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Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichA. 11 est filmA i partir de Tangle supArieur gauche, de gauciie A droite. et de haut en has. en prenant le nombre d'Images nteessaire. Les diagrammes sulvants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 MICROCOTY liSOlUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) A ^PPL!ED IN/MGE Inc 1653 Eosl Moin Street Rochester, New York U609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288- 5989 -Fa« V ii!::'-'t!n;j!nww:inu- :x n * ■n i ill; !,.l 11 i:ii!'n!!i ;i !» hi; !■ J ii fl<«^ Ii OS MOTH AND RUST fk By the same author RED POTTAGE DIANA TEMPEST A DEVOTEE SIR CHARLES DANVERS THE DANVERS JEWELS Moth and Rust And Other Stories Mary Cholmondeley Author of •« Red Poaage " 1 "Ruit in thy gold, a moth u in thine amy " — CHUITtNA ROUITTI Toronto George N. Morang .'* Company, Limited 1902 I -10 J Copyright, 1902, By DoDD, Mead & Company. Copyright, 1901 and 1902, By Mary Cholmondeley. Copyright, 1901, By P. F. Collier Sc Son, in "Collier's Weekly. First Edition published October, 1902. THE BURR printing HOUSE NEW YORK -> 7 Co €ssex Not chance of birth or place has made us friends J jnlliM; II III I My best thanks are due to the editor of the Graphic, for his kind permission to republish "Geoffrey's Wife," which appeared originally in the Graphic; also to Mr. Richard Bentley and Messrs. Macmillan, for permitting me to repub- lish "Let Loose," which was first published in Temple Bar. Mary Cholmondeley. B#M» CONTENTS Moth and Rust, Geoffrey's Wife, Let Loose, . The Pitfall, PAGE I . 214 . 269 MOTH AND RUST CHAPTER I "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal." THE Vicar gave out the text, and pro- ceeded to expound it. The little con- gregation settled down peacefully to listen. Except four of their number, the "quality" in the carved Easthope pew, none of them had much treasure on earth. Their treasure, for the greater part, consisted of a pig that was certainly being "laid up" to meet the rent at Christmas. But there would hardly be time for moth and rust to get into it before its secluded life should migrate into flitches and pork pies. Not that the poorest of Mr. Long's parishioners had any fear of such an event, for they never asso- ciated his sermons with anything to do with them- I MOTH AND RUST selves, except on one occasion, when the good man had preached earnestly against drunkenness, and a respectable widow had ceased to attend divine service in consequence, because, as she observed, she was not going to be spoken against like that by any one, be they who they may, after all the years she had been "on the teetotal." Perhaps the two farmers who had driven over resplendent wives in dogcarts had treasure on earth. They certainly had money in the bank at Mudbury, for they were to be seen striding in in gaiters on market day to draw it out. But then it was well known that thieves did not break through into banks and steal. Banks sometimes broke of themselves, but not often. On the whole, the congregation was at its ease. It felt that the text was well chosen, and that it applied exclusively to the four occupants of "the Squi.cVpew. The hard-worked Vicar certainly had no treas- ure on earth, if you excepted his principal posses- sions, namely, his pale wife and little flock of rosy children : and these, of course, were only encum- brances. Had they not proved to be so? For his cousin had promised him the family living, and MOTH AND RUST would certainly have kept that promise when it be- came vacant, if the wife he had married in the in- terval had not held such strong views as to a celibate clergy. The Vicar was a conscientious man, and the conscientious are seldom concise. "He held with all his tedious might, The mirror to the mind of God." There was no doubt he was tedious, and it was to be hoped that the portion of the Divine mind not reflected in the clerical mirror would compen- sate somewhat for his more gloomy attributes as shewn therein. Mrs. Trefusis, "Squire's" mother, an old wo- man with a thin, knotted face like worn-out elas- tic, sat erect throughout the service. She had the tight-lipped, bitter look of one who has coldly ap- propriated as her due all the good things of life, who has fiercely rebelled against every untoward event, and who now in old age offers a passive, impotent resistance to anything that suggests a change. She had had an easy, comfortable exist- ence, but her life had gone hard with her, and her face showed it. MOTH AND RUST / Near her were the two guests who were stay- ing at Easthope. The villagers looked at the two girls with deep interest. They had made up their minds that "the old lady had got 'em in to see if the Squire could fancy one of 'em." Lady Anne Varney, who sat next to Mrs. Tre- fusis, was a graceful, small-headed woman of seven-and-twenty, delicately featured, pale, ex- quisitely dressed, with the indefinable air of a fin- ished woman of the world, and with the reserved, disciplined manner of a woman accustomed to conceal her feelings from a world in which she has lived too much, in which she has been knocked about too much, and which has not gone too well with her. If Anne attended to the sermon— and she appeared to do so— she was the only person in the Easthope pew who did. No, the other girl, Janet Black, was listening too, now and then, catching disjointed sentences with no sense in them, as one hears a few shouted words in a high wind. Ah, me! Janet was beautiful. Even Mrs. Trefusis was obliged to own it, though she did so grudgingly, and added bitterly that the girl had no breeding. It was true. Janet had none. But 4 MOTH AND RUST beauty rested upon her as it rests on a dove's neck, varying with every movement, every turn of the head. She was quite motionless now, her rather Jarge, ill-gloved hands in her lap. Janet was a still woman. She had no nervous movements. She did not twine her muflf chain round her fin- gers as Anne did. Anne looked at her now and then, and wondered whether she— Anne— would have been more successful in life if she had en- tered the arera armed with such beauty as Janet's. There was a portrait of Janet in the Academy several years later which has made her oeauty known to the world. We have all seen that cele- brated picf of the calm Madonna face, with the mark of su..ering so plainly stamp Mr>on the white brow and in the unfathomable eye But the young girl sitting in the Easthope pew hardly resembled, except in feature, the portrait that later on, took the artistic world by storm. Janet was perhaps even more beautiful in this her first youth than her picture proved her afterwirds to be but the beauty was inexpressionless, paque The soul had not yet illumined the fair face. She Ity. Yet she comes of a bad stock. One can't ell how she will turn out. -What is bred in ,h tone will come out in the flesh ' " spectabu. V. George might have presented you 9 r-^iJftSii^^i:-: '/ n I with an actress withT^^^i 7^i ^~~ " fusi °H '. '^ "''''' ''™ ''°"^'" ^="d Mrs. Tre- breler'- ^^ "' "" "" ''■■''"'- -"o -s a horse- "So he is, and so is she. It was rirlin., , hounds that „y poor boy first „,et Z" ' '° She ndes magnificently. , saw her out cub-h„„.,„, „, ,„,„„„^ ^„^ ^^^^^ ^er out "Her brother is disreoutahlp u^ ^Pwith.ha.caseofdru.lin'^tnetsrrrr" He s q„ te an .mposs.ble person, but I suppose we shall have to know hi™ now. The place v^ be overrun with her relations, whom I hXl av..ded^.r years. Things like that a,:ay?h:;^ This was a favourite expression of Mrs Tre fus,s. She invariably spoke as if a Tse hid hung over her from her birth Ann?'' *"" " ™"" "''^ ""^ ''"°'-^?" said 10 I MOTH AND RUST Mrs. Trefusis did not answer. The knots i„ her face moved a little <;i,. u ^ lif. J ^"* ™'"' what country ^h r^ T""^ ^°"^ "''' bet'« than A^^^ She had all her life lived in the upper of the ^o sets which may be found in every country neilT WrLL ,'''°"'''^ "'• *"" ^he belonged by Why did he do it? Whv diH h^ k • loud-voiced, vulgar men^^E t^^";^^;:^- .^ whom Mr. Trefusis would n^' hte Tot' wolld di!"r'^ ^'' '"°"" *=" "er husband im most. She had not expected it, but she ou^ht to have expected it. Did no. eve^thing in he ZVJT)'': r'^ '"^ "^'^ °' alUhosf alnd ner went straight? Wha woe *u her son th.f i ^''^ ""^"^^ with TT MOTH AND RUST / I"s father's oM friends? Why would he never accompany her on her annual pilgrimage to Lon- George was one of those lethargic, vain men who say they hate London. Catch them going to London! Perhaps if efforts were made to catch liem there, they might repair thither. But in London they are nobodies; consequently to Lon- don they do not go. And the same man who es- chews London will generally be found to gravitate m the country to a society i„ which he is the chief personage. It had i>een so with George. Fred Black, the disreputable horse-breaker, and his companions . had sedulously paid court to him C.eorge, who had a deep-rooted love of horse-flesh" was often at Fred's training stables. There he met Janet, and fell in love with her, as did most of Fred s associates. But. unlike them, George had withdrawn. He knew he should "do" for himself with "the county" if he married Janet And he could not face his mother. So he sulked like a fish under the bank, half suspicious that he IS bemg angled for. So ignorant of his fellow- creatures was George that the- actually had been a moment when he suspected Janet of trying to 12 .t^^^^smm: f MOTH AND RUST "land him," and he did not think any the worse of her. Then, after months of sullen indecision, he sud- denly rushed upon his fate. That was a week ago. Anne left her chair, as Mrs. Trefusis did not answer, and knelt down by the old woman. "Dear Mrs. Trefusis," said she, "the girl is a nice girl, innocent and good, and without a vestige of conceit." "She has nothing to be conceited about that I can see." "Oh, yes ! Sh« might be conceited about mar- rying George. It is an amazing match for her. And she might be conceited about her beauty. I should be if I had that face." "My dear, you are twenty times as good-look- ing, because you look what you are— a lady. She looks what she is— a—" Something in Anne's steady eyes disconcerted Mrs. Trefusis, and she did not finish the sentence. She twitched her hands restlessly, and then went on: "And she can't come into a room. She sticks in the door. And she always calls you 'Lady Vamey.' She hasn't called a girl a 'gurl' yet, but I know she 13 will. I had thought my^^ii^^~;^~l;;^ mother : but vulgar she is nr.t I j , ^. ^ ^" lutely devoted to George H^ i, ,' "' ".' =""°- b«.sl« really loveS- "* '^ '" '°^' «"'" her, "So she ought. He is making a great sacri fice for her. and. as I constantly iell mT T will regret to his dying day." ^ "' °"' ''« "On the contrary, he is only sacrificing his own ''Now you are talking nonsense." the fZ \ Vf ^ '"'• ^' ^'^' ^''^' ««"«e, but by the time I had put it into words it tunned iZ nonsense. The httle thir^^o "*° 1 ne jittie things you not ce in Tanef'« d^^.d„annercanhe.itigated.ifshe^r "She won't be," said M.,. Trefusis, with de- 14 MOTH AND RUST c.s.on "Because she is stupid. She will l.e of- fended directly she is spoken to. All stupid people ar. Now come. Anne! Don't try and make black wh.te. It doesn't help matters. You must admit the ft:irl is stupid " Anne's gentle, lin^pid eyes looked deprecatingly mto the elder won,an's hard, miserable ones I am afraid she is." she said at last, and she coloured pamfully. "And obstinate." ''Are not stupid people always obstinate?" No. sa.d Mrs. Trefusis. -I am obstinate but no one could call me stupid." "It does not prevent stupid people being always 3t;;d ' '""" ^'^^'"^^^ ^^P'^ - -'^1 way's "You think me very obstinate, Anne?" There were tears in the stern old eyes. "I think, dear, you have got to give way. and, as you must, I want you to do it with a good grace, before you estrange George from you, and before that unsuspecting girl has found out that you loathe the marriage." "If she were not as dense as a rhinoceros, she would see that now." IS I MOTH AND RUST "How fortunate, in >ha, case, that she is dense ■■ke^you. You can, you know. She is worth "All my hfe," said Mrs. Trefusis, "be they who they may, I have hated stupid peopie " haii^c;::;!."'"""'''"''""'"'""'"- ^- <>'>"'' Mrs. Trefusis shot a lightning glance at her ™mpa„.on, and then smiled gnm'^ -y^l ^ "Besides." continued Anne, meditatively "is b«ause she .s unformed, ignorant, and because she has never reflected, or been thrown with edu caed people. She has not come to herself Sh" wd never learn anything by imagination or ^l ceptjon, for she seems quite devoid of them. But t^nk she might learn by trouble or happine or both. She can feel. Strong feeling would be no Id h '"'"^^ °' '•■ P^haps she has not, and happiness or trouble may leave her as they found her. But she gives mp th. • "I sire gives me the impression i6 MOTH AND RUST that sh, mishl alter considerably if she were once thoroughly aroused." "I can't rouse her. I was not sent into the world to rouse pretty horse-breakers " If Anne was doubtful as to what Mrs. Trefusis had been sent into this imperfect world for, she did not show it. "I don't want you to rouse her. All I want is that you should be kind to her." Anne took Mrs. Trefus,s nnged, claw-like hand between both ners. i do want that very much " ^ "Well," said Mrs. Trefusis, blinking her eyes. I won t say I won't try. You can always get round me, Anne. Oh! my dear, dear child, if it might only have been you. But of course, just because I had set my heart upon it, I was not to have It. That has been my life from first to last. If I might only have had you. You think me a cross, bitter old woman, and so I am : God knows I have had enough to make me so. But I should not have been so to you." "You never are so to me. But you see my af- fections ar^is not that the correct expressions- engaged." "But you are not." 17 ff difficulty co,^ T„ '"" "" '"■'■ ^"^ » "^here .he ;;Wl«re is the creature now?" »«" in London .his'w^'' ';'*^^'"'- " "e had «' 'his moment." ' ''""''"' "<«-l« here Z7Z7 B " r™"""^ "■" after?" "Now, Anne I am atl, ; r*'"^ '""" ^ ^•" >>- never run;y:",t:'h!^""^'"'''-^- nevertheless." "^ ' S''^ "eal of g„^„d, 'I don't know whaf h^ ;„ "Well h« • , ^ '^ "^^«^e of." IHaverrrhrio'Cr- '-one thin,, and "«e ought to h^ I "°"'' "■«•" ■•"^wim„,ni"hLroS''°r«' >>"-<- a man of his class would nni u 7 ^°""^ '"^^^ "M-Ihonaires «t th 'v rl'^™ "^^ =• *ance." "MiHionaires^etThrr™ '"''''' i8 » ,h4;.." " "'"'""' '"'* y°« would do such a "Women extremely like m» »,. j • things all the tim, u , * ^°'"« '"<^h ferent ?" "°'" " ^' '° '^""'^ I »m dif- "He must be a fool." "He does not look like one " muT°'" I"'' '^"- ^^"f"^'^- meditatively "I must own he Hn^ «/^* tt . '^«"vcjy. 2 saw him once T tl n .' " ' """^ ''«"'• ^ summer. HeM ^?. ''' °' °""''«'^ '"« -tthi„,,^^:i^;rrsire'Bar'^B^'^; Ji^at IS what he thinks." "He is so very unattractive " -irx:rnt.r-'^^'--- Oh .'lean for you .."said Anne, her quiet eyes '9 II J^l£ULiN_DR U S T wliat I would rather n„, ■ ^ "" " «««'y think he knotsTZn: ', "'"""'■ ^nd I •«'» -e, I Know -h w Cn.r^""^ '"^ - ;'«"no.hcK»e.ohV;e,^:7fo;:;r^^^^ ha l„„t ^''^ ™* '"'d- -ite qu te ha^i '7, ^°""^ ""P'^ They well V,*''^PW- I daresay it will do very whe* iH,T """""•' She has a heart s;,;! S lor ner. When she found out she ram» nto n,y room and kissed me, and cried and^d Sr^^rsta^"'"'-^''''^'-'^™- -.Htitwaai^ilZrifhThldrh:: 22 MOTH AND RUST other than we had been for years I .. T^ daughter left =., i, . ^ ' "'^^ '^^ 'ast Some of it was excellJ! Tu ' * ^''""•' -nsta,j;:Hit"Li"et:r''^^"°- f mlet questions about Mr Vanb/um IhT^j I had not „,ade any mistake so 7a" but tlTr must be very caivf.il cu ' ^ ^"^^ ^ has tasted b'o^Vst;T"''=^"^'^*^' marrying rovaltv n, ™' ^'"'°=' '"<« I believe hrhr*^'"^ ""'' *<^'* ^"^ *«. tha^ Enid rrr^ ■" ^'"- -*- -ser h IS, mother had been so successful 23 ~7 ■ plored But MOTH AND RUST that ste had got rather beyond her»df, and she o"nh t' r " "" ''"^""■"^- F^her ad of „ P es.ed ha. son,e day .he wouM overrea h 'HT«tt,ed"r:rY:^„r''r''"- ^° bowlinris I. L f 'i?" '"'°»' what mother's did for n=e .' """'" *'' ""^ " "Mr. Vanbrunt saw through it " h.m one day, and told him I cared for him Id thought h.m ve,7 handsome. Mother stil at nothmg. After that he went away" ''"*'" "Poor man !" Jhe asked him in May to stay with us in Scot- and m September, but he has refused. I fo2 she had g,ven a little message from me wh.ch I never sent. Poor, poor mother, and poor mel" And poor miUionaire! Surely, if he has any sense, he must see that it is your mother, and not you, who IS hunting him." "He is aware that Cecily did as she was told He probably thinks I could be coercd into mar- 24 :w^s^m^. rying him. He may know a great deal about finance and stocks, and all thos^e weary thtgs bu he knows very little about women. He ha^ not taken much account of them so far." H.S day will come," said Mrs. Trefusis. What a nuisance men are. I wish they were all at the bottom of the sea." sm.le, mother would order a diving-bell at once " 25 ¥ f' CHAPTER III O mighty Love. O passion and desire, That bound the cord, The HeptameroH. JANET'S mother had died when Janet was a oddhng child. It is observable in the natural history of heroines that their moth- ers almost invariably do die when the h romes to whom they have given birth are tod! d mg eh d „,, J,. ^^^^^ ^ ^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^_ eiIk I"" "' "'"' ""' ""'"^'''y f°^?«, but iilizabeth is an exceotion Qt,^ i rule for f^. .^""^^P^*^"- She only proves the rule for the majority of heroines. Fathers they have sometimes, generally of a feeble or calloul temperament, never of any use in extricating thei daughters from the entanglements that early beset them. And occasionally they have chivalrous or disreputable brothers. So it is with a modest confidence in the equip- ment of my heroine that I now present her to the 26 1% IrT'^i*-:"!' ^W ^/^s^-% MOTH AND RUST reader, denuded of both parents, and domiciled under the roof of a brother who was not only disreputable in the imagination of Mrs. Trefusis but--as I hate half measures^was so in reality.' If Janet had been an introspective person, if she had ever asked herself whence she came and whither she was going, if the cruelty of life and nature had ever forced themselves upon her notice If the apparent incompleteness of this pretty world had ever daunted her, I think she must have been a very unhappy woman. Her surroundings were vulgar, coarse, without a redeeming gleam of cul- ture, even m its crudest forms, without a mark of refined affection. Nevertheless, her life grew up white and clean in it, as a hyacinth will build its fragrant bell-tower in the window of a tavern in a stale atmosphere of smoke and beer and alcohol. Janet was self-contained as a hyacinth. She un- folded from within. She asked no questions of life. That she had had a happy, contented exist- ence was obvious; an existence spent much in the open air; in which tranquil, practical duties well within her reach had been all that had been re- quired of her. Her brother Fred, several years older than herself, had one redeeming point. He 27 i li ■Sk\ MOTH AND RUST I i was fond of her and proud of her. He did not understand her, but she was what he called "a good sort." Janet was one of those blessed women— whose number seems to diminish, while that of her high- ly-strung sisters painfully increases— who make no large demand on life or on their fellow-crea- tures. She took both as they came. Her upright- ness and integrity were her own, as was the simple religion which she followed blindfold. She ex- pected little of others, and exacted nothing. She had. of course, had lovers in plenty. She wished to be married and to have children-many chil- dren. In her quiet ruminating mind she had names ready for a family of ten. But until George came she had always said "No." When pressed by her brother as to why some particularly eligible partisuch as Mr. Gorst, the successful trainer— had been refused, she could never put forward any adequate reason, and would say at last that she was very happy as she was. Then George came, a different kind of man from any she had known, at least, different from any in his class who had offered marriage. He represented to her all that was absent from her 28 MOTH AND RUST own surroundings-refinement, culture. I don't know what Janet can have meant by culture; but years later, when she had picked up words like culture" and "development," and scattered them across her conversation, she told me he had repre- sented all these glories to her. And he was a 1 V vf " *'" "'^''"^■■""^ "en she asso- ciated w.th, a good deal straighter than her broth- tTon LTr; "^l" ""' *^' ^'' '"^ fi"' «'^«- She fen 1 " 'T J'"'' ^"^ ^'"'Sht herself. i>he fell in love with George. ''L'amour est iine source naive." It v/a« a very naive spring in Janet's heart, though it wdled up from a considerable depth; a spring not even to be poisoned by her brother's outrageous delight at the engagement, or his congratulations on the wisdom of her previous steadfast refusal of the eligible Mr. Gorst. "This beats all," he said. "I never thought you would pull it off, Janet. I thought he was too big a fish to land. And to think you will queen it at Easthope Park !" Janet was not in the least perturbed by her brother s remarks. She was accustomed to them He always talked like that. She vaguely sup^ 29 MOTH AND RUST rf posed she should some day "queen it" at Easthope. The expression di : not offend her. The reflec- tion in her mind was, "George must love me very much to have chosen me, when all the most splen- did ladies in the land would be glad to have l-im." And now, as she walked on this Sunday after- noon in the long, quiet gardens of Easthope, she felt her cup was full. She looked at her afiianced George with shy adoration from under the brim of her violent new hat, and made soft answers to him when he spoke. George was not a great talker. He trusted mainly to an occasional ejaculation, his meaning aided by pointing with a stick. A covey of partridges ran with one consent across the smooth lawn at a little distance. "Jolly little beggars," said George, with ex- planatory stick. She liked the flowers best, but he did not; so he took her down to the pool below the rose- garden, where the eager brook ran through a grat- ing, making a little water prison in which solemn, portly personages might be seen moving. "See 'em ?" said George, pointing as usual. "Yes," said Janet. 30 *#u'*v' \v?*%i MOTH AND RUST "That's a three-pounder." "Yes." That was all the stream said to them. She lingered once more in the rose-garden when he would have drawn her onwards towards the ferrets; and George, willing to humour her, got out his knife and chose a rose for her. Has any woman really lived who has not stood once in the silence in the June sunshine with her lover, and watched him pick for her a red rose which is not as other roses, a rose which understands ? Amid all the world of roses, did the raiment of God touch just that one, as He walked in His garden in the cool of the evening? And did the divine love imprisoned in it reach forth towards the hu- man love of the two lovers, and blend them for a moment with itself? "You are my rose," said George; and he put his arm round her, and drew her to him with a rough tenderness. "Yes," said Janet, not knowing to what she said "Yes," but vaguely assenting to him in every- thing. And they leaned together by the sundial, soft cheek against tanned cheek, soft hand in hard hand. 31 M^£H_AND RUST Could anything in lifp kTZ than .wo lovers and a ose^ T '°'"'"™'"'''« -h .roups portra,.: Zo^^TCj'tr the wrappers of French plums' '' °" hutrn-arprsr—"'''-''^- * * * as fhe"ranT„ ""MT""' '"' ""' "'•• "°' ^« her, as she ran down the steps cut in the turf to the lit «e bridge acros. the trout stream. She had .ft she feh at hf TT'^ '"*° " ^"'^'^ -P. -d She felt at liberty to carry her aching spirit to seek comfort and patience by the brook. Anne the restrained, disciplined, dignified woman of the world, threw hers'e If down o^^ h^ face m the short, sun-warm grass Is the heart ever really tamed.? As the years wrm-^ritiiTir^----" «,o 1 J " ^^* occasions, to work t b ft des^a: IdT "^'1'"^ ^'" ^ -^«^ uic aesert, a wild, fierce prisoner in chainc a capfve Samson with shorn iLks whir^X' 32 MOTH AND RUST again, who may one day snap his fetters, and pull down the house over our heads. Anne set her teeth. Her passionate heart beat Hard against the kind bosom of the earth. How we return to her, our Mother Earth, when life is too difficult or too beautiful for us ! How we fling ourselves upon her breast, upon her solitude find- ing courage to encounter joy, insight to bear sor- row! First faint foreshadowing of the time when we. "short-lived as fire, and fading as the dew, shall go back to her entirely. Anne lay very still. She did not cry. She knew better than that. Tears are for the young, bhe hid her convulsed face in her hands, and shud- dered violently from time to time. How long was she to bear it ? How long was she to drag herself by sheer force through the days, endless hour by hour. How long was she to hate the dawn ? How long was she to endure this intermittent agony, which released her only to return ? Was there to be no reprieve from the invasion of this one thought? Was there no es- cape from this man ? Was not her old friend the robin, on his side ? The meadow-sweet feathered the hedgerow. The white clover was in the grass, 33 h asa,„s. her cheek to go.4 her back ,o ac„ " meinbrance of him, and ,he pine trees T t continually of him? ^P*"'' "He is rich enough," said poor Anne to h,r sel^wu something l^tweenalghan:;!'^ But lie had not bribed the brook T.. . :^ttrrd°"''^^'^'^'^''''"^^^^^^^^^ it not ? ^ "'"^ '^^*^'"' ^"^ found 34 \ CHAPTER IV I have not sinned against the God of Love. Edmund Gosse. WHEN Anne returned to the house an hour or two later, she heard an alien voice and strident laugh through the open door of the drawing-room as sta,rs towards her own room. She felt as if she -.her CO.C Je^/hr^s^r - >n the drawng-room? She sighed, and went slowly downstairs again. » • "" went All was not well there. Mrs. Trefusis was sitting frozen upright in her h-gh-backed Chair listening with congealed Ln^ ■ty to the would-be-easy conversation, streaked wuh nervous laughter, of a young n,an. An saw at a glance that he must he Janefs brother and she mstmctively divined that, on the stren^h 35 • aumm i* •.;*.• ■■■■' '.t^-r? Hi I -■ i IP -ri:^jrj::^-«^-;y Handsome 'ike So': ^:"f' "-^"""y. he Chan Jd spite oftrnf ;, l^-^t'"^'"'''^'^''' '" his sister that a n... • , ^" ^^ "^^^ ^^ ^ke of cunning- anH mc^t ^ , ^^^^' ^"^ a suggestion lining and insolence observable in h;«, thrown into hig-h rebVf K, .u ^' '^^''^ e^Pty cup as a preliminaiy measure. 36 BPH 1 i'-^-"*' . ?^ '^ r 1 ^^^^^H; kj^^i^^"' _-«,»" " ^■--- '^T^ li MOTH AND RUST George was standing i„ sullen silence by the tea able, vaguely aware that something was w on' and w,sh.„g that Fred had not called ^• The strain relaxed as Anne entered Of pleasure m her grave face. She gave the im P ess,on of one who has hastened 'a ck o eot gemal society. If this be hypocrisv A„n certainly a hypocrite T^ ^'^"'5" ^"""^ was .,•„„!. J ">^P°<:"te. There are some natures ^mple and pat,ent, who quickly perceive and gld.' 'y meet the small occasions of life. Anne had rir t "" k" """"^ «° --• - ™he dM not mmd whom she served. She did gracefullv even ga.ly, the things that others did not think worth while. This wa<, M . ^ her <;i,. . ' '^°""*' "o credit to so fast H T "'''' '°- J"^' "^ »■»« of u^ are so fast dtously. so artistically constituted as to ^v?:S'7;i^----°-^;a.^ "=::thh.?r"-'^---^^^^ Anne sat down by Janet, advised her that Mrs Trefusts d.d not like cream, and then, while she 37 '.i MOTH AND RUST swaiiowd a c.,p „f ,ca swc^^^i^^T^T^i^^j^^TZ voted he-self to Fred. His nervous laugh became less strident, his con- versation less pendulous between a paralysed con- stranit and a galvanised familiarity. Anne loved jorses, but she did no, talk- of them ,o Fred •hough from his appearance, i, seemed as if nj other subject had ever occupied his attention. \\ In- .s ,t that a passion for horses writes itself as plaudy as a craving for alcohol on the faces of the men and women who live for them ' Anne spoke of the Roer war in its most obvious aspects, mentioned a few of its best-known inci- dents, of which even he could not be igr.orant. Janet glanced with fond pride at her brother, as le (leclanned against the government for its rel fnsal to buy thousan.ls of hypothetical Kaffir non- ■es. and as he posted Anne in the private workings of the nnnd of her cousin, the Prime Minister. Fred had even heard of certain scandals respecting the hospitals for the wounded, and opined with decision that war conid not be conducted on rose- water pnuciples, with a bottle of eau-de-Cologne at each man's pillow. "Fine woman that," said Fred to Janet after- 38 'm-m J^i^UlAND RUST "■ards, as she waiklTTl hi' homeward way "w"' '""' "'"' ■"■'" °" "Married?" "N-no.- "-.'"i y^'„l;7 J»«- Vou suck „p ,o '-'hewa^strt''"^^''''"^^-"''- '^es an i„ Jrest in poH.ics %!",* "" •""-'■ "nder to that old bag of bones t^ T ^"'"'^ your own. We are f. , *"°° ""ch. Hold "Ohi , ^ "^'^'Soodassheis." Oh'nof Fred, we're not.- tWsagent>e^:':;~,;J™. ^ ^- house or a small one and 1 '" * '"^^ people Who think ^i^C^.'^ZsT^-^ ''" >'« of a lady because you live in r., ^°" '^ay? Not a bit of i, DolV^^u """""'"'" Janet remained sill °" ','=^'' 'o •"«•" hitch in her broth^^a, ' ""^" "^^ -™ otftersreasonmg, which, until to- 39 MOTH AND RUST III 1(1 I ■■ ( day, had appeared to her irrefutable, but she could not see where the hitch lay. "You must stand up to the old woman, I tell you. I don't want you to be rude, but you let her know that she is the dowager. Don't give way.^ Didn't you see how I tackled her ?" "I'm not clever like you." "Well, you are a long sight prettier," said her brother, proudly. "And I've brought some dol- lars with me for the trousseau. You go to the Brands to-morrow, don't you ?" "Yes." "Well, don't pay for anything you can help. Tell them to put it down. Get this Lady Var- ney or Mrs. Brand to recommend the shops and dressmakers, and then they will not dun us for money." "Oh ! Fred ! are you so hard up?" "Hard up!" said Fred, his face becoming sud- denly pinched and old. "Hard up!" He drew in his breath. "Oh! I'm all right. At least yes, just for the moment I'm a bit pressed. Look here, Janet. You and Mrs. Brand are old pals. Get Brand," his voice became hoarse, "get Brand to wait a bit. He has my I. O. U., and he has 40 ■f air r's^r.^w™ --^^ r' -' ^,.1 against his rules- a« ;* rules n^atter between gentlemen. He's as h-H nails. The I O TT f.u a "^^ashardas can't m..f . T : ^"' ''"^ "^^t week, and I J U ask him," said Janet, looking earnestly M her brother, but only half understanding^ , face was so white and set "Rnf », !i , take my two thousand a„"pa/CbLri f^" youco„,dbo„,„i, Ithinl^rwi-beL":^ than^speak-ng again to Mr. Brand, who wiU ^ev^ Janefs .ittie te Js'^^ I' W 'T """'""''• «on. It had existed Z H 'hL / hT" of it T^„f if ^ "^*^ ^^d charge "* ". i5ut It was gone. "Ask Brand," he said again "A «,.« -.u / ng. leant. You ask Brand-as if it was 41 MOTH AND RUST to please you. YouVe pretty enough to wheedle anything out of men. He'll do it." "I'll ask him," said Janet again; and she sighed as she went back alone to the great house which was one day to be hers. She did not think of that as she looked up at the long lines of stone-mul- honed windows. She thought only of her George, and wondered, with a blush of shame, whether Fred had yet borrowed money from him! Then, as she saw a white figure move past the gallery windows, she remembered Anne, and her brother's advice to her to make a friend of "Lady Varney." Janet had been greatly drawn towards Anne, after she had got over a certain stolid pre- liminary impression that Anne was "fine." And Janet had immediately mistaken Anne's tactful kindness to herself for an overture of friendship. Perhaps that is a mistake which many gentle, commonplace souls make, who go through life dis- illusioned as to the sincerity of certain other at- tractive, brilliant creatures with whom they have come in momentary contact, to whom they can give nothing, but from whom they have received a generous measure of delicate sympathy and kind- ness, which they mistook for the prelude of friend- 42 ship; a friendship which never arrived n- „ for us when we leam ,h. .™, *^- I« '^ well donations and ,h! k • '^"'"" ''«"'«" 'he •han ourL's when ^^""'r^ °' '""^^ -"er surprisingly inferior indivWu" ' a" t'"! ™"^ St'dro:t„;jrrd"f--wLt i..of.ha.sa.e^llte:rir<'-ofo.e sh/srretdr^'^^^"-^- she said .o herself. "l ftLl r n^ ' """"' ^'"' herahttle." ^ *'"'' ' «"•' go and sit with encou.ge™ent^:^rLr^-/--^ed answered her knock at Anne's dooT ''"' '*e of w i:hXnef hfd """^ ^"'' «■<= at the neckh f "'' ''"• I' ™s held neck by a pale green ribbon, cunningly 43 } MOTH AND RUST drawn through lace insertion, and at the waist by another wider green ribbon, which fell to the feet The spreading, lace-edged hem showed the point of a green morocco slipper. Janet looked with respectful wonder at Anne's dressing-gown, and a momentary doubt as to whether her presence was urgently needed van- ished. Anne must have been expecting her. She would not have put on that exquisite garment to sit by herself in. Janet's eyes travelled to Anne's face. Even the faint, reassuring smile, which did not come the first moment it was summoned, could not disguise the fatigue of that pale face, though it effaced a momentary impatience. "You are very tired," said Janet. "I wish you were as strong as me." Janet's beautiful eyes had an admiring devotion m them, and also a certain wistfulness, which ap- peaJed to Anne. ^ "Sit down," she said cordially. "That is a comfortable chair." "You were reading. Shan't I interrupt you ?" said Janet, sitting down nevertheless, and feeling that tact could no further go. 44 at''_%:ag- wi ' - ' Si r ;^"" Wu keeping one slender finger in the place ^ What IS your book called ?" " 'Inasmuch.' " "Who wrote it ?" "Hester Gresley." V- ivirs. bmith, our rectnr'c «,./-=. Smifh ^ rector s wife, says that Mr ^mith does not approve of her book. fh. V such a low tone I fh.nu tr ^ ' ^^^ ^^^^ on a visit once I h ^'^ '""^ °"^ °^ *h«" reading/' ^'"'"^ *^"^^ "'^^^^^ ^or much Silence. "I should like," said Janet, turning her clear ^^^::^rL:;rt;"''°-"' I Should like toltober;':.'"""^^"'"''"-- A delicate colour came into A nn«'o * looked down embarrassed at Ihe ^'''"' ^'^ hand. *^^ "^""^""^e in her "Would you read me a little bit?" c,-^ t "ISTrif u^r,- ' ""• said Janet on^:i::f;o7if;i^:^^""'-^'^-i-U ™o:::hrrssr."°'^^^^^°— 45 If] MOTH AJ JD RUST "No." ;Tm glad it isn't poetry. I, i, about love ?" l\u''^i"1. *°."™ *" "''' ^'~"' '°^*. but now —I think I should like it very much." A swift emotion passed over Anne's face She took up the book, and slowly opened it. Jane looked with admiration at her slender hands. i wish mme were white like hers," she thoueht slightly tanned hands folded together in her Ian m an attitude of attention. ^ ^ Jnne hesitated a moment, and then began to « (1 I had journeyed some way in life, I „as ravel-stamed and weary, when I met Love. In the «npty glaring highway I met him, and we walked m ,t together. I had not thought he farL m such steep places, having heard he wL a dwS^ m the sheltered gardens, which were not for me Nevertheless, he went with me. I never stopped' for h.m, or turned aside out of my path to sei 46 ,4 -J i And I prayed to d^ff """^*" afterwards. Hin^ser? r .0 2 CrawT/r r*-? '° come between me and Him p^' ^' '''""'<' '..ar^ntoa„,p:a;ro?:„J'"«"'«'<«''Ood -Cheii^^rer^'*™/"''-- the fire in the dlw ,hll T" "" ^''- ^"<» life and h,T ^'"^' ^ '"'^ ^«n all my ~op andlith *: tUr^r t!^ '"* went together upon the sea swif • "" in« mountains, swiftly dot; ^!^^! "" '" ^"">- levs An^r ^ ''°"'" mto Its rushing val- •eys. And I was one with the sea AnH.iT; ceased out of mv lif. , j ° *" ''a"" me inst J And^' """ " ^'^^ ''"'= d'--^" with HcnewtLw^f^'T""™^"'"^- ^« Chris, the sam'T""""'""'^- ^id not ersMret::rr'' It means something the same as the sermon did this morning doesn't Yt That we ought to put religion first." Y-yes. "I am so glad you read that to me." continued 49 Mi i MOTH AND RUST E ! 'I f Janet, comfortably, "because I had an idea that you and I shouu fee, the same abou."-shThe " self, you would if you were engaged " "I have never been engaged," said Anne, in the tone of one who.gently but firmly closes a subject. When you are," said Janet, peacefully pursu- Ld '""r'- ""!' '°°'"'"^ =" her with tender confidence, 'you will feel like me, that ifs-just everything." •' "Shall I?:' "I don't know any poetry, except i > lines that George copied out for me ; "Don't love me at all, Or love me all in all," Anne winced, but recovered herself instantly. t s hke that with me," continued Janet. "I,^ all m all. And then I am afraid that « laying up treasures on earth, isn't it?" •' s f JNot If you love God more because you love Janet ruminated. You could almost hear her mind at wo.k upon the suggestion, as you hear a coffee mill respond to a handful of coffee berries. 50 I sending G«„^ and I ?^ "" "^ '™' '°^ him." P"^ ^ "^y ■« "Orthy of hert"r ''" "'"' "'"' ^•«'<'™ '»^-"<" for inJ wT T ""'1 "^ ^"^ ''''PPy>" ^"e said, lav- '"g her hand on Janefs. It seemed to Anne a somewhat forlorn hope. Janet's hand closed slowly over Anne's. I thmk we shall," she said. "And yet I some- jnesdonb, when I remember that I LnoT^s e^ua . I knew that in a way from the first, but I see .t n,ore and more since I came here. I don' wonder Mrs. Trefusis doesn't think me 'Z "Mrs. Trefusis does not take fancies quickly." of not h "°' C ^"^ ^""^ "Th*"'' ««° ways of not bemg good enough. Till now I have oniy «>•«//. l.ke such things as temper. I'm not ofte^ angry, but if I am I stay angry. I don't aL I was once angry with Fred for a year, i've hought a great deal about that since I've cared for George. And sometimes I fancy I'm rathlr SI MOTH AND RUST slow. I daresay you liavcn't noticed it, but Mrs Smith often remarks upon it. She always has something to say on any subject, just like you have, but somehow I haven't." "I don't know Mrs. Smith." "I wish you did. She's wonderful. She says she learnt it when she went out so much in the West End before her marriage." "Indeed!" "But since I've been here I see there's another way I'm ndt good enough, which sets Mrs. Trefusis against me. I don't think she would mind if I told lies and had a bad temper, and couldn't talk like Mrs. Smith, if I was good enough in her way,-I mean if I was high-born like you." The conversation seemed to contain as many pms as a well-stocked pin-cushion. The expres- sion "high-born" certainly had a sharp point, but Anne made no sign as it was driven in. She con- sidered a moment, and then said, as if she had de- cided to risk something: "You are right. Mrs. Trefusis would have been pleased if you had been my sister. You perhaps think that very worldly. I think it is verj' natural." 52 n,;I.T'"' ^ ""* y""' ''^*"" =""1 Janet wl,o -^h. be reckoned on for regaining L/;;;';; Anne sigM^ and leant back in her chair. " I «;«« your sister," continued Janet wholly engrossed ,„ geuing her slow barge heavi 'y ul^ things which-I don-t seem to know." You could easily learn some of them " said Anne, "and that would greatly please ;^;.T.: "Could you tell me of anything in especial ?" Well, for mstanc^I don't mind myself in •udX'e;'. .■'.'. ^°"'^^^"" "-<•-- .^^. ""' ''"°"' ^°" '^""W 'ike me to call you "Then what ought I to call you ?" "My friends call me 'Lady Anne.' " Lady Ahce Thornton. She married Mr. Thorn- ton, our member. Fred sold him a hunter. " "l she IS sometimes called 'Udy Alice,Thomton''and 53 i r-^. ^S: sometimes says " MOTH AND RUST 'Lady Thornton.' Mrs. Smith "Then," continued Anne, who seemed indis- posed to linger on the subject, "it would please Mrs. Trefusis if you came into a room with more courage." Janet stared at her adviser round-eyed. "It is shy work, isn't it.?" said Anne. "I al- ways had a great difficulty in getting into a room myself when I was your age. (Oh! Anne! Anne !) I mean, in getting well into the middle. But I saw I ought to try, and not to hesitate near the door, because, you see, it obliges old ladies, and people like Mrs. Trefusis, who is rather lame,' to come nearly to the door to meet us. And we young ones ought to go up to them, even if it makes us feel shy." "I never thought of that," said Janet. "I will remember those two things always. Mrs. Smith always comes in very slow; but then she's a mar- ried woman, and she says she likes to give people time to realise her. I will watch how you come in. I will try and copy you in everything. And if I am in doubt, may I ask you ?" Anne laughed, and rose lightly. 54 J ^^^liL^ND RUST «-• But remember alw.s h « h?°"^ '""^'- The only thing that :, „, f '"" **y <»•' trivial. 'his uphill world fs' ? ^^ '"' ™Portance in even while Anne stLw.' ^""^ discovered, t-view was ov" r "'"^ ^' ""' ">»' *e in- ker ov~^ 'fhe rt!' ""u" ■'""^ ■'^•^ '"^ed 'ended to cons'utC™'::!'''^''^ ''='''■•"- ™«mg her glorious hartto,; "'""^ °' Smith's. "'° * fr'"ffe, like Mrs. Anne, in all its bear, 'T"' ^'"'' """^ "^fore of her hair. Fred ha^L^ ™<»nentous question ".-'o-date til, s'et.T,:;n"— oo. opined that her hair i^i ^'""^«- George had 55 MOTH AND RUST IJossiblc to mix in good society, or find a hat to suit the face, without one. Anne settled once and for all that Janet's hair, parted and waving naturally, like the Venus of Milo's, was not to be touched. She became sol- emnly severe on the subject, as she saw Janet was still wavering. And she even offered to help Janet with her trousseau, to take her to Vernon, her own tailor, and to her own hatter and dress- maker. Janet had no conception what a sacrifice of time that dffer meant to a person of endless so- cial engagements, like Anne, who was considered one of the best-dressed women in London. But to Anne's secret amusement and thankful- ness, this offer was gratefully declined in an em- barrassed manner. Janet's great friend, Mrs. Macalpine Brand, to whose flat in Lowndes Mansions she was now on her way, had offered to help her with her trous- seau. Did Lady Var— Anne know Mrs. Macal- pine Brand? She went out a great deal in Lon- don, so perhaps she might have met her. And she was always beautifully dressed. Anne remembered vaguely a certain over- dressed, would-be-smart, insufferable Mrs. 56 -^^l^IiL^NDRUST '"-"f Ann. h'T/r ^nTsr; '"'"'' "■- ' have met a very „„.? ,. '^""""ttee. f * "when I wJZ,C^ ""• Brand," she '"• She had an eZt« ."""■ ""• ^°''«. """ ^ she no. X "' '"' "'"^'"^s; name?" '^'""^ » peculiar Christian "Cuckoo." "Ves, that was it ci,. . . ••wier's charity most ». '*^ **«• For- debt." ^ "'°'* generously, when it „asTn . "She is my '"g- "I shall be staving :.. '' ■^"«' '>«m- f°«night. Maylbrirh " ''"^ *" *- "ext 'o 'ea with you ?" ^ '"' """' ™ "hen I come Anne hesitated half , "Do." "• ''"" " ^°n '"'-"cemen, i„ morf ;" sT" "l*:'^"^ '" «-'ai T'-^ '- Prls parted'aTS-'- victoria, and the last 57 I •i I ? MOTH AND RUST time Anne saw Janet's face, in its halo of happi- ness, was as Janet nodded to her through the win- dow of the four-wheeler, which bore her away to her friend Mrs. Brand. CHAPTER V mondc un. chose «(„„ „ J "'"' •,• ■ """> « y a au Alfred de Uuiul. AS the four-wh«l«r neared Lo„„des Square the .:,ffie became blocim^ 0- .o *n;j „°^J^;;, ,^^' «-; the cabman and came to .he winZ ™''" ''°" ""' '»''. fo;|^'hei'r""*"'°'"*'^-'«--'Hng "Yes," said Janet. ::^y.;.-Mhereas.hefirewas,esterda.r -f^ta'Sr;:""-'^'-™-- Vo„ "Were any lives lost ?" said Janet The Br,„H I'ved on one of the upper floors. ^""^ 59 P \ u MOTH AND RUST "No, Miss," said a policeman, approaching; ur- bane, helpful, not averse from imparting infor- mation. Janet explained that she was on her way to stay in the Mansions, and the policeman, who said that other "parties" had already arrived with the same object, but could not be taken in, advised her to turn back and go with her luggage to on. of the private hotels in Sloane Street until she could, as he expressed it, "turn round." Janet did as she was bid, and half an hour later made her way on foot through the crowd to the entrance of Lowndes Mansions. The hall porter recognised her, for she had fre- quently stayed with the Brands, and Janet's face was not quickly forgotten. He bade the police- man who barred the entrance let her pass. The central hall, with its Oriental hangings and sham palms, was crowded with people. Idle, de- moralised housemaids belonging to the upper floors, whose sphere of work was gone, stood to- gether in whispering groups watching the specta- cle. Grave men in high hats and overiong, but toned-up frock-coats greeted each other silently, and then produced passes which admitted them to 60 MOTH AND RUST the jcalously-guarded iron staircase. The other wt^J t°! "° '"'* °^ ^^^^^"^ ^"^ °^ the water which yesterday had flowed down it in waves, and which still oozed from the heavy pile nmg to take up. ..J!?'/*^^'^'' *"^ ''^^ unemployed lift-man stood together, silent, stupefied, broken with fa- tigue, worn out with answering questions. Janet, thnlled by the magnitude of the unseen dV aster above, which seemed to strike roots of horror down to the basement. "Every one is all right," said the lift-man, au- shook. One leg broke hamong the hemployees- compound fracture." "Mrs. Br;ind was shook," said the hall porter callously. "She had a fall." "Where is she now?" enquired Janet. The hall porter looked at her apathetically and contmued: "Mr. Brand was taking 'orse ocerase m the Park. Mr.. Brand wis still m her bedroom. The fire broke out. cause un- 6i \i MOTH AND RUST Wcnownst. at ten o'clock yesterday morning pre- cisely. Ten by the Barracks clock it was. The hemployees worked the hose until the first hingine arrived at quarter past." •Twenty past,*' corrected the lift-maa "And Mrs. Brand?" said Janet again. "Mrs. Brand must 'ave been dressing, for she was m her dressing-gown, and she must ha' run down the main staircase afore it got well alight at least, she was found unconscious-like thn^ flights down. Some say as she was mazed by the smoke, and some say as she fell over the banis- ters. "The banisters is gone." said the lift-man "Where is she now? Where is Mr. Brand ? I must see him at once," said Janet, at last realis- mg that the history of the fire would go on for ever. "Mrs. Brand was took into the billiard-room " said the lift-man. "Mr. Brand is with her, and the doctor. There! The doctor is coming out now. A grey-haired man shot out through the crowd ran down the steps, and disappeared into a brougham privileged to remain at the entrance. 63 Moth and rust T, I !.,"" '° *•■■• ^"""^ "■" '""ant," said Jan«, shaking the hall porter by the arm. The man looked as if he would have been sur- prised at her veh«nence if .h,re were any spring of surprise left in him, but i, had obviously run down from overwinding. He slowly led the way through a swing-door and down a dark I»ssage li, by electric liglit. At a large ground- There was no answer Jan« opened the door, went in. and closed it She almost stumbled against Mr. Brand who was standing with his back towards her, his face to the wall, in the tiny antechamber, bristling with empty pegs, which led into the billiard- room. It was dark, save for the electric light in the passage, which shone feebly through the ground- glass door. tn.fl''^?""",'""'*^ ''°"'y "' J""** almost ouched him. His death-white face was the only thing visible. He did not speak. Janet gazed at him horror-struck. 63 \\ % iA f MOTH AND RUST Gradually, as hw eyes became accustnm^H ♦ ^e. «.,h ,ts .mn^ia,, f^^^, »«ed wa.,., „d ,he ,ea„, ^j^^, ^^. ^ w«ed, turned-up moustaches. One of the waxed «ids had bp, bent, and drooped forlornly ^^ ««quely. It „a,. perhaps, inevitable tha.^l^ not devoL oTLT"""" "^ -""^ «"" " »- "Ho« is she?" said Janet at last shaklne "K ?" ^"''*^ »"»«' "is chin snaKing. Her back is broken." A nurse in cap am! apron silently opened the inner door into the billiard-room *^"«» '»^« ^Ur.. Brand is asking for you. sir." she said th^K-n-^''^''" ^' '^^' ^^ ^' ^«»t back into the bilhard-room. The nurse la>ked enquiringly at Janet. I am Mrs. Brand's friend." said Janet. "She IS expecting me." "* me nurse, and she was so brave at first " 64 MOTH AND RUST And they both went into the billiard-room, and remained standing at the further end of it. It was a large, gaudily-decorated room, adorned with sporting prints, and lit by a sky- light, on to which opaque bodies, evidently fallen from a height, lay in blots, starring the glass The bilhard-table was littered with doctor's ap- pliances, and at the end near tlie door the nurse had methodically arranged a line of towels and basms, with a tin can of hot water and a bucket swathed in flannel with ice in it. The large room, with its glaring upper light was hot and still, md smelt of stale smoke and vhloroform. At the further end, on an improvised bed of mattresses and striped sofa-cushions, a white, rigid figure was lying, the eyes fixed on the sky- hght. ^ Monkey Brand knelt down by his wife, and, bending over her, kissed, without raising it, one of the pale, clenched hands. "Cuckoo," he said; and until she heard him speak it seemed to Janet that she never had known to what heights tenderness can reach. His wife turned her eyes slowly upon him and 65 I MOTH AND RUST looked at h,m. I„ her eyes, dark with coming death, there was a great yearning towards her husband, and behind the yearning an anguish un- speakable. Janet shrank before it. The fear of death never cut so deep as that. A cry, uncouth, terrible, as of one pushed past the last outpost of endurance to the extremity of agony, rent the quiet room. "I cannot bear it." she wailed. And she, who could not raise her hands, to which death had^come already, raised them once above her Jdt'face "'''"'• """^'^•' ''''''"' -" "- Br7„r"''!,f 1°' ^'°" '^ ^ "''^'"■" '''" Monkey Brand; and he h.d his face against the hand that nad struck him. Cuckoo looked at the bowed, bk.e-black head and h«. w,de eyes wandered away past it. set in the vacancy of despair. They fell on Janet "Who is that ?" she said suddenly. The nurse brought Janet forward. "You remember me. Cuckoo." said Janet gently, her calm smile a little tremulous, her face white and beautiful as that of an angel. 66 MOTH AND RUST "It is Janet. Thank God!" said Cuckoo, and she suddenly burst into tears. They passed quickly. "I have no time for tears." said Cuckoo, smiling faintly at her husband as ho wiped them away with a shaking brown hand. "Janet is come. I must speak to her a little, quite alone." "You would not send me from you," said Monkey Brand, his face twitching. "You would not be so hard on me, Cuckoo." "Yes," she said, "I would." Th€ pretty, vulgar, dying face, under its crooked fringe, was illuminated. A sort of shadow of Cuckoo's hard little domineering man- ner had come back to her. "I must be alone with Janet for a little bit, quite alone. You and the nurse will ^^o outside and wait till Janet comes to you. And then"— she looked at her husband with tender love — "you will come back to me and stay with me— to the last." He still hesitated. "Go now. Arthur," she said, "and take nurse with you." The habit of obedience to her v/him, her fancy, her slightest wish, was ingrained years deep in 67 him. He got upon his feet, siened to fhl and left the room with her. """'' ''^Jhe door shut?" said Cuckoo. "Go and make sure." Janet wen, to ,he door, and cam, back. It IS shut." Hn^l'^7".^"^- '«"•'"!«* loud." Janet kneli down. "Now listen to me. I'm dvin^ r« . ;;;^od.^.,^,„/;-,,;--r. same, It s commg. I can't hold on Ther. Jc Twfno'T"^ r ^'^^ - '- «i- n"° Jneres no time for anythint excm» f™ ''■«en to me, and L """""^"i h-- husband, and summoned her old counige. She spolce „u c^y w.th the clearness and precision whiS had ™^ her such an excellent woman of business ^ ;;^ua«e on the co„»,„^ „, ,„^-- -"; 68 MOTH AND RUST "I am a bad woman. Jinct. I have concealed It from you, and from every one. Arthur—has never fuessed it. Don't shudder. Don't turn away. There's not time. Keep all that for later —when I'm gone. And don't drive me to dis- traction by thinking this is a dying hallucination. I know what I am saying, and I, who 'lave lied so often, am driven to speak the truth at last." "Don't." said Janet. "If it's true, don't say it, but let it die with you. Don't break Mr. Brand's heart now at the last moment." Cuckoo's astute eyes dwelt on Janet's face. How slow she was! Wh, : a Wunt instrument had Fate vouchsafed to her. "I speak to save him." she said. "Don't in- terrupt again, but listen. It all goes back a long way. I was forced into marrying Arthur. I disliked him, for I was in love with some one else— some one, as I see now. not fit to black his boots. I was straight when I married Arthur, but— I did not stay straight afterwards. Arthttr IS a hard man, but he was good and tender to me always, and he trusted me absolutely I deceived him— for years. The child is not Arthur's. Arty is not Arthur's. I never was reallv sorry until a 69 MOTH AND RUST year ago. when his-the other-left me for some one else. He said he had fallen in love with a good woman-a snowflake." Even now Cuckoo set her teeth at the remembrance of that speech But she hurried on. "That was the time I fell 111. And Arthur nursed me. You don't know what Arthur is. I «,ver seemed to have noticed before. Other people fail, but Arthur never fails And I seemed to come to myself. I could not bear him out of my sight. And ever since I have loved him, as I thought people only loved in poetry books. I saw he was the only one. And I thought he would never know. If he did it would break his heart and mine wherever I was " Cuckoo waited a moment, and then went on with methodical swiftness : "But I never burnt the-the other one's letters I always meant to, and I always didn't. It has been in my mind ever since I was ill to bum them. I never thought I should die like this I put it off. The truth is, I could not bear to look at them, and remember how I'd— but I meant to do it. I knew when I came to myself at the foc^ of the stairs that I was dying, but I did not really m.nd-except for leaving Arthur, for he 70 -'''.I--" >.«i :--i.- ■ ,>■ MOTH AND RUST told me all our flat was burnt and everything in it, and I only grieved at leaving him. But this morning, when the place was cold enough for peo- ple to go up, Arthur told me— he thought it would please me— that my sitting-room and part of the other rooms were still standing, with everything in them, and he heard that my picture was not even touched. It hangs over the Italian cabinet. But when I heard it, I thought my heart would break, for the letters are in the Italian cabinet, and I knew that some day when I am gone, perhaps not for a long time, but some day, Arthur would open that cabinet— my business papers are in it, too — ^and find the letters." Cuckoo's weak, metallic voice weakened yet more. "And he would see I had deceived him for years, and that Arty is not his child. Arthur was so pleased when Arty was born." There was an awful silence. The ice dripped in the pail. "I don't mind what happens to me," said Cuckoo, "or what hell I go to, if only Arthur might stay loving me when I am gone, as he al- ways has — from the very first." 71 MOTH AND RUST "What do you want me to do?" said Janet. "I want you to go up to the flat without being seen and bum those letters. Try and go up by the main staircase. They may let you if you bluff them. I could do it ; and it may not be burnt out at the top, as they say. If it really is burnt out you must go up by the iron staircase. If they won't let you pass, bribe the policeman; you must go up, all the same. The letters are in the lowest left-hand drawer of the Italian cabinet. The key —oh, my God! The key! where is the key?" Cuckoo's mind, brought to bay, rose unflinch- ing. "The key is on the pearl chain that I wear every day. But where is the chain? Let me think. I had it on. I know I had it on. I wear the pearls against my neck, under my gown. I was in my dressing-gown. Then I had it on. Look on the billiard-table." Janet looked. "Look on the mantelpiece. I saw the nurse put something down there which she took off me." Janet looked. "There is a miniature of Arty on a ribbon." "I had it in my hand when the alarm reached 72 MOTH AND RUST Janet unfastened the neck of the dressing- gown, which, though lacerated by the nurse's scis- ^rs. still retained the semblance of a garment After an interminable moment she drew out a pearl chain. "Thank God !" said Cuckoo. "Don't raise my head I might die if you did, and I can't die yet Br^k the chain. There! now the key slips off.* lake It. go up and burn the letters. There are a good many, but you will know them, because they are tied with my hair. The lowest left-hand drawer, remember. You will burn them-there are matches on the mantelpiece, behind Arthur's photograph-^nd wait till they are really burnt. Will you do this, Janet?" "I will." "And will you promise me that, whatever hap- pens, you will never tell any one that you have burnt anything?" "I promise." "You swear it?" "I swear it." "Let me see, you must have some reason for 73 MOTH AND RUST going, in case you are seen. If you are asked, say I sent you to^ee if my picture was uninjured. I am a vain woman. Any one will believe that. Stick to that if you are questioned. And now go. Go at once. And throw away the key when you have locked up the cabinet. I shall not be able to be alone with you again, Janet. Arthur won't leave me a second time. When you come back, stand where I can see you, and if you have de- stroyed everything, put your hand against your forehead. I shall understand. I shall not be able to thank you, but I shall thank you in my heart, and I shall die in peace. Now go, and tell Arthur to come back to me." Janet found Monkey Brand in the ante-cham- ber, his ashen, ravaged face turned with doglike expectancy towards the billiard-room door, wait- ing for it to open. Without a word, he went back to his wife. 74 CHAPTER VI ... a strong man from the North, Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous grey. IT was a little after twelve as Janet entered the central hall, and the salvage men were com- ing down for their dinner. A cord had been stretched across the foot of the grand staircase, and a policeman guarded it. As Janet hesitated, a young man and woman came boldly up to him, and demanded leave to pass. "I can't let you up, sir," said the policeman. "It ain't safe." "I have the right to go up to my own flat on the fourth floor," said the man. "Here is my card. You will observe my address of these Mansions is printed on it." "Yes, my Lord, certainly, my Lord," said the policeman, looking at the card with respect. "The fire ain't touched anything lower than the fifth floor; but we have to keep a sharp look-out, 75 wsm MICROCOTY RBOIUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I k^ |2i) Lfi ■■I L£ 937 m^A us IK ■ 4j0 U U „ ■lUlk ■ 2.2 2.0 A /1PPLIED IM/IGE Inc ^^ 1653 East Main Street Rochcfter. New York 14609 USA (716) 482 -0300 -Phone (716) 288-5989 -Fox MOTH AND RUST as many strange characters are about trying to get up, to see what they can lay hands on." Janet had drawn up close behind the youn^ couple, and when the cord was withdrawn went upstairs as if with them. They did not even see her. They were talking eagerly to each other. When they reached the first landing, she slackened her pace, and let them go on in front. The fire had broken out on the seventh floor of the great block of buildings, and had raged slowly downwards to the sixth and fifth. But at first, as Janet mounted the sodden staircase, there was hardly any trace of the devastation save in the wet, streaked walls and the constant dropping of water from above. But the fourth floor bore witness. The ceil- ings were scored with great cracks. The plaster had fallen in places, and everything, walls, ceil- ings, doors and passages, were blackened as if licked by great tongues of smoke. The young couple were standing at the further end of a long, empty passage, trying to open a door. As Janet looked, she saw the man put his shoulder to it. Then she turned once more to the next flight of the staircase. It was strewn 76 MOTH AND RUST with wreckage. The bent iron banisters, from which the lead hung in congealed drops, sup- ported awkwardly the contorted remains of the banisters from above, which had crashed down upon them. The staircase had ceased to be a staircase. It was a steep, sliding mass of fallen debris, down which the demon of fire had hurled, as into a well, the ghastly entrails of the havoc of his torture chambers above. Janet looked carefully at the remnants of the staircase. The heat had reached it, but not the fire. She climbed half-way up it, securing a foot- hold where she could among the debris. But half-way the banisters from above blocked her passage, tilted crazily towards her, insurmount- able. She dared not touch them for fear of bring- ing them and an avalanche of piled rubbish be- hind them down upon her. She turned back a few steps, deliberately climbed, in her short coun- try skirt, over the still standing banisters, and, holding firmly by them, went up the remainder of the flight, cautious, step by step, as she and Fred had done as children, finding a foothold where she could, and not allowing her eyes to look down into the well below her. At the next 77 V MOTH AND RUST landing she climbed over the banisters again, felt them for a sickening moment give under her weight, and stopped to take breath and look round her. She was on the fifth floor. Even here the fire had not actually been, but the heaps of sodden ashes, the gaping, bur^t panels the seared doors, the blackness of the disfigured passages, the long, distraught wires of the electric lighting, showed that heat had been here; blind- ing, scorching, blistering heat. The Brands' flat was on the sixth floor. Janet looked up once more, and even her steady eyes were momentarily daunted. The staircase was gone. A raging fire had swept up its two last flights as up a chimney, and had carried all before it. V/hat the fire had re- fused, it had flung down, choking up the landing below. Nothing remained of the staircase save the iron supports, sticking out of the wall like irregular, jagged teeth, and marking where each step of the stairs had been. Higher still a zinc bath remained sticking against the charred, naked wall. The bath-room had fallen from it. The bath and its twisted 78 MOTH AND RUST \> pipes remained. And above all, the blue sky peered down as into a pit's mouth. Janet looked fixedly at the iron supports, and measured them with her eye. Her colour did not change nor her breath quicken. She felt her strength in her. Then, hugging the black wall till it crumbled against her, and shading her eyes till they could see only where to tread, she went swiftly up those awful stairs, and reached the sixth floor. Then her strength gave way, and she sank down upon something soft, and shuddered. A faint sound made her look back. One of the supports, loosened by her footstep, stirred, and then fell. It fell a long way. Even her marvellous inapprehensiveness was shaken. But her still courage returned to her, the quiet confidence that enabled her to break in nervous horses with which her recklessly fool- hardy brother could do nothing. Janet rose slowly to her feet, catching them as she did so in something soft. Stamped into the charred grime of the concrete floor by the feet of the firemen were the remains of a sable cloak, which, as her foot touched it, showed a shred of 79 MOTH AND RUST f I rose-coloured lining. A step further her foot sank into a heap of black rags, evidently hastily flung down by one in headlong flight, through the folds of which gold embroidery and a pair of jewelled clasps gleamed faintly. Janet stood still a moment in what had been the heart of the fire. The blast of the furnace had roared down that once familiar passage, leaving a charred, rent hole half filled up, and silted out of all shape by ashes. Nevertheless, her way lay down it. * She crept stumbling along it with bent head. Surely the Brand's flat was exactly here, on the left, near the head of the staircase. But she could recognise nothing. She stopped short at a gaping cavity that had once been a doorway, and looked through it into what had once been a bedroom. The fire had swept all before it. If there had once been a floor and walls, and ceiling and furniture, all was gone, leaving a seared, egg-shaped hole. From ;ts shelving sides three pieces of contorted iron had rolled into the central puddle—all that was left of the bed. Could this be the Brands' flat? 80 MOTH AND RUST Janet passed on, and peered through the next doorway. Here the flames had not raged so fiercely. The blackened semblance of a room was still there, but shrunk like a mummy, and ready to crumble at a touch. It must have been a servant's bedroom. The chest of drawers, the bed, were still there in outline, but all ashes. On pegs on the wall hung ghosts of gowns and hats, as if drawn in soot. On the chest of drawers stood the effigy of a bedroom candlestick, with the extinguisher over it. Janet shuddered and hur- ried on. Yes. It was the Brands' flat. The outer door and little entrance hall had been wiped out, and she was inside it. This evidently had been the drawing-room. Here were signs as of some frightful conflict, as if the room had resisted its fate to the death, and had only been overpowered after a hideous struggle. The wall paper hung in tatters on the wall. Remnants of furniture were flung about in all di- rections. The door was gone. The windows were gone. The bookcase was gone, leaving no trace, but the books it had contained had been thrown all over the room in its downfall, and lay 8i H MOTH AND RUST for the most part unscorched. pell mell, one over the other. Among the books crouched an agon- ised tangle of wires— all that was left of Cuckoo's grand piano. The pictures had leapt wildly from the walls to join in the conflict. A few pieces of strewed gilding, as if torn asunder with pmcers showed their fate. Horror brooded over the place as over the dead body of one who had fought for his life, and died by torture, whom the destroyer had not had time to mutilate past recog- nition. ' ^ Had the wind changed, and had the fiend of fire been forced to obey it, and leave his havoc unfin- ished ? Yes, the wind must have changed, for it the next step down the passage, Janet reached Cuckoo's boudoir. The door had fallen inward, and by some mira- cle the whole strength of the flames had rushed down the passage, leaving even the door unburnt. Janet walked over the door into the little room and stood amazed. The fire had passed by on the other side. Everything here was untouched, unchanged. The yellow china cat with an immensely long neck was still seated on its plush footstool on the hearthrug. 82 MOTH AND RUST On the sofa lay an open fashion paper where Cuckoo had laid it down. On every table photo- graphs of Cuckoo smiled in different attitudes. The gawdy room, with its damask panels, bore no trace of smoke, nor even of heat, save that the two palms in tubs and the hydrangeas in the fireplace were shrivelled up, and in the gilt birdcage in the window was a tiny motionless form with out- stretched wings that would fain have flown away. For a moment Janet forgot everything except the bullfinch, the piping bullfinch that Monkey Brand had given to his wife. She ran to the cage, brushing against the palms, which made a dr}' rustling as she passed, and bent over the little bird. "Bully," she said. "Bully!" For that was the name which, after much thought. Monkey Brand had bestowed uj^on it. But "Bully" did not move. He was pressed against the bars of his Chinese pagoda, with his head thrown back and his beak open. "Bully" had known fear before he died. Janet suddenly remembered the great fear which some one else was enduring, to whom death was coming, and she turned quickly from the win- dow. 83 MOTH AND RUST De Rivaz's extraordinary portrait of Cuckoo smiled at Janet from the wall, in all its shrewd vulgar prettiness. The hard, calculating blue eyes which could stare down the social ladder so mercilessly were mercilessly portrayed. The careful touch of rouge on the cheek and carmine on the lips were faithfully rendered. The mani- cured, plebeian hands were Cuckoo's, and none but Cuckoo's. The picture was a studied insult, save in the eyes of Monkey Brand, who saw in it the reflection, impferfect and inadequate, but still the reflection of the one creature whom, in his money-getting life, he had found time to love. Janet never could bear to look at it, and she turned her eyes away. Directly underneath the picture stood the Ital- ian cabinet with its ivory figures let into ebony. It was untouched, as Cuckoo had feared. The mermaid was still tranquilly riding a whale on the snafile, in the midst of a sea, with a crop of dol- phins' tails sticking up through it. Janet fitted the key into the lock, and then in- stinctively turned to shut the door. But the door lay prone upon the floor. She stole into the pas- sage and listened. 84 MOTH AND RUST There were voices somewhere out of sight. Humrn voices seemed strangely out of place in this t. dered grave. They came nearer. A tall, heaviiy-built man came stooping round the corner, with another shorter, slighter one behind him. "The floors are concrete; it's all right," said the first man. Janet retreated into the room again, to wait till th^y had passed. But they were in no hurry. They both glanced into the room, and, seeing her, went on. "Here you have one of the most extraordinary effects of fire," said the big man, stopping at the next doorway. "This was once a drawing-room. If you want to paint a realistic picture, here is your subject." "I would rather paint an angel in the pit's mouth," said the younger man, significantly, lean- ing his delicate, artist hand against the charred door-post. "Do you think, Vanbrunt, this is a safe place for angels without wings to be going about alone? You say the floors are safe, but are they?" Stephen Vanbrunt considered a moment. Then he turned back to the room where Janet 85 MOTH AND RJST was. He did not enter it, but stood in the d I am afra.d I came in without asking last night, whh the police inspector." "Do come in," said Janet It s al r,ght," he said, indifferently. "N„t even a hck of smoke. But." he added lookhie narrow y at lanet "if vr- n j . ' '°°'''"S send a mnn f . """^ ""''''* "' ' «"' send a man I can trust to revarnish it." "Thank you," said Janet. ^^'Here is n>y card," he continued, still looking at He'^rdii"::;:,;."'^""-^*^--^'^" "I am a friend." Z J'' ' "' ^°" '° ^ - ""O - to tell 87 k MOTH AND RUST yi "I will tell him," said Janet; and she became very pale. While this man was manufacturing conversation, Cuckoo was dying, was dying, wait- ing with her eyes on the door. She turned in- stinctively to Stephen for help. But he had forgotten her. He was looking in- tently at the dead bird in the cage, was touching its sleek head with a large, gentle finger. "You are well out of it, my friend," he said be- low his breath, "it is not good to be afraid, but it was a short agony. And it is over. You will not be afraid again. You are well out of it. No more prison bars. No more stretching of wings to fly with that may never fly. No more years of servitude for a cruel woman's whim. You are well out of it." He looked up, and met Janet's eyes. "We are trespassers," he said instantly. "We have taken a mean advantage of your kindness in letting us come in. De Rivaz, I will show you a background for your next picture a few yards further on. Mr. Brand knows me," he continued, producing a card in his turn. "We do business together. He is my tenant here. Will you kindly tell him I ventured to bring Mr. De Rivaz 88 MOTH AND RUST into the remains of his flat to make a sketch of the effects of fire?" "I will tell him," said Janet, only half attend- ing, and laying the card beside De Rivaz's. Would they never go? They did go immediately, Stephen peremptorily aidmg the departure of the painter. When they were in the next room, De Rivaz leant up against the blackened wall, and said hoarsely : "Vanbrunt, did you see her?" "Of course I saw her." "But I must paint her. I must know her. I shall go back and ask her to sit to me." "You will do no such thing. You will imme- diately apply yourself to this scene of desolation, or I shall take you away. Look at this charnel house. What unchained devils have raged in it It IS jealousy made visible. What is the use of a realistic painter like yourself, who can squeeze all romance out of life till the whole of existence is as prosaic as a string of onions ; what is the use of a wretched worm like you making one of your hor- rible portraits of that beautiful, innocent face»" • X shall paint her if I live," said De Rivaz 89 MOTH AND RUST v glaring at his friend. "I know beauty when I see it." "No, you don't. You see everything ugly, even beauty of a high order. Look at your picture of me. Both men laughed. "I will paint her," said De Rivaz. "Half the beauty of so-called beautiful women is loathsome to me because of jthe sordid or frivolous soul be- hind it. But I will paint a picture of that woman which will show to the world, and even to rhi- nocerous-hided sceptics like you, Vanbrunt, that I can make the beauty of the soul shine through even a beautiful face, as I have made mean souls shine through lovely faces. I shall fall damnably in love with her while I do it, but that can't be helped. And the picture will make her and me famous." 90 CHAPTER VII Doch wenn du sagst, "Ich liebe dich." Dann mus- icu weinen bitterlich. ' JANET listened to the retreating footsteps, and then flew to the cabinet. The key would not turn, and for one sickening moment, while she wrenched clumsily at it, she feared she was not going to suc- ceed in opening the cabinet. Janet had through hie a great difficulty in all that involved delicate manipulation, except a horse's mouth. If a lock resisted, she used force, generally shooting it; if he hinge of a door gave, she jammed it. But in his instance, contrary to her usual experience, the lock did turn at last, and the whole front of the cabinet dolphins and mermaid and all, came sud- denly forward towards her. disclosing within, a double tier of ebony drawers, all exquisitely inlaid lock '^'''^'' '""^ '^'^ ^""'"^ ''' ''"^ silver-scrolled Som€ water had dripped on to the cabinet from 91 MOTH AND RUST a damp place in the ceiling, and a few drops had penetrated down to the inner drawers, rusting the silver of the lowest drawer— the left-hand one. Janet fitted the key into it. It turned easily, but the drawer resisted. It came out a little way and then stuck. It was quite full. Janet gave an- other pull, and the narrow, shallow drawer came out— with difficulty, but still it did come out. On the top, methodically folded, were some hand-written directions for fancy-work. Cuckoo never did any needle-work. Janet raised them and looked underneath. Where was the packet tied with hair? It was nowhere to be seen. There were a quantity of letters loosely laid together. Could these be they? Evidently they had not been touched for a long time, for the grime of London air and fog had settled on them. Janet wiped the topmost with her handkerchief, and a few words came clearly out: "My darling. My treasure." Her handkerchief had touched some- thincr -se in the comer of the drawer. Could this uun, moth-fretted lock have once been Cuckoo's yellow hair? Even as she looked, out of it came a moth, dragging itself slowly over the face of the letter, opening its unused wings. It 92 MOTH AND RUST crawled up over the rusted silver scroll work and flew away into the room. Yes. These must be the letters. They had been Ued once, and the moth had eaten away the tie. She took them up carefully. There were a great many. She gathered them all together as she thought; looked again at the back of 'the drawer to make sure, and found a few more with a little gilt heart rusted into them. Then she replaced the needlework directions, pushed to the drawer-which resisted again, and then went back mto Its place-locked it, extracted the key, ocked the cabinet, and threw the key out of a broken pane of the window. She saw it light on a roof lower down and slide into the safe-keeping of the gutter. *^ ^ Then she moved the shrivelled hydrangeas which stood in the fire-place, and put the letters into the empty grate. Once more she went to the door and listened. All was quite still. She came back. On the chimney-piece stood a - tograph of Monkey Bmnd, grinning smu,,y ^hrough Its cracked glass. Behind it was a silver match-box with a pig on it, and "Scratch me" written on it. Cuckoo affected everything she called "quaint." 93 if ] 1 . ■ If f i hi MOTH AND RUST Janet struck a match, knelt down, and held it to the pile of letters. But love-letters never yet burnt easily. Per- haps they have passed through the flame of life, and after that no feebler fire can reach them quickly. The fire shrank from them, and match after match went out, flame after flame wavered and refused to meddle with them. After wasting time in several exactly similar attempts when one failure would have been suffi- cient, Janet opened and crumpled some of them to let the air get to them. The handwriting was strangely familiar. She observed the fact with- out reasoning on it. Then she sprinkled the re- mainder of the letters on the top of the crumpled ones, and again set the pile alight. The fire got hold now. It burnt up fiercely, bringing down upon itself the upper letters, which toppled into the heart of the miniature conflagra- tion i much as the staircase must have toppled on to the stairs below in the bigger conflagration of yes- terday. How familiar the handwriting was! How some of the sentences shone out, as if writ- ten in fire on a black sheet ! "Love like ours can never fade." The words faded out at once, as the 94 MOTH AND RUST dying letters gave up the ghost—the ghost of dead love. Janet gazed fascinated. Another letter fell in, opening as it fell, disclosing a photograph. Fred's face looked full at Janet for a moment out of the greedy flames that licked it up. Janet drew back trembling, suddenly sick unto death. Fred's face! Fred's writing! She trembled so violently that she did not notice that the smoke was no longer going up the chim- ney, but was filling the room. The chimney was evidently blocked higher up. She was so paralysed that she did not notice a light footfall in the passage, and a figure in the doorway. Janet was not of those who see be- hind their backs. The painter, alarmed by the smoke, stood for a moment, brush in hand, look- ing fixedly at her. Then his eye fell on the smok- ing papers in the grate, and he withdrew noise- lessly. It was out now. The second fire was out. What violent passions had been consumed in it! That tiny fire in the grate seemed to Janet more black with horror than that appalling scene of havoc in the next room. She knelt down and 95 fl I MOTH AND RUST parted the hot fihns of the little bonfire. There was no scrap of paper left. The thing was done. Then she noticed the smoke, and her heart stood still. She pushed the cinders into the back of the grate with her hands, replaced the hydrangeas in the fire-place, and ran to the window. But the wood-work was warped by the heat. It would not open. She wasted time trying to force it, and then broke the glass and let in the air. But the air only blew the smoke out into the passage. It was like a bad dream. She seized the prostrate door and tried to raise it. But it was too heavy for her. She stood up panting, watching the tell-tale smoke curl lightly through the doorway. More steps in the passage. She went swiftly into the next room and stood in the doorway. The lift-man came cautiously down the passage, accompanied by an alert, spec- tacled young man, note-book in hand. The lift- man bore the embarrassed expression of one whose sense of duty has succumbed before too large a tip. The young man had the decided man- ner of one who intends to have his money's worth. 96 N MOTH AND RUST "Where are wc now ?" he said, scribbUng for dear life, his spectacles turning all ways at once. "I don't like thiz smoke. Can the beastly place be on fire still ?" But the hft-man had caught sight of Janet, and the sight of her was obviously unwelcome. ^^ "The floors ain't safe here," he said, confusedly. "There's a deal more damage to be seen in the left wing." "Is there?" said the young man, drily. "We'll go there next;" and he went on peering and scrib- bling. ^^ A voice in the distance shouted imperiously: "Number Two, where does this smoke come from?" There was a plodding of heavy, hastening feet above. In an instant the young man and the lift-man had disappeared round the comer. Janet ran swiftly down the black passage along which they had come, almost brushing against the painter in her haste without perceiving him. She flew on, recognising by instinct the once familiar way to the central hall on each landing. Here it was at last. She paused a moment by the gaping 97 MOTH AND RUST ■ I lift, and then walked slowly to the head of the iron outer staircase. A policeman was speaking austerely to a short, stout, shabbily-dressed woman of determined as- pect, who bore the unmistakable stamp of those whose unquenchable desire it is to be where their presence is not desired, where it is even depre- cated. "Only ladies and gents with passes is admit- ted," the policeman yvas saying. "But how can I get a pass ?" "I don't precisely know," said the policeman, cautiously, "but I know it must be signed by Mr. Vanbrunt or Mr. Brown." "I am the Duchess of Quorn, and I am an inti- mate friend of Mr. Vanbrunt." Janet passed the couple with a beating heart. But apparently there were no restrictions about persons going out, only about those trying to get in. The policeman made way for her at once, and she went down unchallenged. ******* In the billiard-room time was waxing short; was obviously running out. The child had arrived from the country with 98 MOTH AND RUST his nurse. Monkey Brand took him in his arms at the door and knelt down with him beside Cuckoo. "Arty has come to say 'good-morning' to mam- my," he said, in a strangled, would-be-cheerful voice. Cuckoo looked at the child wildly for a moment, as the little laughing face came within the radius of he fading sight. She suffered the cool, flower- likf cheek to touch hers, but then she whispered to her husband : "Take him y. I want only you." He took Arty back to his nurse, holding him closely to him, and returned to her. Death seemed to have advanced a step nearer with the advent of the child. They both waited for it in silence. "Don't kneel, Arthur," said Cuckoo at last. "You will be so tired." He obediently drew up a little stool and crouched hunched-up upon it, her cold hand be- tween his cold hands. "Is there any one at the door?" she asked, after an age of silence. "No one, dearest; we are quite alone." 99 MOTH AND RUST I ;;i should like to see Janet, to say 'good-bye.' " Must I go and look for her?" s.7\ ' *'n ^"' *° ""'^ '^ ""y P'^*"^ ^^^ really safe. t .s all you will have to remember me by She will come and tell me directly." "I do not want any picture of you, Cuckoo " Another silence. "I can't wait much longer," said Cuckoo, below her breath, but he heard it. "Are you sure there IS no one at the door, Arthur?" "No one." Silence again. "Ask God to have pity on me," said Cuckoo, fa.ndy. "Isn't there some one coming in now ?'' No one. "Ask God to have pity on us both," said Cuckoo agam. 'Tray so that I can hear " But apparently Monkey Brand could not pray aloud. *^ ^ "Say something to make the time pass," she whispered. "The Lord is my shepherd," said Monkey Brand, brokenly, his mind throwing back thirty years. "I shall not want. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He " lOO MOTH AND RUST "I seem to hear steps," interrupted Cuckcx). "He leadeth me beside the still waters. Yea, though I walk"— the voice broke dr>wn— "though I walk in the valley of the shadow of " "Some one is coming in now," said Cuckoo, in a faint, acute voice. "It is Janet." "I can't see her plainly. Tell her to come ne er." He beckoned to Janet. "I can see her now," said Cuckoo, the blindness of death in her wide eyes, which stared vacantly where Janet was not; "at least, I see some one. Isn't she holding her hand to her forehead ?" "Yes." The last tears Cuckoo was destined to shed stood in her blind eyes. "Good-bye, dear Janet," she gasped. "Good-bye, Cuckoo." "Send her away. Is she quite gone, Arthur?" "Yes, dearest." "I must go, too. I do not know how to lea e you, but I must. I cannot see you, but you are with me in the darkness. Take me in your arms lOl MOTH AND RUST w m and let me die in them. Is that your cheek against mine? How cold it is! Hold your dear hands to my face, that I may kiss them, too. They have been kind, kind hands to me. How my poor Ar- thur trembles! You were too good for me, Arthur. You have been the only real friend I've ever had in the world. More than father and mother to me. More than any one." "You did love me, little one?" "Yes." "Only me?" "Only you.- He burst into a passion of tears. "Forgive me for having doubted you," he said, hoarsely. "Did you ever doubt me?" "Yes, once. I ought to have known better. I can't forgive myself. Forgive me, my wife." Cuckoo was silent. Death was hard upon her, heavy on voice and breath. "Say, 'Arthur, I forgive you,' " whispered her husband through the darkness. "Arthur, I forgive you," said Cuckoo, with a sob. And her head fell forward on his breast. 102 m r ^f^^im^ CHAPTER VIII IT was not until Janet was sitting aloae in the room she had taken at an hotel that her aazed mmd began to recover itself. It did of that grim ascent to the flat. It did not dwell on Cuckoo's death. Janet said over and over again to herself, in pTed r "'^"'' '- "^''^°° '"" ^'"^ ' C-'^koo and J« *°'w''' '"""^«' '° " S'"' ^'"in. and She succumbed to it. She sat on her box in the middle of the room hour after hour in the stifling heat. The afte> the blmd. There was an armchair in the comer- bu Janet unconsciously clung to the box, as the on y famihar object in an unfamiliar world. Late >n the afternoon, when Anne found her, Janet was 103 MOTH AND RUST i Still sitting on it, gazing in front of her, with an untasted cup of tea beside her, which the chamber- maid had brought her. Anne sat down on the box and put her arms round her. "My dear," she said. "My dear." And Janet said no word, but hid her convulsed face on Anne's shoulder. Janet had a S9mewhat confused remembrance of what happened after that. Anne ordered, and she obeyed, and there was another journey in a cab, and presently she was sitting in a cool, white bedroom leading out of Anne'3 room ; at least, Anne said it did. Anne came in and out now and then, and forced her to drink a cup of milk, and smoothed her hair with a very tender hand. But Janet made no response. Anne was of those who do not despise the little things of life. She saw that Janet was suf- fering from a great shock, and she sent for the only child there was in the great, dreary London house, the vulgar kitchen kitten belonging to the cook. Anne silently held the warm, sleepy kitten against Janet's cheek. It purred when it was 104 ■: hi MOTH AND RUST touched, and then fell asleep, a little ball of com- fort against Janet's neck. The white, over- strained face relaxed. Anne's gentle touch and presence had not achieved that, but the kitten did 1 wo large tears rolled down into its fur. The peace and comfort and physical well-being of feeling a little life, warm-asleep, pressed close agamst you is, perhaps, not new. Perhaps it goes back as far as the wilderness which ceased to be a wilderness when Eve brought forth her first-born in it. I think she ist have forgotten all about her lost garden of Eden when she first heard the breathing of her sleeping child against her bosom. The brambles and the thorns would prick very little after that. Later on, when Anne came in softly, Janet was asleep, with the kitten on her shoulder. An hour later Anne came in once more in a wonderful white gown, and stood a moment watching Janet. Anne was not excited, but a lit- tle tumult was shaking her as a summer wind st s and ripples all the surface of a deep-set pool ^ e knew that she would meet Stephen to-night at the dinner-party, for which she was alrea^ '-- and that knowledge, though long experience had 105 f MOTH AND RUST taught her that it was useless to meet him, that he would certainly not speak to her if he could help it, still, the knowledge that she should see him caused a faint colour to burn in her pale cheek, a wavering light in her grave eyes, a slight tremor of her whole delicate being. She looked, as she stood in the half-light, a woman to whose exquisite hands even a poet might have entrusted his difficult, double-edged love, much more t ard man of business such as Stephen. Janet's face, which had been so wan, was flushed a deep red. She stirred uneasily, and be- gan speaking hoarsely and incoherently. "All burnt," she said, over and over again. "All burnt. Nothing left." Anne laid down the fan in her hand and drew a step nearer. Janet suddenly sat up, opened her eyes to a hor- rible width and stared at her. "I have burnt them all, Fred," she said, looking full at Anne. "Everything. There is nothing left, I promised I would, and I have. But, oh ! Fred, how could you do it? How could you — could you do it ?" And she burst into a low cry of anguish. To6 (1 '.VP^ ;l^^ MOTH AND RUST Anne took her by the arm. "You are dreaming, Janet," she said. "Wake f riend^^^ ■ ^°" ^'^ ^^'^ "^'^^ """' Anne-your /anet winced, and her eyelids quivered. Then she looked round her bewildered, and said in a more natural voice : "I don't know where I am. I thought I was at home with Fred." "I have sent for your brother, and he will come and take you home to-morrow." "Something dreadful has happened," said Janet. "It is like a stone on my head. It crushes me, but I don't know what it is." Anne looked gravely at Janet, and half uncon- sciously unclasped the thin chain, with its heavy diamond pendant, from her neck. Her hand trem- bled as she did it. She was not thinking of Janet at that moment. "I shall not see him to-night " she was saying to herself. And the delicate col- our faded, the hidden tumult died down. She was calm and practical once more. She wrote a note, sent it down to the waiting carriage to de- liver, got quickly out of the flowing white gown mto a dressing-gown, and returned to Janet. ******* 107 mck^.M r MOTH AND RUST Fred came to London the following day. Even his mercurial nature was distressed at Cuckoo's sudden death and at Janet's wan, fixed face. But he felt that if his sister must be ill, she could not be better placed than in that ducal household. A good many persons among Fred's acquaintances heard of Janet's illness during the next few days, and of the kindness of the Duke and Duchess of Quorn. The Duke and Duchess really were kind. The benevolence of so down-trodden and helpless a creature as the Duke-— who was of no importance except in affairs of the realm, where he was a power— his kindness, of course, was of no ac- count. But the Duchess rose to the occasion. She \vas one of those small, square, kind-hearted, de- termined women with a long upper lip, whose faces are set on looking upwards, who can make life vulgarly happy for struggling, middle-class men, if they are poor enough to give their wives scope for an unceasing energy on their behalf, she was a "femme incomprise" misplaced. By birth she was the equal of her gentle-mannered husband ; but she was one of nature's vulgarians, all the same, and directly the thin gilt of a certain io8 MOTH AND RUST youthful prettiness wore oflf-she had been a plump, bustling little partridge at twenty-her in- nate commonness came obviously to the surface- m fact, It became the surface. ' "Age could not wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite vulgarity." There was no need for her to push, but she pushed. She made embarrassing jokes at the expense of her children. In society she was famil- iar where she should have been courteous, openly curious where she should have ignored, gratui- tously confidential where she should have been reticent. She never realised the impression she made on others. She pursued her discomfortable objects of pursuit, namely, eligible young men and endless charities, with the same total disregard of appearances, the same ungainly agility, which an elderly hen will sometimes suddenlv evince in chase of a butterfly. Some one had nicknamed her "the steam roller," and the name stuck to her. She was— perhaps not unnaturally— annoyed when Anne brought a stranger ba,!.- to the house with her in the height of the season and installed 109 MOTH AND RUST H I her in one of the spare rooms while she herself was absent, talking loudly at a little musical tea- jKirty. But when she Saw Janet next day sitting in one of Anne's dressing-gowns in Anne's sit- ting-room, she instantly took a fancy to her; one of those heavy, prodding fancie.. which immedi- ately investigate by questions— the Duchess never hesitated to ask questions— all the past life of the victim, as regards illnesses, illnesses of relations, especially if obsc^re and internal; cause of death of parents, present financial circumstances, etc. Janet, whose strong constitution rapidly rallied from the shock that had n)omentarily prostrated her, thought these subjects of conversation nat- ural and even exhilarating. She was accustomed to them in her own society. The first time the Smiths had called on her at Ivy Cottage, had they not enquired the exact area of her little drawing- room? She found the society of the Duchess vaguely delightful and sympathetic, a welcome re- lief from her own miserable thoughts. And the Duchess told Janet in return about a very painful ailment from which the Duke suffered, and which it distressed him "to hear alluded to," .nd all about Anne's millionaire. When, a few days no M <) T H AND RUST later, Janet was able to travel, the Duchess parted from her w,th real regret, an,l begged her to »me and stay with them again after her .narriage Anne seemed to have receded from Janet' dur- ng these las, days. Perhaps .he Duchess had el l»wed her out. Perhaps Anne divincl that Jan t ^ .«en told an about her unfortunate love . fa. s. Annes pafen, dignity had a certain re- moteness ,n ,.. „e. mother, whose hitherto Annes hfe well-n.gh unendurable to her a, this tune a constant mortification of her refinement andherpnde. She withdrew into herself. And ^haps a so Anne was embarrassed by the Icnowl- edge that she had inadvertently become aware connected with the burning of papers which Jane! was concealing, and which, as Anne could se^ Zu 1T'"1 "" "'°'' '^- '"- 'he sudden death of Mrs. Brand. manlfr T T'^" °^ ^'' ''''" '" "" 'ff^'ve manner when she was well enough to travel She was very silent all the way home. She had be- come shy w,th her brother, depressed in his soci- III ^ ^^fm MOTH AND RUST M f' f ety. She had always known that evil existed in the world, but she had somehow managed to com- bine that knowledge with the comfortable convic- tion that the few people she cared for were "dif- ferent." She observed nothing except what hap- pened under her actual eyes, and then only if her eyes were forcibly turned in that direction. She knew Fred drank only because she had seen him dntnk. The shaking hand, and broken nerve, and weakly violent temper, the signs of in- temperance when he was sober, were lost upon her. She dismissed them with the reflection that Fred was like that. Cause and eflfect did not ex- ist for Janet. And those for whom they do not exist sustain heavy shocks. Cuckoo her friend, and Frtd her brother. The horror of that remembrance never left her during these days. She could not think about it. She could only silently endure it. Poor Janet did not realise even now that the sole reason why Cuckoo had made friends with her was in order to veil the intimacy with her brother. The hard, would-be smart woman would not, without some strong reason, have made much of so unfashionable an individual as 112 I* I MOTH AND RUST Janet in the first instance, though there was no ^loubt that in the end Cuckoo had grown fond of Janet for her own sake. And her genuine Hking for the sister had survived the rupture with the brother. The dogcart was waiting for Fred and Janet at Mudbury, and as they drove in the dusk through the tranquil country lanes Janet drew a long breath. ** "You must not take on about Mrs. Brand's death too much." said Fred at last, who had also been restlessly silent for the greater part of the journey. Janet did not answer. ^ ''We must all die some day." continued Fred. It s the common lot. I did not like Mrs. Brand as much as you did. Janet. She was not my sort —but still— when I heard the news " "I loved her," said Janet, hoarsely. "I would have done anything for her." "You must cheer up," said Fred, "and try and look at the bright side. That was what the Duke was saymg only yesterday when I called to thank him. He was in such a hurry that he hardly had a moment to spare, but I took a great fancy to "3 »fa MOTH AND RUST 1 him. No airs and soft sawder, and a perfect gentleman. I shall call again when next I am in London. I shan't forget their kindness to you." Again no answer. "It is your duty to cheer up," continued Fred. "George is coming over to see you to-morrow morning." "I think, don't you think, Fred," said Janet suddenly, "that George is good— really good, I mean ?" "He is all right," said Fred. "Not exactly openhanded. You must lay your account for that, Janet. You'll find him a bit of a screw, or I'm much mistaken." Janet was too dazed to realise what Fred's dis- covery of George's meanness betokened. Silence again. They were nearing home. The lights of Ivy Cottage twinkled through the violet dusk. Janet looked at them without seeing them. Cuckoo her friend, and Fred her brother. "I suppose, Janet," said Fred, suddenly, "you were not able to ask Mrs. Brand— no— of course not. But perhaps you were able to put in a word 114 MOTH AND RUST for mc to Brand about that— about waiting for his money?" "I never said anything to either of them," said Janet. "I never thought of it again. I forgot all about it." "5 CHAPTER IX V. Yea, each with the other will lose and win, Till the very Sides of the Grave fall in. tV. E. Henley. IT was a summer night, hot and still, six weeks later, towards the end of July. Through the open windows of a house in Hamilton Gardens a divine voice came out into the listening night : "She comes not when Noon is on the roses — Too bright is Day. She comes not to the Soul till it reposes From \.ork and play. "But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices Roll in from Sea, By starlight and by candlelight and dreamlight She comes to me." Stephen sat alone in Hamilton Gardens, a massive figure under a Chinese lantern, which threw an unbecoming light on his grim face and ii6 MOTH AND RUST neuvy Kro.vs. and laid on the grass a grotesque 'oouJder . f shadow of the great capitalist. I '.'o not know what he was thinking about as he sat listening to the song, biting what could only by courtesy be entitled his little finger. Was he undergoing a passing twinge of poetry? Did money occupy his thoughts? His impassive face betrayed nothing. When did it ever betray anything? He was not left long alone. Figures were pac- ing in the half-lit gardens, two and two. Prose rushed in upon him in the shape of a small square body, upholstered in grey satin, which trundled its way resolutely towards him. The Duchess feared neither God nor man ; but if fear had been possible to her, it would have been for that dignified yet elusive personage whom she panted to call her son-in-law. She sat down by him with anxiety and determi- nation in her eyes. "By starlight and by candlelight and dream- light she comes to me," said Stephen to himself, with a sardonic smile. "Also by daylight, and when noon is on the roses, and when I am at work and at play. In short, she always comes." 117 _i^M>. • .f!--^im^i»i^'w MOTH AND RUST h ^ "What a perfect night!" saitl the Uuchcss. ••Perfect." ••Ami that song; how beautiful!" ••Ileautiful." "I (lid not know you cared for poetry." ••I don't." Stephen added to other remarkable qualities that of an able and self-i>o.ssessed liar. In busi- ness he was considered straight, even by gentle- men; f(K>lishly strnight-lacetl by men of business. But to certain persons, and the Dudicss was one of them, he never sptike the truth. 1 Ic was wont to say that any lies he told he did not intend to account for ii this world or the next, and that the bill, if there was one. would never be sent in to him. He certainly bad tlit courage of his con- victions. "I want you to think twice of the disappoint- ment you have given us all by not coming to us in Scotland this autumn. The Duke was really quite put out. He had so reckoned on your com- ing." Stephen did not answer. He had a colossal power of silence when it suited him. He had liked the Duke for several years, before he had Ii8 MOTH AND RUST made the acquaintance of his family. The two men had met frequently on business, understomi each other, and had almost reached friendship, when the Duchess intervened to ply her "savage trade." Since then a shade of distant politeness had tinged the Duke's manner towards Stephen, and the self-made man, sensitive to anythmg that resembled a sense oi diflFcrence of class, instinc- tively drew away from him. Yet, if Stephen had but known it, the change in the Duke's manner was only owing to the unformulated suspicion that the father sometimes feels for the man, how- ever eligible, whom he suspects o. filching from him his favourite daughter. "We are all disappointed," continued the Duch- ess; and her power of hitting on the raw did not fail her, for her victim winced— not perceptibly. She went on : "Do think of it again, Mr. Van- brunt. If you could see Larinnen in autumn— the autumn tints, you know— and no party. Just ourselves. And I am sure, from your face, you are a lover of nature." "I hate nature," said Stephen. "It bores me. I am very easily bored." He was longing to get away from London, to 119 muf-ii^u. W^ 11 MOTH AND RUST steep his soul in the sympathy of certriin sohtary wo(Hllaii(l places he knew of. shy as himself, where. jKrhaps. the strain on his achinfj spirit mipht relax somewhat ; where he could lie in the shade for hours and listen to running water, and forget that he was a plain, middle-aged million- aire, whom a brilliant, excjuisite creature could not love for himself. "When I said no party I did not mean (juite alone," said the Duchess, breathing heavily, for a frontal attack is generally also an uphill one. "A few cheerful friends. How right you arc ! One does not see enough of one's real friends. Anne often says that. She said to me only yesterday, when we were talking of you " The two liars were interrupted by the advance towards them of Anne and De Rivaz. They came silently across the shadowy grass, into the little ring of light thrown by the Chinese lan- tern. De Rivaz was evidently excited. His worn, cynical face looked boyish in the garish light. "Duchess." he said. "I have only just heard, by chance from Lady Anne, that the unknown divin- ity whom I am turning heaven and earth to find, in 120 " "«lE"?^liil&*'«** ^Jfi^ilt" Morn AND R usr : order that \ may paint her. has actually been stay- ing under your roof, a.,d that you intc.id to ask Iicr again." -^Mr. Do Rivp, means Janet Black." said Anne to her mother. "I implore you to ask me to meet her." .said the pamter. "But she is just Boing to be married," sai.l the Duchess, wth genuine regret. Here was an „n- portunity lost. ' "I know it. It hreaks my heart to know it," sa,d De R,vaz. "But married or not, maid, wif; or WKh,w, I must paint her. Give me the ehance Of makmg her acquaintance." "I will do what I can," .said the Duchess, gently fltmg forwanl her .square person on to its flat white satm feet, and looking with calculating ap- proval at her dat,ghter. Surely Anne had never looked so lovely as at this obviously propitious moment. •' *- i "Take a turn with me, young man." continued the Duchess, "and I will see what I can do. And Anne " she said, with a backward glance at her daughter, "try and persuade Mr. Vanbrunt to come to us in September." 121 !Ai. :j^7mm^smk^^^-+ t. MOTH AND RUST h "I will do my best," said Anne, and she sat down on the bench. Stephen, who had risen when she joined them, looked at her with shy, angry admiration. It was a new departure for Anne so openly to abet her mother, and it wounded him. "Won't you sit down again?" said Anne, meeting his eyes firmly. "I wish to speak to you." He sat down awkwardly. He was always awk- ward in her presence. Perhaps it was only a mo- ment, but it seemed to him an hour while she kept silence. The same voice sang across the starlit dark : "Some souls have quickened, eye to eye, And heart to heart, and hand in hand; The swift fire leaps, and instantly They understand." Neither heard it. Nearer than the song, close between them, some mighty enfolding presence seemed to have withdrawn them into itself. There is a moment in Love when he leaves the two hearts in which he dwells and stands between them, revealed. So far it has been man and woman and Love. 122 imLr -WE 1^: ' TT "S^ - %st ■ im^ ^^mm^^^z::3^:i '":s Moth and rust M Three persons met painfully together who cannot walk together, not being agreed. But the hour comes when in awe the man and woman perceive, what was always so from the beginning, that they twain are but one being, one foolish creature, who. in a great blindness, thought it was two, mistook itself for two. Perhaps that moment of discovery of our real identity in another is the first lowest rung of the steep ladder of love. Does God, who flung down to us that nearest empty highway to Himself, does He wonder why so few travellers come up by it; why we go wearily round by such bitter, sin-bogged, sorrow-smirched bypaths to reach Him at last? There may be much love without that sense of oneness, but when it comes, it can only come to two; it can only U born of a mutual love. Neither can feel it without the other. Anne knew that. By her love for him she knew he loved her. He was slower, more obtuse; yet even he, with his limited perceptions and calculating mind— €ven he nearly believed, nearly had faith, nearly asked her if she could love him. But the old self came to his perdition, the 123 S- '•~^B^F-' W^^t^ •'^mm.-'i-'Wi^^ ' .' 'SMii k' ! r MOTH AND RUST strong, shrewd, iron-willed self that had made \\\:n what he was; that had taught him to trust few, to follow his own judgment; that in his strenuous life had furnished him with certain dogged, conven- tional, ready-made convictions regarding women. Men he could judge, and did judge. He knew who would cheat him, who would fail him at a pinch, whom he could rely on. But of women he knew little. He regarded them as apart from himself, and did nbt judge them individually but collectively. He knew how one of Anne's sisters, possibly more than one of them, had been coerced into marriage. He did not see that Anne be- longed to a diflferent class of being. His shrewd- ness, his bitter knowledge of the seamy side of a society to which he did not naturally belong, its uncouth passion for money blinded him. He had become very pale while he sat by her, while poor Anne vainly racked her brain to re- member what it was she wished to say to him. The overwhelming impulse to speak, to have it out with her, the thirst for her love was upon him. When was it not upon him? He looked at her fixedly, and his heart sank. How could she love him, she in her wand-like delicacy and ethereal 124 ' i 11 I MOTH AND RUST beauty. She was not of his world. She was not made of the same clay. No star seemed so re- mote as this still, dark-eyed woman beside him. I low could she love him ! No, the thing was im- possible. A very ugly emotion laid violent momentary hold on him. Let him take her whether she cared for him or not. If money could buy her, let him buy her. He glanced sidelong at her, and then moved nearer to her. She turned her head and looked full at him. She had no fear of him. The fierce, harsh face did not daunt her. She understood him, his stubborn humility, his blind love, this momentary hideous lapse, and knew that it was momentary. "Lady Anne," he said hoarsely, "will you marry me?" It had come at last, the word her heart had ached for so long. She did not think. She did not hesitate. She, who had so often been troubled by the mere sight of him across a room, was calm now. She looked at him with a certain gentle scorn. "No, thank you," she said. 125 H if BW^ ■J ^ »^r!"^ffls.»ri'- MOTH AND RUST ff ■■-. I "I love you." he said, taking her hand. "I have long loved you." It was his hand that trembled. Hers was steady as she withdrew it. "I know," she said. "Then could not you think of me? I implore you to marry me." "You are speaking on impulse. We have hardly exchanged a word with each other for the last three months. You had no intention of ask- ing me to marry you when you came here this evening." I don't care what intentions I may or may not have had," said Stephen, his temper, always quick, rising at her self-possession. "I mean what I say now, and I have meant it ever since I first saw you," "Do you think I love you ?" "I love you enough for both," he said, with passion. "You are in my heart and my brain, and I can't tear you out. I can't live without you." "In old days, when you were not quite so rich and not quite so worldly-wise, did you not some- times hope to marry for love?" 126 '.'. M MOTH AND RUST I* "I hope to marry for Icve now. Do you doubt that I love you ?" "No, I don't. But have you never hoped to marry a woman who would care for you as much as you did for her?" "I can't expect that," said the millionaire. "I don't expect it. I'm not— I'm not the kind of man whom women easily love." "No," said Anne, "you're not." "But when I care, I care with my whole heart. Will you think this over, and give me an answer to-morrow ?" "I have already answered you." "I beg you to reconsider it." "Why should I reconsider it?" "I would try to make you happy. Let me prove my devotion to you." She looked long at him, and she saw, without the possibility of deceiving herself, that if she told him she loved him he would not believe it. It was the conventional answer when a millionaire offers marriage, and he had a rooted belief in the conventional. After marriage it would be the same. He would think duty prompted it, her kiss, her caress. Oh, suffocating thought! She 127 N i ' ? »'l H if ^ I MOTH AND RUST would be farther from him than ever as his wife. "I think we should get on together," he faltered, her refusal reaching him gradually, like a cold tide rising round him. "I had ventured to hope that you did not dislike me." "I do not dislike you," said Anne, deliberately. "You are quite right. The thing I dislike is a mercenary marriage." He became ashen white. He rose slowly to his feet, and, drawing near to her, looked steadily at her, lightninj^ in his eyes. "Do I deserve that insult?" he said, his voice hardly human in its suppressed rage. He looked formidable in the uncertain light. She confronted him unflinching. "Yes," she said, "you do. You calmly offer me marriage while you are firmly convinced that I don't care for you, and you are surprised — you actually dare to be surprised — when I refuse you. Those who offer insults must accept them." "I intended none, as you well know," he said, drawing back a step. He felt his strength in him, but this slight woman, whom he could break with one hand, was stronger than he. 128 S'^VIL ^ftf^ MOTH AND RUST "Why should I marry you if I don't love you?" she went on. "Why, of course, because you are Mr. Vanbrunt, the greatest millionaire in Eng- land. Your choice has fallen on me. Let me accept with gratitude my brilliant fate, and if I don't actually dislike you, so much the better for both of us." Stephen continued to look hard at her, but he said nothing. Her beauty astonished him. "And what do we both lose," said Anne, "in such a marriage; you as well as I? Is it not the one chance, the one hope of a mutual love? Is it so small a thing in your eyes that you can cast the possibility from you of a love that will meet yours and not endure it; the possibility of a woman somewhere who might be found for dili- gent seeking, who might walk into your life with- out seeking, who would love you as much as" — Anne's voice shook — "perhaps even more than you love her; to whom you — ^you yourself, stern and grim as you seem to many — might be the whole world? Have you always been so busy making this dreadful money which buys so much that you have forgotten the things that money can't buy? No, no. Do not let us lock each 129 MOTH AND RUST .1 it other out from the only thing worth having in this hard world. We should be companions in misfortune." She held out her hands to him with a sudden beautiful gesture, and smiled at him through her tears. He took her hands in his large grasp, and in his small, quick eyes there were tears too. "We have both something to forgive each other," she said, trembling like a reed. "I have spoken ha., .ly and you unwisely. But the day will come when you will be grateful to me that I did not shut you out from the only love that could make you, of all men, really ^appy— the love that is returned." He kissed each hand gently, and released them. He could not speak. She went swiftly from him through the trees. "May God bless her!" said Stephen. "May God in heaven bless her." 130 CHAPTER X Thine were the weak, slight hands That might have taken this strong soul, and bent Its stubborn substance to thy soft intent. William Watson. IT was hard on Stephen that when he walked into a certain drawing-room the following evening he should find Anne there. It was doubly hard that he should have to take her into dinner. Yet so it was. There ought to have been a decent interval before their next meeting. Some one had arranged tactlessly, without any sense of proportion. Though he had not slept since she left him in the garden, still it seemed only a moment ago, and that she was back beside him in an instant, without giving him time to draw breath. She met him as she always met him, with the faint enigmatical smile, with the touch of gen- tle respect never absent from her manner to him, except for one moment last night. He needed it. 131 HI hi nx ■ i .1 •If.,, iti^ MOTH AND RUST He had fallen in his own estimation during tliat sleepless night, lie saw the sudden impulse that had goaded him into an offer of marriage— the kind of offer that how many men make in good faith—in its native brutality— as he knew she had seen it. When he first perceived her in the dimly- lighted room, and he was aware of her presence before he saw her, he felt he could not go towards her. as a man may feel that he cannot go home. Home for Stephen was wherever Anne was, even if the door were barred against him. But after a few minutes he screwed his (« cour- age to the sticking-place," and went up to her. "I am to take you into dinner," he said. "It is your misfortune, but not my fault." "I am glad," she said. "I came to you last night because I had something urgent to say to you. I shall have an opportunity of saying it now." The constraint and awkwardness he had of late felt in her presence fell from him. It seemed as if they had gone hack by some welcome short cut to the simple intercourse of the halycon days when they had first met. He cursed himself for his mole-like obtuseness, 132 MOTH AN [) RUST ill having thought last niglit that she was playing into her mother's hands. When had she ever done so? Why had he suspected her ? In the meanwhile the world was "at rest with will And leisure to be fair." The Duchess was not there, suddenly and mer- cifully laid low by that occasional friend of society —influenza. The Duke, gay and (lelx)nair in her absence, was beaming on his hostess whom he was to take into dinner, and to whom he was sentimentally linked by a mild flirtation in a past decade, a flirtation so mild that it had no real exist- ence except in the imaginative remembrance of both. Presently Anne and Stephen were walking in to dinner together. It was a large party, and they sat together at the end of the table. Anne did not wait this time. She began to talk at once. "I am anxious about a friend of mine," she said, "who is, I am afraid, becoming entangled in a far greater difficulty than she is aware. But it is a long story. Do you mind long stories ?" 133 r[ 11 Xm^ "No. MOTH AND RUST Stephen turned towards her, becoming a solid block of attention. "My friend is a Miss Black, a very beautiful woman whom Mr. De Rivaz is dying to paint. You may recollect having seen her where he saw her first, the day after the fire in Lowndes Man- sions, in the burnt-out flat of that unfortunate Mrs. Brand." "I saw her. I remember her perfectly. I spoke to her about tlie dangerous state of the pas- sages. I thought her the most beautiful creature, bar none, I had ever seen." Stephen pulled himself up. He knew it was most impolitic to praise one woman to another. They did not like it. It was against the code. He must be more careful, or he should oflFend her again. Anne looked at him very pleasantly. Her eyes were good to meet. She was evidently not of- fended. Dear me! Mysterious creatures, wom- en! It struck him, not for the first time, that Anne was an exception to the whole of her sex. "Isn't she beautiful !" said the exception, warm- 134 '^mr MOTH AND RUST ly. "But I am afraid she is not quite as wise as the is l)eautiful. She is in a great difficulty." "What about?" "It seems she burnt something when she was alone in the flat. At least, she is accused by Mr. Brand of burning something. A very valuable paper, an I. O. U. for a large sum which her brother owed Mr. Brand, and which became due a month ago. is missing." "She did burn something." said Stephen. "I was on the floor above at the time, and smelt smoke, and came down, and De Rivaz told me it was nothing, only the divinity burning some papers. He was alarmed, and left his sketch to find where the smoke came from. He saw her burn them." "He said that to you," said Anne, "but to no one else. I talked ovt he matter with him last night, and directly he heard Miss Black was in trouble, he assured me that he had thoughtlessly burnt a sheet of drawing paper himself. That was what caused the smoke. And he said he would tell Mr. Brand so." "H'm ! Brand is not made up of credulity." 135 41 MOTH AND RUST «» ♦ "No. He seems convinced that Miss Black de- stroyed that paper." "And does she deny it ?" "Of course." "She can't deny that she burnt something." "Yes, she does. She sticks to it that she burnt nothing." "Then she must be a fool, because three of us Know she did. De Rivaz knows it. I know it, and I see you know it." "And it turns out the lift-man knows it; at least, he was reprimanded for being on the upper floors without leave, and he said he only went there because there was a smoke, and he was anxi- ous; and the smoke came from the Brands' sit- ting-room, which Miss Black left as he came up. He told Mr. Brand this, who put what he thought was two and two together. Fred Black, it seems, would have been ruined if Mr. Brand had en- forced payment, and he believes Miss Black got hold of the paper at her brother's instigation and destroyed it." "Well ! I suppose she did," said Stephen. "H you knew her you would know that that is impossible." 136 Stephen looked incredulous. "I've known a good many unlikely things hao- pen about money," he said, slowly "I dales' she did It to save her brother." ^ "She did not do it." said Anne "If she didn't, why doesn't she say what she did burnandwh,. What's the use of' sticking o' tht she burnt nothing when Brand knows that's a he? A he ,s a deadly stupid thing unless it's uncommonly well done." "She has had very little practice in lying I fancy this is her first." ^ ^' "The only possible course left for her to take i.; to admit that she burnt something, and fay what it was. Why doesn't she see that '' ' "Because she is a stupid woman, and she does not see the consequences of her insane denial and the conclusions that must inevitably be drawn from it. When the room was exan^ned, ashes were found in the grate that had been "How does she explain that?" "She does not explain it. She explains noth- ing She just shuts her teeth and repeats her wretched formula that she burnt nothing." ^37 in L [i MOTH AND RUST ■--it.- •I ' A : 'I ^tf "What took her up to the flat at all then, just when her friend was dying?" "She says Mrs. Brand sent her up to see if her portrait was safe. But Mr. Brand does not be- lieve that either, as he says he had already told his wife that it was uninjured." "This Miss Black is a strong liar," said Stephen. "I should not have guessed it from her face. She looked as straight and innocent as a child, but one never can tell." \ "I imagine I do not look like a liar. But would you say if I also were accused of lying that you never can tell ?" Stephen was taken aback. He bit his little fin- ger, and frowned at the wonderful roses in front of him. "I know you speak the truth," he said, "be- cause you have spoken it to me. I should believe what you said — always — under any circum- stances." "You believe in my truthfulness from experi- ence. Do you never believe by intuition ?" "Not often." "When first I saw Miss Black I perceived that she was a perfectly honest upright woman. I did 138 i ( MOTH AND RUST not wait till she had given me any proof of it I saw it." "I certainly thought the same. To say the truth, I am surprised at her duplicity." "In my case you judged by experience. In her case. I want you to go by intuition, by your first impression, which I know is the true one. I would stake my life upon it." hg^'f, "^""'^ ^^ ^^"^ '">' intuitions would help "Oh ! yes they will. Mr. Brand is aware from the hft-man. who saw you, that you were on the spot directly before he smelt smoke. Mr. Brand will probably write to you." "He has written already. He has asked me to see him on business to-morrow morning. He does not say what business," "He is certain to try and find out from you what Miss Black was doing when you saw her in his flat. It seems you and Mr. De Rivaz both left your cards on the table-why, I can't think— but It shows you were both there. He came up him- self next day and found them." "We both sent messages to Brand by Miss Black." 139 MOTH AND RUST "It seems she never gave them. She says now she forgot all about them." Stephen shook his head. "If Brand comes, I shall be obliged to tell him the truth," he said. "That was why I was so bent on seeing you. I am anxious you should tell him the truth." Stephen looked steadily at her. "What truth?" he said. "Whatever yov consider will disabuse his mind of the suspicion that she burnt her brother's I. O. U. Mr. De Rivaz's view of the truth is that the smoke came from a burnt sheet of his own draw- ing paper." "I am not accountable for De Rivaz, He can invent what he likes. That is hardly my line." He coloured darkly. It was incredible to him that Anne could be goading him to support her friend's fabric of lies by another lie. He would not do it, come what might. But he felt that Fate was hard on him. He would have done almost anything at that moment to please her. But a lie — no. "I fear your line would naturally be to tell the blackest lie that has ever been told yet, by repeat- 140 MOTH AND RUST ing the damaging facts exactly as they are. If you do— to a man like him — not only will you help to niin Miss Black, but you will give weight to this frightful falsehood which is being circu- lated against her. And if you, by your near- sighted truthfulness, give weight to a lie, it is just the same as telling one. No, I think it's worse." Stephen smiled grimly. This was straight talk. Plain speaking always appealed to him even when, as now, it was at his expense. "Are you certain that your friend did not burn her brother's I. O. U. ?" he said after a pause. "I am absolutely certain. Remember her face. Now, Mr. Vanbrunt, think. Don't confuse your mind with ideas of what women generally are. Think of her. Are not you certain too ?" "Yes," he said slowly, "I am. She is conceal- ing something. She has done some folly, and is bolstering it up by a stupid lie. But the other, that's swindling — No, she did not do that." "Then help the side of truth," said Anne. "My own conviction is that she burnt something com- promising Mrs. Brand, at Mrs. Brand's dying re- quest, under an oath of secrecy. And that is why her mouth is shut. But this is only a supposition. 141 MOTH AND RUST t'-l I ask you not to repeat it. I only mention it be- cause you are so"-she shot a glance at him un- l.ke any, m its gentle raillery, that had fallen to his lot for many a long day-"so stubborn." He was unreasonably pleased. "I should still be in a dry-goods warehouse in Hull ,f I had not been what you call stubborn," he said, smiling at her. "May I ask you a small favour for myself?" friend '^' "^' ^T ^ ^""' ""^^ ''^"^ ^°^ "^y meZlonT' ^'''^'' """"'"'^ '° '''' ''' ^"^^ "If my mother talks to you. and she talks to you a great deal, do not mention to her our-our conversation of last night. It would be kinder to me. Stephen bowed gravely. He was surprised. It had not struck him that Anne had not told her mother. A brand-new idea occurred to him namely, that Anne and her mother were not in each other's confidence. H'm. That luminous Idea required further thought. "And now," said Anne, "having got out of you all I want, I will immediately desert you for my 142 MOTH AN'^ RUST other neighbour." Ana she spoke no more to Stephen that night. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 'My dear," said the Duke of Quom to Anne as they drove home, "it appeared to me that you and Vanbrunt were on uncommonly good terms to- night Is there any understanding between you?" 1 thmk he IS beginning to have a kind of glim- mermg of one." "Really! Understandings don't as a rule lead to marriage. Misunderstandings generally bring about those painful dislocations of life. But the Idea struck me this evening-I hope needlessly- that I might, after all, have to take that richly gilt personage to my bosom as my son-in-law " "Mr. Vanbrunt asked me to marry him yester- day, and I refused him." The Duke experienced a slight shock tinged with relief. ^ "Does your mother know ?" he said at last in an awcd voice. "Need you ask?" "Well, if she ever finds out, for goodness' sake let her inform me of the fact. Don't give me away Anne by letting out that I knew at the time. M3 v^ MOTH AND RUST ( 1^1 'V i '4 If she thought I was an accomplice of the crime — your refusal— really, if she once got that idea into her head — But next time she tackles Vanbrunt perhaps he will tell her himself. Oh ! heavens !" "I asked him not to mention it to her." The Duke sighed. "And so he really did propose at last. I thought your mother had choked him off. Most men would have been. Well, Anne, I'm glad you did not accept him. I don't hold with mixed mar- riages. In these days people talk as if class were nothing, and the fact of being well-born of no ac- count. And, of course, it's a subject one can't dis- cuss, because certain things, if put into words, sound snobbish at once. But they are true, all the same. The middle classes have got it screwed into their cultivated heads that education levels class differences. It doesn't, but one can't say so. Not that Vanbrunt is educated, as I once told him." "Oh, con e, father. I am sure you did not." "You are right, my dear. I did not. He said himself one day in a moment of expansion, that he regretted that he had never had the chance of go- ing to a public school or the university, a!;d I said the sort of life he had led was an education of a 144 MOTH AND RUST high order. So it is. That man has lived. Real- ly, when I come to think of it, I almost— No, I don't— Ahem! Associate freely with all classes, but marry in your own. That is what I say when no one is listening. By no one, I mean, of course, yourself, my dear." Anne was silent. There had been days when she had felt that difference keenly though silently. 1 hose days were past. "Vanbrunt is a Yorkshire dalesman with Dutch trading bk od in him. It is extraordinary how Dutch the people look near Goole and Hull I shall like him better now. I always have liked him till— the last few months. You would never say Vanbrunt was a gentleman, but you would never say he wasn't. He seems apart from all class. There is no hall-mark upon him. He is himself So you would not have him, my little Anne. That s over. It's the very devil to be refused, I can tell you. I was refused once. It was some time ago, as you may imagine, but— I have not forgotten it. I learnt what London looks like in the dawn, after walking the streets all night So It's his turn to wear out the pavement now, is It? Poor man I He'll take it hard in a bottled-up H5 I III U' MOTH AND RUST way. When next I see him, I shall say: 'Aha! Money can't buy everything, Vanbrunt' " "Oh ! no, father. You won't be so brutal." "No, my dear, I daresay I shall not. I shall pretend not to know. Really, I have a sort of regard for him. Poor Vanbrunt I" if I J I s.. I Iff M 146 CHAPTER XI C'est son ignorance qui fixe son malheur. Maeterlinck. DID you ever as a child see ink made? Did you ever watch with wondering in- tentness the mixing of one little bottle of colourless fluid— which you im- agined to be pure water— with another equally colourless? No change. Then at last into the cup of clear water, the omnipotent parent hand pours out of another tiny phial two or three crys- tal drops. The latent ink rushes into being at the contact of those few drops. The whole cup is black with it, transfused with impenetrable darkness, terrible to look upon. We are awed, partly owing to the exceeding glory of the magician with the Vandyke hand, who knows everything and who can work miracles at will, and partly because we did not see the change coming. We were warned that it would 147 J ^:'^v:m 'a I' ■Mr Wl if r MOTH AND RUST come by that voice of incarnate wisdom. We were all eyes. But it was there before we knew. Some of us, as older children watch with our ig- norant eyes the mysterious alchemy in our little cup of life. We are warned, but we see not. We somehow miss the sign. The water is clear, quite clear. Something more is coming, straight from the same hand. In a moment all is darkness. A wiser woman than Janet would perhaps have known, would at any rate have feared, that a cer- tain sir.all cloud oti her horizon, no larger than a man's hand, meant a great storm. But until it broke she did not realize that that ever-increasing ominous pageant had any connection with the hurricane that at last fell upon her; just as some of us see the rosary of life only as separate beads, not noticing the divine constraining thread, and are taken by surprise when we come to the cross. ***♦♦** The cloud first showed itself, or, rather, Janet first caught sight of it, on a hot evening towards the end of June, when Fred returned from Lon- don, whither he had been summoned by Mr. Brand, a fortnight after his wife's death. The days which had passed since Cuckoo's 148 nr^ MOTH AND RUST death had not had power to numb the pain at Janet's heart. The shock had only so far had the effect of shifting the furniture of her mind into unfamiliar jostling positions. She did not know where to put her hand on anything, like a woman who enters her familiar room after an earthquake, and finds the contents still there, but all huddled together or thrown asunder. Her deep affection for her brother and her friend Cuckoo were wrenched out of place, leav- ing horrible gaps. She had always felt a vague repulsion to Monkey Brand, with his dyed hair, and habit of staring too hard at her. The repul- sion to him had shifted, and had crashed up against her love for Fred, and Monkey Brand had acquired a kind of dignity, even radiance. Even her love for George had altered in the general dis- location. It's halo had been jerked off. Who was true? Who was good? She looked at him wistfully, and with a certain diffidence, ^he felt a new tenderness for him. George had noticed the change in her manner towards him, since 'ler return from London, and not being an expert diver into the recesses of human nature, he had at first anxiously enquired whether she still loved 149 MOTH AND RUST him the same. Janet looked slowly into her own heart before she made reply. Then she turned her grave gaze upon him. "More," she said, as every woman, whose love is acquainted with grief, must answer if she speaks the truth. It was nearly dark when Janet caught the sounds of Fred's dogcart, driving swiftly along the lanes, too swiftly, considering the darkness. He drove straight to the stables, and then came out into the garden, where she was walking up and down waiting for him. It was such a small garden, merely a strip out of the field in front of the house, that he could not miss her. He came quickly towards her, and even in the starlight she saw how white his face was. Her heart sank. She knew Fred had gone to London in compliance with a request from Mr. Brand. Had Mr. Brand refused to renew his bond or to wait? Fred took her suddenly in his arms, and held her closely to him. He was trembling with emo- tion. His tears fell upon her face. She could feel the violent beating of his heart. She could not speak. She was terrified. She had never known him like this. ISO MOTH AND RUST 'You have saved If he kissing , - stammered, n..aauiK her hair and forehead. "Oh ! my God, Janet I will never forget this, never while I live. I was ruined, and you have saved me." She did not understand. She led him to the garden seat, and they sat down together She thought he had been drinking. He generally cried when he was drunk. But she saw in the next moment that he was sober. "Will Mr. Brand renew.?" she said, though she knew he would not. Monkey Brand never re- newed. Fred laughed. It was the nervous laugh of a shallow nature, after a hair-breadth escape. "Brand will not renew, and he will not wait," he said. "You know that as well as I do. Janet I misjudged you. All those awful days while I have been expecting the blow to fall-it meant rum, sheer ruin for you as well as me— all this time I thought you did not care what became of me. You seemed so different lately, so cold " "I did care." "I know. I know now. You are a brave wom- an. It was the only thing to do. If you had not burnt It, he would have foreclosed. And, of 151 MOTH AND RUST /• course, I shall pay him back when I can. I said so. He knows I'm a gentleman. He has my word for it. A gentleman's word is as good as his bond. I shall repay him gradually," "I don't understand," said Janet, who felt as if a cold hand had been laid upon her heart. "Oh! You can speak freely to me. And to think of your keeping silence all this time — even to me. You always were one to keep things to yourself, but you might have just given me a hint. My I. O. U. is not forthcoming, and Brand as good as knows you burnt it. He knows you went up to his flat and burnt something when his wife was dying. He wasn't exactly angry, he was too far gone for that, as if he couldn't care for anything, one way or the other. He looks ten years older. But, of course, he's a business man, whether his wife is alive or dead, and I could see he was forcing himself to attend to business to keep himself from thinking. He said very little. He was very distant. Infernally distant he was. He is no gentleman, and he doesn't understand the feelings of one. If it hadn't been that he was in trouble, and well — for the fact that I had bor- rowed money of him — I would not have stood it 152 !■ i MOTH AND RUST If i for a moment. I'm not going to allow any cad to hector over me, be he who he may. He men- tioned the facts. He said he had always had a high opinion of you, and that he should come down and see you on the subject next week. You must think what to say, Janet." "I never burnt your I. O. U.," said Janet in a whisper, becoming cold all over. It was a revela- tion to her that Fred could imagine she was capa- ble of such a dishonourable action. "Why, Fred," she said, deeply wounded, "you know I could not do such a thing. It would be the same as stealing." "No, it wouldn't," said Fred, with instant irri- tation, "because you know I should pay him back And so I will-only I can't at present. And, of course, you knew too, you must have guessed that your two thousand- And as you are going to be married that is important too. I should have been ruined, sold up if that I. O. U. had turned up, and you yourself would have been in a fix. You knew that when you got hold of it and burnt it. Come, Janet, you can own to me you burnt it — between ourselves." "I burnt nothing." 153 MOTH AND RUST i. Fred peered at her open-mouthed. "Janet, that's too thin. You must go one bet- ter than that when Brand comes. He knows you burnt something when you went up to his flat." "I burnt nothing," said Janet again. It was too dark to see her face. Did she realize that the first heavy drops were falling round her of the storm that was to wreck so much ? "Well," said Fred, after a pause, "I take my cue from you. You burnt nothing then. I don't see how you are going to work it, but that's your affair. . . . But, oh ! Janet, if that cursed paper had remained ! If you had known what I've been going through since you came home a fortni|^ht ago, when my last shred of hope left me, when I found you had not spoken to the Brands. It wasn't only the money — that was bad enough ; it wasn't only that — but " And Fred actually broke down and sobbed with his head in his hands. Presently, when he recov- ered himself, he told her in stammering, difficult words that he had something on his conscience, that his life had not been what it should have been, but that a year ago he had come to a turning 154 i MOTH AND RUST point, he had met some one— even his light voice had a graver ring in it— some one who had made him feel how— in short, he had fallen in love with a woman like herself, like his dear Janet, good and innocent, a snowflake; and for a long time he feared she could never think of him. but how at last she seemed less indifferent, but how her father was a strict man and averse to him from the first. And if he had been sold up. all hope— what little hope there was— would have been gone. "But, please God now," said Fred, "I will make a fresh start. I've had a shock lately, Janet. I did not talk about it, but I've had a shock. I've thought of a good many things. I mean to turn round and do better in the future. There are things I've done, that lots of men do and think nothing of them, that I won't do again. I mean to try from this day forward to be worthy of her, to put the past behind me— and if I ever do win her— if she'll take me in the end, I shall not forget, Janet, that I owe it to you." He kissed her again with tears. She was too much overcome to speak. Cuckoo had repented, and now Fred was sorry, too. It was the first drop of healing balm which had fallen 155 i MOTH AND RUST on that deep wound, which Cuckoo's dying voice had inflicted how many endless days ago. "It is Venetia Ford," said Fred, shyly, but not without triumph. "You remember her. She is Archdeacon Ford's eldest daughter." A recollection rose before Janet's mind of the eldest Miss Ford, with the pretty pink and white empty face, and the demure, if slightly supercili- ous manner, that befits one conscious of being an Archdeacon's daughter. Janet knew her slightly and admired her much. The eldest Miss Ford's conversation was always markedly suitable. Her sense of propriety was only equalled by her desire to impart information. Her slightly clerical man- ner resembled the full-blown archidiaconal de- portment of her parent as home-made marmalade resembles an orange. Archdeacon Ford was a pompous, much-respected prelate with private means. Mrs. Smith was distantly related to the Fords, and very proud of the connection. She seldom alluded to the eldest Miss Ford without remarking that Venetia was her ideal of what a perfect lady should be. "Oh! Fred! I am so glad," said Janet, momen- tarily forgetting everything else in her rejoicing 156 M_OTH AND RUST ft -t las , an good many. That one I. O. U. does not account for the quantity of ashes." "ZTf, "" r ""•" ""* J^"'*' whitening. And besides," she added hastily, "I have said so nothing that George would not know what to be- '.eve .f I say first one thing and then another." He does not know what to believe now Un- less you can say something to reassure his mind you will lose your George." "You believe in me ?" "Implicitly." "Then why doesn't George," continued Janet with he «„i„i .3lent for reasoning in a circ^.' that I shou d say thines I ran't „ u .\ . «1.™,M . . ^ ' '^y' *«" 'hat he shotild trtist m^ I don't care what other people think, so long as he believes in me " She, who never exacted anything heretofore, whose one object had been to please her Geor^^e now made one demand upon him. It was the firs. and last which she ever made upon her lover. And he could not meet it. '73 MOTH AND RUST -His belief is shaken." "Truth will prevail," said Janet, stubbornly. "It will, no doubt, in the end ; but in the mean- while? And how if truth is masked by a lie?" Janet did not answer. Perhaps she did not fully underst?nd. She saw only two things in these days ; one, that George ought to believe in her, and the other that, come what might, she would keep the promise made to Cuckoo on her deathbed. She constantly remembered the rigid, dying face, the dJ'Hcult whisper: "Promise me that whatever happens you will never tell any one that you have burnt anything." "I promise." "You swear it?" "I swear it." That oath she weald keep. Anne returned to London with a heavy heart. She left no stone unturned. She inter- viewed De Rivaz and Stephen on the subject, as we have seen. But her efforts were unavailing as far as George was concerned. The affair of the burning of papers was hushed up, but 174 'hen,ea„wl>HeLTa':'*rB'::;rrj" she mieht rM«,„ i,- . ''■ *"«■ ""at could wa^ V, '™ ^' "^ convenience. He Fred was awed by the visif nf q*^ u ^Hea^a^n, ..« J J J °d ST; tnl Fred sa,d repeatedly that it was the actL of a >75 Ij ^ H k III MOTH AND RUST perfect gentleman; exactly what he should have done if he had been in Stephen's place. He let George hear of it at the first opportunity. But the information had no effect on George's mind, except that it was vaguely prejudicial to Janet. Why had she accepted such a large sum from a man of whom she knew next to nothing, whom she had only seen once before for a moment, and that an equivocal one. Women should not ac- cept money from men. And why did he offer itf He asked these questions of himself. To Fred he only vouchsafed a nod, to show that he had heard what Fred had waylaid him to say. Some weeks later still, in August, De Rivaz came to Ivy Cottage, hat in hand, stammering, deferential, to ask Janet to allow him to paint her. He would do anything, take rooms in the neigh- bourhood, make his convenience entirely subservi- ent to hers, if she would only sit to him. He saw with a pang that she was not conscious that they had met before. She had forgotten him, and he did not remind her of their first meeting. He knew that hour had brought trouble upon her. Her face showed it. The patient, enduring spirit was beginning to look through the exquisite face. 176 MOTH AND RUST Her beauty ovemhe^^ , ^ painted. She was ev d^ntlv miJfp unaware of the distinction which he waT oSg her. H,s name had conveyed nothing to her h! had to .a.e his last leave, but as he wle^^aw" m he ran,, be turned and looked back at the hoIsT I W.U come back," he said, his thin face qui" It was a wet August, and the harvest rotted on he g„,und. No one came to Ivy Cottage along the sodden footpath from Easthope. A sbw the an a,^^ ^.„ .^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^ v«- humble, smcere natures when they find that love and trust have not gone together. George never openly broke with Janet; never could be mduced to write the note to her whil ^smother told him, it was his duty tow.it. No He s>mp y .teyed away from her week after wc-k month aft^„o„.h. When his mother urged hm to break off his engagement fonnally, he saM dog '77 MOTH AND RUST it ! k rl If. gedly that Janet could see for herself that all was over between them. The day came at last when Janet met him sud- denly in the streets of Mudbury, on market day. He took off his hat. in answer to her timid greet- ing, and passed on, looking straight in front of him. Perhaps he had his evil hour that night, for Janet was very fair. Seen suddenly, unexpect- edly, she seemed more beautiful than ever. And she was to have been his wife. After that blighting moment when even Janet perceived that George was determined not to speak to her; after that Janet began to see that when foundations are undermined, that which is built upon them will one day totter and-fall 178 CHAPTER XIII The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain;' And then, those little anodynes ihat deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep; And then if it should be The will of its Inquisitor ine liberty to die. Emily Dickinson. THERE are long periods in the journey of ^i:"--<' winds „pL„„^;i w2n the r T- '"'° '°"^ I«"«i» ^ay.fter;^t;;nht7j:tor--'^» youth are quenched in its rains °' °" not rather remember that one tur^ °.^^ our c^dw^rwtr"'^^"""' •'«■'-- There is a slow descent, awful step by step, into i;9 MOTH AND RUST ) 1 m u ^.' \ a growing darkness, which those kr. . v who have strength to make it. Only the strong are broken on certain wheels. Only the strong know the c'ini landscape of Hades, that world which underlies the lives of all of us. I cannot follow Janet down into it. I can only see her as a shadow, moving among shadows ; go- ing down unconsciously with tears in her eyes, taking, poor thing, her brave, loving, unselfish heart with her, to meet anguish, desolation, de- sertion, and at last despair. If we needs must go down that steep stair, we go alone, and who shall say how it fared with us. Nature has some appalling beneficient processes, of which it is not well to speak. Life has been taught at the same knee out of the same book, and when her inexora- ble disintegrating hand closes over us, the abhor- rent darkness, from which we have shrunk with loathing, becomes our only friend. In the following autumn and winter Janet slowly descended inc^ by inch, step by step, that tteep stair. She reached at last the death of love. She thought she reached it many times before she actually touched it. She believed she reached it i8o m MOTH AND RUST l.«. kT'"',"' ^"'^S''' engagement pcnc- trat«l,oher. But she did not in reality No she hoped against hope to the last dayf to th^ ™g oh,s wedding. She did not know she hoped She supposed she had long since given up al, thought of a reconcilia.ion'hetween" , and her lover. But when the wedding was over wh» he was really gone, then something bmke b;"ro;7ir'""-^'^'--iwhich^ There are those who tell us that we have not suffered ,.11 we have known jealousy. Jane.^ IZT that lowest step, and was scorchll Only then she realised that she had never, never ht'^el; ' "' ""'" '^"' '^^- '"■ Even on the iields, by wh.ch she had so often seen him oom. wh,eh had been so long empty of that famil- ■ar figure She knew he was far away at the house of the bride, but nevertheless she expected that he would come to her. and hold her Vo his h^rt and say: "But, Janet, I could never mart^ any one but you. You know such a thing couW never be. What other woman could part y^u and i8i MOTH AND RUST I i / II fV N ( 1/ me, who cannot part ?" And then the evil dream would fall from her, and she and George would look g^vely at each other, and the endless, endless pain would pass away. Wrapt close against the anguish of love there is always a word such as this with which human nature sustains its aching heart ; poor human na- ture which believes that, come what come may, Love can never die. "Some day," the woman says to herself, half knowing that that day can never dawn, "some day I shall tell him of these awful months, full of days like years, and nights like nothing, please God, which shall ever be endured again. Some day — it may be a long time oflF — but some day I shall say to him : 'Why did you leave me?' And he will tell me his foolish reasons, and we shall lean together in tears. And surely some day I shall say to him : *I always burnt your letters, for fear I might die suddenly and others should read them. But see, here are the envelopes, every one. That envelope is nearly worn out. Do you re- member what you said inside it? That one is still new. I only read the letter it had in it once. How could you, how could you write it?* " 182 ^^l^IiLA^ R u s T "Some day " tht>. ,^^ " — -rk of the day -Z: Z:: S'"«». whe„ .he »™e. She thinks me har hT h " ^ ''°" ""' day, when these evil days at ~"'' ■"" ^'""^ ^tends, I will wn>p htr T"* '"'' ^'^ ""der- ^"ch as she has never^dr "' ^'■"' ' '^"'""-^ her what a lover canTe tul f ' "'" ^^ow -d ■;'^ wa,s a weariness^L'tter' t r'" "^^"^ she shall own to me to m- u "~*'"*^ »•"« day ^he did not know whaHife"' '" ""'^ "°"'' *at P«« were, until she let mv t ""'' """' ^ and Yet he I,,if I ^ '°™ 'ake he^ " '"nehalfknowsshem.il woman whose coming seem! "'T '°'"'' *« So *e heart comfo^s "selVTer '^ " ^''"•"^• ^ones „„„•, ,h, dawns 1:"^""'^ '^"^ •»>eficient figure enter. . ^'"^' ^ ^'"n, '"'ow at last^hat T" '"^"■■"^' =■"" we ^P°|:enfnima^::t.r:^:rj^a«wehave we have suffered, we have uff e^ ^ "^"^ whom it was borne will hear ^' , ^t' °"' '°' from us. ^^"^ "o further word The moth and the ni« h. The thieves have brXn th7 T""'^- Then rise, lay hold nf "^^ ^"^ «°'en- '^e up lif, wUh a tu '°" ''"'''"''' ''^^' -^ '83 ni h i CHAPTER XIV My river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? Emily Dickinson. THE winter, that dealt so sternly with Janet, smiled on Anne. She spent Christmas in London, for the Duke was, or at least he said he was, in too delicate a state' of health to go to his ancestral halls in th€ country, where the Duchess had re- paired alone, believing herself to be but the herald of the rest of her family ; and where she was ex- pending her fearful energy on Christmas trees, magic lanterns, ventriloquists, entertainments of all kinds for children and adults, tenants, inmates of workhouses, country neighbours, Sunday- school teachers, Mothers' Unions, Ladies' Work- ing Guilds, Bands of Hope, etc., etc. She was in her element. Anne and her father were in theirs. The Duke did not shirk the constant inevitable duties of his position; but by nature he was a recluse, and at 184 -a 1 drawn towards her ,1 ^ ' " '^'"P="^'y had She was glad to be fo^a T"' '"'°^"' "='"'^-- of the crowd. She andV ^ T °' "'" P^«^"^-= f". Ch„-s,„as and New Y^ t",r'' =" ''"'^^- ■"entarily disturbed by thTf T "' °"'^ '"°- 'he Duchess con^n-andin^'; ^ '^ f'^"- °f hundred presents at one Zl """"' ''^^ penetrable blanket" fTw*;! °" t."^ ■'"'- crying so,nething in the JL u "T^^' ''"^ no«nr.disti„etiUre;r;::r^tr"^^ Jrd"rrr°T'ir"'-'-- her to read them L ,1 "^ "° "«^ f"'" by heart, bulte Jj'ral' wh"^ ''"°- "- came on the paper. "waSfl! " "'" ""^"^ left-hand coTier of th-^, '' '^='' °" »he onier of the top hue of the second sheet i8s MOTH AND RUST "Dependent on Kaffir labour" was in the middle of the third page. They were dilapidated-looking^ letters, possibly owing to the fact that they were read last thing every night and first thing every morning, and that they were kept under Anne's pillow at night, so that if she waked she could touch them. It is hardly necessary to add that they were in Stephen's small, cramped, mercan- tile handwriting. Stephen had been recalled to South Africa on urgent business early in the autumn. He had been there for nearly three months. During that time, after intense cogitation, he had written twice to Anne. I am under the impression that he was under the impression that those two documents were love-letters. At any rate, they were the only two letters which Stephen ever composed which could possibly be classed under that heading. And their composition cost him much thought. In them he was so good as to inform Anne of the population of the town he wrote from, its principal in^ *.es, its present distress under martial law. He aiso described the climate. His nearest ap- proach to an impulsive outburst was a polite ex- pression oi hope that she and her parents were i86 -s of .o bo.;: nt:;;!:^^'^ ="''■>«■«'-. but. When An^e was ' !^ T "* '""""^ '■'• ■•" South AW^i °1'"° '"'""«' '""^ '-„s Stephen waTr.^'lr^f'--'-"''"-.- foot was once more I'ted n Tr "'^ '"^^ o^ two before Chr «1 °" ''"«"''' »« ^ "V wheimin^p„ss„rcoftsi„ess'h:T,°/ " °^"- «° dine with Anne Sn^ltrl '""T """^ smce he arrived Th. n , . '''''■^' "'ra« rectors- „ J^^ J''; °*^ ''^'' ■"« him a. a di- «fu«.ofChUres3e"""°"^ °^ ^"-'^ him to dinner Th/ n t '""^ '^''^ ""h .0 dine afte that Th ,f '" "'" '°"'''"''y the two me/r'e'tedTfsVoM "'"""" '^'-- stJtrtr»„rrT'''''^«"--«'''o talked wen b°"on J "^^ °' '■■'^- ^he Duke Annehsten'eS Tk^^^T ^'^'''" '^"'''^ het.er. The kitchen cat, now alas -grown 187 MOTH AND RUST ! I Mi f* if If 4 < n 't large and vulgar, with an unmodulated purr, was allowed to make a fourth in these peaceful gather- ings, and had coffee out of Anne's saucer, sugared by Stephen, every evening. Then, for no apparent reason, Stephen ceased to come. Anne, who had endured so much suspense about him. could surely endure a little more. But it seemed she could not. For a week he did not come. In that one week she aged perceptibly. The old pain took her again, the old anger and resentment at being made to suffer, the old fierce- ness, "which from tenderness is never far." She had thought that she had conquered these enemies so often, that she had routed them so entirely, that they could never confront her again. But they did. In the ranks of her old foes a new one had enlisted, Hope; and Hope, if he forces his way into the heart where he has been long a stranger, knows how to reopen many a deep and nearly- healed wound, which will bleed long after he is gone. And where were Anne's patience, her old stead- fastness and fortitude? Could they be worn out? As she stood by the window, trying to summon i88 w.;J. a newspaper in ,„s ha„'^ '""'" """" '" sle'tlT"" 'J '"'"■ "»■»"' Vanbrunt." Tu '"""" "P°" him like lightning. The Duke tapped the paper. ' ""'^ Vanbrunt was in diffieulties," he said mt.:",r:'r'':'^^^'-"-.heaSri "It lo seji out certain shnr^c t* no. sell out himself He said he""' n "'""" through, and now .he smIsL ha ,"° "?," afraid he's ruined." "'" "'"'^- ' "> A beautiful colour rose to Anne's face Her She became young, strong, alert h„ ''*" """ '°° """^h preoccupied to notice "Vanbrunt is a fine man," he said. "He had amp^.me to get out But he stuck to th" sh'; and he s gone down with it. I'm sorry. I Hk^ "Are you sure he is really ruined ?" The papers say so. They also say he can meet h,s Labilities." The Duke read aloud a pa™ graph which Anne did no. understand .'Th:; spells rum even for him," he said. 189 I." I V MOTH AND RUST I -■* m u I 1 He took several turns across the room. "He has been working day and night for the last week," he said, "to avoid this crash. It might have been avoided. He told me a little when he was last here, but in confidence. He is straight, but others weren't. He has not been backed. He has been let in by his partners." The Duke sighed, and went back to his study on the ground floor. Anne opened the window with a trembling hand, and peered out into the fog. Stephen was sitting in his inner room at his office in the city, biting an already sufficiently bitten little finger. His face bore the mark of the incessant toil of the last week. His eyes were fixed absently on the electric light. His mind was concentrated - ith unabated strength on his affairs, as a magnifying glass may focus Its light into flame on a given point. He had fought strenuously, and he had been beaten— not by fair means. He could meet the claims upon him. He could, in his own language, "stand the racket," but in the eyes of the financial world he was ruined. In his own eyes he was on the 190 giddy and loses his ZJll"', ''""'"'^ '"^^ to the occasion hVmI ^''P""" * »<"-age rose acute, aler. ^L ^^^ '7 '° "■^, His s.ron,. hour, while he J7 '"defat.gably hour after not to be disturbed with in,pu "r" "■'' "^ """' i".^i«ra'S^"™^''"^'^^'-^^^- i«n-nur;r^Zti';s:e^^'-- "^-^'"■•"^ worst-which it ,h»ir . , '™'''' '""^^ '° 'he a shillinjtft" "°'~' '°"'" " I ^hall have He took a turn in the room. r fiJ MOTH AND RUST made money, not once, nor twice, and I can make it again." A tap came to the door. He reddened with sudden anger. Did not Jones know that he was not to be internipted till two, when he must meet and, if possible, pacify certain half- frantic, stampeding shareholders? The door opened with decision, and Anne came in. For a moment Stephen saw the aghast face of his head clerk behind her. Then Anne shut the door and confronted him. The image of Anne was so constantly with Stephen, her every little trick of manner, from the way she turned her head to the way she folded her hands, was all so carefully registered in his mem- ory, had become so entirely a part of himself, that it was no surprise to him to see her. Did he not see her always? Nevertheless, as he looked at her, all power of going forward to meet her, of speaking to her, left him. The blood seemed to ebb slowly from his heart, and his grim face blanched. "How did you come here?" he stammered at last, his voice sounding harsh and unfamiliar. "On foot." 192 --Jl^IiLAND RUST "Jn this fog?" ~" "Ves." "Who came with you?" She s«ppc^*,": '" '"^ ^•«'< f-OecI suddenly, and «id in a firm voice ' '"'" "P- Stephen Lw^%T,?"^^™-"' vinced that I did „TTr , "'"' ^°" ""« <»n- you I loved you thel ^°"' " ' '""' '"^ .^ „ you then you would not have believed Stephen's hand ffrioDed th. ~ . . was trembling from^^^^ttt'P""" "^ left her. "to toot. His eyes never "But now the money is ,one." she said, becom- Hi pi If ill ft MOTH AND RUST ing paler tlian ever, '•perhaps, now the dreadful money is gone, you will believe me if I tell you that I love you." And so *^tephen and Anne came home to each other at la —at last. .., , ■ I i "My dear," said the Duke to Anne the follow- mg day, "this is a very extraordinary proceeding of yours. You refuse Vanbrunt when he is rich, and accept him when he is tottering on the verge of ruin. It seems a reversal of the usual order of things. What will your mother say?" "I have already had a letter from her thanking Heaven I was not engaged to him. She says a good deal about how there is a higher Power which niles things for the best." "I wish she would allow it freer scope," said the Duke. "All the same, I should be thankful if she were here. It will be my horrid, vulgar duty to ask Vanbrunt what he has got; what small re- mains there are of his enormous fortune. I hear on good authority that he is almost penniless. One is not a parent for nothing. I wish to goodness your mother were in town. She always did this 194 will WavZ'toZ ,1 T""^ ''"'• y""- I h-bdl. I J Z ,'''?'='''^''''''- That .-3 ter th. "^^ "°* '^" ^">' "^^n I like bet- ter tha.. your ex-millionaire." Two hours later, after Stenhpn'c i Dul^e returned to his daug^t " t'r"""' '"' sank exhausted i„,o a chat "'""e--°°'". and "Really I can't do this sort r.t ,u- lifetime," he said fainUv "h° ^"^ '"'" '" '' handy? No-von i. "*^* y°" any salts not se„ously^^~«' "»' [^^^ *-• I'm i"S you areV,^ Anne 7h^""^^'^ "~'"- rra^.in^^fr--^^";u^^ Come, come, father n,vi«»* P- him into your studyp^;^---: 1/ ( i I i: I MOTH AND RUST looked so impressive and dignified when I brought him m. Quite a model father." "I took a firm attitude with him," continued the iJuke. "I saw he was nervous. That made it easier for me. Vanbrunt is a shy man. I was in he superior position. Hateful thing to ask a man for his daughter. I said: 'Now, look here, Van- brunt, I understand you wish to marry my daugh- ter. I don't wish it myself, but ' " "Oh ! father, you never said that." "Well, not exactly. I owned to him that I could put up with him better than with most men but that I could not let you marry poverty. He asked me what I considered poverty. That rather stumped me. In fact, I did not know what to say It was not his place to ask questions." "Father, you did promise me you would let me marry him on eight hundred a year?" "Well, yes, I did. I don't like it, but I did say so. In short, I told him you had worked me up to that point." ^ "And what did he say?" "He said he did not think in that case that any real difficulty about money need arise; that at one moment he had stood to lose all he had, and he 196 Jl^TH_AND_RiJST four hours and" t, Wed ""^ n '"' '"'"'^■ odd million or twn r.T , ""^ ~""' °n an collapsed Anne m' °" '"" ' "'"«°"- I ^ ^' -^nne. My attitude f^ii t^ • was Vanbrunt who scored hI h»H T T""""- ^' 'y grave face till then Then f ■'^ "^ * P""'^'" we shook hands. He did n„t ' "" ^""'^' """ ''edidsaywasto"heirTt7.''""^^''=" 1 he Duke raised the kitchen cat t„ i,- i rubbed it behind the ears ^"^^ *"'' ''in. at that first tii';trrrt'T aero I hari .-f ••« . '"^enng a fortnierht so. 1 had It in my mind then." ^ Father! Yo„ ^«o.. you had not." WelJ, no. I had nnf t ^-j Ican'tsayldid. Buryr"'^^'^"'^^^^ warlc to the whole thinj y^u hTd' ' "'' °' '"^- Port. Ishallt.ii ^°" had my moral sup- P"". -^ Shall tell your mother so." 197 ii* u m CONCLUSION So passes, all confusedly As lights that hurry, shapes that flee About some brink we dimly see, The trivial, great, Squalid, majestic tragedy Of human fate. William Watson. I WISH life were more like the stories one reads, the beautiful stories, which, whether they are grave or gay, still have picturesque endings. The hero marries the heroine after msuperable difficulties, which in real life he would never have overcome ; or the heroine creeps down mto a romantic grave, watered by our scald- ing tears. At any rate, the story is gracefully wound up. There is an ornamental conclusion to It. But hfe, for some inexplicable reason, does not lend Itself with docility to the requirements of the lendmg libraries, and only too frequently fails to grasp the dramatic moment for an impressive close. None of us reach middle age without hav- 198 ■"*-w - ^ le IT le le e 5 3 F -^l£IiLjAND_Ru s T Jng watched sevenlZiZTl \ main interest 7j(,Ju •"*'°<'^='"='5. whose than we wl« Z „ "^V ^'°^ *"^ ™°«" pate, wlhave : ' T '^""^ ^°"*' '° ^""ci- --eve„sizxt::irsrr speare finished his and n„nJy . ' ^^^^ fen,, while, with Cst w wJcT"' .^ "^'^'" "" time to grow gre, betwee: Thet " "d " "'r know the end has come, when It^^^ ^' °"'^ because the liehts h,v. L ' ''°" ^^^^ one by one Td we I^ ^"'"^ °"' "" *« '™e, the dark ' ' '^'' °""^'™^ ^' '''^t alone in Janet's sweet, melancholy face rises „„\ t me as I think of these thino^= !!. ? ^ "^'°^* feel impatient with h" *'"«^''/"^ ^ "«W almost one romantTc iSenUnl, '""""•" ''°™ *^ iHciaent in h(T uneventful Uf^ donCr:'^:::::r^>---'»«e.and «> with Janet """"' '"^'^O- It was Is there any turning point in lif. vi. -.encounter With anL^Hrl^resX-" ^99 R* ■.. )*:'4:»' ,«-=■--*-. .'^^jP-i' .■i4*4«" > r- - >'T^'>;.:ei5&*'m MOTH AND RUST I I do not pity those who meet open-eyed these stern angels of God, and wrestle with them through the night, until the day breaks, extorting from, them the blessings that they waylaid us to bestow. But is it possible to withhold awed com- passion for those who, like Janet, go down blind into Hades, and struggle impotently with God's angels as with enemies. Janet endured with dumb, uncomplaining dignity, she knew not what, she knew not why; and came up out of her agony, as she had gone down into it, with clen^.-d empty hands. The greater hope, the deeper love, the wider faith, the tenderer sympathy— these she brought not back with her. She returned gradu- ally to her normal life with her conventional ideas crystallized, her small, crude beliefs in love and her fellow-creatures withered. That was all George did for her. The virtues of narrow natures such as George's seem of no use to any one except, possibly, to their owner. They are as great a stumblir.g block to their weaker brethren, they cause as much pain, they choke the spiritual life as mercilessly, they en- gender as much scepticism in unreasoning minds, as certain gross vices. If we are unjust, it matters 200 ■'I ¥ St ^^l^IiL^D RUST have closed our eve, m . °' 'ong years we G-r.e'sd.sbS rCf'^'""''^• STe«^outofadeeDse„« / '■^""«''' wWch ^fi'ect on her ZZiZTf^' ''" '"' -"« duced and deserted her T,! "''"'irately se- the gallows of his victim bv?T""°""' '^^"^ *« the only differen ' 9 '" P""'' That ''™- The LninTnoose t T' *' ■««- f- Unreasoning behJinTve " I" "" '"* ^""^ t"«s was followed bv an. ^ ^" '^"o'v-crea- belief in both. ^ ""'^'>' "Reasoning dis- Janet kept her promise <:i, ■... »" *e promises ouCJu "'" "'">• ^"'d broken, kept only tHl he t ' •'"'"'' ""'^ "> b' P-nctuallyLiv^.'f^^^riS'"''"^''''- promise remained intact r!t°"'*°°"''' Cuckoo. "•"' J^"««s promise to ^^rge married Tt. I^-d married the eldelt Mis: fI'^ ^""-^*. Sreat happiness. His bi;« ' ^"^ ^°'""i 291 * 'Trr^i^: MOTH AND RUST M .!; U nature reached a kind of stability, through the love of the virtuous female prig, the "perfect lady" to whom he was all in all. Fred changed greatly for the better after his marriage, and in the end he actually repaid Stephen the money the latter had advanced to Monkey Brand for Janet's sake. Janet lived with the young couple at first, but Mrs. Fred did not like her. She knew vaguely, as did half the neighbourhood, that Janet had been mixed up in something discreditable, and that her engagement had been broken off on that account. Mrs. Fred was, as we know, a person of the high- est principles, and high principles naturally shrink from contact with any less exalted. Several months after the situation between the two women had become untenable, Janet decided to leave home. She had nowhere to go, and no money, so, like thousands of other women in a similar predicament, she decided to support her- self by education. She had received no education herself, but that was not in her mind any bar to imparting it. Anne, who had kept in touch with her, interfered peremptorily at this point, and when Janet did finally leave home, it was to go to 202 ^m ..kM^ 'I in '^rd:rr.hf j/r -"- Jan. a„ived Mansions as'her Z-.tt^'^Z" '^^"''^ towards Anne's house inl-a ^ '^^ ''""• a year after the ereat fir. J^ Even now. Pricking up again! X!XT^°""^: T" ^"" Wocic of building tLT "" '="■«" -no.eve„,ef,ui.?r^rer'-;^''^"'^«- « would never be repaired *" '°'"' °' paSar:^:jrc:t' "'* ^""-^ - ""-^ comfortable Zre'ri^S tj^J" "" ^°- ^'•- in-law, .he wife whom st h/n . "'" ''^"S'«'^- her son. ''* "'^"^ ''^''^If chosen for "I am an old woman," said Mrs Tr.f • „ of course I don't marrh 7^ u ^'^^''"S's, "and i^ for .he you" 7lfo ""1 ' "™'' ""= -0^" I must owl An";/ i^ad ""■' "'"' "« ^«" --tedforsImltXTnri^r..^*-- 203 - i*. ft ■• - I it'.' ■ l*. |M MOTH AND RUST made you so cynical all at once, I don't know. But I ask you — look at Gertrude. She does not know what the word lovelmeans." "I'm not so sure of that." "I am. She has been married to George three months, and it might be thirty yer-rs by the way they behave. And she seemed such a particularly nice girl, and exceedingly sensible, and well brought up. I should have thought she would at any rate try to make my boy happy after all the sorrow he has gone through. But they don't seem to have any real link to each other. It isn't that they don't get on. They do, in a way. She is sharp enough for that. She does her duty by him. She is nice to him, but all her interests, and she has interests, seem to lie apart from anything to do with him." "Does he mind?" "I never really know what George minds or doesn't mind," said Mrs. Trefusis. "It has been the heaviest cross of the many crosses I have had to bear in life, that he never confides in me. George has always been extremely reticent. Thoughtful natures often are. He will : it for hours without saying a word, looking " 204 m \ If MOTH AND RUST ■J "Glum is the word she wants," said Anne to herself, as Mrs. Trefusis hesitated. "Reserved," said Mrs. Trefusis. "He does not seem to care to be with Gertrude. And yet you know Gertrude is very taking, and there is no doubt she is good-looking. And she sings charm- ingly. Unfortunately, George does not care for music." "She is really musical." "They make a very handsome couple," said Mrs. Trefusis, plaintively. "When I saw them come down the aisle together I felt happier about him than I had done for years. It seemed as if I had been rewarded at last. And I never saw a bride smile and look as bright as she did. But somehow it all seems to have fallen flat. She didn't even care to see the photographs of George when he was a child, when I got them out the other day. She said she would like to see them, and then forgot to look at them." Anne was silent. "Well," said Mrs. Trefusis, rising slowly, "I suppose the truth is that in these days young peo- ple don't fall in love as they did in my time. I must own, Gertrude has disappointed me." 205 MOTH AND RUST III "I daresay she will make him a gcxxl wife." "Oh ! my dear, she does. She is an extremely practical woman; but one wants more for one's son than a person who will make him a good wife. If she were a less good wife, and cared a little more about him, I should feel less miserable about the whole affair." Mrs. Trefusis sighed heavily. "I must go," she said, in the voice of one who might be persuaded to remain. But Anne did not try to detain her, for she was expecting Janet every moment, though she did not warn Mrs. Trefusis of the fact, for the name of Janet was never mentioned between Anne and Mrs. Trefusis. Mrs. Trefusis had once diffident- ly endeavoured to reopen the subject with Anne, but found it instantly and decisively closed. If Janet had existed in a novel, she would certainly have been coming up Anne's wide, white staircase at the exact moment that Mrs. Trefusis was going down them; but, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Tre- fusis was packed into her carriage and drove away quite half a minute before Janet's four- wheeler came round the corner. Anne's heart ached for Janet when she appeared 206 MOTH AND RUST *„;'* '"• °' "" °"'y *on>»n who had loved he^ Anne s finger, and smiled at her in silence. Anne looked down tremulously, for fear lest the joy m her eyes should make Janet's hear^^c ' as her own heart had ached one little year al when she had seen Tan#.f n«^ n ^ ' the rose garden ^'°'*' '°«'*'^ '" time »,T f '''" '"''' ■'''""• "' <«<' ^o wish that o"ld t^ ''"^° ^°" '«"->«-'-that you could be happy too. It's just a year ago." just a year," said Anne. "I suppose you cared for him then," said Janet d.d \ou were always so much wiser than me. One lives and learns." self m'!'" '7 "T """'" ^'^ ^'""' •"■'yi"? h«- sef makmg tea for her friend. When she had a splendid sa tm tea-cosy, which she placed over he tea pot. It had been Janet's wedding present 207 MOTH AND RUST Janet's eyes lighted on it with pleasure. "I am glad you use it every day," she said. "I was so afraid you would only use it when you had company." Anne stroked it with her slendc. white hand. There was a kind of tender radiance about her which Janet had never observed in her before. "It makes me happy that you are happy," said Janet. "I only hope it will last. I felt last year that you were in trouble. Since then it has been my turn." "I wish happiness could have come to both of us," said Anne. "Do you remember our talk to.o'ether," said Janet, spreading out a clean pocket handkerchief on her knee and stirring her tea. "And how sen- timental I was. I daresay you thought at the time how silly I was about George. I see now what a fool I was." Anne did not answer. She was looking ear- nestly at Janet, and there was no need for her now to veil the still gladness in her eyes. They held only pained love and surprise. "And do you remember how the clergyman 208 t?7fs^-s*^; MOTH AND RUST "I remember everything." '■I've often thought of that since," said Janet w..h a quiver in her voice, which Lught bafk once more to Anne the childlike innocentVrLtre rJJ^""^°u ^*"^ ''" "°"- "'"o^' f-'-led to Sm" '" '" ""'• '"-«"'"^ "-^ of cheap tin'Jed*L'!f 7 "" '''""■" "•»" ""'^." ~"- tmued Janet, drawn momentarily back into her old s,mpl,c.ty by the presence of Anne. "I didn't seem able to help it George was my treasure w^wrfi""'''"" ■""'"• ■T"'" was where I "One can not love too much," said Anne her fingers closing over her wedding ring "Perhaps not," said Janet; "but then, the other person must love, too. George did nJt love ml enough to carty through. When the other p"! son cares, but doesn't care strong enough, I tWnk thats the worst. It's like what the Bible says- The moth and rust corrupting. George did care but not enough. Men are like that." 209 MOTH AND RUST ^^ "Some one else cares," said Anne, diffidently. "Poor Mr. de Rivaz. He cares enough." "Yes," said Janet, apathetically. "I daresay he does. We've all got to fall in love some time or other. But I don't care for him. I told him so months ago. I don't mean to care for any one again. I've thought a great deal about things this winter, Anne. It's all very well for you to believe in love. I did once, but I don't now." Janet got up, and, as she turned, her eyes fixed suddenly. "Why, that's the cabinet," she said below her breath. "Cuckoo's cabinet." Her face quivered. She saw again the scorched room, the pile of smoking papers on the hearth, the flame which had burnt up her happiness with them. Anne did not understand. "Stephen gave me that cabinet a few days ago," she said. "It was Cuckoo's. It used to stand— under her pictu.e." "Don't you think it may be a replica ?" "No, it is the same," said Janet, passing her hand over the mermaid and her whale. "There is the little chip out of the dolphin's tail." 210 MOTH AND RUST Then she shrunk suddenly away from it, as if its roncii scorched her. r:M."F-^"MB^UK: rk^~aK.Hi-.''^»«)T4":x!)?°..^^u«>'^£^a£ GEOFFREY'S WIFE EVERY one felt an interest in them. The mob-capped servants hung over the ban- isters to watch them go downstairs. Alphonse reserved for them the little round table in the window, which commanded the best view of the court, with its dusty flower-pots grouped round an intermittent squirt of water. Even the landlord. Monsieur Leroux, found him- self often in the gateway when they passed in or out, in order to bow and receive a merry word and glance. Even the concierge, who dwelt retired, aloof from the contact of the outer world in his narrow, key-adorned shrine, even he unbent to them and smiled back when they smiled. It was a queer little old-fashioned hotel, rather out of the way. Nevertheless, young married couples had stayed there before. Their name, indeed, at certain pe- riods of the year was Legion. There were other 214 ___2^0FJ^REY-S WIFE moment, but everybody felt thf. ^ "^ attach,.rf ,„ .I,- ^"""^^ '"' *"at a peculiar interest th r. 1 ^°""«^ "'^■•"'d ~«P'e. For one ^h!nZ7'u^°""'"' ^"""'^ himself, and sttbtrtrtr^r"'^^^ Ha^ bad Hon^ymoonrbrr::^- on^te^ th.s couple. Although they were Enriish ^t were so handsome and so sunny Andh! ""'^ well made and devoted fhTu' u "^^ "" pered Anrf ^7 1 ' "chambermaids whis- S;satet.^'"'°'^^''<=-^^'-^-'^.'he beslstoi':' ' ""k ''"■•"^-O"- It was not the be t s,ttmg.room, because they were not very rich lyn^erdf"°"''''^^'*^"'^'^^-'hr, : delS s^t """"""""^ '"""^ht it the most tnTlTT^'T" " "" """ "hen she was ■n t. And Mrs. Geoffrey also liked it very much • oh I very much indeed. '^ ' He had had hard work to win her <;„ fme. when he watched her .a:;Hn"ror . ^hrh °™1*^ ^""^"^ "-"^ °' --Vthe" ciiiy nis wife, that they were actually on 215 MOTH AND RUST that honeymoon for which he had toiled and waited so long. Beneath the gaiety and the elas- tic spirit of youth there was a depth of earnestness in Geoffrey which the little wife vaguely won- dered at and valued as something beyond her ken, but infinitely heroic. He looked upon her with reverence and thanked God for her. He had never had much to do with womankind, and he felt a respectful tenderness for everything of hers, from her prim maid to her foolish little shoelace, which was never tired of coming undone, and which he was never tired of doing up. The awful responsibility of guarding such a treasure, and an overpowering sense of its fragility, were ever be- fore his mind. He laughed and was gay with her, but in his heart of hearts there was an acute joy nigh to pain — a wonder that he should have been singled out from among the sons of men to have the one pearl of great price bestowed upon him. They had come to Paris, and to Paris only, partly because it was the year of the Exhibition, and partly because she was not very strong, and was not to be dragged through snow and shaken in diligences like other common brides. 2l6 ft'' *'l ^^r£ /':'«' The bare idea of EvairTTZ^- ■•ng in Switzerland waT not '^h'"'." '"""P" water with men companions, knowing no better and enjoyine himself ,« o "ccier, A„^ u " ^ "^^y ^v^" then. And o he took her to St. Cloud, and showed the w! /k^"^'" ^"' *^^^ wandered by he fountains and bought gaufre cake, which he told her was ca led "dlaistr " ^ni,, u buf «rhof ^-j .,. /'^owir, only he was wrong-— Dut what did that matter? An^ ft, ^ to Versailles .nH ^''^^ "^^"^ ^^^n else h.T , "" everything that every one else had seen, only thev «!a«r if i •.> , he did. And ,hev f/ ^'°"'^«'-''"^^" n»m. , 7r ^ ' ^"^ 9"'«'y in Notre Dame, and listened to a half divine organ and a sweet, awed face besid** »,;«, j whether he could ever t tll h ^1% """'^''^ worthy of her And h„ T ""^ ''™"" ProtesLt Ta-^ ^^ °' "•"■^e- Wng a Protestant, he d.d not like to pray in a Roman 217 irf^ MOTH AND RUST Catholic Church, still he came very near it, and was perhaps none the worse. And now the fortnight was nearly over. Geof- frey reflected with pride that Eva was still quite well. Her mother, of whom he stood in great awe — her mother, who had an avowed disbelief in the moral qualities of second sons — even her mother would not be able to find any fault. Why, James himself, his eldest brother, whom she had always openly preferred, could not have done bet- ter than he had done. He who had so longed to take her away was now almost longing to take her back home, just for five minutes, to show her fam- ily how blooming she was, how trustworthy he had proved himself to be. The fortnight was over on Saturday, but at the last moment they decided to stay till Monday. Was it not Sunday the night of the great Illumi- nations? suggested Alphonse reproachfully. Were not the Champs Elysees to present a spec- tacle? Were not fires of joy and artifice to mount from the Bois de Boulogne? Surely Mon- sieur and Madame would stay for the Illumina- tions! Was not the stranger coming from un- known distances to witness the Illuminations? 218 '. '.' GEOFFREY'S WIFE Were not the Illuminations in honour of the Ex- h.b,t.o„? It could not be that Monsieur would suffer Madame to miss the Illuminations Eva was all eagerness to stay. Two more mghts .„ Pans. To go out in the summer even- mg, and see Paris en fete! Delightful! Geof- trey was not to say a single word ! He did not want to! Well, never mind, he was not to say Z,^ ? . V^'l ^°'"^ '"^'''""y- «■« very mc^ ment. o s op Grabhan, packing up, and he was to go mstantly, that very moment, to let Monsieur Leroux know they intended to stay on And they both went instantly, that very mo- ment, and they stayed on. And he was very se- vere m consequence, and refused to allow her to W,'5R .■ • Mjmt MOTH AND RUST It is lon^^ past midnight. Ices and lemonade and sugared cakes have played their part. It is time to go home. The summer night is soft and warm, without a touch of chill. The other guests on the Langtons' balcony are beginning to dis- perse. The Langtons look as if they would like to go to bed. The crowd below is melting away every moment. The play is over. Eva is charmed when she hears that a carriage is not to be had in all Paris for love or money. To walk home through the lighted streets with Geof- frey! Delightful! A few cheerful leave-tak- ings and they are in the street again with another English couple who are going part of the way with them. "Come, wife, arm in arm," says the elder man ; adding to Geoffrey, "I advise you to do the same. The crowd is as harmless as an infant, but it will probably have a little animal spirits to get rid of, and it won't do to be separated." So arm in arm they went, walking with the mul- titude, which was not dense enough to hamper them. From time to time little groups of gamins would wave their hats in front of magisterial buildings and sing the prohibited Marseillaise, 224 \n GEOFFREY'S WIFE while other bands of gamins equally good-hu- IZll: '."' "°" '^^-^^^^^^^ --' ^ <^har;e through the crowd with Chinese lanterns and drums and whistles. "Not tired?" asked Geoffrey regularly every five mmutes, drawing the little hand further through his arm. Not a bit tired, and Geoffrey was a foolish, tire- some creature to be always thinking of such tnmgs. She would say she was tired next time if he did not take care. In fact, now she came to think of It, she was rather tired by having to walk in such a heavy woollen gown. tn,'^'"''-ru'^''' ^°' "'""'"'^ '^^'' ^^ Jt'« not true! said the long-suffering husband, "for we have a mile in front of us yet." The other couple wished them good-night and turned off down a side street. Everywhere the houses were putting out their lights. Night was gaming the upper hand at last. As they entered ^e Place de la Concorde, Geoffrey saw a small body of mounted soldiers crossing the Place In- stantly there was a hastening and pushing in the crowd, and the low, deep growl arose again, more ominous than ever. Geoffrey caught a glimpse of 225 m MOTH AND RUST ■ II a sudden upraised arm, he heard a cry of defiance, and then— in a moment there was a roar and shout from a thousand tongues, and an infuriated mob was pressing in from every quarter, was elbowing past, was struggling to the front. In another second the whole Place de la Concorde was one seething mass of excited people, one hoarse jangle of tongues, one frantic eflfort to push in the direc- tion the soldiers had taken. Geoflfrey, a tall, athletic Englishman, looked over the surging sea of French heads, and looked in vain for a quarter to which he could beat a re- treat. He had not room to put his arm round his wife. She had given a little laugh, but she was frightened, he knew, for she trembled in the grasp he tightened on her arm. One rapid glance showed him there was no escape. The very lions at the corners were covered with human figures. They were in the heart of the crowd. Its faint, sickening smell was in their nostrils. "No, Eva," he said, answering her imploring glance. "We can't get out of this yet. We must just move quietly, with the rest, and wait till we get a chance of edging off. Lean on me as much as you can." 226 '^^P'-^m, ___GEO£F^REYJSW I F E to Wm r '"'^'"'""^ '"" "'"'• ^"-^ "«'W dose hinH""!^' 1'*'"^ '■°"' '"'' * ^"O''™ ■•«* from be- h nd. wh.ch sent them all forward. How the peo- pie pushed and elbowed! Bah! The smell ^a c^d!^ Who that has been in one has evert! flo™.' ""' ' ^'"^^"^ °""^' *°^ "'^ hothoase "How are you getting on?" he asked with a Shan, anxiety which he vainly imagined did not betray itself m his voice. Jtt™'f "T "" ^"^ "'"' °"'y-0"ly '°"' f been to think of walking home! Poor Geoffrey- forgot that there had been no other way of getting home, and that even his mother-in-law could not hold him responsible for a disagreement between the soldiers and the citizens. Another ten minutes ! Geoffrey cursed within himself the illumination and the soldiers and his own folly, and the rough men and iougher wom- en, whom, do what he would, he could not prevent pressing upon her. She did not speak again for some time, only held fast by his arm. Suddenly her little hands tightened convulsively on it, and a face pale to the lips was raised to his. "Geoffrey, I'm very sorry," with a half sob, "but I'm afraid I'm going to faint." The words came like a blow, and drove the blood from his face. The vague, undefined fear had suddenly become a hideous reality. He stead- ied his voice and spoke quietly, almost sternly. "Listen to me, Eva," he said. "Make an effort and attend, and do as I tell you. The crowd will move again in a moment. I see a movement in front already. Directly the move comes the press will loosen for an instant. I shall push in front 228 hj: on my back. I msis. upon it. Iwilldom/bS to help you up, but I can't get hold of you i^ any ITZI J"' '^'"'""^ ™"' p- °ff "■■- ' V you are h.gher up and can get a breath of ak Now do you understand ?" She did not answer, but nodded There was a moment's pause, and the move- m nt^„e. Geoffrey flung down his stick, drew v.th all h.s might upon those in front, made room o stoop down. Two nervous hands were laid on more .^ "^^ '"' '■^''*="«'- A moment more, and the crowd behind would force him down and they would both be lost. "Quick t Qu,ck!' he shouted; but before the words had lef h,s hps the trembling arms were clasped con- vulsively round his necV and with a supreme effort he was on his legs ag,.in, shaking like a leaf with he long horror of that moment's suspense. But the tight clasp of the hands round his neck the burden on his strong shoulders, nerved him afresh. He felt all his vitality and resolution re- turn tenfold^ He could endure anything which he had to endure alone, now that horrible anxiety MOTH AND RUST l|i I I II R I'/ I' for her was over. He could no longer tell where he was. He was bent too much to endeavour to do anything except keep on his feet. A long wait ! Would the crowd never disperse ? Moving, stop- ping, pushing, pressing, stopping again. Another pause, which seemed as if it would never end. A contrary motion now, and he had not room to turn! No. Thank Heaven! A tremor through the crowd, and then a fierce snarl and a rush. A violent push from behind. A plunge. Down on one knee. Good God! A blow on the mouth from some one's elbow. A wild struggle. A foot on his hand. Another blow. Up again. Up only to strike his foot against a curbstone, and to throw all his weight away from a sudden pool of water on his left, into which he is being edged. The great drops are on his brow, and his breath comes short and thick. He staggers again. The weight on him and his fall are beginning to tell. But as his strength wanes a dogged determination takes its place. He steels his nerves and pulls himself together. It is only a question of time. He will and must hold out. His whole soul is centred on one thing, to keep his feet. Once 230 GEOFFREY'S WIFE down-a„d-he clenches his teeth. He will not suffer h^seif to think. He is bruised and aln^ m every mb with the friction of the crowd IS bleedmg. There .s a mist of blood and dust be- fore h,s eyes. But he holds on with the fierce en- e gy of despair. Another push. God in nTven , almost down again! He can see nothing A frantic struggle in the dark. The arms round his terror. Hands from out of the darkness clutch h.m up, and he regains his footing once more Courage, Monsieur," says a kind voice, and the "PS m thanks, but no words come. There is a no,se m the crowd, but it is as a feeble munLur to he roar and sweep and tumult of many wa"r hat .s sounding in his ears. He cannot last mud bngernow. He is spent. But the crowd is thin' nmg If he can only keep his feet a few minutes g^nnpse of ground in front of him. But it sways before h.m hke the waves of the sea. One mo- ment more. He stumbles aside where he feet there is space about him. 231 jv MOTH AND RUST 'I'- r'/ ur '-^Wt |!''' -r' ^M! tr ' BB^'.f' HT^' " HE ^^^^Ki 1^^ .'■ iRf'' '"j ^ ff'if^j:—--^^ f^^'f?^ f isffi '^^^iiBir' 1^ 1 There is a sudden hush and absence of pres- sure. He is oui of the crowd. He is faintly con- scious that the tramp of many feet is passing but not following him. The pavement suddenly rises up and strikes him down upon it. He cannot rise agam. But it matters little, it matters little. It IS all over. The fight is won, and she is safe. He tries to lift his leaden hand to unloosen the locked fingers that hurt his neck. At his touch they un- clasp, trembling. She has not fainted, then He almost thought she had. He raises himself on his elbow, and tries to wipe the red mist from his eyes that he may see her the more clearly. She slips to the ground, and he draws her to him with his nerveless arms. The street lamps gleam dull and yellow in the first wan light of dawn, and as his haggard eyes look into hers, her face becomes clear even to his darkening vision-and-»V is an- other woman! Another woman! A poor crea- ture with a tawdry hat and paint upon her cheek who tries to laugh, and then, dimly conscious of the sudden agony of the grey, blood-stained face whimpers for mercy, and limps away into a door- way, to shiver and hide her worn face from the growing light. ******* 232 JLT, °"' *' ^"^'''^ acquaintances of the se^ ng St, , wandering fron, street to street H,s old fnend U„g,on came to him and took "T ''™y '«"" ">^ hotel to his own house. AI Phonse wept, and the concur,, could not restrdl. "And have they found her yet?" asked Mr. I;angto„ that night of her hushfndwhl^tc^re His face was very white. ve been to-I ve seen-no one could have toid -you would not have known who it was I„d an her httle things, her watch and ring^they were all gone. But the maid knew by t d esT And-and I wanted to save a lock of hair, but"!! h s voice broke down.-"So I got one of the little glovesforhim. It was the only thing I couW." duslw.t,1,°r " "t""" """ ^'°-' -' -d dusty with the tramp of many feet, which the new w ddmg-nng had worn ever so slightly on the 1 hid h W " '"' " "^'"""^ °" *« 'able and hid his face in his hands. _ "If he could only break down," he said at last. He sits and sits, and never speaks or looks up." 233 /» u MOTH AND RUST "Take him the little glove," said his wife softly. And Langton took it. The sharpness of death had cut too deep for tears, but Geoflfrey kept the little glove, and— he has it still. THE END. 234 LET LOOSE* The dead abide with us! Though stark and cold Earth seems to grip them, they are with us still. SOME years ago I took up architecture, and made a tour through Holland, studying the buildings of that interesting country. I was not then aware that it is not enough to take up art. Ait must take you up, too. I never doubted but that my passing enthusiasm for her would be returned. When I discovered ♦Since this story was written I have been told that what was related as a personal experience was partially derived from a written source. Every effort has been made, but m vam. to discover this written source. If. however, it gwL '^"^ unintentional plagiarism will be for- It has been suggested to me that a story which I have not read called "The Tomb of Sara." b" T. G. LorLg pint ,'S '*. 'T"'^ •" '^' ^^^"'"'^^ """ber of the Pall Mall Magazme for 1900). must be the written source from which my story is taken. But this is impossible, as th^t d^" was published in an English magazine before ) i MOTH AND RUST n1 that she was a stern mistress, who did not imme- diately respond to my attentions, I naturally trans- ferred them to another shrine. There are other things in the world besides art. I am now a land- scape gardener. But at the time of which I write I was engaged in a violent flirtation with architecture. I had one companion on this expedition, who has since become one of the leading architects of the day. He was a thin, determined-looking man with a screwed-up face and heavy jaw, slow of speech, and absorbed in his work to a degree which I quickly found tiresome. He was possessed of a certain quiet power of overcoming obstacles which I have rarely seen equalled. He has since become my brother-in-law, so I ought to know; for my parents did not like him much and opposed the marriage, and my sister did not like him at all, ana refused him over and over again; but, neverthe- less, he eventually married her. I have thought since that one of his reasons for choosing me as his travelling companion on this occasion was because he was getting up steam for what he subsequently termed "an alliance with mv family," but the idea never entered my head at 236 ^W; LET L P o S E rareliTL ^ T' ""''"' " • "^ 'o "^ess I have rarely me,, a„d ye,, in all ,ke heat of July i„ Hoi- nd, „o,,ced ,ha. he never appeared wi, o" a h.gh, starched collar, which had not even fashion to commend it at that time. , J ""u.!,"!"'^"' ■"■•" ="~'" '"■' ^P'^did collars and -ked h,m why he wore them, but withou w k nf ! VP°"- O- "ening. as we were walkmg back to our lodgings in Middleberg 1 *my on earth do you wear them?" I said You have I believe, asked me rha, question ai^ce but always on occasions when I was oc- A*:',. ^^ ''°^ ^' '*''"^' ^d I «'i" '«" you." And he did. I have put down what he said, as nearly in his own words as I can remember them. Ten years ago. I was asked to read a paper on Enghsh Frescoes at the Institute of British Archi- tects. I was determined to make the paper as good as I could, down to the slightest details, and I consulted many books on the subject, and stud- 237 rr^ MOTH AND RUST 1.1 i ied every fresco I could find. My father, who had been an architect, had left me, at his death, all his papers and note-books on the subject of archi- tecture. I searched them diligently, and found in one of them a slight unfinished sketch of nearly fifty years ago that specially interested me. Un- derneath was noted, in his clear, small hand— Frescoed east wall of crypt. Parish Church. Wet Waste-on-the-Wolds, Yorkshire {via Pick- ering.) The sketch had such a fascination for me that I decided to go there and see the fresco for myself. I had only a very vague idea as to where Wet Waste-on-the- Wolds was, but I was ambitious for the success of my paper; it was hot in London, and I set oflf on my long journey not without a certain degree of pleasure, with my dog Brian, a large nondescript brindled creature, as my only companion. I reached Pickering, in Yorkshire, in the course of the aftem on, and then began a series of experi- ments on local lines which ended, after several hours, in my finding myself deposited at a little out-of-the-world station within nine or ten miles of Wet Waste. As no conveyance of any kind 238 LET LOO SE was to be had, I shouldered my portaan.eau, and srt out on a long white road that stretched away mto the distance over the bare, treeless wold. I must have walked for several hours, over a waste of moorland patched with heather, when a doctor Sr^/!: '"'' ^'' "" " "'* '° ""hi" » mile of my dest.nat.on. The mile was a long one, and It was qmte dark by the time I saw the f^ble glim mer of hghts in from of me, and found that I had "ached Wet Waste. I had considerable difficuUy S«*">S »ny one to take me in ; but at last I per- suaded the owner of the public-house to give me a bed, and, q„.te t.red out, I got into it as soon as poss.He. for fear he should ohange his mind, and fell asleep to the sound of a little stream below my Window. ^ I was up early next morning, and inquired di- rectly after breakfast the way to the clergy. M Wet Waste everything was close at hand. The whole v.llage seemed composed of a strag- gling row of one-storied grey stone houses, the same colour as the stone walls that separated the few fields enclosed from the surrounding waste and as the little bridges over the beck that ran 239 MOTH AND RUST down one side of the grey wide street. Every- thing was grey. The church, the low tower of which I could see at a little distance, seemed to have been built of the same stone; so was the par- sonage when I came up to it, accompanied on my way by a mob of rough, uncouth children, who eyed me and Brian with half-defiant curiosity. The clergyman was at home, and after a short delay I was admitted. Leaving Brian in charge of my drawing materials, I followed the servant into a low panelled room, in which, at a latticed window, a very 0I4 man was sitting. The morn- ing light fell on his white head bent low over a lit- ter of papers and books. "Mr. er~?" he said, looking up slowly, with one finger keeping his place in a book. "Blake." "Blake," he repeated after me, and was silent I told him that I was an architect; that I had come to study a fresco in the crypt of his church, and asked for the keys. "The crypt," he said, pushing up his spectacles and peering hard at me. "The crypt has been closed for thirty years. Ever since-" and he stopped short. 240 LET LOO SE "I should be much obliged for the keys," I said again. ^ ' ****" He shook his head. ;;No." he said. "No one goes in there now." loni " " "'-'I' ^ "'""•'''''• "^°' I h^ve come a long way w.th that one object;- and I told him about the paper I had been aslced to read, and the trouble I was taking with it. He became interested. "Ah I" he said, laying down h,s pen and removing his finger from , he page before h,m, "I can understand that. I also was young once, and fired with ambition. The Imes have fallen to me in somewhat lonely places, and for forty years 1 have held the cure of souls m th,s place, where, truly, I have seen but little of the world, though I myself may be not un- known m the paths of literature. Possibly you may have read a pamphlet, written by myself, on the Synan version of the Three Authentic Epis- tles of Ignatius ?" ' "Sir," I said, "I am ashamed to confess that I have not t.me to read even the most celebrated books. My one object in life is my art. An longa, Vila brcvis, you know." "You are right, my son," said the old man, evi- 241 iil MOTH AND RUST [fe i dentJy disappointed, but looking at me kindly. There are diversities of gifts, and if the Lord has entrusted you with a talent, look to it. Lay it not up in a napkin." ^ I said I would not do so if he would lend me the keys of the crypt. He seemed startled by my recurrence to the subject and looked undecided. VVhynot.? he murmured to himself. "The Whit -TJ- ^"' ^°"^'- ^"^ ^"P^^tition ! W hat IS It but distrust in God !" He got up slowly, and taking a large bunch of keys out of his pocket, opened with one of them an oak cupboard in the corner of the room "They should be here," he muttered, peering in; but the dust of many years deceives the eye bee, my son, if among these parchments there be two keys; one of iron and very large, and the other steel, and of a long and thin appearance " I went eagerly to help him, and presently found in a back drawer two keys tied together, which he recognized at once. "Those are they," he said. "The long one opens the first door at the bottom of the steps which go down against the outside wall of the church hard by the sword graven in the wall. 242 LET LOOSE m'uT"^ W^;«it^d of opening and of sh.m,„g) the iron door within .he passage lead ■ng to the crypt itself. My son, is it necessar^to your treafse that you should enter this cypt^- I rephed that it was absolutely necessary. Then take them," he said, "and in the evening you will bnng them to me again." ^ tiU I had fi •: r" "°' ^"°" -"^ '° -^-P *e^ was firm "^ ""'' ""' °" *« P°'"' "« ,1, "«*'"''"'" ''* ^^'^'^- "^ >="'f"l that you lock the first door at the foot of the steps bef'lre you unkxk the second, and lock the second also wh you are wrthm. Furthermore, when you come out lock the .ron inner door as well as the wooden I promised I would do so, and, after thanking h,m, humed away, delighted at my success in ol^ taming the keys. Finding Brian and my sketch- ,, ,, •• ; ^7 --o-ded by a while oti or. c-.-..„c. I Ir i ^ .T '^''''• j„. ■■ ' '^' ™ o'ner m the stri- dent ur -nr-wt, t ,p .e »h,r', T i„. • j. ered »^« I '"" *'"« discov- ered goes ,y ,.K v.ne ^f "Broad Yorkshire." room I ' '"'"'"' =" ' ■^"'« °"' of my vdlage. A buez of voices reached me as I passed through th '" "•' ""' ""'"' ' ^-'O h«' it. ti^'rsTn " *''° ''™"^'" "' "^ "'""»« «as that the netghbour's child, the little girl whom I hadukenonmykneetheeveningbeforchaddied I felt sorry for the general grief that the little 251 MOTH AND RUST creature's death seemed to arouse, and the uncon- trolled wailing of the poor mother took my appe- tite away. I hurried off early to my work, calling on my way for the keys, and with Brian for my compan- ion descended once more into the crypt, and drew and measured with an absorption that gave me no time that day to listen for sounds real or fancied. Brian, too. on this occasion seemed quite content, and slept peacefully beside me on the stone floor. When I had worked as long as I could, I put away my books with regret that evsn then I had not quite finished, as I had hoped to do. It would be necessary to come again for a short time on the morrow. When I returned the keys late that afternoon, the old clergyman met me at the door, and asked me to come in and have tea with him. "And has the work prospered?" he asked, as we sat down in the long, low room, into which I had just been ushered, and where he seemed to live entirely. I told him it had, and showed it to him. "You have seen the original, of course?" I said. 252 --« LET LOOSE "Once," he replied, gazing fixedly at it. He evidently did not care to be communicative, so I turned the conversation to the age of the church. "All here is old," he said. "When I was young, forty years ago, and came here because I had no means of mine own, and was much moved to marry at that time, I felt oppressed that all was so old; and that this place was so far removed from the world, for which I had at times longings griev- ous to be borne; but I had chosen my lot. and with it I was forced to be content. My son, marry not in youth, for love, which truly in that season is a mighty power, turns away the heart from study, and young children break the back of ambition.' Neither marry in middle life, when a woman is seen to be but a woman and iur talk a weariness, so you will not be burdened with a wife in your old age." I had my own views on the subject of marriage, for I am of opinion that a well-chosen, companion of domestic tastes and docile and devoted tempera- ment may be of material assistance to a profes- sional man. But, my opinions once formulated, it is not of moment to me to discuss them with oth- ers, so I changed the subject, and asked if the 253 MOTH AND RUST neighbouring villages were as antiquated as Wet Waste. "Yes, all about here is old," he repeated. "The paved road leading to Dyke Fens is an ancient pack road, made even in the time of the Romans Dyke Fens, which is very near here, a matter of but four or five miles, is likewise old. and forgotten by the world. The Reformation never reached it xt stopped here. And at Dyke Fens they still have a priest and a bell, and bow down before the samts. It IS a damnable heresy, and weekly I ex- pound it as such to my people, showing them true doctrmes; and I have heard that this same priest has so far yielded himself to the Evil One that he has preached against me as withholding gospel truths from my flock; but I take no heed of it neither of his pamphlet touching the Clementine Homihes. in which he vainly contradicts that which I have plainly set forth and proven beyond doubt, concerning the word Asaph." The old man was fairly off on his favourite sub- ject, and It was some time before I could get away As It was, he followed me to the door, and I only escaped because the old clerk hobbled up at that moment, and claimed his attention. 254 LET LOOSE ealv^h' .r'"" I had decided to leave early the next day. I was tired of Wet Waste and a certain gloom seemed to my fancy to be bright a^V", *'' "^' " ''' ^^^'^^"^^ '^^ <^-y was bright and clear, a st. rm were coming. This morning, to my astonishment, the keys were refused to me when I asked for them. I did not. however, take the refusal as final-I make it a shor delay I was shown into the room where, as usual, the clergj^man was sitting, or rather, on this occasion, was walking up and down. 'My son," he said with vehemence, "I know wherefore you have come, but it is of no avail I cannot lend the keys again." I replied that, on the contrary. I hoped he would give them to me at once. "It is impossible," he repeated. "I did wrong exceeding wrong. I will never part with them " Why not?" He hesitated, and then said slowly: "The old clerk. Abraham Kelly, died last 255 II MOTH AND RUST night." He paused, and then went on : "The doc- tor has just been here to tell me of that which is a mystery to him. I do not wish the people of the place to know it, and only to me he has mentioned It, but he has discovered plainly on the throat of the old man. and also, but more faintly on the child's, marks as of strangulation. None but he has observed it. and he is at a loss how to account for it. I, alas ! can account for it but in one way, but in one way !" I did not see what all this had to do with the crypt, but to humour the old man, I asked what that way was. "It is a long story, and. haply, to a stranger it may appear but foolishness, but I will even tell if for I perceive that unless I furnish a reason for withholding the keys, you will not cease to entmt me for them. "I told you at first when you inquired of me concerning the crypt, that it had been closed these thirty years, and so it was. Thirtv years ago a certain Sir Roger Despard departed'this life, even the Lord of the manor of Wet Waste and Dyke Fens, the last of his family, which is now, thank the Lord, extinct. He was a man of a vile life, 256 . L E TJ ^ o s E neither fearing God nor P^T^^Ji^i^^roTii^ ingr compassion on innocence, and the Lord ap- peared to have given h«n over to the tormentors even m th,s worid, for he suffered manv things of Ins vices, more especially from drunkenness, in which seasons, and they were many, he was as one possessed by sevexi devils, being an abomina- T^.uu- ^°"''^°^^ ""^ ' ^^^ «^ t,ittemess to all. both high and low. "And, at last, the cup of his iniquity being full to the bnm. he came to die, and I went to exhort hmi on his death-bed; for I heard that terror had come upon him, and that evil imaginations encom- passed him so thick on every side, that few of them that were with him could abide in his pres- ence. But when I saw him I perceived that there was no place of repentance left for him, and he scoffed at me and my superstition, even as he lay dying and swore there was no God and no angel and all were damned even as he was. And the next day, towards evening, the pains of death came upon him. and he raved the more exceed- ingly masmuch as he said he was being strangled bv the Evil One. Now on his table was Ins hunting knife, and with his last strength he 257 i 1:' iv f I V _ MOTH AND R UST crept and laid hold upon i., no man withstanding h.m, and swore a great oath that if he went down t» burn .n hell, he would leave one of his hands behmd on earth, and that it would never rest unti stranged h,m, even as he himself was being strangled. And he cut off his own right hand a! Ihe wnst. and no man dared go near him to stop h.m. and the blood went through the floor, ev^ uZh H r"""^ °' "" "^"' '^'»'' ^^ her" upon he died. '•And they called me in the night, and told me of h,s Mth, and I counselled that no man should speak o .t, and I took the dead hand, which none h.s coffin; for I thought it better he should take it w.th h,m, so that he might have it, if haply some day a^ter much tribulation he should perchance be moved to stretch forth his hands towards ^ But the story got spread about, and the people w^e aflFnghted, so. when he came to be burw'n he place of h.s fathers, he being the last of hi, fnd t^l f"^"' "''•*''• '""• I had it closed, to enter therein any more ; for truly he was a man 258 f:\J V ^ . 'i4 LET LOO SE of an evil life, and the devil is no, yet wholly over- come nor cast chained into the lake of fire. So in time the story died out f„r in .!,:« fo«ro„„ "■« out, tor in thirty years much is forgo ten ..nd when you came and asked me for he keys, I was at the first minded to withhold fZ- J, y^"' " "" * ™'" -Perstition. and wha IS first refused; so I let you have them, see- ing It was not an idle curiosity, but a desire to im- prove the tatot committed to you, that led you to require them." j « lu The old man stopped, and I remained silent wondenng what would be the best way to J them just once more. ^ an?7''r '''\ ^ ""^^ ^' ^'''' "°"^ ^° ^"Jt'vated and deeply read as yourself cannot be biased by an idle superstition." ^ "I trust not," he replied, "and yet-it is a strange thing that since the crypt was opened two P-Ple have died, and the mark is plain upon the throat of the old man and visible on the young child. No blood was drawn, but the second time the grip was stronger than the first. The third time, perchance -" "Superstition such as that." I said with author- 259 f* MOTH AND RUST ity, "is an entire want of faith in GoA You once said so yourself." "uonce I took a Iiigh moral tone which is often effica- COM, „,th conscientious, humble-minded people faith as a gram of mustard se«l ; but even when I for the keys. I, was only when I finally «- « to him that if any malign influence W n^f °^ * ""' '"'^' "' '"y ""«• '* »as out now for good or evil, and no further going or com- ing of mine could make any di Jencr^t I o.d an?'",:' "" ■"'"*• ' '^^ ^-"^' -«hepaid:oa[tr.irs,:r"H"'' S.OP Short .•„. he .oonli.ht; tt ^ hr.ee,: » crouched do«. his eyes following some wi' n the air I looked at him in horror. Was hi going mad ? His eves «,«« „i • "* ovemcnts of an enemy. Then, with a furious 265 MOTH AND RUST If m i 'I'i ^narl he suddenly sprang fron, the ground, and rushed .n great leaps across the room towards me dashmg h,mself against the furniture, his ey« rohng, snatching and tearing wildly in the air w.thh,s teeth. I saw he had gone mad. Heaped Z™; T.'"' """"^ " "'•"■ ^="'^'" h'" by .he throat The moon had gone behind a cloud; but '" "^^ ''^^''"^^^ I f«'t hin: turn upon me, felt him rise up, and his teeth close in my throat. I was bemg strangled. With all the strength of despair I kept my grip of his neck, and, dragging him across the room tried to crush in his hid against he .ron ra,l of my bedstead. It was my only chance. I felt the blood running down my neck I was suffocating. After one moment of frighti f"l stntggle, I beat his head against the bar and heard h,s skull give way. I felt him give one strong shudder, a groan, and then I fainted away. * * * * * * .~/rr !° ■"^"'^ ^ '^"^ '^'"S °" the floor, surrounded by the people of the house, my red- dened hands still clutching Brian's throat. Some one was holding a candle towards me, and the draught from the window made it flare and waver. Hooked at Brian. He was stone dead 266 l#f 'm^mmi «ot see. ' " """"="" "ght-I could They turned (he light a little, look?' ''"'•'" ' ^""^''^''- "There, Loolc- now I cannot think withn '""^°* ^'^'^^^ ^^en When T H-^ °"^ poignant regret b^ng career"" T ^^^°"^"^^^' ^ ^^"^ ^ wa ucmg carefully nursed bv the r.u ^i the people of the house h . '■^^""" ""'' ..nkindness of .he Torfd '™ " '"'^'' '"^ against, but for 21 Zf f "'"' '"^^'^'■'d have received 1 ''" """""'"y ^^ 'hat I ve received many more kindnesses thin r u "iu DC equal to reading mv naner o« *i, pointed day. This nr.c • ^ *^^ ^P" ay. I his pressing anxiety removed, I 267 .1: i MOTH AND RUST told him of what I had seen before I fainted the second time. He Hstened attentively, and then assured me, in a manner that was intended to be soothing, that I was suffering from an hallucina- tion, due, no doubt, to the shock of my dog's sud- den madness. "Did you see the dog after it was dead?" I asked. He said he did. The whole jaw was covered with blood and foam; the teeth certainly seemed convulsively fixed, but the case being evidently one of extraordinarily virulent hydrophobia, ow- ing to the intense heat, he had had the body buried immediately. My companion stopped speaking as we reached our lodgings, and went upstairs. Then, lighting a candle, he slowly turned down his collar. "You sec I have the marks still," he said, "but I have no fear of dying of hydrophobia. I am told such peculiar scars could riot have been made by the teeth of a dog. If )'^ou look closely you see the pressure of the five fingers. That is the rea- son why I wear high collars." 268 THE PITFALL PART I. O, thou who didst, with pitfall and with gin. Beset the road I was to wander in. —Omar Khayyam. LADY MARY GARDEN sat near the open window of her blue-and-white boudoir looking out intently, fixedly across Park Lane at the shimmer of the trees in Hyde Park. It was June. It was sunny. The false gaiety of the season was all around her ; flick- ering swiftly past her in the crush of carriages be- low her window ; dawdling past her in the walking and riding crowds in the park. She looked at it without seeing it. Perhaps she had had enough of it, this strange conglomeration of alien ele- ments and foreign bodies, this bouille-a-baisse which is called "the season." She had seen it all year after year for twelve years, varying as little as the bedding-out of the flowers behind the rail- 269 U r MOTH AND RUST ^i w i '< >ngs. Perhaps she was as weary of society as most people become who take it seriously She certainly often said that it was rotten to the core She hardly moved. She sat with an open letter in her hand, thinking, thinking. The house was very still. Her aunt, with whom she lived, had gone early into the country for the day. The only sound, the monotonous whrrr of the great machine of London, came from without. Mary was thirty, an age at which many women are still young, an age at which some who have heads under their hair are still rising towards the zenith of their charm. But Mary was not one of these. Her youth was clearly on the wane. She bore the imprint of that which ages-because If unduly prolonged it enfeebles-the sheltered life, a life centred in conventional ideas, dwarfed by a conventional religious code, a life feebly nourished on cut-and-dried charities sandwiched between petty interests and pettier pleasures. She showed the mark of her twelve seasons, and of what she had made of life, in the slight fading of her delicate complexion, the fatigued discontent of her blue eyes, the faint, dignified dejection of 270 iHi THE PITFALL her manner, which was the reflection of an uncon- scous, veiled surprise that she of all women-she the gentle, the good, the religious, the pretty Mar; Garden, was still-in short, was still Mary Car- The onlooker would perhaps have shared that surprise She was indubitably pretty, indubitably well-bred, gracefu'. slender, with a ng. Th.s was more difficult to account for. He was fond of her. Ther. was no .loubt about that They had always been fon.l of each other. Every one had e.xpected them to marry. His parents had wtshed ,t. Her aunt had favoured the idea with heavy-foot«l .eal. Her brother. Lord I*olli„g. on, when he had a moment to spare from h^ trammg stables, had jovially opined that Ma.m,e wou d be wise to book Jos Carstairs wh.Ie she could, as if she were not careful she might outstand her market. Marj., who had for years dreamed of gracefully y.eldmg to Jos- repeated and urgent entreaties! had even begun to wonder whether it would not be advisable .f one of her men relations were to speak to Jos." Such things were done. As she had sa.d to her aunt with dignity, "This sort of thmg can t go on for ever," when her aunt-who yearned for the res, which, according to their own account, seems to elude stout persons- ^^^ded that difficulties clustered round such a 273 ^■1 MOTH AND RUST The course was not taken, for Jos suddenly en- gaged himself to a girl of seventeen, a new girl whom London knew not. the only child of one of those ruinous unions which had been swallowed up m a flame of scandal seventeen years ago— which had been forgotten for seventeen years all but nine days. It was sedulously raked up again now. People whispered that Elsa Grey came of a bad stock- that Jos Carstairs was a bold man to marry a woman with such antecedents; u woman whose mother had slipped away out of her intolerable home years ago for another where apparently life had iiot been more tolerable. Jos brought his Elsa to see Mary, for he was only fit to wave his sword and say "Come on boys!" He did not understand anything about anything. He only remembered tha. Mary was a tender, loving soul. Had she not shown herself so to him for years? So he actuaUy besought M-ry to be a friend to the beautiful, voung, som- L.e creature whom he had elected to marry. Mary behaved admirably according to her code • touched Elsa's hand, civilly oflFered the address of a good dressmaker (not her best one), and hoped 274 ^HE PITFALL he once .vstfuHy, ,„,„,„,, „,,„, .f^f,,™* u r„„s eyes as of some untamed. priso„eer all? What could she say to Jos if she did see him? How could she touch his heart? Like many another 2^6 I I I "i JEiLi?ITFALL woman when she thinkTlT^ T ' "efore a .„a„ n,;;' td .^'fi"'? '*°'^ «'f- Was she no. pre„y P alt 1 ' " '"- appealing eyes? See hJiittUu T "°' «'""^- ^ck a strand of fa r ha" W^"' ^'^ '° P" about her pretty and r „ed I„d"°' '7/'''"' vision of Flsa rL .. j/ , ^"''-Sood? The youth. Mary's hearf / . '' ^^'•"^''dable "I love hTm 7u '^"''"^^^^d painfully, i iove him, and she doesn'f " cho •/ self, with bitterness ZT f '"'^ '° ^^'- up Elsa Sh. t •^°' '^^"^^ "ever give ^•n. to vaylay him to-dj; 'th^hTh T ^' ^^■ -^f to Lady Francis' idfotie^^ ^^^ t d^t accepted from hor I,.i„ .u ^ ™'' ^^e would telegraph a J"^ " "^^ "° ""?•' She after all. ^No' T '? ^"^ """^ "°' »me telegram, a^r-tei'tTfrr"^-'^ °- •Ho-.h.sshedidnlt'crrelrjr""^'^""'' ^he ran upstairs, put on her hat nnH • r niinutes was driving in . u '" ^ ^'^ Street. The Beth r "'^^^ *° ^'""ton adn.ittedwfh:S^\~ ally "not at home." ^ ^ '"'"' ^"^ ^^^h"^^- 277 I (i MOTH AND RUST y ,> Yes, her ladyship was in, but she was engaged with her doctor at the moment in the drawing- room. The footman hesitated. They were "a- tuning of the piano" in her ladyship's boudoir, he said, and he tentatively opened the door of a room on the ground floor. It was Lord Francis' sit- ting-room. Was his lordship in ? No, his lordship had gone out early. "Then I will wait here," said Mary, "if you will let her ladyship know that I am here." The man withdrew. Mary's face reddened with annoyance. She disliked the idea of telling Lady Francis she had changed her mind, and the discussion of the sub- ject. Oh, why had she ever spoken of the subject to her at all ? Why had she telegraphed that she would come ? The painful, reiterated stammering of the piano came to her from above. It seemed of a piece with her own indecision, her own monotonous jealousy. Suddenly the front door-bell rang, and an in- stant later the footman came in with a telegram, put it on the writing-table, and went out again. 278 THE PITFALL P "• /'" "^ "o' explain after all. Francl- h'r'"^"'°°" '''"' °I«"^''. and Lady F^ncs h,gh, metallic voice sounded on the land Mary seized up the pink envelope and crushed it in her hand. What' tk. j ■ "•'"»"«! it closed a^,in ■Tu drawmg-room doer Closed again. The conference with the doctor was not quite over after all ci . •Cegram and looked ^i;",. ^ Zl T" '1" Wore destroying them '°°'"'' "'"^"^ Then her colour faded, and the room went Lm" Whv "• .^^° ''' ^'-^«' --"""e had said . Why was it signed "Elsa ?" dre'ss^dt^^p"''"""""- '' -- P'ainiy ad- glanced at the address till this moment. The con ents^were n code as hers had been, but -r ^ sreTadt'dr^'"^^^""'"- =-''■- '-- H'hTstouMP,'"""' What could it mean? ^^^peakers Sta,rs-to-day-at Waterloo main en- Mary was not quick-witted, but after a few 279 MOTH AND RUST I: ^ dazed moments she suddenly understood. Elsa was about to go away with Lord Francis. But what Elsa? Her heart beat so hard that she could hardly breathe. Could it be Elsa Grey ? As we piece together all at once a puzzle that has been too simple for us, so Mary remembered in a flash Elsa's enigmatical face, and a certain ball where she had seen — only for a moment as she passed — Lord Francis and Elsa sitting out to- gether. Elsa had looked quite different then. It was Elsa Grey' She knew it. Degraded crea- ture, not fit to bv, - 1 honest man's wife! Mary shook from head to foot under a climbing, devastating emotion which seemed to rend her whole being. The rival was gone from her path ! Jos would come back to her ! As she stood stunned, half-blind, trembling, a hansom dashed up to the door, and in a moment Lord Francis' voice was in the hall speaking to the footman. "Any letters or telegrams?" "One telegram on your writing-table, my Lord." The servant went on to explain something. Lady Mary Garden, etc., but his master did not 280 ___JLil£_P£TF^AL_L hear him. He was in the room in a second and S d H e ' Z ' ''" "" P'"*«' -0 hag- gard. He seemed possessed by some fierce na, s.on which had hold of him and drove hmbeC ■t as a storm holds and spins a leaf knfvTthaT '"^""1'' ''"'"^^^''- She had not known that men could be so moved. He did anT" '".'■"• "* ™^''''' '° *e writing-table and swept his eve over it. Then he gave a sharp low hardly human cry of rage and an! g..sh^and turned to rmg the bell. As he turned "I beg your pardon-I don't understand " he sa,d hoarsely. "Why did my fool of a semn bnngyouinhere?" servant Then he saw the open telegram in her hand, and h« face changed. It became alert, cold, impiaca It ™"'^"«:«^«'^«<«y pause. From the room abo™ came the acute, persistent stammer of th" r^dV^^V" *'''^'"" '™" her nerveless hand read ,t, and put it in his pocket. He picked up the envelope from the fl, and threw it into he waste-paper basket. Then he came dose up to 281 C 1 fc MOTH AND RUST her, and looked her in the eyes. There was mur- der in his. "It was in cipher," he said. She was incapable of speech. "But you understood it? Answer me. By did you understand it, or did you not ?" "I did not." She got the words out. "You are lying. You did, you paid spy ! Now listen to me. If you dare to say one word of this to any living soul, I'll " The door suddenly opened, and Lady Francis hurried in. "Sorry to keep you, my dear," said the high, unmodulated voice. "Old Carr was such a time. What! You here, Frank's? I thought you had gone out." "I have been doing my best to entertain Lady Mary till you appeared," he said. "I came to say I am engaged this afternoon," said Mary. "I can't go with you to your con- cert." The footman appeared with another telegram. Lord Francis opened it before it could reach his wife, and then tossed it to her. "For you," he said, and left the room. 282 you say you win co^e. and 'now™' say ^: on.yra„;o"i;t;:T"'\^-»Ses. I now." ^ ■ ' ""■'' •>« ffoing back Lord Francis, who was in the hall „,., i, • her hansom and closed .he d o s Arhed-H'"'" he leaned forward and said- ^^ ^-^ d'd so. J",r "^^ '° '"'erfere with me, you will pay 283 i :-. i If I i ^■' nil :\ H ! * i ■ i: I r^ ii. ,1 PART II. Ah! woe that youth should love to be Like this swift Thames that speeds so fast. And is so fain to find the sea, That leaves this maze of shadow and sleep, These creeks down which blown blossoms creep, For breakers of the homeless deep. Edmund Gosse. THE little river steamer with its gay awn- ing was hitched up to the Speaker's Stairs. The Lestranges were standing at the gangway welcoming their guests. There w?« .i crowd watching along the parapet of Westminster Bridge just above. "Are we all here? It is past four," said Cap- tain Lestrange to his wife. Mrs. Lestrange looked around. "Eighteen, twenty, twenty-four. Ah! Here is Lady Mary Garden, late as usual. She is the last. No; there is one more to come — Miss Grey." "Which Miss Grey?" 284 ( ! JEiL^PlTFALL ■•-2ruri7S--'r- She ifLT''7^^" '^^'^ ''^ =«'™™ing slowly as >{ dragged step by step, through the shadow of '.h great grey building. me snadow of the strZ' ^7 "°' ^""^ '■*'''"••• ^^id Mrs Le- "ery cordially as she came on boarrl Ti, youngest of the party had made all the r! t of tha d-sunguished gathering wait for her ' st^'w^^hiiirw:' T"'"^'^""^ ^"^^• ■n that short time I^rd Frauds h,H /T earned the girl against her ''" '"''""^ ing'^Eira''" ?M r"' ^'^ '^°""' "°' "^'P -"^h. ever i I, "="' "" "^^ ""S™"- as "o one nlw u °"^ '°S«''" '° Mary. The seat next her was never resolutely occupiel Her Jet «e vo.ce was one of those which swell the tC 28s »♦ MOTH AND RUST III I! honoured complaint that in society you hear noth- ing but the same vapid small-talk, the same trivial remarks over and over again. She was not neg- lected, but she awakened no interest. Her china- blue eyes turned more and more frequently to- wards that tall figure, with its lithe, panther-like grace, sitting in the sun regardless of the glare. Mary, whose care for her own soul came second only to her care for her complexion, wondered at her recklessness. Mrs. Lestrange introduced one or two men to Elsa; but they seemed to find little to say to her. She was distraite, indifferent to what was going on round her. After a time she was left alone, ex- cept when Mrs. Lestrange came to sit by her for a few minutes. Yet she was a marked feature of the party. Wherever Elsa might be she could not be overlooked. Mysterious, involuntary power which some women possess, not necessarily young and beautiful like Elsa, of becoming wherever they go a centre, a focus of attention, whether they will or no. Married men looked furtively at her and whispered to th ir approving wives that Car- stairs was a bold man— that nothing would have induced them to marry a woman of that stamp. 286 ZiLF PITFALL chrysalis It wnc *u , ^^'"^^^ ^^o"^ her of latent em^Sf '''"f'' '* ""^ eyes of a child. *^"''*' '"^"utable sailed eel boats n«^ *i, , ^' ^rown- and dropping ,o./iL tie "^J ttTaT;""' went. Sometimes she lookednn^r *^ i"|b.i<„es. and past .hetot^rsLr^"^"^"^- Presently a white butterflv cam. ,', • , ■• toddling, unsteady win J "0'^ ^ ^"^ °" settled on the awni^J p?" * ''^'"' ^"d "It !. .„ • " ^- ^''=' ' eyes followed it strll r^ "'* "'•" ^''^ '^'-^ 'o Captain lI: strange who was standing near her. The Zt % left the awmng. It settled for a moment on 2«7 »♦ MOTH AND RUST the white rose on Elsa's breast. Now it was off again, a dancing baby fairy between the sun' - sky and sunny river. Then all in a moment some gust of air caught its tiny spread sails, and flung It with wings outstretched upon the swift water. Elsa gave a cry, and tearing the rose out of her breast, leaned far over the railing and flung it to- wards the butterfly. It fell short. The current engulfed butterfly and rose together. Captain Lestrange caught her by the arm as she leaned too far, and held her firmly till she re- covered her balance. "That was rather dangerous," he said, releas- ing her gently. "I could not stand by and see it drown," said Elsa, shivering; and she turned her eyes back across the river to where in the distance the white buildings of Greenwich stood, almost in the water, in the pearl haze. Who shall say what Elsa's thoughts were as she leaned against the railing, white hand against white rose cheek, and watched the tide which was sweeping them towards the sea ! Did she realise that another current was bearing her whither she knew not, was hurrying her little bark, afloat for 288 ik.iiLal. ** ""t 'ime, towards a sureintr linfT \ ' where white sail. „f .'"'^King Ime of breakers, with th? * P*rchance go under? Did she who have r ^ :tt^'-- r: ^" '""^ chill is the deeoeninTi !, "''"' '"'^how life stands? X She diLr '" v'^" * '"^""^ '-.he,ove,esVl\S';2"\X''''':'.t would close the door aeain« t„ / ' *'""'' she, in her erealT, * '"^ '"■•? Did »HouMhavrhirirDMT:.°h'r '-''"'' the thirst of the soul at the 1. „! '"' '? ""^^ wi^h was so urgent,, proffer^t her T'"' '"' Hvrwi:::Lir:fr*-«^---He They were coming back at la«t k .• * slowly, slowly aeainsi .hV . ,. ' ^""« "P To mI^', h ." K^""'' '" '"^""^ °f ^«"«'- ture OuTh ^ ''" '" ''"'™«'" °' ^'°w tor- Wer^t ' '" '"^^ '° ^'^^^ After the S^kers Stairs, the telegram had said Thl Elsa meant to join Urd Francis on her rL™ MOTH AND RUST VI this evening. Ought not she, Mary, to go to Elsa now, where she sat apart watching the sun- set, and implore her to go hon:- ? Ought she not to tell her that Lord Francis was an evil man, who •vould bring great misery upon her? Ought she not to show her that she was steeping her young soul in sin, mining herself upon the threshold of life? Something whispered urgently to Mary that she ought at least to try to hold Elsa back from the precipice; whispered urgently that, per- haps, Elsa, friendless as she was, might listen to her even at this eleventh hour. And Elsa knrw she knew. Was it Mary's soul— dwarfed and strangled in the suffocating bandages of her straitened life and narrow religion— which was feebly stirring in its shroud, was striving to speak ? Mary clenched her little, blue-veined hands. No! No! Elsa would never listen to her. Elsa knew very well what she was doing. Any girl younger even than she knew that it was wicked to allow a married man to make love to her. Elsa was a bad woman by temperament and heredity, not fit to be a good man's wife. Even if Mary could persuade her to give up her lover, still Elsa 290 -IiLl_P I T F A L L S'n .tself. Did not our sI "'' ^' "'= was lost already. """^ "^ »? Elsa no:rr:j3's:;r-^"^'.edo.s 'hings for effect i„ orter t ''' ""'^^ ''""^ '-r''^^^^'^''^^^' ;:Tc.T'r •no™ than another whirt , ""'"'= '^ °"' ">'"? tional person it s a„ Lt?'"^'" =" ~"™"- episode of the h„»! T ""P'''''^^ ^^ion. The Severa. s ^ L: rfj" fj' '" ^'"^'^ •"-«. S-'e, Mary^vot.;':tXte:-.?V;- ^°' would be only too elad ,„ ^''^'' ^h* from deadly sin if f ''"' ' ''"°»' "'"ure i'wasnot/rndhrd'T""^""'""^-''"' "P witi, Odious, dJraefT T '° '"''" "^"^'^ <^o"Id be of use Ih u ''J"^" ""'<^^^ ^'-e -andardofreCme %':;:,T''^t^''^.'> -.f apart fron, that "sort ^ '"'p '?' '"■ her meagre liff^ ch. u j , ^* -Perhaps in '- a/tLt t e?: rt,r '""" ^""^ to us. *^"°^^ creatures turn 291 V oji mkwmmtMm^\.'^:mmmMV^ MOTH AND RUST UUi r M IS •■. r lift; r i .1 I (, I 11' Lord Francis' last threat, spoken low and dis- tinct across the hansom doors, came back to her ears. "If you dare to interfere with me you will pay for it !" The river was narrowing. The buildings and wharves pushed up close and closer. The fretted outlines and towers of Westminster were detach- ing themselves in palest violet from the glv w in the west. A river steamer passed them with a band on board. A faint music, tender and gay, came to them across the water, bringing with it the prom- ise of an abiding love, making all things possible, illuminating with sudden distinctness the vague meaning of this mysterious world of sunset sky and sunset water, and ethereal city of amethyst and pearl; and then— as suddenly as it came— passing away down stream, and taking all its promises with it, leaving the twilight empty and desolate. The sunset burned dim like a spent furnace. The day lost heart and waned all at once. It seemed as if everything had come to an end. And as when evening falls jasmine grows white 292 '^■'-■"im^w^Mmd- U1I_ZUFALL Tearsshoneinhereyes "r 1 """'^ ^"^ "P^- ""■ere?- the s^^ troubled' ' ""' ""P '"y B« apparently they ^"„7^ ^'' '"""J *<> 'ay. ''-d away again to^h ™ earb":.''"^ *'^ -"- ""nster, rising „p „;m„ ^T "'"^^ °f West- "-.archofV~:e-r:'''---*e The steamer slowed and « . ag^nst the Speaker's S.a'rs ""^ °"" ""^^ they hlti:^'^"^"P"' EI^ '■"'° - ''^som before guests were in 7 ZT^" """'^"=^- ^" '"e barely time to dress for w '^'"' '"' *"' '^as P^^^ed as if by mag Mt'^T "' ""^ ^-P" a moment late! folded S^t;" "*"=' ™' "-a^ delayed i„ the traffic .if ' "''■ ^' =he f-ofhertnrnsWly"^, :rsf ^ face mside as it turned n . ' "^^ ^'^^'^ Sayly jingling its bell ^ver W '^' !'^'"°'" «'«« '^ was lost in the crowd ^*''™'"««' bridge, 293 4^ , Im- part III. Thou wilt not with Predestination round Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin? — Omar Khayyam. THE scandal smouldered for a day or two and then raged across London like a fire. Mary stayed at home. She could not face the glare of it. She said she was ill. Her hand shook. She started at the slightest sound. She felt shattered in mind and body. "I could not have stopped her," she said stub- bornly to herself a hundred times, lying wide-eyed through the long, terrifying nights. She be- sieged heaven with prayers for Elsa. On the fourth day Jos came to her. She went down to her little sitting-room and found him standing at the open window with his back to her. She came in softly, trembling a little. She would be very gentle and sympathetic with him. She would imply no reproach. 294 -:l^? • Zil£PITFALL Jos' face was sunk and pinched anH .n eyes were red with tears Lr i * ^^^^ d-y. red with hard TyLT'- T""'""^ "^ they met hers, they werTfi.'' "a^^"' ^°^' ^^ tearless endurn/aZv ff^ V"""""""^ " '"eir the surgooa-s ZT'' '' '""^^ °' ^ ">» ""der ^n.h°e:^r:ira:::-''"'''"--<'«"^.>ay- tHf%t'hrdX::n^.t™";r-'--'"^' he had had a great etpe "°""' "' ^' °"- He did not appear to hear her H. , , . r:^:rh:r"'^'""-"--^"-^d^ "You saw her last." he sa.'H kv , . .ys heart turned slV:^arhr^"- hastS "" "" "" '-''" ^"e said, ant.t"""' an impatient movement. He knew JJou were with her a., the afternoon on the 295 f^-^,'^:m^- MOTH AND RUST "Yes. But, of course, there were numbers of others. I had many friends whom I had to " "Did you notice anything.? Did you have any talk with her ? Was she different to usual ?" "She does not generally talk much. She was rather silent." "You did not think she looked as if she had anything on her mind ?" "I couldn't say. I know her so very slightly." Mary's voice was cold. "She did not care for me," said Jos. "I knew that all along;" and he put his scarred hand on his mouth. "She was not worthy of you." He did not hear her. He took away his hand, and clenched it heavily on the other. "I knew she didn't care," he said, in a level, pas- sionless voice. "But I loved her. From the first go-off I saw she was different to other women. And I thought— I know I'm only a rough fellow —but I thought perhaps in time—. I'm not up to much, but I would have made her a good husband —and, at any rate, I would have taken her away from her father. He said she was willing. I—I tried to believe him. He wanted to get rid of her 296 III J UIIJJTFALL and-I wanted to have hiT^ThlT ~ ^- and short of it. We settle -Vl "^^ ** '°"» She hadn't a chancetthtt'o, ^""" "^- ' ' give her another-a hi *■ ^ """"^h' I'd She had neve Ld a r„r""'"' ''' "^ -''• She had never had a„;:pt"*°'""'^^*">g- school. She had "^ '^'"^"^ ^"hat French never known a ;L":rr" ""*• ^"^ "ad "•« I brought hfrto ; rMa'rr ?" ""' ™-' were rood and gentle^n S, /j"'" "^ ^o" ft;end to her; and that I had knn "'°"''' ^ " hf;^ and she n.ight trust":' ''"'"'" '"" '" ^^ She never liked mp " .^-a nr to her that she muT' J 1 ""^- ^' ^«n,ed -hat? Againsrwhol'^'"" '"''"■ ^^-« W she had only confided in vou " h. •.. , Si:trr""''^r^~---eo aion,w:;:«Ht7-'i-hi,d,andl3een,ed after I had seen the™ fi^ to t ^r^f^ ^"^ """^^ "ght, and she would cheer It I '^ ''"' "" >*ed the performing 7ZZ ZT'' '"-'''' ing her there again XTL 1 "'°"^'" <>' '^I'- ^gain. And I knew that sol ''' """^ '^^^ -^«.sh,ahoutheingrrj!::;-r-Tt: Wh^^^ MOTH AND RUST 11 •.«. , V ;•■* ■* — a lottery — that is what it is — a lottery — so I thought it would all come right in time; I never thought— I never guessed—" Jos' voice broke. "I see now, I helped to push her into it — but — I didn't know. ... If only you had known that last afternoon, and could have pleaded with her .... If only you had known, and could have held her back— my white lamb, my little Elsa." He ground his heel against the polished floor. There was a long silence. Then he got up and went away. It was not until the end of July that Mary saw him again. She had heard nothing of him. She only knew that he had left London. He came in one evening late, and Mary's aunt discreetly disappeared after a few minutes' desultory conver- sation. He looked worn and aged, but he spoke calmly. And this time he noticed Mary's existence. "You look pulled down," he said, kindly. "Has the season been too much for you?" "It is not that," she said. "I have been dis- tressed because an old friend of mine is in trouble." 298 ;>^^^^mFrw- JLiiE PITFALL He looked at her^amu^;;^;;;;;;;;^;;^;;^-- A great compunction seize,! h,„, t, ""'"«'• hand and kissed it. '""'""■"• "e took her "Y°" "^e the best woman in the world," he said Don t worry your kind heart about me r worth if " Ti,. I. <«"out me. I m not He. an'd^Jnt.^LZtrSrV-'" the silver table. knick-knacks on "Bethune has been tackled " u^ -j , "The Duke of -_ didTt '. • ^ '"^^'"^^'• marry her-if-if_!. . ' '"^ ^^^ ^^' P''°'"i«ed to "If what?" "If his wife will divorce him tu t^ . rot his promise in biackan^whTte./"^^"^' ^- _I^*on t think Lady Francis will divorce him." hutfc::id„^it"Hrstr^'°^^"^°"' that ifs life or death for F.ll." "'" ' """ '" ^« "You would not expect her under th. • stances, to consider El^." '"■'""'" "Yes, I should," said the simpleton "vvi should not she heln --er? t-, "P'''""' Why anH =1,. J '^ " ^''"e ="•« no children did She r '"* '" ^^H"- She never' others." ''' '° "'^"^ "^ '- 'he sake ofl 299 MOTH AND RUST w "I don't think she will." "I want you to persuade her, Mary." Mary's heart swelled. This, then, was what he had come about. "Aren't you her greatest friend ? Do put it be- fore her plainly. I'm a blundering idiot, and she seemed to think I had no right to speak to her on the subject. Perhaps I had not. I never thought of that. I only thought of— But do you go to her, and bring her to a better mind." "I will try," said Mary. "I wish there were more women like you, Maimie," he said, using for the first time for years the pet name which he had called her by when they were boy and girl together. Mary went to Lady Francis next day, but she did not make a superhuman effort to persuade her friend. She considered that it was not desirable that Elsa should be reinstated. If there were no punishment for such misdemeanors what would society come to! For the sake of others, as a warning, it was necessary that Elsa should suffer. All she said to Lady Francis was, "Are you go- ing to divorce Lord Francis!*" "No, my dear," said that lady, with a harsh lit- 300 "^m^T^^izi THE PITFALL tklaugh; "I am i^^TlTi^i^^r:-;;^^. 8»tt«, m about a quarter of an hour whether r had d.vorc«, him or h. had divorced me, I ha.; about all I ve got out of my r.;arriage. I don't .n^d to go about as a divorced womfn unde^ my maKlcn name of Huggins. The idea does no^ smile on me. Besides. I know Francis. He wH ThUlt °n .«* <«<'-'«^ore. He has:' a shdhng, and he .s in debt. He can't get on w«hout me. I was a goose to marry him. but s«l" I am the goose that lays the golden eggs!" Jos' parents sent Mary a pressing invitation to stay w.th them after the season. Mary went and |«ra h^^3 ^„„^,^._^^_^^^^_.^y .an ■n that quiet old country house than she had known for many years. Jos' father and mother were devoted to her, with that devotion, artificial >n Its ongm, but genuine in its later stages of parents who have made up their minds that she was the one woman" for their son. Mary played old Irish melodies in the evenings by the hour, and sang sweetly at prayers. She was always ready 301 MOTH AND RUST to listen to General Carstairs' history of the fauna of Dampshiie, and to take an interest in Mrs. Car- stairs' Sunday School. She had a succession of the simplest white muslin gowns (she could still wear white) and wide-brimmed garden hats. Mary in the country was more rural than those who abide in it all the year round. Jos was often there. There was no doubt about it. Jos was coming back to his early allegiance. Perhaps his parents, horrified by his single, un- aided attempt at matrimony, were tenderly push- ing him back. Perhaps, in tlie entire exhaustion and numbness that had succeeded the shock of Elsa's defection, he hardly realized what others were planning round him. Perhaps, when a man has been heartlessly slighted, he turns uncon- sciously to the woman of whose undoubted love he is vaguely aware. Jos sat at Mary's feet, not metaphorically, but literally, for hours together, by the sundial in the rose garden, hardly speaking, like a man stunned. Still, he sat there. And she did her embroidery, and looked softly down at him now and then. The doors of the narrow airless prison of her love were open to receive him. They would be mar- 302 ^f5 THE PITFALL ned presently. And she should make him give up the army and become a magistrate instead. She would never let him out of her sight. A wife's place IS beside her husband. She knevv-for how many wives, compact of experience, had whis- per^ to her during the evening hour of feminine confidence, when the back hair is let down, had assured her that the perpetual presence of the wife was the only safeguard for the well-being of that mysterious creature of low instincts, that half- tamed wild animal, always liable to break away unless held in by feminine bit and bridle, that irre- sponsible babe, that slave of impulse-man ! She would give him perfect freedom, of course. She would encourage him to go into the Yeo- manry, and she should certainly allow him to go out without her for the annual training. He would be quite safe in a tent, surrounded by his own tenantry— but-on other occasions she his wife, would be ever by his side. That was the only way to keep a man good and happy. Early in September Jos went away for a few days' shooting. Mary, who generally paid rounds 303 MOTH AND RUST in' of visits, after the season, at dull country houses (she was not greatly in request at the amusing ones)— Mary still remained with the Carstairs, who implored her to stay on whenever she sug- gested that she was paying them "a visitation." Jos was to return that afternoon, for General Carstairs was depending on him to help to shoot his owr cartridges on the morrow. But the after- noon passed, and Jos did not come. The next day passed, and still no. Jos. And no letter or tele- gram. His father and mother were silently un- easy. They said no doubt he had been persuaded to stay on where he was, and had forgotten the shoot at home. Mary said "no doubt," but a rea- sonless fear gathered like thin mist across her heart. Where was he? The letters that had been forwarded to his last address all came back. A week passed, and still no Jos, and no answer to autocratic parental telegrams. Then suddenly Jos telegraphed from London saying he should return early that afternoon, and asking to be met at the station. When the time drew near Mary established her- self with a book in the rose garden. He would 304 mlSttL.MiSmj THE PITFALL come to her there as he had so oft^n ci^:,, before The roses were well nigh over, b. t in their pf ,ce the sweet white faces of the Jap..ese anemc nes were crowding up round the old grey sundial. Ihe sunny, windless air was full of the cawing of rooks. It was the time and the place where a de- sultory love might rome by chance and linger awhile; not where a desperate love, brought to bay, would wage one of his pitched battles Peace and rest were close at hand. Why had she been fearful.? Surely all was well, and he was coming back. He was coming back ! She waited, as it seemed to her, for hours before she heard the faint sound of his dogcart. She should see him in a moment. He would speak to his parents, and then ask where she was, and then come out to her. O! how she loved him! But she must appear calm, and not too glad to see him ! She heard his step, strong, light, alert, as it used to be of old; not the slow, dragging, aimless step of the last two months. He came quickly round the yew hedge and stood before her. She raised her eyes slowly from her book to meet his, a smile parting her lips. 305 ..^:;-i>;^-^v^ MOTH AND RUST * ''H^'' ft ^^BUk M He was looking hard at her with burning scorn and contempt in his hghtning grey eyes. The smile froze on her lips. "I have seen Elsa/' he said. "I only came back here for half an hour to-speak to you " A cold hand seemed to be pressed against Mary's heart. "I found by chance, the merest chance, where she was," he continued. "I went at once. She was alone, for Bethune has gone back to his wife I suppose you knew he had gone back. I did not 1 found her-"-he stopped as if the remembrance were too acute, and then went on firmly • "We had a long talk. She was in great trouble Hie told me everything, and how he-that devil— had made love to her from the first day she came back from school, and how her father knew of it and had obliged her to accept me. And she said she knew It was wrong to run away with him, but she thought It was more wrong to marry without love and that the nearer the day came the more she felt she must escape, and she seemed hemmed in on every side, and she did love Bjthune, and he had sworn to her that he would marry her directly he got his divorce, and that his wife did not care for 306 THE PI 1 FALL him, 3nd would be glad to be free; and that all that was necessary was a little courage on her part. So she tried to be brave— and— she said she did not think at the time that it could be so very wicked to marry the person she really loved, for you knew, and you never said a word to stop her. She said you had many opportunities of speaking to her on the boat, and she knew you were so good you would certainly have told her if it was really so very wicked." "I knew it was no use speaking," said Mary, hoarsely. "You might have tried to save my wife for my sake," said Jos. "You might have tried to save her for her own. But you didn't. I don't care to know your reasons. 1 only know that— you did not do it. You deliberately— let — her — drown." His eyes flashed. The whole quiet, commonplace man seemed transfigured by some overmastering ennobling emotion. "And I have come to tell you that I think the bad women are better than the good ones, and that I am going back to Elsa, to Elsa betrayed, deserted, outcast — my Elsa, who, but for you, might have been none of these things ; who, but for you, might still be like one of these," 307. Hi^ MOTH AND RUST he touched one of the white anemones with his scarred hand. "I am going back to her-and if- in time, she can forget the past and feel kindly to- ward me— I will marry her." And he did. THE END. §tSMl ^fy^.'^ I i H.