1
JOHN COWPER POWYS
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
RIVERSIDE
^
r
R O D M O O R
Books by
JOHN COWPER POWYS
The War and Cultxire, 1914 $ .60
Visions and Revisions, Essays, 1915 . . . $2,00
Wood and Stone, A Romance, 1915 . . . $1.50
Wolf's-bane, Rhymes, 1916 $1.25
One Hundred Best Books with Commen-
tary, 1916 $ .75
Suspended Judgments, Essays, 1916 . . . $2.00
By THEODORE FRANCIS POWYS
The Soliloquy of a Hermit, 1916 . . . $1.00
Published by G. ARNOLD SHAW
GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL, NEW YORK
RODMOOR
A ROMANCE
JOHN COWPER POWYS
Author of "Wood and Stone," etc.
O they rade on, and farther on.
And they waded rivers abune the knee.
And they saw neither sun nor moon
But they heard the roaring of the sea.
A>'0NYM0?r8.
1916
G. ARNOLD SHAW
NEW YORK
I
.A
c
COPYRIGHT. 191«
BY G. ARNOLD SH AW
COPYRIGHT, IN GREAT BRITAIN
AND THE COLONIES
VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY
BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK
DEDICATED
TO THE SPIRIT OF
EMILY BRONTE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Borough 1
II Dyke House 24-
III Sea-Drift 40
IV Oakguard 49
V A Symposium 58
VI Bridge-Head and Withy-Bed ... 73
VII Vespers 87
VIII Sun and Sea 102
IX Priest and Doctor 118
X Low Tide 129
XI The Sisters 139
XII Hamish Traherne 152
XIII Departure 160
XIV Brand Renshaw 175
XV Broken Voices 194
XVI The Fens 212
XVII The Dawn 226
XVIII Bank-Holiday 239
XIX Listeners 264
CONTENTS
PAGE
Ravelston Grange 282
The Windmill 311
The Northwest Wind 337
Warden of the Fishes 352
The Twenty-Eighth of October . . 375
Baltazar Stork 409
November Mist 430
Theenos 447
CHAPTER
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
RODMOOR
THE BOROUGH
IT was not that he concealed anything from her.
He told her quite frankly, in that first real con-
versation they had together — on the little se-
cluded bench in the South London park — about all the
morbid sufferings of his years in America and his final
mental collapse.
He even indicated to her — while the sound of grass-
mowing came to them over the rain-wet tulips — some
of the most secret causes of this event ; his savage reac-
tion, for instance, against the circle he was thrown into
there ; his unhappy habit of deadly introspection ; his
aching nostalgia for things less murderously new and
raw.
He explained how his mental illness had taken so dan-
gerous, so unlooked for a shape, that it was only by the
merest chance he had escaped long incarceration.
No; it was not that he concealed anything. It was
rather that she experienced a remote uneasy feeling
that, say what he might, — and in a certain sense he said
too much rather than too little — she did not really
understand him.
Her feminine instinct led her to persuade him that
she understood; led her to say what was most reassur-
1
RODMOOR
ing to him, and most consolatory; but in her heart of
hearts she harboured a teasing doubt; a doubt which
only the rare sweetness of these first love-days of her
life enabled her to hide and cover over. Nor was this
feeling about her lover's confessions the only little cloud
on Nance Herrick's horizon during these memorable
weeks — weeks that, after all, she was destined to look
back upon as so strangely happy.
She found herself, in the few moments when her pas-
sionate emotion left her free to think of such things,
much more anxious than she cared to admit about the
ambiguous relations existing between the two persons
dependent upon her. Ever since the death of her
father — that prodigal sailor — three years ago, when
she had taken it upon herself to support both of them
by her work in the dressmaker's shop, she had known
that all was not well between the two. Rachel Doorm
had never forgiven Captain Herrick for marrying
again ; she felt that instinctively, but it was only quite
recently that she had grown to be really troubled by the
eccentric woman's attitude to the little half-sister.
Linda's mother, she knew, had in her long nervous
decline rather clung than otherwise to this grim friend
of the former wife ; but Linda's mother had always been
different from other women ; and Nance could remem-
ber how, in quite early days, she never interfered when
Miss Doorm took the child away to punish her.
To Nance herself Rachel had always been something
of an anxiety. Her savage devotion had proved over
and over again more of a burden than a pleasure; and
now that there was this increased tension between her
and Linda, the thing began to appear invidious, rapa-
cious, sinister.
THE BOROUGH 8
She was torn, in fact, two wajs over the situation.
Her own mother had long ago — and it was one of her
few definite recollections of her — made her swear sol-
emnly never to desert this friend of former days; and
the vows she had registered then to obey this covenant
had grown into a kind of religious rite ; the only rite, in
fact, after all these years, she was able to perform for
her dead.
And yet if loyalty to her mother kept her patiently
tender with Rachel's eccentricities, the much warmer
feeling she had for her other parent was stirred indig-
nantly by the thought of any unkindness dealt out to
Linda.
And just at present, it was clear, Linda was not
happy.
The young girl seemed to be losing her vivacity and
to be growing silent and reserved.
She was now nearly eighteen ; and yet Nance had
caught her once or twice lately looking at Rachel
Doorm with the same expression of frightened entreaty
as she used to wear when led away from her mother's
side for some childish fault. Rachel's father, a taci-
turn and loveless old man, had recently died, leaving his
daughter, whom he had practically cast off, a small but
secure annuity and a little house on the east coast.
It was now to this home of her ancestors, in the vil-
lage of Rodmoor, that Rachel Doorm was anxious to
transport both sisters ; partly as a return for what
Nance's mother, and more recently Nance herself, had
done for her support, and partly out of fanatical devo-
tion to Nance.
The girl could not help experiencing a feeling of in-
finite relief at the thought of being freed from her un-
4 RODMOOR
congenial work in the dressmaker's establishment. Her
pleasure, nevertheless, had been considerably marred,
in the last few days, by the attitude of her sister towards
the projected change.
And now, with the realisation of this thrilling new
passion possessing her, her own feeling about leaving
London was different from what it had been at
first.
None of these questions interrupted, however, on that
particular afternoon, the girl's dreamy and absorbed
happiness.
In the long delicious intervals that fell between her
and her lover with a perfume sweeter than that of the
arrested rain, she let her mind wander in languid ret-
rospect, from that seat in Kensington Park, over every
one of the wonderful events that had led her to this.
She recalled her first sight of Adrian and how it had
come over her, like an intimation from some higher
sphere of being, that her fate was henceforth to lie, for
good and for evil, in that man's hands.
It was quite early in April when she saw him ; and she
remembered, sitting now by his side, how, as each day
grew milder, and the first exquisite tokens of Spring
penetrated one by one — here a basket of daffodils,
and there a spray of almond-blossom — into the street
she traversed to her work, she felt less and less inclined
to struggle against the deep delicious thrill that suffused
itself, like a warm indrawing wave, through every pulse
of her body. That it should never have come to her be-
fore — that she should have lived absolutely fancy-free
until so near her twenty-third birthday — only made
her abandonment to what she felt now the more sweet
and entire.
THE BOROUGH
" It is love, — it is love," she thought ; " and I will
give myself up to it ! "
And she had given herself up to it. It had pene-
trated her with an exultant inner spring of delight.
She had immersed herself in it. She had gone through
her tedious drudgery as if she were floating, languidly
and at ease, on a softly rocking tide. She had lived
entirely in the present. She had not made the least
movement even to learn the name of the man whose word-
less pursuit of her had stirred her senses to this exultant
response.
She had felt an indescribable desire to prolong these
hours of her first love, these hours so unreturning, so
new and so sweet ; a desire — she remembered it well
now — that had a tinge of unformulated fear about it;
as though the very naming, even to herself, of what she
enjoyed, would draw down the jealousy of the invisible
powers.
So she had been careful never to stop or linger, in
her hurried morning walks to the historic bridge ; care-
ful — after she had once passed him, and their eyes had
met — never so much as to turn her head, to see if he
were following.
And yet she knew — as well in those first days as
she knew now — that every morning and night he
waited, wet or fine, to see her go by.
And she had known, too — how could she not
know? — that this mute signalling of two human souls
must change and end; must become something nearer
or something farther as time went on. But day b}^ day
she put off this event ; too thrilled by the sweet dream
in which she moved, to wish to destroy it, either for bet-
ter or for worse.
6 RODMOOR
If she had doubted him; doubted that he cared for
her ; all would have been different.
Then she would have taken some desperate step —
some step that would have forced him to recognise her
for what she was, his one of all, ready as none else could
be ready, to cry with a great cry — " Lord, behold thine
hand-maid ; do unto her according to Thy will ! " But
she had known he did care. She had felt the magnetic
current of his longing, as if it had been a hand laid down
upon her breast.
And in answer she had given herself up to him ; given
herself, she thought, with no less complete a yielding
than that with which, as she heard his voice by her side,
reaching her through a delicate mist of delicious dream-
ing, she gave herself up to him now.
She recalled with a proud gladness the fact that she
had never — never for a moment — in all those days,
bestowed a thought on the question of any possible fu-
ture with him. In the trance-like hours wherein she had
brooded so tenderly over the form and face of her name-
less lover, she always pictured him as standing waiting
for her, a tall, bowed, foreign-looking figure, clothed
in the long weather-stained Inverness — the very tex-
ture of which she seemed to know the touch of — by that
corner curb-stone where the flower-shop was.
Just in that manner, with just that air of ardent ex-
pectation, he might be found standing, she had felt,
through unnumbered days of enchantment, and she pass-
ing by, in silence, with the same expectant thrill.
Such a love draught, not drained, not feverishly
drunk of, but sweet in her mouth with the taste of a
mystic consecration, seemed still, even now that she had
him there beside her, to hold the secret, amid this warm
THE BOROUGH
breath of London's first lilacs, of a triumphant Present,
wherein both Past and Future were abolished.
It seemed to the happy girl on this unique April
afternoon, while the sliding hours, full of the city's
monotonous murmur, sank unnoticed away, and the
gardeners planted their pansies and raked lethargically
in the scented mould, as though nothing that could ever
happen to her afterwards, could outweigh what she felt
then, or matter so very greatly in the final reckoning.
With every pulse of her young body she uttered her
litany of gratitude. '* Ite; missa est " her heart
cried — " It is enough."
As they walked home afterwards, hand in hand
through the dusk of the friendly park, she made him tell
her, detail by detail, every least incident of those first
days of their encountering. And Adrian Sorio, catch-
ing the spirit of that exquisite entreaty, grew voluble
even beyond his wont.
He told her how, in the confusion of his mind, when
it was first revealed to him that the devastation he was
suffering from did not deny him the sweet sting of " what
men call love," he found it impossible to face with any
definite resolution the problem of his doubtful future.
He had recognised that in a week or so every penny he
possessed would be gone ; yet it was impossible — and
his new emotion did not, he confessed, alter this in the
least — to make any move to secure employment.
A kind of misanthropic timidity, so he explained to
her, made the least thought of finding what is popularly
known as " work " eminently repellant to him ; yet it
was obvious that work must be found, unless he wished,
simply and quietly, to end the affair by starvation.
This, as things went then, he told her, giving her
8 RODMOOR
hand a final pressure as they emerged into the lighted
streets, he did not at all urgently want — though in the
first days of his return from America he had pondered
more than once on the question of an easy and agreeable
exit. It was as they settled down side by side, — her
hat no longer held languidly in her gloveless hand, — to
their long and discreet walk home through the crowded
thoroughfares, that she was first startled by hearing
the name " Rodmoor " from his lips. How amazing
a coincidence ! What a miraculous gift of the gods !
Fate was indeed sweeping her away on a full tide.
It seemed like a thing in some old fantastic romance.
Could it be possible even before she had time to con-
template her separation from him that she should learn
that they were not to separate at all !
Rachel Doorra was indeed a witch — was indeed
working things out for her favourite with the power of
a sorceress. She kept back her natural cry of delight,
" But that is where we are going," and let him, all un-
conscious, as it seemed, of the effect of his words, un-
ravel in his own way the thread of his story.
It was about a certain Baltazar Stork she found he
was telling her when her startled thoughts, like a flock
of disturbed pigeons, alighted once more on the field of
his discourse. Baltazar, it appeared, was an old friend
of Sorio's and had written to offer him a sort of in-
definite hospitality in his village on the North Sea.
The name of this place — had she ever heard of Rod-
moor? — had repeated itself very strangely in his mind
ever since he first made it out in his friend's abominable
hand.
At that point in their walk, under the glare of a great
provision shop, she suddenly became conscious that he
THE BOROUGH 9
was watching her with laughing excitement. " You
know ! " she cried, " you know ! " And it was with diffi-
culty that he persuaded her to let him tell her how he
knew, in his own elaborate manner.
This refuge — offered to him thus out of a clear sky,
he told her — did in a considerable sense lend him an
excuse for taking no steps to find work. And the name
of the place — he confessed this with an excited em-
phasis — had from the beginning strangely affected his
imagination.
He saw it sometimes, so he said, that particular word,
in a queer visualised manner, dark brown against a
colourless and livid sky; and in an odd sort of way it
had related itself, dimly, obscurely, and with the in-
coherence of a half-learnt language, to the wildest and
most pregnant symbols of his life.
Rodmoor ! The word at the same time allured and
troubled him. What it suggested to him — and he
made her admit that his ideas of it were far more
definite than her own — was no doubt what it really
implied: leagues and leagues of sea-bleached forlorn-
ness, of sand-dunes and glaucous marshes, of solitary
willows and pallid-leaved poplars, of dark pools and
night-long-murmuring reeds.
" We'll have long walks together there ! " he ex-
claimed, interrupting himself suddenly with an almost
savage gesture of ardent possession. If it had been
any one but Baltazar Stork, he went on, who had sent
him this timely invitation, he would have rejected it at
once, but from Baltazar he had no hesitation in accept-
ing anything. They had been friends too long to make
any other attitude possible. No, it was no scruple of
pride that led him to hesitate — as he admitted to her
10 RODMOOR
he had done. It was rather the strange and inde-
finable reaction set up in his brain by those half-sinister
half-romantic syllables — syllables that kept repeating
themselves in his inner consciousness.
Nance remembered more than once in a later time the
fierce sudden way he turned upon her as they stood on
the edge of the crowded square waiting the opportunity
to cross and asked, with a solemn intensity in his voice,
whether she had any presentiment as to how things
would turn out for them in this place.
" It hangs over me," he said, " it hangs over us
both. I see it like a heavy sunset weighted with purple
bars." And then, when the girl did nothing but shake
her head and smile tenderly, " I warn you," he went
on, " you are risking much — I feel it — I know it.
I have had this sort of instinct before about things."
He shivered a little and laid his hand on her arm as
if he clung to her for reassurance.
Nance remembered long afterwards the feelings in
her that made her turn her face full upon him and
whisper proudly, as if in defiance of his premonitions,
" What can happen to us that can hurt us, my dear,
as long as we are together, and as long as we love one
another? "
He was silent after this and apparently satisfied, for
he did not scruple to return to the subject of Rod-
moor. The word gave him in those first days, he said,
that curious sensation we receive when we suddenly say
to ourselves in some new locality, " I have been here ; I
have seen all this before."
Had he at that time, he told her, been less distracted
by the emotions she aroused in him, he would have
analysed to the bottom the dim mental augury — or
THE BOROUGH 11
was it reminiscence? — called up by this name. As
it was he just kept the thing at the back of his mind
as something which, whatever its occult significance, at
least spared him the necessity of agitating himself about
his future.
Nance's thoughts were brought back from their half-
attention with a shock of vivid interest when he came
to the point, amid his vague recollections, of his first
entrance into her house. It was exactly a week ago, he
reminded her, that he found himself one sunny morning
securely established as a new lodger under her roof.
In his impatient longing to secure the desirable room
— across the narrow floor of which, he confessed to her,
he paced to and fro that day like a hungry tiger — he
had even forgotten to make the obvious inquiry as to
the quarter of the London sky from which his particu-
lar portion of light and air was to come.
It was only, he told her, with a remote segment of
his consciousness that he became aware of the fine,
full flood of sunshine which poured in from the southern-
opening window and lay, mellow and warm, upon his
littered books and travel-stained trunk.
Casual and preoccupied were the glances he cast,
each time his mechanical perambulation brought him
to that pleasant window, at the sun-bathed trafiic and
the hurrying crowd. London Bridge Road melted into
his thought; or rather his thought took possession of
London Bridge Road and reduced it to a mere sound-
ing-board for the emotion that obsessed him.
That emotion — and Nance got exquisite pleasure
from hearing him say the words, though she turned her
face away from him as he said them — took, as he
paced his room, passionate and ardent shape. He did
12 RODMOOR
not re-vivify the whole of her, — of the fair young being
whose sweetness had got into his blood. He confined
himself to thinking of the delicate tilt of her head and
of the spaciousness between her breasts, spaciousness
that somehow reminded him of Pheidian sculpture.
He hadn't anticipated this particular kind of escape
— though it was certainly the escape he had been seek-
ing — amid the roar of London's streets ; but after all,
if it did give him his cup of nepenthe, his desired ano-
dyne, how much the more did he gain when it gave him
so thrilling an experience in addition? Why, indeed,
should he not dream that the gods were for once help-
ing him out and that the generous grace of his girl's
form was symbolic of the restorative virtue of the great
Mother herself?
Restoration was undoubtedly the thing he wanted —
and in recalling his thoughts of that earlier hour, to
her now walking with him, he found himself enlarging
upon it all quite unscrupulously in terms of what he
now felt — restoration on any terms, at any cost, to
the kindly normal paths out of which he had been so
roughly thrown. He thrust indignantly back, he told
her, that eventful morning the intrusive thought that
it was only the Spring that worked so prosperously
upon him. He did not want it to be the Spring; he
wanted it to be the girl. The Spring would pass ; the
girl, if his feeling for her — and he glanced at the
broad-rimmed hat and shadowy profile at his side —
were not altogether illusive, would remain. And it was
the faculty for remaining that he especially required in
his raft of refuge.
Up and down his room, at any rate, he walked that
day with a heightened consciousness such as he had
THE BOROUGH 13
not known for many clouded months. " The Spring "
— and in his imaginative reaction to his own memories
he grew, so Nance felt with what was perhaps her first
serious pang, almost feverishly eloquent — " the Spring,
whether I cared to recognise it or not, waved thrilling
arms towards me. I felt it " — and he raised his voice
so loud that the girl looked uneasily round them —
" in the warmth of the sun, in the faces of the wistful
shop girls, in the leaves budding against the smoke of
the Borough. It had come to me again, and you —
you had brought it 1 It had come to me again, the
Eternal Return, the antiphonal world-deep Renewal.
It had come, Nance, and all the slums of Rotherhithe
and Wapping, and all the chimney's, workshops, wharves
and tenements of the banks of this river of yours could
not stop the rising of the sap. The air came to me
that morning, my girl ! " — and he unconsciously quick-
ened his steps as he spoke till, for all her long youthful
limbs she could hardly keep pace with him — " as if it
had passed over leagues of green meadows. And it
had! It had, Nance! And it throbbed for me, child,
with the sweetness of your very soul." He paused for
a moment and, as they debouched more directly east-
ward through a poor and badly lit street, she caught
him muttering to himself what she knew was Latin.
He answered her quick look — her look that had a
dim uneasiness in it — with a slow repetition of the fa-
mous line, and Nance was still quite enough of a young
girl to feel a thrill of pride that she had a lover who,
within a stone's throw of the " Elephant and Castle,"
could quote for her on an April evening that " eras amet
qui nunquam amaiit " of the youth of the centuries!
The rich, antique flavour of the words blent well
14 RODMOOR
enough as far as she was concerned with the homely
houses and taverns of that dilapidated quarter. The
night was full of an indescribable balm, felt through the
most familiar sounds and sights, and, after all, there
was always something mellow and pagan and free about
the streets of London. It was the security, the friendly
solidity, of the immense city which more than anything
just then seemed to harmonise with this classical mood
in her wonderful foreigner and she wished he would
quote more Latin as they went along, side by side, past
the lighted fruit stalls.
The overhanging shadow of Adrian's premonitions,
or whatever they were, about Rodmoor, and her own
anxieties about Rachel Doorm and Linda withdrew
themselves into the remotest background of the girl's
mind as she gave herself to her happiness in this fa-
voured hour. It was in a quiet voice, after that, that
he resumed his stor3\ The sound, he said, of one of the
Borough clocks striking the hour of ten brought a
pause to his agitated pacing.
He stretched himself, he told her, when he heard the
clock, stretched his arms out at full length, with that
delicious shivering sensation which accompanies the
near fulfilment of deferred hope. Then he chuckled to
himself, from sheer childish ecstasy, and made goblinish
faces.
Nance could not help noticing as he told her all this,
how quaintly he reproduced in his exaggerated way the
precise gestures he had indulged in. " Per Bacco ! I
had only three pounds left," he said, and as he shrugged
his shoulders and glowered at her under a flickering
lamp from eyes sunken deep in his heavy face, she real-
ised of what it was he had been all this while vaguely
THE BOROUGH 15
rt'ininding her — of nothing less, in fact, than one of
those saturnine portrait-busts of the Roman decadence,
at which as a child she used to stare, half-frightened
and half-attracted, in the great Museum.
The first thing he did, he told her, when the sound
of the clock brought him to his senses, was to empty
his pockets on the top of the chest-of-drawers which
was, except for the bed and a couple of rickety chairs,
the only article of furniture in the room. An errant
penny, rolling aside from the rest, tinkled against the
edge of his washing basin. "Not three pounds !" he mut-
tered and leered at himself in his wretched looking glass.
It was precisely at that moment that the sound of
voices struck his ears, proceeding from the adjoining
room.
" I had spent half the night," he whispered, drawing
his companion closer to his side as a couple of tipsy
youths pushed roughly by them, " lying awake listen-
ing. I felt a queer kind of shame, yes, shame, as I
realised how near I w'as to you. You know I knew
nothing of you then, absolutely nothing except that you
went to work every day and lived with some sort of
elderly person and a younger sister. It was this ig-
norance about you, child, that made my situation so
exciting. I waited breathlessly, literally petrified, in
the middle of the room."
Nance at this point felt herself compelled to utter
a little cry of protest.
" You ought to have made some kind of noise," she
said, " to let us know you were listening."
But he waved aside her objection, and continued:
" I remained petrified in the centre of the room, feeling
as though the persons I listened to might at any mo-
16 RODMOOR
ment stop their conversation and listen, in their turn,
to the frantic beating of ni}' heart. I heard your voice.
I knew it in a moment to be yours — it had the round,
full sweetness " — his arm was about her now — " of
your darling figure. ' Good-bye ! ' you called out and
there came the sound of a door opening upon the
passage, ' Good-bye ! I'm off. Meet me to-night if
you like. Yes, soon after six. Good-bj'e ! Look after
each other.'
" The door shut and I heard you running down the
stairs. I felt as though that ' Meet me to-night ' had
been addressed to myself. I crossed over to the win-
dow and watched you thread your way through the
crowd in the direction of the Bridge. I knew you were
late. I hoped you would not be scolded for it by some
shrewish or brutal employer. I wished I had had the
courage to go out on the landing and see you off. Why
is one always so paralysed when these chances offer
themselves.'' I might easily have taken a fellow-lodger's
privilege and bidden you good morning. Then I found
myself wondering whether you had any inkling that I
had been sleeping so near you that night. Had you,
you darling, had you any such instinct.'' "
Nance shook her head, nor could he see the expres-
sion of her eyes in the quiet darkened square, across
which they were then moving. They came upon a
wooden bench, under some iron railings, and he made
her sit down while he completed his tale. The spot was
unfrequented at that hour, and above their heads — as
they leaned back, sighing tranquilly, and he took pos-
session of her hand — the branch of a stunted beech-
tree stretched itself out, hushed and still, enjoying
THE BOROUGH 17
some secret dream of its own amid tlie balmy perfumes
of the amorous night.
" jMay I go on?" he enquired, looking tenderly at
her.
In her heart Nance longed to cry, " No ! No ! No
more of these tiresome memories ! Make love to me !
Make love to me!" but she only pressed his fingers
gently and remained silent.
" I took up a book," he went on, " from the heap on
the floor and drawing one of those miserable chairs to
the window, I opened it at random. It happened to
be that mad lovely thing of Rcmy de Gourmont. I
forgot whether you said y^ou had got as far as French
poetry in that collection of yours that Miss Doorm
is so suspicious of. It was, in fact, ' Le livre des
Litanies,' and shall I tell you the passage I read? I
was too excited to gather its meaning all at once, and
then such a curious thing happened to me ! But I
will say the lines to you, child, and 3'ou will under-
stand better."
Nance could only press his hand again, but her heart
sank with an unaccountable forebodincp.
" It was the Litany of the Rose," he said, and his
voice floated out into the embalmed stillness with the
same ominous treachery in its tone, so the poor girl
fancied, as the ambiguous words he chanted.
" Rose au regard saphique, plus pale que les lys, rose
au regard saphique, off re-nous le parfum de ton illusoire
tirginitc, feur hypocrite, fieur de silence."
The strange invocation died away on the air, and a
singular oppression, heavy as if with some undesired
spiritual presence, weighed upon them both. Sorio did
18 RODMOOR
not speak for some minutes, and when he did so there
was an uneasy vibration in liis voice.
" As soon as I had read those lines, there came over
me one of the most curious experiences I have ever
had. I seemed to see, yes, you may smile," — Nance
was far from smiling — " but it is actually true — I
seemed to see a living human figure outline itself against
the wall of my room. To the end of my days I shall
never forget it! It was a human form, Nance, but it
was unlike all human forms I've ever beheld — unless it
be one of those weird drawings, you know? of Aubrey
Beardsley. It was neither the form of a boy nor of a
girl, and yet it had the nature of both. It gazed at
me with a fixed sorrowful stare, and I felt — was not
that a strange experience — that I had known it be-
fore, somewhere, far off, and long ago. It was the
very embodiment of tragic supplication, and yet, in the
look it fixed on me, there was a cold, merciless mockery.
" It was the kind of form, Nance, that one can imag-
ine wandering in vain helplessness down all the years
of human history, seeking amid the dreams of all the
great, perverse artists of the world for the incarnation
it has been denied by the will of God." He paused
again, and an imperceptible breath of hot balmy air
stirred the young leaves of the beech branch above
them.
" Ah ! " he whispered, " I know what I thought of
then. I thought of that ' Secret Rose Garden ' where
the timid boy-girl thing — you know the picture I
mean, Nance.'' — is led forth by some wanton lamp
bearer between rose branches that are less soft than her
defenceless sides."
Once more he was silent and the hot wind, rising a
THE 330ROUGH 10
little, uttered a perceptible murmur in the leaves above
their heads.
" But what was more startling to me, Nance," he
went on, " even than the figure I saw (and it only
stayed a moment before disappearing) was the fact
tliat at the very second it vanished, I heard, spoken
quite distinctly, in the room next to mine, the word
' Rodmoor.'
" I threw down the * Book of Litanies ' and once
more stood breathlessly listening. I caught the word
again, uttered in a tone that struck mc as having some-
thing curiously threatening about it. It was your
Miss Doorm, Nance. No wonder she and I instinc-
tively hated each other when we met. She must have
known that I had heard this interesting conversation.
Your sister's voice — and you must think about that,
Nance, you must think about that — sounded like the
voice of a little girl that has been punished — yes, pun-
ished into frightened submissiveness.
" Miss Doorm was evidently talking to her about this
Rodmoor scheme. ' It's what I've waited for, for years
and years,' I heard her say. ' Every Spring that came
round I hoped he would die, and he didn't. It seemed
that he wouldn't — just to spite me, just to keep me
out of my own. But now he's gone — the old man —
gone with all his wickedness upon him, and my place
returns to me — my own place. It's mine, I tell you,
mine! mine! mine!' It was extraordinary, Nance, the
tone in which she said these things. Then she went
on to speak of you. * I can free her now,' she said, ' I
can free her at last. Aren't you glad I can free her?
Aren't you glad? '
" I confess it made me at that moment almost indig-
20 RODMOOR
nant with your sister that she should need such pressing
on such a subject. Her voice, however, when she mur-
mured some kind of an answer, appeared, as I have said,
quite obsequious in its humility.
" ' O my precious, my precious ! ' the woman cried
again, evidently apostrophising you, ' you've worked
for me, and saved for me, and now I can return it — I
can return it 1 ' There was a few minutes' silence then,
and I moved," Sorio continued, " quite close to the wall
so as to catch if I could your sister's whispers.
" Miss Doorm soon began once more and 1 liked her
tone still less. ' Why don't you speak? Why do you
sit silent and sulky like that? Aren't you glad she'll
be free of all this burden — of all this miserable
drudgery? Aren't you glad for her? She kept you
here like a Duchess, you with your music lessons ! A
lot of money you'll ever earn with your music ! And
now it's my turn. She shall be a lady in my house, a
lady!'"
Nance's head hung low down over her knees as she
listened to all this and the hand that her lover still
retained grew colder and colder.
" I remember her next words," Sorio went on, " par-
ticularly well because a lovely fragrance of lilacs came
suddenly into the window from a cart in the street and
I thought how to my dying day I should associate that
scent with this first morning under your roof.
"'You say you don't like the sea?' Miss Doorm
went on, ' and you actually suppose that your not lik-
ing the sea will stop my freeing her ! No ! No !
You'll have the sea, my beauty, at Rodmoor — the sea
and the wind. No more dilly-dallying among the pretty
shop windows and the nice young music students. The
THE BOROUGH 21
Wind and the Sea ! Those are the things that arc wait-
ing for you at Kodinoor — at Rodmoor, in my house,
where she will be a lady at last ! '
" You see, Nance," Adrian observed, letting her hand
go and preparing to light a cigarette, " Miss Doorm's
idea seems to be that you will receive quite a social lift
from your move to her precious Rodmoor. She evi-
dently holds the view that no lady has ever earned her
living with her own hands. Does she propose to keep
a horde of servants in this small house, I wonder, and
stalk about among them, grim and majestic, in a black
silk gown?
" I must confess I feel at this moment a certain
understanding of your sister's reluctance to plunge
into this ' milieu.' I can see that house — oh, so
clearly! — surrounded by a dark back-water and swept
by horribly cold winds. I'm sure I don't know, Nance,
what kind of neighbours 3'ou're going to have on the
Doorm estate. Probably half the old hags of East
Anglia will troop in upon you, like descendants of the
Valkyries. And the North Sea ! You realise, my dear,
I suppose, what the North Sea is ? I don't blame little
Linda for shivering at the thought of it."
For the first time since she had known him Nance's
voice betrayed irritation. " Don't tease me, Adrian.
I can't stand it to-night. You don't know what all this
means to Rachel."
Adrian smiled. " Your dear Rachel," he said,
" seems to have got you both fairly well under her
thumb."
" She was my mother's best friend ! " the girl burst
out. " I should never forgive myself if I made her
unhappy ! "
22 RODMOOU
" There seems more chance, as I see it now," ob-
served Sorio, *' that Miss Doorm will make Linda un-
happy. I think I may take it that Linda's mother
wasn't much of a favourite of hers? Isn't that so,
m}^ dear? "
*' We must be getting home now," the girl remarked,
rising from the bench. But Sorio remained seated,
coolly puffing wreaths of cigarette smoke into the aro-
matic night.
" There's not the slightest need to get cross with me,"
he said gently, giving the sleeve of her coat a little
deprecatory caress.
" As a matter of fact, when I heard that woman scold
Linda for not wanting to set you free I felt, in a most
odd and subtle manner, curiously anxious to scold her,
too ; I quite longed to overcome and override her ab-
surd reluctance. I even felt a strange excitement in
the thought of walking with her along the edge of this
water, and in the face of this wind. O ! I became
Miss Doorm's accomplice, Nance ! You may be per-
fectly happy. I made up my mind that very moment
that I would write at once to Baltazar and accept his
invitation. Indeed I did write to him, the minute I
could hear no more talking. I was too excited to write
much. I just wrote : ' Amico mio : — I will come to you
very soon.' and when I'd finished the letter I went
straight out and posted it. I believe I heard Linda
crying as I went downstairs, but, as I tell you, Nance,
I had become quite an accomplice of Miss Doorm! It
s «?emed to me outrageous that the selfish silliness of a
chj'ld like that should interfere with your emancipation.
Bcsio^^-"' I liked the thought of walking with her by the
shore o/lJ^i^ sea and calming her curious fear."
THE BOROUCxH 23
He threw away his cigarette and, fising to liis feet,
drew the girl's arm within his own and led her home-
wards.
The beech-tree, as if relieved by their departure, gave
itself up with more delicious abandonment than ever to
the embraces of the warm Spring night. They had not
far to go now, and Nance only spoke once before they
arrived at their door in the London Bridge Road.
" Had that figure you saw," she asked in a low con-
strained voice, *' the same look Linda has — now that
you know what she is like ? "
"Linda?" he answered, "Oh, no, my dear, no, no!
That one had nothing to do with Linda. But I think,"
he added, after a pause, " it had something to do with
Rodmoor."
n
DYKE HOUSE
NANCE HERRICK stood at her window
in the Doorm dwelling the morning
after their arrival thinking desperately
of what she had done. The window, open at the top,
let in a breath of chilly, salt-tasting wind which
stirred the fair loose hair upon her forehead and cooled
her throat and shoulders. At the sound of her sister's
voice she closed the window, cast one swift, troubled
look at the river flowing so formidably near, and moved
across to Linda's side. Drowsy and warm after her
deep sleep, the younger girl stretched out her long,
youthful arms from the bed and clasped them round
Nance's neck.
" Are you glad," she whispered, " are you glad, after
all, that I made you come I couldn't have borne to
be selfish, dear. I should have had no peace. No ! — ,"
she interrupted an ejaculation from Nance, *' — it
wasn't anything to do with Rachel. It wasn't, Nancy
darling, it really and truly wasn't ! I'm going to be
perfectly good now. I'm going to be so good that
you'll hardly know me. Shall I tell you what I'm going
to do.'* I'm going to learn the organ. Rachel says
there's a beautiful one in the church here, and Mr.
Traherne — he's the clergyman, you know — plays
upon it himself. I'm going to persuade him to teach
me. 0! I shall be perfectly happy ! "
Nance extricated herself from the young girl's arms
24
DYKE HOUSE 25
and, stepping back into the middle of the room, stood
contemplating her in silence. The two sisters, thus
contrasted, in the hard white light of that fen-land
morning, would have charmed the super-subtle sense of
some late Venetian painter. Nance herself, without
being able precisely to define her feeling, felt that the
mere physical difference between them was symbolic of
something dangerously fatal in their conjunction. Her
sister was not an opposite type. She too was fair —
she too was tall and flexible — she too w^as emphatically
feminine in her build — she even had eyes of the same
vague grey colour. And yet, as Nance looked at her
now, at her flushed excited cheeks, her light brown
curls, her passionate neurotic attitude, and became at
the same time conscious of her own cold pure limbs,
white marble-like skin and heavily-hanging shining
hair, she felt that they were so essentially different,
even in their likeness, that the souls in their two bodies
could never easily comprehend one another nor arrive
at any point of real instinctive understanding.
Something of the same thought must have troubled
Linda too at that moment, for as they fixed their eyes
on each other's faces there fell between them that sort
of devastating silence which indicates the struggle of
two human spirits, seeking in vain to break the eternal
barrier in whose isolating power lies all the tragedy and
all the interest of life.
Suddenly Nance moved to the window and threw it
wide open.
" Listen ! " she said.
The younger sister made a quick apprehensive move-
ment and clasped her hands tightly together. Her eyes
grew wide and her breast rose and fell.
26 RODMOOR
"Listen!" Nance repeated.
A low, deep-drawn murmur, reiterated, and again re-
iterated, in menacing monotony, filled the room.
" The sea ! " cried both sisters together.
Nance shivered, closed the window and sank down on
a chair. With lowered eyes she remained for some
seconds absorbed and abstracted. When she lifted her
head she saw that her sister was watching her and
that there was a look on her face such as she had never
seen there before. It was a look she was destined to
be unable to thrust from her memory, but no effort of
hers could have described it then or afterwards. Mak-
ing an effort of will which required all the strength of
her soul, Nance rose to her feet and spoke solemnly and
deliberately.
" Swear to me, Linda, that nothing I could have said
or done would have made you agree to stay in London.
I told you I was ready to stay, didn't I, that night I
camiC back with Adrian and found you awake? I
begged and begged you to tell me the truth, to tell me
whether Rachel was forcing you into going. I offered
to leave her for good and all — didn't I.'^ — if she was
unkind to you. It's only the truth I want — only the
truth ! We'll go back — now — to-morrow — the mo-
ment you say you wish it. But if you don't wish it,
make me know you don't ! Make me know it — here —
in my heart ! "
In her emotion, pressing her hand to her side, she
swayed with a pathetic, unconscious movement. Linda
continued to watch her, the same indescribable look
upon her face.
" Will you swear that nothing I could have done
DYKE HOUSE 27
would have made you stay? Will you swear that,
Linda?"
The younger girl in answer to this appeal, leapt from
her bed and rushing up to her sister hugged her tightly
in her arms.
"You darling thing!" she cried, "of course I'll
swear it. Nothing — nothing — nothing! would have
made me stay. Oh, you'll soon see how happy I can be
in Rodmoor — in dear lovely Rodmoor ! "
A simultaneous outburst of weeping relieved at that
moment the feelings of both of them, and they kissed
one another passionately through their falling tears.
In the hush that followed — whether by reason of a
change in the wind or simply because their senses had
grown more receptive — they both clearly heard
through the window that remained closed, the husky,
long-drawn beat, reiterative, incessant, menacing, of the
waves of the North Sea.
During breakfast and the hours which succeeded that
meal, Nance was at once surprised and delighted by the
excellent spirits of both Miss Doorm and Linda. They
even left her to herself before half the morning was
over and went off together, apparently in complete har-
mony along the banks of the tidal stream.
She herself, loitering in the deserted garden, felt a
curious sensation of loneliness and a wonder, not
amounting to a sense of discomfort but still remotely
disturbing, as to why it was that Adrian had not, as he
had promised, appeared to take her out. Acting at
last on a sudden impulse, she ran into the house, put
on her hat and cloak, and started rapidly down the road
leading to the village.
28 RODMOOR
The Spring was certainly not so far advanced in
Rodmoor as it was in London. Nance felt as though
some alien influence were at work here, reducing to
enforced sterility the natural movements of living and
growing things. The trees were stunted, the marigolds
in the wet ditches pallid and tarnished. The leaves of
the poplars, as they shook in the gusty wind, seemed
to her like hundreds and hundreds of tiny dead hands —
the hands of ghostly babies beseeching whatever power
called them forth to give them more life or to return
them to the shadows.
Yes, some alien influence was at work, and the Spring
was ravished and tarnished even while yet in bud. It
was as if by an eternal mandate, registered when this
portion of the coast first assumed its form, the seasons
had been somehow thwarted and perverted in the proc-
esses of their natural order, and the land left, a nue-
tral, sterile, derelict thing, neither quite living nor quite
dead, doomed to changeless monotony.
Nance was still some little distance from the village,
but she slackened her pace and lingered now, in the hope
that at any moment she might see Adrian approaching.
She knew from Rachel's description only very vaguely
where ]Mr. Stork's cottage was and she was afraid of
missing her lover if she went too far.
The road she was following was divided from the river
by some level water meadows and she did not feel cer-
tain whether the village itself lay on the right or the
left of the river mouth. JMiss Doorm had spoken of a
bridge, but among the roofs and trees which she made
out in front of her, she was unable at present to see
anything of this.
What she did see was a vast expanse of interminable
DYKE HOUSE 29
fcn-liind stretching away for miles and miles on every
side of her, broken against the sky line, towards which
she was advancing, by grey houses and grey poplars
but otherwise losing itself in misty horizons which
seemed infinite in their remoteness. On both sides of
the little massed group of roofs and trees and what the
girl made out as the masts of boats in the harbour, a
long low bank of irregular sand-dunes kept the sea from
her view, though the sound of the waves — and Nance
fancied it came to her in a more friendly manner now
she was closer to it — was insistent and clear.
Across the fens to her left she discerned what was
evidently the village church but the building looked so
desolate and isolated — alone there in the midst of the
marshes — that she found it difficult to conceive the
easily-daunted Linda as practising organ music in such
a place. She wondered if the grey building she could
just obscurely distinguish, leaning against the wall of
the church, were the abode of Mr. Traherne. If so,
she thought, he must indeed be a man of God to endure
that solitude.
She had wandered into the wet grass by the road's
edge and was amusing herself by picking a bunch of
dandelions, the only flower at that moment in sight,
when she saw a man's figure approaching her from the
Rodmoor direction. At first she assumed it was Ad-
rian, and made several quick steps to meet him, but
when she recognised her mistake the disappointment
made her so irritable that she threw her flowers away.
Her irritation vanished, however, after a long survey
of him, when the stranger actually drew near.
He was a middle-sized man wearing at the back of his
head a dark soft hat and buttoned up, from throat to
30 RODMOOR
ankles, in a light-coloured heavy overcoat. His face,
plump, smooth, and delicately oval, possessed a winning
freshness of tint and outline which was further enhanced
by the challenging friendliness of his whimsical smile
and the softness of his hazel eyes. What could be seen
of his mouth — for he wore a heavy moustache — was
sensitive and sensuous, but something about the way he
walked — a kind of humorous roll, Nance mentally de-
fined it, of his sturdy figure — gave an impression that
this body, so carefully over-coated against the cold, was
one whose heart was large, mellow and warm. It was
not till after a minute or two, not in fact till he had
wavered and hovered at her side like an entomologist
over a newly discovered butterfly, that the girl got upon
the track of other interesting peculiarities.
His nose, she found, for instance, was the most strik-
ing feature of his face, being extremely long and pointed
like the nose of a rodent, and with large quivering nos-
.trils slightly reddened, it happened just then, by the
impact of the wind, and tilted forward as the man
veered about as though to snuff up the very perfume
and essence of the fortunate occasion.
From the extreme tip of this interesting feature hung
a pearly drop of rheum.
What — next to the man's nose — struck the girl's
fancy and indeed so disarmed her dignity that even his
entomological hoverings were forgiven, was the straight
lock of black-brown hair which falling across his fore-
head gave him a deliciously ruffled and tumbled look, as
if he had recently been engaged in a rural game of
" blind man's buff." The forehead itself, or what could
be seen of it, was Aveighty and thoughtful ; the forehead
of a scholar or a philosopher.
DYKE IIOT^SE 31
Nance had never in all her life been treated by a
stranger quite in the way this worthy man treated her,
for not only did he return upon his steps immediately
after he had passed her, but he permitted his eyes, both
in passing and repassing, to search her smilingly up and
down from her boots to the top of her head, precisely
as if he were a connoisseur in a gallery observing the
" values " of a famous picture.
And yet, for she was not by any means oblivious to
such distinctions, the girl was unable to feel even for
one second that this surprising admirer was anything
but a gentleman — a gentleman, however, with very
singular manners. That she certainly did feel. And
yet, she liked him, liked him before he uttered a word,
liked him with that swift, irrational, magnetic attrac-
tion which, with women even more than with men, is
the important thing.
Passing her for the third time he suddenly darted
into the grass, and with a movement so comically im-
petuous that though she gave a start she could not feel
angry, picked up her discarded flowers and gravely pre-
sented them to her, saying as he did so, " Perhaps you'll
be annoyed at leaving these behind — or do you wish
them at the devil? "
Nance took them from him and smiled frankly into
his face.
" I suppose I oughtn't to have picked them," she
said. " People don't like dandelions brought into
houses."
" What an Attic chin you have ! " was the stranger's
next remark. There was such an absence in his tone of
all rakish or conventional gallantry that the girl still
felt she could not repulse him.
32 RODMOOR
"You are staying here — in Rodmoor? " he went
on.
Nance explained that she had come to live with Miss
Doorm.
" Ah ! " The stranger looked at her curiously, smil-
ing with exquisite sweetness. " You have been here be-
fore," he said. " You came in a coach, pulled by six
black horses. You know every sort of reed and every
kind of moss in all the fens. You know all the shells
on the shore and all the seaweed in the sea."
Nance was less puzzled than might be supposed by
this fantastic address, as she had the advantage of
interpreting it in the light of the humorous and reas-
suring smile which accompanied its utterance.
She brought him back to reality by a direct question.
" Can you tell me where Mr. Stork lives, please.'' I've
a friend staying with him and I want to know which
way a person would naturally take coming from there
to us. I had rather hoped," she hesitated a little, " to
have met my friend already. But perhaps Mr. Stork
is a late riser."
The stranger, who had been looking very intently at
the opposite hedge while she asked her question, sud-
denly darted towards it. The queer way in which he
ran with his arms swinging loosely from his shoulders,
and his body bent a little forward, struck Nance as pe-
culiarly fascinating. When he reached the hedge he
hovered momentarily in front of it and then pounced at
something. " Missed ! " he cried in a peevish voice.
" Damn the little scoundrel ! A shrew-mouse ! That's
what it was ! A shrew mouse ! "
He came hurrying back as fast as he went, almost
as if Nance herself had been some kind of furred or
DYKE HOUSE 33
feathered animal that might disappear if it were not
held fast.
" I beg your pardon, Madam," he said, breathlessly,
" but you don't often see those so near the town.
Hullo ! " This last exclamation was caused by the ap-
pearance, not many paces from them, of Adrian Sorio
himself who emerged from a gap in the hedge, hatless
and excited. " I was on the towpath," he gasped, " and
I caught sight of you. I was afraid you'd have started.
Baltazar made me go with him to the station." He
paused and stared at Nance's companion.
The latter looked so extremely uncomfortable that
the girl hastened to come to his rescue.
" This gentleman was just going to show me the way,"
she said, " to your friend's house. Look, Adrian !
Aren't these lovely? "
She held out the dandelions towards him, but he dis-
regarded them.
" Well," he remarked rather brusquely, " now I've
found you, I fancy we'd better go back the way we came.
I'm longing to see how Linda feels. I want to take her
down to the sea this afternoon. Shall we do that? Or
perhaps you can't both leave Miss Doorm at the same
time ? "
He stared at the stranger as if bidding him clear off.
But the admirer of shrew-mice had recovered his equa-
nimity. " I know Mr. Stork well," he remarked to
Sorio. " He and I are quite old friends. I was just
asking this lady if she had ever been in the fens before,
but I gather this is her first visit."
Adrian had by this time begun to look so morose that
Nance broke in hurriedly.
" We must introduce ourselves," she said. " My
34 RODMOOR
name is jNIiss Herrick. This is Mr. Adrian Sorio."
She paused and waited. A long shrill cry followed by a
most melancholy wail which gradually died away in the
distance, came to them over the marshes.
" A curlew," remarked the intruder. " Beautiful
and curious — and with very interesting mating habits.
They are rare, too."
" Come along, Nance," Sorio burst out. But the girl
turned to her new acquaintance and extended her hand.
" You haven't told us your name yet," she said. " I
hope we shall meet again."
The stranger gave her a look which, for caressing
softness, could only be compared to a virtuoso's finger
laid upon an incomparable piece of Egyptian pottery.
" Certainly we shall meet," he murmured. " Of
course, most certainly. I know every one here. My
name is Raughty — Doctor Fingal Raughty. I was
with old Doorm when he died. A noble head, though
rather malformed behind the ears. He had a peculiar
smell too — not unpleasant — rather musky in fact.
They called him Badger in the village. He could drink
more gin at a sitting than any man I have ever seen.
He resembled the portraits of Descartes. Good-bye,
Miss — Nance ! "
As soon as the lovers were alone Sorlo's rage broke
forth.
" What a man ! " he cried. " Who gave him leave
to talk like that of Mr. Doorm .'' How did he know
you weren't related to him? And what surpassing
coolness to call you by your Christian name! Con-
found him — he's gone the way we wanted to go. I
believe he knew that. Look! He's fooling about in
the ditch, waiting for us to overtake him ! "
DYKE HOUSE 85
j>
Nance could not help laughing a little at this
" Not at all, my dear. He's looking for shrew-mice.
" What? " rejoined the other crossly. *' On the pub-
lic road? He's mad. Come, we must get round him
somehow. Let's go through here and hit the tow
path."
They had no more interruptions as they strolled
slowly back along the river's bank. Nance was per-
plexed, however, by Adrian's temper. He seemed ir-
ritable and brusque. She had never known him in such
a mood, and a dim, obscure apprehension to which she
could assign no adequate cause, began to invade her
heart.
They had both become so silent, and the girl's nerves
had been so set on edge by his unusual attitude towards
her, that she gave a quite perceptible start when he
suddenly pointed across the stream to a clump of oak
trees, the only ones, he told her, to be found in the
neighbourhood.
" There's something behind them," she remarked, " a
house of some kind. I shouldn't like to live out in that
place. How they must hear the wind ! It must howl
and moan sometimes — mustn't it?" She smiled at
him and shivered.
" I think I miss London Bridge Road a little, and —
Kensington Park. Don't you, too, Adrian?"
" Yes, there's a house behind them," Sorio repeated,
disregarding her last words and staring fixedly at the
oak trees. " There's a house behind them."
His manner was so queer that the girl looked at him
with serious alarm.
"What's the matter with you, Adrian?" she said.
" I've never known you like this — "
36 RODMOOR
" It's where the Renshaws live," her lover continued.
" They have a kind of park. Its wall runs close to
the village. Some of the trees are very old. I walked
there this morning before breakfast. Baltazar advised
me to."
Nance looked at him still more nervously. Then she
gave a little forced laugh. " That is why you were so
late in coming to see me, I suppose! Well, you say
the Renshaws live there. May one ask who the Ren-
shaws are? '*
He took the girl's arm in his own and dragged her
forward at a rapid pace. She remarked that it was
not until some wide-spreading willows on the further
side of the river concealed the clump of oaks that he
replied to her question.
" Baltazar told me everything about them. He
ought to know, for he's one of them himself. Yes, he's
one of them. He's the son of old Herman, Brand's
father; not legitimate, of course, and Brand isn't al-
ways kind to him. But he's one of them."
He stopped abruptly on this last word and Nance
caught him throwing a furtive glance across the stream.
"Who are they, Adrian? Who are they?" re-
peated the girl.
" I'll tell you," he cried, with strange irritation.
"I'll tell you everything! When haven't I told you
everything? They are brewers. That isn't very ro-
mantic, is it? And I suppose you might call them
landowners, too. They've lived here forever, it seems,
and in the same house."
He burst into an uneasy laugh.
" In the same house for centuries and centuries !
The churchyard is full of them. It's only lately
DYKE HOUSE 37
they've taken to be brewers — I suppose the land don't
pay for their vices."
And again he laughed in the same jarring and un-
genial way.
"Brand employs Baltazar — just as if he wasn't
his brother at all — in the office at JMundham. You
remember Mundham? We came through it in the train.
It's over there," he waved his hand in front of him,
" about seven miles off. It's a horrid place — all slums
and canals. That's where they make their beer.
Their beer ! " He laughed again.
" You haven't yet told me who they are — I mean
who else there is," observed Nance while, for some rea-
son or other, her heart began to beat tumultuously.
" Haven't I said I'd tell you everything? " Sorio
flung out. " I'll tell you more than you bargain for,
if you tease me. Oh, confound it! There's Rachel
and Linda ! Look now, do they appear as if they were
happy?"
Favoured by the wind which blew seawards, the
lovers had been permitted to approach quite close to
their friends without any betrayal of their presence.
Linda was seated on the river bank, her head in her
hands, while Miss Doorm, like a black-robed priestess
of some ancient ritual, leant against the trunk of a
leafless pollard.
" They were perfectly happy when I left them,"
whispered Nance, but she was conscious as she spoke
of a cold, miserable misgiving in her inmost spirit.
Like a flash her mind reverted to the lilac bushes of the
London garden, and a sick loneliness seized her.
" Linda ! " she cried, w ith a quiver of remorse in her
voice. The young girl leapt hurriedly to her feet, and
38 RODMOOR
Miss Doorm removed her hand from the tree. A quick
look passed between the sisters, but Nance understood
nothing of what Linda's expression conveyed. They
moved on together, Adrian with Linda and Nance with
Rachel.
" What do they call this river? " Nance enquired of
her companion, as soon as she felt reassured by the
sound of the girl's laugh.
" The Loon, my dear," replied Miss Doorm.
" They call it the Loon. It runs through Mundham
and then through the fens. It forms the harbour at
Rodmoor."
Nance sat silent. In the depths of her heart she
made a resolution. She would find some work to do
here in Rodmoor. It was intolerable to be dependent
on any one. Yes, she would find work, and, if need be,
take Linda to live with her.
She felt now, though she would have found it hard
to explain the obscure reason for it, more reluctant
than ever to return to London. Every pulse of her
body vibrated with a strange excitement. A reckless
fighting spirit surged up within her. Not easily, not
quickly, should her hold on the man she loved be
loosed ! But she felt danger on the horizon — nearer
than the horizon. She felt it in her bones.
They had now reached the foot of Rachel's garden
and there was a general pause in order that Adrian
might do justice to the heavy architecture of Dyke
House, as it was called — that house which the Bad-
ger — to follow Doctor Raughty's tale — had taken
into his " noble " but " malformed " head to leave to his
solitary descendant.
As they passed in one by one through the little dilap-
DYKE HOUSE 39
idated gate, Nance had a sudden inspiration. She
seized her lover by the wrist. " Adrian," she whis-
pered, " has there been anything — any one — to re-
mind you — of what — you saw — that morning.'' "
She could not but believe that he had heard her and
caught her meaning, yet it was hard to assume it, for
his tone was calm and natural as he answered her, ap-
parently quite misunderstanding her words :
"The sea, j'ou mean.'' Yes, I've heard it all night
and all day. We'll go down there this afternoon, and
Linda with us." He raised his voice. " You'll come to
the sea, Linda; eh, child.? To the Rodmoor sea.? "
The words died away over the river and across the
fens. The others had already entered the house, but a
laughing white face at one of the windows and the tap-
ping of girlish hands on the closed pane seemed to in-
dicate acquiescence in what he suggested.
Ill
SEA-DRIFT
THE wind had dropped but no gleam of sunshine
interrupted the monotonous stretch of grey
sky, grey dunes and grey sea, as the sisters
with their two companions strolled slowly in the late
afternoon along the Rodmoor sands.
Linda was a little pale and silent, and Nance fancied
she discerned now and again, in the glances Miss Doorm
threw upon her, a certain sinister exultation, but she
was prevented from watching either of them very closely
by reason of the extraordinary excitement which the
occasion seemed to arouse in Sorio. He kept shout-
ing bits of poetry, some of which Nance caught the
drift of, while others — they might have been Latin or
Greek, for all she knew — conveyed nothing to her but
a vague feeling of insecurity. He was like an excited
magician uttering incantations and invoking strange
gods.
The sea was neither rough nor calm. Wisps of
tossed-up foam appeared and disappeared at far dis-
tant points in its vast expanse, and every now and then
the sombre horizon was broken in its level line by the
emergence of a wave larger and darker than the rest.
Flocks of. gulls disturbed by their approach rose,
wheeling and screaming, from their feeding-grounds on
the stranded seaweed and flapped away over the water.
The four friends advanced along the hard sand, close
to the changing line of the tide's retreat, and from the
40
SEA-DRIFT 41
blackened windrow there, of broken shells and anony-
mous sea refuse they stopped, each one of them, at dif-
ferent moments, to pick up some particular object which
attracted or surprised them. It was Nance who was
the first to become aware that they were not the only
frequenters of that solitude. She called Adrian's at-
tention to two figures moving along the edge of the
sand-dunes and apparently, from the speed with which
they advanced, anxious to reach a protruding headland
and disappear from observation.
Adrian stopped and surveyed the figures long and in-
tently. Then to her immense surprise, and it must be
confessed a little to her consternation, he started off at
a run in pursuit of them. His long, lean, hatless figure
assumed so emphatic and strange an appearance as he
crossed the intervening sands that Linda burst into
peals of laughter.
" I wish they'd run away from him," she cried. " We
should see a race! Who are they? Does he know
them?"
Nance made no reply, but Miss Doorm, who had been
watching the incident with sardonic interest, muttered
under her breath, " It's begun, has it? Soon enough,
in all conscience ! "
Nance turned sharply upon her. " What do 30U
mean, Rachel? Does Adrian know them? Do you
know who they are? "
No answer was vouchsafed to this, nor indeed was one
necessary, for the mystery, whatever it was, was on the
point of resolving itself. Adrian had overtaken the
objects of his pursuit and was bringing them back with
him, one on either hand. Nance was not long in mak-
ing out the general characteristics of the strangers.
42 RODMOOR
They were both women, one elderly, the other quite
young, and from what she could see of their appearance
and dress, they were clearly ladies. It was not, how-
ever, till they came within speaking distance that the
girl's heart began to beat an unmistakable danger-
signal. This happened directly she obtained a definite
view of the younger of Adrian's companions. Before
any greeting could be given Rachel had whispered ab-
ruptly into her ear, " They're the Renshaws — I
haven't seen them since Philippa was a child, but they're
the Renshaws. He must have met them this morning.
Look out for yourself, dearie."
Nance only vaguely heard her. Every fibre of at-
tention in her body and soul was fixed upon that slender
equivocal figure by Adrian's side.
The introduction which followed was of a sufficiently
curious character. Between Nance and the young
woman designated by Rachel as Philippa there was an
exchange of glances when their fingers touched like the
crossing of two naked blades. Mrs. Renshaw retained
Linda's hand in her own longer than convention re-
quired, and Linda herself seemed to cling to the brown-
eyed, grey-haired lady with a movement of childish con-
fidence. Nance was calm enough, for all the beating of
her heart, to remark as an interesting fact that her
rival's mother, though oppressively timid and retiring
in her manner towards them all, seemed to exercise a
quelling and restraining influence upon Rachel Doorm,
who began at once speaking to her with unusual defer-
ence and respect. The whole party, after some desul-
tory conversation, began to drift away from the sea
towards the town and Nance found herself in spite of
some furtive efforts to the contrary, wedged closely in
SEA-DRIFT 43
between Mrs. Kensliaw and Rachel — with Linda walk-
ing in front of them — as they followed the narrow un-
even path between the sand-dunes and the heavy sand
of the upper shore.
Every now and then Mrs. Renshaw would bend down
and call their attention to some little sea plant, telling
them its name in slow sweet tones, as if repeating some
liturgical formula, and indicating into what precise
colour its pale glaucous buds would unsheathe as the
weather grew warm.
On these occasions Nance quickly turned her head ;
but do what she could, she could only grow helplessly
conscious that Adrian and his companion were slipping
further and further behind.
Once, as the tender-voiced lady touched lightly, with
the tips of her ungloved fingers, a cluster of insignifi-
cant leaves and asked Nance if she knew the lesser rock-
rose the agitated girl found herself on the point of ut-
tering a strangely irrelevant cry.
" Rose au regard saphique,'^ her confused heart
murmured, " plus pale que les lys, rose au regard
saphique, off re-nous le parfum de ton illusoire virginite
fleur hypocrite, flour de silence."
They approached at last the entrance of the little
harbour, and to Nance's ineffable relief Mrs. Renshaw
paused and made them sit down on a fish-smelling bench,
among coils of rope, and wait the appearance of the
missing ones.
<The tide was low and between great banks of mud the
water rushed seaward in a narrow, sAvirling current.
A heavy fishing smack with high tarred sides and red,
unfurled sails, was being steered down this channel by
two men armed with enormous poles. Through the
44 RODMOOR
masts of several other boats, moored to iron rings in the
wooden wharf, and between the slate roofs of some ram-
shackle houses on the other side, they got a glimpse,
looking westward across the fens, of a low, rusty-red
streak of sombrely illuminated sky. This apparently
was all the sunset Rodmoor was destined to know that
evening and Nance, as she listened vaguely to Mrs. Ren-
shaw's gentle voice describing to Linda the various
"queer characters" among the harbour people, had a
strange, bewildered sense of being carried far and far
and far down a remorseless tide, with a heavy sky above
her and interminable grey sands around her, and all the
while something withheld, withdrawn, inexplicable in
the power that bore her forward.
They came at last — Adrian and Philippa Renshaw,
and Nance had, in one heart-rending moment, the piti-
less suspicion that the battle was lost already and that
this fragile thing with the great ambiguous eyes and
the reserved manner, this thing whose slender form
and tight-braided, dusky hair might have belonged to a
masquerading boy, had snatched from her already what
could never for all the years of her life be won again !
As they left the harbour and entered the main village
street, Adrian made one or two deliberate efforts to de-
tach Nance from the rest. He pointed out little things
to her in the homely shop-windows and seemed sur-
prised and disappointed when she made no response to
his overtures. She could not make any response. She
could not bring herself so much as to look into his face.
It was not from any capricious pride or mere feminine
pique that she thus turned away but from a profound
and lamentable numbness of every emotion. The wound
seemed to have gone further even than she herself had
SEA-DRIFT 45
known, llcr liuart felt like a dead cold weight — like a
murdered, unborn child — beneath her breast, and out
of her lethargy and inertness, as in certain tragic
dreams, she could not move. Her limbs seemed formed
of lead, and her lips — at least as far as he was con-
cerned — became those of a dumb animal.
A man, viewing the situation from outside, the slight-
ness and apparent triviality of the incident, would have
been astounded at the effect upon her of so insubstantial
a blow, but women move in a different world, a world
where the drifting of the tiniest straw is indicative of
crushing catastrophes, and to the instinct of the least
sensitive among women Nance's premonitions would have
been quite explicable.
It was at that moment that it was sharply borne in
upon her how slight her actual knowledge of her lover
was. Her absorption in him was devoted and complete
but in regard to the intricacies and complications of his
character she was as much in the dark to-day as when
they first met in London Bridge Road.
Strangely enough, in the paralysis of her feelings,
Nance was unconscious of any definite antagonism to
the cause of her distress. She found she could talk
quite naturally and spontaneously to Miss Renshaw
when chance threw them together as they emerged upon
the village green.
" Oh, I like those trees ! " she cried, as the row of
ancient sycamores which gave the forlorn little square
its chief appeal first struck her attention.
The cottage of Baltazar Stork, it turned out, was
just behind these sycamores and next door to the build-
ing which, with its immense and faded signboard, of-
fered the natives, of Rodmoor their unique dissipation.
46 RODMOOR
" The Admiral's Head ! " Nance repeated, surveying
the sign and thinking to herself that it must have been
under that somewhat sordid roof that Miss Doorm's
parent had drunk himself to death.
" Don't look at it," she heard Mrs. Renshaw say,
" I feel ashamed every time I pass it."
Philippa gave Nance a quick and rather bitter smile.
" Mother is telling them that it is our beer which they
sell there. You know we are brewers, don't you.**
Mother thinks it her duty to remind every one of that
fact. She gets a curious pleasure out of talking about
it. It's her morbid conscience. You'll find we're all
rather morbid here," she added, looking searchingly into
Nance's face.
" It's the sea. Our sea is not the same as other
seas. It eats into us."
"Why do you say just that — and in that tone —
to me.'' " Nance gravely enquired, answering the other's
gaze. " My father was a sailor. I love the salt-
water."
Philippa Renshaw shrugged her shoulders. " You
may love being on it. That's a different thing. It re-
mains to be seen how you like being near it."
" I like it always, everywhere," repeated Nance ob-
stinately, " and I'm afraid of nothing it can do to me ! "
They overtook the others at this point and Mrs.
Renshaw turned rather querulously to her daughter.
" Don't talk to her about the sea, Philippa — I know
that's what you're doing."
The girl with the figure of a boy let her eyes meet
Adrian's and Nance felt the dead weight in her heart
grow more ice-cold than before, as she watched the ef-
fect of that look upon her lover.
SEA-DRIFT 47
It was Kachcl who broke the tension. " It wasn't
so very long ago," she said, " that Rodmoor was quite
an inland place. There are houses now, they say, and
churches under the water. And it swallows up the land
all the time, inch by inch. The sand-dunes are much
nearer the town, I am sure of that, and the mouth of the
river, too, than when I lived here in old days."
Mrs. Renshaw looked by no means pleased at this
speech.
" Well," she said, '* we must be getting home
for dinner. Shall we walk through the park, Phil-
ippa.'' It's the nicest way — if the grass isn't too
wet."
In the general chorus of adieus that followed, Nance
was not surprised when Sorio bade good-night to her
as well as to the others. He professed to be going to
the station to meet the Mundham train.
" Baltazar will have a lot of things to carry," he
said, " and I must be at hand to help."
Mrs. Renshaw pressed Linda's hand very tenderly as
they parted and a cynical observer might have been
pardoned for suspecting that under the suppressed sigh
with which she took Philippa's arm there lurked a wish
that it had been the more docile and less difficult child
that fate had given her for a daughter.
Linda, at any rate, proved to be full of enthu-
siastic and excited praise for the sad-voiced lady, as the
sisters went off with Rachel. She chattered, indeed, so
incessantly about her that Nance, whose nerves were in
no tolerant state, broke out at last into a quite savage
protest.
" She's the sort of person," she threw in, " who's al-
ways sentimental about young girls. Wait till you find
48 RODMOOR
her with some one younger than you are, and you'll
soon see! Am I not right, Rachel? "
" She's not right at all, is she? " interposed the other.
Miss Doorm looked at them gravely.
" I don't think either of you understand Mrs. Ren-
shaw. Indeed there aren't many who do. She's had
troubles such as you may both pray to God you'll never
know. That wisp of a girl will be the cause of others
before long."
She glanced at Nance significantly.
" Hold tight to your Adrian, my love. Hold tight to
him, my dearie! "
Thus, as they emerged upon the tow path spoke
Rachel Doorm.
Meanwhile, from his watch above the Inn, the name-
less Admiral saw the shadows of night settle down upon
his sycamores. His faded countenance, with its defiant
bravado, stared insolently at what he could catch be-
tween trees and houses, of the darkening harbour and
if Rodmoor had been a ship instead of a village, and he
a figurehead instead of a sign-board, he could not have
confronted the unknown and all that the unknown might
bring more indifferently, more casually, more contempt-
uously.
IV
OAKGUARD
THE night of her first meeting with Adrian
Sorio, found the daughter of the house of Ren-
shaw restless and wakeful. She listened to the
hall clock striking the hour of twelve with an intentness
that would have suggested to any one observing her
that she had only been waiting for that precise moment
to plunge into some nocturnal enterprise fraught with
both sweetness and peril.
The night was chilly, the sky starless and overcast.
The heavy curtains were drawn but the window, wide-
open behind them, let in a breath of rain-scented air
which stirred the flames of the two silver candles on the
dressing table and fluttered the thin skirt of the girl's
night-dress as she sat, tense and expectant, over the red
coals of a dying fire.
A tall gilt-framed mirror of antique design stood on
the left of the fireplace.
As the last stroke of midnight sounded, the girl leapt
to her feet and swiftly divesting herself of her only
garment, stood straight and erect, her hands clasped be-
hind her head, before this mirror. The firelight cast a
red glow over her long bare limbs and the flickering
candle flames threw wavering shadows across her lifted
arms and slender neck. Her hair remained tightly
braided round her head and this, added to the boyish
outlines of her body, gave her the appearance of one of
those androgynous forms of later Greek art whose am-
49
50 RODMOOR
biguous loveliness wins us still, even in the cold marble,
with so touching an appeal. Her smooth forehead and
small delicately moulded face showed phantom-like in
the mirror. Her scarlet lips quivered as she gazed at
herself, quivered into that enigmatic smile challenging
and inscrutable which seems, more than any other hu-
man expression, to have haunted the imagination of cer-
tain great artists of the past.
Permitted for a brief moment to catch a glimpse of
that white figure, an intruder, if possessed of the small-
est degree of poetic fancy, would have been tempted to
dream that the dust of the centuries had indeed been
quickened and some delicate evocation of perverse pagan
desire restored to breath and consciousness.
Such a dream would not, perhaps, have survived a
glance at the girl's face. With distended pupils and
irises so large that they might have been under the in-
fluence of some exciting drug, her eyes had that par-
ticular look, sorrowful and heavy with mystery, which
one feels could not have been in the world before the
death of Christ.
With her epicene figure, she resembled some girl-
priestess of Artemis invoking a mocking image of her
own defiant sexlessness. With her sorrowful inhuman
eyes she suggested some strange elf-creature, born of
mediaeval magic.
Turning away from the mirror, Philippa Renshaw
blew out the candles and flung open the curtains.
Standing thus for a moment in the presence of the
vague starless night full of chilly earth odours, she
drew several long deep breaths and seemed to inhale the
very essence of the darkness as if it had been the kiss of
some elemental lover. Then she shivered a little, closed
OAKGUAKD 51
the window and began hurriedly to dress herself by the
fire-light. Bare-headed, but with a dark cloak reach-
ing to her feet, she softly left her room and crept si-
lently down the staircase. One by one she drew the
heavy bolts of the hall door and turned the ponderous
key.
Letting herself out into the night air with the move-
ments of one not unaccustomed to such escapades, she
hurried down the stone pathway, passed through the
iron entrance gates, and emerged into the park. Catch-
ing up the skirt of her cloak, and drawing it tightly
round her so that it should not impede her steps, she
plunged into the wet grass and directed her course to-
wards the thickest group of oak trees. Between the
immense trunks and mossy roots of these sea-deformed
and wind-stunted children of the centuries she groped
her way, her feet stumbling over fallen branches and
her face whipped by the young wet leaves.
A mad desire seemed to possess her, to throw off
every vestige and token of her human imprisonment and
to pass forth free and unfettered into the embrace of
the primeval powers. One would have thought, to have
watched her as she flung herself, at last, on her face
under one of the oldest of the trees and liberating her
arms from her cloak, stretched them round its trunk,
that she was some worshipper of a banished divinity in-
voking her god while her persecutors slept, and passion-
ately calling upon him to return to his forsaken shrine.
Releasing her fierce clasp upon the rough bark of the
tree, not however before it had bruised her flesh, the
girl dug her nails into the soft damp leaf-mould and
rubbed her forehead against the wet moss. She shud-
dered as she lay like this, and as she shuddered she
52 RODMOOR
clutched yet more tightly, as if in a kind of ecstasy,
the roots of grass and the rubble of earth into which her
fingers dug.
Meanwhile, within the house, another little drama un-
rolled itself. In the old-fashioned library collected by
many generations of Renshaws, where the noble Ra-
belaisian taste of the eighteenth century jostled uncere-
moniously with the attenuated banalities of a later
epoch, there sat, at the very moment when the girl de-
scended the stairs, a tall powerfully built man in eve-
ning dress.
Brand Renshaw was a figure of striking and formid-
able appearance. Immensely muscular and very tall,
he carried upon his massive shoulders a head of so
strange a shape that had he been a mediasval chieftain
he would doubtless have gone down to posterity as
Brand Hatchet-pate, or Brand Hammer-skull. His
head receded from a forehead narrow and high, and rose
at the back into a dome-like protrusion which, in spite
of the closely-clipt, reddish hair that covered it, sug-
gested, in a manner that was almost sinister, the actual
bony substructure of the cranium beneath.
The fire was out. The candles on the table were gut-
tering and flickering with little spitting noises as
their wicks sank and the cold hearth in front of him was
littered with the ashes of innumerable cigarettes. He
was neither reading nor smoking them. He sat with his
hands on the arms of his chair, staring into vacancy.
Brand Renshaw's eyes were like the eyes of a morose
animal, an animal endowed perhaps with intellectual
powers denied to the human race, but still an animal,
and when he fixed his gaze in his concentrated manner
OAKGUARD 53
upon the unknown objects of his thought there was a
weight of heavily focussed intensity in his stare that
was unpleasantly threatening.
He was staring in this way at the empty grate when,
in the dead silence of the house, he caught the sound of
a furtive step in the hall without, and immediately after-
wards the slight rasping noise of bolts carefully shot
back.
In a flash he leapt to his feet and extinguished the
guttering candles. Quietly and on tip-toe he moved
to the door and soundlessly turning the handle peered
into the hall. He was just in time to see the heavy
front door closed. Without the least token of haste
or surprise he slipped on an overcoat, took his hat and
stick and went forth in pursuit of the escaped one.
At first he saw only the darkness and heard no sound
but the angry fiutterings of some bird in the high trees,
and — a long way off, perhaps even beyond the park
— the frightened squeal of a hunted rabbit. But by
the time he got to the gate, taking care to walk on the
flower-beds rather than on the stone pathway, he could
make out the figure of the girl no great way in front of
him. She ran on, so straight and so blindly, towards
the oak trees that he was able without difficulty to fol-
low her even though, every now and then, her retreat-
ing figure was absorbed and swallowed up by the dark-
ness.
When at last he came up to her side as she lay
stretched out at the foot of the tree, he made no imme-
diate attempt to betray his presence. With his arms
folded he stood regarding her, a figure as silent and in-
human as herself, and over them both the vague im-
54 RODMOOR
mcnsitics and shadowy obscurities of the huge earth-
scented night hung lowering and tremendous, like pow-
ers that held their breath, waiting, watching.
At intervals an attenuated gust of wind, coming from
far away across the marshes, moved the dead leaves
upon the ground and made them dance a little death
dance. This it did without even stirring the young
living shoots on the boughs above them.
The darkness seemed to rise and fall about the two
figures, to advance, to recede, to dilate, to diminish, in
waves of alternate opacity and tenuity. In its indraw-
ings and outbreathings, in the ebb and flow of its fluctu-
ating presence, it seemed to beat — at least that is how
Brand Renshaw felt it — like the pulse of an immense
heart charged with unutterable mysteries.
This illusion, if it were an illusion, may have been
due to nothing more recondite than the fact that, in the
silence of the heavy night, the sound of the tide on the
Rodmoor sands was the background of everything.
It was not till the girl rose from the ground that she
saw him standing there, a shadow among the shadows.
She uttered a low cry and made a movement as if to
rush away, but he stepped quickly forward and caught
her in his arms. Tightly and almost savagely he held
her, pressing her lithe body against his own and caress-
ing it with little, deep-voiced mutterings as if he were
soothing a desperate child. She submitted passively
to his endearments and then, with a sound that was
something between a moan and a laugh, she whispered
brokenly into his ear, " Let me go. Brand, I was silly to
come out. I couldn't help it. I won't do it again. I
won't, I swear."
" No, I think you won't ! " the man muttered, keep-
OAKGUARD 55
ing his arm securely round her waist and striding swiftly
towards tlie house. " No, I think you won't! "
He paused when they reached the entrance into the
garden and, taking her by the wrists, pressed her fiercely
against one of the stone pillars upon which the gate
hung.
" I know what it is," he whispered. " You can't de-
ceive nie. You've been with those people from London.
You've been with that friend of Baltazar's. That's the
cause of all this, isn't it? You've been with that damned
fool — that idiotic, good-for-nothing down at the vil-
lage. Haven't you been with him? Haven't you?"
The arms with which he pressed her hands against
her breast trembled with anger as he said these words.
" Baltazar told me," he went on, " only this morning
— down at Mundham — everything about these peo-
ple. They're of no interest, none, not the least.
They're just like every one else. That fellow's half-
foreign, that's all. An American half-breed, of some
mongrel sort or other, that's all there is to be said of
him! So if you've been letting any mad fancies get
into your head about Mr. Sorio, the sooner you get rid
of them the better. He's not for you. Do you hear?
He's — not — for — you ! " These last words were ac-
companied by so savage a tightening of the hands
that held her that the girl was compelled to bite her lip
to stop herself from crying.
" You hurt me," she said calmly. " Let me go,
Brand." The self-contained tone of her voice seemed
to quiet him and he released her. She raised one of her
wrists to her mouth and softly caressed it with her lips.
" You'll be interested, yourself, in these people be-
fore very long," she murmured, flashing a mocking look
56 RODMOOR
at him over her bare arm. " The second girl is very
young and very pretty. She confided in me that she
was extremely afraid of the sea. She appealed to
mother's protective instincts at once. I've no doubt
she'll appeal to your — protective instincts ! So don't
be too quick in 3'our condemnation."
" Damn you ! " muttered her brother, pushing the gate
open. " Come ! Get in with you ! You talk to me as
if I were a professional rake. I take no interest — not
the slightest — in your young innocents with their en-
gaging terrors. To bed ! To bed ! To bed ! "
He pushed her before him along the path, but Phi-
lippa knew well that the hand on her shoulder was
lighter and less angry than the one that had held her a
moment ago, and as she ascended the steps of Oak-
guard — the name borne by the Renshaw house since
the days of the Conqueror — there flickered over her
shadowy face the same equivocal smile of dubious mean-
ing that had looked out at its owner, not so long since,
from the mirror in her room.
When the dawn finally crept up, pallid and cold out
of the North Sea and lifted, with a sort of mechanical
weariness, the weight of the shadows, it was neither
Brand nor Philippa who was awake.
Roused, as always, by the slightest approach of an
unusual sound, the mother of that strange pair had lain
in her bed listening ever since her daughter's first emerg-
ing from the house.
Once she had risen, and had stood for a moment at
the window, her loose grey hair mixed with the folds of
an old, faded, dusky-coloured shawl. That, however,
was when both of her children were away in the middle
of the park and absolute silence prevailed. With this
OAKGUARD 67
single exception she had remained listening, always si-
lently listening, lying on her back and with an expres-
sion of tragic and harassed expectation in her great,
hollow, brown eyes. She might have been taken, lying
there alone in the big four-posted bed, surrounded by
an immense litter of stored-up curios and mementoes,
for a symbolic image of all that is condemned, as this
mortal world goes round, to watch and wait and invoke
the gods and cling fast to such pathetic relics and
memorials as time consents to leave of the days that it
has annihilated.
Slowly the dawn came up upon the trees and roofs of
Oakguard. With a wan grey light it filled the pallid
squares of the windows. With a livid grey light it
made definite and ghastly every hollow and every wrinkle
in that patient watcher's face.
Travelling far up in the sky, a long line of marsh-
fowl with outstretched necks sought the remoter soli-
tudes of the fens. In the river marshes the sedge-birds
uttered their harsh twitterings while, gathered in flocks
above the sand-dunes, the sea-gulls screamed to the in-
flowing tide their hunger for its drifted refuse.
Wearily, at last, Helen Renshaw closed her eyes and
it was the first streak of sunshine that Rodmoor had
known for many days which, several hours later, kissed
her white forehead — and the grey hairs that lay dis-
ordered across it — softly, gently, tenderly, as it might
have kissed the forehead of the dead.
V
A SYMPOSIUM
ADRIAN SORIO sat opposite his friend over a
warm brightly burning fire.
Baltazar Stork was a slight frail man of
so delicate and dainty an appearance that many people
were betrayed into behaving towards him as gently and
considerately as if he had been a girl. This, though a
compliment to his fragility, was bad policy in those who
practised it, for Baltazar was an egoist of inflexible
temper and under his velvet glove carried a hand of
steel.
The room in which the two friends conversed was fur-
nished in exquisite and characteristic taste. Old prints,
few in number and rare in quality, adorned its walls.
Precious pieces of china, invaluable statuettes in pot-
tery and metal, stood charmingly arranged, with due
space round each, in every corner. On either side of
the mantelpiece was a Meissen-ware figure of engaging
aspect and Watteau-like design, while in the centre, in
the place where a clock is usually to be found, was a
piece of statuary of ravishing delicacy and grace repre-
senting the escape of Syrinx from the hands of Pan.
The most remarkable picture in the room, attracting
the attention at once of all who entered, was a dark,
richly coloured, oval-shaped portrait — a portrait of a
young man in a Venetian cloak, with a broad, smooth
forehead, heavy-lidded penetrating eyes, and pouting
58
A SYMPOSIUM 59
disdainful mouth. This picture, said to have been
painted under the influence of Giorgione by that incom-
parable artist's best loved friend, passed for a portrait
of Eugenio Flambard, the favourite secretary of the Re-
public's most famous ambassador during his residence
at the Papal Court.
The majority of these treasures had been picked up
by Baltazar during certain prolonged holidays in vari-
ous parts of the Continent. This, however, was several
years ago before the collapse of the investment, or
whatever it was, which he inherited from Herman Ren-
shaw.
Since that time he had been more or less dependent
upon Brand, a dependence which notiiing but his happy
relations with Brand's mother and sister and his unfail-
ing urbanity could have made tolerable.
" Adrian, you old villain, why didn't you tell me you'd
seen Philippa. Brand informed me yesterday that
you've seen her twice. This isn't the kind of thing that
pleases me at all. I don't approve of these clandestine
meetings. Do you hear me, you old reprobate? You
don't think it's very nice, do you, for me to learn by
accident — by a sort of wretched accident — of an event
like this? If you must be at these little games you
might at least be open about them. Besides, I have a
brotherly interest in Philippa. I don't want to have
her innocence corrupted by an old satyr like you."
Sorio contented himself by murmuring the word
" Rats."
" It's all very well for you to cry * Rats ! ' in that
tone," went on the other. " The truth is, this affair is
going to become serious. You don't suppose for a mo-
ment, do you, that your Nance is going to lie down, as
60 RODMOOR
they say, and let my extraordinary sister walk over
her?"
Adrian got up from his seat and began pacing up
and down the little room.
" It's absurd," he muttered, " it's all absurd. I feel
as if the whole thing were a kind of devilish dream.
Yes, the whole thing ! It's all because I've got nothing
to do but walk up and down these damned sands ! "
Baltazar watched him with a serene smile, his soft
chin supported by his feminine fingers and his fair,
curly head tilted a little on one side.
" But you know, mon enfant," he threw in with a
teasing caress in his voice, " you know very well you're
the last person to talk of work. It was work that did
for you in America. You don't want to start that
over again, do you? "
Adrian stood still and glared at him.
" Do you think I'm going to let that — as you call it
— finish me forever? My life's only begun. In Lon-
don it was different. By God ! I wish I'd stayed in
London! Nance feels just the same. I know she does.
She'll have to get something, too, or we shall both go
mad. It's this cursed sea of yours ! I've a good mind
to marry her, out of hand, and clear off. We'd find
something — somewhere — anywhere — to keep body
and soul together."
" Why did you come to us at all, my dear, if you find
us so dreadful? " laughed Baltazar, bending down to
tie his shoe-string and pull up more tightly one of his
silk socks.
Adrian made no answer but continued his ferocious
pacing of the room.
" You'll knock something over if you're not careful,"
A SYMPOSIUM 61
protested his friend, shrugging his shoulders. " You're
the most troublesome fellow. You accept a person's
oflFer and make no end of a fuss over it, and then a
couple of weeks later you roar like a bull and send us
all to the devil. What's the matter with us.'* What's
the matter with the place.'* Why can't you and your
precious Nance behave like ordinary people and make
love to one another and be happy? She's got all her
time to herself and you've got all your time to yourself.
Why can't you enjoy yourselves and collect seaweed
or starfish or something? "
Adrian paused in his savage prowl for the second
time.
" It's your confounded sea that's at the bottom of
it," he shouted. " It gets on her nerves and it gets on
mine. Little Linda was perfectly right to be scared of
it."
" I fancied," drawled the other, selecting a cigarette
from an enamelled box and turning up the lamp, " you
found little Linda's fears rather engaging than other-
wise.
" It works upon us," Sorio went on, heedless of the
interruption, " it works upon us in some damnable kind
of way! Nance says she hears it in her sleep.
I'm sure / do. I hear it without a moment's cessation.
Listen to the thing now — shish, shish, shish, shishf
Why can't it make some other noise? Why can't it
stop altogether? It makes me long for the whole
damned farce to end. It annoys me, Tassar, it annoys
me ! "
" Sorry you find the elements so trying, Adriano,"
replied the other languidly, " but I really don't know
what I can do to help you — I can only advise you to
62 RODMOOR
keep out of Phiiippa's way. She's an element more
troublesome than any of them."
*' Tassar ! " shouted the enraged man in a burst of
fury, " if you don't stop dragging Philippa in, I'll
murder you! What's Philippa to me.'' I hate her —
do you hear.'' I hate the very sound of her name! "
*' Her name.'*" murmured Stork, meditatively, "her
name.'' Oh, I think you're quite wrong to hate that.
Her name suggests all sorts of interesting things.
Her name has quite a historic sound. It's mediaeval in
colour and Greek in form. It makes me think of Eurip-
ides."
" This whole damned Rodmoor of yours," moaned
Adrian, " gets too much for me. Where on earth else,
could a man find it so hard to collect his thoughts and
look at things as they are.'' There's something here
which works upon the mind, Tassar, something which
works upon the mind."
" What's working on your mind, my friend," laughed
Baltazar Stork, " is not anything so vague as dreams or
anything so simple as the sea. It's just the quite defi-
nite but somewhat complicated business of managing
two love affairs at the same time! I'm sorry for you,
little Adrian, I'm extremely sorry for you. It's a situ-
ation not unknown in the history of the world, in fact,
it might be called quite common. But I'm afraid that
doesn't make it any pleasanter for you. However, it
can be dealt with, with a little skill, Adrian, with just a
little skill!"
The man accused in this teasing manner turned fu-
riously round, an angry outburst of blind protest trem-
bling on his tongue. At that moment there was a low
knock at the outer door. Baltazar jumped to his feet.
A SYMPOSIUM 63
" That must be Kaughtj," he cried. '' 1 begged hhn
to come round to-night. I so longed for you to meet
him." He hastened out and admitted the visitor with a
cordial welcome. After a momentary pause and a
good deal of shuffling — for Dr. Raughty was careful to
wear not only an overcoat but also goloshes and even
gaiters when the weather was inclement — the two men
entered the room and Stork began an elaborate intro-
duction.
"Dr. Fingal Raughty," he said, "Mr. Adrian—"
but to his astonishment Sorio intervened, " The Doctor
and I have already become quite well acquainted," he
remarked, shaking the visitor vigorously by the hand.
" I'm afraid I wasn't as polite as I ought to have been
on that occasion," he went on, speaking in an unnatu-
rally loud voice and with a forced laugh, " but the Doc-
tor will forgive me. The Doctor I'm sure will make al-
lowances."
Dr. Raughty gave him a quick glance, at once
friendly and ironical, and then he turned to Stork.
" Mother Lorman's dead," he remarked with a little
sigh, " dead at last. She was ninety-seven and had
thirty grandchildren. She gurgled in her throat at the
last with a noise like a nightingale when its voice breaks
in June. I prefer deaths of this kind to any other, but
they're all pitiful."
" Nance tells me you were present at old Doorm's
death. Doctor," said Adrian while their host moved off
to the kitchen to secure glasses and refreshment.
The Doctor nodded. " I measured that fellow's
skull," he remarked gravely. " It was asj-mmetrical
and very curiously so. The interesting thing is that
there exists in this part of the coast a definite tradition
64 RODMOOR
of malformed skulls. They recur in nearly all the old
families. Brand Rcnshaw is a splendid example. His
skull ought to be given to a museum. It is beautiful,
quite beautiful, in the anterior lobes."
Baltazar returned carrying a tray. The eyes of
Dr. Raughty gleamed with a mellow warmth. " Nut-
meg," he remarked, approaching the tray and touch-
ing every object upon it lightly and reverently.
" Nutmeg, lemon, hot water, gin — and brandy ! It's
an admirable choice and profoundly adapted to the oc-
casion. May I put the hot water on the hob until we're
ready for it.'' "
While Baltazar once more withdrew from the scene,
Dr. Raughty remarked, gravely and irritably, to Sorio
that it was a mistake to substitute brandy for rum.
" He does it because he can't get the best rum, but it's a
ridiculous thing to do. Any rum is better than no
rum when it's a question of punch-making. Are you
with me in this, Mr. Sorio.'' "
Adrian expressed such complete and emphatic agree-
ment that for the moment the Doctor seemed almost em-
barrassed.
On Baltazar's return to the room, however, he haz-
arded another suggestion. " What about having the
kettle itself brought in here? "
Stork looked at him without speaking and placed on
the table a small plate of macaroons. The Doctor
glanced whimsically at Sorio and, helping himself from
the little plate, muttered in a low voice after he had
nibbled the edge of a biscuit, " Yes, these seem per-
fectly up to par to-day."
The three men had scarcely settled themselves down
A SYMPOSIUM 65
in their respective chairs around the fire than Adrian
began speaking hurriedly and nervously.
" I have an extraordinary feeling," he said, " that
this evening is full of fatal significance. I suppose
it's nothing to either of you, but it seems to me as
though this damned shish, shish, shish, shish of the sea
were nearer and louder than usual. Doctor, you don't
mind my talking freely to you? I like you, though I
was rude to you the other day — but that's nothing — "
he waved his hand, " that's what any fool might
fall into who didn't know you. I feel I know you now.
That word about the rum — forgive me, Tassar ! — and
the kettle — 3'es, particularly about the kettle — hit
me to the heart. I love you. Doctor Raughty. I
announce to you that my feeling at this moment
amounts to love — yes, actually to love !
" But that's not what I wanted to say." He thrust
his hands deep into his pockets, stretched his legs
straight out, let his chin sink upon his chest and glared
at them with sombre excitement. " I feel to-night," he
went on, " as though some great event were portending.
No, no! What am I saying? Not an event. Event
isn't the word. Event's a silly expression, isn't it.
Doctor, — isn't it — dear, noble-looking man? For
you do look noble, you know. Doctor, as you drink that
punch — though to say the truth your nose isn't quite
straight as I see it from here, and there are funny
blotches on your face. No, not there. There! Don't
you see them, Tassar? Blotches — curious purply
blotches."
While this outburst proceeded Mr. Stork fidgeted un-
easily in his chair. Though sufficiently accustomed to
66 RODMOOR
Sorio's eccentricities and well aware of his medical
friend's profound pathological interest in all rare
types, there was something so outrageous about this
particular tirade that it offended what was a very
dominant instinct in him, his sense, namely, of social
decency and good breeding. Possibly in a measure be-
cause of the " bar sinister " over his own origin, but
much more because of the nicety of his aesthetic taste,
anything approaching a social fiasco or faux pas
always annoyed him excessively. Fortunately, how-
ever, on this occasion nothing could have surpassed the
sweetness with which Adrian's wild phrases were re-
ceived by the person addressed.
" One would think you'd drunk half the punch al-
ready, Sorio," Baltazar murmured at last. " What's
come over you to-night? I don't think I've ever known
you quite like this."
" Remind me to tell you something, Mr. Sorio, when
you've finished what you have to say," remarked Dr.
Raughty.
" Listen, you two ! " Adrian began again, sitting
erect, his hands on the arms of his chair. " There's
a reason for this feeling of mine that there's something
fatal on the wind to-night. There's a reason for it."
" Tell us as near as you can," said Dr. Raughty,
" what exactly it is that you're talking about."
Adrian fixed upon him a gloomy, puzzled frown.
" Do you suppose," he said slowly, " that it's for
nothing that we three are together here in hearing of
that — "
Baltazar interrupted him. " Don't say ' shish, shish,
shish ' again, my dear. Your particular way of imitat-
ing the Great Deep gives me no pleasure."
A SY^IPOSIUM 67
" What I meant \va.s," iSorio raised his voice, '' it's
a strange thing tliat wc three sliould be sitting together
now like this when two months ago I was in prison in
New York."
Baltazar made a little deprecatory gesture, while the
Doctor leaned forward with grave interest.
" But that's nothing," Sorio went on, " that's a
trifle. Baltazar knows all about that. The thing I
want you two to recognise is that something's on the
wind, — that something's on the point of happening.
Do 3'ou feel like that — or don't 3'ou? "
There was a long and rather oppressive silence,
broken only by the continuous murmur which in every
house in Rodmoor was the background of all conversa-
tion.
" What I was going to say a moment ago," remarked
the Doctor at last, " was that in this place it's neces-
sary to protect oneself from that." He jerked his
thumb towards the window. " Our friend Tassar does
it by the help of Flambard over there." He indicated
the Venetian. " I do it by the help of my medicine-
chest. Hamish Traherne does it by saying his prayers.
What I should like to know is how you," he stretched
a warning finger in the direction of Sorio, " propose to
do it."
Baltazar at this point jumped up from his seat.
" Oh, shut up, Fingal," he cried peevishly. " You'll
make Adrian unendurable. I'm perfectly sick of hear-
ing references to this absurd salt-water. Other people
have to live in coast towns besides ourselves. WHiy can't
you let the thing take its proper position? Why can't
you take it for granted? The whole subject gets on
my nerves. It bores me, I tell 3'ou, it bores me to tears.
68 RODMOOR
For Heaven's sake, let's talk of something else — of
any damned thing. You both make me thoroughly
wretched with your sea whispers. It's as bad as hav-
ing to spend an evening at Oakguard alone with Aunt
Helen and Philippa."
His peevishness had an instantaneous effect upon
Sorio who pushed him affectionately back into his chair
and handed him his glass. " So sorry, Tassar," he
said. " I won't do it again. I was beginning to feel
a little odd to-night. One can't go through the ex-
perience of cerebral dementia — doesn't that sound
right, Doctor? — without some little trifling after-ef-
fects. Come, let's be sensible and talk of things that
are really important. It's not an occasion to be missed,
is it, Tassar, having the Doctor here and punch made
with brandy instead of rum, on the table? What in-
terests me so much just now," he placed himself in front
of the fire-place and sighed heavily, " is what a per-
son's to do who hasn't got a penny and is unfit for every
sort of occupation. What do you advise, Doctor?
And by the way, why have you eaten up all the maca-
roons while I was talking? "
This remark really did seem a little to embarrass the
person indicated, but Sorio continued without waiting
for a reply.
" Yes, I suppose you're right, Tassar. It's a mis-
take to be sensitive to the attraction of young girls.
But it's difficult — isn't it. Doctor? — not to be.
They're so maddeningly delicious, aren't they, when
you come to think of it? It's something about the way
their heads turn — the line from the throat, you know
— and about the way they speak — something pa-
thetic, something — what shall I call it ? — helpless.
A SYMPOSIUM 69
It quite disarms a person. It's more than pathetic, it's
tragic."
The Doctor looked at him meditatively. " I think
there's a poem of Goethe's which would bear that out,"
he remarked, " if I'm not mistaken it was written after
he visited Sicily — yes, after that storm at sea, you
remember, when the story of Christ's walking on the
waves came into his mind."
Sorio wrinkled up his eyes and peered at the speaker
with a sort of humorous malignity.
" Doctor," he said, " pardon my telling you, but
you've still got some crumbs on your moustache."
" The one word," put in their host, while Dr.
Haughty moved very hastily away from the table and
surveyed himself with a whimsical puckering of all the
lines in his face, at one of Stork's numerous mirrors,
" the one word that I shall henceforth refuse to have
pronounced in my house is the word ' sea.' I'm sur-
prised to hear that Goethe — a man of classical taste —
ever refers to such Gothic abominations."
" Ah ! " cried Sorio, " the great Goethe ! The sly old
curmudgeon Goethe! He knew how to deal with these
little velvet paws ! "
Dr. Raughty, reseating himself, drummed absent-
mindedly with his fingers upon the empty macaroon
plate. Then with a soft and pensive sigh he produced
his tobacco pouch, and filling his pipe, struck a match.
" Doctor," murmured Sorio, his rebellious lips curved
into a sardonic smile and his eyes screwed up till they
looked as sinister as those of his namesake, Hadrian,
" why do you move your head backwards and forwards
like that, when you light your pipe? "
" Don't answer him, Fingal," expostulated Baltazar,
70 RODMOOR
" he's beliaving badly now. He's ' showing off ' as they
say of children."
" I'm not showing off," cried Sorio loudly, " I'm
asking the Doctor a perfectly polite question. It's
very interesting the way he lights his pipe. There's
more in it than appears. There's a great deal in it.
It's a secret of the Doctor's ; probably a pantheistic
one."
" What on earth do you mean by a * pantheistic '
one? How, under Heaven, can the way Fingal holds a
match be termed * pantheistic '.f^ " protested Stork ir-
ritably. " You're really going a little too far, Adriano
mio.
" Not at all, not at all," argued Sorio, stretching out
his long, lean arms and grasping the back of a chair.
" The Doctor can deny it or not, as he pleases, but
what I say is perfectly true. He gets a cosmic ecstasy
from moving his head up and down like that. He feels
as if he were the centre of the universe w^hen he does
it."
The Doctor looked sideways and then upon the
ground. Sorio's rudeness evidently disconcerted him.
" I think," he said, rising from his chair and putting
down his glass, " I must be going now. I've an early
call to make to-morrow morning."
Baltazar cast a reproachful look at Adrian and rose
too. They went into the hall together and the same
shufflings and heavy breathings came to the ears of the
listener as on Raughty's arrival. The Doctor was
putting on his goloshes and gaiters.
Adrian went out to see him off and, as if to make up
for his bad behaviour, walked with him across the green,
to his house in the main street. They parted at last.
A SY^NIPOSIUM 71
the best of good friends, but Sorio found lialtazar seri-
ously provoked wlicn he returned.
" Why did you treat him like that? " tlie latter per-
sisted. " You've got no grudge against him, have you?
It was just your silly fashion of getting even with
things in general, eh? Your nice little habit of venting
your bad temper on the most harmless person within
reach?"
Sorio stared blankly at his friend. It was unusual
for Mr. Stork to express himself so strongly.
" I'm sorry, my dear, ver}^ sorry," muttered the ac-
cused man, looking remorsefully at the Doctor's empty
glass and plate.
"You may well be," rejoined the other. "The one
thing I can't stand is this sort of social lapse. It's
unpardonable — unpardonable ! Besides, it's childish.
Hit out by all means when there's reason for it or
you're dealing with some scurvy dog who needs sup-
pressing but to make a sensitive person like Fingal un-
comfortable, out of a pure spirit of bullying — it's
damnable! "
" I'm sorry, Tassar," repeated the other meekly. " I
can't think why I did it. He's certainl}' a charming
person. I'll make up to him, my dear. I'll be gentle
as a Iamb when I see him next."
Baltazar smiled and made a humorous and hopeless
gesture with his hands. " We shall see," he said, " we
shall see."
He locked the door and lit a couple of candles with
ritualistic deliberation. " Turn out the lamp, amico
mio, and let us sleep on all this. The best way of
choosing between two loves is to say one's prayers and
go to bed. These things decide themselves in dreams."
72 RODMOOR
" In dreams," repeated the other, submissively fol-
lowing him upstairs, " in dreams. But I wish I knew
why the Doctor's ankles look so thick when he sits
down. He must wear extraordinary under-clothes."
YI
BRIDGE-HEAD AND WITHY-BED
PHILIPPA RENSHAW'S light-spoken words
about Linda recurred more than once to
the mind of the master of Oakguard as April
gave place to May and May itself began to slip
by. The wet fields and stunted woods of Rodmoor
seemed at that time to be making a conscious and al-
most human effort to throw off the repressive influence
of the sea and to respond to the kindlier weather. The
grasses began to grow high and feathery by the road-
side, and in the water-meadows, buttercups superseded
marigolds.
As he went to and fro between his house and his
office in Mundham, Brand — though he made as yet no
attempt to see her — became more and more preoccu-
pied with the idea of the young girl. That terror of
the sea in the little unknown touched, as his sister
well knew it would, something strangely deep-rooted in
his nature. His ancestors had lived so long in this
place that there had come to exist between the man's
inmost being and the voracious tides which year by year
devoured the land he owned, an obstinate reciprocity
of mood and feeling. That a young and fragile in-
truder should have this morbid fear of the very element
which half-consciously he assimilated to himself, gave
him a subtle and sullen exultation. The thing promised
to become a sort of perverted link between them, and
73
74 RODMOOR
lie pleased himself by fancying, even while, in fear of
disillusionment, he kept putting off their encounter,
that the girl herself could not be quite free of some sort
of premonition of what awaited her.
Thus it happened that Philippa Renshaw's stroke in
her own defence worked precisely as she had anticipated.
Brooding, in his slow tenacious way, as the weeks went
by, upon this singular projection of his imagination,
he let his sister do what she chose, feeling assured that
in her pride of race, she would not seriously commit
herself with a nameless foreigner, and promising him-
self to end the business with a drastic hand as soon as
it suited him to do so.
It was about the middle of May when an event took
place which gave the affair a decisive and fatal im-
pulse. This was a chance encounter, upon the bridge
crossing the Loon, between Brand and Rachel Doorm.
He would have passed her even then without recogni-
tion, but she stopped him and held out her hand.
" Don't you remember me, Mr. Renshaw? " she said.
He removed his hat, displaying his closely cropped
reddish head with its abnormal upward slope, and re-
garded her smilingly.
" You've changed. Miss Rachel," he remarked, " but
your voice is the same. They told me you were here.
I knew we should meet sooner or later."
" Put on your hat, Mr. Renshaw," she said, seating
herself on a little stone bench below the parapet and
making room for him at her side. " I knew, too, that
we should meet. It's a long time from those days — ^
isn't it? — a long time, and a dark one for some of
us. Do you remember when you were a child, how
you asked me once why they called this place the New
BRIDGE-HEAD 75
Bridge, when it's obviously so very old? Do you. re-
member that, jMr. Kenshaw?"
He looked at her curiously, screwing up his eyes and
wrinkling his forehead. " ]\ly mother told me you'd
come back," he muttered. " She was always fond of
you. She used to hope — well, you know what I mean."
"That I'd marry Captain Herrick.'* " Miss Doorm
threw in. " Don't be afraid to say it. The dead can't
hear us and except the dead, there's none who cares.
Yes, she hoped that, and schemed for it, too, dear soul.
But it was not to be. Air. Renshaw. Ellie Story was
prettier. Ellie Story was cleverer. And so it hap-
pened. The bitter thing was that he swore an oath
to Mary before she died, swore it on the head of my
darling Nance, that if he did ever marry again, I should
be the one. Mary died thinking that certain. Any-
thing else would have hurt her to the heart. I know
that well enough ; for she and I, Mr. Renshaw, as your
mother could tell you, were more than sisters."
" I thought you and Linda's mother were friends,
too," observed Brand, looking with a certain dreamy
absorption up the straight white road that led to the
Doorm house. The mental fantasies the man had
woven round the name he now uttered for the first time
in his life had so vivid a meaning for him that he let
pass unnoticed the spasm of vindictiveness that con-
vulsed his companion's face.
Rachel Doorm folded her arms across her lean bosom
and flung back her head.
" Ellie was afraid of me, Mr. Renshaw," she pro-
nounced huskily, and then, looking at him sharply :
" Yes," she said, " Mrs. Herrick and I were excellent
friends, and so are Linda and I. She's a soft, nervous,
76 RODMOOR
impressionable little thing — our dear Linda — and
\ery pretty, too, in her own way — don't you think so,
Mr. Renshaw? "
It was the man's turn now to suffer a change of
countenance. "Pretty?" he laughed. "I'm sure I
don't know. I've never seen her ! "
Rachel clasped her hands tightly on the lap of her
black dress and fixed her eyes upon him. " You'd like
to see her, wouldn't you.'' " she murmured eagerly. He
answered her look, and a long, indescribable passage of
unspoken thoughts flickered, wavered and took shape
between them.
" I've seen Nance — in the distance — with my
mother," he remarked, letting his glance wander to the
opposite parapet and away beyond it where the swal-
lows were skimming, " but I've never yet spoken to
either of the girls. 1 keep to myself a good deal, as
every one about here knows, Miss Rachel."
Rachel Doorm rose abruptly to her feet with such un-
expected suddenness that the man started as if from a
blow.
" Your sister," she jerked out with concentrated ve-
hemence, " is doing my Nance a deadly injury. She's
given her heart — sweet darling — absolutely and with-
out stint to that foreigner down there." She waved
her hand towards the village. " And if Miss Renshaw
doesn't let him go, there'll be a tragedy."
Brand looked at her searchingly, his lips trembling
with a smile of complicated significance.
" Do make her let him go ! " the woman repeated, ad-
vancing as if she were ready to clasp his hand ; " you
can if you like. You always could. If she takes him
away, my darling's heart will be broken. Mr. Ren-
BRIDGE-TIExVD 77
shaw — please — for the sake of old days, for the sake
of old friends, do this for me, and make her give him
up!"
He drew back a little, the same subtle and ambigu-
ous smile on his lips. " No promises, Miss Rachel," he
said, " no promises ! I never promise an}' one anything.
But we shall see; we shall see. There's plenty of time.
I'm keeping my eye on Philippa ; you may be sure of
that."
He held out his hand as he spoke to the agitated
woman. She took it in both of her own and quick as a
flash raised it to her lips.
" I knew I should meet you, Mr. Rcnshaw," she said,
turning away from him, " and you see it has happened !
I won't ask why you didn't come to me before. I haven't
asked that yet — have I? — and I won't ever ask it.
We've met at last; that's the great thing. That's the
only thing. Now we'll see what'll come of it all."
They separated, and Brand proceeded to cross the
Bridge. He had hardly done so when he heard her
voice calling upon him to stop. He turned impatiently.
" When you were a little boy, Mr. Renshaw," — her
words came in panting gasps — " you said once, down by
the sea, that Rachel was the only person in the world
who really loved you. Your mother heard you say it
and looked — you know how she looks ! You used al-
ways to call me ' Cousin ' then. Far back, they say, the
Rcnshaws and the Doorms zcere cousins. But you
didn't know that. It was just your childish fancy.
'Cousin Rachel,' you said once — just like that —
' come and take me away from them.' "
Brand acquiesced in all this with an air of strained
politeness. But his face changed when he heard her
'8 RODMOOR
final words. " Listen," she said, '" I've talked to Linda
about you. She's got the idea of you in her mind."
At the very moment when this encounter at the New
Bridge ended — which was about six in the afternoon —
Nance Herrick was walking with a beating heart to a
promised assignation with Sorio. This was to take
place at the southern corner of a little withy-bed sit-
uated about half a mile from Dyke House in the direc-
tion of Mundham. It was Nance's own wish that her
lover — if he could still be called so — should meet her
here rather than in the house. She had discovered the
spot herself and had grown fond of it. Sheltered from
the wind by the clump of low-growing willows, and cut
off by the line of the banked-up tow-path from the
melancholy horizon of fens, the girl had got into the
habit of taking refuge here as if from the pursuit of
vague inimical presences. In the immediate neighbour-
hood of the withy-bed were several corn fields, the be-
ginning of a long strip of arable land which divided
the river from the marshes as far as Mundham.
The particular spot where she hoped to find Sorio
awaiting her was a low grassy bank overshadowed by
alders as well as willows, and bordered by a field of
well-grown barley, a field which, though still green,
showed already to an experienced eye the kind of grain
which a month or so of not too malicious weather would
ripen and turn to gold. Already amid the blades of the
young corn could be seen the stalks and leaves of newly
grown poppies, and mingled with these, also at their
early stage of growth, small, indistinguishable plants
that would later show themselves as corn-flowers and
succory.
The neighbourhood of this barley field, with its
BRIDGE-TTEAD 79
friendly look and honioly weeds, i)romising a revel of
reassuring colour as the summer advanced, had come to
be, to the agitated and troubled girl, a sort of symbol
of hope. It was the one place in Rodmoor — for the
Doorm garden shared the gloomy influences of the
Doorm house — where she could feel something like her
old enjoyment in the natural growths of the soil. Here,
in the freshly sprouting corn and the friendly weeds
that it protected, was the strong, unconquerable pres-
sure of earth-life, refusing to be repressed, refusing to
be thwarted, by the malign powers of wind and water.
Here, on the bank she had chosen as her retreat, little
childish plants she knew by name — such as pimpernel
and milkwort — were already in flower and from the
alders and willows above her head sweet and consola-
tory odours, free from the tang of marsh mist or brack-
ish stream, brought memories of old country excursions
into places far removed from fen or sea.
She had never yet revealed this sanctuary of hers to
Sorio and it was with throbbing pulses and quickened
step that she approached it now, longing to associate
its security with her master-feeling, and yet fearful lest,
by finding her lover unkind or estranged, the place
should lose its magic forever. She had dressed herself
with care that afternoon, putting on — though the
weather was hardly warm enough to make such airy at-
tire quite suitable — a white print frock, covered with
tiny roses. Several times in front of the mirror she
had smoothed down her dress and unloosened and tied
back again her shining masses of hair. She held her
hat in her hand now, as she approached the spot, for
he had told her once in London that he liked her better
when she was bareheaded.
80 RODMOOR
She had left her parasol behind, too, and as she has-
tened along the narrow path from the river to the
withy-bed, she nervously switched the green stalks by
her side with a dead stick she had unconsciously
picked up.
Her print dress hung straight and tight over her
softly moulded figure and her limbs, as she walked,
swayed with a free and girlish grace.
Passionately, intently, she scanned the familiar out-
lines of the spot, hoping and yet fearing to see him.
Not yet — not yet ! Nothing visible yet, but the low-
l^ang little copse and the stretch of arable land around
it. She drew near. She was already within a few
paces of the place. Nothing! He was not there —
he had failed her!
She drew a deep breath and stood motionless, the
dead stick fallen from her hand and her gloveless fingers
clasping and unclasping one another mechanically.
" Oh, Adrian ! Adrian ! " she moaned. " You don't
care any more — not any more."
Suddenly she heard a swish of leafy branches and a
crackle of broken twigs. He was there, after all.
"Adrian!" she cried. "Is that you, Adrian?"
There was more rustling and swishing, and then with
a discordant laugh he burst out from the under-
growth.
" You frightened me," she said, looking at him with
quivering lips. " Why did you hide away like that,
Adrian.?"
He went straight up to her, seized her fiercely in his
arms and covered her mouth, her throat and neck with
hot, furious kisses. This was not what Nance's heart
craved. She longed to sob out her suppressed feelings
BRIDGE-HEAD 81
on his shoulder. She longed to be petted and caressed,
gently, quietly, and with soft endearing words.
Instead of which, it seemed to her that he was seek-
ing, as he embraced her body and clung to her flesh
with his lips, to escape from his own thoughts, to sup-
press her thoughts, to sweep them both away — away
from all rational consciousness — on the brutal im-
pulse of mere animal passion.
Her tears which were on the point of flowing, in a tide
of heart-easing abandonment, were driven inwards by
his violence, and in her grey eyes, if he had cared to
look, he would have seen a frightened appeal — pitiful
and troubled — like the wild glance of a deer harried
by dogs.
His violence brought its own reaction at last and,
letting her go, he flung himself panting upon the ground.
She stood above him for a while, flushed and silent,
smoothing down her hair with her hands and looking
into his face with a puzzled frown.
" Sit down," he gasped. " Why do you stare at me
like that?"
Obediently she placed herself by his side, tucked her
skirt around her ankles and let her hands fall on her lap.
" Adrian," she said, glancing shyly at him. " Why
did you kiss me like that, just now.? "
He propped himself up and gazed gloomily across
the barley field. " Why — did — I — kiss you.?" he
muttered, as if speaking in a dream.
"Yes — why, like that, just then," she went on.
" It wasn't like you and me at all. You were rough,
Adrian. You weren't yourself. Oh, my dear, my
dear ! I don't believe you care for me half as you used
to!"
82 RODMOOR
He beat his fists irritably on the ground and an al-
most vindictive look came into his ejes.
" That's the way ! " he flung out, " that's the way I
knew you'd take it. You girls want to be loved but
you nmst be loved just thus and so. A touch too near,
a word too far — and you're all up in arms."
Nance felt as though an ice-cold wedge had been
thrust between her breasts.
" Adrian," she cried, " how can you treat me in this
way? How can you say these things to me? Have I
ever stopped you kissing me? Have I ever been un-
responsive to you? '*
He looked away from her and began pulling up a
patch of moss by its roots. " What are you annoyed
about, then? " he muttered.
She sighed bitterly. Then with a strong effort to
give her voice a natural tone. " I didn't feel as though
you were kissing me at all just now. I was simply a
girl in your arms — any girl ! It was a shame, Adrian.
It hurt me. Surely, dear," — her voice grew gentle
and pleading — " you must know what I mean."
" I don't know in the least what you mean," he cried.
" It's some silly, absurd scruple some one's been put-
ting in your head. I can't always make love to you as
if we were two children, can I — two babes in the
wood? "
Nance's mouth quivered at this and she stretched out
her arm towards him and then, letting it drop, fumbled
with her fingers at a blade of grass. A curious line,
rarely visible on her face, wrinkled her forehead and
twitched a little as if it had been a nerve beneath the
skin. This line had a pathos in it beyond a mere frown.
It would have been well if the Italian had recalled.
BRIDGE-HEAD 83
as he saw it, certain ancient tragic masks of his native
country, but it is one of life's persistent ironies that
the tokens of monumental sorrow, which serve so nobly
the purposes of art, should only excite peevish irrita-
tion when seen near at hand. Sorio did not miss that
line of suffering but instead of softening him it in-
creased his bitterness.
" You're really not angry about my kissing you," he
said. " That's what all you women do — you pitch
upon something quite different and revenge yourself
with it, when all the time you're thinking about — God
knows what ! — some mad grievance of your own that
has no connection with what you say ! "
She leapt up at this, as if bitten by an adder and
looked at him with flashing eyes.
" Adrian ! You've no right — I've never given you
the right — to speak to me so. Come ! We'd better go
back to the house. I wish — oh, how I wish — I'd never
asked you to meet me here."
She stooped to pick up her hat. " I liked it so here,"
she added with a wistful catch in her voice, " but it's
all spoilt now." Sorio did not move. He looked at
her gravely.
" You're a little fool, Nance," he said, " absolutely
a little fool. But you look extraordinarily lovely at
this moment, now you re in a fury. Come here, child,
come back and sit down and let's talk sensibly. There
are other things and much more important things in
the world than our ridiculous quarrels."
The tone of his voice had its effect upon her but she
did not yield at once.
" I think perhaps to-day," she niurnuired, " it would
be better to go back." She continued to stand in front
84 RODMOOR
of him, swaying a little — an unconscious trick of hers
— and smiling sadly.
" Come and sit down," he repeated in a low voice.
She obeyed him, for it was what her heart ached for,
and clinging tightly to him she let her suppressed emo-
tions have full vent. With her head pressed awkwardly
against his coat she sobbed freely and without restraint.
Sorio gently buttoned up the fastening of one of her
long sleeves which had come unloosed. He did this
gravely and without a change of expression. That pe-
culiar and tragic pathos which emanates from a girl's
forgetfulness of her personal appearance did not ap-
parently cross his consciousness. Nance, as she leant
against him, had a pitiable and even a grotesque air.
One of her legs was thrust out from beneath her skirt.
Sorio noticed that her brown shoes were a little worn
and did not consort well with her white stockings. It
momentarily crossed his mind that he had fancied
Nancy's ankles to be slenderer than it seemed they were.
Her sobs died away at last in long shuddering gasps
which shook her whole frame. Sorio kept stroking her
head, but his eyes were fixed on the distant river bank
along which a heavily labouring horse was tugging at a
rope. Every now and then his face contracted a little
as if he were in physical pain. This was due to the fact
that from the girl's weight pressing against his knee
he began to suffer from cramp. Though her sobs had
died down, Nance still seemed unwilling to stir.
With one of her hands she made a tremulous move-
ment in search of his, and he answered it by tightly
gripping her fingers. While he held her thus his gaze
wandered from the horse on the tow-path and fixed it-
self upon a large and beautifully spotted fly that was
BRIDGE-HEAD 85
moving slowly and tentatively up a green stalk. With
its long antenna? extended in front of it the fly felt
its way, every now and then opening and shutting its
gauzy wings.
Sorio hated the horse, hated the fly and hated him-
self. As for the girl who leant so heavily upon him,
he felt nothing for her just then but a dull, inert pa-
tience and a kind of objective pity such as one might
feel for a wounded animal. One deep, far-drawn chan-
nel of strength and hope remained open in the remote
depths of his mind — associated with his inmost identity
and with what in the fortress of his soul he loved to call
his " secret " — and far off, at the end of this vista,
visualized through clouds of complicated memories —
was the image of his boy, his boy left in America, from
whom, unknown even to Nance, he received letters week
by week, letters that were the only thing, so it seemed
to him at this moment, which gave sweetness to his life.
He had sought, in giving full scope to his attraction
to Nance, to cover up and smooth over certain jagged,
bleeding edges in his outraged mind, and in this, even
now, as he returned the pressure of her soft fingers, he
recognized that he had been successful.
It was, he knew well, only the appearance of this
other one — this insidious " rose au regard saphique "
— this furtive child of marsh and sea — who had spoilt
his delight in Nance — Nance had not changed, nor in-
deed had he, himself. It was only the discovery of
Philippa, the revelation of Philippa, which had altered
everything.
With his fingers entangled in the shining hair, be-
neath his hand, he found himself cursing the day he had
ever come to Rodmoor. And yet — as far as his " se-
86 RODMOOR
cret '* went — that " fleur hypocrite " of the salt-
marshes came nearer, nearer than mortal soul except
Baptiste — to understanding the heart of his mystery.
The sun sinking behind them, had for some while now
thrown long dark shadows across the field at their feet.
Tlie flies which hovered over the girl's prostrate form
were no longer radiantly illuminated and from the vague
distances in every direction came those fitful sounds of
the closing day — murmurs and whispers and subtle
breathings, sweet and yet profoundly sad, which indi-
cate the ebb of the life-impulse and approach of twi-
light.
The girl moved at last, and lifting up a tear-stained
face, looked timidly and shyly into his eyes. She ap-
peared at that moment so submissive, so pitiful, and so
entirely dependent on him that Sorio would have been
hardly human if he had not thrown his arms reassur-
ingly round her neck and kissed her wet flushed cheek.
They rose together from the ground and both laughed
merrily to see how stained and crumpled her newly
starched frock had become.
" I'll meet you here again — to-morrow if you like,"
he said gently. She smiled but did not answer. Sim-
ple-hearted though she was, she was enough of a woman
to know well that her victory, if it could be called vic-
tory, over his morose mood was a mere temporary mat-
ter. The future of their love seemed to her more than
ever dubious and uncertain, and it was with a chilled
heart, in spite of her gallant attempts to make their
return pleasant to them both, that she re-entered the
forlorn garden of Dyke House and waved good-bye to
him from the door.
VII
VESPERS
NANCE continued to resort to her withy-bed,
in spite of the spoiling of its charm, but she
did not again ask Sorio to meet her there.
She met him still, however, — sometimes in Rachel's
desolate garden which seemed inspired by some occult
influence antipathetic to every softening touch, and
sometimes — and these latter encounters were the hap-
pier ones — in the little graveyard of Mr. Traherne's
church. She found him affectionate enough in these
ambiguous days and even tender, but she was con-
stantly aware of a barrier between them which nothing
she could say or do seemed able to surmount.
Her anxiety with regard to the relations between
Rachel and Linda did not grow less as days went on.
Sometimes the two seemed perfectly happy and Nance
accused herself of having a morbid imagination, but
then again something would occur — some quite slight
and unimportant thing — which threw her back upon
all her old misgivings.
Once she was certain she heard Linda crying in the
night and uttering Rachel's name but the young girl,
when roused from her sleep, only laughed gaily and
vowed she had no recollection of anything she had
dreamed.
As things thus went on and there seemed no outlet
from the difficulties that surrounded her, Nance began
making serious enquiries as to the possibility of finding
87
88 RODMOOR
work in the neighbourhood. She read the advertise-
ments in the local papers and even answered some of
them but the weeks slipped bj and nothing tangible
seemed to emerge.
Her greatest consolation at this time was a friend-
ship she struck up with Hamish Traherne, the curate-
in-charge of Rodmoor upon whose organ in the forlorn
little Norman church, Linda was now daily practising.
Dr. Raughty, too, when she chanced to meet him,
proved a soothing distraction. The man's evident ad-
miration for her gratified her vanity, while her tender
and playful way of expressing it put a healing ointment
upon her wounded pride.
One late afternoon when the sun at last seemed to
have got some degree of hold upon that sea-blighted
country, she found herself seated with Mr. Traherne
on a bench adjoining the churchyard, waiting there
in part for the service — for Hamish was a rigorous
ritualist in these things and rang his bell twice a day
with devoted patience — and in part for the purpose
of meeting Mrs. Renshaw, who, as she knew, came regu-
larly to church, morning and evening.
Linda was playing inside the little stone edifice and
the sound of her music came out to them as they talked,
pleasantly softened by the intervening walls. Mr.
Traherne's own dwelling, a battered, time-worn frag-
ment of monastic masonry, clumsily adapted to modern
use, lay behind them, its unpretentious garden passing
by such imperceptible degrees into the sacred enclosure
that the blossoms raised, in defiance of the winds that
swept the marshes, in the priest's flower-beds, shed their
petals upon the more recently dug of his parishioners'
graves.
VESPERS 89
It may have been the extreme ugliness of llodmoor's
curate-in-charge that drew Nance so closely to him.
Mr. Traherne was certainly in bodily appearance the
least prepossessing person she had ever beheld. He re-
sembled nothing so much as an over-driven and exces-
sively patient horse, his long, receding chin, knobbed
bulbous nose, and corrugated forehead not even being
relieved by any particular quality in his small, deeply-
set colourless c^'es — eyes which lacked everything such
as commonly redeems an otherwise insignificant face
and which stared out of his head upon the world with a
fixed expression of mild and dumb protest.
Whether it was his ugliness, or something indefinable
in him that found no physical or even vocal expression
— for his voice was harsh and husky — the girl herself
would have been puzzled to say, but whatever it was, it
drew her and held her and she experienced curious relief
in talking with him.
This particular afternoon she had permitted herself
to go further than usual in these relieving confidences
and had treated the poor man as if he were actually
and in very truth her father-confessor.
" I've had no luck so far," she said, speaking of her
attempts to get work, " but I think I shall have before
long. I'm right, am I not, in f^af at any rate? What-
ever happens, it's better Linda and I should be inde-
pendent."
The priest nodded vigorously and clasped his bony
hands over his knees.
" I wish," he said, " that I knew Mr. Sorio as I know
you. When I know people I like them, and as a rule — "
he opened his large twisted mouth and smiled humor-
ously at her — " as a rule they like me."
90 RODMOOR
*• oh, don't misunderstand what I said just now,"
cried Nance anxiously. " I didn't mean that Adrian
doesn't like you. I know he likes you very much. It's
that he's afraid of your influence, of your religion, of
your goodness. He's afraid of you. That's what it
is."
" Of course we know," said Hamish Trahernc, prod-
ding the ground with his oak stick and tucking his long
cassock round his legs, " of course we know that it's
really Mr. Sorio who ought to find work. He ought
to find it soon, too, and as soon as he's got it he ought
to marry you ! That's how I would see this affair set-
tled." He smiled at her with humorous benignity.
Nance frowned a little. " I don't like it when you
talk like that," she remarked, " it makes me feel as
though I'd done wrong in saying anything about it.
It makes me feel as though I had been disloyal to Ad-
nan.
For so ugly and clumsy a man, there was a pathetic
gentleness in the way he laid his hand, at that, upon his
companion's arm. " The disloyalty," he said in a low
voice, " would have been not to have spoken to me.
Who else can help our friend? Who else is anxious to
help him.'' "
" I know, I know," she cried, " you're as sweet to me
as you can be. You're my most faithful friend. It's
only that I feel — sometimes — as though Adrian
wouldn't like it for me to talk about him at all — to
any one. But that's silly, isn't it? And besides I
must, mustn't I? Otherwise there'd be no way of help-
ing him."
" I'll find a way," muttered the priest. " You needn't
mention his name again. We'll take him for granted in
VESPERS 91
future, little one, and we'll both work together in his
interests."
" If he could only be made to understand," the girl
went on, looking helplessly across the vast tract of fens,
" what his real feelings are ! I believe he loves me at
the bottom of his heart. I know I can help him as no
one else can. But how to make him understand that? "
They were interrupted at this point by the appear-
ance of Mrs. Rcnshaw who, standing in the path leading
to the church door, looked at them hesitatingly as if
wondering whether she ought to approach them or not.
They rose at once and crossed the grass to meet her.
At the same time Linda, emerging from the building,
greeted them with excited ardour.
" I've done so well to-day, Mr. Traherne," she cried,
" you'd be astonished. I can manage those pedals per-
fectly now, and the stops too. Oh, it's lovely ! It's
lovely ! I feel I'm going really to be a player."
They all shook hands with Mrs. Renshaw, and then,
while the priest went in to ring his bell, the three women
strolled together to the low stone parapet built as a pro-
tection against floods, which separated the churchyard
from the marshes.
Tiny, delicate mosses grew on this wall, interspersed
with small pale-flowered weeds. On its further side was
a wide tract of boggy ground, full of deep amber-col-
oured pools and clumps of rushes and terminated, some
half mile away, by a raised d^'ke. There was a pleas-
ant humming of insects in the air, and although a pro-
cession of large white clouds kept crossing the low,
horizontal sun, and throwing their cold shadows over
the landscape, the general aspect of the place was
more friendly and less desolate than usual.
92 RODMOOR
They sat down upon the parapet and began to talk.
" Brand promised to come and fetch me to-night," said
Mrs. Renshaw. " I begged him to come in time for the
service but — " and she gave a sad, expressive little
laugh, " he said he wouldn't be early enough for that.
Why is it, do you think, that men in these days are so
unwilling to do these things.'' It isn't that they're
wiser than their ancestors. It isn't that they're
cleverer. It isn't that they have less need of the In-
visible. Something has come over the world, I think —
something that blots out the sky. I've thought that
often lately, particularly when I wake up in the morn-
ings. It seems to me that the dawns used to be fresher
and clearer than they are now. God has got tired of
helping us, my dears," and she sighed wearily.
Linda extended her warm little hand with a caressing
movement, and Nance said, gently, " I know well what
you mean, but I feel sure — oh, I feel quite sure — it's
only for a time. And I think, too, in some odd way,
that it's our own fault — I mean the fault of women.
I can't express clearly what's in my mind but I feel as
though we'd all changed — changed, that is, from what
we used to be in old days. Don't you think there's
something in that, Mrs. Renshaw.'* But of course that
only applies to Linda and me."
The elder woman's countenance assumed a pinched
and withered look as the girl spoke, the lines in it deep-
ening and the pallor of it growing so noticeable that
Nance found herself recalling the ghastly whiteness of
her father's face as she saw him at the last, laid out in
his coffin. She shivered a little and let her fingers stray
over the crumbling masonry and tangled weeds at her
side, seeking there, in a fumbling, instinctive manner,
VESPERS 93
to get into touch with something natural, earthy, and
reassuring.
The procession of clouds suffered a brief interlude at
that moment in their steady transit and the sinking sun
shone out warm and mellow, full of odours of peat and
moss and reedy nmd. Swarms of tiny midges danced
in the long level liglit and several drowsy butterflies
rose out of nowhere and fluttered over the mounds.
"Oh, there's Brand coming!" cried Mrs. Renshaw,
suddenly, with a queer contraction of her pale fore-
head, " and the bell has stopped. How strange we
none of us noticed that ! Listen ! Yes — he's begun
the service. Can't you hear? Oh, what a pity! I
can't bear going in after he's begun."
Brand Renshaw, striding unceremoniously over the
graves, approached the group. They rose to greet
him. Nance felt herself surveyed from head to foot,
weighed in the balances and found wanting. Linda
hung back a little, shamefaced and blushing deeply. It
was upon her that Brand kept his eyes fixed all the while
he was being introduced. She — as Nance recognized
in a flash — was not found wanting.
They stood talking together, easily and freely enough,
for several minutes, but nothing that Nance heard or
said prevented her mind from envisaging the fact that
there had leapt into being, magnetically, mysteriously,
irresistibly, one of those sudden attractions between
a man and a girl that so often imply — as the world is
now arranged — the emergence of tragedy upon the
horizon.
" I think — if you don't mind, Brand," said Mrs.
Renshaw when a pause arrived in their conversation,
" we'll slip into the church now for a minute or two.
04 '^ RODMOOR
He's got to the Psalms. I can hear. And it hurts me,
somehow, for the poor man to have to go through them
alone."
Nance moved at once, but Linda pouted and looked
sh^'ly at Brand. " I'm tired of the church," she mur-
mured. " I'll wait for you out here. Are you going in
with them, Mr. Renshaw? "
Brand made no reply to this, but walked gravely
with the two others as far as the porch.
" Don't be surprised if your sister's spirited away
when you come out. Miss Herrick," he said smilingly as
he left them at the door.
Returning with a quick step to where Linda stood
gazing across the marshes, he made some casual remark
about the quietness of the evening and led her forth
from the churchyard. Neither of them uttered any
definite reference to what they were doing. Indeed, a
queer sort of nervous dumbness seemed to have seized
them both, but there was a suppressed surge of excite-
ment in the man's resolute movements and under the
navy blue coat and skirt which hung so delicately and
closely round her slender figure. The girl's pulses beat
a wild excited tune.
He led her straight along the narrow, reed-bordered
path, with a ditch on either side of it which ended in the
bridge across the Loon. Before they reached the
bridge, however, he swerved to the left and helped her
over a low wooden railing. From this point, by fol-
lowing a rough track along the edge of one of the water
meadows it was possible to reach the sand-dunes with-
out entering the village.
" Not to the sea," pleaded Linda, holding back when
she perceived the direction of their steps.
VESPERS 95
" Yes, to tlie sea ! " he cried, pulling her forward witli
merciless determination. She made no further resist-
ance. She did not even protest when, arrived at the
end of their path, he lifted her bodily over the gate that
barred their way. She let him help her across the
heavily sinking sand, covered with pallid, coarse grass
which yielded to every step they took. She let him,
when at last they reached the summit of the dunes and
saw the sea spread out before them, retain the hand she
had given him and lead her down, hardly holding back
at all now, to the very edge of the water.
They were both at that moment like persons under
the power of some sort of drug. Their eyes were wild
and bright and when they spoke their voices had an un-
natural solemnity. In the absoluteness of the magnetic
current which swept them together, they could do noth-
ing, it seemed, but take all that happened to them for
granted — take all — all — as if it could not be other-
wise, as if it were unthinkable otherAvise.
When they reached the place where the tide turned
and the tremulous line of spindrift glimmered in the
dying sunlight, the girl stopped at last. Her lips and
cheeks were pale as the foam itself. She tried to tear
her fingers from his grasp. Her feet, sinking in the wet
sand, were splashed by the inflowing water.
" They told me you were afraid," he muttered, and
his voice sounded to them both as if it came from far
away, " but I didn't believe it. I thought it was some
little girl's nonsense. But I see now they were right.
You are afraid."
He rose to his full height, drawing into his lungs
with a breath of ecstasy the sharp salt wind that blew
across the water's surface.
96 RODMOOR
" But out of your fear we'll make a bond between
us," he went on, raising his voice, " a bond which none
of them shall be able to break ! "
He suddenly bent down and, scooping with his fingers
in the water, lifted towards her a handful of sea-foam
that gleamed ghostly white as he held it.
" There, child," he cried, " you can't escape from me
now!"
As he spoke he flung, with a wild laugh, straight
across her face, the foam-bubbles which he had caught.
She started back with a little gasp, but recovering her-
self instantly lifted the hand which held her own and
pressed it against her forehead. They stood for a mo-
ment, after this, staring at one another, with a hushed,
dazed, bewildered stare, as though they felt the very
wind of the wing of fate pass over their heads.
Brand broke the spell with a laugh. " I've chris-
tened you now," he said, " so I can call you what I like.
Come up here, Linda, my little one, and let's talk of all
this."
Hand in hand they moved away from the sea's edge
and crouched down in the shadow of the sand-dunes.
The rose-coloured light died out along the line of foam
and the mass of the waters in front of them darkened
steadily, as if obscured by the over-hovering of some
colossal bird. Far off, on the edge of the horizon, a
single fragment of drifting cloud took the shape of a
bloody hand with outstretched forefinger but even that
soon faded as the sun, sinking into the fens behind them,
gave up the struggle with darkness.
With the passing of the light from the sea's surface,
all that was left of the wind sank also into absolute im-
mobility. An immense liberating silence intensified,
VESPERS 97
rather than interrupted by the monotonous splash of
the waves, seemed to stream forth from some planetary
reservoir and overflow the world.
Not a sea-gull screamed, not a sound came from the
harbour, not a plover cried from the marshes, not a
step, not a voice, not a whisper, approached their soli-
tude or disturbed their strange communion.
Linda sat with her head sunk low upon her breast
and her hands clasped upon her knees. Brand, beside
lier, caressed her whole figure with an intense gaze of
concentrated possession.
Neither of them spoke a word, but one of the man's
heavy hands lay upon hers like a leaden weight bruising
a fragile plant.
What he seemed attempting to achieve in that con-
spiring hour was some kind of magnetizing of the girl's
senses so that the first movement of overt passion should
come from her rather than from himself. In this it
would seem he was not unsuccessful, for after two or
three scarce audible sighs her body trembled a little and
leant towards his and a low whisper uttered in a tone
quite unlike her ordinary one, tore itself from her lips,
as if against her volition.
" What are you doing to me.'' " she murmured.
While the invisible destinies were thus inaugurating
their projected work upon Brand and Linda, Nance
and i\Irs. Renshaw issued forth from the churchyard.
" If only life were clearer," the girl was thinking,
" it would be endurable. It's this uncertainty in every-
thing — this dreadful uncertainty — which I can't
bear ! "
" That was a beautiful psalm we had just now," said
Mrs. Renshaw, in her gentle penetrating voice as, after
98 RODMOOR
some minutes' silent walking they emerged upon the
bridge across the Loon. Nance looked down over the
parapet and in her depressed fancy she saw the drowned
figure of herself, drifting, face upward, upon the flow-
ing water.
" Yes," she replied mechanically, " the psalms are
always beautiful."
" I don't believe," the lady went on, glancing at her
with eyes so hollow and sorrowful that it seemed as
though the twilight of a world even sadder than the one
they looked upon emanated from them, " I don't believe
I understand that little sister of yours. She's very
highly strung — she's very nervous. She requires a
great deal of care. To tell the truth, I don't consider
my son Brand at all a good companion for her. I wish
they'd waited and not gone off like that. He doesn't
always remember what a sensitive thing the heart of a
young girl is."
They had now reached the southern side of the Loon
and were on the main road between Rodmoor and Mund-
ham. A few paces further brought them to the first
houses of the village. Something in the helpless, apolo-
getic, deprecatory way with which, just then, Mrs.
Renshaw greeted an old woman who passed them, had a
strangely irritating effect upon Nance's nerves.
" I don't see why young people should be considered
more than any one else ! " she burst out. " It's a purely
conventional idea. We all have our troubles, and what
I think is the older you get the more difficult life be-
comes."
Mrs. Renshaw's face assumed a mask of weary ob-
stinacy and she walked more slowly, her head bent for-
ward a little and her feet dragging.
VESPERS 99
" Women have to learn what duty means," she said,
" and the sooner they learn it the better. Those among
us who are privileged to make one good man happy have
the best that life can give. It's natural to be restless
till you have this. But we must try to overcome our
restlessness. We must ask for help."
She was silent. Her white face drooped and bowed
itself, while her tired fingers relaxed their hold on her
skirt which trailed in the dust of the road. Her profile,
as Nance glanced sideways at it, had a look of hopeless
and helpless passivity.
The girl withdrew into herself, irritated and yet re-
morseful. She felt an obscure longing to be of some
service to this unhappy one ; yet as she watched her,
thus bowed and impenetrable, she felt shut out and ex-
cluded.
Before they reached the centre of the village — for
Nance felt unwilling to leave Mrs. Renshaw until she
had seen her safe within her park gates — they sud-
denly came upon Baltazar Stork returning from his
daily excursion to Mundham.
He was as elegantly dressed as usual and in one hand
carried a little black bag, in the other a bunch of
peonies. Nance, to her surprise, caught upon her com-
panion's face a look of extraordinary illumination as
the man advanced towards them. In recalling the look
afterwards, she found herself thinking of the word
" vivacity " in regard to it.
" Oh, I'm alwaj's the same," Mr. Stork replied to the
elder lady's greeting. " I grow more annoyingly the
same every day. I say the same things, think the same
thoughts and meet the same people. It's — lovely ! "
" I'm glad you ended like that," observed Nance,
100 RODMOOR
laughing. It was one of her peculiarities to laugh — a
little foolishly — when she was embarrassed and though
she had encountered Sorio's friend once or twice before,
she felt for some reason or other ill at ease with him.
With exquisite deliberation Mr. Stork placed the
black bag upon the ground and selecting two of the
freshest blooms from his gorgeous bunch, handed one
by the light of a little shop window to each of the
women.
" How is your friend.'^ " enquired Mrs. Renshaw with
a touch of irony in her tone. " This young lady has
not not seen him to-day."
At that moment Nance realized that she hated this
melancholy being whom a chance encounter with her
husband's son seemed to throw into such malicious
spirits. She felt that everything Mrs. Renshaw was
destined to say from now till they separated, would be
designed to humiliate and annoy her. This may have
been a fantastic illusion, but she acted upon it with
resolute abruptness.
" Good-bye," she exclaimed, turning to her com-
panion, " I'll leave you in Mr. Stork's care. I promised
Rachel not to be late to-night. Good-bye — and thank
you," she bowed to the young man and held up the
peony, " for this."
" She's jealous," remarked Baltazar as he led Mrs.
Renshaw across the green under the darkening syca-
mores. "She is abominably jealous! She was in a
furious temper — I saw it myself — when Adrian took
her sister out the other day and now she's wild because
he's friendly with Philippa. Oh, these girls, these
girls!"
An amused smile flickered for a moment across the
VESPERS 101
lady's face but she suppressed it instantly. She sighed
heavily. " You are all too much for me," she said,
" too much for me. I'm getting old, Tassar. God be
merciful ! This world is not an easy place to live in."
She walked by his side after this in heavy silence till
they reached the entrance of the park.
VIII
SUN AND SEA
AS the days began to grow warmer and in the
more sheltered gardens the first roses appeared,
Nance was not the only one who showed signs
of uneasiness over Adrian Sorio's disturbed state of
mind.
Baltazar was frequently at a loss to know where,
in the long twilights, his friend wandered. Over and
over again, after June commenced, the poor epicure was
doomed to take his supper in solitude and sit companion-
less through the evening in the grassy enclosure at the
back of his house.
As the longest day approached and the heavily
scented hawthorn tree which was the chief ornament of
his small garden had scattered nearly all its red blos-
soms, Stork's uneasiness reached such a pitch that he
protested vigorously to the wanderer, using violent ex-
pressions and, while not precisely accusing him of in-
gratitude, making it quite plain that this was neither
the mood nor the treatment he expected from so old a
friend.
Sorio received this outburst meekly enough — in-
deed he professed himself entirely penitent and ready to
amend his ways — but as the days went on, instead of
any improvement in the matter, things became rapidly
worse and worse.
Baltazar could learn nothing definitely of what he
102
SUN AND SEA 103
did when he disappeared but tlie impression gradually
emphasized itself that he spent these lonely hours in im-
mense, solitary walks along the edge of the sea. He
returned sometimes like a man absolutely exhausted and
on these occasions his friend could not help observing
that his shoes were full of sand and his face scorched.
One especially hot afternoon, when Stork had re-
turned from IMundham by the midday train in the hope
of finding Adrian ready to stroll with him under the
trees in the park, there occurred quite a bitter and
violent scene between them when the latter insisted, as
soon as their meal was over, on setting off alone.
" Go to the devil ! " Adrian finally flung back at his
entertainer when — his accustomed urbanity quite
broken down — the aggrieved Baltazar gave vent to the
suppressed irritation of many days. " Go to the
devil ! " the unconscionable man repeated, putting down
his hat over his head and striding across the green.
Once clear of the little town, he let his speed subside
into a more ordinary pace and, crossing the bridge over
the Loon, made his way to the sea shore. The blazing
sunshine, pouring down from a sky that contained no
trace of a cloud, seemed to have secured the power that
day of reducing even the ocean itself to a kind of magne-
tised stupor. The waters rolled in, over the sparkling
sands, with a long, somnolent, oih' ripple that spent it-
self and drew back without so much as a flicker or flake
of foam. The sea-gulls floated languidly on the un-
ruffled tide, or quarrelled with little, short, petulant
screams over the banks of bleached pungent-smelling
seaweed where swarms of scavenging flies shared with
them their noonday fretfulncss.
On the wide expanse of the sea itself there lay a
104 RODMOOR
kind of glittering haze, thin and metallic, as if ham-
mered out of some marine substance less resistant but
not less dazzling than copper or gold. This was in the
mid-distance, so to speak, of the great plain of water.
In the remote distance the almost savage glitter dimin-
ished and a dull livid glare took its place, streaked in
certain parts of the horizon by heavy bars of silvery
mist where the sea touched the sky. The broad reaches
of hard sand smouldered and flickered under the sun's
blaze and little vibrating heat waves danced like shape-
less demons over the summit of the higher dunes.
Turning his face northward, Sorio began walking
slowly now and with occasional glances at the dunes,
along the level sand by the sea's edge. He reached in
this way a spot nearly two miles from Rodmoor where
for leagues and leagues in either direction no sign of
human life was visible.
He was alone with the sun and the sea, the sun that
was dominating the water and the water that was domi-
nating the land.
He stood still and waited, his heart beating, his pulses
feverish, his deep-sunken eyes full of a passionate, ex-
pectant light. He had not long to wait. Stepping
down slowly from the grass-covered dunes, past a de-
serted fisherman's hut which had become their familiar
rendezvous, came the desired figure. She walked de-
liberately, slowly, with a movement that, as Sorio
hastened to meet her, had something almost defiant in
its dramatic reserve.
They greeted one another with a certain awkward-
ness. Neither held out a hand — neither smiled. It
might have been a meeting of two conspirators fearful
of betrayal. It was only after they had walked in
SUN AND SEA 105
silence, side by side and still northwards for several
minutes, that Sorio began speaking, but his words broke
from him then with a tempestuous vehemence.
" None of these people here know me," he cried, " not
one of them. They take me for a dawdler, an idler, an
idiotic fool. Well ! That's nothing. Nance doesn't
know me. She doesn't care to know me. She — she
loves! As if love were what I wanted — as if love were
enough ! "
He was silent and the girl looked at him curiously,
waiting for him to say more.
" They'd be a bit surprised, wouldn't they," he burst
out, " if they knew about the manuscripts he " — he ut-
tered this last word with concentrated reverence, — " is
guarding for me over there.'' He understands me, Phil,
and not a living person except him. Listen, Phil !
Since I've known j'ou I've been able to breathe — just
able to breathe — in this damned England. Before
that — God ! I shudder to think of it — I was dumb,
strangled, suffocated, paraWzed, dead. Even now —
even with you, Phil, — I'm still fumbling and groping
after it — after what I have to say to the world, after
my secret, my idea !
" It hurts me, my idea. You know that feeling, Phil.
But I'm getting it into order — into shape. Look
here!"
He pulled out of his pocket a small thick notebook
closely written, blurred with erasures and insertions,
stained with salt-water.
" That's what I've done since I've known you — in
this last month — and it's better than anything I've
written before. It's clearer. It hits the mark more
crushingly. Phil, listen to me! I know I've got it in
106 RODMOOR
me to give to the world something it's never dreamed of
— something with a real madness of truth in it — some-
thing with a bite that gets to the very bone of things.
I know I've got that in me."
He stooped down and picked up a stranded jelly-fish
that lay — a mass of quivering, helpless iridescence —
in the scorching sun. He stepped into the water till it
was over his shoes and flung the thing far out into the
oily sea. It sank at once to the bottom, leaving a small
circle of ripples.
" Go on, go on ! " cried the girl, looking at him with
eyes that darkened and grew more insatiable as she
felt his soul stir and quiver and strip itself before her.
*' Go on ! Tell me more about Nance."
*' I have told you," he muttered, " I've told you every-
thing. She's good and faithful and kind. She gives
me love — oh, endless love ! — but that's not what I
want. She no more understands me than I understand
— eternity ! Little Linda reads me better."
" Tell me about Linda," murmured the girl.
Sorio threw a wild glance around them. " It's her
fear that taught her what she knew — what she guessed.
Fear reads deep and far. Fear breaks through many
barriers. But she's changed now since she's been with
Brand. She's become like the rest."
" Oh, Brand — ! " Philippa shrugged her shoulders.
" So }ie''s come into it? Well, let them go. Tell me
more about Nance. Does she cling to you and make a
fuss? Docs she try the game of tears? "
Sorio looked at her sharply. A vague suspicion in-
vaded the depths of his heart. They walked along in
silence for several minutes. The power of the sun
seemed to increase. A mass of seaweed, floating below
SUN AND SEA 107
the water, caused in one place an amber-coloured shadow
to break the monotony of the glittering surface.
" Does your son believe in you — as I do? " she asked
gently.
As soon as the words had crossed her lips she knew
they were the very last she ought to have uttered. The
man withdrew into himself with a rigid tightening of
every nerve. No one — certainly not Nance — had
ever dared to touch this subject. Once to Nance, in
London, and twice recently to his present companion,
had he referred to Baptiste but this direct question
about the boy was too much ; it outraged something in
him which was beyond articulation. The shock given
him was so intense and the reaction upon his feelings so
vivid that, hardly conscious of what he did, he thrust
his hand into his pocket and clutched tightly with his
fingers the book containing his work, as though to pro-
tect it from aggression. As he thus stood there before
her, stiff and speechless, she could only console herself
by the fact that he avoided her eyes.
Her mind moved rapidly. She must invent, at all
costs, some relief to this tension. She had trusted her
magnetism too far.
" Adriano," she said, imitating with feminine instinct
Baltazar's caressing intonation, " I want to bathe.
We're out of sight of every one. We know each other
well enough now. Shall we — together? "
He met her eyes now. There was a subtile appeal in
their depths which drew him to her and troubled his
senses. He nodded and uttered an embarrassed laugh.
" Why not? " he answered.
" Very well," she said quickly, clinching her sugges-
tion before he had time to revoke his assent, " I'll just
108 RODMOOR
run behind these sand liills and take oJl my things. You
undress here and get into the water. And swim out,
too, Adrian, with jour back to me ! I'll soon join you."
She left him and he obeyed her mechanically — only
looking nervously round for a moment as he folded his
coat containing the precious manuscript and laid a
heavy stone upon it.
He plunged out into the wavelcss sea with fierce, im-
petuous strokes. The water yielded to his violent move-
ments like a lake of quicksilver. Dazzling threads and
flakes and rainbows flashed up, wavered, trembled, glit-
tered and vanished as he swam forward. With his eyes
fixed on the immense dome of sky above him, where, like
the rim of a burnished shield, it cut down into the hori-
zon, he struck out incessantly, persistently, seeking, in
thus embracing a universe of white light, to find the
escape he craved.
Strange thoughts poured through his brain as he
swam on. The most novel, the most terrific of the
points contained in those dithyrambic notes left behind
under the stone surged up before him and, mingling with
them in fierce exultant aff"ection, the image of Baptiste
beckoned to him out of a moulten furnace of white
light.
Far away behind him at last he heard the voice of
his companion. Whether she intended him to turn he
did not know, for her words were inaudible, but when he
did he perceived that she was standing, a slim white
figure, at the water's edge. He watched her with feel-
ings that were partly bitter and partly tender.
" Why docs she stand there so long? " he muttered to
himself. " Why doesn't she get in and start swim-
ming? "
SUN AND SEA 109
As if made aware of his thought by some telepathic
instinct the girl at that moment slipped into the water
and began walking slowly forward, her hands clasped
behind her head. When the water reached above her
knees she swung up her hands and with a swift spring
of her white body, disappeared from view. She re-
mained so long invisible that Sorio grew anxious and
took several vigorous strokes towards her. She re-ap-
peared at last, however, and was soon swimming vigor-
ously to meet him.
When they met she insisted on advancing further and
so, side by side, with easy, leisurely movements, they
swam out to sea, their eyes on the far horizon and their
breath coming and going in even reciprocity.
" Far enough ! " cried Sorio at last, treading water
and looking closely at her.
There was a strange wild light in the girl's face.
" Why go back.? " her look seemed to say — " Why not
swim on and on together — until the waters cover us
and all riddles are solved.?" There was something in
her expression at that moment — as, between sky and
sea, the two gazed mutely at one another — which
seemed to interpret some terrible and uttermost mys-
tery. It was, however, too rare a moment to endure
long, and they turned their heads landwards.
The return took longer than they had anticipated and
the girl was swimming very slowly and displaying evi-
dent signs of exhaustion before the}' got near shore.
As soon as she could touch the bottom with her feet
she hurried out and staggered, with stiff limbs, across
the sands to where she had left her clothes.
When she came back, dressed and in lively spirits,
her unbound hair shimmering in the sunshine like wet
110 RODMOOR
silk, she found him pacing the sea's edge with an ex-
pression of gloomj resolution.
" I sliall have to rewrite every word of these notes,"
he said, striking his hand against his pocket. ** I had
a new thought just now as I was in the water and it
changes everything."
She threw herself down on the hot sand and spread
out her hair to let it dry.
" Don't let's go yet, Adrian," she pleaded. " I feel
so sleepy and happy."
He looked at her thoughtfully, hardly catching the
drift of her words. " It changes everything," he re-
peated.
" Lie down here," she murmured softly, letting her
gaze meet his with a wistful entreaty.
He placed himself beside her. " Don't get hurt by
the sun," he said. She smiled at that — a long, slow,
dreamy smile — and drawing him towards her with her
eyes, " I believe you're afraid of me to-day, Adrian,"
she whispered.
Her boyish figure, outlined beneath the thin dress
she wore, seemed to breathe a sort of classic voluptuous-
ness as she languidly stretched her limbs. As she did
this, she turned her head sideways, till her chin rested
on her shoulder and a tress of brown hair, wet and
clinging, fell across her slender neck.
A sudden impulse of malice seemed to seize the man
who bent over her. *' Your hair isn't half as long as
Nance's," he said, turning abruptly away and hugging
his knees with his arms.
The girl drew herself together, at that, like a snake
from under a heavy foot and, propping herself up on
her hands, threw a glance upon him which, had he
SUN AND SEA 111
caught it, might have produced a yet further change in
the book of philosophic notes. Her eyes, for one pass-
ing second, held in them something that was like livid
fire reflected through blue ice.
For several minutes after this they both contemplated
the level mass of illuminated waters with absorbed con-
centration. At last Adrian broke the silence.
" What I'm aiming at in my book," he said, " is a
revelation of how the essence of life is found in the in-
stinct of destruction. I want to show — what is simply
the truth — that the pleasure of destruction, destruc-
tion entered upon out of sheer joy and for its own sake,
lies behind every living impulse that pushes life forward.
Out of destruction alone — out of the rending and
tearing of something — of something in the way —
does new life spring to birth. It isn't destruction for
cruelty's sake," he went on, his fingers closing and un-
closing at his side over a handful of sand. " Cruelty
is mere inverted sentiment. Cruelty implies attraction,
passion, even — in some cases — love. Pure destruc-
tion — destruction for its own sake — such as I see it
— is no thick, heavy, muddy, perverted impulse such as
the cruel are obsessed by. It's a burning and devour-
ing flame. It's a mad, splendid revel of glaring white-
ness like this which hurts our e^'es now. I'm going to
show in my book how the ultimate essence of life, as we
find it, purest and most purged in the ecstasies of the
saints, is nothing but an insanity of destruction !
That's really what lies at the bottom of all the asceti-
cism and all the renunciation in the v,orld. It's the in-
stinct to destroy — to destroy what lies nearest to one's
hand — in this case, of course, one's own body and the
passions of the body. Ascetics fancy they do this for
112 RODMOOR
the sake of their souls. That's their illusion. They do
it for its own sake — for the sake of the ecstasy of de-
struction ! Man is the highest of all animals because
he can destroy the most. The saints are the highest
among men because they can destroy humanity."
He rose to his feet and, picking up a flat stone
from the sea's edge, sent it skimming across the
water.
" Five ! " he cried, as the stone sank at last.
The girl rose and stood beside him. " I can play at
' Ducks and Drakes ' too," she said, imitating his action
with another stone which, however, sank heavily after
only three cuttings of the shiny surface.
" You can't play ' Ducks and Drakes ' with the uni-
verse," retorted Sorio. " No girl can — not even you,
with your boy-arms and boy-legs ! You can't even
throw a stone out of pure innocence. You only threw
that — just now — because I did and because you
wanted me to see you swing your arm — and because
you wanted to change the conversation."
He looked her up and down with an air of sullen
mockery. " What the saints and the mystics seek," he
went on, " is the destruction of everything within reach
— of everything that sticks out, that obtrudes, that is
simply there. That is why they throw their stones at
every form of natural life. But the life they attack is
doing the same thing itself in a cruder way. The sea
is destroying the land; the grass is destroying the
flowers ; the flowers one another ; the woods, the marshes,
the fens, are all destroying something. The saints
are only the maddest and wisest of all destroyers — "
" Sorio ! There's a starfish out there — being
washed in. Oh, let me try and reach it ! "
SUN AND SEA 113
She snatched his stick from him and catciiing up her
skirt stepped into the water.
" Let it be ! " he muttered, " let it be ! "
She gave up her attempt witli un impatient shrug
but continued to watch tlie steady pressure of the in-
coming tide with absorbed interest.
" What the saints aim at," Sorio continued, " and
the great poets too, is that absolute white light, which
means the drowning, the blinding, the annihilating, of
all these paltry-coloured things which assert themselves
and try to make themselves immortal. The only god-
like happiness is the happiness of seeing world after
world tumbled into oblivion. That's the mad, sweet
secret thought at the back of all the religions. God —
as the great terrible minds of antiquity never forgot
— is the supreme name for that ultimate destruction
of all things which is the only goal. That's why God
is always visualised as a blaze of blinding white light.
That's why the Sun-God, greatest of destroyers, is pic-
tured with burning arrows."
While Adrian continued in this wild strain, expound-
ing his desperate philosophy, it was a pity there was no
one to watch the various expressions which crossed in
phantasmal sequence, like evil ghosts over a lovely mir-
ror, the face of Philippa Renshaw.
The conflict between the man and woman was,
indeed, at that moment, of curious and elaborate inter-
est. While he flung out, in this passionate way, his
metaphysical iconoclasm, her instinct — the shrewd
feminine instinct to reduce everything to the personal
touch — remained fretting, chafing, irritable, and un-
satisfied. It was nothing to her that the formula he
used was the formula of her own instincts. She loved
114 RODMOOR
destruction but in her subtle heart she despised, with in-
finite contempt, all philosophical theories — despised
them as being simply irrelevant and off the track of
actual life — off the track, in fact, of those primitive
personal impulses which alone possess colour, perfume,
salt and sweetness !
Vaguely, at the bottom of his soul, even while he was
speaking, Sorio knew that the girl was irritated and
piqued; but the consciousness of this, so far from be-
ing unpleasant, gave an added zest to his words. He
revenged himself on her for the attraction he felt to-
wards her by showing her that in the metaphysical
world at any rate, he could reduce her to non-existence !
Her annoyance at last gave her, in desperation, a
flash of diabolic cunning. She tossed out to him as a
bait for his ravening analysis, her own equivocal na-
ture.
" I know well what you mean," she said, as they
moved slowly back towards Rodmoor. " Poor dear,
you must have been torn and rent, yourself, to have
come to such a point of insight ! I, too, in my way,
have experienced something of the sort. My brain
— you know that, by this time, don't you, Adriano? —
is the brain of a man while my body is the body of a
woman. Oh, I hate this woman's body of mine, Adrian !
You can't know how I hate it ! All that annoys you
in me, and all that annoys myself too, comes from
this," and she pressed her little hands savagely to her
breast as she spoke, as though, there before him, she
would tear out the very soul of her femininity.
" From earliest childhood," she went on, " I've loathed
being a girl. Long nights, sometimes, I've lain awake,
crying and crying and crying, because I wasn't born
SUN AND SEA 115
different. I've hated my mother for it. I hate her
still, I hate her because she has a morbid, sentimental
mania for what she calls the sensitiveness of young
girls. The sensitiveness ! As if they weren't the
toughest, stupidest, sleepiest things in the world !
They're not sensitive at all. They've neither sensitive-
ness nor fastidiousness nor modesty nor decency ! It's
all put on — every bit of it. I knoxc, for I'm like that
myself — or half of me is. I betray myself to myself
and lacerate myself for being m^'self. It's a curious
state of things — isn't it, Adriano? "
She had worked herself up into such a passion of emo-
tional self-pity that great swimming tears blurred the
tragic supplication of her eyes. The weary swing of
her body as she walked by his side and the droop of her
neck as she let her head fall when his glance did not re-
spond were obviously not assumed. The revelation of
herself, entered upon for an exterior purpose, had gone
further than she intended and this very stripping of
herself bare which was to have been her triumph became
her humiliation when witnessed so calmly, so indiffer-
ently.
After this they walked for a long while in silence,
he so possessed by the thrilling sense of having a new
vista of thought under his command that he was hardly
conscious of her presence, and she in obstinate bitter
resolution wrestling with the remorse of her mistake
and searching for some other means — any means —
of sapping the strength of his independence.
As they moved on and the afternoon advanced, a
large and striking change took place in the appearance
of the scene. A narrow, clear-cut line of shadow made
itself visible below the sand-dunes. The sky lost its
116 RODMOOR
metallic glitter and became a deep hyacinthine blue, a
blue which after a while communicated itself, with hardly
any change in its tint, to the wide-spread volume of
water beneath it. In those spots where masses of sea-
weed floated beneath the surface, the omnipresent blue
deepened to a rich indescribable purple, that amazing
purple more frequent in southern than in northern seas,
which we may suppose is indicated in the Homeric epi-
thet " wine dark."
As the friends approached the familiar environs of
Rodmoor they suddenly came upon a fisherman's boat
pulled up upon the sand, with some heavy nets left lying
beside it.
" Sorio ! " cried the girl, stooping down and lifting
the meshes of one of these, " Sorio ! there's something
alive left here. Look ! "
He bent over the net beside her and began hastily
disentangling several little silvery fish which were strug-
gling and flapping feebly and opening their tiny gills in
labouring gasps.
" All right — all right ! " cried the man, addressing
in his excitement the tiny prisoners, " I'll soon set you
free."
"What are you doing, Adrian?" expostulated the
girl. " No — no ! You mustn't throw them back —
you mustn't ! The children always come round when
school's over and search the nets. It's a Rodmoor cus-
tom."
" It's a custom I'm going to break, then ! " he shouted,
rushing towards the sea with a handful of gasping little
lives. His fingers when he returned, were covered with
glittering scales but they did not outshine the gleam in
his face.
SUN AND SEA 117
" You sliould have seen tlieiii dash away," he cried.
" I'm glad those children won't find them ! "
" They'll find others," remarked Philippa Renshaw.
" There'll always be some nets that have fish left in
them."
IX
PRIEST AND DOCTOR
THERE are hours in every man's day when the
main current of his destiny, rising up from
some hidden channel, becomes a recognizable
and palpable element in his consciousness. Such hours,
if a man's profoundest life is — so to speak — in har-
mony with the greater gods, are hours of indescribable
and tremulous happiness.
It was nothing less than an experience of this kind
which flowed deliciously, like a wave of divine ether,
over the consciousness of Hamish Traherne on the day
following the one when Sorio and Philippa walked so
far.
As he crossed his garden in the early morning
and entered the church, the warm sun and clear-cut
shadows filled him with that sense of indestructible joy
to which one of the ancient thinkers has given the beau-
tiful name of /xovo^povos rjBovT] — the Pleasure of the Ideal
Now.
From the eastern window, flooding the floor of the
little chancel, there poured into the cool, sweet-smelling
place a stream of quivering light. He had opened
wide the doors under the tower and left them open and
he heard, as he sank on his knees, the sharp clear twit-
tering of swallows outside and the chatter of a flock of
starlings. Through every pulse and fibre of his being,
as he knelt, vibrated an unutterable current of hap-
118
PRIEST AND DOCTOR 119
piness, of happiness so great that the words of his
prayer melted and dissolved and all definite thouglit
melted with them into that rare mood where prayer be-
comes ecstasy and ecstasy becomes eternal.
Returning to his house without spilling one golden
drop of what was being allowed him of the wine of the
Immortals, he brought his breakfast out into the garden
and ate it, lingeringly and dreamily, by the side of his
first roses. These were of the kind known as " the
seven sisters " — small and white-petaled with a faint
rose-flush — and the penetrating odour of them as he
bent a spray down towards his face was itself sug-
gestive of old rich wine, " cooled a long age in the deep-
delved earth."
From the marshes below the parapet came exquisite
scents of water-mint and flowering-rush and, along with
these, the subtle fragrance, pungent and aromatic, of
miles and miles of sun-heated fens.
The grass of his own lawn and the leaves of the trees
that over-shadowed it breathed the peculiar sweetness
— a sweetness unlike anything else in the world — of
the first hot days of the year in certain old East Anglian
gardens. Whether it is the presence of the sea which
endows these places with so rare a quality or the mere
existence of reserve and austere withholding in the ways
of the seasons there, it were hard to say, but the fact
remains that there are gardens in Norfolk and Suffolk
— and to Hamish Trahernc's flower-beds in spite of the
modesty of their appeal, may well be conceded some-
thing of this charm — which surpass all others in the
British Isles in the evocation of wistful and penetrating
beauty.
The priest had just lit his cigarette and was sipping
120 RODMOOR
his tea when he was startled by the sudden appearance
of Nance Herrick, Avhite and desperate and panting for
breath.
" I had to come to you," she gasped, refusing his
proffered chair and sinking down on the grass. " I had
to! I couldn't bear it. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't
stop in that house. I saw him last night. He was
walking with her near the harbour. I spoke to them.
I was quiet — not angry or bitter at all and he let her
insult me. He let her whip me with her tongue,
wickedly, cruelly and yet so under cover, so sideways —
you know the kind of thing, Hamish? — that I couldn't
answer. If I'd been alone with her I could have, but his
being there made me stupid, miserable, foolish ! And
she took advantage of it. She said — oh, such mean,
biting things ! I can't say them to you. I hate to
think of them. They went right through me like a steel
lash. And he stood there and did nothing. He was
like a man in a trance. He stood there and let her do
it. Hamish — Hamish — I wish I were at the bottom
of the sea ! "
She bowed her white, grief-distorted face until it
was buried in the grass. The sun, playing on her
bright hair, made it look like newly-minted gold. Mr.
Traherne sank on his knees beside her. His ugliness,
intensified by the agitation of his pity, reached a pitch
that was almost sublime. He was like a gargoyle con-
soling a goddess.
" Child, child, listen to me! " he cried, his husky grat-
ing voice flinging itself upon the silence of her misery
like a load of rubble upon a marble pavement.
" There are moments in our life when no words, how-
ever tender, however wise, can do any good. The only
PRIEST AND DOCTOR 121
way — child, it is so — it is so ! — the only way is to
find in love itself the thing that can heal. For love can
do this, I know it, I have proved it."
He raised one of his arms with a queer, spasmodic
gesture and let it drop as suddenly as he had raised
it.
" Love rejoices to bear everything," he went on.
" It forgives and forgives again. It serves its beloved
night and day, unseen and unfelt, it draws strength
from suffering. When the blows of fate strike it, it
sinks into its ov<n heart and rises stronger than fate.
When the passing hour's cruel to it, it sinks away
within, below the passing of every possible hour, beyond
the hurt of every conceivable stroke. Love does not
ask anything. It does not ask to be recognized. It is
its own return, its own recognition. Listen to me,
child ! If what I'm saying to you is not true, if love is
not like this, then the whole world is dust and ashes and
* earth's base built on stubble'!"
His harsh voice died away on the air and for a little
while there was no sound in that garden except the twit-
ter of birds, the hum of insects, and the murmur of the
sea. Then she moved, raised herself from the ground
and rubbed her face with her hands.
" Thank you, Hamish," she said.
He got up from his knees and she rose too and they
walked slowly together up and down the little grass
plot. His harsh voice, harsher than ever when its pitch
was modulated, rose and fell monotonously in the sunny
air.
" I don't say to you, Nance, that you shouldn't ex-
pect the worst. I think we always should expect that
and prepare to meet it. What I say is that in the very
122 RODMOOR
power of the love you feci there is a strength capable of
sustaining you through your whole life, whatever hap-
pens. And it is out of this very strength — a strength
stronger than all the world, my dear — than all the
world ! — that you'll be able to give your Adrian what
he needs. He needs your love, little one, not your
jealousy, nor your self-pity, nor your anger. God
knows how much he needs it! And if you sink down
into your heart and draw upon that and wait for him
and pray for him and endure for him you will see how,
in the end, he'll come back to you ! No — I won't even
say that. For in this world he may never realize whose
devotion is sustaining him. I'll say, whether he comes
back or not, you'll have been his only true love and he'll
know it, child, in this world or another, he'll know you
for what you are ! "
The sweet, impossible doctrine, older than the cen-
turies, older than Plato, of the supremacy of spiritual
passion had never — certainly not in that monastic
garden — found a more eloquent apologist. As she
listened to his words and her glance lingered upon a cer-
tain deeply blue border of larkspurs, which, as they
paced up and down mingled with the impression he made
upon her, Nance felt that a crisis had indeed arrived in
her life — had arrived and gone — the effect of which
could never, whatever happened, altogether disappear.
She was still unutterably sad. Her new mood brought
no superficial comfort. But her sadness had nothing in
it now of bitterness or desperation. She entered, at
any rate for that hour, into the company of those who
resolutely put life's sweetness away from them and find
in the accepted pressure of its sharp sword-point a
pride which is its own reward.
PRIEST AND DOCTOR 123
Tills mood of hers still lasted on, when, some hours
later, she found herself in the main street of the little
town, staring with a half-humorous smile at the re-
flection of herself in the bow-window of the pastry-
cook's. She had just emerged from the shop adjoining
this one, a place where she had definitely committed her-
self to accept the post of " forewoman " in the superin-
tendence of half a dozen young girls who worked in the
leisurely establishment of Miss Pontifex, " the only of-
ficial dress-maker," as the advertisement announced,
" on that side of Mundham."
She felt unspeakably relieved at having made this
plunge. She had begun to weary of idleness — idleness
rendered more bitter by the misery of her relations with
Sorio — and the independence guaranteed by the
eighteen shillings a week which Miss Pontifex was to pay
her seemed like an oasis of solid assurance in a desert
of ambiguities. She cared nothing for social prestige.
In that sense she was a true daughter of her father, the
most " democratic " officer in the British Navy. What
gave her a profound satisfaction in the midst of her
unhappiness was the thought that now, without leav-
ing Rodmoor, she could, if Rachel's jealousy or what-
ever it was, became intolerable, secure some small, sepa-
rate lodging for herself and her sister.
Linda even, now her organ-playing had advanced so
far, might possibly be able to earn something. There
were perhaps churches in INIundham willing to pay for
such assistance if the difficulty of getting over there on
Sundays when the trains were few, could in some way
be surmounted. At any rate, she felt, she had made a
move in the right direction. For the present, living at
Dyke House, she would be able to save every penny Miss
124 RODMOOR
Foiitifcx gave her, and the sense of even this rela-
tive independence would strengthen her hand and af-
ford her a sort of vantage-ground whatever happened
in the future.
She was still standing in front of the confectioner's
window when she heard a well-known voice behind her
and, turning quickly round, found herself face to face
with Fingal Raughty. The Doctor looked at her with
tender solicitude.
" Feeling the heat ? " he said, retaining her fingers in
his own and stroking them as one might stroke the jDetals
of a rare orchid.
She smiled affectionately into his eyes and thought
how strange an irony it was that every one, except the
person she cared most for, should treat her thus con-
siderately.
" Come," the Doctor said, " now I've got you I'm not
going to let you go. You must see my rooms ! You
promised you would, you know."
She hadn't the heart to refuse him and together they
walked up the street till they came to the tiny red-
brick house which the Doctor shared with the family of a
Mundham bank-clerk. He opened the door and led her
upstairs.
" All this floor is mine," he explained. " There's
where I see my patients, and here," he led her into the
room looking out on the street, " here's my study."
Nance was for the moment inclined to smile at the
use of the word " study " as applied to any room in
Rodmoor High Street, but when she looked round at
walls literally lined with books and at tables and chairs
covered with books, some of them obviously rare and
valuable, she felt she had not quite done justice to the
PRIEST AND DOCTOR 12.5
Doctor's taste. He fluttered round her now with a liun-
drcd delicate attentions, made her remove her hat and
gloves and finally placed her in a large comfortable arm-
chair close to the open window. lie pulled one of the
green blinds down a little way to soften the stream of
sunshine and, rushing to his book-case, snatched at a
large thin volume which stood with others of the same
kind on the lowest shelf. This he dusted carefully with
his sleeve and laid gently upon her lap.
" I think you'll like it," he murmured. " It's of no
value as an edition, but it's in his best style. I suppose
Miss Doorm has all the old masters up at Dyke House
bound in morocco and vellum? Or has she only county
histories and maps? "
While his visitor turned over the pages of the work
in question, her golden head bent low and her lips
smiling, the doctor began piling up more books, one on
the top of another, at her side.
" Apuleius ! — he's a strange old fellow, not without
interest, but you know him, of course? Petronius Ar-
biter ! you had better not read the text but the illustra-
tions may amuse you. William Blake! There are
some drawings here which have a certain resemblance
to — to one or two people we know ! Bewick ! Oh,
you'll enjoy this, if you don't know it. I've got the
other volume, too. You mustn't look at all the
vignettes but some of them will please you."
"But — Fingal — " the girl protested, lifting her
head from Pope's Rape of the Lock illustrated by Au-
brey Beardsley — "what are yon going to do? I feel
as if you were preparing me for a voyage. I'd sooner
talk to you than look at any books."
I'll be back in a moment," he said, throwing at her
((
126 RODMOOR
a nervous and rather harassed look, " I must wash my
hands."
He hurried precipitously from the room and Nance,
lifting her eyebrows and shrugging her shoulders, re-
turned to the " Rape of the Lock."
The doctor's bathroom was situated, it appeared, in
the immediate vicinity of the study. Nance was con-
scious of the turning of what sounded like innumerable
taps and of a rush of mighty waters.
" Is the dear man going to have a bath? " she said to
herself, glancing at the clock on the chimney-piece. If
her conjecture was right. Dr. Raughty took a long
while getting ready for his singularly timed ablution for
she heard him running backwards and forwards in the
bathroom like a mouse in a cage. She uttered a little
sigh and, laying the " Rape of the Lock " on the top
of " Bewick," looked wearily out of the window, her
thoughts returning to Sorio and the event of the preced-
ing evening.
Quite ten minutes elapsed before her host returned.
He returned in radiant spirits but all that was visible
to the eye as the result of his prolonged toilet was a
certain smoothness in the lock of hair which fell across
his forehead and a certain heightening of the colour of
his cheeks. This latter change was obviously produced
by vigorous rubbing, not by the application of any
cosmetic.
He drew a chair close to her side and ignored with
infinite kindness the fact that his pile of books lay un-
touched where he had placed them.
" Your neck is just like a column of white marble,"
he said. " Are your arms the same — I mean are they
as white — under this ? "
PRIEST AND DOCTOR 127
Very gently and using his hands as if they belonged
to someone else, he began rolling up the sleeve of her
summer frock. Nance was sufficiently young to be
pleased at his admiration and sufficiently experienced
not to be shocked at his audacity. She let him turn the
sleeve quite far back and smiled sadly to herself as she
saw how admirably its freshly starched material showed
off the delicacy and softness of the arm thus displayed.
She was not even surprised or annoyed when she found
that the Doctor, having touched several times with the
tips of his fingers the curve of her elbow, possessed him-
self of her hand and tenderly retained it. She con-
tinued to look wistfully and dreamily out of the window,
her lips smiling but her heart weary, thinking once more
what an ironic and bitter commentary it was on the
little ways of the world that amorousness of this sort —
gentle and delicate though it might be — was all that
was offered her in place of what she was losing.
" You ought to be running barefooted and full of
excellent joy," the voice of Dr. Raughty murmured,
" along the sands to-day. You ought to be paddling in
the sea with your skirts pinned round youT waist !
Why don't you let me take you down there? "
She shook her head, turning her face towards him and
releasing her fingers.
" I must get back now," she remarked, looking him
straight in the eyes, " so please give me my things."
He meekly obeyed her and she put on her hat and
gloves. As they were going downstairs, she in front of
him, Nance had a remote consciousness that Dr.
Raughty murmured something in which she caught
Adrian's name. She let this pass, however, and gave
him her hand gratefully as he opened the door for her.
128 RODMOOR
" Mayn't I even see you home? " he asked.
Once more she shook her head. She felt that her
nerves, just then, had had enough of playful tender-
ness.
" Good-bye ! " she cried, leaving him on his thresh-
old.
She cast a wistful glance at Baltazar's cottage as she
crossed the green.
" Oh, Adrian, Adrian," she moaned, " I'd sooner be
beaten by you than loved by all the rest of the world ! "
It was with a slow and heavy step that Dr. Raughty
ascended his little staircase after he had watched her
disappear. Entering his room he approached the pile
of books left beside her chair and began transporting
them, one by one, to their places in the shelves.
" A sweet creature," he murmured to himself as he
did this, " a sweet creature ! May ten thousand cart-
loads of hornified devils carry that damned Sorio into
the pit of Hell!"
X
LOW TIDE
NANCE was so absorbed, for several days after
this, in making her final arrangements with
the dressmaker and getting into touch with
the work required of her that she was able to keep her
nerves in quite reasonable control. She met Sorio
more than once during this time and was more success-
ful than she had dared to hope in the effort of sup-
pressing her jealous passion. Her feelings did not re-
main, she admitted that to herself sadh' enough, on the
sublime platonic level indicated by Mr. Traherne, but
as long as she made no overt reference to Philippa nor
allowed her intercourse with her friend to be poisoned
by her wounded pride, she felt she had not departed
far from the priest's high doctrine.
It was from Sorio himself, however, that she learned
at last of a new and alarming turn of events, calculated
to upset all her plans. This was nothing less than that
her fatal presentiment in the churchyard had fulfilled
itself and that Brand and Linda were secretly meeting.
Sorio seemed surprised at the tragic way she received
this news and she was equally indignant at his equanim-
ity over it. The thing that made it worse to her was
her deep-rooted suspicion that Rachel Doorm was im-
plicated. Adrian laughed when she spoke of this.
" What did you expect? " he said. " Your charming
friend's an old crony of the Renshaws and nothing
would please her better than to see Linda in trouble.
129
130 RODMOOR
She probably arranges their meetings for them. She
has the look of a person who'd do that."
They were walking together along the Mundham road
when this conversation took place. It was then about
three o'clock and Nance remembered with a sudden
sinking of her heart how cheerfully both of her com-
panions had encouraged her to make this particular
excursion. She was to walk with Sorio to Mundham
and return late in the evening by train.
" I shall go back," she cried, standing still and look-
ing at him with wild eyes. " This is too horrible !
They must have plotted for me to be out of the way.
How could Linda do it.'' But she's no more idea than a
little bird in the hedge what danger she's in."
Sorio shrugged his shoulders.
" You can't go back now," he protested. " We're
more than two miles away from the bridge. Besides,
what's the use.'' You can't do anything. You can't
stop it."
Nance looked at him with flashing eyes.
" I don't understand what you mean, Adrian. She's
in danger. Linda's in danger. Of course I shall go.
I'm not afraid of Brand."
She glanced across the wide expanse of fens. On
the southern side of the road, as she looked back, the
park trees of Oakguard stood out against the sky and
nearer, on the northern side, the gables of Dyke House
itself rose above the bank of the river.
" Oh, my dear, my dear," she cried distractedly, " I
must get back to them ! I must ! I must ! Look —
there's our house ! You can see its roof ! There's
some way — surely — without going right back to the
bridge.'' There must be some way.'
j>
LOW TIDE 131
She dragged him to the side of tlie road. A deep
black ditch, bordered by reeds, intersected the meadow
and beyond this was the Loon. A small wooden en-
closure, isolated and forlorn, lay just inside the field
and from within its barrier an enormous drab-coloured
sow surveyed them disconsolately, uttering a lamen-
table squeal and resting its front feet upon the lower
bar of its prison, while its great, many-nippled belly
swung under it, plain to their view. Their presence
as they stood in a low gap of the hedge tantalized the
sow and it uttered more and more discordant sounds.
It was like an angry impersonation of fecundity, mock-
ing Nance's agitation.
" Nothing short of wading up to your waist," said
Sorio, surveying the scene, " would get you across that
ditch, and nothing short of swimming would get you
over the river."
Angry tears came into Nance's eyes. " I would do
it," she gasped, " I would do it if I were a man."
Sorio made a humorous grimace and nodded in the
direction of the sow.
"What's your opinion about it — eh, my beauty.?"
At that moment there came the sound of a trotting
horse.
" Here's something," he added, " that may help you
if you're bent on going."
They returned to the road and the vehicle soon ap-
proached, showing itself, as it came near, to be the
little pony-cart of Dr. Raughty. The Doctor proved,
as may be imagined, more than willing to give Nance
a lift. She declared she was tired but wouldn't ask
him to take her further than the village.
" I'll take you wherever you wish," said Fingal
132 RODMOOR
Raught}', giving a nervous little cough and scrambling
down to help her in.
" Ah ! I forgot ! Excuse me one minute. Hold the
pony, please. I promised to get some water-mint for
Mrs. Sodderly."
He ran hurriedly into the field and Nance, sitting in
the cart, looked helplessly at Sorio who, making a ges-
ture as if all the world had gone mad, proceeded to
stroke the pony's forehead. They waited patiently and
the Doctor let them wait. They could see him through
the gap in the hedge running hither and thither and
every now and then stooping down and fumbling in the
grass. He seemed entirely oblivious of their discom-
fort.
" This water-mint business," muttered Sorio, " is
worse than the shrew-mouse hunt. I suppose he col-
lects groundsel and feverfew for all the old women in
Rodmoor."
Nance soon reached the limit of her patience. " Dr.
Raughty ! " she cried, and then in feminine desperation,
" Fingal ! Fingal ! " she shouted.
The Doctor came hurrying back at that and to
Sorio's astonishment it appeared he had secured his
desired plants. As he clambered up into the little cart
a delicious aromatic fragrance diffused itself around
Nance.
" I've found them all right," he said. " They're un-
der my hat. Sorry I've only got room for one of you.
Get on, Elizabeth ! "
They drove off, Sorio making a final, Pilate-like ges-
ture of complete irresponsibility.
" A noble creature — that sow," the Doctor ob-
served, glancing nervously at his companion, " a noble,
LOW TIDE 133
beautiful animal ! I expect it likes to feed on water-
melons as well as any one. Did you observe its eye?
Like a small yellow daisy ! A beautiful eye, but with
something wicked in it — didn't you think so? — some-
thing menacing and malicious."
Nance compelled herself to smile at this sally but her
hands itched to snatch the whip and hasten the pony's
speed. They arrived at last at the New Bridge and
Nance wondered whether the Doctor would be really
amenable to her wishes or whether he would press her
to visit his study again. But he drove on without
a word, over the Loon, and westward again on the
further side of it straight in the direction of Dyke
House.
As they drew near the place Nance's heart began to
beat furiously and she cast about in her mind for some
excuse to prevent her companion taking her any fur-
ther. He seemed to read her thoughts for, with almost
supernatural tact, he drew up when they were within a
few hundred yards of the garden gate.
" I won't come in if you don't mind," he said. " I
have several patients to see before supper and I want
to take Mrs. Sodderly her water-mint."
Nance jumped quickly out of the cart and thanked
him profusely.
" You're looking dreadfully white," he remarked, as
he bade her good-b3'e. " Oh, wait a moment, I must
give you a few of these."
He carefully removed his hat and once more the aro-
matic odour spread itself on the air.
"There!" he said, handing her two or three damp-
rooted stems with purplish-green leaves. She took
them mechanically and was still holding them in her
134 RODMOOR
hands when she arrived with pale lips and drawn, white
face, at the entrance to the Doorm dwelling.
All was quiet in the garden and not a sound of any
living thing issued from the house. With miserable
uncertainty she advanced to the door, catching sight,
as she did so, of her own garden tools left lying on the
weedy border and some newly planted and now sadly
drooping verbenas fading by their side. She blamed
herself even at that moment for having, in her excite-
ment at going to meet Sorio, forgotten to water these
things. She resolved — at the back of her mind —
that she would pull up every weed in the place before
she had done with it.
Never before had she realized the peculiar desolation
of Dyke House. With its closed windows and smoke-
less chimneys it looked as if it might have been deserted
for a hundred years. She entered and standing in the
empty hall listened intently. Not a sound ! Except
for a remote ticking and the buzzing of a blue bottle fly
in the parlour windows, all was hushed as the inside
of a tomb. There came over her as she stood there
an indescribable sense of loneliness. She felt as though
all the inhabitants of the earth had been annihilated
and she only left — she and the brainless ticking of
clocks in forsaken houses.
She ran hurriedly up the staircase and entered the
room she shared with Linda. The child's neatly made
little bed with the embroidered night-dress cover lying
on the pillow, struck her with a passion of maternal
feeling.
" My darling ! My darling ! " she cried aloud.
" It's all my fault ! It's all my fault ! "
She moved to the window and looked out. In a mo-
LOW TIDE 135
nient her hands clasped tightly the wooden sash and
she leaned forward with motionless intensity. The un-
interrupted expanse of that level landscape lent itself
to her quick vision. She made out, clearly and instan-
taneously, a situation that set her trembling from
head to foot. In one rapid moment she took it in and
in another moment she was prepared for swift action.
Moored on the further side of the river was a small
boat and in the boat, sitting with his forehead bowed
upon his hands, was Brand Renshaw. His head was
bare and the afternoon sun shining upon it made it
look red as blood. On the further side of the Mund-
ham road — the very road she had so recently traversed
— she could see the figure of a girl, unmistakably her
sister — advancing quickly and furtively towards the
shelter of a thin line of pine trees, the most western
extremity of the Oakguard woods. The man in the
boat could see nothing of this. Even if he rose to his
feet he could see nothing. The river bank was too
high. For the same reason the girl crossing the fields
could see nothing of the man in the boat. Nance alone,
from her position at the window, was in complete com-
mand of both of them. She drew back a little into the
room lest by chance Brand should look up and catch
sight of her. What a fortunate thing she had entered
so quietly ! They were taking every precaution, these
two ! The man was evidently intending to remain where
he was till the girl was well concealed among the trees.
Rachel Doorm, it seemed, had taken herself off to leave
them to their own devices but it was clear that Brand
preferred an assignation in his own park to risking an
entrance to Dyke House in the absence of its mistress.
For that, at any rate, Nance was devoutly thankful.
136 RODMOOR
Watchiiiff Linda's movements until she saw her dis-
appear beneath the pines, Nance hurried down the
stairs and out into the garden. She realized clearly
what she had to do. She had to make her way to her
sister before Brand got wind she was there at all.
She knew enough of the Renshaw family to know that
if she were to call out to him across the river he would
simply laugh at her. On the other hand if he got the
least idea she were so near he would anticipate events
and hasten off at once to Linda.
But how on earth could she herself reach the girl?
The Loon flowed mercilessly between them. One thing
she had not failed to remark as she looked at Brand in
his little sea boat and that was that the tide was now
running very low. Sorio had been either mistaken or
treacherous when he assured her it was at its height.
It must have been falling even then.
She let herself noiselessly out of the gate and stood
for a moment contemplating the river bank. No,
Brand could not possibly see her. Without further
hesitation she left the path and moved cautiously,
ankle-deep in grass, to where the Loon made a sharp
turn to the left. She had a momentary panic as she
crawled on hands and knees up the embankment. No,
even here, as long as she did not stand upright, she was
invisible from the boat. Descending on the further
side she slipped down to the brink of the river. The
Loon was low indeed. Only a narrow strip of rapidly
moving water flowed in the centre of the channel. On
either side, glittering in the sun, sloped slimy banks of
mud.
Her face was flushed now and through her parted
lips the breath came heavily, in excited gasps.
LOW TIDE 137
" Linda — little Linda ! " she murmured, " it's my
fault — all my fault!"
With one nervous look at the river she sank down on
the sun-baked mud and took off her shoes and stock-
ings. Then, thrusting the stockings inside the shoes
and tying the laces of these latter together, she pulled
up her skirts and secured them round her waist. As
she did this she peered apprehensively round her. But
she was quite alone and with another shuddering glance
at the tide she picked up her shoes and began advancing
into the slippery mud. She staggered a little at first
and her feet sank deep into the slime but as soon as she
was actually in the water she walked more easily, feel-
ing a surer footing. The Loon swirled by her, sending
a chill of cold through her bare white limbs. The
water was soon high above her knees and she was hardly
a quarter of the way across ! Her heart beat miserably
now and the flush died from her cheeks. It came across
her mind like an ice-cold hand upon her throat, how
dreadful it would be to be swept off her feet and carried
down that tide — down to the Rodmoor harbour and
out to sea — dead and tangled in weeds — with wide-
open staring eyes and the water pouring in and out
of her mouth. Nothing short of her desperate ma-
ternal instinct, intensified to frenzy by the thought
that she was responsible for Linda's danger, could have
impelled her to press on. The tide was up to her waist
now and all her clothes were drenched but still she had
not reached the middle of the current.
It was when, taking a step further, she sank as deep
as her arm-pits, that she wavered in earnest and a ter-
rible temptation took her to turn and give it up.
" Perhaps, after all," she thought, " Brand has no
138 RODMOOR
evil intentions. Perhaps — who can tell ? — he is gen-
uinely in love with her."
But even as she hesitated, looking with white face
up and down the swirling stream, she knew that this
reasoning was treacherous. She had heard nothing
but evil of Brand's ways with women ever since she came
to Rodraoor. And why should he treat her sister bet-
ter than the rest?
Suddenly, without any effort of her own, she seemed
to visualize with extraordinary clearness a certain look
with which, long ago, when she was quite a child, Linda
had appealed to her for protection. A passion of ma-
ternal remorse made her heart suddenly strong and
she plunged recklessly forward. For one moment she
lost her footing and in the struggle to recover herself
the tide swept over her shoulders. But that was the
worst. After that she waded steadily forward till she
reached the further side.
Dripping from head to foot she pulled on her shoes,
wrung as much of the water as she could out of her
drenched skirts and shook them down over her knees.
Then she scrambled up the bank, glanced round to make
certain she was still unseen and set off through the fields.
She could not help smiling to herself when she reached
the Mundham high-road and fled quickly across it to
think how amazed Sorio would have been had he seen
her just then! But neither Sorio nor any one else
was in sight and leaving behind her the trail of wet
shoes in the hot road dust, she ran, more rapidly than
ever, towards the group of ancient and dark-stemmed
pines, into the shadow of which she had seen her sister
vanish.
XI
THE SISTERS
LINDA was so astounded that she could hardly
repress a scream when, as she sat with her back
against a tree on a carpet of pine-needles,
Nance suddenly appeared before her breathless with
running. It was some moments before the elder girl
could recover her speech. She seized her sister by the
shoulders and held her at arms' length, looking wildly
into her face and panting as she struggled to find words.
" I waded," she gasped, " across the Loon — to get to
you. Oh, Linda! Oh, Linda!"
A deep flush appeared in the younger sister's cheeks
and spread itself over her neck. She gazed at Nance
with great terrified eyes.
" Across the river — " she began, and let the words
die away on her lips as she realized what this meant.
" But you're wet through — wet through ! " she cried.
*' Here ! You must wear something of mine."
With trembling fingers she loosened her own dress,
hurriedly slipped out of her skirt, flung it aside and
began to fumble at Nance's garments. With little
cries of horror as she found how completely drenched
her sister was, she pulled her into the deeper shadow of
the trees and forced her to take off everything.
" How beautiful you look, my dear," she cried,
searching as a child might have done for any excuse to
delay the impending judgment. Nance, even in the re-
139
140 RODMOOR
action from her anxiety, could not be quite indifferent
to the naivete of this appeal and she found herself ac-
tually laughing presently as with her arms stretched
liigh above her head and her fingers clinging to a
resinous pine branch, she let her sister chafe her body
back to warmth.
" Look ! I'll finish you off with ferns ! " cried the
younger girl, and plucking a handful of new-grown
bracken she began rubbing her vigorously with its sweet-
scented fronds.
" Oh, you do look lovely ! " she cried once more, sur-
veying her from head to foot. " Do let me take down
your hair ! You'd look like — oh, I don't know what ! "
" I wish Adrian could see you," she added. This
last remark was a most unlucky blunder on Linda's
part. It had two unfortunate effects. It brought
back to Nance's mind her own deep-rooted trouble and
it restored all her recent dread as to her sister's des-
tiny.
" Give me something to put on," she said sharply.
" We must be getting away from here."
Linda promptly stripped herself of yet more gar-
ments and after a friendly contest as to which of them
should wear the dry skirt they were ready to emerge
from their hiding-place. Nance fancied that all her
difficulties for that day were over. She was never more
mistaken.
They had advanced about half a mile towards the
park, keeping tacitly within the shadow of the pines
when suddenly Linda, who was carrying her sister's
wet clothes, dropped the bundle with a quick cry and
stood, stone-still, gazing across the fields. Nance
looked in the direction of her gaze and understood in
THE STSTEKS 141
a moment what was the matter. There, walking hastily
towards the spot they had recently quitted — was the
figure of a man.
Evidently this was the appointed hour and Brand
was keeping his tryst. Nance seized her sister's hand
and pulled her back into the shadow. Linda's eyes had
grown large and bright. She struggled to release her-
self.
"What are you doing, Nance.''" she cried. "Let
me go! Don't you see he wants me? "
The elder sister's grasp tightened.
" ]My dear, my dear," she pleaded, " this is madness !
Linda, Linda, my darling, listen to me. I can't let you
go on with this. You've no idea what it means.
You've no idea what sort of a man that is."
The young girl only struggled the more violently to
free herself. She was like a thing possessed. Her
eyes glittered and her lips trembled. A deep red spot
appeared on each of her checks.
" Linda, child ! My own Linda ! " cried Nance, des-
perately snatching at the girl's other wrist and lean-
ing back, panting against the trunk of a pine.
" What has come to you ? I don't know 3'ou like
this. I can't, I can't let you go."
" He wants me," the girl repeated, still making fran-
tic efforts to release herself. " I tell you he wants me!
He'll hate me if I don't go to him."
Her fragile arms seemed endowed with supernatural
strength. She wrenched one wrist free and tore des-
perately at the hand that held the other.
" Linda ! Linda ! " her sister wailed, " are you out
of your mind? "
The unhappy child actually succeeded at last in free-
142 RODMOOR
ing herself and sprang away towards the open. Nance
flung herself after her and, seizing her in her arms, half-
dragged her, half-carried her, back to where the trees
grew thick. But even there the struggle continued.
The girl kept gasping out, " He loves me, I tell you !
He loves me ! " and with every repetition of this cry
she fought fiercely to extricate herself from the other's
embrace. While this went on the wind, which had been
gusty all the afternoon, began to increase in violence,
blowing from the north and making the branches of the
pines creak and mutter over their heads. A heavy
bank of clouds covered the sun and the air grew colder.
Nance felt her strength weakening. Was fate indeed
going to compel her to give up, after all she had en-
dured.''
She twined her arms round her sister's body and the
two girls swayed back and forwards over the dry, sweet-
scented pine-needles. Their scantily-clothed limbs were
locked tightly together and, as they struggled, their
breasts heaved and their hearts beat in desperate reci-
procity.
" Let me go ! I hate you ! I hate you ! " gasped
Linda, and at that moment, stumbling over a moss-
covered root, they fell together on the ground.
The shock of the fall and the strain of the struggle
threw the younger girl into something like a fit of
hysteria. She began screaming and Nance, fearful
lest the sound should reach Brand's ears, put her hand
over the child's mouth. The precaution was unneces-
sary. The wind had increased now to such a pitch
that through the moaning branches and rustling foliage
nothing could be heard outside the limits of the wood.
" I hate you ! I hate you ! " shrieked Linda, biting
THE SISTERS 143
in her frenzy at the hand which was pressed against her
mouth. Nance's nerves had reached the breaking point.
" Won't you help me, God? " she cried out.
Suddenly Linda's violence subsided. Two or three
shuddering spasms passed through her body and her
lips turned white. Nance released her hold and rose
to her feet. The child's head fell back upon the ground
and her eyes closed. Nance watched her with fearful
apprehension. Had she hurt her heart in their strug-
gle? Was she dying? But the girl did not even lose
consciousness. She remained perfectly still for several
minutes and then, opening her eyes, threw upon her sis-
ter a look of tragic reproach.
" You've won," she whispered faintl3\ " You're too
strong for me. But I'll never forgive you for this —
never — never — never ! "
Once more she closed her eyes and lay still. Nance,
kneeling by her side, tried to take one of her hands
but the girl drew it away.
" Yes, you've won," she repeated, fixing upon her sis-
ter's face a look of helpless hatred. " And shall I tell
you why you've done this ? Shall I tell you w hy you've
stopped my going to him? " she went on, in a low ex-
hausted voice. " You've done it because you're jealous
of me, because you can't make Adrian love you as you
want, because Adrian's got so fond of Philippa ! You
can't bear the idea of Brand loving me as he does —
so much more than Adrian loves >'ou ! "
Nance stared at her aghast. " Oh, Linda, my little
Linda ! " she whispered, " how can you say these terri-
ble things? My only thought, all the time, is for you."
Linda struggled feebly to her feet, refusing her sis-
ter's help.
144 RODMOOR
" I can walk," she said, and then, with a bitterness
that seemed to poison the air between them, " you
needn't be afraid of my escaping from you. He
wouldn't like me now, you've hurt me and made me
ugly."
Nance picked up her bundle of mud-stained clothes.
The smell of the river which still clung to them gave
her a sense of nausea.
" Come," she said, " we'll follow the park wall."
They moved off slowly together without further
speech and never did any hour, in either of their lives,
pass more miserably. As they came within sight of
Oakguard, Linda looked so white and exhausted that
Nance was on the point of taking her boldly in and
begging Mrs. Renshaw's help, but somehow the thought
of meeting Philippa just at that moment was more than
she was able to endure, and they dragged on towards
the village.
Emerging from the park gates and coming upon the
entrance to the green, Nance became aware that it
would be out of the question to make Linda walk any
further and, after a second's hesitation, she led her
across the grass and under the sycamores to Baltazar's
cottage.
The door was opened by Mr. Stork himself. He
started back in astonishment at the sight of their two
figures pale and shivering in the wind. He led them
into his sitting-room and at once proceeded to light the
fire. He wrapped warm rugs round them both and
made them some tea. All this he did without asking
them any questions, treating the whole affair as if it
were a thing of quite natural occurrence. The warmth
of the fire and the pleasant taste of the epicure's tea
THE SISTERS 145
restored Nance, at any rate, to some degree of com-
fort. She explained that they had walked too far and
that she had tried to cross the river to get help for her
sister. Linda said hardly anything but gazed despair-
ingly at the picture of the Ambassador's secretary.
The young Venetian seemed to answer her look and
Baltazar, always avid of these occult sympathies,
watched this spiritual encounter with sly amusement.
He had wrapped an especially brilliant oriental rug
round the younger girl and the contrast between its
rich colours and the fragile beauty of the face above
them struck him very pleasantly.
In his heart he shrewdly guessed that some trouble
connected with Brand was at the bottom of this and the
suspicion that she had been interfering with her sister's
love affair did not diminish the prejudice he had already
begun to cherish against Nance. Stork was consti-
tutionally immune from susceptibility to feminine
charm and the natural little jests and gaieties
with which the poor girl tried to " carry off " a suffi-
ciently embarrassing situation only irritated him the
more.
" Why must they always play their tricks and be
pretty and witty.''" he thought. "Except when one
wants to make love to them they ought to sit still."
And with a malicious desire to annoy Nance he began
making much of Linda, persuading her to lie down on
the sofa and wrapping an exquisite cashmere shawl
round her feet.
To test the truth of his surmise as to the cause of
their predicament, he unexpectedly brought in Brand's
name.
" Our friend Adrian," he remarked, " refuses to al-
146 RODMOOR
low that Mr. Renshaw's a handsome man. What do
you ladies think about that ? "
His device met with instant success. Linda turned
crimson and Nance made a gesture as if to stop him.
" Ha ! Ha ! " he laughed to himself, " so that's how
the wind blows. Our little sister must be allowed no
kind of fun, though we ourselves may flirt with the
whole village."
He continued to pay innumerable attentions to Linda.
Professing that he wished to tell her fortune he drew
his chair to her side and began a long rigamarole about
heart lines and life lines and dark men and fair men.
Nance simply moved closer to the fire while this went
on and warmed her hands at its blaze.
" I must ask him to fetch us a trap from the Inn,"
she thought. " I wish Adrian would come. I wonder
if he will, before we go."
Partly by reason of the fact that he had himself
arranged her drapery and partly because of a touch
of something in the child's face which reminded him of
certain pictures of Pintericchio, Baltazar began to feel
tenderer towards Linda than he had done for years
towards any feminine creature. This amused him im-
mensely and he gave the tenuous emotion full rein. But
it irritated him' that he couldn't really vex his little
protege's sister.
" I expect," he said, replacing Linda's white fingers
upon the scarlet rug, " I expect. Miss Herrick, you're
beginning to feel the effects of our peculiar society.
Yes, that's my Venetian boy, Flambard " — this was ad-
dressed to Linda — "isn't he delicious? Wouldn't you
like to have him for a lover? — for Rodmoor is a rather
curious place. It's a disintegrating place, you know,
THE SISTERS 147
a place where one loses one's identity und forgets the
rules. Of course it suits me admirably because I never
consider rules, but you — I should think — must find
it somewhat disturbing? Fingal maintains there's a
definite physiological cause for the way people behave
here. For we all behave very badly, you know. Miss
Herrick. He says it's the effect of the North Sea. He
says all the old families that live by the North Sea get
queer in time, — take to drink, I mean, or something of
that sort. It's an interesting idea, isn't it? But I
suppose that sort of thing doesn't appeal to you? You
take — what do you call it? — a more serious view of
life."
Nance turned round towards him wearily.
" If Adrian doesn't come in a minute or two," she
thought, " I shall ask him to get a trap for us, or I
shall go to Dr. Raughty."
" It's an odd thing," Baltazar continued, lighting
a cigarette and walking up and down the room, " how
quickly I know whether people are serious or not. It
must be something in their faces. Linda, now " — he
looked caressingly at the figure on the sofa — " is ob-
viously never serious. She's like me. I saw that in
her hand. She's destined to go through life as I do,
playing on the surface like a dragon-fly on a pond."
The young girl answered his look with a soft but
rather puzzled smile, and once more he sat down by her
side and renewed his fortune-telling. His fingers, as he
held her hand, looked almost as slender as her own and
his face, as Nance saw it in profile, had a subtle delicacy
of outline that made her think of Philippa. There was,
to the mind of the elder girl, a refined inhumanity about
every gesture he made and every word he spoke which
148 RODMOOR
filled her with aversion. The contours of his face were
exquisitely moulded and his round small head covered
with tight fair curls was supported on a neck as soft
and white as a woman's ; but his eyes, coloured like
some glaucous sea plant, were to the girl's thinking
extraordinarily sinister. She could not help a swift
mental comparison between Baltazar's attitude as he
leaned over Linda and that of Dr. Raughty when,
on various occasions, that honest man had made play-
ful love to herself. It was hard to define the difference
but, as she watched Baltazar she came to the conclusion
that there was a soul of genuine affectionateness in the
doctor's amorous advances which made them harmless
as compared with this other's.
Linda, however, was evidently very pleased and flat-
tered. She lay with her head thrown back and a smile
of languid contentment. She did not even make an
attempt to draw away her hand when the fortune-telling
was over. Nance resolved that she would wait five min-
utes more by their host's elegant French time-piece and
then, if Adrian had not come, she would make Mr. Stork
fetch them a conveyance. It came over her that there
was something morbid and subtly unnatural about the
way Baltazar was treating Linda and yet she could
not put her finger upon what was wrong. She felt,
however, by a profound instinct, an instinct which she
could not analyse, that nothing that Brand Renshaw
could possibly do — even were he the unscrupulous se-
ducer she suspected him of being — could be as dan-
gerous for the peace of her sister's mind as what she
was now undergoing. With Brand there was quite
simply a strong magnetic attraction, formidable and
overpowering, and that was all, but she trembled to
THE SISTERS 149
think what elements of complicated morbidity Baltazar's
overtures were capable of arousing.
" Look," he said presently, " Flambard's watching
us! I believe he's jealous of me because of you, or of
you because of me. I don't believe he's ever seen any
one so near being his rival as you are ! I think you
must have something in you that he understands. Per-
haps you're a re-incarnation of one of his Venetians !
Don't you think, Miss Herrick," and he turned urbanely
to Nance, " she's got something that suggests Venice
in her as she lies there — with that smile.''"
The languorous glance of secret triumph which Linda
at that moment threw upon her sister was more than
Nance could endure.
" Do you mind getting us a trap of some sort at the
Admiral's Head.'' " she said brusquely, rising from her
seat.
Baltazar assented at once with courteous and even
effusive politeness and left the room. As soon as he
was gone, Nance moved to Linda's side.
" Little one," she said, with trembling lips, " I seem
not to know you to-day. You're not my Linda at all."
The child's face stiffened spasmodically and her whole
expression hardened. She fixed her gaze on the am-
biguous Flambard and made no answer.
" Linda, darling — I'm only thinking all the time of
you," pleaded Nance, putting out her hand.
A gleam of positive hatred illuminated the child's
eyes. She suddenly snatched at the proffered hand
and surveyed it vindictively.
" I can see where I bit you just now. I'm glad I
did ! " she cried, and once more she set herself to stare
at Flambard.
150 RODMOOR
Nance went over to the fire-place and sat down. But
something seemed to impel Linda to strike her again.
" You thought you were going to have every one in
Rodmoor to yourself, didn't you? " she said. " You
thought you'd have Adrian and Dr. Raughty and Mr.
Traherne and everybody. You never thought any one
would begin liking me ! "
Nance looked at her in sheer terrified astonishment.
•Certainly the influence of Baltazar was making itself
felt.
" You brought me here," Linda went on. " I didn't
want to come and you knew I didri't. Now — as he
says, we must make the best of it."
The phrase " and you knew I didn't " went through
Nance's heart like a poisoned dagger. Yes, she had
]{nown ! She had tried to put the thing far from her
— to throw the responsibility for it upon her reluctance
to hurt Rachel. But she had known. And now her
punishment was beginning. She bowed her head upon
her hands and covered her face.
" You came," the girl's voice went on, " because you
hated leaving Adrian. But Adrian doesn't want you
any more now. He wants Philippa. Do you know,
Nance, I believe he'd marry Philippa, if he could — if
Brand would let him ! "
The hands that hid Nance's face trembled. She
longed to run away and sob her heart out. She had
thought she was at the bottom of all possible misery.
She had never expected this. Linda, as if drawing
inspiration for the suffering she inflicted, continued to
look Flambard in the eyes.
" Brand told me Philippa meets Adrian every night
in the park. He said he spied on them once and found
THE SISTERS 151
them kissing each other. He said they were leaning
against one of the oak trees and Adrian bent her head
back against the trunk and kissed her like that. He
showed me just how he did it. And he made me laugh
like anything afterwards by something else he said.
But I don't think I'll tell you that — unless you want
to hear very much — Do you want to hear? "
Nance, at this moment, lifted up her head. She had
a look in her eyes that nothing except the inexhaustible
pitilessness of a woman thwarted in her passion could
have endured without being melted.
" Are you trying to kill me, Linda? " she murmured.
Her sister gave her one quick glance and looked
away again at Flambard. She remained silent after
that, wliile the French clock ticked out the seconds
with a jocular malignity.
The wind, rising steadily, swept large drops of rain
against the window and the noise of the waves which it
brought with it sounded louder and clearer than before
as if the sea itself had advanced several leagues across
the land since first they entered the house.
XII
HAMISH TRAHERNE
NANCE said nothing to Rachel Doorm on the
night they returned, driven home by the land-
lord of the Admiral's Head. What Rachel
feared, or what she imagined, as the sisters entered the
house in their thin attire carrying the bundle of
drenched clothes, it was impossible to surmise. She
occupied herself with lighting a fire in their room and
while they undressed she brought them up their sup-
per with her own hands. It was a wretched night for
both of the sisters and few were the words exchanged
between them as they ate their meal. Once in bed and
the light extinguished, it was Nance, in spite of all, who
fell asleep first. " The pangs of despised love " have
not the same corrosive poison as the sting of passion
embittered by rancour.
Nance was up early and took her breakfast alone.
She felt an irresistible need to see Mr. Traherne. She
arrived at the priest's house almost as early as she had
done on a former occasion, only this time, the day be-
ing overcast and the wind high, he received her within-
doors. She found him reading " Don Quixote " and,
without giving her time to speak, he made her listen
to the gentle and magnanimous story of the poor
knight's death.
" There's no book," he said, when he had finished,
" which so recovers my spirits as this one. Cervantes
152
HAMISTI TRAHERNE lo3
is the noblest soul of them all and the bravest. He's
the only author who never gives up his humility before
God or his pride before the Universe. He's the author
for me ! He's the author for us poor priests ! "
Mr. Traherne lit a cigarette and looked at Nance
through its smoke with a grotesque scowl of infinite
reassurance.
" Cheer up, little one ! " he said, " the spirit of the
great Cervantes is not dead in the world. God has
not deserted us. Nothing can hurt us while we hold
to Christ and defy the Devil ! "
Nance smiled at him. The conviction with which he
spoke was like a cup of refreshing water to her in a
dry desert.
" Mr. Traherne," she began, but he interrupted her
with a wave of his arm.
" My name's Hamish," he said.
" Hamish, then," she went on, smiling at the ghoul-
ish countenance before her, round which the cigarette
smoke ascended like incense about the head of an idol,
" I've more to tell you than I can say. So you must
listen and be very good to me ! "
He settled himself in his deep horse-hair chair with
one leg over the other and his ancient, deplorably-
stained cassock over both. And she poured forth the
full history of her troubles, omitting nothing — except
one or two of Linda's cruel speeches. When she had
completed her tale she surveyed him anxiously. One
terrible fear made her heart beat — the fear lest he
should tell her she must carry Linda back to London.
He seemed to read her thoughts in her eyes. " One
thing," he began, " is quite clear. You must both of
you leave Dyke House. Don't look so scared, child.
154 RODMOOR
I don't mean you must leave Rodmoor. You can't
kidnap your sister by force and nothing short of force
would get her, in her present mood, to go away with
you. But I think — I think," he added, " we could
persuade her to leave Miss Doorm."
He straightened out his legs, puckered his forehead
and pouted his thick lips.
" Have a strawberry," he said suddenly, reaching
with his hand for a plate l3'ing amid a litter of books
and papers, and stretching it out towards her. " Oh,
there are ashes on it. I'm sorry ! But the fruit's all
right. There ! keep it by you — on the floor — any-
where — and help yourself ! "
He once more subsided into his chair and frowned
thoughtfully. Nance, with a smile of infinite relief —
for had he not said that to leave Rodmoor was im-
possible? — kept the plate on her lap and began eat-
ing the fruit. She longed to blow the ashes away but
fear of hurting his feelings restrained her. She
brushed each strawberry surreptitiously with the tips
of her fingers before lifting it to her mouth.
" You're not cold, are you? " he said suddenly, " be-
cause I could light a fire."
Nance looked at the tiny grate filled with a heap of
bracken-leaves and wondered how this would be achieved.
" Oh, no ! " she said, smiling again. " I'm perfectly
warm."
a
Then, if you don't mind," he added, making the
most alarming grimace, " pull your skirt down. I can
see your ankles."
Nance hurriedly drew up her feet and tucked them
under her. " All right now? " she asked, with a faint
flush.
TIAMTSIT TRAHERNE 155
" Sorry, my dear," said Hamish Trahcrne, " but you
must remember I'm a lonely monk and ankles as pretty
as yours disturb my mind." He glared at her so hu-
morously and benevolently that Nance could not be
angry with him. There was something so boyish in
his candour that it would have seemed inhuman to
take offence.
" I believe I could think better if I had Ricoletto,"
he cried a moment later, jumping up and leaving the
room. Nance took the opportunity of blowing every
trace of cigarette-ash from her strawberry plate into
the fender. She had hardly done this and demurely
tucked herself up again in her chair when Mr. Tra-
herne re-entered the room carrying in his hands a large
white rat.
" Beautiful, isn't he? " he remarked, offering the ani-
mal for the girl to stroke. " I love him. He inspires
me with all my sermons. He pities the human race,
don't you, Ricoletto? And doesn't hate a living thing
except cats. He has a seraphic temper and no wish
to marry. Ankles are nothing to him — are they,
Ricoletto? — but he likes potatoes."
As he spoke the priest brushed aside a heap of pa-
pers and laid bare the half-gnawed skin of one of these
vegetables.
" Come, darling ! " he said, reseating himself in his
chair and placing rat and potato-skin together upon his
shoulder, "enjoy yourself and give me wisdom to de-
feat the wiles of all the devils. Devils are cats, Rico-
letto darling, great, fluffy, purring cats with eyes as
big as saucers."
Nance quietly went on eating strawberries and think-
ing to herself how strange it was that with every con-
156 RODMOOR
ceivable anxiety tugging at her heart she could feel
such a sense of peace.
" He's a papistical rat," remarked Mr. Traherne,
" he likes incense."
Once more he relapsed into profound thought and
Ricoletto's movements made the only sound in the room.
" What you want, my child," he began at last, while
the girl put her plate down on the table and hung upon
his words, " is lodgings for yourself and Linda in the
village. I know an excellent woman who'd take you in
— quite close to Miss Pontifex and not far from our
dear Raughty. In fact, she's the woman who cleans
Fingal's rooms. So that's all in her favour ! Fingal
has a genius for getting nice people about him. You
like Fingal, Nance, eh? But I know you do, and I
know," and the priest made the most outrageous grim-
ace, " I know he adores you. You're perfectly safe, let
me tell you, with Fingal, my dear ; however, he may
tease you. He's a hopeless heathen but he has a heart
of gold."
Nance nodded complete assent to the priest's words.
She smiled, however, to herself to think what a little way
this " safety " he spoke of would go if by chance her
heart were not so entirely preoccupied. She couldn't
resist the thought of how pathetically like children all
these admirable men were, both in their frailties and in
their struggles against their frailties. Her sense of
peace and security grew upon her, and with this — for
she was human — a delicate feeling of feminine power.
Mr. Traherne continued —
" Yes, you must take lodgings in the village. Eight-
een shillings a week — that was what that Pontifex
woman promised you, wasn't it? — won't be over much
HAMISH TRAHERNE 157
for two of you. But it'll keep you alive. Wait,
though, wait ! I don't see why Linda shouldn't play
for us, up here, on Sundays. I'm always having to go
round begging for some one. Often I have to be organ-
ist myself as well as priest. Yes — let her try — let
her try ! It'll help me to keep an eye on her. It'll be
a distraction for her. Yes, let her try ! I could give
her a little for doing it — not what she ought to have,
of course, but a little, enough to make her feel she was
helping you in your housekeeping. Yes," he clapped
his hands together so violently that Ricoletto scram-
bled up against his collar and clung there with his
paws. " Yes, that's what we'll do, my dear. We'll
turn your sister into a regular organist. Music's the
best charm in the world to drive away devils, isn't it,
Ricoletto.'' Better even than white rats."
Nance looked at him with immense gratitude and,
completely forgetting his instructions, altered her po-
sition to what it had been before. Mr. Traherne rose
and, turning his back to her, drummed with his fingers
on the mantelpiece while Ricoletto struggled desper-
ately to retain his balance.
A queer thought came suddenly into Nance's head
and she asked the priest why it was that there were so
many unmarried men in Rodmoor. He swung round at
that and gave her a most goblinish look, rubbing the
rat's nose as he did so, against his cheek.
" You go far, Nance, you go far with your ques-
tions. As a matter of fact, I've sometimes asked my-
self that very thing. You're quite right, you know,
perfectly right. It applies to the work-people here
as much as to the gentry. We must see what Fingal
Raughty says. He'd laugh at my explanation."
158 RODMOOR
((
What's your explanation? " enquired the girl.
" A very simple one," returned the priest. " It's the
effect of the sea. If you look at the plants which grow
here you'll understand better what I mean. But you
haven't seen the plant yet which is most of all char-
acteristic of Rodmoor. It'll be out soon and I'll show
it to you. The yellow horned poppy ! When you see
that, Nance, — and it's the devil's own flower, I can
assure you ! — you'll realize that there's something in
this place that tends to the abnormal and the perverse.
I don't say that the devil isn't active enough every-
where and I don't say that all married people are ex-
empt from his attacks. But the fact remains that the
Rodmoor air has something about it, something that
makes it difficult for those who come under its influ-
ence to remain quite simple and natural. We should
grow insane ourselves — shouldn't we, old rat ?
shouldn't we, my white beauty.'' — if it weren't that we
had the church to pray in and ' Don Quixote ' to read !
I don't want to frighten you, Nance, and I pray
earnestly that your Adrian will shake off, like King
Saul, the devil that troubles him. But Rodmoor isn't
the place to come to unless you have a double share
of sound nerves, or a bottomless fund of natural good-
ness — like our friend Fingal Raughty. It's absurd
not to recognize that human beings, like plants and
animals, are subject to all manner of physical influ-
ences. Nature can be terribly malign in her tricks
upon us. She can encourage our tendencies to morbid
evil just as she can produce the horned yellow poppy.
The only thing for us to do is to hold fast to a power
completely beyond Nature which can come in from out-
HAMISII TRAHERNE 139
side, Nance — from outside ! — and change every-
thing."
While Nance listened to Mr. Traherne's discourse
with a portion of her mind, another part of it reverted
to Linda and as soon as he paused she broke in.
" Can't we do anything, anything at all, to stop Mr.
Rcnshaw from seeing my sister.'' "
The priest sighed heavily and screwed his face into a
hundred grotesque wrinkles.
" I'll talk to him," he said. " It's what I dread do-
ing more than anything on earth, for, to tell you the
honest truth, I'm a thorough coward in these things.
But I'll talk to him. I knew you were going to ask
me to do that. I knew it directly you came here. I
said to myself as soon as I saw you, ' Hamish, my friend,
you've got to face that man again,' but I'll do it, Nance.
I'll do it. Perhaps not to-day. Yes, I'll do it to-day.
He'll be up at Oakguard this evening. I'll go after
supper. It'll be precious little supper I'll eat, Nance,
but I'll see him, I'll see him ! "
Nance showed her gratitude by giving him her hand
and looking tenderly into his eyes. It was Mr, Tra-
herne who first broke the spell and unclasped their fin-
gers.
" You're a good girl, my dear," he muttered, " a
good girl," and he led her gently to the door.
xin
DEPARTURE
AFTER her talk with Mr. Traherne, Nance went
straight to the village and visited the available
lodging. She found the place quite reasonably
adapted to her wishes and met with a genial, though
a somewhat surprised reception from the woman of the
house. It was arranged that the sisters should come
to her that very evening, their more bulky possessions
— and these were not, after all, very extensive — to
follow them on the ensuing day, as suited the conveni-
ence of the local carrier. It remained for her to se-
cure her sister's agreement to this sudden change and
to announce their departure to Rachel Doorm. The
first of these undertakings proved easier than Nance
had dared to hope.
During these morning hours Miss Doorm gave Linda
hardly a moment of peace. She persecuted her with
questions about the events of the preceding day and
betrayed such malignant curiosity as to the progress
of the love affair with Brand that she reduced the child
to a condition bordering upon hysterical prostration.
Linda finally took refuge in her own room under the
excuse of changing her dress but even here she was not
left alone. Lying on her bed, with loosened hair and
wide-open, troubled eyes fixed upon the ceiling, she
heard Rachel moving uneasily from room to room be-
low like a revengeful ghost disappointed of its prey.
160
DEPARTURE 161
The young girl put her fingers in her ears to keep this
sound away. As she did so, her glance wandered to the
window through which she could discern heavy dark
clouds racing across the sky, pursued by a pitiless wind.
She watched these clouds from where she lay and her agi-
tated mind increased the strangeness of their ominous
storm-blown shapes. Unable at last to endure the
sight of them any longer she leapt to her feet and, with
her long bare arms, pulled down the blind. To any one
seeing her from outside as she did this she must have
appeared like a hunted creature trying to shut out the
world. Flinging herself upon her bed again she pressed
her fingers once more into her ears. In crossing the
room she had heard the heavy steps of her enemy as-
cending the staircase. Conscious of the vibration of
these steps, even while she obliterated the sound they
made, the J'oung girl sat up and stared at the door.
She could see it shake as the woman, trying the handle,
found it locked against her.
Nothing is harder than to keep human ears closed
by force when the faculty of human attention is
strained to the uttermost. It was not long before she
dropped her hands and then in a moment her whole
soul concentrated itself upon listening. She heard
Miss Doorm move away and walk heavily to the end of
the passage. Then there was a long pause of deadly
silence and then, tramp — tramp — tramp, she was
back again.
" I won't unlock the door ! I won't ! I won't ! I
won't ! " muttered the girl, and as if to make certain
that her body obeyed her will she stretched herself out
stiffly and clutched the iron bars above her head. She
lay like this for some minutes, her lips parted, her eyes
162 RODMOOR
wildlj^ alert and her breast rising and falling under her
bodice.
Once more the door shook and she heard her name
pronounced in a low clear-toned voice.
" Linda ! Linda ! " the voice repeated. " Linda !
I must talk to jou ! "
Unable to endure the tension an^^ longer and find-
ing the dimness of the room more trying than the view
of the sky, the girl ran to the window and pulled up the
blind as hastily as she had pulled it down. She gazed
out, pressing her face against the pane. The clouds,
darker and more threatening than ever, followed one
another across the heavens like a huge herd of mon-
strous beasts driven by invisible herdsmen. The Loon
swirled and eddied between its banks, its waters a pale
brownish colour and here and there, floating on its sur-
face, pieces of seaweed drifted. The vast horizon of
fens, stretching away towards Mundham, looked almost
black under the sky and the tall pines of Oakguard
seemed to bow their heads as if at the approach of
some unknown menace.
The door continued to be shaken and the voice of
Rachel Doorm never ceased its appeal. Linda went
back to her bed and sat down upon it, propping her
chin on her hands. There is something about the dark-
ening of a house by day, under the weight of a threat-
ened storm, that has more of what is ominous and evil
in it than anything that can occur at night. The
" demon that walketh by noonday " draws close to us
at these times.
" Linda ! Linda ! Let me in ! I want to speak to
you," pleaded the woman. The girl rose to her feet
and, rushing to the door, unlocked it quickly. Re-
DEPARTURE 163
turning to her bed she threw herself down on her face
and remained motionless. Rachel Doorm entered and,
seating herself close to Linda's side, laid her hand upon
the girl's shoulder.
"Why haven't you got on your frock?" she mur-
mured. " Your arms must be cold as ice. Yes, so
they are ! Let me help you to dress as I used to in
the old days."
Linda drew herself away from her touch and with
a convulsive jerk of her body turned over towards the
wall.
" It's a pity you didn't think over everything," Miss
Doorm went on, " before you began this game with Mr.
Renshaw. It's begun to hurt you now, hasn't it.''
Then why don't you stop.^ Tell me that, Linda Her-
rick. Why don't you stop and refuse to see him any
more? What? You won't answer me? I'll answer
for you then. You don't stop now, you don't draw
back now, because you can't ! He's got hold of you.
You feel him even now — don't you — tugging at your
heart? Yes, you're caught, my pretty bird, you're
caught. No more tossing up of your little chin and
throwing back your head ! No more teasing this one
and that with your dainty ways — while you whistle
them all down the wind. It's you — you — that has to
come now when some one else calls, and come quickly,
too, wherever you may have run ! How do you know
he doesn't want you now? How do you know he's not
waiting for you now over there by the pines? Take
care, my girl ! Mr. Renshaw isn't a man you can play
with, as you played with those boys in London. It'll
be you who'll do the whining and crying this time. The
day's near when you'll be on your knees to him begging
164 RODMOOR
and begging for what you'll never get ! Did you think
that a chit of a child like you, just because you've got
soft hair and white skin, could keep and hold a man
like that?
" Don't say afterwards that Rachel Doorm hadn't
warned you. I say to you now, give him up, let him
go, hide yourself away from him ! I say that — but I
know very well you won't do what I say. And you
won't do it because you can't do it, because he's got
your little heart and your little body and your little
soul in the palm of his hand ! I can tell you what that
means. I know why you press your hands against
your breast and turn to the wall. I've done that in
my time and turned and tossed, long nights, and got no
comfort. And you'll turn and toss, too, and call and
call to the darkness and get no answer — just as I got
none. Why don't you leave him now, Linda, before it's
too late.f* Shall I tell you why you don't.'' Because
it's too late already ! Because he's got you for good
and all — got you forever and a day — just as some
one, no matter who, got Rachel once upon a time ! "
Her voice was interrupted by a sudden splashing of
rain against the window and the loud moaning gust of
a tremendous wind making all the casements of the
house rattle.
"Where's Nance?" cried the young girl, starting
up and leaping from the bed. " I want Nance ! I
want to tell her something ! "
At that moment there were voices below and the
sound of a vehicle driven to the rear of the house. Miss
Doorm left the room and ran down the stairs. Linda
flung on the first dress that offered itself and going to
the mirror began hastily tying up her hair. She had
DEPAKTURE 165
hardly finished when her sister entered. Nance stood
on the threshold for a moment hesitating, and looking
anxiously at the other. It was Linda who made the
first movement.
" Take me away from here," she gasped, flinging
herself into her sister's arms and embracing her pas-
sionately, " take me away from here ! "
Nance returned the embrace with ardour but her
thoughts whirled a mad dance through her brain. She
had a momentary temptation to reveal at once her new
plan and let her sister's cry have no other answer. But
her nobler instinct conquered.
" At once, at once ! My darling," she murmured.
" Yes, oh, yes, let's go at once ! I've got some money
and Mr. Traherne will send me some more. We'll take
the three o'clock train and be safe back in London
before night. Oh, my darling, my darling! I'm so
glad ! We'll begin a new life together — a new life."
At the mention of the word " London " Linda's arms
relaxed their hold and her whole body stiffened.
" No," she gasped, pushing her sister away and
pressing her hand to her side, " no, Nance dear, I can't
do it. It would kill me. I should run away from you
and come back here if I had to walk the whole way.
I won't see him. I won't ! I won't ! I won't talk to
him — I won't let him love me — but I can't go away
from here. I can't go back to London. I should get
ill and die. I should want him so much that I should
die. No, no, Nance darling, if you dragged me by
force to London I should come back the next day some-
how or another. I know I should — I feel it here —
as she said."
She kept her hand still pressed against her side and
166 RODMOOR
gazed into Nance's face with a look of helpless plead-
ing.
" We can find somewhere to live, you and I, without
going far away, somewhere where we shan't see her
any more — can't we, Nance? "
It was then, and with a clear conscience now, that
the elder girl, speaking hurriedly and softly, communi-
cated the preparations she had made and the fact that
they were free to leave Dyke House at any moment they
chose.
*' I've asked the man to put up the horse here for
the afternoon," she said, " so that we shall have time
to collect the things we want. They'll send for our
trunks to-morrow."
Linda's relief at hearing this news was pathetic to
see.
"Oh, you darling — you darling!" she cried, "I
might have known you'd save me. I might have known
it ! Oh, Nance dear, it was horrid of me to say those
things to you yesterday. I'll be good now and do what-
ever you tell me. As long as I'm not far away from
him — not too far — I won't see him, or speak to him,
or write to him ! How sweet of Mr. Traherne to let
me play the organ! And he'll pay me, too, you say.''
So that I shall be helping you and not only be a bur-
den ? Oh, my dear, what happiness, what happiness ! "
Nance left her and descended to the kitchen to help
Miss Doorm prepare their midday meal. The two
women, as they busied themselves at their task, avoided
any reference to the issue between them, and Nance
wondered if the man from the Admiral's Head, who
now sat watching their preparations and speculating
whether they intended to give him beer as well as meat.
DEPARTURE 167
liad intimated to Rachel the object of his delayed de-
parture. When the meal was ready, Linda was sum-
moned to share it and the thirsty ostler, sipping lem-
onade with a wry countenance, at a side table, was
given the privilege of hearing how three feminine per-
sons, their heads full of agitation and antipathy, could
talk and laugh and eat as if everything in the wide
world was smooth, safe, harmless and uninteresting.
When the meal was over Nance and Linda once more
retired to their room and busied themselves with se-
lecting from their modest possessions such articles as
they considered it advisable to take with them. The
rest they carefully packed away in their two leather
trunks — trunks which bore the initials " N. H." and
" L. H." and still had glued to their sides railway labels
with the word " Swanage " upon them, reminiscent of
their last seaside excursion with their father.
The afternoon slipped rapidly away and still the
threatened storm hung suspended, the rain coming and
going in fitful gusts of wind and the clouds racing
along the sky. By six o'clock it became so dark that
Nance was compelled to light candles. Their packing
had been interrupted by eager low-voiced consultation
as to how they would arrange their days when these
were, for the first time in their lives, completely at their
own disposal. No further reference had been made
between them, either to Adrian or to Mr. Renshaw.
The candles, flickering in the gusty wind, threw inter-
mittent spots of light upon the girls' figures as they
stooped over their work or bent forward, on their knees,
whispering and laughing. Not since either of them had
arrived in Rodmoor had they been quite so happy. The
relief at escaping from Dyke House lifted the atmos-
168 RODMOOR
phere about them so materially that while they spoke of
their lodging in the High Street and of the virtues of
Mrs. Raps, Nance began to feel that Adrian would,
after all, soon grow weary of Philippa and Linda be-
gan to dream that, in spite of all appearances. Brand's
attitude towards her was worthy of a man of honour.
At six o'clock they were ready and Nance went down
to announce their departure to Rachel Doorm. She
found their driver asleep by the kitchen fire and, hav-
ing roused him and told him to put his horse into the
trap, she went out to look for her mother's friend.
She found Rachel standing on the tow path gazing
gloomily at the river. She was bareheaded and the
wind, wailing round her, fluttered a wisp of her grey
hair against her forehead. Beneath this her sunken
eyes seemed devoid of all light. She turned when she
heard Nance's step, her heavy skirt flapping in the wind
as she did so, like a funereal flag.
" I see," she said, pointing at the light in the sisters'
room where the figure of Linda could be observed pass-
ing and re-passing, " I see you're taking her away. I
suppose it's because of Mr. Renshaw. May I ask —
if it's of any interest to you that I should care at all
— what you're going to do with her? She's been —
she and her mother — the curse of my life, and I fancy
she's now going to be the curse of 3'ours."
Nance wrapped herself more tightly in a cloak she
had picked up as she came out and looked unflinchingly
into the woman's haggard face.
" Yes, we're going away — both of us," she said.
*' We're going to the village."
" To live on air and sea-water ? " enquired the other
bitterly.
DEPARTURE 169
" No," rejoined Nance gently, " to live in lodgings
and to work for our living. I've got a place already
at the Pontifex shop and Mr. Traherne's going to pay
Linda for playing the organ. It'll be better like that.
I couldn't let her go on here after what happened yes-
terday."
Her voice trembled but she continued to look Miss
Doorm straight in the face.
" You were away on purpose yesterday, Rachel," she
said gravely, " so that those two might be together.
It was only some scruple, or fear, on Mr. Renshaw's
part that stopped him meeting her in the house. How
often this has happened before — his seeing her like
this — I don't know, and I don't want to know — I only
pray to God that no harm's been done. If it has been
done, the child's ruin's on our head. I cannot under-
stand you, Rachel, I cannot understand you."
Miss Doorm's haggard mouth opened as if to utter
a cry but she breathed deeply and restrained it. Her
gaunt fingers twined and untwined themselves and the
wind, blowing at her skirt, displayed the tops of her
old-fashioned boots with their worn, elastic sides.
" So she's separated us, has she.'' " she hissed. " I
thought she would. She was born for that. And it's
nothing to you that I've nursed you and cared for you
and planned for you since you were a baby.'' Noth-
ing ! Nothing at all ! She comes between us now as
her mother came before. I knew it would happen so !
I knew it would ! She's just like her mother — soft and
clinging — soft and white — and this is the end of it."
Her voice changed to a low, almost frightened tone.
" Do you realize that her mother comes to me every
night and sits looking at me with her great eyes just
170 RODMOOR
as she used to do when Linda had been rude to me in
the old days? Do you realize that she walks back-
wards and forwards outside my door when I've driven
her away? Do you realize that when I go to bed I
find her there, waiting for me, white and soft and cling-
ing?"
Her voice rose to a kind of moan and the wind car-
ried it across the empty road and tossed it over the
fields.
" And she speaks, too, Nance. She says things to
me, soft, clinging, crying things that drive me dis-
tracted. One day, she told me that only last night,
one day she's going to kiss me and never let me go —
going to kiss me with soft, pleading, terrified lips
through all eternity, kiss me just as she did once when
Linda lost my beads. You remember my beads, Nance?
Real jade, they were, with funny red streaks. I often
see them round her neck. They'll be round her neck
when she kisses me, jade, you know, my dear, with red
streaks. I shall see nothing else then, nothing else
while we lie buried together ! "
She lowered her voice to a whisper.
" It was the Captain who brought them. He brought
them over far seas. He brought them for me, do 3'ou
hear — for me ! But they're always round her neck
now, after that day."
Nance listened to this wild outburst with a set stern
face. She had always suspected that there was some-
thing desperate and morbid about Rachel's attachment
to her father but never, until this moment, had she
dreamed how far the thing went. She looked at the
woman's face now and sighed and with that sigh she
flung to the blowing wind the covenant between herself
DEPARTURE 171
and her own mother. All the girl's natural sanity and
sense of proportion were awake now and she stiffened
her nerves and hardened her heart for what she had
to do.
" Between a vow to the dead," she thought, " and the
safety of the living, there can be only one choice for
me."
" So you're going away," began Miss Doorm again.
" Well, go, my dear, go and leave me ! I shan't trouble
the earth much longer after you're gone."
She turned her face to the river and remained mo-
tionless, watching the flowing water. The heavy weight
of the threatening storm, the storm that seemed as
though some powerful earth-god, with uplifted hand,
were holding back its descent, had destroyed all natural
and normal daylight without actually plunging the
world into darkness. A strange greenish-coloured
shadow, like the shadow of water seen through water,
hung over the trees of the park and the opposite bank
of the river. The same greenish shadow, only touched
there with something darker and more mysterious,
brooded over the far fens out of which, in the remote
distance, a sort of reddish exhalation indicated the lo-
cality of the Mundham factories. The waters of the
Loon — as Rachel and Nance looked at them now —
had a dull whitish gleam, like the gleam of a dead fish's
eye. The sense of thunder in the air, though no sound
of it had yet been heard, seemed to evoke a kind of
frightened expectancy. The smaller birds had been
reduced to absolute stillness, their twitterings hushed
as if under the weight of a pall. Only a solitary
plover's scream, at rare intervals, went whirling by on
the wind.
172 RODMOOR
" Come back, come in, will you? " said Nance at last,
" and say good-bye to us, Rachel. I shall come and
see you, of course. We shall not be far away."
She stretched out her hand to help her down the
slope of the embankment. Rachel made no response
to this overture but followed her in silence. No sooner,
however, had they entered the garden and closed the
little gate behind them, than the woman fell on her
knees on the ground and caught the girl round the
waist.
" Nance, my treasure ! " she cried pitifully, " Nance,
my heart's baby ! Nance, oh, Nance, you won't leave
me like this after all these years? No, I won't let
you go! Nance, you can't mean it? You can't really
mean it? "
The wind, blowing in gusts about them, made the gate
behind them swing open on its hinges. Rachel's di-
shevelled tress of grey hair flapped like a tattered piece
of rag against the girl's side.
" Look," the woman wailed, " I pray you on my
knees not to desert me ! You don't know what you're
doing to me. You don't, Nance, you don't ! It's all
my life you're taking. Oh, my darling, won't you have
pity? You're the only thing I've got — the only thing
I love. Nance, Nance, have pity on me ! "
Nance, with tears in her eyes but her face still firm
and hard-set, tried to free herself from the hands that
held her. She tried gently and tenderly at first but
Rachel's despair made the attempt difficult. Then she
realized that this appalling tension must be brought
at all costs to an end. With a sudden, relentless jerk,
she tore herself away and rushed towards the house.
Rachel fell forward on her face, her hands clutching
DEPxVRTl^RE 173
the damp mould. Then she staggered up and raised her
hand towards the hghted window above at which Linda's
figure was clearly visible.
" It's 3^ou — it's you," she called aloud, " it's you
who've done this — who've turned my heart's darling
against me, and may you be cursed for it ! May your
love turn to poison and eat your white flesh ! May
your soul pray and pray for comfort and find none!
Never — never — never — find any ! Oh, you may
well hide yourself! But he will find you. Brand will
find you and make you pay for this ! Brand and the
sea will find you. Listen! Do you hear me? Listen!
It's crying out for you now ! "
Whether it was the sudden cessation of her voice,
intensifying the stillness, or a slight veering of the wind
to the eastward, it is certain that at that moment,
above the noise of the creaking gate and the rustling
bushes, came the sound which, of all others, seemed the
expression of Rodmoor's troubled soul. Linda her-
self may not have heard it for at that moment she was
feverishly helping Nance to pile up their belongings
in the cart. But the driver of their vehicle heard
it.
" The wind's changing," he remarked. " Can you
hear that? That's the darned sea!"
The trap carr3'ing the two sisters was already some
distance along the road when Nance turned her head
and looked back. They had blown out their candles
before leaving and the kitchen fire had died down so
that there was no reason to be surprised that no light
shone from any of the windows. Yet it was with a
cold sinking of the heart that the girl leaned forward
once more by the driver's side. She could not help
174 RODMOOR
seeing in imagination a broken figure stumbling round
the walls of that dark house, or perhaps even now stand-
ing in their dismantled room alone amid emptiness and
silence, alone amid the ghosts of the past.
XIV
BRAND RENSHAW
WHILE the sisters were taking possession of
their new abode and trying to eat — though
neither had much appetite — the supper
provided for them by Mrs. Raps, Hamish Traherne, his
cassock protected from the threatening storm by a
heavy ulster, was making his promised effort to " talk "
with the master of Oakguard. Impelled by an instinct
he could not resist, perhaps with a vague notion that
the creature's presence would sustain his courage, he
carried, curled up in an inside pocket of his cloak,
his darling Ricoletto. The rat's appetite had been un-
usually good that evening and it now slept peacefully
in its warm nest, oblivious of the beating heart of its
master. Carrying his familiar oak stick in his hand
and looking to all appearance quite as formidable as
any highwa^'man the priest made his way through the
sombre avenue of gnarled and weather-beaten trees that
led to the Renshaw mansion. He rang the bell with an
impetuous violence, the violence of a visitor whose in-
ternal trepidation mocks his exterior resolution. To
his annoyance and surprise he learnt that Mr. Ren-
shaw was spending the evening with Mr. Stork down
in the village. He asked to be allowed to see Mrs. Ren-
shaw, feeling in some obscure way suspicious of the
servant's statement and unwilling to give up his enter-
prise at the first rebuff. The lady came out at once
into the hall.
175
176 RODMOOR
" Come in, come in, Mr. Traherne," slie said, quite
eagerly. " I suppose you've already dined but you can
have dessert with us. Philippa always sits long over
dessert. She likes eating fruit better than anything
else. She's eating gooseberries to-night."
Mrs. Renshaw always had a way of detaching her-
self from her daughter and speaking of her as if she
were a strange and somewhat menacing animal with
whom destiny had compelled her to live. But the priest
refused to remove his ulster. The interest of seeing
Philippa eat gooseberries was not strong enough to
interrupt his purpose.
" Your son won't be home till late, I'm afraid? " he
said. " I particularly — yes, particularly — wanted
to see him to-night. I understand he's at the cot-
tage."
" Wait a minute," cried the lady in her hurried, low-
voiced tone. " Sit down here, won't you? I'll just
— I'll just see Philippa."
She returned to the dining-room and the priest sat
down and waited. Presently she came hurrying back
carrying in her hands a plate upon which was a bunch
of grapes.
" These are for you," she said. " Philippa won't
touch them. There ! Let me choose you out some
nice ones."
The servant had followed her and now stood like a
pompous and embarrassed policeman uncertain of his
duty. It seemed to give Mrs. Renshaw some kind of
inscrutable satisfaction to cause this embarrassment.
She sat down beside the priest and handed him the
grapes, one by one, as if he were a child.
" Brand orders these from London," she remarked,
BRAND RKNSIIAW 177
" that's why we get them now. I call it extravagance,
but he zvUl do it." She sighed heavily. " Philippa,"
she repeated, " prefers garden fruit so you mustn't
mind eating them. They'll get bad if they're not
eaten."
The servant hastened on tip-toe to the dining-room
door, peered in, and returned to his post. He looked
for all the world, thought Mr. Trahcrne, like a ruffled
and disconsolate heron. " He'll stand on one leg
soon," he said to himself.
" When do you expect your son home.'' " he enquired
again. " Perhaps I might call at the cottage and walk
back with him."
" Yes, do ! " Mrs. Renshaw cried with unexpected
eagerness. " Do call at the cottage. It'll be nice for
you to join them. They'll all be there — Mr. Sorio
and the Doctor and Brand. Yes, do go in! It'll be
a relief to me to think of vou with them. I'm sometimes
afraid that cousin Tassar encourages dear Brand to
drink too much of that stuff he likes to make. They
7C'ill put spirits into it. I'm always telling them that
lime juice would be just as nice. Yes, do go, Mr. Tra-
hcrne, and insist on having lime juice!"
The priest looked at the lady, looked at the servant
and looked at the hall door. He felt a faint scratch-
ing going on inside his cloak. Ricoletto was beginning
to wake up.
" Well, I'll go ! " he exclaimed, rising to his feet.
At that moment the figure of Philippa, exquisitely
dressed in a dark crimson gown, emerged from the din-
ing-room. She advanced slowly towards them with
more than her usual air of dramatic reserve. Mr. Tra-
}ierne noticed that her lips were even redder than her
178 RODMOOR
dress. Her e^'es looked dark and tired but they shone
with a mischievous menace. She held out her hand se-
dately and as he took it, fumbling with his ulster, " I
hope you enjoyed your grapes," she said.
" You ought to apologize to Mr. Traherne for ap-
pearing before him at all in that wild costume," re-
marked Mrs. Renshaw. " You wouldn't think she'd
been at the dentist's all day, would you.? She looks
as if she were in a grand London house, doesn't she,
just waiting to go to a ball?
" Yes, at the dentist's," Mrs. Renshaw went on,
speaking quite loudly, " at the dentist's in Mundham.
She's got an abscess under one of her teeth. It kept
her awake in the night. I think your face is still a
little swollen, dear, isn't it.'* She oughtn't to stand in
this cold hall, ought she, Mr. Traherne? And with so
much of her neck exposed. It was quite a large ab-
scess. Let me look, dear." She moved towards her
daughter, who drew hastily back.
" She won't let me look at it," she added plaintively.
" She never would, not even when she was a child."
Hamish, fumbling with his fingers inside his ulster,
made a grotesque grimace of sympathy and once more
intimated his desire to say good-night. He discerned
in the look the girl had now fixed upon her mother an
expression which indicated how little sympathy there
was between them. It was nearly half past nine when
he reached Rodmoor and knocked at Baltazar's door.
There was some sort of village revel going on inside
the tavern and the sound of this blended, in inter-
mittent bursts of uproar, with the voices from Stork's
little sitting-room. Both wind and rain had subsided
BRAND RENSHAW 179
and the thunder-feeling in the air had grown less op-
pressive.
Traherne found himself, as he had been warned, in
the presence of Raughty, Sorio and Brand. Ushered
in by the urbane Baltazar he greeted them all with a
humorous and benignant smile and took, willingly
enough, a cup of the admirable wine which they were
drinking. They all seemed, except their host himself,
a little excited by what they had imbibed and the priest
observed that several other bottles waited the moment
of uncorking. Dr. Raughty alone appeared serioush'
troubled at the new-comer's entrance. He coughed
several times, as was his habit when disconcerted, and
glanced anxiously at the others.
Sorio, it seemed, was in the midst of some sort of
diatribe, and as soon as they had resumed their seats
he made no scruple about continuing it.
" It's all an illusion," he exclaimed, looking at Mr.
Traherne as if he defied him to contradict his words,
" it's all an absolute illusion that women are more sub-
tle than men. The idea of their being so is simply due
to the fact that they act on impulse instead of by rea-
son. Any one who acts on impulse appears subtle if
his impulses vary sufficiently ! Women are extraordi-
narily simple. What gives them the appearance of
subtlety is that they never know what particular im-
pulse they're going to have next. So they just lie back
on themselves and wait till it comes. They're em-
inently physiological, too, in their reactions. Am I not
right there, Doctor? They're more entirely material
than we are," he went on, draining his glass with a
vicious gulp, " they're simply soaked and drenched in
180 RODMOOR
matter. They're not really completely or humanly
conscious. Matter still holds them, still clings to them,
still drowns them. That is why the poets represent
Nature as a woman. The sentimental writers always
speak of women as so responsive, so porous, to the
power of Nature. They put it down to their superior
sensitiveness. It isn't their sensitiveness at all ! It's
their element. Of course they're porous to it. They're
part of it ! They've never emerged from it. It flows
round them like waves round seaweed. Take this ques-
tion of drink — of this delicious wine we're drinking!
No woman who ever lived could understand the pleas-
ure we're enjoying now — a pleasure almost purely in-
tellectual. They think, in their absurd little heads,
that all we get out of it is the mere sensation of put-
ting hot stuff or sweet stuff or intoxicating stuff into
our mouths. They haven't the remotest idea that, as
we sit in this way together, we enter the company of all
great and noble souls, philosophizing upon the nature
of the gods and sharing their quintessential happiness !
They think we're simply sensual beasts — as they are
themselves, the greedy little devils ! — when they eat
pastry and suck sugar-candy at the confectioner's.
No woman yet understood, or ever will, the sublime de-
tachment from life, the victory over life, which an hon-
est company of sensible and self-respecting friends
enjoy when they drink, serenely and quietly, a wine as
rare, as well chosen, as harmless as this ! Women hate
to think of the happiness we're enjo3'ing now. I know
perfectly well that every one of the women who are
connected with us at this moment — and that only ap-
plies," he added with a smile, " to Mr. Renshaw and
myself — would suffer real misery to see us at this mo-
BRAXD RENSHAW 181
ment. It's an instinct and from their point of view
they're justified fully enough.
" Wine separates us from Nature. It frees us from
sex. It sets us among the gods. It destroys — yes !
— that's what it does, it destroys our physiological fa-
tality. With wine like this," he raised his glass above
his head, " we are no longer the slaves of our senses and
consequently the slaves of matter. We have freed our-
selves from matter. We have destroyed matter 1 "
" I'm not quite sure," said Doctor Raughty, going
carefully to the fireplace where, on the fender, he had
deposited for later consumption, a saucer of brandied
cherries, " I am not sure whether you're right about
wine obliterating sex. I've seen quite plain females, in
my time, appear like so many Ninons and Thaises when
one's a bit shaky. Of course I know they may appear
so," he went on patiently and assiduously letting every
drop of juice evaporate from the skin of the cherry
he held between his fingers before placing it in his
mouth, " appear desirable wenches, I mean, without our
having any inclination to meddle with them but the im-
pulse is the same. At least," he added modestly, " their
being there does not detract from the pleasure."
He paused and, with his head bent down over his
cherries, became absolutely oblivious to everything else
in the world. What he was trying now was the deli-
cate experiment of dipping the fruit, dried by being
waved to and fro in the air, in the wine-glass at his
side. As he achieved this end, his cheeks flushed and
nervous spasmodic quiverings twitched his expressive
nostrils.
" I am inclined to agree with the Doctor," said Brand
Renshaw. " It seems mere monkish nonsense to me to
182 RODMOOR
separate things that were so obviously meant to go
together. I like drinking while girls dance for me. I
like them to dance on and on, and on and on till they're
tired out and then — " He was interrupted by a sudden
crash which made all the glasses ring and ting. Mr.
Traherne had brought down his fist heavily upon the
rosewood table.
" What you people are forgetting," shouted the
priest, " is that God is not dead. No ! He's not dead,
even in Rodmoor. Nature, girls, wine, rats, — are all
shadows in flickering water. Only one thing's eternal
and that is a pure and loving heart ! "
There was a general and embarrassed hush after this
and the priest looked round at the four men with a
sort of wistful bewilderment. Then an expression of
indescribable sweetness came into his face.
" Forgive me, children," he muttered, pressing his
hand to his forehead. " I didn't mean to be violent.
Baltazar, you must have filled my glass too quickly.
No, no ! I mustn't touch a drop more."
Stork leaned forward towards him.
" We understand," he said. " We understand per-
fectly. You felt we were going a little too far. And
so we were ! These discourses about the mystery of
wine and the secret of women always betray one into
absurdity. Adrian ought to have known better than
to begin such a thing."
" It was my fault," repeated Mr. Traherne humbly.
" If you'll excuse me I'll get something out of my
pocket."
He rose and went into the passage. Brand Ren-
shaw shrugged his shoulders and lifted his glass to his
lips.
BRxVND REXSIIAW 183
•* 1 bcIiLve it's liis rat," whispered Dr. Raughtj
softly. " He lives too much alone."
The priest returned with llicoletto in his hand and
resuming his scat stroked the animal dreamily. Bal-
tazar looked from one to another of his guests and his
delicate features assumed a curious expression, an ex-
pression as though he isolated himself from them all
and washed his hands of them all.
" Traherne refers to God," he began in a flutelike
tone, " and it's no more than what he has a right to do.
But I should be in a sorry position myself if my only
escape from the nuisance of women was to drag in
Eternity. Our dear Adrian, whose head is always full
of some girl or another, fancies he can get out of it by
drink. Brand here doesn't want to get out of it. He
wants to play the Sultan. Raughty — we know what
an amorous fellow you are. Doctor ! — has his own
fantastic way of drifting in and out of the dangerous
waters. I alone, of all of you, have the true key to
escape. For, between ourselves, my dears, we know
well enough that God and Eternity are just Hamish's
innocent illusion."
The priest seemed quite deaf to this last remark but
Brand turned his hatchet-shaped head towards the
speaker.
" Shut up, Tassar," he muttered harshly, " you'll
start him again."
" What do you mean? " cried Sorio. " Go on! Go
on and tell us what you mean."
" Wait one moment," intervened Dr. Raughty, " talk
of something else for one moment. I must cool my
head."
He put down his pipe by the side of his saucer of
184 RODMOOR
cherries, arranging it with exquisite care so that its
stem was higher than its bowl. Lifting his chair, he
placed it at a precise angle to the table, returning
twice to add further little touches to it before he was
half-way to the door. Finally, laying down his tobacco
pouch, lightly as a feather upon the seat of the chair,
he rushed out of the room and up the stairs.
" When the Doctor gets into the bathroom," re-
marked Brand, " we may as well put him out of our
minds. The last time he dined with me at Oakguard
he nearly flooded the house."
Mr. Traherne pressed his rat to his cheek and
grinned like a satyr.
" None of you people understand Fingal," he burst
out, " it's his way of praying. Yes, I mean it ! It's
his way of saying his prayers. He does it just as
Ricoletto does. It's ritual with him. I understand
it perfectly."
The conversation at this point seemed to have a
peculiarly irritating effect upon Sorio. He fidgeted
and looked about him uneasily. Presently he made an
extraordinary gesture with one of his hands, opening
it, extending the fingers stiffly back and then closing it
again. Baltazar, watching him closely, remarked at
last,
"What's on your mind now, Adriano? Any new
obsession "i "
They all looked at the Italian. His heavy " Roman-
Emperor " face quivered through all its muscles.
" It's not ritual," he muttered gloomily, " you'd bet-
ter not ask me what it is for I know! "
Brand Renshaw smiled a cruel smile.
BRAND RENSIIAW 185
" He means that it's madness,'' he remarked care-
lessly, " and I dare say he's quite right."
" Fingal Raughty's not mad," protested Mr. Tra-
herne, " I tell you he bathes himself just as my rat
does — to praise God and purge his sins ! "
" I wasn't thinking about the Doctor," said Brand
quietly, the same cruel gleam in his eyes. " Mr. Sorio
knows what I meant."
The Italian made a movement as if he were about to
leap upon him and strike him, but the reappearance of
Fingal, his cheeks shining and his face softly irradi-
ated, distracted the general attention.
" You'd begun to tell us, Stork," said the Doctor,
" what your escape is from the sting of sensuality.
You wipe out, altogether, you say, God and Eter-
nity?"
Baltazar's feminine features hardened as if under a
thin mask of enamel. Brand shot a malignant glance
at him.
" I can answer that," he said, with venomous bitter-
ness. " Tassar thinks himself an artist, you know.
He despises the whole lot of us as numbskulls and
Philistines. He'll tell you that art's the great thing
and that critics of art know much more about it than
the damned fools who do it, all there is to be known,
in fact."
Baltazar's expression as he listened to his half-
brother's speech was a palimpsest of conflicting emo-
tions. The look that predominated, however, was the
look of a woman under the lash, waiting her hour. He
smiled lightly enough and gesticulated with his delicate
hand.
186 RODMOOR
" We all have our secret," he declared gaily.
" Brand thinks he knows mine but he's as far from
knowing it as that new moon over there is from knowing
the secret of the tide."
His words caused them to glance at the window.
The clouds had vanished and the thin ghostly crescent
peered at them from between the curtains.
" The tide obeys it," he added significantly, " but it
keeps its own counsel."
" And it has," put in Sorio fiercely, " depths below
depths which it were better for no corpse-world to in-
terfere with ! "
Dr. Raughty, who had cleared his throat uneasily
several times during the last few moments, now called
the attention of the company to a scorched moth which,
hurt by one of the candles, lay shuddering upon the
edge of the table.
"Hasn't it exquisite markings?" he said, touching
the creature with the tip of his forefinger, and bend-
ing forward over it like a lover. " It's a puss-moth !
I wish I had my killing-bottle here. I'd keep it for
Horace Pod."
Sorio suddenly leapt from his seat and made a snatch
at the moth.
" Shame ! " he cried, addressing indiscriminately the
Doctor, Horace Pod and the universe. " Poor little
thing!" he added, seizing it in his fist and carrying it
to the window. When, with some difficulty and many
muttered imprecations he had flung it out, " it tickled
me," he remarked gravely. " Moths flutter so in your
hand."
" Most things flutter," remarked Brand, " when you
try to get rid of them. Some of them," he added in a
BRAND REXSHAW 187
significant tone, "' don't confine themselves to flutter-
ing.
The incident of the moth seemed to break up, more
than any of the preceding interruptions, the harmony
of the evening. Dr. Raughty, looking nervously at
Sorio and replacing his pipe in his pocket, announced
that he intended to depart. Brand Renshaw rose too
and with him, Mr. Traherne.
"May I walk with you a little way?" said the
priest.
The master of Oakguard stared at him blankly.
" Of course, of course," he replied, " but I'm afraid
it'll take you out of your road."
It was some time before they got clear of the house
as Baltazar with a thousand delicate attentions to each
of them and all manner of lively speeches, did his best,
in the stir of their separation, to smooth over and
obliterate from their minds the various little shocks
that had ruffled his entertainment. They got away,
however, at last and Brand and the priest, bidding the
rest good night, took the road to the park. The sky
as they entered the park gates was clear and starry
and the dark trees of the avenue up which they walked,
rose beside them in immovable stillness.
Mr. Traherne, putting his hand into the pocket of
his ulster to derive courage from contact with his pet,
plunged without preamble into the heart of the perilous
subject.
" You may not know, Renshaw," he said, " that Miss
Herrick and her sister are leaving Dyke House and
are going to live in the village. Nance has got work
at Miss Pontifex' and Linda is going to play the organ
regularly for me. I believe there's been something
188 RODMOOR
• — lately " — he hesitated and his voice shook a lit-
tle but, recovering himself with a tremendous effort,
" something," he went on, " between Linda and your-
self. Now, of course, in any other case I should be
very reluctant to say anything. Interference in these
things is usually both impertinent and useless. But
this case is quite different. The girl is a young girl.
She has no parents. Her sister is herself quite young
and they are both, in a sense, dependent on me as the
priest of this place for all the protection I can give.
I feel responsible for these girls, Renshaw, responsible
for them, and no feelings of a personal kind with re-
gard to any one," here he squeezed Ricoletto so tightly
that the rat emitted a frightened little squeal, " shall
interfere with what I feel is my duty. No, hear me
out, hear me out, Renshaw ! " he continued hurriedly,
as his companion began to speak. " The matter is one
about which we need not mind being quite open. I want
you, in fact, to promise me — to promise me on your
word of honour — that you'll leave this child alone.
I don't know how far things have gone between you. I
can't imagine, it would be shameful to imagine, that it
has gone beyond a flirtation. But whatever it has been,
it must stop now. It's only your word of honour I
want, nothing but your word of honour, and I can't
believe you'll hesitate, as a gentleman, to give me that.
You'll give me that, won't you, Renshaw? Just say
yes and the matter's closed."
He removed his hand from his pocket and laid it on
his companion's wrist. Brand was sufficiently cool at
that moment to remark as an interesting fact that the
priest was trembling. Not only was he trembling but
as he removed his hat to give further solemnity to his
BRAND RENSHAW 189
appeal, large drops of perspiration, known only to
himself, for darkness dimmed his face, trickled down
into his eyes. Brand quietly freed himself and moved
back a step.
" I'm not in the least surprised," he said, " at your
speaking to me like this, and strange as it may seem it
does not annoy me. In fact it pleases me. I like it.
It raises the value of the girl — of Linda, I mean —
and it makes me respect you. But if you imagine, my
good Mr. Traherne, that I'm going to make any such
promise as you describe, you can have no more notion
of what I'm like than you have of what Linda's like.
Talk to her, Hamish Traherne, talk to her, and see
what she says ! "
The priest clenched his fingers round the handle of
his oak stick. He felt rising in him a tide of natural
human anger. Mentally he prayed to his God that
he might retain his self-control and not make matters
worse by violence.
" If it interests you to know," Brand continued, " I
may tell you that it's quite possible I shall marry Linda.
She attracts me, I confess it freely, more than I could
possibi}' explain to you or to any one. I presume you
wouldn't carry your responsibility so far as to make
trouble about my marrying her, eh? But that's noth-
ing. That's neither here nor there. Married or un-
married, I do what I please. Do I convey my mean-
ing sufficiently clearly ? I — do — what — I — please.
Let that be your clue henceforth, Mr. Hamish Tra-
herne, and the clue of everybody else in Rodmoor, in
dealing with me. Listen to me, sir. I do you the hon-
our of talking more openly to you to-night than I'm
ever likely to talk again. Perhaps you have the idea
190 RODMOOR
that I'm a mere commonplace sensualist, snatching at
every animal pleasure that comes my way? Perhaps
you fancy I've a vicious — what do you call it? —
'penchant' — for the seduction of young girls? Let
me tell you this, Mr. Hamish, a thing that may some-
what surprise you. I've walked these woods till I know
every scent in them by night and day — do you catch
that fungus-smell now? That's one of the smells I
love best of all ! — and in these walks, absolutely alone,
— I love being alone ! — I've faced possibilities of evil
— faced them and resisted them, mind you ! — com-
pared with which these mere normal sexual lapses we're
talking about are silly child's play ! Linda does me
good. Do you hear? She does me good. She saves
me from things that never in your wildest dreams you'd
suppose any one capable of. Oh, you priests ! You
priests ! You shut yourselves up among your cruci-
fixes and your little books, and meanwhile — beyond
your furthest imagination — the great tides of evil
sweep backwards and forwards ! Listen ! I needn't
tell you what that sound is? Yes — you can hear it.
In every part of this place you can hear it! I was
born to that tune, Traherne, and I shall die to that
tune. It's better than rustling leaves, isn't it? It's
deeper. It's the kind of music a man might have in his
head when doing something compared with which such
little sins as you're blaming me for are virtues ! Did
you see that bat? I've watched them under these trees
from midnight to morning. A bat in the light of dawn
is a curious thing to see. Do you like bats, Mr. Tra-
herne, or do you confine yourself to rats?
" Bah ! I'm talking like an idiot. But what I want
you to understand is this. When you're dealing with
BRAND RENSHAW 191
me, you are dealing with some one wlio's lost the power
of being frightened by words, some one who's broken
the world's crust and peeped behind it, some one who's
seen the black pools — did you guess there were black
pools in this world? — and has seen the red stains in
them and who knows what caused those stains ! Damn
it all — Hamish Traherne — what did you take me for
when you talked to me like that? A common, sensual
pig? A vulgar seducer of children? A fellow to be
frightened back into the fold by talk of honour and
the manners of gentlemen? I tell you Vve seen hats in
the dawn — and seen them too, with images in my mem-
ory that only that sound — do you hear it still? —
could equal for horror.
" It's because Linda knows the horror of the sea
that I love her. I love to lead her to it, to feel her
draw back and not to let her draw back ! And she
loves me ior the same reason! That's a fact, Mr.
Hamish, that may be hard for you to realize. Linda
and I understand each other. Do you hear that, you
lover of rats? We understand each other. She does
me good. She distracts me. She keeps those black
pools out of my mind. She keeps Philippa's eyes from
following me about. She takes the taste of funguses
out of my mouth. She suits me, I tell you ! She's
what I need. She's what I need and must have !
" Bah ! I'm chattering like an idiot. I must be
drunk. I am drunk. But that's nothing. That's one
of the vices that are my virtues. I'll tell you another
thing, while I'm about it, Hamish Traherne. You've
wondered sometimes, I expect, why I'm so good to
Baltazar. Quite Christian of me, you've thought it,
eh? Quite noble and Christian — considering what he
192 RODMOOR
is and wliat I am? That just shows how little you
know us, how little you know either of us ! Tassar can
no more get away from me than I can get away from
him. We're bound together for life, my boy, bound
together by what those black pools mean and what
that sound — you wouldn't think you could hear it
here, would you ? — never stops meaning.
" Bah ! I'm drunk as a pig to-night ! I've not
talked like this to any one, not for years. Listen, Tra-
herne! You have an ugly face but you're not a fool.
Wasn't it Saint Augustine who said once that evil was
a mere rent in the cloak of goodness? The simple in-
nocent ! I tell you, evil goes down to the bottom of
life and out beyond ! I know that, for I've gone with
it. Fve seen the bats in the dawn.
" Yes, Tassar's gone far, Hamish Traherne, farther
than you guess. Sometimes I think he's gone farther
than / guess. He never talks, you know. You'll never
catch him drunk. Tassar could look the devil in the
face, and worse, and keep his pretty head cool ! — Oh,
damn it all, Traherne, it's not easy for a person never
to open his mouth ! But Tassar's got the secret of
that. He must get it from my father. There was a
man for you ! You wouldn't have dared to talk to him
like this."
Several times during this long outburst, Mr. Tra-
herne's fingers had caused pain to Ricoletto. But now
he flung out his long arms and clutched Brand fiercely by
the shoulders.
" Pray — you poor lost soul," he shouted, " pray
the great God above us to have mercy upon you and
have mercy upon us all ! "
His arms trembled as he uttered these words and,
BRAND REXSHAW 193
hardly conscious of what he was doing, he shook the
heavy frame of the man before him backwards and for-
wards as if he had been a child in his hands. There
was dead silence for several seconds and, unheeded by
either of them, a weasel ran furtively across the path
and disappeared among the trees. The damp odours of
moss and leaf-mould rose up around them and, between
the motionless branches above, the stars shone like pin-
pricks through black parchment. Suddenly Brand
broke away with a harsh laugh.
" Enough of this ! " he cried. " We've had enough
melodramatic nonsense for one night. You'd better go
back to bed, Traherne, or you'll be oversleeping your-
self to-morrow and my mother will miss her matins."
He held out his hand.
"Good night! — and sleep soundly!" he added, in
his accustomed dull, sarcastic tone.
The priest sighed heavily and groped about on the
ground for the hat he had dropped. Just as he had
secured it and was moving off. Brand called out to him
laughingly,
" Don't you believe a word of what I said just now.
I'm not drunk at all. I was only fooling. I'm just a
common ruffian who knows a pretty face when he sees
it. Talk to Linda about me and see what she says ! "
He strode off up the avenue and the priest turned heav-
ily on his heeh
XV
BROKEN VOICES
NANCE and Linda were not long In growing
accustomed to their new mode of life. Nance,
after her London experiences, found Miss
Pontifex' little work-room, looking out on a pleasant
garden, a place of refuge rather than of irksome labour.
The young girls under her charge were good-tempered
and docile ; and Miss Pontifex herself — an excitable
little woman with extravagantly genteel manners, and
a large Wedgewood brooch under her chin — seemed
to think that the girl's presence in the establishment
would redound immensely to its reputation and dis-
tinction.
" I'm a conservative born and bred," she remarked to
Nance, " and I can toll a lady out of a thousand. I
won't say what I might say about the people here.
But we know — we know what we think."
Nance's intimate knowledge of the more recondite
aspects of the trade took an immense load off the little
dressmaker's mind. She had more time to devote to
her garden, which was her deepest passion, and it
filled her with pride to be able to say to her friends,
" Miss Herrick from Dyke House works with me now.
Her father was a Captain in the Royal Navy."
The month of July went by without any further agi-
tating incidents. As far as Nance knew, Brand left
Linda in peace, and the young girl, though looking
194
BROKEN VOICES 195
weary and spiritless, seemed to be reconciling herself
fairly well to the loss of him and to be deriving definite
distraction and satisfaction from her progress in organ-
playing. Day by day in the early afternoon, she
would cross the bridge, under all changes of the weather,
and make her way to the church. Her mornings were
spent in household duties, so that her sister might be
free to give her whole time to the work in the shop,
and in the evenings, when it was pleasant to be out of
doors, they both helped Miss Pontifex watering her
phloxes and delphiniums.
Nance herself — as July drew to its close and the
wheat fields turned yellow — was at once happier and
less happy in her relations with Sorio. Her happiness
came from the fact that he treated her now more gently
and considerately than he had ever done before ; her
unhappiness from the fact that he had grown more re-
served and a queer sort of nervous depression seemed
hanging over him. She knew he still saw Philippa, but
what the relations between the two were, or how far any
lasting friendship had arisen between them, it was im-
possible to discover. They certainly never met now,
under conditions open to the intrusion of Rodmoor
scandal.
Nance went more than once, before July was over,
to see Rachel Doorm, and the days when these visits oc-
curred were the darkest and saddest of all she passed
through during that time. The mistress of Dyke
House seemed to be rapidly degenerating. Nance was
horrified to find how inert and indifferent to everything
she had come to be. The interior of the house was now
as dusty and untidy as the garden was desolate, and
judging from her manner on the last visit she paid, the
196 RODMOOR
girl began to fear she had found the same solace in her
loneliness as that which consoled her father.
Nance made one desperate attempt to improve mat-
ters. Without saying anything to Miss Doorm, she
carried with her to the house one of Mrs. Raps' own
buxom daughters, who was quite prepared, for an in-
finitesimal compensation, to go every day to help her.
But this arrangement collapsed hopelessly. On the
third day after her first appearance, the young woman
returned to her home, and with indignant tears declared
she had been " thrown out of the nasty place."
One evening at the end of the month, just as the
sisters were preparing to go out for a stroll together,
their landlady, with much effusion and agitation,
ushered in Mrs. Renshaw. Tired with walking, and
looking thinner and whiter than usual, she seemed ex-
trcmel}^ glad to sit down on their little sofa and sip the
raspberry vinegar which Nance hastened to prepare.
She ate some biscuits, too, as if she were faint for want
of food, but all the time she ate there was in her air an
apologetic, deprecatory manner, as though eating had
been a gross vice or as though never in her life before
had she eaten in public. She kept imploring Nance to
share the refreshment, and it was not until the girl made
at least a pretence of doing so that she seemed to re-
cover her peace of mind.
Her great, hollow, brown eyes kept surveying the lit-
tle apartment with nervous admiration. " I like it
here," she remarked at last. " I like little rooms much
better than large ones." She picked up from the table
a well-worn copy of Palgrave's " Golden Treasury " and
Nance had never seen her face light up so suddenly as
when, turning the pages at random, she chanced upon
BROKEN VOICES 197
Keats' " Ode to Autumn." " I know that by heart,"
she said, " every word of it. I used to teach it to
Philippa. You've no idea how nicely she used to say
it. But she doesn't care for poetry any more. She
reads more learned books, more clever books now. She's
got beyond me. Both my children have got beyond
me." She sighed heavily and Nance, with a sense of
horrible pity, seemed to visualize her — happy in little
rooms and with little anthologies of old-world verse —
condemned to the devastating isolation of Oakguard.
" I see you've got ' The Bride of Lammermoor ' up
there," she remarked presently, and rising impetuously
from her seat on the sofa, she took the book in her
hands. Nance never forgot the way she touched it, or
the infinite softness that came into her eyes as she mur-
mured, " Poor Lucy ! Poor Lucy ! " and began turn-
ing the pages.
Suddenly another book caught her attention and she
took down " Humphrey Clinker " from the shelf.
" Oh ! " she cried, a faint flush coming into her sunken
cheeks, " I haven't seen that book for years and years.
I used to read it before I was married. I think Smol-
lett was a very great writer, don't you? But I sup-
pose young people nowadays find him too simple for
their taste. That poor dear Mr. Bramble ! And all
that part about Tabitha, too ! I seem to remember it
all. I believe Dickens used to like Smollett. At least,
I think I read somewhere that he did. I expect he liked
that wonderful mixture of humour and pathos, though
of course, when it comes to that, I suppose none of
them can equal Dickens himself."
As Mrs. Renshaw uttered these words and caressed
the tattered volume she held as if it had been made of
198 RODMOOR
pure gold, her face became irradiated with a look of
such innocent and guileless spirituality, that Nance, in
a hurried act of mental contrition, wiped out of her
memory every moment when she had not loved her.
" What she must suffer ! " the girl said to herself as
she watched her. " What she must have suffered —
with those people in that great house."
Mrs. Renshaw sighed as she replaced the book in the
shelf. " Writers seem to have got so clever in these
last years," she said plaintively. " They use so many
long words. I wonder where they get them from —
out of dictionaries, do you think P — and they hurt me,
they hurt me, by the way they speak of our beloved
religion. They can't all of them be great philosophers
like Spinoza and Schopenhauer, can they.? They can't
all of them be going to give the world new and com-
forting thoughts.'* I don't like their sharp, snappy,
sarcastic tone. And oh, Nance dear ! " — she returned
to her seat on the sofa — " I can't bear their slang !
Why is it that they feel they must use so much slang,
do you think.'' I suppose they want to make their
books seem real, but / don't hear real people talking
like that. But perhaps it comes from America. Amer-
ican writers seem extraordinarily clever, and American
dictionaries — for Dr. Raughty showed me one — seem
much bigger than ours,"
She was silent for a while and then, looking gently
at Linda, " I think it's wonderful, dear, how well you
play now. I thought last Sunday evening you played
the hymns better than I've ever heard them ! But they
were beautiful hymns, weren't they? That last one
was my favourite of all."
Once more she was silent, and Nance seemed to catch
BROKEN VOICES 199
her lips moving, as she fixed iicr great sorrowful e^'es
upon the book-shelf, and began slowly pulling on her
gloves.
" I must be going now," she said, with a little sigh.
" I thank you for the raspberry vinegar and the bis-
cuits. I think I was tired. I didn't sleep very well
last night. Good-bye, dears. No, don't, please, come
down. I can let myself out. It's a lovely evening,
isn't it, and the poppies in the cornfields arc quite red
now. I can see a big patch of them from our terrace,
just across the river. Poppies always make me think
of the days when I was a young girl. We used to think
a lot of them then. We used to make fairies out of
them."
Nance insisted on seeing her into the street. When
she entered the room again, she w^as not altogether sur-
prised to find Linda convulsed with sobs. " I can't —
I can't help it," gasped the young girl. " She's too
pitiful. She's too sad. You feel you want to hug her
and hug her, but you're afraid even to touch her hand ! "
She made an effort to recover herself, and then, with
the tears still on her cheeks, " Nance dear," she said
solemnly, " I don't believe she'll live to the end of this
year. I believe, one of these days, when the Autumn
comes, we shall hear she's been found dead in her bed.
Nance, listen ! " — and the young girl's voice became
awe-struck and very solemn — " won't it be dreadful
for tliose two, over there, when they find her like that,
and feel how little thev-'ve done to make her happy?
Can't ycu imagine it, Nance.'* The wind wailing and
wailing round that house, and she lying there all white
and dreadful — and Philippa with a candle standing
over her — "
200 RODMOOR
" Why do you say ' with a candle ' ? " said Nance
brusquely. " You're talking wildly and exaggerating
everything. If they found her in the morning, like
that, Philippa wouldn't come with a candle."
Linda stared dreamily out of the window. " No, I
suppose not," she said, " and yet I can't see it without
Philippa holding a candle. And there's something else
I see, too," she added in a lower voice.
" I don't want — " Nance began and then, more gen-
tly, " What else, you silly child? "
" Philippa's red lips," she murmured softly, " red
as if she'd put rouge on them. Do you think she ever
does put rouge on them? That's, I suppose, what
made me think of the candle. I seemed to see it flick-
ering against her mouth. Oh, I'm silly — I'm silly, I
know, but I couldn't help seeing it like that — her lips,
I mean."
" You're morbid to-day, Linda," said Nance ab-
ruptly. " Well ? Shall we go to the garden ? I feel
as though carrying watering-pots and doing weeding
will be good for both of us."
While this conversation was going on between the
sisters in their High Street lodging, Sorio and Baltazar
were seated together on a bench by the harbour's side.
The tide was flowing in and cool sea-breaths, mixed with
the odour of tar and paint and fisherman's tobacco,
floated in upon them as they talked.
" It's absurd to have any secrets between you and
me," Sorio was saying, his face reflecting the light of
the sunset as it poured down the river's surface to
where they sat. " When I become quite impossible to
you as a companion, I suppose you'll tell me so and
BROKEN VOICES 201
turn me out. But until then I'm going to assume that
I interest you and don't bore you."
" It isn't a question of boring any one," replied the
other. "You annoyed me just now because I thought
you were making no effort to control yourself. You
seemed trying to rake up every repulsive sensation
you've ever had and thrust it down my throat. Bored.'*
Certainly I wasn't bored! On the contrary, I was
much more what you might call bitten. You go so
far, my dear, you go so far ! "
" I don't call that going far at all," said Sorio sulk-
ily. " What's the use of living together if we can't
talk of everything.^ Besides, you didn't let me finish.
What I wanted to say was that for some reason or
other, I've lately got to a point when every one I meet
— every mortal person, and especially every stranger —
strikes me as odious and disgusting. I've had the feel-
ing before but never quite like this. It's not a pleas-
ant feeling, my dear, I can assure you of that ! "
" But what do you mean — what do you mean by
odious and disgusting?" threw in the other. " I sup-
pose they're made in the same way we are. Flesh and
blood is flesh and blood, after all."
As Baltazar said this, what he thought in his mind
was much as follows : " Adriano is evidently going
mad again. This kind of thing is one of the symptoms.
I like having him here with me. I like looking at his
face when he's excited. He has a beautiful face — it's
more purely antique in its moulding than half the an-
cient cameos. I especially like looking at him when
he's harassed and outraged. He has a dilapidated
wistfulness at those times which exactly suits my taste.
202 RODMOOR
I should miss Adriano frightfully if he went away. No
one I've ever lived with suits me better. I can annoy
him when I like and I can appease him when I like. He
fills me with a delicious sense of power. If only Phil-
ippa would leave him alone, and that Herrick girl
would stop persecuting him, he'd suit me perfectly. I
like him when his nerves are quivering and twitching.
I like the * wounded-animal look ' he has then. But
it's these accursed girls who spoil it all. Of course it's
their work, this new mania. They carry everything so
far ! I like him to get wild and desperate but I don't
want him mad. These girls stick at nothing. They'd
drive him into an asylum if they could, poor helpless
devil ! "
While these thoughts slid gently through Stork's
head, his friend was already answering his question
about " flesh and blood." " It's just that which gets
on my nerves," he said. " I can stand it when I'm
talking to you because I forget everything except your
mind, and I can stand it when I'm making love to a
girl, because I forget everything but — "
" Don't say her body ! " threw in Baltazar.
" I wasn't going to," snarled the other. " I know
it isn't their bodies one thinks of. It's — it's — what
the devil is it? It's something much deeper than that.
Well, never mind ! What I want to say is this. With
you and Raughty, and a few others who really inter-
est me, I forget the whole thing. You are individuals
to me. I'm interested in you, and I forget what you're
like, or that you have flesh at all.
" It's when I come upon people I'm neither In love
with nor interested in, that I have this sensation, and
of course," and he surveyed a group of women who at
BROKEN VOICES 203
that moment were raising angry voices from an arch-
way on the further side of the harbour, " and of course
I have it every day."
Stork looked at him with absorbed attention, hold-
ing between his fingers an unlit cigarette. " What
exactly is the feeling you have? " he enquired gently.
The light on Sorio's face had faded with the fading
of the glow on the water. There began to fall upon the
place where they sat, upon the cobble-stones of the lit-
tle quay, upon the wharf steps, slimy with green sea-
weed, upon the harbour mud and the tarred gunwales
of the gently rocking barges, upon tlie pallid tide flow-
ing inland with gurglings and suckings and lappings
and long-drawn sighs, that indescribable sense of the
coming on of night at a river's mouth, which is like
nothing else in the world. It is, as it were, the meet-
ing of two infinite vistas of imaginative suggestion —
the sense of the mystery of the boundless horizons sea-
ward, and the more human mystery of the unknown
distance inland, its vague fields and marshes and woods
and silent gardens — blending there together in a sus-
pended breath of ineffable possibility, sad and tender,
and touching the margin of what cannot be uttered.
"What is it,''" repeated Sorio dreamily, and in a
low melancholy voice. " How can I tell you what it
is.'' It's a knowledge of the inner truth, I suppose.
It's the fact that I've come to know, at last, what
human beings are really like. I've come to see them
stripped and naked — no ! worse than that — I've come
to see them flayed. I've got to the point, Tassar, my
friend, when I see the world as it is, and I can tell you
it's not a pleasant sight ! "
Baltazar Stork regarded him with a look of the most
204 RODMOOR
exquisite pity, a pity which was not the less genuine
because the emotion that accompanied it was one of
indescribable pleasure. In the presence of his friend's
massive face and powerful figure he felt deliciously deli-
cate and frail, but with this sense of fragility came a
feeling of indescribable power — the power of a mind
that is capable of contemplating with equanimity a
view of things at which another staggers and shivers
and grows insane. It was allotted to Baltazar by the
secret forces of the universe to know during that hour,
one of the most thrilling moments of his life.
" To get to the point I've reached," continued Sorio
gently, watching the colour die out from the water's
surface and a whitish glimmer, silvery and phantom-
like, take its place, " means to sharpen one's senses to
a point of terrible receptivity. In fact, until you can
hear the hearts of people beating — until you can hear
their contemptible lusts hissing and writhing in their
veins, like evil snakes — you haven't reached the point.
You haven't reached it until you can smell the grave-
yard — yes ! the graveyard of all mortality — in the
cleanest flesh you approach. You haven't reached it
till every movement people make, every word they speak,
betrays them for what they are, betrays the vulture on
the wing, and the hyena on the prowl. You haven't
reached it till you feel ready to cry out, like a child
in a nightmare, and beat the air with your hands, so
suffocating is the pressure of loathsome living bodies
— bodies marked and sealed and printed with the signs
of death and decomposition ! "
Baltazar Stork struck a match and lit his cigarette.
"Well.''" he remarked, stretching out his legs and
leaning back on the wooden bench. "Well.'' The
BROKEX VOICES 205
world is like that, then. You've found it out. You
know it. You've made the wonderful discovery. Why
can't you smoke cigarettes, then, and make love to your
lovely friends, and let the whole thing go.'' You'll be
dead 3'ourself in a year or two in any case.
" Adriano dear," he lowered his voice to an impres-
sive whisper, " shall I tell you something.'' You are
making all this fuss and driving yourself desperate
about a thing which doesn't really concern you in the
least. It's not your business if the world does reek
like a carcass. It's not your business if people's brains
are full of poisonous snakes and their bellies of greedy
lecheries. It's not your business — do you under-
stand — if human flesh smells of the graveyard. Your
affair, my boy, is to get what amusement you can out
of it and make yourself as comfortable as you can in it.
It might be worse, it might be better. It doesn't really
make much difference either way.
" Listen to me, Adriano ! I say to you now, as we
sit at this moment watching this water, unless you get
rid of this new mania of yours, you'll end as you did
in America. You'll simply go mad again, my dear,
and that would be uncomfortable for you and extremely
inconvenient for me. The world is not meant to be
taken seriously. It's meant to be handled as you'd
handle a troublesome girl. Take what amuses you and
let the rest go to the devil ! Anything else — and I
know what I'm talking about — tends to simple misery.
"Heigh ho! But it's a most delicious evening!
What nonsense all this talk of ours is ! Look at that
boy over there. He's not worrying himself about
grave-yards. Here, Harry ! Tonmiy ! Whatever you
call yourself — come here ! I want to speak to you."
206 RODMOOR
The child addressed was a ragged barelegged urchin,
of about eleven, who had been for some while slowly
gravitating around the two men. He came at once,
at Baltazar's call, and looked at them both, wonder-
ingly and quizzically.
" Got any pictures? " he asked. Stork nodded and,
opening a new box of cigarettes, handed the boy a little
oblong card stamped with the arms of some royal
European dynasty. " I likes the Honey-Dew ones
best," remarked the boy, " them as has the sport cards
in em.
" We can't always have sport cards, Tommy," said
Baltazar. " Little boys, as the world moves round,
must learn to put up with the arms of European
princes. Let me feel your muscle, Tommy. I've an
idea that you're suffering from deficient nourishment."
The child extended his arm, and then bent it, with an
air of extreme and anxious gravity. " Pretty good,"
said Stork, smiling. " Yes, I may say you're decidedly
powerful for your size. What's your opinion. Tommy,
about things in general? This gentleman here thinks
we're all in a pretty miserable way. He thinks
life's a hell of a bad job. What do you think about
it?"
The boy looked at him suspiciously. " Ben Porter,
what cleans the knives up at the Admiral's, tried
that game on with me. But I let him know, soon
enough, who he were talking to." He moved off hastily
after this, but a moment later ran back, pointing ex-
citedly at a couple of sea-gulls which were circling
near them.
" A man shot one of them birds last night," he said,
" and it fell into the water. Lordy ! But it did
BROKEN VOICES 207
splash! 'Twcren't properly killed, I reckon — just
knocked over."
"What's that?" said Sorio sharply. "What be-
came of it then? Who picked it up?"
The boy looked at him with a puzzled stare. " They
ain't no good to eat," he rejoined, " they be what you
call cannibal-birds. They feeds on muck. Cats'll eat
'em, though," he added.
" What became of it? " shouted Sorio, in a threaten-
ing voice.
" Went out with the tide, Mister, most like," an-
swered the child, moving apprehensively away from him.
" I saw some fellows in a boat knock at it with their
oars, but they couldn't get it. It sort o' flapped and
swimmed away."
Sorio rose from his seat and strode to the edge of the
quay. He looked eastward, past the long line of half-
submerged wooden stakes which marked the approach
to the harbour. " When did that devil shoot it, do you
say?" he asked, turning to the boy. But the young-
ster had taken to his heels. Angry-looking bronze-
faced gentlemen who interested themselves in wounded
sea-gulls were something new in his experience.
" Let's get a boat and row out to those stakes," said
Adrian suddenly. " I seem to see something white
over there. Look! Don't you think so? "
Baltazar moved to his side. " Heavens ! my dear,"
he remarked languidly, " you don't suppose the thing
would be there now, after all this time? However,"
he added, shrugging his shoulders, " if it'll put you
into a better mood, by all means let's do it."
It was, when it came to the point, Baltazar who un-
tied an available boat from its moorings, and Baltazar
208 RODMOOR
who appropriated a pair of oars tliat were leaning
against a fish shed. In details of this kind the pas-
sionate Sorio was always seized with a paralysis of
nervous incompetence. Once in the boat, however, the
3'ounger man refused to do anything but steer. *' I'm
not going to pull against this current, for all the sea-
gulls in the world," he remarked.
Sorio rowed with desperate impetuosity, but it was
a slow and laborious task. Several fishermen, loiter-
ing on the quay after their supper, survej'ed the scene
with interest. *' The gentleman wants to exercise 'is-
self afore dinner-time," observed one. " 'Tis a won-
der if he moves 'er," rejoined another, " but 'e's rowin'
like 'twas a royal regatta."
With the sweat pouring down his face and the mus-
cles of his whole body taut and quivering, Sorio tugged
and strained at the oars. At first it seemed as though
the boat hardly moved at all. Then, little by little, it
forged ahead, the tide's pressure diminishing as the
mouth of the harbour widened. After several minutes'
exhausting effort, they reached the place where the first
of the wooden piles rose out of the water. It was tan-
gled with seaweed and bleached with sun and wind.
The tide gurgled and foamed round it. Baltazar
yawned.
" They're all like this one," he said. " You see what
they're like. Nothing could possibly cling to them,
unless it had hands to cling with."
Sorio, resting on his oars, glared at the darkening
waters. " Let's get to the last of them anyway," he
muttered. He pulled on, the effort becoming easier
and easier as they escaped from the in-flow of the river-
mouth and reached the open sea. When at last the
BROKEN VOICES 209
boat rubbed its side against the last of the stakes,
they were nearly a quarter of a mile from land. No,
there was certainly no sea-gull here, alive or dead !
A buoy, with a bell attached to it, sent at intervals,
over the water, a profoundly melancholy cry — a cry
subdued and yet tragic, not absolutely devoid of hope
and yet full of heart-breaking wistfulness. The air was
hot and windless ; the sky heavy with clouds ; the hor-
izon concealed by the rapidly falling night. Sorio
seized the stake with his hand to keep the boat steady.
There were already lights in the town, and some of
these twinkled out towards them, in long, radiating,
quivering lines.
" Tassar ! " whispered Sorio suddenly, in a tone
strangely and tenderly modulated.
" Well, my child, what is it .'' " returned the other.
" I only want to tell you," Adrian went on, " that
whatever I may say or do in the future, I recognize
that you're the best friend I've got, except one." As
he said the words " except one," his voice had a vibrant
softness in it.
" Thank j'ou, my dear," replied his friend calmly.
" I should certainly be extremely distressed if you made
a fool of yourself in any way. But who is my rival,
tell me that ! Who is this one who's a better friend
than 1? Not Philippa, I hope — or Nance Herrick.? "
Sorio sighed heavily. " I vowed to myself," he mut-
tered, " I would never talk to any one again about him ;
but the sound of that bell — isn't it weird, Tassar?
Isn't it ghostly? — makes me long to talk about him."
" Ah ! I understand," and Baltazar Stork drew in
his breath with a low whistle, " I understand ! You're
talking about your boy over there. Well, my dear, I
210 RODMOOR
don't blame you if you're homesick for him. I have
a feeling that he's an extraordinarily beautiful youth.
I always picture him to myself like my Venetian. Is he
like Flambard, Adrian ? "
Sorio sighed again, the sigh of one who sins against
his secret soul and misses the reward of his sacrilege.
" No — no," he muttered, " it isn't that ! It isn't any-
thing to do with his being beautiful. God knows if
Baptiste is beautiful ! It's that I want him. It's that
he understands what I'm trying to do in the darkness.
It's simply that I want him, Tassar."
" What do you mean by that ' trying in the dark-
ness,' Adriano ? What ' darkness ' are you talking
about.?"
Sorio made no immediate answer. His hand, as he
clung to the stake amid the rocking of the boat, en-
countered a piece of seaweed of that kind which pos-
sesses slippery, bubble-like excrescences, and he dug his
nails into one of these leathery globes, with a vague
dreamy idea that if he could burst it he would burst
some swollen trouble in his brain.
" Do you remember," he said at last, " what I showed
you the other night, or have you forgotten.?"
Baltazar looked at his mistily outlined features and
experienced, what was extremely unusual with him, a
faint sense of apprehensive remorse. " Of course I
remember," he replied. " You mean those notes of
yours — that book you're writing.? "
But Sorio did not hear him. All his attention was
concentrated just then upon the attempt to burst an-
other seaweed bubble. The bell from the unseen buoy
rang out brokenly over the water ; and between the side
of their boat and the stake to which the man was
BROKEN VOICES 211
clinging there came gurglings and lappings and whis-
pers, as if below them, far down under the humming
tide, some sad sea-creature, without hope or memory
or rest, were tossing and moaning, turning a drowned
inhuman face towards the darkened sky.
XVI
THE FENS
NANCE was able, in a sort of lethargic ob-
stinacy, to endure the strain of her feelings
for Sorio, now that she had the influence of
her familiar work to dull her nerves. She tried hard
to make things cheerful for her not less heart-weary
sister, devising one little scheme after another to di-
vert and distract the child, and never permitting her
own trouble to interfere with her sympathy.
But behind all this her soul ached miserably, and
her whole nature thirsted and throbbed for the satis-
faction of her love. Her work played its part as a
kind of numbing opiate and the evenings spent among
Letitia Pontifex' flower-beds were not devoid of mo-
ments of restorative hope, but day and night the pain
of her passion hurt her and the tooth of jealousy bit
into her flesh.
It was worst of all in the nights. The sisters slept
in two small couches in the same room and Nance found
herself dreading more and more, as July drew to its
close, that hour when they came in from their neigh-
bour's garden and undressing in silence, lay down so
near to one another. They both tried hard, Linda no
less than her sister, to put the thoughts that vexed them
out of their minds and behave as if they were fancy-free
and at peace, but the struggle was a difficult one. If
they only hadn't known, so cruelly well, just what the
212
THE FENS 213
other was feeling, as they turned alternately from side
to side, and like little feverish animals gasped and
fretted, it would have been easier to bear. " Aren't
you asleep yet? " one of them would whisper plain-
tively, and the submissive, " I'm so sorry, dear ; but oh !
I wish the morning would come," that she received in
answer, met with only too deep a response.
One unusually hot night — it happened to be the
first Sunday in August and the eve of the Bank Holi-
day — Nance felt as though she would scream out aloud
if her sister moved in her bed again.
There was something that humiliated and degraded
in this mutual misery. It was hard to be patient, hard
not to feel that her own aching heart was in some subtle
way mocked and insulted by the presence of the same
hurt in the heart of another. It reduced the private
sorrow of each to a sort of universal sex pain, to suffer
from which was a kind of outrage to what was sacred
and secret in their individual souls.
There were two windows in their room, one opening
on the street and one upon an enclosed yard at the back
of the house. Nance, as she now lay, with the bed-
clothes tossed aside from her, and her hands clasped
behind her head, was horribly conscious not only of the
fact that her sister was just as wide awake as she her-
self, but that they were listening together to the same
sounds. These sounds were two-fold, and they came
sometimes separately and sometimes simultaneously.
They consisted of the wailing of an infant in a room on
the other side of the street, and the whining of a dog
in a yard adjoining their own.
The girl felt as though every species of desolation
known in the world were concentrated in these two
214 BODMOOR
sounds. She kept her eyes tightly shut so as not to
see the darkness, but this proceeding only intensified
the acute receptivity of her other senses. She visual-
ized the infant and she visualized the dog. The one
she imagined with a puckered, wrinkled face — a face
such as Mr. Traherne might have had in his babyhood
— and plague-spots of a loathsome colour ; she saw
the colour against her burning eyeballs as if she were
touching it with her fingers and it was of a reddish
brown. The dog had a long smooth body, without hair,
and as it whined she saw it feebly scratching itself, but
while it scratched, she knew, with evil certainty, that
it was unable to reach the place where the itching mad-
dened it.
There was hardly any air in the room, in spite of
the open windows, and Nance fancied that she discerned
an odour proceeding from the wainscoting that re-
sembled the dust that had once greeted her from a cup-
board in one of the unused bedrooms in Dyke House,
dust that seemed to be composed of the moth-eaten
garments of generations of dead humanity.
She felt that she could have borne these things —
the whining dog, and the wailing infant — if only
Linda, lying with her face to the wall, were not listening
to them also, listening with feverish intentness. Yes,
she could have borne it if the whole night were not
listening — if the whole night were not listening to the
{turnings and tossings of humanity, trying to ease the
itch of its desire and never able to reach, toss and turn
a« it might, the place where the plague-spot troubled
it.
With a cry she leapt from her bed and, fumbling on
tlie dressing-table, struck a match and lit a candle.
THE FENS 215
The flickering flame showed Linda sitting bolt-upriglit
with lamentable wide-open eyes.
Nance went to the window which looked out on the
yard. Here she turned and threw back from her fore-
head her masses of heavy hair. " God help us, Linda ! "
she whispered. " It's no use. Nothing is any
use."
The young girl slowly and wearily left her bed and,
advancing across the room, nestled up against her sis-
ter and caressed her in silence.
" What shall we do? " Nance repeated, hardly know-
ing what she said. "What shall we do.^ I can't bear
this. I can't bear it, little one, I can't bear it ! "
As if in response to her appeal, the dog and the in-
fant together sent forth a pitiful wail upon the night.
" What misery there is in the world — what horrible
misery ! " Nance murmured. " I'm sure we're all bet-
ter off dead, than like this. Better off dead, my
darling."
Linda answered by slipping her arms round her waist
and hugging her tightly. Then suddenl}', " Why don't
we dress ourselves and go out.^" she cried. "It's too
hot to sleep. Yes, do let's do that, Nance! Let's
dress and go out."
Nance looked at her with a faint smile. There was
a childish ardour about her tone that reminded her of
the Linda of many years ago. " Very well," she said,
" I don't mind."
They dressed hurriedly. The very boldness of the
idea helped them to recover their spirits. Bareheaded
and in their house-shoes they let themselves out into the
street. It was between two and three o'clock. The
little town was absolutely silent. The infant in the
216 RODMOOR
house opposite made no sound. " Perhaps it's dead
now," Nance thought.
They walked across the green, and Nance gave a
long wistful look at the windows of Baltazar's cottage.
The heavy clouds had lifted a little, and from various
points in the sky the stars threw down a faint, uncer-
tain glimmer. It remained, however, still so dark that
when they reached the centre of the bridge, neither bank
was visible, and the waters of the Loon flowing beneath
were hidden in profound obscurity. They leant upon
the parapet and inhaled the darkness. What wind
there was blew from the west so that the air was heavy
with the scent of peat and marsh mud, and the sound
of the sea seemed to come from far away, as if it be-
longed to a different world.
They crossed the bridge and began following the
footpath that led to the church. Coming suddenly
on an open gate, however, they were tempted, by a
curious instinct of unconscious self-cruelty, to deviate
from the path they knew and to pursue a strange and
unfamiliar track heading straight for the darkened
fens. It was on the side of the path removed from the
sea that this track began, and it led them, along the
edge of a reedy ditch, into a great shadowy maze of
silent water-meadows.
Fortunately for the two girls, the particular ditch
they followed had a high and clearly marked embank-
ment, an embankment used by the owners of cattle in
that district as a convenient way of getting their herds
from one feeding-ground to another. No one who has
never experienced the sensation of following one of
these raised banks, or dyke-tracks, across the fens, can
conceive the curious feelings it has the power of evok-
THE FENS 217
ing. Even by day these inipressions are unique and
strange. By night they assume a quahty which may
easily pass into something bordering upon panic-terror.
The palpable and immediate cause of this emotion is the
sense of being isolated, separated, and cut-ofF, from all
communication with the ordinary world.
On the sea-shore one is indeed in contact with the
unknown mass of waters, but there is always, close at
hand, the familiar inland landscape, friendly and re-
assuring. On the slope of a mountain one may look
with apprehension at the austere heights above, but
there is always behind one the rocks and woods, the
terraces and ledges, past which one has ascended, and
to which at any moment one can return.
In the midst of the fens there is no such reassurance.
The path one has followed becomes merged in the il-
limitable space around ; merged, lost and annihilated.
No mark, no token, no sign indicates its difference from
other similar tracks. No mark nor token separates
north from south or east from west. On all sides the
same reeds, the same meadows, the same gates, the same
stunted willow-trees, the same desolate marsh pools,
the same vast and receding horizons. The mind has
nothing to rest itself upon except the general expanse,
and the general expanse seems as boundless as infinity.
Nance and her sister were not, of course, far enough
away from their familiar haunts to get the complete
" fen-terror," but, aided by the darkness, the power of
the thing was by no means unfelt. The instinct to es-
cape from the burden of their thoughts which drove
the girls on, became indeed more and more definitely
mingled, as they advanced, with a growing sense of
alarm. But into this very alarm they plunged for-
218 RODMOOR
ward with a species of exultant desperation. They
both experienced, as they went hand in hand, a morbid
kind of delight in being cruel to themselves, in forcing
themselves to do the very thing — and to do it in the
dead of night — which, of all, they had most avoided,
even in the full light of day.
Before they had gone much more than a mile from
their starting-point they were permitted to witness a
curious trick of the elemental powers. Without any
warning, there suddenly arose from the west a much
more powerful current of wind. Every cloud was
driven sea-ward and with the clouds every trace of sea-
mist. The vast dome of sky above them showed itself
clear and unstained ; and across the innumerable con-
stellations — manifest to their eyes in its full length —
stretched the Milky Way. Not only did the stars thus
make themselves visible. In their visibility they threw
a weird and phantom-like light over the whole land-
scape. Objects that had been mere misty blurs became
distinct identities and things that had been absolutely
out of sight w^ere now unmistakably recognizable.
The girls stood still and looked around them. They
could see the church tower rising squat and square
against the line of the distant sand-dunes. They could
see the roofs of the village, huddled greyly and ob-
scurely together, beyond the dark curve of the bridge.
They could make out the sombre shape of Dyke House
itself, just distinguishable against the high tow-path of
the river. And Nance, turning westward, could even
discern her favourite withy-copse, surrounded by shad-
owy cornfields.
There was a pitiable pathos in the way each of the
girls, now that the scene of their present trouble was
THE FENS 219
thus bared to tlicir view, turned instinctively to the
object most associated with the thoughts they were
seeking to escape. Nance looked long and wistfully at
the little wood of willows and alders, now a mere misty
exhalation of thicker shadow above the long reaches of
the fens. She thought of how mercilessly her feelings
had been outraged there ; of how violent and strange
and untcnder Sorio had been. Yet even at that mo-
ment, her heart aching with the recollection of what
she had suffered, the old fierce passionate cry went up
from her soul — " better be beaten by Adrian than
loved by all the rest of the world ! "
It was perhaps because of her preoccupation with
her own thoughts and her long dreamy gaze at the spot
which recalled them, that she did not remark a certain
sight which set her companion trembling with intoler-
able excitement. This was nothing less than the sud-
den appearance, between the trees that almost hid the
house from view, of a red light in a window of Oak-
guard. It was an unsteady light and it seemed to
waver and flicker. Sometimes it grew deeply red, like
a threatening star, and at other times it paled in col-
our and diminished in size. All at once, after flicker-
ing and quivering for several seconds, it died out alto-
gether.
Only when it had finally disappeared did Linda
hastily glance round to see if Nance had discerned it.
But her sister had seen nothing.
It was, as a matter of fact, small wonder that this
particular light observed in a window of Oakguard,
thrilled the young girl with uncontrollable agitation.
It had been this very signal, arranged between them
during their few weeks of passionate love-making, which
220 RODMOOR
had several times flickered across the river to Dyke
House and had been answered, unknown to Nance,
from the sisters' room. Linda shivered through every
nerve and fibre of her being, and in the darkness her
cheeks grew hot as fire. She suddenly felt convinced
that by some strange link between her heart and his,
Brand knew that she was out in the fens, and was tell-
ing her that he knew it, in the old exciting way.
" He is calling me," she said to herself, " he is call-
ing me ! " And as she formed the words, there came
over her, with a sick beating of her heart and a dizzy
pain in her breast, the certainty that Brand had left
the house and was waiting for her, somewhere in the
long avenue of limes and cedars, where they had met
once before in the early evening.
" He is waiting for me ! " she repeated, and the dizzi-
ness grew so strong upon her that she staggered and
caught at her sister's arm. " Nance," she whispered,
" I feel sick. My head hurts me. Shall we go back
now?"
Nance, full of concern and anxiety, passed her fin-
gers across her sister's forehead. " Oh, my dear, my
dear," she cried, " you're in a fever ! How silly of me
to let you come out on this mad prank ! "
Supporting her on her arm she led her slowly back,
along the embankment. As they walked, Nance felt
more strongly than she had done since she crossed the
Loon, that deep maternal pity, infinite in its emotion
of protection, which was the basic quality in her nature.
For the very reason, perhaps, that Linda now clung to
her like a child, she felt happier than she had done for
many days. A mysterious detachment from her own
fate, a sort of resigned indifference to what happened.
THE FENS 221
seemed to liberate her at that inonicnt from the worst
pang of her loss. The immense shadowy spaces about
her, the silence of the fens, broken only by the rustling
of the reeds and an occasional splash in the stream by
their side as a fish rose, the vast arch of starlit sky
above her, full of a strange and infinite reassurance —
all these things thrilled the girl's heart, as they moved,
with an emotion beyond expression.
At that hour there came to her, with a vividness un-
felt until then, the real meaning of Mr. Traherne's
high platonic mystery. She told herself that what-
ever henceforth happened to her or did not happen,
it was not an illusion, it was not a dream — this strange
spiritual secret. It was something palpable and real.
She had felt it — at least she had touched the fringe
of it — and even if the thing never quite returned or
the power of it revived as it thrilled her now, it re-
mained that it had been, that she had known it, that it
was there, somewhere in the depths, however darkly hid-
den.
Very different were the thoughts that during that
walk back agitated the mind of the younger girl. Her
whole nature was obsessed by one fierce resolve, the
resolve to escape at once to the arms of her lover. He
was waiting for her ; he was expecting her ; she felt
absolutely convinced of that. An indefinable pain in
her breast and a throbbing in her heart assured her that
he was watching, waiting, drawing her towards him.
The same large influences of the night, the same silent
spaces, the same starlit dome, which brought to Nance
her spiritual reassurance, brought to the frailer figure
she supported only a desperate craving.
She could feel through every nerve of her feverish
222 RODMOOR
body the touch of her love's fingers. She ached and
shivered with pent-up longing, with longing to yield
herself to him, to surrender herself absolutely into his
power. She was no longer a thing of body, soul, and
senses. The normal complexity of our mortal frame
was annihilated in her. She was one trembling, quiv-
ering, vibrant chord, a chord of feverish desire, only
waiting to break into one wild burst of ecstatic music,
when struck by the hand she loved.
Her desire at that moment was of the kind which
tears at the root of every sort of scruple. It did not
only endow her with the courage of madness, it inspired
her with the cunning of the insane. All the way along
the embankment she was devising desperate plans of
escape, and by the time they reached the church path
these plans had shaped themselves into a definite reso-
lution.
They emerged upon the familiar way and turned
southward towards the bridge. Nance, thankful that
she had got her sister so near home without any serious
mishap, could not resist, in the impulse of her relief,
the pleasure of stopping for a moment to pick a bunch
of flowers from the path's reedy edge. The coolness
of the earth as she stooped, the waving grasses, the
strongly blowing, marsh-scented wind, the silence and
the darkness, all blent harmoniously together to
strengthen her in her new-found comfort.
She pulled up impetuously, almost by their roots,
great heavy-flowered stalks of loose-strife and willow-
herb. She scrambled down into the wet mud of a
shallow ditch to add to her bunch a tall spray of
hemp-agrimony and some wild valerian. All these
things, ghostly and vague and colourless in the iaint
THE FENS 223
starlight, had a strange and mystic beauty, and as she
gathered them Nance promised herself that they should
be a covenant between her senses and her spirit ; a
sign and a token, offered up in the stillness of that hour,
to whatever great invisible powers still made it possible
on earth to renounce and be not all unhappy. She
returned with her flowers to her sister's side and to-
gether they reached the bridge.
When they were at the very centre of this, Linda
suddenly staggered and swayed. She tore herself from
her sister's support and sank down on the little stone
seat beneath the parapet — the same stone seat upon
which, some months before, that passage of sinister
complicity had occurred between Rachel Doorm and
Brand. Falling helplessly back now in this place, the
young girl pressed her hands to her head and moaned
pitifully.
Nance dropped her flowers and flung herself on her
knees beside her. " What is it, darling? " she whis-
pered in a low frightened voice. " Oh, Linda, what is
it? " But Linda's only reply was to close her eyes
and let her head fall heavily back against the stone-
work of the parapet. Nance rose to her feet and stood
looking at her in mute despair. " Linda ! Linda ! "
she cried. "Linda! What is it? "
But the shadowy white form lay hushed and motion-
less, the soft hair across her forehead stirring in the
wind, but all else about her, horribly, deadly still.
Nance rushed across the bridge and down to the
river's brink. She came back, her hands held cup-wise,
and dashed the water over her sister's face. The
child's eyelids flickered a little, but that was all. She
remained as motionless and seemingly unconscious as
224 RODMOOR
before. With a desperate effort, Nance tried to lift
her up bodily in her arms, but stiff and limp as the
girl was, this seemed an attempt beyond her strength.
Once more she stood, helpless and silent, regarding
the other as she lay. Then it dawned upon her mind
that the only possible thing to do was to leave her
where she was and run to the village for help. She
would arouse her own landlady. She would get the
assistance of Dr. Raughty.
With one last glance at her sister's motionless form
and a quick look up and down the river on the chance
of there being some barge or boat at hand with people
— as sometimes happened — sleeping in it, she set off
running as fast as she could in the direction of the
silent town.
As soon as the sound of her retreating steps died
away in the distance, the hitherto helpless Linda leapt
quickly and lightly to her feet. Standing motionless
for awhile till she had given her sister time to reach
the high-street, she set off herself with firm and rapid
steps in the same direction. She resolved that she
would not risk crossing the green, but would reach the
park wall by a little side alley which skirted the backs
of the houses. She felt certain that when she did
reach this wall it would be easy enough to climb over
it. She remembered its loose uneven stones and its
clinging ivy. And once in the park — ah ! she knew
well enough what way to take then !
Deserted by its human invaders, the old New Bridge
relapsed into its accustomed mood of silent expectancy.
It had witnessed many passionate loves and many pas-
sionate hatreds. It had felt the feet of generations
of Rodmoor's children, light as gossamer seeds, upon
THE FENS 225
its sliouldoi-.s, and it liad felt the creaking of the death-
wagon carrying tlie same persons, heavy as lead then,
to the oblong holes dug for them in the churchyard.
All this it had felt, but it still waited, still waited in
patient expectancy, while the tides went up and down
beneath it, and sea airs swept over it and night by
night the stars looked down on it ; still waited, with the
dreadful patience of the eternal gods and the eternal
elements, something that, after all, would perhaps never
come.
Nance's flowers, meanwhile, lay where she had
dropped them, upon the ground by the stone seat.
They were there when, some ten minutes after her de-
parture, the girl returned with Dr. Raughty and Mrs.
Raps to find Linda gone; and they were there through
all the hours of the dawn, until a farm boy, catching
sight of them as he went to his work, threw them into
the river in order that he might observe the precise
rapidity with which they would be carried by the tide
under the central arch. They were carried very swiftly
under the central arch ; but linger as the boy might, he
did not see them reappear on the other side.
XVII
THE DAWN
THE dawn was just faintly making Itself felt
among the trees of Oakguard when Philippa
Renshaw, restless as she often was on these
summer nights, perceived, as she leaned from her open
window, a figure almost as slender as herself standing
motionless at the edge of one of the terraces and look-
ing up at the house. There was no light in Phllippa's
room, so that she was able to watch this figure without
risk of being herself observed. She was certain at
once in her own mind of Its identity, and she took it
immediately for granted that Brand was even now on
his way to meet the young girl at the spot where she
now saw her standing.
She experienced, therefore, a certain surprise and
even annoyance — for she would have liked to have
witnessed this encounter — when, instead of remaining
where she stood, the girl suddenly slipped away like a
ghostly shadow and merged herself among the park-
trees. Philippa remained for some minutes longer at
the window peering intently Into the grey obscurity
and wondering whether after all she had been mistaken
and it was one of the servants of the house. There was
one of the Oakguard maids addicted to walking In her
sleep, and she confessed to herself that It was quite
possible she had been misled by her own morbid fancy
into supposing that the nocturnal wanderer was Linda
Hcrrick.
226
THE DAWN 227
She returned to her bed after a while and tried to
sleep, but the idea that it was really Linda she had seen
and that the young girl was even now roaming about
the grounds like a disconsolate phantom, took posses-
sion of her mind. She rose once more and cautiously
pulling down the blind and drawing the curtains be-
gan hurriedly to dress herself, taking the precaution
to place the solitary candle which she used behind a
screen so that no warning of her wakefulness should
reach the person she suspected.
Opening the door and moving stealthily down the
passage, she paused for a moment at the threshold of
her brother's room. All was silent within. Smiling
faintly to herself, she turned the handle with exquisite
precaution and glided into the room. No! She was
right in her conjecture. The place was without an
occupant, and the bed, it appeared, had not been slept
in. She went out, closing the door silently behind her.
Her mother's room was opposite Brand's and the
fancy seized her to enter that also. She entered it, and
stepped, softly as a wandering spirit, to her mother's
side. Mrs. Renshaw was lying in an uneasy posture
with one arm stretched across the counterpane and her
head close to the edge of the bed. She was breathing
heavily but was not in a deep sleep. Every now and
then her fingers spasmodically closed and unclosed, and
from her lips came broken inarticulate words. The
pallid light of the early dawn made her face seem older
than Philippa had ever seen it. By her side on a little
table lay an open book, but it was still too dark for the
intruder to discern what this book was.
The daughter stood for some minutes in absolute
rigidity, gazing upon the sleeper. Her face as she
228 RODMOOR
gazed wore an expression so complicated, so subtle,
that the shrewdest observer seeking to interpret its
meaning would have been baffled. It was not malignant.
It certainly was not tender. It might have been com-
pared to the look one could conceive some heathen
courtesan in the days of early Christianity casting
upon a converted slave.
Uneasily conscious, as people In their sleep often
are, without actually waking, of the alien presence
so near her, Mrs. Renshaw suddenly moved round in
her bed and with a low moaning utterance, settled her-
self to sleep with her face to the window. It was a
human name she had uttered then. Phlllppa was sure
of that, but it was a name completely strange to the
watcher of her mother's unconsciousness.
Passing from the room as silently as she had entered,
the girl ran lightly down the staircase, picked up a
cloak in the hall, and let herself out of the front door.
Meanwhile, through the gradually lifting shadows,
Linda with rapid and resolute steps was hastening
across the park to the portion of the avenue where
grow the great cedar-trees. This was the place to
which her first instinct had called her. It was only
an after-thought, due to cooler reason that had caused
her to deviate from this and approach the house itself.
As she advanced through the dew-drenched grass,
silvery now in the faint light, she felt that vague in-
describable sensation which all living creatures, even
those scourged by passion, are bound to feel, at the
first palpable touch of dawn. Perfumes and odours
that could not be expressed in words, and that seemed
to have no natural origin, came to the girl on the wind
Avhich went sighing past her. This — so at least Linda
THE DAWN 229
vaguely felt — was not the west wind an}' more. It
was not any ordinary wind of day or night. It was
the dawn wind, the breath of the earth herself, indrawn
with sweet sharp ecstasy at the delicate terror of the
coming of the sun-god.
As she approached the avenue where the trunks of
the cedars rose dark against the misty white light, she
was suddenly startled by the flapping wings of an
enormous heron which, mounting up in front of her
out of the shadow of the trees, went sailing away across
the park, its extended neck and outstretched legs out-
lined against the eastern sky. She passed in among
the shadows from which the heron had emerged, and
there, as though he had been waiting for her only a
few moments, was Brand Renshaw.
With one swift cry she flung herself into his arms
and they clung together as if from an eternity of sep-
aration. In her flimsy dress wet with mist she seemed
like a creature evoked by some desperate prayer of
earth-passion. Her checks and breast were cold to
his touch, but the lips that answered his kisses were hot
as if with burning fever. She clung to him as though
some abysmal gulf might any moment open beneath
their feet. She nestled against him, she twined herself
around him. She took his head between her hands and
with her cold fingers she caressed his face. So thinly
was she clad that he could feel her heart beating as if
it were his own.
" I knew you were calling me," she gasped at last.
" I felt it — I felt it in my flesh. Oh, my only love,
I'm all yours — all, all yours ! Take me, hold me,
save me from every one ! Hold me, hold me, my only
love, hold me tight from all of them ! "
230 RODMOOR
They swayed together as she clung to him and, lift-
ing her up from the ground he carried her, still wildly
kissing him, into the deeper shadow of the great cedars.
Exhausted at last by the extremity of her passion,
she hung limp in his arms, her face white as the white
light which now flooded the eastern horizon. He laid
her down then at the foot of one of the largest trees
and bending over her pushed back the hair from her
forehead as if she had been a tired child.
By some powerful law of his strange nature, the very
intensity of her passion for him and her absolute yield-
ing to his will calmed and quieted his own desire. She
was his now, at a touch, at a movement ; but he would
as soon have hurt an infant as have embraced her then.
His emotion at that moment was such as never again
in his life he was destined to experience. He felt as
though, untouched as she was, she belonged to him,
body and soul. He felt as though they two together
were isolated, separated, divided, from the whole living
world. Beneath the trunks of those black-foliaged ce-
dars they seemed to be floating in a mystic ship over a
great sea of filmy white waves.
He bent down and kissed her forehead, and under his
kiss, chaste as the kiss a father might give to a little
girl, she closed her eyes and lay motionless and still,
a faint-flickering smile of infinite contentment playing
upon her lips.
They were in this position — the girl's hand resting
passively in his — and he bending over her, when
through an eastward gap between the trees the sun
rose above the mist. It sent towards them a long blood-
coloured finger that stained the cedar trunks and caused
the strangely shaped head of the stooping man to look
THE DAWN 231
as if it had been dipped in blood. It made the girl's
mouth scarlet-red and threw an indescribable flush over
her face, a flush delicate and diaphanous as that which
tinges the petals of wild hedge roses.
Linda opened her eyes and Brand leapt to his feet
with a cry. " The sun ! " he shouted, and then, in a
lower voice, " what an omen for us, little one — what
an omen ! Out of the sea, out of our sea ! Come, get
up, and let's watch the morning in ! There won't be
a trace of mist left, or dew either, in an hour or so."
He gave her his hand and hurriedly pulled her to
her feet. " Quick ! " he cried. " You can see it across
the sea from over there. I've often seen it, but never
like this, never with you ! "
Hand in hand they left the shade of the trees and
hastening up the slope of a little grassy mound — per-
haps the grave of some viking-ancestor of his own —
they stood side by side surveying the wonder of the
sunrise.
As they stood there and the sun, mounting rapidly
higher and higher, dispersed the mists and flooded
everything with golden light. Brand's mood began to
change towards his companion. The situation was re-
versed now and it was his arms that twined themselves
round the girl's figure, while she, though only resist-
ing gently and tenderly, seemed to have recovered the
normal instincts of her sex, the instincts of self-pro-
tection and aloofness.
The warmer the sun became and the more clearly the
familiar landscape defined itself before them, the more
swiftly did the relations between the two change and
reverse. No longer did Brand feel as though some
mystic spiritual union had anniliilated the difference
232 RODMOOR
between their sex. The girl was once more an evasive
object of pursuit. He desired her and his desire irri-
tated and angered him.
" We shan't have the place to ourselves much longer,"
he said. " Come — let's say good-bye where we were
before — where we weren't so much in sight."
He sought to lead her back to the shade of the ce-
dars ; but she — looking timidly at his face — felt for
the first time a vague reaction against him and an in-
definable shrinking.
" I think I'll say good-bye to you here," she said,
with a faint smile. " Nance will be looking for me
ever^'where and I mustn't frighten her any further."
She was astonished and alarmed at the change in his
face produced by her words.
" As you please," he said harshly, " here, as well as
anywhere else, if that's your line! You'd better go
back the way you came, but the gates aren't locked if
you prefer the avenue." He actually left her when he
said this, and without touching her hand or giving her
another look, strode down the slope and away towards
the house.
This was more than Linda could bear. She ran after
him and caught him by the arm. " Brand," she whis-
pered, " Brand, my dearest one, you're not really angry
with me, are you? Of course, I'll say good-bye wher-
ever you wish ! Only — only — " and she gave an agi-
tated little sigh, " I don't want to frighten Nance more
than I can help."
He led her back to the spot where, under the dark
wide-spreading branches, the red finger of the sun h&d
first touched them. She loved him too well to resist
long, and she loved him too well not to taste, in the
THE DAWN 233
passionate tears that followed her abandonment to his
will, a wild desperate sweetness, even in the midst of
all her troubled apprehensions as to the calamitous
issues of their love.
It was in the same place, finally, and under the same
dark branches, that they bade one another good-bye.
Brand looked at his watch before they parted and they
both smiled when he announced that it was nearly six,
and that at any moment the milk-cart might pass them
coming up from the village. As he moved away, Linda
saw him stoop and pick up something from the ground.
He turned with a laugh and flung the thing towards
her so that it rolled to her feet. It was a fir-cone and
she knew well why he threw it to her as their farewell
signal. They had wondered, only a little while ago,
how it drifted beneath their cedar-tree, and Brand had
amused himself by twining it in her hair.
She picked it up. The hair was twisted about it
still — of a colour not dissimilar from the cone, but of
a lighter shade. She slipped the thing into her dress
and let it slide down between her breasts. It scratched
and pricked her as soon as she began to walk, but this
discomfort gave her a singular satisfaction. She felt
like a nun, wearing for the first time her s3'mbol of
separation from the world — of dedication to her lord's
service. " I am certainly no nun now," she thouglit,
smiling sadly to herself, " but I am dedicated — dedi-
cated forever and a day. Oh, my dear, dear Love, I
would willingly die to give you pleasure ! "
She moved away, down the avenue towards the vil-
lage. She had not gone very far when she was startled
by a rustle in the undergrowth and the sound of a
mocking laugh. She stopped in terror. The laugh
234 RODMOOR
was repeated, and a moment later, from a well-chosen
hiding-place in a thicket of hazel-bushes, Philippa Ren-
shaw, with malignant shining eyes, rushed out upon
her.
"Ah!" she cried joyously, "I thought it was you.
I thought it was one or other of you ! And where is
our dear Brand? Has he deserted you so quickly?
Does he prefer to have his little pleasures before the
sun is quite so high? Does he leave her to go back all
alone and by herself? Does he sneak off like a thief
as soon as daylight begins? "
Linda was too panic-stricken to make any reply to
this torrent of taunts. With drawn white face and
wide-open terrified eyes, she stared at Philippa as a
bird might stare at a snake. Philippa seemed de-
lighted with the effect she produced and stepping in
front of the young girl, barred her way of escape.
" You mustn't leave us now," she cried. " It's im-
possible. It would never do. What will they say in
the village when they see you like that, crossing the
green, at this hour? What you have to do, Linda Her-
rick, is to come back and have breakfast with us up at
the house. My mother will be delighted to see you.
She always gets up early, and she's very, very fond of
you, as you know. You do know my mother's fond of
you, don't you?
" Listen, you silly white-faced thing ! Listen, you
young innocent, who must needs come wandering round
people's houses in the middle of the night ! Listen —
you Linda Herrick ! I don't know whether you're
stupid enough to imagine that Brand's going to marry
you? Are you stupid enough for that? Are you, you
dumb staring thing? Because, if you are, I can tell
THE DAWN 235
you a little about Brand that may surprise you. Per-
haps you think you're the first one he's ever made love
to in tills precious park of ours. No, no, my beauty,
you're not the first — and you won't be the last. We
Renshaws are a curious famil}^, as you'll find out, you
baby, before you've done with us. And Brand's the
most curious of us all !
" Well, are you coming back with me? Are you com-
ing back to have a nice pleasant breakfast with my
mother? You'd better come, Linda Herrick, you'd bet-
ter come ! In fact, you are coming, so that ends it.
People who spend the night wandering about other peo-
ple's grounds must at least have the decency to show
themselves and acknowledge the hospitality ! Besides,
how glad Brand will be to see you again ! Can't you
imagine how glad he'll be? Can't you see his look?
" Oh, no, Linda Herrick, I can't possibly let you go
like this. You see, I'm just like my dear mother. I
love gentle, sensitive, pure-minded young girls. I love
their shyness and their bashfulness. I love the unfor-
tunate little accidents that lead them into parks and
gardens. Come, 3'ou dumb big-eyed thing! What's
the matter with you? Can't you speak? Come!
Back with you to the house ! We'll find my mother
stirring — and Brand too, unless he's sick of girls' so-
ciety and has gone off to Mundham. Come, white-face ;
there's nothing else for it. You must do what I tell
you."
She laid her hand on Linda's shoulder, and, such was
the terror she excited, the unhappy girl might actually
have been magnetized into obeying her, if a timely and
unexpected interruption had not changed the entire
situation. This was the appearance upon the scene
236 RODMOOR
of Adrian Sorio. Sorio had recently acquired an al-
most daily habit of strolling a little way up the Oak-
guard avenue before his breakfast with Baltazar. On
two or three of these occasions he had met Philippa,
and he had always sufficient hope of meeting her to give
these walks a tang of delicate excitement. He had
evidently heard nothing of Linda's disappearance.
Nance in her distress had, it seemed, resisted the in-
stinct to appeal to him. He was consequently con-
siderably surprised to see the two girls standing to-
gether in the middle of the sunlit path.
Linda, flinging Philippa aside, rushed to meet him.
" Adrian ! Adrian ! " she cried piteously, " take me
home to Nance." She clung to his arm and in the
misery of her outraged feelings, began sobbing like a
child who has been lost in the dark. Sorio, soothing
and petting her as well as he could, looked enquiringly
at Philippa as she came up.
" Oh, it's nothing. It's nothing, Adrian. It's only
that I wanted her to come up to the house. She seems
to have misunderstood me and got silly and frightened.
She's not a very sensible little girl."
Sorio looked at Philippa searchingly. In his heart
he suspected her of every possible perversity and mali-
ciousness. He realized at that moment how entirely
his attraction to her was an attraction to what is dan-
gerous and furtive. He did not even respect her in-
telligence. He had caught her more than once play-
ing up to his ideas in a manner that indicated a secret
contempt for them. At those moments he had hated
her, and — with her — had hated, as he fancied, the
whole feminine tribe — that tribe which refuses to be
impressed even by world-crushing logic. But how at-
THE DAWN 237
tractive she was to liim ! How attractive, even at this
moment, as he looked into her defiant, inscrutable eyes,
and at her scornfully curved lips !
" You needn't pity her, Adrian," she went on, casting
a bitter smile at Linda's bowed head as the young girl
hid her face against his shoulder. '* There's no need to
pity her. She's just like all the rest of us, only she
doesn't play the game frankly and honestly as I do.
Send her home to her sister, as she says, and come with
me across the park. I'll show you that oak tree if
you'll come — the one I told you about, the one that's
haunted."
She threw at him a long deep look, full of a subtle
challenge, and stretched out her hand as if to separate
him from the clinging child. Sorio returned her look
and a mute struggle took place between them. Then
his face hardened.
" I must go back with her," he said. " I must take
her to Nance."
"Nonsense!" she rejoined, her eyes darkening and
changing in colour. " Nonsense, my dear ! She'll find
her way all right. Come ! I really want you. Yes, I
mean what I say, Adrian. I really want 3'ou this
time ! "
The expression with which she challenged him now
would have delighted the great antique painters of the
feminine mystery. The gates of her soul seemed to
open inwards, on magical softly-moving hinges, and an
incalculable power of voluptuous witchcraft emanated
from her whole bod3\
It is doubtful whether a spell so provocative could
have been resisted by any one of an origin different
from Sorio's. But he had in him — capable of being
238 RODMOOR
roused at moments — the blood of that race in which of
all others women have met their match. To this witch-
craft of the north he opposed the marble-like disdain
of the south — the disdain which has subtlety and
knowledge in it — the disdain which is like petrified
hatred.
His face darkened and hardened until it resembled
a mask of bronze.
" Good-bye," he said, " for the present. We shall
meet again — perhaps to-morrow. But anyway, good-
bye ! Come, Linda, my child."
" Perhaps to-morrow — and perhaps not!" returned
Philippa bitterly. " Good-bye, Linda. I'll give your
love to Brand ! "
Sorio said little to his companion as he escorted her
back to her lodging in the High Street. He asked her
no questions and seemed to take it as quite a natural
thing that she should have been out at that early hour.
They discovered Dr. Raughty in the house when they
arrived, doing his best to dissuade Nance from any
further desperate hunt after the wanderer, and it was
in accordance with the doctor's advice, as well as their
own weariness that the two sisters spent the later
morning hours of their August Bank-holiday in a pro-
found and exhausted sleep.
XVIII
BANK-HOLIDAY
IT was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon when
Nance woke out of a heavy dreamless sleep. She
went to the window. The shops in the little
street were all closed and several languid fishermen and
young tradesmen's apprentices were loitering about at
the house doors, chaffing lazily and with loud bursts of
that peculiarly empty lauglitcr which seems the pre-
rogative of rural idleness, the stray groups of gaily
dressed young women who, in the voluptuous content-
ment of after-dinner repletion, were setting forth to
take the train for Mundham or to walk with their
sweethearts along the sea-shore. She turned and
looked closely at her still sleeping sister.
Linda lay breathing softly. On her lips was a child-
like smile of serene happiness. She had tossed the bed-
clothes away and one of her arms, bare to the elbow,
hung over the edge of the bed. It seemed she was hold-
ing fast, in the hand thus pathetically extended, some
small object round which her fingers were tightly closed.
Nance moved to her side and took this hand in her
own. The girl turned her head uneasily but continued
to sleep. Nance opened the fingers which lay help-
lessly in her own and found that what they held so
passionately was a small fir-cone. The bright August
sunshine pouring down upon the room enabled her to
catch sight of several strands of light brown hair
239
240 RODMOOR
woven round the thing's rough scales. She let the un-
conscious fingers close once more round the fir-cone and
glanced anxiously at the sleeping girl. She guessed in
a moment the meaning of that red scratch across the
girl's bosom. She must have been carrying this token
pressed close against her flesh and its rough prickly
edges had drawn blood.
Nance sighed heavily and remained for a moment
buried in gloomy thought. Then, stepping softly to
the door, she ran downstairs to see if Mrs. Raps were
still in her kitchen or had left any preparations for
their belated dinner. Their habit was to make their
own breakfast and tea, but to have their midday meal
brought up to them from their landlady's table. She
found an admirable collation carefully prepared for
them on a tray and a little note on the dresser telling
her that the family had gone to Mundham for the after-
noon.
" Bless your poor, dear heart," the note ended, *' the
old man and I thought best not to disappoint the chil-
dren."
Nance felt faint with hunger. She put the kettle on
the fire and made tea and with this and Mrs. Raps' tray
she returned to her sister's side and roused her from
her sleep.
Linda seemed dazed and confused when she first woke.
For the moment it was difficult not to feel as though
all the events of the night and morning were a troubled
and evil dream. Nance noticed the nervous and be-
wildered way in which she put her hand to the mark
upon her breast as if wondering why it hurt her and the
hasty disconcerted movement with which she concealed
the fir-cone beneath her pillow. In spite of everything,
BANK-HOLIDAY 241
however, their meal was not by any means an unhappy
one. The sun shone warm and bright upon the floor.
Pleasant scents, in which garden-roses, salt-sea fresh-
ness and the vague smell of peat and tar mingled to-
gether, came in through the window, blent with the lazy,
cheerful sounds of the people's holiday. After all they
were both young and neither the unsatisfied ache in the
soul of the one nor the vague new dread, bitter-sweet and
full of strange forebodings, in the mind of the other
could altogether prevent the natural life-impulse with
which, like two wind-shaken plants in an intermission of
quiet, they raised their heads to the sky and the sun-
shine. They were young. They were alive. They
knew — too well, perhaps ! — but still they knew what
it was to love, and the immense future, with all its in-
finite possibilities, lay before them. " Sursum Corda ! "
the August airs whispered to them. " Sursum Corda ! "
*' Lift up your hearts ! " their own young flesh and
blood answered.
Linda did not hesitate as she ate and drank to con-
fess to Nance how she had betrayed her and how she
had seen Brand in the park. Of the cedar trees and
their more ominous story she said nothing, but she told
how Fhilippa had sprung upon her in the avenue and of
wild, cruel taunts.
" She frightened me," the girl murmured. " She al-
ways frightens me. Do you think she would really
have made me go back with her to the house — to meet
Brand and Mrs. Renshaw and all? I couldn't have
done it," she put her hands to her cheeks and trembled
as she spoke, " I couldn't — I couldn't ! It would
have been too shameful ! And yet I believe she was
really going to make me. Do you think she was.
242 RODMOOR
Nance? Do you think she could have done such a
thing? "
Nance gripped the arms of her chair savagely.
"Why didn't you leave her, dear?" she exclaimed.
" Why didn't you simply leave her and run off? She
isn't a witch. She's simply a girl like ourselves."
Linda smiled. " How fierce you look, darling ! I
believe if it had been you you'd have slapped her face
or pushed her down or something."
Nance gazed out of the window, frowning. She
wondered to herself by what spiritual magic Mr. Tra-
herne and his white rat proposed to obliterate the poi-
sonous rage of jealousy. She wondered what he would
say, the devoted priest, to this uncalled for and cruel
attack upon her sister. She had never heard him men-
tion Philippa at any time in their talks. Was he as
much afraid of her beauty as he pretended to be of her
own? Did he make Philippa hide her ankles in her skirt
when she visited him? But she supposed she never did
visit him. It was somehow very difficult to imagine the
sister of Brand Renshaw in the priest's little study.
From Traherne, Nance's mind wandered to Dr.
Raughty. How kind he had been to her when she was
in despair about Linda ! She had never seen him half
so serious or troubled. She could hardly help smiling
as she remembered the peculiar expression he wore and
the way he pulled on his coat and laced up his boots.
She had let him give her a little glass of creme de
menthe and she could see now, with wonderful dis-
tinctness, the gravity with which he had watched her
drink it. She felt certain his hand had shaken with
nervousness when he took the glass from her. She
could hear him clearing his throat and muttering some
BANK-HOI.IDAY 213
fantastic invocation to what sounded like an Egyptian
divinity. Surely the effect of extreme anxiety could
produce upon no one else in the world but Dr. Rau^^hty
a tendency to allude to the great god Ra ! And what
extraordinary things he had put into his little black
bag as he sallied forth with her to the bridge ! Linda
might have been in need of several kinds of surgical op-
erations from the preparations he made.
He had promised to spend that day on a fishing trip,
out to sea, with Adrian and Baltazar. She wondered
whether their boat was still in sight or whether they had
got beyond the view of Rodnioor harbour.
" Linda, dear," she said presently, catching her sis-
ter's hand feeling about under her pillows for the fir-
cone she had hidden, " Linda, dear, if I'm to forgive
you for what you did last night, for running away from
me, I mean, and pretending things, will you do some-
thing that I want now,? Will you come down to the
shore and see if we can see anything of Adrian's boat?
He's fishing with Dr. Raughty and Mr. Stork, and I'd
love to get a sight of their sail. I know it's a sailing
boat they've gone in because Dr. Raughty said he was
going to take his mackintosh so that when they went
fast and the water splashed over the side he might be
protected. I think he was a little scared of the ex-
pedition. Poor dear man, between us all, I'm afraid
we give him a lot of shocks ! "
Linda jumped up quite eagerly. She felt prepared
at that moment to do anything to please her sister.
Besides, there were certain agitating thoughts in her
brain which cried aloud for any kind of distraction.
They dressed and went out, choosing, as suited the holi-
day occasion, brighter frocks and gayer hats than they
244 RODMOOR
had worn for many weeks. Nance's position in the
Pontifex shop was a favourable one as far as their ward-
robe was concerned.
They made their way down to the harbour. They
were surprised, and in Linda's case at any rate not very
pleasantly surprised, to find tied to a post where the
wharf widened and the grass grew between the cobble-
stones the little grey pony and brown pony-cart which
Mrs. Renshaw was in the habit of using when the hot
weather made it tiring for her to walk.
" Let's go back ! Oh, Nance, let's go back ! " whis-
pered Linda in a panic-stricken voice. " I don't feel I
can face her to-day."
They stood still, hesitating.
" There she is," cried Nance suddenly, " look —
who's she got there with her.'* "
" Oh, Nance, it's Rachel, yes, it's Rachel ! "
" She must have gone to Dyke House to fetch her,"
murmured the other. " Quick ! Let's go back."
But it was already too late. Rising from the seat
where they were talking together at the harbour's edge,
the two women moved towards the girls, calling them by
name. There was no escape now and the sisters ad-
vanced to meet them.
They made a strange foreground to the holiday
aspect of the little harbour, those two black-gowned fig-
ures. Mrs. Renshaw was a little in front and her less
erect and less rigid form had a certain drooping pathos
in its advance as though she deprecated her appearance
in the midst of so cheerful a scene. Both the women
wore old-fashioned bonnets of a kind that had been dis-
carded for several years ; but the dress and the bonnet
of Rachel Doorm presented the appearance of having
BANK-HOLIDAY 245
been dragged out of some ancient chest and thrust upon
her in disregard of the neglected condition of her other
clothes. Contrasted with the brightly rocking waters
of the river mouth and the gay attire of the boat-load
of noisy lads and girls that was drifting sea-ward on
the out-flowing tide, the look of the two women, as they
crossed the little quay, might have suggested the sort
of scene that, raised to a poetic height by the genius
of the ancient poets, has so often in classical drama
symbolized the approach of messengers of ill-omen.
Mrs. Renshaw greeted the two sisters very nervously.
Nance caught her glancing with an air of ascetic dis-
approval at their bright-coloured frocks and hats.
Rachel, avoiding their eyes, extended a cold limp hand
to each in turn. They exchanged a few conventional
and embarrassed sentences, Nance as usual under such
circumstances, giving vent to little uncalled for bursts
of rather disconcerting laughter. She had a trick of
opening her mouth very wide when she laughed like this,
and her grey eyes even wider still, which gave her an
air of rather foolish childishness quite inexpressive of
what might be going on in her mind.
After a while they all moved off, as if by an in-
stinctive impulse, away from the harbour mouth and
towards the sea-shore. To do this they had to pass a
piece of peculiarly desolate ground littered with dead
fish, discarded pieces of nets and dried heaps of sun-
bleached seaweed. Nance had a moment's quaint and
morbid intimation that the peculiar forlornness of this
particular spot gratified in some way the taste of Mrs.
Renshaw, for her expression brightened a little and she
moved more cheerfully than when under the eyes of the
loiterers on the wharf. There were some young women
246 RODMOOR
paddling in the sea just at that place and some young
men watching them so that Mrs. Renshaw, who with
Nance kept in advance of the other two, led the way
along the path immediately under the sand-dunes. This
was the very spot where, on the day of their first ex-
ploration of the Rodmoor coast, they had seen the
flowerless leaves of the little plant called the rock-rose.
The flowers of this plant, as Nance observed them now,
were already faded and withered, but other sea growths
met her eye which were not unfamiliar. There were
several tufts of grey-leaved sea-pinks and still greyer
sea-lavender. There were also some flaccid-stalked,
glaucous weeds which she had never noticed before and
which seemed in the moist sappy texture of their foliage
as though their natural place was rather beneath than
above the salt water whose propinquity shaped their
form. But what made her pause and stoop down with
sudden startled attention, was her first sight of that
plant described to her by Mr. Traherne as peculiarly
characteristic of the Rodmoor coast. Yes, there it was
— the yellow horned poppy ! As she bent over it
Nance realized how completely right the priest had been
in what he said. The thing's oozy, clammy leaves were
of a wonderful bluish tint, a tint that nothing in the
world short of the sea itself, could have possibly called
into existence. They were spiked and prickly, these
leaves, and their shape was clear-edged and threatening,
as if modelled in sinister caprice, by some Da Vinci-
like Providence, willing enough to startle and shock
humanity. But what struck the girl more vividly than
either the bluish tint or the threatening spikes were the
large, limply-drooping flowers of a pallid sulphurous
yellow which the plant displayed. They were flowers
BANK-HOLIDAY 247
that bore but small resemblance to the flowers of other
poppies. They had a peculiarly melancholy air, even
before they began to fade, an air as though the taste of
their petals would produce a sleep of a deeper, more
obliterating kind than any " drowsy syrups " or
" mandragora " which the sick soul might crave, to
" rase out " its troubles.
Mrs. Renshaw smiled as Nance rose from her long
scrutiny of this weird plant, a plant that might be
imagined " rooting itself at ease on Lethe's wharf "
while the ghost-troops swept by, whimpering and wail-
ing.
" I always like the horned poppy," she remarked,
" it's different from other flowers. You can't imagine
it growing in a garden, can you? I like that. I like
things that are wild — things no one can imprison."
She sighed heavily when she had said this and, turn-
ing her head away as they walked on, looked wearily
across the water.
" Bank-holidays are days for the young," she went
on, after a pause. " The poor people look forward to
them and I'm glad they do for they have a hard life.
But you must have a young heart, Nance, a young
heart to enjoy these things. I feel sometimes that we
don't live enough in other people's happiness but it's
hard to do it when one gets older."
She was silent again and then, as Nance glanced at
her sympathetically, " I like Rodmoor because there
are no grand people here and no motor-cars or noisy
festivities. It's a pleasure to see the poor enjoying
themselves but the others, they make my head ache!
They trouble me. I always think of Sodom and Go-
morrah when I see them."
248 RODMOOR
" I suppose," murmured the girl, " that they're human
beings and have their feelings, like the rest of us."
A shadow of almost malignant bitterness crossed Mrs.
Renshaw's face.
" I can't bear them ! I can't bear them ! " she cried
fiercel3\ " Those that laugh shall weep," she added,
looking at her companion's prettily designed dress.
" Yes, I'm afraid happy people are often hard-
hearted," remarked Nance, anxious if possible to fall in
with the other's mood, but feeling decidedly uneasy.
Mrs. Renshaw suddenly changed the conversation.
" I went over to see Rachel," she said, " because I
heard you had left her and were working in the shop."
She took a deep breath and her voice trembled.
" I think it was wrong of you to leave her," she
went on, " I think it was cruel of you. I know what
you will say. I know what all you young people nowa-
days say about being independent and so forth. But it
was wrong all the same, wrong and cruel ! Your duty
was clearly to your mother's friend. I suppose," she
added bitterly, " you didn't like her sadness and loneli-
ness. You wanted more cheerful companionship."
Nance wondered in her heart whether Mrs. Renshaw's
hostility to the complacent and contented ones of the
earth was directed, in this case, against the hard-worked
sewing girls or against poor Miss Pontifex and her little
garden.
" I did it," she replied, " for Linda's sake. She and
Miss Doorm didn't seem happy together."
As she spoke, she glanced apprehensively round to
ascertain how near the others were, but it seemed as
though Rachel had resumed her ascendency over the
young girl. They appeared to be engaged in absorb-
BAyK-IIOLIDAY 249
ing conversation and had stopped side by side, looking
at the sea. Mrs. Renshaw turned upon her resentfully,
a smouldering fire of anger in her brown eyes.
" Rachel has spoken to me about that," she said.
" She told me you were displeased with her because she
encouraged Linda to meet my son. I don't like this
interference with the feelings of people ! My son is of
an age to choose for himself and so is your sister. Why
should you set yourself to come between them.'' I don't
like such meddling. It's interfering with Nature ! "
Nance stared at her blankly, watching mechanically
the feverish way her fingers closed and unclosed, pluck-
ing at a stalk of sea-lavender which she had picked.
" But you said — you said — " she protested feebly,
" that Mr. Renshaw was not a suitable companion for
young girls."
" I've changed my mind since then," continued the
other, " at any rate in this case."
"Why.^" asked Nance hurriedly. "Why have
you.?"
" Because," and the lady raised her voice quite loudl}',
" because he told me himself the other day that it was
possible that he would marry before long."
She glanced triumphantly at Nance. " So you see
what you've been doing ! You've been tr^'ing to inter-
fere with the one thing I've been praying for for years ! "
Nance positively gasped at this. Had Brand really
said such a thing? Or if he had, was it possible that
it was anything but a blind to cover the tracks of his
selfishness.'' But whatever was the reason of the son's
remark it was clear that Nance could not, especially in
the woman's present mood, justify her dark suspicions
of him to his mother. So she did nothing but continue
250 RODMOOR
to stare, nervously and helplessly, at the stalk which
Mrs. Renshaw's excited fingers were pulling to pieces.
" I know why you're so opposed to my son," con-
tinued Mrs. Renshaw in a lower and somewhat gentler
tone. " It's because he's so much older than your
sister. But you're wrong there, Nance. It's always
better for the man to be older than the woman. Tenny-
son says that very thing, in one of his poems, I think in
' The Princess.' He puts it poetically of course, but he
must have felt the truth of it very strongly or he
wouldn't have brought it in. Nance, you've no idea
how I have been praying and longing for Brand to see
some one he felt he could marry ! I know it's what he
needs to make him happy. That is to say, of course,
if the girl is good and gentle and obedient."
The use of the word " obedient " in this connection
was too much for Nance's nerves. Her feelings to-
wards Mrs. Renshaw were always undergoing rapid and
contradictory changes. When she had talked of Smol-
lett and Dickens in their little sitting room the girl felt
she could do anything for her, so exquisitely guileless
her soul seemed, so spiritual and, as it were, transpar-
ent. But at this moment, as she observed her, there
was an obstinate, pinched look about her face and a
rigid tightening of all its lines. It was an expression
that harmonized only too well with her next remark.
" Your setting yourself against my son," she said,
" is only what I expected. Philippa would be just like
you if I said anything to her. All you young people
are too much for me. You are too much for me. But
I hear what you say and go on just the same."
The look of dogged and inflexible resolution with
which she uttered this last sentence contrasted strangely
BANK-HOLIDAY 251
■ — .
with her frail aspect and her weary drooping frame.
But that phrase about " obedience " still rankled in
Nance's mind, and she could not help saying,
" Why is it, Mrs. Renshaw, that you always speak as
though all the dut}' and burden of marriage rested upon
the woman? I don't see why it's more necessary for
her to be good and gentle than it is for the man ! "
Her companion's pallid lips quivered at this into a
smile of complicated irony and a strange light came
into her hollow eyes.
" Ah, my dear, my dear ! " she exclaimed, " you are
indeed young yet. When you're a few years older and
have come to know better what the world is like, you
will understand the truth of what I say. God has or-
dered, in his inscrutable wisdom, that there should be
a different right and wrong for us women, from what
there is for men. It may seem unjust. It may be
unjust. We can no more alter it or change it than we
can alter or change the shape of our bodies. A woman
is made to obey. She finds her happiness in obeying.
You young people may say what you please, but any
deviation from this rule is contrary to Nature. Even
the cleverest people," she added with a smile, " can't
interfere with Nature without suffering for it."
Nance felt absolutely nonplussed. The woman's
words fell from her with such force and were uttered
with such a melancholy air of finality, that her indigna-
tion died down within her like a flame beneath the weight
of a rain-soaked garment. Mrs. Renshaw looked sadly
over the brightly-rocking expanse of sunlit water, dot-
ted with white sails.
" It may appear to us unjust," she went on. " It
may be unjust. God does not seem in his infinite pleas-
252 RODMOOR
ure to have considered our ideas of justice in making
the world. Perhaps if he had there would be no women
in the world at all ! Ah, Nance, my dear, it's no use
kicking against the pricks. We were made to bear, to
endure, to submit, to suffer. Any attempt to escape
this great law necessarily ends in misery. Suffering is
not the worst evil in the world. Yielding to brutal
force is not the worst, either. I sometimes think, from
what I've observed in my life, that there are depths of
horror known to men, depths of horror through which
men are driven, compared with which all that we suffer
at their hands is paradise ! "
Her eyes had so strange and illumined an expression
as she uttered these words that Nance could not help
shuddering.
" We, too," she murmured, " fall into depths of
horror sometimes and it is men who drive us into them."
Mrs. Rcnshaw did not seem to hear her. She went
on dreamily.
" We can console ourselves. We have our duties.
We have our little things which must be done. God has
given to these little things a peculiar consecration. He
has touched them with his breath so that they are full
of unexpected consolations. There are horizons and
vistas in thom such as no one who hasn't experienced
what I mean can possibly imagine. They are like tiny
ferns or flowers — our * little things,' Nance, growing
at the bottom of a precipice."
The girl could restrain herself no longer.
" I don't agree with you ! I don't, I don't ! " she
cried. " Life is large and infinite and splendid and there
are possibilities in it for all of us — for women just as
much as men; just, just as much!"
BANK-HOLIDAY 253
Mrs. Ilensliaw smiled at her witli a look in her face
that was half pitiful and half ironical. " You don't
like my talk of * little things.' You want great things.
You want Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus !
Even your sacrifice — if you do sacrifice yourself —
must be striking, stirring, wonderful ! Ah, my dear,
my dear, wait a little, wait a little. A time will come
when you'll learn what the secret is of a woman's life on
this earth."
Nance made a desperate gesture of protest. Some-
thing treacherous in her own heart seemed to yield to
her companion's words but she struggled vigorously
against it.
" What we women have to do," Mrs. Renshaw con-
tinued pitilessly, " is to make some one need us — need
us with his whole nature. That is what is meant by lov-
ing a man. Everything else is mere passion and tends
to misery. The more submissive we are, the more the}'
need us. I tell you, Nance, the deepest instinct in our
blood is the instinct to be needed. When a person needs
us we love him. Everything else is mere animal instinct
and burns itself out."
Nance fumbled vaguely and helplessly in her mind, as
she listened, to get back something of the high, inspir-
ing tone of Mr. Traherne's mystical doctrine. That
had thrilled her and strengthened her, while this flung
her into the lowest depths of despondency. Yet, in a
certain sense, as she was compelled to admit to herself,
there was very little practical difference between the
two points of view. It was only that, with Mrs. Ren-
shaw, the whole thing took on a certain desolate and
disastrous colour as if high spirits and gaiety and ad-
venturousness were wrong in themselves and as if noth-
254 RODMOOR
ing but what was pitched in a low unhappy key could
possibly be the truth of the universe. The girl had a
curious feeling, all the while she was speaking, that in
some subtle way the unfortunate woman was deriving a
morbid pleasure from putting thrilling and exalted
things upon a ground that annihilated the emotion of
heroism.
*' Shall we go down to the sea now, dear.'' " said Mrs.
Renshaw suddenly. " The others will see us and fol-
low."
They moved together across the clinging sand.
When they approached the water's edge, now deserted
of holiday-makers, Nance searched the skyline for any
sail that might be the one carrying Sorio and his
friends. She made out two or three against the blue
distance but it was quite impossible to tell which of
these, if any, was the one that bore the man who, ac-
cording to her companion's words, would only " need "
her if she served him like a slave.
Mrs. Renshaw began picking up shells from the
debris-scattered windrow at the edge of the wet tide-
mark. As she did this and showed them one by one to
Nance, her face once more assumed that clear, trans-
parent look, spiritual beyond description and touched
with a childish happiness, which the girl had noticed
upon it when she spoke of the books she loved. Could it
be that only where religion or the opposite sex were
concerned this strange being was diseased and per-
verted.'' If so, how dreadful, how cruel, that the two
things which were to most people the very mainspring
of life were to this unhappy one the deepest causes of
wretchedness ! Yet Nance was far from satisfied with
her reading of the mystery of Mrs. Renshaw. There
J
BANK-HOLIDAY 255
was something in the woman, in spite of her almost sav-
age outbursts of sclf-revolation, so aloof, so proud, so
reserved that the girl felt only vaguely assured she was
on the right track with regard to her. Perhaps, after
all, below that tone of self-humiliating sentiment with
which she habitually spoke of both God and man, there
was some deep and passionate current of feeling, hidden
from all the world? Or was she, essentially and in
secret truth, cold and hard and pagan and only forcing
herself to drink the cup of what she conceived to be
Christianity out of a species of half-insane pride? In
all her utterances with regard to religion and sex there
was, Nance felt, a kind of heavy materiality, as if she
got an evil satisfaction in rendering what is usually
called " goodness " as colourless and contemptible as
possible. But now as she picked up a trumpet-shaped
shell from the line of debris and held it up, her eyes
liquid with pleasure, to the girl's view, Nance could not
resist the impression that she was in some strange way a
creature forced and driven out of her natural element
into these obscure perversities.
" I used to paint these shells when I was a girl," Mrs.
Rcnshaw remarked.
" What colour? " Nance answered, still thinking more
of the woman than of her words. Her companion
looked at her and burst into quite a merry laugh.
" I don't mean paint the shell itself," she said.
" You're not listening to me, Nance. I mean copy it,
of course, and paint the drawing. I used to collect sea-
weeds too, in those days, and dry them in a book. I
have that book somewhere still," she added, wistfully,
" but I don't know where."
She had won the girl's attention completely now.
256 RODMOOR
Nance seemed to visualize with a sudden sting of infinite
pity the various little relics so entirely dissociated
from Rodmoor and its inhabitants which this reserved
woman must keep stored up in that gloomy house.
" It's a funny thing," Mrs. Renshaw went on, " but I
can smell at this moment quite distinctly (I suppose it's
being down here by the sea that makes it come to me)
the very scent of that book ! The pages used to get
stuck together and when I pulled them apart there was
always the imprint of the seaweed on the paper. I
used to like to see that. It was as though Nature had
drawn it."
" It's lovely, collecting things," Nance remarked sym-
pathetically. " I used to collect butterflies when I was
a child. Dad used to say I was more like a boy than a
girl."
Mrs. Renshaw glanced at her with a curious look.
" Nance, dear," she said in a low, trembling voice,
" don't ever get into the habit of trying to be boyish
and that sort of thing. Don't ever do that ! The
only good women are the women who accept God's will
and bow to his pleasure. Anything else leads to untold
wretchedness."
Nance made no reply to this and they both began
searching for more shells among the stranded sea-drift.
Over their heads the sea-gulls whirled with wild dis-
turbed screams. There was only one sail on the horizon
now and Nance fixed her thoughts upon it and an im-
mense longing for Adrian surged up in her heart.
Meanwhile, between Linda and Miss Doorm a con-
versation much more sinister was proceeding. Rachel
seemed from their first encounter and as soon as the
girl came into contact with her to reassert all her old
BANK-HOI.TDAY 257
mastery. She deliberately overcame the frightened
child's instinctive movement to keep pace with the others
and held her closely to her side as if by the power of
some ancient link between them, too strong to be over-
come.
" Let me look at you," she said as soon as their
friends were out of hearing. " Let me look into your
eyes, my pretty one ! "
She laid one of her gaunt hands on the girl's shoul-
der and with the other held up her chin.
" Yes," she remarked after a long scrutiny during
which Linda seemed petrified into a sort of dumb sub-
mission, " yes, I can see you've struggled against him.
I can see you've not given up without an cfTort. That
means that you have given up! If you hadn't fought
against him he wouldn't have followed you. He's like
that. He always was like that." She removed her
hands but kept her eyes fixed gloomily on the girl's
face. " I expect you're wishing now you'd never seen
this place, eh? Aren't you wishing that? So this is
the end of all your selfishness and your vanity? Yes,
it's the end, Linda Herrick. It's the end."
She dragged the girl slowly forward along the path.
On their right as they advanced, the sun flickered upon
the rank grasses which grew intermittently in the soft
sand and on their left the glittering sea lay calm and
serene under the spacious sky.
Linda felt her feet grow heavy beneath her and her
heart sank with a sick misgiving as she saw how far
they had permitted the others to outstrip them. Be-
yond anything else it was the power of cruel memories
which held the young girl now so docile, so helpless, in
the other's hands. The old panic-stricken terror which
258 RODMOOR
Rachel had the power of exciting in her when a child
seemed ineluctable in its endurance. Faintly and feebly
in her heart Linda struggled against this spell. She
longed to shake herself free and rush desperately in
pursuit of the others but her limbs seemed turned to
lead and her will seemed paralyzed.
Rachel's face was white and haggard. She seemed
animated by some frenzied impulse — some inward,
demoniac force which drove her on. Drops of perspira-
tion stood out upon her forehead and made the grey
hair that fell across it moist and clammy under the rim
of her dusty black hat. Her clothes, as she held the
girl close to her side, threw upon the air a musty, fetid
odour.
"Where are your soft ways now.''" she went on,
" your little clinging ways, your touching little babyish
y,'a.ys? Where are your whims and your fancies.'*
Your caprices and your blushes.'' Where are your
white-faced pretences, and your sham terrors, only put
on to make you look sweet.'' "
She had her hand upon the girl's arm as she spoke
and she tightened her grasp, almost shaking her in her
mad malignity.
" Before you were born your mother was afraid of
me," she went on. " Oh, she gained little by cutting
me out with her pretty looks t She gained little, Linda
Herrick ! She dared scarcely look me in the face in
those days. She was afraid even to hate me. That is
why you are what you are. You're the child of her
terror, Linda Herrick, the child of her terror ! "
She paused for a moment while the girl's breath came
in gasps through her white lips as if under the burden
of an incubus.
BANK-HOLIDAY 259
" Listen ! " the woman hissed at last, staggering a
little and actually leaning against the girl as though
the frenzy of her malignity deprived her of her strength.
" Listen, Linda. Do you remember what I used to
tell you about your father? How in his heart all the
time he loved only me? How he would sooner have got
rid of your mother than have got rid of me? Do you
remember that? Listen, then! There's something
else I must say to you — something that you've never
guessed, something that you couldn't guess. When
you were — " she stopped, panting heavily and if Linda
had not mechanically assisted her she would have
fallen. " When you were — when I was — " Her
breath seemed to fail her then completely. She put
her hand to her side and in spite of the girl's fee-
ble effort to support her she sank, moaning, to the
ground.
Linda looked helplessly round. Nance and Mrs.
Renshaw had passed beyond a little promontory of
sand-hills and were concealed from view. She knelt
down by Rachel's side. Even then — even when those
vindictive dark eyes looked at her without a sign of con-
sciousness, they seemed to hold her with their power.
As they remained mute and motionless in this manner,
the prostrate woman and the kneeling girl, a faint gust
of wind, blowing the sand in a little cloud before it and
rustling the leaves of the horned poppies, brought to
Linda's senses an odour of inland fields. She felt a
dim return, under this air, of her normal faculties and
taking one of the woman's hands in her own she began
gently chafing it. Rachel answered to the touch
and a shiver passed through her frame. Then, in a
flash, intelligence came back into her eyes and her lips
260 RODMOOR
moved. Linda bent lower so as to catch her words.
They came brokenly, and in feeble gasps.
" I loved him so, I loved him more than my life. He
took my life and killed it. He killed my heart. He
brought me those beads from far across the sea. They
were for me — not for her. He brought them for me,
I tell you. I gave him my heart for them and he killed
it. He killed it and buried it. This isn't Rachel's
heart any more. No ! No ! It isn't Rachel's.
Rachel's heart has gone with him — with the Captain
— over great wide seas. He got it — out of me —
when — he — kissed my mouth."
Her voice died away in inarticulate mutterings.
Then once more her words grew human and clear.
" My heart went with him long ago, after that, over
the sea. It was in all his ships. It was in every ship
he sailed in — over far-ofF seas. And in place of my
heart — something else — something else — came and
lived in Rachel. It is this that — that — " The in-
telligence once more faded out of her eyes and she lay
stiff and motionless. Linda had a sudden thought that
she was dead and, with the thought, her fear of her
rolled away. Looking at her now, lying there, in her
black dress and crumpled bonnet, she seemed to see her
as she was, a mad, wretched, passion-scorched human
being. It crossed the young girl's mind how inconceiv-
able it was that this haggard image of desolation had
once been young and soft-limbed, had once danced out
on summer mornings to meet the sun as any other child !
But even as this thought came to her, Rachel stirred and
moved again. Her eyes had a dazed expression now
— a clouded, sullen, hopeless expression. Slowly and
BANK-HOLIDAY 261
with laborious effort, refusing Linda's assistance, she
rose to her feet.
*' Go and call them," she said in a low voice. " Go
and call them. Tell Mrs. Renshaw that I'm ill — that
she must take me home. You won't be troubled with me
much longer — not much longer ! But you won't for-
get me. Brand will see to that ! No, you won't for-
get me, Linda Herrick."
The girl ran off without looking back. When the
three of them returned, Rachel Doorm seemed to have
quite resumed her normal taciturnity.
They walked back, all four together, to the har-
bour mouth. The sisters helped the two women into
the little cart and untied the pony. As they clattered
away over the cobble-stones, Nance received from Mrs.
Renshaw a smile of gratitude, a smile of such illumined
and spiritual gaiety that it rendered the pale face which
it lit up beautiful with the beauty of some ancient pic-
ture.
When the pony-cart had disappeared, Nance and
Linda sat down together on the wooden bench watching
the white sail upon the horizon and talking of Rachel
Doorm.
Most of the holiday-makers had now retired to their
tea and a fresh breeze, coming In with the turn of the
tide, blew pleasantly upon the girls' foreheads and ruf-
fled the soft hair under their daintily bcribboned hats.
Nance, holding in her fingers the trumpet-shaped shell,
found herself suddenly wondering — perhaps because
the shape of the shell reminded her of it — whether
Linda had left that ominous fir-cone behind her in her
room or whether at the last moment she had again
262 RODMOOR
slipped it into her dress. She glanced sideways at her
sister's girlish bosom, scarcely stirring now as with her
head turned she looked at the full-brimmed tide, and she
wondered if, under that white and pink frock so coquet-
tishly open at the throat, there were any newly created
blood-stains from the rasping impact of that rough-
edged trophy of the satyr-haunted woods of Oakguard.
The afternoon light was so beautiful upon the water
at that moment and the cries of the circling sea-gulls
so full of an elemental callousness that the elder girl
experienced a sort of fierce reaction against the whole
weight of this intolerable sex-passion that was spoiling
both their lives. Something hard, free and reckless
seemed to rise up within her, in defiance of every sort
of feminine sentiment and, hardly thinking what she did
or of the effect of her words, " Quick, my dear," she
cried suddenly, " give me that fir-cone you've got under
your dress ! "
Linda's hands rose at once and she clutched at her
bosom, but her sister was too quick for her and too
strong. Nance's feeling at that moment was as if she
were plucking a snake away. Rising to her feet when
she had secured the trophy, she lifted up her arm and,
with a fierce swing of her whole body, flung both it and
the shell she had herself been holding far into the centre-
current of the inflowing tide.
" So much for Love ! " she cried fiercely.
The shell sank at once to the bottom but the fir-cone
floated. For a moment, when she saw Linda's dismay,
she felt a pang of remorse. But she crushed it fiercely
down. Behind her whole mood at that moment was a
savage reaction from Mrs. Renshaw's emotional per-
versity.
BANK-HOLIDAY 2G3
" Come ! " she cried, snatching at her sister's liantl
as Linda wavered on the wharf-brink and watched the
fir-cone drift behind an anchored barge and disappear.
"Come! Let's go back and help Miss Pontifex water
her garden. Then we'll have tea and then we'll go for
a row if it isn't too dark ! Perhaps Dr. Haughty will
be home by then and we'll make him take us."
She was so resolute and so dominant that Linda could
do nothing but meekly submit to her. Strangely
enough she, too, felt a certain rebound of youthful vi-
vacity now she was conscious no longer of the rough
wood-token pressing against her flesh. She also, after
what she had heard from the lips of Rachel, experienced
a reaction against the sorrow of " what men call love."
Their mood continued unaltered until they reached the
gate of the dressmaker's garden.
" Then it's Dr. Raughty — not Adrian," the
younger girl remarked with a smile, " that we're to have
to row us to-night .f* "
Nance looked quickly back at her and made an ef-
fort to smile too. But the sight of the flower-beds and
the carefully tended box-hedges of the little garden, had
been associated too long and too deeply with the pain
at her heart. Her smile died away from her face and
it was in silence after all and still bowed, for all their
brave revolt under the burden of their humanity, that
the two girls set themselves to water, as the August sun
went down into the fens, the heavily-scented phloxes and
sweet lavender of the admirable Miss Pontifex. That
little lady was herself at that moment staring demurely,
under the escort of a broad-shouldered nephew from
London, at a stirring representation of " East Lynne "
in a picture show in Mundham !
XIX
LISTENERS
AUGUST, now it had once come, proved hotter
than was usual in that windy East Anglian dis-
trict Before the month was half over the har-
vest had begun and the wheat fields by the river bank
stood bare and stubbly round their shocks of corn.
Twined with the wheat stalks and fading now, since
their support had been cut away, were all those bright
and brilliant field flowers which Nance had watched with
so tender an emotion in their yet unbudded state from
her haunt by the willow bed. Fumitory and persicaria,
succory and corn cockles, blent together in those fra-
grant holocausts with bindweed and hawkweed. At the
edges of the fields the second brood of scarlet poppies
still lingered on like thin streaks of spilt red blood round
the scalps of closely cropped heads. In the marshy
places and by the dykes and ditches the newly grown
rush spears were now feathery and high, overtopping
their own dead of the year before and gradually hiding
them from sight. The last of all the season's flowers,
the lavender-coloured Michaelmas daisies alone refused
to anticipate their normal flowering. But even these,
in several portions of the salt marshes, were already
high-grown and only waiting the hot month's departure
to put forth their autumnal blossoms. In the dusty
corners of Rodmoor yards and in the littered out-
skirts of Mundham, where there were several gravel-
264
LISTENERS 265
quarries, camomile and feverfew — those pungent chil-
dren of the late summer, lovers of rubbish heaps and de-
serted cow sheds — trailed their delicate foliage and
friendly flowers. In the wayside hedges, wound-wort
was giving place to the yellow spikes of the flower
called " archangel," while those " buds of marjoram,"
appealed to in so wistful and so bitter a strain by the
poet of the Sonnets, were superseding the wild basil.
The hot white dust of the road between Rodmoor and
Mundham rose in clouds under the wheels of every kind
of vehicle and, as it rose, it swept in spiral columns
across that grassy expanse which, in accordance with
the old liberal custom of East Anglian road-makers, sep-
arated the highway on both sides from the enclosing
hedges. With the sound of the corn-cutting machine
humming drowsily all day and, in the twilight, with the
shouts and cries of the children as their spirits rose with
the appearance of the moths and bats, there mingled
steadily, day in and day out, the monotonous splash of
the waves on Rodmoor beach.
To those in the vicinity, whom Nature or some ill-
usage of destiny had made morbidly sensitive to that
particular sound, there was perhaps something harder
to bear in its placid reiterated rhythm under these
halcyon influences than when, in rougher weather, it
broke into fury. The sound grew in intensity as it
diminished in volume and with the beat, beat, beat, of its
eternal refrain, sharpened and brought nearer in the
silence of the hot August noons there came to such nerv-
ously sensitive ears as were on the alert to receive it,
an increasingly disturbing resemblance to the sistole
and diastole, the inbreathing and outbreathing of some
huge, half-human heart.
266 RODMOOR
Among the various persons in Rodnioor from whom
the greater and more beneficent gods seemed turning
away their faces and leaving them a prey to the lesser
and more vindictive powers, it is probable that not one
felt so conscious of this note of insane repetition, almost
bestial in its blind persistence, as did Philippa Ren-
shaw. Philippa, in those early August weeks, became
more and more aloof from both her mother and Brand.
She met Sorio once or twice but that was rather by
chance than by design and the encounters were not
happy for either of them. Insomnia grew upon her and
her practise of roaming at night beneath the trees of
the park grew with it. Brand often followed her on
these nocturnal wanderings but only once was he suc-
cessful in persuading her to return with him to the
house. In proportion as she drew aw^ay from him he
seemed to crave her society.
One night, after Mrs. Renshaw had retired to bed,
the brother and sister lingered on in the darkened li-
brary. It was a peculiarly sultry evening and a heavy
veil of mist obscured the young crescent moon.
Through the open windows came hot gusts of air, ruf-
fling the curtains and making the candle flames flicker.
Brand rose and blew out all the lights except one which
he placed on a remote table below the staring dark-
visaged portrait, painted some fifty years before, of
Herman Renshaw, their father. The other pictures
that hung in the spaces between the book-shelves were
now reduced to a shadowy and ghostly obscurity, an ob-
scurity well adapted to the faded and melancholy linea-
ments of these older, but apparently no happier, Ren-
shaws of Oakguard. Round the candle he had left
alight a little group of agitated moths hovered and at
I
LISTENERS 267
intervals as one or other of them got .singed it would
dash itself with wild blind flutterings, into the remotest
corners of the room. From the darkness outside came
an occasional rustle of leaves and sighing of branches
as the gusts of hot air rose and died away. The op-
pressive heat was like the burden of a huge, palpable
hand laid upon the roof of the house. Now and again
some startled creature pursued by owl or weasel uttered
a panic-stricken cry, but whether its enemy seized upon
it, or whether it escaped, the eyes of the darkness alone
knew. Its cry came suddenly and stopped suddenly
and the steady beat of the rhythm of the night went
on as before.
Brand flung himself down in a low chair and his sister
balanced herself on the arm of it, a lighted cigarette
between her mocking lips. Hovering thus in the shadow
above him, her flexible form swaying like a phantom
created out of mist, she might have been taken for the
embodiment of some perverse vision, some dream avatar
from the vices of the dead past.
" After all," Brand murmured in a low voice, a voice
that sounded as though his thoughts were taking sliape
independently of his conscious will, " after all, what do
I want with Linda or any of them since I've got you.f" "
She made a mocking inclination of her head at this
but kept silence, only letting her eyes cling, with a
strange light in them, to his disturbed face. After a
pause he spoke again.
" And yet she suits me better than any one — bet-
ter than I expected it was possible for a girl like that
to suit me. She'll never get over her fear of me and
that means she'll never get over her love. I ought to be
contented with that, oughtn't 1.'* "
268 RODMOOR
He paused again and still Philippa uttered no word.
" I don't think you quite understand," he went on, " all
that there is between her and me. We touch one an-
other m the depths, there's no doubt about that, and
our boat takes us where there are no soundings, none at
least that I've ever made ! We touch one another where
that noise — oh, damn the wind ! I don't mean the
wind ! — is absolutely still. Have you ever reached a
point when you've got that noise out of your ears? No
— you know very well you haven't ! You were born
hearing it — just as I was — and you'll die hearing it.
But with her, just because she's so afraid, so madly
afraid — do you understand? — I have reached that
point. I reached it the other night when we were to-
gether. Yes ! You may smile — you little devil —
but it's quite true. She put it clear out of my head
just as if she'd driven the tide back ! "
He stared at the cloud of faint blue smoke that
floated up round his sister's white face and then he met
her eyes again.
" Bah ! " he flung out angrily. " What absurd non-
sense it all is ! We've been living too long in this place,
we Renshaws, that's what's the matter with us ! We
ought to sell the confounded house and clear out alto-
gether ! I will too, when mother dies. Yes, I will —
brewery or no brewery — and go off with Tassar to one
of his foreign places. I'll sell the whole thing, the land
and the business ! It's begun to get on my nerves. It
must have got on my nerves, mustn't it, when that simple
break, break, break, as mother's absurd poem says of
this damned sea, sounds to me like the beating heart of
something, of something whose heart ought to be
stopped from beating ! "
LISTENERS 269
His voice which had risen to a loud pitch of excite-
ment died away in a sort of apologetic murmur.
" Sorry," he muttered, " only don't look at me like
that, you girl. There, clear off and sit further away !
It's that look of yours that makes me talk in this silly
fashion. God help us ! I don't blame that foreign fel-
low for getting queer in his head. You've got some-
thing in those eyes of yours, Philippa, that no living
girl ought to be allowed to have ! Bah ! You've made
me talk like an absolute fool."
Instead of moving away as she had been bidden,
Philippa touched her brother with a light caress.
Never had she looked so entirely a creature of the old
perverse civilizations as she looked at that moment.
" Mother thinks you're going to marry that girl,"
she whispered, " but I know better than that, and I'm
always right in these things, am I not, Brand darling? "
He fell back under her touch and the shadowy lines
of his face contracted. Pie presented the appearance
of something withered and crumpled. Her mocking
smile still divided her curved lips, curved in the subtle,
archaic way as in the marbles of ancient Greece. What-
ever may have been the secret of her power over him, it
manifested itself now in the form of a spiritual cruelty
which he found very difficult to bear. He made a
movement that was almost an appeal.
" Say I'm right, say I'm always right in these
things ! " she persisted.
But at that moment a diversion occurred, caused by
the sudden entrance of a large bat. The creature ut-
tered a weird querulous cry, like the cry of a newborn
babe and went wheeling over their heads in desperate
rapid circles, beating against the bookcase and the pic-
270 RODMOOR
ture frames. Presently, attracted by the light, it
swooped down upon the flame of the candle and in a mo-
ment had extinguished it, plunging the room into com-
plete darkness.
Philippa, with a low taunting laugh, ran across the
room and wrapped herself in one of the window curtains.
" Open the door and drive it out," she cried. " Drive
it out, I say! Are you afraid of a thing like that? "
But Brand seemed either to have sunk into a kind of
trance or to be too absorbed in his thoughts to make
any movement. He remained reclining in his chair,
silent and motionless.
The girl cautiously withdrew from her shelter and,
fumbling about for matches, at last found a box and
struck a light. Tlie bat flew past her as she did so and
whirled away into the night. She lit several candles
and held one of them close to her brother's face. Thus
illuminated. Brand's sinister countenance had the look
of a mediaeval wood-carving. He might have been the
protagonist of one of those old fantastic prints repre-
senting Doctor Faustus after some hopeless struggle
with his master-slave.
" Take it away, you ! Let me alone. I've talked too
much to you already. This is a hot night, eh.'' A hot
night and the kind that sets a person thinking. Bah !
I've thought too much. It's thinking that causes all
the devilries in the world. Thinking, and hearing
hearts beating, that ought to be stopped ! "
He pushed her aside and rose, stretching himself and
yawning.
"What's the time? What? Only ten o'clock?
How early mother must have gone to bed ! This is the
kind of night in which people kill their mothers. Yes,
LISTENERS 271
they do, Pliilippa. You needn't peer at me like that !
And they do it when their mothers have daughters that
look like you — just like you at this very moment."
He leaned against the back of a chair and watched
her as she stood negligently by the mantelpiece, her
arm extended along its marble surface.
" Why does mother always say these things to you
about my marrying? " he continued in a broken thick
voice. " You lead her on to think of these things and
then when she comes out with them you bring them to
me, to make me angry with her. Tell me this, Philippa,
why do you hate mother so? Why did you have that
look in your face just now when I talked of killing her?
What — would — you — Hang it all, girl, stop star-
ing and smiling at me like that or it'll be you I'll kill !
Oh, Heaven above, help us ! This hot night will send
us all into Bedlam ! "
He suddenly stopped and began intently listening,
his eyes on his sister's face. " Did you hear that? " he
whispered huskily. " She's walking up and down the
passage — walking in her slippers, that's why you can
hardly hear her. Hush ! Listen ! She'll go presently
into father's room. She always does that in the end.
What do you think she does there, Philippa? Rum-
mages about, I suppose, and opens and shuts drawers
and changes the pictures ! What people we are ! God
— what people we are ! I suppose the sound of her do-
ing all that irritates you till your brain nearly bursts.
It's a strange thing, isn't it, this family life! Human
beings like us weren't meant to be stuck in a hole to-
gether like wasps in a bottle. Listen ! Do you hear
that? She's doing something to his window now. A
lot he cares, six feet under the clay ! But it shows how
272 RODMOOR
lie holds her still, doesn't it? " lie made a gesture in
the direction of his father's picture upon which the
candle-light shone clearly now, animating its heavy fea-
tures.
" Do you know," he continued solemnly, looking
closely at his sister again, " I believe one of these nights,
when she walks up and down like that, in her soft slip-
pers, you'll go straight up and kill her yourself. Yes,
I believe you listen like this every night till you could
put your fingers in your ears and scream."
He moved across the room and, approaching his
sister, shook her roughly by the arm. Some psychic
change in the atmosphere about them seemed to have
completely altered their relations.
" Confess — confess — you girl ! " he muttered
harshly. " Confess now — w^hen you go rushing off
like that into the park it isn't to see that foreign fellow
at all? It isn't even to lie, as I know you love to do,
touching the stalks of the poison funguses with the tip
of your tongue under the oak trunks? It's to escape
from hearing her, tliat's what it is ! Confess now. It's
to escape from hearing her ! "
He suddenly relaxed his grasp and stood erect, listen-
ing intently. The sweet heavy scent of magnolia
petals floated in through the window and somewhere —
far off among the trees — a screech-owl uttered a
broken wail, followed by the flapping of Avings. The
clock in tlie hall outside began striking the hour. Be-
fore each stroke a ponderous metallic vibration trembled
through the silent house.
" It's only ten now," he said. " The clock in here
is fast."
As he spoke there was a loud ring at the entrance
LISTENERS 273
door. The brotlar and sister stared blankly at one
another and then Philippa gave a low unnatural laugh.
" We might be criminals," she whispered. They in-
stinctively assumed more easy and less dramatic posi-
tions and waited in silence, while from the distant serv-
ants' quarters some one came to answer the summons.
They heard the door opened and the sound of sup-
pressed voices in the hall. There was a moment's pause,
during which Philippa looked mockingly and enquiringly
at Brand.
" It's our dear priest," she whispered, " and some one
else, too."
Surely the fool's not going to try — " began Brand.
Mr. Traherne and Dr. Haughty ! " announced the
servant, opening the library door and holding it open
while the visitors entered.
The clergyman advanced first. He shook hands with
Brand and bowed with old-fashioned courtesy to
Philippa. Dr. Raughty, following him, shook hands
with Philippa and nodded nervously at her brother.
The two men sank into the seats offered them and ac-
cepted an invitation to smoke. Brand moved to a side
table and mixed for them, with an air of resigned polite-
ness, cool and appropriate drinks. He drank nothing
himself, however, but his sister, with a mocking apology
to Mr. Traherne, lit herself a cigarette.
" How's the rat? " she began, throwing a teasing and
provocative smile upon the priest's perturbed counte-
ance.
" Out there," he replied, emptying his glass at one
gulp.
"What? In vour coat pocket on such a night as
this?"
274 RODMOOR
Mr. Trahernc put down his glass and inserted his
huge workman's fingers into the bosom of his cassock.
" Nothing under this but a shirt," he said. " Cas-
socks have no pockets."
"Haven't they?" laughed Brand. "They have
something then where you can put money. That is,
unless you parsons are like kangaroos and have some
natural little orifice in which to hide the offerings of the
faithful."
" Is he happy always in your pocket ? " enquired
Philippa.
" Do you want me to see? " replied the priest, rising
with a movement that almost upset the table. " I'll
bring him in and I'll make him go scimble-scamble all
about the room."
The tone in which he uttered these words said, as
plainly as words could say, " You're a pretty, silly,
flirtatious piece of femininity ! You only talk about
my rat for the sake of fooling me. You don't really
care whether he's happy in my pocket or not. It's
only out of consideration for your silly nerves that I
don't play with him now. And if you tease me an inch
more I will, and make him run up your petticoats, too ! "
" Sit down again, Traherne," said Brand, " and let
me fill up your glass. We'll all visit the rat presently
and find him some supper. Just at present I'm anx-
ious to know how things are in the village. I haven't
been down that way for weeks."
This was a direct challenge to the priest to come,
without further delay, to the matter of his visit. Ha-
mish Traherne accepted it.
" We came really," he said, " to see you, Renshaw.
A little later, perhaps before we go, we must have our
LISTENERS 275
conversation. We hardly expected to have the pleas-
ure of finding Miss Philippa sitting up so late."
Dr. Raughtj, who all this while had been watching
with the most intense delight the beauty of the girl's
white skin and scarlet lips and the indescribable charm
of her sinuous figure, now broke in impetuously.
" But it can wait ! It can wait ! Oh, please don't
go to bed yet, Miss Renshaw. Look, your cigarette's
out ! Throw it away and try one of these. They're
French, they're the yellow packets, I know you like
them. They're what you smoked once when we were
on the river — when you caught that great perch."
Philippa, who had risen to her feet at Traherne's
somewhat brusque remark, came at once to the Doctor's
side.
" Oh, the perch," she cried, " yes, I should think I
do remember ! You insisted on killing it at once so
that it shouldn't jump back into the water. You put
your thumb into its mouth and bent back its head.
Oh, yes ! That j'cllow packet brings it all back to me.
I can smell the sticky dough we tried to catch dace
with afterwards and I can see the look of your hands
all smeared with blood and silver scales. Oh, that was
a lovely day, Doctor ! Do you remember how you
twisted those things, bryony leaves they were, round
my head when the others had gone.'' Do you remem-
ber how you said you'd like to treat me as you treated
the perch.'' Do you remember how you ran after a
dragon-fly or something? "
She stopped breathlessly and, balancing herself on
the arm of the Doctor's chair, blew a great cloud of
smoke over his head, filling the room in a moment with
the pungent odour of French tobacco.
276 RODMOOR
Both Traherne and Brand regarded her with aston-
ishment. She seemed to have transformed herself and
to have become a completely different person. Her
eyes shone with childish gaiety and when she laughed,
as she did a moment afterwards at some sally of the
Doctor's, there was a ring of unforced, spontaneous
merriment in the sound such as her brother had not
heard for many years. She continued to bend over
Dr. Raughty's chair, covering them both in a thick
cloud of cigarette smoke, and the two of them soon
became absorbed in some intricate discussion concern-
ing, as far as the others could make out, the question
of the best bait to be used for pike.
The priest took the opportunity of delivering him-
self of what was on his mind.
" I'm afraid, Renshaw," he said, " you've gone your
own way in that matter of Linda Herrick. No ! Don't
deny it. You may not have seen her as often as be-
fore our last conversation, but you've seen her. She's
confessed as much to me herself. Now look here, Ren-
shaw, you and I have known one another for some good
few years. How long is it, man.? Fifteen, twenty?
It can't be less. Long enough, anyway, for me to have
earned the right to speak quite plainly and I tell you
this, you must stop the whole business ! "
His voice sank as he spoke to a formidable whisper.
Brand glanced round at the others but apparently they
were quite preoccupied. Mr. Traherne continued.
" The whole business, Renshaw ! After this you must
leave that child absolutely alone. If you don't — if
you insist on going on seeing her — I shall take strong
measures with you. I shall — but I needn't say any
LISTENERS 277
more ! I tliink jou can make a pretty shrewd guess
what I shall do."
Brand received this solemn ultimatum in a way cal-
culated to cause the agitated man who addressed it to
him a shock of complete bewilderment. He yawned
carelessly and stretched out his long arms.
" As you please, Hamish," he said, " I'm perfectly
ready not to see her. In fact, I probably shouldn't
have seen her in any case. To tell you the truth, I've
got a bit sick of the whole thing. These young girls
are silly little feather-weights at best. It's first one
mood and then another ! You can't be sure of them
for two hours at a stretch. So it's all right, Hamish
Traherne ! I won't interfere with her. You can make
a nun of her if you like — or whatever else you fancy.
All I beg of you is, don't go round talking about
me to your parishioners. Don't talk about me to
Raughty ! I don't want my affairs discussed by any
one — not even by my friends. All right, my boy —
you needn't look at me like that. You've known me,
as you say, long enough to know what I am. So there
you are ! You've had your answer and you've got my
word. I don't mind even your calling it * the word of
a gentleman ' as you did the other night. You can
call it what you like. I'm not going to see Linda for
a reason quite personal and private but if you like to
make it a favour to yourself that I don't — well!
throw that in, too ! "
Hamish Traherne thrust his hand into his cassock
thinking, for the moment, that it was his well-worn
ulster and that he would feel the familiar form of
Ricoletto.
278 RODMOOR
It may be noted from this futile and unconscious
gesture, how much hangs in this world upon insignifi-
cant threads. Had the priest's fingers touched at that
moment the silky coat of his little friend he would
have derived sufficient courage to ask his formidable
host point-blank whether, in leaving Linda in this way,
he left her as innocent and unharmed as when he crossed
her path at the beginning. Not having Ricoletto with
him, however, and his fingers encountering nothing but
his own woolen shirt, he lacked the inspiration to carry
the matter to this conclusion. Thus, upon the trifling
accident of a tame rodent having been left outside a
library or, if you will, upon an eccentric parson having
no pocket, depended the whole future of Linda Her-
rick. For, had he put that question and had Brand
confessed the truth, the priest would undoubtedly, un-
der every threat in his power, have commanded him to
marry her and it is possible, considering the mood the
man was in at that moment and considering also the
nature of the threat held over him, he would have bowed
to the inevitable and undertaken to do it.
The intricate and baffling complications of human
life found further illustration in the very nature of
this mysterious threat hinted at so darkly by Mr. Tra-
herne. It was in reality — and Brand knew well that
it was — nothing more or less than the making clear
to Mrs. Renshaw beyond all question or doubt, of the
actual character of the son she tried so conscientiously
to idealize. For some basic and profound reason, in-
herent in his inmost nature, it was horrible to Brand
to think of his mother knowing him. She might sus-
pect and she might know that he knew she suspected,
but to have the thing laid quite bare between them
LISTENERS 279
would be to send a rending and shattering crack
through the unconscious hypocrisy of twenty years.
For certain natures any drastic cleavage of slowly
built-up moral relations is worse than death. Brand
would have felt less remorse in being the cause of his
mother's death than of being the cause of her knowing
him as he really was. The matter of Linda being thus
settled between the two men, if the understanding so
reached could be regarded as settling it, they both
turned round, anxious for some distraction, to the quar-
ter of the room where their friends had been conversing.
But Philippa and the Doctor were no longer with them.
Brand looked whimsically at the priest who, shrugging
his shoulders, poured himself out a third glass from
the decanter on the table. They then moved to the
window which reached almost to the ground. Stepping
over its low ledge, they passed out upon the terrace.
They were at once aware of a change in the at-
mospheric conditions. The veil of mist had entirely
been swept away from the sky. The vast expanse
twinkled with bright stars and, far down among the
trees, they could discern the cresent form of the new
moon.
Brand pulled towards him a spray of damask roses
and inhaled their sweetness. Then he turned to his
companion and gave him an evil leer.
" The Doctor and Philippa have taken advantage of
our absorbing conversation," he remarked.
" Nonsense, man, nonsense ! " exclaimed the priest.
" Raughty's only showing her some sort of moth or
beetle. Can't you stop your sneering for once and
look at things humanly and naturally? "
His words found their immediate justification.
280 RODMOOR
Turning the corner of the house thej discovered the
two escaped ones on their knees by the edge of the dew-
drenched lawn watching the movements of a toad. The
Doctor was gently directing its advance with the stalk
of a dead geranium and Philippa was laughing as mer-
rily as a little girl.
They now realized the cause of the disappearance
of the sultriness and the heat. From over the wide-
stretching fens came, with strong steady breath, the
northwest wind. It came with a full deep coolness
in it which the plants and the trees seemed to drink
from as out of some immortal cistern. It brought with
it the odour of immense marsh-lands and fresh inland
waters and as it bowed the trees and rustled over the
flower-beds, it seemed to obliterate and drive back all
indications of their nearness to the sea.
Haughty and Philippa rose to their feet at the ap-
proach of their friends.
" Doctor," said Brand, " what's the name of that
great star over there — or planet — or whatever it
is.?"
They all surveyed the portion of the sky he indicated
and contemplated the unknown luminary.
" I wish they'd taught me astronomy instead of
Greek verses when I was at school," sighed Mr. Tra-
herne.
" It's Venus, I suppose," remarked Dr. Raughty.
"Isn't it Venus, Philippa?"
The girl looked from the men to the sky, and from
the sky to the men.
" Well, you are a set of wise fellows," she cried, " not
to know the star which rules us all ! And that's not
Venus, Doctor! Don't any of you really know.?
LISTENERS 281
Brand — you surely do? Well, I'll tell you then, that's
Jupiter, that's the lord-star Jupiter ! "
And she burst into a peal of ringing boyish laugh-
ter. Brand turned to the Doctor, who had moved away
to cast a final glance at the toad.
"What have you done to her, Fingal?" he called
out. " She hasn't laughed like that for years."
The only answer he received to this was an em-
barrassed cough, but when they returned to the library
and began looking at some of the more interesting of
the volumes in its shelves it was noticed by both Brand
and Mr. Traherne that the Doctor treated the young
girl with a frank, direct, simple and humorous friend-
liness as if completely oblivious of her sex.
XX
RAVELSTON GRANGE
THE hot weather continued with the intermis-
sion of only a few wet and windy days all
through the harvest. One Saturday after-
noon Sorio, who had arranged to take Nance by train
to Mundham, loitered with Baltazar at the head of the
High Street waiting the girl's appearance. She had
told him to meet her there rather than at her lodging
because since the occasion when they took refuge in
the cottage it had been agitating to her to see Linda
and Baltazar together. She knew without any ques-
tion asked that for several weeks her sister had seen
nothing of Brand and she was extremely unwilling, now
that the one danger seemed removed, that the child
should risk falling into another.
Nance herself had lately been seeing more of her
friend's friend than she liked. It was difficult to avoid
this, however, now that they lived so near, especially
as Mr. Stork's leisure times between his journeys to
Mundham, coincided so exactly with her own hours of
freedom from work at the dressmaker's. But the more
she saw of Baltazar, the more difficult she found it to
tolerate him. With Brand, whenever chance threw
him across her path, she was always able to preserve
a dignified and conventional reserve. She saw that
he knew how deep her indignation on behalf of her sis-
ter went and she could not help respecting him for the
282
RAVELSTON GRANGE 283
tact and discretion with which he accepted her tacit
antagonism and made any embarrassing clash between
them easy to avoid. At the bottom of her heart she
had never felt any personal dislike of Brand Renshaw,
nor did that peculiar fear which he seemed to inspire
in the majority of those who knew him affect her in
the least. She would have experienced not the slightest
trepidation in confronting him on her sister's behalf
if circumstances demanded it and meanwhile she only
asked that they should be left in peace.
But with Baltazar it was different. She disliked
him cordially and, with her dislike, there mingled a
considerable element of quite definite fear. The pre-
cise nature of this fear she was unable to gauge. In a
measure it sprang from his unfailing urbanity and the
almost effusive manner in which he talked to her and
rallied her with little witticisms whenever they met.
Nance's own turn of mind was singularly direct and
simple and she could not avoid a perpetual suspicion in
dealing with Mr. Stork that the man was covertly
mocking at her and seeking to make her betray herself
in some way. There was something about his whole
personality which baffled and perplexed her. His lan-
guid and effeminate manner seemed to conceal some
hard and inflexible attitude towards life which, like a
steel blade in a velvet scabbard, was continually on
the point of revealing its true nature and yet never
actually did. She completely distrusted his influence
over Sorio and indeed carried her suspicion of him to
the extreme point of even doubting his affection for his
old-time friend. Nothing about him seemed to her gen-
uine or natural. When he spoke of art, as he often
did, or uttered vague, cynical commentaries upon life
284 RODMOOR
in general, she felt towards him just as a girl feels
towards another girl whose devices to attract attention
seem to be infringing the legitimate limit of recognized
rivalry. It was not only that she suspected him of
every sort of hypocritical diplomacy or that every atti-
tude he adopted seemed a deliberate pose; it was that
in some indescribably subtle way he seemed to make her
feel as if her own gestures and speeches were false. He
troubled and agitated her to such an extent that she
was driven sometimes into a mood of such desperate
self-consciousness that she did actually become in-
sincere or at any rate felt herself saying and doing
things which failed to express what she really had in
her mind. This was especially the case when he was
present at her encounters with Sorio. She found her-
self on such occasions uttering sometimes the wildest
speeches, speeches quite far from her natural charac-
ter, and even when she tried passionately to be herself
she was half-conscious all the while that Baltazar was
watching her and, so to speak, clapping his hands en-
couragingly and urging her on. It was just as if she
heard him whispering in her ear and saying, " That's
a pretty speech, that's an effective turn of the head,
that's a happily timed smile, that's an appealing little
silence ! "
His presence seemed to perplex and bewilder the
very basis and foundation of her confidence in herself.
What was natural he made unnatural and what was
spontaneous he made premeditated. He seemed to dive
down into the very depths of her soul and stir up and
make muddy and clouded what was clearest and simplest
there. The little childish impulses and all the impetu-
ous girlish movements of her mind became silly and
RAVELSTON GRANGE 285
forced when he was present, became sonietliing that
miglit have been different had she willed them to be
different, something that she was deliberately using to
bewitch Adrian.
The misery of it was that she couldnt be otherwise,
that she couldn't look and talk and laugh and be silent,
in any other manner. And yet he made her feel as if
this were not only possible but easy. He was diabol-
ically and mercilessly clever in his malign clairvoyance.
Nance was not so simple as not to recognize that there
are a hundred occasions when a girl quite legitimately
and naturally " makes the best " of her passing moods
and feelings. She was not so stupid as not to know
that the very diffusion of a woman's emotions, through
every fibre and nerve of her being, lends itself to in-
numerable little exaggerations and impulsive under-
scorings, so to speak, of the precise truth. But it was
just these very basic or, if the phrase may be per-
mitted, these " organic " characteristics of her self-
expression, that Baltazar's unnatural watchfulness was
continually pouncing on. In some curious way he suc-
ceeded, though himself a man, in betraying the very
essence of her sex-dignity. He threw her, in fact, into
a position of embarrassed self-defence over what were
really the inevitable accompaniments of her being a
woman at all.
The unfairness of the thing was constantly being
accentuated and made worse by the fact of her having
so often to listen to bitter and sarcastic diatribes from
both Adrian and his friend, directed towards her sex in
general. A sort of motiveless jibing against women
seemed indeed one of the favourite pastimes of the two
men and Nance's presence, when this topic came for-
286 RODMOOR
ward, appeared rather to enhance than mitigate their
hostility.
On one or two occasions of this kind, Dr. Raughty
had happened to be present and Nance felt she would
never forget her gratitude to this excellent man for
the genial and ironical way he reduced them to silence.
" I'm glad you have invented," he would say to them,
** so free and inexpensive a way of getting born.
You've only to give us a little more independence and
death will be equally satisfactory."
On this particular afternoon, however, Baltazar was
not encouraging Sorio in any misogynistic railings.
On the contrary he was endeavouring to soothe his
friend who at that moment was in one of his worst
moods.
"Why doesn't she come?" he kept jerking out.
" She knows perfectly how I hate waiting in the street."
" Come and sit down under the trees," suggested
Baltazar. " She's sure to come out on the green to
look for you and we can see her from there."
They moved off accordingly and sat down, side by
side, with a group of village people under the ancient
sycamores. Above them the nameless Admiral looked
steadily seawards and in the shadow thrown by the
trees several ragged little girls were playing sleepily on
the burnt-up grass.
" It's extraordinary," Sorio remarked, " what a lot
of human beings there are in the world who would be
best out of it ! They get on my nerves, these people.
I think I hear them more clearly and feel them nearer
me here than ever before in my life. Every person in
a place like this becomes more important and asserts
himself more, and the same is true of every sound. If
RAVELSTON GRANGE 287
you want really to escape I'roin liuinanity tliere are only
two things to do, either go right away into the desert
where there's not a living soul or go into some large
city where you're absolutely lost in the crowd. This
half-and-half existence is terrible."
" My dear, my dear," protested his companion, " you
keep complaining and grumbling but for the life of me
I can't make out what it is that actuall}' annoys you.
By the way, don't utter your sentiments too loudly !
These honest people will not understand."
" What annoys me — you don't understand what an-
noys me.''" muttered the other peevishly. "It annoys
me to be stared at. It annoys me to be called out
after. It annoys me to be recognized. I can't move
from your door without seeing some face I know and
what's still worse, seeing that face put on a sort of silly,
inquisitive, jeering look, as much as to sa}', ' Ho ! Ho !
here is that idiot again. Here is that fool who sponges
upon Mr. Stork ! Here is that spying foreign devil ! ' "
" Adrian — Adrian," protested his companion, " 3'ou
really are becoming impossible. I assure you these
people don't say or think anything of the kind ! The}'
just see you and greet you and wish you well and pass
on upon their own concerns."
" Oh, don't they, don't they," cried the other, for-
getting in his agitation to modulate his voice and caus-
ing a sudden pause in the conversation that was going
on at their side. " Don't they think these things ! I
know humanity better. Every single person who meets
another person and knows anything at all about him
wants to show that he's a match for his little tricks,
that he's not deceived by his little ways, that he knows
where he gets his money or doesn't get it and what
288 RODMOOR
woman he wants or doesn't want and which of his par-
ents he wishes dead and buried! I tell you you've no
idea what human beings are really like! You haven't
any such idea, for the simple reason that you're abso-
lutely hard and self-centred yourself. You go your
own way. You think your own thoughts. You create
your own fancy-world. And the rest of humanity are
nothing — mere pawns and puppets and dream-figures
— nothing — simply nothing ! I'm a completely dif-
ferent nature from you, Tassar. I've got my idea —
my secret — but I'd rather not talk about that and
you'd rather not hear. But apart from that, I'm sim-
ply helpless. I mean I'm helplessly conscious of every-
thing round me! I'm porous to things. It's really
quite funny. It's just as if I hadn't any skin, as if
my soul hadn't any skin. Everything that I see, or
hear, Tassar — and the hearing is worse, oh, ever so
much worse — passes straight through me, straight
through the very nerves of my inmost being. I feel
sometimes as though my mind were like a piece of parch-
ment, stretched out taut and tight and every single
thing that comes near me taps against it, tip-tap, tip-
tap, tip-tap, as if it were a drum ! That wouldn't be
so bad if it wasn't that I know so horribly clearly what
people are thinking. For instance, when I go down
that alley to the station, as I shall soon with Nance,
and pass the workmen at their doors, I know perfectly
well that they'll look at me and say to themselves,
' There goes that fool again,' or, ' There goes that
slouching idiot from the cottage,' but that's not all,
Tassar. They soon have the sense to see that I'm the
kind of person who shrinks from being noticed and that
pleases them. They nudge one another then and look
RAVELSTQN GRANGE 289
more closely at nie. They do their best to make me un-
derstand that they know their power over me and intend
to use it, intend to nudge one another and look at me
every time I pass. I can read exactly what their
thoughts are. They say to themselves, ' He may slink
off now but he'll have to come this way again and
then we'll see ! Then we'll look at him more closely.
Then we'll find out what he's after in these parts and
why that pretty girl puts up with him so long ! ' "
He was interrupted at that moment by a roar of
laughter from the group beside them and Baltazar
rose and pulled him away. " Upon my soul, Adrian,"
he whispered, as he led him back across the green, " you
must behave better ! You've given those honest fellows
something to gossip about for a week. They'll think
you really are up to something, you can't shout like
that without being listened to and you can't quarrel
with the whole of humanity."
Adrian turned fiercely round on him. "Can't I?"
he exclaimed. " Can't I quarrel with humanity? You
wait, my friend, till I've got my book published. Then
you'll see ! I tell j^ou I'll strike this cursed human race
of yours such a blow that they'll w^ish they'd treated a
poor wanderer on the face of the earth a little better
and spared him something of their prying and peer-
ing!"
"Your book!" laughed Baltazar. "A lot they'll
care for your book ! That's alwa^'s the way with you
touchy philosophers. You stir up the devil of a row
with your bad temper and make the most harmless peo-
ple into enemies and then you think you can settle it all
and prove yourselves right and everybody else wrong
by writing a book. Upon my soul, Adrian, if I didn't
290 RODMOOR
love you very much indeed I'd be inclined to let you
loose on life just to see whether you or it could strike
the hardest blows ! "
Sorio looked at him with a curiously bewildered look.
He seemed puzzled. His swarthy Roman face wore a
clouded, weary, crushed expression. His brow con-
tracted into an anxious frown and his mouth quivered.
His air at that moment was the air of a very young
child that suddenly finds the world much harder to deal
with than it expected.
Baltazar watched him with secret pleasure. These
were the occasions when he always felt strangely drawn
towards him. That look of irresolute and bewildered
weakness upon a countenance so powerfully moulded
filled him with a most delicate sense of protective pity.
He could have embraced the man as he watched him,
blinking there in the afternoon sunshine, and fumbling
with the handle of his stick.
But at that moment Nance appeared, walking rap-
idly with bent head, up the narrow street. Baltazar
looked at her with a gleam of hatred in his sea-coloured
eyes. She came to rob him of one of the most exqui-
site pleasures of his life, the pleasure of reducing this
strong creature to humiliated submissiveness and then
petting and cajoling him back into self-respect. The
knowledge that he left Sorio in her hands in this par-
ticular mood of deprecatory helplessness, remorseful
and gentle and like a wild beast beaten into docility,
caused him the most acute pain. With poisonous an-
tagonism under his urbane greeting he watched fur-
tively the quick glance she threw at Adrian and the
way her eyes lingered upon his, feeling her way into
his mood. He cast about for some element of discord
RAVELSTON GRANGE 291
that he could evoke and leave behind with them to spoil
the girl's triumph for he knew well that Adrian was
now, after what had just occurred, in the frame of mind
most adapted of all to the influence of feminine sym-
pathy. Nance, however, did not give him an oppor-
tunity for this.
" Come on," she said, " we've only just time to catch
the three o'clock train. Come on ! Good-bye for a
while, Mr. Stork. I'll bring him back safe to you,
sooner or later. Come on, Adrian, we really must be
quick ! "
They went off together and Baltazar wandered
slowly back across the green. He felt for the moment
so lonely that even his hatred drifted away and sank
to nothingness under the inflowing wave of bitter uni-
versal isolation. As he approached his cottage he
stopped stone-still with his eyes on the ground and his
hands behind his back. Elegantly dressed in pleasant
summer clothes, his slight graceful figure, easy bearing,
and delicate features, gave without doubt to the casual
bystanders who observed him, an impression of un-
mitigated well-being. As a matter of fact, had that
discerning historic personage who is reported to have
exclaimed after an interview with Jonathan Swift,
" there goes the unhappiest man who ever lived," exer-
cised his insight now, he might have modified his con-
clusion in favour of Baltazar Stork.
It would certainly have required more than ordinary
discernment to touch the tip of the iron wedge that was
being driven just then into this graceful person's brain.
Looking casually into the man's face one would have
seen nothing perhaps but a dreamy, pensive smile —
a smile a little bitter maybe, and self-mocking but with
292 RODMOOR
no particularly sinister import. A deeper glance, how-
ever, would have disclosed a curious compression of the
lines about the mouth and a sort of indrawing of the
lips as if Mr. Stork were about to emit the sound of
whistling. Below the smiling surface of the eyes, too,
there might have been seen a sort of under-flicker of
shuddering pain as if, without any kind of anaesthetic,
Mr. Stork were undergoing some serious operation.
The colour had deserted his cheeks as if whatever it was
he was enduring the endurance of it had already ex-
hausted his physical energies. Passing him by, as we
have remarked, casually and hastily, one might have
said to oneself — " Ah ! a handsome fellow chuckling
there over some pleasant matter ! " but coming close up
to him one would have instinctively stretched out a
hand, so definitely would it then have appeared that,
whatever his expression meant, he was on the point of
fainting. It was perhaps a fortunate accident that,
at this particular moment as he stood motionless, a
small boy of his acquaintance, the son of one of the
Rodmoor fishermen, came up to him and asked whether
he had heard of the great catch there had been that
day.
" There's a sight o' fish still there, Mister," the boy
remarked, " some of them monstrous great flounders
and a heap of Satans such as squirts ink out of their
bellies ! "
Baltazar's twisted lips gave a genuine smile now.
A look of extraordinary tenderness came into his face.
" Ah, Tony, my boy," he said, " so there are fish
down there, are there? Well, let's go and see! You
take me, will you? And I'll make those fellows give
you some for supper."
RAVELSTOX GRANGE 293
They walked together across the green and down the
street. Baltazar's hand remained upon the child's
shoulder and he listened as lie walked, to his chatter;
but all the while his mind visualized an immense, empty
plain — a plain of steely-blue ice under a grey sky —
and in the center of this plain a bottomless crevasse,
also of steely-blue ice, and on the edge of this crevasse,
gradually relinquishing their hold from exhaustion, two
human hands. This image kept blending itself as they
walked with all the little things which his eyes fell upon.
It blent with the cakes in the confectioner's window.
It blent with the satiny blouses, far too expensive for
any local purchaser, in Miss Pontifex's shop. It blent
with the criss-cross lines of the brick -work varied with
flint of the house where Dr. Raughty lived. It blent
with their first glimpse of the waters of the harbour,
seen between two ramshackle houses with gable roofs.
Nor when they finally found themselves standing with
a little crowd of men and boys round a circle of fish-
baskets upon the shore did it fail to associate itself
both with the blue expanse of waveless sea stretched
before them and with the tangled mass of sea shells,
seaweed and sea creatures which lay exposed to the
sunlight, many-coloured and glistening as the deeper
folds of the nets which had drawn them from the deep
were explored and dragged forward.
Meanwhile Adrian and Nance, having safely caught
their train, were being carried with the leisurely stead-
iness of a local line, from Rodmoor to Mundham.
Jammed tightly into a crowded compartment full of
Saturday marketers, they had little opportunity dur-
ing the short journey to do more than look helplessly
across their perspiring neighbours at the rising and
294 RODMOOR
falling of the telegraph wires against a background of
blue sky. The peculiar manner in which, as a train
carries one forward, these wires sink slowly downwards
as if they were going to touch the earth and then leap
up with an unexpected jerk as the next pole comes by,
was a phenomenon that always had a singular fascina-
tion for Sorio. He associated it with his most child-
ish recollections of railway travelling. Would the
wires ever succeed in sinking out of sight before the
next pole jerked them high up across the window
again? That was the speculation that fascinated
him even at this moment as he watched them across
the brim of his companion's brightly trimmed hat.
There was something human in the attempts the things
made to sink down, down, down and escape their al-
lotted burden and there was certainly something very
like the ways of Providence in the manner in which
they were pulled up with a remorseless jolt to perform
their duties once more.
Emerging with their fellow-passengers upon the
Mundhara platform both Sorio and Nance experienced
a sense of happiness and relief. They had both been
so long confined to the immediate surroundings of Rod-
moor that this little excursion to the larger town as-
sumed the proportions of a release from imprisonment.
It is true that it was a release that Adrian might easily
have procured for himself on any day; but more and
more recently, in the abnormal tension of his nerves,
he had lost initiative in these things. They wandered
leisurely together into the town and Sorio amused him-
self by watching the demure and practical way in which
his companion managed her various economic trans-
actions in the shops which she entered. He could not
RAVELSTOX GRANGE 295
help feeling a sense of envy as he observed the manner
in which, without effort or strain, she achieved the pre-
cise objects she had in mind and arranged for the trans-
portation of her purchases by the carrier's cart that
same evening.
He wondered vaguely whether all women were like this
and whether, with their dearest and best-loved dead at
home, or their own peace of mind permanently shat-
tered by some passage of fatal emotion only some few
hours before, they could always throw everything aside
and bargain so keenly and shrewdly with the alert
tradesmen. He supposed it was the working of some
blind atavistic power in them, the mechanical result
of ages of mental concentration. He was amused, too,
to observe how, when in a time incredibly short she had
done all she wanted, instead of rushing off blindly for
the walk they had promised themselves past the old
Abbey church and along the river's bank, she shrewdly
interpreted their physical necessities and carried him
off to a little dairy shop to have tea and hnlf-penny
buns. Had he been the cicerone of their day's outing
he would have plunged off straight for the Abbey
church and the river fields, leaving their shopping to
the end and dooming them to bad temper and irritable
nerves from sheer bodily exhaustion. Never had Nance
looked more desirable or attractive as, with heightened
colour and little girlish jests, she poured out his tea
for him in the small shop-parlour and swallowed half-
penny buns with the avidit}' of a child.
Baltazar Stork was not wrong in his conjecture.
Not since their early encounters in the streets and
parks of South London had Sorio been in a gentler
mood or one more amenable to the girl's charm. As
296 RODMOOR
he looked at her now and listened to her happy laugh-
ter, he felt that he had been a fool as well as a scoun-
drel in his treatment of her. Why hadn't he cut loose
long since from his philandering with Philippa which
led nowhere and could lead nowhere? Why hadn't he
cast about for some definite employment and risked,
without further delay, persuading her to marry him?
With her to look after him and smooth his path for
him, he might have been quite free from this throbbing
pain behind his eyeballs and this nervous tension of
his brain. He hurriedly made up his mind that he
would ask her to marry him — not to-day, perhaps, or
to-morrow — for it would be absurd to commit himself
till he could support her, but very soon, as soon as he
had found any mortal kind of an occupation ! What
that occupation would be he did not know. It was
difficult to think of such things all in a moment. It
required time. Besides, whatever it was it must be
something that left him free scope for his book. After
all, his book came first — his book and Baptiste.
What would Baptiste think if he were to marry again?
Would he be indignant and hurt? No! No! It was
inconceivable that Baptiste should be hurt. Besides, he
would love Nance when he knew her! Of that he was
quite sure. Yes, Baptiste and Nance were made to un-
derstand one another. It would be different were it
Philippa he was thinking of marrying. Somehow it dis-
tressed and troubled him to imagine Baptiste and Phi-
lippa together. That, at all costs, must never come
about. His boy must never meet Philippa. All of
this whirled at immense speed through Sorio's head as
he smiled back at Nance across the little marble table
and stared at the large blue-china cow which, with
RAVELSTON GRANGE 297
udders coloured a yet deeper ultramarine than its
striped back, placidly, like an animal sacred to Jupiter,
contemplated the universe. There must have been a
wave of telepathic sympathy between them at that mo-
ment, for Nance suddenly swallowing the last of her
bun, hazarded a question she had never dared to ask
before.
" Adrian, dear, tell me this. Why did you leave
your boy behind you in America when you came to
England.?"
Sorio was himself surprised at the unruffled manner
in which he received this question. At any other mo-
ment it would have fatally disturbed him. He smiled
back at her, quite easily and naturally.
"How could I bring him?" he said. "He's got a
good place in New York and I have nothing. I had
to get away, somewhere. In fact, they sent me away,
' deported ' me, as they call it. But I couldn't drag
the boy with me. How could I? Though he was ready
enough to come. Oh, no ! It's much better as it is —
much, much better ! "
He became grave and silent and began fumbling in
one of his inner pockets. Nance watched him breath-
lessly. Was he really softening towards her.? Was
Philippa losing her hold on him.? He suddenly pro-
duced a letter — a letter written on thin paper and
bearing an American stamp — and taking it with care-
ful hands from its envelope, stretched it across the
table towards her. The action was suggestive of such
intimacy, suggestive of such a new and happy change
in their relations, that the girl looked at the thing with
moist and dazed eyes. She obtained a general sense of
the firm clear handwriting. She caught the opening
298 RODMOOR
sentence, written in caressing Italian and, for some rea-
son or other, the address — perhaps because of its
strangeness to a European eye — fifteen West Eleventh
Street — remained engraved in her memory. More
than this she was unable to take in for the moment out
of the sheer rush of bewildering happiness which swept
over her and made her long to cry.
A moment later two other Rodmoor people, known to
them both by sight, entered the shop, and Sorio hur-
riedly took the letter back and replaced it in his pocket.
He paid their bill, which came to exactly a shilling,
and together they walked out from the dairy. The
ultramarine cow contemplated the universe as the new-
comers took their vacated table with precisely the same
placidity. Its own end — some fifty years after, amid
the debris of a local fire, with the consequent departure
of its shattered pieces to the Mundham dumping ground
— did not enter into its contemplation. Many lovers,
happier and less happy than Sorio and Nance, would
sit at that marble table during that epoch and the
blue cow would listen in silence. Perhaps in its ulti-
mate resting-place its scorched fragments would be-
come more voluble as the rains dripped upon the tins
and shards around them or perhaps, even in ruins —
like an animal sacred to Jupiter — it would hold its
peace and let the rains fall.
The two friends, still in a mood of delicate and
delicious harmony, threaded the quieter streets of the
town and emerged into the dreamy cathedral-like square,
spacious with lawns and trees, that surrounded the
abbey-church. A broad gravel-path, overtopped by
wide-spreading lime trees, separated the grey south
wall of the ancient edifice from the most secluded of
RAVELSTON GRANGE 299
these lawns. The grass was divided from tlie path by
a low hanging cliain-rail of that easy and friendly kind
that seems to call upon the casual loiterer to step over
its unreluctant barrier and take his pleasure under the
welcoming trees. They sat down on an empty bench
and looked up at the flying buttresses and weather-
stained gargoyles and richly traceried windows. The
sun fell in long mellow streams across the gravel be-
side them, broken into cool deep patches of velvet
shadow where the branches of the lime trees intercepted
it. From somewhere behind them came the sound of
murmuring pigeons and from further off still, from one
of the high-walled, old-fashioned gardens of the houses
on the remote side of the square, came the voices of
children playing. Sorio sat with one arm stretched
out along the top of the bench behind Nance's head and
with the other resting upon the handle of his stick.
His face had a look of deep, withdrawn contentment —
a contentment so absolute that it merged into a sort
of animal apathy. Any one familiar with the ex-
pression so often seen upon the faces both of street-
beggars and prince-cardinals in the city on the Tiber,
would have recognized something indigenous and racial
in the lethargy which then possessed him. Nance, on
the other hand, gave herself up to a sweet and pas-
sionate happiness such as she had not known since they
left London. While they waited thus together, re-
luctant by even a word to break the spell of that fa-
voured hour, there came from within the church the
sound of an organ. Nance got up at once.
"Let's go in for just a minute, Adrian! Do you
mind — only just a minute.' "
The slightest flicker of a frown crossed Sorio's face
300 RODMOOR
but it vanished before she could repeat her request.
" Of course," he said, rising in his turn, " of course !
Let's go round and find the door."
They had no difficulty in doing this. The west en-
trance of the church was wide open and they entered and
sat down at the back of the nave. Above them the
spacious vaulted roof, rich with elaborate fan-tracery,
seemed to spread abroad and deepen the echoes of the
music as if it were an immense inverted chalice spilling
the odour of immortal wine. The coolness and dim
shadowiness of the place fell gently upon them both
and the mysterious rising and sinking of the music,
with no sight of any human presence as its cause,
thrilled Nance from head to foot as she had never been
thrilled in her life. Oh, it was worth it — this mo-
ment — all she had suffered before — all she could pos-
sibly suffer! If only it might never stop, that heav-
enly sound, but go on and on and on until all the
world came to know what the power of love was ! She
felt at that moment as if she were on the verge of at-
taining some clue, some signal, some sign, which should
make all things clear to her — clear and ineffably
sweet !
The deep crimsons and purples in the coloured win-
dows, the damp chilly smell of the centuries-old ma-
sonry, the large dark recesses of the shadowy transepts,
all blended together to transport her out of herself
into a world kindlier, calmer, quieter, than the world
she knew.
" And — he — shall — feed — " rang out, as they
listened, the clear flutelike voice of some boy-singer,
practising for the morrow's services, " shall — feed —
his — flock."
RAVELSTOX GRAXGE 301
The words of the famous aiitiphony, " staled and
rung upon " as they might be, by the pathetic stam-
merings of so old a human repetition, were, coming
just at this particular moment, more than Nance could
bear. She flung herself on her knees and, pressing her
hands to her face, burst into convulsive sobs. Sorio
stood up and laid his hand on her shoulder. With the
other hand — mindful of early associations — he
crossed himself two or three times and then remained
motionless. Slowlj^, by the action of that law which
is perhaps the deepest in the universe, the law of ebb
and flow, there began in him a reaction. Had the
words the unseen boy singer was uttering been in
Latin, had they possessed that reserve, that passionate
aloofness in emotion, which the instinct of worship in
the southern races protects from sentiment, such a
reaction might have been spared him; but the thing
was too facile, too easy. It might have been the climax
of a common melodrama. It fell too pat upon the
occasion. And it was insidiously, treacherously, hor-
ribly human. It was too human. It lacked the ring
of style, the reserve of the grand manner. It wailed
and sobbed. It whimpered upon the Almighty's shoul-
der. It wanted the tragic abandonment of the " Dies
Irae," as it missed the calmer dignity of the " Tantum
ergo." It appealed to what was below the level of the
highest in religious pathos. It humiliated while it com-
forted. The boy's voice died away and the organ
stopped. There was a sound of shuffling in the choir
and the mutter of voices and even a suppressed laugh.
Sorio removed his hand from Nance's shoulder and
stooping down picked up his hat and stick. He looked
round him. A fashionably dressed lady, carrying a
302 RODMOOR
bunch of carnations, moved past them up the aisle and
presently two younger women followed. Then a neatly
attired dapper young clergyman strolled in, adjust-
ing his eye-giasses. It was evidently approaching the
hour of the afternoon service. The spell was broken.
But the kneeling girl knew nothing, felt nothing, of
all this. She, at all events, was in the church of her
fathers — the church that her most childish memories
rendered sacred. Had she been able to understand
Sorio's feeling, she would have swept it aside. The
music was beautiful, she would have said, and the words
were true. From the heart of the universe they came
straight to her heart. Were they rendered unbeauti-
ful and untrue because so many simple souls had found
comfort in them?
" Ah ! Adrian," she would have said had she argued
it out with him. " Ah, Adrian, it is common. It is
the common cry of humanity, set to the music of the
common heart of the world, and is not that more essen-
tial than * Latin,' more important than ' style '? "
As a matter of fact, the only controversy that arose
between them when they left the building was brief and
final.
" I fancy," remarked Sorio, " from what you tell me
of her, that that's the sort of thing that would please
Mrs. Renshaw — I mean the music we heard just now ! "
Nance flushed as she answered him. " Yes, it would !
It would ! And it pleases me too. It makes me more
certain than ever that Jesus Christ was really God."
Sorio bowed his head at this and held his peace and
together they made their way to the bank of the Loon.
What they were particularly anxious to see was an
old house by the river-side about a mile east of the
RAVELSTON GRANGE 303
town which had been, some hundred years before, the
abode of one of the famous East Anglian painters of
the celebrated Norwich school — a painter whose hu-
morous aplomb and rich earth-steeped colouring ri-
valled some of the most notable of the artists of Amster-
dam and The Hague.
Their train back to Rodmoor did not leave till half-
past seven and as it was now hardly five they had ample
time to make this little pilgrimage as deliberately as
they pleased. They had no difficulty in reaching the
river, and once at its edge, it was only a question of
following its windings till they arrived at Ravelston
Grange. Their way was somewhat impeded at first by
a line of warehouses, between which and a long row of
barges fastened to a series of littered dusty wharves,
lay all manner of bales and casks and bundles of hay
and vegetable. There were coal-yards there too, and
timber-yards, and in other places great piles of beer-
barrels, all bearing the name " Keith Radipole " which
had been for half a century the business title of Brand
Renshaw's brewery. These obstacles surmounted, there
were no further interruptions to their advance along the
river path;
The aspect of the day, however, had grown less prom-
ising. A somewhat threatening bank of clouds with
dark jagged edges, which the efforts of the sun to
scatter only rendered more lurid, had appeared in the
west and when, for a moment, they turned to look back
at the town, they saw its chimneys and houses massed
gloomily together against a huge sombre bastion whose
topmost fringe was illuminated by fiery indentations.
Nance expressed some hesitation as to the wisdom of go-
ing further with this phalanx of storm threatenings fol-
304 RODMOOR
lowing them from behind, but Sorio laughed at her fears
and assured her that in a very short time they would
arrive at the great painter's house.
It appeared, however, that the " mile " referred to
in the little local history in which they had read about
this place did not begin till the limits of Mundham were
reached and Mundham seemed to extend itself interm-
inably. They were passing through peculiarly dreary
outskirts now. Little half-finished rows of wretchedly
built houses trailed disconsolately towards the river's
edge and mingled with small deserted factories whose
walls, blackened with smoke, were now slowly crumbling
to pieces. Desolate patches of half-cultivated ground
where the stalks of potatoes, yellowing with damp, alter-
nated with thickly growing weeds, gave the place that
peculiar expression of sordid melancholy which seems
the especial prerogative of such fringes of human habi-
tation. Old decaying barges, some of them half-
drowned in water and others with gaunt, protruding
ribs and rotting planks, lay staring at the sky while
the river, swirling past them, gurgled and muttered
round their submerged keels. It was impossible for the
two friends to retain long, under these depressing sur-
roundings, their former mood of magical harmony.
Little shreds and fragments of their happiness seemed
to fall from them at every step and remain, bleakly
flapping among the mouldering walls and weedy river-
piles, like the bits of old paper and torn rag which
fluttered feebly or fell into immobility as the wind rose
or sank. The bank of clouds behind them had now
completely obscured every vestige of the sun and a sort
of premature twilight lay upon the surface of the river
and on the fields on its further side.
RAVELSTON GRANGE 305
" What's that? " asked Nance suddenly, putting her
hand on his arm and pointing to a large square build-
ing which suddenly appeared on their left. They had
been vaguely aware of this building for some while but
one little thing or another in their more immediate
neighbourhood had confined it to the remoter verge
of their consciousness. As soon as she had asked the
question Nance felt an unaccountable unwillingness to
carry the investigation further. Sorio, too, seemed
ready enough to let her enquiry remain unanswered.
He shrugged his shoulders as much as to say " how can
I tell?" and suggested that they should rest for a mo-
ment on a littered pile of wood which lay close to the
water's edge.
They stepped down the bank where they were, out
of sight of the building above, and seated themselves.
With their arms around their knees they contemplated
the flowing tide and the dull-coloured mud of the oppo-
site bank. A coil of decaying rope, tossed aside from
some passing barge, lay at Sorio's feet and, as he sat
in gloomy silence, he thought how like the thing was
to something he had once seen at an inquest in a house
in New York. As for Nance, she found it difficult
to remove her eyes from a shapeless bundle of sacking
which the tide was carrying. Sometimes it would get
completely submerged and then again it would reap-
pear.
" Why is it," she thought, " that there is always
something horrible about tidal rivers? Is it because
of the way they have of carrying things backward and
forward, backward and forward, without ever allowing
them either to get far inland or clear out to sea? Is
a tidal river," she said to herself, " the one thing in all
306 RODMOOR
the world in which nothing can be lost or hidden or
forgotten? "
It was curious how difficult they both felt it just
then either to move from where they were or to address
a single word to one another. They seemed hypnotized
by something — hypnotized by some thought which re-
mained unspoken at the back of their minds. They
felt an extreme reluctance to envisage again that large
square building surrounded by weather-stained wall, a
wall from which the ivy had been carefully scraped.
Slowly, little by little, the bank of clouds mounted
up to the meridian, casting over everything as it did so
a more and more ominous twilight. The silence be-
tween them became after a while, a thing with a pal-
pable presence. It seemed to float upon the water to
their feet and, rising about them like a wraith, like a
mist, like the ghost of a dead child, it fumbled with
clammy fingers upon their hearts.
" I'm sure," Sorio cried at last, with an obvious
struggle to break the mysterious sorcery which weighed
on them, " I'm perfectly sure that Ravelston Grange
must be round that second bend of the river — do you
see? — where those trees are! I'm sure it must! At
any rate we must come to it at last if we only go on."
He looked at his watch.
" Heavens ! We've taken an hour already getting
here ! It's nearly six. How on earth have we been
so long? "
" Do you know, Adrian," Nance remarked — and she
couldn't help noticing as she did so that though he
spoke so resolutely of going forward he made not the
least movement to leave his seat — " do you know I feel
as if we were in a dream. I have the oddest feeling
RAVELSTON GRANGE 307
that any moment we might wake up and find ourselves
back in Rodmoor. Adrian, dear, let's go back ! Let's
go back to the town. Tiiere's something that depresses
me beyond words about all this."
" Nonsense ! " cried Sorio in a loud and angry voice,
leaping to his feet and snatching up his stick. " Come
on, my girl, come, child ! We'll see that Ravelston
place before the rain gets to us ! "
They clambered up the bank and walked swiftly for-
ward. Nance noticed that Sorio looked steadily at
the river, looked at the river without intermission and
with hardly a word, till they were well beyond the very
last houses of Mundham. It was an unspeakable re-
lief to her when, at last, crossing a little footbridge
over a weir, they found themselves surrounded by the
open fens.
" Behind those trees, Nance," Sorio kept repeating,
" behind those trees ! I'm absolutely sure I'm right
and that Ravelston Grange is there. By the way, girl,
which of your poets wrote the verses —
' She makes her immemorial moan,
She keeps her shadowy kine,
O, Keith of Uaveiston,
The sorrows of thy line ! '
They've been running in my head all the afternoon
ever since I saw ' Keith Radipole,' on those beer-
barrels."
Nance, however, was too eager to reach the real
Ravelston to pay much heed to his poetic allusion.
" Oh, it sounds like — oh, I don't know — Tenny-
son, perhaps ! " and she pulled him forward towards the
trees.
308 RODMOOR
These proved to be a group of tall PVench poplars
which, just then, were muttering volubly in the rain-
smelling wind. They hurried past them and paused
before a gate in a very high wall.
"What's this.?" exclaimed Sorio. "This can't be
Ravelston. It looks more like a prison."
For a moment his eyes encountered Nance's and the
girl glanced quickly away from what she read in his
face. She called out to an old man who was hoeing
potatoes behind some iron railings where the wall
ended.
"Could you tell me where Ravelston Grange is.?"
she enquired.
The old man removed his hat and regarded her with
a whimsical smile.
" 'Tis across the river, lady, and there isn't no
bridge for some many miles. Maybe with any luck
ye may meet a cattle-boat to take ye over but there's
little surety about them things."
"What's this place, then.'*" asked Sorio abruptly,
approaching the iron railings.
"This, mister.'' Why this be the doctor's house of
the County Asylum. This be where they keep the su-
perior cases, as you might say, them what pays summat,
ye understand, and be only what you might call half
daft. You must a' seed the County Asylum as you
came along. 'Tis a wonderful large place, one of the
grandest, so they say, on this side of the kingdom."
" Thank you," said Sorio curtly. " That's just
what we wanted to know. Yes, we saw the house you
speak of. It certainly looks big enough. Have there
been many new cases lately? Is this what you might
call a good year for mental collapses.'' "
RAVP:T.STOy GRANGE 309
As he spoke he peered curiously between the iron
bars as if anxious to get some sight of the " half daft,"
who could afford to pay for their keep.
" I don't know what you mean by * a good year,'
mister," answered the man, watching him with little
twinkhng eyes, " but I reckon folk have been as liable
to go shaky this year as most other years. 'Tisn't in
the season, I take it, 'tis in the man or for the matter
of that," and he cast an apologetic leer in Nance's di-
rection, " in the woman."
" Come on, Adrian," interposed his companion, " you
see that guide-book told us all Avrong. We'd better
get back to the station."
But Sorio held tightly to the railings with both his
hands.
" Don't tease me, Nance," he said irritably. " I
want to talk to this excellent man."
" You'd better do what your missus says, mis-
ter," observed the gardener, returning to his work.
" The authorities don't like no loitering in these
places."
But Sorio disregarded the hint.
" I should think," he remarked, " it wouldn't be so
very difficult to escape out of here." He received no
reply to this and Nance pulled him by the sleeve.
" Please, Adrian, please come away," she pleaded,
with tears in her voice. The old man lifted up his
head.
" You go back where you be come from," he ob-
served, " and thank the good Lord you've got such a
pretty lady to look after you. There be many what
envies you and many what 'ud like to stand in your
shoes, and that's God's truth."
310 RODMOOR
Sorio sighed heavily, and letting go his hold upon
the railings, turned to his companion.
" Let's find another way to the town," he said.
" There must be some road over there, or at worst, we
can walk along the line."
They moved off hastily in the direction opposite
from the river and the old man, after making an enig-
matic gesture behind their backs, spat upon his hands
and returned to his work. The sky was now entirely
overclouded but still no rain fell.
XXI
THE WINDMILL
WITH the coming of September there was a no-
ticeable change in the weather. The air got
perceptibly colder, the sea rougher and
there were dark days when the sun was hardly seen at
all. Sometimes the prevailing west wind brought
showers, but so far, in spite of the cooler atmosphere,
there was little heavy rain. The rain seemed to be
gathering and massing on every horizon, but though
its presence was felt, its actual coming was delayed and
the fields and gardens remained scorched and dry.
The ditches in the fens were low that season — lower
than they had been for many years. Some of them
were actually empty and in others there was so little wa-
ter that the children could catch eels and minnows with
their naked hands. In many portions of the salt
marshes it was possible to walk dry-shod where, in the
early Spring, one would have sunk up to the waist, or
even up to the neck.
Driven by the hot weather from their usual feeding-
grounds several rare and curious birds visited the fens
that year. The immediate environs of Rodmoor were
especially safe for these, as few among the fishermen
carried guns and none of the wealthier inhabitants cared
greatly for shooting. Brand Renshaw, for instance,
like his father before him, refused to preserve any sort
of game and indeed it was one of the chief causes of his
311
312 RODMOOR
unpopularity with the neighbouring gentry that he
was so little of a sportsman.
One species of visitor brought by that unusually hot
August was less fortunate than the birds. This was a
swallow-tail butterfly, one of the rarer of the two kinds
known to collectors in that part of the country. Dr.
Raughty was like a man out of his senses with delight
when he perceived this beautiful wanderer. He bribed
a small boy who was with him at the moment to follow
it wherever it flew while he hurried back to his rooms
for his net. Unluckily for the swift-flying nomad, in-
stead of making for the open fens it persisted in hov-
ering about the sand-dunes where grew a certain little
glaucous plant and it was upon the sand dunes, finally,
that the Doctor secured it, after a breathless and ex-
hausting chase.
It seemed to cause FIngal Raughty real distress when
he found that neither Nance nor Linda was pleased at
what he had done. He met, indeed, with scanty con-
gratulations from any of his friends. With Sorio he
almost quarreled over the incident, so vituperative did
the Italian become when reference was made to it in
his presence. Mrs. Renshaw was gently sympathetic,
evidently regarding it as one of the privileges of mascu-
line vigour to catch and kill whatever was beautiful and
endowed with wings, but even she spoilt the savour of
her congratulations with a faint tinge of irony.
Two weeks of September had already passed when
Sorio, in obedience to a little pencilled note he had re-
ceived the night before, set off in the early afternoon
to meet Philippa at one of their more recently dis-
covered haunts. In spite of his resolution in the little
dairy shop in Mundham he had made no drastic change
THE WIXD:MTI.L 313
in liis life, either in the direction of finding woriv. to do
or of breaking ofF his relations with the girl from Oak-
guard. That excursion with Nance in which they tried
so ineffectively to f\nu the great painter's house left,
in its final impression, a certain cruel embarrassment
between them. It became difficult for him not to feel
that she was watching him apprehensively now and with
a ghastly anxiety at the back of her mind and this
consciousness poisoned his ease and freedom with her.
He felt that her tenderness was no longer a natural,
unqualified affection but a sort of terrified pity, and
this impression set his nerves all the more on edge when
they were together.
With Philippa, on the other hand, he felt absolutely
free. The girl lived herself so abnormal and isolated a
life, for Mrs. Renshaw disliked visitors and Brand dis-
couraged any association with their neighbours, that
she displayed nothing of that practical and human
sense of proportion which was the basis of Nance's
character. For the very reason, perhaps, that she
cared less what happened to him, she was able to hu-
mour him more completely. She piqued and stimu-
lated his intelligence too, in a way Nance never did.
She had flashes of diabolical insight which could always
rouse and astonish him. Something radically cold and
aloof in her made it possible for her to risk alienating
him by savage and malicious blows at his pride. But
the more poisonous her taunts became, the more closely
he clung to her, deriving, it might almost seem, an
actual pleasure from what he suffered at her hands.
Anxious for both their sakes to avoid as much as pos-
sible the gossip of the village, he had continued his
habit of meeting her in all manner of out-of-the-way
314 RODMOOR
places, and the spot she had designated as their ren-
dezvous for this particular afternoon was one of the
remotest and least accessible of all these sanctuaries
of refuge. It was, in fact, an old disused windmill,
standing by itself in the fens about two miles north of
that willow copse where he had on one fatal occasion
caused Nance Herrick such distress.
Philippa was an abnormally good walker. From a
child she had been accustomed to roam long distances
by herself, so that it did not strike him as anything
unusual that she should have chosen a place so far off
from Oakguard as the scene of their encounter.
One of her most marked peculiarities was a certain im-
aginative fastidiousness in regard to the milieu of
her interviews with him. That was, indeed, one of the
ways by which she held him. It amounted to a genius
for the elimination of the commonplace or the " fa-
miliar " in the relations between them. She kept a
clear space, as it were, around her personality, only
approaching him when the dramatic accessories were
harmonious, and vanishing again before he had time to
sound the bottom of her evasive mood.
On this occasion Sorio walked with a firm and even
gay bearing towards their rendezvous. He followed
at first the same path as that taken by Nance and her
sister on the eve of their eventful bank-holiday but when
he reached Nance's withy-bed he debouched to his left
and plunged straight across the fens. The track he
now followed was one used rarely, even by the owners
of cattle upon the marshes and in front of him, as far
as his eye could reach, nothing except isolated poplars
and a few solitary gates, marking the bridges across
the dykes, broke the grey expanse of the horizon. The
THE WINDMILL 315
deserted windmill towards which he made his way was
larger than any of the others but while, in the gently-
blowing wind the sails of the rest kept their slow and
rhythmic revolution, this particular one stretched out
its enormous arms in motionless repose as if issuing
some solemn command to the elements or, like the bib-
lical leader, threatening the overthrow of a hostile
army.
As he waked, Sorio noticed that at last the Michael-
mas daisies were really in bloom, their grey leaves and
sad autumnal flowers blending congruously enough with
the dark water and blackened reed-stems of the stag-
nant ditches. The sky above him was covered with a
thin veil of leaden-coloured clouds, against which, fly-
ing so high as to make it difficult to distinguish their
identity, an attenuated line of large birds — Sorio won-
dered if they were wild swans — moved swiftly towards
the west. He arrived at last at the windmill and en-
tered its cavernous interior. She rose to meet him,
shaking the dust from her clothes. In the semi-dark-
ness of the place, her eyes gleamed with a dangerous
lustre like the eyes of an animal.
*' Do you want to stay where we are? " he said when
he had relinquished the hand she gave him, after lifting
it in an exaggerated foreign manner, to his lips. She
laughed a low mocking laugh.
"What's the alternative, Adriano mio? Even 7
can't walk indefinitely and it isn't nice sitting over a
half-empty dyke."
" Well," he remarked, " let's stay here then ! Where
were you sitting before I came? "
She pointed to a heap of straw in the furthest cor-
ner of the place beneath the shadow of the half-ruined
316 RODMOOR
flight of steps leading to the floor above. Adrian sur-
veyed this spot without animation.
" It would be much more interesting," he said, " if
we could get up that ladder. I believe we could. I
tried it clumsily the other day when I broke that step."
" But how do we know the floor above will bear us if
we do get up there? "
" Oh, it'll bear us all right. Look ! You can see.
The middle boards aren't rotted at all and that hole
there is a rat-hole. There aren't any dangerous
cracks."
" It would be so horrid to tumble through, Adrian."
" Oh, we shan't tumble through. I swear to you it's
all right, Phil. We're not going to dance up there, are
we? "
The girl put her hand on the dilapidated balustrade
and shook it. The whole ladder trembled from top to
bottom and a cloud of ancient flour-dust, grey and
mouldy, descended on their heads.
" You see, Adrian ? " she remarked. " It really isn't
safe ! "
" I don't care," he said stubbornly. " What's it
matter? It's dull and stuff'y down here. I'm going to
try anyway."
He began cautiously ascending what remained intact
of the forlorn ladder. The thing creaked ominously
under his weight. He managed, however, to get suf-
ficiently high to secure a hold upon the threshold-beam
of the floor above when, with the aid of a projecting
plank from the side-wall of the building, he managed to
retain his position and after a brief struggle, disap-
peared from his companion's view.
THE WTXDMIT.L 317
His voice came down to her from above, inuflied a
little by the intervening wood-work.
*' It's lovely up here, Phil ! Tliere are two little win-
dows and you can see all over the fens. Wait a min-
ute, we'll soon have you up."
There was a pause and she heard him moving about
over her head.
" You'd much better come down," she shouted. " I'm
not going up there. There's no possible way."
He made no answer to this and there was dead silence
for several minutes. She went to the entrance and
emerged into the open air. The wide horizon around
her seemed void and empty. Upon the surface of the
immense plain only a few visible objects broke the brood-
ing monotony. To the south and east she could dis-
cern just one or two familiar landmarks but to the west
there was nothing — nothing but an eternal level of
desolation losing itself in the sky. She gave an in-
voluntary shudder and moved away from the wind-
mill to the edge of a reed-bordcred ditch. There was a
pool of gloomy water in the middle of the reeds and
across this pool and round and round it whirled, at an
incredible speed, a score or so of tiny water-beetles,
never leaving the surface and never pausing for a mo-
ment in their mad dance. A wretched little moth, its
wings rendered useless by contact with the water, strug-
gled feebly in the centre of this pool, but the shiny-
coated beetles whirled on round it in their dizzy cir-
cles as if it had no more significance than the shadow
of a leaf. Philippa smiled and walked back to the
building.
*' Adrian," she called out, entering its dusty gloom
318 RODMOOR
and looking up at the square hole in the ceiling, from
which still hung a remnant of broken wood-work.
"Well? What is it?" her friend's voice answered.
" It's all right ; we'll soon have you up here ! "
" I don't want to go up there," she shouted back.
" I want you to come doAvn. Please come down, Adrian !
You're spoiling all our afternoon."
Once more there was dead silence. Then she called
out again.
" Adrian," she said, " there's a moth being drowned
in the ditch out here."
"What? Where? What do you say.?" came the
man's reply, accompanied by several violent movements.
Presently a rope descended from the hole and swung
suspended in the air.
" Look out, my dear," Sorio's voice ejaculated and a
moment later he came swinging down, hand over hand,
and landed at her side. " What's that ? " he gasped
breathlessly, " what did you say? A moth in the water?
Show me, show me ! "
" Oh, it's nothing, Adrian," she answered petulantly.
" I only wanted you to come down."
But he had rushed out of the door and down to the
stream's edge.
" I see it ! I see it ! " he called back at her. " Here,
give me my stick ! " He came rushing back, pushed
roughly past her, seized his stick from the ground and
returned to the ditch. It was easy enough to effect the
moth's rescue. The same fluffy stickiness in the thing's
wet wings that made it helpless in the water, made
it adhere to the stick's point. He wiped it off upon
the grass and pulled Philippa back into the build-
ing.
THE WIXDMILL 319
" I'm glad 1 came down," he remarked. " I know
it'll hold now. You won't mind my tying it round
you, will you.'' I'll have both the ends down here pres-
ently. It's round a strong hook. It's all right. And
then I'll pull you up."
Philippa looked at him with angry dismay. All this
agitating fuss over so childish an adventure irritated
her beyond endurance. His proposal had, as a matter
of fact, a most subtle and curious effect upon her.
It changed the relations between them. It reduced
her to the position of a girl playing with an elder
brother. It outraged, with an element of the comic,
her sense of dramatic fastidiousness. It humiliated
her pride and broke the twisted threads of all kinds of
delicate spiritual nets she had in her mind to cast over
him. It placed her by his side as a weak and timid
woman by the side of a willful and strong-limbed man.
Her ascendency over him, as she well knew, depended
upon the retaining, on her part, of a certain psychic
evasiveness — a certain mysterious and tantalizing re-
serve. It depended — at any rate that is what she im-
agined — upon the inscrutable look she could throw into
her eyes and upon the tragic glamour of her ambiguous
red lips and white cheeks. How could she possibly re-
tain all these characteristics when swinging to and fro
at the end of a rope?
Sorio's suggestion outraged something in her that
went down to the very root of her personality. Walk-
ing with him, swimming with him, rowing in a boat with
him — all those things were harmonious to her mind
and congruous with her personal charm. None of
these things interfered with the play of her intelli-
gence, with the poise, the reserve, the aloofness of her
320 RODMOOR
spiritual challenge. She was exceptionally devoid of
fear in these boyish sports and could feel herself when
she engaged in them with him, free of the limitations of
her sex. She could retain completel}'^, as she indulged
lierself in them, all the equilibrium of her being — the
rhythm of her identity. But this proposal of Sorio's
not only introduced a discordant element that had a
shrewd vein of the ludicrous in it, it threw her into a
physical panic. It pulled and tugged at the inmost
fibres of her self-restraint. It made her long to sit
down on the ground and cry like a child. She wondered
vaguely whether it was that Adrian was revenging him-
self upon her at that moment for some accumulated
series of half-physical outrages that he had himself in
his neurotic state been subjected to lately. As to his
actual sanity, it never occured to her to question that.
She herself was too wayward and whimsical in the re-
actions of her nerves and the processes of her mind to
find anything startling, in that sense, in what he was
now suggesting. It was simply that it changed their
relations — it destroyed her ascendency, it brought
things down to brute force, it turned her into a woman.
Her mind, as she stood hesitating, reviewed the moth
incident. That sort of situation — Adrian's fantastic
mania for rescuing things — had just the opposite ef-
fect on her. He might poke his stick into half the
ditches of Rodmoor and save innumerable drowning
moths ; the only effect that had on her was to make her
feel superior to him, better adapted than he to face the
essential facts of life, its inherent and integral cruelty
for instance. But now — to see that horrible rope-end
dangling from that gaping hole and to see the eager,
violent, masculine look in her friend's eyes — it was un-
THE WIXDMILL 821
endurable; it drove her, so to speak, against the jagged
edge of the world's brute wall.
" To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes,
Is delicate and rare — "
she found herself quoting, with a horrible sense that the
humour of the parody only sharpened the sting of her
dilemma.
" I won't do it," she said resolutely at last, trying
to brave it out with a smile. " It's a ridiculous idea.
Besides, I'm much too heavy. You couldn't pull me up
if you tried till nightfall ! No, no, Adriano, don't be
so absurd. Don't spoil our time together with these
mad ideas. Let's sit down here and talk. Or why not
light a fire.'' That would be exciting enough, wouldn't
it?"
His face as he listened to her darkened to a kind of
savage fury. Its despotic and imperious lines empha-
sized themselves to a degree that was really terrifying.
"You won't.''" he cried, "you won't, you won't .''"
And seizing her roughly by the shoulder he actually be-
gan twisting the rope round her body.
She resisted desperately, pushing him away with all
the strength of her arms. In the struggle between
them, which soon became a dangerous one, her hand
thrusting back his head unintentionally drew blood with
its delicate finger-nails from his upper lip. The blood
trickled into his mouth and, maddened by the taste of
it, he let her go and seizing the end of the rope, struck
her with it across the breast. This blow seemed to be-
wilder her. She ceased all resistance. She became
docile and passive in his hands.
Mechanically he went on with the task he had set
322
RODMOOR
himself, of fastening the rope round her beneath her
arm-pits and tying it into a knot. But her absolute
submissiveness seemed presently to paralyze him as
much as his previous violence had disarmed and para-
lyzed her. He unloosed the knot he was making and
with a sudden jerk pulled the rope away from her.
The rope swung back to its former position and dangled
in the air, swaying gently from side to side. They
stood looking at each other in startled silence and then,
quite suddenly, the girl moved forward and flung her
arms round his neck.
" I love you ! " she murmured In a voice unlike any
he had heard her use before. " I love you ! I love
you ! " and her lips clung to his with a long and passion-
ate kiss.
Sorio's emotions at that moment would have caused
her, had she been conscious of them, a reaction even less
endurable than that which she had just been through.
To confess the truth he had no emotion at all. He me-
chanically returned her kisses ; he mechanically em-
braced her. But all the while he was thinking of those
water-beetles with shiny metallic coats that were gyrat-
ing even now so swiftly round that reedy pool.
" Water-beetles ! " he thought, as the girl's convulsive
kisses, salt with her passionate tears, hurt his wounded
lip. "Water-beetles! We are all like that. The
world is like that ! Water-beetles upon a dark stream."
She let him go at last and they moved out together
hand in hand into the open air. Above them the enor-
mous windmill still upheld its motionless arms while
from somewhere in the fens behind it came a strange
whistling cry, the cry of one of those winged intruders
from foreign shores, which even now was perhaps bid-
THE WINDMILL 323
ding farewell to regions of exile and calling out for
some companion for its flight over the North Sea.
With his hand still held tightly in hers, Philippa
walked silently by his side all that long way across the
meadows and dykes. Sorio took advantage of her un-
usually gentle mood and began plaintively telling her
about the nervous sufferings he endured in Rodmoor
and about his hatred for the people there and his con-
viction that they took delight in annoying him. Then
little by little, as the girl's sympathetic silence led him
on, he fell to flinging out — in short, jerky, broken
sentences — as if each word were torn up by the roots
from the very soil of his soul, stammered references to
Baptiste. He spoke as if he were talking to himself
rather than to her. He kept repeating over and over
again some muttered phrase about the bond of abnormal
affection which existed between them. And then he
suddenly burst out into a description of Baptiste. He
rambled on for a long while upon this topic, leaving in
the end only a very blurred impression upon his hearer's
mind. All, in fact, the girl was able to definitely ar-
rive at from what he said was that Baptiste resembled
his mother — a Frenchwoman of the coast of Brittany
— and that he was tall and had dark blue eyes.
" With the longest lashes," Sorio kept repeating,
as if he were describing to her some one it was impor-
tant she should remember, " that you, or any one else,
has ever seen ! They lie on his cheek when he's asleep
like — like — "
He fumbled with the feathery head of a reed he had
picked as they were walking but seemed unable to find
any suitable comparison. It was curious to see the
shamefaced, embarrassed way he threw forth, one by
324 RODMOOR
one, and as if each word caused him definite pain in the
uttering, these allusions to his boy.
Philippa let him ramble on as he pleased, hardly in-
terrupting him by a gesture, listening to him, in fact,
as if she were listening to a person talking in his
sleep. She learnt that it was only with the greatest
difficulty that he had persuaded Baptiste to keep his
position in New York and not fling everything up and
follow him to London. She learnt that Baptiste had
copied out with his own hand the larger portion of
Sorio's book and that now, as he completed each new
chapter, he sent it by registered mail straight to the
boy in " Eleventh Street."
" It will explain my life, my whole life, that book,"
Adrian muttered. " You've only heard a few of its
ideas, Phil, only a few. The secret of things being
found, not in the instinct of creation but in the instinct
of destruction, is only the beginning of it. I go further
— much further than that. Don't laugh at me, Phil,
if I just say this — only just this : I show in my book
how what every living thing really aims at is to escape
from itself, to escape from itself by the destruction of
itself. Do you get the idea in that, Phil? Everything
in the world is — how shall I put it? — these ideas are
not easy, they tear at a person's brain before they be-
come clear ! — everything in the world is on the edge,
on the verge, of dissolving away into what people call
nothingness. That is what Shakespeare had in his mind'
when he said, ' the great globe itself, yea ! all which it
inherits, shall dissolve and — and — ' I forget exactly
how it runs but it ends with * leave not a rack behind.'
But the point I make in my book is this. This * noth-
ingness,' this ' death,' if you like, to which everything
THE WINDMILL 325
struggles is only a name for zcliat lies heyond life — for
what lies, I mean, beyond the extreme limit of the life of
every individual tiling. We shrink back from it, every-
thing shrinks back from it, because it is tlie annihila-
tion of all one's familiar associations, the destruction of
the impulse to go on being oneself! But though we
shrink back from it, something in us, something that is
deeper than ourselves pushes us on to this destruction.
This is why, when people have been outraged in the very
roots of their being, when they have been lacerated and
flayed more than they can bear, when they have been, so
to speak, raked through and combed out, they often fall
back upon a soft delicious tide of deep large happiness,
indescribable, beyond words."
He was too absorbed in what he was saying to notice
that as he made this remark his companion murmured a
passionate assent.
"They do! They do! They do!" the girl re-
peated, with unrestrained emotion.
" That is why," he continued without heeding her,
*' there is always a fierce pleasure in what fools call
* cynicism.' Cynicism is really the only philosophy
worth calling a pliilosophy because it alone recognizes
' that everything which exists ought to be destro^'ed.'
Those are the very words used by the devil in Faust, do
you remember.? And Goethe himself knew in his heart
the truth of cynicism, only he loved life so well, — the
great child that he was! — that he couldn't endure the
thought of destruction. He understood it though, and
confessed it, too. Spinoza helped him to see it. Ah,
Phil, my girl, there was a philosopher ! The only one
— the only one! And see how the rabble are afraid of
Spinoza! Sec how they turn to the contemptible Hegel,
326 RODMOOR
the grocer of philosophy, with his precious ' self-asser-
tion ' and ' self-realization ' ! And there are some idiots
who fail to see that Spinoza was a cynic, that he hated
life and wished to destroy life. They pretend that he
worshipped Nature. Nature! He denied the existence
of it. He wished to annihilate it, and he did annihilate
it, in his terrible logic. He worshipped only one thing,
that which is beyond the limit, beyond the extremest
verge, beyond the point where every living thing ceases
to exist and becomes nothing! That's what Spinoza
worshipped and that's what I worship, Phil. I worship
the blinding white light which puts out all the candles
and all the shadows in the world. It blinds you and
ends you and so you call it darkness. But it only be-
gins where darkness is destroyed with everything else!
Darkness is like cruelty. It's the opposite of love.
But what I worship is as far beyond love as it is be-
yond the sun and all the shadows thrown by the sun ! "
He paused and contemplated a nervous water-rat that
was running along close to the water of the ditch they
walked by, desperately searching for its hole.
" I call it white light," he continued, " but really it's
not light at all, any more than it's darkness. It's some-
thing you can't name, something unutterable, but it's
large and cool and deep and empty. Yes, it's empty
of everything that lives or makes a sound ! It stops all
aching in one's head, Phil. It stops all the persecution
of people who stare at you ! It stops all the sickening
tiredness of having to hate things. It'll stop all my
longing for Baptiste, for Baptiste is there. Baptiste
is the angel of that large, cool, quiet place. Let me
once destroy everything in the way and I get to Bap-
tiste — and nothing can ever separate us again ! "
THE WINDMILL 327
He looked round at the grey monotony about them,
streaked here and there by patches of autumnal yellow
where the stubble fields intersected the fens.
" I prove that I'm right about this principle of de-
struction, Phil," he went on, " by bringing up instances
of the way all human beings instinctive!}' delight to over-
throw one another's illusions and to fling doubt upon
one another's sincerity. We all do that. You do,
Phil, more than any one. You do it to me. And you're
right in doing it. We're all right in doing it ! That
accounts for the secret satisfaction we all feel when
something or other breaks up the complacency of an-
other person's life. It accounts for the mad desire
we have to destroy the complacency of our own life.
What we're seeking is the line of escape — that's the
phrase I use in my book. The line of escape from our-
selves. That's why we turn and turn and turn, like
fish gasping on the land or like those beetles we saw
just now, or like that water-rat!"
They had now reached the outskirts of Nance's
withy-bed. The path Sorio had come by deviated here
sharph' to the east, heading sea-wards, while another
path, Avider and more frequented, led on across the
meadows to the bank of the Loon where the roof and
chimneys of Dyke House were vaguely visible. The
September twilight had already begun to fall and ob-
jects at any considerable distance showed dim and
wraith-like. Damp mists, smelling of stagnant water,
rose in long clammy waves out of the fens and moved
in white ghostly procession along the bank of the river.
Sorio stood at this parting of the ways and surveyed the
shadowy outline of the distant tow-path and the yet
more obscure form of Dyke House. He looked at the
328 RODMOOR
stubble field and then at the little wood where the alder
trees differentiated themselves from the willows by their
darker and more melancholy foliage.
" How frightening Dyke House looks from here," re-
marked Philippa, " it looks like a haunted house."
A sudden idea struck Sorio's mind.
*' Phil," he said, letting go his companion's hand and
pointing with his stick to the house by the river, " you
often tell me you're afraid of nothing weird or super-
natural. You often tell me you're more like a boy in
those things than a girl. Look here, now! You just
run over to Dyke House and see how Rachel Doorm is
getting on. I often think of her — alone in that place,
now Nance and Linda have gone. I've been thinking of
her especially to-day as we've come so near here. It's
impossible for me to go. It's impossible for me to see
any one. My nerves won't stand it. But I must say
I should be rather glad to know she hadn't quite gone
off her head. It isn't very nice to think of her in that
large house by herself, the house where her father died.
Nance told me she feared she'd take to drink just as the
old man did. Nance says it's in the Doorm family, that
sort of thing, drink or insanity, I mean — or both to-
gether, perhaps ! " and he broke into a bitter laugh.
Philippa drew in her breath and looked at the white
mist covering the river and at the ghostly outlines of the
Doorm inheritance.
*' You always say you're like a boy," repeated Sorio,
throwing himself down where four months ago he had
sat with Nance, " well, prove it then ! Run over to
Dyke House and give Rachel Doorm my love. I'll
wait for you here. I promise faithfully. You needn't
do more than just greet the old thing and wish her well.
THE WINDIMITX 329
She loves all you llenshaws. Slie idealizes vou." And
lie laughed again.
Philippa regarded him silently. For one moment the
old wicked flicker of subtle mockery seemed on the point
of crossing her face. But it died instantly away and
lier eyes grew childish and wistful.
" I'm not a boy, I'm a woman," she murmured in a
low voice.
Sorio frowned. " Well, go, whatever you are," he
cried roughly. " You're not tired, are you? " he added
a little more gently.
She smiled at this. " All right, Adrian," she said,
" I'll go. Give me one kiss first."
She knelt down hurriedly and put her arms round his
neck. Lying with his back against the trunk of an
alder, he returned her caress in a perfunctory, absent-
minded manner, precisely as if she were an importunate
child.
" I love you ! I love you ! " she whispered and then
leaping to her feet, " Good-bye ! " she cried, " I'll never
forgive you if you desert me."
She ran off, her slender figure moving through the
growing twilight like a swaying birch tree half seen
through mist. Sorio's mind left her altogether. An
immense yearning for his son took possession of him and
he set himself to recall every precise incident of their
separation. lie saw himself standing at the side of the
crowded liner. He saw the people waving and shout-
ing from the wooden jetty of the great dock. He saw
Baptiste, standing a little apart from the rest, motion-
less, not raising even a hand, paralyzed by the misery
of his departure. He too was sick with misery then.
He remembered the exact sensation of it and how he en-
330 RODMOOR
vied the sea-gulls who never liiiew these human sufferings
and the gay people on the ship who seemed to have all
they loved with them at their side.
" Oh, God," he muttered to himself, " give me back my
son and you may take everything — my book, my pride,
my brain — everything ! everything ! "
Meanwhile Philippa was rapidly approaching Dyke
House. A cold damp air met her as she drew near,
rising with the white mists from off the surface of the
river. She walked round the house and pushed open the
little wooden gate. The face of desolation itself looked
at her from that neglected garden. A few forlorn
dahlias raised their troubled wine-dark heads from
among strangling nettles and sickly plants of pallid-
leaved spurge. Tangled raspberry canes and over-
grown patches of garden-mint mingled with wild cranes-
bill and darnel. Grass was growing thickly on the
gravel path and clumps of green damp moss clung to the
stone-work of the entrance. The windows, as she ap-
proached the house, stared at her like eyes — eyes that
have lost the power to close their lids. There were no
blinds down and no curtains drawn but all the windows
were dark. No smoke issued from the chimney and not
a flicker of light came from any portion of the place.
Silent and cold and hushed, it might have been only
waiting for her appearance to sink like an apparition
into the misty earth. With a beating heart the girl
ascended the steps and rang the bell. The sound
clanged horribly through the empty passages. There
was a faint hardly perceptible stir, such as one might
imagine being made by the fall of disturbed dust or the
rustle of loose paper, but that was all. Dead unbroken
silence flowed back upon everything like the flow of
THE WINDMILL 331
water round a submerged wreck. There was not even
the ticking of a clock to break the stillness. It was
more than the mere absence of any sound, that silence
which held the Doorm house. It was silence such as
possesses an individuality of its own. It took on, as
Philippa waited there, the shadowy and wavering out-
lines of a palpable shape. The silence greeted the girl
and welcomed her and begged her to enter and let it
embrace her. In a kind of panic Philippa seized the
handle of the door and shook it violently. More to
her terror than reassurance it opened and a cold wave
of air, colder even than the mist of the river, struck her
in the face. She advanced slowly, her hand pressed
against her heart and a sense as if something was drum-
ming in her ears.
The parlour door was wide open. She entered the
room. A handful of dead flowers — wild flowers of
some kind but they were too withered to be distinguish-
able — hung dry and sapless over the edge of a vase of
rank-smelling water. Otherwise the table was bare and
the room in order. She came out again and went into
the kitchen. Here the presence of more homely and un-
sentimental objects relieved a little the tension of her
nerves. But the place w^as absolutely empty — save for
an imprisoned tortoise-shell butterfly that was beating
itself languidly, as if it had done the same thing for
days, against the pane.
Mindful of Sorio's habit and with even the faint ghost
of a smile, she opened the window and set the thing free.
It was a relief to smell the river-smell that came in as
she did this. She moved out of the kitchen and once
more stood breathless, listening intently in the silent
hall-way. It was growing rapidly darker; she longed
332 RODMOOR
to rush from the place and return to Sorio but some in-
describable power, stronger than her own will, retained
her. Suddenly she uttered a little involuntary cry.
Struck by a light gust of wind, the front door which she
had left open, swung slowly towards her and closed with
a vibrating shock. She ran to the back and opened the
door which led to the yard. Here she was genuinely
relieved to catch the sound of a sleepy rustling in the
little wood-shed and to see through its dusty window a
white blur of feathers. There were fowls alive anyway
about Dyke House. That, at least, was some satis-
faction. Propping the door open by means of an iron
scraper she returned to the hall-way and looked appre-
hensively at the staircase. Dared she ascend to the
rooms above.'' Dared she enter Rachel Doorm's bed-
room? She moved to the foot of the stair-case and
laid her hand upon the balustrade. A dim flicker of
waning light came in through the door she had propped
open and fell upon the heavy chairs which stood in the
hall and upon a fantastic picture representing the erup-
tion of Vesuvius. The old-fashioned colouring of this
print was now darkened, but she could see the outlines
of the mountain and its rolling smoke. Once again she
listened. Not a sound ! She took a few steps up the
stairs and paused. Then a few more and paused again.
Then with her hands tightly clenched and a cold shiver-
ing sensation making her feel sick and dizzy, she ran up
the remainder and stood weak and exhausted, leaning
against the pillar of the balustrade and gazing with
startled eyes at a half-open door.
It is extraordinary the power of the dead over the
living! Philippa knew that in that room, behind that
door, was the thing that had once called itself a woman
THE WINDMILL 333
and had talked and laughed and eaton and drunk with
other women. When Rachel Doorm was about the age
she herself had now reached and she was a little child,
she could remember how she had built sand-castles for
her by the sea-shore and sang to her old Rodmoor songs
about drowned sailors and sea-kings and lost children.
And now she knew — as surely as if her hand was laid
upon her cold forehead — that behind that door, prob-
ably in some ghastly attitude of eternal listening, the
corpse of all that, of all those memories and many more
that she knew nothing of, was waiting to be found, to
be found and have her eyes shut and her jaw bandaged
— and be prepared for her coffin. The girl gripped
tight hold of the balustrade. The terror that took
possession of her then was not that Rachel Doorm
should be dead — dead and so close to her, but that she
should not be dead !
At that moment, could she have brought herself to
push that door wide open and pass in, it would have been
much more awful, much more shocking, to find Rachel
Doorm alive and see her rise to meet her and hear her
speak ! After all, what did it matter if the body of the
woman was twisted and contorted in some frightful man-
ner — or standing perhaps — Rachel Doorm was just
the one to die standing ! — or if her face were staring up
from the floor.'' What did it matter, supposing she did
go straight in and feel about in the darkness and per-
haps lay her hand upon the dead woman's mouth.'*
What did it matter even if she did see her hanging, in
the faint light of the window, from a hook above the
curtain with her head bent qucerly to one side and a
lock of her hair falling loose? None of these things
mattered. None of them prevented her going straight
334 RODMOOR
into that room ! What did prevent her and what sent
her fleeing down the stairs and out of the house with a
sudden scream of intolerable terror was the fact that
at that moment, quite definitely, there came the sound
of breathing from the room she was looking at. A
simple thing, a natural thing, for an old woman to re-
tire to her bedroom early and to lie, perhaps with all
her clothes on, upon her bed, to rest for a while before
undressing. A simple and a natural thing! But the
fact remains as has just been stated, when the sound of
breathing came from that room Philippa screamed and
ran panic-stricken out into the night. She hardly
stopped running, indeed, till she reached the willow
copse and found Sorio where she had left him. He did
not resist now when breathlessly she implored him to
accompany her back to the house. They walked
hurriedly there together, Adrian in spite of a certain
apprehension smiling in the darkness at his companion's
certainty that Rachel Doorm was dead and her equal
certainty that she had heard her breathing.
" But I understand your feeling, Phil," he said. " I
understand it perfectly. I used to have the same sen-
sation at night in a certain great garden in the Cam-
pagna — the fear of meeting the boy I used to play
with before I expected to meet him! I used to call
out to him and beg him to answer me so as to make
sure."
Philippa refused to enter the house again and waited
for him outside by the garden gate. He was long in
coming, so long that she was seized with the strangest
thoughts. But he came at last, carrying a lantern in
his hand.
" You're right, Phil," he said, " the gods have taken
THE WINDINITT.L 3.'35
her. She's stone-dead. And what's more, she's been
dead a long time, several weeks, I should think."
"But the breathing, Adrian, the breathing? I
heard it distinctly."
Sorio put down his lantern and leant against the gate.
In spite of his calm demeanor she could see that he also
had experienced something over and above the finding
of Rachel's body.
" Yes," he said, " and you w-ere right about that, too.
Guess, child, what it was ! "
And as he spoke he put his hand against the front
of his coat which was tightly buttoned up. Philippa
was immediately conscious of the same stertorous noise
that she had heard in the room of death.
" An animal ! " she cried.
" An owl," he answered, " a young owl. It must have
fallen from a nest in the roof. I won't show it to you
now, as it might escape and a cat might get it. I'm
going to try and rear it if Tassar will let me. Baptiste
will be so amused when he finds me with a pet owl ! He
has quite a mania for things like that. He can make
the birds in the park come to him by whistling. Well !
I suppose what we must do now is to get back to Rod-
moor as quick as we can and report this business to the
police. She must have been dead a week or more !
I'm afraid this will be a great shock to Nance."
" How did you find her.'' " enquired the girl as they
walked along the road towards the New Bridge.
" Don't ask me, Phil — don't ask me," he replied,
" She's out of her troubles anjway and had an owl to
look after her,"
" Should I have been — " began his companion.
" Don't ask me, girl ! " he reiterated. " I tell you it's
336 RODMOOR
all past and over. Rachel Doorm will be buried in the
Rodmoor churchyard and I shall have her owl. An old
woman stops breathing and an owl begins breathing.
It's all natural enough."
XXII
THE NORTHWEST WIND
THE funeral of Rachel Doorm was a dark and
troubled day for both Nance and Linda.
Even the sympathy of Mr. Traherne seemed
unable to console them or lift the settled gloom from
their minds. Nance especially was struck dumb with
comfortless depression. She felt doubly guilty in the
matter. Guilty in her original acquiescence in the
woman's desire to have them with her in Rodmoor and
guilty in her neglect of her during the last weeks of her
life. For the immediate cause of her death, or of the
desperation that led to it, their leaving Dyke House for
the village, she did not feel any remorse. That was in-
evitable after what had occurred. But this did not
lessen her responsibility in the other two cases. Had
she resolutely refused to leave London the probability
was that Rachel would have been persuaded to go on
living with them as she had formerly done. She might
even have sold Dyke House and with the proceeds bought
some cottage in the city suburbs for them all. It was
her own ill-fated passion for Sorio, she recognized that
clearl}' enough, that was the cause of all the disasters
that had befallen them.
Linda's feeling with regard to Rachel's death was
quite different. She had to confess in the depths of
her heart that she was glad of it, glad to be relieved of
the constant presence of something menacing and vindic-
337
338 RODMOOR
tivc on the outskirts of her life. Her trouble was of a
more morbid and abnormal kind, was, indeed, the fact
that in spite of tiie woman's death, she hadnt really got
rid of Rachel Doorm. The night before the funeral
she dreamed of her almost continually, dreamed that
she herself was a child again and that Rachel had
threatened her with some unknown and mysterious pun-
ishment. The night after the funeral it was still worse.
She woke Nance by a fit of wild and desperate crying
and when the elder girl tried to discover the nature of
her trouble she grew taciturn and reserved and refused
to say anything in explanation. All the following week
she went about her occupations with an air of abstrac-
tion and remoteness as if her real life were being lived
on another plane. Nance learnt from Mr. Traherne,
who was doing all he could think of to keep her atten-
tion fixed on her organ-playing, that as a matter of fact
she frequently came out of the church after a few min-
utes' practise and went and stood, for long periods to-
gether, by Rachel's grave. The priest confessed that
on one of the occasions when he had surprised her in
this posture, she had turned upon him quite savagely
and had addressed him in a tone completely different
from her ordinary one.
It was especially dreadful to Nance to feel she was
thrust out and alienated in some mysterious way from
her sister's confidence.
One morning towards the end of September, when
they were dressing together in the hazy autumnal light
and listening to the cries of sea-gulls coming up from
the harbour, Nance caught upon her sister's face, as
the girl's eyes met one another in their common mirror,
that same inscrutable look that she had seen upon it
THE NORTHWEST WIXD 339
five months before when, in tlieir room at Dyke House
they had first become acquainted with the eternal itera-
tion of the North Sea's waves. Nance tried in vain all
the remainder of that day to think out some clue to
what that look implied. It haunted her and tantalized
her. Linda had always possessed something a little
pleading and sad in her eyes. It was no doubt the
presence of that clinging wistfulness in them which had
from the first attracted Brand. But this look con-
tained in it something different. It suggested to
Nance, though she dismissed the comparison as quite in-
adequate almost as soon as she had made it, the cry of a
soul that was being pulled backwards into some interior
darkness yet uttering all the while a desperate prayer to
be let alone as if the least interference with what destiny
was doing would be the cause of yet greater peril.
The following night as she lay awake watching a
filmy trail of vaporous clouds sail across a wasted hag-
gard moon, a moon that seemed to betray as that bright
orb seldom does the fact that it was a corpse-world
hung there with almost sacrilegious and indecent ex-
posure, under the watchful stars, she noticed with dis-
may the white-robed figure of her sister rise from her
bed and step lightly across the room to the open win-
dow. Nance watched her with breathless alarm. Was
she awake or asleep? She leant out of the window, her
long hair falling heavily to one side. Nance fancied
she heard her muttering something but the noise of the
sea, for the tide was high then in the early morning
hours, prevented her catching the words. Nance threw
off the bed-clothes and stole noiselessly towards her.
Yes, certainly she was speaking. The words came in a
low, plaintive murmur as if she were pleading with
340 RODMOOR
some one out there in the misty night. Nance crept
gently up to her and listened, afraid to touch her lest
she should cause her some dangerous nervous shock but
anxious to be as close to her as she could.
" I am good now," she heard her say, " I am good
now, Rachel. You can let me out now! I will say
those words, I am good now. I won't disobey you
again."
There was a long silence, broken only by the sound
of the Sea and the beating of Nance's heart. Then
once more, the voice rose.
" It's down too deep, Rachel, you can't reach it with
that. But I'll go in. I'm not afraid any more! If
only you'll let me out. I'll go in deep — deep — and
get it for you. She can't hold it tight. The water is
too strong. Oh, I'll be good, Rachel. I'll get it for
you if only you'll let me out ! "
Nance, unable to endure any more of this, put her
arms gently round her sister's body and drew her back
into the room. The young girl did not resist. With
wide-open but utterly unconscious eyes she let herself be
led across the room. Only when she was close to her
bed she held back and her body became rigid.
" Don't put me in there again, Rachel. Anything
but that ! "
"Darling!" cried Nance desperately, "don't you
know me.-* I'm with you, dear. This is Nance with
you. No one shall hurt you ! "
The young girl shuddered and looked at her with a
bewildered and troubled gaze as if everything were
vague and obscure. At that moment there came over
Nance that appalling terror of the unconscious, of the
sub-human which is one of the especial dangers of those
THE NORTHWES T WIND 341
who have to look after the insane or follow the move-
ments of somnambulists. But the shudder passed and
the bewildered look was superseded by one of gradual
obliviousness. The girl's body relaxed and she swayed
as she stood. Nance, with a violent effort, lifted her in
her arms and laid her down on the bed. The girl
muttered something and turned over on her side.
Nance watched her anxiously but she was soon relieved
to catch the sound of her quiet breathing. She was
asleep peacefully now. She looked so pathetically
loveh', lying there in a childish position of absolute
abandonment that Nance could not resist bending over
her and lightly kissing her cheek.
" Poor darling ! " she said to herself, " how blind I've
been ! How wickedly blind I've been ! " She pulled the
blanket from her own bed and threw it over her sister so
as not to disturb her by altering the bed-clothes. Then,
wrapping herself in her dressing-gown she lay back upon
her pillows resigned for the rest of the night to remain-
ing wakeful.
The next day she noticed no difference in Linda's
mood. There was the same abstraction, the same list-
less lack of interest in anything about her and worst
of all that same inscrutable look which filled Nance with
every sort of wild imagination. She cast about in de-
spair for some way of breaking the evil spell under
which the girl was pining. She went again and again
to see Mr. Traherne and the good man devoted hours
of his time to discussing the matter with her but noth-
ing either of them could think of seemed a possible
solution.
At last one morning, some days after that terrifying
night, she met Dr. Raughty in the street. She walked
342 RODMOOR
with him as far as the bridge explaining to him as best
she could her apprehensions about her sister and asking
him for his advice. Dr. Raughty was quite definite and
unhesitating.
" What Linda wants is a mother," he said laconically.
Nance stared at him.
" Yes, I know," she said. " I know well enough, poor
darling! But that's the worst of it, Fingal. Her
mother's been dead years and years and years."
" There are other mothers in Rodmoor, aren't
there?" he remarked.
Nance frowned. " You think I don't look after her
properly," she murmured. " No, I suppose I haven't.
And yet I've tried to — I've tried my very best."
" You're as hopeless as your Adrian with his owl,"
cried the Doctor. " He was feeding it with cake the
other day. Cake ! He'd better not bring his owl and
our friend's rat together. There won't be much of the
rat left. Cake ! " And the Doctor put back his head
and uttered an immense gargantuan laugh. Nance
looked a little disturbed and even a little indignant at
his merriment.
" What do you mean by other mothers? " she asked.
They had just reached the bridge and Dr. Raughty bade
her look over the parapet.
" What exquisite bellies those dace have ! " he re-
marked, snuffing the air as he spoke. " There'll be rain
before night. Do you feel it? I know from the way
those fish rise. The sea too, it has a different voice —
has that ever caught your attention? — when there's
rain on the wind. Those dace are shrewd fellows.
They're after the bits of garbage the sea-gulls drop on
their way up the river. You might think they were
THE NORTHWEST WTXD 343
after flies, but tliej're not. I suppose George Crabbe
or George Borrow would switcli 'em out with some bait
such as was never dreamed of — the droppings of rab-
bits perhaps or ladybird grubs. I suppose old Doc-
tor Johnson would wade in up to his knees and try and
scoop 'em up in his hands. There's a big one ! Do
you see? The one waving his tail and turning side-
ways. I expect he weighs half a pound or more. Fish
are beautiful things, especially dace. Isn't it wonder-
ful to think that if you pulled any of those things back-
wards through the water they would be drowned, simply
by the rush of water through their gills? Look, Nance,
at that one ! What a silver belly ! What a delicate,
exquisite tail ! A plague on these fellows who philander
with owls and rats ! Give me fish — if you want to
make a cult of something." He lowered his voice to a
whisper, " I should think Lubric de Lauziere must have
kept a pet fish in his round pond ! "
" Good-bye, Fingal," said Nance, holding out her
hand.
"What! Well! Where! God help us! What's
wrong, Nance? You're not annoyed with me, are you?
Do you think I'm talking through my hat? Not at
all! I'm leading up to it. A mother — that's what
she wants. She wants it just as those dace want the
water to flow in their faces and not backwards through
their gills. She's being dragged backwards — that's
what's the matter with her. She wants her natural ele-
ment and it must flow in the right direction. Yon
won't do. Traherne won't do. A mother is the thincr!
A woman, Nance, who has borne children has certain
instincts in dealing with young girls which make the
wisest physicians in the world look small ! "
344 RODINIOOR
Nance smiled helplessly at him.
"But, Fingal, dear," she said, "what can I do? I
can't appeal to Mrs. Raps, can I — or your friend Mrs.
Sodderley.'' When you come to think, there are very
few mothers in Rodmoor ! "
The Doctor sighed. " I know it," he observed mourn-
fully, " I know it. The place will die out altogether in
fifty years. It's as bad as the sand-dunes with their
sterile flora. Women who bear children are the only
really sane people in the world."
He ran his thumb, as he spoke, backwards and for-
wards over a little patch of vividly green moss that grew
between the stones of the parapet. The air, crisp and
autumnal with that vague scent of burning weeds in it
which more than anything else suggests the outskirts
of a small town at the end of the summer, flowed round
them both with a mute appeal to her, so it seemed to
Nance, to let all things drift as they might and submit
to destiny. She looked at the Doctor dreamily in one
of those queer intermissions of human consciousness in
which we stand apart, as it were, from our own fate and
listen to the flowing of the eternal tide.
A small poplar tree growing at the village end of the
bridge had already lost some of its leaves and a few of
these came drifting, one by one, along the raised stone
pathway to the girl's feet. Over the misty marsh lands
in the other direction, she could see the low tower of the
church. The gilded weather-vane on the top of it shim-
mered and glittered in a vaporous stream of sunlight
that seemed to touch nothing else.
Dreamily she looked at the Doctor, too weary of the
struggle of life to make an effort to leave him and yet
quite hopeless as to his power to help her. Fingal
THE NORTHWEST WIND 345
Rauglity continued to discourse upon the instinctive
wisdom of maternity.
*' Women who've had cliildren," he went on, " are the
only people in the world who possess the open secret.
They know what it is to find the ultimate virtue in ex-
quisite resignation. They do not only submit to fate
— they joyfully embrace it, I suppose we might main-
tain that they even ' love it ' — though I confess that
that idea of * loving ' fate has always seemed to me
weird and fantastic. But I laugh, and so do you, I ex-
pect, when our friends Sorio and Tassar talk in their
absurd way about women. What do they know of
women .f* They've only met, in all their lives (forgive
me, Nance !) a parcel of silly young girls. They've no
right to speak of life at all, the depraved children that
they are ! They are outside life, they're ignorant of
the essential m3'stery. Goethe was the fellow to under-
stand these things, and you know the name he gives to
the unutterable secret? The Mothers. That's a good
name, isn't it .'* The Mothers ! Listen, Nance ! All
the people in this place suffer from astigmatism and
asymmetry. Those are the outward signs of their men-
tal departure from the normal. And the clever ones
among them are proud of it. You know the way they
talk ! They think abnormality is the only kind of
beauty. Nance, my dear, to tell you the truth, I'm sick
of them all. ^fy 'idea of beauty is the perfect masculine
type, such as you see it in that figure they call ' the
Theseus ' — in the Elgin marbles — or the perfect
feminine type as you see it in the great Demeter. Do
you suppose they can, any of them, get round that?
Do you suppose they can fight against the rhj'thm of
Nature?"
346 RODMOOR
He pulled out his tobacco pouch and gravely lit his
pipe, swinging his head backwards and forwards as he
did so. Nance could not help noticing the shrewd,
humorous animalism of his look as he performed this
function.
" But what can be done? Oh, Fingal, what can be
done about Linda? " she asked with a heavy sigh.
He settled his pipe in his mouth and blew violently
down its stem, causing a cloud of smoke to go up into
the September air.
" Take her to j\Irs. Renshaw," he said solemnly.
" That's what I've been thinking all this time. That's
my conclusion. Take her to Mrs. Renshaw."
Nance stared at him. " Reallv? " she murmured,
" you really think she could help? "
" Try it — try it — try it ! " cried Dr. Raughtj^
flinging a bit of moss at the fish in the water below
them.
" It's extraordinary," he added, " that these dace
should come down so far as this ! The water here must
be almost entirely salt."
That afternoon Nance went to Mr. Traherne's
vesper service. She found Mrs. Renshaw in the church
and invited both her and the priest to come back with
them to their lodgings. She did this under the pre-
tense of showing them some new designs of a startling
and fascinating kind that she had received from Paris.
The circean witcheries of French costumery were not
perhaps precisely the right attraction either for Mrs.
Renshaw or Hamish Trahcrne, but the thing served
well enough as an excuse and they both took it as such.
She was careful to hurry on in advance with Mr. Tra-
herne so as to make it inevitable that Linda should walk
THE NORTHWEST WIND 347
with Mrs. Renshaw. The mistress of Oakguard seemed
unusually pale and tired that afternoon. She held
Linda back in the churchyard until the others had got
quite far and then she led her straight to Rachel
Doorm's grave. They had buried the unhappy woman
quite close to the outermost border of the priest's gar-
den. Nothing but a few paces of level grass separated
her from a row of tall crimson hollyhocks. The grave
at present lacked any headstone. Only a bunch of
Michaelmas daisies, placed there by Linda herself, stood
at its foot in a glass jar. Several wasps were buzzing
round this jar, probably conscious of some faint odour
clinging still about it from what it had formerly con-
tained. Mrs. Renshaw stood with her hand leaning
heavily on Linda's shoulder. She seemed to know, from
the depths of her own fathomless morbidity, precisely
what the young girl was feeling.
"Shall we kneel down,'*" she said. Linda began
trembling a little but with simple and girlish docility,
free from any kind of embarrassment, she knelt at the
other's side.
" We mustn't pray for the dead," whispered ]Mrs.
Renshaw. " He" she meant Mr. Traherne, " tells us to
in his sermons, but it hurts me when he does for we've
been taught that all that is wrong — wrong and con-
trary to our simple faith! We mustn't forget the
Martyrs — must we, Linda? "
But Linda's mind was far from the martyrs. It was
occupied entirely with the thing that la}^ buried before
them, under that newly disturbed earth.
" But we can pray to God that His will be done, on
earth, even as it is in Heaven," murmured Mrs. Ren-
shaw.
348 RODMOOR
She was silent after that and the younger and the
elder woman knelt side by side with bowed heads. Then
in a low whisper Mrs. Renshaw spoke again.
" There are some lines I should like to say to you,
dear, if you'll let me. I copied them out last week.
They were at the end of a book of poetry that I found
in Philippa's room. She must have just bought it or
had it given to her. I didn't think she cared any more
for poetry. The pages weren't cut and I didn't like to
cut them without her leave but I copied this out from
the end. It was the last in the book."
She hesitated a moment while Linda remained motion-
less at her side, trembling still a little and watching the
movements of a Peacock butterfly which was then shar-
ing with the wasps their interest in the ancient honey-
jar.
Mrs. Renshaw then repeated the following lines in a
clear exquisitely modulated voice which went drifting
away over the surrounding marshes.
" For even the purest delight may pall,
And power must fail and the pride must fall,
And the love of the dearest friends grow small.
But the glory of the Lord is all in all."
Her voice sank. A slight gust of wind made the trees
above them sigh softly as though the words of the
kneeling woman were in harmony with the inarticulate
heart of the earth.
Linda stopped trembling. A sweet indescribable
calm began slowly to pervade her. Gently, like a child,
she slipped her hand into her companion's.
"Do 3^ou remember the Forty-third Psalm, Linda.'*'*
Mrs. Renshaw continued and her clear dramatic voice,
THE NORTHWEST WIND 349
with a power of feeling equal to that of any great
actress, once more rose upon the air.
" Our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined
from thy way.
Though thou hast sore broken us, in the place of dragons, and
covered us with the shadow of death."
Once more she was silent but with a slight veering of
the wind, the sound of the waves beyond the sand-dunes
came to them with pitiless distinctness. It seemed to
mock — this voice of the earth's antagonist — mock,
in triumphant derision, the forlorn hope which that
solemn invocation had roused in the girl's heart. But
in contending against Mrs. Renshaw's knowledge of
the Psalms even the North Sea had met its match.
With her pale face uplifted and a wild light in her eyes,
she continued to utter the old melodious incantations
with their constant references to a Power more formid-
able than " all thy waves and storms." She might have
been one of the early converts to the faith that came
from the sacred Desert, wrestling in spiritual ecstasy
with the gods and powers of those heathen waters.
Either by one of the fortunate coincidences which
sometimes interrupt even the irony of nature or, as Mrs.
Renshaw would herself have maintained, by a direct an-
swer to her prayer, the weathercock on the church
tower swung round again. North-east it swung, then
north-north-east, then due north. And finally, even
while she was uttering her last antiphony, it pointed to
north-west, the quarter most alien and antagonistic to
the Rodmoor sea, the portion of the horizon from which
blew the wind of the great fens.
In a country like East Anglia so peculiarly at the
350 RODMOOR
mercy of the elements, every one of the winds has its
own peculiar burden and brings with it something heal-
ing and restorative or baleful and malefic. The east
wind here is, in a paramount sense, the evil wind, the
accomplice and confederate of the salt deep, the blighter
of hopes, the herald of disaster. The north-west wind,
on the contrary, is the wind that brings the sense of in-
land spaces, the smell of warm, wet earth and the fra-
grance of leaf mould in sweet breathing woods. It is the
wind that fills the rivers and the wells and brings the
fresh purifying rain. It is a wind full of memories and
its heart is strong with the power of ancient love, re-
vived even out of graves and sepulchres. To those
sensitive to finer and rarer earth influences among the
dwellers by the east coast there may be caught some-
times upon the north-west wind the feeling of pine woods
and moorland heather. For it comes from the oppo-
site side of the great plain, from Brandon Heath and
even bc^'ond and it finds nothing in the wide fen country
to intercept it or break the rush of its sea-ward pass-
age.
Thus, when the two women rose finally to their feet it
was to be met by a cool, healing breath which, as it
bowed the ranks of the hollyhocks and rustled through
the trees, had in it a delicious odour of inland brooks
and the coming of pure rain.
" Listen to me, child," said Mrs. Renshaw as they
passed out of the churchyard, " I want to say this to
you. You mustn't think that God allows any inter-
course between the living and the dead. That is a
wicked invention of our own sinful hearts. It is a
temptation, darling — a temptation of the devil — and
we must struggle against it. Whenever we feel it we
THE NORTHWEST WIND 3.51
must struggle against it and pray. It is perfectly right
for you to think gently and forgivingly of poor Miss
Doorm. It were wrong to think otherwise. But you
mustn't think of her as anywhere near us or about us
now. She's in the hands of God and in the mercy of
God and we must leave her there. Do you hear what
I'm saying, Linda? Do you understand me? Any-
thing else is wrong and evil. We arc all sinners to-
gether and we are all in the same merciful hands."
Never was the exorcising of powers hurtful to hu-
manity more effective. Linda bowed her head at her
words and then raising it freely, walked with a lighter
step than for seven long days. She wished in her heart
that she had the courage to talk to Mrs. Renshaw about
an anxiety much more earthly, much less easy to be
healed, than the influence of Rachel Doorm, alive or
dead, but so immense was her relief at that moment to
be free from the haunting phantom that had been pull-
ing her towards that mound in the churchyard that she
found it in her heart to be hopeful and reckless even
though she knew that, whatever happened, there was
bound to be pain and trouble in store for her in the not
far distant future.
XXIII
WARDEN OF THE FISHES
IT will be found not altogether devoid of a strange
substratum of truth, though fantastic enough
in the superficial utterance, the statement that
there are certain climacteric seasons in the history
of places when, if events of importance are looming
upon the horizon, they are especially liable to fall.
Such a season with regard to Rodmoor, or at least with
regard to the persons we are most concerned with there,
may be said to have arrived with the beginning of
Autumn and with the month of October.
The first weeks of this month were at any rate full of
exciting and fatal interest to Nance. Something in the
change of the weather, for the rains had come in earnest
now, affected Sorio in a marked degree. His whole be-
ing seemed to undergo some curious disintegrating proc-
ess as difficult to analyze as the actual force in Nature
which was at that very time causing the fall of the
leaves. We may be allowed to draw at least this much
from Sorio's own theory of the universal impulse to
self-destruction — the possible presence, that is to say,
of something positive and active, if not personal and
conscious, in the processes of natural decadence. Life,
when it corrupts and disintegrates ; life when it finally
falls away and becomes what we call death, does so
sometimes, or seems to do so, with a vehemence and im-
petuosity which makes it difficult not to feel the pres-
352
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 353
sure of some half-conscious " will to perish " in the
thing thus plunging towards dissolution. The brilliant
colour which many flowers assume when they approach
decease bears out this theory. It is what the poet calls
a " lightning before death " and the rich tints of the
autumn foliage as well as the phosphorescent glories —
only repulsive to our human senses in fatal association
— of physical mortality itself, are symbols, if not more
than symbols, of the same splendid rushing upon noth-
ingness.
This change in Sorio was not at all to Nance's dis-
advantage in the external aspect of the relations be-
tween them ; indeed, she was carried forward by it to the
point of coming to anticipate with trembling excite-
ment what had begun to seem an almost impossible hap-
piness. For Sorio definitely and in an outburst of im-
patient pleading, implored her to marry him. In the
deeper, more spiritual association between them, how-
ever, the change which took place in him now was less
satisfactory. Nance could not help feeling that there
was something blind, childish, selfish, unchivalrous, —
something even reckless and sinister — about this pro-
posal and the passionate eagerness with which he
pressed it upon her, considering that he made no more
attempt than before to secure any employment and
seemed to take it for granted that either she or Balta-
zar Stork or his own son in America, or some vague
providential windfall w;ould provide the mone}' for this
startling adventure. Side by side with her surprise at
his careless disregard for all practical considerations,
Nance could not help feeling a profound apprehension
which she herself was unwilling to bring to the surface
of her mind with regard to his mood and manner during
354 RODMOOR
these days. He seemed to throw himself passively and
helplessly upon her hands. He clung to her as a sick
child might cling to its parent. His old savage out-
bursts of cynical humour seemed to have vanished and
in their place was a constant querulousness and peevish-
ness which rendered their hours together much less
peaceful and happy than they ought to have been. All
sorts of little things irritated him — irritated him even
in her. He clung to her, she could not help fancying,
more out of a strange instinct of self-preservation than
out of natural love. She couldn't help wondering some-
times how it would be when they were actually mar-
ried. He seemed to find it at once difficult to endure
her society and impossible to do without it. The bit-
ter saying of the old Latin poet might have been his
motto at that time. " Nee sine te nee tecum vivere
possum.^'
And yet, in spite of all this, these early October days
were days of exquisite happiness for Nance. The long
probation through which her love had passed had purged
and winnowed it. The maternal instinct in her, always
the dominant note in her emotions, was satisfied now as
it had never been satisfied before, as perhaps unless she
had children of her own it would never be satisfied again.
In these days of new hope and new life her youth
seemed to revive and put forth exquisite blossoms of
gaiety and tenderness. In a physical sense she actually
did revive, though this may have been partly due to
the cool crisp air that now blew constantly across the
fens, and Linda, watching the change with affectionate
sympathy, declared she was growing twice as beautiful.
She offered no objection when Sorio insisted upon
having their " bans " read out in church, a duty that
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 35.3
was most willingly performed without further delay by
Haniish Trahernc. She did not even protest when he
announced that they would be married before October
was over, announced it without any indication of how
or where they would live, upon whose money or under
whose roof !
She felt a natural reluctance to press these practical
details upon his notice. The bond that united them
was too delicate, too tenuous and precarious, for her to
dare to lean heavily upon it, nor did the few hesitating
and tentative hints she threw out meet with any response
from him. He waved them aside. He threw them from
him with a jest or a childish groan of disgust or a vague
" Oh, that will work itself out. That will be all right.
Don't worry about that! I'm writing to Baptiste."
But, as we have said, in spite of all these difficulties
and in spite of the deep-hidden dismay which his nerv-
ous, querulous mood excited in her, Nance was full of a
thrilling and inexpressible happiness during these
Autumn days. She loved the roar of the great wind —
the northwest wind — in chimneys and house-tops at
night. She loved the drifting of the dead leaves along
the muddy roads. She loved the long swishing murmur
of the rushes growing by the dyke paths as they bent
their feathery heads over the wet banks or bowed in
melancholy rhythm across the rain-filled ditches.
Autumn was assuredly and without doubt the climac-
teric season of the Rodmoor fens. The}^ reluctantly
yielded to the Spring ; they endured the Summer, and
the Winter froze them into dead and stoical inertness.
But something in the Autumn called out the essential
and native qualities of the place's soul. The fens rose
to meet the Autumn in happy and stormy nuptials.
356 RODMOOR
The brown, full-brimmed streams mounted up joyously
to the highest level of their muddy banks. The faded
mallow-plants by the river's side and the tarnished St.
John's wort in the drenched hedges assumed a pathetic
and noble beauty — a beauty full of vague, far-drawn
associations for sensitive humanity. The sea-gulls and
marsh-birds, the fish, the eels, the water-rats of the re-
plenished streams seemed to share in the general ex-
pansion of life with the black and white hornless cattle,
the cattle of the fens, who now began to yield their
richest milk. Long, chilly, rainy days ended in mag-
nificent and sumptuous sunsets — sunsets in which the
whole sky from zenith to nadir became one immense
rose of celestial fire. Out of a hundred Rodmoor chim-
neys rose the smell of burning peat, that smell of all
others characteristic of the country whose very soil was
formed of the vegetation of forgotten centuries.
In the large dark barns the yellow grain lay piled
roof-high, while in every little shed and outhouse in the
country, damsons, pears and potatoes lay spread out as
if for the enjoyment of some Dionysian gathering of
the propitiated earth-gods.
The fishermen, above all, shared in the season's for-
tune, going out early and late to their buoy-marked
spots on the horizon, where the presence of certain
year-old wrecks lying on the sand at the bottom drew
the migratory fish and held them for weeks as if by a
marine spell.
But if the days had their especial quality, the nights
during that October were more significant still. The
sky seemed to draw back, back and away, to some purer,
clearer, more ethereal level while with a radiance tender
and solemn the greater and lesser stars shed down their
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 357
magical influence. The planets, especially Venus and
Jupiter, grew so luminous and large that they seemed
to rival the moon ; while the Moon, herself, the mystic
red moon of the finished harvest, the moon of the equi-
nox, drew the tides after her, higher and fuller and with
a deeper note in their ebb and flow than at any other
season of the year.
Everywhere swallows were gathering for their long
flight, everywhere the wild geese and the herons were
rising to incredible heights in the sky and moving north-
ward and westward; and all this while Nance was able,
at last really able, to give herself up to her passion
for the man she loved.
It was a passion winnowed by waiting and suffering,
purged to a pure flame by all she had gone through,
but it was a passion none the less — a long exclusive
passion — the love of a lifetime. It made her some-
times, this great love of hers, dizzy and faint with fear
lest something even now should at the last moment come
between them. Sometimes it made her strangely shy
of him too, shy and withdrawn as if it were not easy,
though so triumphantly sweet, to give herself up body
and soul into hands that after all were the hands of
a stranger !
Sorio did not understand all this. Sometimes when
she thrust him away as if the emotion produced by his
caresses were more than she could bear or as if some
incalculable pride in her, some inalienable chastity be-
yond the power of her senses, relucted to yield further,
he grew angry and morose and accused her of jealousy
or of coldness. This would have been harder to endure
from him if there had not existed all the while at the
bottom of her heart a strange, maternal pity, a pity
358 RODMOOR
not untouched with a sort of humorous irony — the
eternal irony of the woman as she submits to the eter-
nal misunderstanding of the man, embracing her without
knowing what he does. He seemed to her sometimes in
the mere physical stress of his love-making almost like
an amorous and vicious boy. She could not resist the
consciousness that her knowledge of the mystery of
sex — its depth and subtlety not less than its flame and
intensity — was something that went much further and
was much more complicated and involved with her whole
being than anything he experienced. Especially did
she smile in her heart at the queer way he had of tak-
ing it for granted that he was " seducing " her, of de-
riving, it seemed, sometimes a satyrish pleasure from
that idea, and sometimes a fit of violent remorse. When
he was in either of these moods she felt towards him
precisely as a mother might feel towards a son whose
egoism and ignorance gave him a disproportioned view
of the whole world. And yet, in actual age, Sorio was
some twenty years her senior.
In her own mind, as the weeks slipped by and their
names had already been coupled twice in the Sunday
services, Nance was taking thought as to what, in solid
reality, she intended to do with this child-man of hers
when the great moment came. She must move from
their present lodging. That seemed certain. It also
seemed certain that Linda would have still to go on
living with her. Any other arrangement than that was
obviously unthinkable. But where should they live?
And could she, with the money at present at her dis-
posal, support three people?
A solution was found to both these problems by Mr.
Traherne. There happened to exist in Rodmoor, as
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 3.50
in many other old decaying boroughs on the east coast,
certain official positions the practical service of which
was almost extinct but whose local prestige and finan-
cial emoluments, such as they were, lingered on un-
affected by the change of conditions. Tlie relentless
encroachments of the sea upon the land were mainly
responsible for this. In certain almost uninhabited
villages there existed official persons whose real raison
d'etre lay with the submerged foundations of former
human habitations, deep at the bottom of the waters.
It was, indeed, one of the essential peculiarities of
life upon those strange sea-banks this sense of living
on the edge, as it were, of the wave-drowned graves of
one's fathers. It may have been the half-conscious
knowledge of this, bred in their flesh and blood from
infancy, that gave to the natives of those places so many
unusual and unattractive qualities. Other abodes of
men rest securely upon the immemorial roots of the
past, roots that lie, layer beneath layer, in rich historic
continuity endowing present usages and customs with
the consecration of unbroken tradition. But in the
villages of that coast all this is diff'erent. Tradition
remains, handed down from generation to generation,
but the physical continuity is broken. The east-coast
dwellers resemble certain of the stellar bodies in the
celestial spaces, they retain their identity and their
names but they are driven, in slow perpetual movement,
to change their physical position. In scriptural phrase,
they have no " abiding-place " nor can they continue
" in one stay."
The fishing boats of the present generation set their
brown sails to cross the water where, some hundreds of
years before, an earlier generation walked their cob-
360 RODMOOR
bled streets. The storm-buoys rock and ring and the
boat lanterns burn their wavering signals over the
drowned foundations that once supported Town-Hall
and church tower, Market place and Village Tavern.
It is this slow, century-delayed flight from the invad-
ing tide which so often produces in East Anglian coast
towns the phenomenal existence of two parish churches,
both it may be still in use, but the later and newer one
following the heart of the community in its enforced
retreat. Thus it is brought about in these singular
localities that the very law of the gods, the law which
utters to the elements the solemn " thus far and no
further " is as a matter of fact, daily and momently,
though with infinite slowness, broken and defied.
It is perhaps small wonder that among the counties
of England these particular districts should have won
for themselves a sinister reputation for impiety and
perversity. Nothing so guards and establishes the
virtue of a community than its sense of the presence
in its midst of the ashes of its generations. Con-
sciously and in a thousand pious usages it " worships
its dead." But East-Anglian coast-dwellers are not
permitted this privilege. Their " Lares and Penates "
have been invaded and submerged. The fires upon
their altars have been drowned and over the graves of
their fathers the godless tides ebb and flow without
reverence. Fishes swim where once children were led
to the font and where lovers were wedded the wild
cormorant mocks the sea-horses with its disconsolate
cry. It is easy to be believed that the remote de-
scendants of human beings who actually walked and
bartered and loved and philosophized on spots of
ground now tangled with seaweed and sea-drift, and
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 361
with fathoms of moaning and whispering water above
them, should come in their hour to depart in a measure
from the stable and kindly laws of human integrity !
With the ground thus literally moving — though in
age-long process — under their feet, how should they
be as faithful as other tribes of men to what is per-
manent in human institution?
There was perhaps a certain congruity in the fact
that now, after all these ages of tidal malice, it was in
the interests of so singular an alien as Sorio — one
whose very philosophy was the philosophy of " destruc-
tion " — that this lingering on of offices, whose service
had been sea-drowned, remained as characteristic of
the place. But this is precisely what did occur.
There was in Rodmoor a local official, appointed by
the local town council, whose title, " The Warden of
the Fishes," carried the mind back to a time when the
borough, much larger then, had been a considerable
centre of the fishing industry. This office, tenable for
life, carried with it very few actual duties now but it
ensured a secure though small emolument and, what
was more important, the occupancy, free of rent, of
one of the most picturesque houses in the place, an old
pre-Elizabethan dwelling of incommodious size but of
romantic appearance, standing at the edge of the har-
bour.
The last incumbent of this quaint and historic office,
whose duties were so little onerous that they could be
performed by a very old and very feeble man, was a
notable character of the village called John Peewit
Swinebitter, whose chief glory was not attained until
the close of his mortal days, which ended under the
table in the Admiral's Head after a surfeit of the very
362 RODMOOR
fish of which he was " warden " washed down by too
copious libations of Keith-Radipole ale.
Since Mr. Swinebitter's decease in June, there had
gone on all through July and August, a desperate ri-
valry between two town factions as to the choosing
of his successor and it was Mr. Traherne's inspired
notion to take advantage of this division to secure the
post for Nance's prospective husband.
Sorio, though of foreign blood, was by birth and
nationality English and moreover he had picked up,
during his stay in Rodnioor, quite as much familiarity
with the ways and habits of fish as were necessary for
that easy post. If, at any unforeseen crisis, more
scientific and intimate knowledge was required than was
at his disposal, there was always Dr. Raughty, a past
master in all such matters, to whom he could apply.
It was Mr. Traherne's business to wheedle the local
rivals into relinquishing their struggle in favour of
one who was outside the contention and when this was
accomplished the remaining obstacles in the way of the
appointment were not hard to surmount. Luckily for
the conspirators. Brand Renshaw, though the largest
local landowner and a Justice of the Peace, was not
on the Rodmoor council.
So skillfully did Mr. Traherne handle the matter and
so cautious and reserved was Nance that it was not till
after the final reading of their bans in the church on
the marshes and the completion of the arrangements
for their marriage at the end of the following week,
that even Baltazar Stork became aware of what was
in the wind.
Sorio himself had been extremely surprised at this
unexpected favour shown him by the local tradesmen.
WARDEX OF THE FISHES 363
He had brooded so long upon his morbid delusion of
universal persecution that it seemed incredible to him,
in the few interviews which he had with these people,
that they should treat him in so courteous and kind a
manner. As a matter of fact, so fierce and obstinate
were their private dissensions, it was a genuine relief
to them to deal with a person from outside ; nor must
it be forgotten that in the appointment of Nance's hus-
band to the coveted post they were doing honour to
the memory of the bride's father, Captain Herrick hav-
ing been by far the most popular of all the visitors to
Rodmoor in former times. Most of the older members
of the council could well remember the affable sailor.
Many of them had frequently gone out fishing with him
in the days when there were more fish and rarer fish to
be caught than there were at present — tliose " old
days " in fact which, in most remote villages, are as-
sociated with stuffed wonders in tavern parlours and
with the quips and quirks of half-legendary heroes of
Sport and Drink.
It was a reversion to such " old days " to have a
gentleman " Warden of the Fishes." Besides it was a
blow at the Renshaws between whom and the town-
council there was an old established feud. For it was
not hidden from the gossips of Rodmoor that the rela-
tions between Nance and the family at Oakguard were
more than a little strained, nor did the shrewder ones
among them hesitate to whisper dark and ominous
hints as to the nature of this estrangement.
Baltazar Stork received the news of his friend's
approaching marriage with something like mute fury.
The morning when Sorio announced it to him was one
of concentrated gloom. The sea was high and rough.
364 RODMOOR
The wind wailed through the now almost leafless syca-
mores and made the sign which bore the Admiral's head
creak and groan in its iron frame. It had rained
steadily all through the night and though the rain
had now ceased there was no sun to dry the little pools
of water which lay in all the trodden places in the
green or the puddles, choked up with dead leaves,
which stared desolately from the edges of the road
upon the sombre heaven. Sorio, having made his mo-
mentous announcement in a negligent, ofF-hand way,
as though it were a matter of small importance, rushed
off to meet Nance at the station and go with her to
Mundham.
As it was Saturday the girl had no scruple about
leaving her work. In any case she would have been
free, with the rest of Miss Pontifex's employees, in the
early afternoon. She was anxious to spend as long
a time as was possible making her final purchases pre-
paratory to their taking possession of Ferry Lodge.
The mere name of this relic of Rodmoor's faded glory
was indicative of how times had changed. What was
once an inland crossing — several miles from the shore
— had now become the river's mouth and where farmers
formerly watered their cattle the fishing boats spread
their sails to meet the sea.
Nance had made a clean sweep of the furniture of
their predecessor, something about the reputation of
Mr. Peewit Swinebitter prejudicing her, in perhaps an
exaggerated manner, against the buying of any of his
things. This fastidiousness on her part did not, how-
ever, lessen the material difficulties of the situation,
Sorio being of singularly little assistance in the role
of a house-furnisher.
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 365
Meanwhile, with hut pulled low down over his fore-
head and his cane switching the rain-drenched grass,
Baltazar Stork walked up and down in front of his
cottage. He walked thus until he was tired and then
he came and stood at the edge of the green and looked
at his empty house and at the puddles in the road.
Into the largest of these puddles he idly poked his stick,
stirring the edge of a half-submerged leaf and making
it float across the muddy water. Children passed him
unheeded, carrying cans and bottles to be filled at the
tavern. Little boys came up to him, acquaintances of
his, full of gaiety and mischief, but something in his
face made them draw back and leave him. Never, in
all his relations with his friend, had Baltazar derived
more pleasure from being with him than he had done
during the recent weeks. That condition of helpless
and wistful incompetence which Nance found so trying
in Sorio was to Baltazar Stork the cause of the most
delicate and exquisite sensations. Never had he loved
the man so well — never had he found him so fascinat-
ing. And now, just at the moment when he, the initi-
ated adept in the art of friendship, was reaping the
reward of his long patience with his friend's wayward-
ness and really succeeding in making him depend on
him exactly in the way he loved best, there came this
accursed girl and carried him off !
The hatred which he felt at that moment towards
Nance was so extreme that it overpowered and swamped
every other emotion. Baltazar Stork was of that pe-
culiarly constituted disposition which is able to hate
the more savagely and vindicatively because of the
very fact that its normal mood is one of urbane and
tolerant indifference. The patient courtesy of a life-
366 RODIMOOR
time, the propitiatory arts of a long suppression, had
their revenge just then for all they had made him en-
dure. In a certain sense it was well for him that he
could hate. It was, indeed in a measure, an instinct of
self-preservation that led him to indulge such a feel-
ing. For below his hatred, down in the deeper levels
of his soul, there yawned a gulf, the desolating empti-
ness of which was worse than death. He did not visual-
ize this gulf in the same concrete manner as he had
done on a previous occasion, but he was conscious of
it none the less. It was as a matter of fact a thing
that had been for long years hidden obscurely under
the hard, gay surface of his days. He covered it over
by one distraction or the other. Its remote presence
had given an added intensity to his zest for the various
little pleasures, aesthetic or otherwise, which it was his
habit to enjoy. It had done more. It had reduced
to comparative insignificance the morbid vexations and
imaginative reactions from which his friend suffered.
He could afford to appear hard and crystal-cold, ca-
pable of facing with equanimity every kind of ultimate
horror. And he was capable of facing such. Under
the shadow of a thing like that — a thing beyond the
worst of insane obsessions, for his mind was cruelly
clear as he turned his eyes inward — he was able to
look contemptuously into the Gorgon face of any kind
of terror. When he chose he could always see the
thing as it was, see it as the desolation of emptiness,
as a deep, frozen space, void of sound or movement or
life or hope or end. There was not the least tinge of
insanity in the vision.
What he was permitted to see, by reason of some
malign clarity of intellect denied to the majority of
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 3G7
his fellows, was simply the real truth of life, its frozen
chemistry and deadly purposelessness. Most men vis-
ualize existence through a blurring cloud of personal
passion, either erotic or imaginative. They suffer,
but they suffer from illusion. What separated Bal-
tazar from the majority was his power of seeing things
in absolute colourlessness — unconfused by any sort of
distorting mirage. Thus what he saw with his soul
was the ghastly loneliness of his soul. He saw this
frozen, empty, hollow space and he saw it as the nat-
ural country in which his soul dwelt, its unutterable
reality, its appalling truth. That was why no thought
of suicide ever came to him. The thing was too deep.
He might kill himself, but in so doing he would only
destroy the few superficial distractions that afforded
him a temporary freedom. For suicide would only
fling him — that at least is what, with horrible clarity,
he had come to feel about it — into the depths of his
soul, into the very abyss, that is to say, which he
escaped by living on the surface. It was a kind of
death-in-life that he was conscious of, below his crystal-
line amenities, but one does not fly to death to escape
from death.
It will be seen from this how laughable to him were
all Sorio's neurotic reactions from people and things.
People and things were precisely what Baltazar clung
to, to avoid that " frozen sea " lying there at the back
of everything. It will be easily imagined too, how ab-
surd to him — how fantastic and imrcal — were the
various hints and glimpses which Sorio had permitted
him into what his friend called his " philosophy of de-
struction." To make a " philosophy " out of a strug-
gle to reach the ultimate horror of that " frozen sea,"
368 RODMOOR
how lamentably pathetic it was, and how childish !
No sane person would contemplate such a thing and
the attempt proved that Sorio was not sane. As for
the Italian's vague and prophetic suggestions with re-
gard to the possibility of something — philosophers
always spoke of " something " when they approached
nothing ! — beyond " what we call life " that seemed
to Baltazar's mind mere poetic balderdash and moon-
struck mysticism. But he had always listened pa-
tiently to Sorio's incoherences. The man would not
have been himself without his mad philosophy ! It was
part of that charming weakness in him that appealed
to Baltazar so. It was absurd, of course — this whole
business of writing philosophic books — but he was
ready to pardon it, ready to listen all night and day
to his friend's dithyrambic diatribes, as long as they
brought that particular look of exultation which he
found so touching into his classic face !
This " look of exultation " in Sorio's features had
indeed been accompanied during the last month by an
expression of wistful and bewildered helplessness and
it was just the union of these two things that Baltazar
found so irresistibly appealing. He was drawn closer
to Adrian, in fact, during these Autumn days, than he
had ever been drawn to any one. And it was just at
this moment, just when he was happiest in their life
together, that Nance Herrick must needs obtrude her
accursed feminine influence and with this result ! So
he gave himself up without let or hindrance to his
hatred of this girl. His hatred was a cold, calcu-
lated, deliberate thing, clear of all volcanic disturb-
ances but, such as it was, it possessed him at that mo-
WARDEX OF THE FISHES 369
ment to the exclusion of everything else. He imagined
to himself now, as with the end of his stick he guided
that sycamore leaf across the puddle, how Nance would
buy those things in the Mundham shops and what
pleasure there would be in her grey eyes, that peculiar
pleasure unlike anything else in the world which a
woman has when she is indulging, at the same moment,
her passion for domestic detail and her passion for her
lover !
He saw the serene possessive look in her face, the
look of one who at last, after long waiting, arrives
within sight of the desired end. He saw the little out-
bursts of girlish humour — oh, he knew them so well,
those outbursts ! — and he saw the fits of half-assumed,
half-natural shyness that would come over her and
the soft, dreamy tenderness in her eyes, as together
with Adrian, she bought this thing or the other, full
of delicate association, for their new dwelling-place.
His imagination went even further. He seemed to
hear her voice as she spoke sympathetically, pityingly,
of himself. She would be sure to do that ! It would
come so prettily from her just then and would appeal
so much to Adrian ! She would whisper to him over
their lunch in some little shop — he saw all that too —
of how sad she felt to be taking him away from his old
friend and leaving that friend alone. And he could see
the odd bewildered smile, half-remorseful and half-joy-
ful with which Sorio would note that disinterested
sympathy and think to himself what a noble affectionate
creature she was and how lucky he was to win her.
He saw how careful she would be not to tire him or
tease him with her purchases, how she would probably
370 RODMOOR
vary the tedium of the day with some pleasant little
strolls together round the Abbey grounds or perhaps
down by the wharves and the barges-
Yes, she had won her victory. She was gathering
up her spoils. She was storing up her possessions !
Could any human feeling, he asked himself with a
deadly smile upon his lips, be more sickeningly, more
achingly, intense than the hatred he felt for this nor-
mal, natural, loving woman?
He swept his stick through the muddy water, splash-
ing it vindictively on all sides and then, moving into
the middle of the road, looked at his empty cottage.
Here, then, he would have to live again alone! Alone
with himself, alone with his soul, alone with the truth
of life !
No, it was too much. He never would submit to
it. Better swallow at once and without more non-
sense the little carefully concocted draught which he
had long kept under lock and key ! After all he would
have to come to that, sooner or later. He had long
since made up his mind that if things and persons —
the " things and persons " he used as his daily drug,
failed him or lost their savour he would take the ir-
revocable step and close the whole farce. Everything
was the same. Everything was equal. He would only
move one degree nearer the central horror — the great
ice field of eternity — the plain without end or begin-
ning, frozen and empty, empty and frozen ! He stared
at his cottage windows. No, it was unthinkable, be-
ginning life over again without Adrian. A hundred
little things plucked at random from the sweet monotony
of their days together came drifting through his mind.
The peculiar look Adrian had when he first woke in
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 371
the morning — the savage greediness with which he
would devour honey and brown bread — the pleading,
broken, childlike tones in his voice when, after some
quarrel between them he begged his friend to forgive
him — all these things and many others, came pouring
in upon him in a great wave of miserable self-pity.
No — she should not win. She should not triumph.
She should not enjo}' the fruits of her victory — the
strong feminine animal ! He would sooner kill her and
then kill himself to avoid the gallows. But killing was
a silly futile kind of revenge. Infants in the art of
hatred killed their enemies ! But at any rate, if he
killed her she would never settle down in her nice new
house with her dear husband ! But then, on the other
hand, she would be the winner to the end. She would
never feel as he was feeling now ; she would never look
into his eyes and know that he knew he had beaten her ;
he would never see her disappointment. No — killing
was a stupid, melodramatic, blundering way out of it.
Artists ought to have a subtler imagination ! Well,
something must be done, and done soon. He felt he
did not care what suffering he caused Sorio, the more
he suffered the better, if only he could see the look in
those grey eyes of Nance that confessed she was de-
feated !
Quite quietly, quite calmly, he gathered together all
the forces of his nature to accomplish this one end.
His hatred rose to the level of a passion. He vowed
that nothing should make him pause, no scruple, no
obstacle, until he saw that beaten look in Nance's face.
Like all dominant obsessions, like all great lusts, his
purpose associated itself with a clear concrete image,
the image of the girl's expression when at last, face to
372 RODMOOR
face with him, she knew herself broken, helpless and at
his mercy.
He walked swiftly down the High Street, crossed the
open space by the harbour and made his way to the
edge of the waves. Surely that malignant tide would
put some triumphant idea into his brain. The sea —
the sterile, unharvested sea — had from the beginning
of the world, been tlie enemy of woman ! Warden of
the Fishes ! He laughed as he thought of Sorio's as-
suming such a title.
" Not yet, my friend — not quite yet ! " he mur-
mured, gazing across the stormy expanse of water.
Warden of the Fishes ! With a strong, sweet, affec-
tionate wife to look after him? "No, no, Adriano ! "
he cried hoarsely, " we haven't come to that yet — we
haven't come to that quite yet ! "
By some complicated, psychological process he
seemed to be aware, as he stared at the foaming sea-
horses, of the head of his mute friend Flambard float-
ing, amid the mist of his own woman-like hair, in the
green hollows of the surf. He found himself vaguely
wondering what he — the super-subtle Venetian —
would have done had he been " fooled to the top of
his bent " by a girl like Nance — had he been betrayed
in his soul's deepest passion. And all at once it came
over him, not distinctly and vividly but obscurely and
remotely as if through a cloudy vapour from a long
way off, from far down the vistas of time itself, what
Flambard would have done.
He stooped and picked up a long leather-like thong
of wet, slippery seaweed and caressed it with his hands.
At that moment there passed through him a most curi-
ous sensation — the sensation that he had himself — he
WARDEN OF THE FISHES 373
and not Flambard — stood just in this way but by a
different sea, ages, centuries ago — and had arrived
at the same conclusion. The sensation vanished
quickly enough and with it the image of Flambard, but
the idea of what remained for him to do still hovered
like a cloud at the back of his mind. He did not drag
it forth from its hiding place. He never definitely ac-
cepted it. The thing was so dark and hideous, be-
longing so entirely to an age when " passional crimes "
were more common and more remorseless than at the
present, that even Baltazar with all the frozen malice
of his hate scrupled to visualize it in the daylight.
But he did not drive it away. He permitted it to work
upon him and dominate him. It was as though some
" other Baltazar " from a past as remote as Flam-
bard's own and perhaps far remoter — had risen up
within him in answer to that cry to the inhuman wa-
ters. The actual working of his mind was very com-
plicated and involved at that moment. There were mo-
ments of wavering — moments of drawing back into
the margin of uncertainty. But these moments grew
constantly less and less effective. Beyond everything
else that definite image of Nance's grey eyes, full of
infinite misery, confessing her defeat, and even plead-
ing with him for mercy, drove these wavering moments
away. It was worth it, any horror was worth it, to
satiate his revenge by the sight of what her expression
would be as he looked into her face then. And, after
all, the thing he projected would in any case, come
about sooner or later. It was on its way. The des-
tinies called for it. The nature of life demanded it.
The elements conspired to bring it about. The man's
own fatality was already with a kind of vehemence,
374 RODMOOR
rushing headlong — under the fall of these Autumn
rains and the drifting of these Autumn leaves — to
meet it and embrace it ! All he would have to do him-
self would be just to give the wheel of fate the least
little push, the least vibration of an impulse forward,
with his lightest finger !
Perhaps, as far as his friend was concerned, he would
really, in this way, be saving him in the larger issue.
Were Adrian's mind, for instance, to break down now
at once, rendering it necessary that he should be put,
as they say in that appalling phrase, " under re-
straint," it might as a matter of fact, save his brain
from ultimate and final disaster. It is true that this
aspect of what he projected was too fantastic, too
ironically distorted, to be dwelt upon clearly or log-
ically but it came and went like a shadowy bird hover-
ing about a floating carcass, round the outskirts of his
unspeakable intention. What he reverted to more
articulately, as he made his way back across the lit-
tered sand-heaps to the entrance of the harbour, was
the idea that, after all, he would only be precipitating
an inevitable crisis. His friend was already on the
verge of an attack of monomania, if not of actual in-
sanity. Sooner or later the thing must come to a
definite climax. Why not anticipate events, then, and
let the climax occur when it would save him from this
intolerable folly — worse than madness — of giving
himself up to his feminine pursuer.? As he made his
way once more through the crowded little street, the
fixed and final impression all these thoughts left upon
his mind was the impression of Nance Herrick's face,
pale, vanquished and helpless, staring up at him from
the ground beneath his feet.
XXIV
THE TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER
BALTAZAR was not long in carrying out what,
in bitter self-colloquy, he called his Flambardian
campaign. He deliberately absented himself
from his work in the Mundham office and gave up all
his time to Sorio. He now encouraged this latter in
all his most dangerous manias, constantly leading the
conversation round to what he knew were exciting and
agitating topics and bringing him back again and
again to especial points of irritation and annoyance.
The days quickly passed, however, and Adrian,
though in a strange and restless mood, had still, in no
public manner, given evidence of insanity, and short,
of course, of some such public manifestation, his
treacherous friend's plan of having him put under re-
straint, fell to the ground.
Meanwhile, Nance's preparations for her marriage
and for their entrance into their new home advanced
towards completion. It was within three days of the
date decided upon for their wedding when Nance, who
had had less time recently at her disposal for watching
her sister's moods, came suddenly to the conclusion,
as, on a wild and stormy afternoon, she led her home
from the church, that something was seriously wrong.
At first, as they left the churchyard and began making
their way towards the bridge, she thought the gloom
of the evening was a sufficient reason for Linda's de-
375
376 RODINIOOR
spairing silence, but as they advanced, with the wind
beating in their faces and the roar of the sea coming
to them over the dunes, she came to the conclusion
that the cause lay deeper.
But that night — it was the twenty-eighth of Octo-
ber — was certainly desolate enough to be the cause of
any human being's depression. The sun was sinking
as the sisters started for their walk home. A blood-
red streak, jagged and livid, like the mutilated back
of some bleeding monster, lay low down over the fens.
The wind wailed in the poplars, whistled through the
reeds, and sighed in long melancholy gasps like the sob-
bing of some unhappy earth-spirit across the dykes
and the ditches. One by one a few flickering lamps
appeared among the houses of the town as the girls
drew near the river, but the long wavering lines of
light thrown by these across the meadows only increased
the general gloom.
" Don't let's cross at once," said Linda suddenly,
when they reached the bridge. " Let's walk along the
bank — just a little way! I feel excited and queer to-
night. I've been in the church so long. Please let's
stay out a little."
Nance thought it better to agree to the child's ca-
price; though the river-bank at that particular hour
was dark with a strange melancholy. They left the
road and walked slowly along the tow-path in the di-
rection away from the town. A group of cattle stand-
ing huddled together near the path, rushed off into the
middle of the field.
The waters of the Loon were high — the tide flowing
seaward — and here and there from the windows of
some scattered houses on the opposite bank, faint
TWEXTY-EIGHTII OF OCTOBER 377
lights were reHected upon the river's surface. A
strong smell of seaweed and brackish mud came up to
them from the dark stream.
" What secrets," said Linda suddenly, " this old
Loon could tell, if it could speak! I call it a haunted
river."
Nance's only reply to this was to pull her sister's
cloak more tightly round her shoulders.
" I don't mean in the sense of having drowned so
many people," Linda went on, " I mean in the sense of
being half-human itself."
The words were hardly out of her mouth when a
slender dusky figure that had been leaning against the
edge of one of the numerous weirs that connect the
river-tides with the streams of the water-meadows, came
suddenly towards them and revealed herself as Philippa
Renshaw.
Both the girls drew back in instinctive alarm. Nance
was the first to recover.
" So you too are out to-night," she said. " Linda
got so tired of practising, so we — "
Philippa interrupted her : " Since we hate met,
Nance Herrick, there's no reason why we shouldn't talk
a little. Or do you think the people about here would
find that an absurd thing for us to do, as we're both
in love with the same man, and you're going to marry
him?"
She uttered these words so calmly and in so strange
a voice that Nance for the moment was too startled to
reply. She recovered herself quickly, however, and
taking Linda by the arm, made as if she would pass her
by, without further speech. But Philippa refused to
permit this. With the slow dramatic movement always
378 RODMOOR
characteristic of her, she stepped into the middle of the
path and stopped them. Linda, at this, hung back,
trying to draw her sister away.
The two women faced one another in breathless si-
lence. It was too dark for them to discern more than
the vaguest outlines of each other's features, but they
were each conscious of the extreme tension, which, like
a wave of magnetic force, at once united and divided
them. Nance was the first to break the spell.
" I'm surprised," she said, " to hear you speak of
love. I thought you considered all that sort of thing
sentimental and idiotic."
Philippa's hand went up in a quick and desperate
gesture, almost an imploring one.
" Miss Herrick," she whispered in a very low and
very clear tone, " you needn't do that. You needn't
say those things. You needn't hurt me more than is
necessary."
" Come away, Nance. Oh, please come away and
leave her!" interjected Linda.
" Miss Herrick, listen to me one moment ! " Philippa
continued, speaking so low as almost to be inaudible.
" I have something to ask of you, something that you
can do for me. It isn't very much. It isn't anything
that you need suspect. It is a little thing. It's noth-
ing you could possibly mind."
" Don't listen to her, Nance," cried Linda again.
" Don't listen to her."
Philippa's voice trembled as she went on, " I beg you,
I beg you on my knees to hear me. We two may never
meet again after this. Nance Herrick, will you, will
you let me speak? "
Linda leapt forward. She was shaking from head
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 379
to f(j^ot witli fuar and anger. " No," she cried, " she
sliall not listen to you. She shall not, she shall not."
Nance hesitated, weary and sick at heart. She had
so hoped and prayed that all these lacerating contests
were over and done with.
Finally she said, " I think you must see, you must
feel, that between you and me there can be nothing —
nothing more — nothing further. I think you'll be
wise, I think you'll recognize it afterwards, to let me
go now, to let me go and leave us alone." As she spoke
she drew away from her and put her arm round Linda's
waist. " In any case,", she added, " I can't possibly
hear you before this child. Perhaps, but I can't prom-
ise anything, but perhaps, some other day, when I'm
by myself."
She gave one sad, half-sympathetic, half-reproachful
glance, at the frail shadowy figure standing mute and
silent; and then turning quickly, let herself be led away.
Linda swung round when they were some few paces
away. " She'll never listen to you ! " She called out,
in a shrill vibrating voice, " I won't ever let her listen
to you."
The growing darkness, made thicker b}^ the river-
mists, closed in between them, and in a brief while their
very footsteps ceased to be heard. Philippa was left
alone. She looked round her. On the fen side of the
pathway there was nothing but a thick fluctuating
shadow, out of which the forms of a few pollard-willows
rose like panic-stricken ghosts. On the river itself
there shimmered at intervals a faint whitish gleam as
if some lingering relics of the vanished day, slow in
their drowning, struggled to rise to the surface.
She moved back again to the place where she had
380 RODMOOR
been standing at the edge of the weir. Leaning upon
the time-worn plank rotten with autumn rains, she gazed
down into the dense blackness beneath. Nothing could
be seen but darkness. She might have been looking
down into some unfathomable pit, leading to the cav-
erns of the mid-earth.
A deathly cold wave of damp air met her face as she
leaned over the plank, and a hollow gurgling roar, from
the heavy volume of water swirling in the darkness,
rose to her ears. She could smell the unseen water ;
and the smell of it was like the smell of dead black
leaves plucked forth from a rain pool in the heart of a
forest.
As she leaned forward with her soft breast pressing
against the wooden bar and her long slender fingers
clutching its edge, a sinister line of poetry, picked up
somewhere — she could not recall where — came into
her mind, and she found her lips mechanically echoing
it. " Like a wolf, sucked under a weir," the line ran,
and over and over again she repeated those words.
Meanwhile Nance, as they returned across the bridge,
did her best to soothe and quiet her sister. The sud-
den appearance of Philippa seemed to have thrown the
girl into a paroxysm of frenzy. " Oh, how I hate
her ! " she kept crying out, " oh, how I loathe and hate
her ! "
Nance was perplexed and bewildered by Linda's mood.
Never had she known the girl to give way to feelings
of this sort. When at last she got her into their house,
and had seen her take ofF her things and begin tidying
herself up for their evening meal quite in her accus-
tomed way, she asked her point-blank what was the
matter, and why to-day, on this twenty-eighth of Octo-
TWENTY-ETGIITTT OF OCTOBER 381
ber, she had suddenly grown different from her ordinary
self.
Linda, standing with bare arms by the mirror and
passing a comb through her heavy hair, turned almost
fiercely round.
"Do you want to know? Do you really want to
know?" she cried, throwing back her head and hold-
ing the hair back with her hands. " It's because of Phi-
lippa that he has deserted me ! It's because of Philippa
that he hasn't seen me nor spoken to me for a whole
month ! It's because of Philippa that he won't answer
my letters and won't meet me anA^where ! It's because
of Philippa that now — now when I most want him " —
and she threw the comb do^vIl and flung herself on her
bed — " he refuses to come to me or to speak a word."
" How do you know it's because of Philippa? " Nance
asked, distressed be^^ond words to find that in spite of
all her efforts Linda was still as obsessed by Brand as
ever before.
" I know from him," the girl replied. " You needn't
ask me any more. She's got power over him, and she
uses it against me. If it wasn't for her he'd have mar-
ried me before now." She sat up on the edge of her
bed and looked woefully at her sister with large sunken
eyes. " Yes," she went on, " if it wasn't for her he'd
marry me now — to-day — and, oh, Nance, I want
him so ! I want him so ! "
Nance felt an oppressive weight of miserable help-
lessness in the presence of this heart-stricken cry. As
she looked round the room and saw her various prepa-
rations for leaving it and for securing the happiness
of her own love, she felt as though in some subtle way
she had once more betrayed the unhappy child. She
382 RODMOOR
knew herself, only too well, what that famished and
starving longing is — that cry of the flesh and blood,
and the heart and the spirit, for what the eternal des-
tinies have put out of our reach !
And she could do nothing to help her. What could
she do ? Now for the first time in her life, as she looked
at that lamentable youthful figure, dumbly pleading
with her for some kind of miracle, Nance was conscious
of a vague unformulated indignation against the whole
system of things that rendered this sort of suffering
possible. If only she were a powerful and a tender
deity, how she would hasten to end this whole business
of sex-life which made existence so intolerable! Why
could not people be born into the world like trees or
plants? And being born, why could not love instinc-
tively create the answering passion it craved, and not
be left to beat itself against cruel walls, after scorching
itself in the irresistible flame?
" Nance ! " said the young girl suddenly. " Nance !
Come here. Come over to me. I want to tell you
something."
The elder sister obeyed. It was not long — for hard
though it may be to break silence, these things are
quickly spoken — before she knew the worst. Linda,
with her arms clutched tightly round her, and her face
hidden, confessed that she was with child.
Nance leapt to her feet. " I'll go to him," she cried,
" I'll go to him at once ! Of course he must marry you
now. He must! He must! I'll go to him. I'll go
to Hamish. I'll go to Adrian — to Fingal 1 He must
marry you, Linda. Don't cry, little one. I'll make it
all right. It shall be all right! I'll go to him this
very evening."
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 383
A faint flush appeared in Linda's pale cheeks and
a glimmer of hope in her eyes. " Do you think, pos-
sibly, that there's any chance? Can there be any
chance? But no, no, darling, I know there's none — I
know there's none."
"What makes you so sure, Linda?" asked Nance,
rapidly changing her dress, and as she did so pouring
herself out a glass of milk.
" It's Philippa," murmured the other in a low voice.
" Oh, how I hate her ! How I hate her ! " she contin-
ued, in a sort of moaning refrain, twisting her long hair
between her fingers and tying the ends of it into a lit-
tle knot.
" Well, I'm off, my dear," cried Nance at length,
finishing her glass of milk and adjusting her hat-pins.
" I'm going straight to find him. I may pick up Ad-
rian on the way, or I may not. It rather depends.
And I may have a word or two with Philippa. The
chances are that I shall overtake her if I go now. She
can't have waited much longer doAvn by the river."
Linda rushed up to her and clasped her in her arms.
" My own darling ! " she murmured, " how good you
are to me — how good you are ! Do you know, I was
afraid to tell you this — afraid that you'd be angry
and ashamed and not speak to me for days. But, oh,
Nance, I do love him so much ! I love him more than
my life — more than my life even now! "
Nance kissed her tenderly. " Make yourself some
tea, my darling, won't you? We'll have supper when-
ever I come back, and that'll be — I hope — with good
news for you ! Good-bye, my sweetheart ! Say your
prayers for me, and don't be frightened however late
I am. And have a good tea ! "
384 RODMOOR
She kissed her again, and with a final wave of the
hand and an encouraging smile, she left the room and
ran down the stairs. She walked slowly to the top of
the street, her head bent, wondering in her mind whether
she should ask Adrian to go with her to the Renshaws'
or whether she should go alone.
The question was decided for her. As she emerged
on the green she suddenly came upon Sorio himself,
standing side by side with Philippa. They both turned
quickly as, in the flare of a wind-blown lamp, they per-
ceived her approach. They turned and awaited her
without a word.
Without a word, too — and in that slow dreamlike
manner which human beings assume at certain crises
in their lives, when fate like a palpable presence among
them takes their movements into its own hand — they
moved off, all three together, in the direction of the
park gates. Not a word did any of them utter, till,
having passed the gates, they were quite far advanced
along that dark and lonely avenue.
Then Philippa broke the silence. " I can say to her,
Adrian, what I've just said to you — mayn't I?"
In the thick darkness, full of the heavy smell of
rain-soaked leaves, Sorio walked between them.
Nance's hand was already resting upon his arm, and
now, as she spoke, Philippa's fingers searched for his,
and took them in her own and held them feverishly.
" You can say what you please, Phil," he muttered,
"but you'll see what she answers — just what I told
you just now."
Their tone of intimate association stabbed like a
knife at the heart of Nance. A moment ago — in
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 385
fact, ever since she liad left lier by the weir — slie had
been feeling less antagonistic and more pitiful towards
her vanquished rival. But this pronoun " she " ap-
plied mutually by them to herself, seemed to push her
back — back and away — outside the circle of some
mysterious understanding between the two. Her heart
hardened fiercely. Was this girl still possessed of some
unknown menacing power?
" What I asked Adrian," said Philippa quietly, while
the pressure of her burning fingers within the man's
hand indicated the strain of this quietness, " was
whether you would be generous and noble enough to give
him up to me for his last free day — the last day be-
fore you're married. Would you be large-hearted
enough for that-f* "
" What do you mean — ' give him up ' to you? " mur-
mured Nance.
Philippa burst in a shrill unearthly laugh. " Oh,
you needn't be frightened ! " she exclaimed. " You
needn't be jealous. I only mean let me go with him,
for the whole day, a long walk — you know — or some-
thing like that — perhaps a row up the river. It
doesn't matter what, as long as I feel that that day is
my day, my day with him — the last, and the long-
est ! "
She was silent, feverish, her fingers twining and twist-
ing themselves round her companion's, and her breath
coming in quick gasps. Nance was silent also, and
they all three moved forward through the heavy fra-
grant darkness.
" You two seem to have settled it between yourselves
definitely enough," Nance remarked at last. " I don't
386 RODMOOR
really see why you need bring me into it at all. Adrian
is, of course, entirely free to do what he likes. I don't
see what I have to do with it ! "
Philippa's hot fingers closed tightly upon Sorio's as
she received this rebuff. " You see ! " she murmured
in a tone that bit into Nance's flesh like the tooth of
an adder. " You see, Adriano ! " She shrugged her
shoulders and gave a low vindictive laugh. *' She's a
thorough woman," she added with stinging emphasis.
" She's what my mother would call a sweet, tender,
sensitive girl. But we mustn't expect too much from
her, Adrian, must we.'' I mean in the way of gener-
osity."
Nance withdrew her hand from the arm of her be-
trothed and they all three walked on in silence.
" You see what you're in for, my friend," Philippa
began again. " Once married it'll be always like this.
That is what you seem unable to realize. It's a mis-
take, as I've often said, this mixing of classes."
Nance could no longer restrain herself. " May I
ask what you mean by that last remark? " she whis-
pered in a low voice.
Philippa laughed lightly. " It doesn't need much
explanation," she replied. " Adrian is, of course, of
very ancient blood, and you — well, you betray your-
self naturally by this lack of nobility, this common
middle-class jealousy!"
Nance turned fiercely upon them, and clutching
Sorio's arm spoke loudly and passionately. " And you
— what are you^ who, like a girl of the streets, are
ready to pick up what you can of a man's attentions
and attract him with mere morbid physical attraction?
You — what are you^ who, as you say yourself, are
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 387
ready to share a man with some one else? Uo you call
that a sign of good-breeding? "
Philippa laughed again. " It's a sign at any rate
of being free from that stupid, stuffy, bourgeois re-
spectability, which Adrian is going to get a taste of
now ! That very sneer of yours — * a girl of the
streets ' — shows the class to which you belong, Nance
Herrick ! We don't say those things. It's what one
hears among tradespeople."
Nance's fingers almost hurt Sorio's arms as she
tightened her hold upon him. " It's better than being
what you are, Philippa Rcnshaw," she burst out. " It's
better than deliberately helping your brother to ruin
innocent young girls — yes, and taking pleasure in
seeing him ruining them — and then taunting them
cruelly in their shame, and holding him back from doing
them justice! It's better than that, Philippa Ren-
shaw, though it may be what most simple-minded de-
cent-hearted women feel. It's better than being re-
duced by blind passion to have to come to another
woman and beg her on your knees for a ' last day ' as
you call it! It's better than that — though it may
be what ordinary unintellectual people feel ! "
Philippa's fingers grew suddenly numb and stiff in
Sorio's grasp. " Do you know," she murmured, " you
* decent-feeling ' woman — if that's what you call your-
self — that a couple of hours ago, when you left me
on the river bank, I was within an ace of drowning
myself? I suppose * decent-feeling ' women never run
such a risk ! They leave that to ' street-girls ' and —
and — and to us others ! "
Nance turned to Sorio. " So she's been telling you
that she was thinking of drowning herself? I thought
388 RODMOOR
it was something of that kind! And I suppose you be-
lieved her. I suppose you always believe her ! "
*' And he always believes you!" Philippa cried.
•' Yes, he's always deceived — the easy fool — by your
womanly sensitive ways and your touching refinement !
It's women like you, without intelligence and without
imagination, who are the ruin of men of genius. A
lot you care for his work ! A lot you understand of
his thoughts ! Oh, yes, you may get him, and cuddle
him, and spoil him, but, when it comes to the point,
Avhat you are to him is a mere domestic drudge ! And
not only a drudge, you're a drag, a burden, a dead-
weight ! A mere mass of ' decent-feeling ' womanli-
ness — weighing him down. He'll never be able to write
another line when once you've really got hold of him ! "
Nance had her answer to this, " I'd sooner he never
did write another line," she cried, " and remain in his
sober senses, than be left to your influence, and be
driven mad by you — you and your diseased, morbid,
wicked imagination ! "
Their two voices, rising and falling in a lamentable
litany of elemental antagonism — antagonism cruel as
life and deeper than death — floated about Sorio's
head, in that perfumed darkness, like opposing streams
of poison. It was only that he himself, harassed by
long irritating debates with Baltazar, was too troubled,
too obsessed by a thousand agitating doubts, to have
the energy or the spirit to bring the thing to an end,
or he could not have endured it up to this point. With
his nerves shaken by Baltazar's corrosive arts, and the
weight of those rain-heavy trees and thick darkness all
around him, he felt as if he were in some kind of trance,
and were withheld by a paralysing interdict from lift-
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 389
ing a finger. There came to him a sort of half-savage,
half-humorous remembrance of a conversation he had
once had with some one or other — his mind was too
confused to recall the occasion — in which he had up-
held the idealistic theory of the arrival of a day when
sex jealousy would disappear from the earth.
But as the girls continued to outrage each other's
most secret feelings, each unconsciously quickening her
pace as she poured forth her taunts, and both dragging
Sorio forward with them, the feeling grew upon him
that he was watching some deep cosmic struggle, that
was, in its way, as inhuman and elemental as a con-
flict between wind and water. With this idea lodged
in his brain, he began to derive a certain wild and fan-
tastic pleasure from the way they lacerated one an-
other. There was no coxcombry in this. He was far
too wrought-upon and shaken in his mind. But there
was a certain grim exultant enjoyment, as if he were,
at that moment, permitted a passing glimpse into some
dark forbidden " cellarage " of Nature, where the
primordial elements clash together in eternal conflict.
Inspired by this strange mood, he returned the pres-
sure of Philippa's fingers, and entwined his arm round
the trembling form of his betrothed, drawing both the
girls closer towards him, and, in consequence, closer
towards one another.
They continued their merciless encounter, almost un-
conscious, it seemed, of the presence of the man who
was the cause of it, and without strength left to resist
the force with which he was gradually drawing them to-
gether.
Suddenly the wind, which had dropped a little dur-
ing the previous hour, rose again in a violent and
390 RODMOOR
furious gust. It tore at the dark branches above their
heads and went moaning and waiHng through the thick-
ets on either side of them. Drops of rain, held in sus-
pension by the thicker leaves, splashed suddenly upon
their faces, and from the far distance, with a long-
drawn ominous muttering, that seemed to come from
some unknown region of flight and disaster, the sound
of thunder came to their ears.
Sorio dropped Philippa's hand and embracing her
tightly, drew her, too, closely towards him. Thus in-
terlocked by the man's arms, all three of them stag-
gered forward together, lashed by the wind and sur-
rounded by vague wood-noises that rose and fell mys-
teriously in the impenetrable darkness.
The powers of the earth seemed let loose, and strange
magnetic currents in fierce antipodal conflict, surged
about them, and tugged and pulled at their hearts.
The sound of the thunder, the wild noises of the night,
the strange dark evocations of elemental hatred which
at once divided and united his companions, surged
through Sorio's brain and filled him with a sort of
intoxication.
The three of them together might have been taken,
had the clock of time been put back two thousand
years, for some mad Dionysian worshippers following
their god in a wild inhuman revel.
Inspired at last by a sort of storm-frenzy, while the
wind came wailing and shrieking down the avenue into
their faces, Sorio suddenly stopped.
" Come, you two little fools," he cried, " let's end
this nonsense! Here — kiss one another! Kiss one
another, and thank God that we're alive and free and
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 391
conscious, and not mere inert matter, like these dead
drifting leaves ! "
As he spoke he stepped back a little, and with a
swing of his powerful arms, brought both the girls face
to face with one another. Nance struggled fiercely,
and resisted with all her strength. Philippa, with a
strange whispering laugh, remained passive in his hands.
" Kiss one another ! " he cried again. " Are you kiss-
ing or are you holding back.? It's too dark for me to
see ! "
Philippa suddenly lost her passivity, slipped like a
snake from under his encircling arms, and rushed away
among the trees. " I leave her to you ! " she called
back to them out of the darkness. " I leave her to
you! You won't endure her long. And uhat will
Baptiste do, Adriano.?"
This last word of hers calmed Sorio's mood and threw
him back upon his essential self. He sighed heavih'.
"Well, Nance," he said, "shall we go back.? It^'s
no use waiting for her. She'll find her way to Oak-
guard. She knows every inch of these woods." He
sighed again, as if bidding farewell, in one fate-bur-
dened moment, both to the woods and the girl who
knew them.
" You can go back if you like," Nance answered
curtly. " I'm going to speak to Brand "; and she told
him in a brief sentence what she had learned from
Linda.
Sorio seized her hand and clutched it savagely.
" Yes, yes," he cried, " yes, yes, let's go together. He
must be taught a lesson — this Brand! Come, let's go
together ! "
392 RODMOOR
They moved on rapidly and soon approached the
end of the avenue and the entrance to the garden. As
Sorio pushed open the iron gates, a sharp crack of
thunder, followed by reverberating detonations, broke
over their heads. The sudden flash that succeeded the
sound brought into vivid relief the dark form of the
house, while a long row of fading dahlias, drooping on
their rain-soaked stems, stood forth in ghastly illumi-
nation.
Nance had time to catch on Adrian's face a look
that gave her a premonition of danger. Had she not
herself been wrought-up to an unnatural pitch of ex-
citement by her contest with Philippa, she would prob-
ably have been warned in time and have drawn back,
postponing her interview with Brand till she could have
seen him alone. As it was, she felt herself driven for-
ward by a force she could not resist. " Now — very
now," she must face her sister's seducer.
A light, burning behind heavy curtains, in one of
the lower mullioncd windows, enabled them to mount the
steps. As she rang the bell, a second peal of thunder,
but this time farther off, was followed by a vivid flash
of lightning, throwing into relief the wide spaces of
the park and the scattered groups of monumental
oak trees. For some queer psychic reason, inex-
plicable to any material analysis, Nance at that mo-
ment saw clearly before her mind's eye, a little church
almanac, which Linda had pinned up above their
dressing-table, and on this almanac she saw the date —
the twenty-eighth of October — printed in Roman fig-
ures.
To the servant who opened the door Nance gave their
names, and asked whether they could see Mr. Renshaw.
TWENTY-EICxHTH OF OCTOBER 393
" Mr. Renshaw," she added emphatically, " and please
tell him it's an urgent and important matter."
The man admitted them courteously and asked them
to seat themselves in the entrance hall while he went
to look for his master. He returned after a short time
and ushered them into the library, where a moment
later Brand joined them.
During their moment of waiting, both in the hall and
in the room, Sorio had remained taciturn and inert,
sunk in a fit of melancholy brooding, his chin propped
on the handle of his stick. He had refused to allow the
servant to take out of his hands either his stick or his
hat, and he still held them both, doggedly and gloomily,
as he sat by Nance's side opposite the carved fire-
place.
When Brand entered they both rose, but he motioned
them to remain seated, and drawing up a chair for him-
self close by the side of the hearth, looked gravely and
intently into their faces.
At that moment another rolling vibration of thunder
reached them, but this time it seemed to come from
very far away, perhaps from several miles out to sea.
Brand's opening words were accompanied by a fierce
lashing of rain against the window, and a spluttering,
hissing noise, as several heavy drops fell through the
old-fashioned chimney upon the burning logs.
" I think I can guess," he said, " why you two have
come to me. I am glad you have come, especially you,
Miss Herrick, as it simplifies things a great deal. It
has become necessary that you and I should have an
explanation. I owe it to myself as well as to you.
Bah ! What nonsense I'm talking. It isn't a case of
* owing.' It isn't a case of ' explaining.' I can see
394 RODJMOOR
that clearly enough " — he laughed a genial boyish
laugh — " in your two faces ! It's a case of our own
deciding, with all the issues of the future clearly in
mind, what will be really best for your sister's happi-
ness."
" She has not sent — " began Nance hurriedly.
" What you've got to understand — you Ren-
shaw — " muttered Adrian, in a strange hoarse voice,
clenching and unclenching his fingers.
Brand interrupted them both. " Pardon me," he
cried, " you do not wish, I suppose, either of you, to
cause any serious shock to my mother.'' It's absurd
of her, of course, and old-fashioned, and all that sort
of thing; but it would actually kill her — " he rose as
he spoke and uttered the words clearly and firmly. " It
would actually kill her to get any hint of what we're
discussing now. So, if you've no objection, we'll con-
tinue this discussion in the work-shop." He moved
towards the door.
Sorio followed him with a rapid stride. " You must
understand, Renshaw — " he began.
" If it'll hurt your mother so," cried Nance hur-
riedly, " what must Linda be suffering.'' You didn't
think of this, Mr. Renshaw, when you — "
Brand swung round on his heel. " You shall say
all this to me, all that you wish to say — everything,
do you hear, everything! Only it must and shall be
where she cannot overhear us. Wait till we're alone.
We shall be alone in the work-shop."
" If this ' work-shop ' of yours," muttered Sorio
savagely, seizing him by the arm, " turns out to be one
of your English tricks, you'd better — "
"Silence, you fool!" whispered the other. "Can't
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 395
you stop him, Miss Hcrrick? It'll be pure murder if
my mother hears this ! "
Nance came quickly between them. " Lead on, Mr.
Renshaw," she said. " We'll follow you."
He led them across the hall and down a long dimly
lit passage. At the end of this there was a heavily
panelled door. Brand took a key from his pocket and
after some ineffectual attempts turned the lock and
stood aside to let them enter. He closed the door be-
hind them, leaving the key on the outside. The " work-
shop " Brand had spoken of turned out to be nothing
more or less than the old private chapel of Oakguard,
disassociated, however, for centuries from any reli-
gious use.
Nance glanced up at the carved ceiling, supported
on foliated corbels. The windows, high up from the
ground, were filled with Gothic tracery, but in place of
biblical scenes their diamonded panes showed the ar-
morial insignia of generations of ancient Renshaws.
There was a raised space at the east end, where, in for-
mer times, the altar stood, but now, in place of an altar,
a carpenter's table occupied the central position, cov-
ered with a litter of laths and wood-chippings. The
middle portion of the chapel was bare and empty, but
several low cane chairs stood round this space, like
seats round a toy coliseum.
Brand indicated these chairs to his visitors, but
neither Nance nor Sorio seemed inclined to avail them-
selves of the opportunity to rest. They all three,
therefore, stood together, on the dark polished oak
floor.
On first entering the chapel. Brand had lit one of a
long row of tapers that stood in wooden candlesticks
396 RODMOOR
along the edge of what resembled choir stalls. Now,
leaving his companions, he proceeded very deliberately
to set light to the whole line of these. The place thus
illuminated had a look strangely weird and confused.
Certain broken flower-pots on the ground, and one
or two rusty gardening implements, combined with the
presence of the wicker-chairs to produce the impression
of some sort of " Petit Trianon," or manorial summer-
house, into which all manner of nondescript rubbish had
in process of long years come to drift.
The coats-of-arms in the windows above, as the
tapers flung their light upon them, had an air almost
" collegiate," as if the chamber were some ancient din-
ing-hall of a monastic order. The carpenter's table
upon the raised dais, with some dimly coloured Italia-
nated picture behind it, inserted in the panelling, gave
Nance a most odd sensation. Where had she seen an
effect of that kind before.? In a picture — or in
reality ?
But the girl had no heart to analyse her emotions.
There was too much at stake. The rain, pattering
heavily on the roof of the building, seemed to remind
her of her task. She faced Brand resolutely as ho
strolled back towards them across the polished floor.
" Linda has told me everything," she said. " She is
going to have a child, and you, Mr. Renshaw, are the
father of it."
Sorio made an inarticulate exclamation and ap-
proached Brand threateningly. But the latter, disre-
garding him, continued to look Nance straight in the
face.
" Miss Herrick," he said quietly, " you are a sensible
woman and not one, I think, liable to hysteric senti-
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 397
mentalisin. I want to discuss this thing quite freely
and openly with you, but I would greatly prefer it if
your husband — I beg your pardon — if Mr. Sorio
would let us talk without interrupting. I haven't got
unlimited time. jNIy mother and sister will be both
waiting dinner for me and sending people to find me,
perhaps even coming themselves. So it's obviously in
the interests of all of us — particularly of Linda —
that we should not waste time in any mock heroics."
Nance turned quickly to her betrothed. " You'll
hear all we say, Adrian, but if it makes things easier,
perhaps — "
Without a word, in mute obedience to her sad smile,
Sorio left their side, and drawing back, seated himself
in one of the wicker chairs, hugging his heavy stick
between his knees.
The rain continued falling without intermission upon
the leaden roof, and from a pipe above one of the
windows they could hear a great jet of water splashing
down outside the wall.
Brand spoke in a low hurried tone, without embar-
rassment and without any sort of shame. " Yes, Miss
Herrick, what she says is quite true. But now come
down to the facts, without any of this moral vitupera-
tion, which only clouds the issues. You have, no doubt,
come here with the idea of asking me to marry Linda.
No! Don't interrupt me. Let me finish. But I want
to ask you this — how do you know that if I marry
Linda, she'll be really any happier than she is to-day.''
Suppose I were to say to you that I would marry her
— marry her to-morrow — would that, when you come
to think it over in cold blood, really make you happy in
vour mind about her future?
398 RODMOOR
" Come, Miss Herrick ! Put aside for a moment
your natural anger against me. Grant what you
please as to my being a dangerous character and a bad
man, does that make me a suitable husband for your
sister? Your instinct is a common instinct — the nat-
ural first instinct of any protector of an injured girl,
but is it one that will stand the light of quiet and rea-
sonable second thoughts?
" I am, let us say, a selfish and unscrupulous man
who has seduced a young girl. Very well ! You want
to punish me for my ill-conduct, and how do you go
about it? By giving up your sister into my hands!
By giving up to me — a cruel and unscrupulous
wretch, at your own showing — the one thing you love
best in the world! Is that a punishment such as I de-
serve? In one moment you take away all my remorse,
for no one remains remorseful after he has been pun-
ished. And you give my victim up — bound hand and
foot — into my hands.
** Linda may love nic enough to be glad to marry me,
quite apart from the question of her good fame. But
will you, who probably know me better than Linda, feel
happy at leaving her in my hands? Your idea may
be that I should marry her and then let her go. But
suppose I wouldn't consent to let her go? And sup-
pose she wouldn't consent to leave me?
" There we are — tied together for life — and she as
the weaker of the two the one to suffer for the ill-fated
bargain ! That will not have been a punishment for
me, Nance Herrick, nor will it have been a compensa-
tion for her. It will simply have worked out as a
temporary boredom to one of us, and as miserable
wretchedness to the other !
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 399
" Is that what you wish to bring about by this inter-
ference on her behalf? It's absurd to pretend that you
think of me as a mere hot-headed amorist, desperately
in love with Linda, as she is with me, and that, by
mairrying us, you are smoothing out her path and set-
tling her down happily for the rest of her life. You
think of me as a cold-blooded selfish sensualist, and to
punish me for being what I am, you propose to put
Linda's entire happiness absolutely in my hands !
" Of course, I speak to you like this knowing that,
whatever your feelings are, you have the instincts of a
lady. A different type of woman from yourself would
consider merely the worldly aspect of the matter and
the advantage to your sister of becoming mistress of
Oakguard. That, I know, does not enter, for one mo-
ment, into your thoughts, any more than it enters into
hers. I am not ironical in saying this. I am not in-
sulting you. I am speaking simply the truth.
" Forgive me. Miss Herrick ! Even to mention such
a thing is unworthy of either of us. I am, as you
quite justly realize — and probably more than you
realize — what the world calls unscrupulous. But no
one has ever accused me of truckling to public opinion
or social position. I care nothing for those things,
any more than you do or Linda does. As far as those
things go I would marry her to-morrow. My mother,
as you doubtless know, hopes that I shall marry her —
wishes and prays for it. My mother has never given
a thought, and never will give a thought, to the opinion
of the world. It isn't in her nature, as no doubt you
quite realize. We Renshaws have always gone our
own way, and done what we pleased. My father did —
Philippa does ; and I do.
400 RODMOOR
" Come, Miss Herrick ! Try for a moment to put
your anger against me out of the question. Suppose
you did induce me to marry Linda, and Linda to marry
me, does that mean that you make me change my na-
ture? We Renshaws never change and / never shall,
you may be perfectly sure of that! I couldn't even if
I wanted to. My blood, my race, my father's instincts
in me, go too deep. We're an evil tribe, Nance Her-
rick, an evil tribe, and especially are we evil in our re-
lations with women. Some families are like that, you
know! It's a sort of tradition with them. And it is
so with us. It may be some dark old strain of Viking
blood, the blood of the race that burnt the monasteries
in the days of yEthelred the Unready! On the other
hand it may be some unaccountable twist in our brains,
due — as Fingal says — to — oh ! to God knows what !
" Let it go ! It doesn't matter what it is ; and I
daresay you think me a grotesque h^^pocrite for bring-
ing such a matter into it at all. Well ! Let it go !
There's really no need to drag in ^thelred the Un-
ready ! What you and I have to do, Miss Herrick, is,
seriously and quietly, without passion or violence, to
discuss what's best for your sister's happiness. Put
my punishment out of your mind for the present —
that can come later. Your friend Mr. Sorio will be
only too pleased to deal with that! The point for us
to consider, for us who both love your sister, is, what
will really be happiest for her in the long run — and I
can assure you that no woman who ever lived could be
happy long tied hand and foot to a Renshaw.
" Look at my mother ! Does she suggest a person
who has had a happy life? I tell you she would give
all she has ever enjoyed here — every stick and stone
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 401
of Oakguard — never to have set eyes on my fatlicr —
never to liave given birth to Philippa or to me ! We
Renshaws may have our good qualities — God knows
what they are — but we may have them. But one
thing is certain. We are worse than the very devil for
any woman who tries to live with us ! It's in our blood,
I tell you. We can't help it. We're made to drive
women mad — to drive them into their graves ! "
He stopped abruptly with a bitter and hopeless shrug
of his shoulders. Nance had listened to him, all the
way through his long speech, with concentrated and
frowning attention. When he had finished she stood
staring at him without a word, almost as if she wished
him to continue ; almost as if something about his per-
sonality fascinated her in spite of herself, and made
her sympathetic.
But Sorio, who had been fidgetting with his heavy
stick, rose now, slowly and deliberately, to his feet.
Nance, looking at his face, saw upon it an expression
which from long association she had come to regard
with mingled tenderness and alarm. It was the look his
features wore when on the point of rushing to the as-
sistance of some wounded animal or ill-used child.
He uttered no word, but flinging Nance aside with
his left hand, with the other he struck blindly with his
stick, aiming a murderous blow straight at Brand's
face.
Brand had barely time to raise his hand. The blow
fell upon his wrist, and his arm sank under it limp and
paralysed.
Nance, with a loud cry for assistance, clung fran-
tically to Sorio's neck, trying to hold him back. But
apparently beyond all consciousness now of what he
402 RODMOOR
was doing, Sorio flung her roughly back and drove his
enemy with savage repeated strokes into a corner of
the room. It was not long before Brand's other arm
was rendered as useless as the first, and the blows fall-
ing now on his unprotected head, soon felled him to the
ground.
Nance, who had flung open the door and uttered wild
and panic-stricken cries for help, now rushed across the
room and pinioned the exhausted flagellant in her
strong young arms. Seeing his enemy motionless and
helpless with a stream of blood trickling down his face,
Adrian resigned himself passively to her controlling
embrace.
They were found in this position by the two men-
servants, who came rushing down the passage in an-
swer to her screams. Mrs. Renshaw, dressing in her
room on the opposite side of the house, heard nothing.
The steady downpour of the rain dulled all other
sounds. Philippa had not yet returned.
Under Nance's directions, the two men carried their
master out of the " workshop," while she herself con-
tinued to cling desperately to Sorio. There had been
something hideous and awful to the girl's imagination
about the repeated " thud — thud — thud " of the
blows delivered by her lover. This was especially so
after the numbing of his bruised arms reduced Adrian's
victim to helplessness.
As she clung to him now she seemed to hear the
sound of those blows — each one striking, as it seemed,
something resistless and prostrate in her own being.
And once more, with grotesque iteration, the figures
upon Linda's almanac ticked like a clock in answer to
the echo of that sound. " October the twenty-eighth
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 403
— October the twenty-eighth," repeated the church-
almanac, from its red-lettered frame.
The extraordinary thing was that as her mind began
to function more naturally again, she became conscious
that, all the while, during that appalling scene, even
at the very moment when she was crying out for help,
she had experienced a sort of wild exultation. She re-
called that emotion quite clearly now with a sense of
curious shame.
She was also aware that while glancing at Brand's
pallid and unconscious face as they carried him from
the room, she had felt a sudden indescribable softening
towards him and a feeling for him that she would
hardly have dared to put into words. She found her-
self, even now, as she went over in her mind with light-
ning rapidity every one of the frightful moments she
had just gone through, changing the final episode in
her heart, to quite a different one ; to one in which she
herself knelt down by their enemy's side, and wiped the
blood from his forehead, and brought him back to con-
sciousness.
Left alone with Sorio, Nance relaxed her grasp and
laid her hands appealingly upon his shoulder. But it
was into unseeing eyes that she looked, and into a face
barely recognizable as that of her well-beloved. He
began talking incoherently and yet with a kind of ter-
rible deliberation and assurance.
"What's that you say? Only the rain.? They say
it's only the rain when they want to fool me and quiet
me. But I know better ! They can't fool me like that.
It's blood, of course; it's Nance's blood. You, Nance?
Oh, no, no, no! I'm not so easily fooled as that.
Nance is at the bottom of that hole in the wood, where
404 RODMOOR
I struck her — one — two — three! It took three hits
to do it — and she didn't speak a word, not a word, nor
utter one least little cry. It's funny that I had to hit
her three times ! She is so soft, so soft and easy to
hurt. No, no, no, no ! I'm not to be fooled like that.
My Nance had great laughing grey eyes. Yours are
horrible, horrible. I see terror in them. She was
afraid of nothing."
His expression changed, and a wistful hunted look
came into his face. The girl tried to pull him towards
one of the chairs, but he resisted — clasping her hand
appealingly.
" Tell me, Phil," he whispered, in a low awe-struck
voice, " tell me why you made me do it. Did you think
it would be better, better for all of us, to have her
lying there cold and still? No, no, no! You needn't
look at me with those dreadful eyes. Do you know,
Phil, since you made me kill her I think your eyes have
grown to look like hers, and your face, too — and all
of you."
Nance, as he spoke, cried out woefully and helplessly.
" I am ! I am ! I am ! Adrian — my own — my
darling — don't you know me.'' I am your Nance! "
He staggered slowly now to one of the chairs, mov-
ing each foot as he did so with horrible deliberation
as if nothing he did could be done naturally any more,
or without a conscious effort of will. Seating himself
in the chair, he drew her down upon his knee and be-
gan passing his fingers backwards and forwards over
her face.
"Why did you make me do it, Phil?" he moaned,
rocking her to and fro as if she were a child. " Why
did you make me do it? She would have given me
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 405
sleep, if you'd only let her alone, cool, deep, delicious
sleep! She would have smoothed away all my troubles.
She would have destroyed the old Adrian and made a
new one — a clear untroubled one, bathed in great
floods of glorious white light ! "
His voice sank to an awe-struck and troubled mur-
mur. " Phil, my dear," he whispered, " Phil, listen to
me. There's something I can't remember ! Something
— God! No! It's some one — some one most pre-
cious to me — and I've forgotten. Something's hap-
pened to my brain, and I've forgotten. It was after
I struck those blows, those blows that made her mouth
look so twisted and funny — just like yours looks now,
Phil! Why is it, do you think, that dead people have
that look on their mouths? Phil, tell me; tell me what
it is I've forgotten ! Don't be cruel now. I can't stand
it now. I must remember. I always seem just on the
point of remembering, and then something in my brain
closes up, like an iron door. Oh, Phil — my love, my
love, tell me what it is ! "
As he spoke he clasped the girl convulsively, crush-
ing her and hurting her by the strength of his arms.
To hear him address her thus by the name of her rival
was such misery to Nance that she was hardly conscious
of the physical distress caused by his violence. It was
still worse when, relaxing the force of his grasp, he
began to fondle and caress her, stroking her face with
his fingers and kissing her cheeks.
"Phil, my love, my darling!" he kept repeating,
" please tell me — please, please tell me, what it is I've
forgotten ! "
Nance suffered at that moment the extreme limit of
what she was capable of enduring. She dreaded every
406 RODMOOR
moment that Philippa herself would come in. She
dreaded the re-appearance of the servants, perhaps
with more assistance, ready to separate them and
carry Adrian away from her. To feel his caresses
and to know that in his wild thoughts they were not
meant for her at all — that was more, surely more,
than God could have intended her to suffer !
Suddenly she had an inspiration. " Is it Baptiste
that you've forgotten?"
The word had an electrical effect upon him. He
threw her off his lap and leapt to his feet.
" Yes," he cried savagely and wildly, the train of
his thoughts completely altered, " you're all keeping
him away from me! That's what's at the bottom of
it ! You've hidden Nance from me and given me this
woman who looks like her but who can't smile and
laugh like my Nance, to deceive me and betray me !
I know you — you staring, white-faced, frightened
thing ! You don't deceive me ! You don't fool Ad-
rian. I know you. You are not my Nance."
She had staggered away, a few paces from him, when
he first threw her off, and now, with a heart-rending
effort, she tried to smooth the misery out of her face
and to smile at him in her normal, natural way. But
the effort was a ghastly mockery. It was little won-
der, seeing her there, so lamentably trying to smile into
his eyes, that he cried out savagely: " That's not my
Nance's smile. That's the smile of a cunning mask!
You've hidden her away from me. Curse you all —
you've hidden her away from me — and Baptiste, too !
Where is my Baptiste — you staring white thing?
Whore is my Baptiste, you woman with a twisted
mouth?"
TWEXTY-EIGHTH OF OCTOBER 407
He rushed fiercely towards her and seized her by
the throat. " Tell me what you've done with him," he
cried, shaking her to and fro, and tightening his grasp
upon her neck. " Tell me, you devil ! Tell me, or I'll
kill you."
Nance's brain clouded and darkened. Her senses
grew confused and misty. " He's going to strangle
me," she thought, " and I don't care ! This pain won't
last long, and it will be death from his hand."
All at once, however, in a sudden flash of blinding
clearness, she realized what this moment meant. If she
let him murder her, passively, unresistingly, what would
become of him when she was dead.? Simultaneously
with this thought something seemed to rise up, strong
and clear, from the depths of her being, something pow-
erful and fearless, ready to wrestle with fate to the
very end.
" He shan't kill me ! " she thought. " I'll live to save
us both." Tearing frantically at his hands, she strug-
gled backwards towards the open door, dragging him
with her. In his mad blood-lust he was horribly, mur-
derously strong; but this new life-impulse, springing
from some supernatural level in the girl's being, proved
still stronger. With one tremendous wrench at his
wrists she flung him from her ; flung him away with
such violence that he slipped and fell to the ground.
In a moment she had rushed through the doorway and
closed and locked the heavy door behind her. Even
at the very second she achieved this and staggered
faint and weak against the wall, what seemed to her
rapidly clouding senses a large concourse of noisy
people carrying flickering lights, swept about her. As
they came upon her she sank to the floor, her last im-
408 RODMOOR
pression being that of the great dark eyes of Philippa
Renshaw illuminated by an emotion which was beyond
her power of deciphering, an emotion in which her
mind lost itself, as she tried to understand it, in a deep
impenetrable mist, that changed to absolute darkness
as she fainted away.
n
XXV
BALTAZAR STORK
THE morning of the twenty-ninth of October
crept slowly and greyly through the windows
of the sisters' room. Linda had done her best
to forget her own trouble and to offer what she could
of consolation and hope to Nance. It was nearly three
o'clock before the unhappy girl found forgetfulness in
sleep, and now with the first gleam of light she was
awake again.
The worst she could have anticipated was what had
happened. Adrian had been taken away — not recog-
nizing any one — to that very Asylum at IMundham
which they had glanced at together with such ominous
forebodings. She herself — what else could she do? —
h.ad been forced to sign her name to the official docu-
ment which, before midnight fell upon Oakguard, made
legal his removal.
She had signed it — she shuddered now to think of
her feelings at that moment — below the name of Brand,
Mho as a magistrate was officially compelled to take the
initiative in the repulsive business. Dr. Raughty and
Mr. Trahcrne, who had both been summoned to the
house, had signed that dreadful paper, too. Nance's
first impression on regaining consciousness was that of
the Doctor's form bending anxiously over her. She
remembered how queer his face looked in the shadowy
candle-light and how gently he had stroked the back of
409
410 RODMOOR
her hand when she unclosed her eyes, and what relief
his expression had shown when she whispered his name.
It was the Doctor who had driven her home at last,
when the appalling business was over and the people
had come, with a motor car from Mundham, and car-
ried Adrian awa}'. She had learnt from him that
Brand's injuries were in no way serious and were likely
to leave no lasting hurt, beyond a deep scar on the fore-
head. His arms were bruised and injured, Fingal told
her, but neither of them was actually broken.
Hamish Traherne had gone with the Mundham people
to the Asylum and would spend the night there. He
had promised Nance to come and see her before noon
and tell her everything.
She gathered also from Fingal that Philippa, show-
ing unusual promptitude and tact, had succeeded in
keeping Mrs. Renshaw away, both from the closed door
of the chapel and from the bedside of Brand, until the
latter had recovered consciousness.
Nance, as her mind went over and over every detail
of that hideous evening, could not help thanking God
that Adrian had at least been spared the tragic burden
of blood-guiltiness. As far as the law of the land was
concerned, he had only to recover his sanity and re-
gain his normal senses, to make his liberation easy and
natural. There had been no suggestion in the pa-
per she had signed — and she had been especially
on the look-out for that — with regard to criminal
lunac3\
She sat up in bed and looked at her sister. Linda
was sleeping as peacefully as a child. The cold morn-
ing light gave her face a curious pallor. Her long
brown lashes lay motionless upon her cheeks, and from
BALTAZAR STORK 411
her gently parted lips her breath came evenly and
calmly.
Nance recalled the strange interview she had had with
Brand before Adrian flung himself between them. It
was strange ! Do what she could, she could not feel
towards that man anything but a deep unspeakable
pity. Had he magnetized her — her too — she won-
dered — with that mysterious force in him, that force
at once terrible and tender, M'hich so many women had
found fatal? No — no! That, of course, was ridicu-
lous. That was unthinkable. Her heart was Adrian's
and Adrian's alone. But why, then, was it that she
found herself not only pardoning him what he had
done but actually — in some inexplicable way — con-
doning it and understanding it? Was she, too, losing
her wits? Was she, too, — under the influence of this
disastrous place — forfeiting all sense of moral propor-
tion ?
The man had seduced her sister, and had refused —
that remained quite clearly as the prevailing impression
of that wild interview with him — definitely and ob-
stinately to marry her, and yet, here was she, her sis-
ter's only protector in the world, softening in her heart
towards him and thinking of him with a sort of senti-
mental pity ! Truly the minds of mortal men and
women contained mysteries past finding out !
She lay back once more upon her pillows and let the
hours of the morning flow over her head like softly
murmuring waves. There is often, especially in a
country town, something soothing and refreshing be-
yond words in the opening of an autumn day. In
winter the light does not arrive till the stir and noise
and trafl^c of the streets has already, so to speak, es-
412 RODMOOR
tablished itself. In summer the earlier hours are so
long and bright, that by the time the first movements
of humanity begin, the day has already been ravished
of its pristine freshness and grown jaded and garish.
Early mornings in spring have a magical and thrilling
charm, but the very exuberance of joyous life then,
the clamorous excitement of birds and animals, the
feverish uneasiness and restlessness of human children,
make it difficult to lie awake in perfect receptivity,
drinking in every sound and letting oneself be rocked
and lulled upon a languid tide of half-conscious dream-
ing.
Upon such a tide, however, Nance now lay, in spite
of everything, and let the vague murmurs and the
familiar sounds flow over her, in soft reiteration. That
she should be able to lie like this, listening to the rattle
of the milkman's cans and the crying of the sea-gulls
and the voices of newly-awakened bargemen higher up
the river, and the lowing of cattle from the marshes
and the chirping of sparrows on the roof, when all the
while her lover was moaning, in horrible unconscious-
ness, within those unspeakable walls, was itself, as she
contemplated it in cold blood, an atrocious trick of all-
subverting Nature !
She looked at the misty sunlight, soft and mellow,
which now began to invade the room, and she mar-
velled at herself in a sort of bewildered shame that she
should not, at this crisis in her life, be able to feel more.
Was it that her experiences of the day before had so
harrowed her soul that she had no power of reaction
left? Or was it — and upon this thought she tried
to fix her mind as the true explanation — that the great
underlying restorative forces were already dimly but
BALTAZAR STORK 413
powerfully exerting themselves on behalf of Adrian,
and on behalf of her sister and herself?
She articulated the words " restorative forces " in
the depths of her mind, giving her thought this palpable
definition ; but as she did so she was only too conscious
of the presence of a mocking spirit there, whose fin-
ger pointed derisively at the words as soon as she had
imaged them. Restorative forces? Were there such
things in the world at all? Was it not much more
likely that what she felt at this moment was nothing
more than that sort of desperate calm which comes,
with a kind of numbing inertia, upon human beings,
when they have been wrought upon to the limit of their
endurance? Was it not indeed rather a sign of her
helplessness, a sign that she had come now to the end
of all her powers, and could do no more than just
stretch out her arms upon the tide and lie back upon the
dark waters, letting them bear her whither they pleased
— was it not rather a token of this, than of any inkling
of possible help at hand?
It was at that moment that amid the various sounds
which reached her ear, there came the clear joyous
whistling of some boy apprentice, occupied in remov-
ing the shutters from one of the shop-windows in the
street. The boy was whistling, casually and clumsily
enough, but still with a beautiful intonation, certain
familiar strophes from the Marseillaise. The great
revolutionary tune echoed clear and strong over the
drowsy cobble-stones, between the narrow patient
walls, and down away towards the quiet harbour.
It was incredible the effect which this simple acci-
dent had upon the mind of the girl. In one moment
she had flung to the winds all thought of submission to
414 RODMOOR
destiny — all idea of " lying back " upon fate. No
longer did she dream vaguely and helplessly of " restor-
ative forces," somewhere, somehow, remotely active in
her favour. The old, brave, defiant, youthful spirit
in her, the spirit of her father's child, leapt up, strong
and vigorous in her heart and brain. No — no !
Never would she yield. Never would she submit.
" Allans, enfants! " She would fight to the end.
And then, all in a moment, she remembered Baptiste.
Of course ! That was the thing to be done. Fool that
she was not to have thought of it before! She must
send a cabled message to Adrian's son. It was to-
wards Baptiste that his spirit was continually turning.
It must be Baptiste who should restore him to health !
It was not much after six o'clock when that boy's
whistling reached her, but between then and the first
moment of the opening of the post office, her mind was
in a whirl of hopeful thoughts.
As she stood waiting at the little stuccoed entrance
for the door to open, and watched with an almost hu-
morous interest the nervous expectancy of the most
drooping, pallid, unhealthy and unfortunately com-
plexioned youth she had ever set eyes upon, she felt
full of strength and courage. Adrian had been ill be-
fore and had recovered. He would recover now ! She
herself would bring him the news of Baptiste's coming.
The mere news of it would help him.
There was a little garden just visible through some
iron railings by the side of the post office and above
these railings and drooping towards them so that it
almost rested upon their spikes, was a fading sun-
flower. The flower was so wilted and tattered that
Nance had no scruple about stretching her hand to-
BALTAZAR STORK 415
wards it and trying to pluck it from its stem. She did
this half-mechanically, full of her new hope, as a child
on its way to catch minnows in a freshly discovered
brook might pluck a handful of clover.
The sickly-looking youth — Nance couldn't help
longing to cover his face with zinc-ointment ; why did
one always meet people with dreadful complexions in
country post offices? — observing her efforts, extended
his hand also, and together they pulled at the radiant
derelict, until they broke it off. When she held it in
her hands, Nance felt a little ashamed and sorry, for
the tall mutilated stem stood up so stark and raw with
drops of white frothy sap oozing from it. She could
not help remembering how it was one of Adrian's inno-
cent superstitions to be reluctant to pick flowers.
However, it was done now. But what should she do
with this great globular orb of brown seeds with the
scanty yellow petals, like weary taper-flames, surround-
ing its circumference?
The lanky 3'outh looked at her and smiled shyly.
She met his eyes, and observing his embarrassment,
obviously tinged with unconcealed admiration, she
smiled back at him, a sweet friendly smile of humorous
camaraderie.
Apparently this was the first time in his life that
a really beautiful girl had ever smiled at him, for he
blushed a deep purple-red all over his face.
" I think, ma'am," he stammered nervously, *' I know
who you are. I've seen you with Mr. Stork."
Nance's face clouded. She regarded it as a bad
omen to hear this name mentioned. Her old mysterious
terror of her friend's friend rose powerfully upon her.
In some vague obscure way, she felt conscious of his
416 RODMOOR
intimate association with all the forces in the world
most inimical to her and to her future.
Observing her look and a little bewildered by it, the
youth rambled helplessly on. " Mr. Stork has been a
very good friend to me," he murmured. " He got me
my job at Mr. Walpole's — Walpole the saddler. Miss.
I should have had to have left mother if it hadn't been
for him."
With a sudden impulse of girlish mischief, Nance
placed in the boy's hand the great faded flower she was
holding. " Put it into your button-hole," she said.
At that moment the door opened, and forgetting the
boy, the sunflower, and the ambiguous Mr. Stork, she
hurried into the building, full of her daring enterprise.
Her action seemed to remove from the youth's
thoughts whatever motive he may have had in waiting
for the opening of the office. Perhaps this goddess-
like apparition rendered commonplace and absurd some
quaint pictorial communication, smudgy and blotched,
which now remained unstamped in his coat-pocket. At
any rate he slunk away, with long, furtive, slouching
strides, carrying the flower she had given him as rev-
erently as a religious-minded acolyte might carry a
sacred vessel.
Meanwhile, Nance sent off her message, laying down
on the counter her half-sovereign with a docility that
thrilled the young woman who officiated there with awe
and importance.
" Baptiste Sorio, fifteen West Eleventh Street, New
York City," the message ran, " come at once ; your fa-
ther in serious mental trouble " ; and she signed it with
her own name and address, and paid five shillings more
to secure an immediate reply.
BALTAZAR STORK 417
Then, leaving the post office, .she returned .slowly and
thoughtfully to her lodging. The usual stir and move-
ment of the beginning of the day's work filled the little
street when she approached her room. Nance could
not help thinking how strange and curious it was that
the stream of life should thus go rolling forward with
its eternal repetition of little familiar usages, in spite
of the desperation of this or the other cruel personal
drama.
Adrian might be moaning for his son in that Mund-
ham house. Linda might be fearing and dreading the
results of her obsession. Philippa might be tossing
forth her elfish laugh upon the wind among the oak-
trees. She herself might be " lying back upon fate "
or struggling to wrestle with fate. What mattered
any of these things to the people who sold and bought
and laughed and quarrelled and laboured and made
love, as the powers set in motion a new day, and the
brisk puppets of a human town began their diurnal
dance?
It was not till late in the afternoon that Nance re-
ceived an answer to her message. She w^as alone when
she opened it, Linda having gone as usual, under her
earnest persuasion, to practise in the church. The
message was brief and satisfactory : " Sailing to-
morrow Altrunia Liverpool six days boat Baptiste."
So he would really be here — here in Rodmoor —
in seven or eight days. This was news for Adrian, if
he had the power left to understand anything! She
folded the paper carefully and placed it in her purse.
Mr. Traherne had come to her about noon, bringing
news that, on the whole, was entirely reassuring. It
seemed that Sorio had done little else than sleep since
418 RODMOOR
his first entrance into the place; and both the doctors
there regarded this as the best possible sign.
Hamish explained to her that there were three de-
grees of insanity — mania, melancholia, and dementia
— and, from what he could learn from his conversations
with the doctors, this heavy access of drowsiness ruled
out of Adrian's case the worst symptom of both these
latter possibilities. What they called " mania," he ex-
plained to her, was something quite curable and with
nearly all the chances in favour of recovery. It was
really — he told her he had gathered from them —
" only a question of time."
The priest had been careful to inquire as to the
possibility of Nance being allowed to visit her be-
trothed; but neither of the doctors seemed to regard
this, at any rate for the present, as at all desirable.
He cordially congratulated her, however, on having
sent for Sorio's son. " Whatever happens," he said,
" it's right and natural that he should be here with
you."
While Nance was thus engaged in " wrestling with
fate," a very different mental drama was being enacted
behind the closed windows of Baltazar's cottage.
Mr. Stork had not been permitted even to fall asleep
before rumours reached him that some startling event
had occurred at Oakguard. Long before midnight, by
the simple method of dropping in at the bar of the
Admiral's Head, he had picked up sufficient informa-
tion to make him decide against seeing any one that
night. They had taken Sorio away, and Mr. Renshaw
had escaped from a prolonged struggle with the de-
mented man with the penalty of only a few bruises.
Thus, with various imaginative interpolations which he
BALTAZAR STORK 419
discounted as soon as he heard them, Baltazar got from
the gossips of the tavern a fair account of what had
occurred.
There was, indeed, so much excitement in Rodmoor
over the event that, for the first time in the memory of
the oldest inhabitants, the Admiral's Head remained
open two whole hours after legal closing time. This
was in part explained by the fact that the two repre-
sentatives of the law in the little town had been sum-
moned to Oakguard to be ready for any emergency.
It was now about four o'clock in the afternoon.
Baltazar had found himself with little appetite for
either breakfast or lunch, and at this moment, as he
sat staring at a fireplace full of nothing but burnt out
ashes, his eyes had such dark lines below them that one
might have assumed that sleep as well as food had lost
its sarour for him in the last twelve hours. By his
side on a little table stood an untasted glass of brandy,
and at his feet in the fender lay innumerable, but in
many cases only half-smoked, cigarettes.
The impression which was now upon him was that of
being one of two human creatures left alive, those two
alone, after some world-destroying plague. He had
the feeling that he had only to go out into the street
to come upon endless dead bodies strewn about, in fan-
tastic and horrible attitudes of death, and in various
stages of dissolution. It was his Adriano who alone
was left alive. But he had done something to him —
so that he could only hear his voice without being able
to reach him.
" I must end this," he said aloud ; and then again,
as if addressing another person, " We must put an end
to this, mustn't we, Tassar? "
420 RODMOOR
He rose to his feet and surveyed himself in one of
his numerous beautifully framed mirrors. He passed
his slender fingers through his fair curls and peered
into his own eyes, opening the lids wide and wrinkling
his forehead. He smiled at himself then — a long
strange wanton smile — and turned away, shrugging
his shoulders.
Then he moved straight up to the picture of the
Venetian Secretary and snapped his fingers at it.
" You wait, you smirking ' imp of fame ' ; you wait a
little! We'll show you that you're not so deep or so
subtle after all. You wait, Flambard, my boy, you
wait a while; and we'll show you plots and counter-
plots ! "
Then without a word he went upstairs to his bath-
room. " By Jove ! " he muttered to himself, " I begin
to think Fingal's right. The only place in this Chris-
tian world where one can possess one's soul in peace is
a tiled bathroom — only the tiles must be perfectly
white," he added, after a pause.
He made an elaborate and careful toilet, brushing
his hair with exhaustive assiduity, and perfuming his
hands and face. He dressed himself in spotlessly
clean linen and put on a suit that had never been worn
before. Even the shoes which he chose were elegant
and new. He took several minutes deciding what tie
to wear and finally selected one of a pale mauve colour.
Then, with one final long and wistful glance at him-
self, he kissed the tips of his fingers at his own image,
and stepped lightly down the stairs.
He paused for a moment in the little hallway to se-
lect a cane from the stick rack. He took an ebony one
BALTAZAR STORK 421
at last, witli an engraved silver knob bearing his own
initials. There was something ghastly about the de-
liberation with which he did all this, but it was ghastli-
ness wasted upon polished furniture and decrepit flies
— unless every human house conceals invisible watch-
ers. He hesitated a little between a Panama hat and
one of some light-coloured cloth material, but finally
selected the former, toying carefully with its flexible
rim before placing it upon his head, and even when it
was there giving it some final touches.
The absolute loneliness of the little house, broken
only by an occasional voice from the tavern door, be-
came, during his last moments there, a sort of passive
accomplice to some nameless ritual. At length he
opened the door and let himself out.
He walked deliberately and thoughtfully towards the
park gates, and, passing in, made his way up the leaf-
strewn avenue. Arrived at the house, he nodded in a
friendly manner at the servant who opened the door,
and asked to be taken to Mrs. Renshaw's room. The
man obeyed him respectfully, and went before him up
the staircase and down the long echoing passage.
He found Mrs. Renshaw sewing at the half-open win-
dow. She put down her work when he entered and
greeted him with one of those illumined smiles of hers,
which Fingal Raughty was accustomed to say made
him believe in the supernatural.
" Thank you for coming to see me," she said, as he
seated himself at her side, spreading around him an
atmosphere of delicate odours. " Thank you, Bal-
tazar, so much for coming."
"Why do you always say that. Aunt Helen.?" he
422 RODMOOR
murmured, almost crossly. It was one of the little
long-established conventions between them that he
should address his father's wife in this way.
There came once more that indescribable spiritual
light into her faded eyes. " Well," she said gaily,
" isn't it kind of a young man, who has so many inter-
ests, to give up his time to an old woman like me? "
" Nonsense, nonsense, Aunt Helen ! " he cried, with
a rich caressing intonation, laying one of his slender
hands tenderly upon hers. " It makes me absolutely
angry with you when you talk like that ! "
" But isn't it true, Tassar? " she answered. " Isn't
this world meant for the young and happy? "
" As if I cared what the world was meant for ! " he
exclaimed. " It's meant for nothing at all, I fancy.
And the sooner it reaches what it was meant for and
collapses altogether, the better for all of us 1 "
A look of distress that was painful to witness came
into Mrs. Renshaw's face. Her fingers tightened upon
his hand and she leant forward towards him. " Tassar,
Tassar, dear ! " she said very gravely, " when you talk
like that you make me feel as if I were absolutely alone
in the world."
" What do you mean. Aunt Helen ? " murmured the
young man in a low voice.
" You make me feel as if it were wrong of me to love
you so much," she went on, bending her head and look-
ing down at his feet.
As he saw her now, with the fading afternoon light
falling on her parted hair, still wavy and beautiful
even in its grey shadows, and on her broad pale fore-
head, he realized once more what he alone perhaps, of
BALTAZAR STORK 423
all who ever had known her realized, the unusual and
almost terrifying power of her personality. She forced
him to think of some of the profound portraits of the
sixteenth century, revealing with an insight and a pas-
sion, long since lost to art, the tragic possibilities of
human souls.
He laughed gently. " Dear, dear Aunt Helen ! " he
cried, " forget my foolishness. I was only jesting. I
don't give a fig for any of my opinions on these things.
To the deuce with them all, dear ! To free you from
one single moment of annoyance, I'd believe every word
in the Church Catechism from * What is your name?'
down to * without doubt are lost eternally ' ! "
She looked up at this, and made a most heart-break-
ing effort not to smile. Her abnormally sensitive
mouth — the mouth, as Baltazar always maintained, of
a great tragic actress — quivered at the corners.
" If / had taught you your catechism," she said,
" you would remember it better than that ! "
Baltazar's eyes softened as he watched her, and a
strange look, full of a pity that was as impersonal as
the sea itself, rose to their surface. He lifted her hand
to his lips.
" Don't do that ! You mustn't do that ! " she mur-
mured, and then with another flicker of a smile, " you
must keep those pretty manners, Tassar, for all your
admiring young women ! "
" Confound my young women ! '* cried the young man.
" You're far more beautiful. Aunt Helen, than all of
them put together ! "
" You make me think of that passage in ' Hamlet,' "
she rejoined, leaning back in her chair and resuming
424 RODMOOR
her work. " How does it go ? ' Man delights me not
nor woman either — though by your smihng you seem
to say so ! ' "
" Aunt Helen ! " he cried earnestly, " I have some-
thing important to say to you. I want you to under-
stand this. It's sweet of you not to speak of Ad-
riano's illness. Any one but you would have condoled
with me most horribly already ! "
She raised her eyes from her sewing. " We must
pray for him," she said. " I have been praying for him
all day — and all last night, too," she added with a
faint smile. " I let Philippa think I didn't know what
had happened. But I knew." She shuddered a little.
" I knew. I heard him in the * workshop.' "
" What I wanted to say. Aunt Helen," he went on,
" was this. I want you to remember — whatever hap-
pens to either of us — that I love you more than any
one in the world. Yes — yes," he continued, not al-
lowing her to interrupt, *' better even than Adriano ! "
A look resembling the effect of some actual physical
pain came into her face. " You mustn't say that, my
dear," she murmured. " You must keep your love for
your wife when you marry. I don't like to hear you
say things like that — to an old woman." She hesi-
tated a moment. " It sounds like flattery, Tassar,"
she added.
" But it's true, Aunt Helen ! " he repeated with al-
most passionate emphasis. " You're by far the most
beautiful and by far the most interesting woman I've
ever met."
Mrs. Renshaw drew her hand across her face. Then
she laughed gaily like a young girl. " What would
Philippa say," she said, " if she heard you say that? "
BALTAZAR STORK 425
Baltazar's face clouded. He looked at her long and
closely.
" Philippa is interesting and deep," he said with a
grave emphasis, " but she doesn't understand me. You
understand me, though you think it right to hide your
knowledge even from yourself."
Mrs. Renshaw's face changed in a moment. It be-
came haggard and obstinate. " VVe mustn't talk any
more about understanding and about love," she said.
" God's will is that we should all of us only completely
love and understand the person He leads us, in His
wisdom, to marry."
Baltazar burst into a fit of heathen laughter. " I
thought you were going to end quite difFerentl}', Aunt
Helen," he said. " I thought the only person we were
to love was going to be God. But it seems that it is
man — or woman," he added bitterly.
Mrs. Renshaw bent low over her work and the
shadow grew still deeper upon her face. Seeing that
he had really hurt her, Baltazar changed his tone.
" Dear Aunt Helen ! " he whispered gently, " how
many happy hours, how many, how many ! — have we
spent together reading in this room ! "
She looked up quickly at this, with the old bright
look. " Yes, it's been a happy thing for me, Tassar,
having you so near us. Do you remember how, last
winter, we got through the whole of Sir Walter Scott?
There's no one nowadays like him — is there.'' Though
Philippa tells me that IMr. Hardy is a great writer."
" Mr. Hardy ! " exclaimed her interlocutor whim-
sically. " I believe you would have come to him at last
— perhaps you xdlU dear, some da}'. Let's hope so !
But I'm afraid I shall not be here then."
426 RODMOOR
" Don't talk like that, Tassar," she said without
looking up from her work. " It will not be you who
will leave me."
There was a pause between them then, and Baltazar's
eyes wandered out into the hushed misty garden.
" Mr. Hardy does not believe in God," he remarked.
" Tassar ! " she cried reproachfully. " You know
what you promised just now. You mustn't tease me.
No one deep down in his heart disbelieves in God. How
can we.'* He makes His power felt among us every
day."
There was another long silence, broken only by the
melancholy cawing of the rooks, beginning to gather
in their autumnal roosting-places.
Presently Mrs. Renshaw looked up. " Do you re-
member," she said very solemnly, " how you promised
me one day never again to let Brand or Philippa speak
disrespectfully of our English hymn-book? You said
you thought the genius of some of our best-known poets
was more expressed in their hymns than in their poetry.
I have often thought of that."
A very curious expression came into Baltazar's face.
He suddenly leaned forward. *' Aunt Helen," he said,
" this illness of Adrian's makes me feel, as you often
say, how little security there is for any of our lives.
I wish you'd say to me those peculiarly sad lines —
you know the one I mean ? — the one I used to make you
smile over, when I was in a bad mood, by saying it al-
ways made me think of old women in a work-house!
You know the one, don't you? "
The whole complicated subtlety of Mrs. Renshaw's
character showed itself in her face now. She smiled
almost playfully but at the same moment a supernat-
BALTAZAR STORK 427
ural light came in her eyes. " I know," she said, and
without a moment's hesitation or the least touch of em-
barrassment, she began to sing, in a low plaintive melo-
dious voice, the following well-known stanza. As she
sang she beat time with her hand ; and there came over
her hearer the obscure vision of some old, wild, pri-
mordial religion, as different from paganism as it was
different from Christianity, of which his mysterious
friend was the votary and priestess. The words drifted
away through the open window into the mist and the
falling leaves.
" Rest comes at length, though life be long and weary.
The day must dawn and darksome night be past;
Faith's journey ends in welcome to the weary.
And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last."
When it was finished there was a strange silence in
the room, and Baltazar rose to his feet. His face was
pale. He moved to her side and, for the first and last
time in their curious relations, he kissed her — a long
kiss upon the forehead.
With a heightened colour in her cheeks and a nerv-
ous deprecatory smile on her lips, she went with him to
the door. " Listen, dear," she said, as she took his
hand, " I want you to think of that poem of Cowper's
written when he was most despairing — the one that
begins ' God moves in a mysterious wa}'.' I want you
to remember that though what he lays upon us seems
crushing, there is always something behind it — infinite
mercy behind infinite myster3\"
Baltazar looked her straight in the face. " I won-
der," he said, " whether it is I or you who is the most
unhappy person in Rodmoor ! "
428 RODMOOR
She let his hand fall. " What we suffer," she said,
" seems to me like the weight of some great iron en-
gine with jagged raw edges — like a battering-ram
beating us against a dark mountain. It swings back-
wards and forwards, and it drives us on and on and on."
" And yet 3'ou believe in God," he whispered.
She smiled faintly. " Am I not alive and speaking
to you, dear? If behind it all there wasn't His will,
who could endure to live another moment? "
They looked into one another's face in silence. He
made an attempt to say something else to her but his
tongue refused to utter what his heart suggested.
" Good-bye, Aunt Helen," he said.
" Good night, Tassar," she answered, " and thank
you for coming to see me."
He left the house without meeting any one else and
walked with a deliberate and rapid step towards the
river. The twilight had already fallen, and a white
mist coming up over the sand-dunes was slowly invading
the marshes. The tide had just turned and the full-
brimmed current of the river's out-flowing poured swift
and strong between the high mud-banks.
The Loon was at that moment emphasizing and as-
serting its identity with an exultant joy. It seemed
almost to purr, with a kind of feline satisfaction, as
its dark volume of brackish water rushed forward to-
wards the sea. Whatever object it touched in its swift
passage, it drew from it some sort of half-human sound
— some whisper or murmur or protest of querulous
complaining.
The reeds flapped ; the pollard-roots creaked ; the
mud-promontories moaned ; and all the while, with gur-
glings and suckings and lappings and deep-drawn, in-
BALTAZAR STORK 429
ward, self-complacent laughter, the sliding body of the
slippery waters swept forward under its veil of mist.
On that night, of all nights, the Loon seemed to
have reached that kind of emphasis of personality
which things are permitted to attain — animate as well
as inanimate — when their functional activity is at its
highest and fullest.
And on that night, carefully divesting himself of
his elegant clothes, and laying his hat and stick on the
ground beside them, Baltazar Stork, without haste or
violence, and with his brain supernaturally clear,
drowned himself in the Loon.
XXVI
NOVEMBER MIST
BALTAZAR'S death, under circumstances which
could leave no doubt as to the unhappy man's
intention to destroy himself, coming, as it did,
immediately after his friend's removal to the Asylum,
stirred the scandalous gossip of Rodmoor to its very
dregs.
The suicide's body — and even the indurated hearts
of the weather-battered bargemen who discovered it,
washed down by the tide as far as the New Bridge,
were touched by its beauty — was buried, after a little
private extemporary service, just at the debatable mar-
gin where the consecrated churchyard lost itself in the
priest's flower-beds. Himself the only person in the
place exactly aware of the precise limits of the sacred
enclosure — the enclosure which had never been en-
closed — Mr. Traherne was able to follow the most
rigid stipulations of his ecclesiastical conscience with-
out either hurting the feelings of the living or offering
any insult to the dead. When it actually came to the
point he was, as it turned out, able to remove from his
own over-scrupulous heart the least occasion for future
remorse.
The Rodmoor sexton — the usual digger of graves
— happened to be at that particular time in the throes,
or rather in the after-effects, of one of his periodic out-
bursts of inebriation. So it happened that the curate-
430
NOVEMBER MIST 431
in-cliarge had witli his own hands to dig tlie grave of
the one among all his parishioners who had remained
most distant to him and had permitted him the least
familiarity.
Mr. Traherne remained awake in his study half the
night, turning over the pages of ancient scholastic au-
thorities and comparing one doctrinal opinion with an-
other on the question of the burial of suicides.
In the end, what he did, with a whimsical prayer to
Providence to forgive him, was to begin digging the
hole just outside the consecrated area, but by means
of a slight northward excavation, when he got a few
feet down, to arrange the completed orifice in such a
way that, while Baltazar's body remained in common
earth, his head was lodged safe and secure, under soil
blessed by Holy Church.
One of the most pious and authoritative of the early
divines, Mr. Traherne found out, maintained, as no
fantastic or heretical speculation but as a reasonable
and reverent conclusion, the idea that the surviving
portion of a man — his " psyche " or living soul — had,
as its mortal tabernacle, the posterior lobes of the hu-
man skull, and that it was from the head rather than
from the body that the shadowy companion of our
earthly days — that " animula blandula " of the
heathen emperor — melted by degrees into the sur-
rounding air and passed to " its own place."
The Renshaws themselves showed, none of them, the
slightest wish to interfere with his arrangements, nor
did Hamish Traherne ever succeed in learning whether
the hollow-eyed lady of Oakguard knew or did not know
that the clay mound over which every evening without
fail, after the day of the unceremonious interment,
432 RODMOOR
she knelt in silent prayer, was outside the circle of
the covenanted mercies of the Power to which she
prayed.
The "last will and testament" of the deceased —
written with the most exquisite care — was of so
strange a character, taking indeed the shape of some-
thing like a defiant and shameless " confession," that
Brand and Dr. Raughty, who were the appointed exec-
utors, hurriedly hid it out of sight. Everything Mr.
Stork possessed was left to Mrs. Renshaw, except the
picture of Eugenio Flambard. This, by a fantastic
codicil, which was so extraordinary that when Brand
and Dr. Raughty read it they could do nothing but
stare at one another in silent amazement, was be-
queathed, at the end of an astonishing panegyric, " to
our unknown Hippolytus, Mr. Baptiste Sorio, of New
York City."
Baltazar had been buried on the first of November,
and as the following days of this dark month dragged
by, under unbroken mists and rain, Nance lived from
hour to hour in a state of trembling expectancy.
Would Baptiste's ship bring him safely to England?
Would he, when he came, and discovered what her
relations with his father were, be kind to her and sym-
pathetic, or angry and hurt? She could not tell. She
could make no guess. She did not even know whether
Adrian had really done what he promised and written
to his son about her at all.
The figure of the boy — on his way across the At-
lantic — took a fantastic hold upon her disturbed im-
agination. As day followed day and the time of his
arrival drew near, she found it hard to concentrate her
mind even sufficiently to fulfil her easy labours with the
NOVEMBER MIST 433
little dressmaker. Miss Pontifex gently remonstrated
with her.
" I know you're in trouble, Miss Herrick, and have
a great deal on your mind, but it does no good worry-
ing, and the girls get restless — you see how it is ! —
when you can't give them your full attention."
Thus rebuked, Nance would smile submissively and
turn her eyes away from the misty window.
But every night before she slept, she would see
through her closed eyelids that longed-for boy, stand-
ing — that was how she always conceived him — at the
bows of the ship, standing tall and fair like a young
god ; borne forwards over the starlit ocean to bring
help to them all.
In her dreams, night after night, the boy came to
her, and she found him then of an unearthly beauty
and endowed with a mysterious supernatural power.
In her dreams, the wild impossible hope, that somehow,
somewhere, he would be the one to save Linda from the
ruin of her youthful life, took to itself sweet imme-
diate fulfilment.
Every little event that happened to her during
those days of tension assumed the shape of something
pregnant and symbolic. Her mind made auguries of
the movements of the clouds, and found significant
omens, propitious or menacing, from every turn of the
wind and every coming and going of the rain. The
smallest and simplest encounter took upon itself at that
time a curious and mystic value.
In after days, she remembered with sad and woeful
clearness how persons and things impressed her then,
as, in their chance-brought groupings and gestures,
they lent themselves to her strained expectant mood.
434 HODMOOR
For instance, she never could forget the way she
waited, on the night of the third of November, along
with Linda and Dr. Raughty, for the arrival of the
last train from Mundham, bringing Mr. Traherne back
from a visit to the Asylum with news of Adrian.
The news the priest brought was unexpectedly fa-
vourable. Adrian, it seemed, had taken a rapid turn
for the better, and the doctors declared that any day
now it might become possible for Nance to see him.
As they stood talking on the almost deserted plat-
form, Nance's mind visualized with passionate inten-
sity the moment when she herself would take Baptiste
to see his father and perhaps together — why not.? —
bring him back in triumph to Rodmoor.
Her happy reverie on this particular occasion was
interrupted by a fantastic incident, which, trifling
enough in itself, left a queer and significant impression
behind it. This was nothing less than the sudden es-
cape from Mr. Traherne's pocket of his beloved Rico-
letto.
In the excitement of their pleasure over the news
brought by the priest, the rat took the opportunity of
slipping from the recesses of his master's coat ; and
jumping down on the platform, he leapt, quick as a
flash, upon the railway track below. Mr. Traherne,
with a cry of consternation, scrambled down after him,
and throwing aside his ulster which impeded his prog-
ress, began desperately pursuing him. The engine of
the train by which the clergyman had arrived was now
resting motionless, separate from the line of carriages,
deserted by its drivers. Straight beneath the wheels
of this inert monster darted the escaped rat. The agi-
tated priest, with husky perturbed cries, ran backwards
NOVEMBER MIST 435
and forwards along the side of the engine, every now
and then stooping down and frantically endeavouring
to peer beneath it.
It was so queer a sight to see this ungainly figure,
dressed as always in his ecclesiastical cassock, rushing
madly round the dark form of the engine and at in-
tervals falling on his knees beside it, that Linda could
not restrain an almost hysterical fit of laughter.
Dr. Raughty looked whimsically at Nance.
" He might be a priest of Science, worshipping the
god of machines," he remarked, assuming as he spoke
a sitting posture, the better to slide do^^^^, himself, from
the platform to the track.
The station-master now approached, anxious to close
his office for the night and go home. The porter, a
peculiarly unsympathetic figure, took not the least no-
tice of the event, but coolly proceeded to extinguish the
lights, one by one.
The ostler from the Admiral's Head, who had come
to meet some expected visitor who never arrived, leaned
forward with drowsy interest from his seat on his cab
and surveyed the scene with grim detachment, prom-
ising himself that on the following night at his familiar
bar table, he would be the center of public interest as
he satisfied legitimate local curiosity with regard to
this unwonted occurrence.
Nance could not help smiling as she saw the excel-
lent Fingal, his long overcoat flapping about his legs,
bending forward between the buffers of the engine and
peering into its metallic bell3^ She noticed that he
was tapping with his knuckles on the polished breast-
plate of the monster and uttering a clucking noise with
his tongue, as if calling for a recalcitrant chicken.
436 RODMOOR
It was not long before Mr. Traherne, growing des-
perate as the oblivious porter approached the last of
the station lamps, fell flat on his face and proceeded to
shove himself clean under the engine. The vision of
his long retreating form, wrapped in his cassock, thus
worming himself slowly out of sight, drew from Nance
a burst of laughter, and as for Linda, she clapped her
hands together like a child.
He soon reappeared, to the relief of all of them, with
his recaptured pet in his hand, and scrambled back upon
the platform, just as the last of the lamps went out,
leaving the place in utter darkness.
Nance, her laughter gone then, had a queer sensa-
tion as they moved away, that the ludicrous scene she
had just witnessed was part of some fantastic unreal
dream, and that she herself, with the whole tragedy of
her life, was just such a dream, the dream perhaps of
some dark driverless cosmic engine — of some remote
Great Eastern Railway of the Universe !
The morning of the fourth of November dawned far
more auspiciously than any day which Rodmoor had
known for many weeks. It was one of those patient,
hushed, indescribable days — calm and tender and full
of whispered intimations of hidden reassurance —
which rarely reach us in any country but England or
in any district but East Anglia. The great powers of
sea and air and sky seemed to draw close to one an-
other and close to humanity ; as if with some large and
gracious gesture of benediction they would fain lay
to rest, under a solemn and elemental requiem, the body
of the dead season's life.
Nance escaped before noon from Miss Pontitfex's
workroom. She and Linda had been invited by Dr.
NOVEMBER MIST 437
Raughty to lunch with him and Ilainish at the pastry-
cook's in the High Street. It was to be a sort of mod-
est celebration, this little feast, to do honour to the
good news which Mr. Traherne had brought them the
night before and which was corroborated by a letter
to Nance herself from the head doctor, with regard to
Adrian's astonishing improvement.
Nance felt possessed by a deep and tumultuous ex-
citement. Baptiste surely must be near England now !
Any day — almost any hour — she might hear of his
arrival. She strolled out across the Loon to meet
Linda, who had gone that morning to practise on the
organ for the following Sunday's services.
As she crossed the marsh-land between the bridge
and the church, she encountered Mrs. Renshaw return-
ing from a visit to Baltazar's grave. The mistress of
Oakguard stopped for a little while to speak to her,
and to express, in her own way, her sympathy over
Adrian's recovery. She did this, however, in a man-
ner so characteristic of her that it depressed rather
than encouraged the girl. Her attitude seemed to
imply that it was better, wiser, more reverent, not to
cherish any buoyant hopes, but to assume that the worst
that could come to us from the hands of God was what
ought to be expected and awaited in humble submis-
siveness.
She seemed in some strange way to resent any lift-
ing of the heavy folds of the pall of fate and with a kind
of obstinate weariness, to lean to the darker and more
sombre aspect of every possibility.
She carried in her hands a bunch of faded flowers
brought from the grave she had visited and which she
seemed reluctant to throw away, and Nance never for-
438 RODMOOR
got the appearance of her black-gowned drooping fig-
ure and white face, as she stood there, by the edge of
the misty, sun-illumined fens, holding those dead stalks
and withered leaves.
As they parted, Nance whispered hesitatingly some
little word about Baltazar. She half expected her to
answer with tears, but in place of that, her eyes seemed
to shine with a weird exultant joy.
" When you're as old as I am, dear," she said, " and
have seen life as I have seen it, you will not be sad to
lose what you love best. The better we love them, the
happier we must be when they are set free from the
evil of the world."
She looked down on the ground, and when she raised
her head, her eyes had an unearthly light in them. " I
am closer to him now," she said, " closer than ever be-
fore. And it will not be long before I go to join him."
She moved slowly away, dragging her limbs heavily.
Nance, as she went on, kept seeing again and again
before her that weird unearthly look. It left the im-
pression on her mind that Mrs. Renshaw had actually
secured some strange and unnatural link with the dead
which made her cold and detached in her attitude to-
wards the living.
Perhaps it had been all the while like this, the girl
thought. Perhaps it was just this habitual inter-
course with the Invisible which rendered her so entirely
a votary of moonlight and of shadows, and so unsym-
pathetic towards the sunshine and towards all genial
normal expressions of natural humanity.
Nance had the sensation — when at last, with Linda
at her side, she returned dreamily to the village — of
having encountered some creature from a world differ-
NOVEMBER MIST 439
ent from ours, a world of grey vapours and shadowy
margins, a world where the wraiths of the unborn meet
the ghosts of the dead, a world where the " might-have-
been " and the " never-to-be-again " weep together by
the shores of Lethe.
The little party which assembled presently round a
table in the bow-window of the Rodmoor confectioner's
proved a cheerful and happy one. The day was Satur-
day, so that the street was full of a quiet stir of people
preparing to leave their shops and begin the weekly
holiday. There was a vague feeling of delicate sad-
ness, dreamy yet not unhappy, in the air, as though the
year itself were pausing for a moment in its onward
march towards the frosts of winter and gathering for
the last time all its children, all its fading leaves and
piled-up fruits and drooping flowers, into a hushed ma-
ternal embrace, an embrace of silent and everlasting
farewell.
The sun shone gently and tenderly from a sky of a
faint, sad, far-off blue — the sort of blue which, in the
earlier and more reserved of Florentine painters, may
be seen in the robes of Our Lady caught up to heaven
out of a grave of lilies.
The sea was calm and motionless, its hardly stirring
waves clearer and more translucent in their green
depths than when blown upon by impatient winds or
touched by shameless and glaring light.
A soft opalescent haze lay upon the houses, turn-
ing their gables, their chimneys, their porches, and
their roofs, into a pearl-dim mystery of vague illusive
forms ; forms that might have arisen out of the " peril-
ous sea " itself, on some " beached margent " woven of
the stuff of dreams.
440 RODMOOR
The queer old-fashioned ornaments of the room
where the friends ate their meal took to themselves, as
Nance in her dreamy emotion drew them into the circle
of her thoughts, a singular and symbolic power. They
seemed suggestive, these quaint things, of all that world
of little casually accumulated mementoes and memories
with which our troubled and turbulent humanity strews
its path and fills the places of its passionate sojourn-
ing. Mother-of-pearl shells, faded antimacassars,
china dogs, fruit under glass-cases, old faded photo-
graphs of long-since dead people, illuminated texts
embroidered in bright wool, tarnished christening mugs
of children that were now old women, portraits of
celebrities from days when Victoria herself was in her
cradle, all the sweet impossible bric-a-brac of a tea-
parlour in a village shop surrounded them as they sat
there, and thrilled at least two of their hearts — for
Linda's mood was as receptive and as sensitive as
Nance's — with an indescribable sense of the pathos of
human life.
It was of "life" — in general terms — that Dr.
Raughty was speaking, as the two young girls gave
themselves up to the influence of the hour and played
lightly with their food.
" It's all nonsense," the doctor cried, " this con-
founded perpetual pessimism! Why can't these peo-
ple read Rabelais and Montaigne, and drink noble wine
out of great casks? Why can't they choose from
among the company of their friends gay and honest
wenches and sport with them under pleasant trees?
Why can't they get married to comfortable and comely
girls and regale themselves in cool and well-appointed
kitchens?"
NOVEMBER MIST 441
He helped himself as he spoke to another sHce of
salmon and sprinkled salt upon a plateful of tomatoes
and lettuce.
"Whose pessimism are jou talking about, Fingal?"
inquired Nance, playing up to his humour.
" Don't get it only for me," Mr. Traherne cried,
addressing the demure and freckled damsel who waited
on them. " I'm asking for a glass of ale, Doctor.
They can send out for it. But I don't want it un-
less — "
The Doctor's eyes shone across the table at him like
soft lamps of sound antique wisdom. " Burton's," he
exclaimed emphatically. " None of friend Rcnshaw's
stuff! Burton's! And let it be that old dark ma-
hogany-coloured liquor we drank once under the elm-
trees at Ashbourne."
The waitress regarded him with a coquettish smile.
She laboured under the perpetual illusion that every
word the Doctor uttered was some elaborate and recon-
dite gallantry directed towards herself.
The conversation ran on in lively spasmodic way-
wardness. It was not long before the ale appeared,
of the very body and colour suggested by the Doctor's
memories. Nance refused to touch it.
" Have some ginger-pop, instead, then," murmured
Fingal, pouring the brown ale into a china jug decor-
ated with painted pansies. " Linda would like some
of that, I know."
The priest held out his glass in the direction of the
jug.
" A thousand deep-sea devils — pardon me, Nance,
dear ! — carry off these pessimists," went on the Doc-
tor, filling up the clergyman's glass and his own with
442 RODMOOR
ritualistic solemnity while the little maid, the victim
of an irrepressible laughing-fit, retired to fetch ginger-
beer. " Let us remember how the great Voltaire served
God and defended all honest people. Here's to Vol-
taire's memory and a fig for these neurotic scribblers
who haven't the gall to put out their tongues ! " He
raised his glass to his lips, his eyes shining with hu-
morous enjoyment.
"What scribblers are you talking about?" inquired
Nance, peeling a golden apple and glancing at the misty
roofs through the window at her side.
" All of these twopenny-halfpenny moderns," cried
the Doctor, " who haven't the gall in their stomachs to
take the world by the scrufF of its neck and lash out.
A fig for them ! Our poor dear Adrian, when he gets
cured, will write something — you mark my words —
that'll make 'em stir themselves and sit up ! "
"But Adrian is pessimistic too, isn't he?" said
Nance, looking wistfully at the speaker.
" Nonsense ! " cried the Doctor. " Adrian has more
Attic salt in him than you women guess. I believe, my-
self, that this book of his will be worthy to be put be-
side the ' Thoughts ' of Pascal. Have you ever seen
Pascal's face? He isn't as good-looking as Adrian but
he has the same intellectual fury."
" What's your opinion, Fingal," remarked Mr. Tra-
herne, peering anxiously into the pansied jug, " about
the art of making life endurable? "
Dr. Raughty surveyed him with a placid and equable
smile. " Courage and gaiety," he said, " are the only
recipe, and I don't mind sprinkling these, in spite of
our modern philosophers, with a little milk of human
kindness."
NOVEMBER MIST 443
The priest nodded over what was left of his ale. " De
fructu operum tuorum, Domine, satiabitur terra: ut
educas panem de terra, et vinum laetificet cor Jiominis;
ut exhilaret faciem in oleo, et panis cor hominis con-
firmet," he muttered, stretching out his long legs under
the table and tilting back his chair.
"What the devil does all that mean?" asked the
Doctor a little peevishly. " Can't you praise God in
simple English? Nance and I couldn't catch a word
except ' wine ' and ' bread ' and ' oil.' "
Mr. Traherne looked unspeakably ashamed. " I'm
sorry, Nance," he murmured, sitting up very straight
and pulling himself together. " It was out of place.
It was rude. I'm not sure that it wasn't profane. I'm
sorry, Fingal ! "
*' It's a beautiful afternoon," said Nance, keeping her
eyes on the little street, whose very pavements reflected
the soft opalescent light which was spreading itself
over Rodmoor.
" Ah ! " cried Dr. Raughty, " we left that out in our
summary of the compensations of life. You left that
out, too, Hamish, from your ' fructu ' and ' panem '
and ' vinum ' and the rest. But, after all, that is what
we come back to in the end. The sky, the earth, the
sea, — the great cool spaces of night — the sun, like a
huge splendid god ; the moon, like a sweet passionate
nun ; and the admirable stars, like gems in some great
world-peacock's tail — yes, my darlings, we come back
to these in the end ! "
He rose from his seat and with shining eyes survej'ed
his guests.
" By the body of ]\Hstress Bacbuc," he cried, in a
loud voice, " we do wrong to sit here any longer ! Let's
444 RODMOOR
go down to the sands and cool our heads. Here, Mag-
gie! Madge! Marjorie! Where the deuce has that
girl gone? There she is! Get me the bill, will you,
and bring me a finger-bowl."
Mr. Traherne laid his hand gently on the doctor's
arm. " I'm afraid we've been behaving badly, Fingal,"
he whispered. " We've been drinking ale and forget-
ting our good manners. Do I look all right? I mean,
do I look as if I'd been drinking mahogany-coloured
Burton? Do I look as usual?"
The doctor surveyed him with grave intentness.
" You look," he said at last," " something between
Friar John and Bishop Berkeley." He gave him a lit-
tle push. " Go and talk to the girls while I buy them
chocolates."
Having paid the bill, he occupied himself in selecting
with delicate nicety a little box of sweet-meats for each
of his friends, choosing one for Nance with a picture
of Leda and the Swan upon it and one for Linda with
a portrait of the Empress Josephine.
As he leant over the counter, his eyes gleamed with
a soft benignant ecstasy and he rallied the shop-woman
about some heart-shaped confectionary adorned with
blue ribbons.
Before Mr. Traherne rejoined them Nance had time
to whisper to Linda, "They're both a little excited,
dear, but we needn't notice it. They'll be themselves
in a moment. Men are all so babyish."
Linda smiled faintly at this and nodded her head.
She looked a little sad and a little pale.
Dr. Raughty soon appeared. " Come on," he said,
" let's go down to the sea " ; and in a low dreamy voice
he murmured the following ditty:
XOVE^IBER MIST 445
"A boat — a boat — to cross the ferry!
And let us all be wise and merry,
And laugh and quaff and drink brown sherry!"
Linda caught at Nance's sleeve. " I think I'll let
you go without me," she whispered. " I feel rather
tired."
Nance looked anxiously into her eyes. " I'd come
back with you," she murmured, " but it would hurt their
feelings. You'd better lie down a little. I'll be back
soon." Then, in a lower whisper, " They did it to
cheer us up. They're dear, absurd people. Take care
of yourself, darling."
Linda stood for a while after she had bidden them
all good-bye and watched them move down the street.
In the misty sunshine there was something very gentle
and appealing about Nance's girlish figure as she
walked between the two men. They both seemed talk-
ing to her at the same time and, as they talked, they
watched her face with affectionate and tender admira-
tion.
" She treats them like children," said Linda to her-
self. " That's why they're all so fond of her."
She walked slowly back up the street ; but instead of
entering her house, she drifted languidly across the
green and made her way towards the park gates.
She felt very lonely, just then — lonely and full of
a heart-aching longing. If only she could catch one
glimpse, just one, of the man who was so dear to her —
of the man who Avas the father of her child.
She thought of Adrian's recovery and she thought
vaguely and wistfully of the coming of Baptiste. " I
hope he will like us," she said to herself. '* I hope he
will like us both."
446 RODMOOR
Hardly knowing what she did, she passed in through
the gates and began moving up the avenue. All the
tragic and passionate emotions associated with this
place came over her like a rushing wave. She stopped
and hesitated. Then with a pitiful effort to control
her feelings, she turned and began retracing her steps.
Suddenly she stopped again, her heart beating
wildly. Yes, there were footsteps approaching her
from the direction of Oakguard. She looked around.
Brand Renshaw himself was behind her, standing at a
curve of the avenue, bareheaded, under an enormous
pine. The horizontal sunlight piercing the foliage in
front of him shone red on the trunk of the great tree
and red on the man's blood-coloured head.
She started towards him with a little gasping cry,
like an animal that, after long wandering, catches sight
of its hiding-place.
The man had stopped because he had seen her, and
now when he saw her approaching him a convulsive
tremor ran through his powerful frame. For one sec-
ond he made a movement as if to meet her; but then,
raising his long arms with a gesture as if at once em-
bracing her and taking leave of her, he plunged into
the shadows of the trees and was lost to view.
The girl stood where he had left her — stood as if
turned to stone — for several long minutes, while over
her head the misty sky looked down through the
branches, and from the open spaces of the park came
the harsh cry of sea-gulls flying towards the coast.
Then, with drooping head and dazed expressionless
eyes, she walked slowly back, the way she had come.
XXVII
THREXOS
AFTER her encounter with Nance, Mrs. Ren-
shaw, returning to Oakguard, informed both
Philippa and Brand of the improvement in
the condition of Adrian Sorio.
Philippa received the news quietly enough, conscious
that the eyes of her brother were upon her ; but as soon
as she could get away, which was not till the after-
noon was well advanced, she slipped off hastily and di-
rected her steps, by a short cut through the park, to
the Rodmoor railway-station. She had one fixed idea
now in her mind — the idea of seeing Adrian and talk-
ing with him before any interview was allowed to the
others.
She knew that her name and her prestige as the sister
of the largest local landowTier, would win her at any
rate respectful consideration for anything she asked —
and everything beyond that she left recklessly in the
hands of fate.
Baltazar's death had affected her more than she
would herself have supposed possible. She had felt
during these last days a sort of malignant envy of her
mother, whose attitude towards her friend's loss was
so strange and abnormal.
Philippa, with her scarlet lips, her classic flesh, her
Circean feverishness, suffered from her close associa-
tion with this exultant mourner, as some heathen boy
447
448 RODMOOR
— ^^~*^~
robbed of his companion might have suffered from con-
tact with a Christian visionary, for whom death was
"far better."
At this moment, however, as she hurried towards the
station, it was not of Baltazar, it was of Adrian, and
Adrian only, that she thought.
She dismissed the fact of Baptiste's expected arrival
with bitter contempt. Let the boy go to Nance if he
pleased ! After all, it was to herself — much more in-
timately than to Nance — that Adrian had confided
his passionate idealization of his son and his savage
craving for him.
Yes, it was to her he had confided this, and it was to
her always, and never to Nance, that he spoke of his
book and of his secret thoughts. Her mind was what
Adrian wanted — her mind, her spirit, her imagination.
These were things that Nance, with all her feminine
ways, was never able to give him.
Why couldn't she tear him from her now and from
all these people?
Let these others be afraid of his madness. He was
not mad to her. If he were, why then, she too, she
who loved him and understood him, was mad!
From the long sloping spaces of the park, as she
hurried on, she could see at intervals, through the misty
sun-bathed trees, the mouth of the harbour, with its
masts and shipping, and, beyond that, the sea itself.
Ah ! the sea was the thing that had mingled their
souls ! The sea was the accomplice of their love !
Yes, he was hers — hers in the heights and the depths
— and none of them should tear him from her !
All the whimpering human crowd of them, with their
paltry pieties and vulgar prudence — how she would
THREXOS 449
love to strike them down and pass over them — over
their upturned staring faces — until he and she were
together !
Through the dreamy air, with its floating gossamer-
seeds and faint smell of dead leaves, came to her, as she
ran on, over the uneven ground, past rabbit-holes and
bracken and clumps of furze, the far distant murmur
of the waves on the sands. Yes ! The sea was what
had joined them; and, as long as that sound was in her
ears, no power on earth could hold them apart !
She reached the station just in time. It was five
minutes to five and the train left at the hour. Philippa
secured a first-class ticket for herself and sank down
exhausted in the empty compartment.
How long that five minutes seemed !
She was full of a fierce jealous dread lest any of
Nance's friends might be going that very evening to
visit the patient.
She listened to the conversation of two lads on the
platform near her carriage window. They were speak-
ing of a great bonfire which was to be prepared that
day, on the southern side of the harbour, to be set
alight the following evening, in honour of the historic
Fifth of November. In the tension of her nerves
Philippa found herself repeating the quaint lines of the
old refrain, associated in her mind with many childish
memories.
" Remember, remember
Fiftli of November,
Gunpowder Treason and plot.
We know no reason
Why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot ! "
450 RODMOOR
And the question flashed through her mind as to what
would have happened by the time that great spire of
smoke and flame — she recalled the look of it so well !
— rose up and drifted across the water. Would it be
the welcoming signal to bring Baptiste to Rodmoor —
to Rodmoor and to Adrian?
Two minutes more ! She watched the hand upon the
station-clock. It was slowly crossing the diminishing
strip of white which separated it from the figure of the
hour. Oh, these cruel signs, with their murderous
moving fingers ! Why must Love and Hope and De-
spair depend upon little patches of vanishing white, be-
tween black marks?
Off" at last! And she made a little gasping noise
in her throat as if she had swallowed that strip of
white.
An hour later, as the November darkness was clos-
ing in, she passed through the iron gates into the
Asylum garden. As she moved in, a small group of
inmates of the Asylum, accompanied by a , nurse,
emerged from a secluded path. It was shadowy and
obscure under those heavy trees, but led by the childish
curiosity of the demented, these unfortunate persons,
instead of obeying their attendant's command, drifted
waveringly towards her.
A movement took place among them like that de-
scribed by Dante in his Inferno as occurring when
some single soul, out of a procession of lost spirits,
recognizes in the dubious twilight, a living figure from
the upper air.
For the moment Philippa wondered if Adrian was
among them, but if he was he was given no opportunity
to approach her, for the alert guardian of these peo-
TIIREXOS 451
pie, like some Virgilian watcher of gliostly siiadows
upon the infernal stream, shepherded them away, across
the darkened lawn, towards the corner of the building.
The Renshaw name acted like magic when she reached
the house. Yes, iNIr. Sorio was much better ; prac-
tically quite himself again, and there was no reason at
all why Miss Renshaw should not have an interview
with him. A letter had, indeed, only that very after-
noon been posted to Miss Herrick, asking her to come
up to the place the following day.
Philippa inquired whether her interview with the pa-
tient might take the form of a little walk with him, be-
fore the hour of their evening meal. This request pro-
duced a momentary hesitation on the part of the offi-
cial to whom she made it, but ultimately — for, after
all. Miss Renshaw was the sister of the magistrate who
had procured the unhappy man's admission into the
place — that too was granted her, on condition that
she returned in half-an-hour's time, and did not take
her companion into the streets of the town. Having
granted her request the Asylum doctor left her in the
waiting-room, while he went to fetch her friend.
Philippa sank down upon a plush-covered chair and
looked around her. What a horrible room it was !
The shabby furniture, covered with gloomy drapery,
had an air of sombre complicity with all the tragedies
that darkened human life. It was like a room only
entered when some one was dead or dying. It was like
the ante-room to a cemetery. Everything in it
drooped, and seemed anxious to efface itself, as if
ashamed to witness the indecent exposures of outraged
human thoughts.
They brought Sorio at last, and the man's sunken
452 RODMOOR
eyes gleamed with a light of indescribable pleasure
when his hand met Philippa's and clutched it with
trembling eagerness.
They went out of the room together and moved
down the long passage that led to the entrance of the
place. As she walked by his side, Philippa experienced
the queer sensation of having him as her partner in
some diabolic danse-macahre, performed to the min-
gled tune of all the wild " songs of madness " created
since the beginning of the world.
She couldn't help noticing that the groups of peo-
ple they passed on their way had an air quite different
from persons in a hospital or even in a prison. They
made her think — these miserable ones — of some hor-
rible school for grown-up people ; such a school as those
who have been ill-used in childhood see sometimes in
their dreams.
They seemed to loiter and gather and peer and mut-
ter, as if, " with bated breath and whispering humble-
ness," they were listening to something that was going
on behind closed doors. Philippa got the impression
of a horrible atmosphere of guilt hanging over the
place, as if some dark and awful retribution were being
undergone there, for crimes committed against the nat-
ural instincts of humanity.
A lean, emaciated old woman came shuffling past
them, with elongated neck and outstretched arms.
" I'm a camel ! I'm a camel ! I'm a camel ! " Philippa
heard her mutter.
Suddenly Adrian laid his hand on her arm. " They
let me have my owl in here, Phil," he said. " We
mustn't go far to-night or it'll get hungry. It has its
supper off my plate. I never told you how I found it.
THREXOS 453
did I? It was pecking at her eyes, you know. Yes,
at her eyes! But that's nothing, is it? She had been
dead for weeks, and owls are scavengers, and corpses
are carrion ! "
They crossed the garden with quick steps.
" How good the air is to-night ! " cried Philippa's
companion, throwing back his head and snuffing the
leaf-scented darkness.
They were let out through the iron gates and turn-
ing instinctively south-wards, they wandered slowly
down to the river — the girl's hand resting on the man's
arm.
They passed, on their way, the blackened wall of a
disused factory. A blurred and feeble street-lamp
threw a flickering light upon this wall. Pasted upon
its surface was a staring and coloured advertisement
of some insurance company, representing a phoenix
surrounded by flames.
Philippa thought at once of the bonfire which was
being prepared for the ensuing evening. Would
Adrian's boy really arrive in so short a time.'' And
would Adrian himself, like that grotesque bird, so im-
perturbable in the midst of its funeral pyre, rise to new
life after all this misery? Let it be her — oh, great
heavenly powers ! — let it be her and not Nance, nor
Baptiste, nor any other, who should save him and heal
him !
Still looking at the picture on the wall, she repeated
to her companion a favourite verse of Mrs. Renshaw's
which she had learnt as a child.
" Death is now the phoenix' nest
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest.
454 RODMOOR
" Leaving no posterity,
'Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity."
The rich dirge-like music of these Shakespearian
rhymes — placed so quaintly under their strange title
of " Threnos," at the end of the familiar volume — had
a soothing influence upon them both at that moment.
It seemed to Philippa as if, by her utterance of them,
they both came to share some sad sweet obsequies over
the body of something that was neither human nor in-
human, something remote, strange, ineffable, that lay
between them, and was of them and yet not of them,
like the spirit-corpse of an unborn child.
They reached the bank of the river. The waters of
the Loon were high and, through the darkness, a mur-
mur as if composed of a hundred vague whispering
voices blending together, rose to their ears from its
dark surface.
They moved down close to the river's edge. A small
barge, with its long guiding-pole lying across it, lay
moored to the bank. Without a moment's delay — as
if the thing had been prepared in advance to receive
him — Adrian jumped into the barge and seized the
pole.
" Come ! " he said quietly.
She was too reckless and indifferent to everything
now, to care greatly what they did ; so without a word
of protest, or any attempt to turn his purpose, she
leapt in after him and settling herself in the stern,
seized the heavy wooden rudder.
The tide was running sea-ward, fast and strong, and
the barge, pushed vigorously by Adrian's pole away
from the bank, swept forward into the darkness.
TIIRP:X0S 455
Adrian, .standing firmly on his feet, continued to hold
the pole, his figure looming out of obscurity, tall and
commanding.
The tide soon swept them beyond the last houses of
the town and out into the open fens.
The night was very still and quite free from wind
but a tliin veil of mist concealed the stars.
Adrian, letting the pole sink down on the deck of
the barge, moved forward to where she sat holding the
rudder, and stretched himself out at her feet.
"Will they follow us.'*" he whispered in a dreamy
indifferent voice.
" No, no ! " the girl answered. " They'll never think
of this. They'll wait for us and when we don't come
back, they'll search the town and the roads. Let's go
on as we are, dearest. What does it matter.? What
does anything matter.'' "
She lay back and ran her fingers gently and dreamily
over his forehead.
Swiftly and silently the barge swept on, and willows,
poplars, weirs, dam-gates, tall reeds and ruined rush-
thatched hovels, passed them by, like figures woven out
of unreal shadows.
The water gurgled against the sides of the barge
and whispered mournfully against the banks, and, as
they advanced, the mystery of the night and the brood-
ing silence of the fens received them in a mystic cm-
brace.
A strange deep happiness gradually surged up in
Philippa's heart. She was with the mnn she loved ; she
was with the darkness she loved, and the river she
loved. The Loon carried them forward, the pitiful
friendlv Loon, the Loon which had flowed by the dwell-
456 RODMOOR
ing of her race for so many ages ; the Loon which had
given Baltazar the peace he craved.
Just the faintest tremor of doubt troubled her, the
thought that it was towards Nance — towards her
rival — that the tide was bearing them ; but let come
what miglit come, that hour at least was hers ! Not
all the world could take that hour from her — and the
future? What did the future matter?
As to the brain-sick man himself, who lay at the girl's
feet, it were long and hard to tell all the strange dim
visions that flowed through his head. He took Phil-
ippa's hand in his own and kissed it tenderly but, had
the girl known, his thoughts were not of her. They
were not even of his son ; of the son for whom he had
so passionately longed. They were not of any human
being. They circled constantly — these thoughts —
round a strange vague image, an image moulded of
white mists and white vapours and the reflection of
white stars in dark waters.
This image, of a shape dim and vast and elemental,
seemed to flow upwards from land and sea, and stretch
forth towards infinite space. It was an image of some-
thing beyond human expression, of something beyond
earth-loves and earth-hatreds, beyond life and also be-
yond death. It was the image of Nothingness ; and yet
in this Nothingness there was a relief, an escape, a
refuge, a beyond-hope, which made all the ways of hu-
manity seem indiff'crent, all its gods childish, all its
dreams vain, and yet offered a large cool draught of
" deep and liquid rest " the taste of which set the soul
completely free.
Many hours passed thus over their heads, as the tide
carried them down towards Rodmoor, round the great
TTIREXOS 457
sweeping curves made by the Loon, through the stubble-
fields and the marshes.
It was, at last, the striking of the side of the barge
against one of the arches of the Now Bridge, which
roused the prostrate man from the trance into which
he had fallen.
As soon as they had emerged on the further side of
the arch, he leapt to his feet. Bending forward to-
wards Philippa, he pointed with an outstretched arm
towards the shadowy houses of Rodmoor which, with
here and there a faint light in some high window, could
now be discerned through the darkness.
" I smell the sea ! " he cried. " I smell the sea !
Drift on, Phil, my little one, drift on to the harbour !
I must leave you now. We shall meet by the sea, my
girl — by the sea in the old way — but I can't wait
now. I must be alone, alone, alone ! "
Waving his hand wildly with a gesture of farewell,
he clutched at a clump of reeds and sprang out upon
the bank. Philippa, letting the barge float on as it
pleased, followed him with all the speed she could.
He had secured a considerable start of her, however,
and it was all she could do to keep him in sight in the
darkness.
He ran first towards the church, but when he reached
the path which deviated towards the sand-dunes, he
turned sharply eastward. He ran wildly, desperately,
with no thought in his whole being but the feeling that
he must reach the sea and be alone.
He felt at that moment as though the whole of hu-
manity — loathsome, cancerous, suffocating humanity
— were pursuing him with outstretched hands.
Once, as he was mid-way between the church path
458 RODMOOR
and the dunes, he turned his head," and catching sight
of Philippa's figure following him, he plunged forward
in a fury of panic.
As he crossed the dunes, at this savage pace, some-
thing seemed to break in his brain or in his heart. He
spat out a mouthful of sweet-tasting blood, and, falling
on his knees, fumbled in the loose sand, as if searching
for some lost object.
Staggering once more to his feet, and seeing that his
pursuer was near, he stumbled wildly down the slope
of the dunes and tottered across the sand to the water's
edge.
He was there at last — safe from everything — safe
from love and hatred and madness and pity — safe
from unspeakable imaginations ■■ — safe from him-
self!
The long dark line of waves broke calmly and indif-
ferently at his feet, and away — away into the eternal
night — stretched the vast expanse of the sea, dim,
vague, full of inexpressible, infinite reassurance.
He raised both his arms into the air. For one brief
miraculous moment his brain became clear and an ec-
static feeling of triumph and unconquerable joy swept
through him.
" Baptiste ! " he shouted in a shrill vibrating voice,
"Baptiste!"
His cry went reverberating over the water. He
turned and tried to struggle back. A rush of blood
once more filled his mouth. His head grew dizzy.
" Tell Nance that I — that I — " His words died
into a choking murmur and he fell heavily on his face
on the sand.
He was dead when she reached him. She lifted him
TITREXOS 450
gently till he lay on his back and then pressing her
hand to his heart, she knew that it was the end.
She sank beside him, bowing her forehead till it
touched the ground, and clinging to his neck. After a
minute or two she rose, and taking his hand in her own
she sat staring into the darkness, with wide-open tear-
less eyes.
She was " alone with her dead " and nothing mat-
tered any more now.
She remained motionless for several long moments,
while over her head something that resembled eternity
seemed to pass b3', on beautiful, terrible, beating wings.
Then she rose up upon her feet.
" She shall never have him ! " she murmured. " She
shall never have him ! "
She tore from her waist a strongly-woven embroid-
ered cord, the long tassels of which hung down at her
side. She dragged the dead man to the very edge of
the water. With an incredible effort, she raised him
up till he leant, limp and heavy, against her own body.
Then, supporting him with difficulty, and with dif-
ficulty keeping herself from sinking under his weight,
she twisted the cord round them both, and tied it in a
secure knot. Holding him thus before her, with his
chin resting on her shoulder, she staggered forward
into the water.
It was not easy to advance, and her heart seemed
on the point of breaking with the strain. But the
savage thought that she was taking him away from
Nance — from Nance and from every one — to pos-
sess him herself forever, gave her a supernatural
strength.
It seemed as though the demon of madness, which
460 RODMOOR
had passed from Adrian at the last, and left him free,
had entered into her.
If that was indeed the case, it is more than likely that
when she fell at last — fell backwards under his weight
beneath the waves — it was rather with a mad ecstasy
of abandonment that she drank the choking water, than
with any hopeless struggle to escape the end she had
willed.
Bound tightly together, both by the girl's clinging
arms and by the cord she had fastened round them,
the North Sea as it drew back in the outflowing of its
tide, carried their bodies forth into the darkness.
Far from land it carried them — under the misty
unseeing sky — far from misery and madness, and when
the dawn came trembling at last over the restless ex-
panse of water, it found only the white sea-horses and
the white sea-birds. Those two had sunk together; out
of reach of humanity, out of reach of Rodmoor.
THE END
n
"Ill II Ml II II 1. ... . ry
AA OOQeogj4y
mW^fif/,^X„9f.P'^^ RIVER;
ffif
JBflAPY
'III
3 1210 01097 7401
U , -^