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fl<«^

MOTH AND RUST

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 "

"Ruit in thy gold, a
moth u in thine amy "

— CHUITtNA ROUITTI

Toronto

George N. Morang .'* Company, Limited

1902

I -10 J

First Edition published October, 1902.

THE BURR printing HOUSE
NEW YORK

Co
€ssex

Not chance of birth or place has made us friends

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-

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

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
I<X)ked what she was-a little dull, without a grain
of imagination. Was it the dulness of want of

MOTH AND RUST

ability, or only the dulness of an uneducated mind,
of powers unused, still dormant ?

Without her transcendent beauty she would
have appeared uninteresting and commonplace.

"Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon
earth."

The Vicar had a habit of repeating his text
several times in the course of his sermon. Janet
heard it the third time, and it forced the entrance
of her mind.

Her treasure was certainly on earth. It con-
sisted of the heavy, sleek-haired young man witi'
the sunburnt complexion and the reddish mous-
tache at the end of the pew, — in short, "the
Squire."

After a short and ardent courtship she had
accepted him, and then she herself had been ac-
cepted, not without groans, by his family. The
groans had not been audible ; but she was vaguely
aware that she was not received with enthusiasm
by the family of her hero, her wonderful fairy
prince who had ridden into her life on a golden
chestnut. George Trefusis was heavily built, but
in Janet's eyes he was slender. His taciturn dul-
ness was in her eyes a most dignified and becom-

MOTH AND RUST

ing reserve. His inveterate unsociability ^
to her-not that it needed proving-his Ltld
supenonty. She could not be surprised at the
coldness of her reception as his betrothed, for she
acutely felt her own great unworthiness of beine
the consort of this resplendent personage, who
could have married any one. Why had he hon-
oured her among all women ?

The answer was sufficiently obvious to everv
one except herself. The fairy prince had fallen
h<av.ly m love with her beauty; so heavily that
after a secret but stubborn resistance, he had been
vanquished by it. Marry her he must and would
whatever his mother might say. And she had
said a good deal. She had not kept silence.

And now Janet was staying for the first time at
Easthope. which was one day to be her heme; the
old Tudor house standing among its terraced gar-
dens which had belonged to a Trefusis since a
Trefusis built it in Henry the Seventh's time.

CHAPTER II

On peut choisir ses amities, mais on subit I'amour.

Princesse Karadja.

AFTER luncheon George offered to take
Janet round the gardens. Janet looked
timidly at Mrs. Trefusis. She did not
know whether she ought to accept or
not. There might be etiquettes connected with
afternoon walks of which she was not aware. For
even since her arrival at Easthope yesterday
It had been borne in upon her that there were
many things of which she was not aware.

"Pray let my son show you the gardens," said
Mrs. Trefusis, with impatient formality. "The
roses are in great beauty just now."

Janet went to put on her hat, and Mrs. Trefusis
lay down on the -.ofa in the drawing-room with a
little groan. Anne sat down by her. The eyes
of both women followed Janet's tall, magnificent
figure as she joined Ceorge on the terrace.

"She dresses like a shop giri," said Mrs. Tre-

^1^1

M'i^ltiitj.'-

:iy^"

•'^m'^^'f^i

3
"f

MOTH AND RUST

fusis. "And what a hat! Exactly what one sees
on the top of omnibuses nowadays."

Anne did not defend the hat. ' It was beyond
defence She supposed, with a tinge of compas-
sion, what was indeed the case, that Janet had
made a speaal pilgrimage to Mudbury to acquire

All Anne said was : "Very respectable people eo
on the top of omnibuses now-a-days"

"I am not saying anything against her respecta-

liH w^'" '"^""'"^ ^Sainst it I should have
Zl^ '"'''" "°" '' "-■<• ""« been my
Anne smiled faintly. "A painful duty."
I m not so sure," said Mrs. Trefusis, grimly
She never posed before Anne. nor. for thft Zl
ter. d.d any one else. "But iron, all I can make
out. th,s g,r ,s a model of middl^class respectabil-
>ty. 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

r-^iJftSii^^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

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

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

.t^^^^smm:

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

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-

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."

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

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."

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™ '"'''''

,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

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<I nn, choice in (he m.-,„cr wi! T ,• "'"■■
.•"". I recognize-I him. Thld kin I ""' ""^

'"'• I hnd been waiting foHwl J" "' "" "^
knowing it t „.„„, *•„ "^ """ "'''ays without

■east, not in the way ll" 7 '""' '""'■• ^'

did myself years ago T "'T '°' ^"^ »' ' -c.

."7 Iamhin,.'And~;"r'''°r''
■n love with oneself H. 0"e can't fall

are one W^Zlv "* '^ "y other self. We

.loin.n.!.h"r'"'^P=""f""y»Part,asweare

fact ;e„ains the X"""' ""' "^ ^'«^ "■" 'ho

Mrs. Trefusis did not answer t
that when we meet i, , ^""^ '" '° "■•«.

holy ground * "" "='"^« *=" we are on

JVou and he will „,arry someday." she said at

Her thoughts went hart f« u
'-o-ticloveandrrrti^^rt-

*v*«iiair-

"You forget mother," said Anne.

onlhf Jrt "f i u """ ""' °"'"» '° ™"' o! zeal
on tne part of both mothers Mrc t r •

irrevocably behind th. • '^^"''' "^^

J^oiy Dehind the scenes in Annes family

Mother ought by nature to have been a m^n
a a cricketer, said Anne, "instead of the
mother of many daughters 9h« • . .

chance with her H , 1^ ^ "^ ^^"^ ""^ *
h,„ h. "" "y'« "^y "ot be dimilied

J^10TH_AN_D_RUST

"Didherealiytrvtogetoutofit?"

hnf v.« '*"^ii sne came in his -av

out he never made the Iracf «ff .. x ' ^'

he,did not wa„u:'^:;~?«'° -«"... J

"And Cecily?"

"Cecily did not dislike him qi,.
nineteen, and she had-^sh"' told "'', °"'^
hoped for curly hai, and ccte^f "^^^
qu.te straig-ht, what little there iLf . c^ tA'
a few tears about that, but she dM 1 . '^'^

They are a n!«> 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::

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-

: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 "

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

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

■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

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^

MOTH AND RUST

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.

*#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.

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'

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,

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

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

• aumm

i* •.;*.•

■■■■' '.t^-r?

Hi
I -■ i

-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.

BPH

i'-^-"*' . ?^ '^

^^^^^H;

kj^^i^^"' _-«,»" " ^■---

'^T^

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

'.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-

'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

■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

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-

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

}

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.

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."°'^^^^^°—

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

,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<ir:rr^''-''-

myself, with whom I had I^^L "'°'""' ""^

I was humbled. "* '" '^<'^''"«- And

And I gave reverence, and patience, and
47

MOTH AND RUST

faith and hope, and intuition, and service. I even
gave h,„, truth. I put my hands under his feet.
But he sa.d .t was not enough. So I gave him my
heart. That was the last I had to give.
" 'And Love took it in a great tenderness and

smote ,t. And in the anguish the human face of

•Love vanished away.

"•And afterwards, long years afterwards,
when I was first able to move and look up, I saw
Love, who as I thought was gone, keeping watch
beside me And I saw his face clear, without the
human ve,l between me and it. And it was the
face of God. And I saw that Love and God are
one, and that, because of His exceeding glory, He
had been constramed to take flesh even as Christ
took It so that my dim eyes might be able to ap-
prehend H,m. And I saw that it was He and He
only who had walked with me from the first.' "

Anne laid down the book. She looked fixedly
out across the quiet gardens, with their long 'had-
ows, to the still sunlit woods beyond. Her" face
changed, as the face of one who, in patient endur-
ance, has long rowed against the stream, and who
at last lets the benign, constraining current take

* * * ♦

wh7, ir^J""'/' "" ^'""' "I-l-i'e undersLd

Ann *^ °'^g'""«nan that was speaking."
Anne sarted violently, and turned l,er cdour-
l^s face towards the voice. It seemed to recall

jZjt .: r "' '''■^'^"«- She had forgone
Janet ^^ She had been too far off to hear w/at she

^Z!t!^^' f "^ '- -^ "--."

sam/ ac *u '^"'^'>'' 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

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.

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

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."

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

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.

^^^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

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.

-^^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<i before she said.

'- !rprs.^';t„t™' "'^* '"^ "=«' said it
I""* Bn.„d nert^*"'r^ ""'* *'"• «"«.-

"■« moment as thTsLt"of^r"''- ^^^ «
»'M,totheshuthWrtt ^' ^''^ '^^ al>
'"'-"cemen, i„ morf ;" sT" "l*:'^"^ '" «-'ai
T'-^ '- Prls parted'aTS-'-

victoria, and the last
57

•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. ^""^

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

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-

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.

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.

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 "

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

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.

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

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 <fe somJl^.^ '"' ''°" '"

Will you do it?" ^ '"' "" ""'"^Wy-

"Yes," said Janet.

fair facri"*f '"' =" ""'™« « "» '""<«".

su™L ^ >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„»,„^ „, ,„^-- -";

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

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

-'''.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."

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

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

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.

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,

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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

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

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

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

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?

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

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.

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.

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.

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

MOTH AND RJST

was. He did not enter it, but stood in the d<or-.
way, nearly filling it up, a tall, powerfully-built,
unyouthful-looking man with shaggy eyebrows
and a grim, clean-shaved face and heavy jaw.
You may see such a face and figure any day in the
Yorkshire mines or in a stonemason's yard.

The millionaire took oflf his hat with a large,
blackened hand, and said to Jatiet :

"I trust the salvage men have warned you that
the passages on ypur right are unsafe?" He
pointed towards the way by which she had come.
It was evidently an eflfort to him to speak to her.
He was a shy man.

His voice was deep and gentle. It gave the
same impression of strength behind it that a quiet
wave does of the sea. He stood with his head
thrown slightly back, an austere, massive figure,
lot without a certain dignity, And as he looked
at Janet, there was just room in his narrow, near-
sighted slits of eyes for a stern kindliness to shine
tarough. Children and dogs always made a bee-
line for Stephen.
As Janet did not answer, he said again :
"I trust you will not attempt to go down the
passage to your right. It is not safe."

"No." said Janet, and she remembered her in-
structions. -I am only here to see if De Riva/s
picture of Airs. Brand is safe "
_'Here is De Rivaz himself." said Stephen.
May we come m a moment and look at it > 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

MOTH AND RUST

"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

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

MOTH AND RUST

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."

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

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

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."

]

1 .

■

f i

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

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

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.

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

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

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."

MOTH AND RUST

;;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

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

^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

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

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■: 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

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

'.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.
*******

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mck^.M

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

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

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

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

»fa

MOTH AND RUST

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."

CHAPTER IX

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

"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.

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."

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!Ai.

:j^7mm^smk^^^-+

MOTH AND RUST

"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

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' !

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

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

BW^

■J ^ »^r!"^ffls.»ri'-

MOTH AND RUST

■■-.

"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

'.'.

MOTH AND RUST

"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

i ' ?

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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.

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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

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MOTH AND RUST

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

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•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

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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

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

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.

MOTH AND RUST

(

1^1

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

III

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

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

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

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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

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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

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

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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

!■

MOTH AND RUST

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

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

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

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

-t las , an<l to a woman for whom she felt res,«ct-
fu admiration, who had nlways treated her« ,
w. h „.e eol, civility .ha. was, in Janet's ey. the
hal-mark of ,„cial and mental superiority

'And dr he like vnn v cu •. .
Sheco„I,;„c,....F, f !":/'" ^f-r """'"•

course ,J'Pr., J , ^i :^^ '-'^

somi.m.-! ; ■'°*'' ^««1 Fred, "and

potmdec. a. ,n . ,e...... ^^f,,^ „,, ^,„„^«

^ ain sr'" : r-""'' ^"" ""■' ''°- 0" one

"he 1 1.7""., ""' '°°''"' =" •"■"•• "" an-
other she had spoken to him of BrowninR-.hat

was .he time when he had bough. BrowniJ

man Aere, a curate, a beast, but thinking a lot of
h mself ,. on a fourth, she had said that Wls-the
Mudbury Ball, where he had danced with her-
were an mnocent form of recreation, etc etc

Janet drank in every word. 1. reminded her
she satd, of "her and George." Indeed there
were many salient poin.s of resemblance b^.w;n
the .wo courtships. The brother and sister Tat

'57

MOTH AND RUST

iir.if

■i ■

long togetlier hand in hand in the soft summer
night. Only when she got up at last did the
thought of the missing I. O. U. return to Janet.

"Oh ! Fred !" she said, as they walked towards
the house, "supposing, after all, your I. O. U.
turns up. How dreadful! What would hap-

pen

"It won't turn up," said Fred, with a laugh.

When Janet was alone in her room, she remem-
bered again, with pained bewilderment, that Fred
had actually believed she had destroyed that miss-
ing paper. It did not distress her that Monkey
Brand evidently believed the same. She would,
of course, tell him that he was mistaken. But
Fred! He ought to have known better. Her
thoughts returned speedily to her brother's future.
Ht would settle down now, and be a good man,
and marry the eldest Miss Ford. She felt happier
about him than she had done since Cuckoo's death.
Her constant pra3^er, that he might repent and
lead a new life, had evidently been heard.

As she closed her eyes, she said to herself: "I
daresay Fred and Venetia will be married the
same day as George and me."

♦ * * ♦ * * «

158

MOTH AND RUST

Monkey Brand appeared at Ivy Cottage a few
days later. Janet was in the field with Fred, tak-
ing the setter puppies for a run, when the Trefu-
sis Arms dogcart from Mudbury drove up, and
Nemesis, in the shape of Monkey Brand, got slow-
ly down from it, wrong leg first. Even in the
extreme heat Monkey Brand wore a high hat, and
a long buttoned-up frock coat, and varnished
boots. As he came towards them in the sunshine,
there was a rigid, controlled desolation in his yel-
lowlined face, which made Janet feel suddenly
ashamed of her happiness in her own love.

"I had better go," said Fred, hurriedly. "I
don't want to be uncivil to the brute in my own
house."

"Go," said Janet. "Bui, of course, you must
stop. Mr. Brand has come down on purpose to
see us."

She went forward to meet him, and as he took
her hand somewhat stiffly, he met the tender sym-
pathy in her clear eyes, and winced under it.

His face became a shade less rigid. He looked
shrunk and exhausted, as if he had undergone the
extreme rigour of a biting frost. Perhaps he
had.

159

iiir..'iA^

MOTH AND RUST

"I have come to see you on business," he said to
Janet, hardly returning Fred's half-nervous, half-
defiant greeting.

Janet led the way into the little parlour, and
they sat down in silence. Fred sat down near the
door, and began picking at the ro.e in his button-
hole.

Monkey Brand held his hat in his hand. He
took off one black glove, dropped it into his hat,
and looked fixedly at it.

The cloud on Janet's horizon lay heavy over
her whole sky. A single petal, loosened by a
shaking hand, fell from Fred's rose on to the
floor.

_ 'I am sure, Miss Black," said Monkey Brand,
that you will offer me an explanation respecting

your visit to my flat when my wife was dying "
I went up at her wish," said Janet, breathing

hard She seemed to see again Cuckoo's an-

guished, fading eyes fixed upon her
"Why?"

^^^^She asked me to go and see if her picture was

"I had already told her it was safe."
Janet did not answer.

i6o

: I

MOTH AND RUST

The rose in Fred's buttoniiole fell, petal by
petal.

Monkey Brand's voice had hardened when he
spoke again.

"I am sure," he said, and for a moment he fixed
his dull, sinister eyes upon her, "that you will see
the advisability, the ;.2cessity, of telling me why
you burnt some papers when you clandestinely vis-
ited my flat."

"I burnt nothing."

He looked into his hat. Janet's bewildered
eyes followed the direction of his, and looked into
his hat too. There was nothing in it but a glove.
"There were ashes of burnt papers in the grate,"
he continued. "The lift-man saw you leave the
room, which had smoke in it. A valuable paper,
your brother's I. O. U., is missing. I merely
state established facts, which it is useless, which it
is prejudicial to you to contradict."

"I burnt nothing," said Janet again ; but there
was a break in her voice. Her heart began to
struggle like some shy woodland animal which
suddenly sees itself surrounded.

Monkey Brand looked again at her. His wife
had loved her. Across the material, merciless

i6i

MOTH AND RUST

face of the money-lender a flicker passed of some
other feeling besides the business of the moment;
as if— almost as if he would not have been averse
to help her, if she would deal strai^htfoiwardly
with him.

"You were my wife's friend," he said, after a
moment's pause. "She often spoke of you with
affection. I also regarded you with high esteem.
A few days before you came to stay with us I was
looking over my papers one evening and I men-
tioned that your brother's I. O. U. would fall due
almost immediately. She said she believed it
would ruin him if I called in the money then. I
said I should do so, for I had waited once already
against my known rules of business. I never
wait. I should not be in the position which I
occupy to-day if I had ever waited. She aid,
'Wait, at least, till after Janet's wedding. It
might tell against her if her brother went smash
just before.' I replied that I should foreclose,
wedding or none. She came across to me, and by
a sudden movement took the I. O. U. out of my
hand before I could stop her. 'I won't have Janet
distressed; she said. 'I shall keep it myself till
after the wedding;' and she locked it up before

162

MOTH AND RUST

my eyes in a cabinet T had given her, in which
she kept her own papers. 1 seldom yield to senti-
ment, but she — she recalled to me my own wed-
ding — and in this instance I did so. It was the
last evening we spent at home alone together.
She went much to the theatre, and into society,
and I seldom had time to accompany her."

Monkey Brand stopped a moment. Then he
went on.

"My wife saw you alone when she was dying.
She was evidently anxious to see you alone. It
was like her even then to think of others. If you
teil me, on your word of honour, that she asked
you to go up to the flat and burn that I. O. U., and
that she told you where to find it — No. If she
even gave you leave, as you were no doubt anxious
on the subject — if you assure mc that she yielded
to your entreaties and that she even gave you
leave to destroy it — I will believe it. I will ac-
cept your statement. The last wish of my wife, if
you say it was her wish, is enough for me."
Monkey Brand looked out of the window at the
still noonday sunshine. "I would abide by it," he
said, and his face worked.

"She never spoke to me on the subject of the

163

MOTH AND RUST

I. O. U., said Janet, two large tears rolling down
her quivering cheeks. "She never gave me leave
to burn it. I didn't burn it. I burnt nothing."

"Janet!" almost shrieked Fred, nearly beside
himself. "Janet, don't you see that~that-
Tell him you did it. We both know you did it
Own the truth."
Janet looked from one to the other.
"I burnt nothing." she said, but her eyes fell.
Her word had never been doubted before.
Both men saw she was lying.
Monkey Brand'siace changed. It became once
agam as many poor wretches had seen it, whose
hard-wrung money had gone to buy his wife's
gowns and diamonds.

He got up. He took his glove out of the crown
of his hat. put on his hat in the room, and walked
slowly out of the house. In the doorway he
looked back at Janet, and she saw, directed at her
for the first time, the expression with which she
was to grow familiar, that which meets the swind-
ler and the liar.

The brother and sister watched in silence the
rigid little departing figure, as it climbed back,
wrong leg first, into the dogcart and drove away.

164

MOTH AND RUST

Then Fred burst out—

"Oh ! you fool, you fool ! " he stammered, shak-
ing from head to foot. "Why didn't you say Mrs.
Brand told yo.i to burn it ? His wi fe was his soft
side. Oh! my God! what a chance, and you
didn't take it. That man will ruin us yet. I saw
it in his face."

"But she didn't tell me to burn it."

Janet looked like a bewildered, distressed child
who suddenly finds herself in a room full of ma-
chinery of which she understands nothing, and
whose inadvertent touch, as she tries to creep
away, has set great malevolent wheels whirring
all round her.

"I daresay she didn't," said Fred, fiercely; and
he flung out of the room.

He went and stood a long time leaning over the
fence into the paddock where his yearlings were.

"It's an awful thing to be a fool," he said to
himself.

165

CHAPTER XII

II n'est aucun mal qui ne „.is,e. en dcrniire .nalyse-
d une prnsie <troite, ou d'un sentiment mediocre.

Maeterlinck.

THE storm had fallen on Janet at last.
She saw it was a storm, and met it
with courage and patience, and without
apprehension as to what so fierce a hur-
ncane might ultimately destroy; what founda-
tions Its rising floods might sweep away. She
suffered dumbly under the knowledge that Mon-
key Brand and Fred both firmly believed her to be
guilty; suffered dumbly the gradual alienation of
her brother, who never forgave her her obtuseness
when a way of escape had been offered her, and
who shivered under an acute anxiety as to what
Monkey Brand would do next, together with a
gnawing suspense respecting the eldest Miss Ford
who had become the object of marked attentions
on the part of a colonial Bishop.
Janet said to herself constantly in these days :

i66

fm-

h: ; '■

JlSLIiijAN_D_RUsT

"Truth will prevail." She dW „„. k-i- i

principle, bu. in her ver^o„ of i?" H rM"/'*
the power of truth became "evJl ^l '"

"di.« Jul, da,s ara,,r .;r:K r/'ea'ct

slower than the last Truth a- a ^' ^"

iuai. 1 ruth did not orevail Ti,-

storm prevailed instead. Foundati!„TZ:,
crumble. foundations began to

U«Z'l """" *'*"" '■' """'O ^ difficult to sav
but the damning evidence against fanet ,h.
P-cion, the almost certainty of tr V r
reached Easthope. ^ *' ""P'^'y-

hrith ^T "• '■'''^'*'' "-"h ""bbomness
hs mothers frenzied entreaties. Neverthelel!
after a time his f vW,, «r ^^^^venneiess,

r,7' '^■^""•ad h'nted as much. Fred's evi
sbwiv oT'' T" ** ^'P^""' P-hed Geo ge

167

MOTH AND RUST

not. She repeated her obvious lie even to him,
when at last he forced himself to speak to her on
the subject. His narrow, upright nature ab-
horred crookedness, and, according to his feeble
searchlight, he deemed Janet crooked.

His mother's admonitions began to work in him
like leaven. How often she had said to him:
"She has lied to others. The day will come when
she will He to you." That day had already come.
Perhaps his mother was right after all. He had
heard men say the same thing : "What is bred in
the bone will come out in the flesh." "Take a bird
out of a good nest," etc., etc.

And George, who in other circumstances would
have defended Janet to the last drop of his blood ;
who would have carried her over burning deserts
till he fell dead from thirst — George, who was
capable of heroism on her behalf — weakened to-
wards her.

She had fallen in love with him in the begin-
ning, partly because he was "straighter" than the
men she associated with. Yet this very rectitude
which had attracted her was now alienating her
lover from her as perhaps nothing else could have
doue. Strange back blow of Fate, that the cord

i68

emf*r

MOTH AND RUST

which had drawn her toward, him should tighten
to a noose round her neck.
George weakened towards her.

from wuhout, always to fail when the pinch
comes; to disbelieve in those whom they obtusely
love when suspicion falls on them; to be alienated
from hem by their success; to be discouraged by

!^mL"'k'\'""'^'"°'" °' "•"' "'Shcr motives,
repelled by their enthusiasms.

George would not have failed if the pinch had

ful because h,s faith had not been put to the test,
he wouM have made Janet an excellent and loving
husband, and they would probably have spent
many happy years together-if only the pinch had
not come. Anne early divined, from Janet's not
ve^ lummous letters, that George was becoming
estranged from her. Anne came down for a Sun-
day to Easthope early in July, and quickly dis-

ZZu f ' """ °' '"" '«""'8«"ent (which
Janet had not mentioned) in the voluble denun-
ctafons of Mrs. Trefusis and the sullen unhappi-
ness of her son. ^^

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^^ 16S3 Eost Main Street

g*— S Rochester, Ne» York U609 USA

^p (716) ♦82 ■■ 0300 - Phone

^S (716) 288-S989-rax

MOTH AND RUST

Mrs. Trefusis had wormed out all the most
damning evidence against Janet, partly from
Fred's confidence to George and partly from Mon-
key Brand, with whom she had had money deal-
ings, and to whom she applied direct- She showed
Anne the money-lender's answer, in its admirable
restrained conciseness, with its ordered sequence
of inexorable facts. Anne's heart sank as she read
it, and she suddenly remembered Janet's words in
delirium: "I have burnt them all. Everything.
There is nothing left."

The letter fell from her nerveless hand. She
looked at it, momentarily stunned.

"And this is the woman," said Mrs. Trefusis,
scratching the letter towards her with her stick
and regaining possession of it, "this is the woman
whom you pressed me only a month ago to re-
ceive as my daughter-in-law. Didn't I say she
came of a bad stock ? Didn't I say that what was
bred in the bone would come out in the flesh?
George would not listen to me then, but my poor,
deluded boy is beginning to see now that I was
right."

Mrs. Trefusis wiped away two small tears with
her trembling, claw-like hand. Anne could not

170

■. I

MOTH AND RUST

but see^that she was inevitably convinced of Jan-

'Jou think I am vindictive, Anne," she said
^ou may be nght. I know I was at first and
perhaps I am still. I always hated the oC
tion, and I alwap hated her. But-but it's not

thnkofhim. He is my only son, and I can't sit
still and see his life wrecked."

"I am certain Janet did not do it," said Anne
suddenly her pale face flaming. ''George and
you may believe she did, if you like. I don't "

Anne walked over to Ivy Cottage the same
afternoon, and Janet saw her in the distance and
fled out to her across the fields and fell upon her
neck. But even Anne's tender entreaties and ex-
hortations were of no avail. Janet understood
at last that her mechanically repeated formula was
ruining her with her lover. But she had promised
Cuckoo to say it, and she stuck to it.

"Why does not George believe in me, even if
appearances are against me?" said Janet at last.
I would believe in him."
"That is diflferent."
"How diflFerent?"

171

Ilfi i

MOTH AND RUST

"Because you are made like that, and he isn't.
It's a question of temperament. You have a trust-
ful nature. He has not. You must take George's
character into consideration. It is foolish to love
a person who is easily suspicious, and then allow
him to become suspicious. You have no right to
perplex him. Just as some people who care for
us must have it made easy to them all the time to
go on caring for us. If there is any strain or
difficulty, or if they are put to inconvenience, they
will leave us."

Janet was silent.

"As you and George both love each other," con-
tinued Anne, "can't you say something to him?
Don't you see it would be only right to say a few
words to him which will show him — what I am
sure is the truth — that you are concealing some-
thing which has led to this false suspicion falling
on you."

Janet shook her head. "He ought to know it's
false," she said.

"Could not you say to him, even though you
cannot do so to your brother or Mr. Brand,
that you burnt some compromising papers at Mrs.
Brand's dying request. He might believe that,

172

MOTH AND RUST

g^d mint tuT "'' '"" '""'' '-- l^"™' =>
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 ^

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

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

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

fV N

(

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

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

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

f* if

< n

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

MOTH AND RUST

I -■*

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.

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-

pi
If

ill

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

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*

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
e

-^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 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

^^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 .!;

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

..kM^

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 ■• -

it'.'

■ l*.

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

\ 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.

'Where did you get the Italian cabinet?" said
Anne to Stephen that evening, as he and De Rivaz
joined her and Janet after dinner in her sitting-
room.

"At Brand's sale. He sold some of his things
when he gave up his flat in Lowndes Mansions
He has gone to South Africa for his boy's health."

Stephen opened it. Janet drew near.

"I had to have a new key made for it," he said,
letting the front fall forward on his careful hand!
"Look, Anne ! how beautifully the drawers are in-
laid."

He pulled out one or two of them.

Janet slowly put out her hand, and pulled out
the lowest drawer on the left-hand side. It stuck,
and then came out. It was empty like all the rest!

Stephen closed it, and then drew it forward
again.

"Why does it stick?" he said.
He got the drawer entirely out, and looked into
the aperture. Then he put in his hand, and pulled

211

MOTH AND RUST

out something wedged against the slip of wood
which supported the upper drawer, without reach-
ing quite to the back of the cabinet. It was a
crumpled dirty sheet of paper. He tore it as he
forced it out.

"It must have been in the lowest drawer but
one," he said, "and have fallen between the drawer
and its support."

Janet was the first to see her brother's signa-
ture, and she pointed to it with a cry.

It was the missing I. O. U.

"I always said it would turn up," said Stephen
gently.

"But it's too late," said Janet, hoarsely, "too
late, too late. Oh ! why didn't George believe in
me!"

"He will believe now."

"It doesn't matter what he believes now. Why
didn't he knonf I had not burnt it?"

"I believed in you," said De Rivaz, his voice
shaking. "I knew you had not burnt it, though I
saw you burning papers. Though I saw you with
my own eyes, I did not believe."

There was a moment's pause. Her three faith,
ful friends looked at Janet.

212

MOTH_^^ RUST

"I burnt nothing," she said,
* * * *

Janet married De Rivay af loo* u .
had nearly worn hin, out uT^'^T'' ^"^
na.e that he painted his „ fp^";

forhi^asshehaddone^^Gto^rrt^r
her daughters carried their love fff,' '

theirn,other,but-toAnne "''' """ '°

THE END.

J2I3

%^-'K- **?,

^'«r'.^3>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,<tT ;" ^T'^'"'- '"-^ '"=''**<' °" her rest-
ing all Sunday afternoon, as a preparation for the
d,ss,pat.on of the evening. They had met some
Engl, h fnends on Sunday morning who had in-
vited them to their house in the Champs Elysees
n the course of the evening to see the illumina-
^ons from their balcony. And then toward night
Geoffrey became more autocratic than ever, and
nested on a woollen gown instead of a muslin,
because he felt certain that it would not be so hot

MOTH AND RUST

•f

toward the middle of the night as it then was.
She said a great many very unkind things to him,
and they sallied forth together at nine o'clock as
happy as two pleasure-seeking children.

"You will not be of return till the early morn-
ing. I see it well," said Monsieur Leroux, bow-
ing to them. "Monsieur does well to take the
little chale for Madame for fear later she should
feel herself fresh. But as for rain, will not Ma-
dame leave her umbrella with the concierge f No ?
Monsieur prefers? Eh bien! , Bon soir!"

It was a perfect night. It had been fiercely hot
all day, but it was cooler now. The streets were
already full of people, all bearing the same way to-
ward the Champs Elysees. With some difficulty
Geoffrey procured a little carriage, and in a few
minutes they were swept into the chattering, idle,
busy throng, and slowly making their way toward
the Langtons' house. Every building was gay
with coloured lanterns. The Place de la Concor-
de shone afar like a belt of jewelled light. The
great stone lions glowed upon their pedestals.
Clear as in noonday sunshine, the rocking sea of
merry faces met Eva's delighted gaze; she beam-
ing with the rest.

220

u ■

1 ■/

GEOFF REVS WIFS

Ewl"";heT T ""''"' ''"™ "- Champs

?he Palais de H H • '""^ '" '^°'°"^«' «=""'•
i ne i-alais de 1 Industrie gleamed from roof to

basement, bail, i„ «„. The Arc de TriomL °
crowned with .igh, stood out against the d^
the moonless sky flecked by its insignificant stars

handsTndtl^hr '""""''"''"- ^'^'"''<"'-

dufv"of!r/' """ ""= P^'"*"'' "■' d«°'«ing

further. Carriages were not allowed beyond a
cer,a,n hour, and either he must take them back or
PW them down Geoffrey demurred. Not so
Mrs. Geoffrey. In a moment she had sprung out

o wlir™^*' """ ""' '^"^"'"^ ^' 'he novelidea

andlt"^"' V:"""- ''""'"^ P^'" h- man
and followed. . There was plenty of room to walk

.rf r '""^ ^™' ^" ■''^ ''"^band's arm
wshed the Langtons' house miles away, instead o
a few hundred yards. She said she must and
would walk home. Geoffrey must relent a little
or she on her side might not be so agreeable as she
had hitherto shown herself. She was quite cer-
tam that she should catch a cold if she drove home
m the mght air in an open carriage. What was

'21

MOTH AND RUST

that he was mumbling? That if he had known
that he would not have brought her? But she
was equally certain that it would not hurt her to
walk home. Walking was a very different thing
from driving in open carriages late at night. An
ignorant creature like him might not think so, but
her mother would not have allowed her to do such
a thing for an instant. Geoffrey quailed, and
gave vent to that sure forerunner of masculine de-
feat, that "he would see."

It was very delightful on the Langtons' bal-
cony, with its constellation of swinging Chinese
lanterns. Eva leaned over and watched the peo-
ple and chatted to her friends, and was altogether
enchanting— at least Geoffrey thought so.
****♦♦♦
The night is darkening now. The streets blaze
bright and brighter. The crowd below rocks and
thickens and shifts without ceasing. Long lines
of flame burn red along the Seine, and mark its
windings as with a hand of fire. The great elec-
tric light from the Trocadero casts heavy shadows
against the sky. Jets of fire and wild vagaries of
leaping stars rush up out of the Bois de Boulogne.
And now there is a contrary motion in the

222

■K'I#'

f«i1

GEOFFREY'S WIFE

crowd and a low murmur swells and «ho« and
^« and „s.s again. The torchligh. procession is
coming. That square of fire, moving slowly
down rom .he Arc de Triomphe .hrfugh .he

«r,y.ng torches. Hark I lis.en .o .he low, su ll
aZL, "■""""'*' ""* ' """ •«-' half

The army is very unpopular in Paris just now
see, as .he soldiers come nearer, how the crowd
sweeps and presses round them, .ossing like an
angry sea! Look how .he soldiers rear their
horses agains. .he people to keep .hem back!
Hark agam .o that fierce roar that rises to the bal-
cony and makes little Eva tremble; the inarticu-
late voice of a great multitude raised in anger i

wi,h !. ''"^%P^'«<' "»«'. and the crowd moves
w«h them. Look down the Champs Elysees,
nght down to the cobweb of light which is the

1^2, \\^"'°"^'- °~ ""-"e -"ass of
hradsl Look up toward the Arc de Triomphe.

They are pouring down from it on their way back

from the Bois in one continuous black stream

good-humoured and light-hearted again as ever

now the soldiers have passed.

223

ji-Z '"V>'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

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

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 '°"'<i
not they get out?

Geoffrey looked round yet again in despair.
Would .t be possible to edge a little to the lef^to
the right, anywhere? He looked in vain A
vague undefined fear took hold on him. '"We
must have patience, little one," he said "Lean
on me, and be brave."

His voice was cheerful, but he felt a sudden hor-
rible smkmg of the heart. How should he ever
get her out of this josthng, angry crowd before
she was quite tired out ? What mad folly it had

22^

MOTH AND RUST

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

II R

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

MOTH AND RUST

'I'-

r'/

'-^Wt |!''' -r'

^M! tr '

BB^'.f'

HT^' "

HE ^^^^Ki 1^^ .'■

iRf'' '"j ^

ff'if^j:—--^^

f^^'f?^

f isffi '^^^iiBir' 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

/»

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

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

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

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-
<ng materials waiting for me in the porch. I , ,ded
the vigilance of my escort of children by taking

InH TT ''u"™'' P'"' '^'^'«" ""= P^«°nag^
and the church which was close at hand, standing

ui a quadrangle of ancient yews.

243

^ ar

MOTH AND RUST

The church itself was interesting, and I noticed
that It must have arisen out of the ruins of a previ-
ous building, judging from the number of frag-
ments of stone caps and arches, bearing traces of
very early carving, now built into the walls.
There were incised crosses, too, in some places,
and one especially caught my attention, being
flanked by a large sword. It was in trying to get
a nearer look at this that I stumbled, and, looking
down, saw at my feet a flight of narrow stone steps
green with moss and mildew. Evidently this was
the entrance to the crypt. I at once descended the
steps, taking care of my footing, for they were
damp and slippery in the extreme. Brian accom-
panied me, as nothing would induce him to remain
behind. By the time I had reached the bottom of
the stairs, I found myself almost in darkness, and
I had to strike a light before I could find the key-
hole and the proper key to fit into it. The door
which was of wood, opened inwards fairly easily'
although an accumulation of mould and rubbish
on the ground outside showed it had not been used
for many years. Having got through it, which
was not altogether an easy matter, as nothing
would induce it to open more than about eighteen

244

ua Hi

LET LOOSE

to some mmds an unpleasant feeling in beine
ocked ,„ anywhere, in case of a sudden exit seem
ing advisable.

I kept my candle alight with some difficulty
and after groping my way down a low and of
course exceedingly dank passage, came to an-

looked as ,f he had been sitting there about a hun-
dred years. As I lowered the candle to the floor
he gazed at the light with unblinking eyes, and'
then retreated slowly into a crevice in the wall
leavmg against the door a small cavity in the dry
mud which had gradually silted up round his per-
son. I noticed that this door was of iron, and had
a long bolt, which, however, was broken. With-
out delay I fitted the second key into the lock, and
pushmg the door open after considerable difficulty
I felt the cold breath of the ciypt upon my face.'
I must own I experienced a momentary regret at
lockmg the second door again as soon as I was
well mside. but I felt it my duty to do so. Then
eavmg the key in the lock, I seized my candle and
looked round. I was standing in a low vaulted

245

4,,

X-?'ttS**-:vrR

MOTH AND RUST

chamber with groined roof, cut out of the solid
rock. It was difficult to see where the crypt end-
ed, as further light thrown on any point only
showed other rough archways or openings, cut in
the rock, which had probably served at one time
for family vaults. A peculiarity of the Wet
Waste crypt, which I had not noticed in other
places of that description, was the tasteful ar-
rangement of skulls and bones which were packed
about four feet high on either side. The skulls
were symmetrically built up to within a few inches
of the top of the low archway on my left, and
the shin bones were arranged in the same manner
on my right. But the fresco! I looked round
for it in vain. Perceiving at the further end of
the crypt a very low and very massive archway,
the entrance to which was not filled i.^ with bones,
I passed under it, and found myself in a second
smaller chamber. Holding my candle above my
head, the first object its light fell upon was— the
frescoe, and at a glance I saw that it was unique.
Setting down some of my things with a trembling
hand on a rough stone shelf hard by, which had
evidently been a credence table, I examined the
work more closely. It was a reredos over what

246

•^-^if

LET LOOSE

'""' P^Wbeen the altar ai the time the priests
te part of the fifteenth century, and was so per-
Sr""* *'! ' ^°'"'' ^'"-' '"« 'he limits
dashed .t on and smoothed it out with his trowel
The subject was the Ascension, gloriously treated

LTh :"^ """'" "^ "="'<"■ - I ^^d and
ooked at ,t and reflected that this magnificent

made known to the world by myself. Recollecting
myself „ last, I opened my sketching bag, and
hgtmng all the candles I had brought with me. Zt

Brian walked about near me, and though I wa,
not otherwse than glad of his company in m"

h,H Tf^'u '' r'"°"' ' "'^hed several times I
had left h.m behind. He seemed restless, and
even the sight of so many bones appeared to exer-
cise no soothing effect upon him. At last, how-
ever after repeated commands, he lay down,
watchful but motionless, on the stone floor

I must have worked for several hours, and I
was pausing to rest mj eyes and hands, when 1 no-
ticed for the first time the intense stillness that sur-

247

MOTH AND RUST

• H i 6 111

rounded me. No sound from me reached the
outer world. The church clock which had clanged
out so loud and ponderously as I went down thf
steps, had not since sent the faintest whisper of
its iron tongue down to me below. All was silent
as the grave. This zvas the grave. Those who
had come here had indeed gone down into silence.
I repeated the words to myself, or rather they re-
peated themselves to me.
Gone down into silence.

I was awakened from my reverie by a faint
sound. I sat still and listened. Bats occasionally
frequent vaults and underground places.

The sound continued, a faint, stealthy, rather
unpleasant sound. I do not know what kinds of
sounds bats make, whether pleasant or otherwise.
Suddenly there was a noise as of something fall-
ing, a momentary pause — and then — an almost
imperceptible but distinct jangle as of a key.

I had left the key in the lock after I had turned
it, and I now regretted having done so. I got up,
took one of the candles, and went back into the
larger crypt — for though I trust I am not so ef-
feminate as to be rendered nervous by hearing a
noise for which I cannot instantly account; still,

248

LET LOOSE

on occasions of this Irm^ tZ Ti ~

towards the iron door th.r. ""^"^^

(I had ataos. sa" dt. X^:„7"t" ""'""

rrorrrr re ^r - --^ *' '-^

which hung by a 1„T' '•'"' '"* "'"'^ °"*-

-ch a c^uSt Srrl "° "'^'°" '"'
a«^ ♦ J » ''"1 1 put tnem both into mv nort#»f

and turned to go back to my work As ^t^.!^ r
«w on the ground what had occTsiont ,u? J
noise I had heaM - ■ '^'^*'°"«' *e louder

dently jus. sHr,^' ?""■'' " ^''"" ^""'^ "ad evi-

"P. but fearing J ^ , ' "°°P''' '° P'"* '»

ie» scattered teeth Tte U it f '"^ '° ^""^ "^
work, in which llato^'' T' "^^ '° "^

*a.Iwason.yro:XLTby:?:r,^,:^^^^^^
"■n«tobur„,owandgoouto/eX:n;:::^"-

MOTH AND RUST

Then, with a sigh of regret, for I had not nearly
finished. I turned to go. Poor Brian, who had
never quite reconciled himself to the place, was
beside himself with delight. As I opened the iron
door he pushed past me, and a moment later I
heard him whining and scratching, and I had al-
most added, beating, against the wooden one. I
locked the iron door, and hurried down the pas-
sage as quickly as I could, and almost before I had
got the other one ajar there seemed to be a rush
past me into the open air, and Brian was bounding
up the steps and out of sight. As I stopped to
take out the key, I felt quite deserted and left be-
hind. When I came out once more into the sun-
hght, there was a vague sensation all about me in
the air of exultant freedom.

It was already late in the afternoon, and after I
had sauntered back to the parsonage to give up the
keys, I persuaded the people of the public-house
to let me join in the family meal, which was spread
out in the kitchen. The inhabitants of Wet Waste
were primitive people, with the frank, unabashed
manner that flourishes still in lonely places, especi-
ally in the wilds of Yorkshire; but I had no idea
that in these days of penny posts and cheap news-

250

F^"im

LET LOOSE

my kn^a pretty little girl with the palest aure-
ole of flaxen hair I had ever seen-a„d 1^L„ ,o

draw p.c.ur...,,.Wo,.h, birds and S^;
Other count es ^ -voc , ,, .,,. , . , ^ °'

crowd of Chi, >,, ,, •• ; ^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

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

1:'

_ 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

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?'",:' "" ■"'"*• ' '^^ ^-"^' -<i "-"
clL ^ ^^ '""''' *"•'" ^ ^hat had oc-

Sim*''""'^'""'"'""^''^-'«'"'"'eys

I will not deny that I went down the steps that

day with a vague, indefinable repugnance which

was only accentuated by the closin7of the tlo

first time he famt jangling of the key and other
sounds which I had noticed the first day, andTow
one of the skulls had fallen. I went to the pt«
where it still lay. r hav, „\r.,j -j J ^
of ,ln,ii. u •■ ""y '^'<' *«« walls

of skulls were built up so high as to be within a

260

■ror

few mch« of .h. top of the low archways .I,a, led
into more distant portions of the vault. The d^
pUcemcnt of the skull in question had left a stn^l

th rouih T'' •"!;"^'' '"' "" '^ P"' -y hand
through. I noticed for the first time, over the

a chway above it, a carved coat^f-arms, and the
name, now almost obliterated, of Despard. This
no doubt, was the Despard vault. I could not r^
s«t movmg a few more skulls and looking in,
hoWmg my candle as near the aperture as I c^uld
The vault was full. Piled high, one upon an-
other, were old coffins, and remnants of coffins
and strewn bones. I attribute my present dl'
mmat.o„ to be cremated to the painful impression
produced on me by this spectacle. The coffin
nearest the archway alone was intact, save ,-0",
arge crack across the lid. I could not get a ray
from my candle to fall on the brass plates, but I
felt no doubt this was the coffin of the wicked Sir
Roger I put back the skulls, including the one
whtch had rolled down, and carefully finished my
work, r was not there much more than an hour,
out I was glad to get away.

If I could have left Wet' Waste at once I should
have done so, for I had a toully unreasonable

'♦

t i

}

\ t

MOTH AND RUST

longing to leave .he place; but I found that only

ton which I had come, and that it would not be
possible to be in time for it that day

Accordingly I submitted to the inevitable and
wandered about with Brian for the remainder of
he afternoon and until late in the evening, sketch
mg and smoking. The day was oppr ^sLlyto"
and even after the sun had set across the bu™
stretches of the wolds, it seemed to grow very Ift
«te cooer. No. a breath stirred. In theT„-
ing, when I was tired of loitering in the lanes I
went up to my own room =r,A u '

afr«h L « • u . • ^"^ """ ""teniplating

^resh my fimshed study of the fresco. I sudd«,ly
s« fo work ,0 write the part of my paper bearing
upon ,t. As a rule, I write with difficulty, but

I^: ."'u """ ' ''°"*""S ™P'«"on that
I must make haste, that I was much pressed for
■me^ I wrote and wrote, until my candles gut-
«ed ou, and lef. me .tying to finish by the m^n-
I'ght, which, until I endeavoured to write by it
seemed as clear as day. ^ ^

I had to put away my MS., and. feeling it was
to. early to go to bed. for the church cl«:k wa,

- : .m'^-T"^

LET LO OSE

dow and I.a„«l out to try and ca.ch a br«,;h of
a.r. It was a mght of exceptional beauty; and a,
I iooked out my nervoua haste and hurry of n,ind
w«a«ayed. The moon, a perfect c.rde, wTl
werl ^ "" "'''''"°" ** P«™i«ible-as i,

the httle vdlage was as clearly illuminated by its
b^, as ,f ,t were broad day; so. also, was the
adjacent church with its primeval yews, whUe
even the wolds beyond were dimly indicated, as
if through tracing paper.

.!l/ ''i-u u"^ "■"• ''^"'"^ "^"'« "•« window-
"II. The h«t was still intense. I am not, as a
mle. easily elated or readily cast down; bu a I

with Brian s head agamst my knee, how, or why
up^ me."°*' ' ^'^ '*''''"'°" ^"•""'"y "™^'

My mind went back to the crypt and the count-
ess dead who had been laid there. The sight of
*e goal to which all human life, and strength, Ld
b«.t.ty, travel in the end, had not affectefme at
the time but now the very air about me s«™ed
heavy with death. "»mea

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MOTH AND RUST

■h

What was the good, I asked myself, of working
and toiling, and grinding down my heart and
youth in the mill of long and strenuous effort, see-
ing that in the grave folly and talent, idleness and
labour lie together, and are alike forgotten ? La-
bour seemed to stretch before me till my heart
ached to think of it, to stretch before me even to
the end of life, and then came, as the recompense
of my labour— the grave. Even if I succeeded, if,
after wearing my life threadbare with toil, I suc-
ceeded, what remained to me in the end? The
grave. A little sooner, while the hands and eyes
were still strong to labour, or a little later, when
all power and vision had been taken from them;
sooner or later only — the grave.

I do not apologise for the excessively morbid
tenor of these reflections, as I hold that they were
caused by the lunar effects which I have endeav-
oured to transcribe. The moon in its various
quarterings has always exerted a marked influence
on what I may call the sub-dominant, namely, the
poetic side of my nature.

I roused myself at last, when the moon came to
look in upon me where I sat, and, leaving the win-

264

-t*-

:ljP^^f^*-4..r:-

I fell asleep almost immediately but T H„ .

when his nose was buried in his rue T r. ^ ^'
throw at him ^L T , u "' '"""'""^ '°

'ha. waked me most effectuali; S ."T
shook himself and got un ,nA "'''""^ ''«
about the room I sail K^ /^" P™™''"^

'>«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

'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:

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

MOTH AND RUST

^i w

>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 <lehcate, mani-
cured hand and fair waved hair. Her fringe
which seemed inclined to grow somewhat large;
with the years, was nearly all her own. She pos-
sessed the art of dress to perfection. You could
catalogue her good points. But somehow she re-
mained without attraction. She lacked vitality
and those who lack vitality seldom seem to get or
keep what they want, at any rate in this world

She was the kind of woman whom a man mar-
ries to please his mother, or because she is an heir-
ess, or because he has been jilted and wishes to

choke ^' ^'''' ''- ^^' ''''' ""^ ^ «»•«*

She was one of the legion of perfectly appointed
women who at seventeen, deplore the rapacity of
he older girls in ruthlessly clutching up all the at-
tention of the simpler sex; and who, at thirty,

271

I-

MOTH AND RUST

acidly remark that men care only for a pink cheek
and a baby face.

Poor Mary was thinking of a man now, of a
certain light-hearted simpleton of a soldier with
a slashed scar across his hand which a Dervish
had given him at Omdurman— the man, as com-
monplace as herself, on whom, for no particular
reason, she had glued her demure, obstinate, ad-
hesive affections twelve years ago.

Our touching faithfulness to an early love is
often only owing to the fact that we have never
had an adequate temptation to be unfaithful. Cer-
tainly with Mary it was so. The temptations had
been pitiably inadecjuate. She had never swerved
from that long ago mild flirtation of a boy and girl
in their teens, studiously thrown together by their
parents.

She had taken an unwearying interest in him.
She had petitioned Heaven that he might pass for
the army, and he did just squeeze in. By the aid
of fervent prayer she had drawn him safely
through the Egyptian campaign, while other
women's husbands and lovers fell right and left.
He had not said anything definite before he went
out, but Mary had found ample reasons for his

2J2

THE PITFALL

science. He could no. bear ,o overshadow her life
^ case, etc., e.c. Bu, now he had be. safely
back a year, two years, and still he had sa:,. „oth-
>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„e<l :^':

o^tr ■ "" """ '""^ - '-»- "ot

That was a fortnight ago. They were to h.
married in three weeks. ^

Mary sighed and looked once again for the
wenfeth time at the letter in her han!l. I ", '

marr ed to the handsomest man in London the
notorious Lord Francis Bethune

.ha^'rhT'" "1" "" '"•"• ""''" ="-^' -e like

-.^him^\inra::r^rtht-J
-:::n^::rrr— a:i =

urgent business; and so it is. He 'is my .Tu"::

MOTH AND RUST

you know, and there really is something wrong
Francis has been at it again. After the business
IS over I shall tell him a few things very nicely
about that girl. Now, my advice to you is, chuck
the Lestrange's water-party this afternoon, and
come m as if casually to see me. I shall leave you
alone together, and yoa must do the rest yourself
You may pull it off yet, after what I shall say
about Elsa, for Jos has a great idea of you. Wire
your reply by code before midday."

Mary got up slowly and walked to the writing-
table. Should she go and meet him? Should
she not ? She would go. She wrote a telegram
quickly in code form. She knew the code so well
that she did not stop to refer to it She and Jos
had played at code telegrams when he was cram-
ming for the army. She rang for the servant
and sent out the telegram. Then she sat down
and took up a book. It was nearly midday, and
too hot to go out.

But after a few minutes she cast it suddenly
aside and began to move restlessly about the room.
What was the use of going, ai>er 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

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<x>, and threw it into he
waste-paper basket. Then he came dose up to

281

C 1

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 :-.

^■'

nil

! * 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

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

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

oji mkwmmtMm^\.'^:mmmMV^

MOTH AND RUST

UUi

r M

IS •■.

lift;

r 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

, 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

"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^''

^^BUk

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^.'^