THE 
 
 JRNS 

 
 II 
 
 i/U $$
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS
 
 WHEN THE TIDE 
 TURNS 
 
 BY 
 
 FILSON YOUNG 
 
 Author of "The Sands of Pleasure," "The Happy Motorist," 
 
 "Venus and Cupid, an Impression," "Ireland at the 
 
 Crossroads, " " Christopher Columbus, " etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 DANA ESTES & COMPANY 
 
 LONDON 
 E. GRANT RICHARDS 
 
 7 Carlton Street, S. W. 
 1908
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall 
 
 Copyrighted November, 1908 
 BY DANA ESTES & Co. , 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed at 
 THE COLONIAL PRESS: 
 
 C. H.Simonds <& Co., Boston, UAA.
 
 TO 
 MY FRIEND 
 
 <Ertc IX. 3X 
 
 2228414
 
 BOOK I 
 
 11
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 RTJPEKT SAVAGE pressed the tiller against 
 his side and slacked away the sheet of the lug- 
 sail, and the little boat paid off before the wind, the 
 water bubbling and talking under her planks. As 
 the white sail bellied out and strained against the 
 mast he steered close in to the low shores, flying past 
 miniature rocky capes and bays on the clear green 
 water. Presently, as a small natural harbour opened 
 out in the rocks, he slipped the halliards and lowered 
 the sail, swinging the boat round and pointing her 
 up the narrow passage. The water lay perfectly still 
 in the morning heat ; even the sea birds were silent ; 
 and the empty shore gave back no sound but an echo 
 of the murmur of the tide where it slipped through 
 the narrows. Before him, at the head of the inlet, 
 appeared a patch of shingly beach; the little boat's 
 way carried her on and up until the deep silence 
 was broken by the crunch and slow grating touch 
 of her landfall, and by the little wave of water that, 
 following, broke on the pebbles. And then every- 
 thing was still again. 
 
 Rupert sat for a moment, attentive to the charmed 
 silence ; then he jumped out, taking the boat's painter 
 
 13
 
 14 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 up to a projecting rock and making it fast, and 
 carried his basket up the little beach on to the slope 
 of seargrass that stretched above it. Choosing a soft, 
 sun-warmed spot, he took off his grey flannel coat 
 and waistcoat, kicked off his white canvas shoes, un- 
 fastened his tie and folded it into a pocket of his 
 coat. Then his head disappeared behind his soft 
 shirt, reappeared again with a tumbled crown of 
 ruddy brown hair; his socks and trousers were 
 slipped off and laid beside the coat, and he appeared 
 as a long, slim, rather loosely built youth of about 
 twenty-one, with merry grey eyes and a sad mouth, 
 and a broad forehead over which his tumbled hair fell 
 rather low. He stepped, sidling and balancing him- 
 self over the stones, to a steeper edge of the rock, 
 and, hesitating a moment, plunged into the water. 
 
 He swam and splashed in that clear element for 
 half-an-hour, unwilling to leave it for the hot earth ; 
 then he climbed ashore, dried himself in the sun, 
 dressed, and with his basket in his hand, went along 
 the grass for a few hundred yards until he came to 
 a rib of sandy beach that divided a bluff mass of 
 rock from the mainland. He crossed the damp 
 sandy channel, from which the waters had only just 
 ebbed, and climbed and scrambled up the grassy 
 shoreward side of the rock. 
 
 Gunn's Island stands like a fortress at the entrance 
 to the lough. Northward it fronts the narrows with 
 sheer cliffs as high as a cathedral, and eastward 
 looks out on the tumbling waste of the Irish Sea. 
 It stands higher than the mainland, from which it
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 15 
 
 is only separated at high water of spring tides, and 
 its attraction for Rupert was that it afforded the 
 best view of the narrow channel where the tides 
 streamed past the low green shores day and night 
 with a noise like the roar of a great city. From it 
 also he could best observe the evolutions of a curious 
 overfall or eddy, known as the " Priest's Mother," 
 that swings up and down with the tides there off 
 Gunn's Island. Although the inhabitants of those 
 shores believe that it is caused by the restless spirit 
 of an old woman, the mother of a priest, whose coffin 
 fell overboard and sank while, it was being taken 
 from Rathshene to Killeef for burial, it is more 
 probable that some shelf or cavity in the bottom com- 
 bines with the great weight and quickness of the cur- 
 rent to produce the overfall an eddy harmless 
 enough at certain periods and conditions of the tide, 
 but at others treacherous to boats that come within 
 its influence. From Gunn's Island it is, at any rate, 
 an arresting feature in the view of the narrows, for 
 on the calm face of the sliding bulk of waters it 
 appears as a mysterious and shifting embellishment; 
 now spreading itself in outlined circles as smooth 
 as oil, now swinging and slanting in a dizzy revolv- 
 ing hollow, now disappearing for a minute at a time, 
 and appearing in a sullen burst of foam a cable's 
 length away. 
 
 In the slack half-hour at the bottom of the ebb 
 the Priest's Mother sleeps and makes no sign. Upon 
 the first inward draught of the stream she awakes 
 with a sob that on a still day can be heard in the
 
 16 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 pastures two miles away. At half flood, for some 
 unknown reason, she sinks into quietness, and can 
 only be traced by a network of fine lines on the sur- 
 face; and at the top of high water, when the tide 
 seems dead and the surface currents at rest, her 
 clamour again breaks out on the brimming stillness, 
 and continues until at low water the cattle are trail- 
 ing home from Gunn's Island to the mainland. It 
 was not wonderful that for an imaginative shore- 
 dwelling race this creature of the tides should be 
 invested with a personality, or that their ears should 
 discern in its changeful but eternal rumour a busy 
 and intimate intelligence. 
 
 Rupert continued to climb until he reached the 
 level grass of the summit, which he crossed to the 
 point where it ends and the rocky wall of the island 
 begins to go down to the sea. Clambering skilfully 
 over the edge he let himself down from ledge to 
 ledge until he came to a natural seat formed by a 
 projection of the rock; and there he unpacked his 
 basket and ate his lunch. When he had finished he 
 lit a pipe, and took out a sketch-book and a box of 
 pencils and pens and a small ink bottle. He opened 
 the sketch-book and looked closely at one or two 
 pages closely, and a little hopelessly ; for his eyes 
 constantly travelled from them to the water, and 
 back again, while his brows were knitted in an 
 anxious puzzled expression. Presently he laid the 
 book aside with a sigh, and, leaning back, looked out 
 over the water.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 17 
 
 His view was across the narrows the neck of the 
 bottle formed by the great lough. Before him lay 
 the low shore on the other side, running out into a 
 long point dividing sea from lough, and on his left 
 the waters broadened away towards the line of moun- 
 tains that are their inland boundary. A very peace- 
 ful scene on this quiet day, with no movement but 
 the fleeting current, and little sound but the continu- 
 ous murmur and growl of the tide among the rocks. 
 
 Its soft and prolonged thunder filled the quiet air. 
 Green fields lay beyond the flood, with their sheep 
 dreaming in the sunshine; nearer, the level blue 
 floor came sliding and sliding in from the- sea. That 
 was after Rupert had been looking at the fields and 
 the sheep ; but when his eyes had rested for long on 
 the water and returned again to land, it was the tide 
 that seemed fixed and steady, and the shore with its 
 white cabins that took up the movement and, like a 
 panorama, streamed seaward towards the bar. It 
 was a day without wind, but sometimes a wandering 
 air would come down and sweep across the calm 
 water, wrinkling it with tiny wrinkles that turned 
 its radiant colour to a deeper hue. Patches as of 
 purple and peacock thus came and faded upon the 
 broad ultramarine', and kept the surface colours fad- 
 ing and changing like lights in a lover's eyes. In- 
 shore the water was green, or, where the rocks and 
 seaweed showed through the shallows, a golden 
 brown ; and wherever in deep water a rock or jutting 
 point of land opposed itself to that swift tide, it was 
 girdled with a ring of foam and murmuring sound.
 
 18 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 On Rupert's left, in the sweep of Bandarragh Bay 
 where the shore curved in from the bend formed by 
 Gunn's Island, the waters were sown with a great 
 brown tumble of rocks, and the coast continued in 
 capes and bays and low promontories and forked in- 
 lets and little islands and sounds, shoals and deeps 
 and roadsteads, like the coast line of a continent in 
 miniature. Along this coast line the rocks were 
 clothed with a soft garment of brown seaweed, still 
 wet where flat expanses had held the water from the 
 last tide, salt and rich and moist and odorous. And 
 everywhere on these flat expanses of rock and sea- 
 weed gulls and puffins were perching and crying, now 
 dipping into a pool, now quarrelling and screaming, 
 now dressing their faultless plumag^ but always 
 decorating the water with the flashing of their wings 
 and their circling movements. 
 ^ And to all this coast world the returning tide was 
 like the return of life and breath. Its tremendous 
 volume^ floating in without wave or ripple, spent and 
 spread itself upon the shores, a beneficent and life- 
 giving stream. Boundless and inexhaustible the 
 source from which it came, into which it would 
 obediently return, boundless the life and power of 
 its superb movement ! Like the blowing of a great 
 wind, it poured in and in, as if it could never pause 
 or turn, seeming to contain in its steady flood all 
 colour, all life, and all movement. As yet its great 
 daily ^task was but half accomplished ; its level where 
 it brimmed against the weedy rocks was still far 
 below the brown ring that marked its limit of ascen-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 19 
 
 sion; but though so much was still to do its move- 
 ment was perfectly steady and sure, as if all eternity 
 instead of only a few hours remained for the task. 
 
 In the smoothest part of the current, as though it 
 had been wiped and prepared like a slate, the runes 
 and riddles of the Meadows, as they named what 
 in calm weather was little more than a mysterious 
 inscription on the face of the tide, were being traced 
 by an invisible finger, and fading as fast as they 
 appeared; and off the point of Gunn's Island two 
 great circles of commotion girdled with snow marked 
 where the Priest's Mother, like an alert sentry, kept 
 watch on the entrance to the lough. 
 
 It was these lines and circles on the water that 
 fascinated Rupert and brought him to Gunn's Island 
 so often in pursuit of his curious art. He had 
 evolved for himself a medium of expression, at which 
 he laboured constantly, feeling his way with little 
 more help than was to be found in the dozen French 
 illustrated papers and English art journals that he 
 devoured every week. Colour had little or no at- 
 traction for him; he saw everything in outline; he 
 ignored the ordinary terms of light and shade; he 
 never distinguished between things and their shad- 
 ows, although he had subtle tricks of line that sug- 
 gested the direction of light. To sit for hours looking 
 at a landscape rich in colour, in mass, in lights and 
 shadows, and to bring home a sheet of white paper 
 with a dozen long waving lines on it, and as many 
 little whorls and curves of dots, seemed to his aunts 
 and a few friends who ever saw his work a lamen-
 
 20 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 table misdirection of energy. Moreover, they com- 
 plained that what Rupert drew was not like anything 
 real, and of course they were right. The strange 
 women in full-length profile that sometimes, ap- 
 parently quite irrelevantly, adorned the left hand 
 foreground of, say, a dozen lines that were the moun- 
 tains beyond the lough, bore no resemblance to the 
 well-nourished young women of the neighbourhood; 
 and it is at least doubtful whether Rupert intended 
 that they should. His art was for him an escape 
 from a reality that, although it was far from repel- 
 ling, did not satisfy him. He seldom tried to draw 
 objects or views; it was conditions, powers, influ- 
 ences, elements that he groped after, always with the 
 result of disillusion and unhappiness. Once when 
 he was twelve years old he had been missed for a 
 whole autumn day of storm, and had been discovered 
 sitting on a hillside with a damp sketch-book covered 
 with weird lines, and confessedly trying to draw the 
 wind. His Aunt Leonora had spoken very seriously 
 to him about it. 
 
 " Apart from such a thing being nonsense," she 
 had said, holding the wet paper between a dainty 
 finger and thumb, " there's something that isn't 
 right about it. God made the wind invisible for 
 some good purpose that we don't understand, and to 
 try to make a picture of it would be almost wicked- 
 ness, if it wasn't just thoughtlessness. Why, Ru- 
 pert," she had added, laughing, " it's the kind of 
 thing a mad person would do ! Give me a kiss, and
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 21 
 
 go and see if Jane has finished making that toffee 
 we spoke about ! " 
 
 So he had given up trying to draw the wind, but 
 he often tried to draw the movement of water, as 
 he saw it in the endless lines and circles of the 
 eddies. The sketch which lay before him, and at 
 which he looked with dissatisfaction, consisted of 
 little more than a single line enclosing the moving 
 water, with a few other lines and minute mosaic of 
 dots and patches, representing the shore above it. 
 Into the lower left hand corner was crushed the 
 figure of a seal ; the rest of the paper was blank but 
 for a delicate tracery of dotted lines in the centre 
 of the current; it was the wonderful enclosing line 
 that gave to the white paper an unerring suggestion 
 of the brimming, moving current. The seal, with 
 its stooping, liquid pose, and elaborately curved 
 whiskers, was a mere symbol of what Rupert him- 
 self could hardly have told. The coat was drawn 
 like a damasked fabric, its face was sinister and 
 leering, its eyes and brow were the eyes and brow 
 of a woman, and in its expression and pose it was 
 like a vicious and malevolent dandy. In all Rupert's 
 drawings there was some such figure, looking on at 
 the scene like an outsider generally it was a bird, 
 or a fish, or a woman, although sometimes he in- 
 vented a beast for himself, with curving claws and 
 a scaly back, and a woman's streaming hair that 
 flowed away on the water. These figures often filled 
 him with a vague terror; he deliberately deformed 
 their features, giving them sinister slits for eyes, and
 
 22 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 gaping mouths, swollen, munching cheeks, or pro- 
 truding tongues ; and he would put delicate, dancing 
 hooved legs on to swollen bodies, half enamoured, 
 half ashamed of his grotesques. 
 
 He was pleased enough with the seal, which was 
 thus true to his imagination, and expressed some- 
 thing that he had no words or thoughts for; but 
 when he looked from his sketch to the slackening 
 stream of the. tide, his heart sank. It was not what 
 he wanted; it never was what he wanted, although 
 often he came near enough to see in imagination 
 the fluttering garments of the nymph he was pursu- 
 ing just vanishing from sight. He laid aside his 
 sketch-book, rested his chin on his hand, and listened. 
 
 In the silence of his immediate environment the 
 gentle multitudinous sounds of the tide crowded in 
 upon him. Little murmurs and sighs, where the 
 stream slid past a fringe of thirsty seaweed; pro- 
 found hummings like the notes of an organ, where 
 the advancing flood poured itself through some nar- 
 row opening into a deep basin; minute bubblings, 
 where upon the very margin of some fragment of 
 strand, sheltered by an outward barrier of rock, each 
 succeeding froth of water laid itself on the pearly 
 sand with the softness of a child's kiss; mutterings 
 and gurglings, where the white foam, crumbled on 
 the circle of the Priest's Mother ; mellow harmonies, 
 deep firm chords, prolonged sobs and litanies, where 
 the wild channel waters were checked on the bar 
 these all had their part, the tenor forces of the great
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 23 
 
 chorus that sounded upon that shore. From with- 
 out, beyond the bar, where a line of darker blue 
 showed the edge of the race that is for ever hurrying 
 up or down past the entrance to the lough, came 
 faintly the deep fundamental note or noise of the 
 sea. Upon it all the melodies of tides and currents, 
 eddies, whirls, and indraughts continually modulated 
 and resolved like chromatic harmonies on a pedal 
 point; above it the cries of sea birds and the faint 
 noises of land life completed the symphony. 
 
 As the tide rose steadily, the volume of these 
 sounds seemed to rise with it. Under its calm breast 
 there was surely contained an immense excitement 
 and emotion, a vast impulse that seemed to rush 
 from the centre of the current outwards under the 
 surface until it broke and escaped in foam and froth 
 on the shore. Rupert felt this mysterious vitality 
 strongly within himself; so much of his life and 
 thought were centred in the sea, that his physical 
 nature responded to it, and in a sense kept time with 
 the tides. When the stream was flowing he was 
 conscious of a more generous inspiration, an affluent 
 and sanguine vitality that culminated at high water 
 in an overflow of good spirits and infectious gaiety 
 that made him at such times a delightful companion. 
 But with the ebb there often seemed to come a cor- 
 responding effluence in the currents of his life, a 
 sensation of emptiness and apathy, as though the 
 world held no good thing ; and this depression lasted 
 until the coarse seaweeds revealed in the bottom of
 
 24 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 the ebb were covered again and the water was return- 
 ing to the half -tide rocks and pools. 
 
 And now as the waters poured into the lough, the 
 puzzled, dissatisfied look left his face; he had be- 
 come one with the spirit of the place and of those 
 strange, fluent, secret companions that passed so often 
 before his eyes on their journey in or out of the lough 
 to the faery region of dawn or sunset that they 
 doubtless inhabited. Their murmurs made music 
 in his ears, so sweet that once or twice, at some deli- 
 cate change in their rushing tune that only a sensi- 
 tive ear could detect, a smile parted his lips for a 
 moment, and a tremor of pleasure rippled through 
 his body. 
 
 And still in volume and intensity the sounds of 
 the tide increased; and its movement also began to 
 increase, as though the joy of its influence had con- 
 quered even the large restraints which it obeyed. 
 A sense of impatient exultation began to reveal itself 
 on the face of the waters that were now sliding in 
 through the narrows so fast that the further shore 
 seemed to Rupert's eyes to be rushing out to sea. An 
 almost lyrical movement of passionate joy hovered 
 and flitted over the great moving azure surface. The 
 Priest's Mother, true to her unalterable laws, ceased 
 to foam and thunder at half-tide ; but it seemed now 
 as though some special reason had governed her 
 quietude, and as though every force in the sea had 
 concentrated itself on the one inward movement. 
 Smooth as a table though the main body of water 
 was, tiny corrugations, little chuckling wavelets,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 25 
 
 frothings and breakings of miniature seas began to 
 animate it like laughter. Small eddies appeared 
 spinning, and travelled half a mile up the broad blue 
 band before they disappeared again, spinning. The 
 seaweeds fringing the steep rocks, now almost cov- 
 ered to high water mark, swung with a rhythmical 
 movement, stretching themselves out, each branch 
 and frond separate, towards the centre of the cur- 
 rent ; and where it flowed rapidly past some stone or 
 deep-water rock it brushed the weeds almost rudely 
 in its direction, while they leaned against the force 
 of the stream, momentarily springing back a little, 
 momentarily giving way. 
 
 The sea-gulls and guillemots and puffins grew 
 more excited and cried more insistently, intoxicated 
 by the flowing of the water and by the presence of 
 the food it was carrying in. Sea anemones in the 
 rock pools opened out like flowers as they felt the 
 cool waters laving them again ; limpets by thousands 
 loosened their hold on the rocks, and renewed their 
 life in the same beneficent influence ; and from the 
 centre of the flood itself a long faint furrow flowed 
 out diagonally to each shore, and faded away, and 
 appeared again, as the majestic fluent power per- 
 sisted and increased. And hot and windless though 
 the day was, great waves or airs of coolness at inter- 
 vals swept over Gunn's Island, rhythmic like the 
 tidal furrows in their regular coming, and, borne 
 in like them with the tide, part of its sweetening and 
 renewing force, obedient like it to the source and 
 pulse of all life; and thus while the waters in the
 
 26 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 lough were renewed, the mellow reviving airs swept 
 over its shores, salt and strong, and fragrant of the 
 far-away windy spaces of the ocean. 
 
 Higher and higher crept the line of waters against 
 the rocks so high that from. Rupert's perch the 
 whole land seemed to be foundering and settling down 
 into the sea. Laughter of little waves and ripples, 
 suckings and plungings under hollows in the rocks, 
 manifested the coming of the supreme moment; but 
 still the waters flowed on and in, and still, beyond 
 the bar, lay quiet and undisturbed the eternal sea. 
 
 The spirit of its smile, mild, inscrutable, melan- 
 choly, is in that word. The boy sitting on the hoary 
 rock round which this flood of newness and youth 
 was pouring, who had forgotten his own affairs in 
 the contemplation of its calm indifference, was yet 
 at this moment the creature of its endless, effortless 
 commands. Come ! it calls, and races and dynasties 
 rise from its savage and stormy nurseries. Come! 
 and men go forth in navies to found empires and 
 imperishable traditions. Come! and the solitary 
 fisherman, fearing and hating it, goes daily forth to 
 a battle against certain odds. Come! and women 
 shudder and weep, and drown their hearts in its 
 depths. Yet it moves not one hairsbreadth from its 
 appointed course; and the bubble on the sand, the 
 overfall on the rocky shelf, the race that keeps its 
 sentry-go in the channel, are but partners in the vast 
 minuet of the tides that advance and retreat, and pull 
 and thrust, and pour in and pour out, and make way 
 here, and hurry round there, and mingle and curtsey
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 27 
 
 and rise and fall in cycles of hours and years and 
 centuries throughout the world. 
 
 The boy sitting on the rock, his ears filled with 
 their mellow, heart-breaking music, thought sud- 
 denly the inevitable thought of youth how long 
 they were here before me, how long they will remain 
 after me ! The same rocks, the same tides, the same 
 sounds, a thousand years ago, a thousand years hence 
 and I no more than a ripple that smiles for a 
 moment on their surface ! A sudden sense of small- 
 ness and loneliness oppressed him, and his clear face 
 clouded with trouble ; but the even diapason, sound- 
 ing now kindly and reassuring, continued to fill his 
 ears: a lark sang to him somewhere over the shore; 
 and presently the gloom left his face, and he listened 
 while the roar of the tide little by little began to 
 fail and grow less. Its falling note charmed him into 
 a profound abstraction. 
 
 Gradually the murmurs of the tide sank and 
 ceased ; its song was ended ; and all round the shores 
 the waters stood brimming at the highest mark of 
 spring tides. The solemn mystery was accomplished, 
 or on the very verge of accomplishment ; for though 
 no movement was discernible in the great blue mir- 
 ror into which the sky shone, the last ripples of its 
 pulse were languidly passing over the surface and 
 spending themselves imperceptibly on the shore. 
 Even the sea birds had ceased their crying, as> though 
 they also were charmed into silence, and they clus- 
 tered on the small uncovered surface of the rocks, or
 
 28 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 wheeled silently in the air. The perches and bea- 
 cons seemed to have sunk down to their chins in the 
 brimming flood, as the land itself seemed to have 
 shrunk in size when the tide had thrown its garment 
 of silver and azure upon the shores. Under the 
 rocks the seaweeds, no longer brushed aside by the 
 current, leaned, golden and languorous, on the water, 
 or swayed and trembled in the clear green depths as 
 though intoxicated with the passion of the moment. 
 Calmest of all, the pellucid depths where the whirl- 
 pool slept, and where it would appear with the first 
 impulse of the ebb, rested and shone under Rupert's 
 gaze, below his very feet. For a minute, perhaps, 
 Nature seemed to hold her breath, abandoning her- 
 self to the sweet enervating dream of a repose she 
 can never know. Up on the cliff the boy held his 
 breath also, his lips slightly parted, his eyes gazing 
 fascinated at the water. 
 
 Slowly, so slowly that the eye strained to follow it, 
 the smooth oily floor beneath him seemed to tilt and 
 to come towards him with a dizzy sinking movement. 
 Two fields of water began, slowly, deliberately, to 
 change their places, one coming towards him, one 
 sliding away from him, each beginning to turn and 
 revolve upon itself, and to circle after the other. 
 Still not a ripple disturbed the surface; and the 
 movements of the water were so slow that they fasci- 
 nated his gaze, which was concentrated on that sink- 
 ing displacement. As he looked on it, as the great 
 fluid wheel began to spin and sink, the island on 
 which he sat seemed also to turn and slowly to spin
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 29 
 
 upon itself, and to tilt its base upwards into the air. 
 The opposite shore he felt rather than saw to be 
 advancing on him, and the whole floor of the sea to 
 be swimmingly tilted, and the very rock on which he 
 sat to be floating unstably in space. The wheel of 
 water turned a little faster, sinking still towards the 
 middle, a great ring of wavelets breaking upon its 
 edge. Presently a twirling hole appeared at the 
 centre of depression. It began to circle faster, swing- 
 ing and tilting this way and that. Every movement 
 quickened; the shores were spinning, the sea was 
 spinning, the great wheel was spinning; the perches 
 and beacons began to circle round the horizon; the 
 sky was spinning and falling, the world wheeling 
 and heaving. 
 
 Rupert turned suddenly away, like one who breaks 
 a spell violently; and gathering up his basket and 
 books went across to the shoreward side of the island, 
 out of sight of the sea. He made sure that his boat 
 was riding safely in her creek, and then settled down 
 to work. So long he sat there, silently absorbed, that 
 to the gulls sailing high over his head he must have 
 appeared like one of the rocks, part of the wide land- 
 scape that their round hungry eyes searched so care- 
 fully.
 
 n 
 
 IT was late in the afternoon when Rupert brought 
 his boat to her moorings in the little sound that 
 divided the Abbacy House from the shore. The 
 island was just big enough to contain the house and 
 gardens ; the house had been built by a former Sav- 
 age when the Abbacy or Manor Farm had come into 
 the family, and was a rambling two-storied affair, 
 looking out to the west over the blue waters of the 
 lough and the dim hills beyond, and almost over- 
 shadowed by the belt of tall trees that grew on the 
 edge of the shore and stretched their branches over 
 the narrow sound. At low water a stone causeway 
 gave access to the mainland and the shore road, but 
 at high water the sea filled the winding sound and 
 brimmed up to the edge of the lawn, which was 
 shored up and timbered like a quay side, and had a 
 little dock or tidal harbour in it, so that at high 
 water the masts of Rupert's little fleet showed like 
 golden shafts amid the cypresses and elms of the 
 garden. 
 
 As he came up into the garden there was a great 
 cawing and commotion among the rooks in the trees 
 by the shore; and presently they rose with a whir- 
 ring of wings and sailed away across the lough, and 
 
 30
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 31 
 
 the silence fell deep again. He went in at the open 
 door, laid down his basket, and shouted 
 
 " Aunties ! " 
 
 There was a rustle of silk on the landing above, 
 and a very trim and rather old-fashioned lady of 
 sixty-five, who looked like fifty, came bustling down 
 the stairs. 
 
 " Well, Rupert^ you've got back ! " She kissed 
 him affectionately. " What a glorious day ! I'm 
 sure you're hungry indeed, I would just think you 
 were starved after such a long day on the water; 
 but tea will be ready presently. Auntie Jane is in 
 the drawing-room just finishing a letter. Are you 
 sure your feet aren't wet ? And Thomas Quinn was 
 here this afternoon to say that Elliot's cart will be 
 coming out to-morrow from Rathshene, and they'll 
 bring the lead then. I'm afraid he has been drink- 
 ing he was looking not at all himself. I said to 
 him, ' Thomas, isn't it a shame for you to be in this 
 state, with such a good wife as you have, and every 
 one willing to help you to keep steady ? ' And he 
 just said, * 'Deed, mem, and that's the truth ; but 
 the Prodestan' boys were out last night after the 
 Papishers, and I doubt some of us finished up at 
 Foley's!'" 
 
 " What a rascal ! " said Rupert, smiling. " I'll 
 give him a talking to when I see him. Just now I 
 sympathize, because I'm so thirsty myself. I'm dy- 
 ing for tea." 
 
 " You shall have it in a minute, my poor boy," 
 and the rustle of silk, accompanied by a jingle of
 
 32 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 keys, disappeared under a dark doorway leading to 
 the pantry, whence an odour of spices came out into 
 the house. 
 
 It was always like this no thought but for Ru- 
 pert's comfort, Rupert's welfare, in the hearts of the 
 two old aunts whom he loved and tyrannized over. 
 They belonged to a social order fast disappearing 
 even from Ireland, where the tides of change rise 
 slowly, but none the less surely, loosening the old 
 landmarks, gently washing away a world that is 
 rooted in the soil, and crumbles and changes shape 
 only with it. The two old ladies and Rupert repre- 
 sented the last of the Savages, once a great family 
 owning vast tracts of land on those fertile shores, 
 but now so dwindled that little except the name, the 
 dignity, and whatever inheritance of quality and 
 character is incorruptible in a family remained to 
 grace the possession of a few hundred acres, and a 
 street of houses in the adjoining little town of Rath- 
 shene. Rupert's mother had died when he was a 
 baby ; his father, a distant cousin of the same name, 
 and an engaging ne'er-do-well, entirely affectionate 
 and uneconomic, who had inherited a fair property 
 in Donegal, had lost and wasted it all in disastrous 
 attempts at horse-breeding, and had spent his latter 
 days at the Abbacy, mismanaging the affairs of his 
 sisters-in-law to their entire satisfaction. Fortu- 
 nately for them and for himself, he died while he 
 was still in the belief that he was of use to the world. 
 He also was of Ireland ; anywhere else such a char- 
 acter would have degenerated into complete ruin and
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 33 
 
 disrepute; only there, where people are so humanly 
 tolerant, his dignity and charming nature resisted 
 corruption, so that he was merely useless, and never 
 base. 
 
 He had early initiated the boy into the mysteries 
 of boats, guns, and horses ; schooling him in seaman- 
 ship, drilling him in the coverts with the twenty- 
 bore gun that was his last gift, teaching him to look 
 with knowledge on hocks and withers and pasterns, 
 showing him the bays where salmon and mullet could 
 be netted, navigating the swift tides and charmed 
 sounds and channels of the great island-studded 
 lough; and generally inculcating in him a fine per- 
 ception of quality in all outdoor things that pertain 
 to the enjoyment of man. Rupert soon caught his 
 father's infectious intolerance of a badly-hung gate, 
 an ill-tied knot, a wrongly-pruned tree, a wrinkled 
 sail, and all ready-made, commercial articles what- 
 soever. Time and patient labour were the hall- 
 marks of everything ; and as there was an abundance 
 of both at the Abbacy, buildings, boats, gardens, and 
 farms, all displayed in a high degree that style or 
 technical perfection which is the delight of the edu- 
 cated enthusiast. That everything in the end cost 
 twice as much as was necessary, and that the estate 
 did not pay, was the defect of Arthur Savage's qual- 
 ities. 
 
 To Rupert he was a sunny compound of memories 
 and the impersonation of the ideal in all outdoor 
 affairs. To shoot like his father, to round up a boat 
 to her moorings in a stiff breeze of wind with every
 
 34 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 sail set, like his father ; to " carry on " in a squall 
 himself, and to regard it as rather ill-bred foolhardi- 
 ness in anybody else, like his father these were 
 Rupert's earliest ambitions, and they remained with 
 him throughout his life. He had been too young to 
 recognize his father's defects while he was alive, and 
 was too loyal and in some ways too like him to 
 acknowledge them after he was dead ; and this store 
 of affection, with an income of about two hundred 
 pounds a year, was Arthur Savage's legacy to his son. 
 The boy had no guardian; things were allowed to 
 take their course, and he went on living at the Abbacy 
 with his aunts, the Miss Savages, as every one called 
 them, coming home to them from his public school 
 in England with affection for them and delight in 
 his home unabated. 
 
 " What Rupert was to do " was a subject of grave 
 periodic discussions in the Abbacy House ; they had 
 been going on ever since he was fourteen, and were 
 likely to go on indefinitely. That young gentlemen 
 of limited private means did, in these latter days, 
 ultimately go out into the world was dimly recog- 
 nized by the aunts, who fully intended that Rupert 
 should be an ambassador at least before he died; 
 but the time for taking the necessary steps was 
 always in the future. They had arrived at the age 
 when young people never seemed to them to grow 
 up; their untroubled virginity had become a kind 
 of element or atmosphere in which the people they 
 loved breathed and lived; and Rupert, in spite of 
 his twenty years and tall athletic frame, the down
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 35 
 
 on his lip, and the resonant voice of manhood, was 
 still in their eyes a child who needed all the care 
 that two expert nurses could give him. Formal and 
 ceremonious concessions to his growth were indeed 
 made: on his sixteenth birthday his Aunt Lavinia 
 had resigned to him her place at the head of the 
 table; on his seventeenth the servants had been sol- 
 emnly instructed to call him " Misther Rupert " in- 
 stead of " Masther Rupert " an instruction which 
 they often forgot; and on his eighteenth the keys 
 of the wine-cellar and the duty of paying the outdoor 
 wages had been formally handed over to him. But 
 these signs of Rupert's growing up did not alarm 
 the security of his aunts. Time, that had withered 
 and wrinkled their once fair bodies, made no havoc 
 in their hearts. For them time was not, and they 
 lived for Rupert as though he would always be a 
 child, and themselves always be there to guard him 
 from the world. 
 
 He was protected from the spoiling effects of such 
 a life, not only by the serious and absorbing interest 
 of his art, but by a certain radiancy of physical 
 health that permeated all his young growing life. 
 Living as he did in an extremely simple community 
 that was held intimately together in a mesh of af- 
 fections, old intimacies, and family ties, he had 
 never found it necessary to be anything but himself ; 
 and the predominance of the feminine element about 
 him developed his masculinity, while it cultivated in 
 him that gift of imaginative sympathy and under- 
 standing that is usually the best quality in a man
 
 36 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 who has been much with affectionate women in his 
 youth. He had a happy temperament, because he 
 was delighted with his surroundings, and never ques- 
 tioned their permanence; and he was unconstricted 
 by the intellectual narrowness of his world, because 
 a pencil and a sheet of paper could always release 
 him from it. 
 
 Andy, the aged and rather shaky factotum, brought 
 in the soup and sounded the gong, and the two old 
 ladies rustled down to the dining-room, followed by 
 Rupert, who took his place beneath the row of thin- 
 lipped, long-nosed ancestors who had looked down 
 upon him and followed him with their eyes in and 
 out of the room ever since he was a baby. Andy 
 shuffled about, now and then addressing some one 
 in an undertone as he handed a dish incorrigibly 
 privileged, although no one heeded his undertone. 
 " Just another spoonful, mem them's fine broth," 
 or " Sure, I told you to take the wings off first, Mas- 
 ther Rupert that's no kind of a figure to make of 
 th' old bird ; " or, handing a dish of new potatoes 
 " That's the last of them, mem." These murmurs 
 were usually addressed to Miss Jane, the younger 
 and more practical of the two old ladies, on whom the 
 cares of the house chiefly devolved. She sat opposite 
 to Rupert, her hair divided under her white cap 
 into two smooth bands of silver grey, under which 
 her ruddy face and bright brown eyes showed that 
 the autumn of her age was a very sunny one. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you eating such a good dinner,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 37 
 
 Rupert," she said. " It's hardly fit for a growing 
 young man like you to eat nothing all day but a few 
 sandwiches." 
 
 She used the term " young man " as one uses it 
 to boys of twelve. Rupert smiled good-humouredly. 
 
 " I'm afraid my circumference is the only thing 
 that'll grow any more, auntie, I say, how good these 
 peas are ! Aren't they very early ? " 
 
 " They came from the Castle garden, but I'm 
 afraid she hasn't put quite enough butter in them. 
 I don't know what's come over Anne lately ; I think 
 she must be fretting about her mother, poor old soul." 
 And they talked on about the minutest trivialities 
 chiefly, indeed, about the dinner itself and the influ- 
 ences bearing on its goodness or badness just the 
 meaningless chatter of a family of human beings 
 eating in company, touched in this- case with a cer- 
 tain delicate anxious humanity, because two of the 
 family were well-bred old ladies and kind, and one 
 a youth whose eyes had seen only the sunshine of 
 life. 
 
 They sat afterwards in the drawing-room with the 
 windows open to the sun, that was setting behind the 
 dark hills across the water. A cutter yacht, creep- 
 ing down the lough with hardly a breath of wind in 
 her sails, glided close up to the steep rocks on which 
 the outer wall of the house was built. The people 
 sitting in the lighted windows were clearly visible to 
 the occupants of the yacht, for presently there was a 
 hail 
 
 " Rupert ahoy ! "
 
 38 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " Hullo ! " sang out Rupert 
 
 " We're going for a picnic up to Green Island 
 Sound on Monday. Russell is bringing the Thistle 
 and the Moores are taking the steam launch. Will 
 you come ? Good evening, Miss Jane ; I can see you 
 better than you can see me ! " 
 
 "It's Hamilton," said Rupert. "Yes, I'll come 
 rather; with pleasure. What time? Eleven? 
 All right." And the white sails glided away, and the 
 voices from the yacht grew fainter. 
 
 " Dear me," said Aunt Leonora, " the Moore girls 
 must have come, then. We must really go and call, 
 Jane. And the nieces are staying with Mrs. Hamil- 
 ton, and there's Lady Fastnet at Ballyculter, so you'll 
 be quite gay, Rupert, with all those young ladies! 
 It'll be a good thing to take you away from your 
 drawing for a day."
 
 Ill 
 
 RUPERT woke up next morning with that curi- 
 ous consciousness of Sunday known only to Protes- 
 tant youth. It was in the sunbeams that slanted 
 into his bedroom, it was in the drowsy hum of 
 bees amid the garden flowers, in the undisturbed 
 whistling and singing of the birds. He turned over 
 in bed once or twice, then looked at his watch ; it was 
 only half-past six. He was wide awake, and pres- 
 ently he got up, bathed, and began to dress, discard- 
 ing the loose flannel garments of week-days, and 
 searching out stiff shirts, folded clothes, white col- 
 lars. It was part of the observance of the day, in this 
 Protestant corner of Ireland, that everything should 
 be different from other days. 
 
 The house seemed still asleep as he went quietly 
 downstairs and out through the open windows on to 
 the lawn. The hush of Sunday morning was upon 
 everything. The clear green water, as smooth as a 
 pond, was sliding past the wooden piers supporting 
 the edge of the lawn, and the two white rowing-boats 
 that were tied up there tugged steadily but furtively 
 at their painters. His little racing cutter, the Maid 
 of Lome, was swinging at her moorings ; the bubbles 
 talking under her planks ; her sails all trimly furled ; 
 
 39
 
 40 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 and the club ensign, only flown on Sundays, already 
 floating over her counter. They all, on this day, had 
 the double attraction of forbidden pleasures, for to go 
 out for amusement in a boat on Sunday, or to draw, 
 or splice a rope or ply any craft, would have been 
 a grave social misdemeanour. So Rupert merely 
 looked at his boats with redoubled interest, and 
 (since his mind did not observe the Sabbath) seri- 
 ously pondered the effect of adding another seven 
 feet to the Maid of Lome's mast, and lengthening 
 her boom and bowsprit. The little boat might have 
 been aware of his thoughts, for she began to swing 
 round a little on the current until she was end-on to 
 him, as though to say : " Yes, look at my beam ; I 
 can stand more than that ! " Rupert would have 
 given a great deal to go on board of her and take a 
 few measurements ; he wondered how he could ever 
 wait until to-morrow; but habit, and consideration 
 for his aunts (who were stirring by this time, and 
 could have seen him from their bedroom windows), 
 prevailed against his impatience. 
 
 He turned away, and passed through a door into 
 the walled garden. Even at that early hour the air 
 there was warm and heavy, and the bourdon of bees 
 hung over the flower-borders like a perfume too heavy 
 to rise. Rupert hardly ever visited the garden ex- 
 cept on Sundays, when his hands were necessarily 
 idle, and when this pleasure of the senses had an 
 opportunity of appealing to him. As he walked 
 slowly up and down the gravel path between the trim 
 borders, he breathed the perfumed air deeply and
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 41 
 
 deliberately, tasting it like a vintage, and consciously 
 rejoicing to be alive. 
 
 He stood for a few minutes watching a suail in a 
 damp corner luxuriously dragging itself across a leaf, 
 its horns pricking straight up from the moist black- 
 ness of its head. Something in its gross contentment 
 and obscure sensuality appealed to him ; he furtively 
 took out a pencil and a fragment of paper, turned 
 his back on the snail, and began to draw. And as he 
 worked the lines of discontent again appeared in his 
 face ; he looked up at a chaffinch which was uttering 
 its bell-like sequence from the branch of an apple- 
 tree close by, and then suddenly, with a gesture of 
 disgust, crumpled up the paper and trod it into the 
 earth. Then he felt hungry and went in to breakfast. 
 
 They drove to church along the shore road; 
 flanked on one side by the trees of Rathshene 
 demesne, and on the other by the rocks and pebbles 
 of the beach. Aunt Jane was severely occupied with 
 her prayer-book; but Aunt Leonora was in a remi- 
 niscent mood, talking of people long dead, who had 
 looked on those scenes and driven along that road 
 before them. Rupert listened with interest, knowing 
 by experience that these wandering comments led 
 often into the most interesting and human stories of 
 the dead past. A direct question would as likely as 
 not dry up the pretty fountain of memories that bub- 
 bled in the old lady's mind ; but Rupert was skilful 
 in steering the talk in promising directions without 
 appearing to be too interested.
 
 42 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " Oh, really ? " he said, at the end of a long 
 story about an uninteresting great-aunt ; " I never 
 knew that you and Aunt Jane had lived at Carrs- 
 town." 
 
 " We never lived there, dear, but, as I was telling 
 you, we stayed there once with our Aunt Dalzell - 
 when that curious thing happened about the visitor." 
 
 " You mean the visitor who ? " 
 
 " Did I never tell you about that ? Dear me, your 
 father used to like hearing about that. Oh, there's 
 no story in it, it's just a thing that happened. Your 
 aunt and I were staying with our Aunt Dalzell; 
 Uncle Thomas had been dead for three years, and 
 I was seventeen. The three of us were alone in the 
 house except for the servants, who were all women; 
 and it was June. We had just come down to break- 
 fast one morning when we saw a stranger walking 
 slowly up the drive, stopping to smell the flowers. 
 You know that the house at Carrstown is nearly two 
 miles from the road, and isn't on the way to any 
 place, so you can think how surprised we were. We 
 knew every one within twenty miles round us, and 
 visitors weren't so common with us that we didn't 
 know all about them long before they came to stay 
 with any one. 
 
 " He sauntered along very slowly, looking about 
 him as though he were enjoying the morning air. 
 He had no hat on his head, and carried no stick or 
 gloves; you would just think he had walked out of 
 the house. As he came nearer we could see that he 
 was very handsome oh, such a really distinguished
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 43 
 
 face as he had ! He was beautifully dressed, and 
 you would have said that he was quite a young man, 
 except that his hair he had long, wavy hair was 
 grey." 
 
 Aunt Jane lifted her face from her prayer-book. 
 " Indeed it was not grey, Leonora ; there may have 
 been a little grey on the temples, but his hair was 
 as brown as Kupert's ! " And she resumed her study 
 of the psalms for the day. 
 
 " Your aunt was a good deal younger than I was, 
 and perhaps doesn't remember so clearly," went on 
 Miss Leonora. Rupert looked across at the younger 
 sister, and saw her smiling almost derisively at the 
 book. " But the young man came on up to the open 
 window. Of course Aunt Dalzell went and spoke 
 to him. ' Oh,' said he, ' I've been admiring your 
 beautiful flowers so much. It fills one's heart with 
 poetry to see them ! ' Those were his words, and you 
 could tell from the way he spoke that he was an edu- 
 cated man. Such beautiful manners as he had, too! 
 Even Aunt Dalzell was charmed with him, and asked 
 him to stay and have breakfast. He talked about 
 the flowers and birds in a way that enchanted us; 
 but he never offered to say anything about who he 
 was, or asked any questions about us, and we began 
 to think that he was some eccentric visitor staying 
 at Rathshene that we hadn't heard of. 
 
 " Well, he stayed all the morning, walking with 
 us about the garden and wood ; he was delighted with 
 everything we showed him, and he stayed to lunch. 
 After lunch Aunt Dalzell gave him a hint, and
 
 44 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 asked could we drive him anywhere, as we were go- 
 ing to pay a visit; but he just said No, thank you, 
 he couldn't be happier than he was, just walking 
 about! and as he didn't show any signs of going 
 away, we put off our drive and sat with him in the 
 garden, and he repeated poetry to us. Such a mem- 
 ory as he had ! And he had a beautiful voice, and 
 you could see he felt what he said, and we were all 
 enchanted to listen to him. I remember one verse 
 that he repeated; and the beauty of it wasn't so 
 much in the words as in the way he said it : 
 
 " ' Pale gentle flower, with petals neat, 
 
 And shall I pluck thee, then ? 
 Nay, rather spare a thing so sweet, 
 To be a joy to men ! ' ' 
 
 The old lady steadied her voice against the shak- 
 ing of the carriage into an almost hallowed tone 
 so potently did the unspoken romance of that June 
 day long ago linger in her blood. After a pause she 
 went on. 
 
 " But at dinner-time, as he showed no signs of 
 going, Aunt Dalzell began to think it very odd ; and 
 several times she was on the point of saying some- 
 thing definite to him, but he disarmed her by some 
 amiable or charming remark. So there was nothing 
 for it but to ask him to stay to dinner; and after 
 dinner he played and sang to us so delightfully (he 
 had a sweet tenor voice) that no one noticed the time, 
 and it was eleven o'clock before we realized it. It 
 had come on to rain heavily; and Aunt Dalzell
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 45 
 
 couldn't bring herself to turn the stranger out of 
 doors; so he was shown to a bedroom. Aunt came 
 down afterwards, and said she had locked his door 
 from the outside; and she took away all the silver 
 and locked it up. When he wasn't there she was full 
 of indignation at him; but so long as he had been 
 with us, she was as much charmed as any of us. 
 
 " Well, we three were down pretty early the next 
 morning, you may be sure ; and aunt was just going 
 to slip upstairs to unlock the stranger's door, when 
 suddenly he was in the room with us ! I should 
 tell you that, apart from his door having been locked, 
 the stairs were very creaky, and a cat couldn't have 
 come down without being heard. Besides, I was 
 facing the dining-room door, and no one came in; 
 yet there he was, bowing and smiling, and asking 
 us how we had slept ! We were all a little frightened, 
 but Aunt Dalzell was a little ashamed, too, of having 
 locked up the silver, and she was very nice to him. 
 And then after breakfast, he walked out on to the 
 terrace, and just disappeared! No one saw him go 
 away; no one in the village or at Eathshene had ever 
 seen such a person ; he seemed to drop from the skies, 
 and to go back to them." 
 
 " But do you mean to say," asked Rupert, " that 
 you never found out who he was, or anything more 
 about him ? " 
 
 " Never certainly. It was said vaguely that he 
 was a young man who was in the care of well, of 
 an attendant, and that the attendant had missed him 
 the day before, but "
 
 46 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " Leonora ! " said Miss Jane, shutting her prayer- 
 book with a snap. " I really wonder at you repeat- 
 ing that untruth to Rupert, when you know very 
 well it was only a tale of Margaret Haffy's a 
 horrid girl, I always thought her." 
 
 And the two old ladies began to wrangle politely 
 over the details of the quite uninteresting solution 
 of the story rather pathetically, as Rupert thought, 
 whose mind was filled by the romantic side of his 
 aunt's story this unknown young man, with his 
 early Victorian elegancies, and hia verses and posies, 
 drifting in upon the pretty, humdrum world of the 
 two girls, and drifting out again, leaving the foot- 
 print of romance on their lives. 
 
 The story had brought them to Rathshene; and 
 as the carriage turned up the straggling High Street 
 there were people on foot to be greeted with varying 
 degrees of intimacy ; the old ladies' bow to Mr. Greg- 
 son, the lawyer, with his bevy of daughters, suggested 
 a certain distance exactly but cordially preserved, 
 while a most formal inclination saluted the Wades 
 and their English visitors. For the ragged and the 
 poor, curtseying from cottage doors, or stepping aside 
 to let the carriage pass, the two ladies kept their 
 sweetest and kindliest smiles. 
 
 There was nothing more familiar to Rupert than 
 the scene inside the church, where since childhood 
 he had Sunday by Sunday employed every device of 
 thought and imagination to make tolerable the habit- 
 ual vacancy of mind induced by the service. He had
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 47 
 
 counted everything in the church hundreds of times 
 
 the tiles on the floor, the spoon-shaped mouldings 
 in the cornices, the panes of glass in the leaded win- 
 dows and the pipes of the organ ; he had performed 
 imaginary acrobatic feats of climbing about the roof, 
 and jumping from moulding to moulding, until he 
 had got quite dizzy in his pew. But latterly he had 
 found another interest for these irksome hours in 
 a critical study of the young women within his view 
 
 those whose faces lent themselves to drawing, and 
 those whose faces did not; those whom he could 
 imagine himself kissing, and those who shocked his 
 fastidiousness -in that matter. One by one they had 
 emerged from the vague background into the field of 
 his attention, taking on each her own individuality; 
 every Sunday, at this time of his life, revealed a new 
 face, a woman's face where before there had only 
 been a lay figure, a face round which his awakened 
 imagination could play. 
 
 Mary O'Niell, for example, who for years had 
 been merely a splash of brown and white in the 
 second row of the choir, had last Sunday revealed 
 herself as an extremely pretty girl whose brown dress 
 clothed a lissom figure, and under whose white hat 
 lay the mysterious coils of a woman's hair. And 
 there were others, unknown to Rupert even by name, 
 people who came in to church from distant farms, 
 who engaged his attention and speculation. One 
 woman especially, who sat with her profile to him, 
 who to his unseeing eyes had appeared the same any 
 time for the last ten years, had interested him in
 
 48 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 a vague and almost distasteful way. She was always 
 dressed in black, her hair was dark, and her face, 
 which was not beautiful, had the blank paleness of 
 paper; but Rupert found his eyes constantly stray- 
 ing towards her, and his mind and curiosity continu- 
 ally engaged with her so much so, while her im- 
 portance to him lasted, that if she were not in church 
 he felt that the day was doubly blank. He was care- 
 ful never to find out who she was; he fastidiously 
 kept the world of his imagination separate from the 
 world of fact ; and nothing would have induced him 
 to speak to her. 
 
 All Rupert's romances, which were many, had 
 taken place hitherto in his own imagination. Peo- 
 ple, remarking his easy and self-possessed manners, 
 said " How old he is for his age ! " But really he 
 was at heart so intolerably shy that he was afraid 
 of any one finding out what a mask his man-of-the- 
 world air was. To old people and to married women 
 he always made love as though by instinct, paying 
 ingratiating court to them which they found delight- 
 ful. With the young women whom he had known 
 from early boyhood he could never bring himself 
 even to flirt; their frank familiarity and knowledge 
 of each other made an insurmountable barrier. 
 
 But to-day, with the coming of the summer visit- 
 ors, the familiar objects of his attention were over- 
 shadowed by several young women whom he had not 
 seen before ; people of his own class, dressed in the 
 latest fashion, and providing his critical and curious 
 eyes with much to admire in their clothes as well as
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 49 
 
 in their persons. In the pew with Mrs. Hamilton 
 were her two pretty nieces, who seemed to have bet- 
 come demurer and prettier than ever; there was a 
 whole party of young men and women in the Rath- 
 shene pew one of the latter, with Titian hair and 
 eyes downcast under a great shady hat, intrigued 
 his curiosity; but it was a strange lady sitting by 
 herself a few pews in front of him who interested 
 Rupert most. She was young, but not girlish; she 
 had a slim figure, pale gold hair, and exquisite 
 clothes ; she moved gracefully, she had an indescrib- 
 able air of composure and yet of alertness that en- 
 gaged Rupert's sympathies- She never turned her 
 head, although she seemed to see out of the back of 
 her fair neck. Rupert enjoyed this illusion greatly; 
 he did not know that it was produced by the lady's 
 certainty that her dress fitted her back admirably and 
 that her hair was well done; nor, if he had known 
 it, would the fact have interfered with his pleasure. 
 
 
 He longed to see her face, but she kept it fixed 
 on her prayer-book. The congregation mumbled 
 through the service with its usual confused mutter, 
 corrected only by Mr. Gregson, who articulated every 
 syllable in a harsh rolling voice, and with great play 
 of lips, and who consequently recited the last half 
 of every response in the midst of an impressive 
 silence. 
 
 " Because there is notherth fith frus btonly 
 Thououlord," said the congregation ; and " for us, 
 but only Thou, O Lord," added Mr. Gregson, that
 
 50 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 there might be no misapprehension in high quarters 
 as to the exact nature of the position. 
 
 And so the service muttered and rumbled its way 
 along, and Rupert grew more excited as it drew to 
 an end and the moment approached when he should 
 see her face. At last the blessing was given; and 
 Rupert grudged the few seconds that followed it in 
 which he must remain with bent head. He got his 
 hat and fidgeted ; one by one the heads round him 
 bobbed up, as though some constraining bonds had 
 been cut; but still the lady in front did not move. 
 People were moving out and beginning to throng the 
 little aisle before she slowly raised her head and rose 
 gracefully from her knees. She collected her books, 
 handkerchief, sunshade, and moved out, coming down 
 the aisle towards Rupert; but just in front of her 
 walked Tom Neligan, whose face, red like the set- 
 ting sun, blotted her out completely. As Rupert 
 moved, the red face moved, lurching along always 
 between him and the fair features; and it was not 
 until she was on the point of passing his seat that 
 Rupert saw her face. Even then it was only half 
 visible behind her veil, and he had an impression of 
 pale grey-blue eyes, a firm mouth, the fairest of 
 skins, and an atmosphere of mystery and remoteness. 
 
 She had gone away by the time Rupert and his 
 aunts had reached the church door, and he became 
 involved in the usual Sunday greetings. There were 
 the Gregsons to be shaken hands with, introductions 
 to the Rathshene house-party, the pretty Miss Ham-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 51 
 
 iltons to be fussed over. The carriages did not come 
 to the church on fine Sundays, but waited down at 
 the bottom of the street beside the little harbour, and 
 the stroll down there, split into chosen groups, and 
 displaying a variety of splendid attire, was one of 
 the social events of this little world. Rupert walked 
 with the Miss Hamiltons, and for the time forgot 
 the unknown lady. 
 
 " I do hope the weather will be fine to-morrow ; 
 I am longing to see Green Island again, and that 
 beautiful sound," said Millie Hamilton, looking at 
 Rupert out of her fine dark eyes. " Do you think 
 it will be fine, really now, Mr. Savage ? " 
 
 " Sure to be," said Rupert, who approved of these 
 young ladies. " Are you going in the Dryad with 
 your uncle ? You'd better come with me in the Maid 
 of Lome, and we'll race him." 
 
 " Oh, what fun that would be ! " said Betty, the 
 younger sister. " Do let's go with Mr. Savage, 
 Millie, and he'll let me steer." 
 
 " I'm not so sure about that, if we want to get 
 there first," said Rupert ungallantly. " Wait and 
 see. Anyhow, you both come with me I'll settle 
 that with your aunt." 
 
 They went on talking about the next day's ex- 
 pedition, and exchanging laughing reminiscences of 
 a similar day the year before. At the bottom of the 
 street they waited by the quay-side for their elders 
 to come down, and were joined by other groups of 
 young people the Gregson " girls," who ranged 
 from eighteen to forty, and had all weather-beaten
 
 52 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 faces and hard sea-blue eyes. They lived in the open 
 air, in boats and on bicycles, but chiefly in boats, 
 which they managed with the daring of yachtsmen 
 and the cunning of old fishermen. You could see 
 the effect of the weather on the family in stages. 
 The youngest girl was very pretty, and merely freck- 
 led; but the colour deepened as you ascended the 
 family scale. Aminta, the eldest, was burned a deep 
 brick-red, and walked with a roll like an old shell- 
 back. On week-days she looked effective and busi- 
 ness-like, dressed in a blue jersey, short serge skirt, 
 and tam-o'-shanter; but on Sunday, in a flimsy lace 
 gown and very feminine hat, there was an air almost 
 of impropriety about her. Her brick-red complexion 
 looked like some Tibetan pigment, and her chains 
 and jewelled pins were like the adornments of an 
 idol. The father, old Gregson, who had twenty-five 
 years' start of his eldest daughter, and added the 
 influence of port to that of the weather, was almost 
 black. 
 
 " How are you, Rupert ? " hailed Miss Aminta, 
 " Is it true what they're saying, that you're going 
 to step the Maid's mast further forrard ? Ah, sure 
 it would be a shame you'll never get her to look 
 half a point nearer the wind than she does at present, 
 and you'll just take the life out of her." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, Miss Gregson ; it improved 
 the Red Rose." 
 
 " The Red Rose? What is the boy talking of, at 
 all ? Will you tell me if the Red Rose is anything 
 like the shape of the Maid? For patience's sake let
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 53 
 
 the old boat alone, when she's the fastest thing of 
 her size on the lough." 
 
 Rupert continued to discuss the matter, the Miss 
 Hamiltons respectfully listening; but he inwardly 
 resolved to consider Miss Aminta's words, knowing 
 that on such a subject they were of weight, and not 
 lightly given. 
 
 The other members of her family gradually as- 
 sembled, talking of the weather in harsh and yet 
 somehow agreeable voices, until they were all there 
 in a row, beginning with Mrs. Gregson, whose face 
 was rose-pink. Pink, freckles, tan, brown, crimson, 
 brick-red, black; and the family spectroscope was 
 complete. 
 
 " Well, good morning, ladies," sang out old Greg- 
 son, who was called the Commodore ; " come along, 
 girls ; " and, as if at the signal of a flagship, the 
 family, under all plain sail, and with their skirts 
 held up in front like anchors atrip, bore away in his 
 wake, Mrs. Gregson towing somewhat heavily beside 
 the Commodore. 
 
 And with much talk and laughter and making of 
 arrangements for the following day, the gay groups 
 gradually dispersed, the carriages drove away, and 
 the little village settled down to its sunny Sunday 
 quiet, broken only by the lap of waves against the 
 quay-side, the voices of the gulls plunging and quar- 
 relling over some offal, and the shuffling feet of the 
 silent, stiffly-clad group of Sunday loiterers leaning 
 against the public-house walL
 
 IV 
 
 " Do tell me about your drawing ; I am interested 
 in that. Oh, how I envy any one who has a real 
 art to express himself in ! " 
 
 The impossible had come true; Rupert was sit- 
 ting alone under the shade of the ivy-clad wall of 
 a ruin, with the unknown fair lady beside him 
 no longer unknown, but revealed as a clever, grace- 
 ful, well-informed, friendly, and wholly delightful 
 mortal called Lady Fastnet. And it had happened 
 so easily and naturally. Rupert had sailed up to 
 Green Island Sound with the Miss Hamiltons, Nora 
 Gregson, and one or two others who had overflowed 
 their own boats; he had laughed and joked and 
 chatted and enjoyed himself, and had even begun a 
 laughing, long-deferred flirtation with Millie Ham- 
 ilton. And then, as they had landed, they had met 
 the party that had gone up in the Moores' steamer; 
 suddenly he had seen her in a spotless white dress, 
 standing chatting with Mrs. Graham of Ballyculter, 
 had blushed, had been introduced, and had promptly 
 captured the lady's heart (she was feeling a little 
 bored, and rather hopeless of finding much human 
 interest) by the whole-hearted admiration that had 
 beamed from his brown eyes. Rupert's shyness being 
 
 64
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 55 
 
 of the spirit, and not apparent in his manners, he 
 had quite unconsciously set himself to captivate her, 
 with an address and daring which an older man 
 might have envied. 
 
 At first his attentions had necessarily been divided. 
 He was too polite to abandon his fair passengers all 
 at once, but he skilfully mingled Lady Fastnet with 
 them, so that at lunch they made a merry little group 
 by themselves, and he could look at her while he 
 talked to them. She was witty and amusing and 
 youthful she was only twenty-seven so that the 
 girls soon lost their stiffness with her and forgot that 
 she was a married woman a state of things that 
 meant in their world an abandonment of youthful 
 interests and frivolous joys. 
 
 Geraldine Fastnet was not sorry to find herself 
 once more in an environment of girlhood and boy- 
 hood. She had been the eldest of a family of ten, 
 and the cleverest and not the least pretty of six pretty 
 sisters, who had grown up like flowers in the poor 
 soil of a worn-out family, and amid the weeds of a 
 rather miserable and inferior stock-grazing county 
 society. An old family, and a dying ; and, like many 
 in Ireland, blossoming out, in its very death-throes, 
 into these flowers of daughters; the sons weak and 
 degenerate, only hastening the extinction of the 
 name. Geraldine had been married at eighteen to 
 Lord Fastnet, a young, poor, proud, extremely pious 
 and rather stupid hawbuck ; by accident, and because 
 his relatives in the elder branch had all subsided into 
 convents and lunatic asylums, a Catholic Peer; own-
 
 56 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 ing many acres of bog, and an ugly, gloomy tumble- 
 down castle of the eighteenth century. 
 
 This young man had been strictly brought up by 
 priests; he had never been out of Ireland except 
 when he had been to school in Belgium; he was 
 advised to marry for the apostolic reasons to avoid 
 incontinence and to beget children. Whereupon this 
 gay and pretty Geraldine, willing enough to be a 
 Countess and to escape from the crowding competi- 
 tion of home life, with its rather irritating division 
 and apportionment of dresses, dances, visits, and 
 other amusements, and equipped with the Catholic 
 combination of innocence and shame, was thrown to 
 the lusty young Fastnet as a live rabbit is thrown to 
 a starving python. Such was her introduction to one 
 set of the facts of life. The church had terrified 
 her into obedience and submission, and encouraged 
 him with the grave sensuality of a Puritan Catholi- 
 cism: with a result that any civilized society might 
 look upon with shame, if it had the courage to look 
 at all. 
 
 The prolonged horror of the honeymoon had come 
 to an end at last. Geraldine had tasted the bitter 
 degradation of having been given, for the mere relief 
 of his symptoms, to a man whom she did not love; 
 and Lord Fastnet, his brief season of song and gay 
 plumage over, returned to Castle Fastnet, where he 
 relapsed into the quagmire of bucolic Catholicism 
 and the drifting sloth engendered by the soft, misty 
 climate. Soon he neglected to shave, and became an 
 object of physical repulsion to his wife. She bore
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 57 
 
 him no child, to her secret joy, but an express griev- 
 ance of his ; and having, after six years of hell, ar- 
 rived at a state of neutrality and found a modus 
 vivendi, she began to live, and he began to die. The 
 process was slow, beginning at the extremities, with 
 gout in the feet and incipient softening of the brain, 
 and was destined to last thirty years before the cen- 
 tres of life gave out. 
 
 Geraldine had come on a visit to her friend at 
 Ballyculter, and was, of course, included in the invi- 
 tation for the Hamiltons' picnic. She thought Ru- 
 pert much the most attractive of the young people 
 about her, and had readily fallen in with his sugges- 
 tion that they should stroll off after lunch to where 
 they could get a view of the sound ; and thus it hap- 
 pened that she was sitting beside him, under the 
 ruined wall, looking down on the landlocked waters 
 of the sound. The Miss Gregsons had led off most 
 of the other young people, to indulge in violent 
 games; the elders were sitting about on the sward, 
 gossiping; Rupert and Lady Fastnet had the ruin 
 to themselves. 
 
 " Do tell me about your drawing." 
 
 " I don't know that there's anything to tell. I 
 can show you some things, if you like, but probably 
 you'll hate them. Every one says I draw ugly 
 things; certainly I don't see any use in drawing 
 pretty things, because any one can see their pretti- 
 ness for himself. I'm afraid I'm rather a rotter, 
 you know, because I can't help sticking things in
 
 58 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 out of my head all sorts of things. I see expres- 
 sions in things : look at that water it's smiling, 
 as plainly as anything could smile like some one 
 smiling in their sleep you know what I mean. 
 And that branch of a tree it's leering at us ; don't 
 you see ? " And he whipped a pencil from his 
 pocket, and on the back of an envelope drew the 
 gnarled bough in a few swift strokes that certainly 
 expressed a rather sinister smile. 
 
 " It's rather rot, isn't it ? " he said, growing a 
 little red as he felt that he had been " giving him- 
 self away." " But it makes it interesting for me ; 
 you know what I mean ; it's the way I see things." 
 
 He looked up, and found the lady's clear eyes 
 resting, not on the drawing, but on his face. 
 
 " What are you looking at me like that for ? " 
 
 " I'm not looking at you ' like that.' ' 
 
 " Yes, you are. Have I said anything extra silly ? 
 I can't talk to the people here much about my work, 
 you know ; they aren't interested you know what 
 I mean; but you seem to understand, although I 
 daresay you think me rather an ass." 
 
 " Now you're fishing, but you're not going to 
 catch anything. Let me see that drawing again, 
 will you ? " 
 
 She took it up and looked at it closely, paying 
 absolutely no attention to Rupert's confused and 
 rather abject depreciation of it. 
 
 " Do you know Sibley's work at all ? " she asked 
 presently. 
 
 " No," said Rupert. " I know nothing, see noth-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 59 
 
 ing, learn nothing down here. When you told me 
 just now that you'd really seen all those impression- 
 ist pictures we were talking about, I felt quite sick. 
 I only know them from the illustrated art papers 
 I get. By Jove, those fellows really are trying ! " 
 
 " I wonder," said Lady Fastnet to herself, looking 
 at him. 
 
 " What do you wonder, dear lady ? " said Rupert, 
 blushing, after all, when he said " dear lady," al- 
 though he had been making up his mind to say it 
 for five minutes. 
 
 " I am wondering, dear sir, if those very people 
 wouldn't say exactly that about you, if they saw 
 your work. They would say, ' Anyway, he tries.' 
 But I'm coming to see your aunts some afternoon, 
 and you must show me your serious work. Will 
 you? That will be so nice of you, Mr. Savage." 
 She looked at him, half smiling, half wondering. 
 
 " I say, Lady Fastnet, will you do me a favour ? " 
 
 " If I can." 
 
 " Do you mind very much not calling me Mr. 
 Savage do you mind calling me Rupert ? Every 
 one I like does, and " 
 
 The lady suddenly looked grave, even haughty. 
 " Mr. Savage ! Really, I think you are presuming 
 in our very short acquaintance." 
 
 Rupert, flushing scarlet, looked down on the 
 ground, and did not see the expression of mock- 
 haughtiness suddenly disappear from Lady Fastnet's 
 face, to be replaced by a shining friendly regard.
 
 60 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 But when he raised his eyes to reply, yes no 
 was she laughing at him 2 Could she really 2 
 
 She rippled a merry laugh, and for a second let 
 her fingers rest on his coat sleeve. " Did you really 
 think I was such an abject prig as that ? Of course 
 I'll call you Rupert, as long as I like you as much 
 as I do now." 
 
 " That is charming of you," said Rupert, his self- 
 possession quite restored, but still a little intoxicated 
 by the touch of her fingers. " And you really do 
 like me I mean you know what I mean." 
 
 " Yes, I-know-what-you-mean," said the lady, 
 mimicking him. " If I didn't like you I shouldn't 
 be sitting here with you, should I \ Voila ! " 
 
 " How jolly you are ! I am quite serious. You 
 didn't know about me in church yesterday, but I 
 was looking at you." 
 
 " Fancy ! How could I have lived yesterday, not 
 ( knowing about you ' ! But don't let's talk non- 
 sense. Do you know I'd never been in a Protestant 
 church in my life before yesterday ? Did I do every- 
 thing all right 2 You wouldn't have known 2 Splen- 
 did ! You see I'm a Catholic." 
 
 Rupert had a pleasant mild sense of traffic with 
 the devil. " No, I shouldn't have guessed. But 
 why did you come 2 " 
 
 " Curiosity. It would be as much as my life is 
 worth down in the south; why, even my people 
 would have a fit if they knew ! It's as bad as that 
 with us." 
 
 They talked on, rushing into knowledge of each
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 61 
 
 other on the seven-league strides of youth and curi- 
 osity. While their voices made the sounds and words 
 of conversation, their eyes talked more swiftly, 
 glancing the dot-and-dash of the emotional code ; 
 for they were full in youth's sunshine, she catching 
 the light from his brighter mirror and flashing it 
 back to him in heliograph. Now they were a world 
 apart; a turn of her head, and he had reached the 
 equator ; a glance of eyes, and only a thousand miles 
 divided them; an idea shared, and he was a hun- 
 dred miles nearer; a steadying and meeting of 
 glances, and the compass in his heart dipped and 
 spun to the influence of the magnetic pole itself 
 only to find it ringed with ice, and the lady near 
 by to the sight only, and unapproachable across that 
 cold barrier. 
 
 This ancient game doubtless seemed the more 
 fascinating to the players because of their complete 
 lack of intention. The lady, by marriage cut off, 
 as she thought, from the mainland of youth and 
 adventure, saw him borne towards her on a swift 
 current, and was glad of the prospect of company 
 on her island. Because of his youth, and the deep 
 and wide seas surrounding her, she prepared no de- 
 fences; a mere boy, this; some one, surely, whom 
 she could frankly make her friend, without danger 
 from inquiring eyebrows or from explosive qualities 
 in the friendship itself. Her ladyship was as young 
 as that, you see. 
 
 As for Rupert, here was a lady entirely lovable, 
 and therefore to be made love to. It was all heart
 
 62 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 and soul and head with him ; the flesh that impelled 
 him was as yet deep hidden from his consciousness, 
 and only sending these powerful vapours into heart 
 and soul and head; love was an affair of kisses and 
 sweet words and holding of hands and eternal spirit- 
 ual companionship. The lady, being married, could 
 not be expected to love him; but if only she would 
 allow him to love her ! 
 
 At this adolescent stage the great passion is a very 
 single affair. " Bother being loved ! " it cries ; " let 
 me love, let me love ! " The beautiful instinct of 
 the chase is awakened, but it is as a means to no 
 end; rather it is the end itself, and capture only a 
 possible dilemma at the end of it. " Let me capture 
 this fellow-creature," says Love in his shepherd 
 days ; " no doubt I shall find something to do with 
 her when I have caught her." Later, when the cap- 
 ture has become the important thing, man gives up 
 the chase, contenting himself with setting a trap 
 in one of the well-marked runs of the fair pursued. 
 There he waits, until the click and cry are heard. 
 It is the wisest plan, perhaps; for those who chase 
 the flying nymph must beware of gins themselves; 
 she has been known to leave them in her tracks. 
 Then indeed, when one of the pursuers is caught, 
 what a bellowing and dragging of mangled limbs, 
 trap and all, out of the forest shade into the sun- 
 light; what a gory trail, what panic legislation con- 
 cerning the setting of traps ! 
 
 Lady Fastnet's absolute innocence of any inten- 
 tion of flirting with a boy of twenty, combined with
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 63 
 
 her complete inability to help being charmed, and 
 therefore very charming, settled poor Rupert's busi- 
 ness for him in the space of an hour and a half. 
 Falling in love herself was not one of the possibili- 
 ties that life held for her, and so she abandoned her- 
 self the more readily to this shy and yet shameless 
 wooer, who turned his whole personality upon her 
 in a golden stream. She took for granted the safety 
 of her own heart, immured within the grey walls 
 of duty, and she regarded with a naive and tender 
 curiosity the offer of this curious youth, who knew 
 so little what he offered. She was not, because of 
 her own immunity, much concerned about his heart 
 the whole subject of hearts in this connection 
 being one of which she was rather ignorant. She 
 knew that there were certain danger signals occa- 
 sionally shown by the men among her friends, and 
 that there was a code of answering and discourag- 
 ing signals, which instinct and training had taught 
 her : that was all. It was not within her experience 
 to have a young man of twenty pouring out before 
 her the first treasures of a poet's heart, and bringing 
 to bear on her the battery of a most attractive per- 
 sonality, a keen intelligence, and a half-fledged 
 sense of artistic mastery that only needed her help 
 to mount on strong wings. Least of all was it within 
 her experience to be wooed by a creature who was 
 half impulsive boy, half self-possessed and command- 
 ing man, and who had the native art to lay his life 
 at her feet without saying a word about it. 
 
 Their talk was indeed quite too commonplace to
 
 64 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 reproduce in type ; it was the kind of talk in which 
 words are nothing, tones and glances everything. In 
 their duet, that sounded through the afternoon to 
 the accompaniment of the talking water, his was the 
 voice that sang, and hers the one that interrupted, 
 interrogated, or made harmonies. When he spoke 
 of the brimming waters of the sound, he was really 
 saying, " Look at them with my eyes ; look from 
 them into me ! " When they talked of the ruined 
 castle, and the brave, loud-shouting passions that had 
 echoed about its crumbling walls, his eyes said, 
 " Learn about me ; know what is in me of those 
 ancestors who fought and fell here; they are dead, 
 the castle is in ruins, but I am alive ! " And when 
 they spoke of his home, his interests, his affection 
 for the old ladies, his drawing, his heart cried, 
 " These are things that I love ; look at them, know 
 them, like them a little because I love them, learn 
 from my love for them what my love for you may 
 be!" 
 
 
 
 The party were already seated at tea when they 
 returned, raked by merciless young eyes. Rupert 
 envied Lady Fastnet the complete self-possession 
 with which she devoted herself to the elder ladies. 
 They had been inclined to criticise her absence, but 
 her attractive pleasure in their company, and whole- 
 hearted admiration for the beautiful sound, soon 
 disarmed them. Rupert was conscious of a sense of 
 exhilaration as he sat down among the young people, 
 and took his part in the high-spirited, good-natured
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 65 
 
 chaff of such occasions. He felt kindly towards 
 every one, and treated Miss Hamilton with an almost 
 paternal affection which that young lady found most 
 attractive. He did not let his eyes wander towards 
 the group of elders very often; the radiance that 
 was illuminating them reached him through other 
 senses than that of sight. Once indeed, when he 
 had looked, he had been conscious of a faint feeling 
 of disgust at the sight of her in laughing conversa- 
 tion with a middle-aged facetious gentleman in red 
 Dundreary whiskers; after that he looked no more. 
 They played games after tea old-fashioned 
 games, which were understood by the elders to be 
 a concession to the young people, and by the young 
 people to be a concession to the elders. The grey 
 walls of the castle echoed to laughter and voices, 
 and the figures of girls skimmed over the sward, 
 like flying nymphs whom no satyr pursued. Lady 
 Fastnet did not join in these revels, but looked on 
 with the elders; and in the evolutions of the game 
 often had sight of the slim, clean Rupert, pursued 
 or pursuing. But it was not until the slanting sun- 
 beams had given the signal for baskets to be packed 
 and boats to be manned, and each craft had received 
 her complement of passengers that the new-formed 
 friends had any speech with each other. Rupert, 
 with a coolness that won the frank admiration of 
 his party, mano3uvred Lady Fastnet into his own 
 cutter for the homeward sail, and established her 
 with cushions and rugs beside him where he sat at 
 the tiller.
 
 66 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Once on board he was more autocratic than ever. 
 " Move over here a little, please, and then you'll be 
 clear of the main-sheet. The other side, please, Miss 
 Hamilton that's right. Just take a turn of those 
 halliards, Miss Gregson, and haul aft your weather 
 jib-sheet. All clear, Sam ? " 
 
 " All clear, sir ! " sang out the man in the bows, 
 who was stripping the long seaweeds from the an- 
 chor; and they glided through the sound with a 
 dying breeze and in the orange glow of sunset. 
 
 There were two or three short tacks to be made 
 in order to get out of the sound, and an intricate 
 navigation of the narrow entrance, in which Rupert 
 distinguished himself by getting ahead of the other 
 boats and establishing a lead for the race home. 
 Close behind him was Mr. Hamilton's cutter, carry- 
 ing more sail, but laden more heavily than the Maid 
 of Lome; and for a few minutes the excitement of 
 a race occupied them all. But as the Maid of Lorne 
 drew away from her pursuer and settled down on 
 the long reach home, general conversation broke 
 out again, and the indefatigable group over the 
 cabin-hatch began to practise making knots and 
 splices, with much argument and manual interfer- 
 ence. 
 
 Rupert had a sense of triumph, god-like and ex- 
 hilarating, in the presence of his lady beside him 
 in the little cock-pit. The talk of the others mingled 
 with the bubble of water against the planks veiled 
 their voices, and the growing darkness veiled their 
 faces.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 67 
 
 " Do you like it ? " asked Rupert, after a long 
 silence. 
 
 Yes, I like it." 
 
 " Are you happy ? " 
 
 " I wonder. Yes." Geraldine felt herself be- 
 witched, drifting on some tide, half ashamed of her- 
 self for seeming to encourage the admiration that 
 trembled in this boy's tones, half conscious of feel- 
 ing very like a girl beside him, and then stifling 
 her conscience with the thought that she could be 
 of use to him, that she would be good for him. 
 
 Presently, under cover of the friendly twilight, 
 Rupert spoke again. 
 
 " Do you mind very much if I ask you some- 
 thing?" 
 
 " Not a bit. What is it ? " 
 
 " That." She felt a hand laid on her own as it 
 rested on the deck. 
 
 " Oh, Rupert," she said pleadingly, " please don't 
 spoil it by anything silly ! You know very well that 
 is only foolishness " but she did not move her 
 hand from under his. Rupert's hand was warm and 
 trembling over her cold one; but his voice was 
 steady, reassuring, matter-of-fact. 
 
 " Now, that's very selfish of you," he said ; " does 
 it make you very uncomfortable to have your hand 
 in mine ? " 
 
 " No, of course not ; but what good does it do ? " 
 
 " It makes me very happy ; so you haven't a ghost 
 of an excuse. Please " as the cold hand made 
 a movement of withdrawal, and then resigned itself.
 
 68 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 She laughed quietly. " You are very obstinate, 
 and I'm still not sure that you aren't silly as well; 
 but we won't make a fuss about such a small thing. 
 There now." 
 
 She gave him her hand frankly into his own with 
 a movement that robbed the situation of any sub- 
 tlety; it was gently and timidly caressed as though 
 it were a treasure of porcelain. It was as cold and 
 unresponsive as porcelain too, but Rupert was un- 
 conscious of that. He was conscious only of himself 
 and of her, that they were together, that he was 
 touching her. For ten minutes he desired no other 
 happiness. 
 
 Then the wish to be answered woke in him. 
 
 " How cold your hand is ! Can't I make it as 
 happy as mine ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid I don't feel happiness in my hands 
 except when I'm playing the piano. They are 
 always cold." 
 
 " Are you glad your hand is in mine ? " 
 
 " Not particularly. I can't pretend to be thrilled, 
 you know, when I'm not. How lovely those clouds 
 are, with the moonlight coming behind them." 
 
 " Yes, but look here, you know what I mean, I'm 
 so awfully " 
 
 " Keep your luff, sir, keep your luff ! " came in a 
 hoarse voice from the gloom in the bows. " Sure, 
 Mr. Hamilton's walking away from us now, sir 
 that's him to windward. I think we're close enough 
 to Black Rock, your honour."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 69 
 
 Rupert withdrew his hand, and guiltily brought 
 the boat up to the wind. 
 
 " What in the world are you doing, Rupert, to let 
 him get past ? " asked Miss Gregson indignantly. 
 " I declare to goodness they'll be laughing at us all 
 night. Did he fall asleep, Lady Fastnet ? " 
 
 " I think he was very near it," she said. " Little 
 boys ought not to be kept out so late; he ought to 
 have been tucked up an hour ago." 
 
 " Damn ! " said Rupert pettishly, and very like a 
 little boy. "We'll beat him yet." And he set his 
 teeth, looked up at the luff of the sail, and glanced 
 into the darkness. 
 
 " We're close enough, sir," repeated the man. 
 
 " Plenty of water yet," answered Rupert. 
 " We've got a breeze here, and if we hang on on 
 this tack we can get to windward of him when he 
 goes about." 
 
 " Mercy, Rupert, don't go in any closer," said 
 Miss Gregson ; " it's all right by daylight, but the 
 tide'll put you on to the outer shoal before you can 
 see." 
 
 " Look here, Miss Gregson, we're going to beat 
 him. You've got the best eyes; will you go for- 
 ward and sing out when you see the broken water? 
 Not a second before honour bright ? " 
 
 " All right," said the lady, entering into the dare- 
 devil spirit at once ; " but be ready when I shout." 
 
 The yacht skimmed on with the freshening breeze, 
 every eye on board peering ahead into the darkness. 
 
 " Lee ho ! " sang out Miss Gregson sharply ; and
 
 70 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 the Maid of Lorne shot up into the wind and went 
 about on the other tack, showing them for an instant 
 a glimmer of foam on the shore a stone's cast away. 
 
 " Near enough," muttered the man ; but the yacht 
 now drew ahead of her rival, and crossed her bows, 
 and had dropped her anchor off the boatslip at Rath- 
 shene before the Hamiltons appeared. 
 
 " How could you be so rash ? " asked Lady Fast- 
 net, who had been talking to some of the others, and 
 came to bid Rupert good-night before she was driven 
 away. 
 
 " It was your fault," he said, as he took her hand. 
 " Good-night." And then, " You'll come on Tues- 
 day?" 
 
 " Yes, I will if I can/' she answered. " But you 
 know very well whose fault it was."
 
 SHE came on a day of south-west showers, late in 
 the afternoon, when Rupert had almost given her 
 up. He had thought about her so much in the in- 
 terval, and so excitedly, that the reality of her pres- 
 ence was cooling and quieting, and made him feel 
 that their former friendly intercourse was a dream. 
 She had met the old ladies before, and was delighted 
 to come and pay her court to them; but Rupert 
 found the time of general conversation long and 
 trying. 
 
 At last she said, turning to him, " I hope you will 
 keep your promise, and show me your work before 
 I go will you ? It would be so kind." 
 
 " Oh, if you are interested, I shall be delighted," 
 said Rupert artificially ; " if you don't mind coming 
 to my den you can see the whole collection." 
 
 " And I hope you'll give him some good advice, 
 Lady Fastnet," called Miss Leonora as they went out 
 at the door ; " perhaps he'll listen to you when he 
 won't to us." 
 
 " You promise you won't laugh at me, but tell me 
 what you really think ? " 
 
 " I promise," said the lady simply ; and they 
 71
 
 72 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 went down the garden towards the water-side, 
 through a shrubbery, and came out on a row of old 
 buildings that had been used as stores and lofts long 
 ago, and were now in a state of ruinous decay. 
 
 " Mind where you step ; those boards are rotten," 
 said Rupert as they went under the archway into 
 a dim green twilight. He took a key from his 
 pocket, opened a door on the left, and Lady Fastnet 
 drew a sudden breath of surprised pleasure. 
 
 She saw a vast room with a long window on one 
 side, below which the still green water rippled 
 against the timbered wall. One end was devoted 
 to boat-gear of all kinds, and was like a marine store. 
 There were coils of ropes, tins of paint and varnish, 
 spars, cases of brass-work, anchors, cushions, oars, 
 rowlocks, chains, signal flags in lettered pigeon-holes, 
 a big model schooner-yacht with mildewed sails, a 
 compass, leads and lines, fishing-tackle, grapnels and 
 a hundred other things that go to the equipment of 
 well-found boats. The other end was furnished like 
 a studio, with easels, bookcase, a high drawing-desk, 
 an old chair or two, chests of drawers, and a litter 
 of paper, portfolios, and canvases. In a far corner 
 stood an old harpsichord, and over all hung a min- 
 gled aroma of tar, hemp, paint, and sea-weed. 
 
 " What a wonderful place ! " She stood and let 
 her eyes take in all the satisfying details. She 
 looked from one end to the other, and then at Ru- 
 pert. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you can really work here ? " 
 she asked. " Aren't you continually wanting to
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 73 
 
 splice a rope when you are drawing, or draw when 
 you are working with those chains and things ? " 
 
 " I don't know. If I want to draw, I draw, and 
 if I want to fiddle about with boat-gear, I do that." 
 
 She shook her head. " Bad, very bad. Now let 
 me see." 
 
 He opened two or three portfolios, and spread out 
 the contents, watching her eagerly as she turned over 
 the drawings. He learned nothing from her calm 
 face except that she was interested. " You see, I 
 told you they were no good. No one but me knows 
 what they're even meant to be. Don't look at those 
 silly things even I can see that they're all out of 
 drawing. Here, let me " 
 
 " Oh, do be quiet," she said, gently putting her 
 hand on his wrist and pushing it away. " You don't 
 expect me to chatter about them, do you ? " And 
 he turned away, contented. 
 
 They were strange compositions, some of them 
 glaringly bizarre and far-fetched; others, the best, 
 remarkable for a kind of pregnant simplicity of 
 line, and a wayward but entirely conscious concen- 
 tration of detail. Many of them had the fault of 
 literary rather than pictorial purpose ; drawing was 
 subordinated to criticism, or narrative, or in some 
 cases to a curious, half-cynical commentary on their 
 subjects. One, called " The Gates of Heaven," 
 showed an imposing and formidable barrier of gates 
 amid mountains and clouds ; the gates were wrought 
 and chased with endless scrolls and devices on their
 
 74 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 massive bars and hinges, and there was a sugges- 
 tion of immense difficulty and complication in the 
 machinery for opening them; but the decorative 
 design had included several interstices near the bot- 
 tom, and through these a stream of minute human 
 figures was flowing quietly in. Another, called 
 " The Last Man in the World," showed a segment 
 of the earth's circle in space, dead, ice-bound, with 
 a star setting beyond it ; silhouetted against the im- 
 mense circle, a lonely human figure, no bigger than 
 a fly; and extending from him to the foreground, 
 over a distance that the cleverly-handled, exagger- 
 ated perspective suggested to be thousands of miles, 
 a line of wolves, pin-points in the distance, winding 
 among rocks and hummocks and ice-mountains, 
 growing bigger as the magnifying vision of the spec- 
 tator traced the winding procession across frozen 
 continents all doggedly following the man's trail 
 with the precision and inevitableness of nightmare. 
 The same trick of immense space condensed within 
 a few lines, like a world seen through a magnifying 
 and condensing lens, was used in " The North Pole " 
 a powerful realization of aching desolation ; but 
 in all of these there was a suggestion of the gro- 
 tesque, revealing either a mockery or a wittiness that 
 equally vitiated and contradicted the spirit of the 
 drawing. 
 
 Lady Fastnet said very little ; she shuddered over 
 "The Last Man" and smiled at "The Gates of 
 Heaven," Rupert nervously anticipating shudders 
 and smiles, and explaining them away. He was a
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 75 
 
 little disappointed with his friend; she seemed to 
 be interested enough in his drawings, but almost 
 impatient of him, and quite neglectful of his com- 
 ments and explanations. 
 
 " What in the world ? " she had turned to a 
 group of sketches made on Gunn's Island ; over and 
 over again the same thing begun and left unfinished 
 apparently on the eve of realization the swim- 
 ming, sliding water, the vicious, mysterious lines of 
 the current, the space of blank white paper that 
 seemed to be actually rising and swelling above the 
 confining line. 
 
 " There, you've found those things. I can't help 
 it I can't leave off drawing that bit of water, 
 though I suppose it's quite mad of me to try for 
 it in black and white. But I see it in lines and 
 shapes that have expression faces you know 
 what I mean. . . ." 
 
 " Indeed, I don't think I do know what you 
 mean." She turned towards him. " I wonder if 
 you know yourself? Have you any idea how good 
 some of this work is and how bad ? " 
 
 " !N"o, neither," he answered stoutly, although 
 flushing with pleasure. " I don't know that it's so 
 very good or so frightfully bad either. But per- 
 haps you'll like this." 
 
 He uncovered a big sheet of cardboard, displaying 
 a drawing quite different from anything he had yet 
 showed her. It was called " The King's Daughter " 
 a richly-dressed woman, a huge ape feasting from 
 elaborate dishes, a leering evil face peering through
 
 76 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 the curtains of the tent. The subject was so sur- 
 prising and inexplicable that she did not at once 
 examine the drawing. " What King's daughter ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Don't you know ? in the ' Arabian Nights,' " he 
 answered. " I thought it was such a wonderful 
 scene to draw. Here I'll find it for you," and 
 he turned to his shelves and took down a leather 
 volume and opened it. " Head it it won't take 
 you a minute." 
 
 She turned to the window with the book, but she 
 had only read a few sentences when he heard an 
 exclamation, " My dear Rupert, what an odd 
 story ! " But she went on reading, and then he re- 
 membered, and wished that the floor would open and 
 swallow him up. Evil was never objective with 
 him ; he had given her the book in perfect innocence, 
 and with the calm, unconscious interest of the artist 
 in his subject ; but suddenly he saw her as a woman, 
 reading Sir Richard Burton's very straightforward 
 rendering of that terrible and immortal Persian 
 anecdote; and flames chased over his body. Would 
 she never put it down? He watched her turning 
 the page, her face absolutely expressionless, the lines 
 of her mouth set a little harder than usual. Not 
 until she came to the end, and had read of the com- 
 ing of the Destroyer of delights and the Sunderer 
 of societies, and the ascription of praise to Allah 
 the all-knowing, the Author of all things visible and 
 invisible, did she put down the book and turn to 
 the drawing with a colder and more critical counte-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 77 
 
 nance. She noticed Rupert's confusion, and was 
 very quick to make any apology impossible for him, 
 beginning at once to talk about the drawing in calm 
 business-like tones that gradually smoothed away 
 his sense of agonized embarrassment. 
 
 There was the princess, clothed in fabrics of the 
 most exquisite, elaborate pattern, handling dishes of 
 brass and gold, and chased flagons and platters; 
 there was the ape, terrifying and elemental ; but the 
 power of the thing, and its true horror, was in the 
 face of the butcher peeping in behind the curtain, 
 half terrified, half leeringly excited; and in the 
 suggestion of the desert through the opening in the 
 curtain that edge of the salt desert to which this 
 desolate passion had banished itself. 
 
 " Yes I see. That pattern on the cloak is won- 
 derful; but what horrible things you imagine! 
 What faces ! Where in the world do you find your 
 models ? " 
 
 " I imagine them," said Rupert. " The faces of 
 real people are so uninteresting there's nothing to 
 draw in them I mean most faces," he added 
 boldly. " You see, I don't care for faces, and I do 
 care for drawing. Hence the ape." 
 
 " I begin to see," she said, sitting down opposite 
 "The King's Daughter." They had for the time 
 been less conscious of each other as they had become 
 absorbed in the work; in fact, the surprise she felt 
 at its excellence and originality, the power and ma- 
 turity in it, made Rupert himself seem at once a 
 little more distant from her, and a little more im-
 
 78 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 portant. It was impossible for her to identify the 
 healthy, happy, ingratiating owner of the M aid of 
 Lorne with the inventor of these masterly, bizarre, 
 and sometimes morbid creations. Yet there he was, 
 smiling before her, his equanimity quite restored. 
 
 " Yes, do smoke, and sit down for a minute and 
 talk to me, you strange boy. Of course you know 
 you have immense talent genius perhaps ; no one 
 has it without knowing it. What are you going to 
 do with it? Are you going to live here all your 
 life?" 
 
 " Heavens, no ! At least well, my aunts are 
 always talking, you know; they put things off 
 rather ; we are all a bit behind the times down here 
 you know what I mean." 
 
 " Yes, I do know, and it rather shocks me. Never 
 mind your aunts for the moment ; what about you ? 
 Are you going to leave your life altogether in their 
 hands ? " Her sky-grey eyes grew brighter as she 
 leaned forward, eagerly speaking. " What are you 
 going to do with all this ? Do you believe, as I do, 
 that any power or ability you have is a thing in- 
 trusted to you, to be cultivated and improved? I 
 love pictures and beautiful things, and I know 
 enough about painting and drawing to see that you 
 are infinitely clever, but I want to know more than 
 that. Oh, Kupert, surely it's just as easy to draw 
 beautiful things and good things, or to see what's 
 good and fine in everything, as it is to make these 
 terrible inventions, and to discover hidden, ugly
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 79 
 
 sides of things ? That picture is wonderful ; but 
 why draw it? why choose to decorate such a horri- 
 ble and diseased idea? Perhaps you think it very 
 impertinent of me to talk like this when I know you 
 so little, but then " 
 
 " We are friends ; you can say anything you like 
 to me, and I shall only be too grateful. I've no one 
 to take any interest in my work, and no one to please 
 except myself. ISTow I've got you, perhaps it will be 
 different. I don't know," he added doubtfully. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because well, you see, all you say about good 
 things and beautiful things seems all right to me 
 now I'm only talking about it ; but if I had a pencil 
 in my hand, it would all go out of my head, and 
 
 I hope you don't mind you know what I mean 
 
 it would seem unimportant. I quite agree with 
 you that in one way that may be a beastly picture 
 
 I suppose it's a beastly story I never looked 
 at it that way," he added simply. " It interested me 
 to draw it. I'll tear it up if you like." 
 
 " I would never forgive you if you did. I sup- 
 pose you can only draw the things that interest you 
 
 but I wish that you were content to see the beauty 
 in ordinary things. Perhaps that will come 
 you're only a boy yet, you know." And she looked, 
 laughing, into his eyes. 
 
 " I am quite aware that one is still in one's cradle 
 at twenty-one," said Rupert in a very elderly man- 
 ner ; " in that case one needs a nurse. Will you be 
 my nurse ? "
 
 80 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " I'm afraid I could never manage you you 
 would soon grow out of my control. . . . But we 
 must go back to your aunts. I want you to promise 
 me something." 
 
 " Anything you like, dear nurse." 
 
 " No, seriously." It was she who felt shy and 
 embarrassed now, and Rupert who seemed self-pos- 
 sessed and assured, and years older than she, because 
 he was on his own ground. " Promise you'll think 
 over what I said about doing something seriously 
 will you ? " They were both standing up, and 
 she put her hand in his, with a pretty gesture of 
 appeal and confidence. 
 
 " I promise," said Rupert, enclosing it in both 
 his, and giving it a little shake and pressure. Her 
 attitude was girlish and timid, and his, re-assuring 
 and almost paternal ; but she was cold and unmoved, 
 while he thrilled and was disturbed. 
 
 Then they went back to the house.
 
 VI 
 
 WHILE Lady Fastnet's visit lasted, she and Ru- 
 pert were often together. They met at the various 
 social gatherings that enlivened the Rathshene sum- 
 mer, and often she was with him, or with Miss Greg- 
 son, when these two nautical rivals had sailing 
 matches; and he taught her to steer and handle a 
 boat, and in other ways established the superiority 
 necessary to counterbalance his inferiority in years 
 and experience. His devotion to her was so roman- 
 tic, so boyish and delicate in its expression, that she 
 had no opportunity to discourage it, even if she had 
 wanted to; the mother and the girl in her both re- 
 sponded to him whole-heartedly, and only the mar- 
 ried woman, to whom he laid no siege, held aloof 
 and was secretly a little ashamed at the bare thought 
 that she might be accused of " carrying on " with 
 Rupert. They talked about themselves and each 
 other, and everything under the sun, and Rupert felt 
 more and more conscious of some strength and grow- 
 ing purpose in himself, which as yet he did not 
 trouble to analyze or discover. There was a spark- 
 ling coolness in the animation of Lady Fastnet 
 that baffled and discouraged the occasional restless 
 
 81
 
 82 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 stirrings and strainings at the leash of the pack of 
 young hounds within him; when he was in her 
 presence they never troubled him. 
 
 Only when she was absent, his imagination would 
 sometimes approach the verge of something vague 
 and wonderful, a mystery of the senses that he 
 longed and yet feared to penetrate; and at such 
 times he would design a more intimate approach 
 to her, would deliberately plan to make love to her 
 only to feel when he was with her again that some 
 invisible barrier mercifully prevented him, and that 
 in disobedience to the carnal prompter there lay 
 peace and not punishment. 
 
 So the summer came to an end, and with it her 
 long visit. She was unhappy, and Rupert miserable 
 at the prospect of parting; and the old ladies, with 
 an unconscious sympathy which old virginity often 
 shows for young love, left them almost to themselves 
 on her last afternoon at the Abbacy. 
 
 " You will do great things, I know," she had said, 
 " and you must sometimes let me share in the pride 
 and pleasure of them." And he had protested, al- 
 most with tears, that there was no one else to whom 
 he would ever owe anything, or with whom he could 
 feel any sense of partnership ; that she was his star 
 and his sun, and his dearest and most beautiful 
 friend; and as they stood there leaning against the 
 harbour wall in the shadow of a cypress, he sum- 
 moned up courage to put his arms about her and 
 to ask her, in trembling tones, for a kiss. " The 
 first and the last," he said not knowing that a
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 83 
 
 woman's first kiss, unless it be a mere charity or 
 kindness, need never be the last. 
 
 " No, no, no," she said softly, almost whispering, 
 " don't let us spoil it now ; be good, dear Rupert, 
 as you always have been good to me." Very gently 
 she disengaged his hand from her waist, but held 
 it still in her own. He pleaded with eyes and voice ; 
 she answered a little more firmly, but still gently, 
 " Don't you see that I haven't got it to give that 
 it would be wrong ? " 
 
 Rupert made an impatient exclamation, hating 
 to see himself conquered or forbidden in anything. 
 " And yet you hold my hand, and give me yours ! " 
 
 " My hands are my own," she said ; and he took 
 her cool slender hand in his, and kissed it, and held 
 it for awhile against his hot cheek; and so they said 
 good-bye. 
 
 And when she had gone, the whole world went 
 grey and blank to Rupert for a time. There was 
 her first letter to look forward to, but after that 
 there was nothing but a level of monotony in pros- 
 pect ; and even the letter was a secret disappointment 
 to him, so inadequately did it echo the fervour of 
 his own outpourings. It was more like her mouth 
 than her eyes a little firm and repressed ; and the 
 eyes were not visible for him to appeal to against 
 the severe judgments of the mouth. So he was mis- 
 erable, and moped about by himself for a time, ab- 
 senting himself from Rathshene and society, haunt- 
 ing Gunn's Island with a sketch-book that he hardly
 
 84 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 ever opened, and otherwise lamentably advertising 
 his condition to such as had eyes to see. But in 
 such a mood he was melancholy, gloomy, and unap- 
 proachable, and there was no one to chaff him or 
 receive his confidences; even his Aunt Jane was 
 frightened of him, although the old ladies had per- 
 suaded themselves that his condition was due to his 
 frequenting the damp studio too much, and encour- 
 aged him in idleness. 
 
 And yet all the time as he wandered about, some- 
 times sailing far up the lough to where the lonely 
 waters grew wide and shallow, and the monument 
 on the inland hill showed clear and slender like a 
 finger against the sky, sometimes crossing the bar 
 and lazily fishing for mackerel up and down the 
 broken waters of the channel, he was conscious 
 within himself of a coming change, of a future 
 hiding near at hand that would suddenly make 
 meaning of his life, and give rein to the power he 
 felt sleeping within him. 
 
 He was first made aware of this on a day al- 
 most the last of the blended summer and autumn 
 that are so beautiful in Ireland which he had 
 devoted to sailing up the narrow, winding river that 
 flows into the lough from the little cathedral town 
 of Ardryan, some twelve miles away. There were 
 only a few days in each month on which the journey 
 was possible ; the river was so narrow, and so twisted 
 upon itself, that no wind was a fair one, and it was
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 85 
 
 necessary to sail up with the flood-tide and down 
 with the ebb. 
 
 On this day the tide and weather were alike fa- 
 vourable, and with a light breeze Rupert sailed into 
 the entrance hidden behind an island, and looking 
 like one of the hundred land-locked bays of the 
 lough. But as he sailed in a narrow opening ap- 
 peared; in through that, and running before the 
 wind for five minutes, and then another opening in 
 the green hillside; past an island no bigger than a 
 church, where a man was hoeing turnips on the 
 sunny slope, round a corner, now port, now star- 
 board, until he entered the narrow river itself. 
 There was a light breeze that filled the gaff-topsail 
 when the lower sails, sheltered by the banks, were 
 empty of wind; the water was as still as glass ex- 
 cept for the ripple and send of the incoming tide; 
 and Rupert settled down to the enjoyment of this 
 enchanted bit of salt-water navigation. 
 
 There was no sound except the ripple at the boat's 
 stem, the creak of a spar when she leaned to a puff 
 from over the land, or sometimes the drone and rasp 
 of a reaping machine in the distance. Up a long 
 straight stretch, with the wind astern, it was like 
 flying. Then a little weedy point would show itself 
 running out into the stream, up would go the helm, 
 in would come the sheets, and there would be a heel- 
 ing rush for perhaps three minutes; another point, 
 and he must down helm and go about to clear it, 
 and then for a time beat up across the narrow liquid 
 roadway; sailing full-and-by while you counted ten,
 
 86 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 until the bowsprit was almost touching the rocks on 
 the stony shore, then about ship, and make a little 
 more on the next tack, then straight across again, 
 and so on while the adverse reach lasted. 
 
 After a couple of hours of this the M aid of Lome 
 glided beside the little sunny quay built at the point 
 where the river became too shallow and narrow for 
 ordinary navigation. Rupert ate his lunch and then 
 walked the half-mile into Ardryan. The excitement 
 of the voyage had evaporated, the streets were hot 
 and dusty after the cool flowing water, and the noon- 
 day stagnation and depression of the little town lay 
 heavily on his spirits. The shops were open but 
 deserted, the streets empty and silent but for fowls 
 that stepped about pecking there. Even they were 
 quiet, crooning and croaking, and showing no anima- 
 tion except at the impulsive visitation of the cock, 
 when there would be a sudden outcry and fluttering 
 of feathers, subsiding quickly again into quiet croon- 
 ings and croakings. There was a beggar in the 
 market square, a drunken man lay asleep against 
 the market house, two or three ragged children were 
 shuffling their feet in the hot dust, and now and 
 then a pig would pass down the street with an air 
 of having important business as an inspector of 
 nuisances; but nothing else seemed to be stirring. 
 Every second shop in the street advertised the sale 
 of porter; the few buildings in the neighbourhood 
 of the square had an air of shabby gentility and 
 pretentious magnificence; but beyond them the 
 houses grew poorer and poorer, until they degen-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 87 
 
 elated into a long line of dirty hovels. And this 
 was Ireland! Rupert stood in the street, taking it 
 in ; even the signs of prosperity were of a petty and 
 pathetic kind the wretched railway station, with 
 its four trains a day, the Orange Hall, with its ad- 
 vertisement of a minstrel entertainment, and the 
 announcement of municipal contracts to be let for 
 stone-hreaking, for the supply of three wheelbarrows, 
 for the erection of a public convenience on the quay 
 wall. 
 
 Rupert went on to the cathedral, where he found 
 most of the people who would otherwise have been 
 in the streets. The eleven o'clock mass was coming 
 to an end, and he stood for a minute by the western 
 doorway. Living as he did amid a Protestant com- 
 munity in Ireland it was impossible for him to take 
 in any but the externals of the scene; its inner 
 meaning, the hidden golden thread it wove through 
 the dark fabric of the people's lives, he could not 
 know; all he saw were the outward domination, 
 the tawdry pomp, the coarse, stupid faces of the 
 priests, the beautiful, patient faces of some of the 
 people. 
 
 He turned out again into the sunshine, and felt 
 Ireland wrapping him round like a cloak. The deep 
 green of the country beyond the town, the soft, hot 
 air, the silence, the sun, the dirt, the sense that noth- 
 ing mattered very much, and few things mattered 
 at all, were eloquent to him at that moment of lives 
 dreaming themselves away from hour to hour. A 
 sudden sense of revolt took hold on him, and he
 
 88 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 viciously kicked a loose pebble at his feet and sent 
 it flying up the street. It landed among the som- 
 nolent fowls, and woke them to a shrill outburst 
 of cries and headlong flutterings; but they soon 
 settled down again in the warm comfortable dust, 
 croaking indignantly to one another of the wrongs 
 they suffered. And that was Ireland too ! 
 
 A figure came towards him along the street a 
 carefully-dressed, well-bred man of middle age with 
 a gentle face and a very red nose, whom Rupert 
 recognized as Mr. Rafferty, the bank manager. He 
 had been there for twenty years, and would be there 
 till he died; his initial stock of impulse had all 
 been spent long ago, and he was stranded for ever, 
 poor gentleman, in the place to which it had carried 
 him. 
 
 " How are you, Rupert ? Miss Savage quite well 
 and Miss Jane ? You've sailed up, of course. 
 Gracious goodness, but it's hot. Come in out of 
 the glare and rest a minute. We're very quiet here 
 to-day." 
 
 For lack of any plan of his own, Rupert followed 
 Mr. Rafferty into the adjoining bank; they passed 
 through the little polished counter, where the scales 
 lay idle, and books unwritten, to the parlour behind. 
 It was close and stuffy, infinitely solemn, and dark 
 and uncomfortable, with that kind of formal dis- 
 comfort which is only to be found in the apartments 
 of a joyless, elderly bachelor. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Mr. Rafferty, wiping his fore- 
 head, " I feel quite sick with heat. You're not look-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 89 
 
 ing too well yourself, Rupert ; I declare now, a little 
 drop of something would do neither of us any harm." 
 And he instinctively closed the door. 
 
 " I don't think I'll have any, thanks," said Ru- 
 pert, who was watching the older man with the mer- 
 ciless curiosity of youth ; " I'm not used to whisky 
 at this time of day." 
 
 " And quite right," said Mr. Rafferty with an air 
 of great interest. " I don't usually take anything 
 myself at this time; but to-day, what with the heat 
 or something, I feel the need of it. Come now 
 tsch, man ! it'll do ye no harm do ye all the good 
 in the world ! " 
 
 " You speak with authority," said Rupert, smi- 
 ling. " All right, a little, then." 
 
 He watched the bank manager as, with an inde- 
 scribable air of stealth and furtiveness, he went to 
 a cupboard and brought out a decanter and glasses. 
 They were his own decanter and glasses ; but if they 
 had been the crown jewels he could not have handled 
 them more guiltily. 
 
 " This is a drop of good stuff," he said ; " I get it 
 direct from the distiller; I don't believe in any of 
 these blended spirits." When he talked of the whisky 
 he spoke with an almost painful seriousness, his brows 
 knitted and his cheeks drawn up, as if the subject 
 were almost too difficult and important to be dis- 
 cussed in an ordinary way. His hand shook a little 
 as he poured out the precious golden liquid; and 
 to Rupert there was something pathetic in the action 
 of groping hospitality the poor lonely man anx-
 
 90 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 ious to share his weakness with his guest, and get 
 a little countenance and self-respect. Like many 
 men who drink too much, he was careful to measure 
 the spirit in a wine-glass before he added the water. 
 Nothing would have induced him to mix more than 
 one wine-glassful at a time. Then he performed 
 the customary act of faith of the furtive whisky-tip- 
 pler, who always, if possible, avoids mentioning his 
 favourite beverage by name, but refers to it as Some- 
 thing, or It, or Anything of the Kind. 
 
 " I always think," he said, raising his glass to 
 the light, " that as a rule one is better without Any- 
 thing of the Kind." (Here he drank half the con- 
 tents. ) " But if one should require to take Some- 
 thing, a glass of This is as wholesome a thing as a 
 man can take." (Here he drank the other half.) 
 " If one is in health, one is better without It alto- 
 gether." (Here he set down the glass.) "I envy 
 you your health, Rupert" 
 
 It, and Something, and This, and Anything of the 
 Kind having been disposed of and returned to their 
 cupboard, Mr. Rafferty turned to Rupert with a 
 little brightness in his drooping eye. 
 
 " And what are you thinking of doing with your- 
 self, my boyo? Not stop at the Abbacy, I'll be 
 bound." 
 
 " No, I don't think I shall stay at home much 
 longer." Rupert had never before felt the deter- 
 mination enough to put it into words, but even as 
 he spoke he made the resolution. " I shall be leav- 
 ing quite soon going to London, probably."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 91 
 
 " Ah, that's the place," said Mr. Rafferty with a 
 sigh ; " there's some movement to things there. But 
 a man might as well be dead as stuck away in a 
 dirty hole like this." 
 
 " How long have you been at the bank, Mr. Raf- 
 ferty ? " 
 
 " Twenty years last May," answered the manager. 
 " Your Aunt Jane was a fine woman then, Rupert" 
 He looked at Rupert, and then on the floor, with a 
 little sigh. And Rupert remembered vague refer- 
 ences to Mr. Rafferty, and wondered if there had 
 been any stifled romance there, and if this gloomy 
 house were the mausoleum of some vanished hopes. 
 And all the while his eye was ranging round the 
 gloomy dining-room, looking at the pictures Mr. 
 Rafferty looked at, at the glasses he drank out of, 
 at the silver he was served with, and picturing the 
 gaunt housekeeper who hovered over his lonely 
 meals. The talk drifted away to the general dulness 
 of Ardryan, and the general dulness of everything, 
 until Rupert felt that he could stand it no longer, 
 and got up to go. 
 
 Mr. Rafferty looked at his watch. " Three o'clock ! 
 I must be off too. There's a meeting of the Bench 
 at the market-house." As he said the word " Bench " 
 he seemed to swell with importance ; buttoned his 
 coat, spoke a word to his somnolent clerk, and with 
 a hand-shake for Rupert, hurried off. Rupert 
 watched the gentlemanly figure turn the corner of 
 the square and realized that life could be made sup- 
 portable in Ardryan by two things Something in
 
 92 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 a corner cupboard, and the dignities of the Bench: 
 the Bench that tried young Andy Neligan for using 
 obscene language, middle-aged Tom Quinn for cru- 
 elty to his donkey, and old Ann M'Guire for being 
 drunk. 
 
 He hurried away down the leafy road that led to 
 the quay where the Maid of Lome was moored, the 
 spirit of revolt against stagnation quickened in him 
 by the sense of depression that had culminated in 
 Mr. Rafferty's parlour. 
 
 The external life, so pleasant and beautiful as 
 it had seemed, so satisfying hitherto, was revealed in 
 his present mood as a kind of death. The leaven of 
 pain and discontent that gives life and enlargement 
 to the world of men was working in his soul; and 
 as he cast off the warps and stepped down on the 
 Maid of Lome's white decks, he felt that even that 
 pretty feminine companion in so many pleasures and 
 dangers, so many sea-wanderings and hours and 
 years of his growing-time, belonged to this green, 
 sunny world of death, and not to the world of life. 
 
 He felt all this very vaguely in his hot young 
 heart, but with a dim sense of tragedy. The water 
 eddied from the rudder as the Maid of Lome paid 
 off, with the ebb tide sliding beneath her keel and 
 the light breeze caressing her upper canvas. She 
 was as nearly human as a thing of timber and sails 
 can be, and very feminine, and she leaned her white 
 shoulder over the ripples, trying to edge up into the
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 93 
 
 wind and pretending to resist the masterly hand 
 that was pointing her away from her sunny retreat 
 beside the weed-grown pier. She was almost a part 
 of Rupert, and he of her, as he sat there with an 
 elbow crooked over the tiller and an eye cocked on 
 the luff of the mainsail ; she seemed to know as well 
 as he when she had stood in near enough to the shore 
 where the waters slept, green and transparent, over 
 the stony shallows, and she would shoot round into 
 the wind almost before his decision had been com- 
 municated to the tiller, And then, when the neces- 
 sity for tacking was over, she spread her wings and 
 flew between the narrow shores, silently and swiftly 
 homeward. 
 
 She belonged already to the past, and not to the 
 future. Rupert felt that there was a wrench coming, 
 a parting between him and her and all that she stood 
 for, and in that moment he realized how dear to him 
 was all this quiet sheltered life, with its open-air 
 interests, its ties of pleasant habit, its placid arrange- 
 ments for mere continuance in being from day to 
 day. The tide was running out fast now towards the 
 lough and the sea ; its rippling voice spoke intimately 
 to him, as it often did, but to-day there seemed to 
 be a graver tone beneath the music. The water that 
 was hurrying down the river, past cornfields and 
 meadows, by deeps and shallows, setting across from 
 point to bay and from creek to midstream, would 
 never of itself carry him out of the lough. Long 
 before it had reached the bar the tide would have 
 turned again, and the channel waters would come
 
 94 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 flowing back, holding it and him imprisoned there 
 unless there were effort made of sail or oar. 
 
 But the Maid of Lorne was no servant of tidss. 
 With her sails spread wing and wing she far out- 
 stripped the ebbing current, opening one point after 
 another, entering one after another the shining 
 reaches of the river short and seeming to be so 
 securely land-locked that it was like running the boat 
 on destruction to hold her on her course. And yet 
 one after another, appearing as if by magic in the 
 barrier of rocks and grassy shore, the openings al- 
 ways came; and though here they revealed a world 
 of peace, of golden crops and drowsing cattle, yet 
 somewhere beyond them all, round just such another 
 rocky point, lay the open sea. 
 
 Long afterwards he remembered that last hour of 
 sunny, melancholy peace. 
 
 The wind freshened near the mouth of the river, 
 and as he rounded the last point and entered the 
 broad waters of the lough, a heavy puff struck the 
 Maid of Lorne, dragging her lee rail under water, 
 and causing Rupert to look doubtfully at the big 
 spread of fine-weather canvas that cracked and 
 flapped viciously as he luffed up into the wind. It 
 had been so fine and settled when he left that he 
 had not anticipated having to touch a halliard until 
 he got home, and so he had not brought a man with 
 him; but there was a dark-looking bank of clouds 
 hanging over the horizon towards home, and the 
 wind felt as though it might increase. On the other
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 95 
 
 hand, it came very puffy, in brief squalls^ any one of 
 which might clear the weather again. Taking in 
 sail single-handed, unless he anchored to do it, would 
 be a troublesome operation, and in an hour he could 
 be home. Still. . . . 
 
 He ran in under the lee of an island, and managed 
 to get the gaff-topsail off her and stowed away, but 
 the tide was running too strong to permit him to 
 lie-to for the purpose of reefing the mainsail. As 
 he came out from behind the land another squall 
 struck him, and he saw that it would be as much 
 as the Maid of Lome could do to get home in her 
 present trim. He meant to lower the foresail and 
 hoist the tack of the mainsail, but the wind gave him 
 no opportunity ; as soon as he thought he could leave 
 the helm and run forward, the water would wrinkle 
 darkly over the weather bow, and the boat would lie 
 down under the squall, and shoot up into it all sha- 
 king. Three miles away on the weather-beam he 
 could see the Hilda, Lord Rathshene's thirty-ton 
 ketch, under three-reefed mainsail and storm jib: 
 that looked as if things were not going to improve. 
 
 Every time the Maid of Lome heeled to a puff, 
 the green water swirled up to her combings, and the 
 mast and rigging creaked under the strain. The 
 worst moments were those just after going about on 
 a new tack. It was a dead beat home, and every 
 time Rupert put the helm down, something seemed 
 to move in the pit of his stomach a sign of that 
 excruciating interest in one's own fate that takes the 
 place of fear in a confident nature. The Maid of
 
 96 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Lome had an old trick, when pressed with canvas, 
 of seeming to lie dead for a moment when she first 
 filled on a new tack; it had caused much comment 
 at local regattas, when Kupert, and his father before 
 him, had won many a race by carrying the last pos- 
 sible stitch of sail, and holding on by their teeth 
 when the puffs came. Now, pressed as she was, the 
 boat exhibited this old vice alarmingly. ... If only 
 she were free of that foresail ! 
 
 Time to go about again. Lee helm let go jib- 
 sheet haul in let draw foresail make fast 
 ah, there she went again! Down came the squall, 
 pressing like a solid weight on the sails. Rupert put 
 the helm down, his hand and the tiller going into 
 solid green water but she refused to answer. 
 Then several things happened in a very rapid suc- 
 cession. There was no rush of water past the rail; 
 the waves surged dead and heavy beside the boat, 
 and a silver-green cascade curved over the hatch 
 combings. Rupert had suddenly a sense of loss of 
 balance. Instinctively he pulled himself up to the 
 weather gunwale, which was coming up against the 
 sky; looked over, saw the white sheen of the keel 
 showing through the water and jumped. 
 
 There was a deafening roar of water, a taste of 
 salt, and suddenly a complete tranquillity, which 
 seemed to last a thousand years. Then green twi- 
 light, and a blinding emergence into clamour and 
 commotion again. Rupert shook the water from his 
 eyes, and saw a dozen yards away the peak of the 
 Maid of Lome's mainsail and the truck of her
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 97 
 
 mast subsiding amid a swirl of wicked-looking ed- 
 dies. 
 
 There were a great many thoughts rapidly formed 
 in the head that bobbed up and down there in the 
 blue choppy water ; but " Finish " was the only 
 word that issued from the mouth. From the level 
 of the water the nearest shore, four miles away, was 
 barely visible; still, it lay to leeward; better try 
 for it. Rupert was a good enough swimmer, al- 
 though not trained to cover distances; and, having 
 kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his coat, he 
 settled down to a long, steady stroke. He was deter- 
 mined not to look again until he knew the shore must 
 be close at hand, and he lulled himself into a mechan- 
 ical oblivion by the regular sweep of his arms. 
 
 When he was almost spent, having swam, with 
 an occasional rest on his back, for what seemed more 
 than an hour, and when he expected every moment 
 to feel the stones under his feet, he looked ahead. 
 The shore was no nearer. Then he suddenly felt 
 very tired; his sense of tiredness overcame every- 
 thing else. He would rest for a few minutes, and 
 then go on. How delicious to let go, and lie down: 
 that was his uppermost thought. He was dimly 
 conscious of a pain in his chest, but nothing more. 
 Ah, how warm and comfortable it was, after all that 
 buffeting and striving, to be in bed again!
 
 VII 
 
 IT was to another world and another life that 
 Rupert came back, weeks afterwards. The return 
 to life was far more painful than the exit, and far 
 slower; it was a long time before he felt any curi- 
 osity in his surroundings, or wanted to ask any ques- 
 tions. Gradually he learned that he had been very 
 ill with pneumonia. He had been picked up by the 
 Hilda,, from which the capsizing of the Maid of 
 Lome had been seen ; they had got him just in time, 
 and it was hours before animation had been restored. 
 He learned the details from his Aunt Jane, who 
 shared the duties of the trained nurse who attended 
 him. 
 
 His first thought was for the boat. " Tell me," 
 he asked ; " I suppose nothing more was seen of 
 her ? " 
 
 " No, dear ; they say she sank in thirty fathoms, 
 and it would be almost impossible to raise her." 
 
 There was a pause. " Never mind ; let her lie 
 there poor Maid; it wasn't her fault altogether." 
 
 " Oh, Rupert, how could you run such risks ! You 
 know we never worried you or lectured you be- 
 cause we trusted you we " The old lady put 
 her handkerchief to her eyes.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 99 
 
 " I know, I know ; dear old auntie, I wasn't a 
 fool, but there's always a risk in a boat, and it caught 
 me that time. Don't be cut up; why, you'd think 
 I'd croaked altogether. Where's Aunt Lena ? Why 
 hasn't she been to see me ? " 
 
 The old lady looked at him through her tears with 
 an infinite, tragic tenderness. He noticed for the 
 first time how tired and worn she looked. " She's 
 
 she's oh, Rupert, she's very, very ill ! " 
 
 " What ? " He sat half up in bed, but had to lie 
 back again. " What's the matter ? How long has 
 she been ill and why " 
 
 Then he saw that her black dress was entirely 
 unrelieved by any of the little ornaments she usually 
 wore; and in the same moment the old lady laid 
 her withered cheek on the pillow beside his, find told 
 him everything. His aunt had nursed him herself, 
 only letting the hospital nurse attend at night; and 
 at the height of Rupert's fever she had been taken 
 ill herself, and died within the week. Everything 
 
 her illness, death, and funeral, which the whole 
 of Rathshene had attended, had come and gone while 
 he lay unconscious. 
 
 " The last thing she said," said Miss Jane through 
 her tears, " was ' Keep this from Rupert until he is 
 strong.' She never spoke after that, and she died 
 the next day. We were glad to see her go ... she 
 suffered very much." 
 
 There was a long silence in the room. Rupert 
 put his arm about the old lady, and gently patted 
 her and soothed her, while he tried to learn this new
 
 100 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 lesson that the world no longer held her who had 
 been a second mother to him. His thoughts went 
 back to that last day, to the sunny, silent streets of 
 Ardryan, to his own depression and forebodings, and 
 determination to leave the old life behind him. He 
 remembered, too, that heavenly skimming of the 
 river reaches on the ebb tide, when the M aid of Lome 
 was hurrying to her death. These were some of the 
 things that had lain waiting for them beyond those 
 rocky points. 
 
 As life came back to Rupert another tide that had 
 seemed to ebb almost to dryness came pouring again 
 through his veins. While he lay in his long chair, 
 tired of reading or talking, his thoughts and dreams 
 gathered more and more round the radiant, unform- 
 ing personality that had dawned upon his life. 
 Everything else seemed to be receding; there was 
 talk of his aunt going for a time to some English 
 watering-place, and afterwards to visit friends in 
 England, and the doctor had suggested that Rupert 
 ought to travel a little for change of air and scene. 
 Since the death of Miss Savage life on the old terms 
 seemed more and more impossible ; it was really she, 
 his second mother, who had been holding him there, 
 and now that she was gone the way to the world lay 
 open for him. 
 
 It was characteristic of him that he saw this way 
 to the world lying through his heart. A door there, 
 like the door that showed Siegmund the glory of the 
 May night in the forest, had swung open to reveal
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 101 
 
 the wonder of ideal love, and it had not closed again. 
 He began to see Lady Fastnet as his destiny; and, 
 like a bird that pulls an unused nest to pieces and 
 adapts it for herself, his busy imagination set about 
 reconstructing the character of Lady Fastnet in ac- 
 cordance with his ideal. The real nature of their 
 friendship was forgotten or ignored; it began to 
 assume the proportions of a grand dramatic passion, 
 in which both were cast for noble parts. As other 
 things in his life dwindled, this new fire waxed 
 brighter and warmer ; the thought of her out in the 
 world, waiting for him to come and rescue her and 
 carry her off, inspired him with new life, so that the 
 very doctor was puzzled to account for his rapid 
 recovery. 
 
 Before his illness the poet and artist in Rupert 
 had been subordinate to the youth, interested merely 
 in being young and alive and growing; but in the 
 subtle change and chemical revolution of disease the 
 more material partner had been vanquished and 
 overthrown, and the poet, the spiritual partner, 
 reigned supreme. He was all impatience to rush out 
 into the world. As soon as he was up and about he 
 set upon his studio, rummaging out all his drawings, 
 ruthlessly destroying what seemed to his new-born 
 faculty of criticism unpassionate or uninspired. As 
 though driven by some great and irresistible force 
 he found himself tidying up his life and making 
 arrangements for leaving it. He was like some pas- 
 sionately faithful and believing Christian who has 
 been told he cannot live a week, and who sets his
 
 102 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 affairs in order, looking not towards death, but 
 towards life. 
 
 It was his own burning secret, this sense of de- 
 parture, for although in their talks it had come to 
 be understood between him and his aunt that as soon 
 as he felt inclined he was to start off on his travels, 
 there was no date fixed, and the old lady hardly 
 realized the coming separation. He went up to the 
 home farm, and even took an interest in the clearing 
 of a new space for out-buildings, talking over plans 
 and designs with the foreman, although he knew he 
 would not be there to see the work done. And when 
 he rode into Rathshene, and met and spoke with ac- 
 quaintances there, he was unconsciously taking fare- 
 well of them. They were welcoming him back to the 
 life of their own little world while he was saying 
 good-bye to them and it. 
 
 And last of all, on a day that had been brightened 
 by mellow winter sunshine, he rowed down the lough 
 on an ebb-tide to Gunn's Island, and climbed to his 
 favourite seat and let himself be steeped for a little 
 in the familiar scenery and music of the tide. It 
 was all grey and calm, the dead flat calm of a win- 
 ter's afternoon, with a cold touch of melancholy in 
 the atmosphere, and a minor cadence in all the har- 
 monies of sea and air. He had no thought of draw- 
 ing; he simply lived this hour in a curious exalted 
 communion with the spirit of the place. The winter 
 air seemed charged with magic to him, and the soli- 
 tary island rock to be alive with some fairy presences 
 that kept watch with him invisibly from the rough
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 1Q3 
 
 hummocks and stones. The Priest's Mother sobbed 
 and murmured; the Meadows spread their endless 
 inscrutable caligraphy on the grey water, making 
 circles and nourishes, and forming the letters of 
 their mysterious alphabet in words of unending vari- 
 ety, and the tide roared itself away into the quiet- 
 ness of the grey sea. But through the ebb and the 
 moment of emptiness that heralded the first return- 
 ing ripple Rupert felt no ebb in his heart. There 
 was a sun shining there that held back his spirits 
 from effluence, and kept his sense of life at flood; 
 and he looked his farewells without any regret at 
 his departure from this scene of so many dreams 
 and efforts. When he drew up his boat in the little 
 harbour at home he felt that he was almost free. 
 
 He and his aunt sat talking after dinner by the 
 drawing-room fire. They were both specially con- 
 scious of their loss on these winter evenings, when 
 the empty chair and silent voice seemed to separate 
 rather than unite them. Rupert felt nearer than 
 ever to the edge of the world as they spoke about 
 simple practical things connected with the house, 
 and money, and the doings of lawyers and bankers. 
 Rupert would have three hundred a year, which 
 seemed to him a large sum large enough for all 
 material occasions that life could ever discover. A 
 cousin was coming the next day to keep Miss Savage 
 company, and to go away with her to England. . . . 
 Rupert suddenly felt conscious of an acute longing 
 to vanish from this scene without further farewells ;
 
 104 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 the sight of the drooping old figure in the chair op- 
 posite grew intolerably pathetic, and intolerably re- 
 mote from him. From henceforth she would live 
 with ghosts and memories ; she was dedicated to the 
 grave, and he was dedicated to life. Oh, he must go, 
 he must go ; now, that very night, that was the time 
 to go. But where ? . . . 
 
 " Listen, Rupert, here is something that will in- 
 terest you." The old lady began to read from the 
 newspaper an account of a court function in Dublin, 
 and then, from the lists of names and dresses sup- 
 plied by the enterprising dressmakers 
 
 " Countess of Fastnet. Dress of soft grey satin 
 embroidered with steel paillettes; train of cloth of 
 silver ; ornaments, emeralds and diamonds. I'm 
 sure she looked charming in that ; you ought to have 
 been there to see her. I remember your mother wore 
 grey satin at the last drawing-room she was at; but 
 it was grey satin with old needle-point lace, and she 
 wore pearls. She was very much admired, I remem- 
 ber " 
 
 i " i * 
 
 Rupert was not listening. A picture had risen 
 before him, and a flood of emotional romantic en- 
 lightenment entered his mind. He would go to her 
 now at once find her out where she was ; that 
 was the obvious necessary thing to be done. Gradu- 
 ally a feeling of indignation began to come over him 
 against the old lady for not going to bed the moment 
 he had silently realized his decision; she stood in 
 the way of it, all unconscious as she was. She put 
 down the paper and sat placidly knitting while Ru-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 105 
 
 pert, on the other side of the fire, fretted with a new 
 impatience. Her face was gravely intent on the 
 stitches threaded on the long white needle, and her 
 mind for the moment was rummaging in lavender- 
 scented chests among old faded silk dresses. 
 
 Rupert got up suddenly, stretched himself rather 
 ostentatiously, and said, " Well, isn't it somebody's 
 bedtime ? " 
 
 She looked up smilingly. " Are you sleepy, dear ? 
 Don't wait up if you are ; thirty-three, thirty-four, 
 thirty-five I think I must finish this row thirty- 
 six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight. . . ." 
 
 He sat down again. " No, I was only thinking 
 of you ; I shan't go to bed yet." He spoke briefly, 
 fearful of starting a subject of conversation that 
 would delay his aunt, watching jealously the fleecy 
 chain of stitches that slowly lengthened along the 
 needle. Presently she laid it down, and he moved 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Talking of that reminds me," she said, uncon- 
 scious of his hurry, and following her own mild 
 thoughts, " of one night when there was a dance at 
 Ballyculter, and your mother and I were going. 
 Our dresses hadn't come, and we were in such de- 
 spair! She was to have worn white, and I pale 
 blue " 
 
 " Yes ? How nice you must have looked ! I sup- 
 pose you turned all the young men's heads that 
 night." 
 
 " Well, dear, I was telling you seven, eight, 
 nine, ten, eleven ; her dress was to have been
 
 106 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 white and mine pale blue; they were coming from 
 Dublin, and we sent to the last train to meet them. 
 It was a wet night, and the mare shied turning the 
 corner into Ardquin, and broke the shafts and har- 
 ness to pieces; that was when Nolan got his arm 
 hurt or was it that time, now, or before that ? I 
 think it must have been before, he came 
 
 " I say," said Rupert ; " excuse me interrupting 
 you, but I think the lamp's going out." He jumped 
 up and went to it, turning the wick a little without 
 her seeing. " Shall I ring to have it refilled, or is 
 it worth while ? " He almost held his breath, so 
 much seemed to hang on her reply. 
 
 " No ; never mind, dear, I'm ready to go to bed 
 now." She began to make her deliberate prepara- 
 tions, unwilling to leave the warmth of the fireside, 
 folding her work neatly away, her shapely old hands 
 touching the fleecy wool as with a light caress. Ru- 
 pert strode up and down the room; once as she 
 paused, he paused also, and with hands clenched and 
 his whole body rigid with ridiculous suspense he 
 apostrophized her silently behind her back, forming 
 the words with teeth and lips but making no sound 
 "Oh, go on, go on! " 
 
 But when at last she turned to him to say good 
 night his impatience vanished, and he saw her as 
 she was old and lonely, and about to be forsaken 
 by him. How could he do it ? He didn't know ; all 
 he knew was that it was to be done. A mighty steel 
 point seemed to have begun to cleave through the 
 world before him, through affections, habits, laws,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 107 
 
 decencies even, and he must follow close behind 
 it. 
 
 It was with an unusual tenderness that he kissed 
 her good-night and when he had done so, turned to 
 her again and took her in his arms and kissed both 
 cheeks. It was his farewell, although she did not 
 know it, and she responded gratefully and softly to 
 the unspoken love and tender gratitude. " Good- 
 night, Rupert dear." She was gone. 
 
 The moment she was in her room Rupert went out 
 and crossed the causeway to the stable building. He 
 had some difficulty in rousing Nolan, the old coach- 
 man, who had gone to bed. But at length his head 
 appeared at the window. 
 
 " Look here, Nolan, I want you to be ready with 
 the car to-morrow morning at five o'clock to catch 
 the first train. We can do it in three hours, can't 
 we?" 
 
 " And why wouldn't we, Master Rupert, your 
 honour ? But sure 'tis early " 
 
 " Never mind that. Remember, five o'clock, and 
 come quietly to the house so as not to wake any 
 one." 
 
 " So I will, sir," the head disappeared, but con- 
 tinued to mutter to itself about " the queer notion, 
 that, to be slippin' up to the house the way not to 
 be waking any person ! " 
 
 Rupert returned with swift steps, went to his 
 bedroom, opened drawers and cupboards, and began 
 to pack. He was wonderfully methodical in spite 
 of his haste. In two roomy suit-cases he stowed
 
 108 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 enough to furnish him for a few weeks; two other 
 trunks he packed also, and left them strapped and 
 ready; all his other belongings he arranged so that 
 they could be sent to him at a moment's notice. His 
 drawings had already been packed in a case, but he 
 did not propose to take them with him ; he had only 
 a few sketch-books and a portfolio containing some 
 of his best work notably " The King's Daughter." 
 He went about his task quietly but with swift, 
 decisive movements, sometimes pausing with knitted 
 brows to think, or remember something, or make a 
 written note of the contents of some box or other; 
 and once or twice he paused and looked through the 
 uncurtained window into the violet oblong of the 
 night sky, his face transfigured with a grave and yet 
 intense joy. And then he would resume his quick, 
 sure movements of preparation. He was not as a 
 rule either orderly or methodical, but to-night he 
 forgot nothing. There were no difficulties; what 
 would at any ordinary time have seemed like muddle 
 and confusion fell into order almost miraculously; 
 he felt the steel point cleaving the way before him, 
 cutting a sharp and well-defined path through the 
 jungle of details. It was long after midnight when 
 he had finished packing, and then he returned to the 
 drawing-room, and sat down at the bureau to write 
 a message for his aunt. First he made some notes 
 about the few affairs of the place that were in his 
 charge, seeing that everything was clear and in order. 
 He even balanced the cellar-book, which had been 
 his father's pride, and which he had piously attended
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 109 
 
 to ever since his seventeenth birthday, writing on a 
 large slip of paper inside the cover 
 
 " Note : Willis & Co. to send to recork the Ma- 
 deira, bin 17, sometime this month. R. S." 
 
 as though he had been the elderly, methodical father 
 of a family instead of an infatuated poet of two- 
 and-twenty. 
 
 He sat with knitted brows for a moment looking 
 at the slip after he had written it, as though he were 
 trying to understand what it was about. Then he 
 took a sheet of notepaper, and in his delicate but 
 mature hand wrote without any pause or hesita- 
 tion 
 
 " DEAREST AUNTIE, I shall have started be- 
 fore you are awake, because I couldn't bear to say 
 good-bye. I have left everything quite straight, I 
 think, and when I want any more of my things Andy 
 can send them to me if you aren't at home. I shall 
 go to Dublin first, and shall probably stay at Rim- 
 mon's or the Shelbourne ; but in any case letters and 
 things can be sent to Mr. McCann, as, even if I go 
 anywhere at short notice, I will keep him posted 
 with my address, and you must do the same. Cousin 
 Helen will be with you a few hours after you get 
 this, and then you won't feel lonely. Of course I 
 will write from Dublin, and wherever I am. 
 " Your ever loving 
 
 " RUPEBT."
 
 110 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 He left the letter in a conspicuous place where the 
 housemaid would find it in the morning, and then 
 with one last look round, turned out the lamp and 
 went to his bedroom. He was not sleepy or tired, 
 but by sheer power of will he forced himself to go 
 to bed and sleep for three hours, in order to rise 
 fresh and strong for the wonder and joy that lay 
 hidden for him beyond the dawn. As he laid his 
 head on the pillow and closed his eyes, the vision in 
 his mind lay clear before him the meeting be- 
 tween him and her, the end and solution of every- 
 thing. Not one second beyond that meeting did he 
 look. It was the ark, the alighting point on which 
 his soul would rest at the end of its first long flight. 
 He and she ! He saw her in the terms of that terse 
 accidental description of the dressmaker: a shimmer 
 of grey, all glorious without and within. His art- 
 ist's eye distinguished the stiff folds of the cloth of 
 silver and the soft folds of the satin, and the glow 
 of emeralds and diamonds in the pale gold hair; it 
 was thus that he pictured her in the hour of meet- 
 ing. He thought of his coming to her on wings of 
 fire and love, and of the thrill that the whole uni- 
 verse would receive when their eyes met. What she 
 would say or do formed no part of his dream; it 
 was he who was coming, he who was to do and to 
 say. She stood waiting for him in soft grey satin 
 and cloth of silver. 
 
 His three hours' sleep robbed him of nothing. He 
 awoke at four o'clock with his impulse undiminished 
 and his vision undimmed. Though his body had
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS HI 
 
 rested, his young soul had been flying on through 
 the night, and when he awoke it took up his body 
 again and bore it on strong wings towards the goal. 
 So young was he, so ardent, so exalted, so romantic 
 that he never paused or wavered or doubted any- 
 thing, but went straight on behind the point of steel 
 that was making this new path through the world 
 for him. Through the long cold drive in the dark 
 of the morning beside puzzled, sleepy Nolan, through 
 the discomforts of a slow railway journey through 
 all that day of prolonged impulse his poet's store of 
 unreasonable, romantic certainty never failed him. 
 Every step of that day was taken on the path of ray- 
 ing beams that led from the sunrise of the heart, 
 and brought him in mid afternoon to the door of a 
 house in Merrion Square.
 
 vin 
 
 LADY FASTNET sat in the faded, pompous draw- 
 ing-room of her house in Dublin. Her husband, a 
 sallow, loosely built man of about forty, with a long, 
 narrow face and dark, hollow eyes set rather close 
 together was sprawling in an arm-chair with a Cath- 
 olic newspaper in his hands. Between them sat a 
 priest, Father Byrne, a florid, bulky, masterful but 
 kindly-looking object in sleek black clothes with a 
 sleek shining hat deposited between his feet. He 
 had called to beg on behalf of the Archconfraternity 
 of St. Joseph, and incidentally to bask a little in an 
 aristocratic atmosphere, and had become engaged in 
 a rather feeble discussion with Lord Fastnet on so- 
 dalities in general. 
 
 " But see here now, Father, I'm for the discipline 
 of the young laity as much as any man; but what 
 I say is, are the children to absorb the sodalities, or 
 are the sodalities to absorb the children ? " 
 
 " Well, indeed, and that's a very pertinent ques- 
 tion; but if your lordship had been in my parish 
 room last week when we held our festival of the 
 Precious Blood, I think you'd have had your eyes 
 opened. Eleven hundred children enrolled, not only 
 as junior members of the Precious Blood, but as full 
 
 112
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 113 
 
 members full members, mind you of the So- 
 dality of the Redeemer! That's what the Church 
 is doing for young Ireland." 
 
 " Do you hear that, Geraldine ? " said Lord Fast- 
 net, turning to his wife ; " if we could get more of 
 that down at Castle Fastnet the country would be 
 in a better state." 
 
 Her ladyship turned smiling eyes on the priest, 
 " I'm afraid our old Father James is too old-fash- 
 ioned for his lordship ; but he's the kindest man that 
 ever had charge of a parish, and I won't hear any 
 treason against him. The children all adore him." 
 
 The priest laughed, " Sure it would never do if 
 we were all alike, my lady. But we must have airly 
 discipline if the Church is to keep tight hold of the 
 young men and women." 
 
 " Yes," resumed Lord Fastnet tediously, turning 
 to his wife ; " and what I say is, would Father 
 James be any worse or less kind a man if he made 
 the children's souls a little safer instead of leaving 
 them to run wild? Some things are all very well, 
 but " 
 
 A maid appeared at the door. " Mr. Rupert Sav- 
 age, my lady." 
 
 A breath of newer and more vital air, like a wind 
 blowing from some happy land of youth, seemed 
 to enter the room with the gallant, debonair figure 
 that came forward across the faded carpet. He 
 stood for perhaps a couple of seconds in the middle 
 of the room, looking very handsome, in the spot to 
 which his long impulse had carried him. The point
 
 114 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 of steel had cloven the way for him precisely thus 
 far and no farther, basely deserting him in the pres- 
 ence of the lady, her husband, and a priest. 
 
 The men got up, and Geraldine half rose from 
 her chair with an expression of mingled surprise and 
 pleasure. " Why, Rupert, this is a nice surprise. 
 When did you arrive ? Edward, you have heard me 
 speak of Mr. Savage? my husband Father 
 Byrne. Come and sit here and tell me where you 
 have dropped from." 
 
 Lord Fastnet shook hands, the priest bowed, and 
 Rupert sat down beside Geraldine with a rather 
 blushing face. Even now he had no sense of anti- 
 climax, he knew he must have just a little more 
 patience until they were alone, and it was easy to 
 endure in her presence. There was a little general 
 conversation, enough to reveal that Rupert and the 
 two other men had nothing to say to one another. 
 Presently Lord Fastnet and Father Byrne went out 
 together; Rupert accepted their departure as a sub- 
 mission to his own masterful necessity, and realized 
 that his moment had come. 
 
 He brought a chair and placed it so that he sat 
 close to Geraldine and facing her. His boyish dif- 
 fidence was a thing of the past; he spoke quietly, 
 firmly, with conviction. 
 
 " Lady Fastnet," he began quietly, " a great many 
 things have happened to me since I saw you. I've 
 realized that what you said was true. I believe I 
 am going to be great, but I won't be great except for 
 you and through you. I've come to you."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 115 
 
 She looked a little surprisedly at him, but there 
 was pleasure in her surprise. He did not notice the 
 surprise, but he saw the pleasure, for which his soul 
 was thirsting. " Oh, Rupert," she said, smiling at 
 him, " how glad I am ! But how shall I deserve 
 it?" 
 
 " You deserve everything. There is nothing that 
 I can do any one in the world can do that you 
 don't deserve. You deserve it because you are good 
 and brave and true-hearted, because you are the most 
 beautiful thing in the world, and only the best of 
 anything is worth offering to you." 
 
 The steady fire in his eyes not the fire of ele- 
 mentary passion so much as the burning light of 
 conviction and intense purpose sent a qualm of 
 warning over her. Still she held on to the pleasure 
 his words gave her, answering tremulously, " Am I 
 really all that ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, all that, more than that. Listen : I 
 think you heard I've been very ill. Something 
 happened snapped in me while I was ill. All 
 the unimportant things fell away. Life has a rea- 
 son ; I know it now. Do you know what that reason 
 is ? You you are the reason of my life. You 
 first told me I might be great; I am going to be 
 great, and you are going to be glad and proud of 
 me!" 
 
 He took her two hands in his; gravely but very 
 earnestly he looked into her face with eyes shining 
 steadily to meet hers.
 
 116 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " I love you, love you, love you, and you must love 
 me and believe in me ! " 
 
 At his first word her eyes fell from his. She with- 
 drew her hands and sat looking down for a minute 
 in silence. 
 
 He waited. 
 
 " Rupert, listen to me. I do believe in you ; I 
 do look for great things from you. I am glad you 
 will do them for me in a sense. And always I 
 will be your friend. " 
 
 A sensation of chill, the dreadest thing he had ever 
 felt, crept into his heart. It was very faint, very 
 subtle; he did not understand it, he only felt that 
 there was danger and death in it. But he was of 
 high mettle, drew himself together, and grew more 
 collected in presence of the danger. 
 
 " Of course, of course," he said, speaking even 
 more slowly and quietly than before, " I know, I 
 am sure of that my friend always. But you are 
 much more than that." The calm in his voice broke, 
 and a storm of passionate feeling rolled up, deepen- 
 ing his tones, making his body tremble, veiling his 
 eyes in sudden mist. " Love, I must have your 
 love! You have all mine all my thoughts, all 
 my life!" 
 
 Geraldine stopped him with a gesture. " You 
 must not talk of love; I can't give you my love. 
 I am married, and all the love I have to give belongs 
 to my husband." 
 
 Her words seemed even to herself unreal and in- 
 sufficient at the moment one of those difficult,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS H7 
 
 crucial moments when even the things we mean do 
 not ring quite true. And she was thoroughly in 
 earnest, although she had no better words. Rupert 
 saw, not her earnestness, but her dispassionate and 
 collected air. The storm-clouds broke and swept 
 over him in a passion of feeling. 
 
 " Oh, I know, I know. I don't want the love you 
 give your husband. You and he are one thing, but 
 you and I are another. You found me out when 
 I wasn't even aware that I existed there would 
 have been nothing of me, but for you. Don't you 
 see ; can't you see I mean, that when two people 
 understand like that, it is love ? I know it, every 
 hour of the day and night. I don't expect that other 
 love," he went on desperately, not noticing her hand 
 laid restrainingly on his arm, refusing to read the 
 mingled fear and trouble in her face, and seeing only 
 that she was trying not to listen to him with her 
 inner ear. " I don't expect it." He smiled bravely. 
 " You can't love me like that ; I'm not like you, 
 wonderful and lovable; but oh, darling, such as I 
 am, all that I will ever be, you made ! And 
 when " 
 
 As she felt the rising strength of his passion, and 
 found in herself nothing able to oppose it, she re- 
 membered her religion. The look that came into 
 her eyes then, so alien, so friendless to his appeal, 
 stopped him dead in the midst of it. She seemed to 
 Rupert like a stranger, so different from the warm 
 smiling reality of the lady of his dreams, that he felt 
 as though he had been appealing to an indifferent
 
 118 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 portrait or statue of her, and that she herself was 
 somewhere far away. 
 
 Nor was the chilled voice in which she now spoke 
 the voice of his beloved. 
 
 " ' All that you will be,' you say. You will be a 
 great man, but you can only found greatness on 
 beautiful and pure things. What you are saying 
 is wrong and wicked. I did not make you, Rupert; 
 you speak as though there were nothing in the world 
 but human power and human laws. But the laws 
 of God are above human laws. Oh, I know you are 
 a Protestant, and don't understand how real these 
 things are to us. But they are true." 
 
 Rupert was silent, looking no longer at her, but 
 beyond her. She went on talking, relieved at the 
 successful effect of the moral cold douche, and anx- 
 ious to give Rupert time to recover. Everything 
 she said was sweet and kind and pure and good and 
 safe and sensible and prudent and gentle and def- 
 inite, and almost entirely quoted from a higher au- 
 thority; but he hardly heard what she said. He 
 was saying dumbly to himself, " Oh, for yesterday, 
 for yesterday ! " He was so ashamed and humili- 
 ated that he did not say the " forgive me " which 
 Geraldine expected. 
 
 And when she finished her homily with a grasp 
 of his hand, and " Now, Rupert dear, you must go," 
 he simply turned and went away without even a 
 good-bye. 
 
 * 
 
 He was walking blindly along in the glare of
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 119 
 
 Sackville Street, when he heard a voice behind him 
 saying, " The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands 
 are the hands of Esau." Something familiar in the 
 clear drawling tones arrested him, and he turned to 
 look at the speaker a young man with brown hair 
 and a smiling, clean-shaven face. 
 
 " Why, Tommy Blake ? " he said. 
 
 " I'm right after all, it seems. The hair was the 
 hair of Rupert, but the walk was Methuselah's own, 
 so I tried my voice on you. Where did you drop 
 from? And where are you going, may one ask? 
 To an execution, or only to a funeral ? " 
 
 Rupert's wave of curiosity in recognizing an old 
 schoolfellow had passed the moment it was satisfied, 
 and his one desire was to be alone again. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry, I'm hurrying off to see some 
 one ; can't stop now. Let's meet to-morrow." 
 
 The wide eyes of Mr. Blake searched his face 
 calmly. " Are you shamming, now, or only drunk ? 
 If you think I'm going to leave you until I've found 
 that out, you're very much mistaken, my boy. Di- 
 ning out, are you ? Well I'm not, so I'll come with 
 you. Very busy, is it? Well I've nothing to do, 
 so you won't be hindering me." 
 
 " No ; I wasn't dining out, after all," said Ru- 
 pert. 
 
 " Of course you weren't, but I am I'm dining 
 with you at the Shelbourne. We're going in the 
 wrong direction; that's better. Don't say you 
 haven't asked me it isn't necessary." 
 
 Rupert had still some power to resist, but he had
 
 120 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 no power to repel or turn away this friendly creature 
 who merely insisted on fastening on to him. The 
 clear eyes of Tommy Blake, indeed, saw that there 
 was something obviously amiss, and native instinct 
 showed him the only way to be of use. He was a 
 year older than Rupert, and took a romantic view 
 of the duties of friendship. He was reading for the 
 bar, and writing for posterity, he said ; and certainly 
 there was no great demand for his poems among his 
 contemporaries. 
 
 He rattled and prattled away to Rupert, ignoring 
 his silence, ordering dinner with decision and eat- 
 ing it with appetite. Rupert drank wine and ate 
 nothing; the alcohol seemed to have no effect upon 
 him except to steady his shaking nerves. Blake did 
 all the talking, but he found out that Rupert had 
 been spending his time in drawing, and after dinner 
 he made him produce his portfolio. 
 
 " By Jove," he said, as he turned over some of 
 the later drawings, " I know a man who'd go mad 
 over this! Look here." He pulled out his watch. 
 " It's past nine. Do you know Edmund Heath ? " 
 mentioning a famous novelist of the realistic school. 
 " No ; all the better ; he won't dislike you so much. 
 We'll go there and meet Greer and one or two other 
 men who are sure to be interested, and you'll like 
 them. Come along; it's only talk and tobacco and 
 whisky. Be miserable and grumpy just like you 
 are now, and you'll have no end of a success with 
 the Celtic gang. We'll take these things with us."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 121 
 
 Rupert was in a dream; a small part of his con- 
 sciousness governed his speech and actions, submit- 
 ting with foolish easiness to the leadership of 
 Tommy Blake; the rest inhabited a world of shad- 
 ows amid brushing wings of memory whose every 
 touch was a mortification. And yet it was agony 
 to be brought back to consciousness and the necessity 
 for speech, and relief to sink back into the semi- 
 oblivion of misery, in which Blake's voice dwindled 
 away to a far-away whisper, and a curtain of blind- 
 ness and forgetfulness hid the outside world from 
 him. He awoke from one of these intervals to find 
 himself standing in a room filled with a blue cloud 
 of tobacco smoke in which floated a dozen strange 
 faces. He heard himself replying to the languid 
 words of welcome uttered by Heath a sad, middle- 
 aged man with a suave distinguished manner. His 
 long face was soft like a child's, and a grey mous- 
 tache drooped over his mouth. A few names, some 
 familiar to Rupert and some unknown, were pro- 
 nounced with his own, and he found himself trying 
 to distinguish the owners of them from among the 
 group of faces, some pale, some shaggy, some caver- 
 nous and wasted-looking, that hung in the haze of 
 smoke; but he could not identify them, and having 
 become detached from Blake sat down in a place 
 vacant near Heath. 
 
 " You are just in time," said the melancholy real- 
 ist. " O'Donnell is going to read us a poem about 
 a seal." His voice had an expressive range of tones 
 which he accompanied by a waving emphasis of the
 
 122 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 hands; and he articulated unimportant prepositions 
 and articles with the distinctness of a foreigner. " I 
 do not know," he continued, his voice descending the 
 scale, " why any one should write a poem about a 
 seal; to draw a seal yes; hut a seal either is a 
 poem already or it is nothing at all. I am sure you 
 agree with me ? " He turned to Rupert. 
 
 " Yes," said Rupert, taking up the vein, " of 
 course. But probably the poem is really more im- 
 portant than any number of living seals; in that 
 case, what does it matter ? " 
 
 " Oh, well/' said Heath, " there is always that 
 point of view. Perhaps, when we have heard the 
 poem " he shrugged his shoulders. No one 
 minded him, least of all O'Donnell, who listened to 
 the melodious nonsense he talked for the occasional 
 fountain of wisdom that welled up in the midst of it. 
 
 Presently the poet began to read in a dreamy 
 monotonous voice, " The Seal of Inishvhan." He 
 sat crumpled up in his chair, his dark eyes glowing 
 in his pale thin face beneath a tangle of dark hair. 
 Every one, Rupert no less than the others, fell im- 
 mediately under the spell of the voice. Edmund 
 Heath had forced his face into an expression of po- 
 lite, vacant boredom and endurance, and it was 
 strange to see his attempts to suppress the interest 
 that the poem roused, and the very gradual change 
 of expression from vacuity to beaming appreciation. 
 
 O'Donnell read on, like a wizard weaving a 
 charm. The dreamy tones, the music of the richly 
 assonant words, the freshness and remoteness of the
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 123 
 
 ideas that conjured up a faery world seen dimly 
 through a veil of sea-spray sank into Rupert's soul. 
 The golden poetry flowed like a healing balm over 
 his wounded consciousness, and quickened the artist 
 to masterful assertion. He was conscious of a great 
 impulse to do something, once and for all, that would 
 recover him from his humiliation of soul. In some- 
 thing tremendous he had failed, or the world had 
 failed him; in something tremendous he could still 
 conquer. He knew it ; he no longer heard the words 
 of the poem, but only the music of the voice, now 
 falling into long penultimate cadences. A scene in 
 the legend had composed itself as a picture in his 
 mind the drowned woman's hair streaming and 
 straying over the water, and the line of seals head- 
 ing out to the open sea. The voice came to an end, 
 and the chorus of comment broke out. One shaggy 
 Celt was in tears; every one was affected more or 
 less deeply in his own way, and was giving expres- 
 sion to his feelings when Rupert said bluntly, ad- 
 dressing no one in particular : 
 
 " I could draw that." 
 
 There was an immediate silence; some of them 
 were inclined to regard the remark of the well- 
 dressed, good-looking youth as mere folly or imperti- 
 nence; but there was something in his tones and in 
 his face that spoke directly to the intelligence of 
 that unusually intelligent and sympathetic group. 
 Rupert's head was thrown back a little, and his 
 ruddy hair had fallen away from his forehead, re- 
 vealing its breadth and the new lines of concentra-
 
 124 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 tion in it, and adding significance to the strength 
 of the finely modelled face and square chin. O'Don- 
 nell looked up at him with a glint of understanding 
 in his dark eyes, but Heath was the first to speak. 
 
 " My friend," he said, " you are a genius. 
 O'Donnell's poem was a great thing, a beautiful 
 thing, but that remark of yours is a greater thing 
 still. It is splendid, it is wonderful; we have all 
 said something about the poem, but you have said 
 the only thing. There is nothing more to be said. 
 It is like the lifting of the brush off a Corot; any 
 one can lay his brush on a canvas, but only a master 
 can lift it off." 
 
 When Heath talked like this he had the art of 
 making his hearer believe that what he said was the 
 merest common-sense. Rupert had never been talked 
 to like that before, and he liked it, and thought Heath 
 a great man as indeed he was, but not because of 
 what he said. O'Donnell had come across to Rupert, 
 and some of the other men were gathered round him, 
 urging him to draw something then and there if the 
 mood was really upon him; and Blake, immensely 
 pleased with the success of his friend, was rumma- 
 ging about in Heath's desk for a sheet of card-board. 
 
 " Of course he will go and spoil it all by drawing 
 something," said Heath. " To say ' I can draw 
 that ' was wonderful, but to go and do it is like mar- 
 rying a woman you have fallen in love with. It 
 is impossible to prolong a moment." 
 
 But Rupert was in the hands of the younger men, 
 and of his own impulse; and presently he was es-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 125 
 
 tablished in a lamplit corner by himself, working 
 rapidly, almost feverishly, and yet with a perfect 
 facility and certainty that he had never known be- 
 fore. The voices of the other men fell away from 
 his consciousness, or sounded only like a far-away 
 murmur. He did not know that they liad divided 
 into two groups a few men gathered round Heath, 
 who affected to be no more interested in Rupert now 
 that he was actually drawing, and who was holding 
 forth about Bach's fugues, which he did not under- 
 stand; and a larger group scanning the bundle of 
 Rupert's drawings that Blake, with the forethought 
 of a wise showman, had brought with him. 
 
 Greer, the art critic, who had held rather aloof 
 from Rupert himself, was deeply interested in the 
 work in the portfolio. He laughed to himself with 
 pleasure, and frowned as the puzzle of Rupert's tal- 
 ent baffled and eluded him. " It's so beastly good," 
 he said to another man, " but it's all wrong there's 
 only a small thing that's wrong, but it runs through 
 everything." 
 
 " Too literary," said the other man. 
 
 " Oh, of course ; but that's nothing. Just look, 
 I ask you, at the line of that coat ; fancy making a 
 dress-coat say all those unutterable things! Is it 
 all in the line ? " 
 
 " His brain keeps getting in the way," said the 
 other man ; " if only he'd left that alone, and cut 
 out all this chattering work in the foreground 
 but how good ! " 
 
 Greer turned to Blake. " This is a big thing,
 
 126 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Tommy. Where does he come from at all ? And 
 why has he never learned to draw ? And how in 
 the world does he know without learning? For 
 though he has obviously never learned, he can teach 
 us all a good deal about drawing. And what bad 
 breaks he makes! look what a howler he has come 
 over this." 
 
 " Remember, he's lived alone since he left school 
 has a place somewhere in the North. I don't 
 suppose he has any one to show his work to, or ever 
 sees much other work. Wouldn't that account for 
 it?" 
 
 " Yes, perhaps it would. It makes it all the more 
 remarkable though. Fancy digging all these won- 
 ders out of his own imagination. My God ! " 
 Greer's face grew solemn ; " think what he'll be 
 when he's seen things. At present he thinks there 
 are only three things in the world drawing, the 
 sea, and some woman. Just think when he finds out 
 that there is painting." 
 
 " I wonder," said O'Donnell, " will it not spoil 
 his purity of vision? Does a man who sees lines 
 like those want to be bothered with colour ? Won't 
 it only confuse him? All he wants is paper and 
 pencil and the wide world." 
 
 " Yes, the wide world,'* said Greer, smiling ; and 
 they returned to a discussion of the drawings in 
 detail. 
 
 It was less than an hour after he had begun to 
 work when Rupert got up and joined the others.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 127 
 
 " I'm thirsty," he said ; " will some one give me a 
 drink, please ? " 
 
 " Finished ? " asked Greer. 
 
 " Yes," said Rupert, " there it is. It's a good 
 thing. I owe it to you, O'Donnell ; take it, please." 
 
 He handed over the drawing, and every one in 
 the room gathered round to look at it. 
 
 " It is very nice," said Heath, with a compromise 
 between his two manners. " Naturally, a man who 
 could say that could draw it still, one should 
 leave some things unsaid. No one can really say a 
 thing if he thinks it." 
 
 Rupert stood awkwardly for a moment looking at 
 the group bent over his work. The excitement of 
 doing it had evaporated; the weight of lead hung 
 round his heart again. Then he said brusquely, 
 " I'm going. Good-night." And he turned to the 
 door. 
 
 There was a murmur of remonstrance, and 
 Tommy Blake jumped up. " No, Tommy, please ; 
 I won't disturb you." 
 
 " But what about your drawings ? " 
 
 " Oh, keep them burn them ; do anything you 
 like with them ! Good-night." The door shut be- 
 hind him, and the outer street door had also shut 
 before the company had recovered from the surprise 
 of his abrupt adieu. 
 
 " Queer fellow," said Greer, turning to the draw- 
 ing ; " but look at this ; it is pure genius from the 
 first line to the last ; it is right where all the others 
 are wrong. We've made a discovery to-night.
 
 128 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 You're right, Heath ; he's a genius. The world will 
 be talking about him in a year." 
 
 " And doesn't he know it, too ? " said a little fair 
 man, a journalist " Did you hear the way he said, 
 * this is a good thing ' ? " 
 
 " That's where he's great," said Greer ; " he 
 knows." 
 
 " He certainly has his feet on some road or other," 
 said another man ; " but I wonder what road ? " 
 
 " Does it matter ? " asked Heath sadly with a 
 slow wave of his hand. " Whatever road he's on, 
 he will get to the end of it and spoil it all." 
 
 O'Donnell shook his head, looking deep into the 
 fire. " The roads are the only things that are end- 
 less," he said.
 
 BOOK II 
 
 129
 
 THE shadows lengthened to the golden close of a 
 London summer's day, and still the artist stood 
 working at his tablo by the window, and still the 
 model, whom he had hardly glanced at twice in the 
 last half -hour, posed over the big mirror on the floor, 
 looking into an imaginary pool. At last, with his 
 head turned over his shoulder, he uttered the wel- 
 come words, " That will do ; run away and dress ; " 
 and while the anaemic young woman relaxed her 
 tired limbs and disappeared into the ante-room he 
 busied himself with a few finishing touches. 
 
 A man-servant came in and silently began to tidy 
 the room, lifting the great sheet of glass to its place 
 against the wall, folding up and putting away the 
 two or three pieces of old brocade that had been hung 
 over chairs. Rupert looked critically into his fin- 
 ished work, altered the length of a line, looked again, 
 added about fifty dots of infinite smallness to an 
 elaborate tracery, and then put down his pen, throw- 
 ing out his arms and straightening his back from its 
 stooping posture. 
 
 He was still the same Rupert of five years ago, 
 and yet not the same. Without losing its slimness 
 his frame seemed to have become more closely knit. 
 
 131
 
 132 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 The ruddy hair lay as thick as ever over the broad 
 brow, but it was more carefully groomed. The eyes 
 were still merry and clear in their greyness, but the 
 mouth, if it still held the suggestion of sadness, was 
 a little firmer, and the line of the jaw stronger and 
 fuller. He was carefully, even fastidiously dressed, 
 and his firm hands, no longer the hands of a yachts- 
 man, but of an artist, were scrupulously cared for. 
 In these respects his body might have been the body 
 of an athletic dandy, if it had not been dominated 
 by the powerful personality of the head the head 
 of a master. 
 
 He turned to the man. " You can get the room 
 ready, Hicks twelve for dinner. You'd better 
 open half-a-dozen bottles of the Leoville, and have 
 a few more in case they are wanted." 
 
 " Very good, sir. What about flowers did you 
 order any, sir ? " 
 
 " I forgot all about them. I'll go out now and 
 get them myself and have my bath ready when 
 I come in, will you? And pay the model if she 
 hasn't gone." 
 
 He ran downstairs, took his hat and stick, and 
 stepped out into the street. It was characteristic of 
 him that when he came to London he had settled in 
 St. James's rather than in Chelsea or Hampstead; 
 and his flat, at the top of an old house wedged be- 
 tween that of an Ambassador and an official of the 
 Royal household, looked out across the green park 
 and towards the dusty sunset skies of Pimlico. 
 
 A few steps brought him into St. James's Street,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 133 
 
 and he walked rapidly up the broad thoroughfare, 
 now beginning to show signs of preparation for so- 
 ciability after its day of reserve. He turned into 
 a Piccadilly florist's, and there bought a great bunch 
 of deep crimson roses which he carried back in his 
 hand an agreeable spot of colour moving down the 
 solemn greyness of St. James's Street. 
 
 When he returned the long table was already laid 
 in his beautiful room, whose still grey walls were 
 receding into the dark, leaving the table, which he 
 himself adorned with its glowing load of roses, iso- 
 lated in the centre of the room, like an altar prepared 
 for sacrifice. And it was the old Rupert of the Ab- 
 bacy who glanced carefully over the table and side- 
 board to see that nothing had been forgotten and 
 that no lack of care on his part should mar his hos- 
 pitality. Then he went to dress. 
 
 It was no chance collection of acquaintances that 
 gathered round Rupert Savage's table that night, 
 but a group of artists and men of letters who had 
 achieved what was, for the moment, practically a 
 monopoly of the arts. They were diverse in their 
 genius, divided and dissentient sometimes among 
 themselves; but to the London of the day they of- 
 fered a solid front of brilliant and aggressive talent. 
 By their literature, their drawings and paintings 
 founded on literature, their criticism, their plays, 
 their affectations even for every clique has its 
 affectations they dominated London, interested 
 Paris and Munich, and set America by the ears.
 
 134 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 There was a kind of joyous sense of greatness and 
 mastery among them that made them great and mas- 
 terful; they went their own way, secure in the ap- 
 probation and backing of each other, and by no 
 means unwilling to carry their tendencies to ex- 
 tremes pour epater le bourgeois. They met at one an- 
 other's houses, admired and criticized one another's 
 work, had their feuds and jealousies among them- 
 selves, but loyally upheld each other's reputation 
 before the world. They represented a reaction 
 against the neglect of manner which characterized 
 English art in the day before theirs, and their own 
 success was virtually the triumph of manner over 
 matter. 
 
 The twelve who were met round the table to-night 
 by no means represented the whole of this group, 
 but they were its chief spirits. The secret of their 
 influence lay in a blend of personality and crafts- 
 manship, and a genuine knowledge of and belief in 
 themselves. " Greatness " was a word continually 
 on their lips : " I am great, you are great, we are 
 great," they cried; and not unnaturally the world 
 completed the conjugation by saying, " They are 
 great." 
 
 The two leaders of the movement, if movement 
 that could be called which rested so securely on the 
 assumption of its own Tightness, were Rupert Sav- 
 age and Cyril Midwood. It was Rupert's sudden 
 success two years ago that had given new life to the 
 work of the other men, and strengthened their power 
 and influence. In the small intelligent world which
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 135 
 
 cares for such things there was something like a 
 furore over his strange, imaginative, and exquisitely 
 beautiful drawings. They became the rage ; his per- 
 sonality completed his success, which had been al- 
 most instantaneous, and in two years brought him 
 money, fame, position, adulation almost every- 
 thing that youth can dream of. It was thus that he 
 almost displaced Midwood, the former leader of the 
 group who had been one of the first to recognize 
 Rupert's genius, and whose own work, which in lit- 
 erature had something of the fantastic delicacy of 
 Rupert's in drawing, had for some years been rec- 
 ognized as the real soul and spirit of the neo-erotic 
 movement. 
 
 He sat near Rupert now, and in great physical 
 contrast with him. He was at least ten years older ; 
 he was thin and stooping, with dark melancholy eyes, 
 and a cadaverous and not altogether attractive face. 
 " Red roses and red wine," he was saying ; " you 
 always match your flowers with the colour of your 
 wine, Rupert ; how wise and right that is ! But you 
 are always wise and always right," he added, raising 
 his glass with a little melancholy bow. 
 
 Greer, the critic, whom Rupert had met in Dub- 
 lin five years before, grumbled in his beard, " You 
 fellows will be matching your food with the colour 
 of your eyes next," he said. 
 
 " We will hope not, Greer, for the sake of your 
 eyes," said Bowen, a little keen-faced man with big 
 spectacles whose chalk drawings of East-end school
 
 136 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 children had been the sensation of last season. His 
 weakness was his wit, which was always leading him 
 to say things which no one quite understood, but 
 which every one laughed at. 
 
 " It is merely a question of style," said Winstan- 
 ley, the dramatist ; " if a man has that sense, he can't 
 help showing it in everything he does. It would be 
 impossible for Midwood to use an unrelated parti- 
 ciple or a split infinitive not because it would 
 be wrong but because it would be disagreeable. 
 It would hurt him. But it wouldn't hurt Jeyne 
 there," nodding at a shaggy giant sitting beside 
 Bowen, " because he's that horrible thing, a Social- 
 ist, and because he hasn't got that particular sense. 
 Rupert sees a harmony between wine and flowers 
 and for ever afterwards it would be painful to him 
 to violate that delicate harmony by introducing a 
 quarrel in colour. Style is so much more important 
 than you think, Greer." 
 
 " I sometimes wonder if it isn't a little less im- 
 portant than you think," said Greer. 
 
 " It is everything," said Midwood ; " there is 
 nothing without it but chaos and ugliness. The 
 naked world is a horrible place; its ideas are hor- 
 rible, unless you clothe them in a beautiful garment 
 of manner, and a ritual of style; just as a naked 
 woman is an abominably ugly object, and has to be 
 disguised in beautiful trailing fabrics and remod- 
 elled into long flowing lines by her clothes." 
 
 The talk strayed along thus from one topic to 
 another, with that perfect license and freedom from
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 137 
 
 the fear of being wrong that marks the conversation 
 of the successful. And just because every one felt 
 that nothing he could think or say could be unim- 
 portant or uninteresting, the talk was interesting 
 in its own hour and place. When they thus talked 
 together, these men felt inches taller ; their meetings 
 were a wellspring of that adorable vanity that haunts 
 the artist's mind and fills the world with beautiful 
 things ; each man went forth from them, like a lover 
 from the arms of his beloved, with his sense of great- 
 ness renewed and his sense of Tightness deepened. 
 
 They represented many arts, and covered among 
 them a great range of craftsmanship. There was 
 Marston the novelist, who imported the clarity and 
 vivacity and realism of French fiction into a body 
 of brave and penetrating intellect; there was Sibley, 
 the real heir of the first Impressionists, who painted 
 in the true happy spirit of beauty, and whose pic- 
 tures were therefore being bought cheaply by the 
 wise Jews, who stored them in cellars until their 
 hour should come. Sibley looked anything between 
 twenty and fifty; he was fair and kind and tired. 
 He devoted his life to work, and talked like a liber- 
 tine. There was Cadman, who was almost always 
 drunk, always gentle and egotistical, and whose 
 enamel work was the most wonderful thing of its 
 kind in Europe; there was Jeyne, the clever So- 
 cialist and intellectual revolutionary; and there was 
 Charlie Reid, the most lovable man in London, who 
 devoted his life as a journalist to the praise of the 
 group he worshipped.
 
 138 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 There were two others, guests, not really subjects, 
 of Rupert's kingdom, but like all intelligent men 
 of the day, deeply interested in it and glad to meet 
 its great men. One was Gaston St. Paul, a French 
 composer and a man of powerful intellectual indi- 
 viduality who had been conducting a concert of his 
 works in London, and who had been enthusiastically 
 welcomed by the Twelve as one of themselves. The 
 other was Caird, a middle-aged Scotsman who was 
 grimly ensconced somewhere in the British Museum, 
 where he nourished an infinite scorn of the men and 
 institutions about him, but who liked Rupert. These 
 two listened more than they talked the French- 
 man alert, absorbed, missing nothing, and occasion- 
 ally contributing a flash of lightning ; the Scot atten- 
 tive, grim and suspicious, occasionally emitting a 
 growl of thunder. 
 
 As they sat amid the smoke-wreaths they talked 
 about themselves, about their work, about their place 
 and influence in the world a tendency of conver- 
 sation which seemed to puzzle Gaston St. Paul very 
 much. 
 
 " But " opening his hands and shrugging his 
 shoulders " you are, you exist, you have arrived, 
 you people, you make the plays and the books and 
 the pictures of your country ; and yet you talk about 
 what people think of you ! " 
 
 " It matters in England," said Marston ; " the 
 public will do anything rather than support really 
 good work; they have to be bullied into it. It has
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 139 
 
 to be made the fashion. In France you patronize 
 your public ; here we have to fight them and in a 
 way we're all fighting them even Savage here, or 
 Midwood. Half the people who buy their work 
 don't really like it; but they know it's the right 
 thing." 
 
 " Of all the desperate means ever taken to ignore 
 the true issue of work in this universe," said Caird 
 slowly, his Scotch accent more pronounced than 
 usual by reason of his emotion, " I think that is 
 the most wrongheaded and desperate. Make your 
 work the fashion! Fashion with whom, pray? 
 Fashionable where? In the lewd monkey-house ye 
 call society ? I wonder at ye, Mr. Marston." 
 
 " How wonderful ! " said Cyril Midwood, turning 
 to Caird. " How delicious to hear that Puritan note 
 booming through our fribble of vanities. The sound- 
 ing brass and the tinkling cymbal! I forget the 
 passage," he went on, passing his hand over his brow, 
 " but I am sure it is full of colour and meaning 
 everything in the Bible is. Go on, chastise us 
 more ! " 
 
 Caird laughed. " Not when you kiss the rod ; 
 I'm not harsh enough for that." 
 
 Gaston St. Paul turned to Rupert. " It is ama- 
 zing," he said, " how you are all allowed to be suc- 
 cessful in England. You don't deserve it ; you are 
 too intolerant ; you are like children playing a game. 
 But can it last ? You admit it does not rest on the 
 merits of your work the people do not understand 
 its merits! They wonder at you, but they do not
 
 140 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 know you! Their mouths are open, but their eyes 
 are shut" 
 
 " Their purses are open," said Jeyne. 
 
 " For the moment," replied St. Paul ; " but, I ask 
 you, how long? No, no, no; you are buoyed up by 
 the upturned faces of the public. You are all too 
 rich, too successful." 
 
 " That's a matter, my dear Monsieur, that will 
 very soon adjust itself," said Caird. " The wide 
 ocean of realities is ebbing and flowing beneath them. 
 Wait till your friends with the upturned faces get 
 a crick in their necks, and then souse ! What a 
 bath-day there'll be ! " 
 
 " Charming, charming," murmured Cyril Mid- 
 wood. 
 
 Caird regarded him with a long, penetrating look, 
 and shook his head. The talk drifted to other things, 
 and presently some one spoke of the drawing Rupert 
 had just finished. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Eeid. 
 
 " Susannah and the Elders," Rupert answered, 
 with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Greer looked up sharply, and even the mild, in- 
 dulgent, clever Sibley pursed his lips. " My dear 
 Rupert ! An Academy picture, done with your pen ? 
 You would never condescend to that ? " 
 
 " Oh, one never knows," said Rupert, rising and 
 putting his arm through Sibley's. " Come and see." 
 
 He took a couple of candles over to a corner of 
 the room, and pinned the drawing up on a board, 
 while the other guests gathered round. Rupert fell
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 141 
 
 back, and had a flashing consciousness of keen en- 
 joyment of the scene. This group of the cleverest 
 men in London the men whose work he most 
 admired grouped round his work in expectation 
 of critical enjoyment; their faces, clever, strong, 
 full of character and individuality, seemed like a 
 noble background to his life and work. 
 
 It was a small drawing, done with the combina- 
 tion of flowing mysterious lines, infinitely delicate 
 pattern work, and broad contrasts of pure black and 
 pure white for which Rupert Savage's work was 
 famous. But it was no academician's conception of 
 the subject. A pool of water, with the shimmering 
 reflection of a woman's face and form, and round it 
 a group of gnarled, twisted elder-trees, instinct with 
 sinister expression in every knot and branch and 
 outline, sapless, shrunken, and withered with the 
 first blasts of winter; aged, tortured, grotesque, and 
 yet agonizingly concentrated on the pool and its 
 image. . . . 
 
 Greer was the first to speak. " Wit ! " he said, 
 turning away with a frown. " What the devil did 
 you want to be witty for ? " And he turned quickly 
 back. " But for that yes, in spite of that how 
 good ! " 
 
 " I like it," said Sibley, and walked away to the 
 table to get another cigarette; and his words meant 
 more to Rupert than the more elaborate appreciation 
 of the others. 
 
 Cadman, who was drunk, but critical even in his 
 cups, went to the table, returned with a handful of
 
 142 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 roses, and tried to put them on Kupert's head. 
 " Best thing you've done," he pronounced very 
 slowly and distinctly. They all began to discuss it 
 from their several points of view. Marston and 
 Jeyne and Winstanley gloried in the conceit almost 
 more than in the drawing. Gaston St. Paul laughed 
 loud and long, partly in pure pleasure at the mas- 
 terly work, partly at what he regarded as the light- 
 hearted cynicism of the conception. " It is not seri- 
 ous," he said ; " you are laughing at the public, and 
 they will find you out, my friend ! " 
 
 " It is rather a practical joke, isn't it ? " said 
 Reid ; " but it is jolly good for them. They expect 
 a grave, sensual, Puritan sermon on that theme 
 and they get this! It is great." 
 
 Cyril Midwood, who had been silent so far, laid 
 his hand on Rupert's arm. " My dear boy, I thank 
 you from the bottom of my heart. Instead of those 
 dreary old men, who were only made mischievous 
 by the heat of the day, you have discovered some- 
 thing really delightful and wicked! The wicked- 
 ness of old men on a hot afternoon is vulgar and 
 disgusting ; but the wickedness of old trees in winter 
 how delightful, how fresh, how great, how true ! " 
 
 In any other man it would have been fulsome 
 nonsense; but the gravity and enthusiasm of Mid- 
 wood, the concentration of his cadaverous face, the 
 curious charm in his rather husky tones, carried 
 conviction even where it was resisted. Rupert was 
 unfeignedly pleased with the reception of his work.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 143 
 
 Caird remained after the other guests had gone. 
 He was a man who went very little into society, but 
 whose company was valued highly by the few on 
 whom he bestowed it. Rugged speaker of truths as 
 he was, he had the shyness that often goes with a 
 character like his, and he was generally an almost 
 silent member of any company in which he found 
 himself. He had met Rupert at the house of an old 
 friend, Lady Waynefleete, and had liked him at 
 once ; partly, perhaps, because he was so different 
 from the man Caird had imagined from knowledge 
 of his work alone. And Rupert, with that questing 
 interest in things outside and unlike himself that 
 was a great resource of strength in him, had at once 
 recognized that the mind of Caird was no ordinary 
 mind, and the man himself no ordinary man. He 
 had impulsively asked Caird to come and meet his 
 friends to-night, and Caird had as impulsively ac- 
 cepted partly out of curiosity, partly from the 
 wish to know more of Rupert, partly from a haunt- 
 ing sense of the pathetic that the famous and suc- 
 cessful young artist had awakened in him. 
 
 They sat smoking for a while in silence by the 
 open window, looking out into the dusk of the 
 short summer night, luminous with lamps and 
 stars. 
 
 " There was a man asking me about you at the 
 Museum to-day," said Caird presently ; " a man 
 Blake, who was sent over by the Irish Board of 
 Works. He seemed a harum-scarum sort of a fel- 
 low. He had some tale about your walking out of
 
 144 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Edmund Heath's house one night and disappearing, 
 and turning up three years afterwards famous. 
 I hope ye did no such thing." 
 
 Rupert smiled, and then looked grave. " Shall I 
 tell you how it happened ; how I come to be sitting 
 here to-night talking to you ? " 
 
 " A piece of human history would be a fine thing 
 after all this fal-lallerie. Go on; now just tell me 
 the plain facts if they're to be told." 
 
 Rupert put down his pipe on the window-sill. 
 " Five years ago a lifetime ago, when I was a 
 boy and didn't know anything I nearly died for love 
 of a woman. I was simple enough to tell her so, and 
 she reminded me that she was married, and a Roman 
 Catholic, and a lot of other things that didn't seem 
 to me to have anything to do with it. I thought the 
 end of the world had come, and when I was wander- 
 ing about waiting for it, I stumbled on Blake, and 
 he dragged me in to Heath's where there were a lot 
 of the Irish gang O'Donnell's lot, you know. 
 Greer was there, and they saw some of my work. 
 O'Donnell read a poem, and I sat down and drew 
 ' The White Seal of Inishvhan ' you know what 
 I mean. They began talking, and drove me mad, 
 and I went away. I cared about nothing except es- 
 caping, and took a steamer to Liverpool, where I 
 found myself next morning. I telegraphed for my 
 things and for money, and found a Booth liner just 
 going to sail for Portugal and South America. I 
 took a ticket for as far as she went, which was Para. 
 I didn't know where or what Para was. I'd never
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 145 
 
 been farther from home than London. Does this 
 bore you ? " 
 
 " Go on," said Caird. 
 
 " It was all new to me. As soon as we were out 
 of sight of land the sort of paralysis that had been 
 over me left me. There were some interesting peo- 
 ple on the boat; the captain was a friendly old boy. 
 I love ships and the sea. I found I couldn't help 
 making love to one or two pretty people on board 
 in short, I began to get better. There was one, 
 especially, a girl of about six-and-twenty who had 
 been a widow for five years, and was travelling with 
 her mother at least, that's what she told me. I 
 used to sit for hours in a deck-chair beside her, 
 making fun of the other people. I was careless and 
 bitter you know what I mean and I suppose 
 it made me seem older than I was. But every now 
 and then I'd remember ; and then I wouldn't speak 
 to this girl for perhaps two days, but sat and moped 
 by myself, or walked about the deck scowling. Of 
 course I didn't know it at the time, but no doubt 
 it made me more interesting to all these idle people." 
 
 He paused and looked up into the spangled sky. 
 " I remember when we were in harbour at Leixoes, 
 and nearly every one had gone to see Oporto, I went 
 ashore by myself and sat on the beach watching the 
 waves breaking on that yellow, yellow shore. I had 
 never seen colours like the red and white of the 
 buildings, the blue of the sea, the yellow of the 
 sands ! Stevenson once said that the most beautiful 
 thing he had ever seen was a ship sailing off the coast
 
 146 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 of Flanders. Well, far and away the most beautiful 
 thing I have ever seen is a wave breaking on the 
 coast of Portugal. Those great purple waves, burst- 
 ing into snow and thunder! They nearly broke my 
 heart. . . ." 
 
 * 
 
 " Go on," said Caird. 
 
 " Oh, about the girl ? " said Rupert, coming back 
 from a dream. " It's soon told. We went on to 
 Para, and when I saw the yellow river and the 
 swamps of course I realized that there was nothing 
 to do but come back again. I'd been neglecting her, 
 ashamed of myself in a way, and in a way wanting 
 her you will understand; and then one night, 
 when we were at Madeira she was leaving the 
 boat there she came into my cabin. She cried, 
 and said I was being cruel to her, and she didn't 
 care for anything, and she knew we would never see 
 each other again, and she made me feel thrilled and 
 unhappy, and she kissed me over and over again, 
 and well, do you see, I happened never to have 
 been in that situation before. I was terribly 
 ashamed of my innocence, and so to hide it I met 
 her half-way. I needn't go into details. It was a 
 clear case of seduction; but when she had gone I 
 believed honestly that it was I who was the seducer, 
 who had taken advantage of a helpless girl. I was 
 miserable hated her and myself wondered if 
 I ought to marry her, and a lot more wild nonsense. 
 Fortunately I never saw her again. Have some more 
 whisky."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 147 
 
 " Well, here's to the Tree of Knowledge," said 
 Caird, sipping at his glass, " and the queer fowl that 
 lodge in its branches ! Go on, man Savage." 
 
 " I stuck to the Alphege and waited for her to go 
 back to Lisbon, where I landed. It had been blind 
 chance that had taken me to that steamer and not 
 to some Atlantic liner that would have dumped me 
 in New York, where God knows what would have 
 happened to me in that mood of taking everything 
 that turned up, good or bad ! I can't be too grateful 
 to the Alphege. She took me out of winter into 
 those warm summer seas, she gave me the life of the 
 sea instead of an hotel, she showed me strange new 
 countries and cities, she gave me human society, and 
 she landed me back at the door of Spain, in the world 
 of sun and colour, instead of a world of ware- 
 houses ! " 
 
 Caird grew impatient. " Is this an advertisement 
 of the steamship line, or is it the story of your life ? 
 Man, keep to facts." 
 
 Rupert laughed. " I'm sorry those are facts 
 too, because I felt them. Well, I stayed in Lisbon 
 for a time, and then went on to Spain. You can 
 imagine what it was to me, all alone, living from 
 day to day, going where the wind blew me, to find 
 myself in Spain. I fell in love with Spanish life 
 and with the country that combination of mad, 
 sunburned gaiety and the sombreness and gravity 
 of those great rolling landscapes. I went all over 
 the country, from Fuenterrabia to Cadiz and from 
 Valladolid to Valencia, and at last I drifted to
 
 148 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Granada, and couldn't tear myself away for a year, 
 staying even through the heat. I drew and drew 
 and drew; all those old palaces, the Moorish gar- 
 dens of the Generalise, the pavements, the fabrics 
 they were the whole of life to me. I lived in 
 Madrid for six months, and in Seville for three, and 
 for a year at Toledo, where I nearly died of typhoid. 
 I lived on Spanish painting, from El Greco to Zu- 
 loaga. I used to surfeit myself with pictures and 
 buildings, and then go out into the desert to pray 
 to draw, I mean. There's a little bridge over the 
 river in the middle of the plain between Eciji and 
 Lucena, a hundred miles west of Granada; there's 
 a solitary inn there, very dirty; and I used to go 
 there to dream and work. It's all like a dream now, 
 but it taught my hand and eye their trade." 
 
 " And what about yourself all that time ; never 
 mind your hand and eye ; what were you doing ? " 
 
 " Growing," said Rupert simply. 
 
 Caird put out his hand. " Well said, well done," 
 and he grasped Rupert's. " Solitude and work 
 no better school for those who can stand it for I 
 take the solitude for granted." 
 
 " Oh yes, I was quite alone. . . . There were in- 
 tervals, of course, in Madrid and Seville; the Tree 
 of Knowledge bore a little more fruit wild and 
 bitter-tasting in the end, but my heart kept clear of 
 it this time, and I don't think I took any harm. 
 Perhaps good." 
 
 " Nothing that a man does of his own choice does 
 him any harm, provided he sees all round it, and
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 149 
 
 knows if it is good or bad. It is the knowing that 
 matters, not the doing. And the end ? " 
 
 " The end came one day when I was sitting in 
 the sun at Valladolid, opening the English mail. 
 My aunt and the lawyer were the only people I 
 heard from, but they sent me papers and things. I 
 was turning over the Weekly Review when I saw my 
 own name and there was an article about me, my- 
 self, and some of my work which was being exhib- 
 ited ! I couldn't make out who had got hold of it, 
 until I remembered that I had left my things that 
 night at Heath's and told Tommy Blake he could do 
 what he liked with them. He and Greer had sent 
 them in to the Modern Artist's show and people 
 talked about them. The article was by Cramer; it 
 was nearly all about my work, and said it was the 
 biggest thing that had happened since I don't know 
 what. The other papers talked too, and the whole 
 thing gave me a hunger for my own land. I knew 
 the work I had done in Spain was miles better than 
 that early stuff, and that if what half they said was 
 true, I was all right. So I packed up and went 
 straight home for a week, and then to London 
 and you know the rest. The show of Spanish things 
 was a ridiculous success, as it seems I have been ever 
 since. That's all the story." 
 
 " Not all, my friend," said Caird, looking out 
 through the window. The night was gone, and the 
 pearly reflection of dawn floated in the western sky. 
 " Success like yours is never the end of any man's 
 story, if he is worth his salt. Yon Frenchman was
 
 150 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 right you're too successful, too high up. You're 
 like Zacchaeus, who climbed up into a tree to see the 
 man from Nazareth, and just had to get down again 
 for his pains. You'll hear it soon enough : ' Come 
 down, Zacchseus ! ' 
 
 " But how am I to come down ? " asked Rupert 
 laughing, as Caird rose to go. 
 
 " That'll be managed for you," said the Scot 
 grimly. " The tree'll come down, if you don't, and 
 you'll just be on your two legs again. Mind you 
 don't lose the use of them in the meantime. Good- 
 night."
 
 II 
 
 THE Charles Steinmans (it used to be Karl, but 
 that was altered at the time of the marriage) had 
 a very definite position in London society. They 
 were very rich, and Steinman was supposed to have 
 played up patriotically, and also done well for him- 
 self, on two separate occasions: first, when at the 
 age of thirty-five he married Lady Angela Byrne 
 under circumstances that furnished a great deal of 
 interesting gossip at the time, and second, when he 
 bought and presented to the nation the famous Mu- 
 rillo that was on the point of going to America. 
 Patriotism (for his adopted country) and painting 
 were his two passions ; the hours he spent in a small 
 office in Watling Street seemed to represent an unim- 
 portant part of his life, although in fact they fur- 
 nished the means for his more embellished existence. 
 It goes without saying that his house in Hill Street 
 was a museum and picture gallery combined, that he 
 had a good cook, and that the people whom Lady 
 Angela invited to her parties were of sufficient im- 
 portance in the world to make little Steinman feel 
 that he was a " force," and that his son and heir, 
 from whose Saxon features all trace of Semitic ori- 
 
 151
 
 152 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 gin had been mysteriously eliminated, would have 
 something more than pictures and money to inherit. 
 
 Among Steimnan's pet hobbies was the proprie- 
 torship and editorship of The Riddle, the monthly 
 magazine devoted to the work of Cyril Midwood, 
 Eupert Savage, and the brilliant group that sur- 
 rounded them. On the Sunday following Rupert's 
 party he went to lunch with the Steinmans in order 
 to hear some proposal which Steinman had to lay 
 before him; and although he went as a matter of 
 course, he did not hope for much amusement. He 
 respected Steinman's knowledge of art matters and 
 enthusiasm for them, but he rather laughed at him 
 in other ways he was so very English, even for 
 a Jew. 
 
 Midwood would be there too; and as Rupert 
 walked along Piccadilly, very carefully dressed and 
 with a carnation in his button-hole, he wondered, 
 not for the first time, if he really liked Midwood. 
 Rupert had accepted him unquestioningly, as he had 
 accepted the whole artistic situation when he came 
 to London; he himself had fallen so naturally into 
 place beside Midwood as the keystone of the whole 
 thing, that he never dreamed of doubting that the 
 foundations were planted deep in the reality of 
 things. And yet he had never taken to Midwood 
 as he had to Sibley and Bowen and Cadman, and 
 some of the others. They were all craftsmen, artists 
 to the back bone ; he was not so sure about Midwood. 
 His work was undeniably beautiful a filigree of 
 words, patterned, shot with colour, encrusted with
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 153 
 
 gems of sound and sense ; morbid of course, but then 
 Rupert did not in the least mind that. If Midwood's 
 perversity made his work more interesting, the clean- 
 living Rupert would have been the last to blame him ; 
 it was art for art's sake, art before anything. In 
 their revolt against the beauty of the obvious, the 
 beauty degraded by the enjoyment of the multitude, 
 he and his friends preferred to make their search 
 for the beauty that lay hidden in ugly or despised 
 things. The time had come for a forcible abduction 
 of art from the overpowering embraces of morality; 
 it was one of the chief missions of Rupert's group ; 
 art was to be set free by them from her long impris- 
 onment in the ogre's castle, and carried off to share 
 their free Pagan life of forest and shore. And in 
 this cutting-out expedition Cyril Midwood was the ac- 
 knowledged leader; while the others merely ignored 
 conventional morality in their work, he openly 
 flouted and insulted it both in his work and life; 
 and of them all, he was the chief one to draw the 
 fire of the ogre's guns. 
 
 Rupert, walking across Berkeley Square, decided 
 that he did not like Midwood. To tell the truth, 
 he did not always read his poems; their still, sultry 
 atmosphere was unmoved save for an occasional 
 breath of passion that came and went in the rhythm, 
 scentless and hot like the desert breeze that idly 
 swings the silken curtains of a tent; and Rupert 
 in his heart remained a lover of the western horizon, 
 that fresh sea-wilderness in which the sun seeks his 
 rest, rather than of the burning Eastern line out of
 
 154 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 which he rises. It was all a little foreign to him, 
 and he could never bring himself to real intimacy 
 with Midwood. No, he did not like him. 
 
 Groups of people dotted the pavement, return- 
 ing from the Sunday parade in the park. Elderly 
 women, expensively and strikingly dressed, suffer- 
 ing discomfort from the unwonted exercise of walk- 
 ing, offended his sight. Evidence of extreme wealth 
 always offended his Irish soul; it was almost the 
 only point on which he differed from his friends, 
 who accepted pride and luxury and arrogance as 
 among the splendid things of life. " We must have 
 all these things, because we are great." Rupert Sav- 
 age, with more money than he wanted to spend and 
 dressed in the extreme of fashion, passed contemp- 
 tuously by the denizens of Berkeley Square limping 
 home to lunch. " Rich Philistines," he said to him- 
 self. 
 
 Just then he saw Cyril Midwood coming down 
 the other side of the square on his way to Hill Street. 
 In spite of his reflections of the moment before, 
 Rupert had a sense of relief, of pleasure at the sight 
 of the stooping, dandified, and yet distinguished 
 figure coming towards him. This was no Philistine 
 at any rate, but one of his own world. And when 
 Midwood greeted him affectionately and impress- 
 ively, Rupert decided that he did lihe him. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Rupert, always young, always 
 handsome, always the master of the world ! give me 
 your arm, and we will do a work of charity, and 
 let these old vulgarians write down one golden fact
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 155 
 
 in their tedious lives : that they saw us walk up Hill 
 Street together one summer Sunday in this year of 
 grace ! " 
 
 There was no one else at the Steinmans' except 
 Steinman's younger brother Friedrich, lately arrived 
 from Hamburg, and nobly trying to be an English- 
 man like Charles, in spite of difficulty with the lan- 
 guage. Lady Angela's tired face brightened up in 
 the society of Rupert and Midwood who, one on 
 each side of her, played a pretty and elaborate game 
 of rivalry for her smiles. 
 
 But half-way through lunch Steinman, who 
 thought that enough time had been spent in pleas- 
 ant frivolity, interrupted with his favourite phrase: 
 
 " Well now, suppose we come to the point." 
 
 " How very tiresome of you, Steinman," said 
 Cyril Midwood. " You are always coming to the 
 point, and losing your illusions, and, what is worse, 
 robbing me of mine." 
 
 Steinman smiled indulgently; he knew that it 
 was the proper thing to admire everything Midwood 
 said, but he was tenacious, and began to dominate 
 the conversation. Rupert had to listen to the com- 
 mercial appraisement of his own talents and those 
 of his friends by the owner of The Riddle; and as 
 Steinman paid him 1200 a year for a dozen draw- 
 ings, it was no more than decent to listen politely. 
 The talk turned to Midwood's recent visit to Syria, 
 and he fascinated them with an account of things he 
 had seen or imagined there, waving his long hands
 
 156 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 and chanting vivid phrases with his husky voice, 
 until they all fell under the spell, and only the 
 brothers occasionally broke away from it to exchange 
 significant glances. 
 
 When Lady Angela had retired the younger Stein- 
 man, who had been keeping rather in the background 
 of things, and did not always answer to his new 
 name of Freddy, came and sat beside Midwood. 
 
 " You talk wonderful," he said, waving his little 
 short arms in a grotesque imitation of Cyril ; " you 
 haf the gifts I raise my glass to you ! " 
 
 There was honest enthusiasm in Freddy's beady 
 eyes, and Midwood could never resist making a 
 convert. His enemies said that he had an eye to 
 the main chance, and cared less that people should 
 understand him than that they should be rich enough 
 to be of use to him, but it was not true. He had 
 the instinct to fascinate, to conquer, and he took the 
 same trouble with the worthy as with the unworthy. 
 Often his methods were those of mere gross flattery, 
 but his manner carried them off. 
 
 He filled a glass of wine. " I see that you are one 
 of those who feel, who understand. You must be 
 one of us. Rupert, we have found a new adherent 
 to the cause of beauty and art. Fill your glass and 
 let us drink to him. This is a great moment the 
 moment of friendship ! " They drank to the flat- 
 tered and embarrassed Freddy. " Golden wine, 
 golden wine," went on Midwood in his chanting 
 voice ; " it is the proper libation. Drink, my friend ; 
 drain your glass while this moment lasts ! "
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 157 
 
 To Freddy it was a new and not wholly disagree- 
 able idea, this raising of drinking to the level of a 
 solemn rite. Basking in the sunshine of Midwood's 
 favour, he drank some more, until his diffidence was 
 gone. 
 
 " Now," said his brother, " Freddy has a proposal 
 to make to you two. I should say that Freddy is 
 going to settle in London and go in for publishing 
 very elaborate and beautiful books, on art chiefly. 
 Some in colour, you know, by that new Metz process 
 
 limited editions, ten guineas a copy that sort 
 of thing." 
 
 " Splendid, splendid," murmured Midwood ; " we 
 will guide him in the right path eh, Rupert ? " 
 
 " Rather," said Rupert. " It's an excellent idea, 
 and bound to succeed if it's properly done, and you 
 get the right men's work for it." 
 
 " Well, that's the whole point," said Steinman. 
 " Now Freddy's idea is he asked me to put it 
 before you, but he might just as well do it himself 
 
 to get you two men to do a book together. You 
 told me, I think, Midwood, that you had written some 
 poems about Syria, isn't it? Well, why not write 
 some more ? Call them ' Syrian Songs,' and get Sav- 
 age to do a dozen or twenty drawings to illustrate 
 them. The printing and reproductions would have 
 to be quite perfect, and you could get such a price 
 for a limited edition that would enable you to make 
 it one of the most beautiful books that has ever been 
 produced. Isn't that it, Freddy ? " 
 
 " That's right," said Freddy.
 
 158 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " Syrian Songs," said Midwood to himself ; 
 " Steinman, I begin to think you are a poet ! the 
 title is admirable. What do you think, Rupert? 
 Or rather what do you see ? The merchant's tents, 
 the colour and embroidery, sword-blades, scimitars, 
 the tents of love in the desert, the pilgrims, the 
 nomads, the mosques! What do you hear? The 
 wind on the desert, the wash of the Dead Sea waves, 
 the jingle of the caravan, the muezzin's call to 
 prayer, the love-songs of shepherd boys on the slopes 
 of Lebanon ! Oh, you must do it, we must do it ! " 
 
 Rupert was stirred by the voice, the words, the 
 music and colour of the names and the pictures they 
 called up. He saw it at once as a masterpiece, a 
 thing after his own heart, and, characteristically, he 
 did not inquire more or hesitate a moment. 
 
 " Yes, yes, that is a thing to do, Cyril we'll do 
 that, and make a great thing of it we and Stein- 
 man," remembering Freddy and turning to him 
 with a smile. " We must drink again ' Syrian 
 Songs ' ! " 
 
 They drank the toast with enthusiasm, and there 
 was a little more talk, in which the elder Steinman 
 raised the question as to whether the public would 
 be sufficiently interested in Palestine. 
 
 " Syria, Syria," said Midwood " that is quite 
 a different thing. Palestine means the Holy Land, 
 and Bible maps, and all sorts of dull things; our 
 Syria is a land of love and colour and strange pas- 
 sions and melancholy sins ! " 
 
 "Dhat's right; dhat's the note!" said Freddy,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 159 
 
 who as he drank more wine, increased in veneration 
 for Midwood, and also began to lisp : " Melancholy 
 thinth very goot ! Eh, what ? You play up to 
 dhat, Mr. Thavage, and we'll have a thucceth, ithn't 
 it?" 
 
 " Shut up, Freddy," said Charles ; " you can 
 leave the contents of the book quite safely in the 
 hands of our friends. Come and see those etchings," 
 he added to Rupert, who was rather disgusted by 
 Freddy's outburst, and willingly followed his host. 
 
 " He's all right," said Steinman, " only he doesn't 
 quite know the ropes yet. He's a very clever man, 
 that brother of mine; they think a lot of him on 
 the Continent. He's full of this idea; it will be a 
 big thing. Now, then, what do you think of these ? " 
 
 In the dining-room, with a glass of wine before 
 him and a big cigar in his mouth, Freddy sat in a 
 corner listening to the jewelled words of Midwood, 
 and displaying more and more the half-drunk sub- 
 mission that was his most eloquent tribute to Mid- 
 wood's personality. 
 
 Rupert went on by himself to Queen's Hall, where 
 he was in time to hear more than half of the pro- 
 gramme. Music was one of the many new pleasures 
 that his life in London made possible for him; he 
 liked sitting alone among those vast audiences watch- 
 ing the eloquent rise and fall of the fiddle-bows and 
 submitting himself to the sorcery of Strauss or the 
 mastery of Beethoven. This afternoon the music 
 was of a gentler, more intimate character, and Men-
 
 160 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 delssohn's " Midsummer Night's Dream " overture 
 came like a refreshing shower after the rather op- 
 pressive hours at Steinman's. 
 
 Pachmann was playing, moreover, and Rupert 
 seldom lost a chance of listening to and looking at 
 that half-simian, half-angelic sorcerer. The concerto 
 was Schumann's in A-minor, and at the opening suc- 
 cession of tense chords Rupert sat straight up in his 
 chair, experiencing one of his premonitions, aware 
 that somehow or other this music would have a 
 special significance for him. He listened carefully 
 to the cool, plaintive theme given out by the wood- 
 wind, and watched the soloist as, with his tongue 
 in his cheek, his shoulders shrugged, and the face of 
 one who violates a confidence, he took up the same 
 theme and let it float away from under his fingers in 
 milky chords. Then Rupert shut his eyes and felt 
 himself borne away on the tide of music that flood 
 of darker sound that rises from the tenor depths of 
 the strings and eddies sombrely about the heart. As 
 the stream of sounds flowed on and the tragic love- 
 liness of the following themes established itself, the 
 music evolved a personality of its own, feminine, 
 wistful, incomplete. Schumann and Pachmann and 
 the hundred frock-coated musicians who were blow- 
 ing and fingering and bowing up there in a sum- 
 mer storm of harmony all vanished from Rupert's 
 thought; it was a woman's voice, deep and tearless, 
 that spoke from the music, a woman's eyes that 
 watched through a veil of misty remoteness for some 
 answering look from him. If ever music was fern-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 161 
 
 inine, this music was so beautiful in form, so 
 exquisite in all its appointments, so borne along and 
 buoyed up on a pretty commotion of colour and 
 sound like that which women are asked to make in 
 the world, and with which the long-drawn notes of 
 the soul, those true themes of their lives, must be 
 made to harmonize. 
 
 Pachmann, playing sublimely, his hands dancing 
 over the keys with fingers of iron and velvet, ripped 
 a great tangle of harmonies from the very bowels of 
 his instrument, gave A-minor a pat like the pat of 
 a kitten's paw, and lifted his hands from the keys 
 with the air of a nasty little boy who has been caught 
 playing a dirty trick. Fortunately Rupert was not 
 looking at him ; his soul went on with the orchestra 
 as it took up the themes again and brought the great 
 song of woman's life and love to an end. 
 
 He went out and walked up and down in the cor- 
 ridor until it was time for Pachmann to play again ; 
 he was excited by the music, in love with it; he 
 wanted to hear nothing this afternoon but that fem- 
 inine voice, cool and intimate, of the piano speaking 
 under a master's hand. The remaining solo music 
 was all Chopin Chopin played as only Pachmann 
 can play it. This time Rupert looked as well as 
 listened, and watched those twin performances 
 the performance of the fingers and the soul, and the 
 Punch-like performance of the droll that attends 
 upon them, nodding and becking and grimacing, and 
 trying to make the audience laugh when the fingers
 
 162 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 would make them weep. Rupert loved this Jekyll 
 and Hyde performance, though it did not make him 
 laugh it was too uncanny for that. Pachmann 
 was a little like one of his own drawings, he thought ; 
 and as the A-flat impromptu rippled out through 
 the hall and the harmonies faded and dissolved in 
 the long cadences, he made a little conceit about 
 Pachmann an angel's soul imprisoned in the body 
 of a monkey, and allowed to have control of nothing 
 except the fingers. What shames and agonies the 
 angel must endure when he builds a temple which 
 the monkey defiles! what bitterness of soul when, 
 having made an enchanted lake of sounds, he finds 
 that the Ape has turned it into a Dead Sea and 
 summoned his fellows to keep a Sabbath by its 
 shores. 
 
 Rupert hesitated as he turned out into the sun- 
 shine of Regent Street. He was greeted by many 
 acquaintances at the door, and more than one fair 
 face and friendly voice flattered him with an invita- 
 tion to share the afternoon drive and intimate hour 
 of tea ; but he evaded this hospitality. He was still 
 stirred by the music of Schumann and Chopin; he 
 had a longing for feminine society, but not, some- 
 how, for the society of any of the languid, beautiful 
 women whose white hands he sometimes kissed and 
 whose selfish eyes invited him to the game of draw- 
 ing-room dalliance. He was not in love with any 
 one, and he had steered fairly clear of the sumptu- 
 ous flirtation that good-looking and successful men
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 163 
 
 of his type find so fatally easy in London; all the 
 same he wanted to be with some friendly woman. 
 
 He thought of Lady Waynefleete, and wondered if 
 she was in town. He would go and see she was 
 the very person with whom to spend a quiet hour 
 and forget about the Steinmans. He walked through 
 the Sunday streets to Bryanston Square, where Lady 
 Waynefleete had one of those roomy and beautiful 
 old houses that still keep a little pride and ancient 
 dignity within reach of the Marble Arch. Yes, her 
 ladyship was at home. 
 
 She was sitting in the long cool drawing-room, 
 and looked up smiling as Rupert was announced. 
 She was a great friend of his. Although she was 
 hardly fifty, and had been a widow for ten years, 
 she had the position and influence of the great lady 
 of a former generation. Before her marriage she 
 had been a maid of honour, and after it one of the 
 most famous and exclusive hostesses of her day ; she 
 had been the recipient of more dangerous confidences 
 than any woman in London, and an unconscious in- 
 fluence behind more than one famous life. She was 
 plain and not very well dressed, and she had won 
 the right, by sheer quality and singleness of char- 
 acter, to do what she liked, go where she liked, see 
 whom she liked. She was a sterling friend, but she 
 never condescended to be any one's enemy. 
 
 " I was just thinking about you, and wondering 
 when you were coming to see me, or whether you 
 were getting too famous. Well, there seems to be 
 no end to your success. I felt quite ashamed, out
 
 164 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 of sheer sympathy, when I read that article in the 
 Deux Mondes." 
 
 " That was nice of you what a lot of nonsense 
 there is in it all ! But I don't mind telling you 
 I can't help liking it." 
 
 " Why, of course you like it so would anybody. 
 You will never fall into that vulgar mistake of de- 
 spising the good opinion of your contemporaries." 
 
 " Well all that side of things is very unim- 
 portant, especially when I am talking to you. My 
 head is full of music this afternoon Schumann's 
 Pianoforte concerto, and played by Pachmann! It 
 wakens an old vice of mine I want to draw un- 
 drawable things the first movement for exam- 
 ple." 
 
 " Be careful ! You sail quite near enough to lit- 
 erature, without patronizing music as well. Surely 
 you can let the other arts speak for themselves." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose one must," said Rupert with a 
 sigh ; " but there's a great temptation to play with 
 them all. By the way, I've never thanked you 
 enough for introducing me to Caird. I felt rather 
 scared of him at first, after all you said ; but after- 
 wards it was quite another matter. I like him so 
 much ; he's an extraordinarily interesting man. He 
 came to my weekly dinner the other night, and 
 stayed a long time afterwards." 
 
 " What did he talk about ? " 
 
 " Now that I think of it, I don't believe he said 
 much; he made me talk to him, and tell him all 
 about Spain, and myself."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 165 
 
 Lady Waynefleete laughed. " Vanity ! No won- 
 der you thought him interesting. But I am glad 
 you liked each other he wouldn't have come if he 
 hadn't liked you." 
 
 " I don't know what he thought of us. Cadman 
 was well, in his usual condition, I'm afraid ; and 
 Midwood was very Midwoodish, and he rather 
 pitched into us." 
 
 " And a very good thing, too ; I daresay you 
 needed it. You know I don't pretend to be a critic, 
 but I sometimes wonder if it is really necessary for 
 good literature to be quite so unwholesome as some 
 of Mr. Midwood's poems ? Yes ? Oh, I know you 
 are laughing at me; I don't know Mr. Midwood, 
 and I don't think I want to, but I don't like his 
 work." 
 
 " Oh, but you mustn't say that," said Rupert on 
 the defensive at once, and all the more because he 
 felt guilty of having felt as Lady Waynefleete felt. 
 " His work is wonderful. It is too beautifully done 
 not to be wholesome though, after all, there are 
 other things to eat besides porridge, even though 
 they're not as wholesome truffles, and caviare, and 
 peaches for example." 
 
 " I am probably quite wrong," said Lady Wayne- 
 fleete, shaking her head, " and in your heart you 
 think me dreadfully dull and frumpish for saying 
 that; oh, yes you do; but still well, there it is. 
 I shall ask Mr. Caird if he agrees with me." 
 
 Rupert was about to reply when the footman 
 opened the door and announced " Mrs. Graeme, my
 
 166 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 lady." As he stood up a tall, graceful woman came 
 across the room to Lady Waynefleete. 
 
 " Celia, my dear ! How charming," said Lady 
 Waynefleete, taking both her hands. " Yes, sit here. 
 Do you know Mr. Rupert Savage ? Mrs. Graeme. 
 How nice of you to come. Mr. Savage and I were 
 just going to quarrel." 
 
 " I am some use in the world, then ! I was be- 
 ginning to think I was none. I have been trying 
 to be nice to some, oh, my dear, such dull people at 
 luncheon, and only succeeded in being stupid and 
 boring them. Colonel Wurling asked me what my 
 favourite text was, and I could think of nothing, 
 and shouldn't have known what to say if Mr. Savage 
 hadn't come to my aid." 
 
 " I ? " said Rupert, puzzled and attracted. 
 
 " Yes I looked helplessly round the room and 
 caught sight of your drawing ' Stay me with 
 flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of 
 love'; so I said that! He looked rather shocked, 
 and passed me the Madeira; and then we began to 
 talk about you." 
 
 " Now this is very interesting," said Lady Wayne- 
 fleete, leaning forward. " Tell me what he said." 
 
 " No, tell us what you said ; I am sure it was both 
 kinder and more interesting," said Rupert. He 
 wanted to hear her voice again, which was loW and 
 reedy and reminded him somehow of the Schumann 
 concerto. She was evidently about his own age; 
 her profile, which was towards him, was very pure 
 in its lovely outline, and there was an effect of still-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 167 
 
 ness about her that made an atmosphere of dignity 
 and repose wherever she was. She sat up very 
 straight and still, without any movement except of 
 her shining violet eyes and animated, clear-cut 
 mouth. 
 
 " I was bound to say nice things about you, or 
 rather about your work, when you had given me my 
 text, and especially as the Colonel doesn't approve 
 of you. I had to hear a lecture about decadence, 
 and morbid perversion of talent, and the corrupting 
 influence of art unless it had a moral purpose, and 
 other dreadful things, to any extent. It seems he 
 had been to the l Modern Artists,' and come away 
 with the firm conviction that you and Sibley and 
 Bowen and Cadman and Cyril Midwood, whose 
 poems he had been reading, represented a ' corrupt 
 and retrograde influence ' his very words ! " 
 
 " My poor child," said Lady Waynefleete, " how 
 very overwhelming for you to have to defend them 
 all in a bunch." 
 
 " I didn't I only stood up for Mr. Savage and 
 Mr. Bowen, and basely deserted the others. He said 
 afterwards, ' he was glad we were in agreement on 
 some things/ and I felt a wretched hypocrite." 
 
 Rupert found a new pleasure in listening to her 
 voice, quite irrespective of what she said, and in 
 watching her long eyes for the moment when they 
 should turn towards him. He was quite content to 
 sit . silent while she and Lady Waynefleete talked. 
 Pretty women, and the adornments of pretty women, 
 always attracted him; but the attraction of Mrs.
 
 168 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Graeme was unlike that of the other women he knew. 
 It was less human than artistic; he felt as he felt 
 when he was looking at a portrait by an old master ; 
 he would have liked to sit quietly in his chair and 
 do nothing but watch her. He was sorry when the 
 time came for him to say good-bye. 
 
 " So that is the famous Rupert Savage ! " said 
 Mrs. Graeme when he had gone. " What a boy he 
 looks ; I thought he was much older." 
 
 " Six or seven-and-twenty, I should think," said 
 Lady Waynefleete. " I like him extremely ; he 
 takes his success so well it hasn't spoiled him a 
 bit. I don't like that set particularly one hears 
 dreadful things about Cyril Midwood and some of 
 the others; probably quite untrue. But Rupert 
 Savage is a gentleman as well as an artist, and I 
 confess to liking him all the better for it." 
 
 " He is very quiet," said her friend. 
 
 Lady Waynefleete laughed. " He generally rattles 
 on fast enough, I assure you. I expect, my dear, he 
 was looking at you it is his business to appreciate 
 beautiful things. I hope you'll be nice to him and 
 see something of him; men like him are always 
 rather at the mercy of the women they know, don't 
 you think ? "
 
 Ill 
 
 RUPERT was soon deep in preparations for the 
 drawings for " Syrian Songs." One of the secrets 
 of his success was his thoroughness, and he more 
 than made up for the defects of his early education 
 as an artist by the patient assiduity with which he 
 studied any subject on which he was engaged. The 
 original snare in his talent had been that he was able 
 to produce all his material from his imagination; 
 where knowledge failed him he invented, and al- 
 though the invention was often striking and always 
 interesting, it had stamped his earlier work as the 
 work of an amateur. But his years in Spain, where 
 he had found that the wealth of ornament and de- 
 sign in the world's treasures of art was far richer 
 than anything his bare invention could contrive, 
 taught him the artist's joy of rediscovering and 
 adapting for his own use the treasure of beautiful 
 and happy things that had come from the golden 
 age of the arts, with the result that his work gradu- 
 ally became linked more closely with that mysterious 
 succession of abiding things that make the spirit of 
 art independent of time or place. His conceptions 
 remained as fantastic, as fresh, as extravagant as 
 ever, but his craft itself became deeper and more 
 
 169
 
 170 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 significant, and his mastery of line more and more 
 established as he saw more clearly into its evolution 
 through the centuries. 
 
 He spent long days in South Kensington, in the 
 British Museum, in the Wallace Collection, in all 
 the places where beautiful things were conserved, 
 with an eye always alert for line and ornament. 
 For one little drawing, the frontispiece to Marston's 
 novel, " The White Terrace," he had visited the 
 Copenhagen Museum, the Museo Poldi-Perroli at 
 Milan, the Sant* Angelo collection at Naples, the 
 Cabinet des Medailles at Paris, and the Eudolphi- 
 num at Prague ; and in that way he supplied, as he 
 went along, what was missing in his equipment as 
 an artist He never yielded to the temptation to 
 stray into bypaths of paint or other media in which 
 he knew he could never be a master, but kept to his 
 own tools and his own craft, until he made them 
 practically his own ; thus he had soon plenty of imi- 
 tators, but no rivals. 
 
 In this also he was different from some other 
 members of his group. In most of them there was 
 a little lack of solidity. Their cleverness was beyond 
 a doubt; they worshipped cleverness and dexterity, 
 and threw them like a wonderful mantle over faults 
 of vision and even of technique, just as they often 
 diverted attention from the matter of their work by 
 its elaboration and distinction of manner. But they 
 were rather inclined to despise the work that needed 
 to be done slowly or painfully, and Rupert so far 
 deferred to this view that he pretended that his own
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 171 
 
 work was done more easily than was the case, and 
 his hours of study and laborious concentration were 
 spent alone. In company he was always careless 
 and high-spirited, and encouraged the idea that his 
 work was done, so to speak, with a wave of his hand. 
 
 The only one of them who made no pretence of 
 doing things easily was Sibley, who toiled at his 
 masterpieces in a dingy studio in North London 
 from the first light of morning until the afternoon 
 began to redden. He was a man who very seldom 
 talked about his own work, or indeed any one else's; 
 he preferred to gossip about women; and Rupert 
 had very early been attracted by this man of strange 
 contradictions his sunny, irresponsible disposi- 
 tion, his austere devotion of his life to labour, his 
 talk of pleasure as if it were the only thing worth 
 pursuing; and his slow persistent establishment of 
 a great post mortem reputation. He dined out every 
 evening and flirted with some woman or other, and 
 chattered agreeably about the stupidity of work of 
 any kind; like most of the group, he was sought 
 after because he was " charming," not because he 
 was great. Very few people in England took any 
 interest in his pictures, which they found ugly, but 
 they willingly accepted his reputation at second- 
 hand. 
 
 Rupert had gone to Sibley's studio one day, as he 
 knew that the painter had some fine Persian silks 
 which he wanted to look at. He was sitting in a 
 low diffused light, a half-gnawed crust of German 
 bread beside him, retouching a sombre, passionate
 
 172 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 little study of blue shadows in starlight two lovers 
 kissing beneath the archway of an Italian house. 
 Rupert paused to wonder at the emotional power 
 shown in the painting of the woman; there were 
 both passion and tenderness in that dim figure with 
 its arms stretched up to the man's shoulders, and the 
 head thrown back to receive his kiss. 
 
 " When I look at a thing like this," said Rupert 
 sighing, " I understand how all the work of our day 
 will seem to people a hundred years hence. This 
 is the work that lives." 
 
 " What is much more important," said Sibley, 
 biting at his black bread, " it is the work that en- 
 ables me to live. Much more important. Too many 
 pictures live, unfortunately. If this will live until 
 I have sold it, that will be quite long enough. You 
 don't mean to say you have started that scare about 
 immortality ? " 
 
 " Oh, I sha'n't have any," said Rupert ; " I get 
 too well paid now. But do you mean to tell me 
 you don't care what becomes of that beautiful 
 thing?" 
 
 " Why should I ? I know. As soon as it is done 
 I shall send it to Zimmern, who will send me ten 
 pounds for it, and either sell it for fifty or put it in 
 a cellar." 
 
 " Damn it, Sibley, it mustn't go. I must have 
 it. I'll buy it unless there's something of mine 
 you would like in exchange but I've nothing good 
 enough. You liked Susannah, didn't you ? " 
 
 " I would willingly give you six things like this
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 173 
 
 for Susannah. Why, you'll get fifty pounds for her, 
 and I'll only get ten for this." 
 
 " What has that got to do with it ? Susannah is 
 yours ; and if you really will give me that delightful 
 thing, I shall enjoy the sense of cheating you more 
 even than Zimmern enjoys it." 
 
 " You are a brick, Rupert. I am enchanted to 
 possess those sinister Elders ; I shall have every one 
 coming to my studio to see them. . . . How about 
 the Syrian Songs ? Are they very steep ? " 
 
 " What, the poems do you mean ? I shouldn't 
 think so I haven't seen them. I've got Midwood 
 to give me a sort of description of each one, and I'm 
 making my drawings from those. I've only done 
 one yet ' The Tents of Kedar ' rather nice, I 
 think." 
 
 Sibley screwed up his eyes and took his palette- 
 knife. " I suppose you've heard about the row the 
 other night ? " he asked, scraping ruthlessly at his 
 Venetian archway. 
 
 " No. What row ? " 
 
 " Our friend Cyril was turned out of a restaurant 
 in Soho." 
 
 " I say what an ass ! " said Rupert. " Why 
 can't he get drunk with his friends, instead of in 
 public?" 
 
 " I don't think he was drunk in fact I know 
 he wasn't. It seems he wasn't keeping very good 
 company. It really is tiresome of him to go on like 
 that ; there's sure to be a row." 
 
 There were always stories flying round about
 
 174 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Midwood. The man had two characters the 
 decorous, melancholy dandy of Mayfair drawing- 
 rooms, and a much less decorous person who insisted 
 on treating London as if it were Paris or Cairo 
 to London's indignation. Rupert was not a lover of 
 Bohemian Clubs and raffish restaurants, and he 
 merely thought it odd that a man of Midwood's 
 refinement should spend so much time in them. The 
 world could not be expected to understand that his 
 vices were as much an affectation as his manners, 
 and that he cultivated the appearance of them as a 
 protest against the dulness of respectability. They 
 would be very likely to take him at his own valua- 
 tion ; and there was no doubt that a large, and gen- 
 erally silent, body of public opinion was becoming 
 restive at the liberties which he and some of his 
 fellow-artists took with what they were pleased to 
 call the " conventions of good taste." It was the 
 fault of these few men that the reproach of impro- 
 priety lay upon the work of the whole group. The 
 Riddle was supposed to be " daring " and rather 
 shocking, and certainly it did show courage and 
 enterprise in a dozen directions and in many other 
 ways besides that of being not very suitable reading 
 for little girls. 
 
 But of this alleged tendency of his work Rupert 
 was quite unconscious. He thought that Midwood 
 twanged the erotic string a little too much, but it 
 was all unimportant to him so long as the work was 
 good. "Not what was done, but how it was done, 
 was what mattered. He had a great contempt for
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 175 
 
 middle-class and Philistine views, and thought that 
 anything which the majority of people were con- 
 vinced about was probably wrong. 
 
 He had two or three interviews with Freddy 
 Steinman about the treatment, size, and reproduc- 
 tion of his drawings. The paper was being specially 
 made for the book, and types specially cut for it; 
 it was really going to be a superb thing, and sub- 
 scriptions were already coming in for the edition 
 of four hundred copies. Steinman was much pre- 
 occupied with it; Rupert thought that he seemed 
 to be worrying himself unnecessarily. He tried to 
 hurry the drawings on, but Rupert refused to be 
 hurried. 
 
 " No, you gave me twelve months, and I'll take 
 twelve months," he said. " But if you worry me, 
 they won't be ready even then. You know what I 
 mean." 
 
 "That's right," said Freddy; "but it's a big 
 thing, you know; I want to strike while dhe iron's 
 hot, isn't it? If dhe interest goes down, I lose my 
 money, isn't it ? " 
 
 " I suppose it is," said Rupert with a grin ; " but 
 you won't lose your money. Why, you ass, Mid- 
 wood's name and mine would carry through a much 
 bigger thing than that." 
 
 The Jew looked at him with a weary, anxious air 
 that reminded Rupert of a sick monkey. He couldn't 
 help having a sort of liking for Freddy he was 
 so very anxious, and so genuinely enthusiastic. He
 
 176 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 put his hand on Rupert's shoulders with something 
 of his elder brother's manner. 
 
 " Well, I like enthusiasm belief in yourself 
 good ! You we want more of that in England ; 
 we want to be stirred \\p ' Wake up, England,' 
 isn't it? Ha! we wake them up with dhis book, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 But all the same he was anxious about something, 
 and kept bothering Rupert to show him how he 
 intended to treat the subjects supplied to him by 
 Midwood for illustration, and at last Rupert refused 
 to show him anything until it was all finished. He 
 would not even read Midwood's poems; he had 
 received so happy and definite a suggestion for his 
 drawings from the notes supplied by the poet that 
 he refused to hear anything more, lest the clearness 
 of the pictures that had suggested themselves should 
 be dimmed. 
 
 " How right you are ! " Midwood had said. 
 " There is nothing so true as the first impression, 
 when it falls on a perfectly clear mind. Do it in 
 your own way, my dear Rupert, and I shall be 
 happy." 
 
 
 
 All this time Rupert was living the ordinary busy 
 life that successful youth and energy make for them- 
 selves in London. He had that magic key *hat opens 
 every door ; wherever he went, he was liked by men 
 and admired by women, who did their best to spoil 
 him ; but his years at the Abbacy House had ren- 
 dered him proof against their attempts. He was
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 177 
 
 very much a Londoner; his work was so great a 
 part of his life that his taste for the old country 
 pursuits seemed to have vanished, and he refused 
 without a pang invitations that would once have 
 seemed to the dormant sportsman in him too good 
 to he true. He liked his success, he warmed to the 
 smile of the world, and consciously enjoyed it; he 
 went out a great deal, and delighted in the endless 
 succession of new and interesting people that a great 
 metropolis presents to those who live in the sunshine 
 of rank or riches or fame. He was always to be seen 
 at first nights, when indeed the Twelve were very 
 much to the fore, proclaiming their boredom or 
 bestowing their approval in a body. His father 
 had just before his death put Rupert's name down 
 for a certain old-fashioned club, and fortunately for 
 him he had come up for election just before his work 
 began to be talked about, and as no one but his spon- 
 sors knew anything about him, he was elected. If 
 it had been six months later he would probably have 
 been pilled, for at the " Wanderers " they do not 
 like fame or notoriety, and prefer a well-bred level 
 of impeccable anonymity. 
 
 It was characteristic of him to frequent this club, 
 where no one knew or cared anything about pictures, 
 where testy old gentlemen fidgeted for half-an-hour 
 before indignantly pointing out that a particular 
 footstool had been moved, and where he talked to 
 men about the things that they were interested in, 
 and never about his own concerns. He liked the 
 escape from the conscious, mannered world of his
 
 178 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 fellow-artists to this half-grotesque museum of class 
 ideas, class manners, class standards, where what 
 your grandfather had done, and your father had 
 been, mattered so much more than what you did or 
 were yourself. When old Lord Carrick said fiercely 
 to Rupert in the smoking-room, " Your father shot 
 with me in '66, sir ! " his social position in London 
 was established; and he might have painted like a 
 Rembrandt or a Murillo, without adding to it one 
 jot 
 
 He went for week-ends to country houses, and was 
 bored or amused, as the case might be; he went 
 to the usual dinner parties, and was brilliant or not, 
 according to the cleverness or attractiveness of the 
 woman he took in. Eut he stuck chiefly to London 
 and to his work. He shrank from going back to 
 Rathshene, in some degree dreading its hold upon 
 him and its disturbing influence on the new life he 
 had made for himself; and in some degree fearing 
 that disillusion which so often lurks in old scenes 
 that the stream of our lives has forsaken. His aunt 
 did not live there very much, and never alone; she 
 spent a good deal of time at an English Spa, and 
 seemed to enjoy it, so Rupert had no misgivings 
 about her. He sometimes devoted a week-end to her, 
 and always promised himself that he would pay the 
 Abbacy a long visit. But when the time came there 
 was generally some continental picture-gallery that 
 had to be visited, some piece of the old artistic lee- 
 way to be made up, and the opportunity would go by.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 179 
 
 He was sitting in the park one summer afternoon 
 watching the stream of carriages flow by, and idly 
 admiring the colour and movement of the scene. 
 The green of the trees was till fresh, the beds and 
 borders were gay with flowers, and both the carriage 
 road and the footpath were moving bands of colour, 
 alive with the gleam and flutter of light fabrics of 
 a thousand hues. He watched the faces as they 
 passed him, especially the women's faces; they 
 seemed to make a disturbing music, like that of a 
 slow languorous waltz, and wakened in him a hunger 
 for some transcendent emotion, the veritable amour 
 of which he had often dreamed, but which never 
 came to him. 
 
 He had known little loves, for he examined every- 
 thing the Fates put in his way; but somehow he 
 had never been able to put his whole heart into them. 
 A part of him always withheld itself, looking on, 
 an embarrassing spectator of these affairs; it said 
 nothing, but just waited, and ultimately froze out 
 the simulated ardours of his other self. He would 
 even have liked to be married, but the girls whom 
 he met at dances and in country houses, although 
 they were nearly always attractive and turned out in 
 a charming pattern, seemed to him hardly serious 
 human beings. They were a commercial article, 
 turned out for the marriage market, and not in- 
 tended to grow up until the blessed words " so long 
 as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amaze- 
 ment " had been safely pronounced. Besides, in 
 the world in which he moved the couple of thousand
 
 180 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 a year which he made was not regarded seriously 
 as an income. He was not expected to make love 
 to the daughters of the houses which he frequented, 
 and he found it easy not to. ... 
 
 He heard a voice beside him saying in a soft, 
 rather drawling tone, " It is you, isn't it ? I can't 
 wait any longer for you to look round." 
 
 He turned quickly. A pretty, fashionably dressed 
 woman had taken the chair beside and a little behind 
 his. As he raised his hat and mechanically took the 
 offered hand, he was aware that the face was a per- 
 fectly familiar one, but for a second or two he found 
 no link to connect it with himself. Then he remem- 
 bered, and blushed hotly, stammering some words 
 of conventional greeting. The roar of Piccadilly 
 and the swish and rattle of the passing carriages 
 became the crashing of surf on the beach at Funchal. 
 To do the lady justice she blushed a little also, but 
 the eyes that had shone like stars in the dark of that 
 night five years ago were now discreetly veiled be- 
 neath drooping lids. 
 
 His outward embarrassment was only momentary, 
 although his heart, after his first thump, had con- 
 tinued to beat like a hammer. 
 
 " I thought you were at the other end of the 
 world," he said, looking at her rather severely, and 
 wondering whether she intended to remember, and, 
 oh heavens! to remind him. She was very pretty; 
 much prettier than he remembered her, much more 
 smart and voyante. 
 
 " So I was, but I came back a year ago. It's a
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 181 
 
 wonder we haven't met before. I saw you at the 
 St. James's the other night. Rather an amusing 
 play, wasn't it? and just a little bit shocking." 
 
 " Yes, Winstanley is always clever and delightful. 
 But I thought you lived at Brighton ? " They were 
 getting safely on to general subjects. 
 
 " Oh, I gave up my house there and have a flat 
 in town now. So much more convenient, don't you 
 think. I adore town, don't you ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course ; it's the only place to live if one 
 wants to see or do anything." Evidently she was 
 not going to remember. 
 
 " When my mother died I gave up the house in 
 Brighton. You remember my mother ? " 
 
 " Dear me, I am sorry ; yes, of course." This 
 was getting dangerous ; Rupert had a perfectly clear 
 remembrance of a mild and rather fatuous old lady 
 who was always knitting, and who had an air of not 
 objecting to anything. 
 
 " That was three years ago, poor dear. It seems 
 a long time ago doesn't it ? " she added, lifting 
 her eyelids and sending Rupert a flashing glance. 
 It was a challenge; there was something either of 
 humour or defiance in it he could not tell which. 
 
 But he was very definitely aware of something 
 stealing over him a kind of agreeable paralysis 
 of the will, and a faint stirring of memory in the 
 senses, like the first flutter of wings that have been 
 folded in a long sleep. 
 
 "Yes, a long time," he answered, returning her 
 glance and then looking away. Again the roar of
 
 182 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 the traffic changed to the rush and crumble of the 
 sea, brushed from the ship's side. 
 
 " Well, you haven't been idle, have you," said 
 Mrs. Lane. " I'm always seeing your name in the 
 papers; it must be rather nice to have the whole 
 world fussing round you." The tired, drawling 
 voice said more than the words; there was a flat- 
 tering caress in it, of a kind against which Rupert 
 was never quite proof. Certainly she was very 
 pretty, he thought, looking at her sideways, and had 
 improved immensely; she seemed to be finer and 
 more slender, and yet to have acquired a certain 
 voluptuous charm that she had not possessed before. 
 
 Suddenly she rose. " Here's my carriage," she 
 said, as a victoria drew up by the kerb ; "let me 
 give you some tea I live in Ennismore Gardens." 
 She turned to the carriage as though she took his 
 acceptance for granted. Rupert hesitated; he had 
 nothing to do, he felt lonely; this ending of an es- 
 capade in decorous commonplace would help to oblit- 
 erate it, he thought; but he took his seat in the 
 victoria not for any of these reasons. He went 
 because he wanted to go. 
 
 Rupert's critical eye, travelling up the coachman's 
 back, told him that the carriage was jobbed but 
 from a good firm. When they reached Ennismore 
 Gardens, a slight delay in the answering of the bell, 
 the hurried appearance of the sixteen-year-old page 
 boy, very hot and limp about the collar and button- 
 ing the last button of his coat, and a flutter of skirts
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 183 
 
 as of some one fleeing from one room to another, 
 suggested a certain lack of discipline, if not of moral 
 tone, in the servants' quarters. The furniture was 
 obviously hired but from Warings ; and though 
 Rupert was no economist, he knew that the estab- 
 lishment could not be run for much less than fifteen 
 hundred a year. All of which piqued his curiosity. 
 
 They sat in a rather yellow drawing-room singu- 
 larly devoid of any personal touch. There were 
 very few books, and but for them and some flowers 
 the room was exactly as (probably) Warings' fore- 
 man had arranged it. But Mrs. Lane furnished it 
 quite sufficiently, Rupert thought, as she lay neatly 
 on the big sofa and languidly made tea. They talked 
 about commonplaces, and Rupert was conscious of 
 a mingled sensation of relief and disappointment. 
 He wandered about the room talking, her eyes fol- 
 lowing him as he paced up and down. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Lane slipped off the sofa and came 
 over to where Rupert was standing examining an 
 old china bowl. " Do you know what I've been 
 dying to do all afternoon ? " she asked, standing 
 close beside him. 
 
 " I haven't an idea," he said, putting down the 
 bowl and turning to her with a smile. 
 
 As he turned, her two slender arms glided up 
 his shoulders and the hands met behind his neck, 
 drawing his face to hers. " That ! " she murmured, 
 kissing his mouth. " That, and that, and that ! " 
 She had to stand on tip-toe to reach him, and when 
 she had kissed him she fell back a little so that he
 
 184 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 instinctively put his arms round her to support her. 
 All the rest followed as a matter of course. The 
 passion that quivered in her voice and body blew 
 upon the embers of memory, fanning his senses into 
 fire, and he found his own lips pressed against her 
 hot face and neck. 
 
 The wave of passion passed, leaving Rupert angry 
 with himself and her; and yet his hands crept al- 
 most of themselves about the yielding form, holding 
 it still closer to him. Her face was pressed against 
 his shoulder, and the scent of her hair was faint and 
 fragrant. 
 
 There was a pause in which the ticking of the 
 Sheraton clock sounded busily, methodically. Then 
 the silence was broken by a long sigh, and Mildred 
 Lane looked up into his face with shining eyes. 
 
 " Is it really you ? Have I got you back again ? 
 My wonderful boy! why did we ever love each 
 other ? oh why, why ? " 
 
 Rupert kissed her mouth not because he was 
 carried away, but because her words, the abandoned 
 infatuation in her looks, shocked his finer senses, 
 and to kiss her was to silence her. And yet though 
 his mind looked on, rather dismayed by this reunion, 
 and in no degree partaking in it, there were other 
 senses that it gratified. His grey eyes, looking out 
 over her head into a far corner of the room, hardened 
 a little. After all, why not ? Here was love offering 
 itself; an artist could not live by drawing alone; 
 adventure, experience, emotion, were all necessary 
 why not ? . . .
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 185 
 
 She was speaking again, speaking her crude phys- 
 ical admiration of him, all swept away as she was 
 by desire, and the instinct to hold him, and the 
 sense that he was not secure. He stopped her speech 
 again with kisses, and even as he gave them felt that 
 they fed the fire within himself. 
 
 Suddenly she took her arms away and sank down 
 in a chair, covering her face with her hands, but 
 uttering no sound. She seemed to be thinking. 
 Rupert felt awkward standing by himself on the 
 hearthrug, and came over to where she sat. She 
 took her hands away from her face and stretched 
 them out to him, holding him off. 
 
 " Listen," she said quite gravely, but with a little 
 tremble in her voice. " You must be kind to me 
 and help me, just this once, will you? I want you 
 to come back this evening and dine with me I'm 
 quite alone; will you? I ask it as a favour 
 Rupert." 
 
 " You are sure you want me to ? You are sure 
 it's wise ? I mean you know what I mean." Ru- 
 pert, agitated, dropped into his boyish manner. The 
 role of Joseph had always seemed to him a grotesque 
 one, and rather ill-mannered. His sense of chivalry 
 was not confounded with morality ; it seemed to him 
 that if he drifted into a position in which a woman 
 offered herself to him, it was boorish and priggish 
 to refuse. She gave so much more than she asked. 
 And he had an irritating sense that the adventure 
 had been left at an impossible stage it must de- 
 velop one way or the other. Moreover, he was grate-
 
 186 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 ful to her for not expecting an impromptu love 
 scene. He was excessively fastidious in such a mat- 
 ter ; and love mingled with upholstery and the terror 
 of servants' footfalls was impossible for him. The 
 stage must be set, and the limelight turned on very 
 full before he could play his part. 
 
 " I do want you to come very much." She looked 
 prettier than ever now with her veil thrown back, 
 her face still flushed with a genuine, shy eagerness. 
 Rupert felt that he would have been a brute to refuse 
 considering everything. 
 
 And when he went back at eight o'clock he knew 
 very well that it rested with him whether or not the 
 thing went further. He was a little cynical about it. 
 Such things seldom came his way; he was too fas- 
 tidious to buy pleasure, and too much occupied with 
 his work to pursue it socially with that patient, 
 spider-like assiduity which is necessary to success. 
 Well, here was a case where there was no sordid 
 element; he was asked to give something, and some- 
 thing was offered to him ; why should he not take it ? 
 And Mrs. Lane seemed to be independent of the 
 world ; well, just now she thought herself dependent 
 on him. And at the back of his mind can any 
 woman understand it ? there was a quite primitive 
 wish, purely sexual and instinctive, to correct an 
 impression of innocence and inexperience, to show 
 her that he was not such a fool as he once had 
 been. 
 
 He found her looking very charming in a cream-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 187 
 
 coloured lace gown ; pearls on her throat and in her 
 brown hair. 
 
 " How nice of you to be punctual ! " She greeted 
 him in the most formal way. Evidently the game 
 was to be played elaborately, and he fortified him- 
 self with images from the Arabian Nights., where 
 trap-doors opened in the ground and the wanderer 
 found himself in the presence of a beautiful lady, 
 who entertained him first with a banquet, and then 
 with music, and then with love. The banquet was 
 a really creditable little dinner, at which the page 
 boy, who had recovered himself in the interval, was 
 reinforced by a parlour-maid, whose tow-coloured 
 hair, Eupert could not help noticing, was the same 
 shade as a strand which had adorned the unbrushed 
 tunic of the page in the afternoon. It made him a 
 little uncomfortable; he wished he had not noticed 
 it; it gave him a suspicion that the page and the 
 parlour-maid would banquet afterwards on the re- 
 mains of the feast, and perhaps, after that bah ! 
 
 He wished she did not think it necessary to talk 
 about pictures, of which she knew nothing. He 
 grew visibly depressed when she spoke of the Acad- 
 emy, and she thought he was jesting when he said 
 he had not been there. She even rallied him dar- 
 ingly, and said " Perhaps they didn't hang your 
 picture ! " He grew home-sick for a world in which 
 people would not be surprised that he had not been 
 to the Academy a very small world, but his own ! 
 
 She had a box for Ginori, the new dancer, she 
 said the song and dance after the Arabian feast,
 
 188 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 thought Rupert to himself. An electromobile 
 whirled them to the theatre, and all the time Mrs. 
 Lane (he could not think of her as Mildred) kept 
 up an idle, drawling flow of small talk, which would 
 have passed muster at Brighton, perhaps, but to 
 Rupert's ear it rang false. She gossiped of people 
 whom she did not know, as if no one else knew them 
 either; and even the gossip was incorrect in its 
 details. Her conversation might be summed up as 
 the wrong things said in the wrong way about the 
 wrong people. Rupert wished that it was time for 
 the love-making to begin, for it would obliterate 
 this stupid sensation of the second-rate, which made 
 her seem pathetic in his eyes. She had not been 
 pathetic in the afternoon when she had kissed him; 
 she had been rather fine, indeed; but this anxiety 
 to behave as she thought he would expect, the deter- 
 mination not to be found wanting, was pathetic, and 
 threw <^}hill into the ottar-of-rose atmosphere which 
 Rupert was trying to maintain with his Arabian 
 images. 
 
 But the dancer was beautiful, and some other per- 
 formers were amusing, and in their enjoyment of 
 the entertainment they met on common ground. 
 Mildred was charming when she laughed, and 
 showed two even rows of pearly teeth; and once, 
 when Rupert had been laughing with her, a sensa- 
 tion of friendliness towards her, of community with 
 her, warmed his heart, and he turned and laid his 
 hand on her knee. 
 
 A little sigh of pleasure escaped through her
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 189 
 
 parted lips the sigh of some one who has reached 
 the end of a journey. 
 
 "Shall we go?" she asked. 
 
 Rupert nodded, and in silence they went out, and 
 in silence took their places in the carriage. It 
 threaded its quick way through the lighted streets, 
 through those glaring contrasts that the night re- 
 veals, when the ordinary toilers have gone home, 
 and the lords of pleasure and the slaves of pleasure 
 share the lamp-lit world. She put her hand in his, 
 and lay back against the cushion, her head close to 
 his; and she whispered her plans for their happi- 
 ness, which had been arranged, he could see, to keep 
 any sordid or troublesome element far from him. 
 He was touched and grateful; her quiet intimacy 
 was congenial to him now; the sense of adventure 
 and escapade had gone from it all for the moment. 
 
 The servants had gone to bed when they reached 
 the flat. They sat and talked a little while this 
 time openly of the past, the long violet nights on 
 the Alphege, the magic midnight world of Funchal 
 bay, with its basket-laden boats riding high on the 
 glittering ocean swell, its voices and tossing lanterns, 
 the rhythmic crash of the surf on its steep shores. 
 . . . And when memory had done its work, and 
 come and gone, another spirit came in; not Love 
 himself, but that youthful understudy of his who 
 walks so quietly in the footprints of friendship and 
 old association, and impersonates the master for 
 those who have never known him; seeming to be 
 far removed from Passion, though indeed he is only
 
 190 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 his milder brother, who went to school later and had 
 better advantages. 
 
 When Rupert let himself quietly out into the 
 deserted streets, he could have turned back again 
 and kissed her ; not out of gratitude, but out of pity.
 
 IV 
 
 HE worked hard in his studio for a day or two. 
 The long grey Adam room, with its fine etchings and 
 rare furniture, was very congenial to him ; all about 
 him he could feel the pulse of St. James's, and a few 
 steps took him from his world of imagination to 
 the very unimaginative, but nevertheless congenial, 
 world of clubs. He was seldom lonely; he worked 
 all the morning, and generally lunched at home; 
 in the afternoon he would go to see some picture, 
 or visit some studio, and later, perhaps, pay a duty 
 call or two ; he nearly always dined out, and would 
 sit with a pipe and book for an hour or so before 
 going to bed. His week-ends were generally spent 
 in the country, or, if he were in town, in wandering 
 about London, perhaps tracing the footprints of 
 Wren in the narrow streets of the city, when the roar 
 of business was all hushed and the high walls echoed 
 the voices and footfalls of the rare pedestrians; or 
 wandering down the river, or walking from one 
 unfamiliar point to another, studying London in 
 those inexhaustible pages of hers of which he never 
 grew tired. 
 
 For one week-end he journeyed down into Corn- 
 191
 
 192 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 wall to stay with Lady Waynefleete at Gwithian 
 Castle, one of her late husband's seats, of which she 
 had the use for life. He was rather tired at the end 
 of his long train journey, and he was glad to find 
 that there were very few people staying there, but 
 that among them were his friend Caird and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Graeme. He had always intended to call on 
 Mrs. Graeme, and he looked forward to seeing some- 
 thing more of her in the next few days. 
 
 Caird came into his room while he was dressing 
 for dinner. 
 
 " Well, Savage, my friend, and how are you ? A 
 little better already for a whiff of this air, I suspect. 
 I've been out on the cliffs all day, getting just drunk 
 on it." 
 
 " Splendid ! we'll go out together to-morrow, and 
 talk about the universe. Any one interesting here ? " 
 
 " I wouldn't say interesting harmless. Yon 
 man Graeme's no good, except to talk politics; he 
 gets scared at a little strong, plain Scots language. 
 The lady's better, but she's too witty. Man, I'd have 
 all witty women put in a bag and drowned. Her 
 ladyship's the best of the bunch ; she can't talk meta- 
 physics; but whiles she can hold her tongue. A 
 grand gift, that ! " 
 
 Rupert was down early, and found Lady Wayne- 
 fleete sitting in the hall before a wood fire. There 
 was a sea fog creeping up, and the evening was 
 chilly. 
 
 She greeted him warmly, and while they were talk- 
 ing Mrs. Graeme came in. She was dressed in very
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 193 
 
 pale grey chiffon, which showed off her sombre hair 
 and the fine modelling of her slim, graceful shoul- 
 ders and neck. Rupert saw at once that she was 
 a beautiful woman, and he was pleased when he 
 found that he was to take her in. She was fol- 
 lowed into the room by her husband, a fresh-looking, 
 middle-aged man with a rather powerful face a 
 banker, Rupert understood him to be. He spoke 
 with emphasis, and briefly, but did not seem very 
 interesting. A Major and Mrs. Wayne, relatives 
 of their hostess; Miss Thudichum, her companion; 
 Caird, and the local vicar and his wife completed 
 the party. 
 
 Mrs. Graeme took up her conversation with Ru- 
 pert exactly where it had been left off a couple of 
 months ago, which, of course, flattered him; and 
 as they sat down to dinner he asked her if any more 
 colonels had been admonishing her against him. 
 
 " ISTo, no colonels ; I've been reduced to bishops ; 
 a bishop said some quite intelligent, rude things 
 about you the other day, and I was disappointed 
 to find he was confusing you with some one else. 
 But you aren't to talk about yourself it's too com- 
 monplace." 
 
 "What shall we talk about the universe?" 
 said Rupert, looking at Caird. 
 
 " Oh, not all at once it's such a waste. A little 
 bit at a time. You begin." 
 
 " Well the road to Damascus." 
 
 " The road to Damascus what's that ? does one 
 motor on it ? Oh, I see."
 
 194 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " What do you see, Mrs. Graeme ? " 
 
 " That sword-blade on the wall association of 
 ideas do say I am right ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then I must give it up. But it sounds charm- 
 ing; please tell me." 
 
 " The road to Damascus is something I am in- 
 venting. I don't even know that there is one; but 
 there is going to be one. It's only a drawing I am 
 making for Midwood's poems." 
 
 " Oh, the ' Syrian Songs ' every one is talking 
 about them, and how wonderful they are going to 
 be Mr. Midwood himself not the least eloquently, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " The road to Damascus," she repeated to herself, 
 and then turned and looked with a dawning, delight- 
 ful smile into Rupert's eyes. " You know, it has 
 a wonderful sound. One can see it a little dusty, 
 but with shade at the sides. Who goes on it ? " 
 
 " All the world." 
 
 " Yes, of course some in the sun and some in 
 the shade, some on motor cars, and some on sore, 
 lame feet is that it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and some prancing on great horses. How 
 clever and nice of you to see my picture." 
 
 " Wait a minute ; I'm not sure that I see it all 
 what do they go to Damascus for ? " 
 
 " What does all the world go anywhere for ? " 
 
 " To buy and sell ? " 
 
 " Try again." 
 
 " To learn wisdom ? "
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 195 
 
 " Well, perhaps in a way. But chiefly to love 
 and be loved ; don't you see ? " 
 
 " Yes. It isn't really commonplace, though it 
 seems so at first. But what a happy thing to have 
 drawn ! " 
 
 " I haven't drawn it yet I have only just seen 
 it ; you gave me half of it when you said, ' Some 
 in the sun, and some in the shade.' It was the 
 tones in your voice, the notes you spoke the words 
 on, that gave me the idea." 
 
 " But how nice to have a voice that does all that. 
 I didn't know my voice could draw." 
 
 " It can it will," said Eupert. " We will teach 
 it. Say it again please." His merry grey eyes 
 looked frankly into hers. 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't ; I am much too self-conscious." 
 
 " Yes, but please quick ; while the others are 
 still laughing." 
 
 " How you hurry. What am I to say ? " 
 
 " You know ' some in the ' : 
 
 " Some in the sun, and some in the shade/' she 
 said, very low, and with a delicious, reedy modula- 
 tion, her eyes laughing into his the while. 
 
 " Thank you," said Rupert, and turned to answer 
 a question from the vicar's wife. 
 
 He took a childish pleasure in this little secret 
 understanding with her. He would talk quite in- 
 terestedly to Mrs. Verryans about the building of 
 cottages, knowing that he had only to turn his head 
 to enjoy that delightful sense of congeniality that 
 he found in Mrs. Graeme. Like all young men of
 
 196 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 his kind, he was a little spoiled by women and 
 hostesses; he always expected to find people both 
 pretty and amusing wherever he went; but there 
 was a quality about this woman that distinguished 
 her from most of her pretty and amusing sisters. 
 He found himself wondering what she thought of 
 him; concerned that she should understand that he 
 could be something other than frivolous if he chose. 
 
 He had finished a long discussion with Mrs. Ver- 
 ryans, and had turned to Mrs. Graeme again, but 
 she was talking to Major Wayne. Rupert could see 
 that she knew he was waiting to speak to her, but 
 still she went on, appearing to be enchanted with 
 the deadly monologue of the Anglo-Indian Major. 
 
 " Natives, now ; you can't treat them like white 
 men they wouldn't understand it. All very well 
 in their place d'you follow me ? But once let 'em 
 get their heads up, and they'd be all over the place. 
 Why, even the Tommies despise them ! " 
 
 " I suppose they would," said Mrs. Graeme. 
 " What do they think of the Tommies ? " 
 
 " Oh, a native doesn't think," said the soldier, 
 rejoicing in his crass ignorance ; " not paid to. We 
 do their thinking for them the English are the 
 brains of India, you know. And the natives like it. 
 They need masters, and by Gad they've got 'em." 
 He laughed, and drank some more champagne. 
 
 Rupert saw his chance. " Some in the shade, 
 Mrs. Graeme," he said reproachfully. 
 
 " Of course," she said, turning to him, " but some 
 in the sun ! especially if they come from a hot coun-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 197 
 
 try. It wouldn't do to let them catch cold." But she 
 went on talking to him, which was what he wanted. 
 She had that rare quality in a pretty woman, a sense 
 of drollery, and the ability to express it; and Ru- 
 pert felt that he was great and clever, which will 
 tell you much more about her than a long description. 
 
 " How charming your friend is ! " he said to Lady 
 Waynefleete after dinner. " I like her so much." 
 
 " She is much more than charming ; she is the 
 finest woman I know," said Lady Waynefleete. She 
 shook her head at him. " I'm afraid it is no use, 
 Mr. Savage: if you were looking forward to an 
 agreeable flirtation, let me tell you that, in spite of 
 her camaraderie., it is not the slightest use." 
 
 " My dear Lady Waynefleete, I hope I can appre- 
 ciate a clever and delightful woman without want- 
 ing to flirt with her," he answered. All the same he 
 was a little huffed. 
 
 " Pretty woman, Mrs. Graeme," said Major 
 Wayne, yawning in the smoke-room ; " but not much 
 sense of humour. Now it's a curious thing; I've 
 knocked about a good deal, and I've very seldom 
 found a pretty woman who had a sense of hu- 
 mour." . . . 
 
 " Women ! " said Caird, who shared with Rupert 
 the benefit of the Major's remarks ; " if you're going 
 to talk about women, I'm for bed. Good-night." 
 
 " Queer chap, that ; Scotch, I should think," re- 
 marked the Major ; and he held Rupert there for an 
 hour, transfixed with boredom.
 
 198 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 The next morning, no ladies appearing at break- 
 fast, Rupert set off with Caird for a tramp over the 
 cliffs. They went down through the terraced gar- 
 den, between the long lines of the veronica hedges, 
 through a side gate to a path that led up one side 
 of the valley in which the pleasure-grounds lay ; and 
 after a steep climb they found themselves on the 
 great flower-carpeted tableland whose edge is the 
 sheer drop of the cliffs. All about them were the 
 fragrance of wild flowers, the brightness of the sea, 
 and the harsh calling of the gulls; a sweet, windy 
 place, like the roof of the world. 
 
 " There," said Caird, taking a deep breath and 
 looking out to where the dim blue headlands melted 
 into the haze. " There's line for you there's col- 
 our there's something you can't splatter with ink 
 and paint ! " 
 
 Rupert had thrown himself down on the grass. 
 " I don't know that any one wants to ; certainly I 
 don't. But why have you such a contempt for my 
 trade ? " 
 
 " Contempt ? Man, it's a great trade. It's a 
 great thing, this projecting of ideas, and impreg- 
 nating the world with them a great thing ! The 
 only thing I sometimes wonder is, if some of you 
 realize how great it is." 
 
 " I don't think we underestimate our impor- 
 tance," said Rupert, looking up into the sky. " No ; 
 I don't think we can be accused of that." 
 
 " No ? Well, I accuse you of it." 
 
 " Explain."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 199 
 
 " No man can explain an accusation. But this is 
 a condition, a state of affairs, something that is; and 
 every condition has its metaphysic ; I'll not say but 
 we might expound the metaphysic of this thing." 
 
 " Bless me, I don't care what you call it. Must 
 I talk Scotch? Expound the metaphysic of this 
 thing to me, then, man Cair-r-rd ! " 
 
 The older man smiled. " Come, then, why do 
 you draw ? " 
 
 " Because I like doing it." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yes ; and because I must." 
 
 " Right. And why must you ? " 
 
 " Because it's the thing I know I can do." 
 
 " Not enough. You know you can shoot why 
 don't you shoot ? " 
 
 " Because well I suppose I draw for the satis- 
 faction it gives me to do something well better 
 than other people. Because I see things that way." 
 
 " Now you've said it : because you see things that 
 way ; because you see life in terms of your art ? " 
 
 " Yes. I think that is it." 
 
 "Well, and it's just no good no good at all. 
 All wrong. You are still only learning, climbing; 
 near the top in this matter, I admit; perhaps at 
 the top; but that isn't the time of power with any 
 man. You are still growing, taking in, filling up, 
 turning life into art. Say even you're at the top 
 of fame and mastery, or very near it that isn't 
 the true time of power. There's a lot of nonsense 
 talked about mature youth being the time of power
 
 200 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 and influence, and age a long decadence. It isn't. 
 It's a decline, but that is when the power comes." 
 
 Rupert sat up, listening gravely to the deep, vi- 
 brating emphatic tones. " Go on. Say more ; I 
 haven't quite grasped your meaning yet, as it applies 
 to me." 
 
 " I say there's a hidden power in you in every 
 man, but especially in you that isn't revealed, 
 can't be revealed in your work. Oh, I know your 
 work I know how good it is. You've thrown this 
 flood of beauty on things that were hidden before; 
 you have revealed new beauty. That's a great thing. 
 But there is a greater coming. Mere beauty, loveli- 
 ness ; well, that's youth. You can't go on always, in 
 this world and this age, making mere loveliness. 
 There's something deeper for you to find I want 
 you to find it. I'm in a hurry for you to find it ! " 
 
 " If one were ever to find it, surely it would be 
 when, as you say, one was at the top of one's mas- 
 tery ? " 
 
 " No" thundered Caird. " That's a dead time. 
 Youth, growing-time is great ; decline is great ; but 
 the apex, the pause, is nothing; it is a moment 
 between two great things. When life has flowed in 
 upon you, saturated you ; when you have filled your- 
 self full, when you have gathered up everything into 
 yourself, when the growing process is over, when the 
 tide turns and you begin to discharge this mass of 
 universal energy back into life, into the open sea 
 then is your day of power; when you really influ- 
 ence and impregnate time and the world ! When you
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 201 
 
 have ceased to see life in the terms of art, and begin 
 to see art in the terms of life, man, what truth and 
 irony and power you'll get into that message of 
 yours ! " 
 
 There was a few minutes' silence. Then Rupert 
 said, pulling at the long grasses : " An inspiring 
 thought, that about the true power coming when 
 success is over. For success is not a thing that can 
 last; it must come to an end sooner or later; and 
 yet behind it there may lie this greater thing . . . 
 yes . . . and yet we I and the other men working 
 on the same lines it's rather against all our ideas 
 that art is to be applied to anything but itself, even 
 to life: 'Art with a purpose' isn't exactly our 
 ideal." 
 
 " Never mind your catchwords," said Caird 
 quietly. " I'm not concerned with them, nor with 
 the other men you speak of. They aren't going to 
 have any time of power, most of them. Of all the 
 men I met in your rooms that night, I doubt whether 
 more than three will be heard of fifty years hence 
 you, Sibley, perhaps Bowen, and yon drunken 
 swine C adman for a certainty ! " 
 
 " Not Midwood ? " 
 
 Caird shook his head. " Not Midwood," he said, 
 gravely. " He has gone up like a rocket, all flame 
 and flower; he's one of your zenith-men. He 
 doesn't give back to life what he takes from it 
 he just bursts and scatters. They'll find the stick 
 of him some day." 
 
 Rupert was uncomfortable. There was a disturb-
 
 202 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 ing force in Caird's personality that carried con- 
 viction with what he said. He felt an unwonted 
 burden pressing on him a sense of gravity and 
 earnestness of life. And yet these men were his 
 fellows, and shared with him the eminence that they 
 all seemed to have attained so easily, with so little 
 hard climbing. He looked at Caird, who was gazing 
 at the distant headland, and saw in his lined face, 
 his grizzled hair, the strength and purpose in his 
 wide forehead, firm jaw, and clear-looking eyes, evi- 
 dence of years of intellectual struggle and pain, of 
 conquest, of power. He thought of Midwood in his 
 scented, darkened rooms ... he wondered. 
 
 Caird jumped up. " Here come the ladies, and 
 yon drum-faced Major with them. I'm away to 
 smoke my pipe on the cliff." 
 
 After tea that afternoon Rupert took Mrs. Graeme 
 to show her a wonderful place he had found a 
 little clearing in the sea-wood at the mouth of the 
 valley, where the turf was soft and sweet with 
 thyme, and where, between the thick trunks and 
 gnarled boughs of the elms, you could see a sweep 
 of yellow sands with the surf spreading over them 
 in a broad band of snow. " If this were Ireland the 
 fairies would come and dance here," he said ; " but 
 Wesley frightened the fairies away from Cornwall. 
 Listen ! " 
 
 They sat on a smooth bank of green, looking out 
 through the perspective of tree trunks to the bright- 
 ness that was the sea. It was very still in the wood,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 203 
 
 but the deep booming of the surf rose from the shore, 
 and its overtones filled the wood with creeping har- 
 monies, like the voice of an organ in a cathedral. 
 
 " The echo of their voices lingers here yet," she 
 said. " I wonder where they have gone. Perhaps 
 to Ireland, perhaps to Brittany. Do you think we 
 could get them to come back, just for one day ? " 
 
 " If they knew how friendly we were to them 
 perhaps. What would you ask them for ? " 
 
 " I think I would ask for new eyes to see with, 
 new ears to hear with, a new voice to speak with." 
 
 " No, not a new voice, please." 
 
 " Some in the sun, and some in the shade ? " she 
 quoted, looking from the sea to Rupert and smiling. 
 " I am afraid you have taught me a new vanity ; I 
 shall be always trying to cajole people with my voice 
 now. Isn't ' cajole ' the right word ? " 
 
 " I hope not. Let us say ' charm.' ' 
 
 " Well, charm. I tried to charm some ideas about 
 Syria from Mr. Verryans, but he would only talk 
 about the bad hotels and the infidel churches." 
 
 " It must be a terrible place in reality, swarming 
 with American humourists and Cook's tours. We'll 
 make a better Syria than that." 
 
 " Do you know what I was doing this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 " I know what you were not doing, alas ! going 
 for a walk with me." 
 
 " It was better than that. I was digging in the 
 library, and reading books about what do you 
 think?"
 
 204 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " Indian administration ? " 
 
 " Damascus." 
 
 " How very nice of you ! " 
 
 " So perhaps I shall meet you somewhere on the 
 road to Damascus." She said it smiling, and look- 
 ing down at some flowers she held in her hand. 
 
 Rupert wondered exactly what or how much she 
 meant; she was not the kind of woman likely to 
 give openings for flirtation; she was one of those 
 rare women who seem, in whatever environment they 
 may be, to he surrounded by their own subtle at- 
 mosphere of grace and beauty and dignity, in which 
 the things of the spirit open and flower, but in which 
 the bare and commonplace dries up and withers. 
 He answered her in the same strain. 
 
 " Perhaps we may even walk a little way to- 
 gether ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " she shook her head, still smiling ; 
 " you will be in the sun, and I shall be in the shade ! 
 And we shall be going opposite ways. You forget; 
 I've been to Damascus this morning in the li- 
 brary," she added, turning her laughing eyes to his, 
 and then looking again at her flowers. 
 
 He looked at her attentively and gravely at the 
 long, graceful lines in which her attitude spoke to his 
 eye; at the sweeping, downcast eyelids; at the 
 grave, beautiful modelling of the features; and he 
 spoke his thought, almost to himself, not heeding 
 her : " Ah ! I expect you have been in the very heart 
 of Damascus. And not alone." 
 
 Perhaps her colour deepened by the faintest tinge
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 205 
 
 lie was not sure. It was her turn to look grave. 
 She looked clearly into his eyes. " And you ? " 
 
 " I don't think I have ever been nearer than the 
 outskirts. But I've seen its domes and minarets 
 from the desert." 
 
 Her fastidious ear detected and resented the last 
 sentimentality. 
 
 " You don't look as if you had wandered much 
 in the desert, you know," she said in a lighter tone. 
 " Just think wasn't it from Mount Pisgah you 
 saw it? I don't remember whether one can see 
 Damascus from Mount Pisgah I must go to the 
 library again; but I daresay you could, with your 
 trained eye." 
 
 Rupert felt that he had been gently corrected for 
 something he could not quite have told what. 
 " Well, you must look out for me on the road," he 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, yes. You will be very hot, in the sun. 
 Perhaps I shall be carrying sherbet, or a skin of 
 liquorice water, with a string of bright brass saucers 
 to dispense it from ; and you will hear me chanting, 
 ' O bountiful one, cool and refreshing, purify thy 
 blood.' And you will stop all your camels and 
 dromedaries, with their bells and scarlet trappings 
 and gold fringes hanging to their knees ; and your 
 Bedawin will dismount and beat their tom-toms, 
 and the sellers of khamio and dates and parched 
 grain and sweetmeats will come round us, and we 
 will have a feast, and watch the other travellers 
 riding or walking by."
 
 206 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " And then ? " 
 
 " And then you will go on to Damascus ; and I 
 shall watch the long train winding away, all the 
 mules loaded with silks and carpets, and flasks of 
 ottar and sandal-wood oil, and henna and kohl and 
 rose-water; and I shall watch until it fades away, 
 and the sound of the bells dies with it, and there 
 is nothing but a little whirl of golden desert dust." 
 
 She was leaning back a little, with her hands on 
 the bank on either side to support her, and looking 
 out between the tree trunks with the same curious, 
 far-away smile on her face. 
 
 " That seems delightful for me. But what 
 about you ? " 
 
 " Oh, you forget. I shall be coming back "... 
 
 " Where will you be coming back from ? " At 
 the sound of a third voice both Kupert and Mrs. 
 Graeme started slightly, so absorbed had they be- 
 come in this little play of the imagination. Mr. 
 Graeme had come into the clearing behind them and 
 was looking down at them now with a friendly inter- 
 est in his intelligent eyes. He was a tall man with 
 a close, fair beard and moustache, and looked very 
 pleasant and distinguished, Rupert thought; still 
 he was an interruption. 
 
 " Coming back from Damascus, dear Charles," 
 said his wife, looking up at him ; " you haven't the 
 least idea what I mean, and we shall not tell you 
 shall we, Mr. Savage ? "
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 207 
 
 " Certainly not," laughed Rupert, and added mis- 
 chievously : " I am glad you are coming back, be- 
 cause then you might go again." 
 
 She looked at him with the gentlest suggestion of 
 rebuke, and then they all three talked about the view 
 until it was time to go back to the castle. 
 
 During the rest of his visit Rupert got to know 
 the Graemes better, and to like them very much. 
 He found Mrs. Graeme a little puzzling and elusive 
 sometimes, and tried in vain to recover with her the 
 intimate mood of that afternoon. But the more he 
 saw of her, the more he was aware of the curious 
 strength and distinction of her personality. Her 
 beauty was not a sensuous beauty, nor her charm a 
 sensuous charm; one could talk to her intimately 
 without that pre-occupation of sex which is at once 
 the attraction and the monotony of so many beauti- 
 ful women. And yet the more Rupert saw of her the 
 more he perceived that she was quite lovely, with an 
 almost classical loveliness whose appeal was gradual 
 and cumulative, like that of a great work of art. 
 And with all her friendliness and humour, there was 
 an evident reserve of her deeper self that added an 
 element of puzzling uncertainty to her apparent 
 frankness. 
 
 Charles Graeme, her husband, treated her with an 
 assiduous and ceremonious courtship that one either 
 thought agreeable or tiresome according as one was 
 more interested in him or in her. He waited upon 
 her, followed her, made one of the group of people 
 bidding for her attention, and was treated by her
 
 208 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 with an impartiality that was on the whole flatter- 
 ing. 
 
 He was an extremely intelligent man, with a good 
 deal of quiet restrained strength ; he was a collector, 
 and had a wide knowledge of antique art; he took 
 very little interest in modern art. Rupert liked him 
 better when they were alone in the smoking-room 
 than when his wife was present.
 
 MILDRED LANE sat at the Sheraton desk in her 
 yellow drawing-room, sorting bills and drawing 
 cheques. She wrote a large, rather discursive hand, 
 and her pen travelled over the paper with quick 
 jerks. When she was engaged with accounts or 
 cheque-books she knitted her brows and hardened 
 her mouth; it was her way of being business-like. 
 Beside her on the desk lay a drawing of herself, 
 done by Rupert Savage the drawing of a woman's 
 head, with the hair streaming loose about her naked 
 shoulders. It was not a very good drawing, for 
 Rupert had no genius for portraiture, and it was 
 not signed; but once or twice she would turn from 
 her cheque-book, the frown would fade from her 
 brow, the mouth would relax, and she would kiss 
 the indifferent likeness of herself with a clinging, 
 passionate kiss. Then she would go back to her 
 accounts. 
 
 The telephone trilled on the table beside her, and 
 she took up the receiver. " Yes ? . . . Oh, all right, 
 thank you, dear very busy doing my accounts." 
 
 In the silence that followed, broken only by the 
 crackling of the voice in the telephone, her face took 
 on an expression of annoyance, and the furrow re-
 
 210 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 appeared in her brow. But when she spoke she 
 smiled gaily, as though the person at the other end 
 could see as well as hear. 
 
 " That would be nice . . . yes . . . what, this 
 afternoon? Oh yes . . . but listen, dear. Your 
 poor Milly has such a shocking headache, and she 
 was going to be very wise and go and lie down. As 
 soon as she had finished she was going off to be 
 tucked up, and try and sleep her headache away, 
 so as to be all pretty and fresh for this evening. 
 Don't you think what ? . . . Yes, very well, half- 
 past seven. . . . Poor dear, only a week more, and 
 then! . . . Yes, very happy. Good-bye. Half -past 
 seven." 
 
 She hung up the receiver again, and sat looking 
 at the telephone with a curious expression of detach- 
 ment and dislike, as though it were an animate be- 
 ing. She waited thus for a minute, and then took 
 up the receiver again, this time laying her ear ca- 
 ressingly against it, resting her chin on her hand, 
 and looking down at the little pedestal with drooping 
 lids. " 0209 Gerrard," she said, and then waited, 
 her breath coming quicker in anxiety lest she should 
 hear the hoarse drumming that meant delay. 
 
 But suddenly her eyes lightened, and she spoke 
 softly : " It's me." Then the tired look came back 
 to her face, a look of resolution with it, but unhappy 
 resolution. 
 
 " Look here, I've got something to tell you, I 
 can't write it, or say it into the telephone. Will you 
 come this afternoon at five just for half-an-hour ?
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 211 
 
 . . . Yes, very important . . . Oh Rupert, how 
 naughty you are! No, you mustn't. I'll explain 
 . . . no, I can't here or now, but this afternoon. 
 Don't be late. Good-bye." 
 
 She put her papers away with a weary air, and 
 then went to her room; when she reappeared an 
 hour later she was very carefully but quietly dressed, 
 and her hair had been done in a different way 
 not so low over the forehead, not in so many coils and 
 curves, but more plainly, less consciously. She sat 
 down on the sofa with a book, but did not read it; 
 but sat staring at the wall opposite until, just as the 
 clock was chiming five, the page announced, " Mr. 
 Savage." 
 
 He shook hands, and when the door had closed, 
 bent over and kissed her forehead. " Why, you've 
 done your hair differently," he said ; " I wonder if 
 I like it as much ? I don't believe I do." 
 
 " Never mind," she said, gently pushing him into 
 a chair near her; she was pleased that he had no- 
 ticed it, but she sighed all the same. He saw that 
 something was amiss. 
 
 " Now what are these terrific things you have to 
 tell me," he said lightly ; " let's see if we can't rob 
 them of their terrors." 
 
 " No ; it's something really serious this time." 
 She was holding her handkerchief tightly in her 
 hand. " I'm afraid you'll loathe me." 
 
 Rupert winced at the exaggeration of the word. 
 " What nonsense have you got into your head now 2 " 
 he asked quietly.
 
 212 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " It isn't nonsense. It's serious." She was nearly 
 crying, but was putting a strong constraint on her- 
 self. " Perhaps you won't think so. Anyway I'm 
 going to be married next week." 
 
 Rupert jumped up as if he had been shot. 
 " Ma good God." He spoke very slowly, looking 
 at her with a gaze from which she shrank. Then 
 he sat down again. 
 
 " Will you tell me exactly what you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that that I'm going to be married 
 next week." She looked on the ground, and began 
 to speak more quickly. " I can't get out of it I 
 don't know that I want to; you don't love me 
 oh, I know you like me a little when you are with 
 me, but I don't belong to you. I'm outside all your 
 real life. Do you think I don't know that? And 
 you " 
 
 " Never mind me," said Rupert, interrupting her 
 harshly. " What about you ? How do you stand ? 
 Explain." 
 
 " I am trying to explain, but you won't let me. 
 Don't look so hard at me, please, Rupert, don't! 
 I'm trying hard not to cry and make a scene, but 
 you don't help me." 
 
 He sighed. " May I smoke," he asked, taking a 
 cigarette from the silver box. " Thank you. Now 
 I'm listening." He drew a long breath, and the 
 smoke curled about his head. 
 
 " He's much older than me. He has known me 
 for ages, and wanted me, but I couldn't bear him 
 then. When my mother died he was kind to me,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 213 
 
 and took me for a journey in France and Ger- 
 many." 
 
 Rupert turned and looked at her, and then looked 
 away again. 
 
 " Oh no, nothing of that sort. You don't under- 
 stand; he was old enough to be my father, and I 
 didn't love him." 
 
 " And you went a trip with him on the Conti- 
 nent ; I quite understand," said Rupert sarcastically. 
 " May I ask the name of this fortunate gentleman ? " 
 
 " I don't think it concerns you," she answered, 
 with a certain dignity ; " certainly not when you 
 ask like that. Oh, Rupert, you are so clever about 
 other people; won't you try to understand me? 
 Don't you see how miserable I am ? " 
 
 He lit another cigarette. " I am sorry if I hurt 
 you I didn't mean to do that. But I still don't 
 understand." 
 
 " And it is really very simple. Ask some of your 
 clever women friends ; they would understand," she 
 said bitterly. " This man was always asking me 
 to marry him, and he was always very kind, and 
 never really bothered me, or tried to make love to 
 me. And then the mines that nearly all my mother's 
 money was in failed, and I didn't know what I had 
 or hadn't ; and he arranged things for me, and when 
 I left Brighton he gave me this flat. I had no other 
 friends." 
 
 " What, this is his flat ? " 
 
 " In a way, yes he gave it to me." 
 
 " Who pays the bills 2 "
 
 214 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " He does.' 
 
 Rupert threw his cigarette into the fire-place and 
 rose from his chair, white with indignation. 
 
 " And you let me come here, on the terms I did, 
 knowing nothing, believing that the house was your 
 own, and all the time you were another man's paid 
 mistress ! " 
 
 " How dare you ? " she said, clenching her hands 
 angrily. " How dare you say that, you coward ! 
 It isn't true. I'm not his mistress, and never have 
 been." 
 
 " Then it's all the worse oh, a thousand times 
 worse." He began to walk up and down with short, 
 angry strides. " He trusts you, he's going to marry 
 you; he seems to have behaved like a gentleman 
 all the time; he's been your best friend; he's stood 
 between you and the world and you ah ! " He 
 made a gesture of unutterable contempt. " And 
 then look at me," he went on, turning to her ; " I've 
 eaten his food, I've drunk his wine, and good 
 God, you've treated him simply damnably, and 
 you've made me treat him damnably ! " 
 
 As his anger rose, she grew calmer, and looked 
 at him with a steady scrutiny, as though she were 
 revolving something in her mind. 
 
 " Listen," she said, speaking gravely and ear- 
 nestly, and with a quiet dignity that arrested Ru- 
 pert's attention. " I understand all you feel, and 
 I am very, very sorry. But it is not as you say. 
 Neither you nor I have hurt him. What has hap- 
 pened between you and me won't affect him, because
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 215 
 
 there will be nothing of that sort between us 
 except just at first, perhaps," she added a little con- 
 fusedly. " You don't know him he isn't that 
 sort ; he wants my companionship that is all. I 
 was lonely, I wanted love; I read about you, saw 
 your work; I remembered how dear and nice you 
 used to be. I had this grey vista sketching before 
 me, of being the housekeeper (for that's all it is) 
 of an elderly man, who is more like a child than 
 a man to whom I shall have to behave like a kind 
 nurse who will treat me like an indulgent uncle. 
 And then I saw you, and it all happened so quickly 
 I never thought, I just drifted. I saw the grey- 
 ness closing about me, and you in the sunshine out- 
 side. I'd never had any real love I wanted it 
 just for a moment, before it was too late! For, 
 although perhaps you won't believe me, I intend to 
 be a faithful wife to him when we are married." 
 
 Rupert was sobered; he was no less horrified at 
 the situation than before, but he began to see that 
 she was a different being from him; that there 
 might be elements in the situation that he did not 
 understand. With a gesture half pitying, half ask- 
 ing for forgiveness, he put out his hand and touched 
 hers. 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears. " And don't you see," 
 she went on, " that it's I who pay ? Do you think 
 I haven't known, when we have been together, that 
 your love was only momentary, that it was founded 
 on nothing deep ; that the biggest part of you was 
 never anywhere near me ? I've tried to pretend and
 
 216 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 to forget, but I've known it all the time. And do 
 you think I won't pay next week and after ? Do 
 you think I can see your contempt and hatred with- 
 out paying ? If you think me such a criminal, com- 
 fort yourself with that that I've paid all the time, 
 and will always pay." 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Rupert heavily. " But it 
 doesn't comfort me that you should suffer. I'm 
 only puzzled ; it is such a tangle. I think you ought 
 to tell him." 
 
 She smiled tearfully. " That would be very kind, 
 wouldn't it? To spoil his one chance of happiness, 
 and make him miserable for the rest of his life. 
 You don't know him, you see. He wouldn't under- 
 stand ; he would only be terribly hurt." 
 
 " But still, can you go to him with all this decep- 
 tion hanging round your neck ? " 
 
 " Women have to do worse things than that. I 
 can, because I must." She smiled a little bitterly. 
 " It is very like a man to say ' can you ? * It is part 
 of the payment for my little hour of sunshine." 
 
 Rupert looked at her gravely and eagerly. " Look 
 here, if I said anything hard or wounding at first, 
 forgive me. I think you we made a terrible 
 mistake, but I do see that it's you who pays for it. 
 But if only I could be sure that, in spite of every- 
 thing, we oughtn't to tell him! Even if he cut up 
 rough well would you marry me ? " 
 
 She put her hands quickly before her eyes. " Oh, 
 don't, don't, don't tempt me," she cried. " If 
 you only knew ! " She kept her eyes covered for a
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 217 
 
 minute, and then, with a great effort of lightness, 
 said, " No thank you, friend Rupert ; no more 
 tangles, please. As for him, if you could once see 
 him, you would understand how impossible and 
 wicked it would be to tell him ! " 
 
 There was a sound in the passage outside, and 
 she darted a look of something like terror at Rupert. 
 At the same moment she made a light, swift move- 
 ment across the room, and covered over the drawing 
 of herself that was on the writing-table. The page 
 opened the door. " Mr. Elias, madam," he said. 
 
 Rupert, who had seen Mildred's agonized look 
 and hurried movement without understanding them, 
 rose and turned round with a premonition of trag- 
 edy. 
 
 A little, grey, dapper man of about fifty-five was 
 coming forward. His cheeks were rosy like a 
 child's, and he held a bunch of flowers in his hand. 
 His face was wreathed in smiles as he bent over 
 Mildred's hand with an old-fashioned air of gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 " And how is her ladyship ? " he asked, in happy, 
 silky tones. " Will she deign to accept these offer- 
 ings ? " 
 
 " Oh, Edward, how kind ! Do you know Mr. 
 Savage? Mr. Elias." 
 
 " Mr. Rupert Savage the famous Mr. Rupert 
 Savage ? " asked the little man with an elaborate 
 bow. " I am indeed honoured, sir. Your name is 
 very well known to me ahem painting, I 
 think ? To make a personal acquaintance with your
 
 218 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 works is a pleasure still in store for me; in the 
 meantime delighted, delighted ! " 
 
 Rupert felt like some one who has been inter- 
 rupted by a child in the middle of a serious discus- 
 sion. He had no feeling at all about Mr. Eli as, 
 whom he tried to respond to in his own vein; he 
 seemed to have nothing to do with the man they had 
 been talking about; it was impossible to associate 
 him with tragedy of any kind. Mildred treated 
 him with a kind of pretty, maternal kindness, which 
 enchanted him. 
 
 In a few minutes, Rupert, who had been talking 
 as though in a dream, rose to go. 
 
 " Any friend of Mrs. Lane's," said Mr. Elias, in 
 his silky tones, bowing and smiling again, " even if 
 he bore a less distinguished name than that of Mr. 
 Rupert Savage, would always be sure of a welcome 
 from me. I trust we shall see more of you, Mr. 
 Savage, when we ah, return to town ! " 
 
 Mildred touched his hand with her fingers. As 
 the door closed behind him, Rupert was not sure 
 whether it had closed on a comedy or a tragedy; 
 but he was heartily glad to have made his own exit. 
 
 He went to a joyful and unregenerate dinner of 
 the Twelve that night, held in a Fleet Street tavern, 
 and pontificated with a brilliant vivacity on the art 
 and manners of the day.
 
 VI 
 
 THE London season was unusually busy and bril- 
 liant that year, and prolonged itself far into the 
 summer. It was remarkable for the place that in- 
 tellect and the conscious cult of beauty held in it. 
 Quite independently of Royalty and Politics, those 
 greater suns round which the inner social system re- 
 volves and whose influence extends far out into the 
 unlighted space of suburban and provincial life, the 
 small constellation of genius and talent shone un- 
 usually bright that year, moving in its own orbits, 
 and in a sense giving the season its individual char- 
 acter. There was many a great house, glowing 
 nightly with the social illumination that a multitude 
 of small people, properly amalgamated, can produce, 
 which borrowed no lustre from lately-risen stars, 
 and many a famous hostess whose dinner parties 
 were no less brilliant and important, because their 
 names were hardly ever mentioned ; but that is only 
 another way of saying that even the small world of 
 metropolitan society is a wide world, and consists 
 not of one but of many social systems, linked here 
 and there by stars that are interchangeable, and 
 revolve now in one orbit, now in another. 
 
 In that particular planetary system that deter- 
 
 219
 
 220 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 mined what o'clock it was in matters of art and 
 lively intellect there was a remarkable activity that 
 year a sense of life and exhilaration, a conscious 
 and deliberate cultivation of beauty that made a 
 delightful excitement for people who were beautiful 
 themselves, or who made and studied and expounded 
 beautiful things. There was necessarily a great deal 
 of charlatanism and nonsense, and many a good word 
 got sadly abused; self-indulgence became Paganism, 
 and unashamed sensuality, provided it was crowned 
 with flowers and peppered with intellect, was called 
 the Greek view of life. Not to avow oneself a Pagan, 
 and not to hold the Greek view of life, was in cer- 
 tain circles to write oneself down as hopelessly dull 
 and out of date. 
 
 Nevertheless this current of quickened enjoyment 
 drew its life from a very real movement of the heav- 
 enly bodies, and notably from that conjunction of 
 the intellectual and plastic arts that had given the 
 Twelve their place and reputation. Among them 
 they supplied the material, itself sound and beauti- 
 ful, if not always very well seasoned, out of which 
 such a palace of affectations and insincerities came 
 to be built. Winstanley's epigrams were on people's 
 lips, just as Cadman's enamels (when they could 
 afford them) adorned their persons and their rooms; 
 Jeyne's Utopias, which seemed to promise oppor- 
 tunities for a freer indulgence in Paganism and the 
 Greek view of life, were discussed with pretty, 
 knitted brows, and formed the subjects of afternoon 
 lectures in smart hotels, where afterwards tea and
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 221 
 
 absinthe could be sipped in leaf-shaded courtyards, 
 and the Greek view of life expounded to the splash 
 of fountains and the voluptuous yearning tones of 
 violins. It was the right thing to have an original 
 Savage or two in great white frames in your draw- 
 ing-room, just as it was necessary to have Marston's 
 last novel bound in faded yellow or green on your 
 table. 
 
 Most of these things were well worth having and 
 doing and enjoying; but it seemed to be impossi- 
 ble to have them or do them in moderation. There 
 was something about them that seemed to kill the 
 effect of the older, slower, more patient and less arro- 
 gant work ; you could not hang a picture of Bowen's 
 in the same room with a Romney and the Romney 
 went. If one of Gaston St. Paul's macabre tone- 
 poems preceded a Beethoven symphony at an after- 
 noon concert, the room half-emptied before the sym- 
 phony began ; if the symphony was first, half the 
 audience came late. Because the Philistine critics 
 called Rupert Savage's work morbid, and the erotic 
 arabesques of Midwood unclean, terrible little peo- 
 ple tried to draw morbidly, horrible little people 
 tried to write uncleanly and with success. The 
 work of these men began to have a quite false and 
 unholy fascination for people who could never have 
 even begun to understand it; and these were the 
 people who began to clamour and disgust the dull, 
 sane world with what had inspired their nastiness. 
 
 The last man to realize anything of all this was 
 Rupert Savage. Much as he loved critical apprecia-
 
 222 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 tion, he was entirely indifferent to the applause of 
 the crowd, and it never occurred to him to doubt 
 that all his fellow-artists were the same. He moved 
 about in the light, in the excitement, in a stimu- 
 lating world of intelligence and appreciation; he 
 crossed and recrossed the orbits of his fellow-stars, 
 always striking fire and light from the meeting. If 
 he met Edmund Heath in Regent Street, and they 
 stopped for a moment to talk, it seemed as though 
 the gay vista of Regent Street had been suddenly 
 prepared to be a setting for their words; the sun 
 shone for him, the twinkling lights of Westminster 
 under a haze of violet were beautiful for him; 
 Joachim played divinely, Marchesi sang supremely 
 for him; the waving banner of Die Meistersinger 
 or the black flag of Tristan und Isolde were unfurled 
 for him at Covent Garden. 
 
 He told Caird of this sense of joy and possession 
 in everything around him one day when they were 
 walking in Kensington Gardens. Caird's eyes 
 flashed, and he flung out an arm towards the palace- 
 like illusion of houses in Lancaster Gate floating in 
 the haze above the Serpentine. 
 
 " Gilead is mine, and Manasseh is mine ; Moab 
 is my washpot, and over Edom will I cast out my 
 shoe ! " he said in his deep voice. " It is right to 
 feel like that ; it is the feeling of a God. All these 
 things are nothing, if they are not yours and mine." 
 
 Rupert had called at the Graemes' house in Cur- 
 zon Street not long after his visit to Gwithians. He
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 223 
 
 had decided to go, and then put off going, several 
 days in succession; he did not quite know why, for 
 he was looking forward with unusual pleasure to 
 seeing Mrs. Graeme in her own house; perhaps he 
 wanted to savour the pleasure in anticipation and 
 not to realize it too soon. At any rate, when he 
 found that she was not in town, that she and her 
 husband were travelling in Norway, and would be 
 away the whole of the summer, he turned away with 
 a singular sense of blankness and disappointment. 
 He realized how much he had wanted to see her, 
 and felt almost angry with her for being away ; how 
 foolish to leave town now, just when everything was 
 most interesting. He had been looking forward to 
 talking over his work with her a thing he hardly 
 ever did with women now; how tiresome of her! 
 Probably it was Graeme, confound him ! And she 
 would miss the " Modern Artists," in which would 
 be some of his latest work and one thing espe- 
 cially that he had just finished, and that he wanted 
 her to see before he sent it in. Damn everything! 
 
 But everything refused to be damned, and Rupert 
 had no time to miss any one very much, although 
 often the remembrance that Mrs. Graeme was not 
 in London gave him a sense of blankness, like that 
 which he had experienced in Curzon Street. But 
 he was always on the rush working hard in the 
 mornings, lunching and dining out, seeing people 
 and plays and pictures, hearing talk and music, day 
 after day. It was in that season that Marston's 
 " Bond Street Papers " came out, and made their
 
 224 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 delicate little mark on the sands of time; it was 
 then that Bowen began his great series of caricatures, 
 which have commemorated so many people who 
 would otherwise, and deservedly, have been forgot- 
 ten. And the culmination of all these artistic events 
 was the " Modern Artists " exhibition, in which 
 everything that was new and courageous and confi- 
 dent and arrogant and sure of itself in modern paint- 
 ing had a place. Paris and Munich sent their latest 
 and most interesting experiments; there were some 
 hopeless American, and some hideous German, and 
 some wonderful French contributions ; but the day 
 after the private view it was acknowledged that the 
 most interesting and probably the most important 
 thing was the one drawing that Rupert Savage had 
 sent, and which was called " A-minor." 
 
 It was in a vein entirely new to him. It waa 
 merely the head and shoulders of a woman in a 
 modern hat and veil, and a suggestion of lace and 
 chiffon and gems about the neck; the pose of the 
 head suggested an attitude of listening. What was 
 curious was that the face was hidden behind a veil 
 that came down between mouth and nose, cutting 
 across the face with a sharp line an impossible 
 treatment, every one would have said. The face 
 looked as though it had been carefully drawn first, 
 and then hidden behind the veil, which was drawn 
 with the wonderful gossamer pen-strokes of which 
 Rupert Savage seemed to possess the secret. There 
 was a suggestion of downcast eyes and delicate 
 moulding of the face behind the veil. In one corner
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 225 
 
 was the tiny drawing of an angel, in the other a 
 sinister and loathsome devil, both done with a deli- 
 cacy and an appearance of carelessness that con- 
 cealed consummate mastery of the grotesque. Un- 
 derneath was the legend 
 
 . Jfltgro affetuato 
 
 There was a breadth and simplicity of conception 
 in it that was new in Rupert Savage's work. There 
 was an extraordinary suggestion of melancholy in 
 it, too, of sombreness even ; but it was a human 
 melancholy, and lacked that touch of the diabolic 
 that, combined with his magnificent drawing, had 
 made the artist's reputation. It puzzled every one 
 it was unexpected ; and not every one was agreed 
 even about its merits at first. 
 
 Steinman and Sibley had met opposite it at the 
 private view. 
 
 " I tell you what it is," said Steinman ; " this is 
 no good. The public won't pay our friend for this 
 kind of thing a portrait with the face blacked 
 out ! It's cheap. Do you know what I should write 
 under it ? Just one word, ' Finish ' isn't it ? 
 That's the end of Rupert Savage." 
 
 " Suppose it were the beginning ? " said Sibley 
 musingly, and screwing up his eyes at the drawing.
 
 226 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " I admit it looks like one or the other but I don't 
 think it's the end of anything, with that drawing in 
 it. Look at those two lines why, look at the pat- 
 tern woven into that veil ! " 
 
 " Yes, but what is it all about ? " asked Stein- 
 man. " You don't want breadth in black and white ; 
 you want detail all the detail you can cram in, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 " Never mind what it's about. What has that 
 got to do with anything? It's beautiful! Those 
 lines tell me what it is about I could look at them 
 for hours." 
 
 " I tell you what it is, my boy ; I may not know 
 much about pictures, but I know about markets, and 
 if my friends wanted to realize their money, I should 
 say, ' Sell Rupert Savages.' ' 
 
 " Ah," smiled Sibley. " That is another matter ; 
 no doubt you are right." 
 
 But for once he was not right. The beautiful, 
 mysterious " A-minor " was talked about ; the illus- 
 trated papers had weird reproductions of it, with 
 a portrait of Schumann in one corner of the page 
 and of Rupert Savage in another ; people who loved 
 music and did not care for drawing went to see it 
 in shoals, and when the A-minor concerto was next 
 played in London, the audience was augmented by 
 many earnest artistic souls who did not care for 
 music. The musical people looked disappointed at 
 the exhibition, and the painting people looked puz- 
 zled at the concert. The drawing was not for sale ; 
 it was entered in the catalogue as " lent by the Count-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 227 
 
 ess of Waynefleete," but no one remembered hav- 
 ing seen it in her house. 
 
 Coulson, the pope of academic criticism in Lon- 
 don, who had hitherto held out against Rupert and 
 his school, regarding them as clever but mischievous 
 children, placed the pinnacle on Rupert's reputation 
 by devoting a long paragraph to a pompous, grudg- 
 ing admission that his work was serious and im- 
 portant. He ended a contemptuous notice of the 
 exhibition by saying: 
 
 " Amid this melancholy array of perverted tal- 
 ents, and in a world of artistic anarchy in which 
 laws are only recognized in order to be broken, and 
 the canons of good taste admitted only that they 
 may be outraged; in which the patient servitude 
 to their art of the classical painters is replaced by 
 a total disregard of artistic economy and an almost 
 impudently facile craftsmanship that presumes to 
 dominate the whole cosmos of art, we were agreeably 
 disappointed by the excellent drawing which Mr. 
 Rupert Savage has permitted himself to entitle 
 1 A-minor.' We regret the affectation, but we can- 
 not deny the beauty of the conception nor the sound- 
 ness of the workmanship. We understand that Mr. 
 Savage has earned a considerable reputation among 
 those connoisseurs of two continents who take pleas- 
 ure in all that is new and strange in art; and if 
 that is the case he is the more to be commended for 
 having apparently surmounted the obstacles which 
 his friends have put in his way. There is nothing
 
 228 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 morbid or unpleasant in this work, which could much 
 more modestly and truthfully have been entitled 
 simply, ' A Study in Black and White/ We need 
 not concern ourselves here with the subject of it, 
 which has been more than sufficiently discussed; 
 Mr. Savage, it seems, could not tear himself away 
 from the custom of his school, nor forego that sea- 
 soning of interest derived from some other art, with 
 which the ' Modern Artists ' like to spice their work. 
 Usually it is literature; in this case we have music 
 dragged in by the heels in order to invest with mys- 
 tery an otherwise straightforward piece of work, 
 and to vitiate a composition which, left to speak for 
 itself, would proclaim its author to be the possessor 
 of technique so masterly as almost to earn for him 
 the oft-claimed, rarely-earned title of Genius." 
 
 This ponderous tribute was hailed by the Twelve 
 as their greatest triumph, much as they despised 
 the writer of it. The securing of his scalp was, in 
 their eyes, Rupert's greatest achievement; and he 
 could not help feeling more than a little elated by 
 it himself, for Coulson, narrow, conservative, un- 
 sympathetic as he was, was bluntly and incorruptibly 
 honest, and his knowledge of the art of every day 
 except his own was undisputed. It was for Rupert 
 the culminating point of a season of hard work, 
 feverish mental activity, and brilliant success. He 
 seemed to have reached the top of a long hill, and 
 to be able at last to breathe freely and look about 
 him a little. He wanted to rest from work; he had
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 229 
 
 a longing for idleness, for pleasures of a different 
 kind from that which London offered him. He was 
 feeling lonely again, in spite of his popularity. 
 Since the episode with Mrs. Lane, which had made 
 a deep impression on him, and to which he looked 
 back with a kind of wondering disgust, he had been 
 more self-contained, and had not given himself so 
 freely as of old to chance intimacies, however agree- 
 able. 
 
 Caird was in Scotland, Sibley and Bowen were 
 in Paris, Lady Waynefleete was in Austria, Mid- 
 wood became more and more artificial and affected, 
 and was less and less agreeable in company. When 
 he did go out, he simply performed all the time, or, 
 if he could not dominate his environment, sulked 
 and was sarcastic. Rupert was sitting rather dis- 
 consolately in his studio one hot day towards the 
 end of July when a note came from Lady Angela 
 Steinman inviting him to join them on their yacht 
 the next week for a voyage to the Baltic ; they might 
 go to Norway later, she said. 
 
 He looked out across the green of the park, now 
 shabby and dirty, and thought of the crisp foaming 
 of waves out on the cool sea. He had a sudden 
 hunger for the sea; if the Maid of Lorne had been 
 in existence he would have gone to Ireland and made 
 her his companion in his old sea haunts. But the 
 Maid of Lorne was rotting in thirty fathoms, and 
 in any case his aunt was not at the Abbacy, and the 
 home was shut up. He might just as well go with 
 the Steinmans they were friendly and harmless.
 
 230 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 It would be a change. Besides, the Graemes were 
 in Norway. . . . Norway was a place to see. He 
 wrote a note of acceptance, and told Hicks to look 
 out some yachting things.
 
 VII 
 
 " DEAK LADY WAYNEFLEETE, I see that you 
 are back in town, and I want to know if you will 
 come and have tea with me on Wednesday. I have 
 been in Paris, and brought back a Diaz that is really 
 wonderful, and I don't feel that it is really mine 
 until I have shown it to you. It is a perfect gem 
 of colour the only piece of colour in a London 
 autumn. Come early, while the light is good. 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " RUPERT SAVAGE. 
 
 " P. S. If your friend Mrs. Graeme is back from 
 her wanderings, and remembers who I am, do bring 
 her with you I know she would like the Diaz." 
 
 Celia Graeme handed the note back to Lady 
 Waynefleete. " I should love to go. What non- 
 sense he writes about my l remembering ' him 
 and we made such friends at Gwithians ! " 
 
 " He thinks you have been neglecting him, dear, 
 evidently. He is rather an exigent friend." 
 
 " I am afraid you spoil him." 
 
 " ISTo ; he can't be spoiled one reason why I 
 like him. . . . Did he never call ? " 
 
 231
 
 232 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " I found his cards when we came back from 
 Norway, and I was going to ask him to dine next 
 week." 
 
 " Oh then you didn't give him any sittings ? " 
 
 " Sittings ? What do you mean ? I haven't seen 
 him." 
 
 " Then you haven't seen this. Be prepared for 
 a surprise, my dear ; come and look." 
 
 Lady Waynefleete took her into a small boudoir, 
 the end wall of which contained only one picture 
 Rupert's " A-minor." 
 
 " But how perfectly beautiful ! " said Celia 
 slowly, her eyes resting delightedly on the pure, 
 melancholy lines of the drawing. Then she glanced 
 at Lady Waynefleete, and something in her expres- 
 sion made her look back to the picture quickly. 
 
 " Don't you recognize yourself ? " asked Lady 
 Waynefleete. 
 
 " Me ? " she looked again at the veiled face in the 
 drawing. " I only wish I looked like that." 
 
 " My dear, it is the image of you. How other 
 people didn't notice it, I can't think. It was indis- 
 creet of him, but I didn't tell him so." 
 
 " But I don't understand. What have I got to 
 do with ' A-minor ? ' " 
 
 " Goodness knows it is some association in his 
 mind. Do you remember the first day you met him 
 here? Well, he had just come from hearing Pach- 
 mann playing Schumann's concerto, and he was full 
 of it. I remember he said something about Pach- 
 mann being an angel's soul in the body of a devil,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 233 
 
 or some fantasy of that sort. And then you came 
 in and there you are, you see ! " 
 
 " I don't quite see one is no judga of one's own 
 likeness, but perhaps you are right a memory of 
 a face that was new to him while he had the im- 
 pression of the music fresh in his mind ? Yes ! I 
 think I am rather pleased, if it really is me. Though 
 I wonder why I am like A-minor ? " 
 
 " Well, you have come off better than poor Pach- 
 mann. All that about Angel and Devil isn't Pach- 
 mann at all it is Kupert Savage. Pachmann, 
 apart from his inspiration, is just a jolly little man 
 that is all ; just a jolly little man who likes play- 
 ing and making faces ! So I suppose he has invested 
 you with the A-minor qualities, whatever they may 
 be. Come, there is the carriage." 
 
 Rupert looked round his long, grey room, fra- 
 grant with bunches of dark crimson carnations, and 
 saw that the tea-table was complete and that the 
 light was evenly diffused, so that the raying colour 
 of the Diaz, alone on the end wall, could make its 
 full appeal. 
 
 He was glad to be back here, in what had become 
 his own element. The yachting trip had not been 
 a great success, except that it had provided rest and 
 fresh air for a number of people who needed them 
 rather badly. Freddy Steinman had been there; 
 and whatever might be said for him when those 
 beady eyes of his were bulging with artistic enthu-
 
 234 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 siasm, Freddy in the role of an English gentleman 
 was more than impossible. The other guests had 
 not been amusing; they had talked politics and 
 finance, or that combination of the two with which 
 the Union Jack is now associated, and Rupert had 
 been, rather thankfully, out of it. The Graemes had 
 not been encountered in Norway, although Rupert 
 had seen their names, written the week before, in 
 the hotel book at Molde, and had felt lonelier than 
 ever. He had been heartily glad when the Bonita 
 had turned her white stem homewards across the 
 North Sea. He had made a sudden excuse when 
 they put in to Aberdeen to coal, had taken the eve- 
 ning mail and arrived in London the next morning. 
 Thence he had gone to Paris, and enjoyed himself 
 in the world of studios and galleries until the cra- 
 ving for work summoned him home again. And 
 now he was waiting, with an unaccountable excite- 
 ment in his heart. 
 
 He heard the carriage drawing up in the street 
 below, and the sound of the knocker on the door; 
 he heard voices, footsteps, the rustle of silk; he 
 saw the grave countenance of Hicks as he announced 
 the visitors; and then the massive, dignified figure 
 of Lady Waynefleete in dark grey, and the tall, 
 slender presence of Celia Graeme in vieux rose, sup- 
 plying by magic coincidence the two missing tones, 
 made the colour scheme of his room complete. He 
 sighed to himself as he smiled and shook hands 
 sighed with happiness. He had everything he 
 wanted.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 235 
 
 " You are Mr. Rupert Savage, aren't you ? " 
 asked Celia ; " I thought I remembered you." And 
 the smile with which she said it, half amused, half 
 reproachful, and its reflection in Rupert's face, 
 made them all laugh. 
 
 They admired the Diaz as it deserved to be ad- 
 mired. They talked about it, and about them- 
 selves, and about Norway. " I wish we had come 
 across you there," said Celia. " Why didn't you 
 find us out? I am sure we should have been much 
 better for you than the Steinmans." And Rupert 
 felt quite unable to tell her how much he agreed 
 with her, and how much the fact that she had been 
 in Norway had influenced his own fruitless journey 
 there. He was rather quiet, and let Lady Wayne- 
 fleete, who had often been to his studio, show Celia 
 some of his treasures his edition of the " Hyp- 
 noteromachia," a wonderful Spanish book of hours 
 of the thirteenth century, a hand-coloured copy 
 the only one of the Spezzia catalogue of cameos, 
 and a few other things. He left them alone to look 
 at the cameos, so that his presence might not be a 
 possible cause of embarrassment, and he was glad 
 to make an excuse to be busy with some portfolios 
 behind them, so that he might enjoy the pleasure of 
 looking at Celia and listening to her voice unob- 
 served. Her charm, her beauty, her sadness made 
 a new appeal to him; he was conscious of a sense 
 of elation, of certainty that his perception of it 
 meant the beginning of a new joy in life, just as 
 he felt when he saw a great masterpiece for the first
 
 236 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 time, and knew that knowledge of it, study of it, 
 meant possession of it for his own. 
 
 And then Lady Waynefleete found some bound 
 volumes of old Salon illustrated catalogues, and sat 
 down to search for something she wanted to iden- 
 tify, and Celia went over to the other end of the 
 room to look at some of the sketches for the " Syrian 
 Songs." She was used to people being charming to 
 her, but she was not used to feeling their charm so 
 definitely as she felt Rupert's. She had an odd 
 certainty that from moment to moment he would do 
 and say the thing she wanted to see done, or to hear 
 said; she felt the strength of his personality, all 
 the more commanding because it was an unconscious 
 strength, arising from a certain serenity of soul and 
 mastery of circumstance. She was aware of the 
 unusual gentleness and fineness of perception that 
 made him thoughtful in little things; she was 
 aware, too, as women are very quickly aware, of his 
 quite blind, instinctive attraction to her, and, per- 
 haps for the first time in her life, felt a kind of 
 diffidence as to whether she had gifts worthy to 
 bring to such a friendship. She saw his need of 
 her or of some one. " What a good thing I am 
 married ! " was one of her early thoughts ; " prob- 
 ably if I wasn't I would marry him, and be no use 
 to him." But it was only a first thought, while she 
 could still see both herself and him definitely and 
 clearly apart from one another. She did not think 
 it later. 
 
 She went away that day with a strange fluttering
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 237 
 
 of wings within her, and with an outward anima- 
 tion that was rare even for her. Her husband, al- 
 ways watchful, attentive, always a student of her, 
 noticed it; they had dined at home alone, and 
 talked animatedly all the evening interesting talk 
 about interesting things the talk of friends whose 
 minds make a harmony, and not the mere unison or 
 echoing octave of the ordinary married duet. 
 
 " How happy I am, my dearest, when I have you 
 to talk to like this," said the big man rather shyly 
 as she got up to go to bed ; " much the most intel- 
 ligent as well as the most beautiful companion for 
 me in the world ! " 
 
 " Dear Charles ! " she said, looking at him affec- 
 tionately and laying her hand for a moment on his 
 arm. " You are always so appreciative besides, 
 any one but an absolute imbecile would feel wise 
 talking to you. You are so interested in what one 
 thinks, about anything or nothing. . . . Good-night, 
 dear." 
 
 She turned her cheek, and he kissed it lightly 
 and reverently, holding the door open for her and 
 watching her long, slender figure fading in the gloom 
 of the staircase. Then he sat down in his arm-chair, 
 looking for a long time at the fire with wide-open, 
 clear eyes and a furrowed brow. He had taken a 
 cigar from the box beside him, but had not lighted 
 it; suddenly he crushed it violently in his hand, 
 and ground his teeth, his face twisted into an ex- 
 pression of helpless pain. It was a paroxysm; it 
 passed, and left him grave and quiet again, and
 
 238 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 tired-looking. He mixed a whisky-and-soda, took 
 another cigar and lighted it, picked up a book and 
 sank back in his chair with a sigh. 
 
 Rupert went very soon to call on her. He went 
 late one afternoon and found her alone in a white 
 drawing-room that, for all the civilization expressed 
 in its pictures and furniture, seemed to hold some- 
 thing of the freshness and simplicity of a country 
 cottage. At first the room might have contained 
 nothing but flowers and her; afterwards the other 
 beautiful things in it seemed to steal out from the 
 walls and take a silent part in the harmony between 
 her and him. They talked continuously there 
 were no silences on that day and laughed a great 
 deal; the humour of so many things was revealed 
 to them both as though for the first time; they 
 felt as though they were exploring a new country 
 together, and playing a game of rivalry as to which 
 of them should announce the most interesting dis- 
 coveries. Always they were on the edge of quiet 
 laughter; it was a gay, happy hour. Afterwards 
 Graeme came in, and was drawn into the pleasant 
 concord of their mood ; sometimes joining in it him- 
 self, but more often listening to them as one listens 
 to two high-spirited children, who infect one with 
 the extravagance of their mood. 
 
 " A very attractive, charming fellow," said 
 Graeme, when Rupert had gone ; " we must see 
 more of him ; " and Rupert accordingly dined in
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 239 
 
 Curzon Street the following week, and called a few 
 days after, and had Charles Graeme to lunch with 
 him to see the Diaz, and took Mrs. Graeme to see 
 Sibley's pictures and to hear Siloti play, and became 
 an intimate of the house. There was nothing re- 
 markable in his devotion to Mrs. Graeme, for her 
 friends were nearly all her courtiers: it was im- 
 possible to know her and not to render her a hom- 
 age which, although she never received it as a matter 
 of course, she somehow turned to the credit and 
 improvement of those who paid it. Women who 
 were jealous of her and of course there were a 
 few said she flirted with every one who admired 
 her; but on the other hand, the Pagans and devo- 
 tees of the Greek view of life, who tried to annex 
 her because of her beauty and her proficiency in 
 intellectual swordsmanship, complained that she was 
 cold, and had the soul of a Puritan in the body of 
 a Bacchante showing themselves, as usual, a little 
 weak in their history and mythology. Edmund 
 Heath, who viewed women from only one standpoint 
 and it was not exactly Grecian met her among 
 the crowd one day at Bowen's studio, and talked to 
 her all the time. 
 
 " But why was I never told about her ? " he said 
 to Rupert when she had gone ; " she is wonderful, 
 she is delicious; one could have a great passion for 
 her! Now, you are a young man, with great ad- 
 vantages. I should think you could have a delight- 
 ful intrigue with that lady it is quite obvious 
 that her husband bores her to death."
 
 240 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Rupert smiled unwillingly. " For any one who 
 has studied women as you have, Heath, you some- 
 times make a bad break. You're quite out of it 
 away out in this case." 
 
 " Oh, then you know ; you have tried ? My dear 
 boy, why look offended ? After all, you know, there 
 is only one supreme tribute that one can pay to any 
 one as delightful as that. Really," he added, smi- 
 ling plaintively, " I don't want to offend you, but 
 I think that some of you might make love to the 
 poor lady. I must go and see her." 
 
 And he solemnly walked off to Curzon Street the 
 next day, with the eternal spark of hope in his lib- 
 ertine old heart that the apples from heaven might 
 by some wonderful miracle fall straight into his lap. 
 There was always a chance! and he never left it 
 untried. What took place at the interview did not 
 transpire ; but Heath was during that evening with 
 Sibley and Rupert, and spoke despondently about 
 the women of England. 
 
 " I don't know," he said in his resonant voice, 
 grave and melodious as a Stradivarius tenor ; " I 
 suppose as one grows older one gets more exacting; 
 but the preliminaries of love become more and more 
 tedious to me. The caprice the eternal, delicious 
 caprice that is what is beautiful when a woman 
 to whom you have just been presented turns to you 
 and says, ' Take me in your arms ! ' 
 
 " Caprice of the farm-yard," muttered Rupert. 
 
 " Beautiful even in the farm-yard," sighed Heath, 
 almost making it appear so by the plangent tones
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 241 
 
 of his voice. " Even there," he continued, making 
 circles with his slender hand in the air, " amid the 
 fluttering straw, by the green shores of the duck- 
 pond, in the fragrant darkness of the barn, in the 
 gross ecstasy of the pigstye, this divine drama of 
 love is taking place. It is a beautiful theme, the 
 love of the farm-yard. The hot, silent noonday, 
 the " 
 
 " Oh, give it a rest," said Rupert, joining in 
 Sibley's laughter at Heath. " You can dig poetry 
 out of anything with that voice. ISTow don't go and 
 write a poem called ' The Eternal Caprice,' full 
 of lines that make one hold one's breath, and a sen- 
 timent that makes one hold one's nose." 
 
 " You talk strange nonsense for an artist," said 
 Heath : " I am not sure that I am pleased with 
 you. It is your sentiment that I find revolting 
 the slow, timid sensuality of courtship, the long 
 approach, the books, the flowers, the little notes 
 all directed to one very simple end, which might be 
 achieved with a little honesty in a few minutes." 
 
 " The end is nothing," said Sibley ; " it is the 
 approach that is everything." 
 
 " Give me both," said Rupert, laughing, and pre- 
 paring to leave the table. " ]STo, don't get up, 
 Sibley; continue your academic discussion. I'm 
 sleepy." 
 
 One day, when Rupert had taken his sketch-book 
 to show Celia the brief descriptions or summaries 
 of the poems with which Midwood had furnished
 
 242 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 him, he had said, laughing, " Let us walk a little 
 on the Road to Damascus ; " and they had come, 
 half playfully, half wistfully, to call the double 
 progress of his work and of their friendship by that 
 name. The intimacies that grew up between them 
 were always veiled in gay and happy metaphors; 
 and if in the shining of his eyes or the tones of her 
 voice something from the deep threatened to speak, 
 the breeze of intellect always blew on the surface, 
 and kept it glancing and dancing in a pretty trouble 
 that hid the set of the current beneath. They were 
 both guarded and confident at once, happy and 
 afraid. At first it was knowledge of themselves that 
 made them happy, and knowledge of the world that 
 warned them to be afraid; afterwards it was self- 
 knowledge that flew the danger-signal, while the 
 world lulled and reassured them. But as Rupert 
 advanced step by step in this loving, elaborate study 
 of his friend, he found her always wiser, always bet- 
 ter, always deeper and truer to herself; he encour- 
 aged himself to love her, and to read more deeply 
 in the fair page of her character and personality. 
 
 There was a good deal of awe in his affection for 
 her ; she was in many ways mysterious to him ; her 
 strength was a mystery, and the source of it, for 
 she was neither religious nor philosophical ; and the 
 sadness that often spoke so eloquently through her 
 vivacity and gaiety puzzled and baffled him; he 
 did not see why any one who was so sure of herself 
 and of the world should have that strain of melan- 
 choly in her nature. Sometimes he thought she was
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 243 
 
 not happy with her husband, but there seemed to 
 be so much understanding between them, so much 
 sympathy and deep affection, that he never enter- 
 tained the thought for very long at a time. 
 
 Instinctively, perhaps, he avoided looking too 
 closely; for very early in their friendship he be- 
 came impatient of the thought that she existed seri- 
 ously in any relationship except the one of friend- 
 ship with him. It was not that he thought of being 
 jealous of Graeme, or any one else; the world in 
 which he and she lived was so real and so much 
 richer and fuller than any he had inhabited before 
 that it was for the time enough for him. Things 
 were as they were. He knew her to be a woman 
 incapable of any ordinary intrigue, and he had no 
 love for intrigue himself. Sometimes the thought 
 that she was married, that love for her had played 
 its symphony and come to a full close, came upon 
 him suddenly, and for a moment darkened life, like 
 a cloud passing over the sun; but it was only for 
 a moment. The thought was more surprising than 
 painful it was so oddly at variance with his abi- 
 ding sense of some to-morrow which was to be the 
 really important day in their friendship, and for 
 which the crowded, happy hours of the present 
 seemed no more than a preparation. 
 
 " I sometimes wonder," he said to her one day, 
 " if you hadn't some Spanish ancestor concealed in 
 your family tree." They were sitting in the Curzon 
 Street drawing-room one Sunday after being to- 
 gether at a concert. They had not been speaking
 
 244 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 much, and Rupert had been looking at her as she sat 
 idly playing with a paper-knife. 
 
 She shook her head. " He is successfully hidden 
 if he is there. I am afraid there is nothing more 
 romantic than English and Scottish and French, 
 a long way back. But why Spanish ? " 
 
 " I don't know some southern race, at any rate. 
 There is a kind of bright melancholy in you or 
 melancholy brightness I don't know which, that 
 reminds me of Spain." 
 
 " Bright melancholy is much nicer. But how ? " 
 " You see it in Velasquez, and more especially 
 in Goya and the landscape painters. Tt is a quality 
 that I can only describe in those words ( bright 
 melancholy ' ; it belongs to southern countries, and 
 hot, wide landscapes lying silent in the sunshine. 
 The melancholy of a northern country is never 
 bright. It is sombre a melancholy of winds and 
 waves and storms. It is sad here when it is dark; 
 but in the south darkness is gay, and only the bright 
 hours are sad. Think of those rolling landscapes 
 of Zuloaga, with all the colour living vividly in the 
 sun and yet how melancholy they are ! " 
 
 " You were growing up when you were in Spain, 
 and that is always a sad thing in retrospect that 
 is why you associate Spain with melancholy and 
 me." 
 
 " Am I still growing up, then ? " 
 " Surely you are. Why, aren't you glad ? " 
 " I want to be at Damascus," said Rupert, looking 
 at her steadily, " and it seems a very long road."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 245 
 
 " Don't be impatient of the road, my friend. To 
 travel is better than to arrive, you know," said Celia ; 
 but he only answered, " It depends," and their talk 
 turned away from personal things. 
 
 For them both the hours they spent thus came 
 to stand out like clear crystal amid the colour of 
 their lives. In that winter of work and friendship 
 Rupert came to the fullest consciousness of himself 
 and his powers; and her clarifying influence gave 
 him a serenity of mind that had not always been 
 his, but which steadied and deepened everything that 
 he was and did. She saw the strength growing and 
 unfolding in him, and was gladdened in her soul; 
 qualities that she had divined in him, but which 
 had been hidden beneath the fabric that fame had 
 built up so rapidly, she now saw emerging into the 
 light ; it was as though another and more solid build- 
 ing was rising behind the handsome temporary front- 
 age of success. She did not ask any questions of 
 her heart; but she felt that he and she were draw- 
 ing near to the gates of that city which they had 
 so often pictured in various similes and ideas. 
 
 At first the Road to Damascus was identified with 
 Rupert's drawings and designs for the " Syrian 
 Songs " ; but gradually it became less directly asso- 
 ciated with his work, and more with their talk, their 
 friendship, themselves. It had been her invention, 
 but they had elaborated it together, until the road 
 became the road of their love, and the city, the city 
 of their dreams. At first it had been the city of
 
 246 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 men's purpose and achievement; it was Celia who 
 said that it must be different, and that the golden 
 domes and minarets and crescents floating in the 
 haze of desert sunshine could have nothing to do 
 with achievement, but stood for the traveller's 
 dreams of happiness. 
 
 " I see it all so clearly," she said one day when 
 they had been having one of their half grave, half 
 make-believe arguments ; " you must let me have 
 my way. I have only to shut my eyes, and I see 
 them all each one travelling in company, and yet 
 moved by an inner inspiration. They are all holy 
 and blithe and beautiful, and " 
 " Not holy ; they must not be holy ! " 
 " Oh yes ; because it is only in the best hours, 
 the hours of exaltation, that the road can be trodden 
 by mortal feet. It is a wonderful road! bordered 
 by laurel and bay and myrtle and cypress and oak 
 
 all the trees that poets have ever named and it 
 is under the trees that the humbler travellers move 
 
 not quite so rich and secure as the stately pro- 
 cession in the middle, but moving on under the 
 compelling mastery of love. Each one holds his 
 companion's hand, and they speak seldom and 
 softly." 
 
 " And do they all arrive ? " asked Rupert, look- 
 ing at the wedding-ring on the long slender hand 
 that lay on the polished arm of the chair. 
 
 She paused a moment before answering, still in 
 the same dreamy voice, still with the same veiled 
 eyes.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 247 
 
 "Yes I think they all arrive. They arrive 
 at nightfall, for the progress of the hours is reckoned 
 for each one according to the measure of his step. 
 Some linger by the way " 
 
 " Some linger by the way ? " he echoed in a low 
 voice, still looking at her hand. 
 
 " Linger, and lose count of the time ; and their 
 day from noon to night drags slowly. But oth- 
 ers " 
 
 " What of the others ? " He looked up at her 
 eyes, compelling the dropped lids to lift and reveal 
 the sheen of dark violet beneath them. She did not 
 drop them again, but there was no answering smile 
 in them. 
 
 " Others are less fortunate, for they make too 
 much haste, and arrive alone." 
 
 " There are others still." Rupert spoke in the 
 same quiet tone, looking earnestly into her eyes. 
 " Oh, there are others who are happier and braver ! 
 They go on they go on, not in tears and with 
 timid steps, but joyfully, and they conquer time 
 and their hour of glory in one flight Celia ! " 
 
 She looked up at him swiftly, one questioning 
 wonder in her eyes. He laid his hand over hers. 
 " Shall I, shall we, ever be there ? " His voice 
 shook a little, while he waited in the silence that 
 seemed to last for an age. She did not move or 
 speak, and at last he looked up into her face. 
 
 She was looking at him, and her eyes were violet 
 lakes of tears, and yet she was smiling too. " Fool- 
 ish, foolish one, don't you see ? " she asked him
 
 248 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 softly. "Don't you recognize the city after 
 Rupert it is nightfall for us ! " 
 
 A wave of wonder, of realization, of passionate 
 joy swept over him and stopped the beating of his 
 heart for a moment. He leaned swiftly towards 
 her, gathered her two hands in his, and pressed them 
 to his heart, and laid his cheek beside hers. All the 
 tides of the world seemed to rush into his brain, but 
 he only whispered, " Thank God, thank God ! " He 
 never kissed her, or took her in his arms, nor sought 
 any of the gestures of love; they lived this moment 
 far from their bodies, in the magic world of the 
 soul. The beating of their hearts in unison was the 
 only voice to which they listened; it marked for 
 them those lightning moments of love that all our 
 will, all our prayers, cannot avail to turn or stop. 
 
 At last she whispered : " Let us keep this a little 
 longer let it last us for one day ! " 
 
 And he answered, whispering too, eagerly : " Yes 
 not another word or look only this for to- 
 day!" 
 
 And with a heart in which the great drums of 
 joy were beating, he got up and looked with radiant 
 eyes for one long minute into hers, still wet with 
 their happy tears. He went softly to the door, and 
 turned to look at her again; she was smiling now 
 the new smile of love that only the lover sees. 
 He answered her with a radiant regard of exulting 
 triumph and gratitude, and was gone.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 249 
 
 The barrier between them was down, but they did 
 not cross it. The mere knowledge that they were 
 all in all to one another was so illuminating, so sat- 
 isfying, that for the time it was enough, and they 
 were both far too jealous of their joy, too exalted 
 with the spiritual essence of their love, to let it be 
 shadowed by the fears and miseries that would other- 
 wise have haunted their new-found happiness. That 
 which brought the lover such pure joy could not be 
 allowed to bring any trouble or difficulty to the be- 
 loved that was the unspoken thought of both of 
 them. 
 
 They were like fellow craftsmen who had toiled 
 together on an elaborate jewel of gold, and had 
 awakened one morning to find it set with a crimson 
 glowing ruby. Their love was a gift from heaven; 
 but the setting of it, their friendship, had been of 
 their own making; they had wrought it and shaped 
 it, twisted and locked it together, and decorated it 
 with such loving elaboration that it too was precious 
 to them; their lives had grown into it. They knew 
 every line and pattern on it, every stroke of the 
 hammer was remembered, and every mark of the 
 graving tool ; it was dear and familiar to them, 
 and beautiful beyond words ; it was their very own. 
 But the fire that lurked in the gem was strange and 
 mysterious; it was elemental, it might be terrible; 
 they would let it slumber there for a time until they 
 had read its fiery riddle, and meanwhile, with hands 
 that sometimes trembled a little, with hearts a little
 
 250 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 awed, continue their labour on the kindly gold of 
 friendship, while the pattern they traced drew 
 slowly nearer to the centre of fire. 
 
 They agreed upon this without a word of it being 
 ever spoken ; it was all in the first encounter of their 
 eyes when they met after the great day of revelation, 
 when Rupert, going forward to take Celia in his 
 arms, realized that there was an even sweeter, more 
 intimate greeting than that namely, his old one 
 of sitting down beside her and kissing the tips of 
 her fingers once. He began to speak. " Everything 
 is changed " 
 
 " But we shall change nothing," she answered ; 
 and he understood and was silent. The whole of 
 life was a promise to him in those hours; promise 
 of what, of when, of how, he did not know nor ask, 
 feeling simply that he could trust the beneficent 
 force that had brought him thus far, and await its 
 time and place. Only once, and on her account, he 
 hinted at some difficulty, some trial of the future. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said softly. " It is not to things 
 like that that the Road to Damascus leads. There 
 must be no shadows and fears on our path. I don't 
 want to foresee, I don't want to think. We will live 
 like this from day to day, with never a to-mor- 
 row." And he answered her in the same strain, 
 uttering things equally foolish and irresponsible and 
 perishable, and equally stamped with truth. 
 
 So they resumed the happy companionship on 
 which Love had silently put his seal a companion- 
 ship infinitely fruitful to them, as for all men and
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 251 
 
 women in this world everything actually loved and 
 chosen with a whole heart must be. Their meetings 
 were full of vital and joyous exchange of themselves, 
 as before; and though there were emotional depths 
 beneath them, vast, silent, unplumbed, the surface 
 was bright with the rhythm and music of comrade 
 minds : true speech, true thought, true laughter, like 
 sunshine on the deep sea.
 
 VIII 
 
 THEKE was no outward change to reveal this great 
 hidden event in their lives. Rupert worked a little 
 harder, with a deeper sense of the meaning of his 
 life and work. His drawings in The Riddle, which 
 really gave that periodical its tone and value, were 
 no less beautiful and delicate in their detail than 
 before, but they tended towards a greater breadth 
 both of treatment and idea, became less impish and 
 mocking, and more humane; they were more on 
 the lines of the now famous " A-minor " than of his 
 former work. He even did a series of similar de- 
 signs, suggested to him by music that stirred him, 
 and some of them were very striking; notably the 
 design for Moskowski's great valse in G-minor a 
 swaying group of tiny naked figures with fans dan- 
 cing on the sand under the crumbling arch of a long 
 wave curving to break ; and for a saraband of Bach 
 the last an exquisite piece of mannered formality, 
 full of dignity and grace, which went straight to the 
 heart of Paris and abides there to this day. But 
 neither he nor his friendliest critics were quite sat- 
 isfied with this vein ; it represented a kind of tran- 
 sition period; but transition to what, no one could 
 quite see. 
 
 262
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 253 
 
 Steinman, who really spent a great deal of money 
 on the group of mannerists, and loved their work 
 as only a Jew can love the thing of which he sees 
 both the beginning and the end, was sometimes in 
 despair. 
 
 " I don't know what Savage is about," he said to 
 Sibley one day, with his hands upraised. Sibley 
 and Midwood and Heath were lunching with him 
 at his club on the day after the publication of the 
 January Riddle, which contained, among other 
 things, a diabolically clever and rather unpleasant 
 poem by Midwood called " Uriah the Hittite," the 
 first instalment of some confessions by Heath, called 
 " The Loves of my Childhood," and Rupert Savage's 
 " The Priest's Mother " leaning, wind-blown fig- 
 ures on a high sky-line, with a few dots and lines 
 of moving water in the foreground. 
 
 " What is it all about ? " said Steinman. 
 " There's nothing in it." 
 
 " Except drawing," said Sibley. 
 
 " But it's commonplace," said little Steinman, his 
 face puckered. " We can get that kind of thing 
 from the Slade School any amount of it. No one 
 can keep a reputation going on that. Savage seems 
 to forget that he has his own public and his own 
 market they want to be startled and stirred." 
 
 Midwood laughed softly. " It is so good for them 
 to be shocked. But I think you do our friend Ru- 
 pert an injustice; to me there is something quite 
 appallingly remote and veiled in that drawing ; only 
 he should have called it ' the Priest's Daughter. '
 
 254 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 That would have been witty, and you can let it 
 mean what you like." 
 
 " I see the Critic is pretty down on you all this 
 morning," said Sibley ; " they talk about nothing 
 but decadence, and say iMidwood's poem ought to 
 be suppressed." 
 
 " JSTo, really ? " said Midwood. " How splen- 
 did!" 
 
 " Yes, but we mustn't overdo it," said Steinman. 
 " And you won't mind my saying, Heath, that I 
 hope your next batch will be a bit cooler. I like it 
 I think it is a most artistic piece of work; but 
 even our public has its line, you know. There were 
 one or two words well, that bit about the school 
 children it isn't English, you know I don't 
 think they'll like it" 
 
 "Well, after all" said Heath genially, "why 
 should they like it? They are not meant to like it. 
 Really, if it comes to doing things that the English 
 like, I am afraid none of us can be of much use." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," said Steinman. " We are 
 all Englishmen here isn't it ? " he added, with an 
 appealing glance at Sibley. 
 
 " I don't think there's much merit in being merely 
 disliked," the painter said ; " they hate my work, 
 so it doesn't matter ; but I would rather they didn't." 
 
 " My dear Steinman," said Heath more seriously, 
 " you are doing a very difficult thing, a very noble 
 thing, and a very pleasant thing, in trying to make 
 the English like good work. Anything as pleasant 
 as that can't be easy. It is easy to be sad and gloomy
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 255 
 
 and foolish and vulgar and Philistine; to be happy 
 and wise is the most painful and difficult thing in 
 the world. It may be necessary to hurt them in do- 
 ing it and that is why I propose to tell them 
 about what goes on in the minds of neglected chil- 
 dren; it will hurt them, but it will be good for 
 them." 
 
 Steinman nodded a little doubtfully. " Not too 
 far, you know, all the same." 
 
 " Too far ? You can't go too far. Realism is the 
 only morality worth the name." 
 
 " Then, for any sake, my dear Heath, let us be 
 idealistic," said Midwood, tapping a cigarette 
 against his rather coarse fingers. "If we are not 
 immoral we are nothing. Realism is as ugly as 
 as virtue." 
 
 " Well, but to get to business," said Steinman, 
 who was always uncomfortable during these airy 
 discussions. " I don't want unpleasantness in the 
 papers it won't do any good. But if Savage 
 doesn't tune up again to the old key well, he's 
 done for, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Evidently they don't notice any difference," said 
 Midwood ; " they bracket us all together that is 
 where we are great. If Rupert were to draw a 
 straight line on a piece of paper, every one would 
 talk about its exquisite morbidity. Don't worry, 
 Steinman we'll see you through, old man. Our 
 backs are broad enough to carry you." 
 
 Sibley added, as he rose to go, " I certainly 
 wouldn't be anxious about Rupert Savage; he's
 
 256 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 only lashing about a little, looking for the medium 
 he wants. He'll settle down and make another for- 
 tune for you yet." 
 
 Midwood sauntered along Piccadilly and down 
 St. James's Street, his hands clasped behind his 
 back, his stick trailing behind him, his head hang- 
 ing forward from stooping shoulders, and his long, 
 sallow face turned from side to side as he scrutinized 
 those who passed him in the street. Once he stopped 
 and watched a large pool of melted sleet and mud 
 being shovelled into a cart; the mud-surface was 
 iridescent, and shone in the faint sunshine with hues 
 of opal; he smiled with pleasure at the rare glit- 
 tering colour that floated on the lake of quaking 
 mire. 
 
 If he had looked behind him he would have no- 
 ticed that a plainly-dressed person in a pot hat and 
 drab raincoat, who had been walking behind him 
 all the way from the club, stopped also and looked at 
 his own reflection in the blind window of a shop. 
 When Midwood went on again, humming a little 
 tune, the plainly-dressed person went on too, and 
 when Midwood was knocking at Rupert's door, this 
 apparently aimless pedestrian was just turning the 
 corner from St. James's Street. He seemed to 
 change his mind when the door closed on Midwood, 
 and, after speaking to a policeman standing at the 
 street corner, walked briskly off in the direction of 
 Piccadilly Circus, where he went up to another
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 257 
 
 plainly-dressed person who was smoking a cigarette 
 beside the fountain. 
 
 " Nothing so far," he said, accepting a cigarette 
 from the loitering person. " Got up at twelve, 
 lunched at the Albany Club with two gents name 
 of Steinman and Sibley; left there 3.45, walked 
 to 21-A St. James's Place name of Savage Ru- 
 pert Savage, artist. You'll find him there but 
 it's all square there. This is a mug's game. I'm 
 off to get my tea. Same place to-morrow ? Righto." 
 And the first plainly-dressed person jumped on an 
 Elephant 'bus, while the second walked briskly down 
 to St. James's Place, took an interest in Rupert's 
 old brass door-knocker, and then withdrew to the 
 end of the street, where he contemplated the passing 
 tide of traffic with the eye of a philosopher. 
 
 Meanwhile Midwood and Freddy Steinman were 
 sitting in Rupert's room examining such of the draw- 
 ings for the " Syrian Songs " as were finished. The 
 two men, each in his own way, were singularly sen- 
 sitive to the beauty of Rupert's work; Midwood's 
 affectations dropped from him as he examined one 
 sheet after another, and the whole artist in him rose 
 in homage to the beauty and fertility of invention 
 and certainty of touch that gave to each one its qual- 
 ity of perfection. Steinman was delighted too. His 
 little soul had a native appreciation of what was beau- 
 tiful in art, even while his little mind was busy with 
 figures and calculations, and rejoicing itself in the
 
 258 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 certainty of financial profit. It is the Jews who 
 really inhabit the artist's heaven the place where 
 the finest work is combined with the richest material 
 rewards. 
 
 " Couldn't be better, my boy," said Freddy ; " we 
 are in for a safe thing. Hurry up and finish, and 
 draw your money. Four hundred copies at ten 
 guineas we shall sell them all, and you will have 
 one tousand pound each. Eh ? " 
 
 " You really think so ? " said Rupert. " I'm de- 
 lighted. But what is best is that you are pleased, 
 Midwood. Now, wasn't I right not to read the 
 poems? I couldn't have done anything so near to 
 their spirit as you say these are if I had. Those 
 outlines you gave me inspired me, but the poems 
 themselves would have made me despair. If you 
 have seen a thing once done perfectly, in any me- 
 dium, you can't do it again in another." 
 
 " I take off my hat to you, Rupert," said Mid- 
 wood with a bow. " You are wonderfully right. 
 These are the pictures I dreamed, only better. They 
 will put my poems into the shade; won't they, 
 Freddy?" 
 
 The little man laughed and looked shy. " Aren't 
 they shady enough already, what? No, I am chaff- 
 ing," he added quickly to Rupert, seeing his puz- 
 zled look. " The poems are as good as the drawings 
 I can't say more." 
 
 " Do you want a drink, Freddy ? " asked Rupert. 
 " You are always a thirsty little devil." 
 
 " Thanks, I don't mind. Yes, and a cigarette.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 259 
 
 And that Hops on a chair in front of me and the 
 magnifying-glass. Gott ! I wish I was an etcher ! " 
 
 While the little man was poring over the etching, 
 the other two men talked on by the fire of pic- 
 tures, and poems, and people, and the universe at 
 large. Midwood was at his best, for he was talking 
 of what he loved and understood, and Rupert felt 
 that he liked him better than usual. There was less 
 than usual of that faint, unpleasant mystery that 
 hung about him like an odour, and that Rupert 
 found so repellant. 
 
 They talked again about the " Syrian Songs," and 
 discussed some designs which Rupert had sketched 
 for the white vellum cover. Prom that they went 
 on to speak of the publication itself. 
 
 " Who are you going to get to publish it, Freddy ? 
 
 or are you going to put your own name on it ? " 
 asked Rupert. 
 
 " I have been thinking about that," said Steinman, 
 carefully replacing the etching on an easel and draw- 
 ing his chair to the fire. " I rather wanted to know 
 what you fellows think about it. You see, any ordi- 
 nary publisher will want his share of dhe profits 
 
 and it is not a book that really needs publishing 
 in dhe ordinary way. Only some one has to appear 
 as publisher." 
 
 " Well, why don't you publish it yourself ? " 
 
 Steinman turned in his chair so that he was facing 
 
 the two men. " ]STow we are talking business, and 
 
 you must listen to me. I don't want to appear in 
 
 dhe matter. Why? I am not a publisher in dhe
 
 260 
 
 ordinary sense I do not publish books. I occa- 
 sionally produce a plate, or a reproduction, and I 
 am getting up dhe value of my name and reputation. 
 If I publish a book, all my colleagues, who are my 
 rivals, will say, l Ha ! Steinman is not doing well 
 with his process ' ; my values will go down. And 
 even so, my name will it add glory to dhe book ? " 
 
 " No, I'm damned if it will," said Midwood, 
 laughing. 
 
 " In other circles, yes ; in your circle London 
 and America no. They do not know me yet," 
 said the little man. 
 
 " Well, what do you propose ? " asked Rupert, 
 who did not feel that the subject was so important as 
 Steinman made it out to be. 
 
 " I propose this," said Freddy, speaking very 
 precisely. " This is a personal work it is going 
 to sell on two names Midwood, and Savage. Why 
 have any other name ? Appear as your own pub- 
 lishers; take the commercial element out of it alto- 
 gether, and put on dhe title-page, ' London : pub- 
 lished by Cyril Midwood and Rupert Savage.' ' 
 
 " Not bad ; what do you think, Rupert ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; it seems all right," said Rupert. 
 "You aren't trying to do us in the eye, are you, 
 Freddy? because if you are, you'll get your head 
 punched. Besides, I don't know anything about pub- 
 lishing a book, and I am certain Midwood doesn't ! " 
 
 Steinman waved his arms and laughed. " Do you 
 in dhe eye that's a good one! "No, my friend, it 
 would be too easy. But to talk seriously it is only
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 261 
 
 a formality. Your names are on dhe title-page as 
 publishers, but I take all dhe risk. You sign an 
 agreement giving me dhe right to risk my money by 
 publishing four hundred copies, I pay you a tousand 
 pound each on publication, and take what I can get, 
 and you keep dhe copyright of dhe poems. Of course 
 dhe drawings are never to be reproduced, or we 
 wouldn't get our money. Is that fair ? " 
 
 " It seems a sporting offer," said Rupert. " What 
 do you say, Midwood? So long as we don't have 
 any bother, and he does all the work, and guarantees 
 us our money ? " 
 
 " I am only too pleased to have nothing to do with 
 tedious details," said Midwood languidly. " If my 
 name will save that, you can print it all over the 
 book, Steinman." 
 
 " So," said Freddy, getting up, " I will send you 
 dhe papers to sign. It is dhe best way; but it is a 
 risk for me. I tell you I wouldn't take it for any- 
 one else ! " 
 
 " Get out, Freddy ; you mean you wouldn't take 
 it if you didn't see your money safe. Well, we are 
 all quite satisfied, and we needn't bother our heads 
 any more about it. ... Must you go ? Good-bye. 
 Your tie wants straightening. Where do you get 
 those wonderful ties ? And why do you have card- 
 board shoulders in your coat? You are a weird 
 creature, Freddy ; if you weren't so rich you would 
 be quite intolerable." And Midwood chaffed the 
 good-natured little man out of the room. 
 
 " Give me a cigarette, O Rupert," he said, when
 
 262 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 Rupert returned from seeing Steinman out ; " one 
 of those drugged with pleasant poison; and let us 
 be silent after that Hebrew clatter; let us conjure 
 up the desert sunshine, and the tinkle of the harness 
 bells, and the resurrection of the soul, and the life 
 of the world to come." And the poet lay back in 
 the deep chair, and watched the first wreath of blue 
 smoke coiling above his head.
 
 IX 
 
 CHARLES GRAEME came into the drawing-room 
 where his wife was sitting alone at tea. 
 
 " My dear, this is a bore. I have to go to Liver- 
 pool this evening about that amalgamation. I 
 thought I could have got out of it, but they have 
 wired for me. I have just time for a cup of tea. 
 I am sorry aren't there some people dining ? " 
 
 " Only Rupert Savage you remember ? You 
 asked him on Sunday. Shall I put him off ? " 
 
 " Of course not ! I forgot. Well, that is all the 
 better. He will be company for you and he cer- 
 tainly won't miss me." 
 
 " What do you mean, Charles ? " 
 
 " I mean that he is a very fortunate man, my dear, 
 and that he has the perception to know it." He 
 spoke lightly, with a smile on his grave face, and 
 picked up a newspaper. 
 
 Suddenly Celia looked up at him with a troubled 
 questioning expression in her eyes. 
 
 " We we are great friends, Charles." She did 
 not know why she said it; her heart began to beat 
 quickly ; she was frightened ; she felt as if the con- 
 
 263
 
 264 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 trol of her utterance had been quietly and suddenly 
 taken away from her, and given over to some one 
 else. 
 
 " Yes ? " He looked up from the paper, and then 
 went on reading. The grave smile was still on his 
 face, but it had faded out of his eyes. 
 
 " Great friends. I wish you knew him as well 
 as I do. He is very wonderful more wonderful 
 than his work." It was still her voice, but she 
 seemed to herself to be listening to the words rather 
 than speaking them. 
 
 He answered her this time without looking up 
 from the green-tinted page. 
 
 " My dear, I am sure he is all you say, but I don't 
 imagine that any man is likely to know him so well 
 as a woman. And your way of liking people is 
 different from mine, you know." 
 
 Celia listened anxiously for the sound of her own 
 voice. She felt that it was on the point of uttering 
 some fatal, final thing what would it be? Pres- 
 ently the words came from a very long way off, 
 it seemed. 
 
 " That was what I meant. I I love Rupert 
 Savage." 
 
 As she heard these astounding words forming 
 themselves the world went dark to her; only that 
 fiery sentence seemed to blaze in a black sky 7 
 love Rupert Savage. She turned her eyes away from 
 Graeme and looked at the still hands folded in her 
 lap. It seemed an age in which she waited for his 
 reply an age in which the whole of her married
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 265 
 
 life acted itself again on the stage of her mem- 
 ory. . . . 
 
 There was, in fact, no appreciable pause before 
 Graeme spoke. She heard the rustle of the paper, 
 and then was her sense of hearing playing her a 
 trick ? his voice answering in its customary calm 
 tone. 
 
 " Well so long as you don't tell him so. Dec- 
 larations like that are apt to be misunderstood, 
 especially by men of temperament like our friend. 
 May I have some more tea ? " 
 
 The alien spirit of confession that had possessed 
 her and used her voice now departed from her, and 
 left her in sole control. She saw that Graeme had 
 entirely misunderstood her, and taken her words 
 as a purely impersonal expression of opinion. She 
 knew that he believed her incapable of loving any 
 one, since she did not love him. She was startled, 
 puzzled. The impulse of literal confession, that had 
 come from she knew not where, had made her utter 
 to her husband the great truth of her life, had shot 
 it like an arrow at him; and Fate had stepped in 
 to turn the arrow aside. What did it mean ? Celia 
 was a woman accustomed to listen to the inner voices, 
 to look and wait for the inward light, and she felt 
 that there was a destiny in this which she dare not 
 oppose. . . . 
 
 Her voice rippled out in laughter the clear, 
 true-ringing laughter that even the sincerest and 
 most candid woman can summon to the preservation 
 of her dear secret.
 
 266 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " I think Rupert has far too many declarations 
 of affection to have his head turned by mine. He 
 knows that I am not even original enough not to 
 be devoted to him ! " 
 
 Graeme glanced at her with rather a weary look 
 in his eyes. " Dear Celia, may I beg you not to 
 say things like that? I know they mean nothing, 
 but they don't add to my happiness. Years ago we 
 made a compact; I have kept my side of it as well 
 as I can; I have tried to behave as though I didn't 
 love you. Please don't make it difficult for me. 
 We have plenty of common ground, I know; but 
 I don't like to be reminded of well, of the terri- 
 tory that I must not enter." 
 
 " I am sorry, dear, if I said anything to hurt you. 
 Don't let us be sentimental, though. It would be 
 a most unworthy come-down for us after all these 
 years of friendly understanding of facts. Please, 
 Charles, don't look so tragic, and stir your tea so 
 savagely, or I shall think you are really trying to 
 make a storm in your tea-cup." 
 
 He relaxed the tense expression of his features 
 and laughed. " You are quite right, dear. I dare- 
 say I am extremely foolish. Put a little more cream 
 in, please, to allay the raging of the waves. But 
 as you are having a Savage to dinner, don't let him 
 make a cannibal feast of your heart." 
 
 It was her turn to laugh, and the talk led away 
 from the storm-centre and was maintained in a 
 serene atmosphere until it was time for him to go.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 267 
 
 She was dressed early, and went about the house 
 humming a little song. She loved her house ; it was 
 part of herself, and in every room the spirit of order 
 and beauty was supreme. She was one of the 
 women, rare in our time, who diffuse their person- 
 ality far out into the world about them ; her clothes, 
 her rooms, her furniture, her books, her servants, 
 her friends all seemed to take a certain quality from 
 the influence of her mind, which, like the quiet rays 
 of candlelight, showed at its best whatever she shone 
 upon. 
 
 She felt profoundly happy because Eupert was 
 coming. It was no sense of a guilty joy snatched 
 from unwilling destiny that moved her, but a deep 
 serene gladness. She looked round the room that 
 had been the setting of so much of their friendship, 
 and into which so much of her life had grown ; and 
 quite suddenly, in one of those chills of the imag- 
 ination that give us a momentary knowledge of the 
 terrors that lurk in the shadow of joy, she realized 
 what it might be without him. The tip of Death's 
 icy finger touched her heart for a second, and left 
 it beating wildly as the blood flooded back to it. No, 
 no, no they could not lose each other now! 
 
 She went over to a big Venetian mirror and 
 looked at the image of herself there. She tried to 
 pretend that she was Rupert, and to look at the re- 
 flection with his eyes. From the pearl in her hair 
 to the edge of the train of grey voile was one long 
 curving line such as he loved; how glad she was 
 that she was so slim and had such long legs, and
 
 268 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 such a girlish, unopulent body, so that he should 
 find delight in its form and proportion! What a 
 strange thing the flesh was, and how deeply she 
 disliked people who made a cult of it. Her body 
 had always seemed to her nothing more than a vis- 
 ible adumbration of the invisible, intangible soul; 
 not a thing belonging to her, to be given away, or 
 lent, but herself. She had never realized that until 
 after her marriage, when her soul had been astray 
 in a black wilderness on which she never looked 
 back, and had only saved itself, against all her 
 preconceived and inherited ideas of woman's duty, 
 by clinging to the truth that it and the body were 
 one, and were mated or unmated together. Graeme, 
 who cherished for her the incomplete, half-en- 
 lightened feeling of the unloved, ungratified lover, 
 yielded to circumstance, and respected what he took 
 to be a lack in her nature; she was always half in 
 light and half in darkness to him, and while he 
 loved and admired, he never understood her. . . . 
 How different it would all have been if she had met 
 Rupert long ago. How different and, as she began 
 dimly to see, how much more just some of her views 
 and judgments of men and women would have been, 
 if she had not led this unreal life. When she had 
 battled it out for herself she had thought she knew 
 everything. Was it possible that she knew noth- 
 ing? ... 
 
 "Don't move; stay exactly as you are for a 
 minute, please." It was Rupert, who had come in
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 269 
 
 quietly, and found her still standing in a reverie 
 before the mirror. She turned her face to him, 
 blushing a little at her own thoughts, but she did 
 as he asked. He went up to the mirror and kissed 
 the spot where her mouth was reflected, and then 
 turned to her and took both her hands. Almost at 
 once she told him about her husband's sudden de- 
 parture, and that they were to be alone. 
 
 " Celia, how wonderful ! You and I, quite by 
 ourselves do you know we've never had dinner 
 alone together in our lives ? " 
 
 " Of course, I know. Rupert, I feel about ten 
 years old, and so silly and happy." And she seized 
 both his hands and spun him round in a quick re- 
 volving waltz, her grey dress sweeping out behind 
 her in a wide fluttering circle, and her eyes dan- 
 cing with a childish, mischievous light. He caught 
 the inflection of her gay mood, and they were both 
 standing, flushed and laughing, in the middle of the 
 room when the butler came to announce dinner. 
 
 This delightful intimate impression was height- 
 ened rather than lessened when they were sitting 
 together at the small round table in the dining-room, 
 Celia's well-trained servants moving in the un- 
 lighted background. The fact that they were not 
 alone added to the sense of a happy and intimate 
 secret shared between them, and they found no dif- 
 ficulty in keeping up a flow of conversation that was 
 no less real and sparkling because it was necessarily 
 confined to impersonal subjects. But whenever Ru-
 
 270 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 pert looked up and saw opposite to him the oval of 
 her face beneath its crown of dark hair, his heart 
 gave a little jump of excited happiness; and at the 
 sight of him sitting radiant and happy before her 
 in her own house, at her own table, sharing her own 
 life, the smile in her eyes shone and deepened with 
 the sense of security that a woman feels when she 
 sees the man she loves surrounded by the hundred 
 expressions of herself that her home means. And 
 though they talked of commonplace subjects in 
 their own uncommonplace way, there were little 
 silent flashes and messages sent across the table, 
 smiles at the end of a sentence, pauses and hesita- 
 tions between a couple of chance words, little ripples 
 of laughter in response to inaudible speeches and 
 invisible gestures that made it difficult even for 
 first-footman James, the sleek and observant, to 
 account for such high spirits at so small a dinner- 
 party. 
 
 It was not until they were alone, and the two 
 little cups of coffee had been served and the ciga- 
 rettes lighted, that the silence fell between them 
 and the smiles faded. An unwonted shyness took 
 possession of Celia, an intolerable shyness; she 
 looked at her plate, and watched the ash whitening 
 on the end of her cigarette; but she did not look 
 at Rupert. He was looking at her, however; like 
 one who is conscious of the absence of a customary 
 restraint, he allowed his eyes to rest full upon her, 
 and to receive and enjoy that subtle and wonderful 
 emotion that is stirred by the sense of vision ; there
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 271 
 
 was no need to veil his eyes, or to hide that tell-tale 
 message of love, nor, for once, to stifle the yearnings 
 that rose in his hungry soul. 
 
 He looked at her leaning on the table, the down- 
 cast eyes deepening the habitual gravity of her face ; 
 and from the beautiful picture his eyes wandered 
 away to its background and frame the charming 
 room, in every detail of which was expressed the 
 cultivated love of simple and fine things, the few 
 good pictures on the walls, the spare and beautiful 
 appointments of the table. . . . His imagination 
 wandered out of the dining-room into the silence of 
 the empty house her house, intimate and familiar 
 to her, but a land untrodden by him ; he thought of 
 the staircase and of the unknown region that lay 
 above the drawing-room floor. He had never thought 
 before of Celia's house as existing above that draw- 
 ing-room floor, the life of which he shared; sud- 
 denly he realized that it contained other stories and 
 chambers, as her life itself contained regions that 
 lay in darkness and mystery to him. 
 
 " Celia, I cannot bear it. This is not happiness ; 
 it is torture it is hell ! " 
 
 She looked up, startled at the hard tone in his 
 voice and the bitter expression on his face, and then 
 looked down again at her plate. 
 
 " Tell me exactly what you mean, Rupert. There 
 must be no hell in your life where I am." 
 
 " I mean just that. I cannot bear it." 
 
 " Cannot bear sitting alone with me here ? " 
 
 " Not in another man's shoes."
 
 272 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 She raised her hands with a little gesture, half 
 of impatience, half of despair. " How can you say 
 that ? " 
 
 " Because I mean it. Because to be sitting with 
 you here so intimately and alone, together in one 
 house, so near and yet so far away, is so horribly 
 like the real thing, that it is unbearable for me to 
 remember that this is some one else's chair, this is 
 somje one else's table, this is some one else's house, 
 and that I am standing in some one else's shoes." 
 
 Even amid her gravity the humorous smile played 
 for a moment round the curves of her mouth. 
 " Why worry so much about the shoes ? Believe 
 me, no one wears them at all. They were tried 
 and they did not fit. They seem to be pinching 
 even you a little." 
 
 " Celia, dear love, it is not a joking matter." 
 
 She put down her cigarette and looked at him 
 across the table. " Kupert, come here. . . . No, be 
 quiet stand behind my chair, put your hands over 
 my shoulders and hold my hands and listen once 
 and for all. Is it possible that you do not know? 
 Is it possible that you have known me so long and 
 think me capable of living one of those dreadful 
 mixed lives that one reads about? You make me 
 so horribly shy that I hardly know how to speak to 
 you; and yet I cannot bear to see you suffering 
 through your own stupid misunderstanding. Can 
 you believe me when I tell you that everything of 
 mine that has to do with love is yours and yours 
 only?"
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 273 
 
 " It isn't mine." The voice came with a kind 
 of moan, half stifled in the coils of her hair. 
 
 " It is no one else's." 
 
 " Celia, do you mean I do not understand 
 you belong to some one else." 
 
 " Dear, I belong to myself. You want a bald ex- 
 plicit assurance about details, and it is shameful of 
 you. I won't give it you. I can only tell you that 
 it is honestly, with a single heart, without any de- 
 grading or shameful reservations that I have said 
 and can still say I love you." 
 
 She had turned up her face to look into his eyes 
 and had instinctively drawn his hands a little closer 
 about her neck; but she was not prepared for the 
 rush of passion with which he slipped down on his 
 knees beside her chair and crushed her to himself 
 in a complete embrace. She yielded herself without 
 misgiving or reserve; and for the first time, in the 
 first kiss, their lips met. To Rupert the moment 
 was one of ineffable and almost agonizing realiza- 
 tion ; to her it was like the flinging open of a door 
 into a new untrodden world of passion. In that mo- 
 ment she knew that she had hitherto lived in a twi- 
 light of the heart; that beyond this moment lay the 
 sunrise and the morning; and although the transi- 
 tion smote like agony upon her senses, she knew that 
 she would follow him through that perfect and re- 
 morseless day, to its noon, to its night. . . . 
 
 His lips were devouring her with their kisses, his 
 arms crushing her in their embrace. Suddenly, at 
 some faint sound from beyond the door, he tore him-
 
 274 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 self away from her and stood up trembling beside 
 her chair. The sound passed, but the shame and 
 the indignity of the position struck like a cold iron 
 into his soul. 
 
 " Celia, Celia," he said brokenly, " my love, my 
 wonderful love, what hell and heaven it is ! " and 
 then his voice broke and he put his hands to his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I daren't stay now I would kill you or my- 
 self I will go." And without another word he 
 went suddenly out of the room, careless for once of 
 all appearances, and leaving the explanations to her ; 
 found his hat and coat, and stumbled out of the 
 house. 
 
 He was angry with himself; he felt that he had 
 behaved inconsiderately, insanely, and yet he was in 
 the grip of forces beyond his own control. With 
 the wild taste of those first kisses upon his lips, his 
 blood and brain aflame, his instinct was to rush away 
 and be alone, and not to deliver himself over ut- 
 terly to the elemental forces he had evoked. He 
 walked blindly, hurriedly through the quiet streets 
 of Mayfair till he found himself in Park Lane and 
 walking down towards Piccadilly. The big, silent 
 mansions, the little glittering small houses, seemed 
 to be bending their gaze upon him and saying: 
 " Take it quietly, my friend ; you are not the first ; 
 this kind of thing goes on in all of us continually; 
 we all do it; these little matters can be arranged. 
 Look into my dining-room, into my drawing-room,
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 275 
 
 take a peep into this boudoir, come silently into my 
 library. Believe me, you will see yourself and your 
 actions reflected and repeated everywhere." 
 
 A drift of cold spray from the fountain at Ham- 
 ilton Place stung his cheek as he passed, and he 
 turned into Piccadilly. The tide of traffic was run- 
 ning eastward, singing its song of many notes 
 the whirr and rasp of motor omnibuses, the rushing 
 purr of electromobiles, the rarer clack of the han- 
 soms, and the jingling clatter of omnibuses; and 
 on his left the dark irregular fagade of the Clubs, 
 behind which the conventions of the social world sat 
 enthroned, shone with many lighted windows. They 
 seemed to speak to him, like the houses in Park 
 Lane, but in graver tones, and with a shrug of their 
 great gloomy shoulders. 
 
 " You are making love to another man's wife ! 
 All right ; do not tell us anything about it. Do not 
 do anything to press it on our attention. We do it, 
 but it is not done. Trifle and play as much as you 
 please; it is very amusing; but do not be serious, 
 do not be in earnest, do not do anything about which 
 you and we are unable to pretend. It is not only 
 sinful, but it is bad form to take these things seri- 
 ously. It is not bridge." 
 
 He walked on eastward, through the dismal pedes- 
 trian throng at the end of Piccadilly, and the dread- 
 ful travesty of love and pleasure that displays itself 
 there ; on across the garish lights of Leicester Square ; 
 brushing, with his golden freight of spiritual emo- 
 tion, against endless stupidity and uncleanness; on
 
 276 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 into the busy Strand and the world of theatres and 
 restaurants he, and Celia, enclosed within flames 
 in his heart. He walked on and on, the voices in 
 him repeating : " You are in love with another 
 man's wife, another man's wife." All that he had 
 thought or not thought about that situation before 
 seemed utterly meaningless and inadequate. All 
 that other people thought of it seemed suddenly to 
 be invested with a new and tremendous significance. 
 The heartlessness of the world of pleasure, as con- 
 ventional in its vices as in its virtues, struck him 
 with a new" sense of isolation and loneliness; that 
 world could never understand; was from its very 
 nature and the laws that governed it for ever doomed 
 not to understand; must inevitably and infallibly 
 misunderstand. There was no help for him and 
 Celia there. 
 
 From the glare and silent consuming activity of 
 Fleet Street, he turned down to the Embankment 
 and sat down on a bench. The roar still sounded 
 behind him, in the distance; in front of him ran 
 the river with innumerable fleeting footsteps. Pov- 
 erty and woe shared this world with him; there 
 was no pleasure nor excitement in the narrow region 
 between the benches and the water; things hungry 
 and unhappy came there to be alone. But they were 
 real things; the cough and shiver from the man on 
 the bench beside him had, after all the fret and fever 
 of the lighted town, that touch of sublimity that 
 belongs to misery and death. . . .
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 277 
 
 Graeme. . . . What about Graeme ? How did he 
 stand to Graeme ? He saw in imagination Graeme's 
 calm, compact, intelligent face, with its narrow- 
 pointed, carefully-trimmed brown beard a man 
 who always seemed to have a quiet grip of himself 
 and of any situation in which he might happen to 
 be. But it was not a clear picture; the features of 
 Graeme were blurred and indistinct; Rupert tried 
 to force himself to visualize this man against whose 
 honour he was held to be sinning, but he could not 
 see Graeme as a real person. Graeme sank back 
 into the mists of thought, but Celia's eyes burned 
 through them clearly and reassuringly; the light of 
 truth was in them. 
 
 As Rupert's pulses calmed down and his thought 
 grew clearer, he realized, with something like amaze- 
 ment and something like dismay, that he could not 
 feel jealous of Graeme. If Graeme had been cruel 
 or inconsiderate to his wife, or violent or jealous, 
 Rupert thought that his mind would have been 
 easier ; the world would have sympathized with him 
 for rescuing Celia from an ogre. But Graeme was 
 a perfect gentleman, and kind and considerate and 
 lovable to Celia ; there was no excuse there ; he 
 could not get the world on his side that way. 
 
 The man on the bench beside him stirred un- 
 easily and broke into a fit of coughing. An old 
 woman, very ragged and thin, shuffled along looking 
 on the ground for some crusts and crumbs that had 
 been dropped from a paper-bag. The world was not 
 on every one's side why should it be ? The world
 
 278 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 had its own business, its own aims, its own pleasures. 
 It had very little concern with great things, like 
 misery and death and this burning love of the heart. 
 They were too big for its measuring-rule. He 
 thought of Browning's contrast between the two 
 eternal types of man : 
 
 " That, has the world here. Should he need the next 
 
 Let the world mind him. 
 
 This, throws himself on God, and, unperplext, 
 Seeking, shall find him." 
 
 With Rupert, throwing himself on God was equiv- 
 alent to listening for the inner voice ; and the inner 
 voice told him, not a little to his wonderment, that 
 in his love for Celia there was no shame, and that 
 his feelings towards Graeme simply did not exist. 
 He could not think of Graeme in connection with 
 the matter at all, honestly as he tried to; he could 
 not feel that Graeme had anything to do with it, 
 in spite of all the frowning frontages of Piccadilly 
 and Pall Mall. 
 
 When he realized this it was as though some 
 stifling canopy that had been smothering the flame 
 in his heart and turning it to smoke and suffocation 
 were lifted off, and the flame rose bright and white 
 and clear. He turned to the man on the bench be- 
 side him and spoke some friendly and brotherly 
 words, which made his gift of money a benefit to 
 them both, hailed a passing hansom, and was driven
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 279 
 
 to his rooms. But before he went to bed worn 
 out, although it was still early he sent by hand 
 a little note to Celia, full of passionate love and 
 gratitude and faith in the days to come.
 
 A BATHES pressing note from an American col- 
 lector, who had commissioned a special set of draw- 
 ings, reminded Rupert that it was absolutely neces- 
 sary for him to go to Munich at once for a day or 
 two, in order to see the details of a carved ivory cup 
 in the National Museum there, and to make some 
 sketches of the decoration of a certain Greek vase 
 of which he could get no photograph. He liked 
 travelling, and, as a rule, these sudden expeditions 
 were very pleasant to him ; but now it seemed almost 
 impossible to leave the country where Celia was, and 
 to withdraw himself from her even for forty-eight 
 hours. He found that with the first kiss of passion 
 he had drunk a new wine which had become neces- 
 sary to his life ; but it was a draught that contained 
 equal parts of bitter and sweet, of bliss and torture. 
 Formerly the days and hours in which he had been 
 absent from her had been filled with the happiness 
 which he had stored up in her presence; now he 
 was miserable when he was away from her, and 
 often in her very presence, with her hand in his or 
 his lips touching her cheek, the knowledge that he 
 must leave her again, that their possession of one 
 
 280
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 281 
 
 another was still incomplete, chilled and darkened 
 his happiness. 
 
 It was characteristic of him that he never thought 
 of giving up this journey, which he felt to be neces- 
 sary for his work; he was not one to cheat himself 
 with excuses or to pretend that he could put up with 
 a substitute if the original were within reach. But 
 it was equally characteristic of him that he went to 
 Celia, and took her in his arms, and begged her, 
 since he must go to Munich for four days and could 
 not endure to be parted from her for so long, to cut 
 the ties that bound her, and come with him, giving 
 up her existing life then and there at four hours' 
 notice (he was going by the mail that night), and 
 join her life with his, making a beginning at Mu- 
 nich. She half laughed and half cried at him, but 
 when he pressed her she only shook her head in a 
 bewildered sort of way. 
 
 " If we ever go, Rupert dear " 
 
 " // " he repeated, looking searchingly into 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Well, then, when we go," she said, " it won't be 
 like this, bolting like rabbits and scuffling off by a 
 night-train. Rupert, it is so untidy and undignified 
 of people ! And besides " 
 
 " Besides what ? " 
 
 " I don't quite know, but I somehow feel that we 
 have all the world and the whole of life before us if 
 only we are wise and unselfish, and that everything 
 will come to us if we don't grasp at it too greedily. 
 We are not ready yet we have not earned it."
 
 282 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " How can we earn it ? It's one of the things you 
 must do first and earn afterwards." 
 
 " Ah, my Rupert ! " shaking her head ; " it is 
 because you are like that, that I mustn't be also. 
 You can be wise for me, dear one, but I must be 
 wise for you." 
 
 Nevertheless the pang of separation, even for a 
 few days, was a very real one, and as Rupert drove 
 back to his rooms he was thinking of the Celia he 
 had left sitting in the house to which her husband 
 would presently return, and he was oppressed by 
 a hundred nameless apprehensions which all his 
 knowledge of her and trust in her could not abate. 
 He had no sooner got home than he sent back a 
 note to her in which he wrote in agonized words of 
 his new terror of the hours of separation. The mes- 
 senger brought back a comforting, reassuring letter 
 from Celia, and with it a little Italian ring, 
 once her mother's, on the inside of which was en- 
 graved the single word " forse" In the letter she 
 said : 
 
 " You need have no fears of the l midnight hours.' 
 I have come to realize more than most women how 
 impassable are the barriers of the soul, that, in fact, 
 they are the only barriers that are really impassable, 
 and are never even assailed. Remember that you 
 take me with you on every step of your way, that 
 there are no lands and seas between us, that I kiss 
 your hands and your eyes, and that I am for ever 
 and ever your very own."
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 283 
 
 Yet, although his heart was warm with love, he 
 had never felt quite so lonely as he felt on that 
 bright spring afternoon, while the train was drag- 
 ging its tiresome way along the banks of the Rhine, 
 and the endless succession of smoky towns, pepper- 
 pot schlosses and imitation ruins crowning the bluff 
 vine-covered crags rolled past the window in a fa- 
 miliar and disagreeable panorama. He thought it 
 was mere absence from Celia and the fact that he 
 was travelling away from her that made him so un- 
 happy; he had not realized that passionate love is 
 a condition of pain, and of profound dissatisfaction 
 with all sensations except one. But in the twilight, 
 when the muddy stream of the Rhine had been left 
 behind and the train was climbing through the 
 wooded Bavarian uplands, he began to be conscious 
 of the eternal conflict of those great allies of the 
 artist love and work. That he must live by both, 
 live for both, he knew ; and as he felt the tug of love 
 upon his heart-strings, and the quite different thrill 
 in his finger-tips that reminded him of the world of 
 art to which he was hurrying for his work's sake, 
 he wondered dimly what miracle could be wrought 
 by which these two opposing forces could ever be 
 reconciled or made to pull together. Which was the 
 stronger ? Love, of course ; and yet he was in Ba- 
 varia travelling south-east at forty miles an hour, 
 while Celia lay behind him somewhere in the night 
 that was gathering over the north-west, hundreds of 
 miles away.
 
 284 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 He stayed no longer in Munich than was neces- 
 sary for three visits to the National Museum and 
 the filling of a score of pages in his sketch-book. He 
 went about amid the familiar scenes in a condition 
 in which two extremes of mind were curiously min- 
 gled: a state of depression which was partly caused 
 by absence from Celia, and partly, much more than 
 he knew, by the unsatisfactory circumstances of their 
 love; and a sense of exaltation with which he an- 
 swered this other mood and in which he sought to 
 escape from it. He told himself, and indeed felt 
 with half his nature, that he held the world in the 
 hollow of his hand; that he had attained the great 
 things in life which he had sought; that he was 
 among the Gods and not among the mortals. 
 
 Although he was only three days in Munich, he 
 found time to visit one or two shrines; to sit for 
 half-an-hour before the Virgin of Rogier van der 
 Weyden and let its great major triad of blue, rose, 
 and green sink into his soul; to pay his homage to 
 the chorus of colour in the Rubens room that is one 
 of the glories of Munich; and to stand for a mo- 
 ment before the Midas of Nicolas Poussin and con- 
 firm once more the rather unusual degree of his 
 admiration of that work. And he found time to 
 wander through the English garden, and to watch 
 the hurrying stream of the Isar, cold and green from 
 its glacier birth, sliding and bustling like a rather 
 furtive alien through the tender April foliage of the 
 garden. 
 
 And within a week he was back in London.
 
 XI 
 
 CELIA had not expected that Rupert would be 
 back so soon, and had arranged to spend the end 
 of the week with a friend in the country; so that 
 Rupert, coming home on Saturday evening, found 
 London empty. Under the circumstances it was un- 
 endurable; so he telegraphed to Lady Waynefleete, 
 who was at Gwithian Castle, asking if he might go 
 down to her until Monday. In a couple of hours 
 he had got her answer, and caught the night express 
 to Cornwall. 
 
 Just before he left a large parcel was delivered 
 at his flat containing half-a-dozen copies of the 
 " Syrian Songs." He was so busy with his hurried 
 preparations for departure that he had time only for 
 a glance at the beautiful volumes in their bindings 
 of white vellum adorned with his own exquisite de- 
 sign in gold, and to write his name and Celia's in 
 the top one, which he handed to Hicks with instruc- 
 tions that it was to be sent by a special messenger 
 to Mrs. Graeme in the country the first thing in the 
 morning. He took another copy with him for Lady 
 Waynefleete, and departed into the night. 
 
 He arrived at Gwithian next morning before his 
 285
 
 286 
 
 hostess was downstairs, but he sent a copy of " Syr- 
 ian Songs " to her by a servant, and then went to 
 have his bath and change. The interest he had taken 
 in the book had to a great extent evaporated; he 
 had hardly any curiosity about it, and while he was 
 dressing he merely opened it and turned the pages 
 quickly over, looking cursorily at his own drawings, 
 but lacking the curiosity to read a line of the poems. 
 The book was exquisitely produced ; merely to touch 
 the leaves was a joy; and Rupert remembered with 
 what impatience and excitement he had often looked 
 forward to this moment when he would be able ac- 
 tually to handle it. But all that impatience had 
 disappeared, and when he had seen that the repro- 
 ductions of his drawings looked well he was sat- 
 isfied. 
 
 Lady Waynefleete presently joined the small 
 party gathered after breakfast in the hall, where 
 Rupert was talking about the culture of asparagus 
 to the solemn Miss Thudichum. There were one or 
 two other people there looking at the papers and 
 making plans for the day, and Lady Waynefleete 
 had to thank him more in looks than in words for 
 the present he had sent her when he arrived. But 
 he thought there was something a little odd in her 
 manner something as nearly approaching embar- 
 rassment as she was capable of showing, and he won- 
 dered if it had anything to do with him or if it was 
 merely the result of some small accident in the well- 
 oiled machinery of her house.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 287 
 
 Presently she asked him to go to her sitting-room 
 and talk to her, and as soon as they were alone she 
 revealed the cause of her embarrassment. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Savage," she began, " I don't 
 know how to thank you for your beautiful book, but 
 may I ask if you have read it ? " 
 
 Rupert laughed. " No, I don't think I have," he 
 said. 
 
 " Looked at it ? " 
 
 " Well, certainly nothing more than that. Why ? 
 Is there anything wrong with it ? " 
 
 She picked up the white volume, opened it at a 
 certain page, and said : " Read that." It was a 
 poem called " The Rose of Sharon," and was not one 
 of those Rupert had illustrated. As he read it in 
 the presence of Lady Waynefleete, he felt his skin 
 beginning to tingle. He had, in fact, never read 
 anything quite like it before. Its beauty was unde- 
 niable, as also were its perversity and corruption. 
 As Rupert read on, he saw that none of his cus- 
 tomary arguments about the freedom of art could 
 really excuse anything quite so disagreeable. 
 
 " I agree with you," he said, looking up at Lady 
 Waynefleete ; " it is deplorable. I wish to goodness 
 now that I had seen it before it was printed, as I 
 might have saved poor Midwood from giving him- 
 self away so badly. It is not fair to himself or his 
 own reputation to print stuff like this." 
 
 " I am afraid I am profoundly uninterested in 
 Mr. Midwood's reputation," said Lady Waynefleete,
 
 288 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " but I am interested in you and in what people 
 think of you, and it is for your sake that I am con- 
 cerned about this. I wish it had not happened." 
 
 The idea of its connection with him had not oc- 
 curred to Rupert before, and he brushed it aside 
 now. " I hardly think that anybody will think more 
 or less about my drawing because Midwood is foolish 
 enough to include stuff like this in his work." 
 
 " I am not so sure," she said gravely. " The 
 whole thing looks to me very serious. You won't 
 mind my saying that I think some of the poems are 
 quite disgraceful, and that the book should never 
 have been published. I am horrified to think that 
 you are associated with it. Just read these poems 
 through, and I think you will agree with me. Stay 
 here for a few minutes while I go and speak to the 
 housekeeper." 
 
 When she had gone, Rupert sat down with a sigh, 
 and read the " Syrian Songs " through from begin- 
 ning to end. The impression they produced upon 
 him was a singular one. He was first charmed, then 
 interested, then disappointed, then rather revolted, 
 and then, perhaps for the first time in his life, thor- 
 oughly shocked. He had never before realized to 
 what a limit the technical perfection of art could 
 be pushed in its association with rank perversity. 
 Midwood had gone out of his way to outrage the 
 taste of the day in its every convention; and yet 
 the result was not destructive and defiant so much 
 as impudent and ugly. For once, and with a ven- 
 geance, the emancipated art had over-reached itself.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 289 
 
 And as Rupert turned the pages and saw inter- 
 leaved with them his own beautiful work, he began 
 to realize with a certain sinking of heart in what 
 light his own association with the poems might ap- 
 pear. He had never done better work than he had 
 put into these eighteen perfect pages ; the tinge of 
 morbidity that had marked his earlier period was 
 completely absent from them, and sheer beauty of 
 line and conception had taken its place. Yet in 
 their way they fitted wonderfully to the strange and 
 fantastic atmosphere of the poems; he had been so 
 well inspired by Midwood's descriptions that no one 
 would believe that he had never read the verses them- 
 selves. 
 
 It was a bitter humiliation and disappointment to 
 him that his best work should thus appear as the 
 handmaid of something which, although it was not 
 so contemptible as public opinion would hold it to 
 be, was yet really unworthy. When Lady Wayne- 
 fleete came into the room again she found him look- 
 ing very grave indeed. He shut the book up and 
 put it away. 
 
 " You are quite right," he said. " This is a hor- 
 rible blow to me. I don't know what to say or what 
 to do. The whole thing is so complicated. I believe 
 the subscription copies have all gone out, and that 
 a dozen copies were sent to the Press nearly a week 
 ago. It's gone beyond recall. I cannot think how 
 Midwood let himself go like this he must be mad, 
 and Steinman too." 
 
 " Steinman ? " said Lady Waynefleete.
 
 290 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " Yes, Freddy Steinman, you know, the brother. 
 He must have seen the poems ; he must have known 
 all about it, and be playing some confounded little 
 Jewish game of his own. I suppose that is why he 
 did not want to put his name on it. He knew that 
 if I had seen the poems I would have objected, and 
 so I was never told, and was fool enough not to want 
 to read them until I saw the whole thing complete." 
 
 " But surely you knew what kind of a man Mr. 
 Midwood was ? " asked Lady Waynefleete. " You 
 know his other work; and although, of course, it 
 is nothing like this, it is tinged with the same kind 
 of thing, and you know what people say about him. 
 My dear Mr. Savage, I make a point of ignoring 
 unpleasant things when I can, and gossip of this 
 kind does not interest me it is generally untrue ; 
 but surely you know what even Mr. Midwood's 
 friends say ? I somehow thought you knew all about 
 him." 
 
 " In a way I know him very well, and in a way 
 I don't. I believe in his work, I think he is a great 
 poet, and nothing he does of this kind can alter the 
 fact that he has done some of the finest work of his 
 day; and from my point of view that is so much 
 more important than anything else, that I am in- 
 clined to ignore his eccentricities. I have never been 
 interested in that side of Midwood, and never come 
 much in contact with it. He has always been a good 
 friend to me, and even now I don't believe he would 
 have published these poems without my seeing them 
 if he had dreamed for a moment that I would ob-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 291 
 
 ject. I must think it all out," he continued heavily ; 
 " but I do not see that there is very much to be done. 
 You had better burn that beastly book." 
 
 " Indeed, I will do no such thing," said Lady 
 Waynefleete. " I prize it very much because you 
 gave it to me, and because of your beautiful draw- 
 ings. I needn't read the poems if I don't want to. 
 And as you can do nothing until Monday in any 
 case, I forbid you to think any more about it until 
 then, and to try and amuse yourself in this dull 
 place as well as you can." 
 
 * 
 
 But it was not easy for Rupert to put it out of 
 his head. In the middle of some quite ordinary 
 conversation with one of his fellow-guests, he would 
 suddenly be seized with a chill of remembrance, and 
 then grow hot all over with the thought of the kind 
 of thing his name was going to be associated with. 
 A sense grew upon him of impending disaster; he 
 felt almost guilty himself when he realized the ex- 
 tent of the insult which he and Midwood had offered, 
 not only to the public and its Philistine tastes and 
 conventions, but, as he began to think, to literature 
 and art themselves. 
 
 He had always been a believer in art of every 
 kind being entirely separated from ideas of moral- 
 ity or immorality, but he realized how in following 
 a similar line, Midwood had become more preoccu- 
 pied with such ideas than the most Philistine middle- 
 class father of the family could ever be; and that 
 his work, therefore, as well as being profoundly im-
 
 292 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 moral, had become profoundly inartistic. He showed 
 his disgust with morality more aggressively even 
 than the ordinary man showed his disgust with 
 freedom of ideas ; and on the whole his was the less 
 respectable attitude. 
 
 Rupert tried to throw himself into the pursuits 
 of the house, but it was difficult to escape from his 
 own thoughts, and he accepted with relief Lady 
 Waynefleete's proposal to drive him over with her 
 to lunch on Sunday at a neighbouring place where 
 there was a large house party. It was a lovely day, 
 and as they drove over the downs, and the honey- 
 sweet air swept over them in a soft scented billow, 
 the trouble faded a little into the background of 
 Rupert's mind. It all seemed so unreal there on the 
 great lonely sea-scented tableland at the end of Eng- 
 land, where few poems had ever been written or 
 read, and where the very echoes of the songs that 
 had been sung had died away centuries before. He 
 was very silent, and Lady Waynefleete, like a good 
 friend, was in sympathy with his mood ; so they did 
 not talk much, and he was free to think about Celia, 
 and to remember that he would see her within thirty- 
 six hours. She really filled his heart; she loved 
 him! It was impossible to take anything else very 
 seriously. 
 
 They found a large and rather smart party as- 
 sembled on the lawn at Penhale Abbey the won- 
 derful ten-acre mown lawn from which you look 
 down over the tops of oak trees on one of the love- 
 liest harbours in England. And almost the first
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 293 
 
 thing that Rupert saw among the throng of guests 
 was a well-remembered figure, slight and trim and 
 familiar Lady Fastnet. 
 
 As he looked at her, and as he worked his way 
 nearer to her through a succession of introductions, 
 it seemed as though it were only yesterday that he 
 had walked so blindly and miserably out of her 
 house in Dublin; and yet a wider gulf than time 
 seemed to separate him from her and that day from 
 the present. 
 
 There was not the least embarrassment in his 
 greeting of her, though he thought there was a strain 
 of shyness in her manner to him. He dispelled that 
 by saying at once : 
 
 " I see you are exactly the same Lady Fastnet, 
 and I am the same Rupert, so we need waste no 
 time in being embarrassed with each other. I have 
 often thought about you in all these years, and only 
 about how kind you were to me, and how good you 
 were for me ! " 
 
 The old gay smile lighted up the sky-grey eyes 
 and relaxed the severe mouth. " It is very nice of 
 you to say that, Mr. Savage or may I still call 
 you Rupert? You see everything has come true 
 exactly as we predicted, except that I don't think 
 we ever imagined what giddy heights of genius and 
 fame were in store for us ! " 
 
 " Oh, please don't let us talk about genius and 
 fame," said Rupert, with a little of his old boyish 
 impatience. " We have talked enough about me to 
 last for a lifetime. You shall tell me about your-
 
 294 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 self a subject I think we rather neglected in the 
 old days." 
 
 * * 
 
 They were separated at luncheon, Rupert having 
 to sit between the old and rather deaf Marchioness 
 of Exmouth, who would talk about nothing but im- 
 proprieties, and her pretty daughter Lady Clemen- 
 tine, who entertained him with a vivid description 
 of her mother being sick on the yacht, and with an 
 extremely witty and artistic survey of sea-sickness 
 in general and other kinds of internal disturbances. 
 In the intervals of this dainty talk he looked across 
 the table sometimes at Geraldine Fastnet, who was 
 dividing herself gracefully between the ardent at- 
 tention of one of the younger sons of the house and 
 another boy just home from Eton. She was think- 
 ing of the years gone by, when the handsome, dis- 
 tinguished-looking man opposite, who was run after 
 by everybody and whose name was famous in two 
 Continents, brought to her feet an admiration and 
 devotion just as boyish as theirs, though perhaps of 
 different quality. And Rupert, when their eyes met 
 in a friendly smile, was feeling how odd it was to 
 be able to look at her without emotion ; how strange 
 to be sitting opposite her and not to be fuming be- 
 cause he was not beside her ; how wonderful that the 
 same fair face and form that once had meant the 
 whole of life and the world to him should now be 
 without any power even to please or displease him, 
 just because the intangible spirit of love no longer 
 glorified her in his eyes.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 295 
 
 It was the same after luncheon when he sought 
 her out again and spent the afternoon walking with 
 her through the wonderful Penhale gardens. He 
 was aware that he only liked her now because she 
 reminded him of his past self. He felt an odd sense 
 of superiority, just because he was no longer in love 
 with her; but she made him feel rather lonely, and 
 filled him with longing for Celia and the sound of 
 Celia's voice. He gathered that her life had not 
 changed much, that she still escaped from Castle 
 Fastnet whenever she could, but that her sense of 
 duty took her there fairly often, to the sole company 
 of her now semi-invalid husband, who refused to 
 leave home and hated to have people staying in the 
 house. 
 
 She made it clear to Rupert that while his life had 
 so gloriously grown and developed, hers had stood 
 still. He would have liked to be kinder to her, to 
 be fonder of her, to be more absorbed in her than 
 he was; but he was painfully aware that he had 
 outgrown her, and he hated himself for seeing it. 
 He was afraid that she had formerly taken posses- 
 sion of his youthful imagination simply because she 
 was strange and new, and unlike anything he had 
 known; now he knew her type well, and she had 
 no interest for him. She had lost her understanding 
 of him, too; she was a little afraid of him and of 
 his fearless, unconventional views of life and con- 
 duct; she felt a little like a mother whose child has 
 grown up and left the home; she would have called 
 him back if she could, but she knew that he would
 
 296 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 never again come to her call. She summed up her 
 limited comprehension of him in a pathetic little 
 epigram : " You approve of good women, and rather 
 pity them." He knew then that he could never 
 make her understand what he thought about women. 
 These rather painful discoveries along the for- 
 saken trail of an old sentiment occupied his mind, 
 at any rate, for the afternoon, and kept his thoughts 
 from brooding on the forthcoming trouble connected 
 with the book. Lady Waynefleete on the drive home 
 was rewarded for her silence in the morning by a 
 brisk and high-spirited conversation, in which Ru- 
 pert's quick, intelligent and humorous mind was 
 at its best and gayest. 
 
 But he came back to reality the next morning. 
 He went up by the early train, and got the London 
 papers at Plymouth. He turned one over after an- 
 other, and was relieved to find no mention of the 
 " Syrian Songs " in the first half-dozen ; but as he 
 opened The Messenger, that great organ of English 
 middle-class opinion, his eye was caught by a big 
 headline in the middle of the front page. He set- 
 tled grimly down to read an ably-written and 
 weighty denunciation that filled a column and a half. 
 
 It was worse even than he had thought; there 
 was no question of dismissing the book with con- 
 tempt; the writer of the article invited public at- 
 tention to it, referring to the manner of its publi- 
 cation as being likely to provide a kind of screen for 
 it, and warning his readers that they had a duty in
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 297 
 
 the matter of works of this kind, although they were 
 on subjects which might not as a rule come within 
 the range of their interest. There was a personal 
 bitterness and rancour underlying the article, which, 
 although it was well concealed, added to the inten- 
 sity and scorn of the indictment. There was no 
 attempt to separate Rupert and Midwood or to dis- 
 criminate between them; most unfairly their work 
 was lumped together and treated as the deliberate 
 collaboration which it appeared to be, and indeed 
 ought to have been. 
 
 Rupert had had some vague idea, more for the 
 sake of his friends than for his own sake, of asking 
 Midwood to explain that the drawings had been 
 made quite independently for the poems; but he 
 felt that that was impossible now. He must stand 
 by Midwood and take his share of the responsibility 
 for the thing which bore their two names. 
 
 The writer of the article ended his powerful and 
 passionate denunciation of what he called unclean- 
 ness in art by an appeal to public opinion against 
 the whole of the group of whose work, as he said, 
 a book like this was the inevitable blossom. He 
 demanded its instant suppression, and hinted that 
 the prosecution of the publishers (who were also the 
 authors) might afford a wholesome example; in 
 any case he promised his readers that the matter 
 should not be allowed to rest so far as the influence 
 of his paper was concerned. 
 
 The effect of all this upon Rupert was to make 
 him feel rather sick. In one way, and only in one
 
 298 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 way, he was on the side of the writer; he had 
 shared the feelings of repulsion with which he had 
 evidently read the poems. But, on the other hand, 
 he felt dumbly the gross injustice to which his own 
 perfectly sound work was subjected in being looked 
 at through the light of Midwood's moral eccentricity. 
 He was jealous for his work and for his reputation, 
 and wanted to save them from any association likely 
 to be damaging ; and here he had deliberately placed 
 them in a false and degrading position. It was hor- 
 rible. 
 
 He telegraphed to Caird and Sibley asking them 
 urgently to dine with him. Caird came first and 
 greeted Rupert heartily. " Well, it has come, my 
 friend," he said ; " I hope you are ready for it." 
 
 " What has come ? " asked Rupert. 
 
 " Fame, success, the pinnacle of fame and like- 
 wise the end of all that. There will be some dust 
 and trouble, and then you can settle down to work 
 in earnest; but the bubble is pricked, I am afraid." 
 
 " Do you think it's going to be serious ? " 
 
 " I do," said Caird. " The English people have 
 very few ideas, but they have very definite ones. 
 They like impropriety, provided you wrap it up in 
 a blanket of sentiment, and they will stand an attack 
 on their religion provided it is delivered by a strict 
 ascetic moralist; but a man who mixes up religion 
 and immorality, and lays unclean hands on New 
 Testament history, they have no mercy upon. And 
 I don't know but what they are right. They don't
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 299 
 
 believe in much, but they have a fine sense of rev- 
 erence in what they do believe in, and they don't 
 want their temples defiled. Which of us does ? " 
 
 " There is a storm brewing," said Sibley, who 
 had joined them in Rupert's rooms ; " and I think 
 we shall all be in it. There are certain things, as 
 you say, that the dear British Public will not stand 
 at any price, and Midwood seems to have thought of 
 them all. Did no one see these poems, Rupert ? " 
 
 " IsTot a soul, except perhaps Freddy Steinman, 
 and even he, if he had an inkling of what they were 
 like, I expect made a point of not seeing them. 
 Where is he, by the way ? " 
 
 " Hiding," said Sibley. 
 
 " We must smoke him out," said Rupert, " and 
 yet the beastliness of the whole thing is that one 
 can't do anything. I can't thrash Steinman, because 
 the little beast hasn't done anything to deserve it. 
 He has acted according to his lights. It is I who 
 have been the fool. Has any one seen Midwood ? " 
 
 " No," said Sibley, " and from what I hear no one 
 is likely to. He has vanished. I am afraid there 
 will be an awful row." 
 
 " I confess I do not think the poems are very 
 good; but I see what you mean about the extraor- 
 dinarily infuriating effect they will have ; also Mid- 
 wood's life won't very well bear prying into." 
 
 " When they realize what he has done," said 
 Caird, " they will lynch him if they can catch him. 
 Man, Rupert, you are a grand hand at the drawing, 
 but I doubt you are no very great hand at managing
 
 300 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 your own affairs. Well, it will be a fine thing for 
 you all the same just a clean sweep of all the gilt 
 and tinsel out of your life, and nothing left but your 
 real friends and your work." 
 
 " They can't do very much to me," said Rupert, 
 a little defiantly. " They can say I am tarred with 
 the same brush, but they can't make it true if it is 
 not." 
 
 " !N"o," said Caird, " maybe they cannot do much, 
 but they can do just this, and they will do it put 
 you under a moral ban and ignore you. I may be 
 exaggerating what's in the air, but I don't think so. 
 If I am right, the whole of your work will be so 
 identified with Midwood's downfall that, for a time 
 at least, no publisher will publish it, and no editor 
 who has a magazine will buy one of your drawings, 
 and they will be kept in the back-rooms and locked 
 cases of the picture shops. Your name won't be 
 mentioned in polite society," added Caird, with a 
 grin. " Man, it's a disgrace to England, but it's 
 splendid for you \ " 
 
 " Well, we shall see," said Rupert. " I think, 
 perhaps, you are wrong, but we shall see."
 
 XII 
 
 CELIA GKAEME was sitting in her room, a white 
 vellum book before her, and on it a note from Ru- 
 pert asking if he might come to lunch that day as 
 he had something important to tell her. Her brows 
 were knitted ; she was trying to think out a difficult 
 problem with the calm deliberation of mind that she 
 brought to all the affairs of her inner life; but she 
 was really puzzled. She had had two days to con- 
 sider the book and all that it might mean. She was 
 aware of the strange chance that had prevented Ru- 
 pert from knowing about the poems before it was 
 published, and her whole heart was going out to him 
 and sharing the mortification and misery which she 
 knew he must be feeling. She had looked upon the 
 book, certainly upon his share of it, as a child of 
 his and hers; her eagerness in looking forward to 
 its appearance had been even greater than his; she 
 knew how good his work in it was, and she had felt 
 a very real though quiet pride in the fact that he 
 had done his best work in intimate association with 
 her. And now it was all spoilt, and worse than 
 spoilt, by this horrible accident that had turned 
 what ought to have been the means of increasing his 
 
 301
 
 302 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 reputation and good fame before the world into a 
 means of degradation and something like disgrace. 
 
 Midwood's poems puzzled rather than disgusted 
 her. She was not sure she understood all their veiled, 
 erotic allusiveness, but her instinct rejected them as 
 something not sound or true to life and art. She 
 was for the first time in her life a little frightened 
 not for herself, but for Rupert. What effect 
 would it have upon him? She wanted above all 
 things to be with him; she knew that he must be 
 full of anxiety to talk to her about the situation; 
 she had seen the scathing denunciation in The Mes- 
 senger, and there were two equally indignant and 
 damning reviews that morning in papers which had 
 not before noticed the book. 
 
 Her husband came into the room while she was 
 still thinking, and she gave him Rupert's note, which 
 consisted of only a few formal lines. 
 
 " Poor Rupert," she said. " He must be terribly 
 distressed about this, and want to talk about it." 
 
 Her husband sat down on a chair beside her. He 
 read the note and then looked up. 
 
 " I wanted to speak to you about that, Celia. I 
 did not say anything last night after you showed 
 me the book, because I wanted to think it over. I 
 am afraid you cannot have Rupert Savage to lunch 
 to-day." 
 
 " My dear Charles," she said, surprised, " why in 
 the world not ? " 
 
 Graeme looked down at the floor, his mouth firmly 
 set.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 303 
 
 " Simply because it is impossible at present, while 
 this horrible scandal is in the air, that you should 
 identify yourself with any one connected with it. I 
 am very sorry; I know how it will hurt you to ap- 
 pear disloyal to your friends, but I have to think 
 about you first. I cannot tell you how perfectly 
 hateful and odious this business is. You don't know 
 the whole of it. You don't know what people are 
 saying. About Savage, of course, it is not true, but 
 it is true about the other man. It is painful for me 
 even to talk to you about it. I wish you not to see 
 anything of Rupert Savage until it has settled itself 
 in some way." 
 
 " But this is nonsense. If there is any trouble, 
 if people are going to be unjust and say nasty things 
 about Rupert, that is the very time his friends must 
 stand by him. I could no more write telling him 
 not to come than I could believe any wild nonsense 
 people like to say about him." 
 
 " Then I must write, if you won't," said Graeme 
 firmly ; " perhaps it would be better. I do not care 
 for you even to be discussing the thing with him. 
 It is the one kind of thing which one cannot allow 
 a woman to appear to be even faintly involved in." 
 
 Celia was silent for a minute, thinking rapidly. 
 Not for years had her husband ever assumed that he 
 had the right to command her in any matter con- 
 nected with her friends; but she was not thinking 
 of that. She knew him well enough to realize that 
 having once taken up a position of this kind and 
 having assumed his right to control her movements,
 
 304 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 he would not recede from it. As they sat silent in 
 the room there together the external affection and 
 goodwill that held them together as good friends for 
 so many years seemed to vanish, and the profound 
 native antagonism of their natures stood in its place. 
 She felt that she was being forced into a position in 
 which some very definite action would be required 
 of her; she had felt it coming for some time, but 
 now it had been precipitated, and the moment had 
 arrived before she was ready for it. 
 
 She rebelled against being hurried or bustled into 
 a decision, and she tried to gain time by an attempt 
 to alter her husband's point of view by deprecating 
 the importance which he attached to the whole inci- 
 dent. But it was of no use. Graeme had made up his 
 mind, and she felt that he would never alter it. She 
 did not know how much he suspected of Rupert's 
 attachment to her; he was a very silent man, and 
 even secret about such things ; all she knew was that 
 he had no idea that a deep and passionate love had 
 been awakened in her soul, and she remembered how 
 completely he had misunderstood her on that strange 
 occasion when she had been prompted to tell him 
 of it. 
 
 She had felt then as if Fate had intervened to 
 prevent her making a decision, and she had the same 
 feeling now. Obviously she could not ask Rupert 
 to her husband's house if he forbade it; obviously 
 also it was entirely against her nature to resort to 
 any clandestine method of seeing him; and if she 
 saw him openly she knew Graeme well enough to
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 305 
 
 understand that it would mean an absolute break 
 with him. And she did not feel that the moment 
 had come for that, either for her sake or Rupert's. 
 She felt that if by yielding to his persuasions and 
 running away with him she involved him in a social 
 scandal as well as in this other trouble, it would 
 probably have such a disastrous effect upon his career 
 that he would never recover from it. And she loved 
 him far too well and too deeply to let her love be 
 a curse to him. 
 
 Often in these last weeks she had felt that she 
 would give anything to end her present unreal life 
 and begin a real one with him; she was so weary 
 of not being herself; so weary of the interminable 
 masquerade that had been tolerable enough and had 
 seemed as well worth doing as anything else, before 
 her love had been awakened. The whole woman in 
 her, body and soul, longed to run to the mate who 
 was calling to her; and yet she had held back, and 
 for his sake. The reasons why she should hold back 
 were still there; she must not, no, she must not let 
 any other circumstance force her into an action 
 which she did not do freely and of her own choice. 
 
 Graeme got up to go. " You quite understand, 
 Celia, I am sure, and you will do what I wish." 
 
 Celia rose also from her chair. " No, I cannot 
 write a letter like that, if that is what you mean. 
 I disapprove of it and I won't do it." 
 
 " Very well then, I will do it for you ; it will be 
 better. The whole thing will blow over, I dare say ; 
 but until it does I cannot have you involved in it,"
 
 306 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 he added kindly, and stooping down to put his hand 
 on hers. 
 
 She drew it away quickly, looking at him with a 
 curious detached expression in her eyes. She could 
 see that he was offended and in a way exasperated 
 with her; but he only showed it by an almost im- 
 perceptible shrug of the shoulders, and left the room. 
 He went to his study and wrote a rather formal and 
 quite definite note to Rupert, saying that he was 
 sure he would not misunderstand him when he said 
 that he thought it would be better, while this de- 
 plorable business lasted, that his wife should not be 
 identified in any way with people connected with 
 it; and he hoped that when it was all over they 
 would see Rupert again as they had been accustomed 
 to do. And then he departed to a Directors' Meet- 
 ing with a rather satisfactory sense of having done 
 something unpleasant but necessary, and of having 
 asserted his right to protect Celia from her indis- 
 cretions. 
 
 
 
 Celia sat thinking for a long while in her chair. 
 The one thing she was sure of was her absolute and 
 changeless love for Rupert; that would be the one 
 thing he was sure of also. Therefore he could not 
 possibly misunderstand this characteristic action of 
 her husband. The one thing above all others she 
 wished to preserve was her power of being of use to 
 him, and the one thing endangering that would be 
 an open disagreement about him. A remarkable 
 candour of mind made it impossible for her, after
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 307 
 
 what her husband had said, to write without telling 
 him; to tell him would be to precipitate a situation 
 that she wished, for Rupert's sake, to postpone; 
 therefore she would not write. Rupert would under- 
 stand; but oh, what would she not have given to 
 have been able to run to him then and there and 
 put her arms round him, and wrap him in a mantle 
 of love that would protect him from all the pain 
 and unpleasantness that was threatening him ! 
 
 She seemed to herself to be living in a dream; 
 an hour ago she would have said that complete pas- 
 sivity on her part, while her husband was showing 
 the conventional white feather at the breath of scan- 
 dal, and making her seem to desert her friend in 
 danger, would have seemed impossible to her; but 
 the inner voice, and that strange fate that had inter- 
 vened once before, told her to wait and choose her 
 own time and not be deflected by accident or cir- 
 cumstances. She turned to a volume beside her in 
 which she had often found, when it was to be found 
 nowhere else, a silent encouragement in her effort 
 always to make her decisions in life the decisions of 
 deliberate choice, and she found a passage that had 
 been the expression of her whole belief since first 
 she had discovered the road of her soul. 
 
 " The thing that thou actually lovest, choose that, 
 even as thou art minded ; it is the voice of thy whole 
 being that speaks then. Paint that, sing it, celebrate 
 it, work towards doing it and possessing it, deaf 
 towards all else. It is rich with blessedness for thee ;
 
 308 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 every feature and figure of it emblematic of good to 
 thee; it is thy counterpart, that." 
 
 Work towards possessing it that was what she 
 had to do for Rupert, and he for her. But there 
 was so much work still to do, and it was that most 
 weary and difficult labour of the soul the work of 
 waiting, the work of silence, the work of risking 
 misjudgment, the work of suffering and even in- 
 flicting pain in order that a greater joy might be ful- 
 filled. She took up Rupert's photograph and looked 
 long at the well-modelled, masterful face; and her 
 eyes filled with unwonted tears.
 
 XIII 
 
 EUPERT found two letters waiting for him the 
 next morning one in the unfamiliar writing of 
 his cousin Helen and bearing the Malvern post-mark. 
 He opened it first. It told him briefly that his aunt, 
 who had been staying there for a cure, had been 
 taken dangerously ill the day before, and that, al- 
 though there seemed to be no immediate danger, it 
 was thought better that Rupert should come to her 
 at once, in case of any sudden development of her 
 illness. 
 
 In the midst of other pre-occupations this news 
 had a doubly chilling effect; but when he opened 
 the other letter the writing, which he recognized as 
 Graeme's, went dim before his eyes. For a moment 
 he was completely stupefied; his mind was more 
 wrought upon than he knew by all the events that 
 had been crowding upon it; and this formal con- 
 ventional message, with its veiled suggestion that he 
 was a person association with whom might bring 
 trouble even upon his friends, struck him with a 
 blow like that of a leaden bullet. And the blow, 
 although it did not come from Celia, came from her 
 direction. 
 
 309
 
 310 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 It was a few minutes before he could clear his 
 thoughts sufficiently to realize that something tre- 
 mendous must have happened for her even to allow 
 him to be subjected to this slight. The deadly thing 
 in his mind was that she had allowed some one else 
 to write her answer for her ; the significance of such 
 an action, its rudeness even, all that it might be 
 intended to convey under ordinary circumstances, 
 struck him as being utterly at variance with what 
 he knew of Celia's character and actions. He was 
 thinking entirely of himself ; he had been supported 
 by the certainty of seeing her that day, counting 
 upon it, leaning upon it with his whole heart and 
 soul, and now it was struck away from under him 
 by an utterly inexplicable action. His brain was in 
 a ferment. He walked up and down the room with 
 his heart thumping like a sledge-hammer, trying 
 to understand, trying to see. He could not see, he 
 could not understand; it was all quite blurred and 
 dark. . . . 
 
 Mechanically he picked up one of the two papers 
 that had been put on his table, and opening it saw 
 that there was another long article about the " Syr- 
 ian Songs," and also that the columns had been 
 opened to a correspondence on the subject. He read 
 the article first; it was the kind of thing he was 
 getting accustomed to ; but it had even more weight 
 and rancour than that in The Messenger. It re- 
 viewed the past work of Midwood and Rupert, ma- 
 king light of its artistic worth and tracing through 
 it a tendency that had inevitably led to decadence
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 31 1 
 
 and perversion. This tendency, said the article, 
 must be stopped at all costs ; and its stoppage would 
 be purchased cheaply indeed at the cost of a few 
 reputations and careers. The article was followed 
 by a column and a half of extremely violent and 
 sometimes hysterical letters from various good souls 
 who were moved by the articles in the papers; and, 
 understanding that morality and religion and social 
 cleanness were being subverted, manfully took pen 
 in hand on a theme on which at last they felt they 
 could speak with knowledge, and added to the gen- 
 eral chorus their shrill cries of indignation and 
 anger. 
 
 There was no weight in most of the letters, which 
 represented the yelping of hounds on a trail; but 
 to see one's self called names, and not nice names, 
 and to see one's self abused throughout the columns 
 of a newspaper, has a certain effect. For Rupert it 
 was merely one in a procession of calamities that 
 were beginning to weigh upon him with a sense of 
 irretrievable disaster. The whole world was slipping 
 away from him. 
 
 He had forgotten the news about his aunt ; as he 
 picked up his cousin's letter again he remembered 
 it dimly as something that had happened a long 
 time ago. He would have to go to Malvern, and 
 that was the only thing left to be done. That meant 
 leaving London and Celia. Celia! For the first 
 time in his life the thought of her was associated 
 with pain and torture. At one moment he was on
 
 312 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 the point of rushing from the room straight to her 
 house, insisting on seeing her and hearing from her 
 own lips that she loved him, trusted him, knew him, 
 stood by him; next he threw himself into his chair 
 with his head sunk on his hands trying to stop the 
 whirling in his brain and to disentangle some clear 
 thought there. Then he remembered again that he 
 must go to Malvern; and he looked up the trains 
 and decided to go early in the afternoon. 
 
 He had been so much on the move lately that most 
 of his affairs had been neglected. He had to go out 
 to see one or two people on business, and to attend 
 to some of the dull mechanical details of existence. 
 He walked up St. James's Street and along Picca- 
 dilly with the thought of Celia throbbing in his head. 
 The temptation to go to Curzon Street was almost 
 irresistible, but the cold barrier of that note was im- 
 passable. Then he thought he might perhaps meet 
 Celia. The idea that she might be out and near him, 
 and that he by some lack of vigilance might miss her, 
 sent him into Bond Street and Regent Street, to the 
 quarter in which women are supposed to be when 
 they are shopping; and he saw many beautiful 
 women going in and out of shops, and had several 
 sudden flutterings of the heart when he saw what 
 looked like a familiar carriage and coachman; but 
 he saw no Celia. 
 
 He saw one or two other people, however, whom 
 he knew, and thought that they were a little dull 
 sometimes in not seeing him. Then with a bitter 
 smile he realized that recognition of him was being
 
 W HEN THE TIDE TURNS 313 
 
 actually avoided. He was beginning to understand 
 that fame is a two-edged weapon, which remains in 
 the ownership of the world that granted its use and 
 can take it back again. If it had given Rupert a 
 sense of power over the world, he realized now that 
 it was giving the world power over him. 
 
 He was inclined to laugh when he was deliberately 
 cut in St. James's Street by a man at whose house 
 he had dined and whose daughters he had danced 
 with through the last season. But when he went to 
 his club, which he did with the deliberate intention 
 of testing the extent of this feeling, he found it dif- 
 ficult to laugh any more. There w r as an air of cold- 
 ness and aloofness there which was far more de- 
 pressing than deliberate insult. He saw the sidelong 
 glances directed at him from behind newspapers, but 
 the eyes did not meet his with the usual readiness; 
 there was a fidgety air in the smoking-room while 
 he was in it ; the men he spoke to seemed guilty and 
 embarrassed, and one or two were rather too polite. 
 He soon had enough of the Club. He had learned 
 what he wanted to know there. 
 
 He was more stung and humiliated than he cared 
 to admit; he began to see and to know that justice 
 has not necessarily any part in the world's punish- 
 ments, to realize what a very small matter it made 
 whether a man was innocent or guilty in the eyes of 
 those who condemned him, and to feel that in that 
 silent, threatening attitude of the public there was 
 weight as well as bitterness.
 
 314 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 He reached Malvern that evening, and found that 
 his aunt was not expected to live more than a day 
 or two at the most. In his present condition he was 
 hardly capable of feeling any more grief; in fact, 
 he was almost ashamed when he realized how little 
 he felt as he sat by the bedside and watched the frail 
 old life beating itself away. 
 
 It was a mere ghost of himself that sat there. 
 In imagination his real self was far away, wander- 
 ing in some voiceless darkness in search of his hid- 
 den love; he was like a blind, lost soul searching 
 through the endless night of doubt and separation 
 for its mate. The last few hours in London, more- 
 over, had given a tinge of bitterness to his depres- 
 sion ; and in that moment of distress and weakness, 
 suspicion the foul bird that comes to prey upon 
 a weakening faith entered his heart. His cer- 
 tainty of Celia's love for him began to waver ; since 
 his reason could furnish him with no explanation of 
 her silence, and his wounded pride was too sensitive 
 to ask for it, he began to sink back into the mire of 
 mistrust. It was impossible that she could be like 
 the rest of the world, but the fact was that she had 
 failed him, and that nothing could explain or alter 
 or make up for that. 
 
 The next morning his aunt was no better, but not 
 much worse. The doctor thought it likely that she 
 might live, at the outside, for three or four days; 
 but in her semi-conscious state there were intervals 
 in which she seemed to recognize Rupert and to like 
 to hold his hand as he sat by her bedside. It was
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 315 
 
 all he could do for her; it was such a little return 
 for all the love and care she had lavished upon him, 
 and he felt that he must stay with her until the end. 
 The devoted cousin Helen, a lady of rather negative 
 character, much immersed in the affairs of her own 
 home, from which she had been so long absent, had 
 been Miss Savage's only companion for some 
 months; she was practically her only other living 
 relation, and Rupert could not leave his post. But 
 it was an added torture to sit there for hours at a 
 time in the dark room, waiting for an end that came 
 so slowly and gradually that the downward prog- 
 ress was almost imperceptible. 
 
 He remembered how on that winter evening years 
 ago he had sat with her so impatiently waiting for 
 her to go to bed, in order that he might set out on 
 the glowing road of life that was calling him. And 
 here he was, apparently at another turning-point in 
 his life, again waiting for the poor old lady to retire 
 into that long night from which there is no waking. 
 But he was not impatient this time ; he would have 
 kept her if he could, for he was beginning to feel 
 that his world was crumbling away, and that he 
 was friendless and alone. But in another way he 
 was glad that she had been spared any knowledge 
 of the catastrophe, which, although she would never 
 have doubted him, would have caused her the deep- 
 est grief and shame on his account. 
 
 In the meantime the papers came to him and he 
 was able, like a spectator a long way off, to watch 
 the growing storm in which his name had become
 
 316 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 involved. The Messenger, true to its promise, came 
 out with a long, brilliantly-written indictment of 
 the whole of the modern movement in art an in- 
 dictment based on moral more than artistic grounds. 
 Rupert had heard in town some unpleasant story 
 about a son of the editor who had been an intimate 
 friend of Midwood's and had come to utter moral 
 grief ; and there was a certain nobility in the hatred 
 and indignation with which every line of the article 
 was inspired. But again there was no discrimina- 
 tion. Although the rancour was all inspired by 
 Midwood, it was directed equally against Rupert and 
 the others ; the article was a flaming accusation that 
 rang like a bugle call through the newspaper world 
 of England ; and all the smaller hounds were in full 
 cry. The correspondence columns were filled with 
 moral protests; it turned out that Midwood's moral 
 twist had after all not been expressed in his writing 
 alone, but that it had brought his private life within 
 reach of the law. It was eagerly demanded that he 
 should be prosecuted and made an example of; but 
 he had evidently received a hint in time and had 
 fled the country, no one knew whither. 
 
 And on the following Sunday the Bishop of Pen- 
 zance, preaching in Westminster Abbey, solemnly 
 warned England against the tendencies of modern 
 art, denounced the " Syrian Songs " as an example 
 of it that must be revolting to every Christian man 
 and woman, and demanded that those who thus de- 
 filed the temple of art should be scourged from its 
 precincts.
 
 W HEN THE TIDE TURNS 317 
 
 The last insult of all came in the shape of the 
 current number of The Riddle, which reached Ru- 
 pert a few hours before his aunt died. The front 
 page was to have contained a drawing by him 
 a very simple but exquisite little study called 
 " Spring," of a child sitting in a meadow starred 
 with flowers. But when he opened The Riddle, in- 
 stead of this innocent composition, which might have 
 done something to remind people of the wrongness 
 and injustice of their denunciation of him, Rupert 
 saw a blank page with a small line of print in the 
 middle of it: "A line drawing by Mr. Rupert Sav- 
 age had been prepared for this page, but in view of 
 recent events the publishers decided to withdraw it, 
 although they were unable at such short notice to 
 procure a suitable drawing from another artist." 
 
 So that was Steinman's point of view; he had 
 deserted like the others. He had thought to pre- 
 serve the existence of his paper by offering up one 
 of his men as a sacrifice, and he had chosen Rupert ; 
 and that blank page, suggesting unutterable things 
 of him in the paper which his own genius had prac- 
 tically created, was in some ways the deepest insult 
 of all. 
 
 But he had to turn from considering these things 
 to take his aunt's hand in his for the last time, for 
 the last time to lay his lips on her forehead, and to 
 see her die.
 
 XIV 
 
 THE Irish night-mail swung through the Potter- 
 ies and sped over the flats of Cheshire, and the peo- 
 ple in its long line of coaches dozed or waked, or 
 rested or were wearied, according to the state of their 
 nerves. Rupert Savage, in a compartment by him- 
 self, slept fitfully. The steady rushing of the train 
 along the low Flintshire coast lulled him for a time 
 into a grateful oblivion; then the deafening roar 
 and clatter over Conway Bridge waked him sud- 
 denly, and it was perhaps a second or two before the 
 upholstered arms of the cushions, the trembling 
 shaded lamp, and the reflection of his own startled, 
 haggard face in the black window brought him back 
 to consciousness of the train and what it meant at 
 that moment. 
 
 Hicks, his servant, came in from the corridor to 
 see if he wanted anything, and to tell him that they 
 would be at Holyhead in about half-an-hour, and, 
 having arranged a rug, went out again. And Ru- 
 pert settled himself back into the corner of his car- 
 riage, thinking wearily. 
 
 He deliberately diverted his thoughts from Celia 
 and occupied them with the strange unwonted er- 
 
 318
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 319 
 
 rand that he was now upon. The incidents of the 
 past few days passed rapidly before his mind the 
 summons to Malvern, the long waiting by the bed- 
 side, the double life of attendance upon a sick old 
 woman, and endurance of the inner storms and 
 conflicts of the lover and the artist; the paralyzing 
 effect upon him of Celia's silence and apparent 
 failure; the tremendous tide of public fury and in- 
 dignation that had been set flowing against him; 
 the death and quiet passage of his aunt from out all 
 things transitory and sublunary; the writings, tele- 
 grams, petty arrangements (his cousin having been 
 summoned to her own home by illness there) ; deal- 
 ings with strange black-coated beings who seemed 
 suddenly to have invaded his life; his brief return 
 to London and wounded avoidance of all acquaint- 
 ances; hurry, worry, occupation with endless de- 
 tail and now this flying midnight journey across 
 England towards the land and place of his birth. 
 For somewhere in the long, hurrying train there was 
 an unlighted coach with one silent occupant, who 
 slept unbrokenly through stoppages and shuntings, 
 over rivers and through cuttings and tunnels his 
 aunt, who had so often complained of the journey 
 between England and Ireland, now hurried uncom- 
 plainingly on her last home-coming. 
 
 Beside the constant misery that ached in his 
 heart there was another sense as of one taking part 
 in a drama. He had been amazed at how little he 
 was able to feel concerning the illness and death of
 
 320 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 his aunt; and even now he realized his utter de- 
 tachment from the old woman whose corpse rested 
 in the van. She had latterly been very little to him. 
 She had taken no part could have taken no part 
 in the splendour of his fame and achievement. 
 With the self-absorption and unconsciousness of all 
 growing things he had been moving away from the 
 supports of his early youth; and a very small por- 
 tion of his life and thoughts had been given latterly 
 to his aunt. He felt very far away from her and 
 her concerns; very far even from this last concern 
 of hers; it was all like a dream, or a play in 
 which he had to act a part. And as the lights of 
 Holyhead appeared, and the train drew up by the 
 harbour, and the strong smell of the sea greeted his 
 nostrils, it was with a sense not of actuality but of 
 remote fantasy that he got down on to the wooden 
 platform and prepared to go across to the steamer. 
 
 His sense of drama was greatly assisted by the 
 appearance at the carriage door of Mr. Clod, the 
 master of those dismal ceremonies with which we 
 honour our dead. This creature had so interwoven 
 himself into Rupert's life during the past few days 
 that, amid all this tragedy, he had come to have an 
 almost comic sense of reliance on him. The under- 
 taker was a bulky man, dressed by an admirable 
 tailor, whose massive head and weathered face sug- 
 gested a blend of ambassador and sea captain. Dis- 
 cretion and diplomacy were the gifts which had 
 brought him to eminence in his profession; he was
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 321 
 
 a past-master in the art of enveloping his clients in 
 a vast and intricate ritual, and then cutting a way 
 out for them with one sweep of his powerful and 
 diplomatic arm; just as, when he made up his fan- 
 tastic bills, he was accustomed to add fifty per cent, 
 to the amount, and then, when the long-suffering 
 executor came to protest, to say, with a confidential 
 air : " Just leave this to me, will you ? It seems a 
 great deal I do not think you ought to pay so 
 much I will see that they strike off thirty per 
 cent, at least." He loved his profession; he was 
 like a Chamberlain at a Court whose sovereign was 
 the Body, the crown prince and heir apparent the 
 chief mourner, and the minor royalties the relatives 
 and friends; while his own highly-trained staff 
 were household and bodyguard in one. 
 
 As Eupert emerged from the carriage he found 
 Mr. Clod standing bareheaded by the door. It was 
 one of the undertaker's rules always to uncover in 
 the presence of mourners his royal family ; also 
 always to assume that they were suffering from an 
 agonizing and prostrating grief which quite often 
 they were not. He now stepped forward, and ad- 
 dressed Rupert in tones of deep sympathy. 
 
 " All ready, Mr. Savage. I've had a bit of the 
 platform railed off, so as to have no crowding." 
 For some reason the Greenore steamer was late in 
 leaving that night ; and in any case the small hours 
 of the morning on the Holyhead platform are not 
 productive of great crowds, and the passengers had 
 already gone across to the steamer; but it was one
 
 322 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 of Clod's beliefs that the world consisted of an un- 
 ruly crowd trying to get a sight of the Body. " If 
 you'll follow me, Mr. Savage, I'll see that you're 
 not annoyed. When you're ready, sir. This way." 
 Mr. Clod moved in front of Hugh across the 
 empty platform as though he were insinuating him- 
 self to clear a path through a dense throng. Still 
 keeping Rupert behind him, he hurried to the closed 
 van, where a line of his menials was drawn up. In 
 obedience to a succession of brisk muscular move- 
 ments on the part of Clod dumb words of com- 
 mand they opened the door of the van, drew out 
 the coffin, shouldered it, and (still taking the time 
 from Clod) marched across to the steamer. Hugh, 
 with his hat in his hand, and Hicks behind him, and 
 strange, confused thoughts in his mind, followed 
 across the planks, up the gangway of the steamer, 
 where the officers were standing bareheaded. A few 
 more shufflings and staggerings and whispered or- 
 ders, and the ropes were cast off, and the steamer 
 was threading her way through the maze of lighted 
 buoys towards the South Stack. 
 
 It was a quiet May night, and there were few 
 passengers; the fresh sea air had chased away Ru- 
 pert's sleepiness; and he watched the darkness of 
 the night sky changing to a mysterious blue gloom, 
 in which the lighted buoys of the channel and the 
 arc lamps behind hung like stars of silver and gold, 
 and the quick upward flash of the lighthouse looked
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 323 
 
 like arms thrown up to the sky in a dumb appeal 
 for help as the radiance of the light was quenched 
 in the growing dawn. 
 
 Rupert walked up and down the almost empty 
 deck, watching the world of bright pin-point lights 
 receding in the distance. The novelty of his situa- 
 tion and the queer, unreal solemnity of his errand 
 set thought and memory working in his mind. At 
 one end of his short walk there was a roped-off space, 
 containing a rectangular object covered with tar- 
 paulins ; at the other, two glowing cigar-ends under 
 the lee of a deck-house showed where Mr. Clod had 
 for the moment put off his greatness, and was con- 
 descending to converse with Hicks. For the expan- 
 sive, good-natured creature must have some one to 
 be agreeable to if not a mourner or a relative, 
 then a mourner's servant; and in such moments as 
 these the human part of him seeking utterance 
 the pomp of the man was put aside. As Rupert 
 turned in his walk fragments of their conversation 
 the strange, unfamiliar talk of servants at their 
 ease broke on his hearing ; at the other end it was 
 inaudible, and there were only the surges and the 
 beat of the engines to be heard. 
 
 He would have said that he was thinking; but 
 thought is an active matter, and his mind was pas- 
 sive, filled with floating pictures and sensations. 
 His aunt he could not, think as he might, identify 
 her in any way with the admirable piece of cabinet- 
 making under the tarpaulin. That seemed to belong 
 much more to Clod than to him. She was away
 
 324 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 somewhere in the dim past in the house by the 
 shore at Rathshene, now in a dark, cool pantry, odor- 
 ous to his childish nostrils of Arabian spices, now 
 in the hot walled garden, where the noise of the 
 rooks in the demesne hard by drowned the roar of 
 the tide. 
 
 "... at Plymouth, when I was an apprentice " 
 (it was the voice of Clod), " I remember one case 
 a very stout gentleman he was, too a byword 
 for stoutness. Very hot weather we had that sum- 
 mer, too, and there was no time to get a lead shell 
 nor even a zinc tray. I had to act on the spot. 
 What did I do? Why, packed the corpse round 
 with sawdust ; and even then " 
 
 The voice faded, but it had broken the spell. The 
 scroll of pictures in his mind had been changed. It 
 was London now, and the long grey walls of his 
 room; all the toil and labour that had gone to the 
 making of himself there; the success, the apprecia- 
 tion, the praise, the feasting, the brilliant, restless, 
 feverish atmosphere of his world, of whose trinity 
 the three persons were Art, Beauty and Wit. . . . 
 Celia's room; Celia's grave, calm face, lovely and 
 tender in its pure modelling, and the violet, gem- 
 like shining of her eyes afy ! there was pain in 
 that memory, and he turned away from it too. 
 
 The salt air blew cold upon him, and he decided 
 to go to his cabin and get an hour or two's sleep 
 in preparation of the long day before him. He 
 stood for a moment looking over the surging waters 
 grown greyer and bluer in the paling gloom of dawn.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 325 
 
 There was a dawn of something in his heart - a 
 chill and lonely dawn. 
 
 He was awakened by Hicks, who drew the curtain 
 and let daylight stream into his state-room. " We've 
 been in nearly an hour, sir, and Mr. Clod says we 
 ought to start in half-an-hour." 
 
 " All right, Hicks ; have my breakfast ready in 
 twenty minutes." 
 
 When he came on deck Greenore Harbour was 
 bright with morning sunshine; but the foreground 
 of the view was darkened by Mr. Clod, who stood 
 in his graveside attitude, with hunched shoulders, 
 brooding like a plump raven over the packing-case 
 that had been swung on to the pier. The horses and 
 conveyances had been sent from Belfast a hearse 
 and two carriages, with an attendant vehicle, like a 
 holiday wagonette disguised in black paint, destined 
 to conceal the wayside cheerfulness of the mutes. 
 As Rupert came down the gangway the undertaker 
 turned to him with sympathetic inquiries after his 
 short sleep. 
 
 " Over thirty miles, I think you said, sir ? " he 
 asked in a melancholy voice. " Time we were ma- 
 king a start." The man looked wretchedly ill. Set 
 off by the rich hanging folds of his black garments 
 and faultless linen, the mottled red of his face looked 
 unwholesome though really it was wholesome 
 enough, being but weathered by the winds on many 
 bleak cemetery slopes. His pale eyes, half closed
 
 326 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 between swollen lids, looked suffused as though with 
 weeping; though they too were well enough, pale 
 like a seaman's from looking into gales, and a little 
 watery from the effect of cordials taken to keep out 
 the graveside damp. A touch of sleeplessness, as in 
 the present case, had an admirable effect; and on 
 the vigil of a very important funeral Mr. Clod made 
 it a habit not to go to bed until very late. He looked 
 so ill that Rupert noticed it. 
 
 " Is anything the matter, Mr. Clod ? " he asked 
 kindly. " You don't look well." 
 
 An expression of frank astonishment for a mo- 
 ment enlivened the lugubrious features. " Me ill, 
 sir ! " he gasped. Obviously the idea had never oc- 
 curred to him; but he quickly suppressed his un- 
 seemly surprise. 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble about me, I beg, sir. It's you 
 we must think of; you have a trying day before 
 you, Mr. Savage, and I do hope that strength will 
 be given you to bear up. Excuse my mentioning it, 
 sir, but being so much with you the last few days, 
 and travelling like this together, has made me feel 
 almost like one of your household. I assure you, 
 sir, I feel the loss, in my humble way, as a personal 
 one." And a genuine tear hovered on Clod's pale 
 eye, and had rolled halfway down Clod's mottled 
 cheek before it was caught and absorbed in Clod's 
 large handkerchief. 
 
 Rupert gazed in astonishment at the picture of a 
 man crying for the loss of some one he had never 
 seen alive; and then a sense of the huge, balloon-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 327 
 
 like plausibility and self-deception of the creature 
 came to him so suddenly that he could hardly help 
 laughing in Clod's dismal face. The man was ac- 
 tually sincere ; he had so prepared his emotions that 
 he could sow the seeds and reap the harvest of grief 
 in a single night. 
 
 " All right, thank you, I'll manage," he replied. 
 " I think I'll have the carriage open ; there's no 
 need to be covered up all the way. And let them 
 drive at a good pace, please, Mr. Clod, or we shall 
 never get there. Of course, you can go slowly 
 through the villages." 
 
 Clod received these secular instructions with a 
 grieved, sympathetic air, as one might listen to the 
 extravagant requests of a person whose mind was 
 unhinged by sorrow. " Everything shall be done as 
 you wish, Mr. Savage. I think we are ready now." 
 
 With these words he ceased to be the sympathetic 
 body-servant and became the general again. " I 
 think we are ready now " the words were the 
 motif of his life, spoken while he peeped out of 
 darkened bedrooms, or tiptoed into drawing-rooms, 
 or hovered in the porches of churches, or hastily con- 
 cealed the screw-driver in his capacious pocket. He 
 now hurried off to his bodyguard, who lifted the cof- 
 fin out of its case and raised it on their shoulders. 
 Hat in hand, he waved off the few harbour loiterers 
 and walked slowly round the coffin, apparently en- 
 gaged in prayer, but really uttering a series of sharp 
 exhortations in a savage undertone. 
 
 " Now, Johnson, shoulders ! Evans, straighten
 
 328 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 out there your corner's down. Where's your col- 
 lar, Ryles ? Left it in the train ? You'll leave your 
 trousers in the train next. That's a fine, anyway. 
 Now then! one, two." And the little procession 
 moved to the hearse. Rupert seated himself in the 
 open carriage, Clod and Hicks took possession of 
 the next, the black brigade mounted into their wag- 
 onette, and the cavalcade passed out through the 
 town of Greenore into the open country beyond. 
 
 The air was sweet and fragrant; the smell of 
 green Ireland on that early May morning came fa- 
 miliarly to Rupert's sense, as, having substituted a 
 travelling cap for his hat, he leaned back on the 
 cushions and watched the fair country unrolling 
 before him. The hedgerows, in their first glory of 
 colour and perfume, reminded him of those wonder- 
 ful variations in the symphony of green that only 
 Irish hedgerows can invent; he began to feel that 
 he was on his native soil and wondered that he had 
 so long been an exile from it. The whole circum- 
 stances of the moment were so unusual and so un- 
 real that they imposed themselves upon his attention 
 and relieved the dull monotony of misery in his 
 thoughts. How odd it was that he should be driving 
 along an Irish road on an early May morning, alone 
 with a valet and an undertaker ! There was no one 
 else to come. The few people who, in the light of 
 recent events, he could still regard as his firm friends 
 people like Caird, Sibley, or Lady Waynefleete, 
 would have been oddly out of place in this scene and
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 329 
 
 would only have marked the wideness of the differ- 
 ence that lay between his world in London and this 
 old world of childhood. They would have been un- 
 comfortable ; they would hardly have understood his 
 own feeling about it or about his aunt's death, half 
 an indifference, half a shy, unreasonable sensitive- 
 ness. Nor would the Rathshene people have under- 
 stood his friends or their attitude towards him. In 
 Rathshene he very well knew he would only be 
 " Master Rupert," his father's son, his aunt's nephew. 
 People's minds there dwelt in the past, and they 
 probably realized not at all, and would have cared 
 very little if they had realized the unique position 
 that " Master Rupert " had come to hold in the 
 large world. It was probable that they had never 
 heard of The Riddle; he hoped they never had. 
 
 The morning air, after its first stimulating effect 
 wore off, made him drowsy, and he sat back with 
 closed eyes wrapped in a half -conscious trance, lulled 
 by the beating of the horses' feet and the scrape and 
 rumble of the wheels on the hard road. For the 
 moment he was emotionally worn out and incapable 
 of much feeling, but he had a premonition that he 
 was drawing steadily nearer to some emotional sensa- 
 tion which as yet did not touch him. He was con- 
 tent to await it; and the long miles through the 
 green growing country seemed short to him in the 
 deepening expectation of revisiting the place of his 
 birth. 
 
 The gentle, monotonous rolling of the carriage 
 bore him on as in a dream. It was in a dream that,
 
 330 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 as the horses dropped to a walking pace on the out- 
 skirts of Newry, he sat up and took his passive part 
 in the slow progress through the town, watching the 
 eager interest of little barefoot children, and the 
 respectful uncovering of people's heads. It was in 
 a dream that he noticed the cessation of the rum- 
 bling wheel-lullaby when they stopped here and there 
 at a roadside inn to water the horses and, presum- 
 ably, to beer the Black Brigade; that he smelt the 
 drifting odour of peat, heard low voices talking in 
 the familiar accent, and submitted to the sympa- 
 thetic attentions of Clod and Dickson. At Dun- 
 drum, where they changed the carriage-horses (the 
 four horses drawing the hearse had a light burden), 
 he got down to avoid the stolid and absorbed scrutiny 
 of a squalid little crowd, and wandered through the 
 once familiar streets. How small and mean they 
 seemed to have grown! There was Mulligan's job- 
 yard, where his father had always put up his horses ; 
 there was Quinn's public-house, the resort, in Prot- 
 estant eyes, of disreputable Catholics, with the first 
 " n " of the white raised letters still missing from 
 the background of Reckitt's blue ; and there yes, 
 there was "wee M'Guire," the bearded, hunch- 
 backed, crippled dwarf, who had been the terror of 
 his childhood, looking not much older, and raking, as 
 of yore, with his crutch in the gutter. 
 
 As he returned to his carriage Mr. Clod, in whom 
 a spirit of holiday travel was struggling hard with 
 professional gloom, ventured a few words. " Beau- 
 tiful morning we're having, Mr. Savage; and a
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 331 
 
 beautiful country ! This is my first visit to Ireland ; 
 it's almost like an out " He pulled himself up. 
 " The departed lady herself, sir, couldn't have 
 wished for more lovely weather. There seems to 
 be a deal of poverty and misery in the country, sir." 
 
 " Why, this is some of the best land in Ireland," 
 said Kupert ; " there's no misery here. You should 
 see the West." 
 
 " You don't tell me, sir ! Dear me. But they're 
 a very pleasant people, as I find them, sir not so 
 wild as one had been led to expect," said Mr. Clod, 
 who had been handing out shillings (to be compen- 
 diously described on the bill as " disbursements ") 
 to such of the loiterers as had put a hand to a bucket 
 or tightened a strap ; and who had consequently had 
 Holy Mary and all the Saints invoked several times 
 for his benefit. 
 
 
 
 But now they were out on the last stage of the 
 road, and Rupert with memory and association awa- 
 kened, lost his sleepiness, and became aware of a 
 growing sense of expectation. After all, that frail 
 burden in the hearse was his own kin she who had 
 nursed and reared him, and nurtured the life that 
 he had prized so proudly; the memories that sprang 
 out upon him at every turn of the road were centred 
 round her, and he realized that only a few more 
 miles of their journey together remained, and that 
 then he must bid her farewell for ever. At a rocky 
 corner the road came out on the sea-shore a well- 
 remembered corner, for which as a child he used
 
 332 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 eagerly to watch ; and the crash of the surf and the 
 smell of the seaweed completed the emotional effect. 
 There are no more powerful vehicles of association 
 than sound and odour; that which fades in more 
 tangible and substantive things persists in them, 
 embalmed as among spices; and the sounding, per- 
 fumed shore, thus come upon suddenly and without 
 warning, and found unchanged by all the years that 
 had so moulded and changed him, brought a sudden 
 smart of tears to Rupert's eyes and sent a thrill to 
 his soul. 
 
 The past, which he had thought dead, pressed 
 living and persistent upon him at every mile-stone 
 Temple Granagh, where generations of his an- 
 cestors slept beneath the ruins of a Cistercian abbey ; 
 Donagh Farm, the scene of his father's operations in 
 horse-breeding; Mill Bay, where they used to land 
 from the yacht to fry the fresh-caught mackerel and 
 picnic on the sward of Dennis Island ; the scattered 
 cottages and farmsteads, whose every inmate had 
 once been familiar ; and last, at the end of the long 
 hill, the outer lodge-gate of Rathshene Demesne, the 
 mossy wall of which bordered the road for the re- 
 maining five miles. At this place a halt was called. 
 Hicks appeared with a clothes'-brush, and removed 
 the white dust from Rupert's clothes, afterwards 
 mounting on the box beside the driver, while Clod 
 and his brigade drove on in front. 
 
 Just as they were starting again a carriage drove 
 out of the lodge-gates, and fell in behind Rupert's; 
 it was Lord Rathshene, infirm and old and almost
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 333 
 
 blind, who had come to receive his dead neighbour 
 at his gates. And as they went on, now at a slower 
 pace, one conveyance after another, found waiting 
 at some cross-road or drawn up beside the hedge, 
 silently fell into line. Farmers' gigs and carts, half- 
 a-dozen jaunting cars, a ramshackle carriage or two, 
 the Doctor's gig a score of vehicles of every age 
 and kind, containing villagers, farmers, servants, 
 neighbours, friends, all dressed in their Sunday best, 
 joined the lengthening procession. Rupert noticed 
 that most of these mourners were poor, and almost 
 all of them old; and to one face after another he 
 found himself, to his surprise, able to put a long- 
 forgotten name. At the door of the inner lodge- 
 gate, whither she had struggled from her cripple's 
 bed, stood old Ann, his former nurse, her wrinkled 
 face streaming with tears; and from this point on- 
 wards into the town the train was joined by hum- 
 bler mourners on foot some of them barefoot. 
 And so in silence, with solemn respectful escort, 
 Jane Savage, who had left England followed by but 
 one mourner and a half -indifferent one came 
 home followed by many mourners and not one of 
 them indifferent. 
 
 For as the hearse passed from the green tunnel of 
 trees into the long, white, straggling street of Rath- 
 shene, Rupert became conscious of one cold wave of 
 emotion after another sweeping through him. He 
 sat upright and bareheaded in his carriage, his 
 strong face firmly set, and his eyes fixed on the slow- 
 moving hearse that jerked and hesitated over the
 
 334 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 rough stones. The cottage doors were all closed and 
 the windows veiled, although curious eyes peered out 
 from behind them; the street was empty but for 
 straying poultry. Even M'Clellan's porter-shop, 
 against which his aunt had waged unrelenting war, 
 was shut and shuttered; closed also, in defiance of 
 licensing laws, was the Rathshene Arms. In the 
 market square an orderly crowd was assembled 
 fishermen, Sunday scholars, Bands of Hope, and 
 other small corporations important in Rathshene 
 were waiting in silence, and silently took their 
 places on either side of the hearse. At the corner 
 of the square Rupert caught a glimpse of the har- 
 bour, with the fishing-fleet riding idly at their moor- 
 ings; and in that momentary glimpse he had time 
 to observe, almost unconsciously, that the old coast- 
 ing schooner from Belfast, the Mary Jane, was in 
 with a cargo of coal, and that the beacon on the Gull 
 Rock had been repaired. . . . The dull tang of the 
 church bell sounded on the silence. 
 
 The grating wheels stopped at the churchyard 
 gate, where Clod and his men were waiting with 
 Mr. Kennedy, the rector. Twenty years ago 
 " Musther Kennedy " had been looked upon as a 
 stranger, a new-comer ; but here he was, elderly and 
 grey, already a vestige of the past. Old Gregson 
 and what remained of his human flotilla were there, 
 their black dresses in odd contrast to their scarlet 
 faces ; the Hamiltons also, and other old friends and 
 acquaintances. Rupert sat in his place amid a si- 
 lence broken only by the pawing of horses, unfas-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 335 
 
 tening of bolts, coughings, shufflings, low-toned or- 
 ders. At last Clod came to the carriage-door, and 
 Rupert stepped to his place behind the coffin. A 
 vertical oblong of polished oak resting on the shoul- 
 ders and between the stooped heads of two of his 
 fellow-travellers, white flowers trailing over it on to 
 one of the bald heads he fixed his eyes on that, 
 and, as the parson raised his voice to utter the tre- 
 mendous "I," followed into the church. 
 
 The faint, acrid smell of damp woodwork carried 
 him back to the past again ; he was a little boy, sit- 
 ting in that same hard pew with his aunts, watching 
 the nodding of a creeper outside one of the windows, 
 and counting durance in church as an unmixed evil, 
 and Sunday, when boats were prohibited, a lost day. 
 There was the cornice of plaster running round the 
 church on the level of the west-end gallery; how 
 often he had occupied himself during sermon time 
 in wondering whether it would be possible, by any 
 feat of strength or agility, to clamber round the 
 building on that cornice ! There was a bad gap on 
 each side of the chancel arch, which, he had always 
 decided, offered an insuperable difficulty; now he 
 noted that it would be quite easy, so poor and plain 
 and small had the church become. Sometimes he 
 was brought back to consciousness of the present by 
 a sentence He heapeth up riches, and cannot tell 
 who shall gather them; or I am a- stranger with thee 
 and a sojoumer, as all my fathers were or by a 
 movement in the packed ranks of the congregation,
 
 336 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 or the sight of tears in the eyes of a girl sitting with 
 his aunt's Sunday class; but for the most part he 
 stood as in a dream, blown upon by winds from the 
 past, the centre of converging currents of memory 
 and association that brought him the eternal mes- 
 sage of the beginning and end of the generations 
 " Thou turnest man to destruction : again Thou say- 
 est, Come again, ye children of men." 
 
 The blue of Abraham's cloak, in the garish win- 
 dow of Abraham offering up Isaac that coloured the 
 sunbeams to the glory of God and in memory of a 
 former Savage a blue that had entranced his 
 childish taste and puzzled his mind as being like 
 nothing else in the world, he now saw to be identical 
 with the blue of Mr. Kennedy's hood, and marvelled 
 that he had never noticed it before. An overpower- 
 ing hunger for the past, and distaste of the present 
 that he had thought so satisfying, took hold of him ; 
 everything that this humble concourse in the little 
 Irish seaboard town meant seemed infinitely nobler 
 and greater than the things he had cared about; it 
 had been there all these years, his forefathers had 
 chosen it, but he had neglected and rejected it. He 
 felt that he could never be entitled to any tribute 
 so simple and real as that paid to his aunt by this 
 village community; and he felt it the more as it 
 was paid not only to her, but to the family that had 
 lived there in honour for so many generations, and 
 was held, he felt sure, to have come to an end with 
 her. Him they regarded as a stranger indeed, but
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 337 
 
 not as a sojourner, as his fathers had been; he had 
 chosen to cast in his lot with others, and had no part 
 in that inheritance. 
 
 He found himself, as the lesson with its eager 
 leaping from assertion to deduction and from com- 
 mand to persuasion was read, listening to that 
 strange, impassioned argument of the mortal and 
 the immortal ; of fighting with beasts at Ephesus so 
 that men should believe in the resurrection of the 
 body, and believe in it because the grain which they 
 sow is not quickened except it die; and he remem- 
 bered that a great sage of his own day had given as 
 sufficient reason why that argument should not be 
 read over him : " The grain of wheat does not die ; 
 or if it dies, it does not live again." He heard, with 
 something of the artist's wonder, that flowing tap- 
 estry of words; but he heard it as music, and not 
 as logic or literal truth. Glory of the sun and glory 
 of the stars; things sown in weakness and raised 
 in power; the transition from the first to the last 
 Adam, and exquisite blossoming of the " quickening 
 spirit " ; the sounding of the trumpet and clothing 
 of the corruptible in incorruption the golden 
 imagery passed in great rolling waves over his 
 senses, but left his soul cold, disturbed, uncom- 
 forted. 
 
 They were singing now a favourite hymn of 
 his aunt's evidently; the hard treble voices of the 
 girls who led the singing rang out in precise meas- 
 ure, carefully drilled for the occasion
 
 338 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " O happy retribution : 
 
 Short toil, eternal rest ; 
 For mortals and for sinners 
 A mansion with the blest. 
 
 " And martyrdom hath roses 
 
 Upon that heavenly ground : 
 And white and virgin lilies 
 For virgin souls abound." 
 
 Amid the sound and mobility of the hymn the 
 rocklike stillness and dumbness of the coffin op- 
 pressed him heavily. He felt lonely, homesick; he 
 longed acutely for one word from her, one sign that 
 she recognized his presence there and understood his 
 dumb, shapeless regrets ; he would have given all he 
 possessed to sweep away that load of flowers, tear 
 away the covering of boards, and look once more 
 with loving eyes on the dead face. But the slow, 
 inexorable ritual of death and separation went on; 
 other hands, the hymn being ended, took up the 
 coffin; others stood nearer to her than he did, bore 
 the light weight of her mortal body, and carried it 
 again, with him but as humble follower, out to a 
 corner of the churchyard where the nettles had been 
 mown down to expose the sunk wall where gaped the 
 entrance to the vault. 
 
 There was more shuffling and marshalling, and 
 crunching of the gravel walk under many feet; the 
 parson took his place by the opening in the wall; 
 the gexton in blue pilot-cloth, his tanned face elo-
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 339 
 
 quent more of the open sea than the mouldering 
 earth, laid his peaked cap down and, stooping, dis- 
 appeared into the vault. Clod, still showing a grief- 
 stricken countenance amid a display of high technical 
 efficiency, superintended the stripping of the coffin 
 of its adornments ; it was placed with its end in the 
 narrow entrance; a low word of command, more 
 heavings, thrustings, staggerings, agile passage of 
 some of the black brigade before it unto the vault 
 it was out of sight; Clod and the remainder of his 
 staff in single file stooping and disappearing also, 
 like black poultry going into a roost. A moment, 
 and they one by one appeared again, their brows 
 glistening with sweat. Clod signed to Rupert, and 
 for the moment there was an awkward pause. What 
 was this ? He realized with dismay that he was ex- 
 pected to go down and see the coffin in its place ; he 
 would have refused, but he felt helpless in Clod's 
 hands, and, laying his hat on a gravestone, he also 
 stooped and passed into the black sunless oblong. 
 His senses of sight, touch, and smell were agoniz- 
 ingly suspicious ; he peered and shrank and sniffed, 
 but the vault, which Jiad been opened early in the 
 morning, only smelt earthy. 
 
 He saw the coffins piled against the sides, an ab- 
 surd-looking little one among them, belonging to the 
 sister whom he had never seen, and who had died 
 in infancy before he was born. All .the polish had 
 gone from them, but otherwise time seemed to have 
 dealt easily with them in that still place, and they 
 preserved their dreadful secrets. The last vacant
 
 340 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 place was filled by his aunt's; there would he room 
 for no more ; the tale of generations there was com- 
 plete, and the dead, so scattered and various in their 
 lives, were gathered together within the walls of this 
 silent house. He glanced once more at his aunt's 
 coffin, that new and shining example of the cabinet- 
 maker's art, and at the words " Jane Savage " 
 graven in the hard brass the last mute cry of the 
 individual to preserve its identity amid the slow 
 return to universal, indestructible matter. At the 
 same moment he became conscious of an alarm in 
 his senses a sudden perception, far finer than an 
 odour, of the fact of corruption ; every fibre of his 
 being contracted in horror, and as he hurried out of 
 the vault a qualm of nausea took him, so that for a 
 moment he felt faint and giddy. 
 
 But the sweet sunlit air and the sight of the wait- 
 ing crowd nerved him ; he took his place with them, 
 and the quavering, modulated tones of the parson 
 began again. Rupert was acutely conscious; he 
 heard every word, and yet noticed and afterwards 
 remembered all sorts of trifles a robin perching 
 on a branch over Lord Rathshene's head, uttering 
 two chirps, and hastily flying away; the masterly 
 tactics of some little bare-foot children on the out- 
 skirts of the crowd who kept insinuating themselves 
 into a more eligible position in spite of the frowns 
 and fist-shakings of the schoolmaster; and, as Mr. 
 Kennedy was saying : " Thou knowest, Lord, the 
 secrets of our hearts ; shut not Thy merciful ears to 
 our prayer," the stealthy passing of a handful of
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 341 
 
 earth from the sexton to Mr. Clod. Clod caught Ru- 
 pert's eje for a second, but looked hastily away again, 
 scratching his chin with the forefinger of his right 
 hand, as though to show that there was nothing in 
 it; but presently, at the words of committal, he 
 stepped forward with the air of a mournful con- 
 juror, and shot the contents of his hand, with three 
 nicely calculated motions, into the vault, afterwards 
 dusting his hands and retiring to the background as 
 one who had played his part, not to the .gallery, but 
 in accordance with his own far higher standards. 
 
 " Lord, have mercy upon us," said Mr. Kennedy. 
 
 " Christ, have mercy upon us," said Warnock the 
 sexton and Miss Quayle, the leader of the choir, 
 accompanied by a mutter from the crowd, taken 
 thus by surprise and hopeless of being in time ; and 
 confirmed in loud tones by Mr. Gregson. 
 
 " Lord, have mercy upon us," corrected Mr. Ken- 
 nedy, as one entitled to the last word ; and the mon- 
 otone flowed on again, while the leaves shimmered 
 in the breeze, and the girls of Miss Savage's Sunday 
 class furtively blew their noses. The undertaker's 
 men had melted away into the background; round 
 him now Rupert could see only Rathshene faces, old 
 and lined, most of them, and eloquent of the solem- 
 nity of the moment. . . . 
 
 " Who also hath taught us (by His holy apostle 
 Saint Paul) not to be sorry, as men without hope, 
 for them that sleep in Him. . . ." 
 
 A beggar in filthy rags sneezed loudly twice, and, 
 as eyes were turned reproachfully upon him and his
 
 342 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 tatters, looked ready to sink into the earth for 
 shame, and gave a sickly smile of embarrassment. 
 Rupert felt the tension suddenly relieved; he could 
 have smiled too, and felt grateful to the beggar; 
 there was a stir in the crowd ; the spell was broken ; 
 they began to think of dinner; and while Mr. Ken- 
 nedy was saying " Come, ye blessed children of my 
 Father, receive the kingdom prepared for you from 
 the beginning of the world," women left at home 
 in the cottages were lifting the lids of potato sauce- 
 pans and saying: "Sure, they'll not be long now." 
 
 And so presently, when all was over and the last 
 Amen said and the Book closed, they did go back to 
 dinner and to life, some of the older ones lingering 
 to shake hands with Rupert, and speak a few homely 
 words of sympathy and praise of the dead. 
 
 " A wonderful woman, your aunt," said old Lord 
 Rathshene ; " we shall miss her here. Won't you 
 come back to lunch ? No ? Going back to-morrow ? 
 Well, you're a busy man, and the world moves fast 
 now. When you come back you must come and 
 dine and have a talk." And he hobbled off to his 
 carriage. 
 
 " Ah, Masther Rupert, an* ye don't know me," 
 said one tearful old woman at the gate ; " but many's 
 the time I've nursed yer honour, and Miss Jane 
 before ye, an* the dear knows when there'll be the 
 like of her again. May God bless yer honour, and 
 all yer honour's The quavering old voice died 
 off into tearful silence as Rupert pressed her hand 
 and spoke some kind words.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 343 
 
 He walked back through the village with Mr. 
 Kennedy, speaking to this one and that, to the silent 
 house overlooking the rocky shore, where only the 
 servants, tearful and expectant, awaited him with 
 luncheon in the familiar dining-room. 
 
 How strange it all was ; the rooms seemed a little 
 smaller and shabbier than of yore, but how dear and 
 familiar, how melancholy ! As he walked out of one 
 silent room into another he held his breath and lis- 
 tened, as though he expected to hear the dead voices 
 still speaking there, or meet his own dead self pass- 
 ing from doorway to doorway. It was harder to 
 bear even than the scene in the churchyard. He 
 felt that the real parting and burial were here; that 
 these were the obsequies of all that had made life 
 dear to him; for where memories and associations 
 spring to life we bury our hearts anew, and wher- 
 ever Rupert buried his heart, he buried Celia with 
 it. 
 
 The lawyer lunched with him, and Rupert talked 
 business while they lunched, glad to escape into 
 definite practical things out of the terrifying maze 
 of memories. The afternoon was spent in going 
 over books and documents. There was a question, 
 now, when his income seemed likely to be reduced 
 for a time, whether he would be able to keep on the 
 little property. But it appeared that his aunt's 
 death brought an addition to his income that would 
 be enough to keep Rathshene going in its old quiet 
 way; and although he could no more have lived
 
 344 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 there at present than he could have lived in St. 
 James's Place, he felt that some day he might be 
 glad to come back, and to feel that there was a home 
 there even though it were so lonely and silent. 
 
 At five o'clock Clod came for him, and together 
 they went back to the churchyard. The vault was 
 already bricked up, and looked as though it had 
 never been disturbed; and Clod, about to depart 
 again into a world where things were done a little 
 more regularly, looked upon his labours and saw that 
 they were good. 
 
 " Everything passed off very nicely, I think, sir," 
 he said. " Quite a large gathering at the grave. I 
 think the service was very nice everything very 
 nice, and the people seemed to be genuinely af- 
 fected." Clod had been distributing money to vari- 
 ous helpers and to beggars ; making only one mistake, 
 when he met in the High Street General the Hon. 
 Peter Slade, Lord Eathshene's brother (a veteran 
 of the Crimea, who had a wooden leg and dressed 
 very oddly), and gave him a shilling, much to his 
 surprise. 
 
 Rupert spent the evening alone. He had told the 
 Hamiltons and some others who had been anxious 
 to show him kindness that he wished to be alone, as 
 he was going away the next day and had much to do. 
 He rowed himself out a little way in one of the 
 boats, which Sam, grown a little greyer and stouter, 
 had kept painted and ready year after year ; and as 
 he smelt the brown, wet seaweed, and felt the pull
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 345 
 
 of the tide, and listened to it echoing from the 
 rocky shore and filling the quiet evening air with 
 voices, it seemed to him as though he had never 
 been away, and that he should hear other familiar 
 voices calling to him as he crossed the lawn and 
 shrubbery. But he found only silence, aching and 
 intolerable, and he went to bed early. 
 
 The next morning was occupied with the agent 
 in a tour of the place, in which the outward and 
 simple details of life were so insistent that it was 
 impossible to think about anything but them; and 
 Kupert almost forgot that he had ever been an ar- 
 tist, and talked crops and soils and drainage with 
 the old zest. 
 
 But it was all over by lunch-time. He was going 
 away in the evening. The necessity for constant 
 movement was upon him; having settled his busi- 
 ness, he felt it was impossible to stay in Rathshene 
 another hour. He hardly knew whither he intended 
 to go Paris perhaps, and then to Spain. He felt 
 a great longing to go back to Spain and see if that 
 road on which his youthful feet had stumbled had 
 been really the right road after all. 
 
 The afternoon was warm and still ; the house and 
 grounds were silent but for the sound of the tide 
 running past the rocks. Rupert sat at the library 
 table where he had been writing a letter, his chin 
 propped on his elbows, his eyes looking straight out 
 in front of him. The long windows giving on to the 
 lawn on the westward side of the house were wide
 
 346 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 open, and his view was of a strip of the blue, sliding 
 waters of the lough, the green hills of the distant 
 shore, and a strip of sky over all. 
 
 But he was not looking at the hills or the sea or 
 the sky; his eyes were focussed hundreds of miles 
 away. He tried to face squarely the thoughts that 
 he had been shirking and to think out his position. 
 He had been brought by hard work, good fortune, 
 and a wave of something like a fashion in the par- 
 ticular work that he did, to a great height of fame 
 and popularity. He had so wrought upon the spirit 
 of his time that he had made knowledge of his work 
 and interest in it one of the hall-marks of artistic 
 intelligence and cultivation. He had gathered into 
 himself and expressed in his work so much of his 
 own day and hour, that to know it thoroughly was 
 to know what was newest and most vital in the 
 confused movements of the modern spirit in art 
 
 Now, owing to the moral obliquity of Cyril Mid- 
 wood a thing of which Rupert had been aware, 
 but which he had chosen to ignore he had been 
 involved in the ruin of the other man; and Mid- 
 wood, in falling himself, had laid hold of the pillars 
 of their common house and brought the whole thing 
 down with a crash. Rupert's own work was good 
 and sound he knew it ; but he knew also that he 
 had not been content to build his reputation on the 
 strength of his work alone, but on personality, on 
 fashion, on the exaggerated importance attributed 
 even to the trifling doings of a clique. Otherwise 
 this catastrophe would not have had the power to
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 347 
 
 involve him in it. If he had stood on his work 
 alone he would have stood clear of the falling edi- 
 fice; but he was in it and part of it; and though 
 he was innocent of the miserable obscure perversions 
 that had compassed the ruin of Midwood, he was 
 not so certain that he was innocent of a share in 
 producing an artistic environment in which they 
 could be cultivated. It was a hateful thought, but 
 he faced it squarely. 
 
 So much for his work. There was nothing really 
 to dismay him there, although he had many things 
 to get rid of and forget. But when he considered 
 himself and his own individual life, the chill crept 
 over his heart again and the furrows came in his 
 brow. He was sorriest for his friends, and a little 
 contemptuous of his timid acquaintances; one of 
 the only brave things that had cheered him had been 
 a warm-hearted but sadly-worded invitation from 
 Lady Fastnet to come and stay with her at Castle 
 Fastnet, if he wanted a friendly retreat. 
 
 He looked out across the rippled talking waters 
 to the green fields beyond, and followed with his 
 eye the wooded coast-line northwards to where it 
 became merged in the deep blue background of the 
 hills; and his thoughts were of his boyhood and 
 youth, and of the life that had flowed like a river 
 so quietly here until it had merged into the open 
 sea of the world of labour and love. 
 
 But when they came to Celia his thoughts stopped 
 like shying horses. He could not think. He led 
 his mind up gently, but his thoughts were in a
 
 348 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 region of terror and saw nothing as it really was. 
 It was a kind of panic fear that possessed him. 
 Fear of what, he hardly knew; fear of life without 
 her. . . . He tried to think again, to remember. He 
 turned the ring that she had given him slowly on 
 his finger and uncovered the little word " forse " 
 that had meant so much. " Perhaps " perhaps 
 what? He remembered the last time that he had 
 seen her, he remembered the look in her eyes, of 
 perfect truth, of unending love that could be trusted 
 through everything and for ever; it had been his 
 greatest prize. What had happened? His hour of 
 need had come, he had called to her and she had not 
 answered; worse than that she had employed her 
 husband to answer for her. ... It meant nothing; 
 it was not true, it was impossible and yet the facts 
 were there between them; she was far away, and 
 he was here alone. 
 
 It was one of those rare moments in which the 
 imagination is suddenly clarified and realizes a posi- 
 tion completely and clearly. Rupert had a sense of 
 complete and utter loneliness and emptiness; and 
 he put his head down on his arms not to sob, for 
 he could not cry at his own miseries, but for the mere 
 sensation of hiding his head somewhere, and cover- 
 ing his sight from the light of a day that had become 
 intolerable. 
 
 * 
 
 There came a faint rustle at the open window 
 the sea breeze often brushed through the ivy with a 
 sound like the stir of silken garments. He did not
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 349 
 
 move. The sound came again, and with it another 
 sound, like the catching of a breath. Rupert raised 
 his head heavily and slowly, and then something 
 between a gasp and a sob rose in his throat. 
 
 For, standing framed in the window, stood Celia, 
 her hands clasped before her, her dark dress outlined 
 against the background of moving water, her face, 
 shaded and veiled beneath the drooping brim of her 
 hat, grave and weary but oh, how ineffably sweet ! 
 Rupert gazed for a second, his eyes widely opened, 
 his lips parted. He held his breath, as though she 
 were a vision that would vanish at his sound or 
 movement. 
 
 The long eyelashes swept slowly upwards, the sweet 
 mouth parted ; amid the weariness, the solemnity of 
 her expression, a little smile lurked about the lips. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Rupert. I'm afraid I have 
 brought a lot of luggage. I I've come to stay." 
 The dear voice broke, the eyes filled with tears, the 
 hands were unclasped and held out ; but before her 
 head drooped she was caught in his arms, clasped and 
 held motionless there, like molten gold that, after 
 the bruisings and washings, after the firing and melt- 
 ing and purifying in the refiner's furnace, runs into 
 the mould to fill it and take its shape for ever. 
 
 " Celia, my darling, my love, my own ! " He 
 covered her eyes and her mouth and her hair with 
 blind kisses, and listened for the whisper that came 
 like a sigh of rest and contentment " Rupert, 
 darling Rupert ! " 
 
 " My beloved, my own now, my very own now ! "
 
 350 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 " Your very own always !".... 
 
 Who can speak or write of those rocket-flights of 
 the soul when at the touch of love it soars beyond 
 time and space, and breaks into its starry blossom 
 of fire? The stick falls back to earth, the material 
 elements of fire are released and go back to their 
 appointed place in the universe, but the fire and the 
 colour and the glory do not return; they die there 
 where they were born, in empyrean heights beyond 
 our sight and ken; and, living and dying, they re- 
 veal all heaven and earth for one moment as glory 
 and colour and fire. In the meeting of man and 
 woman, soul with soul and body with body, there 
 is all poetry and art, all religion, all empire and 
 civilization, all earth and heaven, all the universe, 
 all time and death and eternity. 
 
 " How could you have doubted that I would come 
 when you needed me? How could you think that 
 when everything else failed you I could fail ? Oh, 
 Rupert, I shall have to begin and teach you all over 
 again ! " 
 
 " Teach me that you are here, that I am with you, 
 that you are mine! Dear, let me learn that first." 
 They were sitting quietly now, hand in hand in the 
 library, and Celia was telling him of her life since 
 that dreadful day her growing agony and deter- 
 mination, her utter loneliness, her final resolution 
 when she heard of his aunt's death from Lady 
 Waynefleete, and understood from her the extent of 
 the injury like to be done to Rupert. And then
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 351 
 
 she had told Lady Waynefleete everything, more 
 than she even told Rupert, or that he ever would 
 seek to know. And Lady Waynefleete had picked 
 up a railway guide, and given it to her, and said, 
 " I will stand by you both, and, if I am alive, wel- 
 come you back to England." And she had taken 
 Celia in her arms, and for the first time in twenty 
 years, cried in the presence of another woman. 
 
 Celia said very little about Graeme. Rupert knew 
 what the infliction upon him of the inevitable con- 
 ventional stain would mean to her, but she had done 
 it calmly and deliberately, and kept hidden the con- 
 flicts of her soul. All she said was 
 
 " I told him myself I didn't write it. He broke 
 a compact we made years ago, or tried to break it. 
 I think he hates me I hope so, for his sake. It 
 will carry him through the worst, and afterwards he 
 will really be happier without me. It was never 
 anything but a failure, although I think we both 
 tried to make the best of it. And oh, Rupert, it is 
 behind me now ! Let us never look back. We would 
 have to look back separately, but we can look for- 
 ward together ! " 
 
 The shadows began to lengthen on the blue hills, 
 reminding Rupert of the arrangements he had made 
 to go away that night. " I must do something," he 
 said ; " I must make some arrangements for you, 
 Celia." 
 
 She laid her hand on his. " We will both go," she 
 cried ; " this is your home ; it is sacred to things 
 quite different from the sacredness of our love. We
 
 352 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 mustn't mix them, or offend the spirits of those dear 
 dead people." 
 
 " Darling, our happiness can offend no one ; we 
 shall fill the world with it. It has changed every- 
 thing for me. I thought I minded the row about 
 me, but I see that I don't. I can smile at it, and so 
 can you. And I feel that you and I together can 
 be in tune even with all the memories that are here." 
 
 " No, dearest, we will go and to-night. All 
 my luggage is there at the lodge I didn't even 
 bring it in ! Listen to me. 
 
 " I want us to come to this place differently, in a 
 different mood, in a different hour, not like this, 
 when you and I are all torn and bruised, and the 
 shadow of death is over us. We could not be healed 
 here we must go away to another world, another 
 life for that. I want to learn every bit of it, every 
 rock and stone that is dear to you. But there must 
 be a break for you far more than for me. Some 
 day this will be our home but only when you can 
 bring me to it in a way that wouldn't hurt them 
 Rupert, dearest, when I am your wife." . . . 
 
 In his heart he felt as she did; and so the old 
 temple of family life suffered no indignity from 
 them or their love, but went back to its green, dream- 
 ing sleep, lulled by the drowsy tides, until one more 
 cycle of its life should begin, until it should wake 
 again to the sound of little voices and pattering foot- 
 steps, until once more the voice of the generations 
 should speak in it " come again, ye children of 
 men."
 
 XV 
 
 LADY FASTNET was walking before breakfast in 
 the garden of her gloomy house in the west of Ire- 
 land. It had rained all night, and would begin to 
 rain again presently; the air, although it was sum- 
 mer, was lifeless and heavy with moist heat. The 
 long stucco fagade of the house had weathered and 
 peeled off in places and had been indifferently re- 
 paired; it was in the worst and most pretentious 
 style of sham architecture of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, and under the gloomy grey sky, and in the 
 light which the deep green foliage of the rank trees 
 absorbed, it looked like a prison. The trees had 
 grown too thickly about it, and had hidden the stony 
 fields and bog that would otherwise have filled the 
 distance; there was hardly any colour of flowers or 
 shrubs in the garden; all vegetation seemed to have 
 conspired to express itself in the deep and sombre 
 tone of the rankly growing evergreens. 
 
 The cypress walk, where her ladyship was taking 
 her morning stroll, was a mere tunnel of heavy, sad- 
 looking trees; the view of the house was obscured 
 from it, which is perhaps the reason why Geraldine 
 chose to walk there. It was very silent, and her light 
 
 353
 
 354 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 footfall was almost muffled by the moss that grew 
 in the gravel. Her slight and still girlish figure in 
 its blue linen dress seemed a very alien and incon- 
 gruous inhabitant of this melancholy scene. She 
 had a letter in her hand, which she was reading as 
 she walked slowly up and down. 
 
 " FUENTEKKABIA, 15th May. 
 
 " MY DEAR LADY FASTNET, You would under- 
 stand from my telegram that I was leaving England, 
 and so have had one explanation why I could not 
 accept your kind, beautiful invitation. There is an- 
 other reason which I think I ought to give to you, 
 although perhaps you will find it difficult to bring 
 yourself to sympathize with me in it. 
 
 " In the darkest moment of my life the woman 
 whom I love, and who loves me, came and joined 
 her life with mine, and has given up everything that 
 a woman can give up in order that our lives may 
 be shared. This would of itself mean that we should 
 have to leave England ; but in any case, after all that 
 has happened, it would be impossible for me to work 
 there for a time. When the pillars of our temple 
 were pulled down there, good and bad were crushed 
 and buried together. Some day when the ruins are 
 cleared I know that the good will be found to have 
 endured and the bad to have perished ; in the mean- 
 time there is nothing but dust and desolation and 
 destruction, and one can only leave it to time and 
 silence. 
 
 " You must not be anxious or unhappy about me.
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 355 
 
 I am not ruined, or hurt, or even damaged by all 
 this ; all that I have really made for myself in repu- 
 tation remains ; it is only what I had borrowed from 
 others that has gone. But I cannot bear to think 
 how nearly my work, my fame, if you like, came to 
 be utterly crushed by the fall of this one man; I 
 want to rest them on a better and broader basis, on 
 foundations that moral earthquakes and accidents of 
 time and place cannot shake. So it is to Spain, 
 where the glory of art first came to me, that we are 
 going back together I and my chosen friend. I 
 shall rediscover that glory with her, and renew it 
 and deepen it, if I can, into a more durable glory. 
 
 " Do you remember how once, long ago, I told 
 you that everything I was, or would be, I owed to 
 you? Just now, when what looks like disaster has 
 come upon me, and I am just as full of happiness 
 as it is possible for any one to be, I like to acknowl- 
 edge again how much truth there was in that boyish 
 speech. The start in life means so much the first 
 impulse and its direction; and it matters so much 
 who gives it to us ! You gave me mine, dear Greral- 
 dine, you sent me to work instead of to love, and 
 in doing that you taught me how to love. 
 
 " All this is very egotistical and rather incoherent. 
 I wish you could be as happy as I am and then you 
 would understand why. But I know that in your 
 own way you will always be happy, because you are 
 in possession of your own soul; you do the things 
 you believe to be worth doing, and leave undone the 
 things you do not really believe in. If only we all
 
 356 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 
 did that ! I think I can see you, sitting somewhere 
 in the sunshine in your garden, with the soft, green 
 world of Ireland rolling away in far distances to 
 the bright sky your own room, your own things 
 about you, and the peace and quietness that your 
 soul loves. There now, you are laughing at me 
 even the mouth is smiling! And Celia sends you 
 her love, although you don't know her. We both say 
 thank you a thousand times, and ask for your bless- 
 ing on our sinful happiness. Ever, 
 
 " RUPERT." 
 
 She turned at the far end of the cypress walk and 
 looked down its dark green vista. The sky was a 
 muffled grey pall, so charged with moisture that the 
 very air seemed like water held in suspension. 
 Heavy drops hung from every point of every leaf 
 and flower and stem, but there was no light for them 
 to reflect, and they looked like drops of lead. In 
 Geraldine's eyes, that were always the colour of the 
 sky, the leaden tears gathered and would not fall. 
 
 A murmur arose in the depths of the gloomy house 
 and increased gradually with the barbarous cres- 
 cendo of a beaten gong, until the strident boom 
 reached its climax and hung there, echoing through 
 the gardens, disturbing the rooks in the dripping 
 treetops, and creeping out over field and coppice as 
 though it were summoning a clan to arms. But no 
 one answered; the sound diminished and died out 
 on the heavy air ; the rooks settled down again, and
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 357 
 
 but for the drip from the trees there was silence 
 unbroken. 
 
 Geraldine, with her letter in her hand, passed 
 slowly along the cypress walk, hesitated for a mo- 
 ment before the flight of stone steps, and passed on 
 into the dark house. 
 
 THE END.
 
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