ZULEIKA DOBSON

or, AN OXFORD LOVE STORY

By Max Beerbohm

 NOTE to the 1922 edition

 I was in Italy when this book was first published. A year later (1912) I visited London, and I found that most of my friends and acquaintances spoke to me of Zu-like-a--a name which I hardly recognised and thoroughly disapproved. I had always thought of the lady as Zu-leek-a. Surely it was thus that Joseph thought of his Wife, and Selim of his Bride? And I do hope that it is thus that any reader of these pages will think of Miss Dobson. 

 M. B. Rapallo, 1922. 

ILLI ALMAE MATRI

ZULEIKA DOBSON

I

That old bell, presage of a train, had just sounded through Oxfordstation; and the undergraduates who were waiting there, gay figures intweed or flannel, moved to the margin of the platform and gazed idlyup the line. Young and careless, in the glow of the afternoon sunshine, they struck a sharp note of incongruity with the worn boards they stoodon, with the fading signals and grey eternal walls of that antiquestation, which, familiar to them and insignificant, does yet whisper tothe tourist the last enchantments of the Middle Age. 

At the door of the first-class waiting-room, aloof and venerable, stoodthe Warden of Judas. An ebon pillar of tradition seemed he, in his garbof old-fashioned cleric. Aloft, between the wide brim of his silk hatand the white extent of his shirt-front, appeared those eyes whichhawks, that nose which eagles, had often envied. He supported his yearson an ebon stick. He alone was worthy of the background. 

Came a whistle from the distance. The breast of an engine was descried, and a long train curving after it, under a flight of smoke. It grewand grew. Louder and louder, its noise foreran it. It became a furious, enormous monster, and, with an instinct for safety, all men recededfrom the platform's margin. (Yet came there with it, unknown to them, a danger far more terrible than itself. ) Into the station it cameblustering, with cloud and clangour. Ere it had yet stopped, the door ofone carriage flew open, and from it, in a white travelling dress, in atoque a-twinkle with fine diamonds, a lithe and radiant creature slippednimbly down to the platform. 

A cynosure indeed! A hundred eyes were fixed on her, and half as manyhearts lost to her. The Warden of Judas himself had mounted on his nosea pair of black-rimmed glasses. Him espying, the nymph darted in hisdirection. The throng made way for her. She was at his side. 

"Grandpapa!" she cried, and kissed the old man on either cheek. (Not ayouth there but would have bartered fifty years of his future for thatsalute. )

"My dear Zuleika, " he said, "welcome to Oxford! Have you no luggage?"

"Heaps!" she answered. "And a maid who will find it. "

"Then, " said the Warden, "let us drive straight to College. " He offeredher his arm, and they proceeded slowly to the entrance. She chattedgaily, blushing not in the long avenue of eyes she passed through. Allthe youths, under her spell, were now quite oblivious of the relativesthey had come to meet. Parents, sisters, cousins, ran unclaimed aboutthe platform. Undutiful, all the youths were forming a serried suite totheir enchantress. In silence they followed her. They saw her leap intothe Warden's landau, they saw the Warden seat himself upon her left. Norwas it until the landau was lost to sight that they turned--how slowly, and with how bad a grace!--to look for their relatives. 

Through those slums which connect Oxford with the world, the landaurolled on towards Judas. Not many youths occurred, for nearly all--itwas the Monday of Eights Week--were down by the river, cheering thecrews. There did, however, come spurring by, on a polo-pony, a verysplendid youth. His straw hat was encircled with a riband of blue andwhite, and he raised it to the Warden. 

"That, " said the Warden, "is the Duke of Dorset, a member of my College. He dines at my table to-night. "

Zuleika, turning to regard his Grace, saw that he had not reined in andwas not even glancing back at her over his shoulder. She gave a littlestart of dismay, but scarcely had her lips pouted ere they curved to asmile--a smile with no malice in its corners. 

As the landau rolled into "the Corn, " another youth--a pedestrian, andvery different--saluted the Warden. He wore a black jacket, rusty andamorphous. His trousers were too short, and he himself was too short:almost a dwarf. His face was as plain as his gait was undistinguished. He squinted behind spectacles. 

"And who is that?" asked Zuleika. 

A deep flush overspread the cheek of the Warden. "That, " he said, "isalso a member of Judas. His name, I believe, is Noaks. "

"Is he dining with us to-night?" asked Zuleika. 

"Certainly not, " said the Warden. "Most decidedly not. "

Noaks, unlike the Duke, had stopped for an ardent retrospect. He gazedtill the landau was out of his short sight; then, sighing, resumed hissolitary walk. 

The landau was rolling into "the Broad, " over that ground which had onceblackened under the fagots lit for Latimer and Ridley. It rolled pastthe portals of Balliol and of Trinity, past the Ashmolean. From thosepedestals which intersperse the railing of the Sheldonian, the highgrim busts of the Roman Emperors stared down at the fair stranger inthe equipage. Zuleika returned their stare with but a casual glance. Theinanimate had little charm for her. 

A moment later, a certain old don emerged from Blackwell's, where he hadbeen buying books. Looking across the road, he saw, to his amazement, great beads of perspiration glistening on the brows of those Emperors. He trembled, and hurried away. That evening, in Common Room, he toldwhat he had seen; and no amount of polite scepticism would convince himthat it was but the hallucination of one who had been reading too muchMommsen. He persisted that he had seen what he described. It was notuntil two days had elapsed that some credence was accorded him. 

Yes, as the landau rolled by, sweat started from the brows of theEmperors. They, at least, foresaw the peril that was overhanging Oxford, and they gave such warning as they could. Let that be remembered totheir credit. Let that incline us to think more gently of them. In theirlives we know, they were infamous, some of them--"nihil non commiseruntstupri, saevitiae, impietatis. " But are they too little punished, afterall? Here in Oxford, exposed eternally and inexorably to heat and frost, to the four winds that lash them and the rains that wear them away, theyare expiating, in effigy, the abominations of their pride and crueltyand lust. Who were lechers, they are without bodies; who were tyrants, they are crowned never but with crowns of snow; who made themselves evenwith the gods, they are by American visitors frequently mistaken forthe Twelve Apostles. It is but a little way down the road that the twoBishops perished for their faith, and even now we do never pass the spotwithout a tear for them. Yet how quickly they died in the flames! Tothese Emperors, for whom none weeps, time will give no surcease. Surely, it is sign of some grace in them that they rejoiced not, this brightafternoon, in the evil that was to befall the city of their penance. 

II

The sun streamed through the bay-window of a "best" bedroom in theWarden's house, and glorified the pale crayon-portraits on the wall, the dimity curtains, the old fresh chintz. He invaded the many trunkswhich--all painted Z. D. --gaped, in various stages of excavation, aroundthe room. The doors of the huge wardrobe stood, like the doors ofJanus' temple in time of war, majestically open; and the sun seized thisopportunity of exploring the mahogany recesses. But the carpet, whichhad faded under his immemorial visitations, was now almost ENTIRELYhidden from him, hidden under layers of fair fine linen, layers ofsilk, brocade, satin, chiffon, muslin. All the colours of the rainbow, materialised by modistes, were there. Stacked on chairs were I know notwhat of sachets, glove-cases, fan-cases. There were innumerable packagesin silver-paper and pink ribands. There was a pyramid of bandboxes. There was a virgin forest of boot-trees. And rustling quickly hither andthither, in and out of this profusion, with armfuls of finery, was anobviously French maid. Alert, unerring, like a swallow she dipped anddarted. Nothing escaped her, and she never rested. She had the air ofthe born unpacker--swift and firm, yet withal tender. Scarce had herarms been laden but their loads were lying lightly between shelves ortightly in drawers. To calculate, catch, distribute, seemed in her but asingle process. She was one of those who are born to make chaos cosmic. 

Insomuch that ere the loud chapel-clock tolled another hour all thetrunks had been sent empty away. The carpet was unflecked by any scrapof silver-paper. From the mantelpiece, photographs of Zuleika surveyedthe room with a possessive air. Zuleika's pincushion, a-bristle withnew pins, lay on the dimity-flounced toilet-table, and round it stooda multitude of multiform glass vessels, domed, all of them, with dullgold, on which Z. D. , in zianites and diamonds, was encrusted. Ona small table stood a great casket of malachite, initialled in likefashion. On another small table stood Zuleika's library. Both books werein covers of dull gold. On the back of one cover BRADSHAW, in beryls, was encrusted; on the back of the other, A. B. C. GUIDE, in amethysts, beryls, chrysoprases, and garnets. And Zuleika's great cheval-glassstood ready to reflect her. Always it travelled with her, in a greatcase specially made for it. It was framed in ivory, and of fluted ivorywere the slim columns it swung between. Of gold were its twin sconces, and four tall tapers stood in each of them. 

The door opened, and the Warden, with hospitable words, left hisgrand-daughter at the threshold. 

Zuleika wandered to her mirror. "Undress me, Melisande, " she said. Likeall who are wont to appear by night before the public, she had the habitof resting towards sunset. 

Presently Melisande withdrew. Her mistress, in a white peignoir tiedwith a blue sash, lay in a great chintz chair, gazing out of thebay-window. The quadrangle below was very beautiful, with its walls ofrugged grey, its cloisters, its grass carpet. But to her it was of nomore interest than if it had been the rattling court-yard to one ofthose hotels in which she spent her life. She saw it, but heeded it not. She seemed to be thinking of herself, or of something she desired, or ofsome one she had never met. There was ennui, and there was wistfulness, in her gaze. Yet one would have guessed these things to be transient--tobe no more than the little shadows that sometimes pass between a brightmirror and the brightness it reflects. 

Zuleika was not strictly beautiful. Her eyes were a trifle large, andtheir lashes longer than they need have been. An anarchy of small curlswas her chevelure, a dark upland of misrule, every hair asserting itsrights over a not discreditable brow. For the rest, her features werenot at all original. They seemed to have been derived rather from agallimaufry of familiar models. From Madame la Marquise de Saint-Ouencame the shapely tilt of the nose. The mouth was a mere replica ofCupid's bow, lacquered scarlet and strung with the littlest pearls. No apple-tree, no wall of peaches, had not been robbed, nor any Tyrianrose-garden, for the glory of Miss Dobson's cheeks. Her neck wasimitation-marble. Her hands and feet were of very mean proportions. Shehad no waist to speak of. 

Yet, though a Greek would have railed at her asymmetry, and anElizabethan have called her "gipsy, " Miss Dobson now, in the midst ofthe Edwardian Era, was the toast of two hemispheres. Late in her 'teensshe had become an orphan and a governess. Her grandfather had refusedher appeal for a home or an allowance, on the ground that he would notbe burdened with the upshot of a marriage which he had once forbiddenand not yet forgiven. Lately, however, prompted by curiosity or byremorse, he had asked her to spend a week or so of his decliningyears with him. And she, "resting" between two engagements--one atHammerstein's Victoria, N. Y. C. , the other at the Folies Bergeres, Paris--and having never been in Oxford, had so far let bygones bebygones as to come and gratify the old man's whim. 

It may be that she still resented his indifference to those earlystruggles which, even now, she shuddered to recall. For a governess'life she had been, indeed, notably unfit. Hard she had thought it, thatpenury should force her back into the school-room she was scarce out of, there to champion the sums and maps and conjugations she had nevertried to master. Hating her work, she had failed signally to pick upany learning from her little pupils, and had been driven from houseto house, a sullen and most ineffectual maiden. The sequence of hersituations was the swifter by reason of her pretty face. Was there agrown-up son, always he fell in love with her, and she would let hiseyes trifle boldly with hers across the dinner-table. When he offeredher his hand, she would refuse it--not because she "knew her place, "but because she did not love him. Even had she been a good teacher, herpresence could not have been tolerated thereafter. Her corded trunk, heavier by another packet of billets-doux and a month's salary inadvance, was soon carried up the stairs of some other house. 

It chanced that she came, at length, to be governess in a large familythat had Gibbs for its name and Notting Hill for its background. Edward, the eldest son, was a clerk in the city, who spent his evenings in thepractice of amateur conjuring. He was a freckled youth, with hair thatbristled in places where it should have lain smooth, and he fell in lovewith Zuleika duly, at first sight, during high-tea. In the course of theevening, he sought to win her admiration by a display of all his tricks. These were familiar to this household, and the children had been sentto bed, the mother was dozing, long before the seance was at an end. ButMiss Dobson, unaccustomed to any gaieties, sat fascinated by the youngman's sleight of hand, marvelling that a top-hat could hold so manygoldfish, and a handkerchief turn so swiftly into a silver florin. Allthat night, she lay wide awake, haunted by the miracles he had wrought. Next evening, when she asked him to repeat them, "Nay, " he whispered, "I cannot bear to deceive the girl I love. Permit me to explain thetricks. " So he explained them. His eyes sought hers across the bowl ofgold-fish, his fingers trembled as he taught her to manipulate the magiccanister. One by one, she mastered the paltry secrets. Her respect forhim waned with every revelation. He complimented her on her skill. "Icould not do it more neatly myself!" he said. "Oh, dear Miss Dobson, will you but accept my hand, all these things shall be yours--the cards, the canister, the goldfish, the demon egg-cup--all yours!" Zuleika, with ravishing coyness, answered that if he would give her them now, shewould "think it over. " The swain consented, and at bed-time sheretired with the gift under her arm. In the light of her bedroom candleMarguerite hung not in greater ecstasy over the jewel-casket thanhung Zuleika over the box of tricks. She clasped her hands over thetremendous possibilities it held for her--manumission from her bondage, wealth, fame, power. Stealthily, so soon as the house slumbered, she packed her small outfit, embedding therein the precious gift. Noiselessly, she shut the lid of her trunk, corded it, shouldered it, stole down the stairs with it. Outside--how that chain had grated!and her shoulder, how it was aching!--she soon found a cab. She tooka night's sanctuary in some railway-hotel. Next day, she moved intoa small room in a lodging-house off the Edgware Road, and there fora whole week she was sedulous in the practice of her tricks. Then sheinscribed her name on the books of a "Juvenile Party EntertainmentsAgency. "

The Christmas holidays were at hand, and before long she got anengagement. It was a great evening for her. Her repertory was, it mustbe confessed, old and obvious; but the children, in deference to theirhostess, pretended not to know how the tricks were done, and assumedtheir prettiest airs of wonder and delight. One of them even pretendedto be frightened, and was led howling from the room. In fact, the wholething went off splendidly. The hostess was charmed, and told Zuleikathat a glass of lemonade would be served to her in the hall. Otherengagements soon followed. Zuleika was very, very happy. I cannot claimfor her that she had a genuine passion for her art. The true conjurerfinds his guerdon in the consciousness of work done perfectly and forits own sake. Lucre and applause are not necessary to him. If he wereset down, with the materials of his art, on a desert island, he wouldyet be quite happy. He would not cease to produce the barber's-pole fromhis mouth. To the indifferent winds he would still speak his patter, andeven in the last throes of starvation would not eat his live rabbit orhis gold-fish. Zuleika, on a desert island, would have spent most of hertime in looking for a man's foot-print. She was, indeed, far too humana creature to care much for art. I do not say that she took her worklightly. She thought she had genius, and she liked to be told that thiswas so. But mainly she loved her work as a means of mere self-display. The frank admiration which, into whatsoever house she entered, thegrown-up sons flashed on her; their eagerness to see her to the door;their impressive way of putting her into her omnibus--these were thethings she revelled in. She was a nymph to whom men's admiration was thegreater part of life. By day, whenever she went into the streets, she was conscious that no man passed her without a stare; and thisconsciousness gave a sharp zest to her outings. Sometimes she wasfollowed to her door--crude flattery which she was too innocent to fear. Even when she went into the haberdasher's to make some little purchaseof tape or riband, or into the grocer's--for she was an epicure in herhumble way--to buy a tin of potted meat for her supper, the homage ofthe young men behind the counter did flatter and exhilarate her. As thehomage of men became for her, more and more, a matter of course, themore subtly necessary was it to her happiness. The more she won of it, the more she treasured it. She was alone in the world, and it saved herfrom any moment of regret that she had neither home nor friends. Forher the streets that lay around her had no squalor, since she paced themalways in the gold nimbus of her fascinations. Her bedroom seemed notmean nor lonely to her, since the little square of glass, nailed abovethe wash-stand, was ever there to reflect her face. Thereinto, indeed, she was ever peering. She would droop her head from side to side, shewould bend it forward and see herself from beneath her eyelashes, thentilt it back and watch herself over her supercilious chin. And she wouldsmile, frown, pout, languish--let all the emotions hover upon her face;and always she seemed to herself lovelier than she had ever been. 

Yet was there nothing Narcissine in her spirit. Her love for her ownimage was not cold aestheticism. She valued that image not for its ownsake, but for sake of the glory it always won for her. In the littleremote music-hall, where she was soon appearing nightly as an "earlyturn, " she reaped glory in a nightly harvest. She could feel that allthe gallery-boys, because of her, were scornful of the sweetheartswedged between them, and she knew that she had but to say "Will anygentleman in the audience be so good as to lend me his hat?" for thestalls to rise as one man and rush towards the platform. But greaterthings were in store for her. She was engaged at two halls in the WestEnd. Her horizon was fast receding and expanding. Homage became nightlytangible in bouquets, rings, brooches--things acceptable and (luckierthan their donors) accepted. Even Sunday was not barren for Zuleika:modish hostesses gave her postprandially to their guests. Came thatSunday night, notanda candidissimo calculo! when she received certainguttural compliments which made absolute her vogue and enabled her tocommand, thenceforth, whatever terms she asked for. 

Already, indeed, she was rich. She was living at the most exorbitanthotel in all Mayfair. She had innumerable gowns and no necessity to buyjewels; and she also had, which pleased her most, the fine cheval-glassI have described. At the close of the Season, Paris claimed her fora month's engagement. Paris saw her and was prostrate. Boldini did aportrait of her. Jules Bloch wrote a song about her; and this, for awhole month, was howled up and down the cobbled alleys of Montmartre. And all the little dandies were mad for "la Zuleika. " The jewellersof the Rue de la Paix soon had nothing left to put in theirwindows--everything had been bought for "la Zuleika. " For a whole month, baccarat was not played at the Jockey Club--every member had succumbedto a nobler passion. For a whole month, the whole demi-monde wasforgotten for one English virgin. Never, even in Paris, had a womantriumphed so. When the day came for her departure, the city wore such anair of sullen mourning as it had not worn since the Prussians marched toits Elysee. Zuleika, quite untouched, would not linger in the conqueredcity. Agents had come to her from every capital in Europe, and, for ayear, she ranged, in triumphal nomady, from one capital to another. InBerlin, every night, the students escorted her home with torches. PrinceVierfuenfsechs-Siebenachtneun offered her his hand, and was condemnedby the Kaiser to six months' confinement in his little castle. In YildizKiosk, the tyrant who still throve there conferred on her the Order ofChastity, and offered her the central couch in his seraglio. Shegave her performance in the Quirinal, and, from the Vatican, the Popelaunched against her a Bull which fell utterly flat. In Petersburg, theGrand Duke Salamander Salamandrovitch fell enamoured of her. Of everyarticle in the apparatus of her conjuring-tricks he caused a replicato be made in finest gold. These treasures he presented to her in thatgreat malachite casket which now stood on the little table in her room;and thenceforth it was with these that she performed her wonders. They did not mark the limit of the Grand Duke's generosity. He was forbestowing on Zuleika the half of his immensurable estates. The GrandDuchess appealed to the Tzar. Zuleika was conducted across the frontier, by an escort of love-sick Cossacks. On the Sunday before she leftMadrid, a great bull-fight was held in her honour. Fifteen bullsreceived the coup-de-grace, and Alvarez, the matador of matadors, diedin the arena with her name on his lips. He had tried to kill thelast bull without taking his eyes off la divina senorita. A prettiercompliment had never been paid her, and she was immensely pleased withit. For that matter, she was immensely pleased with everything. Shemoved proudly to the incessant music of a paean, aye! of a paean thatwas always crescendo. 

Its echoes followed her when she crossed the Atlantic, till they werelost in the louder, deeper, more blatant paean that rose for her fromthe shores beyond. All the stops of that "mighty organ, many-piped, " theNew York press, were pulled out simultaneously, as far as they could bepulled, in Zuleika's honour. She delighted in the din. She read everyline that was printed about her, tasting her triumph as she had nevertasted it before. And how she revelled in the Brobdingnagian drawings ofher, which, printed in nineteen colours, towered between the columns orsprawled across them! There she was, measuring herself back to back withthe Statue of Liberty; scudding through the firmament on a comet, whilst a crowd of tiny men in evening-dress stared up at her from theterrestrial globe; peering through a microscope held by Cupid over adiminutive Uncle Sam; teaching the American Eagle to stand on its head;and doing a hundred-and-one other things--whatever suggested itselfto the fancy of native art. And through all this iridescent maze ofsymbolism were scattered many little slabs of realism. At home, on thestreet, Zuleika was the smiling target of all snap-shooters, and all thesnap-shots were snapped up by the press and reproduced with annotations:Zuleika Dobson walking on Broadway in the sables gifted her by GrandDuke Salamander--she says "You can bounce blizzards in them"; ZuleikaDobson yawning over a love-letter from millionaire Edelweiss; relishinga cup of clam-broth--she says "They don't use clams out there"; orderingher maid to fix her a warm bath; finding a split in the gloves she hasjust drawn on before starting for the musicale given in her honour byMrs. Suetonius X. Meistersinger, the most exclusive woman in New York;chatting at the telephone to Miss Camille Van Spook, the best-born girlin New York; laughing over the recollection of a compliment made her byGeorge Abimelech Post, the best-groomed man in New York; meditating anew trick; admonishing a waiter who has upset a cocktail over her skirt;having herself manicured; drinking tea in bed. Thus was Zuleika enableddaily to be, as one might say, a spectator of her own wonderful life. On her departure from New York, the papers spoke no more than thetruth when they said she had had "a lovely time. " The further she wentWest--millionaire Edelweiss had loaned her his private car--the lovelierher time was. Chicago drowned the echoes of New York; final Friscodwarfed the headlines of Chicago. Like one of its own prairie-fires, sheswept the country from end to end. Then she swept back, and sailed forEngland. She was to return for a second season in the coming Fall. Atpresent, she was, as I have said, "resting. "

As she sat here in the bay-window of her room, she was not reviewingthe splendid pageant of her past. She was a young person whose reveriesnever were in retrospect. For her the past was no treasury of distinctmemories, all hoarded and classified, some brighter than others and morehighly valued. All memories were for her but as the motes in one fusedradiance that followed her and made more luminous the pathway ofher future. She was always looking forward. She was looking forwardnow--that shade of ennui had passed from her face--to the week she wasto spend in Oxford. A new city was a new toy to her, and--for it wasyouth's homage that she loved best--this city of youths was a toy afterher own heart. 

Aye, and it was youths who gave homage to her most freely. She wasof that high-stepping and flamboyant type that captivates youth mostsurely. Old men and men of middle age admired her, but she had not thatflower-like quality of shyness and helplessness, that look of innocence, so dear to men who carry life's secrets in their heads. Yet ZuleikaWAS very innocent, really. She was as pure as that young shepherdessMarcella, who, all unguarded, roved the mountains and was by all theshepherds adored. Like Marcella, she had given her heart to no man, hadpreferred none. Youths were reputed to have died for love of her, as Chrysostom died for love of the shepherdess; and she, like theshepherdess, had shed no tear. When Chrysostom was lying on his bier inthe valley, and Marcella looked down from the high rock, Ambrosio, the dead man's comrade, cried out on her, upbraiding her with bitterwords--"Oh basilisk of our mountains!" Nor do I think Ambrosio spoke toostrongly. Marcella cared nothing for men's admiration, and yet, insteadof retiring to one of those nunneries which are founded for her kind, she chose to rove the mountains, causing despair to all the shepherds. Zuleika, with her peculiar temperament, would have gone mad in anunnery. "But, " you may argue, "ought not she to have taken the veil, even at the cost of her reason, rather than cause so much despair in theworld? If Marcella was a basilisk, as you seem to think, how about MissDobson?" Ah, but Marcella knew quite well, boasted even, that she neverwould or could love any man. Zuleika, on the other hand, was a woman ofreally passionate fibre. She may not have had that conscious, separate, and quite explicit desire to be a mother with which modern playwrightscredit every unmated member of her sex. But she did know that she couldlove. And, surely, no woman who knows that of herself can be rightlycensured for not recluding herself from the world: it is only womenwithout the power to love who have no right to provoke men's love. 

Though Zuleika had never given her heart, strong in her were the desireand the need that it should be given. Whithersoever she had fared, shehad seen nothing but youths fatuously prostrate to her--not one uprightfigure which she could respect. There were the middle-aged men, the oldmen, who did not bow down to her; but from middle-age, as from eld, shehad a sanguine aversion. She could love none but a youth. Nor--thoughshe herself, womanly, would utterly abase herself before herideal--could she love one who fell prone before her. And before her allyouths always did fall prone. She was an empress, and all youths wereher slaves. Their bondage delighted her, as I have said. But no empresswho has any pride can adore one of her slaves. Whom, then, could proudZuleika adore? It was a question which sometimes troubled her. Therewere even moments when, looking into her cheval-glass, she cried outagainst that arrangement in comely lines and tints which got for herthe dulia she delighted in. To be able to love once--would not that bebetter than all the homage in the world? But would she ever meet whom, looking up to him, she could love--she, the omnisubjugant? Would sheever, ever meet him?

It was when she wondered thus, that the wistfulness came into her eyes. Even now, as she sat by the window, that shadow returned to them. Shewas wondering, shyly, had she met him at length? That young equestrianwho had not turned to look at her; whom she was to meet at dinnerto-night. .. Was it he? The ends of her blue sash lay across her lap, and she was lazily unravelling their fringes. "Blue and white!" sheremembered. "They were the colours he wore round his hat. " And she gavea little laugh of coquetry. She laughed, and, long after, her lips werestill parted in a smile. 

So did she sit, smiling, wondering, with the fringes of her sashbetween her fingers, while the sun sank behind the opposite wall of thequadrangle, and the shadows crept out across the grass, thirsty for thedew. 

III

The clock in the Warden's drawing-room had just struck eight, andalready the ducal feet were beautiful on the white bearskin hearthrug. So slim and long were they, of instep so nobly arched, that only witha pair of glazed ox-tongues on a breakfast-table were they comparable. Incomparable quite, the figure and face and vesture of him who ended inthem. 

The Warden was talking to him, with all the deference of elderlycommoner to patrician boy. The other guests--an Oriel don and hiswife--were listening with earnest smile and submissive droop, at aslight distance. Now and again, to put themselves at their ease, theyexchanged in undertone a word or two about the weather. 

"The young lady whom you may have noticed with me, " the Warden wassaying, "is my orphaned grand-daughter. " (The wife of the Oriel dondiscarded her smile, and sighed, with a glance at the Duke, who washimself an orphan. ) "She has come to stay with me. " (The Duke glancedquickly round the room. ) "I cannot think why she is not down yet. " (TheOriel don fixed his eyes on the clock, as though he suspected it ofbeing fast. ) "I must ask you to forgive her. She appears to be a bright, pleasant young woman. "

"Married?" asked the Duke. 

"No, " said the Warden; and a cloud of annoyance crossed the boy's face. "No; she devotes her life entirely to good works. "

"A hospital nurse?" the Duke murmured. 

"No, Zuleika's appointed task is to induce delightful wonder rather thanto alleviate pain. She performs conjuring-tricks. "

"Not--not Miss Zuleika Dobson?" cried the Duke. 

"Ah yes. I forgot that she had achieved some fame in the outer world. Perhaps she has already met you?"

"Never, " said the young man coldly. "But of course I have heard of MissDobson. I did not know she was related to you. "

The Duke had an intense horror of unmarried girls. All his vacationswere spent in eluding them and their chaperons. That he should beconfronted with one of them--with such an one of them!--in Oxford, seemed to him sheer violation of sanctuary. The tone, therefore, inwhich he said "I shall be charmed, " in answer to the Warden's requestthat he would take Zuleika into dinner, was very glacial. So was hisgaze when, a moment later, the young lady made her entry. 

"She did not look like an orphan, " said the wife of the Oriel don, subsequently, on the way home. The criticism was a just one. Zuleikawould have looked singular in one of those lowly double-files ofstraw-bonnets and drab cloaks which are so steadying a feature ofour social system. Tall and lissom, she was sheathed from the bosomdownwards in flamingo silk, and she was liberally festooned withemeralds. Her dark hair was not even strained back from her forehead andbehind her ears, as an orphan's should be. Parted somewhere at the side, it fell in an avalanche of curls upon one eyebrow. From her rightear drooped heavily a black pearl, from her left a pink; and theirdifference gave an odd, bewildering witchery to the little face between. 

Was the young Duke bewitched? Instantly, utterly. But none couldhave guessed as much from his cold stare, his easy and impassive bow. Throughout dinner, none guessed that his shirt-front was but the screenof a fierce warfare waged between pride and passion. Zuleika, at thefoot of the table, fondly supposed him indifferent to her. Though hesat on her right, not one word or glance would he give her. All hisconversation was addressed to the unassuming lady who sat on his otherside, next to the Warden. Her he edified and flustered beyond measureby his insistent courtesy. Her husband, alone on the other side ofthe table, was mortified by his utter failure to engage Zuleika insmall-talk. Zuleika was sitting with her profile turned to him--theprofile with the pink pearl--and was gazing full at the young Duke. Shewas hardly more affable than a cameo. "Yes, " "No, " "I don't know, "were the only answers she would vouchsafe to his questions. A vague "Ohreally?" was all he got for his timid little offerings of information. In vain he started the topic of modern conjuring-tricks as compared withthe conjuring-tricks performed by the ancient Egyptians. Zuleika did noteven say "Oh really?" when he told her about the metamorphosis of thebulls in the Temple of Osiris. He primed himself with a glass of sherry, cleared his throat. "And what, " he asked, with a note of firmness, "didyou think of our cousins across the water?" Zuleika said "Yes;" andthen he gave in. Nor was she conscious that he ceased talking to her. Atintervals throughout the rest of dinner, she murmured "Yes, " and "No, "and "Oh really?" though the poor little don was now listening silentlyto the Duke and the Warden. 

She was in a trance of sheer happiness. At last, she thought, her hopewas fulfilled--that hope which, although she had seldom remembered it inthe joy of her constant triumphs, had been always lurking in her, lyingnear to her heart and chafing her, like the shift of sackcloth whichthat young brilliant girl, loved and lost of Giacopone di Todi, worealways in secret submission to her own soul, under the fair soft robesand the rubies men saw on her. At last, here was the youth who would notbow down to her; whom, looking up to him, she could adore. She ate anddrank automatically, never taking her gaze from him. She felt not onetouch of pique at his behaviour. She was tremulous with a joy that wasnew to her, greater than any joy she had known. Her soul was as a flowerin its opetide. She was in love. Rapt, she studied every lineament ofthe pale and perfect face--the brow from which bronze-coloured hair rosein tiers of burnished ripples; the large steel-coloured eyes, with theircarven lids; the carven nose, and the plastic lips. She noted how longand slim were his fingers, and how slender his wrists. She noted theglint cast by the candles upon his shirt-front. The two large whitepearls there seemed to her symbols of his nature. They were like twomoons: cold, remote, radiant. Even when she gazed at the Duke's face, she was aware of them in her vision. 

Nor was the Duke unconscious, as he seemed to be, of her scrutiny. Though he kept his head averse, he knew that always her eyes werewatching him. Obliquely, he saw them; saw, too, the contour of the face, and the black pearl and the pink; could not blind himself, try as hewould. And he knew that he was in love. 

Like Zuleika herself, this young Duke was in love for the first time. Wooed though he had been by almost as many maidens as she by youths, hisheart, like hers, had remained cold. But he had never felt, as shehad, the desire to love. He was not now rejoicing, as she was, in thesensation of first love; nay, he was furiously mortified by it, andstruggled with all his might against it. He had always fancied himselfsecure against any so vulgar peril; always fancied that by him at least, the proud old motto of his family--"Pas si bete"--would not be belied. And I daresay, indeed, that had he never met Zuleika, the irresistible, he would have lived, and at a very ripe old age died, a dandy withoutreproach. For in him the dandiacal temper had been absolute hitherto, quite untainted and unruffled. He was too much concerned with hisown perfection ever to think of admiring any one else. Different fromZuleika, he cared for his wardrobe and his toilet-table not as a meansto making others admire him the more, but merely as a means throughwhich he could intensify, a ritual in which to express and realise, hisown idolatry. At Eton he had been called "Peacock, " and this nick-namehad followed him up to Oxford. It was not wholly apposite, however. For, whereas the peacock is a fool even among birds, the Duke had alreadytaken (besides a particularly brilliant First in Mods) the Stanhope, the Newdigate, the Lothian, and the Gaisford Prize for Greek Verse. Andthese things he had achieved currente calamo, "wielding his pen, " asScott said of Byron, "with the easy negligence of a nobleman. " He wasnow in his third year of residence, and was reading, a little, forLiterae Humaniores. There is no doubt that but for his untimely death hewould have taken a particularly brilliant First in that school also. 

For the rest, he had many accomplishments. He was adroit in the killingof all birds and fishes, stags and foxes. He played polo, cricket, racquets, chess, and billiards as well as such things can be played. He was fluent in all modern languages, had a very real talent inwater-colour, and was accounted, by those who had had the privilege ofhearing him, the best amateur pianist on this side of the Tweed. Littlewonder, then, that he was idolised by the undergraduates of his day. He did not, however, honour many of them with his friendship. He had atheoretic liking for them as a class, as the "young barbarians all atplay" in that little antique city; but individually they jarred on him, and he saw little of them. Yet he sympathised with them always, and, onoccasion, would actively take their part against the dons. In the middleof his second year, he had gone so far that a College Meeting had to beheld, and he was sent down for the rest of term. The Warden placed hisown landau at the disposal of the illustrious young exile, who thereinwas driven to the station, followed by a long, vociferous processionof undergraduates in cabs. Now, it happened that this was a time ofpolitical excitement in London. The Liberals, who were in power, had passed through the House of Commons a measure more than usuallysocialistic; and this measure was down for its second reading in theLords on the very day that the Duke left Oxford, an exile. It was but afew weeks since he had taken his seat in the Lords; and this afternoon, for the want of anything better to do, he strayed in. The Leader of theHouse was already droning his speech for the bill, and the Duke foundhimself on one of the opposite benches. There sat his compeers, sullenlywaiting to vote for a bill which every one of them detested. As thespeaker subsided, the Duke, for the fun of the thing, rose. He madea long speech against the bill. His gibes at the Government were soscathing, so utterly destructive his criticism of the bill itself, solofty and so irresistible the flights of his eloquence, that, when heresumed his seat, there was only one course left to the Leader of theHouse. He rose and, in a few husky phrases, moved that the bill "be readthis day six months. " All England rang with the name of the young Duke. He himself seemed to be the one person unmoved by his exploit. He didnot re-appear in the Upper Chamber, and was heard to speak in slightingterms of its architecture, as well as of its upholstery. Nevertheless, the Prime Minister became so nervous that he procured for him, a monthlater, the Sovereign's offer of a Garter which had just fallen vacant. The Duke accepted it. He was, I understand, the only undergraduate onwhom this Order had ever been conferred. He was very much pleased withthe insignia, and when, on great occasions, he wore them, no one daredsay that the Prime Minister's choice was not fully justified. But youmust not imagine that he cared for them as symbols of achievement andpower. The dark blue riband, and the star scintillating to eightpoints, the heavy mantle of blue velvet, with its lining of taffetaand shoulder-knots of white satin, the crimson surcoat, the greatembullioned tassels, and the chain of linked gold, and the plumes ofostrich and heron uprising from the black velvet hat--these things hadfor him little significance save as a fine setting, a finer setting thanthe most elaborate smoking-suit, for that perfection of aspect whichthe gods had given him. This was indeed the gift he valued beyondall others. He knew well, however, that women care little for a man'sappearance, and that what they seek in a man is strength of character, and rank, and wealth. These three gifts the Duke had in a high degree, and he was by women much courted because of them. Conscious that everymaiden he met was eager to be his Duchess, he had assumed always amanner of high austerity among maidens, and even if he had wished toflirt with Zuleika he would hardly have known how to do it. But he didnot wish to flirt with her. That she had bewitched him did but makeit the more needful that he should shun all converse with her. It wasimperative that he should banish her from his mind, quickly. He must notdilute his own soul's essence. He must not surrender to any passion hisdandihood. The dandy must be celibate, cloistral; is, indeed, but a monkwith a mirror for beads and breviary--an anchorite, mortifying his soulthat his body may be perfect. Till he met Zuleika, the Duke had notknown the meaning of temptation. He fought now, a St. Anthony, againstthe apparition. He would not look at her, and he hated her. He lovedher, and he could not help seeing her. The black pearl and the pinkseemed to dangle ever nearer and clearer to him, mocking him andbeguiling. Inexpellible was her image. 

So fierce was the conflict in him that his outward nonchalance graduallygave way. As dinner drew to its close, his conversation with the wifeof the Oriel don flagged and halted. He sank, at length, into a deepsilence. He sat with downcast eyes, utterly distracted. 

Suddenly, something fell, plump! into the dark whirlpool of histhoughts. He started. The Warden was leaning forward, had just saidsomething to him. 

"I beg your pardon?" asked the Duke. Dessert, he noticed, was on thetable, and he was paring an apple. The Oriel don was looking at him withsympathy, as at one who had swooned and was just "coming to. "

"Is it true, my dear Duke, " the Warden repeated, "that you have beenpersuaded to play to-morrow evening at the Judas concert?"

"Ah yes, I am going to play something. "

Zuleika bent suddenly forward, addressed him. "Oh, " she cried, claspingher hands beneath her chin, "will you let me come and turn over theleaves for you?"

He looked her full in the face. It was like seeing suddenly at closequarters some great bright monument that one has long known only as asun-caught speck in the distance. He saw the large violet eyes open tohim, and their lashes curling to him; the vivid parted lips; and theblack pearl, and the pink. 

"You are very kind, " he murmured, in a voice which sounded to him quitefar away. "But I always play without notes. "

Zuleika blushed. Not with shame, but with delirious pleasure. For thatsnub she would just then have bartered all the homage she had hoarded. This, she felt, was the climax. She would not outstay it. She rose, smiling to the wife of the Oriel don. Every one rose. The Oriel don heldopen the door, and the two ladies passed out of the room. 

The Duke drew out his cigarette case. As he looked down at thecigarettes, he was vaguely conscious of some strange phenomenonsomewhere between them and his eyes. Foredone by the agitation of thepast hour, he did not at once realise what it was that he saw. Hisimpression was of something in bad taste, some discord in his costume. .. A black pearl and a pink pearl in his shirt-front!

Just for a moment, absurdly over-estimating poor Zuleika's skill, hesupposed himself a victim of legerdemain. Another moment, and the importof the studs revealed itself. He staggered up from his chair, coveringhis breast with one arm, and murmured that he was faint. As he hurriedfrom the room, the Oriel don was pouring out a tumbler of water andsuggesting burnt feathers. The Warden, solicitous, followed him intothe hall. He snatched up his hat, gasping that he had spent a delightfulevening--was very sorry--was subject to these attacks. Once outside, hetook frankly to his heels. 

At the corner of the Broad, he looked back over his shoulder. He hadhalf expected a scarlet figure skimming in pursuit. There was nothing. He halted. Before him, the Broad lay empty beneath the moon. He wentslowly, mechanically, to his rooms. 

The high grim busts of the Emperors stared down at him, their faces morethan ever tragically cavernous and distorted. They saw and read inthat moonlight the symbols on his breast. As he stood on his doorstep, waiting for the door to be opened, he must have seemed to them a thingfor infinite compassion. For were they not privy to the doom that themorrow, or the morrow's morrow, held for him--held not indeed for himalone, yet for him especially, as it were, and for him most lamentably?

IV

The breakfast-things were not yet cleared away. A plate freaked withfine strains of marmalade, an empty toast-rack, a broken roll--these andother things bore witness to a day inaugurated in the right spirit. 

Away from them, reclining along his window-seat, was the Duke. Bluespirals rose from his cigarette, nothing in the still air to troublethem. From their railing, across the road, the Emperors gazed at him. 

For a young man, sleep is a sure solvent of distress. There whirls notfor him in the night any so hideous a phantasmagoria as will not become, in the clarity of next morning, a spruce procession for him to lead. Brief the vague horror of his awakening; memory sweeps back to him, and he sees nothing dreadful after all. "Why not?" is the sun's brightmessage to him, and "Why not indeed?" his answer. After hours ofagony and doubt prolonged to cock-crow, sleep had stolen to the Duke'sbed-side. He awoke late, with a heavy sense of disaster; but lo! when heremembered, everything took on a new aspect. He was in love. "Why not?"He mocked himself for the morbid vigil he had spent in probing andvainly binding the wounds of his false pride. The old life was donewith. He laughed as he stepped into his bath. Why should the disseizinof his soul have seemed shameful to him? He had had no soul till itpassed out of his keeping. His body thrilled to the cold water, his soulas to a new sacrament. He was in love, and that was all he wished for. .. There, on the dressing-table, lay the two studs, visible symbols of hislove. Dear to him, now, the colours of them! He took them in his hand, one by one, fondling them. He wished he could wear them in the day-time;but this, of course, was impossible. His toilet finished, he droppedthem into the left pocket of his waistcoat. 

Therein, near to his heart, they were lying now, as he looked out atthe changed world--the world that had become Zuleika. "Zuleika!" hisrecurrent murmur, was really an apostrophe to the whole world. 

Piled against the wall were certain boxes of black japanned tin, whichhad just been sent to him from London. At any other time he wouldcertainly not have left them unopened. For they contained his robes ofthe Garter. Thursday, the day after to-morrow, was the date fixed forthe investiture of a foreign king who was now visiting England: and thefull chapter of Knights had been commanded to Windsor for the ceremony. Yesterday the Duke had looked keenly forward to his excursion. It wasonly in those too rarely required robes that he had the sense of beingfully dressed. But to-day not a thought had he of them. 

Some clock clove with silver the stillness of the morning. Ere came thesecond stroke, another and nearer clock was striking. And now there wereothers chiming in. The air was confused with the sweet babel of its manyspires, some of them booming deep, measured sequences, some tinklingimpatiently and outwitting others which had begun before them. And whenthis anthem of jealous antiphonies and uneven rhythms had dwindled quiteaway and fainted in one last solitary note of silver, there startedsomewhere another sequence; and this, almost at its last stroke, wasinterrupted by yet another, which went on to tell the hour of noon inits own way, quite slowly and significantly, as though none knew it. 

And now Oxford was astir with footsteps and laughter--the laughter andquick footsteps of youths released from lecture-rooms. The Duke shiftedfrom the window. Somehow, he did not care to be observed, though it wasusually at this hour that he showed himself for the setting of somenew fashion in costume. Many an undergraduate, looking up, missed thepicture in the window-frame. 

The Duke paced to and fro, smiling ecstatically. He took the two studsfrom his pocket and gazed at them. He looked in the glass, as oneseeking the sympathy of a familiar. For the first time in his life, he turned impatiently aside. It was a new kind of sympathy he neededto-day. 

The front door slammed, and the staircase creaked to the ascent of twoheavy boots. The Duke listened, waited irresolute. The boots passed hisdoor, were already clumping up the next flight. "Noaks!" he cried. Theboots paused, then clumped down again. The door opened and disclosedthat homely figure which Zuleika had seen on her way to Judas. 

Sensitive reader, start not at the apparition! Oxford is a plexus ofanomalies. These two youths were (odd as it may seem to you) subject tothe same Statutes, affiliated to the same College, reading for the sameSchool; aye! and though the one had inherited half a score of noble andcastellated roofs, whose mere repairs cost him annually thousands andthousands of pounds, and the other's people had but one little meansquare of lead, from which the fireworks of the Crystal Palace wereclearly visible every Thursday evening, in Oxford one roof shelteredboth of them. Furthermore, there was even some measure of intimacybetween them. It was the Duke's whim to condescend further in thedirection of Noaks than in any other. He saw in Noaks his own foil andantithesis, and made a point of walking up the High with him at leastonce in every term. Noaks, for his part, regarded the Duke with feelingsmingled of idolatry and disapproval. The Duke's First in Mods oppressedhim (who, by dint of dogged industry, had scraped a Second) more thanall the other differences between them. But the dullard's envy ofbrilliant men is always assuaged by the suspicion that they will come toa bad end. Noaks may have regarded the Duke as a rather pathetic figure, on the whole. 

"Come in, Noaks, " said the Duke. "You have been to a lecture?"

"Aristotle's Politics, " nodded Noaks. 

"And what were they?" asked the Duke. He was eager for sympathy in hislove. But so little used was he to seeking sympathy that he could notunburden himself. He temporised. Noaks muttered something about gettingback to work, and fumbled with the door-handle. 

"Oh, my dear fellow, don't go, " said the Duke. "Sit down. Our Schoolsdon't come on for another year. A few minutes can't make a difference inyour Class. I want to--to tell you something, Noaks. Do sit down. "

Noaks sat down on the edge of a chair. The Duke leaned against themantel-piece, facing him. "I suppose, Noaks, " he said, "you have neverbeen in love. "

"Why shouldn't I have been in love?" asked the little man, angrily. 

"I can't imagine you in love, " said the Duke, smiling. 

"And I can't imagine YOU. You're too pleased with yourself, " growledNoaks. 

"Spur your imagination, Noaks, " said his friend. "I AM in love. "

"So am I, " was an unexpected answer, and the Duke (whose need ofsympathy was too new to have taught him sympathy with others) laughedaloud. "Whom do you love?" he asked, throwing himself into an arm-chair. 

"I don't know who she is, " was another unexpected answer. 

"When did you meet her?" asked the Duke. "Where? What did you say toher?"

"Yesterday. In the Corn. I didn't SAY anything to her. "

"Is she beautiful?"

"Yes. What's that to you?"

"Dark or fair?"

"She's dark. She looks like a foreigner. She looks like--like one ofthose photographs in the shop-windows. "

"A rhapsody, Noaks! What became of her? Was she alone?"

"She was with the old Warden, in his carriage. "

Zuleika--Noaks! The Duke started, as at an affront, and glared. Nextmoment, he saw the absurdity of the situation. He relapsed into hischair, smiling. "She's the Warden's niece, " he said. "I dined at theWarden's last night. "

Noaks sat still, peering across at the Duke. For the first time in hislife, he was resentful of the Duke's great elegance and average stature, his high lineage and incomputable wealth. Hitherto, these thingshad been too remote for envy. But now, suddenly, they seemed near tohim--nearer and more overpowering than the First in Mods had ever been. "And of course she's in love with you?" he snarled. 

Really, this was for the Duke a new issue. So salient was his ownpassion that he had not had time to wonder whether it were returned. Zuleika's behaviour during dinner. .. But that was how so many youngwomen had behaved. It was no sign of disinterested love. It might meanmerely. .. Yet no! Surely, looking into her eyes, he had seen there aradiance finer than could have been lit by common ambition. Love, noneother, must have lit in those purple depths the torches whose clearflames had leapt out to him. She loved him. She, the beautiful, thewonderful, had not tried to conceal her love for him. She had shown himall--had shown all, poor darling! only to be snubbed by a prig, drivenaway by a boor, fled from by a fool. To the nethermost corner of hissoul, he cursed himself for what he had done, and for all he had leftundone. He would go to her on his knees. He would implore her to imposeon him insufferable penances. There was no penance, how bittersweetsoever, could make him a little worthy of her. 

"Come in!" he cried mechanically. Entered the landlady's daughter. 

"A lady downstairs, " she said, "asking to see your Grace. Says she'llstep round again later if your Grace is busy. "

"What is her name?" asked the Duke, vacantly. He was gazing at the girlwith pain-shot eyes. 

"Miss Zuleika Dobson, " pronounced the girl. 

He rose. 

"Show Miss Dobson up, " he said. 

Noaks had darted to the looking-glass and was smoothing his hair with atremulous, enormous hand. 

"Go!" said the Duke, pointing to the door. Noaks went, quickly. Echoesof his boots fell from the upper stairs and met the ascending susurrusof a silk skirt. 

The lovers met. There was an interchange of ordinary greetings: from theDuke, a comment on the weather; from Zuleika, a hope that he was wellagain--they had been so sorry to lose him last night. Then came a pause. The landlady's daughter was clearing away the breakfast-things. Zuleika glanced comprehensively at the room, and the Duke gazed at thehearthrug. The landlady's daughter clattered out with her freight. Theywere alone. 

"How pretty!" said Zuleika. She was looking at his star of the Garter, which sparkled from a litter of books and papers on a small side-table. 

"Yes, " he answered. "It is pretty, isn't it?"

"Awfully pretty!" she rejoined. 

This dialogue led them to another hollow pause. The Duke's heart beatviolently within him. Why had he not asked her to take the star and keepit as a gift? Too late now! Why could he not throw himself at her feet?Here were two beings, lovers of each other, with none by. And yet. .. 

She was examining a water-colour on the wall, seemed to be absorbed byit. He watched her. She was even lovelier than he had remembered;or rather her loveliness had been, in some subtle way, transmuted. Something had given to her a graver, nobler beauty. Last night's nymphhad become the Madonna of this morning. Despite her dress, which wasof a tremendous tartan, she diffused the pale authentic radiance of aspirituality most high, most simple. The Duke wondered where lay thechange in her. He could not understand. Suddenly she turned to him, andhe understood. No longer the black pearl and the pink, but two whitepearls!. .. He thrilled to his heart's core. 

"I hope, " said Zuleika, "you aren't awfully vexed with me for cominglike this?"

"Not at all, " said the Duke. "I am delighted to see you. " How inadequatethe words sounded, how formal and stupid!

"The fact is, " she continued, "I don't know a soul in Oxford. AndI thought perhaps you'd give me luncheon, and take me to see theboat-races. Will you?"

"I shall be charmed, " he said, pulling the bell-rope. Poor fool! heattributed the shade of disappointment on Zuleika's face to the coldnessof his tone. He would dispel that shade. He would avow himself. He wouldleave her no longer in this false position. So soon as he had told themabout the meal, he would proclaim his passion. 

The bell was answered by the landlady's daughter. 

"Miss Dobson will stay to luncheon, " said the Duke. The girl withdrew. He wished he could have asked her not to. 

He steeled himself. "Miss Dobson, " he said, "I wish to apologise toyou. "

Zuleika looked at him eagerly. "You can't give me luncheon? You've gotsomething better to do?"

"No. I wish to ask you to forgive me for my behaviour last night. "

"There is nothing to forgive. "

"There is. My manners were vile. I know well what happened. Though you, too, cannot have forgotten, I won't spare myself the recital. You weremy hostess, and I ignored you. Magnanimous, you paid me the prettiestcompliment woman ever paid to man, and I insulted you. I left the housein order that I might not see you again. To the doorsteps down whichhe should have kicked me, your grandfather followed me with words ofkindliest courtesy. If he had sped me with a kick so skilful that myskull had been shattered on the kerb, neither would he have outsteppedthose bounds set to the conduct of English gentlemen, nor would you havegarnered more than a trifle on account of your proper reckoning. I donot say that you are the first person whom I have wantonly injured. Butit is a fact that I, in whom pride has ever been the topmost quality, have never expressed sorrow to any one for anything. Thus, I might urgethat my present abjectness must be intolerably painful to me, and shouldincline you to forgive. But such an argument were specious merely. I will be quite frank with you. I will confess to you that, in thishumbling of myself before you, I take a pleasure as passionate as it isstrange. A confusion of feelings? Yet you, with a woman's instinct, willhave already caught the clue to it. It needs no mirror to assure methat the clue is here for you, in my eyes. It needs no dictionary ofquotations to remind me that the eyes are the windows of the soul. And Iknow that from two open windows my soul has been leaning and signallingto you, in a code far more definitive and swifter than words of mine, that I love you. "

Zuleika, listening to him, had grown gradually paler and paler. She hadraised her hands and cowered as though he were about to strike her. Andthen, as he pronounced the last three words, she had clasped her handsto her face and with a wild sob darted away from him. She was leaningnow against the window, her head bowed and her shoulders quivering. 

The Duke came softly behind her. "Why should you cry? Why should youturn away from me? Did I frighten you with the suddenness of my words? Iam not versed in the tricks of wooing. I should have been more patient. But I love you so much that I could hardly have waited. A secret hopethat you loved me too emboldened me, compelled me. You DO love me. Iknow it. And, knowing it, I do but ask you to give yourself to me, tobe my wife. Why should you cry? Why should you shrink from me? Dear, if there were anything. .. Any secret. .. If you had ever loved and beendeceived, do you think I should honour you the less deeply, should notcherish you the more tenderly? Enough for me, that you are mine. Do youthink I should ever reproach you for anything that may have--"

Zuleika turned on him. "How dare you?" she gasped. "How dare you speakto me like that?"

The Duke reeled back. Horror had come into his eyes. "You do not loveme!" he cried. 

"LOVE you?" she retorted. "YOU?"

"You no longer love me. Why? Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"You loved me. Don't trifle with me. You came to me loving me with allyour heart. "

"How do you know?"

"Look in the glass. " She went at his bidding. He followed her. "Yousee them?" he said, after a long pause. Zuleika nodded. The two pearlsquivered to her nod. 

"They were white when you came to me, " he sighed. "They were whitebecause you loved me. From them it was that I knew you loved me even asI loved you. But their old colours have come back to them. That is how Iknow that your love for me is dead. "

Zuleika stood gazing pensively, twitching the two pearls between herfingers. Tears gathered in her eyes. She met the reflection of herlover's eyes, and her tears brimmed over. She buried her face in herhands, and sobbed like a child. 

Like a child's, her sobbing ceased quite suddenly. She groped for herhandkerchief, angrily dried her eyes, and straightened and smoothedherself. 

"Now I'm going, " she said. 

"You came here of your own accord, because you loved me, " said the Duke. "And you shall not go till you have told me why you have left off lovingme. "

"How did you know I loved you?" she asked after a pause. "How did youknow I hadn't simply put on another pair of ear-rings?"

The Duke, with a melancholy laugh, drew the two studs from hiswaistcoat-pocket. "These are the studs I wore last night, " he said. 

Zuleika gazed at them. "I see, " she said; then, looking up, "When didthey become like that?"

"It was when you left the dining-room that I saw the change in them. "

"How strange! It was when I went into the drawing-room that I noticedmine. I was looking in the glass, and"--She started. "Then you were inlove with me last night?"

"I began to be in love with you from the moment I saw you. "

"Then how could you have behaved as you did?"

"Because I was a pedant. I tried to ignore you, as pedants always do tryto ignore any fact they cannot fit into their pet system. The basisof my pet system was celibacy. I don't mean the mere state of beinga bachelor. I mean celibacy of the soul--egoism, in fact. You haveconverted me from that. I am now a confirmed tuist. "

"How dared you insult me?" she cried, with a stamp of her foot. "How dared you make a fool of me before those people? Oh, it is tooinfamous!"

"I have already asked you to forgive me for that. You said there wasnothing to forgive. "

"I didn't dream that you were in love with me. "

"What difference can that make?"

"All the difference! All the difference in life!"

"Sit down! You bewilder me, " said the Duke. "Explain yourself!" hecommanded. 

"Isn't that rather much for a man to ask of a woman?"

"I don't know. I have no experience of women. In the abstract, it seemsto me that every man has a right to some explanation from the woman whohas ruined his life. "

"You are frightfully sorry for yourself, " said Zuleika, with a bitterlaugh. "Of course it doesn't occur to you that _I_ am at all to bepitied. No! you are blind with selfishness. You love me--I don't loveyou: that is all you can realise. Probably you think you are the firstman who has ever fallen on such a plight. "

Said the Duke, bowing over a deprecatory hand, "If there were to pass mywindow one tithe of them whose hearts have been lost to Miss Dobson, Ishould win no solace from that interminable parade. "

Zuleika blushed. "Yet, " she said more gently, "be sure they would all benot a little envious of YOU! Not one of them ever touched the surface ofmy heart. You stirred my heart to its very depths. Yes, you made me loveyou madly. The pearls told you no lie. You were my idol--the one thingin the wide world to me. You were so different from any man I had everseen except in dreams. You did not make a fool of yourself. I admiredyou. I respected you. I was all afire with adoration of you. And now, "she passed her hand across her eyes, "now it is all over. The idol hascome sliding down its pedestal to fawn and grovel with all the otherinfatuates in the dust about my feet. "

The Duke looked thoughtfully at her. "I thought, " he said, "that yourevelled in your power over men's hearts. I had always heard that youlived for admiration. "

"Oh, " said Zuleika, "of course I like being admired. Oh yes, I like allthat very much indeed. In a way, I suppose, I'm even pleased thatYOU admire me. But oh, what a little miserable pleasure that is incomparison with the rapture I have forfeited! I had never known therapture of being in love. I had longed for it, but I had never guessedhow wonderfully wonderful it was. It came to me. I shuddered and waveredlike a fountain in the wind. I was more helpless and flew lightlierthan a shred of thistledown among the stars. All night long, I could notsleep for love of you; nor had I any desire of sleep, save that it mighttake me to you in a dream. I remember nothing that happened to me thismorning before I found myself at your door. "

"Why did you ring the bell? Why didn't you walk away?"

"Why? I had come to see you, to be near you, to be WITH you. "

"To force yourself on me. "

"Yes. "

"You know the meaning of the term 'effective occupation'? Having marchedin, how could you have held your position, unless"--

"Oh, a man doesn't necessarily drive a woman away because he isn't inlove with her. "

"Yet that was what you thought I had done to you last night. "

"Yes, but I didn't suppose you would take the trouble to do it again. And if you had, I should have only loved you the more. I thought youwould most likely be rather amused, rather touched, by my importunity. Ithought you would take a listless advantage, make a plaything of me--thediversion of a few idle hours in summer, and then, when you had tiredof me, would cast me aside, forget me, break my heart. I desired nothingbetter than that. That is what I must have been vaguely hoping for. ButI had no definite scheme. I wanted to be with you and I came to you. Itseems years ago, now! How my heart beat as I waited on the doorstep! 'Ishis Grace at home?' 'I don't know. I'll inquire. What name shall I say?'I saw in the girl's eyes that she, too, loved you. Have YOU seen that?"

"I have never looked at her, " said the Duke. 

"No wonder, then, that she loves you, " sighed Zuleika. "She read mysecret at a glance. Women who love the same man have a kind of bitterfreemasonry. We resented each other. She envied me my beauty, my dress. I envied the little fool her privilege of being always near to you. Loving you, I could conceive no life sweeter than hers--to be alwaysnear you; to black your boots, carry up your coals, scrub your doorstep;always to be working for you, hard and humbly and without thanks. If youhad refused to see me, I would have bribed that girl with all my jewelsto cede me her position. "

The Duke made a step towards her. "You would do it still, " he said in alow voice. 

Zuleika raised her eyebrows. "I would not offer her one garnet, " shesaid, "now. "

"You SHALL love me again, " he cried. "I will force you to. You said justnow that you had ceased to love me because I was just like other men. Iam not. My heart is no tablet of mere wax, from which an instant's heatcan dissolve whatever impress it may bear, leaving it blank and softfor another impress, and another, and another. My heart is a bright hardgem, proof against any die. Came Cupid, with one of his arrow-pointsfor graver, and what he cut on the gem's surface never can be effaced. There, deeply and forever, your image is intagliated. No years, norfires, nor cataclysm of total Nature, can efface from that great gemyour image. "

"My dear Duke, " said Zuleika, "don't be so silly. Look at the mattersensibly. I know that lovers don't try to regulate their emotionsaccording to logic; but they do, nevertheless, unconsciously conformwith some sort of logical system. I left off loving you when I foundthat you loved me. There is the premiss. Very well! Is it likely that Ishall begin to love you again because you can't leave off loving me?"

The Duke groaned. There was a clatter of plates outside, and she whomZuleika had envied came to lay the table for luncheon. 

A smile flickered across Zuleika's lips; and "Not one garnet!" shemurmured. 

V

Luncheon passed in almost unbroken silence. Both Zuleika and the Dukewere ravenously hungry, as people always are after the stress of anygreat emotional crisis. Between them, they made very short work ofa cold chicken, a salad, a gooseberry-tart and a Camembert. The Dukefilled his glass again and again. The cold classicism of his face hadbeen routed by the new romantic movement which had swept over his soul. He looked two or three months older than when first I showed him to myreader. 

He drank his coffee at one draught, pushed back his chair, threw awaythe cigarette he had just lit. "Listen!" he said. 

Zuleika folded her hands on her lap. 

"You do not love me. I accept as final your hint that you never willlove me. I need not say--could not, indeed, ever say--how deeply, deeplyyou have pained me. As lover, I am rejected. But that rejection, " hecontinued, striking the table, "is no stopper to my suit. It does butdrive me to the use of arguments. My pride shrinks from them. Love, however, is greater than pride; and I, John, Albert, Edward, Claude, Orde, Angus, Tankerton, * Tanville-Tankerton, ** fourteenth Duke ofDorset, Marquis of Dorset, Earl of Grove, Earl of Chastermaine, ViscountBrewsby, Baron Grove, Baron Petstrap, and Baron Wolock, in the Peerageof England, offer you my hand. Do not interrupt me. Do not toss yourhead. Consider well what I am saying. Weigh the advantages you wouldgain by acceptance of my hand. Indeed, they are manifold and tremendous. They are also obvious: do not shut your eyes to them. You, Miss Dobson, what are you? A conjurer, and a vagrant; without means, save such as youcan earn by the sleight of your hand; without position; without ahome; all unguarded but by your own self-respect. That you follow anhonourable calling, I do not for one moment deny. I do, however, askyou to consider how great are its perils and hardships, its fatigues andinconveniences. From all these evils I offer you instant refuge. I offeryou, Miss Dobson, a refuge more glorious and more augustly gildedthan you, in your airiest flights of fancy, can ever have hoped for orimagined. I own about 340, 000 acres. My town-residence is in St. James'sSquare. Tankerton, of which you may have seen photographs, is the chiefof my country-seats. It is a Tudor house, set on the ridge of a valley. The valley, its park, is halved by a stream so narrow that the deer leapacross. The gardens are estraded upon the slope. Round the house runsa wide paven terrace. There are always two or three peacocks trailingtheir sheathed feathers along the balustrade, and stepping how stiffly!as though they had just been unharnessed from Juno's chariot. Twoflights of shallow steps lead down to the flowers and fountains. Oh, the gardens are wonderful. There is a Jacobean garden of white roses. Between the ends of two pleached alleys, under a dome of branches, isa little lake, with a Triton of black marble, and with water-lilies. Hither and thither under the archipelago of water-lilies, dartgold-fish--tongues of flame in the dark water. There is also a longstrait alley of clipped yew. It ends in an alcove for a pagodaof painted porcelain which the Prince Regent--peace be to hisashes!--presented to my great-grandfather. There are many twistingpaths, and sudden aspects, and devious, fantastic arbours. Are you fondof horses? In my stables of pine-wood and plated-silver seventy areinstalled. Not all of them together could vie in power with one of themeanest of my motor-cars. "

 *Pronounced as Tacton. 

 **Pronounced as Tavvle-Tacton. 

"Oh, I never go in motors, " said Zuleika. "They make one look likenothing on earth, and like everybody else. "

"I myself, " said the Duke, "use them little for that very reason. Areyou interested in farming? At Tankerton there is a model farm whichwould at any rate amuse you, with its heifers and hens and pigs that arelike so many big new toys. There is a tiny dairy, which is called 'HerGrace's. ' You could make, therein, real butter with your own hands, andround it into little pats, and press every pat with a different device. The boudoir that would be yours is a blue room. Four Watteaus hang init. In the dining-hall hang portraits of my forefathers--in petto, your forefathers-in-law--by many masters. Are you fond of peasants?My tenantry are delightful creatures, and there is not one of them whoremembers the bringing of the news of the Battle of Waterloo. When anew Duchess is brought to Tankerton, the oldest elm in the park mustbe felled. That is one of many strange old customs. As she is driventhrough the village, the children of the tenantry must strew the roadwith daisies. The bridal chamber must be lighted with as many candles asyears have elapsed since the creation of the Dukedom. If you came intoit, there would be"--and the youth, closing his eyes, made a rapidcalculation--"exactly three hundred and eighty-eight candles. On the eveof the death of a Duke of Dorset, two black owls come and perch on thebattlements. They remain there through the night, hooting. At dawnthey fly away, none knows whither. On the eve of the death of any otherTanville-Tankerton, comes (no matter what be the time of year) a cuckoo. It stays for an hour, cooing, then flies away, none knows whither. Whenever this portent occurs, my steward telegraphs to me, that I, ashead of the family, be not unsteeled against the shock of a bereavement, and that my authority be sooner given for the unsealing and garnishingof the family-vault. Not every forefather of mine rests quiet beneathhis escutcheoned marble. There are they who revisit, in their wrath ortheir remorse, the places wherein erst they suffered or wrought evil. There is one who, every Halloween, flits into the dining-hall, andhovers before the portrait which Hans Holbein made of him, and flingshis diaphanous grey form against the canvas, hoping, maybe, to catchfrom it the fiery flesh-tints and the solid limbs that were his, and soto be re-incarnate. He flies against the painting, only to find himselft'other side of the wall it hangs on. There are five ghosts permanentlyresiding in the right wing of the house, two in the left, and eleven inthe park. But all are quite noiseless and quite harmless. My servants, when they meet them in the corridors or on the stairs, stand aside tolet them pass, thus paying them the respect due to guests of mine; butnot even the rawest housemaid ever screams or flees at sight of them. I, their host, often waylay them and try to commune with them; but alwaysthey glide past me. And how gracefully they glide, these ghosts! It is apleasure to watch them. It is a lesson in deportment. May they never belaid! Of all my household-pets, they are the dearest to me. I am Dukeof Strathsporran and Cairngorm, Marquis of Sorby, and Earl Cairngorm, inthe Peerage of Scotland. In the glens of the hills about Strathsporranare many noble and nimble stags. But I have never set foot in my housethere, for it is carpeted throughout with the tartan of my clan. Youseem to like tartan. What tartan is it you are wearing?"

Zuleika looked down at her skirt. "I don't know, " she said. "I got it inParis. "

"Well, " said the Duke, "it is very ugly. The Dalbraith tartan isharmonious in comparison, and has, at least, the excuse of history. Ifyou married me, you would have the right to wear it. You would have manystrange and fascinating rights. You would go to Court. I admit that theHanoverian Court is not much. Still, it is better than nothing. At yourpresentation, moreover, you would be given the entree. Is that nothingto you? You would be driven to Court in my statecoach. It is swung sohigh that the streetsters can hardly see its occupant. It is linedwith rose-silk; and on its panels, and on its hammer-cloth, my armsare emblazoned--no one has ever been able to count the quarterings. Youwould be wearing the family-jewels, reluctantly surrendered to you by myaunt. They are many and marvellous, in their antique settings. I don'twant to brag. It humiliates me to speak to you as I am speaking. ButI am heart-set on you, and to win you there is not a precious stone Iwould leave unturned. Conceive a parure all of white stones--diamonds, white sapphires, white topazes, tourmalines. Another, of rubies andamethysts, set in gold filigree. Rings that once were poison-combs onFlorentine fingers. Red roses for your hair--every petal a hollowedruby. Amulets and ape-buckles, zones and fillets. Aye! know that youwould be weeping for wonder before you had seen a tithe of these gauds. Know, too, Miss Dobson, that in the Peerage of France I am Duc d'Etretatet de la Roche Guillaume. Louis Napoleon gave the title to my father fornot cutting him in the Bois. I have a house in the Champs Elysees. Thereis a Swiss in its courtyard. He stands six-foot-seven in his stockings, and the chasseurs are hardly less tall than he. Wherever I go, there aretwo chefs in my retinue. Both are masters in their art, and furiouslyjealous of each other. When I compliment either of them on some dish, the other challenges him. They fight with rapiers, next morning, in thegarden of whatever house I am occupying. I do not know whether you aregreedy? If so, it may interest you to learn that I have a third chef, who makes only souffles, and an Italian pastry-cook; to say nothing ofa Spaniard for salads, an Englishwoman for roasts, and an Abyssinian forcoffee. You found no trace of their handiwork in the meal you have justhad with me? No; for in Oxford it is a whim of mine--I may say a pointof honour--to lead the ordinary life of an undergraduate. What I eatin this room is cooked by the heavy and unaided hand of Mrs. Batch, my landlady. It is set before me by the unaided and--or are you inerror?--loving hand of her daughter. Other ministers have I none here. Idispense with my private secretaries. I am unattended by a single valet. So simple a way of life repels you? You would never be called upon toshare it. If you married me, I should take my name off the books of myCollege. I propose that we should spend our honeymoon at Baiae. I havea villa at Baiae. It is there that I keep my grandfather's collection ofmajolica. The sun shines there always. A long olive-grove secretes thegarden from the sea. When you walk in the garden, you know the sea onlyin blue glimpses through the vacillating leaves. White-gleaming from thebosky shade of this grove are several goddesses. Do you care for Canova?I don't myself. If you do, these figures will appeal to you: they are inhis best manner. Do you love the sea? This is not the only house of minethat looks out on it. On the coast of County Clare--am I not Earl ofEnniskerry and Baron Shandrin in the Peerage of Ireland?--I have anancient castle. Sheer from a rock stands it, and the sea has alwaysraged up against its walls. Many ships lie wrecked under that loudimplacable sea. But mine is a brave strong castle. No storm affrightsit; and not the centuries, clustering houris, with their caresses canseduce it from its hard austerity. I have several titles which for themoment escape me. Baron Llffthwchl am I, and. .. And. .. But you canfind them for yourself in Debrett. In me you behold a Prince of the HolyRoman Empire, and a Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter. Lookwell at me! I am Hereditary Comber of the Queen's Lap-Dogs. I am young. I am handsome. My temper is sweet, and my character without blemish. Infine, Miss Dobson, I am a most desirable parti. "

"But, " said Zuleika, "I don't love you. "

The Duke stamped his foot. "I beg your pardon, " he said hastily. "Iought not to have done that. But--you seem to have entirely missed thepoint of what I was saying. "

"No, I haven't, " said Zuleika. 

"Then what, " cried the Duke, standing over her, "what is your reply?"

Said Zuleika, looking up at him, "My reply is that I think you are anawful snob. "

The Duke turned on his heel, and strode to the other end of the room. There he stood for some moments, his back to Zuleika. 

"I think, " she resumed in a slow, meditative voice, "that you are, withthe possible exception of a Mr. Edelweiss, THE most awful snob I haveever met. "

The Duke looked back over his shoulder. He gave Zuleika the stingingreprimand of silence. She was sorry, and showed it in her eyes. She feltshe had gone too far. True, he was nothing to her now. But she had lovedhim once. She could not forget that. 

"Come!" she said. "Let us be good friends. Give me your hand!" He cameto her, slowly. "There!"

The Duke withdrew his fingers before she unclasped them. Thattwice-flung taunt rankled still. It was monstrous to have been calleda snob. A snob!--he, whose readiness to form what would certainly beregarded as a shocking misalliance ought to have stifled the charge, notmerely vindicated him from it! He had forgotten, in the blindness of hislove, how shocking the misalliance would be. Perhaps she, unloving, hadnot been so forgetful? Perhaps her refusal had been made, generously, for his own sake. Nay, rather for her own. Evidently, she had felt thatthe high sphere from which he beckoned was no place for the likes ofher. Evidently, she feared she would pine away among those strangesplendours, never be acclimatised, always be unworthy. He had thought tooverwhelm her, and he had done his work too thoroughly. Now he must tryto lighten the load he had imposed. 

Seating himself opposite to her, "You remember, " he said, "that there isa dairy at Tankerton?"

"A dairy? Oh yes. "

"Do you remember what it is called?"

Zuleika knit her brows. 

He helped her out. "It is called 'Her Grace's'. "

"Oh, of course!" said Zuleika. 

"Do you know WHY it is called so?"

"Well, let's see. .. I know you told me. "

"Did I? I think not. I will tell you now. .. That cool out-house datesfrom the middle of the eighteenth century. My great-great-grandfather, when he was a very old man, married en troisiemes noces a dairy-maidon the Tankerton estate. Meg Speedwell was her name. He had seen herwalking across a field, not many months after the interment of hissecond Duchess, Maria, that great and gifted lady. I know not whether itwas that her bonny mien fanned in him some embers of his youth, or thathe was loth to be outdone in gracious eccentricity by his crony the Dukeof Dewlap, who himself had just taken a bride from a dairy. (You haveread Meredith's account of that affair? No? You should. ) Whether it wasveritable love or mere modishness that formed my ancestor's resolve, presently the bells were ringing out, and the oldest elm in the park wasbeing felled, in Meg Speedwell's honour, and the children were strewingdaisies on which Meg Speedwell trod, a proud young hoyden of a bride, with her head in the air and her heart in the seventh heaven. The Dukehad given her already a horde of fine gifts; but these, he had said, were nothing--trash in comparison with the gift that was to ensure forher a perdurable felicity. After the wedding-breakfast, when all thesquires had ridden away on their cobs, and all the squires' ladies intheir coaches, the Duke led his bride forth from the hall, leaning onher arm, till they came to a little edifice of new white stone, veryspick and span, with two lattice-windows and a bright green doorbetween. This he bade her enter. A-flutter with excitement, sheturned the handle. In a moment she flounced back, red with shame andanger--flounced forth from the fairest, whitest, dapperest dairy, wherein was all of the best that the keenest dairy-maid might need. TheDuke bade her dry her eyes, for that it ill befitted a great lady to beweeping on her wedding-day. 'As for gratitude, ' he chuckled, 'zounds!that is a wine all the better for the keeping. ' Duchess Meg soon forgotthis unworthy wedding-gift, such was her rapture in the other, the soaugust, appurtenances of her new life. What with her fine silk gownsand farthingales, and her powder-closet, and the canopied bed she sleptin--a bed bigger far than the room she had slept in with her sisters, and standing in a room far bigger than her father's cottage; andwhat with Betty, her maid, who had pinched and teased her at thevillage-school, but now waited on her so meekly and trembled sofearfully at a scolding; and what with the fine hot dishes that were setbefore her every day, and the gallant speeches and glances of the fineyoung gentlemen whom the Duke invited from London, Duchess Meg was quitethe happiest Duchess in all England. For a while, she was like a childin a hay-rick. But anon, as the sheer delight of novelty wore away, shebegan to take a more serious view of her position. She began to realiseher responsibilities. She was determined to do all that a great ladyought to do. Twice every day she assumed the vapours. She schooledherself in the mysteries of Ombre, of Macao. She spent hours over thetambour-frame. She rode out on horse-back, with a riding-master. She hada music-master to teach her the spinet; a dancing-master, too, to teachher the Minuet and the Triumph and the Gaudy. All these accomplishmentsshe found mighty hard. She was afraid of her horse. All the morning, shedreaded the hour when it would be brought round from the stables. Shedreaded her dancing-lesson. Try as she would, she could but stamp herfeet flat on the parquet, as though it had been the village-green. Shedreaded her music-lesson. Her fingers, disobedient to her ambition, clumsily thumped the keys of the spinet, and by the notes of the scorepropped up before her she was as cruelly perplexed as by the black andred pips of the cards she conned at the gaming-table, or by the redand gold threads that were always straying and snapping on hertambour-frame. Still she persevered. Day in, day out, sullenly, sheworked hard to be a great lady. But skill came not to her, and hopedwindled; only the dull effort remained. One accomplishment she didmaster--to wit, the vapours: they became for her a dreadful reality. Shelost her appetite for the fine hot dishes. All night long she lay awake, restless, tearful, under the fine silk canopy, till dawn stared herinto slumber. She seldom scolded Betty. She who had been so lusty and soblooming saw in her mirror that she was pale and thin now; and the fineyoung gentlemen, seeing it too, paid more heed now to their wine andtheir dice than to her. And always, when she met him, the Duke smiledthe same mocking smile. Duchess Meg was pining slowly and surely away. .. One morning, in Spring-time, she altogether vanished. Betty, bringingthe cup of chocolate to the bedside, found the bed empty. She raised thealarm among her fellows. They searched high and low. Nowhere was theirmistress. The news was broken to their master, who, without comment, rose, bade his man dress him, and presently walked out to the placewhere he knew he would find her. And there, to be sure, she was, churning, churning for dear life. Her sleeves were rolled above herelbows, and her skirt was kilted high; and, as she looked back over hershoulder and saw the Duke, there was the flush of roses in her cheeks, and the light of a thousand thanks in her eyes. 'Oh, ' she cried, 'whata curtsey I would drop you, but that to let go the handle were to spoilall!' And every morning, ever after, she woke when the birds woke, rosewhen they rose, and went singing through the dawn to the dairy, there topractise for her pleasure that sweet and lowly handicraft which she hadonce practised for her need. And every evening, with her milking-stoolunder her arm, and her milk-pail in her hand, she went into the fieldand called the cows to her, as she had been wont to do. To those other, those so august, accomplishments she no more pretended. She gave themthe go-by. And all the old zest and joyousness of her life came backto her. Soundlier than ever slept she, and sweetlier dreamed, under thefine silk canopy, till the birds called her to her work. Greater thanever was her love of the fine furbelows that were hers to flaunt in, andsharper her appetite for the fine hot dishes, and more tempestuous herscolding of Betty, poor maid. She was more than ever now the cynosure, the adored, of the fine young gentlemen. And as for her husband, shelooked up to him as the wisest, kindest man in all the world. "

"And the fine young gentlemen, " said Zuleika, "did she fall in love withany of them?"

"You forget, " said the Duke coldly, "she was married to a member of myfamily. "

"Oh, I beg your pardon. But tell me: did they ALL adore her?"

"Yes. Every one of them, wildly, madly. "

"Ah, " murmured Zuleika, with a smile of understanding. A shadow crossedher face, "Even so, " she said, with some pique, "I don't suppose she hadso very many adorers. She never went out into the world. "

"Tankerton, " said the Duke drily, "is a large house, and mygreat-great-grandfather was the most hospitable of men. However, " headded, marvelling that she had again missed the point so utterly, "mypurpose was not to confront you with a past rival in conquest, but toset at rest a fear which I had, I think, roused in you by my somewhatfull description of the high majestic life to which you, as my bride, would be translated. "

"A fear? What sort of a fear?"

"That you would not breathe freely--that you would starve (if I may usea somewhat fantastic figure) among those strawberry-leaves. And so Itold you the story of Meg Speedwell, and how she lived happily everafter. Nay, hear me out! The blood of Meg Speedwell's lord flows inmy veins. I think I may boast that I have inherited something of hissagacity. In any case, I can profit by his example. Do not fear thatI, if you were to wed me, should demand a metamorphosis of your presentself. I should take you as you are, gladly. I should encourage you to bealways exactly as you are--a radiant, irresistible member of the uppermiddle-class, with a certain freedom of manner acquired through alife of peculiar liberty. Can you guess what would be my principalwedding-gift to you? Meg Speedwell had her dairy. For you, would bebuilt another outhouse--a neat hall wherein you would perform yourconjuring-tricks, every evening except Sunday, before me and my tenantsand my servants, and before such of my neighbours as might care to come. None would respect you the less, seeing that I approved. Thus inyou would the pleasant history of Meg Speedwell repeat itself. You, practising for your pleasure--nay, hear me out!--that sweet and lowlyhandicraft which--"

"I won't listen to another word!" cried Zuleika. "You are the mostinsolent person I have ever met. I happen to come of a particularly goodfamily. I move in the best society. My manners are absolutely perfect. If I found myself in the shoes of twenty Duchesses simultaneously, Ishould know quite well how to behave. As for the one pair you can offerme, I kick them away--so. I kick them back at you. I tell you--"

"Hush, " said the Duke, "hush! You are over-excited. There will be acrowd under my window. There, there! I am sorry. I thought--"

"Oh, I know what you thought, " said Zuleika, in a quieter tone. "I amsure you meant well. I am sorry I lost my temper. Only, you might havegiven me credit for meaning what I said: that I would not marry you, because I did not love you. I daresay there would be great advantagesin being your Duchess. But the fact is, I have no worldly wisdom. To me, marriage is a sacrament. I could no more marry a man about whom I couldnot make a fool of myself than I could marry one who made a fool ofhimself about me. Else had I long ceased to be a spinster. Oh my friend, do not imagine that I have not rejected, in my day, a score of suitorsquite as eligible as you. "

"As eligible? Who were they?" frowned the Duke. 

"Oh, Archduke this, and Grand Duke that, and His Serene Highness theother. I have a wretched memory for names. "

"And my name, too, will soon escape you, perhaps?"

"No. Oh, no. I shall always remember yours. You see, I was in love withyou. You deceived me into loving you. .. " She sighed. "Oh, had you butbeen as strong as I thought you. .. Still, a swain the more. That issomething. " She leaned forward, smiling archly. "Those studs--show methem again. "

The Duke displayed them in the hollow of his hand. She touched themlightly, reverently, as a tourist touches a sacred relic in a church. 

At length, "Do give me them, " she said. "I will keep them in a littlesecret partition of my jewel-case. " The Duke had closed his fist. "Do!"she pleaded. "My other jewels--they have no separate meanings for me. I never remember who gave me this one or that. These would be quitedifferent. I should always remember their history. .. Do!"

"Ask me for anything else, " said the Duke. "These are the one thing Icould not part with--even to you, for whose sake they are hallowed. "

Zuleika pouted. On the verge of persisting, she changed her mind, andwas silent. 

"Well!" she said abruptly, "how about these races? Are you going to takeme to see them?"

"Races? What races?" murmured the Duke. "Oh yes. I had forgotten. Do youreally mean that you want to see them?"

"Why, of course! They are great fun, aren't they?"

"And you are in a mood for great fun? Well, there is plenty of time. TheSecond Division is not rowed till half-past four. "

"The Second Division? Why not take me to the First?"

"That is not rowed till six. "

"Isn't this rather an odd arrangement?"

"No doubt. But Oxford never pretended to be strong in mathematics. "

"Why, it's not yet three!" cried Zuleika, with a woebegone stare at theclock. "What is to be done in the meantime?"

"Am not I sufficiently diverting?" asked the Duke bitterly. 

"Quite candidly, no. Have you any friend lodging with you here?"

"One, overhead. A man named Noaks. "

"A small man, with spectacles?"

"Very small, with very large spectacles. "

"He was pointed out to me yesterday, as I was driving from the Station. .. No, I don't think I want to meet him. What can you have in commonwith him?"

"One frailty, at least: he, too, Miss Dobson, loves you. "

"But of course he does. He saw me drive past. Very few of the others, "she said, rising and shaking herself, "have set eyes on me. Do let us goout and look at the Colleges. I do need change of scene. If you were adoctor, you would have prescribed that long ago. It is very bad for meto be here, a kind of Cinderella, moping over the ashes of my love foryou. Where is your hat?"

Looking round, she caught sight of herself in the glass. "Oh, " shecried, "what a fright I do look! I must never be seen like this!"

"You look very beautiful. "

"I don't. That is a lover's illusion. You yourself told me that thistartan was perfectly hideous. There was no need to tell me that. Icame thus because I was coming to see you. I chose this frock in thedeliberate fear that you, if I made myself presentable, might succumb atsecond sight of me. I would have sent out for a sack and dressed myselfin that, I would have blacked my face all over with burnt cork, only Iwas afraid of being mobbed on the way to you. "

"Even so, you would but have been mobbed for your incorrigible beauty. "

"My beauty! How I hate it!" sighed Zuleika. "Still, here it is, and Imust needs make the best of it. Come! Take me to Judas. I will change mythings. Then I shall be fit for the races. "

As these two emerged, side by side, into the street, the Emperorsexchanged stony sidelong glances. For they saw the more than normalpallor of the Duke's face, and something very like desperation in hiseyes. They saw the tragedy progressing to its foreseen close. Unable tostay its course, they were grimly fascinated now. 

VI

"The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred withtheir bones. " At any rate, the sinner has a better chance than the saintof being hereafter remembered. We, in whom original sin preponderates, find him easier to understand. He is near to us, clear to us. The saintis remote, dim. A very great saint may, of course, be remembered throughsome sheer force of originality in him; and then the very mystery thatinvolves him for us makes him the harder to forget: he haunts us themore surely because we shall never understand him. But the ordinarysaints grow faint to posterity; whilst quite ordinary sinners passvividly down the ages. 

Of the disciples of Jesus, which is he that is most often rememberedand cited by us? Not the disciple whom Jesus loved; neither of theBoanerges, nor any other of them who so steadfastly followed Him andserved Him; but the disciple who betrayed Him for thirty pieces ofsilver. Judas Iscariot it is who outstands, overshadowing thoseother fishermen. And perhaps it was by reason of this precedence thatChristopher Whitrid, Knight, in the reign of Henry VI. , gave the name ofJudas to the College which he had founded. Or perhaps it was because hefelt that in a Christian community not even the meanest and basest ofmen should be accounted beneath contempt, beyond redemption. 

At any rate, thus he named his foundation. And, though for Oxford menthe savour of the name itself has long evaporated through its localconnexion, many things show that for the Founder himself it was no emptyvocable. In a niche above the gate stands a rudely carved statueof Judas, holding a money-bag in his right hand. Among the originalstatutes of the College is one by which the Bursar is enjoined todistribute in Passion Week thirty pieces of silver among the needierscholars "for saike of atonynge. " The meadow adjoining the back of theCollege has been called from time immemorial "the Potter's Field. " Andthe name of Salt Cellar is not less ancient and significant. 

Salt Cellar, that grey and green quadrangle visible from the roomassigned to Zuleika, is very beautiful, as I have said. So tranquil isit as to seem remote not merely from the world, but even from Oxford, sodeeply is it hidden away in the core of Oxford's heart. So tranquilis it, one would guess that nothing had ever happened in it. For fivecenturies these walls have stood, and during that time have beheld, onewould say, no sight less seemly than the good work of weeding, mowing, rolling, that has made, at length, so exemplary the lawn. Thesecloisters that grace the south and east sides--five centuries havepassed through them, leaving in them no echo, leaving on them nosign, of all that the outer world, for good or evil, has been doing sofiercely, so raucously. 

And yet, if you are versed in the antiquities of Oxford, you know thatthis small, still quadrangle has played its part in the rough-and-tumbleof history, and has been the background of high passions and strangefates. The sun-dial in its midst has told the hours to more than onebygone King. Charles I. Lay for twelve nights in Judas; and it was here, in this very quadrangle, that he heard from the lips of a breathless andblood-stained messenger the news of Chalgrove Field. Sixty years later, James, his son, came hither, black with threats, and from one of thehind-windows of the Warden's house--maybe, from the very room where nowZuleika was changing her frock--addressed the Fellows, and presentedto them the Papist by him chosen to be their Warden, instead of theProtestant whom they had elected. They were not of so stern a stuff asthe Fellows of Magdalen, who, despite His Majesty's menaces, had justrejected Bishop Farmer. The Papist was elected, there and then, alfresco, without dissent. Cannot one see them, these Fellows of Judas, huddled together round the sun-dial, like so many sheep in a storm? TheKing's wrath, according to a contemporary record, was so appeased bytheir pliancy that he deigned to lie for two nights in Judas, and ata grand refection in Hall "was gracious and merrie. " Perhaps it was inlingering gratitude for such patronage that Judas remained so pious tohis memory even after smug Herrenhausen had been dumped down on us forever. Certainly, of all the Colleges none was more ardent than Judas forJames Stuart. Thither it was that young Sir Harry Esson led, under coverof night, three-score recruits whom he had enlisted in the surroundingvillages. The cloisters of Salt Cellar were piled with arms and stores;and on its grass--its sacred grass!--the squad was incessantly drilled, against the good day when Ormond should land his men in Devon. For awhole month Salt Cellar was a secret camp. But somehow, at length--woeto "lost causes and impossible loyalties"--Herrenhausen had wind ofit; and one night, when the soldiers of the white cockade lay snoringbeneath the stars, stealthily the white-faced Warden unbarred hispostern--that very postern through which now Zuleika had passed on theway to her bedroom--and stealthily through it, one by one on tip-toe, came the King's foot-guards. Not many shots rang out, nor many swordsclashed, in the night air, before the trick was won for law and order. Most of the rebels were overpowered in their sleep; and those who hadtime to snatch arms were too dazed to make good resistance. Sir HarryEsson himself was the only one who did not live to be hanged. He hadsprung up alert, sword in hand, at the first alarm, setting his back tothe cloisters. There he fought calmly, ferociously, till a bullet wentthrough his chest. "By God, this College is well-named!" were the wordshe uttered as he fell forward and died. 

Comparatively tame was the scene now being enacted in this place. TheDuke, with bowed head, was pacing the path between the lawn and thecloisters. Two other undergraduates stood watching him, whisperingto each other, under the archway that leads to the Front Quadrangle. Presently, in a sheepish way, they approached him. He halted and lookedup. 

"I say, " stammered the spokesman. 

"Well?" asked the Duke. Both youths were slightly acquainted with him;but he was not used to being spoken to by those whom he had not firstaddressed. Moreover, he was loth to be thus disturbed in his sombrereverie. His manner was not encouraging. 

"Isn't it a lovely day for the Eights?" faltered the spokesman. 

"I conceive, " the Duke said, "that you hold back some other question. "

The spokesman smiled weakly. Nudged by the other, he muttered "Ask himyourself!"

The Duke diverted his gaze to the other, who, with an angry look at theone, cleared his throat, and said "I was going to ask if you thoughtMiss Dobson would come and have luncheon with me to-morrow?"

"A sister of mine will be there, " explained the one, knowing the Duke tobe a precisian. 

"If you are acquainted with Miss Dobson, a direct invitation should besent to her, " said the Duke. "If you are not--" The aposiopesis was icy. 

"Well, you see, " said the other of the two, "that is just thedifficulty. I AM acquainted with her. But is she acquainted with ME? Imet her at breakfast this morning, at the Warden's. "

"So did I, " added the one. 

"But she--well, " continued the other, "she didn't take much notice ofus. She seemed to be in a sort of dream. "

"Ah!" murmured the Duke, with melancholy interest. 

"The only time she opened her lips, " said the other, "was when she askedus whether we took tea or coffee. "

"She put hot milk in my tea, " volunteered the one, "and upset the cupover my hand, and smiled vaguely. "

"And smiled vaguely, " sighed the Duke. 

"She left us long before the marmalade stage, " said the one. 

"Without a word, " said the other. 

"Without a glance?" asked the Duke. It was testified by the one and theother that there had been not so much as a glance. 

"Doubtless, " the disingenuous Duke said, "she had a headache. .. Was shepale?"

"Very pale, " answered the one. 

"A healthy pallor, " qualified the other, who was a constant reader ofnovels. 

"Did she look, " the Duke inquired, "as if she had spent a sleeplessnight?"

That was the impression made on both. 

"Yet she did not seem listless or unhappy?"

No, they would not go so far as to say that. 

"Indeed, were her eyes of an almost unnatural brilliance?"

"Quite unnatural, " confessed the one. 

"Twin stars, " interpolated the other. 

"Did she, in fact, seem to be consumed by some inward rapture?"

Yes, now they came to think of it, this was exactly how she HAD seemed. 

It was sweet, it was bitter, for the Duke. "I remember, " Zuleika hadsaid to him, "nothing that happened to me this morning till I foundmyself at your door. " It was bitter-sweet to have that outline filled inby these artless pencils. No, it was only bitter, to be, at his time oflife, living in the past. 

"The purpose of your tattle?" he asked coldly. 

The two youths hurried to the point from which he had diverted them. "When she went by with you just now, " said the one, "she evidentlydidn't know us from Adam. "

"And I had so hoped to ask her to luncheon, " said the other. 

"Well?"

"Well, we wondered if you would re-introduce us. And then perhaps. .. "

There was a pause. The Duke was touched to kindness for thesefellow-lovers. He would fain preserve them from the anguish that besethimself. So humanising is sorrow. 

"You are in love with Miss Dobson?" he asked. 

Both nodded. 

"Then, " said he, "you will in time be thankful to me for not affordingyou further traffic with that lady. To love and be scorned--does Fatehold for us a greater inconvenience? You think I beg the question? Letme tell you that I, too, love Miss Dobson, and that she scorns me. "

To the implied question "What chance would there be for you?" the replywas obvious. 

Amazed, abashed, the two youths turned on their heels. 

"Stay!" said the Duke. "Let me, in justice to myself, correct aninference you may have drawn. It is not by reason of any defect inmyself, perceived or imagined, that Miss Dobson scorns me. She scorns mesimply because I love her. All who love her she scorns. To see her isto love her. Therefore shut your eyes to her. Strictly exclude her fromyour horizon. Ignore her. Will you do this?"

"We will try, " said the one, after a pause. 

"Thank you very much, " added the other. 

The Duke watched them out of sight. He wished he could take the goodadvice he had given them. .. Suppose he did take it! Suppose he wentto the Bursar, obtained an exeat, fled straight to London! What justhumiliation for Zuleika to come down and find her captive gone! Hepictured her staring around the quadrangle, ranging the cloisters, calling to him. He pictured her rustling to the gate of the College, inquiring at the porter's lodge. "His Grace, Miss, he passed through aminute ago. He's going down this afternoon. "

Yet, even while his fancy luxuriated in this scheme, he well knew thathe would not accomplish anything of the kind--knew well that he wouldwait here humbly, eagerly, even though Zuleika lingered over her toilettill crack o' doom. He had no desire that was not centred in her. Takeaway his love for her, and what remained? Nothing--though only in thepast twenty-four hours had this love been added to him. Ah, why hadhe ever seen her? He thought of his past, its cold splendour andinsouciance. But he knew that for him there was no returning. His boatswere burnt. The Cytherean babes had set their torches to that flotilla, and it had blazed like match-wood. On the isle of the enchantress he wasstranded for ever. For ever stranded on the isle of an enchantress whowould have nothing to do with him! What, he wondered, should be done inso piteous a quandary? There seemed to be two courses. One was to pineslowly and painfully away. The other. .. 

Academically, the Duke had often reasoned that a man for whom life holdsno chance of happiness cannot too quickly shake life off. Now, of asudden, there was for that theory a vivid application. 

"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer" was not a point by which he, "more an antique Roman than a Dane, " was at all troubled. Never had hegiven ear to that cackle which is called Public Opinion. The judgmentof his peers--this, he had often told himself, was the sole arbitrage hecould submit to; but then, who was to be on the bench? Peerless, he wasirresponsible--the captain of his soul, the despot of his future. Noinjunction but from himself would he bow to; and his own injunctions--solittle Danish was he--had always been peremptory and lucid. Lucid andperemptory, now, the command he issued to himself. 

"So sorry to have been so long, " carolled a voice from above. The Dukelooked up. "I'm all but ready, " said Zuleika at her window. 

That brief apparition changed the colour of his resolve. He realisedthat to die for love of this lady would be no mere measure ofprecaution, or counsel of despair. It would be in itself a passionateindulgence--a fiery rapture, not to be foregone. What better couldhe ask than to die for his love? Poor indeed seemed to him nowthe sacrament of marriage beside the sacrament of death. Death wasincomparably the greater, the finer soul. Death was the one true bridal. 

He flung back his head, spread wide his arms, quickened his pace almostto running speed. Ah, he would win his bride before the setting of thesun. He knew not by what means he would win her. Enough that even now, full-hearted, fleet-footed, he was on his way to her, and that she heardhim coming. 

When Zuleika, a vision in vaporous white, came out through the postern, she wondered why he was walking at so remarkable a pace. To him, wildlyexpressing in his movement the thought within him, she appeared as hisawful bride. With a cry of joy, he bounded towards her, and would havecaught her in his arms, had she not stepped nimbly aside. 

"Forgive me!" he said, after a pause. "It was a mistake--an idioticmistake of identity. I thought you were. .. "

Zuleika, rigid, asked "Have I many doubles?"

"You know well that in all the world is none so blest as to be like you. I can only say that I was over-wrought. I can only say that it shall notoccur again. "

She was very angry indeed. Of his penitence there could be no doubt. Butthere are outrages for which no penitence can atone. This seemed to beone of them. Her first impulse was to dismiss the Duke forthwith and forever. But she wanted to show herself at the races. And she could not goalone. And except the Duke there was no one to take her. True, there wasthe concert to-night; and she could show herself there to advantage; butshe wanted ALL Oxford to see her--see her NOW. 

"I am forgiven?" he asked. In her, I am afraid, self-respect outweighedcharity. "I will try, " she said merely, "to forget what you have done. "Motioning him to her side, she opened her parasol, and signified herreadiness to start. 

They passed together across the vast gravelled expanse of the FrontQuadrangle. In the porch of the College there were, as usual, somechained-up dogs, patiently awaiting their masters. Zuleika, of course, did not care for dogs. One has never known a good man to whom dogs werenot dear; but many of the best women have no such fondness. You willfind that the woman who is really kind to dogs is always one who hasfailed to inspire sympathy in men. For the attractive woman, dogs aremere dumb and restless brutes--possibly dangerous, certainly soulless. Yet will coquetry teach her to caress any dog in the presence of aman enslaved by her. Even Zuleika, it seems, was not above this ratherobvious device for awaking envy. Be sure she did not at all like thelook of the very big bulldog who was squatting outside the porter'slodge. Perhaps, but for her present anger, she would not have stoopedendearingly down to him, as she did, cooing over him and trying to pathis head. Alas, her pretty act was a failure. The bulldog cowered awayfrom her, horrifically grimacing. This was strange. Like the majorityof his breed, Corker (for such was his name) had ever been wistful tobe noticed by any one--effusively grateful for every word or pat, anever-ready wagger and nuzzler, to none ineffable. No beggar, no burglar, had ever been rebuffed by this catholic beast. But he drew the line atZuleika. 

Seldom is even a fierce bulldog heard to growl. Yet Corker growled atZuleika. 

VII

The Duke did not try to break the stony silence in which Zuleika walked. Her displeasure was a luxury to him, for it was so soon to be dispelled. A little while, and she would be hating herself for her pettiness. Herewas he, going to die for her; and here was she, blaming him for a breachof manners. Decidedly, the slave had the whip-hand. He stole a sidelonglook at her, and could not repress a smile. His features quicklycomposed themselves. The Triumph of Death must not be handled as acheap score. He wanted to die because he would thereby so poignantlyconsummate his love, express it so completely, once and for all. .. And she--who could say that she, knowing what he had done, might not, illogically, come to love him? Perhaps she would devote her life tomourning him. He saw her bending over his tomb, in beautiful humblecurves, under a starless sky, watering the violets with her tears. 

Shades of Novalis and Friedrich Schlegel and other despicablemaunderers! He brushed them aside. He would be practical. The point was, when and how to die? Time: the sooner the better. Manner:. . Less easy todetermine. He must not die horribly, nor without dignity. The manner ofthe Roman philosophers? But the only kind of bath which an undergraduatecan command is a hip-bath. Stay! there was the river. Drowning (he hadoften heard) was a rather pleasant sensation. And to the river he waseven now on his way. 

It troubled him that he could swim. Twice, indeed, from his yacht, he had swum the Hellespont. And how about the animal instinct ofself-preservation, strong even in despair? No matter! His soul's setpurpose would subdue that. The law of gravitation that brings one to thesurface? There his very skill in swimming would help him. He would swimunder water, along the river-bed, swim till he found weeds to cling to, weird strong weeds that he would coil round him, exulting faintly. .. 

As they turned into Radcliffe Square, the Duke's ear caught the sound ofa far-distant gun. He started, and looked up at the clock of St. Mary's. Half-past four! The boats had started. 

He had heard that whenever a woman was to blame for a disappointment, the best way to avoid a scene was to inculpate oneself. He did notwish Zuleika to store up yet more material for penitence. And so "I amsorry, " he said. "That gun--did you hear it? It was the signal for therace. I shall never forgive myself. "

"Then we shan't see the race at all?" cried Zuleika. 

"It will be over, alas, before we are near the river. All the peoplewill be coming back through the meadows. "

"Let us meet them. "

"Meet a torrent? Let us have tea in my rooms and go down quietly for theother Division. "

"Let us go straight on. "

Through the square, across the High, down Grove Street, they passed. The Duke looked up at the tower of Merton, "os oupot authis alla nynpaunstaton. " Strange that to-night it would still be standing here, in all its sober and solid beauty--still be gazing, over the roofs andchimneys, at the tower of Magdalen, its rightful bride. Through untoldcenturies of the future it would stand thus, gaze thus. He winced. Oxford walls have a way of belittling us; and the Duke was loth toregard his doom as trivial. 

Aye, by all minerals we are mocked. Vegetables, yearly deciduous, arefar more sympathetic. The lilac and laburnum, making lovely now therailed pathway to Christ Church meadow, were all a-swaying and a-noddingto the Duke as he passed by. "Adieu, adieu, your Grace, " they werewhispering. "We are very sorry for you--very sorry indeed. We neverdared suppose you would predecease us. We think your death a very greattragedy. Adieu! Perhaps we shall meet in another world--that is, if themembers of the animal kingdom have immortal souls, as we have. "

The Duke was little versed in their language; yet, as he passed betweenthese gently garrulous blooms, he caught at least the drift of theirsalutation, and smiled a vague but courteous acknowledgment, to theright and the left alternately, creating a very favourable impression. 

No doubt, the young elms lining the straight way to the barges had seenhim coming; but any whispers of their leaves were lost in the murmur ofthe crowd returning from the race. Here, at length, came the torrentof which the Duke had spoken; and Zuleika's heart rose at it. Here wasOxford! From side to side the avenue was filled with a dense processionof youths--youths interspersed with maidens whose parasols were asflotsam and jetsam on a seething current of straw hats. Zuleika neitherquickened nor slackened her advance. But brightlier and brightlier shoneher eyes. 

The vanguard of the procession was pausing now, swaying, breaking atsight of her. She passed, imperial, through the way cloven for her. Alla-down the avenue, the throng parted as though some great invisiblecomb were being drawn through it. The few youths who had alreadyseen Zuleika, and by whom her beauty had been bruited throughout theUniversity, were lost in a new wonder, so incomparably fairer was shethan the remembered vision. And the rest hardly recognised her from thedescriptions, so incomparably fairer was the reality than the hope. 

She passed among them. None questioned the worthiness of her escort. Could I give you better proof the awe in which our Duke was held? Anyman is glad to be seen escorting a very pretty woman. He thinks it addsto his prestige. Whereas, in point of fact, his fellow-men are sayingmerely "Who's that appalling fellow with her?" or "Why does she go aboutwith that ass So-and-So?" Such cavil may in part be envy. But it is afact that no man, howsoever graced, can shine in juxtaposition to a verypretty woman. The Duke himself cut a poor figure beside Zuleika. Yet notone of all the undergraduates felt she could have made a wiser choice. 

She swept among them. Her own intrinsic radiance was not all thatflashed from her. She was a moving reflector and refractor of all therays of all the eyes that mankind had turned on her. Her mien told thestory of her days. Bright eyes, light feet--she trod erect from a vistawhose glare was dazzling to all beholders. She swept among them, amiracle, overwhelming, breath-bereaving. Nothing at all like her hadever been seen in Oxford. 

Mainly architectural, the beauties of Oxford. True, the place is nolonger one-sexed. There are the virguncules of Somerville and LadyMargaret's Hall; but beauty and the lust for learning have yet to beallied. There are the innumerable wives and daughters around the Parks, running in and out of their little red-brick villas; but the indignantshade of celibacy seems to have called down on the dons a Nemesis whichprecludes them from either marrying beauty or begetting it. (From theWarden's son, that unhappy curate, Zuleika inherited no tittle ofher charm. Some of it, there is no doubt, she did inherit from thecircus-rider who was her mother. )

But the casual feminine visitors? Well, the sisters and cousins of anundergraduate seldom seem more passable to his comrades than to himself. Altogether, the instinct of sex is not pandered to in Oxford. It is not, however, as it may once have been, dormant. The modern importation ofsamples of femininity serves to keep it alert, though not to gratify it. A like result is achieved by another modern development--photography. The undergraduate may, and usually does, surround himself withphotographs of pretty ladies known to the public. A phantom harem! Yetthe houris have an effect on their sultan. Surrounded both by plainwomen of flesh and blood and by beauteous women on pasteboard, theundergraduate is the easiest victim of living loveliness--is as a fireever well and truly laid, amenable to a spark. And if the spark be sucha flaring torch as Zuleika?--marvel not, reader, at the conflagration. 

Not only was the whole throng of youths drawing asunder before her:much of it, as she passed, was forming up in her wake. Thus, with theconfluence of two masses--one coming away from the river, the otherreturning to it--chaos seethed around her and the Duke before they werehalf-way along the avenue. Behind them, and on either side of them, thepeople were crushed inextricably together, swaying and surging this wayand that. "Help!" cried many a shrill feminine voice. "Don't push!" "Letme out!" "You brute!" "Save me, save me!" Many ladies fainted, whilsttheir escorts, supporting them and protecting them as best they could, peered over the heads of their fellows for one glimpse of the divineMiss Dobson. Yet for her and the Duke, in the midst of the terrificcompress, there was space enough. In front of them, as by a miracleof deference, a way still cleared itself. They reached the end of theavenue without a pause in their measured progress. Nor even when theyturned to the left, along the rather narrow path beside the barges, wasthere any obstacle to their advance. Passing evenly forward, they alonewere cool, unhustled, undishevelled. 

The Duke was so rapt in his private thoughts that he was hardlyconscious of the strange scene. And as for Zuleika, she, as well shemight be, was in the very best of good humours. 

"What a lot of house-boats!" she exclaimed. "Are you going to take me onto one of them?"

The Duke started. Already they were alongside the Judas barge. "Here, "he said, "is our goal. "

He stepped through the gate of the railings, out upon the plank, andoffered her his hand. 

She looked back. The young men in the vanguard were crushing theirshoulders against the row behind them, to stay the oncoming host. Shehad half a mind to go back through the midst of them; but she really didwant her tea, and she followed the Duke on to the barge, and under hisauspices climbed the steps to the roof. 

It looked very cool and gay, this roof, under its awning of red andwhite stripes. Nests of red and white flowers depended along either sideof it. Zuleika moved to the side which commanded a view of the bank. Sheleaned her arms on the balustrade, and gazed down. 

The crowd stretched as far as she could see--a vista of faces upturnedto her. Suddenly it hove forward. Its vanguard was swept irresistiblypast the barge--swept by the desire of the rest to see her at closerquarters. Such was the impetus that the vision for each man was buta lightning-flash: he was whirled past, struggling, almost before hisbrain took the message of his eyes. 

Those who were Judas men made frantic efforts to board the barge, tryingto hurl themselves through the gate in the railings; but they were sweptvainly on. 

Presently the torrent began to slacken, became a mere river, a mereprocession of youths staring up rather shyly. 

Before the last stragglers had marched by, Zuleika moved away to theother side of the roof, and, after a glance at the sunlit river, sank into one of the wicker chairs, and asked the Duke to look lessdisagreeable and to give her some tea. 

Among others hovering near the little buffet were the two youths whoseparley with the Duke I have recorded. 

Zuleika was aware of the special persistence of their gaze. When theDuke came back with her cup, she asked him who they were. He replied, truthfully enough, that their names were unknown to him. 

"Then, " she said, "ask them their names, and introduce them to me. "

"No, " said the Duke, sinking into the chair beside her. "That I shallnot do. I am your victim: not your pander. Those two men stand on thethreshold of a possibly useful and agreeable career. I am not going totrip them up for you. "

"I am not sure, " said Zuleika, "that you are very polite. Certainly youare foolish. It is natural for boys to fall in love. If these two arein love with me, why not let them talk to me? It were an experience onwhich they would always look back with romantic pleasure. They may neversee me again. Why grudge them this little thing?" She sipped her tea. "As for tripping them up on a threshold--that is all nonsense. What harmhas unrequited love ever done to anybody?" She laughed. "Look at ME!When I came to your rooms this morning, thinking I loved in vain, did Iseem one jot the worse for it? Did I look different?"

"You looked, I am bound to say, nobler, more spiritual. "

"More spiritual?" she exclaimed. "Do you mean I looked tired or ill?"

"No, you seemed quite fresh. But then, you are singular. You are nocriterion. "

"You mean you can't judge those two young men by me? Well, I am only awoman, of course. I have heard of women, no longer young, wasting awaybecause no man loved them. I have often heard of a young woman frettingbecause some particular young man didn't love her. But I never heard ofher wasting away. Certainly a young man doesn't waste away for love ofsome particular young woman. He very soon makes love to some other one. If his be an ardent nature, the quicker his transition. All the mostardent of my past adorers have married. Will you put my cup down, please?"

"Past?" echoed the Duke, as he placed her cup on the floor. "Have any ofyour lovers ceased to love you?"

"Ah no, no; not in retrospect. I remain their ideal, and all that, ofcourse. They cherish the thought of me. They see the world in terms ofme. But I am an inspiration, not an obsession; a glow, not a blight. "

"You don't believe in the love that corrodes, the love that ruins?"

"No, " laughed Zuleika. 

"You have never dipped into the Greek pastoral poets, nor sampled theElizabethan sonneteers?"

"No, never. You will think me lamentably crude: my experience of lifehas been drawn from life itself. "

"Yet often you talk as though you had read rather much. Your way ofspeech has what is called 'the literary flavour'. "

"Ah, that is an unfortunate trick which I caught from a writer, a Mr. Beerbohm, who once sat next to me at dinner somewhere. I can't breakmyself of it. I assure you I hardly ever open a book. Of life, though, my experience has been very wide. Brief? But I suppose the soul of manduring the past two or three years has been much as it was in the reignof Queen Elizabeth and of--whoever it was that reigned over the Greekpastures. And I daresay the modern poets are making the same old sillydistortions. But forgive me, " she added gently, "perhaps you yourselfare a poet?"

"Only since yesterday, " answered the Duke (not less unfairly to himselfthan to Roger Newdigate and Thomas Gaisford). And he felt he wasespecially a dramatic poet. All the while that she had been sitting byhim here, talking so glibly, looking so straight into his eyes, flashingat him so many pretty gestures, it was the sense of tragic ironythat prevailed in him--that sense which had stirred in him, and beenrepressed, on the way from Judas. He knew that she was making her effectconsciously for the other young men by whom the roof of the barge wasnow thronged. Him alone she seemed to observe. By her manner, she mighthave seemed to be making love to him. He envied the men she was sodeliberately making envious--the men whom, in her undertone to him, shewas really addressing. But he did take comfort in the irony. Though sheused him as a stalking-horse, he, after all, was playing with her as acat plays with a mouse. While she chattered on, without an inkling thathe was no ordinary lover, and coaxing him to present two quite ordinaryyoung men to her, he held over her the revelation that he for love ofher was about to die. 

And, while he drank in the radiance of her beauty, he heard herchattering on. "So you see, " she was saying, "it couldn't do those youngmen any harm. Suppose unrequited love IS anguish: isn't the disciplinewholesome? Suppose I AM a sort of furnace: shan't I purge, refine, temper? Those two boys are but scorched from here. That is horrid; andwhat good will it do them?" She laid a hand on his arm. "Cast them intothe furnace for their own sake, dear Duke! Or cast one of them, or, " sheadded, glancing round at the throng, "any one of these others!"

"For their own sake?" he echoed, withdrawing his arm. "If you were not, as the whole world knows you to be, perfectly respectable, there mightbe something in what you say. But as it is, you can but be an engine formischief; and your sophistries leave me unmoved. I shall certainly keepyou to myself. "

"I hate you, " said Zuleika, with an ugly petulance that crowned theirony. 

"So long as I live, " uttered the Duke, in a level voice, "you willaddress no man but me. "

"If your prophecy is to be fulfilled, " laughed Zuleika, rising from herchair, "your last moment is at hand. "

"It is, " he answered, rising too. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, awed by something in his tone. 

"I mean what I say: that my last moment is at hand. " He withdrewhis eyes from hers, and, leaning his elbows on the balustrade, gazedthoughtfully at the river. "When I am dead, " he added, over hisshoulder, "you will find these fellows rather coy of your advances. "

For the first time since his avowal of his love for her, Zuleika foundherself genuinely interested in him. A suspicion of his meaning hadflashed through her soul. --But no! surely he could not mean THAT! Itmust have been a metaphor merely. And yet, something in his eyes. .. Sheleaned beside him. Her shoulder touched his. She gazed questioningly athim. He did not turn his face to her. He gazed at the sunlit river. 

The Judas Eight had just embarked for their voyage to thestarting-point. Standing on the edge of the raft that makes a floatingplatform for the barge, William, the hoary bargee, was pushing them offwith his boat-hook, wishing them luck with deferential familiarity. The raft was thronged with Old Judasians--mostly clergymen--who wereshouting hearty hortations, and evidently trying not to appear so oldas they felt--or rather, not to appear so startlingly old as theircontemporaries looked to them. It occurred to the Duke as a strangething, and a thing to be glad of, that he, in this world, would never bean Old Judasian. Zuleika's shoulder pressed his. He thrilled not at all. To all intents, he was dead already. 

The enormous eight young men in the thread-like skiff--the skiff thatwould scarce have seemed an adequate vehicle for the tiny "cox" who satfacing them--were staring up at Zuleika with that uniformity of impulsewhich, in another direction, had enabled them to bump a boat on two ofthe previous "nights. " If to-night they bumped the next boat, Univ. , then would Judas be three places "up" on the river; and to-morrow Judaswould have a Bump Supper. Furthermore, if Univ. Were bumped to-night, Magdalen might be bumped to-morrow. Then would Judas, for the firsttime in history, be head of the river. Oh tremulous hope! Yet, forthe moment, these eight young men seemed to have forgotten the awfulresponsibility that rested on their over-developed shoulders. Theirhearts, already strained by rowing, had been transfixed this afternoonby Eros' darts. All of them had seen Zuleika as she came down to theriver; and now they sat gaping up at her, fumbling with their oars. Thetiny cox gaped too; but he it was who first recalled duty. With pipingadjurations he brought the giants back to their senses. The boat movedaway down stream, with a fairly steady stroke. 

Not in a day can the traditions of Oxford be sent spinning. From all thebarges the usual punt-loads of young men were being ferried acrossto the towing-path--young men naked of knee, armed with rattles, post-horns, motor-hooters, gongs, and other instruments of clangour. Though Zuleika filled their thoughts, they hurried along thetowing-path, as by custom, to the starting-point. 

She, meanwhile, had not taken her eyes off the Duke's profile. Norhad she dared, for fear of disappointment, to ask him just what he hadmeant. 

"All these men, " he repeated dreamily, "will be coy of your advances. "It seemed to him a good thing that his death, his awful example, woulddisinfatuate his fellow alumni. He had never been conscious ofpublic spirit. He had lived for himself alone. Love had come to himyesternight, and to-day had waked in him a sympathy with mankind. Itwas a fine thing to be a saviour. It was splendid to be human. He lookedquickly round to her who had wrought this change in him. 

But the loveliest face in all the world will not please you if you seeit suddenly, eye to eye, at a distance of half an inch from your own. It was thus that the Duke saw Zuleika's: a monstrous deliquium a-glare. Only for the fraction of an instant, though. Recoiling, he beheld theloveliness that he knew--more adorably vivid now in its look of eagerquestioning. And in his every fibre he thrilled to her. Even so had shegazed at him last night, this morning. Aye, now as then, her soul wasfull of him. He had recaptured, not her love, but his power to pleaseher. It was enough. He bowed his head; and "Moriturus te saluto" werethe words formed silently by his lips. He was glad that his death wouldbe a public service to the University. But the salutary lesson ofwhat the newspapers would call his "rash act" was, after all, only aside-issue. The great thing, the prospect that flushed his cheek, wasthe consummation of his own love, for its own sake, by his own death. And, as he met her gaze, the question that had already flitted throughhis brain found a faltering utterance; and "Shall you mourn me?" heasked her. 

But she would have no ellipses. "What are you going to do?" shewhispered. 

"Do you not know?"

"Tell me. "

"Once and for all: you cannot love me?"

Slowly she shook her head. The black pearl and the pink, quivering, gavestress to her ultimatum. But the violet of her eyes was all but hiddenby the dilation of her pupils. 

"Then, " whispered the Duke, "when I shall have died, deeming life a vainthing without you, will the gods give you tears for me? Miss Dobson, will your soul awaken? When I shall have sunk for ever beneath thesewaters whose supposed purpose here this afternoon is but that they beploughed by the blades of these young oarsmen, will there be struck fromthat flint, your heart, some late and momentary spark of pity for me?"

"Why of course, of COURSE!" babbled Zuleika, with clasped hands anddazzling eyes. "But, " she curbed herself, "it is--it would--oh, youmustn't THINK of it! I couldn't allow it! I--I should never forgivemyself!"

"In fact, you would mourn me always?"

"Why yes!. . Y-es-always. " What else could she say? But would his answerbe that he dared not condemn her to lifelong torment?

"Then, " his answer was, "my joy in dying for you is made perfect. "

Her muscles relaxed. Her breath escaped between her teeth. "You areutterly resolved?" she asked. "Are you?"

"Utterly. "

"Nothing I might say could change your purpose?"

"Nothing. "

"No entreaty, howsoever piteous, could move you?"

"None. "

Forthwith she urged, entreated, cajoled, commanded, with infiniteprettiness of ingenuity and of eloquence. Never was such a cascade ofdissuasion as hers. She only didn't say she could love him. She neverhinted that. Indeed, throughout her pleading rang this recurrent motif:that he must live to take to himself as mate some good, serious, cleverwoman who would be a not unworthy mother of his children. 

She laid stress on his youth, his great position, his brilliantattainments, the much he had already achieved, the splendidpossibilities of his future. Though of course she spoke in undertones, not to be overheard by the throng on the barge, it was almost as thoughhis health were being floridly proposed at some public banquet--say, at a Tenants' Dinner. Insomuch that, when she ceased, the Duke halfexpected Jellings, his steward, to bob up uttering, with lifted hands, astentorian "For-or, " and all the company to take up the chant: "he's--ajolly good fellow. " His brief reply, on those occasions, seemed alwaysto indicate that, whatever else he might be, a jolly good fellow he wasnot. But by Zuleika's eulogy he really was touched. "Thank you--thankyou, " he gasped; and there were tears in his eyes. Dear the thought thatshe so revered him, so wished him not to die. But this was no more thana rush-light in the austere radiance of his joy in dying for her. 

And the time was come. Now for the sacrament of his immersion ininfinity. 

"Good-bye, " he said simply, and was about to swing himself on to theledge of the balustrade. Zuleika, divining his intention, made way forhim. Her bosom heaved quickly, quickly. All colour had left her face;but her eyes shone as never before. 

Already his foot was on the ledge, when hark! the sound of a distantgun. To Zuleika, with all the chords of her soul strung to the utmosttensity, the effect was as if she herself had been shot; and sheclutched at the Duke's arm, like a frightened child. He laughed. "It wasthe signal for the race, " he said, and laughed again, rather bitterly, at the crude and trivial interruption of high matters. 

"The race?" She laughed hysterically. 

"Yes. 'They're off'. " He mingled his laughter with hers, gently seekingto disengage his arm. "And perhaps, " he said, "I, clinging to the weedsof the river's bed, shall see dimly the boats and the oars pass over me, and shall be able to gurgle a cheer for Judas. "

"Don't!" she shuddered, with a woman's notion that a jest means levity. A tumult of thoughts surged in her, all confused. She only knew thathe must not die--not yet! A moment ago, his death would have beenbeautiful. Not now! Her grip of his arm tightened. Only by breaking herwrist could he have freed himself. A moment ago, she had been in theseventh-heaven. .. Men were supposed to have died for love of her. Ithad never been proved. There had always been something--card-debts, ill-health, what not--to account for the tragedy. No man, to the bestof her recollection, had ever hinted that he was going to die for her. Never, assuredly, had she seen the deed done. And then came he, thefirst man she had loved, going to die here, before her eyes, because sheno longer loved him. But she knew now that he must not die--not yet!

All around her was the hush that falls on Oxford when the signal for therace has sounded. In the distance could be heard faintly the noise ofcheering--a little sing-song sound, drawing nearer. 

Ah, how could she have thought of letting him die so soon? She gazedinto his face--the face she might never have seen again. Even now, butfor that gun-shot, the waters would have closed over him, and his soul, maybe, have passed away. She had saved him, thank heaven! She had himstill with her. 

Gently, vainly, he still sought to unclasp her fingers from his arm. 

"Not now!" she whispered. "Not yet!"

And the noise of the cheering, and of the trumpeting and rattling, asit drew near, was an accompaniment to her joy in having saved her lover. She would keep him with her--for a while! Let all be done in order. Shewould savour the full sweetness of his sacrifice. Tomorrow--to-morrow, yes, let him have his heart's desire of death. Not now! Not yet!

"To-morrow, " she whispered, "to-morrow, if you will. Not yet!"

The first boat came jerking past in mid-stream; and the towing-path, with its serried throng of runners, was like a live thing, keeping pace. As in a dream, Zuleika saw it. And the din was in her ears. No heroineof Wagner had ever a louder accompaniment than had ours to the surgingsoul within her bosom. 

And the Duke, tightly held by her, vibrated as to a powerful electriccurrent. He let her cling to him, and her magnetism range through him. Ah, it was good not to have died! Fool, he had meant to drain off-hand, at one coarse draught, the delicate wine of death. He would let his lipscaress the brim of the august goblet. He would dally with the aroma thatwas there. 

"So be it!" he cried into Zuleika's ear--cried loudly, for it seemed asthough all the Wagnerian orchestras of Europe, with the Straussian onesthrown in, were here to clash in unison the full volume of right musicfor the glory of the reprieve. 

The fact was that the Judas boat had just bumped Univ. , exactly oppositethe Judas barge. The oarsmen in either boat sat humped, panting, some ofthem rocking and writhing, after their wholesome exercise. But therewas not one of them whose eyes were not upcast at Zuleika. And thevocalisation and instrumentation of the dancers and stampers on thetowing-path had by this time ceased to mean aught of joy in the victorsor of comfort for the vanquished, and had resolved itself into a wildwordless hymn to the glory of Miss Dobson. Behind her and all around heron the roof of the barge, young Judasians were venting in like mannertheir hearts through their lungs. She paid no heed. It was as if shestood alone with her lover on some silent pinnacle of the world. It wasas if she were a little girl with a brand-new and very expensive dollwhich had banished all the little other old toys from her mind. 

She simply could not, in her naive rapture, take her eyes off hercompanion. To the dancers and stampers of the towing-path, many of whomwere now being ferried back across the river, and to the other youthson the roof of the barge, Zuleika's air of absorption must have seemeda little strange. For already the news that the Duke loved Zuleika, andthat she loved him not, and would stoop to no man who loved her, hadspread like wild-fire among the undergraduates. The two youths in whomthe Duke had deigned to confide had not held their peace. And the effectthat Zuleika had made as she came down to the river was intensified bythe knowledge that not the great paragon himself did she deem worthy ofher. The mere sight of her had captured young Oxford. The news of hersupernal haughtiness had riveted the chains. 

"Come!" said the Duke at length, staring around him with the eyes of oneawakened from a dream. "Come! I must take you back to Judas. "

"But you won't leave me there?" pleaded Zuleika. "You will stay todinner? I am sure my grandfather would be delighted. "

"I am sure he would, " said the Duke, as he piloted her down the steps ofthe barge. "But alas, I have to dine at the Junta to-night. "

"The Junta? What is that?"

"A little dining-club. It meets every Tuesday. "

"But--you don't mean you are going to refuse me for that?"

"To do so is misery. But I have no choice. I have asked a guest. "

"Then ask another: ask me!" Zuleika's notions of Oxford life were ratherhazy. It was with difficulty that the Duke made her realise that hecould not--not even if, as she suggested, she dressed herself up as aman--invite her to the Junta. She then fell back on the impossibilitythat he would not dine with her to-night, his last night in this world. She could not understand that admirable fidelity to social engagementswhich is one of the virtues implanted in the members of our aristocracy. Bohemian by training and by career, she construed the Duke's refusal aseither a cruel slight to herself or an act of imbecility. The thought ofbeing parted from her for one moment was torture to him; but "noblesseoblige, " and it was quite impossible for him to break an engagementmerely because a more charming one offered itself: he would as soon havecheated at cards. 

And so, as they went side by side up the avenue, in the mellow lightof the westering sun, preceded in their course, and pursued, andsurrounded, by the mob of hoarse infatuate youths, Zuleika's face wasas that of a little girl sulking. Vainly the Duke reasoned with her. Shecould NOT see the point of view. 

With that sudden softening that comes to the face of an angry woman whohas hit on a good argument, she turned to him and asked "How if I hadn'tsaved your life just now? Much you thought about your guest when youwere going to dive and die!"

"I did not forget him, " answered the Duke, smiling at her casuistry. "Nor had I any scruple in disappointing him. Death cancels allengagements. "

And Zuleika, worsted, resumed her sulking. But presently, as they nearedJudas, she relented. It was paltry to be cross with him who had resolvedto die for her and was going to die so on the morrow. And after all, shewould see him at the concert to-night. They would sit together. And allto-morrow they would be together, till the time came for parting. Herswas a naturally sunny disposition. And the evening was such a lovelyone, all bathed in gold. She was ashamed of her ill-humour. 

"Forgive me, " she said, touching his arm. "Forgive me for being horrid. "And forgiven she promptly was. "And promise you will spend all to-morrowwith me. " And of course he promised. 

As they stood together on the steps of the Warden's front-door, exaltedabove the level of the flushed and swaying crowd that filled the wholelength and breadth of Judas Street, she implored him not to be late forthe concert. 

"I am never late, " he smiled. 

"Ah, you're so beautifully brought up!"

The door was opened. 

"And--oh, you're beautiful besides!" she whispered; and waved her handto him as she vanished into the hall. 

VIII

A few minutes before half-past seven, the Duke, arrayed for dinner, passed leisurely up the High. The arresting feature of his costume wasa mulberry-coloured coat, with brass buttons. This, to any one versed inOxford lore, betokened him a member of the Junta. It is awful to thinkthat a casual stranger might have mistaken him for a footman. It doesnot do to think of such things. 

The tradesmen, at the doors of their shops, bowed low as he passed, rubbing their hands and smiling, hoping inwardly that they took noliberty in sharing the cool rosy air of the evening with his Grace. Theynoted that he wore in his shirt-front a black pearl and a pink. "Daring, but becoming, " they opined. 

The rooms of the Junta were over a stationer's shop, next door but oneto the Mitre. They were small rooms; but as the Junta had now, besidesthe Duke, only two members, and as no member might introduce more thanone guest, there was ample space. 

The Duke had been elected in his second term. At that time there werefour members; but these were all leaving Oxford at the end of the summerterm, and there seemed to be in the ranks of the Bullingdon and theLoder no one quite eligible for the Junta, that holy of holies. Thus itwas that the Duke inaugurated in solitude his second year of membership. From time to time, he proposed and seconded a few candidates, after"sounding" them as to whether they were willing to join. But always, when election evening--the last Tuesday of term--drew near, he began tohave his doubts about these fellows. This one was "rowdy"; that onewas over-dressed; another did not ride quite straight to hounds; in thepedigree of another a bar-sinister was more than suspected. Electionevening was always a rather melancholy time. After dinner, when the twoclub servants had placed on the mahogany the time-worn Candidates' Bookand the ballot-box, and had noiselessly withdrawn, the Duke, clearinghis throat, read aloud to himself "Mr. So-and-So, of Such-and-SuchCollege, proposed by the Duke of Dorset, seconded by the Duke ofDorset, " and, in every case, when he drew out the drawer of theballot-box, found it was a black-ball that he had dropped into the urn. Thus it was that at the end of the summer term the annual photographic"group" taken by Messrs. Hills and Saunders was a presentment of theDuke alone. 

In the course of his third year he had become less exclusive. Notbecause there seemed to be any one really worthy of the Junta; butbecause the Junta, having thriven since the eighteenth century, mustnot die. Suppose--one never knew--he were struck by lightning, the Juntawould be no more. So, not without reluctance, but unanimously, he hadelected The MacQuern, of Balliol, and Sir John Marraby, of Brasenose. 

To-night, as he, a doomed man, went up into the familiar rooms, he waswholly glad that he had thus relented. As yet, he was spared the tragicknowledge that it would make no difference. *

 * The Junta has been reconstituted. But the apostolic line was broken, the thread was snapped; the old magic is fled. 

The MacQuern and two other young men were already there. 

"Mr. President, " said The MacQuern, "I present Mr. Trent-Garby, ofChrist Church. "

"The Junta is honoured, " said the Duke, bowing. 

Such was the ritual of the club. 

The other young man, because his host, Sir John Marraby, was not yet onthe scene, had no locus standi, and, though a friend of The MacQuern, and well known to the Duke, had to be ignored. 

A moment later, Sir John arrived. "Mr. President, " he said, "I presentLord Sayes, of Magdalen. "

"The Junta is honoured, " said the Duke, bowing. 

Both hosts and both guests, having been prominent in the throng thatvociferated around Zuleika an hour earlier, were slightly abashed inthe Duke's presence. He, however, had not noticed any one in particular, and, even if he had, that fine tradition of the club--"A member of theJunta can do no wrong; a guest of the Junta cannot err"--would haveprevented him from showing his displeasure. 

A Herculean figure filled the doorway. 

"The Junta is honoured, " said the Duke, bowing to his guest. 

"Duke, " said the newcomer quietly, "the honour is as much mine asthat of the interesting and ancient institution which I am this nightprivileged to inspect. "

Turning to Sir John and The MacQuern, the Duke said "I present Mr. Abimelech V. Oover, of Trinity. "

"The Junta, " they replied, "is honoured. "

"Gentlemen, " said the Rhodes Scholar, "your good courtesy is just suchas I would have anticipated from members of the ancient Junta. Like mostof my countrymen, I am a man of few words. We are habituated out thereto act rather than talk. Judged from the view-point of your beautifulold civilisation, I am aware my curtness must seem crude. But, gentlemen, believe me, right here--"

"Dinner is served, your Grace. "

Thus interrupted, Mr. Oover, with the resourcefulness of a practisedorator, brought his thanks to a quick but not abrupt conclusion. Thelittle company passed into the front room. 

Through the window, from the High, fading daylight mingled with thecandle-light. The mulberry coats of the hosts, interspersed by the blackones of the guests, made a fine pattern around the oval table a-gleamwith the many curious pieces of gold and silver plate that had accruedto the Junta in course of years. 

The President showed much deference to his guest. He seemed to listenwith close attention to the humorous anecdote with which, in theAmerican fashion, Mr. Oover inaugurated dinner. 

To all Rhodes Scholars, indeed, his courtesy was invariable. He went outof his way to cultivate them. And this he did more as a favour to LordMilner than of his own caprice. He found these Scholars, good fellowsthough they were, rather oppressive. They had not--how could theyhave?--the undergraduate's virtue of taking Oxford as a matter ofcourse. The Germans loved it too little, the Colonials too much. TheAmericans were, to a sensitive observer, the most troublesome--as beingthe most troubled--of the whole lot. The Duke was not one of thoseEnglishmen who fling, or care to hear flung, cheap sneers at America. Whenever any one in his presence said that America was not largein area, he would firmly maintain that it was. He held, too, in hisenlightened way, that Americans have a perfect right to exist. Buthe did often find himself wishing Mr. Rhodes had not enabled them toexercise that right in Oxford. They were so awfully afraid of havingtheir strenuous native characters undermined by their delight in theplace. They held that the future was theirs, a glorious asset, far moreglorious than the past. But a theory, as the Duke saw, is one thing, anemotion another. It is so much easier to covet what one hasn't than torevel in what one has. Also, it is so much easier to be enthusiasticabout what exists than about what doesn't. The future doesn't exist. Thepast does. For, whereas all men can learn, the gift of prophecy has diedout. A man cannot work up in his breast any real excitement about whatpossibly won't happen. He cannot very well help being sentimentallyinterested in what he knows has happened. On the other hand, he owes aduty to his country. And, if his country be America, he ought to try tofeel a vivid respect for the future, and a cold contempt for the past. Also, if he be selected by his country as a specimen of the best moral, physical, and intellectual type that she can produce for the astoundingof the effete foreigner, and incidentally for the purpose of raisingthat foreigner's tone, he must--mustn't he?--do his best to astound, to exalt. But then comes in this difficulty. Young men don't like toastound and exalt their fellows. And Americans, individually, are ofall people the most anxious to please. That they talk overmuch is oftentaken as a sign of self-satisfaction. It is merely a mannerism. Rhetoricis a thing inbred in them. They are quite unconscious of it. It is asnatural to them as breathing. And, while they talk on, they really dobelieve that they are a quick, businesslike people, by whom things are"put through" with an almost brutal abruptness. This notion of theirs israther confusing to the patient English auditor. 

Altogether, the American Rhodes Scholars, with their splendid nativegift of oratory, and their modest desire to please, and their not lessevident feeling that they ought merely to edify, and their constantdelight in all that of Oxford their English brethren don't notice, andtheir constant fear that they are being corrupted, are a noble, ratherthan a comfortable, element in the social life of the University. So, atleast, they seemed to the Duke. 

And to-night, but that he had invited Oover to dine with him, he couldhave been dining with Zuleika. And this was his last dinner on earth. Such thoughts made him the less able to take pleasure in his guest. Perfect, however, the amenity of his manner. 

This was the more commendable because Oover's "aura" was even moredisturbing than that of the average Rhodes Scholar. To-night, besidesthe usual conflicts in this young man's bosom, raged a special onebetween his desire to behave well and his jealousy of the man who hadto-day been Miss Dobson's escort. In theory he denied the Duke's rightto that honour. In sentiment he admitted it. Another conflict, you see. And another. He longed to orate about the woman who had his heart; yetshe was the one topic that must be shirked. 

The MacQuern and Mr. Trent-Garby, Sir John Marraby and Lord Sayes, theytoo--though they were no orators--would fain have unpacked their heartsin words about Zuleika. They spoke of this and that, automatically, nonelistening to another--each man listening, wide-eyed, to his own heart'ssolo on the Zuleika theme, and drinking rather more champagne than wasgood for him. Maybe, these youths sowed in themselves, on this night, the seeds of lifelong intemperance. We cannot tell. They did not livelong enough for us to know. 

While the six dined, a seventh, invisible to them, leaned moodilyagainst the mantel-piece, watching them. He was not of their time. Hislong brown hair was knotted in a black riband behind. He wore a palebrocaded coat and lace ruffles, silken stockings, a sword. Privy totheir doom, he watched them. He was loth that his Junta must die. Yes, his. Could the diners have seen him, they would have known him by hisresemblance to the mezzotint portrait that hung on the wall above him. They would have risen to their feet in presence of Humphrey Greddon, founder and first president of the club. 

His face was not so oval, nor were his eyes so big, nor his lips sofull, nor his hands so delicate, as they appeared in the mezzotint. Yet(bating the conventions of eighteenth-century portraiture) the likenesswas a good one. Humphrey Greddon was not less well-knit and gracefulthan the painter had made him, and, hard though the lines of the facewere, there was about him a certain air of high romance that could notbe explained away by the fact that he was of a period not our own. Youcould understand the great love that Nellie O'Mora had borne him. 

Under the mezzotint hung Hoppner's miniature of that lovely andill-starred girl, with her soft dark eyes, and her curls all astray frombeneath her little blue turban. And the Duke was telling Mr. Oover herstory--how she had left her home for Humphrey Greddon when she was butsixteen, and he an undergraduate at Christ Church; and had lived for himin a cottage at Littlemore, whither he would ride, most days, to be withher; and how he tired of her, broke his oath that he would marry her, thereby broke her heart; and how she drowned herself in a mill-pond; andhow Greddon was killed in Venice, two years later, duelling on the RivaSchiavoni with a Senator whose daughter he had seduced. 

And he, Greddon, was not listening very attentively to the tale. Hehad heard it told so often in this room, and he did not understandthe sentiments of the modern world. Nellie had been a monstrous prettycreature. He had adored her, and had done with her. It was right thatshe should always be toasted after dinner by the Junta, as in the dayswhen first he loved her--"Here's to Nellie O'Mora, the fairest witchthat ever was or will be!" He would have resented the omission of thattoast. But he was sick of the pitying, melting looks that were alwayscast towards her miniature. Nellie had been beautiful, but, by God! shewas always a dunce and a simpleton. How could he have spent his lifewith her? She was a fool, by God! not to marry that fool Trailby, ofMerton, whom he took to see her. 

Mr. Oover's moral tone, and his sense of chivalry, were of the Americankind: far higher than ours, even, and far better expressed. Whereas theEnglish guests of the Junta, when they heard the tale of Nellie O'Mora, would merely murmur "Poor girl!" or "What a shame!" Mr. Oover said in atone of quiet authority that compelled Greddon's ear "Duke, I hope I amnot incognisant of the laws that govern the relations of guest and host. But, Duke, I aver deliberately that the founder of this fine oldclub; at which you are so splendidly entertaining me to-night, was anunmitigated scoundrel. I say he was not a white man. "

At the word "scoundrel, " Humphrey Greddon had sprung forward, drawinghis sword, and loudly, in a voice audible to himself alone, challengedthe American to make good his words. Then, as this gentleman took nonotice, with one clean straight thrust Greddon ran him through theheart, shouting "Die, you damned psalm-singer and traducer! And so dieall rebels against King George!"* Withdrawing the blade, he wiped itdaintily on his cambric handkerchief. There was no blood. Mr. Oover, with unpunctured shirt-front, was repeating "I say he was not a whiteman. " And Greddon remembered himself--remembered he was only a ghost, impalpable, impotent, of no account. "But I shall meet you in Hellto-morrow, " he hissed in Oover's face. And there he was wrong. It isquite certain that Oover went to Heaven. 

 * As Edward VII. Was at this time on the throne, it must have been to George III. That Mr. Greddon was referring. 

Unable to avenge himself, Greddon had looked to the Duke to act for him. When he saw that this young man did but smile at Oover and make a vaguedeprecatory gesture, he again, in his wrath, forgot his disabilities. Drawing himself to his full height, he took with great deliberation apinch of snuff, and, bowing low to the Duke, said "I am vastly obleegedto your Grace for the fine high Courage you have exhibited in the behalfof your most Admiring, most Humble Servant. " Then, having brushed awaya speck of snuff from his jabot, he turned on his heel; and only in thedoorway, where one of the club servants, carrying a decanter in eachhand, walked straight through him, did he realise that he had notspoilt the Duke's evening. With a volley of the most appallingeighteenth-century oaths, he passed back into the nether world. 

To the Duke, Nellie O'Mora had never been a very vital figure. He hadoften repeated the legend of her. But, having never known what love was, he could not imagine her rapture or her anguish. Himself the quarry ofall Mayfair's wise virgins, he had always--so far as he thought ofthe matter at all--suspected that Nellie's death was due to thwartedambition. But to-night, while he told Oover about her, he could seeinto her soul. Nor did he pity her. She had loved. She had known theone thing worth living for--and dying for. She, as she went down to themill-pond, had felt just that ecstasy of self-sacrifice which he himselfhad felt to-day and would feel to-morrow. And for a while, too--for afull year--she had known the joy of being loved, had been for Greddon"the fairest witch that ever was or will be. " He could not agree withOover's long disquisition on her sufferings. And, glancing at herwell-remembered miniature, he wondered just what it was in her that hadcaptivated Greddon. He was in that blest state when a man cannot believethe earth has been trodden by any really beautiful or desirable ladysave the lady of his own heart. 

The moment had come for the removal of the table-cloth. The mahogany ofthe Junta was laid bare--a clear dark lake, anon to reflect in its stilland ruddy depths the candelabras and the fruit-cradles, the slenderglasses and the stout old decanters, the forfeit-box and the snuff-box, and other paraphernalia of the dignity of dessert. Lucidly, andunwaveringly inverted in the depths these good things stood; and, sosoon as the wine had made its circuit, the Duke rose and with upliftedglass proposed the first of the two toasts traditional to the Junta. "Gentlemen, I give you Church and State. "

The toast having been honoured by all--and by none with a richerreverence than by Oover, despite his passionate mental reservation infavour of Pittsburg-Anabaptism and the Republican Ideal--the snuff-boxwas handed round, and fruit was eaten. 

Presently, when the wine had gone round again, the Duke rose and withuplifted glass said "Gentlemen, I give you--" and there halted. Silent, frowning, flushed, he stood for a few moments, and then, witha deliberate gesture, tilted his glass and let fall the wine to thecarpet. "No, " he said, looking round the table, "I cannot give youNellie O'Mora. "

"Why not?" gasped Sir John Marraby. 

"You have a right to ask that, " said the Duke, still standing. "I canonly say that my conscience is stronger than my sense of what is due tothe customs of the club. Nellie O'Mora, " he said, passing his hand overhis brow, "may have been in her day the fairest witch that ever was--sofair that our founder had good reason to suppose her the fairest witchthat ever would be. But his prediction was a false one. So at least itseems to me. Of course I cannot both hold this view and remain Presidentof this club. MacQuern--Marraby--which of you is Vice-President?"

"He is, " said Marraby. 

"Then, MacQuern, you are hereby President, vice myself resigned. Takethe chair and propose the toast. "

"I would rather not, " said The MacQuern after a pause. 

"Then, Marraby, YOU must. "

"Not I!" said Marraby. 

"Why is this?" asked the Duke, looking from one to the other. 

The MacQuern, with Scotch caution, was silent. But the impulsiveMarraby--Madcap Marraby, as they called him in B. N. C. --said "It'sbecause I won't lie!" and, leaping up, raised his glass aloft and cried"I give you Zuleika Dobson, the fairest witch that ever was or will be!"

Mr. Oover, Lord Sayes, Mr. Trent-Garby, sprang to their feet; TheMacQuern rose to his. "Zuleika Dobson!" they cried, and drained theirglasses. 

Then, when they had resumed their seats, came an awkward pause. TheDuke, still erect beside the chair he had vacated, looked very graveand pale. Marraby had taken an outrageous liberty. But "a member of theJunta can do no wrong, " and the liberty could not be resented. The Dukefelt that the blame was on himself, who had elected Marraby to the club. 

Mr. Oover, too, looked grave. All the antiquarian in him deploredthe sudden rupture of a fine old Oxford tradition. All the chivalrousAmerican in him resented the slight on that fair victim of the feudalsystem, Miss O'Mora. And, at the same time, all the Abimelech V. In himrejoiced at having honoured by word and act the one woman in the world. 

Gazing around at the flushed faces and heaving shirt-fronts of thediners, the Duke forgot Marraby's misdemeanour. What mattered far moreto him was that here were five young men deeply under the spell ofZuleika. They must be saved, if possible. He knew how strong hisinfluence was in the University. He knew also how strong was Zuleika's. He had not much hope of the issue. But his new-born sense of duty to hisfellows spurred him on. "Is there, " he asked with a bitter smile, "anyone of you who doesn't with his whole heart love Miss Dobson?"

Nobody held up a hand. 

"As I feared, " said the Duke, knowing not that if a hand had been heldup he would have taken it as a personal insult. No man really in lovecan forgive another for not sharing his ardour. His jealousy for himselfwhen his beloved prefers another man is hardly a stronger passion thanhis jealousy for her when she is not preferred to all other women. 

"You know her only by sight--by repute?" asked the Duke. They signifiedthat this was so. "I wish you would introduce me to her, " said Marraby. 

"You are all coming to the Judas concert tonight?" the Duke asked, ignoring Marraby. "You have all secured tickets?" They nodded. "To hearme play, or to see Miss Dobson?" There was a murmur of "Both--both. ""And you would all of you, like Marraby, wish to be presented to thislady?" Their eyes dilated. "That way happiness lies, think you?"

"Oh, happiness be hanged!" said Marraby. 

To the Duke this seemed a profoundly sane remark--an epitome of his ownsentiments. But what was right for himself was not right for all. Hebelieved in convention as the best way for average mankind. And so, slowly, calmly, he told to his fellow-diners just what he had told a fewhours earlier to those two young men in Salt Cellar. Not knowing thathis words had already been spread throughout Oxford, he was rathersurprised that they seemed to make no sensation. Quite flat, too, fellhis appeal that the syren be shunned by all. 

Mr. Oover, during his year of residence, had been sorely tried by thequaint old English custom of not making public speeches after privatedinners. It was with a deep sigh of satisfaction that he now rose to hisfeet. 

"Duke, " he said in a low voice, which yet penetrated to every cornerof the room, "I guess I am voicing these gentlemen when I say that yourwords show up your good heart, all the time. Your mentality, too, isbully, as we all predicate. One may say without exaggeration that yourscholarly and social attainments are a by-word throughout the solarsystem, and be-yond. We rightly venerate you as our boss. Sir, weworship the ground you walk on. But we owe a duty to our own free andindependent manhood. Sir, we worship the ground Miss Z. Dobson treadson. We have pegged out a claim right there. And from that locationwe aren't to be budged--not for bob-nuts. We asseverate wesquat--where--we--squat, come--what--will. You say we have no chance towin Miss Z. Dobson. That--we--know. We aren't worthy. We lie prone. Lether walk over us. You say her heart is cold. We don't pro-fess wecan take the chill off. But, Sir, we can't be diverted out of lovingher--not even by you, Sir. No, Sir! We love her, and--shall, and--will, Sir, with--our--latest breath. "

This peroration evoked loud applause. "I love her, and shall, and will, "shouted each man. And again they honoured in wine her image. Sir JohnMarraby uttered a cry familiar in the hunting-field. The MacQuerncontributed a few bars of a sentimental ballad in the dialect of hiscountry. "Hurrah, hurrah!" shouted Mr. Trent-Garby. Lord Sayes hummedthe latest waltz, waving his arms to its rhythm, while the wine he hadjust spilt on his shirt-front trickled unheeded to his waistcoat. Mr. Oover gave the Yale cheer. 

The genial din was wafted down through the open window to thepassers-by. The wine-merchant across the way heard it, and smiledpensively. "Youth, youth!" he murmured. 

The genial din grew louder. 

At any other time, the Duke would have been jarred by the disgrace tothe Junta. But now, as he stood with bent head, covering his face withhis hands, he thought only of the need to rid these young men, hereand now, of the influence that had befallen them. To-morrow his tragicexample might be too late, the mischief have sunk too deep, the agony belife-long. His good breeding forbade him to cast over a dinner-table theshadow of his death. His conscience insisted that he must. He uncoveredhis face, and held up one hand for silence. 

"We are all of us, " he said, "old enough to remember vividly thedemonstrations made in the streets of London when war was declaredbetween us and the Transvaal Republic. You, Mr. Oover, doubtless heardin America the echoes of those ebullitions. The general idea was thatthe war was going to be a very brief and simple affair--what was called'a walk-over. ' To me, though I was only a small boy, it seemed that allthis delirious pride in the prospect of crushing a trumpery foe argueda defect in our sense of proportion. Still, I was able to understand thedemonstrators' point of view. To 'the giddy vulgar' any sort of victoryis pleasant. But defeat? If, when that war was declared, every one hadbeen sure that not only should we fail to conquer the Transvaal, butthat IT would conquer US--that not only would it make good its freedomand independence, but that we should forfeit ours--how would thecits have felt then? Would they not have pulled long faces, spoken inwhispers, wept? You must forgive me for saying that the noise you havejust made around this table was very like to the noise made on the vergeof the Boer War. And your procedure seems to me as unaccountable aswould have seemed the antics of those mobs if England had been plainlydoomed to disaster and to vassalage. My guest here to-night, in thecourse of his very eloquent and racy speech, spoke of the need that heand you should preserve your 'free and independent manhood. ' That seemedto me an irreproachable ideal. But I confess I was somewhat taken abackby my friend's scheme for realising it. He declared his intention oflying prone and letting Miss Dobson 'walk over' him; and he advised youto follow his example; and to this counsel you gave evident approval. Gentlemen, suppose that on the verge of the aforesaid war, some oratorhad said to the British people 'It is going to be a walk-over for ourenemy in the field. Mr. Kruger holds us in the hollow of his hand. In subjection to him we shall find our long-lost freedom andindependence'--what would have been Britannia's answer? What, onreflection, is yours to Mr. Oover? What are Mr. Oover's own secondthoughts?" The Duke paused, with a smile to his guest. 

"Go right ahead, Duke, " said Mr. Oover. "I'll re-ply when my turncomes. "

"And not utterly demolish me, I hope, " said the Duke. His was the Oxfordmanner. "Gentlemen, " he continued, "is it possible that Britannia wouldhave thrown her helmet in the air, shrieking 'Slavery for ever'? You, gentlemen, seem to think slavery a pleasant and an honourable state. Youhave less experience of it than I. I have been enslaved to Miss Dobsonsince yesterday evening; you, only since this afternoon; I, at closequarters; you, at a respectful distance. Your fetters have not galledyou yet. MY wrists, MY ankles, are excoriated. The iron has entered intomy soul. I droop. I stumble. Blood flows from me. I quiver and curse. Iwrithe. The sun mocks me. The moon titters in my face. I can stand it nolonger. I will no more of it. Tomorrow I die. "

The flushed faces of the diners grew gradually pale. Their eyes lostlustre. Their tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths. 

At length, almost inaudibly, The MacQuern asked "Do you mean you aregoing to commit suicide?"

"Yes, " said the Duke, "if you choose to put it in that way. Yes. And itis only by a chance that I did not commit suicide this afternoon. "

"You--don't--say, " gasped Mr. Oover. 

"I do indeed, " said the Duke. "And I ask you all to weigh well mymessage. "

"But--but does Miss Dobson know?" asked Sir John. 

"Oh yes, " was the reply. "Indeed, it was she who persuaded me not to dietill to-morrow. "

"But--but, " faltered Lord Sayes, "I saw her saying good-bye to you inJudas Street. And--and she looked quite--as if nothing had happened. "

"Nothing HAD happened, " said the Duke. "And she was very much pleasedto have me still with her. But she isn't so cruel as to hinder me fromdying for her to-morrow. I don't think she exactly fixed the hour. Itshall be just after the Eights have been rowed. An earlier death wouldmark in me a lack of courtesy to that contest. .. It seems strange toyou that I should do this thing? Take warning by me. Muster all yourwill-power, and forget Miss Dobson. Tear up your tickets for theconcert. Stay here and play cards. Play high. Or rather, go back to yourvarious Colleges, and speed the news I have told you. Put all Oxford onits guard against this woman who can love no lover. Let all Oxfordknow that I, Dorset, who had so much reason to love life--I, thenonpareil--am going to die for the love I bear this woman. And let noman think I go unwilling. I am no lamb led to the slaughter. I am priestas well as victim. I offer myself up with a pious joy. But enoughof this cold Hebraism! It is ill-attuned to my soul's mood. Self-sacrifice--bah! Regard me as a voluptuary. I am that. All mybaffled ardour speeds me to the bosom of Death. She is gentle andwanton. She knows I could never have loved her for her own sake. Shehas no illusions about me. She knows well I come to her because nototherwise may I quench my passion. "

There was a long silence. The Duke, looking around at the bent heads anddrawn mouths of his auditors, saw that his words had gone home. It wasMarraby who revealed how powerfully home they had gone. 

"Dorset, " he said huskily, "I shall die too. "

The Duke flung up his hands, staring wildly. 

"I stand in with that, " said Mr. Oover. 

"So do I!" said Lord Sayes. "And I!" said Mr. Trent-Garby; "And I!" TheMacQuern. 

The Duke found voice. "Are you mad?" he asked, clutching at his throat. "Are you all mad?"

"No, Duke, " said Mr. Oover. "Or, if we are, you have no right to be atlarge. You have shown us the way. We--take it. "

"Just so, " said The MacQuern, stolidly. 

"Listen, you fools, " cried the Duke. But through the open window camethe vibrant stroke of some clock. He wheeled round, plucked out hiswatch--nine!--the concert!--his promise not to be late!--Zuleika!

All other thoughts vanished. In an instant he dodged beneath the sashof the window. From the flower-box he sprang to the road beneath. (Thefacade of the house is called, to this day, Dorset's Leap. ) Alightingwith the legerity of a cat, he swerved leftward in the recoil, and wasoff, like a streak of mulberry-coloured lightning, down the High. 

The other men had rushed to the window, fearing the worst. "No, " criedOover. "That's all right. Saves time!" and he raised himself on to thewindow-box. It splintered under his weight. He leapt heavily but well, followed by some uprooted geraniums. Squaring his shoulders, he threwback his head, and doubled down the slope. 

There was a violent jostle between the remaining men. The MacQuerncannily got out of it, and rushed downstairs. He emerged at thefront-door just after Marraby touched ground. The Baronet's left anklehad twisted under him. His face was drawn with pain as he hopped downthe High on his right foot, fingering his ticket for the concert. Nextleapt Lord Sayes. And last of all leapt Mr. Trent-Garby, who, catchinghis foot in the ruined flower-box, fell headlong, and was, I regret tosay, killed. Lord Sayes passed Sir John in a few paces. The MacQuernovertook Mr. Oover at St. Mary's and outstripped him in RadcliffeSquare. The Duke came in an easy first. 

Youth, youth!

IX

Across the Front Quadrangle, heedless of the great crowd to right andleft, Dorset rushed. Up the stone steps to the Hall he bounded, andonly on the Hall's threshold was he brought to a pause. The doorwaywas blocked by the backs of youths who had by hook and crook securedstanding-room. The whole scene was surprisingly unlike that of theaverage College concert. 

"Let me pass, " said the Duke, rather breathlessly. "Thank you. Make wayplease. Thanks. " And with quick-pulsing heart he made his way down theaisle to the front row. There awaited him a surprise that was like adouche of cold water full in his face. Zuleika was not there! It hadnever occurred to him that she herself might not be punctual. 

The Warden was there, reading his programme with an air of greatsolemnity. "Where, " asked the Duke, "is your grand-daughter?" His tonewas as of a man saying "If she is dead, don't break it gently to me. "

"My grand-daughter?" said the Warden. "Ah, Duke, good evening. "

"She's not ill?"

"Oh no, I think not. She said something about changing the dress shewore at dinner. She will come. " And the Warden thanked his young friendfor the great kindness he had shown to Zuleika. He hoped the Duke hadnot let her worry him with her artless prattle. "She seems to be a good, amiable girl, " he added, in his detached way. 

Sitting beside him, the Duke looked curiously at the venerable profile, as at a mummy's. To think that this had once been a man! To think thathis blood flowed in the veins of Zuleika! Hitherto the Duke had seennothing grotesque in him--had regarded him always as a dignifiedspecimen of priest and scholar. Such a life as the Warden's, yearfollowing year in ornamental seclusion from the follies and fusses ofthe world, had to the Duke seemed rather admirable and enviable. Oftenhe himself had (for a minute or so) meditated taking a fellowship at AllSouls and spending here in Oxford the greater part of his life. He hadnever been young, and it never had occurred to him that the Warden hadbeen young once. To-night he saw the old man in a new light--saw thathe was mad. Here was a man who--for had he not married and begotten achild?--must have known, in some degree, the emotion of love. How, afterthat, could he have gone on thus, year by year, rusting among hisbooks, asking no favour of life, waiting for death without a sign ofimpatience? Why had he not killed himself long ago? Why cumbered he theearth?

On the dais an undergraduate was singing a song entitled "She Loves NotMe. " Such plaints are apt to leave us unharrowed. Across the footlightsof an opera-house, the despair of some Italian tenor in red tights anda yellow wig may be convincing enough. Not so, at a concert, the despairof a shy British amateur in evening dress. The undergraduate on thedais, fumbling with his sheet of music while he predicted that only whenhe were "laid within the church-yard cold and grey" would his ladybegin to pity him, seemed to the Duke rather ridiculous; but not half soridiculous as the Warden. This fictitious love-affair was less nugatorythan the actual humdrum for which Dr. Dobson had sold his soul to thedevil. Also, little as one might suspect it, the warbler was perhapsexpressing a genuine sentiment. Zuleika herself, belike, was in histhoughts. 

As he began the second stanza, predicting that when his lady died toothe angels of heaven would bear her straight to him, the audience hearda loud murmur, or subdued roar, outside the Hall. And after a few barsthe warbler suddenly ceased, staring straight in front of him as thoughhe saw a vision. Automatically, all heads veered in the direction of hisgaze. From the entrance, slowly along the aisle, came Zuleika, brilliantin black. 

To the Duke, who had rapturously risen, she nodded and smiled asshe swerved down on the chair beside him. She looked to him somehowdifferent. He had quite forgiven her for being late: her mere presencewas a perfect excuse. And the very change in her, though he could notdefine it, was somehow pleasing to him. He was about to questionher, but she shook her head and held up to her lips a black-glovedforefinger, enjoining silence for the singer, who, with dogged Britishpluck, had harked back to the beginning of the second stanza. When histask was done and he shuffled down from the dais, he received a greatovation. Zuleika, in the way peculiar to persons who are in the habit ofappearing before the public, held her hands well above the level ofher brow, and clapped them with a vigour demonstrative not less of herpresence than of her delight. 

"And now, " she asked, turning to the Duke, "do you see? do you see?"

"Something, yes. But what?"

"Isn't it plain?" Lightly she touched the lobe of her left ear. "Aren'tyou flattered?"

He knew now what made the difference. It was that her little face wasflanked by two black pearls. 

"Think, " said she, "how deeply I must have been brooding over you sincewe parted!"

"Is this really, " he asked, pointing to the left ear-ring, "the pearlyou wore to-day?"

"Yes. Isn't it strange? A man ought to be pleased when a woman goesquite unconsciously into mourning for him--goes just because she reallydoes mourn him. "

"I am more than pleased. I am touched. When did the change come?"

"I don't know. I only noticed it after dinner, when I saw myself in themirror. All through dinner I had been thinking of you and of--well, ofto-morrow. And this dear sensitive pink pearl had again expressed mysoul. And there was I, in a yellow gown with green embroideries, gayas a jacamar, jarring hideously on myself. I covered my eyes and rushedupstairs, rang the bell and tore my things off. My maid was very cross. "

Cross! The Duke was shot through with envy of one who was in a positionto be unkind to Zuleika. "Happy maid!" he murmured. Zuleika replied thathe was stealing her thunder: hadn't she envied the girl at his lodgings?"But I, " she said, "wanted only to serve you in meekness. The idea ofever being pert to you didn't enter into my head. You show a side ofyour character as unpleasing as it was unforeseen. "

"Perhaps then, " said the Duke, "it is as well that I am going to die. "She acknowledged his rebuke with a pretty gesture of penitence. "Youmay have been faultless in love, " he added; "but you would not have laiddown your life for me. "

"Oh, " she answered, "wouldn't I though? You don't know me. That is justthe sort of thing I should have loved to do. I am much more romanticthan you are, really. I wonder, " she said, glancing at his breast, "ifYOUR pink pearl would have turned black? And I wonder if YOU would havetaken the trouble to change that extraordinary coat you are wearing?"

In sooth, no costume could have been more beautifully Cimmerian thanZuleika's. And yet, thought the Duke, watching her as the concertproceeded, the effect of her was not lugubrious. Her darkness shone. The black satin gown she wore was a stream of shifting high-lights. Big black diamonds were around her throat and wrists, and tiny blackdiamonds starred the fan she wielded. In her hair gleamed a greatraven's wing. And brighter, brighter than all these were her eyes. Assuredly no, there was nothing morbid about her. Would one even(wondered the Duke, for a disloyal instant) go so far as to say she washeartless? Ah no, she was merely strong. She was one who could tread thetragic plane without stumbling, and be resilient in the valley of theshadow. What she had just said was no more than the truth: she wouldhave loved to die for him, had he not forfeited her heart. She wouldhave asked no tears. That she had none to shed for him now, that she didbut share his exhilaration, was the measure of her worthiness to havethe homage of his self-slaughter. 

"By the way, " she whispered, "I want to ask one little favour of you. Will you, please, at the last moment to-morrow, call out my name in aloud voice, so that every one around can hear?"

"Of course I will. "

"So that no one shall ever be able to say it wasn't for me that youdied, you know. "

"May I use simply your Christian name?"

"Yes, I really don't see why you shouldn't--at such a moment. "

"Thank you. " His face glowed. 

Thus did they commune, these two, radiant without and within. And behindthem, throughout the Hall, the undergraduates craned their necks fora glimpse. The Duke's piano solo, which was the last item in the firsthalf of the programme, was eagerly awaited. Already, whispered firstfrom the lips of Oover and the others who had come on from the Junta, the news of his resolve had gone from ear to ear among the men. He, forhis part, had forgotten the scene at the Junta, the baleful effect ofhis example. For him the Hall was a cave of solitude--no one there butZuleika and himself. Yet almost, like the late Mr. John Bright, he heardin the air the beating of the wings of the Angel of Death. Not awfulwings; little wings that sprouted from the shoulders of a rosy andblindfold child. Love and Death--for him they were exquisitely one. Andit seemed to him, when his turn came to play, that he floated, ratherthan walked, to the dais. 

He had not considered what he would play tonight. Nor, maybe, was heconscious now of choosing. His fingers caressed the keyboard vaguely;and anon this ivory had voice and language; and for its master, and forsome of his hearers, arose a vision. And it was as though in delicateprocession, very slowly, listless with weeping, certain figures passedby, hooded, and drooping forasmuch as by the loss of him whom they werefollowing to his grave their own hold on life had been loosened. Hehad been so beautiful and young. Lo, he was but a burden to be carriedhence, dust to be hidden out of sight. Very slowly, very wretchedly theywent by. But, as they went, another feeling, faint at first, an all butimperceptible current, seemed to flow through the procession; and nowone, now another of the mourners would look wanly up, with cast-backhood, as though listening; and anon all were listening on their way, first in wonder, then in rapture; for the soul of their friend wassinging to them: they heard his voice, but clearer and more blithe thanthey had ever known it--a voice etherealised by a triumph of joy thatwas not yet for them to share. But presently the voice receded, itsechoes dying away into the sphere whence it came. It ceased; and themourners were left alone again with their sorrow, and passed on allunsolaced, and drooping, weeping. 

Soon after the Duke had begun to play, an invisible figure came andstood by and listened; a frail man, dressed in the fashion of 1840; theshade of none other than Frederic Chopin. Behind whom, a moment later, came a woman of somewhat masculine aspect and dominant demeanour, mounting guard over him, and, as it were, ready to catch him if he fell. He bowed his head lower and lower, he looked up with an ecstasy moreand more intense, according to the procedure of his Marche Funebre. Andamong the audience, too, there was a bowing and uplifting of heads, justas among the figures of the mourners evoked. Yet the head of the playerhimself was all the while erect, and his face glad and serene. Noblysensitive as was his playing of the mournful passages, he smiledbrilliantly through them. 

And Zuleika returned his gaze with a smile not less gay. She was notsure what he was playing. But she assumed that it was for her, and thatthe music had some reference to his impending death. She was one of thepeople who say "I don't know anything about music really, but I knowwhat I like. " And she liked this; and she beat time to it with her fan. She thought her Duke looked very handsome. She was proud of him. Strangethat this time yesterday she had been wildly in love with him! Strange, too, that this time to-morrow he would be dead! She was immensely gladshe had saved him this afternoon. To-morrow! There came back to her whathe had told her about the omen at Tankerton, that stately home: "On theeve of the death of a Duke of Dorset, two black owls come always andperch on the battlements. They remain there through the night, hooting. At dawn they fly away, none knows whither. " Perhaps, thought she, atthis very moment these two birds were on the battlements. 

The music ceased. In the hush that followed it, her applause rang sharpand notable. Not so Chopin's. Of him and his intense excitement none buthis companion was aware. "Plus fin que Pachmann!" he reiterated, wavinghis arms wildly, and dancing. 

"Tu auras une migraine affreuse. Rentrons, petit coeur!" said GeorgeSand, gently but firmly. 

"Laisse-moi le saluer, " cried the composer, struggling in her grasp. 

"Demain soir, oui. Il sera parmi nous, " said the novelist, as shehurried him away. "Moi aussi, " she added to herself, "je me promets unbeau plaisir en faisant la connaissance de ce jeune homme. "

Zuleika was the first to rise as "ce jeune homme" came down from thedais. Now was the interval between the two parts of the programme. There was a general creaking and scraping of pushed-back chairs as theaudience rose and went forth into the night. The noise aroused fromsleep the good Warden, who, having peered at his programme, complimentedthe Duke with old-world courtesy and went to sleep again. Zuleika, thrusting her fan under one arm, shook the player by both hands. Also, she told him that she knew nothing about music really, but that sheknew what she liked. As she passed with him up the aisle, she said thisagain. People who say it are never tired of saying it. 

Outside, the crowd was greater than ever. All the undergraduates fromall the Colleges seemed now to be concentrated in the great FrontQuadrangle of Judas. Even in the glow of the Japanese lanterns that hungaround in honour of the concert, the faces of the lads looked a littlepale. For it was known by all now that the Duke was to die. Even whilethe concert was in progress, the news had spread out from the Hall, through the thronged doorway, down the thronged steps, to the confinesof the crowd. Nor had Oover and the other men from the Junta made anysecret of their own determination. And now, as the rest saw Zuleikayet again at close quarters, and verified their remembrance of her, thehalf-formed desire in them to die too was hardened to a vow. 

You cannot make a man by standing a sheep on its hind-legs. But bystanding a flock of sheep in that position you can make a crowd of men. If man were not a gregarious animal, the world might have achieved, bythis time, some real progress towards civilisation. Segregate him, andhe is no fool. But let him loose among his fellows, and he is lost--hebecomes just an unit in unreason. If any one of the undergraduates hadmet Miss Dobson in the desert of Sahara, he would have fallen in lovewith her; but not one in a thousand of them would have wished to diebecause she did not love him. The Duke's was a peculiar case. For him tofall in love was itself a violent peripety, bound to produce a violentupheaval; and such was his pride that for his love to be unrequitedwould naturally enamour him of death. These other, these quite ordinary, young men were the victims less of Zuleika than of the Duke's example, and of one another. A crowd, proportionately to its size, magnifies allthat in its units pertains to the emotions, and diminishes all that inthem pertains to thought. It was because these undergraduates were acrowd that their passion for Zuleika was so intense; and it was becausethey were a crowd that they followed so blindly the lead given to them. To die for Miss Dobson was "the thing to do. " The Duke was going to doit. The Junta was going to do it. It is a hateful fact, but we must facethe fact, that snobbishness was one of the springs to the tragedy herechronicled. 

We may set to this crowd's credit that it refrained now from followingZuleika. Not one of the ladies present was deserted by her escort. Allthe men recognised the Duke's right to be alone with Zuleika now. We mayset also to their credit that they carefully guarded the ladies from allknowledge of what was afoot. 

Side by side, the great lover and his beloved wandered away, beyond thelight of the Japanese lanterns, and came to Salt Cellar. 

The moon, like a gardenia in the night's button-hole--but no! why shoulda writer never be able to mention the moon without likening her tosomething else--usually something to which she bears not the faintestresemblance?. .. The moon, looking like nothing whatsoever but herself, was engaged in her old and futile endeavour to mark the hours correctlyon the sun-dial at the centre of the lawn. Never, except once, late onenight in the eighteenth century, when the toper who was Sub-Warden hadspent an hour in trying to set his watch here, had she received theslightest encouragement. Still she wanly persisted. And this was themore absurd in her because Salt Cellar offered very good scope for thoselegitimate effects of hers which we one and all admire. Was it nothingto her to have cut those black shadows across the cloisters? Wasit nothing to her that she so magically mingled her rays with thecandle-light shed forth from Zuleika's bedroom? Nothing, that shehad cleansed the lawn of all its colour, and made of it a platform ofsilver-grey, fit for fairies to dance on?

If Zuleika, as she paced the gravel path, had seen how transfigured--hownobly like the Tragic Muse--she was just now, she could not have gone onbothering the Duke for a keepsake of the tragedy that was to be. 

She was still set on having his two studs. He was still firm in hisrefusal to misappropriate those heirlooms. In vain she pointed out tohim that the pearls he meant, the white ones, no longer existed; thatthe pearls he was wearing were no more "entailed" than if he had gotthem yesterday. "And you actually DID get them yesterday, " she said. "And from me. And I want them back. "

"You are ingenious, " he admitted. "I, in my simple way, am but head ofthe Tanville-Tankerton family. Had you accepted my offer of marriage, you would have had the right to wear these two pearls during yourlife-time. I am very happy to die for you. But tamper with the propertyof my successor I cannot and will not. I am sorry, " he added. 

"Sorry!" echoed Zuleika. "Yes, and you were 'sorry' you couldn't dinewith me to-night. But any little niggling scruple is more to you than Iam. What old maids men are!" And viciously with her fan she struck oneof the cloister pillars. 

Her outburst was lost on the Duke. At her taunt about his not diningwith her, he had stood still, clapping one hand to his brow. The eventsof the early evening swept back to him--his speech, its unforeseen andhorrible reception. He saw again the preternaturally solemn face ofOover, and the flushed faces of the rest. He had thought, as he pointeddown to the abyss over which he stood, these fellows would recoil, and pull themselves together. They had recoiled, and pulled themselvestogether, only in the manner of athletes about to spring. He wasresponsible for them. His own life was his to lose: others he mustnot squander. Besides, he had reckoned to die alone, unique; aloft andapart. .. "There is something--something I had forgotten, " he said toZuleika, "something that will be a great shock to you"; and he gave heran outline of what had passed at the Junta. 

"And you are sure they really MEANT it?" she asked in a voice thattrembled. 

"I fear so. But they were over-excited. They will recant their folly. Ishall force them to. "

"They are not children. You yourself have just been calling them 'men. 'Why should they obey you?"

She turned at sound of a footstep, and saw a young man approaching. Hewore a coat like the Duke's, and in his hand he dangled a handkerchief. He bowed awkwardly, and, holding out the handkerchief, said to her "Ibeg your pardon, but I think you dropped this. I have just picked itup. "

Zuleika looked at the handkerchief, which was obviously a man's, andsmilingly shook her head. 

"I don't think you know The MacQuern, " said the Duke, with sulky grace. "This, " he said to the intruder, "is Miss Dobson. "

"And is it really true, " asked Zuleika, retaining The MacQuern's hand, "that you want to die for me?"

Well, the Scots are a self-seeking and a resolute, but a shy, race;swift to act, when swiftness is needed, but seldom knowing quite what tosay. The MacQuern, with native reluctance to give something for nothing, had determined to have the pleasure of knowing the young lady for whomhe was to lay down his life; and this purpose he had, by the simplestratagem of his own handkerchief, achieved. Nevertheless, in answer toZuleika's question, and with the pressure of her hand to inspire him, the only word that rose to his lips was "Ay" (which may be roughlytranslated as "Yes"). 

"You will do nothing of the sort, " interposed the Duke. 

"There, " said Zuleika, still retaining The MacQuern's hand, "you see, itis forbidden. You must not defy our dear little Duke. He is not used toit. It is not done. "

"I don't know, " said The MacQuern, with a stony glance at the Duke, "that he has anything to do with the matter. "

"He is older and wiser than you. More a man of the world. Regard him asyour tutor. "

"Do YOU want me not to die for you?" asked the young man. 

"Ah, _I_ should not dare to impose my wishes on you, " said she, droppinghis hand. "Even, " she added, "if I knew what my wishes were. And Idon't. I know only that I think it is very, very beautiful of you tothink of dying for me. "

"Then that settles it, " said The MacQuern. 

"No, no! You must not let yourself be influenced by ME. Besides, I amnot in a mood to influence anybody. I am overwhelmed. Tell me, " shesaid, heedless of the Duke, who stood tapping his heel on the ground, with every manifestation of disapproval and impatience, "tell me, is ittrue that some of the other men love me too, and--feel as you do?"

The MacQuern said cautiously that he could answer for no one buthimself. "But, " he allowed, "I saw a good many men whom I know, outsidethe Hall here, just now, and they seemed to have made up their minds. "

"To die for me? To-morrow?"

"To-morrow. After the Eights, I suppose; at the same time as the Duke. It wouldn't do to leave the races undecided. "

"Of COURSE not. But the poor dears! It is too touching! I have donenothing, nothing to deserve it. "

"Nothing whatsoever, " said the Duke drily. 

"Oh HE, " said Zuleika, "thinks me an unredeemed brute; just because Idon't love him. YOU, dear Mr. MacQuern--does one call you 'Mr. '? 'The'would sound so odd in the vocative. And I can't very well call you'MacQuern'--YOU don't think me unkind, do you? I simply can't bear tothink of all these young lives cut short without my having done a thingto brighten them. What can I do?--what can I do to show my gratitude?"

An idea struck her. She looked up to the lit window of her room. "Melisande!" she called. 

A figure appeared at the window. "Mademoiselle desire?"

"My tricks, Melisande! Bring down the box, quick!" She turned excitedlyto the two young men. "It is all I can do in return, you see. If I coulddance for them, I would. If I could sing, I would sing to them. I dowhat I can. You, " she said to the Duke, "must go on to the platform andannounce it. "

"Announce what?"

"Why, that I am going to do my tricks! All you need say is 'Ladies andgentlemen, I have the pleasure to--' What is the matter now?"

"You make me feel slightly unwell, " said the Duke. 

"And YOU are the most d-dis-disobliging and the unkindest and theb-beastliest person I ever met, " Zuleika sobbed at him through herhands. The MacQuern glared reproaches at him. So did Melisande, who hadjust appeared through the postern, holding in her arms the great casketof malachite. A painful scene; and the Duke gave in. He said he would doanything--anything. Peace was restored. 

The MacQuern had relieved Melisande of her burden; and to him was theprivilege of bearing it, in procession with his adored and her quelledmentor, towards the Hall. 

Zuleika babbled like a child going to a juvenile party. This was thegreat night, as yet, in her life. Illustrious enough already it hadseemed to her, as eve of that ultimate flattery vowed her by the Duke. So fine a thing had his doom seemed to her--his doom alone--that it hadsufficed to flood her pink pearl with the right hue. And now not on himalone need she ponder. Now he was but the centre of a group--a groupthat might grow and grow--a group that might with a little encouragementbe a multitude. .. With such hopes dimly whirling in the recesses of hersoul, her beautiful red lips babbled. 

X

Sounds of a violin, drifting out through the open windows of theHall, suggested that the second part of the concert had begun. All theundergraduates, however, except the few who figured in the programme, had waited outside till their mistress should re-appear. The sistersand cousins of the Judas men had been escorted back to their places andhurriedly left there. 

It was a hushed, tense crowd. 

"The poor darlings!" murmured Zuleika, pausing to survey them. "And oh, "she exclaimed, "there won't be room for all of them in there!"

"You might give an 'overflow' performance out here afterwards, "suggested the Duke, grimly. 

This idea flashed on her a better. Why not give her performance here andnow?--now, so eager was she for contact, as it were, with this crowd;here, by moonlight, in the pretty glow of these paper lanterns. Yes, she said, let it be here and now; and she bade the Duke make theannouncement. 

"What shall I say?" he asked. "'Gentlemen, I have the pleasure toannounce that Miss Zuleika Dobson, the world-renowned She-Wizard, willnow oblige'? Or shall I call them 'Gents, ' tout court?"

She could afford to laugh at his ill-humour. She had his promise ofobedience. She told him to say something graceful and simple. 

The noise of the violin had ceased. There was not a breath of wind. Thecrowd in the quadrangle was as still and as silent as the night itself. Nowhere a tremour. And it was borne in on Zuleika that this crowd hadone mind as well as one heart--a common resolve, calm and clear, as wellas a common passion. No need for her to strengthen the spell now. Nowaverers here. And thus it came true that gratitude was the sole motivefor her display. 

She stood with eyes downcast and hands folded behind her, moonlit inthe glow of lanterns, modest to the point of pathos, while the Dukegracefully and simply introduced her to the multitude. He was, he said, empowered by the lady who stood beside him to say that she would bepleased to give them an exhibition of her skill in the art to whichshe had devoted her life--an art which, more potently perhaps than anyother, touched in mankind the sense of mystery and stirred the facultyof wonder; the most truly romantic of all the arts: he referred to theart of conjuring. It was not too much to say that by her mastery of thisart, in which hitherto, it must be confessed, women had made no verygreat mark, Miss Zuleika Dobson (for such was the name of the lady whostood beside him) had earned the esteem of the whole civilised world. And here in Oxford, and in this College especially, she had a peculiarclaim to--might he say?--their affectionate regard, inasmuch as she wasthe grand-daughter of their venerable and venerated Warden. 

As the Duke ceased, there came from his hearers a sound like therustling of leaves. In return for it, Zuleika performed that gracefulact of subsidence to the verge of collapse which is usually kept for thedelectation of some royal person. And indeed, in the presence of thisdoomed congress, she did experience humility; for she was not altogetherwithout imagination. But, as she arose from her "bob, " she was her ownbold self again, bright mistress of the situation. 

It was impossible for her to give her entertainment in full. Some of hertricks (notably the Secret Aquarium, and the Blazing Ball of Worsted)needed special preparation, and a table fitted with a "servante" orsecret tray. The table for to-night's performance was an ordinary one, brought out from the porter's lodge. The MacQuern deposited on it thegreat casket. Zuleika, retaining him as her assistant, picked nimblyout from their places and put in array the curious appurtenances of herart--the Magic Canister, the Demon Egg-Cup, and the sundry other vesselswhich, lost property of young Edward Gibbs, had been by a Romanofftransmuted from wood to gold, and were now by the moon reducedtemporarily to silver. 

In a great dense semicircle the young men disposed themselves aroundher. Those who were in front squatted down on the gravel; those who werebehind knelt; the rest stood. Young Oxford! Here, in this mass of boyishfaces, all fused and obliterated, was the realisation of that phrase. Two or three thousands of human bodies, human souls? Yet the effect ofthem in the moonlight was as of one great passive monster. 

So was it seen by the Duke, as he stood leaning against the wall, behind Zuleika's table. He saw it as a monster couchant and enchanted, a monster that was to die; and its death was in part his own doing. But remorse in him gave place to hostility. Zuleika had begun herperformance. She was producing the Barber's Pole from her mouth. Andit was to her that the Duke's heart went suddenly out in tendernessand pity. He forgot her levity and vanity--her wickedness, as he hadinwardly called it. He thrilled with that intense anxiety which comes toa man when he sees his beloved offering to the public an exhibition ofher skill, be it in singing, acting, dancing, or any other art. Wouldshe acquit herself well? The lover's trepidation is painful enough whenthe beloved has genius--how should these clods appreciate her? and whoset them in judgment over her? It must be worse when the beloved hasmediocrity. And Zuleika, in conjuring, had rather less than that. Thoughindeed she took herself quite seriously as a conjurer, she brought toher art neither conscience nor ambition, in any true sense of thosewords. Since her debut, she had learned nothing and forgotten nothing. The stale and narrow repertory which she had acquired from Edward Gibbswas all she had to offer; and this, and her marked lack of skill, sheeked out with the self-same "patter" that had sufficed that impossibleyoung man. It was especially her jokes that now sent shudders up thespine of her lover, and brought tears to his eyes, and kept him ina state of terror as to what she would say next. "You see, " she hadexclaimed lightly after the production of the Barber's Pole, "how easyit is to set up business as a hairdresser. " Over the Demon Egg-Cup shesaid that the egg was "as good as fresh. " And her constantly reiteratedcatch-phrase--"Well, this is rather queer!"--was the most distressingthing of all. 

The Duke blushed to think what these men thought of her. Would lovewere blind! These her lovers were doubtless judging her. They forgaveher--confound their impudence!--because of her beauty. The banality ofher performance was an added grace. It made her piteous. Damn them, theywere sorry for her. Little Noaks was squatting in the front row, peeringup at her through his spectacles. Noaks was as sorry for her as the restof them. Why didn't the earth yawn and swallow them all up?

Our hero's unreasoning rage was fed by a not unreasonable jealousy. Itwas clear to him that Zuleika had forgotten his existence. To-day, assoon as he had killed her love, she had shown him how much less to herwas his love than the crowd's. And now again it was only the crowd shecared for. He followed with his eyes her long slender figure as shethreaded her way in and out of the crowd, sinuously, confidingly, producing a penny from one lad's elbow, a threepenny-bit from betweenanother's neck and collar, half a crown from another's hair, and alwaysrepeating in that flute-like voice of hers "Well, this is rather queer!"Hither and thither she fared, her neck and arms gleaming white from theluminous blackness of her dress, in the luminous blueness of the night. At a distance, she might have been a wraith; or a breeze made visible; avagrom breeze, warm and delicate, and in league with death. 

Yes, that is how she might have seemed to a casual observer. But to theDuke there was nothing weird about her: she was radiantly a woman; agoddess; and his first and last love. Bitter his heart was, but onlyagainst the mob she wooed, not against her for wooing it. She was cruel?All goddesses are that. She was demeaning herself? His soul welled upanew in pity, in passion. 

Yonder, in the Hall, the concert ran its course, making a feebleincidental music to the dark emotions of the quadrangle. It endedsomewhat before the close of Zuleika's rival show; and then the stepsfrom the Hall were thronged by ladies, who, with a sprinkling of dons, stood in attitudes of refined displeasure and vulgar curiosity. TheWarden was just awake enough to notice the sea of undergraduates. Suspecting some breach of College discipline, he retired hastily to hisown quarters, for fear his dignity might be somehow compromised. 

Was there ever, I wonder, an historian so pure as not to have wishedjust once to fob off on his readers just one bright fable for effect?I find myself sorely tempted to tell you that on Zuleika, as herentertainment drew to a close, the spirit of the higher thaumaturgydescended like a flame and found in her a worthy agent. SpeciousApollyon whispers to me "Where would be the harm? Tell your readersthat she cast a seed on the ground, and that therefrom presently arosea tamarind-tree which blossomed and bore fruit and, withering, vanished. Or say she conjured from an empty basket of osier a hissing and bridlingsnake. Why not? Your readers would be excited, gratified. And you wouldnever be found out. " But the grave eyes of Clio are bent on me, herservant. Oh pardon, madam: I did but waver for an instant. It is not toolate to tell my readers that the climax of Zuleika's entertainment wasonly that dismal affair, the Magic Canister. 

It she took from the table, and, holding it aloft, cried "Now, before Isay good night, I want to see if I have your confidence. But you mustn'tthink this is the confidence trick!" She handed the vessel to TheMacQuern, who, looking like an overgrown acolyte, bore it after her asshe went again among the audience. Pausing before a man in the frontrow, she asked him if he would trust her with his watch. He held itout to her. "Thank you, " she said, letting her fingers touch his for amoment before she dropped it into the Magic Canister. From another manshe borrowed a cigarette-case, from another a neck-tie, from another apair of sleeve-links, from Noaks a ring--one of those iron rings whichare supposed, rightly or wrongly, to alleviate rheumatism. And when shehad made an ample selection, she began her return-journey to the table. 

On her way she saw in the shadow of the wall the figure of her forgottenDuke. She saw him, the one man she had ever loved, also the firstman who had wished definitely to die for her; and she was touched byremorse. She had said she would remember him to her dying day; andalready. .. But had he not refused her the wherewithal to rememberhim--the pearls she needed as the clou of her dear collection, the greatrelic among relics?

"Would you trust me with your studs?" she asked him, in a voice thatcould be heard throughout the quadrangle, with a smile that was for himalone. 

There was no help for it. He quickly extricated from his shirt-front theblack pearl and the pink. Her thanks had a special emphasis. 

The MacQuern placed the Magic Canister before her on the table. Shepressed the outer sheath down on it. Then she inverted it so that thecontents fell into the false lid; then she opened it, looked into it, and, exclaiming "Well, this is rather queer!" held it up so that theaudience whose intelligence she was insulting might see there wasnothing in it. 

"Accidents, " she said, "will happen in the best-regulated canisters!But I think there is just a chance that I shall be able to restore yourproperty. Excuse me for a moment. " She then shut the canister, releasedthe false lid, made several passes over it, opened it, looked into itand said with a flourish "Now I can clear my character!" Again she wentamong the crowd, attended by The MacQuern; and the loans--priceless nowbecause she had touched them--were in due course severally restored. When she took the canister from her acolyte, only the two studs remainedin it. 

Not since the night of her flitting from the Gibbs' humble home hadZuleika thieved. Was she a back-slider? Would she rob the Duke, and hisheir-presumptive, and Tanville-Tankertons yet unborn? Alas, yes. Butwhat she now did was proof that she had qualms. And her way of doing itshowed that for legerdemain she had after all a natural aptitude which, properly trained, might have won for her an honourable place in at leastthe second rank of contemporary prestidigitators. With a gesture of herdisengaged hand, so swift as to be scarcely visible, she unhooked herear-rings and "passed" them into the canister. This she did as sheturned away from the crowd, on her way to the Duke. At the same moment, in a manner technically not less good, though morally deplorable, shewithdrew the studs and "vanished" them into her bosom. 

Was it triumph, or shame, or of both a little that so flushed her cheeksas she stood before the man she had robbed? Or was it the excitementof giving a present to the man she had loved? Certain it is that thenakedness of her ears gave a new look to her face--a primitive look, open and sweetly wild. The Duke saw the difference, without noticingthe cause. She was more adorable than ever. He blenched and swayed as inproximity to a loveliness beyond endurance. His heart cried out withinhim. A sudden mist came over his eyes. 

In the canister that she held out to him, the two pearls rattled likedice. 

"Keep them!" he whispered. 

"I shall, " she whispered back, almost shyly. "But these, these are foryou. " And she took one of his hands, and, holding it open, tilted thecanister over it, and let drop into it the two ear-rings, and wentquickly away. 

As she re-appeared at the table, the crowd gave her a long ovationof gratitude for her performance--an ovation all the more impressivebecause it was solemn and subdued. She curtseyed again and again, notindeed with the timid simplicity of her first obeisance (so familiaralready was she with the thought of the crowd's doom), but rather in themanner of a prima donna--chin up, eyelids down, all teeth manifest, andhands from the bosom flung ecstatically wide asunder. 

You know how, at a concert, a prima donna who has just sung insists onshaking hands with the accompanist, and dragging him forward, to showhow beautiful her nature is, into the applause that is for herselfalone. And your heart, like mine, has gone out to the wretched victim. Even so would you have felt for The MacQuern when Zuleika, on theimplied assumption that half the credit was his, grasped him by thewrist, and, continuing to curtsey, would not release him till the lastechoes of the clapping had died away. 

The ladies on the steps of the Hall moved down into the quadrangle, spreading their resentment like a miasma. The tragic passion of thecrowd was merged in mere awkwardness. There was a general movementtowards the College gate. 

Zuleika was putting her tricks back into the great casket, The MacQuernassisting her. The Scots, as I have said, are a shy race, but a resoluteand a self-seeking. This young chieftain had not yet recovered from whathis heroine had let him in for. But he did not lose the opportunity ofasking her to lunch with him to-morrow. 

"Delighted, " she said, fitting the Demon Egg-Cup into its groove. Then, looking up at him, "Are you popular?" she asked. "Have you manyfriends?" He nodded. She said he must invite them all. 

This was a blow to the young man, who, at once thrifty and infatuate, had planned a luncheon a deux. "I had hoped--" he began. 

"Vainly, " she cut him short. 

There was a pause. "Whom shall I invite, then?"

"I don't know any of them. How should I have preferences?" Sheremembered the Duke. She looked round and saw him still standing in theshadow of the wall. He came towards her. "Of course, " she said hastilyto her host, "you must ask HIM. "

The MacQuern complied. He turned to the Duke and told him that MissDobson had very kindly promised to lunch with him to-morrow. "And, " saidZuleika, "I simply WON'T unless you will. "

The Duke looked at her. Had it not been arranged that he and she shouldspend his last day together? Did it mean nothing that she had given himher ear-rings? Quickly drawing about him some remnants of his tatteredpride, he hid his wound, and accepted the invitation. 

"It seems a shame, " said Zuleika to The MacQuern, "to ask you to bringthis great heavy box all the way back again. But--"

Those last poor rags of pride fell away now. The Duke threw a prehensilehand on the casket, and, coldly glaring at The MacQuern, pointed withhis other hand towards the College gate. He, and he alone, was going tosee Zuleika home. It was his last night on earth, and he was not to betrifled with. Such was the message of his eyes. The Scotsman's flashedback a precisely similar message. 

Men had fought for Zuleika, but never in her presence. Her eyes dilated. She had not the slightest impulse to throw herself between the twoantagonists. Indeed, she stepped back, so as not to be in the way. Ashort sharp fight--how much better that is than bad blood! She hoped thebetter man would win; and (do not misjudge her) she rather hoped thisman was the Duke. It occurred to her--a vague memory of some play orpicture--that she ought to be holding aloft a candelabra of lit tapers;no, that was only done indoors, and in the eighteenth century. Oughtshe to hold a sponge? Idle, these speculations of hers, and based oncomplete ignorance of the manners and customs of undergraduates. TheDuke and The MacQuern would never have come to blows in the presence ofa lady. Their conflict was necessarily spiritual. 

And it was the Scotsman, Scots though he was, who had to yield. Cowedby something demoniac in the will-power pitted against his, he foundhimself retreating in the direction indicated by the Duke's forefinger. 

As he disappeared into the porch, Zuleika turned to the Duke. "You weresplendid, " she said softly. He knew that very well. Does the stag in hishour of victory need a diploma from the hind? Holding in his hands themalachite casket that was the symbol of his triumph, the Duke smileddictatorially at his darling. He came near to thinking of her as achattel. Then with a pang he remembered his abject devotion to her. Abject no longer though! The victory he had just won restored hismanhood, his sense of supremacy among his fellows. He loved this womanon equal terms. She was transcendent? So was he, Dorset. To-nightthe world had on its moonlit surface two great ornaments--Zuleika andhimself. Neither of the pair could be replaced. Was one of them to beshattered? Life and love were good. He had been mad to think of dying. 

No word was spoken as they went together to Salt Cellar. She expectedhim to talk about her conjuring tricks. Could he have been disappointed?She dared not inquire; for she had the sensitiveness, though no otherquality whatsoever, of the true artist. She felt herself aggrieved. Shehad half a mind to ask him to give her back her ear-rings. And by theway, he hadn't yet thanked her for them! Well, she would make allowancesfor a condemned man. And again she remembered the omen of which he hadtold her. She looked at him, and then up into the sky. "This same moon, "she said to herself, "sees the battlements of Tankerton. Does she seetwo black owls there? Does she hear them hooting?"

They were in Salt Cellar now. "Melisande!" she called up to her window. 

"Hush!" said the Duke, "I have something to say to you. "

"Well, you can say it all the better without that great box in yourhands. I want my maid to carry it up to my room for me. " And again shecalled out for Melisande, and received no answer. "I suppose she's inthe house-keeper's room or somewhere. You had better put the box downinside the door. She can bring it up later. "

She pushed open the postern; and the Duke, as he stepped across thethreshold, thrilled with a romantic awe. Re-emerging a moment later intothe moonlight, he felt that she had been right about the box: it wasfatal to self-expression; and he was glad he had not tried to speakon the way from the Front Quad: the soul needs gesture; and the Duke'sfirst gesture now was to seize Zuleika's hands in his. 

She was too startled to move. "Zuleika!" he whispered. She was too angryto speak, but with a sudden twist she freed her wrists and darted back. 

He laughed. "You are afraid of me. You are afraid to let me kiss you, because you are afraid of loving me. This afternoon--here--I all butkissed you. I mistook you for Death. I was enamoured of Death. I was afool. That is what YOU are, you incomparable darling: you are a fool. You are afraid of life. I am not. I love life. I am going to live foryou, do you hear?"

She stood with her back to the postern. Anger in her eyes had givenplace to scorn. "You mean, " she said, "that you go back on yourpromise?"

"You will release me from it. "

"You mean you are afraid to die?"

"You will not be guilty of my death. You love me. "

"Good night, you miserable coward. " She stepped back through thepostern. 

"Don't, Zuleika! Miss Dobson, don't! Pull yourself together! Reflect! Iimplore you. .. You will repent. .. "

Slowly she closed the postern on him. 

"You will repent. I shall wait here, under your window. .. "

He heard a bolt rasped into its socket. He heard the retreat of a lighttread on the paven hall. 

And he hadn't even kissed her! That was his first thought. He ground hisheel in the gravel. 

And he had hurt her wrists! This was Zuleika's first thought, as shecame into her bedroom. Yes, there were two red marks where he hadheld her. No man had ever dared to lay hands on her. With a sense ofcontamination, she proceeded to wash her hands thoroughly with soap andwater. From time to time such words as "cad" and "beast" came throughher teeth. 

She dried her hands and flung herself into a chair, arose and wentpacing the room. So this was the end of her great night! What had shedone to deserve it? How had he dared?

There was a sound as of rain against the window. She was glad. The nightneeded cleansing. 

He had told her she was afraid of life. Life!--to have herself caressedby HIM; humbly to devote herself to being humbly doted on; to be theslave of a slave; to swim in a private pond of treacle--ugh! If thethought weren't so cloying and degrading, it would be laughable. 

For a moment her hands hovered over those two golden and gemmed volumesencasing Bradshaw and the A. B. C. Guide. To leave Oxford by an earlytrain, leave him to drown unthanked, unlooked at. .. But this couldnot be done without slighting all those hundreds of other men . .. Andbesides. .. 

Again that sound on the window-pane. This time it startled her. Thereseemed to be no rain. Could it have been--little bits of gravel? Shedarted noiselessly to the window, pushed it open, and looked down. Shesaw the upturned face of the Duke. She stepped back, trembling withfury, staring around her. Inspiration came. 

She thrust her head out again. "Are you there?" she whispered. 

"Yes, yes. I knew you would come. "

"Wait a moment, wait!"

The water-jug stood where she had left it, on the floor by thewash-stand. It was almost full, rather heavy. She bore it steadily tothe window, and looked out. 

"Come a little nearer!" she whispered. 

The upturned and moonlit face obeyed her. She saw its lips forming theword "Zuleika. " She took careful aim. 

Full on the face crashed the cascade of moonlit water, shooting out onall sides like the petals of some great silver anemone. 

She laughed shrilly as she leapt back, letting the empty jug roll overon the carpet. Then she stood tense, crouching, her hands to her mouth, her eyes askance, as much as to say "Now I've done it!" She listenedhard, holding her breath. In the stillness of the night was a faintsound of dripping water, and presently of footsteps going away. Thenstillness unbroken. 

XI

I said that I was Clio's servant. And I felt, when I said it, that youlooked at me dubiously, and murmured among yourselves. 

Not that you doubted I was somewhat connected with Clio's household. Thelady after whom I have named this book is alive, and well known to someof you personally, to all of you by repute. Nor had you finished myfirst page before you guessed my theme to be that episode in her lifewhich caused so great a sensation among the newspaper-reading public afew years ago. (It all seems but yesterday, does it not? They are stillvivid to us, those head-lines. We have hardly yet ceased to be edifiedby the morals pointed in those leading articles. ) And yet very soon youfound me behaving just like any novelist--reporting the exact wordsthat passed between the protagonists at private interviews--aye, and theexact thoughts and emotions that were in their breasts. Little wonderthat you wondered! Let me make things clear to you. 

I have my mistress' leave to do this. At first (for reasons which youwill presently understand) she demurred. But I pointed out to her that Ihad been placed in a false position, and that until this were rectifiedneither she nor I could reap the credit due to us. 

Know, then, that for a long time Clio had been thoroughly discontented. She was happy enough, she says, when first she left the home of Pierus, her father, to become a Muse. On those humble beginnings she looksback with affection. She kept only one servant, Herodotus. The romanticelement in him appealed to her. He died, and she had about her a largestaff of able and faithful servants, whose way of doing their workirritated and depressed her. To them, apparently, life consisted ofnothing but politics and military operations--things to which she, beinga woman, was somewhat indifferent. She was jealous of Melpomene. Itseemed to her that her own servants worked from without at a mass of drydetails which might as well be forgotten. Melpomene's worked on materialthat was eternally interesting--the souls of men and women; and notfrom without, either; but rather casting themselves into those soulsand showing to us the essence of them. She was particularly struck by aremark of Aristotle's, that tragedy was "more philosophic" than history, inasmuch as it concerned itself with what might be, while history wasconcerned with merely what had been. This summed up for her what shehad often felt, but could not have exactly formulated. She saw that thedepartment over which she presided was at best an inferior one. She sawthat just what she had liked--and rightly liked--in poor dear Herodotuswas just what prevented him from being a good historian. It was wrong tomix up facts and fancies. But why should her present servants deal withonly one little special set of the variegated facts of life? It was notin her power to interfere. The Nine, by the terms of the charterthat Zeus had granted to them, were bound to leave their servants anabsolutely free hand. But Clio could at least refrain from reading theworks which, by a legal fiction, she was supposed to inspire. Once ortwice in the course of a century, she would glance into this or that newhistory book, only to lay it down with a shrug of her shoulders. Someof the mediaeval chronicles she rather liked. But when, one day, Pallasasked her what she thought of "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire"her only answer was "ostis toia echei en edone echei en edone toia"(For people who like that kind of thing, that is the kind of thing theylike). This she did let slip. Generally, throughout all the centuries, she kept up a pretence of thinking history the greatest of all the arts. She always held her head high among her Sisters. It was only on thesly that she was an omnivorous reader of dramatic and lyric poetry. She watched with keen interest the earliest developments of the proseromance in southern Europe; and after the publication of "ClarissaHarlowe" she spent practically all her time in reading novels. It wasnot until the Spring of the year 1863 that an entirely new elementforced itself into her peaceful life. Zeus fell in love with her. 

To us, for whom so quickly "time doth transfix the flourish set onyouth, " there is something strange, even a trifle ludicrous, in thethought that Zeus, after all these years, is still at the beck and callof his passions. And it seems anyhow lamentable that he has not yetgained self-confidence enough to appear in his own person to the ladyof his choice, and is still at pains to transform himself into whateverobject he deems likeliest to please her. To Clio, suddenly from Olympus, he flashed down in the semblance of Kinglake's "Invasion of the Crimea"(four vols. , large 8vo, half-calf). She saw through his disguiseimmediately, and, with great courage and independence, bade him begone. Rebuffed, he was not deflected. Indeed it would seem that Clio's highspirit did but sharpen his desire. Hardly a day passed but he appearedin what he hoped would be the irresistible form--a recently discoveredfragment of Polybius, an advance copy of the forthcoming issue of "TheHistorical Review, " the note-book of Professor Carl Voertschlaffen. .. One day, all-prying Hermes told him of Clio's secret addiction tonovel-reading. Thenceforth, year in, year out, it was in the form offiction that Zeus wooed her. The sole result was that she grew sick ofthe sight of novels, and found a perverse pleasure in reading history. These dry details of what had actually happened were a relief, she toldherself, from all that make-believe. 

One Sunday afternoon--the day before that very Monday on which thisnarrative opens--it occurred to her how fine a thing history might be ifthe historian had the novelist's privileges. Suppose he could be presentat every scene which he was going to describe, a presence invisible andinevitable, and equipped with power to see into the breasts of all thepersons whose actions he set himself to watch. .. 

While the Muse was thus musing, Zeus (disguised as Miss Annie S. Swan'slatest work) paid his usual visit. She let her eyes rest on him. Hitherand thither she divided her swift mind, and addressed him in wingedwords. "Zeus, father of gods and men, cloud-compeller, what wouldst thouof me? But first will I say what I would of thee"; and she besought himto extend to the writers of history such privileges as are granted tonovelists. His whole manner had changed. He listened to her with themassive gravity of a ruler who never yet has allowed private influenceto obscure his judgment. He was silent for some time after her appeal. Then, in a voice of thunder, which made quake the slopes of Parnassus, he gave his answer. He admitted the disabilities under which historianslaboured. But the novelists--were they not equally handicapped? They hadto treat of persons who never existed, events which never were. Onlyby the privilege of being in the thick of those events, and in the verybowels of those persons, could they hope to hold the reader's attention. If similar privileges were granted to the historian, the demand fornovels would cease forthwith, and many thousand of hard-working, deserving men and women would be thrown out of employment. In fact, Cliohad asked him an impossible favour. But he might--he said he conceivablymight--be induced to let her have her way just once. In that event, allshe would have to do was to keep her eye on the world's surface, andthen, so soon as she had reason to think that somewhere was impendingsomething of great import, to choose an historian. On him, straightway, Zeus would confer invisibility, inevitability, and psychic penetration, with a flawless memory thrown in. 

On the following afternoon, Clio's roving eye saw Zuleika stepping fromthe Paddington platform into the Oxford train. A few moments later Ifound myself suddenly on Parnassus. In hurried words Clio told me how Icame there, and what I had to do. She said she had selected me becauseshe knew me to be honest, sober, and capable, and no stranger to Oxford. Another moment, and I was at the throne of Zeus. With a majesty ofgesture which I shall never forget, he stretched his hand over me, and Iwas indued with the promised gifts. And then, lo! I was on the platformof Oxford station. The train was not due for another hour. But the timepassed pleasantly enough. 

It was fun to float all unseen, to float all unhampered by any corporealnonsense, up and down the platform. It was fun to watch the inmostthoughts of the station-master, of the porters, of the young person atthe buffet. But of course I did not let the holiday-mood master me. Irealised the seriousness of my mission. I must concentrate myself onthe matter in hand: Miss Dobson's visit. What was going to happen?Prescience was no part of my outfit. From what I knew about Miss Dobson, I deduced that she would be a great success. That was all. Had I had theinstinct that was given to those Emperors in stone, and even to thedog Corker, I should have begged Clio to send in my stead some man ofstronger nerve. She had charged me to be calmly vigilant, scrupulouslyfair. I could have been neither, had I from the outset foreseen all. Only because the immediate future was broken to me by degrees, first asa set of possibilities, then as a set of probabilities that yet mightnot come off, was I able to fulfil the trust imposed in me. Even so, itwas hard. I had always accepted the doctrine that to understand all isto forgive all. Thanks to Zeus, I understood all about Miss Dobson, andyet there were moments when she repelled me--moments when I wished tosee her neither from without nor from within. So soon as the Duke ofDorset met her on the Monday night, I felt I was in duty bound to keephim under constant surveillance. Yet there were moments when I was sosorry for him that I deemed myself a brute for shadowing him. 

Ever since I can remember, I have been beset by a recurring doubt asto whether I be or be not quite a gentleman. I have never attempted todefine that term: I have but feverishly wondered whether in its usualacceptation (whatever that is) it be strictly applicable to myself. Manypeople hold that the qualities connoted by it are primarily moral--akind heart, honourable conduct, and so forth. On Clio's mission, I foundhonour and kindness tugging me in precisely opposite directions. In sofar as honour tugged the harder, was I the more or the less gentlemanly?But the test is not a fair one. Curiosity tugged on the side of honour. This goes to prove me a cad? Oh, set against it the fact that I didat one point betray Clio's trust. When Miss Dobson had done the deedrecorded at the close of the foregoing chapter, I gave the Duke ofDorset an hour's grace. 

I could have done no less. In the lives of most of us is some one thingthat we would not after the lapse of how many years soever confess toour most understanding friend; the thing that does not bear thinkingof; the one thing to be forgotten; the unforgettable thing. Notthe commission of some great crime: this can be atoned for by greatpenances; and the very enormity of it has a dark grandeur. Maybe, somelittle deadly act of meanness, some hole-and-corner treachery? Butwhat a man has once willed to do, his will helps him to forget. Theunforgettable thing in his life is usually not a thing he has done orleft undone, but a thing done to him--some insolence or cruelty forwhich he could not, or did not, avenge himself. This it is that oftencomes back to him, years after, in his dreams, and thrusts itselfsuddenly into his waking thoughts, so that he clenches his hands, andshakes his head, and hums a tune loudly--anything to beat it off. In thevery hour when first befell him that odious humiliation, would you havespied on him? I gave the Duke of Dorset an hour's grace. 

What were his thoughts in that interval, what words, if any, he utteredto the night, never will be known. For this, Clio has abused me inlanguage less befitting a Muse than a fishwife. I do not care. I wouldrather be chidden by Clio than by my own sense of delicacy, any day. 

XII

Not less averse than from dogging the Duke was I from remaining anotherinstant in the presence of Miss Dobson. There seemed to be no possibleexcuse for her. This time she had gone too far. She was outrageous. Assoon as the Duke had had time to get clear away, I floated out into thenight. 

I may have consciously reasoned that the best way to forget the presentwas in the revival of memories. Or I may have been driven by a merehoming instinct. Anyhow, it was in the direction of my old College thatI went. Midnight was tolling as I floated in through the shut grim gateat which I had so often stood knocking for admission. 

The man who now occupied my room had sported his oak--my oak. I read thename on the visiting-card attached thereto--E. J. Craddock--and went in. 

E. J. Craddock, interloper, was sitting at my table, with elbows squaredand head on one side, in the act of literary composition. The oars andcaps on my walls betokened him a rowing-man. Indeed, I recognised hissomewhat heavy face as that of the man whom, from the Judas barge thisafternoon, I had seen rowing "stroke" in my College Eight. 

He ought, therefore, to have been in bed and asleep two hours ago. Andthe offence of his vigil was aggravated by a large tumbler that stoodin front of him, containing whisky and soda. From this he took a deepdraught. Then he read over what he had written. I did not care to peerover his shoulder at MS. Which, though written in my room, was notintended for my eyes. But the writer's brain was open to me; and he hadwritten "I, the undersigned Edward Joseph Craddock, do hereby leave andbequeath all my personal and other property to Zuleika Dobson, spinster. This is my last will and testament. "

He gnawed his pen, and presently altered the "hereby leave" to "herebyand herewith leave. " Fool!

I thereby and therewith left him. As I emerged through the floor of theroom above--through the very carpet that had so often been steeped inwine, and encrusted with smithereens of glass, in the brave old daysof a well-remembered occupant--I found two men, both of them evidentlyreading-men. One of them was pacing round the room. "Do you know, " hewas saying, "what she reminded me of, all the time? Those words--aren'tthey in the Song of Solomon?--'fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and. .. And. .. '"

"'Terrible as an army with banners, '" supplied his host--rather testily, for he was writing a letter. It began "My dear Father. By the time youreceive this I shall have taken a step which. .. "

Clearly it was vain to seek distraction in my old College. I floated outinto the untenanted meadows. Over them was the usual coverlet of whitevapour, trailed from the Isis right up to Merton Wall. The scent ofthese meadows' moisture is the scent of Oxford. Even in hottest noon, one feels that the sun has not dried THEM. Always there is moisturedrifting across them, drifting into the Colleges. It, one suspects, must have had much to do with the evocation of what is called the Oxfordspirit--that gentlest spirit, so lingering and searching, so dear tothem who as youths were brought into ken of it, so exasperating to themwho were not. Yes, certainly, it is this mild, miasmal air, not lessthan the grey beauty and gravity of the buildings, that has helpedOxford to produce, and foster eternally, her peculiar race ofartist-scholars, scholar-artists. The undergraduate, in his briefperiods of residence, is too buoyant to be mastered by the spirit ofthe place. He does but salute it, and catch the manner. It is on himwho stays to spend his maturity here that the spirit will in its fulnessgradually descend. The buildings and their traditions keep astir in hismind whatsoever is gracious; the climate, enfolding and enfeebling him, lulling him, keeps him careless of the sharp, harsh, exigent realitiesof the outer world. Careless? Not utterly. These realities may be seenby him. He may study them, be amused or touched by them. But they cannotfire him. Oxford is too damp for that. The "movements" made there havebeen no more than protests against the mobility of others. They havebeen without the dynamic quality implied in their name. They have beenno more than the sighs of men gazing at what other men had left behindthem; faint, impossible appeals to the god of retrogression, uttered fortheir own sake and ritual, rather than with any intent that they shouldbe heard. Oxford, that lotus-land, saps the will-power, the powerof action. But, in doing so, it clarifies the mind, makes larger thevision, gives, above all, that playful and caressing suavity of mannerwhich comes of a conviction that nothing matters, except ideas, and thatnot even ideas are worth dying for, inasmuch as the ghosts of them slainseem worthy of yet more piously elaborate homage than can be given tothem in their heyday. If the Colleges could be transferred to the dryand bracing top of some hill, doubtless they would be more evidentlyuseful to the nation. But let us be glad there is no engineer orenchanter to compass that task. Egomet, I would liefer have the rest ofEngland subside into the sea than have Oxford set on a salubrious level. For there is nothing in England to be matched with what lurks in thevapours of these meadows, and in the shadows of these spires--thatmysterious, inenubilable spirit, spirit of Oxford. Oxford! The verysight of the word printed, or sound of it spoken, is fraught for me withmost actual magic. 

And on that moonlit night when I floated among the vapours of thesemeadows, myself less than a vapour, I knew and loved Oxford as neverbefore, as never since. Yonder, in the Colleges, was the fume and fretof tragedy--Love as Death's decoy, and Youth following her. What then?Not Oxford was menaced. Come what might, not a stone of Oxford's wallswould be loosened, nor a wreath of her vapours be undone, nor lost abreath of her sacred spirit. 

I floated up into the higher, drier air, that I might, for once, see thetotal body of that spirit. 

There lay Oxford far beneath me, like a map in grey and black andsilver. All that I had known only as great single things I saw nowoutspread in apposition, and tiny; tiny symbols, as it were, ofthemselves, greatly symbolising their oneness. There they lay, thesemultitudinous and disparate quadrangles, all their rivalries merged inthe making of a great catholic pattern. And the roofs of the buildingsaround them seemed level with their lawns. No higher the roofs of thevery towers. Up from their tiny segment of the earth's spinning surfacethey stood negligible beneath infinity. And new, too, quite new, ineternity; transient upstarts. I saw Oxford as a place that had no morepast and no more future than a mining-camp. I smiled down. O hoary andunassailable mushroom!. .. But if a man carry his sense of proportion farenough, lo! he is back at the point from which he started. He knowsthat eternity, as conceived by him, is but an instant in eternity, andinfinity but a speck in infinity. How should they belittle the thingsnear to him?. .. Oxford was venerable and magical, after all, andenduring. Aye, and not because she would endure was it the lesslamentable that the young lives within her walls were like to be taken. My equanimity was gone; and a tear fell on Oxford. 

And then, as though Oxford herself were speaking up to me, the airvibrated with a sweet noise of music. It was the hour of one; the endof the Duke's hour of grace. Through the silvery tangle of sounds fromother clocks I floated quickly down to the Broad. 

XIII

I had on the way a horrible apprehension. What if the Duke, in hisagony, had taken the one means to forgetfulness? His room, I could see, was lit up; but a man does not necessarily choose to die in the dark. Ihovered, afraid, over the dome of the Sheldonian. I saw that the windowof the room above the Duke's was also lit up. And there was no reasonat all to doubt the survival of Noaks. Perhaps the sight of him wouldhearten me. 

I was wrong. The sight of Noaks in his room was as dismal a thing ascould be. With his chin sunk on his breast, he sat there, on a ricketychair, staring up at the mantel-piece. This he had decked out as a sortof shrine. In the centre, aloft on an inverted tin that had containedAbernethy biscuits, stood a blue plush frame, with an inner rim ofbrass, several sizes too big for the picture-postcard installed in it. Zuleika's image gazed forth with a smile that was obviously not intendedfor the humble worshipper at this execrable shrine. On either sideof her stood a small vase, one holding some geraniums, the other somemignonette. And just beneath her was placed that iron ring which, rightly or wrongly, Noaks supposed to alleviate rheumatism--that sameiron ring which, by her touch to-night, had been charged for him with ayet deeper magic, insomuch that he dared no longer wear it, and had setit before her as an oblation. 

Yet, for all his humility, he was possessed by a spirit of egoism thatrepelled me. While he sat peering over his spectacles at the beauteousimage, he said again and again to himself, in a hollow voice, "I am soyoung to die. " Every time he said this, two large, pear-shapedtears emerged from behind his spectacles, and found their way tohis waistcoat. It did not seem to strike him that quite half ofthe undergraduates who contemplated death--and contemplated it in afearless, wholesome, manly fashion--were his juniors. It seemed to seemto him that his own death, even though all those other far brighterand more promising lives than his were to be sacrificed, was a thing tobother about. Well, if he did not want to die, why could he not have, at least, the courage of his cowardice? The world would not cease torevolve because Noaks still clung to its surface. For me the wholetragedy was cheapened by his participation in it. I was fain toleave him. His squint, his short legs dangling towards the floor, histear-sodden waistcoat, and his refrain "I am so young to die, " werebeyond measure exasperating. Yet I hesitated to pass into the roombeneath, for fear of what I might see there. 

How long I might have paltered, had no sound come from that room, Iknow not. But a sound came, sharp and sudden in the night, instantlyreassuring. I swept down into the presence of the Duke. 

He stood with his head flung back and his arms folded, gorgeous in adressing-gown of crimson brocade. In animation of pride and pomp, he looked less like a mortal man than like a figure from some greatbiblical group by Paul Veronese. 

And this was he whom I had presumed to pity! And this was he whom I hadhalf expected to find dead. 

His face, usually pale, was now red; and his hair, which no eye had everyet seen disordered, stood up in a glistening shock. These two changesin him intensified the effect of vitality. One of them, however, vanished as I watched it. The Duke's face resumed its pallor. I realisedthen that he had but blushed; and I realised, simultaneously, that whathad called that blush to his cheek was what had also been the signal tome that he was alive. His blush had been a pendant to his sneeze. Andhis sneeze had been a pendant to that outrage which he had been strivingto forget. He had caught cold. 

He had caught cold. In the hour of his soul's bitter need, his body hadbeen suborned against him. Base! Had he not stripped his body of itswet vesture? Had he not vigorously dried his hair, and robed himself incrimson, and struck in solitude such attitudes as were most congruouswith his high spirit and high rank? He had set himself to crushremembrance of that by which through his body his soul had beenassailed. And well had he known that in this conflict a giant demon washis antagonist. But that his own body would play traitor--no, this hehad not foreseen. This was too base a thing to be foreseen. 

He stood quite still, a figure orgulous and splendent. And it seemed asthough the hot night, too, stood still, to watch him, in awe, throughthe open lattices of his window, breathlessly. But to me, equippedto see beneath the surface, he was piteous, piteous in ratio to thepretension of his aspect. Had he crouched down and sobbed, I should havebeen as much relieved as he. But he stood seignorial and aquiline. 

Painless, by comparison with this conflict in him, seemed the conflictthat had raged in him yesternight. Then, it had been his dandihoodagainst his passion for Zuleika. What mattered the issue? Whicheverwon, the victory were sweet. And of this he had all the while beensubconscious, gallantly though he fought for his pride of dandihood. To-night in the battle between pride and memory, he knew from the outsetthat pride's was but a forlorn hope, and that memory would be barbarousin her triumph. Not winning to oblivion, he must hate with a fathomlesshatred. Of all the emotions, hatred is the most excruciating. Of allthe objects of hatred, a woman once loved is the most hateful. Of alldeaths, the bitterest that can befall a man is that he lay down his lifeto flatter the woman he deems vilest of her sex. 

Such was the death that the Duke of Dorset saw confronting him. Mostmen, when they are at war with the past, have the future as ally. Looking steadfastly forward, they can forget. The Duke's future wasopenly in league with his past. For him, prospect was memory. Allthat there was for him of future was the death to which his honour waspledged. To envisage that was to. .. No, he would NOT envisage it! With apassionate effort he hypnotised himself to think of nothing at all. Hisbrain, into which, by the power Zeus gave me, I was gazing, became aperfect vacuum, insulated by the will. It was the kind of experimentwhich scientists call "beautiful. " And yes, beautiful it was. 

But not in the eyes of Nature. She abhors a vacuum. Seeing the enormousodds against which the Duke was fighting, she might well have stoodaside. But she has no sense of sport whatsoever. She stepped in. 

At first I did not realise what was happening. I saw the Duke's eyescontract, and the muscles of his mouth drawn down, and, at the sametime, a tense upward movement of his whole body. Then, suddenly, thestrain undone: a downward dart of the head, a loud percussion. Thricethe Duke sneezed, with a sound that was as the bursting of the dams ofbody and soul together; then sneezed again. 

Now was his will broken. He capitulated. In rushed shame and horror andhatred, pell-mell, to ravage him. 

What care now, what use, for deportment? He walked coweringly round andround his room, with frantic gestures, with head bowed. He shuffled andslunk. His dressing-gown had the look of a gabardine. 

Shame and horror and hatred went slashing and hewing throughout thefallen citadel. At length, exhausted, he flung himself down on thewindow-seat and leaned out into the night, panting. The air was full ofthunder. He clutched at his throat. From the depths of the black cavernsbeneath their brows the eyes of the unsleeping Emperors watched him. 

He had gone through much in the day that was past. He had loved andlost. He had striven to recapture, and had failed. In a strange resolvehe had found serenity and joy. He had been at the point of death, andhad been saved. He had seen that his beloved was worthless, and he hadnot cared. He had fought for her, and conquered; and had pled with her, and--all these memories were loathsome by reason of that final thingwhich had all the while lain in wait for him. 

He looked back and saw himself as he had been at a score of crucialmoments in the day--always in the shadow of that final thing. He sawhimself as he had been on the playing-fields of Eton; aye! and in thearms of his nurse, to and fro on the terrace of Tankerton--always in theshadow of that final thing, always piteous and ludicrous, doomed. Thankheaven the future was unknowable? It wasn't, now. To-morrow--to-day--hemust die for that accursed fiend of a woman--the woman with the hyenalaugh. 

What to do meanwhile? Impossible to sleep. He felt in his body thestrain of his quick sequence of spiritual adventures. He was dog-tired. But his brain was furiously out of hand: no stopping it. And the nightwas stifling. And all the while, in the dead silence, as though his soulhad ears, there was a sound. It was a very faint, unearthly sound, andseemed to come from nowhere, yet to have a meaning. He feared he wasrather over-wrought. 

He must express himself. That would soothe him. Ever since childhoodhe had had, from time to time, the impulse to set down in writinghis thoughts or his moods. In such exercises he had found for hisself-consciousness the vent which natures less reserved than his find incasual talk with Tom, Dick and Harry, with Jane, Susan, and Liz. Alooffrom either of these triads, he had in his first term at Eton taken tohimself as confidant, and retained ever since, a great quarto volume, bound in red morocco and stamped with his coronet and cypher. It washerein, year by year, that his soul spread itself. 

He wrote mostly in English prose; but other modes were not infrequent. Whenever he was abroad, it was his courteous habit to write in thelanguage of the country where he was residing--French, when he was inhis house on the Champs Elysees; Italian, when he was in his villa atBaiae; and so on. When he was in his own country he felt himself free todeviate sometimes from the vernacular into whatever language were aptestto his frame of mind. In his sterner moods he gravitated to Latin, and wrought the noble iron of that language to effects that were, ifanything, a trifle over-impressive. He found for his highest flights ofcontemplation a handy vehicle in Sanscrit. In hours of mere joy it wasGreek poetry that flowed likeliest from his pen; and he had a specialfondness for the metre of Alcaeus. 

And now, too, in his darkest hour, it was Greek that surged inhim--iambics of thunderous wrath such as those which are volleyed byPrometheus. But as he sat down to his writing-table, and unlocked thedear old album, and dipped his pen in the ink, a great calm fell on him. The iambics in him began to breathe such sweetness as is on the lips ofAlcestis going to her doom. But, just as he set pen to paper, his handfaltered, and he sprang up, victim of another and yet more violent fitof sneezing. 

Disbuskined, dangerous. The spirit of Juvenal woke in him. He wouldflay. He would make Woman (as he called Zuleika) writhe. Latinhexameters, of course. An epistle to his heir presumptive. .. "Vae tibi, "he began, "Vae tibi, vae misero, nisi circumspexeris artes Femineas, nam nulla salus quin femina possit Tradere, nulla fides quin"--

"Quin, " he repeated. In writing soliloquies, his trouble was tocurb inspiration. The thought that he was addressing hisheir-presumptive--now heir-only-too-apparent--gave him pause. Nor, hereflected, was he addressing this brute only, but a huge posthumousaudience. These hexameters would be sure to appear in the "authorised"biography. "A melancholy interest attaches to the following lines, written, it would seem, on the very eve of". .. He winced. Was it reallypossible, and no dream, that he was to die to-morrow--to-day?

Even you, unassuming reader, go about with a vague notion that in yourcase, somehow, the ultimate demand of nature will be waived. TheDuke, until he conceived his sudden desire to die, had deemed himselfcertainly exempt. And now, as he sat staring at his window, he saw inthe paling of the night the presage of the dawn of his own last day. Sometimes (orphaned though he was in early childhood) he had even foundit hard to believe there was no exemption for those to whom he stood inany personal relation. He remembered how, soon after he went to Eton, he had received almost with incredulity the news of the death of hisgod-father, Lord Stackley, an octogenarian. .. . He took from the tablehis album, knowing that on one of the earliest pages was inscribed hisboyish sense of that bereavement. Yes, here the passage was, written ina large round hand:

"Death knocks, as we know, at the door of the cottage and of the castle. He stalks up the front-garden and the steep steps of the semi-detachedvilla, and plies the ornamental knocker so imperiously that the panelsof imitation stained glass quiver in the thin front-door. Even thefamily that occupies the topmost story of a building without a lift ison his ghastly visiting-list. He rattles his fleshless knuckles againstthe door of the gypsy's caravan. Into the savage's tent, wigwam, orwattled hut, he darts unbidden. Even on the hermit in the cave he forceshis obnoxious presence. His is an universal beat, and he walks it witha grin. But be sure it is at the sombre portal of the nobleman that heknocks with the greatest gusto. It is there, where haply his visit willbe commemorated with a hatchment; it is then, when the muffled thunderof the Dead March in 'Saul' will soon be rolling in cathedrals; itis then, it is there, that the pride of his unquestioned power comesgrimliest home to him. Is there no withstanding him? Why should he beadmitted always with awe, a cravenly-honoured guest? When next he calls, let the butler send him about his business, or tell him to step round tothe servants' entrance. If it be made plain to him that his visits arean impertinence, he will soon be disemboldened. Once the aristocracymake a stand against him, there need be no more trouble about theexorbitant Duties named after him. And for the hereditary system--thatsystem which both offends the common sense of the Radical, and woundsthe Tory by its implied admission that noblemen are mortal--a seemlysubstitute will have been found. "

Artless and crude in expression, very boyish, it seemed now to itsauthor. Yet, in its simple wistfulness, it had quality: it rang true. The Duke wondered whether, with all that he had since mastered in thegreat art of English prose, he had not lost something, too. 

"Is there no withstanding him?" To think that the boy who uttered thatcry, and gave back so brave an answer, was within nine years to goseek death of his own accord! How the gods must be laughing! Yes, the exquisite point of the joke, for them, was that he CHOSE to die. But--and, as the thought flashed through him, he started like a manshot--what if he chose not to? Stay, surely there was some reason whyhe MUST die. Else, why throughout the night had he taken his doom forgranted?. .. Honour: yes, he had pledged himself. Better death thandishonour. Was it, though? was it? Ah, he, who had come so near todeath, saw dishonour as a tiny trifle. Where was the sting of it? Nothe would be ridiculous to-morrow--to-day. Every one would acclaim hissplendid act of moral courage. She, she, the hyena woman, would be thefool. No one would have thought of dying for her, had he not set theexample. Every one would follow his new example. Yes, he wouldsave Oxford yet. That was his duty. Duty and darling vengeance! Andlife--life!

It was full dawn now. Gone was that faint, monotonous sound which hadpunctuated in his soul the horrors of his vigil. But, in reminder ofthose hours, his lamp was still burning. He extinguished it; and thegoing-out of that tarnished light made perfect his sense of release. 

He threw wide his arms in welcome of the great adorable day, and of allthe great adorable days that were to be his. 

He leaned out from his window, drinking the dawn in. The gods hadmade merry over him, had they? And the cry of the hyena had made nighthideous. Well, it was his turn now. He would laugh last and loudest. 

And already, for what was to be, he laughed outright into the morning;insomuch that the birds in the trees of Trinity, and still more theEmperors over the way, marvelled greatly. 

XIV

They had awaited thousands and innumerable thousands of daybreaks in theBroad, these Emperors, counting the long slow hours till the night wereover. It is in the night especially that their fallen greatness hauntsthem. Day brings some distraction. They are not incurious of the livesaround them--these little lives that succeed one another so quickly. Tothem, in their immemorial old age, youth is a constant wonder. And sois death, which to them comes not. Youth or death--which, they had oftenasked themselves, was the goodlier? But it was ill that these two thingsshould be mated. It was ill-come, this day of days. 

Long after the Duke was in bed and asleep, his peal of laughter echoedin the ears of the Emperors. Why had he laughed?

And they said to themselves "We are very old men, and broken, and in aland not our own. There are things that we do not understand. "

Brief was the freshness of the dawn. From all points of the compass, dark grey clouds mounted into the sky. There, taking their placesas though in accordance to a strategic plan laid down for them, theyponderously massed themselves, and presently, as at a given signal, drew nearer to earth, and halted, an irresistible great army, awaitingorders. 

Somewhere under cover of them the sun went his way, transmitting asulphurous heat. The very birds in the trees of Trinity were oppressedand did not twitter. The very leaves did not whisper. 

Out through the railings, and across the road, prowled a skimpy anddingy cat, trying to look like a tiger. 

It was all very sinister and dismal. 

The hours passed. The Broad put forth, one by one, its signs of waking. 

Soon after eight o'clock, as usual, the front-door of the Duke'slodgings was opened from within. The Emperors watched for the faintcloud of dust that presently emerged, and for her whom it preceded. Tothem, this first outcoming of the landlady's daughter was a moment ofdaily interest. Katie!--they had known her as a toddling child; andlater as a little girl scampering off to school, all legs and pinaforeand streaming golden hair. And now she was sixteen years old. Her hair, tied back at the nape of her neck, would very soon be "up. " Her bigblue eyes were as they had always been; but she had long passed out ofpinafores into aprons, had taken on a sedateness befitting her years andher duties, and was anxious to be regarded rather as an aunt than asa sister by her brother Clarence, aged twelve. The Emperors had alwayspredicted that she would be pretty. And very pretty she was. 

As she came slowly out, with eyes downcast to her broom, sweeping thedust so seriously over the doorstep and then across the pavement, andanon when she reappeared with pail and scrubbing-brush, and abasedherself before the doorstep, and wrought so vehemently there, whatfilled her little soul was not the dignity of manual labour. The dutiesthat Zuleika had envied her were dear to her exactly as they would havebeen, yesterday morning, to Zuleika. The Emperors had often noticed thatduring vacations their little favourite's treatment of the doorstep waslanguid and perfunctory. They knew well her secret, and always (for whocan be long in England without becoming sentimental?) they cherished thehope of a romantic union between her and "a certain young gentleman, " asthey archly called the Duke. His continued indifference to her they tookalmost as an affront to themselves. Where in all England was a prettier, sweeter girl than their Katie? The sudden irruption of Zuleika intoOxford was especially grievous to them because they could no longerhope against hope that Katie would be led by the Duke to the altar, andthence into the highest social circles, and live happily ever after. Luckily it was for Katie, however, that they had no power to fill herhead with their foolish notions. It was well for her to have neverdoubted she loved in vain. She had soon grown used to her lot. Not untilyesterday had there been any bitterness. Jealousy surged in Katie at thevery moment when she beheld Zuleika on the threshold. A glance at theDuke's face when she showed the visitor up was enough to acquainther with the state of his heart. And she did not, for confirming herintuition, need the two or three opportunities she took of listening atthe keyhole. What in the course of those informal audiences did surpriseher--so much indeed that she could hardly believe her ear--was that itwas possible for a woman not to love the Duke. Her jealousy of "thatMiss Dobson" was for a while swallowed up in her pity for him. What shehad borne so cheerfully for herself she could not bear for her hero. Shewished she had not happened to listen. 

And this morning, while she knelt swaying and spreading over "his"doorstep, her blue eyes added certain tears to be scrubbed away in thegeneral moisture of the stone. Rising, she dried her hands in her apron, and dried her eyes with her hands. Lest her mother should see that shehad been crying, she loitered outside the door. Suddenly, her rovingglance changed to a stare of acute hostility. She knew well that theperson wandering towards her was--no, not "that Miss Dobson, " as she hadfor the fraction of an instant supposed, but the next worst thing. 

It has been said that Melisande indoors was an evidently French maid. Out of doors she was not less evidently Zuleika's. Not that she aped hermistress. The resemblance had come by force of propinquity and devotion. Nature had laid no basis for it. Not one point of form or colour hadthe two women in common. It has been said that Zuleika was not strictlybeautiful. Melisande, like most Frenchwomen, was strictly plain. Butin expression and port, in her whole tournure, she had become, asevery good maid does, her mistress' replica. The poise of her head, theboldness of her regard and brilliance of her smile, the leisurely andswinging way in which she walked, with a hand on the hip--all thesethings of hers were Zuleika's too. She was no conqueror. None but theman to whom she was betrothed--a waiter at the Cafe Tourtel, namedPelleas--had ever paid court to her; nor was she covetous of otherhearts. Yet she looked victorious, and insatiable of victories, and"terrible as an army with banners. "

In the hand that was not on her hip she carried a letter. And on hershoulders she had to bear the full burden of the hatred that Zuleika hadinspired in Katie. But this she did not know. She came glancing boldly, leisurely, at the numbers on the front-doors. 

Katie stepped back on to the doorstep, lest the inferiority of herstature should mar the effect of her disdain. 

"Good-day. Is it here that Duke D'Orsay lives?" asked Melisande, asnearly accurate as a Gaul may be in such matters. 

"The Duke of Dorset, " said Katie with a cold and insular emphasis, "lives here. " And "You, " she tried to convey with her eyes, "you, forall your smart black silk, are a hireling. I am Miss Batch. I happen tohave a hobby for housework. I have not been crying. "

"Then please mount this to him at once, " said Melisande, holding out theletter. "It is from Miss Dobson's part. Very express. I wait response. "

"You are very ugly, " Katie signalled with her eyes. "I am very pretty. I have the Oxfordshire complexion. And I play the piano. " With her lipsshe said merely, "His Grace is not called before nine o'clock. "

"But to-day you go wake him now--quick--is it not?"

"Quite out of the question, " said Katie. "If you care to leavethat letter here, I will see that it is placed on his Grace'sbreakfast-table, with the morning's post. " "For the rest, " added hereyes, "Down with France!"

"I find you droll, but droll, my little one!" cried Melisande. 

Katie stepped back and shut the door in her face. "Like a littleEmpress, " the Emperors commented. 

The Frenchwoman threw up her hands and apostrophised heaven. To this dayshe believes that all the bonnes of Oxford are mad, but mad, and of amadness. 

She stared at the door, at the pail and scrubbing-brush that had beenshut out with her, at the letter in her hand. She decided that she hadbetter drop the letter into the slit in the door and make report to MissDobson. 

As the envelope fell through the slit to the door-mat, Katie made atMelisande a grimace which, had not the panels been opaque, would haveastonished the Emperors. Resuming her dignity, she picked the thing up, and, at arm's length, examined it. It was inscribed in pencil. Katie'slips curled at sight of the large, audacious handwriting. But it isprobable that whatever kind of handwriting Zuleika might have had wouldhave been just the kind that Katie would have expected. 

Fingering the envelope, she wondered what the wretched woman had tosay. It occurred to her that the kettle was simmering on the hob in thekitchen, and that she might easily steam open the envelope and masterits contents. However, her doing this would have in no way affectedthe course of the tragedy. And so the gods (being to-day in a strictlyartistic mood) prompted her to mind her own business. 

Laying the Duke's table for breakfast, she made as usual a neatrectangular pile of the letters that had come for him by post. Zuleika'sletter she threw down askew. That luxury she allowed herself. 

And he, when he saw the letter, allowed himself the luxury of leaving itunopened awhile. Whatever its purport, he knew it could but minister tohis happy malice. A few hours ago, with what shame and dread it wouldhave stricken him! Now it was a dainty to be dallied with. 

His eyes rested on the black tin boxes that contained his robes of theGarter. Hateful had been the sight of them in the watches of the night, when he thought he had worn those robes for the last time. But now--!

He opened Zuleika's letter. It did not disappoint him. 

"DEAR DUKE, --DO, DO forgive me. I am beyond words ashamed of the sillytomboyish thing I did last night. Of course it was no worse than that, but an awful fear haunts me that you MAY have thought I acted in angerat the idea of your breaking your promise to me. Well, it is quite trueI had been hurt and angry when you hinted at doing that, but the momentI left you I saw that you had been only in fun, and I enjoyed the jokeagainst myself, though I thought it was rather too bad of you. Andthen, as a sort of revenge, but almost before I knew what I was doing, I played that IDIOTIC practical joke on you. I have been MISERABLE eversince. DO come round as early as possible and tell me I am forgiven. Butbefore you tell me that, please lecture me till I cry--though indeed Ihave been crying half through the night. And then if you want to be VERYhorrid you may tease me for being so slow to see a joke. And then youmight take me to see some of the Colleges and things before we go on tolunch at The MacQuern's? Forgive pencil and scrawl. Am sitting up in bedto write. --Your sincere friend, "Z. D. 

"P. S. --Please burn this. "

At that final injunction, the Duke abandoned himself to his mirth. "Please burn this. " Poor dear young woman, how modest she was in theglare of her diplomacy! Why there was nothing, not one phrase, tocompromise her in the eyes of a coroner's jury!. .. Seriously, shehad good reason to be proud of her letter. For the purpose in view itcouldn't have been better done. That was what made it so touchinglyabsurd. He put himself in her position. He pictured himself as her, "sitting up in bed, " pencil in hand, to explain away, to soothe, toclinch and bind. .. Yes, if he had happened to be some other man--onewhom her insult might have angered without giving love its death-blow, and one who could be frightened out of not keeping his word--this letterwould have been capital. 

He helped himself to some more marmalade, and poured out another cup ofcoffee. Nothing is more thrilling, thought he, than to be treated as acully by the person you hold in the hollow of your hand. 

But within this great irony lay (to be glided over) another irony. Heknew well in what mood Zuleika had done what she had done to him lastnight; yet he preferred to accept her explanation of it. 

Officially, then, he acquitted her of anything worse than tomboyishness. But this verdict for his own convenience implied no mercy to theculprit. The sole point for him was how to administer her punishment themost poignantly. Just how should he word his letter?

He rose from his chair, and "Dear Miss Dobson--no, MY dear Miss Dobson, "he murmured, pacing the room, "I am so very sorry I cannot come to seeyou: I have to attend two lectures this morning. By contrast with thisweariness, it will be the more delightful to meet you at The MacQuern's. I want to see as much as I can of you to-day, because to-night there isthe Bump Supper, and to-morrow morning, alas! I must motor to Windsorfor this wretched Investiture. Meanwhile, how can you ask to be forgivenwhen there is nothing whatever to forgive? It seems to me that mine, notyours, is the form of humour that needs explanation. My proposal to diefor you was made in as playful a spirit as my proposal to marry you. Andit is really for me to ask forgiveness of you. One thing especially, " hemurmured, fingering in his waistcoat-pocket the ear-rings she had givenhim, "pricks my conscience. I do feel that I ought not to have letyou give me these two pearls--at any rate, not the one which went intopremature mourning for me. As I have no means of deciding which of thetwo this one is, I enclose them both, with the hope that the prettydifference between them will in time reappear". .. Or words to thateffect. .. Stay! why not add to the joy of contriving that effect thegreater joy of watching it? Why send Zuleika a letter? He would obey hersummons. He would speed to her side. He snatched up a hat. 

In this haste, however, he detected a certain lack of dignity. Hesteadied himself, and went slowly to the mirror. There he adjusted hishat with care, and regarded himself very seriously, very sternly, fromvarious angles, like a man invited to paint his own portrait for theUffizi. He must be worthy of himself. It was well that Zuleika shouldbe chastened. Great was her sin. Out of life and death she had fashionedtoys for her vanity. But his joy must be in vindication of what wasnoble, not in making suffer what was vile. Yesterday he had been herpuppet, her Jumping-Jack; to-day it was as avenging angel that he wouldappear before her. The gods had mocked him who was now their minister. Their minister? Their master, as being once more master of himself. Itwas they who had plotted his undoing. Because they loved him they werefain that he should die young. The Dobson woman was but their agent, their cat's-paw. By her they had all but got him. Not quite! And now, toteach them, through her, a lesson they would not soon forget, he wouldgo forth. 

Shaking with laughter, the gods leaned over the thunder-clouds to watchhim. 

He went forth. 

On the well-whitened doorstep he was confronted by a small boy inuniform bearing a telegram. 

"Duke of Dorset?" asked the small boy. 

Opening the envelope, the Duke saw that the message, with which was aprepaid form for reply, had been handed in at the Tankerton post-office. It ran thus:

 Deeply regret inform your grace last night two black owls came and perched on battlements remained there through night hooting at dawn flew away none knows whither awaiting instructions Jellings

The Duke's face, though it grew white, moved not one muscle. 

Somewhat shamed now, the gods ceased from laughing. 

The Duke looked from the telegram to the boy. "Have you a pencil?" heasked. 

"Yes, my Lord, " said the boy, producing a stump of pencil. 

Holding the prepaid form against the door, the Duke wrote:

 Jellings Tankerton Hall Prepare vault for funeral Monday

 Dorset

His handwriting was as firmly and minutely beautiful as ever. Only inthat he forgot there was nothing to pay did he belie his calm. "Here, "he said to the boy, "is a shilling; and you may keep the change. "

"Thank you, my Lord, " said the boy, and went his way, as happy as apostman. 

XV

Humphrey Greddon, in the Duke's place, would have taken a pinch ofsnuff. But he could not have made that gesture with a finer air than theDuke gave to its modern equivalent. In the art of taking and lightinga cigarette, there was one man who had no rival in Europe. This time heoutdid even himself. 

"Ah, " you say, "but 'pluck' is one thing, endurance another. A man whodoesn't reel on receipt of his death-warrant may yet break down when hehas had time to think it over. How did the Duke acquit himself when hecame to the end of his cigarette? And by the way, how was it that afterhe had read the telegram you didn't give him again an hour's grace?"

In a way, you have a perfect right to ask both those questions. Buttheir very pertinence shows that you think I might omit things thatmatter. Please don't interrupt me again. Am _I_ writing this history, orare you?

Though the news that he must die was a yet sharper douche, as you havesuggested, than the douche inflicted by Zuleika, it did at least leaveunscathed the Duke's pride. The gods can make a man ridiculous througha woman, but they cannot make him ridiculous when they deal him a blowdirect. The very greatness of their power makes them, in that respect, impotent. They had decreed that the Duke should die, and they had toldhim so. There was nothing to demean him in that. True, he had justmeasured himself against them. But there was no shame in beinggravelled. The peripety was according to the best rules of tragic art. The whole thing was in the grand manner. 

Thus I felt that there were no indelicacy, this time, in watchinghim. Just as "pluck" comes of breeding, so is endurance especially anattribute of the artist. Because he can stand outside himself, and (ifthere be nothing ignoble in them) take a pleasure in his own sufferings, the artist has a huge advantage over you and me. The Duke, so soonas Zuleika's spell was broken, had become himself again--a highlyself-conscious artist in life. And now, standing pensive on thedoorstep, he was almost enviable in his great affliction. 

Through the wreaths of smoke which, as they came from his lips, hung inthe sultry air as they would have hung in a closed room, he gazed up atthe steadfast thunder-clouds. How nobly they had been massed for him!One of them, a particularly large and dark one, might with advantage, he thought, have been placed a little further to the left. He made agesture to that effect. Instantly the cloud rolled into position. The gods were painfully anxious, now, to humour him in trifles. Hisbehaviour in the great emergency had so impressed them at a distancethat they rather dreaded meeting him anon at close quarters. They ratherwished they had not uncaged, last night, the two black owls. Too late. What they had done they had done. 

That faint monotonous sound in the stillness of the night--the Dukeremembered it now. What he had thought to be only his fancy had beenhis death-knell, wafted to him along uncharted waves of ether, from thebattlements of Tankerton. It had ceased at daybreak. He wondered nowthat he had not guessed its meaning. And he was glad that he had not. He was thankful for the peace that had been granted to him, the joyousarrogance in which he had gone to bed and got up for breakfast. Hevalued these mercies the more for the great tragic irony that came ofthem. Aye, and he was inclined to blame the gods for not having kept himstill longer in the dark and so made the irony still more awful. Why hadthey not caused the telegram to be delayed in transmission? Theyought to have let him go and riddle Zuleika with his scorn and hisindifference. They ought to have let him hurl through her his defianceof them. Art aside, they need not have grudged him that excursion. 

He could not, he told himself, face Zuleika now. As artist, he saw thatthere was irony enough left over to make the meeting a fine one. Astheologian, he did not hold her responsible for his destiny. But as aman, after what she had done to him last night, and before what he hadto do for her to-day, he would not go out of his way to meet her. Ofcourse, he would not actually avoid her. To seem to run away from herwere beneath his dignity. But, if he did meet her, what in heaven'sname should he say to her? He remembered his promise to lunch with TheMacQuern, and shuddered. She would be there. Death, as he had said, cancelled all engagements. A very simple way out of the difficulty wouldbe to go straight to the river. No, that would be like running away. Itcouldn't be done. 

Hardly had he rejected the notion when he had a glimpse of a femalefigure coming quickly round the corner--a glimpse that sent him walkingquickly away, across the road, towards Turl Street, blushing violently. Had she seen him? he asked himself. And had she seen that he saw her?He heard her running after him. He did not look round, he quickened hispace. She was gaining on him. Involuntarily, he ran--ran like a hare, and, at the corner of Turl Street, rose like a trout, saw the pavementrise at him, and fell, with a bang, prone. 

Let it be said at once that in this matter the gods were absolutelyblameless. It is true they had decreed that a piece of orange-peelshould be thrown down this morning at the corner of Turl Street. Butthe Master of Balliol, not the Duke, was the person they had destinedto slip on it. You must not imagine that they think out and appointeverything that is to befall us, down to the smallest detail. Generally, they just draw a sort of broad outline, and leave us to fill it inaccording to our taste. Thus, in the matters of which this book isrecord, it was they who made the Warden invite his grand-daughter toOxford, and invite the Duke to meet her on the evening of her arrival. And it was they who prompted the Duke to die for her on the following(Tuesday) afternoon. They had intended that he should execute hisresolve after, or before, the boat-race of that evening. But anoversight upset this plan. They had forgotten on Monday night to uncagethe two black owls; and so it was necessary that the Duke's death shouldbe postponed. They accordingly prompted Zuleika to save him. For therest, they let the tragedy run its own course--merely putting in afelicitous touch here and there, or vetoing a superfluity, such as thatKatie should open Zuleika's letter. It was no part of their scheme thatthe Duke should mistake Melisande for her mistress, or that he shouldrun away from her, and they were genuinely sorry when he, instead of theMaster of Balliol, came to grief over the orange-peel. 

Them, however, the Duke cursed as he fell; them again as he raisedhimself on one elbow, giddy and sore; and when he found that the womanbending over him was not she whom he dreaded, but her innocent maid, itwas against them that he almost foamed at the mouth. 

"Monsieur le Duc has done himself harm--no?" panted Melisande. "Here isa letter from Miss Dobson's part. She say to me 'Give it him with yourown hand. '"

The Duke received the letter and, sitting upright, tore it to shreds, thus confirming a suspicion which Melisande had conceived at the momentwhen he took to his heels, that all English noblemen are mad, but mad, and of a madness. 

"Nom de Dieu, " she cried, wringing her hands, "what shall I tell toMademoiselle?"

"Tell her--" the Duke choked back a phrase of which the memory wouldhave shamed his last hours. "Tell her, " he substituted, "that you haveseen Marius sitting among the ruins of Carthage, " and limped quicklyaway down the Turl. 

Both his hands had been abraded by the fall. He tended them angrilywith his handkerchief. Mr. Druce, the chemist, had anon the privilege ofbathing and plastering them, also of balming and binding the right kneeand the left shin. "Might have been a very nasty accident, your Grace, "he said. "It was, " said the Duke. Mr. Druce concurred. 

Nevertheless, Mr. Druce's remark sank deep. The Duke thought it quitelikely that the gods had intended the accident to be fatal, and thatonly by his own skill and lightness in falling had he escaped theignominy of dying in full flight from a lady's-maid. He had not, yousee, lost all sense of free-will. While Mr. Druce put the finishingtouches to his shin, "I am utterly purposed, " he said to himself, "thatfor this death of mine I will choose my own manner and my own--well, not'time' exactly, but whatever moment within my brief span of life shallseem aptest to me. Unberufen, " he added, lightly tapping Mr. Druce'scounter. 

The sight of some bottles of Cold Mixture on that hospitable boardreminded him of a painful fact. In the clash of the morning'sexcitements, he had hardly felt the gross ailment that was on him. He became fully conscious of it now, and there leapt in him a hideousdoubt: had he escaped a violent death only to succumb to "naturalcauses"? He had never hitherto had anything the matter with him, andthus he belonged to the worst, the most apprehensive, class of patients. He knew that a cold, were it neglected, might turn malignant; and hehad a vision of himself gripped suddenly in the street by internalagonies--a sympathetic crowd, an ambulance, his darkened bedroom; localdoctor making hopelessly wrong diagnosis; eminent specialists served uphot by special train, commending local doctor's treatment, but shakingtheir heads and refusing to say more than "He has youth on his side"; aslight rally at sunset; the end. All this flashed through his mind. Hequailed. There was not a moment to lose. He frankly confessed to Mr. Druce that he had a cold. 

Mr. Druce, trying to insinuate by his manner that this fact had not beenobvious, suggested the Mixture--a teaspoonful every two hours. "Give mesome now, please, at once, " said the Duke. 

He felt magically better for the draught. He handled the little glasslovingly, and eyed the bottle. "Why not two teaspoonfuls every hour?"he suggested, with an eagerness almost dipsomaniacal. But Mr. Druce wasrespectfully firm against that. The Duke yielded. He fancied, indeed, that the gods had meant him to die of an overdose. 

Still, he had a craving for more. Few though his hours were, he hopedthe next two would pass quickly. And, though he knew Mr. Druce could betrusted to send the bottle round to his rooms immediately, he preferredto carry it away with him. He slipped it into the breast-pocket of hiscoat, almost heedless of the slight extrusion it made there. 

Just as he was about to cross the High again, on his way home, abutcher's cart dashed down the slope, recklessly driven. He stepped wellback on the pavement, and smiled a sardonic smile. He looked to rightand to left, carefully gauging the traffic. Some time elapsed before hedeemed the road clear enough for transit. 

Safely across, he encountered a figure that seemed to loom up out of thedim past. Oover! Was it but yesternight that Oover dined with him? Withthe sensation of a man groping among archives, he began to apologise tothe Rhodes Scholar for having left him so abruptly at the Junta. Then, presto!--as though those musty archives were changed to a crisp morningpaper agog with terrific head-lines--he remembered the awful resolve ofOover, and of all young Oxford. 

"Of course, " he asked, with a lightness that hardly hid his dread of theanswer, "you have dismissed the notion you were toying with when I leftyou?"

Oover's face, like his nature, was as sensitive as it was massive, and it instantly expressed his pain at the doubt cast on his highseriousness. "Duke, " he asked, "d'you take me for a skunk?"

"Without pretending to be quite sure what a skunk is, " said the Duke, "I take you to be all that it isn't. And the high esteem in which Ihold you is the measure for me of the loss that your death would be toAmerica and to Oxford. "

Oover blushed. "Duke" he said "that's a bully testimonial. But don'tworry. America can turn out millions just like me, and Oxford can haveas many of them as she can hold. On the other hand, how many of YOUcan be turned out, as per sample, in England? Yet you choose to destroyyourself. You avail yourself of the Unwritten Law. And you're right, Sir. Love transcends all. "

"But does it? What if I told you I had changed my mind?"

"Then, Duke, " said Oover, slowly, "I should believe that all those yarnsI used to hear about the British aristocracy were true, after all. Ishould aver that you were not a white man. Leading us on like that, andthen--Say, Duke! Are you going to die to-day, or not?"

"As a matter of fact, I am, but--"

"Shake!"

"But--"

Oover wrung the Duke's hand, and was passing on. "Stay!" he was adjured. 

"Sorry, unable. It's just turning eleven o'clock, and I've a lecture. While life lasts, I'm bound to respect Rhodes' intentions. " Theconscientious Scholar hurried away. 

The Duke wandered down the High, taking counsel with himself. He wasashamed of having so utterly forgotten the mischief he had wrought atlarge. At dawn he had vowed to undo it. Undo it he must. But the taskwas not a simple one now. If he could say "Behold, I take back my word. I spurn Miss Dobson, and embrace life, " it was possible that his examplewould suffice. But now that he could only say "Behold, I spurn MissDobson, and will not die for her, but I am going to commit suicide, allthe same, " it was clear that his words would carry very little force. Also, he saw with pain that they placed him in a somewhat ludicrousposition. His end, as designed yesterday, had a large and simplegrandeur. So had his recantation of it. But this new compromise betweenthe two things had a fumbled, a feeble, an ignoble look. It seemed tocombine all the disadvantages of both courses. It stained his honourwithout prolonging his life. Surely, this was a high price to pay forsnubbing Zuleika. .. Yes, he must revert without more ado to his firstscheme. He must die in the manner that he had blazoned forth. And hemust do it with a good grace, none knowing he was not glad; else theaction lost all dignity. True, this was no way to be a saviour. But onlyby not dying at all could he have set a really potent example. .. . Heremembered the look that had come into Oover's eyes just now at thenotion of his unfaith. Perhaps he would have been the mock, not thesaviour, of Oxford. Better dishonour than death, maybe. But, sincedie he must, he must die not belittling or tarnishing the name ofTanville-Tankerton. 

Within these bounds, however, he must put forth his full might to avertthe general catastrophe--and to punish Zuleika nearly well enough, afterall, by intercepting that vast nosegay from her outstretched handsand her distended nostrils. There was no time to be lost, then. But hewondered, as he paced the grand curve between St. Mary's and MagdalenBridge, just how was he to begin?

Down the flight of steps from Queen's came lounging an averageundergraduate. 

"Mr. Smith, " said the Duke, "a word with you. "

"But my name is not Smith, " said the young man. 

"Generically it is, " replied the Duke. "You are Smith to all intentsand purposes. That, indeed, is why I address you. In making youracquaintance, I make a thousand acquaintances. You are a short cut toknowledge. Tell me, do you seriously think of drowning yourself thisafternoon?"

"Rather, " said the undergraduate. 

"A meiosis in common use, equivalent to 'Yes, assuredly, '" murmured theDuke. "And why, " he then asked, "do you mean to do this?"

"Why? How can you ask? Why are YOU going to do it?"

"The Socratic manner is not a game at which two can play. Please answermy question, to the best of your ability. "

"Well, because I can't live without her. Because I want to prove my lovefor her. Because--"

"One reason at a time please, " said the Duke, holding up his hand. "Youcan't live without her? Then I am to assume that you look forward todying?"

"Rather. "

"You are truly happy in that prospect?"

"Yes. Rather. "

"Now, suppose I showed you two pieces of equally fine amber--a big oneand a little one. Which of these would you rather possess?"

"The big one, I suppose. "

"And this because it is better to have more than to have less of a goodthing?"

"Just so. "

"Do you consider happiness a good thing or a bad one?"

"A good one. "

"So that a man would rather have more than less of happiness?"

"Undoubtedly. "

"Then does it not seem to you that you would do well to postpone yoursuicide indefinitely?"

"But I have just said I can't live without her. "

"You have still more recently declared yourself truly happy. "

"Yes, but--"

"Now, be careful, Mr. Smith. Remember, this is a matter of life anddeath. Try to do yourself justice. I have asked you--"

But the undergraduate was walking away, not without a certain dignity. 

The Duke felt that he had not handled his man skilfully. He rememberedthat even Socrates, for all the popular charm of his mock-modesty andhis true geniality, had ceased after a while to be tolerable. Withoutsuch a manner to grace his method, Socrates would have had a very brieftime indeed. The Duke recoiled from what he took to be another pitfall. He almost smelt hemlock. 

A party of four undergraduates abreast was approaching. How should headdress them? His choice wavered between the evangelic wistfulness of"Are you saved?" and the breeziness of the recruiting sergeant's "Come, you're fine upstanding young fellows. Isn't it a pity, " etc. Meanwhile, the quartet had passed by. 

Two other undergraduates approached. The Duke asked them simply as apersonal favour to himself not to throw away their lives. They saidthey were very sorry, but in this particular matter they must pleasethemselves. In vain he pled. They admitted that but for his example theywould never have thought of dying. They wished they could show him theirgratitude in any way but the one which would rob them of it. 

The Duke drifted further down the High, bespeaking every undergraduatehe met, leaving untried no argument, no inducement. For one man, whosename he happened to know, he invented an urgent personal message fromMiss Dobson imploring him not to die on her account. On another man heoffered to settle by hasty codicil a sum of money sufficient to yieldan annual income of two thousand pounds--three thousand--any sum withinreason. With another he offered to walk, arm in arm, to Carfax and backagain. All to no avail. 

He found himself in the precincts of Magdalen, preaching from the littleopen-air pulpit there an impassioned sermon on the sacredness of humanlife, and referring to Zuleika in terms which John Knox would havehesitated to utter. As he piled up the invective, he noticed an ominousrestiveness in the congregation--murmurs, clenching of hands, darklooks. He saw the pulpit as yet another trap laid for him by the gods. He had walked straight into it: another moment, and he might be draggeddown, overwhelmed by numbers, torn limb from limb. All that was inhim of quelling power he put hastily into his eyes, and manoeuvred histongue to gentler discourse, deprecating his right to judge "this lady, "and merely pointing the marvel, the awful though noble folly, of hisresolve. He ended on a note of quiet pathos. "To-night I shall be amongthe shades. There be not you, my brothers. "

Good though the sermon was in style and sentiment, the flaw in itsreasoning was too patent for any converts to be made. As he walked outof the quadrangle, the Duke felt the hopelessness of his cause. Stillhe battled bravely for it up the High, waylaying, cajoling, commanding, offering vast bribes. He carried his crusade into the Loder, andthence into Vincent's, and out into the street again, eager, untiring, unavailing: everywhere he found his precept checkmated by his example. 

The sight of The MacQuern coming out top-speed from the Market, witha large but inexpensive bunch of flowers, reminded him of the luncheonthat was to be. Never to throw over an engagement was for him, as wehave seen, a point of honour. But this particular engagement--hateful, when he accepted it, by reason of his love--was now impossible forthe reason which had made him take so ignominiously to his heels thismorning. He curtly told the Scot not to expect him. 

"Is SHE not coming?" gasped the Scot, with quick suspicion. 

"Oh, " said the Duke, turning on his heel, "she doesn't know that Ishan't be there. You may count on her. " This he took to be the verytruth, and he was glad to have made of it a thrust at the man who hadso uncouthly asserted himself last night. He could not help smiling, though, at this little resentment erect after the cataclysm that hadswept away all else. Then he smiled to think how uneasy Zuleika wouldbe at his absence. What agonies of suspense she must have had all thismorning! He imagined her silent at the luncheon, with a vacant gaze atthe door, eating nothing at all. And he became aware that he was ratherhungry. He had done all he could to save young Oxford. Now for somesandwiches! He went into the Junta. 

As he rang the dining-room bell, his eyes rested on the miniature ofNellie O'Mora. And the eyes of Nellie O'Mora seemed to meet his inreproach. Just as she may have gazed at Greddon when he cast her off, so now did she gaze at him who a few hours ago had refused to honour hermemory. 

Yes, and many other eyes than hers rebuked him. It was around the wallsof this room that hung those presentments of the Junta as focussed, year after year, in a certain corner of Tom Quad, by Messrs. Hills andSaunders. All around, the members of the little hierarchy, a hierarchyever changing in all but youth and a certain sternness of aspect thatcomes at the moment of being immortalised, were gazing forth now with asternness beyond their wont. Not one of them but had in his day handedon loyally the praise of Nellie O'Mora, in the form their Founder hadordained. And the Duke's revolt last night had so incensed them thatthey would, if they could, have come down from their frames and walkedstraight out of the club, in chronological order--first, the men ofthe 'sixties, almost as near in time to Greddon as to the Duke, allso gloriously be-whiskered and cravated, but how faded now, alas, byexposure; and last of all in the procession and angrier perhaps than anyof them, the Duke himself--the Duke of a year ago, President and soleMember. 

But, as he gazed into the eyes of Nellie O'Mora now, Dorset needed notfor penitence the reproaches of his past self or of his forerunners. "Sweet girl, " he murmured, "forgive me. I was mad. I was under thesway of a deplorable infatuation. It is past. See, " he murmured with adelicacy of feeling that justified the untruth, "I am come here for theexpress purpose of undoing my impiety. " And, turning to the club-waiterwho at this moment answered the bell, he said "Bring me a glass of port, please, Barrett. " Of sandwiches he said nothing. 

At the word "See" he had stretched one hand towards Nellie; the otherhe had laid on his heart, where it seemed to encounter some sort of hardobstruction. This he vaguely fingered, wondering what it might be, whilehe gave his order to Barrett. With a sudden cry he dipped his hand intohis breast-pocket and drew forth the bottle he had borne away fromMr. Druce's. He snatched out his watch: one o'clock!--fifteen minutesoverdue. Wildly he called the waiter back. "A tea-spoon, quick! Noport. A wine-glass and a tea-spoon. And--for I don't mind telling you, Barrett, that your mission is of an urgency beyond conjecture--takelightning for your model. Go!"

Agitation mastered him. He tried vainly to feel his pulse, well knowingthat if he found it he could deduce nothing from its action. He sawhimself haggard in the looking-glass. Would Barrett never come? "Everytwo hours"--the directions were explicit. Had he delivered himself intothe gods' hands? The eyes of Nellie O'Mora were on him compassionately;and all the eyes of his forerunners were on him in austere scorn: "See, "they seemed to be saying, "the chastisement of last night's blasphemy. "Violently, insistently, he rang the bell. 

In rushed Barrett at last. From the tea-spoon into the wine-glass theDuke poured the draught of salvation, and then, raising it aloft, helooked around at his fore-runners and in a firm voice cried "Gentlemen, I give you Nellie O'Mora, the fairest witch that ever was or will be. "He drained his glass, heaved the deep sigh of a double satisfaction, dismissed with a glance the wondering Barrett, and sat down. 

He was glad to be able to face Nellie with a clear conscience. Her eyeswere not less sad now, but it seemed to him that their sadness came of aknowledge that she would never see him again. She seemed to be sayingto him "Had you lived in my day, it is you that I would have loved, notGreddon. " And he made silent answer, "Had you lived in my day, I shouldhave been Dobson-proof. " He realised, however, that to Zuleika he owedthe tenderness he now felt for Miss O'Mora. It was Zuleika that hadcured him of his aseity. She it was that had made his heart a warm andnegotiable thing. Yes, and that was the final cruelty. To love and beloved--this, he had come to know, was all that mattered. Yesterday, tolove and die had seemed felicity enough. Now he knew that the secret, the open secret, of happiness was in mutual love--a state that needednot the fillip of death. And he had to die without having ever lived. Admiration, homage, fear, he had sown broadcast. The one woman who hadloved him had turned to stone because he loved her. Death would losemuch of its sting for him if there were somewhere in the world just onewoman, however lowly, whose heart would be broken by his dying. What apity Nellie O'Mora was not really extant!

Suddenly he recalled certain words lightly spoken yesterday by Zuleika. She had told him he was loved by the girl who waited on him--thedaughter of his landlady. Was this so? He had seen no sign of it, hadreceived no token of it. But, after all, how should he have seen a signof anything in one whom he had never consciously visualised? That shehad never thrust herself on his notice might mean merely that she hadbeen well brought-up. What likelier than that the daughter of Mrs. Batch, that worthy soul, had been well brought up?

Here, at any rate, was the chance of a new element in his life, orrather in his death. Here, possibly, was a maiden to mourn him. He wouldlunch in his rooms. 

With a farewell look at Nellie's miniature, he took the medicine-bottlefrom the table, and went quickly out. The heavens had grown steadilydarker and darker, the air more sulphurous and baleful. And the High hada strangely woebegone look, being all forsaken by youth, in this hour ofluncheon. Even so would its look be all to-morrow, thought the Duke, and for many morrows. Well he had done what he could. He was free now tobrighten a little his own last hours. He hastened on, eager to see thelandlady's daughter. He wondered what she was like, and whether shereally loved him. 

As he threw open the door of his sitting-room, he was aware of a rustle, a rush, a cry. In another instant, he was aware of Zuleika Dobson at hisfeet, at his knees, clasping him to her, sobbing, laughing, sobbing. 

XVI

For what happened a few moments later you must not blame him. Somemeasure of force was the only way out of an impossible situation. It wasin vain that he commanded the young lady to let go: she did but clingthe closer. It was in vain that he tried to disentangle himself of herby standing first on one foot, then on the other, and veering sharply onhis heel: she did but sway as though hinged to him. He had no choice butto grasp her by the wrists, cast her aside, and step clear of her intothe room. 

Her hat, gauzily basking with a pair of long white gloves on one of hisarm-chairs, proclaimed that she had come to stay. 

Nor did she rise. Propped on one elbow, with heaving bosom and partedlips, she seemed to be trying to realise what had been done to her. Through her undried tears her eyes shone up to him. 

He asked: "To what am I indebted for this visit?"

"Ah, say that again!" she murmured. "Your voice is music. "

He repeated his question. 

"Music!" she said dreamily; and such is the force of habit that "Idon't, " she added, "know anything about music, really. But I know what Ilike. "

"Had you not better get up from the floor?" he said. "The door is open, and any one who passed might see you. "

Softly she stroked the carpet with the palms of her hands. "Happycarpet!" she crooned. "Aye, happy the very women that wove the threadsthat are trod by the feet of my beloved master. But hark! he bids hisslave rise and stand before him!"

Just after she had risen, a figure appeared in the doorway. 

"I beg pardon, your Grace; Mother wants to know, will you be lunchingin?"

"Yes, " said the Duke. "I will ring when I am ready. " And it dawned onhim that this girl, who perhaps loved him, was, according to all knownstandards, extraordinarily pretty. 

"Will--" she hesitated, "will Miss Dobson be--"

"No, " he said. "I shall be alone. " And there was in the girl's partinghalf-glance at Zuleika that which told him he was truly loved, and madehim the more impatient of his offensive and accursed visitor. 

"You want to be rid of me?" asked Zuleika, when the girl was gone. 

"I have no wish to be rude; but--since you force me to say it--yes. "

"Then take me, " she cried, throwing back her arms, "and throw me out ofthe window. "

He smiled coldly. 

"You think I don't mean it? You think I would struggle? Try me. " She letherself droop sideways, in an attitude limp and portable. "Try me, " sherepeated. 

"All this is very well conceived, no doubt, " said he, "and wellexecuted. But it happens to be otiose. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you may set your mind at rest. I am not going to back out of mypromise. "

Zuleika flushed. "You are cruel. I would give the world and all not tohave written you that hateful letter. Forget it, forget it, for pity'ssake!"

The Duke looked searchingly at her. "You mean that you now wish torelease me from my promise?"

"Release you? As if you were ever bound! Don't torture me!"

He wondered what deep game she was playing. Very real, though, heranguish seemed; and, if real it was, then--he stared, he gasped--therecould be but one explanation. He put it to her. "You love me?"

"With all my soul. "

His heart leapt. If she spoke truth, then indeed vengeance was his! But"What proof have I?" he asked her. 

"Proof? Have men absolutely NO intuition? If you need proof, produce it. Where are my ear-rings?"

"Your ear-rings? Why?"

Impatiently she pointed to two white pearls that fastened the frontof her blouse. "These are your studs. It was from them I had the greatfirst hint this morning. "

"Black and pink, were they not, when you took them?"

"Of course. And then I forgot that I had them. When I undressed, theymust have rolled on to the carpet. Melisande found them this morningwhen she was making the room ready for me to dress. That was just aftershe came back from bringing you my first letter. I was bewildered. Idoubted. Might not the pearls have gone back to their natural statesimply through being yours no more? That is why I wrote again to you, myown darling--a frantic little questioning letter. When I heard how youhad torn it up, I knew, I knew that the pearls had not mocked me. Itelescoped my toilet and came rushing round to you. How many hours haveI been waiting for you?"

The Duke had drawn her ear-rings from his waistcoat pocket, and wascontemplating them in the palm of his hand. Blanched, both of them, yes. He laid them on the table. "Take them, " he said. 

"No, " she shuddered. "I could never forget that once they were bothblack. " She flung them into the fender. "Oh John, " she cried, turning tohim and falling again to her knees, "I do so want to forget what I havebeen. I want to atone. You think you can drive me out of your life. Youcannot, darling--since you won't kill me. Always I shall follow you onmy knees, thus. "

He looked down at her over his folded arms, "I am not going to back out of my promise, " he repeated. 

She stopped her ears. 

With a stern joy he unfolded his arms, took some papers from hisbreast-pocket, and, selecting one of them, handed it to her. It was thetelegram sent by his steward. 

She read it. With a stern joy he watched her reading it. 

Wild-eyed, she looked up from it to him, tried to speak, and swerveddown senseless. 

He had not foreseen this. "Help!" he vaguely cried--was she not afellow-creature?--and rushed blindly out to his bedroom, whence hereturned, a moment later, with the water-jug. He dipped his hand, andsprinkled the upturned face (Dew-drops on a white rose? But someother, sharper analogy hovered to him). He dipped and sprinkled. Thewater-beads broke, mingled--rivulets now. He dipped and flung, thencaught the horrible analogy and rebounded. 

It was at this moment that Zuleika opened her eyes. "Where am I?" Sheweakly raised herself on one elbow; and the suspension of the Duke'shatred would have been repealed simultaneously with that of herconsciousness, had it not already been repealed by the analogy. She puta hand to her face, then looked at the wet palm wonderingly, looked atthe Duke, saw the water-jug beside him. She, too, it seemed, had caughtthe analogy; for with a wan smile she said "We are quits now, John, aren't we?"

Her poor little jest drew to the Duke's face no answering smile, didbut make hotter the blush there. The wave of her returning memory swepton--swept up to her with a roar the instant past. "Oh, " she cried, staggering to her feet, "the owls, the owls!"

Vengeance was his, and "Yes, there, " he said, "is the ineluctable hardfact you wake to. The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken. This dayyour wish is to be fulfilled. "

"The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken. This day--oh, it must notbe, John! Heaven have mercy on me!"

"The unerring owls have hooted. The dispiteous and humorous gods havespoken. Miss Dobson, it has to be. And let me remind you, " he added, with a glance at his watch, "that you ought not to keep The MacQuernwaiting for luncheon. "

"That is unworthy of you, " she said. There was in her eyes a look thatmade the words sound as if they had been spoken by a dumb animal. 

"You have sent him an excuse?"

"No, I have forgotten him. "

"That is unworthy of you. After all, he is going to die for you, likethe rest of us. I am but one of a number, you know. Use your sense ofproportion. "

"If I do that, " she said after a pause, "you may not be pleased by theissue. I may find that whereas yesterday I was great in my sinfulness, and to-day am great in my love, you, in your hate of me, are small. Imay find that what I had taken to be a great indifference is nothing buta very small hate. .. Ah, I have wounded you? Forgive me, a weak woman, talking at random in her wretchedness. Oh John, John, if I thought yousmall, my love would but take on the crown of pity. Don't forbid me tocall you John. I looked you up in Debrett while I was waiting for you. That seemed to bring you nearer to me. So many other names you have, too. I remember you told me them all yesterday, here in this room--nottwenty-four hours ago. Hours? Years!" She laughed hysterically. "John, don't you see why I won't stop talking? It's because I dare not think. "

"Yonder in Balliol, " he suavely said, "you will find the matter of mydeath easier to forget than here. " He took her hat and gloves from thearm-chair, and held them carefully out to her; but she did not takethem. 

"I give you three minutes, " he told her. "Two minutes, that is, inwhich to make yourself tidy before the mirror. A third in which to saygood-bye and be outside the front-door. "

"If I refuse?"

"You will not. "

"If I do?"

"I shall send for a policeman. "

She looked well at him. "Yes, " she slowly said, "I think you would dothat. "

She took her things from him, and laid them by the mirror. With a highhand she quelled the excesses of her hair--some of the curls stillagleam with water--and knowingly poised and pinned her hat. Then, aftera few swift touches and passes at neck and waist, she took her glovesand, wheeling round to him, "There!" she said, "I have been quick. "

"Admirably, " he allowed. 

"Quick in more than meets the eye, John. Spiritually quick. You saw meputting on my hat; you did not see love taking on the crown of pity, andme bonneting her with it, tripping her up and trampling the life out ofher. Oh, a most cold-blooded business, John! Had to be done, though. Noother way out. So I just used my sense of proportion, as you rashlybade me, and then hardened my heart at sight of you as you are. One ofa number? Yes, and a quite unlovable unit. So I am all right again. Andnow, where is Balliol? Far from here?"

"No, " he answered, choking a little, as might a card-player who, havingbeen dealt a splendid hand, and having played it with flawless skill, has yet--damn it!--lost the odd trick. "Balliol is quite near. At theend of this street in fact. I can show it to you from the front-door. "

Yes, he had controlled himself. But this, he furiously felt, did notmake him look the less a fool. What ought he to have SAID? He prayed, as he followed the victorious young woman downstairs, that l'esprit del'escalier might befall him. Alas, it did not. 

"By the way, " she said, when he had shown her where Balliol lay, "haveyou told anybody that you aren't dying just for me?"

"No, " he answered, "I have preferred not to. "

"Then officially, as it were, and in the eyes of the world, you die forme? Then all's well that ends well. Shall we say good-bye here? Ishall be on the Judas Barge; but I suppose there will be a crush, asyesterday?"

"Sure to be. There always is on the last night of the Eights, you know. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye, little John--small John, " she cried across her shoulder, having the last word. 

XVII

He might not have grudged her the last word, had she properly neededit. Its utter superfluity--the perfection of her victory without it--waswhat galled him. Yes, she had outflanked him, taken him unawares, and hehad fired not one shot. Esprit de l'escalier--it was as he went upstairsthat he saw how he might yet have snatched from her, if not the victory, the palm. Of course he ought to have laughed aloud--"Capital, capital!You really do deserve to fool me. But ah, yours is a love that can't bedissembled. Never was man by maiden loved more ardently than I by you, my poor girl, at this moment. "

And stay!--what if she really HAD been but pretending to have killed herlove? He paused on the threshold of his room. The sudden doubt made hislost chance the more sickening. Yet was the doubt dear to him . .. Whatlikelier, after all, than that she had been pretending? She had alreadytwitted him with his lack of intuition. He had not seen that sheloved him when she certainly did love him. He had needed the pearls'demonstration of that. --The pearls! THEY would betray her. He darted tothe fender, and one of them he espied there instantly--white? A ratherflushed white, certainly. For the other he had to peer down. There itlay, not very distinct on the hearth's black-leading. 

He turned away. He blamed himself for not dismissing from his mind thehussy he had dismissed from his room. Oh for an ounce of civet and afew poppies! The water-jug stood as a reminder of the hateful visitand of. .. He took it hastily away into his bedroom. There he washedhis hands. The fact that he had touched Zuleika gave to this ablution asymbolism that made it the more refreshing. 

Civet, poppies? Was there not, at his call, a sweeter perfume, astronger anodyne? He rang the bell, almost caressingly. 

His heart beat at sound of the clinking and rattling of the tray borneup the stairs. She was coming, the girl who loved him, the girl whoseheart would be broken when he died. Yet, when the tray appeared in thedoorway, and she behind it, the tray took precedence of her in his soulnot less than in his sight. Twice, after an arduous morning, had hisluncheon been postponed, and the coming of it now made intolerable thepangs of his hunger. 

Also, while the girl laid the table-cloth, it occurred to him howflimsy, after all, was the evidence that she loved him. Suppose shedid nothing of the kind! At the Junta, he had foreseen no difficulty inasking her. Now he found himself a prey to embarrassment. He wonderedwhy. He had not failed in flow of gracious words to Nellie O'Mora. Well, a miniature by Hoppner was one thing, a landlady's live daughter wasanother. At any rate, he must prime himself with food. He wished Mrs. Batch had sent up something more calorific than cold salmon. He askedher daughter what was to follow. 

"There's a pigeon-pie, your Grace. "

"Cold? Then please ask your mother to heat it in the oven--quickly. Anything after that?"

"A custard pudding, your Grace. "

"Cold? Let this, too, be heated. And bring up a bottle of champagne, please; and--and a bottle of port. "

His was a head that had always hitherto defied the grape. But he thoughtthat to-day, by all he had gone through, by all the shocks he hadsuffered, and the strains he had steeled himself to bear, as well as bythe actual malady that gripped him, he might perchance have been sappedenough to experience by reaction that cordial glow of which he had nowand again seen symptoms in his fellows. 

Nor was he altogether disappointed of this hope. As the meal progressed, and the last of the champagne sparkled in his glass, certain thingssaid to him by Zuleika--certain implied criticisms that had rankled, yes--lost their power to discommode him. He was able to smile at theimpertinences of an angry woman, the tantrums of a tenth-rate conjurertold to go away. He felt he had perhaps acted harshly. With all herfaults, she had adored him. Yes, he had been arbitrary. There seemed tobe a strain of brutality in his nature. Poor Zuleika! He was glad forher that she had contrived to master her infatuation. .. Enough for himthat he was loved by this exquisite meek girl who had served him at thefeast. Anon, when he summoned her to clear the things away, he would bidher tell him the tale of her lowly passion. He poured a second glassof port, sipped it, quaffed it, poured a third. The grey gloom of theweather did but, as he eyed the bottle, heighten his sense of the richsunshine so long ago imprisoned by the vintner and now released to makeglad his soul. Even so to be released was the love pent for him in theheart of this sweet girl. Would that he loved her in return!. .. Why not?

 "Prius insolentem Serva Briseis niveo colore Movit Achillem. "

Nor were it gracious to invite an avowal of love and offer none inreturn. Yet, yet, expansive though his mood was, he could not pretend tohimself that he was about to feel in this girl's presence anything butgratitude. He might pretend to her? Deception were a very poor returnindeed for all her kindness. Besides, it might turn her head. Some smalltoken of his gratitude--some trinket by which to remember him--was allthat he could allow himself to offer. .. What trinket? Would she liketo have one of his scarf-pins? Studs? Still more abs--Ah! he had it, heliterally and most providentially had it, there, in the fender: a pairof ear-rings!

He plucked the pink pearl and the black from where they lay, and rangthe bell. 

His sense of dramatic propriety needed that the girl should, before headdressed her, perform her task of clearing the table. If she had itto perform after telling her love, and after receiving his gift and hisfarewell, the bathos would be distressing for them both. 

But, while he watched her at her task, he did wish she would be a littlequicker. For the glow in him seemed to be cooling momently. He wishedhe had had more than three glasses from the crusted bottle which she wasputting away into the chiffonier. Down, doubt! Down, sense of disparity!The moment was at hand. Would he let it slip? Now she was folding up thetable-cloth, now she was going. 

"Stay!" he uttered. "I have something to say to you. " The girl turned tohim. 

He forced his eyes to meet hers. "I understand, " he said in aconstrained voice, "that you regard me with sentiments of something morethan esteem. --Is this so?"

The girl had stepped quickly back, and her face was scarlet. 

"Nay, " he said, having to go through with it now, "there is no cause forembarrassment. And I am sure you will acquit me of wanton curiosity. Isit a fact that you--love me?"

She tried to speak, could not. But she nodded her head. 

The Duke, much relieved, came nearer to her. 

"What is your name?" he asked gently. 

"Katie, " she was able to gasp. 

"Well, Katie, how long have you loved me?"

"Ever since, " she faltered, "ever since you came to engage the rooms. "

"You are not, of course, given to idolising any tenant of yourmother's?"

"No. "

"May I boast myself the first possessor of your heart?"

"Yes. " She had become very pale now, and was trembling painfully. 

"And may I assume that your love for me has been entirelydisinterested?. .. You do not catch my meaning? I will put my question inanother way. In loving me, you never supposed me likely to return yourlove?"

The girl looked up at him quickly, but at once her eyelids fluttereddown again. 

"Come, come!" said the Duke. "My question is a plain one. Did you everfor an instant suppose, Katie, that I might come to love you?"

"No, " she said in a whisper; "I never dared to hope that. "

"Precisely, " said he. "You never imagined that you had anything togain by your affection. You were not contriving a trap for me. You wereupheld by no hope of becoming a young Duchess, with more frocks thanyou could wear and more dross than you could scatter. I am glad. Iam touched. You are the first woman that has loved me in that way. Orrather, " he muttered, "the first but one. And she. .. Answer me, " hesaid, standing over the girl, and speaking with a great intensity. "If Iwere to tell you that I loved you, would you cease to love me?"

"Oh your Grace!" cried the girl. "Why no! I never dared--"

"Enough!" he said. "The catechism is ended. I have something which Ishould like to give you. Are your ears pierced?"

"Yes, your Grace. "

"Then, Katie, honour me by accepting this present. " So saying, he placedin the girl's hand the black pearl and the pink. The sight of thembanished for a moment all other emotions in their recipient. She forgotherself. "Lor!" she said. 

"I hope you will wear them always for my sake, " said the Duke. 

She had expressed herself in the monosyllable. No words came to herlips, but to her eyes many tears, through which the pearls werevisible. They whirled in her bewildered brain as a token that she wasloved--loved by HIM, though but yesterday he had loved another. It wasall so sudden, so beautiful. You might have knocked her down (she saysso to this day) with a feather. Seeing her agitation, the Duke pointedto a chair, bade her be seated. 

Her mind was cleared by the new posture. Suspicion crept into it, followed by alarm. She looked at the ear-rings, then up at the Duke. 

"No, " said he, misinterpreting the question in her eyes, "they are realpearls. "

"It isn't that, " she quavered, "it is--it is--"

"That they were given to me by Miss Dobson?"

"Oh, they were, were they? Then"--Katie rose, throwing the pearls on thefloor--"I'll have nothing to do with them. I hate her. "

"So do I, " said the Duke, in a burst of confidence. "No, I don't, " headded hastily. "Please forget that I said that. "

It occurred to Katie that Miss Dobson would be ill-pleased that thepearls should pass to her. She picked them up. 

"Only--only--" again her doubts beset her and she looked from the pearlsto the Duke. 

"Speak on, " he said. 

"Oh you aren't playing with me, are you? You don't mean me harm, do you?I have been well brought up. I have been warned against things. And itseems so strange, what you have said to me. You are a Duke, and I--I amonly--"

"It is the privilege of nobility to condescend. "

"Yes, yes, " she cried. "I see. Oh I was wicked to doubt you. And lovelevels all, doesn't it? love and the Board school. Our stations are farapart, but I've been educated far above mine. I've learnt more than mostreal ladies have. I passed the Seventh Standard when I was only justfourteen. I was considered one of the sharpest girls in the school. AndI've gone on learning since then, " she continued eagerly. "I utilise allmy spare moments. I've read twenty-seven of the Hundred Best Books. Icollect ferns. I play the piano, whenever. .. " She broke off, for sheremembered that her music was always interrupted by the ringing of theDuke's bell and a polite request that it should cease. 

"I am glad to hear of these accomplishments. They do you great credit, Iam sure. But--well, I do not quite see why you enumerate them just now. "

"It isn't that I am vain, " she pleaded. "I only mentioned them because. .. Oh, don't you see? If I'm not ignorant, I shan't disgrace you. People won't be so able to say you've been and thrown yourself away. "

"Thrown myself away? What do you mean?"

"Oh, they'll make all sorts of objections, I know. They'll all beagainst me, and--"

"For heaven's sake, explain yourself. "

"Your aunt, she looked a very proud lady--very high and hard. I thoughtso when she came here last term. But you're of age. You're your ownmaster. Oh, I trust you; you'll stand by me. If you love me really youwon't listen to them. "

"Love you? I? Are you mad?"

Each stared at the other, utterly bewildered. 

The girl was the first to break the silence. Her voice came in awhisper. "You've not been playing a joke on me? You meant what you said, didn't you?"

"What have I said?"

"You said you loved me. "

"You must be dreaming. "

"I'm not. Here are the ear-rings you gave me. " She pinched them asmaterial proof. "You said you loved me just before you gave me them. You know you did. And if I thought you'd been laughing at me all thetime--I'd--I'd"--a sob choked her voice--"I'd throw them in your face!"

"You must not speak to me in that manner, " said the Duke coldly. "Andlet me warn you that this attempt to trap me and intimidate me--"

The girl had flung the ear-rings at his face. She had missed her mark. But this did not extenuate the outrageous gesture. He pointed to thedoor. "Go!" he said. 

"Don't try that on!" she laughed. "I shan't go--not unless you dragme out. And if you do that, I'll raise the house. I'll have in theneighbours. I'll tell them all what you've done, and--" But defiancemelted in the hot shame of humiliation. "Oh, you coward!" she gasped. "You coward!" She caught her apron to her face and, swaying against thewall, sobbed piteously. 

Unaccustomed to love-affairs, the Duke could not sail lightly over aflood of woman's tears. He was filled with pity for the poor quiveringfigure against the wall. How should he soothe her? Mechanically hepicked up the two pearls from the carpet, and crossed to her side. Hetouched her on the shoulder. She shuddered away from him. 

"Don't, " he said gently. "Don't cry. I can't bear it. I have been stupidand thoughtless. What did you say your name was? 'Katie, ' to be sure. Well, Katie, I want to beg your pardon. I expressed myself badly. I wasunhappy and lonely, and I saw in you a means of comfort. I snatchedat you, Katie, as at a straw. And then, I suppose, I must have saidsomething which made you think I loved you. I almost wish I did. I don'twonder you threw the ear-rings at me. I--I almost wish they had hitme. .. You see, I have quite forgiven you. Now do you forgive me. Youwill not refuse now to wear the ear-rings. I gave them to you as akeepsake. Wear them always in memory of me. For you will never see meagain. "

The girl had ceased from crying, and her anger had spent itself in sobs. She was gazing at him woebegone but composed. 

"Where are you going?"

"You must not ask that, " said he. "Enough that my wings are spread. "

"Are you going because of ME?"

"Not in the least. Indeed, your devotion is one of the things which makebitter my departure. And yet--I am glad you love me. "

"Don't go, " she faltered. He came nearer to her, and this time she didnot shrink from him. "Don't you find the rooms comfortable?" she asked, gazing up at him. "Have you ever had any complaint to make about theattendance?"

"No, " said the Duke, "the attendance has always been quite satisfactory. I have never felt that so keenly as I do to-day. "

"Then why are you leaving? Why are you breaking my heart?"

"Suffice it that I cannot do otherwise. Henceforth you will see me nomore. But I doubt not that in the cultivation of my memory you will findsome sort of lugubrious satisfaction. See! here are the ear-rings. Ifyou like, I will put them in with my own hands. "

She held up her face side-ways. Into the lobe of her left ear heinsinuated the hook of the black pearl. On the cheek upturned to himthere were still traces of tears; the eyelashes were still spangled. Forall her blondness, they were quite dark, these glistening eyelashes. Hehad an impulse, which he put from him. "Now the other ear, " he said. Thegirl turned her head. Soon the pink pearl was in its place. Yet the girldid not move. She seemed to be waiting. Nor did the Duke himself seem tobe quite satisfied. He let his fingers dally with the pearl. Anon, witha sigh, he withdrew them. The girl looked up. Their eyes met. He lookedaway from her. He turned away from her. "You may kiss my hand, " hemurmured, extending it towards her. After a pause, the warm pressureof her lips was laid on it. He sighed, but did not look round. Anotherpause, a longer pause, and then the clatter and clink of the outgoingtray. 

XVIII

Her actual offspring does not suffice a very motherly woman. Such awoman was Mrs. Batch. Had she been blest with a dozen children, shemust yet have regarded herself as also a mother to whatever two younggentlemen were lodging under her roof. Childless but for Katie andClarence, she had for her successive pairs of tenants a truly vast fundof maternal feeling to draw on. Nor were the drafts made in secret. Toevery gentleman, from the outset, she proclaimed the relation in whichshe would stand to him. Moreover, always she needed a strong filialsense in return: this was only fair. 

Because the Duke was an orphan, even more than because he was a Duke, her heart had with a special rush gone out to him when he and Mr. Noaksbecame her tenants. But, perhaps because he had never known a mother, he was evidently quite incapable of conceiving either Mrs. Batch as hismother or himself as her son. Indeed, there was that in his manner, in his look, which made her falter, for once, in exposition of hertheory--made her postpone the matter to some more favourable time. Thattime never came, somehow. Still, her solicitude for him, her pride inhim, her sense that he was a great credit to her, rather waxed thanwaned. He was more to her (such are the vagaries of the maternalinstinct) than Katie or Mr. Noaks: he was as much as Clarence. 

It was, therefore, a deeply agitated woman who now came heaving up intothe Duke's presence. His Grace was "giving notice"? She was sure shebegged his pardon for coming up so sudden. But the news was thatsudden. Hadn't her girl made a mistake, maybe? Girls were so vague-likenowadays. She was sure it was most kind of him to give those handsomeear-rings. But the thought of him going off so unexpected--middle ofterm, too--with never a why or a but! Well!

In some such welter of homely phrase (how foreign to these classicpages!) did Mrs. Batch utter her pain. The Duke answered her tersely butkindly. He apologised for going so abruptly, and said he would be veryhappy to write for her future use a testimonial to the excellence ofher rooms and of her cooking; and with it he would give her a cheque notonly for the full term's rent, and for his board since the beginning ofterm, but also for such board as he would have been likely to have inthe term's remainder. He asked her to present her accounts forthwith. 

He occupied the few minutes of her absence by writing the testimonial. It had shaped itself in his mind as a short ode in Doric Greek. But, forthe benefit of Mrs. Batch, he chose to do a rough equivalent in English. 

 TO AN UNDERGRADUATE NEEDING ROOMS IN OXFORD

 (A Sonnet in Oxfordshire Dialect)

 Zeek w'ere thee will in t'Univursity, Lad, thee'll not vind nor bread nor bed that matches Them as thee'll vind, roight zure, at Mrs. Batch's. .. 

I do not quote the poem in extenso, because, frankly, I think it was oneof his least happily-inspired works. His was not a Muse that could witha good grace doff the grand manner. Also, his command of the Oxfordshiredialect seems to me based less on study than on conjecture. In fact, Ido not place the poem higher than among the curiosities of literature. It has extrinsic value, however, as illustrating the Duke'sthoughtfulness for others in the last hours of his life. And to Mrs. Batch the MS. , framed and glazed in her hall, is an asset beyond price(witness her recent refusal of Mr. Pierpont Morgan's sensational bid forit). 

This MS. She received together with the Duke's cheque. The presentationwas made some twenty minutes after she had laid her accounts before him. 

Lavish in giving large sums of his own accord, he was apt to becircumspect in the matter of small payments. Such is ever the way ofopulent men. Nor do I see that we have a right to sneer at them for it. We cannot deny that their existence is a temptation to us. It is in ourfallen nature to want to get something out of them; and, as we think insmall sums (heaven knows), it is of small sums that they are careful. Absurd to suppose they really care about halfpence. It must, therefore, be about us that they care; and we ought to be grateful to them for thepains they are at to keep us guiltless. I do not suggest that Mrs. Batchhad at any point overcharged the Duke; but how was he to know that shehad not done so, except by checking the items, as was his wont? Thereductions that he made, here and there, did not in all amount tothree-and-sixpence. I do not say they were just. But I do say that hismotive for making them, and his satisfaction at having made them, wererather beautiful than otherwise. 

Having struck an average of Mrs. Batch's weekly charges, and a similaraverage of his own reductions, he had a basis on which to reckon hisboard for the rest of the term. This amount he added to Mrs. Batch'samended total, plus the full term's rent, and accordingly drew a chequeon the local bank where he had an account. Mrs. Batch said she wouldbring up a stamped receipt directly; but this the Duke waived, saying that the cashed cheque itself would be a sufficient receipt. Accordingly, he reduced by one penny the amount written on the cheque. Remembering to initial the correction, he remembered also, with amelancholy smile, that to-morrow the cheque would not be negotiable. Handing it, and the sonnet, to Mrs. Batch, he bade her cash it beforethe bank closed. "And, " he said, with a glance at his watch, "you haveno time to lose. It is a quarter to four. " Only two hours and a quarterbefore the final races! How quickly the sands were running out!

Mrs. Batch paused on the threshold, wanted to know if she could "helpwith the packing. " The Duke replied that he was taking nothing with him:his various things would be sent for, packed, and removed, within a fewdays. No, he did not want her to order a cab. He was going to walk. And"Good-bye, Mrs. Batch, " he said. "For legal reasons with which I won'tburden you, you really must cash that cheque at once. "

He sat down in solitude; and there crept over him a mood of deepdepression. .. Almost two hours and a quarter before the final races!What on earth should he do in the meantime? He seemed to have done allthat there was for him to do. His executors would do the rest. He had nofarewell-letters to write. He had no friends with whom he was on termsof valediction. There was nothing at all for him to do. He staredblankly out of the window, at the greyness and blackness of the sky. What a day! What a climate! Why did any sane person live in England? Hefelt positively suicidal. 

His dully vagrant eye lighted on the bottle of Cold Mixture. He ought tohave dosed himself a full hour ago. Well, he didn't care. 

Had Zuleika noticed the bottle? he idly wondered. Probably not. Shewould have made some sprightly reference to it before she went. 

Since there was nothing to do but sit and think, he wished he couldrecapture that mood in which at luncheon he had been able to see Zuleikaas an object for pity. Never, till to-day, had he seen things otherwisethan they were. Nor had he ever needed to. Never, till last night, hadthere been in his life anything he needed to forget. That woman! Asif it really mattered what she thought of him. He despised himself forwishing to forget she despised him. But the wish was the measure of theneed. He eyed the chiffonier. Should he again solicit the grape?

Reluctantly he uncorked the crusted bottle, and filled a glass. Was hecome to this? He sighed and sipped, quaffed and sighed. The spell of theold stored sunshine seemed not to work, this time. He could not ceasefrom plucking at the net of ignominies in which his soul lay enmeshed. Would that he had died yesterday, escaping how much!

Not for an instant did he flinch from the mere fact of dying to-day. Since he was not immortal, as he had supposed, it were as well he shoulddie now as fifty years hence. Better, indeed. To die "untimely, " as mencalled it, was the timeliest of all deaths for one who had carved hisyouth to greatness. What perfection could he, Dorset, achieve beyondwhat was already his? Future years could but stale, if not actuallymar, that perfection. Yes, it was lucky to perish leaving much to theimagination of posterity. Dear posterity was of a sentimental, nota realistic, habit. She always imagined the dead young hero prancinggloriously up to the Psalmist's limit a young hero still; and it was thesense of her vast loss that kept his memory green. Byron!--he would beall forgotten to-day if he had lived to be a florid old gentleman withiron-grey whiskers, writing very long, very able letters to "The Times"about the Repeal of the Corn Laws. Yes, Byron would have been that. Itwas indicated in him. He would have been an old gentleman exacerbated byQueen Victoria's invincible prejudice against him, her brusque refusalto "entertain" Lord John Russell's timid nomination of him for a postin the Government. .. Shelley would have been a poet to the last. But howdull, how very dull, would have been the poetry of his middle age!--agreat unreadable mass interposed between him and us. .. Did Byron, musedthe Duke, know what was to be at Missolonghi? Did he know that he wasto die in service of the Greeks whom he despised? Byron might not haveminded that. But what if the Greeks had told him, in so many words, that they despised HIM? How would he have felt then? Would he have beencontent with his potations of barley-water?. .. The Duke replenished hisglass, hoping the spell might work yet. .. . Perhaps, had Byron not been adandy--but ah, had he not been in his soul a dandy there would havebeen no Byron worth mentioning. And it was because he guarded not hisdandyism against this and that irrelevant passion, sexual or political, that he cut so annoyingly incomplete a figure. He was absurd in hispolitics, vulgar in his loves. Only in himself, at the times when hestood haughtily aloof, was he impressive. Nature, fashioning him, hadfashioned also a pedestal for him to stand and brood on, to pose andsing on. Off that pedestal he was lost. .. . "The idol has come slidingdown from its pedestal"--the Duke remembered these words spokenyesterday by Zuleika. Yes, at the moment when he slid down, he, too, waslost. For him, master-dandy, the common arena was no place. What had heto do with love? He was an utter fool at it. Byron had at least had somefun out of it. What fun had HE had? Last night, he had forgotten to kissZuleika when he held her by the wrists. To-day it had been as much as hecould do to let poor little Katie kiss his hand. Better be vulgarwith Byron than a noodle with Dorset! he bitterly reflected. .. Still, noodledom was nearer than vulgarity to dandyism. It was a less flagrantlapse. And he had over Byron this further advantage: his noodledom wasnot a matter of common knowledge; whereas Byron's vulgarity had everneeded to be in the glare of the footlights of Europe. The worldwould say of him that he laid down his life for a woman. Deplorablesomersault? But nothing evident save this in his whole life wasfaulty. .. The one other thing that might be carped at--the partisanspeech he made in the Lords--had exquisitely justified itself by itsresult. For it was as a Knight of the Garter that he had set the perfectseal on his dandyism. Yes, he reflected, it was on the day when firsthe donned the most grandiose of all costumes, and wore it grandlierthan ever yet in history had it been worn, than ever would it be wornhereafter, flaunting the robes with a grace unparalleled and inimitable, and lending, as it were, to the very insignia a glory beyond their own, that he once and for all fulfilled himself, doer of that which he hadbeen sent into the world to do. 

And there floated into his mind a desire, vague at first, soon definite, imperious, irresistible, to see himself once more, before he died, indued in the fulness of his glory and his might. 

Nothing hindered. There was yet a whole hour before he need start forthe river. His eyes dilated, somewhat as might those of a child about to"dress up" for a charade; and already, in his impatience, he had undonehis neck-tie. 

One after another, he unlocked and threw open the black tin boxes, snatching out greedily their great good splendours of crimson and whiteand royal blue and gold. You wonder he was not appalled by the task ofessaying unaided a toilet so extensive and so intricate? You wonderedeven when you heard that he was wont at Oxford to make without help histoilet of every day. Well, the true dandy is always capable of such highindependence. He is craftsman as well as artist. And, though any unaidedKnight but he with whom we are here concerned would belike have dodderedhopeless in that labyrinth of hooks and buckles which underlies thevisible glory of a Knight "arraied full and proper, " Dorset threaded hisway featly and without pause. He had mastered his first excitement. Inhis swiftness was no haste. His procedure had the ease and inevitabilityof a natural phenomenon, and was most like to the coming of a rainbow. 

Crimson-doubleted, blue-ribanded, white-trunk-hosed, he stooped tounderstrap his left knee with that strap of velvet round whichsparkles the proud gay motto of the Order. He affixed to his breast theoctoradiant star, so much larger and more lustrous than any actual starin heaven. Round his neck he slung that long daedal chain wherefrom St. George, slaying the Dragon, dangles. He bowed his shoulders to assumethat vast mantle of blue velvet, so voluminous, so enveloping, that, despite the Cross of St. George blazing on it, and the shoulder-knotslike two great white tropical flowers planted on it, we seem to knowfrom it in what manner of mantle Elijah prophesied. Across his breasthe knotted this mantle's two cords of gleaming bullion, one tassel adue trifle higher than its fellow. All these things being done, he movedaway from the mirror, and drew on a pair of white kid gloves. Both ofthese being buttoned, he plucked up certain folds of his mantle into thehollow of his left arm, and with his right hand gave to his left handthat ostrich-plumed and heron-plumed hat of black velvet in which aKnight of the Garter is entitled to take his walks abroad. Then, withhead erect, and measured tread, he returned to the mirror. 

You are thinking, I know, of Mr. Sargent's famous portrait of him. Forget it. Tankerton Hall is open to the public on Wednesdays. Gothere, and in the dining-hall stand to study well Sir Thomas Lawrence'sportrait of the eleventh Duke. Imagine a man some twenty years youngerthan he whom you there behold, but having some such features and somesuch bearing, and clad in just such robes. Sublimate the dignity ofthat bearing and of those features, and you will then have seen thefourteenth Duke somewhat as he stood reflected in the mirror of hisroom. Resist your impulse to pass on to the painting which hangs nextbut two to Lawrence's. It deserves, I know, all that you said about itwhen (at the very time of the events in this chronicle) it was hangingin Burlington House. Marvellous, I grant you, are those passes of theswirling brush by which the velvet of the mantle is rendered--passes solight and seemingly so fortuitous, yet, seen at the right distance, so absolute in their power to create an illusion of the actual velvet. Sheen of white satin and silk, glint of gold, glitter of diamonds--neverwere such things caught by surer hand obedient to more voracious eye. Yes, all the splendid surface of everything is there. Yet must you notlook. The soul is not there. An expensive, very new costume is there, but no evocation of the high antique things it stands for; whereas bythe Duke it was just these things that were evoked to make an aura roundhim, a warm symbolic glow sharpening the outlines of his ownparticular magnificence. Reflecting him, the mirror reflected, in duesubordination, the history of England. There is nothing of that on Mr. Sargent's canvas. Obtruded instead is the astounding slickness of Mr. Sargent's technique: not the sitter, but the painter, is master here. Nay, though I hate to say it, there is in the portrayal of the Duke'sattitude and expression a hint of something like mockery--unintentional, I am sure, but to a sensitive eye discernible. And--but it is clumsy ofme to be reminding you of the very picture I would have you forget. 

Long stood the Duke gazing, immobile. One thing alone ruffled his deepinward calm. This was the thought that he must presently put off fromhim all his splendour, and be his normal self. 

The shadow passed from his brow. He would go forth as he was. He wouldbe true to the motto he wore, and true to himself. A dandy he had lived. In the full pomp and radiance of his dandyism he would die. 

His soul rose from calm to triumph. A smile lit his face, and he heldhis head higher than ever. He had brought nothing into this world andcould take nothing out of it? Well, what he loved best he could carrywith him to the very end; and in death they would not be divided. 

The smile was still on his face as he passed out from his room. Downthe stairs he passed, and "Oh, " every stair creaked faintly, "I ought tohave been marble!"

And it did indeed seem that Mrs. Batch and Katie, who had hurriedout into the hall, were turned to some kind of stone at sight of thedescending apparition. A moment ago, Mrs. Batch had been hoping shemight yet at the last speak motherly words. A hopeless mute now! Amoment ago, Katie's eyelids had been red with much weeping. Even fromthem the colour suddenly ebbed now. Dead-white her face was between theblack pearl and the pink. "And this is the man of whom I dared once foran instant hope that he loved me!"--it was thus that the Duke, quitecorrectly, interpreted her gaze. 

To her and to her mother he gave an inclusive bow as he swept slowly by. Stone was the matron, and stone the maid. 

Stone, too, the Emperors over the way; and the more poignantly therebywas the Duke a sight to anguish them, being the very incarnation of whatthemselves had erst been, or tried to be. But in this bitterness theydid not forget their sorrow at his doom. They were in a mood to forgivehim the one fault they had ever found in him--his indifference to theirKatie. And now--o mirum mirorum--even this one fault was wiped out. 

For, stung by memory of a gibe lately cast at him by himself, the Dukehad paused and, impulsively looking back into the hall, had beckonedKatie to him; and she had come (she knew not how) to him; and there, standing on the doorstep whose whiteness was the symbol of her love, he--very lightly, it is true, and on the upmost confines of the brow, but quite perceptibly--had kissed her. 

XIX

And now he had passed under the little arch between the eighth and theninth Emperor, rounded the Sheldonian, and been lost to sight of Katie, whom, as he was equally glad and sorry he had kissed her, he was able todismiss from his mind. 

In the quadrangle of the Old Schools he glanced round at the familiarlabels, blue and gold, over the iron-studded doors, --Schola Theologiaeet Antiquae Philosophiae; Museum Arundelianum; Schola Musicae. AndBibliotheca Bodleiana--he paused there, to feel for the last time thevague thrill he had always felt at sight of the small and devious portalthat had lured to itself, and would always lure, so many scholars fromthe ends of the earth, scholars famous and scholars obscure, scholarspolyglot and of the most diverse bents, but none of them not stirred inheart somewhat on the found threshold of the treasure-house. "Howdeep, how perfect, the effect made here by refusal to make any effectwhatsoever!" thought the Duke. Perhaps, after all. .. But no: one couldlay down no general rule. He flung his mantle a little wider from hisbreast, and proceeded into Radcliffe Square. 

Another farewell look he gave to the old vast horse-chestnut that iscalled Bishop Heber's tree. Certainly, no: there was no general rule. With its towering and bulging masses of verdure tricked out all over intheir annual finery of catkins, Bishop Heber's tree stood for the verytype of ingenuous ostentation. And who should dare cavil? who not begladdened? Yet awful, more than gladdening, was the effect that the treemade to-day. Strangely pale was the verdure against the black sky; andthe multitudinous catkins had a look almost ghostly. The Duke rememberedthe legend that every one of these fair white spires of blossom isthe spirit of some dead man who, having loved Oxford much and well, issuffered thus to revisit her, for a brief while, year by year. Andit pleased him to doubt not that on one of the topmost branches, nextSpring, his own spirit would be. 

"Oh, look!" cried a young lady emerging with her brother and her auntthrough the gate of Brasenose. 

"For heaven's sake, Jessie, try to behave yourself, " hissed her brother. "Aunt Mabel, for heaven's sake don't stare. " He compelled the pair towalk on with him. "Jessie, if you look round over your shoulder. .. No, it is NOT the Vice-Chancellor. It's Dorset, of Judas--the Duke ofDorset. .. Why on earth shouldn't he?. .. No, it isn't odd in the least. .. No, I'm NOT losing my temper. Only, don't call me your dear boy. .. No, we will NOT walk slowly so as to let him pass us. .. Jessie, if you lookround. .. "

Poor fellow! However fond an undergraduate be of his womenfolk, atOxford they keep him in a painful state of tension: at any moment theymay somehow disgrace him. And if throughout the long day he shall havehad the added strain of guarding them from the knowledge that he isabout to commit suicide, a certain measure of irritability must becondoned. 

Poor Jessie and Aunt Mabel! They were destined to remember that Haroldhad been "very peculiar" all day. They had arrived in the morning, happyand eager despite the menace of the sky, and--well, they were destinedto reproach themselves for having felt that Harold was "really ratherimpossible. " Oh, if he had only confided in them! They could havereasoned with him, saved him--surely they could have saved him! When hetold them that the "First Division" of the races was always very dull, and that they had much better let him go to it alone, --when he told themthat it was always very rowdy, and that ladies were not supposed to bethere--oh, why had they not guessed and clung to him, and kept him awayfrom the river?

Well, here they were, walking on Harold's either side, blind to fate, and only longing to look back at the gorgeous personage behind them. Aunt Mabel had inwardly calculated that the velvet of the mantle alonecould not have cost less than four guineas a yard. One good look back, and she would be able to calculate how many yards there were. .. Shefollowed the example of Lot's wife; and Jessie followed hers. 

"Very well, " said Harold. "That settles it. I go alone. " And he was gonelike an arrow, across the High, down Oriel Street. 

The two women stood staring ruefully at each other. 

"Pardon me, " said the Duke, with a sweep of his plumed hat. "I observeyou are stranded; and, if I read your thoughts aright, you are impugningthe courtesy of that young runagate. Neither of you, I am very sure, isas one of those ladies who in Imperial Rome took a saucy pleasure in thespectacle of death. Neither of you can have been warned by your escortthat you were on the way to see him die, of his own accord, in companywith many hundreds of other lads, myself included. Therefore, regard hisflight from you as an act not of unkindness, but of tardy compunction. The hint you have had from him let me turn into a counsel. Go back, bothof you, to the place whence you came. "

"Thank you SO much, " said Aunt Mabel, with what she took to be greatpresence of mind. "MOST kind of you. We'll do JUST what you tell us. Come, Jessie dear, " and she hurried her niece away with her. 

Something in her manner of fixing him with her eye had made the Dukesuspect what was in her mind. Well, she would find out her mistake soonenough, poor woman. He desired, however, that her mistake should be madeby no one else. He would give no more warnings. 

Tragic it was for him, in Merton Street, to see among the crowdconverging to the meadows so many women, young and old, all imprescient, troubled by nothing but the thunder that was in the air, that was on thebrows of their escorts. He knew not whether it was for their escorts orfor them that he felt the greater pity; and an added load for his heartwas the sense of his partial responsibility for what impended. Buthis lips were sealed now. Why should he not enjoy the effect he wascreating?

It was with a measured tread, as yesterday with Zuleika, that he enteredthe avenue of elms. The throng streamed past from behind him, partingwide, and marvelling as it streamed. Under the pall of this evil eveninghis splendour was the more inspiring. And, just as yesterday no man hadquestioned his right to be with Zuleika, so to-day there was none todeem him caparisoned too much. All the men felt at a glance thathe, coming to meet death thus, did no more than the right homage toZuleika--aye, and that he made them all partakers in his own glory, casting his great mantle over all commorients. Reverence forbade them todo more than glance. But the women with them were impelled by wonder tostare hard, uttering sharp little cries that mingled with the cawing ofthe rooks overhead. Thus did scores of men find themselves shamed likeour friend Harold. But this, you say, was no more than a just return fortheir behaviour yesterday, when, in this very avenue, so many women werealmost crushed to death by them in their insensate eagerness to see MissDobson. 

To-day by scores of women it was calculated not only that the velvet ofthe Duke's mantle could not have cost less than four guineas a yard, butalso that there must be quite twenty-five yards of it. Some of the fairmathematicians had, in the course of the past fortnight, visited theRoyal Academy and seen there Mr. Sargent's portrait of the wearer, sothat their estimate now was but the endorsement of an estimate alreadymade. Yet their impression of the Duke was above all a spiritual one. The nobility of his face and bearing was what most thrilled them as theywent by; and those of them who had heard the rumour that he was in lovewith that frightfully flashy-looking creature, Zuleika Dobson, were morethan ever sure there wasn't a word of truth in it. 

As he neared the end of the avenue, the Duke was conscious of a thinningin the procession on either side of him, and anon he was aware that notone undergraduate was therein. And he knew at once--did not need to lookback to know--why this was. SHE was coming. 

Yes, she had come into the avenue, her magnetism speeding before her, insomuch that all along the way the men immediately ahead of her lookedround, beheld her, stood aside for her. With her walked The MacQuern, and a little bodyguard of other blest acquaintances; and behind herswayed the dense mass of the disorganised procession. And now the lastrank between her and the Duke was broken, and at the revealed visionof him she faltered midway in some raillery she was addressing to TheMacQuern. Her eyes were fixed, her lips were parted, her tread hadbecome stealthy. With a brusque gesture of dismissal to the men besideher, she darted forward, and lightly overtook the Duke just as he wasturning towards the barges. 

"May I?" she whispered, smiling round into his face. 

His shoulder-knots just perceptibly rose. 

"There isn't a policeman in sight, John. You're at my mercy. No, no;I'm at yours. Tolerate me. You really do look quite wonderful. There, Iwon't be so impertinent as to praise you. Only let me be with you. Willyou?"

The shoulder-knots repeated their answer. 

"You needn't listen to me; needn't look at me--unless you care to use myeyes as mirrors. Only let me be seen with you. That's what I want. Notthat your society isn't a boon in itself, John. Oh, I've been so boredsince I left you. The MacQuern is too, too dull, and so are his friends. Oh, that meal with them in Balliol! As soon as I grew used to thethought that they were going to die for me, I simply couldn't standthem. Poor boys! it was as much as I could do not to tell them I wishedthem dead already. Indeed, when they brought me down for the firstraces, I did suggest that they might as well die now as later. Only theylooked very solemn and said it couldn't possibly be done till after thefinal races. And oh, the tea with them! What have YOU been doing all theafternoon? Oh John, after THEM, I could almost love you again. Why can'tone fall in love with a man's clothes? To think that all those splendidthings you have on are going to be spoilt--all for me. Nominally forme, that is. It is very wonderful, John. I do appreciate it, really andtruly, though I know you think I don't. John, if it weren't mere spiteyou feel for me--but it's no good talking about that. Come, let us be ascheerful as we may be. Is this the Judas house-boat?"

"The Judas barge, " said the Duke, irritated by a mistake which butyesterday had rather charmed him. 

As he followed his companion across the plank, there came dully from thehills the first low growl of the pent storm. The sound struck for him astrange contrast with the prattle he had perforce been listening to. 

"Thunder, " said Zuleika over her shoulder. 

"Evidently, " he answered. 

Half-way up the stairs to the roof, she looked round. "Aren't youcoming?" she asked. 

He shook his head, and pointed to the raft in front of the barge. Shequickly descended. 

"Forgive me, " he said, "my gesture was not a summons. The raft is formen. "

"What do you want to do on it?"

"To wait there till the races are over. "

"But--what do you mean? Aren't you coming up on to the roof at all?Yesterday--"

"Oh, I see, " said the Duke, unable to repress a smile. "But to-day I amnot dressed for a flying-leap. "

Zuleika put a finger to her lips. "Don't talk so loud. Those women upthere will hear you. No one must ever know I knew what was going tohappen. What evidence should I have that I tried to prevent it? Only myown unsupported word--and the world is always against a woman. So do becareful. I've thought it all out. The whole thing must be SPRUNG on me. Don't look so horribly cynical. .. What was I saying? Oh yes; well, itdoesn't really matter. I had it fixed in my mind that you--but no, ofcourse, in that mantle you couldn't. But why not come up on the roofwith me meanwhile, and then afterwards make some excuse and--" The restof her whisper was lost in another growl of thunder. 

"I would rather make my excuses forthwith, " said the Duke. "And, as theraces must be almost due now, I advise you to go straight up and securea place against the railing. "

"It will look very odd, my going all alone into a crowd of people whom Idon't know. I'm an unmarried girl. I do think you might--"

"Good-bye, " said the Duke. 

Again Zuleika raised a warning finger. 

"Good-bye, John, " she whispered. "See, I am still wearing your studs. Good-bye. Don't forget to call my name in a loud voice. You promised. "

"Yes. "

"And, " she added, after a pause, "remember this. I have loved but twicein my life; and none but you have I loved. This, too: if you hadn'tforced me to kill my love, I would have died with you. And you know itis true. "

"Yes. " It was true enough. 

Courteously he watched her up the stairs. 

As she reached the roof, she cried down to him from the throng, "Thenyou will wait down there to take me home afterwards?"

He bowed silently. 

The raft was even more crowded than yesterday, but way was made for himby Judasians past and present. He took his place in the centre of thefront row. 

At his feet flowed the fateful river. From the various barges the lastpunt-loads had been ferried across to the towing-path, and the lastof the men who were to follow the boats in their course had vanishedtowards the starting-point. There remained, however, a fringe of lesserenthusiasts. Their figures stood outlined sharply in that strange darkclearness which immediately precedes a storm. 

The thunder rumbled around the hills, and now and again there was afaint glare on the horizon. 

Would Judas bump Magdalen? Opinion on the raft seemed to be divided. Butthe sanguine spirits were in a majority. 

"If I were making a book on the event, " said a middle-aged clergyman, with that air of breezy emancipation which is so distressing to thelaity, "I'd bet two to one we bump. "

"You demean your cloth, sir, " the Duke would have said, "withoutcheating its disabilities, " had not his mouth been stopped by a loud andprolonged thunder-clap. 

In the hush thereafter, came the puny sound of a gunshot. The boats werestarting. Would Judas bump Magdalen? Would Judas be head of the river?

Strange, thought the Duke, that for him, standing as he did on the peakof dandyism, on the brink of eternity, this trivial question of boatscould have importance. And yet, and yet, for this it was that his heartwas beating. A few minutes hence, an end to victors and vanquishedalike; and yet. .. 

A sudden white vertical streak slid down the sky. Then there wasa consonance to split the drums of the world's ears, followed bya horrific rattling as of actual artillery--tens of thousands ofgun-carriages simultaneously at the gallop, colliding, crashing, heelingover in the blackness. 

Then, and yet more awful, silence; the little earth cowering voicelessunder the heavens' menace. And, audible in the hush now, a faint sound;the sound of the runners on the towing-path cheering the crews forward, forward. 

And there was another faint sound that came to the Duke's ears. It heunderstood when, a moment later, he saw the surface of the river alivewith infinitesimal fountains. 

Rain!

His very mantle was aspersed. In another minute he would stand sodden, inglorious, a mock. He didn't hesitate. 

"Zuleika!" he cried in a loud voice. Then he took a deep breath, and, burying his face in his mantle, plunged. 

Full on the river lay the mantle outspread. Then it, too, went under. Agreat roll of water marked the spot. The plumed hat floated. 

There was a confusion of shouts from the raft, of screams from the roof. Many youths--all the youths there--cried "Zuleika!" and leapt emulouslyheadlong into the water. "Brave fellows!" shouted the elder men, supposing rescue-work. The rain pelted, the thunder pealed. Here andthere was a glimpse of a young head above water--for an instant only. 

Shouts and screams now from the infected barges on either side. A scoreof fresh plunges. "Splendid fellows!"

Meanwhile, what of the Duke? I am glad to say that he was alive and (butfor the cold he had caught last night) well. Indeed, his mind had neverworked more clearly than in this swift dim underworld. His mantle, thecords of it having come untied, had drifted off him, leaving his armsfree. With breath well-pent, he steadily swam, scarcely less amused thanannoyed that the gods had, after all, dictated the exact time at whichhe should seek death. 

I am loth to interrupt my narrative at this rather exciting moment--amoment when the quick, tense style, exemplified in the last paragraphbut one, is so very desirable. But in justice to the gods I must pauseto put in a word of excuse for them. They had imagined that it wasin mere irony that the Duke had said he could not die till after thebumping-races; and not until it seemed that he stood ready to make anend of himself had the signal been given by Zeus for the rain to fall. One is taught to refrain from irony, because mankind does tend to takeit literally. In the hearing of the gods, who hear all, it is converselyunsafe to make a simple and direct statement. So what is one to do? Thedilemma needs a whole volume to itself. 

But to return to the Duke. He had now been under water for a fullminute, swimming down stream; and he calculated that he had yet anotherfull minute of consciousness. Already the whole of his past lifehad vividly presented itself to him--myriads of tiny incidents, longforgotten, now standing out sharply in their due sequence. He hadmastered this conspectus in a flash of time, and was already tired ofit. How smooth and yielding were the weeds against his face! He wonderedif Mrs. Batch had been in time to cash the cheque. If not, of course hisexecutors would pay the amount, but there would be delays, long delays, Mrs. Batch in meshes of red tape. Red tape for her, green weeds forhim--he smiled at this poor conceit, classifying it as a fair sample ofmerman's wit. He swam on through the quiet cool darkness, less quicklynow. Not many more strokes now, he told himself; a few, only a few; thensleep. How was he come here? Some woman had sent him. Ever so many yearsago, some woman. He forgave her. There was nothing to forgive her. Itwas the gods who had sent him--too soon, too soon. He let his arms risein the water, and he floated up. There was air in that over-world, andsomething he needed to know there before he came down again to sleep. 

He gasped the air into his lungs, and he remembered what it was that heneeded to know. 

Had he risen in mid-stream, the keel of the Magdalen boat might havekilled him. The oars of Magdalen did all but graze his face. The eyes ofthe Magdalen cox met his. The cords of the Magdalen rudder slipped fromthe hands that held them; whereupon the Magdalen man who rowed "bow"missed his stroke. 

An instant later, just where the line of barges begins, Judas had bumpedMagdalen. 

A crash of thunder deadened the din of the stamping and dancing crowd onthe towing-path. The rain was a deluge making land and water as one. 

And the conquered crew, and the conquering, both now had seen the faceof the Duke. A white smiling face, anon it was gone. Dorset was gonedown to his last sleep. 

Victory and defeat alike forgotten, the crews staggered erect and flungthemselves into the river, the slender boats capsizing and spinningfutile around in a melley of oars. 

From the towing-path--no more din there now, but great single criesof "Zuleika!"--leapt figures innumerable through rain to river. Thearrested boats of the other crews drifted zigzag hither and thither. Thedropped oars rocked and clashed, sank and rebounded, as the men plungedacross them into the swirling stream. 

And over all this confusion and concussion of men and man-made thingscrashed the vaster discords of the heavens; and the waters of theheavens fell ever denser and denser, as though to the aid of waters thatcould not in themselves envelop so many hundreds of struggling humanforms. 

All along the soaked towing-path lay strewn the horns, the rattles, themotor-hooters, that the youths had flung aside before they leapt. Hereand there among these relics stood dazed elder men, staring through thestorm. There was one of them--a grey-beard--who stripped off his blazer, plunged, grabbed at some live man, grappled him, was dragged under. Hecame up again further along stream, swam choking to the bank, clung tothe grasses. He whimpered as he sought foot-hold in the slime. It wasill to be down in that abominable sink of death. 

Abominable, yes, to them who discerned there death only; but sacramentaland sweet enough to the men who were dying there for love. Any face thatrose was smiling. 

The thunder receded; the rain was less vehement: the boats and the oarshad drifted against the banks. And always the patient river bore itsawful burden towards Iffley. 

As on the towing-path, so on the youth-bereft rafts of the barges, yonder, stood many stupefied elders, staring at the river, staring backfrom the river into one another's faces. 

Dispeopled now were the roofs of the barges. Under the first drops ofthe rain most of the women had come huddling down for shelter inside;panic had presently driven down the rest. Yet on one roof one womanstill was. A strange, drenched figure, she stood bright-eyed in thedimness; alone, as it was well she should be in her great hour; drainingthe lees of such homage as had come to no woman in history recorded. 

XX

Artistically, there is a good deal to be said for that old Greek friendof ours, the Messenger; and I dare say you blame me for having, as itwere, made you an eye-witness of the death of the undergraduates, whenI might so easily have brought some one in to tell you about it afterit was all over. .. Some one? Whom? Are you not begging the question?I admit there were, that evening in Oxford, many people who, when theywent home from the river, gave vivid reports of what they had seen. Butamong them was none who had seen more than a small portion of the wholeaffair. Certainly, I might have pieced together a dozen of the variousaccounts, and put them all into the mouth of one person. But credibilityis not enough for Clio's servant. I aim at truth. And so, as I by myZeus-given incorporeity was the one person who had a good view of thescene at large, you must pardon me for having withheld the veil ofindirect narration. 

"Too late, " you will say if I offer you a Messenger now. But it was notthus that Mrs. Batch and Katie greeted Clarence when, lamentably soakedwith rain, that Messenger appeared on the threshold of the kitchen. Katie was laying the table-cloth for seven o'clock supper. Neither shenor her mother was clairvoyante. Neither of them knew what had beenhappening. But, as Clarence had not come home since afternoon-school, they had assumed that he was at the river; and they now assumed from thelook of him that something very unusual had been happening there. As towhat this was, they were not quickly enlightened. Our old Greek friend, after a run of twenty miles, would always reel off a round hundred ofgraphic verses unimpeachable in scansion. Clarence was of degeneratemould. He collapsed on to a chair, and sat there gasping; and hisrecovery was rather delayed than hastened by his mother, who, in hersolicitude, patted him vigorously between the shoulders. 

"Let him alone, mother, do, " cried Katie, wringing her hands. 

"The Duke, he's drowned himself, " presently gasped the Messenger. 

Blank verse, yes, so far as it went; but delivered without the slightestregard for rhythm, and composed in stark defiance of those laws whichshould regulate the breaking of bad news. You, please remember, werecarefully prepared by me against the shock of the Duke's death; and yetI hear you still mumbling that I didn't let the actual fact be told youby a Messenger. Come, do you really think your grievance against meis for a moment comparable with that of Mrs. And Miss Batch againstClarence? Did you feel faint at any moment in the foregoing chapter? No. But Katie, at Clarence's first words, fainted outright. Think a littlemore about this poor girl senseless on the floor, and a little lessabout your own paltry discomfort. 

Mrs. Batch herself did not faint, but she was too much overwhelmed tonotice that her daughter had done so. 

"No! Mercy on us! Speak, boy, can't you?"

"The river, " gasped Clarence. "Threw himself in. On purpose. I was onthe towing-path. Saw him do it. "

Mrs. Batch gave a low moan. 

"Katie's fainted, " added the Messenger, not without a touch of personalpride. 

"Saw him do it, " Mrs. Batch repeated dully. "Katie, " she said, in thesame voice, "get up this instant. " But Katie did not hear her. 

The mother was loth to have been outdone in sensibility by the daughter, and it was with some temper that she hastened to make the necessaryministrations. 

"Where am I?" asked Katie, at length, echoing the words used in thisvery house, at a similar juncture, on this very day, by another lover ofthe Duke. 

"Ah, you may well ask that, " said Mrs. Batch, with more force thanreason. "A mother's support indeed! Well! And as for you, " she cried, turning on Clarence, "sending her off like that with your--" Shewas face to face again with the tragic news. Katie, remembering itsimultaneously, uttered a loud sob. Mrs. Batch capped this with a muchlouder one. Clarence stood before the fire, slowly revolving on oneheel. His clothes steamed briskly. 

"It isn't true, " said Katie. She rose and came uncertainly towards herbrother, half threatening, half imploring. 

"All right, " said he, strong in his advantage. "Then I shan't telleither of you anything more. "

Mrs. Batch through her tears called Katie a bad girl, and Clarence a badboy. 

"Where did you get THEM?" asked Clarence, pointing to the ear-rings wornby his sister. 

"HE gave me them, " said Katie. Clarence curbed the brotherly intentionof telling her she looked "a sight" in them. 

She stood staring into vacancy. "He didn't love HER, " she murmured. "That was all over. I'll vow he didn't love HER. "

"Who d'you mean by her?" asked Clarence. 

"That Miss Dobson that's been here. "

"What's her other name?"

"Zuleika, " Katie enunciated with bitterest abhorrence. 

"Well, then, he jolly well did love her. That's the name he called outjust before he threw himself in. 'Zuleika!'--like that, " added the boy, with a most infelicitous attempt to reproduce the Duke's manner. 

Katie had shut her eyes, and clenched her hands. 

"He hated her. He told me so, " she said. 

"I was always a mother to him, " sobbed Mrs. Batch, rocking to and fro ona chair in a corner. "Why didn't he come to me in his trouble?"

"He kissed me, " said Katie, as in a trance. "No other man shall ever dothat. "

"He did?" exclaimed Clarence. "And you let him?"

"You wretched little whipper-snapper!" flashed Katie. 

"Oh, I am, am I?" shouted Clarence, squaring up to his sister. "Say thatagain, will you?"

There is no doubt that Katie would have said it again, had not hermother closed the scene with a prolonged wail of censure. 

"You ought to be thinking of ME, you wicked girl, " said Mrs. Batch. Katie went across, and laid a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder. This, however, did but evoke a fresh flood of tears. Mrs. Batch had akeen sense of the deportment owed to tragedy. Katie, by bickering withClarence, had thrown away the advantage she had gained by fainting. Mrs. Batch was not going to let her retrieve it by shining as a consoler. I hasten to add that this resolve was only sub-conscious in the goodwoman. Her grief was perfectly sincere. And it was not the less sobecause with it was mingled a certain joy in the greatness of thecalamity. She came of good sound peasant stock. Abiding in her was thespirit of those old songs and ballads in which daisies and daffodilliesand lovers' vows and smiles are so strangely inwoven with tombs andghosts, with murders and all manner of grim things. She had not hadeducation enough to spoil her nerve. She was able to take the rough withthe smooth. She was able to take all life for her province, and deathtoo. 

The Duke was dead. This was the stupendous outline she had grasped: nowlet it be filled in. She had been stricken: now let her be racked. Soonafter her daughter had moved away, Mrs. Batch dried her eyes, and badeClarence tell just what had happened. She did not flinch. Modern Katiedid. 

Such had ever been the Duke's magic in the household that Clarencehad at first forgotten to mention that any one else was dead. Ofthis omission he was glad. It promised him a new lease of importance. Meanwhile, he described in greater detail the Duke's plunge. Mrs. Batch's mind, while she listened, ran ahead, dog-like, into theimmediate future, ranging around: "the family" would all be hereto-morrow, the Duke's own room must be "put straight" to-night, "I wasof speaking". .. 

Katie's mind harked back to the immediate past--to the tone of thatvoice, to that hand which she had kissed, to the touch of those lips onher brow, to the door-step she had made so white for him, day by day. .. 

The sound of the rain had long ceased. There was the noise of agathering wind. 

"Then in went a lot of others, " Clarence was saying. "And they allshouted out 'Zuleika!' just like he did. Then a lot more went in. First I thought it was some sort of fun. Not it!" And he told how, by inquiries further down the river, he had learned the extent of thedisaster. "Hundreds and hundreds of them--ALL of them, " he summed up. "And all for the love of HER, " he added, as with a sulky salute toRomance. 

Mrs. Batch had risen from her chair, the better to cope with suchmagnitude. She stood with wide-spread arms, silent, gaping. She seemed, by sheer force of sympathy, to be expanding to the dimensions of acrowd. 

Intensive Katie recked little of all these other deaths. "I only know, "she said, "that he hated her. "

"Hundreds and hundreds--ALL, " intoned Mrs. Batch, then gave a suddenstart, as having remembered something. Mr. Noaks! He, too! She staggeredto the door, leaving her actual offspring to their own devices, and wentheavily up the stairs, her mind scampering again before her. .. . If hewas safe and sound, dear young gentleman, heaven be praised! and shewould break the awful news to him, very gradually. If not, there wasanother "family" to be solaced; "I'm a mother myself, Mrs. Noaks". .. 

The sitting-room door was closed. Twice did Mrs. Batch tap on the panel, receiving no answer. She went in, gazed around in the dimness, sigheddeeply, and struck a match. Conspicuous on the table lay a piece ofpaper. She bent to examine it. A piece of lined paper, torn from anexercise book, it was neatly inscribed with the words "What is Lifewithout Love?" The final word and the note of interrogation weresomewhat blurred, as by a tear. The match had burnt itself out. Thelandlady lit another, and read the legend a second time, that she mighttake in the full pathos of it. Then she sat down in the arm-chair. Forsome minutes she wept there. Then, having no more, tears, she went outon tip-toe, closing the door very quietly. 

As she descended the last flight of stairs, her daughter had just shutthe front-door, and was coming along the hall. 

"Poor Mr. Noaks--he's gone, " said the mother. 

"Has he?" said Katie listlessly. 

"Yes he has, you heartless girl. What's that you've got in your hand?Why, if it isn't the black-leading! And what have you been doing withthat?"

"Let me alone, mother, do, " said poor Katie. She had done her lowlytask. She had expressed her mourning, as best she could, there where shehad been wont to express her love. 

XXI

And Zuleika? She had done a wise thing, and was where it was best thatshe should be. 

Her face lay upturned on the water's surface, and round it were themasses of her dark hair, half floating, half submerged. Her eyes wereclosed, and her lips were parted. Not Ophelia in the brook could haveseemed more at peace. 

 "Like a creature native and indued Unto that element, "tranquil Zuleika lay. 

Gently to and fro her tresses drifted on the water, or under the waterwent ever ravelling and unravelling. Nothing else of her stirred. 

What to her now the loves that she had inspired and played on? the liveslost for her? Little thought had she now of them. Aloof she lay. 

Steadily rising from the water was a thick vapour that turned to dew onthe window-pane. The air was heavy with scent of violets. These are theflowers of mourning; but their scent here and now signified nothing; forEau de Violettes was the bath-essence that Zuleika always had. 

The bath-room was not of the white-gleaming kind to which she wasaccustomed. The walls were papered, not tiled, and the bath itself wasof japanned tin, framed in mahogany. These things, on the evening ofher arrival at the Warden's, had rather distressed her. But she was thebetter able to bear them because of that well-remembered past when abath-room was in itself a luxury pined for--days when a not-large andnot-full can of not-hot water, slammed down at her bedroom door by agoverness-resenting housemaid, was as much as the gods allowed her. Andthere was, to dulcify for her the bath of this evening, the yet sharpercontrast with the plight she had just come home in, sopped, shivering, clung to by her clothes. Because this bath was not a mere luxury, but anecessary precaution, a sure means of salvation from chill, she did themore gratefully bask in it, till Melisande came back to her, laden withwarmed towels. 

A few minutes before eight o'clock she was fully ready to go down todinner, with even more than the usual glow of health, and hungry beyondher wont. 

Yet, as she went down, her heart somewhat misgave her. Indeed, by forceof the wide experience she had had as a governess, she never did feelquite at her ease when she was staying in a private house: the fear ofnot giving satisfaction haunted her; she was always on her guard; theshadow of dismissal absurdly hovered. And to-night she could not tellherself, as she usually did, not to be so silly. If her grandfather knewalready the motive by which those young men had been actuated, dinnerwith him might be a rather strained affair. He might tell her, in somany words, that he wished he had not invited her to Oxford. 

Through the open door of the drawing room she saw him, standingmajestic, draped in a voluminous black gown. Her instinct was to runaway; but this she conquered. She went straight in, remembering not tosmile. 

"Ah, ah, " said the Warden, shaking a forefinger at her with old-worldplayfulness. "And what have you to say for yourself?"

Relieved, she was also a trifle shocked. Was it possible that he, aresponsible old man, could take things so lightly?

"Oh, grand-papa, " she answered, hanging her head, "what CAN I say? Itis--it is too, too, dreadful. "

"There, there, my dear. I was but jesting. If you have had an agreeabletime, you are forgiven for playing truant. Where have you been all day?"

She saw that she had misjudged him. "I have just come from the river, "she said gravely. 

"Yes? And did the College make its fourth bump to-night?"

"I--I don't know, grand-papa. There was so much happening. It--I willtell you all about it at dinner. "

"Ah, but to-night, " he said, indicating his gown, "I cannot be with you. The bump-supper, you know. I have to preside in Hall. "

Zuleika had forgotten there was to be a bump-supper, and, though shewas not very sure what a bump-supper was, she felt it would be a mockeryto-night. 

"But grand-papa--" she began. 

"My dear, I cannot dissociate myself from the life of the College. And, alas, " he said, looking at the clock, "I must leave you now. As soon asyou have finished dinner, you might, if you would care to, come and peepdown at us from the gallery. There is apt to be some measure ofnoise and racket, but all of it good-humoured and--boys will beboys--pardonable. Will you come?"

"Perhaps, grand-papa, " she said awkwardly. Left alone, she hardly knewwhether to laugh or cry. In a moment, the butler came to her rescue, telling her that dinner was served. 

As the figure of the Warden emerged from Salt Cellar into the FrontQuadrangle, a hush fell on the group of gowned Fellows outside the Hall. Most of them had only just been told the news, and (such is the forceof routine in an University) were still sceptical of it. And in face ofthese doubts the three or four dons who had been down at the river werenow half ready to believe that there must, after all, be some mistake, and that in this world of illusions they had to-night been speciallytricked. To rebut this theory, there was the notable absence ofundergraduates. Or was this an illusion, too? Men of thought, agile onthe plane of ideas, devils of fellows among books, they groped feeblyin this matter of actual life and death. The sight of their Wardenheartened them. After all, he was the responsible person. He was fatherof the flock that had strayed, and grandfather of the beautiful MissZuleika. 

Like her, they remembered not to smile in greeting him. 

"Good evening, gentlemen, " he said. "The storm seems to have passed. "

There was a murmur of "Yes, Warden. "

"And how did our boat acquit itself?"

There was a shuffling pause. Every one looked at the Sub-Warden: it wasmanifestly for him to break the news, or to report the hallucination. Hewas nudged forward--a large man, with a large beard at which he pluckednervously. 

"Well, really, Warden, " he said, "we--we hardly know, "* and he endedwith what can only be described as a giggle. He fell low in the esteemof his fellows. 

 *Those of my readers who are interested in athletic sports will remember the long controversy that raged as to whether Judas had actually bumped Magdalen; and they will not need to be minded that it was mainly through the evidence of Mr. E. T. A. Cook, who had been on the towing-path at the time, that the O. U. B. C. Decided the point in Judas' favour, and fixed the order of the boats for the following year accordingly. 

Thinking of that past Sub-Warden whose fame was linked with thesun-dial, the Warden eyed this one keenly. 

"Well, gentlemen, " he presently said, "our young men seem to be alreadyat table. Shall we follow their example?" And he led the way up thesteps. 

Already at table? The dons' dubiety toyed with this hypothesis. But theaspect of the Hall's interior was hard to explain away. Here were thethree long tables, stretching white towards the dais, and laden with theusual crockery and cutlery, and with pots of flowers in honour of theoccasion. And here, ranged along either wall, was the usual array ofscouts, motionless, with napkins across their arms. But that was all. 

It became clear to the Warden that some organised prank or protest wasafoot. Dignity required that he should take no heed whatsoever. Lookingneither to the right nor to the left, stately he approached the dais, his Fellows to heel. 

In Judas, as in other Colleges, grace before meat is read by the SeniorScholar. The Judas grace (composed, they say, by Christopher Whitridhimself) is noted for its length and for the excellence of its Latinity. Who was to read it to-night? The Warden, having searched his mind vainlyfor a precedent, was driven to create one. 

"The Junior Fellow, " he said, "will read grace. "

Blushing to the roots of his hair, and with crablike gait, Mr. Pedby, the Junior Fellow, went and unhooked from the wall that little shieldof wood on which the words of the grace are carven. Mr. Pedby was--Mr. Pedby is--a mathematician. His treatise on the Higher Theory of ShortDivision by Decimals had already won for him an European reputation. Judas was--Judas is--proud of Pedby. Nor is it denied that inundertaking the duty thrust on him he quickly controlled his nerves andread the Latin out in ringing accents. Better for him had he not doneso. The false quantities he made were so excruciating and so many that, while the very scouts exchanged glances, the dons at the high table lostall command of their features, and made horrible noises in the effort tocontain themselves. The very Warden dared not look from his plate. 

In every breast around the high table, behind every shirt-front orblack silk waistcoat, glowed the recognition of a new birth. Suddenly, unheralded, a thing of highest destiny had fallen into their academicmidst. The stock of Common Room talk had to-night been re-inforced andenriched for all time. Summers and winters would come and go, old faceswould vanish, giving place to new, but the story of Pedby's grace wouldbe told always. Here was a tradition that generations of dons yet unbornwould cherish and chuckle over. Something akin to awe mingled itselfwith the subsiding merriment. And the dons, having finished their soup, sipped in silence the dry brown sherry. 

Those who sat opposite to the Warden, with their backs to the void, were oblivious of the matter that had so recently teased them. Theywere conscious only of an agreeable hush, in which they peered downthe vistas of the future, watching the tradition of Pedby's grace as itrolled brighter and ever brighter down to eternity. 

The pop of a champagne cork startled them to remembrance that this was abump-supper, and a bump-supper of a peculiar kind. The turbot thatcame after the soup, the champagne that succeeded the sherry, helped toquicken in these men of thought the power to grapple with a reality. Theaforesaid three or four who had been down at the river recovered theirlost belief in the evidence of their eyes and ears. In the rest was aspirit of receptivity which, as the meal went on, mounted to conviction. The Sub-Warden made a second and more determined attempt to enlightenthe Warden; but the Warden's eye met his with a suspicion so cruellypointed that he again floundered and gave in. 

All adown those empty other tables gleamed the undisturbed cutlery, andthe flowers in the pots innocently bloomed. And all adown either wall, unneeded but undisbanded, the scouts remained. Some of the elder onesstood with closed eyes and heads sunk forward, now and again jerkingthemselves erect, and blinking around, wondering, remembering. 

And for a while this scene was looked down on by a not disinterestedstranger. For a while, her chin propped on her hands, Zuleika leanedover the rail of the gallery, just as she had lately leaned over thebarge's rail, staring down and along. But there was no spark of triumphnow in her eyes; only a deep melancholy; and in her mouth a taste as ofdust and ashes. She thought of last night, and of all the buoyant lifethat this Hall had held. Of the Duke she thought, and of the whole vividand eager throng of his fellows in love. Her will, their will, had beendone. But, there rose to her lips the old, old question that withersvictory--"To what end?" Her eyes ranged along the tables, and anappalling sense of loneliness swept over her. She turned away, wrappingthe folds of her cloak closer across her breast. Not in this Collegeonly, but through and through Oxford, there was no heart that beat forher--no, not one, she told herself, with that instinct for self-torturewhich comes to souls in torment. She was utterly alone to-night in themidst of a vast indifference. She! She! Was it possible? Were the godsso merciless? Ah no, surely. .. 

Down at the high table the feast drew to its close, and very differentwas the mood of the feasters from that of the young woman whose glancehad for a moment rested on their unromantic heads. Generations ofundergraduates had said that Oxford would be all very well but for thedons. Do you suppose that the dons had had no answering sentiment? Youthis a very good thing to possess, no doubt; but it is a tiresome settingfor maturity. Youth all around prancing, vociferating, mocking; callowand alien youth, having to be looked after and studied and taught, as though nothing but it mattered, term after term--and now, all of asudden, in mid-term, peace, ataraxy, a profound and leisured stillness. No lectures to deliver to-morrow; no "essays" to hear and criticise;time for the unvexed pursuit of pure learning. .. 

As the Fellows passed out on their way to Common Room, there to tacklewith a fresh appetite Pedby's grace, they paused, as was their wont, onthe steps of the Hall, looking up at the sky, envisaging the weather. The wind had dropped. There was even a glimpse of the moon riding behindthe clouds. And now, a solemn and plangent token of Oxford's perpetuity, the first stroke of Great Tom sounded. 

XXII

Stroke by stroke, the great familiar monody of that incomparable curfewrose and fell in the stillness. 

Nothing of Oxford lingers more surely than it in the memory of Oxfordmen; and to one revisiting these groves nothing is more eloquent of thatscrupulous historic economy whereby his own particular past is utilisedas the general present and future. "All's as it was, all's as it willbe, " says Great Tom; and that is what he stubbornly said on the eveningI here record. 

Stroke by measured and leisured stroke, the old euphonious clangourpervaded Oxford, spreading out over the meadows, along the river, audible in Iffley. But to the dim groups gathering and dispersing oneither bank, and to the silent workers in the boats, the bell's messagecame softened, equivocal; came as a requiem for these dead. 

Over the closed gates of Iffley lock, the water gushed down, eager forthe sacrament of the sea. Among the supine in the field hard by, therewas one whose breast bore a faint-gleaming star. And bending over him, looking down at him with much love and pity in her eyes, was the shadeof Nellie O'Mora, that "fairest witch, " to whose memory he had to-dayatoned. 

And yonder, "sitting upon the river-bank o'ergrown, " with questioningeyes, was another shade, more habituated to these haunts--the shadeknown so well to bathers "in the abandoned lasher, " and to dancers"around the Fyfield elm in May. " At the bell's final stroke, the ScholarGipsy rose, letting fall on the water his gathered wild-flowers, andpassed towards Cumnor. 

And now, duly, throughout Oxford, the gates of the Colleges were closed, and closed were the doors of the lodging-houses. Every night, for manyyears, at this hour precisely, Mrs. Batch had come out from her kitchen, to turn the key in the front-door. The function had long ago becomeautomatic. To-night, however, it was the cue for further tears. Thesedid not cease at her return to the kitchen, where she had gatheredabout her some sympathetic neighbours--women of her own age andkind, capacious of tragedy; women who might be relied on; founts ofejaculation, wells of surmise, downpours of remembered premonitions. 

With his elbows on the kitchen table, and his knuckles to his brow, satClarence, intent on belated "prep. " Even an eye-witness of disaster maypall if he repeat his story too often. Clarence had noted in the lastrecital that he was losing his hold on his audience. So now he satcommitting to memory the names of the cantons of Switzerland, and wavingaside with a harsh gesture such questions as were still put to him bythe women. 

Katie had sought refuge in the need for "putting the gentlemen's roomsstraight, " against the arrival of the two families to-morrow. Dusterin hand, and by the light of a single candle that barely survived thedraught from the open window, she moved to and fro about the Duke'sroom, a wan and listless figure, casting queerest shadows on theceiling. There were other candles that she might have lit, but thisambiguous gloom suited her sullen humour. Yes, I am sorry to say, Katiewas sullen. She had not ceased to mourn the Duke; but it was even moreanger than grief that she felt at his dying. She was as sure as everthat he had not loved Miss Dobson; but this only made it the moreoutrageous that he had died because of her. What was there in this womanthat men should so demean themselves for her? Katie, as you know, had atfirst been unaffected by the death of the undergraduates at large. But, because they too had died for Zuleika, she was bitterly incensed againstthem now. What could they have admired in such a woman? She didn't evenlook like a lady. Katie caught the dim reflection of herself in themirror. She took the candle from the table, and examined the reflectionclosely. She was sure she was just as pretty as Miss Dobson. It was onlythe clothes that made the difference--the clothes and the behaviour. Katie threw back her head, and smiled brilliantly, hand on hip. Shenodded reassuringly at herself; and the black pearl and the pink danceda duet. She put the candle down, and undid her hair, roughly partingit on one side, and letting it sweep down over the further eyebrow. Shefixed it in that fashion, and posed accordingly. Now! But gradually hersmile relaxed, and a mist came to her eyes. For she had to admit thateven so, after all, she hadn't just that something which somehow MissDobson had. She put away from her the hasty dream she had had of a wholefuture generation of undergraduates drowning themselves, every one, inhonour of her. She went wearily on with her work. 

Presently, after a last look round, she went up the creaking stairs, todo Mr. Noaks' room. 

She found on the table that screed which her mother had recited so oftenthis evening. She put it in the waste-paper basket. 

Also on the table were a lexicon, a Thucydides, and some note-books. These she took and shelved without a tear for the closed labours theybore witness to. 

The next disorder that met her eye was one that gave her pause--seemed, indeed, to transfix her. 

Mr. Noaks had never, since he came to lodge here, possessed more thanone pair of boots. This fact had been for her a lasting source ofannoyance; for it meant that she had to polish Mr. Noaks' boots alwaysin the early morning, when there were so many other things to be done, instead of choosing her own time. Her annoyance had been all the keenerbecause Mr. Noaks' boots more than made up in size for what they lackedin number. Either of them singly took more time and polish than anyother pair imaginable. She would have recognised them, at a glance, anywhere. Even so now, it was at a glance that she recognised the toesof them protruding from beneath the window-curtain. She dismissed thetheory that Mr. Noaks might have gone utterly unshod to the river. Shescouted the hypothesis that his ghost could be shod thus. By processof elimination she arrived at the truth. "Mr. Noaks, " she said quietly, "come out of there. "

There was a slight quiver of the curtain; no more. Katie repeated herwords. There was a pause, then a convulsion of the curtain. Noaks stoodforth. 

Always, in polishing his boots, Katie had found herself thinking of himas a man of prodigious stature, well though she knew him to be quitetiny. Even so now, at recognition of his boots, she had fixed her eyesto meet his, when he should emerge, a full yard too high. With a sharpdrop she focussed him. 

"By what right, " he asked, "do you come prying about my room?"

This was a stroke so unexpected that it left Katie mute. It equallysurprised Noaks, who had been about to throw himself on his knees andimplore this girl not to betray him. He was quick, though, to clinch hisadvantage. 

"This, " he said, "is the first time I have caught you. Let it be thelast. "

Was this the little man she had so long despised, and so superciliouslyserved? His very smallness gave him an air of concentrated force. Sheremembered having read that all the greatest men in history had been ofless than the middle height. And--oh, her heart leapt--here was theone man who had scorned to die for Miss Dobson. He alone had held outagainst the folly of his fellows. Sole and splendid survivor he stood, rock-footed, before her. And impulsively she abased herself, kneeling athis feet as at the great double altar of some dark new faith. 

"You are great, sir, you are wonderful, " she said, gazing up to him, rapt. It was the first time she had ever called him "sir. "

It is easier, as Michelet suggested, for a woman to change her opinionof a man than for him to change his opinion of himself. Noaks, despitethe presence of mind he had shown a few moments ago, still saw himselfas he had seen himself during the past hours: that is, as an arrantlittle coward--one who by his fear to die had put himself outside thepale of decent manhood. He had meant to escape from the house at dead ofnight and, under an assumed name, work his passage out to Australia--aland which had always made strong appeal to his imagination. No one, hehad reflected, would suppose because his body was not retrieved fromthe water that he had not perished with the rest. And he had looked toAustralia to make a man of him yet: in Encounter Bay, perhaps, or in theGulf of Carpentaria, he might yet end nobly. 

Thus Katie's behaviour was as much an embarrassment as a relief; and heasked her in what way he was great and wonderful. 

"Modest, like all heroes!" she cried, and, still kneeling, proceeded tosing his praises with a so infectious fervour that Noaks did begin tofeel he had done a fine thing in not dying. After all, was it not moralcowardice as much as love that had tempted him to die? He had wrestledwith it, thrown it. "Yes, " said he, when her rhapsody was over, "perhapsI am modest. "

"And that is why you hid yourself just now?"

"Yes, " he gladly said. "I hid myself for the same reason, " he added, "when I heard your mother's footstep. "

"But, " she faltered, with a sudden doubt, "that bit of writing whichMother found on the table--"

"That? Oh, that was only a general reflection, copied out of a book. "

"Oh, won't poor Mother be glad when she knows!"

"I don't want her to know, " said Noaks, with a return of nervousness. "You mustn't tell any one. I--the fact is--"

"Ah, that is so like you!" the girl said tenderly. "I suppose it wasyour modesty that all this while blinded me. Please, sir, I have aconfession to make to you. Never till to-night have I loved you. "

Exquisite was the shock of these words to one who, not without reason, had always assumed that no woman would ever love him. Before he knewwhat he was doing, he had bent down and kissed the sweet upturned face. It was the first kiss he had ever given outside his family circle. Itwas an artless and a resounding kiss. 

He started back, dazed. What manner of man, he wondered, was he? Acoward, piling profligacy on poltroonery? Or a hero, claiming exemptionfrom moral law? What was done could not be undone; but it could berighted. He drew off from the little finger of his left hand that ironring which, after a twinge of rheumatism, he had to-day resumed. 

"Wear it, " he said. 

"You mean--?" She leapt to her feet. 

"That we are engaged. I hope you don't think we have any choice?"

She clapped her hands, like the child she was, and adjusted the ring. 

"It is very pretty, " she said. 

"It is very simple, " he answered lightly. "But, " he added, with a changeof tone, "it is very durable. And that is the important thing. For Ishall not be in a position to marry before I am forty. "

A shadow of disappointment hovered over Katie's clear young brow, butwas instantly chased away by the thought that to be engaged was almostas splendid as to be married. 

"Recently, " said her lover, "I meditated leaving Oxford for Australia. But now that you have come into my life, I am compelled to drop thatnotion, and to carve out the career I had first set for myself. A yearhence, if I get a Second in Greats--and I SHALL" he said, with afierce look that entranced her--"I shall have a very good chance of anassistant-mastership in a good private school. In eighteen years, if Iam careful--and, with you waiting for me, I SHALL be careful--my savingswill enable me to start a small school of my own, and to take a wife. Even then it would be more prudent to wait another five years, no doubt. But there was always a streak of madness in the Noakses. I say 'Prudenceto the winds!'"

"Ah, don't say that!" exclaimed Katie, laying a hand on his sleeve. 

"You are right. Never hesitate to curb me. And, " he said, touching thering, "an idea has just occurred to me. When the time comes, let thisbe the wedding-ring. Gold is gaudy--not at all the thing for aschoolmaster's bride. It is a pity, " he muttered, examining her throughhis spectacles, "that your hair is so golden. A schoolmaster's brideshould--Good heavens! Those ear-rings! Where did you get THEM?"

"They were given to me to-day, " Katie faltered. "The Duke gave me them. "

"Indeed?"

"Please, sir, he gave me them as a memento. "

"And that memento shall immediately be handed over to his executors. "

"Yes, sir. "

"I should think so!" was on the tip of Noaks' tongue, but suddenly heceased to see the pearls as trinkets finite and inapposite--saw them, in a flash, as things transmutable by sale hereafter into desks, forms, black-boards, maps, lockers, cubicles, gravel soil, diet unlimited, andspecial attention to backward pupils. Simultaneously, he saw how meanhad been his motive for repudiating the gift. What more despicable thanjealousy of a man deceased? What sillier than to cast pearls beforeexecutors? Sped by nothing but the pulse of his hot youth, he had wooedand won this girl. Why flinch from her unsought dowry?

He told her his vision. Her eyes opened wide to it. "And oh, " she cried, "then we can be married as soon as you take your degree!"

He bade her not be so foolish. Who ever heard of a head-master agedthree-and-twenty? What parent or guardian would trust a stripling? Theengagement must run its course. "And, " he said, fidgeting, "do you knowthat I have hardly done any reading to-day?"

"You want to read NOW--TO-NIGHT?"

"I must put in a good two hours. Where are the books that were on mytable?"

Reverently--he was indeed a king of men--she took the books down fromthe shelf, and placed them where she had found them. And she knew notwhich thrilled her the more--the kiss he gave her at parting, or thetone in which he told her that the one thing he could not and would notstand was having his books disturbed. 

Still less than before attuned to the lugubrious session downstairs, shewent straight up to her attic, and did a little dance there in thedark. She threw open the lattice of the dormer-window, and leaned out, smiling, throbbing. 

The Emperors, gazing up, saw her happy, and wondered; saw Noaks' ring onher finger, and would fain have shaken their grey heads. 

Presently she was aware of a protrusion from the window beneath hers. The head of her beloved! Fondly she watched it, wished she could reachdown to stroke it. She loved him for having, after all, left his books. It was sweet to be his excuse. Should she call softly to him? No, itmight shame him to be caught truant. He had already chidden her forprying. So she did but gaze down on his head silently, wondering whetherin eighteen years it would be bald, wondering whether her own hair wouldstill have the fault of being golden. Most of all, she wondered whetherhe loved her half so much as she loved him. 

This happened to be precisely what he himself was wondering. Not thathe wished himself free. He was one of those in whom the will does not, except under very great pressure, oppose the conscience. What pressurehere? Miss Batch was a superior girl; she would grace any station inlife. He had always been rather in awe of her. It was a fine thing to besuddenly loved by her, to be in a position to over-rule her every whim. Plighting his troth, he had feared she would be an encumbrance, only tofind she was a lever. But--was he deeply in love with her? How was itthat he could not at this moment recall her features, or the tone of hervoice, while of deplorable Miss Dobson, every lineament, every accent, so vividly haunted him? Try as he would to beat off these memories, hefailed, and--some very great pressure here!--was glad he failed; gladthough he found himself relapsing to the self-contempt from which MissBatch had raised him. He scorned himself for being alive. And again, hescorned himself for his infidelity. Yet he was glad he could not forgetthat face, that voice--that queen. She had smiled at him when sheborrowed the ring. She had said "Thank you. " Oh, and now, at this verymoment, sleeping or waking, actually she was somewhere--she! herself!This was an incredible, an indubitable, an all-magical fact for thelittle fellow. 

From the street below came a faint cry that was as the cry of his ownheart, uttered by her own lips. Quaking, he peered down, and dimly saw, over the way, a cloaked woman. 

She--yes, it was she herself--came gliding to the middle of the road, gazing up at him. 

"At last!" he heard her say. His instinct was to hide himself from thequeen he had not died for. Yet he could not move. 

"Or, " she quavered, "are you a phantom sent to mock me? Speak!"

"Good evening, " he said huskily. 

"I knew, " she murmured, "I knew the gods were not so cruel. Oh man of myneed, " she cried, stretching out her arms to him, "oh heaven-sent, I seeyou only as a dark outline against the light of your room. But I knowyou. Your name is Noaks, isn't it? Dobson is mine. I am your Warden'sgrand-daughter. I am faint and foot-sore. I have ranged this desert cityin search of--of YOU. Let me hear from your own lips that you love me. Tell me in your own words--" She broke off with a little scream, and didnot stand with forefinger pointed at him, gazing, gasping. 

"Listen, Miss Dobson, " he stammered, writhing under what he took to bethe lash of her irony. "Give me time to explain. You see me here--"

"Hush, " she cried, "man of my greater, my deeper and nobler need!Oh hush, ideal which not consciously I was out for to-night--idealvouchsafed to me by a crowning mercy! I sought a lover, I find a master. I sought but a live youth, was blind to what his survival would betoken. Oh master, you think me light and wicked. You stare coldly down at methrough your spectacles, whose glint I faintly discern now that the moonpeeps forth. You would be readier to forgive me the havoc I have wroughtif you could for the life of you understand what charm your friendsfound in me. You marvel, as at the skull of Helen of Troy. No, you don'tthink me hideous: you simply think me plain. There was a time when Ithought YOU plain--you whose face, now that the moon shines full on it, is seen to be of a beauty that is flawless without being insipid. Ohthat I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek! Youshudder at the notion of such contact. My voice grates on you. You tryto silence me with frantic though exquisite gestures, and with noisesinarticulate but divine. I bow to your will, master. Chasten me withyour tongue. "

"I am not what you think me, " gibbered Noaks. "I was not afraid to diefor you. I love you. I was on my way to the river this afternoon, butI--I tripped and sprained my ankle, and--and jarred my spine. Theycarried me back here. I am still very weak. I can't put my foot to theground. As soon as I can--"

Just then Zuleika heard a little sharp sound which, for the fraction ofan instant, before she knew it to be a clink of metal on the pavement, she thought was the breaking of the heart within her. Looking quicklydown, she heard a shrill girlish laugh aloft. Looking quickly up, she descried at the unlit window above her lover's a face which sheremembered as that of the land-lady's daughter. 

"Find it, Miss Dobson, " laughed the girl. "Crawl for it. It can't haverolled far, and it's the only engagement-ring you'll get from HIM, " shesaid, pointing to the livid face twisted painfully up at her from thelower window. "Grovel for it, Miss Dobson. Ask him to step down and helpyou. Oh, he can! That was all lies about his spine and ankle. Afraid, that's what he was--I see it all now--afraid of the water. I wish you'dfound him as I did--skulking behind the curtain. Oh, you're welcome tohim. "

"Don't listen, " Noaks cried down. "Don't listen to that person. I admitI have trifled with her affections. This is her revenge--these wickeduntruths--these--these--"

Zuleika silenced him with a gesture. "Your tone to me, " she said up toKatie, "is not without offence; but the stamp of truth is on what youtell me. We have both been deceived in this man, and are, in some sort, sisters. "

"Sisters?" cried Katie. "Your sisters are the snake and the spider, though neither of them wishes it known. I loathe you. And the Dukeloathed you, too. "

"What's that?" gasped Zuleika. 

"Didn't he tell you? He told me. And I warrant he told you, too. "

"He died for love of me: d'you hear?"

"Ah, you'd like people to think so, wouldn't you? Does a man who loves awoman give away the keepsake she gave him? Look!" Katie leaned forward, pointing to her ear-rings. "He loved ME, " she cried. "He put them in withhis own hands--told me to wear them always. And he kissed me--kissed megood-bye in the street, where every one could see. He kissed me, " shesobbed. "No other man shall ever do that. "

"Ah, that he did!" said a voice level with Zuleika. It was the voice ofMrs. Batch, who a few moments ago had opened the door for her departingguests. 

"Ah, that he did!" echoed the guests. 

"Never mind them, Miss Dobson, " cried Noaks, and at the sound of hisvoice Mrs. Batch rushed into the middle of the road, to gaze up. "_I_love you. Think what you will of me. I--"

"You!" flashed Zuleika. "As for you, little Sir Lily Liver, leaningout there, and, I frankly tell you, looking like nothing so much as agargoyle hewn by a drunken stone-mason for the adornment of a MethodistChapel in one of the vilest suburbs of Leeds or Wigan, I do butfelicitate the river-god and his nymphs that their water was savedto-day by your cowardice from the contamination of your plunge. "

"Shame on you, Mr. Noaks, " said Mrs. Batch, "making believe you weredead--"

"Shame!" screamed Clarence, who had darted out into the fray. 

"I found him hiding behind the curtain, " chimed in Katie. 

"And I a mother to him!" said Mrs. Batch, shaking her fist. "'What islife without love?' indeed! Oh, the cowardly, underhand--"

"Wretch, " prompted her cronies. 

"Let's kick him out of the house!" suggested Clarence, dancing for joy. 

Zuleika, smiling brilliantly down at the boy, said "Just you run up andfight him!"

"Right you are, " he answered, with a look of knightly devotion, anddarted back into the house. 

"No escape!" she cried up to Noaks. "You've got to fight him now. He andyou are just about evenly matched, I fancy. "

But, grimly enough, Zuleika's estimate was never put to the test. Isit harder for a coward to fight with his fists than to kill himself? Oragain, is it easier for him to die than to endure a prolonged cross-fireof women's wrath and scorn? This I know: that in the life of even theleast and meanest of us there is somewhere one fine moment--one highchance not missed. I like to think it was by operation of this law thatNoaks had now clambered out upon the window-sill, silencing, sickening, scattering like chaff the women beneath him. 

He was already not there when Clarence bounded into the room. "Come on!"yelled the boy, first thrusting his head behind the door, then divingbeneath the table, then plucking aside either window-curtain, vowingvengeance. 

Vengeance was not his. Down on the road without, not yet looked at butby the steadfast eyes of the Emperors, the last of the undergraduateslay dead; and fleet-footed Zuleika, with her fingers still pressed toher ears, had taken full toll now. 

XXIII

Twisting and turning in her flight, with wild eyes that fearfullyretained the image of that small man gathering himself to spring, Zuleika found herself suddenly where she could no further go. 

She was in that grim ravine by which you approach New College. At sightof the great shut gate before her, she halted, and swerved to the wall. She set her brow and the palms of her hands against the cold stones. Shethrew back her head, and beat the stones with her fists. 

It was not only what she had seen, it was what she had barely savedherself from seeing, and what she had not quite saved herself fromhearing, that she strove so piteously to forget. She was sorrier forherself, angrier, than she had been last night when the Duke laid handson her. Why should every day have a horrible ending? Last night shehad avenged herself. To-night's outrage was all the more foul and meanbecause of its certain immunity. And the fact that she had in somemeasure brought it on herself did but whip her rage. What a fool shehad been to taunt the man! Yet no, how could she have foreseen that hewould--do THAT? How could she have guessed that he, who had not daredseemly death for her in the gentle river, would dare--THAT?

She shuddered the more as she now remembered that this very day, in thatvery house, she had invited for her very self a similar fate. What ifthe Duke had taken her word? Strange! she wouldn't have flinched then. She had felt no horror at the notion of such a death. And thus she nowsaw Noaks' conduct in a new light--saw that he had but wished to provehis love, not at all to affront her. This understanding quickly steadiedher nerves. She did not need now to forget what she had seen; and, notneeding to forget it--thus are our brains fashioned--she was able toforget it. 

But by removal of one load her soul was but bared for a more grievousother. Her memory harked back to what had preceded the crisis. Sherecalled those moments of doomed rapture in which her heart had soaredup to the apocalyptic window--recalled how, all the while she wasspeaking to the man there, she had been chafed by the inadequacy oflanguage. Oh, how much more she had meant than she could express! Oh, the ecstasy of that self-surrender! And the brevity of it! the suddenodious awakening! Thrice in this Oxford she had been duped. Thrice allthat was fine and sweet in her had leapt forth, only to be scourged backinto hiding. Poor heart inhibited! She gazed about her. The stone alleyshe had come into, the terrible shut gate, were for her a visible symbolof the destiny she had to put up with. Wringing her hands, she hastenedalong the way she had come. She vowed she would never again set foot inOxford. She wished herself out of the hateful little city to-night. Sheeven wished herself dead. 

She deserved to suffer, you say? Maybe. I merely state that she didsuffer. 

Emerging into Catherine Street, she knew whereabouts she was, and madestraight for Judas, turning away her eyes as she skirted the Broad, thatplace of mocked hopes and shattered ideals. 

Coming into Judas Street, she remembered the scene of yesterday--thehappy man with her, the noise of the vast happy crowd. She suffered ina worse form what she had suffered in the gallery of the Hall. Fornow--did I not say she was not without imagination?--her self-pity wassharpened by remorse for the hundreds of homes robbed. She realised thetruth of what the poor Duke had once said to her: she was a danger inthe world. .. Aye, and all the more dire now. What if the youth of allEurope were moved by Oxford's example? That was a horribly possiblething. It must be reckoned with. It must be averted. She must not showherself to men. She must find some hiding-place, and there abide. Werethis a hardship? she asked herself. Was she not sickened for ever ofmen's homage? And was it not clear now that the absorbing need in hersoul, the need to love, would never--except for a brief while, now andthen, and by an unfortunate misunderstanding--be fulfilled?

So long ago that you may not remember, I compared her favourably withthe shepherdess Marcella, and pleaded her capacity for passion as anexcuse for her remaining at large. I hope you will now, despite yourrather evident animus against her, set this to her credit: that she did, so soon as she realised the hopelessness of her case, make just thatdecision which I blamed Marcella for not making at the outset. It was asshe stood on the Warden's door-step that she decided to take the veil. 

With something of a conventual hush in her voice, she said to thebutler, "Please tell my maid that we are leaving by a very early trainto-morrow, and that she must pack my things to-night. "

"Very well, Miss, " said the butler. "The Warden, " he added, "is in thestudy, Miss, and was asking for you. "

She could face her grandfather without a tremour--now. She would hearmeekly whatever reproaches he might have for her, but their sting wasalready drawn by the surprise she had in store for him. 

It was he who seemed a trifle nervous. In his

"Well, did you come and peep down from the gallery?" there was adistinct tremour. 

Throwing aside her cloak, she went quickly to him, and laid a hand onthe lapel of his coat. "Poor grand-papa!" she said. 

"Nonsense, my dear child, " he replied, disengaging himself. "I didn'tgive it a thought. If the young men chose to be so silly as to stayaway, I--I--"

"Grand-papa, haven't you been told YET?"

"Told? I am a Gallio for such follies. I didn't inquire. "

"But (forgive me, grand-papa, if I seem to you, for the moment, pert)you are Warden here. It is your duty, even your privilege, to GUARD. Is it not? Well, I grant you the adage that it is useless to bolt thestable door when the horse has been stolen. But what shall be said ofthe ostler who doesn't know--won't even 'inquire' whether--the horse HASbeen stolen, grand-papa?"

"You speak in riddles, Zuleika. "

"I wish with all my heart I need not tell you the answers. I think Ihave a very real grievance against your staff--or whatever it is youcall your subordinates here. I go so far as to dub them dodderers. AndI shall the better justify that term by not shirking the duty they haveleft undone. The reason why there were no undergraduates in your Hallto-night is that they were all dead. "

"Dead?" he gasped. "Dead? It is disgraceful that I was not told. Whatdid they die of?"

"Of me. "

"Of you?"

"Yes. I am an epidemic, grand-papa, a scourge, such as the world has notknown. Those young men drowned themselves for love of me. "

He came towards her. "Do you realise, girl, what this means to me? I aman old man. For more than half a century I have known this College. Toit, when my wife died, I gave all that there was of heart left in me. For thirty years I have been Warden; and in that charge has been all mypride. I have had no thought but for this great College, its honour andprosperity. More than once lately have I asked myself whether my eyeswere growing dim, my hand less steady. 'No' was my answer, and again'No. ' And thus it is that I have lingered on to let Judas be struck downfrom its high eminence, shamed in the eyes of England--a College forever tainted, and of evil omen. " He raised his head. "The disgrace tomyself is nothing. I care not how parents shall rage against me, and theHeads of other Colleges make merry over my decrepitude. It is becauseyou have wrought the downfall of Judas that I am about to lay my undyingcurse on you. "

"You mustn't do that!" she cried. "It would be a sort of sacrilege. I amgoing to be a nun. Besides, why should you? I can quite well understandyour feeling for Judas. But how is Judas more disgraced than any otherCollege? If it were only the Judas undergraduates who had--"

"There were others?" cried the Warden. "How many?"

"All. All the boys from all the Colleges. "

The Warden heaved a deep sigh. "Of course, " he said, "this changes theaspect of the whole matter. I wish you had made it clear at once. Yougave me a very great shock, " he said sinking into his arm-chair, "and Ihave not yet recovered. You must study the art of exposition. "

"That will depend on the rules of the convent. "

"Ah, I forgot that you were going into a convent. Anglican, I hope?"

Anglican, she supposed. 

"As a young man, " he said, "I saw much of dear old Dr. Pusey. It mighthave somewhat reconciled him to my marriage if he had known that mygrand-daughter would take the veil. " He adjusted his glasses, and lookedat her. "Are you sure you have a vocation?"

"Yes. I want to be out of the world. I want to do no more harm. "

He eyed her musingly. "That, " he said, "is rather a revulsion thana vocation. I remember that I ventured to point out to Dr. Pusey thedifference between those two things, when he was almost persuading meto enter a Brotherhood founded by one of his friends. It may be that theworld would be well rid of you, my dear child. But it is not the worldonly that we must consider. Would you grace the recesses of the Church?"

"I could but try, " said Zuleika. 

"'You could but try' are the very words Dr. Pusey used to me. I venturedto say that in such a matter effort itself was a stigma of unfitness. For all my moods of revulsion, I knew that my place was in the world. Istayed there. "

"But suppose, grand-papa"--and, seeing in fancy the vast agitatedflotilla of crinolines, she could not forbear a smile--"suppose all theyoung ladies of that period had drowned themselves for love of you?"

Her smile seemed to nettle the Warden. "I was greatly admired, " he said. "Greatly, " he repeated. 

"And you liked that, grand-papa?"

"Yes, my dear. Yes, I am afraid I did. But I never encouraged it. "

"Your own heart was never touched?"

"Never, until I met Laura Frith. "

"Who was she?"

"She was my future wife. "

"And how was it you singled her out from the rest? Was she verybeautiful?"

"No. It cannot be said that she was beautiful. Indeed, she was accountedplain. I think it was her great dignity that attracted me. She did notsmile archly at me, nor shake her ringlets. In those days it was thefashion for young ladies to embroider slippers for such men in holyorders as best pleased their fancy. I received hundreds--thousands--ofsuch slippers. But never a pair from Laura Frith. "

"She did not love you?" asked Zuleika, who had seated herself on thefloor at her grandfather's feet. 

I concluded that she did not. It interested me very greatly. It firedme. 

"Was she incapable of love?"

"No, it was notorious in her circle that she had loved often, but lovedin vain. "

"Why did she marry you?"

"I think she was fatigued by my importunities. She was not very strong. But it may be that she married me out of pique. She never told me. I didnot inquire. "

"Yet you were very happy with her?"

"While she lived, I was ideally happy. "

The young woman stretched out a hand, and laid it on the clasped handsof the old man. He sat gazing into the past. She was silent for a while;and in her eyes, still fixed intently on his face, there were tears. 

"Grand-papa dear"--but there were tears in her voice, too. 

"My child, you don't understand. If I had needed pity--"

"I do understand--so well. I wasn't pitying you, dear, I was envying youa little. "

"Me?--an old man with only the remembrance of happiness?"

"You, who have had happiness granted to you. That isn't what made mecry, though. I cried because I was glad. You and I, with all this greatspan of years between us, and yet--so wonderfully alike! I had alwaysthought of myself as a creature utterly apart. "

"Ah, that is how all young people think of themselves. It wears off. Tell me about this wonderful resemblance of ours. "

He sat attentive while she described her heart to him. But when, at theclose of her confidences, she said, "So you see it's a case of sheerheredity, grand-papa, " the word "Fiddlesticks!" would out. 

"Forgive me, my dear, " he said, patting her hand. "I was very muchinterested. But I do believe young people are even more staggered bythemselves than they were in my day. And then, all these grand theoriesthey fall back on! Heredity. .. As if there were something to baffle usin the fact of a young woman liking to be admired! And as if it werepassing strange of her to reserve her heart for a man she can respectand look up to! And as if a man's indifference to her were not of allthings the likeliest to give her a sense of inferiority to him! You andI, my dear, may in some respects be very queer people, but in the matterof the affections we are ordinary enough. "

"Oh grand-papa, do you really mean that?" she cried eagerly. 

"At my age, a man husbands his resources. He says nothing that he doesnot really mean. The indifference between you and other young womenis that which lay also between me and other young men: a specialattractiveness. .. Thousands of slippers, did I say? Tens of thousands. Ihad hoarded them with a fatuous pride. On the evening of my betrothal Imade a bonfire of them, visible from three counties. I danced round itall night. " And from his old eyes darted even now the reflections ofthose flames. 

"Glorious!" whispered Zuleika. "But ah, " she said, rising to her feet, "tell me no more of it--poor me! You see, it isn't a mere specialattractiveness that _I_ have. _I_ am irresistible. "

"A daring statement, my child--very hard to prove. "

"Hasn't it been proved up to the hilt to-day?"

"To-day?. .. Ah, and so they did really all drown themselves for you?. .. Dear, dear!. .. The Duke--he, too?"

"He set the example. "

"No! You don't say so! He was a greatly-gifted young man--a trueornament to the College. But he always seemed to me rather--what shall Isay?--inhuman. .. I remember now that he did seem rather excited whenhe came to the concert last night and you weren't yet there. .. You arequite sure you were the cause of his death?"

"Quite, " said Zuleika, marvelling at the lie--or fib, rather: he hadbeen GOING to die for her. But why not have told the truth? Was itpossible, she wondered, that her wretched vanity had survived herrenunciation of the world? Why had she so resented just now the doubtcast on that irresistibility which had blighted and cranked her wholelife?

"Well, my dear, " said the Warden, "I confess that I amamazed--astounded. " Again he adjusted his glasses, and looked at her. 

She found herself moving slowly around the study, with the gait of amannequin in a dress-maker's show-room. She tried to stop this; but herbody seemed to be quite beyond control of her mind. It had the insolenceto go ambling on its own account. "Little space you'll have in a conventcell, " snarled her mind vindictively. Her body paid no heed whatever. 

Her grandfather, leaning back in his chair, gazed at the ceiling, andmeditatively tapped the finger-tips of one hand against those of theother. "Sister Zuleika, " he presently said to the ceiling. 

"Well? and what is there so--so ridiculous in"--but the rest was lost intrill after trill of laughter; and these were then lost in sobs. 

The Warden had risen from his chair. "My dear, " he said, "I wasn'tlaughing. I was only--trying to imagine. If you really want to retirefrom--"

"I do, " moaned Zuleika. 

"Then perhaps--"

"But I don't, " she wailed. 

"Of course, you don't, my dear. "

"Why, of course?"

"Come, you are tired, my poor child. That is very natural after thiswonderful, this historic day. Come dry your eyes. There, that's better. To-morrow--"

"I do believe you're a little proud of me. "

"Heaven forgive me, I believe I am. A grandfather's heart--But there, good night, my dear. Let me light your candle. "

She took her cloak, and followed him out to the hall table. There shementioned that she was going away early to-morrow. 

"To the convent?" he slyly asked. 

"Ah, don't tease me, grand-papa. "

"Well, I am sorry you are going away, my dear. But perhaps, in thecircumstances, it is best. You must come and stay here again, lateron, " he said, handing her the lit candle. "Not in term-time, though, " headded. 

"No, " she echoed, "not in term-time. "

XXIV

From the shifting gloom of the stair-case to the soft radiance castthrough the open door of her bedroom was for poor Zuleika an almostheartening transition. She stood awhile on the threshold, watchingMelisande dart to and fro like a shuttle across a loom. Already the mainpart of the packing seemed to have been accomplished. The wardrobe was ayawning void, the carpet was here and there visible, many of thetrunks were already brimming and foaming over. .. Once more on the road!Somewhat as, when beneath the stars the great tent had been struck, andthe lions were growling in their vans, and the horses were pawing thestamped grass and whinnying, and the elephants trumpeting, Zuleika'smother may often have felt within her a wan exhilaration, so now did theheart of that mother's child rise and flutter amidst the familiar bustleof "being off. " Weary she was of the world, and angry she was at notbeing, after all, good enough for something better. And yet--well, atleast, good-bye to Oxford!

She envied Melisande, so nimbly and cheerfully laborious till the dayshould come when her betrothed had saved enough to start a little cafeof his own and make her his bride and dame de comptoir. Oh, to have apurpose, a prospect, a stake in the world, as this faithful soul had!

"Can I help you at all, Melisande?" she asked, picking her way acrossthe strewn floor. 

Melisande, patting down a pile of chiffon, seemed to be amused at sucha notion. "Mademoiselle has her own art. Do I mix myself in that?" shecried, waving one hand towards the great malachite casket. 

Zuleika looked at the casket, and then very gratefully at the maid. Herart--how had she forgotten that? Here was solace, purpose. She wouldwork as she had never worked yet. She KNEW that she had it in her to dobetter than she had ever done. She confessed to herself that she had toooften been slack in the matter of practice and rehearsal, trusting herpersonal magnetism to carry her through. Only last night she had badlyfumbled, more than once. Her bravura business with the Demon Egg-Cup hadbeen simply vile. The audience hadn't noticed it, perhaps, but shehad. Now she would perfect herself. Barely a fortnight now before herengagement at the Folies Bergeres! What if--no, she must not think ofthat! But the thought insisted. What if she essayed for Paris thatwhich again and again she had meant to graft on to her repertory--theProvoking Thimble?

She flushed at the possibility. What if her whole present repertory werebut a passing phase in her art--a mere beginning--an earlier manner? Sheremembered how marvellously last night she had manipulated the ear-ringsand the studs. Then lo! the light died out of her eyes, and her facegrew rigid. That memory had brought other memories in its wake. 

For her, when she fled the Broad, Noaks' window had blotted out allelse. Now she saw again that higher window, saw that girl flaunting herear-rings, gibing down at her. "He put them in with his own hands!"--thewords rang again in her ears, making her cheeks tingle. Oh, he hadthought it a very clever thing to do, no doubt--a splendid littlerevenge, something after his own heart! "And he kissed me in the openstreet"--excellent, excellent! She ground her teeth. And these doingsmust have been fresh in his mind when she overtook him and walked withhim to the house-boat! Infamous! And she had then been wearing hisstuds! She drew his attention to them when--

Her jewel-box stood open, to receive the jewels she wore to-night. Shewent very calmly to it. There, in a corner of the topmost tray, restedthe two great white pearls--the pearls which, in one way and another, had meant so much to her. 

"Melisande!"

"Mademoiselle?"

"When we go to Paris, would you like to make a little present to yourfiance?"

"Je voudrais bien, mademoiselle. "

"Then you shall give him these, " said Zuleika, holding out the twostuds. 

"Mais jamais de la vie! Chez Tourtel tout le monde le diraitmillionaire. Un garcon de cafe qui porte au plastron des perlespareilles--merci!"

"Tell him he may tell every one that they were given to me by the lateDuke of Dorset, and given by me to you, and by you to him. "

"Mais--" The protest died on Melisande's lips. Suddenly she had ceasedto see the pearls as trinkets finite and inapposite--saw them as thingspresently transmutable into little marble tables, bocks, dominos, absinthes au sucre, shiny black portfolios with weekly journals in them, yellow staves with daily journals flapping from them, vermouths secs, vermouths cassis. .. 

"Mademoiselle is too amiable, " she said, taking the pearls. 

And certainly, just then, Zuleika was looking very amiable indeed. Thelook was transient. Nothing, she reflected, could undo what the Duke haddone. That hateful, impudent girl would take good care that every oneshould know. "He put them in with his own hands. " HER ear-rings! "Hekissed me in the public street. He loved me". .. Well, he had called out"Zuleika!" and every one around had heard him. That was something. Buthow glad all the old women in the world would be to shake their headsand say "Oh, no, my dear, believe me! It wasn't anything to do with HER. I'm told on the very best authority, " and so forth, and so on. She knewhe had told any number of undergraduates he was going to die for her. But they, poor fellows, could not bear witness. And good heavens!If there were a doubt as to the Duke's motive, why not doubts as totheirs?. .. But many of them had called out "Zuleika!" too. And of courseany really impartial person who knew anything at all about the matter atfirst hand would be sure in his own mind that it was perfectly absurd topretend that the whole thing wasn't entirely and absolutely for her. .. And of course some of the men must have left written evidence of theirintention. She remembered that at The MacQuern's to-day was a Mr. Craddock, who had made a will in her favour and wanted to read it aloudto her in the middle of luncheon. Oh, there would be proof positive asto many of the men. But of the others it would be said that they diedin trying to rescue their comrades. There would be all sorts of sillyfar-fetched theories, and downright lies that couldn't be disproved. .. 

"Melisande, that crackling of tissue paper is driving me mad! Do leaveoff! Can't you see that I am waiting to be undressed?"

The maid hastened to her side, and with quick light fingers began toundress her. "Mademoiselle va bien dormir--ca se voit, " she purred. 

"I shan't, " said Zuleika. 

Nevertheless, it was soothing to be undressed, and yet more soothinganon to sit merely night-gowned before the mirror, while, slowly andgently, strongly and strand by strand, Melisande brushed her hair. 

After all, it didn't so much matter what the world thought. Let theworld whisper and insinuate what it would. To slur and sully, tobelittle and drag down--that was what the world always tried to do. But great things were still great, and fair things still fair. With nothought for the world's opinion had these men gone down to the waterto-day. Their deed was for her and themselves alone. It had sufficedthem. Should it not suffice her? It did, oh it did. She was a wretch tohave repined. 

At a gesture from her, Melisande brought to a close the rhythmicalministrations, and--using no tissue paper this time--did what was yet tobe done among the trunks. 

"WE know, you and I, " Zuleika whispered to the adorable creature in themirror; and the adorable creature gave back her nod and smile. 

THEY knew, these two. 

Yet, in their happiness, rose and floated a shadow between them. It wasthe ghost of that one man who--THEY knew--had died irrelevantly, with acold heart. 

Came also the horrid little ghost of one who had died late and unseemly. 

And now, thick and fast, swept a whole multitude of other ghosts, theghosts of all them who, being dead, could not die again; the poor ghostsof them who had done what they could, and could do no more. 

No more? Was it not enough? The lady in the mirror gazed at the ladyin the room, reproachfully at first, then--for were they notsisters?--relentingly, then pityingly. Each of the two covered her facewith her hands. 

And there recurred, as by stealth, to the lady in the room a thoughtthat had assailed her not long ago in Judas Street. .. A thought aboutthe power of example. .. 

And now, with pent breath and fast-beating heart, she stood staring atthe lady of the mirror, without seeing her; and now she wheeled roundand swiftly glided to that little table on which stood her two books. She snatched Bradshaw. 

We always intervene between Bradshaw and any one whom we see consultinghim. "Mademoiselle will permit me to find that which she seeks?" askedMelisande. 

"Be quiet, " said Zuleika. We always repulse, at first, any one whointervenes between us and Bradshaw. 

We always end by accepting the intervention. "See if it is possible togo direct from here to Cambridge, " said Zuleika, handing the book on. "If it isn't, then--well, see how to get there. "

We never have any confidence in the intervener. Nor is the intervener, when it comes to the point, sanguine. With mistrust mounting toexasperation Zuleika sat watching the faint and frantic researches ofher maid. 

"Stop!" she said suddenly. "I have a much better idea. Go down veryearly to the station. See the station-master. Order me a special train. For ten o'clock, say. "

Rising, she stretched her arms above her head. Her lips parted in ayawn, met in a smile. With both hands she pushed back her hair from hershoulders, and twisted it into a loose knot. Very lightly she slipped upinto bed, and very soon she was asleep.