CHRISTOPHER HIBBAULT, ROADMAKER

by

MARGUERITE BRYANT

New YorkGrosset & DunlapPublishers

Copyright, 1908, byDuffield and Company

Set up and electrotyped; published January, 1909Reprinted March, August, October, December, 1909May, August, October, 1910

 _To V. B. And M. B. This Book with my love 1906-1908_

 _Your paths were two when first the tale began And now are one, and still with every year Love, the Divine Roadmaker, works His will. And of these paths he makes one perfect Road Which those who follow after shall find smooth And with more easy steps shall seek the Dawn. _

Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker

CHAPTER I

It was a hot July day, set in a sky of unruffled blue, with sharpshadows across road and field, and a wind that had little coolness init playing languidly over the downland. The long white dusty road keptits undeviating course eastward over hill and dale, through hamlet andtown, till it was swallowed up in the mesh-work of ways round London, sixty-three miles away according to the mile-stone by which a certainsmall boy clad in workhouse garb was loitering. He had read theinscription many times and parcelled out the sixty-three miles intovarious days' journeys, but never succeeded in bringing it withindivisionable distance of the few pennies which found their way intohis pockets. His precocious little head carried within it too bittermemories of hungry days, and too many impressions of the shifts andcontrivances by which fortune's votaries bamboozle from that fickleGoddess a meagre living, to adventure on the journey unprepared. Moreover, Mr. And Mrs. Moss of the Whitmansworth Union were notunkind, and meals were regular, so he did not run away from the housethat had opened its doors to him and an exhausted mother six monthsago. But he still dreamt of London as the desideratum of his fondesthopes, and that, in spite of a black terror crouching there andcarefully nurtured by the poor mother in the days of their wanderings. He saw it all through a haze of people and experiences, of friends andfoes, and it was the Place of Liberty. 

Therefore, when escape was possible from the somewhat easy rule ofthe Union, he hurried away to the mile-stone on the "Great Road, " asit was called about here. The stone with its clear distinct blacklettering, seemed to bring him nearer London, and he would spend histime contentedly flinging pebbles into the river of dust at his feet, or planning out in his active little mind what he would do when oldGranny Jane's prophecy came true. 

There was a wide strip of turf on each side of the road bejewelledwith poppies and daisies, matted with yellow and white bedstraws, carpeted with clovers, and over all lay a coating of fine chalky dust, legacy of passing cart and carriage. 

The boy was very hot and very dusty, and a little sleepy. He lay onhis back drumming his heels on the turf and watching an exuberant larktower up into the sky above him. He was not unmindful of the lark'ssong, but he vaguely wondered if a well-thrown stone could travel asfar as the dark mounting speck. 

"It's a year ago I am sure since that old woman told me my fortune, "he said, suddenly sitting up. "I wonder if it will come true. Mothersaid it was nonsense. "

It was a lonely stretch of road. The mile-stone was on the summit of arise and the ground sloped away on his right to a reach of greenwater-meadow through which a chalky trout-stream wandered, and the redroof of an old mill showed through a group of silvery poplars andwillows. On the other side of the road were undulating fields thatdwindled from sparse cultivation to bare down-land. There was no signof any house except the distant mill, but directly over the summit ofthe hill, happily hidden, an ugly little red-brick mushroom of a townasserted itself, overgrowing in its unbeautiful growth the olderpicturesque village of Whitmansworth. 

The faint sharp click of horses' hoofs stepping swiftly and regularlyswept up the road towards the boy. He stood up the better to see theapproaching vehicle which was coming from out of the east towards him. Two horses, he judged, listening intently. Presently a distant darkspot on the road evolved itself into a carriage--a phaeton and a pairof iron grey horses. It was long before the days of motors, when finehorses and good drivers were common enough in England, but even thesmall boy recognised that these animals were exceptional and werestepping out at a pace that spoke of good blood, good training andgood hands on the reins. 

He watched them trot full pace down the opposite hill and breast thesteep rise after without a break in the easy rhythm of theirmovements. It was a matter of their driver's will rather than theirpleasure that made them slacken pace as they neared the mile-stone. 

The lonely little figure standing there was clearly visible to thetravellers in the phaeton. The man who was driving looked at himcasually, looked again with sudden sharp scrutiny, and abruptly pulledup his horses. He thrust the reins into his companion's hands, and wasoff the box before the groom from behind could reach the horses'heads. 

The owner of the phaeton came straight towards the small boy who waswatching the horses with interest, pleased at the halt and obliviousof his own connection with it. The traveller was a man who lookedforty-eight despite his frosted hair, and was in reality ten yearsolder. He was tall, well beyond average height, thin, well-fashioned, with a keen kindly face, clean shaven. His mouth was humorous, andthere was a certain serenity of expression and bearing that invitedconfidence. The boy, casting a hasty glance at him as he approached, thought him a very fine gentleman indeed: as in fact he was, in everypossible meaning of the word. 

"Is this Whitmansworth?" demanded the owner of the phaeton. His tonewas not aggressive. The boy gave him as straight a look of judgment ashe himself received. 

"Down there it is, " with a nod of his head in the direction of thedistant townlet. 

"And not up here?"

"Dunno, they calls it the Great Road. "

The stranger still stood looking down at him fixedly. 

"Is your name James Christopher Hibbault?"

Without warning, without time for the canny little morsel of humanityto weigh the wisdom of an answer, the question was shot at him and hewas left gasping and speechless after an incriminating "Yes, " forcedfrom him by the suddenness of the onslaught, and the truth-compellingpower of those keen eyes. "Least it's Hibbault, " he added unwillingly. "Jim, they calls me. "

"I think it is Christopher as well, and I prefer Christopher. And whatare you doing on the Great Road at this hour in the afternoon, Christopher?"

And Jim--or Christopher, --trained and renowned for a usefulevasiveness of retort in those far-off London days, answeredmechanically: "Waiting for the fortune to come true. "

Then the hot blood rushed to his face from sheer shame at his ownbetrayal of the darling secret of his small existence. 

"Your fortune?" echoed the other slowly. "Fortunes do not come forwaiting. What do you mean?"

"It was the old woman said so--mother didn't believe it. She said ashow my fortune would come to me on the Great Road. There wer'n't noGreat Road there, so when I heard as how they called this the GreatRoad, I just stuck to it. "

It was a long speech. The boy had none of the half-stupid stolidityof the country-bred, and yet lacked something of the garrulity of thecute street lad. His voice too was a surprise. The broad vowels seemedacquired and uncertain and jarred on the hearer with a sense ofmisfit. 

"Do you live at Whitmansworth Union?"

There was a faint tinge of resentment in the short "Yes. "

How did the gentleman know it, and, anyhow, why should he tell him?Jim felt irritated. 

The owner of the phaeton stood still a moment with one hand on thedusty little shoulder, and then looked round at the water-meadows, thedistant copses, the more distant shimmering downs. Then he laughed, saying something the boy did not understand, and looked down at thesharp inquiring little face again. 

"Which means, Christopher, hide-and-seek is an easy game when it'sover, " he explained. "Come and show me where you live. "

They walked back towards the carriage together. The elderly gentlemanholding the reins was looking back at them; so was the groom. Theelderly gentleman cast a puzzled, inquiring glance from the boy to hiscompanion as they came near. 

"Fortune meets us on the road-side, Stapleton, " said the owner of thephaeton. "Let me introduce you to Christopher Hibbault. Get up, child. "

Get up? Mount that quietly magnificent carriage, ride behind thosebeautiful animals with their pawing feet and arched necks? The smallboy stood still a moment to appreciate the greatness of the event. 

"Are you afraid, Christopher?"

Resentment sprang to life. Yet it was almost well so transcendent amoment should have its pin prick of annoyance. With a "No" ofineffable scorn, Jim--or Christopher--the name was immaterial tohim--clambered up into the high carriage and wedged himself betweenthe elderly gentleman and the inquisitive driver, who had regained hisseat and the reins. 

Christopher's experiences of driving were of a very limited nature, and certainly they did not embrace anything like this. He had norecollection of ever having travelled by train, and it was thequestion of pace that fascinated him, the rapid, easy swingingmovement through the air, the fresh breeze rushing by, the distancingof humbler wayfarers, all gave him a strange sense of exhilaration. Years afterward, when flesh and blood were all too slow for him and hewas one of the best motorists in England, if not in Europe, he used torecall the rapturous pleasure of that first drive of his, that firstintroduction to the mad, tense joy of speed that ever after held himin thrall. 

The owner of the phaeton and the elderly gentleman whom he had calledStapleton exchanged no remarks, but they both cast curious, thoughtfulglances at their small companion from time to time. They had to rousehim from his rhapsody to ask the way at last. He answered conciselyand shortly with no touch of the local burr. 

"How came you to be so far away?" demanded Jim's fine gentleman asthey were passing through the market-place. 

Jim was engaged in superciliously ignoring the amazed stares of thetown boys who were apt to look down on the "workhouse kid, " though heattended the Whitmansworth school. Once past them he answered thequestion vaguely. 

"The master was out: I hadn't to do anything. "

"And you had permission to wander where you liked?"

To this Jim did not reply. He had _not_ permission, but he counted onthe good nature of Mrs. Moss, with whom he was a favourite, to pleadhis cause with her husband. 

"Had you permission?" demanded his questioner again, bending downsuddenly to look in the boy's face with his disconcerting eyes. 

It would have seemed to Jim on reflection a great deal more prudentand quite as easy to have said "yes" as "no, " but the "no" slippedout, and the questioner smiled, not ill-pleased. 

At last they came to a standstill before the door of the WhitmansworthUnion. Jim, with a prodigious sigh, prepared to descend. The gloriousadventure was over. Also he prepared to slip away to a more lowlyentrance, but was stopped by a retaining hand. 

The porter, no friend of Jim's, stared with dull amazement at theapparition of the fine turn-out, and the still finer gentleman waitingon the doorstep with that little "varmint" of a Hibbault. He signed tothe boy angrily to begone, as he ushered the visitor in. 

"The boy will stay with me, " said the owner of the phaeton quietly, and they were accordingly shown into that solemn sanctum, the BoardRoom. It was a cheerful room with flowers in the window and a longgreen-covered table with comfortable chairs on each side, but itstruck a cold note of discomfort in Jim's heart. The first time he hadentered it, about six months ago, the chairs had been occupied by tenmore or less portly gentlemen who informed him that his mother, nowbeing dead (she had died two days previously), they had decided togive him a home for the present, and would educate him and teach him atrade, and that he should be very grateful and must be a good boy. 

Jim had said tearfully he would rather go back to London and Mrs. Sartin, which appeared to surprise them very much, and they were atsome pains to point out the advantages of a country life, which didnot appeal to him at all. Then one of them, who had not spokenbefore, said abruptly, "his mother had wished him to stay there, andthere was an end of it. "

That was six months ago. Jim remembered it all very distinctly as hewaited with his companion in the Board Room. 

Mr. Moss bustled in: he was a stout, cheerful man of hasty temper, butwithal a man one could deal with--through his wife--in Jim'sestimation. 

He held the card the visitor had sent in between his fingers andlooked flurried and surprised. Jim noticed he bowed to the stranger, but did not offer to shake hands as he did with the doctor and parsonand the few rare visitors the boy had observed. So Jim concluded _his_gentleman was a very great gentleman indeed, as he had all alongsuspected. 

"My name is Aston--Charles Aston"--said the owner of the phaeton inhis pleasant voice. "I have driven down from London to make inquiriesabout a small boy I have reason to believe came under your care aboutseven months ago: Hibbault by name. "

"Yes, sir, --Mr. Aston, " said Mr. Moss, assuming an air of importance, "and that is the boy himself. "

"A good boy, I hope?" He bestowed on him one of those keen, sharpglances Jim was beginning not to resent. 

"Not bad as boys go, " Mr. Moss answered dubiously, scratching hischin, "but his bringing up has been against him. London, sir, --andthen tramping about the country for a year. "

Jim regarded Mr. Aston anxiously to see how this somewhat negativecharacter struck him, but he was still looking at Jim and seemed topay small heed to Mr. Moss's words. 

"We passed him on the road, " he said; "I was struck by the likeness tosomeone I knew, and I thought there could not be two boys so like inWhitmansworth. You were master here when he was admitted?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Aston. It was in November last, on a Thursday night, Iremember, because service was on. The mother was clean exhausted, andwas taken to the infirmary at once and----"

Mr. Aston interposed. 

"Christopher, go out and stay by the carriage till I call you, and askthe gentleman--Mr. Stapleton--to come in here. "

And James Christopher Hibbault obeyed without so much as a glance forpermission at Mr. Moss. 

He delivered his message and then interviewed the groom, who seemedused to waiting. The tea bell rang, but Jim, though hungry, neverthought of disobeying his orders. The hall porter came out and wentoff on his bicycle and presently returned with Mr. Page, one of theBoard gentlemen. 

The groom eventually grew communicative and told Jim the horses' nameswere Castor and Pollux, and there wasn't their match in the country, no more in all London, though to be sure Mr. Aston had some finehorses at Marden Court. 

"Is that where he lives?" inquired Jim. 

It appeared he lived there sometimes, but Mr. Nevil, --Jim did not knowwho that was--lived there mostly. Mr. Aston spent most of his time inLondon with Mr. Aymer. They had left London the previous day, Jimlearnt, and had been driving to queer out-of-the-way places, alwaysstopping at Unions. 

At which point the door opened and Mr. Aston came out, and with himMr. Page and Mr. And Mrs. Moss and Mr. Stapleton with a bundle ofpapers in his hand, and all these people looked at Jim in a perplexedway, except Mr. Aston, who appeared quite happy and unconcerned. 

"Say good-bye to Mrs. Moss, Christopher, " he said authoritatively. "You are coming with me. "

"Where to?" demanded the boy with a sudden access of caution. 

"To London. "

Christopher began to scramble up into the carriage and wasunceremoniously hauled down. 

"Manners, Christopher. Mrs. Moss is waiting to say good-bye. "

Now, Mrs. Moss had been very kind to the little waif and taken him toher motherly childless heart, and in spite of her excitement over thiswonderful event, or because of it, she could not refrain from a fewtears. Jim was not indifferent to the fact--any more than he had beento the lark's song, but he secretly thought it very inconsiderate ofher to cloud this extraordinary adventure with anything so depressingas tears. He was the more aggrieved as against his will, against allreason and all tradition of manliness, he found objectionable saltdrops brimming up in his own eyes. A culminating point was reached, however, when Mrs. Moss fairly embraced him. It should be stated thaton occasions and in private Jim had no sort of objection to beingcuddled by Mrs. Moss, who was a comfortable, pillowy sort of person. 

The ordeal was over at last and he was clambering up into the carriagewhen Mrs. Moss bethought her he had had no tea. 

Mr. Aston protested they were going to stop at Basingstoke, but thegood woman insisted on provisioning the boy with a wedge of cake andtucking a clean handkerchief of her own into his pocket. 

"We shall sleep at Basingstoke, and I'll send back his clothes bypost, " said Mr. Aston. "No doubt we can get him some sort of temporaryoutfit there. "

Jim, who had been secretly afraid he would be relegated to the backseat with the groom, breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Aston mounted tohis place. That gentleman apparently understood the innermost soul ofthe boy, for he gravely asked Mr. Stapleton to find room for acompanion, and then with a toss of their proud heads Castor and Polluxmoved off. Mr. Aston raised his hat courteously to Mrs. Moss, and Jim, observing, made an attempt to remove his own dingy little cap, aperformance everyone took as a matter of course untill he had gone, when Mrs. Moss remembered it and exclaimed to her husband: "Didn't Ialways say, Joseph, he wasn't like the rest of them?"

But Joseph only said "Umph, " and went in doors. 

"We will telegraph to Aymer from Basingstoke, " said Mr. Aston as theystarted, and after that there was silence. 

The monotonous click-clack of the horses' feet lulled the tired childinto blissful drowsiness. He had had too many ups and downs in hiseleven years of life to be alarmed at this unexpected turn of fortune, and he was still too young to grasp how great a change had beenwrought in that life since the hot hour he had spent lying by themile-stone on the Great Road. 

As they clattered through the narrow streets of the country town inthe light of the long July evening Christopher sat up and rubbed hiseyes. 

"I've been here before, " he volunteered. 

Mr. Aston effected a skilful pass between a donkey cart and twoperambulators. 

"Yes, quite right, you have. What do you remember about it, Christopher?"

The boy looked dubious and a little distressed, but just then theypassed a chemist's shop. 

"We went there, " he cried. "Mother got something for her cough, so shecouldn't have any supper. We stayed at a horrid old woman's, a nasty, cross thing. "

"You did not go to the Union, then?"

"No, we had some money, a whole shilling and some pennies. "

Mr. Aston said something under his breath and Mr. Stapleton murmured"tut-tut-tut. "

"That's how we first missed the trail, Stapleton, " he said, and thenas they walked up a steep hill he spoke to the boy. 

"Christopher, I want you to tell me anything you remember about yourmother and the old days if you wish it, but you must not talk aboutthat to Aymer. It would make him unhappy. "

"Who is Aymer?" asked Christopher, not unreasonably. 

"Aymer is my son, my eldest son. You are going to live with him. "

"Is he a boy like me?"

"No, he is quite big, grown up, but he can't get about as you can, heis--a cripple. "

He said the words with a sort of forced jerk and half under hisbreath, but Christopher heard them and shivered. 

"Do you live there, too?" he asked, pressing a little nearer the manwho was no longer a stranger. 

"Live where?"

"With the--your son. "

"Yes, I live there too. My boy couldn't get on without me--and here'sthe White Elephant, which means supper and bed for a tired young man. Jump down, Christopher. "

CHAPTER II

The spirit of waning July hung heavily over London. In mean streetsand alleys it was inexpressibly dreary: the fagged inhabitants lackedeven energy to quarrel. 

But on the high ground westward of the Park, where big houses demandelbow-room and breathing space and even occasionally exclusivegardens, a little breeze sprang up at sundown and lingered on tilldusk. 

In this region lies one of the most beautiful houses in London, thecountry seat of some fine gentleman in Queen Anne's day. It hid itsbeauties, however, from the public gaze, lying modestly back in agarden whose size had no claim to modesty at all. All one could seefrom the road, through the iron gates, was a glimpse of a wideportico, and a long row of windows. It stood high and in its amplegarden the breeze ran riot, shaking the scent from orange and myrtletrees, from jasmine and roses, and wafting it in at the wide openwindows of a room which, projecting from the house, seemed to takecommand of the garden. 

It was a large room and the windows went from ceiling to floor. It wasalso a very beautiful room. In the gathering dusk the restfulharmonies of its colours melted into soft, hazy blue, making it appearvaster than it really was. Also, it was unencumbered by much furnitureand what there was so essentially fitted its place that it wasunobtrusive. Three big canvases occupied the walls, indiscernible inthe dim light, but masterpieces of world fame, heirlooms known allover Europe. There was a curious dearth of small objects andunessentials, nothing in all the great space that could fatigue theeye or perplex the brain of the occupant. 

The owner of the room was lying on a big sofa near one of the openwindows. Within reach was a low bookcase, a table with an electricreading lamp, and a little row of electric bells, some scatteredpapers and an open telegram. 

The man on the sofa lay quite still looking into the garden as it sunkfrom sight under the slowly falling veil of purple night. 

He was evidently a tall man, with the head and shoulders of anathlete, and a face of such precise and unusual beauty that one'sinstinct called out, "Here, then, God has planned a man. "

Aymer Aston, indeed, was not unlike his father, but far more regularin feature, more carefully hewn, and the serenity of the older facewas lacking. Here was the face of a fighter, alive with the strongpassions held in by a stronger will. There was almost riotous vitalityexpressed in his colouring, coppery-coloured hair and dark brows, eyesof surprising blueness and a tanned skin, for he spent hours lying inthe sun, hatless and unshaded, with the avowed intention of"browning"; and he "browned" well except for a queer white triangledscar almost in the centre of his forehead, an ugly mark that showed upwith fresh distinctness when any emotion brought the quick blood tohis face. There was indeed nothing in his appearance to suggest acripple or an invalid. 

Nevertheless, Aymer Aston, aged thirty-five, the best polo-player, thebest fencer, the best athlete of his day at College, possessing morethan his share of the vigour of youth and glory of life, had, for overten years, never moved without help from the sofa on which he lay, andthe strange scar and a certain weakness in the left hand and arm werethe only visible signs of the catastrophe that had broken his life. 

A thin, angular man entered, and crossed the room with an apologeticcough. 

"Is that you, Vespasian?" demanded his master without moving. "Havethey come?"

"No, sir, but there is a message from the House. I believe Mr. Astonis wanted particularly. "

"What a nuisance. Why can't they let him alone? He might as well be inoffice. "

The man, without asking permission, rearranged his master's cushionswith a practised hand. 

"The young gentleman had better have some supper upstairs, sir, asit's so late, " he suggested. "I'll see to it myself. "

"Send him in to me directly they come, Vespasian. "

"Yes, sir. "

He withdrew as quietly as he had entered and Aymer continued to lookout at the dark, and think over the change he, of his own will, wasabout to make in his monotonous existence. He was so lost in thoughthe did not hear the door open again or realise the "change" wasactually an accomplished fact till a half-frightened gasp of "Oh!"caught his ear. He turned as well as he could, unaided. 

"Is that you, Christopher?"

The voice was so singularly like Mr. Aston's that Christopher feltreassured. The dim vastness of the room had frightened him, also hehad thought it empty. 

"Come over here to me, " said Aymer, holding out his hand, "I can'tcome to you. "

Christopher nervously advanced. The brightness of the corridor outsideleft his eyes confused in this dim light. Aymer suddenly rememberedthis and turned on a switch. The vague shadowy space was flooded withsoft radiance. It was like magic to the small boy. 

He was first aware of a gorgeous glint of colouring in a rug flungacross the sofa, and then of a man lying on a pile of dull-tintedpillows, a man with red hair and blue eyes, watching him eagerly. 

Children as a rule are not susceptible to physical beauty, turningwith undeviating instinct to the inner soul of things, with a finedisregard for externals, but Christopher, in this, was ratherabnormal. He was very actively alive to outward form. 

Since Mr. Aston had told him Aymer was a cripple Christopher had beenconsumed with unspeakable dread. His idea of a cripple was derivedfrom a distorted, evil-faced old man who had lived in the same housethat had once sheltered his mother and him. The mere thought of itmade him sick with horror. And when the tall gentleman in black, whohad met them in the entrance hall and escorted him here, had openedthe door and put him inside, he had much ado not to rush out again. Heconquered his fear with unrecognised heroism, and this was hisreward. 

He stood staring, with all his worshipful admiration writ large on hislittle tired white face. Aymer Aston saw it and laughed. He was quiteaware of his own good looks and perfectly unaffected thereby, thoughhe took some pains to preserve them. But his vanity had centred itselfon one thing in his earlier life, and that, his great strength, and itdied when that was no more. 

"Little Christopher, " he said, "come and sit down by me: you must betired to death. "

"Are you Mr. Aymer?" demanded Christopher, still staring. 

"Yes, only you mustn't call me that, I think. I wonder what you willcall me?"

Christopher offered no solution to the problem. 

"Would you like to live here with me?"

He looked round. A dim sense of alarm crept back. The room looked soempty and unreal, so "alone. " Without knowing why, Christopher, whohad never had a real home to pine for, felt miserably homesick. 

Aymer watched him closely and did not press the question. Instead, heasked him in a matter-of-fact way to shut the window for him. 

The boy did so without blundering. The window-fastening was new tohim, and Aymer noticed he looked at it curiously and shut it twice tosee how it went. Then he sat down again and continued to gaze atAymer. 

"I forgot, I was to tell you something, " he said suddenly, his facewrinkling with distress. "The other one--the gentleman who broughtme----"

"My father?"

Christopher nodded. "I oughtn't to have forgotten. He said he had togo to the House, but he'd be back quite soon, he hoped. "

"He's had no dinner, I suppose, " grumbled Aymer. 

"Yes, we had dinner at--I forget the name of the place--and tea. Andyesterday we had dinner too. "

"That was wise, " said Aymer gravely. "Where's Mr. Stapleton?"

"He went home by train this morning. I sat in his place all the time, not at the back. "

He paused thoughtfully. An idea that had been dimly forming in hisbrain, took alarming shape. A small companion at the Union had latelybeen sent out as a page to a kindly family. Christopher wondered ifthat was the meaning of all these strange adventures for him. At thesame time he was conscious of so vast a sense of disappointment thathe was compelled to put his Fate to the test at once. He jerked outthe inquiry with breathless abruptness. 

"Am I going to be your page?"

"Page?" Aymer Aston echoed the words with consternation; then held outhis hand to the child. 

"Didn't my father tell you?" he asked. 

A kind of nervous exasperation seized on Christopher. He was tired, overwrought, puzzled and baffled. 

"No one tells me anything, " he said petulantly, blinking hard to keepback the tears; "they just took me. "

"Do you want to be a page boy?"

"No. " It was emphatic to the point of rudeness. 

Aymer put his arm round him and drew him near, laughing. 

"You are not going to be a page, " he said, "you are going to be"--hehesitated--"to be my own boy--just as if you were my son. I've adoptedyou. "

"Why?"

Christopher's dark eyes were fixed on the blue ones and then he sawthe scar for the first time. It interested him so much he hardly heardAymer's slow answer when it came. 

"I have a great deal of time on my hands, and I should have liked ason of my own. As I can't have that I've adopted you. Don't you thinkyou can like me?"

Christopher looked round the room and back at the sofa. The voice waskind and the arm that was round him gripped him firmly; also, Mr. Aston had said he lived here too. That was reassuring. He was notquite certain how he felt towards this strangely fascinating man, buthe was quite sure of his sentiments towards Mr. Aston. 

"Mr. Aston lives here, doesn't he?"

"Yes; do you like him best?"

"I like him very much, " said Christopher truthfully, and addedconsiderately, "You see, I've known him longer, haven't I?"

"You must like me too. "

Christopher was too young to read the passionate hunger in the voiceand the look. It was gone in a moment. 

Aymer released him, laughing. 

"Is there anyone else?" asked the boy, looking vaguely round. 

"Anyone else living here? Only the servants. "

"I don't mean that. " A puzzled look came into his face. "I mean--therewas Mrs. Moss and Grannie Jane, and Mrs. Sartin and Jessy and mother. "Then he recollected Mr. Aston's prohibition and got red andembarrassed. 

"You mean--a woman, " said Aymer in a strangely quiet voice. 

Christopher noticed the scar again, clear and distinct. Aymer took outa cigarette and lit it carefully. Christopher watched dumbly. Hewanted to cry: for no reason that he could discover. Presently Aymerturned to him as he sat on a low chair by the side of the wide sofaand put his arm round him again. 

"I'm sorry, little Christopher, " he said rather huskily, perhapsbecause he was smoking, "but I'm afraid I can't give you that, oldchap. We only--remember them here. "

The tired child yielded to the slight pressure of the arm--his headdropped against his new friend--the room was very quiet--only Mr. Aymer must have been mistaken. It seemed to Christopher a thinblack-clad woman was in the room--somewhere--she was looking at Aymerand would not see him at first--then she turned her head--he called"Mother, " and opened his eyes to find Mr. Aymer bending over him. 

When Mr. Aston had returned and found Aymer smoking composedly withone arm round the sleeping boy, he had pointed out with great care theenormity of a small child being out of bed at eleven o'clock. 

Aymer put down his cigarette and looked at his charge. 

"Vespasian did come for him, " he confessed; "I thought it a pity towake him till you came. It's just as I feared, " he added with assumedpathos, "you have had first innings and I shall have to take a secondplace. "

"It's only just that he got used to me: I hardly talked to him atall, " pleaded Mr. Aston humbly, and Aymer laughed. WhereuponChristopher woke up, rubbing his eyes, and smiled sleepily at Mr. Aston. 

"I gave him the message, not just at once, but almost. "

His first friend sat down and drew him to his knee. 

"Well, what do you think of my big boy?" asked Mr. Aston. "I've beenscolding him for not sending you to bed. "

Christopher looked from one to the other with solemn eyes, blinking inthe light. 

"Scolding him? Isn't he too big to be scolded?"

The men laughed and involuntarily glanced at each other in a curiouslyconscious manner. 

"He does not think anyone too big to scold, " sighed Aymer resignedly. "Father, about the name: I'd rather tell him to-night. " His voice wasa little hurried. Mr. Aston glanced at him questioningly. 

"As you like, Aymer--if he's not too sleepy to listen. Are you, Christopher?"

"I'm not tired, " answered Christopher, valiantly blinking sleep out ofhis eyes. 

It was Aymer who spoke, slowly and directly. Mr. Aston kept his eyeson the boy and tried not to see his son. 

"What is your real name, Christopher, do you know?"

"James Christopher Hibbault, but they calls me Jim, except him. "

In his sleepiness and agitation the boy had dropped back into countrydialect. Aymer winced. 

"That is the only name you know? Well, Christopher, it's a good name, but all the same I want you to forget it at present. I want you tocall yourself always, Christopher Aston. Do you think you canremember?"

The newly-named one stood silent, puzzling out something in his mind. 

"Will it make me not belong to mother?" he said at last. 

There was a faint movement on the sofa. It was Mr. Aston who answered, putting his hand gently on the boy's head. 

"No, little Christopher, nothing will make you cease to belong to her;we do not wish that. But it will be more easy for you to have ourname. We want Christopher Aston to have a better time than poor littleJim Hibbault. Only, Christopher, remember Aston is my name, and I amonly lending it to you, and you must take very great care of it. "

"Isn't it his name too?" The child edged a little nearer his friend, and looked at Aymer. 

"Yes, it's Aymer's name too. And, Christopher, if we were both to giveyou everything we possess we could not give you anything we value morethan the name we lend you, so you must be very good to it. Now, Aymer, I insist on your ringing for Vespasian: the child should have been inbed hours ago. I must really buy you a book of nursery rules. "

Vespasian was apparently of the same mind as Mr. Aston. Disapprovalwas plainly expressed on his usually impassive face when he entered. 

"Is that Vespasian?" demanded Christopher. 

"Yes, and you will have to do just what he tells you, Christopher, just as I have to, " said Aymer severely. 

Christopher regarded him doubtfully: he was not quite sure if he wereserious or not. He did not look as if people would tell him to dothings, yet the grave man in black did not smile. 

"It's a funny name, " he said at last, not meaning to be rude. 

"Vespasian was a great general, " remarked Aymer, and then addedhastily, seeing the boy's bewilderment increased, "Not this one, theGeneral's dead, but this is a good second. "

"Aymer, you are incorrigible, " expostulated Mr. Aston. "Good-night, little Christopher. "

He kissed him and Christopher's eyes grew large with wonder. He didnot know men did kiss little boys, and he ventured slyly to rub hischeek against the black sleeve. 

"Good-night, Christopher. " Aymer held out his hand, and then suddenly, half shyly, and half ashamed, kissed him also, and Vespasian bore himoff to bed. 

The two men sat silently smoking, avoiding for the moment the subjectnearest their hearts, Aymer, because he was fighting hard to get somemastering emotion under control, and he loathed showing his feelingseven to his father; Mr. Aston, because he was aware of this and wantedAymer to have time. 

All that day he had been secretly dreading to-night, shrinking like acoward from a situation which must arouse in his son memories betterforgotten. He was not a man given to shirking unpleasing experiencesto save his own heart a pang, but he was a veritable child in the waythat he studied to preserve his eldest son from the like. 

It was Aymer who first spoke in his usual matter-of-fact tone. 

"Had you any difficulties?"

"None whatever, " answered his father, crossing his legs and preparingto be communicative. "Stapleton had been all over the ground beforeand knew every point. We went first to Surbiton Workhouse, since shetold Felton she stayed there. They found the entry for us. Then wewent on to Hartley, which is quite a small village and off the mainroad. We stayed the night there, and went to the cottage where Feltonhad seen her. It was quite true, all he said. The old woman remembereddistinctly a tramp-looking man stopping and calling to her over thegate. They sat in the garden and talked together for some time. Sheand the boy had been there a month, but they went the day afterFelton's visit--seemed frightened, the old lady said. Apparently theymeant to go to Southampton, for she had asked the way there. Basingstoke must have been the next stop, but we did not know whereuntil the boy told us. They were in funds, so did not go to the House. We got to Whitmansworth the next afternoon. Then a strange thinghappened, one of those chance coincidences that put to rout all ourschemes. There is a hill going into Whitmansworth with a milestone onthe top. I drove slowly, as I wanted to see if it really were theplace, and by the stone was a small boy. The likeness was so absurdthat it might have been ... " he stopped abruptly and examined hiscigar, "had I not been seeking him I should have seen it. I found outhis name, and that I was right, and took him up and drove to theUnion. They raised no objections--it was only a matter of form. Themaster and his wife seem to be good people, and to have been kind tothe boy. "

He came to a pause again. Aymer still waited. Mr. Aston walked to thewindow and looked out at the night, and then went on without turning:

"She had never left the slightest clue or given any hint whatever asto her identity. She was going to Southampton, she said. But she wasdying of exhaustion then. They could do nothing for her. She askedthem to keep the boy. The Mosses took a fancy to him, and it wasmanaged. She would not say where she came from. "

Aymer lay very still, his face set and immovable. 

"The strength of her purpose: think of it, in a woman!" said Mr. Astona little unsteadily; "the boy should have grit in him, Aymer. "

"What did they say of the boy?"

"Ah. " Mr. Aston resumed his seat with a sigh. 

"Well, what's your own impression, Aymer?"

"I am satisfied. "

Mr. Aston leant forward with a wealth of affection in his kind eyes, and straightened the edge of the gorgeous sofa cover. "Aymer, oldchap, you are too sensible, I know, to imagine it is going to runeasily and smoothly from the first. The boy will come out all right:he is young enough to shape, and worth shaping. But he has hadeverything against him except one thing. It means many troubles anddisappointments for you, but I believe it will have its compensations. It will help fill your life, at least. "

"I understand, " said Aymer, steadily. "I should like to tell you justhow I feel about it, father. Putting aside entirely the question of itbeing--Christopher--. That was a stroke of Providence, shall we say? Ihad you and Nevil, and the children. Life was not altogether empty, sir. But I felt I had learnt something from life, --frommyself, --mostly from you, --that might be useful to a man. Not to passthis on, " the steady voice lost its main quality for a moment, "seemeda waste. I told you all this when I first spoke of adopting someone;and at that precise moment the clue which led us to Christopher wasput into our hands. There was no choice then. I say this again becauseI want you to remember that the idea that first started my plan isstill the main one. Christopher, being Christopher, does not alter it. There is only this thing certain, " he raised himself a very little onhis right arm and laid down his cigarette deliberately, "I've takenthe boy and I mean to do my best by him, but he is mine now. If thefate that--she died to save him from--comes to him, it must come. Iwill not stand in his way, but I will have no hand in bringing it topass, I will raise no finger to summon it, nor will I call him fromit, if it come. Until, and unless it comes, he is mine. I think evenshe would let me have him on those conditions. " He lay back again, hisflushed face still witnessing to the force of his feeling. 

"On any conditions, " said his father, "if she knew you now. Only youmust bear the chance in mind in dealing with him. And it's only fairto tell you the Union Master's report on him. "

"Let's have it. "

"Fairly docile, but inclined to argue the point. Truthful, --Idiscovered that myself--but either through lack of trainingor--according to the Master--through bad training in London, he is--"Mr. Aston stumbled over a word, half laughed, and then said, "well, hehas a habit of acquisitiveness, shall we call it? When you think ofher history it seems at once natural and strange. They had not knownhim to actually take things--money, that is, --but if he found any--andhe appears to have luck in finding things--he was not particular todiscover the real owner. It may be a difficulty, Aymer. "

"Hereditary instinct, " said Aymer a little shortly. 

"Well, my own theory is that acquisitiveness is generosity inverted, "concluded Mr. Aston thoughtfully, "and that heredity is merely adanger signal, though it may mean fighting. I believe you can do it, my dear boy, but it is a big job. "

"I hope so, I was a born fighter, you know. "

"You have not done badly that way, son Aymer, " returned his fatherquietly. 

"You mean you have not. You are very gracious to a vanquished man, sir. "

It was one of his rare confessions of his indebtedness to his father, and perhaps Mr. Aston was more embarrassed at receiving it than Aymerin confessing it. For the indebtedness was undeniable. The Aymer Astonof the present day was not the Aymer Aston of the first bitter yearsof his imprisonment. The fight had been a long one: but whether thelove, the patience, the forbearance of the elder man had regeneratedthe fierce nature, or whether he had only assisted the true Aymer towork out his own salvation was an open question. Certainly those darkyears had left their mark on Mr. Aston, but, for a certainty they werehonourable scars, and he, the richer for his spent strength. He hadsacrificed much for him, but the reward reaped for his devotion wasthe knowledge that of their friendship was woven a curtain of infinitebeauty that helped to shut away the tragedy of Aymer's life. 

CHAPTER III

The question that chiefly occupied Mr. Aston's mind during the firstdays of Christopher's advent was whether Aymer had gathered in thoseten long years of captivity sufficient strength of purpose to setaside once and for all the sharp emotions and memories the boy'spresence must inevitably awake. 

When Aymer had first approached him on the subject of adopting a boyhe had consented willingly enough, but when, coincident with this, Fate--or Providence--had pointed out to them the person of ChristopherHibbault, he, Mr. Aston, though he agreed it was impossible todisregard the amazing chance, had sighed to himself and trembled lestthe carefully erected edifice of control and endurance that hedged inhis son should be unequal to the strain. 

But after the first evening Aymer Aston betrayed by no sign whateverthat the past had any power to harm him through the medium of littleChristopher, and his father grew daily more satisfied and content overthe wisdom of their joint action. They stayed in town all that summer. Mr. Aston was acting as Secretary to a rather important Commission andeven when it was not sitting he was employed in gathering ininformation which could only be obtained in London. Nothing wouldinduce Aymer to go away without his father. He hated the publicity ofa railway journey even after ten years of helplessness, and the longdrive to Marden Court could not be undertaken lightly. So they stayedwhere they were, a proceeding which seemed less strange to Christopherthan to such part of the outside world who chose to interest itself inMr. Aston's doings. 

The August sun dealt gently with the beautiful garden, and not a fewhardworking men, tied, like Mr. Aston, to town, congratulatedthemselves on his presence, when they shared its restful beauty in thehot summer evenings. 

Christopher meanwhile adapted himself to his new life with amazingease. He accepted his surroundings without question, but with quietappreciation, and if certain customs, such as a perpetual changing ofclothes and washing of hands were irksome, he took the good with thebad, and accommodated himself to the ways of his new friendsresignedly. But he was haunted with the idea that the present state ofthings would not and could not last, and it was hardly worth while todo more than superficially conform to the regulations of the somewhatmonotonous existence. 

Most of the ten years of his life had been spent under the dominantinfluence of a devoted woman. All that he had learnt from mankind hadbeen a cunning dishonesty that had nearly ruined his own smallexistence and indirectly caused his mother's death. Women, indeed, hadalways been near him, and there were times when he thought regretfullyof Mrs. Moss. There were none but menservants at Aston house, and theonly glimpse of femininity was afforded by the flying visits ofConstantia, Mr. Aston's married daughter. She would at times invadeAymer's room, a vision of delicate colourings and marvellous gowns. She was a tall, dark, lovely woman who carried on the traditionalfamily beauty with no poverty of detail. She seemed to Christopher tobe ever going on somewhere or returning from somewhere. He liked tosit and watch her when she flashed into the quiet room, and spentperhaps half an hour making her brother laugh with her witty accountsof people and matters strange to Christopher. She was kind to the boy, when she remembered him, lavish with her smiles and nonsense andpresents, but it was like entertaining a rainbow, an elusive, shadowything of beauty. She could not be said to denote the Woman in theHouse. Christopher, as he wandered about the big silent rooms and longcorridors, was perforce obliged to take with him for company a moreshadowy presence, an imaginary vision of another woman, also tall anddark, but without Constantia Wyatt's irresponsible gaiety and dazzlingsmile. He would escort this phantom Woman through his favourite rooms, pointing out the treasures to her. He even apportioned her a room forherself, behind a closed door at the end of the wing opposite to whichAymer Aston lived. For it was here he had first discovered with whatease the image of his dead mother fitted into the surroundings he hadnever shared with her. It was rather an uncanny, eerie idea, and hadChristopher been at all morbid or of a dreamy disposition it mighthave been a very injudicious fancy: but he was the personification ofgood health and robust spirits. His vivid imagination flitted asnaturally and easily round the memory of his dead mother as itrejoiced in the adventures of the Robinson family, or thrilled overthe history of John Silver. It was just a deliberate fancy that heindulged in at will, and the only really fantastical thing about itwas that he invariably started his tour with the imaginary Woman fromthe door of the closed room. At the end of October, when he had fairlysettled into the regular routine of Aston House, a tutor was procuredfor him. School, for more reasons than one, was out of the question. Christopher's previous existence would hardly have stood theinquisition of the playground, and Aymer, moreover, wanted to keep himunder his own eye. The boy's education had been of a somewhatdesultory nature. He could read and write, and possessed a curiousstore of out-of-the-way knowledge that would upset the most carefullyprepared plan of his puzzled tutor. That poor gentleman wasalternately scandalised by the boy's ignorance and amazed at hisappetite for knowledge. He showed an astonishing aptitude for figureswhile he evinced a shameful contempt for history and languages. Indeed, he could only be made to struggle with Latin Grammar byAymer's stories of Roman heroes in the evening and the ultimate rewardof reading them for himself some day. 

The year wore on, ran out, with the glories of pantomime and variousholiday joys with Mr. Aston. Christopher by this time had accepted hissurroundings as permanent, with regard to Mr. Aston and Aymer, thoughhe still, in his heart of hearts, had no belief that so far as he wasconcerned they might not any day vanish away and leave him again preyto a world of privations, wants and disagreeables generally. 

He was forever trying to make provision against that possible day, andlaid up a secret hoard of treasure he deemed might be useful onemergency. With the same idea he made really valiant attempts to putaside a portion of his ample pocket-money for the same purpose, but itgenerally dwindled to an inconsiderable sum by Saturday. Aymer kepthim well supplied and encouraged him to spend freely. He was toldagain and again the money was given him to spend and not to keep, andthat the day of need would not come to him. He would listen halfconvinced, until the vision of some street arabs racing for pennieswould remind him of positive facts that had been and therefore mightbe again, and cold prudence had her say. But this trait was the resultof experience and not of nature, for he was generous enough. Notinfrequently the whole treasury went to the relief of already existingneeds outside the garden railings, and he could be wildly extravagant. Aymer never questioned him. He sometimes laughed at him when he hadwasted a whole week's money on some childish folly, and told him hewas a silly baby, which Christopher did not like. However, he found hehad to buy his own experiences, and he soon learnt that no follyhowever childish annoyed "Cæsar" so much as accumulated wealth for noparticular object but a possible future need. 

Christopher had christened Aymer "Cæsar" shortly after hisintroduction to the literary remains of one, Julius, from somefanciful resemblance, and the name stuck and solved a difficulty. 

In the same manner he bestowed the distinctive title of St. Michael onMr. Aston, from his likeness to a famous picture of that great saintin a stained glass window he had seen, and it also was generallyadopted. 

No one made any further attempt to explain his introduction into thefamily, or the general history of that family. He was just "graftedin, " and left to discover what he could for himself, and he certainlygathered some fragmentary disconnected facts together. 

"What is a Secletary?" demanded Christopher one day from thehearth-rug, where he lay turning over old volumes of the _IllustratedLondon News_. 

"A Secretary, I suppose you mean. A Secretary is a man who writesletters for someone else. "

"Who does St. Michael write letters for?"

"He used to write letters for the Queen, or rather on the Queen'sbusiness. What book have you got there?"

Christopher explained. 

"There is a picture of him. Only he hasn't got grey hair: andunderneath Perma n-e-n-t, Permanent Undersecretary of State forForeign Affairs. What does it mean, Cæsar?"

Cæsar, otherwise Aymer, considered a moment. 

"Permanent means lasting, going on. You ought to know that, Christopher. "

"But he isn't going on. "

"He could have done so. "

"Why didn't he? Didn't he like it?"

"Yes, very much. He was trained for that kind of thing. "

"Did he get tired of writing letters, then?"

"No. "

Aymer was apt to become monosyllabic when a certain train of thoughtwas forced on him. Also a short deep line of frown appeared under thewhite scar: but Christopher had not yet learnt to pay full heed tothese signs: also he had a predilection for getting at the root of anymatter he had once begun to investigate, so he began again:

"Why didn't he go on being permanent, then?"

"He thought he had something else he ought to do. "

"Was the Queen angry?"

"I don't know. "

"What was it?"

Aymer cut the leaves of the book he was trying to read ratherviciously. 

"Taking care of me, " he said shortly. 

Christopher got up on his knees and stared. 

"Hadn't you got Vespasian then?"

"Good heavens, Christopher, are you a walking inquisition? My fathergave up his appointment--if you must know, because of my----" hestopped, and went on doggedly, "of my accident. I wasn't particularlyhappy when I found I had to stay on a sofa all the rest of my life, and he had to teach me not to make an idiot of myself. Now you knowall about it and need not bother anyone else with questions. "

Christopher thought he knew very little about it, but he had learntwhat he set out to know and was moreover now aware that the subjectwas distasteful to Aymer, so he politely changed it. "Robert'sbrother has got some very nice guinea-pigs, " he said thoughtfully. 

"Who is Robert?"

"Robert is the under footman. I forgot you don't know him. "

Christopher recollected with momentary embarrassment Aymer'sinaccessibility to the general domestic staff. 

"He wants to find a home for them, " he added hastily; "he doesn't mindwhere, so long as it's a happy home. "

Aymer guarded a smile. Christopher was already notorious for ingeniousmethods of getting what he wanted. 

"It would be a pity for them to be ill-treated, of course, " he agreedgravely. 

Christopher shuffled across the floor to the side of the big sofa. 

"It's rather a happy home here, you know, " he remarked suggestively, touching Aymer's arm tentatively with one finger. 

"I am glad you think so. Do you consider the atmosphere equallysuitable for guinea-pigs?"

"I should like them. " He rubbed his cheek caressingly on Aymer's hand. "May I, Cæsar?"

"Not to keep in your bedroom as you did the bantam. "

"But in the garden--or yard. _Please_, dear Cæsar. "

"You ridiculous baby, yes. If you make a house for them yourself. "

Christopher flew off in a transport of joy to consult with Vespasian, who, from mere tolerance of his beloved master's last "fad, " hadbecome the most ardent if unemotional partisan of the same "fad. "

It was Vespasian who had provided Christopher with more clothes thanhe deemed it possible for one mortal boy to wear, who taught him howto put them on, and struggled with him figuratively and literally overthe collar question. Vespasian's taste running to a wide margin ofimmaculate white closely fastened, while Christopher had apredilection for a free and open expanse of neck. 

"Look at Mr. Aymer, " pointed out the great general's successorsternly. "You never see him with even a turn-down collar, and he lyingon his back all the time, when most gentlemen would consider their owncomfort. "

Christopher, hot, angry and uncomfortable, wondered if Vespasian hadinsisted on the wearing of those instruments of torture, or if Cæsarreally preferred it. 

But in spite of small differences of opinion, Vespasian and he weregood friends, and he received much instruction from the mouth of thatinestimable man. It was he who drilled him in Mr. Aymer's little ways, warned him how he hated to be reminded of his helplessness, and couldnot endure anyone but Vespasian himself to move him from sofa tochair, and that only in the strictest privacy. How he disliked meetinganyone when wheeled from his own room to the dining-room for dinner, which was the only meal he took in public, and that only in companywith his father or very intimate friends. How he avoided asking anyoneto hand him things though he did not object to unsolicited help, whichChristopher soon learnt to render as unostentatiously as Vespasianhimself. Also it was Vespasian who explained to him woodenly, inanswer to his direct question, that the scar on Mr. Aymer's foreheadwas the result of a shooting accident. His revolver had gone off as hewas cleaning it, said Vespasian, had nearly killed him, had left himparalysed on one side, so he'd never be better. He added, Mr. Aymerdidn't like it talked about. All this and more did the boy learn fromthis discreet man, but never did Vespasian hint at those dark yearswhen to serve poor Aymer Aston was a work for which no money couldpay, when the patient father and much-tried man had secretly wonderedwhether that fight for mere life that had followed on the ghastlyaccident had indeed been worth the winning. There was no word of thisin Vespasian's revelations. He only impressed on Christopher thenecessity of avoiding any expression of pity or commiseration with theparalysed man, and a warning that a somewhat casual manner towards theworld, and his entirely undemonstrative way, was no true index of Mr. Aymer's real feelings. 

Christopher was himself warm-hearted and given to expressing hisjoyous feelings with engaging frankness. It could hardly have beenotherwise, brought up as he had been by a woman of ardent nature andpassionate love for him, but in contradiction to this he had learnt tobe very silent over the disagreeables of life and to keep his ownsmall troubles to himself, so that he readily entered into Aymer'sattitude towards his own misfortune, and the relationship between thetwo passed from admiration on Christopher's part to passionatedevotion, and from the region of experimental interest on Aymer's partto personal uncalculated affection, and to an easing of a sharpheartache he had tried valiantly to hide from his father. Aymer neverquestioned him on the past, never even alluded to it. Partly becausehe hoped the memory of it would dwindle from the boy's mind, andpartly for his own sake. But Christopher did not forget. There werefew days when he did not contrast the old times with the new, and gazefor a moment across the big gulf that separated Christopher Aston fromlittle Jim Hibbault and the quiet woman absorbed in a struggle forexistence in an unfriendly world. He occasionally spoke of his motherto Mr. Aston when they were out together, but he kept his impliedpromise faithfully with regard to Aymer and made no mention of hisformer experiences, or of his mother, until one day an event occurredwhich recalled the black terror under whose shadow they had leftLondon, and necessitated an elucidation of knotty points. 

There was in one corner of the garden far away from the house a gap inthe high belt of shrubs that jealously guarded the grounds from thecurious passerby. In fact the gap had once meant a gateway, but it hadbeen disused so long that it had forgotten it was a gate and merelypretended it was part of the big railings; only it had not got alittle wall to stand on. Christopher was fond of viewing life fromthis sequestered corner. The road that ran by was a mainthoroughfare--an ever-varying picture of moving shapes. One morning ashe stood there counting the omnibuses--he had nearly made a recordcount--his attention was attracted by a small boy about his own age orpossibly older, who was dawdling along, hands in pockets, with adejected air. He appeared to be whistling, but if he were, withoutdoubt it was also a dejected air. His was a shabby tidiness that spokeof a Woman and little means. He had sandy hair and light eyes and--butChristopher did not know this--an uncommonly shrewd little face and agood square head, and as he passed by the boundaries of Aston Househe glanced at the small fellow-citizen gazing through therailings--rather compassionately, be it said--for he knew for certainthe boy inside was longing to get through the gate. That one glancecarried him beyond the gate, but he suddenly spun round on his heel, collided with an indignant lady laden with parcels, and stared hard atChristopher. Christopher stared hard at him. Then the boy outside wenton his way. 

"Jolly like Jim, " he ruminated, "but a swell toff, I reckon. Poorlittle kid. "

Christopher, after one shout as the boy went on, tore back through thegarden towards the entrance gate, meaning to intercept him there. Suchat least was his laudable intention, but half way there his paceslackened; he stood irresolute, kicking a loose stone in the gravelpath, and finally strolled off to the stable yard to feed hisguinea-pigs. 

He was preoccupied and thoughtful for the rest of that day. Mr. Astonwas absent, and when evening came and Christopher was still a prey toharassing ideas he decided he must appeal to Cæsar even at the cost ofdisregarding Mr. Aston's prohibition. He came to this decision as helay in his usual position on the hearth-rug and was goaded thereto bythe approach of bed time. 

"Cæsar, could anyone be taken to prison for something he had done everso long ago--I mean for--for stealing, and things like that?"

"Yes, if he had not been already tried for it. Why do you ask?"

"And if anyone met the person suddenly who had done something wouldthey have to give him up?" persisted Christopher. 

Aymer regarded him curiously. He had an unreasonable impulse to checkthe coming revelation, as he might the unguarded confidence of a weakman, but common-sense prevailed. 

"It would depend on circumstances entirely, and the relationship ofthe two. Are you wanted, Christopher?" he asked in a matter-of-facttone. 

"I was, " returned Christopher slowly. "That's why we left London, youknow. It was Marley Sartin. He took me out with him. You see, " hebroke off parenthetically, "I stayed with Martha, that's Mrs. Sartin, all the day while mother took care of a gentleman's house, andsometimes Marley was there, and he taught me things. "

"What things?"

Christopher shifted his position a bit, and tossed a piece of woodinto the fire. 

"Oh, lots of things, " he repeated at last, "tricks, and how not toanswer, and how to avoid coppers and how to get money. Mother said itwas stealing. "

The scar on Aymer's forehead was very visible. He took up apaper-knife and ran his fingers along the edge slowly. 

"Well?"

The boy looked round, suddenly aware of where he was, of the beautyand comfort around him, of Cæsar's personality, and the incongruity ofhis admission. However, so it was: facts were facts: it was imperativehe should know his own position, even if it was an unpleasing subject. So he went on hastily. "Oh, well, one day he took me out with him fora walk. We went into a big sort of shop with lots of people buyingthings and he knocked up 'accidental like' (this was evidently areminiscence of a phrase often used), against a lady and she droppedher parcels and purse and things, and I pretended to pick them up, andif there were only parcels or pennies I really did, but if the moneyspilt and it was gold I put my foot on it and picked it up for Marleywhen I could. We made a lot that way. Of course mother didn't know, "he added hurriedly, "or Martha. Then one day there was a row andMarley was caught, and I ran away. You see I was pretty small, andcould slip in anywhere. I got back and told Martha, and she cried andtold mother, and said as how I should be sure to be took too. So wewent away from London that night. I don't know what happened toMartha, but mother said I mustn't go back to London or I'd be takentoo. "

The grim tragedy of it all, the miserable fate from which the womanhad fought so hard to save her child, and the same child's dimappreciation of it struck Aymer with the sharpness of physical pain. 

"Marley told me it was only keeping what one found, but mother said itwas just stealing, and that Marley was bad. He was good to me anyhow. Martha--Mrs. Sartin--you know--used often to cry about Marley's ways. _She_ was always very respectable; her father kept a linen-draper'sshop, and she meant to put Sam into a shop. Sam didn't like hisfather. I saw Sam go by to-day--he's bigger, but it was him and heknew me--and I asked about the being taken up because I thought itwouldn't be safe for me to go about perhaps. "

So level and even was his voice that Aymer did not guess the agony ofapprehension and fear the boy was holding back behind his almostabnormal self-control, but he did his best to reassure him. 

"They would not know you, Christopher, and if they did they would nottake you away from me. You were a very little boy then. I could letthem know how it happened, and how it could never happen again. "

Christopher hid his face in his arms and the room became very silent. The fire crackled cheerfully and strange shadows lived uncertain liveson the ceiling. Aymer put the paper-knife down at last and looked athis charge. He was aware it was a critical moment for them both: alsohe was quite suddenly aware he was more fond of the child than he hadpreviously imagined. But mostly in his mind was the sickeningappreciation of what hours of torture that solitary silent woman musthave endured. 

"Christopher, old boy, come here, " he said quietly. 

The boy got up. His face was flushed, hot with his efforts to controlhimself. 

"Do you want the light, Cæsar?"

"No, I want you. "

He came unwillingly and sat down on the edge of the sofa, playing witha piece of string. 

"You need not be frightened at all, " said Aymer. "It is all utterlyimpossible now, we both of us know that. "

"I suppose so. "

"You know it. You only did what Marley told you to do. You didn'tsteal because you wanted money yourself. "

But Christopher was doggedly truthful. 

"Marley used to give me some for myself, Cæsar, and I liked it and Ididn't think it was stealing. It was just keeping what one found. "

"But you knew to whom it belonged. "

"Not certain sure, Marley said. "

"What did your mother say?"

"Just that it was stealing. She said, too, lots of people in the worldwere thieves who didn't know, and Marley was no worse than many richmen, who just knocked people down to get the best of them. What didshe mean, Cæsar?"

"She thought it was as wrong for a rich man to take advantage of apoor man, as for a strong man to attack a weak one, or a cunning manto cheat a simpleton. "

Christopher was conscious he had heard something like this before. Henodded his small head sagely. Aymer went on. 

"It really means you must never get money at someone else's expense. If you can give them something in return, something equal, it's allright, but it must be equal. That is what your mother believed, and Ido too--now. "

Christopher regarded Cæsar thoughtfully. He was speculating what hedid in return for the golden sovereigns that seemed so plentiful withhim. 

"We try to give fair exchange, " explained Cæsar, answering histhoughts. "The money comes to us out of the big world. And my fathergives the world good service in return. You will know how good, some-day. "

"Does everybody do things?" sighed his listener, much perplexed. 

"Everyone should. You are wondering what I do. My money comes to mebefore I earn it, from houses--land--I have to see the people who livein my houses have all that is fair and necessary, that the land is inorder. Then sometimes we lend other people our money, and they findwork for many others, and make more of it. Money is a very difficultthing to explain, Christopher. What I want you to remember now is thatyou must never take money from other people without giving somethingin return, because it's stealing. "

Christopher, with his usual disconcerting shrewdness, found anunsatisfactory point. 

"I don't do anything for the money you give me every week, Cæsar. "

Aymer was fairly caught, and wanted desperately to laugh, only theboy's face was so grave and concerned he did not dare. He thought fora moment to find a way out of the difficulty without upsetting thesomewhat vague theories he had just crystallised into words. 

"But I owe something to the world, and you are a small atom of theworld, Christopher, so I choose to pay a mite of my debt that way. Besides, it is a part of your education to learn how to spend money, as much a part as Latin grammar. "

Christopher thought it a much pleasanter part and looked relieved. 

"I am glad you aren't paying me, " he said slowly; "of course it's justmy good luck that it happened to be me you pay your debts to. Lots ofpeople aren't lucky like that. "

Which was a truth that remained very deeply indented in Christopher'smind. Aymer ordered him to bed, but when he said good-night he keptgrip of his hand. 

"Why wouldn't you like me to pay you?" he demanded, almost roughly. 

The boy got red and embarrassed, but Aymer waited remorselessly. 

"I can't do anything, " he said, "and if I did I'd hate you to pay melike that. Some day I'll have to pay you, won't I?"

"I should hate that worse than you would, " returned Aymer shortly. "There's no question of money between us. I get all I want out of you. Go to bed. "

CHAPTER IV

Marden Court lay bathed in the mellow October sunshine. LateMichaelmas daisies, fuchsias, and milky anemones stood smiling bravelyin the borders under the red brick walls, trails of crimson creepersflung a glowing glory round grey stone pillar and coping, and in theneighbouring woods the trees seemed to hold their breath under theweight of the rich robes they wore. Marden looked its best in lateautumn. The ripeness of the air, the wealth of colour, and theharmonious dignity of the season seemed a fit setting to the old Tudormansion, with its reposeful beauty just touched with renaissancegrace. The glory of the world passes, but it is none the less a gloryworth observing. 

The Astons regarded Marden as the metropolis of their affections. Itwas "Home" and any member of the family wanting to go "Home" did soregardless of who might be in immediate possession. Nevil Aston, hiswife and two small children and his young sister-in-law lived therepermanently, but their position was that of fortunate caretakers, andboth the elder Aston and the Wyatts went to and fro at their will. 

Nevil Aston was at thirty-two a brilliant essayist and risinghistorian, and there was a magnificent library at Marden which heprofessed to find useful in his work. He also was wont to say "Mardenwas an excellent place in which to work, but a far better place inwhich to play. " He himself did both in turn. A few weeks of furiousenergy and copious achievement would be followed by weeks of sereneidleness from which little Renata, his wife, would arouse him bysheer bullying, as he himself expressed it, driving him by main forceof will to the library, setting pen and paper to hand and thenplacidly consenting to weeks of irregular meals, of absent-mindedvagaries, a seeming indifference to her presence, in place of thewholly dependent lovable boyish Nevil of the days of indolence. 

It was not till the second autumn after Christopher's introduction tothe ménage that the senior Astons decided to desert London for a fewmonths and go "Home. " Mr. Aston had been to and fro not infrequentlyand Nevil Aston had made a few brief visits to town, when ConstantiaWyatt had made it her business to see that her gifted brother did nothide his light under a bushel, but little Christopher failed toconnect either Nevil or his beautiful sister very closely with his ownparticular Astons. They were a part of an outside existence with whichhe was unacquainted, and Marden Court was to him but a name, an unrealplace that got photographed occasionally and that Mr. Aston seemed tolike. The Astons, probably quite unconsciously, pursued their usualcourse of leaving Christopher to drift into the stream of theirexistence without any explanation or attempt to make that existence aclear cut and dried affair to him. He was pleased enough with the ideaof the change, once he had ascertained his guinea-pigs might accompanyhim, and was still more pleased when he was told he would at allevents for a time have no lessons to do. 

"You'll have plenty to learn though, " Aymer had remarked drily when hemade the announcement. Christopher refrained from asking for anexplanation with difficulty. 

Towards the middle of October Nevil Aston, just in the midst of aperiod of blissful laziness, sauntered down the long walks of thesouth garden in Renata's wake, occasionally stopping to pick up one orother of the two fat babies who struggled along after their mother, interrupting more or less effectually the business on which she wasengaged. A pathetic-eyed yard or so of brown dachshund and atortoise-shell kitten completed the party. Renata Aston was small anddark, gentle and deliberate of movement, and possessing an elf-liketrick of shrinking her entrancing personality into comparativeinvisibility that bereft one of further vision. She moved from borderto border choosing her flowers with care, and looking even smallerthan she was in the proximity of her lanky husband, and the plumplittle babies toddling after. 

Presently she came to a stop. All her satellites stopped too. Sheregarded her trophies critically. 

"This is very good for the end of October, you know. " She remarked toall the assembled court. "I only want some violets now. Nevil, I wishyou'd stop Charlotte picking the heads off the fuchsias: there are nomore to come out. "

Nevil hoisted his small daughter on his shoulder as the safest way toavoid an altercation and humbly asked if he must pick violets, "theygrow so low down. "

"You grow so far up, " she retorted scornfully. "Max can help me. Youcan watch with Charlotte. You are very good at watching people work. "

"It is not a common virtue, " pleaded Nevil, "watchers generally tellthe workers how to do it. I never do. Why don't you tell a gardener topick them, Renata?"

"A gardener! For Aymer?"

"All this trouble for Aymer?"

"It is a pleasure. "

"I know just how it will be, " he complained mournfully, "the momentAymer is here you will hound me off to work and I shall see nothing ofyou at all. You won't even give me new pens. Charlotte, I should lookhorrid if I had no hair: be merciful. "

Renata smiled and shook her head. "I shall get no more work out of youthis side of Christmas, sir. I have no such impossible dreams. PerhapsAymer won't want either of us now he has got Christopher. "

"I wonder now, " remarked Nevil, depositing Miss Charlotte on a seatwhile he took out his cigarette case, "I wonder if you are jealous, Renata. "

She flushed indignantly and denied the fact with most unnecessaryemphasis, so her husband told her in his gentle teasing way. He turnedher face up to his and professed to look stern, which he never coulddo. 

"Confess now, " he insisted. "Just a little jealous of Christopher?"

"Well, " she admitted, laughing and still pink, "Aymer has never stayedaway from us for so long before. I don't know what was the use of hishaving those rooms done up for himself if he never means to usethem. "

Renata continued to pick violets, and Max to decapitate those he couldfind. The dachshund and kitten continued to watch with absorbinginterest, and Nevil continued to smoke and to let Charlotteinvestigate his cigarette case till her mother turned round and sawher. 

"You dreadful child!" she cried, "Nevil, just look. Charlotte issucking the ends of your horrid cigarettes! How can you let her?"

Charlotte was rescued from the cigarettes, or the cigarettes fromCharlotte, with considerable difficulty and at the cost of many tears. Indeed her protestations were so loud that nurse appeared and bore herand Max away and silence again reigned in the warm garden between thesunny borders. 

The dachshund gave a sigh and flopped down on the path, and the kittenbegan a toilet for want of better employment. Renata, who had stoodaside during the small domestic storm, gazed at her violets gravelyas if she were counting them. 

Nevil watched her contentedly and did not observe the trouble in herface. 

"Nevil, " she said at last, "about Charlotte I wonder--do youthink----" she stopped and edged a little nearer her husband andslipped her hand in his. 

"Well, dear?"

"You don't think, do you, Nevil, that Charlotte is--is getting likePatricia?"

He put his arm round her and drew her down on the seat. 

"You dear silly child, no, " he said, kissing her. 

She seemed only half assured and leant her head against him, sighing. 

"It is quite, quite different, " he insisted. "Charlotte's temper isjust like anyone else's, yours or mine, or anyone's. "

"Yours--you haven't got one, " she returned with pretended contempt andthen lapsed back into her troubled mien, "but I feel so frightenedsometimes. "

"My dear, be reasonable. Patricia's temper isn't a temper at all. It's--it's a possession--a wretched family inheritance. She can't helpit, poor child, any more than she could help a squint or a crookednose, and she doesn't inherit it from _your_ mother but only from yourstep-father, so why on earth you should imagine it likely to crop upin our family I can't conceive. It's absurd. "

He tilted her pretty face up to his again and kissed her. Nevil wouldlike to have killed all his wife's cares with a caress. It is notalways a successful method, but it is more efficacious than the worldbelieves. 

"Of course I know all that, though Patricia always seems quite like myown sister. I do hope Christopher won't tease her. "

"Aymer will see to that. "

"Not unless he is reminded. You know he rather loves teasing the poordarling himself. "

"Here is the poor darling, herself. Storm over, I suppose, skyserene. "

The little girl coming down the path to them was barely twelve, butshe looked older. The features were too set, if anything, too regularfor her to be called pretty as yet, but an observer must have beenvery blind to beauty not to see the possibilities shadowed in herface. She had quantities of smooth gold hair, one plait of which, forconvenience's sake, was twisted round her little head that was atpresent too small for its rich burden. Her great dark grey eyes andlong lashes had a curiously expectant look as if ever on the watch forsome joy or pain to come. In the clearness of her complexion and thegood modelling of her little white hands, she did resemble herhalf-sister, but it was the only likeness between them. She came tothem not running, as a child should, but slowly and deliberately. 

"Patricia, do come and hear what this dreadful Nevil has let Charlottedo, " cried Renata, still under shelter of her husband's long arm. Forsome reason she seemed anxious to let the child know she was seen andwanted. Nevil smiled and made room on the seat for her to sit by hisside. 

Patricia stood in front of them, her great pathetic eyes looking fromone to the other. She finally addressed herself to Nevil. 

"I'm ever so sorry, Nevil, " she said with a dejected sigh. 

"Of course, of course, it's all right, child, " he answered hastily, "come and hear my short-comings. I'm in deep disgrace. "

She sat down obediently and the dachshund immediately shifted itsquarters and wedged itself in between her feet. She leant forwardwith her elbows on her knees and gazed absently at the brown head. 

"What have you been doing, Nevil, darling?"

"I? Not I, but Charlotte. Don't you know by this time, Patricia, I'monly a scapegoat for the autocrat of the nursery. "

"He let Charlotte nibble a cigarette, " explained Renata. 

"One of my very best. "

"It might have been one of his worst, Rennie, " suggested Patriciaconsolingly. 

"They are all 'worst' for Charlotte, " cried Renata springing up. "Imust go and put up my flowers or they'll be here before I'm ready. "

She flitted away in the direction of the house. Her husband lookedafter her with mute sorrow at his own incapacity to melt from visionin that intangible manner--from situations that were too difficult. 

He glanced at his little companion, who was making attempts to tie thedachshund's ears round his own neck. 

"You won't be able to treat Christopher that way, Patricia, " he saidcontemplatively, "but it will be jolly for you to have a companion ofyour own age, won't it?"

"Perhaps he won't like me. "

"He is quite likely to like you. "

"Oh, yes, at first, because I'll make him, " she returned with engagingcandour, but then her mouth drooped a little, "but when he knows whatI'm really like, he won't. "

Nevil examined another cigarette carefully to see it had not beennibbled. He was really very fond of his little sister-in-law thoughoccasionally at a loss how to deal with her strange moods. 

"Well, we are all very fond of you, anyway, child, " he said easily;"as for the temper, you can't really help it, you know, and you'llgrow out of it. I'm sure you try to, my dear. "

"But I don't try, " cried poor Patricia wildly, "I haven't time, Idon't know anything about it till it's there and then it's too late. Imight just as well have flung that plate at Charlotte as at youto-day. I wonder Renata lets me go in the nursery. "

"No, no. You wouldn't be angry with a baby. "

She turned to him with a sort of exasperated patience. "That's justit. You don't any of you understand. It does not make any difference, why, who or where. It just comes. I _can't_ help it. " She kicked herheel on the gravel fiercely. 

"Poor little Patricia, " said Nevil gently. "I can only say we all loveyou just the same, and I believe you'll grow out of it. " She changedsuddenly and flung herself into his arms in a wild transport of tearsand childish abandonment. He was in no wise taken aback and soothedher with adroitness born of practice. When she was calm again he satwith his arm round her talking of indifferent things till a clocksomewhere near struck three. 

"They should be here directly, " he said, but made no effort to rise. 

"Would Aymer really mind being met?" she questioned. 

"He'd rather be left to Vespasian and Tollens. "

Tollens was the old butler. 

"Won't he ever get used to it?"

"He is afraid of becoming an invalid if he gets hardened to it. "

"But he is, isn't he?"

"Not a bit of it. He has perfectly wonderful health. He has massageand all sorts of things to keep him up to the mark. Aymer's as vain asa girl. "

"I don't call it vanity. I call it pluck. "

Nevil groaned, "Oh, you women, old and young! But you are right--andthere are my father and Christopher himself. "

Christopher to his great joy had been allowed to drive down with Aymerand Mr. Aston, and had found the journey not one mile too long. Indeedtowards the end his early curiosity as to the termination hadevaporated and the mile-stones had come in sight and vanished all tooquickly. It had been reassuring to find Vespasian awaiting them at thedoor with the old butler to whom he was formally introduced as Mr. Aymer's ward. Then having inquired of Tollens of the family'swhereabouts, Mr. Aston bore off Christopher for furtherintroductions. 

At the entrance to the garden on the long terrace and by the gateleading to the south garden he had paused and looked round with theslow comprehensive glance of one acquainted with every detail. Hespoke nothing of his thoughts to Christopher, but the boy was quiteacutely aware that Mr. Aston loved this place and was happy to see itagain, while he calmly discussed the possibilities of fishing in thelake that lay below like a silver mirror in the clear sunlight. 

And in the south garden Nevil and Patricia met them. Patricia, stillwhite and shaken with the past storm, greeted Mr. Aston shyly, but hadno qualms about greeting Christopher. He, for his part, was far tooshy and too unused to girls' society to notice her mien. He did, however, remember afterwards that she was standing by a great clump ofpurple starlike flowers and that he thought her the most beautifulthing he had ever seen, excepting, of course, Constantia Wyatt. Hemade that mental reservation as they walked along together in front oftheir elders, and then glancing sideways at the wonderful hair again, decided he liked fair hair best. Constantia's was dark. They soonoutdistanced the two men who followed at a leisurely pace. Mr. Astonlooked after them and said kindly:

"The little girl still gives trouble, I see. "

"Occasionally. " Nevil made the admission with reluctance. "There was ascene this morning. I don't know what started it. Perhaps I teasedher. She flung a plate at me. I don't believe she _can_ help it, poorchild. "

"You mustn't tell her so, Nevil. "

"You'd tell her anything you could if you saw her after. She'll growout of it. "

"I hope so. "

They fell to talking of the estate, which Nevil was supposed to lookafter. He did, when he remembered it, but that was not often, and notof late. His father, half exasperated, half laughing, told him hewould defer his lecture till later on. Nevil penitently agreed it wasonly fitting to do so, and slipping his arm through his father's, began to explain to him the rights of a controversy just started inthe _Historical Review_. No one was ever angry with Nevil long. Hisunchangeable sweet temper and gentle judgment of mankind, his entirelack of vanity and the very real ability that was concealed under hiselusive personality outweighed the exasperation his irresponsibilityand indolence sometimes awoke. He had no enemies among those who knewhim, and the bitterest controversy with pen and ink could be broughtto a close in an interview. It must, however, be confessed that withpen in hand Nevil was more dangerous than the unwary might imagine. Heknew his power with that weapon and when he chose to use it, did so togood purpose with a polished finish to his scathing periods, that mademen twenty years his senior hate with fierce passion Aston the writer, as surely as they would end by appreciation of Aston the man after apersonal encounter. 

Patricia and Christopher having outdistanced their elders proceededto make friends in their own way. The girl began operations by askingif he would like to see the stables and found it aroused no enthusiasmin him, which was a point to the bad. But he was polite enough to sayhe would like to go if she wished it, which nearly equalised mattersagain. She confessed it might be nice to have someone to play with, which Christopher thought very friendly of her, and told her of hisguinea-pigs, which would arrive in the evening with Robert and theluggage. That was distinctly a point to the good; they both waxedeloquent over the special qualities of guinea-pigs. Christopher'soriginal two had already increased alarmingly in numbers. He hintedsome might even be left at Marden--in a good home. Also he told her hehad christened the family by the names of great painters. 

"Cæsar taught me the names, " he explained, "there is Velasquez--hepainted the Don Carlos in Cæsar's room, you know--he's brown all overexcept for one spot--_my_ Velasquez, I mean--and there's Watteau--anawful frisky little beast--and Sir Joshua, who sleeps in my pocket. You'll like Sir Joshua, he's awfully good tempered. "

"I know, " nodded Patricia wisely, "and he painted Nevil's greatgrandmother. It's in the drawing-room. Why do you call Aymer'Cæsar'?"

"Because he always does what he means to do, or gets it done; besideshe is--just Cæsar. "

"It isn't bad, " she said condescendingly, "perhaps I shall call him somyself. I do hope we are going to have tea in his room. It's such alovely, lovely room. "

"So it is in London. The beautifulest room I've seen. "

"It's just as nice here, " she maintained stoutly, "he planned how itwas to be done, and Nevil saw to it. I like this best. "

Christopher was too polite or too shy to insist, but he felt doubtfuland became impatient to see for himself, so they went indoors to findPatricia's hopes were justified. Tea was served in "Mr. Aymer's"room. 

And Christopher was obliged to allow that Patricia had some ground forher statement. It was a smaller room than the one in London, andsingularly like it, only the prevailing note was lighter and gayer intone. Aymer was there, lying on a similar sofa to his usual one, withthe familiar cover across his feet. 

Renata was making tea, and making Cæsar laugh also. Christopher wasuncomfortably conscious it was all new to him and the familiarity onlysuperficial, while it was a well-recognised phase in Cæsar's life. Even Nevil Aston seemed a different person in his easy country dress, and Christopher failed at first to connect the dark little lady at thetea table with him, and only noted she took Aymer his tea, which washis, Christopher's, special privilege, and treated him with a friendlyfamiliarity that nearly bordered on contempt in Christopher's eyes. 

Aymer saw the children and called to them. Patricia greeted him withthe air of a young princess and drew herself up when he said she hadgrown, and would soon be a child instead of a baby. Then he facedChristopher round towards Renata, who had suddenly become grave andshy. 

"Here is Christopher, so you can approve or condemn Nevil by your ownjudgment, Renata. Christopher, shake hands with Mrs. Aston. "

Christopher did as he was told, but he realised they had been speakingof him and felt on the defensive. However, he sat down as near toCæsar as he could. They talked of all manner of people and things ofwhich he knew nothing, traditional jokes cropped up, and Aymer'spropensity for teasing asserted itself in a prominent manner. Renatanever failed to respond and never failed to claim Nevil's protectionand to look delightfully shy and dignified and feminine. Presently thechildren were sent for. To Christopher's indignant amazement they wereplumped down on Aymer and allowed to treat him much as if he was a newspecies of giant plaything. Charlotte, in her efforts to burrow underAymer's arm, rolled off the edge of the sofa and was deftly caught byChristopher, who deposited her on the floor. She immediately tried toclamber up again, but Aymer could not second her efforts with his leftarm. 

"Put her up again, Christopher, " he said. 

But Christopher apparently did not hear, and Mr. Aston, who had beenwatching, came to the rescue. Christopher slipped away to the window. 

"A question of a third baby, I think, " said Mr. Aston softly as herearranged Charlotte, and Aymer, looking sharply at Christopher, laughed. 

When Christopher went to bid him good-night, he found Cæsar alone, looking tired and doing nothing, not even reading. 

Christopher said good-night gravely. 

"It's not very late, " remarked Aymer. "Stay with me a bit. "

He patted the chair beside him. Christopher with rather a hot faceobeyed. 

"How do you like Marden?"

"I--I don't know yet. There seems to be a lot of people here. "

"It's home, you see. We all come home when we want to see each otherand have people round. "

"Yes, I suppose everyone wants to see their people sometimes. "

"Don't you like seeing people?"

"I haven't any of my own, " said Christopher, without looking at him. 

"That's unkind. You have us. "

Christopher changed the subject. 

"Do those--those little children live here?"

"Yes. It's their home. They are rather jolly little kids. What's thematter, Christopher?"

Christopher assured him nothing was the matter. 

Aymer continued in his most matter-of-fact voice. 

"I'm fond of those babies. To begin with they are Nevil's and they arethe only youngsters I am likely to know well. But I'm a greedy person. I had Nevil, Renata, the kiddies--and that delightfully odd Patricia, and it wasn't enough for me. They were all as good as could be to me, but I wanted to be more than an extra in someone's life, so I mustneeds encumber myself with a troublesome little boy who's even moregreedy than myself, apparently. "

Christopher sat with his curly head on his hands trying not to give into the smile that was struggling to express some undefined sense ofcontent which had sprung to life. 

"You are a bad, silly boy to be jealous, " said Aymer, watching him, half laughing, half affectionately, "you ought to have known foryourself, if they had been enough for me, you wouldn't be here atall. "

CHAPTER V

Two events wrote themselves indelibly on Christopher's memory inconnection with this first visit to Marden, while the one great matterthat began there and influenced his whole after life merged itselfinto a general hazy sense of happiness and companionship. For it isgiven to few of us even when we have reached years of discretion torecognise those moments in our lives which are of real, supreme, andeternal importance: moments when the great doors of experience openslowly on silent hinges and we pass in, unconscious even that we havecrossed the threshold. But all that happens to our familiar selves, that touches our well-known emotions, and rubs or eases the worngrooves of existence, is heavily underscored in our recollection, andnot infrequently we take for mile-stones on the way what were butpebbles on the road. 

The two events which Christopher carried in his memory were, however, not unimportant, for both bore on his relationship with the man whowas moulding his life. The one episode turned Vespasian's baldstatements into real emotional facts, and the other was the firstserious collision between the far-off disastrous tutelage of MarleySartin and the new laws of existence as propounded by Aymer Aston. 

Christopher's education made vast strides during that winter. Theseason proved an unusually mild one. He was out the greater part ofeach day with Patricia, enduring with remarkable fortitude heralternate contempt and despair over his ignorance of such everydaymatters as horses, guns, dogs, desert island games, and such like. When she laughed at him for not being able to ride he shut his teethhard not to remind her he'd never possessed a shetland pony frombirth as she had, also he rose at an unconscionable early hour androde in the cold winter's dawn round and round the exercising yardwith the young grooms, while Patricia was warm and fast asleep in bed. But he had his reward when Mr. Aston, who had heard of his doings fromthe stud-groom, took him out with him on one of his rounds ofinspection to outlying farms. 

"The boy's got a good seat, and pluck, Aymer, " reported Mr. Aston. "It's more creditable to him because he has had to learn. It's notsecond nature to him. "

It took him less trouble to learn how to handle a gun, and when "offduty" to Patricia, spent a vast amount of time in the electric planthouse, learning the A B C of a big dynamo. 

Aymer knew all this and made no mention of lessons, for Christopherwas backward in more matters than booklearning and the life on a bigestate, the infinite variety of interests was all good food for theboy's hungry brain and soul. 

He grew apace. Mr. Aston declared he was a changeling and not the thinlittle urchin he had first encountered by the mile-stone on the GreatRoad. They never alluded to his life before that, though they all knewof it, and made their own private comparisons and observations. 

Christopher became quite attached to the babies so long as they didnot intrude on his own particular hours with Cæsar, but he did not getover a certain shy reserve towards Renata. 

"She slips into empty places, " he said to Cæsar once, and Cæsarlaughed at him and told Renata, who coloured and wrinkled her littleforehead. 

"He is a nice boy, " she said, "and I love him for being so good toPatricia. There hasn't been a storm since he came. "

One day, when it was too wet for even Christopher to be out, the twochildren amused themselves by turning out a cupboard in a disusedroom. It was a perfect stronghold of treasures. Old riding whips, Badminton Magazines (marked Aymer Aston, Christopher noticed), tennisballs, cricket pads, a pair of fencing foils and mask and gloves, ahost of sporting trophies from a hare's pad to a wolf's ear labelled"Kronigratz, " and last of all a box full of photographs. 

Patricia was called away before they could investigate this lasttreasure trove, and Christopher, not to be alone in the glory ofdiscovery, carried it off to Cæsar's room and lay on the hearth-rugenjoying it till Cæsar, busy working out estate accounts for hisfather, was at liberty to look too. They were interestingphotographs, --to a boy. Mostly of horses ridden, led, alone, jumping, horses galloping, horses trotting, and over and over again a pictureof one horse, and rider, who never seemed to wear a hat and had athick head of hair that looked as if it might be the same colour asCæsar's. At last he came to a bigger, more distinct photo of the sameman and horse. The horse was evidently a polo-pony and was gallopingand the man on it in white riding things, with his shirt open at theneck and was swinging a polo stick in his hand. There was no mistakingit this time: it was undoubtedly Cæsar. Christopher gave a littlegasp. Cæsar like that, vigorous, active, panting, --Christopher couldfeel it so--with life and excitement. He scrambled to his knees withthe picture in his hand. 

"Cæsar, dear Cæsar, look what I've found. "

Aymer looked round, saw the scattered photographs, and held out hishand. 

"Is it you really? May I have it for myself?"

Cæsar took the card and as he gave it up, Christopher knew he had madea mistake, and got scarlet. 

"Where did you find it?" demanded Aymer sharply. 

"In the cupboard in the little red room. We were turning it out. "

"Yes, it's I. Why shouldn't it be? I wasn't always a cripple, youknow. "

He tossed the picture back on the rug. The scar stood out white anddistinct, and his face was strangely hard and set. A book slipped downon the left side and he tried to catch it with the left hand andfailed, and it fell with a bang on the floor. 

"May I have it?" asked Christopher meekly from the rug. 

"What for? You don't know the horse and you don't know the man. Put itin the fire. "

"No, I won't, " exclaimed Christopher indignantly. "Cæsar, don't be sohorrid, it's--it's--exactly like you. "

Cæsar ignored his own command and asked another question instead. "Where did you say you found it?"

"In a cupboard in the little red room. It's such a jolly little room. It isn't used now and there's hardly anything in it, but the cupboardsare full of things--lovely things. Patricia and I just explored. "

"It used to be my room and the things are all mine. Why haven't theyburnt them?" he muttered. 

Christopher gathered up the unlucky photographs and put them back inthe box. He was dimly conscious he did not want Mr. Aston to come andsee them. 

"I'm sorry, Cæsar, I didn't know we shouldn't have done it. "

"You haven't done any harm, I--I had no business to be cross, oldfellow. Come and show me the pictures again, I'll tell you aboutthem. "

Christopher sat down on the sofa with the box in his hand. He reallydid want to know about them if Cæsar wasn't going to be angry. He tookout a photo at random. 

"That was my first race-horse, " said Cæsar. "Her name was Loadstar. She didn't win much, but I thought a lot of her. And that--oh, that'sa mastiff I had: he was magnificent, but such a brute I had to killhim. He went for one of the stable boys and I hardly got him off intime. I've got the marks now of his claws: he never bit me. We used towrestle together. "

"Wrestle with a dog?"

"Yes, I used to be fairly strong, you know, Christopher. It was goodtraining throwing him--sometimes it was the other way. But he had todie, poor old Brutus. "

"How did you kill him?"

"I shot him, " said Cæsar shortly, "don't ask for morbid particulars. Where is another picture?"

"This?"

This was a photo of a horse standing alone in a field and beneath waswritten, "Jessica waiting to be tamed. " Aymer offered noexplanation, --if Christopher had looked he would have seen the scarshow up again sharply over a frown. 

The next was rather a wicked snap-shot of Aymer cover shooting, withwhat looked suspiciously like a dead fox curled up at his feet. 

"It was a wretched little cub I had tamed, " he explained, "the littlebeast used to follow me everywhere. It's really tied up to a tree, butit always lay out as if dead when it heard a gun. I took it out withme to try and get it used to the sound. "

There was a picture of Aymer and Nevil riding and coming over a bigwater jump side by side. 

Aymer told him it was at the Central Horse Show and related thetriumphs and honours of the day. 

But when the polo photograph turned up again Aymer appeared tired ofthe amusement, and sent Christopher off to meet his father in thebrougham at Maidley station, four miles distant. "If someone doesn'tgo he'll be reading reports and working out figures till he arrives atthe door, " said Aymer. "It's disgraceful not to know how to take aholiday properly. It's only small boys who ought to work like that, "he added severely. 

"You haven't given me any work to do, Cæsar, " protested Christopher, but Cæsar only laughed. 

When the boy had gone, however, Aymer continued to turn over thephotographs. It was an extremely unwise proceeding, for each of themcalled him with irresistible voice back to the past from which he hadsworn he would turn his eyes. It was always there with its whispering, mocking echo, but like a good fighter he had learnt to withstand itsinsidious temptations, and hold fast to the quiet, secure presentwhere all he could know of joy or fulfilment was centred. 

But there it was, the great gulf that lay between him and the past, inwhich were swallowed up the hopes, ambitions, expectations of hisvigorous youth, and all the possibilities of a man's life. He hadfathomed it to its blackest depth, and seen no hope of escape orrescue. And yet he had escaped, through the devotion and courage ofhis father. And it was the ever-living recollection of that devotionthat helped him to keep his face turned from the other side of thegulf. Only on rare occasions did his strength of purpose fail him, andby some momentary carelessness he found himself caught back into ablack hour of bitterness and helpless anger. 

There was no one to blame but himself, no power to accuse but his ownheadlong passion, and the imperious impatience that would take no giftfrom life but that of his own choosing. There had been a woman and atangle of events, and his passion-blinded eyes could see no way ofdisentangling it, and yet how trivial and easy the unravellingappeared now. The quick--not resolve--but impulse that caught him onthe crest of his uncontrolled, wild temper, and prompted the shot thatmissed its intention by a hairs-breadth: the whole so instantaneous, so brief a hurricane of madness, succeeded by the long pulselessstillness of this life of his now. 

To do, and not to be able to undo, to hunger and thirst and ache totake back only a short minute of life, to feel sick and blind beforethe irretrievableness of his own deed, that was still his punishmentin these rare hours of darkness. 

He had fought for life at first with all that virile strength of hisand won this limited existence which, when he first understood itscruelly narrow horizon, he had as ardently longed and sought to loseagain, but the life principle that had been so roughly handled wasmarvellously tenacious, and refused to be ousted from its tenement. Slowly and painfully Aymer had groped his way from desolate despair tosomething higher than mere placid resignation, to a brave tolerance ofhimself and an open heart to what life might still offer him. 

There was, however, little toleration in his heart at this hour as helay staring at the photograph, and then suddenly looked round the roomhe had made so beautiful for himself. It was just as usual, everydetail complete, satisfactory, balanced, redeemed too from its ownbeauty by its strange freedom from detail and its emptiness. 

It pleased him well as a rule, but this evening that same emptinessseemed to emphasise his own isolation. He was suddenly conscious of asense of incompleteness, of some detail left out that should bethere--a want he could not measure or define. It was a sort ofculminating point in his own grey thoughts. In a gust of his oldimperious temper he caught up the photograph and tore it in half, andflung it from him: tried to fling into the fire and failed even inthat. The box of photographs fell and scattered on the floor. Heturned his head sharply and hid his face in the cushions. 

It was very quiet in the room, the fire burnt steadily, and outsidethe dusk had already fallen. There was a very little knock at thedoor, but he did not hear it; the door opened with a breath of freshcold air and a faint scent of violets as Renata entered. 

She saw she was unobserved, saw his attitude, and her whole beingseemed to melt into an expression of longing compassion. Nevil or hisfather would have gone away unseen in respect for his known weakness, but Renata for all her shyness had the courage of her instincts. 

"May I come and warm myself, Aymer? You always have the best fire inthe house. "

He did not move for a moment. 

Renata knelt by the fire with her back to him and took off her longsoft gloves, her bracelets making a little jangling sound. Then shesaw the torn picture and picked it up and shook her headdisapprovingly. The overturned box lay nearer the sofa. She pickedthat up too, and began replacing its contents in a matter-of-factway. 

"You can't possibly see things in this light, " she remarked. "It isgetting quite dark. Do you want a light, Aymer?"

"No, " said Aymer abruptly, turning so that he could see her. 

She sat down in a big chair the other side of the hearth and beganchatting of the very serious At Home she had just attended inWinchester. 

The black mood slipped from him, and with it the sense of need andincompleteness. It had melted as snow before a fire the moment he hadheard the swish of her dress across the floor, and the breath ofviolets reached him. He forgot even to be ashamed of his own passingweakness as he watched her. She was all in brown with strangebeautiful gold work shining here and there. She had flung back herfurs and there was a big bunch of violets in her dress. He watched herlittle white fingers unfasten them as she talked. 

"If they would not think they were amusing themselves, I could endureit, " she said, "but they solemnly pretend it's amusement and frivolousat that. One old lady told me gravely, she hardly thought it seemlythat the Dean should so lend himself to the pleasures of the world. There, the violets are not spoilt at all. The Dean gave them to me:it's the one thing he can do--grow violets. You shall have them all toyourself. " She fetched a silver cup and began arranging them. Aymerceased to be tired, ceased to be anything but supremely content as hiseyes followed her. She went on relating her experience until she hadmade him laugh, and then she came and sat on a little stool near him. 

"May I have the babies down?"

Aymer pretended to grumble. 

"You'll go to them if I say no, " he complained, "so I have nooption. "

The bell was rung and the babies ordered to descend. 

"Before they come, Cæsar, I'm going to ask you a favour, " she saidcoaxingly, "now you are in a good temper again. "

"Was I in a bad one?"

"Dreadful. It mustn't reoccur. It is such a bad example for thechildren. "

"The favour, please; bother the children. "

"Cæsar, I'm ashamed of you. Bless them, you meant to say. Well, thefavour. Aymer, I am going to start a crêche in Winchester near the bigclothing factory. I've talked to the Bishop and he quite approves. Iknow just the house, but I shall have to buy it, and I haven't enoughmoney for that. I can run it easily if I can only get the premises. What will you subscribe?"

"I haven't any money at all, " he replied gravely. "Vespasian takes itall and I don't think he'd approve of crêches, not being a familyman. "

"Vespasian, indeed. " She tilted her chin in the air as Aymer meant herto do, a trifle too much, and the effect was spoilt, but he was wellpractised in obtaining the exact tilt he admired. 

"You can ask him, of course. "

"Very likely I will: in the meantime what will you give me?"

"Half a crown. No; five whole shillings, if I have it, " he saidteasingly. 

She considered the matter gravely. "I am not quite sure. I should notlike to inconvenience you. Shall we say four and six?"

"No, I will be generous. I'll do this. If you will take the risk ofbeing accused of burglary by Vespasian, I happen to know there is somemoney in the right hand drawer of the table over there. I don't knowhow much. Fivepence, perhaps, but you shall have whatever it is. "

Renata walked with great dignity across the room and opened thedrawer. A little smile hovered about her lips. She picked up a handfulof gold and silver and sat down by him to count it. 

"It looks an awful lot, " he remarked anxiously. "Won't you let me off?Vespasian is always complaining of my extravagance. "

"Sh----Sh----" she held up one finger, "ten, eleven, twelve, and twoand six, that's thirteen, --no, fourteen and sixpence. "

"Leave me the sixpence, " he urged plaintively, but she continuedcounting. 

"Seven pounds, four shillings and sixpence. Count it yourself, Aymer. "

Aymer counted and gravely pronounced her arithmetic to be correct. 

"Thank you, you are a dear. " She piled the coins up neatly in littlepiles on the table by her side. He told her she had better put it inher pocket. 

"I haven't one, " she sighed. 

"You will be sure to forget it, and then Vespasian will get itagain. "

"Is it likely I would forget seven pounds, four shillings andsixpence?"

But she did. The children arrived and rioted over Aymer. Master Maxbumped his head and had to be consoled with his uncle's watch, whileCharlotte wandered off on a voyage of exploration alone, and finallysat on the floor by the window with her fat legs straight out in frontof her, making a doll of one arm by wrapping it up in her dress, andsinging to herself. 

"She has quite an idea of time already: listen to her, Aymer. "

But Aymer only scoffed at his niece's accomplishments, and then Nevilcame in and went down on his knees to kiss his wife, who was much toooccupied with her son and heir to move for him. For a moment all threeheads were on a level, and it was only when the long Nevil stood upand Renata was reaching up on tip-toe to put some of the violets inhis coat that Aymer's sense of completeness vanished. Finally thechildren were carried off and he was alone again. 

"It's a lucky thing for me, " he said to himself steadily, "that Nevilmarried Renata: he might just as easily have married someone Icouldn't endure. "

When Christopher and Mr. Aston returned they found Aymer whistling anddrawing ridiculous caricatures of the family on the back of the_Times_, and he was so outrageously flippant and witty that his fatherglanced at him suspiciously from time to time. 

"Why haven't you let Vespasian light up?" he inquired. 

"I'm afraid to call Vespasian. Renata has been raiding and I shall geta lecture. She's left her booty, as I told her she would. Christopher, when you have quite finished pretending it's your duty to draw thecurtains, you might run up with this money to her. Put it in thatbox. "

Christopher came forward rather slowly. He swept the money into thebox indicated. 

"What a lot, " he commented. 

"Seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, and I am now penniless. Ishan't even get credit with Heaven. She'll appropriate that. "

Christopher ran off with it and meeting Nevil on the stairs gave itinto his hand. Renata had gone to dress, and Nevil sauntered in to hiswife with her "spoils" at once. 

"Seven pounds, four and sixpence, " she said gleefully. "For the crêchefund. It was nice of Aymer. I had not meant to worry him to-day, buthe wanted distraction. "

"I thought Vespasian kept his money. Six pounds four and sixpence, Renata, " Nevil remarked, counting the money carelessly. She came overto him, brush in hand. 

"You can't even do addition. Nothing but dates! I counted it mostcarefully, so did Aymer. "

"Then he's defrauded you of a pound since. "

"Nonsense. "

They counted it together, but no amount of reckoning would make sevensovereigns out of six. The silver was correct. 

"It must have fallen down, " said Renata at last and put it awaycarefully in her desk. 

They were late for dinner, and Mr. Aston pretended to upbraid them andtold Renata to take her soup and leave her correspondence alone, forthere was a big envelope lying by her plate. It was herfather-in-law's contribution to the crêche scheme, Aymer havingforestalled her request, and joined forces with his father in a reallyadequate sum. 

Renata got pink with pleasure as she looked at the cheque. She was, however, far too shy to express her real gratitude in words beforethem all. She smiled at the donor and remarked she would give him abig photograph in a beautiful frame of the first baby admitted to thecrêche, to hang in his room as a slight token of her appreciation ofhis gift. 

"It shall take the place of Charlotte, " he assured her gravely. 

Aymer looked aggrieved. 

"May I ask the precise sum, Renata?" he inquired pointedly, "thatearns so gracious a reward. "

"It's three figures, " she answered, regarding the precious slip ofpaper affectionately before replacing it in its imposing envelope. 

"Ninety-two pounds, fifteen and sixpence more, " he groaned; "it's alot for a photograph of a mere baby, but I can't be left out in thecold. "

"Perhaps I can let you have one without a frame for less, onlyfather's must be the best. "

"Nevil, " remarked Aymer severely, "I would call your attention to thefact that your wife is beginning to weigh men's merits by theirmeans. "

Nevil only laughed. 

"I hear she has raided you of all you possess. Six pounds odd. "

"Seven pounds four and sixpence, " corrected Aymer. "I should like thecorrect sum printed in good plain figures on your list, Renata. Beingmy all, it is a superior present to more pretentious donations. "

"Six pounds four and sixpence, however, " persisted Nevil. 

Aymer looked up quickly. 

"Did you count it?"

Nevil nodded. 

"It must have dropped, " said Aymer slowly. "I'll send it you with theinterest, Renata. "

But he knew it had not been dropped. 

Mr. Aston began telling them of a deputation from the Friends of theCanine Race he had received that day, and no more was said on theother matter. 

CHAPTER VI

Although Christopher's habit of acquisitiveness had given Aymer someuneasy moments, yet there had been so far no very serious conflict ofthe question of meum and tuum. Aymer had sought rather to overwritethe rude scrawl of Marley Sartin than to erase it. The most seriousaspect that had shown itself hitherto was Christopher's readiness toaccept tips from over-generous callers and even to put himself toingenious trouble to invite them. Constantia Wyatt was a greatoffender in this and brought down a severe scolding on her own headfrom her brother when he at last learnt of Christopher's propensity. 

"He does it so neatly and with such a charming, innocent face, "pleaded Constantia, half laughing; "it's no harm, Aymer. All boys liketips: I know my boy does. "

But she rather libelled Master Basil Wyatt, who, though not averse toa donation, would have scorned to solicit it. Aymer had toldChristopher that gentlemen did not do these things and had taken careto keep the boy out of the way of departing visitors. But this hadbeen before his first lecture on the obligations of money, andChristopher had taken that lesson to heart and quite outgrown hischildish and perfectly innocent habit of inviting tips. 

Aymer was furiously angry with himself for the quick suspicion whichconnected the boy with the missing sovereign. He tried honestly to putit away from himself as unwarrantable and dangerous. But there it was, a wretched little poisonous thought, tugging at his heart, unreasonably coupled with a recollection of a conversation betweenPatricia and Christopher that he had overheard one afternoon attea-time, anent the construction of an amateur brickwork bridgeacross an inconvenient stream. Patricia had said they could buy bricksat the brick-yard, and Christopher had said he had no money left; itwould cost lots and lots and they must wait till pay-day. 

He mentioned the loss of the sovereign to Christopher and asked if hehad dropped the money on the stairs, and Christopher had composedlyanswered in the negative, and had volunteered the remark that if ithad been dropped in the room it could not have rolled far on the thickcarpet. Aymer had been for the moment convinced of the injustice ofhis own suspicion. He made no attempt to discover any other solutionto the problem; rather he evaded what might prove a difficult task, and contented himself with solemnly sending Renata a cheque for theremainder "with interest, " and neither Renata nor Nevil spoke of thematter again, at least to him. Nevil may have had his own opinionsabout it, and if he had they were quite certainly communicated to hiswife. The worrying uncertainty, however, proved too much for Aymer, and the following evening when he was alone with his father he toldhim the story, half hoping to be scolded for harbouring uncharitablesuspicions. Now, Mr. Aston had been scrupulous to a fault in avoidingthe offer of any suggestions or advice on Christopher's upbringing. Hedesired above all things to leave Aymer free in his chosen task, buthe realised at once this was a point where Aymer was quite as likelyto hurt himself as Christopher, and, therefore, that he, Aymer'sfather, must make an exception to his rule and he did not like it. Hebegan drawing vague lines on his shirtcuff with a pencil, an evilhabit of his when uneasy in mind. Aymer watched him with disapproval. 

"After all our efforts, " he sighed gravely, "you still persist in yourold bad ways, sir. How often have I entreated you to remember a poorvalet's feelings, and how often has Nevil begged you to recollect thesorrows of the washerwoman?"

Mr. Aston laughed and put away his pencil. 

"Nevil once indited an ode to me entitled 'The Lament of theLaundress. ' I fear I'm incorrigible. "

"What displeases you, sir?" demanded his son after a little pause;"it's no use pretending there's nothing wrong; you only do that whenyou want to say something you think won't be acceptable. "

"Well, then, Aymer, I say this: Christopher is your concern. I don'tdoubt your power to manage him, but I can speak of yourself, and Itell you it's a very bad thing to live with an unsatisfied suspicion;particularly bad for you. If you don't clear this up you will neverfeel quite at ease with the boy. It is so already, is it not?"

Aymer admitted reluctantly that it was indeed the case. 

"Don't let anything stand between you, Aymer. I am thinking of you, ofcourse, " he added hastily. 

"Are you sure you are not thinking of yourself?" returned his son, half laughing, half ruefully; and his father flushed a little. 

"Perhaps I was, " he said humbly. "It would worry me if you were nothappy with him. "

Aymer laughed outright at that and assured him he knew how to makeallowances for his well-known selfishness. But he took his advice andgrappled with the difficulty next afternoon. Christopher was mending arod, seated on the floor as usual. 

"We've not found that sovereign, " said Cæsar abruptly. 

Christopher looked up quickly, and then went on with his work after abrief "Oh!"

"Did you take it, Christopher?"

He asked the question quite slowly and looked at the boy, who gotscarlet but went on tying his rod and appeared to be considering thequestion carefully, weighing it in his mind as it were, and when heanswered, it was as deliberately as Aymer had questioned him. 

"No, sir. "

Aymer felt a sudden sense of relief, for lying had not been one ofChristopher's faults. Then almost immediately he found himselfwondering first, why the boy was not angry, and secondly, why it hadtaken so much thought to answer at all. However, he let the matterdrop and told himself he was satisfied. Christopher finished mendinghis rod and then sat still considering deeply. Presently he took out apenny from his pocket and began rolling it on the thick carpet, and, as he had remarked to Cæsar, it did not roll far, try as he would. Atlast he jumped up with a satisfied mien and went out. Cæsar heard himwhistling as he went down the passage and felt easier in his mind. Renata and the babies paid their usual visit after tea, and MissCharlotte, after a brief conversation with her uncle, slid off thesofa and trotted away to the end window, where she appeared to bediligently playing hide-and-seek with herself. Suddenly her elderswere startled with a prolonged cry of anguish and Renata flew to therescue. 

"I tan't find it; naughty mousie taken my booful golden penny, " sobbedCharlotte in her mother's arms. Renata could make nothing of her griefand persisted in thinking that she was hurt, and cuddling her. Aymer, listening attentively, said suddenly to Renata in his imperious way:

"Give Charlotte to me, Renata, and take baby away. "

Renata obeyed meekly. People had a weak way of obeying Aymer onoccasions, even against their will. 

"Now, Miss Charlotte, " said Aymer, when the young lady was safelydeposited by him, "tell me about it. What golden penny was it?"

But Charlotte got suddenly red and stopped crying. 

"Were you playing with it yesterday in the window?" asked her uncle. 

Charlotte nodded. 

"Was it your penny or mine?"

"Wasn't nobody's, only mummy's. You _said they_ were for her. Charlotte wasn't naughty. "

"Did you find it on the floor?"

"No. "

"Where then?"

"Dey was all in nice itty rows on the table. I only taken one pittygoldy penny. Mummy gives me goldy pennies always. "

"Sovereigns for playthings, Renata. That's very immoral. "

"No, only new halfpennies. Charlotte didn't know any better, Aymer. "

"And you played with it in the window there and left it there. "

"Is I naughty?"

"Not very naughty--if you tell me. Did you leave it there?"

Charlotte's lip trembled. "I putted it to bed in the curtain by amousehole, and it's all gone, naughty mousie. "

"Go and see, Renata, if there's a hole there. "

"Please, " said Charlotte gravely. 

"Please what?"

"Please go and see. "

Aymer laughed. "I beg your pardon, Renata. Please will you mindlooking for the mousehole?"

"I tan't see the mousehole, " put in Charlotte, "I only 'tend it. "

But Renata looked all the same. There was no mousehole and no goldenpenny. 

"It is all right, " explained Aymer in answer to his sister-in-law'stroubled look. "I know all about it. Don't worry your little head. Wewill give Charlotte another golden penny, or a silver one. Only, " headded, regarding his small niece severely, "Charlotte must not touchanyone's pennies again, not mummy's or Uncle Aymer's, or anyone's. Itis not dreadfully naughty this time, but it would be nexttime--_dreadfully_ naughty. "

Charlotte opened her eyes very wide. 

"Would you be dreffly angry?"

"Yes, and very unhappy. I shouldn't let you come to see me any more. "

At that Miss Charlotte flung her arms round his neck, protesting shewasn't naughty and Uncle Aymer must love her. Peace was at lastrestored and Aymer drew pictures of innumerable mice carrying offgolden pennies and only sent the children away when Christopher camein. 

He gave no hint to Christopher that he had solved the problem of thelost money and discovered the boy's own compromise between truth anddishonesty. He was anxious to see whether Christopher's moral standardwas really satisfied with the same compromise or not. So he treatedhim as far as he could in his natural manner during the next few days, but found it a little difficult. Fond of Christopher as he was, thiswas just one of those points where the enormous difference between thechild of one's own self, --of self plus the unknown--and the adoptedchild of others, became visible. The fault was so inexplicable toAymer, so utterly foreign to his whole understanding, that he hadnothing but contempt for it, whereas, had Christopher been his ownson, love would have overridden contempt with fear. 

Christopher, with his uncanny, quick intuition of Aymer's innermostmind, was not deceived by his ordinary casual manner, and became, toAymer's secret satisfaction, a little suppressed and thoughtful. 

It was at this point the boy had his first introduction to poor littlePatricia's temper. 

The two children had been riding and returned home by way of the brookover which their ambitious dreams had already built a bridge. Patricia, who was in rather a petulant mood, reproached Christopherrather sharply for having got rid of his last month's pocket money soprematurely. "Just like a boy, " she said, wrinkling her nosecontemptuously. She had five whole shillings left of her money andwhen Christopher could double that they were to go to the brick-yardand bargain. 

"Haven't you any at all?" she questioned impatiently. 

Christopher, who was examining the proposed site, did not answer atonce, and she repeated her question. 

"I have some, " he confessed unwillingly. 

"Well, can't we start with that. You said you hadn't any on Monday. How much is it?"

But Christopher declined to answer. 

Patricia persisted in her point. If Christopher had _any money_ theycould begin the bridge next day. Christopher said he'd see about it. 

Patricia, much exasperated, said she should go home, and her companionproposed to make the ponies jump the brook. She was too angry toanswer him, but she set her pony at it, and the pony, instead ofrising to the jump on command, very cautiously stepped into the streamand splashed across. It is to be feared Christopher laughed. Patriciacantered on, having seen, with much satisfaction, the other ponybehave in precisely the same way. But the end was not the same. Christopher wheeled the pony round and tried again, tried eight timesand failed and succeeded at the ninth. It was characteristic of himthat he did not lose his temper, but had kept on with a sort of dull, monotonous persistence that must have been very boring to the equinemind. 

Then he galloped after Patricia, and catching her up at the lodgegates retailed his triumph gleefully. Perhaps he was a shade tootriumphant, for he was still in disgrace, and she had not spoken. Atall events by the time they had dismounted and were returning to thehouse through the garden, she was in a fever of irritation, andChristopher, blissfully ignorant of the fact, was just a tiny bitinclined for private reasons of his own, to emphasise his own goodspirits. He never noticed the clenching and unclenching of her smallhands or saw the whiteness of her tense averted face, and he beganteasing her about her pony and her weight. "Nevil must buy you a brandnew one, up to your weight, " he suggested, "you've broken Folly'sspirit evidently. "

He was standing on the steps, just one step below her, and he lookedback laughing. On a sudden, with no word or sound of warning, sheturned and cut at him with her riding whip, her little form quiveringwith the grip of the possessing demon. The lash caught him across theface and he fell back against the wall gasping, with his hand up. Luckily it was but a light whip and a girl's hand, but the sting of itblanched him for an instant. The flaming colour died from Patricia'sface as suddenly as it had come, and with it the momentary fury. Shestood gazing at her companion a moment, and when he looked up halfterrified, half angry, she turned quickly and ran down a grass path, dropping her whip as she went. 

Christopher stood still, rubbing his smarting cheek gingerly, wondering vaguely what he would say if it showed. He had heard fromothers as well as from Patricia herself, of the child's fearfulparoxysms of rage and had rather scoffed at it--to her. But at thismoment he was far nearer crying, very near it, indeed, to be strictlytruthful. He was really concerned for Patricia, and also he was alittle--unnecessarily--ashamed of his own collapse under the suddenattack. Probably she thought it worse than it was. He walked slowlydown the grass path between the yew hedges and picked up the whip ashe went. Patricia was not on the tennis court nor in the summer-house, nor in the rose-garden, so he turned his steps to the wilderness, asthe rough wooded slopes on the northern side of the garden werecalled. He knew her favourite spots here and presently came on herhuddled up on an old moss-grown stone seat, her head in her arms. Shewas quite still, she was not even crying, and Christopher felt alittle frightened. What if she were still angry like that? However, the chances were against it, so he went up and sat down by her. 

"Patricia, don't be silly, " he commanded. "What did you run off likethat for? You didn't hurt--not much, " he added truthfully--he hadtaken to being very exact about the truth of late. 

"Go away, " said Patricia. "I don't want you. I don't want anyone. Youdon't understand. "

"Well, someone's got to understand, " persisted the boy in ahigh-handed way. "You aren't going to be let get in tempers with meand then sulk about it afterwards. Don't be silly. Sit up. " Patricia'sgolden hair lay about her like a veil. He pushed it aside and tried topull her hands away from her face, for he was getting really a littlefrightened at her manner. Some instinct taught him that her misery wasas exaggerated and bad for her as her temper, and he was dimly afraidof leaving her alone, as was the custom of her little world after oneof her outbreaks. 

Patricia suddenly sat up. There were black rims round her great sadeyes already and her face was red and white in patches from thepressure of her hands. 

"You said I hadn't hurt you, " she gasped, gazing at the dull red markof which Christopher was already almost unaware. 

"Does it show? What a beastly nuisance. I said it didn't hurt much, Patricia. Not at all now. I'm sorry I was such a baby. " He put his armround her and she leant her head against him too exhausted to carewhether he thought her a baby or not. 

"It must be jolly exciting having a temper like that, " he said, thoughtfully. "It wouldn't be half so bad if you meant it. "

She sat bolt upright and stared at him. 

"Why?" she demanded breathlessly. 

"Because if you meant it you could take care _not_ to mean it, silly. You'd look out. But you don't mean it. You didn't mean to hurt me thentill you did it. It's much worse for you. "

She drew a long breath. 

"Oh, Christopher dear, how clever you are. No-one ever understood thatbefore. They all say, 'well, anyhow, you don't mean it, ' as if thatmade it better. "

"Stupid, of course it's harder to help what you don't mean than whatyou do. "

"But I can't help it. "

Christopher gave her a little shake. "Don't be silly. You will have tohelp it, only it's harder. You can't go on like that when you arebig--ladies don't--none I've seen. It's only----" he stopped. 

"Only what?"

"Women in the street. At least--some, I've seen them. They fight andscream and get black eyes and get drunk. "

"Christopher, you are hateful!" She flared up with hot cheeks and puther hand over his mouth. "I'm not like that, you horrid boy. Say I'mnot. "

"I didn't say you were, " said Christopher with faint exasperation. "Isaid it reminded me--your temper. Come along in. "

She followed very unwillingly, more conscious than he was of hisdisfigured face. 

And Renata met them in the hall and saw it and got pink, but saidnothing till Patricia had gone upstairs. Christopher was slipping awaytoo--he never found much to say to Mrs. Aston--and of late less thanever. However, she stopped him. 

"Have you been quarrelling, Christopher?" she asked deprecatingly witha little tremor in her voice. 

Christopher assured her not. 

"You have hurt your face. "

"The branch of a tree, " he began shamefacedly, and stopped lamely. 

"I'm so sorry. "

No more was said. Renata was conscious of her own failure to get onwith Christopher, but she put it down entirely to her own shyness, which interfered now in preventing her overriding his very transparentfib in Patricia's defence. She went away rather troubled and unhappy. But Christopher, a great deal more troubled and unhappy, looked out ofthe hall window with a gloomy frown. His own words to Patricia thatshe had so sharply resented, about the women he had seen fighting inthe street, had called up other pictures of the older life, picturesin which Marley Sartin figured only too distinctly. He feltuncomfortably near these shifting scenes. Like Patricia, he wanted todeny the connection between himself and the small boy following in thewake of the big man through crowded streets and long vistas of shops. He did not wish to recognise the bond between little Jim Hibbault andChristopher Aston. But the pictures were very insistent and thelikeness uncomfortably clear. At last, with no more show of emotion orwill than if he were going on an ordinary errand, he walked slowlydown the corridor to Cæsar's room. He had entirely forgotten aboutPatricia now and was taken aback by Cæsar's abrupt inquiry about themark or his face. 

"It was an accident, " he said hurriedly, and then plunged straightinto his own affairs. 

"Cæsar, I have something to give you. "

He held out his hand with a sovereign in it. 

Cæsar took it and, after glancing at it casually, put it on the table, looking hard at Christopher, who got red and then white. 

"It couldn't have been the sovereign you lost, " he said earnestly. "Ididn't take any of that money, really, Cæsar. I found this on thefloor by the window. It couldn't have rolled all that long way fromhere. It must be another. "

He was pleading with himself as much as with Cæsar, desiring greatlyto keep faith with his own integrity, though something in Cæsar's facewas driving him from his last stronghold. 

"You didn't ask me if I'd found a sovereign, " he pleaded desperately, "you asked me if I had taken one of Mrs. Aston's sovereigns, and Ihadn't, because how could it have got to the window from here?"

Cæsar's face flushed a dusky red. He spoke in a hard, constrainedvoice. 

"Charlotte took one of the sovereigns as a plaything when we were notlooking and hid it under the curtain in the window. To her it was onlya toy, but to you----"

He made a last effort to keep control of his temper and failed. Thestorm broke. 

"But to you----" he repeated with a curiously stinging quality in hisvoice as if the words were whipped to white heat by inward wrath--"toyou a sovereign is no toy, but a useful commodity, and your code ofhonour--do you call it that?--is doubtless a very convenient one. Itis far too subtle a code for my poor intellect, but since you appearable to justify it to yourself it is no concern of mine. "

Christopher stood still and white under this ruthless attack: all hisenergies concentrated in keeping that stillness, but at the back ofhis mind was born a dull pain and sharp wonder, a consciousness of theLaw of Consequence by which he must abide, and henceforth accept as aprinciple of life. There was too great confusion in his mind for himto weigh his instinctive action and subsequent behaviour against what, to Aymer, was the one and only possible code of honour. For thepresent it was enough that in Aymer's eyes that action was mean, despicable and contemptible. The Law of Consequence he dimly realisedworked from the centre of Aymer's being and not from the ill-trainedcentre of his, Christopher's, individuality. 

"In future, " went on Aymer, still too furiously angry to weigh hiswords or remember they were addressed to a child, "if I have occasionto make any inquiries of you we will have a distinct understanding asto whether we are speaking with the same code or not. You can go. "

Christopher turned blindly away, and was stopped at the door. "As forthe sovereign, which must be very precious to you, considering theprice you were ready to pay for it, I will have it pierced and put ona chain, so you can wear it round your neck. It would be a pity tolose anything so valuable. "

Christopher turned with indignant protest in every line. However Aymermight talk of their separate codes of honour, he was, nevertheless, dealing out a punishment adequate to the infringement of his own code, and to Christopher it appeared unjust and cruel. For the moment it wasin him to remonstrate fiercely, but the words died away, for such aprotest must of necessity be based on an acceptance of this dividedcode, and to that he would not stoop. It was some poor consolation topay the penalty of a higher law than he was supposed to understand. Heturned again to the door and got away before a storm of tears swampedhis brave control. 

When Charles Aston returned that night he found Aymer in a veryirritable mood. Nevil, in his gentle, patient way, had been doing hisbest to soothe him, but in vain. When Aymer was not irritated, he wasbitter and sarcastic, even his greeting to his father was short andcold. It was clear some event in the day had upset his mentalequilibrium, and Christopher's absence (he did not even appear to say"good-night") gave Mr. Aston a clue to the situation. 

Nevil was wading through a book on farm management, which bored himconsiderably. His part was to read long extracts which Aymer wascomparing with some letters in the "Field. " They continued theiremployment and Mr. Aston sat down to write a letter. From time to timehe paused and heard Aymer's sharp, unreasonable remarks to hisbrother. A memory of the old bad days came so forcibly to Mr. Astonthat he laid aside his pen at last and sat listening with an achingheart. He knew those quick flashes of temper were a sign of irritationbrought to a white heat. Presently, after one remark moreunjustifiable than ever, Nevil looked across at his father with alittle rueful grimace, and seeing how grave was Mr. Aston's expressionhe made another valiant effort to keep peace and ignore the abuse, andwent on reading. The subject under discussion was the draining of apiece of waste land, and when the long article came to an end, Nevilin his dreamy way summed up the matter by saying it was a verypicturesque corner of the estate and a pity to spoil it. 

Aymer flung the papers down violently. 

"That's all you care for, or are likely to care for, " he saidbrutally. "I know I might as well let the estate go to the dogs as tryand improve it. Once my father and I are dead, you'll turn it into adamned garden for your own use. "

For one second Nevil's face was a study in suppression. He got up andwalked across the room, his hands shaking. 

Mr. Aston spoke sharply and suddenly. 

"Aymer, pull yourself together. You are taking advantage of yourposition. What circumstances do you imagine give you the right totrample on other people's feelings like this, whenever something orother has put you out? It's outrageous! Keep your temper better inhand, man. "

It was so obviously deserved, so terribly direct, and at the same timeso calculated to hurt, that Nevil turned on his father withreproachful eyes, and then perceiving his face, said no more. 

Aymer became suddenly rigid, and lay still with waves of colour risingto and dying from his face, and his hands clenched. 

Mr. Aston waited a moment and then said apologetically and hurriedly, "I'm awfully sorry, Aymer. "

"Oh, it had to be done, " responded Aymer, turning his face to him witha rueful smile. "I'm a brute. Nevil, old fellow, you ought to give hima V. C. Or something; he is positively heroic. "

"Don't be an idiot, " retorted his father, blushing for all hisfifty-eight years, because of a grain of truth in his son's words. Forindeed it sometimes requires more courage to be brutal to those welove than to be kind to those we hate. 

"Go away, Nevil, " continued Mr. Aston good humouredly, "I'll lookafter Aymer. "

Nevil departed, with secret relief, the atmosphere was a little tooelectrical for his liking. 

When he had gone, Mr. Aston went over to his elder son and sat on theedge of the sofa. 

"What's really the matter, old chap?" he asked gently. 

Aymer related the whole history of the sovereign, Christopher'sconfession and the subsequent events. 

"I dare say he was quite honest about his point of view, " he concludedpetulantly, "but because I could not see it I lost my temper withhim. "

His father sat thoughtfully considering the carpet. 

"It will be a little hard on Christopher, " he said at length, veryslowly and without looking up, "if every time he has the misfortune toremind you of his father you lose your temper with him. "

Aymer turned sharply. 

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I think, " went on the elder man steadily, "I think, Aymer, it was notonly Christopher's hazy ideas of honour and honesty that angered you, but he forced on your notice the fact that he was his father's son, that he had in him the germs of that quality which has made his fatherwhat he is--a successful man. Isn't it so?"

Aymer did not answer. It was true, he knew, however great his wish todisown it. Something of the self-dissatisfaction that had numbed poorlittle Christopher fell to his share. He felt his father was a littlehard on him--he could not really understand his relationship to theboy. 

"It is not quite fair on Christopher, is it?" said Mr. Aston verygently, "at least that is how it strikes me. I do not want tointerfere between you, but I do want you to do yourself full justicein dealing with him. "

Aymer looked suddenly up at his father and laughed. "It is evidentlynot only Christopher who is in disgrace to-day, " he said ruefully. "Iwish I could in turn upbraid you with unfairness, but Christopher hasthe pull over me there. "

He held out his hand. It was a great concession in Aymer to show eventhis much demonstration of feeling unasked, and it was appreciated. 

"You might say good-night to Christopher when you go upstairs, " Aymersaid casually a little later, and his father nodded assent, by nomeans deceived by the indifferent tone. Both Aymer and Christopherslept the better for his ministrations that night. 

CHAPTER VII

At the end of February the elder Astons returned to town and MardenCourt was no longer mere vague locality to Christopher, but the "home"of those he loved, the centre piece of their lives, and he had a sharein it himself. 

Still he was very happy to find himself back at Aston House. Its manydeserted rooms, the long, silent corridors and its strange spaciousemptiness lent themselves to his robust imagination more easily thanthe living friendly warmth of the old house, brimful of actualities. He re-explored every corner of house and garden in the first days ofreturn, interviewed the staff collectively and individually, fromWarren the butler, to the new scullery boy. He rearranged his booksand hunted up half-forgotten treasures, slid down the shiny banistersfifty times a day and dispelled the silent lurking shadows with amerry whistle and a laugh that woke an echo in quiet rooms. But heregretted Patricia. It would have been very pleasant to take his turnat showing her round--Patricia had only been in London once, --andthere would have been plenty to show her. Lessons, however, recommenced almost at once and Christopher was left with little timefor regrets. Life fell back into its old grooves with the solitarydifference that those grooves seemed deeper worn and more familiarthan he had imagined. The months no longer only presented possibleproblems; he could consult his memory as to what had previously beenat such a time or in like conditions. 

He was also given much greater liberty now and encouraged to go out byhimself, and to do errands for Mr. Aston or Aymer. It was a proud dayfor him when Aymer first sent him to The House with a letter for Mr. Aston, who was acting secretary on a Committee at the time. Christopher had had to wait and had sat outside a Committee room doorand watched men go to and fro, men whose faces were dimly familiar toa student of illustrated papers, and men who were strange, but all mendoing something in return for the good things the world had giventhem. Such at least was Christopher's innocent belief. Aymer did notdisillusion him. 

He used to recount his small adventures to Cæsar in the evenings andwas encouraged to form his own conclusions from what he had noticedand to confirm existing ideas from actual life. Such conclusions andideas were naturally often childish and illogical, but Cæsar neverappeared to find them laughable and would give careful andilluminating consideration to the most chaotic theories. 

The everlasting problem of riches and poverty, happiness and miseryoften came uppermost, and on this point Christopher was assuredly, butquite unconsciously, as illuminating to Aymer as Aymer was to him. There were certain points of view, certain lines of thought withregard to the attitude of these "under-world" people, whichChristopher knew without knowing how, and which, flashing outunexpectedly, would dissolve philanthropic theories wholesale. Aymerwould retell them to his father afterwards, who in turn would bringthem out in his quiet, unexpected way in one of those wonderfullyeloquent speeches of his that made the whole list of "Societies" courthim as a dinner guest and speaker, and political coteries sigh withpained surprise at his refusal to stand for Parliament. 

Christopher, indeed, possessed to a full degree the power of absorbingthe mental atmosphere in which he lived and of becoming a sort ofvisible incarnation of it. Places and people who had thus once foundexpression in him could always bring to the surface again thatparticular phase of existence they had originally stamped on his mind. The Christopher who wandered amongst the wharfs and warehouses in thatvague region across the river, remembered and was concerned over quitedifferent matters to the happy boy who rode every morning in the Rowwith Mr. Aston. 

There were many people to and fro to Aston House: Men who were a powerin the world; men who would be so, and men who had been, as well asmany of no note at all. They came to consult Charles Aston on everyconceivable thing under the sun, from questions of high politics tothe management of a refractory son. They did not always take hisadvice, nor did he always offer it, but they invariably came away witha more definite sense of their own meaning and aims, and somehow suchaims were generally a little more just, a shade more honest, or alittle higher than they had imagined when they started out. CharlesAston was still alluded to by men of high repute as "the man who mighthave been, " yet many there were who, had they considered it carefully, might have said to themselves that "might have been" was less wellthan "has been. " Very occasionally he entertained and Constantia cameto play hostess for him. On these occasions Aymer rarely appeared atdinner, but a few privileged guests visited him afterwards and keptalive the tradition that Charles Aston's son, that poor fellow Aymer, was an even more brilliant conversationalist and keener wit than hisfather. But as a rule very few from the outside penetrated as far asthe Garden Wing of Aston House, and Aymer and Christopher continued tolead a peaceful and uninterrupted existence there. 

Christopher continued to occupy his leisure with a prodigious numberof pets and the construction of mechanical contrivances for theirconvenience, in which he showed no little ingenuity. There wereoccasionally tragedies in connection with the pets which were turnedto good account by the master of their fate even at the expense of hisown feelings--and fingers--as on the occasion when he cremated apuppy-dog who had come to an untimely end. Cæsar objected to thisexperiment, and when the next catastrophe occurred, which was to aguinea-pig, a more commonplace funeral had to be organised. 

But this tragedy became curiously enough linked with a new memory inChristopher's mind, of more lasting importance than the demise of "SirJoshua Reynolds" of the brown spots. 

It happened this-wise. Sir Joshua having stolen a joyous but unsafehour of liberty fell a victim to the cunning of the feline race. Christopher rescued the corpse and heaped tearful threats of vengeanceon the murderess, and then tore into Cæsar's room to find sympathy andcomfort. He tumbled in at the window with Sir Joshua in his arms, andflung himself on Cæsar before he had observed the presence of avisitor--a stranger, too. He was a big, florid man, with agood-natured face and great square chin, and he was standing with hisback to the fire, looking very much at home. He gave a slight start asChristopher tumbled in, and a queer little cynical smile dawned on hisface as he watched the two. 

"Hallo, Aymer, I didn't know you had----"

"Go and get ready for tea, Christopher, " interrupted Aymerperemptorily, "and take out that animal. Don't you see I have avisitor?"

Christopher, who had just perceived the stranger, hardly disguised hislack of appreciation of so inopportune a caller, and went out to seewhat consolation could be got out of Vespasian. When he returned, tidy and clean, even to Vespasian's satisfaction, he found the two mentalking hard and slipped quietly into his seat behind the littletea-table hoping to be unobserved; but Cæsar called him out of it. 

"Peter, " he said, "let me present my adopted son to you. Christopher, shake hands with Mr. Masters. "

The big man and the small boy looked at each other gravely, and thenChristopher extended his hand. Aymer looked out of the window andapparently took no notice of them. 

"How do you do, sir?"

"What's your name besides Christopher?" demanded the visitor. He hadqueer, light blue, piercing eyes that were curiously unexpressive andlooked through one to the back of one's head, but, unlike Mr. Aston'skind, steady gaze, that invited one to open one's soul to it, theimmediate impulse here was to pull down the blinds of one'sindividuality in hasty self-defence, and realise, even in doing it, that it was too late. 

"Aston, " said Christopher, rather hastily, escaping to the tea-table. 

Peter Masters looked from him to Aymer with the same queer smile. 

"Good-looking boy, Aymer, " he said carelessly. "You call him Aston?"

"We've given him our own name, " said Aymer steadily, "because it savescomplications and explanations. "

"A very wise precaution. What are you going to do with himeventually?"

"I hardly know yet. What were you saying about the strike?"

They fell to discussing a recent labour trouble in the Midlands, andChristopher gathered a hazy notion that their visitor employed vastnumbers of men who were not particularly fond of him, and for whom hehad not only no affection, but no sort of feeling whatever, except asinstruments of his will. 

Christopher was very glad he was not one of them; he felt ratherhostile to the big, careless, opulent man who spoke to Aymer with afamiliarity that Christopher resented and had already apparentlyforgotten his own small existence. 

The forget was but apparent, however, for presently he turned sharplyto the boy and asked him if he had ever been down a coal mine. Christopher, putting control on his own hot curiosity to explore thesubject, answered that he had not, and gave Mr. Masters his second cupof tea without any sugar to emphasise his own indifference to thequestioner, who unfortunately never noticed the omission, but drankhis tea with equal satisfaction. 

"Ever been over an iron foundry?" persisted Mr. Masters, with the samescrutinising gaze. 

Cæsar was playing with his favourite long tortoise-shell paper-knife;he seemed unusually indifferent to Christopher's manners, nor did heintervene to save him from the string of sharp questions that ensued. 

Christopher made effort to answer the questioner with ordinarypoliteness, but he was not communicative, and Mr. Masters presentlyleant back in his chair and laughed. 

"Young man, you'll get on in the world, " he said approvingly, "foryou've learnt the great secret of keeping your own counsel. I prophesyyou'll be a successful man some day. "

Christopher was not at all elated at the prospect. He was wonderingwhy Aymer drank no tea, also wondering how long the visitor meant tostay. There seemed no sign of departing in him, so Christopher askedif he might go and bury the guinea-pig with Vespasian's help. Aymernodded permission without speaking. 

"A cute lad, " remarked Mr. Masters; "what are you going to do withhim?"

"I do not know yet. "

"Put him in the iron trade. 'Prentice him to me. There's something inhim. Did you say you didn't know who his father was?" He shot one ofhis quick glances at Aymer. 

The tortoise-shell paper-knife snapped in two. Aymer fitted the endstogether neatly. 

"No, I didn't, " he answered very deliberately. "I told you he was myadopted son. I adopted him in order to have something to do. "

"Oh, yes. Of course, of course. " A slow smile spread over his bigface. "Think of Aymer Aston of all men in the world playing at being afamily man!"

He leant back in his chair and laughed out his great hearty laughwhose boyish ring, coupled with the laugher's easy careless manners, had snared so many fish into the financial net. 

"They'd like to make a family man of me again--do their dear littlebest--but I'm not such a fool as they think me. Men with brains andambitions don't want a wife. You miss less than you think, old chap, "he went on with the colossal tactlessness habitual to him when his owninterests were not at stake; "a wife plays the devil with one'sbusiness. I _know_. " He nodded gloomily, the smile lost under a heavyfrown. 

Aymer put down very carefully the broken toy he had been playing with. Peter's elephantine tread was so great that it had almost oversteppedits victim. At all events Aymer gave no outward sign that he felt itexcept in his deepened colour and a faint straightening of the lips. 

"What on earth do you do with yourself?" went on Peter thoughtfully;"the care of a kid like that doesn't absorb all your brains, Iknow. "

"What would you recommend me to do?" asked Aymer quietly. 

"With your head for figures and your leisure you should take to theMarket. Have a machine and tapes fitted up in reach, and, by Jove! ina quiet spot like this, out of the way of other men's panics andnonsense, you could rule the world. "

"The Market, I think you said. "

"Same thing. Think of it, Aymer, " he went on eagerly and genuinelyinterested in his proposition, whether spontaneous or not. He beganwalking up and down the room, working out his idea with that grasp ofdetail that had made him the millionaire he was. 

"You could have the instruments and a private wire fixed up along thewall there, and your sofa by them. A clerk over there: it would be asort of companion. You've plenty of capital to start with, andwouldn't have to lose your head at the first wrong deal. Of courseyou'd want someone the other end, a figurehead and mouthpiece, andsomeone to show you the lines, start you off; I'd be pleased to do it. We could make a partnership concern of it, if you liked. "

There was a quick sidelong glint in his eyes towards Aymer as he cameto a stand near the sofa. 

"What particular results would you expect?" inquired Aymer, knowingthe only plan to keep the enthusiast at bay was to humour him. 

"Why, man, you might be the greatest power in the world--you--theunseen, unknown, mysterious Brain--you would have time--you wouldescape the crazy influences that ruin half the men 'on 'Change'--andyou've got the head for it. Calculation, nerve, everything. It wouldbe just the thing for you. You'd forget all about not being able towalk in a week. I wonder why none of us have thought of it before. "

"I'm getting used to it after twelve years, " said Aymer, with shutteeth; "the objection to your scheme is that I do not happen to wantmoney. "

"Power, power, man, " cried the other impatiently. "Money is justmetal, its value lies in the grip it gives you over other men, and ifyou don't even care for that, there's the joy of chancing it. And youwere a born gambler, Aymer, you can't deny that, " he laughed heartily, but also again came the quick sidelong glint of his eyes. "Think ofit, old fellow, " he said carelessly, dropping his enthusiastic tone, "it would be a good deal better for you than doing nothing. It's suchwicked waste. "

For the first time Aymer winced. 

"I'll think of it, and let you know if it's likely to be entertained. I have the boy, you know; that gives me something to do. "

"Poof! Let him bring himself up if you want to make a successful manof him. The more he educates himself, the better he'll get on. If youdo it, you'll make him soft. _I_ know! Public School: University:Examinations, and £200 a year if he's lucky. That's your education!All very well if you are born with a golden spoon in your mouthand can afford to be a fool. If you can't, better learn torough-and-tumble it in the world. Education doesn't make successfulmen. "

"You were not exactly uneducated, Peter, " said Aymer drily. 

Peter grinned. 

"Ah, but I was a genius. I couldn't help it. It would have been thesame had I been born in the gutter. No, I believe in therough-and-tumble school to make hard-headed men. "

"Well, for all you know, Christopher may be a genius, or be born witha golden spoon in his mouth. "

The other looked up sharply. 

"Nevil has a boy of his own, hasn't he?"

"Don't be a fool if you can help it, Peter. Other people have goldenspoons besides the gilded Aston family. "

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "It's no business of mine, of course, but the boy looks sharp. Pity to spoil him. Ha, Ha. I don't spoilmine. "

He got up yawning and sauntered over to the fireplace and so did notsee Aymer's rigid face go white and then red. 

"I've got a boy--I think it's a boy--somewhere. Daresay you'veforgotten. You weren't very sociable, poor old chap, when it happened. About a year after your accident. He's about somewhere or other. Oh, Iback my own theories! I don't suppose he's a genius, so therough-and-tumble school for _him_. "

"You know the school?"

"I can put my hand on him when I want to--that's not yet. The worldcan educate him till I'm ready to step in. "

"If he'll have you. "

Peter chuckled. "He won't be a fool--even if he's not a genius. Well, you think of my proposition, I'll go halves. "

"How you have disappointed me, Peter. I thought you called from adisinterested desire to see me after all these years. "

"Twelve years, isn't it? Well, you look better than you did then. Ididn't think you would come through--didn't think you meant to. I'msorry to miss Cousin Charles. He doesn't approve of me, but he's toopolite to say so, even in a letter. How does he wear?"

"Well, on the whole. He works too hard. "

The other spread out his hands. 

"Works. And to what end? I'm glad to have seen you again. It's likeold times, if you weren't on that beastly sofa, poor old chap. "

"Perhaps you will call again when father is in, " said Aymer steadily, with a mute wonder if a square inch of him was left unbruised. 

"To tell the truth, I'm rarely in London. I work from Birmingham andNew York, and calling is an expensive amusement to a busy man. "

"Produces nothing?"

"Yes, a good deal of pleasure. It's worth it occasionally. "

He stood over his cousin, looking down at him with quite genuineconcern and liking in his eyes. His size, his aggressiveness, hisblundering disregard of decency towards trouble, everything about himwas on such a gigantic scale that one could not weigh him by anyaccepted standard. Aymer knew it, and notwithstanding Peter's uniquepowers of hurting him to the soul, he made no attempt to scale him, but met him on his own ground and ignored the torture. 

"What has it cost you exactly, this visit?"

Peter considered quite gravely. 

"Let me see. I was to have seen Tomlands. He's ceding his rights inthe Lodal Valley Affair and his figure goes up each day. " Heconsidered again. "Three thousand, " he answered with a wide grin. 

"I am abashed at my value, " said Aymer gravely. "I daren't ask you tocome again now. "

"Oh, I'll have an extravagant fit again, some day. Where's the boy?"His hand was in his pocket and Aymer heard the chink of coin. 

"At work, or should be. Don't tip him, please, Peter. He has as muchas he needs. "

"How do you know? A boy needs as much as he can get. Well, don'tforget my advice. Don't educate him. "

He was gone at last. Presumably to gather in the Lodal Rights beforetheir value further increased. 

Charles Aston did not betray any particular sorrow at missing thevisitor. 

"It's rather odd his turning up again now after forgetting ourexistence so long, " he remarked, frowning. "Of course we've hadcorrespondence--not very agreeable either. "

"I can hardly wonder at his not coming to see me, at all events. It'snearly twelve years since we met, and I wasn't very polite to him thattime, " said Aymer wearily. 

"There was a reasonable excuse for you. "

"I'm afraid I did not consider reason much in those days, sir. If he'dbeen a saint in disguise I should have behaved like a brute just thesame. "

Charles Aston came and stood looking down with a kind, quiet, satisfied smile. The attitude was the same as Peter Masters' andAymer, remembering it, smiled too. 

"What did he really want, Aymer? He never came for nothing. "

"To induce me to go on the Stock-Exchange in partnership with him, Ithink. Thought it would be less boring than lying here all day withnothing to do. "

Charles Aston opened his mouth to protest and shut it resolutely, turned and walked down the room ruffling his hair, so that when hewent back to Aymer, his iron-grey thatch was more picturesque thanneat. 

Aymer laughed. 

"Who's lost his temper now?" he demanded. 

His father looked in a glass and, perceiving the devastation, attempted to remedy it. 

"I'm awfully sorry, " he said with much contrition, "but I can't keepmy temper over Peter. Has he improved?"

"Not a bit. He doesn't hurt, father, he's too big, " he paused amoment, "he saw Christopher. "

Mr. Aston gave Aymer a scrutinising glance. 

"It was unavoidable, I suppose. "

"I did not try to stop it. "

"And the result?"

"There was no result except he appeared impressed with his mentalcapacity. "

Mr. Aston ruffled his hair again in a perturbed manner. 

"Didn't he see his likeness to his mother, Aymer?"

"Apparently not. It's not so strong as it was. He offered me advice onhis upbringing. "

"Did he?" with an indignant shake of the head. 

"All in good faith, " said Aymer steadily, "he said he didn't approveof education; as a proof of his sincerity, he cited the line he wastaking with his own boy. "

There was a silence. 

"He said he could put his hand on him when he liked. " Aymer's voicewas quite level and inexpressive, but his father leant forward and puthis hand on his, saying hastily. 

"He always says that. He believes it just a matter of money. It washis one answer to all my remonstrances. When he wanted him he couldfind him--not before. Aymer, I wish I'd been at home. Why did you seehim?"

"I could hardly refuse; it would have been churlish--unpolitic. I didnot know why he came. He was evidently struck with Christopher. "

He laughed a little unsteadily, but his father smothered a sigh andwatched him with curious solicitude. The unwritten law thatChristopher had learnt so well had been very heavily infringed, andCharles Aston had no liking for the man who had infringed it, thoughhe was his first cousin. 

He was weighing in his mind what his son must have suffered in thatinterview, and trying to see if it could have been foreseen andprevented. 

Peter and Aymer, who was only five years his junior, had been greatfriends in the far-off days before the tragedy, but the former was toonearly, though half unconsciously, connected with that to be apossible intimate for Aymer now. The possibility of his turning up inthis casual manner, ignoring with ruthless amiability all that hadpassed, had really never occurred to either father or son, and theywere both unprepared for a narrowly escaped crisis. But Aymer wasevidently not going to own frankly how great had been the strain andhow badly he had suffered under it. He set his pride to heal hisbruised feelings, however, applauding himself secretly for notbetraying to his cousin the torture to which he had unintentionallyput him. But he could not, having done this, altogether put it fromhim, and the subject of Peter Masters cropped up next morning whenChristopher was sitting on the edge of Cæsar's bed. 

Aymer asked him abruptly what he thought of the visitor of theprevious day. 

"I don't like him at all. I think he's beastly, " was MasterChristopher's emphatic verdict. 

"He is my second cousin, his mother was an Aston, and he is one of therichest men in England, if not quite the richest. He is thought richeven in America. "

"And horrid, too, just the same: only perhaps I oughtn't to say so ashe is your cousin, " added the boy with sudden confusion. 

Aymer regarded him with an introspective air. 

"He is a strange man, though many people don't like him. We were greatfriends once. "

Christopher opened his eyes very wide. 

"_You_--and Mr. Masters?"

"Yes--when I was a young man like others. We quarrelled--or rather Iquarrelled--he came to see me when I was first--ill, " he jerked theword out awkwardly, but never took his eyes from Christopher's face. "I was perfectly brutal to him. That's twelve years ago. Most menwould never have spoken to me again, but he doesn't bear malice. "

"He wouldn't mind what anyone said to him, " persisted Christopher;"fancy your being friends!"

"You like me best then?"

Master Christopher caught up a pillow and hurled it at him, and thenmade a violent effort to smother him under it. 

"I think you're almost as nasty--when you say things like that, Cæsar. "

"Then retreat from my company and tell Vespasian his baby is waitingto be dressed. "

Vespasian found his master in one of his rare inconsequent moods, talking nonsense with provoking persistence and exercising his wits inteasing everyone who came in his way. 

Vespasian smiled indulgently and spent his leisure that day inassisting Christopher to construct a man-of-war out of empty biscuitboxes and cotton reels, for he was dimly possessed of the idea thatthe boy was in some way connected with his master's unusually goodspirits. 

CHAPTER VIII

It was not until Christopher had passed his fourteenth birthday thathe came face to face once more with the distant past. He had crossedWestminster Bridge to watch the trams on the other side, and fromthere, being in an adventurous mood, he had wandered out into vagueregions lying beyond, regions of vast warehouses, of narrow, dirtystreets and squalid houses, of sudden palaces of commerce toweringover the low tide of mean roofs. Suddenly turning a corner, he hadcome on a block of "model dwellings, " and an inrush of memoriesbrought him to a standstill before the giant ugly pile. 

There, on the topmost floor of the east corner of Block D, had livedMartha Sartin, and Marley Sartin, packer at one of the big warehousesnear, also Jessie Sartin and numerous other Sartins, including Sam, who was about Christopher's age; there in the dull asphalt court Samand Christopher had played, and up that steep stairway had climbed inobedience to husky shouts from over the iron railings of the toplanding. 

It was all so vivid, so unaltered, so sharply set in Christopher'smind that he had to look down at his own immaculate blue suit andunpatched boots to reassure himself he was not waiting for Martha'sshrill order to "come up out of the dirt. " But assured once more ofhis own present personality he could not resist exploring further, andwent right up to the foot of the iron staircase and looked up. It wasall just as sordid and dirty and unlovely as ever, though he had notknown before the measure of its undesirableness. Leaning over therailing of the top landing was an untidy-looking woman in a brownskirt and half-fastened blouse. She looked over into the yard andshouted in a voice that made Christopher jump. 

"Jim, come up out of the dirt, you little varmint!"

And Christopher, erstwhile Jim, leant against the wall and felt hishead was whirling round. Then he inspected himself again, but at thatmoment a shock-headed dirty mite of four years brushed past him andbegan to clamber up the stairs, pushing his way through the horde ofsmall babies on each landing and squealing shrilly, "I'm coming, Mammie. "

Christopher went too. He could not possibly have resisted the impulse, for assuredly it was Martha's voice that called--called him back willynilly to the past that after all was not so far past except in a boy'smeasure of time. 

A dark-eyed, decent-looking woman passed him on the stair and lookedat him curiously; further on a man, smoking a pipe, took the troubleto follow him to the next floor in a loafing fashion. The small Jim, out of breath and panting with the exertion of the climb, was beingroughly dusted by an undoubted Martha when Christopher reached thetopmost landing. She was stouter than of yore, and her hair was nolonger done up in iron curlers as of old, also a baby, younger thanJim, was crawling out of the room on the right. But it was MarthaSartin, and Christopher advanced a friendly hand. 

Mrs. Sartin gazed at the apparition with blank amazement. She couldconnect the tall, pleasant-faced boy in his spotless suit and strawhat with nothing in her memory. He did not look as if he could belongto the theatre at which she was a dresser, but it seemed the onlysolution. 

"Are you come from Miss Vassour?" she asked doubtfully. 

"Don't you know me, Mrs. Sartin?"

"Know ye? No. How should I?"

"I'm Jim Hibbault. "

"Garn!"

"Yes, I am really. " Poor Christopher began to feel embarrassed and alittle disappointed. 

He _was_ Jim Hibbault at that moment and he felt queerly lonely andstranded. 

Martha pulled down her sleeves and went to the inner door. 

"Jessie, come out 'ere, " she screamed. 

Christopher felt his heart go thump. He had almost forgotten Jessie, yet Jessie had been more to him than Martha in other days. It wasJessie who had taken him for walks, carried him up the steep stairs onher back, shared sweets with him, cuffed her brother Sam when theyfought, and had finally taken little Jim Hibbault back to his motherwhen the great clock in the distance struck six, --Jessie, who ateleven had been a complete little mother and was at sixteen a tall, lanky, untidy girl who had inherited the curling pins of her motherand whose good-natured, not ill-looking face was not improvedthereby. 

She came to the doorway and stood looking over her mother's arm atChristopher. 

"Ever seed 'im afore?" demanded Mrs. Sartin. 

"Well I never, if it ain't Jimmy!" cried Jessie, beaming, andChristopher could have embraced her if it were in accordance with thecustom of his years, and he felt less inclined to bolt down the stairsout of reach of his adventure. 

Neither of the two women expressed any pleasure at his appearance. Mrs. Sartin accepted her daughter's recognition of their visitor assufficient evidence it was not a hoax, and asked Christopher in. 

The room, though the window was open, smelt just as stuffy as of old, and a familiar litter of toys and odds and ends strewed the floor. Christopher missed the big tea-tray and Britannia metal teapot, butthe sofa with broken springs was still there, covered as it had everbeen with the greater part of the family wardrobe. 

Christopher sat in the armchair, and Mrs. Sartin, having plumped thebaby into its chair, sat down by the door. The small Jimmy pulled ather apron. Jessie leant against the wall and giggled. No one saidanything. Christopher began to wish he had not come. 

"I never could remember the name of this place, " he began at last, desperately. "I just came on it by accident to-day, and rememberedeverything all at once. "

"Shilla Buildings, that's what it's called, " said Mrs. Sartin noddingher head. "Block 7, C. Door. "

Silence again. A strict sense of etiquette prevented either of thefeminine side of the company from uttering the question burning ontheir tongues. 

"I did see Sam once, a long time ago, " Christopher struggled on, "butI could not catch him. " He got red and embarrassed again. 

"'Ows your Ma?" asked Mrs. Sartin at last. 

"She's dead, " explained Christopher very gravely, "five years agonow--more. "

"Lor'. To think of it. I never thought she was one to live long. Andshe went back to her friends after all, I suppose. "

It was not a question: it was only a statement to be confirmed orcontradicted or ignored as the hearer liked. 

"She died in the Union at Whitmansworth, " said Christopher bluntly. "Ilived there afterwards and then someone adopted me. Mr. Aymer Aston, son of Mr. Aston. Perhaps you know the name. "

Mrs. Sartin appeared to consult an imaginary visiting list. 

"No, I can't say as I do. Do you, Jessie?"

Jessie shook her head. She had ceased to look at their visitor;instead, she looked at his boots, and her cheeks grew red. 

"I thought I would like to see if you were still here. "

"Very good of you, I'm sure. " It was not meant ironically, it wassolely addressed to the blue suit and brown boots, but it nearlyreduced the wearer of these awe-inspiring clothes to tears. 

For the moment, in the clutch of the past, with associations layinggripping hands on him and with his curious faculty of responding tothe outward call, Aston House and the Astons became suddenly a faintblurred impression to Christopher, less real and tangible than theseworn, sordid surroundings. Had anyone just then demanded his name hewould undoubtedly have responded "Hibbault. " He felt confused andwretched, alive to the fact that little Jim Hibbault had neitherpeople nor home nor relations in the world, if these once kindly womenhad no welcome for him. 

"I heard you call Jim, " he hazarded at last, in an extremity ofdisconcerted shyness. 

Mrs. Sartin eyed the four-year-old nestling in her apron and pulledhim from cover. 

"Yes, that be Jim. We called 'im Jim arter you. He was born arter youan' your ma went away. "

He longed to ask after Marley of unhappy memory, but the possibilitieswere too apparent for him to venture, so silence again fell overthem. 

At this precise juncture of affairs a shrill whistle was heardascending the stairway, growing momentarily louder and louder till itbecame earsplitting in intensity as it arrived on landing No. 6. Theauthor of it pulled open the door and the whistle tailed off into afaint "phew" at sight of the embarrassed group. The new-comer was athin-faced lad with light sandy hair cropped close to his squarehead. He had light, undetermined eyes that were keen and lively. Christopher had beaten him in the matter of size, but there werelatent possibilities in his ill-developed form. 

Christopher sprang up and rushed forward, then suddenly stopped. 

"Ullo, mother, didn't know as 'ow you 'ad swell company thisarternoon. I'd 'ave put on my best suit and topper, " he grinnedaffably as he deposited on the floor a big basket he carried. 

"Oh, I say, Sam--don't you know me either?" began poor Christopher. 

He wheeled round, stared hard, and a broad smile of recognition spreadover his face. 

"Why, if it ain't Jim, " he cried and seized his hand with a fervourthat set Christopher aglowing and strangely enough set him free fromthe clinging shadow of his lost identity. _This_ was tangible fleshand blood and of the real authentic present. 

"Well, I'm blowed, " ejaculated Sam, stepping back to look at hiserstwhile companion, "to think of you turning up again such a toff. Noneed to ask what sort of luck came _your_ way. My. Ain't 'e a swell, just. "

But unlike the women, he was unabashed by externals. He demanded "tea"of his mother that very moment, "cos 'e 'adn't no time for dinner and'is bloke 'ad sent 'im round to get a bit o' somethink now, " at aslack hour. 

"Greengrocer business, Clare Street, " he explained. "Seven shillings aweek. Not a bad old cove. What d'yer say about yourself?"

He had the whole history out of Christopher in five minutes. 

The women listened and flung in "Well, I never's, " and "Who'd 'avethought it's" from time to time and thawed into ordinary human beingsunder Sam's convivial example. In the end Sam offered sincere ifoddly-expressed congratulations, and disappeared into the back kitchento wash his hands. Jessie, too, vanished mysteriously, eventuallyreturning minus the curling pins and plus a row of impossible curlsand a bright blue blouse bedecked with cheap lace. Mrs. Sartinmeanwhile tidied up by kicking the scattered toys under the sofa. 

"Them sisters what looks arter the poor is always givin' brokenrubbish to the children, " she exclaimed. "Not but what they mean itkindly, but it makes a heap of muck to clear up. "

Christopher nodded his head comprehendingly, by no means so hurt ather ingratitude as a real Christopher Aston might have been. 

The good woman bustled about, and eventually the family drew up roundthe tea table. The cloth might have been cleaner, the cups and saucershave borne a longer acquaintance with water, and there was a spoonshort, though no one was so ill-mannered as to allude to it. Jessieunobtrusively shared hers with her mother under cover of the bigtea-pot. There was bread and a yellow compound politely alluded to asbutter, and a big pot of jam. The younger Sartins gorged silently onthis, all unreproved by a preoccupied mother. Mrs. Sartin, indeed, became quite voluble and told Christopher how she was now firstdresser at the Kings Theatre and how Jessie was just taken on in thewardrobe room. 

"Which is uncertain _hours_, " Mrs. Sartin explained, "but it's nice tobe together in the same 'ouse, and one couldn't want a kindergentleman than Mr. X. To do with. I've been there ten years and never'ad a cross word with 'im. And 'e was that good when Marley was took, and never turned me off as some of 'em do. " She stopped suddenly underthe stress of Sam's lowering countenance. Jessie hastily passed herbread, "which I thanks you for, but will say what I was a-goin' to, for all Sam's kicks under the table, " continued the hostess, defiantlyregarding her confused offspring. 

The confusion spread to Christopher, who looked at his plate and gotred. Sam pushed back his chair; there was a very ugly scowl on hisface. His undaunted mother addressed herself to their guest. 

"No woman ever 'ad a better 'usband than Marley, though I ses it, butSam here 's that 'ard 'e won't let me speak of my own man if 'e can'elp 'it. 'Is own father, too. Ah, if 'e 'ad 'ad a bad father, Samwould 'ave know what to be thankful for. "

"I'm thankful 'e's gone, " burst out Sam, with sudden anger. "I asksyou, 'ow's a cove to get on when he's 'itched up to a father wot'sdone time? Why, old Greenum gave me a shillin' a week less than 'eought, cos why, 'e knew I couldn't 'old out with a father like that, "and he eyed his mother wrathfully. 

"A better 'usband no woman 'ad, " sobbed Mrs. Sartin. "When 'e came out'e didn't seem to get no chance and so.... "

"Is he in London?" asked Christopher, nervously gulping down sometea. 

"No--sloped, " said Sam, shortly, "cribbed some other chap's papers Iguess--went abroad--we don't know--don't want to, either. "

The fierce hostility and resentment in the boy's voice made it clearto Christopher this was evidently a subject better dropped. He seizedthe chance of directing Jessie's attention to Master Jim Sartin, whowas brandishing the bread-knife, and plunged hastily into adescription of the doings of Charlotte and Max. Mrs. Sartin acceptedthe diversion, but kept an anxious eye on Sam, who ate hard and seemedto recover some of his ordinary composure with each mouthful, much toChristopher's amazement. By the time tea was finished he was himselfagain. There was no lingering then. He went back to work. Christophersaid he must go too, and bade the family good-bye. The farewell was ascordial as the welcome had been cold and he clattered downstairs afterSam with many promises to come again. 

The two boys talked freely of the passing world as they went throughthe streets, in the purely impersonal way of their age, and it waswith great diffidence and much hesitation Christopher managed to hinthe'd like to buy something for the kiddies. 

Sam grinned. 

"Sweets, " he suggested. "They eat 'em up and leave no mess about. "

Christopher turned out his pockets. There was an unbroken tenshillings, three shillings and some coppers. 

They walked on a while gravely and came to a stand before aconfectioner's window. 

"Cake, " suggested Sam, with one eye on his companion and one on theshow of food within. 

"A sugar one?"

"They cost a lot, " said Sam shaking his head, but he followedChristopher inside. Christopher boldly demanded the price of a smallwedding cake elaborately iced. It was five shillings. 

He put down the money with a lofty air and desired them to send itwithout loss of time to Mrs. Sartin's address. 

The woman stared a little at the oddly assorted couple, but the moneyrang true and the order was booked. 

As they hurried towards Clare Street, Christopher diffidently asked ifthere was anything Mrs. Sartin would like, and Sam's sharp wits seizedthe occasion to please his mother and Christopher and serve himself atthe same time. 

"Come on to my place and send her some lettuce, " he suggested. "Mother's main fond of lettuce. We've got some good 'uns in thismorning. "

It was strictly true; it was also true that Master Sam had outstayedhis meal-time and a new customer might help to avert the probablestorm awaiting him, as indeed it did. 

Mr. Gruner, greengrocer, was standing at the door of his shop lookingboth ways down the street at once, owing to a remarkable squint, andhis reception of Sam was unfriendly, but quickly checked at the sightof his companion, whose extraordinary terms of intimacy with hiserrand boy rendered the good man nearly speechless. The young gent, however, ordered lettuces and green peas with a free hand and earnedSam's pardon, as anticipated by that far-sighted youth. 

The two boys said good-bye and Sam made no hint as to thepossibilities of a future meeting, neither did Christopher, embarrassed by the presence of the greengrocer. He also would be lateand hurried off, hoping he might still be in time to give Aymer teaand relate his adventures. He had no misgivings at all as to Cæsar'sapproval of his doings. 

As he came out into a main thoroughfare again he passed a big cheapdrapery establishment and something in the gaudy, crude colouringthere displayed brought him to a standstill. Jessie was stillunprovided with a present. The two had exchanged very few words, butshe by no means loomed in the background of the picture. He stoodstaring at the window and fingering the remaining coins in his pocket. One section of the shop front was hung with gaily-coloured featherboas. He was dimly conscious he had seen Mrs. Wyatt wear something ofthe sort in soft grey. There was a blue one that was the colour ofJessie's blouse, or so Christopher thought, hanging high up. He didnot admire it at all, but it suggested Jessie to him and after amoment's consideration he boldly pushed through the swinging doorsand marched up the shop. 

"I want one of those feather things in the window, " he announced tothe shop-walker's assiduous attentions. 

He was delivered over to the care of an amused young woman, whoproceeded to show him feather boas of all descriptions and qualities. Christopher was adamant. 

"I want a blue thing that's hanging up in the window, last but one onthe top row, " he insisted, disdaining to look at the fluffyabominations spread around him. He was sure they were not like thething Constantia wore now, but it was too late to retreat. 

The young woman showed him one she declared was identical. 

"I want the one in the window, " he persisted doggedly. 

In the end he got it, paid for it, saw it packed up and addressed, andquenching sundry misgivings in his heart, marched out of the shop andtreated himself to a bus homeward. 

It is perhaps not out of place to mention here that Jessie had nomisgivings as to the real beauty of the present. She had sighed longfor such a possession, and having never seen Mrs. Wyatt's delicatecostly wrap, was perfectly content with her own and applaudedChristopher's taste loudly. 

CHAPTER IX

Christopher continued to visit the Sartins and to find considerablepleasure in Sam's companionship, who on his few holidays was only tooglad to explore the grey river and its innumerable wharfs withChristopher. Sam was already a fair waterman; he at least spent allhis scant leisure and scantier pennies in learning that arduousprofession. 

Once Mr. Aston visited Block D. With Christopher, and lingered behindgossiping to Mrs. Sartin while the boy went to meet Sam, expected hometo tea. Sam got nothing out of his mother anent that conversationexcept the information that Mr. Aston was "a real Christian gentleman, who knew what trouble was, and don't you make any mistake, but as 'owMr. Christopher was a lucky young gentleman. "

Mr. Aston also found time to visit Sam's master, though on thisoccasion he was not accompanied by Christopher, who, indeed, chancedto be on the river with Sam Sartin that afternoon. 

It must not be imagined that Christopher had no other friends than thehumble Sartins. Besides the Wyatt household, half a dozen familieswith boys of his age welcomed him gladly enough, but though he was ongood terms with these and though not one of the boys could afford todespise him as an antagonist in any sport, yet none of them contrivedto have more than a very superficial idea of Christopher Aston. Theytook to him at once, but he remained just the good-natured, jollyacquaintance of the first day, never more, if never less. Christopher, indeed, though he confessed it to no one, not even to Aymer, felt alittle cut off from this pleasant clan, who held the same traditions, the same experiences, and who went through the same training at theirvarious schools, who led indeed a life that differed essentially fromChristopher. 

He was never conscious of any lack of company. The Astons, old andyoung, were companions who answered to every need of his energeticmind. He made giant strides in his studies in these days and passedbeyond the average into the class of those of real ability. All hiswell-earned holidays were spent at Marden, where there was alwaysPatricia as a most admirable playfellow. 

It was when Christopher was a little over fifteen and Patricia aboutthe same age that the first definite result of their companionshipcame about. 

On the other side of the lake at Marden Court the high road, sunkbetween a low wall on one side and the upsloping land on the other, ran directly eastward and westward, joining eventually a second GreatRoad of historic importance to Christopher Aston. The rough groundbeyond the road was covered with low scrub, and dwarf twistedhawthorns, with a plentiful show of molehills. Here and there weregroups of Scotch firs, and the crest of the hill was wooded with oaksand beeches and a fringe of larches, with here and there a silveryblack poplar. 

Christopher and Patricia were fond of this rough land that lay beyondthe actual park. In early days it had made a glorious stage for"desert islanders, " with the isle-studded lake to bound it, whosefurther shore for the nonce melted into vague mistiness. Later on, when desert islands were out of fashion, it was still good ground toexplore, and through the woods away over the hill one came to adelectable wide-spread country, where uncultivated down mingled withcornfields and stretches of clover, a country bounded by long, spacious curving lines of hill and dale, tree-capped ridges and barecontours, with here and there the gash of a chalk pit gleamingwhite. 

Just at a point where a stretch of down-land ran into a little copse, was a small barrow. A round green mound, memento of a forgottenhistory that was real and visible enough in its own day, as real asthe two children of "the Now, " with whom the spot was a favouritecamping ground. 

Patricia, who knew all about barrows from Nevil, used to inventwonderful stories of this one, to which Christopher lent a criticalattention, adding here and there a practical touch. 

It was he who first suggested exploring the mound, and one day theydragged heavy spades thither and worked hard for an hour or twowithout great result, when suddenly Patricia began shovelling back herpile of brown earth with feverish haste. 

"I don't like it. It is horrid, " she panted in return to Christopher'sprotests. The idea of desecration was so strong on her that when hercompanion still indignantly protested, the black passion leapt up tolife and she flung round at him. 

It was then that Christopher made his discovery. He saw the mad flarein her face and flung his strong arms round her from behind, and heldher against him with her hands in his gripped fast to her breast. 

"Steady on, Patricia, " he said sharply, "don't get frightened. Youaren't going to get wild this time. "

There was no alarm or anger in his voice and a queer, new note offirmness and force. She struggled ineffectually a moment and then camethe dangerous quietness that waited a chance. 

He could feel her muscles strained and rigid still. 

"Patricia, " he said quite loudly, "drop it. I won't have it, do youhear? You _can_ stop if you like now, and you've got to. "

She bent back her head and looked at him, her child face old and wornand disfigured with her still burning fury. She looked right in hiseyes: his met hers steady and hard as flints, and through the blindpassion of her look he saw her soul leap up, appealing, piteous, andby heaven-taught instinct, he answered that. 

"It's all right, Patricia, you are safe enough. I'm not going to letyou make a fool of yourself, my dear; don't be afraid. Stop thinking. Look at the dark shadows over there--on the cornfield. They'll cutthat next week. "

Little by little he loosed his grasp on her as he felt the tensionslacken, and presently she stood free, still dazed and bewildered. Christopher picked up a spade and whistled. 

"All the same, you are right, Patricia, " he said thoughtfully, "itdoes seem a shame to disturb the old Johnny, and creepy too. I'll fillup. "

He continued to work hard, watching her out of the corner of his eye, but talking cheerfully. Presently she took up her spade and made apoor pretence of helping him, but she said nothing till they had doneand he suggested a return. 

"Do you mind resting a bit, first?"

Her subdued voice called for a scrutinising glance. Then he droppedhis spade and flung himself on the grass by her side. A little windswept up the downland to them, making the brown benets nod in afriendly fashion. The purple scabious, too, nodded cheerfully. Patricia picked one and began stroking it with her fingers. Christopher lay on his back and whistled again softly, watching alark, as he had watched one five years ago, when a small boy, by theside of the Great Road. 

"Christopher, how did you do it?" demanded Patricia abruptly. 

"Do what?"

"Stop me. "

"I didn't. You stopped yourself. "

"I never have before. "

"Then you ought to have. You see you can, if you only will think. "

"I _can't_ think. "

"But you did, " he insisted, with some reason. 

"Because you made me. I'd have been much angrier with anyone else--itwas like--like--holding on to a rock, when the water was sucking oneaway. "

"Bosh, " said Christopher, sitting upright suddenly. 

"Look here, Patricia, it was only that I made you take time to think:no one, even you (he put in rudely enough), could be silly enough tomake such a little idiot of yourself if you _thought_ a moment. Everyone seems to take it for granted you'll go on being--stupid--orelse they are afraid to stop you, and I--well I won't have it, Patricia, that's all. You must jolly well learn to stop. "

His boyish words were rougher than his voice, just as his real feelingin the matter was deeper than his expression of it, and secretly hewas a little proud of his achievement and felt a subtle proprietorshipover his companion that was not displeasing. 

Patricia slipped her arm in his and leant her golden head againsthim. 

"Christopher, I want to tell you all I can remember about it. I don'tknow what anyone else has told you. "

"All right, fire away, " returned Christopher resignedly. 

"The only thing I can remember at all about my father is seeing himget into rages like that with my mother. I can remember him quitewell, at all sorts of times; he was very big and fair, and splendid, but always everything I remember ends in that. And I can remembergetting in a rage when I was quite little and seeing my mother turnwhite, and she jumped up and ran out of the room crying out to Renata. My father was killed hunting when I was six years old and mother diedwhen I was nine years old. Renata was married then, you know, so Icame to live with her and Nevil. But always I remembered when I wasnaughty like that, my mother used to look frightened and go away andour old nurse used to come and scold me and watch me till I could havekilled her. Renata, darling Renata, used to talk to me after and makeme promise to try and be good, but she, too, was really afraid when Iwas bad. I suppose they had both had so bad a time with father. " Shestopped, gazing out at a misty half-understood tragedy, whose verydimness woke a faint echo of terror in her heart, for she was assurely the daughter of the woman who had suffered as of the man whohad caused the suffering. 

"That's all, " said Patricia, with a sudden movement, "everyone alwaystakes it as part of me. Nevil says I'll outgrow it. I don't--andRenata cries. "

"And I scold you. Anyhow, it isn't part of you in my eyes, but just abeastly sort of thing which you let get hold of you, and then it isn'tyou at all. It's all rot inheriting things, though of course, if you_think_ so----" this young philosopher on the much-debated subjectshrugged his shoulders. 

"But I don't think so, I don't want to think so, " cried poor Patricia;"it's just because you don't think it that you made me feel I can stopit. Oh, Christopher, go on believing I can help it, please. "

"But I do. Of course I do. It's a beastly shame anyone ever suggestedanything else to you. Come along home, Patricia, it will betea-time. "

This was the establishing of a covenant between the two. Whether itwas from the suggestion or the dominant will of the boy himself, orboth causes combined, Patricia began to gather strength against herterrible inheritance and, at all events in Christopher's presence, actually did gain some show of control over her fits of passion. 

The first of these times, about six months after the covenant on thebarrow, Nevil was present. Renata and one of the children had beenthere also, but Renata had seen the queer pallor creep up in hersister's face before even Christopher had guessed and had straightwayhurried off with Master Max, a proceeding which usually precipitatedevents. 

Then Christopher flung down his work and caught her clenched hand inhis. 

"Stop it, Patricia, " he said imperiously. 

Nevil held his breath. It was a tradition in the Connell family thatinterference invariably led to a catastrophe. In his indolent way hehad taken this belief on trust, the "laissez faire" policy being wellin accordance with his easy nature. 

However, tradition was clearly wrong, for after one ineffectualstruggle, Patricia stood still and presently said something toChristopher that Nevil did not catch, but he saw the boy free her andPatricia remained silently looking out of the window. Christopherturned to pick up his book, and for the first time remembered Nevilwas present and grew rather red. Nevil had watched them both with aspeculative eye, for the moment an historian of the future rather thanof the past. He said nothing, however, but having discoursed a whileon the possibility of skating next day, sauntered away. 

He came to anchor eventually in Aymer's room, and sat smoking by thefire, his long legs crossed and the contemplative mood in theascendency. His brother knew from experience that Nevil had somethingto say, and would say it in his own inimitable way if left alone. 

"Christopher's a remarkable youth, " he said presently. 

"Have you just discovered it?" said Aymer drily. 

"He is no respecter of persons, " pursued Nevil quietly; "by the way, has it ever struck you, Aymer, that he'll marry some day?"

"There's time before us, yet. I hope. He isn't quite sixteen, Nevil. "

"Yes, but there it is, " he waved his hand vaguely. "I think of it formyself when I look at Max sometimes. "

Aymer wanted to laugh out loud, which would have reduced his brother'scommunicative mood to mere frivolity, and he wished to get at what laybehind, so he remained grave. 

"There's Patricia, too, " went on Nevil in the same vague way. "She, too, will do it some day. It's lamentable, but unavoidable. Andtalking of Patricia brings me back to Christopher's remarkableness. "

He related the little scene he had just witnessed in his slow, clearway, made no comment thereon, but poked the fire meditatively, when hehad finished. 

Aymer, too, was silent. 

"You are her sole guardian, are you not?" he asked presently. 

"With Renata. I wonder, Aymer, if anyone could have controlled thatunhappy Connell?"

Aymer ignored the irrelevant remark. 

"Renata does not count. Nevil, would you have any objections--as herguardian?"

Nevil strolled across to his brother and sat on the edge of his couch. He took up a sandy kitten, descendant of one of Christopher's earlypets, and began playing with it, attempting to wrap it up in hishandkerchief. 

"If you would mind, we will guard against the remote contingency atwhich you hint, by keeping Christopher away when he is a bit older, "said Aymer steadily. 

"My dear Cæsar, it's not I who might object--it's you. You know whatPatricia is, poor child. I thought it might not fit in with yourplans. She hasn't a penny of her own, though, of course, Renata and Iwill see to that. " He knotted the handkerchief at the four corners andswung it to and fro to the astonishment of the imprisoned kitten. 

"Christopher has nothing either, " said Aymer almost sharply, "and Ishall see to that, with your permission, Nevil. That unfortunatekitten!"

Nevil released it. It scampered over the floor, hid under a chair andthen rushed back at him and scrambled up his leg. 

"Indeed, if things turn out as I hope, I shall have to provide forhim, " went on Aymer steadily, "indeed I wish to do so anyway. It willmean less for Max, but----"

"What a beastly ugly kitten, " remarked Nevil suddenly with greatemphasis, placing the animal very gently on the floor again. 

"Don't swear, Nevil, " retorted Aymer with a little ghost of a smile. 

"Very well, " answered his brother meekly, "but it is. Aymer, don't bean ass, old fellow--Max won't want anything. "

He lounged out presently before Aymer could make up his mind to vexhim further with the question of Max's inheritance. 

The property set aside for the use of the son and heir of the Astonsprovided a very handsome income, the original capital of which couldnot be touched. In early days Aymer had found the income barelysufficient for his wants. He spent it freely now--the Astons were nomisers, but his father and he managed to nearly double the originalcapital and this was Aymer's to do with as he would. Apparently hemeant it for Christopher. It was one of Nevil's little weaknesses thathe could not endure any reminder of the fact that to him and his smallson would the line descend, and that his brother's was but a lifeinterest, and his position as his father's heir a merely formal matterof no actual value. Poor Nevil, who was the least self-seeking of men, could not endure any reminder of his elder brother's real condition oflife. 

CHAPTER X

There was a certain princely building in Birmingham where all thebusiness connected with the name of Peter Masters was transacted. Oneach floor were long rooms full of clerks bending over rows of desks, carrying on with automatic regularity the affairs of each separateconcern. Thus on the ground floor the Lack Vale Coal Company workedout its grimy history, on the second floor the Brunt Rubber Companyhad command, on the fifth the great Steel Axle Company, the richestand most important of all, lodged royally. But on the very topmostfloor of all were the offices devoted to the personal affairs of PeterMasters, and through them, shut in by a watchful guard of head clerks, was the innermost sanctum, the nest of the great spider whoseintricate web stretched over so great a circumference, the centralpoint from which radiated the vast circle of concerns, and to whichthey ultimately returned materialised into precious metal--the privateoffice, in short, of Peter Masters. 

The heads of each separate floor were picked men--great men away fromthe golden glamour of the master mind--each involved in the success orfailure of his own concern, all partners in their respective firms, but partners who accepted the share allotted to them without question, who served faithfully or disappeared from the ken of theirfellow-workers, who were nominally accountable to their respective"company, " but actually dependent on the word and will of the greatman up above them. None but these men and his own special clerks everapproached him. Some junior clerk or obscure worker might pass himoccasionally in a passage, or await the service of the lift at hispleasure; they might receive a sharp glance, a demand for name anddepartment, but they knew no more of this controller of their humbledestinies. 

It was a marvellous organisation, a perfected system, a machine whoseparts were composed of living men. 

The owner of the machine cared much for the whole and nothing for theparts. When some screw or nut failed to answer its purpose, it wascast aside and another substituted. There was no question, no appeal. Nuts and screws are cheap. The various parts were well cared for, welloiled, just so long as they fulfilled their purpose; if they failed inthat--well, the running of the machine was not endangered forsentiment. 

Apart from this business, however, Peter Masters was a man ofsentiment, though the workers in Masters's Building would have scornedthe idea. He had expended this sentiment on two people, one, his wife, who had died in Whitmansworth Union, the other Aymer Aston, hiscousin, who on the moment of his declared union with ElizabethHibbault, had fallen victim to so grim a tragedy. His "sentiment" hadnever spread beyond these two people, certainly never to the person ofhis unseen child, whom, however, he was prepared to "discover" in hisown good time. 

His wife had left him within a year of his marriage, and whateverinvestigations he may have privately made, they were sub rosa, and hehad persistently refused to make public ones. She would come back, hebelieved, with an almost childish simplicity in the lure of his greatfortune, --if she needed money, --or him. That she should suffer realpoverty or hardship, lack the bare necessities of life, never for amoment occurred to him. Why should she, when his whole fortune was ather disposal--for her personal needs?

People who knew him a little said he had resented the slight to hismoney more than the scandal to himself when Mrs. Masters disappeared. They were in the wrong. Peter's pride had been very cruelly hurt: shehad not only scorned his gold, but spurned his affection, which wasquite genuine and deep so far as it went, but since he had never takenthe world into his confidence in the matter of his having anyaffection to bestow, he as carefully kept his own counsel as to theamount it had been hurt, and continued his life as if the coming andgoing of Mrs. Masters was a matter of as little concern as the comingor going of any other of the immortal souls and human bodies who gotcaught in the toils of the great Machine. 

As for the expected child, let her educate it after her own foolish, pretty fancy. When it was of an age to understand matters, the man ofPower would slip in and claim his own, and he never doubted but thatthe dazzle of his gold would outshine the vapid illusions of themother, and procure for him the homage of his offspring. Such was themingled simplicity and cuteness of the man that he never for onemoment allowed to himself there was any other possible reverse to thispicture, this, the only thought of revenge he harboured, its verysting to be drawn by his own good-natured laugh at her "fancies. " Sohe worked on in keen enjoyment, and the dazzle of the gold grewbrighter as the years passed away unnoticed. 

Peter Masters sat in the innermost sanctuary of the Temple of Mammon. It was a big corner room with six windows facing south and east, withlow projecting balustrades outside which hid the street far downbelow. The room had not a severely business-like aspect, it rathersuggested to the observer the word business was translatable intoother meanings than work. Thus the necessary carpet was more than acarpet in that it was a work of Eastern art. The curtains were morethan mere hangings to exclude light or draught, but fabrics to delightthe eye. The plainness of the walls was but a luxury to set off theadmirable collection of original sketches and clever caricatures thatadorned them. One end of the room was curtained off to serve as adining-room on necessity. No sybarite could have complained of thecomfort of the chairs or the arrangement of the light. The great tableat which Peter Masters sat, was not only of the most solid mahogany, but it was put together by an artist in joinery--a skilful, silentservant to its owner, offering him with a small degree of frictionevery possible convenience a busy man could need. The only otherfurniture in the room was a gigantic safe, or rather a series oflittle safes cased in mahogany which filled one wall like a row ofschool lockers, each labelled clearly with a letter. 

Peter Masters leant back in his chair and gazed straight before himfor one moment--just that much space of time he allowed before thenext problem of the day came before him--then he rang one of the rowof electric bells suspended overhead. 

Its short, imperious summons resounded directly in the room occupiedby the head clerk of the Lack Vale Coal Company, and that worthy, without waiting to finish the word he begun writing, slipped from hisstool and hurried to the office door of his chief, where he knockedsoftly and entered in obedience to a curt order. The room was asimplified edition of the room on the top floor; everything was there, but in a less luxurious degree, and the result was insignificant. Themanager of the Lack Vale Coal Company, who sat at the table, was ahard-featured, thin-lipped man of forty-five, with thin hair alreadyturning grey, and pince-nez dangling from his button hole. 

"Mr. Masters's bell, sir, " said the clerk apologetically. 

Mr. Foilet nodded and his thin lips tightened. He gathered up a sheafof carefully arranged papers and went out by a private door to thecentral lift. 

Peter greeted him affably and waved his hand to the opposite chair. 

"You have Bennin's report at last?"

"Yes. He apologised for the delay, but thought it useless to send ituntil he had investigated the gallery itself. "

"That's the business of his engineers. If he is not satisfied withthem he should get others. "

Mr. Foilet bowed, selected a paper from the sheaf he carried andhanded it over. Peter Masters perused it with precisely the samekindly smiling countenance he wore when studying a paper ordeciphering a friendly epistle. It was not a friendly letter at all, it was a curt, bald statement that a certain rich gallery in a certainmine was unsafe for working, though the opinion of two specialistsdiffered on the point. The two reports were enclosed, and when allthree reports were read Peter asked for the wage sheet of the mine. There was no cause of complaint there. 

"The articles of the last settlement between the firm and the men havebeen rigorously adhered to?" questioned Masters, flinging down thepaper. 

"Rigorously. I will say they have taken no advantage of theirsuccess. "

Peter smiled. "It is for us to do that. Mr. Weirs pronounces thegallery fit for working. The seam is one of the richest we have. Whatimprovements can be done to the ventilation and propping before Mondayare to be done, but the gallery is to be worked then, until the newshaft is completed. Then we will reconsider it. "

Again Mr. Foilet bowed, but his hand fingered his glasses nervously. 

"And if the men refuse?" he questioned in a low voice, with avertedeyes. 

Peter Masters waved his hand. 

"There are others. Men who receive wages like that must expect to havea certain amount of danger to face. Danger is the spice of life. " Heleant back in his chair, humming a little tune and watched Mr. Foiletwith smiling eyes. Mr. Foilet was wondering whether his chief waspersonally fond of spice, but he knew better than to say more. He leftthe room with a vague uneasy feeling at his heart. "A nice concern itwill be if anything happens before the New Shaft's ready, " hemuttered; "if it wasn't for his wonderful luck, I'd have refused. "

So he thought: but in reality he would have done no such thing. 

The manager of the Stormby Foundry, which was a private property ofMr. Masters's, and no company, was the next visitor. He was a talllank Scotchman with a hardy countenance and a soft heart when notfretted by the roll of the Machine. The question he brought wasconcerning the selling of some land in the neighbourhood of the works, for the erection of cottages. 

"Surely you need no instructions on that point, Mr. Murray, " saidPeter a little more curtly than he had spoken to Mr. Foilet. 

"There are two offers, " said the Scotchman quietly. "Tennant will give£150 and Fortman £200. "

"Then there is no question. "

"Tennant will build decent cottages of good material and with properfoundations, and Fortman--well, you know what Fortman's hovels arelike. "

"No, I don't, " said Peter drily. "He has never been my landlord. "

Mr. Murray appeared to swallow something, probably a wish, withdifficulty. 

"They are mere hovels pretending to be villas. "

"No one's obliged to live in them. "

"There are no others, " persisted Mr. Murray desperately, imperillinghis own safety for the cause. 

Masters frowned ominously. 

"Mr. Murray, " he said, "as I have before remarked, you are toofar-sighted. Your work is to sell the ground for the benefit of thecompany, which, I may remind you, is for your benefit also. You havenot to build the cottages or live in them. If the people don't likethem they needn't take them. I do not profess to house the people. Ipay them accordingly. They can afford to live in decent houses if theylike. "

"If they can get them, " remarked the heroic Mr. Murray. 

Peter smiled, his anger apparently having melted away. 

"Let them arrange it with Fortman, and keep your obstinacy for moreprofitable business, Murray, and you'll be as rich as I am some day. "

There was nothing apparently offensive in the words, yet the speakerseemed a singularly unlovable person as he spoke them, and Murray didnot smile at the compliment, but went out with a grave air. 

Neither he nor his business lingered on Peter's mind once the door hadclosed behind him. Peter got up and lounged to the window. He stood awhile looking down into the street below with its crowd of strangelyforeshortened figures. On the opposite side of the wide street was ashop where mechanical toys were sold, a paradise for boys. As Peterwatched, a chubby-faced, stout little man with a tall, lanky boy athis side came to a stand before the windows. Peter knew the man to beone of the hardest-headed, shrewdest men in the iron trade, and heguessed the boy was his son. Both figures disappeared within the shop, the elder with evident reluctance, the younger with assuredexpectation. Peter waited a long time--a longer period than he wouldhave supposed he had to spare, had he thought of it. They emerged atlast in company with a big parcel, hailed a hansom and drove away. Peter looked at the clock and chuckled. "To think Coblan is that sortof fool. Well, that youngster will add little to the fortunes ofCoblan and Company. Toys!" He turned away from the window, and, seatedagain at his desk, began to scribble down some dates on a scrap ofpaper. Then he leant back in his chair thoughtfully. 

"Hibbault says that boy has just got a rise in that berth of his inLiverpool. I'll let him have a year or so more to prove his grit. Isuppose Hibbault's to be trusted, but I might write to the firm andask how he gets on! However, Aymer's boy shall have the vacancy!"

Therefore he took up his pen again and wrote the following briefletter:

 PRINCES BUILDING, Birmingham, April 10. 

 DEAR AYMER:--

 Are you going to 'prentice that boy of yours to me or not? I've an opening now in the Steel Axle Company, if you like to take it. 

 Yours, PETER MASTERS. 

Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker

PART II

CHAPTER XI

Despite his honest intention never to stand between Christopher andany fate that might serve to draw him into connection with his father, Aymer had a hard fight to master his keen desire to put Peter's letterin the fire and say nothing about it. Surely, after all, he had thebest right to say what his adopted charge's future should be. It washe who had rescued him from obscurity, who had lavished on him thelove and care his selfish, erratic father, for his own ambitious ends, denied him. Aymer believed, moreover, that a career under Peter'sinfluence would mean either the blunting if not the utter destructionof every generous and admirable quality in the boy, or a rapidunbalanced development of those socialistic tendencies, the seeds ofwhich were sown by his mother and nurtured in the hard experience ofhis early days. Besides this, Peter's interest in the boy was probablya mere freak, or at the best, sprang from a desire to serve hiscousin, unless by any remote chance he had stumbled on a clue toChristopher's identity. 

This last suspicion wove itself like a black thread into the grey woofof Aymer's existence. His whole being by now had become concentratedin the boy's life. It was a renewal of youth, hopes, ambitions, againpossible in the person of this child, and for the second time afierce, restless jealousy of his cousin began to stir in the innerdepths of Aymer's being, as fire which may yet break into life beneaththe grey, piled-up ashes which conceal it. 

He sought help and advice from none and fought hard alone for his ownsalvation through the long watches of a black night--fought againstthe jealousy that prompted him to hedge Christopher about withprecautions and restrictions which, however desirable they might seemto his finite wisdom, yet were, he knew, only the outcome of hissmouldering jealousy, and might well grow to formidable barriers forChristopher to climb in later years. Aymer fought, too, for that senseof larger faith that in the midst of careful action yet leaves roomfor the hand of God and does not confound the little ideas of thebuilder with the vast plan of the Great Architect. 

So the letter--the little fact which stood for such greatpossibilities--was shown to Christopher, to whom it was a merenothing, to be tossed aside with scorn. 

"I don't want to be under him, " he commented indignantly, "I don'tcare about his old axles, " and then because Cæsar was silent and hefelt himself in the wrong, he apologised. 

"All the same, I don't want to go to him unless you particularly wishit, Cæsar, " he insisted. 

But Cæsar did not answer directly. 

"You are certain you want to be an engineer?" he asked at length. 

"Certain, --only--" Christopher stopped, went over to the window andlooked out. 

They were in London and it was an evening in early spring. There was afaint primrose glow in the sky and a blackbird was whistling at theend of the garden. The hum of the great town was as part of thesilence of the room. 

Now at last must come the moment when Christopher must speak plainlyof his darling purpose that had been striving for expression thesemany months, that purpose which had grown out of a childish fancy inthe long ago days when his mother and he toiled along the muddywearisome roads, or wended painfully through choking white dust undera blazing sun----

 * * * * *

"Mother, how does roads get made here in the country, are they madelike in London?"

"Yes, Jim, they were made somewhere by men, not over well, I think, for walkers such as we are. "

"I'll make roads when I'm big, " announced Jim, "real good ones thatyou can walk on easily. "

 * * * * *

So Christopher broke his purpose to Cæsar abruptly. 

"I want to be a Road Engineer. "

"A what?"

"A Roadmaker. To make high roads, --not in towns, but across countries. Roads that will be easy to travel on and will last. " Again he stopped, embarrassed, for the vision before him which he only half saw, madehim hot and confused. Yet it was a good vision, perhaps that waswhy--a picture of countless toiling human beings travelling on hisroads all down the coming ages, knowing them for good roads, andpraising the maker. But he was a boy and was abashed at the vision andhoped Cæsar did not guess at it. Cæsar, however, saw it all moreclearly than Christopher himself and was not abashed but wellcontent. 

The boy went back to Cæsar's side. The thing was done, spoken of, madealive, and now he could plead for it, work to gain his end, --alsothere was a glow in his face and a new eagerness in his manner. 

"Oh, Cæsar, do say it's possible. I always wanted to do it, even whenI was a little chap, and watched men breaking stones on the road. "

"It's quite possible, only it will want working out. You must goabroad--France--Germany--I must see where to place you. "

"Yes, I must learn how they are made everywhere, and then--then theremust be roads to be made somewhere--in new countries if not here. "

They talked it out earnestly; Cæsar himself caught the boy'senthusiasm, and the moment Mr. Aston came in he too was drawn into thediscussion and offered good advice. 

Thus Christopher's future was decided upon as something to be workedout quite independent of Peter Masters and his millions. Perhapsbecause he had seen the vision which covered Christopher with shyconfusion, Aymer became very prosaic and practical over the details, and Mr. Aston was the only one of the trio who gave any more thoughtto the boy's dream on its sentimental side. He used to sit in theevenings watching the two poring over maps, letters and guidebooks, thinking far thoughts for them both, occasionally uttering them. 

"I wonder, " he remarked one night, "if you know what a lucky young manyou are, Master Christopher, not only in having a real wish concerningyour own future--which is none too common a lot--but in being free tofollow it. "

Christopher looked up from the map he was studying. 

"Yes, I know I'm lucky, St. Michael. It must be perfectly horrible tohave to be something one does not want to be. I suppose that's whylots of people never get on in the world. It seems beastly unfair. "

"Yet I've known men to succeed at work for which they had no originalaptitude, " returned Mr. Aston quietly. 

"Mightn't they have succeeded better at what they did like?"

"That is beside the mark, so that they did not fail altogether. I knewa soldier once, " he went on dreamily, "just a private. A good chap. Hewas a soldier because he was born and bred in the midst of aregiment, but his one passion was music. He taught himself a littleinstead of learning his drill. In the end he deserted and joined aGerman band. That argues nothing for his musical taste, you say. Hejust thought it a stepping-stone, but it was a tombstone. He was quitea smart soldier, too. "

"Well, I think it was jolly hard lines on him to have to be a soldierat all, if he didn't like it. He wanted a Cæsar to help him out. Ithink all fellows ought to have a chance, there should be someone orsomething to say, 'what do you want to be?'"

"You'd be surprised how few could answer. Prove your point yourselfanyway, my dear boy. Succeed. "

"I mean to, " said Christopher with shut teeth and an intonation thatreminded both men of Peter Masters himself. 

"We are all of us Roadmakers of one kind or another, " went on Mr. Aston meditatively, "making the way rougher or smoother for those whocome after us. Happy if we only succeed in rolling in a few of thestones that hurt our own feet. "

"You _are_ rather like a steam roller, " remarked Aymer quietly, "ithadn't struck me before. "

Mr. Aston rumpled his hair distractedly and Christopher giggled. 

"I wasn't talking of myself at all, " said Mr. Aston hastily. "I wasmerely thinking of you making things smooth for Christopher. You aremuch more like a steam roller than I am. You are bigger. "

Christopher began to laugh helplessly, and Aymer protested ratherindignantly. 

"I deny the likeness. But if rolling has to be done, it is better todo it heavily, I suppose. Whose roads shall we roll, Christopher?"

Christopher looked up, suddenly grave. 

"What do you mean, Cæsar?"

"You say everyone should have a chance and my father insists we arebound by some unknown Board of Guardians to level our neighbours'roads, so where will you start?"

"On Sam Sartin!"

He sat upright, his face glowing, looking straight at Cæsar. Cæsar'stone might be flippant, but if he meant what Christopher supposed himto mean, he must not let the golden opportunity slip. 

"I thought Sam was in a greengrocer's shop, " said Cæsar in a drawling, indifferent manner. 

"So he is. But would anyone be in a greengrocer's shop if they couldbe in anything else? When we were kids, he and I, we used to plan we'dbe Lord Mayors--A greengrocer!"

"An honest and respectable calling, if a little dirty, " murmured Mr. Aston. "The greengrocers, I mean not the Lord Mayors. "

"Sam's got a head on his shoulders. He's really awfully sharp. Hecould be anything he liked, " urged Christopher. "Could you help him, Cæsar?"

"You might if you liked. "

"Make what I like of him?"

"No. Most emphatically, no. Make what he likes of himself. A crossingsweeper, if he fancies that. Buy him a crossing and a broom, youknow. "

"But really, what he likes; not joking?"

"Sober earnest. I'll see to-morrow, and tell you. Now, will you kindlyfind that place you were looking for when we were so inopportunelyinterrupted with irrelevant moralisings. "

"I won't do it again, " said his father deprecatingly. "I apologise. "

Aymer gravely bowed his head and the subject was dropped. But whenthey were alone that evening, Mr. Aston reverted to it. 

"What are you going to do with Sam Sartin?" he asked, "and why are youdoing it?"

"Sam must settle the first question himself, " said Aymer, idly drawingappalling pictures of steamrollers on the fly-leaf of a book, "as tothe second--" he paused in his drawing, put the book down and turnedto his father. 

"Christopher's got the makings of a rabid socialist in him. If he'snot given good data to go on he will be a full disciple when he'stwenty-one, all theories and dreams, caught in a mesh of words. Idon't want that. It's natural too, for, after all, Christopher is notof the People, any more than--than his mother was. " He examined hispencil critically. "She always credited them with the fine aspirationsand pure passions of her own soul, instead of allowing them the veryreasonable and just aspirations and ambitions that they have andshould be able to reach. Sam may be an exception, but I don't think heis. I'm quite ready to give Christopher a free hand to help him, provided he knows what he wants himself. "

"To provide an object lesson for Christopher?"

"Yes, precisely. "

"Is it quite fair on Sam?"

Aymer looked up quickly. 

"He benefits anyway. "

"Possibly; but you do not care about that. "

"Christopher does. "

"Ah, yes. Christopher does. That is worth considering. Otherwise----"

"Otherwise?"

"How far are we justified in experimenting with our fellow-creatures, I wonder?"

CHAPTER XII

It was a day of expectancy--and promise--of blackthorn breaking intosnowy showers, and of meadows richly green, blue sky and whitecloud--and a sense of racing, headlong life joyously tremulous overthe earth. 

The boys had met at Paddington Station, Sam Sartin by no means abashedat his own appearance in an old suit of Christopher's, and wearing, indeference to his friend's outspoken wishes, a decorous dark-blue tieand unobtrusive shirt. He looked what he was--a good, solid, respectable working lad out for a holiday. Excitement, if he felt it, was well suppressed, surprise at the new world of luxury--theytravelled down first--was equally carefully concealed. The code ofmanners in which he was reared was stringent in this particular. 

Christopher, on the contrary, was in high spirits. Sam had watched himcome down the platform, out of the corner of his eye, with a queersense of proud possession. He would have liked to proclaim to theworld that the young master there, who walked like a prince, was hisown particular pal. Yet he pretended not to see him till Christopherclapped him on the shoulder with a warm greeting. 

"I've got the tickets. Come on, " said the giver of the treat. "I say, what a day, Sammie--if it's good in London what will it be in thecountry?"

"Cold, I shouldn't wonder. What's the matter with London?" said thecockney sarcastically. 

"Old Bricks and Mortar, " retorted Christopher gaily. "You'll knowwhat's the matter with it when you come back. It's too jolly small. "

"Big enough for me. But the country's well enough to play in. I say, Mr. Christopher, I've been thinking, we may not find any boats. It'searly. "

"Oh, I've seen to that, " said Christopher with the faintest suspicionof lordliness in his voice. "I wrote to the man I know at Maidenheadto have a boat ready--a good one. "

Sam grinned. "My, what a head-piece we've got, to be sure. "

The other flushed a little. "It was really Cæsar who suggested it, " heowned. 

Sam had never been down that line before, so Christopher pointed outthe matters of interest. They found their boat ready at Maidenhead, bestowed their coats in the bow and settled themselves. Christopherinsisted on Sam's rowing stroke. Sam thought politeness obliged him torefuse, but he ultimately gave in. He retrieved the little error inmanners by handling his oar in a masterly way. "Stroke shaping well, "Christopher heard the boatman say as they went off. 

The wind on the river was cold enough and, in spite of the bright sun, cut through them. But half an hour's steady pulling brought them intoa glow and mood to enjoy themselves. Christopher called for a rest. Sam looked over his shoulder. 

"Tired?"

"No, " responded the other, laughing, "but we didn't come down just torow 'eyes in boat'; I want to look at the world. "

"Nothing but green fields and trees and cows. "

"I like cows. "

"I don't. "

Nevertheless he desisted from work, and they drifted on. Christopherwas bubbling over with a great secret that was to be the crowningepisode of the day. It would be fatal to divulge it too early, so heplunged into friendly discussions and they rowed on happy in thephysical exertion, the clean, fresh air and the smiling earth. 

It was not till after lunch that Christopher decided the great mattermust be broached, to allow time to discuss it in full detail. They hadchanged places and he was stroke now. He pulled with a slower swingbut greater power than Sam and for some time bent to his work insilence, thinking over what he was going to say. He took a rapidmental survey of Sam's present life and future, of what it held andmore especially of what it did not hold; the limitations, the lack ofopportunity, the struggle for existence that left no room forambitions or hopes. And he, with Cæsar's help, was going to change allthat, and open the gates of the world wide for him. If the thoughtwere exhilarating, it had also a serious side. He was not afraid, hewas too young for that, but he had sense enough to know it was a bigthing to uproot a life and plant it in a new spot more congenial togrowth. 

Mr. Aston's words to him that morning came back with puzzlinginsistence. "Remember, " he had said in his kindly way, "no two peoplesee life through the same glasses. Don't be surprised if Sam's makeyou squint. " What did he mean? It was just because he, Christopher, was not sure of Sam's real ambition that he was to be given thechoice. He amused himself while cogitating over it, tasting like anepicure the flavour of the good wine to be drunk presently. Samcomplained he was a bad stroke, and they changed again. This bettersuited his plans. He could see the town boy's thin sloping shouldersbend evenly before him. Sam was no athlete in build, but his passionfor rowing had stood him in good stead and developed muscle andendurance. 

"He'll choose something in boats, " thought Christopher, mentallypicturing Sam as captain of a great liner and then as an alternative, as an admiral of the Fleet, and so came the crucial point. 

"Sam, if you had your choice, what would you be?"

"Dunno. "

"But think. I want to know. A greengrocer like Mr. Gruner? Ho, ho!" heshouted out wholesome laughter. 

Sam grinned. He was less ready to laugh. Life had taken toll of thatbirthright already. 

"I hate vegetables. Beastly, dirty things, " he said prosaically. "No, I wouldn't be a _green_-grocer. "

"Well what? An engineer? A doctor, lawyer, parson?"

"Why not a king now?" scoffed Sam. 

"Not enough situations vacant. I mean it, really. What would you be ifyou were as free to choose as I am?"

"If I were you, you mean. "

"No, not that. If you could choose for yourself as I have. "

Sam rowed on stolidly. "Dunno that it's much use bothering, " he saidindifferently. "I'm doing all right, though it's not what I'dchoose. "

It had seemed an easy, insignificant task to break the news fiveminutes ago, but either Christopher had taken the wrong approach or itwas a stiffer job than he had fancied. He became uneasily conscioushis own part in it could not be overlooked, that he was doingsomething that evilly-disposed persons might even call magnanimous orphilanthropic. His face grew red at the thought. 

"Sam, " he said as naturally as he could, "it happens you can choose, you see. Choose anything you like. Cæsar's given me a free hand. Weare both to start life just as we like. What shall it be? I've toldyou my choice. "

The narrow form in front never slackened its stroke, but pulled onmechanically, and at last spoke a little gruffly. 

"Say. You're kidding me, you know. "

"I'm not. Dead earnest. "

Again the boat shot on, but Christopher stopped rowing. Sam lookedback over his shoulder. 

"You're lazy. Why don't you pull?"

Christopher obeyed mechanically. He knew he could afford to be patientnow. 

"Easy, " said the stroke at last. 

There was a smooth reach of water before them. Low meadows withreddish muddy banks lay on either side, no house or any living soulwas in sight. Sam rubbed his hands on his trousers, looked back at hisfriend and away again. 

"You mean you'll start me in any trade I like? 'Prentice me?"

"Any trade or profession. "

"What do you do it for, anyhow?"

"Cæsar suggested it. He said I might if I liked. "

"Well, why do you do it?"

"Does it matter?"

"I want to know certain. "

Christopher looked embarrassed. "Weren't we kids together? Besides, itseems to me every chap ought to have a chance of working on the job helikes best. It's only fair. It's jolly rough on a fellow to have to dojust what comes along whether he's fit for it or not. "

"Seems to me, " said Sam meditatively, "a good many jobs would wantdoing if everyone did what they liked. "

"Oh, science would step in and equalise that, " returned Christopher, hastily quoting from some handbook and went on to further expound hiscreed. 

Sam concluded he had been listening to spouters in the Park, but hewas sharp enough to recognise beneath the crude boyish creed thekindly generous nature that prompted it. 

"So Cæsar says you've just to choose. We'll see you through. "

"He must be jolly rich. "

"Well, that's why he's rich, isn't it, to be able to do things. "

"I don't see what he gets out of it anyhow. "

"He doesn't want anything, you silly. "

"I want to think this out, " said Sam, "there is something I've alwayswanted since I was a kiddy, but I want to think. Row on. "

This was intelligible and encouraging. Christopher's sense of flatnessgave way a little. He pulled steadily, trying to make out what had sodashed him in Sam's reception of the great news. He had not yet learnthow exceptional is the mind that can accept a favour graciously. 

After nearly ten minutes' silence Sam spoke again. "Well, then, I'dlike to be a grocer, " and straightway pulled furiously. 

"What?" gasped Christopher, feeling the bottom story of his card housetottering to a fall. 

"It's like this. I don't mind telling you--much--though I've nevertold nobody before. When I was a bit of a chap, mother, she used totake me out shopping in the evenings. We went to pokey little shops, but we used to pass a fine, big shop--four glass windows--it has sixnow--and great lights and mahogany counters and little rails, andballs for change, tiled floor, no sawdust. Every time I saw it I saysto myself, 'When I'm a man I'll have a place like that. ' I tried toget a job there, but I couldn't--they made too many family inquiries, you see, " he added bitterly; "well, if I could get 'prenticed to aplace like that ... Might be head man some day.... " He beganwhistling with forced indifference, queerly conscious that the wholeof his life seemed packed in that little boat--waiting. The boat haddrifted into a side eddy. Christopher sat with his head on his hands, wondering with his surface consciousness if the planks at his feetwere three or four inches wide, but at last he brushed aside the lastcard of his demolished palace and recalled his promise to Cæsar toleave Sam as free and unbiased in choice as he had been himself. 

"That would be quite easy to manage, " he said with assumed heartiness, "it's--only too easy. Only you must be a partner or something. Oh, oh. A white apron. I'll buy my tea and bacon of you when I've a house ofmy own!"

"All right, " grinned Sam. "I'll have great rows of red and goldcanisters and--and brass fittings everywhere--not your plated stufffor me--solid brass and marble-topped counters. But it won't comeoff, " he added dejectedly, "things like that never do. "

"But it will, " persisted Christopher impatiently, "just as my going toDusseldorf is coming off. "

"You don't get 'prenticed for nothing, " was the faithless rejoinder. 

Christopher joggled the boat and shouted: "You sinner, if you won'ttake my word for it I'll smash you. "

"All right--keep cool, I'm only having you on, Chris. Oughtn't we toturn now?"

They expended their excitement and emotion in rowing furiously, andlanded again at Maidenhead in time for tea. Then Christopher broke thefurther news to Sam that he was to return with him to Aston House andsee Cæsar. He overcame with difficulty Sam's reiterated objections, and they walked from Paddington, Christopher keeping a strict guardover Sam lest he should escape. 

But Sam's objections were more "code" than genuine. He was reallyanxious to hear the wonderful news confirmed by more responsible lipsthan Christopher's--not that he disbelieved his intentions, but hestill doubted his powers. He grew very silent, however, as they turnedin at the beautiful iron gates of Aston House. He had never managed toreally connect his old friend with this wonderful dignified residencethat he knew vaguely by sight. He had had dim visions of Christopherslipping in by a side entrance avoiding the eyes of plush-breechedlords-in-waiting. But here was that young gentleman marching calmly inat the big front doors nodding cheerfully to the sober-clad manwaiting in the hall who called Christopher "Sir. "

Sam successfully concealed under an expression of solidmatter-of-factness the interest and curiosity that consumed him. Helooked straight before him and yet saw all round. He accepted thewhole calmly, but he wanted to sit down and stare. 

Christopher explained that they were to have dinner together in hisown sitting-room as soon as they had seen Aymer. 

They went through the swing doors down the long corridor leading toAymer's room, and Christopher stopped for a moment near a window. 

"I never come down here in this sort of light, " he said with a littlecatch in his voice, "without thinking of the first evening I came. Howbig it all seemed and how quiet. "

"It is quiet, " said Sam in a subdued whisper. 

In another moment they were in Aymer's room. 

"Hullo, Cæsar. Here we are, turned up like bad pennies. "

Christopher pulled Sam across the room to the sofa. Sam would havebeen not a little surprised had he known that it cost Aymer Aston agreat deal more effort to see a new face than it cost him to look atthis Cæsar of whom he had heard so much. 

The "code" slipped from his mental horizon and left him red andembarrassed, watching Christopher furtively to see what he would do. 

"Here's Sam, Cæsar. I've told you all about him and he may just haveheard your name mentioned--possibly--" laughed Christopher seatinghimself on the sofa and indicating a chair to his friend. 

Aymer held out his hand. 

"Yes, I've heard of you, Sam. Sit down, won't you?"

Sam sat down, his hands on his knees, and tried to find a safe spot onwhich to focus his eyes. 

"Now, isn't it a jolly room, " began Christopher triumphantly, "didn'tI tell you?"

"It's big, " said Sam cautiously. 

"Christopher, behave yourself. Don't mind his bad manners, Sam. It'ssheer nervousness on his part, he can't help it. "

A newspaper was flung dexterously across his face. 

"Which gives point to my remark, " continued Aymer, calmly folding it. "Well, have you enjoyed your day? Madness, I call it, the river inMarch!"

Christopher plunged into an account of their jaunt to which hiscompanion listened in complete bewilderment, hardly recognising thesimple pleasures of their holiday in their dress of finished detailand humour. 

"Is that a true account?" asked Aymer, catching the tail of a broadgrin. 

"I didn't see the water-rat dressing himself, or the girl with the redshoes, " said Sam slowly. "My, what a chap you are, Christopher, tospin a yarn. Wish I could reel it off to mother and the kids likethat. "

He found himself in a few minutes discoursing with Aymer on thevariety and history of his family. It was not for some minutes or sothat the great subject was approached. 

"I suppose, " said Aymer at last, "I need not ask if you andChristopher have been discussing his little plan for your future. Whatdo you think of it, Sam?"

Christopher got up and walked to the window. Minute by minute a senseof overwhelming disappointment and shame obliterated the onceplausible idea. It was not only an opportunity missed, it was wasted, thrown away. What glory or distinctions, what ambitions could befulfilled in the narrow confines of a grocer's shop--a nightmarevision of an interminable vista of red canisters, mahogany counters, biscuit boxes and marble slabs, swam before his eyes. It was no usedenying it. It was a cruel disappointment ... And what would Cæsarthink?

Meanwhile Sam, in answer to Aymer's questions, had stumbled out thestatement he thought it a rattling fine thing for him and was verymuch obliged. 

"And you know your own mind on the point?" demanded Aymer, watchinghim closely. 

Sam coughed nervously. "Yes, I always knew what I wanted to be. I toldhim, " with a backward jerk of his head towards Christopher. 

This was better than Aymer had expected. A boy with an ambition and amind of his own was worth assisting. 

"Well, what is it. Will you tell me too?"

Sam looked at him out of the corner of his shrewd eyes. "It's you asis really doing it, sir?"

"What is it?"

"It's like this, " began Sam, hesitating; "it costs money, --my topambition; but it's a paying thing and if anyone would be kind enoughto start me on it I'd work off the money in time. I know I could. "

"I'm afraid Christopher hasn't quite explained, " said Aymer quietly;"it's not a question of investing money on your industry. I don'texpect him to pay back the cost of starting him in life. You are tostart on precisely the same ground. "

Sam got red. "He--he belongs to you--it's different, " he began. 

"What is your ambition?"

"Grocery business. I've told him. Ever since I was a bit of a chapthat high I've wanted it. I never could get a job in a shop, but if Iwas regularly apprenticed now--if that wasn't too much?"

Aymer's glance meandered thoughtfully to the distant Christopher, still staring out of the window; a shadow of a smile rose to hislips. 

"Yes, that would not be difficult to manage, Sam. How old are you?"

"Over sixteen, sir. There's money in grocery, sir. I could pay itback. I'm sure I could. "

Aymer lay still, thinking. "What sort of schooling have you had? Notmuch? Passed the fifth standard young?"

"But it takes a long time for a 'prentice to work up, " said Sam, watching him eagerly. 

"I'm thinking of another way, " said Aymer slowly. "Christopher. "

He rejoined them, standing by the grate and kicking the logs intoplace. He did not look at Aymer. 

"Sam has been telling me of his wishes, " said Aymer. "I think themquite excellent, but I've not quite decided on the best way to carrythem out. Go away and get your dinner and come back to meafterwards. "

The boys departed, and once in Christopher's den, the host turned tohis guest questioningly. 

"Well, what do you think of Cæsar?"

"He's a stunner, a jolly sight more sensible than you, Chris. But Isay, " he added in a grumpy, husky voice, "is he always like that?"

"Like what?"

"On a sofa. Lying down. "

"Yes, " said Christopher shortly. He had become almost as sensitive onthat point as Aymer himself. 

"He must get a bit tired of it. Didn't he ever walk?"

"Yes, of course. It was a shooting accident. Shut up, Sam, we all hatetalking of it. "

The dinner that was served immediately somehow impressed Sam more thanany other event of the day. He had occasionally had a meal in arestaurant with Christopher, and once had been in a dining-room at anhotel, but it all seemed different to this intimate, comfortabledinner. The white napery, the shining silver and delicate glass andchina, the serving of the simple meal was a revelation of his friend'slife, for Christopher took it all as a matter of course and wasunabashed by the presence of the second footman who waited on them. 

There was soup, and cutlets in little paper dresses, tomatoes andpotatoes that bore no resemblance to the grimy vegetables Samdispensed daily. Then came strange bird-shaped things, about the sizeof sparrows which Christopher called chicken and which had no bones inthem, cherry tart, with innumerable trifles with it, afterwardssomething that looked like a solid browny-yellow cake, which gave wayto nothing when cut, and tasted of cheese. Finally there was fruit, that was a crowning point, for Sam knew what pears cost that time ofyear, and said so. 

Christopher laughed. "These come from Marden, " he explained. "Marden'snoted for pears; they have storages of different temperatures and keepthem back or ripen them as wanted. The fire's jolly after all, isn'tit?"

He stretched out his long legs to the fender, a very contented youngSybarite for the moment. 

"I say, Chris, " said Sam abruptly, "I must tell you though you'llthink it pretty low of me. But after you came and told us you wereliving here with Mr. Aston I used to ask people about him. One day Icame round here and ... Somehow I never took it in. I knew in a wayyou lived here, but I didn't know it was like this.... " He stumbledover his words in an embarrassed fashion. 

"Like what?" demanded Christopher shortly. 

"Well, I thought you was here like a sort of servant--not with themexactly--I see now, I never took it in before--you with your own roomsand walking in at the front door and ordering dinner and them blokesin the hall saying 'sir' to you--oh, lor'. "

"I told you they had adopted me, " said the other, frowning and ratherred. 

"I ought to have taken it in, but I didn't, " continued Sam humbly, "and then you ask me here--and are going to give me a chance--Oh, lor', --what's it all for, I want to know? What does it mean?"

Christopher got up and walked away. Had Sam but known it, his chancein life was in dire peril at that moment. Seldom had Christopher feltso angry and never had he felt so out of touch with his companion. Whyon earth couldn't Sam take his luck without wanting reasons. It was sopreposterous, in Christopher's eyes, to want any. In the old days Samhad been ready to share his scant pennies and toys with his smallfriend. The offer of a ride in a van from the warehouse where Sartinsenior worked would have included both of them or neither. What wasthe difference? What was the use of having plenty if not to share itwith a friend?

To his credit he did not allow Sam to guess his irritation, butsuggested a return to Cæsar's room. 

"Didn't it take you an awful long time to get used to all this?"inquired Sam, as he followed him. 

"I forget. No, I don't though. I hated it rather at first, the clothesand collars and having to change and be tidy, and all that, but I soongot used to it. Here we are. "

Mr. Aston was there too now. Sam was duly introduced and behaved withgreat discretion. He was far less abashed by Mr. Aston than by Aymer, whose physical condition produced a shyness not inherent in theyouth. 

Mr. Aston talked to him in a friendly gossiping way, then lookedacross at Aymer with a faint nod. 

Aymer unfolded his scheme of carrying out Sam's ambitions to afruitful end. He was to go for a year to a commercial school, andafter that to be put into a good firm as pupil or 'prentice with achance of becoming a junior partner with a small capital if he didwell. 

"If you don't do well, of course it's off, " concluded Aymer, ratherwearily, "the future is in your hands, not ours: we only supply anopportunity. "

Sam said stolidly he quite understood that: that he was much obliged, and he'd do his best. 

"It will be a race between you, " remarked Mr. Aston, looking from oneboy to the other, "as to whether you become a full-fledged grocerfirst or Christopher a full-fledged engineer. "

But late that night when Mr. Aston was bidding Aymer good-night, heremarked as he stood looking down at him:

"You have done a good piece of road-making to-day, old man. "

"No, I haven't, " retorted Aymer, rather crossly. "I've only suppliedmaterial for someone else to use if they like. "

"Just to please Christopher?"

But Aymer did not answer that. Mr. Aston really needed no answer, forhe knew that long ago Sam's mother had made smooth a very rough pieceof road for another woman's feet, and that woman was Christopher'smother. 

CHAPTER XIII

A thin, sickly-looking woman in a dingy black dress sat by theroadside with a basket of bootlaces and buttons at her feet. Sherested her elbows on her knees and gazed with unseeing eyes at themeadowland below. 

The burst shoe, the ragged gown, and unkempt head proclaimed her aFollower of the Road, and the sordid wretchedness that reached itslowest depth in lack of desire for better things, was a sight to forcePhilanthropist or Socialist to sink differences in one energeticstruggle to eradicate the type. If she thought at all it was in thedumb, incoherent manner of her class: at the actual moment a vision ofa hat with red flowers she had seen in a shop window flickered acrossher mind, chased away by a hazy wonder as to how much supperthreepence halfpenny would provide. That thought, too, fell awaybefore a sudden, shrewd calculation as to the possible harvest to begleaned from the two people just coming over the brow of the hill. 

These two, a boy and a young man, were walking with the swinging stepand assurance of those who have never bent before grim need. 

"Young toffs, " she decided, and wondered if it were worth whilegetting up or not. 

The young man was listening eagerly to the equally eager chatter ofhis companion, and they walked quickly as those who were in haste toreach a goal until they were level with the tramp woman, who watchedthem with speculative eyes. The boy, who was about twelve years old, was as good a specimen of a well-trained, well-nurtured boy as onemight find in the country, the product of generations of carefulselection and high ideals, active, brimming over with vitality andjoyousness, with clear-cut features perhaps a trifle too pronouncedfor his age. But the elder of the two, who was twenty-one and might byappearance have been some few years older, was a far stronger type. There was a certain steady strength in the set of his square head, inthe straight look of his dark eyes. It was a face that might in timebe over-stern if the kindly humorous lines of the mouth should fade. The tramp woman saw nothing of this. She only observed theirabsorption in each other and abandoned hope of adding to her meagrefortune. 

Max Aston's quick blue eyes saw her and were averted instantly, forshe was not a pleasing object. But at sight of her the shadow of somedominant thought drove every expression from his companion's face butpity: and the pity of the strong for the weak lies near to reverence. 

He crossed the road abruptly, his hand in his pocket. Max dawdledafter him. The woman looked up with awakened interest. 

"It's a long road, kind sir, and poor weather, " she began in aprofessional drawl, and then stopped. The young face looking down onher had something in its expression to which she was not accustomed. It was as if he checked her begging for very shame. She noticed dully, he held his cap in his hand. 

He said nothing at all, but dropped a coin in her hand and went on, followed by Max, who was a little puzzled. 

The woman looked after them and forgot she had not thanked him. Shewished the moment would repeat itself and the young gentleman standbefore her again. She had not taken it all in--taken _what_ in, shehardly knew. 

She looked at the coin and it gleamed yellow in her hand. It was halfa sovereign. Oh, what luck, what luck! It was a mistake of course--hehad thought it was a sixpence no doubt, but he had gone, and she hadit. 

A vista of unlikely comforts opened before her, even the hat with redflowers was possible. It was careless of him though. 

She got up suddenly and looked down the hill. The two were still insight--the boy had stopped to tie his boot-lace. 

She looked at the half-sovereign again, and then set off at ashuffling slipshod trot after them. They had resumed their walk beforeshe reached them, but the boy looking back, saw her, and told theother, who wheeled round sharply, frowning a little. 

"'Ere, please sir, I wants to see yer, " she gasped, out of breath, choking a little with unwonted exertion. Christopher went back to herand waited gravely. She opened her hand and the half-sovereign glintedagain in the light. 

"Expect yer made a mistake, didn't yer, sir?" she asked in a hoarsewhisper, and saw a wave of hot colour under his brown skin. 

"No, " he said awkwardly, "I hadn't anything else. It was good of youto trouble to come though. Go and get some new boots and a goodsupper. It's bad going on the roads in autumn. I _know_, I've doneit. "

She gasped at him bewildered, her hand still open. 

"Yer a gentleman, yer are, "--her tone hesitated as it were between thestatement of a plain fact and doubt of his last words. 

"Winchester is three miles on. You can get decent lodgings out by theStation Road to the left as you go under the arch. Good-bye. " Heraised his hat again and turned away. The woman looked after him, gavea prolonged sniff and limped back up the hill. 

Max looked at Christopher out of the corner of his eye, a littledoubtfully. He had not come near, fastidiousness outweighingcuriosity. 

"What did she want--and why did you take your hat off?"

Christopher grew hot again. 

"Oh, she's a woman, and my mother and I tramped, you know. "

Max did not know, and intimated that Christopher was talking rot. 

Christopher decapitated a thistle and explained briefly, "Cæsaradopted me straight out of a workhouse. My mother and I were trampingfrom London to Southampton, and she got ill at Whitmansworth, theother side of Winchester, and died there. The Union kept me till Mr. Aston took me away. I thought everyone knew. "

Embarrassment and curiosity struggled for the mastery in the youngaristocrat by his side. 

"And you really did tramp?" he ventured at length. 

"Yes, for a time, but we were not like that. My mother was--was alady, educated, and all that, I think, only quite poor. She understoodpoor people and tramps. We used to walk with them, talk to them. Theywere kind. "

"And if Cæsar hadn't adopted you?"

"I should be a workhouse porter by now, perhaps, " laughed Christopherlightly and then was silent. A picture of the possible or rather ofthe inevitable swam before his eyes; a picture of a hungry, needy soulcompassed by wants, by fierce desires, with the dominant will tofulfil them and no means, and the world against him. He did not reasonit out to a logical conclusion, but he saw it clearly. 

Max concluded the subject was not to be discussed and went on with anexplanation of why Christopher had not been met in state after fouryears' absence. 

"The motor was to come for you, but it's gone wrong, and Aymer saidyou'd rather walk than drive, and we were not quite certain of thetrain. Do you really hate driving, Christopher?"

"Yes, I always think the horses will run away. Aymer knows that. Is itreally four years since I was here, Max?"

"Yes, at Christmas. You never came down when you were in town twoyears ago. It was a beastly shame of you. "

"I'd only two months and Cæsar wanted me. That was before I went toSwitzerland, wasn't it? They know something about road-making there, Max, but I've learnt more in France. "

"And all about motors, too?" questioned Max eagerly. "Can you reallydrive one?"

Christopher laughed. "I've won a race or two, and I've got acertificate. Perhaps it won't pass in England. "

"Will you teach me to drive? I just long to: but St. Michael saysno--though he doesn't mind Geoffry Leverson teaching me to shoot. He'shome now, you know, and comes over most days, and when Patricia won'tplay golf, he takes me shooting. "

"Patricia's taken to golf then?"

"Yes. Geoffry says she's splendid, but I expect that's just to makeher play up. "

They had turned off the highroad now and were in the fields followinga path on the side of the sloping meadows. The mist that hung over theriver did not reach up to them and Christopher could see the thickfoliage of the woods opposite, splashed with gold and russet, heavywith moisture. The warm damp smell of autumn was in the air. He took along breath and squared his shoulders. 

"It's good to be back. To think of its being four whole years. "

"And two since you've seen any of us. Are you going away again, Christopher?"

"In the spring. There's St. Michael. "

He was waiting by a stile leading into a wood that gave quicker accessto Marden Court, and he came forward to meet them with undisguisedpleasure. 

Charles Aston had rendered but small homage to time. He was as erectand thin as ever, hair perhaps a little white, but the kind eyes hadlost nothing of their penetrating quality. 

Christopher's welcome could not have been warmer had it been his ownfather. Max went ahead to find Charlotte and left the two to come ontogether. 

"How is Cæsar?" demanded Christopher, the moment they were alone. 

"Can't you wait for his own report?"

"I want yours. " There was an urgent insistence in his voice, and Mr. Aston looked at him sharply. 

"Well, he is decidedly better since he came down here, and I want himto stay, Christopher, to give up London in the end perhapsaltogether. "

"He has not been well then?"

"I have not thought so: but what made you suspicious, my dear boy?"

"His letters have been over-witty and deliberately satirical. Just thesort of things he says when something is wrong. "

Mr. Aston nodded. 

"Yes, I felt that. There seemed nothing physically wrong, but I felthe must have more people round him. "

"And you?"

"Oh, I stay here too, and go up and down when needs must. "

"And the Colonial Commission? How will it get on without you?"

"Oh, they easily found a better man. As I explained to Cæsar, I wasonly asked as a compliment, " he answered simply. 

Christopher kept to himself his dissent from this, and was silent amoment, thinking how this man's life was spent to one end; anddesirable as he felt that end to be, he was of age now to feel a tingeof regret for all that had been and still was sacrificed to it. Aninfinitesimal sacrifice of personal feeling and convenience wasdemanded of him now, if he were to second St. Michael's attempt tokeep Aymer from Aston House and teach him to permanently regard MardenCourt as home, for dearly as Christopher loved Marden it was onlythere he was awake to the apparently indisputable truth that he wasnot one of that dear family who had done their best to make him forgetonce and for all that obnoxious fact. His sense of proprietorship inAymer and of Aymer's in him was undeniably stronger in town than inthe country, and this not entirely because Nevil was to all intentsmaster of Marden, but rather that there Aymer himself was lessisolated, merged more into the general family life, and became againpart of the usages and traditions of his own race. 

Mr. Aston, without actually speaking the words, had conveyed toChristopher his own dread lest some day Aymer might be left alone, stranded mentally and physically in the great silent London house thatwas their home by force of dear companionship. Christopher saw it in aflash, saw it so clearly that he involuntarily glanced at hiscompanion to assure himself of the remoteness of that dread chance. Hard on this thought pressed the knowledge that neither of these twomen who had done so much for him made the least claim on his life orasked ought of him but success in his chosen line--and that knowledgewas both sweet and bitter to him. 

"Cæsar will be far better satisfied when you are actually started atwork, " Mr. Aston went on. "He lives in your future, Christopher, he ismore impatient for this training period to be over than youyourself. "

"Because I am training and have no time to think. The first real stepis coming. I have a good chance, only I must tell him first. "

He quickened his steps insensibly, for the thought of Cæsar waitingwas like a spur even to physical effort, and even so his mind outracedhis feet, till it came full tilt against a girl coming directly fromits goal and momentarily obliterating it by her very presence. 

"Oh, Christopher, Christopher, " Patricia cried, holding out bothhands. "How long you have been! I began to think you never would comeagain!"

Christopher, taking her hands, felt it was a long two years since theyparted and that time had made fair road here meanwhile. His thoughtsoutpaced his feet no longer, but kept decent step with the lightfootfall beside him. 

Mr. Aston, following, noted it all, and first smiled and then sighed alittle. The smile was for them and the little sigh for Aymer waitingwithin. 

He found, however, little reason to repeat his sigh during the nextfew weeks, for Christopher was in constant attendance on Aymer, andgave but the residue of his time to the rest of the little world. Hissuspicions as to Aymer's well-being vanished away, for the latterbetrayed by no outward sign the sleepless nights and long days spentin wrestling with intangible dread of impending evil and the return ofalmost forgotten black hours. Indeed, Christopher's steady dependablestrength and vigorous energy seemed to renew belief and confidence inthe man with whom life had broken faith. He was jealously greedy ofChristopher's company, though he sought to hide this under a mask ofindifference, and he made a deliberate attempt to keep him near him bythe exercise of every personal and social gift he possessed. It wasnot enough for him to hold his adopted son's affection by the bond ofthe past, it was not enough to be loved by force of custom, hispresent individuality struggled for recognition and won it. Deliberately, skilfully and successfully he bound Christopher to himby force of personality, by reason of being what he was as apart fromall he had done. 

None of the household grudged him his triumph or resented their owndismissal from attendance in the West Room. The women-kind once moresuperfluous to Cæsar's well-being, resumed their wonted routine withgenerous content. 

Patricia's routine appeared to consist very largely of golf in whichshe and Geoffry Leverson could undoubtedly give Christopher long odds. Christopher, however, was undaunted, and the few hours he did notspend in Aymer's company, he spent toiling round the links pointsbehind Patricia, play she never so badly. Geoffry complained bitterlyto Patricia in private that she was spoiling her game, but she, indifferent to her handicap, continued to play with Christopher and toignore promised matches with Geoffry whenever her old playmate choseto set foot on the green. 

At length Geoffry could stand it no longer and protested loudly whenChristopher challenged her, that it was the third time she had put offa return match. Christopher withdrew his challenge at once anddeclared he would infinitely rather watch a match. Patricia demurredand pouted, whereupon he sternly insisted that promises must be kept. 

She played Geoffry and beat him by one point, secured by a rathervicious putt, then lightly requesting him to take her clubs back tothe Club House with his, she summoned Christopher to take her home. Geoffry had not protested again. He took early opportunity tochallenge Christopher instead and reaped a small revenge of easyvictories, half embittered, half enhanced by Patricia's plainlyexpressed annoyance with the vanquished one. He knew she would havecondoled with him had he lost. 

So the weeks slipped by unnoticed and autumn merged into winter. Christmas came and went--with festivities in which both Patricia andChristopher took active part. 

Christopher read and studied, but did nothing definite, and the NewYear slipped along with rapid, silent foot. It was Cæsar who at lengthbroke up the pleasant drifting interlude and he did it as deliberatelyas he did everything else, urged by his haunting desire to seeChristopher finally committed to the future he had chosen. 

"Why don't you go and see those road experiments they are trying inKent?" Aymer asked one day. 

"Frost-proof roads? They are no good. It was tried in Germany. What Iwould like is to run down to Cornwall and see how the Atlantic Roadstands the winter, only it's such a beastly way down by train. "

"It would certainly interfere with golf?" returned Cæsar drily. 

"I'm beginning to play. Leverson says if I work really hard I may dosomething in a few years. Patricia says I shan't even if I live to beas old as Methuselah; so I must stick to it to prove her wrong. "

"That's highly desirable, of course. All the same she might leave youa little leisure to play round with your hobby. You mustn't work toohard or Sam will beat you yet. "

"How is Sam?"

"He came to see me before I left town. He is doing well. They willtake him in as junior partner in a year or two. I always said he'd dobetter than you. " He sighed profoundly. 

"What a pity you didn't adopt him instead of me, " retorted Christopherteasingly. "Is it too late to exchange? Buy him a senior partnershipand leave me a free lance. "

And because Aymer did not reply at once to his familiar nonsense, heturned quickly and surprised a strange look in the blue eyes, afleeting, shadowy love, passionate, fierce, jealous. It lost itselfalmost as he caught it and Aymer drawled out in his indifferent tone:

"It really might be worth considering. For then I could go back toLondon and he could come home every night. Besides, Sam reallyappreciates me. "

But it was Christopher who had no answer ready this time. 

The look he had surprised gripped his heart. It revealed somethinghitherto unguessed by him. He came and sat on the edge of the sofa, and though he spoke lightly as was his manner, his voice and eyesbelied his words. 

"On the contrary, Sam does not appreciate you at all. He regards youas an erratic philanthropist with a crank for assisting deservingboys. "

"A just estimate. "

"Not at all. It is wrong in every particular. "

"Prove it. "

"You are not erratic; you are methodical to a fault. You are not acrank; therefore not a philanthropist. And you show a lamentabledisregard to the moral qualities of those to whom you extend a helpinghand. "

"Jealousy. "

"Jealousy of whom, please?"

"Of Sam. "

Christopher considered thoughtfully. 

"I believe you are right, " he returned at last in a tone of naïvesurprise. "How stupid of me not to have guessed before. I had alwaystried to think you helped him to gratify me. It was a great strain onmy credulity. Now I understand. "

"It had nothing to do with you at all, " retorted Cæsar irritably, shifting his position a little, whereby a cushion fell to the ground. With a gust of petulance he pitched another after it, and then inrather a shamed way, told Christopher to ring for Vespasian to put theconfounded things right. 

But Christopher did no such thing. He put his strong arm round Cæsar, raised him, and rearranged the refractory cushions, talking the whileto divert attention from this unheard-of proceeding. 

"I shall go to London to-morrow and study Sam in order to oust himfrom your fickle affections, " he announced. "Seriously, Cæsar. I oughtto be running round seeing things a bit. "

And Cæsar, having brought him to the conclusion he wished, signifiedhis entire approval. 

The following morning when Christopher came in to bid Cæsar good-bye, he found Mr. Aston also there, standing by the fire with a humoroussmile on his face in evident appreciation of some joke. 

"Christopher, " said Aymer severely, "I have something important to sayto you. "

Christopher drew himself up to attention as he had learnt to do whenunder rebuke as a boy. 

"If you are going to make a habit of running up and down to town andthe ends of the earth on ridiculous business and worrying everyone'slife out with time-tables (it was notorious Christopher neverconsulted anyone about his comings and goings), you must understandyou cannot use Renata's carriage and pair for your station work. Max'spony is not up to your weight, neither is the station fly. I find oninquiry my father occasionally requires his motor for his own use;anyhow, it is not supposed to get muddy. So you had better buy one foryourself. "

He held out a blank signed cheque. 

Christopher looked from one to the other. It was the dream of his lifeto possess a motor, but this free gift of one was overwhelming. 

"Of course, " went on Cæsar hastily, "I shan't give you a birthdaypresent too. It's to get out of that, you understand. You aretwenty-one, aren't you? And it's only half mine, the other half isfrom St. Michael. I don't know where your manners are, Christopher; Ithought I had brought you up to be polite. Go and thank the gentlemannicely. "

Christopher turned to Mr. Aston, but he was beyond words. He couldonly look his overwhelming gratitude. 

"It's not I, " said that gentleman, hastily. "I only told Cæsar I'dlike to go shares--the lamps or bells or something. Get a good hornwith a good rich tone. "

Christopher took the cheque with shaking fingers. 

"I can't thank you, Cæsar, it's too big. Why didn't you let me earnit?"

"I wanted to prove to you the justice of Sam's opinion of me. Hurryup; you'll miss your train if there is one at this hour at all. "

"You've not filled up the cheque. "

"Not I. From what I know of your business methods you'll get what youwant at half the price I should. I'm not going to let St. Michaelfling away good money. "

In his excitement Christopher forgot to wait for Patricia, who hadpromised to walk to the station with him. (Cæsar's complaint anent thehorse vehicles was even more unfounded than his grievance over thetime-table. ) But seeing him start, she ran after him and made somecandid and sisterly remarks on his behaviour and was only mollified bya full explanation of his unwonted state of elation. The rest of thewalk was spent in discussing the merits of various species of motors. 

CHAPTER XIV

Christopher spent the whole of the day inspecting possible motors, perfectly aware all the time of the one he meant to purchase, but inno wise prepared to forego the pleasures of inspection. Sam was notfree that evening, so he dined with Constantia Wyatt, whose elusivepersonality continued to remove her in his eyes far from relationshipwith ordinary women. She was going to a "first night" at His Majesty'sTheatre as a preliminary to her evening's amusement, and her husband, honestly engrossed in work, seized on Christopher at once as anadequate substitute for his own personal escort. He would meet herwith the carriage after and go with her to the Duchess of Z----, butit would be a great help to him to have a few early evening hours forhis book; so he explained with elaborate care. 

"Basil is so deliciously mediæval and quaint, " Constantia confided toher young cavalier as the carriage drove off; "he quite seriouslybelieves women cannot go to a theatre or anywhere without an escort, even in our enlightened age. I assure you it is quite remarkable thenumber of parties we attend together; people are beginning to talkabout it. If it's impossible for him to come himself he always seemsto have hosts of cousins or relations ready to take his place. Oh, charming people; but quite a family corps, a sort of 'Guard ofHonour, ' as if I were Royalty--and really, at my time of life. "

She turned her radiantly beautiful face to Christopher. She was indeedone of those beloved of time and it seemed to Christopher as he sawher in the crude flashing glare from the streets without, that thepast ten years which had made of him a man had left her a girl still, but since he was as yet no adept at pretty speeches he kept thethought to himself and said shyly:

"It is not a question of age at all. "

"You, too, think me incompetent to look after myself?"

"It is not a matter of competence either, is it? I mean, one caneasily understand that Mr. Wyatt is proud of being your.... " Hestopped lamely. 

"Finish your sentence, you tantalising boy. "

"Your caretaker, then, " he concluded defiantly. 

"Delicious, " she clapped her hands softly. "I thought you were goingto say 'proprietor. '"

"It is you who are the proprietor of the caretaker, isn't it?"

"The new cadet is worthy his commission, " she pronounced with mockgravity. 

"It is a great honour, especially since I am not one of the family. "

He never forgot this in her presence. It was as if an overscrupulousremembrance of hard days forced him to disclaim kinship with anythingso finely feminine as Constantia Wyatt; as if he found no right of wayfrom his own world of concrete fact into that delicate gracious worldof illusions in which he placed her. Such barriers did not exist forher, however, and thence it came that it was to Constantia thatChristopher spoke most easily of his relationship to the Astonfamily. 

She put aside his disclaimer now, almost indignantly. 

"You belong to Aymer. How can you say you do not belong to us, whenyou have been so good for him?"

His main claim on them all lay in that, that he was and had been good_for_ the idolised Aymer Aston. He recognised it as she spoke and wascontent, for the proud generosity of his nature was built on ahumility that had no underprops of petty pride. 

"That was quite unpremeditated on my part, " he protested whimsically;"you are all far too good to me. I can never explain it to myself, butI accept it, and realise I am a real millionaire. "

Constantia Wyatt started slightly. Christopher noticed the diamonds onher hair sparkle as she leant forward. 

"How did you discover that?" she asked in a low voice. 

"My fortune? I was only ten when I came to Cæsar, but I must have beena very dense child indeed if I had not known even then that the luckof the gods was mine--if I had not been sensible of the kindness----"

His voice was low also and he fell into his old bad habit of leavinghis sentence unfinished--hardly knowing he had expressed so much. 

Constantia gave a sigh of relief, and Christopher again was only awareof the twinkling diamonds, of melting lines of soft velvet and fur, apresence friendly but unanalysable. They passed at that moment amansion of a prince of the world of money, and she indicated it with awave of her fan. 

"Supposing, Christopher, you could realise some of your imaginaryfortune for _his_?"

"Heaven forbid. Think how it was made. "

"The world forgets that. "

"You do not forget, " he answered quickly; "besides it's much nicer tobe adopted than to fight other people for fortune. "

"I thought all boys liked fighting. "

"Not if there's anything better to be done. A Punch and Judy show or afuneral will stop the most violent set-to. I've seen it times, when Iwas a boy in the street. Sam and I raised a cry one day of 'soldiers'to stop a chum being knocked down. Then we ran. "

"Oh. Christopher, Christopher, can't you forget it?"

He shook his head. 

"I don't want to. It wouldn't be fair to Cæsar. Also I couldn't. "

"Some day you will marry, and perhaps she will rather you shouldforget. "

"No, she won't, she is far too fond of Cæsar. "

He stopped abruptly. For one brief moment the great voice of thestreets and the yellow glare died away; he was blinded by abewildering white light that broke down barriers undreamed of withinhis soul. Then the actual comparative darkness of the carriageobscured it and he found himself again conscious of the scent ofroses, the sheen of satin and soft velvet, and his heart was beatingmadly. He had stumbled over the unsuspected threshold, surprised thehidden temple of his own heart, and this, inopportunely, prematurely, and, to his everlasting confusion, in the presence of another. 

He clanged to the gates of his inner consciousness in breathless hasteand set curb on his momentary shame and amazement. The break was soshort his companion had barely time to identify the image disclosedwhen his voice went on with quiet deliberation. 

"Or will be when she appears. A case of 'if she be not fair to "he, "what care I how fair she be. '"

Constantia with rare generosity offered no hindrance to the closing ofthe door and discreetly pretended she had not been aware it hadopened. Yet she smiled to herself and decided it was quite a desirableimage and very advantageous to Aymer. Also, she reflected withpleasure, she had predicted the result from Patricia's andChristopher's intimacy, to her father years ago. 

The piece at the theatre was a modern comedy which did not greatlyinterest him, indeed, he was more concerned in keeping his attentionfrom that newly-discovered temple within than in unravelling themysteries of the rather thread-bare plot of the play. Being, however, quite unaccustomed to dealing with this dual condition of mind it isto be feared he was a little "distrait" and mechanical of speech. Constantia allowed him the first act to play out his mood and thenwith charming imperiousness claimed his full attention, gained it, andwith it, his gratitude for timely distraction. 

Half way through the play he remembered this was the theatre at whichMrs. Sartin and Jessie were employed. He mentioned the fact to Mrs. Wyatt, who remarked gravely their names were not on the programme. Christopher equally gravely explained quite briefly. If he foundnothing surprising in his own interest in these friends of the past, he never made the error of imagining they would be of interest tonewer friends. There was a certain independence in his attitudetowards all affairs that touched him nearly, which even at this earlyage made him a free citizen of the world in which he chanced to move. This attitude of mind was more in evidence to-night than he hadimagined. Personally, he quite appreciated the fact he was sitting ina box with one of the loveliest women in London, and that she waseverything that was charming and nice to him, but it never occurred tohim that half the men in the theatre would have given a big share oftheir worth to be in his place; he was almost childishly unconsciousof the envious glances he earned. Constantia was not: neither was sheblind to his attitude of personal content and impersonal oblivion. Itamused her vastly, and she compiled an exceedingly entertaining letterto Aymer on the strength of it. 

"He handed me over to Basil in the vestibule afterwards, " sheconcluded, "with the most engaging air of having been allowed aspecial treat and fully appreciating it, and departed straightway toconduct Mrs. Sartin, dresser at the theatre, to her house in the wildsof Lambeth. He owned it in the most ingenuous way, seeing nothingwhatever of pathos in it. Does he lack sense of humour?"

Aymer, ignoring the rest of the letter, refuted this query with pagesof vigorous sarcasm, to the complete delight and triumph of hissister. 

Christopher, having ascertained from a suspicious doorkeeper that Mrs. Sartin would not be free for twenty minutes, cooled his heels in adark, draughty passage with what patience he could. 

He seized on Mrs. Sartin as she came unsuspectingly down a windingstair, and bore her off breathless, remonstrating, but fluttering withpride, in a hansom. 

"I'm only up for a few days, " he explained. "Sam dines with meto-morrow and I want you to come out somewhere in the afternoon. Crystal Palace, or wherever Jessie likes. "

Mrs. Sartin's face and Mrs. Sartin's person had expanded in the lastfew years and her powers of expressing emotion seemed to have expandedwith her person. Disappointment was writ large on her amplecountenance. 

"Well, now, if that isn't a shame and a contrariwise of purpose. I'vetaken a job, Mr. Christopher, for that blessed afternoon. I'vepromised to dress Miss Asty, who is making a debût at a matiny at theCourt. Eliza Lowden, she was goin' to dress her, but she can't set awig as I can. "

"What a nuisance. But, anyhow, Jessie isn't engaged, is she?"

For an instant he had a glimpse of Mrs. Sartin's full face, dubious, questioning, even hostile, but to him it was merely the result offlickering light and conveyed nothing. 

"I don't rightly know, " she said slowly, "maybe she doesn't care muchfor gadding about. "

"Rubbish, " he retorted contemptuously, "if you can't come, Jessie mustanyway. "

Mrs. Sartin held firmly to the carriage door and the oscillation ofthe cab caused her to nod violently, but it was not in assent toChristopher's proposition. She appeared to be turning something overin her slow mind. 

"I don't know but what I could arrange with Eliza, " she remarked. 

"Of course you can, like a good woman; and you and Jessie come up toAston House at one o'clock and say where you'd like to go, and we'llgo. "

Martha demurred. "Mr. Aston won't like it. "

"Won't like what?"

"Our comin' to 'is 'ouse, like as if we 'ad any claim on you. "

"Do I or you know Mr. Aston best?" he demanded imperiously. "Claimindeed. Martha, you dear old stupid, where would I be now, if youhadn't taken my mother in?"

"That were just a chance, Mr. Christopher, because I 'appened to becomin' 'ome late and your pore ma was took bad on the bridge as Icrossed, and bein' a woman what 'ad a family, I saw what was thematter. "

"What was it more than a chance that Cæsar in looking for a boy toadopt stumbled on the son of someone he used to know?"

Again the oscillation made Mrs. Sartin nod vigorously. She bestowed onher companion another of those shrewd, dubious glances, began asentence and stopped. 

"Yes. What were you saying?" asked Christopher absently. 

"You've come quite far enough, Mr. Christopher, " she announced, withthe air of a woman come to a decision, "you just tell that man on thetop to stop and let me out. Thanking you all the same, but I don'tcare to be seen driving 'ome this time of night and settin' folksa-talking. You set me down, there's a dear Mr. Christopher. "

She got her way in the matter of dismissing the cab, but not indismissing Christopher, her primary desire, lest an indiscreet tongueshould prompt her to say more than was "rightful, " as she explained toJessie. 

"For if the dear innocent don't see 'ow the land lays, it isn't for meto show 'im, and Mr. Aymer so good to Sam. "

"Maybe you are all wrong, " said Jessie shortly. 

Mrs. Sartin sniffed contemptuously. 

The Sartins no longer inhabited Primrose Buildings, but were proudinhabitants of a decent little house in a phenomenally dull street, sufficiently near the big "Store" to suit Sam's convenience. Samhimself came to the door and, late as it was, insisted on walking backwith Christopher into the region of cabs, and, becoming engrossed inconversation, naturally walked far beyond it. 

"This partnership business, " began Sam at once, "I do wish, Chris, you'd get Mr. Aymer to make it a loan business. I'd be a sight betterpleased. "

"I can't for the life of me see why, " Christopher objected with afrown. "It's only a matter of a few hundred pounds, and if Cæsarchooses to spend it on you instead of buying a picture or enamel, orthat sort of toy, why should you object. It's not charity. "

"Then what is it?" demanded Sam, "because I'm not a toy. Don't fly outat me, Chris, be reasonable. I'm as grateful to him as I can be, and Imean to use the chance he's given me all I can. But this partnershipbusiness beats me. It's all very well for him to do things for you. Ofcourse he couldn't do less; but how do I come in?"

A drunken man reeled out of a house and lurched against Christopher, who put out his hand to steady him without a word of comment, and whenthe drinker had found his balance, he turned again to Sam with sharpindignation. 

"He could do a jolly sight less for me and still be more generous thanmost people's fathers. There's no 'of course' about it. "

Sam stared stolidly in front of him. 

"That's just it. It's one thing to do it for someone belonging to one, and another thing to do it for a stranger, " he persisted. 

"Well, that's just how I feel, only I don't make a fuss. It's Cæsar'sway, and a precious good way for us. "

They parted at last with no better understanding on the vexed subject, and Christopher, once back at Aston House, sat frowning over the fireinstead of going to bed. Why all of a sudden had this question of hisamazing indebtedness to Aymer been so persistently thrust on him. Hitherto he had accepted it with generous gratitude, without question, had recognised no room for speculation, allowed no play to whispers ofcuriosity. It was Cæsar's will. Now he was suddenly aware, however hemight close his mind, others speculated; however guard his soul frominquisitiveness, others questioned, and it angered him for Cæsar'ssake. His mother had never spoken to him of the past, never opened herlips as to the strange sacrifice she had made for her unborn child, except once when they were hurriedly leaving London by stealth, afterthe episode with Martha Sartin's rascally husband. Mrs. Hibbault hadremarked wearily: "I wonder, Jim, shall I spend my life taking youout of the way of bad men?"

When he asked her if she had done it before she answered: "I took youfrom your father. " It was the only time he remembered her mentioningthat unknown father; he recollected still how her face had changed andshe had hurried her steps, as if haunted by a new suspicion. 

It gave him quite unreasonable annoyance that these thoughts intrudedthemselves to-night, when he wanted to give his full attention to thewonder and glory of the discovery he had made in Constantia Wyatt'scompany. That was, indeed, a matter of real moment. How had hecontrived to be blind to it so long? He had not reached the age oftwenty-one without entertaining vague theories concerning love, andhaving definitely decided that it had nothing to do with the travestyof its name which had confronted him on his wanderings. Neither tastenor training, nor the absorbing passion for his work had left him timeor wish to explore this field which roused only an impatient contemptwhen thrust on his notice. Of Love itself, as before stated, he heldvague theories: regarding it rather as a far-off event which wouldmeet him in future years and land him eventually at Hymen's feet. Andhere he found all such theories suddenly reversed. The first momentthe idea of marriage was presented to his notice the vision of theonly possible bride for him stood out with quite definitedistinctness. Instead of Love being a prelude to the thought ofMarriage, that thought had been the crashing chords that had openedhis mind to Love. But the Love had been already there, unrecognised. He found he could no way now imagine himself as apart from Patricia. To eliminate her presence from his heart was to lose part of hisindividuality; to separate his practical life from her was as if hewantonly destroyed a limb. Away from her actual presence and beforethis dual conception of themselves he was of assured courage, thankfulness and strange joy, but the moment his thoughts flew to herin concrete form, to Patricia Connell at Marden Court, he experienceda reversion: his confidence was gone, the assured vision became a veryfar-away possibility, a glory which he might hardly hope to attain. 

Very slowly this latter aspect blotted out the first triumphant joy ofhis discovery. Mundane things, such as Renata Aston's wishes, Cæsar'sconsent, and even the person of Geoffry Leverson interposed betweenPatricia and him. This mood had its sway and in turn succumbed to anawakening of his dormant will and every fighting instinct. Patriciamust be his, was his potentially, but he recognised she was not hisfor the asking. He would have to acquire the right to say to Cæsar, "Iwant to marry Mrs. Aston's sister. " Aymer might easily make the waysmooth for him, if he would. He had no reason then for believing hewould oppose the idea. Yet Christopher knew that in the gamut ofpossible needs and desires the one thing he could not freely acceptfrom Cæsar's hands was his wife. His life was before him, beforePatricia too. When he reached this point in his deliberation he made asudden movement. The fire had gone out and it was very cold. Christopher decided it was time to go to bed. 

CHAPTER XV

Jessie proved by no means averse to "gadding about, " as her motherexpressed it. She and Mrs. Sartin turned up punctually at Aston House, though laden with an air of desperate resolve. On their way they hadboth cheerfully concealed some tremulous qualms and neither hadventured to express a dormant wish that Mr. Christopher had chosensome other spot for lunch than the lordly, sombre, half-opened house. It was not until they stood beneath the great portico that their vaguediscomfort got the upper hand, and Mrs. Sartin agreed without demur toJessie's suggestion that they should seek a smaller entrance. As theywere turning away the great door swung open and Christopher came out. 

"How jolly of you to be so punctual, " he cried, greeting them warmly. "Where were you off to? Did you think I wasn't at home because theblinds were down? They don't open all the house for me, " he added, leading the way through the great hall. "I live on the garden side. "

Mrs. Sartin had no mind to hurry: she wanted to take in the solidbeauties as she passed. Jessie plucked her nervously by the sleeveseeing Christopher was outpacing them, and terrified of being left inthat labyrinth of corridor without a guide. However, once within thesunny little room with its homely comforts and Christopher's kindlyself for host, they regained their wonted composure. 

The smallness of the staff left in charge at Aston House gaveChristopher an excuse for dispensing with the services of Burton, thefootman, and the meal was a great success. It never occurred to thehost to think these good kind friends of his in any way out of placehere. His sense of humour was quite unruffled, nay, he was evengenuinely pleased to see the good, ample Martha, the strings of herblack bonnet untied, her face wreathed in smiles, vigorously clearingout a tart dish, and Jessie's homely features lit up with passiveenjoyment, her brown eyes shining beneath the ridiculous curls. 

They had chosen the Hippodrome for their afternoon's amusement, andthere was plenty of time after lunch to show them some of the gloriesof Aston House. Christopher led them through the shrouded rooms, butthe treasures he displayed to view were not so much those of artisticmerit as those which had pleased his own boyish fancy years before. Passing down a corridor he stopped by a remote closed door. Jessie wasexamining some Wedgewood plaques a little way off. Christopher lookedat Mrs. Sartin with a queer little smile. 

"When I was a kid, " he said rather shamefacedly, "I used to play thatmy mother was going about the place with me. You see there were nowomen-folk, and the pretence seemed to help things. I used to make itseem more real by always starting here, and pretending that was herroom. It was the only door that was always locked. "

"Lor', what a queer idea!" ejaculated Mrs. Sartin, gazing suspiciouslyat the closed door. 

Christopher laughed. "Oh, I've been in since; there's nothing therebut newspapers, quite a dull little room. But it was an odd fancy. Myfeeling was so strong I used to take her round and show her thingsI've shown you to-day. I always wanted to show them to someone insteadof the real treasures, which are rather dull, you know. "

Mrs. Sartin said again it was very queer. She followed Jessie andChristopher reluctantly with backward glances towards the door, fullof puzzled suspicion. When they were again in the hall it was time tostart for the Hippodrome, and there was a great deal of patting ofhats and tying of strings before a Venetian mirror. 

But Aymer Aston's room, with its world-famed pictures, was unvisited. 

When the Hippodrome performance was over and he had seen his guestssafely homeward, Christopher called on Constantia Wyatt and found herin. She seemed in no wise surprised to see him, but asked him promptlywhen he was going down to Marden. 

"I don't know, " he said slowly, his eyes on the fire, "I don't think Ishall go back yet. "

Constantia rang the bell and told the footman she was not at home, andthen drew her chair up to the fire and made Christopher some freshtea. 

"Is London proving so very attractive?" she inquired. 

"I shan't stay in town. I think I shall go abroad again. I want tothink. "

"Dear, dear. Is Marden such a bad atmosphere for the intelligence?"

He coloured up boy-like and then laughed. 

"There are too many clever people to help one think there. Also thereis a man in Belgium trying some private road experiments. I want tohelp him. "

"What will Aymer say to it?"

"He thinks I've been idle long enough. "

"And the man in Belgium will help you to think?"

"I'm afraid that's my own job. "

Constantia rose and wandered round the room, vaguely touching a flowerhere and there and presently came to stand behind her visitor's chair. She was thinking how young he was, and how strong, and that Patriciawas a fortunate girl. Her eyes were very soft and kind as she bentover his chair and touched his shoulder with her fingers. 

"Christopher, you are in love!"

Very young indeed, was her inward comment on his startled wonderingface turned to her. 

"How do you know?" he asked, making no denial of the fact. Denialwould have savoured of disloyalty to his new kingdom. 

She laughed gently. "Don't you even know that? What a lot I couldteach you if Aymer would hand you over. Listen, Master Christopher, love is the only thing men want to think about alone, just as it's theonly thing a woman never wants to keep to herself. You could think tomuch better advantage at Marden but it's no use telling you so. Youwon't believe it. "

"I do believe it, only it's not a question of _my_ advantage, yousee. "

"There spoke Aymer's pupil. Remember roads take a good deal of makingand short cuts were made for--lovers. "

She returned to the fire and stood there looking at him with aninterest that surprised herself: a tall, gracious presence whoseknowledge of his secret hurt not one bit, so clearly did it lie withinthe realms wherein all gracious, tender women reign. 

Then she changed the subject quite abruptly, thrust it back into thosehazy regions of speculation from which Christopher had so hardly andimpatiently dragged it the previous night. 

"I wonder if your mother were alive, if she would be satisfied withyou, Christopher, and if she would still want to make a socialist ofyou. "

"My mother?" he echoed dully. 

For a while he struggled with a strange inability to lay hold on theshadowy form he knew so well. He looked round the beautiful room thatwas but a setting to a lovely woman and then back at her. Why had shespoken of his mother? He again attempted to crystallise the thought ofthe dearly loved, defeated woman in the presence of her to whom theworld denied nothing. 

"I can't do it, " he said aloud with a quick breath. 

"Do what?" she queried swiftly, but got no answer. 

"Was my mother a socialist?" he asked presently with difficulty. 

"So I have always understood. "

"Who told you so?"

"My father. I thought you knew that, Christopher, or I should not havementioned it. All I know is, she chose to be poor rather than exposeyou to the dangers of wealth. I know nothing else. "

Christopher stood up. "Thank you, " he said, "I believe I did knowthat, but I have never been reminded of it. I do not know her story: Isuppose she did not wish me to know it, but I do know whatever shechose, whatever she did, it was chosen and done because it seemed toher the right course and therefore the only one she could take. "

Constantia nodded, still gazing at the fire. 

"Aymer's training on the top of that, " she mused, "I suppose you areaccounted for. "

He grew red and looked a boy again. "I should have much to account forif I failed them. "

"Them?" She swung round. 

"Cæsar and my mother. "

There was a pause. 

"And so you will go to Belgium and think?" she said lightly. 

"No, I shall go to Belgium and work. "

"You said _think_, " she insisted. 

"I have thought here. I was not sure when I came, but I am now. "

"May I know what you have thought?"

For a moment the strangeness of speaking to her like this held himdumb. How did it happen she should know so much and must know more, she who had been barely a real individual to him before? It bewilderedand confused him. He did not understand that the unspoken passionateclaim he made on one woman had broken the barriers between him andwoman-kind, that because he loved Patricia Connell he could speak toConstantia Wyatt, for they stood together on holy ground. 

"You have every right. You helped me after all, " he said doubtfully, but smiling "I ought not to have hesitated. Cæsar is waiting for me tomake roads, not to take short cuts. "

"You think love can better afford to wait than Cæsar?"

"I have my life before me. "

"And if you lose her?"

"It is settled, " he said simply. 

She drew in her breath. By every law of man he was right, and yet allthe woman in her cried out against this decision as falseness to someother law imperfectly understood, but clamorous for recognition. Nevertheless how her heart went out to him for the quiet finality ofthat refusal to yield to a law not of his own making! She was proud hewas so much the handiwork of Aymer, while she recognised the veryweakness of his strength. 

"He will lose her, " she mused as she sat alone when he had gone, "andit would break Aymer's heart if he knew, but he won't know. He hassucceeded in making a man of him, but, oh, what a nice boy he wouldhave been!"

So Christopher turned his back on the great discovery and went toBelgium. Whereupon Patricia complained bitterly, but her golfimproved, and Geoffry Leverson, who knew nothing of road-making, started on a very short cut indeed. 

The Roadmaker remained in Belgium longer than he expected and in thelaboratory of a great man stumbled on the key of the discovery that ina few years was to make him famous from one end of Europe to theother. 

When the apple blossoms were again blushing pink across the land andthe blue sky was piled high with dreams of love castles, Christopherremembered the short cut and abruptly announced his intention ofreturning home. He sent no warning of his coming, but arrived one dayat Aston House with his beloved car. It was in his heart to continuehis journey straight away, but thinking what pleasure it would giveAymer to watch the practical working of his experiment, he put asidethe dictates of his desires and spent the day purchasing materials. Also he called on Constantia and found himself incomprehensibly makingexcuses for the delay. "I shall go down early to-morrow, " he said; "itcan make no difference, since they do not know I am in England. "

"No, I don't suppose it can, " said Constantia thoughtfully. 

CHAPTER XVI

Christopher flecked an imaginary speck of dust from the burnishedmetal of his car. He was all ready to start, but seeing a postmancoming up the drive, waited to take down the latest delivery ofletters, and as he waited a hansom drove up, and since his caroccupied the portico, stopped at the side. A big form emerged with ajovial red face and wide shoulders. It was six years since Christopherhad seen the man, but his name and personality and, above all, theantipathy with which he had formerly inspired him flashed withlightning vividness to his mind. Peter Masters glanced at Christopherwith a momentary puzzled look and turned to ring the bell. 

"If you want to see Mr. Aston, Mr. Masters, he is at Marden, and Aymeralso. I'm just going down. "

"Ah. " The keen eyes searched him up and down. "I've seen you before;can't place you, though; you aren't Nevil's boy. "

"No, I'm----" Christopher hardly knew why he changed the form of hisanswer, or that he had. "I'm the boy Aymer adopted. You saw me aboutsix years ago. "

"Oh, I remember. Christopher Aston, they call you. You did not likeme. What have you done with that clever head of yours, eh?"

Christopher carefully examined a nut on the car. 

"Well, never mind. When will Cousin Charles be back?"

"Not until May if he can help it. "

"Not well?"

"Quite well, thank you. "

Peter Masters stood biting his lip and considering. The footmanbrought out some letters which Christopher put in his pocket and thenmounted. 

"Can I take any message for you?" he asked politely. 

"Are you going straight to Marden now?"

"Yes. "

"Alone?"

Christopher devoutly hoped he was, but a sudden fear assailed him: hewould not make the momentous journey in solitude. He answered somewhatindistinctly. 

"You might run me down; I must see Cousin Charles. "

"I should warn you it is a new road to me and I've had my car nearly ayear; it's due to go wrong somehow, and I drive rather fast. "

"I expect you set sufficient value on your own life to insure mine. "

"It will be cold. You can't ride in that thin coat. "

"You pass the Carlton; I'm staying there. It won't delay us twominutes. What luck. "

He walked round and got into the car, oblivious of the trifling factits owner had neither acquiesced nor expressed an enthusiasm over theluck. 

"I hope he is nervous, " thought Christopher vindictively, "thoughthere's not much chance of it. He hasn't much hair to stand on end, but I'll do my best to make it. "

Peter Masters rolled himself contentedly in the spare rug. "Ready, " hesaid cheerfully. 

Christopher, however, made no attempt to start. He beckoned to thefootman. 

"Fetch me the blue paper-covered book you'll find on the secondleft-hand shelf of the low book-case in my room, Burton. "

He waited immovable while the man went on the errand, being quitedetermined to start unprompted by Mr. Masters if he started at all. The old butler came out and acknowledged Mr. Masters's presence with adeferential bow. He addressed himself to Christopher. 

"Mr. Christopher, will you tell Mr. Aymer we've raised the Raphael inhis room, as he said, four inches, but the paper is a little faded andit shows. What will he like us to do?"

Christopher nodded. "All right, I'll tell him. I shall probably be upagain next week. "

"We shall be glad to see you again, sir. "

Burton returned in indecorous hurry with the book. Christopher badethem good-bye in a friendly way and the car glided quietly down thedrive out into the busy thoroughfare. 

"You are quite at home there, " remarked Mr. Masters affably. 

"It happens to be my home. "

It was a very busy hour and the driver of the car might reasonably beexcused if he were silent. At all events if Mr. Masters spoke, Christopher did not hear him. They slipped in and out of the traffic, glided round corners, slid with smooth swiftness along free stretchesof road, crept gingerly across a maze of cross-ways and drew up at theCarlton. 

Peter Masters, who appreciated the situation and found humour in it, plunged into that Palace of Travellers and reappeared in an incrediblyshort time, coated for the occasion. 

"Now, " he said cheerily, "we are ready for the fray--when you areready, Master Christopher, " he added with a twinkle in his eye. 

But Christopher's ill-temper had evaporated with the short wait. Afterall, the man was Aymer's cousin, and he couldn't help being a brute, and if he really wanted to see St. Michael perhaps it was a piece ofluck for him that the postman was late. So he laughed and said alittle shyly he hoped Mr. Masters would not mind his not talking tillthey were out of the streets. 

"I shall expect conversation with compound interest, " returned theother good-humouredly. 

He was, however, quite quiet until Christopher turned into a narrowback street. 

"That's not your best way, " said Peter Masters sharply. 

"I'm going to call on a friend, " replied the driver without apology. 

They threaded their way through a maze of small ill-looking streets, slowly enough, for there were children all over the road; notinfrequently a big dray forced them to proceed backwards. Mastersnoted that Christopher never expected the legitimate traffic shouldgive way to him. They emerged at last on a crowded thoroughfare ofSouth London, where small shops elbowed big ones and windows blazedwith preposterous advertisements. There were trams too, and scarcelyroom for the big car between rail and pavement. Presently they stoppedbefore a prosperous-looking grocery store. A white-aproned man rushedout with undisguised complacency to wait on the fine equipage. 

"I want to see Mr. Sartin if he's free, " said Christopher, and waitedquietly. 

In a minute Sam was with them, white-aproned, pencil behind ear. ToMasters's amusement his companion greeted the young grocer with thefamiliarity of long friendship. 

"I heard from Jessie the other day, " said Christopher when he hadexplained his appearance; "what about this man Cladsley? Is she goingto marry him?"

Sam looked down the street, a little frown on his face. 

"Jessie'd no business to write you. Cladsley's all right. Don't youworry about Jessie. "

"I'm not worrying, " laughed the other, "I only wanted to be sure itwas suitable and all that. "

"I'll look after Jessie. " The words were ungracious, but Sam lookedworried and uncertain. "You've done enough for us. "

"You old dog in the manger, " persisted Christopher good-temperedly, "you'll never let me do anything for Jessie, and, after all, it wasshe who used to take my part when you fought me, Master Sam, andwouldn't let you bully me. "

Sam grinned. "Yes, it was always Jim that was in the right then. Don'tyou bother. Cladsley's a good sort if she would only make up hermind. "

"I gathered his job would be up soon and I thought I might findanother for him if it's all straight with them. That's why I came tosee you. "

Sam appeared still reluctant. 

"It's all beastly stuck-up pride on your part, " concluded Christopherafter more argument. "I expect you'll cut me next; you are getting tooprosperous, Mr. Sartin. "

But they parted good friends, and the car re-threaded its way throughthe crowded streets out into a meaner, more deserted neighbourhood, till at length they emerged on a long empty straight road with smallyellow brick houses on either side, as yet uninhabited. 

"What's the engaging young grocer's name?" asked Masters abruptly. 

"Sartin--Sam Sartin. "

"Known him long?"

"We were children together. "

"Relations, perhaps?"

"No. "

"Why did he call you Jim?"

"I used to be Jim. "

"James Aston?"

"No. "

"What then?"

"I've forgotten, " said Christopher very deliberately. 

Mr. Masters laughed genially. "I like a good liar. You don't want totell me anything about yourself. Very likely you are wise, but all thesame I am very curious to know all about you--who you are, and how youcame to the Astons, and who was your mother, and when and where Aymermet her. You see, " he added confidentially, "I used to be about withAymer a good bit and I thought I knew all----" He stopped abruptly. Ifhe were being purposely tactless he realised he had gone far enough. 

"I do not think Aymer ever met my mother. I am certain you haven't. Mr. Aston used to know her, and suggested Aymer's adopting me when heheard I was left stranded in a workhouse. I was just a workhouse boy. Now, are you satisfied as to my private history, sir?"

"No, " retorted the inquisitor good-humouredly as ever, "you must havehad a father, you know. "

"It seems possible. I do not remember him. "

He began to resign himself to fate and this Juggernaut of a man whorolled other people's feelings flat with no more compunction than atraction engine. 

"Fathers are useful. You may want to remember, some-day. "

"I'm quite satisfied at present. "

"I'm not suggesting you have anything to complain of. Aymer doesn't dothings by halves. Christopher is as much a family name as Aston, forexample. "

Something in his tone caught Christopher's attention and he looked athim sharply. Peter Masters was gazing straight before him with thatsame cynical smile on his face it had worn when Christopher was firstintroduced to him six years ago. 

"I wonder why on earth they did that?" ruminated the Juggernaut. "Cousin Charles is capable of any unworldly folly, but Aymer was a manof the world once. It looks like colossal bluff. "

And then the meaning of all this swept over Christopher's mind like awave of fire, scorching his soul, desecrating and humiliating the verymainspring of his life. 

Aymer's son! He knew Masters believed it as surely as if he hadblurted it out in his own unbearable way, and it was not to save him, it was from no sense of decency Masters had not said it audibly. Christopher longed to fling the unspoken lie back to him, to refusethe collaboration of detail that the passing minutes crowded on hisnotice. He put on speed; tried to outstrip the evil thought of it, tothink only of Cæsar, the dear companion of his days, the steadyfriend, the unobtrusive mentor and guide. But a thought he could notoutstrip slipped into his mind so insidiously and stealthily, he couldnot tell how or whence it came. 

"You only know Cæsar; you never knew Aymer Aston of the silent past. "

Faster and faster rushed the car in futile attempt to outpace thewhispered treason. The speed indicator stood at 40 and still mounted. 

"I should like to remark, " said Peter Masters thoughtfully, "that Ihave not yet made my will and it would cause some inconvenience to avast number of people to have several millions left masterless. "

"It's an open road, " returned Christopher, "I know what I'm at. Iexpect I enjoy life as much as you do. "

He slowed down suddenly, however, to about twenty miles an hour topass an old woman in a donkey cart, and the hateful thought swept onin advance apparently, for he overtook it again when their speed ranup ten points. 

Christopher had chosen a rather circuitous route which offered fewervillages than the general high-road. It was a glorious day, the bankswere starry with primroses, and all the hedgerows, just bursting intogreen rosettes, were hunting ground for birds innumerable. 

Green emerald grass in water-meadows, fresh green growth on thehillside, and red bud and green promise hung from every tree. Thecrisp air whispered warnings of frosts still to come, but braced thenerve and gladdened the heart nevertheless, and called imperiously toyouth to seek its kingdom. Christopher was at no pains to spare thenerves of the master of millions, and though he invariably creptthrough villages and towns sedately and drove with an eye forcrossroads and distant specks on the white track before him, theyswept through the open country with a breathless rush. 

How good it would have gone alone, Christopher thought savagely, andresentment rose high in his heart. He was going to meet Patricia forthe first time with understanding eyes. In the past months his lovehad grown with steady insistence until the imperious voice of spring, singing in concord with it, had overridden the decision of hisstubborn will, demanding surrender, clamorous for recognition, and nowhaving allowed the claim he was again forced back on the unsolvedquestion of his own history. It was as if some imp of mischief hadcoupled his love to the Past, and had left him without knowledge toloose the secret knot. The silence became intolerable for fear of thenext words that might break it from his companion. It would be betterto take control himself--so he slackened speed a little and had thesatisfaction of hearing Peter Masters heave a relieved sigh. 

"The roads here need re-making, " as they proceeded bumpily over arather bad piece of ground. 

"For motors?"

"For everything. A road should be easy going for motors, horses, andfoot-passengers. Easy and safe. "

"How would you do it?"

"A raised causeway for walkers; a road for carriages, and a track formotors. It only means so many yards more and there is plenty of land. Look at that turf--four yards of it. Might as well be road. "

"What are you going to make your roads of?"

Christopher took a deep breath; the pace of the car increased alittle. 

"That has to be found--will be found. It is a question of time. "

"And you mean to find it?"

"A good many people mean to find it. "

Masters shook his head. 

"It won't pay you so well as iron, Master Christopher. My offer isstill open. "

Christopher was so surprised that he nearly swerved into an unfencedpond they were passing. 

"It was very kind of you to make it again, " Christopher managed tostammer out, adding with a bluntness worthy of Masters himself, "Inever could understand why you made it at all. "

"Neither do I, " returned Peter Masters with a laugh, "and I generallyknow what I'm at. Perhaps I thought it would please Aymer. As I toldyou just now, we were friends before his accident. I suppose you'veheard all about that?"

For a brief moment Christopher felt temptation grip him. He wasconvinced the man beside him knew the untold story, and at thisjuncture in his life he would give much to understand all those thingshe had never questioned or ventured to consider. Then recognisingdisloyalty in the very thought, he hastened to escape the pitfall. Itwas no use to take half measures with this man, however, so he liedagain boldly. 

"Of course I know, " and went back again to safer ground. "Whateveryour reasons, it was good of you to think of me and kinder still torenew your offer. I expect you will think me a silly fool of a boy torefuse it again. "

"Not exactly; but a boy brought up by an Aymer Aston the second. "

"That is sufficient luck for one boy to grab out of life. "

Peter Masters chuckled. "I take it, young man, you'd rather befathered by Aymer than by me, eh?"

Christopher muttered a very fervent affirmative between clenchedteeth, which did not appear to reach his hearer's ears, for as Mastersfinished his own sentence he shot a sudden, sharp, puzzled look atChristopher, and his teeth shut together with a click. He spoke nomore and when Christopher hazarded a remark he got no answer. 

The glory of the day was at its height when Marden came in sight; thewhole world seemed to have joined in a peon of thanksgiving which forthe moment drowned the unwonted echoes in Christopher's heart thatPeter Masters's hard voice had awoken. 

Youth was his, Love was his, and Patricia was to be his, and he wasgoing to see her. He covered the distance from the lodge gates to thehouse in a time that taxed his companion's nerve to the uttermost andbid fair to outpace even the throbbing, rushing pulse of spring thatfilled the land. 

CHAPTER XVII

Patricia was in the orchard, and not only in the orchard, but of it, for she was comfortably perched on a low bough of an ancient hoaryapple tree. She had a volume of Robert Bridges's poems in her hand anda thirst was on her to be at the edge of a cliff and look over intoblue space below. The secluded orchard with its early crown of pinkblushes, the serene shut-in valley screened from cold winds andcradled between the chalky highlands, weighed on her. She lookedupwards through the dainty tracery of soft green and pink to the skyabove, delicately blue with white clouds racing over it. There was airup there, free and untrammelled. Patricia sighed and then laughed atherself, for it was good, even here in the narrow orchard, life withits coming possibilities, its increasing riches. She was glad to bealone at that moment if only to share a thought with the poet who atthis period held sway over her mind. 

The previous evening had been one of great moment to her and she wasjoyfully thankful to find that it obscured and clouded no particle ofthe daily simple joy of her existence. She had claimed this day toherself, free from all new issues to prove this point, and her heartsang with content for what had been, was, and would be. 

The orchard gate clicked, and looking through the intervening boughsand leaflets, she saw Christopher coming across the grass towards herwith his even, swinging step. 

In her rough grey dress she was as part of the rough tree herself. Hergolden head and the delicate lovely colouring of her face rivalledthe tree's darling blossoms, so Christopher thought when he reachedher. He came straight to her through the maze of old and young treesand had the exquisite joy of seeing her flush with surprise andpleasure at sight of him. Here indeed she felt was the one addition toher day that she needed. She did not descend from her perch, and itwas his hand which steadied her there when excitement imperilled herthrone. 

"To come down on us without warning like this!" she expostulated, smiling down at him. "Why, we might have had no leisure to see you orluncheon to give you! When did you actually come?"

"Half an hour and five minutes ago. I've seen Cæsar and St. Michael, and I've had luncheon. "

"And have you come to stay?"

"I don't know yet. " He leant his arm on the bough where she sat, whichwas of exactly convenient height. 

"The amount of leisure you seem to have on hand, " said Patriciaseverely, "is outrageous, considering how hard the rest of the familywork. "

"Especially Nevil, " laughed Christopher. 

"Especially Nevil. We have not sat down to a meal with him for threeweeks. He nearly walked on Max's puppy last week and he has forgottenCharlotte's existence except as a penwiper--she went in to him onemorning with a message and came out with an ink smudge on her reddress--she _said_ it was his pen--the dress is the same colour as thepenwiper, so she may be right. He paid no attention to the message. "

"Well, at present, if you take the trouble to go into the Rosery youwill find Nevil lying by the fountain catching goldfish with Max. I donot think he remembered I'd been away. "

"Oh, I am glad, " cried Patricia, clapping her hands; "of course it'svery nice of him to be so clever and write so beautifully, but it'smuch nicer when he's just a dear silly thing--and catches goldfish. But tell me about yourself now. Are you well? And have you beenworking hard? Why aren't you in Belgium, why have you come, and whatare you going to do, and when are you going back?"

"Stop, I can't keep more than five questions in my head at once andI've answered several of yours already. The first is trivial; you haveeyes. I have been working as usual; it's no use to explain how, youhave no conception of work at all. I am not in Belgium because I amhere in a better place. I am going to enjoy myself, I hope, and Ishall go away when it pleases me. "

"Indeed, Your Highness. You have not explained why you came. "

"I think, " said Christopher, considering hard and speaking with slowdeliberation, "I _think_, only it is so preposterously silly, that Icame to see you, or perhaps it was Cæsar or Nevil if it were notMax. "

Patricia laughed deliciously and leant forward, making pretence to boxhis ears. Christopher shook the bough in revenge till she cried pax, and peace supervened. 

"Since you have evidently no business of your own to see to, " she saidseverely, "it shall be my business to teach you to appreciate RobertBridges. "

"I don't like his name; who is he?" Christopher grumbled. 

"He is a genius and you must sit at his feet and listen. "

"Isn't it respectful to stand?"

She regarded him gravely with her head on one side. "True humilitysits ill on you, I fear. You may stand if you take off your hat. "

He flung it on the grass obediently. 

"The Cliff Edge. " "The Cliff Edge has a carpet ... Of purple, gold, and green. "

She read the little poem all through, her sweet, appreciative voicemaking music of the lines already melodious. Christopher wondered ifthe writer ever knew how beautiful his words could be made. 

"Is that not lovely?" she asked when she finished, leaning forward sothat her hand and the book rested for a moment on his arm. 

Christopher nodded without moving. 

"It makes me thirsty for the sea, " she went on, "for sky, for space tomove and breathe. Oh, Christopher, things here are either old orsmall. All the great and beautiful things are old, the glory of it, the house, the life, the very trees, old, old, old. And the rest issmall, protected and shut in. I want to feel things that are young andfree and great, as the sky and sea and the wind. I am thirstysometimes to stand on the edge of the cliff and taste the free, freeair from off the sea that has no one else's thoughts in it. Do youunderstand that?--the longing for something that does not belong toany part, to any one?"

"Yes, I understand. I feel it too, sometimes. "

"I knew you did. You see, it's because neither of us belong here--toMarden--really. Oh, I don't mean it horridly. It's the dearest placeand they are all the dearest people; but the life, the big thought ofit all, isn't ours. _Our_ people didn't help make it. "

Christopher made no answer. He was idly flinging bits of bark into hishat. If he were but certain--oh, if he could but be certain she wereright! He looked up at her at last. 

There could be no room for the grey shadows of doubt any longer. She_was_ right. He felt it as he looked and as the thought she suggestedsank deeper into his mind. Was not he truly one with her in it? He, too, had been conscious of a Life and History here at Marden not hisown, that exacted no obligations from him, but rather silentlyinsisted on the freedom. Such freedom, mated to hers, was the lastgreat boon he asked of life that had already given him so much. Stillhe hesitated for very fear of losing the joy of the hour that would behis and hers for eternity when he sealed it with the passionate wordsin his heart. 

"I know just what you mean, " he said, "it is no disloyalty to them tofeel it--only loyalty to ourselves. As for the sea and all that, Iwill motor you down to Milford whenever you like. "

"Oh, Christopher!" She clasped her hands with joy like a child. "Haveyou brought the new motor? What is it like?"

"It's a perfect love, Patricia. I drove it down from town to-day. Sucha road, stones, ruts--and it behaved like an angel although weightedwith an extra sixteen stone of colossal brutality--Peter Masters, Esquire, millionaire. "

"Oh, why on earth did you bring him down here?"

"He did not ask permission. He just came--wanted to see St. Michael. Don't let's talk about him. Let's talk about ourselves. We are muchmore interesting. "

"Egoist!"

"Doesn't the plural number cancel the egoism? But I really havesomething to tell you about myself. Two things, indeed, if you'llkindly listen. "

"I will try to be polite. Proceed. " She ensconced herself comfortablyagainst the trunk of the tree, folded her hands in her lap and smileddown at him under her half-shut lids. He also moved his position avery little so that he could see her better. 

"First, then, Patricia, I have actually done something in Belgium. Theroads of which I have dreamed are not quite such fantastic fanciesnow as they were a year ago. "

She sat erect at once, alert and brimming over with interest. 

"Oh, Christopher!"

"It is not done yet, " he went on slowly, "but it is on the way to bedone. It means that all the roads here, and the roads all over theworld, will one day be made easy to travel upon. It means that mud, dirt and noise will be evils of the past, and they will be roads thatwill last down the ages. " He stopped with a little catch in his breathand looked at her half ashamed, half pleadingly. 

But Patricia was gazing past him through a gap in the trees at a whiteflinty road that struggled up to the distant downs. "Yes, " she saidvery softly, as if fearing to quench a vision she saw there, "yes, that is a great and a good thing, and like you. "

"Thank you, " he answered laughing--the spell of their mutualearnestness pressed him too sorely. 

"Don't laugh, " she returned swiftly with a frown; "it is not thegoodness that's like you. It's a sort of strongness aboutit--something to hold on to for all time. " She stopped abruptly, looking at him gravely. 

This time he did not laugh, but he put one hand on hers, and his wasshaking. 

"Christopher, " she said coaxingly, "will you really take me down tothe sea when I like?"

"Whenever you like. "

"Then do it this afternoon. Now, at once, " she cried pleadingly, andseeing his face of amazement, added, "you promised, Christopher. "

"Of course. I'll do it; but why not to-morrow, when we can have a longday?"

"Because--because to-day is all my own, " she said softly, "andto-morrow isn't. Christopher, I did not mean to tell anyone to-day, but I must tell you, I am going to marry Geoffry, "--she flushed rosyred, but he did not see it--"it was last night--he wanted to see Nevilat once, but I wouldn't let him. I wanted this day to myself. It wasnice of you to come and make it complete. "

His hand still held hers, but it was still and motionless now. Shestroked it softly. Christopher drew it gently away. 

"You ought to wish me happiness or something, ought you not?" shesaid. 

"I do, Patricia, " he said, looking up at her. 

He wanted to say more; self-preservation demanded it, and againdemanded silence. Their voices seemed to him far away, speaking insome fairy orchard where he was not. He could barely hear them. 

"You'll pretend not to know anything about it till to-morrow, won'tyou?" she pleaded. "Don't spoil my day. It isn't that it won't beperfectly lovely to be engaged, but the past has been, lovely too, andI want to keep it a tiny bit longer. You'll help me, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll help you. "

If he could but keep to-day forever shut in his heart with her, thoughlife crumbled to ruins about them! But the invincible hours wereranged against him, and would claim it their own. 

"And you'll take me to the sea?"

"Yes, if you come at once. "

She descended from her perch with his help. She did not know his handsfelt numb and dead as he held and released her. 

"You haven't told me the second thing about yourself, " she remarked, brushing the bark and lichen from her dress. 

"It will keep, " he said quietly. 

And they went out of the orchard. 

CHAPTER XVIII

Whatever may have been the pressing business that caused Peter Mastersto seek his cousin's company in so speedy a manner, the immediatenecessity of it seemed to have evaporated on the journey. He sattalking of various things to Aymer and Charles Aston, but utterednothing as to the reason of his visit, and Mr. Aston, with his eye onAymer, chafed a little and found it hard to maintain his usualserenity. Aymer, on the contrary, seemed more deliberate and placidthan usual; there was a slowness in his speech, and an unusualwillingness to leave the conversation in his visitor's hands as if hemistrusted his own powers to keep it in desirable channels. Heappeared to have suddenly abdicated his position on the objectivepositive side of life and to have become a mere passive instrument ofthe hour, subjective and unresisting. 

It was his father who was ready, armed against fate, alert, watchfulto ward off all that might harm or distress his eldest son. Peterspoke of their exodus from London, their sojourn in the country, toldthem anecdotes of big deals, and was, in his big, burly, shrewd way, amusing and less ruthlessly tactless than usual. He had long ago givenup all hope of interesting Aymer in a financial career, but henevertheless retained a curiously respectful belief in his cousin'smental powers. 

"By the way, " he said presently, "I've not bought a car yet. That boyof yours seems to know something about them. Do you think he could betrusted to choose one for me?"

"Perfectly. "

Aymer's tone was completely impartial, and Peter ruminated over hisnext remark a moment. 

"You still mean him to stick to his Road Engineering?"

"He is perfectly free to do as he likes. "

Charles Aston put in a word. 

"He is twenty-two now, and he knows his own mind a good deal betterthan most boys of that age. He seems bent on carrying out his Roadscheme, and there seems no reason why he should not. " He pushed over abox of cigars to his visitor. 

"No, exactly. No reason at all. " Peter selected a cigar carefully. "Iexpect you find it very interesting watching how he turns out, don'tyou, Aymer?"

"It is not uninteresting. "

"You've not seen Nevil yet, " suggested Mr. Aston. "He is just out of aspell of work; come out in the garden and find him while you smoke. "

"Well, perhaps we might, if you don't mind being left, Aymer?" Peter'svoice was full of kindly interest. To him the great catastrophe wasever a new and awful thing, and Aymer an invalid to be considered andtreated with such attention as he knew how. 

"Not in the least, " said Aymer politely, marvelling how exactly hisfather had gauged the limits of his endurance. When the heavycurtained door had shut out voices and footsteps and only thestillness of the room was with him the forced passivity slipped fromAymer like a mask, and his was again the face of a fighter, of onestill fighting against fearful odds. 

He lay with clenched hands and rigid face, and great beads ofperspiration stood on his forehead, for that passive indifferencetowards what had become a matter of life and death to him was thefruit of a victory that had to be won again and again each time hisperilous position was assailed by the appearance of Peter Masters. 

His very existence had become so bound up in the life of the boy hehad taken as his own that the smallest fraying of the cord which boundthem together was a thought of new pain. The passionate, fiercelyjealous nature that had lain dormant so long had gathered strengthfrom silence and clamoured with imperious insistence on its right, tolove, to whole allegiance, to undisputed sway over Christopher. 

What right could this man, Christopher's father though he were, in theflesh, show beside his, Aymer Aston's? Every instinct rose inindignant rebellion against the fiat of his own conscience. 

For before his deep love was awake to confuse his judgment he haddeclared that if he might only be permitted to bring ElizabethMasters's son through the perilous passage of boyhood, he would neverstand between Christopher and what, after all, was his right due, andin the eyes of the world, his wonderful fortune. Elizabeth of thebrave heart and uncompromising creed had thought otherwise of thisfortune, as did Charles Aston and Aymer himself. The first hadimperilled her beloved child's bodily welfare to save him from whatshe thought an evil thing, and the Astons, father and son, had biddefiance to their hitherto straightforward policy and followedexpediency instead of open dealing, but there Aymer stopped. 

The decision he had made must be adhered to at all costs. It matterednothing he had not been in a position to count the cost ten years ago. He at least could not discount his own word. If Fate drew Christopherto the side of his unknown father, Aymer must put out no hand tointervene. 

But the cost of it--the cost!--He put his shaking hands over his face, trying to consider the position reasonably. 

Even if Peter Masters learnt the truth and claimed

Christopher, Christopher was of age and must act for himself, andAymer could not doubt his action. His misery lay in no suspicion ofChristopher's loyal love, but in his own unconquerable, wildly jealousdesire to stand alone in the post of honour, of true fatherhood to theson of the woman he had loved to such disastrous end. And behind thatlay the bitter, unquenchable resentment that, pretend as he would, Christopher was not his son, not even of unknown parentage, but inactual fact the son of the man who had unknowingly robbed him of love, and whom he had all his life alternately hated and despised. 

It was some subtle knowledge of what was passing in that still roomthat made Charles Aston a shade less kindly, a little more alert thanusual to hidden meanings, and it was the sight of Aymer's apparentpassivity in the face of all that threatened him, that brought him tothe mind to fight every inch of ground before he put into the hands ofPeter Masters the tangled clue of the story that he alone knew in allits completeness. 

The suspicion that had gripped Peter Masters on the journey down wasslowly stiffening into a certainty, but he was still undecided in hismind as to the line of action he would take. If these people withtheir ultra-heroic code of honour had fooled him, and forestalled himin this matter of his son with deliberate intent to frustrate anyadvances he might make, it would go hard with them in the end, cousinsor no cousins. Such was his first thought; but he had yet to provethey were not simply waiting for a sign to deliver back his son tohim, in which case Peter was not unprepared to be grateful, for hisheart--and he had one--had gone out to the plucky, determined youngman who had lied so bravely. Peter determined, therefore, he wouldgive Charles Aston a chance and see what happened. In a blindly, inarticulate way he felt it was impossible to play with Aymer, he waseven conscious it was a matter of great moment to him, though he couldnot in any manner see why it was so. 

"Nevil will survive if we put him off a little longer, " said Peter asthey crossed the hall, "I want to see you on a private matter, CousinCharles. "

Mr. Aston led the way without a word to his own room. He made no doubtas to what the matter was. Perhaps the shadow of the expectedinterview had lain too heavily on him of late to leave room forsuspicion of other affairs. 

It was a long, cheerful room, lined with books, and the furniture wassolid and shabby with long service. There was an indefinite atmosphereof peace and repose about it, of leisured days haunted by no greythoughts, very typical of the owner. The window stood open, though afire burned clearly on the plain brick hearth, beneath a big hoodedchimney-piece. 

Mr. Aston indicated a big easy chair to his visitor and seated himselfat his writing table, from whence he could see, behind Peter, on thefar wall, a portrait of Aymer painted in the pride of his life andyouth, so wonderfully like even now in its strong colour and forciblepower, and so full of subtle differences and fine distinctions. 

"I don't know even if you'll listen to me, " began Peter, who knew verywell Charles Aston would refuse to listen to no man; "fifteen yearsago you told me you'd said your last word on the subject. "

"I beg your pardon, Peter, it was you who said the subject was closedbetween us. "

"Ah, yes. So I did. May I reopen it?"

"If it can serve any good purpose, but you know my opinions. "

"I thought perhaps they might have altered with the changing years, "said Peter blandly. 

"Not one bit, I assure you. "

"Really. It never strikes you that I was justified in attending toElizabeth's very plainly expressed wishes, or that it might be a happything for the boy that I did so. "

"The question between us, " said his cousin gently, "was whether youwere justified in abandoning them, not whether it was advantageous tothem or not. "

"I would point out in passing, Cousin Charles, that Elizabethabandoned me, but we will let that be. My reason for opening thesubject at all is not a question of justification. " He puffed awayslowly at his cigar for a minute and then went on in an even, unemotional voice. "The fact is something rather strange has happened. For twenty years I have believed I knew the exact whereabouts ofElizabeth and my son. I had a good reason for the belief. One man onlyshared this supposititious knowledge with me. " His hearer seemed aboutto speak, but desisted and looked away from Peter out of the window. Not a movement, a sign, a breath, escaped those hard blue eyes, andCharles Aston knew it. It did not render him nervous or evenindignant, but he was a trifle more dignified, more obviouslydetermined to be courteous at any cost. 

"That boy and his mother were living at Liverpool, " went on Petercalmly. "He was employed in a big shipping firm in a very minorcapacity. He was killed in the great explosion in the dock lastweek. "

He spoke as calmly as if he were saying his supposed son had lost hispost or had gone for a holiday. 

Charles Aston gave a sudden movement and turned a shocked face towardsthe speaker. 

"Terrible!" he said, "I wonder how the shareholders in that companyfeel? Did you see the verdict?"

Peter waved his hand. "Yes, yes. Juries lose their heads in thesecases. But to continue. I went down to Liverpool at once before thefuneral, you understand. " He paused. "I was naturally much disturbedand horrified, and then--well, the boy wasn't my son, after all. "

"Not your son?" echoed Charles Aston slowly. 

"No, not my son. " There was a tinge of impatience in his voice. "Ishould not have known, but the mother was there. She went in as I cameout. "

"His mother was alive?"

"Yes. She was not Elizabeth. "

His cousin turned to him, indignation blazing in his eyes. "For twentyyears, Peter, you believed you knew your wife's whereabouts, you knewshe was in more or less a state of poverty, and you made no attempt tosee her face to face? You accepted the story of another with noattempt to personally prove the truth yourself?"

"I had good reason to believe it, " returned Peter sulkily. "She wouldhave let me know if she were in want. I had told her she could comeback when she had had enough of it. "

"And this poor woman, whose son was killed. What of her?"

"I don't know anything about her except she wasn't Elizabeth. "

"You had believed her so for twenty years. "

"I had made a mistake. She knew nothing about that. I took good careshe should not. There was no doubt about her being the boy's mother, and no doubt she was not Elizabeth. She had no claim on me. "

"No claim!" Charles Aston stood up and faced him, "not even the claimof the widow--her one son dead. No claim, when for all those yearsthose two items of humanity represented in your perverse mind the twopeople nearest--I won't say dearest--to you. No claim!" He stoppedand walked away to the window. 

Peter smiled tolerantly. He enjoyed making this kind, generous manflash out with indignation. It was all very high-flown and impossible, but it suited Charles Aston. To-day, however, he was too engrossed inhis own affairs to get much satisfaction from it. 

"Well, well, don't let us argue about it. We don't think alike inthese matters. The point I want to consult you about is not mysusceptibility to sentiment, but the chances of my picking up a cluetwenty years old. "

"I should say they were hardly worth considering. " He spokedeliberately, turning from the window to resume his place by thetable. The fight had begun; they had crossed blades at last. 

"There is a very good detective called Chance and a better one calledLuck. "

"You have secured their services?"

"I am not certain yet. Can you help me?"

He made the appeal with calculated directness, knowing his man and hisaversion to evasion, but if he expected him to hesitate he wasdisappointed. 

"No, I can do nothing. I tried for five years to bring you to somesense of your responsibility in this matter. You were not frank withme then, it seems. I can do nothing now. "

"And have lost all interest in it, I suppose?"

"No. It is your interest that rises and falls with the occasion, but Idecline to have anything to do with it. If--as I do notbelieve--Elizabeth is still alive she and your son have done withoutyour help for twenty years and can do without it still. "

"They have doubtless plenty of friends. "

"Let us hope so. What was the name of the Liverpool woman?"

"Priestly. What does it matter? The question is, I must find my sonsomehow, for I must have an heir. "

"Adopt one. "

"As did Aymer?" He shot a questioning glance at him. "It's such arisk. I might not be so lucky. Sons like Christopher are not to be hadfor nothing. "

"No, they are not, " said Charles Aston drily. "They are the result ofyears of love and patience, of generous tolerance, of unquenchablecourage. They bring days of joy which must be paid for with hours ofanxiety and nights of pain. Were you prepared to give your son this, even if you had taken him to you as a boy?"

Peter waved his big hand again. "I quite admit all that is needed toproduce men of your pattern, Cousin Charles, and I have theprofoundest admiration for the result; but I am not ambitious; Ishould be content to produce the ordinary successful man. "

"I think Christopher will score a success. "

"Yes, in spite of you both, by reason of his practical, determined, hard-headed nature which he probably inherits from his father, eh?"

"You are probably right. I am not in a position to say. "

"You did not know his parents?"

Charles Aston pushed back his chair and looked beyond Peter to theportrait of Aymer. They must come to close quarters or he would giveout, and suddenly it came to him that he must adhere to his universalrule, must give the better side of the man's nature a chance before heopenly defied him. The decision was made quite quickly. Peter onlyrecognised a slight pause. "You seem interested in Christopher, " Mr. Aston said slowly. "I will tell you what there is to know. Abouteleven years ago Aymer became possessed of a passionate desire to havea boy to bring up, since he might not have one of his own. In huntingfor a suitable one I stumbled on the son of someone I had known whohad fallen on very evil days. " He stopped a moment. Peter took outanother cigar and lit it. "On very evil days, " repeated the other. "The boy was left at a country workhouse in this county as ithappened. I knew enough of his paternity to know that he was asuitable subject for Aymer to father. I have never regretted what Idid. The boy has become the mainspring of Aymer's life; he lives againin him. All that has been denied him, he finds in Christopher'scareer; all he cannot give the world he has given to this boy, thisson of his heart and soul. No father could love more, could suffermore. And Christopher is repaying him. He has known no father butAymer, no authority but his, no conflicting claim. I pray God dailythat neither now nor in the future shall any shadow fall between thesetwo to cancel by one solitary item Christopher's obligation to hisadopted father. Perhaps I am selfish over it, but anyway, Aymer is myson, and I understand how it is with him. "

There was a silence in the room. Peter puffed vehemently and theclouds of blue-grey smoke circling round him obscured the heavyfeatures from his cousin when his eyes left the picture to look athim. 

"Yes, yes, I see. Quite so, " said a voice from the smoke at last, andslowly the strong, bland expressionless face emerged clearly from thehalo, "but I am no further on my way towards my son. And who's to havethe money if I don't find him? Will you?"

"Heaven forbid!--and Nature! Peter, I'm sixty and you arefifty-four. "

"Will Nevil's boy?"

"We have enough. We should count it a misfortune. Leave it incharities. "

"And suppose he discovers some day who he is, and wanted it?"

"Hardly likely after so long. "

"Quite likely. Shall I leave it to Christopher?"

It was the last thrust, and it told. There was quite a long silence. Charles longed passionately to refuse, but even he dared not. Theissue was too great. "I cannot dictate to you in the matter, " he saidat length, "but I do not think Christopher would appreciate it. "

"Then I must hope to find a Christopher of my own, " returned Peter, rising; "let us meanwhile find Nevil. "

The duel was over and apparently the result was as undetermined asever. The only satisfaction poor Charles Aston derived was from thefact that Peter was unusually gentle and tactful to Aymer thatafternoon. He seemed in no hurry to go, urged as excuse he wanted toconsult Christopher about a motor, but when they sent to find thatyoung gentleman, they discovered he and Patricia and the motor weremissing. 

CHAPTER XIX

It seemed to Christopher as he overhauled his long-suffering motorpreparatory to the new run, that a great gap of innumerable grey daysstretched between him and the moment he brought the car to astandstill before the doors of the house, that had appeared to him tobe a Temple of Promise. It was in fact barely an hour and a half andthe greater part of that time had been occupied with lunch and a hastyinterview with Aymer. That shorter interlude in the orchard just over, had already blotted out a golden landscape with a driving mist thatobscured all true proportion of time or space. He longed greatly, witha sense of strange fatigue, to be sitting at Cæsar's side and to findthe restless discomfort evaporate as they talked, even as his boyishtroubles had melted in that companionship. That must come later: forthe present Fate--or Patricia--made a demand on him to which he wasbound to answer. Where a weaker nature would have said "impossible, "he simply found an ordinary action rendered difficult by his ownprivate view of it, therefore it behooved him to close the shutters onthat outlook if he could, and ignore the difficulty. 

Renata, who came out with Patricia, protested a little indignantly atthe latter's exaction. 

"It is so inconsiderate of Patricia, just as you have had such ajourney. Why do you give in to her, Christopher?"

"To-day is as good as any day, " he answered her, "perhaps the visitorwill have gone when we return. "

"Oh, I hope so, " said Renata fervently, and then blushed at her owninhospitality. "I mean, Cæsar would rather have you to himself, I amsure. "

"And I would rather have Cæsar unaccompanied. So there is some use inPatricia's fancy. "

"Of course, " put in that young lady, "there always is. Please do notwaste precious time talking. Tell me where I am to sit, Christopher. "

"I'll take every care of her, " said Christopher, looking at Renata, "we'll be back in time for dinner. Be kind and get rid of Mr. Mastersby then. "

"Like a dear little angel, " concluded Patricia, kissing her; "thinkhow he bores Nevil, and don't be hospitable. "

Christopher settled her in the seat beside him, tucked her in withrugs, put up the front screen and started. 

For a few short minutes the joy of having her there beside him, hissole charge for some golden hours to come, his to carry in a mad rushif he would to the ends of the earth, obliterated for a moment thebewildering mist. 

He drove for some way in silence. Patricia was too much absorbed inthe pleasures of swift motion to talk. Her first words, however, shutdown the mists on him again. 

"Geoffry must have a car, " she declared. "He must get one just likethis. "

"I thought Geoffry was to be left behind this afternoon?"

"Oh, I suppose he was. I don't believe you are a bit pleased about itreally, Christopher. "

He clutched at the truth as a plank of safety. 

"Well, you can't expect me to be glad to lose your company, can you? Ishall never make a golfer now. "

She laughed at that and recommended a course at St. Andrew's under aprofessional, which proposal he treated with scorn, but after a shortsilence he said in a different voice:

"Don't think I'm not glad at anything that makes you happy, Patricia. Geoffry's a real good sort and--here's a town--you must not speak tothe man at the wheel. "

Patricia was obedient. She sank into a reverie in which, despite herown determination, Geoffry played a long part. It was characteristicof her exact attitude towards her accepted lover that it was theimmediate future in which he figured most clearly. Her thoughtshovered round the pleasant summer to come with the distant excitementof a wedding to crown it. She never considered, or only in the mostcursory way, the long years ahead, the daily companionship with theman she had chosen. She was honestly attached to Geoffry. She believedshe was in love with him, whereas, as is far more often the case thanthe young suppose, she was in love with the love that had come to herin the glory of the spring, offered by familiar hands that were dearbecause of what they held for her. 

So they drove through the glowing afternoon, and the line of whiteroad before them appeared to Christopher as a track dividing past andfuture, the thin edge of the passing minutes. They spoke no more, however, on the forbidden subject. Christopher presently explained toher the visible mechanism of the car and on a stretch of clear roadlet her put her hands on the wheel beneath his own and feel the joy offictitious control. Before the sun quenched itself in the sea theystood on the Cliff Edge and looked out across the shining waters intothe great space, where a thought-laden air renews itself, reforming, cancelling and creating in the crucible of Life. They clambered downfrom the lip of the cliff on to a jutting-out shelf of rock, screenedwith gorse, where the few feet of gravel bank behind them shut outall signs of habitation. 

Patricia sat with her hands clasped round her knees drawing slow, deepdraughts of the cool air, her eyes on the immense free space, and shespoke not at all with her lips, yet Christopher, lying at her feet, caught her thoughts as they came and went with strange certainty andstranger heartache. He picked a handful of golden gorse petals andpressed the sweet blossoms to his face: ever after their scent was tomean for him that place and rapture of that hour, in which was borneto him the certainty of his right to her, and the knowledge of thesurrender he was making in each silent minute. For she was his now, ifhe told her, if he broke faith, if he claimed the right that was his. 

Now in this golden hour he would win if he spoke, sweeping aside theshadowy intervening form of the other with the relentless persistenttruth of the faith that was in him, a faith that had no ground inpersonal vanity or individual pride, but was only the recognition of agreat Fact that lay outside and beyond them both, that named Patriciaforever his in a world where the Real is disentangled from theAppearance. 

Was life to consist, for him, in a relinquishing of his own rights inconformity to the Law of Appearance? Was it but a cowardly fear ofconvention that held him back from claiming her now on the verge ofthe world? Or was it a deeper, half-understood trust of the GreatRealities of Life, a knowledge that faith, integrity, and honour areno conventions, but belong to Real World of Truth, and that he couldsnatch no joy of life over their trampled forms? He tried dimly tounderstand these things, to gauge the nature of the forces thatcontrolled him, but he never doubted what force would claim hisobedience. It was already habitual to him by reason of training andinstinct to set such Laws of Life as he recognised before his ownwill. But that will was very clamorous this evening as he pressed thehot yellow whin-flowers to his face drinking their fragrance into histhirsty soul. 

When he raised his eyes he looked out at sea and sky and avoided thedear sweet face above him. She still sat smiling out into the serenespace, watching as it were the random thoughts of her subconsciousself floating in those ethereal realms. It was almost too great ahappiness for peace, the fair world, the comprehending companion, whounderstood without the clumsy medium of words, and the love awaitingher on the morrow. She did not wish for Geoffry's presence now, shewas perfectly content that he stood in the beautiful morrow, that hewas bringing her a good and precious crown to the golden days of heryouth. 

She sighed out of pure joy and so broke the spell of the golden andblue-cloaked silence which had reigned. Without moving she gathered ahandful of whin blooms and scattered them over the brown head at herfeet, a baptism of golden fire. He shook them off and looked up ather, laughing. 

"Asleep, I believe, Christopher, you lazy person. What were youdreaming about?"

"Bees, heather and honey, " he murmured, surreptitiously gathering up ahandful of the golden rain she had tossed him. "Have you had yourbreath of freedom, Patricia--are you ready for tea and butteredtoast?"

"And honey, you provoking materialist, " she insisted. 

"Honey is stolen property--I always feel a consort of thieves when Ieat it. "

"Then I'll eat it and you can shut your eyes. Christopher, suppose thecar goes wrong on the way home?"

He scoffed at that, but while she ate her honey he made an exhaustiveinspection of it. 

When the sun dropped out of sight a shivering wind sprang up and theblue sky drew a grey cloak over itself. Christopher wrapped hiscompanion in a fur coat and tucked her in anxiously. 

She had become restless and dissatisfied as if the sun had taken herjoy to rest with him, or as if the thoughts gathered from space foundan unready lodgment in her mind. Christopher made some effort to talkon indifferent subjects, but she answered with strange brevity or notat all, once with such impatience that he glanced quickly at her handsand saw they were hidden by the long sleeves of his big coat shewore. 

Presently she said abruptly:

"We ought not to have stayed so long. Why did you go to sleep?"

"I didn't, " he retorted, amazed at the accusation. 

"Then you ought to have talked. "

"I thought we were superior to such conventions. "

"That is an excuse for sheer laziness on your part. And even if youare superior, " she added, inconsequently, "I am not. What were youthinking about?"

"Shall I tell you of what you were thinking?"

"You can't. "

"Out in the great space you saw all the future days weaving for you adress of blue and gold, of hopes and fulfilment. You saw how theysmiled at you, you were glad of the love they bore you, the good theywere bringing you. You felt in your own soul how you belonged to them, you were a part of all this dear living world. "

"Don't, don't, " she cried, half under her breath. 

"Isn't it true?" he insisted. 

"You have no business, no right to know. Christopher, how dare you. "Her face flushed with inward emotion, with some fierce resentment thatlaid hold of her senses without reason and dragged fear in its wake. 

"I'm sorry, " he said humbly. "I've often done it before and you neverminded. "

"It's quite different now. It's unbearable. I don't like it any more, I hate it. Do you hear, Christopher?"

"Yes. It was unpardonable. I am sorry, Patricia, I won't do itagain. "

"You won't try to understand me like that? Promise, " she urged. 

"I didn't try then. I only knew. I promise I won't tell you again. "

"That's not enough, " she persisted, twisting her fingers under coverof the long sleeves. "You mustn't know. You must not be able to do it. I won't bear it. Do you understand?"

"Yes. "

"Then promise. "

"I've promised all I can. I certainly won't try to know. I can't helpit involuntarily. "

"You must. I insist--Christopher, quick. "

They were running at a great pace along a straight level piece of roadwith high banks on either side, and by the roadside at regularintervals were piles of broken granite. Christopher's attention wasfixed on a distant speck that might be a danger-signal and he did notanswer her or notice the nearer signal of danger in her white face. 

She was in the grip of her old wild passion again, on fire with herneed of assurance, and in a gust of anger she caught at the wheel thatseemed to claim his mind. The car swerved violently, jolted up on tothe turf, bumped madly along at a dangerous tilt, swerved back intothe road two feet clear of a grey pile of stone. Only then didChristopher know her fingers were gripped between his hands and thesteel wheel. He brought the car to a standstill and her released handfell white and numb to her side. She neither spoke nor moved, butgazed before her, oblivious even of her crushed fingers. 

There was a running brook the other side of the hedge and a convenientgate. He soaked his handkerchief in it, came back to her and put thenumbed hand on the cool linen. His grip had been like iron and theaverted disaster so near as to be hardly passed from his senses, yethe felt sick and ashamed at this almost trifling price they had topay. He felt each bruised finger carefully and bound them up as besthe could, and only then did he speak. 

"I'm fearfully sorry, Patricia, I didn't know. "

She looked vaguely at the white bound hand. 

"My fingers? Oh, I'm glad. You shouldn't have tied them up. "

He paid no heed, but having examined the car, climbed back to hisplace. 

"We must go on, " he remarked, "so it's no use asking you if you aretoo frightened, Patricia. "

"You might put me out on the roadside, " she suggested dully. 

To that, too, he paid no heed and they started again. 

The miles slipped by in unbroken silence. It was not till they werenearly home that Christopher spoke. 

"I thought that was all quite gone, Patricia. "

"So did I, " she returned wearily. "It's ages since I was so stupid. It's generally all right if you are there. "

"But I'm not always there anyhow. "

"I don't mean there really. I just shut my eyes and pretend you areand hold on. But just now I waited for you to do something. I forgotyou were driving. "

"You mustn't rely on me to stop you now, " he insisted, with newgravity. 

"Oh, yes, I do. It's always you if I stop in time; either youactually, or thinking of you. Don't talk about it, Christopher dear, it was too horrible. "

She did not explain if she meant the danger or the cause, but heobeyed and said no more. A terrible fear clamoured at his heart. DidGeoffry Leverson know or did he not? and if he knew, would he evenunderstand? He tried to tell himself that if he could manage her, thenanother, and that her acknowledged lover, could do so too, but he knewthis was false reasoning. Such power as he had over her lay in hisrecognition that the irresistible inheritance was not an integral partof Patricia, but was an exotic growth, foisted upon her by theill-understood laws of paternity, and finding no natural soil in herpure self--something indeed, of a lower nature, that she must andcould override. He could have curbed it in the brief flash just over, he knew, had his attention been free. It had died as it had come andthe penalty of the crushed fingers hurt him as unwarrantable, combinedwith the peril they had run. 

It was a fresh addition of cloud to the dimmed day to find PeterMasters had not departed, but was staying the night. 

CHAPTER XX

Aymer gazed out of the open window at Christopher and Peter Masters asthey walked to and fro on the terrace. He knew the subject they werediscussing, and he was already sure how it would end. But what werethe real issues involved he could not determine, and he was impotent, by reason of his vow and will, to influence them. He could only liestill and watch, tortured by jealous fear and the physicalhelplessness that forbade him the one relief of movement for which hissoul craved. The patience the long years had schooled him into wasslipping away, and the elementary forces of his nature reigned in itsstead. 

Under the overmastering impulse towards action he made a futile effortto sit up that he might better follow the movements of the twooutside. It was a pathetic failure, and he swore fiercely as he fellback and found his father's arms round him. 

"Aymer, if you are going to be so childish, I shall tell Christophernot to go. "

"No. I'm a fool, but I won't have him know it. He must go if hewill. "

"There is nothing to fear if he does. What is wrong with you?"

"I want to go back to town, I'm tired of this. "

"You are far better here than in town, " said his father uneasily. 

"I'm well enough anywhere. "

"I shall have to tell Christopher not to go. "

"No. " The tone was sharply negative again, and after a moment'ssilence Aymer said in a low, grudging voice, "You've always helpedbefore; are you going to desert me now?"

For answer his father got up and pushed the big sliding sofa away fromthe window. 

"Very well, then behave yourself better, Aymer, and don't ford astream before you come to it. You've got to listen to Penruddock'sspeech. " He folded back the _Times_ and began to read. 

When Christopher came back a little later he saw no sign of thetrouble. Perhaps he was a little too much engrossed in his ownperplexities to be as observant as usual. 

"Cæsar, do you think it's a shabby thing to stay with a man you don'tlike?"

"Are you going?"

"I think so. I want to see how he does it. "

"Does what?"

"Makes his money. Does it seem shabby to you?"

"You can't know if you like him or not. You know nothing about him. "

"I shall be back at the end of the week. You don't mind my going, Cæsar? I'd rather go before I settle down. "

"Another week's peace, " returned Cæsar, indifferently. "The truth is, you're in a scrape and putting off confession, young man. "

Christopher laughed at him. 

They were to leave early next morning, so Peter Masters bade Aymergood-bye that night. He apologised clumsily for taking Christopheraway so soon after his long absence. 

"It's the only free week I've got for months, and I want to study yourhandiwork, Aymer. "

"Christopher has points. I don't know how many score to me, " returnedhis cousin with steadily forced indifference. 

"Well, you've taken more trouble over him than most fathers woulddo. "

"Are you an expert?"

Peter laughed grimly and stood looking at Aymer with his chin in hishand, a curiously characteristic attitude of doubt with him. 

"You won't be overpleased when he wants to marry, which he is sure todo just when he's become useful to you. "

For the first time in his life Peter Masters recognised the harassedsoul of a man as it leapt to sight, and saw the shadow of pain conquera fierce will. The revelation struck him dumb, for incongruously andunreasonably there flashed before his mind a memory of this face withtwenty years wiped out. He went slowly away carrying with him a vividimpression and new knowledge. 

It was a new experience to him. He knew something of men's minds, butof their emotions and the passions of their souls he was no judge. Hepuzzled over the meaning of what he had seen as he faced Christopherin the train next day, studying him with a disconcerting gaze. CouldAymer possibly love the boy to the verge of jealousy? It seemed soincredible and absurd. Yet what other interpretation could he place onthat look he had surprised? Charles Aston's words, which had not beenwithout effect, paled before this self-revelation. It annoyed himgreatly that the disturbing vision should intrude itself between himand the decision he was endeavouring to make, for the bettertermination of which he was carrying Christopher northward with him. 

Christopher, on his part, was chiefly occupied in considering thedistracting fact of his own yielding to the wishes of a man hedisliked as sincerely as he did Mr. Aston's cousin. Peter Masters wastaking him with him in precisely the same manner he had madeChristopher convey him to Marden. It was quite useless to pretend hewas going of his own will; refusal had, in an unaccountable way, seemed impossible. To save his pride he tried to believe he wasinfluenced by a desire to get away from Marden until the firstexcitement over Patricia's engagement had died away, yet in his hearthe knew that though that and other considerations had joined forceswith the millionaire's mandate, yet in any case he would have had tobow to the will of the man who admitted no possibility of refusal. Hehad been unprepared and unready twice over: in the matter of thejourney from London and in the stranger matter of this presentjourney. Christopher determined the third time he would be on guard, that in all events, reason should have her say in the case. 

They were going direct to Stormly, which was midway between Birminghamand the Stormly mines, from which the fortunes of the family had firstbeen dug. Stormly Park was Peter's only permanent residence, thoughmuch of his time was spent in hotels and travelling. The house, begunby his father, had expanded with the fortunes of the son. It stoodremote from town or village. It was neither a palace nor a glorifiedvilla, but just a substantial house, with an unprepossessing exterior, and all the marvels of modern luxury within. The short private railwayby which it was approaching ran through an ugly tract of countryterminating beneath a high belt of trees that shut off the western sunand were flanked by granite walls. 

On the platform of the minute station two porters in private uniformreceived them. 

"I generally walk up if I'm not in a hurry, " said Peter Mastersabruptly. 

He had not spoken since they left Birmingham, where a packet ofletters had been brought him, to which he gave his undividedattention. With a curt nod to the men, with whom he exchanged no wordat all, he led the way from the siding across a black, gritty roadand unlocking a door in the wall ushered Christopher into StormlyPark. 

The belt of trees was planted on a ridge of ground that sloped towardsthe road and formed a second barrier between the world without and theworld within. When they had crossed the ridge and looked down on thePark itself Christopher gave a gasp of astonishment. It stretched outbefore him in the sunset light a wide expanse of green land, withstately clumps of trees and long vistas of avenues that led nowhere. It was like some jewel in the wide circling belt of trees. It was sostrange a contrast to the sordid country without, that the effect wasamazing. Christopher looked round involuntarily to see by what passagehe had passed from that unpleasing world to this sunkissed land ofbeauty. 

Peter Masters saw the effect produced and his lips twitched with alittle smile of pleasure. 

"My grandfather planted the place, " he said. "He understood thosethings. I don't. But it's pretty. My mother, Evelyn Aston, you know, used to always travel by night if she could, she disliked the countryround so much. "

"It is rather a striking contrast, " Christopher agreed. 

They passed through a clump of chestnuts just breaking into leaf. 

"There is coal here, " said Peter. "It will all have to go some day. Imake no additions now. "

They came suddenly on the house, which was built of grey pointedstone, its low-angle slate roof hidden behind a high balustrading. Thecentre part was evidently the original house and long curved wings hadbeen extended on either side. There was no sign of life about theplace, nor did it carry the placid sense of repose that haunts oldhouses. Stormly Park had an air of waiting; a certain grim expectationlurked behind the over-mantled windows and closed doors. It was as ifit watched for the fate foreshadowed in its owner's words. Even theglorious sunlight pouring over it failed to give it a sense of warmliving life. 

It filled Christopher with curiosity and a desire to explore the greyfastness and trim level lawns beyond. Some living eyes watched, however, for the front door swung open as they approached and twofootmen came out. Christopher again noted Peter Masters did not speakto them or appear to notice their presence. On the steps he paused, and stood aside. 

"Go in, " he said when his visitor hesitated. 

Christopher obeyed. 

The interior was almost as great a contrast to the exterior as thePark was to the surrounding country. It was rich with colour andwarmth and comfort. 

They were met by a thin, straightened-looking individual, who murmureda greeting to which Peter Masters paid no attention. 

He turned to Christopher. 

"This is Mr. Dreket, my secretary. Dreket, show Mr. ----" for animperceptible moment he paused--"Mr. Aston his room and explain theways of the place to him. I've some letters to see to. "

He turned aside down a long corridor. Christopher and the secretarylooked at each other. 

"I shan't be sorry for a wash and brush up, " said Christopher, smiling. 

The other gave a little sigh, expressive more of relief than fatigue, and led the way upstairs. As they went up the wide marble steps Mr. Masters reappeared and stood for a moment in the shadow of an archwatching the dark, erect young head till it was out of sight, then heretraced his steps and disappeared in his own room. 

Christopher did not see him again till dinner-time. The two dinedtogether at a small table that was an oasis in a desert of space. Theroom was hung with modern pictures set in unpolished wood panelling. Peter vaguely apologised for them to one accustomed to the company ofthe masterpieces of the dead. 

"I'm no judge. I should be taken in if I bought old ones, " he said. "So I buy new, provided they are by possible men. They may be worthsomething, some day, eh?"

"They are very good to look at now, " Christopher answered, a littleshyly, looking at a vast sea-scape which seemed to cool the room witha fresh breeze. 

"You Astons would have beaten me anyhow, " pursued Peter. "I've gotnothing old: but the new's the best of its kind. "

Christopher found this was true. Everything in the house was modern. There was no reproduction, no imitation. It was all solidly andemphatically modern: glass, china, furniture, books, pictures, thesilk hangings, the white statuary in the orangery: all modern. Therewas nothing poor or mean or artistically bad, but the whole gave animpression of life yet to be lived, an incompleteness that wasbaffling in its obscurity. 

Peter Masters talked much of events, of material things, of himself, but never of mankind in general. He spoke of no friends, orneighbours: he appeared to be served by machines, to stand alone inlife, unconscious of his isolation. They played billiards in theevening and the host had an easy victory, and gave Christopher apractical lesson in the one game he had found time to master. 

"I've work to do. Breakfast to-morrow at 8 sharp. You are going toBirmingham with me. "

No question about it or pretence of asking his visitor's wishes. Christopher did not resent that, but he resented his growing inabilityto resist. He flung open the windows of his room and looked out. Eastward there was a glow in the sky over the great sleepless city:northward a still nearer glow from a foundry, he thought, but westwardthe parkland was silvered with moonlight and black with shadows, whichunder the groups of chestnuts seemed like moving shapes. 

He leant out far and the cold night air shivered by. That was familiarand good to feel, but the glare northward caught his eyes again, andheld him fascinated. It rose and fell, now blushing softly against avelvet sky, now flaring angrily to heaven. It seemed to quiver withvoices that were harsh and threatening. It filled Christopher's heartwith unreasonable horror against which he struggled in vain, as withthe dim terror of a stranger. At last he closed the window and shut itout. 

"I don't like it, " said Christopher half aloud. "It's all right, it'sonly a foundry, but I hate it. "

With that he went to bed and in the dark the dance of the firesflickered before his eyes. 

The next few days were spent in gathering fresh impressions anddisentangling bewildering experiences, and in small encounters withthe unanswerable will of his host. 

He was taken to the great offices in Birmingham, and the wonderfulsystem by which each vast machine was worked was explained to him. Hewas even privileged to sit with the great man in the inner sanctum andcopy letters for him, though he was summarily turned out to see thesights of the great city when a visitor was announced. He explored thedepths of the coal mines and finally spent a long morning at thefoundry whose nightly glare still haunted his dreams. It was thelatter sight that Peter Masters evidently expected would interest himmost, for here were employed the most marvellous and most complicatedmodern machinery, colossal innovations and ingenious labour-savinginventions in vast orderly buildings; the complex whole obedient to anorganisation that left no item of power incomplete or wasted. ButChristopher gave but half his mind to all he was shown, the other halfwas on those still stranger machines, the grimy, brutal-lookingworkmen toiling in the hot heart of the place, the white-facedstooping forms on the outskirts. They eyed him aslant as they worked, for visitors were rare occurrences. He asked questions concerning themand received vague answers, and a new machine was offered forinspection. 

Fulner, the young engineer who had been told off to show him round, understood what was expected of him and did his duty. Masters himself, though he accompanied them, apparently put himself also in Fulner'shands; he took no particular interest in the work, but his eyefollowed every movement of Christopher's and his ear strained to hisquestions. Christopher noticed that none but heads of departments paidany attention to the owner's presence, and he would have thought himunknown but for a word or two he caught as he lingered for a last lookat a particularly fascinating electric lathe. 

"Thinks he's master, " grinned one man, with a shrug, towards theretreating form. 

"Thinks we're part of his blasted machinery, " growled his fellowworker. 

Christopher passed on and forgot the lathe. 

"Where do these people live?" he asked in the comparative quiet of astore yard. 

"In the--the villages round, and as near as they can, " said theengineer quietly and looked back. Mr. Masters had gone off to thestore-keeper's office and was out of hearing. Fulner looked atChristopher again and apparently came to a decision. 

"It is difficult, sometimes, this housing question, " he said swiftly, "are you really interested?"

"Yes, I want to know what contrast they get to this. It'soverpowering, this place. "

"If there was time----" began the other, and stopped, seeing Mr. Masters was approaching. He was followed by a harassed-facesub-manager, who waited uneasily a few yards off. 

"Christopher, I shall have to stay here an hour or two. You had bettergo back. You can catch the 12. 40 at the station. Fulner will see youthere. "

He nodded to the engineer and strode off towards the main offices. 

The sub-manager exchanged a look of consternation with Fulner beforehe followed. 

"We'll go this way, " said Fulner, leading Christopher to a new cornerof the great enclosure, "that is, if you don't mind walking. "

He did not speak again until they were outside the high walls thatsurrounded the works, then he looked quizzically at Christopher. 

"You shall see where they live if you wish to, " he said, "the contrastis not striking--only there is no organisation outside. "

They went down a black cindery road between high walls and presentlythe guide said quietly, "Are you coming here to us, Mr. Aston?"

"No. " Christopher's voice was fervent with thankfulness. 

The other looked disappointed and stopped. 

"I'm sorry, " he said. "We thought you were. There were rumours"--hehesitated, "if you are not coming perhaps it is no good showing you. It makes a difference. "

"I want to see where the people live, " insisted Christopher, lookinghim squarely in the face. 

The other nodded and they went on and came to a narrow street ofmean, two-storied houses, with cracked walls and warped door-posts, blackened with smoke, begrimed with dirt. As much of the springsunshine as struggled through the haze overshadowing the place servedbut to emphasise the hideous squalor of it. Children, for the mostpart sturdy-limbed and well-developed, swarmed in the road, women in amore or less dishevelled condition stared out of open doors at them asthey passed. 

To the secret surprise of Fulner his companion made no remark, betrayed no sign of disgust or distaste. He looked at it all; his facewas grave and impassive and Fulner was again disappointed. 

They passed a glaring new public house, the only spot in theneighbourhood where the sun could find anything to reflect his cloudedbrightness. 

"We wanted that corner for a club, " said Fulner bitterly, "but thebrewer outbid us. "

"Who's the landlord?" demanded Christopher sharply. 

Fulner paused a moment before he answered. 

"You are a cousin of Mr. Masters, aren't you?"

"No relation at all. Is he the landlord?"

"The land here is all his. Not what is on it. "

A woman was coming down the road, a woman in a bright green dress witha dirty lace blouse fastened with a gold brooch. She had turquoiseearrings in her ears and rings on her fingers. 

She stopped Fulner. 

"Mr. Fulner, " she said in a quavering voice, "they say the master's atthe works and that Scott's given Jim away to save his own skin. Itisn't true, is it?"

Fulner looked at her with pity. Christopher liked him better thanever. 

"I'm afraid it's true, Mrs. Lawrie, but Scott couldn't help himself. Mr. Masters spotted the game when we were in the big engine-room. Yougo down to the main gate and wait for Jim. Perhaps you'll get himhome safe if you take him the short cut, not this way. " He nodded hishead towards the public house they had passed. 

"It's a shame, " broke out the woman wildly, but her sentences wereoverlaid with unwomanly words, "they all does it. I ask now, how's weto get coal at all if we don't get the leavings. Jim only does whatthey all does. What's 'arf a pail of coal to 'im? I'd like to talk to'un, I would. Jim will go mad again, and I've three of 'un now tothink of, the brats. " She flung up her arms with a superbly helplessgesture and stumbled off down the road. 

Christopher looked after her with a white face. 

"What does it mean?" he asked. 

"The men have a way of appropriating the remains of the last measureof coal they put on before going off duty. It's wrong of course: it'sbeen going on for ages. I warned Scott--he's the foreman. They've beencomplaining about the coal supply at headquarters. Mr. Masters caughtJim Lawrie at it to-day as we left the big engine-room. "

"Is it a first offence?"

"There's no first offence here, " returned Fulner grimly. "There's oneonly. There's the club room. We have to pay £20 a year rent for theground and then to keep it going. "

"But surely, Mr. Masters----" began Christopher and stopped. 

"Mr. Masters has nothing to do with the place outside the works. It isnot part of the System. He pays 6d. A head more than any otheremployer and that frees him. There's the station. "

He paused as if he would leave his companion to make his way on alone. He was obviously dissatisfied and uneasy. 

"Won't you come to the station with me?" Christopher asked, and asthey walked he began to speak slowly and hesitatingly, as one who mustchoose from words that were on the verge of overflowing. "I wasbrought up in Lambeth, Mr. Fulner. I am used to poverty and badsights. Don't go on thinking I don't care. These people earn fortunesbeside those I have known, but in all London I've never seen anythingso horrible as this, nothing so hideous, sordid--" he stopped with agasp, "the women--the children--the lost desire--the ugliness. "

They walked on silently. Presently he spoke again. 

"You are a plucky man, Mr. Fulner. I couldn't face it. "

"I've no choice. I don't know why I showed you it, except I thoughtyou were coming and I wanted your help. "

"Are there many who care?"

"No. It's too precarious. Mr. Masters doesn't approve of fools. Mindyou, the men have no grievances inside the works. The unions have nochance now. It's fair to remember that. "

"Is it the same everywhere?"

"The System's the same. I know nothing about the other works but that. There's the train: we must hurry. "

"What do you want for your club?" Christopher asked as he entered hiscarriage. 

"A billiard table, gym fittings, books. We've a license. We sell beerto members, " his eyes were eager: the man's heart was in his hopelessself-imposed work. 

Christopher nodded. "I shall not forget. "

So they parted: each wondering over the other--would have wonderedstill more if they had known in what relationship they would stand toeach other when they next met. 

CHAPTER XXI

Christopher stood for a moment inside the great hall at Stormly Parkand looked round. It was quite beautiful. Peter Masters, having chosenthe best man in England for his purpose, had had the sense to let himalone. There was no discordant note anywhere and Christopher was quitealive to its perfections. But coming straight from Stormly Town thecontrast was too glaring and too crude. It was not that Peter Masterswas rich and his people were poor. Poverty and riches have run hand inhand down the generations of men, but here, the people were poor inall things, in morals, in desire, in beauty, in all that lifted themin the scale of humanity, in order that he, Peter Masters, should besuperfluously rich, outrageously so!

Christopher struggled hard to be just: he knew it was not thesuperfluous money that was grudged, it was the more precious time andthought saved with a greed that was worse than the hunger of amiser--for no purpose but to add to over-filled stores. He knew allPeter Masters' arguments in defence of his System already: That hecompelled no man to serve him, that none did so except on a clearunderstanding of the terms; that for the hours they toiled for him hepaid highly, and his responsibility ceased when those hours were over. If Peter Masters was no philanthropist at least he was no humbug. Hesaid openly he worked his System because it paid him. If he could havemade more by being philanthropical he would have been so, but he wouldnot have called it philanthropy: it would have been a financialmethod. 

The grim selfishness of it all crushed Christopher as an intolerableburden that was none of his, and yet, because he was here accepting apart of its results, he could not clear himself of its shadow. So, twenty-two years ago, had his mother thought until the terror of thatshadow outweighed all dread of further evil, and she had fled from itsshade into a world where sun and shadow were checkered and evil andgood a twisted rope by which to hold. 

Some dim note from that long struggle and momentous decision had itsinfluence with her son now. Without knowing it he was hastening to thesame conclusions she had reached. 

He lunched alone and then to escape the persistence of his thoughtsdecided to explore the west wing of the house which he had hardlyentered. 

At the end of a long corridor a square of yellow sunlight fell acrossthe purple carpet from an open door and he stopped to look in. 

It was a pretty room with three windows opening on to a terrace and adoor communicating with a room beyond. The walls were panelled withpale blue silk and the chairs and luxurious couches covered with thesame. There were several pictures of great value, on a French writingtable lay an open blotter, but the blotting paper was crumbling anddry and the ink in the carved brass inkstand was dry also. 

In the middle of the room surrounded by a pile of Holland covers andhangings stood Mrs. Eliot, the housekeeper. Christopher had seen heronce or twice and she was the only servant, except the butler, withwhom he had heard Peter Masters exchange a word. "Lor', sir, how youmade me jump!" she cried at sight of him in the doorway. "It isn'toften one hears a footfall down here, they girls keep away or I'd beabout 'em as they know very well. "

"May I come in?" asked Christopher. "What a pretty room. "

The woman glanced round hesitatingly. "Well, now, you're here. Yes. It's pretty enough, sir. "

"Are you getting ready for visitors?"

He had no intention of being curious, he was only thankful to findsome distraction from his own thoughts, and there seemed no reason whyhe should not chat to the kindly portly lady in charge. 

"No visitors here, sir. We don't have much company. Just a gentlemannow and then, as may be yourself. "

She pulled a light pair of steps to the window and mounted themcautiously one step at a time, dragging a long Holland curtain in herhand. 

"Do you want to hang that up?" asked Christopher, watching her withidle interest. "Do let me do it, Mrs. Eliot, you'll fall off thosesteps if you go higher. I can't promise to catch you, but I canpromise to hang curtains much better than you can. " Mrs. Eliot, whowas already panting with exertion and the fatigue of stretching up herample figure to unaccustomed heights, looked down at him doubtfully. 

"Whatever would Mr. Masters say, sir?"

"He would be quite pleased his visitor found so harmless an amusement. You come down, Mrs. Eliot. Curtain-hanging is a passion with me, butwhat a shame to cover up those pretty curtains with dingy Holland!"

"They wouldn't be pretty curtains now, sir, " said Mrs. Eliot, descending with elaborate care, "if they hadn't been covered up thesetwenty years and more. "

"What a waste, " ejaculated Christopher now on the steps, "isn't theroom ever used?"

"Never since Mrs. Masters went out of it. 'Eliot, ' says the master--Iwas first housemaid then--'keep Mrs. Masters' rooms just as they are, ready for use. She will want them again some day. ' So I did. "

Christopher shifted the steps and hung another curtain. 

"I didn't know there had been a Mrs. Masters. "

"Most folk have forgotten it, I think, sir. "

"This was her boudoir, I suppose. "

"Yes. And I think he's never been in here since she went, but once, and that was five years after. The boudoir bell rang and I came, allof a tremble, to hear it for the first time after so long. He wasstanding as it may be there. 'That cushion's faded, Eliot, ' he said, 'get another made like it. You are to replace everything that getstorn or faded or worn without troubling me. Keep the rooms just asthey are. ' He had a pile of photographs in his hand and a littlepicture, and he locked them up in that cabinet, and I don't supposeit's been opened since. He never made any fuss about it from thefirst. No, nor altered his ways either. " She drew a cover over a chairand tied the strings viciously. "It's for all the world as if he'dnever had a wife at all. "

Christopher had hung the three sets of curtains now and he sat on thetop step and looked round the room curiously. It was less oppressivelymodern that the rest of the house and he had an idea the master ofStormly was not responsible for that. He felt a vivid interest in thelate Mrs. Masters, Why had she gone and why had neither Aymer nor St. Michael mentioned her existence? He longed to override his own senseof etiquette and question Mrs. Eliot, who continued to ramble on inher own way. 

"I takes off the coverings every two months, and brushes it all downmyself, " she explained, "and I've never had anyone to help me before. If I were to let them girls in they'd break every vase in the placewith their frills and their 'didn't see's. '"

"Do those sheets hang over the panels?"

"I couldn't think of troubling you! But if you will, sir, why then, that's the sheet for there. They are all numbered. "

Christopher covered up the dainty walls regretfully. Why had she leftit? Had she and Peter quarrelled? It seemed to Christopher, in hispresent mood towards Mr. Masters, they might well have done so. 

"Do you remember Mrs. Masters?" he was tempted to ask presently. 

"Indeed I do, seeing I was here when he brought her home. Tall, thin, and like a queen the way she walked, a great lady, for all she wassimple enough by birth, they say. But she went, and where she wentnone of us know to this day, and some say the Master doesn't either, but I don't think it myself. "

Christopher straightened a pen and ink sketch of a workman on thewall. It was a clever piece of work, life-like and sympathetic. 

"She did that, " said Mrs. Eliot with a proprietor's pride. "She wasconsidered clever that way, I've been told. That's another of hers onthe easel over there. "

Christopher examined it and gave a gasp. It was a bold sketch of twomen playing cards at a table with a lamp behind them. The expressionon the players' faces was defined and forcible, but it was not theirartistic merit that startled him, but their identity. One--thetolerant winner--was Peter himself--the other--the easy loser--wasAymer Aston. 

So Aymer did know of Mrs. Masters' existence, knew her well enough forher to make this intimate likeness of him. 

"Was it done here?" he asked slowly. 

"No, she brought it with her. I don't know who the other gentleman is, but it's a beautiful picture of the master, isn't it? so life-like. "

"Yes. "

He looked again round the room, fighting again with his desire tosearch for more traces of its late owner, and then grew hot with shameat his curiosity. He left Mrs. Eliot rather abruptly and wandered outof the house, but the unknown mistress of the place haunted him, glided before him across the smooth lawns, he could almost hear therustle of her dress on the gravel, and then recollected with relief itwas only the memory of the old game he used to play at Aston Housewith his dead mother, transferred by some mental suggestion to StormlyPark. Presently he saw the bulky form of Peter Masters on the stepsand joined him reluctantly. 

"I want to see you, Christopher, " said Peter as he approached. "Comeinto my room. I shan't be able to go to London this week to buy thecar, so you must stay until Monday and go up with me then, " heannounced, and without waiting for assent or protest plunged into hissubject with calculated abruptness. 

"This road business of yours, is there money in it?"

"I think so. It is not done yet. "

"How long will it take you to perfect it?"

"How can I tell? It may mean weeks, it may mean months. "

"What are you going to do when you've found it?"

"Get someone to take it up, I suppose. "

Christopher was answering against his will, but the swift sharpquestions left him no time to fence. 

"I'll take it up now. Fit you up a laboratory and experimenting groundand give you two years to perfect it--and a partnership when it'sstarted. "

Christopher looked up with incredulous amazement. 

"But it's a purely scientific speculation at present. There are justabout half a dozen people on the track. We are all racing eachother. "

"Well, you've got to win, and I'll back you. You shall have everyassistance you want--money shan't count. You can live here and havethe North Park for trials, as many men as you want and nointerruption. "

"But it's impossible. It's not a certainty even. "

"No speculation is a certainty. If you bring it off it will mean afortune, properly managed. I can do that for you far better thanAymer. We should share profits, of course, and I should have to riskmoney. It's a fancy thing, but it pleases me. "

Christopher got up and went to the open window. The tussle betweenthem had come. It would need all his strength to keep himself freefrom this man's toils. However generous in appearance, Christopherknew they were toils for him, and must be avoided. 

"Aymer's done well enough for you so far, " pursued Peter Masters fromthe depths of his chair. "We will grant him all credit, but this isthe affair of a business man: it requires capital: it requiresbusiness knowledge: and it requires faith. You will have to go tosomeone if you don't come to me, and I'm making you a better offerthan you'll get elsewhere. I'll do more. We'll buy up the other men ifthey are dangerous. You can have their experience, too. It's only aquestion of investing enough money. "

As he stood there in the window Christopher realised it all: how nearhis darling project lay to his heart, how great and harassing would bethe difficulties of launching it on the world; how sure success wouldbe under this man's guidance, and yet how with all his heart and souland unreasoning mind he hated the thought of it, and would have foundlife itself dear at the purchase of his freedom. 

His hands shook a little as he turned, but his voice was quiet andsteady. 

"It is very generous of you, sir, but I could not possibly pledgemyself to you or any man. "

"I'm asking no pledge. I'm only asking you to complete your owninvention, and when it's completed I'll help you to use it. "

"I must be free. "

"You own you can't use any discovery by yourself, you'd have to go tosomeone. I come to you. The credit will be yours. I only find themeans and share the return--fair interest on capital. "

"It's not that. "

"Then what? Do you doubt my financial ability or financialsoundness?"

The meshes of the net were very narrow. Christopher sat with his headon his hands. He could waste no force in inventing reasons, neithercould he explain the intangible truth. It was a fight of willssolely. 

"I can't do it, " said Christopher doggedly. 

"You are only a boy, but I credit you with more common-sense and abetter eye for business than many young men double your age. Whatdispleases you in my offer? Where do you want it altered?"

"I don't want it at all, Mr. Masters. I won't accept it. I don't thinkmy reason matters at all. I know I shall never do so well, but Irefuse. "

"There are others who would take it. Suppose you are forestalled?"

Christopher looked him straight in the eyes. 

"It's a fair fight so far. "

"A fight is always fair to the winner, " returned Masters grimly. Therewas a silence. The next thrust reached the heart of the matter. 

"What is your objection to dealing with me?"

Peter Masters leant forward as he spoke and put a finger on theother's knee; his hard, keen eyes sought the far recesses of his son'smind, but they did not sink deep enough to read his soul. Christopherstruggled with the impetuous words, the direct bare truth that soughtfor utterance. Truth was too pure and subtle a thing to give backhere. When he answered it was in his old deliberate manner, as he hadanswered Fulner--as he would invariably answer when he mistrusted hisown judgment. 

"If I told you my objections you would not care for them or understandthem. You would think them folly. I won't defend them. I won't offerthem. It is just impossible, but I thank you. "

He rose and Masters did the same with a curious look of admiration anddisappointment in his eyes. 

"I thought you a better business man, Christopher. Will you refer thematter to your--guardian?"

"No. It is quite my own. Even Aymer can't help me. "

Peter's lips straightened ominously. 

"You will come to me yet. My terms will not be so good again. "

"Then I am at least warned. "

"As you will. You are a fool, Christopher, perhaps I am well quit ofyou. "

"I think that is quite likely, " returned Christopher gravely, with afaint twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He went away despondently, however, and stopped at the door. 

"When would you like me to go?"

"I told you: we go up to London on Monday, " said the millionairesharply. "I engaged you to buy a car and you must buy it. "

"I am quite ready to do so. "

He left the room with an appalling sense of defeat and humiliation onhim. He could hardly credit a victory that left him so bruised andspiritless. It was in his mind to run away and avoid his engagementin London. He might even have done so but for Peter's remark. Hewalked across the hall with downcast eyes and nearly fell against atall thin form. 

"Nevil!" cried Christopher. 

"Yes, Nevil. Christopher, could I be had up for libel if I wrote thelife of a railway train?"

CHAPTER XXII

Christopher led the way into the nearest room and turned to Nevil withan anxious face. 

"What is wrong? Is it Cæsar?" He stopped abruptly. 

"There's nothing wrong. Mayn't anyone leave Marden but you, you youngautocrat?"

Nevil deposited his lanky self in a comfortable chair and smiled inhis slow way. Then he looked round the room with a critical, disapproving eye. 

"Is Peter at home?" he asked, "and do you think he could put me up fora night? I suppose I ought to see him. "

Christopher did not offer to move. 

"You shan't see him till you tell me what brings you here, Nevil, " hesaid firmly. 

The other shook his head. "That's a bad argument, Christopher. However, I'll pretend it's effectual. There's a man at Leamington whohas some records he considers priceless, but which I think are frauds. I thought if I came up to-day I could travel down with youto-morrow. "

It sounded plausible--too plausible when Christopher considered thedifficulty it was to rouse Nevil even to go to London. There might bea man in Leamington, but he didn't believe Nevil had come to see him. 

"You are growing very energetic, Nevil, " he said slowly, "all thistrouble over some fraudulent records. "

"They might be genuine, and really important, " Nevil suggestedcautiously. 

"At all events I was not returning till Saturday, and Mr. Masterswants me to stay till Monday now, and go to London with him then. "

Nevil crossed and uncrossed his long legs, gazing abstractedly at amodern picture of mediæval warfare. 

"Those helmets are fifteen years too late for that battle, " hevolunteered, "and the pikes are German, not French. What a rottenpicture. Don't you think you could come back with me? I hatetravelling alone. I always believe I shall get mislaid and be taken tothe Lost Property Office. Porters are so careless. "

He did not look round, but continued to examine the details of theoffending picture. 

Christopher leant over his chair and put his hands on Nevil'sshoulders. 

"Nevil, I can't stand any more. Tell me why I am to come back. "

The other looked up at him with a rueful little smile, singularly likehis father's. 

"You were not always so dense, Christopher. I hoped you wouldn't askquestions that are too difficult to answer. To begin with, neither myfather nor Aymer know I've come. They think I'm in town. You see, Cæsar misses you, though he wouldn't have you think so for the world, in case it added to your natural conceit, but it makes him--cross, yes, rather particularly cross and that upsets the house. I can'twrite at all, so I thought you had better come back. The fact is, " headded with a burst of confidence, "I've promised an article on theMasterpieces of Freedom for August. I seldom promise, but I like tokeep my word if I do, and it's impossible to write now. If you'reenjoying yourself it's horribly selfish--but you see the importance ofit, don't you?"

"Yes, " allowed Christopher with the ghost of a smile, "it's lamentablyselfish of you, but I realise the importance. Shall we go by railto-night?"

"But Leamington?"

"Will the man run away?"

"My father might have been interested to see the papers. "

"You dear old fraud, " said Christopher with an odd little catch in hisvoice, "do you suppose St. Michael won't see through you? Is it likeyou to travel this distance to see doubtful records when you won't goto London to see genuine ones? Why did not St. Michael write to me?"

"Cæsar would not let him. "

"He must be ill. "

"He is not, on my word, Christopher. He is just worried to the vergeof distraction by your being here. It seems ridiculous, but so itis. "

"Why didn't you write yourself?"

Nevil considered the question gravely. 

"Why didn't I write? Oh, I know. I only thought of it this morning andit seemed quicker to come. "

"Or wire?" persisted Christopher. 

"It would have cost such a lot to explain, " he answered candidly. "Idid think of that and started to send one. Then I found I had onlytwopence in my pocket. If I had sent anyone else to the officeeveryone would have known I was sending for you and Cæsar would havebeen more annoyed than ever. "

"I quite see. What did Mrs. Aston say?"

"I think she said you'd be sure to come. "

Christopher nodded. "Yes, I'll go by mail to-night. " Then he shut histeeth sharply and looked out of the window with a frown, thinking ofthe renewed battle of wills to come, and at last said he would go andfind Mr. Masters, since no one appeared to have told him of Nevil'sarrival. 

He went straight down the corridor to Peter Masters' room. The ownerwas still seated as he had left him, smoking placidly. 

"Changed your mind already?" he asked as his guest entered. 

"No, not that, but Nevil Aston has come and I must go back with him bythe mail to-night. "

"What's up?" The big man sprang to his feet. "Is Aymer ill?"

"No, no. I don't think so. It may be Nevil's fancy. He thinks Aymerwants me back. Of course it sounds absurd, but Nevil, who won't stirbeyond the garden on his own account, has come all this way to fetchme to Cæsar. "

Peter Masters was half-way to the door and tossed a question over hisshoulder curtly. 

"Where is he?"

"In the little reception-room. "

Christopher followed him down the passage puzzling over thisunexpected behaviour. 

Nevil was re-exploring the inaccurate picture with patient sorrow anddespair. He hardly turned as they entered. 

"How do you do, Peter, " he said unenthusiastically, "why do you buypictures like that by men who don't even know the subject they arepainting?"

"I'll burn it to-morrow. What's the matter with Aymer, Nevil?"

Nevil looked reproachfully at Christopher. 

"Nothing is the matter, as I told Christopher, only I'd a man to seeat Leamington and thought I could get a fellow victim here for thejourney home. "

"I'll meet you in London on Monday, " put in the fellow victim quietlyto Mr. Masters. 

Peter looked from one to the other, lastly he looked long atChristopher and Christopher looked at him. Nothing short of therevelation Peter was as yet unprepared to make would stop Christopherfrom going to Aymer Aston that night he knew, and if he let the boy goback with the truth untold, it would be forever untold--by _him_. Thatit _was_ the Truth was a conviction now. There was no space left for ashadow of mistrust in his mind. 

"If you go by the mail we'd better dine at eight sharp, " he saidabruptly. "I want to see you, Christopher, before you go, in my room. "He turned towards the door, adding as an afterthought, "You must lookafter Nevil till I am free. "

Nevil gave a gentle sigh of satisfaction as the door closed. 

Christopher laughed. The relief was so unexpected, so astounding. "We'll have some tea in the orangery, " he said after a moment'sconsideration. "You may not like the statuary, but the orange trees atleast offer no anachronisms. "

Peter Masters shut the door of his room with a bang and going to anever-ready tray, helped himself to a whiskey and soda with a freehand. Then he carefully selected a cigar of a brand he kept for theSmoke of Great Decisions, and lit it. All this he did mechanically, byforce of habit, but after it was done, habit found no path for itself, for Peter Masters was treading new roads, wandering in unaccustomedregions, and found no solution to his problem in the ancient ways. 

Was he, who for thirty-five years of life--from full manhood tillnow--had never consulted any will or pleasure but his own--was he nowgoing to make a supreme denial to himself for no better reason thanthe easing of a stricken man's burden?

The man once had been his friend, but the boy was his. And he wantedhim. He clenched his fist on the thought. He was perfectly aware ofhis own will in this matter. 

Even from the material or business point of view his need of a son andheir had grown great of late. He had never contemplated thenon-existence of one, just as he had never contemplated thenon-existence of Elizabeth. He had counted, it is true, onoverpowering the alert senses of one who had known the pinch ofpoverty with superabundant evidence of the fortune that was his. Hehad noted the havoc wrought to great fortunes by children brought upto regard great wealth as the natural standard of life; he meant toavoid that error, and in the unnatural neglect of the boy he hadbelieved to be his, there was less callous indifference than CharlesAston thought: it was more the outcome of a crooked reasoning whichplaced the ultimate good of his fortune above the immediate well-beingof his child. The terrible event in Liverpool that had shattered hisalmost childish belief in his wife's existence had also wiped away herfading image from his mind. The whole force of his energetic naturewas focussed on the possible personality of his son. This Christopherof Aymer Aston's upbringing, entirely different from all he hadpurposed to find in his heir, called to him across forgotten waters. His very obstinacy and will power were matters in which Peterrejoiced--they were qualities no Aston had implanted. He was proud ofhis son and his pride clamoured to possess in entirety what was his byright of man. 

What could prevent him? He sat biting his fingertips and frowning intothe gathering twilight without--at that persistent vision of AymerAston's face. 

There were plenty of men in the world who would have shrugged theirshoulders over the question of Peter Masters' honesty, some who wouldhave accredited his lightest word and yet would have preferred alegal buffer between them and the bargain he drove: many whoconsidered him a model of financial honesty. It was a matter of thepersonal standpoint: perhaps none of them would have troubled tomeasure the millionaire by any measure than their own. Peter's ownmeasure was of primitive simplicity--he never took something fornothing, and if he placed his own value on what he bought and what hepaid, he at least believed in his own scale of prices. Had he pickedup a banknote in the street he would have lodged it with the policeunless he considered the amount only equalised his trouble in stoppingto rescue it. Had his son dragged himself up the toilsome ladder tomanhood (he ignored the possibility of woman's aid), he would havetaken him as he was, good or bad, without compunction, but herecognised that Christopher was not the outcome of his own effortsonly, that Aymer having expended the unpriceable capital of time, patience and love, might, with all reason, according to Peter Masters'code of life, look for the full return of sole possession in theresult. Was he, then, in the face of his own standard of honestdealing, going to rob Aymer of the fruit of his labours, to take sogreat a something for nothing?

Let it be to Peter's everlasting credit that he knew his millions tobe as inadequate to offer a return as any beggar's pocket. He had noquarrel with himself over his past conduct, he repudiated nothing andregretted nothing, he merely viewed the question from the immediatestandpoint of the present. Was he going to violate the one rule of hislife or not? He made no pretence about it. If he claimed his son hewould claim him entirely. Christopher would refuse, would resist theclaim at first--of that Peter was assured. But it would be Aymerhimself who would fight with time on his side and insist on Peter'srights, he was equally assured of that. But still Christopher wouldrefuse. 

Peter Masters got up and began to walk up and down and parcelled outbribes. 

"He shall have the Foundry to play with--a garden city for them if helikes. His own affair run on his own silly lines. " So he thought, ready to sweep to oblivion rule and system for the possession of thisson of his. 

But there remained Aymer. 

Whether he gained Christopher in the end or not the very making of theclaim would make a break between Aymer and his adopted son, --a gulfover which they would stretch out hands and never meet. 

Aymer loved him. Aymer of the maimed life, the shattered hopes, whosedestiny filled Peter with sick pity even now, so that he stretched outhis great arms and moved sharply with a dumb thankfulness to somethingthat he could move. 

He might as well rob a child--or a beggar--better: he could give thema possible equivalent. 

He went slowly to the side table and had a second whiskey and soda, mechanically as he had done at first, then he rang the bell. 

When Christopher sought him shortly before dinner-time he was toldcurtly he could go to London at his leisure and purchase a car whereand how he liked, so it were a good one. 

"I shall want a chauffeur with it, " he added, "English, mind. You cancharge your expenses with your commission, whatever that is. "

Christopher said gravely he would consider the matter. 

"You can send me word how Aymer is, " concluded Masters shortly. "Isuppose he's ill. The whole lot of you spoil him outrageously. "

CHAPTER XXIII

Perhaps they did spoil Aymer Aston, these good people, who loved himso greatly, setting so high a store upon his happiness that their ownwell-being was merged therein. 

While it was quite true that neither Nevil nor any other could haveworked peacefully in the electrical atmosphere of the house afterChristopher left with Peter Masters, it is also true that no temporarypersonal inconvenience would have driven Nevil to undertake the longand tiresome journey, if his brother's welfare had not been involved. 

The need had been great. Aymer's restless misery increased every dayof Christopher's absence. He refused to see any of the household buthis father and Vespasian, and though at first he made desperateefforts to control himself, in the end he gave up, and long hours ofsullen brooding silence were interposed with passionate flashes oftemper. It was the old days over again, and all those near himrealised to the full how great was the victory that had been won andhow terrible life might have been for them all without it. Thereforethey were very patient and tolerant, though Mr. Aston began toconsider seriously if he would not be justified in breaking his givenword to Aymer and summoning Christopher back at once. 

He looked very worn and tired when he joined Renata at dinner on theThursday night. 

"Nevil does not mean to be away long, does he?" he inquiredanxiously. 

"No, I think not. Why, St. Michael? Does Cæsar want him?"

"He asked for him this evening. "

"What a pity. "

She went on with her soup, with a little rose of colour on her face, thinking of the secret her husband had of course confided to her. Presently observing St. Michael hardly touched his dinner and seemedtoo weary to talk, she suggested nervously that she should sit withAymer that evening. He conjured up a kind smile of thanks, but refusedin his gentle, courteous way, saying that Aymer seemed disinclined totalk. 

When Mr. Aston went back to the West Room a little later, thatdisinclination seemed to have evaporated. He heard Cæsar's furiousvoice pouring a cascade of biting words on someone as he opened thedoor. Vespasian was the unfortunate occasion and the unwilling victim;Vespasian, who was older by twenty years than in the days when hestood unmoved before continuous and worse storms. His usuallyimpassive face was rather red and he now and then uttered a dignifiedprotest and finally bent to pick up the shattered glass that laybetween them and was the original cause of the trouble. Aymer, withrenewed invective, clutched a book to hurl at the unfortunate man, butbefore he could fling it, Mr. Aston leant over the head of the sofaand seized his wrists. The left would have been powerless in a child'sgrasp and the elder man's position made him master of the still strongright arm. 

At a faint sign from Mr. Aston, Vespasian vanished. 

Aymer made one unavailing attempt to free himself as his father drewhis hands up level with his head. He tried not to look at the faceleaning over him. 

"Aymer, " said his father, with great tenderness, "do you remember whatI used to do with you when you were a little boy and lost yourtemper?"

Aymer gave a short, uneasy laugh. "Tie my hands to a chair or a bedhead. It was all right then, it is taking a mean advantage now. " Heended with a choking laugh again, and Mr. Aston felt his hands trembleunder his careful grasp. 

"Aymer, my dear old fellow, if you must turn on someone, then turn onme. I understand how it is. Vespasian doesn't. That's not fair. It'sthe way of a fractious invalid, not of a sane man. Where's yourpride?"

Aymer bit his lip. He was helpless and humiliated, but after all itwas his father. He looked up at him at last with a crooked smile. 

"I've none--in your power like this, sir. Let me go, I'll be a goodboy. "

They both laughed, and Mr. Aston released him. The colour burned onAymer's face. Grown man as he was, the sudden subjection to authorityso exerted was hard to bear even in the half-joking aspect with whichhis father covered it. 

Mr. Aston knew it. He had deliberately used the very helplessness thatwas his son's best excuse for his outbreak, to check the same, andhowever thankful for his success, the means were bitter to him also, only he was not going to let Aymer see it or get off without furtherword. 

"I shall have to send you to school again, " he said, picking up thebroken glass. "I can't have Nevil's property treated like this. He'llbe adding 'breakages' to the weekly bill. "

"I'll pay, " pleaded Aymer, contritely, "if you won't tell him. Whereis he?"

"Gone to London, of all the preposterous things; so Renata says. Sheexpects him back to-morrow, I suppose Bowden will look after him, butI should have wired to them had I known he was going. "

He seemed really a little worried, and Aymer laughed. 

"What a family, St. Michael! Nevil can look after himself a good dealbetter than you think. He puts it on to get more attention. "

"Do you think he is jealous?"

"Not an ounce of it in him. I have the monopoly of that, " he added, with a sharp sigh, and then, without any warning, he caught hisfather's arm and pulled him near. 

"Father, " his voice was hoarse and unsteady, "if Peter tellsChristopher, what will happen? I can't think it out steadily. I can'tface it. "

Mr. Aston knelt by him and put his hand on his shoulder, concealinghis own distress at this unheard-of breakdown. 

"My dear boy, it would not make the slightest difference toChristopher. I'm seriously afraid he'd tell Peter to go to thedevil--and he'd come home by the next train. He'd never accept him. "

"He'd never forget, " persisted Aymer, the sleeping agony of long yearsshining in his eyes. "It would not be the same, father. He would notbe--mine. I could not pretend it if he knew. Peter would be therebetween us--always as he was----"

He broke off and took up the thread with a still sharper note of pain, "Father, can't you understand. I don't mind a woman. He'll love andmarry some day: it's his right. I don't grudge that. But anotherfather--his real one. Oh, My God, mayn't I keep even this for myself?"He hid his face on the cushions, all the wild jealousy of his naturestruggling with his pride. 

His father put his arm round him, hardly able to credit the meaning ofthe crisis. Was that white scar on his son's forehead no memorial to adead jealousy, but only an expression of a slumbering passion?

"Aymer, old fellow, listen. Peter isn't going to tell, I feel sure ofit. And it would make no difference. You must allow I know somethingof men. I give you my word of honour, Aymer, I know it would make nodifference to Christopher. You wrong him. You will always be firstwith him. "

"It's not Christopher, " returned Aymer, lifting hard, haggard eyesto his father, "it's myself. Twice in my life I've wantedsomething--someone for myself alone. Elizabeth--and now Christopher!It's I who can't share. "

"Jealousy, cruel as the grave. " Involuntarily the words escaped Mr. Aston. 

"More cruel. "

He dropped his head again. St. Michael continued to kneel by him insilence. The elementary forces of nature are hard matters with whichto deal. Silence, sympathy, and the loan of mental strength were allhe could offer. 

It came to his mind in the quiet stillness how in just such a crisisas this, when he was not at hand to help the same cruel passion hadwrought the irrevocable havoc with his son's life. He looked at thedark head pressed on the pillows and remembered his young wife'shalf-laughing pride in her first-born's copper coloured aureole ofhair. He recollected the day he had first held him in his arms, himself but just arrived at man's estate, and this helpless littlebaby given into his power and keeping. He had done his best: God knowshow humbly he confessed that more than truthful Truth, yet even allhis love had failed to save that little red-haired baby from this ... Jealousy, cruel as the grave! Perhaps he had been too young a fatherto deal with it at first. Was it his failure or were there greaterforces behind--the forces of ages of other failures for which poorAymer paid.... 

Aymer moved till his head rested against his father's arm, like atired child. Presently he looked up rather shamefacedly. 

"It's over. What a fool I've been. Don't tell Christopher, father. "

A faint reflection of what Aymer considered his own terrible monopoly, caught poor St. Michael for a fleeting moment, a jealous pang that hisson's first thought must go to the boy. He realised suddenly he wastired out and old, and got to his feet stiffly. 

Aymer gave him a quick, penetrating glance. 

"Send Vespasian back, father, " he said abruptly, "and you go to bed. What a selfish brute I've been. " And when Mr. Aston had bidden himgood-night he added in the indifferent tone in which he veiled anygreat effort, "If Peter should want Christopher to stay longer, youmight tell him to come back--it doesn't pay to be so proud--and I'llapologise to Vespasian. "

"He's worth it, " said Mr. Aston with a smile, "he and I are gettingold, Aymer. "

"Negatived by a large majority, sir, " he answered quickly. 

It was not of Christopher he thought in the silent hours of the night, and Mr. Aston's brief jealousy would have found no food on which tothrive had it survived its momentary existence. 

When Mr. Aston came down in the morning the first sight that met hisastonished eyes was Christopher, seated at the breakfast table andattacking that meal with liberal energy. He sprang up as Mr. Astonentered. 

"My dear boy, I thought you were not coming till to-morrow at theearliest. "

"Will it be inconvenient?" asked Christopher, with demure gravity. "I'm sorry, but I was so bored. "

He stumbled a little over the prevarication. St. Michael was not PeterMasters, even excuses found no easy flow in his presence. 

"I'm delighted, " said Mr. Aston, and looked it. 

He had breakfasted in his room, so he sat down by Christopher andtried to find out the reason of the opportune return. 

"Your letters did not sound at all bored. "

"I only realised it yesterday evening, " returned Christopher, withgreat gravity, "so we--that is I--came down by the mail lastnight--and Nevil.... "

"Nevil?"

"Yes, I picked him up, you know. He was seeing a man in Leamington. "

Christopher carved ham carefully, and avoided Mr. Aston's eye, smilingto himself over his promise to Nevil not to betray him. 

"Nevil went to London. How did--" Mr. Aston stopped suddenly, "Christopher. "

"Yes, St. Michael. "

"You are not to lie to me whatever you do to others. Tell me what itmeans. "

Christopher regarded him doubtfully and then laughed outright. 

"Nevil did not like travelling alone. He thought he would get lost, sohe asked me to look after him. "

"He went from London to Leamington to get a companion to travel homewith?"

"Exactly. Isn't it like him, St. Michael?"

They again looked steadily at each other. 

"And being a bit weary of fighting for the right of individualexistence, " went on Christopher, "I agreed to bring him home. Mr. Masters has been most kind, but he does like his own way. "

"And what about you?"

"Oh, I like mine, too. That's why it was so boring. How's Cæsar?"

"He will be pleased to see you. Where is Nevil?"

"Gone to bed, I expect. How he hates travelling. "

"Yes. "

"He hates explanations still more, please St. Michael. "

"He should have prepared a more plausible story. "

"He thinks it quite credible. He expected me to believe--about the manin Leamington. "

"And did you?"

"Well, do you?"

They both laughed and Christopher looked at the clock. 

"Do you think Vespasian will let me take in Cæsar's breakfast?"

"He would be delighted, I'm sure. Cæsar won't believe in Leamingtoneither, Christopher. "

"But he will easily believe I was bored--which is true. I don't thinkhe is as fond of Mr. Masters as he pretends to be. "

Whether Aymer believed or not, he asked no questions. He only remarkedthat Peter was far more likely to have been bored and Christopher hadno eye to his own advantage. To which Christopher replied flippantlythat it was a question of "vantage out, " and he was not going toimperil his game with a rash service. 

After that he sat on the foot of the bed and talked frankly of hisvisit, and minute by minute the jealous fire in Aymer's heart dieddown to extinction. 

Presently, however, he said abruptly and rather reproachfully: "Younever told me Mr. Masters had married. "

For a confused second the room and the occupants were lost in a fierymist and only Christopher's voice lived in the chaos. Then Aymer foundhimself struggling to maintain hold of something in the mentalturmoil, he did not know what at first: then that it was his ownvoice. It amazed him to hear it quite; steady and cool. 

"Why should she interest you? Did Peter tell you?"

"No. Never mentioned it. One day I found Mrs. Eliot, the housekeeper, in a room, a sort of boudoir, playing about with holland covers, and Ihelped her. What was she like?"

"Mrs. Eliot?"

"No, you old stupid. Mrs. Peter Masters. I know you knew her, becausethere's a pen-and-ink sketch of you and Mr. Masters playing cards inthe room. "

"Oh, is there. "

"Is she dead?"

"Yes. "

"What was she like--to marry Mr. Masters?"

"Like? Like other women, " returned Aymer, shortly. 

Christopher looked at him sharply and realised he had committed anindiscretion--that this was a subject that might not be handled evenwith a velvet glove. 

"Explicit, " he retorted lightly. "However, that's not important. Nowfor something of real moment. "

He plunged into an account of Peter's final offer to him, and his ownrefusal. 

"Why on earth did you refuse? Wasn't it good enough?" demanded Aymercurtly. 

"No, not with P. M. Attached. Might as well take lodgings in WormwoodScrubs--quite as much liberty. But, anyhow, Cæsar, you see now whatyou have got to do. "

"Get you apartments in Wormwood Scrubs?"

"No. Do be serious. Give me a laboratory here and some experimentalground. Do, there's a dear good Cæsar. " In reminiscence of old days hepretended to rub his head against Cæsar's arm. 

"Ah, you invented Peter's offer to wheedle me into this. I suppose. "

"Exactly. Seriously, Cæsar, if you would, it would be excellent. I'vebeen thinking it out, I could work here safely. No one to crib myideas. But I must have trial ground. "

"That's Nevil's affair. "

"Well, I undertake to manage Nevil if you are afraid, " saidChristopher, with an air of desperate resolve. 

"I thought you didn't like Marden, " persisted Cæsar, fighting in anunreasoning way, against his own desires, "and this engaged couplewill wander round and get in the way. "

He looked Christopher straight in the face with scrutinising eyes, buthe never flinched. 

"I'll put up a notice, 'Trespassers will be blown up. '"

"Well, you'd better talk to St. Michael, but remember, I can't buy upthe other fellows. You'd better have taken Peter's offer. "

"I'd much rather bore you than Mr. Masters. "

"I'm not complaining. "

That was the nearest approach he made to expressing to Christopher hisdeep, quiet content at the arrangement that astute young man had soskilfully suggested. St. Michael said a little more and Christopherknew without words that he had pleased them both. 

CHAPTER XXIV

It took very little time for Christopher to establish himself in thedesired manner. Indeed, before another week had passed the suggestionwas an accomplished fact. After that his actual presence in the housemight almost have been forgotten except by Cæsar. Mr. Masters' halfserious threat was like a spur to a willing steed. He spoke little ofwhat he was doing, but the experimental ground was criss-crossed withstrange-coloured roads, and the little band of men who worked for him, with the kindly indulgence of the "young master's whim, " began to talkless of the fad and to nurse a bewildered wonder at the said youngmaster's strict rule and elaborate care over little points that slowminds barely saw at all. 

As for the engaged couple, Christopher rarely met them. He did notintentionally avoid either Patricia or Geoffry, singly orcollectively, but he was not sorry their preoccupation and hisseparated them. He did not lose his sense of possessorship ofPatricia: in his innermost mind she was still his, and Geoffry was butthe owner of an outside visible Patricia that was but one expressionof the woman who stood crowned and waiting in his heart. 

There was no question of the wedding, or if there were betweenthemselves, Geoffry was not allowed to voice it. Patricia was enjoyinglife and in no hurry to forego or shorten the pleasant days of herengagement. 

Towards the end of September Christopher began to relax his long hoursof work and the tense look on his face gave way. 

"I shall know in about a fortnight if it's coming out all right, " hesaid to Cæsar abruptly one day, "and it's a fortnight in which I cando nothing but wait. "

"Go and play, " said Cæsar, watching him anxiously, "you concentratetoo much. You'll be getting nervous. "

Christopher laughed and gripped Cæsar's hand in his firm, steadygrasp. 

"Never better in my life, " he said. "Concentration is an excellentthing. I'm beginning to appreciate Nevil. "

He spent the next five days in true Nevil fashion, however, followingthe whim of the moment, and "lazing" as thoroughly as he had worked. Geoffry and Patricia claimed his attendance, or Patricia did andGeoffry made no protest. They were supremely happy days. The threetalked of nothing in particular, just the easy surface aspect of theworld and the moment's sunshine, and Geoffry was secretly surprised tofind his pleasure so little diminished by the third presence. 

Then one day that wore no different outer aspect to its fellows intheir livery of autumn sunshine, the three walked over the woodedridge to the open downland where the brown windswept turf wasinterspaced with stretches of stubble and blue-green "roots, " where ahaze of shimmering light hung over copse and field, and beyond theundulating near country a line of hills purple and grey melted intothe sky-line. 

They had discussed hotly a disputed point as they mounted from thevalley and came out on this good land of promise in a sudden silence. Patricia seated herself on the soft turf at the edge of a little chalkpit and sat in her accustomed attitude with her hands folded, lookingstraight before her, and the two men sat on either side of her. Andover all three a sense of the smallness of the matter over which theyhad differed drifted in varied manners. 

Geoffry realised how little he really cared about it. Christopher wasamused at their futile efforts to solve a problem of which they knewnothing, but Patricia was angry, first that she had been betrayed intoexpressing concern in something of which she was really ignorant, andsecondly that neither Christopher nor Geoffry had agreed with her. Thematter of the discussion--it arose from the subject of villagecharities--became of no importance, but the sense of irritationremained with her, and she was unaccountably cross with Christopher. Geoffry's point of view she could ignore, but Christopher's worriedher. 

Geoffry dismissed the whole thing most easily; he did not troubleabout Christopher's view, and he thought Patricia's a little queer, but then to him Patricia's views were not Patricia herself. He madethe common mistake of divorcing that particular aspect of his ladylove with which he was best acquainted from the multitudinous prismsof her womanhood. He would have allowed vaguely that she had "moods, "that these overshadowed occasionally the sunny, beautiful girl heloved, but no conception of her as a whole had entered his mind. Hewas in love with one prism of a complex whole, or rather with onecolour of the rainbow itself. 

This particular truth with regard to Geoffry's estimate of Patriciaimpressed itself on Christopher with disagreeable persistency duringthe walk, and renewed that nearly forgotten fear that had come to himduring the ride from Milton in the spring. 

So presently he found himself watching her inner attitude towards heraccepted lover in the forbidden way, without sufficient knowledge ofwhat he was actually doing to stop it. Perhaps some subtleappreciation of this in the subconscious realm, roused a likeuneasiness and dissatisfaction in Patricia herself. 

At all events Christopher soon found grounds for no immediate fear andleft the future to itself. 

"Shall we go on?" he suggested, marking how her hands grew white asshe pressed them together. 

She negatived the proposal, imperiously saying they had only just gotthere and she wanted to rest. 

"You are getting lazy, Patricia, " said her lover gravely. "I warn you, it's the one unpardonable sin in my eyes. "

"You mistake restlessness for energy, " she retorted quickly. "I'mnever lazy. Ask Christopher. "

Geoffry did no such thing. He continued to fling stones at a mark onthe lower lip of the chalk pit. 

"It's fairly hard to distinguish, anyhow, " said Christopher, thoughtfully. "There are people who call Nevil lazy, whereas he isn't. He only takes all his leisure in one draught. "

"Oh, I don't know. It's simple enough, isn't it? I never feel lazy solong as I'm doing something--moving about. "

Geoffry jumped down into the little white pit as he spoke, as if todemonstrate his remark. Patricia looked scornful. 

"So long as your are restless, you mean, " she said. 

"Well, you must teach me better if you can. I say, Patricia, do youalways turn reproof on the reprover's head?"

He leant against the bank looking up at her, smiling in his easy, good-tempered way. He wished vaguely the line of frown on her prettyforehead would go. He wondered if she had a headache. 

He ventured to put his hand over hers when he was sure Christopher wasnot looking. She neither answered the caress nor resented it. 

Presently he began to explore the hollow, poking into all therabbit-holes with his stick. 

Christopher sat silent, which was a mistake, for it left herirritation but one object on which to expend itself, and after all itwas Geoffry who should have tried to please her by sitting still. 

Suddenly a frightened rabbit burst out of a disturbed hole, andGeoffry, with a shout of delight, in pure instinct flung a stone. By astrange, unhappy fluke, expected least of all by himself, the stonehit the poor little terrified thing and it rolled over dead. He pickedit up by its ears and called to them triumphantly to witness his luck, with boyish delight in the unexpected, though the chances were hewould never have flung the stone at all had he dreamt of destroyingit. 

A second flint whizzed through the air, grazing the side of his head. He dropped the rabbit and stood staring blankly at the two on thebank. 

Patricia's white, furious face blazed on him. Christopher was graspingher hands, his face hardly less white. 

"Are you hurt?" he called over his shoulder. 

"No, " the other stammered out, unaware of the blood streaming down theside of his head, and then dabbed his handkerchief on it. "It's only ascratch. What's happened?"

"Patricia mistook you for a rabbit, I think, " returned Christophergrimly and added to her in a low voice, "Do you know you struck him, Patricia?"

She gave a shiver and put her hands to her face. Even then he did notleave go of her wrists. 

"A happy fluke you didn't aim so well as I did, " called Geoffry, unsteadily coming towards them. 

"Don't come, " said Christopher sharply. "Wait a moment. Patricia, " hetried to pull her hands from her face: her golden head dropped againsthis shoulder and he put his arms round her. 

"What is the matter with Patricia. Is she ill?" asked Geoffry at hisshoulder, his voice altered and strained. 

"It's all right now. Sorry I wasn't quicker, Geoffry. Don't touch heryet. "

But Geoffry was hard pressed already not to thrust the other aside, and he laid his hand on the girl's arm. Christopher never offered tomove. 

"Patricia, what's the matter. You haven't really hurt me, you know. What on earth were you doing?"

But she gave no sign she heard him. Only her hands clung close toChristopher and she trembled a little. 

"She is ill, " cried Geoffry quickly. "Put her down, Christopher, she'sfaint. "

"No, she is not, " returned the other through clenched teeth, "she willbe all right directly, if you'll give her time. For heaven's sake goaway, man. Don't let her see you like that. Don't you know your headis cut. "

Geoffry put up his hand mechanically, and found plentiful evidence ofthis truth, but he was still bewildered as to what had actuallyhappened, and he was aching with desire to take her from Christopher'shold. 

"It was just an accident, " he protested. "She didn't mean to hit me, of course. Let her lie down. "

"She did mean to hit you, just at the moment, " returned the other, very quietly, "haven't you been told. Oh, do go away, there's a goodfellow. I'll explain presently. "

He was sick with dread lest Patricia should give way to one of herterrible paroxysms of sorrow before them both. She was trembling allover and he did not know how much self-control she had gained. Thensuddenly he understood what was the real trouble with poor Geoffry. 

"Don't mind my holding her, Geoffry, " he went on swiftly, "I've seenher like this before and understand, and I can always stop her, butshe mustn't see you like that first. "

Geoffry stood biting his lip and then turned abruptly on his heel andleft them--and for all his relief at his departure, Christopher felt afaint glow of contempt at his obedience. 

"Is he gone?" Patricia lifted her white face and black-rimmed eyes tohis. 

"Yes, dear. "

"Did I hurt him?"

"Not seriously. Sorry I was not quicker, Patricia. "

"I did not even know myself, " she answered, wearily. "Christopher, whywas I born? Why didn't someone let me die?"

He gave her a little shake. "Don't talk like a baby. But, Patricia, how is it Geoffry doesn't know?"

She looked round with languid interest. 

"Why did he go?"

"I sent him away. "

"He went?"

"What else could he do?"

She made no further remark, but sat clasping and unclasping hernervous hands, as powerless against the desperate languor assailingher as she had been against the gust of passion. 

Across the wide, smiling land westward a closed shadow, sharp ofoutline and rapid of flight, drove across the stubble field, sank inan intervening valley, and skimmed again over the close green turf totheir feet as it touched the edge of the chalk pit. She shivered alittle. 

"Take me home, Christopher. "

He helped her up and with steady hands assisted her to smooth her hairand put on her hat, and then they turned and walked back along thepath they had come. Christopher was greatly troubled. It seemed tohim incredible that Geoffry had been left in ignorance of this cruelinheritance. He tried to gauge the effect of it on his apparentlyunsuspecting mind and was uneasy and dissatisfied over the result. 

"Someone must explain to Geoffry, " he said presently; "will you likehim to come over to-night and tell him yourself, Patricia?"

"I don't want to see him. " There was a deep note of fatigue in hervoice, also a new accent of indifference. Her mind was in no wayoccupied with her lover's attitude towards the unhappy episode. 

"Someone's got to see him and explain. It's only fair, " persistedChristopher resolutely. 

"What is there to explain. What does it matter?"

"He thinks it was an accident. "

She walked on a little quicker. 

"Patricia, you must tell him. "

Then she turned and faced him, and her pallor was burnt out with red. 

"Christopher, I will not see him. I can't. What's the use? What can hedo?"

"He must learn how to help you, learn how to stop it, " he saiddoggedly. 

She gave a curious, choking laugh. "Geoffry stop it? Don't be absurd, Christopher. You know he'd make me ten times worse if he tried. Anyhow, I'm not going to marry him. "

"Patricia!"

"Don't, don't. I can't bear anything now. But I won't marry him, oranyone. It's not safe. "

She went on down the path swiftly, without looking back, hardlyconscious of the tears falling from her brimming eyes. Christopherfollowed her silently, furious with himself because of someunreasoning exultation in his heart, some clamorous sense of kinshipwith the golden land and laden earth that had been absent as theycame, but it died when, presently emerging from the wood on to thepark land facing Marden, she turned to him again regardless of hertears. 

"He won't want to marry me now, anyhow, " she said wistfully, with achild's appealing look of distress. 

A great pity welled up in his heart and drowned the last thought ofself, carrying visions of the cruel isolation this grim inheritagemight entail on her, and he had hard work to refrain from taking herin his arms then and there to hold for ever shielded from therelentless pressure of her life. The temptation was more subtle andharder to withstand than on the sunny, gorse-covered cliff at Milton, for it was her need and her pain that cried for help and love, and shewho suffered because he withstood. He could in no wise see what coursehe was to take beyond the minute, but he knew quite clearly whatcourse he must not take, and such surety was the reward he won fromthat other fight. 

He answered her appeal now with quite other words than those sheperhaps sought, and it was the hardest pang of all to know it andrecognise the vague discomfort in her eyes. 

"You mustn't be unfair to Geoffry, Patricia. You haven't any right tosay that. He will want to do his best for you when he understands. "

"He went away. "

"I sent him. I--I was afraid you were going to cry. "

Had he done wrong? He cast his thoughts back rapidly. He knew he couldnot have borne that they two should witness one of her wild fits ofrepentance and misery. It would have been unbearably unfit. He couldnot have left her to Geoffry, and yet it had been Geoffry's right. Hewalked on by her side wondering where he had blundered. 

"You would not have gone, Christopher, no matter who said so. " Herdirectness was dangerous. She was then going to allow herself noillusions of any kind, not even concerning the man she loved, andChristopher became suddenly aware he was very young: that they wereall three very young, and had no previous experience to guide them inthis difficult pass, but must gain it for themselves, gain it perhapsat greater cost than he could willingly contemplate. 

"It is no question of me, whatever, " he said slowly. "I've been usedto you and I understand. I don't know how it would be if I had notknown, neither do you, but it's clear, you or Nevil must explain thematter to Geoffry at once. "

"You can do it. "

"It's not my place. "

"You were there. "

"That was mere chance. "

She slipped her arm through his in the old way. 

"Dear Christopher, I love Nevil, and he's awfully good, but you arelike my own brother. Please pretend you are really. If I had abrother, he would see Geoffry for me. "

"But Nevil might not like it. "

It was a difficult pass, for how could he explain to her it was ofGeoffry he was thinking, not of Nevil. His evasion at least raised alittle smile. 

"Nevil! An explanation taken off his hands!" She spread her own abroadin mock amazement. 

"Tell him yourself, Patricia. "

"Christopher!"

He looked straight ahead, a certain rigidness in the outline of hisface betokening a decision at variance with his will. 

"What am I to tell him?"

"What you like. "

"I shall not tell him the silly thing you said just now, you know. "

"What thing?"

"About not marrying. "

"It doesn't matter, " she said indifferently, "he won't marry me if hethinks I tried to hit him. "

Christopher closed his mind and reason to so illogical a conclusion, but he disputed the point no more, and it was not till he left her andturned to face instantly the task she had laid upon him, that herealised how overwhelmingly difficult it was. 

CHAPTER XXV

"I suppose no one realised you did not know all about it as you'dknown them all so long. "

Christopher concluded his simple and direct account with these words, and waited vainly for a reply from his hearer, who stood by the windowwith his back to him. 

"It's so nearly a thing of the past, too, that it hardly seemed worthmentioning, " he went on presently, an uneasy wonder at the silencegrowing on him. 

At length Geoffry spoke, in a thick, slow way, like a man groping indarkness. 

"You mean she did throw that stone deliberately, meaning to hit me?"

He had no sight at present for the wider issues that beset them or forPatricia's story: his attention was concentrated on the incidentimmediately affecting him and he could see it in no light but that ofdull horror. 

"Deliberately tried to do it?" he repeated, turning to Christopher. 

"There wasn't anything deliberate about it. She just flung the stoneat you precisely as you flung one at the rabbit. Sort of blindinstinct. She does not know now she really hurt you. "

He glanced at the crossing strips of plaster with which the other'shead was adorned on the right side. 

"It's horrible, " muttered Geoffry, "I can't understand it. "

"It's simple enough. " There was growing impatience in Christopher'svoice. "She inherits this ghastly temper as I've told you. It's like asudden gust of wind if she's not warned. It takes her off her feet, as it were, but she's nearly learnt to stand firm. She has a wretchedtime after. "

"It's madness. "

"It's nothing of the kind. She wasn't taught to control it as a child. They just treated it as something she couldn't help. "

"By heavens, are you going to make out she can help it, and that thatmakes it better?"

Christopher faced him with amazed indignation. Geoffry's wholeattitude and reception of his story seemed to him incrediblyone-sided. 

"Of course it's better. A hundred times better. Do you mean you'drather have her the victim of a real madness she could not control?Think what you are saying, man. "

"To me, it's fairly unbearable if it's something she can help anddoesn't. "

Exasperation nearly choked the other. To have to defend Patricia atall was almost a desecration in his eyes, but he was her ambassadorand he stuck to his orders. 

"She does help it. She's nearly mastered it now. "

Geoffry put his hand to his injured head and gave a short laugh. 

Christopher got up abruptly. 

"What am I to tell her, then?" he demanded shortly. 

The real tenor of the discussion seemed to break suddenly upon Geoffryand he was cruelly alive to his own inability to meet it. He spokehurriedly and almost pleadingly. 

"Don't go yet. I've got to think this out. Can't you help me?"

"What's there to think about? I've told you. I can tell you how tohelp her if you like. "

"I've got to think of a jolly sight more than you seem to imagine, "returned the sorely beset young man irritably, but unable to keep atouch of conscious superiority out of his voice, "a jolly sight more, if I marry her. "

"If you marry her?" Christopher turned on him with blazing eyes. 

"I'm not saying I shan't--but it's a pretty bad pass for us both. Iknow how she feels. Marriage isn't just a question of pleasingoneself, you see. I must think it out for both of us. "

Christopher began to speak and desisted. The other went on in anaggrieved tone. 

"I ought to have been told. Heredity of that sort isn't a thing to beplayed with, you know. Anything might happen. Why wasn't I told?" Hewalked to and fro, and stopped by Christopher again. 

"I wouldn't mind a bit, " he burst out, "if it were just a bad joke, ifshe flung at me in fun and didn't expect to hit. "

"She has a good aim as a rule, " put in Christopher, too blind withfury now to realise the other's unhinged condition, but Geoffry wenton unheeding. 

"But to do it in a rage, and for nothing. Just a cold-blooded attackand no warning. I can't get over it. Anything might happen. "

His first indignant pang that Christopher had been sent on thisawkward errand had died out in the stress of the moment: he was readyto appeal for sympathy, for help, or even bare comprehension in theimpossible situation in which he found himself, but Christopher hadnothing to bestow on him but blind, furious resentment. He longed tobe quit of his service and free to give way to his own wrath. 

"There was plenty of warning for anyone with eyes and sense to usethem, and there was nothing cold-blooded about it whatever, as I'vetold you fifty times. If you choose to make a mountain out of amolehill you must, but I'll not help you. I would have done my bestfor both of you if you'd taken it decently. "

"You? What concern is it of yours?" retorted the other, stung back tohis original jealousy. 

"It's my concern so far as Patricia chooses it to be, " he answeredcurtly. "I'm going now. You'd better write to her yourself, whenyou've decided if the risk is worth taking or not. "

"It's my risk at least, not yours--yet awhile, " was the unguardedreply. 

The young men faced each other for a moment with passions at the pointof explosion. It was Christopher who recollected his position ofambassador first and turned abruptly to the door. In the hall henarrowly escaped encounter with Mrs. Leverson, Geoffry's large andample mother, but slipped out of a garden door on hearing the rustleof her dress. In the open air he breathed freely again and hastened toregain his motor, which he had left near the gates. Once outside LoganPark he turned the car northward along a fairly deserted high-road anddrove at full pressure, until the hot passion of his heart cooled andhis pulse fell into beat with the throb of the engine, and he foundhimself near Basingstoke. Then he turned homeward, driving withgreater caution and was able to face matters in a logically sanemanner. 

"They won't marry and it's a blessed thing for both of them, " was theburden of his thoughts, though it mitigated not one bit his indignantattitude towards Geoffry. Presently he turned to his own interest inthe matter. 

His first idea was that he was free to claim her who was his own atonce, without loss of time, but that impulse died down before a betterappreciation of facts. Patricia must be left free in mind to regainpossession of every faculty, that was but common fairness: also he wasby no means certain at this time what response she would make to hisclaim, and if it should be a negative his position at Marden would bedifficult, and there was Aymer to consider. Quite slowly, and with noappreciable connection with the chief subject a recollection of thatfirst journey with Peter Masters from London came to the surface ofhis mind, and written large across, in Peter's own handwriting, werethe words, "Aymer's son. "

He had put that idea deliberately behind his back, hidden it in thedeepest recess of his mind, with a strange content and a germ of prideunconfessed and unacknowledged to himself. It remained a secretfeeling that touched at no point his steady faith and devotion to hisdead mother. 

But Peter's suggestion had utterly quenched his original intention ofasking Mr. Aston or Cæsar of his own origin, as he had intended to doat the time of his return from Belgium. The actual possibility orimpossibility of the idea counted nothing so long as the faintestshadow of it lurked there in the background. If it were a fact, it wastheir secret, deliberately withheld; if it were not, he must be thelast to give it life. 

The incalculable power of suggestion had done its work and thesuggested lie, taking root, had grown at the pace of all ill weeds andobscured his usually clear visions of essentials. The more hequestioned the possible fact the denser seemed the screen between himand Patricia, until he called himself a fool to have dreamed she wasever his to claim at all. 

It was in this wholly unsatisfactory mood he was called upon, on hisreturn, to face Patricia and give his own account of the interview. 

Patricia was lying in wait for him at the door of her own sanctum, which he had to pass on his way to his room. He would have gladlydeferred the interview, but she summoned him imperiously. 

"There's a good hour till dinner, Christopher, and I must know what hesaid. How long you've been!"

He followed her in and closed the door behind him. The littlewhite-panelled room was so perfect an expression of its owner that atall times Christopher felt a still wonder fall on him to find himselfwithin its confines. It was singularly uncrowded and free, and themonotonous note of light colour was broken by splashes of brightnessthat were as an embroidery to the plain setting. 

Patricia turned to him with questioning eyes and no words, and thedifficulty of his task made him a little curt and direct in speech, for otherwise how could he avoid voicing the tenderness that flowed toher. 

"I told him about it and he seemed surprised he hadn't been toldbefore, and he hadn't really taken in what happened this afternoon atall. I expect he'll write to you. "

A faint ghost of a smile touched her white face. 

"You are not really telling me what I want to know, Christopher. "

"There's nothing else. He hadn't got the real focus of the thing whenI left. "

"I understand. "

She turned away and leant her arm on the mantelpiece, wondering in ahalf-comprehensive way why the stinging sense of humiliation andhelpless shame seemed so much less since Christopher had come. Whathad been well-nigh unbearable was now but a monotonous burden thatwearied but did not crush her: she feared it no longer. He stoodlooking at her a moment, gathering as it were into himself all hecould of the bitterness that he knew she carried at her heart, andthen turned away to the window, realising the greatness of her troubleand yearning to do that very thing which unconsciously by mere actionof his receptive sympathy he had done already. 

Presently she came to him and put her hand on his arm. 

"You'll understand, anyhow, Christopher, " she said with a littlesigh. 

"We shall all do that here. "

"But Geoffry won't. "

"I suppose he can't. "

She recognised the hard note in his voice at once, and seating herselfon the window-seat set to work to fathom it. 

"It will help me if you can tell me exactly how he took it, Christopher. Was he angry, or sorry, or horrified or what?"

He had to consider a moment what, out of fairness to Geoffry, he mustwithhold, and choose what he considered the most pardonable aspect. 

"I think he was frightened, Patricia, not at you, so much as at somesilly ideas he's got hold of about heredity. Not his own: justhalf-digested ideas, and he probably finds it pretty difficult tolisten to them at all. He just thinks he ought to, I suppose. "

Again the faint little smile in her face. 

"You are a dear, Christopher, when you try to whitewash things. Listento me. Whatever Geoffry said or does or writes, I've decided I willnot marry him. I've written to say so and posted it before you camein, so he should know that nothing he had said or done influenced mein the slightest. "

Christopher gave a sigh of relief and she went on in the samedeliberate way. 

"And I shall never marry at all. I can't face it again. I'll tellRenata about Geoffry, and may I also tell her you will explain to theothers if she can't satisfy them?"

"I will do anything you wish. " Then he suddenly claimed for himself alittle latitude and spoke from his heart. 

"Patricia, dear, I'm glad you've done it. It's the best and rightthing, however hard, and if I could manage to take all the bother ofit for you I would. Honestly, Geoffry wouldn't have been able to helpyou, I fear. But as to never marrying, you must not say that or makerash vows, and you must never, never let yourself think it isn't safeto marry, or that sort of nonsense. It's in your own hands. We arealways strong enough for our own job, so Cæsar says. Shall I findRenata and ask her to come to you?"

They stood facing each other, an arm's length separating them, and shelooked at him across the little space with so great gratitude andaffection in her eyes that he felt humbled at the little he offeredfrom so great a store at his heart. 

"Christopher, how do girls manage who haven't a brother like you? I'vebeen fretting because I was all alone and no one to stand by me--willyou forgive me that, dear?"

Her eyes were brimming with tears. She laid her hand on his arm againand drew nearer. Her entire ignorance of their true relationship toeach other left her a child appealing for some outward sign of the onedear bond she knew between them. 

Christopher recognised it and put his arm round her and she kissedhim. "I'll never forget again that I've got you, " she whispered, "sucha dear good brother. "

He neither acquiesced nor dissented that point, but very gravely andquietly he kissed her too, and she thought the bond of fraternitybetween then was sealed. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Matters were made as easy for Patricia as the united efforts of thosewho loved her could compass. Geoffry, in his gratitude for herdecisive action, which lifted the onus of a broken engagement from hisshoulders, found a substantial ground for his belief that they hadsacrificed themselves on the altar of duty. Mrs. Leverson sighedprofoundly with unconscious satisfaction over the highly heroicbehaviour of them both and yielded easily to Geoffry's desire totravel. They eventually sold Logan Park, which they had purchasedabout ten years previously, and passed out of the ken of the livesthat were so nearly linked with theirs. 

Life renewed its wonted routine at Marden except that Christopher wasoften absent for weeks together. The final experiments hung fire andhe had to seek new material and fresh inspiration further afield, butnever for long. The end of a set term would see him back by Aymer'sside sharing his hopes and disappointments impartially, alwaysdeclaring that nowhere could he work with better success than atMarden Court. He was five years older than his natural age indevelopment and resource, and the dogged obstinacy that was so directa heritage from his father, stood him in good stead in his stiff fightwith the difficulties that stood between him and his goal. PeterMasters made no sign and no greater success seemed to crown the otherworkers' endeavours, but there was always the secret pressure ofunknown competition at work and it told on Christopher. He became moresilent and so absorbed in his task as to lose touch of outsidematters altogether. It was this absorption in his ambition that madethe daily intercourse with Patricia possible at all. Unsuspected byher, his love, lying in abeyance, was but awaiting the growth in herof an answering harmony that must come to completion before he couldmake his full demand of it. 

One day in March, when the land was swept with cold winds and beatenwith rain, Christopher came out of the little wooden building, wherehe worked, and stood bareheaded a moment in the driving rain. First helooked towards the house and then turning sharply towards the leftmade his way once more to the edge of the last of the experimentaltracks that threaded that distant corner of the park like the lines ofa spider's web. 

He stood looking down at the firm grey surface from which the pouringrain ran off to the side channels as cleanly as from polished marble. He walked a few yards down its elastic, easy-treading surface, ruminating over the "weight and edge" tests that had been applied, andon the durability trials from the little machine that had run for somany long days and nights over a similar surface within the woodenshanty. 

It was morning now. His men, whose numbers had increased each month, had gone to breakfast, and he was alone with his finished work. 

The strain and absorption of the long months was over. He had at lastconquered the material difficulties that had been ranged against him. The dream of the boy had become a tangible reality, ready by reason ofits material existence to claim its own place in the physical world. This unnamed substance whose composition had awaited in Nature'slaboratory the intelligent mingling of a master hand, would add to thestore of the world's riches and the world's ease, and was his gift tohis generation. 

As he stood looking down at the completed roadway, the Roadmakersuddenly remembered his own slight years and the inconceivablefraction of time he had laboured for so wide a result, and there sweptup to him across the level way a new knowledge of his relationship toall the past--that he was but the servant of those who had precededhim and had but brought into the light of day a simple secret maturedlong ago in the patient earth. 

It is in this spirit of true humility and in the recognition of theiractual place in the world that all Great Discoverers find theirhighest joy. It is the joy of service that is theirs, the loftiestambition that can fire the heart of man, making him accept withthankfulness his part as a tool to the great artifices and filling himwith love and reverence for the work he has been used to complete. AsChristopher stood bareheaded in the rain that windy March morning, hisheart swept clear for the time of all personal pride orself-gratification, he offered himself in unconscious surrender againto the Power that had used him, craving only to be used, diviningclearly that achievement is but the starting post to new endeavour. 

At last he turned away, locked up the hut and went down towards thehouse, and at the entrance of the little plantation between park andgarden he met Patricia. 

They exchanged no greeting but a smile, and as he stood on the slopeabove her, looking at her, he was aware of a great sense of peace andrest, and on a sudden, her understanding leapt to meet his. 

"It is done--you have finished it?" she cried, and her hands went outto him. 

"Yes, " he said, quietly, freeing himself from the strange inwardpressure by the touch of that outward union. "This piece of work isdone, Patricia. The thing is there--my Road stuff. It's all right. Itwill stand whatever it is asked to stand. It is ready to use ifanyone will use it. "

"Oh, I'm glad--so glad!" she cried. "Christopher, it is just the bestthing in the world to know you have succeeded. "

Her complete sympathy and generous joy seemed to open his mind to theoutward expression of the speaker, which of late, since the breakingof her engagement with Geoffry, he had tried hard not to observe. 

It seemed to him her face had lost a little of its childish roundness, that there was something accentuated about her that was nameless andyet expected. Also for the first time in his life he was consciousthat her presence by his side was helpful. He had been unaware tillshe came that he needed any aid in what, to him, was a great moment inhis life, but he knew it was restful and good to walk by her, astrange relief to tell her how the last difficulties that had arisenon the heels of each other had finally been met: how strong had beenhis temptation to give his discovery to the world before the tedioustests had gone to the uttermost limits experimental trials couldreach. 

"It's so simple really, " he said, "just a question of proportions oncethe material is there. I felt anyone might hit on it any day, and yetit would have been such a sickening thing to have someone elseplanting an improvement on the top of it within a few months. It mayneed it now, but at least it would mean the test of years, and notimmediate improvement. Do you happen to know if Cæsar had a good nightor not?"

"You've got to have some breakfast yourself first. I don't believe youremember you never came in to dinner last night at all. "

"Didn't I? Breakfast must wait till I've seen Cæsar anyhow. He mustknow before anyone else, and you'll never be able to hold your tonguethrough breakfast, you know. "

"But I'm first, after all. " She tilted her chin a little with acomplacent nod at him. 

He stopped with a puzzled expression. 

"So you are. It never struck me--but--but, " he hesitated, unable toread his own hazy idea, and concluded, "but, you are only a girl, soit doesn't matter. "

The look in his eyes atoned for the "only, " and she bore noresentment, for she had met his look and read there the thought hecould not decipher, and it sunk deep into her heart, with illuminatingpower. 

At the garden door, where the paths branched, she stood aside. 

"Go and tell Aymer and get your breakfast. "

"You are not going to stay out in this rain?"

"You know I love rain, and I've had breakfast. "

Before he could stop her she had turned and disappeared up the windingpath that led out eventually on to the open down. 

Christopher looked after her a moment doubtfully, but her strangefondness for walking in the rain was well known and he had no reasonor right to stop her. So he went indoors to Cæsar. But Patricia walkedon with rapid steps, never pausing till she was well outside theconfines of the park amongst the red ploughed fields and bare downs. The rain swept in her face and the wind rushed by her as she walkedwith lifted head and exultant heart, hearing the whole chorus ofcreation around her, conscious only of the uplifting joy of the greatlight that had broken in on her. At last she stopped by a gate thatled into a field of newly-turned earth--downland just broken by theplough, lying bare and open to the breath of heaven, and beyond, theswelling line of downs was blurred with misty rain and merged into thedriving grey clouds above. Behind her in an oak tree a robin wassinging with passionate intensity. She drew a deep breath and thenheld out her arms to the world. 

"I understand, I understand, " she whispered. "Love and Christopher. Love and Christopher, there is nothing else in the whole world. "

She had accepted the revelation without fear, without question, without distrust. She gave no thought at all at present as toChristopher's attitude to her, as to whether he had anything to givein return for her great gift of herself. She gave herself to Lovefirst, to him after, if such were Love's will. But it made nodifference whether he knew or not, she was his, and the recognitiondrowned all lesser emotion in the great depth of its joy. She wastedno time in lamenting her blindness or the interlude with anotherlesser love: it troubled her not at all, for by such steps had sheclimbed to this unexpected summit. Just at present the glory of thatwas all-satisfying, so much more than she had ever looked for orimagined possible, that to demand the uttermost crown of his returninglove was in these first moments too great a consummation to be borne. 

She stood there with her hands clasped and the only words she foundwere, "Christopher and Love, " and again, "Love and Christopher, " as ifthey were the alphabet of a new language. 

Quite slowly the physical horizon crept up to this plane of exultantjoy and claimed her, but even as she recognised the claim she knew thefamiliar world would bear for her a new aspect, and found noresentment, only a quiet relief as it closed her in. The languor andfatigue of the backward journey did not distress her, every step ofthe way she was studying the news. 

Every blade of grass and every twig spoke of this new language to her, proclaiming a kinship that made her rich in sympathy andcomprehension of all humble lovely things. 

She was seized with fear when she reached home that she wouldencounter Christopher in the hall before she was prepared to accepthim as the most unchanged point of her altered world. Instead she metConstantia Wyatt, who was at Marden with her family for Easter, justcoming down, who asked her if she had been having a shower bath. 

Now Constantia felt a proprietary right over Patricia by reason of herknowledge of Christopher's sentiments, and her own propheticinstincts. She had most carefully refrained from interference in theiraffairs, however, and accepted the post of lookeron with praiseworthyconsistency. But she looked on with very wide-opened eyes, and thismorning when Patricia answered with almost emphatic offhandedness thatshe had only been for a solitary walk in the rain, she could notrefrain from remarking that she appeared to have gathered somethingmore than raindrops and an appetite on her walk, and only laughed whenPatricia, betraying no further curiosity, hurried on. 

"Something has happened, " she thought to herself. "Patricia's eyes didnot look like that last night. She is grown up. "

But her rare discretion kept her silent, and when later on she wasconfronted with the news of Christopher's victory she guessed one-halfof the secret of Patricia's shining eyes. 

Patricia exchanged her dripping garments for dry ones and curledherself up on the sofa in her own room before the fire, with fulldetermination to fathom her growing unwillingness to meet Christopher, and to accommodate herself to the new existence, but the gentlelanguor of mental emotion and physical effort took the caressingwarmth of the fire to their aid and cradled her to sleep instead, till the balance of nature was restored. 

It was in this manner that Patricia and Christopher arrived at thesame cross roads of their lives, where the devious tracks might mergeinto one another, or, being thrust asunder again by some hedge ofconvention, continue by a lonely, painful and circuitous route towardsthe destined goal. 

The matter lay in Patricia's hands, little as either she orChristopher suspected it, and poor Patricia was hampered by a power oftradition and a lack of complete faith of Christopher's view of herinherited trouble. 

Ever since the broken engagement with Geoffry, she had bent in spiritbefore her own weakness, withstanding it well, and yet a prey to thathumiliation of mind that accepts the imperfect as a penalty, insteadof claiming the perfect as a birthright. Having given in to thisattitude, she now, as a natural consequence, could but see the viewoffered from that comparatively lowly altitude, and that shut her inwith the belief her duty lay in renouncing marriage, and also, morelimiting still in its effect, the idea that Christopher also held thisview in his secret heart. 

She wasted no time in the consideration as to whether he loved her ornot: she was sure of that much crown to her own life; but slowly thefalse conviction thrust itself upon her that had he thought otherwisethe long, empty months that had passed would not have been possible. She was too young a woman to balance correctly the power of strenuousoccupation on a man as weighed against the emotion to which a womanwill yield her whole being without a struggle. Looking back on thelong days that had elapsed since the affair by the little chalk pit onthe downs, it seemed to her clear that Christopher had avoided her, and there was sufficient truth in this to make it a dangerous leverwhen handled in connection with the fear of her mind. 

It was, therefore, by a quite natural following-out of the mentalprocess that she ultimately arrived at the conclusion it was her dutyto assist Christopher to renounce herself, and for that purpose, thatshe might less hamper his life, she must leave Marden Court. 

The decision was not arrived at all at once. The day wore on and thenatural order of things had brought her and Christopher face to faceat a moment when she had forgotten there was any difficulty about it. Cæsar had issued invitations to a family tea in his room in honour ofChristopher's achievement, as was a time-honoured custom when any ofthe members of the family distinguished themselves in work or play. Christopher served tea, as it was Cæsar's party, and it was not untilhe gave Patricia her cup that he recollected she had not crossed hispath since that morning in the rain. 

"Where have you hidden yourself?" he demanded severely. 

"You said I could not hold my tongue, so I determined I'd prove youfalse, " was her flippant rejoinder. 

"At the cost of self-immolation. I think it proves my point. "

"I appeal to Cæsar. " She got up and took a chair close to the sofa. 

"Cæsar, I wish you'd keep that boy of yours in order. He is always soconvinced he is in the right that he is unbearable. "

"Allow him latitude to-day. He'll meet opposition enough when he triesto foist this putty-clay of his on the world. By the way, what are yougoing to call it, Christopher?"

Everyone stopped talking and regarded the Discoverer with criticalanxiety. He looked slightly embarrassed and offered no suggestion, andit was Constantia who insisted airily that they should all proposenames and he should choose from the offered selection. 

Christopher was made to take a chair in the midst of the circle and todemonstrate in plain terms the actual substances of which the"Road-stuff, " as he inelegantly termed it, was made. 

The younger members of the family called pathetically for some short, ready name that would not tax pen or tongue. After a long silenceNevil, modestly suggested "Hippopodharmataconitenbadistium. "

This raised a storm of protests, while Constantia's own "Roadhesion"received hardly better support. 

Cæsar flung out "Christite" without concern, and demanded Patricia'scontribution. 

"Aymerite, " she ventured. 

Christopher's glances wandered from one to the other. She was seatedon his own particular chair close to Cæsar, in whose company she felta strange comfort and protection, a security against her own heartthat could not yet be trusted to shield the secret of her love. 

Mr. Aston was called on in his turn and he looked at Christopher witha smile. 

"I think we are all wasting our time and wits, " he said placidly. "Christopher has his own name ready and your suggestions aresuperfluous. "

They clamoured for confirmation of this and Christopher had to admitit was true. 

"I call it Patrimondi, " he said slowly, his eyes on Patricia, "becauseit will conquer the country and the world in time. "

Which explanation was accepted more readily by the younger members ofthe party than by the elder. 

But "Patrimondi" it remained, and if he chose to perpetuate the claimsof the future rather than the past in this business of nomenclature, it was surely his own affair. Patricia, at all events, made noobjection. She had recovered her equilibrium to find the relationshipbetween them was so old that it called for nothing but mute acceptanceon her part: the only thing that was new was her recognition of thebarrier between them, whose imaginary shadow lay so cold across herheart. 

Constantia offered a refuge. Her watching eyes divined something ofPatricia's unrest. She visited her that night at the period ofhair-brushing and found her dreaming before a dying fire. 

"You get up too early, " Constantia remonstrated, "it's a pernicioushabit. If you would come and stay with me in London, I would teach youto keep rational hours. "

"Would you have me, really?" cried Patricia, sitting bolt upright, with every sense alert to seize so good an opportunity of escape. 

"Why, yes. I've been wanting to have you a long time. You had bettercome back to town with me to-morrow. "

"I'd like it better than anything in the world, " asserted Patricia, fervently and truthfully. 

"I wonder if people ever grow up at all here, " Constantia said, smiling, "you are all so preposterously young, you know. "

"You were brought up here yourself. "

Constantia laughed outright. "But I have been educated since Imarried: that is when most people's education does begin. We are onlypreparing for it before. "

"And if one never marries, one remains uneducated, I suppose. "

Constantia kissed her. "Your education is not likely to be neglected, my dear. Go to bed now, we will settle with Renata to-morrow. "

CHAPTER XXVII

It is one thing to produce, and another to launch the production on anunwilling world. Christopher soon found he had but exchanged anarduous engrossing task for a sordid uphill struggle. Yet if his mindsometimes flew back to Peter Masters' offer, it was never with anydesire to open negotiations with him, nor did he ever remind Aymer ofthe possibility. They fought together against the difficulties thatbeset the great venture and their comradeship reduced the irritatingtrivialities of the first start to bearable limits. 

Since the day when he received Peter Masters' curt acknowledgment ofsatisfaction with the selected car, neither Christopher nor the Astonshad heard one word from the millionaire. His restored interest in thefamily appeared to have evaporated as rapidly as it had risen, andpeace fell on Aymer's troubled mind. He flung himself heart and soulinto the business of launching Christopher's discovery, and verifiedhis cousin's old opinion of his business qualities. The initialdifficulties of obtaining the patent being overcome and a small, private company formed, they started a factory for the manufacture ofPatrimondi within five miles of Marden, and a decently capable staffwas secured to meet the slow, but steadily increasing, demands for thenew material. 

After some months of uphill work they suddenly received an order forlaying the roadways and a special motor track at an InternationalExhibition. From this plane Patrimondi leapt into fame. Within threemonths of the opening of the Exhibition the little factory had doubledits staff and even then could not produce enough to meet the demand. With the mounting strain Christopher began to prove of what metal hewas made. He stuck to the work with steady persistence, meetingsuccess as he had met difficulties, counting each but expectedincidents in a life's work. This level-headedness enabled him to beara physical strain that would have broken down the nerve of any manmore subject to outward conditions. A large proportion of extra workwas entailed on him by the starting point of Patrimondi being sodistant from London, but he resisted all suggestions to move it nearertown, or make his own headquarters there, or take any step that wouldserve to separate Aymer from easy contact with the work that made sogreat a difference in his monotonous life. 

Since the last appearance of Peter Masters, Aymer had seemed to losesomething of his old independent spirit of resistance. The mine ofstrength within himself, which his father had developed, was nearingexhaustion, and he lived more and more by force of his interest inoutward things, and the active part he played in Christopher's life. But this diminution of his inward strength made the question of anymove too serious to be contemplated, although they still vaguely spokeof a time when they would return to London. Mr. Aston knew that hehimself could not face the old strenuous life again. 

He had dropped out of the line of workers too early, and thoughseventy years found him still a man of active habits and vigour ofmind, he was too conscious of his divorce from the past to enduremeeting it daily face to face. 

The fortunes of Patrimondi continued to leap forward by untraceableimpulses. They were able to choose their work now, and Christophergave the preference first to roads whose construction was under hisown direction from the very foundation, and secondly to such work asleast separated him from Cæsar, but this last fact he was careful toconceal even from Mr. Aston's watchful eyes. 

In the world of workers he became known as the "Roadmaker, " andfabulous stories of his origin and fortune were circulated. Unknown tohimself or to those nearest to him, men high up in the financial worldkept their eye on the young man--made no prophecies--said nothing--butwere careful for reasons best known to themselves to help rather thanoppose him when he happened to cross their path. But the greatest ofall their race, Peter Masters himself, made no sign at all. Nofabulous fortune was, however, gathered in. "Patrimondi" paid well, but the working expenses were great. Christopher made big returns tothe men, not in wages only, but in every condition of their work. Those in power under him soon learnt it was better to forget themomentary interests of the company than the living interests of theworkmen, but in return for his care Christopher did insist on, and getfrom his men, an amount of work that made other employers open theireyes with envious wonder. 

All this time Patricia held her place in his life. It would have beenhard to trace her actual influence on his daily actions, but it wasthere, preserving his finer instincts under the load of materialcares, linking him indissolubly to that world of high Realities whichis every man's true inheritance. Yet he made no attempt to claim herand at times wondered at his own procrastination. The idea implantedby Peter Masters bore strange fruit, for even an unconsciouslyharboured lie must needs hamper the life behind which it findsshelter. He could make no advance towards Patricia while thatinvidious doubt of his parentage existed, and he lacked theremorseless courage of Mr. Aston to inflict pain for howeverjustifiable a cause on Cæsar. Also perhaps his pride had a word tosay. If there was a secret, it was theirs, and they had not chosen todivulge it to him. Again, he had fathomed something of the depth ofthe jealous love bestowed on him, and his own affection and gratitudewould have their say. All and each of these reasons arrayed themselvesagainst his love. When he tried to face it first one and then theother weighed heaviest, till at length he called time to his side andflung himself into his work the harder to leave that ally free scope. All of which meant that he was yet but a worshipper at Love's throne, and failed to recognise that his place was on it. 

Christopher was in France when he saw the notice of Peter Masters'death in the papers, and he was more staggered by it than he cared toadmit to himself. The millionaire had been knocked down at a busycrossing with no more ceremony than would have served for his poorestworkman. He had been carried to the nearest hospital and died therealmost directly, alone, as he had lived. There was the usual hastyaccount of his life, but by some magic that had perhaps root inPeter's own will, no mention was made of his marriage. 

Christopher wrote home on the subject this-wise:

"It seems to me the more terrible since I think he was a man who neverbelieved any such mischance could dare to happen to him. He alwaysgave me the impression of one who read his own mortality forimmortality, and was prepared to rule Time as arbitrarily as he ruledmen. It does not look to an outsider as if he had gained anyparticular happiness from his fortune, but happiness is a wordeveryone spells in their own way.... I shall be back at the end of theweek, for I find Marcel quite capable of finishing this piece ofwork.... "

Such was the epitaph pronounced over Peter Masters by his own son, andAymer, reading, sank beneath the dead weight of responsibility thatwas his. The outcome of neutrality can be as great a force as that ofaction, and to assume the right to stand aside is to play as decisivea part as the fiercest champion. Nevertheless he held to that neutralattitude through the pangs of self-reproach. 

There was no will, Mr. Aston told him, when he returned from the plainbusiness-like affair of the funeral. 

The news, incredible as it was, was yet a respite to Aymer. 

He did not trouble to conceal it. 

"But I am certain Saunderson knows something. Do not count on it, Aymer. "

"I count every chance in my favour, " returned Aymer deliberately. "Idiscount even your belief that Peter knew, since he said nothing. "

Mr. Aston looked at him sadly. He had no such hope, nor was he evencertain he was justified in seconding Cæsar's wish that the fortuneshould pass Christopher by. The nearer the great thing came to themthe more difficult was it to ignore the vastness of the interestsinvolved, and the greater the responsibility of those who stoodmotionless between Christopher and it. Yet Mr. Aston knew as well asAymer that neither of them would move from their position, and if theyhad acted wrongly in following the wishes of the dead woman inpreference to the material instincts of the living man, they mustaccept the result, and Christopher must accept it, too. 

But he felt keenly Aymer's failure to present an unbiassed face to theturn of circumstances. 

"How long will it be before Saunderson acts if he has any clue to goon?" Aymer asked wearily after a long silence. 

"He would act immediately, but whether that would land him on theright line would depend on the strength of the clue. Aymer, my dearfellow, try and put the matter from you. You are not going to actyourself. "

"No, but I'm no hand at waiting. "

That was true, and as usual the days of suspense told heavily onAymer. Christopher's return was an immense relief. He had had a heavyspell of work and travelling, and allowed himself a few days' holiday. It happened that Patricia was also at Marden. She spent so large apercentage of her time with Constantia now that her presence in thehouse that had been her home more resembled a visit than Christopher'scomings and goings. No one had mentioned the fact that she was thereto him, and he found her in the drawing-room before dinner kneeling bythe fire and coaxing it into a cheery blaze. 

"You are a regular truant, Patricia, " he complained after theirgreeting. 

"Constantia maintains I am at school with her and calls me truant whenI run down here for a few days. "

"Are you at school? What does she teach you?"

"Subjects too deep for mere man, " she retorted lightly. She continuedto kneel with her back to him and the light touched her wonderfulhair, that still seemed too heavy a crown for the proud little head. It was like molten gold. Christopher felt a new heartache for the dayswhen he could touch it without fear in the blind bravery of boyhood. He wanted to see her face which she so persistently turned from him. 

"I am not sure it is a suitable school for you. "

"Since when have you become responsible for my education, sir? Wouldyou prefer my going to school with Charlotte? You are confounding mewith Patrimondi. You will end by rolling me out flat on a high-roadone day. "

She was talking arrant nonsense in self-defence, for every fibre ofher being was quivering at his presence. The old hushed cry awoke inher heart "Christopher and Love--Love and Christopher. " If she lookedat him he must see it, her eyes must needs betray the pitiful whisperbut for the clamour of foolish words. Where was Renata? Why were theyall so late to-night of all nights? Yet she had hurried herdressing--chosen her gown even, on the chance of this interview thatoutmatched her schooled frivolity. The need to see her face and hereyes again pressed on the man--became imperative--as something ofgreat moment, strangely difficult to achieve. 

At last he abruptly spoke her name. 

"Patricia. "

She involuntarily turned to him and found what had appeared so hardwas quite easy, for she discerned some unusual trouble in his mind, and was woman enough for the mothering instinct to sweep up over thepersonal love. 

"What is it, Christopher?"

He had wit enough to keep his advantage, for there was something toread on the upturned face that must not be deciphered in haste. 

"I am seriously worried, Patricia. You might assist instead ofhindering me. "

"Well, what is it?"

"What is Constantia teaching you?"

"Me again, " she returned with a show of indignation, "why on earthshould that worry you?"

"I don't like new facets to familiar diamonds, " he grumbled obscurely, "you are getting too old. Patricia. "

"You are losing your manners. " But even under the banter the colourdied from her face and her hand fell listlessly to her side. 

"I won't allow you to be older than I am. "

She was saved further embarrassment by Renata's entrance, but alldinner time she was conscious of his silent "awareness" of her andwas troubled by it, and it was a new and unpleasing sensation to betroubled by any attitude of Christopher's. Then his scrutiny stoppedabruptly as if she were suddenly placed outside his range of vision, and that attitude suited her mind as poorly as the other. 

She hardly knew if it were by her own will or Christopher's that shesat with him and Aymer that evening. She was quite powerless to resistthe request that might have been a command, and there is some pain inlife that we cling to, dreading its loss more acutely than itspresence. 

Mr. Aston was away, a rare occurrence now, and the three sat talkingbefore the fire, till the dear familiar intercourse and the peace putto sleep the dull ache in Patricia's heart. They talked--or rather themen talked--of Christopher's latest experiences abroad. He had been tothe scene of a vast tunnelling operation in which his part was to comelater. 

"They suggest we should take over their men's shanties as theystand. "

"Will you?" demanded Cæsar. These things were in Christopher's hands. 

"They might serve as material, " he answered drily. "Two of theiroverseers and twenty men asked for berths with me. They are mostlyItalians. If we keep them to make our encampment, I shall have to gomyself. It is rather odd how these men pick things up. I heard----" hebroke off abruptly. 

"We didn't, " remarked Cæsar suggestively after a minute. 

"It was not much, but it is funny how a nick-name travels. There wereabout five hundred men there still, and I heard one say as I passed, 'Ecco il 'Roadmaker. ''"

He was evidently boyishly pleased at the recognition, though he didnot conclude the sentence. The man had saluted him as he added to hiscomrade, "C'é un maestro d'uomini, non di brutti. "

Patricia gave Cæsar a quick look and caught his answer. It was as ifsome sudden bond of sympathy were tied between them. 

Cæsar continued skilfully to ply Christopher with questions andextracted the information that the Patrimondi Company was muchdisliked by the big manufacturing powers. 

"They say we spoil our men, and their own grumble. They sent me adeputation to ask us to cancel the Sunday holiday, which they nevergrant on contract work, and they feared the result of our example. "

"And you politely agreed?" suggested Cæsar, watching Patricia. 

"I told them to----" again he stopped and laughed; "well, Patricia, Itold them such was the time-honoured custom of my country andregretted my inability to consider their request. "

"I expect they only get into mischief on Sunday. "

Cæsar flung out this with assumed contempt, but it brought no quickretort. Christopher answered slowly, with his eyes on the fire. 

"We plan excursions for them when there is anything to see oramusements of some kind. They are like children. If they are notamused they must needs make mischief. "

His voice was rather grave and Aymer knew there must have beendifficulties here of which he did not mean to speak openly. 

"It is deplorable if our Roadmaker is going about destroying otherpeople's comfortable paths. Don't you agree with me, Patricia?"

She flushed up quickly, grasping his meaning at once. 

"Not if their paths encroach on weaker people's rights. I think it'sjust what is wanted. " Then because Cæsar laughed, she realised he wasonly drawing her, and flung him an appealing glance. 

"But we mustn't encourage him openly, Patricia, or he'll leave us noold tracks at all. "

"I'm only the humble instrument of a company, " protested Christopher. "I merely carry out the regulations of my superiors. "

"Who are entirely at your mercy, you should add. "

Christopher disdained to reply to so obvious a fallacy. Presently, when he had gone to fetch some drawings to show them, Cæsar saidquizzically. 

"Has he obliterated any of your pet footpaths, Patricia?"

She shook her head. 

"The Company has great confidence in him, " he announced gravely. 

She looked straight at him. There was a kind intelligence in his eyes, and he held out his hand to her. "Present company not excepted. But wemust not spoil him, Patricia. "

And she understood that her secret was Aymer's and it lent her a senseof security and rest to know it, so that when she went to bed shereproached herself for her former childish moods. "I should be gladhis strength of purpose and commonsense are so great, " she toldherself, forgetting love and commonsense were ever ill neighbours. "Iam never going to marry, and it would be difficult to say no to him. To-night was just one of the best of times that can be for us. "

That unwise thought aroused the dull throbbing ache in her heart againand the reasonable salve she offered it had no effect. She slept withit, woke with it, and knew it for the close companion of many days. 

But Christopher's last thought was, "I am not going to do without herany longer, if I am to meet her any more in this way. I should haveread her soul again to-night if I had not remembered in time. "

Aymer Aston lay awake wondering what was the matter between the twothat they did not guess their palpable secret. He was the richer foranother day's respite and every day was a tide carrying him to theshore of safety. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

A chilly, rainy mist shrouded the country and blotted out the familiarbeauty. Not a day for walking, but Christopher had chosen to tramp toa far-off corner of the estate on some pretence of business and hadcome back through the wet, dripping woods, burr-covered and muddy. Hewas met in the hall by a message that Mr. Aymer wanted him at once, sowithout waiting to change he strode away, whistling, to the West Roomand came to a standstill on the threshold, finding Aymer had visitorswith him. 

There were two gentlemen, one was Mr. Shakleton, the son and successorof the old solicitor who had played his part in the finding ofChristopher, the other was a stout, complacent man with gold-rimmedglasses and scanty sandy hair, and all three of the occupants of theroom looked towards the door as if waiting for and expecting him. Aglance at Cæsar's face brought Christopher swiftly to his side andestablished instantly a sense of antagonism with the visitors. 

"You want me, Cæsar?"

"Yes. We want you. Mr. Shakleton you know. This is Mr. Saunderson. "

Both men stood up and to Christopher's amazement bowed profoundly. 

"I am very honoured to meet you, " said Mr. Saunderson suavely. "I hopeit will be the commencement of a long and fruitful acquaintance. "

Christopher felt rather at a loss to know if the man meant to beimpertinent or was merely being silly. He looked at Cæsar with thehostile impatience he felt only too apparent. The hostility but notthe impatience deepened as he noticed the drawn beaten look onAymer's face. Also he was uncomfortably conscious of the three pairsof eyes watching him with rapt attention. The mild Mr. Shakleton, however, seemed entirely obscured by the expansive personality of thebigger man. 

"Confound him, " thought Christopher, "has he never seen burrs on a wetcoat before or is my tie up?"

"Christopher, " said Aymer, at last, "come and sit by me, will you. Ithink I should like to tell you myself. " He looked at Mr. Saundersonas if waiting permission. 

"Of course, of course, Mr. Aston. I quite understand. It is not thesort of news we tell people every day. "

Christopher sat on the edge of the sofa with his eyes fixed on Cæsar. 

"Are you sure it won't keep, " he asked abruptly, "you look rathertired for business, Cæsar. "

"It won't keep. It concerns Peter Masters. Mr. Saunderson says publicrumour has underestimated his fortune rather than exaggerated it. Hewas worth nearly three millions. "

"Three millions six hundred and forty-one thousand. " Mr. Saundersonrolled it out in sonorous tones after a little smack of his lips thatset Christopher's teeth on edge. 

"It seems, Christopher, " Aymer went on, with an abruptness that didnot accord with his opening words, "that it's yours. You are hisheir. "

He made not the smallest movement or sign by which the two strangerscould gather one passing glimpse of the agony it cost him to say it, for their attention was fixed on the younger man. But Christopher sawnothing else and had thought for nothing but how soonest to quenchthat fierce pain. 

The preposterous catastrophe was evidently true, but surely his ownwill and wishes were of some account. He put his hand on Aymer, searching for words which would not form into sense. 

"Take your time, take your time, young man, " broke in Mr. Saunderson'sresonant voice. "It's not the sort of event a man can be hurried over. You will grasp it more clearly in a few minutes. "

Christopher turned and looked at him. 

"I believe I quite grasp the matter, " he said coolly. "Mr. Mastershas, with no doubt the kindest meaning in the world, left his fortuneto me. It's unfortunate that I don't happen to want all this money. Icouldn't possibly do with it. "

Mr. Saunderson leant back in his chair with a tolerant smile as ifthis were just what he would expect to hear after the shock, but Aymerbit his lip as if face to face with some inevitable ill. 

Christopher leant towards him. 

"You are worrying about it, Cæsar. There can't be any need to say anymore now. Of course it's out of the question my accepting it. Theycan't make me a millionaire against my wishes, I suppose. Anyhow it'sa preposterous will. "

"There is no will, " began Cæsar and then looked at the big lawyer, "tell him, " he added shortly. Mr. Saunderson cleared his throat. 

"That is so. There is no will and the fortune naturally goes to thenext of kin. "

"Very well, then, " returned Christopher, with blunt relief. "I believehe told me once he had a son somewhere. You had better find him. Idon't want to deprive him of his luck. "

Again the embarrassing silence. Then the big lawyer got up and bowedsolemnly to Christopher. 

"We have found him. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Mr. Masters. "

Christopher wheeled round on him like a man struck. 

"No!" he cried with passionate emphasis. "Cæsar, it's not true. Tellthem so. "

But Cæsar lay very still and looked past them all, staring blankly atthe opposite wall. It seemed to Christopher the watching eyes of theothers imprisoned him, held him in subjection. He got up. 

"Let me out, " he muttered between his teeth, though none impeded him. He walked across the room to the fireplace and stood with his back tothem, his hand mechanically altering the order of a procession ofblack elephants that stood there. 

Aymer broke the silence, speaking with clear evenness. 

"Shakleton, will you take Mr. Saunderson into the library. You willfind my brother there, probably. "

"Certainly, Mr. Aston. Shall I leave these?" He indicate the papers onthe table before him. 

"Yes. Leave them where they are. "

Mr. Saunderson rose. "You must not be alarmed, my dear sir, " he saidin a forced whisper, with a glance towards Christopher, "such newsoften takes a man off his feet for a while. He'll soon appreciateit. "

"No doubt. Order anything you like, Shakleton. "

They were alone at last, yet Christopher did not move. 

"Christopher, come to me, " called Aymer quietly. 

At that he turned and walked mechanically to the sofa, seatinghimself, again with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes absentlyfixed on the carpet. 

"Did you know this before, Cæsar?"

Aymer's face twitched. "Yes, always. "

"Did--he--know?"

"Yes, apparently. "

"You did not tell him?"

"No. "

Christopher looked up sharply and met his eyes, and again he forgothis own intimate trouble before the greater one. 

"Thanks, Cæsar, " he said, dragging up a smile, "it would have been farharder at your hand. "

Then suddenly he sunk on his knees by Aymer's side, and hid his headagainst the arm that had sheltered him as a child. 

"They can't make me take it, " he whispered, "even if I am his son. ButCæsar, Cæsar, why didn't you tell me before?"

"I hoped you would never know. Did you never have any suspicionyourself?"

"Never. It was the last thing I should have imagined. "

"You have never asked me anything. You must sometimes have wonderedabout yourself. "

"I was quite content. " Christopher spoke with shut teeth. Under noprovocation must Cæsar know the falsehood that had lain so long in hismind. He saw it in its full proportion now, and hated himself for hisblindness in harbouring so ugly a thought. 

"We were never certain how much Peter knew and I've never known forthe past three years whether he meant to claim you or not. "

"If you'd only told me, Cæsar!"

"It was my one hope you should not know. "

"I don't think I've earned that, " he said reproachfully. 

"It was myself, not you, I thought of. You've got to know the wholething now. Go and sit there in your old place and don't look at metill I've finished. "

So Aymer at last reached the moment when he must break the seals ofsilence--that expected moment that had hung over him like some shadowyfate as a foretaste of judgment, when he must retrace the painfulfootsteps of his life across the black gulf from which he had climbed. But as he turned his face to the darkness, there was light also onthe other side, and he forgot he had feared. 

"Peter and I were friends, as you know. He was five years my senior, but it did not make much difference. He was a worker, just as I was aplayer. He had tremendous capabilities and he put all his big braininto his work and when he wanted change he came to me. I representedto him the reverse side of his strenuous life and he was oddly fond ofme. Before he was thirty he had well started his fortune as he racedto wealth. I raced to ruin and found every inch of the road made easyfor me. Peter came into conflict with the socialistic party. There wasa certain James Hibbault, who was a great power, and Peter, who wasnot so heavy a power in those days, employed the wisdom of the serpentto crush him. He came up to London and offered me a chance of newamusement in abetting his plans. The Hibbaults were middle classpeople without middle class virtues. They lived a scrambling, noisylife propagating their crude ideas and sowing broadcast the seeds of agreater power than they knew. They were, however, a real force to bereckoned with, they and their party, because of certain truths hiddenin their wildest creeds--truths which did not suit Peter's creed inthe least. He made their acquaintance, and he introduced me to them. They were sufficiently new to amuse me, but I should have probablyhave tired of them soon had it not been for your mother. "

He paused a moment. "Do you remember her, Christopher?"

Christopher nodded. 

"Elizabeth Hibbault, " went on Aymer slowly, "was extraordinarilybeautiful, with the beauty of grace rather than of feature. She was asdistinct from the rest of her clamorous family as a pearl frompebbles. She was an enthusiast, a dreamer, passionately sincere, passionately pitiful. She recognised truth as a water diviner findswater. She was brought up in a labyrinth of theories, creeds ofequality, in hatred for the rich, and out of all the jargon shegathered some eternal truths which she made her own. She did not livewith her people: she had rooms of her own and she was ablack-and-white artist. But she was often at the Hibbaults. Peterprobably knew her accustomed days. She used to speak of her faiths. Itwas like one note of gold in the discordant babble. Men came andlistened to her and she never knew it was not for her words but forher magnetic wonderful unknown self that they came. She might, andprobably did, impress men who were dreamers or fanatics already, butthose to whom all her beliefs were childish nonsense went just thesame, Peter and I with them. "

He stopped a moment and shot a glance at Christopher, who nevermoved. 

"I lost my interest in Peter's schemes and he ceased to explain themto me, but I still visited Elizabeth at her own rooms when I wasallowed. She was very anxious to convert Peter and myself, moreespecially Peter. I was not in love with her, Christopher, yet, butshe fascinated me. I speculated as to how it would be with her if allthe fire and devotion she brought to a mere Cause were turned into amore personal direction. She paid more attention to Peter than tomyself, and she evidently considered him a more desirable convert. Oneevening we went together to call on her and they fell into the usualline of discussion, he answering her in a tolerant amused way as ifshe were a precocious child. I stayed behind when he left and shewalked up and down in restless agitation, half forgetful of me. 'Thepersonality of the man!' she cried fiercely, 'he is too strong, he isruthless! One cannot escape him. I cannot get him out of my head. ' Itold her she had much better tackle me. She told me plainly that I wasa negative force in the world and my cousin an active. That was enoughfor me. I thought she despised me and I vowed she should recognise mypossibilities as well as Peter's. If any man were to turn thepassionate stream of her nature back on herself, or to love--to seethe woman rise above the fanatic--it should be I, not Peter. But Isaid nothing of this to him. I do not think he ever knew it at all. Itbegan in pique on my side, then jealousy, lastly passion. Christopher, if I had loved her from the first beginning of things I should not beashamed to meet your eyes now. Don't look round yet. I laid deliberatesiege to her heart and found she possessed my mind night and day. Soonit was not Peter who was my rival, but her own soul. I was confident Ishould win, though Peter, it was clear, was also wooing herpersistently. He at least meant her well, Christopher. He loved her inhis uncomprehending way, wanting her for the woman she was_not_--except in his mind. And I--I wanted her for the outward womanshe was. "

He paused long enough for his listener to face clearly the portrait ofthe worn, broken woman he remembered, the outward woman that bore nolikeness to the clear knowledge of the inner soul. 

Aymer continued:

"At last I felt it was time to end it. Peter had been in town sometime then. I knew the senior Hibbault and he were coming to someunderstanding, but I guessed nothing of the nature of it. She nevermentioned him to me at this time. She stood, poor girl, between thetwo of us like a trapped creature, and because she feared herself andneither of us, she overstepped one snare to fall into the other. Christopher, I don't know what was in my mind when I went to her thatlast evening: I had not seen her for some days, but when I stoodbefore her I knew suddenly I loved her, and then, like a flash, I sawit was neither Peter nor her that stood between us, but my own evilself. I told her all--that she was the victor and I the conquered. Iwas proud of my new humbleness. For once I recognised myself and mytrue place in the order of the world. But she knew me better than Iguessed, and she was afraid to tell me the truth. She put me off withgentle words, terrified lest I should guess before I left her--Don'tturn away, Christopher--At last she owned she had written me a letterand I should find it when I got back. Her attitude maddened me. Thebetter self, if it ever existed, got stamped out. I told her nothingshould come between us, that nothing short of death should keep mefrom her, while I could move hand or foot. "

The white scar on Aymer's forehead was very plain and his face hadgrown thin and sharp. Christopher for the first time looked up at himand away again. 

"I went home at last, Christopher, wild to get this mysterious letterto which she would refer me. I went back and took seven devils withme--my passion and love fighting for possession. Nevil and I had aroom of our own on the ground floor. I think they use it for storingpapers in now. "

Christopher gave a slight movement: he knew that well. 

"I went straight in, knowing any letter for me would be taken there. Nevil was going upstairs as I crossed the hall and he called to meacross the banisters that Wayband had sent back my revolver and he hadopened it. Revolver shooting was a passion just then and I wasaccounted a crack shot. I answered him savagely and went on. Theletter lay on the table. She had been married to Peter two days beforeat a Registrar's office. I felt I must have known it from eternity, but it caught me on the crest of my fury, it overwhelmed me in atorrent of mad shame and wild jealousy. I had failed--had been beatenat my own game--beaten and fooled by some God who had used my passionfor his own ends. Those short minutes of purer love burnt my soul likefire till I raged at my folly. Christopher, I'd give all I have leftto say I was mad. I wasn't. I knew what I was doing. The revolver laythere on the table and an open box of cartridges by it. It was thecoward's way out of the agony, and I took it. I shot myself--the crackshot of Waybands Club missed his own life by a hair's-breadth. "

Even then, after the long years, Christopher caught an echo ofbitterness in the voice. He dully wondered at his own inability tomove or speak or send out a thought of consolation to the man who hadsuffered so fiercely. 

Aymer gave a little gasp and was still a moment Then he went on:

"That's all my story, Christopher. Now comes your mother's part of it. The first result of her marriage was that the Hibbaults' name ceasedto be a power for the Socialist party--became less than a power. JamesHibbault severed his connection with them entirely. I think Peter gavehim a place at one of his big affairs. He had bought them out, and fora time the party fell into disrepute. But Elizabeth, whom he hadmarried, he had not bought. I think she believed she had and couldinfluence him, that she could sway him without loss of her own being. I know she clung to her true personality with passionate strength. Ihad failed to break it down, but I think Peter failed here also. Whenshe heard of her father's and brother's betrayal of their party--itwas nothing else--she was nearly crazy with grief. It was some timebefore Peter could get her to acknowledge their marriage at all, andshe never, I believe, spoke of her people again. But at last he gother to Stormly. I know very little of what happened there. I believehe was willing she should play Lady Bountiful to his people if itpleased her--even made her a big allowance for the purpose. But shewent amongst them and she would have none of it. She would make nocompromise with what she regarded as wholly evil. She found Peter hadonly played with her regarding her creed--that he never had the leastintention of altering his plan of life to suit it. She hated it all ahundredfold more than you did, Christopher, and the thought ofbringing a child into an atmosphere that was rank poison to her, became a nightmare. Perhaps she was not wholly accountable then--therewas no woman to stand by her or counsel patience. Anyhow, about sixweeks before you were born, we believe she just disappeared. No oneknows how Peter really felt about it. In the face of the world heshrugged his shoulders and went on with his life as if wife andexpected child had never been. We suppose he tried to find her atfirst, but he always declared there was no need--she would come backwhen she had had enough of the world. Eventually a letter reached himsaying you had come into the world and that, rather than put you underthe power of your father and all he stood for, she would bring you upamong the people she loved and pitied. My father tried all he could tomake Peter seriously seek for his wife. We know now he had some falseclue and that he believed she and you were living in Liverpool. Buteither from pride or indifference he would never see for himself thesetwo whose fortunes he watched so closely. Saunderson tells me it wasthe younger Hibbault who supplied him with the false clue and found itto his advantage to keep up the fraud. They can't trace eitherHibbault now. They seem to have emigrated. My father once visitedPeter, before Elizabeth left him. There was some dispute at the worksand a certain foreman named Felton protested against his orders. Myfather heard the interview between them, and the man made a strongappeal to him. He did his best as go-between and failed. Peter did notquarrel about it. He was just immovable in his heavy way, but yourmother was greatly troubled over the whole business and was generouslygood to Felton and his wife in the face of Peter's direct commands. Ten years afterwards this man, tramping from Portsmouth to London insearch of work, met your mother again. He was evidently a man ofstrong memory, and he knew her. "

Christopher nodded. He remembered the little narrow paths in the tinygarden, the smell of the box edging, a pink cabbage rose that fellwhen the man's sleeve brushed against it. The man and his mother hadtalked long and the old woman had asked him if he knew the man. Thenext day they were on the road again and he had felt a resentmenttowards this man as the cause. All these recollections crowdedthemselves into his mind. 

"Felton seems to have been a man with some strength of character. Hehad easily promised your mother not to betray her existence to herhusband, but the memory of her face and some uneasy sense of unfitnesstroubled him, I suppose. He remembered Mr. Aston, who had spoken forhim, and that he was something to do with these people. He turned uphere one day and Nevil had the sense to send him direct to us inLondon. It was just at the time when I was wanting to adopt a child. Ihad stopped cursing fate and myself, and I wanted something of my ownalmost as fiercely as I wanted my freedom. "

There was another long pause. This time Christopher put out his handand laid it on Aymer's. 

"There isn't any more. We followed up the clue and found you. Myfather made another appeal to Peter on behalf of his unknown son, andPeter declared the subject was not discussable: so I kept you. I vowedI'd never stand between your own father and you, but also that I'dnever put out a hand to bring you together. That visit you paid him, Christopher, was the blackest time I've had since the day I realisedwhat I'd done. I thought I had got over my jealousy, and I had not. "

Christopher leant over him and gripped his hands. 

"Cæsar, " he said in a breathless low voice, looking him straight inthe eyes. "Cæsar, there was no need of that then--there never hasbeen, nor could be. I have no father at all if it be not you. "

CHAPTER XXIX

"It does not seem to me a very great thing to ask in the face ofthings. "

Mr. Saunderson dangled his eyeglasses and regarded Christopher with adubious air. 

"I want three days to consider the matter, " continued Christopherimpatiently. "Where is the difficulty? You don't seem to remember youare asking me to give up my chosen life and work and take on a jobthat I loathe. "

If Mr. Saunderson's face had been capable of expressing more thandispleasure, it would have done so, but he was of no plastic build, mind or body, and "displeasure" was the nearest he could get to activeanger. 

"You have a singular way of regarding what most men would thinkoverpowering good luck, Mr. Masters. "

Christopher turned sharply. 

"You at least cannot compel me to take that name. It has never beenmine and never will be. "

"Gently, gently, young man. I am willing to make every allowance foryour perturbation, but really, in speaking of my late client ... " hestopped with a shake of the head. 

"I was speaking of a name, not of him, Mr. Saunderson. However, Iapologise. Once more, will you let the whole matter stand still forthree days. I don't mean to accept the thing, you know, but I can'targue it out now. I will meet you in town on Wednesday. "

"If you insist, there is nothing more to be said of course, " returnedMr. Saunderson, huffily. "As to your refusing your own rights, thatwill be less simple than you imagine, but I shall hope you will soonview the matter in another light. "

"There was no provision made in case the inheritor should refuse ornot be available?"

Christopher confronted him suddenly with the question, and the poorman, who was as completely off his balance by Christopher'sincomprehensible reception of his tidings, as that young man himself, was evidently confused. 

"There were no instructions at all beyond the memorandum stating hiswife and child were last heard of in Whitmansworth Union. "

"But in the former will, which you say was destroyed?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge anything that might be contained inthat document. "

"There is nothing to prevent your acting on such instructions at yourown prompting, " Christopher insisted bluntly. 

Mr. Saunderson looked at him critically. "That is an ingenioussuggestion Mr. ... " he paused. 

"Aston, " said Christopher. "It's the name those who have treated me asa son gave me, and I see no obligation to change it. "

The lawyer rose. 

"Then we are to defer further discussion till Wednesday?"

"Until Wednesday. In town, not here. "

He left with Mr. Shakleton in his wake, and Christopher was at lastalone and free to weigh if he would the weight of this stupendousburden, which he resolutely decided was not his to bear. He stoodlooking out of the window at the still driving mist and had to draghis thoughts back from the external aspect of things to the innermatters he must face. But there was no lucidity in his mind, nothingwas clear to him but his fierce resentment against the dead man, anda passionate pity for a faded woman. 

"It was the beauty of grace rather than feature.... " He was stung withintolerable shame for the manhood he must share with one who hadwrought such havoc in the woman he was most bound to protect fromherself, as well as from the world. The risks and chances of thoseearly days flickered before him. He had been abandoned to such forsome vague ultimate good to the colossal idea of fortune which neitherhe nor its late possessor could spend. Was he more bound to take itand its cares to himself than its author was bound to care for his ownflesh and blood? Anger clouded his reason and he knew it. Yet if hecould not think coherently on the matter, of what use were the threedays of grace he had claimed? He could not endure company at present, and the four walls of his room were as a prison. At last he sent ahasty message to the motor house, tossed a few necessaries into a bagand wrote a note to Cæsar. "Dear Cæsar, I've got to make up my mindabout this and I must do it alone, so to come to some decision I'mgoing off in the car. I'll be back when I've got the thing straight inmy mind. Tell St. Michael and Nevil about it, but if you can help itdon't let anyone else know. --Christopher Aston. "

He drove slowly down the drive, out into the highroad and, turningwestward, sped away into the misty distance. 

A great stillness fell on Aymer when Christopher left him. He hadlived so long under the shadowy fear of the thing that had nowhappened, that it was hard to credit the fear had passed infulfilment. He had been forced back to face the past, and, behold, theterror of it was gone. He could only measure the full value of theeffort he had made by the languor and listlessness that now wrappedhim round, as a child who had overtaxed his strength and must needsrest. A hazy doubt crept into his mind as to what it was he had sodreaded--the resuscitation of the past, or Christopher's reception ofit. In either case the fear had faded as some phantom form that meltedin daylight. 

He stumbled on one thought with vague wonder. No barrier had beenraised between him and his adopted son: instead he found the onlybarrier had been erected by his own lack of strength to face thattruth until the inexorable hand of God forced him to the issue. 

As to the future he recognised that might be left to Christopher, whose whole life, since Aymer took him, had been a preparation forthis situation. His long struggle to keep a grip on life was ebbingfast, it was good to leave decisions in another's hands, to rest, andaccept. 

When Mr. Aston returned Cæsar gave him Christopher's note with a briefremark. 

"Saunderson has been. "

The note, short as it was, told the rest. Mr. Aston looked anxiouslyat his son, but Aymer met his eyes with a quiet smile. 

"I'm glad you were away, St. Michael. You've had enough to contendwith, and there was no need. There is nothing for either of us to do. It's Christopher's affair. "

Mr. Aston looked at the note again and reread the signature, then hegave it back, satisfied. 

"What will happen if he won't accept it?" he questioned thoughtfully. 

"It is for him to decide. " Aymer's tone was earnestly emphatic. "Father, we've done our part. We can't alter it if we would. Leave himfree. "

"It is the crown of your success that you can do so, my dear oldfellow. "

"The coronation has not taken place yet, " returned Cæsar, with a touchof dry humour that reassured his father more than any words that allwas well with his son. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile, hour after hour, Christopher's car raced over the whiteroads. The twinkling lights in the villages through which he sped grewfewer and at last ceased. A more solid blackness was the only inklingof dwellings on either hand. Once the low, vibrating hum of the carseemed to bring a light to a high window, but it fell back into thedark before he had caught more than a faint glimmer on the blind. 

He met nothing: the road for all he knew was utterly empty of life. Inthe silent, motionless darkness it was like a path into illimitablespace. He knew every mile of it, yet in the night the miles stretchedout and raced with him. 

It was far from village or town when at last Christopher wrenched hismind from the mechanical power that held it prisoner, and realisedthat town or no town, bed or no bed, he must stop. He brought the carto a standstill under the lea of a low ridge of downs, at a pointwhere an old chalk pit reared its white face, glimmering faintly inthe darkness. He hazarded a fair guess as to his whereabouts. Whitmansworth must be fifteen or twenty miles ahead. It was nearlymidnight now. He would get no lodging even if he went on. He backedthe car off the road into the circle of the chalk pit, made ascomfortable a resting place as he could with rugs and cushions betweenthe motor and the white wall, and extinguished the lamps. The cool, still night had him to herself, and cradled him to sleep as a motherher child, under the folds of her dark mantle. 

He woke when the first fingers of dawn busied themselves with the hemof that dusky cloak, and sound as faint and tremulous as the lightitself whispered across the earth. He watched a while to see the dimshapes reform under the glowing light, and the clouds that stillcurtained the sky, take on themselves a sombre grey uniform. Butdirectly the line of white road took distinctness Christopher struckcamp, and boldly raced to meet the full day. An early shepherd pausedto watch him pass, returning impassively to work as he disappeared. Two or three labouring men also stared; one even commented to a fellowworker that "these yere motors take no more heed o' decent hours thano' natural distances. Five in the mornin' weren't part o' the gentry'sday when I were a boy, " he grumbled, "and five miles were five miles, no more nor less. 'Tisn't more nor a mile now. "

At wayside farms life was in full swing. Dumbly impatient cowslistened for the clatter of milk-pails, and solemn cart horses trudgedto the upland fields. Presently he passed through a town where his ownPatrimondi made pleasant, easy going. The town servants were cleaningthe smooth, elastic surface with big jets of water. Christopher wentslowly by with an eye on his handiwork. He fancied he saw a smalldefect at a turn and stopped to examine it. An indignant worker toldhim brusquely he needn't try to pick holes in their roads becausethere weren't any, and Christopher returned meekly he thought theylooked good, but fancied the mark he examined was a flaw. 

"It ain't any business of yours, anyway, " was the angry retort, "themen who laid this knew what they was a-doin'. "

Another man had joined him who had worked on the new road whenChristopher was to and fro there, and recognised him. He plucked theother by the sleeve. 

"Shut up, you fool, " he growled, though not so low but Christopherheard him. "It's the Roadmaker himself. Mornin', sir. "

Christopher gave him a few words of recognition and went on. 

The slate roofs of Whitmansworth came into sight as the church clockstruck six. He could see the white Union House high on the hill to theleft, but he had no mind to halt there. He stopped the car at the gateof the town cemetery. It was not a beautiful place. Just a littlesquare field with an avenue of young trees and an orderly row of greenmounds and haphazard monuments, but in one corner amongst a row ofunmarked graves was a white cross. "In remembrance of my mother, " wasthe sole inscription it bore. Christopher stood and looked at itgravely. The thought of another grave amongst the family tombs in thetrim churchyard at Stormly crossed his mind. It was better here in thelittle, plain unpretentious cemetery amongst the very poor whosesorrows she had made her own. She would sleep more quietly so. 

But he found no message from her here, nor had he expected it. Heractual presence had not consecrated the spot for him, and he wasimpatient to gain the road made sacred by reason of the tired, failingfootsteps that made their last effort there: the Via Dolorosa of hismother's life. 

He passed the milestone where he had waited for his fortune fifteenyears ago, and saw it in his mind's eye hastening towards him from theeast in the person of Charles Aston. That was the _true_Fortune, --this spurious thing they were trying to harness to his backwas evil to the core. Had not that been the very meaning of thosepainful steps that had struggled away from it along this veryroad--the meaning of the lonely grave amongst the broken-down poor ofWhitmansworth Union?

He stopped the car near a little bridge where a thin brooklet made anoisy chatter, and sat still, his chin on his hand, thinking deeply. 

This was the spot for which he had raced all these hours, for here heand she had rested that terrible night to gather strength for the lastmile that lay between the woman and rest. 

 * * * * *

"It's better to be tired and hungry oneself, Jim, than to make otherpeople so. Don't forget that. "

"I am not really tired, " the child maintained stoutly, "but it's goingto rain again. Can't you come on?"

"Presently. "

"You think it is the right road?"

"I don't know, Jim. I was sure of it at first, but I'm sure of nothingnow. "

 * * * * *

The words and scene were as clear to him as the day they happened. Hesaw in it now a deeper significance, a possible meaning that was thelast note of tragedy to his mother's story. For that note is reachedonly when the faith in which we have lived, acted and endured, failsus. That is the bitterness and foretaste of death. Then only can theshadow of it fall on us, and in great mercy gather us into its shade. 

The Right Road! There was no doubt or shadow for Christopher yet. Hehad taken the first step on the Road he had chosen, and he would notlook back. He would not stultify his mother's sacrifice. Such faintechoes as he heard calling him back were temptations to which he mustturn a deaf ear. He would go forward on his chosen path, and PeterMasters' millions must look after themselves. 

That was the final decision. Yet he sat there, still figuring thepersons of the woman and the child trudging down the road towardshim, and as he gazed, without conscious effort, the forms changed. Theboy grew to manhood: the woman took to herself youth, youth with acrown of golden hair and the form of Patricia. 

A throb of exultation leapt through him. Here were the real riches andfulness of life within his grasp and he, in blunt stupidity, had notchosen to see, had set material good and vague uncertainties beforehis own incomparable gain and happiness. Whatever had held him backbefore, the clouded life or personal ambition, or Cæsar's need, it wasswept away now like some low-lying mist before the wind, and left theclear vision, the man and the woman together on the long, smooth Roadhe would lay for her tender feet. 

There should be no more delay than the needed time to race from hereto her. Twenty-five miles of country that his car was eager to devour. He slipped away swiftly from the past as he had done before on thisvery road--to a new future. 

CHAPTER XXX

Patricia sat by the fire in her little sitting-room seeking for aplausible excuse to return to Constantia as soon as might be. The greyweather, the strange sense of impending events weighed on her, sheknew. She was in the mood when the old evil might flash up again, andfor this reason she kept away from her sister a while, hoping to nurseherself into a better mind before evening. Christopher had gone againin his usual abrupt way. Presumably Cæsar understood, but she foundherself wishing she also held his confidence. She was hungry for arepetition of that first evening as a starved child is hungry for acrust, when the better things seem as far away as heaven. She must goback to Constantia when she could frame a suitable reason for hercapricious movements. She was much safer there, beside the consideratefriend, who kept the surface of life in a pleasant ripple, and neverseemed to look into the depths or ask her what she found there totrouble her, as dear little sympathetic Renata did occasionally. Yethow could she go if Christopher were really coming back to-day, as St. Michael said, and the future held any possibility of another goldenhour? The force of her deep love turned back on herself, broke throughspirit and heart and let loose in her mind strange imaginings, alternate glimpses of a heaven or hell that had no relationship withtradition. She put her hands over her face and kept quite still in thegrip of a sudden agony that made her physically cold and faint andexhausted. It would pass as it had passed before, yet was she foreverto be at the mercy of this torturing realisation of empty years andeternal loss? Did Christopher love her or not? The assured "yes" andthe positive "no" were as two shuttlecocks tossed over her strainedmind by the breath of circumstance. Her own erroneous idea that herstill unconquered passion kept them apart was breeding morbid miseryfor her, as all false beliefs must do. She had kept herself undercontrol to-day by dint of isolation, and the inadequacy of that coursefilled her with self-contempt. In her solitary fight against the lifeforces within and without, she was getting worsted. She knew sheresisted the invasion of their hours of depression with less couragethan of old. It did not seem to matter so greatly if there werenothing to be won from life, and she was very tired. It had been amistake to come to Marden at all, there was too much time to thinkthere. She returned to that fact eventually. The afternoon wore on andshe fell into a lethargy with no desire to escape it, and did not hearChristopher's motor arrive. 

Christopher for once paused in the hall, instead of going straight toAymer's room, as was the invariable rule, after even a day's absence. 

"Where is Mrs. Aston?" he asked the footman, who replied vaguely, whenRenata herself appeared. But it was not Renata that Christopherwanted. 

"Where is Patricia?" he questioned with more truth. 

"Upstairs in her room, I think. She seems rather worried and tired, Christopher. Do you want her?"

There was a note of anxiety in Renata's gentle voice. She was alwaysnervous and anxious if she fancied Patricia was worried, struggling tostand between her and the petty annoyances which were supposed to beso irresistibly maddening to a true Connell. 

"Yes, I want her. " He smiled as he said it. "But I'll go to her. Don'ttrouble. "

He went upstairs two steps at a time, and along the familiar corridor, and outside the door paused for the first moment since he had seenhis vision on the highroad. 

The corridor was already dark, but when he entered in obedience to herlanguid "Come in, " the fire light made a rosy glow and filled thequiet space with tremulous light. 

Patricia sat facing the fire, with her back to the door. He could seeher golden head over the back of the chair, and his heart beatquickly. 

"May I come and talk to you, Patricia?"

For the moment she did not answer or move. She was almost in doubt ifshe could accept his presence just now, until he was actually standingon the rug before her, looking down at her with keen, searching eyes, before which all her wild thoughts sunk back into oblivion, and asense of quiet content and security stole over her. 

"What have you been doing?" he demanded. "You look very tired. "

"The result of laziness, " she rejoined, and then was angry withherself for allowing an opening for mere trivialities. 

"No, that's not true, Christopher. It's a bad day with me. I'm afraidto face anyone, even my own maid. "

With no one else in the world could she have owned so much, and thekeen pleasure of exercising her right to open dealing with him, outweighed the humiliation of her avowal. 

Christopher seemed intent on his own affairs, however, for he askedher abruptly if St. Michael or Cæsar had told her the news. 

"What news?"

"Something rather disconcerting has happened to me, " he said slowly, "but I'll tell you that presently. The most important thing now isthat I want to get married. "

All the cold waters of the world closed over her head for a moment. Itwas as if he had wrenched a plank from one drowning. She answered him, however, in a low, mechanical voice:

"Soon, Christopher?"

"That will be for her to say, if she will have me at all. "

"You have not asked her yet?"

"I am asking her. "

She looked up at him, puzzled and incredulous of the apparent meaning. Then suddenly he was on his knees by her side, with his strong armsround her. 

"My dear, my dear, surely you must know. Is there need for any wordsbetween us? I've known so long all you must mean to me. Listen, Patricia, you will have to forgive me a great thing. I've let outsideconsiderations, absurd ambitions, and the shadow of a lie, standbetween us. I've waited when I should have spoken. You _will_ forgiveme that, my dear one, will you not? I'm not humble a bit in asking. Iam so proud of the one great thing, that _I_ can give you, Love, --canhold you and wrap you in it, so that nothing can hurt you any more. You understand, you recognise my right, Patricia?"

She could say nothing, understand nothing, but the great peace ofperfect security. She let him hold her still, with her head againsthis shoulder and his dear face near, so near she seemed to lose senseof her own identity. All the answer to her life's riddle lay there, behind the love that emptied her soul of need. Out of the blissfulunspeakable light some words vibrated into new meaning. 

"There shall be no more sea. "

It meant this then, this experience that was theirs. For him and herthere was no more tempest, no more restless craving or peril, all hadpassed with the old incompleteness. 

Still, she had not spoken audibly to him nor had he pressed her to doso. Words were too imperfect a medium. But presently, when all hadbeen said in the silence that could be said, he touched her hair withcaressing hand and reminded her:

"You have never answered me, sweet. "

She put her hand on his as it held her and whispered, "Have I not, Christopher?"

And then he kissed her. 

Afterwards as they sat watching the red fire, it seemed to her therewas no problem in all the world he could not solve, no struggle inwhich he would not prove victor, nor any knowledge too deep to reach. In the illumination of their great love the gates of life becamevisible and open, never to be quite closed again. 

She spoke at last slowly and quietly. 

"Christopher, I am not going to ask you if you are afraid or havecounted the risk you run, I being what I am. I know what you would sayand I love you so well that now at this moment I have no fear either. But it will come nevertheless. Others will point out to you that it isa mad thing to do, and I shall say it too. It is then you must holdme, Christopher, against my will and against myself. For this is myclear sane hour, when I really know, and I know it means my salvation. Only when that certainty slips from me you must keep and save meyourself, dearest. "

He held her hands against him and looked down into her eyes. "As Iwould keep and save myself, beloved. "

She smiled a little, understanding to the finest shade his meaning, and then a quiver of weakness touched her. 

"I should die if you let me slip, Christopher. "

"You are going to live, " he said firmly, and kissed her again. 

CHAPTER XXXI

Christopher entirely forgot to tell Patricia of his fortune orparentage. He remembered that little omission as he went down todinner and looked back to see if she were visible, but she was not insight, and as he was already late he had to go in without her. 

She came down still later, looking so beautiful with such a touch ofwarm colour in her face, and so sweet a light of wonder in her eyesthat even Nevil regarded her with speculative interest. 

Aymer had long given up dining with them, and no one spoke of thelawyers' visit or of Christopher's rapid flittings, or indeed of anyof the subjects on which their minds were really intent. But thereseemed a tacit understanding amongst them that dinner must not be along affair and was a prelude to something yet to happen. 

They went out together and Christopher delayed Patricia in the hall. 

"I must see Nevil and Cæsar and tell them at once, " he said hurriedly, "then I want you, my dearest. I've news for you, which I forgot justnow. You must know it, though it makes no difference to us. "

Nevil came out at that moment and she slipped away after Renata withcuriosity wide awake. 

"Am I to congratulate you as a millionaire or commiserate with you asa bearer of burdens, old fellow?" asked Nevil, flinging himself into abig chair. 

"You will congratulate me, I hope, but not about that confounded moneythough. Nevil, you are Patricia's guardian. Will you and Renata giveher to me?"

He spoke abruptly and without any preamble, gripping the back of achair in his hands. A sudden doubt as to the family acceptance of whatwas an unquestionable matter in his eyes suddenly assailed him. 

"You want to marry Patricia?"

Christopher nodded. "You can hardly urge we have not had time to knowour own minds, " he said, smiling a little. 

"No, " Nevil admitted, and then added rather distractedly, "What oughtI to urge, though, Christopher? Of course it's the greatest possiblething that could happen to Patricia, but for you?"

"I'm appealing to Patricia's guardian, who has only her interests toconsider. I'll look after my own. However, " he went on hastily, "it'sonly fair to tell you, Nevil, I don't mean to take either the fortuneor the name. So long as you'll lend me your own I'll stick to it. Failing that, my mother's will serve me. "

Nevil made no comment beyond a nod. The younger man waited with whatpatience he could command. 

"Does it seriously affect the matter?" he asked at last, "my refusingthe beastly money?"

Nevil got up slowly and shook himself. 

"It affects Patricia's guardians not one bit. It's not as if it werethat, or nothing. "

"No, I've enough. Of course if I hadn't I might feel differently aboutit. I can keep her in comfort, Nevil. "

Nevil got up deliberately and altered the position of a bronze on thehigh mantelshelf. 

"It's not Patricia I'm thinking about, " he said in his slow way, "buthang it all, you belong to us, Christopher. We must think of you! Haveyou counted the risks?"

"I probably understand them better than anyone. "

"Then I dismiss further responsibility. I'm really more pleased thanI can say, Christopher. Poor little Patricia! What fortune for her!"

"You clearly understand there won't be any fortune?" persisted theother bluntly. 

"Oh, Peter's fortune? Of course not. Where's the obligation? I'll goand tell Renata. "

He strolled off and Christopher hurried to the West Room, where hefound Aymer and Mr. Aston waiting expectantly. Christopher came to astandstill by the fireplace and to his amazement found his handsshaking. He had never imagined there would be any difficulty in thisinterview, yet he found himself unaccountably at a loss before thesetwo men. The absurdly inadequate idea that they might consider itunjustifiable greed in him to grasp so great a prize as PatriciaConnell when they had already given him so much assailed him. 

Both men were aware of his unusual embarrassment and neither of themmade the slightest attempt to help him out, for Mr. Aston had a veryfair idea of what had happened, and had conveyed his suspicions toAymer. They both found a certain amusing fascination in seeing how hewould deal with the situation, and it was a situation so pleasing tothem both that they failed to realise it might present realdifficulties to him. 

He faced them suddenly, and plunged into the matter in his usualdirect way. 

"Cæsar and St. Michael, I've something to tell you both. I am not sureif it will be news to you or not, but Patricia has said she will marryme. "

He came to an abrupt stop, and turned away again towards the fire. 

"It's very good news, " said Mr. Aston quietly, "if in no waysurprising. "

"You don't think I'm asking too much when I've had so much given me? Ifeel abominably greedy. "

"You might think of me in the matter, " protested Aymer, plaintively. "What on earth does it matter if you are greedy so long as you provideme with a real interest in life. I began to think you meant to defraudme of my clear rights. "

A very grateful Christopher crossed the room and took his usual seaton the sofa. 

"I've been a blind idiot, " he admitted, "or rather an idle one. I'veknown for years it must be Patricia, and left it at that. "

"Why?" demanded Aymer. 

But that he could not or would not tell them. 

Mr. Aston then suggested Christopher should explain what he meant todo concerning his inheritance. 

"Which you have treated so far with scandalous disrespect, " put inAymer. 

"I can't touch it. It would be treason to--to my mother. And I don'twant it. I hate it, the way it's done, the caring for it. "

There was something so foreign to Christopher's usual finality ofstatement in this, that the two older men looked at each other withsudden apprehension and then avoided the other's eye. For in theirsecret hearts they both knew that Christopher must presently arrive atthe unconfessed certainty that had come to them, that this was not amatter in which he was free to act as he would. The call had come forhim to take up a burden he disliked and sooner or later he would hearthe voice and recognise the authority to which he had been taught tobow his own will. Yet both of them, without consultation or any word, knew it was not for them to interpret the call for him. Their work wasover now. If they had taught him to set no value on the prizes of theworld and to regard the means as of equal importance to the end, theyhad also taught him that duty may come in many disguises, but oncerecognised, her sway must be absolute. Christopher would discover herin time, but they must hold their peace lest conflicting motivesshould hamper his surrender to her call. 

"I'm going to meet Mr. Saunderson in town to-morrow, " Christopher wenton, "I am not quite clear yet how it's to be worked. I am only clear Iwon't touch money of that sort. It costs too much. I feel prettycertain Mr. Saunderson _has_ instructions what to do, if I refuseit. "

He looked at Mr. Aston with an unusual desire for confirmation of hishope and his decision. A strong inclination to appeal for such supportpressed him sorely. But he knew it was only confirmation of his owndetermination he sought, and his ingrained independence of mind shrankfrom such a proceeding. 

"If you know what you want to do and what you ought to do, why appealto me?" Cæsar had repeatedly told the small boy he was fitting out forlife: yet who so kind or patient when the decision still hung in thebalance and uncertainty held the scales? There was no uncertainty now, Christopher told himself, and allowed none either to himself or tothem. One concession only did he permit himself. He turned to Mr. Aston a little shyly. 

"Would you go with me, St. Michael? I am afraid of Mr. Saunderson'swrath if I am unprotected. "

Mr. Aston gravely expressed his willingness to hold his hand and seehim through. After which Christopher went out to fetch Patricia. Hefound her sitting on the floor at Renata's feet, the latter fussingover her with matronly joy and sisterly love, and talkinginconsequently between times of Charlotte, with what would appear toan outsider irrelevance of the first order. 

"Charlotte will be a most desirable bridesmaid, " Christopher remarkedafter he had listened a moment, whereupon Renata became greatlyconfused and Patricia laughed without any embarrassment whatever. 

"Charlotte has not yet had time to signify her approval, " she said. "Irely on her judgment to a great extent, you know. If she offers anyobjection we shall have to reconsider it. "

"I'm not afraid. Charlotte has always approved of me, " assertedChristopher cheerfully. 

"Of course Charlotte will be pleased, " put in that young lady'smother, quite seriously. "What nonsense you are talking, Patricia. "

She got up and offered a transparent excuse to slip away and leave thelovers alone. 

Patricia, still kneeling by the fire, leant her head againstChristopher. 

"I used to try and make up my mind you would marry Charlotte when shegrew up, " she said dreamily. 

"How ingenious of you. Unfortunately, it was my mind, not yours, thatwas concerned, and that had been made up when Charlotte was inpinafores. Now come and talk business, dear. "

So at last he told her the news he had been so tardy in delivering, told her the whole story very simply and as impersonally as he could, but Patricia's heart brimmed over with pity for him. She divined moreclearly than the men the strength of his hatred for the burden withwhich he was threatened, and the burden of past memories in which thathatred had its root. In the fulness of her love she set herself thefuture task of rooting out the resentment for another's sorrows, whichshe knew must be as poison to his generous soul. At lengthChristopher, having read in her love the confirmation for which he sochildishly longed, took her away to be introduced to Cæsar in her newcharacter as his promised wife. She waited for no such introductionwhatever, but seated herself on the big hassock by the sofa that wasstill Christopher's privileged seat and leant her head against theedge of Cæsar's cushions, but she failed to find anything to say andChristopher was so occupied in watching her as to forget to speak. 

"It's taken him a long time to recognise his own privilege, hasn't it, Patricia?" said Cæsar, gently putting his hand on hers. "I was gettingimpatient with him. It was time he grew up. "

"You aren't disappointed then?" she asked with a little flush ofconfusion. "Mrs. Sartin will be. She always expects him to marry aduchess at least. She is so insufferably proud of him. "

"She does not know him so well as we do, that's why. "

"I'll not stay here to be discussed, " remarked Christopher decidedly, "you can pull my character to pieces when I'm away. When did you lastsee Mrs. Sartin, Patricia?"

"Last Thursday. She comes to tea every week with Maria. "

Maria was Mrs. Sartin's second daughter, midway between Sam and Jim, and was just installed as second lady's-maid to Mrs. Wyatt. 

"Is Sam more reconciled to her going out?"

"Not a bit. You know he wanted to send her to a Young Ladies' Academyin Battersea. I know he'd have done it but for Martha, who has moresense in her fingers than he has in his whole head. "

"Hadn't Maria anything to say in the matter?" This from Cæsar. 

"No one has much to say when Sam and his mother dispute, " saidChristopher, shaking his head. "Sam would be a tyrant, Cæsar, if hecould. He always wants to push people on in his own way. "

"Sam is not singular, " put in Mr. Aston, in his meditative way, "character is all more or less a question of degree. There are thesame fundamental instincts in all of us. Some get developed at theexpense of others, that's all. "

"There but for the grace of God goes ... " said Patricia, laughing. 

Christopher felt in his pocket and produced a coin. 

"Apropos of which, Cæsar, " he said with a flicker of a smile, "I foundthis, the other day rummaging in an old box. "

He tossed it dexterously to Cæsar. It was a sovereign with a hole init and the broken link of a chain therein. Cæsar looked at it and thenslipped it in his own pocket. 

"It's mine, at all events, " he said shortly, "and we are all talkingnonsense, especially Christopher. "

But Christopher shook his head. 

"Mayn't I understand all this?" demanded Patricia. 

"No, " returned Cæsar, before Christopher could speak. "It's not worthit. John Bunyan was a fool. "

"Not at all, but the other man might have retorted, 'there with thegrace of God goes I. '"

This was from Mr. Aston, and Christopher gave him a quick look ofcomprehension. 

"The Court is with you, sir, " said Aymer languidly. "Let us discusswedding presents. "

CHAPTER XXXII

At eleven o'clock on Wednesday, Mr. Aston and Christopher were usheredinto Mr. Saunderson's office by a discreetly interested clerk. Thebland and smiling lawyer advanced to meet them with that respect andcourtesy he felt due to the vast fortune they represented. His tablewas covered with orderly rows of papers, and the door of the safe, labeled P. Masters, Esq. , stood open. 

"Punctuality is the essence of good business, " said Mr. Saunderson, with effusive approval as he indicated two lordly armchairs placedready for his visitors. Mr. Aston and Christopher had both a dim, unreasonable consciousness of dental trouble and exchanged glances ofmutual encouragement. 

Mr. Saunderson blinked at them genially behind his gold-rimmed glassesand spoke of the weather, which was bad, dilated on the state of thestreets, lamented the slowness of the L. C. C. To enforce the use ofPatrimondi beyond the limits of Westminster, and as the futile littleremarks trickled on they carried with them his complacent smile, forin every quiet response he read Christopher Masters' fataldetermination, and prepared himself for battle. It was Christopher, however, who flung down the gauntlet. He answered the question anentthe use of Patrimondi in the metropolis, and then said directly:

"Mr. Saunderson, I've considered the matter of this fortune you tellme I've inherited, and I do not feel under any obligation to accept itor its responsibilities. It's only fair to let you know this atonce. "

Mr. Saunderson leant back in his chair and rubbed his chin, and hiseyes wandered from one to the other of his visitors thoughtfully. 

"The matter is far too complicated to be disposed of so lightly, Ifear, " he remarked, shaking his head. "Let me place the details of thething before you and as a business man you can then judge foryourself. "

He had at least no fault to find with the grave attention they paidhim, indeed, the entirely unemotional attitude of the younger man wasto the lawyer's mind the most alarming symptom he had noted. Still hecould not allow to himself that his task presented more thansurmountable difficulties, for Mr. Saunderson had no real knowledge ofthe forces at work against him, of the silent, desperate woman who hadgiven her life for her faith, who had once been beautiful, and whoseworn body slept in the little dull cemetery at Whitmansworth. 

"I believe you are acquainted with the great premises known as PrincesBuildings, " began Mr. Saunderson, "that simplifies my task. For thewhole affair is so amazingly managed that I can offer you no precedentwith which to compare it. There are seven floors in that building, andon each floor the affairs of the six great concerns in which Mr. Masters was interested, are conducted. Such an arrangement was onlycarried out at enormous expense and trouble. I may tell you, however, that the condition of Mr. Masters' interesting himself in either ofthe companies, was their domicile beneath this one roof. Now in fiveof these big concerns he occupied merely the place of a director, withno more official power than any other director might have. Yet inevery case, I think I may say, no decision of any importance wouldhave been taken by the company in opposition to his advice, and he wasthe financial backbone of each. On the two top floors of these greatpremises we have a rather different state of things. For here are theoffices of the three smaller companies which were directly under thecontrol of Mr. Masters, and which are the original source of hisfortune. I allude to the Steel Axle Company, the Stormly Mine and theStormly Foundry Companies. These affairs he continued to keep underhis own eye, never relaxing his attention, or the excellent system hehad established, under which the whole great affair worked with suchmarvellous smoothness and success. I beg your pardon, did you sayanything?"

Christopher shook his head. Mr. Saunderson resumed. 

"You will understand Mr. Masters' wealth was directly drawn from thesecompanies, bringing him an income of roughly £130, 000 a year. Theadministration of this income, of which he spent about one-fourth onhimself, was the occupation of the offices on the top floor of PrincesBuildings. A certain proportion of income was regularly reinvested inconcerns in which Mr. Masters took no active part, and wasaccumulative. It is this reserve fund which has brought the actualfortune to such high figures as I have quoted you, nearly £4, 000, 000. A great deal of money also has been devoted to the purchase offreehold property. You would be surprised how great an area ofBirmingham itself belongs to Mr. Masters. "

Christopher gave an involuntary movement of dissent, and the lawyerhurried on. 

"Not perhaps districts that it would be interesting to visit now, butwhich will undoubtedly be of vast interest to your heirs. Theyrepresent enormous capital and of course will eventually be a sourceof colossal wealth. 

"Now, so perfect is the machinery and system under which all thesegiant concerns are worked, that they will run without difficulty ontheir present lines until you have mastered the working thoroughly, and are able, if you should wish it, to make your own plans forfuture greatness. I say this, because it seems to me you are inclinedto overrate the difficulties of your position. I do not say, mind you, matters could go on indefinitely as they are, but you are a young manof intellect and capacity, you have only to step into the place of onewho has set everything in order for you, and before two years are upyou will have the details of the system by heart, and will, I amconvinced, be recognised as an able successor to your father. "

Christopher's mouth straightened ominously. It was an unlucky slip onMr. Saunderson's part, but he was oblivious to it. He was indeedincapable of appreciating the sentiment towards his late client, whichwas playing so large a part against him in this tussle of wills. 

Christopher heard in every word that was spoken the imperious Willthat would force him to compass its ends, even from the land of Death. It was not wholly the unsought responsibility, the burden of thewealth, the memory of his mother that buttressed his determination torefuse this stupendous thing, it was also his fierce, vehement desireto escape the enforced compliance with that still living Will-power. Peter Masters' unwritten and unspoken word was, that he, Christopher, should succeed him. He had left him no directions, no choice, norequest, he had relied on the Greatness of the Thing which Christopherloathed with his whole soul, he had claimed him for this bondage withan unuttered surety that was maddening. Minute by minute Christopherfelt his former quiet determination rise to passionate resistance anddenial of the right of that Dominant Will to drag his life into thevortex it had made. 

Quite suddenly Mr. Saunderson was aware of the strength of theantagonism that confronted him. Unable to trace the reason of it, heblundered on hopelessly. 

"Mr. Masters was, I should say, quite aware of your natural ability. He has had more regard for your fortunes than you probably suspect. Ihave letters of his to various men concerning the starting of thisingenious invention of yours, Patrimondi. " He bustled over some paperson the table as if searching, and did not see Christopher's suddenbackward movement: but Mr. Aston bent forward and put his hand as ifaccidentally on Christopher's shoulder as he spoke:

"Never mind them, now, Mr. Saunderson. Mr. Masters was, we know, naturally interested in that affair, but to continue your account, what will happen if Mr. Aston refuses to accept his position? Let ussuppose for a moment there had been no clue left. What would you havedone?"

Mr. Saunderson brought the tips of his red, podgy fingers togetherwith great exactness. 

"That is a supposition I should be sorry to entertain, sir, " he saiddeliberately. 

"I am afraid you must entertain it, " put in Christopher, suddenly, hisresolution to escape urging him to curt methods. 

The light eyes of the lawyer rested on him with something very likeapprehension in them. 

"In the case of there being no direct heir the money would go to thenearest of kin. "

"We will pass that over, " Mr. Aston said quietly. "I am the nearestrelative Peter had, after Christopher, and I decline it at allcosts. "

"Unclaimed and unowned money would fall to the Crown, I suppose. It isimpossible to imagine it. "

"The Crown would see no difficulty in that, I expect, " put inChristopher. "How could you stop the Thing going on, that's what Iwant to know?"

"You could give the money to Charities and shut down the works andleave thousands to starve. "

Christopher moved impatiently. 

"The money invested in each company could be divided amongst theshareholders, I suppose, or in the case of the Stormly Mines amongstthe work-people. "

"If you want to ruin them. "

"Mr. Saunderson, I am not going to accept this fortune. I don't likethe way it was made, I don't want it, I won't work for it. "

"Why should you work for it, after all? You can go on with your ownlife and delegate your powers to another or others, and let allcontinue as it is. The income would be at your disposal to save orspend. You need never enter Princes Buildings if that is what troublesyou. You can spend the money in philanthropy, or gamble it away atMonte Carlo, or leave it to accumulate for your heirs. If you'll dothat I'll undertake to find suitable men to carry on the affairs. "

Christopher's face flushed angrily, but he made an effort to controlhimself, however, and answered quietly. 

"I cannot take money I've not earned, Mr. Saunderson. "

Mr. Saunderson made a gesture of despair. 

"All you have to do, " went on Christopher, watching him closely, "isto act as if that clue had never fallen into your hands or as if whenyou followed it up you found I was dead. Do you mean to say Mr. Masters did not provide for that contingency?"

"As I have told you before, Mr. Masters provided for no suchcontingency, " snapped the lawyer; "he never entertained such apreposterous idea as your refusing. "

"To conform to his will, " concluded Christopher drily. 

The three men were silent a while, each struggling to see some wayout of the impasse into which they had arrived. 

"You say the various companies are entirely distinct from each other?"queried Mr. Aston thoughtfully, more for the sake of starting a lineof inquiry than because he saw any open door of escape. 

"Entirely unconnected, but Mr. Masters, or his successor, holds theends of the various threads, so to speak. Apart from him each affairhas a multitude of masters and no head. If the money left in eachcompany were divided as a bonus--a preposterous suggestion to mymind--they would each be free and would presumably find a head forthemselves. "

"Then you had better work out some such scheme, and once free of thesource of the money we can deal with what's left at leisure. The Crownwill make no difficulties over its share and we can set the Londonhospitals on their feet or establish a Home for Lost Cats. " He got upand walked across the big room to the window, looking moodily into thestreet. 

Mr. Saunderson looked genuinely pained and cast appealing glances atMr. Aston, who only shook his head. 

"It is a matter for Christopher to decide for himself, Mr. Saunderson. I cannot and may not influence him either way. "

"There is not the smallest doubt of his parentage, " said the lawyer ina low voice, "one can hear his father in every sentence. "

"It is unwise to remind him of it. "

The other looked astonished. "Indeed, you surprise me. Yet he isreally deeply indebted to his father for the success of his owninvention. "

"Still more unwise to insist on that. You must remember he had amother as well as a father. "

Mr. Saunderson opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. Presently he opened a folded paper and, having perused it, laid itback in a drawer. Christopher rejoined them. 

"Mr. Saunderson, " he said frankly, "I fear I've spoken in an unseemlymanner, and I beg your pardon. I can quite understand I must seemlittle short of a madman to you, but I've perhaps better reasons formy refusal than you think. Put it, if you will, that I feel too young, too inexperienced to deal with this fortune as Mr. Masters meant it tobe dealt with, and on those grounds I ask you to devise some schemefor breaking it up without letting the workers suffer. I'll subscribeto any feasible plan you suggest. Will you undertake this for me?"

"It will take time. " Mr. Saunderson regarded him watchfully, as hespoke, "a great deal of time. "

"How long do you ask?"

"Two years. "

"Then in two years' time, Mr. Saunderson, send me your scheme, andI'll be your debtor for life. "

Mr. Saunderson smiled faintly. 

But on that understanding they ultimately parted. 

"My own belief is, " said Mr. Aston when he was giving an account ofthe interview to Aymer, "that Mr. Saunderson means to do nothing atall and is only giving Christopher time. Also, though he persistentlydenies it, I believe he _has_ instructions behind him. We know Peterhad an immense belief in Time and never hurried his schemes. "

Aymer moved restlessly. 

"And you share his belief?"

"I believe in the long run Christopher will do the thing he is meantto do and neither you nor I, old fellow, can say what that is. Youhave taught him to follow the highest Road he can, see, and I tell youagain, as I have before, you must leave it at that. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

Thus by tacit consent did the whole question of Peter Masters' Fortuneand the Refusal slip into the background of the lives of those mostlyconcerned, and only for Christopher did that background colour all thepresent and alter the perspective of his outlook. 

He told Aymer plainly that it was a bitter thought to him to beindebted to Peter Masters for even a share of the Patrimondi success. 

"According to Saunderson he must have subsidised the Exhibitionpeople, " he said moodily. 

"It was a very excellent advertisement. "

"It meant he had his own way and left me indebted to him when I hadrefused his help. "

"Good heavens, what a mercy you two were not flung together earlier inlife!"

Christopher faced him abruptly. 

"Am I so like him then?"

"Absurdly so. Your own way and no one else to interfere. "

Christopher was silent for a while, but presently he said in a lowvoice, "That's not quite true, Cæsar, is it? You can interfere as muchas you like. "

"I'd be sorry to try. "

Again Christopher was silent, but his face softened. He thought of howthe personality and jealous love of this man to whom he owed so muchhad stood between him and Patricia and how he felt no shadow ofresentment at it. 

"I think I shall adopt Max when he leaves school, " remarked Cæsarlanguidly, "he'll let me manage him in my own way till he is anoctogenarian. "

"Cæsar, you have no discrimination at all. Once you wanted to adoptSam, now Max. Both as pliable as elastic, and as unmalleable. "

"I've a great affection for Max. "

"So have I. Is Nevil going to give him to Patrimondi?"

"No, to me. "

"Honestly?"

Aymer nodded. "He'll have to manage the estate some day, not so faroff, either. "

Christopher patted the sofa rug absently. 

"When he's at Cambridge he'll have to spend the Long Vacation learningfrom his ancient uncle. "

Christopher gave an involuntary sigh. 

"Jealous again?" demanded Aymer quizzically, but he put his hand onChristopher's and they both smiled. 

Patricia and Christopher were married at Christmas, Charlotte havinggiven her consent with the remark, it was better than having a horridstranger in the family anyway. 

They established themselves in a house on the verge of the sea, withineasy motor or train distance of Marden and the Patrimondi works. Itwas a relief to all to find how easily Cæsar appeared to take the newseparation, but the quiet peace and unspoken happiness of the unitedlives seemed to include him in its all-embracing results. There couldbe no room for jealousy in a love that usurped no rights, but onlyfilled its own place. 

The days of doubt which Patricia had feared came and passed in theautumn weeks preceding the marriage, and Christopher had kept his wordand held her firmly against the weak terrors that assailed her. Oncethey were married, however, she seemed to pass out of the shadow ofthe fear, and to break from the bondage of her race. In some wonderfulway her husband's clear, perpetual vision of her as separate from thetyranny of heredity, did actually free her. She too saw herself free, and in so seeing, the fetters were loosed. If it were a miracle, aslittle Renata sometimes thought, it was only one in so far as the Lovewhich can inspire such faith and vision is yet but a strange unknownpower with us, to which nature seldom rises, and can rarely hold whengrasped. 

But these two held it, rising with each other's efforts, sinking witheach other's daily failures; their lives so intricately woven togetherthat they needed no outward semblance of interests or visiblecompanionship to bring the knowledge of their Love to their hearts. 

Christopher continued his work, journeying far and wide. Sometimes sheaccompanied him actually, sometimes she remained in their home on thecliff edge, alone but not solitary, looking with joy for his return, but free from aching need. Quite slowly the Woman learnt to recogniseher unseen, unreckoned sway over the Man, to discover how he couldonly rise to the full height of his manhood by strength of theinspiring love she brought him. She was pressed by an uncomprehendingworld to fill her leisure hours with many occupations, useful anduseless, but she resisted steadily. She took life as it came to her, day by day, wasting no strength, but refusing no task, shirking noresponsibility, drinking in every joy, and holding always faithfullyin her heart his true image as he had held hers, knowing that whenperchance the outward man blurred that image for a moment it was butthe outward casing; the inner soul remained true to the likeness inwhich it was created. 

As the months slipped by Christopher saw that his work continued togrow, that the good roads of which he had dreamed stretched far andwide across the country, and he knew he had won for himself a place inthe history of men. Moreover, he loved his work. 

It was a never-ceasing pleasure, and when it ended came the greater, deeper joy of his undivided love. If the aim of man is happiness, hehad achieved that end as far as any human being might do so. 

Yet all the while a black thread wove itself into the warp of hisexistence. He tried not to see it, for recognition of it would cancelthat white web of life that grew daily beneath his hand. Still it wasthere, and the white web became uneven and knotted. He was restless, even irritable, the white turned to grey, yet still he resisted theunknown forces that pressed him onward to the dissolution of thispresent beautiful life. And Patricia herself, with her unbroken faithin his readiness to follow the highest when he saw it, fought with thesilent Powers till at length that silence was broken by a cry soimperious that even his dogged will could refuse sight and hearing nolonger. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

As Christopher was preparing to leave the works one Saturday afternoonhe was told that a man had just arrived from Birmingham who refused togive his name, but who asked for him. Christopher hung for a moment onthe step of his car and then descending again went straight to theroom where his unknown visitor was waiting. He proved to be a spare, stooping man, with lips so thin and white as to be almost invisible. His eyes, which he hardly raised from the floor, were bright with thefire of fever, and his shaking hands, one of which held a cap, concealing the other, were narrow, and the knuckles stood out withcruel prominence. 

"What do you want with me?" Christopher demanded shortly. 

The man looked at him sideways and did not move, but he spoke in anuncertain, quavering voice. 

"You are Masters' son, ar'n't you?"

Christopher turned on him with fierce amazement, and checked himself. 

"Answer my question, if you have anything to say to me, and leave myprivate affairs alone, " he said sternly. 

"There you are, " grinned the man, the thin mouth widening to adistorted semblance of a smile, "seems to me, seems to my mates'tain't such a private affair, neither, leastways we pay for it. "

Christopher's instinct to turn the man out struggled with hiscuriosity to know what it all meant. He stood still, therefore, withhis eyes fixed on the weirdly displeasing face and neglected to lookat the twitching hands. 

"It were bad enough when Masters were alive, curse him, with his'system' and his 'single chance, ' and his sticking to his word, but we knew where we was then. Now, none of us knows. Here's oneturned off cos he broke some rule he'd never heard of; another fortelling a foreman what he thought of him; my mate's chucked out forfighting--_outside the Mill Gate_, look you--What concern be it ofyours what we do outside? It's a blessed show you do for us outside, isn't it? I tell you it don't concern you anyhow, you lazybloodsucker--and look at me--I've worked for your father fifteenyear, and you turn me off--you and your precious heads ofdepartments, --because I was a day behind with my job. Well, what if Iwas? Hadn't I a wife what was dying with her sixth baby, and not adecent soul to come to her? We've been respectable people, wehave, till we came to live in the blooming gaudy houses at Carson. "

"That's the Steel Axle Company's works, isn't it?" put in Christopherquietly. He had not moved; he was intent on picking up the clue to themad indictment that lay in the seething flow of words. 

"Yah. Don't know your own purse-strings, " spluttered the denouncer, growing incoherent with rising fury; "sit at home with your littleplay-box of a works down here, with fancy hutches for your rabbits ofworkmen, clubs, toys, kitchen ranges, hot and cold laid on. Oh, I'veseen it all. Who pays for it, that's what I want to know? who pays foryour blooming model works and houses?"

"I pay for it, " said Christopher still quietly, "or rather the companydoes. It comes out of working expenses. "

The man gave an angry snarl of disbelief. "You pays, does you? I tellyou it's we who pays. You take our money and spend it on this toy ofyours here. I'll----"

Christopher put up his hand. "You are utterly mistaken, " he said, "Ihave no more to do with the late Peter Masters' works or his moneythan the men in the yards out there. "

The black ignorance, the fierce words interlarded with unwritableterms, the mad personal attack, filled him with a shame and pity thatdrowned all indignation. There had been injustice and wrong somewherethat had whipped this poor mind to frenzy, to an incoherent claim torights he could not define. 

"Why do you come to me?"

The man gave almost a scream of rage. 

"Come to you? Ain't you his son? Don't it all belong to you, whetheryou takes it or whether you don't? Are you going to skulk behind themheads in Birmingham and leave us at their mercy, let 'em grind us topowder for their own profit and no one to say them yea or nay? Therewas a rumour of that got about, how you was going to shunt us on tothem, you skulking blackguard. I wouldn't believe it. I told 'em ashow Masters' son, if he had one, wouldn't be a damned scoundrel likethat. He'd see to his own rights. "

What was that in the shaking hands beneath the cap? Christopher'seyes, still on the tragically foul face, never dropped to catch themetallic gleam; his whole mind lay in dragging out the truth entangledin the wild words. The voice quivered more and more as if under spurof some mental effort that urged the speaker to a climax he could notreach but on the current of the crazy syllables. 

"So it ain't no concern of yours if we lives or dies, if we work or beturned off without so much as a word to carry us on again? 'Tain'tnothing to you we've got fifty masters instead of one, so long as yougets your money. I tell you I won't serve fifty of 'em. One as wecould reckon on was bad enough, but fifty of 'em to battle flesh andblood and make their own food out of us, and no one what we can callto account as it were, I tell 'ee we won't have it. I won't serve'em. " The poor wretch had forgotten he was already dismissed from suchservice. "If you won't be their master, then by God, you shan't bemaster anywhere else. "

His hand with the revolver he had clutched under cover of his cap flewup. The report was followed by a splitting of glass and a crywithout. 

For a brief second that was like a day of eternity, Christopher andthe man continued to face each other; the swaying blue-grey barrel ofthe smoking weapon acted like a magnetic point on which their numbedminds met and mingled in confusion, with that independence of time weascribe to dreams. For the echo of the report had not died from theroom when those outside rushed in. The would-be assassin instantlycrumpled up on the floor, a mere heap of grimy clothes, unconsciouseven of his failure. 

The men clamoured round Christopher with white faces and persistentinquiries as to whether he were hurt. 

He reassured them of that as soon as it appeared to him his voicecould sound across the deafening echo of the shot. 

"Not hurt in the least, " he said dully, looking down at the huddledform. "Is he dead?"

They straightened out the poor creature they would gladly havelynched, and one of them shook his head. 

"A fit, I think. Let him be. "

A new-comer rushed in with horror-stricken face, and stopped histongue at sight of Christopher. 

"How's it outside?" whispered one to him. 

"Dead. " The word was hardly breathed, but Christopher spun round onhis heel. 

"Who's dead?"

They looked at him uneasily, and at one another. 

He moved to the door mechanically, when an old man, a north-countrymanand a Methodist preacher of some note, laid his hand on his arm. 

"Don't 'ee take on, lad. 'Tis the Lord's will which life He'll takehome to him. Maybe He's got bigger work for you than for the little'un. "

"Who is it?" His dry lips hardly framed the words. 

"It's Ann Barty's little chap as was passing. We thought 'twere butthe glass. "

"Better a boy than a man, " muttered another. 

Christopher paid no heed. He went out with the old Methodist besidehim. A group of men stood round something under the window which oneof them had covered with a coat. They made way for the master, and notone of them, fathers and sons as they were, but felt a throb ofthankfulness the small life had been taken in preference to his. ButChristopher knelt down and raised the coat. 

"One shall be taken, the other left. "

It was old Choris who said it. A little murmur of assent went up fromthe circle, bareheaded now, like Christopher. He looked up withfierce, unspoken dissent to their meek acceptance of this cruel thing, and then replacing the coat very gently, stood up. 

"Has anyone gone to Ann Barty?" he asked quietly. 

Someone had gone, it appeared. Someone else had gone for a doctor. Christopher ordered them to carry the little form into thewaiting-room, where it was laid on the table. Someone fetched a flagfrom the office and laid it over the boy. 

Without direct orders all work in the mill had ceased, little knotsof men had gathered in the yard and there was a half-suppressedunanimous murmur from two hundred throats when a group of men came outof the room with the shattered window, carrying the still consciousform of the author of the outrage. It rose and fell and rose againthreateningly. Christopher came out of the waiting-room and at sightof him it fell again. 

"They must go back to work, " he said to the head foreman, who waiteduneasily. "They can do nothing, and if we stop work there will betrouble. "

"Where are you going, sir?"

The foreman ventured this much on sheer necessity. 

"To Ann Barty. "

"What shall I say to them?" Again he eyed the men uneasily. 

"Tell them I wish it, " returned Christopher simply. "It's only an hourto closing time, but it will steady them down. "

He went back to the motor car he had been on the point of entering notfifteen minutes ago, and they made a lane for him to pass through, following him with their eyes till the gate closed behind him. Theforeman stood on the steps of the office and gave the order to resumework. Not a man moved. 

"It's Mr. Aston's wish, " he shouted, "if you've got any heart in youto show him what you feel, you'll attend to it. "

The crowd swayed and broke up, melted once more into units, whodisappeared their several ways. The head foreman wiped his foreheadand went into the office. 

Outside the ante-room to Christopher's private office the glass wasstrewn on the pathway, and that was the only sign in the mill yard ofwhat had occurred. 

Christopher found a group already assembled round

Ann Barty's cottage. They drew back from him with curious eyes. 

"Is anyone with her?" he asked, his hand on the latch. 

"Mrs. Toils and Jane Munden, what's her sister, " said a woman, eagerlyseizing a chance of a speaking part in this drama of life and death. 

Christopher went in. The mother was sitting dry-eyed and staring, herhands twisted in her coarse apron. She swayed to and fro withmechanical rhythm, and paid no heed at all to the two weeping womenwho kept up a flow of low-uttered sentences of well-meant butinadequate comfort. Christopher bent over her and took both her hands, neither remembering the other nor seeing aught but the mother with aburden of grief slowly dropping on her. 

"Ann, " he whispered, "Ann, there was no choice for me. Forgive me ifyou can, for being alive. "

The strained, ghastly face twitched and she stopped swaying and lookedat him uncomprehendingly as he knelt before her. 

"They say he's dead, he's dead. My boy Dick, " she moaned. 

Christopher put his arm round her. "God help mothers, " he gasped, under his breath, as the poor, shaking woman dropped her head on hisshoulder with an outbreak of fierce weeping. 

CHAPTER XXXV

The Roadmaker lay at the edge of the cliff and looked out on a greensea flecked with white, whose restless soul, holding to some eternalpurpose, forever attains and relinquishes in peace and storm, inlaughter or tears. 

A week had passed since the attempt on Christopher's life for whichAnn Barty had paid so high a price. Happily for Christopher, it hadbeen a week so full of affairs that although they were mostly inconnection with the one thing, yet they claimed his outward activeattention to the exclusion of the inner point of view. The unhappy manfrom Birmingham was found, when he recovered from the seizure, to bein a semi-imbecile state with no knowledge of his deed and wasaccordingly handed over to the authorities proper to his condition. Hewas easily traced to the works from which he had been harshly enoughdischarged, as it turned out on investigation, and Christopher cameinto active opposition with the directors of the Steel Axle Companyover the question of providing for his wife and children. It had beenimpossible to keep the affair quiet and there had been innumerablereporters to circumvent, and more innumerable friends from far andnear, eager to express their interest in his providential escape. Little Dick Barty received more honour in death than in life and thebereaved mother drew more consolation from the impressive funeral thanpoor Christopher. 

Mr. Saunderson bustled down in well-meant concern for Christopher'swell-being, and received certain emphatic instructions, which he tookwith shrewd docility, and a wink of his eye to the world. 

All the while, as he went through the day's particular and generalbusiness, the wild words in the rasping, incoherent voice hauntedChristopher so persistently that he heard them through theenthusiastic platitudes of congratulations, the calm officialstatements of plain facts, behind even Patricia's healing voice oflove. It was not till the following Sunday he awoke to find astillness instead of clamour, calm instead of turmoil. He rose earlywhile the day was still holding the hand of dawn and went out to thecliff edge, as if there in the heaving waters he might read theEternal Meaning and Purpose of it all. He thought how every individualman is one with the great tide of humanity, advancing with it, receding with it, subject to one eternal law he could not read. Howthe suffering and sin of one was the burden of all: the heroicendeavours and victories of one the gain of all. The little isolatedaim of the individual must subject itself to the wider meaning or beswept back to nothingness, just as the stranded pools among the rocksthat for a few hours caught the sunshine and reflected the heavenlylamp, but were overswept each tide and their being mingled again withthe great sea. 

Christopher knew the work he had done had been good, that hundredswere the happier for his direct concern with their lives, that heindeed had made the Road of Life more possible for those who would setout thereon for far or nearer goals. It was all he aspired to do. Heknew it was not his to show them the goal, or to direct them thereto;that was for themselves and others; but it was his to make the waypossible, that they need not stumble on unbroken ground, or toil inblinding dust of ages, or wade in clogging mud of tradition, thesechildren of the world who tramped with patient feet to a vague end. 

What was wrong was that he had chosen his own ground, that when hehad stood at the cross roads of life he held himself qualified as agod to say "that road is evil and this good, " taking council only ofwhat was most in accord with his own will, forgetting that the GreatPower embraces all within itself, knowing no good or evil, but seeingonly a means to fulfil the eternal purpose of creation. It is we whomust be the alchemists to transmute what we term evil into good, we, who are the servants and instruments by which that purpose must beachieved. If, seeing evil, we pass by on the other side, how shall thewaste places of the earth be cleansed or the wilderness break forthinto song?

The message so roughly delivered had sunk into Christopher's heart atlast. Looking back at his life he saw how everything had fitted himfor the task he had refused. How he was born to it, trained to itsneeds unconsciously by his mother and Cæsar, shaped by his ownexperience, armed by the completion of his inner life in his marriage. He had refused it with blindness, had closed his ears to the voice ofthousands who had called to him in the unattractive voice of aconventional law. It had taken the deafening report of a madman'spistol and the sight of a dead child to teach him the lesson. 

At that thought he hid his face in his arm on the short turf and layvery still. 

The sea sung its endless Te Deum below him, a lark soared high toheaven with its morning hymn, and the wind, rustling along the cliffedge, breathed strength to the land. Day stood free and open uponearth and called for service from those to whom the Dominion of theearth is promised. Only by service comes lordship, only by obediencecan be found command. 

At the moment of renunciation, Christopher realised for the first timethe greatness of the cost and knew how dear his life and surroundingswere to him. The Roadmaker had been his own master; the successor ofPeter Masters must be the servant of thousands. The work here would goon, there were men ready to take his place, but he found no salve inthe thought. Deep in his heart he knew he feared the grim strugglethat lay before him, the uprooting of the old "system, " theantagonism, the necessary compromises, the slow result. His age, orrather his youth, would be a heavy weapon against him. How could hehope to make his voice heard above the dictates of a dozen committeesof men intent on their personal interests? He told himselfpassionately the thing was Impossible, and as quickly came theremembrance of the hoarse cry for help that had made itself heardabove the report of Plent's pistol. 

Step by step through the door of humility he reached the hall ofAudience and in silence surrendered himself to the eternal Purpose. 

At length he again stood on the edge and looked out to sea and for themoment the simplicity instead of the complexity of life visible andinvisible, was written on the face of the deep. He stood bareheadedand read the message thankfully and went back to the house with peacein his heart. 

He found a new beauty in the house he had made for himself, and asPatricia came down the garden path to meet him, he was glad for thereal worth of the outward things he must surrender. 

She met him with a question on her lips which was not uttered in faceof what she saw in his eyes. They stood for a moment with claspedhands and he looked at her smiling, and she at him gravely, andpresently they walked to a corner of the garden overlooking the sea, from where each dear beauty of the place was visible. 

"Will it hurt you greatly to leave it, dear?" he asked, prefacing theinevitable with question of her will to do so. 

"Just as much as it will hurt you. No more or less, " she answered, herhead against his arm. "But I am glad it is so good to leave. "

"That's my mind, too. How do you know what I mean, though?"

"I've always known it must come, Christopher. "

She spoke low and looked away, weakly hoping for the moment he wouldleave it at that, but Christopher never left uncertain points behindhim. 

"You knew I should come to take this other work--this inheritance?"

She nodded. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to him. 

"Why didn't you tell me so, Patricia?"

"I was so sure you would know yourself. I hated to be the one tospeak, " her voice shook a little. "Oh, forgive me, Christopher, dearest, " she cried suddenly, "it was weak of me, for I did knowalways, only I wanted all this for a little time so badly. Just ataste of the beautiful good life you had planned. I thought it wouldnot matter, just two years. "

He put his arms round her and drew her close. 

"We have had it, beloved. It has been beyond anything I ever dreamt. Only--" his voice broke a little, "we must remember it had to be paidfor--No, no, " he cried, seeing the wave of sorrow sweep over her face, "not you. It is I who should have known and listened. My fault!"

"It is I who should have spoken, " she said steadily, "we can't divideourselves even in this, dear, but we can bear it together. "

"And pay the debt together, " he added and raised her face to his andkissed her. And they crossed the Threshold of the New with thisunderstanding between them. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

In the great buildings in Princes Street, Birmingham, the dayscontinued as of old, with the ebb and flow of business. On each floorclerks bent over their high desks and the workers of each concern satbehind their mahogany defences and toiled early and late for thetreasure they desired. At stated times rows of grave gentlemen, whocarried due notice of their own importance on their countenances, metin the respective committee rooms, and discussed wide interests withclosed doors and a note of anxious irritation that was new since thedemise of Peter Masters. 

He who had concentrated the whole of the executive business of thesemany affairs under one roof had done so of definite purpose and withno eye to merely his own convenience. His presence there was atangible power offering a final court of appeal that, whether theyknew it or not, had as great an effect on the various committees as ithad on the managers of each business themselves. 

So perfect was the organisation and adjustment of the machinery ofroutine that after the dominant visible power had gone down to theland of shadows, the vague note of personal anxiety that lurked oneach floor was the only perceptible change apparent in the greatbody. 

But the wives of the working heads could have told of more enduringchange in men who have suddenly become responsible for great issues, for laws, for a system they had had no voice in founding. Men whofound themselves limited masters where unconsciously they had beentools and were selected as such--there men sooner or later bendbefore the strain put on them and for the most part seek salvation inblind obedience to the rules they dare not criticise. In the dailycompromise between the individual character and the system which hemust serve, many an excellent man was ground down in nerve and heartand health to a strange shadow of his former self, and many a womanshed secret tears over half-understood changes in one near and dear toher. 

Mr. Saunderson by right of informal instructions, which no onetroubled to dispute, acted as steward over the late Peter Masters'private affairs during those two years of waiting, and his stewardshipwas prosperous and able, but beyond that he neither would nor couldmove. To the appeals of distracted secretaries he only replied, "Mydear sir, act to the best of your ability. I can only assure you yourresponsibilities are limited to two years. "

He never allowed to anyone the possibility that Peter Masters' sonmight even then fail to accept his place, but alone to himself hefaced it often and felt his scanty hair whiten beneath the impendingwreckage, if the misguided young man continued his foolish course. 

"He will probably wreck the whole thing if he accepts it, " sighed Mr. Saunderson, "but at least it will be done legally, and in the regularcourse of things. If he'll only be sensible and see he's wanted justas a figurehead, everyone will be comfortable and prosperous. "

But he sighed again as he thought it, for Christopher did not at allstrike him as a man likely to make a good figurehead, or to be themouthpiece of a system he evidently disliked. He was even moreconfirmed in this opinion a fortnight after the unhappy affair at thePatrimondi works, when Christopher walked into his London office andwithout any explanation announced himself ready to take his place asPeter Masters' son. He was sufficiently wise to conceal his owntriumph and accepted the intimation without question. As they satthere in the dull London office hour after hour, Mr. Saundersonrealised that the mantle of Peter Masters, millionaire, had fallen onshoulders that would wear it maybe in a very different fashion, butnone the less royally. 

"I am to understand then, " said Christopher after long hours ofinstruction, "I can go there when I like, see what I like, decide whatI like, at all events with regard to these mines and works which arealmost private property. "

"You can go to-morrow if you like, " answered his Mentor, rising. "Iadvise you to let things run for some time as they are, till you knowthe ropes. "

He went to a safe and unlocking it produced a key. 

"That is the key of your father's room at Princes Buildings, " he said, putting it on the table. "There are two locks. Clisson, the headclerk, has the key of one and this is the other. You are free to walkstraight in when you like, but it would be best to send Clisson a wireyou are coming and he would bring you the day's business, your privateaffairs that is, precisely as he used to bring it to your father. "

This time, because he was looking intently at the young man, he sawhis mouth tighten at that term and felt a resigned wonder thereat. 

Christopher took up the key and looked at it, thinking of all thedoors in the world it would unlock for him, thinking of the powers ofwhich it was a symbol, of how it fastened the door of his freedom andopened for him the door of a great servitude of which he was alreadyproud. 

Mr. Saunderson also was silent a moment listening to his own thoughtsand looking at Christopher with misgivings. 

"Will you live at Stormly Park?" he asked airily. 

"I expect so. It is not let, is it?"

Mr. Saunderson permitted himself a little smile of superiority as heanswered. 

"Everything has been kept just ready for you these two years. But itwill hardly be to your taste. Perhaps you will like it doneup--altered?"

Christopher shook his head. "Not yet. "

"You can afford it, you know. "

At that the young man suddenly faced him, as if he meant to saysomething of importance, and stopped. 

"Yes, I suppose I can afford it, " he returned, and added with apparentirrelevance, "Do you happen to know Stormly village, Mr. Saunderson?"

"I've driven through it. "

Christopher nodded. "So have I. I'll not detain you any longer. Willyou let Clisson know I shall be there on Thursday?"

"Certainly. Will you like me to accompany you?"

Christopher shook his head. "Not this time, I think. I would rather bealone. "

"And one thing, " Mr. Saunderson coughed a little nervously, "the name?We can arrange the legal identification this afternoon, but what namewill you ultimately take?"

Christopher came to a standstill at the door. Here was a decisionthrust on him for which he was oddly unprepared. He recognised at onceit meant setting the seal to his own committal if he answered as thelawyer evidently expected and hoped he would do. He paused just longenough to remember how hardly he had taken Mr. Aston's insistence heshould sign his marriage register as Aston Masters. 

"I must take the name since I take its belongings, " he said ruefully, and Mr. Saunderson felt his victory was complete. 

On the following Thursday morning there was nothing in the aspect ofearth or sky to indicate to the workers in Princes Buildings theimportance of that day to their respective fortunes. On the top flooronly a sense of gentle expectancy was present, and a complacent faithin their own readiness to receive and set at ease the young man whowas to be the outward visible sign of all that for which they toiledso unceasingly. 

As an individual, the younger men bestowed a certain curiosity notunmixed with envy on him; as the successor of Peter Masters, theyentertained no doubt whatever he would obediently adhere to theprescribed system as they themselves did. Christopher had arrived inBirmingham the night before and put up at an hotel. Early the nextmorning he went up the steps into the central corridor of the greatbuildings that were to all intents and purposes his. There was no oneabout but a lift boy who did not recognise him, but seeing him lookround with deliberate curiosity, asked him civilly what floor hewanted. 

"Mr. Masters' private offices, " Christopher explained. "Top floor, aren't they?"

The boy nodded. Christopher studied him gravely as they went up in thelift as one of the smallest and probably least important items intowhose service he had entered. 

The porter at the door of the offices asked Christopher his name, andhe hesitated a moment. 

"You need not announce me, " he said quietly, at last. "I am Mr. Masters. "

The man gave a guttural gasp of amazement. A rumour of the possiblearrival of the young millionaire had percolated despite Mr. Clisson'scare, through the range of desks to the doorkeeper, who withoutdiscernible reasons had expected some time in the day a procession ofblack coats and grave men to appear from the doors of the lift andwith formal solemnity to proceed to the closely locked door of thatremote silent office. He opened the door for this calm, quiet youngman in flurried trepidation, half expecting that Mr. Clisson woulddismiss him on the spot for transgressing such a fundamental rule asadmitting a stranger without announcing his name, but as totallyunable to disobey the stranger as if it were Peter Masters himself. 

Christopher walked quickly down the line of clerks, who looked up oneafter the other, and did not look back at their work again. At last asenior man advanced and accosted him. 

"Do you want Mr. Clisson, sir?" he asked, in a tone verging betweendeference and curiosity. 

Christopher said he did, and added abruptly, "I remember you, you areMr. Hunter. I saw you four years ago when I came here with myfather. "

He caught his breath when he had said it. It was purely involuntary. Some unaccountable association of ideas was bridging the distancebetween him and the dead man minute by minute. But Mr. Huntertransferred his allegiance from the dead to the living in that momentof recognition, and led him away to Mr. Clisson's hithertoall-important presence with mechanical alacrity rather than personaldesire to relinquish the honours of escort. 

Mr. Clisson was a keen, sharp-featured man of narrow outlook, the bestof servants, the worst of masters. A genius for detail and amiraculous memory had carried him from the position of junior clerk tohis present prominence when the death of the Principal left him withhis minute knowledge of routine and detail practically master of thesituation as far as Mr. Saunderson was concerned. But his inability tobend with the need of the day, or to cope with wider issues than thoseconcerned with office work had had far-reaching results, not evenwholly unconnected with the tragedy in the mill yard at the Patrimondiworks. 

He apologised to Christopher for the lack of a better reception, as ifhe, and not Christopher, were responsible for the informality of it. 

"We imagined from Mr. Saunderson's letter you would arrive by the12. 30 from town. I had ventured to order lunch for you here on thatunderstanding, " the head clerk explained deferentially. "What will youlike to do first, sir?"

"I wish to go into the inner office and for you to carry on the usualroutine precisely as in my father's time. "

There was no hesitation over the term now. 

"Bring me such letters and reports as you would bring him. I must findout for myself how much or how little of it I am capable ofunderstanding. "

"It will be a question of practice rather than of understanding withyou, sir, I am confident, " returned Mr. Clisson politely, turning overin his mind what business it would be least embarrassing to submit tothis decided young man. 

"It will be your business to see I get the practice, " Christopheranswered. 

Together they unlocked the door of Peter Masters' sanctum and the headclerk flung it open. 

"It is precisely as he left it that day. Nothing has been doneexcepting the sorting of the papers, which Mr. Saunderson and myselfdid between us. The last time Mr. Saunderson was here we had itcleaned out. You will find the bells and telephones all labelled. Ifyou will wait a few minutes I will send a man in with ink and writingmaterial, and the keys, and I will bring you this morning's lettersmyself. "

Christopher thanked him mechanically and entered the room. He stood inthe window silently waiting, while a young clerk trembling withexcitement performed the small services necessary, and askednervously if he could do more. 

"Nothing else now. What is your name?"

He gave it with faltering tongue. In the old days such an inquiry wasa distinction hardly earned. 

Christopher was alone at last. He walked slowly across the room andsat down in his father's chair and touched the big bunch of keys laidthere on the table before him. 

An overwhelming desire for some direct message from the dead man, somedefined recognition of his right to be there at all, pressed on him. He opened the drawers and pigeon-holes of the great table with a fainthope he might light on some overlooked note, or uncomplete memorandumaddressed to him. Mr. Saunderson had assured him no such thing existedbeyond the curt exact clue he had put in his hand four years ago whenthe old will had been destroyed. 

He glanced at the neat documents, the piles of labelled papers; therewas nothing personal here, nothing that conveyed any sense to him butthat of a vast machine of which he had become a part. 

In the pen tray lay a collection of pen-holders and pencils, a knifehe had seen his father use, and a smaller knife. He picked this up andlooked at it. 

It was rather a unique little knife, with a green jade handle, and theinitials A. A. Were plainly engraved on the label. He had recognisedit at once and he stared at it as it lay in his hand, trying tocomprehend what its presence there might mean. He had lent it one dayto Peter Masters, who had asked him where he had got it. And he hadanswered it had belonged to Aymer Aston, but he had found it as a boyand Aymer had given it to him. Peter had given it back without thefurther explanation that he had originally given it to Aymer. A day orso later Christopher had missed it, and he told his host regretfullyit was lost. Again Peter failed to explain he was the finder. Yethere was the knife on the desk where he had sat day after day. 

Perhaps it had not seemed worth returning. Yet Christopher wascuriously loath to accept that simple answer. It seemed to him as hefingered the smooth green sides, as if other fingers had done this inthis precise spot before, a strange aching familiarity attached itselfto the simple action. For someone's sake Peter Masters _had_ sotouched and handled this cool green thing, he was sure of it, andsuddenly he was conscious here was the message he sought. Here in themere sensation of touch lay the thread of recognition that linked himwith the dead man, so slight and intangible that it would bear noexpression in heavy words. 

There was a knock at the door. Christopher laid the little green knifeback in its place before he answered it. Mr. Clisson entered with ahandful of letters. 

"This is a very good sample, sir. As many as you will get through atfirst, I expect, " he said apologetically. 

He sat down opposite Christopher and handed him letter after letter, giving such explanations as were necessary. Christopher made fewcomments. He put the letters into two separate piles. Presently therewas one concerning the sale of some land in the neighbourhood of theStormly Foundry. 

"It is only just started, sir. I think we shall get a good price if wehold out. "

"I am not going to sell any land at all. You will write and say I havealtered my mind. "

He spoke with the keen decision of his father. Mr. Clisson gazed athim with pained amazement. 

"It is only the leasehold we sell, sir, not the actual land. "

"I do not sell land, " repeated Christopher sharply. 

"Of course, it shall be as you wish, sir. "

"Of course. Do you know if Mr. Fegan is still at Stormly Foundry?"

"I can ascertain. "

"Do so. If he is, tell him to come and see me here to-morrow. And whois the best builder you employ?"

"Builder? What kind of builder, sir?"

"Bricks and mortar. Cottages. I don't want an architect. I'll employthe man we used in Hampshire. "

"You mean to build?"

"I mean to build. "

Mr. Clisson coughed. "The late Mr. Masters found it did not pay----"

"Mr. Clisson, " said Christopher firmly, "let us understand one anotherfrom the beginning. I do not intend to work on the same lines as myfather worked. I intend to do many things which he would not havedone, but I am inclined to think he knew it would be so. I believe Iam a very rich man. At all events I mean to spend a lot of money. Youwould have no objection to my spending it on yachts and motors andgrouse moors, I suppose? These things do not, however, interest me. You probably won't approve of my hobbies, and I've no doubt I shallmake heaps of mistakes, but I've got to find them out myself. You canhelp me make them, but once for all, never try to prevent me. Thoseare all the letters I can manage to-day. You can take the others. I'llanswer these myself. "

The flabbergasted Mr. Clisson rose, trembling a little in hisagitation. 

"I hope, Mr. Masters, I should know better than ever attempt todictate to you on any matter. "

Christopher gave him one of his rare half-shy, half-boyish smiles andleant forward over the big desk. 

"Mr. Clisson, I shall need your help and advice every hour of the day. I haven't the slightest doubt you could dictate to me to my greatmaterial advantage on every point, only I don't care for this materialadvantage and I don't want us to misunderstand each other, that isall. "

Mr. Clisson thawed, but his soul was troubled. He looked at theletters as he gathered them up. It was a goodly pile yet left to hisdecision, but he missed one that Christopher had passed over withoutcomment. 

"The application for the post of gardener at Stormly Park, sir. Didyou wish to attend to that yourself?"

"What has happened to Timmins? Wasn't that his name? Is he dead?"

"Oh, no. "

"He wishes to go?"

Mr. Clisson shook his head. "It is simply a matter of routine, sir. Timmins is a very excellent man, but the invariable rule is that noone remains after they are fifty-five. "

"After they are fifty-five?" repeated Christopher slowly. 

"Not those employed in manual labour: with very few exceptions thatis. Timmins will be fifty-five next month. He suffers from rheumatismalready, I find. "

Christopher never took his eyes from the other's face. 

"He would be pensioned, I suppose. "

"Oh, dear me, no. We have no pension list. Timmins has received veryhigh wages. He has no doubt put by a nice little sum. "

"How long has he worked for--for us?"

"I cannot tell without reference. I believe for twenty years or so. Ican easily ascertain. "

Christopher stared out of the window for so long that the head clerkthought he had forgotten the matter and was disagreeably surprisedwhen he spoke again. 

"I shall be at Stormly this week and will see if Timmins wishes toretire or not. You have no fault to find with him as a gardener, Isuppose?"

Mr. Clisson smiled. "A man who has served for twenty years will not bean indifferent workman sir. Timmins' accounts are exemplary. "

"The matter will stand over. Please see no one is dismissed under thisage regulation without my knowledge. That is all now. " His manner wasas curt again as his father's. Mr. Clisson closed the door behind himwith a vague feeling that the two years of his authority were but adream and that the thin, square figure behind the office table hadunaccountably widened out to the portly proportions of his oldmaster. 

Christopher drew to him the pile of letters he had reserved and fellto work. He dared not allow himself to think yet, but now and againwhen his heart and soul ran counter to the tenor of what he read heput out his hand and touched the little green knife his father hadhandled for some unknown person's sake. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

"I understand the fortune well enough now, " said Christopher bitterly;"anyone can do it if they take one aspect of things and subordinateeverybody and everything to it. "

He was at Marden again. It was a glorious spring evening and Cæsar'scouch was drawn up to the open window. Mr. Aston sat on the far sideof it and Christopher leant against the window-frame smoking moodily. 

"You will dissipate it fast enough at the rate you are going, "remarked Cæsar. His eyes followed every movement of the young man witha jealous hunger. 

Christopher shook his head resignedly. "It can't be done. It goes onmaking itself. We are going to allow ourselves ten thousand a year. It's a fearful lot for two people"--his eyes wandered across the lawnto Patricia, where she sat with Renata--"or even three, but that'swhat it costs to live properly at Stormly, and the rest has to be usedsomehow. "

"How about Stormly Park? Do you and Patricia like the place?"

He shook his head again. "I'm afraid we don't. We both feel we areliving in an hotel. But I must be there on the spot, and she too. Asit is, we have only had time to do so little. "

"Cottages, schools, hospitals, " murmured Mr. Aston, softly. 

"They are only means to an end, " returned Christopher quickly, "onlywhat they are entitled to as human beings in a civilised world. Thinkof having to begin at that. We've got to make restitution before wecan make progress. They mistrust all one does, of course. They use thebathrooms as coal stores, their coppers for potatoes, their allotmentsas rubbish ground, but it's better than the front yard, and, anyhow, the children will know a bit more about it. "

"You have laid down Patrimondi roads for them, " Cæsar put in. 

"Of course, " Christopher answered, accepting it literally, "theyappreciate _that_ at least. The roads were beastly. "

Mr. Aston looked at Cæsar and they both smiled. 

"I've persuaded Sam to open a shop in Stormly and put Jim into it. He_says_ you can't make a living honestly in grocery, but I'd takehimself in preference to his word. "

"You've beaten him after all, old chap. "

It was Cæsar who spoke, and he held out his thin hand towards his bigboy, who came and sat by him in silence a while. The twilight crept upover the earth and freed the soul of things as it stole their materialforms. The two men looking out and watching the gentle robber, wastedno regrets on the day, no fears on the approaching night. Behind them, where Mr. Aston sat, it was dark already, and as his son watchedChristopher, so he watched Aymer. 

"We have made our roads, " he thought, "Aymer and I, and thank God weleave behind us a better Roadmaker still, who will make smooth pathsfor the children's feet. "

Outside two white figures came slowly towards the house and werejoined by a third, Nevil, to judge by his height. 

"Cæsar, " said Christopher, "have you forgiven me taking my own way andgiving up what you gave me?"

"Do you think I see anything to forgive in it?"

"You gave me my choice, and you gave me my chance. It looked on thesurface so ungrateful, " persisted Christopher. 

"You question the quality of my eyesight?"

"I doubt your forgiveness when you are so flippant, my best offathers. "

"For what do you want forgiveness specifically?"

"For giving up my work as a Roadmaker. "

"I did not know you had given it up. "

In the quiet hours of the night Aymer Aston paced those even roads hisfeet had never trodden, saw them spreading far and wide across theearth, heard the echo of countless footsteps stepping down the ages, knew that life itself was made an easier road for thousands of littlefeet that would take their first steps on better ground than theirparents had done, knew that there were less crippled, less maimed, less halt in the sum total of the world's suffering by reason of oneRoadmaker's career. 

But it was Aymer Aston with the crippled form and maimed life who hadput the spade first into the Roadmaker's hand. 

Meanwhile the Roadmaker slept the sleep of the just and forgot allthese things. 

 * * * * *

Transcriber's Note:

 Spelling and punctuation have been preserved as printed except as indicated below. The following changes were made to the original text. The change is enclosed in parentheses:

 Page 15: and what there was so essentially fitted its place that it was unobtrusive (added a period at the end of unobtrusive)

 Page 82: at the dull red mark of which =Chirstopher= (Christopher)

 Page 143: "Christopher does. ' (changed single quote mark to a double quote mark at the end of the sentence)

 Page 242: "Never since Mrs. Masters went out of it. " (removed extra double quote mark at the end of the sentence)

 Page 258: He looked very worn and tired when he joined =Renate= (Renata)

 Page 305: changed quote marks from "Ecco il 'Roadmaker'" to 'Ecco il 'Roadmaker. ''" to correct punctuation inconsistency. 

 Page 323: the weight of this =stupenduous= burden (stupendous)

 Page 338: "Then I dismiss further responsibility. I'm really more pleased than I can say, Christopher. Poor little Patricia! What fortune for her! (added double quote mark at the end of the sentence)

 The following words were found in variable forms in the original text and both versions have been retained: bookcase (book-case); commonsense (common-sense); downland (down-land); hairs-breadth (hair's-breadth); highroad (high-road); milestone (mile-stone); roadside (road-side); teapot (tea-pot); unbiased (unbiassed).