THE HERO

BY

WILLIAM SOMERSET MAUGHAM

AUTHOR OF"LIZA OF LAMBETH, " "THE MAKING Of A SAINT, " "ORIENTATIONS"

London . . . . . HUTCHINSON & CO. Paternoster Row. 1901

 "Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves; Britons never will be slaves. " _"Alfred": a Masque. By James Thomson. _

 "O Sophonisba, Sophonisba, O!" _"Sophonisba": a Tragedy. By the same Author. _

To

MISS JULIA MAUGHAM

THE HERO

I

Colonel Parsons sat by the window in the dining-room to catch the lastglimmer of the fading day, looking through his _Standard_ to make surethat he had overlooked no part of it. Finally, with a little sigh, hefolded it up, and taking off his spectacles, put them in their case. 

"Have you finished the paper?" asked his wife

"Yes, I think I've read it all. There's nothing in it. "

He looked out of window at the well-kept drive that led to the house, and at the trim laurel bushes which separated the front garden from thevillage green. His eyes rested, with a happy smile, upon the triumphalarch which decorated the gate for the home-coming of his son, expectedthe next day from South Africa. Mrs. Parsons knitted diligently at asock for her husband, working with quick and clever fingers. He watchedthe rapid glint of the needles. 

"You'll try your eyes if you go on much longer with this light, mydear. "

"Oh, I don't require to see, " replied his wife, with a gentle, affectionate smile. But she stopped, rather tired, and laying the sockon the table, smoothed it out with her hand. 

"I shouldn't mind if you made it a bit higher in the leg than the lastpair. "

"How high would you like it?"

She went to the window so that the Colonel might show the exact lengthhe desired; and when he had made up his mind, sat down again quietly onher chair by the fireside, with hands crossed on her lap, waitingplacidly for the maid to bring the lamp. 

Mrs. Parsons was a tall woman of fifty-five, carrying herself with acertain diffidence, as though a little ashamed of her stature, greaterthan the Colonel's; it had seemed to her through life that those extrainches savoured, after a fashion, of disrespect. She knew it was herduty spiritually to look up to her husband, yet physically she wasalways forced to look down. And eager to prevent even the remotestsuspicion of wrong-doing, she had taken care to be so submissive in herbehaviour as to leave no doubt that she recognised the obligation ofrespectful obedience enjoined by the Bible, and confirmed by her ownconscience. Mrs. Parsons was the gentlest of creatures, and the mostkind-hearted; she looked upon her husband with great and unalterableaffection, admiring intensely both his head and his heart. He was hertype of the upright man, walking in the ways of the Lord. You saw in theplacid, smooth brow of the Colonel's wife, in her calm eyes, even in thesevere arrangement of the hair, parted in the middle and drawn back, that her character was frank, simple, and straightforward. She was awoman to whom evil had never offered the smallest attraction; she wasmerely aware of its existence theoretically. To her the only way of lifehad been that which led to God; the others had been non-existent. Dutyhad one hand only, and only one finger; and that finger had alwayspointed definitely in one direction. Yet Mrs. Parsons had a firm mouth, and a chin square enough to add another impression. As she satmotionless, hands crossed, watching her husband with loving eyes, youmight have divined that, however kind-hearted, she was not indulgent, neither lenient to her own faults nor to those of others; perfectlyunassuming, but with a sense of duty, a feeling of the absoluterightness of some deeds and of the absolute wrongness of others, whichwould be, even to those she loved best in the world, utterly unsparing. 

"Here's a telegraph boy!" said Colonel Parsons suddenly. "Jamie can'thave arrived yet!"

"Oh, Richmond!"

Mrs. Parsons sprang from her chair, and a colour brightened her palecheeks. Her heart beat painfully, and tears of eager expectation filledher eyes. 

"It's probably only from William, to say the ship is signalled, " saidthe Colonel, to quieten her; but his own voice trembled with anxiety. 

"Nothing can have happened, Richmond, can it?" said Mrs. Parsons, hercheeks blanching again at the idea. 

"No, no! Of course not! How silly you are!" The telegram was brought inby the servant. "I can't see without a light, " said the Colonel. 

"Oh, give it me; I can see quite well. "

Mrs. Parsons took it to the window, and with trembling hand tore itopen. 

"_Arriving to-night; 7. 25. _--JAMIE. "

Mrs. Parson looked for one moment at her husband, and then, unable torestrain herself, sank on a chair, and hiding her face with her hands, burst into tears. 

"Come, come, Frances, " said the Colonel, trying to smile, but halfchoked with his own emotion, "don't cry! You ought to laugh when youknow the boy's coming home. "

He patted her on the shoulder, and she took his hand, holding it forcomfort. With the other, the Colonel loudly blew his nose. At last MrsParsons dried her eyes. 

"Oh, I thank God that it's all over! He's coming home. I hope we shallnever have to endure again that anxiety. It makes me tremble still whenI think how we used to long for the paper to come, and dread it; how weused to look all through the list of casualties, fearing to see theboy's name. "

"Well, well, it's all over now, " said the Colonel cheerily, blowing hisnose again. "How pleased Mary will be!"

It was characteristic of him that almost his first thought was of thepleasure this earlier arrival would cause to Mary Clibborn, the girl towhom, for five years, his son had been engaged. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Parson, "but she'll be dreadfully disappointed not tobe here; she's gone to the Polsons in Tunbridge Wells, and she won't behome till after supper. "

"That is a pity. I'm afraid it's too late to go and meet him; it'snearly seven already. "

"Oh, yes; and it's damp this evening. I don't think you ought to goout. "

Then Mrs. Parsons roused herself to household matters. 

"There's the supper to think of, Richmond, " she said; "we've only therest of the cold mutton, and there's not time to cook one of to-morrow'schickens. "

They had invited three or four friends to dinner on the following day tocelebrate the return of their son, and Mrs. Parsons had laid in for theoccasion a store of solid things. 

"Well, we might try and get some chops. I expect Howe is open still. "

"Yes, I'll send Betty out. And we can have a blanc-mange for a sweet. "

Mrs. Parsons went to give the necessary orders, and the Colonel walkedup to his son's room to see, for the hundredth time, that everything wasin order. They had discussed for days the question whether the youngsoldier should be given the best spare bedroom or that which he had usedfrom his boyhood. It was wonderful the thought they expended inpreparing everything as they fancied he would like it; no detail slippedtheir memory, and they arranged and rearranged so that he should findnothing altered in his absence. They attempted to satisfy in this mannerthe eager longing of their hearts; it made them both a little happier toknow that they were actually doing something for their son. No pain inlove is so hard to bear as that which comes from the impossibility ofdoing any service for the well-beloved, and no service is so repulsivethat love cannot make it delightful and easy. They had not seen him forfive years, their only child; for he had gone from Sandhurst straight toIndia, and thence, on the outbreak of war, to the Cape. No one knew howmuch the lonely parents had felt the long separation, how eagerly theyawaited his letters, how often they read them. 

* * *

But it was more than parental affection which caused the passionateinterest they took in Jamie's career. They looked to him to restore thegood name which his father had lost. Four generations of Parsons hadbeen in the army, and had borne themselves with honour to their familyand with credit to themselves. It was a fine record that Colonel Parsonsinherited of brave men and good soldiers; and he, the truest, bravest, most honourable of them all, had dragged the name through the dust; hadbeen forced from the service under a storm of obloquy, disgraced, dishonoured, ruined. 

Colonel Parsons had done the greater portion of his service creditablyenough. He had always put his God before the War Office, but the resulthad not been objectionable; he looked upon his men with fatherlyaffection, and the regiment, under his command, was almost a model ofpropriety and seemliness. His influence was invariably for good, and hissubordinates knew that in him they had always a trusty friend; few menhad gained more love. He was a mild, even-tempered fellow, and in nocircumstance of life forgot to love his neighbour as himself; he neverallowed it to slip his memory that even the lowest caste native had animmortal soul, and before God equal rights with him. Colonel Parsons wasa man whose piety was so unaggressive, so good-humoured, so simple, thatnone could resist it; ribaldry and blasphemy were instinctively hushedin his presence, and even the most hardened ruffian was softened by hiscontact. 

But a couple of years before he would naturally have been put onhalf-pay under the age limit, a little expedition was arranged againstsome unruly hill-tribes, and Colonel Parsons was given the command. Hetook the enemy by surprise, finding them at the foot of the hills, andcut off, by means of flanking bodies, their retreat through the twopasses behind. He placed his guns on a line of hillocks to the right, and held the tribesmen in the hollow of his hand. He could havemassacred them all, but nothing was farther from his thoughts. Hesummoned them to surrender, and towards evening the headmen came in andagreed to give up their rifles next day; the night was cold, and dark, and stormy. The good Colonel was delighted with the success both of hisstratagem and of his humanity. He had not shed a single drop of blood. 

"Treat them well, " he said, "and they'll treat you better. "

He acted like a gentleman and a Christian; but the enemy were neither. He never dreamed that he was being completely overreached, that thenatives were using the delay he had unsuspectingly granted to send overthe hills urgent messages for help. Through the night armed men had beencoming stealthily, silently, from all sides; and in the early morning, before dawn, his flanking parties were attacked. Colonel Parsons, ratherastonished, sent them help, and thinking himself still superior innumbers to the rebellious tribesmen, attacked their main body. Theywanted nothing better. Falling back slowly, they drew him into themountain defiles until he found himself entrapped. His little force wassurrounded. Five hours were passed in almost blind confusion; men wereshot down like flies by an enemy they could not see; and when, bydesperate fighting, they managed to cut their way out, fifty werekilled and over a hundred more were wounded. 

Colonel Parsons escaped with only the remnants of the fine force he hadcommanded, and they were nerveless, broken, almost panic-stricken. Hewas obliged to retreat. The Colonel was a brave man; he did what he couldto prevent the march from becoming a disorderly rout. He gathered hismen together, put courage into them, risked his life a dozen times; butnothing could disguise the fact that his failure was disastrous. It wasa small affair and was hushed up, but the consequences were not to beforgotten. The hill-tribes, emboldened by their success, became moreventuresome, more unruly. A disturbance which might have been settledwithout difficulty now required a large force to put it down, and tentimes more lives were lost. 

Colonel Parsons was required to send in his papers, and left India abroken man.... He came back to England, and settled in his father'shouse at Little Primpton. His agony continued, and looking into thefuture, he saw only hideous despair, unavailing regret. For months hecould bear to see no one, imagining always that he was pointed out asthe man whose folly had cost so many lives. When he heard people laughhe thought it was in scorn of him; when he saw compassion in their eyeshe could scarcely restrain his tears. He was indeed utterly broken. Hewalked in his garden, away from the eyes of his fellows, up and down, continually turning over in his mind the events of that terrible week. And he could not console himself by thinking that any other course wouldhave led to just as bad results. His error was too plain; he could puthis finger exactly on the point of his failure and say, "O God! why didI do it?" And as he walked restlessly, unmindful of heat and cold, thetears ran down his thin cheeks, painful and scalding. He would not takehis wife's comfort. 

"You acted for the best, Richmond, " she said. 

"Yes, dear; I acted for the best. When I got those fellows hemmed in Icould have killed them all. But I'm not a butcher; I couldn't have themshot down in cold blood. That's not war; that's murder. What should Ihave said to my Maker when He asked me to account for those many souls?I spared them; I imagined they'd understand; but they thought it wasweakness. I couldn't know they were preparing a trap for me. And now myname is shameful. I shall never hold up my head again. "

"You acted rightly in the sight of God, Richmond. "

"I think and trust I acted as a Christian, Frances. "

"If you have pleased God, you need not mind the opinion of man. "

"Oh, it's not that they called me a fool and a coward--I could haveborne that. I did what I thought was right. I thought it my duty to savethe lives of my men and to spare the enemy; and the result was that tentimes more lives have been lost than if I had struck boldly andmercilessly. There are widows and orphans in England who must curse mebecause I am the cause that their husbands are dead, and that theirfathers are rotting on the hills of India. If I had acted like a savage, like a brute-beast, like a butcher, all those men would have been aliveto-day. I was merciful, and I was met with treachery; I waslong-suffering, and they thought me weak; I was forgiving, and theylaughed at me. "

Mrs. Parsons put her hand on her husband's shoulder. 

"You must try to forget it, Richmond, " she said. "It's over, and itcan't be helped now. You acted like a God-fearing man; your conscienceis clear of evil intent. What is the judgment of man beside the judgmentof God? If you have received insult and humiliation at the hands of man, God will repay you an hundredfold, for you acted as his servant. And Ibelieve in you, Richmond; and I'm proud of what you did. "

"I have always tried to act like a Christian and a gentleman, Frances. "

At night he would continually dream of those days of confusion andmortal anxiety. He would imagine he was again making that horribleretreat, cheering his men, doing all he could to retrieve the disaster;but aware that ruin only awaited him, conscious that the most ignorantsepoy in his command thought him incapable and mad. He saw the look inthe eyes of the officers under him, their bitter contempt, their angerbecause he forced them to retire before the enemy; and because, insteadof honour and glory, they had earned only ridicule. His limbs shook andhe sweated with agony as he recalled the interview with his chief:"You're only fit to be a damned missionary, " and the last contemptuouswords, "I shan't want you any more. You can send in your papers. "

But human sorrow is like water in an earthen pot. Little by littleColonel Parsons forgot his misery; he had turned it over in his mind sooften that at last he grew confused. It became then only a deep woundpartly healed, scarring over; and he began to take an interest in theaffairs of the life surrounding him. He could read his paper withoutevery word stabbing him by some chance association; and there is nothinglike the daily and thorough perusal of a newspaper for dulling a man'sbrain. He pottered about his garden gossiping with the gardener; madelittle alterations in the house--bricks and mortar are like an anodyne;he collected stamps; played bezique with his wife; and finally, in hismild, gentle way, found peace of mind. 

But when James passed brilliantly out of Sandhurst, the thought seizedhim that the good name which he valued so highly might be retrieved. Colonel Parsons had shrunk from telling the youth anything of thecatastrophe which had driven him from the service; but now he forcedhimself to give an exact account thereof. His wife sat by, listeningwith pain in her eyes, for she knew what torture it was to revive thathalf-forgotten story. 

"I thought you had better hear it from me than from a stranger, " theColonel said when he had finished. "I entered the army with thereputation of my father behind me; my reputation can only harm you. Menwill nudge one another and say, 'There's the son of old Parsons, whobungled the affair against the Madda Khels. ' You must show them thatyou're of good stuff. I acted for the best, and my conscience is atease. I think I did my duty; but if you can distinguish yourself--ifyou can make them forget--I think I shall die a little happier. "

The commanding officer of Jamie's regiment was an old friend of theColonel's, and wrote to him after a while to say that he thought well ofthe boy. He had already distinguished himself in a frontier skirmish, and presently, for gallantry in some other little expedition, his namewas mentioned in despatches. Colonel Parsons regained entirely his oldcheerfulness; Jamie's courage and manifest knowledge of his businessmade him feel that at last he could again look the world frankly in theface. Then came the Boer War; for the parents at Little Primpton and forMary Clibborn days of fearful anxiety, of gnawing pain--all the greaterbecause each, for the other's sake, tried to conceal it; and at last theannouncement in the paper that James Parsons had been severely woundedwhile attempting to save the life of a brother officer, and wasrecommended for the Victoria Cross. 

II

The Parsons sat again in their dining-room, counting the minutes whichmust pass before Jamie's arrival. The table was laid simply, for alltheir habits were simple; and the blanc-mange prepared for the morrow'sfestivities stood, uncompromising and stiff as a dissenting minister, inthe middle of the table. I wish someone would write an invective uponthat most detestable of all the national dishes, pallid, chilly, glutinous, unpleasant to look upon, insipid in the mouth. It is apreparation which seems to mark a transition stage in culture; just asthe South Sea Islanders, with the advance of civilisation, forsookputrid whale for roast missionary, the great English middle classescomplained that tarts and plum-puddings were too substantial, moresuited to the robust digestions of a past generation. In theblanc-mange, on the other hand, they found almost an appearance ofdistinction; its name, at least, suggested French cookery; it waspossible to the plainest cook, and it required no mastication. 

"I shall have to tell Betty to make a jelly for dinner to-morrow, " saidMrs. Parsons. 

"Yes, " replied the Colonel; and after a pause: "Don't you think we oughtto let Mary know that Jamie has come back? She'd like to see himto-night. "

"I've sent over already. "

It was understood that James, having got his Company, would marry MaryClibborn almost at once. His father and mother had been delighted whenhe announced the engagement. They had ever tried to shield him from allknowledge of evil--no easy matter when a boy has been to a public schooland to Sandhurst--holding the approved opinion that ignorance issynonymous with virtue; and they could imagine no better safeguard forhis innocence in the multi-coloured life of India than betrothal with apure, sweet English girl. They looked upon Mary Clibborn already as adaughter, and she, in Jamie's absence, had been their only solace. Theyloved her gentleness, her goodness, her simple piety, and congratulatedthemselves on the fact that with her their son could not fail to lead ahappy and a godly life. 

Mary, during those five years, had come to see them every day; her ownmother and father were rather worldly people, and she felt less happywith them than with Colonel Parsons and his wife. The trio talkedcontinually of the absent soldier, always reading to one another hisletters. They laughed together over his jokes, mildly, as befittedpersons for whom a sense of humour might conceivably be a Satanic snare, and trembled together at his dangers. Mary's affection was free fromanything so degrading as passion, and she felt no bashfulness in readingJamie's love-letters to his parents; she was too frank to suspect thatthere might be in them anything for her eyes alone, and too candid tofeel any delicacy. 

But a lumbering fly rolled in at the gate, and the good people, happy atlast, sprang to the door. 

"Jamie!"

Trembling with joy, they brought him in and sat him down; they knew nowords to express their delight, and stood looking at him open-mouthed, smiling. 

"Well, here you are! We were surprised to get your telegram. When didyou land?"

When they found their tongues, it was only to say commonplace thingssuch as they might have spoken to a casual friend who had come fromLondon for the day. They were so used to controlling themselves, thatwhen their emotion was overpowering they were at a loss to express it. 

"Would you like to go upstairs and wash your hands?"

They both accompanied him. 

"You see it's all just as it was. We thought you'd like your old room. If you want anything you can ring the bell. "

They left him, and going downstairs, sat opposite one another by thefire. The dining-room was furnished with a saddle-bag suite; and ColonelParsons sat in the "gentleman's chair, " which had arms, while Mrs. Parsons sat in the "lady's chair, " which had none; nor did either dream, under any circumstances, of using the other's seat. They were a littleovercome. 

"How thin he is!" said Mrs. Parsons. 

"We must feed him up, " answered the Colonel. 

And then, till the soldier came, they remained in silence. Mrs. Parsonsrang the bell for the chops as soon as he appeared, and they sat down;but James ate alone. His people were too happy to do anything but watchhim. 

"I have had tea made, " said Mrs. Parsons, "but you can have some claret, if you prefer it. "

Five years' absence had not dulled Jamie's memory of his father's wine, and he chose the tea. 

"I think a strong cup of tea will do you most good, " said his mother, and she poured it out for him as when he was a boy, with plenty of milkand sugar. 

His tastes had never been much consulted; things had been done, in thekindest manner possible, solely for his good. James detested sweetness. 

"No sugar, please, mother, " he said, as she dived into the sugar-basin. 

"Nonsense, Jamie, " answered Mrs. Parsons, with her good-humoured, indulgent smile. "Sugar's good for you. " And she put in two big lumps. 

"You don't ask after Mary, " said Colonel Parsons. 

"How is she?" said James. "Where is she?"

"If you wait a little she'll be here. "

Then Mrs. Parsons broke in. 

"I don't know what we should have done without her; she's been so goodand kind to us, and such a comfort. We're simply devoted to her, aren'twe, Richmond?"

"She's the nicest girl I've ever seen. "

"And she's so good. She works among the poor like a professional nurse. We told you that she lived with us for six months while Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn went abroad. She was never put out at anything, but was alwayssmiling and cheerful. She has the sweetest character. "

The good people thought they were delighting their son by theseeulogies. He looked at them gravely. 

"I'm glad you like her, " he said. 

Supper was finished, and Mrs. Parsons went out of the room for a moment. James took out his case and offered a cigar to his father. 

"I don't smoke, Jamie, " replied the Colonel. 

James lit up. The old man looked at him with a start, but said nothing;he withdrew his chair a little and tried to look unconcerned. When Mrs. Parsons returned, the room was full of smoke; she gave a cry ofsurprise. 

"James!" she said, in a tone of reproach. "Your father objects tosmoking. "

"It doesn't matter just this once, " said the Colonel, good-humouredly. 

But James threw his cigar into the fire, with a laugh. 

"I quite forgot; I'm so sorry. "

"You never told us you'd started smoking, " observed Mrs. Parsons, almostwith disapprobation, "Would you like the windows open to let the smellout, Richmond?"

There was a ring at the door, and Mary's voice was heard. 

"Has Captain Parsons arrived?"

"There she is, Jamie!" said the Colonel, "Rush out to her, my boy!"

But James contented himself with rising to his feet; he turned quitepale, and a singular expression came over his grave face. 

Mary entered. 

"I ran round as soon as I got your note, " she said. "Well, Jamie!"

She stopped, smiling, and a blush brightened her healthy cheeks. Hereyes glistened with happiness, and for a moment, strong as she was, Marythought she must burst into tears. 

"Aren't you going to kiss her, Jamie?" said the father. "You needn't bebashful before us. "

James went up to her, and taking her hands, kissed the cheek sheoffered. 

The impression that Mary Clibborn gave was of absolute healthiness, moral and physical. Her appearance was not distinguished, but she waswell set up, with strong hands and solid feet; you knew at once that aten-mile walk invigorated rather than tired her; her arms were muscularand energetic. She was in no way striking; a typical, country-bred girl, with a fine digestion and an excellent conscience; if not very pretty, obviously good. Her face showed a happy mingling of strength andcheerfulness; her blue eyes were guileless and frank; her hair even wasrather pretty, arranged in the simplest manner; her skin was tanned bywind and weather. The elements were friendly, and she enjoyed a longwalk in a gale, with the rain beating against her cheeks. She wasdressed simply and without adornment, as befitted her character. 

"I am sorry I wasn't at home when you arrived, Jamie, " she said; "butthe Polsons asked me to go and play golf at Tunbridge Wells. I wentround in bogy, Colonel Parsons. "

"Did you, my dear? That's very good. "

The Colonel and his wife looked at her with affectionate satisfaction. 

"I'm going to take off my hat. "

She gave James to put in the hall her sailor hat and her rough tweedcloak. She wore a bicycling skirt and heavy, square-toed boots. 

"Say you're glad to see us, Jamie!" she cried, laughing. 

Her voice was rather loud, clear and strong, perhaps wanting variety ofinflection. She sat by Jamie's side, and broke into a cheerful, ratherhumorous, account of the day's excursion. 

"How silent you are, Jamie!" she cried at last. 

"You haven't given me a chance to get a word in yet, " he said, smilinggravely. 

They all laughed, ready to be pleased at the smallest joke, and banterwas the only form of humour they knew. 

"Are you tired?" asked Mary, her cheerful eyes softening. 

"A little. "

"Well, I won't worry you to-night; but to-morrow you must be put throughyour paces. "

"Mary will stand no nonsense, " said the Colonel, laughing gently. "Weall have to do as she tells us. She'll turn you round her littlefinger. "

"Will she?" said James, glancing down at the solid boots, which theshort bicycle skirt rather obtrusively exposed to view. 

"Don't frighten him the moment he comes home, " cried Mary. "As a matterof fact, I shan't be able to come to-morrow morning; I've got mydistrict-visiting to do, and I don't think Jamie is strong enough to gowith me yet. Does your wound hurt you still, Jamie?"

"No, " he said, "I can't use my arm much, though. It'll be all rightsoon. "

"You must tell us about the great event to-morrow, " said Mary, referringto the deed which had won him the decoration. "You've put us all out bycoming sooner than you were expected. "

"Have I? I'm sorry. "

"Didn't you notice anything when you drove in this evening?"

"No, it was quite dark. "

"Good heavens! Why, we've put up a triumphal arch, and there was goingto be a great celebration. All the school children were coming towelcome you. "

"I'm very glad I missed it, " said James, laughing. "I should have hatedit. "

"Oh, I don't know that you have missed it yet. We must see. "

Then Mary rose to go. 

"Well, at all events, we're all coming to dinner to-morrow at one. "

They went to the door to let her out, and the elder couple smiled againwith pleasure when James and Mary exchanged a brotherly and sisterlykiss. 

* * *

At last James found himself alone in his room; he gave a sigh ofrelief--a sigh which was almost a groan of pain. He took out his pipeunconsciously and filled it; but then, remembering where he was, put itdown. He knew his father's sensitiveness of smell. If he began to smokethere would quickly be a knock at the door, and the inquiry: "There'ssuch a smell of burning in the house; there's nothing on fire in yourroom, is there, Jamie?"

He began to walk up and down, and then in exhaustion sank on a chair. He opened the window and looked into the night. He could see nothing. The sky was dark with unmoving clouds, but the fresh air blew gratefullyagainst his face, laden with the scent of the vernal country; a lightrain was falling noiselessly, and the earth seemed languid and weary, accepting the moisture with little shuddering gasps of relief. 

After an event which has been long expected, there is always somethingin the nature of reaction. James had looked forward to this meeting, partly with terror, partly with eagerness; and now that it was over, hisbrain, confused and weary, would not help him to order his thoughts. Heclenched his hands, trying to force himself to think clearly; he knew hemust decide upon some course at once, and a terrible indecisionparalysed his ideas. He loved his people so tenderly, he was so anxiousto make them happy, and yet--and yet! If he loved one better than theother it was perhaps his father, because of the pitiful weakness, because of the fragility which seemed to call for a protectivegentleness. The old man had altered little in the five years. Jamescould not remember him other than thin and bent and frail, with longwisps of silvery hair brushed over the crown to conceal his baldness, with the cheeks hollow and wrinkled, and a white moustacheineffectually concealing the weak, good-natured mouth. Ever since Jamescould recollect his father had appeared old and worn as now; and therehad always been that gentle look in the blue eyes, that manner which wasalmost painful in its diffidence. Colonel Parsons was a man who madepeople love him by a modesty which seemed to claim nothing. He was likea child compelling sympathy on account of its utter helplessness, sounsuited to the wear and tear of life that he aroused his fellows'instincts of protection. 

And James knew besides what a bitter humiliation it was to his fatherthat he had been forced to leave the service. He remembered, like adeadly, incurable pain suffered by a friend, the occasion on which theold soldier had told him the cause of his disgrace, a sweat of agonystanding on his brow. The scene had eaten into Jamie's mind alongside ofthat other when he had first watched a man die, livid with pain, hiseyes glazed and sightless. He had grown callous to such events sincethen. 

Colonel Parsons had come to grief on account of the very kindness ofheart, on account of the exquisite humanity which endeared him to themost casual acquaintance. James swore that he would do anything to savehim from needless suffering. Nor did he forget his mother, for throughthe harder manner he saw her gentleness and tender love. He knew thathe was all in the world to both of them, that in his hands lay theirhappiness and their misery. Their love made them feel every act of hiswith a force out of reason to the circumstance. He had seen in theirletters, piercing through the assumed cheerfulness, a mortal anxietywhen he was in danger, an anguish of mind that seemed hardly bearable. They had gone through so much for his sake; they deprived themselves ofluxury, so that, in the various expenses of his regiment, he should notneed to economise. All his life they had surrounded him with lovingcare. And what their hearts were set upon now was that he should marryMary Clibborn quickly. 

James turned from the window and put his head between his hands, swayingto and fro. 

"Oh, I can't, " he groaned; "I can't!"

III

In the morning, after breakfast, James went for a walk. He wanted tothink out clearly what he had better do, feeling that he must make uphis mind at once. Hesitation would be fatal, and yet to speakimmediately seemed so cruel, so brutally callous. 

Wishing to be absolutely alone, he wandered through the garden to alittle wood of beech-trees, which in his boyhood had been a favouritehaunt. The day was fresh and sweet after the happy rain of April, thesky so clear that it affected one like a very beautiful action. 

James stood still when he came into the wood, inhaling the odour ofmoist soil, the voluptuous scents of our mother, the Earth, gravid withsilent life. For a moment he was intoxicated by the paradise of verdure. The beech-trees rose very tall, with their delicate branches singularlyblack amid the young leaves of the spring, tender and vivid. The eyecould not pierce the intricate greenery; it was more delicate than thesummer rain, subtler than the mists of the sunset. It was a scene todrive away all thought of the sadness of life, of the bitterness. Itsexquisite fresh purity made James feel pure also, and like a littlechild he wandered over the undulating earth, broken by the tortuouscourses of the streamlets of winter. 

The ground was soft, covered with brown dead leaves, and he tried to seethe rabbit rustling among them, or the hasty springing of a squirrel. The long branches of the briar entangled his feet; and here and there, in sheltered corners, blossomed the primrose and the violet He listenedto the chant of the birds, so joyous that it seemed impossible they sangin a world of sorrow. Hidden among the leaves, aloft in the beeches, thelinnet sang with full-throated melody, and the blackbird and the thrush. In the distance a cuckoo called its mysterious note, and far away, likean echo, a fellow-bird called back. 

All Nature was rejoicing in the delight of the sunshine; all Nature wasrejoicing, and his heart alone was heavy as lead. He stood by afir-tree, which rose far above the others, immensely tall, like the mastof a solitary ship; it was straight as a life without reproach, butcheerless, cold, and silent. His life, too, was without reproach, thought James--without reproach till now.... He had loved Mary Clibborn. But was it love, or was it merely affection, habit, esteem? She was theonly girl he knew, and they had grown up together. When he came fromschool for his holidays, or later from Sandhurst, on leave, Mary was hisconstant friend, without whom he would have been miserably dull. She wasmasculine enough to enter into his boyish games, and even their thoughtswere common. There were so few people in Little Primpton that those wholived there saw one another continually; and though Tunbridge Wells wasonly four miles away, the distance effectually prevented very closeintimacy with its inhabitants. It was natural, then, that James shouldonly look forward to an existence in which Mary took part; without thatpleasant companionship the road seemed long and dreary. When he wasappointed to a regiment in India, and his heart softened at the prospectof the first long parting from all he cared for, it was the separationfrom Mary that seemed hardest to bear. 

"I don't know what I shall do without you, Mary, " he said. 

"You will forget all about us when you've been in India a month. "

But her lips twitched, and he noticed that she found difficulty inspeaking quite firmly. She hesitated a moment, and spoke again. 

"It's different for us, " she said, "Those who go forget, but those whostay--remember. We shall be always doing the same things to remind usof you. Oh, you won't forget me, Jamie?"

The last words slipped out against the girl's intention. 

"Mary!" he cried. 

And then he put his arms round her, and Mary rested her face on hisshoulder and began to cry. He kissed her, trying to stop her tears; hepressed her to his heart. He really thought he loved her then with allhis strength. 

"Mary, " he whispered, "Mary, do you care for me? Will you marry me?"

Then quickly he explained that it would make it so much better for bothif they became engaged. 

"I shan't be able to marry you for a long time; but will you wait forme, Mary?"

She began to smile through her tears. 

"I would wait for you to the end of my life. "

During the first two years in India the tie had been to James entirelypleasurable; and if, among the manifold experiences of his new life, hebore Mary's absence with greater equanimity than he had thoughtpossible, he was always glad to receive her letters, with their delicatearoma of the English country; and it pleased him to think that hisfuture was comfortably settled. The engagement was a sort of ballast, and he felt that he could compass his journey without fear and withoutdisturbance. James did not ask himself whether his passion was veryardent, for his whole education had led him to believe that passion washardly moral. The proper and decent basis of marriage was similarity ofstation, and the good, solid qualities which might be supposedendurable. From his youth, the wisdom of the world had been instilledinto him through many proverbs, showing the advisability of caution, thetransitoriness of beauty and desire; and, on the other hand, the lastingmerit of honesty, virtue, domesticity, and good temper.... 

But we all know that Nature is a goddess with no sense of decency, forwhom the proprieties are simply non-existent; men and women in her eyeshave but one point of interest, and she walks abroad, with herfashioning fingers, setting in order the only work she cares for. Allthe rest is subsidiary, and she is callous to suffering and to death, indifferent to the Ten Commandments and even to the code of GoodSociety. 

James at last made the acquaintance of a certain Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace, the wife of a man in a native regiment, a little, dark-hatred person, with an olive skin and big brown eyes--rather common, but excessivelypretty. She was the daughter of a riding-master by a Portuguese womanfrom Goa, and it had been something of a scandal whenPritchard-Wallace, who was an excellent fellow, had married her againstthe advice of all the regimental ladies. But if those charitable personshad not ceased to look upon her with doubtful eyes, her wit and her goodlooks for others counterbalanced every disadvantage; and she did notfail to have a little court of subalterns and the like hangingperpetually about her skirts. At first Mrs. Wallace merely amused James. Her absolute frivolity, her cynical tongue, her light-heartedness, werea relief after the rather puritanical atmosphere in which he had passedhis youth; he was astonished to hear the gay contempt which she pouredupon all the things that he had held most sacred--things like the Towerof London and the British Constitution. Prejudices and cherished beliefswere dissipated before her sharp-tongued raillery; she was a woman withalmost a witty way of seeing the world, with a peculiarly feminine giftfor putting old things in a new, absurd light. To Mrs. Wallace, Jamesseemed a miracle of ingenuousness, and she laughed at him continually;then she began to like him, and took him about with her, at which he wasmuch flattered. 

James had been brought up in the belief that women were fashioned ofdifferent clay from men, less gross, less earthly; he thought not onlythat they were pious, sweet and innocent, ignorant entirely ofdisagreeable things, but that it was man's first duty to protect themfrom all knowledge of the realities of life. To him they were anethereal blending of milk-and-water with high principles; it had neveroccurred to him that they were flesh and blood, and sense, and fire andnerves--especially nerves. Most topics, of course, could not be broachedin their presence; in fact, almost the only safe subject of conversationwas the weather. 

But Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace prided herself on frankness, which is lesscommon in pretty women than in plain; and she had no hesitation indiscussing with James matters that he had never heard discussed before. She was hugely amused at the embarrassment which made him hesitate andfalter, trying to find polite ways of expressing the things which hiswhole training had taught him to keep rigidly to himself. Thensometimes, from pure devilry, Mrs. Wallace told stories on purpose toshock him; and revelled in his forced, polite smile, and in his stronglook of disapproval. 

"What a funny boy you are!" she said. "But you must take care, you know;you have all the makings of a perfect prig. "

"D'you think so?"

"You must try to be less moral. The moral young man is rather funny fora change, but he palls after a time. "

"If I bore you, you have only to say so, and I won't bother you again. "

"And moral young men shouldn't get cross; it's very bad manners, " sheanswered, smiling. 

Before he knew what had happened, James found himself madly in love withMrs. Wallace. But what a different passion was this, resembling not atall that pallid flame which alone he had experienced! How could herecognise the gentle mingling of friendship and of common-sense which hecalled love in that destroying violence which troubled his days like afever? He dreamed of the woman at night; he seemed only to live when hewas with her. The mention of her name made his heart beat, and meetingher he trembled and turned cold. By her side he found nothing to say; hewas like wax in her hands, without will or strength. The touch of herfingers sent the blood rushing through his veins insanely; andunderstanding his condition, she took pleasure in touching him, to watchthe little shiver of desire that convulsed his frame. In a veryself-restrained man love works ruinously; and it burnt James now, thisinvisible, unconscious fire, till he was consumed utterly--till he wasmad with passion. And then suddenly, at some chance word, he knew whathad happened; he knew that he was in love with the wife of his goodfriend, Pritchard-Wallace; and he thought of Mary Clibborn. 

There was no hesitation now, nor doubt; James had only been in dangerbecause he was unaware of it. He never thought of treachery to hisfriend or to Mary; he was horror-stricken, hating himself. He lookedover the brink of the precipice at the deadly sin, and recoiled, shuddering. He bitterly reproached himself, taking for granted that someerror of his had led to the catastrophe. But his duty was obvious; heknew he must kill the sinful love, whatever pain it cost him; he mustcrush it as he would some noxious vermin. 

James made up his mind never to see Mrs. Wallace again; and he thoughtthat God was on his side helping him, since, with her husband, she wasleaving in a month for England. He applied for leave. He could get awayfor a few weeks, and on his return Mrs. Wallace would be gone. Hemanaged to avoid her for several days, but at last she came across himby chance, and he could not escape. 

"I didn't know you were so fond of hide-and-seek, " she said, "I thinkit's rather a stupid game. "

"I don't understand, " replied James, growing pale. 

"Why have you been dodging round corners to avoid me as if I were a dun, and inventing the feeblest excuses not to come to me?"

James stood for a moment, not knowing what to answer; his kneestrembled, and he sweated with the agony of his love. It was an angry, furious passion, that made him feel he could almost seize the woman bythe throat and strangle her. 

"Did you know that I am engaged to be married?" he asked at length. 

"I've never known a sub who wasn't. It's the most objectionable of alltheir vicious habits. What then?" She looked at him, smiling; she knewvery well the power of her dark eyes, fringed with long lashes. "Don'tbe silly, " she added. "Come and see me, and bring her photograph, andyou shall talk to me for two hours about her. Will you come?"

"It's very kind of you. I don't think I can. "

"Why not? You're really very rude. "

"I'm extremely busy. "

"Nonsense! You must come. Don't look as if I were asking you to dosomething quite horrible. I shall expect you to tea. "

She bound him by his word, and James was forced to go. When he showedthe photograph, Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace looked at it with a curiousexpression. It was the work of a country photographer, awkward andungainly, with the head stiffly poised, and the eyes hard and fixed; thegeneral impression was ungraceful and devoid of charm, Mrs. Wallacenoticed the country fashion of her clothes. 

"It's extraordinary that subalterns should always get engaged to thesame sort of girl. "

James flushed, "It's not a very good one of her. "

"They always photograph badly, " murmured Mrs. Wallace. 

"She's the best girl in the world. You can't think how good, and kind, and simple she is; she reminds me always of an English breeze. "

"I don't like east winds myself, " said Mrs. Wallace. "But I can see shehas all sorts of admirable qualities. "

"D'you know why I came to see you to-day?"

"Because I forced you, " said Mrs. Wallace, laughing. 

"I came to say good-bye; I've got a month's leave. "

"Oh, but I shall be gone by the time you come back. "

"I know. It is for that reason. "

Mrs. Wallace looked at him quickly, hesitated, then glanced away. 

"Is it so bad as that?"

"Oh, don't you understand?" cried James, breaking suddenly from hisreserve. "I must tell you. I shall never see you again, and it can'tmatter. I love you with all my heart and soul. I didn't know what lovewas till I met you. God help me, it was only friendship I had for Mary!This is so different. Oh, I hate myself! I can't help it; the mere touchof your hand sends me mad with passion. I daren't see you again--I'm nota blackguard. I know it's quite hopeless. And I've given my word toMary. "

The look of her eyes, the sound of her voice, sent half his fineintentions flying before the wind. He lost command over himself--butonly for a moment; the old habits were strong. 

"I beg your pardon! I oughtn't to have spoken. Don't be angry with mefor what I've said. I couldn't help it. You thought me a fool because Iran away from you. It was all I could do. I couldn't help loving you. You understand now, don't you? I know that you will never wish to see meagain, and it's better for both of us. Good-bye. "

He stretched out his hand. 

"I didn't know it was so bad as that, " she said, looking at him withkindly eyes. 

"Didn't you see me tremble when the hem of your dress touched me byaccident? Didn't you hear that I couldn't speak; the words were driedup in my throat?" He sank into a chair weakly; but then immediatelygathering himself together, sprang up. "Good-bye, " he said. "Let me goquickly. "

She gave him her hand, and then, partly in kindness, partly in malice, bent forward and kissed his lips. James gave a cry, a sob; now he lostcommand over himself entirely. He took her in his arms roughly, andkissed her mouth, her eyes, her hair--so passionately that Mrs. Wallacewas frightened. She tried to free herself; but he only held her closer, madly kissing her lips. 

"Take care, " she said. "What are you doing? Let me go!" And she pushedhim away. 

She was a cautious woman, who never allowed flirtation to go beyondcertain decorous lengths, and she was used to a milder form ofphilandering. 

"You've disarranged my hair, you silly boy!" She went to the glass toput it in order, and when she turned back found that James had gone. "What an odd creature!" she muttered. 

To Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace the affair was but an incident, such as mighthave been the love of Phædra had she flourished in an age when the artof living consists in not taking things too seriously; but forHippolitus a tragedy of one sort or another is inevitable. James was nota man of easy affections; he made the acquaintance of people with afeeling of hostility rather than with the more usual sensation offriendly curiosity. He was shy, and even with his best friends could notlessen his reserve. Some persons are able to form close intimacies withadmirable facility, but James felt always between himself and hisfellows a sort of barrier. He could not realise that deep and suddensympathy was even possible, and was apt to look with mistrust upon theappearance thereof. He seemed frigid and perhaps supercilious to thosewith whom he came in contact; he was forced to go his way, hiding fromall eyes the emotions he felt. And when at last he fell passionately inlove, it meant to him ten times more than to most men; it was a suddenfreedom from himself. He was like a prisoner who sees for the first timein his life the trees and the hurrying clouds, and all the variousmovement of the world. For a little while James had known a wonderfulliberty, an ineffable bliss which coloured the whole universe with new, strange colours. But then he learnt that the happiness was only sin, andhe returned voluntarily to his cold prison.... Till he tried to crushit, he did not know how strong was this passion; he did not realise thatit had made of him a different man; it was the only thing in the worldto him, beside which everything else was meaningless. He becameruthless towards himself, undergoing every torture which he fanciedmight cleanse him of the deadly sin. 

And when Mrs. Wallace, against his will, forced herself upon hisimagination, he tried to remember her vulgarity, her underbred manners, her excessive use of scent. She had merely played with him, withoutthinking or caring what the result to him might be. She was bent on asmuch enjoyment as possible without exposing herself to awkwardconsequences; common scandal told him that he was not the first callowyouth that she had entangled with her provoking glances and her wittytongue. The epithet by which his brother officers qualified her wasexpressive, though impolite. James repeated these things a hundredtimes: he said that Mrs. Wallace was not fit to wipe Mary's boots; heparaded before himself, like a set of unread school-books, all Mary'sexcellent qualities. He recalled her simple piety, her good-nature, andkindly heart; she had every attribute that a man could possibly want inhis wife. And yet--and yet, when he slept he dreamed he was talking tothe other; all day her voice sang in his ears, her gay smile dancedbefore his eyes. He remembered every word she had ever said; heremembered the passionate kisses he had given her. How could he forgetthat ecstasy? He writhed, trying to expel the importunate image; butnothing served. 

Time could not weaken the impression. Since then he had never seen Mrs. Wallace, but the thought of her was still enough to send the bloodracing through his veins. He had done everything to kill the mad, hopeless passion; and always, like a rank weed, it had thriven withgreater strength. James knew it was his duty to marry Mary Clibborn, andyet he felt he would rather die. As the months passed on, and he knew hemust shortly see her, he was never free from a sense of terribleanxiety. Doubt came to him, and he could not drive it away. Therecollection of her was dim, cold, formless; his only hope was that whenhe saw her love might rise up again, and kill that other passion whichmade him so utterly despise himself. But he had welcomed the war as arespite, and the thought came to him that its chances might easily solvethe difficulty. Then followed the months of hardship and of fighting;and during these the image of Mrs. Wallace had been less persistent, sothat James fancied he was regaining the freedom he longed for. And whenhe lay wounded and ill, his absolute weariness made him ardently lookforward to seeing his people again. A hotter love sprang up for them;and the hope became stronger that reunion with Mary might awaken thedead emotion. He wished for it with all his heart. 

But he had seen Mary, and he felt it hopeless; she left him cold, almosthostile. And with a mocking laugh, James heard Mrs. Wallace's words:

"Subalterns always get engaged to the same type of girl. They photographso badly. "

* * *

And now he did not know what to do. The long recalling of the past hadleft James more uncertain than ever. Some devil within him cried, "Wait, wait! Something may happen!" It really seemed better to let things slidea little. Perhaps--who could tell?--in a day or two the old habit mightrender Mary as dear to him as when last he had wandered with her in thatgreen wood, James sighed, and looked about him.... The birds still sangmerrily, the squirrel leaped from tree to tree; even the blades of grassstood with a certain conscious pleasure, as the light breeze rustledthrough them. In the mid-day sun all things took pleasure in their life;and all Nature appeared full of joy, coloured and various andinsouciant. He alone was sad. 

IV

When James went home he found that the Vicar of Little Primpton and hiswife had already arrived. They were both of them little, dried-uppersons, with an earnest manner and no sense of humour, quite excellentin a rather unpleasant way; they resembled one another like peas, butnone knew whether the likeness had grown from the propinquity of twentyyears, or had been the original attraction. Deeply impressed with theirsacred calling--for Mrs. Jackson would never have acknowledged that theVicar's wife held a position inferior to the Vicar's--they argued thatthe whole world was God's, and they God's particular ministrants; sothat it was their plain duty to concern themselves with the business oftheir fellows--and it must be confessed that they never shrank from thisduty. They were neither well-educated, nor experienced, nor tactful; butblissfully ignorant of these defects, they shepherded their flock withlittle moral barks, and gave them, rather self-consciously, a goodexample in the difficult way to eternal life. They were eminentlyworthy people, who thought light-heartedness somewhat indecent. They didendless good in the most disagreeable manner possible; and in theirfervour not only bore unnecessary crosses themselves, but saddled themon to everyone else, as the only certain passport to the Golden City. 

The Reverend Archibald Jackson had been appointed to the living ofLittle Primpton while James was in India, and consequently had neverseen him. 

"I was telling your father, " said Mrs. Jackson, on shaking hands, "thatI hoped you were properly grateful for all the mercies that have beenbestowed upon you. "

James stared at her a little. "Were you?"

He hated the fashion these people had of discussing matters which hehimself thought most private. 

"Mr. Jackson was asking if you'd like a short prayer offered up nextSunday, James, " said his mother. 

"I shouldn't at all. "

"Why not?" asked the Vicar, "I think it's your duty to thank your Makerfor your safe return, and I think your parents should join in thethanksgiving. "

"We're probably none of us less grateful, " said James, "because wedon't want to express our feelings before the united congregation. "

Jamie's parents looked at him with relief, for the same thought filledtheir minds; but thinking it their duty to submit themselves to thespiritual direction of the Vicar and his wife, they had not thought itquite right to decline the proposal. Mrs. Jackson glanced at her husbandwith pained astonishment, but further argument was prevented by thearrival of Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn, and Mary. 

Colonel Clibborn was a tall man, with oily black hair and fierceeyebrows, both dyed; aggressively military and reminiscent He had beenin a cavalry regiment, where he had come to the philosophic conclusionthat all men are dust--except cavalry-men; and he was able to look uponJamie's prowess--the prowess of an infantryman--from superior heights. He was a great authority upon war, and could tell anyone what were themistakes in South Africa, and how they might have been avoided; likewisehe had known in the service half the peers of the realm, and talked ofthem by their Christian names. He spent three weeks every season inLondon, and dined late, at seven o'clock, so he had every qualificationfor considering himself a man of fashion. 

"I don't know what they'd do in Little Primpton without us, " he said. "It's only us who keep it alive. "

But Mrs. Clibborn missed society. 

"The only people I can speak to are the Parsons, " she told her husband, plaintively. "They're very good people--but only infantry, Reggie. "

"Of course, they're only infantry, " agreed Colonel Clibborn. 

Mrs. Clibborn was a regimental beauty--of fifty, who had grown stout;but not for that ceased to use the weapons which Nature had given heragainst the natural enemies of the sex. In her dealings with severalgenerations of adorers, she had acquired such a habit of languishingglances that now she used them unconsciously. Whether ordering meat fromthe butcher or discussing parochial matters with Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Clibborn's tone and manner were such that she might have been saying themost tender things. She had been very popular in the service, becauseshe was the type of philandering woman who required no beating about thebush; her neighbour at the dinner-table, even if he had not seen herbefore, need never have hesitated to tell her with the soup that she wasthe handsomest creature he had ever seen, and with the _entrée_ that headored her. 

On coming in, Mrs. Clibborn for a moment looked at James, quitespeechless, her head on one side and her eyes screwing into the cornerof the room. 

"Oh, how wonderful!" she said, at last "I suppose I mustn't call youJamie now. " She spoke very slowly, and every word sounded like a caress. Then she looked at James again in silent ecstasy. "Colonel Parsons, howproud you must be! And when I think that soon he will be my son! Howthin you look, James!"

"And how well you look, dear lady!"

It was understood that everyone must make compliments to Mrs. Clibborn;otherwise she grew cross, and when she was cross she was horrid. 

She smiled to show her really beautiful teeth. 

"I should like to kiss you, James. May I, Mrs. Parsons?"

"Certainly, " replied Jamie's mother, who didn't approve of Mrs. Clibbornat all. 

She turned her cheek to James, and assumed a seraphic expression whilehe lightly touched it with his lips. 

"I'm only an old woman, " she murmured to the company in general. 

She seldom made more than one remark at a time, and at the end of eachassumed an appropriate attitude--coy, Madonna-like, resigned, as thecircumstances might require. Mr. Jackson came forward to shake hands, and she turned her languishing glance on him. 

"Oh, Mr. Jackson, how beautiful your sermon was!"

* * *

They sat down to dinner, and ate their ox-tail soup. It is terrible tothink of the subtlety with which the Evil One can insinuate himselfamong the most pious; for soup at middle-day is one of his mostdangerous wiles, and it is precisely with the simple-minded inhabitantsof the country and of the suburbs that this vice is most prevalent. 

James was sitting next to Mrs. Clibborn, and presently she looked at himwith the melancholy smile which had always seemed to her so effective. 

"We want you to tell us how you won your Victoria Cross, Jamie. "

The others, eager to hear the story from the hero's lips, had been, notwithstanding, too tactful to ask; but they were willing to takeadvantage of Mrs. Clibborn's lack of that quality. 

"We've all been looking forward to it, " said the Vicar. 

"I don't think there's anything to tell, " replied James. 

His father and mother were looking at him with happy eyes, and theColonel nodded to Mary. 

"Please, Jamie, tell us, " she said. "We only saw the shortest account inthe papers, and you said nothing about it in your letters. "

"D'you think it's very good form of me to tell you about it?" askedJames, smiling gravely. 

"We're all friends here, " said the Vicar. 

And Colonel Clibborn added, making sheep's eyes at his wife:

"You can't refuse a lady!"

"I'm an old woman, " sighed Mrs. Clibborn, with a doleful glance. "Ican't expect him to do it for me. "

The only clever thing Mrs. Clibborn had done in her life was toacknowledge to old age at thirty, and then she did not mean it. It hadbeen one of her methods in flirtation, covering all excesses under amaternal aspect. She must have told hundreds of young officers that shewas old enough to be their mother; and she always said it lookingplaintively at the ceiling, when they squeezed her hand. 

"It wasn't a very wonderful thing I did, " said James, at last, "and itwas completely useless. "

"No fine deed is useless, " said the Vicar, sententiously. 

James looked at him a moment, but proceeded with his story. 

"It was only that I tried to save the life of a sub who'd justjoined--and didn't. "

"Would you pass me the salt?" said Mrs. Clibborn. 

"Mamma!" cried Mary, with a look as near irritation as her gentle naturepermitted. 

"Go on, Jamie, there's a good boy, " said Mrs. Parsons. 

And James, seeing his father's charming, pathetic look of pride, toldthe story to him alone. The others did not care how much they hurt himso long as they could gape in admiration, but in his father he saw themost touching sympathy. 

"It was a chap called Larcher, a boy of eighteen, with fair hair andblue eyes, who looked quite absurdly young. His people live somewhereround here, near Ashford. "

"Larcher, did you say?" asked Mrs. Clibborn, "I've never heard the name. It's not a county family. "

"Go on, Jamie, " said Mary, with some impatience. 

"Well, he'd only been with us three or four weeks; but I knew him ratherwell. Oddly enough, he'd taken a sort of fancy to me. He was such anice, bright boy, so enthusiastic and simple. I used to tell him thathe ought to have been at school, rather than roughing it at the Cape. "

Mrs. Clibborn sat with an idiotic smile on her lips, and a fixedexpression of girlish innocence. 

"Well, we knew we should be fighting in a day or so; and the eveningbefore the battle young Larcher was talking to me. 'How d'you feel?' Isaid. He didn't answer quite so quickly as usual. 'D'you know, ' he said, 'I'm so awfully afraid that I shall funk it. ' 'You needn't mind that, ' Isaid, and I laughed. 'The first time we most of us do funk it. For fiveminutes or so you just have to cling on to your eyelashes to preventyourself from running away, and then you feel all right, and you thinkit's rather sport. ' 'I've got a sort of presentiment that I shall bekilled, ' he said. 'Don't be an ass, ' I answered. 'We've all got apresentiment that we shall be killed the first time we're under fire. Ifall the people were killed who had presentiments, half the army wouldhave gone to kingdom come long ago. '"

"You should have told him to lay his trust in the hands of Him who haspower to turn the bullet and to break the sword, " said Mrs. Jackson. 

"He wasn't that sort, " replied James, drily, "I laughed at him, thinkingit the better way.... Well, next day we did really fight. We were sentto take an unoccupied hill. Our maxim was that a hill is alwaysunoccupied unless the enemy are actually firing from it. Of course, theplace was chock full of Boers; they waited till we had come within easyrange for a toy-pistol, and then fired murderously. We did all we could. We tried to storm the place, but we hadn't a chance. Men tumbled downlike nine-pins. I've never seen anything like it. The order was given tofire, and there was nothing to fire at but the naked rocks. We had toretire--we couldn't do anything else; and presently I found that poorLarcher had been wounded. Well, I thought he couldn't be left where hewas, so I went back for him. I asked him if he could move. 'No, ' hesaid, 'I think I'm hurt in the leg. ' I knelt down and bandaged him up aswell as I could. He was simply bleeding like a pig; and meanwhilebrother Boer potted at us for all he was worth. 'How d'you feel?' Iasked. 'Bit dicky; but comfortable. I didn't funk it, did I?' 'No, ofcourse not, you juggins!' I said. 'Can you walk, d'you think?' 'I'lltry. ' I lifted him up and put my arm round him, and we got along for abit; then he became awfully white and groaned, 'I do feel so bad, Parsons, ' and then he fainted. So I had to carry him; and we went a bitfarther, and then--and then I was hit in the arm. 'I say, I can't carryyou now, ' I said; 'for God's sake, buck up. ' He opened his eyes, and Iprevented him from falling. 'I think I can stand, ' he said, and as hespoke a bullet got him in the neck, and his blood splashed over my face. He gave a gasp and died. "

James finished, and his mother and Mary wiped the tears from their eyes. Mrs. Clibborn turned to her husband. 

"Reggie, I'm sure the Larchers are not a county family. "

"There was a sapper of that name whom we met at Simla once, my dear, "replied the Colonel. 

"I thought I'd heard it before, " said Mrs. Clibborn, with an air oftriumph, as though she'd found out a very difficult puzzle. "Had he ared moustache?"

"Have you heard from the young man's people, Captain Parsons?" askedMrs. Jackson. 

"I had a letter from Mrs. Larcher, the boy's mother, asking me to goover and see her. "

"She must be very grateful to you, Jamie. "

"Why? She has no reason to be. "

"You did all you could to save him. "

"It would have been better if I'd left him alone. Don't you see that ifhe had remained where he was he might have been alive now. He would havebeen taken prisoner and sent to Pretoria, but that is better thanrotting on the veldt. He was killed because I tried to save him. "

"There are worse things than death, " said Colonel Parsons. "I have oftenthought that those fellows who surrendered did the braver thing. It iseasy to stand and be shot down, but to hoist the white flag so as tosave the lives of the men under one--that requires courage. "

"It is a sort of courage which seemed not uncommon, " answered James, drily. "And they had a fairly pleasant time in Pretoria. Eventually, Ibelieve, wars will be quite bloodless; rival armies will perambulate, and whenever one side has got into a good position, the other willsurrender wholesale. Campaigns will be conducted like manoeuvres, andthe special correspondents will decide which lot has won. "

"If they were surrounded and couldn't escape, it would have been wickednot to hoist the white flag, " said Mrs. Jackson. 

"I daresay you know more about it than I, " replied James. 

But the Vicar's lady insisted:

"If you were so placed that on one hand was certain death for yourselfand all your men, and on the other hand surrender, which would youchose?"

"One can never tell; and in those matters it is wiser not to boast. Certain death is an awful thing, but our fathers preferred it tosurrender. "

"War is horrible!" said Mary, shuddering. 

"Oh, no!" cried James, shaking himself out of his despondency. "War isthe most splendid thing in the world. I shall never forget those fewminutes, now and then, when we got on top of the Boers and fought withthem, man to man, in the old way. Ah, life seemed worth living then! Oneday, I remember, they'd been giving it us awfully hot all the morning, and we'd lost frightfully. At last we rushed their position, and, byJove, we let 'em have it! How we did hate them! You should have heardthe Tommies cursing as they killed! I shall never forget theexhilaration of it, the joy of thinking that we were getting our ownagain. By Gad, it beat cock-fighting!"

Jamie's cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone; but he had forgottenwhere he was, and his father's voice came to him through a mist of bloodand a roar of sound. 

"I have fought, too, " said Colonel Parsons, looking at his son withtroubled eyes--"I have fought, too, but never with anger in my heart, nor lust of vengeance. I hope I did my duty, but I never forgot that myenemy was a fellow-creature. I never felt joy at killing, but pain andgrief. War is inevitable, but it is horrible, horrible! It is only therighteous cause that can excuse it; and then it must be tempered withmercy and forgiveness. "

"Cause? Every cause is righteous. I can think of no war in which righthas not been fairly equal on both sides; in every question there isabout as much to be said on either part, and in none more than in war. Each country is necessarily convinced of the justice of its own cause. "

"They can't both be right. "

"Oh, yes, they can. It's generally six to one and half a dozen of theother. "

"Do you mean to say that you, a military man, think the Boers werejustified?" asked Colonel Clibborn, with some indignation. 

James laughed. 

"You must remember that if any nation but ourselves had been engaged, our sympathies would have been entirely with the sturdy peasantsfighting for their independence. The two great powers in the affairs ofthe world are sentiment and self-interest. The Boers are the smaller, weaker nation, and they have been beaten; it is only natural thatsympathy should be with them. It was with the French for the samereason, after the Franco-Prussian War. But we, who were fighting, couldn't think of sentiment; to us it was really a matter of life anddeath, I was interested to see how soon the English put aside theirideas of fair play and equal terms when we had had a few reverses. Theyforgot that one Englishman was equal to ten foreigners, and insisted onsending out as many troops as possible. I fancy you were badlypanic-stricken over here. "

James saw that his listeners looked at him with surprise, even withconsternation; and he hastened to explain. 

"Of course, I don't blame them. They were quite right to send as manymen as possible. The object of war is not to do glorious actions, but towin. Other things being equal, it is obviously better to be ten to one;it is less heroic, but more reasonable. "

"You take from war all the honour and all the chivalry!" cried Mary. "The only excuse for war is that it brings out the noblest qualities ofman--self-sacrifice, unselfishness, endurance. "

"But war doesn't want any excuse, " replied James, smiling gently. "Manypeople say that war is inhuman and absurd; many people are uncommonlysilly. When they think war can be abolished, they show a phenomenalignorance of the conditions of all development. War in one way andanother is at the very root of life. War is not conducted only by fireand sword; it is in all nature, it is the condition of existence forall created things. Even the wild flowers in the meadow wage war, andthey wage it more ruthlessly even than man, for with them defeat meansextermination. The law of Nature is that the fit should kill the unfit. The Lord is the Lord of Hosts. The lame, and the halt, and the blindmust remain behind, while the strong man goes his way rejoicing. "

"How hard you are!" said Mary. "Have you no pity, James?"

"D'you know, I've got an idea that there's too much pity in the world. People seem to be losing their nerve; reality shocks them, and they liveslothfully in the shoddy palaces of Sham Ideals. The sentimentalists, the cowards, and the cranks have broken the spirit of mankind. Thegeneral in battle now is afraid to strike because men may be killed. Sometimes it is worth while to lose men. When we become soldiers, weknow that we cease to be human beings, and are merely the instrumentsfor a certain work; we know that sometimes it may be part of a general'sdeliberate plan that we should be killed. I have no confidence in aleader who is tender-hearted. Compassion weakens his brain, and theresult, too often, is disaster. "

But as he spoke, James realised with a start how his father would takewhat he was saying. He could have torn out his tongue, he would havegiven anything that the words should remain unspoken. His father, inpity and in humanity, had committed just such a fatal mistake, andtrying tender-heartedly to save life had brought about death anddisaster. He would take the thoughtless words as a deliberatecondemnation; the wound, barely closed, was torn open by his very son, and he must feel again the humiliation which had nearly killed him. 

Colonel Parsons sat motionless, as though he were stunned, his eyesfixed on James with horror and pain; he looked like some hunted animal, terror-stricken, and yet surprised, wondering that man should be socruel. 

"What can I do?" thought James. "How can I make it good for him?"

The conversation was carried on by the Clibborns and by the Vicar, allhappily unconscious that a tragedy was acting under their noses. Jameslooked at his father. He wanted to show how bitterly he regretted thepain he had caused, but knew not what to say; he wanted to give a signof his eager love, and tortured himself, knowing the impossibility ofshowing in any way his devotion. 

Fortunately, the maid came in to announce that the school children werewithout, to welcome Captain Parsons; and they all rose from the table. 

V

Colonel Parsons and his wife had wished no function to celebrate thehome-coming of James; but gave in to the persuasions of Mary and of Mr. Dryland, the curate, who said that a public ceremony would beundoubtedly a stimulus to the moral welfare of Little Primpton. No mancould escape from his obligations, and Captain Parsons owed it to hisfellow-countrymen of Little Primpton to let them show their appreciationof his great deed. 

The Vicar went so far as to assert that a hearty greeting to the herowould be as salutory to the parishioners as a sermon of his own, whileit would awaken James, a young man and possibly thoughtless, to a propersense of his responsibilities. But the sudden arrival of James haddisturbed the arrangements, and Mr. Dryland, in some perplexity, went tosee Mary. 

"What are we to do, Miss Clibborn? The school children will be sodisappointed. "

The original plan had been to meet the hero as he drove towardsPrimpton House from the station, and the curate was unwilling to give itup. 

"D'you think Captain Parsons would go into Tunbridge Wells and drive inat two o'clock, as if he were just arriving?"

"I'm afraid he wouldn't, " replied Mary, doubtfully, "and I think he'donly laugh if I asked him. He seemed glad when he thought he had escapedthe celebration. "

"Did he, indeed? How true it is that real courage is always modest! Butit would be an eternal disgrace to Little Primpton if we did not welcomeour hero, especially now that everything is prepared. It must not besaid that Little Primpton neglects to honour him whom the Empire hasdistinguished. "

After turning over many plans, they decided that the procession shouldcome to Primpton House at the appointed hour, when Captain Parsons wouldreceive it from the triumphal arch at the gate.... When the servantannounced that the function was ready to begin, an announcementemphasised by the discordant notes of the brass band, Mary hurriedlyexplained to James what was expected of him, and they all made for thefront door. 

Primpton House faced the green, and opposite the little village shopswere gay with bunting; at the side, against the highroad that led toGroombridge, the church and the public-house stood together in friendlyneighbourhood, decorated with Union Jacks. The whole scene, with itsgreat chestnut-trees, and the stretch of greenery beyond, was pleasantlyrural, old-fashioned and very English; and to complete it, the sun shonedown comfortably like a good-natured, mild old gentleman. The curate, with a fine sense of order, had arranged on the right the school-boys, nicely scrubbed and redolent of pomatum; and on the left the girls, supported by their teachers. In the middle stood the choir, the brassband, and Mr. Dryland. The village yokels were collected round inopen-mouthed admiration. The little party from the house took theirplaces under the triumphal arch, the Clibborns assuming an expression ofgenteel superciliousness; and as they all wore their Sunday clothes, they made quite an imposing group. 

Seeing that they were ready, Mr. Dryland stepped forward, turned hisback so as to command the musicians, and coughed significantly. Heraised above his head his large, white clerical hand, stretching out theindex-finger, and began to beat time. He bellowed aloud, and the choir, a bar or so late, followed lustily. The band joined in with a heartybraying of trumpets. 

 "_See, the conquering Hero comes, _ _Sound the trumpets; beat the drums. _"

But growing excited at the music issuing from his throat, the curateraised the other hand which held his soft felt hat, and beat timeenergetically with that also. 

At the end of the verse the performers took a rapid breath, as thoughafraid of being left behind, and then galloped on, a little less evenly, until one by one they reached the highly-decorated Amen. 

When the last note of the last cornet had died away on the startled air, Mr. Dryland made a sign to the head boy of the school, who thereuponadvanced and waved his cap, shouting:

"Three cheers for Capting Parsons, V. C. !"

Then the curate, wiping his heated brow, turned round and cleared histhroat. 

"Captain Parsons, " he said, in a loud voice, so that none should misshis honeyed words, "we, the inhabitants of Little Primpton, welcome youto your home. I need not say that it is with great pleasure that we havegathered together this day to offer you our congratulations on your safereturn to those that love you. I need not remind you that there is noplace like home. ("Hear, hear!" from the Vicar. ) We are proud to thinkthat our fellow-parishioner should have gained the coveted glory of theVictoria Cross. Little Primpton need not be ashamed now to hold up itshead among the proudest cities of the Empire. You have brought honour toyourself, but you have brought honour to us also. You have shown thatEnglishmen know how to die; you have shown the rival nations of theContinent that the purity and the godliness of Old England still bearfruit. But I will say no more; I wished only to utter a few words towelcome you on behalf of those who cannot, perhaps, express themselvesso well as I can. I will say no more. Captain Parsons, we hope that youwill live long to enjoy your honour and glory, side by side with her whois to shortly become your wife. I would only assure you that yourexample has not been lost upon us; we all feel better, nobler, and moretruly Christian. And we say to you, now that you have overcome alldangers and tribulation, now that you have returned to the bosom of yourbeloved family, take her who has also given us an example ofresignation, of courage, and of--and of resignation. Take her, we say, and be happy; confident in the respect, esteem, and affection of thepeople of Little Primpton. James Brown, who has the honour to bear thesame Christian name as yourself, and is also the top boy of the ParishSchool, will now recite a short poem entitled 'Casabianca. '

Mr. Dryland had wished to compose an ode especially for the occasion. It would evidently have been effective to welcome the hero, to glorifyhis deed, and to point the moral in a few original verses; but, unhappily, the muse was froward, which was singular, since the _élite_of Little Primpton had unimpeachable morals, ideals of the most approvedcharacter, and principles enough to build a church with; nor was anacquaintance with literature wanting. They all read the daily papers, and Mr. And Mrs. Jackson, in addition, read the _Church Times_. Maryeven knew by heart whole chunks of Sir Lewis Morris, and Mr. Drylandrecited Tennyson at penny readings. But when inspiration is wanting, arhyming dictionary, for which the curate sent to London, will not helpto any great extent; and finally the unanimous decision was reached togive some well-known poem apposite to the circumstance. It shows in whatcharming unity of spirit these simple, God-fearing people lived, and howfine was their sense of literary excellence, that without hesitationthey voted in chorus for "Casabianca. "

The head boy stepped forward--he had been carefully trained by Mr. Dryland--and with appropriate gestures recited the immortal verses ofFelicia Hemans:

 "_The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but 'e 'ad fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck, Shone round 'im o'er the dead. _"

When he finished, amid the discreet applause of the little party beneaththe archway, Mr. Dryland again advanced. 

"Polly Game, the top girl of the Parish School, will now present MissClibborn with a bouquet. Step forward, Polly Game. "

This was a surprise arranged by the curate, and he watched with pleasureMary's look of delighted astonishment. 

Polly Game stepped forward, and made a little speech in the ingenuouswords which Mr. Dryland had thought natural to her character andstation. 

"Please, Miss Clibborn, we, the girls of Little Primpton, wish topresent you with this bouquet as a slight token of our esteem. We wishyou a long life and a 'appy marriage with the choice of your 'eart. "

She then handed a very stiff bunch of flowers, surrounded with frilledpaper like the knuckle of a leg of mutton. 

"We will now sing hymn number one hundred and thirty-seven, " said Mr. Dryland. 

The verses were given vigorously, while Mrs. Clibborn, with a tendersmile, murmured to Mrs. Parsons that it was beautiful to see such a nicespirit among the lower classes. The strains of the brass band died awayon the summer breeze, and there was a momentary pause. Then the Vicar, with a discreet cough to clear his throat, came forward. 

"Captain Parsons, ladies and gentlemen, parishioners of Little Primpton, I wish to take the opportunity to say a few words. "

The Vicar made an admirable speech. The sentiments were hackneyed, theobservations self-evident, and the moral obvious. His phrases had thewell-known ring which distinguishes the true orator. Mr. Jackson wasrecognised everywhere to be a fine platform speaker, but his variedexcellence could not be appreciated in a summary, and he had a fineverbosity. It is sufficient to say that he concluded by asking for morecheers, which were heartily given. 

James found the whole affair distasteful and ridiculous; and indeedscarcely noticed what was going on, for his thoughts were entirelyoccupied with his father. At first Colonel Parsons seemed too depressedto pay attention to the ceremony, and his eyes travelled every now andagain to James, with that startled, unhappy expression which washorribly painful to see. But his age and weakness prevented him fromfeeling very intensely for more than a short while; time had brought itsown good medicine, and the old man's mind was easily turned. Presentlyhe began to smile, and the look of pride and happiness returned to hisface. 

But James was not satisfied. He felt he must make active reparation. When the Vicar finished, and he understood that some reply was expected, it occurred to him that he had an opportunity of salving the bitterwound he had caused. The very hatred he felt at making open allusion tohis feelings made him think it a just punishment; none knew but himselfhow painful it was to talk in that strain to stupid, curious people. 

"I thank you very much for the welcome you have all given me, " he said. 

His voice trembled in his nervousness, so that he could hardly commandit, and he reddened. It seemed to James a frightful humiliation to haveto say the things he had in mind, it made them all ugly and vulgar; hewas troubled also by his inability to express what he felt. He noticed areporter for the local newspaper rapidly taking notes. 

"I have been very much touched by your kindness. Of course, I amextremely proud to have won the Victoria Cross, but I feel it is reallymore owing to my father than to any deed of mine. You all know myfather, and you know what a brave and gallant soldier he was. It wasowing to his fine example, and to his teaching, and to his constant, loving care, that I was able to do the little I did. And I should liketo say that it is to him and to my mother that I owe everything. It isthe thought of his unblemished and exquisite career, of the beautifulspirit which brightly coloured all his actions, that has supported me intimes of difficulty. And my earnest desire has always been to provemyself worthy of my father and the name he has handed on to me. You havecheered me very kindly; now I should like to ask you for three cheersfor my father. "

Colonel Parsons looked at his son as he began to speak. When he realisedJamie's meaning, tears filled his eyes and streamed down hischeeks--tears of happiness and gratitude. All recollection of theaffront quickly vanished, and he felt an ecstatic joy such as he hadnever known before. The idea came to him in his weakness: "Now I can diehappy!" He was too overcome to be ashamed of his emotion, and taking outhis handkerchief, quite unaffectedly wiped his eyes. 

The band struck up "Rule, Britannia" and "God Save the Queen"; and inorderly fashion, as Mr. Dryland had arranged, they all marched off. Thegroup under the triumphal arch broke up, and the Jacksons and Coloneland Mrs. Clibborn went their ways. 

Mary came into the house. She took Jamie's hands, her eyes wet withtears. 

"Oh, Jamie, " she said, "you are good! It was charming of you to speak asyou did of your father. You don't know how happy you've made him. "

"I'm very glad you are pleased, " he said gravely, and bending forward, put his arm round her waist and kissed her. 

For a moment she leant her head against his shoulder; but with heremotion was a thing soon vanquished. She wished, above all things, to bemanly, as befitted a soldier's wife. She shook herself, and withdrewfrom Jamie's arms. 

"But I must be running off, or mamma will be angry with me. Good-bye forthe present. "

* * *

James went into the dining-room, where his father, exhausted by thevaried agitations of the day, was seeking composure in the leadingarticles of the morning paper. Mrs. Parsons sat on her usual chair, knitting, and she greeted him with a loving smile. James saw that theywere both pleased with his few awkward words, which still rang in hisown ears as shoddy and sentimental, and he tasted, somewhat ruefully, the delight of making the kind creatures happy. 

"Has Mary gone?" asked Mrs. Parsons. 

"Yes. She said her mother would be angry if she stayed. "

"I saw that Mrs. Clibborn was put out. I suppose because someone besidesherself attracted attention. I do think she is the wickedest woman I'veever known. "

"Frances, Frances!" expostulated the Colonel. 

"She is, Richmond. She's a thoroughly bad woman. The way she treats Maryis simply scandalous. "

"Poor girl!" said the Colonel. 

"Oh, Jamie, it makes my blood boil when I think of it. Sometimes thepoor thing used to come here quite upset, and simply cry as if her heartwas breaking. "

"But what does Mrs. Clibborn do?" asked James, surprised. 

"Oh, I can't tell you! She's dreadfully unkind. She hates Mary becauseshe's grown up, and because she sometimes attracts attention. She'salways making little cruel remarks. You only see her when she's on hergood behaviour; but when she's alone with Mary, Mrs. Clibborn is simplyhorrible. She abuses her; she tells her she's ugly, and that shedresses badly. How can she dress any better when Mrs. Clibborn spendsall the money on herself? I've heard her myself say to Mary: 'How stupidand clumsy you are! I'm ashamed to take you anywhere. ' And Mary's thevery soul of goodness. She teaches in the Sunday School, and she trainsthe choir-boys, and she visits the poor; and yet Mrs. Clibborn complainsthat she's useless. I wanted Richmond to talk to Colonel Clibborn aboutit. "

"Mary particularly asked me not to, " said Colonel Parsons. "Shepreferred to bear anything rather than create unhappiness between herfather and mother. "

"She's a perfect angel of goodness!" cried Mrs. Parsons, enthusiastically. "She's simply a martyr, and all the time she's as kindand affectionate to her mother as if she were the best woman in theworld. She never lets anyone say a word against her. "

"Sometimes, " murmured Colonel Parsons, "she used to say that her onlyhappiness was in the thought of you, Jamie. "

"The thought of me?" said James; and then hesitatingly: "Do you thinkshe is very fond of me, mother?"

"Fond of you?" Mrs Parsons laughed. "She worships the very ground youtread on. You can't imagine all you are to her. "

"You'll make the boy vain, " said Colonel Parsons, laughing. 

"Often the only way we could comfort her was by saying that you wouldcome back some day and take her away from here. "

"We shall have to be thinking of weddings soon, I suppose?" said ColonelParsons, looking at James, with a bantering smile. 

James turned white. "It's rather early to think of that just yet. "

"We spoke of June, " said his mother. 

"We must see. "

"You've waited so long, " said Colonel Parsons; "I'm sure you don't wantto wait any longer. "

"She _will_ make you a good wife, Jamie. You are lucky to have foundsuch a dear, sweet girl. It's a blessing to us to think that you will beso happy. "

"As I was saying to Mary the other day, " added Colonel Parsons, laughinggently, "'you must begin thinking of your trousseau, my dear, ' I said, 'If I know anything of Jamie, he'll want to get married in a week. Theseyoung fellows are always impatient. '"

Mrs Parsons smiled. 

"Well, it's a great secret, and Mary would be dreadfully annoyed if shethought you knew; but when we heard you were coming home, she startedto order things. Her father has given her a hundred pounds to beginwith. "

They had no mercy, thought James. They were horribly cruel in theirloving-kindness, in their affectionate interest for his welfare. 

VI

James had been away from England for five years; and in that time acurious change, long silently proceeding, had made itself openlyfelt--becoming manifest, like an insidious disease, only when every limband every organ were infected. A new spirit had been in action, eatinginto the foundations of the national character; it worked through themasses of the great cities, unnerved by the three poisons of drink, theSalvation Army, and popular journalism. A mighty force of hysteria andsensationalism was created, seething, ready to burst its bonds ... Thecanker spread through the country-side; the boundaries of class andclass are now so vague that quickly the whole population was affected;the current literature of the day flourished upon it; the people ofEngland, neurotic from the stress of the last sixty years, becameunstable as water. And with the petty reverses of the beginning of thewar, the last barriers of shame were broken down; their arrogance wasdissipated, and suddenly the English became timorous as a conquerednation, deprecating, apologetic; like frightened women, they ran to andfro, wringing their hands. Reserve, restraint, self-possession, wereswept away ... And now we are frankly emotional; reeds tottering in thewind, our boast is that we are not even reeds that think; we cry out foridols. Who is there that will set up a golden ass that we may fall downand worship? We glory in our shame, in our swelling hearts, in our eyesheavy with tears. We want sympathy at all costs; we run about showingour bleeding vitals, asking one another whether they are not indeed ahorrible sight. Englishmen now are proud of being womanish, and nothingis more manly than to weep. To be a man of feeling is better than to bea gentleman--it is certainly much easier. The halt of mind, the maim, the blind of wit, have come by their own; and the poor in spirit haveinherited the earth. 

James had left England when this emotional state was contemptible. Foundchiefly in the dregs of the populace, it was ascribed to ignorance andto the abuse of stimulants. When he returned, it had the publicconscience behind it. He could not understand the change. The persons hehad known sober, equal-minded, and restrained, now seemed violentlyhysterical. James still shuddered, remembering the curate's allusions tohis engagement; and he wondered that Mary, far from thinking themimpertinent, had been vastly gratified. She seemed to take pleasure inpublicly advertising her connection, in giving her private affairs tothe inspection of all and sundry. The whole ceremony had been revolting;he loathed the adulation and the fulsome sentiment. His own emotionsseemed vulgar now that he had been forced to display them to the gapingcrowd. 

But the function of the previous day had the effect also of sealing hisengagement. Everyone knew of it. Jamie's name was indissolubly joinedwith Mary's; he could not break the tie now without exposing her to theutmost humiliation. And how could he offer her such an affront when sheloved him devotedly? It was not vanity that made him think so, hismother had told him outright; and he saw it in every look of Mary'seyes, in the least inflection of her voice. James asked himselfdesperately why Mary should care for him. He was not good-looking; hewas silent; he was not amusing; he had no particular attraction. 

James was sitting in his room, and presently heard Mary's voice callingfrom the hall. 

"Jamie! Jamie!"

He got up and came downstairs. 

"Why, Jamie, " said his father, "you ought to have gone to fetch Mary, instead of waiting here for her to come to you. "

"You certainly ought, Jamie, " said Mary, laughing; and then, looking athim, with sudden feeling: "But how seedy you look!"

James had hardly slept, troubling over his perplexity, and he lookedhaggard and tired. 

"I'm all right, " he said; "I'm not very strong yet, and I was ratherexhausted yesterday. "

"Mary thought you would like to go with her this morning, while she doesher district visiting. "

"It's a beautiful morning, Jamie; it will do you good!" cried Mary. 

"I should like it very much. "

They started out. Mary wore her every-day costume--a serge gown, asailor hat, and solid, square-toed boots. She walked fast, with longsteps and firm carriage. James set himself to talk, asking herinsignificant questions about the people she visited. Mary answered withfeeling and at length, but was interrupted by arriving at a cottage. 

"You'd better not come in here, " she said, blushing slightly; "althoughI want to take you in to some of the people. I think it will be a lessonto them. "

"A lesson in what?"

"Oh, I can't tell you to your face, I don't want to make you conceited;but you can guess while you're waiting for me. "

Mary's patient was about to be confined, and thinking her conditionrather indecent, quite rightly, Mary had left James outside. But thegood lady, since it was all in the way of nature, was not so ashamed ofherself as she should have been, and insisted on coming to the door toshow Miss Clibborn out. 

"Take care he doesn't see you!" cried Mary in alarm, pushing her back. 

"Well, there's no harm in it. I'm a married woman. You'll have to gothrough it yourself one day, miss. "

Mary rejoined her lover, suffused in blushes, hoping he had seennothing. 

"It's very difficult to teach these people propriety. Somehow the lowerclasses seem to have no sense of decency. "

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing I can tell you, " replied Mary, modestly. Then, to turn theconversation: "She asked after my young man, and was very anxious to seeyou. "

"Was she? How did she know you had a young man?" asked James, grimly. 

"Oh, everyone knows that! You can't keep secrets in Primpton. Andbesides, I'm not ashamed of it. Are you?"

"I haven't got a young man. "

Mary laughed. 

They walked on. The morning was crisp and bright, sending a healthycolour through Mary's cheeks. The blue sky and the bracing air made herfeel more self-reliant, better assured than ever of her upright purposeand her candid heart. The road, firm underfoot and delightful to walkupon, stretched before them in a sinuous line. A pleasant odour camefrom the adjoining fields, from the farm-yards, as they passed them; thelarks soared singing with happy heart, while the sparrows chirruped inthe hedges. The hawthorn was bursting into leaf, all bright and green, and here and there the wild flowers were showing themselves, thebuttercup and the speedwell. But while the charm of Nature made Jamesanxious to linger, to lean on a gate and look for a while at the cowslazily grazing, Mary had too sound a constitution to find in it anythingbut a stimulus to renewed activity. 

"We mustn't dawdle, you lazy creature!" she cried merrily. "I shallnever get through my round before one o'clock if we don't put our bestfoot foremost. "

"Can't you see them some other time?"

The limpid air softened his heart; he thought for a moment that if hecould wander aimlessly with Mary, gossiping without purpose, they mightend by understanding one another. The sun, the wild flowers, theinconstant breeze, might help to create a new feeling. 

But Mary turned to him with grave tenderness. 

"You know I'd do anything to please you, Jamie. But even for you Icannot neglect my duty. "

James froze. 

"Of course, you're quite right, " he said. "It really doesn't matter. "

They came to another cottage, and this time Mary took James in. 

"It's a poor old man, " she said. "I'm so sorry for him; he's always sograteful for what I do. "

They found him lying in bed, writhing with pain, his head supported by apillow. 

"Oh, how uncomfortable you look!" cried Mary. "You poor thing! Who onearth arranged your pillows like that?"

"My daughter, miss. "

"I must talk to her; she ought to know better. "

Miss Clibborn drew away the pillows very gently, smoothed them out, andreplaced them. 

"I can't bear 'em like that, miss. The other is the only way I'mcomfortable. "

"Nonsense, John!" cried Mary, brightly. "You couldn't be comfortablewith your head all on one side; you're much better as you are. "

James saw the look of pain in the man's face, and ventured toexpostulate. 

"Don't you think you'd better put them back in the old way? He seemedmuch easier. "

"Nonsense, Jamie. You must know that the head ought to be higher thanthe body. "

"Please, miss, I can't bear the pillow like this. "

"Oh, yes, you can. You must show more forbearance and fortitude. Remember that God sends you pain in order to try you. Think of Our Lordsuffering silently on the Cross. "

"You're putting him to quite unnecessary torture, Mary, " said James. "Hemust know best how he's comfortable. "

"It's only because he's obstinate. Those people are always complaining. Really, you must permit me to know more about nursing than you do, Jamie. "

Jamie's face grew dark and grim, but he made no answer. 

"I shall send you some soup, John, " said Mary, as they went out, "Youknow, one can never get these people to do anything in a rational way, "she added to James. "It's perfectly heartrending trying to teach themeven such a natural thing as making themselves comfortable. "

James was silent. 

They walked a few yards farther, and passed a man in a dog-cart Maryturned very red, staring in front of her with the fixed awkwardness ofone not adept in the useful art of cutting. 

"Oh, " she said, with vexation, "he's going to John. "

"Who is it?"

"It's Dr. Higgins--a horrid, vulgar man. He's been dreadfully rude tome, and I make a point of cutting him. "

"Really?"

"Oh, he behaved scandalously. I can't bear doctors, they're sodreadfully interfering. And they seem to think no one can know anythingabout doctoring but themselves! He was attending one of my patients; itwas a woman, and of course I knew what she wanted. She was ill and weak, and needed strengthening; so I sent her down a bottle of port. Well, Dr. Higgins came to the house, and asked to see me. He's not a gentleman, you know, and he was so rude! 'I've come to see you about Mrs. Gandy, 'he said. 'I particularly ordered her not to take stimulants, and I findyou've sent her down port. ' 'I thought she wanted it, ' I said. 'Shetold me that you had said she wasn't to touch anything, but I thought alittle port would do her good. ' Then he said, 'I wish to goodness youwouldn't interfere with what you know nothing about. ' 'I should like youto remember that you're speaking to a gentlewoman, ' I said. 'I don'tcare twopence, ' he answered, in the rudest way. 'I'm not going to allowyou to interfere with my patients. I took the port away, and I wish youto understand that you're not to send any more. '

"Then I confess I lost my temper. 'I suppose you took it away to drinkyourself?' I said. Then what d'you think he did? He burst out laughing, and said: 'A bottle of port that cost two bob at the local grocer's! Thesaints preserve us!'"

James repressed a smile. 

"'You impertinent man!' I said. 'You ought to be ashamed to talk to awoman like that. I shall at once send Mrs. Gandy another bottle of port, and it's no business of yours how much it cost. ' 'If you do, ' he said, 'and anything happens, by God, I'll have you up for manslaughter. ' Irang the bell. 'Leave the house, ' I said, 'and never dare come hereagain!' Now don't you think I was right, Jamie?"

"My dear Mary, you always are!"

James looked back at the doctor entering the cottage. It was somecomfort to think that he would put the old man into a comfortableposition. 

"When I told papa, " added Mary, "he got in a most fearful rage. Heinsisted on going out with a horsewhip, and said he meant to thrash Dr. Higgins. He looked for him all the morning, but couldn't find him; andthen your mother and I persuaded him it was better to treat such avulgar man with silent contempt. "

James had noticed that the doctor was a burly, broad-shouldered fellow, and he could not help thinking Colonel Clibborn's resolution distinctlywise. How sad it is that in this world right is so often subordinate tobrute force!

"But he's not received anywhere. We all cut him; and I get everyone Ican not to employ him. "

"Ah!" murmured James. 

Mary's next patient was feminine, and James was again left to cool hisheels in the road; but not alone, for Mr. Dryland came out of thecottage. The curate was a big, stout man, with reddish hair, and acomplexion like squashed strawberries and cream; his large, heavy face, hairless except for scanty red eyebrows, gave a disconcerting impressionof nakedness. His eyes were blue and his mouth small, with theexpression which young ladies, eighty years back, strove to acquire byrepeating the words prune and prism. He had a fat, full voice, withunctuous modulations not entirely under his control, so that sometimes, unintentionally, he would utter the most commonplace remark in a tonefitted for a benediction. Mr. Dryland was possessed by the laudableambition to be all things to all men; and he tried, without conspicuoussuccess, always to suit his conversation to his hearers. With old ladieshe was bland; with sportsmen slangy; with yokels he was broadlyhumorous; and with young people aggressively juvenile. But above all, hewished to be manly, and cultivated a boisterous laugh and a jovialmanner. 

"I don't know if you remember me, " he cried, with a ripple of fatlaughter, going up to James, "I had the pleasure of addressing a fewwords to you yesterday in my official capacity. Miss Clibborn told meyou were waiting, and I thought I would introduce myself. My name isDryland. "

"I remember quite well. "

"I'm the Vicar's bottle-washer, you know, " added the curate, with aguffaw. "Change for you--going round to the sick and needy of theparish--after fighting the good fight. I hear you were wounded. "

"I was, rather badly. "

"I wish I could have gone out and had a smack at the Boers. Nothing Ishould have liked better. But, of course, I'm only a parson, you know. It wouldn't have been thought the correct thing. " Mr. Dryland, from hissuperior height, beamed down on James. "I don't know whether youremember the few words which I was privileged to address to youyesterday--"

"Perfectly, " put in James. 

"Impromptu, you know; but they expressed my feelings. That is one of thebest things the war has done for us. It has permitted us to express ouremotions more openly. I thought it a beautiful sight to see the nobletears coursing down your father's furrowed cheeks. Those few words ofyours have won all our hearts. I may say that our little endeavours werenothing beside that short, unstudied speech. I hope there will be a fullreport in the Tunbridge Wells papers. "

"I hope not!" cried James. 

"You're too modest, Captain Parsons. That is what I said to MissClibborn yesterday; true courage is always modest. But it is our duty tosee that it does not hide its light under a bushel. I hope you won'tthink it a liberty, but I myself gave the reporter a few notes. "

"Will Miss Clibborn be long?" asked James, looking at the cottage. 

"Ah, what a good woman she is, Captain Parsons. My dear sir, I assureyou she's an angel of mercy. "

"It's very kind of you to say so. "

"Not at all! It's a pleasure. The good she does is beyond praise. She'sa wonderful help in the parish. She has at heart the spiritual welfareof the people, and I may say that she is a moral force of the firstmagnitude. "

"I'm sure that's a very delightful thing to be. "

"You know I can't help thinking, " laughed Mr. Dryland fatly, "that sheought to be the wife of a clergyman, rather than of a military man. "

Mary came out. 

"I've been telling Mrs. Gray that I don't approve of the things herdaughter wears in church, " she said. "I don't think it's nice for peopleof that class to wear such bright colours. "

"I don't know what we should do in the parish without you, " replied thecurate, unctuously. "It's so rare to find someone who knows what isright, and isn't afraid of speaking out. "

Mary said that she and James were walking home, and asked Mr. Drylandwhether he would not accompany them. 

"I shall be delighted, if I'm not _de trop_. "

He looked with laughing significance from one to the other. 

"I wanted to talk to you about my girls, " said Mary. 

She had a class of village maidens, to whom she taught sewing, respectfor their betters, and other useful things. 

"I was just telling Captain Parsons that you were an angel of mercy, Miss Clibborn. "

"I'm afraid I'm not that, " replied Mary, gravely. "But I try to do myduty. "

"Ah!" cried Mr. Dryland, raising his eyes so that he looked exactly likea codfish, "how few of us can say that!"

"I'm seriously distressed about my girls. They live in nasty littlecottages, and eat filthy things; they pass their whole lives under themost disgusting conditions, and yet they're happy. I can't get them tosee that they ought to be utterly miserable. "

"Oh, I know, " sighed the curate; "it makes me sad to think of it. "

"Surely, if they're happy, you can want nothing better, " said James, rather impatiently. 

"But I do. They have no right to be happy under such circumstances. Iwant to make them feel their wretchedness. "

"What a brutal thing to do!" cried James. 

"It's the only way to improve them. I want them to see things as I seethem. "

"And how d'you know that you see them any more correctly than they do?"

"My dear Jamie!" cried Mary; and then as the humour of such a suggestiondawned upon her, she burst into a little shout of laughter. 

"What d'you think is the good of making them dissatisfied?" asked James, grimly. 

"I want to make them better, nobler, worthier; I want to make theirlives more beautiful and holy. "

"If you saw a man happily wearing a tinsel crown, would you go to himand say, 'My good friend, you're making a fool of yourself. Your crownisn't of real gold, and you must throw it away. I haven't a golden crownto give you instead, but you're wicked to take pleasure in that shamthing. ' They're just as comfortable, after their fashion, in a hovel asyou in your fine house; they enjoy the snack of fat pork they have onSunday just as much as you enjoy your boiled chickens and blanc-manges. They're happy, and that's the chief thing. "

"Happiness is not the chief thing in this world, James, " said Mary, gravely. 

"Isn't it? I thought it was. "

"Captain Parsons is a cynic, " said Mr. Dryland, with a slightlysupercilious smile. 

"Because I say it's idiotic to apply your standards to people who havenothing in common with you? I hate all this interfering. For God's sakelet us go our way; and if we can get a little pleasure out of dross andtinsel, let us keep it. "

"I want to give the poor high ideals, " said Mary. 

"I should have thought bread and cheese would be more useful. "

"My dear Jamie, " said Mary, good-naturedly, "I think you're talking ofthings you know nothing about. "

"You must remember that Miss Clibborn has worked nobly among the poorfor many years. "

"My own conscience tells me I'm right, " pursued Mary, "and you see Mr. Dryland agrees with me. I know you mean well, Jamie; but I don't thinkyou quite understand the matter, and I fancy we had better change theconversation. "

VII

Next day Mary went into Primpton House. Colonel Parsons nodded to her asshe walked up the drive, and took off his spectacles. The front door wasneither locked nor bolted in that confiding neighbourhood, and Marywalked straight in. 

"Well, my dear?" said the Colonel, smiling with pleasure, for he was asfond of her as of his own son. 

"I thought I'd come and see you alone. Jamie's still out, isn't he? Isaw him pass our house. I was standing at the window, but he didn't lookup. "

"I daresay he was thinking. He's grown very thoughtful now. "

Mrs. Parsons came in, and her quiet face lit up, too, as she greetedMary. She kissed her tenderly. 

"Jamie's out, you know. "

"Mary has come to see us, " said the Colonel. "She doesn't want us tofeel neglected now that she has the boy. "

"We shall never dream that you can do anything unkind, dear Mary, "replied Mrs. Parsons, stroking the girl's hair. "It's natural that youshould think more of him than of us. "

Mary hesitated a moment. 

"Don't you think Jamie has changed?"

Mrs. Parsons looked at her quickly. 

"I think he has grown more silent. But he's been through so much. Andthen he's a man now; he was only a boy when we saw him last. "

"D'you think he cares for me any more?" asked Mary, with a rapid tremorin her voice. 

"Mary!"

"Of course he does! He talks of you continually, " said Colonel Parsons, "and always as if he were devoted. Doesn't he, Frances?"

The old man's deep love for Mary had prevented him from seeing inJamie's behaviour anything incongruous with that of a true lover. 

"What makes you ask that question, Mary?" said Mrs. Parsons. 

Her feminine tact had led her to notice a difference in Jamie's feelingtowards his betrothed; but she had been unwilling to think that itamounted even to coldness. Such a change could be explained in a hundrednatural ways, and might, indeed, exist merely in her own imagination. 

"Oh, he's not the same as he was!" cried Mary, "I don't know what it is, but I feel it in his whole manner. Yesterday evening he barely said aword. "

James had dined with the Clibborns in solemn state. 

"I daresay he's not very well yet. His wound troubles him still. "

"I try to put it down to that, " said Mary, "but he seems to forcehimself to speak to me. He's not natural. I've got an awful fear that hehas ceased to care for me. "

She looked from Colonel Parsons to his wife, who stared at her indismay. 

"Don't be angry with me, " she said; "I couldn't talk like this to anyoneelse, but I know you love me. I look upon you already as my father andmother. I don't want to be unkind to mamma, but I couldn't talk of it toher; she would only sneer at me. And I'm afraid it's making me ratherunhappy. "

"Of course, we want you to treat us as your real parents, Mary. We bothlove you as we love Jamie. We have always looked upon you as ourdaughter. "

"You're so good to me!"

"Has your mother said anything to annoy you?"

Mary faltered. 

"Last night, when he went away, she said she didn't think he was devotedto me. "

"Oh, I knew it was your mother who'd put this in your head! She hasalways been jealous of you. I suppose she thinks he's in love with her. "

"Mrs. Parsons!" cried Mary, in a tone of entreaty. 

"I know you can't bear anything said against your mother, and it'swicked of me to vex you; but she has no right to suggest such things. "

"It's not only that. It's what I feel. "

"I'm sure Jamie is most fond of you, " said Colonel Parsons, kindly. "You've not seen one another for five years, and you find yourselvesaltered. Even we feel a little strange with Jamie sometimes; don't we, Frances? What children they are, Frances!" Colonel Parsons laughed inthat irresistibly sweet fashion of his. "Why, it was only the day beforeyesterday that Jamie came to us with a long face and asked if you caredfor _him_. "

"Did he?" asked Mary, with pleased surprise, anxious to believe what theColonel suggested. "Oh, he must see that I love him! Perhaps he finds meunresponsive.... How could I help caring for him? I think if he ceasedto love me, I should die. "

"My dearest Mary, " cried Mrs. Parsons, the tears rising to her eyes, "don't talk like that! I'm sure he can't help loving you, either;you're so good and sweet. You're both of you fanciful, and he's notwell. Be patient. Jamie is shy and reserved; he hasn't quite got used tous yet. He doesn't know how to show his feelings. It will all come rightsoon. "

"Of course he loves you!" said Colonel Parsons. "Who could help it? Why, if I were a young fellow I should be mad to marry you. "

"And what about me, Richmond?" asked Mrs. Parsons, smiling. 

"Well, I think I should have to commit bigamy, and marry you both. "

They laughed at the Colonel's mild little joke, happy to break throughthe cloud of doubt which oppressed them. 

"You're a dear thing, " said Mary, kissing the old man, "and I'm a verysilly girl. It's wrong of me to give way to whims and fancies. "

"You must be very brave when you're the wife of a V. C. , " said theColonel, patting her hand. 

"Oh, it was a beautiful action!" cried Mary. "And he's as modest aboutit as though he had done nothing that any man might not do. I thinkthere can be no sight more pleasing to God than that of a brave manrisking his life to save a comrade. "

"And that ought to be an assurance to you, Mary, that James will neverdo anything unkind or dishonourable. Trust him, and forgive his littlefaults of manner. I'm sure he loves you, and soon you'll get married andbe completely happy. "

Mary's face darkened once more. 

"He's been here three days, and he's not said a word about gettingmarried. Oh, I can't help it; I'm so frightened! I wish he'd saysomething--just one word to show that he really cares for me. He seemsto have forgotten that we're even engaged. "

Colonel Parsons looked at his wife, begging her by his glance to saysomething that would comfort Mary. Mrs. Parsons looked down, uncertain, ill at ease. 

"You don't despise me for talking like this, Mrs. Parsons?"

"Despise you, my dear! How can I, when I love you so dearly? Shall Ispeak to Jamie? I'm sure when he understands that he's making youunhappy, he'll be different. He has the kindest heart in the world; I'venever known him do an unkind thing in his life. "

"No, don't say anything to him, " replied Mary. "I daresay it's allnonsense. I don't want him to be driven into making love to me. "

* * *

Meanwhile James wandered thoughtfully. The country was undulating, andlittle hill rose after little hill, affording spacious views of the fatKentish fields, encircled by oak trees and by chestnuts. Owned by richlandlords, each generation had done its best, and the fruitful land wastended like a garden. But it had no abandonment, no freedom; the hand ofman was obvious, perpetually, in the trimness and in the carefularrangement, so that the landscape, in its formality, reminded one ofthose set pieces chosen by the classic painters. But the fields werefresh with the tall young grass of the new year, the buttercups flauntedthemselves gaily, careless of the pitiless night, rejoicing in thesunshine, as before they had rejoiced in the enlivening rain. Thepleasant rain-drops still lingered on the daisies. The feathery ball ofthe dandelion, carried by the breeze, floated past like a symbol of thelife of man--a random thing, resistless to the merest breath, with nomission but to spread its seed upon the fertile earth, so that thingslike unto it should spring up in the succeeding summer, and floweruncared for, and reproduce themselves, and die. 

James decided finally that he must break that very evening hisengagement with Mary. He could not put it off. Every day made hisdifficulty greater, and it was impossible any longer to avoid thediscussion of their marriage, nor could he continue to treat Mary withnothing better than friendliness. He realised all her good qualities;she was frank, and honest, and simple; anxious to do right; charitableaccording to her light; kindness itself. James felt sincerely gratefulfor the affectionate tenderness which Mary showed to his father andmother. He was thankful for that and for much else, and was prepared tolook upon her as a very good friend, even as a sister; but he did notlove her. He could not look upon the prospect of marriage withoutrepulsion. Nor did Mary, he said, really love him. He knew what lovewas--something different entirely from that pallid flame of affectionand esteem, of which alone she was capable. Mary loved him for certainqualities of mind, because his station in life was decent, his mannerspassable, his morals beyond reproach. 

"She might as well marry the Ten Commandments!" he cried impatiently. 

Mary cared for him from habit, from a sense of decorum, and for thefitness of things; but that was not love. He shrugged his shouldersscornfully, looking for some word to express the mildly pleasant, unagitating emotion. James, who had been devoured by it, who hadstruggled with it as with a deadly sin, who had killed it finally while, like a serpent of evil, it clung to his throat, drinking his life'sblood, James knew what love was--a fire in the veins, a divineaffliction, a passion, a frenzy, a madness. The love he knew was thelove of the body of flesh and blood, the love that engenders, the lovethat kills. At the bottom of it is sex, and sex is not ugly or immoral, for sex is the root of life. The woman is fair because man shall loveher body; her lips are red and passionate that he may kiss them; herhair is beautiful that he may take it in his hands--a river of livinggold. 

James stopped, and the dead love rose again and tore his entrails like abeast of prey. He gasped with agony, with bitter joy. Ah, that was thetrue love! What did he care that the woman lacked this and that? Heloved her because he loved her; he loved her for her faults. And inspite of the poignant anguish, he thanked her from the bottom of hisheart, for she had taught him love. She had caused him endless pain, butshe had given him the strength to bear it. She had ruined his life, perhaps, but had shown him that life was worth living. What were theagony, the torture, the despair, beside that radiant passion which madehim godlike? It is only the lover who lives, and of his life everymoment is intense and fervid. James felt that his most preciousrecollection was that ardent month, during which, at last, he had seenthe world in all its dazzling movement, in its manifold colour, singingwith his youth and laughing to his joy. 

And he did not care that hideous names have been given to that dearpassion, to that rich desire. The vulgar call it lust, and blush andhide their faces; in their folly is the shame, in their prurience thedisgrace. They do not know that the appetite which shocks them is thevery origin of the highest qualities of man. It is they, weaklingsafraid to look life in the face, dotards and sentimentalists, who havemade the body unclean. They have covered the nakedness of Aphrodite withthe rags of their own impurity. They have disembowelled the great loversof antiquity till Cleopatra serves to adorn a prudish tale and Lancelotto point a moral. Oh, Mother Nature, give us back our freedom, with itsstrength of sinew and its humour! For lack of it we perish in falseshame, and our fig-leaves point our immodesty to all the world. Teach usthat love is not a tawdry sentiment, but a fire divine in order to theprocreation of children; teach us not to dishonour our bodies, for theyare beautiful and pure, and all thy works are sweet. Teach us, again, inthy merciful goodness, that man is made for woman, his body for herbody, and that the flesh cannot sin. 

Teach us also not to rant too much, even in thy service; and though wedo set up for prophets and the like, let us not forget occasionally tolaugh at our very august selves. 

* * *

Then, harking back, Jamie's thoughts returned to the dinner of theprevious evening at the Clibborns. He was the only guest, and when hearrived, found Mary and the Colonel by themselves in the drawing-room. It was an old habit of Mrs. Clibborn's not to appear till after hervisitors, thinking that so she created a greater effect. The Colonelwore a very high collar, which made his head look like some queer floweron a long white stalk; hair and eyebrows were freshly dyed, andglistened like the oiled locks of a young Jewess. He was the perfectdandy, even to his bejewelled fingers and his scented handkerchief. Hismanner was a happy mixture of cordiality and condescension, by the sideof which Mary's unaffected simplicity contrasted oddly. She seemed lessat home in an evening dress than in the walking costume she vastlypreferred; her free, rather masculine movements were ungainly in thesilk frock, badly made and countrified, while lace and ribbons suitedher most awkwardly. She was out of place, too, in that room, decoratedwith all the abominations of pseudo-fashion, with draperies andtissue-paper, uncomfortable little chairs and rickety tables. In everyavailable place stood photographs of Mrs. Clibborn--Mrs. Clibbornsitting, standing, lying; Mrs. Clibborn full face, three-quarter face, side face; Mrs. Clibborn in this costume or in that costume--grave, gay, thoughtful, or smiling; Mrs. Clibborn showing her beautiful teeth, herrounded arms, her vast shoulders; Mrs. Clibborn dressed to the nines, and Mrs. Clibborn as undressed as she dared. 

Finally, the beauty swept in with a great rustle of silk, displaying tothe full her very opulent charms. Her hair was lightly powdered, andhonestly she looked remarkably handsome. 

"Don't say I've kept you waiting, " she murmured. "I could never forgivemyself. "

James made some polite reply, and they went down to dinner. Theconversation was kept at the high level which one naturally expects frompersons fashionable enough to dine late. They discussed Literature, bywhich they meant the last novel but one; Art, by which they meant theRoyal Academy; and Society, by which they meant their friends who keptcarriages. Mrs. Clibborn said that, of course, she could not expectJames to pay any attention to her, since all his thoughts must be forMary, and then proceeded entirely to absorb him. 

"You must find it very dull here, " she moaned. "I'm afraid you'll bebored to death. " And she looked at Mary with her most smilingly cruelexpression. "Oh, Mary, why did you put on that dreadfully dowdy frock?I've asked you over and over again to give it away, but you never payattention to your poor mother. "

"It's all right, " said Mary, looking down at it, laughing and blushing alittle. 

Mrs. Clibborn turned again to James. 

"I think it's such a mistake for women not to dress well. I'm an oldwoman now, but I always try to look my best. Reggie has never seen me ina dowdy gown. Have you, Reggie?"

"Any dress would become you, my love. "

"Oh, Reggie, don't say that before James. He looks upon his futuremother as an old woman. "

Then at the end of dinner:

"Don't sit too long over your wine. I shall be so dull with nobody butMary to amuse me. "

Mrs. Clibborn had been fond enough of Mary when she was a little girl, who could be petted on occasion and sent away when necessary; but as shegrew up and exhibited a will of her own, she found her almost anintolerable nuisance. The girl developed a conscience, and refusedindignantly to tell the little fibs which her mother occasionallysuggested. She put her sense of right and wrong before Mrs. Clibborn'swishes, which that lady considered undutiful, if not entirely wicked. Itseemed nothing short of an impertinence that Mary should disapprove oftheatres when there was nothing to which the elder woman was moredevoted. And Mrs. Clibborn felt that the girl saw through all her littletricks and artful dodges, often speaking out strongly when her motherproposed to do something particularly underhand. It was anothergrievance that Mary had inherited no good looks, and the faded beauty, in her vanity, was convinced that the girl spitefully observed everyfresh wrinkle that appeared upon her face. But Mrs. Clibborn was also alittle afraid of her daughter; such meekness and such good temper weredifficult to overcome; and when she snubbed her, it was not only tochasten a proud spirit, but also to reassure herself. 

When the ladies had retired, the Colonel handed James an execrablecigar. 

"Now, I'm going to give you some very special port I've got, " he said. 

He poured out a glass with extreme care, and passed it over with evidentpride. James remembered Mary's story of the doctor, and having tastedthe wine, entirely sympathised with him. It was no wonder that invalidsdid not thrive upon it. 

"Fine wine, isn't it?" said Colonel Clibborn. "Had it in my cellar foryears. " He shook it so as to inhale the aroma. "I got it from my oldfriend, the Duke of St. Olphert's. 'Reggie, my boy, ' he said--'Reggie, do you want some good port?' 'Good port, Bill!' I cried--I always calledhim Bill, you know; his Christian name was William--'I should think Ido, Billy, old boy. ' 'Well, ' said the Duke, 'I've got some I can let youhave. '"

"He was a wine-merchant, was he?" asked James. 

"Wine-merchant! My dear fellow, he was the Duke of St. Olphert's. He'dbought up the cellar of an Austrian nobleman, and he had more port thanhe wanted. "

"And this is some of it?" asked James, gravely, holding the murky fluidto the light. 

Then the Colonel stretched his legs and began to talk of the war. James, rather tired of the subject, sought to change the conversation; butColonel Clibborn was anxious to tell one who had been through it how thething should have been conducted; so his guest, with a mixture ofastonishment and indignation, resigned himself to listen to the mostpitiful inanities. He marvelled that a man should have spent his life inthe service, and yet apparently be ignorant of the very elements ofwarfare; but having already learnt to hold his tongue, he let theColonel talk, and was presently rewarded by a break. Something remindedthe gallant cavalryman of a hoary anecdote, and he gave James thatdreary round of stories which have dragged their heavy feet for thirtyyears from garrison to garrison. Then, naturally, he proceeded to theaccount of his own youthful conquests. The Colonel had evidently been adevil with the ladies, for he knew all about the forgottenballet-dancers of the seventies, and related with gusto a number ofscabrous tales. 

"Ah, my boy, in my day we went the pace! I tell you in confidence, I wasa deuce of a rake before I got married. "

When they returned to the drawing-room, Mrs. Clibborn was ready with herlangorous smile, and made James sit beside her on the sofa. In a fewminutes the Colonel, as was his habit, closed his eyes, dropped hischin, and fell comfortably asleep. Mrs. Clibborn slowly turned to Mary. 

"Will you try and find me my glasses, darling, " she murmured. "They'reeither in my work-basket or on the morning-room table. And if you can'tsee them there, perhaps they're in your father's study. I want to readJamie a letter. "

"I'll go and look, mother. "

Mary went out, and Mrs. Clibborn put her hand on Jamie's arm. 

"Do you dislike me very much, Jamie?" she murmured softly. 

"On the contrary!"

"I'm afraid your mother doesn't care for me. "

"I'm sure she does. "

"Women have never liked me. I don't know why. I can't help it if I'm notexactly--plain, I'm as God made me. "

James thought that the Almighty in that case must have an unexpectedfamiliarity with the rouge-pot and the powder-puff. 

"Do you know that I did all I could to prevent your engagement to Mary?"

"You!" cried James, thunderstruck. "I never knew that. "

"I thought I had better tell you myself. You mustn't be angry with me. It was for your own good. If I had had my way you would never havebecome engaged. I thought you were so much too young. "

"Five years ago, d'you mean--when it first happened?"

"You were only a boy--a very nice boy, Jamie. I always liked you. Idon't approve of long engagements, and I thought you'd change your mind. Most young men are a little wild; it's right that they should be. "

James looked at her, wondering suddenly whether she knew or divinedanything. It was impossible, she was too silly. 

"You're very wise. "

"Oh, don't say that!" cried Mrs. Clibborn, with a positive groan. "Itsounds so middle-aged.... I always thought Mary was too old for you. Awoman should be ten years younger than her husband. "

"Tell me all about it, " insisted James. 

"They wouldn't listen to me. They said you had better be engaged. Theythought it would benefit your morals. I was very much against it. Ithink boys are so much nicer when they haven't got encumbrances--ormorals. "

At that moment Mary came in. 

"I can't find your glasses, mamma. "

"Oh, it doesn't matter, " replied Mrs. Clibborn, smiling softly; "I'vejust remembered that I sent them into Tunbridge Wells yesterday to bemended. "

VIII

James knew he would see Mary at the tea-party which Mrs. Jackson thatafternoon was giving at the Vicarage. Society in Little Primpton wasexclusive, with the result that the same people met each other day afterday, and the only intruders were occasional visitors of irreproachableantecedents from Tunbridge Wells. Respectability is a plant which inthat fashionable watering-place has been so assiduously cultivated thatit flourishes now in the open air; like the yellow gorse, it is found inevery corner, thriving hardily under the most unfavourable conditions;and the keener the wind, the harder the frost, the more proudly does ithold its head. But on this particular day the gathering was confined tothe immediate neighbours, and when the Parsons arrived they found, beside their hosts, only the Clibborns and the inevitable curate. Therewas a prolonged shaking of hands, inquiries concerning the health of allpresent, and observations suggested by the weather; then they sat downin a circle, and set themselves to discuss the questions of the day. 

"Oh, Mr. Dryland, " cried Mary, "thanks so much for that book! I amenjoying it!"

"I thought you'd like it, " replied the curate, smiling blandly. "I knowyou share my admiration for Miss Corelli. "

"Mr. Dryland has just lent me 'The Master Christian, '" Mary explained, turning to Mrs. Jackson. 

"Oh, I was thinking of putting it on the list for my next book. "

They had formed a club in Little Primpton of twelve persons, each buyinga six-shilling book at the beginning of the year, and passing it on inreturn for another after a certain interval, so that at the end oftwelve months all had read a dozen masterpieces of contemporary fiction. 

"I thought I'd like to buy it at once, " said Mr. Dryland. "I alwaysthink one ought to possess Marie Corelli's books. She's the only reallygreat novelist we have in England now. "

Mr. Dryland was a man of taste and authority, so that his literaryjudgments could always be relied on. 

"Of course, I don't pretend to know much about the matter, " said Mary, modestly. "There are more important things in life than books; but I dothink she's splendid. I can't help feeling I'm wasting my time when Iread most novels, but I never feel that with Marie Corelli. "

"No one would think she was a woman, " said the Vicar. 

To which the curate answered: "_Le genie n'a pas de sexe. _"

The others, being no scholars, did not quite understand the remark, butthey looked intelligent. 

"I always think it's so disgraceful the way the newspapers sneer ather, " said Mrs. Jackson. "And, I'm sure, merely because she's a woman. "

"And because she has genius, my dear, " put in the Vicar. "Some minds areso contemptibly small that they are simply crushed by greatness. Itrequires an eagle to look at the sun. "

And the excellent people looked at one another with a certainself-satisfaction, for they had the fearless gaze of the king of birdsin face of that brilliant orb. 

"The critics are willing to do anything for money. Miss Corelli has saidherself that there is a vile conspiracy to blacken her, and for my partI am quite prepared to believe it. They're all afraid of her because shedares to show them up. "

"Besides, most of the critics are unsuccessful novelists, " added Mr. Dryland, "and they are as envious as they can be. "

"It makes one boil with indignation, " cried Mary, "to think that peoplecan be so utterly base. Those who revile her are not worthy to unloosethe latchet of her shoes. "

"It does one good to hear such whole-hearted admiration, " replied thecurate, beaming. "But you must remember that genius has always beenpersecuted. Look at Keats and Shelley. The critics abused them just asthey abuse Marie Corelli. Even Shakespeare was slandered. But time hasvindicated our immortal William; time will vindicate as brightly ourgentle Marie. "

"I wonder how many of us here could get through Hamlet without yawning!"meditatively said the Vicar. 

"I see your point!" cried Mr. Dryland, opening his eyes. "While we couldall read the 'Sorrows of Satan' without a break. I've read it threetimes, and each perusal leaves me more astounded. Miss Corelli has herrevenge in her own hand; what can she care for the petty snarling ofcritics when the wreath of immortality is on her brow. I don't hesitateto say it, I'm not ashamed of my opinion; I consider Miss Corelli everybit as great as William Shakespeare. I've gone into the mattercarefully, and if I may say so, I'm speaking of what I know somethingabout. My deliberate opinion is that in wit, and humour, and language, she's every bit his equal. "

"Her language is beautiful, " said Mrs. Jackson. "When I read her I feeljust as if I were listening to hymns. "

"And where, I should like to know, " continued the curate, raising hisvoice, "can you find in a play of Shakespeare's such a gallery ofportraits as in the 'Master Christian'?"

"And there is one thing you must never forget, " said the Vicar, gravely, "she has a deep, religious feeling which you will find in none ofShakespeare's plays. Every one of her books has a lofty moral purpose. That is the justification of fiction. The novelist has a high vocation, if he could only see it; he can inculcate submission to authority, hope, charity, obedience--in fact, all the higher virtues; he can become ahandmaid of the Church. And now, when irreligion, and immorality, andscepticism are rampant, we must not despise the humblest instruments. "

"How true that is!" said Mrs. Jackson. 

"If all novelists were like Marie Corelli, I should willingly hold themout my hand. I think every Christian ought to read 'Barabbas. ' It givesan entirely new view of Christ. It puts the incidents of the Gospel in away that one had never dreamed. I was never so impressed in my life. "

"But all her books are the same in that way!" cried Mary. "They allmake me feel so much better and nobler, and more truly Christian. "

"I think she's vulgar and blasphemous, " murmured Mrs. Clibborn quietly, as though she were making the simplest observation. 

"Mamma!" cried Mary, deeply shocked; and among the others there was alittle movement of indignation and disgust. 

Mrs. Clibborn was continually mortifying her daughter by this kind ofilliterate gaucherie. But the most painful part of it was that the goodlady always remained perfectly unconscious of having said anythingincredibly silly, and continued with perfect self-assurance:

"I've never been able to finish a book of hers. I began one aboutelectricity, which I couldn't understand, and then I tried another. Iforget what it was, but there was something in it about a bed of roses, and I thought it very improper. I don't think it was a nice book forMary to read, but girls seem to read everything now. "

There was a pained hush, such as naturally occurs when someone has madea very horrible _faux pas_. They all looked at one another awkwardly;while Mary, ashamed at her mother's want of taste, kept her eyes gluedto the carpet But Mrs. Clibborn's folly was so notorious that presentlyanger was succeeded by contemptuous amusement, and the curate came tothe rescue with a loud guffaw. 

"Of course, you know your Marie Corelli by heart, Captain Parsons?"

"I'm afraid I've never read one of them. "

"Not?" they all cried in surprise. 

"Oh, I'll send them to you to Primpton House, " said Mr. Dryland. "I havethem all. Why, no one's education is complete till he's read MarieCorelli. "

This was considered a very good hit at Mrs. Clibborn, and the dearpeople smiled at one another significantly. Even Mary could scarcelykeep a straight face. 

The tea then appeared, and was taken more or less silently. With theexception of the fashionable Mrs. Clibborn, they were all more used tomaking a sit-down meal of it, and the care of holding a cup, with apiece of cake unsteadily balanced in the saucer, prevented them fromindulging in very brilliant conversational feats; they found onegymnastic exercise quite sufficient at a time. But when the tea-cupswere safely restored to the table, Mrs. Jackson suggested a littlemusic. 

"Will you open the proceedings, Mary?"

The curate went up to Miss Clibborn with a bow, gallantly offering hisarm to escort her to the piano. Mary had thoughtfully brought hermusic, and began to play a 'Song Without Words, ' by Mendelssohn. She wasconsidered a fine pianist in Little Primpton. She attacked the noteswith marked resolution, keeping the loud pedal down throughout; her eyeswere fixed on the music with an intense, determined air, in which yousaw an eagerness to perform a social duty, and her lips moved asconscientiously she counted time. Mary played the whole piece withoutmaking a single mistake, and at the end was much applauded. 

"There's nothing like classical music, is there?" cried the curateenthusiastically, as Mary stopped, rather out of breath, for she played, as she did everything else, with energy and thoroughness. 

"It's the only music I really love. "

"And those 'Songs Without Words' are beautiful, " said Colonel Parsons, who was standing on Mary's other side. 

"Mendelssohn is my favourite composer, " she replied. "He's so full ofsoul. "

"Ah, yes, " murmured Mr. Dryland. "His heart seems to throb through allhis music. It's strange that he should have been a Jew. "

"But then Our Lord was a Jew, wasn't He?" said Mary. 

"Yes, one is so apt to forget that. "

Mary turned the leaves, and finding another piece which was familiar toher, set about it. It was a satisfactory thing to listen to herperformance. In Mary's decided touch one felt all the strength of hercharacter, with its simple, unaffected candour and its eminent sense ofpropriety. In her execution one perceived the high purpose whichanimated her whole conduct; it was pure and wholesome, and thoroughlyEnglish. And her piano-playing served also as a moral lesson, for nonecould listen without remembering that life was not an affair to be takenlightly, but a strenuous endeavour: the world was a battlefield (thisone realised more particularly when Mary forgot for a page or so to takeher foot off the pedal); each one of us had a mission to perform, a dutyto do, a function to fulfil. 

Meanwhile, James was trying to make conversation with Mrs. Clibborn. 

"How well Mary plays!"

"D'you think so? I can't bear amateurs. I wish they wouldn't play. "

James looked at Mrs. Clibborn quickly. It rather surprised him that she, the very silliest woman he had ever known, should say the only sensiblethings he had heard that day. Nor could he forget that she had done herbest to prevent his engagement. 

"I think you're a very wonderful woman, " he said. 

"Oh, Jamie!"

Mrs. Clibborn smiled and sighed, slipping forward her hand for him totake; but James was too preoccupied to notice the movement. 

"I'm beginning to think you really like me, " murmured Mrs. Clibborn, cooing like an amorous dove. 

Then James was invited to sing, and refused. 

"Please do, Jamie!" cried Mary, smiling. "For my sake. You used to singso nicely!"

He still tried to excuse himself, but finding everyone insistent, wentat last, with very bad grace, to the piano. He not only sang badly, butknew it, and was irritated that he should be forced to make a fool ofhimself. Mr. Dryland sang badly, but perfectly satisfied with himself, needed no pressing when his turn came. He made a speciality of oldEnglish songs, and thundered out in his most ecclesiastical manner ajovial ditty entitled, "Down Among the Dead Men. "

The afternoon was concluded by an adjournment to the dining-room to playbagatelle, the most inane of games, to which the billiard-player goeswith contempt, changed quickly to wrath when he cannot put the ballsinto absurd little holes. Mary was an adept, and took pleasure inshowing James how the thing should be done. He noticed that she and thecurate managed the whole affair between them, arranging partners andadvising freely. Mrs. Clibborn alone refused to play, saying frankly itwas too idiotic a pastime. 

At last the party broke up, and in a group bade their farewells. 

"I'll walk home with you, Mary, if you don't mind, " said James, "andsmoke a pipe. "

Mary suddenly became radiant, and Colonel Parsons gave her a happylittle smile and a friendly nod.... At last James had his opportunity. He lingered while Mary gathered together her music, and waited again tolight his pipe, so that when they came out of the Vicarage gates therest of the company were no longer in sight. The day had become overcastand sombre; on the even surface of the sky floated little ragged blackclouds, like the fragments cast to the wind of some widowed, amplegarment. It had grown cold, and James, accustomed to a warmer air, shivered a little. The country suddenly appeared cramped andcircumscribed; in the fading light a dulness of colour came over treeand hedgerow which was singularly depressing. They walked in silence, while James looked for words. All day he had been trying to find somemanner to express himself, but his mind, perplexed and weary, refused tohelp him. The walk to Mary's house could not take more than fiveminutes, and he saw the distance slipping away rapidly. If he meant tosay anything it must be said at once; and his mouth was dry, he feltalmost a physical inability to speak. He did not know how to prepare theway, how to approach the subject; and he was doubly tormented by theabsolute necessity of breaking the silence. 

But it was Mary who spoke first. 

"D'you know, I've been worrying a little about you, Jamie. "

"Why?"

"I'm afraid I hurt your feelings yesterday. Don't you remember, when wewere visiting my patients--I think I spoke rather harshly. I didn't meanto. I'm very sorry. "

"I had forgotten all about it, " he said, looking at her. "I have nonotion what you said to offend me. "

"I'm glad of that, " she answered, smiling, "but it does me good toapologise. Will you think me very silly if I say something to you?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, I want to say that if I ever do anything you don't like, or don'tapprove of, I wish you would tell me. "

After that, how could he say immediately that he no longer loved her, and wished to be released from his engagement?

"I'm afraid you think I'm a very terrifying person, " answered James. 

Her words had made his announcement impossible; another day had gone, and weakly he had let it pass. 

"What shall I do?" he murmured under his breath. "What a coward I am!"

They came to the door of the Clibborns' house and Mary turned to saygood-bye. She bent forward, smiling and blushing, and he quickly kissedher. 

* * *

In the evening, James was sitting by the fire in the dining-room, thinking of that one subject which occupied all his thoughts. ColonelParsons and his wife were at the table, engaged upon the game ofbackgammon which invariably filled the interval between supper andprayers. The rattle of dice came to James indistinctly, as in a dream, and he imagined fantastically that unseen powers were playing for hislife. He sat with his head between his hands, staring at the flames asthough to find in them a solution to his difficulty; but mockingly theyspoke only of Mrs. Wallace and the caress of her limpid eyes. He turnedaway with a gesture of impatience. The game was just finished, and Mrs. Parsons, catching the expression on his face, asked:

"What are you thinking of, Jamie?"

"I?" he answered, looking up quickly, as though afraid that his secrethad been divined. "Nothing!"

Mrs. Parsons put the backgammon board away, making up her mind to speak, for she too suffered from a shyness which made the subjects she hadnearest at heart precisely those that she could least bear to talkabout. 

"When do you think of getting married, Jamie?"

James started. 

"Why, you asked me that yesterday, " He tried to make a joke of it. "Uponmy word, you're very anxious to get rid of me. "

"I wonder if it's occurred to you that you're making Mary a littleunhappy?"

James stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, his face upon hishand. 

"I should be sorry to do that, mother. "

"You've been home four days, and you've not said a word to show you loveher. "

"I'm afraid I'm not very demonstrative. "

"That's what I said!" cried the Colonel, triumphantly. 

"Can't you try to say a word or two to prove you care for her, Jamie?She _is_ so fond of you, " continued his mother. "I don't want tointerfere with your private concerns, but I think it's onlythoughtlessness on your part; and I'm sure you don't wish to make Marymiserable. Poor thing, she's so unhappy at home; she yearns for a littleaffection.... Won't you say something to her about your marriage?"

"Has she asked you to speak to me?" inquired James. 

"No, dear. You know that she would never do anything of the kind. Shewould hate to think that I had said anything. "

James paused a moment. 

"I will speak to her to-morrow, mother. "

"That's right!" said the Colonel, cheerfully. "I know she's going to bein all the morning. Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn are going into TunbridgeWells. "

"It will be a good opportunity. "

IX

In the morning Mrs. Parsons was in the hall, arranging flowers, whenJames passed through to get his hat. 

"Are you going to see Mary now?"

"Yes, mother. "

"That's a good boy. "

She did not notice that her son's usual gravity was intensified, or thathis very lips were pallid, and his eyes careworn and lustreless. 

It was raining. The young fresh leaves, in the colourless day, had losttheir verdure, and the massive shapes of the elm trees were obscured inthe mist. The sky had so melancholy a tone that it seemed a work ofman--a lifeless hue of infinite sorrow, dreary and cheerless. 

James arrived at the Clibborns' house. 

"Miss Mary is in the drawing-room, " he was told by a servant, who smiledon him, the accepted lover, with obtrusive friendliness. 

He went in and found her seated at the piano, industriously playingscales. She wore the weather-beaten straw hat without which she neverseemed comfortable. 

"Oh, I'm glad you've come, " she said. "I'm alone in the house, and I wastaking the opportunity to have a good practice. " She turned round on themusic-stool, and ran one hand chromatically up the piano, smiling thewhile with pleasure at Jamie's visit. "Would you like to go for a walk?"she asked. "I don't mind the rain a bit. "

"I would rather stay here, if you don't mind. "

James sat down and began playing with a paper-knife. Still he did notknow how to express himself. He was torn asunder by rival emotions; hefelt absolutely bound to speak, and yet could not bear the thought ofthe agony he must cause. He was very tender-hearted; he had never in hislife consciously given pain to any living creature, and would far ratherhave inflicted hurt upon himself. 

"I've been wanting to have a long talk with you alone ever since I cameback. "

"Have you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because what I want to say is very difficult, Mary; and I'm afraid itmust be very--distressing to both of us. "

"What do you mean?"

Mary suddenly became grave, James glanced at her, and hesitated; butthere was no room for hesitation now. Somehow he must get to the end ofwhat he had to say, attempting only to be as gentle as possible. Hestood up and leant against the mantelpiece, still toying with thepaper-knife; Mary also changed her seat, and took a chair by the table. 

"Do you know that we've been engaged for over five years now, Mary?"

"Yes. "

She looked at him steadily, and he dropped his eyes. 

"I want to thank you for all you've done for my sake, Mary. I know howgood you have been to my people; it was very kind of you. I cannot thinkhow they would have got along without you. "

"I love them as I love my own father and mother, Jamie. I tried to acttowards them as though I was indeed their daughter. "

He was silent for a while. 

"We were both very young when we became engaged, " he said at last. 

He looked up quickly, but she did not answer. She stared with frightenedeyes, as if already she understood. It was harder even than he thought. James asked himself desperately whether he could not stop there, takingback what he had said. The cup was too bitter! But what was thealternative? He could not go on pretending one thing when he feltanother; he could not live a constant, horrible lie. He felt there wasonly one course open to him. Like a man with an ill that must be fatalunless instantly treated, he was bound to undergo everything, howevergreat the torture. 

"And it's a very bad return I'm making you for all your kindness. Youhave done everything for me, Mary. You've waited for me patiently andlovingly; you've sacrificed yourself in every way; and I'm afraid I mustmake you very unhappy--Oh, don't think I'm not grateful to you; I cannever thank you sufficiently. "

He wished Mary would say something to help him, but she kept silent. Shemerely dropped her eyes, and now her face seemed quite expressionless. 

"I have asked myself day and night what I ought to do, and I can see noway clear before me. I've tried to say this to you before, but I'vefunked it. You think I'm brave--I'm not; I'm a pitiful coward! SometimesI can only loathe and despise myself. I want to do my duty, but I can'ttell what my duty is. If I only knew for sure which way I ought to take, I should have strength to take it; but it is all so uncertain. "

James gave Mary a look of supplication, but she did not see it; herglance was still riveted to the ground. 

"I think it's better to tell you the whole truth, Mary; I'm afraid I'mspeaking awfully priggishly. I feel I'm acting like a cad, and yet Idon't know how else to act. God help me!"

"I've known almost from the beginning that you no longer cared for me, "said Mary quietly, her face showing no expression, her voice hushed tillit was only a whisper. 

"Forgive me, Mary; I've tried to love you. Oh, how humiliating that mustsound! I hardly know what I'm saying. Try to understand me. If my wordsare harsh and ugly, it's because I don't know how to express myself. ButI must tell you the whole truth. The chief thing is that I should behonest with you. It's the only return I can make for all you've done forme. "

Mary bent her head a little lower, and heavy tears rolled down hercheeks. 

"Oh, Mary, don't cry!" said James, his voice breaking; and he steppedforward, with outstretched arms, as though to comfort her. 

"I'm sorry, " she said; "I didn't mean to. "

She took out her handkerchief and dried her eyes, trying to smile. Hercourageous self-command was like a stab in Jamie's heart. 

"I am an absolute cad!" he said, hoarsely. 

Mary made no gesture; she sat perfectly still, rigid, not seeking tohide her emotion, but merely to master it. One could see the effort shemade. 

"I'm awfully sorry, Mary! Please forgive me--I don't ask you to releaseme. All I want to do is to explain exactly what I feel, and then leaveyou to decide. "

"Are you--are you in love with anyone else?"

"No!"

The smile of Mrs. Wallace flashed scornfully across his mind, but he sethis teeth. He hated and despised her; he would not love her. 

"Is there anything in me that you don't like which I might be able tocorrect?"

Her humility was more than he could bear. 

"No, no, no!" he cried. "I can never make you understand. You must thinkme simply brutal. You have all that a man could wish for. I know howkind you are, and how good you are. I think you have every quality whicha good woman should have. I respect you entirely; I can never helpfeeling for you the most intense gratitude and affection. "

In his own ears the words he spoke rang hollow, awkward, evenimpertinent. He could say nothing which did not seem hideouslysupercilious; and yet he wanted to abase himself! He knew that Mary'shumiliation must be very, very bitter. 

"I'm afraid that I am distressing you frightfully, and I don't see how Ican make things easier. "

"Oh, I knew you didn't love me! I felt it. D'you think I could talk toyou for five minutes without seeing the constraint in your manner? Theytold me I was foolish and fanciful, but I knew better. "

"I must have caused you very great unhappiness?"

Mary did not answer, and James looked at her with pity and remorse. Atlast he broke out passionately:

"I can't command my love! It's not a thing I have at my beck and call. If it were, do you think I should give you this pain? Love is outsideall calculation. You think love can be tamed, and led about on a chainlike a dog. You think it's a gentle sentiment that one can subject toconsiderations of propriety and decorum, and God knows what. Oh, youdon't know! Love is a madness that seizes one and shakes one like a leafin the wind. I can't counterfeit love; I can't pretend to have it. Ican't command the nerves of my body. "

"Do you think I don't know what love is, James? How little you know me. "

James sank on a chair and hid his face. 

"We none of us understand one another. We're all alike, and yet sodifferent. I don't even know myself. Don't think I'm a prig when I saythat I've tried with all my might to love you. I would have given worldsto feel as I felt five years ago. But I can't. God help me!... Oh, youmust hate and despise me, Mary!"

"I, my dear?" she shook her head sadly. "I shall never do that. I wantyou to speak frankly. It is much better that we should try to understandone another. "

"That is what I felt. I did not think it honest to marry you with a liein my heart. I don't know whether we can ever be happy; but our onlychance is to speak the whole truth. "

Mary looked helplessly at him, cowed by her grief. 

"I knew it was coming. Every day I dreaded it. "

The pain in her eyes was more than James could bear; it was cruel tomake her suffer so much. He could not do it. He felt an intense pity, and the idea came to him that there might be a middle way, which wouldlessen the difficulty. He hesitated a moment, and then, looking down, spoke in a low voice:

"I am anxious to do my duty, Mary. I have promised to marry you. I donot wish to break my word. I don't ask you to release me. Will you takewhat I can offer? I will be a good husband to you. I will do all I canto make you happy. I can give you affection and confidence--friendship;but I can't give you love. It is much better that I should tell you thanthat you should find out painfully by yourself--perhaps when it is toolate. "

"You came to ask me to release you. Why do you hesitate now? Do youthink I shall refuse?"

James was silent. 

"You cannot think that I will accept a compromise. Do you suppose thatbecause I am a woman I am not made of flesh and blood? You said youwished to be frank. "

"I had not thought of the other way till just now. "

"Do you imagine that it softens the blow? How could I live with you asyour wife, and yet not your wife? What are affection and esteem to mewithout love? You must think me a very poor creature, James, when youwant to make me a sort of legal housekeeper. "

"I'm sorry. I didn't think you would look upon it as an impertinence. Ididn't mean to say anything offensive. It struck me as a possible wayout of the difficulty. You would, at all events, be happier than you arehere. "

"It is you who despise me now!"

"Mary!"

"I can bear pain. It's not the first humiliation I have suffered. It isvery simple, and there's no reason why we should make a fuss about it. You thought you loved me, and you asked me to marry you. I don't knowwhether you ever really loved me; you certainly don't now, and you wishme to release you. You know that I cannot and will not refuse. "

"I see no way out of it, Mary, " he said, hoarsely. "I wish to God I did!It's frightfully cruel to you. "

"I can bear it. I don't blame you. It's not your fault. God will give mestrength. " Mary thought of her mother's cruel sympathy. Her parentswould have to be told that James had cast her aside like a plaything hewas tired of. "God will give me strength. "

"I'm so sorry, Mary, " cried James, kneeling by her side. "You'll have tosuffer dreadfully; and I can't think how to make it any better for you. "

"There is no way. We must tell them the whole truth, and let them saywhat they will. "

"Would you like me to go away from Primpton?"

"Why?"

"It might make it easier for you. "

"Nothing can make it easier. I can face it out. And I don't want you torun away and hide yourself as if you had done something to be ashamedof. And your people want you. Oh, Jamie, you will be as gentle with themas you can, won't you? I'm afraid it will--disappoint them very much. "

"They had set their hearts upon our marriage. "

"I'm afraid they'll feel it a good deal. But it can't be helped. Anything is better than a loveless marriage. "

James was profoundly touched that at the time of her own bitter grief, Mary could think of the pain of others. 

"I wish I had your courage, Mary. I've never seen such strength. "

"It's well that I have some qualities. I haven't the power to make youlove me, and I deserve something to make up. "

"Oh, Mary, don't speak like that! I do love you! There's no one for whomI have a purer, more sincere affection. Why won't you take me with whatI can offer? I promise that you will never regret it. You know exactlywhat I am now--weak, but anxious to do right. Why shouldn't we bemarried? Perhaps things may change. Who can tell what time may bringabout?"

"It's impossible. You ask me to do more than I can. And I know very wellthat you only make the offer out of charity. Even from you I cannotaccept charity. "

"My earnest wish is to make you happy. "

"And I know you would sacrifice yourself willingly for that; but I cansacrifice myself, too. You think that if we got married love mightarise; but it wouldn't. You would feel perpetually that I was a reproachto you; you would hate me. "

"I should never do that. "

"How can you tell? We are the same age now, but each year I should seemolder. At forty I should be an old woman, and you would still be a youngman. Only the deepest love can make that difference endurable; but thelove would be all on my side--if _I_ had any then. I should probablyhave grown bitter and ill-humoured. Ah, no, Jamie, you know it isutterly impracticable. You know it as well as I do. Let us partaltogether. I give you back your word. It is not your fault that you donot love me. I don't blame you. One gets over everything in this worldeventually. All I ask you is not to trouble too much about me; I shan'tdie of it. "

She stretched out her hand, and he took it, his eyes all blurred, unableto speak. 

"And I thank you, " she continued, "for having come to me frankly andopenly, and told me everything. It is still something that you haveconfidence in me. You need never fear that I shall feel bitter towardsyou. I can see that you have suffered--perhaps more than you have mademe suffer. Good-bye!"

"Is there nothing I can do, Mary?"

"Nothing, " she said, trying to smile, "except not to worry. "

"Good-bye, " he said. "And don't think too ill of me. "

She could not trust herself to answer. She stood perfectly quiet till hehad gone out of the room; then with a moan sank to the floor and hid herface, bursting into tears. She had restrained herself too long; thecomposure became intolerable. She could have screamed, as thoughsuffering some physical pain that destroyed all self-control. The heavysobs rent her chest, and she did not attempt to stop them. She washeart-broken. 

"Oh, how could he!" she groaned. "How could he!"

Her vision of happiness was utterly gone. In James she had placed thejoy of her life; in him had found strength to bear every displeasure. Mary had no thought in which he did not take part; her whole future wasinextricably mingled with his. But now the years to come, which hadseemed so bright and sunny, turned suddenly grey as the melancholy skywithout. She saw her life at Little Primpton, continuing as in the pastyears, monotonous and dull--a dreary round of little duties, of littlevexations, of little pleasures. 

"Oh, God help me!" she cried. 

And lifting herself painfully to her knees, she prayed for strength tobear the woeful burden, for courage to endure it steadfastly, forresignation to believe that it was God's will. 

X

James felt no relief. He had looked forward to a sensation of freedomsuch as a man might feel when he had escaped from some tyrannousservitude, and was at liberty again to breathe the buoyant air ofheaven. He imagined that his depression would vanish like an evil spiritexorcised so soon as ever he got from Mary his release; but instead itsat more heavily upon him. Unconvinced even yet that he had actedrightly, he went over the conversation word for word. It seemedsingularly ineffectual. Wishing to show Mary that he did not break withher from caprice or frivolous reason, but with sorrowful reluctance, andfull knowledge of her suffering, he had succeeded only in being futileand commonplace. 

He walked slowly towards Primpton House. He had before him theannouncement to his mother and father; and he tried to order histhoughts. 

Mrs. Parsons, her household work finished, was knitting the inevitablesocks; while the Colonel sat at the table, putting new stamps into hisalbum. He chattered delightedly over his treasures, getting up now andthen gravely to ask his wife some question or to point out a surcharge;she, good woman, showed interest by appropriate rejoinders. 

"There's no one in Tunbridge Wells who has such a fine collection as Ihave. "

"General Newsmith showed me his the other day, but it's not nearly sogood as yours, Richmond. "

"I'm glad of that. I suppose his Mauritius are fine?" replied theColonel, with some envy, for the general had lived several years on theisland. 

"They're fair, " said Mrs. Parsons, reassuringly; "but not so good as onewould expect. "

"It takes a clever man to get together a good collection of stamps, although I shouldn't say it. "

They looked up when James entered. 

"I've just been putting in those Free States you brought me, Jamie. Theylook very well. "

The Colonel leant back to view them, with the satisfied look with whichhe might have examined an old master. 

"It was very thoughtful of Jamie to bring them, " said Mrs. Parsons. 

"Ah, I knew he wouldn't forget his old father. Don't you remember, Frances, I said to you, 'I'll be bound the boy will bring some stampswith him. ' They'll be valuable in a year or two. That's what I alwayssay with regard to postage stamps; you can't waste your money. Nowjewellery, for instance, gets old-fashioned, and china breaks; but yourun no risk with stamps. When I buy stamps, I really feel that I'm asgood as investing my money in consols. "

"Well, how's Mary this morning?"

"I've been having a long talk with her. "

"Settled the day yet?" asked the Colonel, with a knowing little laugh. 

"No!"

"Upon my word, Frances, I think we shall have to settle it for them. Things weren't like this when we were young. Why, Jamie, your mother andI got married six weeks after I was introduced to her at a croquetparty. "

"We were married in haste, Richmond, " said Mrs. Parsons, laughing. 

"Well, we've taken a long time to repent of it, my dear. It's overthirty years. "

"I fancy it's too late now. "

The Colonel took her hand and patted it. 

"If you get such a good wife as I have, Jamie, I don't think you'll havereason to complain. Will he, my dear?"

"It's not for me to say, Richmond, " replied Mrs. Parsons, smilingcontentedly. 

"Do you want me to get married very much, father?"

"Of course I do. I've set my heart upon it. I want to see what the newgenerations of Parsons are like before I die. "

"Listen, Richmond, Jamie has something to tell us. "

Mrs. Parsons had been looking at her son, and was struck at last by theagony of his expression. 

"What is it, Jamie?" she asked. 

"I'm afraid you'll be dreadfully disappointed. I'm so sorry--Mary and Iare no longer engaged to be married. "

For a minute there was silence in the room. The old Colonel lookedhelplessly from wife to son. 

"What does he mean, Frances?" he said at last. 

Mrs. Parsons did not answer, and he turned to James. 

"You're not in earnest, Jamie? You're joking with us?"

James went over to his father, as the weaker of the two, and put his armround his shoulders. 

"I'm awfully sorry to have to grieve you, father. It's quite true--worseluck! It was impossible for me to marry Mary. "

"D'you mean that you've broken your engagement with her after she'swaited five years for you?" said Mrs. Parsons. 

"I couldn't do anything else. I found I no longer loved her. We shouldboth have been unhappy if we had married. "

The Colonel recovered himself slowly, he turned round and looked at hisson. 

"Jamie, Jamie, what have you done?"

"Oh, you can say nothing that I've not said to myself. D'you think it'sa step I should have taken lightly? I feel nothing towards Mary butfriendship. I don't love her. "

"But--" the Colonel stopped, and then a light shone in his face, and hebegan to laugh. "Oh, it's only a lovers' quarrel, Frances. They've had alittle tiff, and they say they'll never speak to one another again. Iwarrant they're both heartily sorry already, and before night they'll beengaged as fast as ever. "

James, by a look, implored his mother to speak. She understood, andshook her head sadly. 

"No, Richmond, I'm afraid it's not that. It's serious. "

"But Mary loves him, Frances. "

"I know, " said James. "That's the tragedy of it. If I could onlypersuade myself that she didn't care for me, it would be all right. "

Colonel Parsons sank into his chair, suddenly collapsing. He seemedsmaller than ever, wizened and frail; the wisp of white hair thatconcealed his baldness fell forward grotesquely. His face assumed againthat expression, which was almost habitual, of anxious fear. 

"Oh, father, don't look like that! I can't help it! Don't make it harderfor me than possible. You talk to him, mother. Explain that it's not myfault. There was nothing else I could do. "

Colonel Parsons sat silent, with his head bent down, but Mrs. Parsonsasked:

"What did you say to Mary this morning?"

"I told her exactly what I felt. "

"You said you didn't love her?"

"I had to. "

"Poor thing!"

They all remained for a while without speaking, each one thinking hispainful thoughts. 

"Richmond, " said Mrs. Parsons at last, "we mustn't blame the boy. It'snot his fault. He can't help it if he doesn't love her. "

"You wouldn't have me marry her without love, father?"

The question was answered by Mrs. Parsons. 

"No; if you don't love her, you mustn't marry her. But what's to bedone, I don't know. Poor thing, poor thing, how unhappy she must be!"

James sat with his face in his hands, utterly wretched, beginningalready to see the great circle of confusion that he had caused. Mrs. Parsons looked at him and looked at her husband. Presently she went upto James. 

"Jamie, will you leave us for a little? Your father and I would like totalk it over alone. "

"Yes, mother. "

James got up, and putting her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him. 

When James had gone, Mrs. Parsons looked compassionately at her husband;he glanced up, and catching her eye, tried to smile. But it was a poorattempt, and it finished with a sigh. 

"What's to be done, Richmond?"

Colonel Parsons shook his head without answering. 

"I ought to have warned you that something might happen. I saw there wasa difference in Jamie's feelings, but I fancied it would pass over. Ibelieved it was only strangeness. Mary is so fond of him, I thought hewould soon love her as much as ever. "

"But it's not honourable what he's done, Frances, " said the old man atlast, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not honourable. "

"He can't help it if he doesn't love her. "

"It's his duty to marry her. She's waited five years; she's given himthe best of her youth--and he jilts her. He can't, Frances; he mustbehave like a gentleman. "

The tears fell down Mrs. Parsons' careworn cheeks--the slow, sparsetears of the woman who has endured much sorrow. 

"Don't let us judge him, Richmond. We're so ignorant of the world. Youand I are old-fashioned. "

"There are no fashions in honesty. "

"Let us send for William. Perhaps he'll be able to advise us. "

William was Major Forsyth, the brother of Mrs. Parsons. He was abachelor, living in London, and considered by his relatives a typicalman of the world. 

"He'll be able to talk to the boy better than we can. "

"Very well, let us send for him. "

They were both overcome by the catastrophe, but as yet hardly graspedthe full extent of it. All their hopes had been centred on thismarriage; all their plans for the future had been in it so intricatelywoven that they could not realise the total over-throw. They felt as aman might feel who was crippled by a sudden accident, and yet stillpictured his life as though he had free use of his limbs.... Mrs. Parsons wrote a telegram, and gave it to the maid. The servant went outof the room, but as she did so, stepped back and announced:

"Miss Clibborn, ma'am. "

"Mary!"

The girl came in, and lifted the veil which she had put on to hide herpallor and her eyes, red and heavy with weeping. 

"I thought I'd better come round and see you quietly, " she said. "Isuppose you've heard?"

"Mary, Mary!"

Mrs. Parsons took her in her arms, kissing her tenderly. Mary pretendedto laugh, and hastily dried the tears which came to her eyes. 

"You've been crying, Mrs. Parsons. You mustn't do that.... Let us sitdown and talk sensibly. "

She took the Colonel's hand, and gently pressed it. 

"Is it true, Mary?" he asked. "I can't believe it. "

"Yes, it's quite true. We've decided that we don't wish to marry oneanother. I want to ask you not to think badly of Jamie. He's very--cutup about it. He's not to blame. "

"We're thinking of you, my dear. "

"Oh, I shall be all right. I can bear it. "

"It's not honourable what he's done, Mary, " said the Colonel. 

"Oh, don't say that, please! That is why I came round to you quickly. Iwant you to think that Jamie did what he considered right. For my sake, don't think ill of him. He can't help it if he doesn't love me. I'm notvery attractive; he must have known in India girls far nicer than I. Howcould I hope to keep him all these years? I was a fool to expect it. "

"I am so sorry, Mary!" cried Mrs. Parsons. "We've looked forward to yourmarriage with all our hearts. You know Jamie's been a good son to us;he's never given us any worry. We did want him to marry you. We're sofond of you, and we know how really good you are. We felt that whateverhappened after that--if we died--Jamie would be safe and happy. "

"It can't be helped. Things never turn out in this world as one wantsthem. Don't be too distressed about it, and, above all things, don't letJamie see that you think he hasn't acted--as he might have done. "

"How can you think of him now, when your heart must be almost breaking?"

"You see, I've thought of him for years, " answered Mary, smiling sadly. "I can't help it now. Oh, I don't want him to suffer! His worrying cando no good, I should like him to be completely happy. "

Colonel Parsons sighed. 

"He's my son, and he's behaved dishonourably. "

"Don't say that. It's not fair to him. He did not ask me for hisrelease. But I couldn't marry him when I knew he no longer cared forme. "

"He might have learned to love you, Mary, " said Mrs. Parsons. 

"No, no! I could see, as he pressed me to marry him notwithstanding, hewas hoping with all his might that I would refuse. He would have hatedme. No; it's the end. We have separated for ever, and I will do my bestto get over it. "

They fell into silence, and presently Mary got up. "I must go home now, and tell mamma. "

"She'll probably have hysterics, " said Mrs. Parsons, with a little sniffof contempt. 

"No, she'll be delighted, " returned Mary. "I know her so well. "

"Oh, how much you will have to suffer, dearest!"

"It'll do me good. I was too happy. "

"Don't you think you could wait a little before telling anyone else?"asked the Colonel. "Major Forsyth is coming down. He may be able toarrange it; he's a man of the world. "

"Can he make Jamie love me? Ah, no, it's no good waiting. Let me get itover quickly while I have the courage. And it helps me to think I havesomething to do. It only means a few sneers and a little falsesympathy. "

"A great deal of real sympathy. "

"People are always rather glad when some unhappiness befalls theirfriends! Oh, I didn't mean that! I don't want to be bitter. Don't thinkbadly of me either. I shall be different to-morrow. "

"We can never think of you without the sincerest, fondest love. "

At that moment James, who did not know that Mary was there, came intothe room. He started when he saw her and turned red; but Mary, with awoman's self-possession, braced herself together. 

"Oh, Jamie, I've just been having a little chat with your people. "

"I'm sorry I interrupted you, " he answered, awkwardly. "I didn't knowyou were here. "

"You need not avoid me because we've broken off our engagement. At allevents, you have no reason to be afraid of me now. Good-bye! I'm justgoing home. "

She went out, and James looked uncertainly at his parents. His fatherdid not speak, staring at the ground, but Mrs. Parsons said:

"Mary has been asking us not to be angry with you, Jamie. She says it'snot your fault. "

"It's very kind of her. "

"Oh, how could you? How could you?"

XI

Not till luncheon was nearly finished did Mary brace herself for thefurther ordeal, and in a steady, unmoved voice tell Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn what had happened. The faded beauty merely smiled, and liftedher eyes to the chandelier with the expression that had melted thehearts of a thousand and one impressionable subalterns. 

"I knew it, " she murmured; "I knew it! You can't deceive a woman and amother. "

But the Colonel for a moment was speechless. His face grew red, and hisdyed eyebrows stood up in a fury of indignation. 

"Impossible!" he spluttered at last. 

"You'd better drink a little water, Reggie dear, " said his wife. "Youlook as if you were going to have a fit. "

"I won't have it, " he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table sothat the cheese-plates clattered and the biscuits danced a rapid jig. "I'll make him marry you. He forgets he has me to deal with! Idisapproved of the match from the beginning, didn't I, Clara? I said Iwould never allow my daughter to marry beneath her. "

"Papa!"

"Don't talk to me, Mary! Do you mean to deny that James Parsons isinfantry, or that his father was infantry before him? But he shall marryyou now. By George! he shall marry you if I have to lead him to thealtar by the scruff of his neck!"

Neglecting his cheese, the Colonel sprang to his feet and walked to andfro, vehemently giving his opinion of James, his father, and all hisancestors; of the regiments to which they had belonged, and all elsethat was theirs. He traced their origin from a pork butcher's shop, andprophesied their end, ignominiously, in hell. Every now and then heassured Mary that she need have no fear; the rascal should marry her, ordie a violent death. 

"But there's nothing more to be said now, papa. We've agreed quiteamicably to separate. All I want you to do is to treat him as if nothinghad happened. "

"I'll horsewhip him, " said Colonel Clibborn. "He's insulted you, andI'll make him beg your pardon on his bended knees. Clara, where's myhorsewhip?"

"Papa, do be reasonable!"

"I am reasonable, Mary, " roared the gallant soldier, becoming a richpurple. "I know my duty, thank God! and I'm going to do it. When a maninsults my daughter, it's my duty, as a gentleman and an officer, togive him a jolly good thrashing. When that twopenny sawbones of a doctorwas rude to you, I licked him within an inch of his life. I kicked himtill he begged for mercy; and if more men had the courage to take thelaw into their own hands, there'd be fewer damned blackguards in theworld. "

As a matter of fact, the Colonel had neither thrashed nor kicked thedoctor, but it pleased him to think he had. Moralists teach us that theintention is praiseworthy, rather than the brutal act; consequently, there could be no objection if the fearless cavalryman took credit forthings which he had thought of doing, but, from circumstances beyond hiscontrol, had not actually done. 

Mary felt no great alarm at her father's horrid threats, for she knewhim well, but still was doubtful about her mother. 

"You will treat James as you did before, won't you, mamma?"

Mrs. Clibborn smiled, a portly seraph. 

"My dear, I trust I am a gentlewoman. "

"He shall never darken my doors again!" cried the Colonel. "I tell you, Clara, keep him out of my way. If I meet him I won't be responsible formy actions; I shall knock him down. "

"Reggie dear, you'll have such dreadful indigestion if you don't calmdown. You know it always upsets you to get excited immediately aftermeals. "

"It's disgraceful! I suppose he forgets all those half-crowns I gave himwhen he was a boy, and the cigars, and the port wine he's had since. Iopened a special bottle for him only the night before last. I'll neversit down to dinner with him again--don't ask me to, Clara.... It's theconfounded impertinence of it which gets over me. But he shall marryyou, my dear; or I'll know the reason why. "

"You can't have him up for breach of promise, Reggie, " cooed Mrs. Clibborn. 

"A gentleman takes the law in his own hands in these matters. Ah, it's apity the good old days have gone when they settled such things with coldsteel!"

And the Colonel, to emphasise his words, flung himself into theappropriate attitude, throwing his left hand up behind his head, andlunging fiercely with the right. 

"Go and look for my _pince-nez_, my dear, " said Mrs. Clibborn, turningto Mary. "I think they're in my work-basket or in your father's study. "

Mary was glad to leave the room, about which the Colonel stamped in anever-increasing rage, pausing now and then to take a mouthful of breadand cheese. The request for the glasses was Mrs. Clibborn's usual way ofgetting rid of Mary, a typical subterfuge of a woman who never, exceptby chance, put anything straightforwardly.... When the door was closed, the buxom lady clasped her hands, and cried:

"Reginald! Reginald! I have a confession to make. "

"What's the matter with you?" said the Colonel, stopping short. 

"I am to blame for this, Reginald. " Mrs. Clibborn threw her head on oneside, and looked at the ceiling as the only substitute for heaven. "James Parsons has jilted Mary--on my account. "

"What the devil have you been doing now?"

"Oh, forgive me, Reginald!" she cried, sliding off the chair and fallingheavily on her knees. "It's not my fault: he loves me. "

"Fiddlesticks!" said her husband angrily, walking on again. 

"It isn't, Reginald. How unjust you are to me!"

The facile tears began to flow down Mrs. Clibborn's well-powderedcheeks. 

"I know he loves me. You can't deceive a woman and a mother. "

"You're double his age!"

"These boys always fall in love with women older than themselves; I'venoticed it so often. And he's almost told me in so many words, thoughI'm sure I've given him no encouragement. "

"Fiddlesticks, Clara!"

"You wouldn't believe me when I told you that poor Algy Turner loved me, and he killed himself. "

"Nothing of the kind; he died of cholera. "

"Reginald, " retorted Mrs. Clibborn, with asperity, "his death was mostmysterious. None of the doctors understood it. If he didn't poisonhimself, he died of a broken heart. And I think you're very unkind tome. "

With some difficulty, being a heavy woman, she lifted herself from thefloor; and by the time she was safely on her feet, Mrs. Clibborn wasblowing and puffing like a grampus. 

The Colonel, whose mind had wandered to other things, suddenly bethoughthimself that he had a duty to perform. 

"Where's my horsewhip, Clara? I command you to give it me. "

"Reginald, if you have the smallest remnant of affection for me, youwill not hurt this unfortunate young man. Remember that Algy Turnerkilled himself. You can't blame him for not wanting to marry poor Mary. My dear, she has absolutely no figure. And men are so susceptible tothose things. "

The Colonel stalked out of the room, and Mrs. Clibborn sat down tomeditate. 

"I thought my day for such things was past, " she murmured. "I knew itall along. The way he looked at me was enough--we women have such quickperceptions! Poor boy, how he must suffer!"

She promised herself that no harsh word of hers should drive James intothe early grave where lay the love-lorn Algy Turner. And she sighed, thinking what a curse it was to possess that fatal gift of beauty!

* * *

When Little Primpton heard the news, Little Primpton was agitated. Certainly it was distressed, and even virtuously indignant, but at thesame time completely unable to divest itself of that little flutter ofexcitement which was so rare, yet so enchanting, a variation from themonotony of its daily course. The well-informed walked with a lighterstep, and held their heads more jauntily, for life had suddenly acquireda novel interest. With something new to talk about, something fresh tothink over, with a legitimate object of sympathy and resentment, thetorpid blood raced through their veins as might that of statesmen duringsome crisis in national affairs. Let us thank God, who has made ourneighbours frail, and in His infinite mercy caused husband and wife toquarrel; Tom, Dick, and Harry to fall more or less discreditably inlove; this dear friend of ours to lose his money, and that herreputation. In all humility, let us be grateful for the scandal whichfalls at our feet like ripe fruit, for the Divorce Court and for thenewspapers that, with a witty semblance of horror, report for us thespicy details. If at certain intervals propriety obliges us to confessthat we are miserable sinners, has not the Lord sought to comfort us inthe recollection that we are not half so bad as most people?

Mr. Dryland went to the Vicarage to enter certificates in the parishbooks. The Vicar was in his study, and gave his curate the keys of theiron safe. 

"Sophie Bunch came last night to put up her banns, " he said. 

"She's going to marry out of the parish, isn't she?"

"Yes, a Tunbridge Wells man. "

The curate carefully blotted the entries he had made, and returned theheavy books to their place. 

"Will you come into the dining-room, Dryland?" said the Vicar, with acertain solemnity. "Mrs Jackson would like to speak to you. "

"Certainly. "

Mrs. Jackson was reading the _Church Times_. Her thin, sharp face worean expression of strong disapproval; her tightly-closed mouth, her sharpnose, even the angular lines of her body, signified clearly that hermoral sense was outraged. She put her hand quickly to her massive fringeto see that it was straight, and rose to shake hands with Mr. Dryland. His heavy red face assumed at once a grave look; his moral sense wasoutraged, too. 

"Isn't this dreadful news, Mr. Dryland?"

"Oh, very sad! Very sad!"

In both their voices, hidden below an intense sobriety, there wasdiscernible a slight ring of exultation. 

"The moment I saw him I felt he would give trouble, " said Mrs. Jackson, shaking her head. "I told you, Archibald, that I didn't like the look ofhim. "

"I'm bound to say you did, " admitted her lord and master. 

"Mary Clibborn is much too good for him, " added Mrs. Jackson, decisively. "She's a saint. "

"The fact is, that he's suffering from a swollen head, " remarked thecurate, who used slang as a proof of manliness. 

"There, Archibald!" cried the lady, triumphantly. "What did I tell you?"

"Mrs. Jackson thought he was conceited. "

"I don't think it; I'm sure of it. He's odiously conceited. All the timeI was talking to him I felt he considered himself superior to me. Nonice-minded man would have refused our offer to say a short prayer onhis behalf during morning service. "

"Those army men always have a very good opinion of themselves, " said Mr. Dryland, taking advantage of his seat opposite a looking-glass toarrange his hair. 

He spoke in such a round, full voice that his shortest words carried asort of polysyllabic weight. 

"I can't see what he has done to be so proud of, " said Mrs. Jackson. "Anyone would have done the same in his position. I'm sure it's no moreheroic than what clergymen do every day of their lives, without makingthe least fuss about it. "

"They say that true courage is always modest, " answered Mr. Dryland. 

The remark was not very apposite, but sounded damaging. 

"I didn't like the way he had when he came to tea here--as if he weredreadfully bored. I'm sure he's not so clever as all that. "

"No clever man would act in an ungentlemanly way, " said the curate, andthen smiled, for he thought he had unconsciously made an epigram. 

"I couldn't express in words what I feel with regard to his treatment ofMary!" cried Mrs. Jackson; and then proceeded to do so--and in many, toboot. 

They had all been a little oppressed by the greatness which, muchagainst his will, they had thrust upon the unfortunate James. They hadset him on a pedestal, and then were disconcerted because he toweredabove their heads, and the halo with which they had surrounded himdazzled their eyes. They had wished to make a lion of James, and hismodest resistance wounded their self-esteem; it was a relief to learnthat he was not worth making a lion of. Halo and pedestal were quicklydemolished, for the golden idol had feet of clay, and his late adorerswere ready to reproach him because he had not accepted with properhumility the gifts he did not want. Their little vanities were comfortedby the assurance that, far from being a hero, James was, in fact, distinctly inferior to themselves. For there is no superiority likemoral superiority. A man who stands akimbo on the top of the TenCommandments need bow the knee to no earthly potentate. 

Little Primpton was conscious of its virtue, and did not hesitate tocondemn. 

"He has lowered himself dreadfully. "

"Yes, it's very sad. It only shows how necessary it is to preserve ameek and contrite spirit in prosperity. Pride always goes before afall. "

The Jacksons and Mr. Dryland discussed the various accounts which hadreached them. Mary and Mrs. Parsons were determinedly silent, but Mrs. Clibborn was loquacious, and it needed little artifice to extract thewhole story from Colonel Parsons. 

"One thing is unfortunately certain, " said Mrs. Jackson, with a sort ofpious vindictiveness, "Captain Parsons has behaved abominably, and it'sour duty to do something. "

"Colonel Clibborn threatens to horsewhip him. "

"It would do him good, " cried Mrs. Jackson; "and I should like to bethere to see it!"

They paused a moment to gloat over the imaginary scene of Jamie'schastisement. 

"He's a wicked man. Fancy throwing the poor girl over when she's waitedfive years. I think he ought to be made to marry her. "

"I'm bound to say that no gentleman would have acted like that, " saidthe Vicar. 

"I wanted Archibald to go and speak seriously to Captain Parsons. Heought to know what we think of him, and it's obviously our duty to tellhim. "

"His parents are very much distressed. One can see that, although theysay so little. "

"It's not enough to be distressed. They ought to have the strength ofmind to insist upon his marrying Mary Clibborn. But they stick up foreverything he does. They think he's perfect. I'm sure it's notrespectful to God to worship a human being as they do their son. "

"They certainly have a very exaggerated opinion of him, " assented Mr. Dryland. 

"And I should like to know why. He's not good-looking. "

"Very ordinary, " agreed Mr. Dryland, with a rapid glance at theconvenient mirror. "I don't think his appearance is manly. "

Whatever the curate's defects of person--and he flattered himself thathe was modest enough to know his bad points--no one, he fancied, coulddeny him manliness. It is possible that he was not deceived. Put him ina bowler-hat and a bell-bottomed coat, and few could have distinguishedhim from a cab-driver. 

"I don't see anything particular in his eyes or hair, " pursued Mrs. Jackson. 

"His features are fairly regular. But that always strikes me as insipidin a man. "

"And he's not a good conversationalist. "

"I'm bound to confess I've never heard him say anything clever, "remarked the Vicar. 

"No, " smiled the curate; "one could hardly call him a brilliantepigrammatist. "

"I don't think he's well informed. "

"Oh, well, you know, one doesn't expect knowledge from army men, " saidthe curate, with a contemptuous smile and a shrug of the shoulders. "Imust say I was rather amused when he confessed he hadn't read MarieCorelli. "

"I can hardly believe that. I think it was only pose. "

"I'm sorry to say that my experience of young officers is that there areabsolutely no bounds to their ignorance. "

They had satisfactorily stripped James of every quality, mental andphysical, which could have made him attractive in Mary's eyes; and thecurate's next remark was quite natural. 

"I'm afraid it sounds a conceited thing to say, but I can't help askingmyself what Miss Clibborn saw in him. "

"Love is blind, " replied Mrs. Jackson. "She could have done much betterfor herself. "

They paused to consider the vagaries of the tender passion, and thematches which Mary might have made, had she been so inclined. 

"Archibald, " said Mrs. Jackson at last, with the decision characteristicof her, "I've made up my mind. As vicar of the parish, _you_ must go toCaptain Parsons. "

"I, my dear?"

"Yes, Archibald. You must insist upon him fulfilling his engagement withMary. Say that you are shocked and grieved; and ask him if his ownconscience does not tell him that he has done wrong. "

"I'm not sure that he'd listen to reason, " nervously remarked the Vicar. 

"It's your duty to try, Archibald. We're so afraid of being calledbusybodies that even when we ought to step in we hesitate. No motives ofdelicacy should stop one when a wicked action is to be prevented. It'soften the clergy's duty to interfere with other people's affairs. For mypart, I will never shrink from doing my duty. People may call me abusybody if they like; hard words break no bones. "

"Captain Parsons is very reserved. He might think it an impertinence ifI went to him. "

"How could he? Isn't it our business if he breaks his word with aparishioner of ours? If you don't talk to him, I shall. So there, Archibald!"

"Why don't you, Mrs. Jackson?"

"Nothing would please me better, I should thoroughly enjoy giving him apiece of my mind. It would do him good to be told frankly that he's notquite so great as he thinks himself. I will never shrink from doing myduty. "

"My dear, " remonstrated the Vicar, "if you really think I ought tospeak--"

"Perhaps Mrs. Jackson would do better. A women can say many things thata man can't. "

This was a grateful suggestion to the Vicar, who could not rid himselfof the discomforting thought that James, incensed and hot-tempered, might use the strength of his arms--or legs--in lieu of argument. Mr. Jackson would have affronted horrid tortures for his faith, but shranktimidly before the least suspicion of ridicule. His wife was braver, orless imaginative. 

"Very well, I'll go, " she said. "It's true he might be rude toArchibald, and he couldn't be rude to a lady. And what's more, I shallgo at once. "

Mrs. Jackson kept her hat on a peg in the hall, and was quickly ready. She put on her black kid gloves; determination sat upon her mouth, andChristian virtue rested between her brows. Setting out with a briskstep, the conviction was obvious in every movement that duty called, andto that clarion note Maria Jackson would never turn a deaf ear. She wentlike a Hebrew prophet, conscious that the voice of the Lord was in her. 

XII

James was wandering in the garden of Primpton House while Mrs. Jacksonthither went her way. Since the termination of his engagement with Marythree days back, the subject had not been broached between him and hisparents; but he divined their thoughts. He knew that they awaited thearrival of his uncle, Major Forsyth, to set the matter right. They didnot seek to reconcile themselves with the idea that the break was final;it seemed too monstrous a thing to be true. James smiled, with bitteramusement, at their simple trust in the man of the world who was duethat day. 

Major Forsyth was fifty-three, a haunter of military clubs, a busysluggard, who set his pride in appearing dissipated, and yet led theblameless life of a clergyman's daughter; preserving a spotless virtue, nothing pleased him more than to be thought a rake. He had been onhalf-pay for many years, and blamed the War Office on that accountrather than his own incompetence. Ever since retiring he had told peoplethat advancement, in these degenerate days, was impossible withoutinfluence: he was, indeed, one of those men to whom powerful friendsoffer the only chance of success; and possessing none, inveighedconstantly against the corrupt officialism of those in authority. But tohis Jeremiads upon the decay of the public services he added a keeninterest in the world of fashion; it is always well that a man shouldhave varied activities; it widens his horizon, and gives him a greaterusefulness. If his attention had been limited to red-tape, MajorForsyth, even in his own circle, might have been thought a littleone-sided; but his knowledge of etiquette and tailors effectuallyprevented the reproach. He was pleased to consider himself in society;he read assiduously those papers which give detailed accounts of thegoings-on in the "hupper succles, " and could give you with considerableaccuracy the whereabouts of titled people. If he had a weakness, it wasby his manner of speaking to insinuate that he knew certain noblepersons whom, as a matter of fact, he had never set eyes on; he wouldnot have told a direct lie on the subject, but his conscience permittedhim a slight equivocation. Major Forsyth was well up in all the gossipof the clubs, and if he could not call himself a man of the world, hehad not the least notion who could. But for all that, he had thestrictest principles; he was true brother to Mrs. Parsons, and though heconcealed the fact like something disreputable, regularly went to churchon Sunday mornings. There was also a certain straitness in his incomewhich confined him to the paths shared by the needy and the pure atheart. 

Major Forsyth had found no difficulty in imposing upon his sister andher husband. 

"Of course, William is rather rackety, " they said. "It's a pity hehasn't a wife to steady him; but he has a good heart. "

For them Major Forsyth had the double advantage of a wiliness gained inthe turmoil of the world and an upright character. They scarcely knewhow in the present juncture he could help, but had no doubt that fromthe boundless store of his worldly wisdom he would invent a solution totheir difficulty. 

James had found his uncle out when he was quite a boy, and seeing hisabsurdity, had treated him ever since with good-natured ridicule. 

"I wonder what they think he can say?" he asked himself. 

James was profoundly grieved at the unhappiness which bowed his fatherdown. His parents had looked forward with such ecstatic pleasure to hisarrival, and what sorrow had he not brought them!

"I wish I'd never come back, " he muttered. 

He thought of the flowing, undulating plains of the Orange Country, andthe blue sky, with its sense of infinite freedom. In that trim Kentishlandscape he felt hemmed in; when the clouds were low it seemed scarcelypossible to breathe; and he suffered from the constraint of his fatherand mother, who treated him formally, as though he had become astranger. There was always between them and him that painful topic whichfor the time was carefully shunned. They did not mention Mary's name, and the care they took to avoid it was more painful than would have beenan open reference. They sat silent and sad, trying to appear natural, and dismally failing; their embarrassed manner was such as they mighthave adopted had he committed some crime, the mention of which for hissake must never be made, but whose recollection perpetually hauntedthem. In every action was the belief that James must be suffering fromremorse, and that it was their duty not to make his burden heavier. James knew that his father was convinced that he had acteddishonourably, and he--what did he himself think?

James asked himself a hundred times a day whether he had acted well orill; and though he forced himself to answer that he had done the onlypossible thing, deep down in his heart was a terrible, a perfectlymaddening uncertainty. He tried to crush it, and would not listen, forhis intelligence told him clearly it was absurd; but it was strongerthan intelligence, an incorporeal shape through which passed harmlesslythe sword-cuts of his reason. It was a little devil curled up in hisheart, muttering to all his arguments, "Are you sure?"

Sometimes he was nearly distracted, and then the demon laughed, so thatthe mocking shrillness rang in his ears:

"Are you sure, my friend--are you sure? And where, pray, is the honourwhich only a while ago you thought so much of?"

* * *

James walked to and fro restlessly, impatient, angry with himself andwith all the world. 

But then on the breath of the wind, on the perfume of the roses, yellowand red, came suddenly the irresistible recollection of Mrs. Wallace. Why should he not think of her now? He was free; he could do her noharm; he would never see her again. The thought of her was the onlysunshine in his life; he was tired of denying himself every pleasure. Why should he continue the pretence that he no longer loved her? It was, indeed, a consolation to think that the long absence had not dulled hispassion; the strength of it was its justification. It was useless tofight against it, for it was part of his very soul; he might as wellhave fought against the beating of his heart. And if it was torture toremember those old days in India, he delighted in it; it was a pain moreexquisite than the suffocating odours of tropical flowers, a voluptuousagony such as might feel the fakir lacerating his flesh in a divinepossession.... Every little occurrence was clear, as if it had takenplace but a day before. 

James repeated to himself the conversations they had had, of noconsequence, the idle gossip of a stray half-hour; but each word wasopulent in the charming smile, in the caressing glance of her eyes. Hewas able to imagine Mrs. Wallace quite close to him, wearing the thingsthat he had seen her wear, and with her movements he noticed theexcessive scent she used. He wondered whether she had overcome thatfailing, whether she still affected the artificiality which was soadorable a relief from the primness of manner which he had thought thenatural way of women. 

If her cheeks were not altogether innocent of rouge or her eyebrows ofpencil, what did he care; he delighted in her very faults; he would nothave her different in the very slightest detail; everything was part ofthat complex, elusive fascination. And James thought of the skin whichhad the even softness of fine velvet, and the little hands. He calledhimself a fool for his shyness. What could have been the harm if he hadtaken those hands and kissed them? Now, in imagination, he pressed hislips passionately on the warm palms. He liked the barbaric touch in themany rings which bedecked her fingers. 

"Why do you wear so many rings?" he asked. "Your hands are too fine. "

He would never have ventured the question, but now there was no danger. Her answer came with a little, good-humoured laugh; she stretched outher fingers, looking complacently at the brilliant gems. 

"I like to be gaudy. I should like to be encrusted with jewels. I wantto wear bracelets to my elbow and diamond spangles on my arms; andjewelled belts, and jewels in my hair, and on my neck. I should like toflash from head to foot with exotic stones. "

Then she looked at him with amusement. 

"Of course, you think it's vulgar. What do I care? You all of you thinkit's vulgar to be different from other people. I want to be unique. "

"You want everybody to look at you?"

"Of course I do! Is it sinful? Oh, I get so impatient with all of you, with your good taste and your delicacy, and your insupportable dulness. When you admire a woman, you think it impertinent to tell her she'sbeautiful; when you have good looks, you carry yourselves as though youwere ashamed. "

And in a bold moment he replied:

"Yet you would give your soul to have no drop of foreign blood in yourveins!"

"I?" she cried, her eyes flashing with scorn. "I'm proud of my Easternblood. It's not blood I have in my veins, it's fire--a fire of gold. It's because of it that I have no prejudices, and know how to enjoy mylife. "

James smiled, and did not answer. 

"You don't believe me?" she asked. 

"No!"

"Well, perhaps I should like to be quite English. I should feel morecomfortable in my scorn of these regimental ladies if I thought theycould find no reason to look down on me. "

"I don't think they look down on you. "

"Oh, don't they? They despise and loathe me. "

"When you were ill, they did all they could for you. "

"Foolish creature! Don't you know that to do good to your enemy is thevery best way of showing your contempt. "

And so James could go on, questioning, replying, putting little jestsinto her mouth, or half-cynical repartees. Sometimes he spoke aloud, and then Mrs. Wallace's voice sounded in his ears, clear and rich andpassionate, as though she were really standing in the flesh beside him. But always he finished by taking her in his arms and kissing her lipsand her closed eyes, the lids transparent like the finest alabaster. Heknew no pleasure greater than to place his hands on that lustrous hair. What could it matter now? He was not bound to Mary; he could do no harmto Mrs. Wallace, ten thousand miles away. 

* * *

But Colonel Parsons broke into the charming dream. Bent and weary, hecame across the lawn to find his son. The wan, pathetic figure broughtback to James all the present bitterness. He sighed, and advanced tomeet him. 

"You're very reckless to come out without a hat, father. I'll fetch youone, shall I?"

"No, I'm not going to stay. " The Colonel could summon up no answeringsmile to his boy's kind words. "I only came to tell you that Mrs. Jackson is in the drawing-room, and would like to see you. "

"What does she want?"

"She'll explain herself. She has asked to see you alone. "

Jamie's face darkened, as some notion of Mrs. Jackson's object dawnedupon him. 

"I don't know what she can have to talk to me about alone. "

"Please listen to her, Jamie. She's a very clever woman, and you can'tfail to benefit by her advice. "

The Colonel never had an unfriendly word to say of anyone, and even forMrs. Jackson's unwarrantable interferences could always find agood-natured justification. He was one of those deprecatory men who, inevery difference of opinion, are convinced that they are certainly inthe wrong. He would have borne with the most cheerful submission anyrebuke of his own conduct, and been, indeed, vastly grateful to theVicar's wife for pointing out his error. 

James found Mrs. Jackson sitting bolt upright on a straight-backedchair, convinced, such was her admirable sense of propriety, that alounging attitude was incompatible with the performance of a duty. Sheheld her hands on her lap, gently clasped; and her tight lips expressedas plainly as possible her conviction that though the way ofrighteousness was hard, she, thank God! had strength to walk it. 

"How d'you do, Mrs. Jackson?"

"Good morning, " she replied, with a stiff bow. 

James, though there was no fire, went over to the mantelpiece and leantagainst it, waiting for the lady to speak. 

"Captain Parsons, I have a very painful duty to perform. "

Those were her words, but it must have been a dense person who failed toperceive that Mrs. Jackson found her duty anything but painful. Therewas just that hard resonance in her voice that an inquisitor might havein condemning to the stake a Jew to whom he owed much money. 

"I suppose you will call me a busybody?"

"Oh, I'm sure you would never interfere with what does not concern you, "replied James, slowly. 

"Certainly not!" said Mrs. Jackson. "I come here because my consciencetells me to. What I wish to talk to you about concerns us all. "

"Shall I call my people? I'm sure they'd be interested. "

"I asked to see you alone, Captain Parsons, " answered Mrs. Jackson, frigidly. "And it was for your sake. When one has to tell a personhome-truths, he generally prefers that there should be no audience. "

"So you're going to tell me some home-truths, Mrs. Jackson?" said James, with a laugh. "You must think me very good-natured. How long have I hadthe pleasure of your acquaintance?"

Mrs. Jackson's grimness did not relax. 

"One learns a good deal about people in a week. "

"D'you think so? I have an idea that ten years is a short time to get toknow them. You must be very quick. "

"Actions often speak. "

"Actions are the most lying things in the world. They are due mostly toadventitious circumstances which have nothing to do with the characterof the agent. I would never judge a man by his actions. "

"I didn't come here to discuss abstract things with you, CaptainParsons. "

"Why not? The abstract is so much more entertaining than the concrete. It affords opportunities for generalisation, which is the salt ofconversation. "

"I'm a very busy woman, " retorted Mrs. Jackson sharply, thinking thatJames was not treating her with proper seriousness. He was not so easyto tackle as she had imagined. 

"It's very good of you, then, to spare time to come and have a littlechat with me, " said James. 

"I did not come for that purpose, Captain Parsons. "

"Oh, I forgot--home-truths, wasn't it? I was thinking of Shakespeare andthe musical glasses!"

"Would you kindly remember that I am a clergyman's wife, CaptainParsons? I daresay you are not used to the society of such. "

"Pardon me, I even know an archdeacon quite well. He has a great gift ofhumour; a man wants it when he wears a silk apron. "

"Captain Parsons, " said Mrs. Jackson, sternly, "there are some thingsover which it is unbecoming to jest. I wish to be as gentle as possiblewith you, but I may remind you that flippancy is not the best course foryou to pursue. "

James looked at her with a good-tempered stare. 

"Upon my word, " he said to himself, "I never knew I was so patient. "

"I can't beat about the bush any longer, " continued the Vicar's lady; "Ihave a very painful duty to perform. "

"That quite excuses your hesitation. "

"You must guess why I have asked to see you alone. "

"I haven't the least idea. "

"Does your conscience say nothing to you?"

"My conscience is very well-bred. It never says unpleasant things. "

"Then I'm sincerely sorry for you. "

James smiled. 

"Oh, my good woman, " he thought, "if you only knew what a troublesomespirit I carry about with me!"

But Mrs. Jackson saw only hardness of heart in the grave face; she neverdreamed that behind those quiet eyes was a turmoil of discordantpassions, tearing, rending, burning. 

"I'm sorry for you, " she repeated. "I think it's very sad, very sadindeed, that you should stand there and boast of the sluggishness ofyour conscience. Conscience is the voice of God, Captain Parsons; if itdoes not speak to you, it behoves others to speak in its place. "

"And supposing I knew what you wanted to say, do you think I should liketo hear?"

"I'm afraid not. "

"Then don't you think discretion points to silence?"

"No, Captain Parsons. There are some things which one is morally boundto say, however distasteful they may be. "

"The easiest way to get through life is to say pleasant things on allpossible occasions. "

"That is not my way, and that is not the right way. "

"I think it rash to conclude that a course is right merely because it isdifficult. Likewise an uncivil speech is not necessarily a true one. "

"I repeat that I did not come here to bandy words with you. "

"My dear Mrs. Jackson, I have been wondering why you did not come to thepoint at once. "

"You have been wilfully interrupting me. "

"I'm so sorry. I thought I had been making a series of ratherentertaining observations. "

"Captain Parsons, what does your conscience say to you about MaryClibborn?"

James looked at Mrs. Jackson very coolly, and she never imagined withwhat difficulty he was repressing himself. 

"I thought you said your subject was of national concern. Upon my word, I thought you proposed to hold a thanksgiving service in Little PrimptonChurch for the success of the British arms. "

"Well, you know different now, " retorted Mrs. Jackson, with distinctasperity. "I look upon your treatment of Mary Clibborn as a matter whichconcerns us all. "

"Then, as politely as possible, I must beg to differ from you. I reallycannot permit you to discuss my private concerns. You have, doubtless, much evil to say of me; say it behind my back. "

"I presumed that you were a gentleman, Captain Parsons. "

"You certainly presumed. "

"And I should be obliged if you would treat me like a lady. "

James smiled. He saw that it was folly to grow angry. 

"We'll do our best to be civil to one another, Mrs. Jackson. But I don'tthink you must talk of what really is not your business. "

"D'you think you can act shamefully and then slink away as soon as youare brought to book? Do you know what you've done to Mary Clibborn?"

"Whatever I've done, you may be sure that I have not acted rashly. Really, nothing you can say will make the slightest difference. Don'tyou think we had better bring our conversation to an end?"

James made a movement towards the door. 

"Your father and mother wish me to speak with you, Colonel Parsons, "said Mrs. Jackson. "And they wish you to listen to what I have to say. "

James paused. "Very well. "

He sat down and waited. Mrs. Jackson felt unaccountably nervous; it hadnever occurred to her that a mere soldier could be so hard to deal with, and it was she who hesitated now. Jamie's stern eyes made her feelsingularly like a culprit; but she cleared her throat and straightenedherself. 

"It's very sad, " she said, "to find how much we've been mistaken in you, Captain Parsons. When we were making all sorts of preparations towelcome you, we never thought that you would repay us like this. Itgrieves me to have to tell you that you have done a very wicked thing. Iwas hoping that your conscience would have something to say to you, butunhappily I was mistaken. You induced Mary to become engaged to you; youkept her waiting for years; you wrote constantly, pretending to loveher, deceiving her odiously; you let her waste the best part of herlife, and then, without excuse and without reason, you calmly say thatyou're sick of her, and won't marry her. I think it is horrible, andbrutal, and most ungentlemanly. Even a common man wouldn't have behavedin that way. Of course, it doesn't matter to you, but it means the ruinof Mary's whole life. How can she get a husband now when she's wastedher best years? You've spoilt all her chances. You've thrown a slur uponher which people will never forget. You're a cruel, wicked man, andhowever you won the Victoria Cross I don't know; I'm sure you don'tdeserve it. "

Mrs. Jackson stopped. 

"Is that all?" asked James, quietly. 

"It's quite enough. "

"Quite! In that case, I think we may finish our little interview. "

"Have you nothing to say?" asked Mrs. Jackson indignantly, realisingthat she had not triumphed after all. 

"I? Nothing. "

Mrs. Jackson was perplexed, and still those disconcerting eyes werefixed upon her; she angrily resented their polite contempt. 

"Well, I think it's disgraceful!" she cried. "You must be utterlyshameless!"

"My dear lady, you asked me to listen to you, and I have. If you thoughtI was going to argue, I'm afraid you were mistaken. But since you havebeen very frank with me, you can hardly mind if I am equally frank withyou. I absolutely object to the way in which not only you, but all thepersons who took part in that ridiculous function the other day, talk ofmy private concerns. I am a perfect stranger to you, and you have nobusiness to speak to me of my engagement with Miss Clibborn or therupture of it. Finally, I would remark that I consider your particularinterference a very gross piece of impertinence. I am sorry to have tospeak so directly, but apparently nothing but the very plainest languagecan have any effect upon you. "

Then Mrs. Jackson lost her temper. 

"Captain Parsons, I am considerably older than you, and you have noright to speak to me like that. You forget that I am a lady; and if Ididn't know your father and mother, I should say that you were nogentleman. And you forget also that I come here on the part of God. Youare certainly no Christian. You've been very rude to me, indeed. "

"I didn't mean to be, " replied James, smiling. 

"If I'd known you would be so rude to a lady, I should have sentArchibald to speak with you. "

"Perhaps it's fortunate you didn't. I might have kicked him. "

"Captain Parsons, he's a minister of the gospel. "

"Surely it is possible to be that without being a malicious busybody. "

"You're heartless and vain! You're odiously conceited. "

"I should have thought it a proof of modesty that for half an hour Ihave listened to you with some respect and with great attention. "

"I must say in my heart I'm glad that Providence has stepped in andprevented Mary from marrying you. You are a bad man. And I leave you nowto the mercies of your own conscience; I am a Christian woman, thankHeaven! and I forgive you. But I sincerely hope that God will see fit topunish you for your wickedness. "

Mrs. Jackson bounced to the door, which James very politely opened. 

"Oh, don't trouble!" she said, with a sarcastic shake of the head. "Ican find my way out alone, and I shan't steal the umbrellas. "

XIII

Major Forsyth arrived in time for tea, red-faced, dapper, andimmaculate. He wore a check suit, very new and very pronounced, with abeautiful line down each trouser-leg; and his collar and his tie were ofthe latest mode. His scanty hair was carefully parted in the middle, andhis moustache bristled with a martial ardour. He had lately bought afine set of artificial teeth, which, with pardonable pride, heconstantly exhibited to the admiration of all and sundry. MajorForsyth's consuming desire was to appear juvenile; he affected slang, and carried himself with a youthful jauntiness. He vowed he felt a mereboy, and flattered himself that on his good days, with the light behindhim, he might pass for five-and-thirty. 

"A woman, " he repeated--"a woman is as old as she looks; but a man is asold as he feels!"

The dandiness which in a crammer's pup--most overdressed of all thehuman race--would merely have aroused a smile, looked oddly with theMajor's wrinkled skin and his old eyes. There was something almostuncanny in the exaggerated boyishness; he reminded one of some figurein a dance of death, of a living skeleton, hollow-eyed, strutting gailyby the side of a gallant youth. 

It was not difficult to impose upon the Parsons, and Major Forsyth hadgained over them a complete ascendancy. They took his opinion on everypossible matter, accepting whatever he said with gratified respect. Hewas a man of the world, and well acquainted with the goings-on ofsociety. They had an idea that he disappointed duchesses to come down toLittle Primpton, and always felt that it was a condescension on his partto put up with their simple manners. They altered their hours; luncheonwas served at the middle of the day, and dinner in the evening. 

Mrs. Parsons put on a Sabbath garment of black silk to receive herbrother, and round her neck a lace fichu. When he arrived with ColonelParsons from the station, she went into the hall to meet him. 

"Well, William, have you had a pleasant journey?"

"Oh, yes, yes! I came down with the prettiest woman I've seen for many along day. I made eyes at her all the way, but she wouldn't look at me. "

"William, William!" expostulated Mr. Parsons, smiling. 

"You see he hasn't improved since we saw him last, Frances, " laughed theColonel, leading the way into the drawing-room. 

"No harm in looking at a pretty woman, you know. I'm a bachelor still, thank the Lord! That reminds me of a funny story I heard at the club. "

"Oh, we're rather frightened of your stories, William, " said Mrs. Parsons. 

"Yes, you're very risky sometimes, " assented the Colonel, good-humouredly shaking his head. 

Major Forsyth was anecdotal, as is only decent in an old bachelor, andhe made a speciality of stories which he thought wicked, but which, as amatter of fact, would not have brought a blush to any cheek lessinnocent than that of Colonel Parsons. 

"There's no harm in a little spice, " said Uncle William. "And you're amarried woman, Frances. "

He told an absolutely pointless story of how a man had helped a youngwoman across the street, and seen her ankle in the process. He told itwith immense gusto, laughing and repeating the point at least six times. 

"William, William!" laughed Colonel Parsons, heartily. "You should keepthose things for the smoking-room. "

"What d'you think of it, Frances?" asked the gallant Major, still hugelyenjoying the joke. 

Mrs. Parsons blushed a little, and for decency's sake prevented herselffrom smiling; she felt rather wicked. 

"I don't want to hear any more of your tales, William. "

"Ha, ha!" laughed Uncle William, "I knew you'd like it. And that one Itold you in the fly, Richmond--you know, about the petticoat. "

"Sh-sh!" said the Colonel, smiling. "You can't tell that to a lady. "

"P'r'aps I'd better not. But it's a good story, though. "

They both laughed. 

"I think it's dreadful the things you men talk about as soon as you'realone, " said Mrs. Parsons. 

The two God-fearing old soldiers laughed again, admitting theirwickedness. 

"One must talk about something, " said Uncle William. "And upon my word, I don't know anything better to talk about than the fair sex. "

Soon James appeared, and shook hands with his uncle. 

"You're looking younger than ever, Uncle William. You make me feel quiteold. "

"Oh, I never age, bless you! Why, I was talking to my old friend, LadyGreen, the other day--she was a Miss Lake, you know--and she said tome: 'Upon my word, Major Forsyth, you're wonderful. I believe you'vefound the secret of perpetual youth. ' 'The fact is, ' I said, 'I neverlet myself grow old. If you once give way to it, you're done. ' 'How doyou manage it?' she said. 'Madam, ' I answered, 'it's the simplest thingin the world. I keep regular hours, and I wear flannel next to myskin. '"

"Come, come, Uncle William, " said James, with a smile. "You didn'tmention your underlinen to a lady!"

"Upon my word, I'm telling you exactly what I said. "

"You're very free in your conversation. "

"Well, you know, I find the women expect it from me. Of course, I nevergo beyond the line. "

Then Major Forsyth talked of the fashions, and of his clothes, of thescandal of the day, and the ancestry of the persons concerned, of thewar. 

"You can say what you like, " he remarked, "but my opinion is thatRoberts is vastly overrated. I met at the club the other day a man whosefirst cousin has served under Roberts in India--his first cousin, mindyou, so it's good authority--and this chap told me, in strictconfidence, of course, that his first cousin had no opinion of Roberts. That's what a man says who has actually served under him. "

"It is certainly conclusive, " said James. "I wonder your friend's firstcousin didn't go to the War Office and protest against Bobs being sentout. "

"What's the good of going to the War Office? They're all corrupt andincompetent there. If I had my way, I'd make a clean sweep of them. Talking of red-tape, I'll just give you an instance. Now, this is afact. It was told me by the brother-in-law of the uncle of the man ithappened to. "

Major Forsyth told his story at great length, finishing up with theassertion that if the army wasn't going to the dogs, he didn't know whatgoing to the dogs meant. 

James, meanwhile, catching the glances which passed between his motherand Colonel Parsons, understood that they were thinking of the greatsubject upon which Uncle William was to be consulted. Half scornfully hegave them their opportunity. 

"I'm going for a stroll, " he said, "through Groombridge. I shan't beback till dinner-time. "

"How lucky!" remarked Colonel Parsons naively, when James had gone. "Wewanted to talk with you privately, William. You're a man of the world. "

"I think there's not much that I don't know, " replied the Major, shooting his linen. 

"Tell him, Frances. "

Mrs. Parsons, accustomed to the part of spokeswoman, gave her tale, interrupted now and again by a long whistle with which the Majorsignified his shrewdness, or by an energetic nod which meant that thedifficulty was nothing to him. 

"You're quite right, " he said at last; "one has to look upon thesethings from the point of view of the man of the world. "

"We knew you'd be able to help us, " said Colonel Parsons. 

"Of course! I shall settle the whole thing in five minutes. You leave itto me. "

"I told you he would, Frances, " cried the Colonel, with a happy smile. "You think that James ought to marry the girl, don't you?"

"Certainly. Whatever his feelings are, he must act as a gentleman and anofficer. Just you let me talk it over with him. He has great respect forall I say; I've noticed that already. "

Mrs. Parsons looked at her brother doubtfully. 

"We haven't known what to do, " she murmured. "We've prayed for guidance, haven't we, Richmond? We're anxious not to be hard on the boy, but wemust be just. "

"Leave it to me, " repeated Uncle William. "I'm a man of the world, andI'm thoroughly at home in matters of this sort. "

* * *

According to the little plan which, in his subtlety, Major Forsyth hadsuggested, Mrs. Parsons, soon after dinner, fetched the backgammonboard. 

"Shall we have our usual game, Richmond?"

Colonel Parsons looked significantly at his brother-in-law. 

"If William doesn't mind?"

"No, no, of course not! I'll have a little chat with Jamie. "

The players sat down at the corner of the table, and rather nervouslybegan to set out the men. James stood by the window, silent as ever, looking at the day that was a-dying, with a milk-blue sky and tenuousclouds, copper and gold. Major Forsyth took a chair opposite him, andpulled his moustache. 

"Well, Jamie, my boy, what is all this nonsense I hear about you andMary Clibborn?"

Colonel Parsons started at the expected question, and stole a hurriedlook at his son. His wife noisily shook the dice-box and threw the diceon the board. 

"Nine!" she said. 

James turned to look at his uncle, noting a little contemptuously thechange of his costume, and its extravagant juvenility. 

"A lot of stuff and nonsense, isn't it?"

"D'you think so?" asked James, wearily. "We've been taking it veryseriously. "

"You're a set of old fogies down here. You want a man of the world toset things right. "

"Ah, well, you're a man of the world, Uncle William, " replied James, smiling. 

The dice-box rattled obtrusively as Colonel Parsons and his wife playedon with elaborate unconcern of the conversation. 

"A gentleman doesn't jilt a girl when he's been engaged to her for fiveyears. "

James squared himself to answer Major Forsyth. The interview with Mrs. Jackson in the morning had left him extremely irritated. He was resolvedto say now all he had to say and have done with it, hoping that acomplete explanation would relieve the tension between his people andhimself. 

"It is with the greatest sorrow that I broke off my engagement with MaryClibborn. It seemed to me the only honest thing to do since I no longerloved her. I can imagine nothing in the world so horrible as a lovelessmarriage. "

"Of course, it's unfortunate; but the first thing is to keep one'sword. "

"No, " answered James, "that is prejudice. There are many more importantthings. "

Colonel Parsons stopped the pretence of his game. 

"Do you know that Mary is breaking her heart?" he asked in a low voice. 

"I'm afraid she's suffering very much. I don't see how I can help it. "

"Leave this to me, Richmond, " interrupted the Major, impatiently. "You'll make a mess of it. "

But Colonel Parsons took no notice. 

"She looked forward with all her heart to marrying you. She's veryunhappy at home, and her only consolation was the hope that you wouldsoon take her away. "

"Am I managing this or are you, Richmond? I'm a man of the world. "

"If I married a woman I did not care for because she was rich, you wouldsay I had dishonoured myself. The discredit would not be in her wealth, but in my lack of love. "

"That's not the same thing, " replied Major Forsyth. "You gave your word, and now you take it back. "

"I promised to do a thing over which I had no control. When I was a boy, before I had seen anything of the world, before I had ever known a womanbesides my mother, I promised to love Mary Clibborn all my life. Oh, itwas cruel to let me be engaged to her! You blame me; don't you thinkall of you are a little to blame as well?"

"What could we have done?"

"Why didn't you tell me not to be hasty? Why didn't you say that I wastoo young to become engaged?"

"We thought it would steady you. "

"But a young man doesn't want to be steadied. Let him see life and tasteall it has to offer. It is wicked to put fetters on his wrists beforeever he has seen anything worth taking. What is the virtue that existsonly because temptation is impossible!"

"I can't understand you, Jamie, " said Mrs. Parsons, sadly. "You talk sodifferently from when you were a boy. "

"Did you expect me to remain all my life an ignorant child. You've nevergiven me any freedom. You've hemmed me in with every imaginable barrier. You've put me on a leading-string, and thanked God that I did notstray. "

"We tried to bring you up like a good man, and a true Christian. "

"If I'm not a hopeless prig, it's only by miracle. "

"James, that's not the way to talk to your mother, " said Major Forsyth. 

"Oh, mother, I'm sorry; I don't want to be unkind to you. But we musttalk things out freely; we've lived in a hot-house too long. "

"I don't know what you mean. You became engaged to Mary of your own freewill; we did nothing to hinder it, nothing to bring it about. But Iconfess we were heartily thankful, thinking that no influence could bebetter for you than the love of a pure, sweet English girl. "

"It would have been kinder and wiser if you had forbidden it. "

"We could not have taken the responsibility of crossing youraffections. "

"Mrs. Clibborn did. "

"Could you expect us to be guided by her?"

"She was the only one who showed the least common sense. "

"How you have changed, Jamie!"

"I would have obeyed you if you had told me I was too young to becomeengaged. After all, you are more responsible than I am. I was a child. It was cruel to let me bind myself. "

"I never thought you would speak to us like that. "

"All that's ancient history, " said Major Forsyth, with what he flatteredhimself was a very good assumption of jocularity. It was his idea totreat the matter lightly, as a man of the world naturally would. But hisinterruption was unnoticed. 

"We acted for the best. You know that we have always had your interestsat heart. "

James did not speak, for his only answer would have been bitter. Throughout, they had been unwilling to let him live his own life, butdesirous rather that he should live theirs. They loved him tyrannically, on the condition that he should conform to all their prejudices. Thoughfull of affectionate kindness, they wished him always to dance to theirpiping--a marionette of which they pulled the strings. 

"What would you have me do?"

"Keep your word, James, " answered his father. 

"I can't, I can't! I don't understand how you can wish me to marry MaryClibborn when I don't love her. _That_ seems to me dishonourable. "

"It would be nothing worse than a _mariage de convenance_, " said UncleWilliam. "Many people marry in that sort of way, and are perfectlyhappy. "

"I couldn't, " said James. "That seems to me nothing better thanprostitution. It is no worse for a street-walker to sell her body to anythat care to buy. "

"James, remember your mother is present. "

"For God's sake, let us speak plainly. You must know what life is. Onecan do no good by shutting one's eyes to everything that doesn't squarewith a shoddy, false ideal. On one side I must break my word, on theother I must prostitute myself. There is no middle way. You live heresurrounded by all sorts of impossible ways of looking at life. How canyour outlook be sane when it is founded on a sham morality? You thinkthe body is indecent and ugly, and that the flesh is shameful. Oh, youdon't understand. I'm sick of this prudery which throws its ownhideousness over all it sees. The soul and the body are one, indissoluble. Soul is body, and body is soul. Love is the God-likeinstinct of procreation. You think sexual attraction is something to beignored, and in its place you put a bloodless sentimentality--the vulgarrhetoric of a penny novelette. If I marry a woman, it is that she may bethe mother of children. Passion is the only reason for marriage; unlessit exists, marriage is ugly and beastly. It's worse than beastly; thebeasts of the field are clean. Don't you understand why I can't marryMary Clibborn?"

"What you call love, James, " said Colonel Parsons, "is what I calllust. "

"I well believe it, " replied James, bitterly. 

"Love is something higher and purer. "

"I know nothing purer than the body, nothing higher than the divineinstincts of nature. "

"But that sort of love doesn't last, my dear, " said Mrs. Parsons, gently. "In a very little while it is exhausted, and then you look forsomething different in your wife. You look for friendship andcompanionship, confidence, consolation in your sorrows, sympathy withyour success. Beside all that, the sexual love sinks into nothing. "

"It may be. The passion arises for the purposes of nature, and dies awaywhen those purposes are fulfilled. It seems to me that the recollectionof it must be the surest and tenderest tie between husband and wife; andthere remains for them, then, the fruit of their love, the children whomit is their blessed duty to rear till they are of fit age to go into theworld and continue the endless cycle. "

There was a pause, while Major Forsyth racked his brain for someapposite remark; but the conversation had run out of his depth. 

Colonel Parsons at last got up and put his hands on Jamie's shoulders. 

"And can't you bring yourself to marry that poor girl, when you think ofthe terrible unhappiness she suffers?"

James shook his head. 

"You were willing to sacrifice your life for a mere stranger, and cannotyou sacrifice yourself for Mary, who has loved you long and tenderly, and unselfishly?"

"I would willingly risk my life if she were in danger. But you askmore. "

Colonel Parsons was silent for a little, looking into his son's eyes. Then he spoke with trembling voice. 

"I think you love me, James. I've always tried to be a good father toyou; and God knows I've done all I could to make you happy. If I didwrong in letting you become engaged, I beg your pardon. No; let me goon. " This he said in answer to Jamie's movement of affectionate protest. "I don't say it to reproach you, but your mother and I have deniedourselves in all we could so that you should be happy and comfortable. It's been a pleasure to us, for we love you with all our hearts. Youknow what happened to me when I left the army. I told you years ago ofthe awful disgrace I suffered. I could never have lived except for mytrust in God and my trust in you. I looked to you to regain the honourwhich I had lost. Ah! you don't know how anxiously I watched you, andthe joy with which I said to myself, 'There is a good and honourableman. ' And now you want to stain that honour. Oh, James, James! I'm old, and I can't live long. If you love me, if you think you have cause forgratitude to me, do this one little thing I ask you! For my sake, mydear, keep your word to Mary Clibborn. "

"You're asking me to do something immoral, father. "

Then Colonel Parsons helplessly dropped his hands from Jamie'sshoulders, and turned to the others, his eyes full of tears. 

"I don't understand what he means!" he groaned. 

He sank on a chair and hid his face. 

XIV

Major Forsyth was not at all discouraged by the issue of hisintervention. 

"Now I see how the land lies, " he said, "it's all plain sailing. Reconnoitre first, and then wire in. "

He bravely attacked James next day, when they were smoking in the gardenafter breakfast. Uncle William smoked nothing but gold-tippedcigarettes, which excited his nephew's open scorn. 

"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, James, " he began. 

"For Heaven's sake, Uncle William, don't talk about it any more. I'mheartily sick of the whole thing. I've made up my mind, and I reallyshall not alter it for anything you may say. "

Major Forsyth changed the conversation with what might have beendescribed as a strategic movement to the rear. He said that Jamie'sanswer told him all he wished to know, and he was content now to leavethe seeds which he had sown to spring up of their own accord. 

"I'm perfectly satisfied, " he told his sister, complacently. "You'llsee that if it'll all come right now. "

Meanwhile, Mary conducted herself admirably. She neither avoided Jamesnor sought him, but when chance brought them together, was perfectlynatural. Her affection had never been demonstrative, and now there wasin her manner but little change. She talked frankly, as though nothinghad passed between them, with no suspicion of reproach in her tone. Shewas, indeed, far more at ease than James. He could not hide the effortit was to make conversation, nor the nervous discomfort which in herpresence he felt. He watched her furtively, asking himself whether shestill suffered. But Mary's face betrayed few of her emotions; tanned byexposure to all weathers, her robust colour remained unaltered; and itwas only in her eyes that James fancied he saw a difference. They hadjust that perplexed, sorrowful expression which a dog has, unjustlybeaten. James, imaginative and conscience-stricken, tortured himself byreading in their brown softness all manner of dreadful anguish. Hewatched them, unlit by the smile which played upon the lips, looking athim against their will, with a pitiful longing. He exaggerated the painhe saw till it became an obsession, intolerable and ruthless; if Marydesired revenge, she need not have been dissatisfied. But thatapparently was the last thing she thought of. He was grateful to hearof her anger with Mrs. Jackson, whose sympathy had expressed itself inround abuse of him. His mother repeated the words. 

"I will never listen to a word against Captain Parsons, Mrs. Jackson. Whatever he did, he had a perfect right to do. He's incapable of actingotherwise than as an honourable gentleman. "

But if Mary's conduct aroused the admiration of all that knew her, itrendered James still more blameworthy. 

The hero-worship was conveniently forgotten, and none strove to concealthe dislike, even the contempt, which he felt for the fallen idol. Jameshad outraged the moral sense of the community; his name could not bementioned without indignation; everything he did was wrong, even hisvery real modesty was explained as overweening conceit. 

And curiously enough, James was profoundly distressed by the generaldisapproval. A silent, shy man, he was unreasonably sensitive to theopinion of his fellows; and though he told himself that they werestupid, ignorant, and narrow, their hostility nevertheless made himmiserable. Even though he contemned them, he was anxious that theyshould like him. He refused to pander to their prejudices, and was tooproud to be conciliatory; yet felt bitterly wounded when he had excitedtheir aversion. Now he set to tormenting himself because he had despisedthe adulation of Little Primpton, and could not equally despise itscensure. 

* * *

Sunday came, and the good people of Little Primpton trooped to church. Mrs Clibborn turned round and smiled at James when he took his seat, butthe Colonel sat rigid, showing by the stiffness of his backbone that hisindignation was supreme. 

The service proceeded, and in due course Mr. Jackson mounted the pulpitsteps. He delivered his text: "_The fear of the Lord is to hate evil:pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do Ihate. _"

The Vicar of Little Primpton was an earnest man, and he devoted muchcare to the composition of his sermons. He was used to expound twice aSunday the more obvious parts of Holy Scripture, making in twentyminutes or half an hour, for the benefit of the vulgar, a number oftrite reflections; and it must be confessed that he had great facilityfor explaining at decorous length texts which were plain to the meanestintelligence. 

But having a fair acquaintance with the thought of others, Mr. Jacksonflattered himself that he was a thinker; and on suitable occasionsattacked from his village pulpit the scarlet weed of heresy, expoundingto an intelligent congregation of yokels and small boys the manifolddifficulties of the Athanasian Creed. He was at his best in pouringvials of contempt upon the false creed of atheists, Romanists, Dissenters, and men of science. The theory of Evolution excited hisbitterest scorn, and he would set up, like a row of nine-pins, thehypotheses of the greatest philosophers of the century, triumphantly toknock them down by the force of his own fearless intellect. Hiscongregation were inattentive, and convinced beyond the need ofargument, so they remained pious members of the Church of England. 

But this particular sermon, after mature consideration, the Vicar hadmade up his mind to devote to a matter of more pressing interest. Herepeated the text. Mrs. Jackson, who knew what was coming, caught thecurate's eye, and looked significantly at James. The homily, in fact, was directed against him; his were the pride, the arrogancy, and theevil way. He was blissfully unconscious of these faults, and for aminute or two the application missed him; but the Vicar of LittlePrimpton, intent upon what he honestly thought his duty, meant thatthere should be no mistake. He crossed his t's and dotted his i's, withthe scrupulous accuracy of the scandal-monger telling a malicious storyabout some person whom charitably he does not name, yet wishes everyoneto identify. 

Colonel Parsons started when suddenly the drift of the sermon dawnedupon him, and then bowed his head with shame. His wife looked straightin front of her, two flaming spots upon her pale cheeks. Mary, in thenext pew, dared not move, hardly dared breathe; her heart sank withdismay, and she feared she would faint. 

"How he must be suffering!" she muttered. 

They all felt for James intensely; the form of Mr. Jackson, hooded andsurpliced, had acquired a new authority, and his solemn invective wassulphurous with the fires of Hell. They wondered how James could bearit. 

"He hasn't deserved this, " thought Mrs. Parsons. 

But the Colonel bent his head still lower, accepting for his son thereproof, taking part of it himself. The humiliation seemed merited, andthe only thing to do was to bear it meekly. James alone appearedunconcerned; the rapid glances at him saw no change in his calm, indifferent face. His eyes were closed, and one might have thought himasleep. Mr. Jackson noted the attitude, and attributed it to a wickedobstinacy. For the repentant sinner, acknowledging his fault, he wouldhave had entire forgiveness; but James showed no contrition. Stiff-necked and sin-hardened, he required a further chastisement. 

"Courage, what is courage?" asked the preacher. "There is nothing moreeasy than to do a brave deed when the blood is hot. But to conduct one'slife simply, modestly, with a meek spirit and a Christ-like submission, that is ten times more difficult Courage, unaccompanied by moral worth, is the quality of a brute-beast. "

He showed how much more creditable were the artless virtues of honestyand truthfulness; how better it was to keep one's word, to bekind-hearted and dutiful. Becoming more pointed, he mentioned the casewhich had caused them so much sorrow, warning the delinquent againstconceit and self-assurance. 

"Pride goeth before a fall, " he said. "And he that is mighty shall beabased. "

* * *

They walked home silently, Colonel Parsons and his wife with downcasteyes, feeling that everyone was looking at them. Their hearts were toofull for them to speak to one another, and they dared say nothing toJames. But Major Forsyth had no scruples of delicacy; he attacked hisnephew the moment they sat down to dinner. 

"Well, James, what did you think of the sermon? Feel a bit sore?"

"Why should I?"

"I fancy it was addressed pretty directly to you. "

"So I imagine, " replied James, good-humouredly smiling. "I thought itsingularly impertinent, but otherwise uninteresting. "

"Mr. Jackson doesn't think much of you, " said Uncle William, with alaugh, ignoring his sister's look, which implored him to be silent. 

"I can bear that with equanimity. I never set up for a very wonderfulperson. "

"He was wrong to make little of your attempt to save young Larcher, "said Mrs. Parsons, gently. 

"Why?" asked James. "He was partly right. Physical courage is more orless accidental. In battle one takes one's chance. One soon gets used toshells flying about; they're not so dangerous as they look, and after awhile one forgets all about them. Now and then one gets hit, and thenit's too late to be nervous. "

"But you went back--into the very jaws of death--to save that boy. "

"I've never been able to understand why. It didn't occur to me that Imight get killed; it seemed the natural thing to do. It wasn't reallybrave, because I never realised that there was danger. "

* * *

In the afternoon James received a note from Mrs. Clibborn, asking himto call upon her. Mary and her father were out walking, she said, sothere would be no one to disturb them, and they could have a pleasantlittle chat. The invitation was a climax to Jamie's many vexations, andhe laughed grimly at the prospect of that very foolish lady'sindignation. Still, he felt bound to go. It was, after a fashion, apoint of honour with him to avoid none of the annoyances which his acthad brought upon him. It was partly in order to face every inflictionthat he insisted on remaining at Little Primpton. 

"Why haven't you been to see me, James?" Mrs. Clibborn murmured, with asurprisingly tender smile. 

"I thought you wouldn't wish me to. "

"James!"

She sighed and cast up her eyes to heaven. 

"I always liked you. I shall never feel differently towards you. "

"It's very kind of you to say so, " replied James, somewhat relieved. 

"You must come and see me often. It'll comfort you. "

"I'm afraid you and Colonel Clibborn must be very angry with me?"

"I could never be angry with you, James.... Poor Reginald, he doesn'tunderstand! But you can't deceive a woman. " Mrs. Clibborn put her handon Jamie's arm and gazed into his eyes. "I want you to tell mesomething. Do you love anyone else?"

James looked at her quickly and hesitated. 

"If you had asked me the other day, I should have denied it with all mymight. But now--I don't know. "

Mrs. Clibborn smiled. 

"I thought so, " she said. "You can tell me, you know. "

She was convinced that James adored her, but wanted to hear him say so. It is notorious that to a handsome woman even the admiration of acrossing-sweeper is welcome. 

"Oh, it's no good any longer trying to conceal it from myself!" criedJames, forgetting almost to whom he was speaking. "I'm sorry about Mary;no one knows how much. But I do love someone else, and I love her withall my heart and soul; and I shall never get over it now. "

"I knew it, " sighed Mrs. Clibborn, complacently, "I knew it!" Thenlooking coyly at him: "Tell me about her. "

"I can't. I know my love is idiotic and impossible; but I can't help it. It's fate. "

"You're in love with a married woman, James. "

"How d'you know?"

"My poor boy, d'you think you can deceive me! And is it not the wife ofan officer?"

"Yes. "

"A very old friend of yours?"

"It's just that which makes it so terrible. "

"I knew it. "

"Oh, Mrs. Clibborn, I swear you're the only woman here who's got twoounces of gumption. If they'd only listened to you five years ago, wemight all have been saved this awful wretchedness. "

He could not understand that Mrs. Clibborn, whose affectations weremanifest, whose folly was notorious, should alone have guessed hissecret. He was tired of perpetually concealing his thoughts. 

"I wish I could tell you everything!" he cried. 

"Don't! You'd only regret it. And I know all you can tell me. "

"You can't think how hard I've struggled. When I found I loved her, Inearly killed myself trying to kill my love. But it's no good. It'sstronger than I am. "

"And nothing can ever come of it, you know, " said Mrs. Clibborn. 

"Oh, I know! Of course, I know! I'm not a cad. The only thing is to liveon and suffer. "

"I'm so sorry for you. "

Mrs. Clibborn thought that even poor Algy Turner, who had killedhimself for love of her, had not been so desperately hit. 

"It's very kind of you to listen to me, " said James. "I have nobody tospeak to, and sometimes I feel I shall go mad. "

"You're such a nice boy, James. What a pity it is you didn't go into thecavalry!"

James scarcely heard; he stared at the floor, brooding sorrowfully. 

"Fate is against me, " he muttered. 

"If things had only happened a little differently. Poor Reggie!"

Mrs. Clibborn was thinking that if she were a widow, she could neverhave resisted the unhappy young man's pleading. 

James got up to go. 

"It's no good, " he said; "talking makes it no better. I must go ontrying to crush it. And the worst of it is, I don't want to crush it; Ilove my love. Though it embitters my whole life, I would rather die thanlose it. Good-bye, Mrs. Clibborn. Thank you for being so kind. You can'timagine what good it does me to receive a little sympathy. "

"I know. You're not the first who has told me that he is miserable. Ithink it's fate, too. "

James looked at her, perplexed, not understanding what she meant. Withher sharp, feminine intuition, Mrs. Clibborn read in his eyes thehopeless yearning of his heart, and for a moment her rigid virtuefaltered. 

"I can't be hard on you, Jamie, " she said, with that effective, sadsmile of hers. "I don't want you to go away from here quite wretched. "

"What can you do to ease the bitter aching of my heart?"

Mrs. Clibborn, quickly looking at the window, noticed that she could notpossibly be seen by anyone outside. She stretched out her hand. 

"Jamie, if you like you may kiss me. "

She offered her powdered cheek, and James, rather astonished, pressed itwith his lips. 

"I will always be a mother to you. You can depend on me whateverhappens.... Now go away, there's a good boy. "

She watched him as he walked down the garden, and then sighed deeply, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eyes. 

"Poor boy!" she murmured. 

Mary was surprised, when she came home, to find her mother quiteaffectionate and tender. Mrs. Clibborn, indeed, intoxicated with hertriumph, could afford to be gracious to a fallen rival. 

XV

A Few days later Mary was surprised to receive a little note from Mr. Dryland:

 "MY DEAR MISS CLIBBORN, --With some trepidation I take up my pen to address you on a matter which, to me at least, is of the very greatest importance. We have so many sympathies in common that my meaning will hardly escape you. I daresay you will find my diffidence ridiculous, but, under the circumstances, I think it is not unpardonable. It will be no news to you when I confess that I am an exceptionally shy man, and that must be my excuse in sending you this letter. In short, I wish to ask you to grant me a brief interview; we have so few opportunities of seeing one another in private that I can find no occasion of saying to you what I wish. Indeed, for a long period my duty has made it necessary for me to crush my inclination. Now, however, that things have taken a different turn, I venture, as I said, to ask you to give me a few minutes' conversation. --I am, my dear Miss Clibborn, your very sincere, "THOMAS DRYLAND. 

 "P. S. --I open this letter to say that I have just met your father on the Green, who tells me that he and Mrs. Clibborn are going into Tunbridge Wells this afternoon. Unless, therefore, I hear from you to the contrary, I shall (D. V. ) present myself at your house at 3 P. M. "

"What can he want to see me about?" exclaimed Mary, the truth occurringto her only to be chased away as a piece of egregious vanity. It wasmore reasonable to suppose that Mr. Dryland had on hand some charitablescheme in which he desired her to take part. 

"Anyhow, " she thought philosophically, "I suppose I shall know when hecomes. "

At one and the same moment the church clock struck three, and Mr. Dryland rang the Clibborns' bell. 

He came into the dining-room in his best coat, his honest red faceshining with soap, and with a consciousness that he was about to performan heroic deed. 

"This is kind of you, Miss Clibborn! Do you know, I feared the servantwas going to say you were 'not at home. '"

"Oh, I never let her say that when I'm in. Mamma doesn't think it wrong, but one can't deny that it's an untruth. "

"What a beautiful character you have!" cried the curate, withenthusiasm. 

"I'm afraid I haven't really; but I like to be truthful. "

"Were you surprised to receive my letter?"

"I'm afraid I didn't understand it. "

"I was under the impression that I expressed myself with considerableperspicacity, " remarked the curate, with a genial smile. 

"I don't pretend to be clever. "

"Oh, but you are, Miss Clibborn. There's no denying it. "

"I wish I thought so. "

"You're so modest. I have always thought that your mental powers werevery considerable indeed. I can assure you it has been a great blessingto me to find someone here who was capable of taking an intelligentinterest in Art and Literature. In these little country places onemisses intellectual society so much. "

"I'm not ashamed to say that I've learnt a lot from you, Mr. Dryland. "

"No, that is impossible. All I lay claim to is that I was fortunateenough to be able to lend you the works of Ruskin and Marie Corelli. "

"That reminds me that I must return you the 'Master Christian. '"

"Please don't hurry over it. I think it's a book worth pondering over;quite unlike the average trashy novel. "

"I haven't had much time for reading lately. "

"Ah, Miss Clibborn, I understand! I'm afraid you've been very muchupset. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was; but I felt it would beperhaps indelicate. "

"It is very kind of you to think of me. "

"Besides, I must confess that I cannot bring myself to be very sorry. It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. "

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Dryland. "

"Miss Clibborn, I have come here to-day to converse with you on a matterwhich I venture to think of some importance. At least, it is to me. Iwill not beat about the bush. In these matters it is always best, Ibelieve, to come straight to the point. " The curate cleared his throat, and assumed his best clerical manner. "Miss Clibborn, I have the honourto solemnly ask you for your hand. "

"Oh!"

Mary blushed scarlet, and her heart went pit-a-pat in the most alarmingfashion. 

"I think I should tell you that I am thirty-three years of age. I havesome private means, small, but sufficient, with my income and economy, to support a wife. My father was for over a quarter of a century vicarof Easterham. "

Mary by this time had recovered herself. 

"I feel very much honoured by your proposal, Mr. Dryland. And no one canbe more convinced than I of my unworthiness. But I'm afraid I mustrefuse. "

"I don't press for an immediate answer, Miss Clibborn. I know at firstblush it must surprise you that I should come forward with an offer sosoon after the rupture of your engagement with Captain Parsons. But ifyou examine the matter closely, you will see that it is less surprisingthan it seems. While you were engaged to Captain Parsons it was my dutyto stifle my feelings; but now I cannot. Indeed, I have not the right toconceal from you that for a long time they have been of the tenderestdescription. "

"I feel very much flattered. "

"Not at all, " reassuringly answered Mr. Dryland. "I can honestly saythat you are deserving of the very highest--er--admiration and esteem. Miss Clibborn, I have loved you in secret almost ever since I came tothe parish. The moment I saw you I felt an affinity between us. Ourtastes are so similar; we both understand Art and Literature. When youplayed to me the divine melodies of Mendelssohn, when I read to you themelodious verses of Lord Tennyson, I felt that my happiness in lifewould be a union with you. "

"I'm afraid I can never be unfaithful to my old love. "

"Perhaps I'm a little previous?"

"No; time can make no possible difference. I'm very grateful to you. "

"You have no need to be. I have always tried to do my duty, and whileyou were engaged to another, I allowed not even a sigh to escape mylips. But now I venture to think that the circumstances are altered. Iknow I am not a gallant officer, I have done no doughty deeds, and theVictoria Cross does not adorn my bosom. I am comparatively poor; but Ican offer an honest heart and a very sincere and respectful love. Oh, Miss Clibborn, cannot you give me hope that as time wears on you will beable to look upon my suit with favour?"

"I'm afraid my answer must be final. "

"I hope to be soon appointed to a living, and I looked forward ardentlyto the life of usefulness and of Christian fellowship which we mighthave lived together. You are an angel of mercy, Miss Clibborn. I cannothelp thinking that you are eminently suitable for the position which Imake so bold as to offer you. "

"I won't deny that nothing could attract me more than to be the wife ofa clergyman. One has such influence for good, such power of improvingone's fellow-men. But I love Captain Parsons. Even if he has ceased tocare for me, I could never look upon him with other feelings. "

"Even though it touches me to the quick, Miss. Clibborn, " said thecurate, earnestly, "I respect and admire you for your sentiments. Youare wonderful. I wonder if you'd allow me to make a little confession?"The curate hesitated and reddened. "The fact is, I have written a fewverses comparing you to Penelope, which, if you will allow me, I shouldvery much like to send you. "

"I should like to see them very much, " said Mary, blushing a little andsmiling. 

"Of course, I'm not a poet, I'm too busy for that; but they are theoutpouring of an honest, loving heart. "

"I'm sure, " said Mary, encouragingly, "that it's better to be sincereand upright than to be the greatest poet in the world. "

"It's very kind of you to say so. I should like to ask one question, Miss Clibborn. Have you any objection to me personally?"

"Oh, no!" cried Mary. "How can you suggest such a thing? I have thehighest respect and esteem for you, Mr. Dryland. I can never forget thegreat compliment you have paid me. I shall always think of you as thebest friend I have. "

"Can you say nothing more to me than that?" asked the curate, despondently. 

Mary stretched out her hand. "I will be a sister to you. "

"Oh, Miss Clibborn, how sad it is to think that your affections shouldbe unrequited. Why am I not Captain Parsons? Miss Clibborn, can you giveme no hope?"

"I should not be acting rightly towards you if I did not tell you atonce that so long as Captain Parsons lives, my love for him can neveralter. "

"I wish I were a soldier!" murmured Mr. Dryland. 

"Oh, it's not that. I think there's nothing so noble as a clergyman. Ifit is any consolation to you, I may confess that if I had never knownCaptain Parsons, things might have gone differently. "

"Well, I suppose I had better go away now. I must try to bear mydisappointment. "

Mary gave him her hand, and, bending down with the utmost gallantry, thecurate kissed it; then, taking up his low, clerical hat, hurriedly lefther. 

* * *

Mrs. Jackson was a woman of singular penetration, so that it was notstrange if she quickly discovered what had happened. Mr. Dryland wastaking tea at the Vicarage, whither, with characteristic manliness, hehad gone to face his disappointment. Not for him was the solitarymoping, nor the privacy of a bedchamber; his robust courage sent himrather into the field of battle, or what was under the circumstances theonly equivalent, Mrs. Jackson's drawing-room. 

But even he could not conceal the torments of unsuccessful love. Hestirred his tea moodily, and his usual appetite for plum-cake had quitedeserted him. 

"What's the matter with you, Mr. Dryland?" asked the Vicar's wife, withthose sharp eyes which could see into the best hidden family secret. 

Mr. Dryland started at the question. "Nothing!"

"You're very funny this afternoon. "

"I've had a great disappointment. "

"Oh!" replied Mrs. Jackson, in a tone which half-a-dozen marks ofinterrogation could inadequately express. 

"It's nothing. Life is not all beer and skittles. Ha! ha!"

"Did you say you'd been calling on Mary Clibborn this afternoon?"

Mr. Dryland blushed, and to cover his confusion filled his mouth with alarge piece of cake. 

"Yes, " he said, as soon as he could. "I paid her a little call. "

"Mr. Dryland, you can't deceive me. You've proposed to Mary Clibborn. "

He swallowed his food with a gulp. "It's quite true. "

"And she's refused you?"

"Yes!"

"Mr. Dryland, it was a noble thing to do. I must tell Archibald. "

"Oh, please don't, Mrs. Jackson! I don't want it to get about. "

"Oh, but I shall. We can't let you hide your light under a bushel. Fancyyou proposing to that poor, dear girl! But it's just what I should haveexpected of you. That's what I always say. The clergy are constantlydoing the most beautiful actions that no one hears anything about. Youought to receive a moral Victoria Cross. I'm sure you deserve it farmore than that wicked and misguided young man. "

"I don't think I ought to take any credit for what I've done, " modestlyremonstrated the curate. 

"It was a beautiful action. You don't know how much it means to thatpoor, jilted girl. "

"It's true my indignation was aroused at the heartless conduct ofCaptain Parsons; but I have long loved her, Mrs. Jackson. "

"I knew it; I knew it! When I saw you together I said to Archibald:'What a good pair they'd make!' I'm sure you deserve her far more thanthat worthless creature. "

"I wish she thought so. "

"I'll go and speak to her myself. I think she ought to accept you. You've behaved like a knight-errant, Mr. Dryland. You're a trueChristian saint. "

"Oh, Mrs. Jackson, you embarrass me!"

The news spread like wild-fire, and with it the opinion that the curatehad vastly distinguished himself. Neither pagan hero nor Christianmartyr could have acted more becomingly. The consideration which hadonce been Jamie's was bodily transferred to Mr. Dryland. He was the manof the hour, and the contemplation of his gallant deed made everyonefeel nobler, purer. The curate accepted with quiet satisfaction thehomage that was laid at his feet, modestly denying that he had doneanything out of the way. With James, all unconscious of what hadhappened, he was mildly patronising; with Mary, tender, respectful, subdued. If he had been an archbishop, he could not have behaved withgreater delicacy, manliness, and decorum. 

"I don't care what anyone says, " cried Mrs. Jackson, "I think he's worthten Captain Parsons! He's so modest and gentlemanly. Why, CaptainParsons simply used to look bored when one told him he was brave. "

"He's a conceited creature!"

But in Primpton House the proposal was met with consternation. 

"Suppose she accepted him?" said Colonel Parsons, anxiously. 

"She'd never do that. "

Major Forsyth suggested that James should be told, in the belief thathis jealousy would be excited. 

"I'll tell him, " said Mrs. Parsons. 

She waited till she was alone with her son, and then, without stoppingher needlework, said suddenly:

"James, have you heard that Mr. Dryland has proposed to Mary?"

He looked up nonchalantly. "Has she accepted him?"

"James!" cried his mother, indignantly, "how can you ask such aquestion? Have you no respect for her? You must know that for nothing inthe world would she be faithless to you. "

"I should like her to marry the curate. I think it would be a verysuitable match. "

"You need not insult her, James. "

XVI

The tension between James and his parents became not less, but greater. That barrier which, almost from the beginning, they had watched withpain rise up between them now seemed indestructible, and all theirefforts only made it more obvious and more stable. It was like sometropical plant which, for being cut down, grew ever with greaterluxuriance. And there was a mischievous devil present at all theirconversations that made them misunderstand one another as completely asthough they spoke in different tongues. Notwithstanding their love, theywere like strangers together; they could look at nothing from the samepoint of view. 

The Parsons had lived their whole lives in an artificial state. Ill-educated as most of their contemporaries in that particular class, they had just enough knowledge to render them dogmatic and intolerant. It requires a good deal of information to discover one's own ignorance, but to the consciousness of this the good people had never arrived. Theyfelt they knew as much as necessary, and naturally on the mostdebatable questions were most assured. Their standpoint wasinconceivably narrow. They had the best intentions in the world of doingtheir duty, but what their duty was they accepted on trust, frivolously. They walked round and round in a narrow circle, hemmed in by falseideals and by ugly prejudices, putting for the love of God unnecessaryobstacles in their path and convinced that theirs was the only possibleway, while all others led to damnation. They had never worked out anidea for themselves, never done a single deed on their own account, butinvariably acted and thought according to the rule of their caste. Theywere not living creatures, but dogmatic machines. 

James, going into the world, quickly realised that he had been broughtup to a state of things which did not exist. He was like a sailor whohas put out to sea in an ornamental boat, and finds that his sail isuseless, the ropes not made to work, and the rudder immovable. The long, buoyant wind of the world blew away like thistle-down the conventionswhich had seemed so secure a foundation. But he discovered in himself awonderful curiosity, an eagerness for adventure which led him boldly toaffront every peril; and the unknown lands of the intellect are everybit as dangerously fascinating as are those of sober fact. He readomnivorously, saw many and varied things; the universe was spread outbefore him like an enthralling play. Knowledge is like the root of atree, attaching man by its tendrils to the life about him. James foundin existence new beauties, new interests, new complexities; and hegained a lighter heart and, above all, an exquisite sense of freedom. Atlength he looked back with something like horror at that old life inwhich the fetters of ignorance had weighed so terribly upon him. 

On his return to Little Primpton, he found his people as he had leftthem, doing the same things, repeating at every well-known juncture thesame trite observations. Their ingenuousness affected him as a negro, civilised and educated, on visiting after many years his native tribe, might be affected by their nose-rings and yellow ochre. James wasastounded that they should ignore matters which he fancied commonknowledge, and at the same time accept beliefs that he had thoughtcompletely dead. He was willing enough to shrug his shoulders and humourtheir prejudices, but they had made of them a rule of life whichgoverned every action with an iron tyranny. It was in accordance withall these outworn conventions that they conducted the daily round. Andpresently James found that his father and mother were striving to drawhim back into the prison. Unconsciously, even with the greatesttenderness, they sought to place upon his neck again that irksome yokewhich he had so difficultly thrown off. 

If James had learnt anything, it was at all hazards to think forhimself, accepting nothing on authority, questioning, doubting; it wasto look upon life with a critical eye, trying to understand it, and toreceive no ready-made explanations. Above all, he had learnt that everyquestion has two sides. Now this was precisely what Colonel Parsons andhis wife could never acknowledge; for them one view was certainly right, and the other as certainly wrong. There was no middle way. To doubt whatthey believed could only be ascribed to arrant folly or to wickedness. Sometimes James was thrown into a blind rage by the complacency withwhich from the depths of his nescience his father dogmatised. No mancould have been more unassuming than he, and yet on just the pointswhich were most uncertain his attitude was almost inconceivablyarrogant. 

And James was horrified at the pettiness and the prejudice which hefound in his home. Reading no books, for they thought it waste of timeto read, the minds of his father and mother had sunk into such a narrowsluggishness that they could interest themselves only in trivialities. Their thoughts were occupied by their neighbours and the humdrumdetails of the life about them. Flattering themselves on their idealsand their high principles, they vegetated in stupid sloth and in a lessthan animal vacuity. Every topic of conversation above the mostcommonplace they found dull or incomprehensible. James learned that hehad to talk to them almost as if they were children, and the tedium ofthose endless days was intolerable. 

Occasionally he was exasperated that he could not avoid the discussionswhich his father, with a weak man's obstinacy, forced upon him. Someunhappy, baneful power seemed to drive Colonel Parsons to widen therift, the existence of which caused him such exquisite pain; his naturalkindliness was obscured by an uncontrollable irritation. One day he wasreading the paper. 

"I see we've had another unfortunate reverse, " he said, looking up. 

"Oh!"

"I suppose you're delighted, Jamie?"

"I'm very sorry. Why should I be otherwise?"

"You always stick up for the enemies of your country. " Turning to hisbrother-in-law, he explained: "James says that if he'd been a CapeDutchman he'd have fought against us. "

"Well, he deserves to be court-martialled for saying so! "cried MajorForsyth. 

"I don't think he means to be taken seriously, " said his mother. 

"Oh, yes, I do. " It constantly annoyed James that when he said anythingthat was not quite an obvious truism, they should think he was speakingmerely for effect. "Why, my dear mother, if you'd been a Boer womanyou'd have potted at us from behind a haystack with the best of them. "

"The Boers are robbers and brigands. "

"That's just what they say we are. "

"But we're right. "

"And they're equally convinced that they are. "

"God can't be on both sides, James. "

"The odd thing is the certainty with which both sides claim Hisexclusive protection. "

"I should think it wicked to doubt that God is with us in a righteouswar, " said Mrs. Parsons. 

"If the Boers weren't deceived by that old villain Kruger, they'd neverhave fought us. "

"The Boers are strange people, " replied James. "They actually prefertheir independence to all the privileges and advantages ofsubjection.... The wonderful thing to me is that people should reallythink Mr. Kruger a hypocrite. A ruler who didn't honestly believe inhimself and in his mission would never have had such influence. If a manwants power he must have self-faith; but then he may be narrow, intolerant, and vicious. His fellows will be like wax in his hands. "

"If Kruger had been honest, he wouldn't have put up with bribery andcorruption. "

"The last thing I expect is consistency in an animal of such contraryinstincts as man. "

"Every true Englishman, I'm thankful to say, thinks him a scoundrel anda blackguard. "

"In a hundred years he will probably think him a patriot and a hero. Inthat time the sentimental view will be the only one of interest; and thesentimental view will put the Transvaal in the same category as Poland. "

"You're nothing better than a pro-Boer, James. "

"I'm nothing of the kind; but seeing how conflicting was currentopinion, I took some trouble to find for myself a justification of thewar. I couldn't help wondering why I went and killed people to whom Iwas personally quite indifferent. "

"I hope because it was your duty as an officer of Her Majesty theQueen. "

"Not exactly. I came to the conclusion that I killed people because Iliked it. The fighting instinct is in my blood, and I'm never so happyas when I'm shooting things. Killing tigers is very good sport, but it'snot in it with killing men. That is my justification, so far as Ipersonally am concerned. As a member of society, I wage war for adifferent reason. War is the natural instinct of all creatures; not onlydo progress and civilisation arise from it, but it is the very conditionof existence. Men, beasts, and plants are all in the same position:unless they fight incessantly they're wiped out; there's no sitting onone side and looking on.... When a state wants a neighbour's land, ithas a perfect right to take it--if it can. Success is its justification. We English wanted the Transvaal for our greater numbers, for our trade, for the continuance of our power; that was our right to take it. Theonly thing that seems to me undignified is the rather pitiful set ofexcuses we made up. "

"If those are your ideas, I think they are utterly ignoble. "

"I believe they're scientific. "

"D'you think men go to war for scientific reasons?"

"No, of course not; they don't realise them. The great majority areincapable of abstract ideas, but fortunately they're emotional andsentimental; and the pill can be gilded with high falutin. It's for themthat the Union Jack and the honour of Old England are dragged throughevery newspaper and brandished in every music hall. It's for them thatall these atrocities are invented--most of them bunkum. Men are onlysavages with a thin veneer of civilisation, which is rather easilyrubbed off, and then they act just like Red Indians; but as a generalrule they're well enough behaved. The Boer isn't a bad sort, and theEnglishman isn't a bad sort; but there's not room for both of them onthe earth, and one of them has to go. "

"My father fought for duty and honour's sake, and so fought his fatherbefore him. "

"Men have always fought really for the same reasons--for self-protectionand gain; but perhaps they have not seen quite so clearly as now thetruth behind all their big words. The world and mankind haven't alteredsuddenly in the last few years. "

* * *

Afterwards, when Colonel Parsons and his wife were alone together, andshe saw that he was brooding over his son's words, she laid her hand onhis shoulder, and said:

"Don't worry, Richmond; it'll come right in the end, if we trust andpray. "

"I don't know what to make of him, " he returned, sadly shaking his head. "It's not our boy, Frances; he couldn't be callous and unscrupulous, and--dishonourable. God forgive me for saying it!"

"Don't be hard on him, Richmond. I daresay he doesn't mean all he says. And remember that he's been very ill. He's not himself yet. "

The Colonel sighed bitterly. 

"When we looked forward so anxiously to his return, we didn't know thathe would be like this. "

James had gone out. He wandered along the silent roads, taking in largebreaths of the fresh air, for his home affected him like a hot-house. The atmosphere was close and heavy, so that he could neither thinkfreely nor see things in any reasonable light. He felt sometimes asthough a weight were placed upon his head, that pressed him down, andpressed him down till he seemed almost forced to his knees. 

He blamed himself for his lack of moderation. Why, remembering ever hisfather's unhappiness and his infirmities, could he not humour him? Hewas an old man, weak and frail; it should not have been so difficult touse restraint towards him. James knew he had left them in Primpton Housedistressed and angry; but the only way to please them was to surrenderhis whole personality, giving up to their bidding all his thoughts andall his actions. They wished to exercise over him the most intolerableof all tyrannies, the tyranny of love. It was a heavy return theydemanded for their affection if he must abandon his freedom, body andsoul; he earnestly wished to make them happy, but that was too hard aprice to pay. And then, with sudden rage, James asked himself why theyshould be so self-sufficiently certain that they were right. What anoutrageous assumption it was that age must be infallible! Their idea offilial duty was that he should accept their authority, not because theywere wise, but because they were old. When he was a child they hadinsisted on the utmost submission, and now they expected the samesubmission--to their prejudice, intolerance, and lack of knowledge. Theyhad almost ridiculously that calm, quiet, well-satisfied assurance whicha king by right divine might have in the certainty that he could do nowrong. 

And James, with bitter, painful scorn, thought of that frightful blunderwhich had forced Colonel Parsons to leave the service. At first hisbelief in his father had been such that James could not conceive thepossibility even that he had acted wrongly; the mere fact that hisfather had chosen a certain course was proof of its being right andproper, and the shame lay with his chief, who had used him ill. But whenhe examined the affair and thought over it, the truth became only tooclear; it came to him like a blow, and for a while he was overcome withshame. The fact was evident--alas! only too evident--his father wasincapable of command. James was simply astounded; he tried not to hearthe cruel words that buzzed in his ears, but he could not helpit--imbecility, crass idiocy, madness. It was worse than madness, thefolly of it was almost criminal; he thought now that his father hadescaped very easily. 

James hastened his step, trying to rid himself of the irritatingthoughts. He walked along the fat and fertile Kentish fields, by theneat iron railing with which they were enclosed. All about him wasvisible the care of man. Nothing was left wild. The trees were loppedinto proper shape, cut down where their presence seemed inelegant, planted to complete the symmetry of a group. Nature herself was underthe power of the formal influence, and flourished with a certainrigidity and decorum. After a while the impression became singularlyirksome; it seemed to emphasise man's lack of freedom, reminding one ofthe iron conventions with which he is inevitably bound. In the sun, thevalley, all green and wooded, was pleasantly cool; but when the cloudsrolled up from the west heavily, brushing the surrounding hills, theaspect was so circumscribed that James could have cried out as withphysical pain. The primness of the scene then was insufferable; thesombre, well-ordered elms, the meadows so carefully kept, seemed thegarden of some great voluptuous prison, and the air was close withservitude. 

James panted for breath. He thought of the vast distances of SouthAfrica, bush and prairie stretching illimitably, and above, the bluesky, vaster still. There, at least, one could breathe freely, andstretch one's limbs. 

"Why did I ever come back?" he cried. 

The blood went thrilling through his veins at the mere thought of thosedays in which every minute had been intensely worth living. Then, indeed, was no restraint or pettiness; then men were hard and firm andstrong. By comparison, people in England appeared so pitifully weak, vain, paltry, insignificant. What were the privations and the hardshipsbeside the sense of mastery, the happy adventure, and the carelessnessof life?

But the grey clouds hung over the valley, pregnant with rain. It gavehim a singular feeling of discomfort to see them laden with water, andyet painfully holding it up. 

"I can't stay in this place, " he muttered. "I shall go mad. "

A sudden desire for flight seized him. The clouds sank lower and lower, till he imagined he must bend his head to avoid them. If he could onlyget away for a little, he might regain his calm. At least, absence, hethought bitterly, was the only way to restore the old affection betweenhim and his father. 

He went home, and announced that he was going to London. 

XVII

After the quiet of Little Primpton, the hurry and the noise of Victoriawere a singular relief to James. Waiting for his luggage, he watched thevarious movements of the scene--the trollies pushed along with warningcries, the porters lifting heavy packages on to the bellied roof ofhansoms, the people running to and fro, the crowd of cabs; and drivingout, he was exhilarated by the confusion in the station yard, and theintense life, half gay, half sordid, of the Wilton Road. He took a roomin Jermyn Street, according to Major Forsyth's recommendation, andwalked to his club. James had been out of London so long that he cameback with the emotions of a stranger; common scenes, the glitter ofshops, the turmoil of the Circus, affected him with pleased surprise, and with a child's amusement he paused to stare at the advertisements ona hoarding. He looked forward to seeing old friends, and on his way downPiccadilly even expected to meet one or two of them sauntering along. 

As a matter of form, James asked at his club whether there were anyletters for him. 

"I don't think so, sir, " said the porter, but turned to the pigeon-holesand took out a bundle. He looked them over, and then handed one toJames. 

"Hulloa, who's this from?"

Suddenly something gripped his heart; he felt the blood rush to hischeeks, and a cold tremor ran through all his limbs. He recognised thehandwriting of Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace, and there was a penny stamp onthe envelope. She was in England. The letter had been posted in London. 

He turned away and walked towards a table that stood near the window ofthe hall. A thousand recollections surged across his memorytumultuously; the paper was scented (how characteristic that was of her, and in what bad taste!); he saw at once her smile and the look of hereyes. He had a mad desire passionately to kiss the letter; a load ofweariness fell from his heart; he felt insanely happy, as though angrystorm-clouds had been torn asunder, and the sun in its golden majestyshone calmly upon the earth.... Then, with sudden impulse, he tore theunopened letter into a dozen pieces and threw them away. He straightenedhimself, and walked into the smoking-room. 

James looked round and saw nobody he knew, quietly took a magazine fromthe table, and sat down; but the blood-vessels in his brain throbbed soviolently that he thought something horrible would happen to him. Heheard the regular, quick beating, like the implacable hammering ofgnomes upon some hidden, distant anvil. 

"She's in London, " he repeated. 

When had the letter been posted? At least, he might have looked at themark on the envelope. Was it a year ago? Was it lately? The letter didnot look as though it had been lying about the club for many months. Hadit not still the odour of those dreadful Parma violets? She must haveseen in the paper his return from Africa, wounded and ill. And what didshe say? Did she merely write a few cold words of congratulationor--more?

It was terrible that after three years the mere sight of her handwritingshould have power to throw him into this state of eager, passionateanguish. He was seized with the old panic, the terrified perception ofhis surrender, of his utter weakness, which made flight the onlypossible resistance. That was why he had destroyed the letter unread. When Mrs. Wallace was many thousand miles away there had been no dangerin confessing that he loved her; but now it was different. What did shesay in the letter? Had she in some feminine, mysterious fashiondiscovered his secret? Did she ask him to go and see her? Jamesremembered one of their conversations. 

"Oh, I love going to London!" she had cried, opening her arms with thecharming, exotic gesticulation which distinguished her from all otherwomen. "I enjoy myself awfully. "

"What do you do?"

"Everything. And I write to poor Dick three times a week, and tell himall I haven't done. "

"I can't bear the grass-widow, " said James. 

"Poor boy, you can't bear anything that's amusing! I never knew anyonewith such an ideal of woman as you have--a gloomy mixture offrumpishness and angularity. "

James did not answer. 

"Don't you wish we were in London now?" she went on. "You and Itogether? I really believe I should have to take you about. You're asinnocent as a babe. "

"D'you think so?" said James, rather hurt. 

"Now, if we were in town, on our own, what would you do?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose make a little party and dine somewhere, andgo to the Savoy to see the 'Mikado. '"

Mrs. Wallace laughed. 

"I know. A party of four--yourself and me, and two maiden aunts. And weshould be very prim, and talk about the weather, and go in a growler forpropriety's sake. I know that sort of evening. And after the maidenaunts had seen me safety home, I should simply howl from boredom. Mydear boy, I'm respectable enough here. When I'm on my own, I want to goon the loose. Now, I'll tell you what I want to do if ever we are intown together. Will you promise to do it?"

"If I possibly can. "

"All right! Well, you shall fetch me in the fastest hansom you can find, and remember to tell the driver to go as quick as ever he dare. We'lldine alone, please, at the most expensive restaurant in London! You'llengage a table in the middle of the room, and you must see that thepeople all round us are very smart and very shady. It always makes mefeel so virtuous to look at disreputable women! Do I shock you?"

"Not more than usual. "

"How absurd you are! Then we'll go to the Empire. And after that we'llgo somewhere else, and have supper where the people are still smarterand still shadier; and then we'll go to Covent Garden Ball. Oh, youdon't know how I long to go on the rampage sometimes! I get so tired ofpropriety. "

"And what will P. W. Say to all this?"

"Oh, I'll write and tell him that I spent the evening with some of hispoor relations, and give eight pages of corroborative evidence. "

James thought of Pritchard-Wallace, gentlest and best-humoured of men. He was a great big fellow, with a heavy moustache and kind eyes; alwaysready to stand by anyone in difficulties, always ready with comfort orwith cheery advice; whoever wanted help went to him as though it werethe most natural thing in the world. And it was touching to see thedog-like devotion to his wife; he had such confidence in her that henever noticed her numerous flirtations. Pritchard-Wallace thoughthimself rather a dull stick, and he wanted her to amuse herself. Sobrilliant a creature could not be expected to find sufficiententertainment in a quiet man of easy-going habits. 

"Go your own way, my girl, " he said; "I know you're all right. And solong as you keep a place for me in the bottom of your heart, you can dowhatever you like. "

"Of course, I don't care two straws for anyone but you, silly oldthing!"

And she pulled his moustache and kissed his lips; and he went off onhis business, his heart swelling with gratitude, because Providence hadgiven him the enduring love of so beautiful and enchanting a littlewoman. 

"P. W. Is worth ten of you, " James told her indignantly one day, when hehad been witness to some audacious deception. 

"Well, he doesn't think so. And that's the chief thing. "

* * *

James dared not see her. It was obviously best to have destroyed theletter. After all, it was probably nothing more than a curt, formalcongratulation, and its coldness would nearly have broken his heart. Hefeared also lest in his never-ceasing thought he had crystallised hisbeloved into something quite different from reality. His imagination wasvery active, and its constant play upon those few recollections mighteasily have added many a false delight. To meet Mrs. Wallace would onlybring perhaps a painful disillusion; and of that James was terrified, for without this passion which occupied his whole soul he would be nowsingularly alone in the world. It was a fantastic, charming figure thathe had made for himself, and he could worship it without danger andwithout reproach. Was it not better to preserve his dream from thesullen irruption of fact? But why would that perfume come perpetuallyentangling itself with his memory? It gave the image new substance; andwhen he closed his eyes, the woman seemed so near that he could feelagainst his face the fragrance of her breath. 

He dined alone, and spent the hours that followed in reading. By somechance he was able to find no one he knew, and he felt rather bored. Hewent to bed with a headache, feeling already the dreariness of Londonwithout friends. 

Next morning James wandered in the Park, fresh and delightful with therhododendrons; but the people he saw hurt him by their almost aggressivehappiness--vivacious, cheerful, and careless, they were all evidently ofopinion that no reasonable creature could complain with the best of allpossible worlds. The girls that hurried past on ponies, or on bicyclesup and down the well-kept road, gave him an impression oflight-heartedness which was fascinating, yet made his own solitude moreintolerable. Their cheeks glowed with healthiness in the summer air, andtheir gestures, their laughter, were charmingly animated. He noticed thesmile which a slender Amazon gave to a man who raised his hat, and readsuddenly in their eyes a happy, successful tenderness. Once, gallopingtowards him, he saw a woman who resembled Mrs. Wallace, and his heartstood still. He had an intense longing to behold her just once more, unseen of her; but he was mistaken. The rider approached and passed, andit was no one he knew. 

Then, tired and sore at heart, James went back to his club. The daypassed monotonously, and the day after he was seized by the peculiardiscomfort of the lonely sojourner in great cities. The thronging, busycrowd added to his solitariness. When he saw acquaintances address oneanother in the club, or walk along the streets in conversation, he couldhardly bear his own friendlessness; the interests of all these peopleseemed so fixed and circumscribed, their lives were already so full, that they could only look upon a new-comer with hostility. He would havefelt less lonely on a desert island than in the multitudinous city, surrounded by hurrying strangers. He scarcely knew how he managed todrag through the day, tired of the eternal smoking-room, tired ofwandering about. The lodgings which Major Forsyth had recommended werelike barracks; a tall, narrow house, in which James had a room at thetop, looking on to a blank wall. They were dreadfully cheerless. And asJames climbed the endless stairs he felt an irritation at the joyouslaughter that came from other rooms. Behind those closed, forbiddingdoors people were happy and light of heart; only he was alone, and mustremain perpetually imprisoned within himself. He went to the theatre, but here again, half insanely, he felt a barrier between himself and therest of the audience. For him the piece offered no illusions; he couldonly see painted actors strutting affectedly in unnatural costumes; thescenery was mere painted cloth, and the dialogue senseless inanity. Withall his might James wished that he were again in Africa, with work to doand danger to encounter. There the solitude was never lonely, and thenights were blue and silent, rich with the countless stars. 

He had been in London a week. One day, towards evening, while he walkeddown Piccadilly, looking aimlessly at the people and asking himself whattheir inmost thoughts could be, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and acheery voice called out his name. 

"I knew it was you, Parsons! Where the devil have you sprung from?"

He turned round and saw a man he had known in India. Jamie's solitudeand boredom had made him almost effusive. 

"By Jove, I am glad to see you!" he said, wringing the fellow's hand. "Come and have a drink. I've seen no one for days, and I'm dying tohave some one to talk to. "

"I think I can manage it. I've got a train to catch at eight; I'm justoff to Scotland. "

Jamie's face fell. 

"I was going to ask you to dine with me. "

"I'm awfully sorry! I'm afraid I can't. "

They talked of one thing and another, till Jamie's friend said he mustgo immediately; they shook hands. 

"Oh, by the way, " said the man, suddenly remembering, "I saw a pal ofyours the other day, who's clamouring for you. "

"For me?"

James reddened, knowing at once, instinctively, that it could only beone person. 

"D'you remember Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace? She's in London. I saw her at aparty, and she asked me if I knew anything about you. She's staying inHalf Moon Street, at 201. You'd better go and see her. Good-bye! I mustsimply bolt. "

He left James hurriedly, and did not notice the effect of his fewwords.... She still thought of him, she asked for him, she wished him togo to her. The gods in their mercy had sent him the address; withbeating heart and joyful step, James immediately set out. The throng inhis way vanished, and he felt himself walking along some roadway ofethereal fire, straight to his passionate love--a roadway miraculouslyfashioned for his feet, leading only to her. Every thought left him butthat the woman he adored was waiting, waiting, ready to welcome him withthat exquisite smile, with the hands which were like the caresses ofAphrodite, turned to visible flesh. But he stopped short. 

"What's the good?" he cried, bitterly. 

Before him the sun was setting like a vision of love, colouring withsoftness and with quiet the manifold life of the city. James looked atit, his heart swelling with sadness; for with it seemed to die his shortjoy, and the shadows lengthening were like the sad facts of realitywhich crept into his soul one by one silently. 

"I won't go, " he cried; "I daren't! Oh, God help me, and give mestrength!"

He turned into the Green Park, where lovers sat entwined upon thebenches, and in the pleasant warmth the idlers and the weary slept uponthe grass. James sank heavily upon a seat, and gave himself over to hiswretchedness. 

The night fell, and the lamps upon Piccadilly were lit, and in theincreasing silence the roar of London sounded more intensely. From thedarkness, as if it were the scene of a play, James watched the cabs and'buses pass rapidly in the light, the endless procession of people likedisembodied souls drifting aimlessly before the wind. It was a comfortand a relief to sit there unseen, under cover of the night. He observedthe turmoil with a new, disinterested curiosity, feeling strangely as ifhe were no longer among the living. He found himself surprised that theythought it worth while to hurry and to trouble. The couples on thebenches remained in silent ecstasy; and sometimes a dark figure slouchedpast, sorrowful and mysterious. 

At last James went out, surprised to find it was so late. The theatreshad disgorged their crowds, and Piccadilly was thronged, gay, vivacious, and insouciant. For a moment there was a certain luxury about its vice;the harlot gained the pompousness of a Roman courtesan, and the vulgardebauchee had for a little while the rich, corrupt decadence of art andsplendour. 

James turned into Half Moon Street, which now was all deserted andsilent, and walked slowly, with anguish tearing at his heart, towardsthe house in which lodged Mrs. Wallace. One window was still lit, and hewondered whether it was hers; it would have been an exquisite pleasureif he could but have seen her form pass the drawn blind. Ah, he couldnot have mistaken it! Presently the light was put out, and the wholehouse was in darkness. He waited on, for no reason--pleased to be nearher. He waited half the night, till he was so tired he could scarcelydrag himself home. 

In the morning James was ill and tired, and disillusioned; his headached so that he could hardly bear the pain, and in all his limbs hefelt a strange and heavy lassitude. He wondered why he had troubledhimself about the woman who cared nothing--nothing whatever for him. Herepeated about her the bitter, scornful things he had said so often. Hefancied he had suddenly grown indifferent. 

"I shall go back to Primpton, " he said; "London is too horrible. "

XVIII

The lassitude and the headache explained themselves, for the day afterJamie's arrival at Little Primpton he fell ill, and the doctor announcedthat he had enteric fever. He explained that it was not uncommon forpersons to develop the disease after their return from the Cape. Intheir distress, the first thought of Mrs. Parsons and the Colonel was tosend for Mary; they knew her to be quick and resourceful. 

"Dr. Radley says we must have a nurse down. Jamie is never to be leftalone, and I couldn't manage by myself. "

Mary hesitated and reddened:

"Oh, I wish Jamie would let me nurse him! You and I could do everythingmuch better than a strange woman. D'you think he'd mind?"

Mrs. Parsons looked at her doubtfully. 

"It's very kind of you, Mary. I'm afraid he's not treated you so as todeserve that. And it would exhaust you dreadfully. "

"I'm very strong; I should like it so much. Won't you ask Jamie? He canonly refuse. "

"Very well. "

Mrs. Parsons went up to her son, by whom sat the Colonel, looking at himwistfully. James lay on his back, breathing quickly, dull, listless, andapathetic. Every now and then his dark dry lips contracted as theunceasing pain of his head became suddenly almost insufferable. 

"Jamie, dear, " said Mrs. Parsons, "Dr. Radley says you must have asecond nurse, and we thought of getting one from Tunbridge Wells. Wouldyou mind if Mary came instead?"

James opened his eyes, bright and unnatural, and the dilated pupils gavethem a strangely piercing expression. 

"Does she want to?"

"It would make her very happy. "

"Does she know that enteric is horrid to nurse?"

"For your sake she will do everything willingly. "

"Then let her. " He smiled faintly. "It's an ill wind that blows nobodygood. That's what the curate said. "

He had sufficient strength to smile to Mary when she came up, and tostretch out his hand. 

"It's very good of you, Mary. "

"Nonsense!" she said, cheerily. "You mustn't talk. And you must dowhatever I tell you, and let yourself be treated like a little boy. "

For days James remained in the same condition, with aching head, hisface livid in its pallor, except for the bright, the terrifying flush ofthe cheeks; and the lips were dark with the sickly darkness of death. Helay on his back continually, apathetic and listless, his eyes closed. Now and again he opened them, and their vacant brilliancy was almostunearthly. He seemed to see horrible things, impossible to prevent, staring in front of him with the ghastly intensity of the blind. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Parsons and Mary nursed him devotedly. Mary was quitesplendid. In her loving quickness she forestalled all Jamie's wants, sothat they were satisfied almost before he had realised them. She wasalways bright and good-tempered and fresh; she performed with constantcheerfulness the little revolting services which the diseasenecessitates; nothing was too difficult, or too harassing, or toounpleasant for her to do. She sacrificed herself with delight, takingupon her shoulders the major part of the work, leaving James only whenMrs. Parsons forced her to rest. She sat up night after nightuncomplainingly; having sent for her clothes, and, notwithstanding Mrs. Clibborn's protests, taken up her abode altogether at Primpton House. 

Mrs. Clibborn said it was a most improper proceeding; that a trainednurse would be more capable, and the Parsons could well afford it; andalso that it was indelicate for Mary to force herself upon James when hewas too ill to defend himself. 

"I don't know what we should do without you, Mary, " said ColonelParsons, with tears in his eyes. "If we save him it will be your doing. "

"Of course we shall save him! All I ask you is to say nothing of whatI've done. It's been a pleasure to me to serve him, and I don't deserve, and I don't want, gratitude. "

But it became more than doubtful whether it would be possible to saveJames, weakened by his wound and by the privations of the campaign. Thedisease grew worse. He was constantly delirious, and his prostrationextreme. His cheeks sank in, and he seemed to have lost all power ofholding himself together; he lay low down in the bed, as if he had givenup trying to save himself. His face became dusky, so that it wasterrifying to look upon. 

The doctor could no longer conceal his anxiety, and at last Mrs. Parsons, alone with him, insisted upon knowing the truth. 

"Is there any chance?" she asked, tremulously. "I would much rather knowthe worst. "

"I'm afraid very, very little. "

Mrs. Parsons shook hands silently with Dr. Radley and returned to thesick room, where Mary and the Colonel were sitting at the bedside. 

"Well?"

Mrs. Parsons bent her head, and the silent tears rolled down her cheeks. The others understood only too well. 

"The Lord's will be done, " whispered the father. "Blessed be the name ofthe Lord!"

They looked at James with aching hearts. All their bitterness had longgone, and they loved him again with the old devotion of past time. 

"D'you think I was hard on him, dear?" said the Colonel. 

Mary took his hand and held it affectionately. 

"Don't worry about that, " she said. "I'm sure he never felt anybitterness towards you. "

James now was comatose. But sometimes a reflex movement would passthrough him, a sort of quiver, which seemed horribly as though the soulwere parting from his body; and feebly he clutched at the bed-clothes. 

"Was it for this that he was saved from war and pestilence?" mutteredthe Colonel, hopelessly. 

* * *

But the Fates love nothing better than to mock the poor little creatureswhose destinies ceaselessly they weave, refusing the wretched heart'sdesire till long waiting has made it listless, and giving with bothhands only when the gift entails destruction.... James did not die; thepassionate love of those three persons who watched him day by day andnight by night seemed to have exorcised the might of Death. He grew alittle better; his vigorous frame battled for life with all the force ofthat unknown mysterious power which cements into existence the myriadwandering atoms. He was listless, indifferent to the issue; but the willto live fought for him, and he grew better. Quickly he was out ofdanger. 

His father and Mary and Mrs. Parsons looked at one another almost withsurprise, hardly daring to believe that they had saved him. They hadsuffered so much, all three of them, that they hesitated to trust theirgood fortune, superstitiously fearing that if they congratulatedthemselves too soon, some dreadful thing would happen to plunge backtheir beloved into deadly danger. But at last he was able to get up, tosit in the garden, now luxuriant with the ripe foliage of August; andthey felt the load of anxiety gradually lift itself from theirshoulders. They ventured again to laugh, and to talk of little trivialthings, and of the future. They no longer had that panic terror whenthey looked at him, pale and weak and emaciated. 

Then again the old couple thanked Mary for what she had done; and oneday, in secret, went off to Tunbridge Wells to buy a little present as aproof of their gratitude. Colonel Parsons suggested a bracelet, but hiswife was sure that Mary would prefer something useful; so they broughtback with them a very elaborate and expensive writing-case, which with afew shy words they presented to her. Mary, poor thing, was overcome withpleasure. 

"It's awfully good of you, " she said. "I've done nothing that I wouldn'thave done for any of the cottagers. "

"We know it was you who saved him. You--you snatched him from the veryjaws of Death. "

Mary paused, and held out her hand. 

"Will you promise me one thing?"

"What is it?" asked Colonel Parsons, unwilling to give his word rashly. 

"Well, promise that you will never tell James that he owes anything tome. I couldn't bear him to think I had forced myself on him so as tohave a sort of claim. Please promise me that. "

"I should never be able to keep it!" cried the Colonel. 

"I think she's right, Richmond. We'll promise, Mary. Besides, Jamescan't help knowing. "

The hopes of the dear people were reviving, and they began to look uponJamie's illness, piously, as a blessing of Providence in disguise. While Mrs. Parsons was about her household work in the morning, theColonel would sometimes come in, rubbing his hands gleefully. 

"I've been watching them from the kitchen garden, " he said. 

James lay on a long chair, in a sheltered, shady place, and Mary satbeside him, reading aloud or knitting. 

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that, Richmond, " said his wife, with anindulgent smile, "it's very cruel. "

"I couldn't help it, my dear. They're sitting there together just like apair of turtle-doves. "

"Are they talking or reading?"

"She's reading to him, and he's looking at her. He never takes his eyesoff her. "

Mrs. Parsons sighed with a happy sadness. 

"God is very good to us, Richmond. "

* * *

James was surprised to find how happily he could spend his days withMary. He was carried into the garden as soon as he got up, and remainedthere most of the day. Mary, as ever, was untiring in her devotion, thoughtful, anxious to obey his smallest whim.... He saw very soon thethoughts which were springing up again in the minds of his father andmother, intercepting the little significant glances which passed betweenthem when Mary went away on some errand and he told her not to be long, when they exchanged gentle chaff, or she arranged the cushions under hishead. The neighbours had asked to visit him, but this he resolutelydeclined, and appealed to Mary for protection. 

"I'm quite happy alone here with you, and if anyone else comes I swearI'll fall ill again. "

And with a little flush of pleasure and a smile, Mary answered that shewould tell them all he was very grateful for their sympathy, but didn'tfeel strong enough to see them. 

"I don't feel a bit grateful, really, " he said. 

"Then you ought to. "

Her manner was much gentler now that James was ill, and her rigid moralsense relaxed a little in favour of his weakness. Mary's common sensebecame less aggressive, and if she was practical and unimaginative asever, she was less afraid than before of giving way to him. She becamealmost tolerant, allowing him little petulances and littleevasions--petty weaknesses which in complete health she would have feltit her duty not to compromise with. She treated him like a child, withwhom it was possible to be indulgent without a surrender of principle;he could still claim to be spoiled and petted, and made much of. 

And James found that he could look forward with something likesatisfaction to the condition of things which was evolving. He did notdoubt that if he proposed to Mary again, she would accept him, and alltheir difficulties would be at an end. After all, why not? He was deeplytouched by the loving, ceaseless care she had taken of him; indeed, nowords from his father were needed to make him realise what she had gonethrough. She was kindness itself, tender, considerate, cheerful; he feltan utter prig to hesitate. And now that he had got used to her again, James was really very fond of Mary. In his physical weakness, herstrength was peculiarly comforting. He could rely upon her entirely, andtrust her; he admired her rectitude and her truthfulness. She remindedhim of a granite cross standing alone in a desolate Scotch island, steadfast to wind and weather, unyielding even to time, erect and stern, and yet somehow pathetic in its solemn loneliness. 

Was it a lot of nonsense that he had thought about the immaculacy of theflesh? The world in general found his theories ridiculous or obscene. The world might be right. After all, the majority is not necessarilywrong. Jamie's illness interfered like a blank space between hispresent self and the old one, with its strenuous ideals of a purity ofbody which vulgar persons knew nothing of. Weak and ill, dependent uponthe strength of others, his former opinions seemed singularly uncertain. How much more easy and comfortable was it to fall back upon the ideas ofall and sundry? One cannot help being a little conscience-strickensometimes when one thinks differently from others. That is why societyholds together; conscience is its most efficient policeman. But when oneshares common opinions, the whole authority of civilisation backs oneup, and the reward is an ineffable self-complacency. It is the easiestthing possible to wallow in the prejudices of all the world, and themost eminently satisfactory. For nineteen hundred years we have learntthat the body is shameful, a pitfall and a snare to the soul. It is tobe hoped we have one, for our bodies, since we began worrying about oursouls, leave much to be desired. The common idea is that the flesh isbeastly, the spirit divine; and it sounds reasonable enough. If it meanslittle, one need not care, for the world has turned eternally to onesenseless formula after another. All one can be sure about is that inthe things of this world there is no absolute certainty. 

James, in his prostration, felt only indifference; and his oldstrenuousness, with its tragic despair, seemed not a little ridiculous. His eagerness to keep clean from what he thought prostitution wasmelodramatic and silly, his idea of purity mere foolishness. If the bodywas excrement, as from his youth he had been taught, what could itmatter how one used it! Did anything matter, when a few years would seethe flesh he had thought divine corrupt and worm-eaten? James waswilling now to float along the stream, sociably, with his fellows, andhad no doubt that he would soon find a set of high-sounding phrases tojustify his degradation. What importance could his actions have, who wasan obscure unit in an ephemeral race? It was much better to ceasetroubling, and let things come as they would. People were obviouslyright when they said that Mary must be an excellent helpmate. How oftenhad he not told himself that she would be all that a wife should--kind, helpful, trustworthy. Was it not enough?

And his marriage would give such pleasure to his father and mother, suchhappiness to Mary. If he could make a little return for all hergoodness, was he not bound to do so? He smiled with bitter scorn at hisdead, lofty ideals. The workaday world was not fit for them; it was muchsafer and easier to conform oneself to its terrestrial standard. And theamusing part of it was that these new opinions which seemed to him afalling away, to others meant precisely the reverse. They thought itpurer and more ethereal that a man should marry because a woman would bea housekeeper of good character than because the divine instincts ofNature irresistibly propelled him. 

James shrugged his shoulders, and turned to look at Mary, who was comingtowards him with letters in her hand. 

"Three letters for you, Jamie!"

"Whom are they from?"

"Look. " She handed him one. 

"That's a bill, I bet, " he said. "Open it and see. "

She opened and read out an account for boots. 

"Throw it away. "

Mary opened her eyes. 

"It must be paid, Jamie. "

"Of course it must; but not for a long time yet. Let him send it in afew times more. Now the next one. "

He looked at the envelope, and did not recognise the handwriting. 

"You can open that, too. "

It was from the Larchers, repeating their invitation to go and see them. 

"I wonder if they're still worrying about the death of their boy?"

"Oh, well, it's six months ago, isn't it?" replied Mary. 

"I suppose in that time one gets over most griefs. I must go over someday. Now the third. "

He reddened slightly, recognising again the handwriting of Mrs. Wallace. But this time it affected him very little; he was too weak to care, andhe felt almost indifferent. 

"Shall I open it?" said Mary. 

James hesitated. 

"No, " he said; "tear it up. " And then in reply to her astonishment, headded, smiling: "It's all right, I'm not off my head. Tear it up, anddon't ask questions, there's a dear!"

"Of course, I'll tear it up if you want me to, " said Mary, lookingrather perplexed. 

"Now, go to the hedge and throw the pieces in the field. "

She did so, and sat down again. 

"Shall I read to you?"

"No, I'm sick of the 'Antiquary. ' Why the goodness they can't talkEnglish like rational human beings, Heaven only knows!"

"Well, we must finish it now we've begun. "

"D'you think something dreadful will happen to us if we don't?"

"If one begins a book I think one should finish it, however dull it is. One is sure to get some good out of it. "

"My dear, you're a perfect monster of conscientiousness. "

"Well, if you don't want me to read, I shall go on with my knitting. "

"I don't want you to knit either. I want you to talk to me. "

Mary looked almost charming in the subdued light of the sun as it brokethrough the leaves, giving a softness of expression and a richness ofcolour that James had never seen in her before. And the summer frock shewore made her more girlish and irresponsible than usual. 

"You've been very, very good to me all this time, Mary, " said James, suddenly. 

Mary flushed. "I?"

"I can never thank you enough. "

"Nonsense! Your father has been telling you a lot of rubbish, and hepromised he wouldn't. "

"No, he's said nothing. Did you make him promise? That was very nice, and just like you. "

"I was afraid he'd say more than he ought. "

"D'you think I haven't been able to see for myself? I owe my life toyou. "

"You owe it to God, Jamie. "

He smiled, and took her hand. 

"I'm very, very grateful!"

"It's been a pleasure to nurse you, Jamie. I never knew you'd make sucha good patient. "

"And for all you've done, I've made you wretched and miserable. Can youever forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, dear. You know I always think of you as abrother. "

"Ah, that's what you told the curate!" cried James, laughing. 

Mary reddened. 

"How d'you know?"

"He told Mrs. Jackson, and she told father. "

"You're not angry with me?"

"I think you might have made it second cousin, " said James, with asmile. 

Mary did not answer, but tried to withdraw her hand. He held it fast. 

"Mary, I've treated you vilely. If you don't hate me, it's only becauseyou're a perfect angel. "

Mary looked down, blushing deep red. 

"I can never hate you, " she whispered. 

"Oh, Mary, can you forgive me? Can you forget? It sounds almostimpertinent to ask you again--Will you marry me, Mary?"

She withdrew her hand. 

"It's very kind of you, Jamie. You're only asking me out of gratitude, because I've helped a little to look after you. But I want no gratitude;it was all pleasure. And I'm only too glad that you're getting well. "

"I'm perfectly in earnest, Mary. I wouldn't ask you merely fromgratitude. I know I have humiliated you dreadfully, and I have done mybest to kill the love you had for me. But I really honestly love younow--with all my heart. If you still care for me a little, I beseech younot to dismiss me. "

"If I still care for you!" cried Mary, hoarsely. "Oh, my God!"

"Mary, forgive me! I want you to marry me. "

She looked at him distractedly, the fire burning through her heart. Hetook both her hands and drew her towards him. 

"Mary, say yes. "

She sank helplessly to her knees beside him. 

"It would make me very happy, " she murmured, with touching humility. 

Then he bent forward and kissed her tenderly. 

"Let's go and tell them, " he said. "They'll be so pleased. "

Mary, smiling and joyful, helped him to his feet, and supporting him asbest she could, they went towards the house. 

Colonel Parsons was sitting in the dining-room, twirling his old Panamain a great state of excitement; he had interrupted his wife at heraccounts, and she was looking at him good-humouredly over herspectacles. 

"I'm sure something's happening, " he said. "I went out to take Jamie hisbeef-tea, and he was holding Mary's hand. I coughed as loud as I could, but they took no notice at all. So I thought I'd better not disturbthem. "

"Here they come, " said Mrs. Parsons. 

"Mother, " said James, "Mary has something to tell you. "

"I haven't anything of the sort!" cried Mary, blushing and laughing. "Jamie has something to tell you. "

"Well, the fact is, I've asked Mary to marry me and she's said shewould. "

XIX

James was vastly relieved. His people's obvious delight, Mary's quiethappiness, were very grateful to him, and if he laughed at himself alittle for feeling so virtuous, he could not help thoroughly enjoyingthe pleasure he had given. He was willing to acknowledge now that hisconscience had been uneasy after the rupture of his engagement: althoughhe had assured himself so vehemently that reason was upon his side, thecommon disapproval, and the influence of all his bringing-up, hadaffected him in his own despite. 

"When shall we get married, Mary?" he asked, when the four of them weresitting together in the garden. 

"Quickly!" cried Colonel Parsons. 

"Well, shall we say in a month, or six weeks?"

"D'you think you'll be strong enough?" replied Mary, lookingaffectionately at him. And then, blushing a little: "I can get readyvery soon. "

The night before, she had gone home and taken out the trousseau whichwith tears had been put away. She smoothed out the things, unfoldedthem, and carefully folded them up. Never in her life had she possessedsuch dainty linen. Mary cried a while with pleasure to think that shecould begin again to collect her little store. No one knew what agony ithad been to write to the shops at Tunbridge Wells countermanding herorders, and now she looked forward with quiet delight to buying all thatremained to get. 

Finally, it was decided that the wedding should take place at thebeginning of October. Mrs. Parsons wrote to her brother, who answeredthat he had expected the event all along, being certain that hisconversation with James would eventually bear fruit. He was happy to beable to congratulate himself on the issue of his diplomacy; it waswonderful how easily all difficulties were settled, if one took themfrom the point of view of a man of the world. Mrs. Jackson likewiseflattered herself that the renewed engagement was due to herintervention. 

"I saw he was paying attention to what I said, " she told her husband. "Iknew all he wanted was a good, straight talking to. "

"I am sorry for poor Dryland, " said the Vicar. 

"Yes, I think we ought to do our best to console him. Don't you think hemight go away for a month, Archibald?"

Mr. Dryland came to tea, and the Vicar's wife surrounded him with littleattentions. She put an extra lump of sugar in his tea, and cut him evena larger piece of seed-cake than usual. 

"Of course you've heard, Mr. Dryland?" she said, solemnly. 

"Are you referring to Miss Clibborn's engagement to Captain Parsons?" heasked, with a gloomy face. "Bad news travels fast. "

"You have all our sympathies. We did everything we could for you. "

"I can't deny that it's a great blow to me. I confess I thought thattime and patience on my part might induce Miss Clibborn to change hermind. But if she's happy, I cannot complain. I must bear my misfortunewith resignation. "

"But will she be happy?" asked Mrs. Jackson, with foreboding in hervoice. 

"I sincerely hope so. Anyhow, I think it my duty to go to CaptainParsons and offer him my congratulations. "

"Will you do that, Mr. Dryland?" cried Mrs. Jackson. "That is noble ofyou!"

"If you'd like to take your holiday now, Dryland, " said the Vicar, "Idaresay we can manage it. "

"Oh, no, thanks; I'm not the man to desert from the field of battle. "

Mrs. Jackson sighed. 

"Things never come right in this world. That's what I always say; theclergy are continually doing deeds of heroism which the world neverhears anything about. "

The curate went to Primpton House and inquired whether he might seeCaptain Parsons. 

"I'll go and ask if he's well enough, " answered the Colonel, with hisadmirable respect for the cloth. 

"Do you think he wants to talk to me about my soul?" asked James, smiling. 

"I don't know; but I think you'd better see him. "

"Very well. "

Mr. Dryland came forward and shook hands with James in an ecclesiasticaland suave manner, trying to be dignified, as behoved a rejected lover inthe presence of his rival, and at the same time cordial, as befitted aChristian who could bear no malice. 

"Captain Parsons, you will not be unaware that I asked Miss Clibborn tobe my wife?"

"The fact was fairly generally known in the village, " replied James, trying to restrain a smile. 

Mr. Dryland blushed. 

"I was annoyed at the publicity which the circumstance obtained. Theworst of these little places is that people will talk. "

"It was a very noble deed, " said James gravely, repeating the commonopinion. 

"Not at all, " answered the curate, with characteristic modesty. "Butsince it was not to be, since Miss Clibborn's choice has fallen on you, I think it my duty to inform you of my hearty goodwill. I wish, inshort, to offer you again my sincerest congratulations. "

"I'm sure that's very kind of you. "

* * *

Two days, later Mrs. Jackson called on a similar errand. 

She tripped up to James and frankly held out her hand, neatly encased asever in a shining black kid glove. 

"Captain Parsons, let us shake hands, and let bygones be bygones. Youhave taken my advice, and if, in the heat of the moment, we both saidthings which we regret, after all, we're only human. "

"Surely, Mrs. Jackson, I was moderation itself?--even when you told me Ishould infallibly go to Hell. "

"You were extremely irritating, " said the Vicar's lady, smiling, "but Iforgive you. After all, you paid more attention to what I said than Iexpected you would. "

"It must be very satisfactory for you to think that. "

"You know I have no ill-feeling towards you at all. I gave you a pieceof my mind because I thought it was my duty. If you think I stepped overthe limits of--moderation, I am willing and ready to apologise. "

"What a funny woman you are!" said James, looking at her with agood-humoured, but rather astonished smile. 

"I'm sure I don't know what makes you think so, " she answered, bridlinga little. 

"It never occurred to me that you honestly thought you were actingrightly when you came and gave me a piece of your mind, as you call it. I thought your motives were simply malicious and uncharitable. "

"I have a very high ideal of my duties as a clergyman's wife. "

"The human animal is very odd. "

"I don't look upon myself as an animal, Captain Parsons. "

James smiled. 

"I wonder why we all torture ourselves so unnecessarily. It really seemsas if the chief use we made of our reason was to inflict as much painupon ourselves and upon one another as we possibly could. "

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Captain Parsons. "

"When you do anything, are you ever tormented by a doubt whether you aredoing right or wrong?"

"Never, " she answered, firmly. "There is always a right way and a wrongway, and, I'm thankful to say, God has given me sufficient intelligenceto know which is which; and obviously I choose the right way. "

"What a comfortable idea! I can never help thinking that every right wayis partly wrong, and every wrong way partly right. There's always somuch to be said on both sides; to me it's very hard to know which iswhich. "

"Only a very weak man could think like that. "

"Possibly! I have long since ceased to flatter myself on my strength ofmind. I find it is chiefly a characteristic of unintelligent persons. "

* * *

It was Mary's way to take herself seriously. It flattered her to thinkthat she was not blind to Jamie's faults; she loved him none the less ontheir account, but determined to correct them. He had an unusual way oflooking at things, and an occasional flippancy in his conversation, bothof which she hoped in time to eradicate. With patience, gentleness, anddignity a woman can do a great deal with a man. 

One of Mary's friends had a husband with a bad habit of swearing, whichwas cured in a very simple manner. Whenever he swore, his wife sworetoo. For instance, he would say: "That's a damned bad job;" and his wifeanswered, smiling: "Yes, damned bad. " He was rather surprised, butquickly ceased to employ objectionable words. Story does not relatewhether he also got out of the habit of loving his wife; but that, doubtless, is a minor detail. Mary always looked upon her friend as apattern. 

"James is not really cynical, " she told herself. "He says things, notbecause he means them, but because he likes to startle people. "

It was inconceivable that James should not think on all subjects as shehad been brought up to do, and the least originality struck hernaturally as a sort of pose. But on account of his illness Mary allowedhim a certain latitude, and when he said anything she did not approveof, instead of arguing the point, merely smiled indulgently and changedthe subject. There was plenty of time before her, and when James becameher husband she would have abundant opportunity of raising him to thatexalted level upon which she was so comfortably settled. The influenceof a simple Christian woman could not fail to have effect; at bottomJames was as good as gold, and she was clever enough to guide himinsensibly along the right path. 

James, perceiving this, scarcely knew whether to be incensed or amused. Sometimes he could see the humour in Mary's ingenuous conceit, and inthe dogmatic assurance with which she uttered the most astoundingopinions; but at others, when she waved aside superciliously a remarkthat did not square with her prejudices, or complacently denied astatement because she had never heard it before, he was irritated beyondall endurance. And it was nothing very outrageous he said, but merelysome commonplace of science which all the world had accepted for twentyyears. Mary, however, entrenched herself behind the impenetrable rock ofher self-sufficiency. 

"I'm not clever enough to argue with you, " she said; "but I know I'mright; and I'm quite satisfied. "

Generally she merely smiled. 

"What nonsense you talk, Jamie! You don't really believe what you say. "

"But, my dear Mary, it's a solemn fact. There's no possibility ofdoubting it. It's a truism. "

Then with admirable self-command, remembering that James was still aninvalid, she would pat his hand and say:

"Well, it doesn't matter. Of course, you're much cleverer than I am. Itmust be almost time for your beef-tea. "

James sank back, baffled. Mary's ignorance was an impenetrable cuirass;she would not try to understand, she could not even realise that shemight possibly be mistaken. Quite seriously she thought that what sheignored could be hardly worth knowing. People talk of the advance ofeducation; there may be a little among the lower classes, but it isinconceivable that the English gentry can ever have been more illiteratethan they are now. Throughout the country, in the comfortable villa orin the stately mansion, you will find as much prejudice and superstitionin the drawing-room as in the kitchen; and you will find the mastersless receptive of new ideas than their servants; and into the bargain, presumptuously satisfied with their own nescience. 

James saw that the only way to deal with Mary and with his people was togive in to all their prejudices. He let them talk, and held his tongue. He shut himself off from them, recognising that there was, and could be, no bond between them. They were strangers to him; their ways of lookingat every detail of life were different from his; they had not aninterest, not a thought, in common.... The preparations for the marriagewent on. 

One day Mary decided that it was her duty to speak with James about hisreligion. Some of his remarks had made her a little uneasy, and he wasquite strong enough now to be seriously dealt with. 

"Tell me, Jamie, " she said, in reply to an observation which she waspleased to consider flippant, "you do believe in God, don't you?"

But James had learnt his lesson well. 

"My dear, that seems to me a private affair of my own. "

"Are you ashamed to say?" she asked, gravely. 

"No; but I don't see the advantage of discussing the matter. "

"I think you ought to tell me as I'm going to be your wife. I shouldn'tlike you to be an atheist. "

"Atheism is exploded, Mary. Only very ignorant persons are certain ofwhat they cannot possibly know. "

"Then I don't see why you should be afraid to tell me. "

"I'm not; only I think you have no right to ask. We both think that inmarriage each should leave the other perfect freedom. I used to imaginethe ideal was that married folk should not have a thought, nor an ideaapart; but that is all rot. The best thing is evidently for each to gohis own way, and respect the privacy of the other. Complete trustentails complete liberty. "

"I think that is certainly the noblest way of looking at marriage. "

"You may be quite sure I shall not intrude upon _your_ privacy, Mary. "

"I'm sorry I asked you any question. I suppose it's no business ofmine. "

James returned to his book; he had fallen into the habit again ofreading incessantly, finding therein his only release from the dailyaffairs of life; but when Mary left him, he let his novel drop and beganto think. He was bitterly amused at what he had said. The parrot wordswhich he had so often heard on Mary's lips sounded strangely on his own. He understood now why the view of matrimony had become prevalent that itwas an institution in which two casual persons lived together, for thesupport of one and the material comfort of the other. Without love itwas the most natural thing that husband and wife should seek all mannerof protection from each other; with love none was needed. It harmonisedwell with the paradox that a marriage of passion was rather indecent, while lukewarm affection and paltry motives of convenience wereelevating and noble. 

Poor Mary! James knew that she loved him with all her soul, such as itwas (a delicate conscience and a collection of principles are notenough to make a great lover), and again he acknowledged to himself thathe could give her only friendship. It had been but an ephemeraltenderness which drew him to her for the second time, due to weakness ofbody and to gratitude. If he ever thought it was love, he knew by nowthat he had been mistaken. Still, what did it matter? He supposed theywould get along very well--as well as most people; better even than ifthey adored one another; for passion is not conducive to an even life. Fortunately she was cold and reserved, little given to demonstrativeaffection; she made few demands upon him, and occupied with her work inthe parish and the collection of her trousseau, was content that heshould remain with his books. 

The day fixed upon for the marriage came nearer. 

But at last James was seized with a wild revolt. His father was sittingby him. 

"Mary's wedding-dress is nearly ready, " he said, suddenly. 

"So soon?" cried James, his heart sinking. 

"She's afraid that something may happen at the last moment, and it won'tbe finished in time. "

"What could happen?"

"Oh, I mean something at the dressmaker's!"

"Is that all? I imagine there's little danger. "

There was a pause, broken again by the Colonel. 

"I'm so glad you're going to be happily married, Jamie. "

His son did not answer. 

"But man is never satisfied. I used to think that when I got youspliced, I should have nothing else to wish for; but now I'm beginningto want little grandsons to rock upon my knees. "

Jamie's face grew dark. 

"We should never be able to afford children. "

"But they come if one wants them or not, and I shall be able to increaseyour allowance a little, you know. I don't want you to go short ofanything. "

James said nothing, but he thought: "If I had children by her, I shouldhate them. " And then with sudden dismay, losing all the artificialindifference of the last week, he rebelled passionately against hisfate. "Oh, I hate and loathe her!"

He felt he could no longer continue the pretence he had been making--forit was all pretence. The effort to be loving and affectionate wastorture, so that all his nerves seemed to vibrate with exasperation. Sometimes he had to clench his hands in order to keep himself underrestraint. He was acting all the time. James asked himself what madnessblinded Mary that she did not see? He remembered how easily speech hadcome in the old days when they were boy and girl together; they couldpass hours side by side, without a thought of time, talking of littleinsignificant things, silent often, and always happy. But now he rackedhis brain for topics of conversation, and the slightest pause seemedirksome and unnatural. He was sometimes bored to death, savagely, cruelly; so that he was obliged to leave Mary for fear that he would saybitter and horrible things. Without his books he would have gone mad. She must be blind not to see. Then he thought of their married life. Howlong would it last? The years stretched themselves out endlessly, passing one after another in dreary monotony. Could they possibly behappy? Sooner or later Mary would learn how little he cared for her, andwhat agony must she suffer then! But it was inevitable. Now, whateverhappened, he could not draw back; it was too late for explanations. Would love come? He felt it impossible; he felt, rather, that thephysical repulsion which vainly he tried to crush would increase till heabhorred the very sight of his wife. 

Passionately he cried out against Fate because he had escaped death sooften. The gods played with him as a cat plays with a mouse. He had beenthrough dangers innumerable; twice he had lain on the very threshold ofeternal night, and twice he had been snatched back. Far rather would hehave died the soldier's death, gallantly, than live on to thishumiliation and despair. A friendly bullet could have saved him manydifficulties and much unhappiness. And why had he recovered from thefever? What an irony it was that Mary should claim gratitude for doinghim the greatest possible disservice!

"I can't help it, " he cried; "I loathe her!"

The strain upon him was becoming intolerable. James felt that he couldnot much longer conceal the anguish which was destroying him. But whatwas to be done? Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!

James held his head in his hands, cursing his pitiful weakness. Why didhe not realise, in his convalescence, that it was but a passing emotionwhich endeared Mary to him? He had been so anxious to love her, so eagerto give happiness to all concerned, that he had welcomed the least signof affection; but he knew what love was, and there could be no excuse. He should have had the courage to resist his gratitude. 

"Why should I sacrifice myself?" he cried. "My life is as valuable astheirs. Why should it be always I from whom sacrifice is demanded?"

But it was no use rebelling. Mary's claims were too strong, and if helived he must satisfy them. Yet some respite he could not do without;away from Primpton he might regain his calm. James hated London, buteven that would be better than the horrible oppression, the constrainthe was forced to put upon himself. 

He walked up and down the garden for a few minutes to calm down, andwent in to his mother. He spoke as naturally as he could. 

"Father tells me that Mary's wedding-dress is nearly ready. "

"Yes; it's a little early. But it's well to be on the safe side. "

"It's just occurred to me that I can hardly be married in rags. I thinkI had better go up to town for a few days to get some things. "

"Must you do that?"

"I think so. And there's a lot I want to do. "

"Oh, well, I daresay Mary won't mind, if you don't stay too long. Butyou must take care not to tire yourself. "

XX

On his second visit to London, James was more fortunate, for immediatelyhe got inside his club he found an old friend, a man named Barker, lateadjutant of his regiment. Barker had a great deal to tell James ofmutual acquaintance, and the pair dined together, going afterwards to amusic-hall. James felt in better spirits than for some time past, andhis good humour carried him well into the following day. In theafternoon, while he was reading a paper, Barker came up to him. 

"I say, old chap, " he said, "I quite forgot to tell you yesterday. Youremember Mrs. Wallace, don't you--Pritchard, of that ilk? She's in town, and in a passion with you. She says she's written to you twice, andyou've taken no notice. "

"Really? I thought nobody was in town now. "

"She is; I forget why. She told me a long story, but I didn't listen, asI knew it would be mostly fibs. She's probably up to some mischief. Let's go round to her place and have tea, shall we?"

"I hardly think I can, " replied James, reddening. "I've got anengagement at four. "

"Rot--come on! She's just as stunning as ever. By Gad, you should haveseen her in her weeds!"

"In her weeds! What the devil do you mean?"

"Didn't you know? P. W. Was bowled over at the beginning of thewar--after Colenso, I think. "

"By God!--I didn't know. I never saw!"

"Oh, well, I didn't know till I came home.... Let's stroll along, shallwe? She's looking out for number two; but she wants money, so there's nodanger for us!"

James rose mechanically, and putting on his hat, accompanied Barker, allunwitting of the thunder-blow that his words had been.... Mrs. Wallacewas at home. James went upstairs, forgetting everything but that thewoman he loved was free--free! His heart beat so that he could scarcelybreathe; he was afraid of betraying his agitation, and had to make adeliberate effort to contain himself. 

Mrs. Wallace gave a little cry of surprise on seeing James.... She hadnot changed. The black gown she wore, fashionable, but slightlyfantastic, set off the dazzling olive clearness of her skin and the richcolour of her hair. James turned pale with the passion that consumedhim; he could hardly speak. 

"You wretch!" she cried, her eyes sparkling, "I've written to youtwice--once to congratulate you, and then to ask you to come and seeme--and you took not the least notice. "

"Barker has just told me you wrote. I am so sorry. "

"Oh, well, I thought you might not receive the letters. I'll forgiveyou. "

She wore Indian anklets on her wrists and a barbaric chain about herneck, so that even in the London lodging-house she preserved amysterious Oriental charm. In her movements there was a sinuous felinegrace which was delightful, and yet rather terrifying. One fancied thatshe was not quite human, but some cruel animal turned into the likenessof a woman. Vague stories floated through the mind of Lamia, and theunhappy end of her lovers. 

The three of them began to talk, chattering of the old days in India, ofthe war. Mrs. Wallace bemoaned her fate in having to stay in town whenall smart people had left. Barker told stories. James did not know howhe joined in the flippant conversation; he wondered at his self-commandin saying insignificant things, in laughing heartily, when his wholesoul was in a turmoil. At length the adjutant went away, and James wasleft alone with Mrs. Wallace. 

"D'you wish me to go?" he asked. "You can turn me out if you do. "

"Oh, I should--without hesitation, " she retorted, laughing; "but I'mbored to death, and I want you to amuse me. "

Strangely enough, James felt that the long absence had created nobarrier between them. Thinking of Mrs. Wallace incessantly, sometimesagainst his will, sometimes with a fierce delight, holding with herimaginary conversations, he felt, on the contrary, that he knew her farmore intimately than he had ever done. There seemed to be a link betweenthem, as though something had passed which prevented them from everagain becoming strangers. James felt he had her confidence, and he wasable to talk frankly as before, in his timidity, he had never ventured. He treated her with the loving friendliness with which he had been usedto treat the imaginary creature of his dreams. 

"You haven't changed a bit, " he said, looking at her. 

"Did you expect me to be haggard and wrinkled? I never let myself growold. One only needs strength of mind to keep young indefinitely. "

"I'm surprised, because you're so exactly as I've thought of you. "

"Have you thought of me often?"

The fire flashed to Jamie's eyes, and it was on his lips to break outpassionately, telling her how he had lived constantly with herrecollection, how she had been meat and drink to him, life, and breath, and soul; but he restrained himself. 

"Sometimes, " he answered, smiling. 

Mrs. Wallace smiled, too. 

"I seem to remember that you vowed once to think of me always. "

"One vows all sorts of things. " He hoped she could not hear thetrembling in his voice. 

"You're very cool, friend Jim--and much less shy than you used to be. You were a perfect monster of bashfulness, and your conscience was amost alarming animal. It used to frighten me out of my wits; I hope youkeep it now under lock and key, like the beasts in the Zoo. "

James was telling himself that it was folly to remain, that he must goat once and never return. The recollection of Mary came back to him, inthe straw hat and the soiled serge dress, sitting in the dining-roomwith his father and mother; she had brought her knitting so as not towaste a minute; and while they talked of him, her needles clickedrapidly to and fro. Mrs. Wallace was lying in a long chair, coiled up ina serpentine, characteristic attitude; every movement wafted to him theoppressive perfume she wore; the smile on her lips, the caress of hereyes, were maddening. He loved her more even than he had imagined; hislove was a fury, blind and destroying. He repeated to himself that hemust fly, but the heaviness in his limbs chained him to her side; he hadno will, no strength; he was a reed, bending to every word she spoke andto every look. Her fascination was not human, the calm, voluptuous lookof her eyes was too cruel; and she was poised like a serpent about tospring. 

At last, however, James was obliged to take his leave. 

"I've stayed an unconscionable time. "

"Have you? I've not noticed it. "

Did she care for him? He took her hand to say good-bye, and the pressuresent the blood racing through his veins. He remembered vividly thepassionate embrace of their last farewell. He thought then that heshould never see her again, and it was Fate which had carried him to herfeet. Oh, how he longed now to take her in his arms and to cover hersoft mouth with his kisses!

"What are you doing this evening?" she said. 

"Nothing. "

"Would you like to take me to the Carlton? You remember you promised. "

"Oh, that is good of you! Of course I should like it!"

At last he could not hide the fire in his heart, and the simple wordswere said so vehemently that Mrs. Wallace looked up in surprise. Shewithdrew the hand which he was still holding. 

"Very well. You may fetch me at a quarter to eight. "

* * *

After taking Mrs. Wallace home, James paced the streets for an hour in aturmoil of wild excitement. They had dined at the Carlton expensively, as was her wish, and then, driving to the Empire, James had taken a box. Through the evening he had scarcely known how to maintain his calm, howto prevent himself from telling her all that was in his heart. After themisery he had gone through, he snatched at happiness with eager grasp, determined to enjoy to the full every single moment of it. He threw allscruples to the wind. He was sick and tired of holding himself in; hehad checked himself too long, and now, at all hazards, must let himselfgo. Bridle and curb now were of no avail. He neither could nor wouldsuppress his passion, though it devoured him like a raging fire. Hethought his conscientiousness absurd. Why could he not, like other men, take the brief joy of life? Why could he not gather the roses withoutcaring whether they would quickly fade? "Let me eat, drink, and bemerry, " he cried, "for to-morrow I die!"

It was Wednesday, and on the Saturday he had promised to return toLittle Primpton. But he put aside all thought of that, except as anincentive to make the most of his time. He had wrestled with temptationand been overcome, and he gloried in his defeat. He would make nofurther effort to stifle his love. His strength had finally desertedhim, and he had no will to protect himself; he would give himself overentirely to his passion, and the future might bring what it would. 

"I'm a fool to torment myself!" he cried. "After all, what does anythingmatter but love?"

Mrs. Wallace was engaged for the afternoon of the next day, but she hadinvited him to dine with her. 

"They feed you abominably at my place, " she said, "but I'll do my best. And we shall be able to talk. "

Until then he would not live; and all sorts of wild, mad thoughts ranthrough his head. 

"Is there a greater fool on earth than the virtuous prig?" he muttered, savagely. 

He could not sleep, but tossed from side to side, thinking ever of thesoft hands and the red lips that he so ardently wished to kiss. In themorning he sent to Half Moon Street a huge basket of flowers. 

* * *

"It was good of you, " said Mrs. Wallace, when he arrived, pointing tothe roses scattered through the room. She wore three in her hair, trailing behind one ear in an exotic, charming fashion. 

"It's only you who could think of wearing them like that. "

"Do they make me look very barbaric?" She was flattered by theadmiration in his eyes. "You certainly have improved since I saw youlast. "

"Now, shall we stay here or go somewhere?" she asked after dinner, whenthey were smoking cigarettes. 

"Let us stay here. "

Mrs. Wallace began talking the old nonsense which, in days past, haddelighted James; it enchanted him to hear her say, in the tone of voicehe knew so well, just those things which he had a thousand timesrepeated to himself. He looked at her with a happy smile, his eyes fixedupon her, taking in every movement. 

"I don't believe you're listening to a word I'm saying!" she cried atlast. "Why don't you answer?"

"Go on. I like to see you talk. It's long since I've had the chance. "

"You spoke yesterday as though you hadn't missed me much. "

"I didn't mean it. You knew I didn't mean it. "

She smiled mockingly. 

"I thought it doubtful. If it had been true, you could hardly have saidanything so impolite. "

"I've thought of you always. That's why I feel I know you so much betternow. I don't change. What I felt once, I feel always. "

"I wonder what you mean by that?"

"I mean that I love you as passionately as when last I saw you. Oh, Ilove you ten times more!"

"And the girl with the bun and the strenuous look? You were engaged whenI knew you last. "

James was silent for a moment. 

"I'm going to be married to her on the 10th of October, " he saidfinally, in an expressionless voice. 

"You don't say that as if you were wildly enthusiastic. "

"Why did you remind me?" cried James. "I was so happy. Oh, I hate her!"

"Then why on earth are you marrying her?"

"I can't help it; I must. You've brought it all back. How could you beso cruel! When I came back from the Cape, I broke the engagement off. Imade her utterly miserable, and I took all the pleasure out of my poorfather's life. I knew I'd done right; I knew that unless I loved her itwas madness to marry; I felt even that it was unclean. Oh, you don'tknow how I've argued it all out with myself time after time! I wasanxious to do right, and I felt such a cad. I can't escape from mybringing-up. You can't imagine what are the chains that bind us inEngland. We're wrapped from our infancy in the swaddling-clothes ofprejudice, ignorance, and false ideas; and when we grow up, though weknow they're all absurd and horrible, we can't escape from them; they'vebecome part of our very flesh. Then I grew ill--I nearly died; and Marynursed me devotedly. I don't know what came over me, I felt so ill andweak. I was grateful to her. The old self seized me again, and I wasashamed of what I'd done. I wanted to make them all happy. I asked heragain to marry me, and she said she would. I thought I could love her, but I can't--I can't, God help me!"

Jamie's passion was growing uncontrollable. He walked up and down theroom, and then threw himself heavily on a chair. 

"Oh, I know it was weakness! I used to pride myself on my strength ofmind, but I'm weak. I'm weaker than a woman. I'm a poorreed--vacillating, uncertain, purposeless. I don't know my own mind. Ihaven't the courage to act according to my convictions. I'm afraid togive pain. They all think I'm brave, but I'm simply a pitifulcoward.... "

"I feel that Mary has entrapped me, and I hate her. I know she has goodqualities--heaps of them--but I can't see them. I only know that themere touch of her hand curdles my blood. She excites absolute physicalrepulsion in me; I can't help it. I know it's madness to marry her, butI can't do anything else. I daren't inflict a second time thehumiliation and misery upon her, or the unhappiness upon my people. "

Mrs. Wallace now was serious. 

"And do you really care for anyone else?"

He turned savagely upon her. 

"You know I do. You know I love you with all my heart and soul. You knowI've loved you passionately from the first day I saw you. Didn't youfeel, even when we were separated, that my love was inextinguishable?Didn't you feel it always with you? Oh, my dear, my dear, you must haveknown that death was too weak to touch my love! I tried to crush it, because neither you nor I was free. Your husband was my friend. Icouldn't do anything blackguardly. I ran away from you. What a fool youmust have thought me! And now I know that at last we were both free, Imight have made you love me. I had my chance of happiness at last; whatI'd longed for, cursing myself for treachery, had come to pass. But Inever knew. In my weakness I surrendered my freedom. O God! what shall Ido?"

He hid his face in his hands and groaned with agony. Mrs. Wallace wassilent for a while. 

"I don't know if it will be any consolation for you, " she said at last;"you're sure to know sooner or later, and I may as well tell you now. I'm engaged to be married. "

"What!" cried James, springing up. "It's not true; it's not true!"

"Why not? Of course it's true!"

"You can't--oh, my dearest, be kind to me!"

"Don't be silly, there's a good boy! You're going to be married yourselfin a month, and you really can't expect me to remain single because youfancy you care for me. I shouldn't have told you, only I thought itwould make things easier for you. "

"You never cared two straws for me! I knew that. You needn't throw it inmy face. "

"After all, I was a married woman. "

"I wonder how much you minded when you heard your husband was lying deadon the veldt?"

"My dear boy, he wasn't; he died of fever at Durban--quite comfortably, in a bed. "

"Were you sorry?"

"Of course I was! He was extremely satisfactory--and not at allexacting. "

James did not know why he asked the questions; they came to his lipsunbidden. He was sick at heart, angry, contemptuous. 

"I'm going to marry a Mr. Bryant--but, of course, not immediately, " shewent on, occupied with her own thoughts, and pleased to talk of them. 

"What is he?"

"Nothing! He's a landed proprietor. " She said this with a certain pride. 

James looked at her scornfully; his love all through had been mingledwith contrary elements; and trying to subdue it, he had often insistedupon the woman's vulgarity, and lack of taste, and snobbishness. Hethought bitterly now that the daughter of the Portuguese and of theriding-master had done very well for herself. 

"Really, I think you're awfully unreasonable, " she said. "You might makeyourself pleasant. "

"I can't, " he said, gravely. "Let me go away. You don't know what I'vefelt for you. In my madness, I fancied that you must realise my love; Ithought even that you might care for me a little in return. "

"You're quite the nicest boy I've ever known. I like you immensely. "

"But you like the landed proprietor better. You're very wise. He canmarry you. Good-bye!"

"I don't want you to think I'm horrid, " she said, going up to him andtaking his arm. It was an instinct with her to caress people and makethem fond of her. "After all, it's not my fault. "

"Have I blamed you? I'm sorry; I had no right to. "

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know--I can always shoot myself if things get unendurable. Thank God, there's always that refuge!"

"Oh, I hope you won't do anything silly!"

"It would be unlike me, " James murmured, grimly. "I'm so dreadfullyprosaic and matter-of-fact. Good-bye!"

Mrs. Wallace was really sorry for James, and she took his handaffectionately. She always thought it cost so little to be amiable. 

"We may never meet again, " she said; "but we shall still be friends, Jim. "

"Are you going to say that you'll be a sister to me, as Mary told thecurate?"

"Won't you kiss me before you go?"

James shook his head, not trusting himself to answer. The light in hislife had all gone; the ray of sunshine was hidden; the heavy clouds hadclosed in, and all the rest was darkness. But he tried to smile at Mrs. Wallace as he touched her hand; he hardly dared look at her again, knowing from old experience how every incident and every detail of herperson would rise tormentingly before his recollection. But at last hepulled himself together. 

"I'm sorry I've made a fool of myself, " he said, quietly. "I hope you'llbe very happy. Please forget all I've said to you. It was only nonsense. Good-bye! I'll send you a bit of my wedding-cake. "

XXI

James was again in Little Primpton, ill at ease and unhappy. The scenewith Mrs. Wallace had broken his spirit, and he was listless now, indifferent to what happened; the world had lost its colour and the sunits light. In his quieter moments he had known that it was impossiblefor her to care anything about him; he understood her character fairlywell, and realised that he had been only a toy, a pastime to a woman whoneeded admiration as the breath of her nostrils. But notwithstanding, some inner voice had whispered constantly that his love could not bealtogether in vain; it seemed strong enough to travel the infinitedistance to her heart and awaken at least a kindly feeling. He washumble, and wanted very little. Sometimes he had even felt sure that hewas loved. The truth rent his heart, and filled it with bitterness; thewoman who was his whole being had forgotten him, and the woman who lovedhim he hated.... He tried to read, striving to forget; but his troubleoverpowered him, and he could think of nothing but the future, dreadfuland inevitable. The days passed slowly, monotonously; and as each nightcame he shuddered at the thought that time was flying. He was driftingon without hope, tortured and uncertain. 

"Oh, I'm so weak, " he cried; "I'm so weak!"

He knew very well what he should do if he were strong of will. A firmman in his place would cut the knot brutally--a letter to Mary, a letterto his people, and flight. After all, why should he sacrifice his lifefor the sake of others? The catastrophe was only partly his fault; itwas unreasonable that he alone should suffer. 

If his Colonel came to hear of the circumstance, and disapproving, questioned him, he could send in his papers. James was bored intenselyby the dull routine of regimental life in time of peace; it was aquestion of performing day after day the same rather unnecessary duties, seeing the same people, listening to the same chatter, the same jokes, the same chaff. And added to the incurable dulness of the mess was theirksome feeling of being merely an overgrown schoolboy at the beck andcall of every incompetent and foolish senior. Life was too short towaste in such solemn trifling, masquerading in a ridiculous costumewhich had to be left at home when any work was to be done. But he wasyoung, with the world before him; there were many careers free to theman who had no fear of death. Africa opened her dusky arms to theadventurer, ruthless and desperate; the world was so large and manifold, there was ample scope for all his longing. If there were difficulties, he could overcome them; perils would add salt to the attempt, freedomwould be like strong wine. Ah, that was what he desired, freedom--freedom to feel that he was his own master; that he was notenchained by the love and hate of others, by the ties of convention andof habit. Every bond was tedious. He had nothing to lose, and everythingto win. But just those ties which every man may divide of his own freewill are the most oppressive; they are unfelt, unseen, till suddenlythey burn the wrists like fetters of fire, and the poor wretch who wearsthem has no power to help himself. 

James knew he had not strength for this fearless disregard of others; hedared not face the pain he would cause. He was acting like a fool; hiskindness was only cowardly. But to be cruel required more courage thanhe possessed. If he went away, his anguish would never cease; his vividimagination would keep before his mind's eye the humiliation of Mary, the unhappiness of his people. He pictured the consternation and thehorror when they discovered what he had done. At first they would refuseto believe that he was capable of acting in so blackguardly a way; theywould think it a joke, or that he was mad. And then the shame when theyrealised the truth! How could he make such a return for all theaffection and the gentleness be had received? His father, whom he loveddevotedly, would be utterly crushed. 

"It would kill him, " muttered James. 

And then he thought of his poor mother, affectionate and kind, butcapable of hating him if he acted contrary to her code of honour. Herimmaculate virtue made her very hard; she exacted the highest fromherself, and demanded no less from others. James remembered in hisboyhood how she punished his petty crimes by refusing to speak to him, going about in cold and angry silence; he had never forgotten the icyindignation of her face when once she had caught him lying. Oh, thesegood people, how pitiless they can be!

He would never have courage to confront the unknown dangers of a newlife, unloved, unknown, unfriended. He was too merciful; his heart bledat the pain of others, he was constantly afraid of soiling his hands. Itrequired a more unscrupulous man than he to cut all ties, and push outinto the world with no weapons but intelligence and a ruthless heart. Above all, he dreaded his remorse. He knew that he would brood over whathe had done till it attained the proportions of a monomania; hisconscience would never give him peace. So long as he lived, the claimsof Mary would call to him, and in the furthermost parts of the earth hewould see her silent agony. James knew himself too well. 

And the only solution was that which, in a moment of passionatebitterness, had come thoughtlessly to his lips:

"I can always shoot myself. "

"I hope you won't do anything silly, " Mrs. Wallace had answered. 

It would be silly. After all, one has only one life. But sometimes onehas to do silly things. 

* * *

The whim seized James to visit the Larchers, and one day he set out forAshford, near which they lived.... He was very modest about his attemptto save their boy, and told himself that such courage as it required waspurely instinctive. He had gone back without realising in the least thatthere was any danger. Seeing young Larcher wounded and helpless, it hadseemed the obvious thing to get him to a place of safety. In the heat ofaction fellows were constantly doing reckless things. Everyone had asort of idea that he, at least, would not be hit; and James, by no meansoppressed with his own heroism, knew that courageous deeds withoutnumber were performed and passed unseen. It was a mere chance that theincident in which he took part was noticed. 

Again, he had from the beginning an absolute conviction that hisinterference was nothing less than disastrous. Probably the Boersharpshooters would have let alone the wounded man, and afterwards theirdoctors would have picked him up and properly attended to him. 

James could not forget that it was in his very arms that Larcher hadbeen killed, and he repeated: "If I had minded my own business, he mighthave been alive to this day. " It occurred to him also that with hisexperience he was much more useful than the callow, ignorant boy, sothat to risk his more valuable life to save the other's, from the pointof view of the general good, was foolish rather than praiseworthy. Butit appealed to his sense of irony to receive the honour which he was solittle conscious of deserving. 

The Larchers had been anxious to meet James, and he was curious to knowwhat they were like. There was at the back of his mind also a desire tosee how they conducted themselves, whether they were still prostratewith grief or reconciled to the inevitable. Reggie had been an onlyson--just as he was. James sent no message, but arrived unexpectedly, and found that they lived some way from the station, in a new, red-brickvilla. As he walked to the front door, he saw people playing tennis atthe side of the house. 

He asked if Mrs. Larcher was at home, and, being shown into thedrawing-room the lady came to him from the tennis-lawn. He explained whohe was. 

"Of course, I know quite well, " she said. "I saw your portrait in theillustrated papers. "

She shook hands cordially, but James fancied she tried to conceal aslight look of annoyance. He saw his visit was inopportune. 

"We're having a little tennis-party, " she said, "It seems a pity towaste the fine weather, doesn't it?"

A shout of laughter came from the lawn, and a number of voices wereheard talking loudly. Mrs. Larcher glanced towards them uneasily; shefelt that James would expect them to be deeply mourning for the deadson, and it was a little incongruous that on his first visit he shouldfind the whole family so boisterously gay. 

"Shall we go out to them?" said Mrs. Larcher. "We're just going to havetea, and I'm sure you must be dying for some. If you'd let us know youwere coming we should have sent to meet you. "

James had divined that if he came at a fixed hour they would all havetuned their minds to a certain key, and he would see nothing of theirnatural state. 

They went to the lawn, and James was introduced to a pair of buxom, healthy-looking girls, panting a little after their violent exercise. They were dressed in white, in a rather masculine fashion, and the onlysign of mourning was the black tie that each wore in a sailor's knot. They shook hands vigorously (it was a family trait), and then seemed ata loss for conversation; James, as was his way, did not help them, andthey plunged at last into a discussion about the weather and thedustiness of the road from Ashford to their house. 

Presently a loose-limbed young man strolled up, and was presented toJames. He appeared on friendly terms with the two girls, who called himBobbikins. 

"How long have you been back?" he asked. "I was out in the ImperialYeomanry--only I got fever and had to come home. "

James stiffened himself a little, with the instinctive dislike of theregular for the volunteer. 

"Oh, yes! Did you go as a trooper?"

"Yes; and pretty rough it was, I can tell you. "

He began to talk of his experience in a resonant voice, apparentlywell-pleased with himself, while the red-faced girls looked at himadmiringly. James wondered whether the youth intended to marry themboth. 

The conversation was broken by the appearance of Mr. Larcher, arosy-cheeked and be-whiskered man, dapper and suave. He had been pickingflowers, and handed a bouquet to one of his guests. James fancied he wasa prosperous merchant, who had retired and set up as a countrygentleman; but if he was the least polished of the family, he was alsothe most simple. He greeted the visitor very heartily, and offered totake him over his new conservatory. 

"My husband takes everyone to the new conservatory, " said Mrs. Larcher, laughing apologetically. 

"It's the biggest round Ashford, " explained the worthy man. 

James, thinking he wished to talk of his son, consented, and as theywalked away, Mr. Larcher pointed out his fruit trees, his pigeons. Hewas a fancier, said he, and attended to the birds entirely himself; thenin the conservatory, made James admire his orchids and the luxuriance ofhis maidenhair. 

"I suppose these sort of things grow in the open air at the Cape?" heasked. 

"I believe everything grows there. "

Of his son he said absolutely nothing, and presently they rejoined theothers. The Larchers were evidently estimable persons, healthy-mindedand normal, but a little common. James asked himself why they hadinvited him if they wished to hear nothing of their boy's tragic death. Could they be so anxious to forget him that every reference wasdistasteful? He wondered how Reggie had managed to grow up so simple, frank, and charming amid these surroundings. There was a certainpretentiousness about his people which caused them to escape completevulgarity only by a hair's-breadth. But they appeared anxious to makemuch of James, and in his absence had explained who he was to theremaining visitors, and these beheld him now with an awe which the herofound rather comic. 

Mrs. Larcher invited him to play tennis, and when he declined seemedhardly to know what to do with him. Once when her younger daughterlaughed more loudly than usual at the very pointed chaff of the ImperialYeoman, she slightly frowned at her, with a scarcely perceptible butsignificant glance in Jamie's direction. To her relief, however, theconversation became general, and James found himself talking with MissLarcher of the cricket week at Canterbury. 

After all, he could not be surprised at the family's general happiness. Six months had passed since Reggie's death, and they could not remainin perpetual mourning. It was very natural that the living should forgetthe dead, otherwise life would be too horrible; and it was possibly onlythe Larchers' nature to laugh and to talk more loudly than most people. James saw that it was a united, affectionate household, homely and kind, cursed with no particular depth of feeling; and if they had not resignedthemselves to the boy's death, they were doing their best to forget thathe had ever lived. It was obviously the best thing, and it would becruel--too cruel--to expect people never to regain their cheerfulness. 

"I think I must be off, " said James, after a while; "the trains run soawkwardly to Tunbridge Wells. "

They made polite efforts to detain him, but James fancied they were notsorry for him to go. 

"You must come and see us another day when we're alone, " said Mrs. Larcher. "We want to have a long talk with you. "

"It's very kind of you to ask me, " he replied, not committing himself. 

Mrs. Larcher accompanied him back to the drawing-room, followed by herhusband. 

"I thought you might like a photograph of Reggie, " she said. 

This was her first mention of the dead son, and her voice neither shooknor had in it any unwonted expression. 

"I should like it very much. "

It was on Jamie's tongue to say how fond he had been of the boy, and howhe regretted his sad end; but he restrained himself, thinking if thewounds of grief were closed, it was cruel and unnecessary to reopenthem. 

Mrs. Larcher found the photograph and gave it to James. Her husbandstood by, saying nothing. 

"I think that's the best we have of him. "

She shook hands, and then evidently nerved herself to say somethingfurther. 

"We're very grateful to you, Captain Parsons, for what you did. Andwe're glad they gave you the Victoria Cross. "

"I suppose you didn't bring it to-day?" inquired Mr. Larcher. 

"I'm afraid not. "

They showed him out of the front door. 

"Mind you come and see us again. But let us know beforehand, if youpossibly can. "

* * *

Shortly afterwards James received from the Larchers a goldencigarette-case, with a Victoria Cross in diamonds on one side and aninscription on the other. It was much too magnificent for use, evidently expensive, and not in very good taste. 

"I wonder whether they take that as equal in value to their son?" saidJames. 

Mary was rather dazzled. 

"Isn't it beautiful!" she cried, "Of course, it's too valuable to use;but it'll do to put in our drawing-room. "

"Don't you think it should be kept under a glass case?" asked James, with his grave smile. 

"It'll get so dirty if we leave it out, won't it?" replied Mary, seriously. 

"I wish there were no inscription. It won't fetch so much if we gethard-up and have to pop our jewels. "

"Oh, James, " cried Mary, shocked, "you surely wouldn't do a thing likethat!"

James was pleased to have seen the Larchers. It satisfied and relievedhim to know that human sorrow was not beyond human endurance: as thegreatest of their gifts, the gods have vouchsafed to man a happyforgetfulness. 

In six months the boy's family were able to give parties, to laugh andjest as if they had suffered no loss at all; and the thought of thiscleared his way a little. If the worst came to the worst--and thatdesperate step of which he had spoken seemed his only refuge--he couldtake it with less apprehension. Pain to those he loved was inevitable, but it would not last very long; and his death would trouble them farless than his dishonour. 

Time was pressing, and James still hesitated, hoping distractedly forsome unforeseen occurrence that would at least delay the marriage. TheHouse of Death was dark and terrible, and he could not walk rashly toits dreadful gates: something would surely happen! He wanted time tothink--time to see whether there was really no escape. How horrible itwas that one could know nothing for certain! He was torn and rent by hisindecision. 

Major Forsyth had been put off by several duchesses, and was driven tospend a few economical weeks at Little Primpton; he announced that sinceJamie's wedding was so near he would stay till it was over. Finding alsothat his nephew had not thought of a best man, he offered himself; hehad acted as such many times--at the most genteel functions; and with apleasant confusion of metaphor, assured James that he knew the ropesright down to the ground. 

"Three weeks to-day, my boy!" he said heartily to James one morning, oncoming down to breakfast. 

"Is it?" replied James. 

"Getting excited?"

"Wildly!"

"Upon my word, Jamie, you're the coolest lover I've ever seen. Why, I'vehardly known how to keep in some of the fellows I've been best man to. "

"I'm feeling a bit seedy to-day, Uncle William. "

James thanked his stars that ill-health was deemed sufficient excuse forall his moodiness. Mary spared him the rounds among her sick and needy, whom, notwithstanding the approaching event, she would on no accountneglect. She told Uncle William he was not to worry her lover, but leavehim quietly with his books; and no one interfered when he took long, solitary walks in the country. Jamie's reading now was a pretence; hisbrain was too confused, he was too harassed and uncertain to understanda word; and he spent his time face to face with the eternal problem, trying to see a way out, when before him was an impassable wall, stillhoping blindly that something would happen, some catastrophe whichshould finish at once all his perplexities, and everything elsebesides. 

XXII

In solitary walks James had found his only consolation. He knew even inthat populous district unfrequented parts where he could wander withoutfear of interruption. Among the trees and the flowers, in the broadmeadows, he forgot himself; and, his senses sharpened by long absence, he learnt for the first time the exquisite charm of English country. Heloved the spring, with its yellow, countless buttercups, spread over thegreen fields like a cloth of gold, whereon might fitly walk the angelsof Messer Perugino. The colours were so delicate that one could notbelieve it possible for paints and paint-brush to reproduce them; theatmosphere visibly surrounded things, softening their outlines. Sometimes from a hill higher than the rest James looked down at theplain, bathed in golden sunlight. The fields of corn, the fields ofclover, the roads and the rivulets, formed themselves in that flood oflight into an harmonious pattern, luminous and ethereal. A pleasantreverie filled his mind, unanalysable, a waking dream ofhalf-voluptuous sensation. 

On the other side of the common, James knew a wood of tall fir trees, dark and ragged, their sombre green veiled in a silvery mist, as though, like a chill vapour, the hoar-frost of a hundred winters still lingeredamong their branches. At the edge of the hill, up which they climbed inserried hundreds, stood here and there an oak tree, just bursting intoleaf, clothed with its new-born verdure, like the bride of the younggod, Spring. And the ever-lasting youth of the oak trees contrastedwonderfully with the undying age of the firs. Then later, in the heightof the summer, James found the pine wood cool and silent, fitting hishumour. It was like the forest of life, the grey and sombre labyrinthwhere wandered the poet of Hell and Death. The tall trees rose straightand slender, like the barren masts of sailing ships; the gentle aromaticodour, the light subdued; the purple mist, so faint as to be scarcelydiscernible, a mere tinge of warmth in the day--all gave him anexquisite sense of rest. Here he could forget his trouble, and givehimself over to the love which seemed his real life; here therecollection of Mrs. Wallace gained flesh and blood, seeming so realthat he almost stretched out his arms to seize her.... His footfall onthe brown needles was noiseless, and the tread was soft and easy; theodours filled him like an Eastern drug with drowsy intoxication. 

But all that now was gone. When, unbidden, the well-known laugh rangagain in his ears, or he felt on his hands the touch of the slenderfingers, James turned away with a gesture of distaste. Now Mrs. Wallacebrought him only bitterness, and he tortured himself insanely trying toforget her.... With tenfold force the sensation returned which had soterribly oppressed him before his illness; he felt that Nature hadbecome intolerably monotonous; the circumscribed, prim country washorrible. On every inch of it the hand of man was apparent. It was aprison, and his hands and feet were chained with heavy iron.... Thedark, immovable clouds were piled upon one another in giant masses--sodistinct and sharply cut, so rounded, that one almost saw the impressureof the fingers of some Titanic sculptor; and they hung low down, overwhelming, so that James could scarcely breathe. The sombre elms weretoo well-ordered, the meadows too carefully tended. All round, the hillswere dark and drear; and that very fertility, that fat Kentishluxuriance, added to the oppression. It was a task impossible to escapefrom that iron circle. All power of flight abandoned him. Oh! he loathedit!

The past centuries of people, living in a certain way, with certainstandards, influenced by certain emotions, were too strong for him. James was like a foolish bird--a bird born in a cage, without power toattain its freedom. His lust for a free life was futile; he acknowledgedwith cruel self-contempt that he was weaker than a woman--ineffectual. He could not lead the life of his little circle, purposeless and untrue;and yet he had not power to lead a life of his own. Uncertain, vacillating, torn between the old and the new, his reason led him; hisconscience drew him back. But the ties of his birth and ancestry weretoo strong; he had not the energy even of the poor tramp, who carrieswith him his whole fortune, and leaves in the lap of the gods theuncertain future. James envied with all his heart the beggar boy, wandering homeless and penniless, but free. He, at least, had not theseinhuman fetters which it was death to suffer and death to cast off; he, indeed, could make the world his servant. Freedom, freedom! If one wereonly unconscious of captivity, what would it matter? It is the knowledgethat kills. And James walked again by the neat, iron railing whichenclosed the fields, his head aching with the rigidity and decorum, wishing vainly for just one piece of barren, unkept land to remind himthat all the world was not a prison. 

Already the autumn had come. The rich, mouldering colours were like anair melancholy with the approach of inevitable death; but in thosepassionate tints, in the red and gold of the apples, in the many tonesof the first-fallen leaves, there was still something which forbade oneto forget that in the death and decay of Nature there was always thebeginning of other life. Yet to James the autumn heralded death, with noconsoling afterthought. He had nothing to live for since he knew thatMrs. Wallace could never love him. His love for her had borne him up andsustained him; but now it was hateful and despicable. After all, hislife was his own to do what he liked with; the love of others had noright to claim his self-respect. If he had duties to them, he had dutiesto himself also; and more vehemently than ever James felt that such aunion as was before him could only be a degradation. He repeated withnew emotion that marriage without love was prostitution. If death wasthe only way in which he could keep clean that body ignorantly despised, why, he was not afraid of death! He had seen it too often for thethought to excite alarm. It was but a common, mechanical process, quickly finished, and not more painful than could be borne. The flesh isall which is certainly immortal; the dissolution of consciousness is thesignal of new birth. Out of corruption springs fresh life, like theroses from a Roman tomb; and the body, one with the earth, pursues theeternal round. 

But one day James told himself impatiently that all these thoughts weremad and foolish; he could only have them because he was still out ofhealth. Life, after all, was the most precious thing in the world. Itwas absurd to throw it away like a broken toy. He rebelled against thefate which seemed forcing itself upon him. He determined to make theeffort and, come what might, break the hateful bonds. It only required alittle courage, a little strength of mind. If others suffered, he hadsuffered too. The sacrifice they demanded was too great.... But when hereturned to Primpton House, the inevitability of it all forced itselfonce again upon him. He shrugged his shoulders despairingly; it was nogood. 

The whole atmosphere oppressed him so that he felt powerless; somehidden influence surrounded James, sucking from his blood, as it were, all manliness, dulling his brain. He became a mere puppet, acting inaccordance to principles that were not his own, automatic, will-less. His father sat, as ever, in the dining-room by the fire, for only in thewarmest weather could he do without artificial heat, and he read thepaper, sometimes aloud, making little comments. His mother, at thetable, on a stiff-backed chair, was knitting--everlastingly knitting. Outwardly there was in them a placid content, and a gentleness whichmade them seem pliant as wax; but really they were iron. James knew atlast how pitiless was their love, how inhumanly cruel their intolerance;and of the two his father seemed more implacable, more horriblyrelentless. His mother's anger was bearable, but the Colonel's veryweakness was a deadly weapon. His despair, his dumb sorrow, his entiredependence on the forbearance of others, were more tyrannical than themost despotic power. James was indeed a bird beating himself against theimprisoning cage; and its bars were loving-kindness and trust, tears, silent distress, bitter disillusion, and old age. 

"Where's Mary?" asked James. 

"She's in the garden, walking with Uncle William. "

"How well they get on together, " said the Colonel, smiling. 

James looked at his father, and thought he had never seen him so old andfeeble. His hands were almost transparent; his thin white hair, hisbowed shoulders, gave an impression of utter weakness. 

"Are you very glad the wedding is so near, father?" asked James, placinghis hand gently on the old man's shoulder. 

"I should think I was. "

"You want to get rid of me so badly?"

"'A man shall leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto hiswife; and they shall be one flesh. ' We shall have to do without you. "

"I wonder whether you are fonder of Mary than of me?"

The Colonel did not answer, but Mrs. Parsons laughed. 

"My impression is that your father has grown so devoted to Mary that hehardly thinks you worthy of her. "

"Really? And yet you want me to marry her, don't you, daddy?"

"It's the wish of my heart. "

"Were you very wretched when our engagement was broken off?"

"Don't talk of it! Now it's all settled, Jamie, I can tell you that I'dsooner see you dead at my feet than that you should break your word toMary. "

James laughed. 

"And you, mother?" he asked, lightly. 

She did not answer, but looked at him earnestly. 

"What, you too? Would you rather see me dead than not married to Mary?What a bloodthirsty pair you are!"

James, laughing, spoke so gaily, it never dawned on them that his wordsmeant more than was obvious; and yet he felt that they, loving butimplacable, had signed his death-warrant. With smiling faces they hadthrown open the portals of that House, and he, smiling, was ready toenter. 

Mary at that moment came in, followed by Uncle William. 

"Well, Jamie, there you are!" she cried, in that hard, metallic voicewhich to James betrayed so obviously the meanness of her spirit and herself-complacency. "Where on earth have you been?"

She stood by the table, straight, uncompromising, self-reliant; by herimmaculate virtue, by the strength of her narrow will, she completelydomineered the others. She felt herself capable of managing them all, and, in fact, had been giving Uncle William a friendly little lectureupon some action of which she disapproved. Mary had left off her summerthings and wore again the plain serge skirt, and because it was rainy, the battered straw hat of the preceding winter. She was using up her oldthings, and having got all possible wear out of them, intended on theday before her marriage generously to distribute them among the poor. 

"Is my face very red?" she asked. "There's a lot of wind to-day. "

To James she had never seemed more unfeminine; that physical repulsionwhich at first had terrified him now was grown into an ungovernablehate. Everything Mary did irritated and exasperated him; he wondered shedid not see the hatred in his eyes as he looked at her, answering herquestion. 

"Oh, no, " he said to himself, "I would rather shoot myself than marryyou!"

His dislike was unreasonable, but he could not help it; and the devotionof his parents made him detest her all the more; he could not imaginewhat they saw in her. With hostile glance he watched her movements asshe took off her hat and arranged her hair, grimly drawn back andexcessively neat; she fetched her knitting from Mrs. Parsons'swork-basket and sat down. All her actions had in them an insufferableair of patronage, and she seemed more than usually pleased with herself. James had an insane desire to hurt her, to ruffle thatself-satisfaction; and he wanted to say something that should wound herto the quick. And all the time he laughed and jested as though he werein the highest spirits. 

"And what were you doing this morning, Mary?" asked Colonel Parsons. 

"Oh, I biked in to Tunbridge Wells with Mr. Dryland to play golf. Heplays a rattling good game. "

"Did he beat you?"

"Well, no, " she answered, modestly. "It so happened that I beat him. Buthe took his thrashing remarkably well--some men get so angry whenthey're beaten by a girl. "

"The curate has many virtues, " said James. 

"He was talking about you, Jamie. He said he thought you disliked him;but I told him I was certain you didn't. He's really such a good man, one can't help liking him. He said he'd like to teach you golf. "

"And is he going to?"

"Certainly not. I mean to do that myself. "

"There are many things you want to teach me, Mary. You'll have yourhands full. "

"Oh, by the way, father told me to remind you and Uncle William that youwere shooting with him the day after to-morrow. You're to fetch him atten. "

"I hadn't forgotten, " replied James. "Uncle William, we shall have toclean our guns to-morrow. "

James had come to a decision at last, and meant to waste no time;indeed, there was none to waste. And to remind him how near was the datefixed for the wedding were the preparations almost complete. One or twopresents had already arrived. With all his heart he thanked his fatherand mother for having made the way easier for him. He thought what hewas about to do the kindest thing both to them and to Mary. Under nocircumstances could he marry her; that would be adding a greater lie tothose which he had already been forced into, and the misery was morethan he could bear. But his death was the only other way of satisfyingher undoubted claims. He had little doubt that in six months he would beas well forgotten as poor Reggie Larcher, and he did not care; he wassick of the whole business, and wanted the quiet of death. His love forMrs. Wallace would never give him peace upon earth; it was utterlyfutile, and yet unconquerable. 

James saw his opportunity in Colonel Clibborn's invitation to shoot; hewas most anxious to make the affair seem accidental, and that, incleaning his gun, was easy. He had been wounded before and knew that thepain was not very great. He had, therefore, nothing to fear. 

Now at last he regained his spirits. He did not read or walk, but spentthe day talking with his father; he wished the last impression he wouldleave to be as charming as possible, and took great pains to appear athis best. 

He slept well that night, and in the morning dressed himself withunusual care. At Primpton House they breakfasted at eight, andafterwards James smoked his pipe, reading the newspaper. He was a littleastonished at his calm, for doubt no longer assailed him, and theindecision which paralysed all his faculties had disappeared. 

"It is the beginning of my freedom, " he thought. All human interests hadabandoned him, except a vague sensation of amusement. He saw the humourof the comedy he was acting, and dispassionately approved himself, because he did not give way to histrionics. 

"Well, Uncle William, " he said, at last, "what d'you say to setting towork on our guns?"

"I'm always ready for everything, " said Major Forsyth. 

"Come on, then. "

They went into what they called the harness-room, and James begancarefully to clean his gun. 

"I think I'll take my coat off, " he said; "I can work better without. "

The gun had not been used for several months, and James had a good dealto do. He leant over and rubbed a little rust off the lock. 

"Upon my word, " said Uncle William, "I've never seen anyone handle a gunso carelessly as you. D'you call yourself a soldier?"

"I am a bit slack, " replied James, laughing. "People are always tellingme that. "

"Well, take care, for goodness' sake! It may be loaded. "

"Oh, no, there's no danger. It's not loaded, and besides, it's locked. "

"Still, you oughtn't to hold it like that. "

"It would be rather comic if I killed myself accidentally. I wonder whatMary would say?"

"Well, you've escaped death so often by the skin of your teeth, I thinkyou're pretty safe from everything but old age. "

Presently James turned to his uncle. 

"I say, this is rotten oil. I wish we could get some fresh. "

"I was just thinking that. "

"Well, you're a pal of the cook. Go and ask her for some, there's a goodchap. "

"She'll do anything for me, " said Major Forsyth, with a self-satisfiedsmile. It was his opinion that no woman, countess or scullery-maid, could resist his fascinations; and taking the cup, he trotted off. 

James immediately went to the cupboard and took out a cartridge. Heslipped it in, rested the butt on the ground, pointed the barrel to hisheart, and--fired!

EPILOGUE

A letter from Mrs. Clibborn to General Sir Charles Clow, K. C. B. , 8Gladhorn Terrace, Bath:

 "DEAR CHARLES, --I am so glad to hear you are settled in your new house in Bath, and it is _most_ kind to ask us down. I am devoted to Bath; one meets such _nice_ people there, and all one's friends whom one knew centuries ago. It is such a comfort to see how fearfully old they're looking! I don't know whether we can manage to accept your kind invitation, but I must say I should be glad of a change after the truly _awful_ things that have happened here. I have been dreadfully upset all the winter, and have had several touches of rheumatism, which is a thing I never suffered from before. 

 "I wrote and told you of the sudden and _mysterious_ death of poor James Parsons, a fortnight before he was going to marry my dear Mary. He shot himself accidentally while cleaning a gun--that is to say, every one _thinks_ it was an accident. But I am certain it was nothing of the kind. Ever since the dreadful thing happened--six months ago--it has been on my conscience, and I assure you that the whole time I have not slept a wink. My sufferings have been _horrible_! You will be surprised at the change in me; I am beginning to look like an _old_ woman. I tell you this in strict confidence. _I believe he committed suicide. _ He confessed that he loved me, Charles. Of course, I told him I was old enough to be his mother; but love is blind. When I think of the tragic end of poor Algy Turner, who poisoned himself in India for my sake, I don't know how I shall ever forgive myself. I never gave James the least encouragement, and when he said that he loved me, I was so taken aback that I _nearly fainted_. I am convinced that he shot himself rather than marry a woman he did not love, and what is more, _my_ daughter. You can imagine my feelings! I have taken care not to breathe a word of this to Reginald, whose gout is making him more irritable every day, or to anyone else. So no one suspects the truth. 

 "But I shall never get over it. I could not bear to think of poor Algy Turner, and now I have on my head as well the blood of James Parsons. They were dear boys, both of them. I think I am the only one who is really sorry for him. If it had been my son who was killed I should either have gone _raving mad_ or had hysterics for a week; but Mrs. Parsons merely said: 'The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. ' I cannot help thinking it was rather profane, and _most_ unfeeling. _I_ was dreadfully upset, and Mary had to sit up with me for several nights. I don't believe Mary really loved him. I hate to say anything against my own daughter, but I feel bound to tell the truth, and my private opinion is that she loved _herself_ better. She loved her constancy and the good opinion of Little Primpton; the fuss the Parsons have made of her I'm sure is very bad for anyone. It can't be good for a girl to be given way to so much; and I never really liked the Parsons. They're very good people, of course; but only infantry!

 "I am happy to say that poor Jamie's death was almost instantaneous. When they found him he said: 'It was an accident; I didn't know the gun was loaded. ' (_Most improbable_, I think. It's wonderful how they've all been taken in; but then they didn't know his secret!) A few minutes later, just before he died, he said: 'Tell Mary she's to marry the curate. '

 "If my betrothed had died, _nothing_ would have induced me to marry anybody else. I would have remained an _old maid_. But so few people have any really _nice_ feeling! Mr. Dryland, the curate, had already proposed to Mary, and she had refused him. He is a pleasant-spoken young man, with a rather fine presence--not _my_ ideal at all; but that, of course, doesn't matter! Well, a month after the funeral, Mary told me that he had asked her again, and she had declined. I think it was very bad taste on his part, but Mary said she thought it _most noble_. 

 "It appears that Colonel and Mrs. Parsons both pressed her very much to accept the curate. They said it was Jamie's dying wish, and that his last thought had been for her happiness. There is no doubt that Mr. Dryland is an excellent young man, but if the Parsons had _really_ loved their son, they would never have advised Mary to get married. I think it was most _heartless_. 

 "Well, a few days ago, Mr. Dryland came and told us that he had been appointed vicar of Stone Fairley, in Kent. I went to see Mrs. Jackson, the wife of our Vicar, and she looked it out in the clergy list. The stipend is £300 a year, and I am told that there is a good house. Of course, it's not very much, but better than nothing. This morning Mr. Dryland called and asked for a private interview with Mary. He said he must, of course, leave Little Primpton, and his vicarage would sadly want a mistress; and finally, for the third time, _begged_ her on his _bended knees_ to marry her. He had previously been to the Parsons, and the Colonel sent for Mary, and told her that he hoped she would not refuse Mr. Dryland for their sake, and that they thought it was her duty to marry. The result is that Mary accepted him, and is to be married very quietly by special license in a month. The widow of the late incumbent of Stone Fairley moves out in six weeks, so this will give them time for a fortnight's honeymoon before settling down. They think of spending it in Paris. 

 "I think, on the whole, it is as good a match as poor Mary could _expect to make_. The stipend is paid by the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, which, of course, is much safer than glebe. She is no longer a young girl, and I think it was her last chance. Although she is my own daughter, I cannot help confessing that she is not the sort of girl that wears well; she has always been _plain_--(no one would think she was my daughter)--and as time goes on, she will grow _plainer_. When I was eighteen my mother's maid used to say: 'Why, miss, there's many a married woman of thirty who would be proud to have your bust. ' But our poor, _dear_ Mary has _no figure_. She will do excellently for the wife of a country vicar. She's so fond of giving people advice, and of looking after the poor, and it won't matter that she's dowdy. She has no idea of dressing herself, although I've always done my best for her. 

 "Mr. Dryland is, of course, in the seventh heaven of delight. He has gone into Tunbridge Wells to get a ring, and as an engagement present has just sent round a complete edition of the works of Mr. Hall Caine. He is evidently _generous_. I think they will suit one another very well, and I am glad to get my only daughter married. She was always rather a tie on Reginald and me. We are so devoted to one another that a third person has often seemed a little in the way. Although you would not believe it, and we have been married for nearly thirty years, nothing gives us more happiness than to sit holding one another's hands. I have always been sentimental, and I am not ashamed to own it. Reggie is sometimes afraid that I shall get an attack of my rheumatism when we sit out together at night; but I always take care to wrap myself up well, and I invariably make him put a muffler on. 

 "Give my kindest regards to your wife, and tell her I hope to see her soon. --Yours very sincerely, "CLARA DE TULLEVILLE CLIBBORN. "

THE END

_Printed by Cowan & Co. , Limited, Perth. _