| 
 
 T ^^^^'^V^V^VV" 
 
 Ex Libris ', 
 C. K. OGDEN 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 MONICA GREY
 
 THE MOTTO OF THIS BOOK 
 
 ' IN the measure that thou seekest to 
 do thy duty, thou shalt know what 
 is in thee. And what is thy duty ? 
 The demand of the present hour.'
 
 MONICA GREY 
 
 BY 
 
 LADY HELY-HUTCHINSON 
 
 LONDON 
 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET 
 1900
 
 Edinburgh : T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers 10 Her Majesty
 
 Pfr 
 
 Io 
 
 H 
 
 THE DEDICATION 
 
 To my sister women, for whose strained hearts 
 my own has ached in unavailing sympathy all 
 through these long days of agonising suspense 
 and anxiety, I dedicate my book. 
 
 We might not say, with those we sent forth in 
 sorrowful pride 
 
 ' Ours not to wonder why, 
 Ours but to do and die.' 
 
 It was our lot to wonder why. It was not ours 
 to die. At first we could not see, through our 
 blinding tears, which way the hand of duty 
 pointed, and some of us may have asked in our 
 deep despair, ( Has God no use for these poor 
 hearts of ours, that are eating themselves out 
 in dumb verlassenheit ? ' 
 
 / believe He willed us, first of all, to wipe away 
 our tears, so that we might discern His purpose 
 for us. I believe He called us to put on our
 
 vi MONICA GREY 
 
 armour of calm trust and willing service, so that 
 He might set us in our allotted place in the battle 
 of life. Let us not murmur if that place our 
 very own allotted place, remember is not in the 
 showy Jighting line. 
 
 This year God's gift has come to us torn, 
 bleeding, tortured. But none the less is it His 
 gift: for love of the Giver, we must receive it 
 tenderly. 
 
 ' My love Thou sentest oft to me, 
 And still as oft I thrust it back. 
 
 But when I sent my love to Thee 
 Thou, with a smile, didst take it in ! ' 
 
 Let us accept God's gift, tend it, and nourish 
 it, and offer it up to Him, glorified by the service 
 of our steadfast loving hearts. He will not disdain 
 the offering of a nation's sorrowing womanhood. Is 
 this a little thing which He has asked us to do for 
 Him ? Each of the brave true hearts out there is 
 striving to perform its utmost duty. Is it nothing 
 that they can rest on our calm confidence and love, 
 as on a rock that cannot be shaken ? 
 
 Believe that in God's own Heart every pang of 
 the silent martyrdom of these days of anguish is 
 stored and treasured up ; that no beloved life
 
 THE DEDICATION vii 
 
 snapped on the battlefield was ended there ; that the 
 dropped thread of hope, and endeavour, and earnest 
 purpose, will be gathered up by and by in the 
 radiant dawn which shall surely break upon a 
 heaven of victory. 
 
 Remember Seneca's story of' what Caedicius said 
 to his men, on the eve of a desperate action: 
 ' Soldiers ! it is necessary for us to go, but it is 
 not necessary for us to return ! ' 
 
 Our offering must be as complete as theirs. 
 
 M. H. H. 
 
 December 1899.
 
 MONICA GREY 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ' Immortal ? I feel it and know it. 
 Who doubts it of such as she ? 
 But that is the pang's very secret 
 Immortal away from me ! 
 
 ' Your logic, my friend, is perfect, 
 
 Your morals most dreamily true ; 
 But since the earth clashed on her coffin, 
 I keep hearing that, and not you.' 
 
 THE story of Monica is a gift. Some 
 may think it so small a gift as hardly to 
 be worth the giving. ' But,' said a very 
 wise and helpful friend to me once, when 
 I was bewailing the trifling result of 
 months of arduous effort effort which 
 I had hoped would have borne fruit not 
 unworthy the acceptance of the Lord of 
 the harvest ' the value of a thing in 
 God's eyes is precisely what it has cost.'
 
 I know the woman, whose life-story this 
 is, would, in a sense, have shrunk from 
 letting the light of publicity fall upon 
 the bitter struggle and failure, as she 
 thought it, of the last years of her life. 
 ' Failure ' it might have been, in the eyes 
 of those who do not know, or will not 
 admit, the wellnigh limitless power of 
 our unregenerate human nature to bring 
 the better self, the germ of which lies 
 hidden in the heart of even the vilest 
 and lowest, into a subjection against 
 which that better self rebels. Every 
 thought and act of hers was so innocently 
 pure, that the fact that many mortals are 
 not endowed from birth with the same 
 instinctive purity, but have, with infinite 
 difficulty, to find, and then to clothe 
 themselves in, the garments of righteous- 
 ness, was quite beyond her grasp. And 
 perhaps she was hard on those who fell 
 at least, until just before the end. Hard 
 on the ignorance which so often has no 
 opportunities for discovering that only 
 God can give the power to fight, and 
 conquer, the mighty influences of passion
 
 MONICA GREY 3 
 
 and of sex. The foe is so strong ! No 
 strategy, no new and deadly weapons, 
 not even courage and hardihood, will avail 
 against him. Nothing but the grace of 
 God. It was only as she recognised the 
 triumph of her highest and noblest 
 instincts over the weakness and tempta- 
 tion of her own flesh, that Monica realised 
 what the struggle must be to others. If, 
 by the unfolding of her lived-out experi- 
 ence, I can bring home to some sore 
 heart the truth for which my dear lady 
 died that sacrifice is always better than 
 indulgence, whether the love be what the 
 world smiles on as legitimate, or of that 
 sad kind which the customs and traditions 
 of a pseudo-moral society refuse to autho- 
 rise I shall be very ready to go too. 
 She herself, perhaps, never realised how 
 a story of sorrow and effort, borne in 
 silence and secret, might serve as a help 
 and warning to others. * Surely,' I have 
 heard her say, ' it is wiser to keep silence 
 than to let a spiteful world rejoice over 
 the admission that moral integrity has 
 been overridden by fleshly lust ! ' I want
 
 4 MONICA GREY 
 
 her story to serve to help and encourage 
 those whose feet must tread the same 
 stony places, by the knowledge that 
 another, weak and tempted like them- 
 selves, had come through the dark places 
 unharmed, unsoiled, triumphant, pure, 
 and glad, acknowledging the wisdom and 
 justice which compelled her to look 
 above and beyond this world of denial, 
 to the heaven where love must flow in 
 the right direction. Perhaps, after all, 
 the story of the struggle, the long 
 martyrdom, and the final triumph (for 
 to some natures the slavery of an illegiti- 
 mate love is martyrdom) could not have 
 been told, but for the death, before her 
 own, of the man she had so dearly loved, 
 and for whose salvation she had so 
 willingly taken up the cross of sacrifice 
 and silence. They are all gone now. 
 The daisies and violets have bloomed 
 and withered over those two for many 
 a year. Her husband has married again. 
 He must have forgotten her. Her boys 
 are scattered. Not forgetful, they but 
 the memory of the mother who left them
 
 MONICA GREY 5 
 
 in their childhood must perforce be dim 
 and blurred. I sit here in my lonely 
 rooms, and I never forget. To me the 
 world is all dark and dreary. It has 
 been dark and dreary ever since she left 
 it. I shall go soon and I shall be glad 
 to go. But I will leave her message 
 behind me. Perhaps it may brighten 
 some poor life.
 
 MONICA GREY 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ' This above all to thine own self be true. ' 
 
 SHE married, very young, a man nearly 
 twice her age, Sir Francis Grey. He 
 had sat for Ashbourne for nearly sixteen 
 years, and had made his mark in the 
 political world. He was deliberately 
 looking out for a wife when they first 
 met, at a shooting-party, in her father's 
 house. He had not been a day in her 
 society before he decided that he need 
 look no further afield. She was beautiful 
 and healthy, and the fact, which he soon 
 learned, that she had her own fortune, 
 inherited from her mother's sister, did 
 not lessen her attractions in his eyes. 
 Her family was old enough, and notable 
 enough, to make the connection very 
 useful to him in his public career. She
 
 MONICA GREY 7 
 
 was a trifle too serious -minded and 
 strait-laced, perhaps. A wife who has 
 a greater respect for the world, the flesh, 
 and the devil or for expediency, as this 
 desirable trio is decently named, now- 
 adaysmight possibly have been able to 
 make his home a greater centre of attrac- 
 tion to social and political butterflies. 
 ' But after all,' he reflected, ' in these days, 
 society really does err on the side of 
 leniency, and overdoes its partiality for 
 butterflies of every description. This 
 serious, steadfast girl may be more useful, 
 on the whole. And she will be so safe ! 
 No necessity for looking after her ! She 
 will take excellent care of herself, and 
 there need be no serious interruption to 
 my own regular, methodical, well-planned 
 existence. Besides, she is so thoroughly 
 amiable, she will be only too ready to 
 adapt herself to the career of a man 
 whose reputation is decidedly above the 
 ordinary level, both morally and men- 
 tally ! ' 
 
 So Sir Francis proposed. And she, 
 with her enthusiasm and her ideals,
 
 8 MONICA GREY 
 
 accepted this opening, as she thought 
 it, into a wider sphere of usefulness, 
 without a misgiving. 
 
 In her simplicity and trustfulness, she 
 thanked God for sending her a husband 
 and guide, on whose judgment she could 
 implicitly rely, both in worldly and 
 spiritual matters. By and by she was 
 to learn how deep is the gulf between 
 principle and plausibility, and how in- 
 numerable are the aspects of what men 
 call love. Her husband's powers of 
 observation and discernment cannot have 
 been keen, or he must have noticed the 
 fervour of her love for God, and 'the 
 thing that is right.' He must have per- 
 ceived the depth of feeling of which she 
 was capable, and would not have remained 
 content with the deferential, unemotional 
 attitude she always maintained in her 
 intercourse with him. She was indis- 
 pensable to her father, and worshipped 
 by her brothers and sisters, who were 
 broken-hearted at the idea of her leav- 
 ing the family circle. Often, before her 
 marriage and after it, as I watched the
 
 MONICA GREY 9 
 
 beautiful nature expand and develop, I 
 wondered what earthly experiences could 
 possibly suffice to fill that great heart, 
 when once it awoke. Now I know that 
 nothing but sorrow could have filled it. 
 Now I have learned that sorrow is the 
 highest emotion of which the human 
 heart is capable. But, till I saw how 
 the tumbling waves of sorrow swept her 
 ever nearer to the celestial haven, I had 
 not really understood those words of 
 Thomas a Kempis, ' If there had been 
 anything better and more available for 
 man's salvation than to suffer, surely 
 Christ would have shown it, by word 
 or by example.' 
 
 During the first ten years of their 
 married life, three children were born 
 to them, all boys. She was always 
 calmly happy, devoted to her babies 
 and interested in her home. When the 
 perpetual entertaining which her husband 
 considered indispensable wearied her, she 
 would fly for rest and relaxation to her 
 nursery. She made time, too, for philan- 
 thropic work. When children or old
 
 10 MONICA GREY 
 
 people were sick or in trouble, she was 
 always ready with help and comfort. 
 Rescue work among women and young 
 girls she never touched, after one dis- 
 astrous attempt to share the duties of 
 an all-night vigil in an East-End Home 
 of Mercy with her friend, Mrs. Lumley. 
 Patient and speechless she sat, till her 
 friend, suddenly realising the torture she 
 was undergoing, took her home. In vain 
 she told her, next day, that the endeavour 
 to save the poor castaways was not 
 always a hopeless task. In vain she 
 tried to convince her that many good 
 women worked among them without 
 being overwhelmed by the horror and 
 sadness of it all. She was convinced 
 that nothing but madness or drink could 
 bring a human being so low. * There is 
 hope if we can but kindle the very tiniest 
 spark of the " will " to do right,' pleaded 
 Mrs. Lumley. Monica held to her con- 
 viction that God had their precious souls 
 in His safe keeping, but that their bodies, 
 alas ! were past retrieval. 
 
 When I went, a day or two later, to
 
 MONICA GREY 11 
 
 pay my usual Sunday afternoon visit, 
 she told me of this terrible experience ; 
 speaking of it as a thing past and done 
 with, a dreadful dream, and with a 
 pathetic hope that this great glimpse 
 of evil she had unwillingly obtained, 
 would not prevent her from teaching her 
 boys, as simply and honestly as before, 
 the powerlessness of sin over those who 
 willed to do right. 
 
 How little she knew, sweet soul ! and 
 how little does the world know or under- 
 stand of a great simple nature like hers ! 
 There are incredulous scoffers, only too 
 many of them, who will deny that any 
 woman of thirty could be of a simplicity 
 so inherent and profound as to pre- 
 clude her consciousness of the existence 
 of any force, moral or carnal, ready to 
 wage unexpected war against her resolve 
 to live pure and undefiled, strain all her 
 powers of resistance, and drive her to her 
 knees in passionate pleading for protec- 
 tion against this hitherto unsuspected 
 * self,' which is, alas ! one of the most 
 formidable disguises of the Tempter. To
 
 12 MONICA GREY 
 
 her, when the trial came, it seemed a 
 cruelty that love and trust should be 
 used as weapons in the hands of the 
 Master of all evil. Did God permit 
 the fiend to masquerade in the garb of 
 the spontaneous affections of the human 
 heart? Looking on at this human 
 drama, I learned how a woman's weak- 
 ness, as well as her strength, lies in her 
 boundless trust in man. If we realised 
 this, should we betray the trust? She 
 gives herself, that priceless gift ! gives 
 it, nine times out of ten, because it is the 
 only means, so far as she knows, whereby 
 to secure that protection of which, in 
 her weakness and powerlessness to fight 
 against the world, she stands so sorely 
 in need. Poor, credulous, weak, ignorant 
 Eve ! Blindly she has stumbled on 
 through the centuries, loving, and trust- 
 ing, and betrayed clinging fast to her 
 fallacious instinct. And now, we men 
 must stand aside, and watch the evolution 
 of the ' New Woman ' of the revolt 
 against the treachery of the past the 
 New Woman, strong, sure of herself,
 
 MONICA GREY 13 
 
 uncertain of man: and, as it seems to me, 
 on the perilous road to the destruction 
 of all that is noblest in the race, in that 
 she is robbing man of that most inspiring 
 of all incentives, her trust in him.
 
 14 MONICA GREY 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 1 Joys are our wings ; sorrows are our spurs. ' 
 
 How well I remember the day on which 
 she first met the man who turned her 
 commonplace world into a radiant 
 romance ! It was at a garden-party at 
 Stone Court, the Greys' country house. 
 The old-fashioned gardens lay basking 
 in the brilliant sunshine of a perfect July 
 day. The air was full of the scent of 
 honeysuckle and syringa. Great masses 
 of purple clematis hung luxuriantly over 
 the grey stone balustrades of the terraces, 
 and the roses Monica's great pride and 
 delight clustered everywhere in extra- 
 vagant profusion. The whole county 
 and his wife were there, and a great 
 many of their children too. Monica's 
 boys had inherited their parents' hospit- 
 able instincts, and as they led their little
 
 MONICA GREY 15 
 
 guests into all their own most sacred 
 haunts in shrubbery and garden, their 
 ringing voices and quick movements 
 banished the dull monotony which is the 
 curse of most afternoon entertainments. 
 They had wheedled me into asking their 
 mother to allow them each 'just one 
 more ' plate of strawberries and cream. 
 Monica was smilingly granting leave for 
 'really the very last,' when a belated 
 carriage drew up at the corner of the 
 shrubbery, by the far end of the lawn, 
 near the great syringa bush. 
 
 ' Monica,' said her husband in an 
 undertone, 'that's the Abbotsford party. 
 I told you Graham had asked leave to 
 bring poor Ronald Lindsay to see your 
 roses. It is the first time he has been 
 any distance since his accident. Please 
 take charge of him, and do the civil. 
 He may be very useful politically.' 
 
 She did not catch the last sentence. 
 She had moved swiftly away towards 
 the three figures which had by now 
 descended from the carriage, one of 
 them, as she saw, with extreme difficulty.
 
 16 MONICA GREY 
 
 As she came up to them, Mr. Graham 
 had just handed the tall invalid his 
 crutches, and Mrs. Graham was as 
 usual talking at the top of her voice, 
 hardly pausing to take breath between 
 her sentences. 
 
 *Ah! dear Lady Monica, you will 
 forgive our coming so late but Mr. 
 Lindsay isn't up to much, and I thought 
 you would be more free towards the 
 end of the afternoon, and able to take 
 him round your rose-garden. You see 
 your other guests will spare you with a 
 better grace now than earlier ! It is the 
 privilege of invalids to be selfish, and 
 claim undivided attention, poor dears ! 
 Oh ! by the bye, let me introduce him to 
 you. I forgot. Of course you haven't 
 metl Mr. Ronald Lindsay, Lady Monica 
 Grey. Poor man ! the first time he 
 hunted in these parts after succeeding 
 to his old uncle's estates, he nearly 
 killed himself. Still I have brought you 
 what is left of him ! He is a much nicer 
 neighbour than his cross-grained old 
 uncle, and when he is well again
 
 MONICA GREY 17 
 
 Monica had been standing quite quietly 
 close to the syringa bush, waiting for the 
 prattler to exhaust herself. The transient 
 look of pain in Lindsay's eyes, as Mrs. 
 Graham alluded so lightly to that time 
 when he would be ' well,' did not escape 
 her. Unconsciously she raised her hand, 
 and breaking off the twig of syringa that 
 brushed her sleeve, she half tendered it 
 to him as one offers a distraction to a 
 child when it is hurt. I saw her take it 
 back quickly, as she suddenly realised 
 that his hands were filled by those un- 
 accustomed, pitiful crutches, and silence 
 and breathlessness falling simultaneously 
 on Mrs. Graham, she said gently and 
 I thought there was healing consolation 
 in her very tone ' I should like to show 
 you my rose-garden : will you come ? ' 
 As they turned away together from the 
 others, she gave him a direct glance of 
 complete sympathy and understanding 
 which soothed and calmed him, and 
 helped him to forget the humiliation of 
 his physical helplessness. She led him 
 to a comfortable garden-chair. * Don't
 
 18 MONICA GREY 
 
 think it necessary to talk or to admire,' 
 she said tranquilly ; ' you will have a per- 
 fect view of all my favourites from here, 
 and you shall rest, while I collect you 
 specimens.' * Thank you : how good you 
 are to me ! ' he said with a sigh of relief ; 
 * I am ashamed to be so tired ! ' 
 
 He leant back, serenely enjoying the 
 brilliant mass of colour before his eyes, 
 and watched her as she moved about 
 from tree to tree, gathering the most 
 beautiful blossoms for his delectation. 
 Long after, he told me how perfect it 
 had all seemed to him the woman, the 
 flowers, the exquisite day. For the first 
 time since his accident, contentment 
 settled down upon him, and he wondered, 
 after all, whether he wasn't happier sit- 
 ting so and watching life, than taking 
 his old active part in it. To him had 
 come, in this bright sunny garden, with- 
 out warning or anticipation, a glimpse 
 of the true fulness of existence. Such 
 moments come to all of us, once or twice 
 in a lifetime. But how few recognise 
 the wonder of them, or understand their
 
 MONICA -GREY 19 
 
 meaning! That Lindsay was so quick 
 to welcome the blessing when it came 
 was due, perhaps, to the sharpening of 
 his perception by weary months of pain. 
 That he did recognise, and welcome, was 
 undeniable, and for just that little blissful 
 half-hour he revelled in his new-found 
 heaven, with Monica for its presiding 
 goddess, and forgot the bitter certainty 
 of his crippled future. 
 
 For weeks he had turned with the 
 peevishness of a disheartening and partial 
 convalescence, and a perverseness not 
 natural to him, from the interests of his 
 former life. No one could stir his old 
 enthusiasms. The duties and respon- 
 sibilities inseparable from his succession 
 to his uncle's large estates were nothing 
 but a weariness to him. But a different 
 mood fell on him as he sat among the 
 roses and watched this beautiful woman, 
 whose eyes seemed to shed a boundless 
 healing sympathy upon him. She came 
 back to him, and laying an armful of 
 roses on the little table beside him, smil- 
 ingly bade him admire and enjoy.
 
 20 MONICA GREY 
 
 ' Is this an enchanted garden ? ' he 
 asked, smiling back at her. * I almost feel 
 resigned to being a useless cripple. Per- 
 haps, if you would let me come here 
 again perhaps, by degrees, even the old 
 love of work for its own sake might come 
 back to me 1 ' 
 
 ' I am so glad ! ' said Monica cordially. 
 ' Come as often as you like. We are 
 such near neighbours ! At any rate, you 
 can take comfort from the thought that 
 your state of mind cannot be so desperate 
 as you imagined, if it can be so speedily 
 cured by the sight of my roses ! When- 
 ever you feel symptoms of a relapse, all 
 you have to do is to drive three miles, 
 walk fifty yards, and here you will be in 
 your enchanted garden ! Now you must 
 have some tea,' she said, as a servant 
 approached with a tray, 'and I must 
 leave you for a few minutes, and say 
 good-bye to my guests. Stay quietly 
 here, no one will disturb you, and I will 
 come back presently.' 
 
 ' I must be getting stronger, and so 
 returning to a more healthy frame of
 
 MONICA GREY 21 
 
 mind,' he mused, smiling to himself as 
 she disappeared : ' even waiting doesn't 
 bore me now.' He toyed idly with the 
 roses, trying to remember, with that 
 absorbed and childlike interest in details 
 familiar to those who have known con- 
 valescence, how she had looked as she 
 plucked the red roses, and what she had 
 said as she stooped to gather the dark 
 orange one that grew so near the ground. 
 There was the syringa too ; perhaps she 
 had meant to put it in her belt. How 
 well it would have looked there ! and it 
 was so sweet ! Why should he not put 
 it in his own coat ? And then as he 
 slipped it into his button-hole he remem- 
 bered how she had half offered it to him. 
 . . . This new glory which was flooding 
 his life was quite independent of any 
 forces over which he had control. . . . 
 It was at no summons of his that this 
 sun had leaped up over the gloomy land- 
 scape of his ruined life, transforming it 
 ... all had been swallowed up in dark- 
 ness one short half-hour before. . . . What 
 was this radiance ? . , Whence did it
 
 22 MONICA GREY 
 
 come ? ... It was not the mere exist- 
 ence of this woman which had changed 
 the aspect of life for him ; it was the 
 feeling for her which had suddenly filled 
 his heart a feeling which he knew in his 
 soul was more than human in its origin. 
 Was she to reveal to him a corner of that 
 boundless empire of the Higher Love of 
 which some men raved, while others, like 
 himself, listened to their talk with scep- 
 tical contempt ? He felt that if the veil 
 were lifted ever so little, life could never 
 be the same again. He would have gained 
 something of which no power on earth 
 could ever deprive him. . . . The hand to 
 raise the veil might wear a wedding-ring 
 not of his giving . . . still he would have 
 had his glimpse of Paradise. . . . Since 
 no one can learn the secrets of that king- 
 dom, or impart them to others, save at 
 the will of the Supreme Sovereign, it 
 could not be that, when He sent that 
 wonderful message of love and hope by 
 her, the gift must be enjoyed apart from 
 her. . . . No ! that was impossible, un- 
 just . . . the boon would have no mean-
 
 MONICA GREY 23 
 
 ing, apart from her. It was a gift that 
 could not be reclaimed, even by the 
 divinity of love if such there was and 
 nothing could henceforth eradicate this 
 mysterious impress. . . . Swiftly these 
 fancies flashed across his mental horizon. 
 
 When he lifted his eyes, he saw Monica 
 coming up the path towards him. The 
 spontaneous desire to rise and go to meet 
 her would not be denied, and his impo- 
 tence and his crutches were forgotten. 
 An involuntary cry escaped him, and she 
 sprang forward, just in time to catch his 
 outstretched hands and save him from 
 falling. 
 
 ' Roses don't cure so quickly : you are 
 too rash ! Here are your poor despised 
 crutches,' she said, smiling at his eager- 
 ness, and putting a crutch into each of 
 the hands which, but a moment ago, had 
 clung so helplessly to her own. * Don't 
 treat them with contempt ! They will 
 help you down to my favourite walk, 
 where we shall get the most beautiful 
 view in the county.' Her calm uncon- 
 sciousness soothed and steadied him, and
 
 24 MONICA GREY 
 
 long before they reached the carriage the 
 new delicious feeling of peace and con- 
 tentment had taken possession of him 
 once more. 
 
 * I hope I have not tired him,' said 
 Monica penitently to Mrs. Graham ; ' he 
 must rest when he gets home. You will, 
 won't you ? ' she added, turning to him, 
 ' or you won't be allowed to come again ! ' 
 
 * I will,' he said, in a tone that was 
 almost reverent. ' Perhaps you will allow 
 me to report progress in a day or two.' 
 
 ' Run, boys ! and tell your mother she '11 
 be late for dinner,' said Grey ten minutes 
 later. ' She has forgotten our meeting at 
 Colstone to-night. How unlike her ! ' and 
 he sauntered across the lawn to meet 
 her. 
 
 She was standing by the syringa bush, 
 and gazing dreamily down the drive, 
 from which the carriage containing the 
 Grahams and Lindsay had long since dis- 
 appeared. She turned towards us as the 
 avalanche of children descended upon her, 
 with a happy, dreamy look on her face,
 
 MONICA GREY 25 
 
 which even the riotous shouts of the boys 
 had not dispelled, and yet her first words 
 were sad. ' What a tragedy the wreck of 
 that man's health is!' she said, as we took 
 our way across the grass to the house. 
 ' You know him, don't you ? Has he 
 resources in himself to fall back upon, 
 when the first shock and the reaction are 
 over ? ' 
 
 ' He is more fitted than any one I know 
 to cope with this wrecking of his life, as 
 you call it,' I assured her. * He is a clever 
 fellow, and a good fellow, and has endless 
 patience and determination in pursuing 
 any object he sets his heart on, so life can 
 never be quite devoid of interest to him. 
 He knows, though the doctors and nurses 
 encouraged him at first with promises of 
 complete recovery, that there is no hope 
 of his regaining real health and activity. 
 He knows his spine is damaged. He will 
 never ride again, and he must be thankful 
 if the use of his limbs is even partially 
 restored to him. He will drill himself 
 into willingness to lead a very different 
 life from the vigorous, joyous existence of
 
 26 MONICA GREY 
 
 his youth, poor fellow. But it will take 
 time. Just now, of course, the disap- 
 pointment is fresh and sharp, and he sees 
 nothing but the gloomy side. But he is 
 better already, dear lady, for seeing you,' 
 I added cheerily, * and you ought to be 
 glad you have it in your power to brighten 
 his dull life for him.' 
 
 ' Oh ! can I help him ?' she cried, turn- 
 ing to me with a bright look. * I am so 
 sorry for him, and I should be so glad to 
 lighten the load ! ' Then resolutely shak- 
 ing off her depression, she called to the 
 boys to try who would get up to her room 
 first, and disappeared, hotly pursued by 
 six sturdy legs. 
 
 All through dinner, and the dull poli- 
 tical meeting in the village four miles 
 off, she was radiant. Though naturally 
 a rather silent woman, she spoke well and 
 convincingly to some vacillating voters, 
 winning them over to Grey's side, and 
 earning, by her warm support of his cause, 
 a few rare words of thanks and praise 
 from her husband as we drove home.
 
 MONICA GREY 27 
 
 She threw a cheery salutation to me 
 over her shoulder, as she went through 
 the red baize door which shut off the 
 nurseries from the gallery and hall. 
 
 She never missed this good-night visit, 
 night after night, going from bed to bed 
 with soft tread, kissing each chubby round 
 cheek, and covering up the truant limbs 
 with loving hands. 
 
 I doubt if there were many mothers 
 to equal her for tenderness and gentle 
 wisdom. She held the whole confidence 
 of her boys, and studied each character 
 and temperament with infinite care and 
 attention a study which absorbed and 
 interested her beyond all others. Both 
 in their work and play they always found 
 ' Mother ' their greatest ' chum ' and sym- 
 pathiser. 
 
 It must have been very late when 
 Monica reached her own room, but time, 
 so she told me afterwards, did not seem 
 to exist for her that night. She moved 
 in a charmed atmosphere of boundless 
 leisure, serenely unconscious of either self 
 or circumstance.
 
 28 MONICA GREY 
 
 She dismissed her maid, and, mechani- 
 cally preparing for the night, knelt down 
 as usual to say her prayers. No ! Not as 
 usual. To-night she seemed to kneel in 
 the warmth and radiance of a heavenly 
 light, and poured out the worship and 
 gratitude of a rapturous heart. And 
 yet, she did not realise that this was the 
 red-letter day of her life. She was under 
 the influence of an undefined, luminous 
 exaltation : spiritual rather than physical. 
 In her reading she turned instinctively to 
 the Nunc Dimittis, singing it over and 
 over again to the new perfected tune of 
 happiness in her heart ; lingering over 
 the words of hope and promise in an 
 ecstasy of devotion, familiar but trans- 
 formed. She, too, had reached the ful- 
 ness of life the utmost limit of unsought, 
 unquestioning happiness the springtide 
 of her existence. 
 
 The waters were to carry her high up 
 on the rocks of experience, and to her, 
 as to others, was to come the trial of 
 strength. Would her battle with the 
 waves brace her for the supreme moment ?
 
 MONICA GREY 29 
 
 Or would the ebbing tide carry her 
 nerveless and powerless back into the 
 waters of temptation and failure ? 
 
 When she came down to breakfast next 
 morning there was a renewed vitality and 
 joyousness about her, infectious and in- 
 spiring to us all. 
 
 By some curious, telepathic sympathy 
 with her mood a mood she could not 
 have diagnosed herself my thoughts 
 flew back to an animated argument we 
 had had some weeks before about the 
 vulgar misapplication and interpretation 
 of the word * love. ' 
 
 I had told her the story of a young 
 fellow who had 'fallen in love' with a 
 woman whose sole redeeming virtue was 
 her beauty, and who had steadily gone to 
 the bad ever since. 
 
 ' It was not love,' she had said 
 emphatically, with a characteristic little 
 stamp of her foot. 'No love can be 
 bad, or cause any one to fall. It can 
 only raise the one who loves and the one 
 who is loved ; it is God's own means of
 
 30 MONICA GREY 
 
 touching the hearts which can be reached 
 no other way. It is essentially good, 
 because it emanates from God, the source 
 of all love. It is the only link which 
 keeps earth in touch with heaven. 
 Nothing can harm it, and it is not 
 possible that it can bring harm or suffer- 
 ing to any human being. You must 
 never hint, or say again to me, that love 
 can degrade ! ' she concluded, with that 
 imperious poise of her beautiful head and 
 unanswerable tone of voice which never 
 failed to silence, if it did not convince, 
 even so inveterate an arguer as myself. 
 * There is no such thing as a bad love ! ' 
 she repeated. 
 
 No one could help being convinced of 
 the absolute truth of her assertion as far 
 as she herself was concerned. It was pre- 
 posterous even to think of a love losing 
 its divine purity by passing through her 
 heart. But alas ! humanity at large 
 draws far different conclusions. To it, 
 the word * love ' means the disguise under 
 which innumerable forms of vice and 
 licence masquerade. Surely it is this
 
 MONICA GREY 31 
 
 misuse of the beautiful word which has 
 so blinded the world to its true meaning 
 and origin ! It is because of its habitual 
 and exclusive identification with mere 
 passion that we fail to perceive its 
 divine power of healing and adjustment, 
 of both of which poor human nature 
 stands so piteously in need. But in spite 
 of misapplication, the intrinsic virtue and 
 efficacy of any divine attribute must 
 remain. Monica refused to admit that a 
 divftie attribute can be misapplied. 
 
 * Mother, Mr. Lindsay left all his roses 
 on the table in the rose-garden. May 
 we ride over to Broadlands this morning 
 and take them back to him ? ' said Dick, 
 the eldest boy, who had been carrying on 
 a subdued argument on the subject with 
 Clement, of which I had become more 
 or less conscious during the last few 
 minutes. 
 
 ' Not those, dear : I will cut some fresh 
 ones, and you can take a note too, and 
 bring me back word how he is.' 
 
 Their scurrying feet and joyous 
 clamour, as they flew off to get ready
 
 32 MONICA GREY 
 
 for their ride, bore testimony to the 
 eagerness with which the urchins looked 
 forward to their incursion into a new and 
 unexplored country, so dear to the heart 
 of boys. Half an hour later, their 
 mother and I watched the little lithe 
 figures canter down the drive, followed 
 by the groom, whose serenity was far 
 more disturbed by having to deal with a 
 basket of roses than it would have been 
 by a bucking horse. 
 
 Monica and I spent the rest of the 
 morning deeply immersed in the Village 
 Library accounts, which had got into a 
 hopeless state of confusion in the 'prentice 
 hands of one of the Vicar's 'lame dogs.' 
 The Vicar was one of those kind-hearted, 
 unpractical men, incapable of saying ' no,' 
 and consequently giving others generally 
 Monica the trouble of making his square 
 pegs fit into round holes. 
 
 * Why did the Vicar give that poor 
 incompetent beggar such a post ? ' I 
 said, when we had succeeded in making 
 out that three items had never been 
 posted from the diary to the ledger, that
 
 MONICA GREY 33 
 
 the missing two pounds had been entered 
 by mistake on the credit instead of the 
 debit account, and that there were no 
 assets ! ' After all, it might have been 
 much worse, but it would be interesting 
 to know what his qualifications for the 
 post really were.' 
 
 'Merely that he was a beggar, I 
 believe,' said Monica. * He could read 
 French, and understands something about 
 hydraulics useful endowments in the 
 abstract ! The Vicar is the last man to 
 take the special fitness of an applicant 
 for any post into consideration. He 
 won't even be grateful to us for our 
 morning's toil ! But no matter, it 's 
 done ! ' With a great sigh of relief she 
 closed the big ledger, and pushed it aside. 
 ' But how late it is ! and the boys not 
 home yet ! I hope nothing has happened 
 to them ! ' she added wistfully, as she 
 moved over to the window, and looked 
 out Then joyfully, 'No, here they 
 come ! But only Dick, and the groom 
 leading Clement's pony, and a carriage 
 following ! Oh ! my little Clem, what
 
 34 MONICA GREY 
 
 can have happened ? ' she half sobbed, as 
 she flew past me to the hall. 
 
 As we reached the front door, the 
 carriage drew up, and Mr. Lindsay, on 
 seeing the poor mother's anxious face, 
 called out reassuringly, ' He 's all right, 
 Lady Monica, it is only a sprain. 
 Speak up, Clem, and tell your mother 
 it didn't hurt much.' 
 
 ' It 's all right, mother darling,' said 
 the boy. ' All the best ones were at the 
 top of the tree, and I got on a rotten 
 branch. They were such beauties ! We Ve 
 brought you some.' 
 
 ' Dear little son, thank you ! I shall 
 enjoy them,' she said with a little 
 unsteady smile, as she lifted him out of 
 the carriage. Then turning to Lindsay, 
 she thanked him gently for bringing the 
 child home. 
 
 * I would have sent you word,' he said, 
 'but as the doctor was on the spot, 
 paying me his usual daily visit, it seemed 
 the simplest plan to have his wrist 
 bandaged at once, and bring him straight 
 back to you. Dr. Scott says it is a very
 
 MONICA GREY 35 
 
 simple matter, and will soon mend. He 
 will call and see the child to-morrow, and 
 set your heart at rest about him.' 
 
 * Hullo ! what has happened ? ' said 
 Grey, crossing the hall, and joining us at 
 the door. * Clem in trouble ? Poor boy, 
 poor boy ! Well, you Ve got your mother 
 to take care of you ! Come in and have 
 some luncheon, Lindsay. Don't sit out 
 there. I suppose they Ve all been too 
 busy condoling with this small wounded 
 warrior, to think of anybody else ! ' 
 
 ' Thanks, yes, I will. But I Ve left my 
 crutches at home in the scramble. Give 
 me a stick and an arm, Mordaunt,' he 
 said, turning to me. ' No, not yours, 
 Lady Monica,' as she held out her hand 
 to help him. ' I mustn't be responsible 
 for two broken arms in the family in one 
 morning ! ' 
 
 ' I declare, you look ever so much 
 better than you did yesterday, Lindsay,' 
 said Grey cheerily, as we sat down to 
 luncheon. ' Is it the boy, or the excite- 
 ment of Jiis accident, that has given 
 you a fillip ? '
 
 36 MONICA GREY 
 
 ' Both, I fancy,' responded Lindsay 
 with a smile. ' It is a novel experience 
 having some one besides myself to be 
 anxious about. I wish you would let the 
 little fellow come and stay with me for 
 a week that is to say, if he wouldn't 
 mind the dulness of a household un- 
 accustomed to children,' he added, turn- 
 ing to Clem, whose eyes grew round and 
 big at the suggestion. ' Will you let 
 him come, Lady Monica ? ' 
 
 ' To-morrow, perhaps, if the doctor is 
 satisfied with him,' she said, lifting her 
 eyes from the dinner she was cutting up 
 for Clem. * I think it would be just the 
 very best thing for him. We should 
 never be able to keep him quiet at home, 
 and his poor arm would run great risks 
 among his riotous brothers.' 
 
 Dick looked as if he would willingly 
 have put up with any accident, to get a 
 chance of recruiting in that land of new 
 delights. He consoled himself by telling 
 his father of all the wonders they had 
 seen, and the discoveries they had made 
 before Clem fell down from the cherry-
 
 MONICA GREY 37 
 
 tree, Clem, in spite of his white face, 
 showing evident interest in the account. 
 
 'I had no idea Broadlands had such 
 charms,' said the owner, laughing, while 
 the boys turned their attention to their 
 luncheon. Grey and Lindsay began to 
 talk about the new Education Bill before 
 the House, which was not likely to be 
 quietly accepted at their end of the 
 county. 
 
 Monica sat dreamily listening to their 
 conversation, and watching poor Clem's 
 difficulties with his spoon, until I sug- 
 gested that she should eat something 
 herself. 
 
 After luncheon, Grey carried Lindsay 
 off to the smoking-room, asking me to 
 come too, and look over the ground-plans 
 of a reformatory in which they were 
 both interested. 
 
 About an hour later Monica looked in 
 to tell her husband she was going into 
 the village to take back the audited 
 account-books to the librarian, and asked 
 if she could do anything for him. 
 
 ' I shall be back before you start for
 
 38 MONICA GREY 
 
 town,' she said, and turned to go, smiling 
 a good-bye to us all ; then noting the 
 weary look on Ronald's face, she said : 
 * You have quite worn Mr. Lindsay out. 
 Will you let me take you home ? ' she 
 continued, turning to him with contrition 
 in her voice and eyes. * You have been 
 doing too much for that boy of mine, 
 and you forget that you are not strong 
 enough yet. I ought to have been more 
 thoughtful for you since you brought 
 him back. Let me take you home now : 
 it is scarcely out of my way. I shall feel 
 happier about you than if you drive home 
 alone in your own carriage.' 
 
 ' It would be very good of you,' he 
 said with alacrity. ' Are you starting at 
 once ? Grey, will you allow me to take 
 those plans back with me ? I am not 
 quite clear on one or two points, and 
 a little study may throw some light on 
 them. Mordaunt, be my crutch again, 
 like a good fellow.' Then, turning to 
 Monica : ' Ever since I have known him, 
 my lady, he has always been propping up 
 some tottering wall.'
 
 MONICA GREY 39 
 
 * Ah ! well I know it,' said Monica, 
 smiling up at me. * It is curious,' she 
 continued gravely, 'but do- you know 
 that you have seen me through every 
 crisis in my life ? What calamity have 
 you come to save me from this time, 
 I wonder ? Let me have my beautiful 
 summer, and keep this new disaster for 
 the autumn ; or couldn't you even put it 
 off till the winter, when we might be 
 in a sufficiently depressed state of mind 
 to do suitable honour to it, or perhaps 
 even welcome it as a diversion?' she ended 
 laughingly. 
 
 ' Don't speak as if I brought you 
 disaster, dear lady,' I cried, with a sinking 
 presentiment of coming evil in spite of 
 the sunshine and brightness all around ; 
 and the sweet sparkling face looked down 
 at me from the carriage. 
 
 ' Disaster will assuredly overtake poor 
 Lindsay,' I said with forced sharpness, 
 ' if you don't take him home at once and 
 make him rest.' Then I stepped back 
 and waved my hand to them as they 
 drove off.
 
 40 MONICA GREY 
 
 They drove for nearly a mile in silence. 
 Her thoughts were occupied entirely 
 with him, and the tragedy of his wrecked 
 life, and the fulness of her sympathy 
 communicated itself to her quiet com- 
 panion. Presently she turned involun- 
 tarily to look at his handsome face, already, 
 though he was only forty, stamped with 
 deep lines of suffering and despondency. 
 
 He met her pitying gaze with wistful 
 earnestness. Then, as if in obedience to 
 an uncontrollable desire to remain with 
 her longer, he spoke. * Let me drive to 
 the village with you, and you can drop 
 me at Broadlands on the way back.' 
 
 ' Are you sure you are equal to it?' she 
 asked doubtfully, scanning his eager face. 
 
 He did not answer. She hesitated a 
 moment, but the imperious appeal in his 
 eyes made her drop her own. She did 
 not understand, but her fair face flushed 
 as she hastily gave the footman the order 
 to change the route. 
 
 Presently she began to question him 
 gently about himself, his past, his plans 
 for the future.
 
 MONICA GREY 41 
 
 ' Do you know, until yesterday I had 
 no hopes nor plans for the future. There 
 was no to-morrow, only an aching hollow 
 present. I think you have given me 
 back the wish to live and work, with 
 what little strength I have left.' He 
 paused, and then went on : * It is a great 
 thing that you have done for me ; how 
 can I thank you ? ' 
 
 She did not answer for a minute or two, 
 and then slowly, as if trying to argue out 
 some question which perplexed her, and 
 speaking more to herself than to him, she 
 said : 
 
 * Has it never struck you that the sur- 
 prises in our lives, for which we cannot 
 prepare because they are so unforeseen, 
 like your sad accident, affect us less in the 
 long-run than events for which we make 
 ourselves ready with every possible care 
 and forethought? I mean that prepara- 
 tion only seems to show us how hopeless 
 any prevention is. It is as if every pre- 
 caution were a rivet in the certainty of 
 what must come.' 
 
 ' Yes, perhaps,' he said thoughtfully,
 
 42 MONICA GREY 
 
 not quite catching the drift of her idea. 
 'The Fates are not likely to be propitiated 
 by such futile labour. Deliberate pre- 
 paration for a disaster very often is futile ; 
 but isn't that because we try to prepare 
 for some definite occurrence, instead of 
 training the powers of endurance which 
 should help us to meet any disaster with 
 serenity ? I do think that the barbed 
 darts of adverse circumstance and un- 
 foreseen disaster might be blunted, if we 
 would only utilise experience during our 
 days of quietness and prosperity.' He 
 spoke with serious endeavour to reach 
 her unexpressed thought. 
 
 'Yes, that is true,' she said; 'we do 
 underrate experience. But,' she added 
 with a puzzled look, 'even if we did suc- 
 ceed in turning experience into an im- 
 pregnable armour against surprise, only 
 the individual would be saved from pain 
 and sorrow a very selfish sort of satisfac- 
 tion. We could not leave our armour as 
 a heritage to our children.' 
 
 ' Do you think not ? ' he said. ' The 
 sins of the fathers are visited to the third
 
 MONICA GREY 43 
 
 and fourth generation, so we are told. 
 Is it unreasonable to expect the same 
 rule to apply to the virtues ? ' 
 
 'That would be a very beautiful 
 thought,' she said 'if one might only 
 hope that every sensible or unselfish 
 action would lessen one's children's per- 
 plexities and make life easier for them.' 
 
 ' Not easier for them,' interposed 
 Lindsay quickly. ' Why should one 
 wish for that ? The more difficult the 
 task, the more satisfaction in the achieve- 
 ment. Zest and interest would be at a 
 discount, and life would have no taste, 
 if it were easy. To most people, pro- 
 bably, the supreme interest lies in the 
 accomplishment, not in the learning how. 
 Example may show how a life should be 
 lived, but every man must find out for 
 himself how far that example suits the 
 need of his own special existence.' 
 
 'We may supply the weapons, but 
 each must wield them for himself?' she 
 questioned slowly. ' But the worst of it 
 is, they may misuse them : what then ? ' 
 
 ' That would only prove that they had
 
 44 MONICA GREY 
 
 not inherited the virtues. But surely 
 you would not deprive them of all indi- 
 vidual experience, or automatically in- 
 sure them against failure ? ' 
 
 * I don't quite know what I want,' 
 said Monica, ' or rather,' with a sad 
 smile, ' I know what I want, but I 
 don't know how to get it. In every 
 calling each new worker may pick up 
 the thread where the last man dropped 
 it. He does not have to rebuild the 
 foundations of a half-finished house, or 
 replant the seeds when he takes over 
 the care of a garden. But each child 
 must begin at the very beginning again.' 
 
 ' It seems almost superfluous for me to 
 remind you that a child is "a temple not 
 made with hands,"' he said diffidently. 
 ' It is not a continuation of another life ; 
 it is a fresh creation.' 
 
 * I see,' said Monica. ' What I want 
 would destroy individuality, would place 
 humanity on a lower level. I think you 
 are very wise,' she said, turning to him 
 with one of her charming smiles. ' I 
 suppose I must make up my mind that
 
 MONICA GREY 45 
 
 it is out of my power to leave my chil- 
 dren more than a good example, and 
 I had dreamed of so much greater a 
 bequest. ' 
 
 * There is no greater bequest on earth, 
 nor one so imperishable,' he answered. 
 
 Silence fell on them again, and the 
 carriage bowled swiftly along the high- 
 road, dusty and white. Presently the 
 horses slackened their pace, and began 
 to climb the steep hill on the left side of 
 which the pretty village clustered. 
 
 'May I speak to you about my mother?' 
 Lindsay said ; ' I would so like to tell you 
 what she was, what a beautiful memory 
 she left us.' Then, encouraged by the 
 look of keen sympathy in her eyes, and 
 the quickly uttered ' Oh, do ! ' he told 
 her, in a voice that throbbed with tender 
 recollection and loving pride, the story 
 of the mother he had reverenced so 
 deeply, as much for her sweet common- 
 sense as her high ideals. 
 
 ' I feel ashamed,' he went on presently ; 
 ' I feel it is unworthy of her memory that 
 I should bear so impatiently the condition
 
 46 MONICA GREY 
 
 to which my accident has reduced me. 
 Ah ! ' he groaned, * could you have a 
 more convincing illustration than my 
 miserable self, of the impossibility of 
 facing sudden adversity with any success 
 or dignity, when neither mind nor body 
 has been previously ruled by a steady 
 will. I have never tried to learn self- 
 control,' he went on regretfully, 'and now 
 it seems unattainable.' 
 
 ' You mean that we can only hope to 
 gain the mastery over ills which, after 
 all, only affect our bodies, by training and 
 developing our higher nature ? But that 
 endurance only comes to us by prayer. 
 Did you mean that ? ' she questioned, 
 thinking it odd that if he did recognise 
 the efficacy of prayer, he had not availed 
 himself of its help. 
 
 ' I did not mean what you said about 
 prayer, dear lady ! You make me wish I 
 did,' he said remorsefully. * What I did 
 mean was that the higher nature can be 
 rendered impervious to sudden attack, 
 moral or physical. I was not thinking 
 of prayer,' he confessed humbly. ' I was
 
 MONICA GREY 47 
 
 blaming myself for not having depended 
 on my own powers, for not having mus- 
 tered the forces within the control of 
 each human being, which may enable 
 him to rise superior to evil.' 
 
 * There are no such forces under our 
 control,' said Monica, with energetic con- 
 viction. 'Victory even over ourselves, 
 without reckoning sin and the world, can 
 only come to us from God, and we can 
 only gain it by prayer.' 
 
 * Then I have missed my chance ! ' he 
 murmured sadly. 
 
 ' No, indeed ! ' said Monica, ' nothing 
 but death can take away your chance 
 perhaps not even that,' she added gently. 
 
 ' I can't pray,' he said, after a pause. 
 ' It has always seemed to me rather a 
 shabby thing to ask for what one ought 
 to try to get for oneself. Will you 
 pray for me ? I would not be too proud 
 to take anything from you ! ' He spoke 
 half playfully, and then the expression 
 changed, and his face saddened as he 
 met her earnest look. 
 
 She did not answer for a moment, and
 
 48 MONICA GREY 
 
 he thought she was censuring him in her 
 heart. 
 
 ' Don't condemn me,' he said, stretch- 
 ing out his hand to her beseechingly. 
 
 * No, no ! not that,' she assured him, 
 laying her own hand simply on his ; ' I 
 was only so very sorry for you. Indeed, 
 I will pray for you, with all my heart ! ' 
 Her touch brought him one of those rare 
 intervals of freedom from his constant 
 gnawing pain. 
 
 ' The mere touch of your hand has 
 taken away all my ills of mind and body,' 
 he said reverently. 
 
 ' Yes ? ' she questioned simply. ' Some- 
 times I have that power, and I am so 
 grateful and glad when it really helps 
 people. Ah ! here is my librarian stand- 
 ing at the door of his castle, so I need 
 not lose time by going inside to look for 
 him : I want to get you home as quickly 
 as possible.' 
 
 She said a few gentle words to the 
 shock-headed Peter as she gave him back 
 the books. He came to the side of the 
 carriage and thanked her with genuine
 
 MONICA GREY 49 
 
 gratitude in voice and eyes. There was 
 no lack of appreciation of Monica's worth 
 in his case, however profoundly he might 
 despise the art of bookkeeping ! 
 
 Scarcely a word was spoken as they 
 drove swiftly on through the green shady 
 lanes. The distance between the village 
 and Broadlands was not great, not more 
 than two miles, and to this silent con- 
 tented couple it seemed all too short. 
 Both sighed unconsciously as the carriage 
 drew up before the solid, comfortable- 
 looking Elizabethan house. 
 
 'You will come in and have some tea,' 
 said Lindsay, * and you would like to see 
 my old housekeeper about Clem. She 
 was my old nurse, and will understand 
 all your fears and anxieties about him. 
 When you see her, you will have no 
 doubt as to his being well looked after, 
 even in this childless abode.' He spoke 
 pleadingly, fearing she might decline to 
 come in, but Monica smilingly followed 
 him across the hall to a beautiful room 
 with French windows opening on to a 
 terraced garden. A strip of well- wooded
 
 50 MONICA GREY 
 
 park separated the garden from the river, 
 beyond which the ground rose slightly, 
 and then stretched away to the distant 
 hills. 
 
 Monica insisted on his lying down on 
 his invalid couch, and was arranging the 
 cushions for him when the door opened, 
 and the kindly-faced housekeeper came 
 in, and dropped a dignified old-fashioned 
 curtsey. 
 
 * Here is Mrs. Wood,' said Lindsay. 
 
 'Mrs. Wood, he is over- tired, and I 
 am afraid it is owing principally to his 
 trouble with my boy, to whom he was so 
 kind this morning. I am afraid it will 
 not do him any good to have Master 
 Clement to stay with him. He has 
 asked him to come here while his broken 
 bone is mending.' 
 
 ' Oh! please let me have my way about 
 that,' he cried as impulsively as a child. 
 'Mrs. Wood, show her ladyship the 
 small room leading out of mine ; the 
 little fellow will be quite comfortable 
 and safe. Don't deny me such a great 
 pleasure, Lady Monica,' turning to her;
 
 MONICA GREY 51 
 
 'Mrs. Wood is dying to know exactly 
 how much she may coddle and spoil 
 another invalid, and will be as much dis- 
 appointed as I if you don't let him come. 
 Don't restrict her too much in the matter 
 of petting and sweets ! ' 
 
 'What do you think, Mrs. Wood?' 
 said Monica, still doubtfully. 
 
 Mrs. Wood emphatically declared that 
 nothing could be better for her master 
 than the companionship of the dear 
 young gentleman who had been so brave 
 about his broken arm. So that settled 
 it. 
 
 She led Monica through the hall to a 
 room on the ground-floor with the same 
 view as the library, and showed her the 
 door leading into Lindsay's, originally a 
 sitting-room, which had been connected 
 with his bedroom at the time of his 
 accident. The room Clem was to sleep 
 in had been used for the nurses, and was 
 still furnished as a bedroom. 
 
 ' He will be quite safe here, my lady, 
 and I will come and see to his bath and 
 dressing, every morning and evening, and
 
 52 MONICA GREY 
 
 Dawkins, Mr. Lindsay's servant, will 
 give an eye to him. He is a trained 
 nurse, and comes in to Mr. Lindsay two 
 or three times in the night, so your 
 ladyship can be quite easy. Please let 
 him come. Maybe it will cheer up the 
 master and much he 's in need of 
 cheering ! ' she said, with tears shining 
 in her kind old eyes. 
 
 When Monica returned to the library, 
 tea was on a round table near the win- 
 dow, and Lindsay asked her to pour it 
 out. 
 
 He was over-tired and over-wrought. 
 The suddenness of her entry into his 
 life, his own recognition of how com- 
 pletely she filled his horizon, his longing 
 to keep her always near him, all surged 
 over him, as he watched her perform the 
 simple womanly office for him. To his 
 heated fancy the irony of fate and the 
 agonising bitterness of denial took 
 tangible shapes, which whirled round the 
 room, spitefully blotting out the dimly 
 seen figure of the beautiful woman. A 
 rushing and humming as of many waters
 
 MONICA GREY 53 
 
 filled his ears, and gradually overpowered 
 even the sense of misery and pain, till, 
 for a space, time and memory were 
 mercifully obliterated. 
 
 ' Mr. Lindsay, drink this,' he heard her 
 say decidedly, as he recovered conscious- 
 ness. She was kneeling beside him, one 
 hand under the dark head which rested 
 against her soft warm shoulder in its 
 muslin gown, while the other held the 
 small glass of medicine which Dawkins 
 had brought at her hasty summons. 
 
 * Now, lie quite still, and don't attempt 
 to talk or move, while I sit by you and 
 drink my own tea no, I will not go till 
 you are quite yourself again,' she assured 
 him, answering the unspoken appeal in 
 his eyes ; ' and then you had better go to 
 bed, or you won't be fit to see Clem when 
 I bring him to-morrow.' 
 
 The moments sped as she watched the 
 returning colour come back into his face, 
 talking gently to him about the flowers, 
 and the books, and the view, idly turning 
 the pages of the book on her knee the 
 while ; and they drifted together into a
 
 54 MONICA GREY 
 
 charmed world, where all that was 
 beautiful in colour, sound, and scent 
 was blended together as in a field of 
 lavender that rustles gently in the fairy- 
 like glory of a sinking August sun.
 
 MONICA GREY 55 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 1 1 steadier step when I recall, 
 That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.' 
 
 THAT night I dined alone with Monica. 
 Grey had run up to town for two or 
 three days, on business. She apologised 
 for being so late for dinner, laughing at 
 herself for losing count of the time. 
 * You have no idea how absorbing a sick- 
 room is,' she explained, after giving me 
 an account of the afternoon, in a voice 
 vibrating with sympathy for the man 
 whose hopeless battle against incurable 
 illness she had been watching. * How is 
 it possible for nurses to be punctual and 
 methodical ? If one patient makes a 
 practical woman ' (ah ! were you that, 
 Monica ?) 'like me forget time and rules, 
 how do they keep their heads with fifty 
 interesting cases to fascinate them ? And
 
 56 MONICA GREY 
 
 yet it is their cool collectedness and 
 devotion to the detail of their work which 
 has raised nursing to the perfection it has 
 reached, so I suppose they never can let 
 their feelings carry them away. I wonder 
 whether their accuracy ever dulls their 
 sympathy ? ' 
 
 ' How is it, Monica, that you, who 
 feel such intense pity for any physical 
 suffering, should turn away with a 
 shudder you can't control from any sin 
 against the Seventh Commandment ? ' I 
 inquired curiously. 
 
 ' I don't quite know,' she answered 
 slowly. ' Shall we talk about it this 
 evening ? Let us argue it out together. 
 I have often wished I could quite under- 
 stand what I do feel about it. We have 
 a quiet evening before us ; will it bore 
 you?' 
 
 The servants had retired, leaving her 
 to eat peaches and me to drink my port 
 in the delicious dusk of the long summer 
 evening. Monica always put off having 
 the lamps brought in till she was abso- 
 lutely obliged to send for them. The
 
 MONICA GREY 57 
 
 little round table was drawn up close to 
 the open window, and I had brought my 
 chair from the place opposite her, which 
 I had occupied during dinner, within a 
 distance more conducive to familiar dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 ' Ah ! that 's more comfortable,' she 
 said, turning to me with that gracious 
 smile of welcome which always gave me 
 the flattering feeling that I was congenial 
 to her mood. * I must have another 
 peach, I am so greedy ! Then we '11 start 
 in real earnest ! and you shall show me 
 where it is that I fail. Shall I begin 
 by giving you the only will-o'-the-wisp 
 reason for it I have ever been able to 
 capture ? It is because, because 
 physical pain seems to me to be a God- 
 sent cross, and we are all sent here to 
 help each other to bear it. But isn't 
 that sort of thing more the result of 
 a bodily going over to Satan ? It always 
 strikes me as a deliberate choice, the out- 
 come of the habit of evil that brings the 
 crippled condition which must result from 
 defying all the laws of duty and con-
 
 58 MONICA GREY 
 
 science a sort of moral rheumatism. 
 And such a thing is not God-sent at all ; 
 it is nothing but pitch that we cannot 
 touch without being defiled. There is 
 no accident in it of any kind.' 
 
 * Are you quite sure ? ' I asked. ' You 
 are not altogether consistent, my dear 
 lady ! Rheumatism sometimes is the 
 result of an accident. There are such 
 things as moral casualties believe me, 
 and that kind of suffering is not more 
 infectious than the other. You do not 
 fancy your own arm will break out of 
 sympathy with Clem's ! You never 
 dreamed your own spine would weaken 
 when you nursed poor Lindsay back to 
 consciousness this afternoon ! If it be 
 God who permits the physical failure, 
 may not moral bankruptcy, too, be part 
 of His scheme, necessitating a fresh start, 
 a new effort of will ? The death of a 
 seed sends up a new plant into life. In 
 cases of moral fall, the will may have 
 exhausted itself, and a fresh aspiration 
 must grow before a new life can be 
 evolved. '
 
 MONICA GREY 59 
 
 ' It does not seem to me to be quite 
 the same thing,' she said doubtfully. 
 'A broken arm or an injured spine are 
 not sins against God. They will not 
 affect our peace and happiness in God's 
 eternity ; but a broken faith, a tottering 
 will, send us rolling down into the sea of 
 sin in which we may drown, if we are 
 not dragged out.' 
 
 ' And you do not think it may be just 
 your duty to get down on to the shore, 
 and hold out a helping hand to those 
 who are only beginning to slip into the 
 water ? ' 
 
 'Your very question shows that you 
 feel I must be on the shore myself before 
 I can be of any use,' said Monica quickly. 
 Womanlike, she evaded the real point at 
 issue, and seized on a side argument. 
 
 * Well, you may put it that way, but 
 that was not what I really meant,' I 
 retorted, smiling. ' A man who goes to 
 rescue a drowning comrade does not stop 
 to think whether he will be drowned too. 
 He jumps boldly into the waves that are 
 likely to swallow up his friend, and if he
 
 60 MONICA GREY 
 
 saves him, it is because he has a power 
 which the other man does not possess.' 
 
 'But he may be dragged under,' she 
 objected hesitatingly. 
 
 * He will certainly be dragged under if 
 he is not skilful and strong. Effectual 
 help always argues that the man who 
 gives it has something to bestow which 
 the person in danger lacks. Thus, the 
 strong will of one may supplement the 
 weakness of another. ' 
 
 ' I begin to understand,' she said, 
 raising her candid beautiful eyes to 
 mine. 'You mean that the possession 
 of purity and loyalty makes those who 
 have them debtors to those who have 
 them not. I know,' she added thought- 
 fully, 'we must give not only of our 
 abundance but of our penury too 
 that the talent intrusted to us, however 
 small, must not lie idle.' 
 
 ' Yes,' I replied, ' we must be like the 
 young ladies who go to the ambulance 
 classes, ready and eager to apply our 
 meagre knowledge whenever we come 
 across an accident. I don't go so far as
 
 MONICA GREY 61 
 
 to say that we need deliberately ferret 
 out cases that is a development, a 
 progress in the science.' 
 
 I watched the varying emotions flit 
 across her earnest face, and almost fol- 
 lowed the train of thought which led up 
 to her next remark. 
 
 4 But is it possible to mend a broken 
 reputation ? Can a lost purity be found 
 again ? ' asked Monica. 
 
 ' Have you forgotten who it was who 
 said, " She loved much because much 
 was forgiven her," and to whom He 
 said it ? ' I asked her, in my turn. 
 
 * I have not forgotten,' she said wist- 
 fully, 'but I never have quite under- 
 stood. I really have doubted, in all 
 reverence, whether our Lord was not too 
 tender with such women. Could His 
 spotless purity fathom the depths into 
 which depravity and loss of self-respect 
 may drag a human being? Could He 
 know how low that woman had fallen ? 
 Could He understand how well-deserved 
 her shame and misery were ? He must 
 have been so calm, so far above the tern-
 
 62 MONICA GREY 
 
 pest, and therefore He forgave,' she said 
 falteringly, with little pauses between 
 the sentences. Then she continued, more 
 resolutely : 
 
 * It seems to me that what we chiefly 
 learn from that story is the great truth 
 which our Lord, who was, after all, 
 human, clearly taught that the soul had 
 no sex. That is what makes it capable 
 of rising to heights of perfection that 
 the poor fettered human heart can never 
 attain. That is why our lower nature 
 should be kept under, so that it may not 
 hamper our spiritual side, which, if we are 
 only pure enough, may perhaps soar even 
 to the presence of God.' 
 
 ' And what do you know of the tempta- 
 tion and the shame ? ' I inquired. * You 
 have not broken the Seventh Command- 
 ment. So, by your own showing, you 
 too should be full of heavenly pity and 
 forgiveness. But you loathe the very 
 mention of the sin, and you cannot sit 
 in the same room as the sinner. By 
 your own argument, the purer the soul, 
 the more tolerant it should be.'
 
 MONICA GREY 63 
 
 'No, I think it would only be an 
 ignorant soul that would be tolerant of 
 that sort of sin,' she said hastily. Then, 
 with sudden reverent remembrance 'And 
 yet Christ was not ignorant. I don't 
 understand it at all ! The more one 
 thinks about it, the more incomprehen- 
 sible the whole thing is ! ' She was so 
 earnest, so pathetically anxious to have 
 her own failure of comprehension ac- 
 counted for, and yet so incapable of 
 taking the broad view indispensable to 
 the just balance of the argument. She 
 was hampered, sweet earnest soul, by 
 her own scrupulous piety, a piety nar- 
 rowed by the trend of her cherished 
 theories. 
 
 ' God abhors impurity, and yet He 
 knows,' I ventured to insist. ' Yes, He 
 knows and He understands, and He par- 
 dons. A man need not commit a mur- 
 der before he can gauge the true horror 
 of taking life. You seem to me to be 
 setting a limit on God's understanding. 
 What you do not realise is, that sins of 
 immorality are not, in their nature, more
 
 64 MONICA GREY 
 
 unpardonable than the breaking of the 
 other commandments. You don't recog- 
 nise pardon me if I put it baldly the 
 immense power of love, the reality of 
 sex, the thraldom of passion. You ima- 
 gine that when what you call " love " 
 appears upon the scene, no unholy thing 
 can live within its glorious orbit. But 
 if you only knew the flesh does war 
 against the spirit, and the victory goes 
 to whichever has had the best training. 
 The battle-field is the human heart.' 
 
 ' But love only seeks the good of the 
 loved one,' she pleaded. ' Those other 
 vile things can only do harm ; and you 
 must admit their power is less strong 
 than the power of love.' 
 
 ' I do not admit it,' I said : ' those other 
 vile things, as you call them, are as strong 
 as love, and stronger. And, moreover, 
 they are not all vile ; they are only vile 
 in their misuse, or excess. Still, if we 
 will to do right, Satan and all his legions 
 will not prevail against us, but, if we will 
 to do wrong, even the Cross of Christ is 
 powerless to save us.'
 
 MONICA GREY 65 
 
 ' But, surely, will is the gift of God ? ' 
 ' Free-will is the gift of God. The 
 manner of our using it lies with our- 
 selves. ' 
 
 ' Then those fallen women can help 
 themselves if they will,' she said : * that 
 makes their sin the greater.' 
 
 * They may not realise that,' I answered. 
 * Have you thought of what their sur- 
 roundings are ? what their upbringing 
 was ? Have you considered that from 
 childhood their will has been turned 
 towards the wrong? They do not even 
 guess they have wills at all, in that 
 sense. ' 
 
 * Poor souls ! ' sighed Monica ; and she 
 rose from the table to hide the tears that 
 were welling up in her eyes. * It is not 
 fair,' she said presently; and there were 
 tears in the sweet low voice too. ' Has 
 God given them no chance ? ' 
 
 * Perhaps their only chance may be 
 what you can do for them,' I answered. 
 ' If you fail because of your horror of 
 their sin, they may not be given another. 
 If these sick souls come across your path,
 
 66 MONICA GREY 
 
 and you do not stop to help them, may 
 not your " righteousness be but filthy 
 
 V O ' 
 
 rags ( 
 
 For a moment she stood, leaning her 
 head against the lintel of the window, 
 looking out, mournful and silent, on the 
 beauty of the summer night. Through 
 my brain the fancy flitted that if some 
 such perfect type of womanhood, above 
 temptation and exempt from sin, had 
 been sent down to guide and direct our 
 poor humanity, the road to Heaven would 
 not be so difficult to find. I followed 
 her out into the night, and we paced 
 slowly across the lawn. She turned 
 down the path leading to the lake, and I 
 ran back into the house to get a wrap 
 to put over her shoulders in case she 
 wished to go on the water. When I 
 caught her up again, she had reached the 
 boat-house, and was listening absently to 
 the old keeper, who was going his rounds, 
 trying to save some precious wild-ducks, 
 just hatched out, from the ravages of the 
 rats. 
 
 'Don't 'ee go too near the rushes, my
 
 MONICA GREY 67 
 
 lady,' he was saying; * there be several 
 nests not easy to see, till you be well- 
 nigh in them.' The spell was broken, 
 and the shadow of sadness left her face. 
 I talked to her of other matters, and she 
 soon recovered her usual serenity of 
 manner. We drifted about in the punt 
 till I suggested dew and chill, and then 
 sauntered leisurely back to the house. 
 
 ' I am not quite convinced you are 
 right, even now,' she said, with a smile. 
 * How do you account for the immorality 
 of the cultured classes ? The plea of 
 " no chance " won't hold for them ; and, 
 indeed, I think refined evil-doing is 
 far worse than the other ! ' 
 
 * Don't think about it any more to- 
 night,' I said, holding her hand, as she 
 stood looking down on me from the 
 second step of the old oak staircase. 
 
 She passed slowly up the stairs, and I 
 turned away to the smoking-room, to try 
 vainly, as I had so often tried before, to 
 stifle the memory of the tragedy of my 
 own life, or rather of the blow that turned 
 it into a slow tragedy, cutting me off
 
 68 MONICA GREY 
 
 from ^he sweet hope of seeing Monica 
 rule my house, and hearing her children 
 call me father. It is a very ordinary 
 story, just the sudden discovery that the 
 mark of hereditary disease the dark 
 shadow of possible insanity was on my 
 race. How could I ask that fair young 
 creature to share my gloomy inheritance ? 
 So I held my peace, and never sought to 
 make her love me. Should I have suc- 
 ceeded, even if I had tried ? God knows ! 
 Sometimes, now that it is all over, and 
 my course nearly finished, and I have 
 watched her poor little history out to 
 the end, I have felt it was all best for 
 me just as it fell out. I never could 
 have hoped to stem the great wave that 
 surged over her soul at last. And my 
 heart would only have been broken in a 
 different, a still more agonising way.
 
 MONICA GREY 69 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ' How good is man's life, the mere living ! 
 
 How fit to employ 
 
 All the heart and the soul and the senses 
 For ever in joy !' 
 
 DR. SCOTT called early next morning to 
 see his little patient, whose appearance 
 and high spirits had already relieved his 
 mother's fears for his wellbeing. In his 
 anxiety to know if he might go to Broad- 
 lands, Clem scarcely listened to the 
 doctor's questions as to how he slept, 
 and whether he had any pain. 
 
 * May I go, doctor ? Oh, mother, may 
 
 Monica smiled down into the little 
 eager face, and turned her questioning 
 eyes towards the doctor before she 
 answered. 
 
 * It can do the boy no harm, my lady,
 
 70 MONICA GREY 
 
 and it will do my other patient so much 
 good to have him at Broadlands ! ' Then, 
 as Clem flew up to the nursery to 
 announce his happiness to his less- 
 favoured brothers, the doctor won 
 Monica's heart by a tactful allusion to 
 the boy's pluck and courage. 
 
 ' He won't tire Mr. Lindsay ? ' she 
 questioned, still not quite sure as to the 
 wisdom of turning a boy with Clem's 
 irrepressible high spirits loose in a house 
 where every sound and movement had 
 for months been hushed and restricted 
 to the limited endurance of a confirmed 
 invalid. 
 
 * Undue physical exertion might throw 
 him back,' said the doctor, ' but my great 
 wish is that his sympathies and interests 
 should be aroused. There is danger of 
 the partial spinal paralysis causing mental 
 apathy too, if he is allowed to drift into 
 a world apart, shut off from the daily 
 common interests of his fellow- creatures. 
 The boy may do Mr. Lindsay more good 
 than all my exhortations. He seems 
 such a sensible little fellow, too, and I
 
 MONICA GREY 71 
 
 have no doubt you will make him under- 
 stand that he must abstain from any 
 pranks which will entail fatigue on his 
 poor host.' 
 
 * I will tell him,' said Monica. ' He is 
 the most tender and considerate little 
 nurse, and is always more interested than 
 bored with sickness '; and she thought of 
 the little figure creeping softly up to her 
 bedside, in the subdued blind-shaded 
 gloom of days when severe neuralgia had 
 made all light and noise unbearable to 
 her. It was always Clem's voice that 
 offered, in confident assurance of his 
 power to alleviate her suffering, ' to cure 
 your head, mother darling ! ' Always 
 Clem's dear hands, not a whit less grubby 
 and rough than those of all his kind, that 
 stroked her hands and head, till he saw 
 the strained brow relax, and the drawn 
 lips gradually wear the smile which was 
 the signal for his return to the prosecu- 
 tion of those boyish freaks that seemed 
 like second nature to him. He was 
 always endangering his own life, but 
 none of his wild escapades had ever
 
 72 MONICA GREY 
 
 brought a single companion into trouble, 
 and indeed his own existence seemed 
 charmed. Monica's joy in him was pretty 
 to watch. She always said that Clem's 
 eyes and Clem's voice were the most 
 beautiful things in her world ; and making 
 all the allowances necessary for a mother's 
 partiality, there was, I must admit, a 
 charm about the boy which compelled 
 all those he met to place him instantly 
 apart from the ordinary genus 'boy.' 
 
 ' I shall see the lad every day, my 
 lady, when I pay my usual visit to Mr. 
 Lindsay,' said Dr. Scott. 'Would you 
 like me to report progress ? ' 
 
 'Oh no, please don't trouble,' said 
 Monica, 'unless things don't go well 
 with his arm, and then I should be grate- 
 ful if you would tell me. I shall go or 
 send over to Broadlands myself every day 
 while Clem is there.' 
 
 'Then good-bye,' he said, turning to 
 go. ' I wonder,' he stopped to say, half- 
 way across the room, as a sudden 
 thought struck him, 'if you would do 
 me the great kindness, when you are at
 
 MONICA GREY 73 
 
 Broadlands during the next few days, 
 to try to get Mr. Lindsay to talk about 
 his estate and his responsibilities as a 
 landlord. I feel my efforts to bring him 
 back to a more normal state of mind, and 
 induce him to take a less gloomy view of 
 the future, would be so much helped, if 
 he would resume, even for only half an 
 hour a day, the habit of dealing per- 
 sonally with the natural claims his people 
 make upon him. At present he shuns 
 any allusion to the subject, and refers 
 everything to his agent. He says, "What 
 is the use of encouraging them to depend 
 on a life so uncertain as mine ? " 
 
 Monica's heart stood still for an instant. 
 * Is his life so precarious ? ' she asked. 
 The momentary cloud which darkened 
 her horizon was dispelled before she had 
 been absolutely conscious of it by the 
 doctor's emphatic * Certainly not ; he may 
 live to be an old man ! ' 
 
 * I will gladly do what I can,' said 
 Monica, and a sudden radiance trembled 
 on her lips and in her eyes. * Sometimes 
 outsiders can influence in such matters,
 
 74 MONICA GREY 
 
 when the legitimate adviser fails to con- 
 vince. I shall be proud indeed if I can 
 help you, and I thank you for trusting 
 me, and letting me share your anxiety 
 and help you in your plan.' 
 
 ' If you succeed, the gratitude will 
 be all on my side,' he replied with 
 old-fashioned courtesy, as he took his 
 leave. 
 
 And so it came about that the child 
 which had always nestled closest to 
 Monica's heart, and the boundless charity 
 of her tender nature, were the two 
 strongest links in the chain which was 
 to connect her life with that other for all 
 time, and, because of her utter integrity, 
 for all eternity too. 
 
 ' O Clem, my beloved, that shaking 
 isn't good for your arm ! ' laughed 
 Monica, as she came down the stairs 
 ready dressed to take the boy to his 
 new-found paradise. 
 
 * Mother, I bet Dick I 'd race him, 
 hopping from the nursery to the door,' 
 panted Clem, as he triumphantly climbed
 
 MONICA GREY 75 
 
 up into the carriage, and fell back chuck- 
 ling against the cushions. 'It 's all right,' 
 he purred, rubbing his cheek against her 
 arm as she took her seat beside him ; * my 
 arm doesn't hurt, mother darling ! ' 
 
 ' No, but it will if you are not careful,' 
 said Monica. * Good-bye, my Dick, I 
 shall be back to lunch. You can ride 
 over to The Fells and ask Bernard Ellis 
 to come and spend the day with you, to 
 comfort you for Clem's absence.' 
 
 The boy answered with a joyous 
 hurrah, and bounded off to order his 
 pony as the carriage drove away. 
 
 Half-way down the Broadlands avenue 
 they were met by Mr. Lindsay, surprised, 
 by his impatience to see Monica again, 
 into voluntarily taking the daily walk 
 prescribed by Dr. Scott. As a rule, he 
 fought against the uncongenial effort. 
 
 ' I will get out and walk with you,' 
 said Monica cheerily, ' while your fellow- 
 cripple drives on to the house and an- 
 nounces his arrival, and then I will see 
 Mrs. Woods for a moment, if I may. I 
 must get back to luncheon. Yes, indeed
 
 76 MONICA GREY 
 
 I must!' she repeated, as Lindsay's hand- 
 some face took on an expression of eager 
 entreaty which faded into a disappoint- 
 ment quite incommensurate with its 
 cause. 
 
 ' Clem isn't my only child, you know ! ' 
 she said playfully, 'although I don't 
 mind confessing to you, as you are 
 depriving me of him for a while, that 
 he is the very core of my heart.' And 
 Monica laughed softly and deprecatingly, 
 as she always did at any allusion to the 
 particular place in her affections occupied 
 by this beloved second son. ' You would 
 have to learn this open secret soon,' she 
 continued smiling, turning her glowing 
 face towards Lindsay, ' and I would like 
 you to be unprejudiced. You mustn't 
 fancy I am unjust to the others. Indeed, 
 I think they have the lion's share of my 
 time and attention. I am so desperately 
 afraid of my devotion to my Clem bring- 
 ing a heartache to any one, above all to 
 my other children ! ' 
 
 ' I am quite sure you could not be 
 anything but just,' he said with con-
 
 MONICA GREY 77 
 
 viction, as he glanced admiringly at the 
 graceful, buoyant figure beside him. She 
 was suiting her pace to his slow, laboured 
 movements, and the very restraint she 
 was putting upon her healthy vigour 
 seemed to accentuate the charm of her 
 womanly presence. 
 
 'Yes,' she said quietly, 'I do try 
 always to be impartial ; but isn't it 
 almost incongruous that the extent of 
 one's love for one child should necessitate 
 an effort to prevent that love bringing 
 distress to the others ? ' 
 
 ' Something in the original plan of life 
 and love was out of gear, that's evi- 
 dent ! ' said Lindsay, laughing. He 
 was interested in Monica's unexpected 
 endeavours to probe the depths of 
 abstruse polemics, under conditions and 
 surroundings which would have impelled 
 most people to glide carelessly over the 
 pleasant surfaces of life. 
 
 Monica stopped short, and gazed at 
 him quite silently out of her steadfast 
 eyes. 
 
 * No, not in the original plan,' she said
 
 78 MONICA GREY 
 
 slowly at last, 'but in our misguided 
 carrying out of it. Perhaps we try to 
 piece the puzzle together wrongly, and 
 the different parts won't fit under our 
 bungling fingers.' 
 
 At the sudden hushing of their foot- 
 steps and of poor Lindsay's crutches on 
 the crisp gravel of the drive, all the 
 joyful summer sounds around them 
 sprang upon their ears. All nature's 
 voices seemed trying to solve some pro- 
 blem, to answer the always unanswered 
 * why,' and Monica's low soft utterance, 
 with its appealing note of interrogation, 
 rang on Lindsay's ear as the inarticulate 
 cry of all creation. It did not strike 
 him as being inconsistent with the 
 gravity of the great world-question that 
 the sounds of the struggle should be 
 joyous. There was joy in Monica's tone 
 the joy of life, and health, and exquisite 
 absorbing interest in everything about 
 her. 
 
 ' Oh, how difficult it is to think ! ' 
 cried Monica. ' Silence and solitude 
 make one's thoughts crowd in so over-
 
 MONICA GREY 79 
 
 whelmingly, and sounds and companion- 
 ship drive every poor little struggling idea 
 out of one's brain ! ' She threw back her 
 head, and gazed up into the elms above, 
 where two rooks were debating questions 
 of supply in decidedly unparliamentary 
 language. Lindsay, leaning on his 
 crutches, watched her. Her intense 
 earnestness was infectious, and when 
 he spoke it was slowly and disjoin tedly, 
 as though his understanding sought to 
 meet and keep pace with hers. 
 
 ' It doesn't seem to me reasonable to 
 try to gauge affection by comparison. 
 You can't apply the standard of weights 
 and measures to the influence of one 
 person over another. An intrinsic merit 
 of love is surely its variety ! It is not 
 that you love Clem more than your other 
 children, but that you love him differ- 
 ently. The standard of measurement 
 for the attitude of human beings towards 
 each other, nowadays, is one of quantity. 
 That seems to me all wrong. What 
 really should be considered are variety 
 and quality.'
 
 80 MONICA GREY 
 
 They were moving slowly forward 
 again. 
 
 * Yes, but it is those two aspects that 
 generally escape our observation,' said 
 Monica. * You have expressed just what 
 I was trying to understand. Of course 
 love cannot be measured. We have, 
 each of us, our separate place in the 
 hearts of those whose lives cross ours. 
 It is not a question of caring more or less 
 for one than for another that is so 
 true ! ' she added dreamily. 
 
 Her thoughts were occupied with 
 Lindsay's simple directness, and the ease 
 with which he focussed dilemmas which 
 she herself was obliged to turn over and 
 over before she could reach any satisfac- 
 tory conclusion. It was only by slow 
 and painful stages that she could arrive 
 at any convincing solution of the pro- 
 blems which so often puzzled her. The 
 doctor's request occurred to her, and she 
 felt he was mistaken in thinking Lindsay's 
 sympathies needed rousing. 
 
 'Mr. Lindsay, you have explained 
 something to me which has puzzled
 
 MONICA GREY 81 
 
 and distressed me for ever so long in 
 fact, ever since I realised that Clem had 
 coiled himself round my heart in a way 
 that made our sympathy and understand- 
 ing quite a thing apart ! I am grateful 
 for every day of his dear sunshiny pre- 
 sence, and yet till just now a sort of 
 half rebellion has tinged my gratitude ; 
 a rebellion against the sense that perhaps 
 I was not just to the others. No one 
 else has ever accused me of favouring 
 one child more than another, but deep 
 down in my heart I have wondered 
 whether I was not to blame. I was just 
 " measuring " my affection, and certainly 
 if there were a limit to the amount of 
 affection at one's disposal, Clem's claims 
 on mine would have left very little for 
 other people. It is beautiful to think 
 that there is no limit that the supply 
 is inexhaustible ! I wish,' she added 
 with a pathetic touch of self-deprecia- 
 tion, * my perceptions were not so cir- 
 cumscribed. I would give the world 
 for your power of seeing things as they 
 really are.'
 
 82 MONICA GREY 
 
 'Martha was troubled about many 
 things,' said Lindsay dryly. ' I am re- 
 duced to the idle part of Mary . . . and 
 I fear it will not be taken away from 
 me.' 
 
 ' You mean that all the small cares in 
 Martha's life prevented her from getting 
 a clear outlook ? ' she asked. 
 
 'Yes. A surveyor sitting on the top 
 of a hill naturally draws a more accu- 
 rate map than the poor traveller who 
 picks his painful way over the uneven 
 ground.' 
 
 ' Oh, you must teach me ! ' cried 
 Monica impulsively. ' I will be a sur- 
 veyor too ! ' with a happy little laugh. 
 ' But you will find me very dense ! ' she 
 sighed. 
 
 'I am not alarmed,' said Lindsay 
 quietly. The even tones of his voice 
 and the impassiveness of his face revived 
 Monica's remembrance of the doctor's 
 fear about his patient's unwillingness to 
 interest himself in others, and this time 
 she did not think him mistaken. Later 
 she learned his impassiveness was but a
 
 MONICA GREY 83 
 
 cloak put on at will, to hide the tumult 
 of emotion which was, after all, to break 
 through all bounds one day. 
 
 * Oh, I have never asked you how you 
 slept last night ! ' she cried, as a wave of 
 contrition passed over her. * Are you 
 any the worse for your injudicious charity 
 towards my boy ? I wish I could be quite 
 sure he will not be more of a trouble than 
 a pleasure to you ! ' 
 
 * I believe, my lady, you want to be 
 assured again that Clem's presence can 
 never be anything but a blessing and a 
 joy,' said Lindsay mischievously. * But 
 I can't give a perfectly honest opinion 
 on that subject till I have had a few 
 days' experience. Will each day which 
 does not bring the music of a sympa- 
 thetic appreciation of that young man's 
 perfections to your ear be a blank to 
 you ? ' 
 
 * I am not afraid of the result of your 
 study,' she said, smiling, as they entered 
 the house. ' Oh, hush, listen ! ' she cried, 
 laying her hand on his arm, as they 
 reached the middle of the hall.
 
 84 MONICA GREY 
 
 Lindsay's study door stood open, and 
 through it came a wave of melody, 
 full and harmonious. A boy's voice, so 
 mellow, so deep and searching, that the 
 hearts of the man and woman stood still 
 to listen. 
 
 ' Clem ? ' whispered Lindsay, turning 
 towards Monica with his grave kind eyes 
 as full of admiration as even a mother's 
 jealous love could desire. 
 
 Monica had not moved since the gentle 
 restraining touch of her hand had stayed 
 Lindsay's progress. She was standing 
 quite close beside him, her red lips parted 
 in a smile of perfect enjoyment, a soft 
 light in her eyes, her head thrown back a 
 little, in an attitude of arrested attention. 
 Her only answer was a slight pressure on 
 Lindsay's arm, and a scarcely perceptible 
 movement of her dark lashes. The boy 
 was singing a simple lullaby, to an accom- 
 paniment of his own of the most meagre 
 description, played with his one free 
 hand singing with all his heart and soul, 
 wailing, entreating, soothing, till, as a 
 dear old enthusiastic admirer of Clem's
 
 MONICA GREY 85 
 
 once remarked, one could almost picture 
 the worn-out young mother kneeling by 
 the cradle of her firstborn, making a last 
 despairing effort, after long sleepless 
 nights, to coax the wakeful little one to 
 rest. 
 
 Monica and Lindsay stood motionless, 
 till the boy, suddenly conscious of an 
 audience, stopped abruptly, and ran out 
 to meet them. 
 
 * Whom does all the music belong to, 
 Mr. Lindsay, and the violoncello ? ' 
 
 * They are mine, my boy,' said Lindsay. 
 ' Oh, jolly ! ' said the boy, slipping his 
 
 arm through his mother's and resting his 
 cheek against her ; * isn't it, mother ? ' 
 
 Monica put her hand under his chin, 
 and raised his face. It was a perfectly 
 beautiful face too beautiful for a boy a 
 pure oval with absolutely regular features, 
 and the most glorious dark brown eyes, 
 shaded by lashes so long and dark that at 
 times it seemed almost an effort to raise 
 them. It was a manly little face, too, 
 fearless and strong. 
 
 ' Clem, you will not be wild ? ' said
 
 86 MONICA GREY 
 
 Monica entreatingly, as she gazed lov- 
 ingly down into the wide-open eyes. 
 
 * Am I ever, mother ? ' he said caress- 
 ingly, with a mischievous side-glance at 
 Lindsay, and lowering his head till his 
 lips touched the palm of her hand. 
 
 * Yes, very often, my beloved ! ' laughed 
 Monica. ' Mr. Lindsay, may I see Mrs. 
 Wood for a moment ? ' 
 
 * You won't stay ? ' he said beseech- 
 ingly. 
 
 ' No, indeed I must go,' said Monica ; 
 * I promised Dick to be back to luncheon, 
 and I must superintend my little Harold's 
 first ride this afternoon ; it is a great 
 event.' 
 
 ' I wonder how many times he '11 fall 
 off,' remarked Clem encouragingly. 
 
 * Oh, don't suggest such a calamity, 
 Clem ! It will be bad enough when it 
 happens,' said his mother. 
 
 Having interviewed the housekeeper, 
 she drove off, leaving the boy and his 
 host standing together on the steps, 
 Clem's arm cast protectingly round one 
 of his new friend's crutches. Lindsay's
 
 MONICA GREY 87 
 
 face wore quite a happy look of proprie- 
 torship, and she smiled to herself con- 
 tentedly as she thought of the pleasure 
 her child's fresh companionship would 
 bring the jaded man.
 
 88 MONICA GREY 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 1 Be noble ! and the nobleness that lies 
 In other men, sleeping, but never dead, 
 Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.' 
 
 I HAVE thought since that Monica must, 
 if she had considered the matter at all, 
 have been a good deal puzzled, just at 
 this period, by Lindsay's personality, and 
 her own view of him. She was, as I 
 have said, a deeply and humbly religious 
 woman, with just that touch of narrow- 
 ness which often goes with intense re- 
 ligious feeling. 
 
 She would not believe in the existence 
 of a high standard of morality apart from 
 a belief in God. To her, all wickedness 
 came from separation from God, and she 
 was profoundly convinced that any special 
 form of temptation to herself or others
 
 MONICA GREY 89 
 
 must be a symptom of half-hearted de- 
 votion to what was right. She could 
 not conceive that temptation might be a 
 divine test of integrity. And now, for 
 the first time in her life, she was brought 
 into contact with a man in whose conduct 
 she perceived no flaw ; and he did not 
 pray ! 
 
 This was not all clear to her from the 
 very first. It gradually dawned upon 
 her, during the fortnight of Clem's stay 
 at Broadlands, that a man might live well 
 without being inspired by a religious 
 principle. Her almost daily visits there 
 gave her an intimate insight into Lind- 
 say's thoughts, character, and occupations. 
 Everything about him compelled her ad- 
 miration the depth and extent of his 
 reading, his artistic perceptions, so keenly 
 alive to the beauty and charm even of 
 the most prosaic facts, his uncomplaining 
 patience and courage, and his unaffected 
 boyish delight in Clem's lovable nature 
 and intense power of enjoyment. Perhaps 
 the characteristic in which she most de- 
 lighted was the extraordinary refinement
 
 90 MONICA GREY 
 
 of the man, resulting in a tact and charm 
 so subtle that they seemed less an attri- 
 bute than a component part of his very 
 being. Nothing wins a woman's heart 
 more swiftly and surely than the sensa- 
 tion that a cultured man is pouring out 
 the treasures of his mind for her delight. 
 All the treasures of Lindsay's mind and 
 memory were laid at Monica's feet. He 
 possessed rare powers of conversation, 
 and a fascination of manner which I have 
 scarcely ever seen elsewhere. This subtle 
 sympathy, and swift understanding even 
 of her unspoken thought, came as a reve- 
 lation to Monica. Ever since Clem's 
 sensitive nature had been old enough to 
 echo her own varying emotions, she had 
 known something of what a pure sym- 
 pathy can bring. But compared with 
 the noonday heat of Lindsay's response, 
 this echo from her boy's heart, precious 
 as it was to her, could only be likened 
 to an evening after-glow, beautiful and 
 satisfying enough, but relatively pale 
 and cool. All through those happy 
 summer days she basked in the sun-
 
 MONICA GREY 91 
 
 shine of her new-found happiness, mak- 
 ing no secret of her intense enjoyment 
 of this man's society. Grey, poor blind 
 fool, was delighted, hoping to gain much 
 for his own political ends through his 
 wife's influence with Lindsay. This 
 growing influence was apparent to every 
 one. 
 
 I was sitting with Monica one after- 
 noon she had not been to Broadlands 
 that day. It had been arranged that 
 Lindsay should bring Clem home about 
 tea-time, and drive back after dinner, in 
 the cool of the evening. The day had 
 been very sultry ; we were both feeling 
 tired, and I, for my part, not a little self- 
 righteous, after discussing and planning 
 out a political entertainment which Grey 
 desired to give at Stone Court the follow- 
 ing week. Monica had thrown herself 
 into the scheme with her usual heart- 
 whole energy and enthusiasm, and had 
 pressed me into the service. Politics 
 bored me to death, but to help Monica 
 was always a pleasure and a privilege to 
 me ; so we slaved away through the long
 
 92 MONICA GREY 
 
 hot hours, and had only just put away 
 our lists and invitation-cards, and come 
 out to rest in the rose-garden, when Dr. 
 Scott was announced. 
 
 Monica rose to meet him with an 
 anxious look on her face. 
 
 * Nothing has happened to Clem ? ' she 
 asked quickly. 
 
 * No, he is perfectly well,' said the 
 doctor, smiling down her fears. ' I came 
 to report progress about my other patient 
 at Broadlands. I came to thank you. 
 You have worked wonders, Lady Monica! 
 The improvement is far beyond anything 
 I had ever dared to hope for. This 
 morning Lindsay actually asked me if 
 I would countenance his entertaining 
 his tenants at the usual harvest fes- 
 tivities next week. He forestalled my 
 objections byassuring me that his agent 
 should do all the work, that he would 
 only walk round the grounds, and en- 
 tertain the county at dinner in the 
 evening. ' 
 
 ' How very satisfactory ! ' said Monica, 
 simply. ' But I think you must give the
 
 MONICA GREY 93 
 
 credit for Mr. Lindsay's improvement to 
 Clem. It is my boy who has roused his 
 interest, and kept him amused and occu- 
 pied. Their love for music has been the 
 great link between them.' 
 
 'Yes,' said the doctor, thoughtfully 
 and quite seriously, ' I certainly don't 
 think I ever met a boy quite like Clem 
 before.' 
 
 I think that doctor must have been 
 intended by nature for a diplomat ! 
 
 A sound of carriage-wheels was heard, 
 and Dick and Harold came tearing round 
 the corner to tell their mother that Mr. 
 Lindsay and Clem were coming. We 
 all went to meet them. Clem darted 
 down the path towards his mother, and 
 throwing his uninjured arm round her 
 neck, dragged her dear cheek down to 
 the level of his lips, and kissed her 
 smiling face over and over again. For 
 an instant her hand rested lovingly on 
 the curly head, and then, as the boy was 
 taken possession of by his brothers, she 
 advanced to greet Lindsay. Suddenly, 
 again, I was seized with an overwhelming,
 
 94 MONICA GREY 
 
 foreboding fear of some undefined evil. 
 Can it be that there is a certain uncanny 
 perception granted to those whose brain 
 may bear an hereditary taint ? 
 
 They spoke no word ; they did not 
 even shake hands. The doctor made 
 some trivial remark, and the children's 
 voices rose in excited boyish chatter. 
 
 Grey came down the steps from the 
 terrace, followed by two or three dogs. 
 The whole scene was so natural, even 
 commonplace all except the look in 
 the eyes of those two. It was a look 
 that made me feel I had unwittingly 
 intruded into an inner sanctuary, sacred 
 to those who had learned secrets only 
 revealed to specially favoured spirits. 
 It was all clear to me as the noonday 
 sun inevitable, unalterable the vibrat- 
 ing presence of life and love ! the hope- 
 less sadness of the future struggle ! And 
 Lindsay knew. But Monica had not the 
 faintest suspicion of the meaning of her 
 joy. So vivid, albeit so transient, was 
 my sense of it all, that my mind reeled, 
 as it were, when I looked again at the
 
 MONICA GREY 95 
 
 unsuspecting contentment and simplicity 
 of the unconscious group around me. 
 Rigorously I took myself to task and 
 yet, O Monica, I saw the abyss of 
 misery towards which your dear feet 
 were hurrying ! I saw the bitter tragedy 
 of your future life, and of the rest of 
 mine! Your very blindness must only 
 make your suffering more intense, and 
 then, as now, I would willingly have 
 laid down my life to save you from 
 this bitter fruit of the tree of know- 
 ledge ! 
 
 Tea had been laid under the cool shade 
 of a mulberry-tree. The three boys' 
 heads were all clustered together, in close 
 observation of a couple of small tortoises, 
 which Clem had produced out of his 
 pocket. 
 
 ' Dawkins says they mustn't be fed on 
 sponge-cake and milk ! ' he asserted. 
 
 ' Why ? ' said Harold, casting longing 
 eyes at those forbidden delicacies on the 
 tea-table. 
 
 ' Dawkins says that when he was a 
 little boy, his little brother fed a tortoise
 
 96 MONICA GREY 
 
 he had on sponge-cake and milk, and it 
 died,' said Clem with convincing incoher- 
 ence. ' I think he said it burst because 
 his little brother first stuffed it with 
 sponge-cake, and then poured the milk 
 down its throat.' 
 
 ' How stupid ! ' said Dick. ' I say, 
 let 's give it the milk first, and then the 
 sponge-cake that '11 be all right : come 
 along ! ' 
 
 The risk was too fascinating to be 
 forgone. Clem handed over one of the 
 poor little reptiles to be experimented 
 upon only stipulating that he should 
 be allowed to feed the other on some 
 form of food known to be innocuous to 
 the breed, and appealed to us all for in- 
 formation and advice on this momentous 
 question. 
 
 Monica bade them sit down and have 
 their own tea, and promised that when 
 that was done they should fetch the big 
 natural history out of the library, and 
 we would all study it for the benefit of 
 their new pets. What with one thing 
 and another, the children monopolised
 
 MONICA GREY 97 
 
 the conversation and our attention till 
 their bedtime, and soon after we all went 
 in to dress for dinner. 
 
 When we were all re-assembled on the 
 terrace, half an hour later, Grey, with 
 what struck my awakened insight as 
 suicidal blindness, began pressing Lindsay 
 to come to Scotland with them. *I 
 don't expect you to shoot, old man, but 
 the change will do you worlds of good, 
 and you will find Monica only too grateful 
 for a congenial companion. She finds it 
 very lonely sometimes, when all the guns 
 are out.' 
 
 Lindsay looked at Monica, and dropped 
 his glance before the dancing delight 
 which the suggestion brought to her 
 eyes. 
 
 ' It is almost too delightful an idea for 
 me to hope it can come true,' she said, in 
 her low vibrating tones. * We must ask 
 Dr. Scott. Do you think he will consent 
 to such a venture ? ' 
 
 My mental vow that I would ensure 
 Scott's disapproval was broken almost as 
 soon as made. Even the thought of safe-
 
 98 MONICA GREY 
 
 guarding Monica was an insult not to be 
 dreamed of. 
 
 She could not say or do what was 
 wrong, even though her faith in what 
 was right should cost her her life. She 
 must suffer, that was inevitable, and I 
 must look on, helplessly. Ah, how 
 conscious I was of all the insignificant 
 happenings that evening ! The pleasant 
 cultured talk at dinner, the music after- 
 wards, Grey and I with our cigarettes 
 and coffee on the terrace, Lindsay's soft 
 baritone floating out to us through the 
 open windows of the drawing-room, the 
 little pauses while he and Monica chose 
 the songs, arid talked them over. The 
 murmur of their two voices, questioning, 
 answering, agreeing, the lingering enjoy- 
 ment of the warm balmy night, Lindsay's 
 farewell (I noticed again that they did 
 not shake hands), and his departure. 
 After that, as we bade each other good- 
 night, Monica's light reminder to me of 
 the work we must finish on the morrow, 
 my flippant suggestion that no one would 
 be the worse if we shirked it, and then
 
 MONICA GREY 99 
 
 the long sleepless night of bitter rebellion 
 against the barbarity of the approaching 
 martyrdom. Fifteen years ago now, and 
 it is all as fresh and sharp as if it had 
 been yesterday !
 
 100 MONICA GREY 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ' We want a new casuistry, which will not be 
 a statement of the minimum requirement, but 
 an exposition of how Christians ought to act in 
 the different departments of social life.' 
 
 THE last week of August 18 was sultry 
 beyond description a kind of heat that 
 really is less endurable in England than 
 in the tropics, where some sort of pains 
 at least are taken to preserve life and 
 reason. Yet in the tropics the tempera- 
 ture is only endured by most of us 
 because we lie quietly in the shade, and 
 sleep all through the hottest hours. But 
 there is no apathy of that kind, when once 
 we are back in England ; the hotter it is, 
 the more do we consider ourselves bound 
 to mental and physical exertion. Is it lest 
 any one should accuse us of being either 
 cool or collected ? In my case, certainly,
 
 MONICA GREY 101 
 
 any such accusation would have been a 
 cruel calumny. But Monica went through 
 the epidemic of harvest festivals, meetings, 
 concerts, dinners, political garden-parties 
 which seemed to keep pace with the 
 valiant efforts of the thermometer to rise 
 to the level of the sun's ambition with 
 her customary unruffled sweetness. Heed- 
 less alike of the vagaries of weather and 
 of guest cheerful, considerate, indefatig- 
 able it almost seemed as if the opposite 
 extremes of temperature and political 
 dulness were reconciled by her har- 
 monising influence. As far as Lindsay's 
 strength permitted, he helped her. His 
 interest in all the events of the week was 
 genuine and hearty. And I could see 
 that, through all her occupations, Monica 
 was joyously conscious of his presence, 
 and watchful to prevent any over-exertion 
 on his part. She revelled in his apprecia- 
 tion and encouragement, and in the ready 
 tact which never failed to soften the 
 aggressiveness of hot party feeling. 
 
 ' Mr. Lindsay, I think I have talked to 
 every sort and condition of humanity
 
 102 MONICA GREY 
 
 represented here to-day, except that 
 group over there,' said Monica on the 
 day of her garden-party, sinking into 
 a low chair near Lindsay's, and looking 
 dubiously towards a group of very smart 
 young women talking gaily to a body- 
 guard of men evidently belonging to 
 their own set. 'Do you know, my 
 courage fails me when I think of break- 
 ing in upon their chaff. I am sure to be 
 a wet blanket, for I never can enter into 
 the subjects that amuse them.' She gazed 
 anxiously towards the gay little party, 
 and sighed rather wearily as she turned 
 her glance back slowly towards Lindsay. 
 ' I would so much rather stay here and 
 talk to you,' she said with a pathetic 
 little note of appeal in her voice. 
 
 Lindsay was very tired ; he rose slowly 
 and painfully, but he spoke lightly. ' Come, 
 my lady, screw up your courage, and 
 we '11 tackle the Philistines. You only 
 want a little encouragement. After all, 
 they are not so very fierce ; and they 
 have been working so hard for you that 
 they deserve a kind word.' He stood
 
 MONICA GREY 103 
 
 beside her chair, resting on his crutches, 
 and looking down into her eyes, his own 
 full of deep, ill-concealed worship. A 
 tender little smile hovered about her lips 
 as she rose silently at his bidding. She 
 thought that look in his eyes was an 
 invitation not to shirk this little un- 
 pleasant duty, and admired his con- 
 sistency. She glanced up at him again, 
 as they moved side by side towards the 
 group of which Mrs. Graham was the 
 centre. His face was absolutely im- 
 passive. 
 
 * I am not afraid of being bored ; it is 
 not that exactly,' she said : ' I don't 
 understand them, that's all. Perhaps I 
 am too stupid to find out their good 
 points and their interests.' 
 
 ' H'm,' ejaculated Lindsay ; * very pro- 
 bably.' 
 
 * They talk in a way that is hateful to 
 me,' continued Monica. ' I would not 
 like my little girl, if I had one, to hear 
 them. It hurts me ! Perhaps you think 
 I see harm where there really is none. 
 Perhaps '
 
 104 MONICA GREY 
 
 ' Ah, Lady Monica ! ' called out Mrs. 
 Graham, ' you are just in the nick of 
 time. You '11 help us to decide a very 
 knotty point. We have all been shriek- 
 ing with laughter. You know pretty 
 little Mollie Drummond ran away from 
 her husband last March he really was 
 too unbearable, so jealous and exacting, 
 and by way of being devoted to her. 
 Then he had what he called "ideals of 
 female perfection," and exploded views 
 about a wife's subjection, and her being 
 the angel of the hearth and home, and 
 all kinds of trash of that sort altogether 
 an impossible husband for a cheery little 
 soul like her. No harm in her, not a bit 
 just a little fond of amusing herself 
 she never dreamed of breaking up the 
 home when she frisked off to Paris 
 with Lord Charles ; but that strait-laced 
 idiot absolutely refused to let her come 
 back to Green Street, and poor Lord 
 Charlie had to look like a fool, and be 
 co-respondent in a divorce case. What 
 a mountain out of a mole-hill ! ' She 
 threw up her pretty hands with a gesture
 
 MONICA GREY 105 
 
 that implied the impossibility of dealing 
 with such a lunatic. 
 
 Gently, Monica tried to put in a word 
 and stem the torrent. 'Dear Mrs. 
 Graham, I was just coming to thank 
 you and everybody,' smiling round on 
 the group, * for having helped me so 
 much to-day. It has been so good and 
 kind of you.' 
 
 ' Don't mention it, my dear, don't 
 mention it ; always glad to stand by a 
 pal ! But do listen to me about Mollie 
 Drummond. You know the whole story. 
 The amusing thing is that Mollie carried 
 off her rubies, and now she refuses to 
 give them up. Mr. Drummond vows 
 they 're heirlooms ; she swears they 're 
 not, because he gave them to her before 
 they were married. I believe they really 
 are heirlooms, but the question is whether 
 she 11 be clever enough to keep them. 
 We 've been arguing about it for the last 
 half-hour. Lady Castleray suggests that 
 all the poor little dear's friends should 
 send her their various ideas for getting 
 out of parting with the jewels.'
 
 106 MONICA GREY 
 
 Mrs. Graham, still pouring out her 
 little, flood of scandal, had drawn Monica 
 down to a seat beside her, in the midst of 
 the lazy, lounging group of ten or twelve. 
 'You must be so tired, you poor dear 
 soul, after wrestling with all those dowdy 
 creatures! ' she went on. ' Now just you 
 sit down, and Mr. Mordaunt shall go and 
 get you some champagne-cup. I 'm sure 
 you want it you look half-dead and 
 we'll amuse you. We haven't helped 
 you half so much as we ought, but really 
 it was too hot to move, and we have been 
 so deep in our discussion. Good Mr. 
 Mordaunt ! here 's the champagne-cup. 
 Now drink it and be good ; and, oh yes, 
 Captain Richards, you make Mr. Lindsay 
 drink some too that 's right ! Now, my 
 dear, 1 11 give you the suggestions we 
 have collected so far. Lady Castleray 
 says she should lose the rubies. Miss 
 Stuart says she would never take them 
 off; but I say you can't wear a ruby 
 and diamond tiara on your bonnet at 
 the Army and Navy Stores. Captain 
 Richards' notion is the best, I think ;
 
 MONICA GREY 107 
 
 he says, " Pawn them, spend the money, 
 and take your chance." So likely to 
 come off ! I can't quite make up 
 my mind whether I would advise her 
 to ' 
 
 * I have a much better plan,' I said, 
 plunging in valiantly, so as to divert atten- 
 tion from Monica's heroic and not very 
 successful efforts at polite interest. ' Let 
 us all write down our advice to Mrs. 
 Drummond, and salve our consciences 
 by sending our advice to Mr. Drummond 
 as well. I daresay he wants it too, and 
 we shall have the fun of seeing both 
 sides of the question.' 
 
 ' I vote against the amendment, for 
 one,' said Lady Castleray energetically. 
 * Mr. Drummond deserves no sympathy 
 whatever. No man should be counte- 
 nanced in society who obtrudes his ultra- 
 rigid morality on people who, after all, 
 only tolerate him out of consideration for 
 the charms of his wife.' Her ladyship 
 shut up her fan with a snap, and looked 
 round for the support to which she 
 honestly believed she was entitled. There
 
 108 MONICA GREY 
 
 was a little buzz of murmured approval, 
 and one of the men ejaculated : 
 
 ' Self-righteous ass ! Sorry for the 
 poor little woman ! ' 
 
 ' Can he possibly have been so ill- 
 advised as to go to extremes in defence 
 of such comparatively exploded prin- 
 ciples ? ' said Lindsay dryly, turning to 
 Lady Castleray with a perfectly serious 
 expression. 
 
 * Yes, indeed, isn't it monstrous ? ' said 
 Mrs. Graham, incapable of holding her 
 tongue for another moment, and, like 
 the rest of her party, utterly blind to 
 the sarcasm of Lindsay's query. 'The 
 Duchess is furious. She told me last 
 week she meant to take the first possible 
 chance next season of publicly showing 
 her feeling for poor Lord Charles. She 
 means to give a big dinner-party, and 
 invite all the best people in town to 
 meet him.' 
 
 'And is Mrs. Drummond to be asked ? ' 
 inquired Lindsay innocently. 
 
 ' Well,' said Lady Castleray doubtfully, 
 ' I don't think that would quite do. Not
 
 MONICA GREY 109 
 
 that the Duchess isn't frantic at Jack 
 Drummond's injustice and brutality ; but 
 you know Lord Charlie's fascinations 
 have ensnared many fine ladies, and 
 though they will be willing enough to 
 offer up more incense at the white-wash- 
 ing party at G house, you can't 
 
 very well expect them to forgive the 
 woman whose indiscretions have made it 
 necessary.' 
 
 * I see,' said Lindsay, with absolute 
 composure. * But wouldn't a demonstra- 
 tion in favour of the poor pretty lady 
 be equally appropriate ? ' 
 
 ' She 's too pretty ! ' admitted one of 
 Lady Castleray's handsome daughters 
 honestly. 
 
 The ingenuous remark evoked a re- 
 proving glance from her mother, and an 
 exclamation of surprise from a lately 
 married sister. 
 
 ' Oh, don't let 's be spiteful ! ' cried 
 Mrs. Graham appealingly. 'You Ve quite 
 shocked Lady Monica, Laura.' 
 
 Everybody laughed. 
 
 ' I 'm certain Laura never meant to
 
 110 MONICA GREY 
 
 be spiteful,' said Monica gently, with a 
 kindly glance at the girl. 
 
 'Ah, dear Lady Monica, you are the 
 most charitable of women ! ' said Lady 
 Castleray. ' Still,' she added, bending 
 over and speaking in a voice intended 
 only to reach Monica's ear, 'no young 
 girl should insinuate the existence of that 
 sort of feeling in society. I always check 
 any sign of tactlessness in my daughters. 
 Besides,' she added, ' it is not quite kind,' 
 and she gave herself a little self-righteous 
 flutter, like a bird pruning its feathers, as 
 she rose to say good-bye. 
 
 ' I am always lost in admiration of 
 your cleverness, Lady Monica,' said Mrs. 
 Graham, as she shook hands. ' You Ve 
 actually kept us all interested and amused 
 at a political garden-party, till now it's 
 so late that we shall none of us get home 
 in time for dinner. Not that it matters 
 much this weather ; it 's too hot for any- 
 thing but those delightful iced dinners 
 we used to have in Malta. But no 
 English cook can rise to those heights ; 
 and, after all, they were very indigestible.
 
 MONICA GREY 111 
 
 I remember Oh, I really must be going ! 
 Au revoirf she called out over her 
 shoulder, half way to her carriage, 
 * We 're to meet at dinner at Broad- 
 lands to-morrow night, you know '; and 
 she nodded and waved her hand to 
 Lindsay. 
 
 ' How that woman does talk ! ' said 
 Grey, who had joined the party just as 
 the others left. 'No, don't go, Lindsay; 
 stay and dine with us, and sit down and 
 rest now ; we shan't get anything to eat 
 for at least an hour. The servants never 
 know whether they are standing on their 
 heads or their heels after one of these 
 functions, and we have to make a virtue 
 of necessity and put up with unpunctu- 
 ality. What makes you look so glum, 
 Monica ? ' he said, sitting down beside 
 her. 
 
 ' She is dead tired,' I answered for her, 
 'and so are Lindsay and I. We have 
 spent the last half-hour in a fruitless 
 chase after Charity, or that part of it 
 which is described as " not behaving itself 
 unseemly." There was a false alarm of a
 
 MONICA GREY 
 
 find once, but we drew blank after all, 
 though Monica did whip up every avail- 
 able hound; but the scent wouldn't lie. 
 And now we 're quite exhausted.' 
 
 * I expect you enjoyed it,' said Grey 
 good-humouredly to me ; * you are only 
 pretending to have been shocked and 
 bored, to keep Monica in countenance. 
 She generally contrives to extract a vast 
 amount of misery out of the morals and 
 conversation of Lady Castleray and her 
 set ; but for the life of me I can't see 
 what 's wrong with them. I think they 
 are really very amusing and unconven- 
 tional. They 're all right don't you 
 think, Lindsay ? ' 
 
 'I thought them all wrong to-day,' 
 said Lindsay quietly. He was leaning 
 far back in a deep low deck-chair, his 
 crutches on the ground beside him, his 
 hands resting on the arms of the chair. 
 He was almost facing Monica, and every 
 time he raised his eyes they rested on 
 her face. I had thrown myself down 
 on the grass at her feet ; Grey had 
 moved over to a little table, and was
 
 MONICA GREY 113 
 
 sitting on it smoking a cigarette. He 
 raised his eyebrows as he puffed his 
 smoke into the still, oppressive air, and 
 looked at Lindsay with rather a puzzled 
 expression. 
 
 'Perhaps she was trying to please 
 Monica by discussing one of her favourite 
 topics, some ideal or purpose,' he haz- 
 arded, after a little silence. 'She certainly 
 wouldn't show to advantage in connec- 
 tion with such very unfamiliar themes. 
 But you set her off upon the latest 
 scandal or some social matter, and she 's 
 brilliant.' 
 
 ' She shone in her natural atmosphere, 
 I assure you,' said Lindsay. 'I don't 
 object to the selection of her facts, but to 
 her handling of them. Anything like an 
 ideal is, as you say, quite outside her 
 range.' 
 
 ' " Oh, what a falling off is there ! " ' 
 hummed Grey. ' No use fretting, Mo- 
 nica; you'll never reform Lady Castle- 
 ray.' 
 
 Monica smiled rather sadly at her 
 husband. 
 
 H
 
 114 MONICA GREY 
 
 ' It isn't that she falls,' she said gently, 
 ' but that she never aspires.' 
 
 * She couldn't fall, my dear lady, 
 because there 's no standard of life be- 
 neath hers,' I said spitefully. ' If she 
 made a mistake now and then, and 
 struggled up again, one would have some 
 respect for her.' 
 
 * " Our great glory is not ... in never 
 falling, but in rising every time we fall," 
 quoted Lindsay softly, gazing across at 
 Monica. She smiled back at him, and 
 again I intercepted their glance of com- 
 plete and voiceless understanding, and 
 chafed against it. 
 
 ' I hope you didn't snub the poor 
 things, Monica,' said Grey, laughing. 
 'After all, some people do find ideals 
 very unsatisfactory and disappointing 
 things. ' 
 
 * I don't think my silence could have 
 been misconstrued into a desire to snub 
 any one,' said Monica lightly. ' Do 
 you ? ' she questioned, looking down 
 at me ; then seriously, ' I don't think 
 the ideals can ever disappoint ; it is
 
 MONICA GREY 115 
 
 our failures to attain that sadden 
 us.' 
 
 ' That is a mere assertion, dear. Many 
 people who have neither striven nor 
 failed hold that ideals are very poor 
 comfort in practical difficulties,' said 
 Grey. 
 
 Monica was silent. Lindsay had closed 
 his eyes. Grey's own practical matter- 
 of-factness always paralysed his wife's 
 diffident power of expression. 
 
 ' At any rate, your "intelligent silence " 
 conveyed no snub to Mrs. Graham,' I 
 hastened to reassure her, 'for she told 
 you how amusing and interesting she 
 found you. I only wonder she didn't 
 twist it into complete sympathy with her 
 own morals and standard.' 
 
 ' Perhaps she did,' said Monica, rising. 
 ' I ordered dinner on the terrace, Francis. 
 It will be ready in about a quarter of 
 an hour. I must go in to the children.' 
 She walked slowly away from us to- 
 wards the house, her soft laces fluttering 
 round her in the little breeze which has 
 sprung up. Would Lindsay open his
 
 116 MONICA GREY 
 
 eyes ? He was fighting a hard fight 
 with his longing to watch the beautiful 
 figure in its delicate draperies. The 
 inscrutable lips were tightly compressed, 
 and the long sensitive hands clenched 
 the arms of his chair. 
 
 I found myself wondering, almost 
 breathlessly, whether the man's longing 
 or his will would conquer. Suddenly 
 the tension relaxed, and a smile softened 
 the resolute mouth. Monica stood be- 
 side him. 
 
 * You called me ? ' she asked him 
 quietly. 
 
 ' No, my lady,' he answered, simply. 
 
 ' Oh, I must have dreamed it ! ' she 
 said, with a curious little uncertain laugh. 
 ' Come with me and see the children, 
 Francis.' She slipped her arm in her 
 husband's, and they moved away to- 
 gether. 
 
 This time Lindsay gazed after her 
 with his soul in his eyes, till she dis- 
 appeared into the house. Then he 
 turned to me, and with unconcealed 
 agitation,
 
 MONICA GREY 117 
 
 ' Mordaunt, old friend, did I call her ? ' 
 he said. 
 
 * Like a Lorelei,' I answered, looking 
 him straight in the eyes. 
 
 His only answer was a broken-hearted 
 moan.
 
 118 MONICA GREY 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ' Ce n'est pas non plus 1'amour de roman, 
 Faux, pretentieux, avec une glose 
 De si, de pourquoi, de mais, de comment, 
 C'est 1'amour tout simple et pas autre chose ! ' 
 
 AT Lindsay's request, I spent the whole 
 of the next day at Broadlands. He dis- 
 charged all his onerous duties as landlord 
 and host with courage and spirit, and 
 apparently without fatigue. It was ex- 
 traordinary how his capacity for physical 
 exertion had increased as he realised how 
 precious life had grown to him since 
 the light of Monica's steadfast, purpose- 
 ful existence had broken the gloom of 
 his own unsatisfying agnosticism. I don't 
 believe he had analysed the reasons of the 
 renewed zest in mere living which filled 
 his days with such a still, intense joy. 
 There was no definite expectation, but 
 upon his pain-streaked horizon had sud-
 
 MONICA GREY 119 
 
 denly risen a healing light, which brought 
 hope back into his world again. As I 
 watched the expanding of all that was 
 noble and unselfish in the man, I realised 
 that if Monica went out of his life, his 
 sun would set, never to rise again. And 
 yet . . . she must go out of his life. 
 How and when I could not foresee. It 
 was impossible that they should continue 
 to meet daily, depend more and more on 
 each other, and not ultimately recognise 
 their mutual dependence. Sooner or 
 later, Monica must eat of the fruit of the 
 tree of knowledge and what then ? She 
 would try to shut the door on her love 
 for him, remorselessly, unflinchingly, and 
 she would hold him too high in her 
 esteem to admit for a moment that his 
 horror and shame at her perfidy were 
 less overpowering than her own, or that 
 anything short of utter renunciation could 
 be more admissible in his eyes than in hers. 
 But for the man, so shaken already by 
 the wreck of his active life, I knew that 
 nothing would remain save outer dark- 
 ness and gnashing of teeth.
 
 120 MONICA GREY 
 
 All through that long day he had 
 never alluded to the previous afternoon, 
 and yet, over and over again, the remem- 
 brance of it shone in his eyes. 
 
 By eight o'clock the tenants had all 
 departed, having dined and dined so 
 copiously that I, for one, hoped I should 
 never see food again ! and we were wait- 
 ing in the library for the arrival of the 
 select county magnates, who, I devoutly 
 trusted, would come clothed in well-bred 
 indifference as to the quantity and variety 
 of their evening repast. Fastidiousness 
 as to quality I was still willing to permit, 
 and that I felt would be amply gratified 
 by Lindsay's cordon bleu. 
 
 The company came, and the meal was 
 duly served and despatched. The con- 
 versation was like most conversations at 
 large county dinners a disjointed medley 
 of platitude and small talk, with a pause 
 here and there, upon which some inanity 
 dropped like a noisy splash into a slug- 
 gish pool, only to startle the muddy 
 liquid into dull opaque rings that rippled 
 away and faded once more against the
 
 MONICA GREY 121 
 
 banks of silence. There was no sequence, 
 very little mutual understanding, a de- 
 cided sense of fatigue, an occasional 
 yawn stifled with well-bred promptitude, 
 an eagerness for the stimulus champagne 
 gives to jaded muscles and nerves with 
 the earlier courses, a distinct disposition 
 to submit to its soporific effects as we 
 neared the last. But the dinner came 
 to an end, and the ladies trooped out ; 
 and soon after we had followed them 
 to the drawing-room, wheels crunched 
 upon the gravel, and, to my infinite 
 relief, the party began to melt away. 
 
 * Monica,' said Grey, coming across the 
 room to his wife, ' Graham has just had 
 a message to say that his coachman has 
 been taken ill, and cannot bring the 
 carriage for them. You will not mind 
 sending them home in ours, and waiting 
 here for an hour ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, of course ! ' said Monica. ' No, 
 indeed ! ' she assured Mrs. Graham, who 
 was pouring out regrets and laments, ' I 
 don't mind in the least. I shall be very 
 glad of a quiet hour with Mr. Lindsay ;
 
 MONICA GREY 
 
 he has promised to look up some pas- 
 sages in a German book for me. These 
 last few days have been such a rush, 
 there has been no time to think or 
 read.' 
 
 Mrs. Graham departed in a perfect 
 tempest of apologies, conjectures, and 
 imputations on everybody concerned, 
 present or absent, waving her hand to 
 us as we stood on the steps, and chatter- 
 ing frantically out of the carriage- window 
 long after she was out of hearing. 
 
 'Upon my soul, Lindsay,' said Grey, 
 * I believe you never would have got rid 
 of her at all, if I hadn't offered her the 
 carriage. By George, I wonder Graham 
 don't die of broken ear-drums ! What 
 a pest it must be to have that ceaseless 
 stream of cheap talk poured out upon 
 you night and day ! You really may 
 thank me for having saved you from a 
 night of it ! By the way, Mordaunt, have 
 we time to walk across the park and look 
 at that pond we were talking about ? It 's 
 such a lovely night, as light as day, and I 
 haven't time to come over to-morrow.
 
 MONICA GREY 123 
 
 You 11 look after Monica, Lindsay ! Ta- 
 ta !' 
 
 For a few seconds Lindsay stood 
 motionless in the moonlight. Then, 
 slowly raising his face to the starlit sky, 
 he muttered a low * Thank God ! ' the 
 nearest approach to a prayer, maybe, that 
 had passed his lips since his childhood. 
 Deliberately he turned and went back to 
 the drawing-room, in search of Monica. 
 She was not there, and he retraced his 
 steps to the hall. Monica came towards 
 him from the library. 
 
 'Come and rest, Mr. Lindsay, and I 
 will get down the books you want. This 
 is quite an unexpected chance. I hope 
 you are not too tired to be as glad of it 
 as I am.' 
 
 ' Even if I were very tired, I think I 
 could be as glad as you are,' said Lindsay, 
 looking down very gravely into her smil- 
 ing, happy eyes. 
 
 That night Monica was beautifully 
 dressed as indeed she always was in 
 some pale shimmering stuff that set 
 closely to her beautiful figure, and I
 
 124 MONICA GREY 
 
 remember that there were straps of black 
 velvet over her white shoulders. She 
 wore no jewels at all except a long thin 
 gold chain wound round her beautiful 
 bare neck, and a little miniature of Clem 
 tucked into the bosom of her gown. 
 Those round arms of hers were one of 
 her chief beauties. Lindsay wondered 
 at her whiteness and shapeliness as he 
 watched her get down the books. She 
 had insisted on his settling into his 
 invalid chair in the bay-window. The 
 moonlight streamed in at the open glass- 
 doors, seeming to fight with pale set 
 resolve against the pink shaded lights 
 within the room. To him it looked like 
 a cold relentless fate ! It looked like 
 Death ! 
 
 Monica came slowly from the other 
 end of the room, in the soft warm radi- 
 ance of the lamplight. Ah, here was 
 life, and love, and beauty, held before 
 his eyes by Fate, and denied to his long- 
 ing grasp ! He hid his eyes, and fairly 
 groaned. 
 
 * Ah, Mr. Lindsay, you are tired,' said
 
 MONICA GREY 125 
 
 Monica : * I shall take the law into my 
 own hands. You shall not read to me. 
 I will turn out the lights, and come and 
 sit beside you, and then you can talk or 
 not talk, just as you like.' 
 
 She put the books down on the writ- 
 ing-table, and turned to put out the 
 lights. 
 
 * Where is Francis, I wonder ? ' she 
 said, pausing, ' and Mr. Mordaunt ? 
 Would you rather I went and waited 
 with them for the carriage ? ' 
 
 'They have walked across the park 
 to look at the pond,' said Lindsay, in an 
 even, expressionless tone. 
 
 * Oh ! ' said Monica thoughtfully. She 
 turned off the electric lights near his 
 couch, and walked slowly to the window. 
 
 * The glorious night ! ' she exclaimed, 
 standing still in the flood of silver light. 
 
 ' Come out of the moonlight, my lady ! ' 
 exclaimed Lindsay, quickly and excitedly. 
 ' Oh, please do come away ! ' he pleaded 
 in a lower voice, and holding out his 
 hands to her. 
 
 Monica looked at him wonderingly for
 
 126 MONICA GREY 
 
 a moment, then a great rush of pity 
 swept over her. She moved towards 
 him, and kneeling on a low stool beside 
 his chair, took the outstretched hands in 
 both her own, and held them in a soft 
 firm grasp. 
 
 * What is the matter ? ' she said softly, 
 raising her tender beautiful face to his. 
 
 How loud the clock ticked, and what 
 a noise the frogs made, down by the 
 river ! Had they only just begun ? A 
 little bird waked out of its sleep and 
 twittered surely it was not the right 
 time for birds to be awake ! Why did 
 Lindsay's heart beat so fast, she wondered, 
 and her own ! she did not remember that 
 she had ever heard her heart beat before. 
 How long had they been gazing into 
 each other's eyes ? 
 
 * Monica, my darling ! ' 
 
 Her head sank till her lips rested on 
 the hands clasped in her own. 
 
 * What has happened ? ' she said pre- 
 sently, with a little fluttering sound that
 
 MONICA GREY 127 
 
 was not exactly a laugh, and raising her 
 head to look in his face again. 'You 
 have been telling me something, and yet 
 I did not hear you speak ! It is so 
 strange, and I do not understand. I am 
 so stupid ! ' she said, smiling, her whole 
 face lit with a happy wonder. ' Tell me 
 so that I can understand ! I think I 
 never wanted to hear anything so much 
 in my life ! ' she murmured. 
 
 Lindsay had not stirred he sat silent, 
 rigidly still, so completely absorbed in 
 the thrilling, lovely woman beside him, 
 that when he spoke at last the words 
 came as if impelled by some internal 
 force over which he had no control. He 
 must not frighten her, and yet the words 
 would come. 
 
 ' You have been asleep all your life : 
 you have only just waked up ! ' 
 
 'Yes?' she said inquiringly. 'What 
 else ? ' 
 
 'Your God has thrown us together, 
 and has made us love each other,' he 
 went on quite quietly, with a sort of 
 stern gentleness. In the back of his
 
 128 MONICA GREY 
 
 mind there was a ghastly fear that she 
 would suddenly jump at what it all 
 meant and yet the moment was one of 
 exquisite happiness. 
 
 ' Love in your heart for me ? ' she 
 whispered, looking away from him out 
 into the night. 
 
 * Monica, turn your face ! ' cried 
 Lindsay, in an agony of fear that the 
 night might tell her something that 
 would take her away from him. Slowly 
 she turned her face. He caught a change 
 on it ; the smile on the beautiful mouth 
 a little fixed, as if checked by a glimpse 
 of some partially understood truth. But 
 as she met his ardent eyes, it broke out 
 radiantly again, and hers shone with a 
 light that dragged from him a passionate 
 cry. 
 
 ' Monica, I worship you ! You are all 
 my world and all my heaven. You must 
 tell me what I am to you ! ' 
 
 Suddenly the light poured in upon 
 the woman's understanding, and fell on 
 the edge of the abyss on which she 
 stood.
 
 MONICA GREY 129 
 
 Monica sank back, staring into his 
 eyes, helpless, horrified. No answer rose 
 to the petrified lips ; the light died slowly 
 out of the exquisite face. Her hands 
 dropped nervelessly from his, her lithe 
 body swayed a little. There was no 
 prudish pretence of misunderstanding the 
 situation. The idea of masking this love 
 of hers and Lindsay's from the eyes of 
 the world never occurred to her. The 
 innate truth of the woman would not 
 permit the smallest subterfuge. There 
 she stood, wide-eyed upon the very brink 
 of the chasm faithlessness to her given 
 word, her marriage bond. 
 
 She knew she loved this man with all 
 her heart and soul. She must tell him 
 so; he had a right to know. But the 
 words seemed to choke her. Slowly she 
 rose as if in a dream. A church clock 
 in the distance chimed the hour ; it broke 
 the spell, and the paralysing horror 
 dropped off her like a garment. 
 
 Precept, prejudice, tradition, fell away 
 into nothingness, and she stood there 
 simply a loving woman, rapt and rejoicing
 
 130 MONICA GREY 
 
 in that which God Himself has called ' the 
 greatest' thing. Even the thought of 
 the inevitable confession to her husband 
 could not annul this hour. 
 
 ' I understand, at last ! ' she said, and 
 her voice was so quiet that it almost 
 sounded cold to Lindsay's ear. The 
 calm tone steadied his overwrought 
 nerves, and he ceased to rage at his 
 powerlessness to rise and go to her. A 
 feeling of intense wonder as to what she 
 would say and do came over him. She 
 would not fail him ! it was impossible 
 that she could fail any fellow-creature ! 
 so he waited, noting every movement of 
 the tall, gracious figure, watching every 
 fleeting expression on the beautiful face, 
 reckoning with touching confidence on 
 the strength of her unshakable integrity. 
 
 She came and stood beside him. 
 
 * Ronnie, I love you too,' she said, 
 laying one hand lightly on his shoulder, 
 * with all my heart and soul, as you love 
 me. Your love means so much to me ! 
 It is wonderful ! I can't realise it. But 
 I will try to be worthy through all the
 
 MONICA GREY 131 
 
 cold, dreary future away from you,' 
 she faltered, with a quick sob. 
 
 'There can be no future for either 
 of us, apart from one another,' he said 
 sternly. ' If you can even dream of that, 
 you do not really love me ! ' 
 
 ' Not really love you ? ' repeated 
 Monica slowly, with a little low laugh. 
 ' How shall I prove to you that I love 
 you?' 
 
 Again she knelt down beside him, took 
 his face between her two hands and drew 
 it towards her own. The moonlight fell 
 on her glistening gown, throwing off 
 little flashes of light as she bent towards 
 him. 
 
 ' Not love you ! Not love you ! ' She 
 laid her lips on his and kissed him. ' Not 
 love you ? I love you so well that I give 
 my honour into your keeping. I love 
 you so well that I am content to go 
 through the rest of my life knowing in 
 my own heart that I am shameless and 
 fallen ! ' She spoke each word with a 
 kind of vibrating distinctness. Gently 
 she drew his head down on to her
 
 132 MONICA GREY 
 
 shoulder, softly stroking his cheek. ' Do 
 you believe now that I love you ? ' 
 
 He clasped his arms round her, holding 
 her to him in a passionate embrace, rain- 
 ing kisses on her soft warm neck. Sob 
 after sob broke from him short dry 
 sobs torn from a heart that would have 
 faced any pain but this agony of renuncia- 
 tion without a murmur. 
 
 ' Oh, hush, hush, my beloved ! ' 
 Monica crooned over him, resting her 
 head against his as it lay on her shoulder. 
 ' We know we must part ; it could not 
 be otherwise. It would not be right to 
 meet and rejoice in each other ; at least, 
 it could not be right for me. You are 
 free, but I I must be true. Tell me 
 to go ! I would like to feel that you 
 thought it best too ! No, no, dear, 
 don't say it ; it is too hard, but I know 
 it is in your heart ! ' 
 
 * Monica, you don't the least realise 
 what it means,' said Lindsay, in a hoarse 
 whisper. 'You think it will only be a 
 sacrifice, and you have the martyr's 
 spirit. Even if you are ready to suffer
 
 MONICA GREY 133 
 
 daily crucifixion for yourself, will you 
 face the knowledge that it is killing 
 me?' 
 
 He had lifted his head from her 
 shoulder ; she was horrified by the 
 haggard look of despair in his face. 
 
 'But if we love each other, what 
 matter is it if we suffer and die ? ' she 
 asked, smiling bravely at him, and hold- 
 ing his hands against her heart. 'We 
 have eternity before us ! What is a life 
 of suffering compared to that ? ' 
 
 She was still giddy with the ecstasy 
 the last hour had wrought in her. She 
 had never dreamed that such exquisite 
 joy could be ; it flooded her present and 
 her future, and streamed back over her 
 past, lighting up the chillness of the long 
 years during which she had not known 
 this man. How could she realise that 
 the elation must pass that the mere 
 knowledge of his love for her would not 
 suffice that the time would come when 
 she would crave for one word, one look, 
 with an unquenchable longing ! 
 
 'You don't understand, my darling,'
 
 134 MONICA GREY 
 
 said Lindsay, very gently. ' I do that 's 
 all.' 
 
 He leaned back in his chair exhausted. 
 
 'Perhaps not, Ronnie, but I shall 
 learn,' she said wistfully. 
 
 ' And I shall not teach you ! ' he said 
 brokenly. 
 
 Through all her confusion and excite- 
 ment the one thing quite clear to her 
 was that she must go. She had a dim 
 feeling that she must go at once; she 
 must be quiet and alone away from the 
 stress and tumult, the painful joy. *I 
 must go,' she said breathlessly, her clasped 
 hands pressed tightly against her throat. 
 ' Let me go ! ' she cried again, moving 
 slowly back from him, her eyes fixed 
 on his face in a kind of fascinated help- 
 lessness. 
 
 ' No, I will not let you go ! ' gasped 
 Lindsay, struggling to his feet. ' It is 
 not right or just ! ' With a superhuman 
 effort he covered the few steps between 
 them. * Monica ! you are cruel, you 
 drive me to ' 
 
 ' Where shall she drive you to ? ' I
 
 MONICA GREY 135 
 
 heard Grey cry as I followed him in 
 through the library window. ' Why, my 
 dear fellow, where are your crutches ? 
 Your rashness is frightening my wife out 
 of her wits ! Well, Monica, don't roll 
 your eyes; did you suppose Lindsay 
 would never do without his crutches 
 again ? ' 
 
 I slipped round to Ronnie's side, and 
 rang the bell for his servant as I passed. 
 
 ' I will see Lady Monica into her 
 carriage,' he said quietly, and I felt his 
 hand like lead upon my outstretched 
 arm. 
 
 They drove away. He turned to me 
 with a wan smile. 
 
 *I think, old man, I'll go to bed. 
 Some days are harder than others . . .'
 
 136 MONICA GREY 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ' Bow down Thine ear and hear ! 
 
 Open Thine eyes and see ! 
 Our very love is shame, 
 
 And we must come to Thee 
 To make it of Thy grace 
 
 What Thou wouldst have it be.' 
 
 ' FRANCIS, will you come into the rose- 
 garden with me ? ' said Monica next 
 morning, after breakfast. ' I have some- 
 thing to say to you.' 
 
 * Have they been digging up your 
 rose-trees ? ' laughed Grey, looking at 
 the boys, whose indignant protest against 
 so unjust an accusation rose in shrill 
 chorus. 
 
 We were all standing on the terrace, 
 on the shady side of the house. Monica 
 had dark rings round her eyes, and 
 looked as if she had not rested or slept. 
 
 'You haven't got your basket and
 
 MONICA GREY 137 
 
 scissors, mother darling,' said Clem, 
 struck with the incongruity, to his mind, 
 of seeing his mother go to her rose- 
 garden without the usual panoply of her 
 war against beetle and blight. ' I '11 run 
 and fetch them from your room.' 
 
 'Thank you, dear son! No, don't 
 come with me,' she added, as Clem, 
 armed with the basket and scissors, 
 would have carried them down the 
 garden for her. ' I want to talk to 
 father alone. You shall all come to 
 the farm with me presently,' she added, 
 noting Clem's look of disappointment. 
 
 'Francis,' she said with brave effort, 
 when they had reached the secluded 
 garden, gay with the second blow, which 
 is not so rich and full, perhaps, as the 
 first, but which has a fragrance and a 
 touch of melancholy all its own, ' I want 
 to tell you something something for 
 which you will perhaps condemn me, 
 and not unjustly. But I ask you to 
 believe my blindness and ignorance were 
 not intentional. It hurts me to tell you 
 what will grieve you, and it hurts me
 
 138 MONICA GREY 
 
 still more to think my wrongdoing may 
 make you despise goodness. No ! listen,' 
 she said, laying her hand on his arm, as 
 if to arrest his half-spoken disclaimer ; 
 ' you must hear me out ! I want you 
 to believe,' she continued with gentle 
 dignity, 'that principle and religion are 
 just as real as ever. All the blame lies 
 in my personal failure. I don't know 
 what I could have done to prevent what 
 has happened,' she went on wistfully, 
 ' but if I had learned more of life I might 
 have been able to save Mr. Lindsay this 
 new sorrow.' 
 
 ' Lindsay ? ' exclaimed Grey, ' the 
 trouble is about Lindsay ? My dear 
 Monica, you take life too seriously ! I 
 suppose all this is to lead up to the 
 announcement that you have found out 
 that Lindsay has fallen in love with you ! 
 I could have told you that a week ago ! 
 Of course he has fallen in love with you ! 
 I admire his good taste. I may even 
 say, as a fellow-victim to your irresistible 
 charms, that I sympathise with him ! ' 
 
 * Oh, Francis, listen ! please let me tell
 
 MONICA GREY 139 
 
 you everything ! I ... it is not only 
 Mr. Lindsay . . .' 
 
 'What? More of them!' laughed Grey; 
 then seeing the real distress in her face, 
 he continued in a graver tone: 'My 
 dear child, you are making too much 
 fuss about a very everyday affair. A 
 political man's wife must make herself 
 of use by gaining him the support and 
 co-operation of influential men. If she 
 can do it without harrowing other 
 people's feelings, and if she is clever 
 enough to gain her ends without making 
 use of her personal fascinations, well and 
 good ; if not . . . well, then she and the 
 men must take the consequences ! Until 
 now, by some extraordinary piece of 
 good fortune, you have escaped, and this 
 time your propriety would most likely 
 have remained unshocked if you had not 
 had to deal with a man whose nerve 
 has been lately broken by an accident. 
 He '11 get over it ! ' 
 
 'No, he will not get over it,' said 
 Monica sadly ; ' people don't get over real 
 love so easily, Francis. I
 
 140 MONICA GREY 
 
 * Oh ! Pooh ! Nonsense, Monica ! 
 The days when people love for ever 
 are past, if they ever existed. Do put 
 away your poetry, and go and read your 
 cookery book ! ' 
 
 ' I wonder if I deserve that you should 
 not take me seriously, Francis, when I 
 am trying so hard to tell you what I feel 
 you ought to know ! ' She made a little 
 gesture of helpless perplexity, and the 
 tears gathered in her eyes as she glanced 
 up at him pleadingly. 
 
 ' Pray don't harrow your feelings any 
 more, my dear, nor work up your tender 
 conscience to confess the crime of your 
 temporary infatuation for a very charm- 
 ing fellow. I quite understand ' 
 
 Monica started at this rough touch on 
 what was so sacred to her ; and the tears 
 fell fast. She felt humiliated by the 
 sense that the man who should at least 
 have respected her effort at loyalty did 
 not apparently care whether she was 
 faithful or not. It was useless to say 
 anything more. He would not under- 
 stand her.
 
 MONICA GREY 141 
 
 The sight of her distress irritated her 
 husband. 
 
 'My dear girl, it is not like you to 
 take such distorted views. I almost 
 expect a tragedy-queen announcement 
 that you worship poor old Lindsay with 
 a passionate love which will brook no 
 denial/ he said, with a short sarcastic 
 laugh. 
 
 Monica stared at him, speechless. 
 
 ' This is all stuff and nonsense ! ' he 
 went on ; ' we all recognise, nowadays, 
 that sentiment won't do. We keep our 
 feelings well under control, and if they 
 get beyond it,' he added more gently, 
 ' there must be some easily found cause. 
 I suspect you are run down from the 
 heat and then you have worked very 
 hard for me this week,' he said, smiling. 
 ' We will hurry on our move to Scotland. 
 A run on the moors will soon bring back 
 your natural spirits. ... I must go now, 
 or I shall miss my train. Good-bye, 
 dear wife ! Let me see a more cheerful 
 face at dinner-time, that's all I ask of 
 you !'
 
 142 MONICA GREY 
 
 He stooped, kissed her cheek, and left 
 her. 
 
 Monica never knew how long she 
 stood, gazing helplessly down the path 
 by which Grey had departed. Her 
 husband had not listened when she 
 would have confessed the wrong she had 
 unconsciously done him. He would not 
 even take her confession seriously. To 
 him, success was the only real thing 
 worldly advantage, won by fair means or 
 foul, the only good worth fighting for. 
 All through the long night she had been 
 trying to see things clearly, blaming only 
 herself. It had never occurred to her to 
 shirk one jot of painful effort. Of course 
 her husband must be told. She was not 
 afraid of his anger ; she had the invincible 
 courage born of a clear resolve. But she 
 shrank painfully from the blow to his 
 pride and affection which her own hand 
 must deal. She had not realised that she 
 had dealt a far harder blow at Lindsay. 
 The forgoing of that which a recognised 
 moral law condemned, entitled neither 
 Lindsay nor herself to pity. That was
 
 MONICA GREY 143 
 
 an unavoidable anguish for him and 
 her, which could not be lightened or 
 curtailed. She blindly shared the wide- 
 spread belief that husbands have, in some 
 inexplicable way, a right to their wives' 
 hearts, and she had felt she was depriving 
 hers of his just due. But he was in- 
 different. ... She must be cheerful ! 
 That was all he cared for ! All her 
 world had been convulsed and she was 
 to be cheerful ! No, she need not even 
 put forth her strength to be cheerful, she 
 must look cheerful that would suffice ! 
 It seemed bitterly hard. She had fallen 
 from the high standard up to which she 
 had so earnestly striven to live, and her 
 husband . . . did not seem to care ! 
 
 She wandered aimlessly up and down 
 the rose-garden, vague, elusive thoughts 
 shooting hither and thither through her 
 brain. Suddenly, as she passed the spot 
 where Lindsay had sat on that first day, 
 her heart was flooded by the reality of 
 the joy his existence had brought her. 
 All else was forgotten. No pang, no 
 sacrifice, she felt, could be too great
 
 144 MONICA GREY 
 
 a price for this wonderful possession. 
 Sitting down by the little rustic table, 
 she laid her head against it like a tired 
 child, and her wearied brain dallied with 
 the happy fancies that people the half- 
 conscious land which lies between waking 
 and sleeping. Before long she slept 
 deeply and dreamlessly.
 
 MONICA GREY 145 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ' It is in the hands of others how long I shall live, but 
 in my own, how well.' 
 
 ' MOTHER, mother ! ' cried the happy 
 voices, * O mother, you Ve been asleep ! 
 Poor mother ! ' said Harold, ' couldn't 
 you help it ? ' Harold never could under- 
 stand any one in his senses choosing to 
 go to sleep. Every night of his life he 
 fought a valiant battle against what, in 
 his baby mind, he had settled was a great 
 waste of precious time. 
 
 1 Dear boys,' said Monica, smiling up 
 at them, ' I said we would go to the 
 farm come along ! ' 
 
 The boys laughed as at some huge 
 joke. 
 
 ' Why, it 's luncheon-time !' cried Dick, 
 'and we came to look for you. Mr.
 
 146 MONICA GREY 
 
 Mordaunt sent word he was staying on 
 at Broadlands. Clem says he met the 
 doctor, and he says Mr. Lindsay is ill. 
 May we go over and ask after him this 
 afternoon ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, if you like,' said Monica, with a 
 sharp twinge at her heart. ' But if he is 
 ill, it must be only " asking after him "- 
 no noise or rioting ! ' 
 
 Luncheon over, the two elder boys 
 started off, and Monica took Harold to 
 the farm, where he got into every ima- 
 ginable mischief without calling forth 
 any rebuke from his preoccupied mother. 
 
 When they got back to the house, 
 Monica sent him to his nurse, and in- 
 quired if Mr. Mordaunt had come back. 
 ' Yes,' said the servant ; he was in the 
 library. 
 
 'Tell Mr. Mordaunt I am on the 
 terrace, and ask him to come to me.' 
 
 Monica sat down on the stone balus- 
 trade by one of the low pillars over which 
 the clematis hung in sweet-scented pro- 
 fusion, and I went to her through the 
 library window.
 
 MONICA GREY 147 
 
 ' Well ? ' said Monica simply, lifting an 
 inquiring anxious face to me. 
 
 ' It is not well,' I said gently, shaking 
 my head. She continued to look in my 
 face, waiting for more. 
 
 * Why don't you speak ? ' she said, as 
 impatiently as her courteous nature 
 would allow. ' How is it not well ? ' 
 
 ' Lindsay believes in no future life,' I 
 said rather irrelevantly ; ' this is his only 
 world.' 
 
 ' Is he really ill ? ' asked Monica. ' Why 
 did you stay at Broadlands ? ' 
 
 'Dr. Scott was anxious about him,' 
 I answered. I could not tell her Lindsay 
 was unable to move. When we had pro- 
 posed to assist him to bed the previous 
 night, he had said he would rather sleep 
 where he was. Dawkins and I spent 
 the night beside him, and we gave him 
 stimulant and food from time to time. 
 Early in the morning the faithful servant 
 persuaded me to go and lie down in the 
 inner room. His master's disinclination 
 to move had not alarmed him at first ; he 
 had asked him again if he would not feel
 
 148 MONICA GREY 
 
 more comfortable in bed. Lindsay said 
 no ; and asked for the books Monica had 
 left on the writing-table. The servant 
 watched him turn the leaves over list- 
 lessly, but he did not seem to care to 
 read, and by and by the curious stillness 
 of the tall figure frightened the man ; he 
 roused me, and sent off for Dr. Scott. 
 The doctor found Ronnie partially para- 
 lysed, and plunged into a state of dumb 
 dejection. 
 
 * It may be only that he overworked 
 himself yesterday, as he says ; but I 
 think . . .' 
 
 ' Yes ; what do you think ? ' she asked 
 breathlessly. 
 
 * Monica, I think his heart is broken. 
 You must go and see him. Scott says 
 his only chance is peace and content- 
 ment. Ronnie didn't ask for you, and 
 Dr. Scott doesn't know what the cause 
 of his dejection is.' 
 
 Monica had recovered her composure ; 
 she looked at me with brave eyes, soft 
 with the reflection of some sweet 
 memory.
 
 MONICA GREY 149 
 
 * No, I must not go to him ; and I will 
 tell you why. God has given the same 
 great thing to Ronnie and to me, and we 
 must not abuse it. We must keep our- 
 selves worthy of it Ronnie knows I love 
 him : I told him,' she said, with a tender 
 look in her eyes, and a little fluttering 
 smile. 'So he is as rich as I am ; 
 nobody can take our happiness from 
 us. But I must never see him again. 
 It would not be honest. Francis does 
 not see it, but I am quite sure about 
 that. He would not even listen to 
 me when I tried to tell him,' she said 
 simply. 
 
 ' When you tried to tell him what ? ' 
 
 * That Ronnie loved me, and that I 
 loved him,' she said gently, looking away 
 into the distance with dreamy eyes. 
 
 'You told Grey that?' I asked in- 
 credulously. ' By Jove ! No wonder he 
 wouldn't listen.' Distressed as I was, I 
 almost laughed at the thought of poor 
 Grey's astonishment. 
 
 ' It would be cruel to turn your back 
 on poor Lindsay now,' I said impetuously.
 
 150 MONICA GREY 
 
 ' I 'm glad you have failed to convince 
 Grey. You must think of Ronnie's feel- 
 ings as well as of your own.' I spoke 
 sharply. To my dull, commonplace per- 
 ceptions, there was something irritating 
 in her attitude. 
 
 * How could I help him if I was doing 
 wrong myself ?' rejoined Monica with 
 gentle conviction. * And he would not 
 wish that,' she added softly. 
 
 ' Monica, you must be practical,' I said 
 harshly, though my own heart, sore as it 
 was, throbbed with admiration of her 
 single - mindedness. ' You can't force 
 your fanciful ecstasies of self-sacrifice 
 on a sick man, who is quite unable to 
 share them.' 
 
 * Not fanciful ! ' she answered, shaking 
 her head and looking at me with a sad 
 surprise. 'Does no one understand?' 
 She began to walk up and down clasping 
 her hands and then unclasping them, 
 fighting it out, poor soul ! I could not 
 help her ; only sit and watch. Ah, my 
 poor lady ! Presently she stopped in front 
 of me.
 
 MONICA GREY 151 
 
 'You must help me ! ' she cried, clinging 
 with her two trembling hands to my arm. 
 * I can't bear the pain ; it stifles me. Is 
 this what other people have to bear ? ' 
 She swayed her head from side to side, as 
 if in physical agony. 
 
 ' Monica, dear, you told me once you 
 did not believe that God ever sent a pain 
 too sharp to be borne.' 
 
 * Oh, I know ! ' she broke in with a cry; 
 ' but this pain blinds me ... I can't see ! 
 I can't remember! Oh, how am I to 
 bear all the long years away from him ? ' 
 she moaned. 
 
 ' Try to understand that you have only 
 got to bear each hour as it comes,' I said. 
 The sight of her anguish, my own instinc- 
 tive jealousy, were driving me almost 
 mad. She shook her head. 
 
 * I hear you, but . . . but I can't shut 
 out the misery. If it were only this one 
 hour . . .' 
 
 * Do you remember,' I asked her and 
 I laid my hand on her cold shaking ones 
 that clutched my sleeve ' that dreadful 
 journey you and I took with your cousin
 
 152 MONICA GREY 
 
 Mildred, after she had said good-bye to 
 her youngest boy. She was so sure he 
 would be killed, that she would never see 
 him again, and you knelt beside her in 
 the railway-carriage and comforted her. 
 All the things you told her then, they 
 were so real to you . . . couldn't they 
 help you now ? ' 
 
 * Nothing that I know or remember 
 stops the pain ! ' cried Monica, pressing 
 her hands over her heart. ' I could not 
 comfort any one now. How can I ever 
 have dared to think any words of mine 
 could make it easy for her to send her 
 boy out to fight ? ' 
 
 * It wasn't the words, my poor child; it 
 was your thought and certain hope that 
 helped her the promise of a satisfying 
 eternity you were so sure ! ' Monica 
 was gazing up into my face with parted 
 lips, clinging to the desperate hope that 
 I might say something to lighten her 
 darkness. I could hardly bear the sight 
 of the dumb agony in her eyes. 
 
 * Yes ! What was I sure about ? ' she 
 gasped.
 
 MONICA GREY 153 
 
 * You told her I remember even the 
 words that the ladder Jacob saw was 
 not a mere dream, that it was made for 
 us to use, that if we climbed up it trust- 
 fully, clasping our sorrow close, and not 
 casting it from us, the light of love from 
 God's own heart would fall to meet us, 
 and lighten our load. I remember that 
 as she sobbed out, " My boy ! oh, my 
 boy ! " you kissed her hands, and told 
 her earnestly that the more bitter were 
 her pain and suffering, the nearer was 
 heaven and the more real eternity : that 
 it was all real and true only she must 
 trust . . .' 
 
 ' I didn't know then that love could be 
 pain ! ' cried Monica. ' I tried to help 
 her to bear her cross ; I didn't know how 
 heavy it was.' 
 
 * Yes,' I interrupted her. ' I remember 
 that you told her she must not lie in the 
 cold shadow of self-indulgence, where 
 the light of hope never comes.' 
 
 ' How could I have been so cruel ! ' 
 sobbed Monica. * I preached her a ser- 
 mon when her heart was breaking.'
 
 154 MONICA GREY 
 
 { No, you preached her no sermon, 
 dear. What helped her was your own 
 sweet, simple trust.' 
 
 ' And it helped her ? ' she asked in- 
 credulously. 
 
 * I don't know if the actual pain was 
 lessened, but you made her understand 
 that the pain was what she must offer up, 
 and that the more bitter her sorrow, the 
 more lovingly would God accept her 
 sacrifice. The hardest thing in life is 
 that we cannot bear the pain for other 
 people.' God knows I said it from my 
 heart ! ' A sorrow that human words 
 can lessen cannot be very deep. But 
 we may bear it better if we smother 
 it in kind deeds and thought for others, 
 and that is why you must try to help 
 Ronnie to bear his anguish,' I said, 
 bringing her back again to the starting- 
 point. 
 
 ' No, no, I dare not ; you don't know 
 I dare not! Perhaps you have only 
 guessed at what happened to Ronnie and 
 me last night. Perhaps I don't under- 
 stand very well. ... If I had realised
 
 MONICA GREY 155 
 
 before yesterday what the force of love 
 is, I might have been able to prevent his 
 knowing I loved him ; but I hadn't the 
 power I hadn't the will either. I 
 wasn't prepared I know it was what 
 the world calls wrong, what I have con- 
 demned in others, but it was stronger 
 than I am. I never had a thought of 
 resistance. I am not trying to excuse 
 myself ; and, indeed, I am not afraid that 
 you will judge me harshly. But you 
 must not ask me to run into temptation 
 again. It is too strong for me. Oh, how 
 can I make you understand ? ' she cried, 
 wringing her hands and turning to me 
 with piteous, pleading eyes. * I thank 
 God for the love. I know it is God's 
 gift, but I must keep it pure. The great- 
 ness of it overwhelmed me at first. I 
 didn't know how to receive it, but love 
 has taught me so quickly ah, it will 
 teach Ronnie too ! oh, if I might only 
 tell him!' 
 
 ' Ronnie will not see it as you do, dear 
 Monica.' 
 
 * I think he will when he is sure that
 
 156 MONICA GREY 
 
 our love is all that connects our lives 
 on earth, though we may not take it 
 to our hearts till we meet in God's 
 heaven.' 
 
 * Ronnie doesn't believe in heaven ! ' If 
 I had foolishly fancied this argument 
 might shake Monica's resolve, I soon 
 learned how firmly rooted was her deter- 
 mination to adhere to the thing she con- 
 ceived right. Her smile broke out again, 
 though the tears still hung on the dark 
 lashes. 
 
 ' But he will ; love will teach him 
 that there is a heaven, where love is 
 perfected, where he and I will meet. 
 I can bear my part of the misery 
 now.' 
 
 ' He asked me to tell you he would not 
 be able to go to Scotland with you, even 
 if you still wished it, because Monica, 
 I am afraid to tell you.' 
 
 ' Tell me,' she said imperiously ; ' I 
 have a right to the message he sent 
 me.' 
 
 * His spine he can't move.' 
 
 I could not look at her as I told her ;
 
 MONICA GREY 157 
 
 I could not bear to see the effect of the 
 blow. 
 
 She uttered no sound, but turned away 
 unsteadily, paused wavering fora moment, 
 then she passed slowly into the house.
 
 158 MONICA GREY 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ' His sorrow is gone, 
 No longer he weepeth, 
 But smileth and sleepeth, 
 His thoughts in the dawn.' 
 
 MY summer outing was over, and I had 
 to get back to my lonely old house in the 
 North. For though no son of mine will 
 follow me in the place where I once hoped 
 to see her rule, I have tried to do my duty 
 by the acres and the poor folk my father 
 left me, and by degrees the interests 
 have grown up around me, and cheered 
 some of my loneliness. Never in all the 
 years during which my summer visit to 
 Stone Court had been the one delight to 
 which I looked through -all the interven- 
 ing months, had I felt so helpless and so 
 dismayed. In most of the little troubles 
 which had come to Monica troubles she
 
 MONICA GREY 159 
 
 had brought to me in simple confidence 
 in her old friend's ability to find a way 
 out I had been able to guess the path 
 for her. But this sorrow was beyond me. 
 She had to pay the price of the sudden 
 radiance which had fallen upon her day, 
 her one day ! Never for one moment was 
 the remembrance of the still, suffering 
 man absent from her thoughts, and yet 
 she strove heroically to be ' cheerful.' 
 
 ' Monica, I want to go over to Broad- 
 lands this afternoon, to say good-bye to 
 Lindsay : will you drive me there ? ' said 
 Grey at luncheon, the day before they 
 all moved northwards. 
 
 * I cannot go to-day, dear,' she answered 
 simply. 
 
 * Oh, why ? It 's hardly civil of you, 
 when he is too ill to come here ! ' said her 
 husband. Are not such denseness and 
 want of consideration enough to take all 
 incentive to nobility out of life ? 
 
 ' I think Lindsay is too ill to see 
 Monica,' said I, coming hastily to the 
 rescue ; ' I will come with you, if I may. ' 
 
 At Broadlands we were told that the
 
 160 MONICA GREY 
 
 doctor forbade his patient to receive 
 visitors. 
 
 The next day we went our several 
 ways the curtain came down upon this 
 act in the tragedy of two lives. 
 
 In wondering impotence I waited for 
 it to rise again. Autumn passed, and 
 winter and spring : the Greys spent the 
 winter abroad. 
 
 On the 18th of June a telegram sum- 
 moned me to Broadlands. Ronnie was 
 dying ; that morning the doctor had told 
 him he had not more than a few days 
 to live. 
 
 It was a balmy summer afternoon. 
 All the sounds and scents of nature were 
 wafted in through the open window of 
 Lindsay's room. There were yellow roses 
 everywhere. As I entered, his eldest 
 sister, a tall, pleasant-faced woman, a 
 plain likeness of her brother, came to 
 meet me, and said softly : 
 
 * You mustn't talk much ; his little 
 friend Clement Grey is coming over to 
 sing to him presently it is his one great 
 pleasure. 1
 
 MONICA GREY 161 
 
 She nodded and smiled, and moved to 
 the further end of the long low room. 
 
 I crossed over to Ronnie's couch drawn 
 close to the window. For a moment, as 
 I gazed at the still, pathetic figure, my 
 throat felt dry and tight. 
 
 Lindsay raised his handsome head, and 
 held out his hand with his old smile. 
 Then I felt my pity was misplaced. The 
 look in his eyes was clear and calm. Every 
 line of his face expressed content and a 
 deep hopefulness far beyond any need 
 of commiseration. Unutterable peace, 
 strong and even joyous that was the 
 keynote. ' You are just in time to add 
 to Clem's admiring audience,' he said. 
 The voice was steady, though very weak. 
 * It was good of you to come at once ! ' 
 He turned his face a little in a listening 
 attitude as he caught the sound of a 
 pony's short gallop on the drive. 
 
 I stood waiting in reverent silence for 
 the message I knew he was about to 
 send. 
 
 ' Tell her that she was quite right ! ' 
 
 The noise of the hoofs on the gravel
 
 162 MONICA GREY 
 
 ceased, a child's happy voice called out 
 orders to the groom, and Clem bounded 
 across the lawn ; as he ran, the bunch of 
 yellow roses in his hand fell apart, and he 
 left a trail of tender pale blossoms behind 
 him on the grassy sward. Reaching the 
 window, he stopped short, looked at 
 Lindsay for a moment critically and 
 affectionately, came softly to the side 
 of his couch, and without a word laid 
 the remaining roses in the wasted hands 
 stretched out to receive them. He had 
 a child's unquestioning faith in the truth 
 of Lindsay's frequent assertion that Clem's 
 singing did him more good than all the 
 doctors in the world. And now, turning 
 to Miss Lindsay, he said in a whisper, 
 ' He 's tired ! only one song this evening.' 
 
 * Yes, dear child, only one song,' she 
 said, the tears springing to her eyes. 
 < Which shall it be ? ' 
 
 The boy put his song before her, turned 
 towards Lindsay with his great eyes fixed 
 above and beyond him on the distant 
 hills, and the wonderful voice rang out 
 clear, tender, triumphant, on that silence
 
 MONICA GREY 163 
 
 which is never felt save in the presence 
 of death. 
 
 ' Sunset and evening star 
 
 And one clear call for me, 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar 
 When I put out to sea ; 
 
 For though from out our bourne of time and place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crost the bar.' 
 
 As the last low notes died away, I 
 took the boy's hand and led him out of 
 the window. He trod softly on tiptoe till 
 we were on the grass. Then, looking up 
 into my face with a proud smile, he said 
 joyfully, ' I sang him to sleep, Mr, Mor- 
 daunt ! Did you see ? He was asleep ! ' 
 
 * He will never wake, dear boy ! ' 
 
 Clem and I rode back silently to Stone 
 Court. In the drive we met Grey giving 
 some order to his steward about the
 
 164 MONICA GREY 
 
 cutting down of a tree which had been 
 struck by lightning the week before. 
 
 * Father,' said Clem in an awestruck 
 voice, bringing his pony up beside him, 
 ' Mr Lindsay is dead ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, poor chap ! Go in and tell your 
 mother.' 
 
 The child rode off, and I walked be- 
 side Grey towards the stables. 
 
 ' Poor Lindsay !' he said carelessly, ' he 
 has never been fit for anything since his 
 accident. I thought at one time he 
 might pull round. By the bye, do you 
 remember how often he used to come 
 here last year, and how keen he was about 
 having Clem to stay with him ? Monica 
 took some absurd fad into her head that 
 he cared for her more than was good for 
 his peace of mind, or mine either ! I 
 very soon talked her out of that nonsense, 
 and she cheered up directly she got to 
 Scotland. What extraordinary ideas pos- 
 sess even good women, sometimes ! They 
 take a morbid satisfaction in thinking a 
 man is consumed with an undying passion 
 for them. Fortunately, they are not cap-
 
 MONICA GREY 165 
 
 able of any very deep or sustained devo- 
 tion themselves so no harm comes of it.' 
 
 * No, no harm comes of it, when women 
 are good,' I said irresolutely. All my 
 mental strength at that moment was 
 concentrated on resisting a wild desire 
 to kick him. 
 
 ' Can you let me have a trap to take me 
 to the station ? ' I asked impatiently. ' I 
 must catch the up train ; I '11 just run in 
 and say good-bye to Monica.' 
 
 I found Monica and Clem together in 
 her sitting-room, the boy kneeling beside 
 her with his arms round her, and his 
 beautiful face pale and scared. He had 
 flown to her on entering the house, cry- 
 ing, ' Mother, he 's dead ! Mr. Mordaunt 
 says so ! But I don't think he can be 
 he smiled when I went in ; I thought he 
 looked tired, and so I didn't speak. But 
 he often shuts his eyes when I sing to 
 him. He can't be really dead ! Oh, 
 isn't it dreadful ? ' sobbed the poor child, 
 shivering. 
 
 Monica's arm was round the boy, and 
 her free hand stroked his head. Her face
 
 166 MONICA GREY 
 
 was drawn and white. She looked dead 
 herself, and her voice sounded to me 
 strange not like her own voice at all. 
 ' Death isn't dreadful, my darling ! Think 
 how . . .' she caught her breath for a 
 moment ' how he suffered, and now 
 there is no pain, and no sorrow, only 
 peace and rest ! ' 
 
 ' I know, mother you always say so ! 
 You have chosen happy hymns to be sung 
 at your funeral, but I couldn't be happy 
 if you died ! ' 
 
 * No no, my darling. But later, you 
 will be glad to look back and remember 
 that other people sang them, and that 
 nothing was dreary or sad except your 
 own dear heart.' 
 
 I stood in the open doorway and saw 
 them sitting close together, Clem's bright 
 head buried in his mother's breast, she 
 staring straight in front of her, clasping 
 him unconsciously, trying even in her 
 anguish to comfort the childish terror 
 that shook the little figure, but dry-eyed, 
 stricken, lost in the sea of her despair, the 
 unutterable mystery of sorrow.
 
 MONICA GREY 167 
 
 ' Mother darling ! ' murmured the boy, 
 hugging her closer. His voice roused 
 her ; she lifted her eyes and saw me ; there 
 was no symptom of surprise. She was 
 beyond all that. 
 
 * Clem says he didn't speak,' she whis- 
 pered, looking up at me imploringly. 
 
 ' Not after he came in ; but he sent 
 you a message, just before.' 
 
 Monica looked up at me hungrily. 
 
 * He said, " Tell her she was quite 
 right ! " 
 
 Clem lifted his head from her breast. 
 
 * Of course mother was quite right,' said 
 the boy almost indignantly. ' What a 
 funny message ! ' 
 
 Monica said nothing. She bent her 
 head over her son, and kissed him.
 
 168 MONICA GREY 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ' The night has a thousand eyes, 
 
 And the day but one ; 
 Yet the light of a whole world dies 
 With the setting sun. 
 
 ' The mind has a thousand eyes, 
 
 And the heart hut one ; 
 Yet the love of a whole life dies 
 When love is done.' 
 
 AFTER all I was too late ! Too late- 
 after travelling night and day by sea 
 and rail ! 
 
 It was the doctor who told me, and 
 even his voice broke. He met me as 
 I ran up the steps across the terrace at 
 Stone Court, and took me gently by the 
 arm, just as I was entering the house. 
 He turned me towards the stone balus- 
 trade. 
 
 ' No, not there ! ' I said, in a hoarse 
 whisper, remembering how last summer
 
 MONICA GREY 169 
 
 she had fought out her battle on 
 this very spot. It had been warm and 
 sunshiny then ; now it was bleak and 
 dreary. An east wind was blowing up 
 little clouds of snow, and the bare 
 branches of the elm-trees were grating 
 and sawing mournfully against each 
 other. 
 
 'You shall go in presently,' said the 
 doctor kindly. ' You would like me to 
 tell you about it, first. Grey takes it 
 very calmly, and he sent all the children 
 away the day she was taken ill so there 
 is no one in the house for you to comfort.' 
 As if I had any thought for the living ! 
 ' She had been nursing a poor girl in the 
 village who went down with influenza 
 the day before her child was born. Lady 
 Monica sat with her every day for a 
 fortnight. She sickened with it herself 
 only three days ago. I did all I could 
 I had done all I could to prevent her 
 nursing the girl at all. She had no 
 strength ; she had been running down 
 steadily for the last year I had never 
 been able to account for it. We sent to
 
 170 MONICA GREY 
 
 London for Sir R M . But she 
 
 never really rallied, and she died quite 
 peacefully at daybreak this morning. 
 You shall see how beautiful she is,' he 
 said I suppose he pitied me, the elderly 
 friend who had known her from her 
 childhood 'when you feel able, after 
 your run from the station,' he added, in 
 a more professional tone, noting my 
 breathless distress. 
 
 * Let me go now ! ' 
 
 ' No, I cannot let you go till you have 
 had some food and wine,' he said, pushing 
 me towards the house. He poured out 
 wine and put biscuits before me. I could 
 have laughed aloud. Food and drink to 
 a man whose heart was in his throat, and 
 choking him ! 
 
 I shook my head. He gave in, and 
 went up the stairs before me. How often 
 I had watched her go up those stairs, and 
 disappear through the door at which we 
 now stood ! As he turned the handle I 
 drew back instinctively : there was some 
 one moving in the room. 
 
 ' Nurse ! ' called the doctor softly.
 
 MONICA GREY 171 
 
 The nurse came to him, and he signed 
 to her to come gut on to the landing. 
 Then I passed in, and he closed the 
 door behind me. 
 
 I stood just inside it. Between me 
 and the window lay Monica. It seemed 
 to me that my heart went out on a long 
 journey, clambering over rocky mountains 
 in reckless, desperate haste to reach the 
 past the past that might be undone if 
 only my heart was quick enough. What 
 if I had not held my tongue ? What 
 if I had risked the chances, instead of 
 condemning myself to a solitary loveless 
 life ? She might have been mine, my 
 wife, all these years ; and I should not 
 now be standing alone without even a 
 past ! . . . I knew I had come to say 
 good-bye. ... I could not say good-bye 
 till my heart came back from its fruitless 
 journey. ... I could not get nearer the 
 silent form that seemed so far away 
 while my heart was still labouring over 
 those dreary spaces. . . . Presently I 
 must pick up that rose over there, which 
 had dropped beside the bed. She would
 
 172 MONICA GREY 
 
 not have liked it to lie there neglected, 
 poor little flower ! ... It shall be near 
 her heart with the rest. These lilies are 
 too near her forehead : why were they 
 not put further back, where the dear 
 head sinks into the pillow ? One little 
 tendril of the soft brown gold hair is 
 twined round the white bells . . . how 
 it clings ! ... if I move them it will 
 wind round my finger. . . . How tall 
 she was ! so strong and active ! . . . She 
 must be very tired to be content to lie 
 so still ! . . . the long dark lashes rest 
 so softly on the dear cheek, the beautiful 
 lips are smiling, the strong shapely hands 
 clasp the yellow roses so lightly and 
 tenderly. Yellow roses Ronnie was 
 holding yellow roses when he died. . . . 
 Poor little Clem ! . . . But she . . . she 
 is glad. . . . God will not wake her for 
 ages. She has earned her rest. 
 
 How long I stood there, I know not. 
 The door opened gently behind me, and 
 a little figure with wide scared eyes 
 crept in and clung to me. 
 
 * They tried to keep me away,' said
 
 MONICA GREY 173 
 
 poor little Clem, in short, frightened 
 gasps, 'but I ran away from them all. 
 She said she would be happy when she 
 died, and I was to remember her always 
 happy. Is she happy ? ' asked the child, 
 burying his face in my sleeve, afraid to 
 look at the silent mother. Suddenly, as 
 I looked down at the pathetic little figure 
 all its vivacity gone, and making such 
 a supreme effort for self-control my 
 heart leaped back to the present and the 
 realisation of what the child had lost. 
 Poor little heart, battling with its first 
 grief! its cry for sympathy was louder 
 and more imperative than my dumb 
 agony. 
 
 * Dear little Clem,' I said gently, ' she 
 is so happy, that she is smiling ! She 
 would like you to go close to her, and 
 kiss her. When you look at her face, 
 you will know that death is the most 
 beautiful as well as the saddest thing in 
 the world. You mustn't be frightened. 
 Mother could never be anything but a 
 comfort to you ! ' 
 
 'Take me,' he said trustfully, taking
 
 174 MONICA GREY 
 
 my hand in both his, and pulling me 
 gently towards her, still with his eyes 
 riveted on my face, as if he dared not 
 look at her. 
 
 'Pick up the rosebud, Clem, and put 
 it with the others in her hands.' 
 
 Clem did as I told him, moving at first 
 mechanically ; then, as his eyes fell upon 
 the beautiful smiling face, his pitiful 
 sobbing ceased, and he stood gazing at 
 her in awed silence and wonder. Pre- 
 sently he looked up at me, across the 
 bed, with an unspoken ' Why ? ' in his 
 eyes. 
 
 'Because she was good, Clem. It is 
 all beautiful for ever ! ' I knew I must 
 comfort the child's heart by telling him 
 that it was beautiful for us too. Children 
 are so ready to take one's word as a 
 simple explanation of what is incompre- 
 hensible to them. 
 
 ' It would be too selfish of us to 
 disturb her by fretting when she is 
 resting.' 
 
 The stiff cold words sounded uncon- 
 vincing enough to me, but they helped
 
 MONICA GREY 175 
 
 the child to force back the rising agony 
 of his loneliness. 
 
 'Put these flowers about her feet, 
 Clem,' I said. I noticed, on a side- 
 table, a basket of her favourite yellow 
 roses. 
 
 The child took the blossoms and began 
 laying the roses out singly, and then 
 grouping them slowly at the foot of the 
 bed. Would he never have done ! 
 
 * I used always to take the yellow roses 
 over to Mr. Lindsay every day before 
 he died,' he said simply. * Mother always 
 loved them best, and she used to gather 
 them every morning. But after that, 
 she never gathered them, and she wouldn't 
 have them in her room. Do you think 
 she would mind now ? ' and he swept 
 them up, prepared to carry them away. 
 
 ' No, Clem, she won't mind now '; and 
 he put them back again. I went round 
 to take him away. ' Clem, we must go 
 now.' He had a large full-blown rose in 
 his hand. As I laid my hand on his 
 arm the petals fell over her feet in a 
 golden shower.
 
 176 MONICA GREY 
 
 * Your hand is shaking,' he said, look- 
 ing round at me. 
 
 ' Clem, dear, come ! ' 
 
 The child moved nearer to the head 
 of the bed. 
 
 ' Kiss the flowers, my boy, not her 
 hands,' I said, as he bent over her : she 
 would not have liked him to feel the 
 chill of death. ' She must not be dis- 
 turbed.' 
 
 Softly he kissed the roses. 
 
 * Until the day break and the shadows 
 flee away.' 
 
 Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 FormL9-50m-9.'60(B361064)444
 
 S R L F 
 SEE SPINE FOR BARCODE NUMBER