistractingly mysterious. They refer me to you. Pray relieve myuncertainty and suspense. "

But, even while she spoke, Miss Felicia's anxiety deepened, for thekindly, easy-going clergyman appeared to suffer, like the servants, fromsome uncommon shock. His large fleshy nose and somewhat pendulouscheeks were a mottled, purplish red. Anger and deprecation struggled inhis glance. 

"I was on my way to The Hard, " he began, "to express my regrets--offer myapologies would hardly be too strong a phrase--to your niece, MissVerity, and to yourself. For I felt compelled, without any delay, todissociate myself from the intemperate procedure of my colleague--of mycurate. He has used, or rather misused, his official position, hasgrievously misused the privileges of the pulpit--the pulpit of our parishchurch--to attack the reputation of private individuals and resuscitatelong-buried scandals. "

The speaker was, unquestionably, greatly distressed. Miss Felicia, though more than ever bewildered, felt for him warmly. It pained herexcessively to observe how his large hands clasped and unclasped, howhis loose lips worked. 

"Let me assure you, " he went on, "though I trust that is superfluous--"

"I am certain it is, dear Dr. Horniblow, " she feelingly declared. 

"Thanks, " he replied. "You are most kind, most indulgent to me, MissVerity. --Superfluous, I would say, to assure you that my colleagueadopted this deplorable course without my knowledge or sanction. Hesprang it on me like a bomb-shell. As a Christian my conscience, as agentleman my sense of fair play, condemns his action. "

"Yes--yes--I sympathize. --I am convinced you are incapable of anyindiscretion, any unkindness, in the pulpit or out of it. But why, mydear Canon, apologize to us? How can this unfortunate sermon affect me ormy niece? How can the scandal you hint at in any respect concern us?"

"Because, " he began, that mottling of purple increasingly deforming hisamiable face. --And there words failed him, incontinently he stuck. Hedetested strong language, but--heavens and earth--how could he put it toher, as she gazed at him with startled, candid eyes, innocent of guile asthose of a babe? Only too certainly no word had reached her of thetruth. The good man groaned in spirit for, like Patch, he found himselfin a place of quite unexampled tightness, and with no hope of shuntingthe immense discomfort of it on to alien shoulders such as had beengranted the happier Patch. 

"Because, " he began again, only to suffer renewed agony of wordlessness. In desperation he shifted his ground. 

"You have heard, perhaps, that your niece, Miss Damaris, left the churchbefore the conclusion of the sermon? I do not blame her"--

He waved a fatherly hand. Miss Verity acquiesced. 

"Or rather was led out by--by Captain Faircloth--a young officer in themercantile marine, whose abilities and successful advance in hisprofession this village has every reason to respect. "

He broke off. 

"Let us walk on towards The Hard. Pray let us walk on. --Has no rumourever reached you, Miss Verity, regarding this young man?"

The wildest ideas flitted through Miss Felicia's brain. 

--The figure in shiny oilskins--yet preposterous, surely?--After all, anaffair of the heart--misplaced affection--Damaris?--Did this account forthe apparent indifference?

--How intensely interesting; yet how unwise. --How--but she must keep herown counsel. The wind, now at her back, glued the blue coatinconveniently against and even between her legs, unceremoniouslywhisking her forward. 

"Rumours--oh, none, " she protested. 

"None?" he echoed despairingly. "Pray let us walk on. "

A foolish urgency on his part this, she felt, since she was alreadyalmost on the run. 

"None that, by birth, Captain Faircloth is somewhat nearly related toyour family--to your--your brother, Sir Charles, in fact?"

There, the incubus was off his straining chest at last! He felt easier, capable of manipulating the situation to some extent, smoothing down itsrather terrible ascerbities. 

"Such connections do, " he hastened to add, "as we must regretfullyadmit, exist even in the highest, the most exalted circles. Irregularities of youth, doubtlessly deeply repented of. I repeat sinsof youth, at which only the sinless--and they, alas! to the shame of mysex are lamentably few--can be qualified to cast a stone. --You, youfollow me?"

"You mean me to understand"--

"Yes, yes--exactly so--to understand that this young man isreputed to be"--

"Thank you, my dear Canon--thank you, " Felicia Verity here interposedquickly, yet with much simple dignity, for on a sudden she becamesingularly unflurried and composed. 

"I do, I believe, follow you, " she continued. --"You have discharged yourdifficult mission with a delicacy and consideration for which I amgrateful; but I am unequal to discussing the subject in further detailjust now. --To me, you know, my brother is above criticism. Whateverincidents may--may belong to former years, I accept without cavil orquestion, in silence--dear Dr. Horniblow--in silence. His wishes uponthis matter--should he care to confide them to me--and those of myniece, will dictate my conduct to--towards my nephew, CaptainFaircloth. --Believe me, in all sincerity, I thank you. I am very muchindebted to you for the information you have communicated to me. Itsimplifies my position. And now, " she gave him her hand, "will you pardonmy asking you to leave me?"

Walking slowly--for he felt played out, pretty thoroughly done for, as heput it, and beat--back to the vicarage and his belated Sunday dinner:--

"And of such are the Kingdom of Heaven, " James Horniblow said tohimself--perhaps truly. 

He also said other things, distinctly other things, in which occurred thename of Reginald Sawyer whose days as curate of Deadham were numbered. Ifhe did not resign voluntarily, well then, pressure must, very certainly, be employed to make him resign. 

Meanwhile that blue-coated, virginal member of the Kingdom of Heavensped homeward at the top of her speed. She was conscious of immenseupheaval. Never had she felt so alive, so on the spot. The portals ofhighest drama swung wide before her. She hastened to enter and pour forththe abounding treasures of her sympathy at the feet of the actors in thismost marvellous piece. That her own part in it must be insignificant, probably not even a speaking one, troubled her not the least. She was outfor them, not for herself. It was, also, characteristic of Miss Feliciathat she felt in nowise shocked. Not the ethical, still less the socialaspects of the drama affected her, but only its human ones. These dearpeople had suffered, and she hadn't known it. They suffered still. Sheenclosed them in arms of compassion. --If to the pure all things are pure, Felicia Verity's purity at this juncture radiantly stood the test. Andthat, not through puritanical shutting of the eyes or juggling with fact. As she declared to Canon Horniblow, she accepted the incident withoutquestion or cavil--for her brother. For herself, any possibility ofstepping off the narrow path of virtue, and exploring the alluring, fragrant thickets disposed to left of it and to right, had never, ever sodistantly, occurred to her. 

She arrived at The Hard with a bright colour and beating heart. Crossedthe hall and waited at the drawing-room door. A man's voice was audiblewithin, low-toned and grave, but very pleasant. It reminded her curiouslyof Charles--Charles long ago on leave from India, lightening the heavyconventionalities of Canton Magna with his brilliant, enigmatic, and--toher--all too fugitive presence. Harriet had never really appreciatedCharles--though she was dazzled by his fame at intervals--didn't reallyappreciate him to this day. Well, the loss was hers and the gainindubitably Felicia's, since the elder sister's obtuseness had left theyounger sister a free field. --At thought of which Felicia softly laughed. 

Again she listened to the man's voice--her brother Charles's delightfulyoung voice. It brought back the glamour of her girlhood, of othervoices which had mingled with his, of dances, picnics, cricket matches, days with the hounds. She felt strangely moved, transported; alsostrangely shy--so that she debated retirement. Did not, of course, retire, but went into the drawing-room with a gentle rush, a dartbetween the stumpy pillars. 

"I hoped that I should find you both, " she said. "Yes, " to Damaris'solemn and enquiring eyes--"I happened to meet our good, kind Canon andhave a little conversation with him. I hope"--to Faircloth--"you and Imay come to know one another better, know one another as friends. You arenot going?--No, indeed, you must stay to luncheon. It would grieveme--and I think would grieve my brother Charles also, if you refused tobreak bread in this house. "

CHAPTER V

DEALING WITH EMBLEMS, OMENS AND DEMONSTRATIONS

Deadham resembled most country parishes in this, that, while revelling ininternal dissensions, when attacked from without its inhabitants promptlyscrapped every vendetta and, for the time being, stood back to backagainst the world. 

As one consequence of such parochial solidarity, the village gentry setin a steady stream towards The Hard on the Monday afternoon followingthe historic Sunday already chronicled. Commander and Mrs. Battyecalled. Captain and Mrs. Taylor called, bringing with them theirdaughter Louisa, a tight-lipped, well instructed High School mistress, of whom her parents stood--one couldn't but notice it--most wholesomelyin awe. As is the youthful cuckoo in the nest of the hedge sparrow, sowas Louisa Taylor to the authors of her being. --Mrs. Horniblow calledalso, flanked by her two girls, May and Doris--plain, thick-set, energetic, well-meaning young persons, whom their shrewd mother loved, sheltered, rallied, and cherished, while perfectly aware of theirlimitations as to beauty and to brains. Immediately behind her slippedin Mrs. Cripps. The doctor abstained, conscious of having put a match tothe fuse which had exploded yesterday's astounding homiletic torpedo. The whole affair irritated him to the point of detestable ill-temper. Still, if only to throw dust in the public eye, the house of Cripps mustbe represented. He therefore deputed the job--like so many anotherungrateful one--to his forlorn-looking and red-eyed spouse. This vote ofconfidence, if somewhat crudely proposed and seconded, was still soevidently sincere and kindly meant that Damaris and Miss Felicia feltconstrained to accept it in good part. 

Conversation ran upon the weather, the crops, the migratory wild fowlnow peopling the Haven, the Royal Family--invariably a favourite topicthis, in genteel circles furthest removed from the throne--in anecdotesof servants and of pets interspersed with protests against the rise inbutcher Cleave's prices, the dullness of the newspapers and thesurprising scarcity of eggs. --Ran on any and every subject, in short, save that of sermons preached by curates enamoured of the Decalogue. 

Alone--saving and excepting Dr. Cripps--did the Miss Minetts fail to putin an appearance. This of necessity, since had not they, figurativelyspeaking, warmed the viper in their bosoms, cradled the assassin upontheir hearth? They were further handicapped, in respect of anydemonstration, by the fact of Theresa Bilson's presence in their midst. Owing to the general combustion, Miss Felicia and the Peace Angel's jointmission had gone by the wall. Theresa was still an exile from The Hard, and doomed to remain so as the event proved. With that remarkablepower--not uncommon in her sex--of transmuting fact, granted the healinghand of time, from defeat to personal advantage, she had converted herrepulse by Sir Charles Verity into a legend of quite flattering quality. She had left The Hard because--But--

"She must not be asked to give chapter and verse. The position had been_extremely_ delicate. Even now she could barely speak of it--she had gonethrough too much. To be more explicit"--she bridled--"would trench uponthe immodest, almost. But just _this_ she _could_ say--she withdrew fromThe Hard three years ago, because she saw withdrawal would be best for_others_. Their peace of mind had been her object. "

The above guarded confidences the Miss Minetts, hanging upon her lips, received with devout admiration and fully believed. And, the best of itwas, Theresa had come by now, thanks to frequent rehearsal, fully tobelieve this version herself. At the present juncture it had itsconvenience, since she could declare her allegiance to her formeremployer unimpaired. Thereby was she at liberty to join in the localcondemnation of Reginald Sawyer and his sermon. She did so with anassumption of elegant, if slightly hysterical, omniscience. This was notwithout its practical side. She regretted her inability to meet him atmeals. In consequence the Miss Minetts proposed he should be served inhis own sitting-room, until such time as it suited him to find anotherplace of residence than the Grey House. For their allegiance went on allfours with Theresa's. It was also unimpaired. Propriety had been outragedon every hand; matters, heretofore deemed unmentionable, rushed into theforefront of knowledge and conversation; yet never had they actuallyenjoyed themselves so greatly. The sense of being a stormcentre--inasmuch as they harboured the viper assassin--produced inthem an unexampled militancy. Latent sex-antagonism revealed itself. The man, by common consent was down; and, being down, the Miss Minettsjumped on him, pounded him, if terms so vulgar are permissible inrespect for ladies so refined. For every sin of omission, committedagainst their womanhood by the members of his sex, they made himscapegoat--unconsciously it is true, but effectively none the less. Frombeing his slaves they became his tormentors. Never was young fellow moretaken aback. Such revulsions of human feeling are instructive--deplorableor diverting according as you view it. 

Meanwhile that portion of the local gentry aforesaid, whom awkwardpersonal predicament--as in the case of Dr. Cripps and the MissMinetts--did not preclude from visiting The Hard, having called early onMonday afternoon also left early, being anxious to prove their civilityof purest water, untainted by self-seeking, by ulterior greed of tea andcakes. It followed that Damaris found herself relieved of their somewhatembarrassed, though kindly and well-intentioned, presence before sunset. And of this she was glad, since the afternoon had been fruitful ofinterests far more intimate and vital in character. 

While Captain and Mrs. Taylor, with their highly superior offspringLouisa, still held the floor, Damaris received a telegram from herfather announcing a change of plans involving his immediate return. 

"Send to meet the seven-thirty at Marychurch, " so the pink paperinstructed her. "Carteret comes with me. When we arrive will explain. "

On reception of the above, her first thought was of the letter forwardedyesterday from the India Office, bearing the signature of the Secretaryof State. And close on the heels of that thought, looking over itsshoulder, indeed, in the effort--which she resisted--to claim priority, was the thought of the dear man with the blue eyes about to be a guest, once again, under this roof. This gave her a little thrill, a littlegasp, wrapping her away to the borders of sad inattention to LouisaTaylor's somewhat academic discourse. --The girl's English was altogethertoo grammatical for entire good-breeding. In that how very far away fromCarteret's!--Damaris tried to range herself with present company. But theman with the blue eyes indubitably held the centre of the stage. She worethe pearls to-day he gave her at St. Augustin. In what spirit did hecome?--She hoped in the earlier one, that of the time when she socompletely trusted him. For his counsel, dared she claim it in thatearlier spirit, would be of inestimable value just now. She so badlyneeded someone in authority to advise with as to the events of yesterday, both in their malign and their beneficent aspects. Aunt Felicia had risento the height of her capacity--dear thing, had been exquisite; but shewould obey orders rather than issue them. Her office was not to lead, butrather to be led. And that the events of yesterday opened a new phase ofher own and Faircloth's relation to one another appeared beyond dispute. Where exactly did the curve of duty towards her father touch thatrelation, run parallel with or intersect it? She felt perplexed. 

After tea, Miss Felicia having vanished on some affair of herown--Damaris asked no question, but supposed it not unconnected with thenow, since Sir Charles was about to return, permanently exiledTheresa--our maiden went upstairs, in the tender evening light, ondomestic cares intent. She wished to assure herself that the chintzbedroom, opening off the main landing and overlooking the lawn and frontgarden, had been duly made ready for Colonel Carteret. She took asomewhat wistful pleasure in silently ministering to his possible smallneeds in the matter of sufficient wealth of towels, candles and soap. Shelengthened out the process. Lingered, rearranged the ornaments upon themantelpiece, the bunch of sweet-leafed geranium--as yet unshrivelled byfrost--and belated roses, placed in a vase upon the toilet-table. 

In so doing she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and paused, studying it. Her looks were not at their best. She was wan. --That might, in part, be owing to the waning light. Around her eyes were dark circles, making them appear unnaturally large and solemn. So yesterday's emotionshad left their mark! The nervous strain had been considerable and sheshowed it. One cannot drink the cup of shame, however undeserved, withphysical any more than with mental impunity. She still felt a littleshattered, but hoped neither her father nor Carteret would remark herplight. If the whole affair of yesterday could, in its objectionableaspects, be kept from Sir Charles's knowledge she would be infinitelyglad. And why shouldn't it be? Without permission, Aunt Felicia certainlywould not tell. Neither would the servants. The parish had giventestimony, this afternoon, both of its good faith and its discretion. 

So much for the objectionable side of the matter. But there was anotherside, far from objectionable, beautiful in sentiment and in promise. And, still viewing her reflection in the glass, she saw her eyes lose theirsolemnity, lighten with a smile her lips repeated. This was whereCarteret's advice would be of so great value. How much ought she to tellher father of all that?

For, from amidst the shame, the anger, the strain and effort, Fairclothshowed, to her thinking, triumphant, satisfying alike to her affectionand her taste. In no respect would she have asked him other than he was. 

She moved across to the window, and sat down there, looking out over thegarden and battery, with its little cannons, to the Bar, and sea beyondwhich melted into the dim primrose and silver of the horizon. Such colouras existed was soft, soothing, the colour of a world of dreams, ofsubdued and voiceless fancies. It was harmonious, restful as anaccompaniment to vision. --Damaris let it lap against her consciousness, encircling, supporting this, as water laps, also encircling andsupporting--while caressing, mysteriously whispering against a boat'sside--a boat lying at its moorings, swinging gently upon an evenkeel. --And her vision was of Faircloth, exclusively of him, just now. 

For he had stayed to luncheon yesterday. A meal, to him in a sensesacred, as being the first eaten by him in his father's house. Sograciously invited, how, indeed, could he do otherwise than stay? And, the initial strangeness, the inherent wonder of that sacred characterwearing off, he found voice and talked not without eloquence. Talked ofhis proper element, the sea, gaining ease and self-possession from themagnitude and manifold enchantments of his theme. 

To him, as to all true-born sailor-men--so Damaris divined--the world ismade of water, with but accident of land. Impeding, inconvenient accidentat that, too often blocking the passage across or through, andconstraining you to steer a foolishly, really quite inordinatelydivergent course. Under this obstructive head the two Americas offenddirefully, sprawling their united strength wellnigh from pole to pole. The piercing of their central isthmus promised some mitigation of thisimpertinence of emergent matter; though whether in his, the speaker'slifetime, remained--so he took it--open to doubt. The "roaring forties, "and grim blizzard-ridden Fuegian Straits would long continue, as hefeared, to bar the way to the Pacific. Not that his personal fancyfavoured West so much as East. Not into the sunset but into the sunrisingdid he love to sail some goodly black-hulled ship. --And as he talked, more especially at his mention of this eastward voyaging, those manifoldenchantments of his calling stirred Damaris' imagination, making hereyes bright as the fabled eyes of danger, and fathomless as well. 

But the best came later. For, Mary having served coffee, Miss Felicia, making an excuse of letters to be written, with pretty tact left them tothemselves. And Faircloth, returning after closing the door behind herfluttering, gently eager figure, paused behind Damaris' chair. --Jacobean, cane-panelled, with high-carved back and arms to it. Thomas ClarksonVerity had unquestionably a nice taste in furniture. --The youngsea-captain rested his right hand on the dark terminal scroll-work, andbending down, laid his left hand upon Damaris' hand, covering it as itlay on the white damask table-cloth. 

"Have I done what I should, and left undone what I shouldn't do, my dearand lovely sister?" he asked her, half-laughing and half-abashed. "It's atricky business being here, you know--to put it no higher than that. Andit might, with truth, be put far higher. I get so horribly fearful ofletting you down in any way--however trivial--before other people. Ibalance on a knife-edge all the while. "

"Have no silly fears of that sort, " Damaris said quickly, a trifledistressed. 

For it plucked at her sisterly pride in him that he should, even byimplication, debase himself, noting inequality of station between himselfand her. She held the worldly aspects of the matter in contempt. Theyangered her, so that she impulsively banished reserve. Leaning forward, she bent her head, putting her lips to the image of the flyingsea-bird--which so intrigued her loving curiosity--and those threeletters tattooed in blue and crimson upon the back of his hand. 

"There--there"--she murmured, as soothing a child--"does thisconvince you?"

But here broke off, her heart contracting with a spasm of wonderingtenderness. For under that pressure of her lips she felt his flesh quiverand start. She looked up at the handsome bearded face, so close aboveher, in swift enquiry, the potion--as once before--troubling her that, intouching this quaint stigmata, she inflicted bodily suffering. And, ason that earlier occasion, asked the question:

"Ah! but have I hurt you?"

Faircloth shook his head, smiling. Words failed him just then and he wentpale beneath the overlay of clear brown sunburn. 

"Then tell me what this stands for?" she said, being herself strangelymoved, and desirous to lower the temperature of her own emotion--possiblyof his as well. "Tell me what it means. "

"Just a boy's fear and a boy's superstition--a bit morbid, both of them, perhaps--that is as I see things now. For I hold one should leave one'sbody as it pleased the Almighty to make it, unblemished by semi-savagedecorations which won't wash off. "

Faircloth moved away, drew his chair up nearer the head of the table, the corner between them, so that his hand could if desire prompted againfind hers. 

"By the way, I'm so glad you don't wear ear-rings, Damaris, " he said. "They belong to the semi-savage order of decoration. I hate them. Younever will wear them? Promise me that. "

And she had promised, somewhat diverted by his tone of authority and ofinsistence. 

"But about this?" she asked him, indicating the blue and crimson symbol. 

"As I say, fruit of fear and superstition--a pretty pair in which to putone's faith! All the same, they went far to save my life, I fancy--forwhich I thank them mightily being here, with you, to-day. "

And he told her--softening the uglier details, as unfit for agently-nurtured woman's hearing--a brutal story of the sea. Of a sailingship becalmed in tropic waters, waiting, through long blistering days andbreathless sweltering nights, for the breeze which wouldn't come--afloating hell, between glaring skies and glaring ocean--and of bullyings, indignities and torments devised by a brain diseased by drink. 

"But was there no one to interfere, no one to protect you?" Damariscried, aghast. 

"A man's master in his own ship, " Faircloth answered. "And short ofmutiny there's no redress. Neither officers nor men had a stomach formutiny. They were a poor, cowed lot. Till this drunken madness came onhim he had been easy going enough. They supposed, when it passed, he'dbe so again. And then as he reserved his special attentions for me, they were willing to grin and bear it--or rather let me bear it, juststupidly letting things go. It was my first long voyage. I'd been luckyin my skippers so far, and was a bit soft still. A bit conceited, Idon't doubt, as well. He swore he'd break my spirit--for my own good, of course--and he came near succeeding. --But Damaris, Damaris, dear, don't take it to heart so. What does it matter? It did me no lastingharm, and was all over and done with--would have been forgotten too, but for the rather silly sign of it--years and years ago. Let us talkno more about it. "

"Oh, no!--go on--please, go on, " she brokenly prayed him. 

So he told her, further, how at Singapore, the outward voyage at lastended, he was tempted to desert; or, better still, put an end, once andfor all, to the whole black business of living. And how, meditating onthe methods of such drastic deliverance--sitting in the palm-shadedverandah of a fly-blown little eating-house, kept by a monkey-faced, squint-eyed Japanese--he happened to pick up a Calcutta newspaper. Heread its columns mechanically, without interest or understanding, hismind still working on methods of death, when a name leapt at him weightedwith personal meaning. 

"It hit me, " Faircloth said, "full between the eyes, knocking thecry-baby stuff out of me, and knocking stuff of very different order in. For I wanted something stronger than mother-love--precious though thatis--to brace me up and put some spunk into me just then. --Sir Charles wascampaigning in Afghanistan, and this Calcutta paper sang his praises to arousing tune. Lamented the loss of him to the Indian Government, and thelack of appreciation and support of him at home which induced him to takeforeign service. Can't you imagine how all this about a great soldier, whose blood after all ran in my veins, pulled me clean up out of theslime, where suicide tempted the soft side of me, into another world?--Asane world, in which a man can make good, if only he's pluck to holdon. --Yes, he saved me; or at all events roused the spirit in me whichmakes for salvation, and which that drunken brute had almost killed. But, because I was only a boy as yet, with a boy's queer instincts andextravagancies, I made the monkey-faced, Japanese eating-housekeeper--who added artistic tattooing to other and less reputable ways ofpiling up a fortune--fix the sea-bird, for faith in my profession--andthose three initials of my own name and a name not altogether my own, right here. --Fix them for remembrance and for a warning of which I couldnever get free. Always I should be forced to see it. And others must seeit too. Through it my identity--short of mutilation--was indestructiblyestablished. From that identity, henceforward, there wasn't any possiblerunning away. "

Faircloth had ended on a note of exultation, calmly sounded yet profound. 

And upon that final note Damaris dwelt now, sitting on the chintz-coveredwindow-seat of the room which Carteret would to-night inhabit. She wentthrough the cruel story again, while the transparent twilight drew itselfin veil over all things, outdoor and in. 

The crescent moon, a slender, upright wisp of a thing, climbed thesouthern sky. And Damaris' soul was strangely satisfied, for the story, if cruel, was one of restitution and the healing of a wrong. To herfather--his father--the boy had turned in that bad hour, which veryperfectly made for peace between them. The curve of her duty to the one, as she now apprehended, in nowise cut across or deflected the curve ofher duty towards the other. The two were the same, were one. And this, somehow, some day, when time and sentiment offered opportunity for suchdisclosure, she must let her father know. She must repeat to him thestory of the eating-house and its monkey-faced proprietor--ofquestionable reputation--away in tropic Singapore. It could hardly failto appeal to him if rightly told. About the events and vulgar publicityof yesterday nothing need be said. About this, within careful limits, much; and that, with, as she believed, happiest result. She had succeededin bringing father and son together in the first instance. Now, with thispathetic story as lever, might she not hope to bring them into closer, more permanent union? Why should not Faircloth, in future, come and go, if not as an acknowledged son, yet as acknowledged and welcome friend, ofthe house? A consummation this, to her, delightful and reasonable asjust. For had not the young man passed muster, and that triumphantly--sheagain told herself--in small things as well as great, in things of socialusage and habit, those "little foxes" which, as between class and class, do so deplorably and disastrously "spoil the grapes?"

Therefore she began to invent ingenious speeches to Carteret and to herfather. Hatch ingenious schemes and pretty plots--in the style of dearAunt Felicia almost!--Was that lady's peace-making passion infectious, bychance? And supposing it were, hadn't it very charming and praiseworthyturns to it--witness Felicia's rather noble gathering in and acceptanceof Faircloth yesterday. 

Arriving at which engaging conclusion, Damaris felt minded to commune fora space with the restful loveliness of the twilight, before goingdownstairs again and seeking more definite employment of books orneedlework. She raised the window-sash and, kneeling on thechintz-covered cushioned window-seat, leaned out. 

The gardeners to-day had rooted up the geraniums and dug over the emptyflower beds, just below, preparatory to planting them with bulbs forspring blossoming. The keen, pungent scent of the newly-turned earthhung in the humid air, as, mingling with it--a less agreeableincense--did the reek of the mud-flats. On the right the twin ilex treesformed a mass of soft imponderable gloom. Above and behind them the skywas like smoked crystal. The lawn lay open and vacant. Upon it nothinghopped or crept. The garden birds had eaten their suppers long since, and sought snug bosky perching places for the night. Even the unsleepingsea was silent, the tide low and waveless, no more than a languid ripplefar out upon the shelving sands. All dwelt in calm, in a broodingtranquillity which might be felt. 

Damaris listened to the silence, until her ears began to suspect itssincerity. Sounds were there in plenty, she believed, were her hearingsharp enough to detect them. They naughtily played hide-and-seek withher, striking a chord too deep or too thinly acute for human sense. Sights were there too, had her eyes but a cat's or an owl's keenerfaculty of seeing. Behind the tranquillity she apprehended movement andaction employing a medium, obeying impulses, to us unknown. Restfulnessfled away, but, in place of it, interest grew. If she concentrated herattention and listened more carefully, she should hear; looked moresteadily, she should see. 

Just because she was tired, a little shattered still and spent, did thispredominance of outward nature draw her, imposing itself. It beckonedher; and, through passing deficiency of will, she followed its beckoning, making no serious effort to resist. With the consequence she presentlydid hear sounds, but sounds surely real and recognizable enough. 

Coming from the shore eastwards, below the sea-wall along the riverfrontage, ponies walked, or rather floundered, fetlock deep in blownsand--a whole drove of them to judge by the confused and muffledtrampling of their many hoofs. The drop from the top of the sea-wall tothe beach was too great, and the space between the foot of the wall andthe river-bank and breakwater too confined, for her to see the animals, even had not oncoming darkness rendered all objects increasinglyill-defined. 

But the confused trampling instead of keeping along the foreshore, as inall reason it should, now came up and over the sea-wall, on to thebattery, into the garden, heading towards the house, Damaris strained hereyes through the tranquil obscurity, seeking visible cause of thisadvancing commotion, but without effect. Yet all the while, as herhearing clearly testified, the unseen ponies hustled one another, plunging, shying away from the swish and crack of a long-thonged whip. One stumbled and rolled over in the sand. --For although the mob washalf-way up the lawn by now, the shuffling, sliding sand stayed alwayswith them. --After a nasty struggle it got on to its feet, totteringforward under savage blows, dead lame. Another, a laggard, fell into itstracks, and lay there foundered, rattling in the throat. 

By this time the foremost of the drove came abreast the house front, where Sir Charles Verity's three ground-floor rooms, with the corridorbehind them, ranged out from the main building. The many-panedsemicircular windows of these rooms dimly glistened, below theirfan-shaped, slated roofs. The crowding scurry of scared, over-drivenanimals was so indisputable that Damaris expected a universal smashing ofglass. But the sound of many hoofs, still muted by sliding sand, passedstraight on into and through the house as though no obstacle intervenedbarring progress. 

The many-paned windows remained intact, undemolished, dimly glisteningbeneath their slated roofs. The garden stretched vacant, as before, rightaway to the battery, in the elusive twilight, a sky of smokedcrystal--through which stars began to show faintly, points of coldblurred light--above the gloom of the ilex trees to the west, and in thesouth, above the indistinguishable sea, the slender moon hanging upright, silver and sickle-shaped. 

Thus far Damaris' entire consciousness had resided in and been limited toher auditory sense; concentration being too absorbed and intense to allowroom for reasoning, still less for scepticism or even astonishment. Shehad watched with her ears--as the blind watch--desperate to interpret, instant by instant, inch by inch, this reconstructed tragedy of long-deadman and long-dead beast. There had been no thinking round the centralinterest, no attempted reading of its bearing upon normal events. Mindand imagination were fascinated by it to the exclusion of all else. Itacted as an extravagant dream acts, abrogating all known laws of causeand effect, giving logic and science the lie, negativing probability, making the untrue true, the impossible convincingly manifest. 

Not, indeed, until she beheld Mary Fisher, deep-bosomed and comely, inblack gown, white apron and cap, moving within those roomsdownstairs--still echoing, as they surely must, to that tumultuous andrather ghastly equine transit--did the extraordinary character of theoccurrence flash into fullness of relief. 

Mary, meanwhile, set down her flat candlestick upon the big writing-tablein Sir Charles's study, lighted lamps and drew blinds and curtains. Wentinto the bedroom next door and dressing-room beyond, methodicallyperforming the evening ritual of "shutting up. " Her shadow marched withher, as though mockingly assisting in her operations, now crouching, nowleaping ahead, blotting a ceiling, extending itself upon a wall space. Other shadows, thrown by the furniture, came forth and leapt also, pranced, skipping back into hiding as the candle-light shifted andpassed. But save this indirect admission of the immaterial and grotesque, everything showed reassuringly ordinary, the woman herself unconcerned, ignorant of disturbance. 

Damaris rose from her kneeling posture upon the window-seat and, standing, lowered the sash. Once was enough. It was no longer incumbentupon her to listen or to look. If these ghostly phenomena were repeatedthey could convey nothing more to her, nothing fresh. They had deliveredtheir message--one addressed wholly and solely to herself, so she judged, since Mary had so conspicuously no suspicion of it. 

Our maiden's lips were dry. Her heart beat in her ears. Yet she was in nodegree unnerved. Seldom indeed had she been more mistress of her powers, self-realized and vigilant. Nor did she feel tired any more, infirm ofwill and spent. Rather was she consciously resolute to encounter andwithstand events--of what order she did not know as yet but events ofmoment and far-reaching result, already on the road, journeying towardher hotfoot. They were designed to test and try her. Would do theirutmost to overwhelm, to submerge her, were she weak. But she didn'tintend them to submerge her. She bade weakness quit, all her youngcourage rising in arms. 

The marvellous things she just now heard, so nearly saw--for it had comevery near to seeing, hadn't?--were _avant couriers_ of these samejourneying events, their appointed prelude. She could explain neither hownor why--but, very certainly, somehow. Nor could she explain therelation--if any--coupling together the said marvels heard and theevents. Nevertheless, she knew the former rode ahead, whether inmalignity or mercy, to forewarn her. This place, The Hard, in virtue ofits numerous vicissitudes of office and of ownership, of the memories andtraditions which it harboured, both sinister, amiable, erudite, passionate, was singularly sentient, replete with influences. In times ofstrain and stress the normal wears thin, and such lurking influences arereleased. They break bounds, shouting--to such as have the psychicgenius--convincing testimony of their existence. 

All this Damaris perceived, standing in the middle of the room while thesilver crescent moon looked in at her. The stillness once again wasabsolute. The dusk, save where the windows made pale squares upon thecarpet, thick. The four-post bed, gay enough by day with hangings andvalences patterned in roses on a yellow ground, looked cavernous. Carteret would lie under its black canopy to-night if--

"If all goes well. "

Damaris said the words aloud, her thought becoming personal andarticulate. 

Once before she had heard the smugglers' ponies, waiting in this sameroom. Waiting at the open window to catch the first rumble of the wheelsof a returning carriage. Her poor dear Nannie, Sarah Watson, wasreturning home after a summer holiday spent with her own people in thenorth. And Damaris, younger then by nearly five years, had listenedimpatiently, ready to skirmish down into the front hall--directly thecarriage turned the elbow of the drive--and enclose her faithful nurseand foster-mother in arms of child-like love. But destiny ruled otherwise. In vain she waited. Sarah Watson returned no more, death having electedto take her rather horribly to himself some hours previously amid theflaming wreckage of a derailed express. 

What did this second hearing presage? A like vain waiting and disclosureof death-dealing accident? Notwithstanding her attitude of highresolution, the question challenged Damaris in sardonic fashion frombeneath the black canopy of the great bed. Her hand went up to the stringof pearls which, on a sudden, grew heavy about her throat. 

"But not--not--pray God, the dear man with the blue eyes, " she cried. 

She was glad to be alone, in the encompassing semi-dark, for a warm waveof emotion swept over her, an ardour hardly of the spiritual sort. Hadshe deceived herself? Was she, in truth, desirous Carteret shouldapproach her solely according to that earlier manner, in which she sosimply trusted him? Did she hail his coming as that of a wise counsellormerely--or--

But here Mary--still pursuing the time-honoured ritual of shuttingup--entered candle in hand, the landing showing brightly lit behind her. 

"Dear heart alive!" she exclaimed, "whoever's that? You, Miss Damaris?Alone here in the dark. You did make me jump. But there, " she added, repentant of her unceremonious exclamation, "I don't know what possessesus all to-night. The least thing seems to make you jump. Mrs. Cooper'sall of a twitter, and Laura--silly girl--is almost as bad. I suppose it'sthe weather being so quiet after yesterday's gale. For my own part Ialways do like a wind about. It seems company, particularly these longevenings if you're called on to go round the house by yourself. "

All of which amounted to an admission, as Damaris was not slow to detect. She was still under the empire of emotion. The abrupt intrusion affectedher. She, too, needed to carry off the situation. 

"Poor Mary, " she said, "you have been frightened--by what? Did you hearanything you could not account for when you were down in the libraryjust now?"

The answer came after a pause, as though the speaker were suspicious, slightly unwilling to commit herself. 

"No, Miss Damaris, not in Sir Charles's rooms or in the west wing either. Whatever unaccountable noises there ever is belong to this old part ofthe house. "

She set her candlestick on the dressing-table, and went to each window inturn, drawing blinds down and curtains across. So doing she continued totalk, moving to and fro meanwhile with a firm, light tread. 

"Not that I pay much attention to such things myself. I don't hold it'sright. It's my opinion there's no sort of nonsense you can't driveyourself into believing once you let ideas get a root in you. I've seentoo much of Mrs. Cooper giving away like that. The two winters you andSir Charles was abroad I'd a proper upset with her--though we are goodfriends--more than once. After sundown she was enough to terrify you outof your life--wouldn't go here and wouldn't go there for fear of shedidn't know what. Tempting Providence, I call it, and spoke to her quitesharp. If ever I wanted to go over to spend an hour or two with fatherand mother in Marychurch, I was bound to ask Mrs. Patch and the childrento come in and keep her company. There's no sense in putting yourselfinto such a state. It makes you a trouble to yourself and everybody else. And in the end, a thousand to one if anything comes of all the turmoiland fuss--Mrs. Cooper, to be only fair to her, when she's in a reasonablehumour, allows as much. "

Mary stepped across to the bed and doubled back the quilt, preparatory toturning down the fine linen sheet. She felt she had extracted herselffrom a somewhat invidious position with flying colours; and, in theprocess, had administered timely advice. For it wasn't suitable MissDamaris should be moping alone upstairs at odd times like this. It allcame of yesterday's upset. --Her righteous anger blazed against theclerical culprit. In that connection there was other matter of which shecraved to deliver herself--refreshing items of local gossip, sweet ashoney to the mouth did she but dare retail them. She balanced thequestion this way and that. Would satisfaction outweigh offence, oroffence satisfaction, on the part of Miss Damaris? You could not be surehow she'd take things--quite. And yet she ought to know, for the affaircertainly placed Captain Faircloth in a pleasant light. Only one who wasevery inch a gentleman would behave so handsomely as he had. 

She stretched across the bed to smooth the slightly wrinkled surface ofthe sheet. This gymnastic feat necessitated the averting of her face andturning of her back. 

"There's a fine tale going round of how the Island lads--wild youngfellows ready for any pranks--served Mr. Sawyer, the curate, " she began. "They say William Jennifer put them up to it, having a grudge against himfor trying to get his youngest boy taken up for stealing apples lastweek. They planned to give him a ducking in the pool just above theferry, where the water's so deep under the bank. And if Captain Fairclothhadn't happened to come along, for certain they'd have made Mr. Sawyerswim for it. Mr. Patch hears they handled him ever so rough, tore hiscoat, and were on the very tick of pitching him in. But Captain Fairclothwould not suffer it. He took a very high line with them, it is said. Andnot content with getting Mr. Sawyer away, walked with him as far as theGrey House to protect him from any further interference. "

She gave the pillows sundry judicious strokings and pats. 

"I hope Mr. Sawyer's properly thankful, for it isn't many that would haveshown him so much leniency as that. "

She would have enjoyed labouring the point. But comment appeared to her, under the circumstances, to trench on impertinence. Facts spoke forthemselves. She restrained herself, fetched her candlestick from thedressing-table, and stood by the open door, thereby enjoining her younglady's exit. 

Thus far Damaris maintained silence, but in passing out on to thelanding, she said--"Thank you. I am glad to know what has happened. "

Encouraged by which acknowledgment, the excellent woman venturedfurther advice. 

"And now, miss, you must please just lie down on the schoolroom sofa andget a little sleep before the gentlemen and Mr. Hordle arrive back. Thereis a good two hours to wait yet, and I'll call you in plenty of time foryou to dress. You don't look altogether yourself, miss. Too much talkingwith all that host of callers. You are properly fagged out. I'll get Mrs. Cooper to beat up an egg for you in a tumbler of hot milk, with atablespoonful of sherry and just a pinch of sugar in it. That will getyour circulation right. "

CHAPTER VI

SHOWING HOW SIR CHARLES VERITY WAS JUSTIFIED OF HIS LABOURS

Which homely programme being duly executed, worked restorative wonders. Matter, in the sublimated form of egg-flip, acted upon mind beneficiallythrough the functions of a healthy, if weary, young body. Our maidenslept, to dream not of ghostly ponies or other uncomfortably discarnatecreatures; but of Darcy Faircloth in his pretty piece of Quixotism, rescuing a minister of the Church of England "as by law established" fromheretical baptismal rites of total immersion. The picture had a roughside to it, and also a merry one; but, beyond these, generous dealingwholly delightful to her feeling. She awoke soothed and restored, readyto confront the oncoming of events--whatever their character--in a spiritof high confidence as well as of resolution. 

With the purpose of advertising this brave humour she dressed herself inher best. I do not deny a love of fine clothes in Damaris. Yet in her ownhome, and for delectation of the men belonging to her, a woman is surelyfree to deck herself as handsomely as her purse allows. "Beautyunadorned" ceased to be practicable, in self-respecting circles, with theexpulsion of our first parents from the paradisaic state; while beautymerely dowdy, is a pouring of contempt on one of God's best gifts to thehuman race. Therefore I find no fault with Damaris, upon this ratherfateful evening, in that she clothed herself in a maize-coloured silkgown flowered in faint amber and faint pink. Cut in the piece fromshoulder to hem, according to a then prevailing fashion, it mouldedbosom, waist and haunches, spreading away into a demi-train behind. Thehigh Medici collar of old lace, at the back of the square décolletage, conferred dignity; the hanging lace of the elbow sleeves a lightness. Herhair, in two wide plaits, bound her head smoothly, save where softdisobedient little curls, refusing restriction, shaded her forehead andthe nape of her neck. 

After a few seconds of silent debate she clasped Carteret's pearls abouther throat again; and so fared away, a creature of radiant aspect, amidsombre setting of low ceilings and dark carpeted floors, to await theadvent of the travellers. 

These arrived some little while before their time, so that the girl, inher gleaming dress, had gone but half-way down the staircase when theycame side by side into the hall. --Two very proper gentlemen, the moistfreshness of the night attending them, a certain nobility in theirbearing which moved her to enthusiasm, momentarily even bringing a mistbefore her eyes. For they were safe and well both of them, so shejoyously registered, serene of countenance, moreover, as bearers of gladtidings are. Whatever the ghostly ponies foretold could be no evilshadowing them--for which she gave God thanks. 

Meanwhile, there without, the light of the carriage lamps pierced theenclosing gloom, played on the silver plating of harness, on the shiningcoats of the horses, whose nostrils sent out jets of pale steam. Playedover the faces of the servants, too, Mary and Laura just within the opendoor, Hordle and Conyers outside loading down the baggage from the backof the mail-phaeton, and on Patch, exalted high above them on thedriving-seat. 

As Damaris paused, irradiated by the joy of welcome and of forebodingsfalsified, upon the lowest step of the staircase, Sir Charles turnedaside and tenderly kissed her. 

"My darling, " he said. 

And Carteret, following him an instant later, took her by both hands and, from arm's length, surveyed her in smiling admiration he made no effortto repress. 

"Dear witch, this is unexpected good fortune. I had little thought ofseeing you so soon--resplendent being that you are, veritably clothedwith sunshine. "

"And with your pearls, " she gaily said. 

"Ah! my poor pearls, " he took her up lightly. "I am pleased they stillfind favour in your sight. But aren't you curious to learn what has madeus desert our partridge shooting at an hour's notice, granting the prettylittle beggars unlooked-for length of life?"

His blue eyes laughed into hers. There was a delightful atmosphere abouthim. Something had happened to him surely--for wasn't he, after all, ayoung man even yet?

"Yes--what--what has brought you, Colonel Sahib?" Damaris laughed back athim, bubbling over with happy excitement. 

"Miracles, " he answered. "A purblind Government at last admits the errorof its ways and proposes to make reparation for its neglect of a notablepublic-servant. "

"You?" she cried. 

Carteret shook his head, still surveying her but with a soberer glance. 

"No--no--not me. In any case there isn't any indebtedness toacknowledge--no arrears to pay off. I have my deserts. --To a manimmensely my superior. Look nearer home, dear witch. "

He made a gesture in the direction of his host. 

"My Commissioner Sahib?"

"Yes--your Commissioner Sahib, who comes post haste to request your dearlittle permission, before accepting this tardy recognition of hisservices to the British Empire. "

"Ah! but that's too much!" the girl said softly, glancing from one to theother, enchanted and abashed by the greatness of their loyalty to andprominent thought of her. 

"Has this made him happy?" she asked Carteret, under her breath. "Helooks so, I think. How good that this has come in time--that it hasn'tcome too late. "

For, in the midst of her joyful excitement, a shadow crossed Damaris'mind oddly obscuring the light. She suffered a perception things might soeasily have turned out otherwise; a suspicion that, had the reparation ofwhich Carteret spoke been delayed, even by a little, its belovedrecipient would no longer have found use for or profit in it. Damarisfought the black thought, as ungrateful and faithless. To fear disasteris too often to invite it. 

Just at this juncture Miss Felicia made hurried and gently eagerirruption into the hall; and with that irruption the tone of prevailingsentiment declined upon the somewhat trivial, even though warmlyaffectionate. For she fluttered round Sir Charles, as Mary Fisher helpeddivest him of his overcoat, in sympathetic overflowings of the simplestsort. --"She had been reading and failed to hear the carriage, hence hertardy appearance. Let him come into the drawing-room at once, out ofthese draughts. There was a delightful wood fire and he must be chilled. The drive down the valley was always so cold at night--particularly wherethe road runs through the marsh lands by Lampit. "

In her zeal of welcome Miss Verity was voluble to the point ofinconsequence, not to say incoherence. Questions poured from her. Sheappeared agitated, quaintly self-conscious, so at least it occurred toDamaris. Finally she addressed Carteret. 

"And you too must be frozen, " she declared. "How long it is since we met!I have always been so unlucky in just missing you here! Really I believeI have only seen you once since you and Charles stayed with us at CantonMagna. --You were both on leave from India. I dare not think how manyyears ago that is--before this child"--her candid eyes appealingly soughtthose of Damaris--"before this child existed. And you are so wonderfullyunaltered. "

Colour dyed her thin face and rather scraggy neck. Only the young shouldblush. After forty such involuntary exhibitions of emotion areunattractive, questionably even pathetic. 

"Really time has stood still with you--it seems to me, Colonel Carteret. "

"Time has done better than stand still, " Damaris broke in, with a rathersurprising imperiousness. "It has beautifully run backwards--lately. "

And our maiden, in her whispering gleaming dress, swept down from thestep, swept past the sadly taken aback Miss Felicia, and joined herfather. She put her hand within his arm. 

"Come and warm yourself--come, dearest, " she said, gently drawing himonward into the long room, where from above the range of darkbookshelves, goggle-eyed, pearl-grey Chinese goblins and monsters, andoblique-eyed Chinese philosophers and saints looked mysteriously downthrough the warm mellow light. 

Damaris was conscious of a singular inward turmoil. For Miss Felicia'sspeeches found small favour in her ears. She resented this open claimingof Carteret as a member of the elder generation. Still more resented herown relegation to the nullity of the prenatal state. Reminiscences, inwhich she had neither lot nor part, left her cold. Or, to be accurate, bred in her an intemperate heat, putting a match to jealousies which, till this instant, she had no knowledge of. Touched by that match theyflared to the confusion of charity and reverence. Hence, impulsively, unscrupulously, yet with ingenious unkindness, she struck--her tongue asword--to the wounding of poor Miss Felicia. And she felt no necessityfor apology. She liked to be unkind. She liked to strike. Aunt Feliciashould not have been so self-assertive, so tactless. She had broughtchastisement upon herself. It wasn't like her to behave thus. Herenthusiasms abounded; but she possessed a delicate appreciation ofrelative positions. She never poached. This came perilously nearpoaching. --And everything had danced to so inspiring a tune, the movementof it so delicious! Now the evening was spoilt. The first fine alacrityof it could not be recaptured--which was all Aunt Felicia's fault. --No, for her unkindness Damaris felt no regret. 

It may be remarked that our angry maiden's mind dwelt rather upon thesnub she had inflicted on Miss Verity, than upon the extensive complimentshe had paid, and the challenge she had delivered, to Carteret. Hearingher flattering declaration, his mind not unnaturally dwelt more upon thelatter. It took him like a blow, so that from bending courteously overthe elder lady's hand, he straightened himself with a jerk. His eyesfollowed the imperious, sun-clad young figure, questioning and keenlyalert. To-day he had liberally enjoyed the pleasures of friendship, forCharles Verity had been largely and generously elate. But Damaris'outburst switched feeling and sentiment onto other lines. They becamepersonal. Were her words thrown off in mere lightness of heart, or hadshe spoken deliberately, with intention? It were wiser, perhaps, not toask. He steadied his attention on to Miss Felicia once more, but notwithout effort. 

"You always said kind and charming things, I remember, " so he told her. "You are good enough to say them still. "

Damaris stood by her father, upon the tiger skin before the hearth. 

"Tell me, dearest?" she prayed him. 

Charles Verity put his hand under her chin, turned up her face and lookedsearchingly at her. Her beauty to-night was conspicuous and of noblequality. It satisfied his pride. Public life invited him, offering himplace and power. Ranklings of disappointment, of detraction and slight, were extinguished. His soul was delivered from the haunting vexations ofthem. He was in the saddle again, and this radiant woman-child, whom heso profoundly loved, should ride forth with him for all the world tosee--if she pleased. That she would please he had no doubt. Pomp andcircumstance would suit her well. She was, moreover, no slight or frothypiece of femininity; but could be trusted, amid the glamour of new andbrilliant conditions, to use her judgment and to keep her head. Increasingly he respected her character as well as her intelligence. Hefound in her unswerving sense of right and wrong, sense of honourlikewise. Impetuous she might be, swift to feel and to revolt; but oftender conscience and, on occasion, royally compassionate. Now he couldgive her fuller opportunity. Could place her in circumstances admittedlyenviable and prominent. From a comparative back-water, she should gainthe full stream--and that stream, in a sense, at the flood. 

Rarely, if ever, had Charles Verity experienced purer pleasure, touched afiner level of purpose and of hope than to-day, when thinking of and nowwhen looking upon Damaris. He thankfully appraised her worth, and inspirit bowed before it, not doatingly or weakly but with reasonedconviction. Weighed in the balances she would not be found wanting, suchwas his firm belief. For himself he accepted this recall to activeparticipation in affairs, active service to the State, with a loftycontent. But that his daughter, in the flower of her young womanhood, would profit by this larger and more distinguished way of life, gave thesaid recall its deeper values and its zest. 

Still he put her off awhile as to the exact announcement, smiling uponher in fond, yet stately approval. 

"Let the telling keep until after dinner, my dear, " he bade her. "Pacifythe cravings of the natural man for food and drink. The day has beenfertile in demands--strenuous indeed to the point of fatigue. So let uscomfort ourselves inwardly and materially before we affront weightydecisions. "

He kissed her cheek. 

"By the way, though, does it ever occur to you to think of the BhutpurSultan-i-bagh and wish to go East again?"

And Damaris, with still uplifted chin, surveyed him gravely and with acertain wistfulness, Miss Felicia's attempted poaching forgotten and animpression of Faircloth vividly overtaking her. For they were sointimately, disturbingly alike, the father and the son, in voice as wellas in build and feature. 

"Go East?" she said, Faircloth's declared preference for sailing into thesunrise present to her. "Why, I go East in my dreams nearly every night. I love it--love it more rather than less as I grow older. Of course Iwish to go--some day. But that's by the way, Commissioner Sahib. All thatI really want, now, at once, is to go wherever you go, stay wherever youstay. You won't ask me to agree to any plan which parts us, willyou?--which takes you away from me?"

"Ruth to a strange Naomi, my dear, " he answered. "But so be it. I desirenothing better than to have you always with me. --But I will not keep youon tenter-hooks as to your and my projected destination. Let them bringin dinner in half an hour. Carteret and I shall be ready. Meanwhile, readthis--agreeing to relegate discussion of it to a less hungry season. "

And taking the letter she had forwarded to him yesterday, bearing theimprint of the Indian Office, from the breast pocket of his shootingcoat, he put it into her hand. 

The appointment--namely, that of Lieutenant-Governor of an Indianpresidency famous in modern history, a cradle of great reputations andgreat men, of English names to conjure with while our Eastern Empireendures--was offered, in terms complimentary above those common toofficial communications. Sir Charles Verity's expert knowledge, not onlyof the said mighty province but of the turbulent kingdom lying beyond itsfrontiers, marked him as peculiarly fitted for the post. A campaignagainst that same turbulent kingdom had but recently been brought to avictorious conclusion. His influence, it was felt, might be of supremevalue at this juncture in the maintenance of good relations, andconsolidation of permanent peace. 

Damaris' heart glowed within her as she read the courteous praisefulsentences. Even more than through the well-merited success of his book, did her father thus obtain and come into the fullness of his own at last. Her imagination glowed, too, calling up pictures of the half-remembered, half-fabulous oriental scene. The romance of English rule in India, theromance of India itself, its variety, its complexity, the multitude ofits gods, the multitude of its peoples, hung before her as a mirage, prodigal in marvels, reaching back and linking up through the centurieswith the hidden wisdom, the hidden terror of the Ancient of Days. 

To this land of alien faiths and secular wonders, she found herselfsummoned, not as casual sightseer or tourist, but as among the handful ofelect persons who count in its social, political and administrative life. In virtue of her father's position, her own would be both conspicuous andassured. An intoxicating prospect this for a girl of one-and-twenty!Intoxicating, yet, as she envisaged it, disquieting likewise. Shebalanced on the thought of all it demanded as well as all it offered, ofall it required from her--dazed by the largeness of the purview, volitionin suspense. 

Carteret was the first to reappear, habited in the prescribed black andwhite of evening male attire. In the last six months he had, perhaps, puton flesh; but this without detriment to the admirable proportions of hisfigure. It retained its effect of perfect response to the will within, and all its natural grace. His fair hair and moustache were still almostuntouched with grey. His physical attraction, in short, remainedunimpaired. And of this Damaris was actually, if unconsciously, sensibleas he closed the door and, passing between the stumpy pillars, walked upthe long narrow room and stood, his hands behind him, his back to thepleasantly hissing and crackling fire of driftwood. 

"Alone, dear witch?" he said, and, seeing the open letter in herhand--"Well, what do you make of this proposition?" And yet again, as sheraised serious pondering eyes--"You find it an extensive order?"

"I find it magnificent for him--beautifully as it should be, adequateand right. "

"And for yourself?" Carteret asked, aware of a carefulness in herlanguage and intrigued by it. 

"Magnificent for me, too--though it takes away my breath. "

"You must learn to breathe deeper, that's all, " he returned, gentlyteasing her. 

"And who is to teach me to breathe deeper, dear Colonel Sahib, " shequickly, and rather embarrassingly, asked. "Not my father. He'll haveinnumerable big things to do and to do them without waste of energy hemust be saved at every point. He must not fritter away strength incoaching me in my odds and ends of duties, still less in covering up mysilly mistakes. "

"Oh! you exaggerate difficulties, " he said, looking not at her but at thefierce yellow and black striped tiger skin at his feet. --Bless the lovelychild, what was she driving at?

Carteret started for Deadham under the impression he had himselfthoroughly in hand, and that all danger of certain inconvenient emotionswas passed. He had lived them down, cast them out. For over two years nowhe had given himself to the superintendence of his estate, to countybusiness, to the regulation of his sister's--happily moreprosperous--affairs, to the shepherding of his two elder nephews in theirrespective professions and securing the two younger ones royally goodtimes during their holidays at home. Throughout the hunting season, moreover, he rode to hounds on an average of three days a week. Suchhealthy sport helps notably to deliver a man from vain desires, bysending his body cleanly weary to bed and to sleep o' nights. 

By such varied activities had Carteret systematically essayed to ridhimself of his somewhat exquisite distemper, and, when coming to Deadham, honestly believed himself immune, sane and safe. He was proportionatelydisturbed by finding the cure of this autumn love-madness less completethan, fool-like, he had supposed. For it showed disquieting signs ofresurrection even when Damaris, arrayed in the sheen of silken sunlight, greeted him at the staircase foot, and an alarming disposition finally tofling away head-cloth and winding-sheet when she petulantly broke in uponMiss Verity's faded memories of Canton Magna with the flatteringassertion that time had run backward with him of late. 

Now alone with her, confident, moreover, of her maidenly doubtsand pretty self-distrust, he felt at a decided disadvantage. Thedetached, affectionately friendly, the avuncular--not to saygrandfatherly--attitude escaped him. He could not play that part. 

"Oh! you exaggerate difficulties, " he therefore told her, with asingular absence of his habitual mansuetude, his tone trenching onimpatience. "Instinct and common sense will teach you-mother-wit, too-ofwhich, you may take it from me, you have enough and to spare. -Let alonethat there will be a host of people emulous of guiding your steps aright, if your steps should stand in need of guidance which I venture to doubt. Don't underrate your own cleverness. " Hearing him, sensible of hisapparent impatience and misconceiving the cause of it, Damaris' temperstirred. She felt vexed. She also felt injured. 

 "What has happened to you, Colonel Sahib?" she asked him squarely. "I see nothing foolish in what I have said. You wouldn't have me so conceited that I rushed into this immense business without a qualm, without any thought whether I can carry it out creditably--with credit to him, I mean?"

 Thus astonishingly attacked, Carteret hedged. 

 "Miss Verity, of course, will be"--he began. 

 Damaris cut him short. 

 "Aunt Felicia is an angel, a darling, " she declared, "but--but"--

 And there stopped, pricked by a guilty conscience. For to expose Miss Felicia's inadequacies and enlarge on her ineligibility for the position of feminine Chief of the Staff, struck her as unworthy, a meanness to which, under existing circumstances, she could not condescend to stoop. 

 Carteret looked up, to be entranced not only by the fair spectacle of her youth but by her delicious little air of shame and self-reproach. Evidently she had caught herself out in some small naughtiness--was both penitent and defiant, at once admitting her fault and pleading for indulgence. He suspected some thought at the back of her mind which he could neither exactly seize nor place. She baffled him with her changes of mood and of direction--coming close and then slipping from under his hand. This humour was surely new in her. She would not leave him alone, would not let him rest. Had she developed, since last he had converse with her, into a practised coquette?

"Look here, dear witch, " he said, making a return upon himself, andmanfully withstanding the sweet provocation of her near neighbourhood. "We seem to be queerly at cross purposes. I can't pretend to follow theturnings and doublings of your ingenious mind. I gather there issomething you want of me. To be plain, then, what is it?"

"That--that you shouldn't desert me--desert us--in this crisis. You havenever deserted me before--never since I can first remember. "

"I desert you--good Lord!" Carteret exclaimed, his hands dropping at hissides with an odd sort of helplessness. 

"Ah! that's asking too much, I suppose, " she said. "I'm selfish even tothink of it. Yet how can I do otherwise? Don't you understand how alldifficulties would vanish, and how beautifully simple and easy everythingwould be if you coached me--if you, dear Colonel Sahib, went with us?"

The man with the blue eyes looked down at the tiger skin again, hiscountenance strained and blanched. 

More than ever did he find her humour baffling. Not once nor twice hadhe, putting force upon himself, resisted the temptation to wooher--witness his retirement from St. Augustin and his determinedabstinence from intercourse with her since. But now, so it mightveritably appear, the positions were reversed and she wooed him. Thoughwhether pushed to that length merely by wayward fancy, by sometransient skittish influence or frolic in the blood, or by realizeddesign he had no means of judging. --Well, he had bidden her be plain, and she, in some sort at least, obeyed him. It behooved him, therefore, to be plain in return, in as far as a straightforward reading of hermeaning would carry. 

"So you think all would be simple and easy were I to go with you and yourfather?" he said, both speech and manner tempered to gentleness. "I amglad to have you think so--should be still more glad could I share yourbelief. But I know better, dearest witch--know that you are mistaken. This is no case of desertion--put that out of your precious mind onceand for all--but of discretion. My being in attendance, far fromsimplifying, would embroil and distort your position. An elderlygentleman perpetually trotting"--

"Don't, " Damaris cried, holding up both hands in hot repudiation. "Don'tsay that. There's distortion if you like! It's ugly--I won't have it, forit is not true. "

In the obvious sincerity of which denunciation Carteret found balm; yetadhered to his purpose. 

"But it is true, alas; and I therefore repeat it both for your admonitionand my own. For an elderly gentleman trotting at a young girl's heels isa most unedifying spectacle--giving occasion, and reasonably, to theenemy to blaspheme--bad for her in numberless ways; and, if he's anyremnant of self-respect left in him, is anything better than a fatuousdotard, damnably bad for him as well. Do you understand?"

Damaris presented a mutinous countenance. She would have had much ado toexplain her own motives during this ten minutes' conference. If hermental--or were they not rather mainly emotional?--turnings and doublingsproved baffling to her companion, they proved baffling to herself in analmost greater degree. Things in general seemed to have gone into themelting-pot. So many events had taken place, so many more beenpreshadowed, so many strains of feeling excited! And these wereconfusingly unrelated, or appeared to be so as yet. Amongst the confusionof them she found no sure foothold, still less any highway along which totravel in confidence and security. Her thought ran wild. Her intentionsran with it, changing their colour chameleon-like from minute to minute. Now she was tempted to make an equivocal rejoinder. 

"To understand, " she said, "is not always, Colonel Sahib, necessarilyto agree. "

"I am satisfied with understanding and don't press for agreement, " heanswered, and on an easier note--"since to me it is glaringly evidentyou should take this fine flight unhandicapped. My duty is to standaside and leave you absolutely free--not because I enjoy standing aside, but"--he would allow sentiment such meagre indulgence--"just exactlybecause I do not. "

Here for the second time, at the crucial moment, Felicia Verity madeirruption upon the scene. But though her entrance was hurried, itdiffered fundamentally from that earlier one; so that both the man andthe girl, standing in the proximity of their intimate colloquy before thefire, were sensible of and arrested by it. She was self-forgetful, self-possessed, the exalted touch of a pure devotion upon her. 

"I have been with my brother Charles, " she began, addressing them both. "I happened to see Hordle coming from the library--and I put off dinner. I thought, darling"--this to Damaris, with a becoming hint ofdeference--"I might do so. I gathered that Charles--that yourfather--wished it. He has not been feeling well. "

And as Damaris anxiously exclaimed--

"Yes"--Miss Felicia went on--"not at all well. Hordle told me. That waswhy I went to the library. He hoped, if he waited and rested for a littlewhile, the uncomfortable sensations might subside and it would beneedless to mention them. He did not want any fuss made. We gave himrestoratives, and he recovered from the faintness. But he won't be equal, he admits, to coming in to dinner. Colonel Carteret must be hungry--yourfather begs us to wait no longer, I assured him we would not. Hordle iswith him. He should not be alone, I think, while any pain continues. "

"Pain--pain?" Damaris cried, her imagination rather horribly caught bythe word. "But is he hurt, has he had some accident?"

While Carteret asked tersely: "Pain--and where?"

"Here, " Felicia answered, laying her hand upon her left side over theheart. She looked earnestly at Carteret as she spoke, conveying to him analarm she sought to spare Damaris. 

"He tries to make little of it, and assures me it was only the heat ofthe house which caused him discomfort after the cold air out of doors. It may be only that, but I think we ought to make sure. "

Again, and with that same becoming hint of deference, she turned toher niece. 

"So I sent orders that Patch should drive at once to Stourmouth and fetchDr. McCabe. I did not stop to consult you because it seemed best heshould take out the horses before they were washed down and stabled. "

"Yes--but I can go to him?" Damaris asked. 

"Darling--of course. But I would try to follow his lead, if I wereyou--treat it all lightly, since he so wishes. Your father knows best inmost things--and may know best in this. Please God it is so. "

Left alone with Carteret. 

"I am anxious--most cruelly anxious about my brother, " she said. 

While Damaris, sweeping across the hall and down the corridor in hersunshine silken dress, repeated:

"The ponies--the smugglers' ponies, " a sob in her throat. 

CHAPTER VII

TELLING HOW CHARLES VERITY LOOKED ON THE MOTHER OF HIS SON

"Which is equivalent to saying, 'Hear the conclusion of the wholematter, ' isn't it, McCabe?"

Dr. McCabe's square, hairy-backed hands fumbled with the stethoscope ashe pushed it into his breast pocket, and, in replying, his advertisedcheerfulness rang somewhat false. 

"Not so fast, Sir Charles--in the good Lord's name, not so fast. Whilethere's life there's hope, it's me settled opinion. I'm never for signinga patient's death-warrant before the blessed soul of him's entirelyparted company with its mortal tenement of clay. The normal human beingtakes a mighty lot of killing in my experience, where the will to live isstill intact. Let alone that you can never be quite upsides with Nature. Ah! she's an astonishing box of tricks to draw on where finaldissolution's concerned. She glories to turn round on your pathologicaland biological high science; and, while you're measuring a man for hiscoffin, to help him give death the slip. "

Charles Verity slightly shifted his position--and that with singularcarefulness--against the pillows in the deep red-covered chair. Hishands, inert and bluish about the finger-tips, lay along the padded armsof it. The jacket of his grey-and-white striped flannel sleeping-suit wasunfastened at the throat, showing the irregular lift and fall of hischest with each laboured breath. His features were accentuated, his facedrawn and of a surprising pallor. 

The chair, in which he sat, had been brought forward into the wide arc ofthe great window forming the front of the room. Two bays of this stoodopen down to the ground. Looking out, beyond the rich brown of thenewly-turned earth in the flower-beds, the lawn stretched away--a dimgreyish green, under the long shadows cast by the hollies masking thewall on the left, and glittering, powdered by myriads of scintillatingdewdrops, where the early sunshine slanted down on it from between theirstiff pinnacles and sharply serrated crests. 

In the shrubberies robins sang, shrilly sweet. A murmur of waves, breaking at the back of the Bar, hung in the chill, moist, windless air. Presently a handbarrow rumbled and creaked, as West--the head gardener, last surviving relic of Thomas Clarkson Verity's reign--wheeled it frombeneath the ilex trees towards the battery, leaving dark smudgy tracksupon the spangled turf. 

Arrived at his objective, the old gardener, with most admireddeliberation, loaded down long-handled birch-broom, rake and hoe; andapplied himself to mysterious peckings and sweeping of the gravel aroundthe wooden carriages of the little cannon and black pyramid ofball. --Man, tools, and barrow were outlined against the pensivebrightness of autumn sea and autumn sky, which last, to southward, stillcarried remembrance of sunrise in a broad band of faint yellowish pink, fading upward into misty azure and barred with horizontal pencillings oftarnished silver cloud. 

Thus far Charles Verity had watched the progress of the bowed, slow-moving figure musingly. But now, as the iron of the hoe clinkedagainst the gravel flints, he came back, so to say, to himself and backto the supreme question at issue. He looked up, his eyes and thesoundless ironic laughter resident in them, meeting McCabe's twinkling, cunning yet faithful and merry little eyes, with a flash. 

"The work of the world is not arrested, " he said. "See, thatoctogenarian, old West. He wheeled ill-oiled, squeaking barrows andhacked at the garden paths when I was a Harchester boy. He wheels the oneand hacks at the other even yet--a fact nicely lowering to one's privateegotism, when you come to consider it. Why, then, my good friend, perjure yourself or strive to mince matters? The work of the world willbe done whether I'm here to direct the doing of it or not. --Granted I amtough and in personal knowledge of ill-health a neophyte. My luckthroughout has been almost uncanny. Neither in soldiering nor in sport, from man or from beast, have I ever suffered so much as a scratch. I haveborne a charmed life--established a record for invulnerability, whichserved me well in the East where the gods still walk in the semblance ofman and miracle is still persistently prevalent. Accident has passed meby--save for being laid up once, nearly thirty years ago, with a brokenankle in the house of some friends at Poonah. "

He ceased speaking, checking, as it seemed, disposition to furtherdisclosure; while the soundless laughter in his eyes found answeringexpression upon his lips, curving them, to a somewhat bitter smilebeneath the flowing moustache. 

"In to-day's enforced idleness how persistently cancelled episodes andemotions rap, ghostly, on the door demanding and gaining entrance!" hepresently said. "Must we take it, Doctor, that oblivion is a fiction, merciful forgetfulness an illusion; and that every action, everydesire--whether fulfilled or not--is printed indelibly upon one's memory, merely waiting the hour of weakness and physical defeat to show up?"

"The Lord only knows!" McCabe threw off, a little hopelessly. This wasthe first utterance approaching complaint; and he deplored it for hispatient's sake. He didn't like that word defeat. 

Then, to his hearer's relief with a softened accent, Charles Verity tookup his former theme. 

"Save for a trifling go of fever now and again, illness has given me thego-by equally with accident. But, for all my ignorance of suchafflictions I know, beyond all shadow of doubt, that a few repetitions ofthe experience of last night must close any man's account. Experiment ismore enlightening than argument. There is no shaking the knowledge youarrive at through it. "

McCabe, standing at ease by the open window, untidy, hirsute, unkempt, rammed his hands down into his gaping trouser pockets and noddedunwilling agreement. 

"The attack was bad, " he said. "I'm not denying it was murderously bad. And all the harder on you because, but for the one defaulting organ, yourheart, you're as sound as a bell. You're a well enough man to put up agood fight; and that, you see, cuts both ways, be danged to it. "

"A chain is no stronger than its weakest link. --You know as well as I dothe Indian appointment will never be gazetted. "

"There you have me, Sir Charles, loath though I am to admit as much. I'dbe a liar if I denied it would not. "

"How long do you give me then? Months, or only weeks?"

"That depends in the main on yourself, in as far as I can presume topronounce. With care"--

"Which means sitting still here"--

"It does. "

Charles Verity raised his shoulders the least bit. 

"Not good enough, McCabe, " he declared, "not good enough. There are ritesto be duly performed, words to be said, which I refuse to neglect. Oh, no, don't misunderstand me. I don't need professional help to accomplishmy dying. Were I a member of your communion it might be different, but Irequire no much-married parsonic intermediary to make my peace with God. I am but little troubled regarding that. Shall not the judge of all theearth do right?--Nevertheless, there remain rites to be decentlyperformed. I must make my peace with man--and still more withwoman--before I go hence and am no more seen. But, look here, I have nowish to commit myself too soon, and risk the bathos of an anti-climax byhaving to perform them twice, repeat them at a later date. --So how longdo you give me--weeks? Too generous an estimate? A week, thenor--well--less?"

"You want it straight?"

"I want it straight. "

"More likely days. God grant I am mistaken. With your fine constitution, as I tell you, you are booked to put up a good fight. All the same, to behonest, Sir Charles, it was touch and go more than once last night. "

In the room an interval of silence, and without song of the robins andmurmur of the sea, nearer now and louder as the rising tide lapped up thesands at the back of the Bar. The faint yellow-pink after-thought ofsunrise and pencillings of tarnished cloud alike had vanished into theall-obtaining misty blue of the upper sky. Heading for the French coast, a skein of wild geese passed in wedge-shaped formation with honking criesand the beat of strong-winged flight. The barrow creaked again, wheeledsome few yards further along the battery walk. 

"Thanks--so I supposed, " Sir Charles Verity calmly said. 

He stretched himself, falling into a less constrained and carefulposture. Leaned his elbow on the chair-arm, his chin in the hollow of hishand, crossed the right leg over the left. 

"Twenty-four hours will give me time for all which is of vitalimportance. The rest must, and no doubt perfectly will, arrangeitself. --Oh! I'll obey you within reasonable limits, McCabe. I have nocraving to hurry the inevitable conclusion. These last hours possessconsiderable significance and charm--an impressiveness even, which itwould be folly to thrust aside or waste. "

Once more he looked up, his tone and expression devoid now of allbitterness. 

"I propose to savour their pleasant qualities to the full. So makeyourself easy, my good fellow, " he continued with an admirablefriendliness. "Go and get your breakfast. Heaven knows you've mostthoroughly earned it, and a morning pipe of peace afterwards. --The bellupon the small table?--Yes--oh, yes--and Hordle within earshot. I'veeverything I require; and, at the risk of seeming ungrateful, shall beglad enough of a respite from this course of food and drink, potions andpoultices--remedial to the delinquent flesh no doubt, but a notableweariness to the-spirit. --And, see here, report to the two ladies, mysister and--and Damaris, that you leave me in excellent case, free ofdiscomfort, resting for a time before girding up my loins to meet thelabours of the day. "

Charles Verity closed his eyes in intimation of dismissal, anxious to bealone the better to reckon with that deeper, final loneliness whichconfronted him just now in all its relentless logic. 

For, though his mind remained lucid, self-realized and observant, hiscontrol of its action and direction was incomplete owing to bodilyfatigue. Hence it lay open to assault, at the mercy of a thousand and onecrowding thoughts and perceptions. And over these he desired to gainascendency--to drive, rather than be driven by them. The epic of histhree-score years, from its dim, illusive start to this dramatic andinexorable finish--but instantly disclosed to him in the reluctantadmissions of the good-hearted Irish doctor--flung by at a double, incoloured yet incoherent progression, so to speak, now marching totriumphant blare of trumpet, now to roll of muffled drum. Whichincoherence came in great measure of the inalienable duality of his ownnature--passion and austerity, arrogance and self-doubt, love--surpassingmost men's capacity of loving--and a defacing strain of cruelty, delivering stroke and counter-stroke. From all such tumult he earnestlysought to be delivered; since not the thing accomplished--whether forfame, for praise or for remorse--not, in short, what has been, but whatwas, and still more what must soon be, did he need, at this juncture, dispassionately to contemplate. 

That sharp-toothed disappointment gnawed him, is undeniable, when hethought of the culminating gift of happy fortune, royally satisfying toambition, as unexpectedly offered him as, through his own unlooked-forand tragic disability, it was unexpectedly withdrawn. But disappointmentfailed to vex him long. A more wonderful journey than any possibleearthly one, a more majestic adventure than that of any orientalproconsulship, awaited him. For no less a person than Death issued theorder--an order there is no disobeying. He must saddle up therefore, bidfarewell, and ride away. 

Nor did he flinch from that ride with Death, the black captain, asescort, any more than, during the past night, he had flinched under thegrip of mortal pain. For some persons the call to endurance brings actualpleasure--of a grim heroic kind. It did so to Charles Verity. And notonly this conscious exercise of fortitude, this pride of bearing bodilyanguish, but a strange curiosity worked to sustain him. The novelty ofthe experience, in both cases, excited and held his interest, continuedto exercise it and to hold. 

Now, as in solitude his mental atmosphere acquired serenity andpoise--the authority of the past declining--this matter of deathincreasingly engrossed him. For it trenches on paradox, surely, that theone absolutely certain event in every human career is also the mostunexplored and practically incredible. --An everyday occurrence, acommonplace, concerning which there remains nothing new, nothingoriginal, to be written, sung or said; yet a mystery still inviolate, aching with the alarm of the undiscovered, the unpenetrated, to eachindividual, summoned to accept its empire! He had sent others to theirdeath. Now his own turn came and he found it, however calmly considered, a rather astounding business. An ending or a beginning?--Useless, afterall, to speculate. The worst feature of it, not improbably, this samepreliminary loneliness, this stripping naked, no smallest comfort leftyou of human companionship, or even of humble material keepsake from outthe multitude of your familiar possessions here in the dear accustomedhuman scene. 

The gates of death open. You pass them. They close behind you. And whatthen?--The whole hierarchy of heaven, the whole company of yourforerunners thither--beloved and honoured on earth--may be gathered tohail the homing soul within those amazing portals; or it may drop, as astone into a well, down the blank nothingness of the abyss. --Of allgambles invented by God, man or devil--so he told himself--this daily, hourly gamble of individual dissolution is the biggest. Man's heartrefuses the horror of extinction, while his intellect holds the questionin suspense. We hope. We believe. From of old fair promises have beenmade us; and, granted the gift of faith, hope and belief neighbour uponassurance. But certainty is denied. No mortal, still clothed in flesh, has known, nor--the accumulated science of the ages notwithstanding--doesknow, actually and exactly, that which awaits it. 

Thus, anyhow, in the still, tender brightness of the autumn morning, while Nature and men alike pursued their normal activities andoccupations, did this singular matter appear to Charles Verity--he, himself, arbitrarily cut off from all such activities and occupationsin the very moment of high fruition. Had death been a less eminentaffair, or less imminent, the sarcasm of his position might have seemedgross to the point of insult. But, the longer he envisaged it, the moredid the enduring enigma and its accompanying uncertainty allure. Not asvictim, but rather as conqueror of the final terror, did he begin toregard himself. 

Meanwhile, though reason continued to hold the balance even betweenthings positively known and things imagined only and hoped for, thegod-ward impulse strengthened in him. Not by conscious or convincingargument from within, but by all-powerful compulsion from without, washis thought borne onward and upward to increasing confidence. So that heasked himself--as so many another, still unwearied, still enamoured ofattainment, has asked in like case--whether impending divorce of soul andbody may not confer freedom of a wider range and nobler quality, powersmore varied and august than the mind, circumscribed by conditions of timeand sense, has yet conception of?

To him such development seemed possible--certainly. Probable?--Ah, well, perhaps--perhaps. Which brought him back to his former contention, thatits inherent loneliness constitutes the bitterest sting of death. Smiling, he quoted the ancient, divinely tender saying: "There is a childin each one of us which cries at the dark. "

While, in swift reaction, he yearned towards battle where amid thefierce and bloody glory of the fight, souls of heroes troop forthtogether, shouting, into everlasting day or--sceptical reason shaking asadly sage head once again--into everlasting night. 

He stretched out his hand instinctively for the bell on the little tableat his elbow. Hordle answered his summons, grey of countenance fromalarm, anxiety, and broken rest. 

"Let Miss Damaris know I shall be glad to see her when she is free tocome to me, " he said. 

And here, although our damsel's reputation for courage and resource may, thereby, sustain some damage, I am constrained to state that while in thesick-room Miss Felicia shone, Damaris gave off but a vacillating andineffective light. 

Imagination is by no means invariably beneficent. The very liveliness ofthe perceptions which it engenders may intimidate and incapacitate. UponDamaris imagination practised this mischief. Becoming, for the time, thatupon which she looked, sharing every pang and even embroidering thecontext, she weakened, in some sort, to the level of the actual sufferer, helpless almost as he through the drench of overwhelming sympathy. Shehad been taken, poor child, at so villainous a disadvantage. Withoutpreparation or warning--save of the most casual and inadequate--herhumour wayward, she a trifle piqued, fancying her pretty clothes, herpretty looks, excited, both by the brilliant prospect presented by theIndian appointment and by her delicate passage of arms with Carteret, shewas compelled of a sudden to witness the bodily torment of a human being, not only by her beloved beyond all others, but reverenced also. Theimpression she received was of outrage, almost of blasphemy. The crueltyof life lay uncovered, naked and open to her appalled and revoltedconsciousness. She received a moral, in addition to a physical shock, utterly confounding in its crudity, its primitive violence. 

The ravage of pain can be, in great measure, surmounted and concealed;but that baser thing, functional disturbance--in this case present asheart spasm, threatening suffocation, with consequent agonized anduncontrollable struggle for breath--defies concealment. Thismanifestation horrified Damaris. The more so that, being unacquaintedwith the sorry spectacle of disease, her father, under the deformingstress of it, appeared to her as a stranger almost--inaccessible toaffection, hideously removed from her and remote. His person andcharacter, to her distracted observation, were altered beyond recognitionexcept during intervals, poignant to the verge of heart-break, whenpassing ease restored his habitual dignity and grace. 

Thus, while Miss Felicia and Carteret--with Hordle and Mary Fisher asassistants--ministered to his needs in as far as ministration waspossible, she stood aside, consumed by misery, voluntarily effacingherself. Backed away even against the wall, out of range of thelamp-light, stricken, shuddering, and mute. Upon Dr. McCabe's arrival andassumption of command, Carteret, finding himself at liberty to note herpiteous state, led her out into the passage and then to the longdrawing-room, with gentle authority. There for a half-hour or more--tohim sadly and strangely sweet--he sat beside her, while the tearssilently coursed down her cheeks, letting her poor proud head restagainst his shoulder, his arm supporting her gracious young body stillclothed in all the bravery of her flowered silken sunshine dress. 

Later, Mary bringing more favourable news of Sir Charles--pain andsuffocation having yielded for the time being to McCabe'streatment--Carteret persuaded her to go upstairs and let the said Maryput her to bed. Once there she slept the sleep of exhaustion, fatigue andsorrow mercifully acting as a soporific, her capacity for further thoughtor feeling literally worn out. 

During that session in the drawing-room Damaris, to his thankfulness, hadasked no questions of him. All she demanded child-like, in her extremity, had been the comfort and security of human contact. And this he gave hersimply, ungrudgingly, with a high purity of understanding, guiltless ofany shadow of embarrassment or any after-thought. Their lighter, somewhatenigmatic relation of the earlier evening was extinguished, swamped bythe catastrophe of Charles Verity's illness. Exactly in how far shegauged the gravity of that illness and its only too likely result, ormerely wept, unnerved by the distressing outward aspect of it, Carteretcould not determine. But he divined, and rightly, that she was in processof ranging herself, at least subconsciously, with a new and terribleexperience which, could she learn the lesson of it aright would temperher nature to worthy issues. 

Hence, with a peculiar and tender interest, he watched her when, comingdown in the morning, he found her already in the dining-room, thepleasant amenities of a well-ordered, hospitable house and householdabundantly evident. 

Whatever the tragic occurrences of the last twelve hours, domesticdiscipline was in no respect relaxed. The atmosphere of the roomdistilled a morning freshness. Furniture and flooring shone with polish, a log fire, tipped by dancing flames, burned in the low wide grate. Uponthe side-table, between the westward facing windows, a row of silverchafing-dishes gave agreeable promise of varied meats; as did the tea andcoffee service, arrayed before Damaris, of grateful beverage. While sheherself looked trim, and finished in white silk shirt and russet-redsuit, her toilet bearing no sign of indifference or of haste. 

That her complexion matched her shirt in colour--or rather in all absenceof it--that her face was thin, its contours hardened, her eyebrows drawninto a little frown, her eyes enormous, sombre and clouded as withmeditative thought, increased, in Carteret's estimation, assurance of herregained self-mastery and composure. Nor did a reticence in her mannerdisplease him. 

"I have persuaded Aunt Felicia to breakfast upstairs, " she told him. "Dr. McCabe sends me word he--my father--wishes to rest for the present, so Iengaged Aunt Felicia to rest too. She was wonderful. "

Damaris' voice shook slightly, as did her hand lifting the coffee-pot. 

"She stayed up all night. So did you, I'm afraid, didn't you, Colonel Sahib?"

"Oh, for me that was nothing. A bath, a change, and ten minutes out thereon the battery watching the sun come up over the sea, " Carteret said. "Sodon't waste compassion on me. I'm as fit as a fiddle and in no wisedeserve it. "

"Ah! but you and Aunt Felicia did stay, " she repeated, her hands stillrather tremulously busy with coffee-pot and milk jug. "You were faithfuland I no better than a shirker. I fell through, miserably lost myself, which was selfish, contemptible. I am ashamed. Only I was so startled. Inever really knew before such--such things could be. --Forgive me, ColonelSahib. I have been to Aunt Felicia and asked her forgivenessalready. --And don't think too meanly of me, please. The shirking is overand done with for always. You may trust me it never will happen again--mylosing myself as I did last night, I mean. "

In making this appeal for leniency, her eyes met Carteret's fairly forthe first time; and he read in them, not without admiration and a twingeof pain, both the height of her new-born, determined valour and the depthof her established distress. 

"You needn't tell me that, you needn't tell me that, dear witch, " heanswered quickly. "I was sure of it all along. I knew it was just a phasewhich would have no second edition. So put any question of shame or needof forgiveness out of your precious head. You were rushed up againstcircumstances, against a revelation, calculated to stagger the mostseasoned campaigner. You did not shirk; but it took you a little time toget your bearings. That was all. Don't vex your sweet soul with quitesuperfluous reproaches. --Sugar? Yes, and plenty of it I am afraid. --Butyou, too, must eat. "

And on her making some show of repugnance--

"See here, we can't afford to despise the day of small things, of minoraids to efficiency, dearest witch, " he wisely admonished her. 

Whereupon, emulous to please him, bending her will to his, Damarishumbled herself to consumption of a portion of the contents of thechafing-dishes aforesaid. To discover that, granted a healthy subject, sorrow queerly breeds hunger, the initial distaste for food--in the maina sentimental one--once surmounted. 

Later McCabe joined them. Recognized Damaris' attitude of valour, andinwardly applauded it, although himself in woeful state. For he was hardhit, badly upset. Conscious of waste of tissue, he set about to restoreit without apology or hesitation, trouble putting an edge to appetite inhis case also, and that of formidable keenness. Bitterly he grieved, since bearing the patient, he feared very certainly to lose, an uncommonaffection. He loved Charles Verity; while, from the worldly standpoint, his dealings with The Hard meant very much to him--made for glory, afeather in his cap visible to all and envied by many. Minus the fineflourish of it his position sank to obscurity. As a whist-playing, golf-playing, club-haunting, Anglo-Indian ex-civil surgeon--and Irishmanat that--living in lodgings at Stourmouth, he commanded meagreconsideration. But as chosen medical-attendant and, in some sort, retainer of Sir Charles Verity he ranked. The county came within hispurview. Thanks to this connection with The Hard he, on occasion, rubbedshoulders with the locally great. Hence genuine grief for his friend wasblack-bordered by the prospect of impending social and mundane loss. Thefuture frowned on him, view it in what terms he might. To use his ownunspoken phrase, he felt "in hellishly low water. "

One point in particular just now worried him. Thus, as fish, eggs, porridge, hot cakes, honey, and jam disappeared in succession, he openedhimself to Damaris and Carteret. A difficult subject, namely that of asecond opinion. --Let no thought of any wounding of his susceptibilitiesoperate against the calling in of such. He was ready and willing to meetany fellow practitioner they might select--a Harley Street big-wig, orDr. Maskall, of Harchester, whose advice in respect of cardiac troublewas wide sought. 

He had, however, but just launched the question when Hordle entered and, walking to the head of the table, addressed Damaris. 

"Sir Charles desires me to say he will be glad to see you, miss, when youare at liberty, " he told her in muffled accents. 

She sprang up, to pause an instant, irresolute, glancing wide-eyedat Carteret. 

He had risen too. Coming round the corner of the table, he drew back herchair, put his hand under her elbow, went with her to the door. 

"There is nothing to dread, dearest witch, " he gently and quietly said. "Have confidence in yourself. God keep you--and him. --Now you are quiteready? That's right. --Well, then go. "

Carteret waited, looking after her until, crossing the hall followed byHordle, she passed along the corridor out of sight. Silent, preoccupied, he closed the door and took a turn the length of the room before resuminghis place at the opposite side of the table to McCabe, facing the light. 

The doctor, who had ceased eating and half risen to his feet at thecommencement of this little scene, watched it throughout; at firstindifferent, a prey to his own worries, but soon in quickening interest, shrewd enquiry and finally in dawning comprehension. 

"Holy Mother of Mercy, so that's the lay of the land, is it?" and hisloose lips shaped themselves to a whistle, yet emitted no sound. Toobliterate all signs of which tendency to vulgar expression ofenlightenment he rubbed moustache, mouth and chin with his napkin, studying Carteret closely meanwhile. 

"In the pink of condition, by Gad--good for a liberal twenty years yet, and more--bar accident. Indefinite postponement of the grand climactericin this case. --All the same a leetle, lee-tie bit dangerous, I'mthinking, for both, if she tumbles to it. "

Then aloud--"Has the poor darling girl grasped the meaning of herfather's illness do you make out, Colonel grasped the uglyeventualities of it?"

Carteret slowly brought his glance to bear on the speaker. 

"I believe so, though she has not actually told me as much, " hesaid--"And now about this question of a second opinion, McCabe?"

The easily huffed Irishman accepted the reproof in the best spiritpossible, as confirming his own perspicacity. 

"Quite so. Flicked him neatly on the raw, and he winced. All the samehe's a white man, a real jewel of a fellow, worthy of good fortune if theball's thrown his way. I wonder how long, by-the-by, this handsome game'sbeen a-playing?"

With which, as requested, he returned to the rival claims of HarleyStreet and Harchester in respect of a consulting physician. 

Carteret proved a faithful prophet, for in truth there was nothing todread the beloved presence once entered, as Damaris thankfullyregistered. 

The sun by now topped the hollies and shone into the study, flinging abright slanting pathway across the dim crimson, scarlet and blue of theTurkey carpet. Charles Verity stood, in an open bay of the great window, looking out over the garden. Seen thus, in the still sunlight, the tallgrey-clad figure possessed all its accustomed, slightly arrogant repose. Damaris thrilled with exalted hope. For the young are slow to admit eventhe verdict of fact as final. His attitude was so natural, so unstrainedand unstudied, that the message of ghostly warning yesterday evening wassurely discounted; while the subsequent terror of the night, that hideousbattle with pain and suffocation, became to her incredible, an evil dreamfrom which, in grateful ecstasy, she now awoke. 

Her joy found expression. 

"Dearest, dearest, you sent for me. --Is it to let me see you arereally better, more beautifully recovered than they told me or Iventured to suppose?"

Her voice broke under a gladness midway between tears and laughter. 

"The envious blades of Atropos' scissors have not cut the mortal threadyet anyhow, " he answered, smiling, permitting himself the classic conceitas a screen to possible emotion. "But we won't build too much on theclemency of Fate. How long she proposes to wait before closing herscissors it is idle to attempt to say. "

He laid his hands on Damaris' shoulders. Bent his head and kissedher upward pouted lips--thereby hushing the loving disclaimer whichrose to them. 

"So we will keep on the safe side of the event, my wise child, " hecontinued. "Make all our preparations and thus deny the enemy anysatisfaction of taking us unawares. --Can you write a businessletter for me?"

"A dozen, dearest, if you wish, " Damaris assented eagerly. Yet thatimage of the scissors stayed by her. Already her joy was sensiblyupon the wane. 

"Oh! one will be sufficient, I think--quite sufficient for this morning. "

Charles Verity turned his head, looking seaward through thetranquil sunshine. 

"That Indian appointment has to be suitably thanked for and--declined. "

Damaris drew back a step so as to gain a clearer view of him. Thehands resting on her shoulders were oddly inert, so she fancied, forceless and in temperature cold. Even through the thickness of clothjacket and silk shirt she was aware of their lifelessness and chill. This roused rebellion in her. Her instinct was for fight. She made areturn on McCabe's suggestion regarding further advice. She woulddemand a consultation, call in expert opinion. The dear man with theblue eyes--here her white face flushed rosy--would manage all that forher, and compel help in the form of the last word of medical scienceand skill. 

"Might not your letter be put off for just a few days?" she pleaded, "incase--until"--

But Charles Verity broke in before she could finish her tender protest, a sadness, even hint of bitterness in his tone. 

"You covet this thing so much, " he said. "Your heart is so set on it?"

She made haste to reassure him. --No, no not that way, not for her. Howcould it signify, save on his account? She only cared because greedy ofhis advancement, greedy to have him exalted--placed where he belonged, onthe summit, the apex, so that all must perceive and acknowledge hisgreatness. As to herself--and the flush deepened, making her in aspectdeliciously youthful and ingenious--she confessed misgivings. Reportedher talk with Carteret concerning the subject, and the scolding receivedfrom him thereupon. 

"One more reason for writing in the sense I propose, then, " her fatherdeclared, "since it sets your over-modest doubts and qualms at rest, mydear. That is settled. "

His hands weighed on her shoulders as though he suddenly needed andsought support. 

"I will sit down, " he said. "There are other matters to be discussed, andI can, perhaps, talk more easily so. "

He went the few steps across to the red chair. Sank into it. Leanedagainst the pillows, bending backward, his hand pressed to his leftside. His features contracted, and his breath caught as of one spentwith running. And Damaris, watching him, again received that desolatingimpression of change, of his being in spirit far removed, inaccessibleto her sympathy, a stranger. He had gone away and rather terribly lefther alone. 

"Are you in pain?" she asked, agonized. 

"Discomfort, " he replied. "We will not dignify this by the name of pain. But I must wait for a time before dictating the letter. There's somethingI will ask you to do for me, my dear, meanwhile. "

"Yes"--He paused, shifted his position, closed his eyes. 

"Have you held any communication with--"

He stopped, for the question irked him. Even at this pass it went againstthe grain with him to ask of his daughter news of his son. 

But in that pause our maiden's scattered wits very effectuallyreturned to her. 

"With Darcy Faircloth?" she said. And as Charles Verity bowed his head inassent--"Yes, I should have told you already but--but for all which hashappened. He was here the day before yesterday. He came home from churchwith me. --That was my doing, not his, to begin with. You mustn't think heput himself forward--took advantage, I mean, of your being away. If thereis any blame it is mine. "

"Mine, rather--and of long standing. God forgive me!"

But Damaris, fairly launched now upon a wholly welcome topic, would havenone of this. To maintain her own courage, and, if it might be, combatthat dreaded withdrawal of his spirit into regions where she could notfollow, she braced herself to reason with him. 

"No--there indeed you are mistaken, dearest, " she gently yet confidentlyasserted. "You take the whole business topsy-turvy fashion, quite wrongway round. I won't weary you with explanations of exactly what led toDarcy Faircloth coming here with me on Sunday. But you ought to know thathe and Aunt Felicia met. I hadn't planned that. It just happened. And shewas lovely to him--lovely to us both. She made him stay toluncheon--inviting him in your name. "

"I seem to possess a singular gift for saddling my relations with thepayment of my bad debts, " Charles Verity remarked. 

"But there isn't any bad debt--that's what I so dearly want you tobelieve, what I'm trying so hard, Commissioner Sahib, to tell you, "Damaris cried. "Afterwards, when he and I were alone by ourselves, theice broke somehow, he gave himself away and said beautiful things--thingsabout you which made me delightfully happy, and showed how he has felttowards you all along. "

Simply, without picking of her words, hesitation or artifice, Damarisrepeated that somewhat sinister tale of the sea. Of a sailing ship, becalmed through burning days and stifling nights in tropic waters. Ofthe ill-doings of a brutal, drunken captain. Of a fly-blown eating-housein Singapore. Of the spiritual deliverance there achieved through sightof Charles Verity's name and successful record in the columns of aCalcutta newspaper; and the boy's resultant demand for the infliction ofsome outward and visible sign, some inalienable stigmata, which shouldbear perpetual witness to the fact of his parentage. 

"So you see"--

Damaris kindled, standing before him, flamed indeed to a rarecarelessness of convention, of enjoined pruderies and secrecies. --

"You gave him the beautiful gift of life to begin with; and saved hislife later when he was so miserably tempted to end it. As he loves life, where then is the debt?--Not on your side certainly, dearest. "

Listening to which fondly exalted sophistries--for sophistries fromworldly and moral standpoint alike must he not surely pronouncethem?--Charles Verity still received comfort to his soul. They ought tobe reckoned mistaken, of course, transparently in error, yet neither sonnor daughter condemned him. Neither did his sister, in the patheticinnocence and purity of her middle-age maidenhood. 

This moved him to thankfulness, none the less genuine because shot withself-mockery. For he was curious to observe how, as the last urgings ofambition and thirst of power fell away from him, --he riding under escortof Death, the black captain--all tributes of human tenderness andapproval gained in value. --Not the approval of notable personages, ofthose high in office, nor even that of sympathetic critics and readers;but of persons in his own immediate voisinage, bound to him byfriendship, by association, or the tie of blood. --Their good-will wasprecious to him as never before. He craved to be in perfect amity withevery member of that restricted circle. Hence it vexed and fretted him toknow the circle incomplete, through the exclusion of one ratherflagrantly intimate example. Yet to draw the said member, the saidexample, within the circle, yielding it the place which it mightrightfully aspire to occupy, amounted--after half a lifetime ofabstention and avoidance--to a rather tremendous demonstration, one whichmight well be hailed as extravagant, as a courting of offence possibleonly to a sentimental egoist of most aggravated kind. 

And he was tired--had no smallest inclination towards demonstrations. Forthe threatening of heart spasm, to which he lately denied the title ofpain, though of short duration, affected him adversely, sapping hisstrength. His mind, it is true, remained clear, even vividly receptive;but, just as earlier this morning, his will proved insufficient for itsdirection or control. He mused, his chin sunk on his breast, his lefthand travelling down over the long soft moustache, his eyes half closed. Thought and vision followed their own impulse, wandering back and forthbetween the low-caste eating-house in the sweltering heat and perfumedstenches of the oriental, tropic seaport; and the stone-built Englishinn--here on Marychurch Haven--overlooking the desolate waste ofsand-hills, the dark reed-beds and chill gleaming tides. 

For love of Damaris, his daughter, while still in the heat of his prime, he had foresworn all traffic with women. Yet now, along with the tacitlyadmitted claims of the son, arose the claim of the mistress, mother ofthat son--in no sensual sort, but with a certain wildness of bygoneromance, wind and rain-swept, unsubstantial, dim and grey. Ever sinceconviction of the extreme gravity of his physical condition dawned onhim, the idea of penetrating the courts of that deserted sanctuary hadbeen recurrent. In the summing up of his human, his earthly, experience, romance deserved, surely, a word of farewell? Damaris' story served togive the idea a fuller appeal and consistency. 

But he was tired--tired. He longed simply to drift. It was infinitelydistasteful to him definitely to plan, or to decide respecting anything. 

Meanwhile his continued silence and abstraction wore badly upon Damaris. She had steeled herself; had flamed, greatly daring. Now reaction set in. Her effort proved vain. She had failed. For once more she recognized thatan unknown influence, a power dark and incalculably strong--so shefigured it--regained ascendency over her father, working to the insidiouschanging of his nature, strangely winning him away. Waiting for someresponse, some speech or comment on his part, fear and the sense ofhelplessness assailed, and would have submerged her, had she not clung toCarteret's parting "God bless you" and avowed faith in her stability, asto a wonder-working charm. Nor did the charm fail in efficacy. --Oh!really he was a wonderful sheet-anchor, "the shadow of a great rock in aweary land, " that dear man with the blue eyes! Consciously she blessedhim. --And, thanks to remembrance of him, presently found voice andpurpose once again. 

"You aren't displeased with me, dearest?" she asked. 

"Displeased?" Charles Verity repeated, at first absently. "Displeased, mydear, no--why?"

"We didn't do wrong?"--labouring the point, the more fully to recall andretain him--"Didn't take too much upon ourselves--Aunt Felicia, I mean, and I--by persuading Darcy Faircloth to stay on Sunday, by entertaininghim when you were away? Or--or have I been stupid, dearest, andthoughtlessly wearied you by talking too much and too long?"

"Neither, " he said. "On the contrary, all you have told me goes to lessencertain difficulties, make the crooked, in some degree, straight andrough places plain. "

For, if Faircloth had been here so recently, broken bread too in thehouse, so he argued, it became the easier to bid him return. And CharlesVerity needed to see him, see him this morning--since purpose offarewells, to be spoken in those long-deserted courts of romance, stiffened, becoming a thing not merely to be turned hither and thitherin thought, but to be plainly and directly done. --"Send for him in yourown name, " he said. "Explain to him how matters stand, and ask him totalk with me. "

And, as Damaris agreed, rejoiced by the success of her adventurousdiplomacy, making to go at once and give the required instructions--

"Stay--stay a moment, " her father said, and drew her down to sit on thechair-arm, keeping her hand in his, and with his other hand stroking itwistfully. For though certain difficulties might be sensibly lessened, they were not altogether removed; and he smiled inwardly, aware that noteven in the crack of doom are feminine rights over a man other thanconflicting and uncommonly ticklish to adjust. 

"Before we commit ourselves to further enterprises, my darling, let usquite understand one another upon one or two practical points--bearing inmind the blades of Atropos' envious scissors. My affairs are inorder"--Damaris shrank, piteously expostulated. 

"Oh! but must we, are we obliged to speak of those things? They grate onme--Commissioner Sahib, they are ugly. They hurt. "

"Yes--distinctly we are obliged to speak of them. To do so can neitherhasten nor retard the event. All the more obliged to speak of them, because I have never greatly cared about money, except for what I coulddo with it. --As a means, of vast importance. As an end, uninteresting. --So it has been lightly come and lightly go, I am afraid. All the same I've not been culpably improvident. A portion of my incomedies with me; but enough remains to secure you against any anxietyregarding ways and means, if not to make you a rich woman. I have left anannuity to your Aunt Felicia. Her means are slender, dear creature, andher benevolence outruns them, so that she balances a little anxiously, Igather, on the edge of debt. The capital sum will return to youeventually. Carteret and McCabe consented, some years ago, to act as myexecutors. Their probity and honour are above reproach. --Now as to thisplace--if you should ever wish to part with it, let Faircloth take itover. I have made arrangements to that effect, about which I will talkwith him when he comes. --Have no fear lest I should say that which mightwound him. I shall be as careful, my dear, of his proper pride as of myown. --Understand I have no desire to circumscribe either your or hisliberty of action unduly. But this house, all it contains, the garden, the very trees I see from these windows, are so knitted into the fabricof my past life that I shrink--with a queer sense of homelessness--fromany thought of their passing into the occupation of strangers. --Childish, pitifully weak-minded no doubt, and therefore the more natural that oneshould crave a voice, thus in the disposition of what one has learnedthrough long usage so very falsely to call one's own!"

"We will do exactly what you wish, even to the littlest particular, Ipromise you--both for Faircloth and for myself, " Damaris answered, forcing herself to calmness and restraint of tears. 

He petted her hands silently until, as the minutes passed, she began oncemore to grow fearful of that dreadful unknown influence insidiouslypossessing him and winning him away. And he may have grown fearful of ittoo, for he made a sharp movement, raising his shoulders as thoughstriving to throw off some weight, some encumbrance. 

"There is an end, then, of business, " he said, "and of such worldlyconsiderations. I need worry you with them no more. Only one thingremains, of which, before I speak to others, it is only seemly, mydarling, I should speak to you. "

Charles Verity lifted his eyes to hers, and she perceived his spirit asnow in nowise remote; but close, evident almost to the point of alarm. Itlooked out from the wasted face, at once--to her seeing--exquisite andaustere, reaching forward, keenly curious of all death should reveal, unmoved, yet instinct with the brilliance, the mirthfulness even, ofimpending portentous adventure. 

"You know, Damaris, how greatly I love and have loved you--how dear youhave been to me, dearer than the satisfaction of my own flesh?"

Speech was beyond her. She looked back, dazzled and for the momentbroken. 

"Therefore it goes hard with me to ask anything which might, ever sodistantly, cause you offence or distress. Only time presses. We arewithin sight of the end. "

"Ah! no--no, " she exclaimed, wrenching away her hands and beating themtogether, passion of affection, of revolt and sorrow no more to becontrolled. "How can I bear it, how can I part with you? I will not, Iwill not have you die. --McCabe isn't infallible. We must call in otherdoctors. They may be cleverer, may suggest new treatment, new remedies. They must cure you--or if they can't cure, at least keep you alive forme. I won't have you die!"

"Call in whom you like, as many as you like, my darling, the wholemedical faculty if it serves to pacify or to content you, " he said, smiling at her. 

Damaris repented. Took poor passion by the throat, stifling itsuseless cries. 

"I tire you. I waste your strength. I think only of myself, of my owngrief, most beloved, my own consuming grief and desolation. --See--I willbe good--I am good. What else is there you want to have me do?"

"This--but recollect you are free to say me nay, without scruple orhesitation. I shall not require you to give your reasons, but shall bow, unreservedly, to your wishes. For you possess a touchstone in suchquestions as the one now troubling me, which, did I ever possess it, Ilost, as do most men, rather lamentably early in my career. If you sufferme to do so, I will ask Darcy Faircloth to bring his mother here to me, this evening at dusk, when her coming will not challenge impertinentobservation--so that I may be satisfied no bitterness colours her thoughtof me and that we part in peace, she and I. "

Damaris got up from her seat on the arm of the red-covered chair. Shestood rigid, her expression reserved to blankness, but her headcarried high. 

"Of course, " she said, a little hoarsely, and waited. "Of course. Howcould I object? Wasn't it superfluous even to ask me? Your word, dearest, is law. "

"But in the present case hardly gospel?"

"Yes--gospel too--since it is your word. Gospel, that is, for me. LetDarcy Faircloth bring his mother here by all means. Only I think, perhaps, this is all a little outside my province. It would be better youshould make the--the appointment with him yourself. I will send to himdirectly. Patch can take a note over to the island. I would prefer tohave Patch go as messenger than either of the other men. "

She walked towards the door. Stopped half-way and turned, hearing herfather move. And as she turned--her eyes quick with enquiry as to hiscase, but inscrutable as to her own--Charles Verity rose too and heldout his arms in supreme invitation. She came swiftly forward and kissedhim, while with all the poor measure of force left him, he strained herto his breast. 

"Have I asked too much from you, Damaris, and, in the desire to makesure of peace elsewhere, endangered the perfection of my far dearerpeace with you?"

She leaned back from the waist, holding her head away from him and laidher hand on his lips. 

"Don't blaspheme, most beloved, " she said, "I have no will but yours. "

Again she kissed him, disengaged herself very gently, and went. 

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH WHICH IS ALSO CHAPTER THE LAST

At Lady's Oak--an ancient forest boundary--where the main road forks, Damaris swung the dog-cart to the left, across the single-arch stonebridge spanning the Arne; and on, up the long winding ascent from thevalley-bottom to the moorlands patched with dark fir plantations, whichrange inland from behind Stourmouth. This constituted the goal of herjourney; for, the high-lying plateau reached, leagues of open country aredisclosed north and west, far as the eye carries, to the fine bareoutline of the Wiltshire Downs. She asked for wide prospects, for air andample space; but as floored by stable earth rather than by the eternalunrest and "fruitless, sonorous furrows" of the sea. 

Ever since the day of the funeral, now nearly a fortnight ago, Damarishad kept within the sheltering privacy of the house and grounds. Thatday, one of soft drizzling rain and clinging ground fog, had also been toher one of hardly endurable distraction. Beneath assumption of respectfulsilence, it jarred, boomed, took notes, debated, questioned. Beneathassumption of solemnity, it peeped and stared. Her flayed nerves anddesolated heart plagued her with suspicions of insincerity. 

In as far as Colonel Carteret controlled proceedings all had been markedby reverent simplicity. But where the carcass is, the eagles, proverbially, gather. And unfeathered fowl, in their own estimationeminently representative of that regal species, flocked to Deadham churchand to The Hard. 

If--to vary our metaphor--some, in the past, inclined to stone the livingprophet, these now outvied one another in their alacrity to bedeck histomb. Dr. Cripps, for example, hurried to offer himself as pall-bearer--arequest the more readily disposed of that there was no pall. WhileArchdeacon Verity, to cite a second example and from a higher sociallevel, supported by his elder son Pontifex--domestic chaplain to theBishop of Harchester--insisted on sharing with Canon Horniblow themelancholy honour of reading the burial service. 

For the rest, the head, and lesser members of the family, from the bighouse at Canton Magna, were solidly, not to say rather aggressively inevidence. With them Mrs. Cowden and her husband-satellite, the HonourableAugustus joined forces on arriving from Paulton Lacy. --Lord Bulparc droveover from Napworth Castle. The country, indeed, showed up withcommendable indifference to depressing atmospheric conditions. Marychurchsent a contingent. Stourmouth followed suit in the shape of GeneralFrayling--attended by Marshall Wace in full clerical raiment--bearing awreath of palm, violets, and myrtle wholly disproportionate in bulk andcircumference to his own shrivelled and rather tottery form. --Of thisunlooked for advent more hereafter. --Other distinguished soldiers camefrom Aldershot and down from town. A permanent Under Secretary, correctbut visibly bored, represented the India Office. 

The parish, neglecting its accustomed industries and occupations, mustered in strength; incited thereto, not only by the draw of recentlyresurrected scandal, but by news of the appointment recently offered SirCharles Verity, which had somehow got noised abroad. The irony of hisillness and death occurring precisely when he was invited to mountnothing less--according to local report--than an oriental throne, sufficed to stir the most lethargic imagination. Moralists of theReginald Sawyer school might read in this the direct judgment of anoffended deity. Deadham, however, being reprehensibly clannish, viewedthe incident otherwise; and questioned--thanks to an ingeniously invertedsystem of reasoning--whether the said Reginald Sawyer hadn't laid himselfopen to a charge of manslaughter or of an even graver breach of theDecalogue. 

Theresa Bilson--in whose hat artificial buttercups and daisies hastilymade room for bows of crape--lurked in the humble obscurity of the freeseats near the west door. To right and left she was flanked by a guardianMiss Minett; but these ladies to-day were but broken reeds on which tolean. They still laboured under a sense of having been compromised, andof resultant social ostracism. This, although their former parsoniclodger had vanished from the scene on the day following his threatenedimmersion--a half-hearted proposition on his part of "facing out theundeserved obloquy, living down the coarse persecution" meeting with asscant encouragement from his ecclesiastical superior, the vicar, as fromthemselves. Theresa--it really was hard on her--shared their eclipse. Hence the humble obscurity of the free seats, where she sniffed, dabbedher eyes and gurgled, unheeded and unseen. 

Finally young Tom Verity--home on his first long leave--havingaccompanied the family party from Canton Magna and feeling his sense ofhumour unequal to the continued strain of their sublime insularity, benevolently herded two stately, though shivering, turbanned nativegentlemen, who reached Deadham during the early stages of the ceremony noone quite knew whence or when. In the intervals of his self-imposedduties, he found time to admire the rich unction of his father, theArchdeacon's manner and voice. 

"_Plus ça change, plus la même chose_, " he quoted gleefully. "What aconsummate fraud the dear old governor is; and how deliciously innocentof the fact, that he imposes upon no one half so successfully as he doesupon himself!"

Our young man also found time, from afar, to admire Damaris; but, let itbe added, to a very different tune. Her beauty came as surprise to himas having much more than fulfilled its early promise. He found itimpressive beyond that of any one of the many ladies, mature or callow, with whom it was his habit largely to flirt. So far he couldcongratulate himself on having successfully withstood the wiles ofmatrimony--but by how near a shave, at times by how narrow a squeak! Ifthat fine parental fraud, the Archdeacon, had but known!--Tom, undeterred by the solemnity of the occasion, hunched up his shoulderslike a naughty boy expecting his ears boxed. --But then--thank thepowers, the Archdeacon so blessedly and refreshingly didn't, and, whatwas more, didn't in the very least want to know. He never asked fortrouble; but, like the priest and Levite of sacred parable, carefullypassed by on the other side when trouble was about. 

Our young friend looked again at Damaris. Yes--she had beauty and in thegrand manner, standing there at the foot of the open brick-lined grave, calm, immobile, black-clad, white-faced, in the encircling melancholy ofthe drizzling mist. With the family grouped about her, large-boned, pompous, well-fed persons, impervious to general ideas as they wereimperviously prosperous, he compared her to a strayed deer amongst aherd of store cattle. Really, with the exception of his cousin Feliciaand--naturally--of himself, the Verity breed was almost indecently trueto type. Prize animals, most of them, he granted, still cattle--fordidn't he detect an underlying trace of obstinate bovine ferocity intheir collective aspect?

Damaris' calm and immobility exceeded theirs. But in quality and sourcehow far removed, how sensitive and intelligent! Her mourning was in thegrand manner, too, her grief sincere and absolute to the extent of asplendid self-forgetfulness. She didn't need to pose; for that forgottenself could be trusted--in another acceptation of the phrase--never toforget itself. 

And here Tom Verity's agreeable frivolity, the astute and wittyshiftiness of mind and--in a degree--of practice, for which he so readilyfound excuses and forgave himself, made place for nobler apprehensions. Not merely Damaris', just now, rather tragic beauty moved and impressedhim; but some quality inherent in her upon which he felt disposed toconfer the title of genius. That was going far. --Mentally he pulledhimself up short. --For wasn't it going altogether too far--absurdly so?What the dickens did this excessive admiration portend? Could he havereceived the _coup de foudre_?--He had to-day a fancy for French tags, inreaction from the family's over-powering Englishness. --That wouldn't suithis book in the very least. For in the matters of the affections he heldit thriftless, to the confines of sheer lunacy, to put all your eggs intoone basket. He, therefore, politicly abstained from further observationof Damaris; and, with engaging assiduity, reapplied himself to herdingthe two native gentlemen through the remainder of the ceremony and, atthe conclusion of it, into the mildewed luxury of a Marychurch landau. 

Deadham parish went home to its tea that evening damp, not to saydripping, but well pleased with the figure it had cut in the public eye. For it had contributed its quota to contemporary history; and what parishcan, after all, do more! Reporters pervaded it armed with note-books andpencils. They put questions, politely requested a naming of names. Theinformation furnished in answer would reach the unassailable authority ofprint, giving Deadham opportunity to read the complimentary truth aboutitself. Still better, giving others opportunity to read the complimentarytruth about Deadham. Hence trade and traffic of sorts, with muchincidental replenishing of purses. Great are the uses of a dead prophetto the keepers of his tomb! Not within the memory of the oldestinhabitant had any funeral been so largely or honourably attended. Trulyit spelled excellent advertisement--and this although two persons, calculated mightily to have heightened interest and brought up dramaticand emotional values, were absent from the scene. 

For Lesbia Faircloth, giving her barman and two women servants a holiday, closed the inn at noon. Alone within the empty house, she locked theouter doors. Drew the blinds, reducing the interior to uniform, shadow-peopled obscurity, with the exception of her own bed-chamber. There she left one small square window--set deep in the stone work of thewall--open and uncurtained. 

It faced the causeway and perspective of lane skirting the warren andleading to the high road and village. Looking out thence, in winter whenthe trees were bare, she could see Deadham church, crowning itsmonticule, part of the sloping graveyard and, below these in the middledistance, the roofs and gables of the village street. 

To-day the view was obliterated. For here, at the river level, mist anddrizzle took the form of fog. Opaque, chill and dank, it drifted incontinuous, just perceptible, undulations past and in at the opencasement. Soon the air of the room grew thick and whitish, the dark oakfurniture and the floor boards furred with moisture. Yet, her methodicalclosure of the house complete, Lesbia Faircloth elected to sit in fullinward sweep of it, drawing a straight-backed chair, mounted on roughlycarpentered rockers, close to the window. 

A handsome woman still, though in her late fifties, erect and ofcommanding presence, her figure well-proportioned if somewhat massive. Her dark hair showed no grey. Her rather brown skin was clear, smooth andsoft in texture. Her eyes clear, too, watchful and reticent; onoccasion--such as the driving of a business bargain say, or of a drunkenclient--hard as flint. Her mouth, a wholesome red, inclined to fullness;but had been governed to straightness of line--will dominant, not only inher every movement, but in repose as she now sat, the chair rockers at abackward tilt, her capable and well-shaped hands folded on her blackapron in the hollow of her lap. 

Putting aside all work for once, and permitting herself a space ofundisturbed leisure, she proceeded to cast up her account with love andlife in as clear-headed, accurate a fashion as she would have cast up thecolumns of cash-book or ledger--and found the balance on the credit side. So finding it, she turned her head and looked across the room at the widehalf-tester wooden bed, set against the inner wall--the white crochetcounterpane of which, an affair of intricate fancy patterns andinnumerable stitches, loomed up somewhat ghostly and pallid through thegloom. A flicker of retrospective victory passed across her face, attesting old scores as paid. For there, through sleepless nights, nursing the ardours and disgust of her young womanhood, she lay barrenbeside her apple-cheeked, piping-voiced spouse, his wife in name only. There later, times having, as by miracle, changed for her, she gavebirth to her son. 

If somewhat pre-christian in instinct and in nature, the child of a moreancient and a simpler world, she was in no sort slow of intelligence orwanton. What had been, sufficed her. She cried out neither for furtherindulgence of passion, nor against barriers imposed by circumstance andclass. That which she had done, she had done open-eyed, counting andaccepting the cost. Since then wooers were not lacking; but she turned adeaf ear to all and each. A frank materialist in some ways, she proved anidealist in this. No subsequent love passage could rival, in wonder orbeauty, that first one; since, compared with Charles Verity, the men whosubsequently aspired to her favours--whether in wedlock or out--were, toher taste, at best dull, loutish fellows, at worst no more than humanjackasses or human swine. 

And, through it all, she possessed the boy on whom to spend her heart, inwhose interests to employ her foresight and singular capacity ofmoney-making. For love's sake therefore, and for his sake also, she hadlived without reproach, a woman chary even of friendship, chary, too, oflaughter, chary above all of purposeless gaddings and of gossip. Business, and the boy's sea-going or returning, might take her as far asSouthampton, Plymouth, Cardiff, more rarely London or some northern port. But Deadham village rarely beheld her, and never, it is to be feared, didthe inside of Deadham church. 

Yet Deadham church bell plaintively, insistently tolling, the soundreaching her muted by the thickness of the fog, kept her attention on thestretch for the ensuing hour. Startling as it was poignant, CharlesVerity's demand to see her, six days ago, brought the story of her loveto full circle. Their meeting had been of the briefest, for he wasexhausted by pain. But that he had sent, and she had gone, was unlockedfor largesse on the part of fortune, sufficient to give her deep-seatedand abiding sense of healing and of gain. And this stayed by her now, rather than any active call for mourning. 

She inhaled the dank chillness of the fog gratefully. It suited theoccasion better far than sunshine and bright skies. For winter, darkness, sullen flowing waters and desolate crying winds furnished theaccompaniment of those earlier meetings. Hearing the tolling bell shestrove to relive them, and found she did so with singularly mountingwealth and precision of detail. Not only vision but sense pushedbackward and inward, revitalizing what had been; until she ached withsuspense and yearning, shrewdly evaded dangers, surmounted obstructionsby action at once bold and wary and tasted the transfiguring rapture ofthe end attained. 

In the soberness of her middle years, occupied as she was with the rough, exacting business of the inn, and with the management of accumulatinglanded and other property--anxiety born of her son's perilous callingnever absent from her thought--Lesbia Faircloth inclined to liveexclusively in the present. Hence the colours of her solitary passion hadsomewhat faded, becoming clouded and dim. Recent events--led by the uglypublicity of Reginald Sawyer's sermon--served to revive those colours. To-day they glowed rich and splendid, a robing of sombre glory to herinward and backward searching sight. 

The bell tolled quicker, announcing the immediate approach of the dead. Lesbia listened, her head raised, her face, turned to open window, feltover by the clammy, impalpable fingers of the fog. 

Now they bore the coffin up the churchyard path, as she timed it. Shewondered who the bearers might be, and whether they carried it shoulderhigh? The path was steep; and Charles Verity, though spare and lean, broad of chest and notably tall. Bone tells. They would feel the weight, would breathe hard, stagger a little even and sweat. 

And with this visualizing of grim particulars, love, bodily love anddesire of that which rested stark and for ever cold within the narrowdarkness of the coffin--shut away from all comfort of human contact andthe dear joys of a woman's embrace--rushed on her like a storm, buffetedand shook her, so that she looked to right and to left as asking help, while her hands worked one upon the other in the hollow of her lap. 

Nor did Darcy Faircloth figure in Deadham's record funeral gathering. Upon the day preceding it, having watched by Charles Verity's corpseduring the previous night, he judged it well to take his new command--afine, five-thousand-ton steamer, carrying limited number of passengersas well as cargo, and trading from Tilbury to the far East and to Japan, via the Cape. 

In his withdrawal, at this particular date, Miss Felicia hailed a counselof perfection which commanded, and continued to command, alike herenthusiastic approval and unfeigned regret. For that he should soseasonably efface himself, argued--in her opinion--so delightful anature, such nice thought for others, such chivalrous instincts andexcellent good taste!--All the more lamentable, then, effacement shouldbe, from social, moral or other seasons, required. --Yet for the family togain knowledge of certain facts without due preparation--how utterlydisastrous! Think of her half-sister, Harriet Cowden, for instance, witha full-grown and, alas! wrong-way-about, step-nephew bounced on her outof a clear sky, and on such an occasion too. --The bare notion of whatthat formidable lady, not only might, but quite certainly would look andsay turned Miss Felicia positively faint. --No--no, clearly it had tobe--it had to be--or rather--she became incoherent--had not to be, ifonly for dearest Charles's sake. Yet what a ten thousand pities; fornotwithstanding the plebeian origin on the mother's side, didn'tFaircloth--these reflections came later--really surpass every male Veritypresent, young Tom included, though she confessed to a very soft spot inher heart for young Tom?--Surpass them, just as her brother Charles hadalways surpassed them in good looks and charm as in inches, above all inhis air of singular good-breeding? And how extraordinarily he hadtransmitted this last to Faircloth, notwithstanding the--well, thedrawback, the obstacle to--Miss Felicia did not finish the sentence, though in sentiment becoming sweetly abandoned. For how she would haverevelled, other things being equal--which they so deplorably weren't--inshaking this singularly attractive nephew in the family's collectiveface, just to show them what dearest Charles--who they never had quiteunderstood or appreciated--could do in the matter of sons, when he onceset about it, even against admittedly heavy odds!

As it was, she had to pacify her gentle extravagance by subjecting thesaid nephew's hand to a long tremulous pressure at parting. --He, worn, blanched, a little strange from the night's lonely and very searchingvigil; she patchily pink as to complexion, fluttered, her candid eyesred-lidded. --Pacify herself by assuring him she could never express howdeeply she had felt his unselfish devotion during this time oftrouble--felt his--his perfect attitude towards her dearest brother--hisfather--or the consideration he had shown towards Damaris and herself. 

"You can count on my unswerving affection, my dear Darcy, " she hadsaid. Adding with, to him, very touching humility--"And any affectionyou have to give me in return I shall cherish most gratefully, be verysure of that. "

All which, as shall presently be shown, brings our narrative, though bydevious courses, back to Damaris sweeping the dog-cart to the left acrossthe bridge spanning the Arne, and on up the long winding ascent, from thewoods and rich meadows in the valley to the wide prospects and keener airof the moorland above. 

Until now, as already chronicled, she had remained in house or garden, prey to an apathy which, while not amounting to definite ill-health, refused interest and exertion. She could not shake it off. To her allthings were empty, blank, immensely purposeless. Religion failed to touchher state--religion, that is, in the only form accessible. The interiorof some frowning Gothic church of old Castile, or, from another angle, ofsome mellow Latin basilica, might have found the required mystic word tosay to her. But Protestantism, even in its mild Anglican form, shuts thedoor on its dead children with a heavy hand. --And she suffered thisreligious coldness, although any idea that death of the body impliesextinction of the spirit, extinction of personality, never occurred toher. Damaris' sense of the unseen was too ingrained, her commerce with ittoo actual for that. No--the spirit lived on. He, her most beloved, livedon, himself, his very self; but far away from her. In just this consistedthe emptiness, the unspeakable and blank bitterness--he was somewhere andshe could not reach him. The dreadful going away of his spirit, againstwhich she had fought during the thirty-six hours of his illness, hadreached its ordained consummation--that was all. 

The body which had contained and by that beloved spirit been so noblyanimated, in its present awful peace, its blind dumb majesty, meantscarcely more to her than some alabaster or waxen effigy of her dead. Itwas so like, yet so terrifyingly unlike Charles Verity in life!--She hadvisited it morning and evening, since to leave it in solitude appearedwanting in reverence. Throughout each night she thankfully knew thateither Carteret, McCabe or Faircloth watched by it. Yet to her it hardlyretained as much of her father's natural presence as the clothes he hadworn, the books and papers littering his writing-table, the chair hepreferred to sit in, his guns and swords upon the wall, or the collectionof fishing-rods, walking-sticks and his spud stacked in a corner. 

After the strain and publicity of the funeral her apathy deepened, perplexing and saddening Carteret and bringing Miss Felicia near toveritable wailing. For while thanking them both she, in fact, put themboth aside. This in no sour or irritable humour; but with a listlessnessand apartness hopeless to overcome. She prayed them to give her time. Soon she would begin again; but not just yet. She "couldn't begin againto order--couldn't make herself begin again. They must not trouble, onlybe patient with her, please, a little longer--she wasn't, indeed shewasn't, pretending"--a statement which, in its simplicity, cut Carteretto the quick--for "she meant to begin again directly she could. "

To-day the weather took an encouraging turn for the better. Followingthe spell of fog and wet a northerly wind at last arose. It swept the skyclear of clouds, the land of melancholy vapours, begetting a brillianceof atmosphere which wooed our maiden to come forth and once more affrontthe open. She therefore ordered the dog-cart at two o'clock. Wouldherself drive; and, "if Aunt Felicia didn't mind and think herunsociable, would take Patch for sole company, because then"--renewedapologies--"she needn't talk and she felt disinclined to do so. "

During the first half mile or so, as must be confessed, each prick ofthe black horse's ears and change in his pace sent a quake through her, as did the sight of every vehicle upon the road she passed or met. Hernerve was nowhere, her self-confidence in tatters. But, since thisparlous state was, in the main, physical, air and movement, along withthe direct call on her attention, steadied the one and knit up theravelled edges of the other. By the time the plateau was reached and thehill lay behind her, she could afford to walk the horse, tentativelyinvite her soul, and attempt to hold communion with Nature. Sorrow--aswell as the Napoleonic Patch--still sat very squarely beside her; butthe nightmare of mortality, with consequent blankness and emptiness, wasno longer omnipresent. Interest again stirred in her, the healthyinstinct of going on. 

Except in the foreground, where foxy browns of withered bracken andpink-shot browns of withered heather gave richness of tone, the colouringof the great view was somewhat cold. It dealt in thin, uncertain green, the buff of stubble, in sharp slate-like blues blended in places withindigo, the black purple of hawthorn hedges and grey-brown filigree ofleafless trees. --This did her good, she asking to be strengthened andstimulated rather than merely soothed. To feel the harsh, untainted windbreak against her, hear it shrill through the dry, shivering grasses ofthe roadside and sturdy spires of heath, to see it toss the dark crestsand tufted branches of the outstanding firs at the edge of theplantation, brought up her morale. Brought her resignation, moreover--notof the self-indulgent order, of bowed head and languidly folded hands;but of the sort which acknowledges loss and sorrow as common to the sumof human experience, places it in its just relation to the rest, and, though more heavily weighted than before, takes up the onward march, sobered perhaps yet undismayed. 

Sins of omission began to prick her. The domestic establishment ran onwheels, even during the recent stress and agitation, though she hadceased to exercise control over it. Now it must be reorganized--andprobably on a less liberal footing. --But these were minor questions, comparatively simple to cope with. Her life had been full, it must findfresh purpose, fresh interest and occupation, in a word, be refilled. 

Literature allured her. She dreamed of wonderful tellings, dreamed of theengrossing joys of the written word. But in what form--poetry, essay, history, novel?--The extreme limitation of her own knowledge, or ratherthe immensity of her own ignorance, confronted her. And that partlythrough her own fault, for she had been exclusive, fastidious, disposedto ignore both truths and people who offended her taste or failed tostrike her fancy. Hitherto she had been led by fancy and feeling ratherthan by reasoned principle. She must at once simplify, broaden anddemocratize her outlook. Must force herself to remember that respect is, in some sort, due to everything--however unbeautiful, however even vileor repugnant--which is a constant quantity in human affairs and humancharacter, due to everything in the realm of Nature also, howeverrepellent, if it _is_ really so, actually exists. 

In this connection the mysterious and haunting question of sex obtrudeditself. And, along with it, the thought of two eminently diverse persons, namely Lesbia Faircloth and the dear, the more than ever dear, man withthe blue eyes. That, in his agony, her father should have desired thevisit of the former, once his mistress, had been very bitter to bear, provoking in Damaris a profound though silent jealousy. This had evencome in some degree between her and Faircloth. For, in proportion asthat visit more effectually united father and son, it abolished herposition as intermediary between the two. 

Recalling the incident jealousy moved her now, so that she gathered upthe reins hastily and touched the horse with the whip. It sprangforward, danced and behaved, before settling down to the swinging trotwhich, in so handsome a fashion, ate up the blond road crossing thebrown expanse of moor. 

Damaris was surprised and distressed by the vehemence of her own emotion. That her jealousy was retrospective, and belonged to a past now over anddone with, she admitted. Yet, thinking of her father's demand to seeLesbia, how amazingly deep it went, how profound, and lasting is theempire of "feeling in _that_ way"--so she put it, falling back on herphrase of nearly three years ago, first coined at St. Augustin. 

And this was where Carteret came in. --For he alone, of all men, had madeher, Damaris, ever consciously "feel in _that_ way. "--A fact of immensesignificance surely, could she but grasp the full, the inner meaning ofit--and one which entered vitally into the matter of "beginning again. "Therefore, so she argued, the proposed simplifying, broadening, democratizing of her outlook must cover--amongst how much else!--thewhole astonishing business of "feeling in _that_ way. "

She shrank from the conclusion as unwelcome. The question of sex wasstill distasteful to her. But she bade herself, sternly, not to shrink. For without some reasoned comprehension of it--as now dawned on her--theways of human beings, of animals, of plants and, so some say, even ofminerals, are unintelligible, arbitrary, and nonsensical. It is the pushof life itself, essential, fundamental, which makes us "feel in _that_way"--the push of spirit yearning to be clothed upon with flesh, madevisible and given its chance to enter the earthly arena, to play anindividual part in the beautiful, terrible earthly scene. Therefore shemust neglect it, reject it no longer. It had to be met and understood, ifshe would graduate in the school of reality; and in what other possibleschool is it worth while to graduate?

Reaching which climax in her argument, the selfishness of her recentbehaviour became humiliatingly patent to her. From the whole household, but especially from Carteret and Aunt Felicia, she had taken all andgiven nothing in return. She had added to their grief, their anxieties, by her silence, her apathy, her whimsies. 

"Patch, " she asked suddenly, "which is the shortest way home, withoutgoing through Stourmouth and Marychurch? "--And, under his instructions, turned the dog-cart down a grassy side-track, heading south-east--her backnow to the wind and inland country, her face to the larger horizon, thelarger if more hazardous freedom of the sea. 

Conversation, started thus by her enquiry, flourished in friendly, desultory fashion until, about three-quarters of an hour later, the frontgates of The Hard came in sight. By then afternoon merged itself in earlyevening. Lights twinkled in the windows of the black cottages, upon theIsland, and in those of Faircloth's inn. The sky flamed orange andcrimson behind the sand-hills and Stone Horse Head. The air carried thetang of coming frost. Upon the hard gravel of the drive, the wheels ofthe dog-cart grated and the horse's hoofs rang loud. 

Another Damaris came home to the Damaris who had set forth--a Damarisrested, refreshed, invigorated, no longer a passive but an active agent. Nevertheless, our poor maiden suffered some reaction on re-entering thehouse. For, so entering, her loss again confronted her as an actualentity. It sat throned in the lamp-lit hall. It demanded payment oftribute before permitting her to pass. Its attitude amounted, in her toofertile imagination, to a menace. Here, within the walls which hadwitnessed not only her own major acquaintance with sorrow, but so manyevents and episodes of strange and, sometimes, cruel import--super-normalmanifestations, too, of which last she feared to think--she grew undoneand weak, disposed to let tears flow, and yield once more to depressionand apathy. The house was stronger than she. But--but--only stronger, surely, if she consented to turn craven and give way to it?--Whereuponshe consciously, of set purpose, defied the house, denied its right tobrowbeat thus and enslave her. For had not she this afternoon, up on themoorland, found a finer manner of mourning than it imposed, a manner atonce more noble and so more consonant with the temper and achievements ofher beloved dead? She believed that she had. 

On the hall table lay a little flight of visiting cards. Her mindoccupied in silent battle with the house, Damaris glanced at themabsently and would have passed on. But something in the half-decipheredprinted names caught her attention. She bent lower, doubting if she couldhave read aright. 

"Brig. -General and Mrs. Frayling. "--Two smaller cards, also bearing theGeneral's name, ranged with two others bearing that of "The Rev. MarshallWace. " A written inscription, in the corner of each, notified a leadinghotel in Stourmouth as the habitat of their respective owners. 

This little discovery affected Damaris to a singular extent. She hadsmall enough wish for Henrietta Frayling's society at this juncture;still less for that of her attendant singer-reciter-parson. Yet theirnames, and the train of recollections evoked by these, made for thenormal, the average, and, in so far, had on her a wholesome effect. ForHenrietta, of once adored and now somewhat tarnished memory--soulless, finished, and exquisitely artificial to her finger-tips, beguiling othersyet never herself beguiled beyond the limits of a flawlessrespectability--was wonderfully at odds with high tragedies ofdissolution. How had the house received such a guest? How put up with herintrusion? But wasn't the house, perhaps, itself at a disadvantage, itssting drawn in presence of such invincible materialism? For how impress acreature at once so light and so pachydermatous? The position lent itselfto rather mordant comedy. 

In this sense, though not precisely in these phrases, did Damarisapprehend matters as, still holding Henrietta Frayling's visiting cardin her hand, she crossed the hall and went into the drawing-room. 

There, from upon the sofa behind the tea-table, through the warm softradiance of shaded lamps and glowing fire, Felicia Verity uplifted hervoice in somewhat agitated greeting. She made no preliminary affectionateenquiries--such as might have been expected--regarding her niece's outingor general well-being, but darted, not to say exploded, into thedeclaration:

"Darling, I am so exceedingly glad you weren't at home!--Mrs. Frayling's card?"

This, as the girl sat down on the sofa beside her. 

"Then you know who's been here. I didn't intend to see anyone--unlesspoor little Theresa--But no, truly no one. Both Hordle and Mary were offduty--I ought not to have let them be away at the same time, perhaps, butI did feel they both needed a holiday, don't you know. --And either theyhad forgotten to give Laura my orders, or she lost her head, or wastalked over. I daresay Mrs. Frayling insisted. "

"Henrietta is not easily turned from her purpose, " Damaris said. 

"Exactly. --A very few minutes' conversation with her convinced me ofthat. And so I felt it would be unfair to blame Laura too severely. Ishould suppose Mrs. Frayling excessively clever in getting her own way. Poor Laura--even if she did know my orders, she hadn't a chance. "

"Not a chance, " Damaris repeated. 

Once convalescence initiated, youth speedily regains its elasticity; andAunt Felicia with her feathers ruffled, Aunt Felicia upon the warpaththus, presented a novel spectacle meriting observation. Evidently she andHenrietta had badly clashed!--A nice little demon of diversion stirredwithin Damaris. For the first time for many days she felt amused. 

"Excessively clever, " Miss Felicia continued. 

--Without doubt the dear thing was finely worked up!--

"And, though I hardly like to make such accusation, none too scrupulousin her methods. She leads you on with a number of irrelevant commentsand questions, until you find she's extracted from you a whole host ofthings you never meant to say. She is far too inquisitive--toopossessive. "

Miss Felicia ended on an almost violent note. 

"Yes, Henrietta has a tiresome little habit of having been there first, "Damaris said, a touch of weariness in her tone remembering pastencounters. 

Miss Felicia, caught by that warning tone, patted her niece's ratherundiscoverable knee--undiscoverable because still covered by a heavyfur-lined driving coat--lovingly, excitedly. 

"If you choose to believe her, darling, " she cried, "which I, for one, emphatically don't. "

Following which ardent profession of faith, or rather of scepticism, MissFelicia attempted to treat the subject broadly. She soared tomountain-tops of social and psychological astuteness; but only to makehasty return upon her gentler self, deny her strictures, and snatch atthe skirts of vanishing Christian charity. 

"Men aren't so easily led away, " she hopefully declared. "Nor can I thinkMrs. Frayling so irresistible to each and all as she wishes one toimagine. She must magnify the number and, still more, the permanence ofher conquests. No doubt she has been very much admired. I know she waslovely. I saw her once ages ago, at Tullingworth. Dearest Charles, " thewords came softly, as though her lips hesitated to pronounce them in sotrivial a connection--"asked me to call on her as I was staying in theneighbourhood. She had a different surname then, by the way, I remember. "

"Henrietta has had four in all--counting in her maiden name, I mean. "

"Exactly, " Miss Felicia argued, "and that, no doubt, does prejudice me alittle against her. I suppose it is wrong, but when a woman marries sooften one can't help feeling as if she ended by not being married atall--a mere change of partners, don't you know, which does seem rathershocking. It suggests such an absence of deep feeling. --Poor thing, Idare say that is just her nature; still it doesn't attract me. In factit gives me a creep. --But I quite own she is pretty still, andextraordinarily well dressed--only too well dressed, don't you know, thatis for the country. --More tea, darling. Yes, Mrs. Cooper's scones areparticularly good this afternoon. --I wish I liked her better, Mrs. Frayling, I mean, because she evidently intends to be here a lot infuture. She expressed the warmest affection for you. She was verypossessive about you, more I felt than she'd any real right to be. That, I'm afraid, put my back up--that and one or two other things. She andGeneral Frayling think of settling in Stourmouth for good, if Mr. Wace isappointed to the Deadham curacy. "

"The curacy here?" Damaris echoed, a rather lurid light breakingin on her. 

Miss Felicia's glance was of timid, slightly distressed, enquiry. 

"Yes, " she said, "Mr. Wace has applied for the curacy. He and GeneralFrayling were to have an interview with Canon Horniblow this afternoon. They dropped Mrs. Frayling here on their way to the vicarage, and sentthe fly back for her. She talked a great deal about Mr. Wace and hisimmense wish to come here. She gave me to understand it was his oneobject to"--

The speaker broke off, raised her thin, long-fingered hands to herforehead. 

"I don't know, " she said, "but really I feel perhaps, darling, it isbetter to warn you. She implied--oh! she did it very cleverly, really, ina way charmingly--but she implied that things had gone very hard with Mr. Wace that winter at St. Augustin, and that all he went through hasremarkably developed and strengthened his character--that it, in fact, was what determined him to take Holy Orders. His difficulties meltedbefore his real need for the support of religion. It would have all beenmost touching if one had heard a story of such devotion from anyonebut--but her, about anyone but him--under the circumstances, poor youngman--because--darling--well, because of you. "

"Of me?" Damaris stiffened. 

"Yes--that is just the point. Mrs. Frayling left me in no doubt. She wasdetermined to make me understand just what Mr. Wace's attitude had beentowards you--and that it is still unchanged. "

Damaris got up. Pulled off her driving coat, gloves and hat. Threw themupon the seat of a chair. The act was symbolic. She felt suffocated, impelled to rid herself of every impediment. For wasn't she confrontedwith another battle--a worse one than that with the house, namely, abattle with her long-ago baby-love, and her father's lovetoo--Henrietta. --Henrietta, so strangely powerful, so amazinglypersistent--Henrietta who enclosed you in arms, apparently so soft butfurnished with suckers, octopus arms adhering, never letting you go? Shehad played with the idea of this intrusion of Henrietta's and its effectupon Miss Felicia, at first as something amusing. It ceased to beamusing. It frightened her. 

"And my attitude is unchanged, too, " she said presently, gravely proud. "I didn't want to marry Marshall Wace then. I was dreadfully sorry whenHenrietta told me he cared for me. I don't want to marry him or havehim care for me one bit more now. I think it very interfering ofHenrietta to trouble you with this. It is not the moment. She might atleast have waited. "

"So I felt, " Miss Felicia put in. She watched her niece anxiously, as thelatter went across to the fire-place and stood, her back to the room, looking down into the glowing logs. 

For she had--or rather ought she not to have?--another communication tomake which involved the fighting of a battle on her own account, notagainst Henrietta Frayling, still less against Damaris, but againstherself. It trembled on the tip of her tongue. She felt impelled, yetsorrowed to utter it. Hence her wishes and purposes jostled one another, being tenderly, bravely, heroically even, contradictory. In speaking sheinvited the shattering of a dream of personal election to happiness--alate blossoming happiness and hence the more entrancing, the morepathetic. That any hope of the dream's fulfilment was fragile as glass, lighter than gossamer, the veriest shadow of a shade, her naturaldiffidence and sane sense, alike, convinced her. For this very cause, thedream being of the sweetest and most intimate, how gladly would she havecherished the enchanting foolishness of it a trifle longer!--Her act ofheroism would earn no applause, moreover, would pass practicallyunnoticed. No one would be aware of her sacrifice. She would only gainthe satisfaction of knowing she had done the perfectly right and generousthing by two persons who would never share that knowledge. --Sheblushed. --Heaven forbid they ever should share it--and thank her. 

"Mrs. Frayling--I don't want"--

Miss Felicia stopped. 

"What don't you want?"--This from Damaris over her shoulder, the pausebeing prolonged. 

"To set you against her, darling"--

"I think, " Damaris said, "I know all about Henrietta. "

"She insinuates so much, " Miss Felicia lamented. --"Or seems to do so. Onegrows wretchedly suspicious of her meaning. Perhaps I exaggerate andmisjudge her. --She is quite confusingly adroit; but I extremely dislikedthe way in which she spoke of Colonel Carteret. "

Damaris bent a little forward, holding her skirt back from the scorch ofthe fire, her eyes still downcast. 

"How did she speak of him?"

"Oh! all she said was very indirect--but as though he had not playedquite fair with her on some occasion. And--it's odious to repeat!--as ifthat was his habit with women, and with unmarried girls as well--as if hewas liable to behave in a way which placed them in a rather invidiousposition while he just shuffled out of all responsibility himself. Shehinted his staying on with us here was a case in point--that it mightgive people a wrong idea altogether. That, in short--at least thinking itover I feel sure this is the impression she meant to convey to me--thathe is indulging his chronic love of philandering at your expense. "

"And thereby standing in the light of serious lovers such asMarshall Wace?"

After a moment Damaris added:

"Is that your idea of Colonel Carteret, Aunt Felicia?"

"Ah! No, indeed no, " the poor lady cried, with rather anguishedsincerity. Then making a fine effort over herself:

"Least of all where you are concerned, my darling. "

And she drifted hastily on to her feet. The curtains were still undrawn;and, through the window opposite, she caught sight of a tall figurecoming up across the lawn in the frosty twilight. 

"Pardon me if I run away. I've forgotten a note I meant to send to poorlittle Theresa Bilson. --I must let Laura have it at once, or she mayn'tcatch the postman, " she said with equal rapidity and apparentinconsequence. 

As Felicia Verity passed out into the hall, at one end of the avenue ofstumpy pillars, Carteret came in at the other end through the gardendoor. He halted a moment, dazzled by the warmth and light within afterthe clair-obscure of the frosty dusk without, and looked round the roombefore recognizing the identity of its remaining occupant. Then:

"Ah! you--dear witch, " he said. "So you're home. And what of your drive?"

Damaris turned round, all of a piece. Her hands, white against the black, the fingers slightly apart, still pressed back the skirt of her dress asthough saving it from the fire scorch, in quaintly careful childishfashion. Her complexion was that of a child too, in its soft brightness. And the wonder of her great eyes fairly challenged Carteret's wits. 

"A babe of a thousand years, " he quoted to himself. "Does that look growout of a root of divine innocence, or of quite incalculable wisdom?"

"I told you if you would be patient with me I should begin again. I havebegun again, dear Colonel Sahib. "

"So I perceive, " he answered her. 

"Is it written so large?" she asked curiously. 

"Very large, " he said, falling in with her humour. "And where does thebeginning lead to?"

"I wish you'd tell me. --Henrietta has begun again too. "

"I know it, " he said. "Our incomparable Henrietta overtook me on her wayfrom here to the Vicarage, and bestowed her society on me for the betterpart of half an hour. She was in astonishing form. "

Carteret came forward and stood on the tiger skin beside Damaris. Mrs. Frayling's conversation had given him very furiously to think, and histhoughts had not proved by any means exhilarating. 

"Does this recrudescence of our Henrietta, her beginning again, affectthe scope and direction of your own beginning again, dearest witch?" hepresently enquired, in singularly restrained and colourless accents. 

"That depends a good deal upon you--doesn't it, Colonel Sahib?" ourmaiden gravely answered. 

Carteret felt as though she dealt him a blow. The pain was numbing. Hecould neither see, nor could he think clearly. But he traced Mrs. Frayling's hand in this, and could have cursed her elaborately--had itbeen worth while. But was anything worth while, just now? He inclined tobelieve not--so called himself a doating fool. And then, thoughtormented, shaken, turned his mind to making things easy for Damaris. 

"Oh! I see that, " he told her. "And now you have got hold of yourprecious little self again and made a start, it's easy enough to manageyour affairs--in as far as they need any management of mine--from adistance. This beginning again is triumphant. I congratulate you! You'reyour own best physician. You know how to treat your case to a marvel. SoI abdicate. "

"But why? Why abdicate? Do you mean go away? Then Henrietta was right. What she said was true. I never believed her. I"--

Damaris grew tall in her shame and anger. The solemn eyes blazed. 

"Yes--pray go, " she said. "It's unwarrantable the way I kept youhere--the way I've made use of you. But, indeed, indeed, I am verygrateful, Colonel Sahib. I ought to have known better. But I didn't. Ihave been so accustomed all my life to your help that I took it all forgranted. I never thought how much I taxed your forbearance or encroachedon your time. --That isn't quite true though. I did have scruples; butlittle things you said and did put my scruples to sleep. I liked havingthem put to sleep. --Now you must not let me or my business interfere anymore. --Oh! you've treated me, given to me, like a prince, " she declared, rising superior to anger and to shame, her eyes shining--"like a king. Nobody can ever take your place or be to me what you've been. I shallalways love to think of your goodness to--to him--my father--and tome--always--all my life. "

Damaris held out her hands. 

"And that's all. --Now let us say no more about this. It's difficult. Ithurts us both, I fancy, a little. "

But Carteret did not take her proffered hands. 

"Dear witch, " he said, "we've spoken so freely that I am afraid we mustspeak more freely still--even though it pains you a little perhaps, andmyself, almost certainly very much more. I love you--not as a friend, notas an amiable elderly person should love a girl of your age. --This isn'tan affair of yesterday or the day before yesterday. You crept into myheart on your sixth birthday--wasn't it?--when I brought you a certainlittle green jade elephant from our incomparable Henrietta, and found youasleep in a black marble chair, set on a blood-red sandstone platform, overlooking the gardens of the club at Bhutpur. And you have never creptout of it again--won't do so as long as body and mind hang together, orafter. It has been a song of degrees. --For years you were to me adelicious plaything; but a plaything with a mysterious soul, after whichI felt, every now and again, in worship and awe. The plaything stage cameto an end when I was here with you before we went to Paris, four yearsago. For I found then, beyond all question of doubt, that I loved you asa man only loves once, and as most men never love at all. I have triedto keep this from you because I have no right to burden your youth withmy middle-age. "

Carteret smiled at her. 

"It has not been altogether easy to hold my peace, dearest witch, " hesaid. "The seven devils of desire--of which you knew nothing, blessyou"--"I'm not sure that I do know nothing, " Damaris put in quietly. She looked him over from head to heel, and the wonder of her greateyes deepened. 

"It isn't wrong?" she said, brokenly, hoarsely. "I don't think it canbe wrong?"

Then, "You will be good to my brother, to Darcy Faircloth, and let me seehim quite, quite often!"

And lastly, her lips trembling:

"It is beautiful, more beautiful than I ever knew about, to have you forquite my own, Colonel Sahib. "