FATHER STAFFORD

BY

ANTHONY HOPE

AUTHOR OF "A MAN OF MARK, " "THE PRISONER OF ZENDA. "

F. TENNYSON NEELYPUBLISHERCHICAGO NEW YORK1895

CONTENTS. 

I. Eugene Lane and his Guests

II. New Faces and Old Feuds

III. Father Stafford Changes his Habits, and Mr. Haddington his Views

IV. Sir Roderick Ayre Inspects Mr. Morewood's Masterpiece

V. How Three Gentlemen Acted for the Best

VI. Father Stafford Keeps Vigil

VII. An Early Train and a Morning's Amusement

VIII. Stafford in Retreat, and Sir Roderick in Action

IX. The Battle of Baden

X. Mr. Morewood is Moved to Indignation

XI. Waiting Lady Claudia's Pleasure

XII. Lady Claudia is Vexed with Mankind

XIII. A Lover's Fate and a Friend's Counsel

XIV. Some People are as Fortunate as they Deserve to Be

XV. An End and a Beginning

FATHER STAFFORD. 

CHAPTER I. 

Eugene Lane and his Guests. 

The world considered Eugene Lane a very fortunate young man; and ifyouth, health, social reputation, a seat in Parliament, a large income, and finally the promised hand of an acknowledged beauty can make a manhappy, the world was right. It is true that Sir Roderick Ayre had beenheard to pity the poor chap on the ground that his father had begun lifein the workhouse; but everybody knew that Sir Roderick was bound toexalt the claims of birth, inasmuch as he had to rely solely upon themfor a reputation, and discounted the value of his opinion accordingly. After all, it was not as if the late Mr. Lane had ended life in theundesirable shelter in question. On the contrary, his latter days hadbeen spent in the handsome mansion of Millstead Manor; and, as he lay onhis deathbed, listening to the Rector's gentle homily on the vanity ofriches, his eyes would wander to the window and survey a wide tract ofland that he called his own, and left, together with immense sums ofmoney, to his son, subject only to a jointure for his wife. It is hardto blame the tired old man if he felt, even with the homily ringing inhis ears, that he had not played his part in the world badly. 

Millstead Manor was indeed the sort of place to raise a doubt as to theutter vanity of riches. It was situated hard by the little village ofMillstead, that lies some forty miles or so northwest of London, in themiddle of rich country. The neighborhood afforded shooting, fishing, andhunting, if not the best of their kind, yet good enough to satisfyreasonable people. The park was large and well wooded; the house hadinsisted on remaining picturesque in spite of Mr. Lane's improvements, and by virtue of an indelible stamp of antiquity had carried its point. A house that dates from Elizabeth is not to be entirely put to shame byone or two unblushing French windows and other trifling barbarities ofthat description, more especially when it is kept in countenance by alittle church of still greater age, nestling under its wing in a mannerthat recalled the good old days when the lord of the manor was lord ofthe souls and bodies of his tenants. Even old Mr. Lane had been mellowedby the influence of his new home, and before his death had come to playthe part of Squire far more respectably than might be imagined. Eugenesustained the _rôle_ with the graceful indolence and careless efficiencythat marked most of his doings. 

He stood one Saturday morning in the latter part of July on the stepsthat led from the terrace to the lawn, holding a letter in his hand andsoftly whistling. In appearance he was not, it must be admitted, anideal Squire, for he was but a trifle above middle height, ratherslight, and with the little stoop that tells of the man who is town-bredand by nature more given to indoor than outdoor exercises; but he was agood-looking fellow for all that, with a bright humorous face, --thoughat this moment rather a bored one, --large eyes set well apart, and hisproper allowance of brown hair and white teeth. Altogether, it maysafely be said that, not even Sir Roderick's nose could have sniffed theworkhouse in the young master of Millstead Manor. 

Still whistling, Eugene descended the steps and approached a group ofpeople sitting under a large copper-beech tree. A still, hot summermorning does not incline the mind or the body to activity, and all ofthem had sunk into attitudes of ease. Mrs. Lane's work was reposing inher lap; her sister, Miss Jane Chambers, had ceased the pretense ofreading; the Rector was enjoying what he kept assuring himself was onlyjust five minutes' peace before he crossed over to his parsonage and hissermon; Lady Claudia Territon and Miss Katharine Bernard were each inpossession of a wicker lounge, while at their feet lay two young men inflannels, with lawn-tennis racquets lying idle by them. A large jug ofbeer close to the elbow of one of them completed the luxurious picturethat was framed in a light cloud of tobacco smoke, traceable to theperson who also was obviously responsible for the beer. 

As Eugene approached, a sudden thought seemed to strike him. He stoppeddeliberately, and with great care lit a cigar. 

"Why wasn't I smoking, I wonder!" he said. "The sight of Bob Territonreminded me. " Then as he reached them, raising his voice, he went on:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt you, and with bad news. "

"What is the matter, dear, " asked Mrs. Lane, a gentle old lady, whohaving once had the courage to leave the calm of her father's countryvicarage to follow the doubtful fortunes of her husband, was now reapingher reward in a luxury of which she had never dreamed. 

"With the arrival of the 4. 15 this afternoon, " Eugene continued, "ourplacid life will be interrupted, and one of Mr. Eugene Lane, M. P. 's, celebrated Saturday to Monday parties (I quote from _The Universe_) willbegin. "

"Who's coming?" asked Miss Bernard. 

Miss Bernard was the acknowledged beauty referred to in the openinglines of this chapter, whose love Eugene had been lucky enough tosecure. Had Eugene not been absurdly rich himself, he might have beencongratulated further on the prospective enjoyment of a nice littlefortune as well as the lady's favor. 

"Is Rickmansworth coming?" put in Lady Claudia, before Eugene had timeto reply to his _fiancée_. 

"Be at peace, " he said, addressing Lady Claudia; "your brother is notcoming. I have known Rickmansworth a long while, and I never knew him tobe polite. He inquired by telegram (reply not paid) who were to be here. When I wired him, telling him whom I had the privilege of entertaining, and requesting an immediate reply (not paid), he answered that hethought I must have enough Territons already, and he didn't want to makeanother. "

Neither Lady Claudia nor her brother Robert, who was the young man withthe beer, seemed put out at this message. Indeed, the latter went so faras to say:

"Good! Have some beer, Eugene?"

"But who is coming?" repeated Miss Kate. "Really, Eugene, you might paya little attention to me. "

"Can't, my dear Kate--not in public. It's not good form, is it, LadyClaudia?"

"Eugene, " said Mrs. Lane, in a tone as nearly severe as she ever arrivedat, "if you wish your guests to have either dinner or beds, you will atonce tell me who and how many they are. "

"My dear mother, they are in number five, composed as follows: First, the Bishop of Bellminster. "

"A most interesting man, " observed Miss Chambers. 

"I am glad to hear it, Aunt Jane, " responded Eugene. "The Bishop isaccompanied by his wife. That makes two; and then old Merton, who was atthe Colonial Office you know, and Morewood the painter make four. "

"Sir George Merton is a Radical, isn't he?" asked Lady Claudia severely. 

"He tries to be, " said Eugene. "Shall I order a carriage to take you tothe station? I think, you know, you can stand it, with Haddington'shelp. "

Mr. Spencer Haddington, the other young man in flannels, was a veryrising member of the Conservative party, of which Lady Claudia conceivedherself to be a pillar. Identity of political views, in Mr. Haddington'sopinion, might well pave the way to a closer union, and this hopeaccounted for his having consented to pair with Eugene, who sat on theother side, and spend the last week in idleness at Millstead. 

"Well, " said Mr. Robert Territon, "it sounds slow, old man. "

"Candid family, the Territons, " remarked Eugene to the copper-beech. 

"Who's the fifth? you've only told us four, " said Kate, who alwaysstuck to the point. 

"The fifth is--" Eugene paused a moment, as though preparing asensation; "the fifth is--Father Stafford. "

Now it was a remarkable thing that all the ladies looked up quickly andre-echoed the name of the last guest in accents of awe, whereas the menseemed unaffected. 

"Why, where did you pick _him_ up?" asked Lady Claudia. 

"Pick him up! I've known Charley Stafford since we were both that high. We were at Harrow and at Oxford together. Rickmansworth knows him, Bob. You didn't come till he'd left. "

"Why is the gentleman called 'Father'?" said Bob. 

"Because he is a priest, " Miss Chambers answered. "And really, Mr. Territon, you're very ignorant. Everybody knows Father Stafford. You do, Mr. Haddington?"

"Yes, " said Haddington, "I've heard of him. He's an Anglican Father, isn't he? Had a big parish somewhere down the Mile End Road?"

"Yes, " said Eugene. "He's an old and a great friend of mine. He's quiteknocked up, poor old chap, and had to get leave of absence; and I'vemade him promise to come and stay here for a good part of the time, torest. "

"Then he's not going off again on Monday?" asked Mrs. Lane. 

"Oh, I hope not. He's writing a book or something, that will keep himfrom being restless. "

"How charming!" said Lady Claudia. "Don't you dote on him, Kate? Please, Mr. Lane, may I stay too?"

"By the way, " said Eugene, "Stafford has taken a vow of celibacy. "

"I knew that, " said Lady Claudia imperturbably. 

Eugene looked mournful; Bob Territon groaned tragically; but LadyClaudia was quite unmoved, and, turning to the Rector, who sat smilingbenevolently on the young people, asked:

"Do you know Father Stafford, Dr. Dennis?"

"No. I should be much interested in meeting him. I've heard so much ofhis work and his preaching. "

"Yes, " said Lady Claudia, "and his penances and fasting, and so on. "

"Poor old Stafford!" said Eugene. "It's quite enough for him that athing's pleasant to make it wrong. "

"Not your philosophy, Master Eugene!" said the Rector. 

"No, Doctor. "

"But what's this vow?" asked Kate. 

"There's no such thing as a binding vow of celibacy in the AnglicanChurch, " announced Miss Chambers. 

"Is that right, Doctor?" said Lady Claudia. 

"God bless me, my dear, " said the Rector, "I don't know. There wasn'tin my time. "

"But, Eugene, surely I'm right, " persisted Aunt Jane. "His Bishop candispense him from it, can't he?"

"Don't know, " answered Eugene. "He says he can. "

"Who says he can?"

"Why, the Bishop!"

"Well, then, of course he can. "

"All right, " said Eugene; "only Stafford doesn't think so. Not that hewants to be released. He doesn't care a bit about women--veryungrateful, as they're all mad about him. "

"That's very rude, Eugene, " said Kate, in reproving tones. "Admirationfor a saint is not madness. Shall we go in, Claudia, and leave these mento pipes and beer?"

"One for you, Rector!" chuckled Bob Territon, who knew no reverence. 

The two girls departed somewhat scornfully, arm in arm, and the Rectortoo rose with a sigh, and accompanied the elder ladies to the house, whither they were going to meet the pony carriage that stood at the halldoor. A daily drive was part of Mrs. Lane's ritual. 

"By the way, you fellows, " Eugene resumed, throwing himself on thegrass, "I may as well mention that Stafford doesn't drink, or eat meat, or smoke, or play cards, or anything else. "

"What a peculiar beggar!" said Bob. 

"Yes, and he's peculiar in another way, " said Eugene, a little dryly;"he particularly objects to any remark being made on his habits--I meanon what he eats and drinks and so on. "

"There I agree, " said Bob; "I object to any remarks on what I eat anddrink"; and he look a long pull at the beer. 

"You must treat him with respect, young man. Haddington, I know, willstudy him as a phenomenon. I can't protect him against that. "

Mr. Haddington smiled and remarked that such revivals of mediævalismwere interesting, if morbid; and having so delivered himself, he toowent his way. 

"That chap's considered very clever, isn't he?" asked Bob of his host, indicating Haddington's retreating figure. 

"Very, I believe, " said Eugene. "He's a cuckoo, you see. "

"Dashed if I do, " said Bob. 

"He steals other birds' nests--eggs and all. "

"Your natural history is a trifle mixed, old fellow; kindly explain. "

"Well, he's a thief of ideas. Never was the father of one himself, andgets his living by kidnapping. "

"I never knew such a chap!" ejaculated Bob helplessly. "Why can't yousay plainly that you think he's an ass?"

"I don't, " said Eugene. "He's by no means an ass. He's a very cleverfellow. But he lives on other men's ideas!"

"Oh! come and play billiards. "

"I can't, " said Eugene gravely. "I'm going to read poetry to Kate. "

"By Jove, does she make you do that?"

Eugene nodded sadly, and Bob went off into a fit of obtrusive chuckling. Eugene cast a large cushion dexterously at him and caught him just inthe mouth, and, still sadly, rose and went in search of his lady-love. 

"Why the dickens does he marry that girl?" exclaimed Bob. "It beats me. "

Bob Territon was not the only person in whom Eugene's engagement to KateBernard inspired some surprise. But neither he nor any one elsesucceeded in formulating very definite reasons for the feeling. Kate wasa beauty, and a beauty of a type undeniably orthodox and almostaristocratic. She was tall and slight, her nose was the least triflearched, her fingers tapered, and so, it was believed, did her feet. Herhair was golden, her mouth was small, and her accomplishmentsconsiderable. From her childhood she had been considered clever, and hadvindicated her reputation by gaining more than one certificate from thevarious examining bodies which nowadays go up and down seeking whom theymay devour. All these varied excellences Eugene had had fullopportunities of appreciating, for Kate was a distant cousin of his onthe mother's side, and had spent a large part of the last few years atthe Manor. It was, in fact, so obviously the duty of the two youngpeople to fall in love with one another, that the surprise exhibited bytheir friends could only have been based on a somewhat cynical view ofhumanity. The cynics ought to have considered themselves confuted by the_fait accompli_, but they refused to do so, and, led by Sir RoderickAyre, had been known to descend to laying five to four against thepermanency of the engagement--an obviously coarse and improperproceeding. 

It is possible that the odds might have risen a point or two, had thesereprehensible persons been present at the little scene which occurred onthe terrace, whither the girls had betaken themselves, and Eugene in histurn repaired when he had armed himself with Tennyson. As he approachedClaudia rose to go and leave the lovers to themselves. 

"Don't go, Lady Claudia, " said Eugene. "I'm not going to read anythingyou ought not to hear. "

Of course it was the right thing for Claudia to go, and she knew it. Butshe was a mischievous body, and the sight of a cloud on Kate's brow hadupon her exactly the opposite effect to what it ought to have had. 

"You don't really want me to stay, do you? Wouldn't you two rather bealone?" she asked. 

"Much rather have you, " Eugene answered. 

Kate rose with dignity. 

"We need not discuss that, " she said. "I have letters to write, and amgoing indoors. "

"Oh, I say, Kate, don't do that! I came out on purpose to read to you. "

"Lady Claudia is quite ready to make an audience for you, " was thechilling reply, as Kate vanished through the open door. 

"There, you've done it now!" said Eugene. "You really ought not toinsist on staying. "

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Lane. But it's all your fault. " And Claudia tried tomake her face assume a look of gravity. 

A pause ensued, and then they both smiled. 

"What were you going to read?" asked Claudia. 

"Oh, Tennyson--always read Tennyson. Kate likes it, because she thinksit's simple. "

"You flatter yourself that you see the deeper meaning?"

Eugene smiled complacently. 

"And you mean Kate doesn't? I'm glad I'm not engaged to you, Mr. Lane, if that's the kind of thing you say. "

Eugene opened his mouth, shut it again, and then said blandly:

"So am I. "

"Thank you! You need not be afraid. "

"If I were engaged to you, I mightn't like you so well. "

A slight blush became visible on Claudia's usually pale cheek. 

Eugene looked away toward the horizon. 

"I like the way quite pale people blush, " he said. 

"What do you want, Mr. Lane?"

"Ah! I see you appreciate my character. I want many things I can'thave--a great many. "

"No doubt, " said Claudia, still blushing under the mournful gaze whichaccompanied those words. "Do you want anything you can have?"

"Yes! I want you to stay several more weeks. "

"I'm going to stay. " said Claudia. 

"How kind!" exclaimed Eugene. 

"Do you know why?"

"My modesty forbids me to think. "

"I want, to see a lot of Father Stafford! Good-by, Mr. Lane. I'll leaveyou to your private and particular understanding of Tennyson. "

"Claudia!"

"Hold your tongue, " she whispered, in tones of exasperation. "It's verywicked and very impertinent--and the library door's open, and Kate's inthere!"

Eugene fell back in his chair with a horrified look, and Claudia rushedinto the house. 

CHAPTER II. 

New Faces and Old Feuds. 

There was, no doubt, some excuse for the interest that the ladies atMillstead Manor had betrayed on hearing the name of Father Stafford. Inthese days, when the discussion of theological topics has emerged fromthe study into the street, there to jostle persons engaged in theirlawful business, a man who makes for himself a position as a prominentchampion of any view becomes, to a considerable extent, a publiccharacter; and Charles Stafford's career had excited much notice. Although still a young man but little past thirty, he was adored by apowerful body of followers, and received the even greater compliment ofhearty detestation from all, both within and without the Church, to whomhis views seemed dangerous and pernicious. He had administered a largeparish with distinction; he had written a treatise of profound patristiclearning and uncompromising sacerdotal pretensions. He had defended theinstitution of a celibate priesthood, and was known to have treated theReformation with even less respect than it has been of late accustomedto receive. He had done more than all this: he had impressed all who methim with a character of absolute devotion and disinterestedness, andthere were many who thought that a successor to the saints might befound in Stafford, if anywhere in this degenerate age. Yet though hewas, or was thought to be, all this, his friends were yet loud indeclaring--and ever foremost among them Eugene Lane--that a better, simpler, or more modest man did not exist. For the weakness of humanity, it may be added that Stafford's appearance gave him fully the externalaspect most suitable to the part his mind urged him to play; for he wastall and spare; his fine-cut face, clean shaven, displayed thepenetrating eyes, prominent nose, and large mobile mouth that the memoryassociates with pictures of Italian prelates who were also statesmen. These personal characteristics, combined with his attitude on Churchmatters, caused him to be familiarly known among the flippant by thenickname of the Pope. 

Eugene Lane stood upon his hearthrug, conversing with the Bishop ofBellminster and covertly regarding his betrothed out of the corner of anapprehensive eye. They had not met alone since the morning, and he wasnaturally anxious to find out whether that unlucky "Claudia" had beenoverheard. Claudia herself was listening to the conversation of Mr. Morewood, the well-known artist; and Stafford, who had only arrivedjust before dinner, was still busy in answering Mrs. Lane's questionsabout his health. Sir George Merton had failed at the last moment, "likea Radical, " said Claudia. 

"I am extremely interested in meeting your friend Father Stafford, " saidthe Bishop. 

"Well, he's a first-rate fellow, " replied Eugene. "I'm sure you'll likehim. "

"You young fellows call him the Pope, don't you?" asked his lordship, who was a genial man. 

"Yes. You don't mind, do you? It's not as if we called him theArchbishop of Canterbury, you know. "

"I shouldn't consider even that very personal, " said the Bishop, smiling. 

Dinner was announced. Eugene gave the Bishop's wife his arm, whisperingto Claudia as he passed, "Age before impudence"; and that young ladyfound that she had fallen to the lot of Stafford, whereat she was wellpleased. Kate was paired with Haddington, and Mr. Morewood with AuntJane. The Bishop, of course, escorted the hostess. 

"And who, " said he, almost as soon as he was comfortably settled to hissoup, "is the young lady sitting by our friend the Father--the one, Imean, with dark hair, not Miss Bernard? I know her. "

"That's Lady Claudia Territon, " said Mrs. Lane. "Very pretty, isn't she?and really a very good girl. "

"Do you say 'really' because, unless you did, I shouldn't believe it?"he asked, with a smile. 

Mrs. Lane had been moved by this idea, but not consciously and, a littledistressed at suspecting herself of an unkindness, entertained theBishop with an entirely fanciful catalogue of Claudia's virtues, which, being overheard by Bob Territon, who had no lady, and was at liberty tolisten, occasioned him immense entertainment. 

Claudia, meanwhile, was drifting into a state of some annoyance. Stafford was very courteous and attentive, but he drank nothing, andapparently proposed to dine off dry bread. When she began to questionhim about his former parish, instead of showing the gratitude that mightbe expected, he smiled a smile that she found pleasure in describing asinscrutable, and said:

"Please don't talk down to me, Lady Claudia. "

"I have been taught, " responded Claudia, rather stiffly, "to talk aboutsubjects in which my company is presumably interested. "

Stafford looked at her with some surprise. It must be admitted that hehad become used to more submission than Claudia seemed inclined to givehim. 

"I beg your pardon. You are quite right. Let us talk about it. "

"No, I won't. We will talk about you. You've been very ill, FatherStafford?"

"A little knocked up. "

"I don't wonder!" she said, with an irritated glance at his plate, whichwas now furnished with a potato. 

He saw the glance. 

"It wasn't that, " he said; "that suits me very well. "

Claudia knew that a pretty girl may say most things, so she said:

"I don't believe it. You're killing yourself. Why don't you do as theBishop does?"

The Bishop, good man, was at this moment drinking champagne. 

"Men have different ways of living, " he answered evasively. 

"I think yours is a very bad way. Why do you do it?"

"I'm sure you will forgive me if I decline to discuss the question justnow. I notice you take a little wine. You probably would not care toexplain why. "

"I take it because I like it. "

"And I don't take it because I like it. "

Claudia had a feeling that she was being snubbed, and her impression wasconfirmed when Stafford, a moment afterward, turned to Kate Bernard, whosat on his left hand, and was soon deep in reminiscences of old visitsto the Manor, with which Kate contrived to intermingle a little flatterythat Stafford recognized only to ignore. They had known one another wellin earlier days, and Kate was immensely pleased at finding herplayfellow both famous and not forgetful. 

Eugene looked on from his seat at the foot of the table with silentwonder. Here was a man who might and indeed ought to talk to Claudia, and yet was devoting himself to Kate. 

"I suppose it's on the same principle that he takes water instead ofchampagne, " he thought; but the situation amused him, and he darted atClaudia a look that conveyed to that young lady the urgent idea that shewas, as boys say, "dared" to make Father Stafford talk to her. This wasquite enough. Helped by the unconscious alliance of Haddington, whothought Miss Bernard had let him alone quite long enough, she seized heropportunity, and said in the softest voice:

"Father Stafford?"

Stafford turned his head, and found fixed upon him a pair of large, darkeyes, brimming over with mingled contrition and admiration. 

"I am so sorry--but--but I thought you looked so ill. "

Stafford was unpleasantly conscious of being human. The triumph ofwickedness is a spectacle from which we may well avert our eyes. Sufficeit to say that a quarter of an hour later Claudia returned Eugene'sglance with a look of triumph and scorn. 

Meanwhile, trouble had arisen between the Bishop and Mr. Morewood. Morewood was an artist of great ability, originality, and skill; and ifhe had not attained the honors of the Academy, it was perhaps more ofhis own fault than that of the exalted body in question, as he alwaystreated it with an ostentatious contumely. After all, the Academy mustbe allowed its feelings. Moreover, his opinions on many subjects wereknown to be extreme, and he was not chary of displaying them. He wassitting on Mrs. Lane's left, opposite the Bishop, and the latter hadstarted with his hostess a discussion of the relation between religionand art. All went harmoniously for a time; they agreed that religion hadceased to inspire art, and that it was a very regrettable thing; andthere, one would have thought the subject--not being a new one--mightwell have been left. Suddenly, however, Mr. Morewood broke in:

"Religion has ceased to inspire art because it has lost its owninspiration, and having so ceased, it has lost its only use. "

The Bishop was annoyed. A well-bred man himself, he disliked what seemedto him ill-bred attacks on opinions which his position proclaimed him tohold. 

"You cannot expect me to assent to either of your propositions, Mr. Morewood, " he said. "If I believed them, you know, I should not be inthe place I am. "

"They're true, for all that, " retorted Morewood. "And what is it to betraced to?"

"I'm sure I don't know, " said poor Mrs. Lane. 

"Why, to Established Churches, of course. As long as fancies andimaginary beings are left free to each man to construct or destroy as hewill, --or again, I may say, as long as they are fluid, --they subservethe pleasurableness of life. But when you take in hand and make a Churchout of them, and all that, what can you expect?"

"I think you must be confusing the Church with the Royal Academy, "observed the Bishop, with some acidity. 

"There would be plenty of excuse for me, if I did, " replied Morewood. "There's no truth and no zeal in either of them. "

"If you please, we will not discuss the truth. But as to the zeal, whatdo you say to the example of it among us now?" And the Bishop, loweringhis voice, indicated Stafford. 

Morewood directed a glance at him. 

"He's mad!" he said briefly. 

"I wish there were a few more with the same mania about. "

"You don't believe all he does?"

"Perhaps I can't see all he does, " said the Bishop, with a touch ofsadness. 

"How do you mean?"

"I have been longer in the cave, and perhaps I have peered too muchthrough cave-spectacles. "

Morewood looked at him for a moment. 

"I'm sorry if I've been rude, Bishop, " he said more quietly, "but a manmust say what he thinks. "

"Not at all times, " said the Bishop; and he turned pointedly to Mrs. Lane and began to discuss indifferent matters. 

Morewood looked round with a discontented air. Miss Chambers wasmortally angry with him and had turned to Bob Territon, whom she wastrying to persuade to come to a bazaar at Bellminster on the Monday. Bobwas recalcitrant, and here too the atmosphere became a little disturbed. The only people apparently content were Kate and Haddington and LadyClaudia and Stafford. To the rest it was a relief when Mrs. Lane gavethe signal to rise. 

Matters improved, however, in the drawing-room. The Bishop and Staffordwere soon deep in conversation; and Claudia, thus deprived of her formercompanion, condescended to be very gracious to Mr. Morewood, in thesecret hope that that eccentric genius would make her the talk of thestudios next summer by painting her portrait. Haddington and Bob hadvanished with cigars; and Eugene looking round and seeing that all waspeace, said to himself in an access of dutifulness. "Now for it!" andcrossed over to where Kate sat, and invited her to accompany him intothe garden. 

Kate acquiesced, but showed little other sign of relaxing her attitudeof lofty displeasure. She left Eugene to begin. 

"I'm awfully sorry, Kate, if you were vexed this morning. "

Absolute silence. 

"But, you see, as host here, I couldn't very well turn out LadyClaudia. "

"Why don't you say Claudia?" asked Kate, in sarcastic tones. 

Eugene felt inclined to fly, but he recognized that his only chance layin pretending innocence when he had it not. 

"Are we to quarrel about a trifle of that sort?" he asked; "a girl I'veknown like a sister for the last ten years!"

Kate smiled bitterly. 

"Do you really suppose that deceives me? Of course I am not afraid ofyour falling in love with Claudia; but it's very bad taste to haveanything at all like flirtation with her. "

"Quite right; it is. It shall not occur again. Isn't that enough?"

Kate, in spite of her confidence, was not anxious to drive Eugene withtoo tight a rein, so, with a nearer approach to graciousness she allowedit to appear that it was enough. 

"Then come along, " he said, passing his arm around her waist, andrunning her briskly along the terrace to a seat at the end, where hedeposited her. 

"Really, Eugene, one would think you were a schoolboy. Suppose any onehad seen us!"

"Some one did, " said Eugene composedly, lighting his cigar. 

"Who?"

"Haddington. He was sitting on the step of the sun-dial, smoking. "

"_How_ annoying! What's he doing there?"

"If you ask me, I expect he's waiting on the chance of Lady Claudiacoming out. "

"I should think it very unlikely, " said Kate, with an impatient tap ofher foot; "and I wish you wouldn't do such things. "

Eugene smiled; and having thus, as he conceived, partly avenged himself, devoted the next ten minutes to orthodox love-making, with the warmth ofwhich Kate had no reason to be discontent. On the expiration of thattime he pleaded his obligations as a host, and they returned to thehouse, Kate much mollified, Eugene with the peaceful but fatigued airthat tells of duty done. 

Before going to bed, Stafford and Eugene managed to get a few wordstogether. Leaving the other men, except the Bishop, who was already atrest, in the billiard-room, they strolled out together on to theterrace. 

"Well, old man, how are you getting on?" asked Eugene. 

"Capitally! stronger every day in body and happier in mind. I grumbled agreat deal when I first broke down, but now I'm not sure a rest isn'tgood for me. You can stop and have a look where you are going to. "

"And you think you can stand it?"

"Stand what, my dear fellow?"

"Why, the life you lead--a life studiously emptied of everything thatmakes life pleasant. "

"Ah! you are like Lady Claudia!" said Stafford, smiling. "I can tellyou, though, what I can hardly tell her. There are some men who can makeno terms with the body. Does that sound very mediæval? I mean men who, unless they are to yield utterly to pleasure, must have no dealings withit. "

"You boycott pleasure for fear of being too fond of it?"

"Yes; I don't lay down that rule for everybody. For me it is the rightand only one. "

"You think it right for a good many people, though?"

"Well, you know, the many-headed beast is strong. "

"For me?"

"Wait till I get at you from the pulpit. "

"No; tell me now. "

"Honestly?"

"Of course! I take that for granted. "

"Well, then, old fellow, " said he, laying a hand on Eugene's arm, with aslight gesture of caress not unusual with him, "in candor and withoutunkindness, yes!"

"I could never do it, " said Eugene. 

"Perhaps not--or, at least, not yet. "

"Too late or too early, is it?"

"It may be so, but I will not say so. "

"You know I think you're all wrong?"

"I know. "

"You will fail. "

"God forbid! but if he pleases--"

"After all, what are meat, wine, and--and so on for?"

"That argument is beneath you, Eugene. "

"So it is. I beg your pardon. I might as well ask what the hangman isfor if nobody is to be hanged. However, I'm determined that you shallenjoy yourself for a week here, whether you like it or not. "

Stafford smiled gently and bade him good-night. A moment later BobTerriton emerged from the open windows of the billiard-room. 

"Of all dull dogs, Haddington's the worst; however, I've won five poundof him! Hist! Is the Father here?"

"I am glad to say he is not. "

"Oh! Have you squared it with Miss Kate? I saw something was up. "

"Miss Bernard's heart, Bob, and mine again beat as one. "

"What was it particularly about?"

"An immaterial matter. "

"I say, did you see the Father and Claudia?"

"No. What do you mean?"

"Gammon! I tell you what, Eugene, if Claudia really puts her back intoit, I wouldn't give much for that vow of celibacy. "

"Bob, " said Eugene, "you don't know Stafford; and your expression aboutyour sister is--well, shall I say lacking in refinement?"

"Haddington didn't like it. "

"Damn Haddington, and you too!" said Eugene impatiently, walking away. 

Bob looked after him with a chuckle, and exclaimed enigmatically to thesilent air, "Six to four, t. And o. "

CHAPTER III. 

Father Stafford changes his Habits, and Mr. Haddington his Views. 

For sheer placid enjoyment and pleasantness of living, there is nothinglike a sojourn in a well-appointed country house, peopled bywell-assorted guests. The guests at Millstead Manor were not perhapsparticularly well-assorted; but nevertheless the hours passed by in around of quiet delights, and the long summer days seemed in no wisetedious. The Bishop and Mrs. Bartlett had reluctantly gone to open thebazaar, and Miss Chambers went with them, but otherwise the party wasunchanged; for Morewood, who had come originally only for two days, hadbegged leave to stay, received it on condition of showing due respect toeverybody's prejudices, telegraphed for his materials, and was fitfullybusy making sketches, not of Lady Claudia, to her undisguised annoyance, but of Stafford, with whose face he had been wonderfully struck. Stafford himself was the only one of the party, besides his artistictormentor, who had not abandoned himself to the charms of idleness. Hisgreat work was understood to make rapid progress between six in themorning, when he always rose, and half-past nine, when the partyassembled at breakfast; and he was also busy in writing a reply to adaring person who had recently asserted in print that on the whole theless said about the Council of Chalcedon the better. 

"The Pope's wild about it!" reported Bob Territon to the usualafter-breakfast group on the lawn: "says the beggar's impudence lickshim. "

"He shall not work any more, " exclaimed Claudia, darting into the house, whence she presently emerged, followed by Stafford, who resignedly sathimself down with them. 

Such forcible interruptions of his studies were by no means uncommon. Eugene, however, who was of an observant turn, noticed--and wondered ifothers did--that the raids on his seclusion were much more apt to besuccessful when Claudia headed them than under other auspices. The facttroubled him, not only from certain unworthy feelings which he did hisbest to suppress, but also because he saw nothing but harm to bepossible from any close _rapprochement_ between Claudia and Stafford. Kate, on the contrary, seemed to him to have set herself the task ofthrowing them together; with what motive he could not understand, unlessit were the recollection of his ill-fated "Claudia. " He did not thinkthis explanation very convincing, for he was well aware that Kate'sscorn of Claudia's attractions, as compared with her own, was perfectlygenuine, and such a state of mind would not produce the certainly activeefforts she put forth. In truth, Eugene, though naturally observant, was, like all men, a little blind where he himself was concerned; andperhaps a shrewd spectator would have connected Haddington in some waywith Miss Kate's maneuvers. Such, at any rate, was the view of BobTerriton, and no doubt he would have expressed it with his usualfrankness if he had not had his own reasons for keeping silence. 

Stafford's state of mind was somewhat peculiar. A student from hisyouth, to whom invisible things had always seemed more real thanvisible, and hours of solitude better filled than busy days, he had hadbut little experience of that sort of humanity among which he foundhimself. A man may administer a cure of souls with marked efficiency inthe Mile End Road, and yet find himself much at a loss when confrontedwith the latest products of the West End. The renunciation of the world, except so far as he could aid in mending it, had seemed an easy andcheap price to pay for the guerdon he strove for, to one who had neverseen how pleasant this wicked world can look in certain of its aspects. Hitherto, at school, at college, and afterward, he had resolutely turnedaway from all opportunities of enlarging his experience in thisdirection. He had shunned society, and had taken great pains to restricthis acquaintance with the many devout ladies who had sought him out tothe barest essentials of what ought to have been, if it was not always, their purpose in seeking him. The prince of this world was now preparinga more subtle attack; and under the seeming compulsion of commonprudence no less than of old friendship, he found himself flung into thevery center of the sort of life he had with such pains avoided. It maybe doubted whether he was not, like an unskillful swimmer, ignorant ofhis danger; but it is certain that, had he been able to search out hisown heart with his former acuteness of self-judgment, he would havefound the first germs of inclinations and feelings to which he had beenup till now a stranger. He would have discovered the birth of a newlonging for pleasure, a growing delight in the sensuous side of things;or rather, he would have become convinced that temptations of this sort, which had previously been in the main creatures of his own brain, postulated in obedience to the doctrines and literature in which he hadbeen bred, had become self-assertive realities; and that what had beenset up only to be triumphantly knocked down had now taken a strong rootof its own, and refused to be displaced by spiritual exercises orphysical mortifications. Had he been able to pursue the analysis yetfurther, it may be that, even in these days, he would have found thatthe forces of this world were already beginning to personify themselvesfor him in the attractive figure of Claudia Territon. As it was, however, this discovery was yet far from him. 

The function of passing a moral judgment on Claudia's conduct at thisjuncture is one that the historian respectfully declines. It is easy toblame fair damsels for recklessness in the use of their dangerousweapons; and if they take the censure to heart--which is not usually thecase--easy again to charge them with self-consciousness or self-conceit. We do not know their temptations and may not presume to judge them. Andit may well be thought that Claudia would have been guilty of anexcessive appreciation of herself had her conduct been influenced by thethought that such a man as Stafford was likely to fall in love with her. Of the conscious design of attracting him she must be acquitted, for sheacted under the force of a strong attraction exercised by him. Her mindwas not entirely engrossed in the pleasures, and what she imagined to bethe duties, of her station. She had a considerable, if untrained anderratic, instinct toward religion, and exhibited that leaning toward themysterious and visionary which is the common mark of an acute mind thathas not been presented with any methodical course of training worthy ofits abilities. Such a temperament could not fail to be powerfullyinfluenced by Stafford; and when an obvious and creditable explanationlies on the surface, it is an ungracious task to probe deeper in thehope of coming to something less praiseworthy. Claudia herself certainlyundertook no such research. It was not her habit to analyze her motives;and, if asked the reasons of her conduct, she would no doubt havereplied that she sought Stafford because she liked him. Perhaps, iffurther pressed, she would have admitted that she found him occasionallya useful refuge against attentions from two other quarters which shefound it necessary to avoid; in the one case because she would haveliked them, in the other for exactly the opposite reason. 

It cannot, however, be supposed that this latter line of diplomacy couldbe permanently successful. When you only meet your suitor at dances oroperas, it may be no hard task to be always surrounded by a_chevaux-de-frise_ of other admirers. We have all seen that maneuverbrilliantly and patiently executed. But when you are staying at acountry house with any man of average pertinacity, I make bold to saythat nothing short of taking to bed can be permanently relied upon. Ifthis is the case with the ordinary man, how much more does it hold goodwhen the assailant is one like Haddington--a man of considerableaddress, unbounded persistence, and limitless complacency? There came atime when Claudia's forced marches failed her, and she had to turn andgive battle. When the moment came she was prepared with an audaciousplan of campaign. 

She had walked down to the village one morning, attended by Haddingtonand protected by Bob, to buy for Mrs. Lane a fresh supply of worstedwool, a commodity apparently necessary to sustain that lady's life, andwas returning at peace, when Bob suddenly exclaimed:

"By Jove! Tobacco! Wait for me!" and, turning, fled back whence he came, at full speed. 

Claudia made an attempt at following him, but the weather was hot andthe road dusty, and, confronted with the alternative of a _tête-à-tête_and a damaged personal appearance, she reluctantly chose the former. 

Haddington did not let the grass grow under his feet. "Well, " he said, "it won't be unpleasant to rest a little while, will it? Here's a drybank. "

Claudia never wasted time in dodging the inevitable. She sat down. 

"I am very glad of this opportunity, " Haddington began, in such a toneas a man might use if he had just succeeded in moving the adjournment. "It's curious how little I have managed to see of you lately, LadyClaudia. "

"We meet at least five times a day, Mr. Haddington--breakfast, lunch, tea--"

"I mean when you are alone. "

"Oh!"

"And yet you must know my great--my only object in being here is to seeyou. "

"The less I say the sooner it will be over, " thought Claudia, whoseexperience was considerable. 

"You must have noticed my--my attachment. I hope it was withoutdispleasure?"

This clearly called for an answer, but Claudia gave none. She sighedslightly and put up her parasol. 

"Claudia, is there any hope for me? I love you more--"

"Mr. Haddington, " said Claudia, "this is a painful scene. I trustnothing in my conduct has misled you. [This was known--how, I do notknow--to her brothers as "Claudia's formula, " but it is believed not tobe uncommon. ] But what you propose is utterly impossible. "

"Why do you say that? Perhaps you do not know me well enough yet--but intime, surely?"

"Mr. Haddington, " said Claudia, "let me speak plainly. Even if I lovedyou--which I don't and never shall, for immense admiration for a man'sabilities is a different thing from love [Haddington looked somewhatsoothed], I could never consent to accept the position of a _pis-aller_. That is not the Territon way. " And Lady Claudia looked very proud. 

"A _pis-aller_! What in the world do you mean?"

"Girls are not supposed to see anything. But do you think I imagine youwould ever have honored me in this way unless a greater prize hadbeen--had appeared to be out of reach?"

This was not fair; but it was near enough to the mark to make Haddingtona little uneasy. Had Kate been free, he would certainly have been indoubt. 

"I bear no malice about that, " she continued, smiling, "only you mustn'tpretend to be broken-hearted, you know. "

"It is a great blow to me--a great blow. "

Claudia looked as if she would like to say "Fudge!" but restrainedherself and, with the daring characteristic of her, placed her hand onhis arm. 

"I am so sorry, Mr. Haddington. How it must gall you to see theirhappiness! I can understand you turning to me as if in self-protection. But you should not ask a lady to marry you because you're piqued withanother lady. It isn't kind; it isn't, indeed. "

Haddington was a little at loss. 

"Indeed, you're wholly wrong. Lady Claudia. Indeed, if you come to that, I don't see that they are particularly rapturous. "

"You don't mean you think they're unhappy? Mr. Haddington, I am sogrieved!"

"Do you mean to say you don't agree with me?"

"You mustn't ask me. But, oh! I'm so sorry you think so too. Isn't itstrange? So suited to one another--she so beautiful, he so clever, andboth rich!"

"Miss Bernard is hardly rich, is she?"

"Not as Mr. Lane is, of course. She seems rich to me--forty thousandpounds, I think. Ah, Mr. Haddington, if only you had met her sooner!"

"I shouldn't have had much chance against Lane. "

"Why do you say that? If you only knew--"

"What?"

"I mustn't tell you. How sad that it's too late!"

"Is it?"

"Of course. They're _engaged_!"

"An engagement isn't a marriage. If I thought--"

"Yes?"

"But I can't think of that now. Good-by, Claudia. We may not meetagain. "

"Oh, you won't go away? You mustn't let me drive you away. Oh, please, Mr. Haddington! Think, if you go, it must all come out! I should be sovery, very distressed. "

"If you ask me, I will try to stay. "

"Yes, yes, stay--but forget all this. And never think again of theother--about them, I mean. You will stay?"

"Yes, I will stay, " said Haddington. 

"Unless it makes you too unhappy to see Eugene's triumph in Kate'slove?"

"I don't believe much in that. If that's the only thing--but I must go. I see your brother coming up the hill. "

"Yes, go; and I'll never tell that you tried me as--as a second string!"

"That's very unjust!" he protested, but more weakly. 

"No, it isn't. I know your heart, and I do pity you. "

"Perhaps I shall not ask for pity, Lady Claudia!"

"Oh, you mustn't think of that!"

"It was you who put it in my head. "

"Oh, what have I done!"

Haddington smiled, and with a last squeeze of her hand turned and walkedaway. 

Claudia put her handkerchief into her pocket and went to meet herbrother. 

Haddington returned alone to the house. Although suffering under anatural feeling of annoyance at discovering that he was not foremost inClaudia's heart, as he had led himself to suppose, he was yet keenlyalive to the fact that the interview had its consolatory aspect. In thefirst place, there is a fiction that a lady who respects herself doesnot fall in love with a man whom she suspects to be in love withsomebody else; and Haddington's mind, though of no mean order in someways, was not of a sort to rise above fictions. He comforted his vanitywith the thought that Claudia had, by a conscious effort, checked anascent affection for him, which, if allowed unimpeded growth, wouldhave developed into a passion. Again, that astute young lady had veryaccurately conjectured his state of mind, while her pledge of secrecydisposed of the difficulty in the way of a too rapid transfer of hisattentions. If Claudia did not complain, nay, counseled such action, whohad a right to object? It was true she had eagerly disclaimed anyintention of inciting him to try to break the ties that now bound MissBernard. But, he reflected, the important point was not the view shetook of the morality of such an attempt, on which her authority wasnought, but her opinion of its chances of success, which was obviouslynot wholly unfavorable. He did not trouble himself to inquire closelyinto any personal motive she may have had. It was enough for him thatshe, a person likely to be well informed, had allowed him to see that, to her thinking, the relations between the engaged pair were of acharacter to inspire in the mind of another aspirant hope rather thandespair. 

Having reached this conclusion, Haddington recognized that his firststep must be to put Miss Bernard in touch with the position of affairs. It may seem a delicate matter to hint to your host's _fiancée_ that ifshe, on mature reflection, likes you better than him, there is stilltime; but Haddington was not afflicted with delicacy. After all, in sucha case a great deal depends upon the lady, and Haddington, thoughdoubtful how Kate would regard a direct proposal to break off herengagement, was yet tolerably confident that she would not betray himto Eugene. 

He found her seated on the terrace that was the usual haunt of theladies in the forenoon and the scene of Eugene's dutiful labors asreader-aloud. Kate was not looking amiable; and scarce six feet from herthere lay open on the ground a copy of the Laureate's works. 

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Bernard?"

"Oh, no. You see, I am alone. Mr. Lane was here just now, but he'sgone. "

"How's that?" asked Haddington, seating himself. 

"He got a telegram, read it, flung his book away, and rushed off. "

"Did he say what it was about?"

"No; I didn't ask him. "

A pause ensued. It was a little difficult to make a start. 

"And so you are alone?"

"Yes, as you see. "

"I am alone too. Shall we console one another?"

"I don't want consolation, thanks, " said Kate, a little ungraciously. "But, " she added more kindly, "you know I'm always glad of yourcompany. "

"I wish I could think so. "

"Why don't you think so?"

"Well, Miss Bernard, engaged people are generally rather indifferent tothe rest of the world. 

"Even to telegrams?"

"Ah! poor Lane!"

"I don't think Mr. Lane is in much need of pity. "

"No--rather of envy. "

Kate did not look displeased. 

"Still, a man is to be pitied if he does not appreciate--"

"Mr. Haddington!"

"I beg your pardon. I ought not to have said that. But it ishard--there, I am offending you again!"

"Yes, you must not talk like that. It's wrong; it would be wrong even ifyou meant it. "

"Do you think I don't mean it?"

"That would be very discreditable--but not so bad. "

"You know I mean it, " he said, in a low voice. "God knows I would havesaid nothing if--"

"If what?"

"I shall offend you more than ever. But how can I stand by and see_that_?" and Haddington pointed with fine scorn to the neglected book. 

Kate was not agitated. She seldom was. In a tone of grave rebuke, shesaid:

"You must never speak like this again. I thought I saw something of it. ["Good!" thought Haddington. ] But whatever may be my lot, I am now boundto it. Pledges are not to be broken. "

"Are they not being virtually broken?" he asked, growing bolder as hesaw she listened to him. 

Kate rose. 

"You are not angry?"

"I cannot be angry if it is as you say. But please understand I cannotlisten. It is not honorable. No--don't say anything else. But you mustgo away. "

Haddington made no further effort to step her. He was well content. Whena lady hears you hint that her betrothed is less devoted than you wouldbe in his place, and merely says the giving of such a hint is wrong, itmay be taken that her sole objection to it is on the score of morality;and it is to be feared that objections based on this ground are not themost efficacious in checking forward lovers. Perhaps Miss Bernardthought they were. Haddington didn't believe she did. 

"Go away?" he said to himself. "Hardly! The play is just beginning. Little Lady Claudia wasn't far out. "

It is very possible she was not far out in her estimation of Mr. Haddington's character, as well as in her forecast of his prospects. Butthe fruits of her shrewdness on this point were happily hid from thegentleman concerned. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Sir Roderick Ayre Inspects Mr. Morewood's Masterpiece. 

About a fortnight later than the last recorded incident two men weresmoking on the lawn at Millstead Manor. One was Morewood; the other hadarrived only the day before and was the Sir Roderick Ayre to whomreference has been made. 

"Upon my word, Morewood, " said Sir Roderick, as the painter sat down byhim, "one can't go anywhere without meeting you!"

"That's since you took to intellectual company, " said Morewood, grinning. 

"I haven't taken to intellectual company, " said Sir Roderick, withlanguid indignation. 

"In the general upheaval, intellectual company has risen in the scale. "

"And so has at last come up to your pinnacle?"

"And so has reached me, where I have been for centuries. "

"A sort of perpetual dove on Ararat?"

"My dear Morewood, I am told you know everything except the Bible. Whychoose your allusions from the one unfamiliar source?"

"And how do you like your new neighbor?"

"What new neighbor?"

"Intellect. "

"Oh! well, as personified in you it's a not unwholesome astringent. Butwe may take an overdose. "

"Depends on the capacity of the constitution, of course, " said Morewood. 

"One objectionable quality it has, " pursued Sir Roderick, apparentlyunheedful. 

"Yes?"

"A disposition toward what boys call 'scoring. ' That will, no doubt, beeradicated as it rises more in society. _Apropos_, what are you doingdown here?"

"As an artist, I study your insolence professionally, Ayre, and itdoesn't annoy me. I came down here to do nothing. I have stayed to paintStafford. "

"Ah! is Stafford then a professional saint?"

"He's an uncommon fine fellow. You're not fit to black his boots. "

"I am not fit to black anybody's boots, " responded Sir Roderick. "It'sthe other way. What's he doing down here?"

"I don't know. Says he's writing a book. Do you know Lady Claudia well?"

"Yes. Known her since she was a child. "

"She seems uncommonly appreciative. "

"Of Stafford?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, well! it's her way. It always has been the way of the Territons. They only began, you know, about three hundred years ago, and eversince--"

"Oh, I don't want their history--a lot of scoundrels, no doubt, like allyour old families. Only--I say, Ayre, I should like to show you a headof Stafford I've done. "

"I won't buy it!" said Sir Roderick, with affected trepidation. 

"You be damned!" said Morewood. "But I should like to hear what youthink of it. "

"What do he and the rest of them think?"

"I haven't shown it to any one. "

"Why not?"

"Wait till you've seen it. "

"I should think Stafford would make rather a good head. He's got justthat--"

"Hush! Here he comes!"

As he spoke, Stafford and Claudia came up the drive and emerged on tothe lawn. They did not see the others and appeared to be deep inconversation. Stafford was talking vehemently and Claudia listening witha look of amused mutiny on her face. 

"He's sworn off, hasn't he?" asked Ayre. 

"Yes. "

"She doesn't care for him?"

"I don't think so; but a man can't tell. "

"Nonsense!" said Ayre. "What's Eugene up to?"

"Oh, you know he's booked. "

"Kate Bernard?"

"Yes. "

"Tell you what, Morewood, I'll lay you--"

"No, you won't. Come and see the picture. It's the finest thing--in itsway--I ever did. "

"Going to exhibit it?"

"I'm going to work up and exhibit another I've done of him, not thisone; at least, I'm afraid he won't stand this one. "

"Gad! Have you painted him with horns and a tail?"

Whereto Morewood answered only:

"Come and see. "

As they went in, they met Eugene, hands in pockets and pipe in mouth, looking immensely bored. 

"Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" said he. "Excuse the mode of address, butI've not seen a soul all the morning, and thought I must have droppeddown somewhere in Africa. It's monstrous! I ask about ten people to myhouse, and I never have a soul to speak to!"

"Where's Miss Bernard?" asked Ayre. 

"Kate is learning constitutional principles from Haddington in theshrubbery. Lady Claudia is learning sacerdotal principles from Staffordin the shrubbery. My mother is learning equine principles from BobTerriton in the stables. You are learning immoral principles fromMorewood on the lawn. I don't complain, but is there anything a man cando?"

"Yes, there's a picture to be seen--Morewood's latest. "

"Good!"

"I don't know that I shall show it to Lane. "

"Oh, get out!" said Eugene. "I shall summon the servants to my aid. Who's it of?"

"Stafford, " said Ayre. 

"The Pope in full canonicals?"

"All right, Lane. But you're a friend of his, and you mayn't like it. "

They entered the billiard-room, a long building that ran out from thewest wing of the house. In the extreme end of it Morewood hadextemporized a studio, attracted by the good light. 

"Give me a good top-light, " he had said, "and I wouldn't change placeswith an arch-angel!"

"Your lights, top or otherwise, are not such, " Eugene remarked, "as tomake it likely the berth will be offered you. "

"This picture is, I understand, Eugene, a stunner. Give us chairs andsome brandy and soda and trot it out, " said Ayre. 

Morewood was unmoved by their frivolity. He tugged at his ragged redbeard for a moment or two while they were settling themselves. 

"I'll show you this first, " he said, taking up one of the canvases thatleant against the wall. 

It was a beautiful sketch of a half-length figure, and representedStafford in the garb of a monk, gazing up with eager eyes, full of thevision of the Eternal City beyond the skies. It was the face of adevotee and a visionary, and yet it was full of strength and resolution;and there was in it the look of a man who had put aside all except theservice and the contemplation of the Divine. 

Ayre forgot to sneer, and Eugene murmured:

"Glorious! What a subject! And, old fellow, what an artist!"

"That is good, " said Morewood quietly. "It's fine, but as a matter ofpainting the other is still better. I caught him looking like that onemorning. He came out before breakfast, very early, into the garden. Iwas out there, but he didn't see me, and he stood looking up like thatfor ever so long, his lips just parted and his eyes straining throughthe veil, as you see that. It may be all nonsense, but--fine, isn't it?"

The two men nodded. 

"Now for the other, " said Ayre. "By Jove! I feel as if I'd been inchurch. "

"The other I got only three or four days ago. Again I was a PaulPry, --we have to be, you know, if we're to do anything worth doing, --andI took him while he sat. But I dare say you'd better see it first. "

He took another and smaller picture and placed it on the easel, standingfor a moment between it and the onlookers and studying it closely. Thenhe stepped aside in silence. 

It was merely a head--nothing more--standing out boldly from a darkbackground. The face was again Stafford's, but the presentment differedstrangely. It was still beautiful; it had even a beauty the other hadnot, the beauty of youth and passion. The devotee was gone; in his placewas a face that, in spite of the ascetic cast of feature, was so lightedup with the fire of love and longing that it might have stood for aLeander or a Romeo. It expressed an eager yearning, that made it seem tobe craning out of the picture in the effort to reach that unknown objecton which the eyes were fixed with such devouring passion. 

The men sat looking at it in amazement. Eugene was half angry, halfalarmed. Ayre was closely studying the picture, his old look of cynicalamusement struggling with a surprise which it was against his professionto admit. They forgot to praise the picture; but Morewood was wellcontent with their tacit homage. 

"The finest thing I ever did--on my life; one of the finest things anyone ever did, " he murmured; "and I can't show it!"

"No, " said Eugene. 

Ayre rose and took his stand before the picture. Then he got a chair, choosing the lowest he could find, and sat down, sitting well back. This attitude brought him exactly under the gaze of the eyes. 

"Is it your diabolic fancy, " he said, "or did you honestly copy it?"

"I never struck closer to what I saw, " the painter replied. "It's not mydoing; he looked like that. "

"Then who was sitting, as it were, where I am now?"

"Yes, " said Morewood. "I thought you couldn't miss it. "

"Who was it?" asked Eugene, in an excited way. 

The others looked keenly at him for a moment. 

"You know, " said Morewood. "Claudia Territon. She was sitting therereading. He had a book, too, but had laid it down on his knee. She satreading, and he looking. In a moment I caught the look. Then she putdown the book; and as she turned to him to speak, in a second it wasgone, and he was not this picture nor the other, but as we know himevery day. "

"She didn't see?" asked Eugene. 

"No. "

"Thank God!" he cried. Then in a moment, recollecting himself, he lookedat the two men, and saw what he had done. They tried to look as if theynoticed nothing. 

"You must destroy that thing, Morewood, " said he. 

Morewood's face was a study. 

"I would as soon, " he said deliberately, "cut off my right hand. "

"I'll give you a thousand pounds for it, " said Eugene. 

"What would you do with it?"

"Burn it. "

"Then you shouldn't have it for ten thousand. "

"I thought you'd say that. But he mustn't see it. "

"Why, Lane, you're as bad as a child. It's a man in love, that's all. "

"If he saw it, " said Eugene, "he'd hang himself. "

"Oh, gently!" said Ayre. "If you ask me, I expect Stafford will prettysoon get beyond any surprise at the revelation. He must walk his path, like all of us. It can't matter to you, you know, " he added, with asharp glance. 

"No, it can't matter to me, " said Eugene steadily. 

"Put it away, Morewood, and come out of doors. Perhaps you'd better notleave it about, at present at any rate. "

Morewood took down the picture and placed it in a large portfolio, whichhe locked, and accompanied Ayre. Eugene made no motion to come withthem, and they left him sitting there. 

"The atmosphere, " said Sir Roderick, looking up into the clear summersky, "is getting thundery and complicated. I hate complications!They're a bore! I think I shall go. "

"I shan't. It will be interesting. "

"Perhaps you're right. I'll stay a little while. "

"Ah! here you are. I've been looking for somebody to amuse me. "

The speaker was Claudia, looking very fresh and cool in her soft whitedress. 

"What have you done with the Pope?" asked Ayre. 

"He gave me to understand he had wasted enough time on me, and went into write. "

"I should think he was right, " said Sir Roderick. 

"I dare say, " said Claudia carelessly. 

Her conscience was evidently quite at ease; but they did not knowwhether this meant that her actions had deserved no blame. However, theywere neither of them men to judge such a case as hers harshly. 

"If I were fifteen years younger, " said Ayre, "I would waste all my timeon you. "

"Why, you're only about forty, " said Claudia. "That's not too old. "

"Good!" said he, smiling. "Life in the old dog yet, eh? But go in andsee Lane. He's in the billiard-room, thinking over his sins and gettinglow-spirited. "

"And I shall be a change?"

"I don't know about that. Perhaps he's a homoeopathist. "

"I hate you!" said Claudia, with a very kind glance, as she pursued herway in the direction indicated. 

"She means no harm, " said Morewood. 

"But she may do the devil of a lot. We can't help it, can we?"

"No--not our business if we could, " said Morewood. 

Claudia paused for a moment at the door. Eugene was still sitting withhis head on his hand. 

"It's very odd, " thought she. "What's he looking at the easel for?There's nothing on it!"

Then she began to sing. Eugene looked up. 

"Is it you, Lady Claudia?"

"Yes. Why are you moping here?"

"Where's Stafford?"

"Everybody, " said Claudia impatiently, throwing her hat, and herselfafter it, on a lounge, "asks me where Father Stafford is. I don't know, Mr. Lane; and what's more, at this moment I don't care. Have you nothingbetter than that to say to me when I come to look for you?"

Eugene pulled himself together. Tragedy airs would be insufferable. 

"True, most beauteous damsel!" he said. "I am remiss. For the purposesof the moment, hang Stafford! What shall we do?"

She got up and came close to him. 

"Mr. Lane, " she whispered, "what do you think there is in the stable?"

"I know what there isn't: that's a horse fit to ride. "

"A libel! a libel! But there is [in a still lower whisper] a_sociable_. "

"A what?"

"A sociable. "

"Do you mean a tricycle?"

"Yes--for two. "

"Oho!" said Eugene, gently chuckling. 

"Wouldn't it be fun?"

"On the road?"

"N--no, perhaps not; round the park. "

"Hush! S'death! if Kate saw us! Where is she?"

"I saw her last with Mr. Haddington. "

"In the scheme of creation everything has its use, " replied Eugenetranquilly. "Haddington supplies a felt want. "

"Be quiet. But will you?"

"Yes; come along. Be swift and silent. "

"I must go and put on an old frock. "

"All right; be quick. "

"What is the use?" Eugene pondered; "I can't have her, and Stafford mayas well--if he will. Will he, I wonder? And would she? Oh, Lord! what anuisance they are! By Jove! I should like to see Kate's face if shespots us. "

A few minutes later the strange and unedifying sight of Lady ClaudiaTerriton and Mr. Lane, mounted on a very rickety old "sociable, "presented itself to the gaping gaze of several laborers in the park. Claudia was in her most boisterous spirits; Eugene, by one of the quicktransitions of his nature, was hardly less elate. Up-hill they toiledand down-hill they raced, getting, as the manner of "cyclists" is, verywarm and rather oily. But retribution lagged not. Down a steep hill theycame, round a sharp turn they went, and, alas, over into a ditch theyfell. This was bad enough, but in the calm seclusion of a garden seat, perched on a knoll just above them, the sinners, as they rose, dirty butunhurt, beheld Miss Bernard! For a moment all was consternation. Whatwould she say?

It was a curious thing, but Kate seemed as embarrassed as themselves, and she said nothing except:

"Oh, I hope you're not hurt!" and said this in a hasty way and withostentatious amiability. 

Eugene was surprised. But as his eyes wandered, they fell on Haddington, and that rising politician held awkwardly in his hand, and was trying toconvey behind his back, what looked very like a lady's glove. Now MissBernard had only one glove on. 

"The battery is spiked, " he whispered triumphantly. "Come along, LadyClaudia. "

Claudia hadn't seen what Eugene had, but she obeyed, and off they wentagain, airily waving their hands. 

"What's the matter with her?" she asked. 

Eugene was struggling with laughter. 

"Didn't you see? Haddington had her glove! Splendid!"

Claudia, regardless of safety, turned for an instant, a flushed, smilingface to him. He was about to speak, but she turned away again, exclaiming:

"Quick! I've promised to meet Father Stafford at twelve, and I mustn'tkeep him waiting. I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Eugene was checked; Claudia saw it. What she thought is not revealed, but they returned home in somewhat gloomy silence. And it is a comfortto the narrator, and it is to be hoped to the reader, to think that Mr. Eugene Lane got something besides pleasure out of his discreditableperformance and his lamentable want of proper feeling. 

CHAPTER V. 

How Three Gentlemen Acted for the Best. 

The schemers schemed and the waiters upon events waited withconsiderable patience, but although the days wore on, the situationshowed little signs of speedy development. Matters were in fact in arather puzzling position. The friendship and intimacy between Claudiaand Stafford continued to increase. Eugene, whether in penitence or inpique, had turned with renewed zeal to his proper duties, and was nolonger content to allow Kate to be monopolized by Haddington. Thelatter's attentions had indeed been in danger of becoming too marked, and it is, perhaps, not uncharitable to attribute Kate's apparentavoidance of them as much to considerations of expediency as ofprinciple. At the same time, there was no coolness between Eugene andHaddington, and when his guest presented a valid excuse and proposeddeparture, Eugene met the suggestion with an obviously sincereopposition. Sir Roderick really could not make out what was going on. Now Sir Roderick disliked being puzzled; it conveyed a reflection on hisacuteness, and he therefore was a sharer in the perturbation of mindthat evidently afflicted some of his companions, in spite of theirdecorous behavior. But contentment was not wanting in some hearts. Morewood was happy in the pursuit of his art and in arguments withStafford; and Bob Territon had found refuge in an energetic attempt toorganize and train a Manor team to do battle with the village cricketclub, headed as it had been for thirty years past by the Rector. Moreover, Stafford himself still seemed tranquil. It would have beendifficult for most men to fail to understand their true position in sucha case more fully than he, in spite of his usual penetration of vision, had succeeded in doing. But he was now in a strange country, and thelandmarks of feeling whereby the experienced traveler on such paths canlearn and note, even if he cannot check, his descent, were to Staffordunmeaning and empty of warning. Of course, he knew he liked Claudia'ssociety; he found her talk at once a change, a rest, and a stimulus; hehad even become aware that of all the people at the Manor, except hisold friend and host, she had for him the most interest and attraction;perhaps he had even suffered at times that sense of vacancy of all thechairs when her chair was vacant that should have told him of his stateif anything would. But he did not see; he was blind in this matter, evenas, say, Ayre or Morewood would have proved blind if called upon tostudy and describe the mental process of a religious conversation. Hewas yet far from realizing that an influence had entered his life inforce strong enough to contend with that which had so long ruled himwith undivided sway. It was the part of a friend to hope and try that hemight go with his own heart yet a secret to him. So hoped Eugene. ButEugene, unnerved by self-suspicion, would not lift a finger to hastenhis friend's departure, lest he should seem to himself, or be withoutperceiving it even himself, alert to save his friend, only because hisfriend's salvation would be to his own comfort. 

Sir Roderick Ayre, however, was not restrained by Eugene's scruples norinspired by Eugene's devotion to Stafford. Stafford interested him, buthe was not his friend, and Ayre did not understand, or, if truth betold, appreciate the almost reverential attitude which Eugene, usuallyso very devoid of reverence, adopted toward him. Ayre thought Stafford'svow nonsense, and that if he was in love with Claudia Territon there wasno harm done. 

"Many people have been, " he said, "and many will be, before the littlewitch grows old and--no, by Jove! she'll never grow ugly!"

Trivial as the matter seemed, looked at in this light, it had yet enoughof human interest about it to decide him to leave the grouse alone, andwait patiently for the partridges at Millstead. After all, he had shotgrouse and most other things for thirty years; and, as he said, "Theparson was a change, and the house deuced comfortable, and old Eugene agood fellow. "

Now it came to pass one day that the devil, having a spare hour on hishands, and remembering that he had often met with a hospitable receptionfrom Sir Roderick, to say nothing of having a bowing acquaintance withMorewood, looked in at the Manor, and finding his old quarters at SirRoderick's swept and garnished, incontinently took up his abode there, and proceeded to look round for some suitable occupation. When thismomentous but invisible event accomplished itself, Sir Roderick wasoutwardly engaged in the innocent and aimless pursuit of knocking thebilliard balls about and listening absently to a discourse from Morewoodon the essential truths which he (Morewood) had grasped and presentedalone of modern artists. The theme was not exhilarating, and SirRoderick's tenant soon grew very tired of it; the presentment of truth, indeed, essential or otherwise, not being a matter that concerned him. But in the course of an inspection of Sir Roderick's consciousness, hehad come across something that appeared worth following up, and towardit he proceeded to direct his entertainer's conversation. 

"I say, Morewood, " said Ayre, breaking in on the discourse, "do youthink it's fair to keep that fellow Stafford in the dark?"

"Is he in the dark?"

"It's a queer thing, but he is. I never knew a man who was in lovebefore without knowing it, --they say women are that way, --but then Inever met a 'Father' before. "

"What do you propose, since you insist on gossiping?"

"It isn't gossip; it's Christian feeling. Some one ought to tell thepoor beggar. "

"Perhaps you'd like to. "

"I should, but it would seem like a liberty, and I never take liberties. You do constantly, so you might as well take this one. "

"I like that! Why, the man's a stranger! If he ought to be told at all, Lane's the man to do it. "

"Yes, but you see, Lane--"

"That's quite true; I forgot. But isn't he better left alone to get overit?"

Sir Roderick, unprejudiced, might have conceded the point. But theprompter intervened. 

"What I'm thinking about is this: is it fair to her? I don't say she'sin love with him, but she admires him immensely. They're alwaystogether, and--well, it's plain what's likely enough to happen. If itdoes, what will be said? Who'll believe he did it unconsciously? And ifhe breaks her heart, how is it better because he did it unconsciously?"

"You are unusually benevolent, " said Morewood dryly. 

"Hang it! a man has some feelings. "

"You're a humbug, Ayre!"

"Never mind what I am. You won't tell him?"

"No. "

"It would be a very interesting problem. "

"It would. "

"That vow of his is all nonsense, ain't it?"

"Utter nonsense!"

"Why shouldn't he have his chance of being happy in a reasonable way? Ishouldn't wonder if she took him. "

"No more should I. "

"Upon my soul, I believe it's a duty! I say, Morewood, do you think he'dsee it for himself from the picture?"

"Of course he would. No one could help it. "

"Will you let him see it?"

Morewood took a turn or two up and down, tugging his beard. The issuewas doubtful. A certain auditor of the conversation, perceiving this, hastily transferred himself from one interlocutor to the other. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll let him see it if Lane agrees. I'llleave it to Lane. "

"Rather rough on Lane, isn't it?"

"A little strong emotion of any kind won't do Lane any harm. "

"Perhaps not. We will train our young friend's mind to cope with moralproblems. He'll never get on in the world nowadays unless he can dothat. It's now part of a gentleman's--still more of alady's--education. "

Eugene was clearly wanted. By some agency, into which it is needless toinquire, though we may have suspicions, at that moment Eugene strolledinto the billiard-room. 

"We have a little question to submit to you, my dear fellow, " said Ayreblandly. 

Eugene looked at him suspiciously. He had been a good deal worried thelast few days, and had a dim idea that he deserved it, which deprivedhim of the sense of unmerited suffering--a most valuable consolation intime of trouble. 

"It's about Stafford. You remember the head of him Morewood did, and theconclusion we drew from it--or, rather, it forced upon us?"

Eugene nodded, instinctively assuming his most nonchalant air. 

"We think he's a bad case. What think you?"

"I agree--at least, I suppose I do. I haven't thought much about it. "

Ayre thought the indifference overdone, but he took no notice of it. 

"We are inclined to think he ought to be shown that picture. I am clearabout it; Morewood doubts. And we are going to refer it to you. "

"You'd better leave me out. "

"Not at all. You're a friend of his, known him all your life, andyou'll know best what will be for his good. "

"If you insist on asking me, I think you had better let it alone. "

"Wait a minute. Why do you say that?"

"Because it will be a shock to him. "

"No doubt, at first. He's got some silly notion in his head about notmarrying, and about its being sinful to fall in love, and all, that. "

"It won't make him happier to be refused. "

Ayre leant forward in his chair, and said: "How do you know she'llrefuse him?"

"I don't know. How should I know?"

"Do you think it likely?"

"Is that a fair question?" asked Morewood. 

"Perfectly, " said Eugene, with an expressionless face. "But it's one Ihave no means of answering. "

"He's plucky, " thought Ayre. "Would you give the same answer you gavejust now if you thought she'd take him?"

It was certainly hard on Eugene. Was he bound, against even a tolerablystrong feeling of his own, to give Stafford every chance? It is not fairto a man to make him a judge where he is in truth a party. Ayre had nomercy for him. 

"For the sake of a trumpery pledge is he to throw away his ownhappiness--and mark you, Lane, perhaps hers?"

Eugene did not wince. 

"If there's a chance of success, he ought to be given the opportunity ofexercising his own judgment, " he said quietly. "It would distress himimmensely, but we should have no right to keep it from him. And Isuppose there's always a chance of success. "

"Go and get the picture, Morewood, " said Sir Roderick. Then, when thepainter was looking in the portfolio, he said abruptly to Eugene:

"You could say nothing else. "

"No. That's why you asked me, I suppose. I hope I'm an interestingsubject. You dig pretty deep. "

"Serves you right!" said Ayre composedly. "Why were you ever such anass?"

"God knows!" groaned Eugene. 

Morewood returned. 

"He's due here in ten minutes to sit to me. Are you going to stay?"

"No. You be doing something else, and let that thing stand on theeasel. "

"Pleasant for me, isn't it?" asked Morewood. 

"Are you ashamed of yourself for snatching it?"

"Not a bit. "

"All right, then; what's the matter? Come along, Eugene. After all, youknow you'll like showing it. For an outsider, like yourself, it'sreally a deuced clever little bit. Perhaps they will make you anAssociate if Stafford will let you show it. "

Morewood ignored the taunt, and sat down by the window on pretense oftouching up a sketch. He had not been there long when he heard Staffordcome in, and became conscious that he had caught sight of the picture. He did not look up, and heard no sound. A long pause followed. Then hefelt a strong grip on his shoulder, and Stafford whispered:

"It is my face?"

"You see it is. "

"You did it?"

"Yes. I ought to beg your pardon, " and he looked up. Stafford was paleas death, and trembling. 

"When?"

"A few days ago. "

"On your oath--no, you don't believe that--on your honor, is it truth?"

"Yes, it is. "

"You saw it--just as it is there?"

"Yes, it is exact. I had no right to take it or to show it you. "

"What does that matter, man? Do you think I care about that? But--yes, it is true. God help me!"

"We have seen it, you know. It was time you saw it. "

"Time, indeed!"

"Where's the harm?" asked Morewood, in a rough effort at comfort. 

"The harm? But you don't understand. It is the face of a beast!"

"My dear fellow, that's stuff! It's only the face of a lover. "

Stafford looked at him in a dazed way. 

"I wish you'd let me go back to my room, Morewood, and give me thatpicture. No--I won't hurt it. "

"Take it, then, and pull yourself together. What's the harm, again Isay? And if she loves you--"

"What?" he cried eagerly. Then, checking himself, "Hold your peace, inHeaven's name, and let me go!"

He went his way, and Morewood leaped from the window to find the othertwo. He found them, but not alone. Ayre was discoursing to Claudia andappeared entirely oblivious of the occurrence which he had precipitated. Eugene was walking up and down with Kate Bernard. It is necessary tolisten to what the latter couple were saying. 

"This is sad news, Kate, " Eugene said. "Why are you going to leave us?"

"My aunt wants me to go with her to Buxton in September, and we're goingto have a few days on the river before that. "

"Then we shall not meet again for some time?"

"No. Of course I shall write to you. "

"Thank you--I hope you will. You've had a pleasant time, I hope? Who areto be your river party?"

"Oh, just ourselves and one or two girls and men. Lord Rickmansworth isto be there a day or two, if he can. And--oh, yes, Mr. Haddington, Ithink. "

"Isn't Haddington staying here?"

"I don't know. I understood not. So your party will break up, " Kate wenton. "Of course, Claudia can't stay when I go. "

"Why not?"

"Really, Eugene, it would be hardly the thing. "

"I believe my mother is not thinking of going. "

"Do you mean you will ask Claudia?"

"I certainly cannot ask her to curtail her visit. "

"Anyhow, Father Stafford goes soon, and she won't stay then. "

This last shaft accomplished Miss Bernard's presumable object. Eugenelost his temper. 

"Forgive me for saying so, Kate, " he said, "but really at times yourmind seems to me positively vulgar. "

"I am not going to quarrel. I am quite aware of what you want. "

"What's that?"

"An opportunity for quarreling. "

"If that's all, I might have found several. But come, Kate, it's no use, and not very dignified, to squabble. We haven't got on so well as wemight. But I dare say it's my fault. "

"Do you want to throw me over?" asked Kate scornfully. 

"For Heaven's sake, don't talk like a breach-of-promise plaintiff! I amand always have been perfectly ready to fulfill my engagement. But youdon't make it easy for me. Unless you 'throw me over, ' as you arepleased to phrase it, things will remain as they are. "

"I have been taught to consider an engagement as binding as a marriage. "

"No warrant for such a view in Holy Scripture. "

"And whatever my feelings may be--and you can hardly wonder if, afteryour conduct, they are not what they were--I shall consider myselfbound. "

"I have never proposed anything else. "

"Your conduct with Claudia--"

"I must ask you to leave Lady Claudia alone. If you come to that--butthere, I was just going to scratch back like a school-girl. Let usremember our manners, if nothing else. "

"And our principles, " added Kate haughtily. 

"By all means, and forget our deviations from them. And now thisconversation may as well end, may it not?"

Kate's only answer was to walk straight away to the house. 

Eugene joined Claudia; Ayre, in his absence, had been reinforced by theaccession of Bob Territon. 

"Kate's going to-morrow, " Eugene announced. 

"So I heard, " said Claudia. "We must go, too--we have been here aterrible time. "

"Why?"

"It's all nonsense!" interposed Bob decisively; "we can't go for a week. The match is fixed for next Wednesday. "

"But, " said Claudia, "I'm not going to play. "

"I am, " said Bob. "And where do you propose to go to?"

"No, Lady Claudia, " said Eugene, "you must see us through the great day. I really wish you would. The whole county's coming, and it will be toomuch for my mother alone. After the cricket-match, if you still insist, the deluge!"

"I'll ask Mrs. Lane. She'll tell me what to do. "

"Good child!" said Sir Roderick. "I am going to stay right away till thebirds. And as Lane says I ain't to have any birds unless I field atlong-leg, I am going to field at long-leg. "

"Splendid!" cried Claudia, clapping her hands; "Sir Roderick Ayre at arustic cricket-match! Mr. Morewood shall sketch you. "

"I've had enough of sketching just now, " said Morewood. Ayre and Eugenelooked up. Morewood nodded slightly. 

"Where's Stafford?" asked Ayre. 

"In his room--at work, I suppose. He put off my sitting. "

"Never mind Father Stafford, " said Claudia decisively. "Who is going toplay tennis? I shall play with Sir Roderick. "

"I'd much rather sit still in the shade, " pleaded Sir Roderick. 

"You're a very rude _old_ gentleman! But you must play, all thesame--against Bob and Mr. Morewood. "

"Where do I come in?" asked Eugene. "Mayn't I do anything, LadyClaudia?"

The others were looking after the net and the racquets, and Claudia wasleft with him for a moment. 

"Yes, " she said; "you may go and sit on Kate's trunks till they lock. "

"Wait a little while; I will be revenged on you. I want, though, to askyou a question. "

"Oh! Is it a question that no one else--say Kate, for instance--couldhelp you with?"

"It's not about myself. "

"Is it about me?"

"Yes. "

"What's the matter, Mr. Lane? Is it anything serious?"

"Very. "

"Nonsense!" said Claudia. "You really mustn't do it, Mr. Lane, or Ican't stay for the cricket-match. "

"We shall be desolate. Stafford's going in a few days. "

But Claudia's face was entirely guileless as she replied:

"Is he? I'm so sorry! But he's looking much stronger, isn't he?"

With which she departed to join Sir Roderick, who had been spending theinterval in extracting from Morewood an account of Stafford's behavior. 

"Hard hit, was he?" he concluded. 

"He looked it. "

"Wonder what he'll do! I'll give you five to four he asks her. "

"Done!" said Morewood; "in fives. "

CHAPTER VI. 

Father Stafford Keeps Vigil. 

Dinner that evening at the Manor was not a very brilliant affair. Stafford did not appear, pleading that it was a Friday, and a strictfast for him. Kate was distinctly out of temper, and treated the companyin general, and Eugene in particular, with frigidity. Everybody feltthat the situation was somewhat strained, and in consequence thepleasant flow of personal talk that marks parties of friends was driedup at its source. The discussion of general topics was found to be arelief. 

"The utter uselessness of such a class as Ayre represents, " saidMorewood emphatically, taking up a conversation that had started no onequite knew how, "must strike every sensible man. "

"At least they buy pictures, " said Eugene. 

"On the contrary, they now sell old masters, and empty the pockets ofwould-be buyers. "

"They are very ornamental, " remarked Claudia. 

"In some cases, undoubtedly, " said Morewood. 

"If you mean a titled class, " said Ayre, "I quite agree. I object totitles. They only confuse ranks. A sweep is made a lord, and outsidersthink he's a gentlemen. "

"Come, you're a baronet yourself, you know, " said Eugene. 

"It's true, " admitted Ayre, with a sigh; "but it happened a long whileago, and we've nearly lived it down. "

"Take care they don't make you a peer!"

"I have passed a busy life in avoiding it. After all, there's a chance. I'm not a brewer or a lawyer, or anything of that kind. But still, thefear of it has paralyzed my energies and compelled me to squander myfortune. They don't make poor men peers. "

"That ought to have been allowed to weigh in the balance in favor ofDives, " suggested Eugene. 

"Not a bit, " said Ayre. "Depend upon it, they kept it for him downbelow. "

"I hate cynicism!" said Claudia, suddenly and aggressively. 

Ayre put up his eyeglass. 

"_Après?_"

"It's all affectation. "

"Really, Lady Claudia, you might be quite old, from the way you talk. That is one of the illusions of age, which, by the way, have notreceived enough attention. "

"That's very true, " said Eugene. "Old people think the world betterthan it is because their faculties don't enable them to make suchdemands upon it. "

"My dear Eugene, " said Mrs. Lane pertinently, "what can you know aboutit? As we grow old we grow charitable. "

"And why is that?" asked Morewood; "not because you think better ofother people, but because you know more of yourself. "

"That is so, " said Ayre. "Standing midway between youth and age, I am anarbiter. You judge others by yourself. In youth you have an unduly goodopinion of yourself, that unduly depresses your opinion of others. Inage it's the opposite way. But who knows which is more wrong?"

"At least let us hope age is right, Sir Roderick, " said Mrs. Lane. 

"By all means, " said he. 

"All this doesn't touch my point, " said Claudia. "You are accounting forit as if it existed. My point was that it didn't exist. I said it wasall affectation. "

"And not the only sort of affectation of the same kind!" said KateBernard, with remarkable emphasis. 

Sir Roderick enjoyed a troubled sea. Turning to Kate, with a rapid sideglance at Claudia on the way, he said:

"That's interesting. How do you mean, Miss Bernard?"

"All attempts to put one's self forward, to be peculiar, and so on, arethe same kind of affectation, and are odious--especially in women. "

There was nothing very much in the words, and Kate was careful to lookstraight in front of her as she uttered them. Still they told. 

"You mean, " said Ayre, "there may be an affectation of freshness andenthusiasm--gush, in fact--as bad, or worse, than cynicism, and reallyspringing from the same root?"

Kate had not arrived at any such definite meaning, but she nodded herhead. 

"An assumed sprightliness, " continued Ayre cheerfully, "perhapscoquettishness?"

"Exactly, " Kate assented, "and a way of pushing into conversations whichmy mother used to say girls had better let alone. "

This was tolerably direct, but it did not satisfy Ayre's malicioushumor, and he was on the point of a new question when Haddington, whohad taken no part in the previous conversation, but had his reasons forinterfering now, put in suavely:

"If Miss Bernard and you, Ayre, will forgive me, are we not wanderingfrom the point?"

"Was there any point to wander from?" suggested Eugene. 

So they drifted through the evening, skirting the coast of quarrels andtalking of everything except that of which they were thinking. Verily, love affairs do not always conduce to social enjoyment--more especiallyother people's love affairs. Still, Sir Roderick Ayre was entertained. 

Meanwhile, Stafford sat in his room alone, save for the company of hisown picture. He was like a man who has been groping his way throughdifficult paths in the dark--uneasy, it may be, and nervous, but with noserious alarm. On a sudden, a storm-flash may reveal to him that he ison the very edge of a precipice or already ankle-deep in some bottomlessmorass. The sight of his own face, interpreted with all Morewood'spenetrating insight and mastery of hand, had been a revelation to him. No more mercilessly candid messenger could have been found. Arguments hewould have resisted or confuted; appeals to his own consciousness wouldhave failed for want of experience; he could not affect to disbelievethe verdict of his own countenance. He had in all his life been a manwho dealt plainly with himself; it was only in this last matter that thepower, more than the will, to understand his own heart had failed him. His intellect now reasserted itself. He did not attempt to blink facts;he did not deny the truth of the revelation or seek to extenuate itsforce. He did not tell himself that the matter was a trifle, or that itseffect would be transient. He recognized that he had fallen from thestate of a priest vowed to Heaven, to that of a man whose whole heartand mind had gone out in love for a woman and were filled with herimage. His judgment of himself was utterly reversed, hispre-suppositions confounded, his scheme of life wrecked; all this heknew for truth, unless indeed it might be that victory could still behis--victory after a struggle even to death; a struggle that had foundno type or forecast in the mimic contests that had marked, almostwithout disturbing, his earlier progress on the road of his choice. 

In the long hours that he sat gazing at the picture his mind was thescene of changing moods. At first the sense of horror and shame wasparamount. He was aghast at himself and too full of self-abhorrence todo more than fight blindly away from what he could not but see. He wouldfain have lost his senses if only to buy the boon of ignorance. Thenthis mood passed. The long habit of his heart asserted itself, and hefell on his knees, no longer in horror, but in abasement and penitence. Now all his thought was for the sin he had done to Heaven and to hisvow; but had he not learnt and taught, and re-learnt in teaching, thatthere was no sin without pardon, if pardon were sought? And for amoment, not peace, but the far-off possible hope and prospect of peaceregained comforted his spirit. It might be yet that he would comethrough the dark valley, and gaze with his old eyes on the light of hislife set in the sky. 

But was his sin only against Heaven and his vow and himself? Is sin soconfined? If Morewood had seen, had not others? Had not she seen? Wouldnot the discovery he had made come to her also? Nay, had it not come?He had been blind; but had she? Was it not far more likely that she hadnot deceived herself as to the tendency of their friendship, nor dreamtthat he meant anything except what his acts, words, and looks had soplainly--yes, to his own eyes now, so plainly declared? He looked backon her graciousness, her delight in his society, her unconcealedadmiration for him. What meaning had these but one? What did she know ofhis vow? Why should she dream of anything save the happy ending of thestory that flits before the half-averted eyes of a girl when she is withher lover? Even if she had heard of his vow, would they not all tell herit was a conceit of youth, a spiritual affectation, a thing that a wisecounselor would tell him and her quietly to set aside? Did it not allpoint to this? He was not only a perjurer toward Heaven, but his sin hadbrought woe and pain to her he loved. 

So he groaned in renewed self-condemnation. But what did that mean? Andthen an irresistible tide of triumph swept over him, obliterating shameand horror and remorse. She loved him. He had won. Be it good or evil, she was his! Who forbade his joy? Though all the world, aye, and allHeaven, were against him, nothing should stop him. Should he sin fornaught? Should he not have the price of his soul? Should he not enjoywhat he had bought so dearly? Enough of talking, and enough ofreasoning! Passion filled him, and he knew no good nor evil save itssatiety or hunger. 

The mad mood passed, and there came a worthier mind. He sat and lookedalong the avenue of his life. He saw himself walking hand in hand withher. Now she was not the instrument of his pleasure, but the helper inhis good deeds. By her sweet influence he was stronger to do well; hisbroader sympathies and fuller life made a servant more valuable to hisMaster; he would serve Heaven as well and man better, and, knowing thecommon joys of man, he would better minister to common pains. Who was hethat he should claim to lead a life apart, or arrogate to himself animmunity and an independence other men had not? Man and woman created Hethem, and did it not make for good? And he sank back in his chair, withthe picture of a life before him, blessed and giving blessings, andending at last in an old age, when she would still be with him, when heshould be the head and inspiration of a house wherein God's service wasdone, when he should see his son's sons following in his steps, and so, having borne his part, fall asleep, to wake again to an union whereinwere no stain of earth and no shadow of parting. 

From these musings he awoke with a shudder, as there came back to himmany a memory of lofty pitying words, with which he had gently drawnaside the cloak of seemliness wherein some sinner had sought to wraphis sin. His dream of the perfect joint-life, what was it but a shamtribute to decency, a threadbare garment for the hideousness of nakedpassion? Had he taught himself to contemplate such a life, and shapedhimself for it, it might be a worthy life--not the highest, but good formen who were not made for saints. But as it was, it seemed to him but aglazing over of his crime. Sternly there stood between him and it hisprofession and his pledge. If he would forsake the one and violate theother, by Heaven, he would do it boldly, and not seek to slink out bysuch self-cozening. At least he would not deceive himself again. If hesinned, he would sin openly to his own heart. There should be nocompact: nothing but defeat or victory! And yet, was he right? It wouldbe pitiful if for pride's sake, if for fear of the sneers of men, hewere to kill her joy and defile his own soul with her heart's blood. People would laugh at the converted celibate--was it that he feared? Hadhe fallen so low as that? or was the shrinking he felt not rather thedread that his fall would be a stone of stumbling to others? for in hisinfatuation he had assumed to be an example. Was there no distinguishinggood and evil? Could every motive and every act change form and color asyou looked at it, and be now the counsel of Heaven, and now theprompting of Satan? How, then, could a man choose his path? In hisbewilderment the darkness closed round him, and he groaned aloud. 

It was late now, nearly midnight, and the house was quiet. Staffordwalked to the open window and leant out, bending his tired head upon hishand. As he looked out he saw through the darkness Eugene and Ayre stillsitting on the terrace. Ayre was talking. 

"Yes, " he was saying, "we are taught to think ourselves of a mighty dealof importance. How we fare and what we do is set before us as a thingabout which angels rejoice or mourn. The state of our little minds, orsouls, or whatever it is, is a matter of deep care to the Creator--theLife of the universe. How can it be? How are we more than minutestpoints in that picture in his mind, which is the world? I speak in humanmetaphor, as one must speak. In truth, we are at once a fraction, a tinyfraction--oh! what a tiny fraction--of the picture, and the like littlejot of what it exists for. And does what comes to us matter verymuch--whether we walk a little more or a little less cleanly--aim alittle higher or lower, if there is a higher and lower? What matter? Ah, Eugene, our parents and our pastors teach us vanity! To me it seemspitiful. Let us take our little sunshine, doing as little harm andgiving as little pain as we may, living as long as we can, and doing ourlittle bit of useful work for the ground when we are dead, if we didnone for the world when we were living. If you cremate, you willdeprive many people of their only utility. "

Eugene gently laughed. 

"Of course you put it as unattractively as you can. "

"Yes; but I can't put it unattractively enough to be true. I used tofret and strive, and think archangels hung on my actions. There arenone; and if there were, what would they care for me? I am a part of it, I suppose--a part of the Red King's dream, as Alice says. But what alittle part! I do well if I suffer little and give little suffering, andso quietly go to help the cabbages. "

"I don't think I believe it, " said Eugene. 

"I suppose not. It's hard to believe and impossible to disbelieve. "

Stafford listened intently. Memories came back to him of books he hadread and put behind him; books wherein Ayre had found his creed, if thething could be called a creed. Was that true? Was he rending his soulfor nothing? A day earlier such a thought would have been to him at oncea torture and a sin. Now he found a strange comfort in it. Why striveand cry, when none watched the effort or heard the agony? Why torturehimself? Why torture others? If the world were good, why was he not tohave his part? If it were bad, might he not find a quiet nook under thewall, out of the storm? Why must he try to breast it? If Ayre was right, what a tragical farce his struggle was, what a perverse delusion, whatan aimless flinging away of the little joy his little life could offer!If this were so, then was he indeed alone in the world--except forClaudia. Was his choice in truth between this world and the next? Hemight throw one away and never find the other. 

Then he cursed the voice, and himself for listening to it, and fellagain to vehement prayers and self-reproaches, trying to drown theclamor of his heart with his insistent petitions. If he could only prayas he had been wont to pray, he was saved. There lay a respite fromthought and a refuge from passion. Why could he not abandon his wholesoul to communion with God, as once he could, shutting out all save thesense of sin and the conviction of forgiveness? He prayed for power topray. But, like the guilty king, he could not say Amen. He could notbind his wandering thoughts, nor dispel the forward imaginings of hisdistempered mind. He asked one thing, and in his heart desired another;he prayed, and did not desire an answer to his prayer; for when he triedto bow his heart in supplication, ever in the midst, between him and thethrone before which he bent, came the form and the face and the voice heloved, and the temptation and the longing and the doubt. And he was tostand driven about through the livelong night till, in utter weariness, hefell on the floor and slept. 

CHAPTER VII. 

An Early Train and a Morning's Amusement. 

It was still early when he awoke, weary, stiff, and unrefreshed, butwith a conviction in his mind that had grown plain and strong in themysterious way notions sometimes seem to gather force in hours ofunconsciousness, and surprise us with their mature vigor when we awake. "I must go!" he kept muttering to himself; "I must go--go and think. Idare do nothing now. " He hastily packed a hand bag, wrote a note forEugene, asking that the rest of his luggage might be forwarded to anaddress he would send, went quietly downstairs, and, finding the doorjust opened, passed out unseen. He had three miles to walk to thestation, but his restless feet brought him there quickly, and he hadmore than an hour to wait for the first train, at half-past eight. Hesat down on the platform and waited. His capacity for thought andemotion seemed for the time exhausted. His thoughts wandered from onetrivial matter to another, always eluding his effort to fix them. Hefound himself acutely studying the gang of laborers who were going bytrain to their day's work, and wondering how many pipes each of theircarefully guarded matches would light, and what each carried in hisbattered tin drinking-bottle, remembering with a dreary sort ofamusement that he had heard this same incurable littleness of thoughtsettled on men condemned to death. Still, it passed the time, and he wassurprised out of a sort of reverie by the clanging of the porter'sinharmonious bell. 

At the same moment a phaeton was rapidly driven up to the door of thestation, and all the porters rushed to meet it. 

"Label it all for London, " he heard Eugene's voice say. "Four boxes, aportmanteau, and a hat-box. No, I'm not going--this lady and gentleman. "

Kate, Haddington, and Eugene came through the ticket-office on to theplatform. Stafford involuntarily shrank back. 

"Just in time!" Eugene was saying; "though why the dickens you peoplewill start at such an hour, I don't know. Haddington, I suppose, alwaysmust be in a hurry--never does for a rising man to admit he's got sparetime. But you, Kate! Its positively uncomplimentary!"

He spoke lightly, but there was a troubled look on his face; and asHaddington went off to take the tickets he drew near to Kate, and saidsuddenly:

"You are determined on this, Kate?"

"On what?" she asked coldly. 

"Why, to go like this--to bolt--it almost comes to that--leaving thingsas they are between us?"

"Why not?"

"And with Haddington?"

"Do you mean to insult me?"

"Of course not. But how do you think it must look to me? What do youimagine my course must be?"

"Really, Eugene, I see no need for this scene. I suppose your coursewill be to wait till I ask you to fulfill your promise, and then tofulfill it. You have no sort of cause for complaint. "

Eugene could not resist a smile. 

"You are sublime!" he said. Perhaps he would have said more, but at thismoment, to his intense surprise, his eyes met Stafford's. The lattergave him a quick look, in obedience to which he checked his exclamation, and, making some excuse about a parcel due and not arrived, unceremoniously handed Kate to a carriage, bundled Haddington in afterher, and walked rapidly to the front of the train, where he had justseen Stafford getting into a third-class compartment. 

"What in the world's the meaning of this, my dear old boy?"

"I have left a note for you. "

"That will explain?"

"No, " said Stafford, with his unsparing truthfulness, "it will notexplain. "

"How fagged you look!"

"Yes, I am tired. "

"You must go now, and like this?"

"I think that is less bad than anything else. "

"You can't tell me?"

"Not now, old fellow. Perhaps I will some day. "

"You'll let me know what you're doing? Hallo, she's off! And, Stafford, nothing ever between us?"

"Why should there be?" he answered, with some surprise. "But you knowthere couldn't be. "

The train moved on as they shook hands, and Eugene retraced his steps tohis phaeton. 

"He's given her up, " he said to himself, with an irrepressible feelingof relief. "Poor old fellow! Now--"

But Eugene's reflections were not of a character that need or wouldrepay recording. He ought to have been ashamed of himself. I venture tothink he was. Nevertheless, he arrived home in better spirits than a manhas any right to enjoy when he has seen his mistress depart in a temperand his best friend in sorrow. Our spirits are not always obedient tothe dictates of propriety. It is often equally in vain that we call themfrom the vasty deep, or try to dismiss them to it. They are rebelliouscreatures, whose only merit is their sincerity. 

Sir Roderick Ayre allowed few things to surprise him, but the fact ofany one deliberately starting by the early train was one of the few. Inregard to such conduct, he retained all his youthful capacity forwonder. Surprise, however, gave way to unrestrained and indecentexultation when he learned that the early party had consisted of Kateand Haddington, and that Eugene himself had escorted them to thestation. Eugene was in too good a temper to be seriously annoyed. 

"I know it makes me look an ass, " he said, as they smoked theafter-breakfast pipe, "but I suppose that's all in the day's work. "

"No doubt. It is the day's work, " said Ayre; "but, oh, diplomatic youngman, why didn't you tell us at breakfast that the pope had also gone?"

"Oh, you know that?"

"Of course. My man Timmins brings me what I may call a way-bill everymorning, and against Stafford's name was placed '8. 30 train. '"

"Useful man, Timmins, " said Eugene. "Did he happen to add why he hadgone?"

"There are limitations even to Timmins. He did not. "

"You can guess?"

"Well, I suppose I can, " answered Ayre, with some resentment. 

"He's given it up, apparently. "

"I don't know. "

"He must have. Awfully cut up he looked, poor old chap! I was glad Kateand Haddington didn't see him. "

"Poor chap! He takes it hard. Hallo! here's the _fons et origo mali_. "

Morewood joined them. 

"I have been, " he said gravely, "rescuing my picture. That insipidlunatic had wrapped it up in brown paper, and put it among his socks inhis portmanteau. I couldn't see it anywhere till I routed out theportmanteau. If it had come to grief I should have entered the Academy. "

"Don't give way so, " said Ayre; "it's unmanly. Control your emotions. "

Eugene rose. 

"Where are you going?"

Eugene smiled. 

"This, " said Ayre to Morewood, with a wave of his hand, "is an abandonedyoung man. "

"It is, " said Morewood. "Bob Territon is going rat-hunting, and proposeswe shall also go. What say you?"

"I say yes, " said Sir Roderick, with alacrity. "It's a beastly cruelsport. "

"You have lost, " said Morewood, as they walked away together. 

"Wait a bit!" said his companion. "But, young Eugene! It's a pity thatyoung man has no morals. "

"Is that so?"

"Oh! not _simpliciter_, you know. _Secundum quid_. "

"_Secundum feminam_, in fact?"

"Yes; and I brought him up, too. "

"'By their fruits ye shall know them. ' But here's Bob and the terriers. "

"Don't you fellows ever have a sister, " said Bob, as he came up;"Claudia's just savage because the pope's gone. Can't get her morningabsolution, you know. "

"Are absolution and ablution the same word, Morewood?" asked Ayre. 

"Don't know. Ask the Rector. He's sure to turn up when he hears of therats. "

"I think they must be--a sort of spiritual tub. But Morewood will neveradmit he's been educated. It detracts from his claim to genius. "

Eugene, freed from this frivolous company, was not long in discoveringClaudia's whereabouts. He felt like a boy released from school and, turning his eyes away from future difficulties, was determined to enjoyhimself while he could. Claudia was seated on the lawn in completeidleness and, apparently, considerable discontent. 

"Do your guests always scurry away without saying good-by to anybody, Mr. Lane?" she asked. 

"I hope that you, at least, will not. But didn't Kate say good-by, orHaddington?"

"I meant Father Stafford, of course. "

"Oh, he had to go. He sent an apology to you and all the party. "

"Did he tell you why he had to go?"

"No, " said Eugene, regarding her with covert attention. 

"It's a pity if he's unaccountable. I like him so much otherwise. "

"You don't like unaccountable people?"

Claudia seemed quite willing to let Stafford drop out of theconversation. 

"No, " she said; "I tolerate you, Mr. Lane, because I always know exactlywhat you'll do. "

"Do you?" he asked, only moderately pleased. A man likes to be thought alittle mysterious. No doubt Claudia knew that. 

"I don't think you know what I am going to do now. "

"What?"

"I'm going to ask you if you know why Father Stafford--"

"Oh, please excuse me, Mr. Lane. I can't speculate on your friend'smotives. I don't profess to understand him. "

This might be indifference; it sounded to Eugene very like pique. 

"I thought you might know. "

"Mr. Lane, " said Claudia, "either you mean something or you don't. Ifthe one, you're taking a liberty, and one entirely without excuse; ifthe other, you are simply tedious. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Eugene stiffly. 

Claudia gave a little laugh. 

"Why do you make me be so aggressive? I don't want to be. Was I awfullysevere?"

"Yes, rather. "

"I meant it, you know. But did you come quite resolved to quarrel? _I_want to be pleasant. " And Claudia raised her eyes with a reproachfulglance. 

"In anger or otherwise, you are always delightful, " said Eugenepolitely. 

"I accept that as a diplomatic advance--not in its literal sense. Afterall, I must be nice to you. You're all alone this morning. "

"Lady Claudia, " said he gravely, "either you mean something or you donot. If the one--"

"Be quiet this moment!" she said, laughing. 

He obeyed and lay back in his low chair with a sigh of content. 

"Yes; never mind Stafford and never mind Kate. Why should we? They'renot here. "

"My silence is not to be taken for consent, " said Claudia, "only it'stoo fine a day to spend in trying to improve you or, indeed, anybodyelse. But I shall not forget any of my friends. "

Now up to this point Eugene had behaved tolerably well. It is, however, a dangerous thing to set yourself deliberately to study a lady'sattractions. Like all other one-sided views of a subject, it is apt tocarry you too far. The sun and the wind were playing about in Claudia'shair, her eyes were full of light, and her whole air, in spite of agenuine effort after demureness, conveyed to any self-respecting man anirresistible challenge to make himself agreeable if he could. Eugene'snotions of making himself agreeable were, as may have been gathered, liberal; they certainly included more than can be considered strictlyincumbent on young men in society. And, besides being polite, Eugene wasalso curious. It is one thing to silently suffer under a passion which asense of duty forbids; such a position has its pleasures. The situationis altered when the idea dawns upon you that there is no reciprocity ofgraceful suffering; that, in fact, the lady may prefer somebody else. Eugene wanted to know where he stood. 

"Shall you be sorry to leave here?" he asked. 

"My feelings will be mixed. You see, Rickmansworth has actuallyconsented to take me with him to his moor, and that will be great fun. "

"Why, you don't go killing birds?"

"No, I don't kill birds. "

"There'll be only a pack of men there. "

"That's all. But I don't mind that--if the scenery is good. "

"I believe you're trying to make me angry. "

"Oh, no! I know Sir Roderick doesn't let you be angry. It's not goodform. "

"Have you no heart, Claudia?"

"I don't know. But I have a prefix. "

"Have you, after ten years' friendship?"

Claudia laughed. 

"You make me rather old. Were we friends when I was ten?"

"Oh, bother dates! I don't count by time?"

"Really, Mr. Lane, if you were anybody else I should call this absurd. It would be flattering you and myself to call it wrong. "

"Why?"

"Because that would imply you were serious. "

"Would it be wrong if I were?"

"Well, it would be generally considered so, under the circumstances. "

"I don't care about that. I have endured it long enough. Oh, Claudia!don't you see?"

"I suppose so, " thought Claudia, "I ought to crush him at this point. Ithink I'll wait a little bit, though. "

"See what?" she said. 

"Why, that--that--"

"Well?"

"Hang it! why is it always so abominably absurd? Why, that I love theground you tread on, Claudia? Is this wretched thing to keep us apart!"

"Mr. Lane, you're magnificent; but isn't there a trifling assumption inyour last remark?"

"How?"

"Well, you seemed--perhaps you didn't mean it--to imply that only that'wretched thing' kept _us_ apart. That's rather taking me for granted, isn't it?"

"Ah! you know I didn't mean it. But if things were different, couldyou--"

"A conditional proposal is a new fashion. Is that one of Sir Roderick'sideas?"

Eugene was at last angry. He was silent for a moment. Then he said:

"I see. I must congratulate you. "

"On what?"

"On having bagged a brace--without accident to yourself. But I have hadenough of it. "

And without waiting for a reply to this very rude speech, he rose andflung himself across the lawn into the house. 

Claudia seemed less angry than she ought to have been. She sat with alittle smile for a moment, then she threw her hat in the air and caughtit, then lay back, sighed gently, and murmured:

"Heigho! a brace means two, doesn't it? Who's the other? Oh! Mr. Haddington, I suppose. I didn't think he knew. Poor Eugene! He's veryangry, or he'd never have been so rude. 'Bagged a brace!'"

And she actually laughed again, and then said "Heigho!" again. 

Just at this moment Ayre came up the drive, looking very hot and verydisgusted. Seeing Claudia, he came and sat down. 

"Bob's rat-hunting's a mere fraud, " he said. "I was there half an hour, and we only bagged a brace. "

"What a curious coincidence!" exclaimed Claudia. 

"How a coincidence!"

"Oh, nothing. Bagging a brace means killing two, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh, I wanted to know. "

Ayre looked at her. 

"Where's Eugene?"

"He was here just now, but he's gone into the house. "

Ayre stroked his mustache meditatively. 

"Did you want him?"

"No, not particularly. I thought I should find him here. "

"You would if you'd come a little sooner. "

"Ah! I'll go and find him. "

"Yes, I should. "

And off he went. 

"It is really very pleasant, " said Claudia, "to prevent Sir Roderickfinding out things that he wants to find out. I think it does mecredit--and it annoys him so very much. I will go and have a nice drivewith Mrs. Lane, and see some old women. I feel as if I ought to dosomething proper. "

And perhaps it was about time. 

CHAPTER VIII

Stafford in Retreat, and Sir Roderick in Action. 

When Stafford got into the train on his headlong flight from MillsteadManor, he had no settled idea of his destination, and he arrived inLondon without having made much progress toward a resolution. Notknowing what he wanted, he could not decide where he was most likely tofind it. Did he want to forget or to think; to repent or to resolve?This is the alternative that presents itself to a mind puzzled to knowwhether its doubt is a concession to sin or a homage to reason. Staffordhad been bred in a school widely different from that which treats allquestions as open, and all to be referred to the verdict of the balanceof expediency. Among other lessons, he had been taught a deep distrustof the instrument by which he was forced to guide his actions. But notraining had succeeded in eradicating a strong mind's instinct ofself-confidence, and if up till now he had committed no rebellion, itwas because his reason had been rather a voluntary and eager helper thana captive or slave to the tribunal he distinguished from it by the nameof conscience. With some surprise at himself--a surprise that now tookthe place of shame--he recognized that he was not ready to takeeverything for granted, that he must know that what he was flying fromwas in fact sin, not only that it might be. That it was sin he fullybelieved, but he would be sure. So much triumph his passion extortedfrom him as he paced irresolutely up and down the square in front ofEuston, after seeing Kate and Haddington safely away, while the porterand cabman wondered why the traveler seemed not sure where he wanted togo. Of their wonder and their irreverent suggestions he was supremelycareless. 

No, he would not go back at once to his active work. Not only did hishealth still forbid that--and, indeed, last night's struggle seemed tohim to have undone most of the good he had gained from the quiet ofMillstead--but, what was more, he believed, above all, in the importanceof the state of the pastor's own soul, and was convinced that his workwould be weak and futile done under such conditions; that in theologicallanguage, there would be no blessing on it. When he had once reachedthat conclusion, his path was plain before him. He would go to theRetreat. This word Retreat has become familiar to those who studyecclesiastical items in the paper. But the Retreat Stafford had in hismind was not quite of the common kind. It had been founded by one of theleaders of his party, and was intended to serve the function of aspiritual casual ward, whither those who were for the moment at a lossmight resort and find refuge until they had time to turn round. It wasnot a permanent home for any one. After his stay, the visitor returnedto the world if he would; if he were finally disabled he was passed onto a permanent residence of another kind. The Retreat was a temporaryrefuge only. Sometimes it was full, sometimes it was empty; save for theSuperintendent, as he was called; for religious terms were avoided, anda severe neutrality of description forbade the possibility of theRetreat itself seeming to take any side in the various mental battlesfor which it afforded a clear field, remote from interruption and fromthe bias alike of the world and of previous religious prepossessions. Aman was entirely left to himself at the Retreat. Save at the dinnerhour, no one spoke to him except the Superintendent. The rule of hisoffice was that he should always be ready to listen on all subjects, andto talk on all indifferent subjects. Advice and exhortation wereforbidden to him. If a man wanted the ordinary consolations of religion, his case was not the special case the Retreat was founded to meet. Whennobody could help a man, and nothing was left for him but to go throughwith the struggle in his own soul, then he came to the Retreat. Therehe stayed till he reached some conclusion: that is, if he could reachone within a reasonable time; for the pretense of unconquerablehesitation was not received. When he arrived at his resolve, he wentaway: what the resolve was, and where he was going, whether to High orLow, to Rome or Islington, to Church or Dissent, or even to Mohammed orTheosophy, or what not, or nothing, nobody asked. Such a foundation hadstruck many devoted followers of the Founder as little better than anegation or an abdication. The Founder thought otherwise. "If forms andwords are of any use to him, a man will never come, " he said; "if hecomes, let him alone. " And it may be that this difference between theFounder and his disciples was due to the fact that the Founder believedthat, given a fair field in any honest mind, his views must prevail, whereas the disciples were not so strong in faith. 

It is very possible the disciples were right, in a way; but still theFounder's scheme now and then caught a great prize that the discipleswould have lost through their overgreat meddling. The Founder would haverepudiated the idea of differences in value between souls. But mensometimes act on ideas they repudiate, and with very good results. 

Whatever the merits or demerits of the Retreat might be, it was just theplace Stafford wanted. He shrank, almost with loathing, from thethought of exposing himself to well meant ministrations from men whowere his inferiors: the theory of the equalizing effect of the sacredoffice, which appears to be held in great tranquillity by many who seethe absurdity of parallel ideas applied in other spheres, was one of thefictions that proved entirely powerless over his mind at this juncture. He did not say to himself that fools were fools and blind men blind, whatever their office, degree, or profession, but he was driven to theRetreat by a thought that a brutal speaker might have rendered for himin those words without essential misrepresentation. Above all, he wantedquiet--time to understand the new forces and to estimate the good orevil of the new ideas. 

Arriving there late in the evening of the same day on which he leftMillstead, for the Retreat was situated on the borders of Exmoor and thejourney from Paddington was long and slow, he was received by theSuperintendent with the grave welcome and studious absence ofquestioning that was the rule of the house. The Superintendent was anelderly man, inclining to stoutness and of unyielding placidity. It wassuspected that the Founder had taken pains to choose a man who wouldobserve his injunction of not meddling with thorny questions the morestrictly from his own inability to understand them. 

"We are very empty just now, " he said, with a sigh. Poor man! perhapsit was dull. "Only two, besides yourself. "

"The fewer the better, " said Stafford, with a smile, half in earnest, half humoring the genius of the place. 

The Superintendent looked as if he might have said something on theother side but refrained, and, without more ado, made Stafford at homein the bare little room that was to serve him for sleeping and living. Stafford was full of weariness, and sank down on the bed with a sense ofmomentary respite. He would not begin to think till to-morrow. 

Here we must leave him to wage his uncertain battle. When the visibleand the invisible meet in the shock of strife about the soul of a man, who may describe the changes and chances of the fight? In the peace ofhis chosen solitude would he re-conquer the vision that the clouds hadhidden from him? Or would the allurements of his earthly love be lessstrong because its dazzling incitements were no longer actually beforehis eyes? He had refused all aid and all alliance. He had chosen to trythe issue alone and unbefriended. Was he strong enough?--strong enoughto think on his love, and yet not to bow to it?--strong enough topicture to himself all its charms, only to refuse to gather them? Shouldhe not have seized every aid that counsel and authority could offer him?Would he not find too late that his true strategy had been to fly, andnot to challenge, the encounter? He had fancied he could be himself theimpartial judge in his own cause, however vast the bribe that lay readyto his hand. The issue of his sojourn alone could tell whether he hadmisjudged his strength. 

While Stafford mused and strove the world moved on, and with it thatsmall fraction of it whose movements most nearly bore on the fortunes ofthe recluse. 

The party at Millstead Manor was finally broken up by the departure ofthe Territons and of Morewood about a week after Stafford left. Thecricket-match came off with great _éclat_; in spite of a steady thirteenfrom the Rector, who spent two hours in "compiling" it--to use thetechnical term--and of several catches missed by Sir Roderick, who wastried in vain in all positions in the field, the Manor team won by fivewickets, and Bob Territon felt that his summer had been well spent. Ayrelingered on with Eugene, shooting the coverts till mid September, whenthe latter abruptly and perhaps rudely announced that he could not standit any longer, and straightway took himself off to the Continent, sending a line to Stafford to apprise him of the fact, and another toKate, to say he would have no address for the next month. 

For a moment Sir Roderick was at a loss. He was tired of shooting; hehated yachting; the ordinary country-house visit was nothing butshooting in the daytime and unmitigated boredom in the evening. Reallyhe didn't know what to do with himself. This alarming state of mindmight have issued in some incongruous activity of a useful sort, had nothe been rescued from it by the sudden discovery that he had a mission. This revelation dawned upon him in consequence of a note he receivedfrom Lord Rickmansworth. It appeared that that nobleman had very soongot tired of his moor, had resigned it into the eager hands of BobTerriton, and was now at Baden-Baden. This was certainly odd, and thewriter evidently knew it would appear so; he therefore appended anexplanation which was entirely satisfactory to Sir Roderick, but whichis, happily, irrelevant to the purposes of this story. What is more tothe purpose, it further appeared that Mrs. Welman, Kate Bernard's aunt, had discarded Buxton in favor of the same resort, and that Mr. Haddington, M. P. , had also "proceeded" thither. 

"They are at the Victoria, " wrote Rickmansworth; "I am at theBadischerhof, and--[irrelevant matter]. I go about a good deal withthem, but it's beastly slow. Haddington is all day in Kate's pocket, andKate at best isn't amusing. But what's Lane up to? Do come out here, oldfellow. I'll find you some amusement. Who do you think is herewith--[more irrelevant matter]. "

Sir Roderick was influenced in part, no doubt, by the irrelevant matter. But he also felt that what concerns us concerned him. He had come to avery definite conclusion that Kate Bernard ought not to marry EugeneLane. He was also sure that unless something was done the marriage wouldtake place. Kate did not care for Eugene, but the match was too good tobe given up. Eugene would never face the turmoil necessary to break itoff. 

"I am the man, " said Sir Roderick to himself. "I couldn't catch theparson, but if I can't catch Miss Kate, call me an ass!"

And he took train to Baden, sending off a wire to Morewood to join himif he could, for a considerable friendship existed between them. Morewood, however, wouldn't come, and Ayre was forced to make thejourney in solitude. 

"I thought I should bring him!" exclaimed Lord Rickmansworthtriumphantly, as he received his friend on the platform, and conductedhim to a very perfect drag which stood at the door. "Oh, you old thief!"

Rickmansworth was a tall, broad, reddish-faced young man, with a joviallaugh, infinite capacity for being amused at things not intrinsicallyhumorous, and manners that he had tried, fortunately with imperfectsuccess, to model on those of a prize-fighter. Ayre liked him for whathe was, while shuddering at what he tried to be. 

"I didn't come on that account at all, " he said, "I came to look aftersome business. "

"Get out!" said the Earl pleasantly; "do you think I don't know you?"

Ayre allowed himself to yield in silence. His motives were a littlemixed; and, anyhow, it was not at the moment desirable to explain them. His vindication would wait. 

In the afternoon he paid his call on Mrs. Welman. She was delighted tosee him, not only as a man of social repute, but also because the goodlady was in no little distress of mind. The arrangement between Kate andEugene was, as a family arrangement, above perfection. Mrs. Welman wasnot rich, and like people who are not rich, she highly esteemed riches;like most women, she looked with favor on Eugene; the fact of Katehaving some money seemed to her, as it does to most people, a reason forher marrying somebody who had more, instead of aiding in the beneficentwork of a more equal distribution of wealth. But Kate was undeniablywillful. She treated her engagement, indeed, as an absolutely bindingand unbreakable tie--a fact so conclusively accomplished that it couldalmost be ignored. But she received any suggestion of a possible excessin her graciousness toward Haddington and her acceptance of his society, as at once a folly and an insult; and as she was of age and paid halfthe bills, all means of suasion were conspicuously lacking. Mrs. Welmanwas in a position exactly the reverse of the pleasant one; she hadresponsibility without power. It is true her responsibility was mainlya figment of her own brain, but its burden upon her was none the lessheavy for that. 

It must be admitted that Ayre's dealings with her were wanting incandor. Under the guise of family friendship, he led her on to open hermind to him. He extracted from her detailed accounts of long excursionsinto the outskirts of the forest, of numberless walks in the shadypaths, of an expedition to the races (where perfect solitude can alwaysbe obtained), and of many other diversions which Kate and Haddington hadenjoyed together, while she was left to knit "clouds" and chewreflections in the Kurhaus garden. All this, Ayre recognized, withlively but suppressed satisfaction, was not as it should be. 

"I have spoken to Kate, " she concluded, "but she takes no notice; willyou do me a service?"

"Of course, " said Ayre; "anything I can. "

"Will you speak to Mr. Haddington?"

This by no means suited Ayre's book. Moreover, it would very likelyexpose him to a snub, and he had no fancy for being snubbed by a manlike Haddington. 

"I can hardly do that. I have no position. I'm not her father, or uncle, or anything of that sort. "

"You might influence him. "

"No, he'd tell me to mind my own business. To speak plainly, my dearlady, it isn't as if Kate couldn't take care of herself. She could stophis attentions to-morrow if she liked. Isn't it so?"

Mrs. Welman sadly admitted it was. 

"The only thing I can do is to keep an eye on them, and act as I thinkbest; that I will gladly do. "

And with this very ambiguous promise poor Mrs. Welman was forced to becontent. Whatever his inward view of his own meaning was, Ayre certainlyfulfilled to the letter his promise of keeping an eye on them. Kate wasat first much annoyed at his appearance; she thought she saw in him anemissary of Eugene. Sir Roderick tactfully disabused her mind of thisnotion, and, without intruding himself, he managed to be with them agood deal, and with Haddington alone a good deal more. Moreover, evenwhen absent, he could generally have given a shrewd guess where theywere and what they were doing. Without altogether neglecting the otherclaims at which Rickmansworth had hinted, and which resolved themselvesinto a long-standing and entirely platonic attachment, he yet devotedhimself with zest and assiduity to his self-imposed task. 

In its prosecution he contrived to make use of Rickmansworth to someextent. The young man was a hospitable soul, delighting in parties andpicnics. Only consent to sit with him on his four-in-hand and let himdrive you, and he cheerfully feasted you and all your friends. Hisacquaintance was large, and not, perhaps, very select. But Ayreinsisted on the proper distinctions being observed, and was indebted toRickmansworth's parties for many opportunities of observation. He wassure Haddington meant to marry Kate if he could; the scruples which hadin some degree restrained his actions, though not his designs, atMillstead, had vanished, and he was pushing his suit, firmly anddaringly ignoring the fact of the engagement. Kate did nothing to remindhim of it that Ayre could see, but her behavior, on the other hand, convinced him that Haddington was to her only a second string, and that, unless compelled, she would not let Eugene go. She took occasion morethan once to show him that she regarded her relation to Eugene as fullyexistent. No doubt she thought there was a chance that such words mightfind their way to Eugene's ears. It is hardly necessary to say they didnot. 

Watch as he might Ayre's chance was slow in coming. He knew very wellthat the fact of a young lady, deserted by him who ought to have been inattendance, consoling herself with a flirtation with somebody else, wasnot enough for him to go upon. He must have something more tangible thanthat. He did not, indeed, look for anything that would compel Eugene toact; he had no expectation and, to do him justice, no hope of that, forhe knew Eugene would act on nothing but an extreme necessity. His hopelay in Kate herself. On her he was prepared to have small mercy;against her he felt justified in playing the very rigor of the game. Butfor a long while he had no opportunity of beginning the rubber. Afortnight wore away, and nothing was done. Ayre determined to wait onevents no longer; he would try his hand at shaping them. 

"I wonder if Rick is too great a fool?" he said to himself meditativelyone morning, as he crossed one of the little bridges, and took his wayto the Kurhaus in search of his friend. "I must try him. "

He found Lord Rickmansworth alone, but quite content. It was one of hishappy characteristics that he existed with delight under almost anycircumstances. One of his team was lame, and a great friend of his wassulky and had sent him away, and yet he sat radiantly cheerful, with alarge cigar in his mouth and a small terrier by his side, subjectingevery lady who passed to a respectful and covert but none the lesssearching and severe examination. 

"I say, Rick, have you seen Haddington lately?"

"Yes; he's gone down the road with Kate Bernard to play tennis, or somesuch foolery. "

"With Kate?"

"Rather! Didn't expect anything else, did you?"

"Does he mean to marry that girl?" asked Ayre, with a face of greatinnocence, much as if it had just occurred to him. 

"Well, he can't, unless she chucks old Eugene over. "

"Will she, do you think?"

"Well, I'm afraid not. I've got some money on that they're nevermarried, but I don't see my way to handling it. "

"Much?"

"Well, no; about twopence-halfpenny--a fancy bet. "

"I'm glad it's nothing, because I want you to help me, and you couldn'thave if you had anything on; besides, you shouldn't bet on such things. "

"Oh, I'm not going to meddle with the thing. It's enough work to preventone's self getting married, without troubling about other people. But Irather like you telling me not to bet on it!"

"She wouldn't suit Eugene. "

"No; lead him the devil of a life. "

"She don't care for him. "

"Not a straw. "

"Then, why don't she break it off?"

"Ah, you innocent?" said Rickmansworth, with a broad grin. "Never heardof such a thing as money in the case, did you? Where have you been theselast five-and-forty years?"

"Your raillery's a little fatiguing, Rick, if you don't mind my sayingso. "

"Say anything you like, old chap, as long as it isn't swearing. That's_verbot_ here--penalty one mark--see regulations. You must go outside, if you want to curse, barring of course you're a millionaire and like tomake a splash. "

"Rick, Rick, you do not amuse me. I do not belong to the AlbatrossClub. "

"No; over age, " replied his companion blandly, and chuckled violently. 

"I like to score off old Ayre, you know, " he said, in reporting theepisode afterward. "He thinks himself smart. "

"But look here. I want you to do this: you go to Haddington and stir himup; tell him to bustle along; tell him Kate is fooling him, and make himput it to her--yes or no. "

"Why? it's not my funeral!"

"Is that your latest American? I wish you'd find native slang; we usedin my day; but I'll tell you why. It's because she's keeping him on tillshe sees what Eugene'll do. She's treating Eugene shamefully. "

"Oh, stow all that! Eugene is not so remarkably strict, you know. " AndLord Rickmansworth winked. 

"Well, we'll leave that out, " said Ayre smiling. "Tell him it's treating_him_ shamefully. "

"That's more the ticket. But what if she says 'No'?"

"If she says 'No' right out, I'm done, " said Ayre. "But will she?"

"The devil only knows!" said Lord Rickmansworth. 

"Do you think you won't bungle it?"

"Do you take me for an ass? I'll make him move, Ayre; he shall give hera chaste salute before the day's out. Old Eugene's no better than heshould be, but I'll see him through. "

Ayre thought privately that his companion had perhaps other motives thanlove for Eugene: perhaps family feelings, generally dormant, hadasserted themselves; but he had the wisdom not to hint at this. 

"If you can frighten him, he'll press it on. "

"Do you think I might lie a bit?"

"No, I shouldn't lie. It's awkward. Besides, you know you wouldn't doit, and you couldn't if you tried. "

"I'll stir him up, " reiterated Rickmansworth. "Give me my prayer-bookand parasol, and I'll go and find him. "

Ayre ignored what he supposed to be the joke buried in this saying, andsaw his friend off on his errand, repeating his instructions as he went. 

What Lord Rickmansworth said to Mr. Haddington has never, as thenewspapers put it, transpired. But ever since that date Sir Roderick hasalways declared that Rick is not such a fool as he looks. Certainly theenvoy was well pleased with himself when he rejoined his companion atdinner, and after imbibing a full glass of champagne, said:

"To-night, my worthy old friend, you will see. "

"Did he bite?"

"He bit. That fellow's no fool. He saw Kate's game when I pointed itout. "

"Will he stand up to her?"

"Rather! going to hold a pistol to her head. "

"I wonder what she'll say?"

"That's your lookout. I've done my stage. "

Ayre was nearer excitement than he had been for a long while. Afterdinner he could not rest. Refusing to accompany Rickmansworth to theentertainment the latter was bound for, he strolled out into the quietwalks outside the Kurhaus, which were deserted by visitors and peopledonly by a few frugal natives, who saved their money and took the musicof the band from a cheap distance. But surely some power was fightingfor him, for before he had gone a hundred yards he saw on one of theseats in front of him two persons whom the light of the moon clearlydisplayed as Kate and Haddington. At Baden there is a littlehillside--one path runs at the bottom, another runs along the side ofthe hill, halfway up. Ayre hastily diverted his steps into the upperpath. A minute's walk brought him directly behind the pair. Trees hidhim from them; a seat invited him. For a moment he struggled. Then, _rubesco referens_, he sat down and deliberately listened. With thesophisms by which he sought to justify this action, we have no concern;perhaps he was not in reality much concerned about them. But what heheard had its importance. 

"I have been more patient than most men, " Haddington was saying. 

"You have no right to speak in that way, " Kate protested; "it's--it'snot respectful. "

"Kate, have we not got beyond respect?"

"I hope not, " said Sir Roderick to himself. 

"I mean, " Haddington went on, "there is a point at which you must facerealities. Kate, do you love me?"

Ayre leant forward and peered through the bushes. 

"I will not break my engagement. "

"That is no answer. "

"I can't help it. I have been taught--"

"Oh, taught! Kate, you know Lane; you know what he is. You saw him withLady--"

"You're very unkind. "

"And for his sake you throw away what I offer?"

"Won't you be patient?"

"Ah, you admit--"

"No, I don't!"

"But you can't deny it. Now you make me happy. "

The conversation here became so low in tone that Ayre, to his vastdisgust, was unable to overhear it. The next words that reached his earcame again from Haddington. 

"Well, I will wait--I will wait three months. If nothing happens then, you will break it off?"

A gentle "Yes" floated up to the eavesdropper. 

"Though why you want him to break it off rather than yourself, I don'tknow. "

"He doesn't appreciate her morality, " reflected Ayre, with a chuckle. 

"Kate, we are promised to one another? secretly, if you like, butpromised?"

"I'm afraid it's very wrong. "

"Why, he deliberately insulted you!"

The tones again became inaudible; but after a pause there came a soundthat made Ayre almost jump. 

"By Jove!" he whispered in his excitement. "Confound these trees! Was itonly her hand, or--"

"Then I have your promise, dear?"

"Yes; in three months. But I must go in. Aunt will be angry. "

"You won't let him win you over?"

"He has treated me badly; but I don't want it said I jilted him. "

They had risen by now. 

"You ask such a lot of me, " said Haddington. 

"Ah! I thought you said you loved me. Can't you wait three months?"

"I suppose I must. But, Kate, you are sincere with me? Tell me you loveme. "

Again Ayre leant forward. They had began to walk away, but nowHaddington stopped, and laying his hand on Kate's arm, detained her. "Say you love me, " he said again. 

"Yes, I love you!" said Kate, with commendable confusion, and theyresumed their walk. 

"What is her game?" Ayre asked himself. "If she means to throw Eugeneover, why doesn't she do it right out? I don't believe she does. She'safraid he'll throw her over. And, by Jove! she fobbed that fool offagain! We're no further forward than we were. If he makes trouble aboutthis she'll deny the whole thing. Miss Bernard is a lady of talent. But--no, can I? Yes, I will. Rather than let her win, I'll step in. I'llgo and see her to-morrow. We shall neither of us be in a position toreproach the other. But I'll see what I can do. But Haddington! To thinkshe should get round him again!"

CHAPTER IX. 

The Battle of Baden. 

Lord Rickmansworth was enjoying himself. Over and above the particularpleasures for whose sake he had come to Baden, he relished intensely thenew attitude in which he found himself standing toward Ayre. Throughouttheir previous acquaintance it had been Rickmansworth who was eager andexcited, Ayre who applied the cold water. Now the parts were reversed, and the younger man found great solace in jocosely rallying his senioron his unwonted zeal and activity. Ayre accepted his friend's jocosityand his own excitement with equal placidity. Reproaches had neverstirred him to exertion; ridicule would not stop him now. He took leaveto add himself to the materials for slightly contemptuous amusement thatthe world had hitherto afforded him, and he found his own absurd actionsa very sensible addition to his resources. He realized why people whonever act on impulse and never do uncalled-for things are not only dullto others, but suffer boredom themselves. However the Millsteadlove-affairs affected the principal actors, there can be no questionthat they relieved Sir Roderick Ayre from _ennui_ for a considerablenumber of months and exercised a very wholesome effect on a man who hadcome to take pride in his own miserable incapacity for honest emotion. 

He rose the next morning as nearly with the lark as could reasonably beexpected; more nearly with the lark than the domestic staff of theBadischerhof at all approved of. Was not Kate Bernard in the habit oftaking the waters at half-past seven? And in solitude? For Haddington'sdevotion was not allowed by him to interfere with that early ride whichis so often a mark of legislators, and an assertion, I suppose, of thestrain on their minds that might be ignored or doubted if not backed upby some such evidence. The strain, of course, followed Haddington toBaden; it was among his most precious appurtenances; and Ayre, relyingupon it, had little doubt that he could succeed in finding Kate aloneand unprotected. 

He was not deceived. He found Kate just disposing of her draught, and anoffer of his company for a stroll was accepted with tolerablegraciousness. Kate distrusted him, but she thought there was use inkeeping on outwardly good terms; and she had no suspicion of hisshameless conduct the night before. Ayre directed their walk to the verysame seat on which she and Haddington had sat. As they passed, eitherromance or laziness suggested to Kate that they should sit down. Ayreaccepted her proposal without demur, asked and obtained leave for acigarette, and sat for a few moments in apparent ease and vacancy ofmind. He was thinking how to begin. 

"Ought one ever to do evil that good may come?" he did begin, a long wayoff. 

"Dear me, Sir Roderick, what a curious question! I suppose not. "

"I'm sorry; because I did evil last night, and I want to confess. "

"I really don't want to hear, " said Kate, in some alarm. There's notelling what men will say when they become confidential, and Kate'spropriety was a tender plant. 

"It concerns you. "

"Me? Nonsense! How can it?"

"In order to serve a friend, I did a--well--a doubtful thing. "

Kate was puzzled. 

"You are in a curious mood, Sir Roderick. Do you often ask moralcounsel?"

"I am not going to ask it. I am, with your kind permission, going tooffer it. "

"You are going to offer me moral counsel?"

"I thought of taking that liberty. You see, we are old friends. "

"We have known one another some time. "

Ayre smiled at the implied correction. 

"Do you object to plain speaking?"

"That depends on the speaker. If he has a right, no; if not, yes. "

"You mean I should have no right?"

"I certainly don't see on what ground. "

"If not an old friend of yours, as I had hoped to be allowed to rankmyself, I am, anyhow, a very old friend of Eugene's. "

"What has Mr. Lane to do with it?"

"As an old friend of his--"

"Excuse me, Sir Roderick; you seem to forget that Mr. Lane is even morethan an old friend to me. "

"He should be, no doubt, " said Ayre blandly. 

"I shall not listen to this. No old friendship excuses impertinence, SirRoderick. "

"Pray don't be angry. I have really something to say, and--pardonme--you must hear it. "

"And what if I refuse?"

"True; I did wrong to say 'must. ' You are at perfect liberty. Only, ifyou refuse, Eugene must hear it. "

Kate paused. Then, with a laugh, she said:

"Perhaps I am taking it too gravely. What is this great thing I musthear?"

"Ah! I hoped we could settle it amicably. It's merely this: you mustrelease Eugene from his engagement. "

Kate did not trouble to affect surprise. She knew it would be useless. 

"Did he send you to tell me this?"

"You know he didn't. "

"Then whose envoy are you? Ah! perhaps you are Claudia Territon's chosenknight?"

"Not at all, " said Ayre, still unruffled. "I have had no communicationwith Lady Claudia--a fact of which you have no right to affect doubt. "

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean you must release Eugene. "

"Pray tell me why, " asked she calmly, but with a calm only obtainedafter effort. 

"Because it is not usual--and in this matter it seems to me usage isright--it is not usual for a young lady to be engaged to two men atonce. "

"You are merely insolent. I will wish you good-morning. "

"I am glad you understand my insinuation. Explanations are so tedious. Where are you going, Miss Bernard?"

"Home. "

"Then I must tell Eugene?"

"Tell him what you like. " But she sat down again. 

"You are engaged to Eugene?"

"Of course. "

"You are also engaged to Spencer Haddington. "

"It's untrue; you know it's untrue. Are you an old woman, to think agirl can't speak to a man without being engaged to him?"

"I must congratulate you on your liberality of view, Miss Bernard. Ihad hardly given you credit for it. But you know it isn't untrue. Youare under a promise to give Haddington your hand in three months: not, mark you, a conditional promise--an absolute promise. "

"That is not a happy guess. "

"It's not a guess at all. No doubt you mean it to be conditional. Heunderstood, and you meant him to understand, it as an absolute promise. "

"How dare you accuse me of such things?"

"Nothing short of absolute knowledge would so far embolden me. "

"Absolute knowledge?"

"Yes, last night. "

Kate's rage carried her away. She turned on him in fury. 

"You listened!"

"Yes, I listened. "

"Is that what a gentleman does?"

"As a rule, it is not. "

"I despise you for a mean dastard! I have no more to say to you. "

"Come, Miss Bernard, let us be reasonable. We are neither of usblameless. "

"Do you think Eugene would listen to such a tale? And such a person?"

"He might and he might not. But Haddington would. "

"What could you tell him?"

"I could tell him that you're making a fool of him--keeping himdangling on till you have arranged the other affair one way or theother. What would he say then?"

Kate knew that Haddington was already tried to the uttermost. She knewwhat he would say. 

"You see I could--if you'll allow me the metaphor--blow you out of thewater. "

"You daren't confess how you got the knowledge. "

"Oh, dear me, yes, " said Ayre, smiling. "When you're opening a blindman's eyes he doesn't ask after your moral character. You must considerthe situation on the hypothesis that I am shameless. "

Kate was not strong enough to carry on the battle. She had fury, but notdoggedness. She burst into tears. 

"If I were doing all you say, whose fault was it?" she sobbed. "Didn'tEugene treat me shamefully?"

"If he flirted a little, it was in part your fault. If you had flirted alittle with Haddington, I should have said nothing. But this--well, thisis a little strong. "

"I am a very unhappy girl, " said Kate. 

"It isn't as if you cared twopence for Eugene, you know. "

"No, I hate him!" said Kate, unwisely yielding to anger again. 

"I thought so. And you will do what I ask?"

"If I don't, what will you do?"

"I shall write to Eugene. I shall see Haddington; and I shall see youraunt. I shall tell them all that I know, and how I know it. Come, MissBernard, don't be foolish. You had better take Haddington. "

"I know it's all a plot. You're all fighting in that little creature'sinterest. "

"Meaning--?"

"Claudia Territon. But if I can help it, Eugene shall never marry her. "

"That's another point. "

"His friend Father Stafford will have to be considered there. "

"Do not let us drift into that. Will you write?"

"To whom?"

"To Eugene. "

Kate looked at him with a healthy hatred. 

"And you will tell Haddington he needn't wait those three months?"

"I suppose you're proud of yourself now!" she broke out. "Firsteavesdropping, and then bullying a girl!"

"I'm not at all proud of myself, and I am, if you'd believe it, rathersorry for you. "

"I shall take care to let your friends know my opinion of you. "

"Certainly--with any details you think advisable. Have I your promise?Is it any use struggling any longer? This scene is so very unpleasant. "

"Won't you give me a week?"

"Not a day!"

Kate drew herself up with a sort of dignity. 

"I despise you and your schemes, and Eugene Lane, and Claudia Territon, and all your crew!" she allowed herself to say. 

"But you promise?"

"Yes, I promise. There! Now, may I go?"

Ayre courteously took off his hat, and stood on one side, holding it inhis hand and bowing slightly as she swept indignantly by him. 

"I'll give her a day to tell Haddington, and three days to tell Eugene. Unless she does, I must go through it all again, and it's damnablyfatiguing. She's not a bad sort--fought well when she was cornered. ButI couldn't let Eugene do it--I really couldn't. Ugh! I'll go back tobreakfast. "

Kate was cowed. She told Haddington. Let us pass over that scene. Shealso wrote to Eugene, addressing the letter to Millstead Manor. Eugenewas not at Millstead Manor; and if Ayre had hastily assumed that his_fiancée_ would be in possession of his address, was it her business toundeceive him? She was by no means inclined to do one jot more thanfulfill the letter of her bond--whereby it came to pass that Eugene didnot receive the letter for nearly two months and did not know of hisrecovered liberty all that time. For Haddington, in his joy, easilypromised silence for a little while; it seemed only decent; and evenAyre could not refuse to agree with him that, though Eugene must betold, nobody else ought to be until Eugene had formally signified hisassent to the lady's transfer. Ayre could not take upon himself, on hisfriend's behalf, the responsibility of dispensing with this ceremony, though he was sure it would be a mere ceremony. 

As for Ayre himself, when his task was done he straightway fled fromBaden. He was a hardened sinner, but he could not face Mrs. Welman. 

It was, however, plainly impossible to confine the secret so strictly asto prevent it coming to the knowledge of Lord Rickmansworth. Indeed hehad a right to know the issue, for he had been a sharer in the design;and accordingly, when he also left Baden and betook himself to his ownhouse to spend what was left of the autumn, he carried locked in hisheart the news of the fresh development. On the whole he observed theinjunction of silence urgently laid upon him by Ayre with tolerablefaithfulness. But there are limits to these things, and it never enteredRickmansworth's head that his sister was included among the persons whowere to remain in ignorance till the matter was finally settled. He metClaudia at the family reunion at Territon Park in the beginning ofOctober, and when she and he and Bob were comfortably seated at dinnertogether, among the first remarks he made--indeed, he was brimming overwith it--was:

"I suppose you've heard the news, Clau?"

What with one thing--packing and unpacking, traveling, perhaps lessobvious troubles--Lady Claudia was in a state which, if it manifesteditself in a less attractive person, might be called snappish. 

"I never hear any news, " she answered shortly. 

"Well, here's some for you, " replied the Earl, grinning. "Kate haschucked Eugene over. "

"Nonsense!" But she started and colored, all the same. 

"I suppose you were at Baden and saw it all, and I wasn't!" saidRickmansworth, with ponderous satire. "So we won't say any more aboutit. "

"Well, what do you mean?"

"No; never mind! It doesn't matter--all a mistake. I'm always makingsome beastly blunder--eh, Bob?" and he winked gently at his appreciativebrother. 

"Yes, you're an ass, of course!" said Bob, entering into the familyhumor. 

"Good thing I've got a sister to keep me straight!" pursued the Earl, who was greatly amused with himself. "Might have gone about believingit, you know. "

Claudia was annoyed. Brothers are annoying at times. 

"I don't see any fun in that, " she said. 

Lord Rickmansworth drank some beer (beer was the Territon drink), andmaintained silence. 

The butler came in with his satellite, swept away the beer and theother _impedimenta_, and put on dessert. The servants disappeared, butsilence still reigned unbroken. 

Claudia arose, and went round to her brother's chair. He wasostentatiously busy with a large plum. 

"Rick, dear, won't you tell me?"

"Tell you! Why, it's all nonsense, you know. "

"Rick, dear!" said Claudia again, with her arm around his neck. 

He was going to carry on his jest a little further, when he happened tolook at her. 

"Why, Clau, you look as if you were almost--"

"Never mind that, " she said quickly. "Oh! do tell me. "

"It is quite true. She's written breaking it off, and has acceptedHaddington. But it's a secret, you know, till they've heard from Eugene, at all events. Must hear in a day or two. "

"Is it really true?

"Of course it is. "

Claudia kissed him, and suddenly ran out of the room. 

The brothers looked at one another. 

"I hope that's all right?" said the elder questioningly. 

"I expect so, " answered the younger. "But, you see, you don't quite knowwhere to have Eugene. "

"I shall know where to have him, if necessary. "

"You'd better keep your hoof out of it, old man, " said Bob candidly. 

Pursuing his train of thought, Rickmansworth went on:

"Must have been rather a queer game at Millstead?"

"Yes. There was Eugene and Kate, and Claudia and the parson, and oldAyre sticking his long nose into it. "

"Trust old Ayre for that; and is it a case?"

"Well, now Kate's out of it, I expect it is, only you don't know whereto have Eugene. And there's the parson. "

"Yes; Ayre told us a bit about him. But she doesn't care for him?"

"She didn't tell him so--not by any means, " said Bob; "and I bet he'sfar gone on her. "

"She can't take him. "

"Good Lord! no. "

Though how they proposed to prevent it did not appear. 

"Think Lane'll write to her?"

"He ought to, right off. "

"Queer girl, ain't she?"

"Deuced!"

"Old Ayre! I say, Bob, you should have seen the old sinner at Baden. "

"What? with Kate?"

"No; the other business. "

And they plunged into matters with which we need not concern ourselves, and proceeded to rend and destroy the character of that mostrespectable, middle-aged gentleman, Sir Roderick Ayre. The historianhastens to add that their remarks were, as a rule, entirely devoid oftruth, with which general comment we may leave them. 

CHAPTER X. 

Mr. Morewood is Moved to Indignation. 

When Morewood was at work he painted portraits, and painted themuncommonly well. Of course he made his moan at being compelled to spendall his time on this work. He was not, equally of course, in any waycompelled, except in the sense that if you want to make a large incomeyou must earn it. This is the sense in which many people are compelledto do work, which they give you to understand is not the most suited totheir genius, and it must be admitted that, although their words arefoolish, not to say insincere, yet their deeds are sensible. There canbe no mistake about the income, and there often is about the genius. Morewood, whose eccentricity stopped short of his banking account, painted his portraits like other people, and only deviated intolandscape for a month in the summer, with the unfailing result offurnishing a crop of Morewoodesque parodies on Mother Nature thatconclusively proved the fates were wiser than the painter. 

This year it so chanced that he chose the wilds of Exmoor for the sceneof his outrages. He settled down in a small inn and plied his brushbusily. Of course he did not paint anything that the ordinary personcared to see, or in the way in which it would appear to such person. Buthe was greatly pleased with his work; and one day, as he threw himselfdown on a bank at noon and got out his bread and cheese, he was socarried away, being by nature a conceited man, as to exclaim:

"My head of Stafford was the best head done these hundred years; andthat's the best bit of background done these hundred and fifty!"

The frame of the phrase seemed familiar to him as he uttered it, and hehad just succeeded in tracing it back to the putative parentage of LordVerulam, when, to his great astonishment, he heard Stafford's voice fromthe top of the bank, saying:

"As I am in your mind already, Mr. Morewood, I feel my bodily appearanceless of an intrusion on your solitude. "

"Why, how in the world did you come here?"

The spot was within ten miles of the Retreat, and part of Stafford'streatment for himself consisted of long walks; but he only replied:

"I am staying near here. "

"For health, eh?"

"Yes--for health. "

"Well, I'm glad to see you. How are you? You don't look veryfirst-class. "

Stafford came down the bank without replying, and sat down. He was, inspite of it being the country and very hot, dressed in his usual black, and looked paler and thinner than ever. 

"Have some lunch?"

Stafford smiled. 

"There's only enough for one, " he said. 

"Nonsense, man!"

"No, really; I never take it. "

A pause ensued. Stafford seemed to be thinking, while Morewood wasundoubtedly eating. Presently, however, the latter said:

"You left us rather suddenly at Millstead. "

"Yes. "

"Sent for?"

"You of all men know why I went, Mr. Morewood. "

"If you don't mind my admitting it, I do. But most people are sothin-skinned. "

"I am not thin-skinned--not in that way. Of course you know. You toldme. "

"That head?"

"Yes; you did me a service. "

"Well, I think I did, and I'm glad to hear you say so. "

"Why?"

"Shows you've come to your senses, " said Morewood, rapidly recoveringfrom his lapse into civility. 

Stafford seemed willing, even anxious, to pursue the subject. The_regimen_ at the Retreat was no doubt severe. 

"What do you mean by coming to my senses?"

"Why, doing what any man does when he finds he's in love--barring asound reason against it. "

"And that is?"

"Try his luck. You needn't look at me. I've tried my luck before now, and it was damned bad luck. So here I am, a musty old curmudgeon; andthere's Ayre, a snarling old cur!"

"I don't bore you about it?"

"No, I like jawing. "

"Well then, I was going to say, of course you don't know how it struckme. "

"Yes, I do, but I don't think any the better of it for that. "

"You knew about my vow? I suppose you think that--"

"Bosh? Yes, I do. I think all vows bosh; but without asking you to agreeto that, though I think I did ask the Bishop of Bellminster to, I do saythis one is utter bosh. Why, your own people say so, don't they?"

"My own people? The people I suppose you mean don't say so. I took a vownever to marry--there were even more stringent terms--but that'senough. "

"Well?"

"A vow, " continued Stafford, "that you won't marry till you want to isnot the same as a vow never to marry. "

"No. I think I could manage the first sort. "

"The first sort, " said Stafford, with a smile, "is nowadays a popularcompromise. "

"I detest compromises. That's why I liked you. "

"You're advising me to make one now. "

"No, I advise you to throw up the whole thing. "

"That's because you don't believe in anything?"

"Yes, probably. "

"Suppose you believed all I believe and had done all I had?"

"How do you mean?"

"You believed what a priest believes--in heaven and hell--the gainingGod and the losing him--in good and evil. Supposing you, believing this, had given your life to God, and made your vow to him--had so proclaimedbefore men, had so lived and worked and striven! Supposing you thought abroken vow was death to your own soul and a trap to the souls ofothers--a baseness, a treason, a desertion--more cowardly than asoldier's flight--as base as a thief's purloining--meaning to you andthose who had trusted you the death of good and the triumph of evil?"

He sat still, but his voice was raised in rapid and intense utterance;he gazed before him with starting eyes. 

"All that, " he went on, "it meant to me--all that and more--the triumphof the beast in me--passion and desire rampant--man forsaken and Godbetrayed--my peace forever gone, my honor forever stained. Can't yousee? Can't you see?"

Morewood rose and paced up and down. 

"Now--now can you judge? You say you knew--did you know that?"

"Do you still believe all that?"

"Yes, all, and more than all. For a moment--a day--perhaps a week, Idrove myself to doubt. I tried to doubt--I rejoiced in it. But I cannot. As God is above us, I believe all that. "

"If you break this vow you think you will be--?"

"The creature I have said? Yes--and worse. "

"I think the vow utter nonsense, " said Morewood again. 

"But if you thought as I think, then would your love--yes, and would agirl's heart, weigh with you?"

Morewood stood still. 

"I can hardly realize it, " he said, "in a man of your brain. But--"

"Yes?" said Stafford, looking at him almost as if he were amused, forhis sudden outburst had left him quite calm. 

"If I believed that, I'd cut off my hand rather than break the vow. "

"I knew it!" cried Stafford, "I knew it!"

Morewood was touched with pity. 

"If you're right, " he said, "it won't be so hard to you. You'll get overit. "

"Get over it?"

"Yes; what you believe will help you. You've no choice, you know. "

Stafford still wore a look of half-amusement. 

"You have never felt belief?" he asked. 

"Not for many years. That's all gone. "

"You think you have been in love?"

"Of course I have--half a dozen times. "

"No more than the other, " said Stafford decisively. 

Morewood was about to speak, but Stafford went on quickly:

"I have told you what belief is--I could tell you what love is; you knowno more the one than the other. But why should I? I doubt if you wouldunderstand. You think you couldn't be shocked. I should shock you. Letit be. I think I could charm you, too. Let that be. "

A pause followed. Stafford still sat motionless, but his face graduallychanged from its stern aspect to the look that Morewood had once caughton his canvas. 

"You're in love with her still?" he exclaimed. 

"Still?"

"Yes. Haven't you conquered it? I'm a poor hand at preaching, but, byJove! If I thought like you, I'd never think of the girl again. "

"I mean to marry her, " said Stafford quietly. "I have chosen. "

Morewood was in very truth shocked. But Stafford's morals, after all, were not his care. 

"Perhaps she won't have you, " he suggested at last, as though it were ahappy solution. 

Stafford laughed outright. 

"Then I could go back to my priesthood, I suppose?"

"Well--after a time. "

"As a burglar who is caught before his robbery goes back to his trade. As if it made the smallest difference--as if the result mattered!"

"I suppose you are right there. "

"Of course. But she will have me. "

"Do you think so?"

"I don't doubt it. If I doubted it, I should die. "

"I doubt it. "

"Pardon me; I dare say you do. "

"You don't want to talk about that?"

"It isn't worth while. I no more doubt it than that the sun shines. Well, Mr. Morewood, I am obliged to you for hearing me out. I had acuriosity to see how my resolution struck you. "

"If you have told me the truth, it strikes me as devilish. I'm no saint;but if a man believes in good, as you do, by God, he oughtn't to trampleit under foot!"

Stafford took no notice of him, He rose and held out his hand. "I'mgoing back to London to-morrow, " he said, "to wait till she comes. "

"God help you!" said Morewood, with a sudden impulse. 

"I have no more to do with God, " said Stafford. 

"Then the devil help you, if you rely on him!"

"Don't be angry, " he said, with a swift return of his old sweet smile. "In old days I should have liked your indignation. I still like you forit. But I have made my choice. "

"'Evil, be thou my good. ' Is that it?"

"Yes, if you like. Why talk about it any more? It is done. "

He turned and walked away, leaving Morewood alone to finish hisforgotten lunch. 

He could not get the thought of the man out of his mind all day. It waswith him as he worked, and with him when he sat after dinner in theparlor of his little inn, with his pipe and whisky and water. He was sofull of Stafford that he could not resist the impulse to tell somebodyelse, and at last he took a sheet of paper. 

"I don't know if he's in town, " he said, "but I'll chance it;" and hebegan:

 "DEAR AYRE:

 "By chance down here I met the parson. He is mad. He painted for me the passion of belief--which he said I hadn't and implied I couldn't feel. He threatened to paint the passion of love, with the same assertion and the same implication. He is convinced that if he breaks his vow (you remember it, of course) he'll be worse than Satan. Yet his face is set to break it. You probably can't help it, and wouldn't if you could, for you haven't heard him. He's going to London. Stop him if you can before he gets to Claudia Territon. I tell you his state of mind is hideous. 

 "Yours, "A. MOREWOOD. "

This somewhat incoherent letter reached Sir Roderick Ayre as he passedthrough London, and tarried a day or two in early October. He opened it, read it, and put it down on the breakfast-table. Then he read it again, and ejaculated. 

"Talk about madness! Why, because Stafford's mad--if he is mad--must ourfriend the painter go mad too? Not that I see he is mad. He's only beenstirring up old Morewood's dormant piety. "

He lit his cigar, and sat pondering the letter. 

"Shall I try to stop him? If Claudia and Eugene have fixed up things itwould be charitable to prevent him making a fool of himself. Why thedeuce haven't I heard anything from that young rascal? Hullo! who'sthat?"

He heard a voice outside, and the next moment Eugene himself rushed in. 

"Here you are!" he said. "Thought I should find you. You can't keepaway from this dirty old town. "

"Where do you spring from?" asked Ayre. 

"Liverpool. I found the Continent slow, so I went to America. Nothingmoving there, so I came back here. Can you give me breakfast?"

Ayre rang the bell, and ordered a new breakfast; as he did so he took upMorewood's letter and put it in his pocket. 

Eugene went on talking with gay affectation about his Americanexperiences. Only when he was through his breakfast did he approach hometopics. 

"Well, how's everybody?"

Ayre waited for a more definite question. 

"Seen the Territons lately?"

"Not very. Haven't you?"

"No. They weren't over there, you know. Are they alive?"

"My young friend, are you trying to deceive me? You have heard from atleast one of them, if you haven't seen them?"

"I haven't--not a line. We don't correspond: not _comme il faut_. "

"Oh, you haven't written to Claudia?"

"Of course not. "

"Why not?"

"Why should I?"

"Let us go back to the previous question. Have you heard from MissBernard?"

"Why probe my wounds? Not a single line. "

"Confound her impudence! she never wrote?"

"I don't know why she should. But in case she ought, I'm bound to sayshe couldn't. "

"Why not? She said she would; she said so to me. "

"She couldn't have said so. You must have misunderstood her. I left noaddress, you know; and I had no difficulty in eluding interviewers--notbeing a prize-fighter or a minor poet. "

Sir Roderick smiled. 

"Gad! I never thought of that. She held me, after all. "

"What on earth are you driving at?"

"If there's one thing I hate more than another, it's a narrative; but Isee I'm in for it. Sit still and hold your tongue till I'm through withit. "

Eugene obeyed implicitly; and Ayre, not without honest pride, recountedhis Baden triumph. 

"And unless she's bolder than I think, you'll find a letter to thateffect. "

Eugene sat very quiet. 

"Well, you don't seem overpleased, after all. Wasn't I right?"

"Quite right, old fellow. But, I say, is she in love with Haddington?"

"Ah, there's your beastly vanity? I think she is rather, you know, orshe'd never have given herself away so. "

"Rum taste!" said Eugene, whose relief at his freedom was tempered byannoyance at Kate's insensibility. "But I'm awfully obliged. And, byJove, Ayre, it's new life to me!"

"I thought so. "

Eugene had got over his annoyance. A sudden thought seemed to strikehim. 

"I say, does Claudia know?"

"Rickmansworth's sure to have told her on the spot. She must have knownit a month; and what's more, she must think you've known it a month. "

"Inference that the sooner I show up the better. "

"Exactly. What, are you off now? Do you know where she is?"

"I shall send a wire to Territon Park. Rick's sure to be there if sheisn't, and I'll go down and find out about it. "

"Wait a minute, will you? Have you heard from your friend Staffordlately?"

A shadow fell on Eugene's face. 

"No. But that's over. Must be, or he'd never have bolted fromMillstead. "

Ayre was silent a moment. Morewood's letter told him that Stafford hadset out to go to Claudia. What if he and Eugene met? Ayre had not muchfaith in the power of friendship under such circumstances. 

"I think, on the whole, that I'd better show you a letter I've had, " hesaid. "Mind you, I take no responsibility for what you do. "

"Nobody wants you to, " said Eugene, with a smile. "We all understandthat's your position. "

Ayre flung the letter over to him and he read it. 

"Oh, by Jove, this is the devil!" he exclaimed, jumping off thewriting-table, where he had seated himself. 

"So Morewood seems to think. "

"Poor old fellow! I say, what shall I do? Poor old Stafford! Fancy hiscutting up like this. "

"It's kind of you to pity him. "

"What do you mean? I say, Ayre, you don't think there is anything init?"

"Anything in it?"

"You don't think there's any chance that Claudia likes him?"

"Haven't an idea one way or the other, " said Ayre rather disingenuously. 

Eugene looked very perturbed. 

"You see, " continued Ayre, "it's pretty cool of you to assume the girlis in love with you when she knew you were engaged to somebody else upto a month ago. "

"Oh, damn it, yes!" groaned Eugene; "but she knew old Stafford had swornnot to marry anybody. "

"And she knew--of course she knew--you both wanted to marry her. Iwonder what she thought of both of you!"

"She never had any idea of the sort about him. About me she may have hadan inkling. "

"Just an inkling, perhaps, " assented Sir Roderick. 

"The worst of it is, you know, if she does like me I shall feel a brute, cutting in now. Old Stafford knew I was engaged too, you know. "

"It all serves you right, " observed Ayre comfortingly. "If you must getengaged at all, why the deuce couldn't you pick the right girl?"

"Fact is, I don't show up over well. "

"You don't; that is a fact. "

"Ayre, I think I ought to let him have his shot first. "

"Bosh! why, as like as not she'd take him! If it struck her that he waschucking away his immortal soul and all that for her sake, as like asnot she'd take him. Depend upon it, Eugene, once she caught the idea ofromantic sin, she'd be gone--no girl could stand up against it. "

"It is rather the sort of thing to catch Claudia's fancy. "

"You cut in, my boy, " continued Ayre, "Frendship's all very well--"

"Yes, 'save in the office and affairs of love!'" quoted Eugene, with asmile of scorn at himself. 

"Well, you'd better make up your mind, and don't mount stilts. "

"I'll go down and look round. But I can't ask her without telling her orletting him tell her. "

"Pooh! she knows. "

"She doesn't, I tell you. "

"Then she ought to. You're a nice fellow! I slave and eavesdrop for you, and now you won't do the rest yourself. What the deuce do you all see inthat parson? If I were your age, and thought Claudia Territon would haveme, it would take a lot of parsons to put me on one side. "

"Poor old Charley!" said Eugene again. "Ayre, he shall have his shot. "

"Meanwhile, the girl's wondering if you mean to throw her over. She'sexpected to hear from you this last month. I tell you what: I expectRick'll kick you when you do turn up. "

"Well, I shall go down and try to see her: when I get there I must beguided by circumstances. "

"Very good. I expect the circumstances will turn out to be such thatyou'll make love to Claudia and forget all about Stafford. If youdon't----"

"What?"

"You're an infernally cold-blooded conscientious young ruffian, and Inever took you for that before!"

And Ayre, more perturbed about other people's affairs than a man of hiscreed had any business to be, returned to the _Times_ as Eugene went topursue his errand. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Waiting Lady Claudia's Pleasure

Stafford had probably painted his state of mind in colors somewhat morestartling than the reality warranted. When a man is going to act againsthis conscience, there is a sort of comfort in making out that the crimehas features of more striking depravity than an unbiased observer woulddetect; the inclination in this direction is increased when it is aquestion of impressing others. Sin seems commonplace if we give it nopomp and circumstance. No man was more free than Stafford from anyconscious hypocrisy or posing, or from the inverted pride in immoralitythat is often an affectation, but also, more often than we are willingto allow, a real disease of the mind. But in his interview with Morewoodhe had yielded to the temptation of giving a more dramatic setting andstronger contrasts to his conviction and his action than the actualinmost movement of his mind justified. It was true that he wasdetermined to set action and conviction in sharp antagonism, and tofollow an overpowering passion rather than a belief that he depicted asno less dominant. Had his fierce words to Morewood reproduced exactlywhat he felt, it may be doubted whether the resultant of two forces soopposite and so equal could have been the ultimately unwaveringintention that now possessed him. In truth, the aggressive strength ofhis belief had been sapped from within. His efforts after doubt, described by himself as entirely unsuccessful, had not in reality beenwithout result. They had not issued in any radical or wholesalealteration of his views. He was right in supposing that he would stillhave given as full intellectual assent to all the dogmas of his creed asformerly; the balance of probability was still in his viewoverwhelmingly in their favor. But it had come to be a balance ofprobability--not, of course, in the way in which a man balances oneaccount of an ordinary transaction against another, and decides out ofhis own experience of how things happen--Stafford had not lost hismental discrimination so completely--but in the sense that he hadappealed to reason, and thus admitted the jurisdiction of reason inmatters which he had formerly proclaimed as outside the province of thatsort of reasoning that governs other intellectual questions. In theresult, he was left under the influence of a persuasion, not under thedominion of a command; and the former failed to withstand an assaultthat the latter might well have enabled him to repulse. He foundhimself able to forget what he believed, though not to disbelieve it;his convictions could be postponed, though not expelled; and inrepresenting his mind as the present battle-ground of equal and oppositeforces, he had rather expressed what a preacher would reveal as theinner truth of his struggle than what he was himself conscious of asgoing on within him. It is likely enough that his previous experiencehad made him describe his own condition rather in the rhetoric of thepulpit than in the duller language of a psychological narrative. He hadcertainly given Morewood one false impression, or rather, perhapsMorewood had drawn one false though natural inference for himself. Hethought of Stafford, and his letter passed on the same view to Eugene, as of a man suffering tortures that passed enduring. Perhaps at themoment of their interview such was the case: the dramatic pictureStafford had drawn had for the moment terrified afresh the man who drewit. His normal state of mind, however, at this time was not unhappy. Hewas wretched now and then by effort; he was tortured by the sense of sinwhen he remembered to be. But for the most part he was too completelyconquered by his passion to do other than rejoice in it. Possessedwholly by it, and full of an undoubting confidence that Claudia returnedhis love, or needed only to realize it fully to return it fully, he hadsilenced all opposition, and went forth to his wooing with anexultation and a triumph that no transitory self-judgments could greatlydiminish. Life lay before him, long and full and rich and sweet. Lettrouble be what it would, and right be what it might, life and love werein his own hands. The picture of a man giving up all he thought worthhaving, driven in misery by a force he could not resist to seek a remedythat he despaired of gaining--a remedy which, even if gained, wouldbring him nothing but fresh pain--this picture, over which Eugene wasmourning in honest and perplexed friendship, never took form as a truepresentment of himself to the man it was supposed to embody. If Eugenehad known this, he would probably have felt less sympathy and morerivalry, and would have assented to Ayre's view of the situation ratherthan doubtingly maintained his own. A man may sometimes change himselfmore easily than he can persuade his friends to recognize the change. 

Stafford left the Retreat the morning after his meeting with Morewood, feeling, he confessed to himself, as if he had taken a somewhat unfairadvantage of its hospitality. The result of his sojourn there, if knownto the Founder, might have been a trial of that enthusiast's consistencyto his principles, and Stafford was glad to be allowed to depart, as hehad come, unquestioned. He came straight to London, and turned at onceto the task of finding Claudia as soon as he could. The most likelyquarter for information was, he thought, Eugene Lane or his mother; andon the afternoon of his arrival in town--on the same day, that is, asEugene had surprised Sir Roderick at breakfast--he knocked at the doorof Eugene's house in Upper Berkeley Street, and inquired if Eugene wereat home. The man told him that Mr. Lane had returned only that morning, from America, he believed, and had left the house an hour ago, on hisway to Territon Park; he added that he believed Mr. Lane had received atelegram from Lord Rickmansworth inviting him to go down. Mrs. Lane wasat Millstead Manor. 

Stafford was annoyed at missing Eugene, but not surprised or disturbedto hear of his visit to Territon Park. Eugene did not strike him as apossible rival. It may be doubted whether in his present frame of mindhe would have looked on any man's rivalry as dangerous, but of course hewas entirely ignorant of the new development of affairs, and supposedEugene to be still the affianced husband of Miss Bernard. The only waythe news affected him was by dispelling the slight hope he hadentertained of finding that Claudia had already returned to London. 

He went back to his hotel, wrote a single line to Eugene, asking him totell him Claudia's address, if he knew it, and then went for a walk inthe Park to pass the restless hours away. It was a dull evening, and theearliest of the fogs had settled on the devoted city. A small drizzleof rain and the thickening blackness had cleared the place ofsaunterers, and Stafford, who prolonged his walk, apparently unconsciousof his surroundings, had the dreary path by the Serpentine nearly tohimself. As the fog grew denser and night fell, the spot became adesert, and its chill gloom began to be burdensome even to hisprepossessed mind. He stopped and gazed as far as the mist let him overthe water, which lay smooth and motionless, like a sheet of opaqueglass; the opposite bank was shrouded from his view, and imaginationallowed him to think himself standing on the shore of some almostboundless lake. Seen under such conditions, the Serpentine put off thecheerful vulgarity of its everyday aspect, and exercised over the spiritof the watcher the same fascination as a mountain tarn or some deep, quick-flowing stream. "Come hither and be at rest, " it seemed towhisper, and Stafford, responsive to the subtle invitation, for a momentfelt as if to die in the thought of his mistress would be as sweet as tolive in her presence, and, it might be, less perilous. At least he couldbe quiet there. His mind traveled back to a by-gone incident of hisparochial life, when he had found a wretched shop-boy crouching by thewater's edge, and trying to screw his courage up for the final plunge. It was a sordid little tragedy--an honest lad was caught in the toils ofsome slatternly Jezebel; she had made him steal for her, had spent hisspoil, and then deserted him for his "pal"--his own familiar friend. Adrift on the world, beggared in character and fortune, and sore to theheart, he had wandered to the edge of the water, and listened to itslow-voiced promises of peace. Stafford had stretched forth his hand topluck him from his doom and set him on his feet; he prevailed on the ladto go home in his company, and the course of a few days proved onceagain that despair may be no more enduring than delight. The incidenthad almost faded from his memory, but it revived now as he stood andlooked on the water, and he recognized with a start the depths to whichhe was in danger of falling. The invitation of the water could not drawhim to it till he knew Claudia's will. But if she failed him, was notthat the only thing left? His desire had swallowed up his life, andseemed to point to death as the only alternative to its ownsatisfaction. He contemplated this conclusion, not with the personalinterest of a man who thought he might be called to act uponit, --Claudia would rescue him from that, --but with a theoreticalcertainty that if by any chance the staff on which he leant shouldbreak, he would be in no other mind than that from which he had rescuedhis miserable shop-boy. Death for love's sake was held up in poetry andromance as a thing in some sort noble and honorable; as a man might diebecause he could not save his country, so might he because he could notplease his lady-love. In old days, Stafford, rigidly repressing hisaesthetic delight in such literature, had condemned its teaching withhalf-angry contempt, and enough of his former estimate of thingsremained to him to prevent him regarding such a state of mind as itpictured as a romantic elevation rather than a hopeless degradation of aman's being. But although he still condemned, now he understood, if notthe defense of such an attitude, at least the existence of it. He mightstill think it a folly; it no longer appeared a figment. A sin it was, no doubt, and a degradation, but not an enormity or an absurdity; andwhen he tried again to fancy his life without Claudia, he struggled invain against the growing conviction that the pictures he had condemnedas caricatures of humanity had truth in them, and that it might be hispart to prove it. 

With a shiver he turned away. Such imaginings were not good for a man, nor the place that bred them. He took the shortest cut that led out ofthe Park and back to the streets, where he found lights and people, andhis thoughts, sensitive to the atmosphere round him, took a brighterhue. Why should he trouble himself with what he would do if he weredeceived in Claudia? He knew her too well to doubt her. He had pushedaside all obstacles to seek her, and she would fly to meet him; and hesmiled at himself for conjuring up fantasies of impossible misfortune, only to enjoy the solace of laying them again with the sweet confidenceof love. He passed the evening in the contemplation of his happiness, awaiting Eugene's reply to his note with impatience, but withoutdisquiet. 

This same letter was, however, the cause of very serious disquiet to therecipient, more especially as it came upon the top of anothertroublesome occurrence. Rickmansworth had welcomed Eugene to TerritonPark with his usual good nature and his usual absence of effusion. Infact, he telegraphed that Eugene could come if he liked, but he, Rickmansworth, thought he'd find it beastly slow. Eugene went, butfound, to his dismay, that Claudia was not there. Some mystery hung overher non-appearance; but he learned from Bob that her departure had beenquite impromptu, --decided upon, in fact, after his telegram wasreceived, --and that she was staying some five miles off, at the DowerHouse, with her aunt, Lady Julia, who occupied that residence. 

Eugene was much annoyed and rather uneasy. 

"It looks as if she didn't want to see me, " he said to Bob. 

"It does, almost, " replied Bob cheerfully. "Perhaps she don't. "

"Well, I'll go over and call to-morrow. "

"You can if you like. _I_ should let her alone. "

Very likely Bob's words were the words of wisdom, but when did alover--even a tolerably cool-headed lover like Eugene--ever listen tothe words of wisdom? He went to bed in a bad temper. Then in the morningcame Stafford's letter, and of course Eugene had no kind of doubt as tothe meaning of it. Now, it had been all very well to be magnanimous andpropose to give his friend a chance when he thought the pear was onlywaiting to drop into his hand; magnanimity appeared at once safe anddesirable, and there was no strong motive to counteract Eugene's lovefor Stafford. Matters were rather different when it appeared that thepear was not waiting to drop--when, on the contrary, the pear hadpointedly removed itself from the hand of the plucker, and seemed, ifone may vary the metaphor, to have turned into a prickly pear. Eugenestill believed that Claudia loved him; but he saw that she was stung byhis apparent neglect, and perhaps still more by the idea that in hisview he had only to ask at any time in order to have. When ladies gatherthat impression, they think it due to their self-respect to makethemselves very unpleasant, and Eugene did not feel sure how far thisfeeling might not carry Claudia's quick, fiery nature, more especiallyif she were offered a chance of punishing Eugene by accepting a suitorwho was in many ways an object of her admiration and regard, and came toher with an indubitable halo of romance about him. Eugene felt that hisconsideration for Stafford might, perhaps, turn out to be more than agraceful tribute to friendship; it might mean a real sacrifice, asacrifice of immense gravity; and he did what most people would do--hereconsidered the situation. 

The matter was not, to his thinking, complicated by anything approachingto an implied pledge on his part. Of course Stafford had not looked uponhim as a possible rival; his engagement to Kate Bernard had seemed toput him _hors de combat_. But he had been equally entitled to regardStafford as out of the running; for surely Stafford's vow was as bindingas his promise. They stood on an equality: neither could reproach theother--that is to say, each had matter of reproach against the other, but his mouth was closed. There was then only friendship--only the oldbond that nothing was to come between them. Did this bond carry with itthe obligation of standing on one side in such a case as this? Moreover, time was precious. If he failed to seek out Claudia that very day, she, knowing he was at Territon Park, would be justly aggrieved by a newproof of indifference or disrespect. And yet, if he were to wait forStafford, that day must go by without his visit. Eugene had hithertolived pleasantly by means of never asking too much of himself, and inconsequence being always tolerably equal to his own demands uponhimself. Quixotism was not to be expected of him. A nice observance ofhonor was as much as he would be likely to attain to; and friendshipwould be satisfied if he gave the doubtful points against himself. 

He sat down after breakfast, and wrote a long letter to Stafford. 

After touching very lightly on Stafford's position, and disclaiming notonly any right to judge, but also any inclination to blame, he went onto tell in some detail the change that had occurred in his ownsituation, avowed his intention of gaining Claudia's hand if he could, clearly implied his knowledge that Stafford's heart was set on the sameobject, and ended with a warm declaration that the rivalry between themdid not and should not alter his love, and that, if unsuccessful, hecould desire to be beaten by no other man than Stafford. He added morewords of friendship, told Stafford that he should try his luck as soonas might be, and that he had Rickmansworth's authority to tell him that, if he saw proper to come down for the same purpose, his coming would notbe regarded as an intrusion by the master of the house. 

Then he went and obtained the authority he had pledged, and sent hisservant up to London with the letter, with instructions to deliver itinstantly into Stafford's own hand. His distrust in the integrity of thepostmaster's daughter in such a matter prevented his sending any furthermessage by the wires than one requesting Stafford to be at home toreceive his letter between twelve and one, when his messenger might beexpected to arrive. 

With a conscience clear enough for all practical purposes, he thenmounted his horse, rode over to the Dower House, and sent in his card toLady Julia Territon. Lady Julia was probably well posted up; at anyrate, she received him with kindness and without surprise, and, afterthe proper amount of conversation, told him she believed he would findClaudia in the morning-room. Would he stay to lunch? and would he excuseher if she returned to her occupations? Eugene prevaricated about thelunch, for the invitation was obviously, though tacitly, a contingentone, and conceded the lady's excuses with as respectable a show ofsincerity as was to be expected. Then he turned his steps to themorning-room, declining announcement, and knocked at the door. 

"Oh, come in, " said Claudia, in a tone that clearly implied, "if youwon't let me alone and stay outside. "

"Perhaps she doesn't know who it is, " thought Eugene, trying to comforthimself as he opened the door. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Lady Claudia is Vexed with Mankind. 

Of course she knew who it was, and her uninviting tone was a result ofher knowledge. We are yet awaiting a systematic treatise on thepsychology of women; perhaps they will some day be trained highly enoughto analyze themselves. Until this happens, we must wait; for no manunites the experience and the temperament necessary. This could beproved, if proof were required; but, happily, proof of assertions is notalways required, and proof of this one would lead us into a longdigression, bristling with disputable matter, and requiring perhapshardly less rare qualities than the task of writing the treatise itself. The modest scribe is reduced to telling how Claudia behaved, withoutpretending to tell why she behaved so, far less attempting to group herunder a general law. He is comforted in thus taking a lower place by thethought that after all nobody likes being grouped under general laws--itis more interesting to be peculiar--and that Claudia would have regardedsuch an attempt with keen indignation; and by the further thought thatif you once start on general laws, there's no telling where you willstop. The moment you get yours nicely formulated, your neighbor comesalong with a wider one, and reduces it to a subordinate proposition, oreven to the humiliating status of a mere example. Now even philosopherslose their temper when this occurs, while ordinary mortals resort toabuse. These dangers and temptations may be conscientiously, and shallbe scrupulously, avoided. 

Eugene advanced into the room with all the assurance he could muster; hecould muster a good deal, but he felt he needed it every bit, forClaudia's aspect was not conciliatory. She greeted him with civility, and in reply to his remark that being in the neighborhood he thought hemight as well call, expressed her gratification and hinted her surpriseat his remembering to do so. She then sat down, and for ten minutes bythe clock talked fluently and resolutely about an extraordinary varietyof totally uninteresting things. Eugene used this breathing-space torecover himself. He said nothing, or next to nothing, but waitedpatiently for Claudia to run down. She struggled desperately againstexhaustion; but at last she could not avoid a pause. Eugene'sgeneralship had foreseen that this opening was inevitable. Like Fabiushe waited, and like Fabius he struck. 

"I have been so completely out of the world--out of my own world--forthe last month that I know nothing. Didn't even have my letters senton. "

"Fancy!" said Lady Claudia. 

"I wish I had now. "

Claudia was meant to say "Why?" She didn't, so he had to make theconnection for himself. 

"I found one letter waiting for me that was most important. "

"Yes?" said Claudia, with polite but obviously fatigued interest. 

"It was from Miss Bernard. "

"Fancy not having her letters sent on!"

"You know what was in that letter, Lady Claudia?"

"Oh, yes; Rickmansworth told me. I don't know if he ought to have. I amso very sorry, Mr. Lane. "

"From not getting the letter, I didn't know for a month that I was free. I needn't shrink from calling it freedom. "

"As you were in America, it couldn't make much difference whether youknew or not. "

"I want you to know that I didn't know. "

"Really you are very kind. "

"I was afraid you would think--"

"Pray, what?" asked Claudia, in suspiciously calm tones. 

Eugene was conscious he was not putting it in the happiest possible way;however, there was nothing for it but to go on now. 

"Why, that--why, Claudia, that I shouldn't rush to you the moment I wasfree. "

Claudia was sitting on a sofa, and as he said this Eugene came up andleant his hands on the back of it. He thought he had done it rather wellat last. To his astonishment, she leapt up. 

"This is too much!" she cried. 

"Why, what?" exclaimed poor Eugene. 

"To come and tell me to my face that you're afraid I've been crying foryou for a month past!"

"Of course I don't mean--"

"Do I look very ill and worn?" demanded Claudia, with elaborate sarcasm. "Have I faded away? Make your mind easy, Mr. Lane. You will not haveanother girl's death at your door. "

Eugene so far forgot himself as to stare at the ceiling and exclaim, "Good God!"

This appeared to add new fuel to the flame. 

"You come and tell a girl--all but in words tell her--she was dying forlove of you when you were engaged to another girl; dying to hear fromyou; dying to have you propose to her! And when she's mildly indignantyou use some profane expression, just as if you had stated the mostordinary facts in the world! I am infinitely obliged for yourcompassion, Mr. Lane. "

"I meant nothing of the sort. I only meant that considering what hadpassed between us--"

"Passed between us?"

"Well, yes at Millstead, you know. "

"Are you going to tell me I said anything then, when I knew you wereengaged to Kate? I suppose you will stop short of that?"

Eugene wisely abandoned this line of argument. After all, most of thetalking had been on his side. 

"Why will you quarrel, Claudia? I came here in as humble a frame of mindas ever man came in. "

"Your humility, Mr. Lane, is a peculiar quality. "

"Won't you listen to me?"

"Have I refused to listen? But no, I don't want to listen now. You havemade me too angry. "

"Oh, but do listen just a little--"

Claudia suddenly changed her tone--indeed, her whole demeanor. 

"Not to-day, " she said beseechingly; "really, not to-day. I won't tellyou why; but not to-day. "

"No time like the present, " suggested Eugene. 

"Do you know there is something you don't allow for in women?"

"So it seems. What is that?"

"Just a little pride. No, I will not listen to you!" she added with animperious little stamp of her foot, and a relapse into hostility. 

"May I come again?"

"I don't know. "

Eugene was not a patient man. He allowed himself a shrug of theshoulders. 

"Are you about to congratulate me on having 'bagged' another?"

"You're entirely hopeless to-day, and entirely charming!" he said. "Ifany girl but you had treated me like this, I'd never come near heragain. "

Claudia looked daggers. 

"Pray don't make me an exception to your usual rule. "

"As it is, I shall go away now and come back presently. You may then atleast listen to me. That's all I've asked you to do so far. "

"I am bound to do that. I will some day. But do go now. "

"I will directly; but I want to speak to you about something else. "

"Anything else in the world! And on any other subject I willbe--charming--to you. Sit down. What is it?"

"It's about Stafford. "

"Your friend Father Stafford? What about him?"

"He's coming down here. "

"Oh, how nice! It will be a pleasant ref--resource. "

Eugene smiled. 

"Don't mind saying what you mean--or even what you don't mean; thatgenerally gives people greater pleasure. "

"You're making me angry again. "

"But what do you think he's coming for?"

"To see you, I suppose. "

"On the contrary. To see you. "

"Pray don't be absurd. "

"It's gospel truth, and very serious. He is in love with you. No--wait, please. You must forgive my speaking of it. But you ought to know. "

"Father Stafford?"

"No other. "

"But he--he's not going to marry anybody. He's taken a vow. "

"Yes. He's going to break it--if you'll help him. "

"You wouldn't make fun of this. Is it true?"

"Yes, it's desperately true. Now, I'm not going to tell you any more, orsay anything more about it. He'll come and plead his own cause. If you'dtreated me differently, I might have stopped him. As it is, he must comenow. "

"Why do you assume I don't want him to come?"

"I assume nothing. I don't know whether you'll make him happy or treathim as you've treated me. "

"I shan't treat him as I've treated you, Eugene; is he--is he veryunhappy about it?"

"Yes, poor devil!" said Eugene bitterly. "He's ready to give up thisworld and the next for you. "

"You think that strange?"

Eugene shook his head with a smile. 

 "'A man had given all other bliss And all his worldly worth, '"

he quoted. "Stafford would give more than that. Good-morning, LadyClaudia. "

"Good-by, " she said. "When is he coming?"

"To-day, I expect. "

"Thank you. "

"Claudia, if you take him, you'll let me know?"

"Yes, yes. "

She seemed so absent and troubled that he left her without more, andmade his way to his horse and down the drive, without giving a thoughtto the contingent lunch. 

"She'll marry me if she doesn't marry him, " he thought. "But, I say, Idid make rather an ass of myself!" And he laughed gently and ruefullyover Claudia's wrath and his own method of wooing. He would have laughedmuch the same gentle and rueful laugh over his own hanging, had such anunreasonable accident befallen him. 

So far as the main subject of the interview was concerned, Claudia waswell pleased with herself. Her indignation had responded verysatisfactorily to her call upon it and had enabled her to work off onEugene her resentment, not only for his own sins, but also forannoyances for which he could not fairly be held responsible. A patientlover must be a most valuable safety-valve. And although Eugene was notthe most patient of his kind, Claudia did not think that she had putmore upon him than he was able to bear--certainly not more than hedeserved to bear. She would have dearly loved the luxury of refusinghim, and although she had not been able to make up her mind to thisextreme measure, she had, at least, succeeded in infusing a spice ofdifficulty into his wooing. She was so content with the aspect ofaffairs in this direction that it did not long detain her thoughts, andshe found herself pondering more on the disclosure Eugene had made ofStafford's feelings than on his revelation of his own. It is difficult, without the aid of subtle distinctions, to say exactly what degree ofsurprise she felt at the news. She must, no doubt, have seen thatStafford was greatly attracted to her, and probably she would have feltthat the description of his state of mind as that of a man in love onlyerred to the extent that a general description must err when applied toa particular case. But she was both surprised and disturbed at hearingthat Stafford intended to act upon his feelings, and the very fact ofher power having overcome him did him evil service in her thoughts. Thesecret of his charm for her lay exactly in the attitude of renunciationthat he was now abandoning. She had been half inclined to fall in lovewith him just because there was no question of his falling in love withher. Her feelings toward Eugene, which lay deeper than she confessed, had prevented her actually losing her heart, or doing more thancontemplate the picture of her romantic passion, banned by all manner ofawful sanctions, as a not uninteresting possibility. By abandoning hisposition Stafford abandoned one great source of strength. On the otherhand, he no doubt gained something. Claudia was not insensible to thataspect of the case which Ayre had apprehended would influence her sopowerfully. She did perceive the halo of romance; and the idea of anAjax defying heavenly lightning for her sake had its attractiveness. ButAyre reasoning, as a man is prone and perhaps obliged to do, fromhimself to another, had omitted to take account of a factor in Claudia'smind about the existence of which, even if it had been suggested to him, he would have been profoundly skeptical. Ayre had never been able, or atleast never given himself the trouble, to understand how real a thingStafford's vow had been to him, and what a struggle was necessary beforehe could disregard it. He would have been still more at a loss toappreciate the force which the same vow exercised over Claudia. Staffordhimself had strengthened this feeling in her. Although the subject ofcelibacy, and celibacy by oath, had not been discussed openly betweenthem, yet in their numerous conversations Stafford had not failed torespond to her sympathetic invitations so far as to give himself fullliberty in descanting on the excellences of the life he had chosen forhimself. Every word he had spoken in its praise now rose to condemn itsbetrayal. And Claudia, who had been brought up in entire removal fromthe spirit which made Ayre and Eugene treat Stafford's vow as one of thepicturesque indiscretions of devotion, was unable to look upon thebreaking of it in any other light than that of a falsehood and an act oftreachery. Religion was to her a series of definite commands, andalthough her temperament was not such as enabled or led her to penetratebeneath the commands to the reason of them, or emboldened her to rely onthe latter rather than the former, she had never wavered in the viewthat at least these commands may and should be observed, and that, aboveall, by a man whose profession it was to inculcate them. This much ofgenuine disapproval of Stafford's conduct she undoubtedly felt; andthere it would be pleasant to leave the matter. But in the commandinginterest of truth it must be added that this genuine disapproval was, unconsciously perhaps to herself, strengthened by more mundane feelings, which would, if analyzed, have been resolved into a sense of resentmentagainst Stafford. He had come to her, as it were, under false pretenses. Relying on his peculiar position, she had allowed herself, withoutscruple, a freedom and expansion in her relations toward him that shewould have condemned, though perhaps not abstained from, had he stoodexactly where other men stood; and she felt that, if charged withencouraging him and fostering a delusion in his mind, her defense, though in reality a good one, was not one which the world would acceptas justifying her. She could not openly plead that she had flirted withhim, because she had never thought he would flirt with her; or allowedhim to believe she entertained a deeper regard for him than she didbecause he could be supposed to feel none for her. Yet that was thetruth; and perhaps it was a good defense. And Claudia was resentfulbecause she could not defend herself by using it, and her resentmentsettled upon the ultimate cause of her perplexities. 

When Eugene got back to Territon Park he was received by the brotherswith unaffected interest. They were passing the morning in an exhaustivemedical inspection of the dogs, but they left even this engrossingoccupation, and sauntered out to meet him. 

"Well, what luck?" asked Rickmansworth. 

"The debate is adjourned, " answered Eugene. 

"Did Clau make herself agreeable?"

"Well, no; in fact she made herself as disagreeable as she knew how. "

"Raised Cain, did she?" inquired Bob sympathetically. 

"Something of the sort; but I think it's all right. "

"You play up, old man, " said Bob. 

"Well, but what the devil are we to do with this parson?" LordRickmansworth demanded. "He'll be here after lunch, you know. You are anass, Eugene, to bring him down!"

"I'm not quite sure, you know, that he won't persuade her. "

"Why didn't you settle it this morning?"

"My dear fellow, she was impossible this morning. "

"Oh, bosh!" said his lordship. "Now I'll tell you what you ought to havedone--"

"Oh, shut up, Rick! What do you know about it? Stafford must try hisluck, if he likes. Don't you fellows bother about him. I'll see him whenhe comes down. "

"Would it be infernally uncivil if we happened to be out in the tandem!"suggested Rickmansworth. 

"I expect he'd be rather glad. "

"Then we will be out in the tandem. If you kill him, or the other way, just do it outside, will you, so as not to make a mess? Now we'll lunch, and then Bob, my boy, we'll evaporate. "

It was about three o'clock when Stafford arrived. He had managed tocatch the 1:30 from London, and must have started the moment he hadread his letter. He was shown into the billiard-room, where Eugene wasrestlessly smoking a cigar. 

He came swiftly up, and held out his hand, saying:

"This is like you, my dear old fellow. Not another man in England wouldhave done it. "

"Nonsense!" replied Eugene. "I ought to have done more. "

"More? How?"

"I ought to have waited till you came before I went to see her. "

"No, no; that would have been too much. "

He was quite calm and cool; apparently there was nothing on his mind, and he spoke of Eugene's visit as if it concerned him little. 

"I daresay you're surprised at all this, " he continued, "but I can'ttalk about that now. It would upset me again. Beside, there's no time. "

"Why no time?"

"I must go straight over and see her. "

"My dear Charley, are you set on going?"

"Of course. I came for that purpose. You know how sorry I am we arerivals; but I agree with what you said--we needn't be enemies. "

"It wasn't that I meant. But you don't ask how I fared. "

"Well, I was expecting you would tell me, if there was anything totell. "

"I went, you know, to ask her to be my wife. "

Stafford nodded. 

"Well, did you?"

"No, not exactly. "

"I thought not. "

"I tried to--I mean I wasn't kept back by loyalty to you--you mustn'tthink that. But she wouldn't let me. "

"I thought she wouldn't. "

Eugene began to understand his state of mind. In another man suchconfidence would have made him angry; but he had only pity for Stafford. 

"I must try and make him understand, " he thought. 

"Charley, " he began, "I don't think you quite follow, and it's not veryeasy to explain. She didn't refuse me. "

"Well, no, if you didn't ask, " said Stafford, with a slight smile. 

"And she didn't stop me in--in that way. Look here, old fellow; it's nouse beating about the bush. I believe she means to have me. "

Stafford said nothing. 

"But I don't say that to put you off going, because I'm not sure. But Ibelieve she does. And you ought to know what I think. I tell you all Iknow. "

"Do you tell me not to go?"

"I can't do that. I only tell you what I believe. "

"She said nothing of the sort?"

"No--nothing explicit. "

"Merely declined to listen?"

"Yes--but in a way. "

"My dear Eugene, aren't you deceiving yourself?"

"I think not. I think, you know, you're deceiving yourself. "

They looked at one another, and suddenly both men smiled. 

"I want to spare you, " said Eugene; "but it sounds a little absurd. "

"The sooner I go the better, " said Stafford. "I must tell you, oldfellow, I go in confident hope. If I am wrong--"

"Yes?"

"Everything is over! Would you feel that?"

Eugene was always honest with Stafford. He searched his heart. 

"I should be cut up, " he said. "But no--not that. "

Stafford smiled sadly. 

"How I wish I could do things by halves!" he exclaimed. 

"You will come back?"

"I'll leave a line for you as I go by. Whatever happens, you havetreated me well. "

"Good-by, old man. I can't say good luck. When shall I see you?"

"That depends, " said Stafford. 

Eugene showed him the road to the Dower House, and he set out at a briskwalk. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Lover's Fate and a Friend's Counsel. 

It was about half-past three when Stafford left Territon Park; about thesame hour Claudia sallied forth from the Dower House to take herconstitutional. When two people start to walk at the same time fromopposite ends of the same road, barring accidents, they meet somewhereabout the middle. In accordance with this law, when Claudia was abouttwo miles from home, walking along the path through the dense woods ofTerriton Park, she saw Stafford coming toward her. There were no meansof escape, and with a sigh of resignation she sat down on a rustic seatand awaited his approach. He saw her as soon as she saw him, and came upto her without any embarrassment. 

"I am lucky, " he said, "I was going over to see you. "

Claudia had given some thought to this interview and had determined onher best course. 

"Mr. Lane told me you were coming. "

"Dear old Eugene!"

"But I hoped you would not. "

"Don't let us begin at the end. I haven't seen you since I leftMillstead. Were you surprised at my going?"

"I was rather surprised at the way you went. "

"I thought you would understand it. Now, honestly, didn't you?"

"Perhaps I did. "

"I thought so. You had seen what I only saw that very night. Youunderstood--"

"Please, Father Stafford--"

"Say Mr. Stafford. "

"No. I know you as Father Stafford, and I like that best. "

"As you will--for the present. You knew how I stood. You saw I lovedyou--no, I am going on--and yet felt myself bound not to tell you. "

"I saw nothing of the kind. It never entered my head. "

"Claudia, is it possible? Did you never think of it?"

"As nothing more than a possibility--and a very unhappy possibility. "

"Why unhappy?" he asked, and his voice was very tender. 

"To begin with: you could never love any one. "

"I have swept all that on one side. That is over. "

"How can it be over? You had sworn. "

"Yes; but it is over. "

"Dare you break your vow?"

"If I dare, who else dare question me? Have I not counted the cost?"

"Nothing can make it right. "

"Why talk of that? It is my sin and my concern. "

"You destroy all my esteem for you. "

"I ask for love, not for esteem. Esteem between you and me! I love youmore than all the world. "

"Ah! don't say that!"

"Yes, more than my soul. And you talk of esteem! Ah! you don't know whata man's love is. "

"I never thought of you as making love. "

"I think now of nothing else. Why should I trouble you with mystruggles? Now I am free to love--and you, Claudia, are free to returnmy love. "

"Did you think I was in love with you?"

"Yes, " said Stafford. "But you knew my promise, and did not let yourselfsee your own feelings. Ah, Claudia! if it is only the promise!"

"It isn't only the promise. You have no right to speak like that. Ishould never have done as I did if I'd even thought of you like that. "

"What do you mean by saying it's not only the promise?"

"Why, that I don't love you--I never did--oh, what a wretched thing!"And she rose and paced about, clasping her hands. 

Stafford was very pale now, but very quiet. 

"You never loved me?"

"No. "

"But you will. You must, when you know my love--"

"No. "

"Yes, but you will. Let me tell you what you are--"

"No, I never can. "

"Is it true? Why?"

"Because--oh! don't you see?"

"No. Wasn't it because you loved me that you wouldn't let Eugene speak?"

"No, no, no!"

"Claudia, " he cried, clasping her wrist, "were you playing with him?"

No answer seemed possible but the truth. 

"Yes, " she said, bowing her head. 

"And playing with me?"

"No, that's unjust. I never did. I thought--"

"You thought I was beyond hurt?"

"I suppose so. You set up to be. "

"Yes, I set up to be, " he said bitterly. 

"And the truth--in God's name let us have truth--is that you love him?"

"Have you no pity? Why do you press me?"

"I will not press you; God forbid I should trouble you! But is this theend?"

"Yes. "

"It is final--no hope? Think what it means to me. "

"If I do care for Mr. Lane, is this friendly to him?"

"I am beyond friendship, as I am beyond conscience. Claudia, turn to me. No man ever loved as I do. "

"I can't help it, " she said: "I can't help it!"

Stafford sank down on the seat and sat there for a moment withoutspeaking. Claudia was awed at the look on his face. 

"Don't look like that!" she cried. "You look like a man lost. "

"Yes, lost!" he echoed. "All lost--all lost--and for nothing!"

Silence followed for a long time. Then he roused himself, and looked ather. Claudia's eyes were full of tears. 

"It's not your fault, my sweet lady, " he said gently. "You are pure andbright and beautiful, as you ever were, and I have raved and frightenedyou. Well, I will go. "

"Go where?"

"Where? I don't know yet. "

"I am so very, very sorry. But you must try--you must forget about it. "

He smiled. 

"Yes, I must forget about it. "

"You will be yourself again--your old self--not weak like this, butgiving others strength. "

"Yes, " he said again, humoring her. 

"Surely you can do it--you who had such strength. And don't think hardlyof me. "

"I think of you as I used to think of God, " he said; and bent andkissed her hand. 

"Oh, hush!" she cried. "Pray don't!"

He kissed her hand once again, and then straightened himself, and said:

"Now I am going. You must forget--or remember Millstead, not Territon. And I--"

"Yes, and you?"

"I will go, too, where I may find forgetfulness. Good-by. "

"Good-by, " said Claudia, and gave him her hand again, her heart full ofpity and almost of love. He turned on his heel, and she stood andwatched him go. For a moment a sudden thought flashed through her head. 

"Shall I call him back? Shall I ever find such love as his?"

She started a step forward, but stopped again. 

"No, I do not love him, " she said. "And I do love my careless Eugene. But God comfort him! O God, comfort him!"

And so standing and praying for him, she let him go. 

And he went, with no falter in his step and never a look backward. Thisthing also had he set behind him. 

Claudia still stood fixed on the spot where he had left her. Then shesat down on the seat, and gave herself up to memories of their walks andtalks at Millstead. 

"Why need he spoil it all?" she cried. "Why need he give me a sadmemory, when I had such a pleasant one? Oh, how foolish they are! What apity it's Eugene, and not him! Eugene would never have looked like that. He'd have made a bitter little speech, and then a pretty little speech, and smoothed his feathers and flown away. But still it is Eugene! Oh, dear, I shall never be quite happy again!"

We may reasonably, nay confidently, hope that this was looking at theblack side of things. It is pleasant to act a little to ourselves nowand then. The little pieces are thrilling, and they don't last muchlonger than their counterparts upon the stage. With most of us thecurtain falls very punctually, leaving time for a merry supper, where weforget the headache and the thousand natural and unnatural ills thatpassed in our sight before the green baize let fall its merciful veil. 

Stafford pursued his way through the woods. Arriving at the lodge gates, he stopped abruptly, remembering his promise to Eugene. He saw a littlefellow playing about, and called to him. 

"Do you know Mr. Lane, my boy?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir, " said the child. 

"Then I'll give you something to take to him. "

He took a card out of his pocket and wrote on it: "You were right. I amgoing to London"; and giving it, with a sixpence, to his messenger, resumed his journey to the station. 

He was stunned. It cannot be denied that he had been blindly hopeful, blindly confident. He had persuaded himself that his love for Claudiacould be nothing but the outcome of a natural bond between them thatmust produce a like feeling in her. He had attributed to her the depthand intensity of emotion that he found in himself. He had seen in hernot merely a girl of more than common quickness, and perhaps more thancommon capacity, but a great nature ready to respond to a great passionin another. She had much to give to the man she loved; but Staffordasked even more than was hers to bestow. He had deceived himself, andthe delusion was still upon him. He was conscious only of an utter, hopeless void. He had removed all to make room for Claudia, and Claudiarefused to fill the vacant place. With all the will in the world shecould not have filled it; but no such thought as this came to consoleStafford. He saw his joy, but was forbidden to reach out his hand andpluck it. His life lay in the hollow of her hand, to grant or withhold, and she had closed her grasp upon it. 

He did not rest until he reached his hotel, for he felt a longing to beable to sit down quietly and think it all over. He fancied that when hereached his own little room, the cloud that now seemed to hang over allhis faculties would disperse, and he would see some plain road beforehim. In this he was not altogether disappointed, for it did become clearto him, as he sat in his chair, that the question he had to solve waswhether he could now find any motive strong enough to keep him in life. He realized that Claudia's action must be accepted as a finaldestruction of his short dream of happiness. He felt that he could notgo back to his old life, much less to his old attitude of mind, as ifnothing had happened--as if he were an unchanged man, save for onesorrowful memory. The transformation had been too thorough for that. Hehad almost hoped that he would find himself the subject of some suddenrevulsion of feeling, some uncontrollable fit of remorse, which wouldrestore him, beaten and bruised, to his old refuge; but had his hopebeen realized, his sense of relief would, he knew, have been mingledwith a measure of contempt for a mind so completely a prey to transientemotions. His nature was not of that sort, and he could not by a spasmof penitence nullify the events of the last few months. He must accepthimself as altered by what he had gone through. Was there, then, anylife left for the man he was now?

Undoubtedly, the easiest thing was to bid a quiet good-by to the life hehad so mismanaged. He had never in old days been wedded to life. He hadlearnt always to regard it rather as a necessary evil than as a thingdesirable in itself. Its momentary sweetness left it more bitter still. There would be a physical pang, inevitable to a strong man, full ofhealth. But this he was ready to face; and now, in leaving life he wouldleave behind nothing he regretted. The religious condemnation ofsuicide, which in former days would not have decided, but prevented sucha discussion in his mind, now weighed little with him. No doubt it wouldbe an act of cowardice: but he had been guilty of such a much moreflagrant treachery and desertion, that the added sin seemed a smallmatter. He felt that to boggle over it would be like condemning amurderer for trying to cheat the gallows. But still, there was thenatural dislike of an acknowledgment of utter defeat; and, added tothis, the bitter reluctance a man of ability feels at the idea of hispowers ceasing to be active, and himself ceasing to be. The instinct oflife was strong in him, though his reason seemed to tell him there wasno way in which his life could be used. 

"It's better to go!" he exclaimed at last, after long hours ofconflicting meditation. 

It was getting late in the evening. Eleven o'clock had struck, and hethought he would go to bed. He was very tired and worn out, and decidedto put off further questions till the next day. 

After all, there was no hurry. He knew the worst now; the blow had beenstruck, and only the dull, unending pain was with him--and would betill the hour came when he should free himself from it. He resolutelyturned his mind away from Claudia. He could not bear to think about her. If only he could manage to think about nothing for an hour, sleep wouldcome. 

He rose to take his candle, but at the same moment a waiter opened thedoor. 

"A gentleman to see you, sir. "

"To see me? Who is it?"

"He says his name's Ayre, and he hopes you'll see him. "

"I can't see him at this time of night, " said Stafford, with thepetulance of weariness. Why did the man bother him?

But Ayre had followed close on his messenger, and entered the room asStafford spoke. 

"Pray forgive me, Mr. Stafford, " he said, "for intruding on you sounceremoniously. "

Stafford received him with courtesy, but did not succeed in concealinghis questioning as to the motive of the visit. 

Ayre took the chair his host gave him. 

"You think this a very strange proceeding on my part, I dare say?"

"How did you know I was here?"

"I had a wire from Eugene Lane. I'm afraid I seem to be taking aliberty, and that's a thing I hate doing. But I was most anxious to seeyou. "

"Has Eugene any news?"

"What he says is this: It has happened as we feared. I am uneasy abouthim. Can you see him to-night?"

"I suppose, then, my fortune is known to you?"

"Yes; I wish I had seen you before you went. Do you mind myinterfering?"

"No, not now. You could have done no good before. "

"I could have told you it was no use. "

"I shouldn't have believed you. "

"I suppose you were bound to try it for yourself. Now, you think I don'tunderstand your feelings. "

"I suppose most people think they know how a man feels when he's crossedin love, " said Stafford, trying to speak lightly. 

"That's not the only thing with you. "

"No, it isn't, " he replied, a little surprised. 

"I feel rather responsible for it all, you know. I was at the bottom ofMorewood's showing you that picture. "

"It must have dawned on me sooner of later. "

"I don't know. But, yes--I expect so. You're hard hit. "

Stafford smiled. 

"Hard hit about her; and harder hit because it was a plunge to go intoit at all. "

"You're quite right. "

"Of course I can't go into that side of it very much, but I think I knowmore or less how you feel. "

"I really think you do. It surprises me. "

"Yes. But, Stafford, may I go on taking liberties?"

"I believe you are my friend. Let us put that sort of question out ofthe way. Why have you come?"

"What does he mean by saying he's uneasy about you?"

"It's the old fellow's love for me. "

Ayre was silent for a moment. Then he asked abruptly:

"What are you going to do?"

"I have hardly had time to look round yet. "

"Why should it make any difference to you?"

Stafford was puzzled. He thought Ayre had really recognized the state ofhis mind. He was inclined to think so still. But how, then, could he asksuch a question?

"You've had your holiday, " Ayre went on calmly, "and a precious bad useyou've made of it. Why not go back to work now?"

"As if nothing had happened?" This was the very suggestion he had madeto himself, and scornfully rejected. 

"You think you're utterly smashed, of course--I know what a facer it canbe--and you're just the man to take it very hard. Stafford, I'm sorry. "And with a sudden impulse he held out his hand. 

Stafford grasped it. The sympathy almost broke him down. "She is all theworld to me, " he said. 

"Aye, but be a man. You have your work to do. "

"No, I have no work to do. I threw all that away. "

"I expected you'd say that. "

"I know, of course, what you think of it. In your view, that vow of minewas nonsense--a part of the high-falutin' way I took everything in. Isn't that so?"

"I didn't come here to try and persuade you to think as I do about suchthings. I am not so fond of my position that I need proselytize. But Iwant you to look into yours. "

"Mine is only too clear. I have given up everything and got nothing. It's this way: all the heart is out of me. If I went back to my work Ishould be a sham. "

"I don't see that. May I smoke?"

He lighted a cigar, and sat quiet for a few seconds. 

"I suppose, " he resumed, "you still believe what you used to teach?"

"Certainly; that is--yes, I believe it. But it isn't part of me as itwas. "

"Ah! but you think it's true?"

"I remain perfectly satisfied with the demonstration of its truth--onlyI have lost the faith that is above knowledge. "

It was evidently only with an effort that Ayre repressed a sarcasm. Stafford saw his difficulty. 

"You don't follow that?"

"I have heard it spoken of before. But, after all, it's beside thepoint. You believe the things so that, as far as honesty goes, you couldstill teach them?"

"Certainly I should believe every dogma I taught. "

"Including the dogma that people ought to be good?"

"Including that, " answered Stafford, with a smile. 

"I don't see what more you want, " said Sir Roderick, with an air offinality. 

Stafford felt himself, against his will, growing more cheerful. In fact, it was a pleasure to him to exercise his brains once again, instead ofbeing the slave of his emotions. Ayre had anticipated such a result fromtheir conversation. 

"Everything more, " he said. "Personal holiness is at the bottom of itall. "

"The best thing, I dare say. " Ayre conceded. "But indispensable?Besides, you have it. "

"Never again. "

"Yes, I say--in all essentials. "

"I can't do it. Ah, Ayre! it's all empty to me now. "

"For God's sake, be a man! Is there nothing on earth to be but a saintor a husband?"

Stafford looked at him inquiringly. 

"Heavens, man! have you no ambition? Here you are, with ten men'sbrains, and you sit--I don't know how you sit--in sackcloth, clearly, but whether for heaven or for Claudia I don't know. You think it odd tohear me preach ambition? I'm a lazy devil; but I have some power. Yes, I'm in my way a power. I might have been a greater. You might be agreater than ever I could. "

Stafford listened. 

"Do good if you can, " Ayre went on, "and you can. But do something. Don't throw up the sponge because you had one fall. Make yourselfsomething to live for. "

"In the Church?"

"Yes--that suits you best. Your own Church or another. I've oftenwondered why you don't try the other. "

"I've been very near trying it before now. "

"It's a splendid field. Glorious! You might do anything. "

Stafford was silent, and Ayre sat regarding him closely. 

"Use my office for personal ambition?" he asked at last. 

"Pray don't talk cant. Do some good work, and raise yourself high enoughto do more. "

"I doubt that motive. "

"Never mind the motive. Do, man, do! and don't puke. Leave Eugene tolounge through life. He does it nicely. You're made for more. "

Stafford looked up at him as he laid a hand on his shoulder. 

"It's all misery, " he said. 

"Now, yes. But not always. "

"And it's not what I meant. "

"No, you meant to be a saint. Many of us do. "

"I feel what you mean, but I have scruples. "

Ayre looked at him curiously. 

"You're not a man of scruples really, " he said; "you'll get over them. "

"Is that a compliment?"

"Depends on whom you ask. You'll think of it? Think of what you might doand be. Now, I'm off. "

Stafford rose to show him out. 

"I'm not sure whether I ought to thank you, " he said. 

"You will think of it?"

"Yes. "

"And you won't kill yourself without seeing me again?"

"You were afraid of that?"

"Yes. Was I wrong?"

"No. "

"You won't, then, without seeing me again?"

"No; I promise. "

Ayre found his way downstairs, and into the street. 

"It will work, " he said to himself. "If the Humane Society did its duty, I should have a gold medal. I have saved a life to-night--and a lifeworth saving. "

And Stafford, instead of going to bed, sat in his chair again, ponderingthe new things in his heart. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Some People are as Fortunate as They Deserve to be. 

Eugene Lane had been rather puzzled by Claudia's latest proceedings. Onthe morrow of her interview with Stafford he had received from her anincoherent note, in which she took great blame to herself for "thisunhappy occurrence, " and intimated that it would be long before shecould bear to discuss any question pending between herself and hercorrespondent. Eugene was not disposed to acquiesce in this decision. Hehad done as much as honor and friendship demanded, and saw no reason whyhis own happiness should be longer delayed; for he had little doubt thatStafford's rebuff meant his own success. He could not, however, persistin seeking Claudia after her declaration of unwillingness to be sought;and he departed from Territon Park in some degree of dudgeon. All thissort of thing seemed to him to have a touch of the theater about it. ButClaudia took it seriously; she did not forbid him to write to her, butshe answered none of his letters, and Lord Rickmansworth, whom heencountered at one of the October race-meetings, gave him to understandthat she was living a life of seclusion at Territon Park. Rickmansworthopenly scoffed at this behavior, and Eugene did not know whether to bepleased at finding his views agreed with, or angry at hearing hismistress's whims treated with fraternal disrespect. Ultimately, he foundhimself, under the influence of lunch, coinciding with Rickmansworth'sdictum that girls rather liked making fools of themselves, and thatClaudia was no better than the rest. It was one of Eugene's misfortunesthat he could not cherish illusions about his friends, unless hisfeeling toward Stafford must be ranked as an illusion. About the latterhe had heard nothing, except for a short note from Sir Roderick, tellinghim that no tragedy of a violent character need now be feared. He wasanxious to see Ayre and learn what passed, but that gentleman had alsovanished to recruit at a German bath after his arduous labors. 

It was mid-November before any progress was made in the matter. Eugenewas in London, and so were very many people, for Parliament met in theautumn that year, and the season before Christmas was more active thanusual. He had met Haddington about the House, and congratulated him witha fervor and sincerity that had made the recipient of his blessingspositively uneasy. Why should Lane be so uncommonly glad to get rid ofKate? thought the happy man who had won her from him. It really lookedas if there were something more than met the eye. Eugene detected thisidea in Haddington's mind, and it caused him keen amusement. Kate alsohe had encountered, and their meeting had been marked by the ceremoniousfriendship demanded by the circumstances. The flavor of diplomacyimparted to private life by these episodes had not, however, been strongenough to prevent Eugene being very bored. He was growing from day today less patient of Claudia's invisibility, and he expressed his feelingvery plainly one day to Rickmansworth, whom he happened to encounter inthe outer lobby, as the noble lord was finding his way to the unwontedhaunt of the House of Lords, thereto attracted by a debate on the properprecautions it behooved the nation to take against pleuro-pneumonia. 

"Surprising, " he said, "what interesting subjects the old buffers gethold of now and then! Come and hear 'em, old man. "

"The Lord forbid!" said Eugene. "But I want to say a word to you, Rick, about Claudia. I can't stand this much longer. "

"I wouldn't, " said Rickmansworth, "if I were you; but it isn't myfault. "

"It's absurd treating me like this because of Stafford's affair. "

"Well, why don't you go and call in Grosvenor Square? She's there withAunt Julia. "

"I will. Do you think she'll see me?"

"My dear fellow, I don't know; only if I wanted to see a girl, I betshe'd see me. "

Eugene smiled at his friend's indomitable self-confidence, and let himfly to the arms of pleuro-pneumonia. He then dispensed with his ownpresence in his branch of the Legislature, and took his way towardGrosvenor Square, where Lord Rickmansworth's town house was. 

Lady Claudia was not at home. She had gone with her aunt earlier in theday to give Mr. Morewood a sitting. Mr. Morewood was painting herportrait. 

"I expect they've stayed to tea. I haven't seen old Morewood for no endof a time. Gad! I'll go to tea. "

And he got into a hansom and went, wondering with some amusement howClaudia had persuaded Morewood to paint her. It turned out, however, that the transaction was of a purely commercial character. Rickmansworth, having been very successful at the race-meeting abovereferred to, had been minded to give his sister a present, and she hadchosen her own head on a canvas. The price offered was such thatMorewood could not refuse; but he had in the course of the sittinggreatly annoyed Claudia by mentioning incidentally that her face did notinterest him and was, in fact, such a face as he would never havepainted but for the pressure of penury. 

"Why doesn't it interest you?" asked she, in pardonable irritation. 

"I don't know. It's--but I dare say it's my fault, " he replied, in thattone which clearly implies the opposite of what is asserted. 

"It must be, I think, " said Claudia gently. "You see, it interests somany people, Mr. Morewood. "

"Not artists. "

"Dear me! no!"

"Whom, then?"

"Oh, the nobility and gentry. "

"And clergy?"

A shadow passed across her face--but a fleeting shadow. 

"You paint very slowly, " she said. 

"I do when I am not inspired. I hate painting young women. "

"Oh! Why?"

"They're not meant to be painted; they're meant to be kissed. "

"Does the one exclude the other?"

"That's for you to say, " said Morewood, with a grin. 

"I think they're meant to be painted by some people, and kissed by otherpeople. Let the cobbler stick to his last, Mr. Morewood. "

"I wonder if you'll stick to your last, " said Morewood. 

Claudia decided that she had better not see this joke, if thecontemptible quip could be so called. It was very impertinent, and shehad no retort ready. She revenged herself by declaring her sitting at anend, and inviting herself and her aunt to stay to tea. 

"I've got no end of work to do, " Morewood protested. 

"Surely tea is _compris_?" she asked, with raised eyebrows. "We shan'tstay more than an hour. "

Morewood groaned, but ordered tea. After all, it was too dark to paint, and--well, she was amusing. 

Eugene arrived almost at the same moment as tea. Morewood was glad tosee him, and went as near showing it as he ever did. Lady Julia receivedhim with effusion, Claudia with dignity. 

"I have pursued you from Grosvenor Square, Lady Julia, " he said. "Ididn't come to see old Morewood, you know. "

"As much as to see me, I dare say, " said Lady Julia in an aside. 

Eugene protested with a shake of the head, and Morewood carried him offto have such inspection of the picture as artificial light could afford. 

"You've got her very well. "

"Yes, pretty well. It's a bright little shallow face. "

"Go to the devil!" said Eugene, in strong indignation. 

"I only said that to draw you. There is something in the girl--but notovermuch, you know. "

"There's all I want. "

"Oh, I should think so! Heard anything of Stafford?"

"No, except that he's gone off somewhere alone again. He wrote to Ayre;Ayre told me. He and Ayre are very thick now. "

"A queer combination. "

"Yes. I wonder what they'll make of one another!"

Morewood was a good-natured man at bottom, and after a few minutes' moretalk he carried off Aunt Julia to look at his etchings. 

"So I have run you down at last?" said Eugene to Claudia. 

"I told you I didn't want to see you. "

"I know. But that was a month ago. "

"I was very much upset. "

"So was I, awfully!"

"Do you think it was my fault, Mr. Lane?"

"Not a bit. So far as it was anybody's fault, it was mine. "

"How yours?"

"Well, you see, he thought--"

"Yes, I see. You needn't go on. He thought you were out of the question, and therefore--"

"Now, Lady Claudia, are you going to quarrel again?"

"No, I don't think so. Only you are so annoying. Is he in greattrouble?"

"He was. I think he's better now. But it was a terrible blow to him, asit would be to any one. "

"To you?"

"It would be death!"

"Nonsense!" said Claudia. "What is he going to do?"

"I don't know. I think he will go back to work. "

"I never intended any harm. "

"You never do. "

"You mean I do it? Pray don't try to be desperate and romantic, Mr. Lane. It's not in your line. "

"It's curious I can never get credit for deep feeling. I have spent amiserable month. "

"So have I. "

"Because I could not see the person I love best in the world. "

"Ah! that wasn't my reason. "

"Claudia, you must give me an answer. "

Claudia rose, and joined her aunt and Morewood. She gave Eugene nofurther opportunity for private conversation, and soon after the ladiestook their leave. As Eugene shook hands with Claudia, he said:

"May I call to-morrow?"

"You are a little unkind; but you may. " And she rapidly passed on toMorewood, and with much sparring made an appointment for her nextsitting. 

"Why does she fence so with me?" he asked the painter, as he took hishat. 

"What's the harm? You know you enjoy it. "

"I don't. "

But it is very possible he did. 

The next day Eugene took advantage of Claudia's permission. He went toGrosvenor Square, and asked boldly for Lady Claudia. He was shown intothe drawing-room. After a time Claudia came to him. 

"I have come for my answer, " he said, taking her hand. 

Claudia was looking grave. 

"You know the answer, " she said. "It must be 'Yes. '"

Eugene drew her to him and kissed her. 

"But you say 'Yes' as if it gave you pain. "

"So it does, in a way. "

"You don't like being conquered even by your own prisoner?"

"It's not that; that is, I think, rather a namby-pamby feeling. At anyrate, I don't feel it. "

"What is it, then? You don't care enough for me?"

"Ah, I care too much!" she cried. "Eugene, I wish I could have lovedFather Stafford, and not you. "

"Why so?"

"I was at the very center of his life. I don't think I am more than onthe fringe of yours. "

"A very priceless fringe to a very worthless fabric!" said he, kissingher hand. 

"Yes, " she answered, with a smile, "you are perfect in that. You mightgive lessons in amatory deportment. "

"Out of a full heart the mouth speaketh. "

"Ah! does it? May not a lover be too _point-de-vice_ in his speeches aswell as in his accouterments? Father Stafford came to me pale, yes, trembling, and with rugged words. "

"I am not the man that Stafford is--save for my lady's favor. "

"And you came in confidence?"

"You had let me hope. "

"You have known it for a long while. I don't trust you, you know, but Imust. Will you treat me as you treated Kate?"

"Slander!" cried he gayly. "I didn't 'treat' Kate. Kate 'treated' me. "

"Poor fellow!"

He had sat down in a low chair close to hers, and she bent down andkissed him on the forehead. 

"At least, I don't think you'll like any one better than you like me, and I must be content with that. "

"I have worshiped you for years. Was ever beauty so exacting?"

"With lucid intervals?"

"Never a moment. A sense of duty once led me astray--dynasticconsiderations--a suitable cousin. "

"Yes; and I suppose a moonlight night. "

"_Pereant quae ante te!_ You know a little Latin?"

"I think I'd better not just now. "

"You may want it for yourself, you know, with a change of gender. Butwe'll not bandy recriminations. "

"I wasn't joking. "

"Not when you began; but with me all your troubles shall end in jokes, and every tear in a smile. Claudia, I never knew you so alarminglyserious before. "

"Well, I won't be serious any more. The fatal deed is done!"

"And I may say 'Claudia' now without fear of any one?"

"You will be able to say it for about the next fifty years. I hope youwon't get tired of it. Eugene, try to get tired of me last of all. "

"Never while I live! You are a perpetual refreshment. "

"A lofty function!"

"And the spring of all my life. Let us be happy, dear, and never mindfifty years hence. "

"I will, " she said; "and I am happy. "

"And, please God, you shall always be so. One would think it was a verydangerous thing to marry me!"

"I will brave the danger. "

"There is none. I have found my goddess. "

The door opened suddenly, and Bob Territon entered at the very momentwhen Eugene was sealing his vow of homage. Bob was pleased to beplayful. Holding his hands before his face, he turned and pretended tofly. 

"Come in, old man, " cried Eugene, "and congratulate me!"

"Oh! you have fixed it, have you?"

"We have. Don't you think we shall do very well together?"

Bob stood regarding them, his hands in his pockets. 

"Yes, " he said at length, "I think you will. There's a pair of you. "

And he could never be persuaded to explain this utterance. But it is tobe feared that the thought underlying it was one not over-complimentaryto the happy lovers. And Bob knew them both very well. 

CHAPTER XV. 

An End and a Beginning. 

When Sir Roderick Ayre returned to England, he had to undergo muchquestioning concerning his dealings with Stafford. It had somehow becomeknown throughout the little group of people interested in Stafford'sabortive love-affair that he and Ayre had held conference together, andthe impression was that Ayre's counsel had, to some extent at least, shaped Stafford's resolution and conduct. Ayre did not talk freely onthe matter. He fenced with the idle inquiries of the Territon brothers;he calmed Mrs. Lane's solicitude with soothing words; he put Morewoodoff with a sneer at the transitoriness of love-affairs in general. ToEugene he spoke more openly, and did not hesitate to congratulatehimself on the part he had taken in reconciling Stafford to life andwork. Eugene cordially agreed with his point of view; and Ayre felt thathe was in a fair way to be rid of the matter, when one day Claudiasprang upon him with a new assault. 

He had come to see her, and tender hearty congratulations. He felt thatthe successful issue of Eugene's suit was in some degree his own work, and he was well pleased that his two favorites should have taken to oneanother. Moreover, he reaped intellectual satisfaction from thefulfillment of a prophecy made when its prospect of realization seemedvery scant. Claudia admitted her own pleasure in her engagement, and didnot attempt to deny that her affection had dated from a period when byall the canons of propriety she should have had no thoughts of Eugene. 

"We are not responsible for our emotions, " she said, laughing; "and youwill admit I behaved with the utmost decorum. "

"About your usual decorum, " he replied. "The situation was difficult. "

"It was indeed, " she sighed. "Eugene was so very--well, reckless. But Iwant to ask you something. "

"Say on. "

"I heard about your interview with Father Stafford; what did you say tohim?"

"Of course Eugene has told you all I told him?"

"Probably. I told him to. "

"Well, that's all. "

"In fact, you told him I wasn't worth fretting about!"

"Not in that personal way. I asserted a general principle, andreluctantly denied that you were an exception. "

"I hope you did tell him I wasn't worth it, and very plainly. Buthasn't he gone back to his religious work?"

"I think he will. "

"Did you advise him to do that?"

"Yes, certainly. It's what he's most fit for, and I told him so. "

"He spoke to me as if--as if he had no religion left. "

"Yes, it took him in that way. He'll get over that. "

"I think you were wrong to tell him to go back. Didn't you encourage himto go back to the work without feeling the religion?"

"Perhaps I did. Did Eugene tell you that?"

"Yes. "

"I'll never say anything to a lover again. "

"Didn't you tell him to use his work for personal ends--for ambition, and so on?"

"Oh, in a way. I had to stir him up--I had to tide him over a bad hour. "

"That was very wrong. It was teaching him to degrade himself. "

"He can pursue his work in perfect sincerity. I found that out. "

"Can he if he does it with a low motive?"

"My dear girl, whose motives are not mixed? Whose heart is single?

"His was once!"

"Before he met--you and me? I made the best job I could. I cemented thebreakage; I couldn't undo it. "

"I would rather--"

"He'd picturesquely drown himself?"

"Oh, no, " she said, with a shudder; "but it lowers my ideal of him. "

"That, considering your position, is not wholly a bad thing. "

"Do you think he's justified in doing it?"

"To tell the truth, I don't see quite to the bottom of him. But he willdo great things. "

"Now he is well quit of me?"

Sir Roderick smiled. 

"Well, I don't like it. "

"Then you should have married him, and left Eugene to do the drowning. "

"Do you know, Sir Roderick, I rather doubt if Eugene would have drownedhimself?"

"I don't know; he has very good manners. "

They both laughed. 

"But all the same, I am unhappy about Mr. Stafford. "

"Ah, your notions of other people's morality are too exalted. I don'taccept responsibility for Stafford. He would not have followed mysuggestion unless the idea had been in germ in his own mind. "

Claudia's pre-occupation with Stafford's fate would have been somewhatdisturbing to a lover less philosophical or less sympathetic thanEugene. As it was, he was pleased with her concern, and his sorrow forthe trouble it occasioned her was mitigated by a conviction that itseffect would not be permanent. In this idea he proved perfectlycorrect. As the weeks passed by and nothing was heard of the vanishedman, his place in the lives of those who had been so intimatelyassociated with him became filled with other interests, and from aliving presence he dwindled to an occasional memory. It was as if he hadreally died. His name was now and then mentioned with the sad affectionwe accord to those who have gone before us; for the most part thethought of him was thrust out in the busy give-and-take of everydaylife. Save for the absence of that bitter sense of hopelessness whichthe separation of death brings, Stafford might as well have passed onthe road which, but for Ayre's intervention, he had marked out forhimself. Claudia and Eugene were wrapped up in one another; their lovetor him, though not dead, was dormant, and his name was oftener upon thelips of Ayre and Morewood than of those who had been most closely unitedwith him in the bonds of common experience. But Ayre and Morewood, besides entertaining a kindly memory of his personal charm, founddelight in studying him as a problem. They were keenly interested in theupshot of his new start in life, and their blunter perceptions were deafto the dissonance between the ideal he had set before himself and thealternative Ayre had suggested for his adoption. Perhaps they wereright. If none but saints may do the work of the world, much of its mostuseful work must go undone. 

Haddington and Kate Bernard were married before Christmas. Claudiadeprecated such haste; and Eugene willingly acquiesced in her wish toput off the date of their own union. He thought that being engaged toClaudia was a pleasant state of existence, and why hasten to change it?Besides, as he suggested, they were not people of fickle mind, like Kateand Haddington (for, of course, Claudia had told him of Haddington'sproposal to herself--it is believed ladies always do tell theseincidents), and could afford to wait. Eugene went to the wedding. He wasstrongly opposed to such foolish things as standing quarrels, and Katewas entirely charming in the capacity of somebody else's wife: it is acomparatively easy part to fill, and he had no fault to find with herconception of it. The magnificence of his wedding present smoothed hisreturn to favor, and Kate had the good sense to accept the _rôle_ heoffered her, and allowed it to be supposed that she had been thefaithless, he the forsaken, one; whereas in reality, as Ayre remarked, she had herself doubled the parts. Claudia judiciously avoided thequestion of her presence at the ceremony by a timely absence fromLondon, and enjoyed only at second-hand the amusement Eugene derivedfrom Haddington's hesitation between triumph over his supposed rival, and doubt, which had in reality gained the better part. In spite of thisdoubt, it is allowable to hope for a very fair share of workinghappiness in the Haddington household. Kate was hardly a woman to make aman happy; but, on the other hand, she would not prevent him being happyif his bent lay in that direction. And Haddington was too entirelycontented with himself to be other than happy. 

Eugene's wedding was fixed for the Easter recess, and among the partygathered for the occasion at Millstead were most of those who had beenhis guests in the previous summer. The Haddingtons were not there--Kateretorted Claudia's evasion; and of course Stafford's figure was missing;but the Territon brothers were there, and Morewood and Ayre, the formerbringing with him the completed picture, which was Rickmansworth'spresent to his sister. The party was to be enlarged the day before, thewedding by a large company of relations of both their houses. 

The evening before this invasion was expected, Eugene came down todinner looking rather perturbed. He was a little silent during the meal, and when the ladies withdrew, he turned at once to Ayre:

"I have heard from Stafford. "

"Ah! what does he say?"

"He has joined the Church of Rome. "

"I thought he would. "

Morewood grunted angrily. 

"Did you tell him to?" he asked Ayre. 

"No; I think I referred to it. "

"Do you suppose he's honest?" Morewood went on. 

"Why not?" asked Eugene. "I could never make out why he didn't gobefore. What do you say, Ayre?"

Sir Roderick was a little troubled. This exact following of, or anyhowcoincidence with, his advice seemed to cast a responsibility upon him. 

"Oh, I expect he's honest enough; and it's a splendid field for him, " heanswered, repeating the argument he had urged to Stafford himself. 

"Ayre, " said Morewood aggressively, "you've driven that young man toperdition. "

"Bosh!" said Ayre. "He's not a sheep to be driven, and Rome isn'tperdition. I did no more than give his thoughts a turn. "

"I think I am glad, " said Eugene; "it is much better in some ways. Buthe must have gone through another struggle, poor fellow!"

"I doubt it, " said Ayre. 

"Anyhow, it's rather a score for those chaps, " remarked Rickmansworth. "He's a good fish to land. "

"Yes, it will make a bit of a sensation, " assented Ayre. "We'll see whatthe Bishop says when he comes to turn Eugene off. By the way, is itpublic property?"

"It will be in the papers, I expect, to-morrow. I wonder what they'llsay!"

"Everything but the truth. "

"By Jove, I hope so. And we alone know the secret history!"

"Yes, " said Ayre; "and you, Rick, will have to sit silent and hear theenemy triumph. "

Lord Rickmansworth did not think it worth while to repudiate the _odiumtheologicum_ imputed to him. Probably he knew he was in reality abovethe suspicion of caring for such things. 

"Shall you tell Claudia?" Ayre asked Eugene, as they went upstairs. 

"Yes; I shall show her his letter. I think I ought, don't you?"

"Perhaps; will you show it me?"

"Yes; in fact he asks me to give you the news, as he is too occupied towrite to you. The note is quite short, and, I think, studiouslyreserved. "

He gave it to Ayre, who read it silently. It ran:

 "DEAR EUGENE:

 "A line to wish Lady Claudia and yourself all happiness and joy. Do not let your joy be shadowed by over-kind thoughts of me. I am my own man again. You will see soon by the papers that I have taken the important step of being received into the Catholic Church. I need not trouble you with an argument. I think I have done well, and hope to find there work for my hands to do. Pray give this news to Ayre, and with it my most warm and friendly remembrances. I would write but for my stress of work. He was a friend to me in my need. They are sending me to Rome for a time; after that I hope I shall come to England, and renew my friendships. Good-by, old fellow, till then. I long for ῆστ᾽ ἀγαυοφροϛὑῃ καὶ σοἱϛ ἀγανῖϛ ἐπἑεσσιυ. 

 "Yours always, "C. S. K. "

"That doesn't tell one much, does it?"

"No, " said Ayre; "but we shall learn more if we watch him. "

Claudia came up, and they gave her the note to read. 

She read it, asking to have the Greek translated to her. Then she saidto Ayre:

"What does it mean?"

"Why do you ask me?"

"Because you are most likely to know. "

"Mind, I may be wrong; I may do him injustice, but I think--"

"Yes?" she said impatiently. 

"I think, Lady Claudia, you have spoilt a Saint and made a Cardinal!"