FIVE NIGHTS

A Novel

By

Victoria Cross

1908

By Victoria Cross

 Five Nights Life's Shop Window Anna Lombard Six Women Six Chapters of a Man's Life The Woman Who Didn't To-morrow? Paula A Girl of the Klondike The Religion of Evelyn Hastings Life of my Heart

CONTENTS

 PART I

 The Gold Night

 I THE TAKU INLET II THE TEA-SHOP III IN THE WOOD

 PART II

 The Violet Night

 IV AT THE STUDIO V THE CALL OF THE CUCKOO

 PART III

 The Black Night

 VI IN MAYFAIR VII FREEDOM

 PART IV

 The Crimson Night

 VIII LOSS IX IN 'FRISCO X IN THE SHADOW OF THE VOLCANO XI THE WAY OF THE GODS

 PART V

 The White Night

 XII THE FLAMES OF LIFE'S FURNACE

FIVE NIGHTS

 "The nights have different colours. Some nights are black, the nights of storm: some are electric blue, some are silver, the moon-filled nights: some are red under the hot planet Mars or the fierce harvest moon. Some are white, the white nights of the Arctic winter: but this was a violet night, a hot, mysterious, violet night of Midsummer. "

 _LIFE'S SHOP WINDOW_. 

INTRODUCTION

As one looks over any period of one's life, it appears behind one asa shining maze of brilliant colour with spots in it here and there ofbrighter or darker hue. Each spot represents a period of time when ourhappiness has glowed brighter or waned; sometimes it is a day, moreoften it is a night. Looking back now, over a stretch of my existenceI see many such spots gleaming brightly; they are nights of colour. The history of many of these is too sacred to be written, but thereare Five Nights, which, though not the dearest to my memory, have yetstamped themselves and their colour on it for ever. And the record ofthese five nights is contained in the following pages. 

TREVOR LONSDALE. 

PART ONE

THE GOLD NIGHT

CHAPTER I

THE TAKU INLET

It was just striking three as I came up the companion-stairs on to thedeck of the Cottage City, into the clear topaz light of a June morningin Alaska: light that had not failed through all the night, for inthis far northern latitude the sun only just dips beneath the horizonat midnight for an hour, leaving all the earth and sky still bathed inlimpid yellow light, gently paling at that mystic time and glowing toits full glory again as the sun rises above the rim. 

Our steamer had left the open sea and entered the Taku Inlet, and wewere steaming very slowly up it, surrounded on every side by greatglittering blocks of ice, flashing in the sunshine as they floated byon the buoyant blue water. How blue it was, the colouring of sea andsky! Both were so vividly blue, the note of each so deep, so intense, one seemed almost intoxicated with colour. I stepped to the vessel'sside, then made my way forward and stood there; I, the lover of theEast, dazzled by the beauty of the North! The marvellous picturebefore me was painted in but three colours, blue, gold, and white. 

The sides of the inlet were jagged lines of white, the sparklingcrystalline whiteness of eternal snow on sharp-pointed, almostlance-like mountain peaks; the water a broad band of blue, the skyabove a canopy of blue, and there at the end of the inlet, closing it, like some colossal monster crouched awaiting us, lay the Muir, thehuge glacier, a solid wedge of ice, white also, but a transparentwhite full of blue shadows. 

Who shall describe the wonderful air and atmosphere of the North? Itsbrilliancy, its delicacy, its radiant diamond-like clearness? And thesilence, the enchanted stillness of the North? Now as we crept slowlyonwards over the vivid water between the flashing icebergs, there wasno sound. Complete silence round us, on earth and sea and in the bluevault above, impressive, glittering silence. None of the passengershad broken their sleep to come up to the glory above them, and I stoodalone at the forward part of the vessel gliding on through this dreamof lustrous blue. Slowly we advanced towards the Muir; very slowly, for these shining bergs carried death with them if they should grazehard against the steamer's side, and, cautiously, steered withinfinite pains, the little boat crept on, zigzagging between them. Afrail little toy of man, it seemed, to venture here alone; small, black, impertinent atom forcing its way so hardily into thismagnificence of colour, this silent splendour, this radiant stillnessof the North. Into this very fastness of the most gigantic forces ofNature it had penetrated, and the sapphire sea supported it, thetransparent light illumined it, the lance-like mountains looked downupon it, and the glistening bergs forbore to crush it, as ifdisdaining to harm so fragile a thing. 

Very slowly we pushed up the inlet, approaching the shimmeringblue-green wall of ice that barred the upper end; seven hundred feetdown below the clear surface of the water descends this wall, whilethree hundred feet of it rise above, forming a glorious shiningpalisade across the entire width of the inlet. As the sun played onthe glittering façade, rays struck out from it as from a reflector, ofevery shade of green and blue, the deepest hue of emerald minglingwith the lightest sapphire, iridescent, sparkling, wonderful. As wecrept still nearer, over the living blue of the water, the continualfall of the icebergs from the front wall of the glacier becameapparent. At intervals of about five minutes, with a terrific crashlike thunder a great wedge of the glittering wall would fall forwardinto the blue-green depths, and a cloud of snowy spray rise uphundreds of feet into the air. The berg, thus detached, after a fewminutes would rise to the surface, glistening, dazzling, and beginits joyous, buoyant voyage downwards to the sea. In all this brilliantsetting, with this glory of light around and the triumphal crash ofsound like the salute of cannon, amid this joyous movement and in thisblaze of colour, amid all that seemed to personify life, we werewatching the death of the glacier. 

The colossal Muir Glacier, the remains of a world the history of whichis lost in the dim twilight none can now penetrate, is dying slowlythrough a million years. From the mountains, eternally snow-covered, where its huge body, three hundred and fifty miles in extent, hasrested through the centuries, it creeps forward slowly towards the seato meet its doom. Formerly its lip touched the open ocean where nowthe Taku inlet commences to run inland. But the icy waters, that yetare so much warmer than itself, caressed it with eroding caresses andmelted it, and broke bergs from it and rushed inwards, following ittill they formed the Taku Inlet, and now the process still goes on, the gigantic body moves forward inch by inch and the green waves breakthe bergs from its face as the sun invades its structure; and so itlies there, dying slowly through the countless years, glorious, miraculous. 

The Captain had promised to approach the face of the glacier as nearas was reasonably safe and lie there at anchor for an hour, that thepassengers might land at the side of the inlet and those who wishedcould explore the glacier. 

An hour! What was an hour? Those sixty golden minutes would be gone ina flash. Yet it would be an hour of life, of deep emotion, face toface with this monster, strange relic of a forgotten world, stretchedon its glorious death-bed. 

I was alone still. Not another passenger had yet come up, and I couldlean there undisturbed, trying to open my eyes still wider, to expandmy heart, to stretch my brain, that I might drink in more of theinimitable grandeur and beauty round me. 

The nearer we drew to the glacier the closer packed became the waterwith the floating bergs; they threatened the ship now on every side, and so slowly did we move we hardly seemed advancing. The bergsflashed and shone as they passed us, rayed through with jewel-likecolours, and on one gliding by far from the ship's side I saw twoseals at play. For many hundred miles past these seals were the onlyliving things I had seen. The forests on the shore, so thick in thefirst part of the journey by the Alaskan coast, had long since givenway to barren rocks, snow-capped peaks, and ice-filled clefts. No lifeseemed possible there, the wide distant blue above had shown no birdnor shadow of bird passing. There was no voice of insect nor the leastof Nature's children here. Between the thunderous crash of theice-falls that seemed to shiver the golden air there was intense andsolemn stillness. 

But the seals played merrily on their floating berg as they passed me, and I watched them long through field-glasses as the joyous, turbulentblue waves carried them far out of my sight towards the open sea. 

The clanging of the breakfast bell made me leave my place and go downfor a hurried breakfast. I was chilled through, for the early morningair is keen, the pure breath of infinite snowfields, and I took mycoffee gratefully amongst the crowd of hungry passengers. 

Rough miners some of them, going up to Sitka from the great Treadwellmine at Juneau, traders on their way to Fort Wrangle, and some fewexplorers. Amongst them were four men our boat had taken on board aswe passed the mouth of the Stickeen river. They had started fromCanada, lured by the light of the gold that lay under the snows of theKlondike, intending to travel there overland. Losing their way, theyhad wandered with their pack train for eighteen months in these vastsolitudes of ice and snow, groping blindly towards the coast. 

Food had failed them, their horses had died by the way from want orfatigue. Faced by starvation, the men had eaten those of their packanimals that had survived, then, finally, when hope had almost leftthem, they came in sight of the sea. 

They were talking of this and their terrible conflict with snow-stormand ice-floe as I joined them, of the plans for making money withwhich they had started and their failure. 

I got away from them all and went back to my place as soon as I could, and spent the rest of the morning as I had begun it, alone at theforward end. 

There were very few passengers like myself. Not many people for merepleasure would take that hazardous voyage along the coast, for it wasnew country and not a tenth of the sunken rocks and dangerous shoalswere yet on any chart. All the way up along that rocky and treacherousshore we had seen the evidences of wreck and disaster everywhere. Above the flats of shimmering water, where the gold or crimson ofsunset lay, rose constantly the tops of masts, shadowy and spectral, telling of the sunken hull, the pale corpses beneath those gleamingwaves. Ship after ship went down out of those adventurous littlecoasting vessels that plied up and down the coast trading with thenatives, and as we passed these half submerged masts, we often askedourselves--"Will the Cottage City be more lucky?" She was trading, like all the other boats that go there, with the Alaskan natives, andto go as far north as the Muir was no part of the official programme. 

But the fares of the few passengers who really wished to take allrisks and go there was a temptation and overcame the fear of thedreaded Taku Inlet with its monstrous crashing bergs and itspossibility of sudden and furious storms. So the little steamer washere, creeping up slowly through this vision of mystic blue towardsthe glacier, which lay there white, vast, shadowy, mysterious, and myheart beat quicker and quicker as we approached. 

I went off in one of the first boats and the moment it touched thepebbly strand of the side of the inlet I jumped out and walked away, eager to be alone to enjoy the glory of it all away from the raspingvoices, the worldly talk of my companions, the perpetual "littleness"of ideas that humanity drags with it everywhere. 

As I turned from the boat the voices followed me clearly, distinctly, in the exquisite rarefied air. 

Thin waves of laughter mingled with them from time to time, growingfaint behind me, then the distance closed up between us and I heard nomore. 

The steamer had landed about thirty passengers and crew, and theyseemed immediately lost in these vast expanses. When I had walked afew minutes up the beach from the water's edge, I looked round and wasapparently alone. Some few black dots here and there disfiguring thesnowy slopes and glittering ice-covered rocks was all that remained ofthem. In the midst of the vivid blue-green of the inlet behind me, alittle wedge of black, lay the steamer, the only reminder that I wasone also of these miserable black dots and in an hour I should becollected and taken away as one of them. For this hour, however, I wasfree and at one with the divine glory about me. 

It was just noon. The sky was of a pale and perfect blue, the airstill, of miraculous clearness and radiant with the pure light of theNorth, unshaded, unsoftened by the smallest mist or cloud. The silencewas unbroken except for the regular thunder of the falling bergs, thatcontinued with absolute precision at the five-minute interval, and theaccompanying splash of the water. I walked on up the strand, havingthe great glistening wall of the glacier's face somewhat on my left. It was impossible to approach it on land, as the fervid green waterlay deep all about its base. It was only at the side of the inlet thatlittle beaches had been formed, and on one of these I stood. Thesteamer could not get nearer the glacier for fear of the floatingbergs, and a small boat could only approach with deadliest peril atthe risk of being crushed beneath the falling ice or swamped by thewild division and upheaval of the water that it caused. 

But here, on the beach, was a world of enchantment second only inbeauty to the glacier itself, for many of the bergs had been strandedthere by the playful tides. They stood there now towering up in athousand different forms, hundreds of feet above one's head, drawingall the light of the sunbeams into their glittering recesses, turningthem there into violet, purple, and crimson hues, mauve, saffron, andemerald, blood-red and topaz, and then throwing them out in a millionlance-like rays of colour, dazzling and blinding the vision. Like themost wonderful rainbows turned into solid masses they stood there, orlike the jewels, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds broken from somegiant's crown and scattered recklessly along the strand. 

I went up to them and walked beneath an ice arch that glowed rosewithout as the sun touched it and deepest violet within. Then on, intoa cave beyond where the last chamber was coldest white but the outerrim seemed hung with blood-red fire and the middle wall glowed deepestemerald. On, on from one to another, each like a perfect dream ofexquisite colour: sunrise and sunset, and all the hues of earth thatwe ever see were blended together in those glorious bergs. 

What a phantasmagoria of colour, what a wonderful vision! Wrapped upin the delight of it, I passed on through some and round others, pursuing my way up the beach, and ascended slowly the rocks, the hugemorain at the side of the glacier, while impressively from the inletcame unvaryingly the thunder of the five-minute guns, hastening mysteps, dogging them, as it were, with warning of the passing time. 

After a heavy climb taken too quickly, when I put my foot first on theclear blue-green surface of the glacier, its immensity, its grandeurcame home to me. The idea of the huge size of it seems to take thehuman mind in a curious grip and appal it. Three hundred and fiftysquare miles of ice stretched round me, white, unbroken, except hereand there where gigantic fissures and ravines opened in its surface;ravines where deep blue-green colour glowed in the sides, as if itwere the blue-green blood of the glacier. A tiny wind from the north, keen as a knife blade, blew in my face as I stood there, out of thecalm blue sky, and seemed to whisper to me of the terrifying nights ofstorm, of the deadly wind before which all life goes down like astraw, that raged here in the winter. On every side, as far as theeyes could reach, wide white plains of undulating ice and snow, brokenhere and there by patches of barren rock, that seemed now by someoptical delusion, against the glaring white, to be of the brightestmauve and violet tints. Only that; ice and snow and rock for mile uponmile, until the tale of three hundred and fifty is told. No track ortrace of bird, no sweet companionship of little furred, four-footedthings, no blade of grass or smallest plant or flower, no sound butthe roar of the riven ice, the groans of the dying glacier. 

I walked on slowly, looking inland towards the white fieldsstretching away endlessly into the distance till the blue of the skyseems to come down and mingle with the blue shadows in the snow. Beneath my feet glimmered sometimes the green glass-like surface ofsmooth ice, at others the thin crisp covering of drifted snow crackledat every step. Sometimes the crevasses were so narrow one could easilywalk over them, others yawned widely, many yards across, necessitatinga long detour to pass round them. 

Looking back from the side of one of them as I walked up it to findthe narrowest part, I saw the objectionable black dots had swarmed upon to the edge of the glacier and through the thin, glittering airtheir voices and laughter at intervals came faintly to me. I sprangover the crevasse and walked on quickly to a point where the fissuresgrew thick about my feet and the green-blue blood of the glacierglowed in them on every side. 

I was looking now down the inlet and was near enough to the face ofthe glacier to hear, though dulled by distance, the crash of thefalling bergs into the foaming water beneath. I could not approachnearer for crevasses hemmed me in; the ice showed itself clear of snowand was so slippery I could hardly stand. One false step now, onesmall slip and I should disappear down one of these green rents, swallowed up in between those gleaming crystal sides to remain onewith the glacier for all time. My idea had been to approach the faceof the glacier from the top, but I found this to be as impossible, byreason of the crevasses, as it had been to approach it from the sea onaccount of the falling bergs. 

Sacred, inaccessible, guarded above and below, the great gleaming wallstood there through the centuries, defying the puny curiosity, thefeeble efforts of man to even gaze upon it and marvel over it, exceptfrom a long distance. I would have given all I had to have been ableto advance to the very edge and, kneeling there, look over it downthose majestic palisades of white flushed through with green, throwingback to the sun, their destroyer and conqueror, a thousand flashingrays as if in defiance of the slow death being dealt out to them, likeone who dies brandishing to the last his sword in the face of hisenemy. I longed to look over, down the glimmering wall, to theswelling rush of the green waters as they leapt up rejoicing toreceive the colossal diamond-like berg as it crashed down to them, tosee them seethe over it and fling their spray high up in the sunshinein mocking revelry; but it was impossible. The fissures in the icemultiplied themselves as one neared the edge and now were spread roundmy feet in a perfect network, like the meshes of a snare. It wasimpossible to go forward, and I was unwilling to go back. I stoodmotionless on a little tongue of polished ice between two blue-greenchasms, so deep that they seemed riven down to the very heart of theglacier; stood there, drinking in the keen gold air and the beauty ofthe blue arch above, of the boundless spaces of glittering white roundme, of the narrow green inlet so far below from which echoed thereverberating roar of the falling ice. 

I was debating with myself, should I stay here alone for a time, letting the steamer go, after having stored some provisions for me onthe shore, and call again for me a few weeks later, in any case beforethe short summer of these northern latitudes was over, and winterclosed the inlet?

To stay here alone, the one single human being, in a thousand miles ofspace, and not only the one human being, but the one _life_, with nocompanionship of animal, bird, or insect, that would be an experienceof solitude indeed!

The idea attracted me; all day and all night to hear nothing but thatthunderous roar, and see nothing but the shining sea, the gleamingice-fields, and the glittering bergs, to be alone with Nature, to seeher, as it were, intimately in her awful beauty, with breast and browunveiled--and, perhaps, have death as one's reward!

There was fascination in the thought. 

What ideas would come to one as one watched the little steamer, theonly link that held one still bound to the world of men, weigh anchorand steam slowly down the green inlet, departing and leaving onebehind it, as one watched it growing smaller, dwindling ever, till itwas a mere speck, and then saw it vanish, leaving the green riband ofwater unbroken save for the passing bergs? How one would realisesolitude when the boat had absolutely disappeared, and how thatsolitude would thrill through and through one's blood as the longlight night rolled by and dawn and day succeeded with their unvaryingmarch of silent glittering hours!

And if death came on the wings of a storm such as rises suddenly inthese regions and piled high the snow over the camp, freezing theinmate, or if it came by slow starvation, the steamer having been loston that dangerous rocky coast and none other having come in time, howwould death seem to one here, already so far removed from men and alldesire and lust of the world, here, where already all earthly thingshad almost ceased to be and one's spirit had merged into the Infinite?

Death would seem to one in different guise from when he comes to us inthe midst of the delights of the world, with the baubles of lifearound us, or in the stress of the battle-field in the moment ofvictory, surrounded by our comrades. 

Death here would come but as the crown, the climax to the solitude, the detachment, the isolation, would seem but as the laying down thehead on the breast of Nature, becoming one with her immensity, hergrandeur. 

For some minutes I was keenly tempted to stay, the idea held my mindand fascinated it, but with the vision of death came the recoil fromit born from the remembrance of my art. The same recoil that had savedme many times before, for youth is usually greatly inclined tosuicide, either directly or indirectly in the dangers it courts. Butin an artist this is strangely balanced by his love for his work. Whenhe has ceased to wish for life or heed it for himself he still feelsinstinctive revolt against extinguishing that diviner spark than lifeitself, his genius, lent him from the celestial fire. 

The thought of my work dispelled the enchanted dream into which I hadfallen. Instinctively I turned and very slowly began to retrace mysteps amongst the yawning pitfalls. As I did so I heard a hoarse hootfrom the steamer lying below, to tell me it was about to leave, another and another resounded dully from it, warning me to hasten myreturn. 

I made my way back to the shore where the boat and the impatientsailors awaited me. I took my seat in it, turning my eyes to theglistening, glimmering white palisade rising over the sapphire sea. 

When we had reached the steamer and its head was turned round I stoodat the stern and watched that palisade for long, as it receded andreceded. At last the blue distance swallowed it up. I could see nomore than a silvery line dividing the blues of meeting sea and sky. Then I went down to my cabin and locked the door and lay down on myberth in the quiet, trying to live over again that one hour of closecontact with the beauty of the North. 

After dinner that night I wrote a long letter to my cousin Viola aboutthe beauty of the Muir. She would understand, I knew. What I thoughtshe would feel, for our brains were cast in the same mould. The letterfinished, it was still too early to go to bed; so I picked up acurious book called "Life's Shop Window" which I had been reading theprevious night, and read this passage which had struck me before, overagain:

"So, as we look into our future, we see ourselves beloved and wealthy;victorious, famous, and free to wander through the sweetest paths ofthe world, passing through a thousand scenes, sometimes loving, sometimes warring, tasting and drinking of everything sweet andstimulating, knowing all things, enjoying all in turn; but this is thelife of a God, not a man. And it is perhaps the God in us which sosavagely demands the life of a God. "

"But it is not granted to us. "

Yet this was the life I was trying to lead, and to some extent Isucceeded. Change, change, it is the life of life, perhaps especiallyto the artist. 

And I was an artist now, thanks to the decision of the Royal Academylast year to accept the worst picture I had submitted to them for fouryears. Ever since my fingers could clasp round anything at all theyhad loved to hold a brush; for years in my teens I had studiedpainting under the best teachers of technique in Italy. For two orthree years I had done really good work, with the divine afflatusthrilling through every vein. And last year I had painted rather acommonplace picture and it had been hung on the line in the Academy, and so my friends all said I really was an artist now, and I modestlyaccepted the style and title, with outward diffidence. 

How little any of them guessed, as they congratulated me, of the wildrapture of feeling, of intense gratitude with which I had listened tothe Divine whisper that had come to my ears as a boy of seventeensitting in a small bare bedroom, on the floor with the sheet of paperbefore me on which I had drawn a woman's head. As I looked at it, Iknew suddenly my power, and the Voice that is above all others saidwithin me: "_I_ have made you an artist. None can undo or dispute MYwork. "

From that moment I cared for neither praise nor blame. The opinion ofmen affected me not at all. My gift was mine, and I knew it. I held itstraight from the Divine hands. I had the Divine promise with me foras long as I should live on this earth. 

And I was filled with a boundless delight in life and my own powers. 

When I showed my original pictures all painted under inspiration to myfather, he carefully put on his pince-nez and studied them veryclosely. After that he said he must reserve his judgment. When theywent to the Academy and were promptly refused, he drew a long face andsaid I had better have gone into the Indian Civil Service as hewished. Subsequently, when I had sold them all, and not one for lessthan a thousand guineas, he began to enter upon a placid state ofcontentment with me which induced him to say to other captiousrelations--"Let the boy alone, he will be an artist some day. " Atwhich I used to laugh inwardly and go away to my studio to listen tothe Divine voice dictating fresh pictures to me. For five years inItaly I had studied closely and worked unremittingly, keeping myselffor my art alone and existing only in it. My teachers had called meindustrious. Another phrase which always must make an artist laughwhen applied to his art. 

To those who know the wild pleasure, the almost mad joy of exercisinga really natural gift, it sounds as funny as to talk of a drunkardindustriously getting drunk. 

However, this by the way. The world is the world, and artists areartists; the artist may understand the world, but the world can neverunderstand the artist. 

I was happy, life passed like a golden dream till I was twenty-two, and my father was satisfied that I was an "industrious" student. 

From twenty-two till now, when I was twenty-eight, life had opened outinto fuller colour still. My art remained the life of the soul, of allthat was best in me, but the brain and the senses had come forward, demanding their share of recognition, too, and out of the manycoloured strands of which we can weave our web of life, I had chosenthat which gleams the next brightest to art, the strand of passion, and woven much with that. 

I had travelled, passing from country to country, city to city, finding love and inspiration everywhere, for the world is full of bothfor those who desire and look for them, and now I had come on thiscoasting trip along the shores of Alaska in the same spirit, lookingfor pictures in the golden atmosphere, for joy in the golden days andnights. 

My sketch-book was full of ideas and jottings, and I looked forwardmuch to the landing at Sitka where I hoped to find new and goodmaterial. The hopeless ugliness of the Alaskan natives had so farappalled me. An artist chiefly of the face and figure, as I was, couldnot hope to find a model amongst them. As our steamer had come up thecoast I had looked in vain for even a decent-sized woman or childamongst them. They seem a race without a single beauty, possessingneither stature, nor colour, nor length of hair, nor even plumpshapeliness. Undersized, leather-skinned, small-eyed, thin, andwizened, they never seem to be young. They seem to start middle-agedand go on growing older. 

No, I had really had no luck at present on my Alaskan tour, but I wasnaturally sanguine and hoped still something from Sitka. 

Most capitals give you something if you visit them, and Sitka was thecapital of Alaska. 

As I lay in my berth that night, made wakeful by the bright light, Iwas thinking over past incidents in my life and all the Minnies andMarys that had been connected with them. They seemed all to have beenMary or Minnie with Marias in Italy and France. I fell asleep at last, hoping whatever Fate had in store for me at Sitka, it wouldn't be aMary or a Minnie, but some new name embodying a new idea. 

CHAPTER II

THE TEA-SHOP

When we landed at Sitka I went ashore with a fellow passenger. He wasa clever man, and had made trips up there already for the sake oftaking photographs of the people and the scenery; he knew Sitka welland came up to me just before we arrived there with the remark:

"If you come with me I'll take you to have tea with the prettiest girlyou've ever seen. "

This certainly seemed an invitation to accept, and I did so on thespot. 

"She really is, " he continued, observing my sceptically raisedeyebrows, "wonderfully pretty. She keeps a tea-shop and she isChinese. " With that he bolted into his own cabin, which was next mine, and as I heard him laughing, I concluded he was joking and thought nomore about it. However, as the ship glided up over flat sheets ofgolden water to the landing-stage, he joined me again, and together westood looking up the principal street of Sitka which runs down to meetthe little quay. 

It was just four in the afternoon, and everything was vivid livinggold, as the floods of yellow sunshine filled all the shining air. Thegreen copper dome of the church alone stood out a soft spot ofdelicate colour in the dazzling burnished haze. 

At the sides of the street sat and crouched the small squat figures ofthe Alaskan Indians, each with a mat before it on which the owner hadset out his little store of wares--bottles of various-coloured sands, reindeer slippers beautifully embroidered in blue beads, carved walrusteeth. 

We stepped on the shore and the Indians looked up at us with quaintbrown questioning eyes, like their own seals. 

They did not ask you to buy, but watched you silently. 

"Come along, " said my friend, "we'll go up and get tea before there'sa crowd. "

After about five minutes' walk, while I was gazing about interested inthis quaint little capital, my companion suddenly exclaimed:

"In here, " and turned through an opening at the corner of a squareenclosure on our right hand. I followed, and saw we had entered alittle square court or compound, similar to those with which thepoorer classes in any Eastern community surround their huts. 

The floor was dried and hardened mud, the walls about seven feet high, and numerous small tables laid for tea stood round them. 

My companion did not pause here, however, but went straight through inat the low house door, and we found ourselves in a very small, darkpassage, hung with red and with red cloths dangling from the ceiling, that swept our heads as we came in. 

It seemed quite dark inside, coming from the fierce gold light of thestreets, but there was a dim little lamp in Eastern glass of manycolours swinging somewhere at the farther end, and we found our waydown to a low door in the side of the passage. This brought us into asmall square room which gave the impression of being sunk below thelevel of the street. There were diminutive windows in the outer wall, but they were close to the low ceiling and though the glorious lightfrom without tried hard to come in, it was successfully obstructed bylittle rush blinds of red and green. The rushes were placed verticallyside by side and fastened together with string and painted in brighttints. The breeze from the sea came through them and sang a low songof its own. The walls were hung with red stuff curtains, over whichramped wonderful Chinese dragons in green; the floor was spread withsomething soft, on which the feet made no sound; in the corners of theroom stood some little tables. 

To the farthest of these, under the rush-covered windows, we made ourway and sat down on some very ordinary American chairs, a hideous notein the quaint surrounding, introduced as a concession, no doubt, toWestern taste. 

"I rather like this, Morley, " I said as I took my seat and lookedround. 

"Thought you would, " he returned, and pressed his hand on a tinybronze figure standing on the table. At the touch of his finger thehead of the figure disappeared between its shoulders, and then sprungup again, producing a harsh clanging sound of a gong. 

Hardly a moment later the red curtains that hung over the doorwayparted, and a figure came into the room. 

Such a sweet figure, the very spirit of poetic girlhood seemedincarnate before us. 

In appearance she was a Chinese maiden of seventeen or eighteen years;seventeen or eighteen according to our standard of looks, doubtlessshe was in reality younger. 

The face was wonderfully beautiful, a very rounded oval and of themost perfect creamy tint, the nose, straight and fine, was ratherlong, the upper lip short, and the mouth very small, soft, andfull-lipped. The eyes inclined a little to the Chinese shape, but werelarge, wide, and well-opened and brimming to the lids withextraordinary light and fire; delicately narrow black eyebrows archedabove on the low satiny forehead, from which was brushed upwards amass of shining black hair piled on the top of the small head andapparently secured there by two weighty gold pins thrust through fromside to side. 

The last touch of beauty, if any were needed, was added by theearrings of turquoise-blue stone that swung against the ivory-tintedsoftness of the full young throat. 

Those blue stones against the creamy neck! For years afterwards how Icould see them again in the darkness that lies behind closed lids! Howoften I was back in the crimson darkness of the tiny chamber with thesea song of the Alaskan waves coming through the painted rushes abovemy head!

She was very simply dressed, yet so fitly to her own beauty. 

A straight pale blue jacket covered her shoulders and opened on thebreast over a white muslin vest. Her skirts hung like the fulltrousers of Persian women, and were a deep yellow in colour. Her feetwere bare, and shone white on the red floor. 

"How do you do, Suzee?" said Morley. 

"How do you do, Mister Morlee, " returned the girl lightly, smiling andshowing pretty little teeth as she did so. 

"You two gentlemen want some tea? Very good. I make it. "

She glided to the curtains and disappeared as rapidly and noiselesslyas she had entered. 

I turned to Morley with enthusiasm. 

"She's lovely, perfect. "

"Isn't she just? I knew you'd say so. But she's married, old man, sodon't you think you can go playing any tricks with her. "

"Married?" I gasped incredulously, "that child? Impossible! You'rejoking. "

"I'm not, 'pon my honour. She has a great roaring brute of a baby, too. "

"How horrible!" I exclaimed. "Yes, horrible. You've spoiled it all. Itseems a sacrilege. "

"Fiddlesticks, " returned my practical friend. "That's the sort thatdoes these things, isn't it? Would you expect her to turn into an oldmaid?"

"No, but so young!" I faltered. In reality it was a shock to me. Tohave such an exquisite sight float before one for a moment, and thento be roughly dragged down to earth from the exaltation it had caused, hurt and bruised me. 

The next moment she was back again, bearing a tray in her hands whichshe set on our table, and deftly arranged the steaming teapot and tinycups before us. 

As she bent near us over the little table a strange sensation ofdelight came over me, a faint scent of roses reached me from thelittle buds behind her ear. The blue stones in the long gold earringsswung against her neck of cream as she set out the tea things. 

"How is your boy, Suzee?" asked Morley with a tone of mischief in hisvoice. 

"He is very well, thank you, Mister Morlee. "

"I should like to see him. Will you bring him in?" he continued, commencing to pour out the tea. 

"Yes; he is asleep now, but I will wake him up, " she returnednonchalantly, and, in spite of a protestation from me, she went out todo so. 

After a minute we heard loud screams from across the passage andpresently Suzee reappeared dragging (I can use no other phrase) in herarms an enormous baby. Its face was red, and it was roaring lustily. The girl-mother did not seem disturbed in the least by its cries, butstaggered slowly over to us, clasping the child awkwardly round thewaist and holding it flat against her own body. 

It seemed very large, out of all proportion to the small andexquisitely dainty mother. She was short and small, and the childreally, as I looked at it, seemed to be quite half the length of herown body. 

"What a big boy he is, " remarked Morley. 

"Yes, isn't he?" said the mother proudly. 

The baby roared its loudest, tears streamed down its scarlet face, andit dug its clenched knuckles furiously into its eyes. 

"Surely it's in pain, " I suggested. 

"Oh, he always cries when he is woken up, " returned the mothertranquilly. She did not seem to take the least notice of the child'sbellowing. She might have been deaf for all the effect it had uponher. She stood there placidly holding it, though it seemed very heavyfor her, while the child screamed itself purple. She began aconversation with Morley just precisely as if the child werenon-existent. 

I never saw such a picture, and it struck me suddenly I should like topaint it, just as it was there, and call the thing "Maternity. "

But no. What would be the good? No one, certainly not the Britishpublic, would ever believe its truth. 

They would think it a joke, and a grotesque one at that. "Beauty andthe Beast" would do for a name, I mused, or "Fact and Fancy. "

Nothing could be more delicately soul-absorbingly beautiful than themother; nothing so brutally hideous as the child. 

Suzee had sat down on the floor now, and the baby, still roaring, hadrolled on to its face on the ground beside her. Still she took not thesmallest notice of it; she laid one shapely hand on the small of itsback, as if to make sure it was there, and continued her conversationtranquilly with Morley. How she could hear what he said I could nottell. I could hear nothing but the appalling row the child made. 

"Do take it away, " I said after a few moments more, in an interval ofyells, during which the baby rolled, apparently in the last stages ofsuffocation, on the floor. "I can't stand that noise. "

"Ah!" said Suzee meditatively, lifting her glorious almond eyes tomine, "you do not like my boy-baby?"

"I do not like the noise he makes, " I said evasively, "and I don'tthink he can be well, either. "

"Oh yes, he is quite well, " she returned composedly; "but I will takehim away. "

So saying, she began to haul at the loose things about the child'swaist, as a tired gardener hauls at a sack of potatoes prior tolifting it up. 

I thought really she would get the child into her arms head downwards, so carelessly did she seem to manage it, and as she rose and carriedit to the door it seemed as if the awkward weight of it must strainher own slight body. 

When the curtain closed behind her and the screams got faint in thedistance as the unhappy child was hauled to a back room, I drew abreath of relief and began to drink my tea, which really hitherto Ihad been too nervous to do. Morley chuckled and remarked:

"Good for you to be disillusioned. "

"I'm not in the least, with _her_. She is a divine piece of physicalbeauty. I wish I could get her on my canvas. "

"You won't be able to; that old curmudgeon of a husband of hers willsee to that. "

"I should think he has the devil of a temper, judging by hisoffspring, " I answered. "She looks sweet enough. "

Morley nodded, and we finished our tea in silence. Suzee came backpresently with cigarettes for us and sat down on the floor herself, rolling one up between supple fingers. She had an air of extraordinaryunruffled placidity. The dragging about of the child had not disturbedher dress nor heated her face. In cool, tranquil, placid beauty shesat and rolled cigarettes while the child's cries dimly echoed in thedistance. 

"Where's the boss, Suzee?" questioned Morley presently. 

"He has gone down to Fort Wrangle for two days, " she returned, and myspirits leapt up at her words. Her husband away for two days! Perhapsthere was a chance for a picture.... 

My eyes swept over her seated on the floor in front of us. Whatexquisite supple lines! What sweet little dainty curves showed beneaththe blue silk jacket and sleeve! What a glory of light and passionateexpression in the liquid dark eyes when she raised them to us!

After a few minutes Morley got up, and I saw him laying down on thetable the money for our tea. I added my share, and Morley remarked, "We'd better go and walk about before dinner, hadn't we? You'd like alook round?"

I was gazing at Suzee. 

"Do you have any time to yourself?" I asked her. "Later in the eveningperhaps when you could come for a walk with me. "

Suzee looked up. There was surprise in those wonderful eyes, but Ithought I saw pleasure too. 

"At six, " she said. "I close the restaurant for a short time, but Idon't walk, I smoke and go to sleep. But I will come with you if it isnot too far, " she added as an after-thought. 

Morley gave a whistle, indicative of surprise and disapproval, but Ianswered composedly. 

"Very well, I shall come here at six; so don't be asleep and fail tolet me in!"

Suzee laughed and shook her head, and we picked up our hats and wentout of the little room into the passage. In the outer court, as wepassed through, we saw most of the tables occupied, and an elderlywoman serving. 

"We had the best of it, " I remarked. 

"Yes, rather. But you are going ahead with that girl. Do be careful oryou'll have the old terror of a husband down on you. "

"You introduced me, " I returned laughing. "You have all theresponsibility. "

"You know dinner's at six on this unearthly boat. Aren't you going toget any dinner to-night?"

"I'm not very particular about it. I shall pick up something. Ithought six when all the men would be back on board would be her freetime. "

"But what are you going to do with her?"

"Get her to pose for me, if she will. "

"Anything else?"

"One never knows in life, " I answered smiling. 

Morley regarded me thoughtfully. 

"You artists do manage to have a good time. "

"You could have just the same if you chose, " I said. 

"No, I don't think I could somehow, " he answered slowly. "I am not sodevilishly good-looking as you are, for one thing. "

"Oh, I don't know, " I replied; "and does that make much differencewith women, do you think? Isn't it rather a passionate responsiveness, a go-aheadness, that they like?"

"Yes, I think it is, but then that's it, you've got that. I don'tthink I have. I don't seem to want the things, to see anything inthem, as you do. "

I laughed outright. We were walking slowly down one of the gold, light-filled streets towards the church now, and everything about usseemed vibrating in the dazzling heat. 

"If you don't want them I should think it's all right. " I said. 

"No, it isn't, " returned my companion gravely. "You want a thing verymuch and you get it, and have no end of fun. I don't want it and don'tget it, and don't have the fun. So it makes life very dull. "

"Well, I _am_ very jolly, " I admitted contentedly. "I think really, artists--people with the artist's brain--do enjoy everythingtremendously. They have such a much wider field of desires, as yousay; and fewer limitations. They 'weave the web Desire, ' as Swinburnesays, 'to snare the bird Delight. '"

"They get into a mess sometimes, " said Morley sulkily; "as you willwith that girl if you don't look out. Here we are at the church. There's a very fine picture inside; you'd like to see it, I expect. "

We turned into the church and rested on the chairs for a few minutes, enjoying the cool dark interior. 

At six o'clock exactly I was in the little mud-yard again, before thetea-shop; having sent Morley off to his dinner on board. I feltelated: all my pulses were beating merrily. I was keenly alive. Morleywas right in what he said. An artist is Nature's pet, and she hasmixed all his blood with joy. Natural, instinctive joy, swampedoccasionally by melancholy, but always there surging up anew. Joy inhimself--joy in his powers--joy in life. 

I knocked as arranged, and Suzee herself let me in. She had beenburning spice, apparently, before one of the idols that stood in eachcorner of the tea-shop; for the whole place smelt of it. 

"What have you been doing?" I said. "Holding service here?"

"Only burning spice-spills to chase away the evil spirits, " repliedSuzee. 

"Are there any here?" I inquired. 

"They always come in with the white foreign devils, " she returned withengaging frankness. 

I laughed. 

"Well, Suzee, you are unkind, " I expostulated. "Is that how you thinkof me?"

She looked up with a calm smile. 

"The devil is always welcomed by a woman, " she answered sweetly--hereyes were black lakes with fire moving in their depths--"that is oneof our proverbs. It is quite true. "

The lips curled and the creamy satin of the cheeks dimpled and theblue earrings shook against her neck. 

"What lovely earrings, " I said, smiling down upon her, and put up myhand gently to touch one. She did not draw back nor seem to resent myaction. 

"You think them pretty? I have others upstairs. Will you come up andsee my jewellery?"

I assented with the greatest willingness, and we went on down thepassage and then up the narrow, steep flight of stairs at the end. 

"Don't wake up your child, " I said in sudden horror, as we reached thesmall square landing above of slender rickety uncovered boards. 

"Oh, he never wakes till one pulls him up, " she answered tranquilly, and led the way into a little chamber. Did she sleep here? I wondered. There was no bed, but a loose heap of red rugs in one corner. Thewindows were mere narrow horizontal slits close to the ceiling. In thecentre, blocking up all the space, stood a high narrow chest. Itlooked very old, of blackened wood and antique shape. I had never seensuch a thing. On the top of this, which nearly came to her chin, sheeagerly spread out heaps of little paper parcels she took from one ofthe drawers. 

"Have you any earrings just like those you are wearing?" I asked her. If she had, I would buy them if I could for my cousin Viola, Ithought. Viola was excessively fair, and those blue stones would beenchanting against her blonde hair. 

"You want to buy them?" she said quickly. "I have a pair here justlike, only green. Buy those. "

"No, " I said. "It is the colour I like. Do you want to sell these blueones you are wearing?"

"No, " she said quickly; "not these, " and ran to a small mirror on thewall and looked in hastily, fearfully, as if she thought that bywishing for them I could charm them away from her out of her veryears. 

That she appreciated so well the effect of the colour harmony betweenthe blue stones and her own cream-hued skin, and the value of it insetting off her beauty, pleased me. It seemed to augur well for herartistic sense. 

"May I sit down here?" I asked her, going to the pile of scarlet rugsand cushions in the corner. 

"Oh yes, Meester Treevor, sit down, " and she came hastily forward torearrange them for me with Oriental politeness. I sat down, drawing upmy legs as I best could, and pointed to a place beside me. 

"Come and sit down, Suzee, " I said; "I have something to show younow. "

She came and sat beside me, but not very close, with her knees raisedand her smooth lissom little hands clasped round them. Her almond eyesgrew almost round with curiosity. I had brought with me a smallportfolio of some of my sketches with the object of introducing thesubject of her posing for me. I opened it and drew out the topmostsketch. It was the figure of a young Italian girl lying on a greenbank beneath some vines. She was not wholly undraped, but most of herattire was on the bank beside her, and the rest was of a transparentgauzy nature suited to the heat suggested in the sunlit picture. 

The moment Suzee's eyes fell upon it she gave a shriek of dismay andcovered her face with her hands. Over any portion I could still seeof it spread the Eastern's equivalent of a blush: a sort of dull heavyred that seems to thicken the tissues. 

"What is the matter?" I asked, surveying her in surprise. There wasnothing in the picture which would cause the least embarrassment toany English girl. 

"Oh, Treevor, it is dreadful to look at things like that, " sheexclaimed, moving her fingers before her face and looking at me withone eye through them. Then she made some rapid passes over her head, as if to ward off the evil spirits I had conjured up. 

I laughed. 

"You may think so, Suzee, " I said; "but in our country, and manyothers, these 'things, ' as you call them, are not only very muchlooked at, but also admired, and bought and sold for great sums. Whatdo you see so very bad in it?"

Suzee ventured to peer through her fingers with both eyes at thefearful object. 

"Dreadful!" she exclaimed again, quickly shutting her fingers. "It isa very bad woman, is it not?"

"No, " I said, somewhat nettled; "certainly not. This was quite arespectable girl. I have quantities of these portraits and sketches. Look here, " and I opened the portfolio and spread out several pictureson the rug. 

Suzee drew herself together, tightly pursed up her and looked down atthem with alarm, --as if I had let loose a number of snakes. 

"They are very, very wicked things, " she said, primly as a dissentingminister's wife; and lowered her eyelids till the lashes lay likeblack silk on the cheeks. 

I gathered the offending sketches together and pushed them back undercover. 

"I wanted you to pose for me, " I said, "that I might have yourpicture, too; but I expect you won't do so for me?"

"I! I!" said Suzee, with virtuous indignation, "be put on paper likethat? I would die first. " Her face had thickened all over as the bloodwent into it. Her eyes looked stormy, alluring. 

I leant towards her suddenly as we sat side by side, put my arms roundher waist, drew her to me, and pressed my lips on the ridiculouslittle screwed-up mouth, with a sudden access of passion that left herbreathless. 

"You are a horrid little humbug, and goose, and prude, " I said, laughing, as I released her. "What do you think of letting me kiss youlike that, then? Is that wrong?"

Suzee sighed heavily, swaying her pliable body only a very little wayfrom me. 

"It may be--a little" she admitted; "but it's not like the pictures. "

"Oh! It's not so bad--not so wicked?" I asked mockingly. 

"Oh no, not nearly, " she returned decisively. 

"Well, " I answered, "many people would think it much worse. Thosegirls who have let me draw them would not let me kiss them--some ofthem, " I added. "So, you see, it's a matter of opinion and idea. Now, will you say why the picture is so much worse than a kiss?"

"A kiss, " murmured Suzee, "is just between two people. It is done, andno one knows. It is gone. " She spread out her hands and waved them inthe air with an expressive gesture. "Those things remain a monument ofshame for ever and ever. "

I laughed. I was beginning to see there was not much chance of apicture, but other prospects seemed fair. In life one must always takeexactly what it offers, and neither refuse its goods nor ask for more, either in addition or exchange. Sitka would give me something, butperhaps not a picture as I had hoped. 

I looked at her in silence for some seconds, musing on her curiousbeauty. 

"I shall call you 'Sitkar-i-buccheesh, '" I said after a minute. 

Suzee looked frightened and made a rapid pass over her head. 

"What is that?" she asked. "It sounds a devil's name. "

"It only means the gift of Sitka, " I answered. "This city has givenyou to me, has it not? or it will, " I added in a lower tone. 

I put my arm round her again, and she leant towards me as a flowerswayed by the breeze, her head drooped and rested against my shoulder. 

"If it were the name of a devil, " I said laughing, "it would suit you. I believe you are an awful little devil. "

"All women are devils, " returned Suzee placidly. 

I did not answer, but Viola's face swam suddenly before my vision--aface all white and gold and rose and with eyes of celestial blue. 

"What would your husband say to all this?" I asked jestingly. 

"He will never know. I tell him quite different. He believeseverything I say. "

Involuntarily I felt a little chill of disgust pass through me. Deceitof any kind specially repels me, and deceit towards some one trusting, confident, is the worst of all. 

Perhaps she read my thoughts instinctively, for she said next, in apleading note, to enlist my sympathies:

"He is very, very cruel, he beats me all the time. "

I looked down at her as she lay in the cradle of my arm, a littlesceptical. 

From what I knew of the Chinese character it did not seem at alllikely that Hop Lee did beat his wife; moreover, the delicate, fragile, untouched beauty of the girl did not allow one to imagine shehad suffered, or could suffer much violence. 

Again she seemed to feel my doubt of her, for she pushed up suddenlyher sleeve with some trouble from one velvet-skinned arm and pushed itup before my eyes. There was a deep dull crimson mark upon it the sizeof a half-crown. 

"Unbeliever! Look at this bruise. "

I looked at it, then at her steadily. 

"Suzee, did your husband make that bruise?"

"Yes. He pinched me so hard in a rage with me, " she said a littlesulkily. 

"Give me your arm, " I said. 

She held it out reluctantly. I looked at the bruise, then I rolled thesleeve back a little farther, and in it found a heavy gold bangle witha boss on one side corresponding with the size of the mark on theflesh. 

"I think it is the gold bracelet your kind old husband gave you thatyou have pressed into the flesh, " I said, "that has marked it. That isabout what his cruelty to you amounts to. " I dropped her armcontemptuously, and rose suddenly. 

She had succeeded in dispelling for the moment the charm of herbeauty. Her prudery, her deceit, her lies made up to me a peculiarlyobnoxious mixture. 

She sprang up, too, as I rose and threw herself on her knees, clasping her arms round mine so that I could not move. 

"Oh Treevor, I do love you so much. You are my real master, not he. Awoman loves a man who conquers her, but not by buying her. But becausehe is better and stronger than she. Because he has great muscles, asyou have, and could kill her, and because she can't deceive him, because he sees all her lies, as you do. Yes, Treevor, I love you nowvery much indeed. Come here again, kiss me again. "

But somehow her pleading did not move me. The moment when I had beendrawn to her had gone by, swallowed up in a feeling of disgust. 

I stooped down and unlocked her hands and put her back among hercushions. 

"Good-bye, Suzee, for to-day, " I said. "To-morrow I will come and takeyou for a walk. You must let me go now. I do not want to stay anylonger. "

She looked at me in silence, but did not offer to move from where Ihad put her. 

I gathered up my portfolio and left the room, went down the stairs andthrough the passage and courtyard to the sun-filled street. 

I went on slowly, and after a time found myself close to the churchagain. I went in, for the interior interested me, and found servicewas being held. A Russian priest, wholly in white clothing, stoodbefore the altar, the cross light from the aisle windows falling onthe long twist of fair hair that lay upon his shoulders. The whole airwas full of incense that rose in white clouds to the domed roof. I satdown near the door and listened while the priest intoned a Latin hymn. The figure of the young priest at the altar attracted me. I thought Ishould like a sketch of it; but I hesitated to take one of him in thechurch, even surreptitiously, so I fixed the picture of him as hestood there on my eyes as far as I could, and then, in a convenientpause of the service, quietly slipped outside. 

Near the church was a great outcrop of rock surmounted by aweather-beaten tree. In the shade thrown by these I got out a sheet ofloose paper and made a sketch of the fair, long-haired priest, withthe quaint frame building of the church, its green copper dome andbell tower and double gold crosses behind him. 

After I had been there some time I was suddenly surprised by Morley. 

"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "You here? Why, I thought you would be in thearms of the fair Suzee by this time. "

"So I might have been, " I answered, looking up from the sketch, "but Igot put off somehow, so I left her and went to church instead!"

Morley burst out laughing. 

"You _are_ the funniest fellow, " he exclaimed, taking his seat besideme on the ground and clasping his hands round his knees. "So Suzee hasoffended you, has she? Do you know, I think that's where we ordinarypeople get ahead of fellows like you. You are too sensitive. We're notso particular. When I'm stuck on Mary Ann it doesn't matter to me whatshe says or does. It doesn't interfere with my happiness. "

I went on painting in silence. 

"Funny those chaps look with their long hair, don't they?" he remarkedafter a moment, as I painted the light on the priest's long curl. 

"Very picturesque, don't you think?" I said. 

"No, I don't, " returned the Briton stoutly. "I think it's beastly. "

I laughed this time, and having completed the portrait, slipped itinto my portfolio and prepared to put away my paints. 

"Don't you want any dinner?" asked Morley. "You must be hungry. "

"Well, I hadn't thought of it, " I answered. "But, now you mention it, perhaps I am. Do you know of any place where one can get anything?"

"There's one place at the end of the town where you can have soup andbread, " replied Morley, and we started off to find it. 

Later on, towards ten o'clock, when we were leaving the little, frame, sailors' restaurant, I looked up to the western sky and saw thatstrange colour in it of the Alaskan sunset that I have never found inany other sky, a bright magenta, or deep heather pink, a crude colourrather like an aniline dye, but brilliant and arresting in the clean, clear gold of the heavens. 

Great ribs and bars and long flat lines of it lay all across the West. No other cloud, no other colour appeared anywhere in the sky. It waspainted in those two tints alone; the brightest magenta conceivableand living gold. 

Walking back slowly to the ship, I gazed at it with interest. No othersky that I could recall ever shows this tone of colour. Pink, scarlet, rose, and all the shades of blood or flame-colour are familiar inevery sunset, but this curious tint seemed to belong to Alaska alone. 

I watched it glow and deepen, then fade, and softly disappear as thesun dipped below the horizon. 

CHAPTER III

IN THE WOOD

The next evening, after dinner, I left the ship and made my way toSuzee's place to take her for the promised walk. 

It was just seven when I stepped ashore, and light of the purest, mostexquisite gold lay over everything. The air had that special qualityof Alaska which I have never met anywhere else, an extreme humidity;it hung upon the cheek as a mist hangs, only it was clear as crystal, brilliant as a yellow diamond. 

There was no wind, not a breath ruffled the stillness nor stirred themotionless blue water. 

The exquisite chain of islands off the mainland was mirrored in thestill, shining depths, and lifted their delicate outlines clothed withfir and larch, soft as half-forgotten dreams, against the transparentblue of the sky. Sitka was placid and restful, the streets quiet andempty as I walked along in the sunny silence. 

Suzee was at the door waiting for me. She had dressed herselfdifferently, entirely in yellow. The yellow silk of the little squarejacket contrasted well with her midnight hair, and the only dash ofother colour in the picture she presented was the blue stone in herearrings. 

"Good evening, Treevor, " she said, smiling up at me. And I bent downand pressed my lips to those little, soft, curved ones she put up forme. 

We started out at once. Suzee told me we were going for a long way tosee the wood, and had the important air of a person going on a lengthyexpedition. She had brought a Japanese sunshade with her which she putup, and certainly the hot light falling through the rice-paper had awonderfully beautiful effect on her creamy skin and soft yellow silkclothing. She walked easily, only with rather short steps. As she wasof the lower class, there had been no question of the "golden lilies"or distortion of the feet for her, and they were small and prettilyshaped, bare, save for a sort of sandal, or as the Indians call them, "guaraches, " bound under the sole. 

We passed up the main street and soon after turned into a narrowwinding road that leads along the coast, Sitka being on a promontory, with a beautiful azure bay running inland behind it. 

Our path ran sometimes inland, through portions of wood, part of thatgreat impenetrable primeval forest that at one time completely coveredthe whole of Sitka, sometimes quite on the edge of the water. Herethere were rocks and boulders, and little coves of white sand andstretches of miniature beaches, with the lip of the bay resting onthem. 

Infinitesimal waves broke on the sunny white sand with a low musicaltinkle, across the bay one could see the delicate chain of islandsrising with their feathery trees into the blue, warding off thebreakers and the storms of the open sea beyond. In here, the peacefulwater murmured to itself and repeated tales of the beginning of theworld, of the first gold dawn that broke upon the earth, and of laterdays, when the sombre black forests came to the water's edge and noneknew them but the great black bear, and when the seals playedjoyously, undisturbed, in the fog-banks off the islands. I was in themood to appreciate deeply the beauty of the scene, and all the objectsround seemed to speak to me of their inner meaning, but my companionwas not at all moved by, nor interested in her surroundings. Shehelped to make the picture more strange and lovely as she sat by me ona rock, with her shining clothes and brilliant face under the gaysunshade, but mentally she jarred on me by her complete indifferenceto any influence of the scene. I almost wished I were alone here, tosit upon this tremendous shore and dream. 

"You are dull, Treevor, " she exclaimed pettishly. "You really are. "

I had kissed her twice in the last ten minutes, but she hated my eyesto wander for a moment from her face to the sea. She hated the leastreference apparently to the landscape. As long as I was talking toher and about her, admiring her dress or her hair, she was satisfied. 

"Come along, " she said impatiently; "let us go on to the wood, leaveoff looking at that stupid sea. "

I rose reluctantly and we followed the road which turned inland again. The wood was a world of grey shadows. As we entered by a narrow trailleading from the road, the golden day outside was soon closed from usby the thick veils of hanging creeper and parasitical plants of allsorts that entwined round the gnarled and aged trees, and crossing andre-crossing from one to the other, netted them together. 

Over the creepers again had grown grey-green lichens and long, shaggymoss, so that strands and fringes of it fell on every side, fillingthe interstices of the gigantic web that stretched from tree to tree, excluding the light of the sunlit sky. 

Beneath, the lower branches of the trees were sad and sodden, overgrown with lichen, clogged with hanging wreaths of moss. A riverran through the wood and at times, swelled by the melting snows, burst, evidently, in roaring flood over its banks. 

Everywhere there were traces of recent floods, roots washed bare andplaces where the swirling waters had heaped up their débris of sticksand mud-stained leaves. All along the damp ground the lowest branchesof the trees, weighted with tangled moss, trailed, broken and bruisedby the fierce rush of the current. The trees themselves seemedcenturies old, bent and gnarled and twisted into grotesque and ghostlyforms. In the dim twilight reigning here one could fancy one stood insome hideous torture-chamber, surrounded by writhing and distortedfigures. There an elbow, there a withered arm, a fist clenched inagony, seemed protruding from the sombre, sad-clothed trees, soweirdly knotted and twisted were the old cinder-hued boughs. 

As we neared the river we could hear it rushing by long before wecould see it, so thick was the undergrowth that hung low over it. 

It seemed as if we might be approaching the black Styx through thismelancholy wood where all seemed weeping in torn veils andash-coloured garments. 

No touch of depression affected my companion; she seemed as insensibleto the grey solemnity, the dim mystery of the wood, as she had been tothe vivid glory of the sea. She slipped a little velvet hand intomine, and when we drew near to the hidden Styx, murmured softly:

"We will find a dry place, Treevor, on the other side, and sit downamong the trees. Then you must take me in your arms and I will be yourown Suzee. I do not want my old husband any more. "

I stopped and looked down upon her. Not even the sad light could dimthe soft brilliance of her face. It seemed to bloom out of the ashyshadows like an exquisite flower. Her eyes were wells of fire beneaththeir velvet blackness. 

"Do you love me very much?" I asked. 

"Oh, yes, so much, " she answered with passionate emphasis. "You are sobeautiful. Never have I seen any one so beautiful, and so tall and sostrong. Oh, it is _pain_ to me to love you so much. "

And indeed she became quite white, as she drew her hand from mine andclasped both of hers upon her breast as if to still some agony there. 

My own heart beat hard. The grey wood seemed to lose its ashy tone andbecome warm and rosy round us. I bent over her and took her up whollyin my arms, and she laughed and threw hers around me in wild delight. 

"Carry me, Treevor, over the bridge and up the slope at the side. Itis so nice to feel you carrying me. "

It was no difficulty to carry her, and the waves of electricity fromher joyous little soul rushed through me till my arms and all theveins of my body seemed alight and burning. 

I ran with her, over the narrow bridge and up the slope, where, as shesaid, there was drier ground. And there, on a bed of leaves under sometangled branches, I fell on my knees with her still clasped to mybreast, and covered her small satin-skinned face with kisses. 

"I am yours now. You must not let me go. I only want to look and lookat your face. I wish I could tell you how I love you. Oh, Treevor, Ican't tell you.... "

As I looked down, breathless with running and kisses and the fires shehad kindled within me, I saw how her bosom heaved beneath the yellowjacket, how all the delicate curves of her breast seemed broken upwith panting sighs and longing to express in words all that her bodyexpressed so much better. 

"Darling, there is no need to tell me. I know. " And I put my handround her soft column of throat, feeling all its quick pulsesthrobbing hard into the palm of my hand. 

"Put your head down on my heart, Treevor. Lie down beside me; now letus think we have drunk a little opium, just a little, and we are goingto sleep through a long night together. Hush! What is that? Did youhear anything?"

She lifted my hand from her throat and sat up, listening. 

I had not heard anything. I had been too absorbed. All had vanishednow from me, except the fervent beauty of the girl before me. 

The sea of desire had closed over my head, sealing the senses tooutside things; I drew her towards me impatiently. 

"It is nothing, " I murmured. "I heard nothing. " But she sat up, gazingstraight across a small cleared space in front of us to where theimpenetrable thicket of undergrowth again stood forward like greyscreens between the twisted tree trunks. 

"Yes, there was something; there, opposite! Look, something ismoving!" I followed her eyes and saw a strand of loose moss quiver andheard a twig break in the quiet round us. We both watched theundergrowth across the open space intently. For a second nothingmoved, then the boughs parted in front of us, and through the greatlichen streamers and rugged bands of grey-green moss depending fromthem, peered an old, drawn-looking face. 

Suzee gave a piercing shriek of dismay, and started to her feet. 

"My husband!" she gasped. 

I sprang to my feet, and my right hand went to my hip pocket. The headpushed through the thicket, and a bent and aged form followed slowly. I drew out my revolver, but the figure of the old man straighteneditself up and he waved his hand impatiently, as if deprecatingviolence. 

"Sir, I have come after my wife, " he said, in a low, broken tone. 

I slipped the weapon back in my pocket. I had had an idea that hemight attack Suzee, but voice and face showed he was in a differentmood. 

Suzee clung to my hand on her knees, crying and trembling. 

"Go and sit over there, " he said peremptorily to her, pointing to theother side of the glade, far enough from us to be out of hearing. 

She did not move, only clung and shivered and wept as before. 

I bent over her, loosening my hand. 

"Do as he says, " I whispered; "no harm can come to you while I amhere. "

Suzee let go my fingers reluctantly and crept away, sobbing, to theopposite edge of the thicket. The old Chinaman motioned me to sitdown. I did so, mechanically wondering whether his calmness was a ruseunder cover of which he would suddenly stab me. He sat down, too, stiffly, beside me, resting on his heels, and his hard, wrinkled handssupporting his withered face. 

"Now, " he said, in a thin old voice; "look at me! I am an old man, youare a young one. You are strong, you are well; you are rich too, Ithink. " He looked critically over me. "You have everything that I havenot, already. Why do you come here to rob an old man of all he has inthis world?"

I felt myself colour with anger. All the blood in my body seemed torush to my head and stand singing in my ears. 

I felt a furious impulse to knock him aside out of my way; but his ageand weakness held me motionless. 

"All my youth, when I was strong and good-looking as you are now, andwomen loved me, I worked hard like a slave, and starved and saved. When others played I toiled, when they spent I hoarded up. What was Isaving for? That I might buy myself _that_. " He waved his hand in thedirection of Suzee, sitting in a little crumpled heap against agnarled tree opposite us. 

"I bought her, " he went on with increasing excitement. "I bought herfrom a woman who would have let her out, night by night, toforeigners. I have given her a good home, she does no hard work. Shehas a child, she has fine clothes. I work still all day and every daythat I may give money to her. She is my one joy, my treasure; don'ttake her away from me, don't do it. You have all the world before you, and all the women in it that are without husbands. Go to them, leaveme my wife in peace. "

Tears were rolling fast down his face now, his clasped hands quiveredwith emotion. 

"When I was a young man I would not take any pleasure. No, pleasuremeans money, and I was saving. When I am old I will buy, I said. Itneeds money, when I am old I shall have it. I can buy then. But, ah!when one is old it is all dust and ashes. "

I looked at his thin shrunken form, poorly clad, at his face, deeplylined with great furrows, made there by incessant toil and constantpain. I felt my joy in Suzee to wither in the grey shadow of hisgrief. Some people would have thought him doubtless an immoral oldscoundrel, and that he had no business in his old age to try to behappy as younger men are, to wish, to expect it. But I cannot see thatjoy is the exclusive right of any particular age. A young man or youngwoman has no more right or title to enjoy than an old man or woman;they have simply the right of might, which is no _right_ at all. 

"Well, what do you want me to say or do?" I exclaimed impatiently. "Take your wife back with you now, no harm has happened to her. Takeher home with you. "

"Yes, I can take her body, but not her spirit, " answered the old mansadly. 

His tone made me look at him keenly. Hitherto I had felt sorry forSuzee that she was his; now, as I heard his accent, I felt sorry forhim that he was hers. 

A great capacity for suffering looked out of the aged face, such as Iknew could never look out of hers. 

"If you lift your finger she would come to you! Promise me you willnot see her again, not speak to her; that you will go. And if shecomes to you, you will not accept her. "

I was silent for a moment. 

"My ship goes to-morrow morning, " I answered; "I am not likely to seeyour wife again. I shall not seek her. "

"That is not enough, " moaned the old man; "she will find a way. Shewill come to you. Promise me you will not take her away with you; ifyou do you will have an old man's murder on your head. "

I moved impatiently. 

"I am not going to take her away, " I answered. 

"But promise me. If I have your promise I shall feel certain. "

I hesitated, and looked across at Suzee, a patch of beautiful colouragainst the grey background of bent and aged trees. 

What had I intended to do, I asked myself. I could not take her, inany case. I had not meant that. A virtuous American ship like theCottage City would hardly admit a Suzee to share my cabin. 

Then what did my promise matter if it but reflected the fact, and ifit satisfied him?

"You are not willing to promise, " he said, coming close to me andpeering into my face; "I feel it. "

I thought I heard his teeth close on an unuttered oath. Still he didnot threaten me. As I remained silent he suddenly threw himself on theground in front of me, and stretched out his hands and put them on myfeet. 

"Sir I implore you. Give me your word you will not take her, then I amsatisfied. Better take my life than my wife. "

I lifted my eyes for a moment in a glance towards Suzee and saw hermake a scornful gesture at the prostrate figure. The gold bracelets onher arm below the yellow silk sleeve shewed in the action a contrastto the old, worn clothing of the poorest material that her husbandwore. 

I rose to my feet and raised him up. 

"Get up, I hate to see you kneel to me. I have said I shall not takeyour wife. As far as I am concerned, that is a promise. I have saidit. "

"Thank you, " he said, inclining his head, and then moved away, notwithout a certain dignity in his old form, lean and twisted though thework of years had made it. 

I dropped back into my place where I had been sitting and watched thetwo figures before me almost in a dream. 

He went up to the girl and spoke, apparently not unkindly, and sometalk ensued. Then I saw him bend down and take her wrist and drag herto her feet. 

Suzee hung back as one sees a child hang back from a nurse, but shemoved forward though unwillingly, and so at last they passed from mysight, through the grey trees and the weeping moss, the thin old manstepping doggedly forward, the pretty, gay-clothed childish littlefigure dragging back. 

Then all was still. The old grey wood was full of weird light, but thesilence of the night had fallen on it. Beast and bird and insect hadsought their lair and nest and cranny. Not a leaf moved. I feltentirely alone. 

"One never knows in life, " I thought, repeating my words to Morley. 

I felt a keen sense of longing regret surge slowly, heavily throughme. How exquisitely sweet and perfect her beauty was! And she had lainin my arms for that moment, one moment that was stamped into my brainin gold. I put my head into my hands and shut out the dim grey woodfrom vision and recalled that moment. It came back to me, the touch ofher soft form, the smiling curve of the lips put up to me, the fire inthe liquid depths of those almond eyes, the round throat delicate aspolished ivory. The extraordinary triumph of beauty over the sensescame before my mind suddenly, presenting the problem that alwayspuzzles and eludes me. 

Why should certain lines and colours in pleasing the eye sointoxicate and inflame the brain? For it is the brain to which beautyappeals. Youth and health in a loved object are sufficient to capturethe physical senses, but they do not fill the brain with thatexaltation, that delirium of joy, that divine elation that sweeps upthrough us at the sight of beauty. Divine fire, it seems to be lightedfirst in the glance of the eyes. 

In an hour's time I left the wood and walked slowly shipwards. I felttired and overstrained, exceedingly regretful, full of longing afterthat lovely vision that had come to me and that I had had to driveaway. 

The unearthly stillness combined with the brilliant, unabated, unfailing light had a curious mystery about it that charmed anddelighted me. The sea, so blue and tranquil, sparkled softly on myleft hand, the pellucid blue of the sky stretched overhead, and allthe air was full of the sweet sunshine we associate with day. Yet itwas midnight. I pulled out my watch and looked at it to assure myselfof the fact. Sitka was wrapt in silence and sleep, my own footstepresounded strangely in the burning empty streets. 

I had to pass the tea-shop on my way to the ship. One could seenothing of it from the street as the compound shut it off from view, and across the compound entrance a stout hurdle was now stretched andbarred. 

I passed on with a sigh, reached the ship lying motionless againstthe quay, went down to my cabin without encountering any one, threwoff my clothes and myself in my berth, feeling a sense of fatigueobliterating thought. 

The night before I had had no sleep, and the incessant golden glare, day and night alike, wearies the nerves not trained to it. 

Suzee and almond eyes and injured husbands floated away from me on thedark wings of sleep. 

It must have been an hour or so later that I woke suddenly with asense of suffocation. Some soft, heavy thing lay across my breast. Istarted up and two arms clasped my neck and I heard Suzee's voice;saying in my ear:

"Treevor, dear Treevor, I have found you! Now I you will take me away, and we will stay for ever and ever together. I am so happy. "

The cabin was full of the same steady yellow light as when I closed myeyes. Looking up I saw her sweet oval face above me. 

She was lying on the berth leaning over me, supported on her elbows. 

As I looked up she pressed her lips down on my face, kissing me on theeyes and mouth with passionate repetition and insistence. 

"Dear little girl, dear little Suzee!" I answered, putting up my armsand folding them round her. 

I was only half-awake, and for a moment the old Chinaman wasforgotten. It was all rather like a delicious dream. 

"I am quite, quite happy now, " she said, laying down her head on mychest. "Oh, so happy, Treevor; you must never let me go. I love youso, like this, " she added, putting her two hands round my throat, "when I can feel your neck and when you are sleeping. You lookedbeautiful, just now, when I found you. I am sorry you woke. "

Clear consciousness was struggling back now with memory, but notbefore I had pressed her to me and returned those kisses. She had laidaside her little saffron silk coat, and her breast and arms shonesoftly through a filmy muslin covering. 

I sat up regarding her; very lissom and soft and lovely she looked, and my whole brain swam suddenly with delight. 

Surely I could not part with her! She was precious to me in thatmadness that comes over us at such moments. 

I put my arms round her and held her to my breast with all my force ina clasp that must have been painful to her, but she only laugheddelightedly. 

Then my promise came back to me. It was impossible to break that. Whatwas the good of torturing myself when I had made it impossible to takeher. Why had she come here?

"Where is your husband?" I asked mechanically wondering if any strangefate had removed him from between us. 

"Oh, I put him to sleep, he will give no trouble. I gave him opium, somuch opium, he will sleep a long time. "

"You have not killed him?" I said, in a sudden horror. 

Her eyes were wide open and full of extraordinary fire, she seemed inthose moments capable of anything. 

She put up her little hands and ran them through my hair. 

"Such black hair, " she murmured. "Ah, how I love it! I love blackhair. How it shines, how soft it is! I hate grey hair. It is horrid. No, I have not killed him. He will wake again when we have sailed andare far away from Sitka. "

These words drove from me the last veil of clinging sleep. I kept myarms round her and said:

"But, Suzee, I can't take you with me. I promised your husbandto-night I would not. "

"That's nothing, " she replied lightly; "promises are nothing when oneloves. And you love me, Treevor; you must love me, and I am comingwith you, you can't drive me away. "

The ship's bells sounded overhead on deck as she spoke. The soundseemed a warning. I knew our ship was due to leave in the morning; Idid not know quite when. If it left the quay with the girl on board, the horror of a broken promise would cling to me all my life. 

"I can't take you, it is impossible. You must go back and try toforget you have ever seen me. You must go now at once, our ship isleaving soon. "

"I know, " said Suzee tranquilly; "and I shall be so happy when itstarts. "

I pushed her aside and got up from the berth. The cabin window stoodwide open. In the position the ship was it was easy to come in and outthrough it from the quay. She must have entered that way. 

"You must go, " I said between my teeth. I was afraid of myself. Overhead I heard movements and clanking chains and shuffling feet. Ourship was leaving, and she was still on board with me. 

"Go out of that window now, instantly, or I shall put you out. "

"You will not, Treevor, " beginning to cry; "you won't be so unkind. Ionly want to stay with you; let me stay. "

She was half-sitting on the edge of my berth, clinging to it with bothhands. She was pale with an ivory pallor, her breasts rose in sobsunder the transparent muslin of her vest. 

The ship gave a great heave under our feet. 

The blood beat so in my head and round my eyes I could hardly see her. I moved to her, clinging to one blind object. I bent over her andlifted her up. She was like a doll in weight. She was nothing to me. 

As she realised my intention she seemed to turn into a wild animal inmy arms. She bit and tore at my wrists, and scratched my face with herlong sharp nails. 

The ship was moving now and I was desperate. 

I walked with her to the window and put her feet over the ledge. 

We neither of us spoke a word. She clung to my neck so I thought shemust overbalance me and drag me through with her. 

With all my force I pushed her outwards and away from me. Her handsbroke from my neck and scratched down my face till the blood ran fromit. 

"Don't struggle so, " I warned her; "you will drop into the sea if youdo. " For a blue crack opened already between the moving ship and thequay. 

Words were useless. She bit and struggled and clung to me like a catmad with fear and rage. 

With an effort I leant forward and half threw, half dropped her on thewoodwork. She fell there with a gasping cry, and I drew the window toand shut it. 

The ship rose and fell now and the blue water gleamed in anever-widening track between its side and the quay. 

I leant against the window glass and watched her through it. She hadstruggled to her knees and now knelt there weeping and stretching outlittle ivory tinted hands to the departing ship. My own eyes werefull, and only through a mist could I see her kneeling there, abrilliant spot of colour in dazzling light on the deserted quay. 

I turned away at last as we struck out on the open water. There, on myberth, facing me as I stumbled back to it, lay a little yellow jacket. 

I threw myself upon it and put my hand over my eyes, while the shipmade out beyond the fairy islands. And the gold night passed over andmelted into the new day. 

PART TWO

THE VIOLET NIGHT

CHAPTER IV

AT THE STUDIO

I was back in London again, back in my studio with the dull grey lightof the city falling through the windows, and all the vivid glory, thematchless splendour of the North lay like a past dream in thebackground of my memory. But still how clear the dream, how brighteach moment of it, and how long to my retrospective vision! Was itpossible I had only been there three or four months? It seemed like asmany years. For time has this peculiarity, that joy and action shortenit while it is passing, but lengthen it when it is past. A week inwhich we have done nothing of note, but spent in stationary idleness, how long and tedious it seems, yet in looking back upon it, it appearsshort as a day; while a week in which we have travelled far, seenseveral cities and been glad in each, though the gilded moments havedanced by on lightning feet, when we look back upon that week it seemsas if we have lived a year. 

It was there, bright, radiant in my mind, the picture of those bluedays and golden northern nights, and how the light of the pictureseemed to gather round, and centre in a sweet youthful face with theblue stone earrings, hanging against the creamy neck, beside therounded cheek, and the cluster of red flowers bound on each templeagainst the smooth black hair!

I settled myself lower in the deep roomy armchair, and pushed my feetforward to the blazing fire. There was still half an hour before Icould decently ring for tea, and it was too dark already to work. Ihad had a hard and disagreeable morning, too, and felt I needed restand quiet thought. How the red flame leapt in the grate, and what arich, warm, wine-dark colour it threw all round my red room! I roseand drew the heavy crimson curtains across the windows to shut outtheir steely patches of grey that spoiled the harmony of colour. Ireturned to my chair and glanced round with satisfaction. Fitted andfurnished and hung with every beautiful shade of red, my studio alwaysdelighted and charmed my vision. 

My friends said I had papered and furnished it in red to throw up thewhite limbs and contours of my models, and this had something to dowith it, for hardly any colour shows off white flesh to betteradvantage, though pale blue in this matter runs it close; but this wasnot the prompting motive. Rather it was that in England where all isso cold and tame and grey, from morals to colours, I liked to surroundmyself with this glowing barbaric crimson, this warm inviting tint. 

My eye in wandering from floor to ceiling rested finally on the emptyeasel, the numerous white unused sheets of paper near it. I felt indespair. Not even a sketch of a Phryne yet! Not even a model found!Not even the idea of where to find one!

I had been seeing models all the morning, and how wearisome andvexatious, and even, towards the end, how repulsive that becomes! Thewearying search after something that corresponds to the perfect idealin one's brain, the constant raising of hope and ensuingdisappointment as a misshapen foot or crooked knee destroys the effectof neck and shoulder, produce at last an intolerable irritation. I haddismissed them all finally, and they had trailed away in the rain, adismal procession of dark-clothed women. 

A quarter of an hour of red stillness in that comfortable room hadpassed, and the warmth and quiet of it had crept over me and into me, gradually soothing away all vexations, when a knock came on the doorand in answer to my, "Come in, " some one entered the room behind me. 

"I am so glad to find you. "

I started to my feet at the sound of the soft voice, and went forwardto the door. 

"Viola! how good of you to come. " I took both her hands and drew herinto the firelight which sparkled gratefully on her tall slenderfigure and the fair waves of hair under her velvet hat. 

"May I stay and have tea with you? I have shopping all the afternoonand as I was driving past I thought I would see if you were in anddisengaged. "

"I shall be delighted, " I said as I wheeled another armchair up to thefire. 

"You are sure? You have nothing else to do?"

"Nothing, really nothing, " I said, walking to the electric lights andswitching them on; "and if I had, I would leave it all to have teawith you. "

She laughed, such a pretty dainty laugh! What a contrast to the roughgiggles amongst the models this morning!

"Trevor! you are just the same as ever; all compliments. But I amimmensely glad you are not going to turn me out, for I am chilly andtired and want my tea and a talk with you very badly. " And she settleddown in her large chair with a sigh of content. 

I came back to the hearth and stood looking down upon her. The lightwas rose-coloured, falling through tinted globes, and soft as thefirelight. She looked exquisite, and she must have seen the admirationin my eyes for she coloured under them. 

She was wearing a dark green velvet gown edged fur and which fittedher lovely figure closely, being perhaps designed to display it. 

"You have come like a glorious sunset to a gloomy day, " I said. "Ihave had a horrid morning and been depressed all the afternoon. "

"You have no inspiration, then, yet for the Phryne?" she answered, glancing round; "otherwise you would be in the seventh heaven. "

"No, " I groaned, "and the models are so dreadful; so far from givingone an inspiration, they would kill any one had. All last week I wastrying to find a model, and all this morning again. I would giveanything for a good one. "

She murmured a sympathetic assent, and I went on, pursuing my ownthoughts freely, for Viola was my cousin and no one else knew orunderstood me so well as she did. We had grown up together, and alwaystalked on all sorts of subjects to each other. 

"The difficulty is with most of these English models, they are sothick and heavy, so cart-horsey, or else they are so thin. The tall, graceful ones are too thin, I want those subtle, gracious lines, but Idon't want sharp bones and corners. I want smooth, rounded contours, and yet the outlines to be delicate; I want slender grace andsuppleness with roundness.... "

I stopped suddenly, the blood mounting to my forehead. I was lookingdown at her as she lay back in the chair. She looked at me, and ourgaze got locked together. A thought had sprung suddenly between us. Irealised all at once I was describing the figure before me, realisedthat I was face to face with the most perfect, enchanting model of mydearest dreams. 

There was a swift rush of red to her face, too, as I stopped. Up tillthen she had been quietly listening. But she saw my thought then. Itwas visible to both of us and for a moment a deadly silence dropped onus. Of course, I ought not to have stopped, but the thought came to mewith such a blinding flash of sudden revelation that it paralysed meand took speech from my lips. Just in that moment the door opened andtea was brought in. I turned my attention immediately to making it, and what with asking her how much sugar she would have and pressingher to take hot toast and crumpets, the cloud of embarrassment passedand all was light and easy again. I dismissed the idea instantly, andwe did not speak of the picture. I questioned her about her shopping, we recalled the last night's dance where we had been together, andspoke of a hundred other light matters in which we had commoninterests. Then a silence stole over us, and Viola sank far back inher chair, gazing with absent eyes into the fire. 

Suddenly she sat up and turned to me. I saw her heart must be beatingfast, for her face and lips had grown quite white. 

"Trevor, I wish you would let me be your model for the Phryne. "

Almost immediately she had spoken the colour rushed in a burningstream across her face, forcing the tears to her eyes. I saw them brimup, sparkling to the lids, in the firelight. 

I sat up in my chair, leaning forwards towards her. My own heartseemed to rise with a leap into my throat. 

"Dearest! I could not think of such a thing! It is so good of you, but.... "

I stopped. She had sunk back in her chair. She was looking away fromme. I saw the tears well up over the lids and roll slowly uncheckeddown her face. 

"I should so like to be of use to you, " she murmured in a low tone, "and I think I could be in that way, immense use. "

I slid to my knees beside her chair, and took the slim, delicate whitehand that hung over the arm in mine and pressed it, very greatly movedand hardly knowing what to answer her. 

"I shall never forget you have offered it, never cease to be grateful, but.... "

"There is no question of being grateful, " she broke in gently, "unlessit were on my side. I should think it an honour to be made part ofyour work, to live for ever in it, or at least much longer than inmortal life. What is one's body? It is nothing, it perishes so soon, but what you create will last for centuries at least. "

I pressed my lips to her hand in silence. I felt overwhelmed by thesuggestion, by the unselfishness, by the grandeur of it. I saw thatthe proposition stood before her mind in a totally different lightfrom that in which it would present itself to most women. But, then, the outlook of an artist upon life and all the things in life isentirely different from that of the ordinary person. It takes in thewide horizon, it embraces a universe, and not a world, it sweeps up tothe large ideals, the abstract form of things, passing over theconcrete and the actual which to ordinary minds make up the all theysee. 

And Viola was an artist: she expressed herself in music as I did inpainting. Our temperaments were alike though our gifts were different, and we served the same mystical Goddess though our appointments in hertemple were not the same. 

As an artist the idea was, to me, simple enough, as a man it horrifiedme. 

"I could not allow it. "

She turned upon me. 

"Why?" she said simply. 

"Well, because ... Because it is too great a sacrifice. "

"I have said it is no sacrifice. It is an honour. "

"It would injure you if it became known. "

"It will not become known. "

"Everything becomes known. "

"Well, I shouldn't care if it did. "

"By and by you might regret it. It might stand in the way of yourmarrying some one you loved. "

"I don't believe I shall ever want to marry. Do I look like a domesticperson? In any case, I am quite sure I shouldn't want to marry a manif he objected to my being a model for a great picture to my owncousin. Why, Trevor, we are part of each other, as it were. I am likeyour own sister. What can it matter? While you are painting me I shallbe nothing, the picture will be everything. I am no more than a dreamor vision which might come before you, and you will give me life, immortality on your canvas. As an old woman when all beauty has gonefrom me, I shall be there alive, young, beautiful still. "

"It is all sophistry, dearest, I can't do it. "

"You will when you have thought it all over, " she said softly, "atleast if you think I should do--are you sure of that?"

She rose and stood for a moment, one hand outstretched towards themantelpiece, and resting there for support. The velvet gown clung toher, and almost every line of her form could be followed with the eyeor divined. The throat was long, round, and full, the fall of theshoulder and the way its lines melted into the curves of the breasthad the very intoxication of beauty in them, the waist was low, slender, and perfect, the main line to the knee and on to the ankleabsolutely straight. To my practised eyes the clothing had littleconcealment. I knew that here was all that I wanted. 

"I am supposed to have a very perfect figure, " she said with a faintsmile, "and it seems rather a pity to use it so little. To let it beof service to you, to give you just what you want, to create a greatpicture, to save you all further worry over it, which is quiteknocking you up, would be a great happiness to me. "

She paused. I said nothing. 

"I do not think I must stay any longer, " she said glancing at myclock, "nor shall I persuade you any more. I leave it entirely in yourhands. Write to me if you want me to come. Perhaps you may findanother model. "

She smiled up at me. Her face had a curious delicate beauty hard todefine. The beauty of a very transparent skin and sapphire eyes. 

I bent over her and kissed her bright scarlet lips. 

"Dearest! if you only knew how I appreciate all you have said, howgood I think it of you! And I could never find a lovelier model; youknow it is not that thought which influences me, but it is impossible. You must not think of it. "

"Very well, " she said with a laugh in her lovely eyes, "but _you_will!"

She disengaged herself from me, picked up a fur necklet from herchair, and went to the door. 

"Good-night, " she said softly, and went out. 

Left to myself, I walked restlessly up and down the room. She wasright. I could think of nothing but her words to me, and how her visithad changed my mood and all the atmosphere about me! It seemed as ifshe had filled it with electricity. My pulses were all beating hard. The quiet of the studio was intolerable. I was dining out thatevening, and then going on to a dance. I would dress now a littleearly and then go to the club and spend the intermediate time there. 

My bedroom opened out of the studio by a small door, before which Igenerally had a red and gold Japanese screen. I went in and switchedon the light and began to dress, trying to get away from my crowdingthoughts. 

The temptation to accept Viola's suggestion was the greater becauseshe was so absolutely free and mistress of her own actions. 

If she chose of her own free will to do any particular thing there waspractically no one else to be consulted and no one to trouble her withreproof or reproaches. 

Early left an orphan and in possession of a small fortune in her ownright, she had been brought up by an old aunt who simply worshippedher and never questioned nor allowed to be questioned anything whichViola did. 

She had given her niece an elaborate education, believing that agirl's mental training should be as severe as a boy's, and Viola knewher Greek and Latin and mathematics better than I knew mine, thoughall these had lately given way to the study of music, for which shehad a great and peculiar gift. 

The old lady was delighted when she found her favourite niece wasreally one of the children of the gods, as she put it, and henceforthViola's life was left still more unrestrained. 

"She has genius, Trevor, " she would say to me, "just as you have, andwe ordinary people can't profess to guide or control those who inreality are so much greater than we are. I leave Viola to judge forherself about life, I always have since she was quite a little thing, and I have no fear for her. Whatever she does I know it will always beright. "

Viola was just twenty, but this kind of training had given her anintelligence and developed her intellect far beyond her years. 

In her outlook upon life she was more like a man than a woman, and, never having been to school nor mixed much with other girls of her ownage, she was free from all those small, petty habits of mind, thatlittleness of mental vision that so mars and dwarfs the ordinaryfeminine character. 

In this question of posing for the picture, to take her face alsowould, of course, be quite impossible, but I had my own ideal for thePhryne's face, nor was that important. 

That the figure should be something of unusual beauty, somethingpeculiarly distinctive seemed to me a necessity. For the form of theGrecian Phryne had, by the mere force of its perfect and triumphantbeauty, swept away the reason of all that circle of grey-beardedhostile judges called upon to condemn it, had carved for itself aplace in history for ever. There should in its presentment besomething peculiarly arresting and enchanting, or the artistic idea, the spirit of the picture, would be lost. 

The next morning I interviewed models again, and so strange is thehuman mind that while I honestly tried to find one that suited me, tried to be satisfied, I was full of feverish apprehension that Imight do so, and when I had seen the last and could with perfecthonesty reject her, I felt a rush of extraordinary elation all throughme. I knew, and told myself so, every half second, that Viola'stemptation was one I ought to and must resist, and yet the idea ofyielding filled me with a wild instinctive delight that no reasoncould suppress. Yes, because once an artist has seen or conceived byhis own imagination his perfect ideal, nothing else, nothing short ofthis will satisfy him. If it was difficult for me to find a modelbefore, it was practically impossible to do so now. For, having oncerealised what it wanted, the mind impatiently rejected everythingelse, though it might possibly have accepted something less than itsdesire before that realisation of it. 

These models were all well-formed women, but they were commonplace. The hold Viola's form had upon the eye was that it was notcommonplace. Its beauty was distinctive, peculiar, arresting. I wasnot a painter of types, but of exceptions. The common things of lifeare not interesting, nor do I think they are worthy subjects for Artto concern itself with. Something unusually beautiful, transcendingthe common type, is surely the best for the artist to try toperpetuate. 

Friday came, the end of the week, and I was still without a model. Mynights had been nearly sleepless, and my days full of feverishanxiety: an active anxiety to accept another sitter and withstand thetemptation of Viola, which fought desperately with the more passiveanxiety not to be satisfied and to be obliged to yield. Between thesetwo I had grown thin, as they fought within me, tearing me in thestruggle. 

To-day, Friday, the war was over. I had sent a note to Viola askingher to have tea with me. If she came, if she still held to her wish, Ishould accept, and the Phryne was assured. How my heart leapt at thethought! Those last hours before an artist gives the first concreteform to the brain children of his intangible dreams, how full of adouble life he seems! I was back from lunch and in the studio early; Icould not tell when she might come, and I closed all the windows andmade up the fire till the room seemed like a hot-house. I arranged adais with screens of flaming colour behind it reflecting the red raysof the fire. 

If she consented, she should stand here after having changed into theGreek dress. And as the moment chosen for the picture was that inwhich Phryne is unveiling herself before her judges, I intended to lether discard the drapery as she liked. I should not attempt to poseher; I would not even direct her; I should simply watch her, and atsome moment during the unveiling she would fall naturally into justthe pose--some pose--I did not know myself yet which might give me myinspiration--that I wished. Then I would arrest her, ask her to remainin it. I thought so we should arrive nearest to the effect of thatfamous scene of long ago. 

The dress I had chosen was of a dull red tint, not unlike that ofLeighton's picture, but I had no fear of seeming to copy Leighton. What true artist ever fears he may be considered a copyist? He knowsthe strength and vitality of his conception will need no spokesmanwhen it appears. 

I felt frightfully restless and excited, a mad longing filled me toget the first sketch on paper. I hardly thought of Viola as Viola ormy cousin then. She was already the Phryne of Athens for me, but whensuddenly a light knock came on the door outside my heart seemed tostand still and I could hardly find voice to say, "Come in. " When sheentered, dressed in her modern clothes and hat, and held out her hand, all the modern, mundane atmosphere came back and brought confusionwith it. 

"You said come early, so here I am, " she said lightly. "Trevor, " sheadded, gazing at me closely, "you are looking awfully handsome, but sowhite and ill. What is the matter?"

"I have been utterly wretched about the picture. I know I ought not toaccept your offer, but the temptation is too great. If you feel thesame as you did about it, I am going to ask you to pose for me thisafternoon. "

"I do feel just the same, Trevor, " she answered earnestly. "You can'tthink how happy and proud I am to be of use to you. "

"You know what the picture is?" I asked her, holding her two handsand looking down into the great eyes raised confidently to mine. 

"I want you to dress in all those red draperies, and then, standing onthe dais, to drop them, let them fall from you. "

"Yes, I think I know exactly. I will try, and, if I don't do itrightly, you must tell me and we must begin again. "

She took off her hat and cloak and gloves. Then she turned to me andasked for the dress. I gave it to her and showed her how it fastenedand unfastened with a clasp on the shoulder. 

She listened quietly to my directions, then, gathering up all the thindrapery, walked to the screen and disappeared from my view. 

I sat down waiting. A great nervous tension held me. I had ceased tothink of the right or wrong of my action. I was too absorbed now inthe thought of the picture to be conscious of anything else. 

When she came from behind the screen clothed in the red Atheniandraperies her face was quite white, but composed and calm. She did notlook at me, but walked to the platform at once. I had withdrawn to achair as far from it as was practicable, divining that the nearer Iwas the more my presence would weigh upon her. She faced me now on thedais, and very slowly began to unfasten the buckle on her shoulder. Isat watching her intently, hardly breathing, waiting for the moment. 

She was to me nothing now but the Phryne, and I was nothing but apencil held in the hand of Art. 

The first folds of crimson fell, disclosing her throat and shoulders, the others followed, piling softly one on the other to her waist, where they stayed held by her girdle. The shoulders and breasts wererevealed exquisite, gleaming white against the dull glow of thecrimson stuff. I waited. It was a lovely, entrancing vision but Iwaited. She lowered her hand from her shoulder and brought it to herwaist, firmly and without hesitation she unclasped the belt, and thentaking the sides of it, one in each hand, with its enclosed drapery, which parted easily in the centre, she made a half step forwards tofree herself from it, and stood revealed from head to foot. It was themoment. Her head thrown up, with her eyes fixed far above me, herthroat and the perfect breast thrown outwards and forwards, the slightbend at the slim waist accentuating the round curves of the hips, onestraight limb with the delicate foot advanced just before the other, the arms round, beautifully moulded, held tense at her sides, as thehands clutched tightly the falling folds behind her, these made up thephysical pose, and the pride, the tense nervousness, the defiance ofher own feelings gave its meaning expression. I raised my hand andcalled to her to pause just so, to be still, if she could, withoutstirring. 

She quivered all through her frame at the sudden shock of hearing myvoice; then stood rigid. I had my paper ready, and began to sketchrapidly. 

How beautiful she was! In all my experience, in the whole of mycareer, I had never had such a model. The skin was a marvellouswhiteness: there seemed no brown, red, or yellow shades upon it; norany of that mottled soap appearance that ruins so many models. She waswhite, with the warm, true dazzling whiteness of the perfect blonde. 

My head burned: I felt that great wave of inspiration roll through methat lifts the artist to the feet of heaven. There is no happinesslike it. No, not even the divine transports and triumph of love canequal it. 

I sketched rapidly, every line fell on the paper as I wished it. Thetime flew. I felt nothing, knew nothing, but that the glorious imagewas growing, taking life under my hand. I was in a world of uttersilence, alone with the spirit of divine beauty directing me, creatingthrough me. 

Suddenly, from a long distance it seemed, a little cry or exclamationcame to me. 

"Trevor, I must move!"

I started, dropped the paper, and rose. 

The light had grown dim, the fire had burned hollow. Viola haddropped to her knees, and was for the moment a huddled blot ofwhiteness amongst the crimson tones. I advanced, filled withself-reproach for my selfish absorption. But she rose almost directly, wrapped in some of the muslin, and walked from the dais to the screen. I hesitated to follow her there, and went back to the fallen picture. I picked it up and gazed on it with rapture--how perfect it was! Thebest thing of a lifetime! Viola seemed so long behind the screen Igrew anxious and walked over to it. As I came round it, she was justdrawing on her bodice, her arms and neck were still bare. She motionedme back imperatively, and I saw the colour stream across her face. Iretreated. It was absurd in a way, that blush as my eyes rested on herthen, I who just now ... And yet perfectly reasonable, understandable. Then she was the Phryne, a vision to me, as she had said, in ancientAthens. And now we were modern man and woman again. All that we do inthis life takes its colour from our attitude of mind towards it, andbut for her artist's mind, a girl like Viola could never have donewhat she had at all. 

In a moment more she came from behind the screen. She looked white andcold, and came towards the fire shivering. I drew her into my arms, strained her against my breast, and kissed her over and over again ina passion of gratitude. 

"How can I thank you! You have done for me what no one else could. Ican never tell you what I feel about it. "

She put her arms round my neck, and kissed me in return. 

"Any one would do all they could for you, I think, " she said softly. "You are so beautiful and so nice about things I am only too happy tohave been of use to you. "

"What a brute I was to have forgotten you were standing so long. Wasit very bad? Were you cold?"

"At the end I was, but I shouldn't have moved for that. I got socramped. I couldn't keep my limbs still any longer. I was sorry to beso stupid and have to disturb you. "

"I can't think how you stood so well, " I said remorsefully, "and solong. It is so different for a practised model. "

"Well, I did practise keeping quite still in one position every dayall this last week, but of course a week is not long. "

I had pressed the bell, and tea was brought in. I busied myself withmaking it for her. She looked white and ill. I felt burning with asense of elation, of delighted triumph. The picture was there. Itglimmered a white patch against the chair a little way off. The ideawas realised, the inspiration caught, all the rest was only a matterof time. 

We drank our tea in silence. Viola looked away from me into the fire. She did not seem constrained or embarrassed. Having decided to do, asshe had, and conquer her own feelings, she did so simply, grandly, ina way that suited the greatness of her nature. There was no mincingmodesty, no self-conscious affectation. The agony of confusion thatshe had felt in that moment when she had stood before me with her handon the clasp of her girdle, had been evident to me, but her prideforced her to crush it out of sight. 

I went over to her low chair and sat down at her feet. 

"Do you know you have shown me this afternoon something which I didnot believe existed--an absolutely perfect body without a fault orflaw anywhere. I did not believe there could be anything soexquisitely beautiful. "

She coloured, but a warm happy look came into her eyes as she gazedback at me. 

"So I did really satisfy you? I realised your expectations?" shemurmured. I lifted one of her hands to my lips and kissed it. 

"Satisfied is not the word, " I returned, looking up into the dark blueeyes above me with my own burning with admiration. "I was entranced. May I shew it to you?"

"Yes, I should like to see it, " she answered. 

I rose and brought over to her the picture and set it so that we bothcould see it together. She gazed at it some time in silence. 

"Do you like it?" I asked suddenly with keen anxiety. 

"You have idealised me, Trevor!"

"It is impossible to idealise what is in itself divine, " I repliedquietly. She looked at me, her face full Of colour but her eyes alightand smiling. 

"I am so glad, so happy that you are pleased. You have drawn itmagnificently. What life you put into your things--they live andbreathe. "

She turned and looked at my clock. 

"I must go now, I have been here ages. " She began to put on her hatand cloak. When I had fastened the latter round her throat, I tookboth her hands in mine. 

"May I expect you to-morrow?"

"To-morrow? Let me see. Well, I was going to the Carrington's tolunch. I promised to go, so I must; but I need not stay long. I canleave at three and be here at half past; only that will be too late inany case on account of the light, won't it?"

"Not if it is a bright day. "

"You see, I need not accept any more invitations. I shan't, if I amcoming here, but I have one or two old engagements I must keep. "

I dropped her hands and turned away. 

"But I can't let you give up your amusements, your time for me in thisway!" I said. 

Viola laughed. 

"It's not much to give up--a few luncheons and teas! As long as I havetime for my music I will give you all the rest. "

She stood drawing on her gloves, facing the fire; her large soft, fearless eyes met mine across the red light. 

I stepped forwards towards her impulsively. 

"What _can_ I say? How can I thank you or express a hundredth part ofmy gratitude?"

Viola shook her head with her softest smile and a warm caressing lightin her eyes. 

"You look at it quite wrongly, " she said lightly. "My reward is greatenough, surely! You are giving me immortality. "

Then she went out, and I was alone. 

 * * * * *

For a fortnight I was happy. Viola came regularly every day to thestudio, and the picture grew rapidly, I was absorbed in it, lived forit, and had that strange peace and glowing content that Art bestows, and which like that other peace "passeth all understanding. "

Then gradually a sense of unrest mingled with the calm. The wholeafternoon while Viola was with me I worked happily, content to thepoint of being absolutely oblivious of everything except ourselves andthe picture. Our tea together afterwards, when we discussed theprogress made and the colour effects, was a delight. But the momentthe door was closed after her, when she had left me, a blank seemed tospread round me. The picture itself could not console me. I gazed andgazed at it, but the gaze did not satisfy me nor soothe the feverishunrest. I longed for her presence beside me again. 

One day after the posing she seemed so tired and exhausted that Ibegged her to lie down a little and drew up my great comfortablecouch, like a Turkish divan, to the fire. She did as she was bid, andI heaped up a pile of blue cushions behind her fair head. 

"I am so tired, " she exclaimed and let her eyes close and her armsfall beside her. 

I stood looking down on her. Her face was shell-like in its clearfairness and transparency, and the beautiful expressive eyebrows drawndelicately on the white forehead appealed to me. 

The intimacy established between us, her complete willing sacrifice tome, her surrender, her trust in me, the knowledge of herself and herbeauty she had allowed me gave birth suddenly in my heart to a greatoverwhelming tenderness and a necessity for its expression. 

I bent over her, pressed my lips down on hers and held them there. Shedid not open her eyes, but raised her arms and put them round my neck, pressing me to her. In a joyous wave of emotion I threw myself besideher and drew the slender, supple figure into my arms. 

"Trevor, " she murmured, as soon as I would let her, "I am afraid youare falling in love with me. "

"I have already, " I answered. "I love you, I want for my own. You mustmarry me, and come and live at the studio. "

"I don't think I can marry you, " she replied in very soft tones, butshe did not try to move from my clasp. 

"Why not?"

"Artists should not marry: it prevents their development. How old areyou?"

"Twenty-eight, " I answered, half-submerged in the delight of thecontact with her, of knowing her in my arms, hardly willing or able tolisten to what she said. 

"And how many women have you loved?"

"Oh, I don't know, " I answered. "I have been with lots, of course, butI don't think I have ever loved at all till now. "

"What about the little girl in the tea-shop at Sitka?"

"I don't think I loved her. I wanted her as an experience. "

"Is it not just the same with me?"

"No, it isn't. It's quite different. Do not worry me with questions, Viola. Kiss me and tell me you love me. "

She raised herself suddenly on one elbow and leant over me, kissingme on the eyes and lips, all over my face, with passionate intensity. 

"I do love you. You are like my life to me, but I know I ought not tomarry you. I should absorb you. You would love me. You would not wantto be unfaithful to me. But fidelity to one person is madness animpossibility to an artist if he is to reach his highest development. It can't be. We must not think of it. "

The blood went to my head in great waves. The supreme tenderness of amoment back seemed gone, her words had roused another phase ofpassion, the harsh fury of it. 

"I don't care about the art, I don't care about anything. You shallmarry me. I will make you love me. "

"You don't understand. If you were fifty-eight I would marry youdirectly. "

"You shall marry me before then, " I answered, and kissed her again andput my hands up to her soft-haired head to pull it down to my breastand dragged loose some of its soft coils. 

"Trevor, you are mad. Let me get up. "

I rose myself, and left her free to get up. She sat up on the couch, white and trembling. 

"Now you are going to say you won't come to me any more, I suppose?" Isaid angrily. The nervous excitement of the moment was so great; therewas such a wild booming in my ears I could hardly hear my own voice. 

She looked up. The tears welled into her luminous blue eyes. 

"How unkind you are! and how unjust! Of course I shall come, must comeevery day if you want it till the Phryne is done. You don't know how Ilove you. "

I took her dear little hand and kissed it. 

"I am sorry, " I said. "Forgive me, but you must not say such stupidthings. Of course you will marry me; why, we are half married already. Most people would say we ought to be. "

I turned on the lights and drew the table up to the fire, which Istirred, and began to make the tea. 

Viola sat on the edge of the couch in silence, coiling up her hair. 

She seemed very pale and tired, and I tried to soothe her withincreased tenderness. I made her a cup of tea and came and sat besideher while she drank it. Then I put my arm round her waist and got herto lean against me, and put her soft fair-haired head down on myshoulder and rest there in silence. 

I stroked one of her hands that lay cold and nerveless in her lap withmy warm one. 

"You have done so much for me, " I said softly; "wonderful things whichI can never forget, and now you must belong to me altogether. No twopeople could love each other more than we do. It would be absurd ofus not to marry. " I kissed her, and she accepted my caresses and didnot argue with me any more; so I felt happier, and when she rose toleave our good-bye was very tender, our last kiss an ecstasy. 

When she had gone I picked up one of the sketches I had first made ofher and gazed long at it. 

How extravagantly I had come to love her now. I realised in thosemoments how strong this passion was that had grown up, as it were, under cover of the work, and that I had not fully recognised till now. 

How intensely the sight of these wonderful lines moved me! I felt thatI could worship her, literally. That she had become to me as areligion is to the enthusiast. 

I must be the possessor, the sole owner of her. I felt she was minealready. The agony and the loss, if she ever gave herself to another, would be unendurable. If that happened I should let a revolver endeverything for me. I did not believe even the thought of my work wouldsave me. 

Yet how curious this same passion is, I reflected, gazing at theexquisite image on the paper before me. If one of these lines werebent out of shape, twisted, or crooked, this same passion would ceaseto be. The love and affection and esteem I had for her would remain, but this intense desire and longing for her to be my own property, which shook me now to the very depths of my system, would utterlyvanish. 

Yet it would be wrong to say that these lines alone had captured me, for had they enclosed a stupid or commonplace mind they would havestirred me as little as if they themselves had been imperfect. 

No it is when we meet a Spirit that calls to us from within a form ofoutward beauty, and only then, that the greatest passion is bornwithin us. 

And that I felt for Viola now, and I knew--looking back through avista of other and lighter loves--I had never known yet its equal. Sheloved me, too, that great fact was like a chord of triumphant musicringing through my heart. Then why this fancy that she would not marryme? How could I possibly break it down? persuade her of its folly?

I walked up and down the studio all that evening, unable to go out todinner, unable to think of anything but her, and all through the nightI tossed about, restless and sleepless, longing for the hour on thefollowing day which should bring her to me again. 

Yet how those hours tried me now! It would be impossible to continue. She must and should marry me. It was only for me she held back from itapparently, yet for me it would be everything. 

One afternoon, after a long sitting, the power to work seemed todesert me suddenly. My throat closed nervously, my mouth grew dry, the whole room seemed swimming round me, and the faultless, dazzlingfigure before me seemed receding into a darkening mist. I flung awaymy brush and rose suddenly. I felt I must move, walk about, and Istarted to pace the room then suddenly reeled, and saved myself byclutching at the mantelpiece. 

"What is it? What is the matter?" came Viola's voice, sharp withanxiety, across the room. "Are you ill? Shall I come to you?"

"No, no, " I answered, and put my head down on the mantelpiece. "Go anddress. I can't work any more. "

I heard her soft slight movements as she left the dais. I did notturn, but sank into the armchair beside me, my face covered by myhands. 

Screens of colour passed before my eyes, my ears sang. 

I had not moved when I felt her come over to me. I looked up, she waspale with anxiety. 

"You are ill, Trevor! I am so sorry. "

"I have worked a little too much, that's all, " I said constrainedly, turning from her lovely anxious eyes. 

"Have you time to stay with me this evening? We could go out and getsome dinner, if you have, and then go on to a theatre. Would they missyou?"

"Not if I sent them a wire. I should like to stay with you. Are youbetter?"

I looked up and caught one of her hands between my own burning andtrembling ones. 

"I shall never be any better till I have you for my own, till we aremarried. Why are you so cruel to me?"

"Cruel to you? Is that possible?" Her face had crimsoned violently, then it paled again to stone colour. 

"Well, don't let's discuss that. The picture's done. I can't work onit any more. It can't be helped. Let's go out and get some dinner, anyway. "

Viola was silent, but I felt her glance of dismay at the onlyhalf-finished figure on the easel. 

She put on her hat and coat in silence, and we went out. After we hadordered dinner and were seated before it at the restaurant table wefound we could not eat it. We sat staring at one another across it, doing nothing. 

"Did you really mean that ... That you wouldn't finish the picture?"she said, after a long silence. 

I looked back at her; the pale transparency of her skin, the blue ofthe eyes, the bright curls of her hair in the glow of the electriclamp, looked wonderfully delicate, entrancing, and held my gaze. 

"I don't think I can. I have got to a point where I must get away fromit and from you. "

"But it is dreadful to leave it unfinished. "

"It's better than going mad. Let's have some champagne. Perhaps thatwill give us an appetite. "

Viola did not decline, and the wine had a good effect upon us. 

We got through some part of our dinner and then took a hansom to thetheatre. As we sat close, side by side, in one of the dark streets, Ibent over her and whispered:

"If we had been married this morning, and you were coming back to thestudio with me after the theatre I should be quite happy and I couldfinish the picture. "

She said nothing, only seemed to quiver in silence, and looked awayfrom me out of the window. 

We took stalls and had very good seats, but what that play was like Inever knew. I tried to keep my eyes on the stage, but it floated awayfrom me in waves of light and colour. I was lost in wondering where Ihad better go to get fresh inspiration, to escape from the picture, from Viola, from myself. Away, I must get away. _Coelum, non animum, mutant qui trans mare current_ is not always true. Our mind is but achameleon and takes its hues from many skies. 

In the vestibule at the end I said:

"It's early yet. Come and have supper somewhere with me, you had awretched dinner. "

Anything to keep her with me for an hour longer! Any excuse to putoff, to delay that frightful wrench that seems to tear out the insideof both body and soul which parting from her to-night would mean. 

"Do you want me to come to the studio with you afterwards?" she asked. 

I looked back at her with my heart beating violently. Her face wasvery pale, and the pupils in her eyes dilated. 

We had moved through the throng and passed outside. 

The night was fine. We walked on, looking out for a disengaged hansom. I could hardly breathe: my heart seemed stifling me. What was in hermind? What would the next few minutes mean for us both?

My brain swam. My thoughts went round in dizzying circles. 

"We shan't have time for supper and to go to the studio as well, " Ianswered quietly. 

"I don't think I want any supper, " she replied. 

A sudden joy like a great flame leapt through me as I caught thewords. 

A crawling hansom came up. I hailed it and put her in and sprang inbeside her, full of that delight that touches in its intensity uponagony. "Westbourne Street, " I called to the man. "No. 2, The Studio. "

CHAPTER V

THE CALL OF THE CUCKOO

I stood looking through the window of my studio thinking. 

The worst had happened, or the best, whichever it was. Viola hadbecome my mistress. She had resolutely refused to be my wife, and thealternative had followed of necessity. The picture had brought ustogether, it held us together. I could not separate from her withoutsacrificing the picture, and so destroying her happiness, as she said, and rendering useless all that she had done for me so far. 

The picture forced us into an intimacy from which I could not escapeand which, now that the devastating clutch of passion had seized me, Icould not endure unless she became my own. Viola had seen this andgiven me herself as unhesitatingly as she had at first given me herbeauty for the picture. 

In her relations with me she seemed to reach the highest point ofunselfishness possible to the human character. For I felt that it wasto me and for me she had surrendered herself, not to her own passionnor for her own pleasure. 

She would have come day after day and sat to me, shewed me herself anddelighted in that self's-reproduction on the canvas, talked to me, delighted in our common worship of beauty, accepted my caressesand--for herself--wanted nothing more. 

I had worked well in the past fortnight since the night of thetheatre, not so well perhaps as in that first clear period ofinspiration, of purely artistic life when Viola was to me nothing butthe beautiful Greek I was creating on my canvas, but still, well. 

Some may think I naturally should from a sense of gratitude, a senseof duty, --that I should be spurred to do my best, since avowedly Violahad sacrificed all that the work should be good. 

But ah, how little has the Will to do with Art!

How well has the German said, "The Will in morals is everything; inArt, nothing. In Art, nothing avails but the being able. "

The most intense desire, the most fervid wish, in Art, helps usnothing. On the contrary, a great desire to do well in Art, more oftenblinds the eye and clogs the brain and causes our hand to lose itscunning. Unbidden, unasked for, unsought, often in our lightest, mostcareless moments, the Divine Afflatus descends upon us. 

We had arranged to have a week-end together out of town. Fate hadfavoured us, for Viola's aunt had gone to visit her sister for a fewweeks, and the girl was left alone in the town house, mistress of allher time and free to do as she pleased. The short interviews at thestudio, delightful as they were, seemed to fail to satisfy us anylonger. We craved for that deeper intimacy of "living together. "

This is supposed to be fatal to passion in the end, but whether thisis so or not, it is what passion always demands and longs for in thebeginning. 

So we had planned for four days together in the country, four days ofMay, with a delicious sense of delight and secret joy and warmheart-beatings. 

I had dined at her house last night when all the final details hadbeen arranged in a palm-shaded corner by the piano, our conversationcovered by the chatter of the other guests. No one knew of our plan, it was a dear secret between us, but it would not have mattered verymuch if others had known that we were going into the country. I wasalways supposed to be able to look after Viola, and everybody assumedthat it was only a question of time when we should marry each other. We had grown up together, we were obviously very much attached to eachother, and we were cousins. And with that amazing inconsistency thatis the chief feature of the British public, while it would be shockedat the idea of your marrying your sister, it always loves the idea ofyour marrying your cousin, the person who in all the world is mostlike your sister. 

However, all we as hapless individuals of this idiotic community haveto do is to secretly evade its ridiculous conventions when they don'tsuit us, and to make the most of them when they do. 

And as I was more anxious to marry Viola than about anything else inthe world, I welcomed the convention that assigned her to me and madethe most of it. 

For all that, we kept the matter of our four days to ourselves andplanned out its details with careful secrecy. 

I was to meet her at Charing-Cross station, and we were going to takean afternoon train down into Kent where Viola declared she knew of alovely village of the real romantic kind. I had thought we ought towrite or wire for rooms at a hotel beforehand, but Viola had been sureshe would find what she wanted when we arrived, and she wished tochoose a place herself. 

So there was nothing more to do. My suit-case was packed, and when thetime came to a quarter past two I got into a hansom and drove to thestation. 

Almost as soon as I got there, Viola drove up, punctual to the minute. 

She knew her own value to men too well to try and enhance it by alwaysbeing late for an appointment as so many women do. 

She looked fresh and lovely in palest grey, her rose-tinted faceradiant with excitement. 

"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?" was her first exclamation afterour greeting. 

"I had so much work to do for Aunt Mary all the morning, I thought Ishould not have time to really get off myself. "

"No, you haven't kept me waiting, " I answered; "and, if you had, itwould not have mattered. You know I would wait all day for you. "

She glanced up with a wonderful light-filled smile that set every cellin my body singing with delight, and we went down the platform tochoose our carriage. 

When the train started from Charing Cross the day was dull andheavy-looking; warm, without sunshine. But after an hour's run fromtown we got into an atmosphere of crystal and gold and the Kentishfruit trees stretched round us a sea of pink and white foam under acloudless sky. 

When we stepped out at our destination, a little sleepy countrystation, the air seemed like nectar to us. It was the breath of May, real merry, joyous English May at the height of her wayward, uncertainbeauty. 

We left our light luggage at the station, and walked out from it, choosing at random the first white, undulating road that opened beforeus. 

The little village clustered round the station, but Viola did not wantto lodge in the village. 

"We can come back to it if we are obliged, but we shall be sure tofind a cottage or a wayside inn. "

So we went on slowly in the transparent light of a perfect Mayafternoon. 

There are periods when England both in climate and landscape isperfect, when her delicate, elusive loveliness can compare favourablywith the barbaric glory, the wild magnificence of other countries. 

On this afternoon a sort of rapture fell upon us both as we went downthat winding road. The call of the cuckoo resounded from side to side, clear and sonorous like a bell, it echoed and re-echoed across ourpath under the luminous dome of the tranquil sky and over the hedgesof flowering thorn, snow-white and laden with fragrance. 

Everywhere the fruit trees were in bloom: delicate masses of white andpink rose against the smiling innocent blue of the sky. 

"Now here is the very place, " exclaimed Viola suddenly, and followingher eyes I saw behind the high, green hedge bordering the road onwhich we were walking some red roofs rising, half hidden by the massesof white cherry blossom which hung over them. A cottage was thereboasting a garden in front, a garden that was filled with lilac andlaburnum not yet in bloom; filled to overflowing, for the lilac bulgedall over the hedge in purple bunches and the laburnum poured its youngleaves down on it. A tiny lawn, rather long-grassed and not innocentof daisies, took up the centre of the garden, and on to this two opencasements looked; above again, two open windows, half-lost in thewhite clouds of cherry bloom. 

"But how do you know they've any rooms?" I expostulated. 

Viola looked at me with jesting scorn in her eyes. 

"I don't know yet, but I'm going to find out. "

She put her hand unhesitatingly on the latch of this apparently sacreddomain of a private house, opened the gate, and passed in; I followedher inwardly fearful of what our reception might be. 

"Men have no moral courage, " she remarked superbly as we reached theporch and rang the bell. 

A clean-looking woman came to the door after some seconds. 

"Apartments? Yes, miss, we have a sitting-room and two bedroomsvacant, " she answered to Viola's query. "Shall I show them to you?"

We passed through a narrow, little hall smelling of new oilcloth intoa fair-sized room which possessed one of the casements we had seenfrom outside and through which came the white glow and scent of thecherry bloom and the song of a thrush. 

"This will do, " remarked Viola with a glance round; "and what bedroomshave you? We only want a sitting-room and one bedroom now. "

"Well, ma'am, the room over this is the drawing-room. That's let fromnext Monday. Then I have a nice double-room, however, I could let withthis. "

"We will go and see it, " said Viola. And we went upstairs. 

It seemed a long way up, and when we reached it and the door wasthrown open we saw a large room, it was true but the ceiling slopeddownwards at all sorts of unexpected angles like that of an attic, andthe casements were small, opening almost into the branches of thecherry-tree. 

"What do you want for these two?" Viola enquired. 

"Five guineas a week, ma'am, " returned the woman, placidly folding herhands together in front of her. 

I saw a momentary look of surprise flash across Viola's face. Evenshe, the young person of independent wealth, and who commanded farmore by her talents, was taken aback at the figure. 

"Surely that's a good deal, " she said after a second. 

"Well, ma'am, I had an artist here last summer and he had these tworooms, and he said as he was leaving: 'Mrs. Jevons, you can't ask toomuch for these rooms. The view from that window and the cherry-treealone is worth all the money. '"

We glanced through the window as she spoke. It was certainly verylovely. A veil of star-like jasmine hung at one side, and without, through the white bloom of the cherry, one caught glimpses of theturquoise-blue of the sky. Beneath, the garden with the wanderingthrushes and its masses of lilac; beyond, the soft outline of thewinding country road leading to indefinite distance of low blue hills. 

"We'll take them for the sake of the cherry-tree, " Viola said smiling. 

"Will you send to the station for our light luggage and let us havesome tea presently?"

The woman promised to do both at once and ambled out of the room, leaving us there and closing the door behind her. 

I looked round, a sense of delight, of spontaneous joy, filling slowlyevery vein, welling up irresistibly all through my being. 

For the first time I stood in a room with Viola which we were going toshare. No other form of possession, of intimacy, is quite the same asthis, nor speaks to a lover in quite the same way. 

I looked at her. She stood in the centre of the rather poorlyfurnished and bare-looking room, in her travelling dress of a softgrey cloth. Her figure that always woke all my senses to rapture, shewed well in the clear, simple lines of the dress. Over the perfectbosom passed little silver cords, drawing the coat to meet. 

Beneath her grey straw summer hat, wide-brimmed, a pink rose nestledagainst the light masses of her hair. Her eyes looked out at me with acurious, tender smile. 

She threw herself into a low cane chair by the window, I crossed theroom suddenly and knelt beside it. 

"Darling, you are pleased to be here with me, are you not?"

"Pleased! I am absolutely happy. I have the sensation that whateverhappened I could not possibly be more happy than I am. "

She put one arm round my neck and went on softly in a meditativevoice:

"I can't think how some girls go on living year after year all throughtheir youth never knowing this sort of pleasure and happiness, forwhich they are made, can you?"

"They don't dare to do the things, I suppose, " I answered. 

"Perhaps they wouldn't give them any pleasure, ... But it seemsextraordinary. " Her voice died away. Her blue eyes fixed themselves onme in a soft, dreaming gaze. 

I locked both my arms round her waist and kissed her lips intosilence. A knock at the door made me spring to my feet. Viola remainedwhere she was, unmoved, and said, "Come in. "

A trim-looking maid came in with rather round eyes fixed open to seeall she could. She had a can of hot water in her hand. 

"Please, mum, I thought you'd like some hot water. "

"Very much, " returned Viola calmly. "Thank you. "

The maid very slowly crossed the room to the washing-stand and set thecan in the basin, covering it with a towel with elaborate care anddeliberateness, looking at Viola out of the corners of her eyes as shedid so. 

"Please, m'm, when your luggage comes shall I bring it up?"

"Yes, do please, bring it up at once, " replied Viola, and the girlslowly withdrew, shutting the door in the same lengthy manner afterher. 

Viola got up and crossed to the glass. She took off her hat andsmoothed back her hair with her hand. Each time she did so, the lightrippled exquisitely over its shining waves. 

"I wonder if I ought to wash my face?" she remarked, looking in theglass; "does it look dusty?"

"Not in the least, " I said, studying the pink and white reflection inthe glass over her shoulder. 

"Don't waste the time washing your face. Come and look out of thewindow. "

We went over to the little casement, and leant our arms side by sideon the sill. 

The glorious afternoon sunlight was ripening and deepening intoorange, a burnished sheen lay over everything, the blue hills werechanging into violet, the trees along the road stood motionless, soft, and feathery-looking in the sleepy heat. As we looked out we saw alight cart coming leisurely along and recognised our luggage in it. 

Some fifteen minutes later the round-eyed maid reappeared, with a manfollowing her carrying our luggage. 

"If you please, m'm, Mrs. Jevons says would the gentleman go down andgive what orders he likes for dinner for to-day and to-morrow as thetradesmen are here now and would like to know. "

"Do you mind going down, Trevor?" Viola asked me. "I want just to geta few of my things out?"

"Certainly not, " I answered, "I'll go. " And I followed the maid outand downstairs. 

When I returned to the room about half-an-hour later, it was empty, and as I looked round it seemed transformed, now that her possessionswere scattered about. I walked across it, a curious sense of pleasureseeming to clasp my heart and rock it in a cradle of joy. 

I glanced at the toilet table. On the white cloth lay now twogold-backed brushes, a gold-backed mirror and a gold button-hook, alittle clock in silver and a framed photograph of me; over the chairby the dressing-table was thrown what seemed a mass of mauve silk andpiles of lace. I lifted it very gently, fearing it would almost fallto pieces, it seemed so fragile, and discovered it was herdressing-gown. How the touch of its folds stirred me since it was_hers_!

I replaced it carefully, wondering at the keen sensation of pleasurethat invaded me as the soft laces touched my hands. 

I turned to my own suit-case, unstrapped it, opened it, and thenpulled out the top drawer of the chest, intending to lay my things in, but I stopped short as I drew it out. 

A sheet of tissue paper lay on the top, and underneath this was herdinner-dress--a delicate white cloud of shimmering stuff told me itwas that--and at the end of the drawer I saw two little white shoesand white silk stockings. 

I paused, looking down at the contents of the drawer, wondering at thewave of emotion they sent through me. Why, when I possessed the girlherself, should these things of hers have any power to move me?

It was perhaps partly because this form of possession, of intimacy, was so new to me, and partly because I was young and still keenlysensitive to all the delights of life and not yet even on the edge ofsatiety. I lifted one little shoe out and sat down with it in my hand, gazing at its delicate, perfect shape, my heart beating quickly andthe blood mounting joyously to my brain. 

What a wonderful thing it is, this life in youth when even the sightof a girl's shoe can bring one such keen, passionate pleasure!

Yet what pain, what agony it would be if by chance I had come acrossthis shoe and held it in my hand as now, and there was no violet nightto follow, no white arms going to be stretched out through its deepmauve-tinted shadows!

I was still sitting with the shoe in my hand when Viola reappeared, her arms full of lilac. 

"I went down to the garden to get some of this, " she said. "It lookedso lovely. What are you doing, Trevor, sitting there? The woman hasmade the tea, and it will be much too strong if you don't come down. "

She came up behind me and I saw her flush and smile in the glass asshe caught sight of her shoe. I looked up, and she coloured still moreat my glance. 

"I am thinking about this and other things, " I said smiling up at her. 

She bent over and kissed me and took the shoe out of my hand. 

"I am glad you like my little shoe, " she said gently with a tenderedge to her tone, replacing the shoe in the drawer. 

"Now do come down. "

She put all the lilac in a great mass in the jug and basin, and wewent downstairs. 

After tea we went out to explore our new and temporarily acquiredterritory, and found there was another flower garden at the side ofthe house. This, like the one in front, was hedged round with lilacladen with glorious blossom of all shades, from deepest purple throughall the degrees of mauve to white. Every here and there the line wasbroken by a May-tree just bursting into bloom that thrust its pink orwhite buds through the lilac. A narrow path paved with large, uneven, moss-covered stone flags led down the centre and on through a littlewicket gate into the kitchen garden beyond, so that altogether therewas quite an extensive walk through the three gardens, allflower-lined and sweetly fragrant. We passed slowly along the pathdown to the extreme end of the kitchen garden where there was a seatunder a broad-leaved fig-tree. By the side of the seat stood an oldpump, handle and spout shaded by a vine that half trained and half ofits own will trailed and gambolled up the old red brick garden wall. Aflycatcher perched on the pump handle and thrilled out its gayirresponsible song. 

"I have just come over the sea and I am so glad to be here, so glad, so glad, " it seemed to be saying, and two swallows skimmed backwardsand forwards low down to the earth, gathering mud from a little poolby the pump. 

We sat down on the bench and looked out from under the fig-tree at thepure tranquil sky, full of gold light and just tinted with the firstrosy flush of evening. 

There was complete silence save for the clear, gay, rippling song ofthe bird, and the deep peace of the scene seemed to fall upon us likean enchanted spell. 

Viola dropped her head on my shoulder with a sigh of contentment. 

"I am so happy, so content. I feel as glad as that little flycatcher. It has escaped from the sea and the storms and winds, and I've gotaway from London, its tiresome dinners and hot rooms and all thestupid men who want to marry one. "

I laughed and watched her face as it lay against me, and I saw hereyes half-closed as she gazed dreaming into the sunshine. 

Faint pink clouds sailed across the sky at intervals like downyfeathers blown before a breeze; the flycatcher continued itschattering song to us, some bees hummed with a warm summer-like soundover the wall. 

An hour slipped by and seemed only like one golden moment. We heard abell jangle from the direction of the house, and when I looked at mywatch I saw it was time to dress for dinner. 

When we retraced our steps the whole garden was bathed in rosy lightand the lilac stood out in it curiously and poured forth a wonderful, heavy fragrance as we passed. 

The voice of spring, that beautiful low whisper with its promise ofsummer and cloudless days was in all the air. Had we been marriedseveral years I do not think either Viola or I would have found Mrs. Jevons's cooking good nor praised the dinner that night; theattendance also might have been condemned. But as it was we were inthat magic mirage of first days together and everything seemedperfect. 

When it was over we sought the outside again and sat watching the nowpaling rose of the sky being replaced by clear, tender green. Apassion and rapture of song, the last evening song of the birds, wasbeing poured out on the still dewy air all round us. One by one thesongsters grew tired and ceased as a pale star grew visible here andthere in the transparent sky, and complete silence fell on the garden. Only a bat flitted across it silently now and then, and the whitenight-moths came and played by us. I had my arm round her waist and Idrew her close to me and looked down upon her through the duskytwilight. 

"Let us go, too, dearest, it is quite late. "

She looked up, the colour waving all over her face, and smiled back atme, and we went in and upstairs. 

When we reached our room, the window was wide open as we had left itand the room seemed full of soft violet gloom, heavy with fragrance ofthe lilac that shewed its pale mauve stars through the shadows. 

It was so beautiful, the effect of the deep summer twilight, that Itold her not to light the candles. 

"Shew yourself to me in this wonderful mysterious half-light, nothingcan be more beautiful. "

I sat down on the foot of the bed watching her, my heart beating, every pulse within me throbbing with delight. 

Viola did not answer. She did not light the candles, but with therustle of falling silk and lace began her undressing. 

That night I could not sleep. The window stood open, and the room wasfilled with the soft mysterious twilight of the summer night with itsthousand wandering perfumes, its tiny sounds of bats and whirringwings. 

The cherry bloom thrust its long, white, scented arms into the room. Ilay looking towards the white square of the window wide-eyed andthinking. 

A strange elation possessed my brain. I felt happy with a clearconsciousness of feeling happy. One can be happy unconsciously orconsciously. 

The first state is like the sensation one has when lying in hot water:one is warm, but one hardly knows it, so accustomed to the embrace ofthe water has the body become. 

The other state of conscious happiness is like that of first enteringthe bath, when the skin is violently keenly alive to the heat of thewater. 

Viola lay beside me motionless, wrapped in a soundless sleep like thesleep of exhaustion. Not the faintest sound of breathing came from herclosed lips. 

The room was so light I could distinctly see the pale circle of herface and all the undulating lines of her fair hair beside me on thepillow. 

I felt the strange delight of ownership borne in upon me as it hadnever been yet. 

We had not dared to pass a night together at the studio. 

We had only had short afternoons and evenings, hours snatched here andthere, over-clouded by fears of hearing a knock at the door, afootstep outside. 

But this deep solitude, these hours of the night when she _slept_beside me, all powers, all the armour of our intelligence that we wearin our waking moments, laid aside, seemed to give her to me morecompletely than she had ever given herself before. 

And gazing upon her in serene unconsciousness, I felt the intense joyof possession, a sort of madness of satisfaction vibrating through me, stamping that hour on my memory for ever. 

The next morning we came down late and enjoyed everything with thatkeen poignant sense of pleasure that novelty alone can give. To uscoming from a stay of months in town the small sitting-room, the opencasement window, the simple breakfast-table, the loud noise of birds'voices without, the green glow of the garden seemed delightful, almostwonderful. 

So curtains were really white! how strange it seemed. In town they arealways grey or brown, and the air was light and thin with a sweetscent, and the sky was blue!!!

It was a fine day, the sun poured down riotously through thesnow-white bloom of the cherry-tree, two cuckoos were calling to eachother from opposite sides of the wood, and their note, so soft in thedistance, so powerful when near, resounded through the shining airtill it seemed full of the sound of a great clanging bell, musical andbeautiful. 

Viola was delighted; her keen ear enjoyed the unusual sound. 

"Oh, Trevor, that repeated note, how glorious it is! It reminds me ofa sustained note in Wagner's _Festpiel_. I do wish they'd go on. "

She seated herself by the window listening with rapture in her eyes. The woman of the house brought in our coffee, but I doubt if we shouldhave got any breakfast, only the cuckoos wanted theirs and fortunatelyflew off to get it. 

When the glorious musical bell rang out far on the other side of thewood, dimmed by distance, Viola came reluctantly to the table. 

"How delicious this is! this being in the country _just at first_. Look at the table with its jonquils! isn't it pretty? Look at thehoney and cream!"

"I think you had better eat some of it, " I answered; "or at least pourout the coffee. "

Viola laughed and did so, and we breakfasted joyously, full of thecurious gayety that belongs to novelty alone. 

Then we went out, and the outside was equally entrancing. The scent ofthe lilac seemed to hang like a canopy in the air under which wewalked. There was a fat thrush on the lawn, young and tailless. Thesight of him and the dappled marks on his white breast gave me astrange pleasure. 

We sat down on the turf finally where the cherry-tree cast a lightshade, a sort of white shadow in the sunlight, from its blossoms. Viola thrust her hands down into the cool, green grass. 

"How lovely this is, " she said, looking up the tall tree above us. "Look at its great tent of white blossoms against the blue sky; it'slike a picture of Japan!"

After a time, when we were tired of the garden, we went out and turneddown the white road to explore the country. 

It was very hot, and the glare from the road excessive, but as it wasall new to us it all seemed delightful, even to the white dust thatcoated our lips and got into our eyes whenever the breeze stirred. 

After about a mile and a half of walking we came to an oak wood. Theroad dipped suddenly between cool, green, mossy banks and lay in deep, grateful shade from the arching oaks above. I climbed the bank on oneside and looked into the wood. It was very thick and wild, apparentlyrarely penetrated. Through the close-growing stems of the undergrowthI saw a bluebell carpet lying like inverted sky beneath the oaks. 

"The wood looks very attractive, " I said as I rejoined Viola; "but wecan't stay to go into it now. We haven't the time; it's half pasttwelve already. "

"I'm sorry, " said Viola, looking wistfully at the green wood. "This isthe nicest part; but I suppose we can't disappoint that woman by notgetting back to luncheon. "

So we walked back slowly through the noonday sun, admiring the doublepink May peeping out from the green hedges. 

When we came in just before lunch, she took the easy chair facing thewindow, and I sat down on one opposite and watched her. She waswearing a white cambric dress that looked very simple and girlish; shewas smiling, and her face was delicately rose-coloured after thewalk. 

A sense of responsibility came over me. She was my cousin, my ownblood relation. I must protect her, must think for her if she wouldnot think for herself. 

"You know it's risky being down here like this. You had much bettercome to some rustic church with me in another village and marry methere. "

"No. You know perfectly well I am not going to marry you, " she saidsoftly, looking up at me with a smile in her eyes, great pools of bluebeneath their exquisitely arched lids. 

"It is ridiculous to suppose that you, an artist of twenty-eight, willwant to keep faithful to one woman all the rest of your life--or herlife. It would be very bad for you, if you did. One can't go againstNature, and Nature has not arranged things that way. Marriage is apleasure perhaps; but Nature never arranged, marriage, and a manshould not allow himself unnatural pleasures. "

She was really laughing now, but I knew her resolve was perfectlyserious and I did not see how I could break it up. 

"Well, but some men do keep to one woman all their life and are nonethe worse for it; look at a country clergyman for instance. "

Viola raised her eyebrows with a laugh. 

"How can you be sure of the country clergyman? I expect he goes up totown sometimes.... However, of course I admit he is fairly faithful, but how about being none the worse for it? A country clergyman isabout the most undeveloped creature you could have, and a great artistis the most developed, the nearest approach to a god of all humanbeings. "

I did not answer, but sat silent staring at her. She looked such asweet little Saxon schoolgirl in her white dress, but with suchtremendous character and power in those great shining eyes. 

"But if we marry now, " I said at last, "and anything should ... Shouldcome between us, I don't see it would be any worse than.... "

"Than if we were living together without marriage, " she put inquickly. "Yes, I think it would. Look here, if we marry now with agreat blaze and fuss, and invite all our friends to see the event, which is great nonsense anyway, and then you see some other womanlater you covet, it seems to me there are only three ways open to us:either you go without the woman and suffer very much in consequenceand always owe me a grudge for standing in your way; or you take herand I have to profess to see nothing and look on quietly, which Icould never stand, it would send me mad; or we must have all thetrouble and worry and scandal of a divorce and call in the public towitness our quarrel; and why _should_ we have the public to interferein our affairs?" she added, her eyes flashing. "What is it to themwhom I love or whom I live with, whom I leave or quarrel with? Theseare all private matters. "

"And if we live together and the same thing happens?" I pursuedquietly. 

"Why, then we should separate, only without any trouble, anypublicity; we should fall apart naturally. If you preferred any oneelse, you must go to her; I should slip away out of your life, and weshould each be free and untied. "

"If it's so much better for the man to change, " I said smiling, "itmust be the same for the woman. "

"So it is, " rejoined Viola quickly; "the more men a woman has the moredeveloped she is, the better for her morally, if there is noconventional disgrace attaching to it. Amongst the Greeks, Aspasia andall those women of her class were far more intellectual, moredeveloped than the wives who were kept at home to spin and rearchildren. "

"All these things ought to be optional. If a woman loves one man somuch she wants to stay with him for ever and ever, probably throughsuch a great passion she reaches her highest development; but untilshe has found that man she ought to be allowed to go from one toanother without any disgrace attaching to it. And, of course, just thesame law holds good for the man. "

"Outsiders like the world and the law ought never to be allowed tointerfere between a man and a woman. They never can know the right orthe wrong of their relations to each other well enough to enable themto be judges. Nobody ever knows but the man and the woman themselves, and they ought to be left alone; what they do, whether in quarrellingor love, ought to be as private as the prayers one sends to Heaven. "

She paused, and through the window came the gay, loud, triumphant callof the cuckoo seeking its mate of an hour in the heart of the gladgreen wood. 

Viola listened with a look of delight. 

"How happy they are!" she said. And the note came again, instinct withlove and joy. 

"How well Nature arranged everything, and how Man has spoiled it all!Fancy passion, the most subtle, evanescent, delicate, elusiveemotion--and yet one so strong--fancy that being bound down by crabbedand crooked laws, being confined by wretched little conventions!"

"But, anyway, we shall have to say we are married here. "

"Oh, say anything you like, " rejoined Viola laughing; "saying doesn'tdo any harm. "

"Yes, but then we must fix some place where we've _been_ married andall that, do you see; we'd better go somewhere further off I think andstay away some time and come back married. I do feel very worriedabout it, Viola. I think it would be much simpler to do it than tolie about it. "

Viola jumped up and came over to me. 

"Dear Trevor, I am _so_ sorry you are worried, but really it will workout all right. We will go abroad somewhere from here, we might go toRome, it's a lovely time of year, and then to Sicily, to Taormina, ... And we'll stay away a year and you finish the picture and I'll writean opera, and then we'll come back married to town in the season andwe'll have _been_ married before we leave England of course, and thenit will be a year ago, and I don't think anybody will bother about itmuch. "

I looked down upon her. She was so pretty and so dear to me: I mustkeep her, and if those were the only terms upon which she would staywith me I must accept them. 

The landlady came into the room at this minute followed by the maid tolay the luncheon; in the landlady's hand was a fat, black book whichshe presented diffidently to Viola. 

"It's the Visitors' book, ma'am, " she said. "I thought you and thegentleman would like to write your names in it in case of anyletters.... "

"Yes, very much, " returned Viola promptly, with a little side smile atme, and sat down and wrote in it. 

When she had done so, she closed the book, and as the maid was in andout of the room during luncheon, it was not till it was finished andcleared away and we were alone that I asked her what she had written. 

"Mr. And Mrs. Lonsdale; that's right, isn't it? I did not put Trevorfor I always think 'make your lies short' is a good rule. "

"I thought you were such a truthful person, " I said a little sadly. 

"So I am--to you, for instance, so I should be to any one who has theright to hear truth; but the world has no right, and I don't care whatlies I tell it, it's such an inquisitive old bore!"

I laughed. Viola always made you laugh when you felt you ought to beangry with her. 

"Come out now, " I said, "let's enjoy this lovely afternoon. I shouldlike to paint you under that tree, " I added musingly, looking out onthe tree in its white glory. 

"In your usual style?" she returned laughing. "I don't think you couldhere. Mrs. Jevons would turn me out as not being respectable; not evenbeing Mrs. Lonsdale would save me. "

"You would make a lovely picture, even dressed, " I returned, musing;"but then of course it would not sell for half the price. "

"Nothing is really snapped at but the nude. That lovely landscape Ipainted when I was young and foolish, --it took me two years to workit off, and the veriest little daub of an unclothed girl goes directlyat a hundred guineas. "

"A great compliment to our natural charms, " laughed Viola. "I amdelighted personally at anything that is a note of protest against thetyranny of the dressmaker and fashion. "

"What shall we do?" I queried; "it's beautifully hot, " I addedpersuasively. 

"I'll tell you: we will go into the oak wood; the oaks grow low andthe ground and the land rise all round, no one can possibly see uswithout coming quite close; on that blue carpet you shall paint melying asleep, we will call the picture 'The Soul of the Wood, ' and youshall sell it for a thousand. Come along. "

So it was decided, and with one of her thick cloaks, that she couldthrow round her instantly if surprised, and my artist's pack westarted for the wood. 

It was a hot golden day, the one day we should get of really fineweather in the whole English year, and when we reached the wood thelight under the oak boughs was magnificent, a soft mellow gloryfalling down on the blue hyacinths which grew so closely together thatit was as if a sea of vivid colour had invaded the dell or a greatpatch of the blue sky had fallen there. 

We had difficulty in getting into the wood as the undergrowth ofyoung oak scrub made it almost impenetrable; it stood up straight, andthe great, swaying, huge, spreading boughs of the old oaks above camedown and rested on and amongst the young oaks, like a roof uponpillars, and the leaves of both intermingled till they were like greensilk curtains hung from ceiling to floor. When we had finally pushedthrough almost on our hands and knees to the centre of the wood, thescrub grew less close, the carpet of blue was perfect, a circle ofgreen shut us in, we were in a magic chamber, through the roof ofwhich came floods of green and golden light. 

Viola cast aside the "tyranny of the dressmaker" and shook out herlight hair. Then she threw herself on the hyacinth bed, lookingupwards to the low arching roof. At that moment the call of thecuckoo, wild, entrancing, came overhead, and she raised her arms witha look of rapture as the slim grey bird dashed through the upper oakbranches in pursuit of its mate. It was a perfect pose for the "Soulof the Wood, " and I begged her to keep it while I rapidly caught theidea and sketched it in roughly in charcoal. 

Those happy sunlit hours in the wood, how fast they slipped away! Iwas absorbed in the work and completely happy in it, and Viola Ibelieve was equally happy in the delight she knew she was giving me. 

We came back very hungry to our tea, and very pleased with ourselves, the sketch, and our successful afternoon. 

It was six o'clock, the light was mellowing, and a thrush singing withall its own wonderful passion and rapture on the lawn. The scent ofthe lilac, intensely sweet, came in at the window and filled the room. 

In the evening we went out and sat under the cherry-tree, watching thestars come out and gleam through its white bloom. 

"Sing me the Abendstern, " murmured Viola, leaning her head against me. "I was a dutiful model all the afternoon, it's your turn to amuse menow. "

So I sang the Abendstern to her under the cherry-tree, and its whiteshadow enveloped us both, making her face look very beautiful underit; and when I had finished singing we kissed each other and agreedthat the world was a very delightful place as long as there wasWagner's music in it, and cherry-trees to sit under, and white bloomand stars and lips to kiss. 

Between nine and ten, after a very countrified supper we went up tobed in the slanting-roofed room under the thatch, full still of thetender light of a spring evening. 

The next day was delicious, too, and the next, but on the fourth wewere quite ready to go. We had drained the cup of joy which thatparticular place held for us and it had no more to offer. Thecherry-tree pleased us still, but it did not give us the ecstaticthrill of the first view of it. The lilac scent streamed in, but itdid not go to the head and intoxicate us as when we came straight fromthe air of Waterloo; the thrush gurgled as passionately on the deepgreen lawn, but the gurgle did not stir the blood. All was the same, only the strange spell of novelty was gone. 

Viola seemed so pleased to be leaving it quite hurt me. When I wentupstairs I found her packing her little handbag with alacrity andsinging. 

"Are you glad to be going?" I asked. 

"Yes, " she said surprised; "are not you?"

"But you have been happy here?" I said with a tone of remonstrance. 

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed; "wildly, intensely happy! It's been fourdays' enchantment, but then it's gone now; we can't get any _more_ outof this place. We have enjoyed it so much we have drained it, exhausted it; like the bees, we must move on to a fresh flower. "

It was true that was all we could do, yet I looked round the bareattic-like room with regret. Could ever another give me more than thathad done? Could there ever be a keener joy, a deeper delight than Ihad known in the shadows of that first violet night?

PART THREE

THE BLACK NIGHT

CHAPTER VI

IN MAYFAIR

The spring of the next year found us installed in a small house inMayfair, for the season. 

For a year we had been abroad; the summer in Italy, the winter inEgypt, and had come back with our eyes full of colour, armed againstthe deadly greyness of England for three months at least. 

We had travelled as Mr. And Mrs. Lonsdale, we came back as Mr. AndMrs. Lonsdale. There had been no difficulty so far. Every one seemedsatisfied, and what was far more important, so were we. 

The whole top floor of the Mayfair house was my studio, and made afairly large and convenient one. We kept on the old studio as a matterof sentiment, but rarely went there now. 

The "Phryne" and the "Soul of the Wood" had been finished and acceptedfor exhibition. Both were sold, the "Phryne" for five thousand pounds, the "Soul of the Wood" for four thousand, and I had brought fromabroad many unfinished sketches and partly finished pictures. 

In all this time we had lived very close to each other: Viola had beenmy only model against an ever-varied background. Not the faintestshadow had flecked the sunshine of our passion for each other. Violahad written her operetta, and it had been taken for a London theatre. A Captain Lawton had written the libretto under the title of the "Lilyof Canton. " The music was weird and charming, suited to the strangeChinese story and scenery. It was to be produced in May, and Violaalways spoke of the first night with excited joy. 

It had been a full, rich year. Like bees, as Viola had said, we hadgone from flower to flower, draining the honey from each new blossomand passing on. New places, new skies, new scenes had all in turncontributed to our pleasure and given us inspiration which took formagain in our art. 

The vivid desert backgrounds, the light-filled skies of Upper Egyptcrept into my pictures, the cry of impassioned Eastern music in theforbidden dancing-dens of Keneh stole into Viola's refrains. 

On that sunny afternoon in April, as we took tea in our tiny andgimcrack drawing-room together, Viola and I felt in the best ofspirits. 

"Captain Lawton and Mr. And Mrs. Dixon are coming in to dinnerto-night, " Viola remarked. "Lawton tells me he saw the manageryesterday, and the piece seems getting on all right. "

"I am very glad, " I answered. "Do you know, Viola, a Roman girl calledhere this morning, and wanted me to take her on as a model. She'svery good. I think I'd better secure her, if ... If.... "

"If what... ?" asked Viola smiling. 

"Well, if you don't mind, " I answered, colouring. 

"Mind? I? No, dearest Trevor. Of course not. You must want a new modelby now. Do engage her by all means. Is she good altogether?"

"I don't know. I have only seen her face yet. That's very lovely. Veronica she calls herself. I thought, anyway, she would do splendidlyfor the head. "

"What a piece of good luck she should come now. You were just wantinga model for your Roman Forum picture, " returned Viola. And then thematter dropped, for some women came in to tea and broke off theconversation. 

At eleven o'clock the next morning I was in my studio, awaitingVeronica. I was pleased, interested, elated. The girl was reallybeautiful, and the sight of beauty exhilarates and animates like wine. 

She was very punctual and came confidently into the room as the clockstruck. The cold morning light through a north window fell upon herand instead of the light warming the face as so often happens, herface seemed to warm the light. She was about sixteen, with a skin ofvelvet, dark, quite dark, but clear as wine, and with a wonderful redflush glowing through the cheek; the eyes were brilliant, brown toblackness, but full of fire and lustre; her hair, dark as midnight, clustered and fell about her face in soft curls. The nose was dainty, refined, with perfect nostrils, the mouth deepest red and curved withthe most tender, seducing lines. I had never seen such a face. Thebeauty of it was glorious, to an artist awe-inspiring. 

I stood gazing at her, delighted, spellbound, and the young personkeenly observed my admiration. She smiled, revealing true Italianteeth, exquisite, white, and perfect. 

"I am Veronica Bernandini, " she said. "I have two hours to spare inthe morning and three in the afternoon. "

My first thought was not to let any other artist have her; not till Ihad painted her at any rate and startled London with her face. 

"Are you sitting to any one else?" I asked mechanically. 

"No. I give the rest of my time to my family. We are very poor. Mymother and father are old. I am their sole support. "

I waved my hand impatiently. All models tell you that. One gets sotired of it. 

"What do you want an hour? I will take all your time. You must not sitto any one else. "

Her eyes gleamed, and the lovely crimson mouth pouted. 

"Five shillings an hour if you take the five hours a day, " sheanswered. 

"I suppose you know that's double the ordinary price?" I said smiling. "However, I don't mind. I'll pay you if I find you sit well. Take offyour hat now and sit down--anywhere. I want just to make a roughsketch of your head. "

She obeyed, and I drew out some large paper sheets and found a pieceof charcoal. Sitting down opposite her, I gazed at her meditatively. Now that her hat had been removed I could see the extraordinary wealthand beauty of her hair. It was black with lights of red and gold firein it, and fell in its own natural waves and curls and clusters allabout her small head and smooth white forehead. 

What about a Bacchante? She was a perfect study for that. I alwaysimagined--perhaps from seeing antiques, where it is so represented, that the head of a Bacchante should have hair like this; and it israre enough in English models. Suppose I made a large picture--TheDeath of Pentheus--the king in Euripides' tragedy of the Bacchæ who inhis efforts to put down the Bacchanalia was slain by the enragedBacchantes. Suppose I put this one in the foreground.... But then itseemed a pity to spoil such a lovely face with a look of rage.... Well, anyway, let me have a sketch first, and see what inspirationcame to me. I got up and looked amongst my odd possessions for avine-leaf wreath I had. When I found it and some ivy leaves, I cameback to her and fastened them round her head, in and out of thosewonderful vine-like tendrils of hair. She sat demurely enough and verystill while I did so, but when I wanted to unfasten the ugly modernbodice and turn it down from her throat so as to get the head wellpoised and free, she pressed her lips on my hand as it passed roundher neck. 

I drew my hand away. 

"Don't be silly, or I shan't employ you, " I said with some annoyance. 

She pushed out her crimson lips. 

"You are too handsome to be an artist; they are mostly such guys. "

"Hush, be quiet now, be still, " I said, moving back from her to see ifI had the effect I wanted. I felt with a sudden rush of delight I had. The face was just perfect now: the head a little inclined, the leavesin the glossy hair, no more exact image of the idea the word Bacchantealways formed in my mind could be imagined. 

I sketched her head in rapidly. I made two or three draughts of it incharcoal, then I got my colours and did a rough study of it in colour. Her neck, like that of almost all Italians, was a shade too short, butround and lovely in shape and colour. The time passed unnoticed, andit was only when the luncheon gong sounded I realised how long I hadbeen at work. 

I sprang up and gathered the sheets of paper together. 

"That's all now, " I said. "I'll take you again three to six. Are youtired?" I added, as she got up rather slowly and took up her hat. 

"No, " she answered, shaking her head. "All that was sitting down;that's easy. "

Her voice sounded flat, but I was too hurried to take much notice ofit. I wanted to get down to show Viola the work. 

"Well, three o'clock then, " I repeated, and ran downstairs. 

Viola was waiting in the dining-room, but not at the table. I wentover to the window where she was standing, and showed her thesketches. 

"Oh, Trevor, how lovely; how perfectly beautiful!" she exclaimed, gazing at the charcoal head. 

"You have done that well, and what a glorious face!"

I flushed with pleasure. 

"I'm so glad you like it. Come up this afternoon and see the model, see me work. Say you're out, and let's have tea in the studio. "

"Very well, " she answered as the luncheon came in; "I'll say we wanttea up there. What a good idea to make her a Bacchante; it's the veryface for it. "

"Suppose I took her as a Bacchante dancing, the whole figure I mean, nude, under a canopy of vine leaves, make all the background, everything, green vines with clusters of purple grapes, and then haveher dancing down the sort of avenue towards the foreground, with thelight pouring down through the leaves. How do you think that wouldbe?"

"I should think it would be lovely, " Viola answered slowly, with alittle sigh. 

I looked across at her quickly. 

"You would like to be my only model for the body?" I said gently, keeping my eyes on her face. 

"No, Trevor, I really don't want to be selfish, and I do think youshould have another, only.... "

"Yes, only... ?"

"Well, when a woman is in love she does so long to be able to assumeall sorts of different forms, to be different women, so as to alwaysplease and amuse and satisfy the man she loves. How delightful itwould be if one could change! One can be pretty, one can be amiable, clever, charming, anything, but one cannot be different from oneself;one must be the same, one can't get away from that. "

I laughed. 

"I don't want you to be different. I should be overwhelmed if yousuddenly changed into some one else! And whatever models I have, youwill always be the best. There could not be another such perfectfigure as yours. "

Viola smiled, but an absent look came into her face. 

After luncheon we both went up to the studio together, and Viola wasensconced in my armchair when Veronica's knock came on the door. 

I said, "Come in, " and she entered with the confident air of themorning. Directly she saw Viola, however, she seemed to stiffen withresentment, and stood still by the door. 

"Come in, " I repeated, "and shut the door. "

Viola looked at her kindly and laid down the charcoal sketch in herlap. 

"I have been looking at your head here and thinking it so beautiful, "she said gently. 

Veronica only stared at her a little ungraciously in return, and tookoff her hat in silence. 

I put her back into position, re-arranged the fillet on her head, andset to work to complete the colour study. 

We worked in unbroken silence till tea was brought up at four. Violarose to make it, and I told the girl to get up and move about if sheliked, and I set the canvas aside to dry. Viola offered the girl a cupof tea, but she refused it and went and sat under the window on an oldcouch, leaving us by the table. 

The canvas was a success in a way so far, but the great sweetness ofthe expression in the charcoal sketch of the morning was not there. 

When tea was over I went up to Veronica and told her I must leave thecanvas of the head to dry, I could not work more on it then, and askedher if she would pose for me as the Bacchante dancing. I wanted to seeif she would do for a larger picture. 

I got no answer for a minute. Veronica looked down and began to pullat the faded fringe of an old cushion. 

At last I repeated my question. 

"Not while _she's_ here, " she muttered in a low, fierce tone. 

I was surprised at the resentment in look and voice. 

"Nonsense, " I said with some annoyance. "You can pose before her aswell as before me. "

Veronica did not answer, only pulled in sullen silence at the cushion. 

"You are wasting my time, " I said impatiently. 

Veronica looked through the window. 

"I shan't take off my clothes before her, " she muttered defiantly. 

I turned away from her in annoyance and approached Viola who had notmoved from her chair on the other side of the room. She sprang up andcame to meet me. 

"She objects to my being here?" she said quickly. "Is it botheringyou? Because, if it is, I'll go; that'll settle it. "

"It's awfully stupid. I'm so sorry, Viola; it's so idiotic of her. "

Viola smiled brightly up at me. 

"Never mind, I'll go. You'll be down soon, now. "

I held the door open for her, and with a smiling nod at me she passedthrough and went down the stairs. I waited till her bright head haddisappeared, and then closed the door and went back to Veronica. 

"Now, " I said, "Mrs. Lonsdale has left us. Will you get up and standas I want you to? Or do you want me to dismiss you?"

I felt extremely angry and annoyed. My heart beat violently. Viola hadcome there by my invitation, she had deprived herself of any possiblesociety for the afternoon, and now had been practically turned out bythis impertinent little model. 

Veronica got sulkily up from the couch and began to undress insilence. 

I walked away and flung myself into the armchair Viola had vacated, and picked up the charcoal sketch. 

How sweet the face was in that! And yet what an awful little devil thegirl on the couch had looked. 

I was so accustomed to Viola's unfailing either good temper orself-command, that I was beginning to forget women had bad tempers aswell as men. 

After a minute or two Veronica came over to me; she had let her hairdown, and it fell prettily on her shoulders. I laid down the charcoalsketches and looked at her critically as she approached. 

Her figure had all the beauty of great plumpness and youthfulness. Every contour was round and full, and yet firm. Her body was beautifulin the sense that all healthy, sound, young, well-formed things are, but there was, as it were, no soul in the beauty, nothing transcendentin any of the lines or in the colour. It was something essentially ofearth, un-dreamlike, appealing to the senses, and to them alone. 

I was struck with the great contrast it presented to the form ofViola, which was so wonderfully ethereal, so divine in colour anddesign. Every line in it was long and tapering, never coming to asudden stop, but merging with infinite grace into the next, and thedazzling, immaculate whiteness of it all made it seem like somethingof heaven. It suggested the vision, the ideal, all that man longsafter with his soul, that stirs the celestial fires within his brain, not merely the flame of the senses. 

In the form before me, the lines were short and often abrupt, thecurves quick and expressionless; it would do capitally for the"Bacchante, " it would not have served for a moment for the "Soul ofthe Wood. "

The girl was smiling now, and appeared quite amiable. Most people arewhen they have got their own way. She asked me if I thought she woulddo. 

"Yes, I think you will. Stand back there, please, against that greencurtain. Now put one foot forward as if you were advancing. Yes, that's right; lift both your arms up over your head. "

I got up to give her a hoop of wire to hold as an arch over her, andput a spray of artificial ivy over it. 

"That'll do. Now stand still, and let's see how that works out. "

The girl posed well. Evidently she was a model of considerablepractice, and I obtained an excellent sketch before a quarter to six, when she said she must leave off and dress. 

She did so in silence, while I studied my own work. When she had herhat on I looked up and asked her if she wanted to be paid. 

"No, " she answered, "we'll leave it till the end of the week. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye, " I said, and she went out. I laid the sketch on the tablebeside me, and sat thinking. A sudden blankness fell upon me as Istood mentally opposite this new idea that had never presented itselfto me in the same form before, that in my former easy, wanderingexistence I had always welcomed a beautiful model, not only for thegain to my art, but because of the incidental pleasure it might bringme. But now I realised suddenly that this girl's beauty brought me noelation. _It was not any use_, and in a flash I saw, too, that nowoman now, no beauty could be any use to me ever any more, for I wasnot a single irresponsible existence any longer, but involved withanother which was sacred to me. 

How often in the past, when entangled in some light _liaison_, I hadwished for deeper, stronger emotions, something to wake the mind andstir the soul! Then in my love for Viola I had found all these andwelcomed them madly. She had stirred my whole sleeping being intoflame, and given me those keener and stronger desires of the brain, and satisfied them; and till now it had seemed to me that this passionfor her was a free gift from the hands of Fate. Now, suddenly, I sawthat the gift had its price. That, after all, there was something tobe said for those light free loves of the past. That some joy had beentaken out of life, now those glittering trifles, toys of the senses, were taken from me, made impossible. 

For the first time I realised that a great passion has its yoke, andthat, in return for the great joy it gives, it demands and takes one'sfreedom. 

I sat motionless, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden blaze of lightthat the simple incident of this model's advent had thrown on anobscure psychological fact. 

I saw now that my love for Viola was not wholly a gain, not somethingextra added to my life's-cup that made it full to overflowing, but, asalways in this life, something had been taken away as well as added. 

I felt as a child might feel who was presented with a magnificent giftwith which he was overjoyed, but who on taking it to the nursery toadd to his other treasures, saw his nurse locking these all away fromhim for ever in a glass case above his reach. 

As the child might, I hugged my new gift to me and delighted in it, but I could not help feeling regret for those other small, glitteringtoys with which I had formerly played so much, now shut away behindthe deadly glass pane of conscience. 

It was not that Veronica appealed to me specially. I did not feel Icared whether she came to the studio again or not except for thepicture, but the great principle involved, now that I was face to facewith it, appalled me. 

Viola had sought to leave me free, by refusing marriage with me; but, after all, what difference does the mere nominal tie make?

The essential attribute of a great passion--something that cannot beeliminated from it--is the chain of fidelity it forges round itsprisoners. 

I do not know how long I sat there, but at last I rose mechanically, put the sheets of paper together, and went downstairs. 

As I came to the drawing-room door I heard that Viola was playing. The door stood ajar, and silently I entered and took my seat behindher. She was improvising, just playing as the inspiration came to her, and wholly absorbed and unconscious of my presence. There was a greatglass facing her, in which her whole image was reflected, and had sheglanced into it she must have seen me; but she did not. Her eyes gazedout before her, wrapt, delighted; her face was quite white, her lipsparted in a little smile. 

I saw she was under the influence of her music and absolutely happy, full of joy, such as I could never give her. A great jealousy ranthrough me, kindling all that passion I had for her. The thoughts andreflections of an hour back seemed swept out of mind like dead leavesbefore a storm. No other lighter loves could give me one-tenth of theemotion that the pursuit and conquest of this strange soul could do. For I had not conquered it. It was absorbed in, and lived in mysteriesof joy that its art alone could give it, and I was outside--almost astranger to it. 

The thought burnt and stung me, and the fire of it wrapped round me asI sat watching her. That body, so slim, so perfect, she had given me, but I wanted more, I wanted that inner spirit to be mine, I wanted toconquer that. 

I watched her in a fierce, jealous anger, almost as I might have doneseeing her caressed by another lover, she was so wonderfully happy, soindependent of me, so unconscious of me; but man loves that which isabove him, difficult to obtain, hard to pursue. We cannot help it. Weare made to be hunters, and I felt I loved Viola then with freshpassion. 

Some time or other I would succeed in breaking through that charmedcircle in which she lived, in making her yield up to me the spiritualmaidenhood which, as it were, was hers. 

I would be first and last and everything to her, and not even her artshould count beside me. 

I closed my eyes and put my head back on the couch where I was sittingand gave myself up to listening to the music. 

How the instrument answered her! What a divine melody rose from it, floating gently on the air like quivering wings. 

Then suddenly came a storm of passion, and the room was filled with atempest of sound, while one strong thread of melody low down in thebass ran through it all and seemed a fierce reproach of one inanguish. At last one sheet of sound seemed to sweep the piano from endto end, a cry of dismay, of pain, the woe and grief of one who seeshis world shattered suddenly before his eyes; then there was silence. I sprang up and clasped her in my arms. 

"Trevor, " she exclaimed, like one awakening from a dream; "I had noidea you were there. "

"No, " I said savagely; "you were so absorbed, you never noticed mecome in. "

"Well, I heard the model go, and I waited and waited for you to comedown; but you were so long I turned to the piano to console me. "

"Which it did quite well, apparently, " I answered. 

A sweet, tender look came over her face, and she stretched out herarms to me. 

"Nothing could wholly console me for your absence, " she said; "and youknow that quite well; but the music always helps me to bear it. "

I drew her to me and strained her close up to me in silence, longingto conquer, to come into union with that mysterious inner something wecall the Soul. 

Yet in this unconquerable quality, in this pursuit of that whichalways escapes from our most passionate embraces, man finds aninexhaustible delight. 

CHAPTER VII

FREEDOM

The weeks slipped by, and I worked hard at the painting, while Violagave herself up to the music and all the work that the approachingproduction of her opera gave her. Our evenings were always spenttogether. We set aside two evenings in the week for our friends, giving only small dinners of eight or ten. On the other evenings whenwe were not dining out ourselves we went to the opera, and supperafter. 

I often wondered whether there was anything or nothing in the factthat we were not married to each other, which affected our feelingsand relations to each other. Does that conventional bond make somesubtle difference, just by its existence; and did that account for thefact that we seemed to find a greater delight in each other's society, a greater need of each other than the average husband and wife do; orwas it only because we happened to be two who had met and really lovedmore than most people do, and had we been married, we should have feltthe same?

Certainly we were looked upon as peculiar because, being married, wewere so much together. 

The true explanation is perhaps that, as a rule, the people who lovedo not marry, and those who marry do not love. 

Coming home from our supper after the opera, I felt the samepassionate delight in Viola as that first evening when I had drivenher to my studio. Waking in the dawn to find her sleeping on my arm, Ihad the same joyous elation as I had known under the thatched roof, during our first stay together. Unfortunately, however, a greatpassion for one object does not necessarily exclude lesser passions, or, rather, passing fancies of the senses for other objects. It isgenerally supposed that it does, but my experience is rather to thecontrary. 

With women possibly it may do so oftener than with men, but extremeconstancy, absolute exclusiveness is not the natural product of agreat passion. It is a question rather of sentiment and artificialrestraint. 

Nature is not on the side of sentiment. She is always a prodigal, withthe one great aim before her of ensuring the continuance of the race. 

Consequently, when a man is already loving one object with all hisforce, it is not Nature's plan to make him turn from all others byinstinct. No, she is ever ready with others, ever rather promptinghim, leading him towards others, in order that, should accident ordeath remove his first mate, others should not be wanting, and hergreat scheme should not be spoiled nor interrupted. 

Nature is always on a grand scale, always acting in and for theplural, never for the singular. 

Does she want one oak to survive, she throws on the ground a millionacorns for that purpose. 

Man she has fitted to love not one, but hundreds, and our senses actautomatically and are always on the side of Nature. It is the mindalone that man has taught to act against her, and that demands andgives fidelity in love. 

A woman's attitude towards a second lover, when she is deeply in lovewith the first, is not so often "I don't want him, " as "It wouldgrieve my first lover, therefore I will not take him. "

A man, when offered a second mistress, usually thinks "I will takeher, but I mustn't let the first one know. " In both it is the anxietyof Nature that neither should be left mateless, part of her tremendousscheme of insurance against mischance. 

And all this great love and passion which I had for Viola, passionwhich exhausted me almost to the point sometimes of being unable towork, did not seal my senses against the beauty of Veronica--beauty Ipainted daily in the studio. 

I used to enjoy the afternoon spent there now with a differentpleasure from that of work merely. The sensuous attraction had becomevery great, and I was beginning to feel it was not innocent and tohalf-long for, half-dread an interruption, something to break throughit, end it. 

Veronica professed to have fallen in love with me. It is rather atrick of models to do this. They think it can do no harm, and possiblyextra benefits to themselves may accrue. Perhaps she was in love withme, if a mere covetousness of the senses can be called love. This shehad, and from the first she had determined to subdue me. Her ruse ofthe first day had succeeded. Viola had never again come to the studiowhile she was there, and so hour after hour we were alone togetherundisturbed. I kept hard at work the whole time, hardly exchanging aword with her, and would go downstairs for tea with Viola; but sheemployed her eyes continually to tell her story, and caught my handand kissed it whenever she was able. 

Just at first I felt only amusement and annoyance. Then gradually Iused to expect the soft look to come into the beautiful eyes, thetouch of the warm lips on my hand began to stir and thrill me. I felta vague dislike and distrust of the girl mentally, I thought she wasvain, selfish, mercenary, revengeful, and bad-tempered, but with allthat Nature had nothing to do. Her servants, the senses, submitted tothe youth and beauty of the newcomer, and that was all Nature caredabout. 

One afternoon she was posing as usual, and I was painting, deeplyabsorbed, on the picture of the "Bacchante" when her voice suddenlydisturbed me. 

"May I move just for a minute?"

"Certainly, " I exclaimed, looking up and laying down my brush. 

The girl laid down her spray of ivy-leaves, walked across the spaceintervening between us, and, before I was aware of her intention, threw her arms round my neck and kissed me. 

The kiss seemed to burn my lips, but with the current of passion Ialso felt a storm of anger against her. I sprang up and seized hershoulders, pushing her away from me. 

"Don't, Trevor, don't, you are hurting me; you are hurting myshoulders, " she exclaimed, the tears starting to her eyes. 

I took my hands from her arms, and saw my grasp had left deep marks ofcrimson on them. 

"Go and get dressed then, and go, " I said furiously; "I'm not going topaint any more. " I pushed my chair away and threw the palette andbrushes on to the table near. 

Veronica shrank from me and turned pale. In that moment the intensebeauty of the face and figure was borne in upon me, she clung as iffor support to the easel with one soft hand, all the youthful bodyseemed to shrink together in a beautiful dismay, great tears rolleddown the cheeks from the dark reproachful eyes. I saw it all for onemoment, feeling the anger sinking down under that strange influencethat beauty has upon us. But I would not look at her. I turned my backon her and went over to the window, hardly conscious of what I did. Istood there for a few moments; then, suddenly, there came a cry andthe sound of a fall behind me. I looked round and saw her lying, alittle crushed heap, by the couch where she usually dressed. 

I sprang forward, full of self-reproach. How foolish I had been! Sounnecessarily harsh! I went to her. In obedience to my order, she hadput some of her clothes on, and now lay there senseless apparently andquite white, her arms, still bare, stretched out on the floor besideher. She looked so pretty, so small, round, and helpless, that myheart went out to her. I felt I had been such a brute. As I stoopedover her to raise her I saw the great crimson bruises I had left onher arms. 

I picked her up and put her on the couch. She lay there quite still, pale, her eyes closed, unconscious. 

I pushed the hair off her forehead, and, dipping my handkerchief intoa glass of water on the table, pressed it on to her head. I waskneeling by the couch. The sweet, little, rounded face, the softunconscious body lay just beneath my eyes. 

She opened her eyes slowly:

"Trevor, do forgive me, " she whispered, and smiled up at me just alittle, opening the curved lips; "do say you forgive me, give me onekiss. "

In the violent reaction of feeling, in the torrent of self-reproachfor being so hard on a child like this, the senses conquered, I put myhead down, and kissed her passionately, far more passionately fromthat great reaction of preceding anger, on her lips. 

"Dear, dear little girl, are you better?"

She threw her arms round me. 

"Oh, Trevor, I do love you so, I do love you, I do love you. "

Full of that great delight, so transient, so baseless, so unreasoning, yet so great, which the senses give us, of that passion in which themind has no part, that passes over us as the wind ruffles the surfaceof the lake without moving the depths below, I kissed her over andover again, and pressed her to me, soft shoulders and undone hair andwounded arms. 

The next moment the vision of Viola came before my brain, and I roseto my feet. Veronica caught at my hand, and, raising it to her lips, kissed it in a tempest of passion. I drew it away--

"Get up and finish your dressing, " I said very gently. "This sort ofthing can do you no good, Veronica. It will only mean that I cannotlet you come to the studio at all. "

Veronica rose from the couch obediently and resumed her dressing. Shegave me somehow the impression she was satisfied at having broken downmy self-control, and hoped to win me over further by extreme docility. I walked away to the window, angry with myself, and yet angry againthat that anger should be necessary. I had always been so free tillnow, able to gratify the fancy of the moment. This need forself-restraint was new and irritating. 

Veronica came up to me when she was dressed, and asked for a partingkiss. I gave it, and she went away with a demure and sad little sigh. 

When I came down from the studio I went at once to our bedroom todress. We were dining early and going out after, and I knew I had notmuch time. Viola was not there; she had dressed evidently and gonedown. Sometimes she would be sitting in the armchair at the foot ofthe bed waiting for me, but to-night she had gone down. 

I walked about the room, quickly collecting my evening things andthinking. Why did I, now that I had left Veronica, feel self-reproachand regret at what had passed? What was a kiss? It was ridiculous tothink of it twice. 

I ran downstairs and found Viola as I had expected in thedrawing-room. In her white dinner-gown and with a few violet pansiesat her breast, she looked, I thought, particularly charming. Shesmiled as I came in, but when I approached to kiss her as was usualbetween us after the shortest absences, she got up, almost started upand moved away from me. 

"Don't kiss me! I am so afraid you will crush my flowers. "

I stopped disconcerted; she coloured slightly and took a chair furtherfrom me, I flung myself into one close to me. 

It was so unlike Viola to resist any advance of mine, and on such ascore, that it astonished me. Often and often I had hesitated when shehad been in some of her magnificent toilettes to clasp her to me forfear of disturbing the wonderful creations, and had been laughinglyderided for so doing. 

"Your kiss is worth a dozen dresses, " she would say, and crush me toher in spite of whatever laces or jewels might lie between; and suchwords had been very dear to me. 

This phrase now, usual with many women, unheard before from her, struck me. The blood rushed to my head for a moment as the thoughtcame--she have seen or heard in any possible way the scene in thestudio? and then I dismissed it as quite impossible. It wascoincidence, merely that. She could know nothing. Then, staring awayfrom her into the little fire, I thought suddenly--"Is not this themost despicable, the worst part of all infidelity, this deceit itmust bring with it? The lies, either spoken or tacit, to which itgives birth?"

There were only a few moments and then the bell called us to dinner. 

Viola was just as sweet and charming as usual through the meal andafter, both during the theatre party to which we went, and when wewere driving home together. 

The next morning when we were at breakfast alone she said in a veryearnest tone:

"Trevor, you will be careful about that model of yours, won't you?"

I raised my eyebrows. 

"How do you mean?"

"Don't let her draw you into anything you don't really want to do. Bea little on your guard with her. You know how detestable some womencan be. They try to make men compromise themselves, and then worrythem afterwards. "

"I should think I ought to be able to take care of myself, " I replied. Of course I was annoyed, and showed it. 

"Well, " said Viola, getting up from the table, "it is difficult when agirl is as beautiful as that and you are shut up for hours alone withher. When do you think the picture will be finished?"

"I don't know at all, " I said, feeling more and more annoyed. "Ishall probably keep her on for another after it. "

This was a pure invention of my anger at the moment, for I had fullyresolved last night to get rid of Veronica and as soon as possible, and never see her again; but I objected to what seemed to meinterference. 

Viola turned paler almost than the cloth before us. 

"Do you really wish to do so?" she asked. 

"Yes, " I said coldly. "Have you any objection?"

"Yes, I think it would be a great pity, " she replied quietly. "Youwill get so drawn to her, so interested in her, it will come betweenus. "

I looked at her in amaze and anger. Was this all coincidence? It mustbe. How could she possibly know what had occurred?

We are nearly all of us beasts to women when they appeal to us. Hadthe position been reversed and had I been speaking to Viola as she wasto me, she would have been all sweetness, accepting my jealous anxietyas a compliment, recognising how sure a sign of passion it is. 

"All this seems very childish and silly, " I answered. "Veronica isnothing to me but a model and will never be anything than that. Ishall keep her as long as I want her, and dismiss her when I choose. Idon't want to discuss the matter again with you. "

Viola waited till I had finished speaking, then when I ceased, sheinclined her head and went out, shutting the door noiselessly behindher. 

In that moment even of anger against her, a great throb of admirationbeat through me. Her attitude as she waited by the door, one handclasping the handle, her face turned towards me, was so perfect, theacquiescence so graceful and dignified; but it was only for a moment, the anger closed over the impulse of love again, and I walked up anddown the room full of resentment. 

"Why should one, " I muttered, "just because one loves one woman, neverbe supposed to kiss another, why should there be all this hateful, jealous tyranny? It is better to be free, as one is as a bachelor, anddo what one likes, just take everything as it comes along. "

Then it recurred to me suddenly that I was not married, not tied inany way, I was free, and the remembrance came, too, why it wasso--that Viola herself had refused to take my freedom from me. 

"Then when I use it to amuse myself for an hour or two this is theresult, " I thought stormily, trying to keep angry with Viola. "It's asbad as being married. "

I tried to feel Viola was quite in the wrong, a tiresome, unreasonable, jealous person; but irresistibly my thoughts modifiedthemselves, sobered by that sudden recollection that I was not boundto her nor she to me. Perhaps I should not have to complain of hertyranny very long. Waves of memory rolled over me against my will, memories of the wonderful passion that existed between us, somethingthat went down to the roots of my being, that shook me to the verydepths, as different as the day from the night from my passing fancyfor Veronica's beauty. My mind went back to the first night at thestudio; I had never felt anything for any other woman that couldapproach my feelings for her. She was so different from all theothers. I had known a good many, and they all seemed very much alike, but Viola stood alone amongst them. 

After a few minutes' more reflection, I went to look for her. Ithought I would try to soften the effect of my last words to her, butI could not find her, and full of a sense of dissatisfaction, I wenton at last upstairs to the studio. 

When Veronica came into the room I realised the full extent of myfolly the previous afternoon. Hitherto her manner had been respectfuland demure enough on the surface, though always with a suggestion ofveiled insolent self-confidence. Now the veil was thrown off, she wasassured of herself, and showed it. 

She came up to me, kissed me as a matter of course, and when I barelyreturned the kiss, she laughed openly and said coolly. 

"What's the matter, Trevor? Viola been lecturing you?"

To hear her use Viola's name seemed to freeze me. 

"Be quiet, " I said sharply. 

The girl merely made a grimace and began to take off her hat and letdown her hair. 

The morning passed dully. I did not paint well. The impersonal stateof mind in which alone good artistic work can be produced was not withme. 

When I went down to luncheon I found Viola looking very pale and ill. This made me feel cross. Ill-health very rarely excites pity orsympathy in men, but nearly always a feeling of vexation andannoyance. "Why should she worry herself?" I asked myself angrily, "when there was nothing to worry about. "

She had generally a very warm pink colour glowing in her face, whichdisappeared if anything worried or grieved her. It was gone now, and Iknew it was my words of the morning that had driven it away. 

"I looked for you this morning before I went up to paint, " I said;"but couldn't find you. "

"I am so sorry, " she answered with a quick smile. "What did you wantme for?"

"To tell you you needn't worry about Veronica. She is absolutelynothing to me. "

"Then, if she is, why will you not send her away, or at least when the'Bacchante' is finished?"

"Because I don't see any necessity, " I answered. "Besides, if I getany other model you would feel the same, wouldn't you, about her?"

"Any model you kissed and desired. Yes, certainly. "

We were both standing now facing each other. Viola was deadly pale, asshe always became in any conflict with me. 

I stood silent for a moment. 

I could not understand how she knew and could speak so definitely, butI could not lie and deny it, so I said nothing. 

"Do you mean that I am never to kiss another woman as long as I live?"I asked, a shade of derision coming into my voice. 

"No, only as long as we are what we are to each other. "

A chill fell upon me. I could not think of a time when she would notbe with me, could not face the idea of change. 

The light fell across her very bright and waving hair, and caught thetips of her eyelashes and fell all round her exquisite, girlishfigure, full of that wonderful grace I had never seen in any other. 

"It is a pity to make your love, which otherwise would be such adivine pleasure, a thing of restraint and fetters, " I said slowly. 

"But it is a mutual obligation in love, " she said in a very low tone. "It must be so. You would not wish me to kiss any of the men who comehere, would you? They often ask me to. "

Her words gave me suddenly such a sense of surprise and shock, it wasalmost as if she had struck me in the eyes. 

"_No_, " I said involuntarily, the instinct within me speaking withoutthought. 

"Well, that is what I say, " answered Viola gently. "A great passionhas its fetters. I don't see how it can be helped. You can have thepromiscuous loves of all the women you meet, or you can have theabsolute devotion of one; but I don't see how you can have the two. "

My heart beat, and the blood seemed going up to my head, confusing myreason. I felt angry because I knew she was right. 

"Well, really it seems that the first might be better if one's life isto be so limited. "

Viola did not answer at all. I turned and walked towards the windowand stood looking out for a few minutes. When I turned round the roomwas empty. 

I went up to the studio, but again I could not paint. The pale, unhappy face of Viola came between me and the picture. 

To Veronica I hardly spoke. Her beauty neither attracted nor evenpleased me. She was the cause of all this vague cloud rising up in mylife, which had hitherto been intensely happy and allowed me to dothe very best in my art. 

Her efforts to attract me and to draw me from my work only annoyed andirritated me, and when I went down to tea I told her to go, that Ishould not paint afterwards. 

No one happened to be calling that afternoon, so Viola and I werealone. There was hardly any constraint between us even after what hadpassed at luncheon. We were so much one, so intimate, mentally as wellas physically, that we could not quarrel with each other any more thanone can quarrel with oneself. One can be cross with oneselfoccasionally, but not for long. 

We neither of us referred to Veronica or anything disagreeable, butgave ourselves up to the joy of each other's society. When I told herI was not going back to paint she was delighted, and we planned todine early and go to the Empire after. 

The ballet seemed to amuse her, and when we returned and went up toour room she was in the lightest and gayest of spirits. This room wasthe only one in the house in the furnishing of which Viola had takenthe slightest interest. In all the others she had allowed things tostand just as we found them, just as our landlord had thought good toleave them, but in this one much had been added to the contentswritten down in the inventory and so much altered that our landlordwould indeed have been astonished if he had suddenly looked in. Thebed was a triumph of artistic skill, designed and arranged under herown directions, the curtains enclosing it were delicate in colouringand so soft in fabric that the bed seemed enveloped in a mass of blueclouds, gold-lined, and all the sheets and clothing were filmy andlace-edged, and must have been the despair of the steam laundry; ablue silk covering, the colour of her own eyes, and embroidered withpale pink roses, gold-centred, reposed on it, matching the curtains, and an electric lamp shaded in rose colour depended from the Frenchcrown above the head; a lamp which flooded the bed with light when allthe curtains were drawn and shut out the lights of the room. Thecarpet was blue also, and the heavy curtains over all the windowsmatched it, edged with, and embroidered in gold. 

The toilet-table, though simple enough in its arrangements, for Violaneeded no cosmetics, no lotions, no manicure nor other evilinventions, was always a lovely object. On its pale rose covering layher gold-backed brushes and comb, her gold hand-mirror with cupidsplaying on it, her little gold boxes of pins, and always vases offresh geraniums, white and rose-pink. Out of the room at one sideopened a smaller one, it was not used as a chapel nor yet as adressing-room. We dressed together and took pleasure in so doing, aswe did in everything that threw us into intimate companionship. We hadno need of dressing-rooms since there were no teeth to come in andout, no wigs to be taken off and put on, no secrets on either side tobe jealously guarded from one another. No, the room opening out ofours was a supper-room, where, when we came back late from opera ortheatre, we could always count on finding cold supper and champagne. Iwent in to-night and turned on all the lights, which were many, whileViola laid aside her dress and slipped into a dressing-gown, somethingas fragile and beautiful as a rose-leaf, suiting her delicate, elusivebeauty. She followed me into the little supper-room, and as I turnedand saw her on the threshold, the delicacy of the whole vision struckme. A pain shot into my heart suddenly. Supposing I ever lost her? Sawher fade from me?

Her eyes were wide-open and laughing, a faint colour glowed in thewhite transparent skin, the lips were a light scarlet, parted now fromthe milky teeth. 

I made two steps forwards and caught her and crushed her up tightly tomy breast and kissed her and made her sit on my knee while I pouredout some champagne. 

"Now drink that, " I commanded; "you look as if you needed somethingmaterial. You look like a vision that may vanish from me into thinair. "

Viola laughed and drank the wine. 

"Trevor, " she said reflectively, as if following up some train ofthought she had been pursuing already a long time. "What heaps ofwonderfully beautiful girls and women we saw to-night. Wouldn't youlike some of them?"

I laughed. 

"Some of them! Supposing you send me up a dozen or two?"

"No, but really I was thinking as I sat there to-night, how prettythey were, and how varied. I can quite understand how a man would liketo try them all. "

"You would object, I am afraid, " I said gravely. "You object even toVeronica. "

"I know. I don't think it's possible to do otherwise. I shouldn't loveyou if I didn't. But if you gave me up you could have all theseothers. "

"Well, you see, it is the other way; I have given them all up foryou. "

"I know, but is it wise for your own happiness? I thought about it agreat deal to-night. "

"Women like that can give one only the simple pleasure of the senses. It is very much the same with them all; but with you there is someextraordinary passion created in the brain as well as in the senses, that makes it a different thing. "

"I am so glad, " she murmured, leaning her arms on the table andlooking at me with eyes absorbed and abstracted. 

"There is no single thing in this world I would not do to give youpleasure, to delight and satisfy you. I have never refused youanything, have I?"

"Never. "

And it was true. She never had refused me anything it was in her powerto give. Still she held something that was not yet mine; the innerspirit of the Soul. 

 * * * * *

Days passed and things continued in the same way. I had not thestrength of mind to dismiss Veronica, to deprive myself of thatsubtle, delicious pleasure that lay in her soft kisses, in the bloomof her beauty, in her professed devotion to myself. The Bacchante wasnot quite finished, so that gave me the outward excuse. The excuse Iput forward to myself was that Viola could not possibly know what Ifelt for the girl nor what I did, and so it could not hurt her. 

Veronica made no secret of her wishes to tie me more closely to herstill. But, in spite of the clamour of the senses, there was somethingwithin me or round me that held me irresistibly from this. 

All that I had done already I knew that Viola would forgive, eventhough it grieved and distressed her. If I went further I did notknow that she would ever forgive, and that made an insurmountablebarrier that nothing Veronica could do or say could break down. 

The weeks slipped by and brought us to the date when Viola's operettawas to be produced. On the evening which she had so looked forward to, now it had come, she seemed tired and spiritless, and we dressed fordinner almost in silence. Captain Lawton and another man who hadhelped in the production of the piece were dining with us, and we werethen going on to our box at the theatre. 

At dinner Viola seemed to regain some of her old gay spirits, and thelight rose colour I loved crept back into her cheeks as she laughedand talked with Lawton seated on her right hand. I had always thoughthim a particularly handsome fellow, and to-night it struck me suddenlywhat an extremely attractive man he must be in a woman's eyes. He wasdark and a little sunburnt from being in South Africa, and, combinedwith really beautiful features and a fine figure, he had that dashinggrace of carriage, that unaffected simple manner of the soldier, whicheven by itself has a charm of its own. 

I looked at Viola curiously, and wondered how she felt towards thisman who was so obviously in love with her. Whether it moved her at allto see those dark eyes fill with fire as she smiled at him, to knowthat the whole of this engaging personality was hers if she chose tostretch out her hand and claim it. 

The dinner passed off well, thanks principally to the inexhaustibletide of good spirits and fun that flowed from Lawton. We took a coupleof hansoms afterwards and arrived at the theatre in good time. 

The "Lily of Canton" went smoothly from beginning to end. The crowdedhouse laughed and applauded the whole time. In fact, the humour andfun of Lawton's libretto were irresistible, and the beautiful airsthat Viola's fancy had woven in and out to carry the wit of Lawton'ssparkling lines enchanted the audience. 

At the end there were calls for both of them to appear before thecurtain, and Viola left the box with him, radiant and smiling. Whenthey both appeared on the stage the enthusiasm was unbounded. Violawas in white, and her delicate, rose-like fairness delighted theaudience, and the women clapped Lawton with good-will. Handsome, easy, dignified, graceful, and debonair as usual, he smiled and bowed hisacknowledgments over and over again beside Viola, into whose face camethe wrapt, glad look that her music always gave, replacing theexpression of pain she had worn now for so many weeks. 

I sat in our box watching her, with sore, jealous feelings rising uplike mists over the pride I had in my possession. As the whole sceneand her triumph stirred and roused my passion for her, some voiceseemed interrogating me--"Is she and her love not enough for you? Whydo you wear thin and fray the delicious tie between you?"

They were both up again in the box beside me, directly surrounded bycongratulating friends; and then Lawton gathered together his partyand we all filed off in a stream of hansoms to the supper that he wasgiving in Viola's honour. It was already daylight before we reachedhome. 

The next evening I had to attend an artists' dinner. It was for menonly, so that Viola was not invited. I spent a very busy morning andafternoon in the studio. The Bacchante was almost finished, and I hadmade up my mind to dismiss Veronica as soon as I was sure I wassatisfied with the picture and did not need her again. Full of thisresolve, I was perhaps a little more careless than usual, less on myguard, and when at the end Veronica came to kiss me, I returned hercaress with more warmth than I was accustomed to do. It did not reallymatter, I thought; the girl would be gone in a day or two and I shouldhave no more to do with her. 

Feeling rather pleased with myself for having taken the decidedresolution to dismiss her in order to please Viola I went downstairs, and was rather vexed when I met her to see her looking particularlywhite and ill. She had seemed fairly well at luncheon, and I could notshake off the extraordinary idea that my conduct with Veronica throughthe afternoon was in some way connected with her pallor and expressionnow. 

I had it on my lips to say--"I have decided to dismiss the model, "when that feeling of irritation against her for looking so wretchedcame uppermost and held the words back. 

If she couldn't trust me and would worry about things when I told hernot to, she might worry and I would let her alone. 

It really always hurt and alarmed me so much to see Viola look ill ordelicate that it made me angry with her, instead of extra considerateand kind as I should have been. 

She came upstairs to be with me while I dressed, and sat in thearmchair at the foot of the bed. 

I asked her if she had a headache, and she said, "No. "

"What did you do all this afternoon?" I asked. "Did any one come in totea?"

"No, nobody came. I was lying on a sofa in the drawing-room most ofthe time, thinking. I didn't feel able to do anything. "

I did not ask her what she had been thinking about, but went ondressing in silence. 

Before I left I kissed her, but it was rather a cold kiss, as I feltshe ought to be happy and pink-cheeked as a result of my goodintentions--unreasonably enough, since I had not told her of them. 

She accepted it, but seemed to hesitate as if she wished to saysomething to me. I saw her grow paler and her lips quiver. She did notspeak, however, and so in rather a strained silence we parted and Iwent downstairs. 

How I regretted that coldness afterwards! How mad and blind one issometimes where one loves most!

I did not enjoy the dinner at all because I could not deny to myselfthat I had been unkind to her, with that tacit unkindness that is sokeenly felt and is so difficult to meet or combat. I left the hotelwhere the dinner had been held quite early, and drove back to thehouse, longing and impatient to be with her again, hold her in myarms, and tell her all I had resolved and been thinking about, andkiss the bright colour back into her face again. 

I let myself in with my latch-key and ran up the stairs into thedrawing-room. 

It was brightly lighted, but empty. I was just going to seek herupstairs when a note set up before the clock on the mantelpiece caughtmy eye. 

I crossed the room, took it up, tore it open, and ran my eyeshurriedly down it, line after line. 

 "_Dearest, _

 "Our relations have entered upon a new phase lately. I suppose it cannot be helped, it is merely the turning on of the wheel of time. We cannot stay the wheel, still less turn it back. All we can do is to adjust ourselves to the new position. 

 "You have wished for your freedom. It is yours. I have never wanted to take it away, but I feel I cannot go on dedicating my life and every thought I have to you as I have done, if you wish to share with others all that has been mine and all that I value most in this or any world. I have tried, but it is beyond me. You cannot think what I have suffered in these last weeks. I have reasoned with myself, asked myself what did it matter what you did when you were away from me, why should one rival now matter more than those the past has held for me? I have argued, reasoned, fought with myself, but it is useless. These unconquerable instincts of jealousy have been placed in us and are as strong as those other instincts of desire that excite them. 

 "The life of the last few weeks is killing me. I am losing my health, losing my power to work. It is the concentration of all my thoughts upon you that is maddening, impossible now that you no longer belong to me. Even your presence, once the sun of my existence, is painful to me now; and when you come straight from another woman to kiss me, it is agony. I cannot bear it. 

 "You thought I did not know all the kisses and caresses you have given Veronica. Dear Trevor, a woman always knows--perhaps a man does, too. Certainly I knew. One does not have to see or hear; there is a sense, not yet discovered, that is above all the others, that tells us these things. When you came from her to me you brought with you an influence that killed. Perhaps it was that you were surrounded with an electricity from her that was hostile to my own. 

 "I have felt lately a longing to be away from you, a longing to escape from pain and torture, but the music keeps me in town, and we cannot well separate here without a scandal, which I know you would not wish. So I am going to try and escape mentally from you, though our bodies must occupy the same house for a little while longer. 

 "I am going to try to interest myself in others, not to think of you, not to care for you as I have done. We have both been foolish perhaps, as you say, in limiting our lives to each other, let us end the idea between us. Let us be like ordinary married people. You are free to choose whatever paths of pleasure open before you, I am the same. To-night when you come back you will find this letter instead of me. I shall dine out with one of these men who want me and afterwards spend the evening with him. I will come back early enough to cause no comment, but I will not come to your room, as I do not suppose you will want me. I have had another room put ready, and I shall go there. 

 "Good-bye, dearest one; if you could know all the agony that has gone before this breaking of the tie between us! Now I seem to feel nothing; I am dead. I can't cry; can't think any more. 

 "VIOLA. "

 * * * * *

I read this letter through with an agonised terror coming over me, that gripped and wrung my heart, through the cloud of amaze thatfilled me. Towards the end the words seemed to stab me. As I came tothe conclusion the truth broke upon me in a blinding, lightning flash. _I_ had lost her. But it was incredible, unthinkable. She was part ofmy life, part of myself. I still lived; therefore, she was mine. Ifelt paralysed. I could not grasp fully what she had said, what sheintended me to understand. It was as when one is told a loved one isdead. It means nothing to us for a moment. Reason goes down under aflood of sickening fear. I read the last page over again. 

Then I sprang to my feet and stared round the empty room as if seekingan explanation from it. It offered none. All round me was orderly, placid. Only within me burned a hell, lighted by those written words. It was very quiet, only an occasional drip of the June rain outsidebroke the stillness. 

An exquisite picture of Viola laughed joyously back at me from alittle table covered with vases of white flowers, white as she hadbeen that first night at the studio.... 

O God in heaven, what _had_ I done to bring this ruin into my ownlife? _Had_ I deserved it? Had I? I thought wildly. 

What had I done? What did it all mean? Veronica? A few kisses? theimpulse of passion? It was nothing, everything was nothing to mebeside Viola. She must have known that. Then I recalled her appeals tome. She had asked me to give up Veronica, why had I not done so?Instead, how had I met Viola; how had I answered her? My own wordswere hurled back upon me by memory and fell upon me like blows, so hadthey fallen upon her. How could I have been so mad, so blind?

Her favourite chair was pushed a little from the fire; by its side Inoticed something white, and stooped mechanically to pick it up. Itwas her handkerchief, crushed together and soaked through and through. How she must have been crying to wet it like that! At the corner itwas marked with blood, as if she had pressed it to bitten lips. 

My own eyes filled with scorching tears as I looked at it. 

It was the one sign of the passion and agony that had raged in thatroom before I came back. 

If I had only returned sooner! I put the handkerchief in my breast, and took up her letter again. Could I do anything, anything now tofollow, to recall her?

I looked at the clock, and ice seemed to close round my heart andchill it. It was already eleven. Then the phrase about the other roomstruck me. Could she have possibly returned? I opened the door andwent upstairs and through all the rooms in the house. All were empty. I saw the bedroom farthest from mine had been put ready for occupancy, and some few trifles of her own taken from our room and put into it. Then I came back, sick with apprehension, to the drawing-room again, questioning what I could do. 

To whom would she have gone? As the thought came all the blood in mybody seemed to seethe and rage, but the question had to be faced. Fora moment no definite idea would form itself. Then the recollection ofLawton dashed in upon me. The man's head seemed photographed suddenlyon all the pale walls round me; handsome, brilliant, engaging, wellborn, and well bred, he was the man of all others surely to attracther. 

She would go to him, they would dine together, she would return tohis chambers with him.... She had not come back yet. 

For a few moments I was mad. I laid my hand on the back of the chairnear me, and it was smashed in my grip. Then the madness passed over, and I could think again. I went upstairs, took out my revolver, andloaded it. I thought I would go round to Lawton's place, ... But, whencoming downstairs again, the thought struck me--Suppose it was notLawton? What would the latter think of my sudden appearance, myenquiries? Twelve had now struck. 

There was just a possibility that she would not fulfil her letter, that she would come back to me; but if I by my actions to-nightbrought any publicity on what she had done, I should make an injurywhere none existed. 

I thought for some time over this, and it seemed impossible for me todo anything but wait for her return--wait till I knew. 

The thought of her name, her reputation, and how I might possiblyinjure them now held me there motionless. 

It seemed incredible that she could be so long away and yet herabsence mean nothing. But the other supposition, the thought of herpassing from me, seemed more incredible still. 

I know how great her love for me was, and love like ours is noteasily swept aside and its claims broken down. Still, in a paroxysm ofjealous agony and resentment against me, all might be obscured, and ifLawton were there persuading.... 

And this, something of this pain, I now felt, she had suffered, as thesoaked handkerchief told me. 

How I loathed the thought of Veronica! Love, even when it has expired, leaves some tenderness of feeling to us; passion once dead leavesnothing but loathing. 

I got up and wrote a few lines of dismissal. It was something to do, something to distract my devouring thoughts. I enclosed a cheque forall, and more than the sum due to her. Then I flung the letter on thetable, and pushed the thought of her out of my mind. 

I paced up and down the room, looking constantly at the clock. Whatwere these fleeting moments taking from me? My brain seemed on fireand full of light. Picture after picture rose before me, vivid, brilliant--all pictures of Viola and hours passed with her. What awonderful personality she had, and I alone had possessed it. Howutterly and entirely she had given herself to me, me alone of all themany who coveted her. I had been the first, the only one for her, tillmy own hand had foolishly cut the ties that bound us together. If Ilost her, suppose I gained everything else in the world, would itcontent me? Could I lose her? Could I let her go? But I _had. I_glanced at the clock. It was now one. She had not returned. By thistime she had passed from me to another. The pain, the acute pain ofit, of this thought seemed to divide my brain like a two-edged sword. What had I done?

Why had I not realised that I should feel like this? To have and thento lose while one still desires, this is the most horrible pain in theworld. The animals feel it to the point of madness, and they are wise, they do not court it. They will tear their rival, even the femaleherself, in pieces rather than yield her up. But I! What had I done? Amate had nestled to my breast, and I had not been wise enough to holdit there. And now I suffered; how I suffered! My brain seemed towrithe in those moments of agony like a body on the rack or in theflames. Each thought was a torture: sweet recollections came to melike the breath of flowers, only to turn into a fresh agony ofdespair. 

There is no pain so absolutely black in its hideous agony as jealousy. The other mental pains of this life may last longer, but there is nonethat cuts down deeper, that possesses such a ravening tooth, while itlasts, as this. 

The vision of Lawton's face was like a brand upon my brain. I saw iteverywhere, as it had looked when she smiled upon him at dinner. 

Suddenly, as I paced backwards and forwards, I heard a little noiseoutside, a light footfall on the stairs or landing. I stood still, myheart seeming to knock about inside my chest as if it wanted to leapout between the ribs. Then I went to the door and threw it wide open. She stood there just outside. The light from within fell upon her, andmy eyes ran over her, questioning, devouring, while waves of hope andterror seemed dashing up against my brain like the surf over a rock. 

She looked collected, mistress of herself, her dress and hair wereperfect in arrangement as when she had started, on her face was acurious look of gladness, of relief, of decision, of triumph. What wasits meaning?

I took both her hands and drew her over the threshold. She camegladly. She must have seen the agony of fear, of questioning in myface, for after a swift look up at me she said impulsively:

"I am so glad to be back with you, Trevor. "

I could not answer her. I stood silent. The sick fatigue of hours ofpainful emotion was creeping over me, and the agony of longing to knoweverything from her lips seemed to paralyse me. 

"I could not, after all, dearest, " she said, in a very low tone. "Icould not do anything on my side to sever myself from you, so I havecome back to you. "

Her voice seemed to come to me from a long distance, but every wordwas clear and distinct. The relief of the loosening of the pressure ofone hideous idea was intense. I took a chair beside her and put my armround her shoulders. 

"Tell me what has happened, then, since you left me. "

She was drawing off her gloves slowly; the flesh of the fingers andwrist was slightly indented from long pressure of the kid. I saw thather glove had not been removed for several hours. A great tide ofpleasure and relief broke slowly over me. 

"Well, I went straight from here to Lawton's chambers, and he was out;so I sat down in one of his easy chairs by the fire to wait for him. Isat and sat there, looking into the fire, and somehow I forgot allabout Lawton and began thinking about you and the pictures and yourwonderful voice and all the delightful times we had had together; andthen I thought of all I had always tried to do for you, and how youwere the first, the very first man I had ever cared for or doneanything for, and how I had always belonged to you; and it seemed apity to spoil it all--if you understand. I felt I could not with myown hands pull down the beautiful fabric of my love for you that I hadbuilt up. I felt I could not give myself to any one else, there seemedsomething irresistible holding me from it. You must do what you like, be faithful or not to me, but I must be faithful to you. "

She threw back her head and looked at me. Her elusive loveliness, lying all in colour and bloom and light, was at its height. She wasintensely excited, and the excitement paled the skin, widened thelustrous eyes, heightened the extreme delicacy of the face. I bentover her and kissed her as I had never done yet; it was one of thosemoments in life when the soul seems to have wings and fly upwards. 

After a moment. 

"And then, " I said, "did you come back to me?"

"Well, gradually, as I sat there, a horror of Lawton, of everythingcame over me. I did not know how long I had sat there. I looked at mywatch: it was two. I was terrified. I only wanted to escape. I got upto go, and just then I heard Lawton coming in. There was a screen nearme, and it did just occur to me I might conceal myself and pass out ashe went to the inner room; but I did not like the idea of hiding inany one's rooms, so I stood still, and he came in. "

She was silent, and I felt suddenly plunged back into a mist ofquestioning horror. What had passed between these two? Had any linksin some new chain been forged?

But she was mine! Mine! and I would never let her go. 

"What did you say?" I asked her. My throat was so dry the words werehardly more than a whisper. 

"He started of course on seeing me, and then rushed forwards andsaid, 'Darling, ' or something of that sort. I hardly heard what hesaid. I said simply: 'I was just going when you came in. I can'tstay. ' Then, of course, he asked me why I had come and all that and, oh, heaps and heaps of things. You know all the usual things a mandoes say, and I answered if he really cared for me he would let me goat once. Then he walked to the door, shut and locked it, and put thekey in his pocket. "

She paused, and I looked away from her. I was in such a passion ofrage against the man, and almost also with her for putting herself insuch a position, I did not care for her to see my eyes. 

"Go on, " I said; "what did you do?"

"I asked him why he had locked the door, and he said to prevent mygoing until I had told him why I had come. I said I had changed mymind in the hours I had sat there, and he answered: 'Well, you willchange it again if you stay here some more hours, ' and he came and saton the chair arm beside me. You see, Trevor, it wasn't his fault abit, for he guessed I had come with all sorts of nice feelings forhim, and he felt it was only his part, as it were, to play up to thesituation, that it would be impossible to do anything but seem to wishto keep me when I had come. "

"Don't trouble to tell me all that, " I said angrily; "I know whatLawton feels for you. I know he is wild about you. I wonder you arenot murdered. Go on, what did he do?"

"He was awfully good and nice. He tried for an hour to persuade me. Hewanted to kiss me, of course. I said I was in his power, but that hewould kill me before I would kiss him voluntarily. I think thatconvinced him, for he walked straight to the door and unlocked it andthrew it open. Then he said he couldn't let me go into the streets atthat hour alone, and so he came with me. He walked all the way hereand left me at this door. That's all. "

There was silence. Such a tremendous upheaval of emotions and feelingsseemed surging within me I could not speak. My voice seemed dried deadin my throat. No words came before my mind that I could use. 

Dawn was creeping slowly into the room. The hideous black night wasover. Pale light, very soft and grey, but overpowering, was stealingin, mingling with the electric gold glare it was so soon to kill. Itseemed to me like that mysterious, impalpable spirit we call love thatis overpowering, dominant over everything, before which the falseglare of the fires of sense pale into nothingness. 

"Trevor, " she said at last, breaking the silence of the pale, mistyroom, "are you glad I decided as I did? You must do just what youlike; I only felt I could not do anything against you. "

I turned and drew her wholly into my arms, and at that warm, livingcontact my voice came back to me. 

"You are my life, my soul, and you ask if I am glad you've come backto me? There is nothing in the world for me really but you. Everythingelse is dust and ashes, that can be swept away by the lightesttransient wind. You are the very life in my veins, and you must bemine always, as you have been from the very first. "

I pressed my lips down on hers with all the force of that fury oftriumph which rose within me. I did not want her answer. I merelywanted to force my words between her lips, to drive them home to herheart. She was my regained possession, and the joy of it was likemadness. She put her arms round my neck and lay quite still andpassive, close pressed against my heart, and our souls seemed to meetand hold communion with each other and there was no need of any morewords. 

PART FOUR

THE CRIMSON NIGHT

CHAPTER VIII

LOSS

We had left town and come down to the country. Viola had not seemedquite so well in the last three months since the night of ourreconciliation, and even here in the country she did not seem toregain her colour and her usual spirits. 

She declared, however, there was nothing the matter with her, and wehad been intensely happy. 

One morning when we came down to our rather late breakfast I found along, thin, curiously addressed letter lying by my plate. 

Viola took it up laughingly, and then I saw her suddenly turn pale, and she laid it back on the table as if the touch of it hurt her. 

"Oh, Trevor, that is a letter from Suzee! I am sure it is! Why shouldit come now, just when we are so happy?"

I looked at her in surprise, and took up the letter to cut it open. 

"What makes you think it comes from her?" I asked; "it is not at alllikely. "

"I know it does, " she said simply; "I feel it. "

I laughed and opened the letter, not in the least believing she wouldbe right. The first line, however, my eye fell upon shewed me it wasfrom Suzee. The queer, stiff, upright characters suggested Chinesewriting, and the first words could be hers alone:

 "Dear Mister Treevor, "Do you remember me? I am in awful trouble. Husband died and also baby. I sent here to be sold for slave to rich Chinaman. Please you buy me. Send my price 500 dollars to Mrs. Hackett, address as per above. 

 "Dear Treevor, dear Treevor, do come to me. You remember the wood?

 "I am yours not sold yet, "SUZEE. "

I read this through with a feeling of amaze. Suzee had for so longbeen a forgotten quantity to me, something left in the past of theAlaskan trip, like the stars of the North, that her memory, thrownback suddenly on me like this, startled me. 

I handed the letter to Viola in silence. She read it through, and thenpushed it away from her. 

"I told you so. There is no peace in this world!"

"But it needn't affect us, dearest, " I said. "Suzee is nothing to menow. I don't want her. There is nothing to distress you. "

"But you'll have to do something about it, I suppose, " returned Violagloomily. She was making the tea, and I saw her hands shook. 

"I believe you would like to go. It would be a new experience for you. You would go if that letter came to you when you were living as abachelor, wouldn't you?"

"Possibly I might. But then, of course, when one is free it isdifferent. Everything is different. "

"Free!" murmured Viola, her eyes filling. "I hate to think I am tyingyou. "

"It is not that, " I said gently; "one does not want to do the samethings, nor care about them. "

"You wanted Veronica and didn't have her on my account, I am not goingto prevent you doing this. You must go if you want to. "

She threw herself into the easy chair with her handkerchief pressed toher mouth. The tears welled up to her eyes and poured down her whiteface uncontrollably. 

"Dearest, dear little girl, " I said, drawing her into my arms, "youare upsetting yourself for nothing. I don't want to go, I shan't thinkof going. I am perfectly happy; you are everything to me. "

She leant her soft head against me in silence, sobbing for someseconds. 

"Come and have breakfast, " I said, stroking her hair gently, "anddon't let us think anything more about it. If fifty Suzees werecalling me I should not want to go. "

Viola dried her eyes and came to the table in silence. We had otherletters to open, and we discussed these, and no further reference wasmade to Suzee then. 

Viola looked white and abstracted all day, but it was not till afterdinner, when we were taking our coffee on the verandah, that she gaveme any clew to her thoughts. Then she said suddenly:

"Trevor, I want you to let me go away from you for a year. "

I gazed at her in astonishment. She looked very wretched. All theusual bright colour of her face had fled. Her eyes were large, withthe pupils widely dilated in them. There was a determined, fixedexpression on the pale lips that frightened me. 

"Why?" I said, merely drawing my chair close to hers and putting myarm round her shoulders. 

"That is just what I can't tell you, " she answered. "Not now. When Icome back I will tell you, but I don't want to now. But I have a goodreason, one which you will understand when you know it. But do justlet me go now as I wish, without questions. I have thought it over somuch, and I am sure I am doing the right thing. "

"You have thought it over?" I repeated in surprise. "Since when?Since this morning, do you mean?"

"No, long before that. Suzee's letter has only decided me to speaknow. I have been meaning to ask you to let me go for some time, only Iput it off because I thought you would dislike it so and would feeldull without me. But now, if you let me leave you, you can go to Suzeefor a time, and she will amuse and occupy you, and if you want me atthe end of the year I will come back. "

The blood surged up to my head as I listened. How could shedeliberately suggest such things?

Did she really care for me or value our love at all?

In any case, for no reason on earth would I let her go. 

"No, I shall not, certainly not, consent to anything so foolish, " Isaid coldly; "I can't think how you can suggest or think such a thingis possible. "

Viola was silent for a moment. Then she said:

"When I come back I would tell you everything, and you would see I wasright. "

"I don't know that you ever would come back, " I said, with suddenirrepressible anger. 

"If you go away I might want you to stay away. You talk as if ouremotions and passions were mere blocks of wood we could take up andlay down as we pleased, put away in a box for a time, and then bringthem out again to play with. It's absurd. You talk of going away anddriving me to another woman, and then my coming back to you, as if itwas just a simple matter of our own will. Once we separate and allowour lives to become entangled with other lives we cannot say what willhappen. We might never come together again. "

Viola inclined her head. 

"I know, " she said in a low tone. "I have thought of all that. But ifI stay there will be a separation all the same, and perhaps somethingworse. "

"What do you mean by a separation?" I demanded hotly. 

"Well, I cannot respond to you any more as I used. I must have restfor a time, " she answered in a low tone. 

I looked at her closely, and it struck me again how delicate shelooked. She was thinner, too, than she had been. Her delicate, almosttransparent hand shook as it rested on the chair arm. 

The colour rushed burning to my face as I leant over her. 

"But, darling girl, if you want more rest you have only to say so. Perhaps I have been thoughtless and selfish. If so, we must alterthings. But there is no need to separate, to go away from me forthat. "

"No, I know, " returned Viola in a very tender tone; "I should not forthat alone. You are always most good. It is not that only. There areother reasons why I would rather be away from you until we can livetogether again as we have done. "

"And you propose to go away, and suggest my living with another womantill you come back?" I said incredulously; dismay and apprehension andanger all struggling together within me for expression. 

"Would it be more reasonable of me to expect to leave you and you towait absolutely faithful to me till I came back?" she asked, lookingat me with a slow, sad smile, the saddest look I had ever seen, Ithought, on a woman's face. I bent forwards and seized both littlehands in mine and kissed them many times over. 

"Of the two I would rather you did that. Yes, " I said passionately. "But there is no question of your going away; whatever happens, we'llstick to each other. If you want rest you shall have it; if you areill I will nurse you and take care of you; but I shan't allow you togo away from me. "

She put her arms round my neck. "Dear Trevor, if you would trust mejust this once, and let me go, it would be so much better. "

"No, I cannot consent to such an arrangement, " I answered; "it'sabsurd. I can't think what you have in your own mind, but I knownothing would be a greater mistake than what you propose. The chancesare we should never come together again. "

There was silence for a moment, broken only by a heavy sigh fromViola. 

"Won't you tell me everything you have in your own mind?" I saidpersuasively. "I thought we never made mysteries with one another; itseems to me you are acting just like a person in an old-fashionedbook. You can tell me anything, say anything you like, nothing willalter my love for you, except deception--that might. "

"And you seem to think separation might, " returned Viola sadly. 

"I don't think it's a question of separation altering my love for you, but in separation sometimes things happen which prevent a reunion. "

Viola was silent. 

"Do tell me, " I urged. "Tell me what you have in your mind. Why hasthis cloud come up between us?"

"You see, " Viola said very gently, "there are some things, if you tella man, he is obliged to say and do certain things in return. If youtake the matter in your own hands you can do better for him than hecan do for himself. "

"It is something for me then?" I said smiling. "I am to gain by yourleaving me for a year?"

"Yes, I think so, " she answered doubtfully. "But principally it is formyself. I know there is a great risk in going away, but I think agreater one if I stay. "

I was silent, wondering what it could possibly be that she would nottell me. Although she said she had formed the idea before Suzee'sletter came, I kept returning to that in my thoughts as the mainreason that must be influencing her. 

I waited, hoping if I did not press her she would perhaps begin toconfide in me of her own accord. But she sat quite silent, lookingintensely miserable and staring out into space before her. I felt avague sense of fear and anxiety growing up in me. 

"Dearest, do tell me what is the matter, " I said, drawing her close upto me and kissing her white lips. 

"Don't let us make ourselves miserable for nothing, like stupid peopleone reads about. Life has everything in it for us. Let us be happy init and enjoy it. "

Viola burst into a storm of tears against my neck and sobbed in aheart-breaking way for some minutes. 

"Is it that you have ceased to love me, that you feel your own passionis over?" I asked gently. 

"No, certainly not that. "

"Is it that you think I want to, or ought to be free from you?"

"No, not that. "

"Well, tell me what it is. "

"I can't. I think we shall be happy again, after the year, if you letme come back to you. "

I felt my anger grow up again. 

"I am not going to let you leave me. I absolutely forbid it. Don't letus talk about it any more or speak of it again unless you are ready totell me your reason. "

There was a long silence, broken only by her sobs. 

"Viola. "

"Yes. "

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes. "

"Well, do not worry any more. You can't go, so it is settled. Nothingcan hurt us while we remain together. "

Viola did not say anything, but she ceased to cry and kissed me andlay still in my arms. 

There was some minutes' silence, then I said:

"Let's go up to bed. Sleep will do you good. You look tired andexhausted to the last degree. "

We went upstairs, and that night she seemed to fall asleep in my armsquickly and easily. I lay awake, as hour after hour passed, wonderingwhat this strange fancy could be that was torturing her. 

At last, between three and four in the morning, I fell asleep and didnot wake again till the clock struck nine on the little table besideme. 

The sun was streaming into the room, and I sat up wide awake. Theplace beside me was empty. I looked round the room. I was quite alone. Remembering our conversation of last night and Viola's strange manner, a vague apprehension came over me, and my heart beat nervously. Itwas very unusual for Viola to be up first. She generally lay in bedtill the last moment, and always dissuaded me from getting up till Iinsisted on doing so. I sprang up now and went over to thetoilet-table. On the back of her brushes lay a note addressed to me inher handwriting. Before I took it up I felt instinctively she had leftme. For a moment I could not open it. My heart beat so violently thatit seemed impossible to breathe, a thick mist came over my eyes. Itook up the note and paced up and down the room for a few minutesbefore I could open it. 

A suffocating feeling of anger against her raged through me. The sightof the bed where she had so lately lain beside me filled me with aresentful agony. She had gone from me while I slept. To me, in thosefirst blind moments of rage, it seemed like the most cruel treachery. 

After a minute I grew calm enough to tear open the note and read it. 

 * * * * *

 "My very dearest one, "Forgive me. This is the first time I have disobeyed you in anything in all the time we have been together And now [Greek: bainô. To gar chrên mou te kai theôn kratei.... ]

 "I must go from you, and you yourself will see in the future the necessity that is ruling me now. Do not try to find me or follow me, as I cannot return to you yet. Do believe in me and trust me and let me return to you at the end of this miserable year which stretches before me now a desert of ashes and which seems as if it would never pass over, as if it would stretch into Eternity. But my reason tells me that it will pass, and then I shall come back to you and all my joy in life; for there is no joy anywhere in this world for me except with you--if you will let me come back. 

 "No one will know where I am. I shall see no one we know. Say what you wish about me to the world. 

 "Don't think I do not know how you will suffer at first; but you would have suffered more if I had stayed. While I am away from you, think of your life as entirely your own; do not hesitate to go to Suzee, if you wish. I feel somehow that Fate has designed you for me, not for her, and that she will not hold you for long, but that, whatever happens, you will always remember

 "VIOLA. "

 * * * * *

I crushed this letter in my hand in a fury of rage when I had read it, and threw it from me. Anger against her, red anger in which I couldhave killed her, if I could in those moments have followed and foundher, swept over me. 

I looked round the room mechanically. She had dressed in the clothesshe had been wearing yesterday apparently, and taken one smallhandbag, for I missed that from where it had stood on a chest ofdrawers. 

Her other luggage was there undisturbed. I saw her evening and otherdresses hanging in the half-open wardrobe opposite me. 

The only thing that had gone from the toilet-table was the littleframe with my photo in it. 

A sickening sense of loss, of despair came over me, mingling with thesavage anger and hatred surging within me. 

After a time I rose from my chair and began to dress. 

I had made up my mind as to my own actions. To stay here withoutViola, where the whole place spoke to me of her, was impossible. Assoon as I could get everything packed I would go up to London and stayat my club. She would not come back. 

No, it was no use my waiting with that hope. 

Her mad scheme, whatever it was, I felt was planted deeply, herresolve fixed. It was true that three months before, after just such acruel letter, she had come suddenly back to me, having failed in herresolution. I remembered that, and paused suddenly at therecollection. But then that was different. Then, infidelity to me hadbeen in the question. Now I knew that wherever she was going it wasnot to another lover. 

Whatever her foolish idea was, some benefit to me was mixed up with itin her mind. 

And then, suddenly, in a tender rush of passionate reminiscence thatwould not be denied, the knowledge came home to me that, whatever herfaults might be, however foolish and maddening her actions, no one hadever loved me as she had done, as unselfishly, with the sameabandonment of self. 

The hot tears came scalding up under my lids. I picked up the littlecrumpled sheet of paper I had so savagely crushed, smoothed it out, folded it, and put it in my breast pocket. 

Then I turned to my packing. We had only taken rooms here. By paying Iwas free to leave at any moment. 

Her things? What should I do with them? Keep them with me or send themaway to her bankers?

I thought the latter, and turned to gather up her clothes and put themin her portmanteau. My brain seemed bursting with a wild agony ofresentment as I took up first one thing and then another: the touch ofthem seemed to burn me. Then, when I was half-way through a trunk; Istopped short. Was I wise to accept the situation at all? Perhaps Icould follow her and find out, after all, what this mystery meant. 

We were in a small country place, but there was a fairly good serviceof trains to town; one I knew left in the morning at seven, she mighthave taken that. I could go to the station and find out. 

Filled suddenly with that heart-rending longing for the sight andtouch of the loved one again that is so unendurable in the first hoursof separation, I thought I would do that, and I left the half-filledtrunk and went downstairs to the hall. 

The two maids were standing there waiting, and they stared at me as Ipassed and put on my hat. 

"Please, sir, are you ready for breakfast? It's gone half-past ten. "

"No, " I said shortly. "I am going out first. "

"Will Mrs. Lonsdale be coming down, sir?"

I stopped short. 

"No, Mrs. Lonsdale has gone out already, " I answered, and went onthrough the door. 

I didn't care what they thought. When one is in great pain, physicalor mental, nothing seems to matter except that pain. 

I walked fast to the station, about a mile distant, and made enquiriesas discreetly as I could. 

"No, " was the unanimous answer. Mrs. Lonsdale had certainly not leftthere by any train that morning, nor been there at all, nor hired afly from there. They were all quite sure of that. 

She was well known at the station, so it seemed improbable she couldhave been there unobserved. 

There was another station up the line six miles distant. She mighteasily have walked to that to avoid notice. 

I took a fly, and drove to the other station, but here Viola was notknown personally, and though I described her, and was assured she hadnot been seen there, it was indefinite and uncertain information thatsettled nothing. 

She might have gone from there to town by an early train unnoticed, orshe might have gone down the line to another country place to eludeme. I could tell nothing. 

Feeling sick and dispirited, I drove back to the station and thenwalked on to the house. 

When I went upstairs the room was in disorder just as I had left it. As I entered the bed caught my eye, the pillow her head had so latelycrushed, and there beside it the delicate garment she had been wearinga few hours ago. 

An immense, a devastating sense of loss came over me. A feeling ofsuffering so intense and so vast, it seemed to crush me beneath itphysically as well as mentally. 

I sank down in the armchair, laid my head back and closed my eyes. Iceased to think any more, I was unconscious of anything except thatsense of intense suffering. 

By that evening I had everything packed, all the bills paid; and Itook the seven-o'clock train to town. I felt to stay there the night, to attempt to sleep in that room so full of memories of her was animpossibility. Something that would drive me mad if I attempted it. 

The people of the house stared at me when I paid them, and the maidslooked frightened when I addressed them, but I hardly saw them, doingwhat was necessary in a mechanical way, with all my senses turnedinward, as it were, and blunted by that one overpowering idea of loss. 

The two hours in a fast train did me good. I had a sort ofsubconscious feeling I was going to her by going to town which buoyedme up instinctively; but the reaction was terrible when I actuallyarrived and drove to some rooms I knew in Jermyn Street and realisedthat I was indeed alone. 

I sat up all that night, feeling my brain alight and blazing with afire of agony and pain. Sleep was out of the question. A man does notlove a woman as I loved Viola and sleep the night after she has lefthim. 

The next morning I went to her bankers, only to get just the answers Ihad expected. 

Yes, Mrs. Lonsdale had communicated with them. She was abroad, andthey had her address but were not at liberty to disclose it. Theywould forward all letters to her immediately. 

I went straight back to my rooms and wrote to her. I poured out mywhole heart in the letter, imploring her to come to me; yet every lineI wrote I knew was useless, useless. 

Still I could not rest nor exist till I had written it, and when itwas posted I felt a certain solace. 

I walked on to my club afterwards, and amongst other letters foundanother from Suzee. 

I could not imagine how she had obtained my club address at all, unless it was in that night when she came to my cabin. She would bequite capable of searching for anything she wanted and taking awaysome of my letters to obtain and keep my address. 

I did not open it at once. I felt a sort of anger with Suzee as beingpartly responsible for all I was going through. Whatever Viola mightsay, Suzee's letter had seemed to bring her mad resolve to a climax. 

I took some lunch at the club, and a man I knew came up and spoke tome. 

"Up in town again, I see, " he began, to which I assented. 

"How's Mrs. Lonsdale?"

"Quite well, thank you, " I replied. 

"Is she up with you?"

"No. "

"Coming up soon, I suppose?"

"I don't know. "

My friend looked at me once or twice, and then after a few vacuousremarks went away. 

I knew that in a few hours it would be all over the club that I andViola no longer hit it off together, that in fact we were livingapart, and by the evening a decree _nisi_ would have been pronouncedfor us. But I didn't care what they said. Nothing mattered. No onecould hurt me more than I was hurt already. The worst had happened. 

As I sat there I saw Lawton, who also belonged to the club, cross theend of the dining-room. He, too, would come up and speak to me if hecaught sight of me. 

I felt I did not wish to speak to the man who had always loved Viola, who had always envied me her possession, and to whom once I had nearlylost her. 

I got up and left the club, went back to my rooms, and there got outmy letters to read. 

After all, I thought, as I took up Suzee's letter, why not go out to'Frisco? It would make a change, something to do, something to driveaway this perpetual desire of another's presence. 

A second night like last stared me in the face. What was the use ofcontinuing to feel in this wretched, angry, burning, hungry way?

I broke the seal and read Suzee's second appeal to me, morepassionate, more urgent than the last. She begged me to go to herwithout delay, or it would be too late; a fervour of longing breathedin every line. 

An ironic smile came over my face as I read. This letter to me seemedlike an echo of the one I had sent to Viola that morning. Well, Iwould wait for her answer, and then, perhaps, if she would not returnto me, I would go to 'Frisco. 

In any case, I would send a few lines to Suzee with the money for herpurchase. It would be best to cable it to her, and I went out again toarrange this. 

Five wretched, listless days went by, followed by nearly sleeplessnights, and then came Viola's answer, apparently by the postmark fromsome place in France. 

My whole body shook as I opened it, and for many seconds I could seenothing on the paper but a mass of dancing black lines. Yet theimmense comfort of being again in touch with her after these dreadfuldays of isolation seemed to flow over and through me like some healingbalm. 

At last I read these lines:

 "I am terribly, unutterably grieved, my own dearest one, to hear how much you have suffered, but my return to you now would not undo that, and only give you the pain in addition that I went away to avoid for you. 

 "Go, dearest, go out to 'Frisco, and let the thought of me lie in your subconsciousness for a year, a little chrysalis of future happiness. Do not think of me, do not let your mind dwell on me. Fill up your life with joy and work. I have a conviction that we cannot ever really separate in this life. Therefore I do not fear (as you seemed to do) that anything will be strong enough to keep us apart if we both will to be together. Only, for a time, let me sleep in your Soul in a chamber where none other can enter, and the year will soon pass for you, though slowly, as a winter night, for me. Your

 "VIOLA. "

 * * * * *

A great numbness seized me as I came to the end. 

A year without her. It seemed like Eternity itself. 

I sat for many hours motionless with her letter in my hand. 

Then I went out and to a ticket office in Piccadilly, and got athrough ticket to 'Frisco. 

CHAPTER IX

IN 'FRISCO

During the voyage to New York and the subsequent journey acrossAmerica to San Francisco I was very wretched. 

The mystery of Viola's disappearance and her flight from me stoodbefore my mind perpetually, worrying and harassing it. I felt nojoyful anticipation of reaching 'Frisco and meeting Suzee, though Irecognised in a dull way that some sort of distraction andcompanionship would be the best thing to stop this incessant ponderingon the same subject. I slept little at night, and in the shortintervals of rest such vivid dreams of Viola would come to me, thatawakening in the morning brought a fresh anguish of despair anddisappointment with it each day. 

This sort of thing could not go on, I must let her "lie asleep in mysubconsciousness for a year, " as she put it in her letter--for toforget her was impossible--or my reason would go down under thestrain. 

When I arrived in San Francisco, it was one of those strange days whenthe sea-fog comes in to visit the town. It rolled in great thickbillows down the streets from the sand dunes, obscuring everything, damping everything, filling the air with the salt scent of the opensea. 

I went to one of the big hotels, and they gave me a bedroom andsitting-room to myself: the rooms were adjoining and comfortable, butoh! what a blankness fell upon me as I sat down in one of the chairsand the bell-boy, having deposited a jug of iced water on the table, shut the door. I had been so much with Viola that it seemed strange tome now, hard to realise that I was alone. How many rooms such asthese, she and I had come into, shared together, and how bright andgay her companionship had always been, how she had always laughed atthe discomforts or the difficulties of our travels! Surely we had beenmade for each other! What strange wave of life was this that hadbroken us apart? I looked towards my bedroom, dull and cheerless andempty. From the open window the warm, wet, yellow fog was streaming inits soft wreaths through both rooms. The roar from the stone-pavedstreets, crowded with incessant traffic, came up to me muffled throughthe fog. 

After a time I rose, closed the windows, unpacked my things, andchanged my clothes. Then I went down at six to dine, as I wanted along evening. Some champagne cheered me, and as I sat in the long, crowded dining-room, alone at my small table, my heart began to beatagain warmly at the thought of the new venture before me. To-night?What would it bring forth? Should I find her? The vitalising breath ofexcitement began to creep through me. I finished my dinner hurriedly, swallowed my black coffee at a draught, and made my way down the roomand out to the hall, putting on my hat and coat as I went. I found theguide I had asked for when I first arrived at the hotel waiting forme. He asked me mysteriously if I had put away my watch and divestedmyself of all jewellery, and I told him impatiently I had and showedhim a small revolver I always carried. When he was somewhat reassuredI took the paper that Suzee had sent me out of my pocket and showed itto him. 

"That's where I want to go, " I said, "and if you know every hole andcranny of the place as I was told, I suppose you know that one. "

The guide grinned as he read the name. 

"It's the worst place in the whole town, " he remarked with a sort ofadmiring unction. I evidently went up in his estimation as herecognised the acumen I had shewed in my choice. I was a visitorworthy of his guidance, and he was put upon his mettle. 

"The police don't dare to go there, but they'll let me in day ornight. "

We had reached the door now and stepped into the street. The fog hadhad its frolic down town, it seemed and had almost disappeared, rolling off to the sand dunes and the sea whence it had come. Thenight was dark and fresh with the damp saltness of the shore; a fewstars shone above. The shops were still open, and their hugeplate-glass windows blazed with light. We walked rapidly through thesestreets towards the Chinese quarter where the noise and light ceased. The streets were quiet and empty and seemed very clean. The shops herewere closed. The lights few. There was a fever of impatience in myveins. I felt as when one is drawing near to an unknown combat: aconflict the nature of which and ultimate result one does not know. 

My rather shambling guide seemed amused at the pace at which I walkedand giggled immoderately between remarks of his own which seemed tohim to be appropriate to the occasion. I hardly heard him. At onemoment I was lost in a bitter reflection of how many excursions andsimilar wanderings Viola had shared with me; at another, my mindseemed leaping eagerly forward, to seize this new joy in front of me. 

"That's a joss-house, and that's a tea-house, and that's a silkmerchant, " remarked my guide at intervals, indicating differentbuildings as we passed. Some were frame houses with signs hanging out, painted in Chinese characters and with wonderful red door-posts; somehad latticed windows with lights burning behind. But for the mostpart, from this outer point of view, Chinatown was clean, orderly, anddark. 

We stopped at last before an open doorway through which we stepped andcrossed a yard, hemmed in by the crowded frame buildings round it, butopen to the sky. By the light of the stars we found a ladder at thefarther side and ascended this as it leant against the crooked wall ofa rickety and tumbledown-looking house. The ladder went as far as thesecond story, where there was an open square of blackness, eitherwindow or door, through which we scrambled from the swaying rungs andthen found ourselves in a passage. It was very low, apparently, for Istruck my head whenever I held it upright, and so narrow that ourshoulders brushed the sides. It was in fact a little tunnel, remindingone of the rounded runways a rabbit makes in thick undergrowth. It wasquite dark, and my guide put himself in front and took one of myhands, pulling me along after him down steps and round corners, alongdifferent twisted, corkscrew turnings, till at last a passage a littlebroader than the others opened before us, where a lamp was burning; hedrew back against the wall, pushing me forwards, and whispering somedirections in my ear. 

I passed along, as I was bid, went down two small steps, and knockedat the door I found before me. The door seemed a very stout one, securely fastened, and had a small aperture, at the height of one'sface from the ground. It was only about five inches square and setwith thick vertical iron bars. Behind these was an iron flap nowclosed. 

I knocked and waited. Presently the iron flap behind the bars wascautiously opened and I saw a face peering through at me. Before Icould speak the iron flap was shut to with a clank. 

"That's because Nanine sees you're a stranger, " whispered my guide. "They're a real bad lot here, and they're precious afraid of any 'tecsgetting in. Just let me pass, sir. "

I drew back, and he went up and gave the most extraordinary squawkthat I ever heard. It was a pretty good password to have, for I shouldthink no stranger could imitate it. The flap flew open again, and thensome conversation ensued through the bars. 

"It's all right now, sir, " said the guide after a minute; "you walkright in. " The door was now ajar. I went forwards and pushed it; itgave way easily. I stepped inside, and it swung to behind me. Insidethe light was red--scarlet. A lamp was standing somewhere at the sideof the room, behind thin, red curtains. As I entered, another door atthe end of the room swung to on a retreating form. Some one had goneout. The room seemed empty. It was very small, and an enormous bedtook up nearly the whole of it. There seemed no window at allanywhere: the low ceiling almost touched my head. I stopped still. Avery slight movement somewhere near me seemed to speak of another'spresence. 

"Suzee, " I said under my breath. 

At the sound of my voice there was a delighted cry, and the nextmoment a little form in scarlet drapery threw itself at my feet. 

"Treevor, Treevor, " came in Suzee's voice; and I bent over the littlescarlet bundle, lifted her up, and pressed my lips on her hair. Itsmelt of roses, just as it had done in the tea-shop at Sitka, andcarried me back there on the wings of its fragrance, as scents alonecan do. 

She clung to me in a wild fervour of emotion. I felt her little handsdutch me desperately. She kissed my arm and wrist passionately, seeming not to dare to lift her face to mine. This wild abandonment, this frenzy of hungered, starving love, what a sharp contrast to thecool, slow surrender of Viola, if surrender it could be called, thatlending of the beautiful body, with total reserve of the spirit! Evenin that moment of this wild lavishing of love from another, as thelittle breast leapt wildly against my own, a fierce pulse of jealouslonging went through me as I thought of that unconquered somethingthat _she_ had never yielded to me. 

Suzee hardly seemed to expect my caresses in return, she only seemedto wish to pour her own upon me in the wildest, most lavish excess. At last, when she grew a little calmer, I held her at arm's lengthfrom me and looked at her. 

"Now, Suzee, I want you to tell me what you are doing in this awfulplace. How did you get here, to begin with?"

"Oh, Mister Treevor, I have had such trouble, such awful trouble, youwill never believe; but when I ran--when I came to Mrs. Hackett shewas very good to me, only she wanted to sell me for two hundred andfifty dollars to Chinaman. I said, 'No, I belong to rich Englishman. He send you more if you wait. He send you three hundred!' And I wroteyou, you remember?"

"Yes, " I answered. "Did you get the money all right that I cabled toyou?"

"Oh yes, Treevor, thank you; and Nanine had it and so she was willingto keep me. "

"But what have you been doing while you have been here?" I saidglancing round. The whole place, with its hidden entrance, secretpassages, and barred doors seemed to speak of the lowest and worstforms of vice. 

"Oh, Treevor, I have been very good, so good. I would not have anyvisitors at all. I was so afraid you would find out and not have me ifyou knew, and, besides, I loved you too much. " (But this wasevidently an after-thought, and I noted it as such. Her true reasonwas given first. ) "And I knew Nanine would take all my money, whateverI got. She is good to the girls here, but she takes all their money, all, they never have any. So I said to myself, 'What is the use?Besides, he will come soon and take you away. ' And to Nanine Isaid--'Englishman will be so angry with you and with me, perhaps hewill kill you or tell the police if you do not keep me for him. ' Andwhen the money came Nanine was quite pleased and said perhaps youwould pay more when you came, so she did not worry me with Chinamen orany one, and I've had this room all to myself since I've been here. And I was very much afraid of you, Treevor, if I did anything at all, so I really, really have not. "

I kept my eyes fixed on hers all the time she was speaking, and I feltas the words came eagerly from her lips that they were the truth. Herexquisite, untouched beauty, her ardour of passionate welcome to mehelped to illustrate it. 

I smiled at her. 

"Well, I am quite satisfied, " I said; "I believe you have been 'good, 'as you call it, because you were afraid to be otherwise. I want tohear a lot more about your husband and how you came here, but I thinkwe had better get out of this place as soon as we can. Have you anythings you want to take with you?"

"Only this, " she said, pointing to an odd, little, hide-covered trunkbeside her. "That has my silk clothes in it and my jewellery. If youwant me to come away I can come now. "

I sat silent for a moment, thinking. Where should I take her? Back tomy own hotel perhaps for this one night. It might be managed. It wasgetting late, most of the people in the hotel would be in bed when wegot there. To-morrow or the next day we could start for Mexico, whereI had made up my mind to go with her. 

"Very well, " I said aloud; "shut up your trunk and put something roundyou, and we'll go now. "

"You will see Nanine? You will speak to her? Let me call her, " saidSuzee rather anxiously. And as I assented she slipped out of the roomand reappeared with a fat, coarse-looking woman who grinned amiably asshe saw me. She agreed to let Suzee go with me then and there foranother hundred dollars, and said her little trunk should be sentdownstairs and put on a cab which the guide could get for us. 

While this was being done, she chatted to me, thanked me for the moneyI had cabled over, and hoped I was satisfied with Suzee, herappearance, and the treatment she had received. I said I was, andasked how it was the girl had come to her at all. She seemed a littleconfused at that, and began to explain volubly that she had hadnothing to do with it. Suzee had come there one night and begged to betaken in, and as she had known some of the girl's people who hadformerly lived in Chinatown, she had done so out of pure pity andcharity and love of humanity. 

I listened to all this with a smile, and, as I felt I was not gettingthe truth, did not prolong the conversation. When the guide came backand said he was ready for us I paid the one hundred dollars and wishedher good-night. 

She opened the outer door of the room for us, and we went down astaircase this time which eventually led us to a door in another yardfrom which we gained the street. The ladder way, I take it, was usedchiefly as a convenient exit in case of a raid by the police. I putSuzee into the cab and jumped in myself, the guide went on the box, and we drove back to the hotel. 

It needed a certain amount of moral courage to drive up to the hotelwith the scarlet-clad Suzee beside me, but I think possibly artistshave a larger share of that useful quality than other men. Alwayshaving been different from others since his childhood, the artist isaccustomed to the gaping wonder, the ridicule as well as theadmiration, the misunderstanding, of those about him, and it ceases toaffect him; while viewing as he does his companions with a certaincontempt, knowing them to be less gifted than himself, he sets nostore by their opinion. 

So I paid and dismissed my guide, also the driver, pushed open theswinging glass doors, and entered the lounge, Suzee beside me. 

We were not late enough; in another hour the hall would have beendeserted. As it was, the band had ceased playing, but there werenumbers of men lounging about and smoking, and groups of women stillsitting in the rocking-chairs under the palms. 

Through the hall we went, straight to the lift, but every eye wasturned upon us and I felt rather than heard the gasp of horror thatour entry caused. The elevator boy almost collapsed on the ground as Imotioned Suzee to go in and sit down, which she did--on the floor. 

However, no actual force was used to restrain our movements, and wereached my rooms without any hindrance. 

It was decidedly an improvement to have her there; the rooms lookedbetter, more comfortable, more as my rooms were accustomed to look. 

Suzee herself was extravagantly delighted, and shewed it in every lookand gesture. Gay and radiant in her brilliant scarlet silk, she movedabout under the electric light like a glowing animated picture. 

"What will you have to eat or drink?" I asked as I saw her lookcuriously into the jug of iced water that adorned my table. "I'llorder some supper. "

"Anything, Treevor, anything you eat; I don't mind, and I never drinkanything but tea. May I get out my own tea-things and make it?"

"Certainly, " I answered, and I watched her interestedly as she wentdown on her knees before her little trunk and opened it, turning outbeautiful coloured silks of all shades on to the floor. 

While we were thus innocently engaged the hotel manager burst suddenlyinto the room. He looked very perturbed, and his face was a deeppurple. 

"Now, sir, will you tell me what you mean by behaving like this in arespectable hotel?"

He caught sight of Suzee sitting on the ground and started; the girlstared up at him with a look of astonishment in which I thoughtrecognition blended. 

"Come outside, " I said mildly, "and take a turn in the corridor withme. " And we both went out and shut the door. 

I talked with him for fifteen minutes and explained it was unwise andunnecessary to make a great fuss and turn a good customer into thestreets at this late hour. We were going in any case as soon as wecould get off; in the mean time, the engagement of the next room tomine at seven dollars a day for Suzee would satisfy the proprieties. An artist must have models for his pictures and must put them upsomewhere. Besides, I pointed out that he could put all mytransgressions down at full length in the bill. 

This seemed to soothe him very much, and our interview ended by hisunlocking the door of the next room, turning on the lights, and sayingwhat a fine one it was. I promised Suzee should occupy it, and toldhim we wanted supper and some champagne he could recommend. Thiscompletely softened him, and he left me promising to send the waiterfor orders. 

In a few minutes the same bell-boy appeared with another of theinevitable jugs of iced water, and a waiter came immediately after andtook my orders. All this being temporarily arranged, I went back toSuzee. She had changed in that short time from her scarlet dress intoone of the palest blue, the most exquisite soft tone of colourconceivable. It was all embroidered round the edge of the littlejacket and the wide falling sleeves in mauve and silver, and she hadtwisted some mauve flowers and heavy silver ornaments into her shininghair. Her great dark eyes flashed and sparkled, the pure tint of herskin shewed the most faultless cream against the soft blue silk, herlittle mouth curved redly in gay smiles as she looked at me foradmiration. 

I was sad and heart-sick really in my inner self, but the senses countfor much in this life and they were pleased and told me I had donewell. 

"I am quite, quite happy, Treevor, " she said, as I told her she wasbeautiful, a vision to dazzle one. "Now see me make tea. All Chinesemake it this way. "

On a little side table she had rigged up a sort of spirit stand, andon this a kettle steamed merrily. Set out on the table was a queerlittle silver box of tea and four delicate, transparent cups orbasins, for they had no handles, of the most fairy-like egg-shellchina, each standing in a shell-like saucer. 

"Where is your teapot?" I asked, coming up to the table and putting myhand on the blue silk-clad shoulder. 

"Chinese never have teapot. That's all an English mistake. Chinesealways make tea in a cup. "

She took as she spoke a pinch of tea between her tiny fingers anddropped it into one of the cups, immediately filling it up withboiling water. Then she took the saucer from underneath and set it onthe top, its rim exactly enclosed the edge of the cup. Raising thesaucer a trifle at one side, she poured the infusion into one of theother little bowls, keeping her finger on the saucer to hold it inplace. The tea leaves, kept back by the saucer, remained in the firstcup. The tea, a clear, pale-amber liquid, filled the second. 

"Now it is ready to drink, " she said, lifting the tiny egg-shell bowland handing it to me. 

"Don't you have any milk or sugar?" I said, taking the hot basin in myhand and holding it by a little rim at the bottom, the only place onecould hold it for the heat. 

"No, anything else spoil it. You drink that and I make you another. "

She threw away the first leaves, put a fresh pinch of tea in, filledup the bowl and strained it off into another as before, then picked upthe second by the bottom rim, drained it, and repeated the processwith marvellous rapidity. I watched her, sipping my own. 

"Do you like it?" she asked. "It is real gold-tipped Orange Pekoe. Very good tea, indeed!"

I drank it. It had a wonderful flavour. I told her so and took anothercup, to her great delight. 

The waiter came in, laid our supper on the table, put the champagne inice, and departed. I offered Suzee the wine, but she said she had allthe tea she could drink. She was willing to eat, however, and we satdown to the table. 

"I want you to tell me all about what happened at Sitka, " I said. "Howdid poor old Hop Lee die?"

"Oh, it was all such a dreadful thing, Treevor, " she returned, spreading out both hands, on the wrists of which heavy silver banglesset with amethysts shone and tinkled. "He went down one day to FortWrangle on business and when he came back one day after, he had afearful cough, and then he got very ill and went to bed, and I satbeside him and he got worse and worse. Oh, so bad, and the doctor cameand he had very much medicine, and then his chest began to bleed, andhe coughed very much blood for days and days and weeks, and I nursedhim all that time, Treevor, all night long. I got no sleep at all; oh, it was very, very bad. "

I looked at her curiously. I could not somehow picture Suzee as thedevoted nurse passing sleepless nights and never absent from thepillow of the suffering Hop Lee. 

As I looked at her, I noticed the strange thickening of the featuresand darkening of the skin I had noted before at Sitka, and knew theblood was mounting into the face, though she could not blush, as theEnglish girl blushes, red. 

"It is really true, Treevor, " she said, in an aggrieved tone. 

"I am not contradicting you, " I replied calmly, "go on. "

"At last he died, " she continued, though in rather a sulky tone, "anddoctor said I might die too, I had made myself so ill, so thin withwaiting on him. My bones stuck out so, " she put her hands edgeways toher sides to indicate how her ribs, now remarkably well covered, hadstood out from her sufferings; but remembering the fictitious blowsshe had recounted to me when I first met her, I was not so muchstirred by her recital as I might otherwise have been. 

"And what about the child?" I asked. 

"The boy? Oh, Treevor, he died very soon after. He caught cold fromhis father, I think. "

"Did he die of cold and cough, too, then?" I asked. 

"Yes, he coughed till he died. Oh, I cried so much when he died. Mybaby boy, my very big baby, I did love him so. "

She blinked her glorious eyes very much as if they were full of tearsat the recollection, but I did not see any fall, and she pursued hersupper without any interruption of appetite. 

I sat back in my chair, watching her and musing. Poor old Hop Lee! Iwondered what his last moments had been like, and whether those daintyfingers had really been employed smoothing his brow, or counting hiseffects, at the last?

"And then what came after?" I asked. "How did it come that you were tobe sold, as you said?"

"We were very poor when he died; so poor, and we owed a lot, and hisbrother came up from Juneau and took over the tea-shop and everything. Then he said he had offer from big Chinaman who would buy me, and hesaid my husband owe him lot of money, he sell me, get it back, and hesent me down to Nanine in 'Frisco to give to big Chinaman; but I toldNanine you would give more, so Nanine kept me for you. "

"But how will your husband's brother get the money for you in thatcase?" I said. 

"What a lot of questions you do ask, Treevor!" she returned sulkily. "I don't know how he will get the money. He will make Nanine give himsome, I suppose. Let us forget it all, I don't want to think of thatany more. "

I laughed. 

"Very well. If you have finished your supper, come over here and siton my knee and we will forget it all, as you say. "

She rose willingly and came over to me, a lovely, shimmering, Orientalvision, dainty and perfect. 

"I must paint you, Suzee, some day just as you appear now and call youThe Beauty of China, or something like that. You seem the joy of theEast incarnate. "

Suzee frowned and then smiled. 

"I do not like such long words. I do not understand you when you talklike that; but I love you, Treevor, so, so much. "

The misty light of dawn was rolling over 'Frisco when I shewed Suzeeher own room, where according to the pact with the manager, she was tosleep. 

She shivered as we went into it. 

"Oh, Treevor, what a great big room, " she said; "I am frightened atit. Won't you stay with me? Or let me be in yours?"

"I said you should sleep here, " I answered; "so you must. Jump intobed quick and go to sleep; you will soon forget the size of the room. I am dead tired now, I must go and get some sleep myself. Good-night, dear. "

I kissed her and went back to the sitting-room. The morning lightstruggling with the artificial fell on the table with its scatteredplates and glasses, and on her little trunk and the unpacked silkenclothes. 

I turned out the lights and drew up the blinds, and stood looking out. The waves of soft white fog filled the empty streets. All was quiet, white, in the dawn. 

I had said I was tired, yet now sleep seemed far from my eyes, and mymind flew out over intervening space to Viola, longing to find her, wherever she was. 

Where would she be? I could imagine her waking with this same dawn inher calm, innocent bed, and gazing, too, into this white light, andlonging for me. Surely she would be that? The words of her letter cameback to me: the time would pass "slowly as a winter night to me, yourViola. "

She was right. Nothing could divide us permanently, really. Perhapseven Death would be powerless to do that. 

I had a dissatisfied feeling with myself. Would it have been better, Iasked myself, to have waited through this year alone, since nothingcould really satisfy or delight me in her absence? What was the good, after all, of chasing the mere shadow of the joy I had with her?

But, strangely enough, I felt that Viola had no wish that I shouldpass this mysterious year of separation she had imposed upon us, alone. 

She had confessed her inability to share my love with any other. Theincident of Veronica had made that clear; but now that she chose todeny herself to me she seemed rather to wish than otherwise that Ishould seek adventures, experiences elsewhere. And I feltindefinitely, yet strongly, that the more I could crush into this yearof life and of artistic inspiration, especially the latter, thehappier she would feel when we met. 

Perhaps she wished to tire me with lesser loves, certain that her ownmust prevail against them. Perhaps she had even left me solely forthis, with this idea. Knowing herself unable to bear the pain ofinfidelity to her when she was present, yet, accepting it as tendingto some ultimate psychological end, she had withdrawn herself from me. 

I remembered she had said once to me:

"I would so much rather be a man's last love, the crowning love ofhis life, the one whose image would be with him as he passed from thisworld, than his first; poor little toy of his youth, forgotten, unheeded, effaced by the passions of his life at the zenith. "

Perhaps, ... But, ah! what was the use of speculation when it mightall be wrong?

Some reason was there, guiding that subtle mystery of her brain, andI, if I fulfilled her expressed wishes, was doing the utmost to carryout that plan of hers which I could not yet understand. 

A feeling of excessive weariness invaded me, mental and physical, andas the light grew stronger, breaking into day, I went to my own roomto sleep. 

As soon as I woke I got up and went to look at my new possession. Tomy surprise the room seemed empty. I looked round. No Suzee. I went upto the bed. It had apparently not been slept in, but two of theblankets had been pulled off and disappeared. 

As I stood by the bedside, wondering what had become of her, I felt asoft kiss on my ankles and, looking down, there she was, creeping outfrom under the bed with one of the blankets round her. Her hair was alovely undisarranged mass; but the rosebuds in it were dead, and itwas dusty. Her face looked like white silk in its youthful pallor. Shesmiled up delightedly at me and crawled out farther from the bedvalance. 

"What are you doing down there?" I asked. "Wasn't the bedcomfortable?"

"Oh yes, Treevor, underneath I was very comfortable and warm. You see, I have always been accustomed to something over my head, and in thisroom the ceiling is such a long way off. "

She got up and stood before me, her rounded shoulders and sweetlymoulded arms shewing above the blanket. 

"You don't mind, do you?" she added, with a note of quick anxiety. 

I laughed as I remembered the low ceilings, almost on one's head, thatare the rule in Chinatown, and caught her up in my arms. 

"No, I don't mind, " I said; "only get into bed now, and don't shewthat you have slept underneath instead of inside. I am going to orderbreakfast and I will call you in a minute or two. "

I threw her on to the bed, into which she rolled like a kitten, kissedher, and went back to my own room. 

When we had had breakfast I took Suzee with me on the car, and all theeyes of its occupants fixed upon us for the whole of the journey. Thiswas harmless, however, and I did not mind, while Suzee sat apparentlysublimely unconscious of the rude stares and ruder smiles, with thecalm gravity of the Oriental who is above insults because he considershimself above criticism. 

At the office where I went to buy tickets for our journey I was put toworse annoyance. I had taken tickets for two from 'Frisco to City ofMexico when the clerk, looking suddenly from me to my childishcompanion, said: "We can't give you a section, [A] sir. "

"Why not?" I demanded. 

"Only married couples, " he remarked tersely, and turned away. 

I told Suzee to go outside, and went to another part of the office, bought my section ticket from another clerk while the first wasengaged, and then joined her. I began to realise that pettydifficulties would line the path the whole way, and I must make someeffort to minimise them. 

We went to a café for lunch, and after seating ourselves at a table alittle away from the staring crowd, I said: "I expect it would bebetter if we got you some American clothes. "

"Very well, Treevor, " she returned docilely, and leant her pretty, round, ivory-hued cheek on her hand as she looked across at meadoringly. Had I suggested cutting off her head, I believe she wouldhave looked the same. 

"We must try after lunch to get some, " I continued. "And don't be toosubmissive to me in public. You see, it's not at all the fashion withus for wives to be that way, and it makes people think you are notmine. "

Suzee laughed gaily: the idea seemed to amuse her. 

After lunch we went to one of the large stores, and Suzee, in herscarlet silk attracted of course general attention. We found, however, a sensible saleswoman to whom I explained that I wanted a greytravelling costume, and she and Suzee disappeared from me entirely, into the fitting-room. 

Left alone, I swung myself back on a chair and lapsed into thought. 

When Suzee at last came back an exclamation broke from me. She wasspoilt. Lovely as she seemed in her own picturesque clothing, in therough grey cloth of hideous Western dress she looked simply a littleguy. Reading my face at a glance, her own clouded instantly, and inanother second she would have thrown herself at my feet had I notwarned her by a look and a gesture not to. I sprang up and turned tothe saleswoman. 

"Is this the best, the prettiest costume you have?" I asked. 

"Yes, sir. You see it's so difficult to fit the young lady without anycorsets, and she is really so short we have only a few skirts thatwill do for her. "

I looked at Suzee as she stood before me. The figure, so exquisite inits lines when unclothed, looked too soft and shapeless under thecloth coat. She appeared absurdly short, too, beside the Americanassistant, who stood at least five feet eleven. I could not bear tosee my little Suzee so disfigured. However, that she looked far moreordinary could not be disputed. She would attract less attention now, and that might be an advantage. Her head was still bare and had itsOriental character, but the colour of her skin against the grey clothlost its creaminess that it had possessed above the blue silk jacket. It now looked merely sallow. 

I paid nine guineas for the hideous dress, ordered the silk clothes tobe sent to the hotel, and then we went on to the millinery. Amongstthese frightful edifices my heart sank still more, but I steeledmyself to the ordeal, and, choosing out the simplest grey one I couldfind, directed the giggling young shop-assistant to try it on Suzee. 

The immense coiffure of shining black hair of the Chinese girl did notlend itself to any Western hat. Hat and hair together made her headappear out of proportion to the small, short figure. 

At last, in despair, I said:

"You must alter your hair and do it in a different way. Could you takeit down now and roll it up small at the back, do you think?"

Suzee gazed on me in mild surprise. 

"Take my hair down, here and now! Why, it's done up for a fortnight!"she answered simply, while the shop-girl turned away to replace a hatand hide her titters. 

"Do you only do your hair once a fortnight?" I enquired, surprised inmy turn. 

"Yes, that's all. It's such a bother to do. It was done just beforeyou came. I thought it would do for a month, I took such pains withit. "

A month! So that beautiful, scented, shining coiffure was only brushedout once a month!

A sudden memory of Viola and her gleaming light tresses swept over me, as I had seen them at night lying on her shoulders. But had I notoften waited for her till I was deadly sleepy, and when at length shecame to the bedside and I had asked her what she had been doing allthat time, had she not generally said--"brushing her hair"?

Perhaps, after all, a coiffure that never detained its owner at nightexcept once a month might have its advantages. 

By the time these reflections had swept over me, Suzee herself hadfound a little grey velvet hat that looked less dreadful than therest. I had only to pay for it, which I did, and she walked away withme in her Western clothes. At the glove counter things went well, andshe triumphed over her civilised sisters. Her tiny supple hands wereeasily fitted by number five, and tired and thirsty with our effortswe left the store and found our way to a tea-shop. 

The change in dress made matters easier. She did not attract muchnotice now; and unless any one looked very closely at her, she wouldpass for any little ordinary, unattractive European girl. It ratherruffled my vanity to think she should look like this, but I consoledmyself with thinking of the evening, when the hideous disguise couldbe laid aside and she would appear again in her amber beauty and Icould pose her in a hundred ways. 

We had several cups of tea apiece. Very good I found it, though Suzeesomewhat disdainfully remarked it was not like China tea; and thenreturned to the hotel. 

As I passed through the swing doors with my reclothed and much alteredcompanion, the proprietor came hastily forwards with protestationwritten on his face. He evidently thought I had erred again and thiswas another investment. He was about to impart vigorously his opinionof me when a hasty glance at Suzee's face and my bland look of enquirystopped him. Instead of addressing us, he wheeled round discomfitedand disappeared into his bureau. 

"Why does that man always look so crossly at you?" enquired Suzee, aswe were walking down the passage to our rooms. 

"He does not approve of my wickedness in having you here, " I answeredlaughing. "He thinks a man must never be with any woman but his wife. "

"And has he a wife?"

"Yes, that great creature you saw sitting in the glass deskdownstairs. "

Suzee threw up her chin and pursed up her soft blue-red lips. 

"I know that man by sight quite well. He was always down with thegirls in Chinatown. He was one of Nanine's best customers. "

I laughed as I put the key in, and opened our door. 

"That accounts then, quite, for his terrific propriety in his hotel, "I answered. "It's always the way. You can tell the really viciousperson by his affected horror of vice. "

We dined upstairs, and directly after dinner I got her to pose for methat I might catch the first idea for my picture "The Joy of theEast. "

She still shewed an apparently unconquerable objection to any undrapedstudy, so I did not press it, but told her to dress as she had beendressed the previous night, in blue and mauve with silver ornaments, and I would take her in that. 

While she was arraying herself I sat back in my chair, thinking. 

How strange it was that a girl like Viola, who I believed would havebeen burnt alive rather than let an untruth pass her lips, who couldnot possibly have done a dishonourable action, had posed for me sosimply and fearlessly, viewing the whole matter from that artisticstandpoint which is so lofty because so really pure; and this girl, whose soul, as I knew, was full of trickery and treachery, and whoselips were worn with lies, clothed herself about with this ridiculousprudery and imagined it was modesty!

She came back presently, wonderfully lovely in the bizarre Orientalcostume, and I wanted her to stand on tiptoe, leaning towards me andlaughing. 

But she was not a good model; she soon grew tired and failed to keepthe same pose or expression. She fidgeted so, that at last I laid thepaper aside. 

"Your expression won't go with that title, " I said. "What is thematter? Can't you stand still and look happy for fifteen minutes?"

"It's so tiring to stand quite still, " she said crossly, and my heartreproached me as I thought of Viola and the hours she had stood for mewithout a word of complaint in the London studio!

"Well, I'll try another picture. I shall call it 'The SpoiledFavourite of the Harem, ' Throw yourself into that chair and look ascross as you like. "

Suzee sat down opposite me. I put her head back against the chair; herright arm hung over the side, in her left hand she held a cigarette, one foot was bent under her, the other swung listlessly to the ground. 

Her expression, restless and dissatisfied, her attitude, weary andenervated, gave the idea of the title admirably, and I made a goodsketch. 

She was sitting down now so she could keep still without muchdifficulty, and her air of _ennui_ suited this theme well enough. 

As soon as I had finished the sketch and told her she might get up shewas delighted. She did not seem to take much interest in the picture, however, but rather regard it grudgingly as it took up my attention. She was only happy again when I took her on my knees and caressed her, telling her she was the loveliest Eastern I had ever seen. 

The following day we started on our journey southward. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: Sleeping berth for two persons in the Pullman car. ]

CHAPTER X

IN THE SHADOW OF THE VOLCANO

The journey down to the City of Mexico, in itself, was a delight tome, and I felt how infinitely more I could have enjoyed it had Violabeen with me. 

My present companion did not seem able to appreciate any but physicalbeauty. If a good looking man came on board the train she glanced overhim, demurely enough, but with the eye of a connoisseur. The gloriousbeauty, however, of the painted skies and magnificent stretches ofopen country we were passing through affected her not at all. 

For four days, on either side of the train, America unrolled before usher vast tracts of entrancing beauty, from which I could hardly tearmy gaze, and this little almond-eyed doll sat in a lump on the seatopposite me yawning and fidgeting, or else reading some childish book;or spent the time at the other end of the car playing with someAmerican children on board the train. 

I did not intend to have my journey spoilt by her, so I gave my ownattention to the scene and told her to go and play, if she wished, orbuy oranges and pictures from the train-venders, do anything sheliked, in fact, as long as she did not disturb me and prevent mytaking a pleasure in the beauty she could not see. 

Suzee, annoyed at my admiration of something she could notappreciate, was mostly sulky and pettish through the day, regainingher good temper at night when we retired into our section. 

As a toy to caress, to fondle, she was enchanting. Nature hadapparently made her for that and for nothing else. Her extreme youth, her beauty, her joy in love, made her irresistible at such moments. And as I was young, at the height of youth's powers and desires, ourrelations in that way held a great deal of pleasure for us both. 

But that was the limit. Beyond this there was nothing. 

That exquisite mental companionship, that sharing of every thought andidea, that constant conversation on all sorts of subjects thatinterested us both, all this which I had had with Viola, and whichfilled so perfectly those intervals when the tired senses ask for, andcan give, no more pleasure, was completely absent here. 

That delight in beauty which is to an artist as much a part of hislife as another man's delight in food or wine Viola had shared with mein an intense degree. 

And sharing any of the delights of life with one we love enhances themenormously. One can easily imagine a gourmand being dissatisfied withhis wife if she resolutely refused to share any of his meals!

Now, as I gazed through the windows of the slow-moving train and sawthe long blue lines of the level-topped hills, the deep purple edgesof the vast table-lands rising against the amber or the blood redevening skies, I longed for Viola with that inward longing of the soulwhich nothing but the presence of its own companion can satisfy. 

One evening, as I gazed out, the whole prairie was bathed inrose-coloured light that appeared to ripple over it in pink waves. Thetall grass, tall as that of an English hay-field, seemed touched withfire; far on every side stretched the open plain, absolutely level, bounded at last in the far distance by that deep purple wall ofmountains, flat-topped, level-lined also, against the sky, the greatmesas or table-lands of Mexico. 

And in this vast expanse of waving grasses and low flowering shrubs, in the pink glow of the evening, stood out two graceful forms, a pairof coyotes, distinct against the sunset behind them. Only these twowere visible in all that great lonely plain, and they stood togetherwatching the train go by, their sinuous bodies and low sweeping tailstouched and tipped with fire in the ruby light. 

How delighted Viola would have been with that scene, I thoughtregretfully, as the train carried us through it. 

When we arrived at the City of Mexico, we drove to the Hotel Iturbideand took a room high up on the third floor, to be well lifted out ofthe suffocating atmosphere of the streets. 

Suzee was a little overawed by the height of the long, narrow roomthat we had assigned to us in this, at one time, palace, but when shesaw that the bed was comfortable and there was a large mirror beforewhich she could array and re-array herself, she was satisfied. 

I saw the room would be a very difficult one to paint in, for it wasdark in spite of the tall window which opened on to an iron balconyrunning across the front of the hotel. 

The window was draped with thick red curtains and had a deep, handsomecornice hanging over it. 

Suzee went on to the balcony immediately and was delighted with theincessant stream of gaily dressed people passing underneath. This wasthe main street of the city. Not very wide, flanked with lofty, old, picturesquely built houses on each side, of which the lower part wasoften shop or restaurant, it presented somewhat the same heavy, gloomyappearance as the streets in Italian towns. The air was thick, dust-laden, and evil-smelling, for the City of Mexico, though at anelevation of 8, 000 feet, has none of the crisp, healthful clearness, usually to be found at that altitude. Built over the bed of anenormous dried up lake, in the centre of an elevated table-land, itis, even at the present day, badly drained and unhealthy. 

We had some tea brought up to us and took it at a little table drawnclose to the window, --Suzee chattering away to me of the delights ofthis new big city--as big as 'Frisco, she thought. And what gay hatsthe women wore! She saw them passing underneath. Would I not take herout to the shops and buy a great big white muslin hat like theirs, covered with pink roses?

I promised I would, watching her with a smile. 

She was certainly very lovely just now. She seemed to have bloomedinto fairer beauty than she had possessed at Sitka. 

Doubtless her gratified passion and happy relations with me helped tothis result, for a woman's beauty depends almost wholly on her innerlife, the life of her emotions and passions. 

After tea we went downstairs, hired a carriage, and drove to thePaseo--or laid-out drive--which is the thing to do in Mexico at thathour; and to follow the custom of the country you are in is the firstgolden rule of the traveller who would enjoy himself. 

It was about six o'clock, and darkness was closing in on the thick, dust-filled air as we drove with the stream of other vehicles of alldescriptions, from the poorest hired carriage to the most splendidlyappointed barouche, into the Paseo, a wide, sweeping drive, lined eachside with trees and lighted with rows of electric arc-light lamps, some of which glowed pinkly or sputtered out blue rays in the dusk. 

It has never seemed to me a very cheerful matter, this drive betweenthe lights in the formal Paseo, this great string of carriages drawnmostly by poor unhappy horses and filled with dressed-up women whostare rudely at each other as they pass and re-pass, solemn and silentghosts in a world of grey shadow!

But the fashion amongst the Mexican women of painting and powdering toan inordinate degree perhaps accounts for their love of this hourbetween the lights, when they imagine the falseness of theircomplexion cannot be detected. 

After about an hour's drive we came back, the great arc-lights nowsending their uncertain, shifting glare across the road and serving toshow the heavy dust through which we moved. Seen sideways, the ray oflight looked solid, so thick was the atmosphere. 

When we came back we dined, and then sat outside our window on theiron balcony, looking down at the gay scene below. 

The street was fully lighted now by powerful lamps of electricity, some belonging to the roadway, others hung out over restaurants andshops. The latter were all open, having been closed through the middleof the day. The cafés and restaurants were in full swing, half thepopulace seemed in the street, either walking or driving. 

"We will go to a theatre as soon as they open, " I said. "I don't thinkany of them begin till half-past nine or ten. "

Suzee clapped her hands. 

"That will be nice, Treevor, " she said. 

"I did like the theatre in Chinatown. I went with Nanine sometimes. "

So at half-past nine we drove to a theatre. The performance began atten o'clock and continued till one in the morning, with a break in themiddle for supper. 

It was a light musical farce, well acted and sung, and I enjoyed it. 

Suzee looked on profoundly silent, and seemed to be quite wide-awakeall through it. Just before one o'clock she leant to me and whispered:

"When does the killing begin?"

"Killing?" I returned. "I don't think there'll be any, what do youmean?"

"Oh, " she said, "in Chinese theatres there is always very muchkilling; every one's head comes off at the end. "

I laughed. 

"You little monster, " I whispered; "is that what you came to see?"Suzee nodded. 

"All Chinese plays like that, " she answered. 

We waited till the curtain fell, but there was no killing and all theheads were left on at the end. Suzee looked quite disappointed, andexplained to me as we were driving away that that was no play at all. 

The next morning we were up very late, and after breakfast in our roomthere was only time to drive out to the shops and buy for Suzee one ofthe hats she coveted before luncheon. 

All Orientals have a wonderful, artistic instinct for fabrics andcolours, and always, when left alone, clothe themselves with exquisitetaste. But this instinct seems to desert them when brought amongstEuropean manufactures and into the sphere of European tints. Suzee nowchose an enormous white hat wreathed round with poppies andcornflowers that I certainly should not have chosen for her. However, it pleased and satisfied her, and she was in great good-humour inconsequence. 

I found some letters for me at the hotel, forwarded from the club. Myheart sank as I saw there was none from Viola. I thought she mighthave written again.... 

There was one from a friend of mine who was attached to the embassyhere, and he asked me to go and dine with him that evening, or namesome other, if I were engaged that day. 

I looked up at Suzee. 

"I have an invitation here to go out to dinner, " I said to her; "doyou think you can amuse yourself without me this evening?"

Suzee looked sulky. 

"You are going out all the evening without me? Can't I come too?"

"I am afraid not, " I answered. 

"Why? Is it a woman you are going to?"

"No, it is not, " I answered a little sharply. 

How different this sulky questioning was from Viola's bright way ofassenting to any possible suggestion of mine for my own amusement orbenefit!

How different from this her quick:

"Oh yes, do go, Trevor, do not think about me, I shall be quite happylooking forward to your coming back!"

Suzee pushed out her lips. 

"How long will you be?" she asked. 

"I shall go just before seven and return about ten, " I answered. "Youmust get accustomed to amusing yourself. I can't always be with you. "

"I can amuse myself, " returned Suzee sulkily. "All the same, I believeit's a woman you are going to. "

The blood rushed over my face with anger and annoyance, but Irestrained myself and made no answer. She was so much of a child, itseemed absurd to enter into argument or to get angry with her. 

I went back to reading my other letters and occupied myself withanswering them till luncheon. 

That evening about seven I was dressing for dinner, Suzee standing byme or playing with my things and somewhat impeding me, as usual. Sheseemed to have recovered from her ill-temper and was all smiles andgay prattle. 

Before I took up my hat and coat to leave I bent over her and kissedher. 

"You understand, I don't want you to leave this room till I come back. They will bring up your dinner here, and you can sit on the balconyand smoke, and you have lots of picture-books to amuse you. I shall beback at ten. "

She kissed me and smiled and promised not to leave the room, and Iwent out. 

I really enjoyed the evening with my friend. It was a relief to talkagain with one who possessed a full-grown mind after being so longwith a childish companion, and the time passed pleasantly enough. Aquarter to ten seemed to come directly after dinner and my companionwas astonished at my wanting to leave so early. 

I explained the situation in a few words and, of course, causedinfinite amusement to my practical friend. 

"The idea of you living with a Chinese infant like that!" heexclaimed. "I shall hear of your being fascinated with a Hottentotnext, I suppose. "

"Maybe, " I answered, putting on my hat. "Anyway, I must go now; thanksall the same for wishing me to stay. "

I left him and walked rapidly back in the direction of the Iturbide. Some of the shops were still open, and as I passed down the mainstreet the brilliant display in a jeweller's window, under theelectric light, attracted my attention. 

I paused and looked in. I thought I would buy and take back somelittle thing to Suzee. It had been a dull evening for her. I went inand chose a necklet of Mexican opals. These, though not so lovely asthe sister stone we generally buy in England, have a rich red colourand fire all their own. 

I had not enough money with me to pay for it, but with that delightfulconfidence in an Englishman--often unfortunately misplaced--one findsin some distant countries, the shopman insisted on my taking it, andsaid he would send to the hotel in the morning for the money. 

I slipped the case in my pocket and went on to the Iturbide. 

After all, I thought, as I neared home, with all her faults she was avery attractive and dear little companion to be going back to. 

Full of pleasure at the thought of bestowing the gift and the joy itwould give her, I ran up the stone stairs without waiting for the liftand pushed open the door of our room. 

I entered softly, thinking she might be curled up asleep, but as Icrossed the threshold I heard the sound of laughter. The next moment Isaw there were two figures standing at the end of the long room infront of the window. 

Suzee had her back to me and a man was standing beside her. Just as Icame in I saw her raise her face, and the man put his arm round herand kiss her. Two or three steps carried me across the room and Istruck them apart with a blow on the side of the man's head that senthim reeling into a corner. 

It was the young Mexican waiter that had hitherto brought us all ourmeals. 

The table was still covered with the dinner things, a bottle of winestood on it and two half-filled glasses. My impression, gathered inthat first furious glance, was that he had brought up her dinner andshe had invited him to stay and share at least the wine andcigarettes. Some of these lay on the table, and the room was full ofsmoke. 

Suzee gave a scream of terror and then crouched down on a chair, looking at me. 

The waiter picked himself up, and, catching hold of his ironstove-fitted basket in which he had brought up the dinner, slunk outof the room. 

I was left alone with Suzee, and I looked at her, with an immensesense of disgust and repulsion swelling up in me. 

"So you can't even be trusted an hour or two, it seems, " I saidcontemptuously, throwing myself into a chair opposite her. 

Suzee began to sob. Tears were her invariable refuge under allcircumstances. 

"Treevor, you were so long. I was all alone, and I was sure you werewith another woman. "

"If you would learn to believe what I say and not fancy every onetells lies, as I suppose you do, " I answered hotly, "it would be agreat deal better for you. I went to dine with a bachelor friend thisevening, as I told you, and what made me later than I otherwise shouldhave been was that I stopped to buy a present for you on my way back. "

Suzee's tears dried instantly. 

"A present! Oh, what is it, Treevor?" she said eagerly. "Do show itme. Where is it?"

I drew the case out of my pocket and opened it. The electric lightflashed on the opals, and they blazed with orange and tawny fires onthe white velvet. 

Suzee gave a little cry of wonder and delight, and then sat staring atthem breathlessly. 

"I don't feel at all inclined to give them to you now, " I remarkedcoldly. 

"Oh, yes, Treevor, _do_ let me have them. It was all the man's fault. I did not want him. I could not help it. "

"I heard you laughing as I came in, " I returned, more than everdisgusted by her lies and her throwing all the blame on her companion. "It's no use lying to me, Suzee, you found that out at Sitka. What Iwant to make clear to you is this: if I find you doing this sort ofthing again I shall send you away from me altogether, because I won'thave it. "

Suzee looked terror-stricken. 

"Send me away! But what could I do? Where could I go?"

"Where you pleased! You would not live any more with me. "

"Well, Treevor, I will not do it any more, " she answered, her eyesfixed on the jewels. "Do let me have the necklace. May I put it on?"

And she stretched out her hand to grasp it from the table where I hadlaid it. Her avarice, her lack of any real deep feeling about thematter, filled me with irrepressible anger. 

I sprang to my feet and snatched the necklet up, case and all, andflung it through the window. 

"No, you shall certainly not have it, " I exclaimed. 

Suzee gave a shriek of pain and dismay as she saw the beloved jewelsflash through the air and disappear in the darkness, and rushed to thewindow as if she would jump after them. 

Fearing she might call to the passers-by below and create adisturbance, I took her by the shoulder and pulled her back into theroom. 

Then I shut the window and bolted it above her head. 

I walked over to the door of the room. 

"You had better go to bed, " I said; "do not wait for me, I shall sleepelsewhere. "

Then I went out and locked the door behind me, putting the key in mypocket. 

I went down the passage slowly. My heart was beating fast and I feltangry, but the anger was not that deep fierce agony of emotion I hadfelt at times when Viola angered or grieved me. 

It was more a superficial sensation of disgust and repulsion thatfilled me, and, after a few minutes, I grew calm and recovered myself-possession. 

"What could I expect from a girl like this?" I asked myself. "Whatcould I expect but lies and deceit and trickery and infidelity? Shehad shewn me all these at Sitka when I first met her. "

I had been willing enough to profit by them, but even then they haddisgusted me. Now I was in the position of Hop Lee, and as she hadtreated him so would she treat me. It was true she professed to loveme, and did so in her way. But it was the way of the woman who isbought and sold. 

And why should I feel specially repelled because I had found her witha servant? Had she not come from a tea-shop in Sitka, where sheherself was serving?

The Mexican boy was handsome enough. Doubtless he presented atemptation to her. 

It was all my own fault, everything that had happened or would happen, for choosing such an unsuitable companion. The light loves of an hourwith painted butterflies such as Suzee are well enough, but for lifetogether one must seek and find one's equal, one who sees with thesame eyes, who has the same standard as one's own of the fitness ofthings, in whose veins runs blood of the same quality as one's own. 

Why had Viola left me? The thought came with a pang of anguish as myheart called out for her. 

The corridor was a lofty one of stone. It was quite empty now andunlighted. I walked on slowly in the dark till I came to a largewindow on my right hand. This window overlooked a wide expanse of leadroofs belonging to the lower stories of the hotel, and these commandeda magnificent view of the whole city. 

I stepped out over the low sill and stood on the leads. The night wassoft and cool. The sky, full of the light of a rising moon, shewedbeautifully, against its luminous violet, the outlines of dome andminaret and spire, and far out beyond the crowded city's confines, thetwo incomparable mountains, Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl, the hugevolcanoes, shrouded in eternal snow, rising a sheer ten thousand feetfrom the level plain, standing like sentinels guarding the city. 

It was a magnificent panorama that surrounded me, a view to rememberfor all time. Dome upon dome, rising one behind the other, of allsizes and shapes, their beautiful tiles gleaming here and there as thelight from the rising moon touched them, delicate spires, pointingupwards, tipped with silver light, low roof of the commoner's dwellingand pillared façade of old and stately palace intervening, and, faraway, those cold white, solitary peaks overtopping all else, risinginto the region of the stars, made up a grand, impressive scene. 

As I looked all sense of petty annoyance dropped from me. I walkedforwards with a grateful sense of relief and took my seat on aprojecting ledge of one of the roofs and let my eyes wander over themaze of dim outlines and shapes below me. 

How strange it was to think of the past history of the city!

Far back in the dim ages, a clear and glorious lake had lain herewhere now the city reared itself so majestically. In the centre ofthis vast table-land, eight thousand feet above the sea, the bluewaters rested tranquilly, reflecting in their surface the fires andthe flames of those now silent, burnt-out volcanoes. 

The lake was inhabited by the lake-dwellers, quaint little peopleliving in their curious structures built on poles sunk in the water. There they fished and made their nets and traded with each other, passing backwards and forwards in their tiny dug-outs--whole craftsmade from a single hollowed-out log--on the gleaming waters, securefrom the raids of wild beasts or savages that the black, impenetrableforests on the shore might harbour. 

Then came the Toltecs and the Aztecs with their refinement, theircivilisation, and the lake dried gradually through the years, andcauseways were built across the swamp, and one by one dwellingsappeared on the hardest, driest places, and step by step there grew tobe a city. Then came the Spaniards in later days, with the flamingpomp of religion and the loathsome spirit of cruelty. They killed thepeople by thousands with torture, and set up their churches to peaceand good-will. They overthrew the temples with murder and slaughter, and reared altars to the Most High on the blood-soaked earth. 

And this city, as we see it to-day, with its countless beautifulchurches, its exquisite tiled domes flashing in the sun, is the workof the Spaniards. And each church stands there to commemorate theirawful crimes. 

I sat on, as the hours passed, and watched the moon rise till itpoured its flood of silver light all over the city, sat thinking onthe horror of man and wondering what strange law has fashioned him tobe the devil he is. 

Towards sunrise, the wind blew cold off the marshes round the city, and I went in and down to the lower floor of the hotel. 

Its world was fast asleep. In the hall I saw two Mexican porters intheir thin white clothes, curled up on the door mat, without coveringor pillow, fast asleep. 

I made my way to the little-used reception-room, found my way acrossit to a wide old couch, threw myself upon it, and closed my eyes. Thecouch smelt musty and the room seemed cold, but I was accustomed tosleep anyhow and anywhere, and in a few moments, with my thoughts onViola, I drifted into oblivion. 

At breakfast time the next day I went to the administrador and toldhim to send up ours by another waiter, and never to allow the formerone to come into our room again. Then I went upstairs to Suzee. As Iunlocked the door and entered I saw she was up and dressed. She cameto me, looking white and frightened. 

"Oh, Treevor, do forgive me, I never will again. Only say you forgiveme. I was so frightened all last night, I thought you had locked me uphere to starve. "

Again the absence of deep feeling, of any ethical considerationprompting her contrition, jarred upon me. She would be good becauseshe did not want to starve or be otherwise punished. That was her viewof it, and that alone. 

I bent over her, took her hand, and kissed her. 

"We needn't think of it any more, " I said gently. "Only you mustremember if such a thing occurs again, we cease to live together, that's all. "

Suzee reiterated her promises with effusion, and presently an old, grey-haired waiter appeared with our breakfast. 

I could not repress a smile as I saw the administrador had determinedto be on the safe side this time. 

Suzee was extremely amiable and docile all that day. 

Most women who do not shew gratitude for kindness and consideration, when the man retaliates or shews any harshness, begin to improvewonderfully; while a delicate nature like Viola's, that responds tolove and gives devotion in return, would meet that same harshness withpassionate resentment. Suzee sincerely mourned her lost jewels andgazed wistfully and furtively down into the street where they hadgone in the darkness. 

I paid the bill for them that day, but I never knew what became ofthem, nor whose neck they now adorn!

The following day was Sunday, the day appointed by the Prince ofPeace, and dedicated here by his followers, the Christians, to thetorture and slaughter of their helpless companions in this world--theanimals. Sunday, throughout Mexico, is the day most usually fixed fora bull-fight, and to-day there was going to be one, and Suzee hadbegged me to take her to see it. 

I had hesitated, but finally given in, and taken seats for it. 

I felt a strong disinclination to witnessing what I knew would bemerely another example of the loathsome barbarity of the human race, but it was my rule in life to see and study its different aspects, toadd to my knowledge of it whenever possible, and so I consented with asense of repulsion within me. Suzee was in the wildest delight. Shehad talked to the waiter, it seemed, and had heard from him wonderfulstories of the big crowds of gaily dressed people in the large ring, of the music, of the gaily dressed toreadors, of the clapping of handsand the shouting. 

"And you feel no sympathy with the bull that is going to be killed orthe unfortunate horses?" I asked, looking across at her as we sat atluncheon. 

Suzee looked grave. 

"I didn't think of that, " she said. 

The great fault of the less guilty half of humanity--it does notthink! and the other half thinks evil. 

"Well, think now, " I said sharply. "Would you like to have your insidetorn out for a gaping crowd to laugh at, to be tortured to death fortheir Sunday diversion? For that is what you are going to seeinflicted on the animals this afternoon. "

Suzee regarded me with a frightened air. 

Presently she said, glibly:

"Of course not, Treevor, and I am very, very sorry for the pooranimals if they are going to be hurt. "

"Of course they are, " I said shortly; "that is what the whole city isgoing to turn out to see. "

I felt she had no real appreciation of the subject, and that anysympathetic utterance would be made to please me. How I hate beingwith a companion who automatically says what will please me! A servilecompliance that one knows is false is more irritating to a person ofintellect than contradiction. 

How different Viola had always been! In physical relations she hadaccepted me as her owner, master, conqueror. She had never sought todeny or evade or resent the physical domination Nature has given themale over the female. But her mind had been always her own. And what aglorious strength and independence it possessed! Not even to me wouldshe ever have said what she did not believe. 

Like the old martyrs, she would have given herself to the rack or theflames rather than let her lips frame words her brain did not approve. 

Her mind and her opinions were her own, not to be bought from her atany price whatever, and, as such, they were worth something. 

The assent or dissent of the fool who agrees or disagrees from fear orlove is worth nothing when you've got it. 

We finished our luncheon and then, in a hired carriage, drove to thePlaza de Toros. 

I, with a feeling of cold depression, Suzee, gaily dressed and in thehighest spirits. 

All the city was streaming out in splendid carriage or miserable shay. Rich and cultured, poor and illiterate, human beings are all alike intheir love of butchery and blood. We reached the great ragged stretchof open ground, hideous and bare enough, and the structure of thebull-ring reared itself before us, a sinister curve against thelaughing blue of the sky. 

It seemed to hum like a great hive already; there was a crowd of thepoorer class about it, and men came continually in and out of thelittle doors in its base. 

We dismissed our carriage at the outer edge of the ragged ground, thedriver insisting he could drive no farther. And the moment we hadalighted he turned his horses' heads and started them at a furiousgallop back to the city in the hope of catching another fare. 

We walked forwards towards the principal of the wickets through whichalready the people were passing to their seats. In approaching thebull-ring we had to pass by a circle of little buildings, low denswith small barred windows and closed doors. Blood was trickling fromunder some of these over the brown and dusty earth, and the low, heavybreathing and groans of a horse in agony came from one or another atintervals. 

I looked through the grated slit of one, as I passed, and saw two men, or, rather, fiends in the shape of men, crouched on the floor of thedark and noisome den. Between them lay outstretched the body of ahorse, old and thin, worn to the last gasp in the cruel service of thestreets. On its flank was a long open wound. One of the men, bendingover it, had a red-hot iron glowing in his hand. What they were goingto do I could not tell, and I did not wait to see. 

The horse was one, doubtless, which unhappily had survived lastSunday's bull-fight, and was being horribly patched up, terriblystimulated by agony to expend its last spark of vitality in this. 

In these loathsome little dens this fiendish work goes on, the poormangled brutes are brought out from the ring, their gaping wounds areplugged with straw, or anything that is at hand, and then they arethrust back on to the horns of the bull. 

More than ever filled with loathing of my kind, I passed on in silencetowards the ring. 

It was no use speaking to Suzee. She could not understand what I felt. I thought of Viola. If she had been here, what would she havesuffered? Of all women I had met, I had never known one who had thesame exquisite compassion, the same marvellous sympathy for all livingthings as she had. 

We shewed our tickets, passed through the wicket, and were inside thevast circle. 

The impression on the eye as one enters is pleasing, or would be ifone's brain were not there to tell one of the scenes of infamy thattake place in that grand arena. 

Wide circles, great sweeping lines have always a certain fascination, and the form that charms one in the coliseum is here also in thesemodern imitations. 

The huge arena, empty now and clean, sprinkled with fine white sand, and with circle after circle, tier after tier of countless seatsrising up all round, cutting at last the blue sky overhead, is initself impressive. 

We passed to our seats, which were a little low down, not much raisedabove the level of the boarding running round the arena. 

They were on the coveted shady side of the ring, where the sun wouldnot be in our eyes. On the left of us was the President's box;opposite, the seats of the common people, let cheap, because the sun'srays would fall on them through all the afternoon. 

These were already full. Occupied by _women_, largely _women_. Dressedin their gayest, with handkerchiefs in their hands ready to wave, withbrightly painted fans, they sat there laughing, talking, eatingsweets, making the ring in that quarter a flare of colour. 

Women! Ah, what a pity it is that there should be such women as these, stony-hearted, stony-eyed, deaf to the dictates of mercy, of pity. Women who can congregate with delight to see a fellow-creature die!

For what are the animals but our fellow-creatures? With the same life, the same heart-beats as our own! With whom, if we acted rightly, weshould share this world in kindly fellowship and love. 

The other seats in the shade were filling quickly; soon the whole massof dizzy circles, one above the other, flamed with brilliant colourunder the Mexican sun. 

Suddenly, with a great crash, the music burst out, and a triumphalmarch rolled over the arena as the President and his party arrived andtook their places in their box. The people cheered and thehandkerchiefs were waved, for the President is popular. 

Suzee sat in the greatest glee beside me. The vast concourse ofpeople, the lavish colour, the loud, gay, strident music, the sea offaces and clapping hands and waving kerchiefs pleased her childishlittle soul. 

After a few moments the music changed, and to a slow, almost solemnmarch, the toreadors filed slowly in to the arena and bowed before thePresident's box. 

A burst of applause greeted their appearance, and Suzee watchedentranced these men parading in the ring, in their various red, blue, and green velvet costumes fitting tightly their fine figures, withtheir gorgeous cloaks of red velvet thrown over one arm and the flatround hats of the toreadors sitting lightly above their bold handsomefaces. 

They disappeared, there was a pause in the music, the great arenastood empty, the vast audience were silent, a few moments of waitingexpectancy, then one of the low doors opposite us in the inner circleflew open, shewing a long black tunnel leading into darkness. Fromthis came confused roarings and bellowings, and then with his headflung high and his great eyes starting with pain and rage from thegoadings he had received, a glorious black Andalusian bull chargedinto the arena. The people, delighted at his size and strength andapparent ferocity, cheered and applauded loudly while, still furtherexcited by the sudden glare of light and the deafening noise, thecreature galloped round the sandy ring. 

Jet-black, sleek-coated, and with a long pair of slender, taperinghorns, sharply pointed, crowning his great head, he was a magnificentanimal, far finer in make and shape than any of these brutes round himwho had come to see him die. As he galloped round the ring, I saw thathe was looking wildly, eagerly, for somewhere to escape. The animalshave no innate savagery, as man has. They do not love inflicting pain, torture, and death upon others. That vile instinct has been given toman alone. They kill for food. They fight for their mates. But noanimal fights or kills for the love of blood as we do. 

And now this great monarch of the hills and plains, in all the prideand glory of his strength, had no wish to attack or kill; he boundedround and across the sandy space hoping to find some outlet, longingto be again upon his wild Andalusian hills he was never to see again. 

Another burst of music, a great fanfare of trumpets, and then slowlyin triumphal procession the picadors, mounted bull-fighters withlances, entered the ring. 

Theoretically, when these men enter, the savage beast they aresupposed to be encountering immediately makes a terrible charge uponthem; but, as a matter of fact, the bull never wishes to fight orattack any one, and does not, until his brutal captors absolutelyforce him into doing so. That is why a bull-fight, as well as beinghideously degrading and cruel, is also dull and tedious. 

If one were watching the grand natural passion of an animal fightingfor his life on the prairie, against another, with an equal fortune ofwar for both, there would be excitement in it. But in this case onesees an unwilling animal tortured into a fight, which it neither seeksnor understands, and which it has from the start no chance of winning. 

In this case, as in all I have seen, the beautiful Andalusian, havingmade his gallop round the ring and finding no chance of escape, hadsubsided into a quiet trot and when the picadors entered he stoodstill, demurely regarding them from the opposite side of the arena. 

The sunlight fell full upon him, on his glossy sides and grand head, from which the noble, lustrous brown eyes looked out with benign andgentle dignity on the great multitude, the sandy space, and thepicadors who were stealing slowly up to him. 

It is a difficult matter for the picador to approach the bull, for thehorses shrink from the awful fate awaiting them, and only by plunginggreat spurs into their sides can their riders get them to advance. 

Anything more unutterably cowardly and despicably mean than thepicador can hardly be imagined. Riding a poor, aged horse, generallyone that has been wounded in a previous combat, and that isabsolutely naked of all protection from the bull's horns, he ishimself cased from head to foot in metal and leather, so that by nopossibility can he be scratched. 

He comes into the ring with the deliberate intention of riding histottering, naked horse on to the horns of the bull, and the greaternumber of these helpless creatures he can get mangled anddisembowelled under him, the greater and finer picador he is and themore the people love him. Such is humanity!

On this afternoon the bull eyed the horses' approach with no ill-will, he seemed to be reflecting--"Perhaps these are friends of mine andwill show me the way out. " But when at last the picador, havingspurred his flinching horse close up to the bull's side, jabbed at hisglossy neck with his lance and the pain convinced the great monarchthey were hostile, he threw up his head with a snort and in a lithe, agile bound he passed by them and trotted quietly away. 

This enraged the people, and screams of "Coward! Coward!" went up fromall parts of the ring. 

How they can twist into any semblance of cowardice the benignity of ananimal that scorns to take any notice of what it sees is a feeble andpuny opponent is amazing, a fit illustration of the weakness of thehuman intellect. 

As the bull continued his gentle trot, unmoved, the audience grewfurious, and then began that tedious and utterly sickening chase ofthe unwilling bull by the faltering and unwilling horses. 

The bull, conscious of his great strength and absolutely fearless, hadall that chivalry which seems inherent in animals and which is quitelacking in man in his attitude to them. 

As the unfortunate horses were ridden up to and across the face of thebull, he did his best to avoid them. Over and over again the picadorsstabbed him with their lances and thrust their naked horses at hishead, but his whole attitude and manner said plainly: "Why should Itoss these poor old, trembling horses? I have no quarrel with them. Icould kill them in a minute, but I don't want to. "

The screaming fiends above him yelled and cursed and tore pieces ofwood from the seats to throw at him. Insults and invectives wereshowered on the picadors, until at last one of them, stung by thefilthy abuse of the mob, drove his spurs so deep into his horse thatthe animal reared a little; the picador then, with spur and knee, almost lifted him on to the long pointed horns of the bull, who, forced back against the hoarding, had lowered his head in anger as theblood streamed from the lance wounds in his neck. 

Then there was the horrid, low sound of grating horn against the ribsof the horse, the ripping of the hide; the animal was lifted into theair a moment, then fell. There was a gush of blood on the sand, bloodand entrails; with a groan it staggered quivering to its feet, made astep forwards, trod on its own trailing, bleeding insides, fell again, groaning with anguish, quivering convulsively. 

The people were delighted. They shouted and screamed and stood up ontheir seats and waved their kerchiefs, especially the women!

The picador, who picked himself up unhurt--indeed, cased in armour, hecould not well be otherwise--was cheered and cheered, and bowed andsmiled and took off his cap and swept it to the ground. And the bandcrashed loudly to drown the terrible groaning of the dying horse, struggling in agony on the sand. The bull, sorry rather than otherwiseapparently, walked away to another part of the ring, tossing his headin pain as the blood dripped from it. 

The people clapped delightedly. Suzee seeing all the women about herdoing so, put up her little hands and clapped too. 

I bent towards her and caught them and held them down in her lap. 

"Be quiet, " I said; "I won't have you clap such a disgusting sight. "

She stopped at once. A Mexican woman on my other hand, looked daggersat me for an instant, divining my words, but she was too eager to seeall the blood and the anguish in the arena, not to miss a throe of thedying horse, to turn her eyes away for more than a moment. 

So, after a scowl at me, she directed them again, bulging withsatisfaction, on the scene before her. 

From then on, for about an hour, the same hideous thing went on; horseafter horse was brought forward, pushed on the horns of the bull, tornand mangled beneath its cowardly rider, and then, if completely rippedopen, dragged dead or dying from the ring; if its wound was not largeenough to cause instant death, stuff or straw was thrust into it bythe attendants and the dying animal kicked, lashed, and dragged to itsfeet to be thrown again on to the sharp horns amidst the shouts andlaughs of the delighted crowd. 

Once, in a general mêlée, when the bull and several picadors were in atangled mass at one side of the ring, I saw one of these horses, terribly wounded, with its life pouring from it, emerge from theconflict and stagger unnoticed to the hoarding. 

It came close to the wall of the ring and looked over; its glazed, anguished eyes gazed from side to side as if asking: "Is there noescape, no mercy anywhere?"

A spectator on the audience side of the hoarding raised his hand andstruck it between the eyes. It tottered, staggered, and sank withinthe ring. 

Eight horses had now been rendered useless, the arena was black andred with blood, in spite of the assiduous sprinkling of fresh sand, and there was a pause in the entertainment. The picadors had had theirturn, the banderilleros were ready to appear, but the people werethoroughly enjoying themselves now and they stamped and roared"Caballos" till they were hoarse. That horrid cry for more and morehorses to be produced that alarms the administrador, or manager, ofthe bull-fight. 

In vain the attendants lashed and goaded the dying horses in thearena. They could not get them to their feet again. There is a limitto man's sway, the tortured life at last escapes him. The bodies weredragged away, more sand, and then the administrador himself, pale asashes, stepped out before the audience howling for more blood. 

"Señors, " he commenced, "it is impossible to supply more than eighthorses for one bull; there are five more bulls to be dispatched. Theyare more savage than this one. I must keep horses for them. Let theseñors be reasonable and allow the show to continue. "

At this promise of five more bulls there was general applause. Theband rolled out fresh music. There was a thunder of drums and thebanderilleros came on, gorgeous in velvet, glittering in spangle andtinsel. 

The bull is weary now and has lost much of his blood; as from thefirst, he only longs to escape from this ring, and the mad monkeys whoare gibing and gibbering at him in it. They came forward with theirfresh weapons, shafts and arrows of iron decked up with colouredribbons, which they throw at him and which stick on his shoulders andin his sides, drawing streams of blood wherever they strike him. 

Maddened by those, he rushes at the flaming coats the men trail beforehis eyes; but the cruel little, dancing, monkey-like man with thecloak darts away before he can be touched, and at last, after repeatedrushes and repeated failures, the grand creature stands still, weariedand disdainful, his head erect, the blood flowing from his wounds inwhich the darts move, swaying to and fro each time he stirs, causinghim an agony he cannot understand. So he faces the great crowded ringcontemptuously, and the people shout at him and call him a coward andscream for the espada to come and dispatch him. 

The banderilleros retire: they have weakened the bull so that there isnow no danger for the puny little two-legged creature who struts innext with a sword, and who is greeted with plaudits and triumphalmusic. Flowers are thrown him, bouquets, the men call him hero, thewomen throw kisses to him. 

He bows to the President, then turns towards the bull who standserect still, though the loss of blood must be telling upon him, standswith that same air of deadly _ennui_, of weary scorn of all this follywhich he has possessed from the first. Dusty and blood-stained hisglossy coat, bloodshot his great lustrous eyes. As he looks round thecircle already growing dim to them, does he long for his greenAndalusian pastures, does he see again those pleasant streams by whichhis herd is wandering?

The little manikin sidles up and jabs him behind the shoulder with hissword. The bull turns upon him, and he runs for his life. But the bulldoes not deign to follow. With a great show of precaution where thereis really no danger, the little man with the sword approaches again. Amidst cheers from the onlookers he plunges his sword between theshoulders of the dying monarch and then rushes backwards. The greatbeast sways, shivers in mortal anguish for a moment, and then withouta sound sinks, for the first time in this cruel and unequal combat, tohis knees. Sinks, full of a superb dignity to the end, and one asksoneself--"What _can_ the scheme of creation be that gives a creatureso clean-souled, so grand, into the power of such a miserable mass ofvile lusts as man?"

A moment more and the head crowned with its tapering crescent hornssinks forwards. A gush of blood from the nostrils on the sand, and itis over. The glossy form is still--at peace. 

With ridiculous manoeuvres the little man comes up again to the greatbeast, obviously dead and harmless, and withdraws his sword which hewaves triumphantly before the applauding populace. 

While he capers about before his delighted admirers, the attendantscome in and draw away with some difficulty the magnificent form of theslaughtered bull. 

The music broke into a loud march. There was an interval of relaxationfor the audience, to move, look about, chatter, and take refreshments. 

"This is the end, " I said to Suzee; "let us go now. "

"Oh, but Treevor, that man said he had five more bulls, look, nobodyis going yet, " she returned, having evidently followed in her ownsharp way the sense of the Spanish speech of the administrador. 

"Do you want to see any more?" I asked. "I think it is dull andtedious, as well as horrible. "

"The killing is not nice, " she said, in deference to my opinions, Isuppose; "but the music and the people are fun, I think. Do let usstay for one more fight. You won't want to bring me again. "

"No, I certainly shan't, " I answered. 

"Then do let me stay now, Treevor, just one more time. "

I shrugged my shoulders and sat back in my seat, and after a secondthe little door opposite opened and another bull, this time apparentlymad with pain, dashed into the ring. 

The people applauded him and the shouts and clappings increased hisexcitement. 

He bounded at full gallop across the sandy space and charged thehoarding that hemmed him in. 

The audience were delighted, but the toreadors entered the ring andstood together at one side, looking anxious, and some of theattendants came up and received orders from them. 

From the first the animal was unmanageable, out of all control. Thegoading and the enraging that goes on in the dens behind the arena hadbeen overdone apparently, for the bull, wild with rage and pain, galloped madly round, taking no notice of the pallid group oftoreadors. 

At last one or two came forward with their cloaks of scarlet; the bullmade a dash at them, scattering them on either side, then bounded onand with one tremendous leap cleared the hoarding that separatesspectators from the rings, and landed bellowing in the corridor thatran round it just below our seats. It was full of onlookers drawnnearer than usual to the hoarding by the excitement, and theyscattered and fled in all directions, while shriek upon shriek went upfrom the women all round us as they saw the bull clear the hoardingand come down amongst them. 

With one accord they stood up. Like a great wave breaking, they rushedupwards to the highest part of the ring, shrieks and screams on everyside telling of the trampled children and injured women in the franticpanic. 

Suzee rose with the rest, livid and trembling, and would have rushedafter that seething mass behind us, if I had not seized her arm andforced her back to her seat. 

"Sit down, stay where you are, " I said; "the bull will do you lessharm than that trampling horde. "

We were left there alone; groans and cries came from thepanic-stricken, struggling mass of people behind us; just beneath usin the emptied corridor stood the bull, snorting with lowered head, pawing the ground; in the arena, the administrador, green with terrorand anxiety, shouted commands to the pallid and trembling attendants. 

I sat still, holding Suzee. The bull paused for a moment in front ofus, then with his head lowered almost to the ground, made a terrificrush forwards, shattering the woodwork of the platform at our feet toatoms with his horns. Suzee gave a piercing shriek and fell across me, unconscious. The animal, startled by the scream, raised its head. 

In its rolling eyes I saw nothing but the madness of pain and terror. As it drew back for a second charge, in its mad effort to dash throughthe woodwork to liberty, I slipped sideways with the dead weight ofSuzee on my arm, into the seats on one side. It was not an instant toosoon. The next, the bull rushed forwards and our seats were falling insplinters about his head. Along, sideways, over chair after chair, Islipped, dragging and supporting Suzee as best I could. I heardscreams of terror and suffering all round us as the panic spreadamongst the people and they forced themselves in an ever-increasingmass upwards, fighting their way to the exits at the top of the ring. 

My mind was made up. All before me was clear and open, the seatsdeserted, below me ran the corridor leading to the entrance by whichwe had come in. For that I would make. 

There was some slight risk, for the bull, tired now of his futileefforts to destroy the wooden barriers in front of him, had turnedback into the corridor and started on a mad gallop down it round thering. 

I must drop down into the corridor before I could arrive at theentrance, and unless he were stopped he might meet us in the corridorbefore I could reach the exit. But his arc of the circle was a longone, mine to the exit was short, and, anyway, I preferred to chancemeeting him to trusting myself to the mercies of my own kind. 

I leapt down into the passage, and, lifting Suzee into my arms, passedon rapidly to the wicket. 

There was no one there. I went through, out into the golden sunlight. 

Outside, the accident and the panic had not yet become known. I saw acarriage, with its driver asleep upon the box, close to the main gate. I went up to it, put Suzee in and spoke to the man. 

"The lady has fainted, " I said; "drive us back to the Hotel Iturbide. "

The man, delighted at securing a fare so soon, seized the whip andreins and drove away full tilt before one of the struggling wretchesin the bull-ring had succeeded in getting out. 

Suzee recovered consciousness just before we reached the hotel, butwhen she had opened her eyes she closed them again instantly andcovered her face with her hands with a cry of terror. 

"Oh, Treevor, that awful bull; where is it now? It can't get at us, can it?"

"No, poor brute, " I answered. "You are safe enough now, Suzee; you aremiles away from the bull-ring. "

She was trembling so much she could hardly walk up the stairs to ourroom, and when we got there I made her go to bed while I sat by herputting cold compresses on her head. She complained of such pain init, I was afraid that the fright and shock would do her serious harm. 

I sat up with her through the night, and towards morning she fell intoa tranquil sleep. 

I paced up and down the quiet room lighted only by the night light, thinking over the horrid scene of the afternoon, and when it grew tobe day I was hungering so for a companion to speak to and to feel withme, that I drew out my writing-case and wrote a long letter to Viola. 

CHAPTER XI

THE WAY OF THE GODS

"But, Treevor, I am so very dull when you go out, and when you areworking it is as bad. I do miss my baby so to play with. "

"You did not strike me as a very devoted mother when I saw you atSitka, " I answered. 

"Oh, Treevor, he was a very fine boy, and I took so much care of him. Was he not a very large child?"

"Yes, he certainly was, and with a dreadful voice and a furioustemper. It's no use worrying me, Suzee, about the matter. I dislikechildren very much, and I do not wish nor intend to have any of myown. "

Suzee began to cry in the easy way she had. She seemed able tocommence and leave off just when she chose. 

"You are a little goose, " I said jestingly. "You don't know when youare well off. For months and months you would be ill and disfigured, unable to come about with me or be my companion, unable to sit to mefor my painting, and afterwards the child would be an unendurable tieand burden. Besides, as I say, I have an intense dislike to childrenand could never live with one anywhere near me. I am afraid, if youwant them, you must go away from me, to some one who has your views. "

Suzee came over to where I was sitting and knelt beside my chair, clasping both hands round my arm. 

"Treevor, " she said, almost in a whisper, "you are so beautiful withyour straight face, every line in it is so straight, quite straight;and your black hair and your dark eyes and your dark eyebrows. I wantthat for my baby. I want a son just like you; he must be just likeyou, and then I should be so happy. "

As she spoke, the lines of a poetess flashed across me, indistinctlyremembered--"beauty that women seek after ... That they may give tothe world again. "

Was this the reason of woman's love of beauty in men? Ah, not with allwomen! Viola loved beauty, as I did, as all artists do, as they lovetheir art, for itself alone. 

I stroked her smooth shining hair, gently, and shook my head, smilingdown upon her. 

"Do you not value my love for you?" I asked. 

"Oh yes, yes; you know I do. "

"Well, then understand this: you would utterly and entirely lose it ifyou became a mother. "

Suzee shrank away from me. 

"But why, Treevor? Hop Lee was so pleased with me.... "

"Men have different tastes. And it is well they have, or the worldwould be worse than it is. Some men like children and domesticity andsick-nursing and childish companionship; I don't. I like health andbeauty, and love and intellect about me, and women who are straightand slim and can inspire my pictures. That's why, Suzee, and I don'tsee any reason why I shouldn't gratify my tastes as they do theirs. There are plenty of men in the world who like being fathers offamilies; the world can well allow an artist to give it his artinstead. "

"Oh yes, Treevor, of course; but I am so sorry. I am so dull without ababy. "

We were sitting together in a light balcony of one of the hotels atTampico, and the subject of our conversation was one which had come upmany times between us lately. 

Some months had slipped by since the accident in the bull-ring. Suzeehad recovered from the shock with a few day's rest and care, and assoon as she was better we had started on a tour through the countryplaces of Mexico, and as it grew colder we had worked downwards to thegulf of Vera Cruz in the Tierra Caliente, or Hot Lands, and now weremaking a stay here on the coast, caught by the beauty of palm and seaand shore. 

Suzee, though apparently she had all that most young women covet, hadbeen for some time restless and dissatisfied, and the reason soonappeared in conversations like that of to-day. 

"Come along, " I said, getting up; "see what a lovely evening it is, let's go for a walk along the seashore. "

Suzee looked round at the translucent green bell of the sky that hungover us, disapprovingly. 

"It's always fine weather, " she said, rather sulkily; "and there'snothing to see on that old shore. "

"Nothing to see!" I exclaimed in sheer amazement. Then I stoppedshort, remembering her indifference to all I valued, and added: "Thereare most beautiful shells of every shape and colour, wouldn't you liketo get some of those?"

Suzee's face brightened immediately. This idea took her fancy at once. It appealed to her keen love of material things. Beauty in air and skywas nothing to her; but something she could pick up and handle, becomepossessed of, like the shells, deeply interested her. She rose atonce. 

"I had better take a basket, Treevor, " she said, "to carry them backin. " And while she went to get it, I leant over the balcony-railmusing on that great difference in character between woman and woman, man and man. Humanity might almost be divided into those two greatparts--those who love and live in ideas; and those who love, and arewholly concerned with, material things. 

She came back in a moment with a basket swinging in her hand. It hadnot seemed so necessary here in Mexico that she should dress inWestern clothes, so she had gradually relapsed into her gaily colouredsilks and embroidered muslins and Zouave jackets. This style ofdressing suited the tropical climate, and the convenances of Europeand America were too far off for anything to matter much here. It gaveher constant occupation, too, the making of her costumes; for she wasmarvellously quick and dexterous with her needle, and if I gave herthe silks she fancied she made them into dainty forms and embroideredthem with the greatest skill. As she came back now with her basket thelight fell softly on her lilac silk, all worked with gold thread, andon her pretty bare head with its block of black shining hair. 

We started for the shore, Suzee all animation now and chattering onthe possibility of sewing sea-shells into gold tissue or muslin. 

The sky all round and overhead was palest green and strangelyluminous, the sea before us stretched to the far horizon in tones ofgentlest mauve and violet, beneath our feet was the firm brown sandfor miles and miles unrolled like a glossy, sepia carpet. On one sidebroke the tiny waves in undulating lines of white; on the other, thewild sand-dunes, grown over with rough grass and waving cocoanutpalms, came down towards the sea. 

We walked on, both contented. I, in the strange colouring and the warmsalt breath in the air, that stirred the palm leaves till they tossedjoyfully in it; she, in the absorbing pursuit of the shells which layalong the sand, positively studding it, like jewels, with colour. Thetide had recently gone down over the shore where we walked and leftthem radiant, gleaming with moisture in the low light of the sun, pinkand scarlet, deepest purple and gold. She ran ahead of me, pickingthem up and filling her basket rapidly. I walked on slowly, thinking, while my eyes wandered over that shining, palpitating, gently heavingviolet sea. She had given herself to me entirely--and what beauty shehad to give! And yet she had failed to chain me to her in any way, greatly though she pleased my senses. It is, after all, something inthe soul of a woman, in her inner self, that has the power of throwingan anchor into our soul and holding it captive. Mere beauty throws itsanchor into the flesh, and after a time the flesh gives way. 

In a little while Suzee came running back to me; her basket was fullto overflowing: she was quite happy. 

"Take me up in your arms and kiss me, " she said. "Look, Treevor, weare all alone. What a great, great beach it is here, with not anothersoul to see anywhere. "

As she said, the firm brown plain of glistening sand stretched behindus and before us with not another footfall to disturb its silence, the wide white sand-dunes were deserted, the palms tossed theirgreeting to the sea through the glory of calm evening light. 

"Let us lie under those palms now; I am tired, " she said as I kissedher. And we went together and lay down under the palms on a raggedtussock of grass, and the light fell and grew deeper in tone round usand the amethystine sea, flushed with colour, swayed and heaved, murmuring its low eternal song by our side. 

A great vulture flapped heavily by and perched on a sand-hill not farfrom us, eyeing us somewhat askance, and some sea-gulls circled overus--otherwise we were undisturbed. 

The following day we planned to come down the river Tamesi, whichflows out at Tampico. We could not go up by boat, as the river was inflood and nothing could make headway against it, but the natives wereadepts at steering a boat down with the rapid current, and knew how tohandle it on the top of the flood. 

We took the train some distance up the line, and alighted at a placewhere the river flowed by between high banks and where boats could behad from the villagers. 

It was a perfect, cloudless day, and we reached our destination in thesweet fresh early hours of the morning. A walk through the tinyMexican village brought us to the bank of the river where the Tamesiflowed by, heavily, grandly, in all the majesty of its flood. 

The waters were brown and discoloured, but the sun glinting on itsripples turned them into gold, and the tamarisk on the bank droopedover it, letting its long strands float on the gliding water. 

A little way down the bank, moored to the side, rocked a boat, ofwhich the outline delighted me, and, to Suzee's annoyance, I stoodstill and drew out my note-book to make a sketch of it. 

It appeared to be the larger half of one immense tree of which theinside had all been hollowed out, both ends were raised and pointedand, in the centre, four bent bamboo poles, inclined together, supported a finely plaited wicker-work screen, which shielded a patchabout two yards square in the boat from the burning rays of the sun. 

I finished the sketch in a few minutes, and we went on towards theboat; its owners, two Mexican Indians, were sitting on the bankengaged in mending one of their paddles. They were quite naked exceptfor their loin cloths, and their bare, brown crouching figures gavethe last touch of suggested savagery to the scene. The red, earthybanks of the river stretched before us desolate and sunburnt; theswollen, muddy river itself rolled swiftly and heavily along, silent, impressive; the dug-out, looking like a craft of primeval times, rocked and swayed noiselessly on the flood; the naked savagescrouched over their broken paddle beneath the waving tamarisk; thesunlight fell torrid, blighting in its scorching heat, over all. Thescene, with its rough, fresh, vigorous barbarism, delighted me. Islackened my pace and stood still again before disturbing orinterrupting the men. 

"Suzee, " I said suddenly, "I admire this picture before us immensely. I should like to see it in the Academy to cheer up jaded Londonersnext season. I should be glad to stop here to-day to paint it. We cango down the river to-morrow. "

Suzee stared at me in dismay. 

"Oh, Treevor, you don't want to stay here all day, do you? It's sohot, and there's nothing to do, and, we shall miss the fair at Tampicoto-night. You promised we should see it"

I sighed. It was true, I had said something about the fair, but I hadforgotten it. Suzee, however, never forgot things of this sort and sheradically objected to any change being made in a programme. She didnot adapt herself quickly and easily to changed moods orcircumstances. 

Had Viola been with me, she would have said at once:

"_Would_ you like to stay here instead of going on? Do let's stay, then. We can go down the river any time. " And had I suggested therewould be nothing for her to do, she would have answered:

"Oh yes, I shall enjoy sitting watching you. " Her interest had alwayslain in me, in her companion; to what we did she was indifferent;provided we were together and I was pleased, she was content. It isjust this difference in women that makes it so delightful to live withsome, so impossible to live with others. There are some, very few, ofwhom Viola was one, who delight in the society of the man they love, who drink in pleasure for themselves from his enjoyment; there areothers, like Suzee, the majority, who are always at conflict with hiswishes in little things, striving after some independent aim orproject. 

And they wonder why, after a time, their companionship grows irksomeand they are deserted. They also wonder why sometimes the other womanis adored and worshipped and grows into the inner life of a man tillhe cannot exist without her. 

I felt then an extraordinary longing to be free from Suzee, to bealone. Here was a picture, set ready to my hand. A scene we had comeupon accidentally and that, in its barbaric simplicity, was not easilyto be found again. It was strong, striking, original. I saw it beforemy mind's eyes on the canvas already, with "On the Tamesi, Mexico"written on the margin. 

How could she ask me to lose it? But I could not break my word, as shechose to keep me to it. 

I said nothing, and, after a pause of keen disappointment, I walkedslowly on again towards the boat. 

The men were Indians, but they understood a little Spanish and Ibargained with them to take us down to Tampico where we should arriveabout seven the same evening, in time for the fruit-market and generalfair held in the Plaza. 

They were glad enough to take us as they were going down in any casewith a load of bananas and our fares would pay them well for the extraspace we took up in the boat. 

They hauled the dug-out to the bank and jumped in, clearing it of oldfruit baskets and arranging some rugs and mats under the shade of thewicker screen. Behind that, to the stem, the boat was filled with therich yellow of the bananas, the ruddy pink of the plantains, andmellow, translucent orange of the mangoes. They lay there in greatheaps, leaving only just space enough for the stem paddler to stand. 

The men motioned us to get in, which we did, and took our seatscross-legged in the centre on the mats, beneath the awning; glad ofits shade, for the sun's rays grew fiercer every moment. 

I put my unused sketch-pad behind me, gazing back regretfully over theyellow flood. The men pushed the boat out on to the waters and sprangin themselves, each armed with a long paddle; one taking his stand infront of us, one at the stern, and directed our little craft to thecentre of the huge and sullen stream. It rolled from side to side asit shot out over the surface, but as soon as the men got their paddlesto work, evenly with long alternate strokes, the flood bore us along, swiftly, smoothly, the dug-out floating steadily without rocking. 

The men stood, alert and watchful, on the lookout for submerged treesand floating débris; for at the swift rate we were now floating, anycollision would have brought great danger. 

I leant back, watching the banks pass swiftly by, mile upon mile ofred earth and waving tamarisk under the scorching blue. Suzee seemedmore interested in the stalwart figure of our forward boatman and theplay of his fine muscles under the smooth brown skin of his shoulderswhere the sun struck them. 

Had I loved her more I should have been angry; as it was, I was onlyamused, and glad of anything that occupied her attention and relievedme of the necessity of listening and replying to her childish chatter. 

How fast the boat sped on over the surface of the whirling stream thatrushed by those red banks, swift as the flash of life, hurrying on tolose itself in the ocean as life hurries on to lose itself in theinfinite. 

The banks were getting flatter, here and there the stream widened, the wild tamarisk, child of the desert, disappeared and gave way tocultivated fields and wide tracts of the maguey plant, dear andvaluable to the Mexican as the date-palm to the East-Indian. Roughyellow adobe huts stood here and there, their crude colouring ofunbaked mud turned into gold by that great painter, the tropical sun;and sometimes a palm stood by a hut, cutting the fierce light blue ofthe sky with its delicate, fine, curved, drooping branches; sometimesthe dark, glossy green of the organ cactus rose like jade pillarsbeside it. All these sped by us quickly, though at times the scene wasso engaging I could have held it with my eyes; but ruthlessly we werewhirled forward and the scenes on the bank kept slipping behind us, just as our dearest scenes and incidents in life keep slipping past, swallowed up by the ever-pursuing distance. 

Our red banks had been growing flatter and flatter and now they seemedto disappear, and the river instantly broadened itself out and spreadinto a lake, as if glad of the expansion. Over each bank, far oneither side, it rolled itself out in great shining flats of water, glittering and dazzling, impossible to look at in this hour of noon;and as if tranquillity had come to it with its greater freedom, theriver flowed more slowly and gently. 

Our boatmen stood at ease at their paddles, pushing quietly along, and I looked round with interest. We were in the centre of a greatlake in which here and there submerged trees and bushes made greenislands. An endless lake it seemed, a great waste of gleaming water. We floated along gently like this for some time, and then almostsuddenly when I looked ahead, I saw the end of the lake was closingin, there were woods and forests now upon its margin; a few morestrokes of the paddle and we were in shade, heavy, cool shade, wherethe water gleamed with a bronze shimmer. Narrower still the lake endbecame, the margins drew together, and with a swift push forwards, like the bolt of a rabbit to its hole, our boat shot forwards into alittle tunnel of darkness before us over which the interlacing boughsof the trees made a perfect arch. We were in the forest, and it wasdark and cool as it had been brilliant, dazzling with light and heat, on the lake. A dim, green twilight reigned here, and the river wentwith a swift, dark rush, past the roots of the overhanging trees. Howthey stooped over the water! Swinging down, interlacing boughs fromwhich vine and flowering creeper trailed. The standing figure of theboatman had to bend down and sway from side to side to avoid theclinging wreaths or mossy boughs and be wary with his paddle to escapethe snags projecting from the banks. 

How grand the great spanning arches of the trees were, above ourheads! Finer than any cathedral roof wrought by man. How soft theluminous green twilight seemed in the long aisle! And constantly frombough to bough twined a great scarlet-flowered creeper, glowing redlyin all this mystery of shade. The banks were thick with vegetation, one thing growing over another, with tropical luxuriance, untilsometimes here and there groups of plants, weary with the struggleeach to assert itself, had all fallen together over the bank andtrailed their long strands wearily in the water. 

The stream zigzagged on before us, here darkly green to blackness;there, where the light pierced through the upper boughs, a goldenbronze; then blue and silver where it caught and eddied and playedround a fallen tree or a stump in the river bed. 

We were going fast now, and as we shot along the glimmering stream weleft the thick green part of the forest behind us. The river broadenedout, expanded widely on either side, and in a few more minutes weseemed on a chain of infinite lakes spreading out on every side underand through the trees, which, though they met far overhead forming aperfect and continuous roof, were bare of leaves and flowering vinesbeneath. Grey trunks and bare brown branches in bewildering numbersnow surrounded us, and the sheets of water reflected all so perfectlydown to infinite depths that one lost sense of reality. Boughs andbranches, all arching and curving and spreading above us in thesoftened light, and boughs and branches and inverted trees below us, arches and curves and twisted networks; between, those long gleamingflats of water on which we floated silently without sense of motion, ever onwards. 

"It is a little like the wood at Sitka in times of river flood, " Suzeesaid to me, as we sat together watching the mirrored stems andbranches glide by beneath our boat. 

"Yes?" I answered, smiling back upon her at the remembrance of thewood. 

The stream was a wide flat here, and our boatmen suddenly directed theboat to the bank and brought it to a standstill. "We want to go onland here and buy mangoes, " he explained in Spanish. 

"Very good mangoes can be got here. "

We looked round and saw, some distance from the margin, amongst thestems of the trees standing thickly together, an adobe building, lowand flat, and some figures, not much more clothed than our boatmen, squatting in front of it, counting mangoes from a great pile intobaskets. 

He fastened the dug-out to one of the many tree stems, drawing itclose to the bank, and then he and his companion landed, leaving usalone in the lightly swaying boat. 

"We'll have lunch here, Suzee, don't you think?" I asked her, beginning to unpack the small basket we had brought. "Can you make teafor us there, do you think?"

"Oh yes, quite easily; they have a little kitchen here. "

In the forepart of the boat the Indians had fixed a piece of tin witha few bricks round it, forming a hearthstone and stove. On this theycooked their own food as their surrounding pots and kettles shewed. Afew embers from their last cooking glowed still between the bricks. Suzee leant over them, blew them into a blaze and then set our kettleon, getting out her little cups and saucers and ranging them on thefloor of the boat. 

I sat back and watched her. The whole scene was a delightful one andrivalled the one I had noted at starting. The gleaming water spreaditself in large flat mirrors on every side, and the trees standing init reflected beneath, and reaching up to the lofty roof ofoverarching, interlaced boughs above us, gave the effect of a hall ofa thousand columns. The adobe house of the fruit-seller seemedstanding on a precarious island, so high had the floods risen roundit, and numerous empty baskets and crates, evidently lifted from theirmoorings on the bank, drifted slowly about on the silvery tide. Ourboat itself was a lovely object with its fairy lines, its thread ofsmoke going up from it, and the little Oriental figure bending overthe red embers in its prow. 

We lunched and had our tea in this cool retreat of softened light, andknew the sun was beating with its murderous noonday glare justwithout. The boatmen came back after an interval with a huge load ofmangoes which they piled into the boat, and offered us sixty for fivecents. I gave them the five cents and took two or three of the fruitsfor myself and Suzee. Then the moorings were undone, the men jumpedin, and paddled us swiftly onwards. The proprietor of the adobe hutcame to the edge of his grove and saluted, as we passed by on a rapidcurrent; then he and hut and mangoes all glided from us, quickly as adream, and we were borne forward through the wonderful maze of treesover the tranquil sheets of water. 

All through the golden Mexican afternoon we descended the river, down, ever downwards, to the sea. Sometimes in the deep green shadows ofoverhanging trees, passing through the heart of a forest; sometimesout in the burning open beneath the clear blue of the sky, betweenflat plains of open country; sometimes on the breast of wide lakes;sometimes between high banks, where the boat went dizzily fast and thewaters passed the paddles with a sharp hiss as we rushed on; and eachof those moments was a delight to me, and even Suzee seemed affectedby the beauty and the poetry of the river, for she leant against mesilent and absorbed and her eyes grew soft and dreaming as the visionson the golden banks swept by; fields of sugar-cane and maguey, coffeeplantations with their million scarlet berries, waving banana andpalm, masses of delicate bamboo rustling as the warm breeze stirredthem. 

As the day melted into evening, the sky flushed a deep rosy red andseemed to hang over us like a great hollowed-out ruby glowing withcrimson fires. The waterway of the river before us turned crimson, andall the ripples in it were edged and flecked with gold. The greatlagoons, when we passed through them now, reflected the peace of thepainted skies and the marsh lilies floating on their surface becamejewels set in gold as the water eddied round them. 

In half an hour the glory faded, leaving a transparent lilac sky overwhich the darkness closed with all the swiftness of the tropics. 

As we neared the sea and the warm salt breath came up to us we saw thelight over the Market Square in Tampico and the masses of soft shadowof the trees in the Plaza. 

Frail, wooden boat-houses, with shaky landing-stages built out overthe water, lined the banks on either side, and at one of them ourboatmen suddenly drew in, and we disembarked in the soft darkness, suffused with the red light from the square and vibrating with themusic from a band playing there behind the trees. 

We got out and walked along the river-bank towards the seashore, wherethe sea lay calm and still, its black, gently heaving surfacereflecting the light of the stars. Where the river debouched, therewas a sheltered cove of fine white sand, and here every species ofgaily painted craft was drawn up. The light from the Market Square, ablaze with lamps, reached out to it and shewed boat after boat offantastic shape and colour, with striped awnings fixed on bamboo polesover their centre, lying in the shelter of the palm-trees that fringedthe cove. We rounded the slight promontory on our left hand and camefull into the light of the animated town. 

The fair was in progress, and numbers of fruit-sellers from all thecountry round, from the adobe hut and the large hacienda, or estate, of the Mexican gentleman, alike, had brought down their load of fruitto sell in Tampico. 

Not only was the Plaza itself filled to overflowing with fruit andother stalls, but they reached down almost to the shore, and very richand Oriental the scene looked, framed in deepest shadow from the Plazatrees on one side, and the smooth, black, starlit darkness of the seaon the other. 

Each stall had its own light, a bowl of flaming naphtha mounted on abamboo pole, and the light fell over the golden fruit--mangoe, plantain, and banana piled high upon it, and also all round thevender's feet as he stood by his stall in town costume of one longwhite muslin robe. 

There were other stalls where they sold Mexican drawn-work, carvedleather and filigree silver, others again with chairs set round whereone could have iced-fruit drinks or coffee, and the band playedsonorously and the crowd, good-natured, laughing, gaily dressed, men, women, and children of all sizes, strolled amongst the stalls, buying, looking, chattering, flirting, in the soft, damp heat of the night. 

Suzee was enchanted and stared about her with bold, lustrous glances, pleased at the admiring looks of the men on her strange pretty face. She steered me up to the silver-filigree stall and there had all thevender's wares put out for her inspection. She was keen enough whereher own particular interests were concerned, and the sellers ofartificial jewellery tempted her with their sparkling gewgaws not atall. Real solid worth was what she intended to obtain, and her tastein choosing the silver was excellent. 

Would I buy her this? Would I buy her that? And I assented toeverything. I only wished I could buy myself pleasure as easily. 

She chose a necklet, a brooch, and numberless bangles for her arms, all the smallest she could find, those generally made for children. When these loaded her little arms and the necklet was clasped roundher throat she was happy, and the curious, interested Mexicansgathered in a little knot round us, looked on with interest andevident approval at the Englishman's money being spent amongst them. 

We stayed in the square buying to her heart's content till eleven, andthen, after supper at a little table beneath the Plaza trees where theband played loudest, for Suzee loved music when it meant noise, wewent back to the hotel and to bed. 

The next day I went by train to the place where we had embarked forour voyage down the Tamesi, fully equipped with my materials for asketch--and alone. 

Suzee, adhering to her idea that it would be dull and hot on theriver-bank, had preferred to stay in the hotel playing with some ofthe treasures bought yesterday at the fair. 

Alone and undisturbed I sat all day sketching, till the fires werelighted in the West and warned me I must turn homewards. I had a goodpicture, and I packed up my traps with that deep sense of satisfactionthat accomplished work alone can give and walked slowly to thestation. As my thoughts slipped on to Suzee a sense of anxiety cameover me. Time was going on. The year would soon be over. What did Iintend to do? Once the year was past it would be impossible for me tocontinue living with her, even for a day. And now I felt so often Iwould rather be alone than with her. How would she feel over ourseparation? How could I provide for her happiness when I took back myfreedom?

Satiety was beginning to creep over the passion I had for her, andthat was still farther checked now that I knew she looked upon it moreas a means to an end--the child--rather than enjoyed it for itself. 

It worried me greatly this thought of her future and how I was goingto provide for it, and it seemed sometimes as if it might be better togive in to her; perhaps without me she would be happy if she had achild as she wished, provided I could make, as I could, a goodallowance to both. But then even with a child I could not imagineSuzee would want to remain alone, and what would be the fate of achild if other lovers came, or a husband?... 

While I did not think that Suzee loved me deeply, deep emotion notbeing within her range of powers, it was difficult to see how I couldfind for her an existence as pleasant as she led with me. 

All these things worried me greatly, and as Fate willed it, needlessly. 

How often in this life a way is suddenly opened out throughcircumstances where we least expect it. 

The Greeks said--"For these unknown matters a god shall find out theway. " And often indeed it happens that Fate steps in, and in some wayour wildest dreams have never pictured turns all our life to anotherhue suddenly before our eyes. 

One night when I had been making a little head of Suzee in herprettiest mood on my canvas, she came and sat on my knee and begged meto give her, as a reward for her sitting, a narrow band of gold Ialways wore on my left arm above the elbow. 

I refused, for Viola had given it to me and locked it on my arm. Shehad the key and I, even had I wished, could only have had it taken offby means of another key or melting the gold. 

At my refusal there was a storm of tears as usual, but it soon passedover on my kissing her and promising we would go to a jeweller's onthe morrow and have one something like it put on her own arm. 

She soon fell asleep after peace was restored, but I lay awake forhours watching the tracery of palm shadows on the wall opposite, thrown there by the light of the square. At midnight the lamp was putout, the room grew black, without a ray of light, and after a time I, too, fell asleep. 

I was awakened by a curious sense of a presence in the room. Myeyelids flew open, my ears strained. The room was one solid block ofblackness, there was no ray of light anywhere. I could see and hearnothing for a moment, though I was certain another living thing hadentered the room. Then at the same instant there was a violentvibration of the bed beneath me and a piercing scream from Suzee, ablind, wild cry to me for protection. 

Instinctively I threw my arms out to her. Her body was struggling, writhing. I felt it as my hands shot out and gripped fiercely, in thethick darkness, round two hard hairy arms, tense, rigid, as they heldher down. 

Suzee's voice broke out suddenly as my grip possibly loosened thepressure of those other hands upon her throat, and she was speaking in_Chinese_. A hot breath came on my eyes, some face must have beenclose to mine in the blackness; under my arms, on Suzee's wildlyheaving body, I felt something moving, warm and slow and soft, andknew that it was blood. 

"Suzee, " I called to her across her clamour of terrified entreaty, "get a light if you can. "

The hot breath came nearer. 

"Devil! Devil! This is your promise, your English word. " The soundcame to me like the hiss of steam close to my ear, but I knew thevoice of Hop Lee--Hop Lee buried in Sitka, thousands of miles away. 

The arms in my clutch struggled furiously; in their spasm of musculareffort they tore me upwards from the bed, as the lock of my fingerswould not give way. 

Suzee's voice clamoured in passionate entreaty, unintelligible to me. Then suddenly came a terrific twist, which wrenched away one of thearms, and a lightning stab, a deep burning in my shoulder, andsimultaneously a blaze of light. Over me hung the bent old form of HopLee, his right arm, lifted up, held a long knife raised for its secondstab. His face was alight with fury. Scarlet was already running inbright ribands over the whiteness of the bed, Suzee's blood and myown. I threw up my left arm and caught his wrist and turned the handand knife upwards till it pointed to the ceiling, my own arm stretchedto the fullest length upright. Suzee gave one horrible cry of terror, animal terror, and then there was silence beside me. 

"She has fainted, has fainted, " my brain muttered in itself. Asickening fear came into it as silence fell after that one awful cry. 

I had my revolver under my pillow. If I could reach it! I looked up tothe small red eyeballs of the Chinaman. 

They were insane, glaring, full of the wild, unreasoning lust to kill. Some instinct moved me to speak. 

"You were dead, I heard. I never had your wife while you were alive. "

"Liar! Liar! You shall pay me in blood. "

His hand with the knife in it twisted itself round in my grip. I feltmy uplifted arm losing its force. What was draining my strength? Thatstream coming softly from my shoulder. 

I lifted myself, trying to throw him backwards. My arm suddenly bentat the elbow and his hand with the knife in it zigzagged downwardsvery near to my throat. Age and feebleness had disappeared from him. He was strong now with the strength of insanity and of that blindleaping fury that glared out of his distorted face. There was a suddenstruggle as he dropped on my chest, then with my hand still locked onhis wrist we rolled together onto the floor. 

A moment and we were up on our feet and he had forced me backwards tothe bed. I felt my strength was going, but I still clung with asteel-like clutch to his wrist and kept the pointed knife at bay. Ashe bent me backwards on to the bed near the pillow, I took my righthand from his arm, snatched the revolver from under the pillow, thrustit into his face between the eyes, and fired. 

He fell forwards, a great hole torn in his forehead, from which ariver of blood poured, joining the bright ribands and with them makinga sea of crimson. 

I looked across him to where Suzee lay motionless. 

"Suzee, " I said, my breath almost dying in my throat. 

She stirred slightly. I was beside her in a moment. Her eyelids openedslowly. Then her eyes filled with terror. 

"Where is he?" she muttered. 

"Dead; he cannot hurt you any more. You are safe now. "

"No, Treevor, I am dying; it pains me so here. "

She laid one hand on her breast and I saw the blood well up betweentwo fingers. I tore aside the muslin veils on her bosom and found thewound: it was not large, just one clean stab, turning purple at theedges. 

"It is deep, Treevor; so deep. And it bleeds inside me. It is drinkingmy life. I have only a few minutes to tell you. Hold up my head. Ican't breathe. "

I slipped my arm beneath her little neck. My heart seemed breakingwith distress; black tides of resentment, of rage went through me, that she should be torn from me. 

"Listen, Treevor. It was I that lied to you. I told you he was dead, and the child. They were not. I ran away. I left them at Sitka. I cameto 'Frisco and took refuge with that woman. Then I wrote to you. "

A sudden horror of her seemed to enfold me as I heard. 

How she had lied and deceived me! And forced me to break my word!

"Because I wanted you so much and I knew you would never have me ifyou thought he was still alive.... Your stupid promise. What arepromises when one loves? I wanted you, Treevor, so much! So much!"

Some of the old fire flashed out of the dying eyes, a hungry, despairing look. 

"Kiss me, Treevor. Say you forgive me. "

But I could not. For the moment I was so stunned, so overwhelmed bythis sudden revelation of her deception. 

A deathly physical faintness was creeping over me; a sensation likethe beginning of long-denied sleep which rolls at last like anunconquerable tide, obliterating everything, through the exhaustedframe, was invading my whole body. I clasped one hand mechanicallyround the bed-rail to support myself, the ground seemed to lift andsway beneath my feet. 

I looked down on the little oval face that had lived so near to methrough the last year. How pale it was now, framed in the crimson mistthat stretched across the bed! At the slight, exquisite body so oftenheld in my arms. Was I to lose them now for all time?

"I did it all for you, because I wanted you so much. Do kiss me andsay you forgive. I shall not rest through a thousand years if you willnot. "

Grey shadows were collecting in her face, some unseen hand seemeddrawing the eternal veil between us. To me, life, with all itsdoings, was far away. I myself was standing in the uncertain mists ofdeath. Wide, limitless, and grey, the great plains of the hereafterseemed opening before me, dim, silent, and mysterious. 

Life, with its glare of colour, its triumphant music, its crash ofsound, was far behind me, almost forgotten; like clouds of indefinabletint, piled up on some distant horizon, rose the memories of itsloves, its woes, its crimes. 

Her weak voice calling on me to forgive seemed to have little meaningto me now. I leant forward, clasping her dying body to me, and kissedher lips, murmuring some words of consolation. Then the grey mistsrose up over my eyes sealing them, and I sank slowly into the perfectdarkness. 

PART FIVE

THE WHITE NIGHT

CHAPTER XII

THE FLAMES OF LIFE'S FURNACE

A large room with open windows shewing a great square of hot blue skyand a palm branch that swayed in front of them, bright gold in thevivid light, was before my eyes as I lay alone, stretched out on mybed, the mosquito-curtains draped round me, and raised on the sidenext the windows. 

How many weary days and nights had gone slowly by since that nightwhich hung veiled in crimson mists in my memory! Horrible night ofanger, of struggle, of death, of blood! Would its remembrance alwayscling to me like this?

Hop Lee thought I had broken my promise to him. That was the poisonedthorn that rankled and twisted and festered within me. No wonder hehad cursed me and wanted to kill me. And Suzee--how well she haddeceived me! I remembered her as she had sat trying to weep at thesupper-table in San Francisco, telling me of the last moments of HopLee, her own devotion to him, and the child in their dying sufferings!Husband and child that she had deserted so gladly! A dull anger burntwithin me at the thought of that deception, and most fiercely at theknowledge that she had forced me to break my word. 

Yet that anger, strongly though it flamed against her, could notwholly dry the tears that came between my lids as I thought of her. She had loved me in her own selfish, childish way, and had risked herown life as well as mine to come to me. 

After all, was it not I who had been in the wrong from the first? Ihad known she was married. Why had I ever looked at her with thatadmiration which had stirred her passion for me? Morley had warned me. Now it had ended like this and nearly cost us all our lives. But I, the most guilty of the three, had escaped, and they were both dead. 

I appeared to have broken my promise, and now, after already injuringhim so much--one who had never injured me--I had killed Hop Lee. I hadtaken his wife, who, he had said, was more than his life. Notsatisfied with that, I had taken his life, too! How horrible it allwas! I felt suffocated beneath the weight of it. But surely, surely itwas Suzee who had thrown this burden on me? Yes, but I had begun theevil far back in the sunny days at Sitka. 

Truly, as I had said to Morley, "One never knows in life. "

I had killed him, a poor harmless, defenceless old man who had trustedme!

One thing after another had gradually pushed me on to this climax, allhaving their origin in those careless glances exchanged in the Sitkatea-shop. 

They had thought I should die, too, all the people who had rushed intothe room and found us that night. Myself unconscious, and the othersdead. 

The cold voice of a doctor had been the first I had heard as sensecame back to me with the damp night air from the window blowing on myface:

"He's done for, I should say, you'd better take his depositions if hecan speak. "

I had opened my eyes and seen some men carrying out the body of HopLee and the tiny pliable form of dear little Suzee that I should neversee or clasp again. 

The landlord had come up ashy-pale and shaking, with a note-book inhis hand, and had questioned and re-questioned me, and I had answereduntil I fainted again. 

Next, after a black gap, I came to beneath the surgeon's probe whichhe was thrusting into my wound, as he would a fork into cold meat. 

"He won't get through, I should think; he has too much fever, " he wassaying, in the regular callous professional voice. 

"But I'm going to try the effect of this new antiseptic dressing, Iwant to see if it does harm or not. "

I opened my eyes and looked up at his hard, thin-lipped face, and heseemed somewhat disconcerted; but only jabbed his probe in a littledeeper and remarked jocularly:

"Ah, I see, you're tougher than I thought. "

More oblivion, and when I next came to I knew that _they_ had bothbeen carried away from me and buried--Hop Lee, and his wife besidehim, and that that chapter in my life was, for ever and ever, closed. 

Now I was in charge of a hospital nurse. A horrible creature she was, lean and hard-faced, with a straight slit across her face for mouth, and little grey, cruel eyes. Like a nightmare she hung round my bed, preventing me from getting better. 

All the fiendish tortures and cruelties that she had witnessed withinthe hospital walls had, I suppose, made her the thing she was. 

Days had passed, and very slowly a little strength had crept back intome, enough for me to see I was not getting well as quickly as my youthand strength would let me if there were no drawback. I drew all myforces together to try and understand this, and then I noticed thatregularly after each dose of physic I went back a little. 

More fever, more pain in my shoulder, more delusions before the brain. Each morning when the vitality within me had struggled through theevil effects of my medicine I was better, then came the harpy-facednurse to the pillow--my dose--then pain and illness again. 

The look on the face of the woman as I drank it was extraordinary. Asly, pleased look, as one sees on the face of a schoolboy dismemberinga living fly. 

One day I took the glass as usual from her, but instead of raising itto my lips, turned it upside down through the window. 

The woman turned red, and then livid. 

"What does that mean, sir, may I ask?"

"Simply that I am not going to take any more medicine, thank you, " Ireplied quietly, "as I now wish to get well. "

"My orders from the doctor are that you shall take it, " she saidgrimly; "and I'll make you. "

She poured out another glass of the medicine and approached the bed, with the intention, it seemed, of opening my mouth and pouring itdown. But I had had no weakening, sense-destroying drug that morning, and nature was rapidly curing me. 

She forgot that. As she came up, I sprang from the bed, put my hand onher shoulder, and forced her to the door. She shrieked and protested, but she could not resist. I put her outside and locked the door. 

Then I sank down trembling with exhaustion, for I was very weak. But Irejoiced to know my strength had come back even that much. I crossedto the window after a moment and looked out. In the distanceglimmered the sea, blue and joyous and beautiful. How I longed to beout near it, in its warm salt breeze! Beside my window grew thecompanion of my weary hours, the waving palm; beneath there was alittle flagged court, shut in by small buildings belonging to thehotel. There was a well there and a banana-tree, and a man sittingdown plucking alive a struggling fowl. I called to him in Spanish:

"Send the administrador to me. " And he looked up. 

A frightened look came into his face as he saw who it was that calledhim. Then he nodded, and carrying the unhappy bird by its feet, headdownwards, disappeared into the hotel. 

People and things move slowly with the Spaniards. I waited an hour, gazing out into the amethystine distance, wondering if Suzee's glad, careless, irresponsible little spirit was dancing there in thesunbeams; and then a knock came at the door. 

I walked to it and said: "Who is there?"

I recognised the voice of the administrador in his answer, andunlocked the door and bid him come in. 

He did so, with an alarmed aspect. 

"Have you seen the nurse?" I asked. 

"Yes, " he replied; "she told me you were again delirious and hadrefused to take your medicine, and that she must refuse allresponsibility for you. "

"I am not at all delirious, as you see, " I answered; "I simply want toget well, and each time I take their stuff I get worse; so I am goingto cease taking it. Now what I ask you to do is to keep that woman andthe doctor and the surgeon out of my room. All I want is to be leftalone, to be quiet. The surgeon took all the stitches out yesterday. There is no need for _him_ to see me again, and the others I won'thave in here. "

"But the responsibility, really, Señor, " the man muttered looking allways at once, "and the good doctor--such an amiable man. What objectcould he have in not curing the Señor quickly?"

"The object of prolonging his fees, " I answered smiling, "I shouldthink. When I get well, his fees stop. " Then it occurred to me thisman had also an object in keeping me here, since my hotel bill wouldcertainly stop, like the doctors' fees, when I got well; so I added:

"What day of the month is it? The twentieth? Well, listen to this. IfI am well, perfectly well by the end of the month, I will give you acheque for fifty pounds in addition to my bills, just to show mygood-will. "

Now £50 is much to a Mexican, and over this man's face spread a lookas of one who has a glimpse of Paradise. He looked down immediately, however, and said deprecatingly:

"How can I influence the Señor's getting well? These things are asthe good God wills. I can hire a Sister to pray for the Señor. That Ican do. "

"Thank you, " I said. "But if you will keep the doctor and nurse out ofmy room and send me good food and water I shall get well and the fiftypounds is yours. Do you understand, if they come into this room againyou lose it. I only wish to be alone. "

The man bowed and bowed. 

"As the Señor wishes, but the good amiable doctor, what should I sayto him?"

"What you please, only don't let him come near me. "

"And when the Señor is well there are many little matters to settle. The Consul and the Magistrate.... "

I stopped him. 

"Not now. I am to have ten days in peace, and alone, or you don't getthe money. "

The man stood bowing and shuffling and muttering for some minutes. Then the thought of the £50 came before him too dazzling to resist, and with a final: "It shall be exactly as the Señor wishes, " hewithdrew. 

And so now I lay alone. Ah, what a comfort solitude is!

Freedom and solitude! Are these not two sweet Sisters of Mercy?

How few of all worldly ills and sorrows can they not either cure orassuage? Or, rather, perhaps, ought one not to call them mates, fromwhich the child, Content, is born?

I lay there, weak and suffering still, but a balm seemed poured allover me, for now I was alone. 

I fell asleep after a time and did not wake till it was dark. I feltstronger, better. Sleep had nursed me in her own way through all theafternoon. 

A lamp had been lighted on the table beside me and only needed turningup. There was a tray of food there and a carafe of water. I took alittle of both and felt life stirring in all my veins, now that theparalysing grip of the deadly drugs they had been giving me was liftedoff. 

I lay still, gazing about the large, shadowy room and into the violetdusk of the square beyond the window, and then gradually sleep cameover me again. 

In less than an hour I started up from my bed, wide-awake. I thought Ihad been with Hop Lee. I looked round the room. All was just as I hadseen it last. I sank back on my pillow. "It was only a vivid dream, " Isaid to myself, and then fell to wondering what the dream had been. Icould not remember. It seemed some communication had been made to mybrain while I slept, that it had received very clearly, but now that Iwas awake it could not retain nor understand it, but it could, and didremember that I had dreamed of Hop Lee, and that it was a pleasantdream. 

Yes, the man I had murdered had been with me, had spoken to me, andthe impression was that of rest, of calm, of some aching self-reproachbeing appeased. 

"Just a dream, of course, " I said to myself; "but how odd that Icannot remember at all what he said. " An hour perhaps passed by whileI lay quiet, strangely comforted by the dream I had forgotten; andthen I lapsed back into sleep and again Hop Lee was with me, speaking, telling me something earnestly, exhorting me gently, and again I wokewith a feeling of gratitude, of peace; but I could recall nothing ofwhat had been said to me. 

The light burned steadily beside me, and I sat up and thought. 

The feeling of tranquillity that spread through me, so different fromthe feverish self-reproach that had gripped me ever since I had killedHop Lee was so marked, so wonderful in its effect on me that I couldnot feel it was the result of a dream. No, the spirit of the old manhad been there, absolving me of my broken word, absolving me of hismurder. The fact that I could not remember, could not recall orunderstand when awake my dream or his words, seemed to shew that insleep a mysterious message from a hidden source had been conveyed tome, which, from its nature and the nature of my ordinary materialbrain, could not be received by the latter. From that hour I began toget well rapidly. Often and often in the long nights or the lonelyquiet days, I tried to call up a dream to me, a vision of either ofthem again; often I longed to speak to Suzee once more. But neveragain did any shade come to my pillow. He had come that once, of thatI was convinced. To others it would always seem as if I had dreamedthat night. I knew, by some inner sense, I had been spoken to by thesoul of the old dead Chinaman, and forgiven. 

The time passed evenly in that calm solitude. Sometimes still I wasburnt with fever and racked with pain and got but poor food, and oftenlonged for a hand to give me water in the dark nights. And Ilonged--ah, how I desired, infinitely, to send to Viola, tell her, andask her to come to me!

I felt she would come then, that she would fly to me once she heard Iwas ill, in actual need of her. 

But my pride refused to let me do this. 

I had begged her to come in the name of our love, appealed to herthrough our passion. I would never appeal to her pity. 

Besides, I could not bear that she should see me now, wrecked instrength, a shadow, a skeleton of myself. 

Fever had reduced me to the last thin edge of existence. As Istretched out my arms before me, they looked like some grim ghastlystranger's, I did not recognise them. No, she should come back to mewhen I had regained the full glory of my health and strength that Iknew she delighted in. 

So I waited with all the patience I could command, and sleep andNature nursed me between them till I was quite well. 

Then came long-drawn-out procedure in the Mexican courts. I haddocuments to write and sign, affidavits to make out, interrogations toanswer; but finally the Law was satisfied. I was acquitted. I heardthe decision with a curious feeling. How little it seemed to matterbeside the inner knowledge of my heart, that Hop Lee himself had beenwith me, and knew and understood. 

One afternoon then, after the satisfying of nearly endless claims uponme, I looked at the long, flat, rolling sea with its reefs of palmsfor the last time, and took the train northwards away from Tampico. 

The year was not yet over, but I was going back to be in London, orvery near it. For would she not write first to my club? and here ittook at least three weeks for my letters sent on from the club toreach me. 

I did not wish to live actually in town yet till Viola joined me, toadvertise our separation, unnecessarily, to our friends, but I thoughtI would live practically hidden somewhere near, so that letters couldreach me from London the same day. 

Within a month I was back in London and went first of all to call forletters. Amongst them I recognised instantly there was not one fromViola. And, depressed and disappointed, I went down into the country, to work. 

Work, the dear mistress of an artist's life, the one that never leaveshim but is there always waiting to receive him back to her, to consolehim in her arms for all the wounds that love has made. 

Month after month went by and I worked at the painting, turning intofinished pictures the many sketches life with Suzee had given me. 

As I worked on some of these a wave of sad reflection would sweep overme, of memory of her, but the recollection of the deceit and lies inwhich her love for me had been always cloaked came with that memoryand blunted the poignant edge of it. 

Then suddenly one morning came a letter from Viola, and my heartseemed at the sight of it to fly upwards and forwards to the future asa swallow let out of a darkened room flies upwards and outwards with aswift rush to the open light. 

 "Bletchner's Hotel, Paris. " "If you wish, you may come to me. "

That was all, but it was enough. Within a few moments I was ready fordeparture. For weeks a little case had stood ready packed against thewall of my room. All else was left standing. 

I went to town, caught the morning train to Dover, and crossed toCalais. 

I reached Paris finally about six and drove to a hotel. I dined in mytravelling clothes in the restaurant, and then went up to my room todress. What keen life I felt in all my veins! How strongly all thepower of living had come back to me! Ordinarily, when we are well weget so accustomed to our health and strength we are hardly aware ofeither, but there are times when we become supremely conscious ofboth, as I was now. As I walked about my small apartment I felt apride and joy in my strength such as a woman feels, I suppose, in herbeauty when she surveys it in the mirror--a wild elation, a sense oftriumph, as she realises in it her power. The thought of theapproaching meeting with Viola danced before my mind, filling it withsuperb delight. All my veins seemed filled with fire instead of blood. My limbs and muscles flew to do the bidding of the eager, impatientbrain. 

I drove to Bletchner's Hotel and enquired for Madame Lonsdale, and wasimmediately shewn up to her suite of apartments. The salon I enteredwas empty. A door faced me at the other end. It was closed. My heartleapt up as I saw it. Was she there--just on the other side? The salonwas lighted with shaded electric lamps and furnished and hung entirelyin white, so that there was that dazzling effect of light I knew shealways loved. I walked up and down in short quick turns, longing to goup to that tantalising door and knock, but holding myself back. 

After a moment it opened and she came through it towards me. For onesecond before I rushed forward to clasp her in my arms, I stood togaze at her, and the sweetness, the enchanting glamour of the visionwas borne in upon me and locked itself into my memory for ever. Shewas in white, some soft white tissue that fell round her closely, edged with silver that seemed like moonlight on white clouds, andthere was a little silver on her shoulders and round the breast thatseemed like moonlight upon snow. Her fair hair shone in the blaze oflight, her face raised to mine was pale and smiling, with a wonderfullustre in the azure eyes. 

She seemed, as ever, the dream, the vision, the ideal, theunattainable divinity man's soul continually strives after. 

A moment more and she was in my arms. Her physical semblance was mine, in which her spirit walked and moved, and I was the owner andconqueror of that at least. 

"Trevor dear, be gentle!" she murmured in laughing remonstrance, buther white arms did not unlock from my neck nor her soft lips move farfrom mine. 

"How happy I am now, " she said, sinking into my embrace, "and how wellyou look, Trevor, how splendid! So strong and gloriously full oflife!"

"I wonder I do, " I answered, "after this cruel year you gave me. Howcould you leave me as you did while I was asleep beside you, and whatwas your reason? You will have to tell me now. "

"I believe you would be happier if I did not, if you just trusted meand never asked to know, " she answered, smiling back at me. "Are wenot perfectly happy now? You have me again; look at me, am I just thesame as when we parted?"

I looked at her intently, eagerly, my eyes drinking in all the perfectvision before me, each slim outline of the body, lying back now on thecouch where we both were sitting, all the delicacy of the transparentskin, the smooth white forehead with its fine, straight-drawneyebrows, the lovely eyes searching mine. Yes, I had lost nothing ofmy possession, and there seemed rather something added to that innerlight and that wonderful look of intellect and power that shonethrough the face. 

"I think you are the same, " I said slowly, seeking vainly to expressthat indefinable extra light that seemed upon her face. 

"Only perhaps more lovely. But tell me what your reason was. I cannotbear to think there is a dark gap between us. "

"You are so happy at this moment it seems a pity, " she murmuredsoftly. "You will not feel so happy when you know, and it's all overand past and forgotten. It's a thunderstorm that has rolled by andleft us again in the sunlight. We are in Paradise now, are we not?"

I looked at her, and the triumph of delighted joy I had in her rose upto my brain, filling it, making all else seem obscure and of noaccount. Yet something in her words stirred my brain anxiously. Whyshould I mind hearing what she had to say? Was it possible that shehad acted on her first letter to me, after all, and, while forcingfreedom on me, taken it also for herself? Was it possible she had lentmy possession, herself, to another? That blind, insensate jealousy ofthe male in physical matters instantly flamed up through me. In thatmoment of extreme passion for her, of expected triumph and delight, itburnt at its most furious pitch. I felt I must _know_, must drag thesecret out of her, and if it was what I thought in that unreasoningmoment, I would kill us both. 

I threw myself forward on her so that she could not move. "Now tellme, " I said. "You shall tell me, you promised you would. "

Viola looked up at me with a regretful gaze but without any shrinkingfrom my savage look and grasp. 

"Certainly I will, " she said gently; "but you will regret forcing meto tell you. Well, I left you, Trevor, because I found I was going tobe the mother of your child. "

"Viola!"

Had she stabbed me in the breast as I leant over her, the shock couldnot have been more great. To me the words seemed to go straight to myheart and stop it. I could not speak beyond that one word. For themoment I was absolutely stunned, paralysed. I took my hands from herarms which I had been holding, rose from the couch mechanically, andwalked away from her, trying to realise, to understand what she hadsaid and its meaning. 

This was the fact that stood out most clearly before my disorderedmental vision: knowing she was going to be in danger, to suffer, shehad fled from me to bear the burden of it alone. And, next, that I hadbrought that burden and suffering on her. That spirit, so far aboveearthly things, as I always thought her, I had dragged down to knowthe common trials, share the common lot of earthly womanhood. The painof these two ideas, the agony they brought with them to me in thosemoments was something almost unendurable. I felt crushed, absolutelyground into the dust before it. I sat down by the table and put bothhands across my eyes, shutting out her exquisite vision, trying toshut out my thoughts. I felt as a religious enthusiast might feel whoin a moment of drunken madness had outraged a sacred shrine. 

Viola was to me, had always been, far more than a wife or a mistressis to a man; she was also the Idea to my brain, and what his Idea isto an artist an artist alone can know. But it is something he willlive and die for, and count his heart's blood as nothing beside it. That she was a sacred thing, to be protected and guarded from thesordid incidents of daily life that she hated, had always been mythought. She was an artist, and as such had Art's own penalties topay--the excessive nervous strain it puts upon the body, the longweakening tension, the extreme mental and bodily fatigue thatsometimes accompanies or follows an artist's flight into the Elysianfields, from which he brings back those deathless flowers of music, verse, song, or colour to plant in the world. It is not fair that sucha one should have to bear the common ills of life as well as pay thosepenalties. 

That had always been my view. Viola was apart from the world, adaughter of the gods, not suited for, nor designed for the commonsufferings of the clay. Love she might know, or rather must know, forlove is always the handmaiden to Art, but motherhood, no. For thosethousands and thousands of women who inhabit this world and have nodivine gifts to bestow maternity is a pleasing and naturaloccupation; for the one amongst those thousands who has heard theDivine whisper and walked and conversed with the gods, and who canrepeat those whispers to mortals, it is a waste of divine energy--asacrilege. For genius is not handed down. It is given to one alone. Itis not hereditary. For genius accumulated through heredity would atlast produce a god. And that the jealous gods will not allow. Therefore the child of a genius is rarely a genius itself. It is bornwith a veil across its eyes that it may not see divinity and so returnto the common type. 

Knowing all this and feeling it keenly to my heart's core, I had givenmy promise to Viola. A promise, which indeed was part of a religion tome, and this was how I had kept it!

The intense humiliation of it all rolled through me, stunning me likea physical agony. 

I heard her voice speaking gently to me, but I could not understandwhat she said, could not respond. 

In memory, I was listening again to her voice when she had come thatfirst night to the studio:

"You will not let our love drag us down to earth, will you? Let itonly inspire us more. We will go to the Elysian fields together togather the amaranth flowers. You will not try to turn me into theordinary married woman. I could not accept those duties and thatlife. I want to live in my music, in the heaven of Ideas, as I do now. And to you I want always to be the vision, the dream, the spirit ofyour thoughts: never the wife, the mother, the keeper of thehousehold, occupied with worldly matters. "

And I had promised with all the rapture and the fervour of one whounderstood and thought her thoughts, and who had always longed toescape from the commonplace, the trivial matters of the world, towhom, as to her, the deathless amaranth flowers of beauty, of art, ofIdea, of inspiration were all. 

But the promise had been broken. Through me she had known pain, suffering, danger, inability to work, anxiety, daily care for monthsand months alone. The exquisite, perfect form I had counted so sacred, had suffered the common earthly lot. And through me. My thoughtsseemed crushing me, grinding me beneath them, but at last her voicepenetrated to my brain, through its anguish of self-reproach. 

"I knew you would feel it so much, dear Trevor, that was why I kept itsecret from you and went away, but now it is all over and past, youmust not dwell on it. It is irrevocable. Don't reproach yourself aboutit. Let us be glad we are in Heaven now. "

I rose and went over to her and knelt by the couch, raising one of herhands to my lips and holding it against me. 

"Dear! Dearest one! You went away to endure all that misery alone, sothat it should not distress me? How wonderfully unselfish you havealways been to me!"

"Oh, no, " she answered quickly, a light colour rising all over herface. 

"You must not think that. I went away for myself, too. I could notbear that you should see me disfigured, spoiled, as you would think. Ihad always been the ideal to you. I could not bear to let you see meas an ordinary woman. I was afraid I should lose your passion for me, which I value more than anything else in the world. I felt I couldface everything but that. Terrifying and horrible as it all was tomeet quite alone, still it was better than feeling I was losing yourlove and desire. "

"But you would not have done, " I said vehemently; "nothing could makeany difference to my love for you. "

"Not to your love, perhaps, but our passions are not in our owncontrol. They rise under certain influences, sink and decline underothers, and we can do nothing. We must look these things in the face. See now, if I were suddenly turned to an old, old woman, witheredbefore your eyes, would you feel as you feel now?"

"No, " I answered slowly, "I admit old age.... "

"Or hopelessly disfigured--my face rendered hideous by burns orloathsome with disease? You could not desire me then, I should notexpect it. Love is unchangeable, but passion is a flame that shiversin every transient breeze. We can't help it. It _is_ so. As I look atyou now I love you for your strength and grace, above all for yourbeautiful form. If you hobbled into the room, bent and lame, I shouldlove you still but not as I do now, quite, quite otherwise. And I wasdisfigured, temporarily, I know, but it went on for months and months. I was no longer your gay, glad spirit with the radiant wings. I wasbroken, distorted, hideous. "

"Don't tell me, " I muttered; "I can't bear it. " She put one arm roundmy neck and her soft lips on my hair. 

"It is over, " she whispered. "Do not be sorry, do not reproachyourself. It was so much better for you not to know, not to see it. Itwould all have preyed upon you so from day to day. _I_ felt the longwaiting. It seemed the time would never pass, and each day and night Ifelt so glad to know you were not there, to suffer with me, but away, quite out of reach of it all. "

"But suppose you had died ... Without me. "

"The chances were against that. And if I had, it would have still beenbetter that you should be away ... For you. I would have come to youafter death, really a spirit then, and lived ever after in your soul. "

I put my arms round her, living, warm, beautiful, in the flesh. 

"What a lonely, terrible year for you!" I said. "It never occurred tome ... I never dreamed ... And I can't understand now.... "

"You remember the night I came back from Lawton's place to you? ... You were mad with jealous rage, and I am so little accustomed toresist you.... Well, it was my punishment for even thinking I couldleave you.... At least, I have always accepted it as such. "

"I can never, never forgive myself. "

"I knew you would take it like that, and now you see I can make yousoon forget it. If you had felt like this for weeks and months itwould almost have killed you. "

She played with my hair and her lips touched my eyebrows. 

"Yes, " she answered, looking back at me sadly and closely. "Are yousorry?"

"No, I am not sorry, " I answered savagely. 

"I thought you would not be. "

"Are you?"

She sighed. 

"I hardly know. It was so like you, Trevor, such a very, verybeautiful boy, exactly like you in miniature. I loved it, of course; Icould not help it, but it is better as it is, better that it shoulddie. We could not foresee how it would grow up, and so many men, themajority, are such monsters, such cruel fiends, it is really a crimeto bring one into the world. "

I was silent, thinking over that wonderful devotion and courage shehad shewn me. Of all the solutions to the problem of her flight fromme, this had never presented itself to my mind. We are taught both bytradition and experience how most women cling to their lover at such atime. Though indifferent, even faithless to him in their beauty andhealth, they come to him then for protection, for assistance. Fortheir name's sake, to save their conventional honour, they will evenaccept marriage with one they no longer love, or force themselves onone they know has no longer love for them. 

But how different this one, as always, had been! To preserve inviolatethe spirit of our love, she had gone forward to meet what must to asensitive nature like hers have been a time of horror and terror, absolutely alone, unsupported except by the thought that I was away, free, unable to share her misery!

With gifts in both hands she had come to me and laid them all in mine. Then, when I had broken my trust and brought distress upon her, whenshe was in need and I could have been the one to give, she had fledaway from love, from consolation, from any return or reparation. Proud, courageous, independent, untamable, as she had always been, shewas in comparison with other women as a lioness is to a gazelle. 

I folded my arms round her tighter at these thoughts, for the lionesswas mine and I owned her. 

Perhaps, after all, it was worth while to suffer that agony ofself-reproach I had just now, and was suffering still, to see put insuch shining light before me her courage and her worth. 

This was a white night, surely, as the others had been coloured, foras white is the blending of all the colours into one, so in this nightall the emotions of those previous nights were blended. Passion, jealousy, triumph, and an agony like death had all swept over me inthese few short hours, and now from them all, blent together andburning as metals in a smelter, rose up the extreme white vivid flameof love for her like the white silken tongue of fire, the last degreeof fiercest heat that the smelter can produce. 

I bent over her, looking down into her eyes, deep down into thoseliving depths where I seemed to see the rays of an eternal heaven, clasping the smooth breast to me, closely, that its passionateheart-beats might answer my own, and in our veins burnt that intensewhite flame that melts into itself the glory of the immortal Spirit, the wonder of the hereafter, and all the joys of the world.