[Illustration: "'Tell me, ' she said, 'did you ever really do anythingfoolish in your life?'"]

 The Good Comrade

 By

 UNA L. SILBERRAD

 Illustrated by Anna Whelan Betts

 New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1907

 COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY DOUBLEDAY PAGE & COMPANY PUBLISHED, SEPTEMBER, 1907

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. THE POLKINGTONS

 II. THE DEBT

 III. NARCISSUS TRIANDRUS AZUREUM

 IV. THE OWNER OF THE BLUE DAFFODIL

 V. THE EXCURSION

 VI. DEBTOR AND CREDITOR

 VII. HOW JULIA DID NOT GET THE BLUE DAFFODIL

 VIII. POOFERCHJES AND JEALOUSY

 IX. THE HOLIDAY

 X. TO-MORROW

 XI. A REPRIEVE

 XII. THE YOUNG COOK

 XIII. THE HEIRESS

 XIV. THE END OF THE CAMPAIGN

 XV. THE GOOD COMRADE

 XVI. THE SIMPLE LIFE

 XVII. NARCISSUS TRIANDRUS STRIATUM, THE GOOD COMRADE

XVIII. BEHIND THE CHOPPING-BLOCK

 XIX. CAPTAIN POLKINGTON

 XX. THE BENEFACTOR

 XXI. THE GOING OF THE GOOD COMRADE

 XXII. THE LINE OF LEAST RESISTANCE

XXIII. PAYMENT AND RECEIPT

ILLUSTRATIONS

"'Tell me, ' she said, 'did you everreally do anything foolish in yourlife?'" Frontispiece

"Julia"

"A wonderful woman"

"'Now you must call your flower aname, ' he said"

THE GOOD COMRADE

CHAPTER I

THE POLKINGTONS

The Polkingtons were of those people who do not dine. They lunched, though few besides Johnny Gillat, who did not count, had been invitedto share that meal with them. They took tea, the daintiest, pleasantest, most charming of teas, as the _élite_ of Marbridge knew;everybody--or, rather, a selection of everybody, had had tea with themone time or another. After that there was no record; the _élite_, whowould as soon have thought of going without their heads as withouttheir dinner, concluded they dined, because they were "one of us. " Butsome humbler folk were of opinion that they only dined once a week, and that after morning service on Sundays; but even this idea wasdispelled when the eldest Miss Polkington was heard to excuse hernon-appearance at an organ recital because "lunch was always so lateon Sunday. "

Let it not be imagined from this that the Polkingtons were commonpeople--they were not; they were extremely well connected; indeed, their connections were one of the two striking features about them, the other was their handicap, Captain Polkington, late of the ----thBengal Lancers. He was well connected, though not quite so much so ashis wife; still--well, but he was not very presentable. If only hehad been dead he would have been a valuable asset, but living, he wasdecidedly rather a drawback; there are some relatives like this. Mrs. Polkington bore up under it valiantly; in fact, they all did so wellthat in time they, or at least she and two of her three daughters, came almost to believe some of the legends they told of the Captain. 

The Polkingtons lived at No. 27 East Street, which, as all who knowMarbridge are aware, is a very good street in which to live. The housewas rather small, but the drawing-room was good, with two beautifulQueen Anne windows, and a white door with six panels. The rest of thehouse did not matter. On the whole the drawing-room did not so verymuch matter, because visitors seldom went into it when the MissPolkingtons were not there; and when they were, no one but a jealouswoman would have noticed that the furniture was rather slight, andthere were no flowers except those in obvious places. 

There was only one Miss Polkington in the drawing-room that wintryafternoon--Julia, the middle one of the three, the only one who couldnot fill even a larger room to the complete obliteration of furnitureand fitments. Julia was not pretty, therefore she was seldom to befound in the drawing-room alone; she knew better than to attempt tooccupy that stage by herself. But it was now almost seven o'clock, toolate for any one to come; also, since there was no light but the fire, deficiencies were not noticeable. She felt secure of interruption, andstood with one foot on the fender, looking earnestly into the fire. 

That day had been an important one to the Polkingtons; Violet, theeldest of the sisters, had that afternoon accepted an offer ofmarriage from the Reverend Richard Frazer. The young man had not leftthe house an hour, and Mrs. Polkington was not yet returned from someafternoon engagement more than half, but already the matter had beenin part discussed by the family. Julia, standing by the drawing-roomfire, was in a position to review at least some points of the casedispassionately. Violet was two and twenty, tall, and of a finepresence, like her mother, but handsomer than the elder woman couldever have been. She had undoubted abilities, principally of a socialorder, but not a penny apiece to her dower. She had this afternoonaccepted Richard Frazer, though he was only a curate--an aristocraticone certainly, with a small private income, and an uncle lately madebishop of one of the minor sees. Violet was fond of him; she was toonice a girl to accept a man she was not fond of, though too wellbrought up to become fond of one who was impossible. The engagement, though it probably did not fulfil all Mrs. Polkington's ambitions, wasin Julia's opinion a good thing for several reasons. 

There was a swish and rustle of silk by the door--Mrs. Polkington didnot wear silk skirts, only a silk flounce somewhere, but she got morecreak and rustle out of it than the average woman does out of twoskirts. An imposing woman she was, with an eye that had once beendescribed as "eagle, " though, for that, it was a little inquiring andeager now, by reason of the look-out she had been obliged to keep fora good part of her life. She entered the room now, followed by hereldest and youngest daughters, Violet and Chèrie. 

"At twelve to-morrow?" she was saying as she came in. "Is that when heis coming to see your father?"

Violet said it was; then added, in a tone of some dissatisfaction, "Isuppose he must see father about it? We couldn't arrange something?"

"Certainly not, " Mrs. Polkington replied with decision; "it is not forme to give or refuse consent to your marriage. Of course, Mr. Frazerknows your father does not have good health, or trouble himself to mixmuch in society here--it is not likely that an old military manshould, but in a case like this he would expect to be called upon; itwould have shown a great lack of breeding on Mr. Frazer's part had hesuggested anything different. "

Violet agreed, though she did not seem exactly convinced, and Juliacreated a diversion by saying--

"Twelve is rather an awkward time. A quarter of an hour with father, five minutes--no, ten--with you, half an hour with Violet, altogetherbrings it very near lunch time. "

"Mr. Frazer will, of course, lunch with us to-morrow, " Mrs. Polkingtonsaid, as if stray guests to lunch were the most usual and convenientthing in the world. The Polkingtons kept up a good many of theirfarces in private life; most of them found it easier, as well aspleasanter, to do so. "The cold beef, " Mrs. Polkington said, mentallyreviewing her larder, "can be hashed; that and a small boned loin ofmutton will do, he would naturally expect to be treated as one of thefamily; fortunately the apple tart has not been cut--with a littlecream--"

"I thought we were to have the tart to-night, " Julia interrupted, thinking of Johnny Gillat, who was coming to spend the evening withher father. 

Mrs. Polkington thought of him too, but she did not change her mind onthis account. "We can't, then, " she said, and turned to the discussionof other matters. She had carried these as far as the probable date ofmarriage, and the preferment the young man might easily expect, whenthe little servant came up to announce Mr. Gillat. 

Mrs. Polkington did not express impatience. "Is he in thedining-room?" she said. "I hope you lighted the heater, Mary. "

Mary said she had, and Mrs. Polkington returned to her interestingsubject, only pausing to remark, "How tiresome that your father is notback yet!"

For a little none of the three girls moved, then Julia rose. 

"Are you going down to Mr. Gillat?" her mother asked. "There really isno necessity; he is perfectly happy with the paper. "

Perhaps he was, though the paper was a half-penny morning one; he didnot make extravagant demands on fate, or anything else; nevertheless, Julia went down. 

The Polkingtons' house was furnished on an ascending scale, whichfound its zenith in the drawing-room, but deteriorated again veryrapidly afterwards. The dining-room, being midway between the kitchenand the drawing-room, was only a middling-looking apartment. They didnot often have a fire there; a paraffin lamp stove stood in thefire-place, leering with its red eye as if it took a wickedsatisfaction in its own smell. Before the fire-place, re-reading thealready-known newspaper by the light of one gas jet, sat JohnnyGillat. Poor old Johnny, with his round, pink face, whereon a grizzledlittle moustache looked as much out of place as on a twelve-year-oldschool-boy. There was something of the school-boy in his look and inhis deprecating manner, especially to Mrs. Polkington; he had alwaysbeen a little deprecating to her even when he had first known her, abride, while he himself was the wealthy bachelor friend of herhusband. He was still a bachelor, and still her husband's friend, butthe wealth had gone long ago. He had now only just enough to keep him, fortunately so secured that he could not touch the principal. It wasa mercy he had it, for there was no known work at which he could haveearned sixpence, unless perhaps it was road scraping under a not tooexacting District Council. He was a harmless enough person, but whenhe took it into his head to leave his lodgings in town for others, equally cheap and nasty, at Marbridge, Mrs. Polkington felt fate washard upon her. It was like having two Captain Polkingtons, of adifferent sort, but equally unsuitable for public use, in the place. In self defence she had been obliged to make definite rules for Mr. Gillat's coming and going about the house, and still more definiterules as to the rooms in which he might be found. The dining-room wasallowed him, and there he was when Julia came. 

He looked up as she entered, and smiled; he regarded her as almost asmuch his friend as her father; a composite creature, and a necessaryconnection between the superior and inferior halves of the household. 

"Father not in, I hear, " he said. 

"No, " Julia answered. "What a smell there is!"

Mr. Gillat allowed it. "There's something gone wrong with Bouquet, " hesaid, thoughtfully regarding the stove. 

The "Bouquet Heater" was the name under which it was patented; it didnot seem quite honest to speak of it as a heater, so perhaps "Bouquet"was the better name. 

Julia went to it. "I should think there is, " she said, and turned itup, and turn it down, and altered the wicks, until she had improvedmatters a little. 

"I'm afraid your father's having larks, " Johnny said, watching her. 

"It's rather a pity if he is, " Julia answered; "he has got to see someone on business to-morrow. "

"Who?"

"Mr. Frazer, a clergyman who wants to marry Violet. "

Mr. Gillat sat upright. "Dear, dear!" he exclaimed. "No? Really?" andwhen Julia had given him an outline of the circumstances, he addedsoftly, "A wonderful woman! I always had a great respect for yourmother. " From which it is clear he thought Mrs. Polkington was to becongratulated. "And when is it to be?" he asked. 

"Violet says a year's time; they could not afford to marry sooner anddo it properly, but it will have to be sooner all the same. "

"A year is not a very long time, " Mr. Gillat observed; "they go fast, years; one almost loses count of them, they go so fast. "

"I dare say, " Julia answered, "but Violet will have to get marriedwithout waiting for the year to pass. We can't afford a longengagement. "

Mr. Gillat looked mildly surprised and troubled; he always did whenscarcity of money was brought home to him, but Julia regarded it quitecalmly. 

"The sooner Violet is married, " she said, "the sooner we can reducesome of the expenses; we are living beyond our income now--not a greatdeal, perhaps, still a bit; Violet's going would save enough, Ibelieve; we could catch up then. That is one reason, but the chief isthat a long engagement is expensive; you see, we should have to havemeals different, and fires different, and all manner of extras if Mr. Frazer came in and out constantly. We should have to live altogetherin a more expensive style; we might manage it for three months, or sixif we were driven to it, but for a year--it is out of the question. "

"But, " Mr. Gillat protested, "if they can't afford it? You said hecould not; he is a curate. "

"He must get a living, or a chaplaincy, or something; or rather, Iexpect we must get it for him. Oh, no, we have no Church influence, and we don't know any bishops; but one can always rake up influence, and get to know people, if one is not too particular how. "

Mr. Gillat looked at her uneasily; every now and then there flittedthrough his mind a suspicion that Julia was clever too, as cleverperhaps as her mother, and though not, like her, a moral and socialpillar standing in the high first estate from which he and the Captainhad fallen. Julia had never been that, never aspired to it; she was nosuccess at all; content to come and sit in the dining-room with himand Bouquet; she could not really be clever, or else she would haveachieved something for herself, and scorned to consort with failures. He smiled benignly as he remembered this, observing, "I dare saysomething will be done--I hope it may; your mother's a wonderfulwoman, a wonderful--"

He broke off to listen; Julia listened too, then she rose to her feet. "That's father, " she said, and went to let him in. 

Mr. Gillat followed her to the door. "Ah--h'm, " he said, as he saw theCaptain coming in slowly, with a face of despairing melancholy and adrooping step. 

"Come down-stairs, father, " Julia said. "Come along, Johnny. "

They followed her meekly to the basement, where there was a gloomylittle room behind the kitchen reserved for the Captain's special use. A paraffin stove stood in the fire-place also, own brother to the onein the dining-room; Julia stooped to light it, while her father sankinto a chair. 

"Gillat, " he said in a voice of hopelessness, "I am a ruined man. "

"No?" Mr. Gillat answered sympathetically, but without surprise. "Dearme!" He carefully put down the hat and stick he had brought with him, the one on the edge of the table, the other against it, both so badlybalanced that they fell to the ground. 

"You shouldn't do it, you know, " he said, with mild reproof; "youreally shouldn't. "

"Do it!" the Captain cried. "Do what?"

Julia looked up from the floor where she knelt trimming thestove-lamp. "Have five whiskeys and sodas, " she said, examining herfather judicially. 

He did not deny the charge; Julia's observation was not to be avoided. 

"And what is five?" he demanded with dignity. 

"Three too many for you, " she answered. 

"Do you mean to insinuate that I am intoxicated?" he asked. "Johnny, "he turned pathetically to his friend, "my own daughter insinuates thatI am intoxicated. "

"No, " Julia said, "I don't; I say it does not agree with you, and itdoesn't--you know you ought not to take more than two glasses. "

"Is that your opinion, Gillat?" Captain Polkington asked. "Is thatwhat you meant? That I--I should confine myself to two glasses ofwhiskey and water?"

"I wasn't thinking of the whiskey, " Johnny said apologetically; "itwas the gees. "

The Captain groaned, but what he said more Julia did not hear; shewent out into the kitchen to get paraffin. But she had no doubt thathe defended the attacked point to his own satisfaction, as he alwayshad done--cards, races, and kindred pleasant, if expensive, things, ever since the days long ago before he sent in his papers. 

These same pleasant things had had a good deal to do with the sendingin of the papers; not that they had led the Captain into anythingdisgraceful, the compulsion to resign his commission came solely fromrelatives, principally those of his wife. It was their opinion thathe worked too little and played too much, and an expensive kind ofplay. That he drank too much was not said; of course, the Indianclimate and life tempted to whiskey pegs, and nature had not fittedhim for them in large quantities; still that was never cast up againsthim. Enough was, however, to bring things to an end; he resigned, relations helped to pay his debts, and he came home with the avowedintention of getting some gentlemanly employment. Of course he nevergot any, it wasn't likely, hardly possible; but he had something leftto live upon--a very small private income, a clever wife, and someuseful and conscientious relations. 

Somehow the family lived, quite how in the early days no one knew;Mrs. Polkington never spoke of it at the time, and now, mercifully, she had forgotten part, but the struggle must have been bitter. Herself disillusioned, her daughters mere children, her positioninsecure, and her husband not yet reduced to submission, and alwaysprone to slip back into his old ways. But she had won through somehow, and time had given her the compensations possible to her nature. Shewas, by her own untiring efforts, a social factor now, even a socialsuccess; her eldest daughter was engaged to a clergyman of sufficient, if small, means, and her youngest was almost a beauty. As to theCaptain, he was still there; time had not taken him away, but it hadreduced him; he gave little trouble now even when Johnny Gillat came;he kept so out of the way that she had almost come to regard him as anegligible factor--which was a mistake. 

Both the Captain and his friend had a great respect for Mrs. Polkington, though both felt at times that she treated them a littlehardly. The Captain especially felt this, but he put up with it; afterall it is easier to acquiesce than to assert one's rights, and, asJohnny pointed out, it was on the whole more comfortable, in spite ofhorse-hair chairs, down in the basement than up in the drawing-room. There was no need to make polite conversation down here, and one mightsmoke, no matter how cheap the tobacco, and put one's feet up, andreally Bouquet was almost as good as a fire when you once get used toit. 

Johnny was of a contented mind, he even looked contented sitting bythe empty stove when Julia came back with the paraffin; the Captain, on the other hand, appeared to be very gloomy and unhappy; he satsilent all the time his daughter was present. As she was leaving theroom Johnny tried to rouse him. "We might have a game, " he suggested, looking towards a pack of cards that stuck out of a half-openeddrawer. 

"I have nothing in the world that I can call my own, " CaptainPolkington answered, without moving. 

Mr. Gillat felt in his own lean pockets surreptitiously. "We mightplay for paper, " he said. 

And as she went up-stairs Julia listened to hear their chairs scroopon the kamptulikon floor as they drew them to the table; she wassurprised not to hear the sound, but she imagined the game must havebeen put off a little so that her father could talk over his troubles. Which, indeed, was the case, though the magnitude of those troublesshe did not guess. 

CHAPTER II

THE DEBT

Violet's engagement was an accepted fact. Mr. Frazer came to see theCaptain, who received him in the dining-room--the combined ingenuityof the family could not make the down-stairs room presentable. Theinterview was short, but satisfactory; so also was the one with Mrs. Polkington which followed; with Violet it was longer, but, no doubt, equally satisfactory. Lunch, too, was all that could be desired. Mrs. Polkington's manners were always gracious, and to-day she had acharming air of taking Richard into the family--after having shut allthe doors, actual and metaphorical, which led to anything real andpersonal. The Captain was rather twittery at lunch, at times inclinedto talk too much, at times heavily silent and always obviouslysubmissive to his wife. Yesterday's excitement was not enough toaccount for this in Julia's opinion. "He has been doing something, "she decided, and wondered what. 

Mrs. Polkington and her daughters all went out that afternoon; Julia, however, returned at about dusk. As the others had no intention ofcoming back so soon, there was no drawing-room tea; a much simplermeal was spread in the dining-room. Julia and her father had only justsat down to it when they heard Johnny Gillat's knock at the frontdoor, followed a minute afterwards by Mr. Gillat himself; but when hesaw that the Captain was not alone, he stopped on the threshold;Julia's presence, contrary to custom, seemed to discompose him. He, then, was in her father's secret, whatever it might be; she guessed asmuch when she saw his perturbed pink face. However, she did not sayanything, only invited Mr. Gillat to have some tea. 

Johnny sat down, and put a small and rather badly tied parcel besidehim; next minute he picked it up again, and began surreptitiously toput it into first one pocket and then another. It was rather a tightfit, and in his efforts to do it unobtrusively, he made somedisturbance, but no one remarked on it; Captain Polkington because hewas too despondent, Julia because it did not seem worth while. Conversation languished; Julia did what she could, but her fatheranswered in monosyllables, and Mr. Gillat said, "Very true, " or "Ah, yes, yes, " eating slice after slice of thick bread and butter, andfilling his mouth very full as if to cork it up and so prevent hishaving to answer awkward questions. 

At last Captain Polkington rose; "Gillat, " he said, "if you havefinished, we may as well go down-stairs. "

Johnny set down his half-finished cup of tea with alacrity, and withalacrity followed the Captain. But Julia followed too; Johnny turneduneasily as he heard her step behind him on the dark stairs;doubtless, so he told himself, she was going to the kitchen. She wasnot, however; on the contrary, she showed every sign of accompanyingthem to the little room behind. 

"Do you want anything, Julia?" her father asked, turning about in thedoorway; "I'm busy to-night--I wish you would go away. "

The sentence began with dignity, but ended with querulousness. ButJulia was not affected; she came into the room. "I want to talk toyou, " she said, closing the door. "You had much better tell me aboutit, you will be found out, you know; mother would have guessed therewas something wrong to-day if she had not been so busy with Mr. Frazer. "

"Found out in what?" the Captain demanded; "I should like to know ofwhat you accuse me--you, my own daughter--this is much, indeed. "

He paced the hearthrug with outraged dignity, but Julia only drew oneof the horse-hair chairs to the table. "You would do better to tellme, " she said; "I might be able to help you--Johnny, won't you sitdown?"

Johnny took the cane deck-chair, sitting down nervously and so nearthe edge that the old chair creaked ominously. Captain Polkingtonpaced the rug once or twice more, then he sat down opposite, giving upall pretence of dignity. 

"It is money, of course, " Julia went on; "I suppose you lost at theraces yesterday--how much?"

The Captain did not answer, he seemed overwhelmed by his troubles. "How much?" Julia repeated, turning to Mr. Gillat. 

"It was rather much, " that gentleman answered apologetically. 

Julia looked puzzled. "How could he have much to lose?" she asked. "You couldn't, you know, " bending her brows as she looked at herfather--"unless you borrowed--did you borrow?"

"Yes, yes, " he said, rather eagerly; "I borrowed--that was it; ofcourse I was going to pay back--I am going to pay back. "

"From whom did you borrow?" Another pause, and the question again, then the Captain explained confusedly: "The cheque--it came a dayearly--I merely meant to make use of it for the day--"

"The cheque!" Julia repeated, with dawning comprehension. "The chequefrom Slade & Slade that mother was speaking of this morning. Ourcheque, the money we have to live on for the next three months?"

"My cheque, " her father said, with one last effort at dignity; "madeout to me--my income that I have a perfect right to spend as I like; Iused my own money for my own purposes. "

He forgot that a moment back he had excused the act as a borrowing;Julia did not remind him, she was too much concerned with the facts totrouble about mere turns of speech. They, like words and motives, hadnot heretofore entered much into her considerations; consequences werewhat was really important to her--how the bad might be averted, howthe good drawn that way, and all used to the best advantage. Thispoint of view, though it leaves a great deal to be desired, has oneadvantage--those who take it waste no time in lamentation or reproof. For that reason they are perhaps some of the least unpleasant peopleto confess to. 

Julia wasted no words now; she sat for a brief minute, stunned by themagnitude of the calamity which had deprived them of the largest partof their income for the next three months; then she began to lookround in her mind to see what might be done. Captain Polkingtonoffered a few not very coherent explanations and excuses, to which shedid not listen, and then relapsed into silence. Johnny sat opposite, rubbing his hands in nervous sympathy, and looking from father todaughter; he took the silence of the one to be as hopeless as that ofthe other. 

"We thought, " he ventured at last, tugging at the parcel now firmlywedged in his pocket. "We hoped, that is, we thought perhaps we mightraise a trifle, it wouldn't be much help--"

But neither of the others were listening to him, and CaptainPolkington interrupted with his own remedy, "We shall have to manageon credit, " he said; "we can get credit for this three months. "

"We can't, " Julia assured him; "the greater part of that money was tohave paid outstanding bills; we can't live on credit, because wehaven't got any to live on. "

"That's nonsense, " her father said; "it can be done with care andeconomy, and retrenchments. "

Julia did not answer, so Johnny took up the words. "Yes, yes, " hesaid, "one can always retrench; it is really marvellous how little onecan do with, in fact one is better for it; I feel a different man forhaving to retrench. Your mother's a wonderful woman"--he stopped, thenadded doubtfully as he thought of the lost apple tart--"I suppose, though, she would want to make a good appearance just now, with theengagement, Mr. Frazer in and out. It is very unfortunate, very. "

By this time he had untied his parcel, and flattening the paper on hisknees began to put the contents on the table. There were somefield-glasses, a breast pin, and a few other such things; when he hadput them all out he felt in his waistcoat-pocket for his watch. 

"They would fetch a trifle, " he said, regarding the row a littleproudly. 

"Those?" Julia asked, puzzled. 

"Yes, " Mr. Gillat said; "not a great deal, of course, but it would bea help--it might pay the butcher's bill. It's a great thing to havethe butcher's bill paid; I've heard my landlady say so; it gives astanding with the other tradespeople, and that's what you want--sheoften says so. "

"You mean you think of selling them for us?" Julia asked, fixing herkeen eyes on Johnny, so that he felt very guilty, and as if he oughtto excuse himself. But before he could do it she had swept hisbelongings together. "You won't do anything of the kind, " she said. 

"Why not?"

"Because we won't have it. Pack them up. "

"Oh, but, " Johnny protested, "it would be a little help, it wouldindeed; they would fetch something, the glasses are good ones, thougha bit old-fashioned, and the watch--"

"I don't care, I won't have it, " and Julia took the matter into herown hands, and began with a flushed face to re-pack the thingsherself. 

"Is it that you think I can't spare them?" Gillat asked, stillbewildered. "I can--what an idea, " he laughed. "What do I want withfield-glasses, now? And as to a watch, my time's nothing to me!"

"No, I dare say not, " Julia said, but she tied the parcel firmly, thenshe gave it to him. "Take it away, " she said, "and don't try to sell athing. "

She opened the door as she spoke, and he, accepting it as a hint ofdismissal, meekly followed her from the room. When they had reachedthe hall above he ventured on a last protest. "Why may I not sellanything?" he asked. 

"Because we have not quite come to that, " she said, with a ring ofbitterness in her voice: "We have come pretty low, I know, with ourdodges and our shifts, but we haven't quite come to depriving you. Johnny"--and she stretched out a hand to him, a thing which was rare, for no one thought it necessary to shake hands with Mr. Gillat--"it'svery good of you to offer; I'm grateful to you; I'm awfully glad youdid it; you made me ashamed. "

Johnny looked at her perplexed; the note of bitterness in her voicehad deepened to something more he was altogether at a loss tounderstand. But she gave him no opportunity for inquiry, for sheopened the street door. 

"Good-bye, " she said, her usual self again, "and don't you let mecatch you selling those things. "

"Oh, I say! But how will you manage?" he protested. 

"Somehow; I have got several ideas already; I'm better at this sort ofgame than you are, you know. "

And she shut the door upon him; then she went back to CaptainPolkington. 

"Father, " he said, "would you mind telling me if you have borrowed anyother money? It would be much simpler if we knew just how we stood. "

The Captain seemed to have a painfully clear idea of how he stood. "Your mother, " he remarked, with apparent irrelevance, "is such anunreasonable woman; if she were like you--if she saw things sensibly. But she won't, she'll make a fuss; she will entirely overlook the factthat it is my own money that I have lost. "

"I am afraid she will, " Julia agreed. "Will you tell me if you lostany one else's money as well?"

"Oh, a trifle, " the Captain said; "nothing to speak of yesterday; Ihave borrowed a little now and again, at cards and so on; a triflingaccommodation. "

"From whom?"

"Rawson-Clew. "

Julia nodded; this was bad, but it might have been worse. Mr. Rawson-Clew was not a personal friend of the Polkingtons, and he wasnot a man in an inferior position who might presume upon his loan tothe Captain to establish a friendly footing. On the contrary, he wasin a superior position, so much so that for a moment Julia was at aloss to understand how he came to accommodate her father. Then sherecalled his face--he had been pointed out to her--he looked agood-natured fool; probably he had met the Captain somewhere and beensorry for him, or perhaps he did not like to say "no. " In any case hehad lent the money and, so Julia fancied, would have to wait a verylong time before he saw it again. She dismissed the young man from hermind and fell to working out plans to meet the more pressingdifficulties. 

The relations would have to help; not with money; they would not dothat to a useful extent, but with invitations. Chèrie was easilyprovided for; Aunt Louise had before offered to take her abroad forthe winter; Chèrie did not in the least want to go; it was likely tobe nothing nicer than acting as unpaid companion to a fidgety oldlady; but under the present circumstances she would have to go. ForViolet it was not quite so easy; it would look rather odd for her togo visiting among obliging relatives, seeing that she was only justengaged--how things looked was a point the Polkingtons alwaysconsidered. But it would have to be managed; Julia fancied somethingmight be arranged at Bath, a place which was a cheap fare fromMarbridge. Mrs. Polkington would probably go somewhere for part of thetime, then there could be some real retrenchments not otherwisepossible. Mary might be dismissed; Mr. Gillat even might come to boardwith them for a little; the outside world need not know he was a guestthat paid. 

Julia was not satisfied with these plans; they would barely meet thedifficulty she knew, even with credit stretched to the uttermost andthe household crippled for some time; but she could think of nothingbetter, and determined to suggest them to Mrs. Polkington. With thesethoughts in her mind, she went up-stairs; as she passed thedrawing-room, she noticed that the blinds had not been pulled down;she went to the window to remedy the omission, and so saw in thestreet below the young man who, with the debt owing to him, she hadlately dismissed from her mind. There was a street lamp directly belowthe window, and she stood a moment by the curtain looking down. Mr. Rawson-Clew was riding past, but slowly; it was quite possible to seehis face, which did not contradict her former opinion--good-naturedbut foolish, and possibly weak. He turned in his saddle just below thewindow to speak to his companion, and she noticed that it was astranger with him, a man wearing a single eyeglass, ten years olderthan the other, and of a totally different stamp. Indeed, of a stampdiffering from any she had seen at Marbridge, so much so that shewondered how he came to be here, and what he was doing. But this wasrather a waste of time, for the next day she knew. 

The next day he came down the street again, but this time alone and onfoot. He stopped at No. 27, and there asked for Captain Polkington. Julia, hearing the knock, and the visitor subsequently being usheredinto the dining-room, guessed it must be Mr. Gillat, perhaps come withhis parcel again; when she saw Mary she asked her. 

"No, miss, " was the answer; "it's another gentleman to see themaster. "

"Who?" Julia's mind was alert for fresh difficulties. 

"Mr. Rawson-Clew. "

"I don't know who he is, " Mary went on; "I've never set eyes on himbefore, but he's a grand sort of gentleman; I hardly liked to put himin the dining-room, only missis's orders was 'Mr. Gillat or anygentleman to see the master there. '"

Which was true enough, and might reasonably have been reckoned a safeorder, for no one but Mr. Gillat ever did come to see the Captain. 

"I hope I've done right, " Mary said. 

"Quite right, " Julia answered, though she did not feel so sure of it. The name and the vague description of the visitor somehow suggested toher mind the stranger who had ridden past with young Mr. Rawson-Clew. She went up-stairs, uneasy as much from intuition as from experience. In the hall she stood a minute. The dining-room door did not shut toowell, the lock was old and worn, and unless it was fastened carefully, it came open; the Captain never managed to fasten it, and now it stoodajar; Julia could hear something of what was said within almost assoon as she reached the top of the kitchen stairs. The visitor spokequietly, his words were not audible, but the Captain's voice wasraised with excitement. 

"The money, sir, the money that your cousin lent--accommodationbetween gentlemen--"

So Julia heard incompletely, and then another disjointed sentence. 

"Do you take me for an adventurer, a sharper? I am a soldier, sir, asoldier and a gentleman--at least, I was--I mean I was a soldier, I ama gentleman--"

Julia came swiftly up the hall, the instinct of the female to spreadfrail wings and protect her helpless belongings (old equally as muchas young) was strong upon her. The pushed open the dining-room doorand walked in. 

"Father, " she said, "is anything the matter?"

Both men turned, the stranger clearly surprised and annoyed by theinterruption, the Captain for a moment thinking of pulling himselftogether and dismissing his daughter with a lie. But he did not do it;he was too shaken to think quickly, also there was a sense ofreinforcement in her presence; this he did not realise; indeed, herealised nothing except that she spoke again before he had collectedhimself. 

"Is it about the money Mr. Rawson-Clew lent you?" she asked. 

He nodded, and she turned to the other man, who had risen on herentrance, and now stood with his back to the evil-smelling stove whichMary had lighted as usual in honour of Captain Polkington's visitors. She measured him swiftly, and no detail escaped her; the well-bredimpassive face, where the annoyance caused by her entrance showed onlyin the rather hard eyes; the straight figure, even the perfection ofhis tailoring and the style of his boots--she summed it all up withthe rapidity of one who has had to depend on her wits before. And herwits were to be depended on, for, in spite of the warmth of herprotective anger, she felt his superiority of person, position andability, and, only too probably, of cause also. She could have laughedat the contrast he presented to her father and herself and thesurroundings. It was perhaps for this reason that she asked himmaliciously, "Have you come to collect the debt?"

The question went home. "Certainly not, " he answered haughtily; "themoney--"

But the Captain prevented whatever he was going to say. "He thinks Iam an adventurer, a sharper, " he bleated, now thoroughly throwinghimself on his daughter's protection; "his intention seems to be awarning not to try to get anything more out of his cousin--somethingof that sort. "

Julia paid little attention to her father. "You were going to say, "she inquired serenely of Rawson-Clew, "something about the money, Ithink?"

"No, " he answered, with cold politeness. "I only meant to suggestthat this is perhaps rather an unpleasant subject for a lady. "

He moved as if he would open the door for her, but she stood herground. "It is unpleasant, " she said; "for that reason had we notbetter get it over quickly? You have not come to collect the debt, youhave come, then, for what?"

"To make one or two things plain to Captain Polkington. I believe Ihave succeeded; if so, he will no doubt tell you anything you wish toknow. Good afternoon, " and he moved to the door on his own account, whereupon Julia's calmness gave way. 

"You do think my father an adventurer, then?" she said. "You think hima sharper and your cousin a gull, and you came to warn him that if hetried to get anything more in future it was you with whom he wouldhave to deal. And the money--you were going to say the money was notwhat you came for because you never expected to see it again? But youare wrong there; you shall see it; it will be repaid, every penny ofit. "

Rawson-Clew paused till she had finished; then, "I am sorry for anymisunderstanding there may have been, " he said. "I trust you willtrouble yourself no farther in the matter, " and he opened the door. 

It was not a denial; it was not, so Julia considered, even an apology;to her it seemed more like a polite request to mind her own business, and she went up to her room after he had gone almost unjustly angry, too angry for the time being to think about the rashness of herpromise that the debt should be paid. 

"He thought us dirt, " she said, sitting on the end of her narrow ironbed. Then she smiled rather grimly. "And we are pretty much what hethought us! Father sponged the money, and I decided to myself that therepaying did not much matter. We are, as we looked to him, two grubbylittle people of doubtful honesty, in a grubby room with Bouquet, " andshe laughed outright, although she was alone, and the faculty forseeing and deriding herself as others might, had a somewhat bitterflavour. Nevertheless, she was very angry and quite determined to paythe money somehow, so that at least it should appear to this man thathe was mistaken. 

An hour later she carried Captain Polkington's tea down to him; whentea was in the drawing-room his was always sent to him thus. She foundhim not depressed at all, on the contrary quite cheerful, and evendignified. He was reading something when she came in, and seeing thatshe was alone, he handed it to her. It was from Mr. Rawson-Clew shefound, a sort of recognition of the discharge of the debt, or at leasta formal cancelling of it. It was carefully and conclusively worded, certainly not the unaided work of the young man who had ridden pastlast night. It was dictated by the other, she was sure of it; possiblyeven he had himself discharged the debt so as to end the matter. Hereyes blazed as she read; he would not even allow her the satisfactionof giving him the lie--and the misery of straining and pinching to dothe impossible. From pride, or from pity, or from both, he hadfinished the thing there and then, or he thought he had. She tore thepaper across and then across again. 

"What are you doing?" Captain Polkington cried, seizing her hands asshe would have torn it again. "Don't you know it is valuable? I mustkeep it; he can't go back on it if he wants to. " He took it from her, and began to piece it together. "I can look the world in the faceagain, " he said, admiring the fragments. "I am free, free and cleared;that debt would have hung like a millstone around my neck, but I amfree of it; it is cancelled. "

"Free!" Julia said with scorn. There are disadvantages in reducing aman to a subordinate position and allowing him no use for hisself-respect; it is a virtue that has a tendency to atrophy. Juliarecognised this with something like personal shame. "Your debt isdischarged, " she said gently, "but mine is not; it has been shifted, not cancelled; it lies with me and Mr. Rawson-Clew now, and it shallbe paid somehow. "

Captain Polkington hardly heeded what she said; he was still smoothingthe pieces of paper. "What?" he asked, as he put them away in anenvelope, but he did not wait for her answer. "It was very heedless ofyou to tear it, " he said; "but fortunately there is no damage done; itis perfectly valid, all that can be required. "

CHAPTER III

NARCISSUS TRIANDRUS AZUREUM

The _élite_ called to congratulate Mrs. Polkington on her daughter'sengagement. All manner of pleasant things were said by them and byMrs. Polkington in an atmosphere of social sunshine. She thought it sonice of them to come so soon, she told them so severally; she knewthat they--"you all, " "you, at least, " "you, my oldest friend, "according to circumstances--would be pleased to hear about it. Shegave sundry little hints of future plans and hopes, among other thingsmentioned that it really was hard for poor Violet to have to go andcheer an invalid cousin just now. 

"And the worst of it is, " so Mrs. Polkington said, "she may have to beaway some time. There really seems no one else to go, and one couldnot leave the poor dear alone at this dull time of the year; and, after all, Bath is not very far off; some of Richard's people livethere, too. I should not be surprised if the young people contrive tosee a good deal of each other in spite of everything. Indeed, had Inot thought so, I think I should have insisted on Chèrie's goinginstead of Violet, although she would have had to give up her winterabroad. "

Here the visitor usually made polite inquiries about this same winterabroad, and heard of a delightful prospect of several months to bespent in the south of France, unnecessary and unpleasant details allomitted. 

"You do agree with me?" Mrs. Polkington would then ask ratheranxiously, as if her hearer's opinion was the one that really matteredto her. "You do think it wrong to allow Chèrie to refuse thisinvitation for Violet's sake? I am very glad you think so. I had quitea difficulty in persuading her; but, as I told her, it was not achance she was likely to have again. So she is going, and Violet willhave to spend her winter in Bath. Julia? Oh, Julia was not asked ineither case; she will be staying at home with me. "

From all of which it is clear that part of Julia's plan was to beadopted. The other part must have found favour, too, for soon itbecame known that the Polkingtons were without a servant. Mrs. Polkington made inquiries among her friends, but could not hear of anyone suitable; she said it was very tiresome, especially as they hadtaken advantage of the girl's empty room to invite an old Anglo-Indianfriend of her husband's to stay. 

Thus was the difficulty tided over, and with so good a face that fewin Marbridge had any idea that it existed. Certainly none knew of thepinching and screwing and retrenching which went on indoors at No. 27. One or two tradesmen could have told of long accounts unpaid, and somerelations living at a distance were troubled by appeals for help, aform of begging which, at this date of their history did not hurt thePolkingtons' sensibility much. 

Mrs. Polkington suffered in body, if not in mind, during this hardtime, though fortunately she was able to be away a month. The Captainsuffered a good deal more, which was perhaps only just; and JohnnyGillat suffered with him, which was not just, though that did not seemto occur to him. As for Julia, she minded least of any one, though insome ways she had the most to put up with; but the plan was hers, andconsequently she was too interested in its success to trouble aboutthe inevitable discomforts of the working out. 

There was one matter which did trouble her, however--the debt toRawson-Clew. She had no money, and no possibility of raising any; yetit must and should be paid, for her father's name could not otherwisebe cleared. She turned over in her own mind how she could earn enough, but there was little hope of that; it seemed rather a large sum for agirl to earn, and any sum was impossible to her; she had no gifts totake to market, no ability for any of the arts, not enough educationfor teaching, no training for commerce. The only field open to her wasthat of a nursery-governess or companion; neither was likely to enableher to pay this debt of honour quickly. Once, nearly a year ago, shehad had a sort of half-offer of the post of companion. It was whileshe was staying with a friend; during the visit there had come to thehouse an old Dutchman of the name of Van Heigen, a businessacquaintance of her host. He had stayed nearly a week, and in thattime taken a great fancy to her. 

In those first bad days after the Captain's leaving the army, thePolkingtons had lived, or perhaps more accurately, drifted about, agood deal abroad. It was then that Julia picked up her onlyaccomplishment, a working knowledge of several languages. She had alsoacquired one other thing, perhaps not an accomplishment, a ratherunusual knowledge of divers men and divers ways. It may have been thatthese qualities made her more attractive to the old Dutchman than thepurely English game-expert daughters of the house. Or it may have beenher admirable cooking; the cook was ill during the greater part of hervisit, and her offer to help was gladly accepted and dulyappreciated. Something, at all events, pleased the old man, so thatbefore he left he asked her, half in fun, if she would come and livewith his wife. This lady, it seemed, had bad health, and no daughters;she always had a companion of some sort, and was never satisfied withthe one she had. In Holland, as in England, it seemed posts were noteasy to fill satisfactorily, for those often in want of employmentwere also constitutionally inefficient. 

At the time Julia had laughingly refused the offer, now she recalledit, and thought seriously about it. It would not be very nice, amixture of upper servant and lady help; the Van Heigens were bulbgrowers, old-fashioned people, the lady a thorough _huisvrouw_, nothing more probably. Still that did not matter; such things need notbe considered if the end could be attained that way. But unfortunatelyit did not look very likely; the Van Heigens would pay less to acompanion than English people would, not enough to buy clothes; therewas practically nothing to be made out of it. Julia was obliged toadmit the fact to herself, and reluctantly to dismiss the Dutchman andhis offer from her thoughts. 

But curiously enough, they were brought to her mind again before long;not later, indeed, than that evening, when she went to a dance at aneighbour's house. At this dance she met a Mr. Alexander Cross. He wasnot a native of Marbridge, not at all like any of them; it is quitepossible that they would have rather looked down upon him; Juliarecognised that he barely came up to her mother's standard of agentleman. He seemed to be a keen business man of the energetic newsort; he also seemed to deal in most things, flowers among them. Hetold Julia something about that part of his business, for he and itinterested her so much that she asked him leading questions. Heexplained how the beautiful orchid he wore in his coat had decreasedin value lately. A few years ago, when there had been but one specimenwith just that marking in all the world, the plant had sold for £900;now that it had been multiplied it was worth only £25, nothingpractically. 

"It was a novelty then, " he explained; "some novelties are worth agreat deal. There's one I know of now I could do some good businesswith if I could get hold of it. But I can't; the old fool that's gotit won't sell it for any price, and he can't half work it himself. It's a blue daffodil--Narcissus Triandrus Azureum he calls it; orrather, to give it its full title, Narcissus Triandrus Azureum VrouwVan Heigen; so called, I believe, in honour of his wife, or hismother. "

Julia wondered if the Van Heigen who owned the precious flower was theold Dutchman of her acquaintance. "Is he a bulb grower?" she asked, though without giving any reason for her question. 

"Yes, " Cross answered, "a Dutch bulb grower; that's why he won't makethe profit he might; he comes of generations of growers, and theyvenerate their bulbs. He has cranky notions of how things ought to bedone, and no other way will do for him. "

"How did he get a blue daffodil? Do you think it is real? It seemsvery unusual. "

"It is unusual; that's where the value comes in; but it's real fastenough, though I don't believe he grew the first, as he says, in hisown garden. It's my opinion that one of his collectors sent him thefirst bulb; he has collectors all over the world, you know, lookingfor new things. "

"What is he going to do with it?" Julia asked. 

"He is multiplying it at present; at first he had only one, now, ofcourse, he has a few more; when he has got enough he will hybridise. You don't know what that is. Cross-breed with it; use the blue withthe old yellow daffodil as parents to new varieties. That's ticklishwork; growers can't afford to do it till they have a fair number ofthe new sort; but, of course, they occasionally get something goodthat way. "

Julia listened, much interested, though, to tell the truth, the moneyvalue of the thing fascinated her more than anything else. 

"Will he never sell any of his blue bulbs?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes, in time, " Cross answered; "but not while they are worthanything much to the growers. "

"What are they worth? I mean, what would it be worth if there was onlyone?"

"I don't know; I dare say I could get £400 for the single bulb. "

"But if there were more they would not be worth so much? If there werefive, what would they be worth?"

"Pretty well as much, very likely £300 for one bulb. Van Heigen wouldgive a written guarantee with it not to sell another bulb to anothergrower. "

"But he could keep the others himself?" Julia asked. "That would beeating his cake and having it too. Tell me, " she said, feeling she wasimitating the Patriarch when he was pleading for Sodom and Gomorrah, "if there were ten bulbs, what could you get for one. "

Cross was amused by her interest. "A hundred pounds, I dare say, " hesaid; "but I shall never have the chance. The trade will never touchthose blue daffodils while they are worth having. When the old mandoes begin to sell them--when they are worth very little to thegrowers--he will sell to collectors, cranky old connoisseurs, fromchoice. That's what I mean when I say he doesn't understand businessas business; he would rather sell his precious blue daffodils wherethey were what he calls 'appreciated. ' He would sooner they went for amoderate price to people who would worship them, than make an enormousprofit out of them. "

"But the connoisseurs could sell them, " Julia objected. "If I were aconnoisseur and bought one when they were for sale, I could sell it toyou if I liked. "

"Yes, but you wouldn't, " Cross said; "if you were a connoisseur youwould not dream of parting with your bulb. You wouldn't have theslightest wish to make a hundred per cent. On your purchase, or two orthree hundred either. Also I shouldn't buy. "

"Why not?"

"I couldn't afford to have my name mixed up with the business. "

Julia looked at him critically. "You could afford that the businessshould be done without your name?" she suggested. 

He laughed. "I could introduce the seller, did such an impossibleperson exist, to some one who could buy. "

It was Julia's turn to laugh, that soundless laugh of hers which gavethe feeling of a joke only half shared. "For a consideration, ofcourse, " she said. 

"Something would naturally stick to my fingers, " Cross answered, amused rather than offended. 

He was a good deal amused by his partner, finding her more interestingthan most of the girls he met that evening; afterwards he forgot her, for two days later he left the place, and thought no more either aboutMiss Polkington or the talk he had had with her. 

As for her, it was not clear what she thought, but the next day shewrote to London for a second-hand Dutch dictionary, and then went tocall at the house with the largest library that she knew. When shecame away from there she carried with her a book she had borrowed, aDutch version of _Gil Blas_, which she remembered to have once seentucked away in a corner. Shortly afterwards, as soon as the dictionarycame, she set to reading the edifying work, and found it easier thanshe expected. What one learns from necessity in childhood stays in thememory, and a good knowledge of German and a smallish one of Dutchwill carry one through greater difficulties than _Gil Blas_. 

Before her mother and sisters came back to Marbridge, Julia hadwritten to the old Dutchman. 

When Mrs. Polkington heard Julia wanted to go to Holland and live in aDutch family she was surprised. This news was not given to her tillthe spring had fairly set in, for it was not till then that Julia hadbeen able to get everything arranged. It is no use telling people yourplans unless you are quite sure of carrying them out, and you arenever sure of that long before starting; at least, that was Julia'sopinion. It was also her opinion that it was quite unnecessary to tellall details. She said she was tired of being at Marbridge, and wanteda complete change; also that when there were three grown-up sisters athome it seemed rather desirable that one should go away, for a time atleast. When Violet suggested that it was odd to have chosen Holland inpreference to France or Germany, she replied truthfully that the onewas possible to her, the others were not. 

Mrs. Polkington, who quite approved of the plan, saw no objection toHolland, adding as a recommendation, "It is so much more original togo there. " She did not fail to remark on the originality when sheembroidered Julia's going to her friends and acquaintances. 

Captain Polkington was the only member of the family who regrettedthis going. He had always regarded Julia as something between an allyand a tolerant go-between; and since she had wrung from him theconfession of his difficulties, and helped in the arrangement of them, his feeling for her had leaned more and more towards the former. Hehad even come to feel a certain protectiveness in her presence, whichmade him really sorry she was going. Johnny Gillat was sorrier still. 

Johnny had gone back to dismal lodgings in town now; he only heard ofthe plan by letter, and the Captain's letters were very prolix, andnot informing. Mr. Gillat's own letters were even worse, for if theylacked the prolixity, they lacked the little information also. Onreceipt of the Captain's information he merely wrote to ask when Juliawas going, and what time she would be in London, as he would like togive himself the pleasure of meeting her train. 

He did give himself that pleasure; he was at the station half an hourand ten minutes before the train, so as to be sure of being in time. He was on the platform when the train came in; Julia saw him, a ratherridiculous figure, his shabby coat tremendously brushed and tightlybuttoned, a gay tie displayed to the uttermost to hide a ragged shirtfront, his round, pink face, with its little grizzled moustache, wearing a look of melancholy which made it appear more than ordinarilyfoolish. He was standing where the part of the train which came fromMarbridge could not possibly stop, much in the way of porters andtrucks; Julia had to find him and find her luggage too, but he seemedto think he was of much service. Julia's hard young heart smote herwhen he gave twopence to her porter. 

"Johnny, " she said, as he took her ticket on the District Railway, "Iam going to pay for my ticket. "

It was only threepence, but there are people who have to consider thethreepences; if Julia was one, she knew that Mr. Gillat was another, and she had allowed for this threepence, and he probably had not. Hedemurred, but she insisted. "Then I won't let you come with me;" andhe gave way. 

They were alone in a compartment, and he shouted above the rattle ofthe train something about her being missed at Marbridge. 

"Oh, no, " she said, "mother and the girls think it is a good thing Iam going. "

"Your father and I will miss you, " Johnny told her. 

"You?"

"Yes; I'll miss you very much--we both shall; we shall sitdown-stairs, each side of the fire-place, and think how you used tocome there sometimes. And when I wait in the dining-room when yourfather's not at home, I'll remember how you used to come down thereand chat. We had many a chat, didn't we?--you and me, and Bouquetburning between us--there was nobody could trim Bouquet like you. Butperhaps you'll be back before winter comes round again?"

"I don't know when I shall be back, " was all Julia could find to say. The idea of being missed like this was new and strange to her; thePolkingtons' feelings were so much guided by what was advisable, orexpedient, that there was not usually much room for simple emotions. She felt somehow grateful to Johnny for caring a little that she wasgoing, though at the same time she was unpleasantly convinced that shedid not deserve it. 

"It won't be at all the same at No. 27, " Mr. Gillat was saying. "Yourmother--she's a wonderful woman, a wonderful woman, and Miss Violet'sa fine girl, so's the other, handsome both of them; but they're inthe drawing-room, you know, and you--you used to come down-stairs. "

It did not sound very explicit, but Julia understood what he meant. Just then the train stopped at a station, and other passengers got in, so they had little more talk. 

In time they reached Mark Lane, from whence it is no great walk to theTower Stairs. There is a cheap way of going to Holland from there forthose who do not mind spending twenty-four hours on the journey; Juliadid not mind. When she and Johnny Gillat arrived at the Tower Stairsthey saw the steamer lying in the river, a small Dutch boat, stilltaking in cargo from loaded lighters alongside. A waterman put them onboard, or, rather, took them to the nearest waiting lighter, fromwhence they scrambled on board, Mr. Gillat very unhandily. A Dutchsteward received them, and taking Johnny for a father come to see hisdaughter off, assured them in bad English that she would be quitesafe, and well taken care of. 

"She shall haf one cabin to herself, a bed clean. Yes, yes; there isno passenger but one, a Holland gentleman; he will not speak with themiss, he is friend of captain. "

Johnny nodded a great many times, though he did not quite follow whatwas said. Then Julia told him he had better go, and not keep thewaterman any longer. 

He agreed, and began fumbling in his pocket, from whence he pulled outone of his badly-tied parcels. 

"A keepsake, " he said, putting it into her hand; then, without waitingto say good-bye, he scrambled over the side in such a hurry that he asnearly as possible fell into the river. 

Julia ran to the side in some anxiety; some one shouted, "Look out, "and some one else, "Hold up, " and a third something lesscomplimentary. Then a man laid hold of Mr. Gillat's legs and guidedhim safely on to the bobbing lighter. There he turned and waved hishat to Julia before he got into the waiting boat. 

"Good-bye, " he called. 

"Good-bye, " she answered. "Oh, do be careful!"

He was not careful, but the waterman had him now, and took him ashore. She watched him, his round face was suffused with smiles; he waved hishat once more just as he reached the stairs. He slipped once gettingup them, but he was up now, and turned to wave once before he starteddown the street. 

It was not till then that Julia became aware of a small sound close athand; there was a good deal of noise going on, shouting, the rattlingof cranes, and the thud of shifting bales, with now and then the hootof a steamer and the escape of steam, and under all, the restlesslapping of the water. But through it all she now heard a much smallersound quite close, a regular _tick_, _tick_. She glanced at the parcelshe had forgotten, then in an instant, as a sudden idea occurred toher, she had the paper off. Yes, it was. It was Johnny's greatold-fashioned gold watch, with the fetter chain dangling at the end. 

She stood quite still with the thing in her hand, her mouth setstraight, and her eyes growing glitteringly bright. The round gildedface stared up at her, reminding her in some grotesque way of Johnny;poor, generous, honest, foolish old Johnny! She looked away quickly, asudden desire not to go with this moon-faced companion took possessionof her--a desire not to go at all, a horrible new-born doubt about it. 

But feelings for abstract right and wrong, like personal likes anddislikes, do not grow strongly where expediency and advisability andadvantage have to rule; she was only going to do what she must inHolland; the debt must be paid, honour demanded no less; the bluedaffodil was the only hope of paying it. She was not going to steal abulb exactly; she was going to get it somehow, as a gift, perhaps, opportunity must show how; and when it was hers, she could do with itas she pleased, there was no wrong in that. She must go; she must doit; the thing was so necessary as to be unavoidable, and not open toquestion. She looked down, and her eye fell on the watch again; itstared up at her in the same vacant way as Johnny had done that daywhen he wanted to sell it and his other things to help them out oftheir justly earned, sordid difficulties. With shame she had preventedthat, feeling the cause unworthy of the sacrifice. But this sacrifice, for a still more unworthy cause, she was too late to prevent. Johnnyhad gone. She looked earnestly to see if he was among those wholoitered about the stairs, or those in the more distant street. Butshe could not see him, he was gone clean from sight; there was onlythe busy, unfamiliar life of the river around; yellow, sunlit water;the crowded craft, and the great stately wonder of the Tower Bridgesilently raising and parting its solid roadway to let some boat go, asshe would soon go down to the sea. 

CHAPTER IV

THE OWNER OF THE BLUE DAFFODIL

Vrouw Snieder, the notary's wife, sat by her window at work on a longstrip of red crochet lace. From her place she could see all who cameup the street, and, there being a piece of looking-glass set outside, at right angles to the pane, also most who came down it. This, thoughdoubtless very informing, did not help the progress of the lace; butthat was of no consequence, Mevrouw always had some red lace inmaking, and it might as well be one piece as another. With her, wereher two daughters, Denah and Anna, though Anna had no business there, being supposed just then to be preparing vegetables for dinner. Shehad only come into the room to fetch keys, but a remark from hermother brought her to the window. 

"There goes Vrouw Van Heigen's English miss, " the old lady said, andboth her daughters looked at once. 

"She has been marketing, I see; she seems a good housewife. "

"She walks in the road, " Denah observed critically; "It is soconspicuous, I could not do it; besides, one might be run over. "

"The English always walk in the road, " her sister answered; "theythink everything will get out of their way, and they do not at allmind being conspicuous. "

"The English miss should mind, " Denah said, "for she is not pretty; noone looks at her to admire; besides she is poor and has to workhard. "

"Yes, yes, " her mother agreed placidly; "she is a fine worker. VrouwVan Heigen is full of her praises; such a cook--she has twenty newdishes, and everything is done quickly, one cannot tell how; it islike having a magician in the house, so she says. Ah, there is HerrVan de Greutz's Marthe going into the apothecary's. I wonder now--"

But her daughters were not interested in Marthe; the English girl atthe Van Heigens' interested them a great deal more. They continued totalk about her a great deal afterwards, Denah going back with hersister to the kitchen and the vegetables, so as to be able to do soundisturbed. 

"I will help you with these, " she said; "then we can go out. "

She sat down and took up a knife. "It is strange how much Vrouw VanHeigen thinks of that girl, " she said. "She has been there but onemonth and already there is no one like her. She does not keep her inher place very well; were she a daughter more could not be said. Iwonder how Mijnheer likes it. "

"It was Mijnheer who engaged her, " Anna said. "It is not likely thathe regrets. I hear that she has written some English letters for himsince one of the clerks has been ill. My father says she can cook likea Frenchwoman, and that is something. As for Joost, it is surely oflittle importance to him, he is too quiet to say anything to her; shetalks little; she must be shy. "

Denah had nothing to say to this, although, seeing in which person herown interest in the Van Heigens lay, she possibly found some comfortin the assurance. After a little she remarked, "That girl has noaccomplishments; she is as old-fashioned as our Aunt Barje, a_huisvrouw_, no more. It is strange, for the English women make funof us for this, and pretend that they are educated and advanced aboveus; she is not, she can do nothing but speak a few languages; shecannot sing nor play, she has read no science, she cannot draw, normodel in wax, nor make paper flowers, nor do bead work; she could noteven crochet till I showed her how. I wonder if she has made anyprogress with the pattern I gave her. Shall we go and see by and by? Imight set her right if she is in a difficulty, and we could at thesame time inquire after Mevrouw's throat; she had a weakness, Inoticed, on Tuesday. "

Anna agreed; she was a most obliging sister, and a while later theyset out together for the Van Heigens' house. They did not walk in thewide, clean road, but were careful to keep to the path, pausing amoment to consult before starting for the other side when it wasnecessary to cross over. 

The Van Heigens' house stood on the outskirts of the town, a long wayback from the road. The bulb garden lay all round it, thoughimmediately in front was a lawn so soft and green that no one everwalked on it. The house was of wood, painted white, and had ahigh-pitched roof of strange, dark-coloured tiles; a canal lay on twosides, which ought to have made it damp, but did not. 

Vrouw Van Heigen was pleased to see the girls, and received them withan effusiveness which might have suggested that a longer time thanfour days had elapsed since they last met. She kissed them on bothcheeks, and led them in by the hand; she asked particularly how theywere, and how their mother was, and how their father was, and if theywere not very tired with their walk, and would they not havelemonade--yes, they must have lemonade. "Julia, Julia, " she called, "bring lemonade, bring glasses and the lemonade. "

Julia came from a little room which led off the sitting-room, carryingthe things required on a papier-maché tray. She wore a large, blue-print apron, for she had been shelling shrimps when she wascalled, and though she stayed to wash her hands, she did not think itnecessary to remove her apron. She had observed it to be the customhereabouts to wear an apron of some sort all day long, and she did notdifferentiate between the grades of aprons as Denah and Anna did. Sheset down the tray and shook hands ceremoniously with the sisters andmade all the proper inquiries in the properest way; she had alsoobserved that to be the custom of the place. Then she poured out thelemonade and handed it round, and was afterwards sent to fetch a glassfor herself and a little round tray to set it on--every one had alittle tray for fear of spoiling the crimson plush table-cover. Juliacannot be said to have been anxious for lemonade; Vrouw Van Heigen'sgrowing affection for her often found expression in drinks at oddtimes, a good deal more often than she appreciated. On this occasion, since she was doing the pouring out herself, she was able to get offwith half a glass. 

They all sat round the table and talked; Julia talked a great deal theleast, but that did not matter, the others had so much to say. Shelistened, admiring the way in which one little incident--a dog runningon the tram line and being called off just in time by itsowner--served them for a quarter of an hour. What economy of ideas itwas, and how little strain to make conversation! Then came Mevrouw'sthroat, the little hoarseness Denah had noticed on Tuesday. It wasnothing, the good lady declared, she had not felt it. Oh, if theyinsisted on noticing it, she would own to a weakness but no more thanwas usual to her when the dust was about, and truly the dust wasterrible now, she could not remember when it had been so bad so earlyin June. And so on, and so on, until they somehow came round tocrochet lace, when Julia was obliged to confess that she had not mademuch progress with the pattern. She exhibited a very small piece withseveral mistakes in it. 

"Why, " cried Denah, "I have done already almost half a metre of thepiece I began at the same time. Is it difficult for you?"

Julia said it was, and Vrouw Van Heigen added by way of apology forher, that she had been busy making a cool morning dress. 

"For yourself?" Anna asked. "Do you make your dresses?"

"This is for Mevrouw, " Julia answered; "but I can make my own. "

The Polkingtons had had to, and also to put an immense amount ofthought and work into it, because they were bound to get a fine effectfor a small expense, and that is not possible without a large outlayof time and consideration. Julia did not explain this to the presentcompany, it would have been rather incomprehensible to them. 

Anna was at once fired with a desire to make herself a cool morningdress, and asked a dozen questions as to how, while Denah's busyfingers undid the faulty crochet work, and her tongue explained themistakes. Mevrouw did not listen much to either, but noticing theglasses were empty, pressed the visitors in vain to have morelemonade. They refused, and finding them quite obdurate she toddledinto the little room where Julia had been doing the shrimps, to comeback again, bearing a large bladder-covered bottle of peach-brandy. The girls declined this very firmly, but Julia was sent for moreglasses, and soon they were all sipping the rich flavoured liqueurwithout protestation. 

It was over this that they planned an expedition to the wood. No oneknew quite who suggested it; when people all talk at once it is noteasy to say who originates an idea; anyhow, it was agreed that theweather was so dry and the trees so lovely and Mevrouw so seldom wentout. She really felt--did she not?--that she would enjoy making asmall excursion, she was so wonderfully well--for her. What did Annathink her mother would say? Perhaps they might join together for adrive?

Anna thought her mother would be delighted; indeed, she often spoke ofthe charms of a country excursion; Denah was called upon tocorroborate, and did so volubly. Where should they go? Half-a-dozendifferent places were suggested; why not go here, or there, or to thewood? Yes, the wood, that would be lovely. They could take their teaout; if they were well wrapped up, of course, protected from the dampand the wind, might it not be possible?

So by degrees the plan was brought to the first stage. Denah and Annawere to talk it over with their mother, and if she thought favourablyof it, then "we must see. " By that time Denah had set the crochet workquite straight, and with kisses and hand-shakings the visitorsdeparted. Julia went back to the little room where first she washedthe glasses that had been used, afterwards she finished the shrimpsand washed them and put them ready for supper in a china dish like alarge soap dish on three feet. When that was done, it was necessary tolay the table for dinner and superintend the getting of that meal. 

The Van Heigens dined at four. It had taken Julia all the month shehad been with them to in any way get used to that time. Mijnheer andthe only son, Joost, came in from the office for two hours then. Theoffice joined the house and the great dim orderly bulb barns joinedthe office, so the father and son had not far to come in whicheverplace they might be. Julia and Mevrouw fetched the food from thekitchen and cleared the table, as well as getting their own meal; butthat was nothing when you were used to it, any more than was thecurious butter and nutmeg sauce that always seemed to play a part atdinner. 

Mijnheer had a good deal to say to Julia, principally about hisbusiness. The letters she had written for him during the illness ofthe clerk who usually did his English correspondence, had given hersome little insight into it. This she had profited by, being in thefirst instance really interested, and, in the second, not slow to seethat the old man, far from resenting it, had been pleased. He talked agood deal about his affairs now, giving her little bits of informationand explaining rather proudly his method of doing business, and hisfather's and his grandfather's before him. Joost, as usual, saidlittle or nothing; he must have been five or six and twenty, but hehad hardly ever left the parental roof, and was usually so hard atwork that he had little time or inclination for frivolity. He hadearnest child-like blue eyes that Julia did not care to look at, anymore than she did the round yellow face of Mr. Gillat's watch. Thiswas rather a pity as she could not always avoid it, and certainly helooked at her a good deal, in fact whenever he thought he was notobserved. Of course he always was observed, by her at least; that wasa foregone conclusion; the observation gave her some uneasiness. 

After dinner the father and son went to sit on the veranda, andMevrouw helped Julia take the dishes into the white marble kitchen andthe glasses into the little off-room. Later, Julia came to sit on theveranda, too--it was somewhat stuffy being all closed in with glasswindows. There they drank pale tea, the pot kept simmering on aspirit-stove, and read the foreign papers which had just come. Mevrouwdid not read, she made tea and did crochet work, a strip like VrouwSnieder's, only yellow instead of red. Julia, it is to be feared, didnot try to master the pattern so kindly set right by Denah; she couldnot resist the breath from the outside world which the papers brought. 

At six o'clock Mijnheer and his son went back to the office, andJulia, having washed the tea-cups, joined Mevrouw in the sitting-room. It was never very light in that room, for the walls were covered witha crimson flock paper and the woodwork was black; while the windows, which looked on the canal, were always shaded till dark. They sat hereat work on the morning gown, till supper time. Mijnheer sometimes camein an hour before supper, as early as half-past eight; Joost hadusually too much to do to come in before half-past nine. After supper, when the things were cleared away, they had prayers; Mijnheer read achapter from the Bible, and they sat round the table and listened, andafterwards he said, "Now we will pray, " and they sat a while insilence. Julia sat, too, her keen, observing eyes cast down and acurious stillness about her. After that every one went to bed; Juliaand the maidservant had two little rooms right up in the eaves of thehouse; the family slept on the floor below. Julia was glad of this, though it was possible to imagine her room would be very hot in summerand very cold in winter. But she was glad to be well above thesleeping house, and to be able to look from her window across the widecountry, over the dark bulb gardens--laid out like a Chinese puzzlewith their eight-foot hedges--to the lights of the town on the onehand, and, better still, to the dim curve of the Dunes on the other. It is to be feared she sometimes spent a longer time at her windowthan was wise, seeing the early hour at which she had to rise; but noone was troubled by it, for she was careful to take off her shoesfirst thing; the rooms were unceiled, and it was necessary to treadlightly if one would not disturb people below. 

On the day after that of Anna and Denah's visit, Herr Van Heigenoffered to show Julia the bulb barns. It was a Saturday, and so afterdinner, the workmen having all gone home, there was no one about andshe could ascend the steep barn ladders without any suffering in hermodesty. At least that was what Mijnheer thought; Julia, her modestybeing of a very serviceable order, may have given the matter lessconsideration, but she accepted the offer. 

The barns were very large and high, many of them three storeys andeach storey lofty. The light inside was dim, a sort of dun colour, andthe air very dry and full of a strange, not unpleasant smell. Everything was as clean as clean could be; no litter, no dirt, thefloor nicely swept, the shelves that ran all round and rose, tier upontier, in an enormous stand that occupied the whole centre of theplace, all perfectly orderly. On the shelves the bulbs lay, every onesmooth and clean and dry, sorted according to kind and quality;Mijnheer knew them all; he could, like a book-lover with his books, put his hand upon any that he wished in the dark. It seemed to Juliathat there were hundreds upon hundreds of different sorts. Not onlyhyacinths and tulips and such well-known ones in endless sizes andvarieties, but little roots with six and seven syllable names she hadnever heard before, and big roots, too, and strange cornery roots, anever-ending quantity. 

Mijnheer told her they were not yet all in; many were in the groundand had still to be lifted. This she knew, for she had seen the deadtops of some in the little enclosed squares where they grew; from herbedroom window, too, she saw others still in bloom--a patch, the sizeof a tennis-lawn squared, of scarlet ranunculous, little blood-redrosettes, sheltered by a high close-clipped hedge. And another patchof iris hispanica, fairy flowers of palest gold and lavender, quivering at the top of their grey-green stalks like tropicaldragon-flies hovering over a field of growing oats. These it seemed, and many others, would be brought in by and by, then the great barnswould be really full. Mijnheer took up a root here and there, tellingher something of the history of each; explaining how the narcissusincreased and the tulips grew; showing her hyacinth bulbs cut inhalf-breadthways with all the separate severed layers distended byreason of the growing and swelling of the seeds between. 

"Each little seed will be a bulb by and by, " he said, "but not yet. When we cut the root first, we set it in the ground and these begin togrow and become in time as you see them now. Afterwards they growbigger and bigger till their parent can no longer contain them. "

"Does it take long for them to grow full size?" Julia asked. 

"It takes five years to grow the finest hyacinth bulbs, " Mijnheeranswered, "but inferior ones are more quick. And when the bulb isgrown, there is one bloom--fine, magnificent, a truss offlowers--after that it deteriorates, it is, one may say, over. Ah, butit is magnificent while it is there! There is no flower like thehyacinth; had I my way, I would grow nothing else, but people will nothave them now. They must have novelties. 'Give us narcissus, ' theysay; 'they are so graceful'--I do not see the grace--'Or iris'--well, some are fine, I allow, but they do not last in bloom as do hyacinths. The mourn iris of Persia is very beautiful; we have not one floweringyet, but we shall have by and by. I will show you then; you will thinkit very handsome. When it blooms I go to it in the morning and dustthe sand from the petals. I feel that I can reverence that flower; itis most beautiful. "

"Is it very scarce?" Julia asked. 

"Somewhat, " Mijnheer answered; "but we have things that are more so, we have many novelties so called. Ah, but we have one novelty that isa true one, it is a wonder, it has no price, it is priceless!" He drewa deep breath of almost awed pride. "It is the greatest rarity thathas ever been reared in Holland, a miracle, in fact--a blue daffodil!"

Julia refrained from mentioning that she had heard of the raritybefore; she leaned against the centre stand and listened while the oldman grew eloquent, with the eloquence of the connoisseur, not thetradesman, over his treasure. There was no need for her to say much, only to put a question here and there, or make a sympathetic comment;with little or no effort she learned a good deal about the wonderfulbulb. It seemed that it really had been grown in the Van Heigens'gardens, and not imported from Asia, as Mr. Cross thought. There weresix roots by this time; not so many as had been hoped and expected, itdid not increase well, and was evidently going to be difficult togrow. 

"Would you like to know the name which it will immortalise?" the oldman asked at last. "It is called Narcissus Triandrus Azurem Vrouw VanHeigen. "

"You named it in honour of Mevrouw, I suppose?" Julia said. 

"I did not; Joost did. "

"Mijnheer Joost?" she repeated. 

"Yes, " the father answered. "It is his, not mine; to him belongs thehonour. It is he who has produced this marvel. How? That is a secret;perhaps even I could not tell you if I would; Nature is wonderful inher ways; we can only help her, we cannot create. Yes, yes, it isJoost who has done this. He seemed to you a retiring youth? Yet he isthe most envied and most honoured man of our profession. I wouldsooner--there are many men in Holland who would sooner--have producedthis flower than have a thousand pounds. And he is my son--you maywell believe that I am proud. "

And Mijnheer beamed with satisfaction in his son and his bluedaffodil. But Julia leaned against the stand in the dry twilight, saying nothing. Money, it appeared, was not then the measure of allthings; neither intrinsically, as with Mr. Alexander Cross, nor forwhat it represented in comfort and position, as with her own family, did it rank with these bulb growers. They, these people whom hermother would have called market gardeners, tradespeople, it seemed, loved and reverenced their work; they thought about it and for it, were proud of it and valued distinction in it, and nothing else. Theblue daffodil was no valuable commercial asset, it was an honour andglory, an unparalleled floral distinction--no wonder Cross could notbuy or exploit it. In a jump Julia comprehended the situation morefully than that astute business man ever could; but at the same timeshe felt a little bitter amusement--it was this, this treasuredwonder, that she thought to obtain. 

The next day, Sunday, Julia went to church with Mijnheer and Joost;Mevrouw did not find herself well enough for church, but she insistedthat Julia should not stay at home on her account. Accordingly thegirl accompanied father and son to the Groote Kerk and listened tothe rather dull service there. For the most part she sat with her eyesdemurely cast down, though once or twice she looked round the oldbarn-like place, and wondered if there were any frescoes under thewhitewash of the walls and whence came the faint, all pervading smell, like a phantom of incense long forgotten. When service was over andthey came out into the sunny street, Mijnheer announced that he wasgoing to see a friend. Julia, of course, must hurry home to set thetable for the mid-day coffee drinking, and afterwards prepare fordinner. Joost was going back, likewise, and to her it was so natural athing they should go together that she never thought about it. It didnot, however, seem so to him, and after walking a few paces inembarrassment, he said--

"You would perhaps prefer I did not walk with you?"

"Oh, no, " she answered, in some surprise; "I shall be pleased, if youare going the same way, that is. "

He fidgeted, becoming more embarrassed. "You are sure you do notmind?" he said. "It is a little conspicuous for you. "

Then she understood, and looked up with twinkling eyes. "I am afraid Iam conspicuous, anyhow, " she said. 

This was true enough, for her clothes, fitting like an Englishwoman's, and put on like a Frenchwoman's (the Polkingtons all knew how todress), were unlike any others in sight. Her face, too, dark and thinand keenly alert, was unlike, and her light, easy walk; and if thiswas not enough it must be added that she was now walking in the roadbecause the pavement was so crowded. 

Joost stepped off the path to make room for her and she saw by hisface that his mind was not at ease. 

"Pray, Mijnheer, " she said, in her softest tones, and her voice hadmany tones as her companion had not failed to notice, though he wasnot aware that the softest was also usually the most mischievous, "will you not walk the other side of the way? Then you will not beconspicuous at all. "

"I do not mind it, " he said, blushing, and Julia decided that hisfather's description of him as a retiring youth was really short ofthe mark. They walked along together down the quiet, bright streets;there were many people about, but nobody in a hurry, and all in Sundayclothes, bent on visiting or decorous pleasure-making. Everywhere wassunny and everything looked as if it had had its face washed; weekdays in the town always looked to Julia like Sundays, and Sundays, this Sunday in particular, looked like Easter. 

In time they came to the trees that bordered the canal; there were oldSpanish houses here, a beautiful purplish red in colour, and withcarving above the doors. Julia looked up at her favourite doorpiece--agalleon in full sail, a veritable picture in relief, unspoiled bythree hundred years of wind and weather. 

"I think this is the most beautiful town I was ever in, " she said. Hercompanion looked surprised. 

"Do you like it?" he asked. "It must be quite unlike what you are usedto, all of it must be. "

"It is, " she answered, "all of it, as you say--the place, the ways, the people. "

"And you like it? You do not think it--you do not think us what youcall slow, stupid?"

She was a little surprised, it had never occurred to her that he, anymore than the others, would think about her point of view. "No, " sheanswered, "I admire it all very much, it is sincere, no one appearsother than he is, or aims at being or seeming more. Your house is thesame back and front, and you, none of you have a wrong side, thewhole life is solid right through. "

Joost did not quite understand; had she not guessed that to be likelyshe would hardly have spoken so frankly. "I fear I do not understandyou, " he said; "it is difficult when we do not know each other'slanguage perfectly. "

"We know it very well, " Julia answered; "as well as possible. If wewere born in the same place, in the same house, we should notunderstand it better. "

He still looked puzzled; he was half afraid she was laughing at him. "You think I am stupid?" he said, gravely. 

She denied it, and they walked on a little in silence. They were inthe quieter part of the town now and could talk undisturbed; after alittle he spoke again, musingly. 

"Often I wonder what you think of, you have such great, shining eyes, they eat up everything; they see everything and through everything, Ithink. They sweep round the room, or the persons or the place, andgather all--may I say it?--like some fine net--to me it seems theydraw all things into your brain, and there you weave them and weavethem into thoughts. "

Julia swallowed a little exclamation, and by an effort contrived notto appear as surprised as she was by this too discerning remark. Shewas so young that she did not before know that children and child-likefolk sometimes divine by instinct the same conclusions that veryclever people arrive at by much reasoning and observation. She feltdecidedly uncomfortable at this explanation of Joost's frequentcontemplations of herself. 

"You seem to think me very clever, " she said. 

"Of course, " he answered simply, "you are clever. "

"No, I am not, " she returned; "ask your mother; ask Denah Snieder;they do not think me clever. What can I do, except cook? Oh, yes, andspeak a few foreign language as you can yourself? I cannot paint, ordraw, or sing; I do not understand music; why, when you play Bach, Iwish to go out of the room. "

"That is true, " he admitted; "I have felt it. "

Julia bit her lip; she had never before expressed her opinion of Bach, and she did not feel in the least gratified that he had found it outfor himself. 

"It is absurd to call me clever, " she said. "I have little learningand no accomplishments. I cannot even get on with the crochet workDenah showed me, and I do not know how to make flowers of paper. "

"But why should one make flowers of paper?" he asked, in his seriousway. "They are not at all beautiful. "

"Denah makes them beautifully, " she answered. 

The argument did not seem to carry weight, but Julia advanced noother; she thought silence the wisest course. They had almost reachedhome now; a little before they came to the gate, Joost opened thesubject of herself again. "I think sometimes you must make fun of us;do you not sometimes in your heart laugh just a little bit?"

"I laugh at everything sometimes, " she said; "myself most of all. Doyou never laugh at yourself? I expect not; you are very serious. Iwill tell you what it is like: a little goblin comes out of your headand stands in front of you; the goblin is you, a sort of you; theother part, the part people know, sits opposite, and the goblin laughsat it because it sees how ridiculous the other is, how grotesque andhow futile. My goblin came out into my room last night and laughed andlaughed; you would almost have heard him if you had been there. "

They had reached the gate now, and as Joost held it open for her topass through, she saw that he had blushed to the ears at the lightlyspoken words--if he had been in her room last night; the improprietyof them to him was evident. For a moment she blushed, too, then sherecovered herself and grew impatient with one so artificial--and yetso simple, so self-conscious--and yet so unconscious, so desperatelystupid--and yet so uncomfortably clear-sighted. 

CHAPTER V

THE EXCURSION

The following Monday was fine and warm, and since the whole previousweek had also been fine and warm, Mevrouw thought they might ventureto make the talked-of excursion. Messages were accordingly sent to theSnieders, and from the Snieders back again, and after a wonderfulamount of talk and arranging, everything was settled. Dinner was alittle early that day, and a little hurried, though, since thecarriage was not to come till after five o'clock, there was perhapsnot much need for that. However, it is not every day in the week onemakes an excursion, so naturally things cannot be expected to go quiteas usual when such an event occurs. 

The carriage came, Mevrouw had been waiting ten minutes, and threetimes been to see why Julia was not waiting with her. At the sound ofwheels Julia came out; she had just finished washing the glasses(which she had been told not to touch, as there was certainly notime). She was quite ready, but Mevrouw at that moment discovered thatshe had the wrong sunshade. Julia fetched the right one and carried itout for the old lady; also an umbrella with a bow on the handle, amackintosh, a shawl, and a large basket. Mijnheer came from the officewith his spectacles pushed up on his forehead, and a minute laterJoost also came to say good-bye; even the maidservant came from thekitchen to see them start. 

The carriage drew up; it was a strange-looking vehicle, in shapesomething between a hearse and an ark on wheels, but with the greaterpart of the sides open to the air. Vrouw Snieder and her two daughterswere already within, with their bow-trimmed umbrellas, sunshades, mackintoshes, shawls and basket. There was necessarily a good deal ofgreeting; Mijnheer and Joost shook hands with all the three ladies, and inquired after Herr Snieder, and received polite inquiries inreturn. Then Denah insisted on getting out, so that Mevrouw should bebetter able to get in; also to show that she was athletic and agile, like an English girl, and thought nothing of getting in and out of ahigh carriage. Mevrouw kissed her husband and son, twice each, veryloud, called a good-bye to the servant, and got in. Julia shook hands, said good-bye, and also got in. Denah watched her, and observed theshape of her feet and ankles jealously. She glanced sharply at Joost, but he was not guilty of such indecorum as even thinking about anygirl's legs, so, having said her good-bye, she got in reassured. Finally they drove away amid wishes for a safe drive and a pleasantexcursion. 

Of course there was a little settling to do inside the carriage, thewraps and baskets to be disposed of, and each person to be assuredthat the others had enough room, and just the place they preferred toany other. By the time that was done they stopped again at the houseof Mijnheer's head clerk; here they were to take up two children, girls of fourteen and fifteen, who had been invited to come with theparty. The carriage was not kept waiting, the children were out beforeit had fairly stopped; they were flaxenly fair girls, wearing littleblue earrings, Sunday hats, and cotton gloves of course--all the partywore cotton gloves; it was, Julia judged, part of the excursionoutfit. 

Now they were really off, driving out beyond the outskirts of thetown; along flat roads where the wheels sank noiselessly into the softsand, and the horses' feet clattered on the narrow brick track in thecentre. For a time they followed the canal closely, but soon they leftit, and saw in the distance nothing but its high green banks, with thebrown sails of boats showing above, and looking as if they were a gooddeal higher than the carriage road. They passed small fields, subdivided into yet smaller patches, and all very highly cultivated. And small black and white houses, and small black and white cows, andblack and white goats, and dogs, and even cats of the same combinationof colour. Everything was rather small, but everywhere very tidy;nothing out of its place or wasted, and nobody hurrying or idling; allwere busy, with a small bustling business, as unlike aggressiveEnglish idleness as it was unlike the deceptive, leisurely power ofEnglish work. 

Denah and Anna looked out of either side of the carriage, and pointedout things to Julia and the two little girls. Here it was what theycalled a country seat, a sort of castellated variety of overgrownchalêt, surrounded by a wonderful garden of blazing flower-beds andemerald lawns, all set round with rows and rows of plants in brightred pots. Or there it was a cemetery, where the peaceful aspect madeDenah sentimental, and the beauty of the trees drew Anna's praise. Thetwo elder ladies paid less attention to what they passed; theycontented themselves with leaning back and saying how beautiful theair was, and how refreshing the country. The girls said that as well;they all agreed six times within the hour that it was a delightfulexpedition, and they enjoying it much. 

In time they came to the wood. An unpaved road ran through it ofsoft, deep sand, which deadened every sound; on either hand the treesrose, pines and larch and beech principally, with a few large-leafedshivering poplars here and there. There was no undergrowth, and fewbird songs, only the dim wood aisles stretching away, quiet and green. Suddenly it seemed to Julia that the world's horizon had beenstretched, the little neatness, the clean, trim brightness, thebustling, industrious toy world was gone; in its place was thetwilight of the trees, the silence, the repose, the haunting, indefinable sense of home which is only to be found in thesecathedrals of Nature's making. 

"Ah, the wood!" Denah said, with a profound sigh. "The beautiful wood!Miss Julia, do you not love it?"

Julia did not assent, but Denah went on quite satisfied, "You cannotlove it as I do; I think I am a child of Nature, nothing would pleaseme more than always to live here. "

"You would have to go into the town sometimes, " Julia said, "to buygloves; the ones you have would not last for ever. "

Denah looked a little puzzled by the difficulty; she had notapparently thought out the details of life in a natural state; butbefore she could come to any conclusion one of the little girls cried, "Music--I hear music!"

All the ladies said "Delicious!" together, and "How beautiful!" andDenah, content to ignore Nature, added rapturously, "Music in thewood! Ah, exquisite! two beauties together!"

Julia echoed the remark, though the music was that of a piano-organ. The horizon had drawn in again, and the prospect narrowed; the silencewas full of noises now, voices and laughter, amidst which the organnotes did not seem out of place. And near at hand under the treesthere were tables spread and people having tea, enjoying themselves ina simple-hearted, noisy fashion, in no way suggestive of cathedraltwilight. 

The carriage was put up, the tea ordered, and in a little they, too, were sitting at one of the square tables. Each lady was provided witha high wooden chair, and a little wooden box footstool. A kettle on ahot potful of smouldering wood ashes was set on the table; cups andsaucers and goats' milk were also supplied to them, and opaquebeet-root sugar. The food they had brought in their baskets, big new_broodje_ split in half, buttered and put together again with aslither of Dutch cheese between. These and, to wind up with, some thinsweet biscuits carried in a papier-maché box, and handed out singly byVrouw Van Heigen, who had brought them as a surprise and a treat. 

"Do they have such picnics as this in England?" Anna asked, as shegathered up the crumbs of her biscuit. 

"I have never been to one, " Julia answered, and inwardly she thoughtof her mother and Violet driving in a wheeled ark to the wood, thereto sit at little wooden tables and stretch their mouths in the publiceye. 

"Ah!" said Vrouw Snieder; "then it is all the more of a pleasure and anovelty to you. "

Julia said it was, and soon afterwards they rose from the table towalk in the wood. The two elder ladies did not get far, and beforelong came back to sit on their wooden chairs again. The girls wentsome little distance, all keeping together, and being careful not towander out of sight and sound of the other picnic parties. Once whenthey came to the extreme limit of their walk, Julia half-hesitated. She looked into the quiet green distance. It would be easy to leavethem, to give them the slip; she could walk at double their pace withhalf their exertion, she could lose herself among the trees whilethey were wondering why she had gone, and making up their minds tofollow her; and, most important of all, when she came back she couldexplain everything quite easily, so that they would not think it inthe least strange--an accident, a missing of the way, anything. Shouldshe do it--should she? The wild creature that had lived half-smotheredwithin her for all the twenty years of her life fluttered and stirred. It had stirred before, rebelling against the shams of the Marbridgelife, as it rebelled against the restrictions of the present; it hadnever had scope or found vent; still, for all that it was not dead;possibly, even, it was growing stronger; it called her now to runaway. But she did not do it; advisability, the Polkingtons' patronsaint, suggested to her that one does not learn to shine in the cagedlife by allowing oneself the luxury of occasional escape. 

She turned her back on the green distance. "Shall we not go back towhere the music is playing?" she said. 

They went, walking with their arms entwined as other girls were doing, Julia between the broad, white-skinned sisters, like a rapier betweencushions. The two younger girls ran on in front. "There is Mevrouw, "they cried. "She is calling us. The carriage is ready, too; oh, do youthink it is already time to go?"

It seemed as if it really was the case. Vrouw Snieder stood clappingher hands and beckoning to them, and the coachman appeared impatientto be off. With reluctance, and many times repeated regrets, theycollected their wraps and baskets, and got into the carriage. 

"Good-bye, beautiful wood, good-bye!" Denah said, leaning far out asthey started. "Oh, if one could but remain here till the moon rose!"

"It would be very damp, " her mother observed. "The dew would fall. "

To which incontestable remark Denah made no reply. 

The return journey was much like the drive there, with one exception;they passed one object of interest they had not seen before. It waswhen they were nearing the outskirts of the town that Anna exclaimed, "An Englishman! Look, look, Miss Julia, a compatriot of yours!"

The season was full early for tourists, and at no time did the placeattract many. Englishmen who came now probably came on business whichwas unlikely to bring them out to these quiet, flat fields. But Annaand Denah, who joined her in a much more demonstrative look-out thanMarbridge would have considered well-bred, were insistent on thenationality. 

"He walks like an Englishman, " Anna said, "as if all the worldbelonged to him. "

"And looks like one, " Denah added; "he has no moustache, and wears aglass in his eye, look, Miss Julia. "

Julia looked, then drew back rather quickly. They were right, it wasan Englishman; it was of all men Rawson-Clew. 

What was he doing here? By what extraordinary chance he came to be inthis unlikely place she could not think. She was very glad thatMevrouw felt the air chilly, and so had had the leather flaps pulledover part of the open sides of the carriage; this and the eagersisters screened her so well that it was unlikely he could see her. 

"Is he not an Englishman?" Anna asked. 

"Yes, " she answered; "one could not mistake him for anything else. "

"I wonder if he recognised you as a country-woman, " Anna speculated;and Julia said she did not consider herself typically English inappearance. 

The sisters talked for the rest of the way of the Englishman; of hisair and bearing, and the fact, of which they declared themselvesconvinced, that he was a person of distinction. 

But it was not till the drive was over, and the party had separated, that Denah was able to say what was burning on her tongue. They hadleft the clerk's children at their house, said good-bye to Vrouw VanHeigen and Julia, and were within their own home at last; the girlswent up to their bedroom, and Denah carefully fastened the door, thenshe said mysteriously, "Miss Julia knows that Englishman. "

Anna jumped at the intelligence, and still more at the tone. "Did shetell you?" she asked. 

"No, " Denah replied with some scorn; "she would not tell any one, shewishes it concealed; she thinks it is so, but I saw it. "

The tone and manner suggested many things, but Anna was a terriblymatter-of-fact person, to whom suggestions were nothing. "Why shouldshe wish it concealed?" she inquired. 

"I do not know why, " Denah answered; "that remains to be seen. As forhow I know it, I saw it in her face; when she looked at him her lipsbecame set, and her eyes--she looked--" She hesitated for a word, anddropped to the homely, "She looked as if she would bite with annoyancethat he should be here. The expression was gone in a moment; she spokewith an ease and naturalness that was astonishing, even disgusting;but it had been there. I do not trust her. "

The last was said with great seriousness, and for a little Anna wasimpressed. But not for long, she could not accept such evidence asthis; in her opinion it was "fancy. "

"You read too many romances, " she said; "your head is full of suchthings. I do not believe Miss Julia knew the Englishman, she would nothave hidden from us her knowledge if she did; it is not so easy tohide one's feelings in the flash of an eye, besides there was noreason. Also"--this as an afterthought--"he was a man of good family;you could see at a glance that he was of the aristocracy, while she isa paid companion to Vrouw Van Heigen; she could never before have methim. "

Denah, however, was not convinced; she only repeated darkly, "Imistrust her. "

Julia, in the meantime, was busy with her household duties, talkingover the excursion the while with Mevrouw, and helping to detail it toMijnheer. At last the table was ready for supper and the coffee made. Mevrouw sat with her crochet, and Mijnheer opposite her with hispaper. It wanted more than a quarter of an hour to supper time, Juliahad been too quick; still it did not matter, the coffee would not hurtstanding on the spirit-stove; it stood there half the day. She had allthis time to spare, but she did not fetch her crochet work; she wentoutside to the veranda. 

It was almost dark by this time, as dark as it ever got on thesenights; the air was still and warm. She opened the glass door and wentout and sat down on the step. There was a smell of water in the air, not unpleasant, but quite un-English, and mixed with it a faint smellof flowers, the late blooming bulbs have little scent on the whole; itwas more the heavy dew than the flowers themselves which one couldsmell. It was very quiet out here; the town, at no time noisy, wassome distance away--so quiet that Julia could hear the ticking of Mr. Gillat's large watch in her belt. She pushed it further down; she didnot want to hear it. 

She propped her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands. Shewished she had not seen Rawson-Clew that day; she wished she was nothere, she wished there was no such thing as a blue daffodil; she wasvaguely angry and dissatisfied, but not willing to face things. It wasunlikely that the man had seen her, unlikely that she would see himagain; but he was incongruous in this simple life, and he broughtforcibly home the incongruity of herself and her errand. She had comefor the blue daffodil, it was no good pretending she had not; she toldherself angrily, as she had told herself when she had first looked atJohnny's yellow-faced watch, that she was going to get it in some waythat was justifiable. Only it was not so easy to believe that now sheknew more about it and the Van Heigens. But she must have it, that wasthe argument she fell back on, the necessity was so great that she wasjustified (the Polkingtons had always found necessity a justificationfor doing things that could be anyhow made to square with theirposition). 

She wished she had not been for the excursion to-day, that she livedless really in their simple, sincere life. She wished from her heartthat the Van Heigens had been different sort of people--almost any othersort, then she would not have had these tiresome feelings--Johnny andJohnny's watch, Joost Van Heigen--there was something about them allthat was hatefully embarrassing. No self-respecting thief robbed achild; even the most apathetic conscience revolted at such an idea. Nogentleman worthy of the name attacked an unarmed man, the preparednessof the parties made all the difference between murder and fair fight. Ofcourse, in the abstract, stealing was stealing under all conditions, andkilling killing, and both open to condemnation; but in the concrete, infact, the equality of the two persons made all the difference, at leastto honour. 

Julia moved uneasily and looked, without seeing, across the darkgarden. The monotonous sound of voices floated out indistinctly; theold pair in the sitting-room were talking in the lamplight, Mevrouwgoing over once again the little incidents of the day. Joost was inthe drawing-room at the other end of the house; he had been playingsome of his favourite composer; he had stopped now, and was doubtlesssorting his music and putting it away, each piece four-square andabsolutely neat. Day by day, and year by year, they lived this quietlife, with a drive for a rare holiday treat, and the discovery of anew flower as the goal of all hope and ambition. Things did not happento them, bad things that needed doubtful remedies; they had never hadto scratch for their living, and show one face outwards and anotherin. They, none of them, ever wanted to do things; they had not thecourage. How much of virtue was lack of courage and a desire not to beremarkable?

Julia asked herself the question defiantly, and did not hear Joostcome out of the house. He was carrying a lantern, and was going tomake his nightly round of the barns. She did not hear his step, and sostarted when she saw the light swing across the ground at her feet. 

He was quite as startled to see her as she was to see him, but hisgreeting was a very usual question in Holland, "Will you not catchcold?"

She shook her head, and he asked, "What are you doing? Thinking?Weaving in your head all that you have seen and heard to-day?"

"No, " she answered; "I was thinking about courage. "

"Courage?" he repeated, puzzled. 

"Yes, it is very different in different places; some people are afraidto tell the truth, so they lie; and some are afraid to be dishonest, so they are honest; I believe it depends partly on fashion. "

Joost set down the lantern in sheer surprise. "Such things cannotdepend on fashion, " he said severely. 

"I am not so sure, " Julia answered; "lots of things you would notexpect depend on it. I know people who sometimes go without the foodthey want so that they can buy expensive cakes to show off when theiracquaintances come to tea--that's silly, isn't it? Then I know otherpeople who blush if a pair of breeches, or something equallyinoffensive, are mentioned; that seems equally silly. One lot ofpeople is ashamed to be seen eating bread-and-cheese suppers, anotherlot is ashamed to be seen walking off the side-walk, and with nogloves on. One would hardly expect in, yet I almost believe thesesilly little things somehow make a difference to what the people thinkright and wrong. "

Joost regarded her doubtfully, though he could only see the outline ofher face. "Are you making fun?" he asked. "I do not know when you aremaking fun; I think you must be now. Are you speaking of us?"

"I never felt less like making fun in my life, " Julia answeredignoring the last question. Something in her tone struck Joost as sad, and he forgot his question in sympathy. 

"I am sorry, " he said; "you are unhappy, and I have intruded upon you;will you forgive me? You are thinking of your home, no doubt; you havenot had a letter from England for a long time. "

Julia wished he did not notice so many things. "I did not expect aletter, " she said; "my eldest sister was married last week, therewould be no time to write to me till everything was over; most likelyI shall hear to-morrow. "

"Is your sister married?" he asked; "and you were not able to bepresent?"

"It is too far to go home from here, " Julia said; then asked, "Wereyou going to the barns?"

"Yes, " he answered, suddenly reminded of the fact. Then seeing she didnot resume her seat on the steps, he ventured diffidently, "Will youcome too?"

She assented, and they started together in silence, Joost thinking herhomesick, not knowing quite what to say. When they came to the firstof the dark buildings they went in, and he swung the lantern round sothat their shadows danced fantastically. Then he tried various doors, and glanced up the wall-ladder to the square opening which led to thefloor above. There was no need to examine the place minutely, it wasall quiet and dark; if there had been any one about they wouldcertainly have heard, and if there had been anything smouldering--adanger more to be feared, seeing that the men smoked everywhere--itcould have been smelt in the dry air. 

"I like these barns, " Julia said, looking round: "they are so big andquiet and orderly, somehow so respectable. "

"Respectable!" he repeated, as if he did not approve of the word. "Isthat what you like? The respectable?"

"Yes, in its place; and its place is here. "

"You think us respectable?"

"Well, are you not? I think you are the most respectable people in theworld. "

She led the way through to the next barn as she spoke. "You are goinghere, too, I suppose?" she said. 

"I will just look round, " he answered. 

They went on together until they came to the last barn of all; whilethey paused there a moment they heard a rustling and movement in thedark, far corner. Joost started violently, then he said, "It is a rat, you must not be afraid; it will not run this way. "

"I am not afraid, " Julia said with amusement. "Do you think I amafraid of rats?"

"Girls often are. "

"Well, I am not, " and it was clear from her manner that she spoke thetruth. 

"Would you be afraid to come out here alone?" he asked curiously. 

"No, " she said; "any night that you like I will come here alone, gothrough the barns and fasten the doors. "

"I do not believe there are many girls who would do that, " he said; hewas thinking of Denah and Anna. 

Julia told him there were plenty who would. As they came back, stopping to fasten each door after them, he remarked, "I think girlsare usually brought up with too much protection; I mean girls of ourclass, they are too much shielded; one has them for the house only; ifthey were flowers I would call them stove-plants. "

Julia laughed. "You believe in the emancipation of women then?" shesaid; "you would rather a woman could take care of herself, and not beafraid, than be womanly?"

"No, " he answered; "I would like them to be both, as you are. "

They had come outside now; she was standing in the misty moon-light, while he stayed to fasten the last door. 

"I?" she said; "you seem to think me a paragon--clever, brave, womanly. Do you know what I really am? I am bad; by a long way thewickedest person you have known. "

But he did not believe her, which was perhaps not altogethersurprising. 

CHAPTER VI

DEBTOR AND CREDITOR

Violet Polkington was married, and, as a consequence, the financialaffairs of the family were in a state that can only be described aswonderful. They were intricately involved, of course, and there was nochance of their being clear again for a year at least; but, also, there was no chance of them being found out, appearances were betterthan ever. 

Mr. Frazer had been given a small living, whether by the deservedkindness of fortune, or by reason of his own efforts, or thePolkingtons, is not known. Anyhow he had it, and he and Violet weremarried in June with all necessary _éclat_. Local papers described theevent in glowing terms, appreciative friends said it was the prettiestwedding in years, and in due time Chèrie wrote and told Julia aboutit. The Captain also wrote; his point of view was rather different, but his letter filled up gaps in Chèrie's information, and Julia's ownpast experience filled up the remaining gaps in both. 

The letters came on Tuesday, as Julia expected, a little before dinnertime; she was still reading them when Mijnheer and his son came infrom the office. Joost smiled sympathetically when he saw she hadthem, glad on her account; and she, almost unconsciously, crumpledtogether the sheets that lay on the table beside her, as if she wereafraid they would betray their contents to him. 

"You have good news from home?" said Mijnheer; "your parents arewell?"

"Quite well, thank you, " Julia answered. She had just come to theplace in her father's letter where he regretted that such very lightrefreshments were the fashion at wedding receptions. "It is, ofcourse, as your mother says, less expensive, but at such a time whowould spare expense--if it were the fashion? I assure you I hadliterally nothing to eat at the time, or afterwards; your motherthinking it advisable as soon as we were alone, to put away the cakesfor future visitors. At such a time, when a man's feelings are nearlytouched, he needs support; I did not have it, and I cannot say that Ihave felt myself since. "

Julia read to the end of the letter; Mijnheer had by this time takenup a paper, but Joost watched her as she folded the sheets. He did notspeak, it seemed he would not intrude upon her; there was somethingdog-like in this sympathy with what was not understood. She feltvaguely uncomfortable by reason of it, and spoke to break the spell. "Everything went off very well, " she said. 

The words were for him alone, since Mijnheer was now reading, and alsoknew nothing of the subject. The smile brightened on his face. "Didit?" he answered. "I am very glad. They must have missed you much, andthought often of you. "

Julia nodded. Chèrie had said. "I must say I think it is a pity youwere not here; it is important to have some one with a head in thebackground; mother and I had to be the fore, so of course we could notdo it; if you had been here several things would have gone better, andsome waste have been saved. "

This remark Julia did not communicate to Joost; she put the letter inher pocket, and went to fetch the dinner. After dinner she was to goon an errand for Mevrouw. It would take a long time, all the eveningin fact, for it was to an old relative who lived in a village aboutthree miles from the town. Walking was the only way of getting to theplace, except twice a week when a little cargo boat went down thecanal, and took some hours about it. This was neither the day nor thetime for the boat, Julia would have to walk; but, as she assuredMevrouw, she much preferred it. Accordingly, as soon as dinner wasfinished, she was given a great many messages, mostly of a condolingnature, for the old lady was ill in bed, some strengthening soup, anda little bottle of the peach-brandy. With these things packed in asubstantial marketing basket, she started. 

Through the town she went with that easy step and indifference to thepresence of other people that Denah so criticised, faster and fasterher spirits rising. Once or twice she looked in at the low windowsthat stood open on the shady side of the street; there she saw theheads of families smoking their after-dinner pipes, while their wivesand daughters sat crocheting and watching the passersby. There werechairs with crimson velvet seats in most of the rooms, and funnylittle cabinet, or side-board things of bright red mahogany, withmodern Delft vases, very blue indeed, upon them. And always there wasa certain snugness, perhaps even smugness, about the rooms. At least, so it seemed to her as she looked in, almost insolently pleased to beoutside, to be free and alone. 

In time she came to the outskirts of the town, the canal lay on herright, and on her left, flat green fields, cut up by innumerableditches, and set with frequent windmills, all black and white, andmostly used for maintaining the water level. There were people busyin the fields, but to Julia they only gave the idea of ants, and didnot intrude upon her mind in the least. It was all very quiet andgreen around, and quiet and blue above, except for the larks singingrapturously. Certainly it was very good to be away from the VanHeigens, away from the ceaseless little reiteration of Mevrouw's talk, from the minute, punctilious conventions, from Joost's quiet gaze, from the proximity of the hateful, necessary blue daffodil. With aviolent rebound Julia shook off the feeling that had been growing onher of late, and was once more possibly reckless, but certainly free, and no longer under the spell of her surroundings. Her young bloodcoursed quickly, her eyes shone, the basket she carried grew light;she might have sung as she went had not Nature, in withholding theability, also kindly withheld the inclination. 

Soon after leaving the town, a side road cut into the main one; awaggon was lumbering down it at no great pace, but just before thebranch road joined the main one the driver cracked his whip loudly, sothat his team of young horses started forward suddenly. Too suddenlyfor the comprehension of some children who were playing in the road;for a second or more they looked at the approaching waggon, then, whenthe necessity dawned upon them, they ran for safety, one one way, oneanother, and the third, a baby boy, like a chicken, half across theway to the right, then, after a scurry in the middle, back again tothe left, under the horses' feet. 

Julia shouted to him, but in the excitement of the moment she spokeEnglish, and not Dutch, though it hardly mattered, for the little boywas far too frightened to understand anything. It certainly would havefared badly with him had she not followed up her cry by darting intothe road, seizing him by the shoulder, and flinging him withconsiderable force against the green wayside bank. She was only justin time; as it was, the foremost horse struck her shoulder and senther rolling into the dust. 

For an instant she lay there, perilously near the big grinding wheels;an almost imperceptible space, yet somehow long enough for her todecide quite calmly that it was impossible to scramble to her feet intime, so she had better draw her legs up and trust to the wheelsmissing her. Then suddenly the wheels stopped, and some one who hadseized the horses' heads addressed the waggoner with the English idiomthat is perhaps most widely known. 

Julia heard "damned fool" in quite unemotional English, and almostsimultaneously the guttural shrieks of two peasant women whoapproached. She picked herself up, then moving two paces to the side, stopped to put her hat straight with a calmness she did not quitefeel. There was a volley of exclamations from the peasant women, and"Are you hurt?" the man who had stopped the horses asked her, speakingnow in Dutch, though with an English accent. 

"No, " she answered, winking back the water which had come into hereyes with the force of the blow, and she turned her back on him sothat he should not see her do it. 

"My good women, " she said shortly to the peasants who, with upraisedhands and many gestures, stared at her, "there is nothing the matter, there is no reason why you should stand there and look at me; I assureyou no one has been hurt, and no one is going to be; you had muchbetter go on your way, as I shall do. Good-afternoon. "

She walked a few paces down the road, not in the direction sheintended to go certainly, but she was too shaken for the moment tonotice which way she took, and was only actuated by a desire to getaway and put an end to a scene. The movement and the words were notwithout effect; the two women, a good deal astonished, obeyedautomatically, and, picking up the burdens they had set down, trudgedon their way, not realising for some time how much offended they wereat the curt behaviour of the "mad English. " The children by this timehad ceased staring and returned to their play; the waggoner, mutteringsome surly words, drove on. Julia sat on the bank by the roadside, andtried to brush the dust from her dress. The Englishman, after makingsome parting remarks to the waggoner, this time in Dutch, though stillin the quiet, drawling voice which was much at variance with thelanguage, had gone to pick up the basket. She wished she had thankedhim for his timely assistance when she first scrambled to her feet, and gone on at once, then she could have done this necessary sittingdown when he was out of sight, and come back for the stupid basketwhen she remembered it. But now she would have to thank him formally, and perhaps explain things, and say expressly that she was not hurt, and this while she was shaken and dusty. Mercifully he was English, and so would not expect much; she looked at his back withsatisfaction. He was scarcely as tall as many Hollanders, but verydifferently built. To Julia, looking at him rather stupidly, hisproportions, like his clothes, appeared very nearly perfect afterthose she had been used to seeing lately. When he turned and she sawfor the first time his face, she was not very much surprised, thoughreally it was surprising that Rawson-Clew should still be hereabouts. 

Their eyes met in mutual recognition. Afterwards she wondered why shedid not pretend to be Dutch, it ought to have been possible; he hadonly seen her once before, and her knowledge of the language was muchbetter than his. And even if he had not been deceived, he would havebeen bound to acquiesce to her pretence, had she persisted in it. Butshe did not think of it before their mutual recognition had made ittoo late. 

"I hope you are not hurt, " he said, as he crossed the road with thebasket. 

"No, " she answered, "thanks to you--"

But he, evidently sharing her dislike for a fuss, was even moreanxious than she not to dwell on that, and dismissed the subjectquickly. He began to wipe the bottom of the basket, from which soupwas dripping, talking the while of the carelessness of continentaldrivers and the silliness of children of all nations, perhaps to giveher time to recover. 

She agreed with him, and then repeated her thanks. 

He again set them aside. "It's nothing, " he said; "I am glad to havehad the opportunity, especially since it also gives me the opportunityof offering you some apology for an unfortunate misunderstanding whicharose when last I saw you. You must feel that it needs an apology. "

For a moment Julia's eyes showed her surprise; an apology was not whatshe expected, and, to tell the truth, it did not altogether pleaseher. She knew that she and her father had no right to it while themoney was unpaid. 

"Please do not apologise, " she said; "there is no need, I quiteunderstand. "

"I was labouring under a false impression, " Rawson-Clew explained. 

She nodded. "I know, " she said, "but it is cleared up now; no one whospoke with my father could possibly imagine he lived by his wits. "

Which ambiguous remark may have been meant to apply to the Captain'smental outfit more than his moral one. When Rawson-Clew knew Juliabetter he came to the conclusion it probably did, at the time hethought it wise not to answer it. 

"Here is your basket, " he said; "I think it is clean now. "

She made a movement to take it, but her arm was numb and powerlessfrom the blow she had received; it was the right shoulder which hadbeen struck, and that hand was clearly useless for the time being;with a wince of pain, she stretched out the left. 

But he drew the basket back. "You are hurt, " he said. 

"No, I'm not, nothing to speak of; it only hurts me when I move thatarm; I will carry the basket with the other hand. "

"How far have you to go?"

She told him to the village and back. 

"You had better go straight home at once, " he said. 

"I can't do that, " she answered. She did not explain that she did notwant to, the pain in her shoulder not being bad enough to make herwant to give up this first hour of freedom. "My shoulder does not hurtif I do not move it, " she said; "I can carry the basket with the otherhand. "

"Perhaps you will allow me to carry it for you?" he suggested; "I amgoing the same way. "

"No, thank you, " she returned. "Thanks very much for the offer, butthere isn't any need; I can manage quite well. I expect you will wantto go faster than I do. " She spoke decidedly, and turned aboutquickly; as she did so, she caught sight of the bottle ofpeach-brandy in the grass. 

"Oh, there's the brandy, " she exclaimed; "I mustn't go without that. "

He fetched the fortunately unbroken bottle and put it in the basket, but he did not give it to her. 

"I will carry this, " he said; "if our pace does not agree, if youwould prefer to walk more slowly, I will wait for you at the beginningof the village. "

Julia rose to her feet, there was no choice left to her but toacquiesce; from her heart she wished he would leave the basket and goalone; she wished even that he would be rude to her, she felt thatthen he would have been nearer her level and her father's. Sheresented alike his presence and his courtesy, and she could not showeither feeling, only accept what he offered and walk by his side, justas if no money was owed, and no letter, condescendingly cancelling thedebt, had been written. She grew hot as she thought of that carefullyworded letter, and hot when she thought of her father's reliefthereat. And here, here was the man who must have dictated the letter, and probably paid the debt, behaving just as if such things neverexisted. He was walking with her--she could not give him ten yardsstart and follow him into the village--and making polite conversationsabout the weather, and the road, and the quantity of soup that hadbeen spilled. 

She pulled herself together, and, feeling the situation to be beyondremedy, determined to bear herself bravely, and carry it off with whatcredit she could. She glanced at the more than half-empty soup can. "Iam afraid you are right, " she said; "there is a great deal of it gone;still, that is not without advantage--I shall be sent to take somemore in a day or two. "

"You wish that?" he inquired. 

"Yes, " she answered, "I find the exercise beneficial; I have had toomuch pudding lately. "

He looked politely surprised, and she went on to explain. 

"It is very wholesome, " she said, "but a bit stodgy; I think it is tooreally good to be taken in such large quantities by any one like me. It is unbelievably good, it makes one perfectly ashamed of oneself;and unbelievably narrow, it makes one long for bed-time. "

She broke off to smile at his more genuine surprise, and her smile, like that of some other people of little real beauty, was one ofsingular charm. 

"Did you think I meant actual pudding?" she asked. "I didn't; I meantjust the whole life here; if you knew the people well, the real middleclass ones, you would understand. "

"I think I can understand without knowing them well, " he said; "Ifancy there is a good deal of pudding about; in fact, I myself amfeeling its rather oppressive influence. "

"The town is paved with it, " Julia declared. "I thought so thisafternoon. I also thought, though it is Tuesday, it was just like aspring Sunday; every day is like that. "

Rawson-Clew suggested that many people appreciated spring Sundays. 

"So do I, " Julia agreed, "but in moderation; you can't do your washingon Sunday, nor your harvesting in spring. An endless succession ofspring Sundays is very awkward when you have got--well, week-day workto do, don't you think so?"

He wondered a little what week-day work she had in her mind, but hedid not ask. 

"Are you living with a Dutch family?" he inquired. 

She nodded. "As companion, " she said; "sort of superior generalservant. "

"Indeed? Then it must have been you I saw yesterday; I thought so atthe time; you were driving with some Dutch ladies. "

Julia was surprised that he had seen and recognised her. "We went foran excursion yesterday, " she said; "they called it a picnic. "

She told him about it, not omitting any of the points which had amusedher. Could Joost have heard her, he would have felt that his suspicionthat she sometimes laughed at them more than justified; but she didnot give a thought to Joost, and probably would not have paused if shehad. She wanted to pass the present time, and she was rather recklesshow, so long as Rawson-Clew either talked himself, or seemedinterested in what she said; also, it must be admitted, though it wasto this man, it was something of a treat to talk freely again. So shegave him the best account she could, not only of the excursion, but ofother things too. And if it was his attention she wanted, she shouldhave been satisfied, for she apparently had it, at first only theinterest of courtesy, afterwards something more; it even seemed, before the end, as if she puzzled him a little, in spite of his yearsand experience. 

He found himself mentally contrasting the life at the Van Heigens', asshe described it, with that which he had imagined her to have led atMarbridge, and, now that he talked to her, he could not find her exactplace in either. 

"You must find Dutch conventionality rather trying, " he said at last. 

"I am not used to it yet, " she answered; "when I am it will be noworse than the conventionality at home. "

He felt he was wrong in one of his surmises; clearly she was notreally Bohemian. "Surely, " he said, "you have not found these absurdrules and restrictions in England?"

"Not the same ones; we study appearances one way, and they do another;but it comes to the same thing, so far as I am concerned. One day Ihope to be able to give it up and retire; when I do I shall wearcorduroy breeches and if I happen to be in the kitchen eating onionswhen people come to see me, I shall call them in and offer them ashare. "

"Rather an uncomfortable ambition, isn't that?" he inquired. "I amafraid you will have to wait some time for its fulfilment, especiallythe corduroy. I doubt if you will achieve that this side the grave, though you might perhaps make a provision in your will to be buried init. "

Julia laughed a little. "You think my family would object? They would;but, you see, I should be retiring from them as well as from theworld, the corduroy might be part of my bulwarks. "

"I don't think you could afford it even for that; do you think womenever can afford that kind of disregard for appearances?"

"Plain ones can, " she said; "it is the only compensation they have forbeing plain; not much, certainly, seeing what they lose, but they haveit. When you can never look more than indifferent, it does not matterhow much less you look. "

"That is a rather unusual idea, " he remarked; "it appears sound intheory, but in practice--"

"Sounder still, " she answered him. 

He laughed. "I'm afraid you won't make many converts here, " he said, "where nearly every woman is plain, and according to your experience, every one, men and women too, think a great deal of looks; at allevents, correct ones. "

"They do do that, " she admitted; "they just worship propriety and thecorrect, and have the greatest notion of the importance of theirneighbours' eyes. It is a perfect treat to be out alone, and not haveto regard them--this is the first time I have been out alone since Ihave been here. "

"Rather hard; I thought every one had--er--time off. "

"An evening out?" she suggested. "I believe the number of evenings outis regulated by the number of applications for the post when vacant;cooks could get more evenings than housemaids, and nursery governessesmight naturally expect a minus number, if that were possible. Therewould be lots of applications for my post, so I can't expect manyevenings; however, I have thought of a plan by which I can get outagain and again!"

"What will you do?" he inquired. 

"I shall get Denah--she is one of the girls who went for theexcursion--to come and teach Mevrouw a new crochet pattern afterdinner of a day. It will take ages, Mevrouw learns very slowly, andDenah will know better than to hurry matters; she admires MijnheerJoost, the Van Heigens' son, and she will be only too delighted tohave an excuse to come to the house. "

"And if she is there you will have a little leisure? Some one alwayshas to be on duty? Is that it?"

Julia laughed softly. "If she is there, " she said, "she will want meout of the way, and I am not satisfactorily out of the way when I amanywhere on the premises. Not that Mijnheer Joost talks to me when Iam there, or would talk to her if I were not; she just mistrusts everyunmarried female by instinct. "

"A girl's instinct in such matters is not always wrong, " Rawson-Clewobserved. 

But if he thought Julia had any mischievous propensities of that sorthe was mistaken. "I should not think of interfering in such anaffair, " she said; "why, it would be the most suitable thing in theworld, as suitable as it is for my handsome and able sister to marrythe ambitious and able nephew of a bishop; they are the two halvesthat make one whole. Denah and Joost would live a perfectly idealpudding life; he with his flowers--that is his work, you know; hecares for nothing besides, really--and she with her housekeeping. Hewith a little music for relaxation, she with her neighbours andaccomplishments; it would be as neat and complete and suitable asanything could be. "

"And that commends it to you? I should have imagined that what wasincongruous and odd pleased you better. "

"I like that too, " she was obliged to admit, "though best when thepeople concerned don't see the incongruity; but I don't really careeither way, whether things are incongruous or suitable, I enjoy both, and should never interfere so long as they don't upset my concerns andthe end in view. "

He looked at her curiously; again it seemed he was at fault; she wasnot merely a wayward girl in revolt against convention, saying whatshe deemed daring for the sake of saying it, and in the effort to beoriginal. She was not posing as a Bohemian any more than she was trulyone. 

"Have you usually an end in view?" he asked. 

"Have not you?" she answered, turning on him for a moment eyes thatJoost had described as "eating up what they looked at. " "Of course, "she said, looking away again, "it is quite natural, and verypossible, that you are here for no purpose, and I am here for nopurpose too; you might quite well have come to this little town foramusement, and I have come for the money I might earn as a companion. Or you might have drifted here by accident, as I might, without anyspecial reason--" She stopped as she spoke; they were fast approachingthe first house of the village now, and she held out her hand for thebasket. "I will take it, " she said; "I have a very short distance togo; thank you so much. "

"Let me carry it the rest of the way, " he insisted; "I am goingthrough the village; we may as well go the rest of the way together, Iwant you to tell me--"

But Julia did not tell him anything, except that her way was by thefootpath which turned off to the right. "I could not think oftroubling you further, " she said. "Thank you. "

She put her hand on the basket, so that he was obliged to yield it;then, with another word of thanks, she said "good-evening, " andstarted by the path. 

For a moment he looked after her, annoyed and interested against hiswill; of course, she meant nothing by her words about his purpose andher own, still it gave him food for reflection about her, and theapparent incongruity of her present surroundings. On the whole, he wasglad he had met her, partly for the entertainment she had given, andpartly for the opportunity he had had to apologise. 

An apology was due to her for the affair of last winter, he felt it;though, at the same time, he could not hold himself much to blame inthe matter. He had gone to Marbridge to see into his young cousin'saffairs at the request of the boy's widowed mother. The affairs, asmight have been expected, were in muddle enough, and the boy himselfwas incorrigibly silly and extravagant. The whole business needed tactand patience, and in the end had not been very satisfactorilyarranged; during the process Captain Polkington's name had beenmentioned more than once; he figured, among other ways, of spendingmuch and getting little in return. Somehow or other Rawson-Clew hadgot the impression that the Captain was--well, perhaps pretty muchwhat he really had come to be; and if that was not quite what his wifehad persuaded herself and half Marbridge to think him, surely no onewas to blame. The mistake made was about the Captain's wife anddaughters and position in the town; Rawson-Clew, in the firstinstance, never gave them a thought; the Captain was a detached personin his mind, and, as such, a possible danger to his cousin's loosecash. He went to No. 27 to talk plainly to the man, not to tell him hewas a shark and an adventurer; it was the Captain himself whotranslated and exaggerated thus; not even to tell him what he thought, that he was a worthless old sponge, but to make it plain that thingswould not go on as they had been doing. The girl's interruption hadbeen annoying, so ill-timed and out of place; she ought to have goneat once when he suggested it; she had placed him and herself, too, inan embarrassing position; yet, at the same time--he saw it now, thoughhe did not earlier--there was something quaint in the way she had bothmetaphorically and actually stood between him and her miserable oldfather. He had dictated the subsequent letter to the Captain more onher account than anything else. He considered that by it he was makingher the amend honourable for the unfortunate interview of theafternoon, as well as closing the incident. Of course, nothing realwas forfeited by the letter, for under no circumstances would themoney have been repaid; he never had any delusion about that. Fromwhich it appears that his opinion of the Captain had not changed. 

As for his opinion of Julia, he had not one when he first saw her, except that she had no business to be there; now, however, he feltsome little interest in her. There was very little that wasinteresting in this small Dutch town; it was a refreshing change, headmitted it to himself, to see a girl here who put her clothes onproperly; something of a change to meet one anywhere who did not atonce fall into one of the well-defined categories. 

Much in this world has to be lain at the door of opportunity, andidleness in youth, and _ennui_ and boredom in middle ages. Rawson-Clewwas in the borderland between the two, and did not consider himselfopen to the temptations of either. He was not idle, he had things todo; and he was not bored, he had things to think about; but not enoughof either to prevent him from having a wide margin. 

When he met Julia again there was no reason for dropping theacquaintance renewed through necessity. But also there was noopportunity, on that occasion, for pushing it further, even if therehad been inclination, for she was not alone. 

It was on Saturday evening; she was walking down the same road, muchabout the same time, but there was with her a tall, fair young man, with a long face and loose limbs. He carried, of course, anumbrella--that was part of his full dress--and the basket--he walkedbetween her and the cart track. She bowed sedately to Rawson-Clew, andthe young man, becoming tardily aware of it, took off his hat, ratherlate, and with a sweeping foreign flourish. She wore a pair of cottongloves, and lifted her dress a few inches, and glanced shyly up at herescort now and then as he talked. They were speaking Dutch, and shewas behaving Dutch, as plain and demure a person as it was possible toimagine, until she looked back, then Rawson-Clew saw a very devil ofmockery and mischief flash up in her eyes. Only for a second; theexpression was gone before her head was turned again, and that wasdecorously soon. But it had been there; it was like the momentaryparting of the clouds on a grey day; it illumined her whole face--hermind, too, perhaps--as the eerie, tricky gleam, which is gone before aman knows it, lights up the level landscape, and transforms it tosomething new and strange. 

Rawson-Clew walked on ahead of the pair; he had to outpace them, sincehe was bound the same way, and could not walk with them. He was notsure that he was not rather sorry for Denah, the Dutch girl; one whocan laugh at herself as well as another, and all alone, too, is hethought, rather apt to enjoy the incongruous more than the suitable. 

CHAPTER VII

HOW JULIA DID NOT GET THE BLUE DAFFODIL

Vrouw Van Heigen was learning a new crochet pattern; one did it inthread of a Sèvres blue shade; when several long strips were made, onesewed them together with pieces of black satin between each two, andthere was an antimacassar of severe but rich beauty. Denah explainedall this as she set Mevrouw to work on the pattern; it was veryintricate, quite exciting, because it was so difficult; the moreexcited the old lady became the more mistakes she made, but it did notmatter; Denah was patience itself, and did not seem to mind how muchtime she gave. She came every day after dinner (that is to say, aboutsix o'clock), and when she came it was frequently found necessary thatJulia should go to inquire after the invalid cousin. Denah thoughtherself the deepest and most diplomatic young woman in Holland; sheeven found it in her heart to pity Julia, the poor companion, who sheused as a pawn in her romance. The which, since it was transparentlyobvious to the pawn, gave her vast, though private, delight. 

So Julia went almost daily down the long flat road to the village, andvery often Rawson-Clew had to go that way too; and when he did, histime of going being of necessity much the same time as hers, he wasalmost bound to walk with her. There was but one way to the place;they must either walk together in the middle of the road, or elseseparately, one side of it; and seeing that they were of the samenationality, in a foreign land, and had some previous acquaintance, itwould have been nothing short of absurd to have done the latter. So asoften as they met they walked together and talked of many things, andin the course of time Rawson-Clew came to find Julia's company a gooddeal more entertaining than his own; although she had read nothing sheought to have read, seen nothing she ought to have seen, andoccasionally both thought and said things she certainly ought not, andwas not even conventionally unconventional. 

They usually parted at the footpath, which shortened her way a little, Rawson-Clew giving her the basket there, and going down the roadalone; in consequence of this it was some time before she knew forcertain where it was he went, although she had early guessed. But onedamp evening she departed from her usual custom. It had been rainingheavily all day, and although it had cleared now, a thick mist layover the wet fields. 

"I shall have to go round by the road, " she said, as she looked at thetrack. 

Rawson-Clew agreed with her. "I am rather surprised that you came outat all this evening, " he remarked. "I should have thought your carefulfriends would have been afraid of colds and wet feet. "

"Vrouw Van Heigen was, " Julia answered, "but Denah and I were not. Itis the last opportunity we shall have for a little while; Joost goesto Germany on business to-morrow. "

Rawson-Clew laughed. "Which means, I suppose, " he said, "that she willneglect the crochet work, and you will have to superintend it? Notvery congenial to you, is it?"

"Good discipline, " she told him. 

"And for that reason to be welcomed? Really you deserve to succeed inwhatever it is you are attempting; you do not neglect details. "

"Details are often important, " she said; "stopping at home and doingcrochet work while Joost is in Germany, for instance, may help me agood deal. "

The tone struck Rawson-Clew as implying more than the words said, buthe did not ask for an interpretation, and before long she had put aquestion to him. They were nearing a large house that stood far backfrom the road on the left hand side. It was a big block of a place, greyish-white in colour, and with more than half of its windowsbricked up, indescribably gloomy. A long, straight piece of water laybefore it, stretching almost from the walls to the road, from which itwas separated by a low fence. Tall, thick trees grew in a close row oneither side, narrowing the prospect; a path ran up beside them on theone hand, the only way to the house, but in the steamy mist which laythick over everything this evening one could hardly see it, and itlooked as if the place were unapproachable from the front. 

Julia glanced curiously towards the house; it was the only one of anysize or possible interest in the village; the only one, she haddecided some time ago, that Rawson-Clew could have any reason tovisit. 

As they approached the gate she ventured, "You go here, do you not?"

"Yes, " he answered; "to Herr Van de Greutz. "

"The cousin tells me he is a great chemist, " Julia said. 

"He is, " Rawson-Clew agreed, "and one much absorbed in his work; it isimpossible to see him even on business except in the evening. "

He paused by the gate as he spoke. "You have not much further to go, have you?" he said. "Will you excuse me carrying your basket further?I am afraid I am rather behind my time. "

Julia took the basket, assuring him she had no distance to carry it, but her eyes as she said it twinkled with amusement; it was not reallylate, and she knew it. 

"You are afraid of what will be said next, " she thought as she lookedback at the man, who was already vanishing among the mists by thelake. And the thought pleased her somewhat, for it suggested thatRawson-Clew had a respect for her acumen, and also that her privatefancy--that the business which brought him here was not of a kind forpublic discussion--was correct. 

The cousin was better that evening; she even expressed hopes of livingthrough the summer, a thing she had not done for more than three days. Julia cheered and encouraged her in this belief (which, indeed, therewas every reason to think well founded) and gave her the messages anddainties she had brought. After that they talked of the weather, whichwas bad; and the neighbours, who, on the whole, were good. Julia knewmost of them by name by this time--the kind old Padre and his wife;the captain of the little cargo-boat, who drank a little, and hisgenerous wife, who talked a great deal; the fat woman who kept fowls, and the thin one who sometimes stole the eggs. Julia had heard allabout them before, but she heard over again, and a little about thegreat chemist, Herr Van de Greutz, too. 

This great man was naturally only a name to the invalid and herfriends, but they had always plenty to say about him. He was sodistinguished that all the village felt proud to have him live ontheir borders, and so disagreeable that they were decidedly in awe ofhim. Of his domestic arrangements there was always talk; he lived inhis great gloomy house with an old housekeeper, whom Julia knew bysight, and a young cook, whom she did not; the former was apermanency, the latter very much the reverse, it being difficult tofind a cook equal to his demands who would for any length of timeendure the shortness of the housekeeper's temper, and the worse one ofher master. The domestic affairs of the chemist were a favouritesubject of gossip, but sometimes his attainments came in for mentiontoo; they did to-night, the cousin being in a garrulous mood. According to her, the great man had done everything in science worthmentioning, and was not only the first chemist in Holland, but in allthe world; he looked down on all others, she said, regarding twoGermans only as anything approaching his peers, all the English andFrench being nothing to him. He had discovered a great many things, dyes, poisons, and explosives; of the last he had recently perfectedone which was twenty-two times stronger than anything before known. Its nature was, of course, a secret, but it would eventually raise thelittle army of Holland far above those of all other nations. 

Julia listened, but especially to the last piece of information, whichstruck her as being the one most likely to prove interesting. Soonafter hearing it, however, she was obliged to go. She made herfarewells, and received messages of affection for Mevrouw, condolencefor Mijnheer--who had a cold--and good wishes for Joost's journey. Then she started homewards, with a light basket and a busy mind. 

It did not take her very long to decide that if there was any truth inthis talk of Van de Greutz's achievements, it must be the lastmentioned--the explosive--which brought Rawson-Clew here. Her judgmentof men, for working purposes at least, was quick and fairly accurate, necessity and experience had helped Nature to make it so. There wereone or two things in connection with Rawson-Clew which were very clearto her, he was not a scientist pure and simple; she had never met one, but she knew he was not one, and so was not likely to be interested inthe great chemist for chemistry only. Nor was he a commercial man;neither his instincts nor his abilities lay in that direction; it wasnot a new process, not a trade secret which brought him here. Indeed, even though he might appreciate the value of such things, he wouldnever dream of trying to possess himself of them. 

Julia understood perfectly the scale in which such acts stood to menlike Rawson-Clew. To attempt to master a man's discovery for one's ownends (as in a way she was doing) was impossible, rank dishonesty, never even contemplated; to do it for business purposes--well, hemight admit it was sometimes necessary in business--commerce had itsmorality as law, and the army had theirs--but it was not a thing hewould ever do himself, he would not feel it exactly honourable. But toattempt to gain a secret for national use was quite another thing, notonly justifiable but right, more especially if, as was probably thecase, the attempt was in fulfilment of a direct order. If after HerrVan de Greutz had a secret worth anything to England, it was thatwhich had brought Rawson-Clew to the little town. She was as sure ofit as she was that it was the blue daffodil which had brought her. 

The hateful blue daffodil! Daily, to possess it grew more imperative. The intercourse with this man, the curious seeming equality that wasbeing established between them, cried aloud for the paying of thedebt, and the establishing of the reality of equality. She longedalmost passionately to be able to regard herself, to know that the manhad reason to regard her, as his equal. And yet to possess the thingseemed daily more difficult; more and more plainly did she see thatbribery, persuasion, cajolery were alike useless. The precious bulbcould be got in one way, and one only; it would never fall into herhands by skilful accident, or nicely stimulated generosity; she musttake it, or she must do without it. She must get it for herself asdeliberately as, in all probability, Rawson-Clew meant to get Herr Vande Greutz's secret. 

She raised her head and looked at the flat, wet landscape withunseeing eyes that were contemptuous. How different two not dissimilaracts could be made to look! If she took the daffodil--and she wouldhave unique opportunity to try during the next two days--Rawson-Clewwould regard her as little better than a common thief; that is, if hehappened to know about it. She winced a little as she thought of thefaint expression of surprise the knowledge would call up in hisimpassive face and cold grey eyes. She could well imagine the slightdifference in his manner to her afterwards, scarcely noticeable to thecasual observer, impossible to be overlooked by her. She told herselfshe did not care what he thought; but she did. Pride was grasping at adesired, but impossible, equality with this man, and here, were themeans used only known, was the nearest way to lose it. At times he hadforgotten the gap of age and circumstances between them--reallyforgotten it, she knew, not only ignored it in his well-bred way. Hehad for a moment really regarded her as an equal; not, perhaps, as hemight the women of his class, rather the men of like experience andattainments with himself. That was not what she wanted, but sherecognised plainly that in grasping at a shadowy social feminineequality by paying the debt, she might well lose this small substanceof masculine equality, for there is no gulf so unbridgeable betweenman and man as a different standard of honour. 

But after all, she asked herself, what did it matter? He need notknow; she would pay, fulfilling her word, and proving her father anhonest man (which he was not); the debtor could not know how it wasdone. And if he did, what then? If she told him herself--he would knowno other way--she would do it deliberately with the set purpose oftarring him with the same brush; she would show him how his attempt onHerr Van de Greutz might also be made to look. He would not beconvinced, of course, but at bottom the two things were so relatedthat it would be surprising if she did not get a few shafts home. Hewould not show the wounds then, but they would be there; they wouldrankle; there would be some humiliation for him, too. A curious lightcrept into her eyes at the thought; she was surer of being able toreduce him than of exalting herself, and it is good, whencircumstances prevent one from mounting, to drag a superior to thelevel of one's humiliation. For a moment she understood something ofthe feelings of the brute mob that throws mud. 

By this time she had reached the town, though almost without knowingit; so deep was she in her thoughts that she did not see Joost comingtowards her. He had been to escort Denah, who had thoughtfullyforgotten to provide herself with a cloak; he was now coming back, carrying the wrap his mother had lent her. 

Julia started when she became aware of him just in front of her. Shewas not pleased to see him; she had no room for him in her mind justthen; he seemed incongruous and out of place. She even looked at him alittle suspiciously, as if she were afraid the fermenting thoughts inher brain might make themselves felt by him. 

He turned and walked beside her. "I have been to take home MissDenah, " he explained. "I saw you a long way off, and thought perhaps Imight escort you; but you are angry; I am sorry. "

Julia could not forbear smiling at him. "I am not angry, " she said, asshe would to a child; "I was only thinking. "

"Of something unpleasant, then, that makes you angry?"

"No; of something that must have been enjoyable. I was thinking how, in the French Revolution, the women of the people must have enjoyedthrowing mud at the women of the aristocrats; how they must have likedscratching the paint and the skin from their faces, and tearing theirhair down, and their clothes off. "

Joost stared in amazement. "Do you call that not unpleasant?" he said. "It is the most grievous, the most pitiable thing in all the world. "

"For the aristocrats, yes, " Julia agreed; "but for the others? Can younot imagine how they must have revelled in it?"

Joost could not; he could not imagine anything violent or terrible, and Julia went on to ask him another question, which, however, sheanswered herself. 

"Do you know why the women of the people did it? It was not only becausethe others had food and they had not; I think it was more because thearistocrats had a thousand other things that they had not, and couldnever have--feelings, instincts, pleasures, traditions--which they couldnot have had or enjoyed even if they had been put in palaces and dressedlike queens. It was the fact that they could never, never rise to them, that helped to make them so furious to pull all down. "

There was a sincerity of conviction in her tone, but Joost only said, "You cannot enjoy to think of such things; it is horrible andpitiable to remember that human creatures became so like beasts. "

Julia's mood altered. "Pitiable, yes; perhaps you are right. Afterall, we are pitiful creatures, and, under the thin veneer, like enoughto the beasts. " Then she changed the subject abruptly, and began totalk of his flowers. 

But he was not satisfied with the change; instinctively he felt shewas talking to his level. "Why do you always speak to me of bulbs andplants?" he said. "Do you think I am interested in nothing else?"

"No, " she said; "I speak of them because I am interested. Do you notbelieve me? It is quite true; you yourself have said that I shouldmake a good florist; already I have learnt a great deal, although Ihave not been here long, and knew nothing before I came. "

"That is so, " he admitted; "you are very clever. Nevertheless, I donot think, if you were alone now, you would be thinking of plants. Youwere not when I met you; it was the Revolution, or, perhaps, humannature--you called it the Revolution in a parable, as you often dowhen you speak your thoughts. "

"Why do you trouble about my thoughts?" Julia said, impatiently. "Howdo you know what I think?"

"Perhaps I don't, " he answered; "only sometimes it seems to me yourvoice tells me though your words do not. "

"My voice?"

"Yes; it is full of notes like a violin, and speaks more than words. Isuppose all voices have many notes really, but people do not often usethem; they use only a few. You use many; that is why I like to listento you when you talk to my parents, or any one. It is like a masterplaying on an instrument; you make simple words mean much, more than Iunderstand sometimes; you can caress and you can laugh with yourvoice; I have heard you do it when I have not been able to understandwhat you caress, or at what you laugh, any more than an ignorantperson can understand what the violin says, although he may enjoy tohear it. To-night you do not caress or laugh; there is something blackin your thoughts. "

"That is human nature, as you say, " Julia said shortly, ignoring thecomment on her voice. "Human nature is a hateful, ugly thing; there isno use in thinking about it. "

"It has certainly fallen, " Joost allowed; "but I have sometimesthought perhaps, if it were not so, it would be a little--a verylittle--monotonous. "

"You would not find it dull, " Julia told him. "I believe you would nothave got on very well in the Garden of Eden, except that, since allthe herbs grew after their own kind, there would be no opportunity tohybridise them. "

But the mystery of production and generation, even in the vegetableworld, was not a subject that modesty permitted Joost to discuss witha girl. His manner showed it, to her impatient annoyance, as hehastily introduced another aspect of man's first estate. "If we werenot fallen, " he added, "we should have no opportunity to rise. That, indeed, would be a loss; is it not the struggle which makes the grandand fine characters which we admire?"

"I don't admire them, " Julia returned; "I admire the people who areborn good, because they are a miracle. "

He stopped to unfasten the gate; it did not occur to him that she wasthinking of himself. 

"I cannot agree with you, " he said, as they went up the drivetogether. "Rather, I admire those who have fought temptation, who arestrong, who know and understand and have conquered; they inspire me totry and follow. What inspiration is there in the other? Consider MissDenah, for an example; she has perhaps never wanted to do more wrongthan to take her mother's prunes, but is there inspiration in her? Sheis as soft and as kind as a feather pillow, and as inspiring. Butyou--you told me once you were bad; I did not believe you; I did notunderstand, but now I know your meaning. You have it in your power tobe bad or to be good; you know which is which, for you have seenbadness, and know it as men who live see it. You have fought with itand conquered; you have struggled, you do struggle, you have strengthin you. That is why you are like a lantern that is sometimes brightand sometimes dim, but always a beacon. "

"I am nothing of the sort, " Julia said sharply. They were in the denseshadow of the trees, so he could not see her face, but her voicesounded strange to him. "You do not know what you are talking about, "she said; "hardly in my life have I asked myself if a thing is rightor wrong--do you understand me? Right and wrong are not things I thinkabout. "

"It is quite likely, " he said, serenely; "different persons havedifferent names for the same things, as you have once said; one callsit 'honourable' and 'dishonourable, ' and another 'right' and 'wrong, 'and another 'wise' and 'unwise. ' But it is always the same thing; itmeans to choose the more difficult path that leads to the greater end, and leave the other way to the lesser and smaller souls. "

Julia caught her breath with a little gasping choke. Joost turned andlooked at her, puzzled at last; but though they had now reached thehouse, and the lamplight shone on her, he could make out nothing; shebrushed past him and went in quickly. 

The next day Joost started for Germany. It rained more or less allday, and Julia did not go out, except for half-an-hour during themorning, when she was obliged to go marketing. She met Denah bound onthe same errand, and heard from her, what she knew already, that shewould not be able to come and superintend the crochet that day. Andbeing in a black and reckless mood, she had the effrontery to laugh asilent, comprehending little laugh in the face of the Dutch girl'selaborate explanations. Denah was a good deal annoyed, and, though herself-esteem did not allow her to realise the full meaning of theoffence, she did not forget it. 

Julia went home with her purchases, and spent the rest of the day inthe usual small occupations. It was an interminably long day shefound. She contrived to hide her feelings, however, and behavedbeautifully, giving the suitable attention and suitable answers to allMevrouw's little remarks about the weather, and Joost's wet journey(though, since he was in the train, Julia could not see that the wetmattered to him), and about Mijnheer's cold, which was very badindeed. 

The day wore on. Julia missed Joost's presence at meals; they were notin the habit of talking much to each other at such times, it is true, but she always knew when she talked to his parents that he waslistening, and putting another and fuller interpretation on her words. That was stimulating and pleasant too; it was a new form ofintercourse, and she did not pretend she did not enjoy it for itself, as well as for the opportunity it gave her of probing his mind andtrying different ideas on him. 

At last dinner was over, and tea; the tea things were washed, and thelong-neglected fancy work brought out. A clock in the passage struckthe hour when, of late, after an exhilirating verbal skirmish with theanxious Denah, she had set out for the village and Rawson-Clew. 

She did not pretend to herself that she did not enjoy that too, shedid immensely; there was a breath from the outside world in it; therewas sometimes the inspiring clash of wits, of steel on steel, alwaysthe charm of educated intercourse and quick comprehension. To-nightthere was nothing; no exercise to stir the blood, no solitude tostimulate the imagination, no effort of talk or understanding to rousethe mind. Nothing but to sit at work, giving one-eighth of attentionto talk with Mevrouw--more was not needed, and the rest to the bluedaffodils that lay securely locked up in a place only too well known. 

Evening darkened, grey and dripping, to-night, supper-getting timecame, and the hour for locking up the barns. Mijnheer, snuffling andwheezing a good deal, put on a coat, a mackintosh, a comforter, a pairof boots and a pair of galoshes; took an umbrella, the lantern, agreat bunch of keys, and went out. Julia watched him go, and saidnothing; she had been the rounds a good many times with Joost now; thefamily had talked about it more than once, and about her bravery withregard to rats and robbers. Neither of the old people would have beensurprised if she had volunteered to go in place of Mijnheer, even ifhis cold had not offered a reason for such a thing. But she did not doit; he went alone, and the blue daffodil bulbs lay snug in theirlocked place. 

The next day it still rained, but a good deal harder. There was asudden drop in the temperature, too, such as one often finds in anEnglish summer. The Van Heigens did not have a fire on that account, their stoves always kept a four months' sabbath; the advent of asnow-storm in July would not have been allowed to break it. Mijnheer'scold was decidedly worse; towards evening it grew very bad. He came inearly from the office, and sat and shivered in the sitting-room withJulia and his wife, who was continuing the crochet unaided, and solaying up much future work for Denah. At last it was considered darkenough for the lamp to be lighted. Julia got up and lit it, and drewthe blind, shutting out the grey sheet of the canal and the slantingrain. 

"Dear me, " Mevrouw said once again, "how bad the rain must be forJoost!"

Julia agreed, but reminded her--also once again--that it was possiblynot raining in Germany. 

Mijnheer looked up from his paper to remark that the weather was verybad for the crops. 

"It is bad for every one, " his wife rejoined; "but worse of all foryou. You should be in bed. Indeed, it is not fit that you should beup; the house is like a cellar this evening. "

Mijnheer did not suggest the remedy of a fire; he, too, shared thebelief that stoves should not be lighted before the appointed time; heonly protested at the idea of bed. "Pooh!" he said. "Make myself aninvalid with Joost away! Will you go and nurse my nose, and putplasters on my chest? Go to bed now, do you say? No, no, my dear, Iwill sit here; I am comfortable enough; I read my paper, I smoke mycigar; by and by, I go out to see that my barns are all safe for thenight. "

But at this Mevrouw gave an exclamation; the idea of his going out insuch weather was terrible, she said, and she said it a good manytimes. 

Julia bent over her work; she heard the swish of the rain on thewindow, the uneven sob of the fitful wind; she heard the old peopletalk, the husband persist, the wife protest. She did not look up; hereyes were fixed on her needle, but she hardly saw it; more plainly shesaw the dark barns, the crowded shelves, the place where the bluedaffodils were. She could find them with perfect ease; could chooseone in the dark as easily as Mijnheer himself; she could substitutefor it another, one of the common sort of the same shape and size; noone would be the wiser; even when it bloomed, with the simple yellowflower that has beautified spring woods so long, no one would know itwas not a sport of nature, a throw back to the original parent. It wasthe simplest thing in all the world; the safest. Not that thatrecommended it; she would rather it had been difficult or dangerous, it would have savoured more of a fair fight and less of trickery. Besides, such safety was nothing; anything can be made safe with careand forethought. 

She caught her own name in the talk now; husband and wife werespeaking lower, evidently arguing as to the propriety of asking her togo the rounds; for a moment she pretended not to hear, then she raisedher head, contempt for her own weakness in her mind. It is notopportunity that makes thieves of thinking folk, and she knew it;rather it is the thief that makes opportunity, if he is up to hiswork. Why should she be afraid to go to the barns? She would not takethe daffodil the more for going; if she meant to do it, and, throughcowardice, let this opportunity slip, she would soon find another. Andif she did not mean to, the proximity of the thing would not make hertake it. 

She put down her work. "I will lock up for you, Mijnheer; give me thekeys. "

He protested, and his wife protested, much more feebly, and thankedher for going the while. They gave her many directions, and told hershe must put on this, that, and the other, and must be careful not toget her feet wet, and really need not to be too particular inexamining all the doors. She answered them with impatient politeness, as one does who is waiting for the advent of a greater matter; shewas not irritated by the trivial interruptions which came between herand the decision which was yet to be made; it was somehow so great toher that it seemed as if it could wait. At last she was off, Mijnheer's galoshes wallowing about her feet, his black-capedmackintosh thrown round her shoulders. She had neither hat norumbrella. Mevrouw literally wailed when she started; but it made noimpression, she came of the nation most indifferent to getting wet, and most-susceptible to death by consumption of any in Europe. 

She slopped along in the great galoshes, her back to the lighted housenow, her face to the dark barns. There they were, easily accessible, waiting for her. Was she to take one, or was she not? She did not giveherself any excuse for taking it, or tell herself that one out of sixwas not much; or that Joost, could he know the case, would not havegrudged her one of his precious bulbs. There was only one thing sheadmitted--it was there, and her need for it was great. With it shecould pay a debt that was due, show her father an honourable man, and, seeing that the affair could always remain secret, raise herselfnearer to Rawson-Clew's level. Without it she could not. 

She had come to the first barn now, and, unbarring the door, went in. Almost oppressive came the dry smell of the bulbs to her; veryfamiliar, too, as familiar as the distorted shadows that her lanternmade. Together they brought vividly to her mind the first time shewent the rounds with Joost--the night when she told him she was bad, the worst person he knew. Poor Joost, he had interpreted her words hisown way; she remembered very plainly what he said but two nightsago--right and wrong, honourable and dishonourable, wise and unwise, they meant the same thing to different people, the choosing of thehigher, the leaving of the lower--and he believed no less of her. Thatbelief, surely, was a thing that fought on the side of the angels? Andthen there was that other man, able, well-bred, intellectual, hersuperior, who had treated her as an equal, and so tacitly demandedthat she should conform to his code of honour. And there was JohnnyGillat, poor, old round-faced Johnny, who, under his silly, shabbyexterior, had somewhere, quite understood, the same code, and standardof a gentleman, and never doubted but that she had it too--surelythese two, also, were on the side of the angels?

But it was not a matter of angels, neither was it a matter of thisman's thought, or that. At bottom, it seemed all questions could bebrought to plain terms--What do I think? I, alone in the big, black, contradictory world. Julia realised it, and asked herself what itmattered if he, if they, if all the world called it wrong?What--pitiless, logical question--was wrong? Why should to take in onecase be so called, and in another not? By whose word, and by what lawwas a thing thus, and why was she to submit to it?

She faced the darkness, the lantern at her feet, her back against theshelves, and asked herself the world-old question; and, like manybefore her, found no answer, because logic, merciless solvent of faithand hope and law, never answers its own riddles. Only, as she stoodthere, there rose up before her mind's eye the face of Joost, with itssimple gravity, its earnest, trusting blue eyes. She saw it, and shesaw the humble dignity with which he had shown her his six bulbs. Notas a proud possessor shows a treasure, rather as an adept shares somesecret of his faith or art; so had he placed them in her power, givenher a chance to so use this trust. She almost groaned aloud as sherecalled him, and recalled, sorely against her will, a horrible taleshe had once read, of a Brahmin who murdered a little child for herworthless silver anklets. Joost was a veritable child to her, powerless before her ability, trusting in her good faith, a childindeed, even if he had not placed his secret in her grasp. And it washe--this child--that she, with her superior strength, was going torob!

She shivered. Why was he not Rawson-Clew? Why could not he take bettercare of himself and his possessions? She could have done it with alight heart then; there would have been a semblance of fight in it;but now--now it could not be done. Logic, the pitiless solvent, has noaction on those old long-transmitted instincts; it may argue with, butit cannot destroy, those vague yearnings of the natural man towardsrighteousness. Julia did not argue, she only obeyed; she did not knowwhy. 

She picked up the lantern, and moved to go; as she did so, the barndoor, lightly fastened, blew open. A rush of rain and wind swept in, the smell of the wet earth, and the sight of the tossing trees, andmassed clouds that fled across the sky. For a moment she stood andlooked, hearing the wild night voices, the sob of the wet wind, therustle and mutter of the trees--those primitive inarticulate thingsthat do not lie. And in her heart she felt very weary of shams andpretences, very hungry for the rest of reality and truth. She turnedaway, and made the round of the barns systematically, and withouthaste; she did not hurry past the resting-place of the blue daffodils, they were safe from her now and always. 

It was not till some weeks later that she saw, and not then withoutalso seeing it was quite impossible to disprove the proposition, thatthere was something grimly absurd in the idea which had possessed herthat night--the thought of stealing to prove a lie, and actingdishonourably to pay a debt of honour. At the time she did not thinkat all, she acted on instinct only. Thank God for those dumbinstincts, making for righteousness, which, in spite of theologians, are implanted somewhere in the heart of man. 

So she went the rounds, fastened the barns, and came out of the lastone, locking the door after her. Outside, she stood a second, the rainfalling upon her bare head, the wind blowing her cloak about her. Andshe did not feel triumphant or victorious, nor reluctant andcontemptuous of her weakness; only somehow apart and alone, and very, very tired. 

CHAPTER VIII

POOFERCHJES AND JEALOUSY

The Polkingtons were launching out; not ostentatiously with expensiveentertainments or anything striking, but in all small ways, scarcelynoticeable except in general effect, but none the less expensive. Theycould not afford it; the past nine months had been very difficult, first the Captain's unfortunate misuse of the cheque, then Violet'sengagement and the necessary entertainment that it involved, and thenher wedding. Financially they were in a very bad way, but that did notprevent them spending--or owing--in a rather lordly fashion. Mrs. Polkington with one daughter married, and another safely out of theway, seemed determined to take the field well with the remaining one. Chèrie was quite ready to second the effort, indeed, she was theinstigator; she was not only the prettiest of the sisters, but alsothe most ease loving, and though ambitious, less clever than theothers, and a great deal more short-sighted. She had for some timeceased to be content with the position at Marbridge and the societythere; she wanted to be recognised by the "county. " This desire hadbeen growing of late, for there had been a very eligible andattractive bachelor addition to that charmed circle, and he had morethan once looked admiration her way. She and her mother went to workwell and spared neither time nor trouble; not much result could beexpected during the summer months, little done then except getready--an expensive proceeding. It was when September brought peoplehome for the partridge shooting and October's pheasants kept themthere till hunting began, that they expected their success and thereturn for their outlay, and they were quite content to wait for it. 

Their plans and doings were naturally not confided to any one, noteven Julia; she heard seldom from Marbridge; the family feelings wereof a somewhat utilitarian order, based largely on mutual benefit. Shewrote now and then; she happened to do so on the day after the one onwhich she did not take the blue daffodil; and she mentioned in thisletter that it was possible she should be home again soon. Seeing thatshe had decided the daffodil was unobtainable she saw little reasonfor staying longer; this of course she did not mention when she wrote. Somewhat to her surprise she got an almost immediate reply to herletter. 

It would not suit Mrs. Polkington and Chèrie to have Julia back soonat all; it is always easier to swim socially with one daughter thantwo, especially if the second is not good-looking. Also, Julia, cautious, long-headed and capable, was certain to criticise theirproceedings and do her best to interfere with them. She would be wrongin her judgments, of course, and they right; they were sure of that, but they did not want the trouble of attempting to convert her, andanyhow, they felt they could do much better without her, and Mrs. Polkington wrote and intimated as much politely. She gave severalexcellent reasons, all of which were perfectly transparent to Julia, though that did not matter, seeing that she was sufficiently hurt inher feelings, or her pride, to at once determine to fulfil hermother's wishes and do anything rather than go where she was notwanted. 

There was not much said of the plans and doings in Mrs. Polkington'sletter, but a little crept in almost without the writer's knowledge, enough to rouse Julia's suspicions. Why, she asked herself, was hermother suddenly enamoured with the beauty of Chippendale furniture?How did she know that Sturt's (the tailor's) prices were lower forcostumes this season? And in what way had she become aware what theAshton's last parlour-maid thought, if she had not engaged that youngwoman for her own service? Julia was at once uneasy and disgusted; thelast alike with the proceedings themselves and the attempt to deceiveher about them. And another letter she received at the same time didnot make her any more satisfied; it was from Johnny Gillat, about assilly and uninforming a letter as ever man wrote, but it contained onepiece of information. Mr. Gillat was going to have a great excitementin the early autumn--Captain Polkington was coming to London, perhapsfor as long as three months. Johnny did not know why; he thoughtperhaps to have some treatment for his rheumatism; Mrs. Polkington hadarranged it. Julia did know why, and the short-sightedness of thepolicy roused her contempt. To thus put the family drawback out of theway, and leave him to his own devices and Mr. Gillat's care, seemed toher as unwise towards him as it was unkind to Johnny. She would havewritten that minute to expostulate with her mother if she had not justthen been called away. 

These two disturbing letters arrived on the day that Joost came homefrom Germany, after the English mail for the day had gone. Juliacomforted herself with this last fact when she was called before shehad time to write to her mother; she could write when she went to bedthat night; the letter would go just as soon as if it was written now;so she went to answer Mevrouw's summons to admire the carved crochethook her son had brought her as a present from Germany. Joost hadbrought several small presents besides the crochet hook, a pipe forhis father, and two other trifles--a small vase and a photograph of aplant which was the pride of the Berlin gardens that year--an aloe, noyucca, but one of the true rare blooming sort, in full flower. Juliawas asked to take her choice of these two; she chose the photographbecause it seemed to her much more characteristic of the giver, andalso because it was easier to put away. She had no idea of pleasingJoost by so doing; to tell the truth she hardly felt desirous ofpleasing him, for though she had refrained from taking his bluedaffodil and was in a way satisfied that she had done so, she did notfeel exactly grateful to him for unconsciously standing between herand it, from which some may conclude that virtue was not an indigenousplant with Julia. 

When Denah arrived after dinner she was given the vase. Before Joostwent away she had expressed in his hearing a wish that she hadsomething from Berlin; she had said it rather pronouncedly as onemight express a desire for a bear from the Rocky Mountains, or a rubyfrom Burmah; she could hardly have received one of those with moreenthusiasm than she did the vase. She admired it from every point ofview and thanked Joost delightedly; the delight, however, was a littlemodified when Mijnheer let slip the fact that Julia also had a presentfrom Berlin. 

"Have you?" she asked suspiciously. "What is it? Show me. "

Julia fetched the photograph and exhibited it with as little elationas possible. Denah did not admire it greatly, she said she muchpreferred her own present. 

At this Joost smiled a little; it was only what he expected, andJulia began tactfully to talk about the beauties of the vase; butDenah was not to be put off her main point. 

"Do you not prefer mine; really and truly, would you not rather it hadbeen yours?" she asked. 

Julia could have slipped out of the answer quite easily; thePolkingtons were all good at saying things to be interpreted accordingto taste; but Joost, with signal idiocy, stepped in and prevented. 

"No, " he said, "she preferred the photograph; she chose it of thetwo. "

At this intelligence Denah's face was a study; Julia could not but beamused by it although she was sorry. She did not want to make the girljealous, it was absurd that she should be; but absurdity neverprevents such things, and would not now, nor would it make herpleasanter if she were once fairly roused. Julia smoothed matters overas well as she could, which was very well considering, though shefailed to entirely allay Denah's suspicions. 

As soon after as she could she set out for the village, leaving thefield to the Dutch girl, and carrying with her enough unpleasantthoughts on other things to prevent her from giving any moreconsideration to the silly spasm of jealousy. She had thrust her twoletters from England into her pocket, and as she went she kept turningand turning their news in her mind though without much result. Thereseemed very little she could do except prevent the banishing of herfather to London. She would write to her mother about that, and, whatmight be rather more effective, to Mr. Gillat. She could tell him itmust not happen, and instruct him how to place obstacles in the way;he would do his best to fulfil her requests, she was sure, even togoing down to Marbridge and establishing himself there about the timeof her father's intended departure. But with regard to the rest of hermother's plans, or Chèrie's, whichever it might be, there seemednothing to be done. To write would be useless; to go home, even if sheswallowed her pride and did so, very little better; of course she hadnot anything very definite to go upon, only a hint here and there, yetshe guessed pretty well what they were doing, what spending, and whatthey thought to get by it. The old, long-headed Julia feared for theresult; Mrs. Polkington, clever though she undoubtedly was, had neversucceeded in big ventures; she had not the sort of mind for it; shehad never made a wholly successful big stride; her real climbing hadbeen done very slowly, so the old Julia feared for her. And the newone, who had grown up during the past months, revolted against thewhole thing, finding it sordid, despicable, dishonourable even, somehow all wrong. And perhaps because the old cautious Julia could donothing to avert the consequences, the newer nature was in theascendant that evening, and consequences were in time forgotten, anddisgust and weariness and shame--which included self and all thingsconnected with it--took possession of the girl. 

By and by she heard a step behind her--Rawson-Clew. She had forgottenhis existence; she was almost sorry to be reminded of it; she felt soashamed of herself and her people, so conscious of the gulf betweenthem and him. So very conscious of this last that she suddenly feltdisinclined for the effort of struggling to hide or bridge it. 

He caught up with her. "How has the crochet progressed this week underyour care?" he asked her lightly. 

"It has not progressed, " she answered; "there are enough mistakes init now to occupy Denah for a long time. "

He took her basket from her, and she looked at him thoughtfully. Hewas just the same as usual, quiet, drawling voice, eyeglass, everything--she wondered if he were ever different; how he would act, say, in her circumstances. If they could change bodies, now, and he beJulia Polkington, with her relations, needs and opportunities, whatwould he do? Would he still be impassive, deliberate, equal to alloccasions? Would he find it easy to keep his inviolable laws ofgood-breeding and honour, and so forth?

"There is something I should like to ask you, " she said suddenly. 

"Yes?" he inquired. 

"Is it much trouble to you to be honest?"

He was a little surprised, though not so much as he would have beenearlier in their acquaintance. "That, " he said, "I expect ratherdepends on what you mean by honest. I imagine you don't refer to lyingand stealing, and that sort of thing, since nobody finds it difficultto avoid them. "

"They are not gentlemanly?" she suggested. 

"I don't know that I ever looked at it in that way, " he said; "or, indeed, any way. One does not think about those sort of things; onedoes not do them, that's all. "

She nodded. The careless change of pronoun, which in a way includedher with himself, was not lost upon her. 

"In the matter of half-truths, " she inquired; "how about them?"

"I don't think I have given that subject consideration either, " heanswered, rather amused; "there does not seem any need at my age. Onedoes things, or one does not; abstractions don't appeal to most menafter thirty. "

Again Julia nodded. "It looks to me, " she said, "as if you take yourmorality, like your dinner, as a matter of course; it's always there;you don't have to bother after it; you don't really know how it comes, or what it is worth. "

Now and then Rawson-Clew had observed in his acquaintance with Julia, she said things which had a way of lighting him up to himself; thiswas one of the occasions. "Possibly you are right, " he said, withfaint amusement. "How do you take yours? Let us consider yours; I amsure it would be a great deal more interesting. "

"There would be more variety in it, " she said significantly. 

"What is your opinion about half-truths?" he inquired, with gravemimicry of her. 

 "'Half a truth, however small, Is better than no truth at all, '"

she quoted. "That is so; it is better, safer to deal with--to explainaway if it is found out, to deceive with if it is not. But it is nothalf so easy as the whole truth; that is the easiest thing in theworld; it takes no ingenuity, no brains, no courage, no acting, nofeeling the pulse of your people, no bolstering up or watching orremembering. If I wanted to teach the beauty of truth, I would set mypupils to do a little artistic white lying on their own account, tomake things look four times as good as they really were, and not toforget to make them square together, that would teach them theadvantage of truth. "

"Do you think so?" Rawson-Clew said. "It is not the usual opinion;fools and cowards are generally supposed to be the great dealers indeceit and subterfuge. "

"May be, " Julia allowed; "but I don't happen to have come across thatsort much; the other I have, and I am just about sick of it--I am sickof pretending and shamming and double-dealing, of saying one thing andimplying another, and meaning another still--you don't know what itfeels like, you have never had to do it; you wouldn't, of course; verylikely you couldn't, even. I am weary of it; I am weary of the wholething. "

Rawson-Clew screwed the glass into his eye carefully but did not lookat her; he had an idea she would rather not. "What is it?" he askedkindly. "What has gone wrong to-night? Too much pudding again?"

"No, " she answered, with a quick, if partial, recovery; "too muchhumbug, too much self. I have seen a great deal of myself lately, andit's hateful. "

"I cannot agree with you. "

"Do you like having a lot of yourself?"

"No; I like yourself. "

She laughed a little; in her heart she was pleased, but she only said, "I don't; I know what it really is. "

"And I do not?"

"No, " she answered; then, with a sudden determination to tell him theworst, and to deal in this newly admired honesty, she said, "I willtell you, though. You remember my father? You may have politelyforgotten him, or smoothed out your recollections of him--remember himnow; he is just about what you thought him. "

"Indeed?" the tone was that one of polite interest, which she had cometo know so well. "Your shoe is unfastened; may I tie it for you? Thequestion is, " he went on, as he stooped to her shoe, "what did I thinkof your father? I'm sure I don't know, and I hardly think you are ina position to, either. "

She moved impatiently, so that the shoelace slipped out of his hand, and he had to begin all over again. It was a very shabby shoe; atanother time she might have minded about it, and even refused to haveit fastened on that account; to-night she did not care, which wasperhaps as well, for Rawson-Clew knew long ago all about theshabbiness--the only thing he did not know before was the good shapeof the foot inside. 

"I know perfectly well what you thought my father, " she said; "if youhave forgotten, I will remind you. You did not think him anadventurer, I know; of course, you saw he had not brains enough. "

But here the shoe tying was finished, and Rawson-Clew intimatedpolitely that he was not anxious to be reminded of things he hadforgotten. "You began by saying you would tell me about yourself, " hesaid; "will you not go on?"

"I have more brains than my father, " she said, "and no moreprinciples. "

"_Ergo_--you succeed where he falls short; in fact, you are anadventuress--is that it? My dear child, you neither are, nor evercould be; believe me, I really do know, though, as you have indicated, my morality is rather mechanical and my experience much as othermen's. You see, I, too, have graduated in the study of humanity in theuniversity of cosmopolis; I don't think my degree is as high as yours, and I certainly did not take it so young, but I believe I know anadventuress when I see one. You will never do in that walk of life; Idon't mean to insinuate that you haven't brains enough, or that youwould ever lose your head; it isn't that you would lose, it's yourheart. "

"I haven't;" Julia cried hotly. "I have not lost my heart; that hasnothing to do with it. "

"I did not say that you had, " Rawson-Clew reminded her; "of coursenot, you have not lost it, and could not easily. I did not mean that;I only meant that it would interfere with your success as anadventuress. "

"It would not, " Julia persisted; "I don't care about people a bit; itisn't that, it is simply that I am sick of deception, that is why I amtelling you the truth. And as for the other thing--the daffodil"--sheforgot that he did not know about it--"I couldn't take it from any oneso silly, so childish, so trusting. "

"Of course not, " Rawson-Clew said. "I don't know what the daffodilthing is, nor from whom you could not take it--please don't tell me; Inever take the slightest interest in other people's business, it boresme. But, you see, you bear out what I say; you are of those strong whoare merciful; you would make no success as an adventuress. Besides, your tastes are too simple; I have some recollections of yourmentioning corduroy--er--trousers and a diet of onions as the heightof your ambition. "

Julia laughed in spite of herself. "That is only when I retire, " shesaid. "I haven't retired yet; until I do I am--"

"The incarnation of the seven deadly sins?" Rawson-Clew finished forher, with a smile in his eyes. "No doubt of it; I expect that is whatmakes you good company. "

So, after all, it came about that she did not get her confession madein full. But, then, there hardly seemed need for it; it appeared thatRawson-Clew already knew a great deal about her, and did not think theworse of her for it. Rather it seemed he thought better than she hadeven believed; he, himself, too, was rather different--there hadcrept a note of warmth and personality into their acquaintance whichhad not been there before. Julia had pleasant thoughts for company onher homeward walk, in spite of the worry of the letters she carriedwith her; she even for a moment had an idea of putting the matter theycontained before Rawson-Clew and asking his advice; that is, if thefriendship which had begun to dawn on their acquaintance that eveninggrew yet further. It did grow, but she did not ask him, loyalty to herfamily prevented; there were, however, plenty of other things to talkabout, and the friendship got on well until the end came. 

The end came about the time of the annual fair. This fair was a greatevent in the little town; it only lasted three days, and only themiddle one of the three was important, or in the least provocative ofdisorder; but--so Mijnheer said--it upset business very much. Afterinquiry as to how this came about, Julia learnt that it was foundnecessary to give the workmen a holiday on the principal day. They gotso drunk the night before, that most of them were unfit for work, anda few even had the hardihood to stop away entirely, so as to devotethe whole day to getting drunk again. Under these circumstances, Mijnheer made a virtue of necessity, and gave a whole holiday to theentire staff. 

"Does the office have a holiday too?" Julia asked. 

Mijnheer nodded. "These young fellows, " he said, "are all forholidays; they are not like their fathers. Now it is always 'I mustride on my wheel; I must row in my boat; I must play my piano; let usput the work away as soon as we can, and forget it. ' It was not so inmy young days; then we worked, or we slept; playing was for children. There were some great men of business in those days. "

Julia was not in a position to contradict this; she only said, "It isa real holiday, then, like a bank holiday in England?"

"A real holiday, yes, " he answered her; "a holiday for you too, if youlike. Would you like a real English bank holiday?" He called to hiswife: "See here, " he said, "here is an English miss who would like anEnglish holiday; when the workmen have theirs she shall have hers too, is it not so?"

Mevrouw nodded, laughing. "But what will you do with it?" she asked. 

"I should go out, " Julia answered; "if it is fine I should go out allday. "

"To the fair?" Mijnheer asked. "You would not like that alone; itwould be very rough. "

"I should go out into the country, " Julia said. "I should make anexcursion all by myself. "

They seemed a good deal amused by her taste, but the idea suggested infun was really determined upon; Julia, so Mijnheer promised, shouldhave a holiday when every one else did, and do just what she pleased. 

"You shall do as you like, " he said; "even though it is not to go tothe fair and eat _pooferchjes_. It is only once in a year one can eat_pooferchjes_, or three times rather; they are to be had on each ofthe three days. "

"What are they?" Julia asked. "I have never heard of them. "

"Never heard of them, " the old man exclaimed. "They do not have them, I suppose, on an English bank holiday? Then certainly you must havethem here; we will go and eat them on the first day of the fair, wheneverything is nice and clean, and there are not too many people about. I will find a nice quiet place, and we will go and eat them together, after tea, before there are great crowds. Will you come with me? Ishall be taking my young lady to the fair like a gay dog. "

He chuckled at the idea, and Julia readily agreed. "I shall bedelighted, " she said. 

When Denah came, a little later, it seemed she would be delighted too, although she was not specially asked. But when she heard of the plan, she announced that her father had promised to take Anna and herself, and what could be better than that the parties should join? Mijnheerquite approved of this, so did Julia; and she, on hearing Denah'sproposal, at once saw that Joost was included as he had not beenbefore. Joost did not like fairs; he objected to noise, and glare, andcrowds, and all such things; neither did he care for _pooferchjes_;they were too bilious for him. Nevertheless he agreed to join theparty; Denah was quite sure it was entirely on her account. 

On the morning of the first day of the fair, Julia went into the townto buy cakes to take with her on to-morrow's excursion. She had notchanged her mind about that; she was still fully determined to go andspend a long day in the Dunes. She had not told the Van Heigens of theplace chosen; she and Mijnheer had much fun and mystery about it, hedeclaring she was going to the wood to ride donkeys with the headgardener's fat wife. There was another thing she also had not told theVan Heigens--a slight alteration there had been in her plans; she wasnot, as she had first intended, going alone. It had somehow come aboutthat Rawson-Clew was going with her; he had never seen the Dunes, andhe had nothing to do that day, and he was not going to Herr Van deGreutz in the evening, it seemed rather a good idea that he should gofor a holiday too; Julia saw no objection to it, but also she saw thatit would not do to tell her Dutch employers. She had never mentionedRawson Clew to them--there had not seemed any need; she never met himtill she was clear of the town and the range of reporting tonguesthere, and she usually parted from him before she reached the villageand the observers there, so nothing was known of the evening walks. Which was rather a pity, for, as Julia afterwards found out, it isoften wisest to tell something of your doings, especially if youcannot tell all, and they are likely to come in for public notice. 

Julia bought her cakes, and went about the town feeling asholiday-like as the gayest peasant there, although she had nowonderful holiday head-dress of starched lace and gold plates. She didnot see any one she knew, except old Marthe, Herr Van de Greutz'shousekeeper. She had met the old woman several times when she wasmarketing, and was on speaking terms with her now, so she had to stopand listen to her troubles. They were only the same old tale; hernewest young cook had left suddenly, and she had come to the town tosee if she could get another from among the girls who had come in forthe fair. She had no success at all, and was setting out for home, despondent, and not at all comforted to think that she would have totrudge in and try all over again the day after to-morrow. To-morrow, itself, the great day, it was no good trying; no girl would payattention to business then. 

In the evening Julia went again into the town, but this time withMijnheer and Joost, and dressed in her best dress. It was not at all anew dress, nor at all a grand one, but it was well chosen, well madeand well fitted, and certainly very well put on; the gloves and hat, too, accorded with it, and she herself was in a humour of gaiety thatbordered on brilliancy. Was she not going to have a holiday to-morrow, and was she not going to spend it in company with a man she liked, and in despite of Dutch propriety, which would certainly have beenthoroughly and outrageously shocked thereby? Denah knew nothing of thecauses at work, but she was not slow to discern the result when sheand her father and sister met the Van Heigen party that evening. Shesmoothed the bow at the neck of her best dress, and looked at hergloves discontentedly; she did not altogether admire Julia's clothes, they were not at all Dutch; but she had an intuitive idea that theycame nearer to Paris, the sartorial ideal of the nations, than her owndid. She looked suspiciously at the English girl, her eyes wereshining and sparkling like stars; they were full of alert interest andhalf-suppressed mischief. She looked at everything, and overlookednothing, though she was talking to Mijnheer in a soft, purring voice, that was full of fun and wickedness. Now she turned to Joost, and hervoice took another tone; she was teasing him, making fun of him in away that Denah decided was scandalous, although his father was there, aiding and abetting her. Joost did not seem to resent it a bit; helistened quite serenely, and even turned a look on her as one who hasanother and private interpretation of the words. Anna saw nothing ofthis; she only thought Julia very nice, and her dress pretty, and hertalk gay. But Denah, though not always so acute, was in love, and shesaw a good deal, and treasured it up for use when the occasion shouldoffer. 

They ate _pooferchjes_, sitting in a funny little covered stall; atleast, the top and three sides were covered, the fourth was open tothe street. A long, narrow table, with clean white calico spread onit, ran down the centre of the place, and narrow forms stood on eitherside of it. It was lighted by a Chinese lantern hung from the roof, and also, and more especially, by a flare outside of the charcoalfire, where the _pooferchjes_ were cooked. A powerful brown-armedpeasant woman made them, beating the batter till it frothed, anddropping it by the spoonful into the little hollows in the great sheetof iron that glowed on the stove without. The glow of the fire was onher too, on her short skirt and her fine arms, and the flaring light, that flickered in the breeze, danced on her strong, brown face, withits resolute lines, and splendid gold-ringed head-dress. People keptpassing to and fro all the time, or stopping sometimes to look in;solemnly-gay holiday people, enjoying themselves after their ownfashion. The light flickered on them, too, and on the brick pavement, and on the trees, plentiful almost as canals in the town. Julia leanedforward and looked, and listened to the guttural Dutch voices, and thecurious patois to be heard now and then, and the distant notes ofmusic that blended with it. And the flickering lights and shadowsdanced across her mind, and the simple holiday feeling of it all gotto her head. 

Then the _pooferchjes_ were done and brought in, little round, crispthings, smoking hot, and very greasy; something like tiny Englishpancakes--at least one might say so if one had not tasted them. Andthen more people came in and sat at the opposite side of the table, agardener of another bulb grower, and his two daughters. He raised hishat to the Van Heigen party, and received a similar salutation inreturn, though he and they were careful to put their hats on again, adraught being a thing much feared. Mijnheer shook hands with thefather, and they entered into conversation about the weather; thegirls looked across at Denah and Anna, and more still at Julia, whosesmall, slim hands they evidently admired. 

But at last the _pooferchjes_ were all eaten and paid for. To do thelatter the notary, Mijnheer and Joost all brought out large pursesand counted out small coins with care, and the party came out, makingway for new-comers. They did not go straight home again, as was firstintended, Julia's interest and gaiety seemed to have infected theothers--all except Denah, and they walked for a little while among thebooths of toys, and sweets, and peepshows, and entertainments. And asthey went, Denah grew more and more silent, watching Julia, who waswalking with Joost; the arrangement was not of the English girl'sseeking, but Denah took no account of that. The thing of which she didtake account was that they two talked as they walked together, he aswell as she, but both with the ease and quick comprehension of peoplewho have talked together often. 

Mijnheer stopped to look at the merry-go-round; he admired the cheerfultune that it played. He was not a connoisseur of music; a barrel-organ wasas good to him as the organ in the Groote Kerk. The others stopped too;Anna exclaimed on the life-like and clever appearance of the bobbinghorses, whereupon her father suggested that perhaps the girls would liketo try a ride on the machine, and then befel the crowning mischief of theevening. Julia and Anna accepted the proposal readily. Denah declined; shefelt in no humour for it; also she thought a refusal showed a superiormind--one likely to appeal to a serious young man, who had no taste forthe gaudy, gay, or fast, and who also had a tendency towards seasickness. But, alas, for the fickleness of man! While Denah stood with her fatherand Mijnheer, Julia rode round the centre of lighted mirrors on a prancingwooden horse, and Joost--the serious, the sometimes seasick--rode besideher on a dappled grey, to the familiar old English tune, "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-a. "

CHAPTER IX

THE HOLIDAY

The Dunes lay some little distance from the town, a low, butsuddenly-rising hill boundary, that shut in the basin of flat land. They were all of pure sand, though in many places so matted withvegetation that it was hardly recognisable as such. Trees grew inplaces, especially on the side that fronted towards the town; the wayup lay through a dense young wood of beech and larch, and a short, broad-leafed variety of poplar. There was no undergrowth, but betweenthe dead leaves one could see that a dark green, short-piled moss hadmanaged to find a hold here and there, though so smooth was it that itlooked more like old enamel than a natural growth. The trees had theappearance of high summer, deeply, intensely green, so that theyseemed almost blackish in mass. There was no breeze among them; eventhe dapples of sunlight which found their way through the roof ofleaves hardly stirred, but lay in light patches, like scattered goldupon the ground. Flies and gnats moved and shimmered, a busy life, whose small voices were the only sound to be heard; all else was verystill, with the glorious reposeful stillness of full summer; notoppressive, without weariness or exhaustion, rather as if the wholecreation paused at this zenith to look round on its works, and beheldand saw that they were all very good. 

There were no clear paths, apparently few people went that way;certainly there was no one about when Julia and Rawson-Clew came. Itis true they saw a kind of little beer-garden at the foot of theslope, but there was no one idling about it. 

"We shall have to come back here for lunch, " Julia said. 

And when he suggested that it was rather a pity to have to retracetheir steps, she answered, "It doesn't matter, we are not goinganywhere particular; we may just as well wander one way as another. When we get to the top this time we will explore to the right, andwhen we get there again after lunch, we will go to the left; don't youthink that is the best way? This is to be a holiday, you know. "

"Is a real holiday like a dog's wanderings?" Rawson-Clew inquired;"bounded by no purpose except dinner when hungry?"

Julia thought it must be something of the kind. "Though, " she said, "dogs always seem to have some end in view, or perhaps a dozen ends, for though they tear off after an imaginary interest as if there wasnothing else in the world, they get tired of it, or else startanother, and forget all about the first. "

"That must also be part of the essence of a holiday, " Rawson-Clewsaid; "at least, one would judge it to be so; boys and dogs, the onlythings in nature who really understand the art of holiday-making, chase wild geese, and otherwise do nothing of any account, with aninexhaustible energy, and a purposeful determination wonderful tobehold. Also, they forget that there is such a thing as to-morrow, sothat must be important too. "

"I can't do that, " Julia said. 

"You might try when you get to the top, " he suggested. "I will trythen; I don't think I could do anything requiring an effort just now. "

Julia agreed that she could not either, and they went on up straightbefore them. It is as easy to climb a sand-hill in one place as inanother, provided you stick your feet in the right way, and do notmind getting a good deal of sand in your boots. So they went straight, and at last got clear of the taller trees, and were struggling inthickets of young poplars, and other sinewy things. The sand wasfirmer, but honeycombed with rabbit holes, and tangled with brambles, and the direction was still upwards, though the growth was so thick, and the ground so bad, that it was often necessary to go a long wayround. But in time they were through this too, and really out on thetop. Here there was nothing but the Dunes, wide, curving land, thatstretched away and away, a tableland of little hollows and hills, likesome sea whose waves have been consolidated; near at hand its colourswere warm, if not vivid, but in the far distance it grew paler as thevegetation became less and less, till, far away, almost beyond sight, it failed to grey helm grass, and then altogether ceased, leaving thesand bare. Behind lay the trees through which they had come, slopingdownwards in banks of cool shadows to the map-like land and thedistant town below; away on right and left were other groups of trees, on sides of hills and in rounded hollows, looking small enough fromhere, but in reality woods of some size. Here there was nothing; but, above, a great blue sky, which seemed very close; and, underfoot, low-growing Dune roses and wild thyme which filled the warm, still airwith its matchless scent; nothing but these, and space, and sunshine, and silence. 

Julia stopped and looked round, drawing in her breath; she had foundwhat she had come to see--what, perhaps, she had been vaguely wantingto find for a long time. 

"Isn't it good?" she said at last. "Did you know there was so muchroom--so much room anywhere?"

Rawson-Clew looked in the direction she did; he had seen so much ofthe world, and she had seen so little of it--that is, of the partwhich is solitary and beautiful. Yet he felt something of herenthusiasm for this sunny, empty place--than which he had seen manyfiner things every year of his life. 

Perhaps this thought occurred to her, for she turned to him ratherwistfully: "I expect it does not seem very much to you, " she said;"you have seen such a great deal. "

"I do not remember to have seen anything quite like this, " heanswered; "and if I had, what then? One does not get tired of things. "

Julia looked at him thoughtfully. "I wonder, " she said, "if one would?If one would get weary of it, and want to go back to the other kind oflife?"

She was not thinking of Dune country, rather of the simple life itrepresented to her just then. Rawson-Clew caught the note ofseriousness in her tone and reminded her that thought for the past orfuture was no part of a holiday. "Remember, " he said, "you are to-dayto emulate dogs and boys. "

She laughed. "How am I to begin?" she asked. "How will you?"

"I shall sit down, " he said; "I feel I could be inconsequent muchbetter if I sat down to it; that is no doubt because I am past myfirst youth. "

"No, " she said, sitting down and putting her hat beside her; "it isbecause your folly-muscles are stiff from want of use; you have playedlots of things, I expect--it is part of your necessary equipment tobe able to do so, but I doubt if you have ever played the foolsystematically. I don't believe you have ever done, and certainlynever enjoyed anything inconsequent or foolish in your life. "

"If you were to ask me, " he returned, "I should hardly say youexcelled in that direction either. How many inconsequent and foolishthings have you done in your life?"

"Some, and I should like to do some more. If I were alone now, do youknow what I should do? You see that deep hollow of sparkling whitesand? I should take off my clothes and lie there in the sun. "

Rawson-Clew turned so that his back was that way. "Do not let meprevent you, " he said. 

Julia made use of the opportunity to empty the sand out of her boots. 

He looked round as she was finishing fastening them. "But why put themon again?" he asked. 

"Because I haven't retired from the world, yet, " she answered, "and soI can't do quite all I like. "

"When you do retire, will this ideal summer costume also be includedin the programme? Your taste in dress grows simpler; quite ancientBritish, in fact. "

"The ancient Britons wore paint, and probably had fashions in it; Idon't think of imitating them. Tell me, " she said, turning now togather the sweet-scented wild thyme, "did you ever really do anythingfoolish in your life? I should like to know. "

He answered her that he had, but without convincing her. Afterwards, he came to the conclusion that, whatever might have been the casebefore, he that day qualified to take rank with any one in the matter. 

All the same, it was a very pleasant day, and they both enjoyed itmuch; it is doubtful if any one in the town or its environs enjoyedthat holiday more than these two, who, from different reasons, hadprobably never had so real a holiday before. They wandered over thegreat open tract of land, meeting no one; once they came near enoughto the seaward edge to see the distant shimmer of water; once theyfound themselves in the part where there has been some little attemptat cultivation, and small patches of potatoes struggle for life, and alittle railway crosses the sandhills. Twice they came upon the roadalong which, on working days, the peasant women bring their fish tomarket in the town. But chiefly they kept to the small, dense woods, where the sunlight only splashed the ground; or to the open solitaryspaces where the bees hummed in the wild thyme, and the butterflieschased each other over the low rose bushes. 

A good deal after mid-day, at a time dictated entirely by choice, andnot custom, they made their way back to the beer garden. It was a verylittle place, scarcely worthy of the name; the smallest possiblehouse, more like a barn than anything else, right in the shadow of thewood. The fare to be obtained was bad beer, excellent coffee, newbread, and old cheese; but it was enough, supplemented by the cakesbought yesterday in the town; Julia knew enough of the ways of theplace to know one can bring one's own food to such places withoutgiving offence. As in the morning, when they first passed it, therewas no one about, every one had gone to the fair, except one taciturnold woman who brought the required things and then shut herself in thehouse. The meal was spread under the trees on a little green-paintedtable, with legs buried deep in sand; there were two high, straightchairs set up to the table, and a wooden footstool put by one forJulia, who, seeing it, said this was certainly a picnic, and it wasreally necessary to eat the _broodje_ in the correct picnic way. Rawson-Clew tried, with much gravity, but she laughed till thetaciturn old woman looked out of window, and wondered who they were, and how they came to be here. 

When the meal was done, they went back again up the steep slope, andthen away on the left. The country on this side was less open, andmore hilly, deeper hollows and larger woods, still there was not muchdifficulty in finding the way. The latter part of the day was not sofine as the earlier, the sky clouded over, and, though there was stillno wind, the air grew more chilly. They hardly noticed the change, being in a dense young wood where there was little light, but Julialost something of the holiday spirit, and Rawson-Clew became grave, talking more seriously of serious things than had ever before happenedin their curious acquaintanceship. They sat down to rest in a greenhollow, and Julia began to arrange neatly the bunch of short-stemmedthyme flowers that she carried. They had been quiet for some littletime, she thinking about their curious acquaintance, and wonderingwhen it would end. Of course it would end--she knew that; it was athing of mind only; there was very little feeling about it--a certainmutual interest and a liking that had grown of late, kindness on hispart, gratitude on hers, nothing more. But of its sort it had grown tobe intimate; she had told him things of her thoughts, and of herself, and her people too, that she had told to no one else; and he, whichwas perhaps more remarkable, had sometimes returned the compliment. And yet by and by--soon, perhaps--he would go away, and it would be asif they had never met; it was like people on a steamer together, shethought, for the space of the voyage they saw each other daily, sawmore intimately into each other than many blood relations did, andthen, when port was reached, they separated, the whole thingfinished. She wondered when this would finish, and just thenRawson-Clew spoke, and unconsciously answered her thought. 

"I am going back to England soon, " he said. 

She looked up. "Is your work here finished?" she asked. 

"It is at an end, " he answered; "that is the same thing. "

Then she, her intuition enlightened by a like experience suddenly knewthat he, too, had failed. "You mean it cannot be done, " she said. 

He opened his cigarette case, and selected a cigarette carefully. "MayI smoke?" he asked; "there are a good many gnats and mosquitoes abouthere. " He felt for a match, and, when he had struck it, askedimpersonally, "Do you believe things cannot be done?"

"Yes, " she answered; "I know that sometimes they cannot; I have provedit to myself. "

"You have not, then, much opinion of the people who do not know whenthey are beaten?"

"I don't think I have, " she answered; "you cannot help knowing whenyou are beaten if you really are--that is, unless you are a fool. Ofcourse, if you are only beaten in one round, or one effort, that isanother thing; you can get up and try again. But if you are really andtruly beaten, by yourself, or circumstances, or something--well, there's an end; there is nothing but to get up and go on. "

"Just so; in that case, as you say, there is not much going to bedone, except going home. "

Julia nodded. "But I can't even do that, " she said. "I am beaten, butI have got to stay here all the same, having nowhere exactly to go. "

This was the first time she had spoken even indirectly of her ownfuture movements. "But, perhaps, " he suggested, "if you stay, you mayfind a back way to your object after all. "

She shook her head. "It is the back way I tried. No, there is no way;it is blocked. I know, because it is myself that blocks it. "

"In that case, " he said, "I'm afraid I must agree with you; there isno way; oneself is about the most insurmountable block of all. Imight have known that you were hardly likely to make any mistake as towhether you were really beaten or not. "

"I should not think it was a mistake you were likely to make either, "she observed. 

"You think not? Well, I had no chance this time; the fact has beenmade pretty obvious to me. "

She did not say she was sorry; in her opinion it was an impertinenceto offer condolence to failure. "I suppose, " she said, after a pause, "there is not a back way--a door, or window, even, to your object?"

"Unfortunately, no. There are no windows at the back; and as to thedoor--like you, it was that which I tried, with the result thatrecently--yesterday, in fact--I was metaphorically shown out. "

Julia had learnt enough by this time, though she had not been told forcertain, that her first suspicions were right; to be sure, it was theexplosive which took Rawson-Clew to the little village evening afterevening. She had gathered as much from various things which had beensaid, though she did not know at all how he was trying to get it, norin what way he had introduced himself to Herr Van de Greutz. Whatevermethod he had tried it was now clear he had failed; no doubt beenfound out, for the chemist, unlike Joost Van Heigen, was the veryreverse of unsuspecting, and thoroughly on the look-out for othernations who wanted to share his discovery. For a moment Julia wishedshe had been in Rawson-Clew's place; of course she, too, might havefailed--probably would; she had no reason to think she would succeedwhere he could not; but she certainly would not have failed in thisfor the reason she had failed with the blue daffodil. The attemptwould have been so thoroughly well worth making; there would have beensome sport in it, and a foe worthy of her steel. In spite of herdesire for the simple life, she had too much real ability for thissort of intrigue, and too much past practice in subterfuge, not toexperience lapses of inclination for it when she saw such work beingdone, and perhaps not done well. Of this, however, she naturally didnot speak to Rawson-Clew; she rearranged her flowers in silence for alittle while, at last she said--

"It is hateful to fail. "

"It is ignominious, certainly; one does not wish to blazon it from thehousetops; still, doubtless like your crochet work, it is gooddiscipline. "

"Maybe, " Julia allowed, but without conviction. "Yours seems a simplefailure, mine is a compound one. If it is ignominious, as you say, tofail, it would have been equally ignominious in another way if I hadsucceeded. I could not have been satisfied either way. "

"That sounds very complicated, " Rawson-Clew said; "but then, I imagineyou are a complicated young person. "

"And you are not. "

"Not young, certainly, " he said, lighting another cigarette. 

"Nor complicated, " she insisted; "you are built on straight lines;there are given things you can do and can't do, would do and would notdo, and might do in an emergency. It is a fine kind of person to be, but it is not the kind which surprises itself. "

Rawson-Clew blew a smoke-ring into the air; he was smiling a little. 

"How old are you?" he said. "Twenty? Almost twenty-one, is it? Anduntil you were sixteen you knocked about a bit? Sixteen is too youngto come much across the natural man--not the artful dodging man, orthe man of civilisation, but the natural, primitive man, own bloodrelation to Adam and the king of the Cannibal Islands. You may meethim by and by, and if you do he may surprise you; he is full ofsurprises--he rather surprises himself, that is, if his local habitatis ordinarily an educated, decent person. "

"You have not got a natural man, " Julia said shortly; she was annoyed, without quite knowing why, by his manner. 

"Have I not? Quite likely; certainly, he has never bothered me, but Ishould not like to count on him. Since we have got to personalities, may I say that you have got a natural woman, and plenty of her; also amarked taste for the works of the machine, in preference to the faceusually presented to the company?"

"The works are the only interesting part; I don't care for thedrawing-room side of things; they are cultivated, but they are toomuch on the skin. I would much rather be a stoker, or an engineer, than sit on deck all day and talk about Florentine art, and the HandelFestival, and Egyptology, and the gospel of Tolstoy, and play cricketand quoits, and dance a little, and sing a little, and flirt a little, ever so nicely. Oh, there are lots of girls who can do all thosethings, and do them equally well; I know a few who can, well off, well-bred girls--you must know a great many. They are clever to beginwith, and they are taught that way; it is a perfect treat to meetthem and watch them, but I never want to imitate them, even if Icould--and there is no danger of that. I would rather be in theengine-room, with my coat off, a bit greasy and very profane, anddoing something. There would be more flesh and blood there, even if itwere a bit grubby; I believe I'm more at home with people who cando--well, what's necessary, even if it is not exactly nice. "

Rawson-Clew knew exactly the kind of woman she had described for thedeck--he met them often; charming creatures, far as the poles asunderfrom the girl who spoke of them; he liked them--in moderation, and intheir place, much as his forebears of fifty years ago had likedtheirs, the delicate, sensitive creatures of that era. He had neverregarded Julia in that light; he found her certainly more entertainingas a companion, though also very far short of the standard as a womanand an ornament. 

"The people in the engine-room, " he observed, "would certainly be moreuseful in an emergency; still, life is not made up entirely ofemergencies. "

"No, " Julia answered; "and in between times such people are better noton show--I know that; that is why I do not care for the drawing-roomside of things, I don't know enough to shine in them. "

"Do you think it is a matter of knowledge?" he asked, "or inclination?If it comes to knowledge I should say you had a rather remarkablestock of an unusual sort, and at first hand. That may not be what isrequired for a complete drawing-room success, though I am not surethat it is not more interesting--say for an excursion--than a flittingglance at the subjects you mention, and about eighteen or twenty morethat you did not. "

Julia looked up, half pleased, doubtful as to whether or not tointerpret this as a compliment; she never knew quite how much he meantof what he said; his manner was exactly the same, whether he was infun or in earnest. But if she thought of asking him now she wasprevented, for at that moment Mr. Gillat's watch slipped out of herbelt into her lap, and she saw the time. 

"How late is it!" she exclaimed. "We ought to have startedhalf-an-hour ago; it will take me two hours, and more, to get homefrom here, even if I go by the tram in the town. "

She rose as she spoke, and he rose more slowly. 

"Shall I take your flowers for you?" he asked. "They seem ratherinclined to tumble about; don't you think they would be safer in mypocket? As you say you are going to dry them, it won't matter crushingthem. "

She gave them to him, and he put the sweet-smelling bunch into hispocket, then they started for the edge of the wood. 

"It is much colder, " Julia said; "and the sun is all gone; I supposethe clouds have been coming gradually, but I did not notice before. Ifit is going to rain, we shall get decidedly wet before we get back. "

"I am afraid so, " he agreed; "you have no coat. "

She told him that did not matter, she did not mind getting wet, andshe spoke with a cheerful buoyancy that carried conviction. 

When they reached the outskirts of the wood, however, they saw therewas not much chance of rain, but a much worse evil threatened. All thedistance on the seaward side was blotted out, a fine white mist shutout the curving land in that direction. It was blowing up towardsthem, rolling down the little hills in billowy puffs, and lyingfilmy, yet dense, in the hollows, moved by a wind unfelt here. 

"A sea fog, " Julia said; "I wonder how far it is coming. "

Rawson-Clew wondered too; he thought, as she did, that there was everychance of its coming far and fast, but it did not seem necessary toeither of them to say anything so unpleasantly and obviously probable. 

They set out homewards as fast as they could; it was a long way to theplace where they had climbed up, unfortunately all across opencountry, entirely without roads or definite paths, and the driftingsea fog was coming up fast, bound, it would seem, the same way. Soonit was upon them; they felt its advance in the chill that, like coldfingers, laid hold on everything; it came quite silently up frombehind, without noticeable wind, eerily creeping up and enfoldingeverything, putting a white winding-sheet not about the earth only, but the very air also. The cotton blouse that Julia wore became limpand wet as if it had been dipped in water; she could see the fogcondensing in beads on her companion's coat almost like hoar frost; itlay on every low-growing rose bush and bramble that they stepped upon, a curious transformer of all near objects, a complete obliterator ofall more distant ones. 

They pushed on as quickly as might be, climbing little hills, descending into hollows; stumbling among rabbit holes, threading theirway through thickets; apparently finding something amusing in thepatriarchal colonies of rabbit burrows that tripped them up, andstopping to argue, though hardly in earnest, as to whether they hadpassed that way or not, when some white-barked tree, or otherlandmark, loomed suddenly out of the thickening mist. Once it seemedthe fog was going to lift; Julia thought she saw the outline of adistant hill, but either it was closed in again directly, or else shemistook a thicker fold of cloud for a more solid object, for it waslost almost before she pointed it out. 

For something over two hours they walked and stumbled, and went upsmall ascents and came down small declines; then suddenly they cameupon the white-barked tree again. It was the same one that they hadseen more than an hour and a half ago; Rawson-Clew recognised it by apeculiar warty growth where the branches forked; they had nowapproached it from the other side, but clearly it was the same one, and they had come round in a circle. 

He stopped and pointed it out to her. "I am afraid, " he said, "we hadbetter do what is recommended when the clouds come down on themountains. "

"And that is?" Julia asked. 

"Sit down and wait till they shift. "

She could not but see the advisability of this, also she was verytired, the going for these two hours had not been easy, and it hadcome at the end of a long day. She would not admit, even to herself, that she was tired, but she was, so she agreed to the waiting; afterall, it was impossible to pretend longer that they were going to gethome easily, and were not really hopelessly astray. 

"We will go a little way in among the trees, " Rawson-Clew said; "it ismore sheltered, and we shall be able to find the way quite as easilyfrom one place as another when the fog lifts. "

They found as sheltered a spot as they could, and sat down under a bigtree; as they did so his hand came in contact with Julia's wet sleeveand cold arm. "How cold you are!" he said. "You have nothing on. "

"Oh, yes, I have, " she assured him. "I did not avail myself of yourpermission this morning. "

He took off his coat and put it round her. 

But she threw it off again. "That won't do at all, " she said; "now youhave nothing on, and that is much more improper; women may sit intheir shirt sleeves, men may not. "

"Don't be absurd!" he said authoritatively; "you are to keep that on, "and he wrapped it about her with a decision that brought home to herher youth and smallness. 

"You are shutting all the damp in, " she protested, shifting her pointof attack, "and that is very unwholesome. I shan't get warm; I haven'tany warmth to start with; you are wasting what you have got to nopurpose. "

But he did not waste it, for eventually it was arranged that they satclose together under the tree, with the coat put as far as it would goover both of them. Rawson-Clew was not given to thinking how thingslooked, he did what he thought necessary, or advisable, without takingany thought of that kind; so it did not occur to him how thisarrangement might look to an unprejudiced observer, had there been anysuch. But Julia, with her faculty for seeing herself as others sawher, was much, though silently, amused as she thought of the VanHeigens. Poor, kind folks, they were doubtless already wondering whatcould have become of her; if they could only have seen her sittingthus, with an unknown man, what would their Dutch propriety have said?

"Do you suppose this fog will be in the town?" Rawson-Clew said, aftera time. 

"No, " she answered, "I should think not; from what I have heard, Ithink it is very unlikely. "

"Then the Van Heigens won't know what has become of you?"

"Not a bit in the world; they don't even know where I was goingto-day. I did not tell them; I am afraid they will be rather uneasyabout me, but perhaps not so very much, they know by this time I cantake care of myself; besides, I shall be home before bed-time, if thefog lifts. "

Rawson-Clew agreed, and they talked of other things. Julia held theopinion that when an evil has to be endured, not cured, there is nogood in discussing it over and over again; she had a considerable giftfor making the best of other things besides opportunities. 

But the fog did not lift soon; it did not grow denser, but it did notgrow less; it just lay soft and chilly, casting a white pall ofsilence on all things, closing day before its time, and making itimpossible to say when evening ended and night began. Gradually thetwo who waited for its lifting fell into silence, and Julia, tiredout, at last dropped asleep, her head tilted back against thetree-trunk, her shoulder pressed close against Rawson-Clew under theshelter of his coat. 

He did not move, he was afraid of waking her; he sat watching, waitingin the eerie white stillness, until at last the space before himaltered, and gradually between the trees he saw the faint outline of ahill, dark against the dark sky. Slowly the white mist rolled from it, a billowy, ghostly thing, that left a black, vague world, only dimlyseen. He looked at the sleeping girl, then at the hill; the fog wasclearing, there was no doubt about that; soon it would be quite gone, but it would be a very dark night, the stars would hardly show, andthe moon was now long down. He was not at all sure of being able tofind his way across this undulating country, so entirely devoid ofprominent features, in a very dark night. Rather he was nearly surethat he could not do it; and though he had a by no means low opinionof Julia's abilities, he did not think that she could either. Also, with a sense of dramatic fitness equal to that of the girl's hethought their arrival in the town would be rather ill-timed if theystarted now. It would be wiser to wait till after it was light, thoughdawn was not so very early now, the summer being far advanced. So hedecided, and Julia slept peacefully on, her head dropping lower andlower, till finally it reached his shoulder. But he did not move; heleft it resting there, and waited, thinking of nothing perhaps, oranything; or perhaps of that unknown quantity, the natural man, whichhas a way of stirring sometimes even in the most civilised, at nighttime. So he sat and watched for the dawn. 

CHAPTER X

TO-MORROW

It was a bright sunny morning, and, though the third and last day ofthe fair, people went to their business as usual. The Dutch are earlyrisers, and set about their day's work in good time; but even had theybeen the reverse, the latest of them would have been about beforeJulia and Rawson-Clew reached the outskirts of the town. They hadstopped for breakfast at the first village they came to after leavingthe Dunes, this on the principle of being hung for a sheep rather thana lamb. It did not seem to matter being a little later considering thenecessarily unreasonable hour of their return; also Julia, with theinstinct of her family for detail; preferred to set herself to rightsso as to present the best appearance possible when she arrived at theVan Heigens'. It was not natural, of course, that a person shouldappear too neat and orderly after a night of adventure, lost on theDunes; but the reverse was not becoming. Julia hit the medium betweenthe two with a nicety which might have cost one not a Polkington somethought, but to one of them was merely the natural thing. 

Together Julia and Rawson-Clew walked to the outskirts of the town. Their ways parted there--his to the left, hers to the right; it wasthe port of which she had thought yesterday, the place of finalseparation. He had proposed to go with her to the Van Heigens, so asto bear testimony to what had befallen, and to assure them that shewas quite safe; but she would not have this, she felt she could managevery much better without him, his presence would only require a gooddeal of extra explanation, none too easy to give. He guessed thereason of her refusal and saw the wisdom of it, although he feltannoyed that she had, as he now perceived she must, concealed theirearlier acquaintance. It might have been advisable, seeing Dutchnotions of propriety; but it placed the matter in a rather invidiouslight, and also began to bring home to him the fact, which grew verymuch more evident before the day was over, that he had distinguishedhimself by an act of really remarkable folly. 

They had almost reached the town, in fact had passed some smallhouses, the dwelling-places of carriage proprietors and washerwomen, when a girl stepped out of a doorway some distance ahead of them. Sheglanced in their direction, then stared. 

"There's Denah, " Julia said; she did not speak with consternationthough Denah was about the last person she wanted to see just then. Consternation is a waste of time and energy when you are found out, abold face and immediate actions are usually best. Julia waved her handin cheerful greeting to the Dutch girl. 

But Denah did not return the greeting; instead, after her stare ofastonished recognition, she turned and set off up the road towardswhere it joined a more important street with trams, which ran into thetown. 

"Hulloah?" Julia said softly, and quick as thought she turned too, andthe hand that had waved to Denah was signaling to a carriage which atthat moment drove out of a stable-yard near. A light had come into hereyes, a dancing light like the gleam on a sword-blade. There was alittle wee smile about her lips, too, which somehow brought toRawson-Clew's mind a man he once knew who had sung softly to himselfall the time he prepared for the brigands who were known to be aboutto rush his camp. 

"She'll take a tram, " Julia said gaily, looking towards the speedingfigure; "she is too careful to waste her money even to spite any oneof whom she is jealous. "

The cab drew up, and Julia, not failing to see Denah fulfil her wordsat the junction of the street, got in. Rawson-Clew followed her. Shewould have prevented him. 

"Don't come, " she said; "I don't want you. Good-bye. "

But he insisted. "I certainly am coming, " he said, and ordered the manto drive on into the town, telling Julia to give the address. 

She did so, weighing in her mind the while the chances ofRawson-Clew's knowledge of Dutch being equal to following all that wassaid when three people spoke at once, all of them in a great state ofexcitement. She thought it was possible he would not master everydetail, but at the same time she did not wish him to try; it would beinsupportable to have him dragged into this, and in return for hiskindness to her have a dozen vulgar and ridiculous things said andinsinuated. 

"Look here, " she said, "there is not any need for you to come, I cando better without you, I can indeed. I have got to explain things, ofcourse, but, as I told you before, I have had some practice at dodgingand explaining. I shall reach the Van Heigens' before Denah, so Ishall get the first hearing, that's all I want, I can explainbeautifully. "

"You cannot explain me away, " Rawson-Clew answered. "I know I was notto have figured in the original account, that is obvious, but it isequally obvious that I must figure in this one. I prefer to give itmyself. "

"Oh, but that won't do at all!" Julia said. "Please leave it to me, itwould be nothing to me, I am used to tight places, and it would be aninsufferable annoyance to you. I really don't want you to suffer foryour kindness to me--you have no idea what absurd and ridiculousthings they will say. "

Rawson-Clew had been polishing his eyeglass, he put it back in his eyebefore he spoke. "My dear child, " he said; "in spite of the shelteredlife with which you credit me, I assure you I have a very clear ideaof the kind of things they will say. "

"Then for goodness sake, leave it to me, " Julia said, losing hertemper; "I can do it a great deal better than you can; I'm not honest, and you are, and that's a handicap. "

"In these cases, " Rawson-Clew answered imperturbably, "honestyrequires the consideration of the lady first and truth afterwards--along way after. Let me know what you want told and I will tellit--with evidence--I suppose you are equal to evidence?"

Julia laughed, but without much mirth. "I do wish you would not come, "she said. 

But he did, and they drove together through the town, past the bulbgardens, to the wooden house with the dark-tiled roof. ThereRawson-Clew paid the coachman and dismissed the carriage while Juliarang the bell. 

In time the servant came to the door. "Ach!" she cried at the sight ofJulia, and, "G-r-r-r!" and other exclamations, uttered very gutturallyand with upraised hands. She was a country girl from some remotedistrict, and she spoke a very unintelligible patois; at leastRawson-Clew found it so, his companion, apparently, was used to it. 

Julia listened to the exclamations, and apparently to congratulationson her safe return, said in a friendly manner that she had a terribleadventure, and then asked where Mevrouw was. 

Mevrouw was out, and Mijnheer was out too; a torrent more informationfollowed, but Julia did not pay much attention to it, she turned toRawson-Clew with the smile on her lips with which she laughed atherself. 

"Denah saved her money and won her move, " she said; "it serves meright. I under-rated her--this is what always comes of under-ratingthe enemy. "

"Do you mean she knew where these people are?" Rawson-Clew asked. 

"That is about it, she knew and I did not. "

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait till they come back, there is nothing else. "

He moved as if he thought to follow her into the house, but she didnot approve of that. "You cannot wait with me, " she said; "it is onething to bring me home, quite another to wait with me here. "

He, however, thought differently, but he did not argue the point. "Thank you, " he said, "I prefer to wait; I consider I am conductingthis now, not you. "

He was a little annoyed by her ridiculous persistence, but she lookedat him with the dancing lights coming back in her eyes. "Oh, well, ifyou prefer to wait, " she said, "but I'm afraid you must do it alone. "And before he realised what she was doing, she had run off, down thepath, across an empty flower-bed and among some brushes behind. 

In considerable anger he turned to follow her, but he pulled himselfup; there was very little use in that and no need for it either; hewas sure she was far too skilful a tactician to imperil an affair byunwise flight; this was a blind merely--unless, of course, she thoughtof setting out to find these Dutch people, wherever they might be. Heasked the staring servant where her master and mistress were; it tooktime for him to make out her answers, but at last he did. Mijnheer wasat a place (or house) with a name he had never before heard, and wouldhave been puzzled to say now from this one hearing. It was a distantbulb farm, and Mijnheer had gone there on business; the fact thatJulia had not returned home naturally did not keep the good man fromhis work. These details Rawson-Clew did not know; the name only wasgiven to him, and that conveyed nothing. Joost, he was told, wassomewhere in the bulb gardens, where, seemed unknown; Mevrouw was atthe house of the notary. Who the notary was, and where he lived, andwhy she had gone there were alike as obscure to this inquirer as wasJulia's probable destination. He felt that she might have set out tofind any one of these three people, or she might be lying in wait, like a foolish child, till he had gone. He went down the drive;outside the gate he saw some idlers who had been there when he drovein a little while back; he asked them if any one answering to thegirl's description had come out. They told him "ja, " and they alsotold him which direction she had taken; it was the way that led to themarket, not the residential part of the town. 

He was no better off for this information; there seemed nothing to bedone. It would have been little short of absurd, if, indeed, it hadnot been seriously compromising to Julia, for him to present himselfat the house of the notary--when he could find it--and tell Vrouw VanHeigen he had brought Julia home and she was afraid to appear withhim. Either he and she must act together and appear together, or elsehe must, as she desired and now made necessary, keep out of italtogether. Considerably annoyed with the girl, but at the same timeuneasy about her, he went to his hotel. 

As the morning wore on, the annoyance lessened and the uneasinessgrew. After all he was not sure that Julia had thrown away much byrefusing to have the support of his company; had they two been therewaiting for the Van Heigens' return, or had they set out together tofind them, he was not sure his presence would have been any help inthe face of the jealous Dutch girl's accusations. A jealous woman, even an ordinarily foolish one, is a very dangerous thing when she isattacking a fancied rival with a chance of encompassing her overthrow. Denah would have got her tale told, her case proven, indignationaroused and sympathy with her before the Van Heigens even saw Julia. He wondered what she would do alone and wished he knew how she fared;he thought over the explanations possible and the various ways outthat might suggest themselves to a fertile brain. They were not many, and they were not good; the simple truth would probably be best, andthat would be so exceedingly compromising under the circumstances thatthe Van Heigens were hardly likely to find it palatable. Indeed, hebegan to see that, even if they two could have presented themselves, as they had first intended, to the anxious family before Denaharrived, it was very doubtful if the matter could have beensatisfactorily cleared up to a suspicious and prudish Dutch mind. Thegirl was only a companion, a person of no importance, easy to replace;and, no matter how the fact might be explained, it still remained thatshe had been out all night with an unknown man; one, who, if he wereknown, would show to be of a position to make the proceeding morecompromising still. 

At this point Rawson-Clew got up and walked to the window. It wasthen that it struck him that he had, in these his mature years, committed an act of stupendous folly, the like of which his youth hadnever known. 

But the girl, what would become of the girl? In England, inninety-nine cases out of a hundred, she would have been dismissed; inHolland that one last hope did not exist. She would be dismissed withher character considerably damaged and her chance of getting anothersituation entirely gone. What would she do? She had told him yesterdayshe could not leave, but was obliged to stay on at the Van Heigens';although she had failed in the first object of her coming, and so hadno motive for remaining, she had nowhere else to go. Perhaps she hadquarrelled with her relatives; perhaps they could not afford to keepher--they were poor enough he knew. She had once said her eldestsister had lately married the nephew of a bishop; he remembered that, and he also remembered that, after his unfortunate visit to CaptainPolkington, he had heard they were people with some good connections. But that did not mean that they could afford to help this girl, orwould be delighted to receive her home under the present conditions. Rather it indicated that their position was too precarious for them tobe able to do it. They would be bitterly hard on her--these aspiringpeople of gentle birth and doubtful shifts, clinging to society by theskin of their teeth, were the hardest of all. The girl could not goback to them; she could not get anything to do in Holland, orelsewhere--in Heaven's name what could she do?

He asked himself the question with his hands in his pockets and hiseyes on the street. But the answer did not seem forthcoming. 

There was no good blinking the matter; the fact was obvious; the girlwas hopelessly and utterly compromised; and he, aided certainly byuntoward circumstances--for the sardonic interference of which, insuch circumstances, a man of sense usually allows--he had done it. They had had their "holiday, " without taking thought for the morrow, in the way approved by boys and dogs and creatures without experience. And here was to-morrow, knocking at the door and demanding theprice--as experience showed that it usually did. The question was, whowas going to pay, he or she? She had taken it upon herself as a matterof course; it seemed natural to her that the burden should be thewoman's, but it did not seem so to him; among his people it was theman who was expected, and who himself expected, to pay. When he hadgrasped the situation fully and saw how she must inevitably stand healso saw at the same time and equally plainly, that he must marry her;nothing else was possible. 

He walked away from the window and began to search for writingmaterials. He could not go and see her, it was out of the questionunder the circumstances; he would have to write, and, on the whole, perhaps, it was easier that way. He sat down to the table, but he didnot at once begin, for between him and the paper there rose up thevision of a stately old Norfolk house. It was his; he had not livedthere for years, but he supposed he would some day; all his peoplehad; he remembered his grandfather there and his grandmother--a tall, stately woman, a woman of parts. He thought of her, and his mother, agraceful, gracious woman--he thought of her standing in thedrawing-room between the long windows, receiving company. And then hethought of Julia. 

He turned away from the vision abruptly, and dated his letter. Butsoon he had lain down his pen again. He was conservative, and Juliawas not of the breed of the women he had recalled; she had no kinshipwith them or their modern prototypes, one of whom he vaguely supposedhe should marry some day--when he went to live in the old Norfolkhouse. Hers was not a stately or a gracious or an all pervadingfeminine presence; she demanded no court, no care, no carpet for herway; she could come and go unnoticed and unattended; you couldoverlook her--though she never overlooked you or anything else. Shehad her points certainly, she was loyal to the core--she would beloyal to him, he was sure, in this scrape, with a silly wrong-headedloyalty, more like a man's to a woman than a woman's to a man. She wasloyal to her none too reputable family--that family was a bitter thingto his pride of race. She was courageous, too, cheerfully enduring, laughing in the face of disaster, patient when action was impossibleand when it was possible--he found himself smiling when he recalledher--surely there was never one more gay, more ready, more steady, more quietly alert than she when there was a struggle with men ormatters in the wind. She had brains of a sort, there was no doubt ofthat; it was possible to imagine one would not grow tired of herundiluted company as one would of the other sort of woman. Only ofcourse a man did not have the undiluted company of his wife--perhapsif he were a small shop-keeper or an itinerant organ-grinder--if nightand day they lived together and worked together and looked out on theworld together--if it was the simple life of which she dreamed--

Rawson-Clew picked up his pen and began to write; it was not a case ofwhether he would or would not, liked or disliked; he had simply tomake a girl he had compromised the only restitution in his power. 

In the meantime Julia had set out for the market-place as the idlershad said. But her business there did not take long and she was homeagain, as she intended, before Mevrouw got back from the Snieders. Butshe had not been in much more than five minutes before the old lady, supported by Vrouw Snieder and Denah, arrived. Mijnheer came home notlong after, and, hearing news of the return of the truant, went to thehouse to join the others. 

Julia waited to receive the attack in the dim sitting-room. She knewas well as Rawson-Clew, or better, that she had not a ghost of achance of clearing herself; dismissal was inevitable; that was why shewent to the market-place. She had not largely assisted her family inliving by their wits without having those faculties in exceeding goodworking order; she had already seen and seized the only thing open toher when the end should come. But the fact that she knew how it wouldend did not prevent her from giving battle; the knowledge only madeher change her tactics, and, as there was no use in defending herposition (and companion) she was able to concentrate her forces inharassing the enemy. 

In these circumstances it is not wonderful that Denah did not derivethe satisfaction she expected from the affair. Julia, unrepentant andreckless because of her known fate, unhampered by Rawson-Clew'spresence, and flatly declining to give any particulars about him, would have been an awkward antagonist for one cleverer than the Dutchgirl. Poor Denah lost her temper, and lost her head, and lost controlof her tongue and her tears. Julia did not lose anything, but againand again winged shafts that went unerringly home. She was genuinelysorry to have upset and disappointed Mevrouw, but for Denah she didnot care in the least, and the old lady soon contrived to soften someof the regret, for she was far too angry and shocked at theimpropriety to have any gentler feelings of sorrow or to believe whatshe was told. Vrouw Snieder acted principally as chorus of horror; shewas shocked and angry too, on Mevrouw's account and on her own and herdaughter's; she seemed to think they had all been outraged together. 

When Mijnheer came in they were all talking at once and Denah wasweeping copiously. Julia's part in the conversation was small; shejust shot a word in here and there, but apparently never withouteffect, for her utterances, like drops of water on hot metal, werealways followed by fresh bursts of excitement. The good man tried invain to make out what was the matter and what had happened. At last, after his fifth effort elsewhere, he turned to Julia, and she told himbriefly. She told the truth, only suppressing Rawson-Clew's name andall details concerning him, saying merely that he was a man she hadmet before she left England. The two elder sisters gradually becamesilent to listen; Denah listened too, only sniffing occasionally. 

"You pretended you did not know him the day we went the excursion, "she said vindictively; "I saw you; I knew you were not to be trustedthen. Why did you pretend, and how do you know him? He is a man offamily; he has the air of it, very distinguished, and you are nothingat all, nobody--"

"Hush!" said Mijnheer; "that is not the point; it is of no importancewho the man may be, he is a man, that is enough; and she was out withhim--alone--a whole day and night; it is certainly very bad indeed;shocking, if it is true--is it true?"

He looked at Julia, and she answered, "Yes. "

She was sorry, very sorry, but more on his account than her own; shecould see how heinous he thought it, how she had fallen in his esteem, and she was sorry for it. But at the same time she knew her conductreally had been no more than indiscreet; and she did not repent; sheregretted nothing but being found out, and that not so much as sheought now that the joy of battle was upon her. As for the women, theysuspected far worse than Mijnheer believed; but even if they had not, if they had believed no more than the truth, that would have beenenough for condemnation; her offence--the real one--was pastforgiveness; she must go. She received the sentence meekly; she knewshe deserved no less from these kind if narrow-minded people. Denahsmiled triumphantly; Julia felt she deserved that too; moreover, Denah's nose was so pink and her face so swelled with tears, that thesmile was more amusing than exasperating. 

"I am sorry, " she said; "I am sorry you should all have to think soill of me, and that I should deserve it. You have been very kind to mewhile I have been here, and made my service easy; I am ashamed to havedeceived you and behaved in such a way as you must condemn. "

Unfortunately Vrouw Snieder snorted here; she did not believe in theseprotestations and she said so, inducing Vrouw Van Heigen to do thesame. Mijnheer looked doubtfully at Julia for a moment, then he cameto the conclusion that if she was not too abandoned a person to bereally repentant, it would be as well to take advantage of herprofessed state of mind and drive home some moral lessons. Accordinglyhe and the two elder ladies drove them home, with the result thatJulia's regret dwindled to nothing. 

"Mijnheer, " she said at last, quietly yet effectually breaking in uponhis words; "Mijnheer, you are a very good man, Mevrouw is a virtuouswoman, and Vrouw Snieder also, all of you. I have often admired yourgoodness; when you were least conscious of it it preached to me, making me ashamed of my wickedness. But now that you, in yourgoodness, have taken to preaching to me yourselves, I am no longerashamed, for it is clear that your goodness dares to do a thing thatno man's wickedness would; it turns the foolish and indiscreet intosinners and sinners into devils; it makes the way of wrong-doing veryeasy. You are so good, " she went on, putting aside an interruption;"perhaps you do not know wickedness when you see it; you cannotdistinguish between sin and sin; you are like those who would hang aman for stealing bread as soon as for killing a child. What! Are youindignant, Mevrouw, at such a charge? Are you not turning out, with nocharacter and no chance--a good enough imitation of hanging--a girlwho has been no more than foolish, just the same as if she hadcommitted the greatest sin?"

Vrouw Heigen broke in angrily, and Vrouw Snieder and Denah, inexpressibly shocked; Mijnheer was also shocked, but he, and theytoo, were vaguely uneasy under the reproach. Julia was satisfied; moreespecially as her experience of them led her to expect they would, though never persuaded they had made a mistake, yet feel more uneasyby and by. 

She rose from her chair. "Yes, " she said, "it is a shame to speak ofsuch things, as you observe; do not let us speak of them any more. Perhaps Mijnheer you would like to pay me, then I can go. "

Mijnheer agreed rather hastily; then, realising the suddenness of thestep, he paused with his purse in his hand. "But can you go now?" heasked. "Nothing is arranged; you had better wait a day or two. "

"No, " Julia answered, "I think not; it would be well to get the thingover and done with; you would rather and so would I. "

No one contradicting this, Mijnheer counted the money and gave it toJulia. 

"Thank you, " she said; "now I will set the table for coffee drinking. You will stay, of course, Mevrouw, " she went on, turning to VrouwSnieder--"and Miss Denah, that will be two extra--Mijnheer Joost willbe in, Denah; you can tell him about it. "

Denah flushed indignantly, and Vrouw Snieder could only say"You--You--"

"Oh, I will not sit down with you, of course, " Julia answered sweetly;"I will take my coffee in the little room; is it not so, Mevrouw?"

Vrouw Van Heigen nodded; she did not know what else to do, and Juliawent away, leaving them as awkward and at a loss for words as if theywere the delinquents, not she. Denah felt this and resented it; theelders felt it too, and for a moment or two looked at one another illat ease. However, in a little they recovered and began to talk overJulia and her wrong doings till they felt quite comfortable again. Denah did not join very much in the discussion; after she had onceagain, by request, repeated what she had seen and what deducedtherefrom, she was left rather to herself. She went to the window andsat there looking out for Joost; he was certain to come in soon, andshe found consolation in the thought. Joost, the model of modesty anddecorous serious propriety, would know the English girl in her truecolours now, and be justly disgusted and shocked to think that he hadever ridden beside her on a merry-go-round. 

Just then Julia passed carrying a tray of cups. "Denah, " she said, pitching her voice soft and low in the tone the Dutch girl hated most, "I will give you a piece of advice; take care how you tell Joost aboutmy wickedness; you want to be ever so clever to abuse another girl toa man; it is one of the most difficult things in the world--and youare not very clever, you know, not even clever enough to take myadvice. "

Denah was not clever enough to take the advice nor in any humour to doso; she stared angrily at Julia, who unconcernedly put the cups on thetable and vanished into the kitchen. 

Joost came in for coffee drinking, and the whole party with one accordtold him the tale; Julia heard them through the closed door as she satsipping her coffee in the little room. She did not hear him sayanything at all except just at first, "I won't believe it!" in a tonewhich roused again, and with added strength, the regret she had feltbefore for repaying belief and kindness by such disillusioning. Afterwards he seemed to say nothing more; presumably they hadconvinced him with overwhelming evidence. She wondered how he looked;she could picture his serious blue eyes uncomfortable well; poorJoost, who had such high opinions of her, who thought she, seeing thelow, chose the high path always in the greatness of her knowledge andstrength; who had called her a lantern, sometimes dimmed, but always abeacon! The lantern was obscured just now, very badly obscured. Sherose and went up to her room; she would clear the table after Joosthad gone back to work. 

She did so, coming down when he and Mijnheer were safely in theoffice. When she had done she went to Mevrouw, who had betaken herselfto her room worn out by the morning's excitement. 

"Would you prefer that I went at once?" she inquired, "or that Iwaited till after dinner? I will stay till six if you wish it, or Iwill go now without waiting to attend to the dinner. "

Vrouw Van Heigen preferred the waiting; it would be so very muchbetter for the dinner, and really it hardly seemed as if proprietycould suffer much; accordingly she said with what dignity she couldthat the girl had better stay till the evening. 

Julia went down-stairs again and set to work preparing the dinner, andit was perhaps only natural that she took pains to make that dinner amemorably good one. It was while she was busy in the kitchen that anote was brought to her. 

"Put it on the table, " she said to the servant girl; her hands justthen were too floury to take it, but she looked at it as it lay on thetable beside her. She did not recognise the writing, though she saw atonce that it was not that of a Dutchman. "Who brought it?" she asked, beginning to clean her hands. 

The servant could not say, but from her description Julia gatheredthat it must have been a special messenger of some sort. On hearingthis, she did not trouble to clean her hands any more, but opened theletter at once, making floury finger-prints upon it. 

 "DEAR MISS POLKINGTON, (it ran), "There is one subject I did not mention to you yesterday; you might perhaps have thought it too serious for holiday consideration; nevertheless, it is a question that I feel I must ask before I leave Holland. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? I know there is rather a difference in years between us, but if you can overlook the discrepancy, and consent, you will give me the utmost satisfaction. I honestly believe it will make for the happiness of us both; I have a feeling that we were meant to continue our 'excursion' together. 

 "Very sincerely yours, "H. F. RAWSON-CLEW. "

So Julia read, and sat down suddenly on the flour barrel. She turnedto the beginning of the letter and read it through again, and when shelooked up her eyes were shining with admiration. "I am glad!" she saidaloud, but in English, "I am glad he has done it! It's splendid, splendid! I never thought of it--but then I don't believe I knew whata real gentleman was before!"

The maidservant started at her curiously; she could not understand aword, but she saw that the letter gave pleasure, for which she wasglad; she liked Julia, and was very sorry she was going in disgrace;she herself had occasional lapses from rectitude and so consequentlyhad a fellow feeling. 

"You have a good letter?" she asked. 

"Very good, " Julia said; "but we must get on with the cooking; I willanswer it by and by. "

Julia put it in her pocket after another glance, purring to herself inEnglish, "It is so well done, too, " she said; "never a word of to-day, only of yesterday--yesterday!" and she laughed softly. 

There is no doubt about it, if Julia had got to receive a deathsentence she would have liked it to be well given; it is quitepossible, had she lived at the time, she would have been one of thosewho objected to the indignity of riding in the tumbrils quite as muchas to the guillotine at the end of the ride. 

She finished the preparations for dinner, got her pots and pans allnicely simmering and her oven at the right heat; then, giving somenecessary directions, she left the servant to watch the cooking andwent up to her own room. There she at once proceeded to answer theletter--

 "DEAR MR. RAWSON-CLEW, (she wrote), "I am as glad as anything that you have done it; I never for a moment thought of it myself, though I ought, for it is just like you; thank you ever so much. 

 "Please don't bother about me, I am all right and have arranged capitally. "

 Here she turned over his letter to see how he had signed himself and, seeing, signed in imitation--

 "Yours very sincerely, "JULIA POLKINGTON. "

"I wonder what his name is?" she speculated; "H. F. --H. --Henry, Horace--I shouldn't think he had a name people called him by. "

She read her own letter through, and as she was folding it stopped; itoccurred to her that he might think courtesy demanded a formal refusalof his proposal. It was, of course, quite unnecessary; the refusalwent without saying; she would no more have dreamed of accepting hisquixotic offer than he would have dreamed of avoiding the necessity ofmaking it; the one was as much a _sine quâ non_ to her as the otherwas to him. From which it would appear that in some ways at leasttheir notions of honour were not so many miles apart. 

She flattened her letter again; perhaps he would think the definiteword more polite, so she added a postscript--

 "Of course this means no. I am sorry we can't go on with the excursion, but we can't, you know. The holiday is over; this is 'to-morrow, ' so good-bye. "

After that she fastened the envelope, and a while later went out topost it. As she went up the drive she caught sight of Joost somedistance away in the gardens; his face was not towards her, and shecongratulated herself that he had not seen her. However, thecongratulations were premature; when she came back from the post shefound him standing just inside the gate waiting for her, obviouslywaiting. At least it was obvious to her; she had caught people herselfbefore now, and so recognised that she was caught too plainly touselessly attempt getting away. 

"Do you want to hear what happened yesterday?" she asked, with aneffrontery she did not feel. "I expect Denah has told you all, perhapsa little more than all, still, enough of it was true. "

"I want to speak to you, " he said, and parted the high bushes thatbordered the left of the drive. 

Julia reluctantly enough, but feeling that she owed him whatexplanation was possible, went through. Behind the bushes there was asmall enclosed space used for growing choice bulbs; it was empty now, the sandy soil quite bare and dry; but it was very retired, beingsurrounded by an eight foot hedge with only one opening besides theway by which they had come in through the looser-growing bushes. Juliamade her way down to the opening; with her practical eye for suchthings, she recognised that it would be the best way of escape, justas the loose-growing bushes offered the likeliest point of attack. This, of course, did not matter to her, she being in the case of "hewho is down, " but it might matter a good deal to Joost if his fatherlooked through the bushes, and he would never know how to take care ofhimself. 

"Well?" she said, when she had taken up this discreet position. But ashe did not seem ready she went on, "I really don't think there isanything to say; I did wrong yesterday, not quite as much wrong asyour mother and Denah think, still wrong--what my own people wouldhave disapproved, at least if it were found out; that's the biggestcrime on their list--and what I knew your people would condemnutterly. I am afraid I have no excuse to offer; I knew what I wasdoing, and I did it with my eyes open. I did not see any harm in itmyself but I knew other people would, so I meant to say nothing. I haddeceived your parents before, and I meant to keep on doing it. Youknow I had walked with that man lots of times before yesterday; allthe time your mother thought me so good to visit your cousin I reallyenjoyed doing it because I walked with him. "

"Do you love him?" The question was asked low and almost jerkily. 

"Love him?" Julia said in surprise; "no, of course not. That is wherethe difference comes in, I believe; you all seem to think there isnothing but love and love-making and kissing and cuddling. I have justliked talking to him and I suppose he liked talking to me, as youmight some friend, or Denah some girl she knew. We never thought aboutlove and all that; we couldn't, you know; he belongs to a differentlot from what I do. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand, " he answered, and there was a vibrant note in hisvoice which was new to her. "I understand that it is you who are rightand we who are wrong--you who know good and evil and can choose, wewho suspect and think and hint, believing ill when there is none. Rather than send you away, we should ask your forgiveness!"

"You should do nothing of the kind, " Julia said decidedly, beginningto take alarm. "I may not have been wrong in quite the way yourparents think, but I was wrong all the same. I am not good, believeme; I am not as you are. Look at me, I am bad inwardly, and really Iam what you would condemn and despise. "

She was standing in the afternoon sunlight, dark, slim, alert, intensely alive, full of a twisty varied knowledge, a creature ofanother world. She felt that he must know and recognise the gulfbetween if only he would look fairly at her. 

He did look fairly, but he recognised only what was in his own mind. 

"You are to me a beacon--" he began. 

But she, realising at last that Denah's jealousy was not after allwithout foundations, cut him short. 

"I am not a beacon, " she said, "before you take me for a guiding lightyou had better hear something about me. Do you know why I came here? Iwill tell you--it was to get your blue daffodil!"

He stared at her speechless, and she found it bad to see the surpriseand almost uncomprehending pain which came into his face, as into theface of a child unjustly smitten. But she went on resolutely: "I heardof it in England, that it was worth a lot of money--and I wantedmoney--so I came here; I meant to get a bulb and sell it. "

"You meant to?" he said slowly; "but you haven't--you couldn't?"

"I could, six times over if I liked. "

"But you have not. "

"No. I was a fool, and you were--Oh, I can't explain; you would neverunderstand, and it does not matter. The thing that matters is that Icame here to get your blue daffodil. "

"You must have needed money very greatly, " he said in a puzzled, pitying voice. 

"I did, I wanted it desperately, but that does not matter either--Icame here to steal; I go away because I am found out to have deceivedand to have behaved improperly--I want you to understand that. "

"I do not understand, " he answered; "I understand nothing but that youare you, and--and I love you. "

"You don't!" she cried in sharp protest. "You do not, and you cannot!You think you love what you think I am. But I am not that; it is allquite different; when you, know, when you realise, you will see it. "

"I realise now, " he answered; "it is still the light, only sometimesdim. "

"Dim!" she repeated, "it has gone out!"

"And if it has, what then? If you are all you say you are, and allthey say you are, and many worse things besides, what then? It makesno difference. "

He spoke with the curious quietness with which he always spoke of whathe was quite sure. But she drew back against the hedge, clasping herhands together, her calmness all gone. "Oh, what have I done! Whathave I done!" she said, overcome with pity and remorse. 

He drew a step nearer, misinterpreting the emotion. "I will take careof you, " he said. "Will you not let me take care of you?"

She looked up, and though her eyes were full of tears he might haveread his answer there, in her recovered calmness, in the verygentleness of her manner. "You cannot, " she said sadly; "you couldn'tpossibly do it. Don't you see that it is impossible? Your parents, thepeople--"

"That is of no importance, " he answered; "my parents would very soonsee you in your true light, and for the rest--what does it matter? Ifyou will marry me I--"

"But Joost, I can't! Don't you feel yourself that I can't? We are notonly of two nations--that is nothing--but we are almost of two races;we are night and day, oil and water, black and white. It would neverdo; we should be on the outskirts of each other's lives, you wouldnever know mine, and though I might know yours, I could never reallyenter in. "

"That is nothing, " he said, "if you love. "

"It is everything, " she answered, "if two people do not talk the samelanguage, soul language, I mean. "

"They will learn it if they love--but you do not? Is it that, tell me. Ah, yes, you do, a little, little bit! Only a little, so that youhardly know it, but it is enough--if you have the least to give thatwould do; I would do all the rest; I would love you; I would standbetween you and the whole world; in time it would come, in time youwould care!"

He had come close to her now; in his eagerness he pressed against her, and, earnestness overcoming diffidence, he almost ventured to take herhand in his. She felt herself inwardly shrink from him with therepulsion that young wild animals feel at times for mere contact. Butoutwardly she did not betray it; pity for him kept nature undercontrol. 

"I cannot, " she said very gently; "I can never care. "

Then he knew that he had his answer, and there was no appeal; he drewback a pace, and because he never said one word of regret, orreproach, or pleading, her heart smote her. 

"I am so sorry!" she said; "I am so sorry. Oh, why is everything sohard! Joost, dear Joost, you must not mind; I am not half good enoughfor you; I'm not, indeed. Please forget me and--let me go. "

And with that she turned and fled into the house. 

The maidservant in the kitchen was minding the pots; it still wantedsome while to dinner time; she did not expect the English miss wouldcome yet, probably not till it was necessary to dish up. The letter, of course, would have occupied her some time; she had gone outprobably to meet the writer--the maid never for a moment doubted himto be the sharer of yesterday's escapade. She heard Julia come in, andjudged the meeting to have been a pleasant one, as it had taken time. She had gone up-stairs now, doubtless to pack her things; that wouldoccupy her till almost dinner time. 

It did, for she did not begin directly, but sat on her bed instead, doing nothing for a time. But when she did begin, she went to workmethodically, folding garments with care and packing them neatly; herheart ached for Joost and for the tangle things were in, but that didnot prevent her attending to details when she once set to work. Atlast she had everything done, even her hat and coat ready to put onwhen dinner should be over. Then, after a final glance round to seethat she had left nothing but the charred fragments of Rawson-Clew'sletter, she went down-stairs and got the dinner ready. 

She did not take her meal with the family, but again had it in thelittle room. She brought the dishes to and fro from the kitchen, however, so she passed close to Joost once or twice and saw his graveface and serious blue eyes, as she had seen them every day since herfirst coming. And when she looked at him, and saw him, his appearance, his small mannerisms, himself in fact, a voice inside her cried downthe aching pity, saying, "I could not do it, I could not do it!" Butwhen she was alone in the little room with the door shut between, thepity grew strong again till it almost welled up in tears. Poor Joost!Poor humble, earnest, unselfish Joost! That he should care so, that heshould have set his hopes on her, his star--a will-o'-wisp of deviousways! That he should ache for this unworthy cause, and for it shut hiseyes to the homely happiness which might have been his!

She rose quickly and went up-stairs to get her hat and jacket. Soonafter, the carriage, which she had extravagantly ordered, came, andshe called the servant to help her down with her luggage. They got itdown the narrow staircase between them and into the hall; Juliaglanced back at the white marble kitchen for the last time, and at thedim little sitting-room. Vrouw Van Heigen was there, very muchabsorbed in crochet; but she had left the door ajar so that she mightknow when Julia went, and that must have occupied a prominent place inher mind, for she made a mistake at every other stitch. 

"Good-bye, Mevrouw, " Julia said. 

Vrouw Van Heigen grunted; she remembered what was due to herself andpropriety. 

"And, oh, " Julia looked back to say as she remembered it, "don'tforget that last lot of peach-brandy we made, it was not properly tieddown; you ought to look at the covers some time this week. "

"Ah, yes, " said the old lady, forgetting propriety, "thank you, thankyou, I'll see to it; it will never do to have that go; such finepeaches too. "

Then Julia went out and got into the carriage. Mijnheer was in hisoffice; he did not think it quite right to come to see her starteither; all the same he came to the door to tell the driver to becareful not to go on the grass. Joost came also and looked over hisfather's shoulder, and Julia, who had been amused at Vrouw Van Heigen, suddenly forgot this little amusement again. 

Joost left his father. "I will tell the man, " he said. "I will goafter him too and shut the gate; it grows late for it to be open. "

The carriage had already started, and he had to hurry after it; eventhen he did not catch it up till it was past the bend of the drive. Then the man saw him and pulled up, though it is doubtful if he gotany order or, indeed, any word. Julia had been looking back, but fromthe other side; and because she had been looking back and rememberingmuch happiness and simplicity here, she was so grieved for one atleast who dwelt here that her eyes were full of tears. 

Joost saw them when, on the stopping of the carriage, she turned. "Donot weep, " he said; "you must not weep for me. "

"I am so sorry, " she said; "so dreadfully sorry!"

"But you must not be, " he told her; "there is no need. "

"There is every need; you have been so kind to me, so good; you havealmost taught me--though you don't know it--some goodness too, and inreturn I have brought you nothing but sadness. "

"Ah, yes, sadness, " he said; "but gladness too, and the gladness ismore than the sadness. Would you not sooner know the fine even thoughyou cannot attain to it, than be content with the little all yourlife? I would, and it is that which you have given me. It is I whogive nothing--"

He hesitated as if for a moment at a loss, and she had no words tofill in the pause. 

"Will you take this?" he said, half thrusting something forward. "Itis, perhaps, not much to some, but I would like you to have it; itseems fitting; I think I owe it to you, and you to it. "

"Oh, yes, yes, " she murmured, hardly hearing and not grasping the lastwords; there was something choking in her throat; it was this strange, humble, disinterested love, so new to her, which brought it there andprevented her from understanding. 

She stretched out her hands, and he put something into them; then hestepped back, and the carriage drove on. It was not till the gatewaywas passed that she realised what it was she held--a small bag madeof the greyish-brown paper used on a bulb farm; inside, a single bulb;and outside, written, according to the invariable custom of growers--

 "Narcissus Triandrus Azureum Vrouw Van Heigen. "

CHAPTER XI

A REPRIEVE

Rawson-Clew was reading a letter. It was breakfast time; the letterhad missed the afternoon post yesterday, which was what the writerwould have wished, and so was not delivered at the hotel till themorning. It was short, from the beginning--"I am so glad you have doneit, " to the end of the postscript--"this is to-morrow, so good-bye. "There was not much to read; yet he looked at it for some time. Didever man receive such a refusal to an offer of marriage? It was almostabsurd, and perhaps hardly flattering, yet somehow characteristic ofthe writer; Rawson-Clew recognised that now, though it had surprisedhim none the less. What was to be done next? See the girl, hesupposed, and hear what she proposed to do; she wrote that she hadarranged "capitally, " but she did not say what. He was quite certainshe was not going to remain with the Van Heigens; if by someextraordinary accident she had been able to bring that about, shewould certainly have told him so triumphantly. He could not think ofanything "capital" she could have arranged; he was persuaded, eitherthat she only said it to reassure him, or else, if she believed it, itwas in her ignorance of the extent of the damage done yesterday. Hemust go and see her, hear what she had planned, and what furthertrouble she was thinking to get herself into, and prevent it in theonly way possible; and there was only one way, there was absolutelyno other solution of the difficulty; she must marry him, and there wasan end of it. He glanced at her refusal again, and liked it in spiteof its absurdity; after all, perhaps it would have been better if hehad been frank too; one could afford to dispense with the delicateconventions that he associated with women in dealing with this girl. He wished he had gone to her and spoken freely, as man to man, sayingplainly that since they had together been indiscreet, they musttogether take the consequence, and make the best of it--and really thebest might be very good. 

Soon after he had finished breakfast he set out for the Van Heigens'house. But as yet, though he had some comprehension of Julia, he hadnot fully realised the promptness of action which necessity had taughther. When he reached the Van Heigens' she had been gone some sixteenhours. 

It was Vrouw Van Heigen who told him; she was in the veranda when hearrived, and so, perforce, saw him and answered his inquiries. It wasevident, at the outset, that neither his appearance nor name conveyedanything to her; she had not seen him the day of the excursion, andDenah's description, purposely complicated by a cross description ofJulia's, had conveyed nothing, and his name had never transpired. Hesaw he was unknown, and recognised Julia's loyal screening of him, notwith any satisfaction; evidently it was part of her creed to standbetween a man (father or otherwise) and the consequence of his acts. That was an additional reason for finding her and explaining that he, unlike Captain Polkington, was not used to anything of the sort. 

"She has gone?" he said, in answer to Vrouw Van Heigen's briefinformation. The old lady was decidedly nervous of the impressiveEnglishman who had come asking after her disgraced companion; shemoved her fat hands uneasily even before he asked, "Where has shegone? Perhaps you would be kind enough to give me her address?"

"I cannot, " she was obliged to say; "I have not it. I do not knowwhere she is. "

Rawson-Clew stared. "But surely, " he said, "you are mistaken? She washere yesterday. "

"Yes, yes; I know. But she is not here now; she went last night inhaste. I will tell you about it. You are a friend? Come in. "

Without waiting, she led him into the drawing-room, and there left himin some haste. The room struck him as familiar; he wondered why, untilhe remembered that it must have been Julia's description which madehim so well acquainted with it. It was all just as she described; thethick, dark-coloured carpet, with the little carefully-bound strips ofthe same material laid over it to make paths to the piano, the stove, and other frequented spots. The highly-polished furniture, upholsteredin black and yellow Utrecht velvet, the priceless Chinese porcelainbrought home by old Dutch merchants, and handed down from mother todaughter for generations; the antimacassars of crochet work, thesnuff-coloured wall-paper, the wonderful painted tiles framed in ebonythat hung upon it. It was all just as she had said; the very light andsmell seemed familiar, she must somehow have given him an idea of themtoo. 

Just then Vrouw Van Heigen came back, and her husband with her; shehad been to fetch him, not feeling equal to dealing with the visitoralone. Mijnheer, by her request, had put on his best coat, but hestill had his spectacles pushed upon his forehead, as they always werewhen he was disturbed in the office. 

There was a formal greeting--one never dispensed with that in Holland, then Mijnheer said, "You are, I suppose, a friend of Miss Polkington'sfather?"

Rawson-Clew, remembering the winter day at Marbridge, answered, "I amacquainted with him. "

Mijnheer nodded. "Yes, yes, " he said; then, "it is very sad, and muchto be regretted. I cannot but give to you, and through you to herfather, very bad news of Miss Polkington. She is not what we thoughther; she has disgraced--"

But here Rawson-Clew interrupted, but in the quiet, leisurely waywhich was so incomprehensible to the Hollanders. "My dear sir, " hesaid, "please spare yourself the trouble of these details; I am theman with whom Miss Polkington had the misfortune to be lost on theDunes. "

Vrouw Van Heigen gasped; the gentle, drawling voice, the manner, thewhole air of the speaker overwhelmed her, and shattered all herprevious thoughts of the affair. With Mijnheer it was different; rightwas right, and wrong wrong to him, no matter who the persons concernedmight be. 

"Then, sir, " he said, growing somewhat red, "I am glad indeed that Icannot tell you where she is. "

Rawson-Clew looked up with faint admiration, righteous indignation, orat all events the open expression of it, was a discourtesy practicallyextinct with the people among whom he usually lived. He felt respectfor the old bulb grower who would be guilty of it. 

"I am sorry you should think so badly of me, " he said; "I can onlyassure you that it is without reason. You do not believe me? I supposeit is quite useless for me to say that my sole motive in seeking MissPolkington is a desire to prevent her from coming to any harm?"

"She will, I should think, come to less harm without you than withyou, " Mijnheer retorted; and Rawson-Clew, seeing as plainly as Juliahad yesterday, the impossibility of making the position clear, did notattempt it. 

"I hope you may be right, " he said, "but I am afraid she will be indifficulties. She had little money, and no friends in Holland, andwas, I have reason to believe, on such terms with her family that itwould not suit her to return to England. "

"Ah, but she must have gone to England!" Vrouw Van Heigen cried. "Shewent away in a carriage as one does when one goes to the station tostart on a journey. "

"She received letters from her family, " Mijnheer said sturdily, "notfrequently, but occasionally; there was not, I think, any quarrel ordisagreement. She must certainly have set out to return home lastnight. If not, and if she had nowhere to go, why should she leave asshe did yesterday? We did not say 'go!' we were content that sheshould remain several days, until her arrangements could be made. "

"She might not have cared for that, " Rawson-Clew suggested; "if youinsinuated to her the sort of things you did to me; women do not likethat, as a rule, you know. "

All the same, as he said this, he could not help thinking Mijnheerright; Julia must have had somewhere to go. Her dignity and feelingswere not of the order to lose sight of essentials in details, or todemand unreasonable sacrifice of common sense. She must have had somedestination in view when she left the Van Heigens yesterday, and, asfar as he could see, there was no destination open to her but home. 

Mijnheer was firmly of this opinion, although, now that a questionabout it had been suggested to him, he wished he had made sure beforethe girl left. Of course, her plans and destination were no businessof his--she might even have refused to give information about them onthat account; he had dismissed her in disgrace, what she did next wasnot his concern. But in spite of her bad behaviour he had liked her;and though his notions of propriety, and consequent condemnation ofher, had undergone no change, he was kind-heartedly anxious she shouldcome to no harm. Her words about some good people making the merelyindiscreet into sinners came back to him, but he would not apply them;Julia had gone home, he was sure of it, and a good thing too; theEnglishman with the quiet voice and the grand manner could not followher there to her detriment. Though, to be sure, it was strange thatsuch a man as he should want to; he was not the kind of personMijnheer had expected the partner in the escapade to be; truly theEnglish were a strange people, very strange. His wife agreed with himon that point; they often said so afterwards--in fact, whenever theythought of the disgraced companion, who was such an excellent cook. 

As for Rawson-Clew, he returned to England; there was nothing to keephim longer in Holland. But as he was still not sure how Julia's"capital arrangement" was going to be worked out, and was determinedto bear his share of the burden, he decided to go to Marbridge on anearly opportunity. 

The opportunity did not occur quite so soon as he expected; severalthings intervened, so that he had been home more than a week before hewas able to fulfil his intention. Marbridge lies in the west country, some considerable distance from London; Rawson-Clew did not reach ittill the afternoon, at an hour devoted by the Polkingtons mostexclusively to things social. It is to be feared, however, that he didnot consider the Polkingtons collectively at all; it was Julia, andJulia alone, of whom he was thinking when he knocked at the door ofNo. 27 East Street. 

The door was opened by a different sort of servant from the one whohad opened it to him the last time he came; rather a smart-lookinggirl she was, with her answers quite ready. 

"Miss Julia Polkington was not at home, " she said, and, in answer tohis inquiry when she was expected, informed him that she did not know. 

"There is no talk of her coming home, sir, " she said; "she is abroad, I think; she has been gone some time. "

"Since when?"

The girl did not know. "In the spring, I think, sir, " she said; "shehas not been here all the summer. "

Then, it seemed, his first suspicion was correct; Julia had not gonehome; for some reason or another she was not able to return. 

"Is Captain Polkington in?" he asked. 

He was not; there was no one at home now; but Mrs. Polkington would bein in about an hour. The maid added the last, feeling sure hermistress would be sorry to let such a visitor slip. 

But Rawson-Clew did not want to see Mrs. Polkington; she, he wasnearly sure, represented the aspiring side of the family, not the oneto whom Julia would turn in straits. The improved look of the houseand the servant suggested that the family was hard at work aspiringjust now, and so less likely than ever to be ready to welcome thegirl, or anxious to give true news of her if they had any to give. Captain Polkington, who no one could connect with the ascent of thesocial ladder, might possibly know something; at all events, therewas a better chance of it, and he certainly could very easily be madeto tell anything he did know. 

"When do you expect Captain Polkington home?" he asked. 

"Not for a month or more, I believe, sir, " was the answer; "he is inLondon just now. "

Rawson-Clew asked for his address; it occurred to him that Julia mighthave gone to her father; it really seemed very probable. He got theaddress in full, and went away, but without leaving any name to puzzleand tantalise Mrs. Polkington. Of course she was puzzled andtantalised when the maid told her of the visitor. From pastexperience, she expected something unpleasant of his coming, eventhough the description sounded favourable; but, as she heard no moreof it, she forgot all about him in the course of time. 

It was on the next afternoon that Rawson-Clew drove to 31 BerwickStreet. There are several Berwick Streets in London, and, though theaddress given was full enough for the postal authorities, the cabmanhad some difficulty in finding it, and went wrong before he wentright. It was a dingy street, and not very long; it had anunimportant, apologetic sort of air, as if it were quite used to beingoverlooked. The houses were oldish, and very narrow, so that a goodmany were packed into the short length; the pavement was narrow, too, and so were the windows; they, for the most part, were carefullydraped with curtains of doubtful hue. Some were further guarded fromprying eyes by sort of gridirons, politely called balconies, though, since the platform had been forgotten, and only the protectingrailings were there hard up against the glass, the name was deceptive. 

The hansom came slowly down the street, the driver scanning thefrequent doors for 31. He overlooked it by reason of the fact that thenumber had been rubbed off, but finally located it by discovering mostof the numbers above and below. Rawson-Clew got out and rang. Incourse of time--rather a long time--the door was opened to him by thelandlady--that same landlady who had confided to Mr. Gillat thedesirability of having a good standing with the butcher. 

"Cap'ain Polkington?" she said, in answer to Rawson-Clew's inquiry. "Idon't know whether he's in or not; you'd better go up and see; one of'em's there, anyhow. "

She stood back against the wall, and Rawson-Clew came in. 

"Up-stairs, " she said; "second door you come to. "

With that she went down to the kitchen regions; she was no respecterof persons, and she thanked God she had plenty of her own business tomind, and never troubled herself poking into other people's. Consequently, though she might wonder what a man of Rawson-Clew'sappearance should want with her lodgers, she did not let it interferewith her work, or take the edge off her tongue in the heated argumentshe held with the milkman, who came directly after. 

Rawson-Clew found his way up the stairs; they were steep, and hadrather the appearance of having been omitted in the original plan ofthe house, and squeezed in as an afterthought, when it was foundreally impossible to do without. There was no window to give light tothem, or air either; hence, no doubt, the antiquity of the flavour ofcabbage and fried bacon with hung about them. But Rawson-Clew, when heascended, found the second door without trouble; there was not room toget lost. He knocked; he half expected to hear Julia's voice; itseemed to him probable that she was the person referred to as "one ofthem. " But it was a man who bade him enter, and, unless his memoryplayed him false, not Captain Polkington. 

It was not the Captain, it was Johnny Gillat. He was reading thenewspaper--Captain Polkington had it in the morning, he in theafternoon; he wore, or attempted to (they fell off rather often), veryold slippers indeed, and a coat of surprising shabbiness which hereserved for home use. For a moment he stared at his visitor inastonishment, and Rawson-Clew apologised for his intrusion. "I waslooking for Captain Polkington, " he said. "I was told he was probablyhere. "

"Ah!" Mr. Gillat exclaimed, his face lighting into a smile. "Ofcourse, of course! Captain Polkington's out just now, but he'll be insoon. Come in, won't you; come in and wait for him. "

He hospitably dragged forward the shabby easy-chair. "Try that, won'tyou?" he said. "It's really comfortable--not that one, that's a littleweak in the legs; it ought to be put away; it's deceptive to peoplewho don't know it. "

He pushed the offending chair against the wall, his slippers flappingon his feet, so that he thought it less noticeable to surreptitiouslykick them off. "My name's Gillat, " he went on. "Captain Polkington isan old friend of mine. "

"Mr. Gillat?" Rawson-Clew said. He remembered the name, and somethingJulia had said about the bearer of it. It was he who had given her thebig gold watch she wore, and he of whom she had seemed fond, in ahalf-protecting, half-patient way, that was rather inexplicable--atleast it was till he saw Mr. Gillat. 

"Perhaps, " Rawson-Clew said, "you can tell me what I want to know--itis about Miss Julia Polkington. I met her in Holland during thesummer. "

He may have thought of giving some idea of intimacy, or of explaininghis interest; but, if so, he changed his mind; anything of the kindwas perfectly unnecessary to Mr. Gillat, who did not dream ofquestioning his reason. 

"Ah, yes, " he said; "Julia is in Holland; she has been there a longtime. "

"Is she there still?" Rawson-Clew asked. "Can you give me heraddress?"

"Well, " Johnny said regretfully, "not exactly. But she is abroadsomewhere, " the last with an increase of cheerfulness, as if toindicate that this was something, at all events. 

"You don't know where she is?" Rawson-Clew inquired. "Does her father?I suppose he does--some one must. "

"No, " Johnny said. "No; I'm afraid not. Certainly her father does not, nor her mother--none of us know; but, as you say, somebody mustknow--the people she is with, for instance. "

Rawson-Clew grew a little impatient. "Do you mean, " he said, "that herfamily are content to know nothing of her whereabouts? Have they takenno steps to find her?"

"Well, you see, " Johnny answered slowly, "there aren't any steps totake. They don't want to find her; she is quite well and happy, nodoubt, and she will come back when she is ready. Mrs. Polkington--doyou know Mrs. Polkington? A wonderful woman! She is very busy justnow, she is shining. Miss Chèrie is quite a belle. They really havenot--have not accommodation for Julia; it is not, of course, that theydon't want her--they have not exactly room for her. "

"But surely they want to know where she is?" Rawson-Clew persisted. 

"No, they don't, " Johnny told him. "They know she is all right; shetold them so, and told them she did not want to be found. They aresatisfied--" He broke off, feeling that the visitor was moreastonished than admiring of such a state of affairs. "Family emotionsand sentiments, you know, " he explained in defence of this family, "are not every one's strong point; the social, or the religious, or--"(he waved his hand comprehendingly) "or the national may stand first, and why not?"

"Are you satisfied?" Rawson-Clew asked briefly. 

"I'd sooner be able to see her, " Johnny admitted. "I'm fond of her;yes, she's been very kind and good; I miss seeing her. But, of course, she has her way to make in the world. "

"But are you satisfied that she should make it thus? That she shouldleave the Dutch family she was with and disappear, leaving noaddress?"

"Sir, " Johnny said with dignity, "I am quite satisfied, and if any onesays that he is not, I would be pleased to talk to him. "

But the dignity left Mr. Gillat's manner as quickly as it came; beforeRawson-Clew could say anything, he was apologising. "You must forgiveme, " he said; "I am very fond of that little girl; and I thought--butI had no business to think; I'm an old fool, to think you meant--"

"I only meant, " Rawson-Clew said, speaking with unconsciousgentleness, "that I was afraid she might be in difficulties. She maybe in trouble about money, or something. "

"Oh, no, " Johnny said cheerfully; "she has a fine head for moneymatters. I have sometimes thought, since she has been gone, that shehas the best head in the family! She's all right--quite right; there'sno need to be uneasy about her. I'll show you the letter she wroteme. "

He opened a shabby pocket-book, and took out a letter. "There, youread that, " he said. 

Rawson-Clew read, and at the end was little wiser. Julia said she hadleft one situation (reason not even suggested), and had got another. That she did not wish to give her new address, or to hear from Mr. Gillat, or her family, at this new place, as it might spoil herarrangements. Rawson-Clew recognised the last word as a favourite ofJulia's; with her it was elastic, and could mean anything, from apiece of lace arranged to fill up the neck of a dress, to a complexand far-reaching scheme arranged to bring about some desired end. Whatit meant in the present instance was not indicated, but clearly shedid not wish for interference, and, with some wisdom, took the surestway to prevent it by making it well-nigh impossible. She had left onemeans of communication, however, though apparently that was for Johnnyonly. "If you and father get into any very great muddle, " she wrote, "you must let me know. Put an advertisement--one word, 'Johnny, ' willdo--in a paper; I shall understand, and, if I can, I will try to dosomething. " A paper was suggested; it was a cheap weekly. Rawson-Clewremembered to have seen it once in the small Dutch town that summer, so it was to be got there. Unfortunately, as he also remembered, itwas to be got in Amsterdam and Rotterdam, and Paris and Berlin too. 

He folded the letter, and returned it to Mr. Gillat. "Thank you, " hesaid; "evidently, as you say, she does not wish to be found, and itwould seem she has got some sort of employment, although I am afraidit cannot be of an easy or pleasant sort. "

He did not explain the reason he had for thinking so, and Mr. Gillatnever thought of asking. Soon after he went away. 

Clearly there was nothing to be done. Julia did not mean to have hishelp and protection; and, with a decision and completeness which, nowhe came to think of it, did not altogether surprise him, she has takencare to avoid them. That absurd refusal of hers was, after all, areprieve, although until now he had not looked upon it in that light. No doubt it was a good thing affairs had turned out as they had; themarriage would have been in many ways disadvantageous. Yet hecertainly would have insisted on it, and taken trouble to do so, ifshe had not put it altogether out of his power. All the same, he didnot feel as gratified as he ought, perhaps because the arrogance ofman is not pleased to have woman arbitrator of his fate, and theinstinct of gentleman is not satisfied to have her bear his burden, perhaps for some other less clear reason. He really did not knowhimself, and did not try to think; there seemed little object in doingso, seeing that incident was closed. 

The next day he went north, and by accident travelled part of the waywith a lady of his acquaintance. She was young, not more than five orsix and twenty, nice looking too, and very well dressed. She had a lotof small impediments with her--a cloak, a dressing-bag, sunshade, umbrella, golf clubs--some one, no doubt, would come and clear herwhen the destination was reached; in the mean time, she and herbelongings were an eminently feminine presence. She talked pleasantlyof what had happened since they last met; she had been to Baireuththat summer, she told him, and spoke intelligently of the music, thetechnique and the beauty of it, and what it stood for. She wassurprised to hear he had got no further than Holland, and moresurprised still that he had not even seen Rembrandt's masterpiecewhile he was there. Her voice was smooth and even, a little loud, perhaps, from her spending much time out of doors, not in the leastgiven to those subtle changes of tone which express what is not said;but as she never wanted to express any such things, that did notmatter. 

She did not bore him with too much conversation; she had papers withher--some three or four, and she glanced at them between whiles. Afterwards she commented on their contents--the political situation, the war (there is always a war somewhere), the cricket news, the newbooks; touching lightly, but intelligently, on each topic in turn. 

Rawson-Clew listened and answered, polite and mildly interested. Itwas some time since he had heard this agreeable kind of conversation, and since he had come in contact with this agreeable kind of person. He ought to have appreciated it more, as men appreciate the charm ofdrawing-rooms who have long been banished from them. He came to theconclusion that he must be growing old, not to prefer the society of apretty, agreeable and well-dressed woman to an empty railway carriage. 

The girl had two fine carnations in her coat; the stalks were ratherlong, and so had got bruised. She regretted this, and Rawson-Clewoffered to cut them for her. He began to feel for a knife in likelyand unlikely pockets, and it was then that he first noticed a faint, sweet smell; dry, not strong at all, more a memory than a scent. Hedid not recognise what it was, nor from where it came, but it remindedhim of something, he could not think what. 

He puzzled over it as he cut the flower stalks, then all at once helaid hold on the edge of a recollection--a pair of dark eyes, in whichmirthful, mocking lights flickered, as the sun splashes flicker on theground under trees--a voice, many-noted as a violin, that grew softestwhen it was going to strike hardest, that expressed a hundred thingsunsaid. 

He looked across at the owner of the carnations, and wondered by whatperversity of fate it was decreed that any one who could buy such goodboots, should have such ill-shaped feet to put into them; and why, iffate so handicapped her, why she should exhibit them by crossing herknees. He also wondered what possessed her to wear that hat; everyother well-dressed girl had a variation of the style that year, it wasthe correctest of the correct for fashion, but he did not take note ofthat. Men are rather blockheaded on the subject of fashion, and seldomsee the charm in the innately unbecoming and unsuitable, no matterwhat decrees it. 

He looked back to the empty opposite corner, and, though until thatmoment he had not really thought of Julia since he left Mr. Gillatyesterday, he put her there in imagination now. He did not want herthere, he did not want her anywhere (there are some wines which a mandoes not want, that still rather spoil his taste for others). Shewould not have made the mistake of wearing such a hat; her clotheswere not new, they were distinctly shabby sometimes, but they werewell assorted. As to the boots--he remembered the day he tied hershoe--he could imagine the man she married, if he were very young andvery foolish, of course, finding a certain pleasure in taking herarched foot, when it was pink and bare, in the hollow of his hand. Ifshe were in that corner now, the quiet, twinkling smile wouldcertainly be on her face as she listened to the talk of books, andmen, and places, and things. He did not picture her joining even whenthey spoke of things she knew, and places she had been to--heremembered he had once heard her speak of a town which had beenspoken of this afternoon. She had somehow grasped the whole life ofthe place, and laid it bare to him in a few words--the light-heartedgaiety and the sordid misery, the black superstition and the toweringhistory which overhung it, and the cheerful commonplace which, likethe street cries and the gutter streams, ran through it all--the wholeflavour of the thing. The girl opposite had been to the place too; shetold him of the historic spots she had visited; she knew a deal moreabout them than Julia did. She spoke of the quaint pottery to bebought there--it had not struck Julia as quaint, any more than it didits buyers and sellers. And she referred to the sayings and opinionsof a great pose writer, who had expressed all he knew and felt andthought about it, and more besides. Julia, apparently, had not readhim--what reading she had done seemed to be more in the direction of_Gil Blas_, and Dean Swift, and other kindred things in differentlanguages. 

The owner of the carnations glanced out of window, and commented onthe scenery, which was here rather fine--Julia would not have donethat; all the same, she would have known just what sort of countrythey had passed through all the way, not only when it was fine; shewould have noticed the lie of the land, the style of work done there, the kind of lives lived there, even, possibly, the likely difficultiesin the way of railway-making and bridge building. She would certainlyhave taken account of the faces on the platforms at which they drewup, so that without effort she could have picked out the porter whowould give the best service; the stranger in need of help, and he whowould offer it; and the guard most likely to be useful if it werenecessary to cheat the company--it was conceivable that cheatingcompanies might sometimes be necessary in her scheme of things. 

[Illustration: "Julia"]

He cut another piece off the carnation stalks, they were still toolong. He did not wish Julia there; he fancied that it was likely shewould not easily find her place among the people he would meet at hisjourney's end. But if there were no end--if he were going somewhereelse, east or west, north or south--say a certain old oriental town, old and wicked as time itself, and full of the mystery and indefinablecharm of age, and iniquity, and transcendent beauty--she would likethat; she would grasp the whole, without attempting to express orjudge it. Or a little far-off Tyrolean village, remote as themountains from the life of the world--she would like that; thediscomfort would be nothing to her, the primitiveness, the simplicity, everything. If he were going to some such place--why, then, there wereworse things than having to take the companion of the holiday too. 

He handed back the carnations, and then unthinkingly put his hand intohis coat-pocket. His fingers came in contact with some dry rubbish, little more than stalks and dust, but still exhaling something of thefragrance which had been sun distilled on the Dunes. He recognised itnow--Julia's flowers, put there in the wood, and forgotten until now. 

"Thanks so much for cutting them, " said the girl with the carnations, smelling them before she fastened them on again. "I really think theyare my favourite flower; the scent is so delicious--quite the nicestflower of all, don't you think so?"

"I'm not sure, " Rawson-Clew said thoughtfully, and when he spokethoughtfully he drawled very much, "I'm not sure I don't sometimesprefer wild thyme. "

CHAPTER XII

THE YOUNG COOK

It was about ten o'clock on an October night; everything was intenselyquiet in the big kitchen where Julia stood. It was not a cheerfulplace even in the day time, the windows looked north, and were veryhigh up; the walls and floor were alike of grey stone, which gave it aprison-like aspect, and also took much scrubbing, as she had reason toknow. It was far too large a place to be warmed by the small stove nowused; Julia sometimes wondered if the big one that stood empty in itsplace would have been sufficient to warm it. She glanced at it now, but without interest; she was very tired, it was almost bed-time, andshe had done, as she had every day since she first joined Herr Van deGreutz's household, a very good day's work. She had scarcely beenoutside the four walls since she first came there on the day after theholiday on the Dunes. This had been her own choice, for, unlike allthe cooks who had been before her, she had asked for no evenings out. Marthe, the short-tempered housekeeper, had not troubled herself towonder why, she had been only too pleased to accept the arrangementwithout comment. Apart from the self-chosen confinement, the life hadbeen hard enough; the work was hard, the service hard and ill-paid, and both the other inmates of the house cross-grained, and difficultto please. These things, however, Julia did not mind; discomfort nevermattered much to her when she had an end in view; in this case, too, the end should more than repay the worst of her two task-masters. Which was agreeable, and almost made his unpleasantness desirable, asproviding her intended act with a justification. 

She drew the coffee pot further on to the stove, and with a splinterof wood stirred the fire. She had the kitchen to herself, old Marthehad gone to bed; she liked going to bed early, with a glass ofsomething hot, and she had soon found that the young cook could betrusted to finish the work down-stairs. It was her opinion that it isas well to be comfortable when you can, as blessings are fleeting andfickle, especially when they are cooks; so she indulged often both inbed and the glass, notably the glass. She had not been able to go tobed quite as early as she liked that day, for her master had avisitor, and there had been some trouble after the dinner. It wasintended to be an hour later than usual to accommodate the visitor, but the chemist had not mentioned the fact--he seldom troubled aboutsuch trifles, expecting his household to divine his wishesinstinctively, and resenting their failure to do so with indignationand some abuse. He did so to-day, and Marthe was consequently kept uplater than she had intended, though it was Julia who came in for mostof the reproof, and the trouble too; it was she who took away thedinner and kept it hot, and presented it afresh when the time came inas good condition as she could manage. There had to be a second omeletmade; the first would not stand an hour, and so was wasted, to theindignation of Marthe. The chicken was a trifle dried by waiting, which called down the wrath of Herr Van de Greutz. Julia had listenedto both of them with a meekness which was beautiful to see, albeitperhaps a little suspicious in one of her nature. 

She glanced up at the clock now, then rose and fetched two thick whitecoffee cups, and set them ready on a tray, and sat down again. Shewondered drowsily how long Herr Van de Greutz's visitor would stay. Hewas a German, a very great scientist; the chemist looked upon him as afriend and an equal, a brother in arms; they talked together freely inthe cryptic language of science, and in German, which is the tonguebest fitted to help out the other. Julia heard them when she went toand from with the dishes at dinner time. She did not understandchemistry, a fact she much regretted; had she known even half as muchas Rawson-Clew, the desired end would have been much sooner withinreach. It is a very great disadvantage to have only a very vague ideawhat it is you want. But she did understand German very well, consequently part of the chemists' conversation was quite intelligibleto her, though they did not know it. Herr Van de Greutz knew and carednothing about her; he was not even aware that she was English, though, of course, old Marthe was. 

If the conversation had touched on the famous explosive at dinnertime, Julia would have known it; she was always on the watch for somesuch occurrence. Unfortunately it had not, although, as she sawplainly, the German was the sort of man with whom Van de Greutz woulddiscuss such things. She had still another chance of hearingsomething; she would soon have to take the coffee into the laboratory;they might be speaking of it then. She remembered once before Van deGreutz had spoken of it to a scientific guest at such a time; she hadthen heard some unenlightening technical details, which might havebeen of some value to a chemist, but were of no use at all to herignorance. It was hard to come thus near, and yet be as far off asever, but such things are likely to occur when one is in pursuit ofanything, Julia knew that; she was prepared to wait, by and by shewould find out what it was she wanted, and then--

A bell rang peremptorily; she hastily poured the strong black coffeeinto the two cups, and put a bottle of Schiedam on the tray. As shedid so she noticed that it was nearly empty, so she fetched anotherfull one, and added that to the tray. The bell did not ring again, although getting the second bottle had hindered her, for by this timethe chemists had forgotten they wanted coffee. When she entered thelaboratory, Herr Van de Greutz had just taken a bottle from the lowerpart of a cupboard near the door. Second shelf from the floor, fivebottles from the left-hand corner. Julia observed the place withself-trained accuracy as she passed Herr Van de Greutz with the tray, which she carried to the table far down the room. 

"This is it, " Van de Greutz said; "a small quantity only, you see, butthe authorities have a ridiculous objection to one's keeping any largeone of explosive. Of course, I have more, in a stone house in mygarden; it is perhaps safer so, seeing its nature, and the fact thatone is always liable to small accidents in a laboratory. "

Julia put down the tray, but upset some of the coffee. Seeing thatexcitement had not usually the effect of making her hand unsteady, itis possible accident had not much to do with it. However, it happened;she carefully wiped it up, and the two chemists, paying no moreattention to her than if she had been a cat, went on speaking of theexplosive. It was _the_ explosive; their talk told her that before shehad finished the wiping. 

"The formula I would give for it?" Van de Greutz was saying; as shesopped up the last drops, he gave the formula. 

She lifted the full bottle of Schiedam from the tray, and carried itaway with her--in the hand farthest from the chemist's, certainly, butwith as little concealment as ostentation. Near the door she glancedat the German, or rather, at what he held, the sample of theexplosive. It was a white powder in a wide-necked, stoppered bottle ofthe size Julia herself called "quarter pint. " The bottle was not morethan two-thirds full, and had no mark on it at all, except a smallpiece of paper stuck to the side, and inscribed with the single letter"A. " This may have been done in accordance with some private system ofHerr Van de Greutz's, or it may have been for the sake of secrecy. Thereason did not matter; the most accurate name would have been no moreinforming to Julia, but decidedly more inconvenient. 

She went out and shut the door quietly; then she literally fled backto the kitchen with the Schiedam. Scarcely waiting to set it down, sheseized a slip of kitchen paper, and scribbled on it the string ofletters and figures that Herr Van de Greutz had given as the formulaof his explosive. She did not know what a formula was, nor in whatrelation it stood to the chemical body, but from the talks she hadheard between the chemist and his friends, she guessed it to besomething important. Accordingly, when he said the formula, she was ascareful to remember it accurately as she was to remember the place ofthe bottle on the shelf. Now she wrote it down just as he spoke it, and, though perhaps not exactly as he would have written it, stillcomprehensible. She pinned the piece of paper in the cuff of herdress; it would not be found there if, by ill luck, she was caught andsearched later on. Next she went to the kitchen cupboard; there wereseveral wide-necked stoppered bottles there, doubtless without thechemist's knowledge, but Marthe found them convenient for holdingspices, and ginger, and such things. She took the one nearest in shapeand size to the one which she had seen in the German's hand; emptiedout the contents, dusted it and put in ground rice till it wastwo-thirds full. Then, with the lap-scissors, she trimmed a piece ofpaper to the right size, wrote "A" upon it, and stuck it to the sideof the bottle with a dab of treacle--she had nothing else. She washastily wiping off the surplus stickiness when the bell rang again. She finished what she was doing, and shrouded the bottle in a duster, so that there was another summons before she could set out. She tookthe Schiedam with her--of course it was that which was rung for, butalso the bottle in the duster. 

She did not hurry. "I'll give him time to put the explosive back, " shethought. It was just possible that it would be set on a bench, perhapsin an awkward place, but from her knowledge of Van de Greutz's waysshe guessed not. It was also, of course, possible that the cupboardwhere it was kept would be locked; in that case, nothing could be donejust now--annoying, but not desperate; ground rice will keep, and, apparently, explosives too, so she reflected as she opened thelaboratory door. But the cupboard was not locked, and the bottle wasback in its place. Another from the shelf above had been taken out;the chemists were discussing that as they sat smoking cigars at thetable far down the room, where the coffee cups stood. 

"More Schiedam!" Herr Van de Greutz said, throwing the words at Juliaover his shoulder. "Why did you bring an empty bottle?"

"I am sorry, Mijnheer, " Julia answered; "there was not much, I know; Ihave brought more. "

She pushed the door to with her foot as she spoke, and with the handnot carrying the spirit set down the duster and the bottle it held ona chair. The German had put his coat over the chair earlier; it stoodin front of the cupboard, a little way from it. With the true rogue'seye for cover, Julia noted the value of its position, and evenimproved it by moving it a little to the left as she knocked againstit in passing. 

She brought the Schiedam to the table. "Shall I take the cups, Mijnheer?" she asked. 

"Yes, " Van de Greutz answered shortly, resenting the interruption, "and go to the devil. As I was saying, it is very unstable. "

This was to the German, and did not concern Julia; she took the trayof cups and went. But near the door there was an iron tripod lying onthe floor; she caught her foot in it, stumbled and fell headlong, dropping tray and cups with a great clatter. 

There was a general exclamation of annoyance and anger from Van deGreutz, of surprise and commiseration from the German, and ofsomething that might have been fright or pain from Julia. 

"You clumsy fool!" Van de Greutz cried. "Get out of here, and don'tlet me see your face, or hear your trampling ass-hoofs again! Do youhear me, I won't have you in here again!"

The German was more sympathetic. "Have you hurt yourself?" he asked. 

"No, Mijnheer, nothing, " Julia answered; "only a little--my knees andelbows. " Had she been playing Othello, though she might not haveblacked herself all over, it is certain she would have carried theblack a long way below high water mark. This was no painless stagestumble, but one with real bruises and a real thud. 

The German had half risen; perhaps he thought of coming to help pickup the pieces of broken cups that were scattered between the cupboardand the chair. But he did not do so, for Herr Van de Greutz went on tospeak of his unstable compound. 

"I treated it with--" he said, and, seeing this was something verydaring, the other's attention was caught. 

Julia picked up the pieces alone, and carried them out on the tray, and on the tray also she carried a bottle wrapped into a duster. Itwas a wide-necked stoppered bottle, two-thirds full of white powder;very much like the one she had brought in, but also very much like theone that stood five from the end on the second shelf of the cupboard. 

Soon after that she went up to her room, and took the bottle with her. Then, when she had set it in a place of safety, and securely lockedthe door, she broke into a silent laugh of delighted amusement. Shepictured to herself Herr Van de Greutz's face when, in company withsome other chemist, he found the ground rice, while his cook with the"ass-hoofs" carried the explosive to her native land. 

"What a thief I should make, " was her own opinion of herself. "Ibelieve I could do as well as Grimm's 'Master Thief, ' who stole theparson and clerk. " She took up the bottle and shook a little of thecontents into her hand; she had not the least idea how it was set off, whether a blow, a fall, or heat would reveal its dangerouscharacteristics. For a little she looked at it with curiosity andsatisfaction. But gradually the satisfaction faded; the excitement ofthe chase was over, and the prize, now it was won, did not seem agreat thing. She set the bottle down rather distastefully, and turnedaway. 

"He could not have got the stuff, " she told herself defiantly--"he"was Rawson-Clew--but the next moment, with the justice she dealtherself, she admitted, "Because he would not get it this way; he isnot rogue enough; while as for me--I am a born rogue. "

She pushed open the window and looked out, although it was quite dark, and the air pervaded with a cold, rank smell of wet vegetation. Shewas thinking of the other piece of roguery which she had meant tocommit, and yet had not. She had the bulb, in spite of that; it wassafe among her clothes--hers by a free gift, hers absolutely, yet asunable to be sold as the lock of a dead mother's hair. The debt ofhonour could not be paid by that. From her heart she wished she hadnot got the daffodil; she put it in the same category with Mr. Gillat's watch, as one of the things which made her ashamed of herselfand of her life, even of this last act, and the very skill that hadmade it easy. 

She took up the bottle again, and for a moment considered whether sheshould give it back to Herr Van de Greutz--not personally, that wouldhardly be safe; but she could post it from England after she left hisservice. But she did not do so; Rawson-Clew stood in the way; it wasfor him she had taken it, and her purpose in him still stood. Hewanted the explosive, it would be to his credit and honour to have it;the government service to which he belonged would think highly of himif he had it--if he received it anonymously, so that he could not tellfrom whence it came, and they could not divide the credit of gettingit between him and another. He wanted it, and he had been good to her. He had been kind when she was in trouble; he had not believed her whenshe had called herself dishonest; he had treated her as an equal, inspite of the affair at Marbridge, and he had asked her to marry himwhen he thought she was compromised by the holiday in the Dunes. For amoment her mind strayed from the point at issue, to that offer ofmarriage. She remembered the exact wording of the letter as if she hadbut just received it, and it pleased her afresh. She did not regretthat she had refused him; nothing else had been possible. She did notwant to marry him; albeit, when they had sat together under his coat, she had not shrunk from contact with him as she had shrunk from Joostwhen he had tried to take her hand--that was certainly strange. Butshe was quite sure she did not want to marry him; now she came tothink about it, she could imagine that, were she a girl of his ownclass, with the looks, training and knowledge that belonged, she mighthave found him precisely the man she would have wanted to marry. 

She went to a drawer and took out an old handkerchief. She was not agirl of that sort--deep down she felt inarticulately the old primitiveconsciousness of inferiority and superiority, at once jealous andcontemptuous; marrying him and living always on his plane were alikeimpossible to her, but she could give him the explosive. There was notone girl among all those others who could have got it and given it tohim!

She tore a piece from the handkerchief, and fastened it over thestopper of the bottle; then she got out a hat trimmed with bows ofwide ribbon, and sewed the bottle into the centre bow. It presentedrather a bulgy appearance, but by a little pulling of the othertrimming it was hardly noticeable, and really nothing is too peculiarto be worn on the head. After that she went to bed. 

 * * * * *

There was trouble in Herr Van de Greutz's kitchen the next day; theyoung cook, who had behaved so admirably before, did what old Marthecalled "showing the cloven hoof. " She was impertinent, she was idle;she broke dishes, she wasted eggs, and she lighted a roaring fire inthe big stove, in spite of the strict economy of fuel which was one ofthe first rules of the household. Finally she announced that she musthave a day's holiday. Marthe refused point blank, whereupon the cooksaid she should take it, and a dispute ensued; Marthe called herseveral names, and reminded her of the fact that she had no character, and that she had confessed to being obliged to leave the Van Heigensin haste. Julia retorted that that fact was known to the housekeeperwhen she engaged her, and was the reason of the starvation wageoffered. Marthe then inquired what enormity it was that she hadcommitted at the Van Heigens', and intimated that it must bedisgraceful indeed for a person, pretending to be a lady-help, to bethankful to accept the situation of cook. Julia's answer was scarcelypolite, and very well calculated to rouse the old woman further, and, at the same time, she opened the door and skilfully worked herself andher antagonist into the passage, and some way up it, raising her voiceso as to incite the other to raise hers. The result was that soon thenoise reached Herr Van de Greutz. 

Out he came in a great rage, ordering them about their business, andabusing them roundly. Marthe hurried back to the kitchen, effectuallysilenced, but Julia remained; she had not got her dismissal yet, andit was imperative she should get it, for there was no telling when theground rice would be discovered. But she soon got what she wanted;after a very little more inciting, Herr Van de Greutz ordered her outof his house a great deal more peremptorily than she had been orderedout of the Van Heigens'. She was to go at once; she was to pack herthings and go, and Marthe was to see that she took nothing but whatwas her own; she was the most untrustworthy and incompetent pig thatthe devil ever sent to spoil good food, and steal silver spoons. 

To this Julia replied by asking for her wages. At first Van de Greutzrefused; but Julia, with some effrontery, considering thecircumstances, declined to go without them, so eventually he thoughtbetter of it and paid her. After that she and Marthe went up-stairs, and she packed and Marthe looked on, closely scrutinising everything. When all was done, and she herself dressed, she walked out of thehouse, with the formula fastened inside her cuff, and the explosivebalanced on her head. And the old man who did the rough work about theplace came with her, wheeling her luggage on a barrow as far as thegate. Here he shot it out, and left her to wait till she might hailsome passing cart, and so get herself conveyed to the town. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE HEIRESS

There was a fog on the river and while the tide was low no craftmoved; but with its rising there came a stir of life, the mist thatcrept low on the brown water became articulate with syren voices andthe thud of screws and the wash of water churned by belated boats. Thesteamers called eerily, out of the distance a heart-broken cry like noother thing on earth, suddenly near at hand a hoot terrific; butnothing was to be seen except rarely when out of the yellowimpenetrableness a hull rose abruptly, a vague dark mass almost withintouching distance. Julia stood on deck and listened while the littleDutch boat crept up; she found something fascinating in this strange, shrouded river, haunted, like a stream of the nether world, withlamentable bodiless voices. The fog had delayed them, of course; theafternoon was now far advanced; they had been compelled to wait somelong time while the tide was down, and even now that it was coming up, they could go but slowly. The last through train to Marbridge wouldhave left Paddington before the Tower Stairs were reached; but Juliadid not mind that; she would go to Mr. Gillat; she could get a room atthe house where he lodged for one night; she was glad at the thoughtof seeing Johnny again. Johnny, who knew the worst and loved andtrusted still. 

Gradually the fog lifted, not clearing right away, but enough for thelast of the sunset to show smoky, rose in a wonderful tawny sky. Allthe russet-brown water kindled, each ripple edge catching a gleam ofyellow, except to the eastward, where, by some trick of light, themain stream looked like a pool of dull silver, all pale and cold andholy. The wharves and factories on the banks revealed themselves, heavy black outlines, pinnacled with chimneys like some far-off spiredcity. All the craft that filled the river became clear too, those thatlay still waiting repairs or cargo or the flood of the incoming tide, and those that moved--the black Norwegian timber boats, the dirtytramp steamers from far-off seas, the smooth grey-hulled liners, thelong strings of loaded barges, that followed one another up the greatwaterway like camels in a desert caravan. Julia stood on deck andwatched it all, and to her there seemed a certain sombre beauty and asomething that moved her, though she could not tell why, with acurious baseless pride of race. And while she watched, the twilightfell, and the colours turned to purple and grey, and the lightstwinkled out in the shipping and along the shore--hundreds andhundreds of lights; and gradually, like the murmur of the sea in ashell, the roar of the city grew on the ear, till at last the littleboat reached the Stairs, where the old grey fortress looks down on thenew grey bridge, and the restless river below. 

A waterman put Julia ashore, after courtesies from the Custom Houseofficers, and a porter took her and her belongings to Mark Lanestation, from whence it was not difficult to get approximately nearBerwick Street. 

Mr. Gillat was not expecting visitors; he had no reason to imagine anyone would come to see him; he did not imagine that the rings at thefront bell could concern him; even when he heard steps comingup-stairs he only thought it was another lodger. It was not tillJulia opened the door of the back room he now occupied that he had theleast idea any one had come to see him. 

"Julia!" he exclaimed, when he saw her standing on the threshold. "Dear, dear, dear me!"

"Yes, " Julia said, "it really is I. I'm back again, you see;" and shecame in and shut the door. 

"Bless my soul!" Johnny said; "bless my soul! You're home again!"

"On my way home; I can't get to Marbridge to-night very comfortably, and I wanted to see you, so here I am. I have arranged with yourlandlady to let me have a room. "

Mr. Gillat appeared quite overcome with joy and surprise, and itseemed to Julia, nervousness too. He led her to a chair; "Won't yousit down?" he said, placing it so that it commanded a view of thewindow and nothing else. 

Julia sat down; she did not need to look at the room; she had alreadymastered most of its details. When she first came in she had seen thatit was small and poor--a back bedroom, nothing more; an iron bed, nottoo tidy, stood in one corner, a washstand, with dirty water in thebasin, in another. There was a painted chest of drawers opposite thewindow; one leg was missing, its place being supplied by a pile of oldschool-books; the top was adorned with a piece of newspaper in lieu ofa cover, and one of the drawers stood partly open; no human effortscould get it shut, so Mr. Gillat's wardrobe was exposed to the publicgaze--if the public happened to look that way. Julia did not; nor didshe look towards the fire-place, where a very large towel-horse with avery small towel upon it acted as a stove ornament--plain proof thatfires were unknown there. She looked across Mr. Gillat's cheap lampto the window and the vista of chimney pots, which were very well inview, for the blind refused to come down and only draped the upperhalf of the window in a drooping fashion. 

Johnny stood against the chest of drawers, striving vainly to push therefractory drawer shut, although he knew by experience it was quiteimpossible. She could see him without turning her head; he wasshabbier than ever; even his tie--his one extravagance used to be gayties--was shabby, and his shoes would hardly keep on his feet. Hisround pink face was still round and pink; he did not look exactlyolder, though his grizzled little moustache was greyer, only somehowmore puzzled and hurt by the ways of fate. Julia knew that that wasthe way he would age; experience would never teach him anything, although, as she suddenly realised, it had been trying lately. 

She turned away from the window; "I have left my luggage at thestation, " she said; "I got out what I wanted in the waiting-room andbrought it along in a parcel. I think I'll take it to my room now, ifyou don't mind, and wash my face and get rid of my hat--it is veryheavy. I shan't be long. "

She rose as she spoke, and Johnny bustled to open the door for her, too much a gentleman, in spite of all, to show he was glad to have hergo and give him a chance to clear up. At the door she paused. 

"You need not order supper, Johnny, " she said; "I've seen about that. "

Johnny stopped, his face a shade pinker. "Oh, but, " he protested, "youshouldn't do that; you mustn't do that. I'll tell Mrs. Horn we won'thave it; I'll make it all right with her; I was just going out to geta--a pork pie for myself. "

It is to be feared this statement was no more veracious than Julia's, and certainly it was not nearly so well made; it would not havedeceived a far less astute person than she, while hers would havedeceived a far more astute person than he. 

"A pork pie?" Julia said. "You have no business to eat such things inthe evening at your time of life. I tell you I have settled supper; wehad much better have what I have got. I could not bring you a presenthome from Holland; I left in a hurry, so I have bought supper instead. It is my present to you--and myself--I have selected just what Ithought I could eat best; one has fancies, you know, after one hasbeen seasick. "

It would require an ingeniously bad sailor to be seasick while a Dutchcargo boat crept up the Thames in a fog, but Julia never spared thetrimmings when she did do any lying. Johnny was quite satisfied andlet her go to take off her hat--and the precious explosive which shestill carried in it. 

While she was gone he tidied the room to the best of his ability. Heregretted that he had nowhere better to ask her; if he had thesitting-room he occupied when Rawson-Clew came in September, he wouldhave felt quite grand. But that was a thing of the past, so he madethe best of circumstances and went to the reckless extravagance ofsixpenny worth of fire. When Julia came in, the towel-horse had beenremoved from the fender, and a fire was sputtering awkwardly in thegrate, while Mr. Gillat, proud as a school-boy who has planned asurprise treat, was trying to coax the smoke up the damp chimney. 

"Johnny!" Julia exclaimed, "what extravagance! It's quite a warmnight, too!"

Johnny smiled delightedly. "I thought you'd be cold after yourjourney; you look quite pale and pinched, " he said; "seasickness doesleave one feeling chilly. "

Julia repented of that unnecessary trimming of hers. "It is nice tohave a fire, " she said, striving not to cough at the choking smoke; "Idon't need it a bit, but I don't know anything I should have enjoyedmore; why, I haven't seen a real fire since I left England!"

She broke off to take the tongs from Mr. Gillat, who, in his effortsto improve the draught, had managed to shut the register. She openedit again, and in a little had the fire burning nicely. Johnny lookedon and admired, and at her suggestion opened the window to let out thesmoke. After that she managed to persuade the blind down, and, what ismore, mended it so that it would go up again; then Mr. Gillat clearedthe dressing-table and pulled it out into the middle of the room, andby that time supper was ready--fried steak and onions and bottledbeer, with jam puffs and strong black coffee to follow--not exactlythe things for one lately suffering from seasickness, but Julia triedthem all except the bottled beer and seemed none the worse for it. Andas for Johnny, if you had searched London over you could have foundnothing more to his taste. He was a little troubled at the thought ofwhat Julia must have spent, but she assured him she had her wages, sohe was content. Seldom was one happier than Mr. Gillat at that supper, or afterwards, when the table was cleared and they drew up to thefire. They sat one each side of the fender on cane-seated chairs, thecoffee on the hob, and Johnny smoking a Dutch cigar of Julia'sproviding. One can buy them at the railway stations in Holland, andshe had scarcely more pleasure in giving them to Johnny than she hadin smuggling home more than the permitted quantity. 

"Now tell me about things, " Julia said. 

Johnny's face fell a little. During supper they had talked about heraffairs and experiences, none of the unpleasant ones; she wasdetermined not to have the supper spoiled by anything. Now, however, she felt that the time had come to hear the other side of things. 

"I suppose father has been to town?" she remarked; she knew only toowell that nothing else could account for Mr. Gillat's reducedcircumstances. "When did he go?"

"He has not been gone much more than a week, " Johnny said; "think ofthat now! If he'd stayed only a fortnight more he'd have been hereto-night; it is a pity!"

"I don't think it is at all, " Julia said frankly; "the pity is he evercame. "

Johnny rubbed his hand along his chair. "Well, well, " he said, "yourmother wished it; she knows what she is about; she is a wonderfulwoman, a wonderful woman. I did what you told me, I really did. "

Julia was sure of that, but she was also sure now that he had not beena match for her mother. 

"I went down to Marbridge a week before your father was supposed to becoming to town; I warned him very likely I should have to go away, just as you said--and the very day I went to Marbridge he came totown, the very day--a week earlier than was talked of. "

Julia could not repress an inclination to smile, not only at the neatway in which her mother had checkmated her, but also at the thought ofthat lady's face when Mr. Gillat presented himself at Marbridge, justas she was congratulating herself on being rid of the Captain. 

"What happened?" she asked. "Did mother send you back to town again?"

"She did not send me, " Mr. Gillat answered; "but, of course, I had togo, as she said; there was your father all alone here; it would bevery dull for him; I couldn't leave him. Besides, he is not--not astrong man, it would be better--she would feel more easy if shethought he had his old friend with him, to see he didn't get into--youknow. "

"I know, " Julia answered; "mother told you all this, then she paidyour fare back again. "

"Not paid my fare, " Mr. Gillat corrected; "a lady could not offer todo such a thing; do you think I would ever have allowed it? I couldn'tyou know. "

Julia's lips set straight; she had something of a man's contempt forsmall meannesses, and it is possible her judgment on this economy ofher mother's was harder than any she had for the unjustifiableextravagances at which she guessed. She did not say anything of it toMr. Gillat, she was too ashamed; not that he saw it in that light; hedidn't think he had been in any way badly used, he never did. 

"Well, " she said, "then you came back to town and looked after fatherto the best of your abilities? I suppose you could not do much good?"

Johnny rubbed his hand along his chair again for a little. "You see, "he said hesitatingly, "it was very dull for him; of course he wantedamusement. "

"And of course he had it, though he could not afford it, and youpaid?"

"Not to any great extent; oh, dear no, not to any great extent. "

"No, because you had not got 'any great extent' to spend; what youhad, limited the amount, I suppose, nothing else. "

Mr. Gillat ignored this. "Your father, " he said, rather uneasily, looking at her and then away again, "your father never had a verystrong head, he--you know--he--"

"Has taken to drink?" Julia asked baldly. "As well as gambling hedrinks now?"

"Oh, no, " Johnny said quickly, "not exactly, that is--he does takemore than he used, more than is good for him sometimes; not much isgood for him, you know--he does take more, it is no good pretending hedoes not. But it was very dull for him; it did not suit him beinghere, I think; he used to get so low in spirits, what with his lossesand feeling he was not wanted at home. He thinks a great deal of yourmother, and he could not but feel that she does not think much of himto send him away like that; it hurt him, although, as he said to memore than once, no doubt he deserved it. It preyed on his mind; heseemed to want something to cheer him. "

Julia nodded; she could understand the effect well enough, though thecauses at work might not be quite clear. To her young judgment itseemed a little strange that her father should have never realisedwhat a cumberer of the ground he was to his wife until she banishedhim "for his health. " But so it evidently was, and after all she couldbelieve it; like some others he had "made such a sinner of hisconscience, " that he could believe, not only his own lie, but thelegends woven about him. They had all pretended things, he and theyalso; his position, too, had come gradually, he had got to accept itwithout thinking before it was an established fact. But now the truthhad been brought home to him--more or less--and he was miserable, and, according to the custom of his sort, set to making bad worse as soonas ever he discovered it. 

"Why did he go home last week?" she aroused herself to ask. 

"He thought it his duty, " was Johnny's surprising answer. "No, Mrs. Polkington did not send for him, she did not know he was coming; hedecided for himself, he felt it would be better. "

Mr. Gillat rambled on vaguely, but Julia was not slow to guess thatthe principal reason was to be found in the state of Johnny'sfinances. She questioned him as to when he had moved into the backroom, and, finding it to be not long before her father's departure, guessed that discomfort, like the husks of the prodigal son, hadawakened the thing dignified by the name of duty. 

For a little she sat in silence, thinking matters over. Johnny smokedhard at the stump of his cigar, mended the fire and fidgeted, lookingsideways at her. 

"Don't worry about it, " he ventured at last; "things'll look up, theywill; when he's back at Marbridge with your mother he'll be all right. She always had a great influence over him, she had, indeed. "

Julia said "Yes. " But he did not feel there was much enthusiasm in themonosyllable, so he cast about in his mind for something to cheer herand thus remembered a very important matter. 

"What an old fool I am!" he exclaimed. "There's something I ought tohave told you the moment you came in, and I've clean forgotten ituntil now; it's good news, too! There is a lawyer wants to see you. "

"What about?" Julia asked; she did not seem to naturally associate alawyer with good news. 

"A legacy, " Johnny answered triumphantly. 

Julia was much astonished; she could not imagine from whence it came, but before she asked she made the business-like inquiry, "How much?"

"Not a great deal, I'm afraid, " Mr. Gillat was obliged to say; "still, a little's a help, you know; it may be a great help; you remember yourfather's Aunt Jane?"

Julia did, or rather she remembered the name. Great-aunt Jane was oneof the relations the Polkingtons did not use; she was not rich enoughor obliging enough to give any help, nor grand enough forconversational purposes. She never figured in Mrs. Polkington's talkexcept vaguely as "one of my husband's people in Norfolk;" this whenshe was explaining that the Captain came of East Anglian stock on hismother's side. Jane was only a step-aunt to the Captain; his motherhad married above her family, her half-sister Jane had married alittle beneath--a small farmer, in fact, whose farming had got smallerstill before he died, which was long ago. Great-aunt Jane could nothave much to leave any one, but, as Mr. Gillat said, anything wasbetter than nothing; the real surprise was why it should have beenleft to Julia. 

She asked Johnny about it, but he could not tell her much; he reallyknew very little except that there was something, and that the lawyerwanted her address and was annoyed when her relations could not giveit. Indeed, even went so far as to think they would not, and that itwould be his duty to take steps unless she was forthcoming soon. 

"I had better go to his office to-morrow, " Julia said; "I suppose youknow where it is?"

Mr. Gillat did, and they arranged how they would go to-morrow, Johnny, who was to wait outside, solely for the pleasure and excitement of theexpedition. After that they talked about the legacy and its probableamount for some time. 

"I suppose no other benefactor came inquiring for me while I wasaway?" Julia said, after she had, to please Johnny and not herpractical self, built several air castles with the legacy. 

"No, " Mr. Gillat said regretfully, "I'm afraid not; no one else askedfor you. At least, some one did; a Mr. Rawson-Clew came here for youraddress. "

"Did he though?" Julia asked; "Did he, indeed? What did he want itfor?"

"Well, I don't know, " Johnny was obliged to say; "I don't know that hegave any reason exactly; he said he had met you in Holland. I thoughthe was a friend of yours, he seemed to know a good deal about you. "

"He was a friend, " Julia said; "that was quite right. And so he camefor my address. When was this?"

Johnny gave the approximate date, and Julia asked: "Why did he come toyou?"

Mr. Gillat did not quite know unless it was because he had failedelsewhere. "But he really came to see your father, " he said. 

"Did he see him?" Julia inquired. 

"No, he was out. To tell the truth, I don't believe your father everknew he came, " Johnny confessed; "I meant to tell him, of course, buthe was late home that day, and when he came he was--was--well, youknow, he couldn't--it didn't seem--"

"Yes, " said Julia, coming to the rescue, "he was drunk and could notunderstand, and afterwards you forgot it; it does not matter; indeed, it is better so; I am glad of it. "

Mr. Gillat was fumbling in his shabby letter-case; he took out a card;it bore Rawson-Clew's name and address of a London club. 

"He gave me this, " he said, "and told me to let him know if I heardfrom you, if you were in any trouble, or anything--if I thought youwere. "

Julia held out her hand. "You had better give it to me, " she said;"I'll let him know all that is necessary. Thank you;" and she put thecard away. 

Soon after she went to her room, for it was growing late. But she didnot hurry over undressing; indeed, when she sat down to take off herstockings, she paused with one in her hand, thinking of Rawson-Clew. So he had tried to find out where she was; he did not then accept heranswer as final; he was bent on seeing that she came to no harmthrough him--honourable, certainly, and like him. He had come toBerwick Street and nearly seen her father--drunk; quite seen Mr. Gillat, in the first floor sitting-room certainly, but no doubt shabbyand not very wise as usual. She was not ashamed; though for a momentshe had been glad he had missed her father; now she told herself itdid not matter either way. He knew what she was and what her peoplewere; what did it matter if he realised it a little more? They werenot of his sort, it was no good pretending for a moment that theywere. His sort! She laughed silently at the thought. The girls of hissort eating steak and onions in a back bedroom with Johnny Gillat!Caring for Johnny as she cared, liking to sit with him in the pokeylittle room while he smoked Dutch cigars; not doing it out of kindnessof heart and charity, but finding personal pleasure in it and a senseof home-coming! If Rawson-Clew had come that evening while they wereat supper, or while she cured the smoky fire or mended the blind, orwhile they sipped black coffee out of earthenware breakfast-cups andtalked of her father's delinquencies! It would not have mattered; heknew she was of the stoke-hole--she had told him so--and not like theaccomplished girls whom he usually met--who could not have got him theexplosive!

She dropped her stocking to take the wide-necked bottle in her hands, deciding now how best to send it. It must go by post, in a good-sizedwooden box, tightly packed, with a great deal of damp straw and wool;it ought to be safe that way. She would send it to the club address, it was fortunate she had it; but not yet, not until her own plans wereclearer. It was just possible he might suspect her; it was hardlylikely, but it was always as well to provide against remotecontingencies, for if he tried and succeeded in verifying thesuspicion everything would be spoiled. He had made sensible efforts tofind her before, he might make equally sensible and more successfulones again, unless she left a way of escape clear for herself. Accordingly, so she determined, the explosive should not go yet, thought it had better be packed ready. She would get a box and packingto-morrow; to-night she could only copy the formula. She did this, printing it carefully on a strip of paper which she put on the bottleand coated with wax from her candle. She knew Herr Van de Greutz waxedlabels sometimes to preserve them from the damp, so she felt sure theformula would be safe however wet she might make the packing. 

The next day she went to the lawyer's office and heard all about thelegacy and what she must do to prove her own identity and claim it. Mr. Gillat waited outside, pacing up and down the street, striving sohard to look casual that he aroused the suspicions of a not too acutepoliceman. The official was reassured, however, when Julia came out ofthe office and carried Johnny away to hear about the legacy. 

"It is more than I thought, " she said, before they were half down thestreet. "Fifty pounds a year, a small house--not much more than acottage--and a garden and field; that's about what it comes to. Thehouse is not worth much; it is in an unget-at-able part of Norfolk, inthe sandy district towards the sea--the man spoke as if I knew wherethat was, but I don't--and the garden and field are not fertile. Idon't suppose one could let the place, but one could live in it, ifone wanted to. "

"Yes, yes, " Johnny said, "of course; you will have your own estate toretire to; quite an heiress--your mother will be pleased. "

Julia could well imagine what skilful use her mother could make of thelegacy; it would figure beautifully in conversation; no doubt Johnnywas really thinking of this also, though he did not know it, foractually the thing would not commend itself to Mrs. Polkington sohighly as a lump sum of money would have done. 

"Why do you think Great-aunt Jane let it to me?" Julia asked. "BecauseI went out to work! It seems that father and we three girls are thenearest relations she had, and though we knew nothing about her, shemade inquiries about us from time to time. When she heard I had goneabroad as companion or lady-help, she said she should leave all shehad to me because I was the only one who even tried to do any honestwork. You know that is not really strictly fair, because I did notaltogether go with the idea of doing honest work; although, certainly, when I got there I did it. "

Johnny did not quite follow this last, but it did not matter, the onlything that concerned him--or Julia much, either--was the fact that shewas the possessor of £50 a year, a cottage, a garden, and a field. Johnny revelled in the idea and talked of what she was going to doright up to the time that he saw her into the train at Paddington. Theonly thing that put an end to his talking was the guard requesting himto stand away from the carriage door and Julia admonished him to leavego of the handle before the engine started. Julia herself did not talkso much of what she would do because she did not know; she felt, untilshe got home and saw how things were there, it was no good even toplan how and when to spend. Five pounds she did spend; it was reallyher saving accumulated by economy in Holland, but she reckoned it asdrawn from her estate. Johnny found it in an envelope when he returnedto the back bedroom, and with it a note to say that it was in partpayment of Captain Polkington's debts, for which, of course, hisfamily were responsible; "and if you make a fuss about it, " the letterconcluded, dropping the business-like style, "I shall trim 'Bouquet'to stink next time you come to Marbridge, and not come and sit withyou. "

I think Johnny sat down and wept over that letter; but then he wasrather a silly old man and he had not had a good meal, except lastnight's steak and onions, for a fortnight. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE END OF THE CAMPAIGN

The great Polkington campaign was over and it had failed. Mrs. Polkington and Chèrie cheered each other with assurances of a contrarynature as long as they could, but for all that it had really failedand they knew it. There had been some small successes by the way; theyhad received a little recognition in superior places, and a few, avery few, invitations of a superior order at the cost, of course, ofrefusing and so offending some old friends and acquaintances. It mightperhaps have been possible to achieve the position at which Mrs. Polkington aimed in the course of time, or a very long time; societyin the country moves slowly, and she could not afford to waitindefinitely; her financial ability was not equal to it. Moreover, there came into her affairs, not exactly a crash, but something sounpleasantly like a full stop that she and Chèrie could not fail toperceive it. This occurred on the day when they heard of Mr. Harding'sengagement. Mr. Harding was the eligible bachelor addition to countysociety whose advent had materially assisted in giving definite formto Mrs. Polkington's ambition. He had helped to feed it, too, duringthe late summer and early autumn, for he had been friendly, thoughChèrie was forced to admit that his attentions to her had not beenvery marked. But now the news was abroad that he was engaged to a girlin his own circle; one whose mother had not yet extended any greaterrecognition to Mrs. Polkington than an invitation to a Primrose LeagueFête. 

This news was abroad in the middle of October, and there was a certainamount of unholy satisfaction in Marbridge. Some of the old friendsand acquaintances who Mrs. Polkington had offended, recognised theChristian duty of forgiveness, and called upon her--to see how shebore up. The Grayson girls, whose dance Chèrie had refused at thebeginning of the month, came to see her. But they put off their call aday to suit some theatrical rehearsal; by which means they lost theentertainment they promised themselves, for by the time they did comeChèrie was ready for them and, with appropriate shyness, let it beknown that she herself was engaged to Mr. Brendon Smith. 

At this piece of information the girls looked at one another, andneither of them could think of anything smart to say. Afterwards theytold each other and their friends that it was "quick work, " and "likethose Polkingtons. " But at the time they could only offer suitablecongratulations to Chèrie, who received them and carried off thesituation with a charming mingling of assurance and graciousness, which was worthy of her mother. 

But the Graysons were right in saying it was quick work; late oneafternoon Chèrie heard of Mr. Harding's engagement; during the eveningshe and her mother recognised their failure; in the night she saw thatMr. Brendon Smith was her one chance of dignified withdrawal, andbefore the next evening she had promised to marry him. 

There were some people in Marbridge who pitied Mr. Smith (only thePolkingtons put in the Brendon), but he did not need much pity, forthe good reason that he knew very well what he was doing and how itwas that his proposals came to be accepted. He was fond of Chèrie, andappreciated both her beauty and her several valuable qualities; but hehad no illusions about her or her family, and he knew, when he madeit, that his proposal would be accepted to cover a retreat. He was notat all a humble and diffident individual, but he did not mind beingtaken on these terms; he even saw some advantage in it in dealing withthe Polkingtons. If there was any mistake in the matter it was Chèriewhen she said "Yes" to his suggestion, "Don't you think you'd bettermarry me?" She probably did not know how completely she was gettingherself a master. 

It was not a grand engagement; Mrs. Polkington could not pretend thather son-in-law elect had aristocratic or influential connections; shesaid so frankly--and her frankness, which was overstrained, was one ofher most engaging characteristics. 

"It is no use pretending that I should not have been more pleased ifhe had been better connected, " she said to those old friends andacquaintances whose Christianity led them to call. "I share youropinion, dear Mrs. ----" (the name varied according to circumstances)"about the value of birth; but one can't have everything; he is a mostable man, and really charming. It is such a good thing that he is somuch older than Chèrie; I always felt she needed an older man to guideand care for her--he is positively devoted to her; you know, thedevotion of a man of that age is such a different thing from a boy'saffection. "

After that the visitor could not reasonably do anything but inquire ifMr. Smith was going to throw up the South African post which all thetown knew he was about to take before his engagement. 

To this Mr. Polkington was obliged to answer, "No, he is going, andgoing almost directly; that is my one hardship; I have got to loseChèrie at once, for he positively will not go without her. Of course, it would be a thousand pities for him to throw it up, such an opening;so very much better than he would ever have here, but it is hard tolose my child--she seems a child to me still--almost before I haverealised that she is grown up. Their passages are taken already; theywill be married by license almost directly; there even won't be timeto get a trousseau, only the merest necessaries before the luggage hasto go. "

It must not be thought that the news of Mr. Harding's engagement wasthe one and only thing which convinced Mrs. Polkington and Chèrie thatthe great campaign had failed; it was the finishing touch, no doubt, in that it had made Chèrie feel the necessity of being immediatelyengaged to some one, but there were other things at work. CaptainPolkington had returned from London just five days before they heardthe news, and three were quite sufficient to show his wife anddaughter that he was considerably the worse for his stay in town. Bills too, had been coming in of late; not inoffensive, negligiblebills such as they were very well used to, but threatening insistentbills, one even accompanied by a lawyer's letter. Then, to crown all, Captain Polkington had a fit of virtue and repentance on the secondday after his return. It was not of long duration, and was, no doubt, partly physical, and not unconnected with the effects of his declinefrom the paths of temperance. But while it lasted, he read some of thebills and talked about the way ruin stared him in the face and theneed there was for retrenchment, turning over a new leaf, facing factsand kindred things. Also, which was more important, he wrote to hiswife's banker brother--he who had been instrumental in getting thepapers sent in years ago. To this influential person he said a gooddeal about the state of the family finances, the need there was forclearing matters up and starting on a better basis, and his owndetermination to face things fairly and set to work in earnest. Whatkind of work was not mentioned; apparently that had nothing to do withthe Captain's resolution; there was one thing, however, that wasmentioned definitely--the need for the banker brother's advice--andpecuniary assistance. The answer to this letter was received on thesame day as the news of Mr. Harding's engagement. It came in theevening, later than the news, and it was addressed to Mrs. Polkington, not the Captain; it assisted her in recognising that the end of thecampaign had arrived. It said several unpleasant things, and it saidthem plainly; not the most pleasant to the reader was the announcementthat the writer would himself come to Marbridge to look into mattersone day that week or the next. Under these circumstances it is notperhaps so surprising that Chèrie found it advisable to accept Mr. Brendon Smith's offer of marriage, and Mrs. Polkington found theimpossibility of getting a trousseau in time no very greatdisadvantage. 

When Julia came home it wanted but a short time to Chèrie's wedding. Agreat deal seemed to have happened since she went away, not only toher family, but, and that was less obviously correct, to herself. Shestood in the drawing-room on the morning after her return and lookedround her and felt that somehow she had travelled a long way from herold point of view. The room was very untidy; it had not been used, andso, in accordance with the Polkington custom, not been set tidy fortwo days; dust lay thick on everything; there were dead leaves in thevases, cigarette ash on the table, no coals on the half-laid fire. Inthe merciless morning light Julia saw all the deficiencies; the waythings were set best side foremost, though, to her, the worst sidecontrived still to show; the display there was everywhere, thetrumpery silver ornaments, all tarnished for want of rubbing, and ofno more intrinsic value and beauty than the tinfoil off champagnebottles; the cracked pieces of china--rummage sale relics, she calledthem--set forth in a glass-doored cabinet, as if they were heirlooms. Mrs. Polkington had a romance about several of them that made themseem like heirlooms to her friends and almost to herself. The whole, as Julia looked around, struck her as shoddy and vulgar in itsunreality. 

"I'm not coming back to it, no, I'm not, " she said, half aloud; "thecorduroy and onions would be a great deal better. "

Chèrie passed the open door at that minute and half heard her. "Whatdid you say?" she asked. 

Julia looked round. "Nothing, " she answered, "only that I am notcoming back to this sort of life. "

"To Marbridge?" Chèrie asked, "or to the house? If it is the house youmean, you need not trouble about that; there isn't much chance of yourbeing able to go on living here; you will have to move into somethingless expensive. I am sure Uncle William will insist on it. There ismore room than you will want here after I am gone, and as forappearance and society, there won't be much object in keeping thatup. "

Julia laughed. "You don't think I am a sufficiently marketablecommodity to be worth much outlay?" she said. "You are quite right;besides, it is just that which I mean; I have come to the conclusionthat I don't admire the way we live here. "

"So have I, " Chèrie answered; "no one in their senses would; but itwas the best we could do in the circumstances and before you grumbleat it you had better be sure you don't get something worse. "

Julia did not think she should do that, and Chèrie seeing it went on, "Oh, of course you have got £50 a year, I know, but you can't live onthat; besides, I expect Uncle William will want you to do somethingelse with it. "

"I shall do what I please, " Julia replied, and Chèrie never doubtedit; she would have done no less herself had she been the fortunatelegatee, Uncle William or twenty Uncle Williams notwithstanding. 

This important relative had not been to Marbridge yet, in spite ofwhat he wrote to his sister; he had not been able to get away. Indeed, he was not able to do so until the day after Chèrie's wedding. Mrs. Polkington was in a happy and contented frame of mind; the quietwedding had gone off quite as well as Violet's grander one--really, aquiet wedding is more effective than a smart one in the dull time ofyear, and always, of course, less expensive. Chèrie had looked lovelyin simple dress, and the presents, considering the quietness andhaste, were surprisingly numerous and handsome. Mr. Smith was likedand respected by a wide circle. Mrs. Polkington felt satisfied andalso very pleased to have Violet, her favourite daughter, with heragain. She and Violet were talking over the events of the day withmutual congratulation, when Mr. William Ponsonby was announced. 

Fortunately, Violet's husband, Mr. Frazer, had gone to see his oldfriend the vicar, and more fortunately still, he was persuaded to stayand dine with him. It would have been rather awkward to have had himpresent at the display of family washing which took place thatevening. Mr. Ponsonby did not mince matters; he said, perhaps notaltogether without justice, that he had had about enough of thePolkingtons. He also said he wanted the truth, and seeing that hissister had long ago found that about her own concerns so veryunattractive that she never dealt with it naked; it did not showbeautiful now. In the course of time, however, he got it, or nearenough for working purposes. Out came all the bills, and out came thethreatening letter and old account books and remembered debts both oftimes past and present; and when he had got them all, he added themup, showed Mrs. Polkington the total, and asked her what she was goingto do. 

She said she did not know; privately she felt there was no need forher to consider the question; was it not the one her self-invitedbrother had come to answer? He did answer it, almost as soon as heasked it. 

"You will have to leave this house, " he said, "sell what you can ofits contents and pay all that is possible of your debts. You won't beable to pay many with that; the rest I shall have to arrange about, Isuppose. Oh, not pay; don't think that for a moment; I've paid a dealmore than I ought for you long ago. I mean to see the people andarrange that you pay by degrees; you will have to devote most of yourincome to that for a time. What will you live on in the meanwhile?This legacy--it is you who have got it, isn't it?" he said, turning toJulia; "I thought so. Fortunately the money is not in any way tied up, you can get at the principal. Well, the best thing to be done is tobuy a good boarding-house. You could make a boarding-house pay, Caroline, " he went on to his sister, "if you tried; your social giftswould be some use there--you will have to try. "

Mrs. Polkington looked a little dismayed, and Violet said, "It wouldbe rather degrading, wouldn't it?"

"Not so degrading as being sued at the county court, " her unclereturned. 

Mrs. Polkington felt there was truth in that, and, accustoming herselfto a new idea with her usual rapidity, she even began to see that thealternative offered need not be so very unpleasant. Indeed, when shecame to think about it, it might be almost pleasant if theboarding-house were very select; there would be society of a kind, perhaps of a superior kind, even; she need not lose prestige and shecould still shine, and without such tremendous effort. 

But her reflections were interrupted by the Captain. 

"And what part have I in this scheme?" he asked. 

His brother-in-law, to whom the question was addressed, considered amoment. "Well, I really don't know, " he said at last; "of course youwould live in the house. "

"A burden on my wife and daughter! Idle, useless, not wanted!"

The banker had no desire to hurt Captain Polkington's feelings, but hesaw no reason why he should not hear the truth--that he had long beenall these things; idle, useless, unwanted, a burden not only to hiswife and daughters, but also to all relations and connections whoallowed themselves to be burdened. But the Captain's feelings werehurt; he was surprised and injured, though convinced of little besidesthe hardness of fate and the fact that his brother-in-lawmisunderstood him. He turned to his wife for support, and shesupported, corroborating both what he said and what her brother didtoo, though they were diametrically opposed. It looked rather as ifthe discussion were going to wander off into side issues, but Juliabrought it back by inquiring of her uncle--

"What part have I in this scheme?"

"You will help your mother, " he answered, "and of course the concernwill be nominally yours; that is to say, you will put your money init, invest it in that instead of railways or whatever it is now in. Ishall see that the thing is properly secured. "

He glanced at Captain Polkington as he spoke, as if he thought hemight have designs upon the money or investment. Julia only said, "Isee, " but in so soft a voice that she roused Mr. Ponsonby'ssuspicions. He had dealt a good deal with men and women, and he didnot altogether like the amused observing eyes of the legatee, and hedistrusted her soft voice of seeming acquiescence. 

"It is of no use for you to get any nonsensical ideas, " he said, "about what you will do and won't do; this is the only thing you cando; you have got to make a living, and you have got to pay your debts;beggars can't be choosers. The fact is, you have all lived on charityso long that you have got demoralised. "

Violet flushed. "Really, " she began to say, "though you have helped usonce or twice, I don't think you have the right to insult--" but Mrs. Polkington raised a quieting hand; she did not wish to offend herbrother. 

He was not offended; he only spoke his mind rather plainly to themall, which, though it did no harm, did little good either; they weretoo old in their sins to profit by that now. After some moreunpleasant talk all round, the family conclave broke up; Mr. Frazercame home, and every one went to bed. 

Mr. Ponsonby had Julia's tiny room; there was nowhere else for him, seeing Violet and her husband had the one she and her youngest sistershared in their maiden days. Julia had to content herself with thedrawing-room sofa; it was a very uncomfortable sofa, and the blanketskept slipping off so she did not sleep a great deal; but that did notmatter much; she had the more time to think things over. Dawn foundher sitting at the table wrapped in her blanket, writing by the lightof one of the piano candles; she glanced up as the first cold lightstruggled in, and her face was very grave, it looked old, too, andtired, with the weariness which accompanies renunciation, quite asoften as does peace or a sense of beatitude. She looked at the paperbefore her, a completely worked-out table of expenditure, a sort ofstatement of ways and means--the means being £50 a year. It could bedone; she knew that during the night when the plan took shape in hermind; she had proved it to herself more than half-an-hour ago byfigures--but there was no margin. It could only be done by renouncingthat upon which she had set her heart; she could not work out thescheme and pay the debt of honour to Rawson-Clew. The legacy had atfirst seemed a heaven-sent gift for that purpose, but now, like theblue daffodil, it seemed that it could not be used to pay the debt. That was not to be paid by a heaven-sent gift any more than by adevil-helped theft; slow, honest work and patient saving might pay itin years, but nothing else it seemed. She put her elbows on the tableand propped her chin on her locked hands looking down at theunanswerable figures, but they still told her the same hard truth. 

"I might save it in time; I could do without this--and this, " she toldherself. It is so easy to do without oneself when one's mind is set onsome purpose, but one has no right to expect others to do without, too--the whole thing would be no good if the others had to; she knewthat. No, the debt could not be paid this way; she had no right to doit; it was her own fancy, her hobby, perhaps. No one demanded that itshould be paid; law did not compel it; Rawson-Clew did not expect it;her father considered that it no longer existed; it was to pleaseherself and herself alone that she would pay it, and her pleasure mustwait. 

Possibly she did not reason quite all this; she only knew that shecould not do what she had set her heart on doing with the first ofAunt Jane's money, and the renunciation cost her much, and gave her nosatisfaction at all. But the matter once decided, she put it at theback of her mind, and by breakfast time she was her usual self; totell the truth, she was looking forward to a skirmish with UncleWilliam, and that cheered her. 

After breakfast she led Mr. Ponsonby to the drawing-room, and he camenot altogether unprepared for objections; he had half feared them lastnight. 

"Uncle William, " she said. "I have been thinking over your plan, and Idon't think I quite like it. "

"I dare say not, " her uncle answered; "I can believe it; but that'sneither here nor there, as I said last night, beggars can't bechoosers. "

Julia did not, as Violet had, resent this; she was the one member ofthe family who was not a beggar, and she knew perfectly well she couldbe a chooser. She sat down. "Perhaps I had better say just what Imean, " she said pleasantly; "I am not going to do it. "

"Not going to?" Mr. Ponsonby repeated indignantly. "Don't talknonsense; you have got to, there's nothing else open to you; I'm notgoing to keep you all, feed, clothe and house you, and pay your debtsinto the bargain!"

"No, " said Julia; "no, naturally not; I did not think of that. "

"What did you think of, then?" her uncle demanded; he remembered thatshe had the nominal disposal of her own money, and though herobjections were ridiculous, even impertinent in the familycircumstances, they might be awkward. "What do you object to? Isuppose you don't like the idea of paying debts; none of you seem to. "

"No, " Julia answered; "it isn't that; of course the debts must be paidin the way you say, it is the only way. "

"I am glad you think so, " the banker said sarcastically; "though I mayas well tell you, young lady, that it would still be done even withoutyour approval. What is it you don't like, spending your money forother people?"

Julia smiled a little. "We may as well call it that, " she said; "Idon't like the boarding-house investment. "

"What do you like? Seeing your parents go to the poorhouse? That'swhat will happen. "

"No, they can come and live with me. I have got a large cottage, agarden, a field, and £50 a year. If we keep pigs and poultry, and growthings in the garden we can live in the cottage on the £50 a year tillthe debts are all paid off; after that, of course, we should haveenough to be pretty comfortable. We need not keep a servant there, orregard appearances or humbug--it would be very cheap. "

"And nasty, " her uncle added. He was not impressed with the wisdom ofthis scheme; indeed he did not seriously contemplate it as possible. "You are talking nonsense, " he said; "absurd, childish nonsense; youdon't know anything about it; you have no idea what life in a cottagemeans; the drudgery of cooking and scrubbing and so on; the doingwithout society and the things you are used to; as for pigs andgardening, why, you don't know how to dig a hole or grow a cabbage!"

But he was not quite right; Julia had learnt something about drudgeryin Holland, something about growing things, at least in theory, and somuch about doing without the society to which she was used at homethat she had absolutely no desire for it left. She made as much ofthis plan to Mr. Ponsonby as was possible and desirable; enough, atall events, to convince him that she had thought out her plan in everydetail and was very bent on it. 

"I suppose the utter selfishness of this idea of yours has not struckyou, " he said at last. "You may think you would like this kind oflife, though you wouldn't if you tried it, but how about your mother?"

"She won't like it, " Julia admitted; "but then, on the other hand, there is father. I suppose you know he has taken to drink lately andat all times gambled as much as he could. What do you think wouldbecome of him in a boarding-house in some fashionable place, withnothing to do, and any amount of opportunity?"

Mr. Ponsonby did not feel able or willing to discuss the Captain'sdelinquencies with his daughter; his only answer was, "What willbecome of your mother keeping pigs and poultry and living in anisolated cottage? It would be social extinction for her. "

"The boarding-house would be moral extinction for father. "

Mr. Ponsonby grew impatient. "I suppose you think, " he said irritably, "that you have reduced it to this--the sacrifice of one parent or theother. You have no business to think about such things; but if youhad, to which do you owe the most duty? Who has done the most foryou?"

"Well, " Julia answered slowly, "I'm not sure I am considering dutyonly; people who don't pay their debts are not always great at duty, you know. Perhaps it is really inclination with me. Father is fonderof me than mother is; I have never been much of a social success. Mother did not find me such good material to work upon, so naturallyshe rather dropped me for the ones who were good material. I admiremother the more, but I am sorrier for father, because he can't takecare of himself, and has no consolation left; it serves him right, ofcourse, but it must be very uncomfortable all the same. Do you see?"

"No, I don't, " her uncle answered shortly; "I am old-fashioned enoughto think sons and daughters ought to do their duty to their parents, not analyse them in this way. " He forgot that he had in a measureinvited this analysis, and Julia did not remind him, although no doubtshe was aware of it. 

"I should like to do my duty to them both, " she said; "and I believe Iwill do it best by going to the cottage. Father would get to be agreat nuisance to mother at the boarding-house after a time, almost asbad as the pigs and poultry at the cottage. Also, if we had theboarding-house, father's moral extinction would be complete, but if welived at the cottage mother's social one would not; she could go andstay with Violet and other people the worst part of the time, while wewere shortest of money. Besides all that, there are two other things;I like the cottage best myself, and I believe it to be the best--Iknow the sort of living life we should live at a boarding-house--andthen there is Johnny Gillat. "

Mr. Ponsonby had no recollection of who Johnny Gillat was, and he didnot trouble to ask; Julia's other reason was the one he seized upon. "You like it!" he said; "yes, now we have come to the truth; theperson you are considering is yourself; I knew that all along; youneed not have troubled to wrap it up in all these grandreasons--consideration for your father, and so on!"

"Oh, but think how much better it sounded!" Julia said, with twinklingeyes. 

Mr. Ponsonby did not see the twinkle; he read Julia a lecture onselfishness and ended up by saying, "You are utterly selfish andingrain lazy, that's what you are; you don't want to do a stroke ofhonest work for any one. "

"Dishonest work is where I shine, " Julia told him. "Oh, notscoundrelly dishonesty, company promoting, and so on, " (Mr. Ponsonbywas on several boards of directors, but he was not a company promoter, still he snorted a little) "I mean real dishonest work; with a littlepractice I would make such a thief as you do not meet every day in theweek. "

"I can quite believe it, " her uncle retorted grimly; "lazy peoplegenerally do take to lying and stealing and, as I say, lazy is whatyou are. Sooner than work for your living, you go and pig in acottage, because you think that way you can do nothing all day; leadan idle life. "

"Yes, " Julia agreed sweetly; "I think that must be my reason--a nicecomfortable idle life with the pigs and poultry, and garden, andcooking, and scrubbing, and two incompetent old men. I really thinkyou must be right. "

Here it must be recorded, Mr. Ponsonby very nearly lost his temper, and not without justification. Was he not giving time andconsideration and (probably) money to help this hopeless family on toits legs again? And was it not more than mortal middle-aged man couldbear, not only to be opposed by the only member with any means, butalso to be made sly fun of by her? He gave Julia his opinion verysharply, and no doubt she deserved it. But the worst of it was thatdid not prevent her from exercising the right of the person who is nota beggar to choose. 

The Polkington family, who were soon afterwards called in to assistat the discussion, sided with Mr. Ponsonby. Violet and Mrs. Polkingtonwith great decision, the Captain more weakly. Eventually he was wonover to Julia because her scheme seemed to hold a place for him wherehe could flatter himself he was wanted. The argument went on andangrily, on the part of some present; Julia was most amiable; but, asthe Van Heigens had found, she was an extremely awkward antagonist, the more amiable, the more awkward, even in a weak position, as withthem, and in a strong one, as now, she was a great deal worse. Mr. Ponsonby lost the train he meant to catch back to London; he did notdo it only for the benefit of his sister, but also because Julia hadgiven battle and he was not going to retire from the field. Violet andMr. Frazer deliberately postponed the hour of their departure; Violetwas determined not to leave things in this condition; Julia's plan, she considered a disgrace to the whole family. Mr. Frazer was askednot to come to the family council; Violet explained to him that theywere having trouble with Julia; she would tell him all about itafterwards, but it distressed her mother so much that it would perhapsbe kinder if he was not there at the time. Mr. Frazer quite agreed; heshared some of his wife's sentiments about appearances; also he had nowish to be distressed either in mind or tastes. 

Violet did tell him about it afterwards; a curtailed and selectedversion, but one eminently suitable to the purpose. On hearing it hewas justly angry with Julia's heartless selfishness in keeping herlegacy to herself. He was also shocked at her determination to go andlive a farm labourer's life in a farm labourer's cottage. He was trulysorry for Mrs. Polkington, between whom and himself there existed amutual affection and admiration. He said it was bitterly hard that herone remaining daughter should treat her thus; that it wasbarbarous, impossible, that a woman of her age, tastes, refinement andgifts should be compelled to lead such a life as was proposed. In facthe could not and would not permit it; he hoped that she would make herhome at his rectory; nay, he insisted upon it; both Violet and himselfwould not take a refusal; she must and should come to them. 

[Illustration: "A wonderful woman"]

Julia smiled her approval; when things were worked up to this end; shewould have liked to clap her applause, it was so well done. Mrs. Polkington and Violet were so admirable, they were already almostconvinced of all they said; in two days they would believe it quite asmuch as Mr. Ponsonby did now. She did not in the least mind having toappear as the ungrateful daughter; it fitted in so beautifully withViolet's arrangement. And really the arrangement was very good; theutilitarian feelings of the family did not suffer at wrenches andsplits as did more tender ones; no one would object much to anadvantageous division. And most advantageous it certainly was; thecottage household would go better without Mrs. Polkington and shewould be far happier at the rectory. She would not make any troublethere; rather, she would give her son-in-law cause to be glad of hercoming; there would be scope for her there, and she would possiblydevelop better than she had ever had a chance of doing before. 

So everything was decided. The house in East Street was to be givenup, and most of its contents sold; as Julia's cottage was furnishedalready with Aunt Jane's things, she need only take a few extras fromthe home. The debts were to be paid as far as possible now, and thesmall income was to be divided; part was to go as pin money to Mrs. Polkington, the main part of the remainder to go to the debts, and avery small modicum to come with the Captain to the cottage. 

Julia was quite satisfied, and let it be apparent. This, with herobvious cheerfulness, rather incensed Violet, who regarded the sale oftheir effects as rather a disgrace, and Julia's plans for the future, as a great one. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, " she told her younger sister, just before she left Marbridge. "I am positively ashamed to think youbelong to us. It will be nice to meet Norfolk people at the Palace orsomewhere, who have seen you tending your pigs and doing your washing. It is such an unusual name; I can quite fancy some one beingintroduced to mother and thinking it odd that her name should be thesame as some dirty cottage people. "

"Well, " Julia suggested, "why not change it? Such a trifle as a namesurely need not stand in our way; we have got over worse things thanthat. Mother can be something else, or I can; mother had better do it;father will forget who he is if I make a change. "

"Don't be absurd, " Violet said; "I only wish you could change itthough; I never want to write to you as Julia Polkington in case someservant were to notice the address; one never knows how these thingscome out. "

"Don't write as that, " her sister told her; "address me as 'JuliaSnooks' or anything else you like; I am not particular. "

Violet did not take this as a serious suggestion; nevertheless, Juliatold Mr. Frazer on the platform at Marbridge that she and Violet hadbeen having a christening, and that she was now Julia Snooks. Mr. Ponsonby said it was ridiculous, to which Julia replied--

"That is what I am myself. "

Mrs. Polkington said it was foolish too, but she did not say sovehemently; she felt that in the Frazer circle, especially at thePalace where she would meet people from everywhere, she might possiblycome across some one who had heard of Julia. It was unlikely; still itis a small world, and Polkington an uncommon name. "Why not choosesomething simple, like 'Gray'?" she suggested. 

"Because, " Julia answered, "that is what I am not. "

 * * * * *

But fate had one exceedingly bitter pill for Mrs. Polkington. On theday after Chèrie and her husband sailed for South Africa, it was knownin Marbridge that the news of Mr. Harding's engagement was false. Thegirl gossip had coupled with him was engaged, it is true, and to a Mr. Harding, but to another and entirely different bearer of the name. Thereal, eligible Mr. Harding called at East Street to explain to Mrs. Polkington how the mistake had arisen, to tell her that he himself hadbeen away in the north for some weeks and so had heard nothing of it. Also to hear--and he had heard nothing of that either--that Chèrie wasmarried and gone. 

The news of Mr. Harding's freedom and his call, and what she fanciedit might have implied, did not reach Chèrie till after her arrival inAfrica. It did not tend to soothe the first weeks of married life, norto make easier the rigorous, but no doubt wholesome, breaking-inprocess to which her husband wisely subjected her. 

CHAPTER XV

THE GOOD COMRADE

Rawson-Clew was very busy that autumn, so busy that the events whichhad taken place in Holland were rather blotted out of his mind; he hadnot exactly forgotten them, only among the press of other things hedid not often think about them and they soon came to take their properunimportant place among his recollections. Julia he thought ofoccasionally, but less and less in connection with the foolishholiday, more in connection with some chance saying or doing. Thingsrecalled her, a passage in a book, a sentiment she would have shared, an opinion she would have combated. Or perhaps it was that some one hemet set him thinking of her shrewd swift judgments; some scene inwhich he played a part that made him imagine her an amused spectatorof its unconscious absurdity. He had turned her thyme flowers out ofhis pocket; he had no sentiment about them or her, but he did notforget her; their acquaintance had, to a certain extent, been a thingof mind, and in mind it seemed he occasionally came in contact withher still. Also there is no doubt she must have been one of thosevirile people who take hold, for though one could sometimes overlookher presence, in absence one did not forget. 

Of herself and her doings he never heard; at first he had half thoughthe might have some communication from Mr. Gillat, but as the autumnwent on and he heard nothing, he came to the conclusion that shereally must have arranged something satisfactorily and there was anend to the whole affair. He settled down to his own concerns andbecame very thoroughly absorbed in them, to the exclusion of nearlyeverything else. For women he never had much taste, and now, beingbusy and preoccupied, he got into the way of scanning them morecritically than ever when he did happen to come across them. Notcomparing them with any ideal standard, but just finding themuninteresting, whether they were the cultivated, well-bred girls ofthe country, or the smart young matrons and wide-awake maidens of thetown. 

That autumn the young Rawson-Clew, Captain Polkington's acquaintance, came into a fortune and took a wife. The latter was, perhaps, on thewhole, a wise proceeding, for, though the wife in question wouldundoubtedly help him in the rapid and inevitable spending of thefortune, she was likely also to enable him to get more for his moneythan if he were spending alone. Rawson-Clew was not introduced to thislady till the winter, then, one evening, he met her at a friend's "athome. "

She was very pretty, small and fair and plump, with childish blueeyes, and an anything but childish mind behind them. She had daintylittle feet, as well shaped as any he had ever seen, and she wasperfectly dressed, her gown a diaphanous creation of melting coloursand floating softness, which suggested more than it revealed of herperson, like a nymph's drapery. She was the centre of attraction andtalked and laughed a great deal, the latter in little tinkles like achild of five, the former from the top of her throat with the faintestlisp and in the strange jargon that was the slang of the moment. Sheknew no more of Florentine art or Wagner or Egyptology than Juliadid, and cared even less. She set out to be intelligently ignorant--tobe anything else was called "middle-class" in her set--and sheachieved her end, although she could do some things extremelywell--play bridge, gamble in stocks and shares and anything else, andarrange lights and colours with the skill of an artist when a suitablesetting for her pretty self was concerned. She had all the charms ofwomanly weakness without any old-fashioned and grandmotherlynarrowness; she was quite free and emancipated in mind and manners, noman had to modify his language for her; she preferred a double meaningto a single one, and a _risque_ story to a plain one. She had anexcellent taste in dinners, a critical one in liqueurs, and a catholicone in men. 

She was most gracious to Rawson-Clew when he was introduced, breakingup her court and dismissing her admirers solely to accommodate him. The instant she saw him, before she heard who he was, she picked himout as the game best worthy of her prowess, and she lost no time inaddressing herself to the chase with the skill and determination of aDiana--though that perhaps is hardly a good comparison, enthusiasm forthe chase being about the only quality she shared with the maidenhuntress. 

Rawson-Clew did not show signs of succumbing at once to her charms;she hardly expected that he would, for she gave him credit for knowinghis own value and was not displeased thereby; where is the pleasure ofsport if the quarry be captured at the outset? But if he did notsuccumb he did all that was otherwise expected of him, standing inattendance on her and sitting by her when he was invited to the setteeshe had chosen in a quiet corner. So well, indeed, did he comporthimself that by the time they parted she felt fairly satisfied withher progress. 

Perhaps she would have been less satisfied if she had heard somethinghe said soon after. A man he knew left the house at the same time hedid and persuaded him to come to the club. On the way the little ladycame in for some discussion; the other man chiefly gave his opinionthough he once asked Rawson-Clew what he thought of his young cousin'swife. 

"As a wife?" he answered; "I should not think of her. If I wanted, asI certainly do not, the privilege of paying that kind of woman'sbills, I should not bother to marry her. "

The other man laughed, but if he quarrelled with anything in theanswer, it appeared to be the taste rather than the judgment. Hemaintained that the lady was charming; Rawson-Clew merely said--

"Think so?" and did not even trouble to defend his opinion. 

At the club he found a box that had come for him by parcels post. Awooden one with the address printed on a card and nailed to the lid, which was screwed down. It did not look particularly interesting; hetold one of the club servants to unscrew it for him. When he came toexamine the contents he found, first a lot of damp packing, and then awide-necked stoppered bottle, two-thirds full of white powder. It borea label printed neatly like the address--

"Herr Van de Greutz's Explosive. 

"Formula as he said it. .. . "

For a moment Rawson-Clew held the bottle, staring at it in blankastonishment; so tense was his attitude that it caught the other man'sattention. 

"Hullo!" he said, "some one sent you an infernal machine?"

Rawson-Clew roused himself. "No, " he answered shortly. 

He put the bottle back in the box after he had felt in the packing andfound nothing, then he fastened it up with more care than was perhapsnecessary. He looked at the address on the lid, but it told himnothing more than it had at first; neither that nor the name of thepost-office from which it was sent gave any clue to the sender. Andyet he felt as if Julia were at his elbow with that mute sympathy inher eyes which had been there when they talked of failure in the woodon the Dunes. 

He rose, and taking the box, went towards the door; the other manwatched him curiously. "One would think you had found a ghost in yourbox, " he said. 

"I'm not sure that I have not, " Rawson-Clew looked back to answer;"the ghost of a good comrade. "

Then he went home. 

When he was alone in his chambers and secure from interruption, heopened the box again and took out all the packing, carefully sortingit. But he found nothing, no scrap of paper, no clue of any sort; hetook off the linen rag that fastened in the bottle stopper, but thatbetrayed nothing either; and yet he thought of Julia. 

She was the only person who could know about the explosive. It hadnever been actually spoken of last summer, but the chances were sheknew. She was the only person who could have known or who could havegot it. It was like her, so like that he was as sure as if her namewere in the box that she was the sender. How she had got the stuff hecould not think, he knew the difficulties in the way; but she had doneit somehow, and now she had sent it to him, without name for fear ofembarrassing him, without clue, with no desire for thanks--loyal, generous, able little comrade! He looked up again; he felt as if shewere bodily present; the whole thing, astounding as he had found it atfirst, was somehow so characteristic of her. And because of herpresence he suddenly wished he had not been to that evening'sentertainment and sat close by his cousin's wife and heard the thingsshe said, and answered the things she looked. He felt as if he werenot clean, as if he had no right to entertain even the ghost of thegood comrade. 

Rawson-Clew was not self-conscious; it never occurred to him to thinkif he appeared ridiculous, whether he was alone or in company. He tookoff his dress coat and flung it aside with a feeling of disgust; itssleeve had brushed that woman's bare arm; he could almost fancy that asuggestion of the scent she used clung to it. He put it out of sightand fetched some other garment before he came back to the thing whichhad recalled Julia. And yet the girl was no lily-child with the dew ofdawn upon her; he did not for one instant think she was; probably, hadshe been, she would not have been the good comrade. The facts of lifewere not strange to her, she knew them, good and bad; was not abovelaughing at what was funny even if it was somewhat coarse, but she hadno taste for lascivious wallowing no matter under what name disguised. A man could be at home with her, he could speak the truth to her; buthe would not make a point of taking her into the society of thatwoman, any more than he would invite a friend to look at the sink, unless there was some purpose to serve. 

Rawson-Clew took up the bottle and looked at it, and looked at theaddress card on the lid, all over again; and there grew in his mindthe conviction that he been a remarkable and particular fool. Notbecause he had taken that holiday on the Dunes, nor yet because he hadfailed to get the explosive and Julia had succeeded--he believed thata man might have average intelligence and yet fail there, for hethought she had more than average. But because he had failed torecognise a fact that had been existent all the time--the need he hadfor the good comrade. Why had he a better liking for his work than ofold? Because it was such as she would have liked, could have donewell, every now and then he fancied her there. Why did he find newpleasure in the hours he spent reading Renaissance Italian, oldmemoirs, the ripe wisdom of the late Tudors and early Stuarts? Becausehe found her in the pages, saw her laugh sometimes, heard hercontradict at others; felt her, invisible and not always recognised, at his elbow. 

He looked round; why should not the presence be fact instead of fancy?He would go to Mr. Gillat and find her whereabouts; if Julia was inEngland, as she probably was, seeing that the box was posted inLondon, the old man would know where she was. He would go to BerwickStreet--he looked at the clock--no, not now; it was too late, orrather too early; he would have to wait till the morning was a gooddeal older. 

Unfortunately the carrying out of the plan did not prove verysuccessful. Berwick Street he found, and No. 31 he found, but not Mr. Gillat; he was gone and had left no address. Mrs. Horn did not seemtroubled by the omission; he had paid everything before he went away, and he practically never had any letters to be sent on; why, sheasked, should she bother after his address?

Rawson-Clew could not tell her why she should, nor did he give anyreason why he himself should. He went away and, reversing the order ofhis previous search, went to Marbridge. 

But failure awaited him there, too. When he came to the Polkingtons'house he found it empty, the blinds down, the steps uncleaned, andbills announcing that it was to let in the windows. He stood andlooked at it in the grey afternoon, and for a moment he was consciousof a feeling of desolation and disappointment which was almost absurd. He turned away and began to make inquiries about the family. He soonlearnt all that was commonly known. They had been gone from EastStreet some little time now; they must have left before the boxcontaining the explosive was posted. Julia had sent it to Aunt Jane'slawyer, before she set out for the cottage, asking him to dispatch itat a given date, and he had fulfilled her request, thinking it awedding present and the date specified one near the impendingceremony. This, of course, Rawson-Clew did not find out; he found outseveral things about the Polkingtons though, their debts anddifficulties, their sale and the break up of the family. He also foundout that the youngest Miss Polkington was married and the second, andnow only remaining one, had come home before the break up. As to wherethe family were now, that was not quite so clear; Mrs. Polkington waswith one of her married daughters; her address was easily obtainableand apparently considered all that any one could require, and quitesufficient to cover the rest of the family. Captain Polkington--nobodythought much about him--when they did, it was generally concluded hewas with his wife. As for Julia, she must have got a situation of somesort--unless, which was unlikely, she was with her parents. Rawson-Clew took Mrs. Polkington's address--it was all he couldget--and determined to write to her. 

It did occur to him to write to Julia at her sister's house andrequest that his letter was forwarded; but he did not do so; he wasnot at all sure she would answer; he wanted to see her face to facethis time. He wrote to Mrs. Polkington and asked her for Julia'saddress, introducing himself as a friend met in Holland, andexplaining his reason, vaguely to be connected with that time. 

When Mrs. Polkington received the letter she thought it over a little;then she showed it to Violet, and they discussed it together. At theoutset they made a mistake; they only knew of one person of the nameof Rawson-Clew--the Captain's young acquaintance; he had certainlygone away from Marbridge last spring and so in point of time couldhave met Julia in Holland, only it was not likely that he had, or thathe had become friendly with her. At least so Violet said; Mrs. Polkington, who knew what remarkable things herself and family coulddo in the way of getting to know people, was inclined to thinkdifferently. On one point, however, they were agreed; it would be veryunpleasant to have to tell one in the position of Mr. Rawson-Clewabout Julia's present proceedings. Giving the address would be givingthe information, or something like it--one would have toexplain--"Miss Julia Snooks, White's Cottage, near Halgrave. "

"We can't do that, " Violet said with decision. 

"I might say I would forward a letter, perhaps?" Mrs. Polkingtonsuggested. 

But Violet did not think that would do either. "Julia would answerit, " she said; "and that would be quite as bad; you know, she is notin the least ashamed of herself. "

Mrs. Polkington did know it. "I believe you are right, " she said, withthe air of one convinced against her will; "Julia has voluntarily cutherself adrift from her own class; it would be unpleasant andembarrassing for her as well as for other people to force her into anyconnection with it again; I don't think any purpose can be served byreopening an acquaintance with Mr. Rawson-Clew, we did not know himat Marbridge"--she never forgot that his circle there did not thinkher good enough to know. "I cannot imagine that it would beadvantageous for Julia to write to him or hear from him under thepresent circumstances. He comes of a Norfolk family, too (Mrs. Polkington always knew about people's families even when she did notknow them personally; it was the sort of information that interestedher); I don't know what part of the county his people belong to, verylikely nowhere near Julia; but supposing it were near enough for himto know from the address what kind of a place Julia was in, it reallymight be so awkward; we ought to be very careful for dear Richard'ssake, especially seeing his connection with the Palace. I really thinkit would be wiser as you say, to be on the safe side. "

So she kept on that side, which, being, interpreted meant leavingRawson-Clew's information much where it was before. She wrote verynicely, somewhat involved, not at all baldly; but reduced to plainterms her letter came to this--she was not going to tell Julia'saddress or anything about her. 

So Rawson-Clew read it, and very angry he was. And the worst of allwas that on the same night that he received this letter, he alsoreceived orders to go at once to Constantinople. He had no time foranything and no choice but to go and leave the search. But during hisjourney across Europe an idea came to him with the suddenness of aninspiration. He knew what Julia had done--she had "retired, " even asshe had said she hoped to on the first day they walked together. Shehad retired somewhere from shams and hypocrisy, from society and herfamily; possibly even she had adopted the corduroy and onions part ofthe ambition; if so, that would explain her mother's refusal, basedon some kind of pride, to give her address. She had retired, and shehad taken Johnny Gillat with her, and her own people had washed theirhands of her! He knew now what to look for when he should come back. He might not be back for two months or even three, but when he didcome he would be able to find Julia and talk to her about theexplosive--and other things. 

 * * * * *

It may be here said that the wonderful explosive did not do what wasexpected of it, either in England or Holland, for it was found todecompose on keeping. It did everything else that was boasted of it, but no one succeeded in keeping it more than fifteen months, anirremediate defect in an explosive for military purposes. This, ofcourse, was not discovered at first, and the honour and glory ofobtaining the specimen was considerable, if only there had been someone to take it. Rawson-Clew did not consider himself the person. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE SIMPLE LIFE

Julia was collecting fir-cones. All around her the land lay brown andstill; dead heather, and sometimes dead bracken, a shade paler, and, more rarely, gorse bushes, nearly brown, too, in their sober winterdress. It was almost flat, a wonderful illimitable place, very remote, very silent, unbroken except for occasional pine-trees. These were notscattered but grew in clumps, miles apart, though looking near in thisplace of distances, and also in a belt not more than five or six treeswide, winding mile after mile like a black band over the plain. Juliastood on the edge of this belt now, gathering the dropped cones andputting them into a sack. The afternoon was advanced and already itwas beginning to grow dark among the trees, but she determined not togo till she had got all she could carry. It was the first time she hadbeen to collect cones; she had sent her father once and Mr. Gillatonce. They had taken longer and gathered less than she, but it was noton that account that she had gone herself to-day. Rather it wasbecause she wanted to go to the dark belt of trees which she saw everyday from her window, and because she wanted to go right out into thewide open land and see what it looked like and feel what it felt like. And when she got there she found it, like the Dunes, all she hadexpected and more. 

At last she had her sack full, and, shouldering it, carried it off onher back, which, seeing the comfort of the arrangement, must be theway Nature intended weights to be carried. Clear of the shadow of thetrees it was lighter; the grey sky held the light long; twilightseemed to creep up from the ground rather than fall from above, as ifdarkness were an earth-born thing that gained slowly, and, for a time, only upon the brighter gift of Heaven. It was quieter, too, out here, for under the pines, though the weather was still, there was abreathing moan as if the trees sighed incessantly in their sleep. Butout here in the brown land it was very quiet; the air light and dryand keen, with the flavour of the not distant sea mingled with thesmell of the pines and the dead ferns--a thing to stir the pulse andrevive the memory of the divine inheritance and the old belief thatman is but a little lower than the angels, related to the infinite andgod-like. 

White's Cottage stood where the heath-land ceased and the sand began. There was much sand; tradition said it had gradually overwhelmed avillage that lay beyond; indeed, that White's Cottage was the last andmost distant house of the lost place. Be that as it may, it certainlywas very solitary, rather far from the village of Halgrave, with noroad leading to it except the track that came from Halgrave andstopped at the cottage gate--there was nowhere to go beyond. 

Dusk had almost deepened to darkness when Julia reached the house; itgleamed curiously in the half light, for it was built of flints, forthe most part grey, but with a paler one here and there catching thelight. She put her sack of cones in one of the several sheds whichwere built on the sides of the cottage, and which, being of the sameflint material, made it look larger than it was. Then she went intothe kitchen. 

Johnny Gillat was there before her; he had been busy in the garden allthe afternoon, but, with the help of the field-glasses which he hadnot been allowed to sell, he had descried her coming across the openland. As soon as he was sure of her, and while she was still a goodway off, he hurried away his tools into the house to get ready. Hewanted it all to look to her as it had to him on the day when he cameback from cone-getting--the fire blazing, the tea ready, the kitchensnug and neat; very unlike the dining-room at Marbridge with the onegas jet burning and "Bouquet" alight. Of course Johnny did not quitesucceed; he never did in matters small or great, but he did his best. The dinner things, which Captain Polkington was to have washed, werenot done, and still about. They had to be put in the back kitchen, andJohnny, who had no idea of saving labour, took so long carrying themaway, that he hardly had time to set the tea. He had meant to makesome toast, but there was no time for that; the first piece of breadhad no more than begun to get warm when he heard Julia's step outside. But the fire was blazing nicely, and that was the chief thing; eventhough the putting on of the kettle had been forgotten. When Juliacame in and saw the fire and crooked tablecloth and hastily-arrangedcups, and Johnny's beaming face, she exclaimed, "How cubby it looks!Why, you have got the tea all ready, and"--sniffing the air--"Ibelieve you are making toast; that is nice!"

Mr. Gillat beamed; then he caught sight of the kettle standing on thehearth, and his face fell. 

But Julia put it on the fire. "It will give you good time to finishthe toast while it boils, " she said; "toast ought not to be hurried, you know; yours will be just right. "

It was not; it was rather smoky when it came to be eaten, the fire notbeing very suitable; but that did not matter; Julia declared itperfect. This was the only form of hypocrisy she practised in thesimple life; possibly, if she thought of the will more than the deed, it was really not such great hypocrisy. At all events she practisedit; she did not think truth so beautiful that frail daily life must bethe better for its undiluted and uncompromising application to allpoor little tender efforts. 

During tea the great subject of conversation was the hen house. Thelast occupant of the cottage had kept hens and all the out-buildingswere in good repair; however, a recent gale had loosened part of theroof of this one, and Captain Polkington had been mending it. Therehad not been much to do; the Captain could not do a great deal; hisfaculties of work--if he ever had any--had atrophied for want of use. Still, he thought he had done a good day's work, and, as aconsequence, was important and inclined to be exacting. That is thereason why he had neglected the dinner things; he felt that a man whohad done all he had was entitled to some rest and consideration. Juliadid not mind in the least; if he was happy and contented, that was allshe wished; she never reckoned his help as one of the assets of thehousehold. For that matter, she had not reckoned Mr. Gillat's of muchvalue either, but there she found she was a little mistaken. Johnnywas very slow and very laborious and really ingenious in finding awrong way of doing things even when she thought she had left him nochoice, but he was very painstaking and persevering. He would doanything he was told, and he took the greatest pleasure in doing it. Whether it was digging in the garden, or feeding the pigs, orcollecting firewood, or setting the table for meals, he was certain todo everything to the best of his ability, and was perfectly happy ifshe would employ him. There can be no doubt that the coming to White'sCottage began a time of real happiness to Mr. Gillat; possibly thehappiest since his wealthy boyhood when he spent lavishly andindiscriminately on anybody and everybody. The Captain was less happy;his satisfaction was of an intermittent order. His discontent did nottake the form of wishing to go back to Marbridge or to join his wife, only in feeling oppressed and misunderstood, and wishing occasionallythat he had not been born or had been born rich--and of courseremained so all his life. He was dissatisfied that evening when thecontentment begotten of his work had worn off; he wanted to go to themarket town to-morrow. Julia was going to get several necessaries forthe household; he considered that he ought to go too, but she wouldnot take him. 

"You will have a great deal to carry, " he protested. 

"Yes, " Julia agreed; "but I shall manage it. "

"It is not fit for you to go about alone, " her father urged. 

She forebore to smile, though the novelty, not to say tardiness of theidea amused her; she only said, "It would take you and Johnny too longto walk into the town; we can't afford to spend too long on the way, and we can't afford a cart to take us. "

The Captain was not convinced; he never was by any one's logic but hisown; perhaps because his own was totally different to all other kinds, including the painful logic of facts. He sighed deeply. "It is astrange, a humiliating condition of things, " he observed to Mr. Gillat, "when a father has to ask his daughter's permission to go intotown. "

Johnny rubbed the side of his chair thoughtfully, then a bright ideaoccurred to him. "Ah, but, " he said, "gentlemen always have to ask ladies'permission before they can accompany them anywhere--especially when it isthe lady of the house. "

A wise man might not perhaps have said this last, but Johnny did, andas it happened, it did not much matter; before the Captain couldanswer, Julia rose from the table and began to clear away. 

Sundry household jobs had to be done in the evening; some were alwaysleft till then; in these short dark days it was advisable to use thelight for work out of doors. At last, however, all was done, and Juliabegan to arrange for to-morrow. The Captain was sulky and sure that hewould have rheumatism and so not be able to go out. His daughter didnot seem to be greatly troubled; she told him of some easy work in thehouse he could do, or if he liked and felt able, he would perhaps goand get more fir-cones; there were plenty, and they saved other fuel. The Captain replied that he was not in the habit of taking orders fromhis children. 

Johnny looked unhappy; he did not like these ruffles to the tranquillife; it always pained him for any one to be dissatisfied, with reasonor without it. When Julia turned to him he was even more ready thanusual to take orders; he would have done anything she told him fromsweeping the copper flue to calling upon the rector, but secretly hehoped she would give him work in the garden. 

The garden was of considerable size, and, by some freak of nature, offairly good soil, though the field and most of the surrounding landwas very poor. They had all worked hard in this plot ever since theircoming; there was not much more to be done, or at least not muchplanting, which was what Mr. Gillat liked. However, there had been nosharp frosts yet and Julia, who knew his tastes, thought she couldfind something to please him. She called him to the back kitchen andbetween them they brought from there a wooden case, the contents ofwhich she began to sort over to find an occupation suitable to him. The box was getting rather empty now, but there was still something init, bulbs and seeds and printed directions, and a strange mixed smellof greyish-brown paper and buckwheat husks and the indescribable smellof Dutch barns. 

It had come from Holland, from the Van Heigens; it was Mijnheer'spresent to the disgraced companion who had been so summarilydismissed. When Julia went to the cottage, it occurred to her to writeto Mijnheer and tell him where she was, and how she meant to live aharmless horticultural life. She had come to think that perhaps sheought to tell him; she knew how her own words, about the way they werethrusting a sinner down, would stay with him and his wife. They wouldquite likely grow in the slow mind of the old man until he becameuneasy and unhappy about her, and blamed himself for her undoing. Atthe time that she spoke she wasted the words to so grow and germinate;but now, looking back, she could think differently; after all the VanHeigens had only done what they thought right, and she had done whatshe knew to be at least open to doubt. And they had not thrust herdown; it would take considerably more than that to do anything of thesort; they had allowed her an opportunity which she had used toachieve a great success. And now that it was achieved and she had leftit all behind and was settled to the simple life--her vagueambition--her heart went out to the simple folk who had first shownher that it might be good; who had been kind to her when there wasnothing to gain, who had made her ashamed. 

So she wrote to Mijnheer and told him that she had fared well, andfound another situation in Holland after leaving his service. Alsothat she had now left it and, having inherited a little property, hadcome to live in a country cottage with her father. She further saidthat she meant to imitate the Dutch and do her own house-work and alsogrow things, vegetables especially, in her garden. 

And Mijnheer, when he got the letter, was delighted; so, too, wasMevrouw; Joost said nothing. They read the letter two or three times, showed it to the Snieders (including Denah) and to the Dutch girl whonow filled Julia's situation--more or less. They talked over it agreat deal and over Julia too; they remembered every detail about her, her good points and her great fall. They were as delighted as theycould be to hear that she was well and happy and apparently, good. Mijnheer especially was pleased to hear that she was with herfather--he did not know that gentleman--he was sure she would be welllooked after with him, and that, so he said, was what she wanted. So, contrary to their theory, but not out of accord with their practice, they forgave the sin for the sake of the sinner, and Mijnheer orderedto be packed, seeds and bulbs and plants for Julia's garden. Heselected them himself, flowers as well as vegetables, sorts which hethought most suitable; and he ordered Joost to stick to the bagsstrips cut out of catalogues where, in stiff Dutch-English, directionsare given as to how to grow everything that can be grown. And if Joostput in some sorts not included in his father's list, and failed totell the good man about it, it was no doubt all owing to his having atone time associated with the dishonest Julia. 

The packing and dispatching of the box gave great pleasure to the VanHeigens; but the receiving and unpacking gave even greater pleasurewhen at last it reached Miss Snooks at White's Cottage. Julia had nottold Mijnheer why she was Miss Snooks now and he, after graveconsideration, decided that it must be because of the legacy, and infulfilment of some obscure English law of property. Having so decided, he addressed the case in good faith, and advised her of its departure. 

Julia and Mr. Gillat planted the things that came in the box; Juliaplanted most, but Mr. Gillat enjoyed it even when he was only lookingon. There was one bulb she set when he was not there to look on, butit did not come with the others. She chose a spot that best fulfilledthe conditions described in the directions for growing daffodils andthere, late one afternoon, she planted the bulb that she had broughtwith her from the Van Heigens. Afterwards she marked the place roundand told Johnny and her father there was a choice flower there whichwas not to be touched. 

Julia went to the market town as she had arranged. Mr. Gillat workedin the garden; Captain Polkington watched him for a little and thenwent out, after spending, as he always did, some time getting ready. He took a basket with him; he thought of collecting fir-cones and heobjected to the sack, though it held a vast deal more; he feltcarrying it to be derogatory to a soldier and a gentleman. It is truehe did not get fir-cones that day, but he really meant to when hestarted. 

Julia, in the meantime, did her shopping, and, having loaded herselfwith as much as she could carry--more than most people could exceptthose Continental maids and mistresses who do their own marketing, shestarted for home. It was a long walk--a long way to Halgrave and agood bit beyond that to the cottage. She did not expect to reach thevillage till dusk, but she thought very probably she would find herfather or Mr. Gillat there; she had suggested that one or both of themshould come to meet her and help carry the parcels the rest of theway. 

Johnny fell in with the suggestion; she saw him through the twilightbefore she reached the village. Her father, she concluded, was stillsulky at her refusal to have his company earlier and so would not comenow. 

"I suppose father would not come?" she said, as she and Mr. Gillatwalked on after a readjustment of the burden. 

"Oh, no, " Johnny answered; "it was not that; I'm sure he would havecome if he had been in when I started, but he was not back then. "

"Not back?" Julia repeated. "Why, where has he gone?"

"Well, " Johnny replied slowly, "he said he was going to get fir-cones, but I'm not sure, I didn't see him go across the heath. Still, I daresay he went--he took a basket, so I think he must have gone. "

Julia apparently did not find this very conclusive evidence. "There isnot anywhere much about here where he can go, " she said; much less asif she were stating a fact than as if she were reviewing likely andunlikely places. "There is only the one road, and that goes toHalgrave, and there is nowhere for him there. "

"No, oh, no, " Johnny said; "there really is nowhere there. "

"There is the 'Dog and Pheasant, '" Julia went on meditatively, "but hewould not get anything he cared about there. "

"No, " Mr. Gillat said decidedly; "besides he would not go there, hewould not sit in a small country public house and--er--and--sitthere--and so on--he would not think of going to such a place. It isone thing when you are out in the country for a day's fishing orsomething, to have a glass of ale and a piece of bread and cheese atan inn, but the other is quite different; he wouldn't do that--oh, no. To sit in a little bar and--"

"Booze, " Julia concluded for him. "Johnny, you are always a wonder tome; how you have contrived to live so long and yet to keep your beliefin man unspotted from the world beats me. "

Johnny looked uncomfortable and a little puzzled. "Well, but yourfather--" he began. 

"My father is a man, " Julia interrupted, "and I would not undertake tosay a man would not do anything--on occasions--or a woman either, forthe matter of that. There is a beast in most men, and an archangel inlots, and a snob, and a prig, and a dormant hero, and an embryo poet. There are great possibilities in men; you have to watch and see whichis coming out top and back that, and then half the time you are wrong. Of course, at father's age, possibilities are getting over; one or twothings have come top and stay there. "

Mr. Gillat opened the cottage door and, not answering thesedistressing generalities, fell back on his one fact. "Look, " he said, pointing to an empty peg, "he must have gone after fir-cones; you seethe basket has gone; he took it with him; I am sure he would not havetaken it to the 'Dog. '"

"I believe their whisky is very bad, " Julia said, and seemed to thinkmore of that than the argument of the basket. "I'll give him anotherhour before I set out to look for him. "

She gave him the hour and then, in spite of Mr. Gillat's entreaties tobe allowed to go in her place, set out for Halgrave. But she did nothave to go all the way, for she met her father coming back. And sheearly discovered that, if he had not been to the "Dog and Pheasant, "he had been somewhere else where he could get whisky. They walked hometogether, and she made neither comments nor inquiries; she did notconsider that evening a suitable time. The Captain was only a littlemuddled and, as has been before said, a very little alcohol wassufficient to do that; he was quite clear enough to be a good dealrelieved by his daughter's behaviour, and even thought that shenoticed nothing amiss. Indeed, by the morning, he had himself almostcome to think there was nothing to notice. 

But alas, for the Captain! He had never learnt to beware of thosedeceptive people who bide their time and bring into domestic life thediplomatic policy of speaking on suitable occasions only. He camedown-stairs that morning very well pleased with himself; he felt thathe had vindicated the rights of man yesterday; this conclusion wasarrived at by a rather circuitous route, but it was gratifying; it wasalso gratifying to think that he had been able to enjoy himselfwithout being found out. But Julia soon set him right on this lastpoint; she did not reproach him or, as Mrs. Polkington would havedone, point out the disgrace he would bring upon them; she only toldhim that it must not occur again. She also explained that, while helived in her house, she had a right to dictate in these matters and, what was more, she was going to do so. 

At this the Captain was really hurt; his feeling for dignity was verysensitive, though given to manifesting itself in unusual ways. "Am Ito be dependent for the rest of my days?" he asked. 

Julia did not answer; she thought it highly probable. 

"Am I to be dictated to at every turn?" he went on. 

Julia did answer. "No, " she said; "I don't think there will be anyneed for that. "

Captain Polkington paid no attention to the answer; he was standingbefore the kitchen fire, apostrophising things in general rather thanasking questions. 

"Are my goings out and comings in to be limited by my daughter? Am Ito ask her permission before I accept hospitality or make friends?"

"Friends?" said Julia. "Then it was not 'The Dog and Pheasant' youwent to, yesterday? I thought not. "

"Then you thought wrong, " her father retorted incautiously; "I did gothere. "

"To begin with, " Julia suggested; "but you came across some one, andwent on--is that it?"

The Captain denied it, but he had not his wife's and daughters' gifts;his lies were always of the cowardly and uninspired kind that seldomserve any purpose. Julia did not believe him, and set to work crossquestioning him so that soon she knew what she wanted. It seemed thather surmise was correct; he had met some one at the "Dog andPheasant"; a veterinary surgeon who had come there to doctor a horse. They had struck up an acquaintance--the Captain had the family giftfor that--and the surgeon had asked him to come to his house on theother side of Halgrave. 

When the information reached this point Julia said suavely, but withmeaning: "Perhaps you had better not go there again. "

"I shall certainly go when I choose, " Captain Polkington retorted; "Ishould like to know what is to prevent me and why I should not?"

Julia remembered his dignity. "Shall we say because it is too far?"she suggested. 

After that she dismissed the subject; she did not see any need topursue it further; her father knew her wishes--commands, perhaps, hecalled them--all that was left for her to do was to see that he couldnot help fulfilling them, and that was not to be done by much talkingany more than by little. So she made no further comments on his doingsand, to change the subject, told him she had bought some whisky in thetown yesterday and he had better open the bottle at dinner time. 

The Captain stared for a moment, but quickly recovered from hisastonishment, though not because he recognised that a little whisky athome was part of a judicious system. He merely thought that hisdaughter was going to treat him properly after all, and in spite ofwhat had been lately said. This idea was a little modified when hefound that, though he drank the whisky, Julia kept the bottle underlock and key. 

It also seemed that she found a way of enforcing her wishes, or atleast preventing frequent transgressions of them, although, of course, she was prepared for occasional mishaps. There really was nothing atthe "Dog and Pheasant" that the Captain could put up with even if hehad not been always very short of money--absurdly short even ofcoppers--and Julia saw that he was short. There remained nothing forhim but the hospitality of acquaintances, and they did not abound inHalgrave, the only place within reach; also, as he declared, they werea stingy lot. The next time he called upon his new friend, theveterinary surgeon, he was at a loss to understand this; it was unlikehis previous experience of the man and most disagreeably surprising;he could not think why it should happen. But then he had not seenJulia set out for Halgrave on the afternoon of the same day that sheexplained things to him. She had on all her best clothes, even herbest boots, in spite of the bad roads. She looked trim and dainty asa Frenchwoman, but there was something about her which suggestedbusiness. 

There are, no doubt, advantages attached to the simple life. It isdecidedly easier to deal with your drawback when you do not have topretend it has no existence. You can enlist help from outside if youcan go boldly to veterinary surgeons and others, and say that whiskyis your father's weakness, and would they please oblige and gratifyyou by not offering him any. 

CHAPTER XVII

NARCISSUS TRIANDRUS STRIATUM, THE GOOD COMRADE

The winter wore away; a very long winter, and a very cold one to thoseat the cottage who were used to the mild west country. But at lastspring came; late and with bitter winds and showers of sleet, but nonethe less wonderful, especially as one had to look to see the tentativesigns of its coming. March in Marbridge used to mean violets anddaffodils, tender green shoots and balmy middays. March here meansdays of pale clean light and great sweeping wind which chased greyclouds across a steely sky, and stirred the lust for fight and freedomin men's minds and set them longing to be up and away and at battlewith the world or the elements. This restlessness, which those whohave lost it call divine, took possession of Julia that springtime, and a dissatisfaction with the simple life and its narrow limits besether. Surely, she found herself asking, this was not the end of allthings--this cottage to be the limit of her life and ambitions; herwork to grow cabbages and eat them, to keep her father in the paths oftemperance and sobriety, and to make Johnny's closing days happy? TheMarch winds spoke vaguely of other things; they whispered of the lifeshe had put from her; the big, wide, moving, thinking, feeling lifewhich would have been living indeed. Worse, they whispered of the manwho had offered it to her, the man whom her heart told her she wouldhave made friend and comrade if only circumstances had allowed him tomake her wife. But she thrust these thoughts from her; she had nochoice, she never had a choice; now less if possible than before, there was no heart-aching decision to make. The work she had taken upcould not be put down; she must go on even if voices stronger and morereal than these wind ones called her out. 

One day the crocuses which Mijnheer had sent came into flower; Juliathought she had never seen anything so beautiful as the little purpleand golden cups, partly because they had been sent in kindness ofheart, partly, no doubt, because she had grown them herself, and shehad never grown a flower which had its root in the inarticulate joy ofall things at the first flowering of dead brown earth and monotonouslifeless days. The next event in her calendar, and Johnny's, was theblooming of the fruit trees. She had seen hillside orchards in thewest country break into a foam of flower--a sight perhaps as beautifulas any England has to show. But, to her mind, it did not compare withthe sparse white bloom which lay like a first hoar frost on hercrooked trees and showed cold and delicate against the pale blue sky. After that, nearly every day, there was something fresh andinteresting for Mr. Gillat and Julia, so that the March wind wasforgotten, except in the ill-effect on Captain Polkington with whom ithad disagreed a good deal, both in health and temper. 

That spring, as indeed every spring, there was a flower show in Londonat the Temple Gardens. The things exhibited were principally bulbflowers, ixias, iris, narcissus and the like; the event wasinteresting to growers, both professional and amateur. Joost VanHeigen came over from Holland to attend; he was sent by his father ina purely business capacity, but of course he was expected, and himselfexpected, to enjoy it, too; there would be many novelties exhibitedand many beautiful flowers in which he would feel the soberappreciative pleasure of the connoisseur. He came to England some daysbefore the show; he had, besides attending that, to see some importantcustomers on business, also one or two English growers. 

Now, certain districts of Norfolk are very well suited to thecultivation of bulbs, so it is not surprising that Joost's businesstook him there. And, seeing that he had a Bradshaw and a good map, andhad, moreover, six months ago addressed Julia's box of bulbs to hernearest railway town, it is not surprising that he found thewhereabouts of the town of Halgrave. It was on Saturday night when hefound it on the map; he was sitting in the coffee-room of a temperancehotel at the time. He had done business for the day, and, seeing thatthe English do not care about working on Sundays, he would probablyhave to-morrow as well as to-night free. Julia's town was close--ashort railway journey, then a walk to Halgrave, and then one would beat her home--it would be a pleasant way of spending the morning of aspring Sunday. He thought about it a little; he had no invitation togo and see Julia, and he did not like going anywhere without aninvitation or an express reason. She might not want to see him, or itmight put out her domestic arrangements if he came; he knew domesticarrangements were subject to such disturbances. He hesitated sometime, though it must be admitted that the fact that he had asked herto marry him and been refused did not come much into hisconsideration. He had not altered his mind about that proposal, and hedid not imagine she had altered hers; his devotion and herindifference were definite settled facts which would remain as long aseither of them remained, but there was nothing embarrassing in themto him. At last he decided that he would go, and it was the bluedaffodil which decided him. 

He had never heard what Julia had done with the bulb he had given her. It was only reasonable to think she had sold it, seeing it was for thesake of money she had wanted it, but no whisper of any such thing hadreached him or his father. He longed to know about it, to hear thename of the man who had his treasure; for whom, in all probability, itwas blooming now. It was some connoisseur he was nearly certain; Juliawould not have sold it to another grower. He had not lain any suchcondition on her, but she would not have done that; she knew too wellwhat it meant to him; he never doubted her in that matter, his faithwas of too simple a kind. Still he determined to go and see her, partly that he might hear the name of the man who bought the bluedaffodil, partly because he wanted to and remembered that Julia, inthe old days, did not seem of the kind to be upset by unexpectedvisitors and similar small domestic accidents. 

It was a hot-dinner Sunday at the cottage. These occurred alternately;on the in between Sundays Julia, supported by Johnny and the Captain, went to church. On those sacred to hot dinners she stayed at home anddid the cooking, the Captain staying with her. Mr. Gillat used to alsoin the winter, but lately, during the spring, he had been induced toteach in the Sunday school, and now went every Sunday to the village, first to teach and afterwards to conduct his class to church. 

It was Mr. Stevens, the Rector of Halgrave, who had made thissurprising suggestion to Mr. Gillat. He, good man, had in the courseof time been to see his parishioners at the remote cottage, grindingalong the deep sandy road on his heavy old tricycle; but it was notduring the visit that he thought of Johnny as a teacher; it was whenhe made further acquaintance with him at Halgrave. Johnny was themember of the party who went most often to the village shop; he likedthe expedition, it gave him a feeling of importance; he also likedgossiping with the woman who kept the shop, and he dearly lovedmeeting the village children. On one of these occasions, when Johnnywas engaged in making peace between two little girls--little girlswere his specialty--the rector met him and it was then it occurred tohim that Mr. Gillat might help in the school. It was not much of anhonour, the school was in rather a bad way just now, and boasted noother teachers than the rector and a raspy-tempered girl of sixteen, but Johnny was much flattered. He thought he ought to refuse; he wasquite sure he could not teach; the idea of his doing so was certainlynew and strange; he was also sure he was not virtuous enough. But inthe end he was persuaded to try; Julia told him that he might hear thecatechism with an open book, choose the Bible tales he was surest of, to read and explain, and have his class of little girls to tea veryoften. So it came about that Mr. Gillat set out Sunday after Sunday toschool, and if his reading and expounding of the Scriptures was lessin accord with modern light than the traditions that held in thechildhood of the nation, no one minded; the children at Halgrave werenot painfully sharp, and they soon got to love Mr. Gillat with afriendly lemon-droppish love which was not critical. 

Captain Polkington did not approve of the Sunday-school teaching, especially on those days when he had to clean the knives. The Sundaywhen Joost Van Heigen came was one of these. The Captain watched Mr. Gillat's preparations with a disgusted face; at last he remarked, "Iwonder if you think you do any good by this nonsense?"

Johnny, who had got as far as the doorstep, stopped and consideredrather as if the idea had just occurred to him. 

"There must be teachers, " he said at length, looking round at the openlandscape; "and there aren't many about. "

"You are a fine teacher!" the Captain sneered. 

Mr. Gillat rubbed his finger along the edge of the Bible he carried. "I was wild, " he confessed; "yes, I was, I don't think--but then therector said--and Julia--"

His meaning was rather obscure, but possibly the Captain followed italthough he did cut him short by saying, "I should never have expectedit of you; if any one had told me that you, one of us, would take tothis sort of thing, I would not have believed it. I mean, if they hadtold me in the old days, before things were changed and broken up, when we were still alive and things moved at a pace--when a man knewif he were alive or dead and whether it was night or morning. "

"Yes, yes, " Johnny said, but not altogether as if he regretted thepassing of those golden days; "things were different then; we didn'tthink of it then. "

"Teaching in the Sunday school?" the Captain asked. "Not quite! And ifwe had, we shouldn't have thought of coming to it even when we had gotold and foolish. "

Johnny looked uncomfortable and unhappy; then a bright idea occurredto him. "There wasn't a Sunday school there, " he said. "You rememberthe hill station?"

Just then Julia called from the house, "Father, I believe we mighthave a dish of turnip tops if you would get them. Johnny, you will belate if you don't start soon. "

Johnny promptly started, and the Captain, less promptly, saunteredaway to find a basket for the turnip tops, muttering the whilesomething about people whose religion took the form of going out andleaving others to do the work. 

But by the time Joost Van Heigen arrived, the Captain was quiteamiable again. He had had a quiet morning with nothing to do after theturnip tops were brought in and the knives cleaned, and Johnny had hada long tiring walk home from church in a hot sun and a high wind, which Captain Polkington felt to be a just dispensation of Providenceto reward those who stopped at home and cleaned knives. Joost arrivednot long after Mr. Gillat; Julia heard the gate click as she wastaking the meat from before the fire. 

"Who is that, Johnny?" she asked. 

Johnny, who had just come down-stairs after taking off his Sundaycoat, looked out of the window. 

"I don't know, " he said; "a young man. "

Julia, having deposited the joint on the dish, went to the kitchendoor. "Put the meat where it will keep hot, " she said to Johnny; "Iexpect it's some one who thinks the last people live here still;fortunately there is enough dinner. "

She pushed open the unlatched door and saw the visitor going round tothe front. "Joost!" she exclaimed. "Why, Joost, is it really you?"

She ran down the garden path after him and he, turning just before hereached the front door, stopped. 

"Good-morning, miss, " he said solemnly, removing his hat with a sweep. "I hope I see you well. I do not inconvenience you--you are perhapsengaged?"

"Come in, " Julia answered; "I am glad to see you!"

There was no mistaking the sincerity of her tone; Joost's solemn facerelaxed a little. "You are not occupied?" he said; "I do not disturbyou?"

"Yes, occupied in dishing up the dinner, " Julia said, "which is justthe best of all times for you to have come. Johnny!" she called;"Johnny, Joost is here. "

Mr. Gillat, who had been carefully placing the dish where the cinderswould fall into it, came to the door. 

"This is Mr. Gillat, a very old friend of mine, " Julia explained, andJoost bowed deeply, offering his hand and saying, "I hope that you arewell, sir. "

Whereupon Mr. Gillat impressed, imitated him as nearly as he could, and Julia looked away. 

They had dinner in the kitchen on Sundays as well as week days, theymade no difference to-day. Joost looked round him once or twice; hehad never seen a place like this. It was the front kitchen; thecooking and most of the house-work was done in the back one, a bigbarn-like place with doors in all corners. The front one was half akitchen and half a sitting-room, warm-coloured, with red-tiled floorand low ceiling, heavily cross-beamed and hung with herbs and a coupleof hams, in great contrast to the whiteness of the kitchen at the bulbfarm. There were brass and copper pots and pans such as he knew, butthey reflected an open fire, a dirty extravagance unknown to Mevrouw. Joost glanced at the fire, and it is to be feared that he was at hearta traitor to his native customs. Then he looked at the open windowwhere the sunshine streamed in--as was never permitted in Holland--andhe wondered if it really spoilt things very much, and, being aflorist, thought it certainly would spoil the tulips in the mug thatstood on the wide sill. 

During dinner they spoke English for the sake of the Captain and Mr. Gillat; Joost spoke well, if slowly, with a careful and accurateprecision. He also observed much, both of outside things, as the factthat Johnny and the Captain cleared the table while Julia sat still, contrary to Dutch custom. And also of things less on the surface--asthat Julia was head of the household and that Captain Polkington wasnot the impressive and authoritative person Mijnheer seemed to think. Concerning this last fact he made no remark when, on his return home, he described the ways and customs of Julia's cottage to his parents. The description served Mevrouw at least, as representative of allEnglish households ever afterwards. 

When dinner was done and everything cleared up, or rather Julia'spart, she took Joost into the garden. 

"Now, " she said in Dutch, "let us come out and talk and look atthings. "

They went out and he began to admire her orderly garden and to tellher why this plant had done well and that one had failed. He did notspeak of the blue daffodil, he thought he could better ask about thata little later. She did not speak of it either by name; he and it wereso inseparably connected in her mind. 

"Come along, " she said, when he stopped to look into a tulip to see ifits centre was as truly black as it should have been. "Come and seeit. "

He followed her obediently, but asked what it was he was to see. 

"The blue daffodil, of course, " she said. 

He stopped dead. "You have got it here?" he exclaimed. "You have notsold it?"

"Certainly not. "

"But why--why?" he stared at her in amazement. "You wanted money, itwas for that you wanted the bulb, to sell; you told me so. Do you notwant money now?"

"Oh, yes, " Julia said; "but that is an incurable disease hereditary inour family. "

"You do want money?" he inquired mystified. "This inheritance issmall, not enough? Why, then, did you not sell the bulb?"

Julia shrugged her shoulders. "I could not very well, " she said. 

"But why not? You thought to do so at one time; your intention was tosell it if you had--"

"Stolen it? Yes, that is quite true, and it would not have matteredthen. If I had stolen it I might as well have sold it; onedishonourable act feels lonely without another; it generally begetsanother to keep itself company. "

Joost looked at her uncomprehendingly. "But why, " he persisted, clinging to the one thing he did understand, "why did you not sell it?It was for that I gave it to you, to do with as you pleased; I knewyou would do only what was right and necessary. "

Julia could have smiled a little at this last word; it seemed as ifeven Joost had learnt to temper right with necessity to suit herdealings, but she only said, "That was one reason why I could not sellit. You expected me to do right, so I was obliged to do it; faithbegets righteousness as dishonour begets dishonour. "

"I do not quite understand, " he began, but she cut him short. 

"No, " she said; "we always found it difficult to make things quiteplain, it is no use trying now. Come and see the daffodil, you willunderstand that, at all events, and better than I do. It is not quitefully out yet, but very nearly, and--please don't be disappointed--itis not a real true blue daffodil at all. "

She took him to the chosen spot and showed him the plant--a bunch oflong narrow leaves rising from the brown earth, and in the midst ofthem a single stalk supporting a partly opened flower. In shape it wassingle, like the common wild blossom, only much bigger; but incolour, not blue as was expected, but streaked in irregular unblendedstripes of pure yellow and pure blue. The marking was as hard andunshaded as that of the old-fashioned brown and yellow tulips whichchildren call bulls'-eyes, and the effect, though bizarre, was not atall pretty. Julia did not think it so, and she did not expect any oneelse to either; but Joost, when he saw the streaky flower, gave alittle inarticulate exclamation and, dropping on his knees on thepath, lifted the bell reverently so that he might look into it. 

"Ah!" he said softly; "ah, it is beautiful, wonderful!" He looked up, and Julia, seeing the rapt and humble admiration of his face, forgotthat there was something ludicrous in the sight of a young mankneeling on a garden path reverently worshipping a striped flower. Itwas no abstract admiration of the beautiful, and no cultivatedadmiration for the new and strange; it was the love of a man for hiswork and appreciation of success in it, even if the success wereanother's; also, perhaps, in part, the expression of a deep-seatednational feeling for flowers. 

"Is it what you wished?" Julia asked gently, conscious that she was, as always, a long way off from Joost. 

"I did not wish it, " he said, "because I did not foresee it. No onecould foresee that it would come, though it always might. It is anovelty, an accident of nature perhaps, but beautiful, wonderful!"

"Is it a real novelty?" Julia asked. "Just as much as your first bluedaffodil was? Oh, I am glad! Then you have two now. "

"I?" Joost said in surprise. "No, not I; this is yours, not mine; youhave grown it. "

"That's nothing, " Julia returned easily; "you gave me the bulb; it isreally your bulb; I only just put it into the ground, I have hadnothing to do with the novelty. "

But if she thought to dispose of the matter in that way she soon foundshe was mistaken; there were apparently laws governing bulb growingwhich were as inviolable as any governing hereditary titles. The manwho bloomed the bulb was the man who had produced the novelty--ifnovelty it was; he could no more make over his rights to another thana duke could his coronet. In vain Julia protested that it was by themerest chance that Joost had hit on this particular sort to give her, that it was only an accident which had prevented him from blooming ithimself. He said that did not matter at all, and when she failed to beconvinced, added that possibly, had he kept the bulb, the result mightnot have proved the same; her soil and treatment were doubtless bothdifferent. 

Julia laughed at the idea, saying she knew nothing about soil andtreatment. But she made no impression on Joost and apparently did notalter the case; the laws of the bulb growers were not only like thoseof the "Medes and Persians which alter not, " but also refused to bebent or evaded even by a Polkington. 

"It is yours, " Joost said, as he took a last look at the flower beforehe rose from his knees; "the great honour is yours, and I am glad ofit. "

There was something in his tone which reminded Julia of that talk theyhad had in the little enclosed place on the last day she was at thebulb farm. She hastily submitted so as to avoid the too personal. "What am I to do with the honour?" she asked. "I do not know, that isone reason why it is absurd for me to have it. "

"You must name your flower, " he told her; "and then you must exhibitit. Fortunately you are in time for the show in London. "

"But I can't go to London, " Julia said; "it is out of the question forme to leave home even if I could afford the fare, which I cannot. "

Joost answered there was no need; he could arrange everything for her. "I can take the daffodil to London with me, " he said. "It must belifted--you have a flower pot, then it must be tied with care, and itwill travel quite safely. "

"But, " Julia objected; "if it is exhibited with my name, and you saymy name as the grower must appear, your father will hear of it andthen he will know that you gave me a bulb--it cannot be exhibited. Ido not care about a certificate of merit or whatever one gets. "

"It must be exhibited, " Joost said; "as to my father, he knowsalready, I have told him; that does not stand in the way. "

To this Julia had nothing to say; perhaps in her heart she was alittle ashamed because she had suspected him of the half honesty ofonly telling what was necessary when it was necessary, that sheherself was likely to have practised in his case. 

"Now you must call your flower a name, " he said, "as I called mineVrouw Van Heigen. "

"I will call it after you, " Julia said. 

But Joost would not have that. "That will not do; the blue daffodil isalready a Van Heigen; there cannot be another, it will makeconfusion. "

"Well, I'll call it the honest man, then; that will be you. "

Joost did not like that either; he thought it very unsuitable. "Whynot name it after"--he began; he had meant to say "your father, " butrecalling that gentleman, he changed it to--"some one of whom you arefond. "

[Illustration: "'Now you must call your flower a name, ' he said"]

Julia hesitated. "I like the honest man, " she said; "but as you sayit is not suitable, the blue daffodil is really the honest one, thisis too mixed--I shall call it after Johnny; I am fond of him. "

But Joost was romantic; it was only natural with the extreme andalmost childish simplicity of his nature there should be some romance, and there was nothing to satisfy that sentiment in Mr. Gillat. "Johnny?" he said; "yes, but it is not very pretty; it does notsuggest a beautiful flower. Why not call it after the heroine of somebook or a friend or comrade? Perhaps"--Joost was only human--"he withwhom you went walking on the Dunes. "

"Him?" Julia said. "I never thought of that. He was a friendcertainly, and a good comrade; he tried hard to get me out of thatscrape; he would have stood by me if I had let him--the same as youdid--you were both comrades to me then. I tell you what, shall I callit 'The Good Comrade?' Then it would be after you both and Johnny too;Johnny would certainly stand by me through thick and thin, share hislast crust with me, or father, give me the whole of it. Yes, we willcall the daffodil 'The Good Comrade, ' and it shall have threegodfathers. "

With this Joost was satisfied, even though he had to share what honourthere was with two others. Mr. Gillat, of course, when he was told, was much pleased; he even found he was now able to admire thewonderful flower, though before, he had agreed with Julia's opinion ofit. To Captain Polkington not much was said about it. 

"Johnny, " Julia said, as they stood watching Joost pot the bulb, "youare not to tell father how valuable this is. He will find out quitesoon enough; people are sure to bother me to sell it after it has beenexhibited, and I am not going to. "

"No, " Johnny said; "of course not, naturally not. "

So Captain Polkington had no idea why Joost carried away a carefullytied-up flower pot when he left the cottage that afternoon. He onlythought the young man must have a most remarkable enthusiasm forflowers to so burden himself on a long walk. 

 * * * * *

And in due time the wonderful streaked daffodil, "Narcissus TriandrusStriatum, The Good Comrade, " grown by Miss Snooks of White's Cottage, Halgrave, was exhibited at the Temple Show. And bulb growers, professional and amateur, waxed enthusiastic over it. And the generalpublic who went to the show, admired it or not, as their taste andeducation allowed them. And among the general public who went, was aMiss Lillian Farham, a girl who, last September, had travelled northwith carnations in her coat and Rawson-Clew in a corner of the railwaycarriage. Miss Farham was an enthusiastic gardener, and having meansand leisure and a real taste for it, she had some notable successes inthe garden of her beautiful home; and when she was in town she nevermissed an opportunity of attending a good show, seeing something new, and learning what she could. She was naturally much interested in thenew streaked daffodil; so much so, that she spoke of it afterwards, not only to those people who shared her taste, but also to at leastone who did not. 

Rawson-Clew was back in London. He had not been back long, but alreadyhe had begun the preliminaries of a search for Mr. Gillat. He decidedthat it would be easier to find him than Julia, who might possiblyhave changed her name to oblige her family, and who certainly would bebetter able to hide herself, if she had a mind to, than Mr. Gillat. Hehad not as yet been able to devote many days to the search, and hadgot no further than preliminaries; still he could already see that itwas not going to be easy and might possibly be long. He did not go tothe show of spring flowers; he did not feel the least interest in it, but when by chance he met Lillian Farham she spoke of it to him andalso of the new daffodil. 

"It was grown at Halgrave, too, " she said; "that is not so very farfrom your part of Norfolk, is it?"

"Fifteen or twenty miles, " Rawson-Clew answered. 

"Is it so much as that?" she said; "I thought it was nearer; ofcourse, then, you can't tell me anything about the grower. "

He could not; it is probable even if the place had been much nearer, he still could not, seeing that it was some years since he had been to"his part of Norfolk. " However, he gave polite attention to MissFarham, who went on to describe the wonderful flower of mixed yellowand blue. 

"Blue?" Rawson-Clew's interest became more real; he had once heard ofblue in connection with a daffodil. It was one evening on a long flatDutch road--the evening he had tied Julia's shoe. She had spoken ofit, she had begun to say, when he stopped the confession that hethought she would afterwards regret, that she could not take the bluedaffodil. 

"What is the name?" he asked; he meant of the grower in Norfolk, though he would have been puzzled to say why he asked. 

Miss Farham, however, mistook his meaning and thought he was askingabout the flower. "'The Good Comrade, '" she said, and fortunately shedid not see his surprise. "Rather quaint, is it not?" she went on. "Easier to remember, too, than some obscure grand duchess, or the nameof the grower or his wife after whom new flowers are usually called. The blue daffodil, you know, is called after one of the grower'srelatives--Vrouw Van Heigen. "

Rawson-Clew said "Yes, " though he did not know it before. It struckhim as interesting now; the Van Heigens had a blue daffodil then, andJulia went to them for some purpose besides earning a pittance ascompanion. She had not taken a blue daffodil; she said so; she alsosaid at another time she had failed in the object of her coming andthat failure and success would have been alike discreditable. PoorJulia! And now here was some one in Norfolk exhibiting a daffodil ofmixed blue and yellow called, by a strange coincidence, "The GoodComrade. " Of course, it was only a coincidence and yet, when reason isnot helping as much as it ought, one is inclined to take notice ofsigns and coincidences. 

"What is the name of the grower of this new flower?" Rawson-Clewasked. 

Miss Farham told him. 

"Snooks, " he repeated thoughtfully; she imagined he was trying toremember if he had heard the name before. He was not; he was wonderingif any one ever really started in life with such a name; if, rather, it did not sound more like the pseudonym of one who was indifferent topublic credence, and possibly public opinion. 

Rawson-Clew was not able to tell Miss Farham anything about the growerof the streaked daffodil; he was obliged to own that he had neverheard of her before. But he made it his business to find out what hecould in the shortest possible time; this he did not mention to MissFarham. What he discovered did not amount to much, very little infact, but such as it was, it was enough to bring him to Halgrave. 

CHAPTER XVIII

BEHIND THE CHOPPING-BLOCK

Captain Polkington, Johnny and Julia were busy in the garden. It was afine afternoon following after two or three wet days and the groundwas in splendid condition for planting, also for sticking to clothes. The sandy road to Halgrave dried quickly, but the garden, of heaviersoil, did not, as was testified by Julia's boots--she had bought asmall pair of plough-boy's boots that spring and was wearing them now, very pleased with the investment. By and by the sound of a motor brokethe silence; the Captain and Johnny left off work to listen; at least, Johnny did; the Captain was hardly in a position to leave off, seeingthat he was off most of his time. 

"It sounds like a motor-car, " Johnny said, as if he had made adiscovery. 

"Then it must have lost its way, " Julia answered, giving all herattention to her cabbage plants. 

Johnny said "Yes. " It certainly seemed likely enough; the ubiquitousmotor-car went everywhere certainly; even, it was possible to imagine, to remote and uninteresting Halgrave. But along the ill-kept sandyroad which led to White's Cottage and nowhere else, none had been yet, nor was it in the least likely that one would ever come except byaccident. 

The sounds drew nearer. "It certainly is coming this way, " theCaptain said; "I will go and explain the mistake to the people. "

The Captain went to the gate; but he did not stop there, nor did heexplain anything. His eyesight, never having been subjected to strainor over work, was good, and the car, owing to the loose nature of theroad, was not coming very fast; he saw it had only one occupant, a manwho seemed familiar to him. For a second the Captain stared, then heturned and went into the house in surprising haste. He had not theleast idea what had brought this man here; indeed, when he came tothink about it, he was sure it must have been some mistake about theroad. But he had no desire to explain; he felt he was not the personto do so, seeing that the last (and first) time he had seen the manwas in an unpleasant interview at Marbridge. He connected severalpainful things, humiliation, undeserved epithets, and so on, with thatinterview and with the face of Rawson-Clew. Accordingly, he went intothe house and waited, and the car came nearer and stopped. 

Johnny and Julia went on with their work; they imagined the Captainwas talking to the strangers; they had no idea of his discreetwithdrawal until Julia came round the corner of the house to fetch atrowel, and saw Rawson-Clew coming up the path. 

Julia's first feeling was blank amazement, but being a Polkington, andbeing that before she took to the simple life and its honest ways, sheallowed nothing more than polite surprise to appear. 

"Why!" she said, "I had no idea you were anywhere near here. "

"I had no idea that you were until recently, " he returned. 

She wondered how recently; if it was this minute when chance broughther for the trowel--very likely it was, and he was here by accident. 

"Have you lost your way?" she inquired. 

"Not to-day. "

"Where were you trying to go?"

"White's Cottage. "

"Oh!" she said. He did not look amused, but she felt as if he were, and clearly it was not accident that had brought him. 

"How did you know I was here?" she asked. "There are not many peoplewho could have told you. I have retired, you know. "

He settled his eyeglass carefully in the way she remembered, andlooked first at the cottage and then at her. "I observe theretirement, " he said; "but the corduroy?"

"I am wearing out my old clothes first, " she answered. 

Just then Johnny's voice was heard. "Hadn't I better water theplants?" it asked. Next moment Mr. Gillat came in sight carrying a bigwater can. "Julia hadn't I better--" he began, then he saw thevisitor. 

"Ah, Mr. Gillat, " Rawson-Clew said. "How are you? I am glad to see youagain; last time I called at Berwick Street you were not there. "

Johnny set down the water can. "Glad to see you, " he said beaming;"very glad, very glad, indeed"--he would have been pleased to seeRawson-Clew anywhere if for no other reason than that he had shown aninterest in Julia's welfare. 

Meanwhile Captain Polkington sat in the kitchen listening for thesound of the departing motor. But it did not come; everything wasstill except for the ceaseless singing of larks, to which he was soused now that it had come almost to seem like silence. He began togrow uneasy; what if, after all, Rawson-Clew were not here by accidentand mistake. What if he had come on some wretched and uncomfortablebusiness? The Captain could not think of anything definite, but that, he felt, did not make it impossible. The man certainly had not gone, he must be staying talking to Julia. Well, Julia could talk to him, she was more fit to see the business through than her father was. There was some comfort in this thought, but it did not last long, forjust then the silence was broken, there was a sound of steps, notgoing down the path to the gate, but coming towards the kitchen door!The Captain rose hastily--it was too bad of Julia, too bad! He was notfit for these shocks and efforts; he was not what he used to be; theterrible cold of the winter in this place had told on his rheumatism, on his heart. He crossed the room quickly. The door which shut in thestaircase banged as that of the big kitchen was pushed open. 

"You had better take your boots off here, Johnny, " Julia said; "youhave got lots of mud on them. "

She took off her own as she spoke, slipping out of them without havingmuch trouble with the laces. Rawson-Clew watched her, finding asomewhat absurd satisfaction in seeing her small arched feet free ofthe clumsy boots. 

"Are not your stockings wet?" he said. 

"No, " she answered; "not a bit. "

"Are you quite sure? I think they must be. "

"No, they are not; are they, Johnny?" She stood on one foot and putthe other into Mr. Gillat's hand. 

Johnny felt it carefully, giving it the same consideration that a wisehousekeeper gives to the airing of sheets, then he gave judgment infavour of Julia. 

"I was right, you see, " she said; "they are quite dry. "

She looked up as she spoke, and met Rawson-Clew's eyes; there wassomething strange there, something new which brought the colour to herface. She went quickly into the other kitchen and began to get thetea. 

Johnny came to help her, and the visitor offered his assistance, too. Julia at once sent the latter to the pump for water, which she did notwant. When he came back she had recovered herself, had even abusedherself roundly for imagining this new thing or misinterpreting it. There was no question of man and woman between her and Rawson-Clew;there never had been and never could be (although he had asked her tomarry him). It was all just impersonal and friendly; it was absurd orworse to think for an instant that he had another feeling, had anyfeeling at all--any more than she. And again she abused herself, perhaps because it is not easy to be sure of feelings, either your ownor other people's, even if you want to, and it certainly is not easyto always want what you ought. Moreover, there was a difference; itwas impossible to overlook it, she felt in herself or him, or both. She had altered since they parted at the Van Heigens', perhaps grownto be a woman. After all she was a woman, with a great deal of thenatural woman in her, too, he had said--and he was a man, a gentleman, first, perhaps, polished and finished, her senior, her superior--yet aman, possibly with his share of the natural man, the thing on whichone cannot reckon. Just then the kettle boiled and she made the tea. 

"Where is father?" she asked; and Mr. Gillat went to look for him. 

"He is up-stairs, " he said when he came back; "he does not feel well, he says, not the thing; he'll have tea up there; I'll take it. "

Julia looked at Rawson-Clew and laughed. "He does not feel equal tofacing you, " she said. 

"Yes, yes, " Johnny added, "that's it; that's what he says--Imean"--suddenly realising what he was saying--"he does not feel equalto facing strangers. "

"Mr. Rawson-Clew is not a stranger, " Julia answered; she took aperverse delight in recalling the beginning of the acquaintance whichshe knew quite well was better ignored. "How odd, " she said, turningto Rawson-Clew, "that father should have forgotten you, just as youtold me you had forgotten him and all about the time when you sawhim. "

"I expect he regarded the matter as trivial and unimportant, just as Idid, " Rawson-Clew answered; "though if I told you I had forgotten allabout it I made a mistake; I can hardly say that; I remember somedetails quite plainly; for instance, your position--you stood betweenyour father and me--very much as you did between me and the VanHeigens. "

"I did not!" Julia said hotly, pouring the tea all over the edge ofthe cup; "I didn't stand between you and the Van Heigens. I mean--"

"Allow me!" Rawson-Clew moved the cup so that she poured the tea intoit and not the saucer. 

"Dear, dear!" Johnny said; he had not the least idea what they weretalking about, but he fancied that one or both must be annoyed, perhaps by the upsetting of the tea; he could think of nothing else. "Such a mess, " he said; "and such a waste. Is the cup ready? Shall Itake it up-stairs?"

"No, thank you, " Julia said; "I will take it. "

Rawson-Clew did not seem to mind, and Julia, after she had lingered alittle with her father, decided to come down again. If she stayedaway she knew perfectly well that Johnny would do nothing but talkabout her; moreover it was absurd to be put out because Rawson-Clewcould answer better than Mr. Gillat; that was one of the reasons forwhich she had liked him. 

Captain Polkington sipped his tea and ate his bread and butterpeacefully. Julia had told him Mr. Rawson-Clew would not be stayinglong; she had not exactly said why he was come, it seemed rather as ifshe did not know; but apparently nothing unpleasant had happened sofar and he would be going soon, directly after tea no doubt. So theCaptain sat contentedly and listened for the sound of going, but hedid not hear it; they were a very long time over tea, he thought. 

They were; two of them were purposely spinning it out, the third wasonly a happy chorus. Julia was in no hurry to face the questions aboutthe explosive which she feared must come when Johnny's restrainingpresence was removed. She knew, as soon as she was sure Rawson-Clew'scoming was design and not accident, that he must have suspected her;he had come to talk about it and he would do so as soon as he got thechance, so she put it off. And he was quite willing to wait too; hewas enjoying the present moment with a curious light-hearted enjoymentmuch younger than his years. And he was enjoying the future moment, too, in anticipation, albeit he was a little shy of it--he did notquite know how he was to close with the garrison in the citadel eventhough he might have taken all the outposts. 

But at last tea was done and the table cleared and all the thingstaken to the outer kitchen to be washed. Julia decreed that she andJohnny were to do that, then unthinkingly she sent her assistant for atea-cloth. Rawson-Clew was standing by the doorway when Johnny passed;he followed him out. 

"Mr. Gillat, your plants want watering, " he said, quietly butdecisively. 

"They do, they do, " Johnny agreed; "I will have to do them by and by. "

"Do them now, it is getting late. "

"It is, " Mr. Gillat admitted; "we were late with tea, but there's thedrying of the cups. "

"I will do that. "

Johnny hesitated; Julia's wish was his law, still there seemed no harmin the exchange; anyhow, without quite knowing how it happened, hesoon afterwards found himself in the garden among the water cans. 

Rawson-Clew went back to the outer kitchen. Julia looked round as sheheard his step, and seeing that he was alone, recognised themanoeuvre and the arrival of the inevitable hour. 

"Well, " she said, coming to the point in a business-like way now thatit was unavoidable; "what is it you want?"

"I want to know several things, " he said, shutting the door. "Principally why you called your daffodil 'The Good Comrade?'"

"The daffodil!" she repeated in frank amazement; she was completelysurprised, and for once she did not attempt to hide it. 

"Yes, " Rawson-Clew said; "why did you call it 'The Good Comrade?'"

Julia began to recover herself and also her natural caution. This wasnot the question she expected, but the rogue in her made her wary evenof the seemingly simple and safe. "I called it after three friends, "she said, "who were good comrades to me--you, Johnny and Joost VanHeigen. Why do you ask?"

"Because I wondered if it was a case of telepathy; I also namedsomething 'The Good Comrade. '"

"You?" she said. "What did you name? Was it a dog?"

"No, a bottle--small, wide-necked, stopper fastened with a piece oftorn handkerchief, about two-thirds full of a white powder!"

Julia had begun washing the cups; she did her best to betray no sign, and really she did it very well; her eyelids flickered a little andher breath came rather quickly, nothing more. 

"Why did you name it?" she asked. "It is rather odd to do so, isn'tit?"

"I named it after the person who gave it to me. "

Julia's breath came a little quicker; she forgot to remark that thesame reason had helped her in naming her flower; she was busy askingherself if he meant her by the good comrade. 

"Perhaps I did not exactly name my bottle, " he went on to say, "but itstood for the person to me. It was a sort of physical manifestation--rathera grotesque one, perhaps--of a spiritual presence which had not really leftme since a certain sunny morning last year. "

"That is very interesting, " Julia managed to say; her native cautionhad not misled her; the innocently beginning talk had taken a deviousway to the expected end. 

"It was interesting, " Rawson-Clew said, "but not quite satisfying, atleast not to the natural man. He is not content with a manifestationany more than with a spiritual presence; he wants a corporal fact. "

Julia looked up; the talk was taking an unforseen turn that she didnot quite follow, so she looked up. And then she read something in hisface that set her heart beating, that made her afraid, less perhaps ofhim than of herself, and the thrill that ran like fire through herbody. 

"I don't quite understand, " she said, and dropped a cup. 

It was meant to fall on the flagged floor and break; it would create adiversion, and picking up the pieces would give her time to get usedto the suffocating heart-beats. She had enough of the Polkingtonself-mastery left to think of the manoeuvre and its advisability, but not enough to carry it out properly; the cup fell on thedoubled-up tea-cloth that lay at her feet and was not broken at all. Nevertheless the incident and her own contempt for her failuresteadied her a little. 

Rawson-Clew picked up the cup. "Do you not understand, " he said. "Itis quite simple; I have put it to you before, too--not in the samewords, but it comes to the same--the plain terms used then were--willyou do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Julia's heart seemed to stop for a second, then it went on heavily asbefore, but she only asked, "Did you not get my letter, the one Iwrote in Holland about that?"

"The one when you told me of your arrangements? By the way you did notmention that you were going to Van de Greutz's for the explosive, yes, I got that, but it was scarcely an answer. "

"I explained that it meant 'no. '"

"In a postscript; you cannot answer a proposal of marriage in apostscript. "

There really does not seem sufficient ground to justify thisstatement, still she did not combat it. "Can't I?" she said. "Then Iwill answer it now--no. It was good of you to offer, generous andhonourable, but, of course, I should not accept. I mean, I could noteven if there had been any need, and, as you see, there was not aparticle of need then, still less now. "

"No need, no, " he answered, and there was a new note in his voice;"it is not a case of necessity or anything of the sort. Put all thatnonsense of justice and honour and gratitude out of the question, youknow that it does not come in. I own it did weigh somewhat then, butnow--now I want the good comrade; I don't deserve her, or a tithe ofwhat she has done for me, but I can't do without her--herself, thecorporal fact--don't you know that?"

"No, " Julia said; somehow it was all she could say. 

"You don't know it? Then I'll tell you. " But he did not for sheprevented him. 

"Please don't, " she said. "You cannot really want me because you donot really know me. Oh, no, you do not!"

"I think I do; I know enough to begin with; the rest of the ignoranceyou can remedy at your leisure. "

"My leisure is now, " she said; "I will tell you several things, I willtell you how I got the explosive. I went as a cook and stole like athief--you could have got it as easily as I if you would have stoopedas readily as I did. You admire that? Perhaps so, now, but you wouldnot if you had seen it being done. That is the sort of thing I do, andI will tell you the sort of thing I like. The day I came home fromHolland I did what I liked--as soon as I reached London I went toJohnny Gillat, my dear old friend, who I love better than any one elsein the world, and we had a supper of steak and onions in a backbedroom, and we enjoyed it--you see what my tastes are? Afterwards Iheard how father had taken to drink and mother had got into debt--yousee what a nice family we are?"

But here Rawson-Clew stopped her. "I knew something like this before, "he said; "the details are nothing; I do not see what it has to do withthe matter. "

"It ought to have a lot, " she answered. "But even if you do know itand a good deal more and realise it too, which is a different thing, there is still the other side. I don't know you, I don't even knowyour name. "

Then he remembered that he must have signed that offer of marriage, ashe signed all letters, and so left himself merely "H. F. Rawson-Clew"to her. 

"You see, " she was saying, "it is a mistake for people who don't knoweach other very well to marry, they would always be getting unpleasantsurprises afterwards. Besides, it would be so uncomfortable; it mustbe pretty bad to live at close quarters with some one you were--whoyou didn't know very well, with whom you minded about things. "

She had touched on something that did matter now, that might mattervery much indeed; Rawson-Clew realised it, and realised with a startof pain, that there might be a great gulf between him and the goodcomrade after all. Her quick intuitions and perceptions had bridged itover and led him to forget that he was a man of years and experiencewhile she was a girl, a young, shy, half-wild thing, veiled, andfearing to draw the veil for his experienced eyes. 

"Tell me, " he said, facing her and looking very grave and old, "isthat how you feel about me?"

She fidgeted the tea-cloth with her foot, but being a Polkington, shewas able to answer something. "We belong to different lots of people, "she said, examining the shape the thing had taken on the floor; "Ihave got my life here, working in my garden and so on; and you havegot yours a long way off among greater things. "

"You have not answered me, " he said. "Tell me--am I the man youdescribed?"

He turned her so that she could look at him, the thing she dared notdo. His touch was light, almost momentary, but it was too much, itthrilled through her wildly, irresistibly, and she drew back fearingto do anything else. 

"Don't!" she said, and her voice was sharp with the anger of pain. 

He stepped back a pace. "Thank you, " he said; "I am answered. "

Captain Polkington had been dozing; there really was nothing else todo; but suddenly he was aroused; there was a sound below; the motormoving at last. Yes, it was going, really going; he went to the windowand, taking care not to be seen, watched the car go down the sandyroad. After that he went down-stairs, and finding Johnny, who hadfinished his watering, persuaded him to come for a stroll on theheath. They took a basket to bring home anything they might find, andshouted news of their intention to Julia, who did not answer, then setout. 

Now, in the present state of their development, motors are not thingson which a man can always rely. More especially is this the case whenany one like Mr. Gillat has had anything to do with them. The obligingJohnny, had arranged the inside of Rawson-Clew's car, covering up whathe thought might be hurt by the sun and blowing sand while it stood atthe roadside, and taking into the house when he went in to tea, anything that could be stolen if--as was quite out of thequestion--one came that way with a mind to steal. Johnny had broughtback most of the things and replaced them before Rawson-Clew started, but not quite all. When the car had got a little distance down theroad it, with a perversity worthy of a reasonable being, developed aneed for the forgotten item. Rawson-Clew searched for it, could notfind it, discovered that he could not get on without it, and, thinking if not saying something not very complimentary about Mr. Gillat, walked back to the cottage. 

He supposed he would find Johnny in the garden, but he did not; he andthe Captain were some way out on the heath now, and, fortunately forthe latter's peace, neither saw any one approach the cottage. Rawson-Clew looked round the garden and finding no one decided, ratherreluctantly, that he must go to the house. He did not want to meetJulia again; he thought it rather unlikely that she should still be inthe kitchen, but there was a chance of it, so he approached with aview to reconnoitering before presenting himself. The outer kitchen, which partook rather of the nature of a wash-house, had a largeunglazed window; when he drew near to this he heard a noise fromwithin. It sounded like some one sobbing, not quiet sobs, but slowdeep spasmodic ones like the last remains of a tempest of tears whichhas not spent itself but only been imperfectly suppressed by sheerwill. Rawson-Clew paused though possibly he had no business to do so. 

"Oh, why, " one wailed from within, "why is not father dead? If he weredead--if only he had been dead!"

The unglazed window was large and rather high up, but Rawson-Clew wasa man of fair height; he was also usually considered an honourableone, but when he heard the voice, saying something which was plainlyonly meant for the hearing of Omnipotence, he did not go away. He puthis hands on the flintwork of the window-sill and in a moment foundhimself in the twilight of the unceiled kitchen. 

Julia was crouching in a corner, her elbows on the old chopping-block, her face hidden on her tightly-clenched hands, while she struggledangrily with the shaking sobs. For a moment she struggled, thenmastered herself somehow and looked up, perhaps because she meant torise and set about her work. She had been crying hard and tears do notimprove the average face, certainly they did not hers; and she hadbeen trying hard to stop, cramming a screwed-up handkerchief into hereyes and that did not improve matters either. One would have said herface could have expressed nothing but the extremity of unbecoming woe, yet when she caught sight of Rawson-Clew standing just under thewindow it changed extraordinarily and to anger. 

"Go away!" she said; "go away! Do you hear?"

Rawson-Clew did not go away; he came nearer and Julia drew furtherinto the corner, ensconsing herself behind the chopping-block, andlooking about as inviting of approach as a trapped rat. 

"Julia, " he said. 

"Go away!" was her only answer. 

"Why did you send me away?"

"Because I wanted you gone. "

"Because Captain Polkington is not dead? Is that it?"

"You are a dishonourable eavesdropper! No, it wasn't that. "

He sat down on the chopping-block barricading her corner so that shecould not get out without stepping over him. "Do you know it strikesme that you are not strictly honest either, at least not strictlytruthful just now. "

Julia tugged at her skirt; the chopping-block was on the hem and he on itso that she could not get free. "Will you please go, " she said, with acatch in her breath. That is the worst of these half-suppressed, unspentstorms of tears, they have such a tendency to return and break out againinconveniently. 

"If it were not for Captain Polkington would you have sent me away?"he asked. 

"Y--e--s, " she answered, fighting with her tears. "Oh, go! Please, please go!"

She crumpled herself into a small miserable heap and he leaned overthe block and drew her into his arms. 

For a moment she struggled, burrowing her head into his coat; therewas a good deal of burrowing and not much struggling. "No, youwouldn't, " he said to her hair, "you would have married me. "

"I might have said I would, but I shouldn't really have done it, " shecontended without looking up. "I shouldn't when it came to the point. You had better let me go, I am spoiling your coat, my face is allwet--and I don't know where my handkerchief is. "

"Take mine, you will find it somewhere. Tell me, why would you nothave married me when it came to the point? Because your courage failedyou?"

No answer; then, "I can't find that handkerchief. "

"You have not tried. Are you afraid to try? Are you afraid of me? Isthat why you would not have married me--you would have been afraid tolive at close quarters with me? Do you still think you don't know mewell enough?"

"I don't know your name. "

The answer was ridiculous, but he knew how the ridiculous touched eventragedies for Julia. 

"Hubert Farquhar Rawson-Clew, " he said solemnly. "Now--"

But whatever was to have followed was prevented, for at that momentshe looked up, and for some reason, suddenly decided things had gonefar enough, and so freed herself. 

"I don't think it matters much what I should have done, " she said, "orwhy, either. Father is not dead; you ought to know better than to talkabout such a thing; it is bad taste. "

"Does that matter in the simple life? I thought when you retired youwere going to dispense with falsity and pretences, and say and dohonestly what you honestly thought, when it did not hurt otherpeople's feelings. "

"So I do, " she answered; "that is why, when I thought I was alone justnow, I asked out loud how it was that father was still alive. Sincethen I have seen. "

"What have you seen?"

"That it is to prevent me from making a great muddle of things. If hehad been dead I dare say I should have married you--I may as wellconfess it since you know--and we both should have repented it everafterwards. As it is, if I were free to-morrow, I would know betterthan to do it. "

He did not seem much troubled by the last statement. "We should havehad to talk things over, " he said. 

"No, talking wouldn't have been any good, " she answered; "there is agreat distance between us. "

He looked down at the space of red tiles that separated them. "That israther remediable, " he observed. 

"Do you think I am not in earnest?" she said. "I am. There is a realbarrier; besides all these things I have mentioned there is somethingelse that cuts me off. I have a debt to pay you and until it is paid, if I were your own cousin, I could not stand on the same platform. "

"A debt?" he repeated the word in surprise. His young cousin's loan toCaptain Polkington had slipped his memory, and even if it had not, itsconnection with the present would not have occurred to him. Julia hadbeen there, it is true, when the affair was talked of eighteen monthsago, and he himself had unofficially paid the money to end the matter, but he never dreamed of connecting either her or himself with it now. Still less would he have dreamed that she considered herself bound topay him what her father had borrowed from another. 

"What debt?" he asked, thinking the word must be hyperbolical, andmeant to stand for something quite different, though he could notimagine what. 

"You have forgotten?" she said. "I thought you had; that only showsthe distance more plainly; you have one standard for yourself andanother for me. "

"Tell me what it is and let us see if we cannot compound it. "

But she shook her head. "It can't be compounded, " she said; "you willknow when I pay it. "

"And when will that be?"

"Ten years, twenty perhaps, I don't know. I thought once or twicebefore I could pay it--with the blue daffodil once, and once when Ifirst got the cottage and things--I thought, to be sure, I could doit; it seemed a Heaven-sent way. But"--with a little glint ofself-derision--"Heaven knows better than to send those sort of easyways to the Polkingtons; they are ill-conditioned beasts who onlybehave when they are properly laden by fate, and not often then. Nowyou know all about it, so won't you say good-bye and go?"

"I don't know about it and, what is more, I don't care. I am not goingto let this unknown trifle, this scruple--"

Just then there came the sound of voices outside; Mr. Gillat andCaptain Polkington unwarily coming back before the coast was clear. 

"Yes, " Johnny was saying, "he came to see me in town, you know--orrather you, but you were out--"

"He came to see me? He"--there was no mistaking the consternation inthe Captain's tone, nor his meaning either. 

Julia and Rawson-Clew looked at one another; both had forgotten theCaptain's existence for a moment; now they were reminded, and thoughthe reminder seemed incongruous it was perhaps opportune. 

"There is father, " Julia said. 

And he nodded. One cannot make love to a man's daughter almost in hispresence, when the proviso of his death is an essential to anysatisfaction. Rawson-Clew went to the door. "Good-bye, " he said, "forthe present. "

"Good-bye for always, " she answered. 

She spoke quite calmly, in much the same tone when, on the morningafter the excursion to the Dunes, she had bid him good-bye and triedto face the consequences alone. She had had so many tumbles with fatethat it seemed she knew how to take them now with an indifferent face. At least, nearly always, not quite--the wood block still lay beforethe corner in which she had crouched the marks on his coat where hertears had fallen were hardly dry. There was passion and to sparebehind the indifferent face, passion that for once at least had brokenthrough the self-mastery. 

He held out his hand and she put hers into it. "Good-bye, " herepeated; "good-bye for the present, brave little comrade. "

CHAPTER XIX

CAPTAIN POLKINGTON

Captain Polkington was watching a pan of jam. It was the middle of theday and warm; too warm to be at work out of doors, as Johnny was, atleast so the Captain thought. He also thought it too warm to watch jamin the back kitchen and that occupation, though it was the cooler ofthe two, had the further disadvantage of being beneath his dignity. The dignity was suffering a good deal; was it right, he asked himself, that he, the man of the house, should have the menial task of watchingjam while Julia talked business with some one in the parlour? He didnot know what business this person had come on; he had seen him arrivea few minutes back, had even heard his name--Mr. Alexander Cross--butthat was all he knew about him; Julia had taken him into the parlourand shut the door. Naturally her father felt it and was annoyed. 

There was a door leading into the parlour from the front kitchen. Itwas fast closed but the Captain, leaving the jam to attend to itself, went and looked at it. While he was standing there he heard threewords spoken on the other side by the visitor; they were--"your newdaffodil. "

So that was the business this man had come on! He was trying to buyJulia's ugly streaked flower. The Captain's weak mouth set straight;he felt very strongly about the daffodil and his daughter's refusalto sell it. He knew she might have done so; she had had a good manyletters about it since it was exhibited in London. She said littleabout the offers they contained, but he knew she refused them all; hehad taxed her with it and argued the question to no purpose. Now, to-day, it seemed there was a man so anxious to buy the thing that hehad actually come to see her; and she, of course, would refuse again. The Captain sat down in the easy-chair; he was overcome by the thoughtof Julia's contrary stupidity. 

The chair was near the door, but he would have scouted the idea thathe was listening; he was a man of honour, and why should he wish tohear Julia refuse good money? Also it was impossible to hear all thatwas said unless the speakers were close to the door. Apparently theymust have been near for no sooner had he sat down than he heard theman say, "Haven't I had the pleasure of seeing you somewhere before, Miss Snooks? Your face seems familiar though I can't exactly locateit. "

"We met at Marbridge, " Julia answered; "at a dance, a year and a halfago. "

"At Marbridge? Oh, of course! Funny I shouldn't have remembered when Iheard your name the other day!"

Captain Polkington did not think it at all funny; he did not know whoMr. Cross might be, nobody important he judged by his voice andmanner--hostesses at Marbridge often had to import extra nondescriptmen for their dances. But whoever he was, if he had been there once hemight go there again and carry with him the tale of Julia's doings andhome and other things detrimental to the Polkington pride. The Captainlistened to hear one of the two in the other room refer to the changeof name which had prevented an earlier recognition. But neither did;she saw no reason for it, and he had forgotten her original name if heever knew it. 

"I remember all about you now, " he was saying; "you danced with meseveral times and asked me about the Van Heigens' blue daffodil"--hepaused as if a new idea had occurred to him. "You were not in the linethen, I suppose?" he asked. 

"No, I knew nothing about flower growing or selling, " she answered. "What you told me of the value of the blue daffodil was a revelationto me. "

He laughed a little. "But one you'll try to profit by, " he said. 

The Captain moved in his chair. He could have groaned aloud at thewords, which represented precisely what Julia would not do. Unfortunately his movement had much the same effect as his groan wouldhave done, some one on the other side of the door moved too, and inthe opposite direction. It must have been Julia, her father was sureof it; it was like her to do it; she must have gone almost to thewindow; he could not make out what was said. The man was no doubttrying to buy the bulb; a stray word here and there indicated that, but it was impossible to hear what offer was made. It was equallyimpossible to hear what Julia said; her father only caught theinflection of her voice, but he was sure she was refusing. 

In disgust and anger he rose and, having pulled the jam to the side ofthe fire, went into the garden. There he took the hoe and startedirritably to work on a bed near the front door; it was some relief tohis feelings to scratch the ground since he could not scratch anythingelse. 

In a little while Cross came out. "Well, if you won't, you won't, " hewas saying as Julia opened the door. "I think you are making amistake; in fact, if you weren't a lady I should say you were actingrather like a fool; but, of course, you must please yourself. If youthink better of it you can always write to me. Just name the price, areasonable price, that's all you need do. We understand one another, and we can do business without any fuss--you have my address?"

He gave her a card as he spoke, although she assured him she shouldnot want it; then he took his leave. 

She watched him go, tearing up the card when he had set off down theroad. Captain Polkington watched her. 

"What did he want?" he asked, remembering that he was not supposed toknow. 

"The bulb, " she answered. 

"And you would not sell it?"

"No. "

She had come from the doorstep now to pull up some weeds he hadoverlooked. 

"I can't understand you, Julia, " he said resting on his hoe, andspeaking as much in sorrow as in anger. "You seem to have so littlesense of honour--women so seldom have--but I should have thought thatyou would have had a lesson on the necessity, the obligation of payingdebts. When you come to think of the efforts we are making to paythose debts, how I am straining every nerve, giving almost the wholeof my income, doing without everything but the barest necessaries, without some things that are necessaries in my state of health, whatyour mother is doing, how she has given up her home, her husband, tolive almost on charity in her son-in-law's house. When you think ofall that, I say, and of what your sisters have done, it does seemstrange that you should grudge this bulb, simply and solely because itwas given you by some people for whom you care nothing. "

Julia agreed; she never saw the purpose of contradicting whenconviction was out of the question. "It does seem strange, " she said;"but there is one comfort, the worst of the debts will be cleared offby the end of the year. Uncle William knows that and has arranged forit in his own mind; I really think it would be almost a pity todisturb the business plans of any one so exact. "

"Are we, " the Captain returned scornfully, "to pinch and save to theend of the year? Am I to do without the few comforts that might makelife tolerable? Am I to work like a farm labourer and live like onetill then, because you choose to keep this bulb?"

Julia thought it was very probable things would go on as they were forsome time, but she did not say so; she only said, "I am sorry you findit so trying. "

"Trying!" her father said, and stopped, as if he found the word andmost others very inadequate. "After all, it does not much matter, " heremarked in a tone of gloomy resignation. "I shan't be here, in anyone's way, much longer; there is not the least chance that I shalllive till the end of the year, and when I am gone you can do what youplease, what you must, with your bulb. I own I should like to see youa little more comfortable and better off now. I hate to have you doingservant's work and going shabby as you have to. I should like you tobe decently dressed, taking your proper place in society, but if youthink it right to go on as you are and to keep your bulb, of course Ihave nothing to say. "

It was as well he had nothing, for Julia remembered the jam and wentindoors, so he would have had no one to say it to. She went into theback kitchen, thinking, but not of the jam. Once again the temptationto sell the daffodil beset her; not to Cross, he was the last man towhom she would have sold it, but to some collector who would care forit as the Van Heigens would. She could easily find such a one with orwithout assistance from Cross; little harm would be done to the VanHeigens by it; indeed Joost had expected her to do no less, and if shedid it she could pay--not the debts her father had mentioned--but theone he had not. She had thought this all out before, seen thearguments on both sides, and arrived at her conclusion; but there aresome things that are not content with this treatment once, nor eventwice, but demand it a good many more times than that. So she thoughtit out again and came again to the old conclusion. Joost had given herthe bulb because he loved her; he had made no conditions because hebelieved in her; he had even professed himself content that she shouldsell it because, in his humbleness and generosity, he wanted only thatshe should get what ease she could. He was content to make what was tohim a great sacrifice for no other reason than that she should have alittle more money on mere caprice, the very nature of which he did notknow. And so she could not do it, that was the end of the wholematter. She could not take the gift of the man who loved her to pay adebt to the man she loved. 

She went to fetch jam pots, without calling herself to order for thelast admission. It was the one luxury she had at that time; daily andnightly she could admit to herself that she loved him and he lovedher. Not exactly passionately--they were not passionate people, shetold herself--but in an odd companionable equal sort of way which wasthe best in the world. Nothing would ever come of it, even in theremote future when her father was dead and the debt paid. By that timeboth of them would have grown old and set in their far separate ways, and even if he ever heard that she was free he would have becomewiser and changed his mind. So there was no end to this thing, noawakening and disillusioning, none of the disappointment anddreariness which is likely to attend the translating of a dream intowork-a-day life. For that reason it should have been possible to becontent, even with the thing which stood between her andrealisation--sometimes it almost was, at least she persuaded herselfso. At others there were things harder to control; brief moments whencrushing down all opposition and obliterating other thoughts, came thememory of how she had crouched behind the chopping-block, how hiddenher tears in his coat. There was no reason or common-sense in that, nofriendship or good-fellowship in the clasp of his arms; it was thenatural man and the natural woman, and absence could not change it, nor time take it away; it had been, it might be again, it obeyed nolaw and answered to no argument in the world. It was something whichmade her ashamed and afraid and yet glad with a rare incommunicalgladness that was pointed with pain. 

Just then the jam boiled over, and she had to leave her pots to runand save it. 

It is a great thing to have your mind under fair control; thePolkington training, wherein the advisable and advantageous werecompelled to rank high even in matter of emotion, is not without usein bringing this about. But it is also a great thing, almost, perhaps, a more important one for some people, to have plenty to do even if itis only making jam. 

While Julia made her jam Captain Polkington hoed; at least he did fora little while, then he gradually ceased and stood leaning upon hishoe, lost in unhappy thought. At last he moved, and, gathering thewithering weeds that lay beside the path, carried them to an oldbasket which he had left beside the garden wall. With the weeds hepicked up the torn fragments of card which Julia had dropped besidethe doorstep; he let them fall into the basket with the other rubbish, but when he saw them gleaming white among the green they arrested hisattention. For a moment he looked at them, then he carefully pickedthem out; he had some thought of appealing to Julia once more, ortelling her that he had saved the man's address for her and she hadone last chance. He sat down on the wall; would it be any good toappeal? he asked himself despondently. Would anything be any good? Wasnot everything a failure? No one regarded him; Cross, the man whosecard he held, had not even glanced in his direction when he went downthe path. A miserable bargain-driving tradesman had passed him andpaid no more attention to him than if he had been a gardener! Gillat, his own friend, did not regard him, thought nothing of his comforts;he was all for Julia; thought of nothing and no one else. As for Juliaherself, she had not the slightest regard for him, no consideration, not even filial respect and obedience. 

He looked gloomily before him for a little, then his eye fell on thewhite fragments he held, the address of the man who was anxious to buythe daffodil which Julia in her obstinate folly and selfishunreasonableness, would not sell. If it only were sold! He thoughtover all the good things that could then be done; they were the sameas those excellent reasons that he had himself given a little whileback. Some people might have said they were rather diverse and not allmutually inclusive, but no such idea troubled him; he was sure allcould easily have been done if the daffodil were sold. He felt that hecould have done it all quite well, he did not stop to think how--if hehad had the handling of the money he could have been a benefactor tohis whole family, especially Julia. It was hard that he should beprevented, bitterly hard; it had so often happened in his life that hehad been prevented from doing what was good and useful by want ofmeans and opportunity or the stupid obstinacy of other people. He grewmore and more depressed as he sat on the wall thinking of these thingsand wondering if there were many men so useless, so unfortunate andmisunderstood as he. 

This depression lasted all that day and on into the next; indeed, forsome time longer. It lifted a little once in the course of a week, butnot much, and soon settled down again, making the Captain verymiserable, disinclined for work, and decidedly bad company. Johnnythought he was not well, but Julia fancied his trouble had somethingto do with annoyance and the daffodil. He did not confide in either ofthem, maintaining a proud and gloomy silence and nursing his grievanceso that it grew. For days he cherished his sense of injury and wrong, until it became large and took a good hold upon him. Then, all atonce, for no reason that one can give, a change came, and his mind, asif smitten by a gust of wind, began to veer about, to stir andlighten. Why, he suddenly asked himself, was it that Julia would notsell the bulb? Because--the answer was so absurdly simple he wonderedit had not occurred to him before--because it was the Van Heigens'present, and one cannot sell presents. He perfectly understood thescruple, honoured it even; but he also saw quite plainly that, thoughit prevented her from selling the daffodil, it did not stand in theway of its being sold. She could not, of course, authorise the sale, any more than she could conduct it; but that was no reason why sheshould not be very pleased to have it sold. Indeed, not only was thisa probability, practically a certainty, but more than likely she hadhad some such idea in her mind when she spoke of the matter to herfather--in all likelihood she was wondering now why he had not takenthe hint. 

Thus Captain Polkington reasoned, seeing light at last in the dimnessof the depression which had possessed him. Quite how much he reallybelieved, or even if he were capable of real reasonable belief at thisstage of his career, it is not easy to say. It is possible he may havethought he was right for the time being; his conscience was capable ofremarkable gymnastic feats at times. It is also possible that he, likesome others of the human race, was not really able to think at all. Anyhow the depression that weighed upon him lifted, and he rememberedwith satisfaction that he had kept the torn fragments of Cross' card. 

In the early part of the summer the hyacinths, tulips, and finernarcissus had been taken out of the ground and put to dry. Julia hopedby this means to get more and better flowers from them next year thanis the case when they are left in the earth. They took some time todry and were not really ready till the summer was far advanced; butthat did not matter to her, however it may have inconvenienced herfather; she was too busy to attend to them earlier. By the middle ofAugust they were ready, and she set to cleaning them in her spare timewith Johnny to help her. He was proud and pleased to do so, and didnot in the least mind the extreme irritation of the skin which befallsthose who rub off the old loose husks. A place was prepared for thebulbs in one of the sheds, the wide shelf cleared and partitions madein it by Mr. Gillat, who also spent some time in writing labels foreach of the divisions. Julia told him this was unnecessary as she knewby the shape which were hyacinths and which tulips; still he did it. Captain Polkington did not offer any assistance; he merely looked onwith indifferent interest; the matter did not seem to concern him. 

But one day, towards the end of the month, but before the bulbs wereall done, Julia went into the town. 

Captain Polkington saw her start; then he wandered to the shed whereJohnny was at work. For a little he stood watching, then he walkedleisurely round the place looking at this and that. 

"You will never be able to tell which is which of these things, " heremarked at last. 

Johnny looked at his somewhat conspicuous labels. "I've named them, don't you see 'Tulips?'"

"But you don't say what sort of tulips, which are red and whichyellow. Nor what sort of narcissus, which are daffodils and which thebunchy things. "

"No, " Mr. Gillat admitted; "no, they got mixed in the digging up; Iforgot, and put them all in the barrow together; that's how ithappened. "

"What? The whole lot?" the Captain inquired. "The streaked daffodiland all? What did Julia say?"

"She said it did not matter, " Johnny told him; "they'll be all themore surprise to us when they come up next year. "

"She didn't mind, not even about the streaked daffodil?"

"Oh, that was not there, " Mr. Gillat said, serenely unconscious thatthe fate of that bulb was the only interest. "We have got that byitself. "

He showed a little piece of shelf penned off from the rest andcarefully covered with wire netting for fear of rats. Three differentshaped bulbs were there in a row. 

"That's it, " Johnny said, pointing to one of the three. "And that endone is the red tulip with the black middle; it is supposed to be verygood; and that other is the double blue hyacinth from down by thegate; we are going to try it in a pot in the house next year and haveit bloom early. "

Captain Polkington nodded, but did not show much interest. "Did youput these here, or did she?" he asked. 

"She did, " Johnny answered. "She cleans them much better than I do, and we knew they were choice ones, the best one of each kind, so shecleaned them; but I made the wire cover. "

The Captain did not praise the ingenuity of this contrivance, which hedid not admire at all, and soon afterwards he sauntered back to thehouse. He was dozing in the easy-chair in the front kitchen whenJohnny came in to change his coat before setting out to meet Julia. Hedid not seem to have moved much when Mr. Gillat came down-stairs readyto start. 

"What?" he roused himself to say when Johnny announced hisdestination. "Oh, all right, you need not have waked me to tell methat, it really is of no importance to me if you like to walk in theblazing sun. " He settled himself afresh in the chair, mutteringsomething about the heat, and Johnny went out, quietly closing thedoor after him. 

It was an hour later when Julia and the faithful Johnny came back, thelatter decidedly hot although he was carrying one of the lightest ofthe parcels. Captain Polkington was still in his chair; he woke up asthey entered. 

"Why, " he said, "I must have dropped asleep!" He rose and went to takeJulia's parcels. "Let me put these away for you, " he saidsolicitiously; "it is a great deal too hot for you to be walking inthe sun and carrying all these things. "

"Thank you, " Julia answered; "that's all right. Perhaps you would notmind getting the tea, though; if you would do that I should be glad. "

He did mind, but he set about it, and it was perhaps well for him thathe did, as otherwise he might have paid a suspicious number of fidgetyattentions to Julia. As it was, doing the menial work which he alwaysconsidered beneath his dignity, while Johnny sat still and rested, restored him to his usual manner. 

But the Captain, though he was safely past the initial difficulty, didnot find the working out of his scheme altogether easy. He had thebulb, it is true, and he was safe from detection for there was stillunder the wire cover a smooth yellow-brown narcissus root very likethe first one; but he had got to get rid of it. It was not very easyto get a letter to the post here without remark from Mr. Gillat. That, in the circumstances, would be undesirable for it was likely to arouseJulia's suspicions, and if they were roused she might think it herduty to interfere--even though, of course, she did wish the bulb sold. Her father recognised that and, determining not to give her theopportunity, got his letter written betimes and waited for a chance togive it to the postman unobserved. In writing he had been faced by onevery great difficulty, he had not the least idea how much to ask. Cross had said "name a reasonable price, " and he must name one, orelse it would appear that he were writing on his own behalf notJulia's; but he did not know what was reasonable and he had no chanceof finding out. A new orchid, he had vaguely heard, was sometimesworth a hundred pounds; but it was impossible any one should pay somuch for a daffodil, an ordinary garden flower. Julia, whatever hermotive, would not have refused to sell it if it would have fetched somuch; he could not conceive of a Polkington, especially a poor one, turning her back on a hundred pounds. For hours he thought about thisand at last decided to ask twenty pounds. It seemed more to him nowthan it would have done a year ago, by reason of the small sums he hadhandled lately; but it was a good deal less than his golden dreams hadpainted the bulb to be worth in the time when it seemed unattainable, and he was paying debts and providing for Julia out of the proceeds ofthe imaginary sale. Still, he finally decided to ask it and wrote tothat effect, and after some waiting for the opportunity got the letterposted. 

After that there followed an unpleasant time or suspense, made themore unpleasant by the fact that he had to look out for the postman ashe did not want the return letter to fall into Julia's hands. At last, after a longer time than he expected, the reply came safely to hand. This was it--

 "SIR, "I am obliged to decline your offer of the streaked daffodil bulb, the price you name being absurd. To tell the plain truth, I would rather not do business with you in the matter; I prefer to deal with principals, else in these cases there is little guarantee of good faith. 

 "Yours faithfully, "ALEXANDER CROSS. "

 "P. S. --If you should fail to dispose of your bulb elsewhere and it would be a convenience to you, I will give you a five pound note for it, that is, if you can guarantee it genuine. It is not, under the circumstances, worth more to me. 

 "A. C. "

So the Captain read and then re-read; anger, mortification anddisappointment preventing him from grasping the full meaning atfirst. Five pounds, only five pounds! No wonder Julia would not sellher bulb; no wonder she preferred to keep a present that would onlyfetch five pounds! What was such a trifle? The Captain glared at theletter as he asked himself the question proudly. His pride was badlywounded. Cross had not set him right in his mistaken idea of thedaffodil's value too politely; at least he thought not. Why should he, this tradesman, say he preferred to deal with principals? Did heimagine that a gentleman would attempt to sell him a spurious bulb?The Captain's honour was not of that sort and he felt outraged. Hefelt outraged, too, almost insulted, at being told that the price wasabsurd. The absurd thing was that he should be expected to knowanything about trade or trade prices. "The man can have no idea of myposition, " he thought. 

But there he was not quite correct; it was precisely because he had asuspicion of the position that Cross had written thus. No one with anyright to it would offer the true bulb for twenty pounds; either, so heargued, it was stolen or not genuine; which, he did not know, the oddswere about even. After making a few inquiries at Marbridge intoCaptain Polkington's history he came to the conclusion that the chancein favour of the true bulb was worth five pounds to him. Accordinglyhe offered it, indifferent as to the result, but rather anticipatingits acceptance. 

It was accepted. The Captain was mortified and disappointed, but fivepounds is five pounds. It even seems a good deal more when your incomeis very small and the part of it which you handle yourself so muchsmaller as to amount to nothing worth mentioning. It was Septembernow, and already the mornings and evenings were cold, foretaste of thewinter which was coming, which would hold the exposed land in itsgrip for months. Five pounds would buy things which would make thewinter more tolerable; small comforts and luxuries meant a great dealto real poverty in cold weather and feeble health. Of course to Johnnyand Julia too; they were all going to benefit. Captain Polkingtonpacked the bulb in a small box and posted it when he went to Halgraveto have his hair cut. 

By return he received a five pound note--a convenient handy form ofmoney, easy to send, easy to change. Halgrave might not perhaps beable to give change for it without inconvenience, but Julia could getit changed next time she went into town. That would not be just yet, but a note will keep; it would perhaps be better to keep it for thepresent. The Captain folded it in his pocket-book and kept it. 

CHAPTER XX

THE BENEFACTOR

It was not till October that Captain Polkington was able to change thefive pound note. This was really Julia's fault, she went so seldominto the town; he had once or twice suggested her doing so when shesaid they wanted this or that, but she never took the hint, and thenote was still in his pocket-book. At last, however, the opportunitycame. 

A keeper's wife with whom Julia had got acquainted had promised her apair of lop-eared rabbits if she could come and fetch them. She wasnot very anxious to have them, but Mr. Gillat was; he said they wouldbe very profitable. Julia doubted this; but, since he wanted them, shesaid they would have them, and accordingly, one morning, they startedtogether with a basket for the rabbits. They started directly afterbreakfast for they had to go a long way across the heath and could notat the best be back before two o'clock. Captain Polkington watchedthem go, standing at the cottage door until their figures were smallon the great expanse of heather. Then he went in and, sitting down, wrote a hasty note to Julia; it was to the effect that he had beenobliged to go into town, but would be back by dark or soon after. Itread as quite a casual communication, as if he were in the habit ofgoing into town frequently and had much business to transact. TheCaptain was rather satisfied with it; he felt he was doing thestraightforward thing in telling Julia, his whole proceedings wereopen and above board. When he came back he should tell her all aboutthe money, how it had been raised and how spent. She should have hadthe spending of it herself if only she had gone to town when hesuggested it; as it was, he must do it; it was absurd to wait anylonger; the weather was already cold; he must go, and bring her somepleasant surprise when he came back. 

Satisfied with these reflections and feeling already the glow ofbeneficence, he dressed himself and set out for Halgrave. He had towalk to the village and there take the carrier's cart which went intotown twice a week; he reflected, while he waited for the vehicle, howfortunate it was that Julia and Johnny had chosen to go for therabbits to-day, one of the days when the carrier went to town. Therewere a good many bundles going by the cart, and two other passengerswho were inclined to be too familiar until somewhat haughtily showntheir proper place. The Captain was a little annoyed by this; andannoyed, also, to find that the carrier was not in the habit ofstarting on the return journey till rather late, later than the notewould lead Julia to expect her father. But as the carrier was not oneto change his habits for anybody, that could not be helped and CaptainPolkington made the best of it. Julia was not likely to be anxiousabout him, he was sure; and since he was going to tell her all abouthis doings, it might as well be late as early. By this time he hadquite got rid of any qualms--if he ever had them--about the method ofgetting and the intention of spending the note. He had almostforgotten that it had not always been his, and was quite sure that hewas doing the right thing--for others as well as himself--in thedifficult circumstances which seemed to beset him more than thecommon run of men. Cheered by these thoughts he endured thediscomforts of the journey with moderate patience; he almost felt thathe was suffering them in a good cause, for the sake of Johnny andJulia. 

The town was large and the centre of a large district, not at all likethe retired gentility of Marbridge, very much bigger and busier. Captain Polkington, who had lived quietly so long, felt rather lostand bewildered at first in the bustling intricate streets; there wereso many people, especially among the shops, they were always gettingin his way. He only made one purchase before lunch; he would haveplenty of time in the afternoon, he thought, and would be better ableto decide what to buy when he had seen things and had a meal. Thepurchase made before lunch was at the wine merchants, it was whisky. 

He lunched at the best hotel; that and the whisky made a rather biggerhole in the five pound note than one would have expected. Still, as hetold himself the whisky really was a vital matter with winter comingon, a necessity, not a luxury, for all of them--Johnny would be betterfor a little--he used to like a glass in the old days; and Julia wouldcertainly be the better for it, working as she did in the cold. It wasa medicine for them all, not himself alone. The lunch was the onlypersonal extravagance and really, seeing what he was doing for theothers, there was no need for him to grudge that to himself. 

So he lunched and then the trouble began. He was not clear quite howit happened; at least, owing to the confusion there always was in hismind between facts as they were, as he wished them to be, and as theyappeared in retrospect--he was never able to explain it thoroughly. There were other men lunching at the same time; he still had thePolkington faculty for making friends and acquaintances; he still, too, had the appearance and manner of a gentleman, if of somewhatreduced circumstances. He apparently made acquaintances; exactly howmany and what sort is not certain, the account was very confused here. There was a whisky and soda in it, two whiskies and sodas, or eventhree; a cigar, a game of billiards--perhaps there was more than onegame, or some other game besides billiards. At all events there musthave been something more, for the Captain afterwards declared he wasruined in less than an hour, fleeced, cheated of his little all! It isquite possible that he was nothing of the kind, and that theacquaintances were perfectly honest and honourable men. They would notknow he could not afford to lose, a true Polkington always set out tohide the reality of his poverty. And he was not likely to win, heseldom did, no matter at what he played or with whom; he wasconstitutionally unlucky--or incapable, which is a truer name for thesame thing--it had always been so, even as far back as the old timesin India. That day he lost at something, that at least was clear; thenthere was more whisky and soda and more losses, and perhaps morewhisky again; and so on until late in the afternoon, he found himselfstanding, miserable and bewildered, in the main street of the town. Some one had brought him there, a good-natured young fellow whothought, not that he had spent all he ought, but that he had drunk allhe should. 

"Not used to it, you know, " he had said with good-humoured apology;"been rusticating out of the way so long. Better come out and get abreath of air, it'll pull you together. "

And he persuaded him out, walked some way down the street with him andthen, seeing that he seemed all right, left him and went to attend tohis own business. 

For a little the Captain stood where he was, the depression, begottenof whisky and his losses, growing upon him in the old overwhelmingway. No one took any notice of him; passers by jostled against him, for the pavement was rather narrow, but no one paid any attention tohim. The bustle bewildered his weak head, and the noise and movementof the traffic in the roadway irritated him unreasonably. A youth raninto him and he exploded angrily with sudden weak unrestrained fury. Thereat the boy laughed, and, when he shouted and stamped his foot, ran away saying something impudent. The Captain turned to run afterhim shaking his stick; but he was stiff and rheumatic and weak on hislegs, too, just now. It was no use to try and run. Of course it was nouse, nothing was any use now, he was a miserable failure, he could noteven run after a boy; he must bear every one's taunts; he could almosthave wept in self-pity. Then he became aware that several passers bywere looking at him curiously, arrested by the noise he had made. Annoyed and ashamed he turned his back on them and pretended to beexamining the goods in a shop window near. 

It was a large draper's, rather a cheap one; the better shops werehigher up the street. In this one the things were all priced andlabelled plainly; the Captain at first did not notice this one way orthe other; he simply looked in to cover his confusion. But after alittle he became aware of what he looked at, and it recalled to hismind the fact that he was going to buy something for Julia. He did notquite know what, he had had large ideas at one time; they had had tobe diminished once because five pounds will not do as much as twenty;they had to be diminished again because he had been fleeced of so muchof the five pounds. A wave of anger shook him as he thought of that, but he suppressed it; he felt that he must not give way, so he lookedsteadily at the window. There were furs displayed there, muffs andcollarettes of skunk and other animals, even the humble rabbitartistically treated to meet the insatiable female appetite for sableat all prices. The Captain decided on the best collarette displayedand turned towards the shop door feeling a little better in the glowof benevolence that returned to him as he thought of how much he wasgoing to spend for Julia. Just as he was going in he caught sight of agirl selling violets in the street. She was a good-looking impudentgirl, and catching his eye she pressed her wares on him glibly; hehesitated, smiled--here was one who treated him as a man, whoconsidered it worth while. He looked defiantly at the passers by--hewas a man, not an object for curiosity or kindly contempt. He returnedthe girl's glance with an ogle and, stepping as jauntily as he couldto the edge of the pavement, took a bunch of flowers with somesuitable pleasantry. Half-way through his remark he stopped dead; hehad felt in his pocket for a penny and found nothing. Quickly, feverishly, almost desperately, he felt in the other pocket;there were three coins there; by the size he could tell that one atleast was a penny; he took it out and gave it to the girl; he had notthe courage to put down the flowers and go without them. Then heturned away. A narrow passage ran down between the draper's and thenext house; fewer people went that way and in the window there, commonand less expensive goods were displayed. The Captain went down thefoot-way and examined the two remaining coins. They were a shillingand a penny. 

People passed and repassed along the main road; carts and carriagesrumbled over the uneven stones; no one heeded the shabby hopelessfigure by the side window. They were lighting up in the draper'sthough outside there was still daylight; the gas jets were consideredto make the place look more attractive. They shone warmly on the fursand silk scarves in the front window, making them look rich andluxurious. Two girls stopped to look in; then, their means being moresuitable to the goods there, they came to examine the side window. They were two servants out for the afternoon; they wore winter coatsopen over summer dresses and hats that might be called autumnal, seeing that they were an ingenious blending of the best that was leftfrom the headgear of both seasons. 

"I shall get one of them woolly neck things, I shall, " one said;"they're quite as nice as fur and not so dear. "

The other could not agree. "Don't care about them myself, " she said;"I must say I like a bit of sable. "

"Can't get it under two and eleven, " her companion rejoined; "andthose things are only a shilling three. Look at that pink one there;it looks quite as good as feathers any day. I'm not so gone on sablemyself; you can't have it pink, and pink's my colour. "

They moved on to another window; they, no more than the passers by, noticed the old man who stood just at their elbow. When they had gonehe looked drearily in where they had looked. There were the woollythings they had spoken of, short woven strips of loopy wool, to betied about the neck by the two-inch ribbons that dangled from theends. "Ostrich wool boas in all colours, price, one shilling and threefarthings, " they were ticketed. He read the ticket mechanically. Hestill held his two coins; he held them mechanically; had he thoughtabout it he would scarcely have troubled to do so, they were socruelly, so mockingly inadequate. He read the ticket again; itobtruded itself upon him as trivial things do at unexpected times. But now its meaning began to be impressed upon his brain--"oneshilling and three farthings"--that, then, was the interpretation ofthe servant girl's "shilling three. " He had a shilling and a penny--ashilling and three farthings. He could buy one of those ostrich woolboas--he would buy it--that pink one for Julia. 

The Halgrave carrier made it a rule to receive his passengers' faresat the beginning of the expedition; if they were coming back as wellas going with him they paid for the double journey at the outset inthe morning. Captain Polkington had so paid, and it was that fact, coupled with the early arrival at the stables of his one purchase, which induced the carrier to wait nearly half-an-hour for him. Thecart was packed, everything was ready, and the good man and the onlyother passenger he was taking back were growing impatient, when theCaptain, carrying a small crushed paper parcel, appeared. He had losthis way to the stables and had wandered hopelessly in his efforts tofind it. The carrier was rather short-tempered about it, and the otherpassenger said something to the effect that "They didn't oughter lethim out alone!" The Captain payed no attention but climbed into theback of the cart and sat down near his whisky. The other passenger gotup beside the driver, and in a few minutes they were lumbering downthe crooked streets. Soon they were out of the town and joggingquietly along the quiet lanes; the driver leaned forward to get alight from his passenger's pipe; his face for a moment showed ruddy inthe glow of the one lamp, then it sunk into gloom again. CaptainPolkington did not notice; he did not notice the voices inintermittent talk, or the fume of their tobacco that hung on the moistair and mingled with the scent of the drooping violets in his coat. He knew nothing and was aware of nothing except that he was the mostmiserable, the most unfortunate of men. Throughout the wholeinterminable journey he dwelt on that one thing as he sat by hiswhisky in the dark, clutching tightly the soft paper parcel andfinding his only fragment of comfort in it. He had after all boughtsomething; poor, disappointed, fleeced as he was, he had spent hislast money in buying a present for his daughter. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE GOING OF THE GOOD COMRADE

The cottage was very quiet. Although it was not late, both CaptainPolkington and Johnny had gone to bed, the one to suit himself, theother to oblige Julia; she was in the kitchen now, as completely aloneas she could wish. And certainly she did wish it; by the hard light inher eyes and the grim look about her mouth it was clear she was in nomood for company. She had got at the truth that evening, or most ofit; the whole affair, with the exception of one point only, was quiteplain to her; not by her father's wish or intention, but plain nonethe less. Subterfuge was an art the Polkingtons understood so wellthat it was exceedingly difficult to deceive them; Julia was the mostdifficult of them all to deceive, and the Captain was least clever atsubterfuge; it was not wonderful, therefore, that she knew nearly allthere was to know. Her heart was bitter within her, but againstherself as well as against her father--after all he had but done whatshe had once thought to do. She had stayed her hand because the onewho owned the daffodil was a child to her. Her father had had no suchreason for staying his; the one who owned this daffodil was as cunningas he. He had done what he had, badly of course he could not dootherwise--a foredained failure such as he--bungled it hopelessly; butthe idea was the same--a bad travesty of a bad idea, badly worked out. For a moment her mind glanced aside from the main issue in disgustand contempt for the method. It was sin without genius, a pueriletheft without adequate return, a miserable fall, and for such apurpose! To expect to find the streaked daffodil unguarded in anouthouse! To sell it for five pounds and think to spend the money oncreature comforts! It is hard to say which of the three was the worst. The really good have little idea how such fool's knavery looks to theshadily clever; it brings home to them the wrongness of wrong, disgusting them with it and with themselves, as no preaching in theworld can. 

The moon had risen by this time; its first beams shone in at theunshuttered window. Julia went to the door and, opening it, lookedout. There was a little mist about and the moon, quite a young one, was struggling through it, shining with a soft, diffused light thatmade the landscape very unearthly. 

It was wonderfully still out of doors, quiet and damp with belts ofunexplained shadow here and there, and a sense of illimitable spaceand silence. Julia sat down on the door steps and smelt the good smellof the earth and felt the nearness of it. But it did not comfort her;she was not in tune with the night; she had neither part nor lot withthese things. "Thief, and daughter of a thief;" the words kept comingto her--and he, the man whom she never named to herself, had calledher his good comrade! She bowed her face to her knees and satmotionless. 

She had told him the truth about herself; she had not been ashamed;she would not have been even if she had taken the daffodil. But herfather! She was ashamed for him with a bitter shame; ashamed ofherself and him too, in thought and intention at least they were one, double-dealers. "Two grubby little people, " as she had seen them longago when they first stood in company with that man. 

"But you don't know; you have not our temptations. " She almost spokealoud, unconsciously addressing the dewy silence as her mind calledthe man plainly before her. "You have never wanted money as I wantedit, or wanted things as father wanted them. Oh, you would despise thethings he wanted--so do I; they are miserable and mean and sordid; youcouldn't want whisky and comfort as he wanted them, but you can'tthink how he did! He would have justified it to himself too; youwouldn't, couldn't do that, while we--we could justify the devil if wetried. It is not right, any the more for that, I know it is not; it isdishonest and disgraceful, I know that as well as you; but I know howit came about and you--you can never understand!" Her voice sank away. That was the great difference between herself and this man; it did notlie in what she did; that was a remedial matter--but rather in whatshe knew and felt. Things that did not exist for him were not onlypossible but sometimes almost necessary to her and hers. The gulfbetween them which had almost seemed bridged in the early summer wassuddenly opened again by the day's work; opened beyond all passage forher--thief, and daughter of a thief. 

She sat on the doorstone looking out with unseeing eyes while the moonrose higher and the light grew so that the belts of shadow melted andthe misty land was all silver, a world of dreams, very pure and still. But neither her dreams nor her thoughts were pure and still; they werefull of passion and pain, longing and regret and shame, and yet anunderlying hopeless desire that all could be known and understood. 

At last she rose and went in. The pink woolly thing CaptainPolkington had bought her lay on the kitchen-table, half out of itspaper wrappings, a silly, useless thing. As her eyes fell on it theygrew dim and hot while the colour crept up in her cheek. Her fatherhad bought it for her; he had thought to please her with the foolishthing; it was like a child's or a fool's gift; she hated herself forhating it. But he had deceived himself into thinking he was generousto make it with his illgotten gains; he had salved conscience withit--it was a liar's gift, a self-deceiver's, a thief's. There was nokindness, no generosity in it, and she despised him--and he was herfather!

She picked up the thing, paper and all, and crammed it into the dyingfire. Then suddenly she burst into tears. The world was all wrong, justice was wrong and suffering was wrong and mankind wrong, all waswrong and inexplicable and pitiful too. 

For a minute she sobbed chokingly, then she forced back the tears withthe angry impatience of a hurt animal, and fetching a sheet of paperand pencil, sat down to write. He was her father and he was a man witha warped idea of honour, one whose self-respect had been taken away;it was too late to teach him, one could only safeguard him now. Opportunity did not make thieves of such as her, but it did of such ashim, and she had left the opportunity--or what he took to be it--open. She would close it now for ever; she would be rid of the bulb, thecause of so much trouble. So she wrote hurriedly, a mere scrawl, whilethe passion was still upon her, and her eyes were still dim withtears--

"Joost, if you have ever cared for me, take back the daffodil; take itback and don't ask me why. "

The next morning Julia posted a small parcel, and at dinner time toldJohnny and her father that she had sent the famous daffodil back toits native land. 

Johnny looked up in mild surprise; he had been to the outhouse thatmorning to see if the bulbs were keeping dry. "Why, " he said, "it's inthe shed!"

"No, it is not, " Julia answered, "and it never was. The one you thinkit is one of the large double pale ones; I told you at the time we putthem away, but you have got mixed, I expect. "

"Ah, yes, of course, " Mr. Gillat said; "I remember now; of course, Iremember. "

The Captain swallowed something, but contrived to keep quiet, and onlydarted a glance at Johnny, the muddler, whose information could neverbe depended on. 

When the meal was over and Mr. Gillat in the back kitchen, CaptainPolkington spoke to his daughter. 

"Julia, " he said, moistening his dry lips, "that man Cross thought itwas the streaked daffodil that I, that--"

His voice tailed away, but Julia only said, "Well?"

"I pledged by word of honour that it was the true one. "

Again Julia said, "Well?"

"What is to be done?" the Captain asked. 

She showed no signs of grasping his meaning or at all events ofhelping him out. He burst out irritably, "What on earth have you soldit for? Nothing would induce you to do so before when I asked you to;now, all at once you have taken a freak and parted with it without anyconsideration whatever. I never saw anything like women, so utterlyirrational!"

"I have not sold it, " Julia told him; "only sent it away. "

"What for? It is perfectly absurd! I suppose you can get it back? Youmust get it back. "

Julia asked "What for?" in her turn. 

The Captain enlightened her. "There is Cross, " he said; "I told himthat was the daffodil, and it is not. Something must be done; we can'tcheat him; we must send him the daffodil, or else refund the fivepounds. We should have to do that--and we can't. "

"No, " Julia agreed grimly; "and we would not if we could. "

"But what are you going to do?" her father asked. 

"Nothing. "

"Nothing! But I pledged my word! You don't understand, I am in honourbound. "

Julia forbore to make and comment on her father's notion of honour;indeed, it struck her as almost pathetic in its grotesqueness andcertainly very characteristic of the Polkingtons. 

"Cross paid five pounds for the streaked daffodil, " the Captain went on tosay, believing that he was stating the case with incontrovertibleplainness, "and if he does not have the true bulb he must have the moneyback; otherwise he will, with justice, say he has been cheated, for Iguaranteed the thing. "

"He paid five pounds for a speculation, " Julia said; "your guaranteewas nothing, and though he may have asked for it, it was just a formand did not count one way or the other. He knew there was a chancethat you had come by the true bulb somehow and so had it to sell; herisked five pounds on that--and lost it. "

Captain Polkington looked bewildered. "He paid five pounds for thebulb, " he persisted; "he said it was worth no more to him. "

"Very likely not, if he could get it for that, " Julia said; "but ifhe could have been sure of it, it would have been worth two hundredpounds. "

"Two hundred!" Captain Polkington gasped, turning rather white. 

Julia nodded. "With my guarantee, " she said. "You had not got that; Isuppose you let him see it when you wrote first so he knew that, though you might have the real bulb, you were not in a position tosell it well. "

The Captain flushed as suddenly as he had paled. "You think he thoughtI had not come by it honestly, that I had no right in my daughter'saffairs?"

"I don't see it matters what he thought, " Julia answered, taking upthe dishes. "He risked his money, and lost it, knowing very well whathe did; he does not mind doing business in that way; I don't admire itmyself, but I guessed he would do it when I first made hisacquaintance. "

"You ----" the Captain said. 

"I have nothing to do with it, and shall have nothing. "

"But the money must be paid; it is a debt of honour; I must clearmyself. "

Julia shrugged her shoulders. 

"You do not wish me cleared?" her father demanded haughtily. 

"Paying the five pounds would not clear you, " she said; "neither thatnor anything else. No, I am not going to pay it; I don't feel anyobligation in the matter. If Mr. Cross goes in for those sort ofdealings he must put up with the consequence, and I am afraid youmust, too. " And with that she went away. 

This was the last reference that was made to the sale of the daffodiland the expedition to town; after that the matter was left out ofconversation and Julia behaved as if it had never existed. But CaptainPolkington was very unhappy; he could not get over the affair and hisown failure; he brooded over it in silence, feeling and resenting thathe could not speak to either Johnny or Julia, they being quite unableto understand his emotions. Once or twice he raged weakly againstCross, who had given him five pounds when he had asked twenty for athing worth two hundred; who had doubted his word, who had behaved asif he were a common thief--who would, doubtless, think him one. Moreoften his indignation burnt up against Julia who would do nothing toremedy this last catastrophe, and clear him and reinstate his honourin the eyes of this man and himself. Most often of all his quarrel waswith fate, and then his anger broke down into self-pity as he thoughtof all the troubles that were crowding about his later years; of hislost reputation, his lack of sympathy and comprehension; the failureof all his plans and hopes, the poverty and feeble health thatoppressed him. In these gloomy days he had one ray of comfort only; itlay in the purchase he had made on that day that he went shopping. That whisky was the solitary thing in the day's adventure about whichJulia had not heard; everything else she had been told, but somehowthat had escaped. One reason of this, no doubt, lay in the fact thatCaptain Polkington had not brought his purchase home with him thatevening. He had meant to; when the carrier set him and his propertydown just outside Halgrave, he had fully meant to carry it to thecottage. But he found it so heavy and cumbersome in his weak anddejected state that he had to give it up. So he found a suitablehiding-place in the deep overgrown ditch beside the road, and, thrusting it as much out of sight as he could, left it there and wenthome unburdened. He meant to tell Julia and Johnny about it, they ofcourse were to have shared, and one or both of them would go with himto fetch it home in the morning. But he did not tell them; it did notseem suitable at first; they, each in a different way, were toounsympathetic about the expedition to town; he determined to wait fora fitting opportunity. The opportunity did not come; but in course oftime the whisky was moved and gave comfort of sorts during the autumndays to the Captain's drooping spirits, if it had a less beneficialeffect on his failing health. 

In the meantime the daffodil, "The Good Comrade, " had gone back to itsnative land, and with it an appeal, written in English, badly written, scrawled almost--but not likely to be refused. Joost read it throughonce, twice, more times than that; it said little, only, take back thebulb and ask no questions, yet he felt he had been honoured by Julia'sconfidence. The very style and haste of the letter seemed an honour tohim; it showed him she had need and had turned to him in it. Of coursehe would do as she asked; he would have done things far harder thanthat. He folded the slip of paper and put it away where he kept somefew treasures, and for a time he put with it the bulb she had sent;and sometimes when he went to bed of a night--he had no other freetime--he took both out and looked at them. 

But "The Good Comrade" did not remain locked away from the light of day. Joost was a sentimentalist, it is true, and the bulb had come fromJulia, winged by an appeal from her. But he was also a bulb grower, and he was that before he was anything else and afterwards too, andthe daffodil was a marvel of nature, a novelty, a thing beyond wordsto a connoisseur. The lover asked that the token should be kept hiddenfrom the eyes of men; but the grower cried that the flower should begiven to the light of heaven and should grow and bloom according toNature's plan. For days the lover was uppermost and the old pain back. But in time the bitter-sweet madness died down again and, in theatmosphere which was saturated with the beloved work, the old love, the first and last and soundly abiding one, reasserted itself. Thedaffodil must bloom, the little brown bulb must go back to the brownearth, the strange flower must unfold itself to the sun and wind andrain. 

So he went to his father. "My father, " he said, and it is to be fearedhe had learnt something of guile from the source of his bitter-sweetmadness. "My father, I have heard from Miss Julia; she would wish usto have the narcissus 'The Good Comrade. '"

Mijnheer was pleased. "That is as it should be, " he said; he had feltstrongly about the gift of the bulb in the first instance, but thatwas an affair over and done with long ago between him and his son. Hedid not reopen it now, he was only gratified to think there was alikelihood of the daffodil coming back to its birthplace, where itcertainly ought to be. "How much does Miss Julia ask for it?" heinquired. 

"Nothing, " Joost answered; "she does not wish to sell it; she wishesto give it back. "

"But, but!" Mijnheer exclaimed, pushing up his spectacles inastonishment; he knew the value of the thing and the offers that musthave been made for it; this way was not at all his notion of doingbusiness; also he found it hard to reconcile with the Julia heremembered. He recollected talk he had had with her when she hadproved herself an apt pupil in trade and trade dealings, and shown, not only a very good comprehension of such things, but also an eye tothe main chance. "This is nonsense, " he said; "it is not business. "

Joost looked distressed. "I gave her the bulb, " he ventured; "she doesnot want to sell me back my present. "

Mijnheer did not recognise any such distinction in businesstransactions, and for a little it looked as if "The Good Comrade"would be sent wandering again, sacrificed to his old-fashioned notionsof integrity. Joost should not have it unless he paid for it, he saidso with decision. He himself would buy it if Joost would not, and ifshe would not sell it to him then neither of them should have it. 

And Joost could not, even if he would, explain why and how the payingwas so difficult. He used all the arguments he could; indeed, for oneof his nature, he spoke with considerable diplomacy. 

"Supposing, " he said at last, "that it was only a sport, and that nextyear it reverts and is blue as are the others, the parent bulbs? MissJulia thinks of that--she would not like to be paid for it now in caseof such a thing, will you not at least wait until the spring? She hasgiven nothing for it herself; it is not as if she had sunk money andwants an immediate return. "

Mijnheer did not consider that made any difference and he said so, reading his son a lecture on business morality according to hisstandard, of a very severe order. Joost listened with meekness to theentirely undeserved reproof for meanness and dishonourable views; thenthe old man announced finally what he should do. He should write toJulia and offer her a smallish sum down in case the bulb proved to beof no great worth, and a promise of a proportional percentageafterwards if it proved valuable. This idea pleased him very well; itsatisfied his notions of integrity and fair dealing and also histhrifty soul, which found trying the otherwise unavoidable duty ofpaying a long price for what had been freely given. From this Joostcould not move him, so there was nothing for him to do but writedistressfully to Julia and explain and apologise. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE LINE OF LEAST RESISTANCE

Julia was at work in the kitchen; it was ten o'clock on a Novembermorning and she was busy; Captain Polkington had had breakfastup-stairs, he often did now, and it delayed the morning's work. Mr. Gillat brought in two letters which the postman had left; both werefor Julia, but she had not time to read them now, so she put them downon the table; they would keep; she did not feel greatly interested toknow what was inside them. Things did not interest her as they used;in some imperceptible way she had aged; some of the elasticity andyouth was gone, perhaps because hope was gone. It had been dying allthe summer, ever since the day when she crouched behind thechopping-block; but gently and gradually, as the year dies, with somebeauties unknown in early days and little recurrent spurts of hope andyouth, like the flowers that bloom into winter's lap. But it was deadnow; there had come to her, as it were, a sudden frost, and, asbefalls in the years, too, the late blooming flowers, the colouredleaves, the last beautiful clinging remnants of life withered all atonce and fell away. It was unreasonable, perhaps, that the Captain'stheft of the daffodil and what arose from it should have had thisresult; but then it was possibly unreasonable that hope and youthshould have had any autumn at all and not died right off when she said"No" and meant it that afternoon in the early summer. But then themind of man--and woman--is unreasonable. 

It was nearly half-an-hour later when Julia picked up the letters;both were from Holland; one, she fancied, was from Mijnheer, one fromhis son. She opened the latter first; she rather wondered what Joostcould have to write about; he had acknowledged the receipt of thedaffodil bulb long ago. The matter was soon explained; the letter wasas formal and precise as ever, but the emotion that dictated it, thedistress and regret, was quite clear to Julia in spite of the primnessof expression. Clear, too, to her were the conflicting feelings thatlay behind the lover's contrition for what he feared was abuse of hismistress's trust, and the grower's desire that the treasured tokenshould be resolved into, what it was, a wonderful bulb, a triumph ofthe horticulturist. Julia smiled a little sadly as she read; not thatshe regretted the existence of the grower with the lover; she was gladto see it and to know that it was triumphing. But the whole affairseemed so far off, so unimportant, so almost childish. She did notcare who knew he had the daffodil, or whether it bloomed or rotted. Inthese days, when her self-apportioned burden was beginning to pressheavily upon her shoulders, such things did not seem to matter. Shehad a sense almost of disloyalty in feeling how little it mattered toher when it appeared to be so much to this loyal friend. 

Captain Polkington had of late had several sudden attacks of afaintness which more often than not amounted to unconsciousness. "Heart, " the doctor had said when he was summoned after the first one;he had not regarded them as very dangerous, that is to say not likelyto prove fatal at any moment if properly treated at the time. He hadgiven instructions as to suitable treatment, emphasising the factthat the patient ought never to be long out of ear-shot of some one, as the attacks required immediate remedy. He forbade excitement andmuch exertion, orders easy to fulfil in this case, and also stimulantsof all sorts, an order not quite so easy. Captain Polkington was muchdispleased about this last; he said it plainly showed the doctor afool who did not know his business; stimulant, as every one knew, being the first necessity for a weak heart. Julia pointed out thatthat must vary with the constitution, nature and disease; she alsorecalled the fact that alcohol never had suited her father. He wasnaturally not convinced by her logic, and so was decidedly sulky; evenin time, by dint of dwelling upon the subject, came to regard thetreatment as a conspiracy to annoy him. Julia regretted this but didnot think it mattered very much, seeing that she had the keys; butthen she did not know of that purchase made in the town. The Captain, rebelling against the doctor's order, hugged himself as he thought ofit and of the comparatively sparing use he had made of it so far--forfear of being found out. There was no need of him to die by incheswhile he had that store of life and comfort; so he told himself, andsecretly made use of it, with anything but good result. Julia, markingthe disimprovement in his health, thought it was the natural courseand saved him all work, carrying out the doctor's instructions morecarefully than ever. The hidden whisky remained unknown to her, foralthough in the larger affairs of duplicity and diplomacy she easilyoutmatched her father, in matters requiring small cunning he was muchnearer her equal. In this one he showed almost preternatural skill;his whole heart was in it, and his wits, where it was concerned, weresharpened above the average; he clung to his secret as a man clings tohis one chance of life, made only the more pertinacious by thecontrary advice he had received. But on that November morning, afterJulia had brought her father round by the proper remedies, she beganto have suspicions. They were not founded on anything definite; shecould not imagine how he should have got stimulant, and his conditionhardly justified her in suspecting it, yet she did. And CaptainPolkington knew by experience that that was enough to proveunpleasant; it did not matter much at which end Julia got hold of hisaffairs, she had a knack of arriving at the middle before he was atall ready for her. He resented what she said to him that morning verymuch indeed. He denied everything and defended himself well; althoughhe was in fear all the time that some unwary word or unwise denialshould betray him to his cross-examiner who, being herself no meanexpert in the double-dealing arts, could frequently learn as much froma lie as from the truth. In the end, what between anxiety andannoyance, he lost control of his temper and from peevish irritabilitybroke out suddenly into a fit of weak ungovernable rage. Julia wasobliged at once to desist, seeing with regret that she hadtransgressed one of the doctor's rules and excited the patient verymuch indeed. 

She left him to recover control of himself and went to look for Mr. Gillat. 

"Johnny, " she said, when she found him. "I believe father has gotwhisky. I don't know where, but I shall have to find out; you musthelp me. "

Johnny professed his willingness, looking puzzled and unhappy; helooked so at times, again now, for even he had begun to discern ashadow coming on the life which for a year had been so happy to him. 

"You will have to keep a watch on father, " Julia said. "He won't domuch while I am watching; he will wait till he is alone with you. Don't try to prevent him; that is no good; just watch and tell me. "

Mr. Gillat said he would, though he did not like the job, andcertainly was ill-fitted for it. Julia knew that, but knew also thatto discover anything she must depend a good deal upon him, unless shecould by searching light upon the store of spirit which she could nothelp thinking her father had in or near the house. She determined tomake a systematic search; but before she did so she found time to openMijnheer's letter. 

It was rather a long letter and very neat. It set forth in formalDutch the old man's ideas concerning the daffodil bulb and his offerregarding it. It should be kept, he said, if it was paid for, nototherwise. Something now, she was to name her terms, while it wasstill uncertain whether its flower would be blue or streaked or evencommon yellow--more later, in accordance with the flowering and theprofits likely to arise. 

So Julia read and sat staring. An offer for "The Good Comrade. " Moneyfrom the people to whom it had always practically belonged in herestimation. She could not take it from them, it was impossible; thething was virtually their own! But if she did not. She re-read Joost'sletter with its protestations, and Mijnheer's with its offer--if shedid not, the little brown bulb would be sent back to her. Mijnheer, now that he knew of its coming, would insist on its return unless itwere paid for; and Joost, she knew very well, would not deceive hisfather and keep it secretly, or defy his father and keep it openly;the money or the bulb she must have. And the bulb she could not, wouldnot have again; so the money, unearned, distasteful, having a not toopleasant savour, must be hers. At last, in this way, without hercontrivance, against her will, there had come a way to pay the debtof honour!

She sat down and wrote to Mijnheer and named her price. Thirty poundsshe asked for, no more in the future, no less now; that was the onlyprice she could take for "The Good Comrade, " it was the sumRawson-Clew had paid to his cousin two years ago. 

Johnny posted the letter that afternoon while Julia began her searchfor her father's hidden whisky. 

All the afternoon Captain Polkington sat in the easy-chair, watchingher contemptuously when she was in sight and moving uneasily when shewas not. He did not think she would find anything, at least not atonce, though he was afraid she would if she kept on long enough and heleft his treasure in its present hiding-place. It would not last somuch longer--he dared not contemplate the time when it should all begone; it was characteristic of him that he was easily able to avoiddoing so. The principal thought in his mind was a determination thatit should not be found while any remained. That could not and shouldnot happen; the last little which he had carefully hoarded, which hehad stinted and deprived himself to save--to have that taken away, tobe robbed of that--the tears gathered in his eyes at the pathos of thethought. 

But the whisky was not found that day, and the Captain, who slept butbadly at this time, lay awake long in the night planning how and whenhe could move it to a place of safety further away from the house. Hewould have gone down then and there, in spite of the fact that it wasa blustering night of wind and rain and he not fitted to go out insuch weather, but he was afraid of Julia. She was certain to hear andfollow; she had almost an animal's alertness when once she was on thetrail of anything. So he lay and planned and waited, hoping that achance would come during the next day. 

It did not. Julia was at home all day and, as she had foreseen, hemade no move while she was about. But the following morning she had togo to Halgrave about the killing of a pig; Johnny was hardly equal tomaking the necessary arrangements and certainly could not do so goodas she. Accordingly, she went herself, not very reluctantly, for shewas nearly certain her father would make an effort to get at hiswhisky, if he had any, as soon as her back was turned, and so giveJohnny a chance of finding out about it. Of course it was quite likelythat Johnny, being Johnny, would miss the chance, but he might not, and even if he did they would not be much worse off than before. Soshe thought as she started, leaving the Captain, who was still in bed, with a very vague idea as to when she would be back. 

He was a good deal annoyed by this vagueness; it meant he would haveto hurry, a thing he hated and did very badly; and, perhaps, entirelywithout reason, too, for she might be three hours gone; though, equally of course, only two, or perhaps--she was capable of anythingunpleasant and unexpected--only one. He began to dress as quickly ashe could; but, owing to long habit of doing it as slowly as he couldso as to postpone more arduous tasks, that was not very fast. Hewished he had known sooner that Julia was going to Halgrave, he wouldhave begun getting up before this; he would even have got to breakfastif only she had let him know; so he fumed to himself as he shuffledabout, dropping things with his shaking fingers. At last he wasdressed and came down-stairs to find Johnny, pink and apologetic as heused to be in the Marbridge days, laboriously doing odd jobs which didnot need doing. 

There was not a detective lost in Mr. Gillat, he had not the making ofa sleuth-hound in him; or even a watch-dog, except, perhaps, of thatwell-meaning kind which gets itself perennially kicked for incessantand incurable tail wagging at inopportune times. The half-hour whichfollowed Captain Polkington's coming down-stairs was a trying one. TheCaptain went to the back door to look out; Mr. Gillat followed him, though scarcely like his shadow; he was not inconspicuous, and neitherhe nor his motive were easy to overlook. The Captain said somethingapprobious about the weather and the high wind and occasionalheavy swishes of rain; then he went to the sitting-room which laybehind the kitchen, and near to the front door. Johnny followed him, and the Captain faced round on him, irritably demanding what the devilhe wanted. 

"To--to see if the register is shut, " Mr. Gillat said, beaming at hisown deep diplomacy and the brilliancy of the idea which had come tohim--rather tardily, it is true, still in time to pass muster. 

The Captain flung himself into a chair with a sigh of irritation. "Itis a funny thing I can't be let alone a moment, " he said. "I came inhere for a little quiet and coolness, I didn't want you dodging afterme. "

"No, " Johnny agreed amiably; "no, of course not. " Then, after a longpause, as if he had just made sure of the fact, "It is cool in here. "

It was, very; it might even have been called cold and raw, for therehad not been a fire there for days, but the Captain did not move, andJohnny, stooping by the fire-place, examined the register of thechimney, fondly believing in his own impenetrable deceptiveness. 

"I can't help thinking it ought to be shut, " he observed, lookingthoughtfully up the chimney; "the rain will come down; it might rain agood deal if the wind were to drop. "

"The wind is not going to drop for hours, " the Captain snapped; "it isgetting higher. "

A great gust rumbled in the chimney as he spoke, and flung itself withthe thud of a palpable body against the window-pane. Mr. Gillat heardit; he could not well do otherwise. "Still, " he said, "it might rain;one never knows. "

He took hold of the register with the tongs and tried to shut it. Itwas obstinate, and he pulled this way and that, working in his usuallaborious and conscientious way. At last it slipped and he managed toget it jammed crossways. Thus he had to leave it, for CaptainPolkington, apparently cool enough now, wandered back into thekitchen. 

Mr. Gillat, of course, followed and arranged and rearranged pots onthe stove till the Captain said he had left his handkerchiefup-stairs. Stairs were trying to his heart, so Johnny had to go forit. Up he went as fast as he could, and came down again almost faster, for he tumbled on the second step and slipped the rest of the way withconsiderable noise and bumping. 

After that Captain Polkington gave up his efforts to get rid of hisguard and resigned himself to fate. At least, so thought Mr. Gillat, who no amount of experience could instruct in the guilt of the humanrace in general and the Polkingtons in particular. The first hour ofJulia's absence had passed when Johnny went into the back kitchen toclean knives. He left the door between the rooms open, but from habitmore than from any thought of keeping an eye on his charge. They hadbeen talking in the ordinary way for some time now, the Captainsitting so peacefully by the fire that Mr. Gillat had begun to forgethe was supposed to watch. And really it would seem he was justified, for the Captain, of his own accord, left the easy-chair and followedhim into the back kitchen, standing watching the knife-cleaning. Hehad been talking of old times, recalling far back incidentsregretfully; he continued to do so as he watched Johnny at work untilhe was interrupted by a loud sizzling in the kitchen. 

"Hullo!" he said, "there's a pot boiling over!" and he made as if hewould go to it but half stopped. "It is the big one, " he said, "perhaps you had better take it off; I'm not good at lifting weightsnow-a-days. "

"No, no!" Johnny said hastily; "don't you do it, you leave it to me, "and he hurried into the kitchen to take from the fire a pot which, hadhe only remembered it, had not been so near the blaze when he left it. 

"It is too heavy for you, " he went on as he lifted it; "I don't knowwhat is inside, only water, I think; it will be all right here by theside. "

A gust of wind swept round the kitchen, fluttering the herbs whichhung from the ceiling and blowing the dust and flame from the front ofthe fire. 

"Dear, dear!" Mr. Gillat exclaimed as he drew back, "What a wind!"Then, as he caught the whisper and whistle of the leafless thingswhich whisper to one another out of doors even in the dead wintertime, he realised that the outer door must be open. 

"Shut it!" he said. "The latch is so old, it is beginning to get wornout, and the wind is so strong, too. Let me see if I can shut it. " Hewent to the back kitchen for that purpose and found that he wastalking to empty air, the Captain was gone. 

In great consternation he went out after his charge. He had not had aminute's start; he could not have got far, not much more than roundthe corner of the house. So thought Mr. Gillat, and started round thenearest corner after him. Julia would not have done that; with theinstinct of the wild animal and the rogue for cover, and for the valueof the obvious in concealment, she would have looked by the water buttfirst. It was not a hiding-place; the bush beside did not half concealCaptain Polkington, yet he stood dark and unobtrusive against it andso close to the door that in looking out for him one naturally lookedbeyond him. As Johnny went round one side of the house the Captainleft the meagre shelter of the butt and went round the other, bent nowon finding some better hiding-place till it should be safe for him togo to his precious store. And seeing that he was braced by aninsatiable whisky thirst and so possessed by one idea that he hadalmost a madman's cunning in achieving his purpose, it is notwonderful that he succeeded. While Johnny hastily searched theout-buildings he lay hid. And when at last Mr. Gillat went back to thehouse, being convinced that his charge must have gone back before him, he, nerved and strengthened by a dose of the precious spirit, carefully climbed over the garden wall, carrying with him all that wasleft of his store. It was rather heavy, and the rising wind wasstrong, but he was strong, too, and he bore more strength with him. Hecould carry a weight and fight with the wind if he wanted to; hisheart was well enough when it was properly treated. And it should beproperly treated as long as he had his comfort, his precious medicinesafe and in a place where prying hands could not touch it. 

 * * * * *

Julia came home from Halgrave later than she expected, but the windhad increased to a gale, so that walking along the exposed road hadbeen no easy matter. Johnny by this time was almost desperate withalarm, for Captain Polkington had not come back and, in spite of acontinuous search in likely and unlikely places, he had not been ableto find any trace of him or his whisky. It is true his search was notvery systematic at the best of times; it is not likely to have beennow; as his alarm increased, it grew worse, until, by the time Juliacame in, it had become little more than a repeated looking in the sameunlikely places and an incessant toiling up and down-stairs and acrossthe garden in the howling wind. 

His account of the Captain's vanishing was much obscured byself-condemnation and anxiety, still she managed to make it out andshe did not at first think so very seriously of it. She concluded fromit that her father had succeeded in getting at his whisky and Johnnyhad failed to prevent him or find out the whereabouts of the store--anot very astonishing occurrence. The fact that the Captain had notreturned or shown himself for so long was surprising and to beregretted, seeing the badness of the weather. But it was notinexplicable; he might be anxious to demonstrate his freedom, or, byfrightening them, to pay them out for the watch lately kept on him;or--and this was the one serious aspect of the matter--he might havetaken more of the spirit than he could stand in his weak state and betoo stupid and muddled to come back alone. Julia reassured Johnny aswell as she could, and then, accompanied by him, set to work to searchthoroughly the house, garden and out-buildings. 

It was dinner time before they had finished. Julia came to the doorwayof the bulb shed uneasy and perplexed. "It is clear he is not here, "she said, and turned to fasten the door. A gust of wind tore it fromher hand, flinging it back noisily. She caught it again and securedit. "It is dinner time, " she said; "come along indoors, there is noreason why you should go hungry because father chooses to. "

Johnny followed her to the house. When they were indoors he said, "Doyou think--you don't think he has had an attack?--that he is lyingunconscious somewhere?" That was precisely what Julia was beginning tothink; there seemed no other possible explanation. Johnny read hermind in her face and was overwhelmed with the sense of his ownshortcomings and their possible consequences. 

"It is not your fault, " Julia assured him; "you might as well say itis father's for being so foolish and obstinate about his whisky--agreat deal better and more truly say it is mine for leaving you, andfor driving him into this corner, for not having managed the wholething better. "

Johnny, though a little relieved that she did not think him to blame, was not comforted. "Let us go and find him, " he said; "we must findhim; never mind about dinner--we must go and look for him--though Idon't know where. "

"We must look beyond the garden, " Julia said; "he must have gotfurther than we first thought--but I don't see how he can be far inthis weather. Cut some cheese and bread; we can eat it as we goalong. "

In a little while they set out together, Julia taking restorativeswith her, though she was also careful to leave some on thekitchen-table in case Captain Polkington should make his way back andfeel in need of them in her absence. Outside the garden wall one feltthe force of the wind more fully, and realised how impossible it wasthat the Captain should have gone far. Julia stood a moment by thegate. Before her lay the road to Halgrave; her father might have gonedown it a little way; but if he had he must have turned off and soughtconcealment somewhere for she had seen no sign of any one when shecame home. To the left stretched the heath-land, brown and bare, tothe belt of wildly tossing pines; it was hard to imagine her fatherchoosing that way. To the right lay the sandhills, a place of unsteadyoutline, earth and sky alike pale and blurred as the north-west windfled seawards, lifting and whirling the fine particles till the airseemed full of them; it was impossible to think of any one choosingthat way. 

"We will go down the road to begin with, " Julia said, and started. 

All through the early part of the afternoon they searched; sometimesstopped for a moment by a gust of wind; Julia caught and whirled, Johnny brought to a panting standstill. But on again directly, struggling down the road, looking in ditches and behind scant bushes, leaving the track first on the right hand then on the left, searchingin likely and unlikely places. But always with the same result, therewas no sign of the missing man. At last, when they had reached agreater distance than it was possible to imagine the Captain couldhave gone, they turned towards the house across the heath. It wasdifficult to think of the Captain going that way, seeing he would havebeen walking in the teeth of the wind, but it almost seemed he musthave done it. 

The short day was already beginning to close in when they reached thebelt of pines. It had grown much colder; one could almost believethere would be frost in the air by and by. The wind was lulling alittle; it still roared with strange rushings and half-dementedtearings at the tree-tops, almost like some great spirit prisonedthere, but it had spent its first strength. The rain clouds weregoing, too; already in places the sky was swept clear so that a palelight gleamed behind the trees. 

Julia stood in the vibrant shelter of the pines, pushing back herhair; she was bareheaded; a hat had been an impossible superfluitywhen she started out. 

"Johnny, " she said, "we have come too far; father could not have gotto the trees in such weather as it was when he started; we must goback. I expect he is somewhere nearer home; we have not half searchedthe possible radius yet. "

Johnny said "Yes. " He was dog-tired, so tired that his anxiety was nowlittle more than dull despair animated by an unquestioningdetermination to continue the search. 

He would have done so somehow, and with his flagging energies beenmore hindrance than help, had not Julia prevented him; as they nearedthe house, now almost merged in the dusk, she said--

"I am going to fetch a lantern; the moon will be up soon, but untilthen I shall want a light. I am just coming in to get it, then I shallgo out again; but you must stop at home; father may come back, and ifhe found us both out after dark he would think something was wrong andstart to look for us; then we should be worse off than ever. "

Johnny said "Yes"; but suggested, "I think we'd better look roundabout the house once more. I think I'll take a light and look roundagain. "

Julia did not think it would be much use; however she consented, though she had to go with Johnny; she did not trust him with a lanternamong the out-buildings. They looked round once more, in the sheds andin the dark garden; afterwards they went out and looked beyond thewall all round, on the side where the heather grew and also on theside where the loose sand came close. It took time; Johnny was tootired to move quickly or even to understand quickly what was said tohim. At last Julia stopped and spoke decisively. 

"You had better go in now, " she said; "it won't do for us both to beout any longer; one of us must go in, and I think it had better beyou. Make a good fire, see that there is plenty of hot water and getsomething to eat so as to be ready to do things when I come back. "

Johnny acquiesced and Julia, having watched him into the house, tookup her lantern and set out in the direction of the sandhills. 

It was her last resource; it did not seem to her likely that herfather could have gone there; at the best of times he disliked theplace, finding it very tiring. Still, with the wind behind him as itwould have been this morning, it is possible he would have found itthe easiest way--if he could have managed to forget what the comingback would be. At all events she determined to try it, so she set outfor the waste. 

By this time the moon was rising, and, in spite of the driving cloudswhich had not all dispersed, at times it shone clear. Beneath it thestretch of sand lay pale and desolate, a new-formed landscape of freshcontours, loosely-piled hills and shallow scooped hollows shaped byto-day's wind. An easy place for a man to miss his way with a galeblowing and the sand dancing blinding reels. A hard place for a man totravel far when he had to face the wind; a strong man would have foundit very tiring, a weak man might well have given it up, driven towaiting for a lull in the weather. As for a man in the Captain'shealth--when Julia thought of it she hurried on, although she knew ifher father had to-day, as he had all through his life, followed theline of least resistance, the chances were that her help would be oflittle avail to him now. 

She carried her lantern low, looking carefully for footprints; soon, however, she put it out; she would do better without in the increasingmoon-light. But she found no prints; after all, as she remembered, shewas hardly likely to; the wind and blowing sand would have obliteratedthem. Over the first level of sand she went to the nearest risewithout seeing anything; up to that and down the following hollow, looking in every curve and indentation, still without seeing anything. Then she began to climb the next rise. The moon was struggling througha long cloud, one moment eclipsed, the next shining with a halfradiance which made the landscape unevenly black and white. For asecond it looked out clear, and the sand showed like silver, tear-spotted with ink in the hollows; then the cloud swept up and allturned to a level grey. She had climbed to the top of a rise by now, sinking deep and noiseless into the soft sand. It was too dark to seewhat was below; all was shadow, black shadow--or was it a blacknessmore substantial than shadow?

The cloud passed from off the moon's face, the light shone out oncemore, turning the sand to silver. All the great empty space, where thedying wind still throbbed, was white silver, except down in the hollowwhere, black and still, lay the man who had followed the line of leastresistance. 

CHAPTER XXIII

PAYMENT AND RECEIPT

On the day of Captain Polkington's funeral, a letter was brought toWhite's Cottage. Julia herself took it in, and when she saw that itwas from Holland she asked the postman to wait a minute as she wouldbe glad if he would post a letter for her. He sat down, nothing loth;the cottage was the last place on his round and he never minded a restthere. He waited while Julia went up-stairs with her letter. Sheopened it before she got to her room and barely read the contents;there was enclosed a cheque for thirty pounds, the price of "The GoodComrade. "

It had come, then, at last, this money for which she had been waitingtwo years--but too late. The man in whose name she would have paid thedebt lay dead. She had planned to clear him without his knowledge, reinstate him in the good opinion of his debtor without letting herhand be seen; and she could not, for he was dead, and there was nohand but hers, and no name to clear. It was not a week too late, yetso much, so bitterly much. Too late for her cherished plan, too latefor any of the things she had hoped, too late for triumph, or joy, orsatisfaction; too late to demonstrate the once hoped for equality; toolate for the fulfilling of anything but a dogged purpose. For a momentshe looked at the cheque, feeling the irony which had sent her themeans of paying his debt now that her father lay in his coffin, indifferent to his good name and his honour; unable, alike, to clearor be cleared, to wrong or be wronged; removed by kindly death fromthe scope of earthly judgment, even the just thoughts of one who hadsuffered on his account. 

She put down the cheque and pencilled some hasty words--"In payment ofCaptain Polkington's debt (to Mr. Rawson-Clew) discharged by HubertFarquhar Rawson-Clew on the--November 19--"

So she wrote, then she put the slip with the cheque in an envelope andaddressed it to the London club where the explosive had been sent. 

"It will be posted before the funeral, " she thought; "I'm glad--itwill all end together--poor father!"

She went down-stairs and gave the letter to the postman. Mrs. Polkington came into the kitchen as she was doing so, for Mrs. Polkington was at the cottage now. 

There are some women who seem designed by nature for widows, just asthere are others designed for grandmothers and yet others for oldmaids. Mrs. Polkington was of the first sort; she seemed speciallycreated to adorn the position of widow-hood; she certainly did adornit; she was a pattern to all widows and did not miss a single point ofthe situation. Of course she came to the cottage as soon as possibleafter receiving news of her husband's death. The journey was long andexpensive, the weather somewhat bad; that weighed for nothing withher; she was there as soon as might be, feeling, saying and doing justwhat a bereaved widow ought. The fact that she and her husband hadbeen obliged through the force of circumstances, to live separate thepast year did not alter her emotions, her real tears or her realgrief. Considering the practice and experience she had had it wouldhave been surprising if she had not succeeded in deceiving herself aswell as most of her world in these things. So acute were her feelingsthat when she came into the kitchen and saw Julia dispatching theletter, she felt quite a shock. 

"What is it?" she asked; "What is the matter?"

"Only a letter that could not wait, " Julia answered. 

"Surely it could have waited till to-morrow, " her mother said; "underthe circumstances surely one would be excused. "

Julia thought differently but did not say so, and in silence set aboutsome necessary preparation. 

The Reverend Richard Frazer came to the funeral; Violet was unable todo so; he represented her and supported his mother-in-law too. Thebanker, Mr. Ponsonby, also made the tedious journey to Halgrave; hecame out of respect for death in the abstract, and also because heexpected affairs would want looking to, and it would suit him betterto do it now than later. These two with Johnny, Julia and her mother, were the only mourners at the funeral; a few village folk, moved bycuriosity, attended, but no one else; there was not even an emptycarriage, representative of a good family, following the humblecortège. Mrs. Polkington observed this and felt it; an empty carriageand good livery following would have given her satisfaction, withoutin any way diminishing her sorrow and proper feeling. It isconceivable she would have found satisfaction in being shipwrecked inaristocratic company, without at the same time, suffering less thanshe ought to suffer. 

After the funeral they returned to the cottage and had a repast ofJulia's providing, eminently suitable to the occasion. Everything waseminently suitable, every one's behaviour, every one's clothes; Mr. Frazer's grave face, the banker's jerky manner--the manner of a manconcerned with the world's money market and ill at ease in theintrusive presence of death. Mrs. Polkington's voice, face, feelings, sayings, everything. Julia's own behaviour was perfect, though all thetime she saw how it looked as plainly as if she had been another anddisinterested person, and once or twice she had an hysterical desireto applaud a good stroke of her mother's or prompt a backward speechof her uncle's. Mr. Gillat, of course, did nothing suitable; he neverdid. He kept up a preternaturally cheerful appearance during the meal, stopping his mouth with large corks of bread, answering "Ah, yes, yes, just so, " indiscriminately whenever he was spoken to, and startingthree separate conversations on the weather on his own account. Assoon as the table was cleared, he fled into the back kitchen, shuthimself in with the dishes, and was seen no more. The others remainedin the sitting-room and talked things over, arranging plans for thefuture and for the immediate present. And when the time came and theconveyance was brought to the gate, they set out on the homewardjourney together. Johnny did not come out of the kitchen to saygood-bye; only Julia came to the gate. 

Mr. Ponsonby was going back home; Mr. Frazer and Mrs. Polkington weregoing with him to spend the night in town and go on westwards the nextmorning. Mr. Frazer was anxious to get back to his parish, and Mrs. Polkington to her daughter, who was expecting her first baby shortly. It was this expected event which prevented the young rector fromasking Julia to stay with him and Violet until such time as she andher mother could settle somewhere together. It was this same eventwhich prevented Mrs. Polkington from remaining at White's Cottage andsharing Julia's solitude until their plans were settled. All this wasexplained to Julia in the best Polkington manner and she seemed quitesatisfied with the explanation. Mr. Ponsonby had to be perforce; thereseemed no alternative; all the same he was not quite pleased. It wasall sensible enough, of course, only as he saw Julia standing at thegate in the November afternoon, he did not quite like it. 

"Look here, " he said shortly, "you shut up this place here, send Mr. Gillat to his friends, or his rooms, or wherever he came from, andcome to me. You can come and make your home with me, and welcome, tillthings are settled; there's plenty of room. "

This was a good deal for Mr. Ponsonby to say, considering what anannoyance the Polkington family had been to him, how--not withoutwisdom--he had set his face against letting them into his house formore than twenty-four hours at a stretch, and how much this particularmember had thwarted and exasperated him at their last meeting. Juliarecognised this and recognised also the kindness of the brusquesuggestion. She thanked him warmly for the offer though she refusedit, assuring him that she and Johnny would be all right at thecottage. 

"We do not find it lonely, " she said; "we are quite happy here, happier than anywhere else, I think. "

The banker grunted, not convinced; Mr. Frazer shook hands with Juliaand said he hoped it would not be long before he saw her; Mrs. Polkington reiterated the remark, kissing her the while; then theydrove away and Julia went into the house. She went into the backkitchen; Mr. Gillat was not there; the dishes were all put away andthe place was quite tidy. Julia went through to the front kitchen;there she saw Johnny; he was kneeling by the Captain's old chair, hisarms thrown across the seat, his silly pink face buried in them, hisrounded shoulders shaking with sobs. 

Johnny loved as a dog loves, without reason, without thought ofreturn; not for wisdom, worth or deserts, just because he did loveand, having once loved, loved always; forgiving everything, expectingnothing--foolish, faithful, true. So he loved his friend, so hemourned him now, be-blubbering the seat of the shabby chair whichspoke so eloquently to him of the irritable, exacting presence nowgone for ever. 

"Johnny, " Julia said softly; "Johnny dear. "

She put a hand on the round shoulders and somehow slipped herself intothe shabby chair. 

"Johnny, " she said, "let us sit by the fire awhile and not talk ofanything at all. "

So they sat together till twilight fell. 

The next day there came another to Julia, one who knew nothing of whathad befallen in these last days. It was almost twilight when he came;Johnny had gone out to collect fir-cones; Julia sent him, partlybecause their stock was low and partly because she thought it would dohim good. She did not expect him back much before five o'clock; itwould be dark by then certainly, but not very dark for the day wasclear, with a touch of frost in the air; one of those days when thelast of the sunset burns low down in the sky long after the stars areout. It was not much after four o'clock when Julia heard somethingapproaching, certainly not Johnny nor anything connected with him, forit was the throb of a motor coming fast. Only once before since shehad been at the cottage had she heard that sound on the lonely road, on the day when Rawson-Clew came. It could not be him now, she wassure of that. He might have received the money this morning certainly, but he would not come because of that, rather he would keep away;there was no reason why he should come. She told herself it wasimpossible, and then went to the door to see, puzzled in her own mindwhat she should say if the impossible had happened and it was he. 

The throbbing had ceased by now; there was the click of the gate evenas she opened the door, and he--it was he and no other--was coming upthe little brick path in the twilight. His face was curiously clear inthe light which lingered low down; and when she saw it and the look itwore, all plans of what she should say fled, and the feeling came uponher which was like that which came when she crouched behind thechopping-block and he barred the way. It seemed as if he had beenpursuing and she escaping and eluding for a long time, but now--he wascoming up the path and she was standing in the doorway with the palelight strong on her face and nowhere to fly to and no way of escape. 

"Why did you not tell me before?" he said without any greeting at all, and he spoke as if he had right and authority. "Why did you let thisthing weigh on you for two years and never say a word of it to me?"

"I was ashamed, " she answered with truth. Then the spirit which stillinhabits some women, making them willing to be won by capture, prompted her to struggle against the capitulation she was ready tomake. "There was nothing to speak of to you or any one else, " shesaid, with an effort at her old assurance, and she led the way in asshe spoke. "I never meant to speak of it at all, I meant just to paythe debt as from father, and not myself appear in it. I did not do itthat way, I know; I could not; I did not get the money till yesterdayand--and"--the assurance faded away pathetically--"that was too late. "

Rawson-Clew looked down, and for the first time noticed her mourningdress, and realising what it meant, remembered that conventiondemanded that a man, whose claim depends on another's death, shouldnot push it as soon as the funeral is over. However he did not goaway, the pathos of Julia's voice kept him. 

"Late or early would have made little difference, " he said; "it isjust the same now as if it had been early. Do you think I should nothave known who sent the money at whatever time and in whatevercircumstances it was paid? Do you think I know two people who wouldpay a debt, which can hardly be said to exist, in such a way?"

But Julia was not comforted. "It is too late, " she re-repeated; "toolate for any satisfaction. I thought I would prove that we were honestand honourable by paying it; I wanted to show father--that I--that ourstandard was the same as yours, and I have not. "

"No, " he answered, "you have not and you never will; your standard isnot the same as mine; mine is the honour of an accepted convention, and yours is the honour of a personal truth, a personal experience, the honour of the soul. "

But she shook her head. "It is not really, " she said; "and father--"

"As to your father, " he interrupted gently, "do you not think thatsometimes the potter's thumb slips in the making of a vessel?"

She looked up with a feeling of gratitude. "Yes, " she said; "yes, thatis it, if only we could realise it--poor father. It was partly ourfault, too, mother's, all of ours--and he is dead now. "

"I know. Let him rest in peace; we are concerned no more with hisdoings or misdoings; our concern, yours and mine is with the living. "

She did not answer; a piece of wood had fallen from the fire and layblazing and spluttering on the hearth; she stooped to pick it up andhe watched her. 

"I know I have no business here now, " he said. "Had I known of hisdeath before, I would not have come to-day; I would have waited, butsince I have come--Julia--"

She was standing straight now, the wood safely back in the fire; heput his hands on her shoulders and turned her to him. "Julia, you andI have always dealt openly, without regarding appearances, let us dealso now--since I have come. Won't you let me give you a receipt?"

 * * * * *

Julia said afterwards that receipts for the payment of such debts wereunnecessary and never given; which was perhaps as well, for the oneshe received in the dusk was not of a kind recognised at law. Could itafterwards have been produced it would not have proved the payment ofmoney, though at the time it proved several things, principally thefact that, though friendship and comradeship are fine and excellentthings, there are simple primitive passions which leap up through themand transfigure them and forget them, and it is these which make manman, and woman woman, and life worth living, and the world worthwinning and losing, too, and bring the kingdom of heaven to earthagain. 

It also proved how exceedingly firmly a man who is in the habit ofwearing a single eyeglass must screw it into his eye, for, as Juliaremarked with some surprise, the one which interested her did not fallout. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Gillat came home with his fir-cones at a quarter to five. And whenhe came he saw that, to him, most fascinating sight--a motor-car, standing empty and quiet by the gate. He looked at it with keeninterest, then he looked round the empty landscape for its owner, andnot seeing him, wondered if he was in the house. He put away the conesand came to the conclusion that the owner was not there and the carwas an abandoned derelict. For which, perhaps, he may be forgiven, forthere was no light at the parlour window and no sound of voices thathe could hear from the kitchen; even when he opened the door andwalked in he did not in the firelight see any one besides Julia atfirst. 

"Julia, " he said, bringing in the astonishing news, "there is amotor-car outside!"

"Yes, " Julia answered composedly; "but it is going away soon. "

"Not very soon, " another voice spoke out of the gloom of the chimneycorner, and Johnny jumped as he recognised it. 

"Dear me!" he said; "dear me! Mr. Rawson-Clew! How do you do? I ampleased to see you. "

The motor did not go away very soon; it stayed quite as long, ratherlonger, in fact, than Mr. Gillat expected. And when it did go, he didnot have the pleasure of seeing it start; he somehow got shut in thekitchen while Julia went out to the gate. 

When she came back she shut the door carefully, then turned to him, and he noticed how her eyes were shining. "Johnny, " she said, "I am aselfish beast; I am going to leave you. Not yet, oh, not yet, but oneday. "

Johnny stared a moment, then said, "Of course, oh, of course, to besure--to live with your mother, she'll want you. A wonderful woman. "

"Not to live with my mother, " Julia said emphatically. "Sit down and Iwill tell you all about it. "

And she told, slowly and suitably, fearing that he would hardlyunderstand the wonderful goodness of fate to her. But she need nothave been afraid; he took her meaning at once, far quicker than sheexpected, for he saw no wonder in it, only a very great goodness forthe man who had won her, and a great and radiant happiness for himselfin the happiness that had come to her. As for his loneliness, he neverthought of that, why should he? Of course she would leave him, it wasthe right and proper thing to do; she would leave him anyhow. 

"You couldn't go on living with me here, " he said; "I mean, I couldn'tgo on living with you; it wouldn't be the thing, you know; you mustthink of that. "

Julia caught her breath between tears and laughter, but he went onstoutly: "I shall go back to town, to Mrs. Horn; I shall like it--atleast when I get used to it. It is quite time I went back to town; aman ought not to stay too long in the country; he gets rusty. "

"You won't go back to town, " Julia said; "you will never do that. Youwill stay here in the cottage, and Mrs. Gray from next door to theshop will come and live here as your housekeeper; I am going toarrange it with her. She will come and she will bring her littlegrand-daughter and you will keep on living here always. "

For a moment Johnny's face beamed; the prospect was exquisite; but hesternly put it from him. "No, " he said, "I shouldn't like that; it'skind of you, but--"

"Johnny, " Julia interrupted, "you should always speak the truth--youdo anything else so badly! I don't mind if you like my plan or not, you will have to put up with it to help me; some one must take care ofthe cottage. "

"But you will want to come yourself, " Mr. Gillat protested. 

"Never, unless you are here. "

In the end Julia had her way. Johnny lived at the cottage, and Mrs. Gray and her grandchild came to keep house. And Billy, Mrs. Gray'snephew, came to help in the garden and take care of the donkey; in thespring there was a donkey added to the establishment, and a littletub-cart which held four children easily, besides Mr. Gillat. And itis doubtful if, in all the country round, there was a happier man thanhe who tended Julia's plants in Julia's garden, and drove parties ofchattering children along the quiet lanes, and sat on warm summerevenings beside his old friend's grave in Halgrave churchyard. He hadforgotten many things, old slights and old pains, and old losses;forgotten, perhaps, most things except love. Foolish Johnny, God'sfool, basking in God's sunshine. 

And Julia and Rawson-Clew were married, very quietly, without any pompor ostentation at all. And if, on the honeymoon, he did not show herall the places he had thought of on the day when he travelled northwith the girl with the carnations, it was because he had not severalyears at his disposal just then. Afterwards he made up for it as workallowed and time could be found. In the record of their lives thereare many days noted down as holidays, even such holidays as that firstone spent on the Dunes. In the springtime, when the bulb flowers werein bloom, they went once more to the Dunes and to the little old townwhere the Van Heigens lived. They were received with much ceremony byMijnheer and his wife, and entertained at a dinner which lasted fromfour till half-past six. It is true that afterwards state had to belain aside, for Julia insisted on helping to wash the pricelessNankeen china while her husband smoked long cigars with Mijnheer onthe veranda, but that was all her own fault. Denah came to teadrinking, she and her lately-wed husband, the bashful son of awell-to-do shipowner. She was very smiling and all bustling andgreatly pleased with herself and all things, and if she thought poorlyof Julia for washing the plates, she thought very well of theglittering rings she had left on the veranda-table and well, too, ofher husband, who she recognised as the mysterious "man of good family"they had seen on the day they drove to the wood. And afterwards whenthe tea drinking was done and the dew was falling, Julia walked withJoost among his flowers, and heard him speak of his hopes andambitions, and knew that in his work he had found all the satisfactionthat a man may reasonably hope for here. 

Later, Julia and her husband walked through the tidy streets of thetown, looking in at lighted windows, listening to the patois of thepeasants and recalling past times. It was then that he told her how hehad that day tried to buy back the streaked daffodil. 

"And Mijnheer would not sell it?" she asked. 

"No, " he answered; "not at any price, so I am afraid that you willhave to do without 'The Good Comrade' after all. "

"I?" she said; "I can do quite well. Thank you for trying to get it;all the same I am not sure I want it back. "

"Do you not? Then I am quite sure that I do not, indeed, I ratherfancy I already have the real 'Good Comrade. '"