APRIL PANHASARD
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 EARTH 
 
 HALF IN EARNEST
 
 APRIL 
 
 PANHASARD 
 
 By MURIEL HINE 
 
 (Mrs. Sidney Coxon) 
 
 NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 
 LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD 
 TORONTO: BELL AND COCKBURN MCMXIII
 
 Copyright, 1913, by 
 JOHN LANE COMPANY
 
 To 
 
 John Campbell Maclean 
 In Gratitude 
 
 2136428
 
 APRIL PANHASARD
 
 A noiseless, patient spider, 
 
 I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; 
 
 Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, 
 
 It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; 
 
 Ever unreeling them ever tirelessly speeding them. 
 
 And you, O my Soul, where you stand, 
 
 Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space, 
 
 Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing seeking the 
 
 spheres, to connect them; 
 
 Till the bridge you will need be form'd till the ductile an- 
 chor hold ; 
 
 Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my 
 Soul. 
 
 WALT WHITMAN.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was a May day, born of smiles and tears : incon- 
 sequent, feminine, and extremely beautiful. 
 
 First a shower fell, light and vapourish, spang- 
 ling the baby buds of the lilac in the Park and adding 
 yet another film of mud to Piccadilly, already sorely 
 tried by that epidemic of Spring which quarantines 
 certain sections for the use of workmen and attracts 
 mysteriously heavy traffic from side streets to lumber 
 past the yawning gaps in the roadway. 
 
 Peeping from under a heavy cloud, the May day 
 watched the scene with mischievous delight. Heavy 
 men in corduroy, disentangling themselves from the 
 sticky clay, reached out smeared arms toward their 
 distant coats, trim coachmen wriggled into mackin- 
 toshes, all and sundry prepared for rain. 
 
 Then, with perplexing swiftness, the mood changed. 
 A deep sigh, fluttering the green leaves of the Park, 
 swept lightly across the street, lifting a hat here, 
 a flapping overcoat there, wound tight skirts still 
 tighter round hurrying female forms, and sank, 
 gratified, into rippling mirth.
 
 2 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Golden gleams of sunshine followed, flaunting 
 across wet pavements with a pale and mischievous 
 warmth, and completed the mortification of an elderly 
 gentleman, immaculate in white spats, balancing 
 himself somewhat tremulously under a silk umbrella, 
 thrice unfurled, opened and furled anew between that 
 channel of fond adventure known to the unimagina- 
 tive as Bond Street and the safe harbourage of his 
 Club. 
 
 Full well he knew the Spring-tide mood in woman 
 and in weather and, soured by knowledge, glanced 
 upward in mistrust. Moreover it breathed of hope, 
 of sweet young wholesomeness and budding life : re- 
 incarnation of all that is not human, alas ! 
 
 In his meretricious middle age it mocked him, from 
 the crown of his silk hat, jauntily poised on his thin 
 hair, down the stiff back where lumbago lurked to his 
 very spats whited sepulchres hiding the grim skele- 
 ton of Gout ! 
 
 A soft gust of silent laughter careening down 
 Dover Street spent its youthful energy on his still 
 wide umbrella. 
 
 "Detestable!" he said fussily into his dyed mous- 
 tache, resisting the unforeseen impetus of the charge 
 and then, sharply: 
 
 "Damn!" 
 
 For a taxicab had stopped dead beside him, with a 
 crude grinding of brakes and a vicious side splash 
 from the full gutter, embroidering fantastically the 
 primitive purity of his spats. 
 
 Halting to consider the damage and still muttering
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 3 
 
 under his breath, he narrowly escaped collision with 
 a swinging figure, head lost under a wide tray that 
 was veiled in green baize mystery. 
 
 "Garn!" said that youth trenchantly as he swerved 
 aside, "ole' figure o' fun own the blessed street!" 
 and paused to wink at a passing ticket-collector, hold- 
 ing on to the step of his bus like a human spider agog 
 for flies. His shrill boy's voice floated back on the 
 rain-washed air. 
 
 "Minds 'is luvly complection, don't *ee?" as the 
 sunshine, a willing accomplice in the game, poured 
 down in single-hearted joy on the now unnecessary 
 umbrella. 
 
 As the elderly gentleman proceeded to wrestle with 
 it under the lee of the shops the door of the offending 
 taxi was swung back and a man jumped out, neatly, 
 with laughing face and the ease of young limbs. 
 
 "This the place?" he inquired and rattled on with- 
 out waiting for a reply : 
 
 "Mind the step it's thick with mud!" 
 
 He extended to his hidden companion a helpful 
 hand, lost in a glaring chamois glove, carefully unbut- 
 toned, and added: 
 
 "Jump !" 
 
 A sweet and peculiarly clear voice answered, with 
 the irrelevance of modern conversation : 
 
 "You stay here and smoke, boy. I won't be long." 
 And out there stepped a lady, gowned in dark-blue 
 serge, severely cut. A small black toque fitted closely 
 about her shining hair, and she wore brown boots, 
 brown gloves, and carried a diminutive brown bag;
 
 4 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 in truth as inconspicuous a costume as ever deserved 
 that unassuming adjective. 
 
 And yet ... 
 
 Three men passing hurriedly westward, their hats 
 jammed on their heads, their faces set toward lunch, 
 cast a quick sidelong glance of curiosity. And two 
 of the three looked back. The elderly owner of the 
 spats, umbrella still half furled, moved forward in- 
 discreetly, his sunken eyes under their creased lids 
 suddenly alight. 
 
 For there was about the lady an air that adorably 
 matched the day, a subtle fragrance of youth, an 
 appeal suggestive of the mystery of her sex rendered 
 more provocative by her smiling unconcern. Obvi- 
 ously sne had but one aim in view: to cross a wet 
 pavement and enter the jeweller's shop. She glanced 
 neither to right nor to left; her blue eyes swept 
 the stream of passers-by merely to avoid them. Se- 
 rene and busified she chose the exact moment and, 
 with a quick swing of supple hips, head daintily 
 erect, moved forward, and the portals of "Percy Ed- 
 wards" swallowed her up. 
 
 Her cavalier was less indifferent. Angrily he sur- 
 veyed the gentleman in spats and a quick colour 
 stained his fair, boyish face, his sense of protection 
 on the alert. 
 
 "That old beast Fitz!" he said to himself, with 
 the clean distaste of triumphant youth for senile age 
 that apes it. 
 
 "Buy a button 'ole, sir?" A flower-woman trailed 
 by, a basket of violets on one arm, a shapeless bundle
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 5 
 
 gathered in the other. Something in the dewy frag- 
 rance of the rain-dashed flowers arrested the impa- 
 tient rejoinder on his lips. He chose three bunches 
 carefully and having overpaid the vendor in his de- 
 sire to be swiftly rid of her was generously rewarded 
 by the whining benediction of the streets. 
 
 Meanwhile within the shop the Inconspicuous Lady 
 had moved down the long counter to the further end. 
 By the door a tall, clean-shaven man was bending 
 over a pearl pin, examining it with steady attention. 
 Beyond him, lolling on anything that promised sup- 
 port, two youths, round-shouldered, with dull and 
 spotty faces, were discussing with an appearance of 
 utter indifference a trinket for a lady with a fancy 
 name. 
 
 A suave individual, with pink hands and an air 
 of perfect possession, moved forward to inquire 
 the newcomer's desire. 
 
 "What can I shew you, moddam?" 
 
 "I want a wedding ring." 
 
 Her voice, low but clear, held a penetrating quality, 
 and in the closed-in peacefulness of the shop after 
 the noise without seemed peculiarly alive. 
 
 She raised a pair of calm blue eyes, without a 
 shadow of embarrassment, to meet the slight and 
 hastily veiled surprise on the shopman's face. 
 
 "Certainly, moddam." 
 
 It was not every day that a lady proffered such a 
 request, accustomed as he was to nervous young men 
 in a similar predicament and to the cultured indif- 
 ference of elderly bridegrooms.
 
 6 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Twenty-two carat, I presume, moddam?" 
 
 Seeing her slight hesitation he leaned forward con- 
 fidentially. 
 
 "We always recommend it. In fact, we guarantee 
 it to wear." 
 
 "Indeed?" A smile flickered across her face, be- 
 traying the existence of a dimple near the sweet, 
 curved mouth, and left it, swiftly, as though con- 
 scious of insubordination. 
 
 "Then twenty-two carat, please." 
 
 He produced a long tray lined with imperial purple, 
 and set with those curiously simple links that out- 
 wardly bind two separate lives together. 
 
 Deliberately she unfastened the brown glove that 
 covered her left hand. 
 
 The two youths nudged each other delightedly 
 oblivious of the trinkets set before them in the ex- 
 citement of the moment standing without help of stick 
 or counter. 
 
 "By Gad she's going to try it on !" 
 
 The taller of the pair, pretexting a sudden interest 
 in a case of studs, moved perceptibly nearer. But his 
 companion, without searching for excuse, calmly out- 
 stripped him. The man in the doorway raised his 
 head, watching the manoeuvre with a cold and disap- 
 proving eye. He had the square- jawed, thoughtful 
 face of a certain type of American that is assuredly 
 not of the "tourist" description; that hurried, loud- 
 voiced "globe trotter," as closely representative of 
 his nation as the long-toothed British spinster, dear 
 to French caricaturists, is typical of hers.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 7 
 
 In sweet unconsciousness of the attention she 
 evoked the Inconspicuous Lady drew off her glove, 
 removed from the third finger of her left hand a well- 
 worn wedding ring, dropped it heedlessly into the 
 brown bag, and, leaning forward with a business-like 
 air, chose another from the collection before her. 
 
 As she did so she turned slightly from the shadowy 
 corner where she stood and a ray of inquisitive sun- 
 shine fell across her copper hair and lighted up the 
 oval of her face. 
 
 "Why, it's 1" 
 
 "Look out! She'll hear." For his friend, moved 
 by a vestige of good taste, had checked the first 
 youth's excited recognition. 
 
 And they both stared anew, utterly unashamed.
 
 8 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 He raised a pair of keen grey eyes under fair eye- 
 brows, thick and shaggy a rarity in men other than 
 dark that somehow added to the quiet strength of 
 the clean-shaven face. 
 
 "Can you show me others ? I don't think much of 
 this." 
 
 "It's one of the best pins we have, sir" the shop- 
 man's voice was aggrieved "when you get pearls 
 that size it's difficult to find colour and shape too, 
 unless," he rubbed his hands together, with a 
 shrewd glance of valuation, "unless, sir, you are pre- 
 pared to go to a fancy figure?" 
 
 "I don't think I mentioned price." 
 
 A glimmer of amusement played across the Ameri- 
 can's face. He did not really want the pin, but all 
 his latent chivalry demanded that he should stay 
 there, a formidable screen, to prevent a woman being 
 badgered by a class of man he despised. 
 
 "We have here a fine black pearl, sir." 
 
 The other produced a brown morocco case with 
 an added air of respect. But the American's quick 
 ear had caught the click of an opening purse and a 
 slight rustle of departure behind him. 
 
 Then the clear voice again. 
 
 "No, thanks ; I'll take it just as it is," followed by 
 a quick exclamation, the chink of metal falling upon 
 the floor, and a tiny object rolled up against his boot. 
 He hesitated for the fraction of a moment, as he 
 saw the other shopman hastening forward. 
 
 Then he stooped, picked up the ring, and squarely 
 faced the owner.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 9 
 
 "Here it is," he said quietly, and laid it in a soft 
 pink palm. 
 
 "Oh! thank you . . ." 
 
 Her voice was abrupt, her face a little pale. But 
 what hurt him in a curious, undefined way, as his 
 grey eyes met the blue ones, was the look of trouble 
 in their depths; again that slight shrinking, that one 
 sees in the face of a frightened child. 
 
 Then suddenly, reassured by the steady quiet of 
 his manner, she smiled. With a slight inclination of 
 her head toward him, a hurried "Good-day" to the 
 shopman, she moved across the space dividing her 
 from the door, passed the still-staring youths with a 
 touch of hauteur, and was gone. 
 
 But here further curiosity barred her course. 
 
 The gentleman in spats, loitering on the pavement, 
 pressed forward eagerly. 
 
 "Ah . . . how d'ye do? Surely you haven't for- 
 gotten . . ." 
 
 He stopped perforce, chagrined by her coldly 
 averted gaze, and the next moment her cavalier had 
 roughly interposed, swept her with a strong arm 
 into the taxi, growled: "Right ahead!" to the 
 driver, and slammed the door behind his indignant 
 back. 
 
 The chauffeur leaned sideways. 
 
 "Where to ?" His voice expressed the thought that 
 the "ways of these young nuts was past all bear- 
 ing!" 
 
 "Where tor 
 
 A whispered colloquy ensued.
 
 io APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Tell him to stop at Albert Gate," said the lady 
 wearily. 
 
 The boyish face came out of the window with a 
 scowl. 
 
 "Right ahead as I told you ! I'll pull you up when 
 I want to." 
 
 "Ho! Will yer?" said the chauffeur to the world 
 at large. He hitched up the apron, gave a vicious 
 tweak to the meter, with an eye on the dial, and 
 they were off, running smoothly down one of Lon- 
 don's few small hills. 
 
 The Inconspicuous Lady leaned back in the corner, 
 her eyes half-closed, her face strained and white. 
 Her cavalier, I regret to state, was whistling under 
 his breath. It is certain his honest heart bled for 
 her and his sympathy took the curious form of a 
 selection from the latest waltz. 
 
 Meanwhile he watched her out of the corner of 
 his eye. 
 
 "Must cheer her up," he said to himself. "What 
 a damned unfair world it is !" 
 
 Music having failed, he fell back on the charm of 
 conversation leavened by extreme flippancy. 
 
 "'Albert Gate'." He repeated their destination 
 with a slight grimace. "It's a horrible name, isn't it? 
 For a gate, too! There's such fascination about a 
 gate you never know where it may lead. Put 'Al- 
 bert' ! the gate of all the virtues, surely." 
 
 He stole another glance and caught her eye, deeply 
 anxious in his boyish fashion to chase away the cloud 
 that dimmed the beauty of her face.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 11 
 
 "It's an odd thing now how suspicious we are as 
 a nation," he rattled on. "This same Albert Gate, 
 for instance. With all its historic virtue, we don't 
 credit it! Not in the least. 'This gate is closed at 
 night'. Mark that. It's an insult! An early Vic- 
 torian, puritanic piece of red-tapeism !" 
 
 He paused for breath, and chuckled at the thought. 
 
 The lady stirred in her corner and echoed his 
 laugh faintly. 
 
 "What nonsense you talk, boy! Why shouldn't 
 they close it?" 
 
 "Why shouldn't they? Ye gods! Why, to let in 
 lovers, of course. Into the nicest bit of all, with the 
 white bridge and the rhododendrons and the dark 
 water of the lake and an empty band-stand in case of 
 rain, and . . . and the statue of Achilles to say, 'Bless 
 you, my children/ It's an infamy and a shame, and 
 drives people to sitting hand in hand under staring 
 electroliers at Popular Concerts that's why they're 
 popular, I suppose. Let me do that." 
 
 For she was trying in vain to button the brown 
 glove. 
 
 "The man who made the first glove was an Ar- 
 tist . .- ." 
 
 He glanced up at her suddenly, trying to gauge 
 her mood. 
 
 "Go on," she encouraged him, "that can't be all!" 
 
 "Don't hurry Genius! It's a mistake." He gave 
 a little sigh of relief as she smiled back into his 
 bright face. 
 
 "What a ridiculous little button! Why don't you
 
 12 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 have those snappy things that say 'thank you' audi- 
 bly when you press 'em ? Well, to continue. He was 
 an Artist and loved hands those long, beautiful, 
 Early-Italian hands, pale, passionate and boneless." 
 
 "How horrible!" The lady shuddered. 
 
 "Not at all entirely seductive. He clad them in 
 embroidered and costly kid, carelessly sewn with 
 pearls: to guard them from other men. That was 
 the notion. It was monopoly flaunting as an art. In 
 those days hands were kissed. It's a pretty habit 
 I do it myself to the very young and the very old." 
 
 "Why?" She watched him with amused blue eyes, 
 content to be drawn from her own sad thoughts. 
 
 "The old take it for reverence, and the young . . . 
 well, the young are frankly tickled ! But, to continue : 
 this simple form of salute lands naturally on the 
 back of the hand, the placid plateau between knuckle 
 and wrist. And devilish uncomfortable it must have 
 been to get a mouthful of seed pearls . . ." He pon- 
 dered upon it whimsically, rewarded by her laugh. 
 "Now, this is where the artistry came in. The place 
 really to kiss a hand " He stole a quick, mis- 
 chievous glance at her, fastened the last button, and 
 laid the member in question gently back upon her 
 knee : "Observe my stupendous renunciation ! ... is 
 exactly where the original genius has left an opening, 
 a divine . . . Albert Gate, straight and narrow as all 
 Alberts are, and impossible for navigation without 
 the lady's consent. Except, of course, by brute force ! 
 You can't assign any other reason for that adorable 
 oasis in the desert of kid. It's not for air, it can't
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 13' 
 
 be for economy, it's a bare- faced apology for love- 
 making ... I think we had better talk of some- 
 thing else," he concluded primly. 
 
 Her laugh rang our clear and irresistible; like the 
 Spring mood itself she swept from tears to sunshine. 
 
 "I think you would have done excellently, boy, in 
 those Early-Italian days . . ." 
 
 "With a hawk on my wrist and a roving eye and 
 a charger that caracoled, page to some desperate 
 prince of a Cardinal, or secretary, shall we say, to 
 Boccaccio himself? inscribing delicately on parch- 
 ment his most indelicate romances! Forgive me!" 
 He caught her slight frown: "It's the Spring, or 
 snow in the air, or perhaps the fact that being merely 
 mortal I am sorely in need of lunch, and this leads 
 me into a forced and desperate gaiety." 
 
 "You poor boy! I'd forgotten lunch. It must be 
 getting late; but I am so anxious just to do one 
 thing more . . ." 
 
 The narrowing of the road announced Knights- 
 bridge. 
 
 "And here we are at the Gate stop him, quick ! 
 he's going past!" 
 
 He thrust his head out of the window and shouted 
 lustily. But all in vain. Secure and stolid the chauf- 
 feur never turned. 
 
 On they went, threading their way in and out of 
 the confused traffic, past the Hyde Park Hotel, and 
 ever "straight ahead". 
 
 By Knightsbridge Barracks a policeman barred the 
 way.
 
 I 4 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Fare wanter stop," he announced magisterially. 
 
 "Look here," said the lady's cavalier, as they de- 
 scended with indignant haste, "I've been shouting at 
 you ever since Albert Gate!" 
 
 "Sorry, sir," the chauffeur smiled, "you said you'd 
 pull me up, and I'm a bit 'ard o' 'earing these days. 
 Thankye, sir." He counted over the money and, 
 noting good fare, relented and offered to drive them 
 back, but they started briskly to retrace their steps, 
 regardless of his condescension. Seeing which, he 
 pursued conclusions to himself. 
 
 "Right a'ead, 'e sez I'll pull yer up when I wants 
 ter . . ." Then, with sudden gusto: 
 
 "Lord ! but 'ee knows a pretty face !" 
 
 And, with this tribute to the Inconspicuous Lady's 
 charms, slewed round and was off, still grinning, west- 
 ward.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 To the white bridge hanging over the still water- 
 commended by Boris Majendie to the contemplation 
 of lovers the lady led the way, accompanied by that 
 hungry altruist, still gallantly "holding out". 
 
 Arrived there, she halted, silent and preoccupied, 
 gave a swift glance around her, opened the small bag, 
 and, after some probing in its mysterious depths, pro- 
 duced a round object muffled in tissue paper, the size 
 perhaps of a shilling piece. 
 
 "I want you " She hesitated, turning to Ma- 
 jendie, who was surveying her movements with an 
 air of genial perplexity, "I want you to throw this 
 away. Right out into the water there, as far as ever 
 you can." 
 
 She pointed with an emphatic wave of her hand to 
 the shining Serpentine, where a vast concourse of 
 waterfowl were busy making ripples in the clear sur- 
 face that mirrored the fleecy sky. 
 
 "Supposing it slays a duck? Is there a legal pen- 
 alty?" 
 
 But he took the object from her and, stepping 
 
 back, with a swing of his long arm sped the missile. 
 
 It flew straight, unwrapping itself in transit. There 
 
 was a gleam of gold in the sunshine; then it cut the 
 
 15
 
 16 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 water and vanished, leaving a widening circle to mark 
 its disappearance. 
 
 The Inconspicuous Lady drew a deep sigh of re- 
 lief. For a moment longer she stood there, lost in 
 thought, her blue eyes fixed beyond the belt of trees, 
 as though she saw the ghosts of dead days pass, 
 slaves to that symbol she had cast away. 
 
 Then the tension of her face relaxed. She gave 
 herself a little shake and glanced around her like a 
 sleeper awakening; and again the radiance of the 
 hour and the full beauty of the Spring stirred with 
 its song of youth against the closed gates of her 
 heart. 
 
 "And now . . ." She turned to the boy beside 
 her with a smile. 
 
 "Lunch," he responded promptly, "and blessed be 
 the man who built the Hyde Park Hotel! My dear, 
 you'll faint if you don't have something soon." 
 
 His voice softened as he spoke, and he slipped a 
 hand through her arm, suddenly divining the signifi- 
 cance of the mysterious errand. 
 
 She looked up at him gratefully: at the smooth, 
 boyish face, with its kindly brown eyes, its large, 
 firmly modeled mouth, and clean-cut look of 
 youth. 
 
 "A woman would have asked a hundred questions 
 by now" they fell into step together, "that's the 
 best of a man! And, just because you haven't, I've 
 half a mind . . ." 
 
 But he checked her quickly, his chivalry aroused. 
 
 "Please don't! I believe . . . I understand." The
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 17 
 
 colour stole up under his fair skin, and he cleared his 
 voice nervously. 
 
 "Only I'd like to think, somehow, that you've 
 thrown your pack of worries away, every man jack 
 of them, along with that . . . death to ducks !" 
 
 She gave the hand within her arm a little pat of 
 affection and gratitude. 
 
 "My dear boy I really mean to. Indeed I do! 
 But to-day has been a winding-up of matrimonial ac- 
 counts." A tinge of bitterness lay in the final words. 
 "And now it's over, signed and sealed. It was very 
 absurd of me to mind, but that horrid old man and 
 his impertinence seemed the last straw. How dared 
 he?" 
 
 Her eyes flashed and she straightened her slim 
 shoulders with an air of desperate pride. 
 
 "Why should I suffer for another's sins ? The law 
 of England is an insult to womanhood!" 
 
 Majendie nodded, his face grimly set. "It does 
 seem a bit one-sided, I'll admit. Still it has its uses," 
 he tried to turn her thoughts into a happier channel, 
 "and its ornaments." He gave a deprecating little 
 cough. 
 
 "You absurd person!" She smiled again. "I 
 quite forgot you were a budding barrister." 
 
 "Briefless an blessed, but a credit to the profes- 
 sion." 
 
 "And a very true friend. No, don't be alarmed! 
 I'm not getting sentimental or ... stupid again. 
 From to-day you will see I'm going to start afresh: 
 to enjoy, at last, a glorious independence. I'm going
 
 i8 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 to be an adventuress, Boris, something desperate and 
 unconventional!" Her laugh rang out gayly, mischief 
 glowed in her eyes. 
 
 "No more 'truckling under' to people and opinions. 
 I shall think and act for myself, walk boldly through 
 all the Albert Gates, night and day!" 
 
 "Well don't blame me if you get run in," he sug- 
 gested comfortably, "and, after all, it's the height of 
 fashion now and comparatively easy and inexpen- 
 sive. A tenpenny hammer and the nearest window 
 Evviva Vine Street! and O the Glory and the 
 Martyrdom." 
 
 But, although she smiled, she was far away on the 
 old train of thought. 
 
 "That's why I bought a new wedding-ring." She 
 caught his look of amazement. "Yes, I did, just now, 
 at Percy Edwards'. It's a pledge from me to myself, 
 you see, besides being a useful commodity in my 
 scheme of independence. Twenty-two carat gold! I 
 wish you had seen the shopman's face. 'The best 
 gold, moddam, we guarantee it to wear! Oh, it was 
 delicious, and he looked so shocked when I tried 
 it on." 
 
 Majendie roared. 
 
 "Perhaps he saw me through the door, hanging 
 about wistfully with violets in my hand, which, bye- 
 the-bye, we've left in that confounded taxi! He'd 
 think you had kidnapped me. 'Poor young fellow', 
 he'd say. I know I was pale and wan, fighting the 
 pangs of hunger like a man." 
 
 He chuckled again, moved with joy at the picture.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 19 
 
 "Yes, he undoubtedly took me for a cowed bride- 
 groom." 
 
 "I must say those gloves of yours have a bridal 
 look." She pointed to the vast expanse of chamois 
 "it's a pity they're not 'sewn with seed pearls' what 
 was the phrase exactly, about early-Italian hands?" 
 
 He held back the swinging door of the Grill Room 
 entrance for her to pass in. 
 
 " Tale, passionate and boneless' was, I fancy, the 
 priceless description and that suggests 'Sole Colbert'. 
 Will that suit your ladyship? Let's get that table in 
 the window." 
 
 They settled themselves in the pleasant low room, 
 deserted save by an elderly pair likewise late for 
 lunch. The Inconspicuous Lady glanced around her 
 with interest. 
 
 "It's the first time I've been herein the Grill 
 Room, I mean. How nice and restful it is! I like 
 these plain panelled walls. One gets so tired of eating 
 to the accompaniment of white and gold and Rose 
 Dubarry. Is this a special haunt of yours?" 
 
 "More or less. What will you drink ?" He turned 
 over the wine list with due solemnity, but she checked 
 him with a quick gesture. 
 
 "Water, please," and added, heedless of his pained 
 remonstrance : 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm that peculiarly uninteresting char- 
 acter, a teetotaller." 
 
 He shuddered openly at the word. 
 
 "Do you object to my having whiskey ?" 
 
 "Well, I won't make an actual scene."
 
 20 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 She drew off her gloves and, leaning forward, con- 
 tinued apologetically: 
 
 "You know it's a fad of mine I've told you be- 
 fore." 
 
 "A most injurious fad," he retorted, "a pernicious 
 form of martyrdom. Take a little wine, pour I' amour 
 de I'estomac' don't blush! it's quite correct in 
 French, merely an airy way of alluding to the diges- 
 tion." 
 
 He turned to the waiter. 
 
 "One whiskey and a large Perrier." 
 
 That worthy repeated the order sadly, and with- 
 drew, nose in air. 
 
 "Observe the wounded feelings of our friend. He 
 thought better of you. 'Perrier Jouet,' he murmured, 
 the moment you stepped into the room instead of 
 which," he made a grimace, "you order Perrier 
 plain !" 
 
 He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and 
 surveyed his companion with an appreciative eye. 
 
 "Nevertheless you look somewhat un-Londonlike 
 to-day." 
 
 "That's because I'm going into the country." 
 
 She glanced at a tiny watch she wore, a round 
 ball set in brilliants, suspended from a delicate plati- 
 num chain. 
 
 "So we mustn't dawdle too long, I'm afraid 
 pleasant as it is." 
 
 "Where are you going? Or, I should like to say, 
 where are we going this sunny afternoon?" 
 
 "I really don't know."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 2T 
 
 She laughed outright at his puzzled face, then, 
 with a charming irrelevance, 
 
 "How old are you, boy?" 
 
 "Twenty- four and a half; 'coming twenty-five/ as 
 the children say. May I ask the reason of this indis- 
 creet curiosity ?" 
 
 "I wasn't quite sure. I guessed you somewhere 
 about that golden age. 'Coming twenty-five'." She 
 gave a little sigh. "I wish I could say the same." 
 
 "Well, you're hardly an octogenarian yourself! 
 Don't contradict me. I've looked you up in Burke. 
 Yes, I know it was mean, but I had to . . ." He 
 grew suddenly red. "Oh! I can't explain and it 
 sounds unutterable." 
 
 She smiled at him kindly. 
 
 "I quite understand the grim finger of the Law! 
 But to return to the main point ..." 
 
 "Perhaps you imagine I can travel on a half- 
 ticket?" he interrupted, "or as an infant in arms . . . 
 it sounds rather pleasing, now I come to think of it." 
 
 "Hardly. But I was wondering if you were still 
 young enough to confide in without offering valuable 
 advice in return the inevitable cold douche of dis- 
 approval that experience turns on to any unconven- 
 tional scheme." 
 
 "What desperate deed are you contemplating? 
 Hurrah! Here's the sole." 
 
 The sad- faced waiter waved it under his eyes and 
 removed it for dissection with an air of chilly for- 
 bearance, and they waited for his departure before 
 continuing the subject.
 
 22 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Now," he gave a sigh of relief, "I'm all agog- 
 whatever that means do tell me." 
 
 "Well I've thought the whole thing out, this last 
 detestable week " She broke off suddenly, look- 
 ing up at her companion. 
 
 "It is absolutely between ourselves, you understand, 
 Boris?" 
 
 "My dear lady," his voice was slightly aggrieved, 
 "if you can't trust me . . ." 
 
 Her hand was stretched impulsively across the nar- 
 row table. 
 
 "I didn't mean that forgive me. It's only I'm so 
 desperately afraid of people finding out where I am. 
 The fact is" she laughed a shade nervously "I'm 
 going to disappear !" 
 
 He looked up, startled by the word, and she went 
 on hurriedly. 
 
 "It's the only way anyhow for the next six 
 months until . . . everything's definite, you under- 
 stand? So it's no good your shaking your head at 
 me, or saying it's absurd, or mad, or impossible or 
 improper! I'm just going to do it." She smiled, a 
 little air of defiance on the beautiful, warm-toned 
 face. 
 
 "Not here, at this table, I hope ? Picture my feel- 
 ings, left with the remains of the sole and an empty 
 chair!" 
 
 "Now, do be serious for once," she frowned at him, 
 "or you won't hear anything more." 
 
 "Fancy the waiter's face : 'You ordered asparagus 
 for TWO, Sir we can't possibly make any reduc-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 23 
 
 tion!' Do hold out until the coffee. There! I'm 
 
 sorry. I won't be frivolous again. Only " he 
 
 paused, his brown eyes full of affection "it's just so 
 good to be sitting here with you, talking any non- 
 sense. It's so rarely I get you all to myself. Con- 
 found that waiter, he's coming back !" 
 
 "To see if I'm still here, I suppose." She gave a 
 little gurgle of mirth; there was no resisting the in- 
 fection of his mood. 
 
 "Sauce mousseline, Sir, with the asparagus?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Majendie impatiently and added 
 "For TWO." They laughed together. The waiter 
 thought them mad. 
 
 "And a rum-omelette to follow " He called 
 
 after the man, as he creaked away, disapproval oos- 
 ing from his very boots. "Just to see what your tee- 
 total fad is really worth." 
 
 "You'll have to eat it yourself. I'm not to be led 
 
 astray! Besides I hate rum, although I'm a 
 
 sailor's daughter." 
 
 "I suppose the Admiral took his 'noggin' a day? 
 though I must confess I'm hazy on nautical matters, 
 my knowledge being mostly gleaned from 'what the 
 Night Watchman said' in Jacobs' delightful books." 
 
 "They are nice full of unexpected laughter- 
 traps." 
 
 "But not so thrilling as the story I am waiting to 
 hear," he insinuated gently. 
 
 "The great disappearance, you mean? Well, this 
 is the main idea. I've refused all kind invitations 
 from my few broad-minded relatives including the
 
 24 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 suggestion of a Catholic aunt to enter a convent for 
 life stored my household goods and dismissed the 
 servants. All save Louise, who leaves to-night with 
 the bulk of my luggage for Paris. You will see in 
 to-morrow's paper that I have gone on a Continental 
 tour and to give it an air of reality I've engaged 
 rooms at the Meurice, where I am supposed by Louise 
 to join her almost immediately. As a matter of fact 
 she'll enjoy a week by herself looking up old friends 
 and gloating over the shops. Meanwhile I disap- 
 pear." 
 
 "But whither, fair lady ? and why, and with whom ? 
 And what is to become of the unfortunate Louise at 
 the end of the week?" 
 
 "Oh that's easy enough. She will be sent on to 
 Germaine, my old school friend in the Vosges. You 
 met her I think last year with us on the River? She 
 happens to want a maid and it's a lovely place. 
 Louise will be in clover French clover too! She 
 is always grumbling at England and English ways. 
 The puzzle is exactly where I am to go. I've thought 
 of so many places, but there's always some flaw in 
 the scheme." 
 
 "Let's get an A. B. C. and work it out methodi- 
 cally." 
 
 "The very thing what a brain you have!" So 
 she mocked him. Then from gay flashed to serious 
 attention. 
 
 "And, after all, why not? There's a subtle fas- 
 cination in leaving things to chance." She gazed 
 past him through the window and across the busy
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 25 
 
 thoroughfare to the colour scheme of Wooland's. The 5 
 dust swirled up under the whirl of taxi, victoria and 
 lumbering bus and a sudden distaste for London and 
 the feverish movement of town invaded her tired 
 spirit and over-strained nerves. 
 
 "I want to get away out of all this," she gave an 
 impatient sigh, "into the country of green leaves, 
 stupid faces and kind hearts." 
 
 "Must they always go together?" But his voice 
 was gentle and as she made no response he called 
 the waiter and asked for the time-table to be 
 brought. 
 
 The yellow, paper-covered book was duly laid be- 
 fore her and she roused herself from her momentary 
 abstraction. 
 
 "Now" her voice was gay "observe how we con- 
 sult the oracle." 
 
 From the neat black toque she drew a murderous- 
 looking pin. Then she closed her eyes, drove it 
 firmly into the massed leaves, felt for the page indi- 
 cated, looked down eagerly and together they peered 
 where the point of the pin had transfixed the printed 
 matter. 
 
 "Coddell-in-the-Dale." She spelled it out. "Im- 
 possible! there can't be such a place." Her eyes 
 shone with amusement. 
 
 "Coddell-in-the-Dale it is!" Majendie echoed the 
 words. "What a delicious name. So comfortable 
 and homely. Fancy writing to invite your friends: 
 'Come and be coddled!' what a mercy it's an 'o' 
 and not a 'u' !"
 
 26 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 But she heeded him not, absorbed in the great 
 discovery. 
 
 "It's on the Great Central, in the Midlands. See 
 Coddell Junction page 99." She turned the leaves 
 hurriedly. 
 
 "Here you are! There's a train at 3.40 arriving 
 5.12. I could catch that easily. Couldn't I? And 
 it's new country to me, right off the beaten track." 
 
 She leaned back in her chair with a little sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 "I shall go there," she declared, "this afternoon." 
 
 He looked at her thoughtfully, considering the 
 scheme, conscious anew of the tired lines of her face. 
 
 "It might be an awful hole, and you don't get there 
 much before dusk just coal-pits perhaps, or a dreary 
 common with a handful of cottages and no inn. Why 
 not leave it until the morning? You're not really 
 rushed for time." 
 
 Her face fell at this unexpected lack of enthusiasm; 
 seeing which he added hastily, "I don't want to be a 
 wet-blanket you know and it may be exquisitely Ar- 
 cadian with a snug little inn and a rose-covered porch 
 and a winding road up a hill to a Church with a Nor- 
 man tower. But on the other hand there's the coal- 
 pit theory and the barren common and despair." 
 
 "Impossible with a name like that. Besides I 
 
 could always go on to the nearest town " Her 
 
 mouth was obstinately set. 
 
 "Well, then, if you've quite made up your mind I 
 shall come with you you shan't go alone. No, it's 
 no use looking haughty and annoyed. It's a free
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 27 
 
 country and I've as good a right to travel on the 
 Great Central to Coddell-in-the-Dale as yourself 
 even if I am dismissed into the next carriage! It's 
 absurd your running the risk of being stranded in 
 some God- forsaken spot in the heart of the country 
 without a roof to cover you." 
 
 "There's always the railway station," she retorted. 
 "And I'm used to taking care of myself. It's a bye- 
 law of the married state." Again the cloud gathered 
 over her candid face. "It's very kind of you to sug- 
 gest protection but the days of the highwayman are 
 mercifully over." 
 
 "Leaving a loophole for the tramp." Majendie's 
 voice was dry, "and elderly gentlemen in white spats. 
 It's no use, Petronilla, I'm coming a limpet a nui- 
 sance anything you like, but there, a solid fact." 
 
 He glanced down at the open time-table. "There's 
 a train back at ten I can catch, after seeing you safely 
 bestowed for the night. Of course, it would be pleas- 
 anter far pleasanter" he sighed "if instead of 
 that cold air of disapproval you would welcome your 
 humble escort and we could trot off like two children 
 playing truant together . . ." 
 
 He saw her waver and followed up his advantage 
 skilfully. 
 
 "But I suppose you think it's your own box 
 of bricks and I've no right to meddle with it 
 besides being a babe in arms and addicted to strong 
 liquor." 
 
 At this she laughed. 
 
 "A very precocious babe! Well, I give in al-
 
 28 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 though it's a poor beginning for my scheme of inde- 
 pendence." 
 
 "Not at all," said her companion gaily. "The very 
 reverse ! You snap your fingers in the teeth of society 
 and Percy Edwards is justified of his suspicions. To 
 Coddell-in-the-Dale" he raised his glass "it has all 
 the merits of a first-class elopement."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 BEHIND the veil of superficial resemblance that all 
 large stations bear, due to the noise of many engines, 
 the grime of smoke and coal dust, and the perpetual 
 movement of hurrying humanity, each of the great 
 London Termini hides an individual soul a per- 
 sonality peculiar and apart that holds no secret to 
 the man who has taught himself to observe. 
 
 For observation is rarely a gift of the gods. It is 
 the outcome of a habit of concentration, a meticulous 
 probing into cause and effect that seeks everywhere 
 an answer to the enigma of life. 
 
 Thus, to the 'eyes that see/ Charing Cross, that 
 gateway of the short cut to Europe, is Continental 
 at heart, with its 'Customs' where lurks the acrid 
 smell of harbours its polyglot speech and crowded 
 Boat-trains: there is no gainsaying its cosmopolitan 
 appeal. 
 
 Waterloo has a grimmer spirit. Soldiers and sail- 
 ors with bundled belongings add to the historic name 
 a far-off menace of war; a faint cloud of danger 
 coming from the coast and presaging the storm when 
 busy streams of armed men shall pour southward to 
 the defence of the Island that dreamed herself im- 
 pregnable. 
 
 But Paddington is restful, striking the note of West 
 29
 
 3 o APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Country ways. Soft-spoken guards wear a protective 
 air with that gentle blend of deference and easy fa- 
 miliarity towards 'the Gentry' that is missing in the 
 North and suggests men born and bred on quiet es- 
 tates, self-respecting and proud, yet acknowledging 
 the ancient laws of Caste. 
 
 The Great Central alone, youngest babe of the 
 metropolis, is undeveloped yet, greeting the attentive 
 tourist with an air of mild surprise. It has not found 
 itself. There is a sleepy provincial atmosphere hang- 
 ing under its ultra-modern roof, and the very en- 
 trance to it lacks dignity and suggests a furtive at- 
 tempt to evade observation, crouching behind the 
 huge block of the Great Central Hotel. 
 
 On this particular May afternoon, a drowsy haze 
 blurred the high rafters and spread, streaked by a 
 fan of sunshine, down to the hot platform as Majen- 
 die and his companion, avoiding the few and solitary 
 passengers, took possession of an empty carriage in 
 the centre of the train. 
 
 In their desire to run no risk of 'cutting it fine' 
 (allowing for the lengthened ride that a call at her 
 hotel necessitated) they found themselves with ten 
 minutes to spare; and having carefully bestowed be- 
 neath the seat the suit case, holding those few belong- 
 ings the Inconspicuous Lady deemed suitable to the 
 adventure, they now proceeded to pace up and down 
 the platform in the aimless fashion of the Britisher 
 in his sub-conscious Religion of Exercise. 
 
 For you can mark an Englishman by this very trait 
 in any station abroad, wending his way with steady
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 31 
 
 intention, in and out of the gossiping groups of for- 
 eigners, standing, sitting, leaning, where the islander 
 is ever for movement. Whether it be the knowledge 
 to which he is born of the boundary line of water 
 that walk where he may the blue ocean somewhere 
 must end his pilgrimage; or whether the quarter-deck 
 habit prevails in a nation that once governed the seas 
 and still continues to confuse 'safety' with 'tradition' ; 
 whatever the latent cause of the restlessness may be, 
 this desire to walk anywhere for the mere sake of 
 walking belongs to no other people on earth and holds 
 the sanctity of a rite. 
 
 Given an empty space and five minutes of leisure, 
 the Englishman stolidly proceeds, without reasoning, 
 moved by this mysterious impulse, to encourage the 
 boot trade at the expense of his purse. 
 
 "Let us walk up and down and get a little air," was 
 therefore Majendie's suggestion and, the lady acquies- 
 cing, they fell into step together, moving instinctively 
 towards the open end of the long glass-roofed tunnel. 
 
 It was mid-way in their peregrinations that a new 
 idea dawned on the lady's cavalier. 
 
 "You've forgotten a somewhat important point," 
 he hastened to inform her, "wherever you go, even 
 to a Coddell-in-the-Dale, your name will give you 
 away. You must have an adopted one, a suitable nom 
 de guerre." 
 
 She nodded her head wisely. 
 
 "I've thought of that already. Why not be 'Mrs. 
 Brown' ?" 
 
 "Because you don't look it, my dear." He laughed
 
 32 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 aloud at the thought. " 'Mrs. Brown, from no-where 
 in particular, who has seen better days!' It's too 
 obviously ridiculous and who wears a watch studded 
 with diamonds and irreproachable boots. Boots, by 
 the way, are the surest index to a person's means. 
 Now there's a certain air about your boots ... a 
 Russian-leather air, that doesn't suggest 'Brown.' " 
 
 "But that's just what they are," she retorted gaily, 
 "plain brown boots." She glanced with a pardonable 
 touch of vanity at her well-shod feet. "Still, I give 
 in! it's not a pretty name." 
 
 They came to a halt instinctively before the book- 
 stall where the small boy in charge was whiling away 
 the hour by an attentive perusal of "Scraps." Three 
 rows of ancient library books fringed the edge of the 
 stall bearing the alluring headings : "Price, one shil- 
 ling" "Ninepence each" and the tattered waifs of 
 the collection "This row, sixpence." 
 
 "One could choose the title of a book," said the 
 Inconspicuous Lady. She glanced carelessly at the 
 covers. "I think we'll leave it to chance again and 
 see what comes of it. You watch and I'll point out 
 some at random." 
 
 She closed her eyes tightly, touching one row after 
 another in succession with her ringer. 
 
 "Now?" She turned to Majendie. Over the edge 
 of his paper the newsboy gazed suspiciously at the 
 performance. 
 
 " 'Young April' by Egerton Castle : and the next 
 'Peter Pan' " Majendie stooped to read the soiled 
 lettering on the book below "'The Hazard of a
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 33 
 
 Die' . . ." he gave a little grimace. "Ye Gods 
 what a selection!" 
 
 She repeated the names after him, her brows knit 
 in thought. The boy sidled down from his perch on 
 the high stool, scenting a would-be customer. 
 
 "Wanter book, lidy?" 
 
 He dusted the shilling row with an ingenious sweep 
 of his sleeve. 
 
 "All the litest books," he informed her unblush- 
 ingly. 
 
 "You little scamp," said Majendie. "They were 
 written before the Flood." 
 
 The boy caught the twinkle in his eye and snig- 
 gered. 
 
 "It's a cheap lot, sir, any'ow," he amended. 
 
 He took down tentatively a sporting novel, bound 
 in a violent yellow. 
 
 But at this moment an exclamation from the lady 
 startled them both. 
 
 "I have it!" She turned to Majendie, her face 
 aglow. "April Panhasard there's a delicious 
 name!" 
 
 Then, conscious of the boy's inquisitive gaze, she 
 moved away from the bookstall. 
 
 Majendie tossed him a sixpence and followed. 
 
 "Don't you like it? It combines all three titles, is 
 quaint and musical. 'April Panhasard' " she lin- 
 gered on the word "Mrs. Panhasard of Coddell-in- 
 the-Dale." 
 
 "Charming." Majendie approved "especially the 
 April. Although I am loth to part with Petronilla,
 
 34 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 the new name suits you well 'an April lady, all sweet 
 smiles and tears' . . ." 
 
 "I don't see why one shouldn't be called April as 
 well as May? and I once knew a girl called June," 
 she looked up at him and added whimsically, "though 
 it would take a brave woman to call her daughter 
 'September' !" 
 
 The ticket-collector approached, banging and snip- 
 ping his way down the half -empty train, and they 
 climbed into their places under his admonishing gaze. 
 
 "Take your seats, please." 
 
 The engine backed out slowly, a country cousin 
 bowing low before the royalty of Town, and a sudden 
 shower of rain lashed the windows of the carriage, 
 blurring the grey outlines of roof and chimney and 
 blackened railroad walls. 
 
 "I feel like the Owl and the Pussycat going to 
 Sea," said the boy lazily. 
 
 He pulled out the corner of the suit case for her 
 to rest her feet upon and produced an evening paper 
 which he handed across. 
 
 "Now you snuggle back into that corner and have 
 a rest. I know you're one of those sensible people 
 who never talk in trains." 
 
 "What a deliberate hint," she laughed back at him 
 "well, go to sleep, Owl, and I'll mind the Pea-green 
 Boat." 
 
 A glint of sunshine fell athwart the shower as they 
 whirled through a suburban station and came out on 
 to green fields beyond. She peered through the open 
 window, breathing in deeply the rain-washed air,
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 35 
 
 "Good-bye, London." Her voice was low and, al- 
 though her lips smiled, her eyes were sad. Majendie 
 watched her through half -closed lids with a man's 
 appreciation of the moment for silence. 
 
 She put up her hands to her head and removed her 
 hat, with a little sigh of relief as the wind played 
 with her radiant hair. 
 
 "That's better! I'm sorry to be so restless, dear 
 Owl, but I shall settle down soon. It's nice to think 
 we're going into the heart of the country where gloves 
 and hats and finery are reserved for Sunday Church." 
 
 "Yes, I don't suppose they wear them round the 
 coal-pits," he suggested mischievously. 
 
 "I wish you'd go to sleep." 
 
 "So I will," he closed his eyes, "if you promise not 
 to take advantage of my unprotected condition," he 
 added drowsily, with the daring of old friendship. 
 
 But her thoughts had wandered off again and she 
 sat there silent, her chin cupped in her ungloved hand, 
 where the new wedding-ring gleamed, conspicuously 
 golden. 
 
 He could see the clear profile outlined against the 
 light, the droop of the slim shoulders, the supple curve 
 of her breast in the plain serge coat ; and at the whole 
 sweet picture of graceful womanhood a sudden 
 thought made his young mouth hard, sent a thrill of 
 that fighting spirit through his veins, that still stirs 
 English manhood at the thought of a woman wronged. 
 
 "It's jolly unfair" he said to himself "the whole 
 
 dirty business Damn the chap! I'd like to get 
 
 him to myself for a quiet half-hour one day . . ."
 
 36 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 And in the pleasing picture it evoked, fell back on 
 memories of other 'quiet half-hours,' his hand steal- 
 ing instinctively to an old cut on his lip. 
 
 With a smothered chuckle, his head drooped an 
 inch, nodded, gave a sudden jerk with the train, 
 nodded again and he fell asleep. 
 
 "Coddell Junction," said a harsh voice in his ears. 
 "Change 'ere for Swathem, Easterlip and Slingsby- 
 on-the-'ill!" 
 
 A light touch on his knee and the smiling face of 
 April Panhasard, once more hatted, gloved, alert, rose 
 through the mists of slumber. 
 
 "Wake up, boy we're here!" 
 
 "Gracious me, I believe I've been asleep!" 
 
 "Just a nap," she said cheerily "pull out that bag 
 first and we'll discuss the marvel later." 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry " he caught up his hat and 
 
 stick, dragged the suit-case forth and was on the plat- 
 form beside her. 
 
 A small boy in a sailor suit ran past them, crying 
 joyfully : 
 
 "There he is! There's Skipper!" And a deep 
 voice answered : 
 
 "Hullo! Bosun mind that rod now or you'll 
 break it," as a man swung out of the adjoining car- 
 riage, blue-eyed with a short beard, and bronzed seri- 
 ous face. 
 
 "Well, Candida, my dear" as a fair-haired woman 
 joined them "is the car here ? You got my wire all 
 right?" He took off his hat and kissed her gravely. 
 
 Meanwhile the youngster had seized upon his bag
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 37 
 
 and was dragging it sturdily along, on short excited 
 legs, brown as a berry where the white socks ended, 
 showing bare knees beneath the diminutive knicker- 
 bockers. 
 
 The speaker had recovered the endangered fishing- 
 rod and, slipping a hand through his wife's arm, made 
 for the gate leading out of the country station. 
 
 The ticket-collector touched his cap respectfully. 
 
 "Good day, Sir, nice weather, sir." He held the 
 wicket open. "Tickets, please," as Majendie and his 
 companion followed. 
 
 Beyond lay the bare grey road and a dusty patch 
 of yard, innocent of vehicles. 
 
 "How does one get to Coddell-in-the-Dale ?" April 
 asked. 
 
 "And how far is it?" supplemented Majendie. 
 
 "A good walk from 'ere, sir," said the man ad- 
 dressed, "nigh on five mile it be." 
 
 "Phew . . .!" Majendie paused, dismayed -"no 
 cabs either !" he glanced up and down the road. 
 
 "Not unless you've ordered one, sir." The man 
 scratched his head. "There's a carrier as meets the 
 morning train . . ." he suggested cheerfully, and 
 closed the wicket behind them. 
 
 In the shadow of the hedge stood a big Rolls Royce, 
 apparently for the convenience of an agitated fox 
 terrier who was jumping up and down in wild excite- 
 ment as the little group before them drew near to 
 him. 
 
 "D'you mean I can't get a cab, or a cart or any- 
 thing to take us there?"
 
 38 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Majendie hunted for a shilling and spoke ingrati- 
 atingly. 
 
 But the ticket-collector shook his head and the pair 
 stared blankly at each other, then at the suit case be- 
 tween them. 
 
 The man with the fishing-rod glanced back, hesi- 
 tated, and, seeing the strangers' dilemma, consulted 
 his wife and returned. 
 
 "D'you want to get to Coddell-in-the-Dale ?" His 
 voice was brusque and a slight colour under his bronze 
 skin betrayed an inherent shyness. 
 
 "Yes," said Majendie eagerly, "but there seems a 
 difficulty. We had no idea" he smiled involuntarily 
 "that it would be so far from the station." 
 
 A sudden memory of the coal-pits assailed him and 
 the smile broadened on his face. "Is there no chance 
 of a cab? By wiring somewhere?" 
 
 "I'm afraid not. This is quite the wilds," the 
 other unthawed "but if you care for it that is 
 my wife thought" he stammered a little "we've got 
 the car here and if you don't mind a bit of a crush, 
 we should be pleased to give you a lift." 
 
 "How very kind!" April turned impulsively to- 
 wards him. She liked the look of the shy man with 
 the deep grave voice. "If you are sure we shall not 
 be too much of a load?" she glanced at Majendie 
 "we could leave the bag behind anywhere for the 
 promised 'morning carrier !' " 
 
 They all laughed, relieved that the strain was 
 broken by a jest. 
 
 The boy in the sailor suit came running back.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 39 
 
 "Do come," he cried, "she's a beauty goes like 
 fun!" He danced up and down, his dark, gipsy face 
 surveying this gift of the gods new friends neatly 
 dropped from the skies with obvious approval. "I'm 
 learning to drive her myself," he confided gaily, 
 "Darling lets me when the road's clear and there are 
 no turns, you know, and yesterday . . ." 
 
 "Sh . . .!" the owner of the car checked him, 
 "that'll do, Bosun. It's decided then, you'll come." 
 
 And they all crossed the road together, to where 
 the fair-haired woman was ensconsed next the driv- 
 ing seat, the terrier on her lap. 
 
 "My name's Newcomen," he said stiffly, and checked 
 the boy again, who was swarming up regardless of 
 the guests. 
 
 "This is my wife " 
 
 The bluest eyes she had ever seen met April Pan- 
 hasard's gaze, not the aqua-marine colour of her own, 
 but china-blue, clear and innocent as a child's, under 
 a lavender motor-bonnet that framed rebellious curls, 
 golden as corn in harvest-time. 
 
 "I'm so glad we can give you a lift," Newcomen's 
 wife said, leaning forward with a pretty hospitality. 
 "But I hope you won't be crushed, with my little boy 
 behind. I'm afraid to have him here in this twisting 
 road he gets in the way of the steering. You must 
 sit very quiet, Bosun, and be a good boy." 
 
 "I love children," said April simply, moved by the 
 strange appeal of the blue, blue eyes. A spark of 
 understanding leaped and quickened between them, 
 the mysterious glow that foretells friendship, piercing
 
 40 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 the guard of sex-mistrust that divides so many 
 women. 
 
 "The bag can go here," said the man called Skipper. 
 He strapped it on neatly with the deft fingers of the 
 sailor, tucked the rug round his guests and started 
 the engine going. 
 
 "You all right?" he turned his head for a final 
 glance at the trio. 
 
 "All aboard the lugger," cried the small boy lustily 
 "right ahead, sir," and they were off. 
 
 High hedge and field flashed past them and the 
 first fine exhilaration of the clear air in their teeth 
 held them in a silence full of swift delight. 
 
 The little boy, wedged between them, stared 
 straight ahead, braced to resist the breeze, his short 
 legs dangling, mindful of the injunction hard to 
 obey to be both quiet and good. 
 
 Majendie glanced at him sideways and shifted his 
 position so that the fragile shoulders could lean 
 against his arm. 
 
 "That better ? you sit tight and then we won't fall 
 out round the corners. Lord, what a curve !" As the 
 car swung easily in and out of the bending road. 
 
 "Isn't it fine?" April leaned closer to murmur in 
 his ear. "I told you it would be a dream of a place 
 but I never expected this." 
 
 For they had come to the crest of the winding hill. 
 Below them lay the valley in a flood of amber light. 
 A thread of silver water cut the long sweep of the 
 dale, its green meadows and darker woods, with here 
 and there an orchard where a red roof peeped, flanked
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 41 
 
 by hay-stacks and brown tilled soil, a pastoral ro- 
 mance. 
 
 And away on the further slope, through the blue 
 haze that distance lent, smooth hills appeared, the 
 manifold breasts of Mother Earth, calling ever her 
 tired children to come and rest and rest and be 
 rocked to sleep. 
 
 April Panhasard's eyes slowly filled with tears. 
 The beauty of it, the exquisite repose, the very rain- 
 drops that fell from the wet trees above as they darted 
 forward and down to the promised land, seemed to 
 wash away all the sin and suffering of mankind; to 
 renew the tired spirit within, breathing at last of 
 peace. 
 
 She came to herself with a start to find the child's 
 gaze fixed upon her face, to feel a little hand laid 
 upon her knee. 
 
 "Is it going too fast?" His voice was that of an 
 anxious host. "The brake's all right, you know 
 Skipper keeps his foot on it." 
 
 "Not a bit" she smiled back at him bravely "it's 
 just lovely." But he persisted gently with a child's 
 want of tact : "You ought to wear goggles. Darling 
 does often when the wind's high, you know, it does 
 hurt one's eyes." 
 
 "That's it," April laughed "it's the wind in my 
 eyes, my dear, just blowing away all the dirt and 
 smoke of town." 
 
 "I know," said the boy gravely, as the car slack- 
 ened speed "it's a horrid place, London 'cept the 
 Zoo."
 
 42 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 A gust over the tree-tops dislodged his sailor's cap, 
 which fell back to be caught in a sudden clutch by 
 Majendie. 
 
 "Got him!" he cried gaily "that was a near shave." 
 He read the name on the band. "H. M. S. Swift- 
 sure" . . . and handed it to its owner. 
 
 "That's Skipper's ship his last," the Bosun ex- 
 plained. "He's a Captain, you know," a tinge of pride 
 appeared "and got three medals and a lot of little 
 ribbon things I can't r 'ember the names." 
 
 "Your father?" Majendie made a gesture towards 
 the man in the driving seat. 
 
 "No." A curious look of obstinacy came into the 
 child's expression. 
 
 "My father's dead," and his lips shut tightly. 
 
 "But that's your mother?" April Panhasard asked. 
 
 The dark, gipsy face was turned towards her, warm 
 with a love transparently displayed. 
 
 "Yes, that's Darling." He gave a little nod, shak- 
 ing the dark curls back as the wind rioted across them. 
 
 And she noticed with a curious wonder that above 
 the left temple shone a lock purely white as though a 
 finger had lain for a moment across his brow, mark- 
 ing him out from among the common crowd and 
 leaving an indelible sign, a birthright that none might 
 doubt. 
 
 "You see that church tower," he leaned forward, 
 a small arm outstretched, "that's Coddell our vil- 
 lage, you know and our house is just beyond, round 
 the curve, and that white patch is the 'Admiral Rod- 
 ney' " his voice rose excitedly "and that little dot
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 43 
 
 right away across the fields, with the twisty path 
 that little dot of red that's the Kennels where Joe 
 lives!" 
 
 The car raced up a short stone bridge built in a 
 curve such as the Romans loved, and leaped with a 
 sudden throb down the further slope, nearly unseating 
 the speaker. Majendie's arm tightened about him as 
 they gazed eagerly ahead. 
 
 Now the first cottage came in sight round a clump 
 of elms, as they raced onwards. 
 
 "By Jove," Majendie laughed aloud. "You were 
 right, Petronilla absurdly right!" 
 
 He waved his hand as the big Rolls Royce effort- 
 less started to climb. 
 
 " 'Exquisitely Arcadian,' " he quoted, turning to 
 watch her eager face, " 'a winding road up a hill to 
 a Church with a Norman tower with a snug little 
 Inn and a rose-covered porch . . .' " 
 
 Newcomen turned his head. 
 
 "This is Coddell-in-the-Dale," he explained. 
 "Where shall we put you down?"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN truth it was Arcadian, without a shadow of doubt. 
 Even bad butter could not mar their enthusiasm as 
 they sat together in the stuff y little parlour of the 
 "Admiral Rodney", facing a brown tea-pot filled with 
 a brew of tea so strong and bitter that, as Majendie 
 said, it "looked explosive". 
 
 Through the low window they could see a cottage 
 garden across the dusty road; stocks and pinks and 
 purple pansies rioting against a background of grey- 
 green cabbage leaves flanked by a row of fresh young 
 peas ; and beyond the low eaves a chestnut, heavy with 
 bloom, shaded the village well. In the middle of the 
 road a dusty retriever slept, confident in a Providence 
 that could turn traffic aside, and under the green 
 porch, an Ancient of the village sucked at an empty 
 pipe, staring placidly into space, a part and parcel of 
 the rough brown bench. 
 
 "And now to business." April Panhasard ate the 
 last radish and rose to her feet, straightening her hat 
 with a glance at the speckled mirror in the empty 
 space accorded by two china dogs, spotted miracu- 
 lously with red and suggesting some obscure and viru- 
 lent disease. 
 
 "I think we must go to the post office first. It 
 usually contains the master mind of the village. And, 
 44
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 45 
 
 by the way, let me remind you that I am no longer 
 Tetronilla/ but 'Mrs. Panhasard,' " she gave a low 
 laugh of enjoyment, "from nowhere in particular, 
 who has seen better days !" 
 
 "Shall we pay for the gunpowder tea?" 
 
 He opened the door and gazed down the dark 
 passage devoid of life. 
 
 "There seems to be no one about. I think they'll 
 trust us until the dinner-hour. There's my bag, you 
 see, as a pledge, in that hot little bedroom above. I 
 wonder why they live with their windows hermetically 
 sealed?" 
 
 "To enjoy the air when they walk abroad," Ma- 
 jendie suggested, as they passed out through the porch 
 with its solitary occupant, who eyed them with the 
 veiled stare of the very old. 
 
 The Church clock tolled out six deep notes, vibrat- 
 ing ceaselessly in the square tower, and a cool breeze 
 sprang up as though in answer to the evening call. 
 
 "Isn't it delicious?" Majendie bared his head. 
 "Up the hill, I should say, is our way. Why, there's 
 another Inn the 'Red Cow' just look at the sign- 
 board ! not quite so high-class as ours but suggestive 
 of noble thirst." 
 
 A man with a blue mug in his hand lounged in the 
 doorway. 
 
 "Can you tell us where the post office is to be 
 found?" he inquired of that worthy, who passing his 
 hand slowly across his mouth proceeded to reply ob- 
 viously surprised at the strangers' ignorance. 
 
 " 'Oop t' road, sir, nex' door to t' baker's shop," he
 
 46 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 gave a jerk of his elbow in the direction of the Church, 
 "ye can't miss it," he added consolingly. 
 
 "That's a mercy," said Majendie aside. "Every- 
 thing seems extremely straightforward in Arcadia." 
 
 They toiled up the steep hill, gazing about them 
 with the air of two explorers ; passing the village well 
 with its bucket and rusty chain and the irregular scat- 
 tered cottages, each with its plot of garden and paved 
 pathway, tightly-closed windows and open door, 
 where here and there a child played on the threshold 
 or a woman gossiped with her neighbour, adding a 
 touch of life to the homely scene. 
 
 A white house behind a yew hedge with a dog-cart 
 standing at the gate roused their momentary curiosity, 
 swiftly appeased by the sight of a brass plate on the 
 door. 
 
 "The village doctor," said April, pausing to glance 
 approvingly at the chestnut mare fidgeting under a 
 burden of flies, with lathered flanks that testified to 
 a hard day's work. 
 
 The front door opened suddenly and a man looked 
 out an elderly man, with alert, thoughtful face. 
 
 "Shan't want you again, Simkins. Nine sharp to- 
 morrow!" he called to the groom. 
 
 "Yessir, very good, sir." With an air of relief the 
 man hitched up the restless mare and turned in to 
 the stable yard beyond. 
 
 "Looks a good sort," said Majendie, "your Ar- 
 cadian medico. Two to one you'll like him better 
 than the parson. For you'll have to go to church 
 now, Mrs. Panhasard, and sit in your own pew, and
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 47 
 
 teach in the Sunday school . . ." he chuckled delight- 
 edly at the notion. "Better take the Boys' class > 
 you'll find it easier!" 
 
 April laughed softly. "I shouldn't mind in fact 
 I should rather like it. You forget I'm country-born 
 and far more at home in an atmosphere like this than 
 the one I have lately left." 
 
 She quickened her steps instinctively. 
 
 "There's the baker I can see the loaves !" 
 
 "And the post office just beyond, with the telegraph 
 wire running in at the side of the window to give it 
 an air of official glory. When you come to think of 
 it, what a curious link it is ! just that thread of wire 
 that ends . . . and brings the news of the world." 
 
 April nodded, her face thoughtful. 
 
 "A few centuries ago it would have meant burning 
 for witchcraft." 
 
 "Thus sins become virtues a comforting reflection 
 to the normal man." His brown eyes danced mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 "Come along in, Mrs. Panhasard, and assert your 
 independence." 
 
 They mounted the steps and a little bell above the 
 door duly announced their entry. 
 
 "Cheese, candles" Majendie sniffed "bacon, and 
 glue, I think? No!" as he stumbled over a bale 
 of stuff and stooped to rub his shin, "corduroy," he 
 amended ruefully. 
 
 Behind the high counter a middle-aged man was 
 laboriously making out a bill with a pencil that re- 
 quired incessant lubrication. He paid no attention to
 
 48 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 his customers but continued to add up the column of 
 figures with frowning brows, totting off the items 
 with dirty fingers against the edge of the table. 
 
 "Good afternoon," said Majendie amiably. 
 
 The man completed the sum and raised a pair of 
 blurred, watery eyes. 
 
 "Ar'ternoon." He acquiesced. 
 
 "I wonder if you could tell me," April gave him 
 a doubtful glance, "if there are any houses to let in 
 this neighbourhood?" 
 
 Silence save for the flies that buzzed in swarms 
 about their heads and Majendie stifled an insane de- 
 sire to laugh. 
 
 At last : "Would it be a little 'ouse or a large 'ouse 
 you'll be wanting?" The man ventured cautiously. 
 He had the appearance of being dazed by the sudden 
 visitation. 
 
 Majendie, much amused, watched for her reply. 
 
 "A little house," she decided, "with a nice garden, 
 of course." 
 
 The postmaster stared at her, wrestling with the 
 problem. 
 
 "There be 'Croftons,' " he suggested slowly after 
 another pause. 
 
 "And whereabouts is that?" She tried to hide her 
 impatience "is it in the village? Could I see it?" 
 her foot tapped the floor. 
 
 "It belongs to a gen'leman as broke 'is neck last 
 season." 
 
 It was obvious that the tragedy appealed to him. 
 " 'Unting it were," he concluded grimly.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 49 
 
 "Broke his neck?" April stared "and is still alive?" 
 She looked incredulously up at the stupid face before 
 her. 
 
 "Lor' bless yer, no, marm !" the man was amused 
 "in the Churchyard a year come October." 
 
 He leaned back against the wall surveying his audi- 
 ence. 
 
 "A fine funeral it were . . ." he started slowly. 
 
 But Majendie, in desperation, interposed. 
 
 "Yes, yes but about the house. I'm afraid we 
 haven't much time, you know! Is it possible to see 
 it?" 
 
 The man drew in his horns, sulky at the interrup- 
 tion. For all answer he opened a glass door behind 
 him, and: 
 
 "Mother!" he called to an invisible person within. 
 
 There was the sound of a chair being pushed back 
 and presently there appeared a little old dame in a 
 snowy frilled cap that surrounded her wrinkled face, 
 spotlessly clean, infinitely alive, with shrewd bright 
 eyes that twinkled merrily. She gave one quick glance 
 at the visitors, dropped a bob curtsey and turned to 
 rate her son. 
 
 "Now then, Giles, wake up, boy! what be the 
 gentry wanting?" 
 
 But April interposed, foreseeing an endless explana- 
 tion. 
 
 "If you could tell us of a house to be let near 
 here ? a small house with a big garden," she amended, 
 smilingly. 
 
 The little old dame smiled back; and each wrinkle
 
 50 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 in the seamed face seemed to speed the message, from 
 the crows feet about the kind old eyes to the lines of 
 humour that guarded the corners of the puckered 
 mouth, experience and laughter joining hands, hal- 
 lowed by the presence of age. 
 
 "I told 'un Croftons," said the son apologetically. 
 
 "Croftons!" his mother sniffed "not for the 
 
 likes o' her " She turned again on April the keen 
 
 appraising eyes. 
 
 "Just for the 'unting, marm," she explained, "not 
 a 'ouse for a lady at all. A couple o' men, per'aps, 
 as is out and about all day. But my son Giles, 'e don't 
 understand. 'E were allays stoopid, marm, from a 
 babe, 'e were. 'E don't mean nothing" she gave him 
 a shrewish glance " 'tis 'is father all over again !" 
 she announced with a fine disregard of convention 
 towards the dead. "I'm just thinking, marm" she 
 went on, ticking off the names on wrinkled fingers, 
 encased in black mittens, winter and summer worn. 
 "There's The Lodge' on the Slingsby road. But 
 it's been to let so long, 'tis all a-mouldy now, with 
 rats and what not ..." She saw April shudder and 
 smiled again. "Aye, an' a ghost too, marm, as I've 
 'card tell. Then there's 'Bankside,' where old Mrs. 
 Wallace lived ? But the garden's small, wi'out lawns, 
 just a scrap all down the slope . . ." She shook her 
 head doubtfully, her brows knit in thought. 
 
 "Oh, I must have a garden," said Mrs. Panhasard 
 "a large garden, and a field for cows and stables." 
 
 A chuckle from her companion checked further de-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 51 
 
 "I thought you said a little house!" said Majendie 
 in her ear. 
 
 "Well not too big not a great barracks of a 
 place. I do hope I shall find one. It's such a pretty 
 village." 
 
 She looked appealingly at the old woman, who sur- 
 veyed her with approval. 
 
 "That it be, marm, as I knows, 'aving lived 'ere 
 these seventy years, and my mother and her mother 
 afore! And 'ealthy and quiet too, wi' none o' they 
 racketty motors as brings trouble an' sickness on a 
 place grace be to God and an 'igh 'ill," she piously 
 concluded. 
 
 Majendie was interested. 
 
 "Oh, you think that motors bring illness?" 
 
 He leaned on the high counter, his smooth young 
 face in strange contrast to the wrinkled one beyond. 
 
 "Why yes, me dear," said she, "to be sure they do. 
 A-stirring up o* dust and dirt that was meant to lie 
 in peace." 
 
 "But we came here in one to-day," he laughed back 
 at her, "with a Captain Newcomen who lives in this 
 very place." 
 
 "But not up our 'ill, sir they don't come up the 
 'ill." Her exultation was manifest. "They keeps 
 down in the dale below 'Rodney's.' 'Tis the only one 
 about", she added apologetically, "an* the Capt'in, 
 bless 'is 'eart, be that careful . . . why, it's nigh on 
 two years now since 'e's 'ad it and no one 'urt!" Elo- 
 quent tribute to the driver's humanity. 
 
 "But we're keeping the leddy standing " she
 
 5 2 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 turned to the stolid Giles "what about t' 'Land- 
 slide' ?" she asked him sharply. 
 
 "T' 'Landslide' " he repeated parrot fashion. 
 
 Impatiently, her eyes returned to April's face. 
 "There's a nice 'ouse now, marm, wi' a fine garden 
 too. A horchard an' stabling an' the river running 
 by. It ain't in the village though nigh on two mile 
 it be, but there's a way across the fields by Horrock's 
 Farm as brings you out 'andy below the School 'tis 
 a nice place, fer sure, the 'Landslide.' " 
 
 "What a curious name! but it sounds just the 
 thing. I should like to see it. Who does it belong 
 to? And how shall I set about it?" 
 
 Mother Tuckett smiled at her eager questioning. 
 
 "Be you staying here, marm?" and as she gave her 
 address : 
 
 "At the 'Rodney' eh ! but it's none too clean since 
 Elizabeth Judkins died, and that red-'aired slut from 
 Lunnon a-marrying of Tom, and she, pore soul, but 
 'ardly cold in 'er grave. 'E's a changed man, Tom 
 
 Judkins " she paused and added with venom, "an' 
 
 sarve 'im right." 
 
 April smiled and led her gently back to the point. 
 
 "And how do I get to this house?" 
 
 "Beg pardon, marm but Elizabeth was me own 
 brother's child and when I see ..." she broke off 
 hurriedly, conscious of missing the thread. 
 
 "I'll send Giles up to Doctor's 'e'll know best" 
 she resumed. "It's like this, marm, the gentleman as 
 owns it lives abroad and I dunno who's there now 
 since old Sarah left. It's furnished, marm," a shade
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 53 
 
 of concern crossed the wrinkled face, "maybe you're 
 not wanting that?" 
 
 "Oh, yes I am it will save me a lot of trouble 
 how excellent ! I should like to go there at once." 
 
 But Majendie drew out his watch with a significant 
 gesture. 
 
 "We've got to get back and dine, you know and 
 order a cab to catch that ten o'clock train at least, I 
 must but if you care to go alone . . .?" 
 
 "Better wait the night, marm," Mother Tuckett 
 approved "and my son Giles can take you in the 
 morning. It's a good step out, whichever way you go 
 and I'll know all about it meself, by then, maybe." 
 
 She talked softly, as though persuading a fractious 
 child, and April nodded her head in assent, drawn by 
 the old woman's vivid personality. 
 
 "Thank you ever so much I will certainly go to- 
 morrow. I shall run in early and hear all your news." 
 
 She gathered up her sunshade, preparing to depart. 
 
 "It's no trouble, marm," again the old-fashioned 
 curtsey, "it's a pleasure, marm, fer sure." 
 
 "I think I should like some of that cheese," said 
 Majendie, suddenly. "It smells ripe." He pulled 
 out a handful of silver. 
 
 The postmaster woke abruptly from his dream. 
 
 "Yessir, certainly, sir about how much, now?" 
 
 "I'll take the lot," said Majendie recklessly. Then 
 to the old woman : 
 
 "And why is it called the 'Landslide' ? You're sure 
 the house is safe?" 
 
 "Lor 5 yes'sir," Mother Tuckett beamed upon him.
 
 54 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Tie it up careful, now, Giles none o' yer bits o' 
 string" and as the gruesome parcel proceeded : "Long 
 ago, I've heard tell, sir after a big storm, a part o' 
 the 'ill fell in where the old quarries was. But no 
 one remembers that. Twas afore the 'ouse was built 
 and 'twas there in my Grandfather's time and 'twill 
 last mine, fer sure and yours too, me dear, and your 
 children after." 
 
 She looked from one to the other, and simply, with 
 the license of old age, proceeded to satisfy her curi- 
 osity. 
 
 "Your 'usband, marm?" 
 
 At the suddenness of the question April Panhasard 
 coloured. 
 
 "Or brother maybe?" said the old woman, with a 
 twinkle in her eye. 
 
 "Neither the one nor the other." April felt non- 
 plussed. Gallantly Majendie threw himself into the 
 breach. 
 
 "Only a cousin," he lied, his eyes fixed ahead. 
 
 And at this most opportune moment the shop-bell 
 tinkled. A small child with a large basket thrust her- 
 self through the opening, bumped into Majendie's 
 legs and brought up against the counter, one grimy 
 paw outstretched, clasping two ha'pennies. 
 
 "Pennorth o' lump, please," she demanded in a 
 shrill, important voice. 
 
 Mother Tuckett's face underwent a sudden change. 
 "You bide your time, Maria-Maud," she said severely, 
 "I'll tell your Mother of you a-pushing yer way in 
 like that afore the gentry!"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 55 
 
 Under cover of the little storm the pair gratefully 
 departed. 
 
 "Boris! how could you?" April drew a deep 
 breath of relief as the shop door closed behind them. 
 
 "Forgive me, my dear it was touch and go you 
 know I had to be something!" 
 
 He looked at her with a shamefaced smile and was 
 relieved to see a tell-tale dimple appear at the corner 
 of her tight-closed lips. 
 
 "After all you can't be sure that the houses of Ma- 
 jendie and Panhasard were not closely allied in the 
 past " he raised one eyebrow whimsically, glanc- 
 ing at her sideways out of mischievous brown eyes. 
 
 It was a habit of his she loved, as one learns to love 
 the peculiar tiny traits in the faces of friends, seeking 
 for them as sign-posts down the long road of affec- 
 tion. "This way humour lies" the arched brow 
 sped the message and involuntarily a little gust of in- 
 dulgent laughter shook her. 
 
 "What am I to say?" she cried raising an admon- 
 ishing finger "except that I utterly and entirely re- 
 pudiate you as cousin of mine." 
 
 "I feel horribly snubbed," but his face belied the 
 words, "it's such a nice relationship so near and yet 
 so far. By the way, you can make it as 'distant' as 
 you like always provided" he added the saving 
 clause "that it doesn't dwindle down to my being 
 permanently 'removed' !" 
 
 And with this, incontinently, he threw the "ripe" 
 cheese over the nearest hedge.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "DARLING?" 
 
 "Wait a minute, Bosun." Candida added a last 
 stitch to a thread of gold in the embroidery frame 
 before her, then raised a smiling face to meet her 
 son's reiterated demand for attention. 
 
 "You re'mber the lady we drove from the station 
 the day Skipper came home from Scotland? Well 
 . . ." he moved nearer, breathlessly, full of his 
 great news "she's took the Landslide!" 
 
 " Taken,' dear, not 'took.' " Candida amended. 
 
 " 'Taken,' " said the child impatiently "but just 
 listen, do!" He gave his mother's knee a little pat 
 with a somewhat grimy paw, his face keen with in- 
 terest. 
 
 "Old Mother Tuckett told me. And she's there 
 now and has got a dog-cart and horse and Mary 
 Tuckett's her cook and there's piles and piles of lug- 
 gage and Tom's gone down to mow the lawn . . . 
 and the man with the jolly laugh's her cousin and . . . 
 and I think that's all !" 
 
 "And quite enough, too!" Candida smiled as the 
 reciter of these wonders paused for breath. "But 
 I'm very glad to hear it. She looked interesting. 
 And it's a dear old house a pity it's been to let so 
 long. Do you hear, John?" She glanced across at 
 56
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 57 
 
 her husband, who nodded silently, engrossed in his 
 work. 
 
 "So the man was her cousin, she added thought- 
 fully, "he looked too young for her husband : I guessed 
 him to be her brother," and she gathered up the skeins 
 of silk again. 
 
 "We shan't be able to play at Robber's Caves there 
 now," the Bosun decided, "but since Freddie went to 
 school, there's no one to play with." He sighed dole- 
 fully, his bright face clouding over. 
 
 "There's Alan," his mother suggested. "Would 
 you like to ask him to tea to-day? He hasn't seen 
 your new bat yet the one that Skipper brought you." 
 
 "No." The Bosun shook his curly head. "But I 
 don't suppose he'd come. I never see him now that 
 his big brother's home." 
 
 He stared wistfully across the verandah where they 
 sat to the edge of the sunk fence, dividing the smooth 
 lawn from the buttercup-flecked fields beyond. 
 
 "I wish I'd got a brother," he said suddenly. 
 
 Newcomen looked up quickly at the words, from 
 where he knelt, busily repairing a broken corner of 
 lattice work. A slight frown contracted his features 
 and furtively he glanced at his wife, golden head 
 bent low over her embroidery frame, apparently en- 
 grossed in that absorbing task. 
 
 "You're very busy to-day," he hazarded at last, 
 conscious of the pause that had followed the childish 
 speech. "Isn't that fine work rather trying to your 
 eyes?" 
 
 "No, I don't find it so. Besides, it's Church work,
 
 58 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 John you ought to commend me." Her voice was 
 grave, but mischief danced round her smiling mouth. 
 "I told the poor vicar he should have it for Whitsun- 
 tide ! And now it must be for Christmas, or possibly 
 next Easter." She laughed ruefully. "I never seem 
 to have time for anything in the holidays." 
 
 "Supposin' . . ." said the Bosun ingratiatingly, 
 "supposin' we went a little walk? Oh, not far, Dar- 
 ling," as his mother shook her head, "just across the 
 fields past Horrock's Farm and along the river path?" 
 
 "To the Landslide, in fact, to see those 'piles and 
 piles' of luggage arrive?" 
 
 The boy clapped his hands excitedly. 
 
 "Yes, yes ... oh, Darling, do!" 
 
 "Don't worry your mother, Bosun. Can't you see 
 she's busy?" 
 
 Newcomen watched the pair, with that little crease 
 ever between his brows, hopelessly conscious of how 
 the affair would end. 
 
 Well he knew his wife; the curious weakness and 
 strength of her sunny temperament; that spirit of 
 self-immolation, roused by the call of love, that in 
 many a woman is misunderstood and leads to such 
 hopeless ruin. 
 
 "Well go and get your boots," Candida raised 
 her head. "Your strong ones, Bosun, it's damp down 
 by the river. And bring me my blue hat Susan will 
 give it you." She stirred herself resolutely as the 
 boy darted indoors. "After all, a little exercise will 
 do me a world of good." 
 
 "Nonsense!" Newcomen was annoyed. "You've
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 59 
 
 been on your feet all day. You're becoming a perfect 
 slave to the child. It's time he went to school." 
 
 His wife gave him a startled glance. 
 
 "Oh, he's far too young!" her voice, indignant at 
 first, sank to a pleading note. "And he's so good 
 not a bit of trouble, really. You can't expect a boy 
 of his age to sit still all day long!" 
 
 Newcomen shrugged his shoulders and drove a nail 
 sharply into the wood. 
 
 "He'd be better at school with other boys," but he 
 kept his eyes averted. "It's no business of mine, I 
 know, and I suppose you'd miss the child but it's 
 got to come, my dear. It's not fair on a lad to be 
 tied to apron-strings . . ." 
 
 He broke off at the sound of light feet pattering 
 through the hall and stood up with a sigh of relief 
 after his cramped position, surveying his handiwork. 
 
 "That ought to last now it's the weight of the 
 creeper that pulls it from the wall. Ah, there's an- 
 other weak place " he bent to examine it as his 
 
 wife stood up, pinning on her hat, mirrored in the 
 dark pane of glass in the window from the hall. 
 
 "Well good-bye," he glanced back at her. "Don't 
 go too far and get overtired now." 
 
 The old protective note in his voice stirred an an- 
 swering chord in her heart, and obeying a sudden 
 impulse Candida moved across to where he was kneel- 
 ing again, and, stooping down, kissed the man's 
 bronzed cheek. 
 
 "Good-bye, Skipper." For a moment the blue 
 eyes met his own, wistful and tender beyond their
 
 60 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 wont, and a slight colour stole up under her fair skin. 
 
 From beneath the shady hat a little curl had es- 
 caped, golden as the threads of her embroidery, and 
 it twined against her round throat like the tendril of 
 a vine. 
 
 And as he gazed at it the piece of wood in New- 
 comen's hand suddenly snapped in two, powerless in 
 the force of his secret grip. 
 
 With an effort Candida laughed. 
 
 "Now you've broken it!" She leaned back, away 
 from him, against the edge of wall, gazing down at 
 the stooping figure, still youthful in its easy and 
 supple strength. 
 
 "But what a handy man it is ! Do you know, John, 
 you're the envy and despair of the village carpenter. 
 He came down here on Friday and looked at the 
 chicken-coops. 'Couldn't ha' done it better meself,' 
 was the flattering verdict." 
 
 Newcomen cleared his throat. 
 
 "You forget he's courting Kate?" His voice was 
 drily amused. 
 
 "And he thinks the short cut to her affections is 
 to get round Kate's mistress by praising you? Is 
 that the subtle suggestion ?" 
 
 She laughed merrily and once more their eyes met. 
 
 "All's fair in love and war, I suppose?" again he 
 steadied his voice. 
 
 "Is it?" A spark of the old daring had flashed 
 into her face, that indomitable spirit that had carried 
 her unscathed in soul through the days of her despair. 
 And with it something else, a breathless flicker of
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 61 
 
 hope, that died away as he turned again, resolute, 
 to his work. 
 
 "Darling, do come . . ." The boy dragged at her 
 hand. "It's getting ever so late and old Tom leaves 
 off early." His dark eyes glanced from his step- 
 father back to his mother's face. 
 
 "Go with the child." Newcomen groped for the 
 
 hammer "another nail here, I think " he drove 
 
 it firmly in place. 
 
 For a moment Candida hesitated; then, as the 
 Bosun gave an impatient sigh, she let him lead her 
 away, across the lawn and by the bridge that spanned 
 the deep dyke to a narrow lane between the fields, 
 winding down the slope. 
 
 After a minute or two had passed Newcomen 
 wheeled round, watching the two figures slowly dis- 
 appear; the slight graceful one of his wife in her blue 
 linen dress and the boy's, sailor-clad, his head held 
 high, sturdy legs trotting beside her, full of that 
 nameless quality suggesting gentle birth. 
 
 Once Candida paused to gather a handful of flow- 
 ers, bright poppies that grew at the edge of the young 
 corn. He could see her knot them together, then 
 tuck them in her belt. And at the sight memory 
 played him a trick ; and the green fields vanished be- 
 fore the swift mirage of a land where Hope had 
 reared a castle to the skies. 
 
 A blue linen dress, a bright flower at her waist . . . 
 
 High above them Ravello carved against the 
 Heavens; the silvery green of olive slopes and the 
 sapphire cloudless sky; with the babbling music of
 
 62 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 the stream that paused to foam and chatter round the 
 busy paper mills as it raced onward again to Amalfi 
 and the sea. 
 
 Later a moonlit scene : the grey cloisters of the 
 Capucines, their worn paving-stones and the stars 
 hanging over the sea with bright restless eyes, watch- 
 ing a man and woman measure each other's minds 
 and friendship quicken to life in a mutual sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 Newcomen ground his heel into the gravel walk. 
 
 Would he had never sailed to that haunted Southern 
 land ! But he choked back the wish, torn in the con- 
 flict of love and baffled desire. His strong face was 
 drawn like that of a man in pain. For alone he knew 
 the depths of his own despair; the grim battle daily 
 fought under the impenetrable reserve that was his 
 armour through life. 
 
 Now, for a short spell, he laid the mask aside, con- 
 scious of a breathing space, a moment to himself. 
 
 Methodically, with characteristic neatness he put 
 away his tools, tied back a fluttering pennon of the 
 dislodged creeper; then sat down heavily in his wife's 
 vacant chair, arms folded, chin set, staring grimly 
 before him. 
 
 And far away, across the vista of years, he saw 
 himself again, clear-eyed and simple-hearted; that 
 John Newcomen so orthodox in his views; rigid in 
 principle narrow perhaps, but happy and sincere 
 with a reverence for life, a plain belief in God and 
 man and the mastery of the sea. Golden days of 
 hope, stern work and high ideals, good fellowship
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 63 
 
 with men and a shy respect that left him dumb in 
 the presence of womankind. 
 
 Then had come Candida and overwhelming love, 
 the whole pitiful story, step by step, of her lonely 
 temptation, weakness and sacrifice; which had opened 
 his eyes at last to a wider outlook, a broader, manlier 
 sympathy with life. 
 
 By a curious freak of fate, blameless himself, but 
 nevertheless involved in the tangle of intrigue about 
 her, he had barely escaped a share in the public ig- 
 nominy of divorce, through the sudden death of her 
 husband, the scholar, Geoffrey Clifton. 
 
 The path thus smoothed ahead and his greatest 
 sacrifice that of his profession no longer a neces- 
 sity to his scrupulous soul, he had married the woman 
 he loved, shattered in health and spirits, deserted in 
 her hour of need by the man who had caused her 
 downfall and clinging to Newcomen's strong arm as 
 a child clings to its nurse. 
 
 Then had followed the deep anxiety of the name- 
 less child's birth and the slow creeping back to life 
 of Candida herself as Autumn colored the leaves to 
 the same deep glory as the rich red soil in the Devon- 
 shire home he had brought her to on the day of her 
 flight from town. 
 
 But before the first snows had powdered the orch- 
 ard's boughs and Candida's strength had returned, 
 whilst out of her gratitude a tiny spark of love lay 
 smouldering for his touch, the Sea claimed him again, 
 an inexorable mistress that robbed him of his wife. 
 Letters for two long years were the only link between
 
 64 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 them ; years in which love strengthened with the deep 
 nature of the man and which seemed to the woman a 
 respite, weary from the cruel path she had trod. 
 
 He remembered how he had counted the days to 
 his long looked-for return to the new home she had 
 found at Coddell-in-the-Dale, checking them like a 
 schoolboy in his cabin almanac! 
 
 Now, he threw back his head and laughed aloud at 
 the thought and the hopeless disillusion that had fol- 
 lowed the dream of dreams. 
 
 For he had found at the end of his pilgrimage not 
 Candida the wife but Candida the mother, utterly 
 absorbed in her child : grateful, tender, frank, but 
 with all trace of passion that white fire kindled by 
 Derrick Kilmarny's touch ashes that Newcomen 
 dared not stir, a burnt-out sacrifice. 
 
 For ever, as hope, that dies hard, flamed at a look 
 or word, the child stood between them, the child with 
 his father's eyes. 
 
 With his beautiful bright face, his inherited subtle 
 charm, in the very poise of his dark head, where Na- 
 ture, the grim old nurse, had laid the final touch, that 
 mystic lock of snow, lay the secret of his birth. 
 
 Derrick Kilmarny's son ! The man that Newcomen 
 hated beyond all men on earth, he who had robbed 
 Candida of her soul's peace now robbed him of his 
 rights. 
 
 For the sailor came of a grim old stock, puritan to 
 the core. Where weakness might have won, his 
 strength barred the way. He knew nothing of women. 
 Rigidly moral, he failed where another, less scrupu-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 65 
 
 lous, would have gained by experience. For a man 
 who marries without a 'past' is doomed to meet with 
 perplexity in the present. 
 
 Newcomen, with his wounded pride, with no real 
 knowledge of the sex, proved in himself the stumbling- 
 block on the road to happiness. Tied by the curious 
 conditions which had led to their sudden marriage, he 
 held himself in check, misunderstanding her. 
 
 And there is no gulf so wide as this that only pas- 
 sion can bridge. Dreamers and poets may dream and 
 theorise but the basis of marriage has always been 
 the physical need to mate and on this need alone can 
 married life be built. The spiritual may follow, the 
 perfect companionship, but a man denied is a man 
 incomplete who holds his virility slighted and a wife 
 'undesired' bears a hidden wound in her heart, a 
 knowledge of intimate failure that leaves her desolate. 
 
 In his despair Newcomen turned to his old narrow 
 views : to belief in a merciless God, tracking with ruth- 
 less feet the way of sin and sinners. 
 
 This was the punishment, the presence of the child. 
 At times he blamed himself; seeing how love forbid- 
 den had caught him in its toils. To care for a mar- 
 ried woman! . . . how had he ever dreamed that 
 good might come of it? 
 
 Back he went to sea, turning to the "Great White 
 Mother" in his soul's necessity; working as a man 
 works who dreads the hour for rest. And, as if in 
 mockery of his prayer to sleep at last rocked on her 
 merciful breast, Fate guarded him gravely from peril, 
 bringing him honour, promotion: gifts he dared
 
 66 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 not ask. His submarine went down, witK all 
 hands on board, Newcomen alone saved from the 
 death-roll by an urgent call to shore. Sickness 
 played around him and he stood a man apart, 
 shielded as men are shielded wherever they long 
 for death. 
 
 It seemed to him in his bitter pride as though high 
 Heaven spurned him, to pay the ultimate price of an- 
 other man's offence. 
 
 Meanwhile, in solitude, the days slipped by at home, 
 and Candida filled her life with love for her only 
 child. 
 
 By a curious fate, for the second time marriage 
 had left her free; a monotony of peace cut by the still- 
 live memory of a brief month of passion. 
 
 Nevertheless this freedom, that with Clifton she had 
 gratefully accepted, rankled at times in the depths of 
 her heart as John Newcomen's wife. For it seemed 
 a wall between them that daily grew in height, divid- 
 ing their mental sympathies as surely as their physical. 
 But, proud and sensitive as himself, she played her 
 passive part with all a woman's skill; seeing in her 
 husband's eyes nothing but staid affection, the cold 
 attitude of a man accustomed to celibacy; reading 
 moreover what was not there, a tinge of contempt for 
 a creature so frail who had stooped from the moral 
 heights where dwelt his own ideals. 
 
 And with a mother's perspicacity she divined the 
 hidden antipathy to the child. Just, kind, considerate 
 as he ceaselessly strove to be, he could not bring him- 
 self to love the offspring of Kilmarny. Jealously she
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 67 
 
 guarded her treasure from his touch. Wherever the 
 choice lay between them, the child won the day. 
 
 At times like these Newcomen hated him. All his 
 lofty principles, his endeavour to be just, could not 
 avail him in moments where he saw himself de- 
 throned. 
 
 As he sat there now, reviewing the hopeless case, 
 he pictured the pair together, knit by their perfect 
 sympathy, happy beyond dispute. 
 
 And a great longing for the sea, for the clean white 
 decks where he reigned supreme, for the mastership 
 now denied him, rose up overpoweringly with its mite 
 of consolation. He sprang to his feet and walked up 
 and down, steadily measured paces; and then, far 
 away across the fields, came the sound of a child's 
 laugh. . . . 
 
 With a quick turn he wheeled about and went into 
 the empty house.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 "THE ditch is deep," said Majendie, "and has an in- 
 viting air. ... If I were not a brave man I should 
 ask to get out and walk! And here comes another 
 milestone . . ." He turned a pathetic glance to- 
 wards April's laughing face and added triumphantly : 
 
 "I told you so !" as the roan cob for the second time 
 slewed the light cart perceptibly nearer to the perilous 
 edge of the road. 
 
 "It's only play," said April "he never really shies. 
 A quiet old dear, aren't you?" She touched his sleek 
 side lightly with the whip as they started to climb a 
 hill, leaving the river behind and the distant village 
 of Coddell-in-the-Dale. 
 
 "We're nearly there," she said consolingly. "Cour- 
 age, my friend. Here comes the American girl." For 
 a couple of riders had turned the bend, and descended 
 the slope towards them. 
 
 A slim figure in a grey riding habit, glancing past 
 the groom, gave them a full bright look. 
 
 Majendie, nothing loth, returned it with interest. 
 
 "By Jove she's pretty, though. Rides with a lead- 
 ing-rein! I suppose she's a fair beginner? Tell me 
 all about her." 
 
 "I don't know much," April looked amused. "But 
 .the name is Van Someren and she keeps house for her
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 69 
 
 brother. They've taken a cottage on the river bank, 
 not far from mine in fact they're my nearest neigh- 
 bours on this side of Coddell. Mary Tuckett, my 
 cook, who hears all the village news, informed me 
 they were newcomers and this with the orthodox 
 mistrust 'foreigners'!" she laughed. "The girl is 
 learning to ride in order to hunt next season doing 
 the thing thoroughly, you observe absorbing Eng- 
 land and English sports with an ardent zeal for knowl- 
 edge. Now, would it ever occur to you, if you went 
 to New York, to start immediately to master the inner 
 rites of Baseball?" 
 
 "Heaven forbid!" Majendie's voice was devout. 
 "I should spend all my days and nights in acquiring 
 a knowledge of Cocktails. This air is delightfully 
 thirsty, don't you think?" 
 
 "Well, Mary makes beautiful lemonade," she smiled 
 at his quick grimace, "and now, if you look to the 
 left, in a minute or two you will get your first peep 
 of the house." 
 
 They turned down a lane as she spoke, running at 
 right angles from the metalled road and leading them 
 back to the dale with its curving line of water. 
 
 Majendie bent forward with eager eyes as a red 
 gable gleamed between the trees. 
 
 "Is that it? how delightful! and there's the fa- 
 mous landslip." 
 
 For a part of the hill had been torn away and 
 against this cliff of fir-topped rock and earth, that 
 sheltered it from the north, the old house was set 
 like a gem, dully glowing in a luxuriance of green.
 
 70 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 As they turned in at the gate, the drive, bordered 
 by fine old limes, enclosed them in a sweetly scented 
 arch, where the bees, ceaselessly stirring, sent up a 
 droning note, the sleepy music of summer that runs 
 like a silver thread through warm and sunny days. 
 
 From this they emerged on an open space at the 
 side of the two-storied building; red gravel bordered 
 by clipped yew hedge and a porch with Corinthian 
 pillars, utterly astray in the warm-toned brick fagade, 
 greeted them imposingly, burdened with heavy creep- 
 ers. 
 
 A groom ran out of the shrubbery and came to the 
 roan cob's head. April sprang lightly to the ground 
 and led the way indoors to a cool paved hall with a 
 gallery running round it, connected by wide stairs 
 with the ground floor where they stood. 
 
 "Now just come here " she caught him by the 
 
 arm and hurried him forward into a room beyond. 
 He had a vague impression of sunlight, flowers and 
 old-world chintz, a fragrance "unmistakable of pot- 
 pourri and the sweet faint scent of ancient books that 
 are leather-bound, and then she had drawn him 
 through the French window and they were standing 
 on the steps beneath, looking down on a scene so 
 perfect that he caught his breath for very wonder 
 and delight. 
 
 For it seemed to him that he touched the tender 
 heart of earth the inmost sanctuary of Pan himself, 
 hiding among the reeds. 
 
 The smooth old lawn sloped gently, bordered by 
 clustering trees, undefiled by flower-beds or mechani-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 71 
 
 cal aid of man; nothing but green, pure green, in 
 every tone and shade save where a single copper 
 beech glowed against the sky. Cutting it like a silvery 
 sword, moved the silent shallow stream, slow and 
 calm, wending its way, its long road to the sea. Here 
 and there a willow dipped to kiss it with pale lips or 
 a swallow skimmed the surface with a flash of pointed 
 wings. Beyond lay another glade, a clearing in the 
 woods, wilder, more sylvan in its neglected beauty; 
 and then a shining miracle! the river swept about, 
 throwing a burnished arm across, a laughing sister 
 stream that fed the wheel of a distant mill, in a swirl 
 of troubled spray. Soft curve on curve the far off 
 hills began, eager shoulders pressing upwards, with 
 baby peaks that peered between their elders' forms, 
 ever higher, ever hazier, until they merged shapeless 
 into the deep blue of Heaven, that brooded over all. 
 
 "My dear . . . !" Majendie slipped a hand through 
 April's arm and stood there, fascinated, beside her. 
 She watched him, in sympathy with his mood, her 
 face touched with awe. 
 
 "The little dimpled hills have fallen asleep, 
 The dancing shadows rest a while from play, 
 The drowsy earth nods to the drowsy sky, 
 And even Pan has laid his pipes away, 
 Till Time himself says 'Hush' as they go by." 
 
 He quoted. Then, with a laugh the shamefaced at- 
 titude of the Anglo-Saxon conscious of sentiment 
 he reminded her of her promise. 
 
 "And what about that excellent lemonade?"
 
 72 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "We'll go round to the dining-room this way I 
 was forgetting all my duties. The fact is I am so 
 absurdly pleased with my new home!" 
 
 "I don't wonder. I never saw such a view it 
 looks like the setting of a Canterbury Tale." 
 
 He followed her along the tiled path to a further 
 window where a large black cat sat sleepily on the 
 steps, blinking at the sun, and they passed into the 
 room within. 
 
 "Whiskey, I suppose? Or will you have some tea?" 
 She gave him an enquiring glance. "Tea is much 
 better for you on a hot day like this." 
 
 "Of course, an admirable institution but I think 
 . ." he reached across for the decanter. "I think 
 such a noble house deserves a health a 'Highland' 
 health, shall we say ? . . . Here's 'luck and love' !" 
 He drained the glass and gave a sigh of enjoyment 
 unalloyed. 
 
 She watched him with kindly eyes, pleased to play 
 hostess in her new domain, as he glanced about the 
 room approvingly, at the panelled walls and old Chip- 
 pendale chairs, the manifold evidences of a quiet taste 
 rare in a "furnished house." 
 
 "The owner of this knew something," he remarked 
 conclusively "I think it's just perfect, April, a regu- 
 lar treasure-trove." 
 
 "Now come up and see your room. I've given you 
 a little one in the wing with a corner-window and the 
 river view. I thought you'd like it better than the 
 somewhat melancholy apartment obviously labelled 
 'guest.' "
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 73 
 
 "Rather ! But I want to see the whole place from 
 attic down to cellar and Mary Tuckett a relation, I 
 suppose, of our post-office friend? and the stables 
 and garden and dogs. Have you a dog, by the way ?" 
 
 "Only a cat, so far, who troubles me sorely by 
 catching the young birds." 
 
 Together they mounted the staircase, crossed the 
 gallery and passing through a narrow baize door 
 went up two steps, along a little passage and down 
 two steps into a low-roofed room a room with dim- 
 ity curtains, blue washed walls and a gabled window, 
 wreathed in a mass of flowering clematis. 
 
 "The only drawback is earwigs I warn you, they 
 literally swarm but there are no black-beetles or 
 mice." 
 
 "Or rats or ghosts, I hope I'm a timid soul." 
 
 "Well we haven't found either yet. Mary 
 Tuckett's a shade disappointed she revels in the oc- 
 cult. Yesterday I caught her telling the housemaid's 
 fortune, in sepulchral accents, with the tea-leaves in 
 her cup. There's your bag and candles and 
 matches soap ..." She moved about daintily, see- 
 ing to his requirements "and heaps of writing paper. 
 Think of the love-letters that should blossom forth 
 from such a view as this !" 
 
 For he still stood by the window, his eyes drinking 
 it in. 
 
 At her laughing speech, however, a slight shade 
 crossed his face. 
 
 "Oh, bother the love-letters!" his voice was abrupt, 
 "one doesn't want them here."
 
 74 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 A rosy-cheeked maid bustled in with a can of hot 
 water, demurely anxious for a first peep at the guest. 
 
 "This is Lottie," said April smiling, "will you 
 give her your keys ? But don't dress to-night as we'll 
 go on the river after it's delicious in the evening." 
 
 "Have you a boat? how splendid ! I should rather 
 think we would!" 
 
 "Well dinner's at seven o'clock. We're quite rus- 
 tic, you see; so I'll leave you now you'll hear the 
 gong and find me in the hall." 
 
 "But all the same," said Majendie, as the door 
 closed behind her, "I oughtn't to be here. I hope to 
 goodness it won't land her into trouble." 
 
 He refused the housemaid's offer of help and began 
 to pitch his clothes out carelessly on the floor, his 
 young face grave, pondering on the subject. 
 
 "I don't see how anyone can know, and the whole 
 thing's absurd! But it's just one of those ridiculously 
 innocent affairs which the righteous will not credit. 
 It's odd how the world turns up its nose at clean, 
 sound friendship . ." 
 
 He came across a letter addressed in a sprawling 
 unformed hand and tossed it on to the writing-table 
 beyond. Then, as an afterthought, reached out his 
 arm and returned it to the bag ; snapped the lock with 
 a gesture of weariness and gave himself up whole- 
 heartedly to the joy of a mighty wash. 
 
 "It really is so nice to have some one at last to 
 talk to!"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 75 
 
 April gave a little sigh of contentment. "Of course 
 it's a paradise of a place, but I was beginning to 
 gather dimly how Adam felt in Eden before the ad- 
 vent of Eve!" 
 
 "Well I'm quite prepared to be amiable and pose 
 as an endless Eve," Majendie laughed back at her 
 across the bowl of sweet-peas that formed the only 
 decoration to the simple table, "especially with Mary 
 Tuckett as cook. I don't suppose Eve was much use 
 at savouries though apple-pie she would certainly 
 learn to make!" 
 
 "And put fewer cloves in it, I hope. That is the 
 worst of country fare, the passion for herbs and 
 spices. Mary revels in them what she calls 'flavour- 
 ing.' Only the French really understand the secret 
 of proportion; but Mary believes in broad hints that 
 cannot be ignored. She's not a bad cook, though, on 
 the whole and quite a character, full of a quaint wis- 
 dom, half country lore, half utter superstition. Yes- 
 terday," April paused to offer her guest some fruit, 
 "we could get no food at all! There was a wedding 
 in the village and Mary was bridesmaid such a sub- 
 stantial one ! She wore white cotton gloves and a sky- 
 blue hat and had scrubbed her face until it shone like a 
 full-blown cabbage-rose. And what do you think she 
 gave the bride? You'll never guess, I know." 
 
 "I don't like to risk a conjecture," Majendie smiled 
 mischievously. "Do tell me ? I can think of so many 
 possibly useful things." 
 
 But April hastily forestalled his suggestions, "A 
 horse and trap," she announced.
 
 76 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Never!" Majendie stared "of course there's 
 some joke, I see." 
 
 April laughed back into his astonished eyes. 
 
 "You can picture my face when she told me! I 
 began to wonder if I were entertaining an heiress un- 
 awares. Then she explained the matter : 'Oh, not a 
 real one, marm it's just a country way. There's 
 always someone as gives it a clothes 'orse it be, 
 marm, with a mouse-trap, for sure.' Isn't that nice?" 
 
 Majendie roared. 
 
 "Delicious! it's the limit. I must really make her 
 acquaintance." 
 
 "So you shall, to-morrow. She shall tell your for- 
 tune too if we catch her in the mood. She has 'fey' 
 days it seems and days when the power leaves her 
 there is honestly a touch of clairvoyance in it." 
 
 "I hope she will be discreet. I feel a little fright- 
 ened." He helped himself to some more strawberries. 
 
 "It seems she foretold the evil fate of our host at 
 the 'Admiral Rodney' in his first wife's presence too ! 
 I suggested it might have hurt her to learn of a suc- 
 cessor. 'O lor' no, marm,' said Mary comfortably. 
 'She knew what Tom were, arter twenty years o' 
 marriage, an' one o' her last words, poor soul, when 
 'er time came to be called was what a comfort it were 
 to think as how "number two" wouldn't half keep the 
 place as well as she'd ha' done 'erself. 1 " 
 
 She mimicked the rustic speech, conscious of an 
 appreciative audience. 
 
 "There's sound logic in it, when you come to think 
 it out," Majendie turned the matter over "nobody
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 77 
 
 really wants to die and believe the world will go on 
 serenely as before; it's just human nature to hope the 
 machinery will feel the sudden jar." 
 
 One of those silences that only friendship permits 
 knit them together with its link of sympathy. 
 
 Then April turned the subject lightly. 
 
 "I'm glad you could get away. I thought when I 
 wrote that the week-end would be better." 
 
 "Well as it happens . . ."he hesitated for a sec- 
 ond, a slight frown on his face as though seeking an 
 explanation. 
 
 Then, turning towards her, frankly, "I don't know 
 whether I told you that a friend has lent me a cot- 
 tage? oh! not the rural palace people loftily refer to 
 as 'my cottage in the country,' but a real three-roomed 
 affair primitive indeed but rather nice for the 
 week-ends, especially this weather. It's at Datchet 
 and the man to whom it belongs has gone off abroad. 
 So I generally run down there from a Saturday to a 
 Monday. I like the simple life when it's taken in 
 small doses!" 
 
 "But isn't it rather dull all alone by yourself?" 
 
 He gave her a quick glance and, meeting her clear 
 eyes, a tinge of colour stole up under his sunburnt 
 skin. 
 
 "It's a relief to get out of London and ... I 
 don't find it so. I've friends at Windsor, you see, 
 and my pals look in occasionally. Besides I love the 
 river. Give me a pair of sculls and an open stretch 
 of water . . ." 
 
 "And a boat, I presume," April laughed, "which
 
 78 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 reminds me, it's getting late. Let's drink our coffee 
 and go out it's too fine to stay indoors." 
 
 They gathered up wraps and cushions and armed 
 with these made their way to the boat-house, a dilapi- 
 dated shed rendered picturesque by a thatch of Vir- 
 ginian creeper. Inside lay a venerable looking boat, 
 flat-bottomed and devoid of paint. 
 
 "Not beautiful," April conceded, "but errs on the 
 side of safety nothing short of a water-spout could 
 turn it over." She stepped in neatly and piled the 
 cushions behind her, as Majendie unfastened the rusty 
 chain and with a rueful glance at the wide rowlocks 
 settled down to his sculls with the air of a man who 
 loves his work. 
 
 "We'll row against the stream," suggested his hos- 
 tess as they emerged from the cobwebbed gloom, "and 
 then drift back with the current. I rather wish, boy, 
 you didn't look so energetic." 
 
 "It won't last long," Majendie smiled; "it's the first 
 fine spurt of the townsman to prove his mettle. I 
 can't 'feather' you know, with oars like these." 
 
 "No, but you'll have to punt with them when we 
 stick in a shallow part! I circled desperately for ten 
 minutes on the top of a submerged island, the first 
 time I explored the stream, to the huge joy of a small 
 boy fishing from the bank. He wanted to wade in 
 and come to my assistance." 
 
 "How small was he?" said Majendie, suspiciously. 
 
 "Why, of course," April remembered "you know 
 the little fellow it was the 'Bosun' of our memo- 
 rable ride."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 79 
 
 "Really? He'd naturally want to take command 
 of the boat." 
 
 "Well, when I was afloat again I picked him up 
 and carried him off to tea, and, the day after, his 
 mother called upon me. She's charming when you, 
 get to know her. Oh, I've been quite gay I assure 
 you a real bevy of visitors. On Tuesday the curate 
 came. Very pink and young, desperately anxious to 
 find out all about me and far too inexperienced to risk 
 the questions I could see he was dying to ask. He 
 talked of his university and the size of the local 
 strawberries, drifted to cricket scores and a new 
 porch for the Church, drank four cups of tea apolo- 
 getically and departed, pleased with himself and, 
 I trust, pleased with me; evidently the advance 
 guard of the vicar and his wife, who left formal 
 cards on the Friday after. The Rev. James 
 Moneypenny of the 'gentle student' type (so Mrs. 
 Newcomen led me to understand), with a virago 
 of a wife who rules the village by right of cler- 
 ical inheritance her father having been the late 
 incumbent. I'm rather afraid of her, to tell you 
 the truth." 
 
 April leaned back happily, the steering ropes in her 
 hands, her eyes fixed ahead on the curving line of 
 bank, where the trees dipped down to the water's edge 
 and faded indistinctly into the fringe of feathery 
 rushes. 
 
 "She's a restless little person, made of wire and 
 concrete, with a face like a weazel and tight hair 
 drawn into a tight knot behind."
 
 8o APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "What a horrible description." Boris shuddered. 
 "Whatever did you say to her?" 
 
 "Nothing." April laughed. "I was 'out' when she 
 came, in the London sense I mean ; snugly ensconsed 
 behind the sunblinds in my bedroom. A merciful 
 escape as she evidently took the statement literally and 
 walked about the place as if it belonged to her." 
 
 Majendie leaned forward on his oars. 
 
 "You don't mean to say she did?" 
 
 "Rather! I saw it myself. She marched down the 
 verandah, peered in at both the dining-room and 
 drawing-room, found Lottie in the latter and asked 
 her all sorts of questions and finally bullied the gar- 
 dener about his early peas which it seems are in ad- 
 vance of the Vicarage ones all this with the calm 
 authority of the Parent of the Parish." 
 
 "Weren't you wild? I never heard such cheek." 
 
 "I felt sorely tempted to put in an appearance! 
 Only the poor vicar's martyred face restrained me. 
 He kept on saying (I heard him from the window) : 
 'My dear, we ought to be going there's a storm com- 
 ing up from the west' and, if he meant me, it cer- 
 tainly threatened !" 
 
 Majendie was much amused. 
 
 "Despite all this talk of Disestablishment, it is curi- 
 ous to see how the power of the church still thrives 
 in the depths of the country-side. Picture a London 
 vicar invading a strange parishioner's house in this 
 fantastic fashion. Hullo! what's this?" 
 
 For as they turned the bend, round a high clump of 
 willows, a garden met their view, dotted with even
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 81 
 
 beds, primly set with the orthodox bedding plants, and 
 neat green tubs that broke the line of gravelled path, 
 leading up to a house, that shone, with its lighted 
 windows, through the dusk. 
 
 "It's where those Americans live would you like 
 to get out and call?" 
 
 She looked mischievously at her visitor's interested 
 face. 
 
 "No but let's spy a little it's too dark to be seen." 
 
 Noiselessly, like a pair of conspirators, they drew up 
 in the shadow of the landing-stage, conscious of music 
 that stole towards them from the lamp-lit room above. 
 
 Someone was playing Chopin with a crisp, light 
 touch; soft notes of magic that seemed to suit the 
 night gay with an indefinable undercurrent of sor- 
 row that desperate love of life fleeing the thought of 
 death that is the hall-mark of genius consumptive- 
 born. 
 
 The last frail chord echoed on a sweet minor note. 
 Then a chair grated upon the floor and a man's voice, 
 deep and coaxing, broke the short spell of calm. 
 
 "Oh, Honey, do ... Just once just a bar or 
 two?" followed by a girl's merry laugh. 
 
 "I surely don't believe you care for anything else! 
 it's the only tune you know or ever will know, 
 Lorry." 
 
 Then the piano again, this time noisily. 
 
 As the familiar air caught them in its spell, the 
 two voices joined in, young and fresh and utterly 
 untrained : 
 
 "O, Maryland, my Maryland . . ,"
 
 82 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Majendie, laughing, whistled it under his breath. 
 "They sound jolly, don't they? You'll have to know 
 them, April. Before I run down again, if possible." 
 
 "But I didn't come here, my dear boy, to provide 
 you with society," Mrs. Panhasard objected lazilyi 
 "You forget my immediate aim was for peace and 
 quietude. Besides" she gave an inquisitive glance 
 at the lighted window as a shadow crossed the space 
 "I don't think I care for Americans altogether!" 
 
 "Oh, you insular Englishwoman!" Boris was 
 amused. "All the same" he stuck to his point ob- 
 stinately "it would make it less dull for you to know 
 a few of your neighbours. I don't think the vicar's 
 wife will entirely suit your needs." 
 
 He pushed out from the bank and, turning the bows 
 downstream, shipped his oars and slid down into the 
 broad well of the boat, his hands clasped round his 
 knees, leaning against the seat he had discarded. 
 
 "Honestly now, Petronilla" he looked up at her 
 thoughtfully "are you happy in this place?" 
 
 Then, as she answered nothing, he added quickly, 
 his eyes still on her face : 
 
 "Perhaps it's not fair. I oughtn't to have asked." 
 
 At his apologetic voice, she smiled. 
 
 "Why not, my dear?" Her voice was gentle; soft 
 as the picture she made, outlined against the stream. 
 About her slim shoulders she had drawn a cloak of 
 madonna blue and it seemed to blend with the evening 
 sky, in that mystical hue beloved by painters of 
 Cinque-cento days. A light scarf of lace was wound 
 about her head and beneath its folds her hair in the
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 83 
 
 shadowy light gleamed like a saint's aura, burnished, 
 mystical. Her beautiful clear eyes, under lashes tipped 
 with gold, were the colour of the sea in a Southern 
 sunlit bay, the dark pupils gathering intensity from 
 the night. 
 
 Majendie could not tear his own eyes away as he 
 watched her thoughtfully framing her reply. 
 
 "Yes" she answered at last "I really think I am. 
 Almost . . . quite happy, boy." 
 
 " 'Almost/ " He slipped a hand gently over her 
 own that were clasped lightly together above the steer- 
 ing ropes, as they drifted down imperceptibly through 
 the silence of the night. 
 
 "You can't kill memories, Boris that is the worst 
 of life. All that we do, that people do to us lives 
 on ... indefinitely 
 
 "I hope not." His face was grave. "There must 
 come an end, somewhere ..." 
 
 "I wonder?" 
 
 She gazed straight before her, with a wistful gaze, 
 piercing the veil of time. Above their heads the stars 
 began to show, and a crescent moon stole tiptoe 
 through the trees. Somewhere across the fields an 
 owl, with its mournful cry, sought for its nightly 
 prey, and a bat whirled down with blundering wings, 
 still blinded with the light. 
 
 The warmth of the man's hand over hers roused 
 April from her abstraction, bringing with it the com- 
 fort of human touch and the realisation of this one 
 loyal friend. 
 
 She bent forward impulsively.
 
 84 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "You mustn't worry about me, boy women are 
 all moods! and one never knows . . . There 
 may be all sorts of pleasant things ahead. Meanwhile 
 it's good to have you here. Tell me about yourself 
 how is the world going?" 
 
 "Oh, the usual way . . . plenty of fun, plenty of 
 debts! Good sport, in fact and a fine pack of wor- 
 ries in full cry." 
 
 A shade of recklessness in his voice startled her. 
 
 "As bad as that? I'm sorry. Do you care to tell 
 me about it?" 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't!" He drew his hand away and, 
 with an effort, resumed his lighter manner. "I 
 wouldn't harass your soul for worlds by the full con- 
 fession of my dissolute career. According to my fam- 
 ily I am on the downward path, steep (and pleasant) 
 as the descent to Avernus that's when they add up 
 my bills!" 
 
 He laughed aloud, settling himself more easily in 
 the bottom of the boat, with a cushion under his 
 head and his long legs stretched out luxuriously. 
 
 "Don't let's talk of such things on a golden night 
 like this. Tell me more of the Newcomens and my 
 young friend the 'Bosun'." 
 
 "Oh, he's a fine little chap" she divined his inten- 
 tion of evading serious subjects "his mother wor- 
 ships him it's quite pretty to see the two together. 
 I like Mrs. Newcomen. She's so amusing and in- 
 clined to be unconventional a thorn, I fancy, in the 
 side of the vicar's wife." 
 
 "Good for her!" Majendie lighted a cigarette.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 85 
 
 "You don't mind smoke, do you what is her deadly- 
 sin?" 
 
 "A fondness apparently for the black sheep of the 
 village." April smiled. 
 
 "All of them? what a brick! Or just one in par- 
 ticular ?" 
 
 "A village this size doesn't possess many ! It seems 
 Mrs. Newcomen has espoused the cause of The black 
 sheep an unfortunate girl of twenty and has taken 
 her into her service, in direct opposition to Mrs. Mon- 
 eypenny's advice." 
 
 " 'Unfortunate' ? the usual village tragedy, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 "Exactly " April's face, serious for a moment, 
 
 dimpled into a smile. 
 
 "Out with it you're hiding something " 
 
 Majendie watched her expression. 
 
 "What is the joke? I see there is one, so it's no 
 good being mysterious." 
 
 "Only something that Mary said a delicious 
 country phrase." 
 
 "Do tell me." 
 
 "I hardly like to oh, it's very simple, really." But 
 she hesitated anew. 
 
 "For a lady who prides herself on an independent 
 attitude regarding the conventions . . ." Majendie 
 began to the night at large. 
 
 "Oh very well it was only that Mary said 
 
 Mary, the wise, who sees things as they are 
 
 'She were always a pleasant-spoken girl, were Ruth, 
 and we were all on us right sorry for her when she
 
 86 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 had 'er come-by-chance'! There!" April coloured, to 
 the boy's keen amusement. "I oughtn't to have told 
 you, but I knew the quaint expression would amuse 
 you." 
 
 "It's charming strikes such a casual note. I can 
 imagine the indignation of the virtuous vicar's wife 
 whose 'charity' begins and ends at weak soup and 
 blankets ! I suppose it lives on, beautiful, as they al- 
 ways are, a warning to the parish?" 
 
 "No. Mercifully, it died." 
 
 "Why 'mercifully'?" He sat upright suddenly, 
 looking at his hostess with bright, inquisitive eyes. 
 "I don't quite follow you. Why deprive the Black 
 Sheep of her ewe lamb? She might be allowed this 
 tender consolation." 
 
 "Ah . . . but the child?" April's voice was grave 
 "with such a heritage ?" 
 
 "Now I think that's absurd!" He spoke with a 
 sudden vehemence. "I must say I think the whole 
 idea's ridiculous there's more rubbish talked around 
 this subject than any other its 'heritage' indeed!" 
 He warmed to his point. "Now look here, Petro- 
 nilla supposing you had to choose between being ille- 
 gitimate or not being born at all what would you 
 say?" 
 
 Despite herself Mrs. Panhasard laughed. 
 
 "That's certainly a new way of looking at the mat- 
 ter." She smiled at him indulgently, and added as 
 one who dismisses the topic: 
 
 "You will tell me next you hold a brief for the 
 main sinner himself."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 87 
 
 "And supposing I do?" He stared past her delib- 
 erately, conscious of her slight movement of repug- 
 nance. "It's always the man's fault according to 
 the woman !" A slight sneer hovered about his mouth 
 and his voice went suddenly hard. "No one thinks of 
 the other side or remarks how a woman will play to 
 catch a man." 
 
 "Boris!" But her shocked surprise struck like a 
 steel on flint. 
 
 "Yes I know it sounds brutal. But, since we're 
 talking it out, straightly, you and I let's have the 
 truth for once. Heaps of women will scheme to at- 
 tract a man for vanity or fun or Lord knows what 
 devilment! They know the man's tempted and . . . 
 make themselves more tempting. Then, when he 
 loses his head instead of losing his heart which I 
 presume is the original intention" he paused, and 
 wound up boyishly, still staring straight ahead "it's 
 been his silly fault from beginning up to end!" 
 
 Silence fell between them; not the quiet of friend- 
 ship, but antagonistic, the primitive war of sex. 
 
 For April was at a loss. Vaguely insulted in his 
 challenge to womankind, she nevertheless felt that an 
 iota of justice lay in the accusation. 
 
 For although they may shriek themselves hoarse 
 for the vaunted 'equal rights', women will rarely al- 
 low the equivalent share of moral responsibility. 
 
 And, as his suddenly kindled anger cooled, a feeling 
 of quick remorse overcame the man. He gave a 
 swift, penitent glance at the frowning face of April. 
 
 "I'm sorry," he cleared his voice "we shouldn't
 
 88 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 talk of such things not you, and I, my dear. I'm 
 not really unchivalrous but somehow . . . I've been 
 so worried lately. I believe my temper's going. For- 
 give me, Petronilla I'm awfully vexed with myself. 
 To speak to you like that ... oh, my dear!" 
 
 She could not resist his hot, sad eyes, the pleading 
 in his voice. 
 
 But all she said, with a touch of sadness, was: 
 
 "You mustn't get too broad-minded, boy it . . . 
 worries one, somehow." 
 
 Simply she held out her ^and, offering a free par- 
 don. He bent forward and kissed it. reverently. 
 
 "You're so different, you know ... so different 
 from other women. I can't bear to hurt you." A 
 quiver of truth lay in the words. "You seem to live 
 in a little shrine of your own, untouched by the world 
 utterly true, utterly pure holy to me a little blue 
 Madonna, 
 
 For a moment he laid his smooth head against her 
 knee. His eyes were closed and the peace and still- 
 ness of the night shut them in. He felt her hand 
 softly touch his hair, smoothing it back from his hot 
 brow, as a mother may soothe her child. 
 
 And deep down in his heart he groaned, knowing 
 his own folly, the hidden, secret things whereof she 
 held no clue. 
 
 He would have given all the world to have squarely 
 met her eyes those eyes of deep-sea blue, with the 
 light of forgiveness in them. 
 
 But he still sat there, speechless, his face hidden 
 from her.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 APRIL drove away from Coddell Junction with Ma- 
 jendie's parting words lingering in her ears. 
 
 "I wish you'd get to know your American neigh- 
 bours. I think it's too lonely for you there." 
 
 And, contented as she was to hide away in this 
 placid back-water of life, it seemed to her at times 
 a mistake : to leave her too much leisure for thinking 
 on the past, blotting out the future too insistently 
 a meretricious peace that held a presentiment of 
 storm. 
 
 She would have liked to have kept Majendie longer, 
 despite the fact that his visit had lengthened to a 
 week. And she was not a woman whom men easily 
 pleased. 
 
 But, under the light and witty manner he assumed, 
 she divined a nature sensitive as her own, a depth of 
 thought and understanding far beyond his years. 
 To a clever and analytical brain Nature had added 
 the supreme gift of a tender heart, and leavened the 
 whole by a curious dash of weakness, that roused in 
 April the maternal instinct that all true women possess 
 that desire to shield a younger soul from the conse- 
 quences bound to accrue from personal irresponsi- 
 bility. 
 
 Easily influenced by his environment, with a dash 
 of recklessness peculiar to the neurotic temperament,
 
 90 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 he depended on the circumstances of the moment, 
 rather than on any set scheme of life, to regulate his 
 conduct and his beliefs. 
 
 In good hands he would make a splendid man. But 
 in bad . . . ? She wondered how the fight would 
 go -between the power of his fine brain and a sort of 
 moral indolence that threatened to paralyse his action. 
 
 She knew, without vanity, that her influence was 
 great. His boyish admiration and his very real affec- 
 tion for her lonely self were plainly palpable. But 
 to anything more than friendship she never gave a 
 thought. The difference in their years, her curious 
 present position as neither wife nor widow and the 
 obsession of her own failure in life forbade the merest 
 idea of a deeper sentiment. 
 
 She had rarely stooped to flirtation, and intrigue 
 she held in horror. Her few male friends so far had 
 been older than herself; men of settled convictions, 
 knowing life to the core, social wayfarers, taking a 
 quiet pleasure in friendship with a woman who, in 
 this feverish and mercenary age, desired nothing fur- 
 ther. 
 
 But here was a new phase that carried her back to 
 her own early days. A man standing on the thresh- 
 old of life, looking toward the future: full of en- 
 thusiasm, gifted without a doubt, wrapped round with 
 the charm of youth, eager, acquisitive. 
 
 It seemed to her, as she drove along the dusty 
 country road, a very precious thing, fresh as the fields 
 beyond, this friendship that had sprung, from out of 
 the wreck of all her hopes, swiftly into flower.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 91 
 
 She had known Majendie for some years past, 
 since the boy, new to London ways, had called on 
 her through a mutual country friend; had met him 
 every now and then, cast up on the crest of the social 
 wave, where his handsome face and witty tongue had 
 quickly carried him. 
 
 But during the last year the link of friendship had 
 strengthened to become in the days of her trouble 
 tightly rivetted, when she shrank from the curiosity 
 friendly or amused of that circle in Society where 
 she had reigned so long. 
 
 Chance had sent Majendie unwittingly to her aid 
 at the climax which had decided her severance from 
 her husband; and his quick brain and ready tact, at 
 a moment when her own fame swung in the balance, 
 had undoubtedly saved her from serious complica- 
 tions. 
 
 As is often the case, an hour of human tragedy 
 had betrayed in each opposite nature the best that 
 in it lay; when, stripped of all convention Majendie 
 had looked deep down in another's soul ; and the won- 
 der of it, the reverence for a courage far greater than 
 his own had stirred in him a chivalry of intention 
 and a flash of genuine genius to meet the need 
 for help. 
 
 Now as the roan cob swung the cart along April 
 again realised the loneliness before her. The old 
 house, half -buried in the woods, would seem more 
 desolate for the loss of a gay young laugh, the silent 
 rooms still ghostlier without the eager face. And 
 when she came to the cross-roads, below Hor rock's
 
 92 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Farm, a memory rose up of the Vicarage on the hill 
 and that auspicious call that still lay unreturned. 
 
 With a feeling of relief at the temporary respite, 
 she checked the horse in his quick trot stablewards, 
 and, dismounting, left him in charge of the groom. 
 
 A sudden desire for movement prompted her to 
 walk, and she set out sturdily to mount the steep in- 
 cline. Halfway up she peeped in at the open door of 
 the post-office, but Mother Tuckett was out of sight, 
 taking her siesta, and the little shop was in charge of 
 the dull-faced Giles and a swarm of inquisitive flies. 
 
 The Vicarage, she found, adjoined the green 
 Church-yard, with a narrow gabled roof, that seemed 
 to peer with shrewd, inquisitive eyes at her approach, 
 curiously reminiscent of the lady of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Panhasard, groping in the creeper that hung 
 in festoons around the blistered door, discovered at 
 last an iron handle, which, with due caution, she pro- 
 ceeded to pull. 
 
 After the second effort a bell tinkled afar, suc- 
 ceeded by a long silence, pierced by the monotonous 
 note of a wood pigeon hidden from view in the high 
 trees above. 
 
 Someone in the window adjoining the porch peered 
 out between the curtains. "Annie!" a sharp voice 
 cried, and steps clattered across the hall. 
 
 The door was opened a few inches, and a clumsy- 
 looking servant appeared, a small cap perched reck- 
 lessly over her left ear, with a general appearance of 
 having been dressed in haste. 
 
 In reply to April's query, she slowly backed into a
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 93 
 
 narrow hall, filled with straw hats, a collection of 
 well-worn cloaks, a bicycle and a mature odour of 
 cooking. 
 
 "Will ye come tfiis way, please, m'arm?" Depre- 
 catingly she opened a door on the left, and in nervous 
 accents : 
 
 "Mrs. Panyard," she announced. 
 
 A party of females seated around the long table, 
 in varying ages, from twelve years upward, turned 
 surprised and curious eyes on the intruder. 
 
 From behind the massive tea-urn Mrs. Money- 
 penny rose and advanced with an air of authority. 
 
 "Mrs. . . . ?" she said interrogatively, "I didn't 
 quite catch the name." 
 
 "Panhasard," said April clearly, as she laid her 
 well-gloved hand into that of the formidable Vicar's 
 wife. 
 
 "Ah, yes from the Landslide." Mrs. Moneypenny 
 stared fixedly at the pretty face before her. "We are 
 just taking tea. Will you sit down? Maggie!" A 
 girl with a fair pig-tail shot up out of her chair and, 
 still gazing open-mouthed at Mrs. Panhasard's hat, 
 grudgingly offered her place. 
 
 "Maggie's spilt her jam," said the next child shrilly, 
 "look ! she's covered it with her plate." 
 
 "Sh!" said an elder sister, dexterously removing 
 the debris across the dingy table, which, innocent of 
 damask, was covered with a permanent arrangement 
 in shiny American cloth. 
 
 "Do you like your tea strong?" said the Vicar's 
 wife, "and sugar?"
 
 94 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Please," April pulled herself together "it is so 
 refreshing on a hot day like this. The dust is dread- 
 ful. Really, that road from the junction . . . !" She 
 reached sideways for the proffered cup. 
 
 "This," said Mrs. Moneypenny, ignoring her re- 
 mark, "is Mary, my eldest girl. Mary teaches in the 
 High School at Slingsby-on-the-Hill, but is home now 
 for the holidays." 
 
 "How do you do," Mrs. Panhasard shook hands 
 "it must be interesting work." 
 
 "And this is Maude." Another ungainly young 
 woman was presented. "Maude is learning farming," 
 the vicaress explained, "and Mildred who helps me 
 in the parish." A younger likeness of herself an- 
 swered to the roll-call. "And Maggie and Meta 
 still in the schoolroom and Monica" a sniff of dis- 
 approval "who is going in for Art." 
 
 A delicate-looking girl with dark eyes coloured 
 painfully from where she sat beside a buxom lass of 
 seventeen summers, with red cheeks and mouse-col- 
 oured hair and a pair of wide round eyes that recalled 
 to April the unintelligent stare of her favourite Al- 
 derney. 
 
 "And Matilda," said her mother, with a softening 
 in her voice. 
 
 "And what do you do?" said April pleasantly. 
 
 "Oh, Matilda does nothing," said the child with 
 the pig-tail shrilly. "Matilda's the beauty," she ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "She is her father's Right Hand," said Mrs. 
 Moneypenny severely. She gazed round compla-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 95 
 
 cently on her quiverful. "I have brought up all my 
 girls to be useful," she announced. 
 
 "Indeed?" There seemed no opening for further 
 remark, and at this juncture the door creaked and 
 the curate's face appeared, round and rosy, with an 
 apprehensive glance at the lady behind the tea-urn. 
 
 "Come in, come in! and close the door," said 
 Mrs. Moneypenny sharply. She turned to April. 
 "You know Mr. Puddephatt, I think our helper in 
 the parish." 
 
 "Yes, indeed." She pitied the young man a mild 
 young goat astray in such a flock of sheep! 
 
 "And how are the strawberries?" she asked him 
 sweetly as, obedient to the hostess' sign, he drew up 
 yet another chair to the over-crowded table. 
 
 "The strawberries ahem, are over," said Mr. Pud- 
 dephatt sadly. "No tea, thank you; I have already 
 had some," he glanced nervously round the room. "I 
 only called in to say that Mrs. Walker is worse and 
 would like to see the Vicar as soon as he returns." 
 
 The ox-eyed daughter removed her blank gaze from 
 Mrs. Panhasard's face and laid it so to speak heav- 
 ily on the curate. 
 
 "And how do you like Coddell?" Mrs. Money- 
 penny asked, her shrewd eyes taking in each detail 
 of her visitor's appearance. 
 
 "You must find it very different from " She 
 
 paused, and, as the lady addressed showed no sign 
 of filling in the gap "from where you come from?" 
 she suggested. 
 
 "I do," said April sweetly; "it's so deliciously coun-
 
 96 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 trified, quite Arcadian, in fact." She refused a slice 
 of thick bread, with its casual hint of butter. "And 
 I love the Landslide it's a dear old house." 
 
 "But don't you find it lonely?" the other looked 
 at her suspiciously. "I understand" she cleared 
 her throat dryly "you are living there quite 
 alone?" 
 
 April's proud little head went a trifle higher. 
 
 "Save for an occasional visitor," she pictured Ma- 
 jendie in their midst, and a dimple flickered and was 
 suppressed near the soft curved lips. "But I have 
 no fear of loneliness. I was born and brought up 
 many miles from a town." 
 
 The Vicaress felt baffled and looked it. 
 
 "Indeed? not in this part of the country, I pre- 
 sume ?" 
 
 "Oh, dear no," said April suavely. "This is quite 
 new ground. Which makes it all the more exciting 
 to explore." 
 
 She glanced across to the unfortunate maiden 
 whose soul aspired to Art, and, with a hint of dis- 
 missing the catechism, continued: "You must find 
 the dale a splendid place for sketching? Some of 
 these old farms are pictures in themselves." 
 
 The girl looked up with a swift flash of pleasure, 
 but the High-school teacher robbed her of the opening. 
 
 "Perhaps you paint yourself? or go in for music? 
 or write?" she inquired. It seemed necessary that 
 she must do something. 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm a lazy person." April, covertly 
 amused, intercepted a glance between the curate and
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 97 
 
 "the beauty"; "I spend most of my afternoons out 
 on the River and take my tea and a book." 
 
 "You belong to a library?" said the girl called 
 Mary. A certain hungry look on her face awoke 
 April's interest. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't exist without my box from Mudie's ! 
 Are you fond of novels? You must let me lend you 
 some." 
 
 "Mary," said her mother severely, "is generally 
 occupied. When she is home for the holidays she 
 teaches the younger children. It is a chance for 
 them, you see, and prevents Mary herself from get- 
 ting rusty in her work." 
 
 "But don't they have holidays, too?" April's pity 
 was obvious. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Panhasard," said the Vicaress loft- 
 ily, "in a family like ours, we can't afford to miss our 
 opportunities. They take their holidays when Mary 
 returns to Slingsby." 
 
 The curate gallantly dashed into the pause that 
 followed. 
 
 "I have been ahem to see Mrs. Redvers this af- 
 ternoon." He looked at Mrs. Moneypenny, and 
 added with a conscious air of duty well performed: 
 "I delivered your message I think, word for word." 
 
 "About the children?" the Vicaress inquired. A 
 look of grim satisfaction came into her thin face, the 
 bony outline accentuated by the way she wore her 
 hair, strained back as though by force into the tight 
 knot behind. 
 
 "Mrs. Redvers" the curate coughed again "con-
 
 98 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 siders the children are still too young for Church. I 
 explained to her, carefully, that the earlier a habit is 
 
 formed ahem the deeper the further " He 
 
 stuck, with a piteous glance for guidance to the Parent 
 of the Parish. 
 
 "Exactly," said Mrs. Moneypenny firmly; "I never 
 heard such nonsense!" 
 
 She began to bristle under April's amused eyes. 
 
 "The laxity of the present day" she turned to her 
 guest with a wave of her hand that seemed to include 
 her subtly in the universal condemnation "I am not 
 surprised that the world is growing worse. Happily 
 here, I have some slight authority" a cold shiver 
 ran down April's back "I conceive it my Duty to see 
 that people come to Church, that the young receive 
 Proper Religious Training, that parents are taught 
 their Moral Responsibility." She paused for breath, 
 and added with a note of finality, "I shall call on Mrs. 
 Redvers myself." 
 
 "But how old are the children?" said April curi- 
 ously. 
 
 "Two and a half ahem," said the curate he low- 
 ered his voice. "They happen to be twins." 
 
 He seemed to apologise gently for the strange coin- 
 cidence. 
 
 "That makes no difference," said the Vicaress un- 
 expectedly. "Now, my girls" she glanced round 
 at them with proud maternal eyes "were trained 
 like myself, in my dear parents' time. All of 
 them brought in to morning prayers, from the 
 month."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 99 
 
 A little sound escaped April's lips, the desperate 
 advance guard of an invincible laugh. She turned it 
 meekly into a cough, her cheeks suddenly red, con- 
 scious of the enormity of the offense. 
 
 "How very interesting," she managed to get out, 
 and here, to her relief, Mr. Puddephatt rose to his 
 feet. 
 
 "I am afraid," he announced, "I must be going." 
 He dared a parting glance at Matilda, became pinker 
 still, hesitated, held out a large moist hand, which 
 Mrs. Panhasard solemnly shook and dropped, and 
 glanced again at the Perfect Mother behind the tea- 
 urn. 
 
 "One minute, Mr. Puddephatt. We have finished 
 tea, I think . . ." The pig-tailed child choked over 
 her last mouthful of bread. "Will you say grace for 
 us?" 
 
 They all stood up and the curate, with bowed head, 
 murmured something unintelligible into his plate. 
 
 "Amen," said Mrs. Moneypenny. "We will now go 
 into the drawing-room." 
 
 But the prospect of a tete-d-tete had terrified her 
 guest. 
 
 "I am afraid I must be off myself," she said 
 quickly. "I have had the cob out so long." Anxious 
 to escape she began to shake hands with one girl 
 after another, as they clustered round the door, awk- 
 wardly blocking her path. 
 
 "Good-bye, good-bye." A feeling of suffocation, a 
 deadly desire to laugh, hurried her on and out into 
 the stuffy hall.
 
 ioo APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Quite suddenly Mrs. Moneypenny relaxed, her stern 
 features twisting into a parting smile. 
 
 "Well if you must go " They reached the 
 
 front door. "But I am very pleased to have met you 
 at last." A pause then pensively "Mr. Money- 
 penny is writing to you, I understand, about the pro- 
 posed Restoration of the Porch. Most of our parish- 
 ioners are interested in it . . ." 
 
 This time April answered to the cue. 
 
 "I hope you will allow me to contribute my wid- 
 ow's mite?" 
 
 "Ah . . . !" said the Vicaress, with a little sigh of 
 relief. She held her visitor's hand firmly in her own, 
 forestalling all possibility of escape, and went on with 
 unintentional vagueness : 
 
 "We wondered, the Vicar and I you are so young 
 still and not wearing black" she smiled, a wintry 
 smile, at the brown tailor-made, that, for all its sim- 
 plicity, betrayed a subtle elegance "but I presume the 
 bereavement is not recent?" and proceeded, to April's 
 deep relief, without further pause. "Believe me, dear 
 Mrs. Panhasard, you have our sympathy. The Lord 
 gave and the Lord has taken away.' Good-bye . . . 
 Good-bye you must come to us when you feel your 
 cross is too heavy to bear." 
 
 She made a vague sign with her hand, a parting 
 benediction, as Mrs. Panhasard effected her escape. 
 
 It seemed to her as she reached the gate that the 
 gables watched her still, piercing her thin disguise, 
 suspicioning the lie! 
 
 "Oh dear, oh dear!" she said to herself. "I'm a
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 101 
 
 widow now! I wonder what's coming next." Her 
 honesty revolted from the thought, but reason pointed 
 out the hopeless impossibility of repairing the lady's 
 error. 
 
 "I couldn't stand there and explain ; I really hadn't 
 the nerve. First Boris becomes my cousin, and then 
 this second tangle! What an awful woman she is! 
 She belongs to the days of the Spanish Inquisition. 
 And all those 'useful' children! Poor souls, how I 
 pity them." 
 
 As she arrived at this charitable conclusion, a slim 
 figure stole out from behind the churchyard wall, and 
 she recognised the daughter who had dared to dream 
 of Art. 
 
 "Mrs. Panhasard" she came forward shyly, her 
 dark eyes aglow, struggling for her breath "I ran 
 after you because " She started again, pa- 
 thetically nervous. 
 
 "I wonder . . . would you . . .?" but here her 
 courage failed her. 
 
 "I am sure I would," said April gently, with one 
 of her sunniest smiles. "What is it, my dear?" She 
 held out her hand to the shrinking girl. 
 
 "Oh, how good you are!" The other caught it in 
 her own little feverish fingers that quivered with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 "It's just if you wouldn't mind if I might come 
 and finish a sketch I started some weeks ago that 
 little view of the mill from your side of the river 
 I began it before you came, and it's for a competi- 
 tion."
 
 102 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Of course! Why, I should love to see you. Come 
 to-morrow and lunch with me first? Or is the morn- 
 ing light better for the purpose?" 
 
 "May I? How lovely!" she gave a childish skip 
 of joy "but I daren't come to lunch; I'd rather" 
 she hesitated "that Mother didn't know. She 
 doesn't like my painting, you see ; she thinks it a waste 
 of time it isn't useful like the others." A note of 
 wistfulness came into the girl's face. "And oh! I 
 quite forgot. Mary says she'd love to have a book, 
 that is, if you really meant that you could spare her 
 one. Only she'd rather that Mother didn't 
 know" it seemed a household phrase, so Mrs. Pan- 
 hasard thought "it's awfully dull for her, you know, 
 after Slingsby-on-the-Hill." Her serious face 
 checked April's slightly amused smile. "It is good 
 of you." She caught her breath and coughed; a 
 short, dry cough, that shook her fragile shoul- 
 ders. And at the sound pity stole into the other's 
 eyes. 
 
 "To-morrow," she said gently, "any time you like. 
 And we'll smuggle some novels back for Mary, won't 
 we, dear?" 
 
 Moved by a sudden impulse she stooped and kissed 
 the grateful little face. 
 
 For a moment the child for such she was clung 
 to her breathlessly. 
 
 Then she drew back, looking up with dark, solemn 
 eyes. 
 
 "I knew you'd be good," she cried; "you are . . . 
 so beautiful."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 103 
 
 And, with this unconscious tenet of her faith, turned 
 and ran, stooping under the shadow of the ivy-cov- 
 ered wall, back to the peering gables and the house 
 called home.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN the open window facing the river, Lorimer Van 
 Someren sat at his desk, staring out into the night. 
 The air was so still that far away across the dale he 
 could hear the bells of the village church chime slowly 
 forth the hour. No moon shone, but a faint luminous 
 light lay over the country-side, and above in the blue- 
 black sky countless stars were gleaming with a curi- 
 ous effect of close proximity, as though, one by one, 
 they had slid down invisible chains to peer with a 
 bright wonder at the sleeping land below. 
 
 Over the dark woods the Milky Way slanted, a 
 path strewn with opals from heaven to earth, and 
 beyond the clear outline of the Plough, the Pole Star, 
 mindful of mariners, bravely lit a torch, ignoring 
 the garish splendour of the great shining planets. 
 
 The table where the American sat was littered over 
 with papers, letters carefully filed, and a long sched- 
 ule dotted with columns of figures in a neat clerk's 
 hand. But his pen was laid aside by the tall reading 
 lamp that cast a straight fan of light out onto the 
 lawn beyond and outlined the motionless figure of the 
 man, broad-shouldered and silent, with thoughtful 
 face and steady eyes that were fixed on an invisible 
 point ahead. 
 
 Once he moved, passing his hand with a gesture of 
 104
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 105 
 
 weariness across his brow, smoothing back the hair 
 that crowned his broad forehead, hair that was fair 
 and smooth, in curious contrast to the eyebrows, that 
 grew thick and shaggy, and gave a look of virile de- 
 termination to the grey eyes below. 
 
 He had the nervous, restless hands of his race, that 
 almost Gallic touch that in its febrility and light hu- 
 mour leavens the stolidity of Anglo-Saxon origin; 
 and now, as thought succeeded thought, he drummed 
 with his fingers against the closed blotter, betraying 
 the inward impatience of his mood. 
 
 For he was faced with a problem that baffled his 
 ingenuity. For the first time in his life he had found 
 an obstacle too large to overcome, and, although re- 
 treat wore an inglorious aspect, he wondered bitterly 
 if it were not the sanest course to pursue. 
 
 He was a man to meet trouble squarely, a fighter 
 born, to whom a check meant but a further impetus 
 to reach the promised goal. But here to use his own 
 pregnant phrase he was "up against" no visible foe 
 but the idiosyncrasies of a race, blood-brother yet 
 alien in character to his own. 
 
 Thoroughly absorbed in his work, steeped in that 
 insatiable ambition that desire to "make good" that 
 seems to be the motive force of Young America to- 
 day his spirit was chafed raw by the perpetual irri- 
 tation of a country that smiled openly at his enthusi- 
 asm and sneered at what they emphasised as his 
 "hustling" ways. 
 
 Everywhere he found himself in the same blocked 
 road. The sanctity of "business hours" that closed
 
 106 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 as though by clockwork before his invading feet 
 the narrow walls of "custom" that penned him in ; the 
 curious rules of Caste, that impelled a man to stand 
 by idly and see an inferior bungle his work sooner 
 than lose prestige by the helpful hand that would save 
 valuable time; above all, the apathy of the young 
 Englishman and his outlook toward work as "a job 
 to be got through," a penance set merely as a means 
 toward an end, and that end pleasure or idleness or 
 a bid for social fame sickened Van Someren to the 
 depths of his ardent soul! 
 
 It was all so unlocked for, so unnecessary and fu- 
 tile. . . The fingers drummed faster and faster on 
 the desk, and his mouth set grimly into a straight, 
 hard line, as he stared on unseeing at the dim land 
 beyond. 
 
 He had crossed the wide belt of sea six months be- 
 fore, filled with such mighty hope, dreams that his 
 practical knowledge and strong head should surely 
 turn to golden reality. 
 
 And now . . . ? He saw himself mocked, set aside, 
 unrequired in the maturer scheme of things. 
 
 He brought his hand down fiercely against the 
 wood, fingers clenched together, full of hatred toward 
 the curious force that governed the older land, the 
 strength of its traditions, its rock of unchanging ways. 
 
 His mind skipped the intervening weeks. Once 
 more, his sister by his side, he was stepping off the 
 steamer with eager face turned for the first keen im- 
 pression of the Europe of his dreams ; filled with the 
 spirit that fires the pioneer to bring new methods,
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 107 
 
 an ultra-modern doctrine in his wake, that should lift 
 the company he served out of the ruck of common- 
 place to the dizzy heights beyond competition. 
 
 Master of his work, knowing it not by theory alone, 
 but by long hours of manual toil, of labour among his 
 men; imbued to the smallest detail with the value of 
 new inventions, the time-saving, labour-reducing out- 
 come of the brains of many nations ; utterly uninsular, 
 eager to acquire, he came as a hardy conqueror exult- 
 ing in his strength. For work was his ideal; he filled 
 his life with it. A nobler impulse than the power of 
 the dollar spurred him on ; the feeling deep and serene 
 that he must spend his days, the short few days of 
 a man's life, at the height of his endeavour. 
 
 Small though the opening was he would thrust 
 through and out, cleaving a path to fame, proving 
 himself worthy of his desire. 
 
 A faint flush stole into his face as he slipped back 
 to the past, piecing together the fragments of the last 
 year's work. 
 
 His company, a young but ambitious one, had 
 moved swiftly, throwing its feelers far, with a greed 
 for distant lands and international schemes. 
 
 It had seemed to him the first great definite step 
 forward when English custom had offered in a deal 
 with a firm of old and assured standing. 
 
 Money was wanted to cement the undertaking, and 
 for the second time in the history of his company Van 
 Someren had come forward with financial support, 
 believing sufficiently in its stability to risk a good 
 share of his patrimony in the enterprise.
 
 io8 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 It was perhaps natural that the immediate result 
 should fall short of his hopes. The English firm 
 moved slowly; delay followed delay. The uncer- 
 tainty of the mails, the economy practised in cables 
 which America disregarded, resulted in the loss of 
 much valuable time, whilst a want of unity in the 
 point of view infected the correspondence with an 
 almost hostile note. 
 
 Van Someren made up his mind. His place was in 
 England to act as interpreter of the American method, 
 and, still more urgent a matter, to discover the 
 English outlook, its practical aims and requirements, 
 and if possible to combine the two for the benefit of 
 his venture. 
 
 With the quick mought and prompt action of his 
 kind he settled his home affairs and sailed with his 
 sister two months later, full of his new project. 
 
 Realising that all business was suspended during 
 the Christmas week, he went on to Germany, follow- 
 ing up a new invention to the city of its birth, mas- 
 tered the details, and returned to find that his sister 
 (no less practical than himself) had moved meanwhile 
 from the costly caravanserai, where he had left her, 
 to a quiet hotel in Bloomsbury that was nearer to 
 his work. 
 
 Here the pair settled down to face their new life, 
 eager as young explorers in a strange land, knit more 
 firmly together by the loneliness of their surround- 
 ings, and later on by the disillusion that inevitably 
 awaited the man. 
 
 For England didn't want him. He learned it
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 109 
 
 quickly with a sense of hurt surprise that was tem- 
 pered by a touch of humour it was so palpable I 
 
 They did not want new methods; they were satis- 
 fied with their own. They did not want a modicum 
 of everlasting fame! 
 
 They wanted a quiet life and golf on Saturdays. 
 
 To each of his suggestions, to all Van Someren 
 preached, one reply resulted and swept the board 
 clear. 
 
 "We don't do things like that it's not Our Way." 
 
 He got the phrase by heart before a fortnight was 
 out; learned to expect it by a certain pompous eleva- 
 tion of the senior partner's eyebrows, a large gesture 
 of his firm white hand with the seal-ring that bore 
 his crest and the stained forefinger sacred to the God 
 of Nicotine. 
 
 He was in touch with no one except the office 
 boy, a slim cockney with red hair, agile as a flea, and 
 destined to success. 
 
 "I'll go, Sir!" was his formula, and Lorry could 
 have hugged him: he was the only man who moved 
 on the moment to do anything. The others all sat 
 and thought ; and then went out to lunch. 
 
 The younger partner liked him. Van Someren felt 
 it the second week with a faint glow of hope. But in 
 vain he tried to turn it to account. 
 
 Work to the younger partner was the usual "awful 
 bore," balanced by what it brought in the shape of 
 ready cash and the shortness of office hours. 
 
 That Van Someren worked on Saturdays when all 
 the world played struck young Jessop as something
 
 no APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 almost unpleasant not a healthy view of life for a 
 fellow only thirty! 
 
 "A good chap, but no sportsman," he summed him 
 up definitely. "We must knock this nonsense 
 out. . ." 
 
 The other Gods in the Car resented the "American 
 invasion", as they called it between themselves, but 
 realised their powerlessness to eject Van Someren, 
 who represented his company as the largest of its 
 shareholders. 
 
 Matters had drifted on, growing daily more 
 strained. He had gained his way on one point to 
 lose it on another, and to stir them up to his "sense 
 of time" was utterly impossible. To his Western 
 ideals they seemed almost Oriental in their indiffer- 
 ence between to-day and to-morrow. 
 
 Only that very afternoon had his dammed-up irri- 
 tation nearly burst its bonds. 
 
 The postponed delivery of material important to 
 their work had added a further check to his plans, 
 and the fact that the order had been given to a Glas- 
 gow firm delayed the possibility of a personal inter- 
 view. 
 
 Van Someren's suggestion that the senior partner 
 should start at once for the North since letters 
 seemed to make no palpable impression was met with 
 the usual ridicule veiled in courteous terms. 
 
 Suavely it was pointed out that dignity might suf- 
 fer. Jessop, who strolled in, was suggested in his 
 place. But Jessop was off for the week-end to a yacht- 
 ing friend in the Solent.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD in 
 
 The distance and expense were offered as excuses 
 for that quick action that was Van Someren's creed. 
 
 The American picked up a Bradshaw and laughed 
 in the great man's face; the fuss made over a few 
 hundred miles always provoked his scorn, accustomed 
 as he was to his own vast land. 
 
 "A journey not it. I'll go if you permit. Board 
 the night express and have a straight talk." 
 
 "To-morrow's Saturday," said the Chief, with a 
 weary frown, "McGowan may be there. . ." He 
 leaned on the doubtful note. 
 
 But the prospect of a fight had stirred the other's 
 blood. 
 
 "I'll find him, sure. You can bet on that! Why, 
 I once hunted a man I wanted half-way to 'Frisco!" 
 He laughed again, boyishly, at memory of the ad- 
 venture. 
 
 "But you can't do that here" the Englishman 
 rose to his feet "not out of business hours. You'll 
 excuse my telling you, but er each country has its 
 methods, and," a sneer pointed the words, " 'hustling' 
 isn't ours. You Americans, you know, you go a shade 
 too fast. We do our business in a somewhat different 
 way an old established firm prestige er I think 
 you'd better let matters take their usual course. In 
 fact, we should prefer it." 
 
 He reached up for his hat, smoothed it lovingly, 
 and, holding out his hand, with one of his large ges- 
 tures, tempered the social wind to the shorn and alien 
 lamb. 
 
 "Good night I must be trotting home. My wife's
 
 H2 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 got a dinner-party " He chuckled affably. "See 
 
 you on Monday, I hope. Sorry to disappoint you, but 
 'slow and sure', you know 'slow . . . and sure!' 
 That's made England what she is." 
 
 "Exactly." Van Someren boiled over "and when 
 she dies it is going to be written across her heart like 
 Queen Mary's 'Calais'." 
 
 The great man stared blankly, feeling for the joke. 
 
 "Well, she's not dying yet," he replied at last, paus- 
 ing for a moment on the threshold to light his ciga- 
 rette, "she's pretty useful," he puffed out the smoke, 
 "for another few years, I think," puff . . . puff . . . 
 "last our time, anyhow," he decided. 
 
 "I wonder . . . ?" said Van Someren grimly, as the 
 door closed behind the slowly moving figure, "you 
 can't stand stock-still now-a-days," and his smile was 
 not one of mirth. 
 
 Now, as he recalled the scene, he wondered anew, 
 gazing into the future with the eyes of the seer. 
 
 What was to be the outcome of the national 
 apathy? this living on tradition as the world moved 
 on. 
 
 An old phrase flashed up from copy-book days : 
 "England reigns supreme, Mistress of the Waves." 
 
 But did she ? that was the rub. Or was it merely 
 an echo of the past? 
 
 He thought of Germany and her big fleet growing, 
 of the Territorial Scheme that had proved so poor a 
 substitute for other lands' conscription; of her Poli- 
 tics stained by salaried appointments, of the strikes 
 that ruined trade, the foreign competition
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 113 
 
 He thought of the taxes levied on the Workers, in 
 the name of the Poor for the benefit of the Rich ; the 
 dimly-recognised, steadily-growing Sex-war, with its 
 multitude of women careless of the Law; the odd 
 mixture of theoretical respectability and practical im- 
 morality; the unequal divorce laws and the lowering 
 of the birth-rate. 
 
 How could she stand stock-still, relying on her 
 past? Nature herself demanded change; England 
 must move on. 
 
 And in a sudden wave of patriotism he turned to 
 his own land, seeing through roseate glasses the traits 
 he loved the best. The energy, resource, and hardy 
 independence of the men; their instinct toward suc- 
 cess not by hereditary wealth, but by personal en- 
 deavour the liberty and reverence accorded to their 
 women that he missed everywhere in the older scheme 
 of things. 
 
 Again with pride he recalled the last war scare, 
 when three times the number of volunteers required 
 pressed forward to meet the call. He thought of the 
 Tariff laws, that gave preference to home-made goods ; 
 of the national enthusiasm, the economy of time. 
 
 Running along this train of ideas his tense mood 
 relaxed ; he felt in sympathy with the influence of the 
 night. Peace flowed up to him from the sleeping 
 countryside, and he became aware of the beauty of 
 the hour. 
 
 It was as though a veil had been torn from his 
 weary eyes and he looked for the first time at the 
 skies warm with stars.
 
 ii 4 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Somewhere far away he heard the faint sound of 
 oars, and a breeze stole up from the river, cooling his 
 tired brow. 
 
 He leaned forward across the desk, arms crossed, 
 drinking it in, and in the movement dislodged his pen, 
 that rolled with a tinkle of metal against the window 
 frame. 
 
 Instantly in his mind memory answered the call, 
 and another scene rose up, stirred from its hiding- 
 place. 
 
 Once more he held for a moment's space a narrow 
 golden ring, saw the sea-blue eyes with their subtle 
 note of pain, and caught the faint parting smile of 
 the lady of his dreams. 
 
 For the face had haunted him with its hint of mys- 
 tery the hurt reticence of a creature badly used. 
 
 Why should she look like that? Why should she 
 shrink from men? Why, above all that was strange, 
 should she buy a wedding-ring, alone, determinedly, 
 with that shadow on her face? 
 
 The enigma never left him. He smiled to himself 
 under cover of the darkness of the night. Women 
 so rarely interested him, a man absorbed in work. 
 
 That a pair of gold-fringed eyes, seen for a fleeting 
 moment in a busy London day, should prove a source 
 of conjecture, should come again and again, asking 
 that question he could not guess, hinting at mys- 
 tery ... he tried in vain to be free from the obses- 
 sion! 
 
 She had taken off one wedding-ring and replaced it 
 by another standing where he did he could not fail
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 115 
 
 to notice the bewildering transaction had paid for it 
 herself and walked alone from the shop. 
 
 The elements of romance, as yet hardly alive in 
 him, strove persistently for a clue to guide his 
 search. 
 
 Why should she want another ring, seeing she had 
 the one? Why should she buy it herself, usurping the 
 lover's prerogative? Was she wife or maid, or acting 
 a subtle part? 
 
 At once he dismissed the theory of an underhand 
 proceeding. Her pure and truthful eyes were stran- 
 gers to deceit. And the little ungloved hand that his 
 own had lightly touched he had felt an insane de- 
 sire to take it in his clasp. 
 
 She called out of some obscure and deep source of 
 distress to all the manhood in him, demanding his 
 protection. 
 
 For her face had haunted him, ever since that day. 
 Suddenly it would steal between him and his work, 
 the blue eyes raised to his, the lashes curling back; 
 that wistful beauty of hers, that seemed so shy a 
 thing, fearful of something he could not guess, like a 
 wooded creature trapped. 
 
 Often he would dismiss it with a sense akin to 
 shame, a furtive annoyance at weakness so rare in his 
 ordered life. But to-night under the stars he lost 
 himself in the vision, turning from his own perplexity 
 to wonder at another's. 
 
 The breeze died down again as swiftly as it had 
 come, sinking into the feathery silence of sleeping 
 leaf and flower. And again he heard in the still night
 
 u6 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 air the rhythmic beat of oars. Someone was rowing 
 hard, striving with the current, lost in the mist that 
 shrouded the river-banks. 
 
 He listened to it, filled with a lazy wonder at the 
 lateness of the hour, and suddenly it ceased, with a 
 sharp, grating noise, as though the side of the boat 
 had scraped the landing-stage. 
 
 Straining his ears in sudden attention, he caught 
 the sound of a step, quick and light, on the garden 
 path below. 
 
 A curious feeling of excitement swept into his 
 brain, a knowledge that something was coming to 
 him, from out of the heart of night. 
 
 He sprang to his feet and thrust the window wider, 
 standing on the step that led down to the lawn. 
 As he strained his eyes he could see something 
 move, a shadowy form emerge, head bent a little 
 forward, as though it ran toward him up the steep 
 slope. 
 
 The next moment it was caught in the narrow fan 
 of light 
 
 "Is anyone there?" cried a sweet voice breathlessly. 
 And as he answered, amazed, with a boyish note: 
 "Hello !" he heard the little sob of her breath in quick- 
 drawn thankfulness. 
 
 And there before him stood the lady of his dreams : 
 bare-headed, sprinkled with evening dew, one foot in- 
 nocent of slipper, her skirt torn by brambles ; forlorn, 
 yet subtly conscious of the humour of her plight. 
 
 "I'm so sorry," she panted, blue eyes raised to his 
 "so sorry to disturb you "
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 117 
 
 Then she essayed to laugh, a desperate little at- 
 tempt, that roused him from his dream: 
 
 "But thieves have got into my house, and I don't 
 know what to do!"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FROM the commencement it was evident to Van 
 Someren that, however deeply the lady's face was en- 
 graved upon his memory, the recognition was in no 
 wise mutual. 
 
 He was simply the nearest neighbour, to whom a 
 sudden necessity drove her for protection. Her mind 
 was engrossed with the problem before her, and the 
 thought of Mary Tuckett sleeping the sleep of the 
 just with the red-cheeked Lottie in a wing of the 
 lonely house. 
 
 But afterward, when April reviewed the situation, 
 she realised that she could hardly have found a more 
 capable ally. 
 
 For, wasting no time in futile explanation, Van 
 Someren turned to a drawer in his desk, and, loading 
 a small revolver that lay within, slipped it into his 
 pocket with the nonchalant attitude of his race, and 
 announced himself ready to depart. 
 
 Here he became aware of his visitor's curious 
 plight, one foot in a mud-stained slipper, the other 
 without its fellow. 
 
 "You can't go like that " He moved toward 
 
 the door. "It isn't safe you might lame yourself 
 for life." 
 
 The colour stole up into her pale cheeks. 
 118
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 119 
 
 "I lost it," she explained, "getting into the boat. 
 The bank was so muddy, and I didn't dare go back. 
 I thought I heard steps behind me." She laughed 
 again, more naturally this time. "I was terrified!" 
 she confessed, with a smile at her own folly. 
 
 "I sure don't wonder," he nodded his head, arrested 
 by her words. "It wanted a cold nerve to venture 
 out at all! Most women would have pulled the bed- 
 clothes over their heads and shouted aloud for help." 
 
 "I did think of it." Her blue eyes danced. "And 
 then of the stable-bell. But, as it happened, I had let 
 my groom go home that very afternoon for his sister's 
 funeral. It was no use rousing the maids ; they sleep 
 in a distant wing. So I slipped out by the landing 
 door, meaning to reach those cottages at the cross- 
 ways, and then I remembered your house was just 
 down the river. I thought it the better plan. It's 
 one of those cases in which a woman feels lost with- 
 out a man even a suffragette, I should imagine!" 
 
 "I'm vurry glad." He ignored her little joke, his 
 brain filled with the obvious needs of the moment. 
 "Excuse me a minute." He vanished, quickly to re- 
 appear, a pair of tennis-shoes dangling from his 
 hand. 
 
 "I wonder if these would do? They're what my 
 sister wears about the garden. Or, I could go up 
 and wake her and get some stronger ones ?" 
 
 "Oh, please don't think of it. I wouldn't disturb 
 her for worlds. It's very kind of you I hope she 
 won't mind?" 
 
 "Gracious, no!" At his hearty voice she seated
 
 120 APRILJ PANHASARD 
 
 herself in one of the big arm-chairs and drew off 
 distastefully the mud-stained slipper that survived. 
 
 But here, to her surprise, he knelt down before her, 
 loosened the laces of the shoes, and proceeded in the 
 most matter-of-fact way to act as lady's maid. 
 
 "Allow me . . ." he held one out toward her. It 
 was narrow, of American make, a shade small even 
 for April's little foot. 
 
 Nothing daunted, Van Someren reached up for a 
 paper-knife that lay on the desk behind him, inserted 
 it neatly in the heel, and gave a sigh of relief as the 
 impromptu shoe-horn nobly answered its purpose. 
 
 "That's good now the other." He tied the last 
 bow, and rose to his feet with a glance at her some- 
 what amused face. 
 
 "Oh, I'm well broken to harness! had to look 
 after Sister, you see, on the trip across. Is that com- 
 fortable?" 
 
 He extended a helping hand to raise her to her 
 feet so naturally that she accepted his aid. And, as 
 their fingers met, a thrill of exultation raced through 
 the man, the curious triumph of knowing that she 
 relied on him, that once again it was fated she should 
 need his strong protection. 
 
 Little did April guess what was passing in his 
 mind. Still highly strung with the night's strange 
 adventure the unconventionality of her visit lay dor- 
 mant in her brain, and the easy, practical attitude of 
 the young American provoked a sense of security, an 
 unconscious good-fellowship that soothed her tired 
 nerves.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 121 
 
 "They're just a shade tight. " She answered his 
 question simply, as they passed out together onto the 
 lawn below. "But I'm far too grateful for them to 
 bear them the slightest grudge. What became of 
 the slipper, by the way?" 
 
 "It's in my pocket quite safe. You'd better take 
 my arm." 
 
 For she stumbled at the edge of the path, blinded 
 by the quick change from the lamp-lit room to the 
 darkness without. 
 
 But, ignoring his suggestion, she moved cautiously 
 forward. The humour of the proceeding suddenly 
 flashed across her, as she thought of Majendie and his 
 parting words of advice. What would he say, if he 
 could see her now, in the American girls' shoes, wan- 
 dering hatless through the night with her neigh- 
 bour in his garden? This was "knowing them" 
 with a vengeance! And here she slipped again 
 with a little involuntary "Oh!" of dismay as she 
 caught at a prickly shrub to save herself from 
 falling. 
 
 Instantly firm fingers closed around her elbow, and 
 an encouraging voice sounded in her ears. 
 
 "This way to the right. We're nearly there." 
 
 "Thank you it's so dark, isn't it ?" She gave her- 
 self up hopelessly to the situation, repressing a faint 
 desire to laugh as they went on arm-in-arm. 
 
 "Here's the landing-stage. Now three steps down." 
 
 He counted them carefully as they descended, the 
 faint upward rise of intonation, that betrayed his 
 origin, plainly audible that counter-note to the Eng-
 
 122 APRIL 1 PANHASARD 
 
 lish voice that falls a demi-tone at the end of every 
 phrase. 
 
 "Please stay here." 
 
 The hand left her arm and she heard him step 
 down into the boat. 
 
 "Now." He reached up and without further ado 
 lifted her gently in. 
 
 "You all right?" Before her astonishment at be- 
 ing treated like a child had passed away : "The seat's 
 all wet," he commented ruefully and stripping off 
 his coat, laid it carefully down as an impromptu cush- 
 ion. "There ... is that better?" He ignored her 
 quick remonstrance. "I'll row easier like this. Do 
 you want to steer? Or would you rather, perhaps 
 leave it all to me?" 
 
 "Oh, no." She gathered up the ropes as he pushed 
 the boat out into mid-stream. 
 
 But the words lingered in her ears, with a curious 
 sense of pleasure. 
 
 It seemed to her tired spirit that here indeed was 
 help: that the burden of responsibility that weight 
 she had borne for years was lifted for a breathing- 
 space from off her weary shoulders. 
 
 As the strong stroke of the oars swept them with 
 the current, she leaned back happily, watching those 
 nervous capable hands creep out of the gloom toward 
 her and pull back powerfully as the boat leaped in re- 
 sponse ; felt rather than saw the grey eyes under their 
 shaggy brows absorbing her, kindly, gravely, with a 
 curious insistence, too full of stern respect to rouse 
 her resentment.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 123 
 
 Then a sharp bump brought her back to a material 
 world. 
 
 "I'm so sorry!" In the dark she coloured with an- 
 noyance. "I'm afraid I wasn't steering; I've run 
 you into the shallows." 
 
 "My fault!" He laughed, a shade consciously, as 
 he remedied the mistake. "These trees are so mis- 
 leading I think the water is deeper along the left 
 bank." 
 
 He could not well explain that his thoughts were 
 far away from his work, all his keen attention 
 riveted for the time on her half -hidden hand, 
 wondering if "it" were there the narrow golden 
 band lost in a fold of the coat upon her 
 knee. 
 
 As she bent forward, intent upon her task, she 
 pulled the left rope sharply to bring the boat's head 
 round, and in the dim starlight he caught the gleam 
 of the ring he sought. And again the old problem 
 rose, baffling his ingenuity, adding a keener zest to 
 the night's strange adventure. 
 
 Mystery seemed to hang about her as a veil, haunt- 
 ing the sweet, uplifted face, where her hair, wet with 
 the heavy mist, shrouded the eyes beneath those 
 thoughtful eyes, that gazed so steadily past him, 
 watching the river banks. Her shoulders drooped 
 slightly, as though in weariness. He could see her 
 slender neck, with its hint of pride, its smooth and 
 delicate grace, outlined against the dark background 
 of the stream. To a more imaginative mind she 
 would have suggested a spirit of the woods, some
 
 124 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Dryad escaped from the heart of an oak, bare-headed, 
 subtly sweet. But in Van Someren's thoughts she 
 held a deeper place. Unconsciously she embodied the 
 shy, far-off ideal, that every man somewhere must 
 hide within his soul. She woke old dreams of youth 
 in a new wonderment : the exquisite uncertainty of 
 a boy's first love. And, against his reason, his shrewd 
 common-sense, the knowledge came to him with every 
 breath he drew that here was no stranger, no mere 
 friend-to-be, but the One Woman at last, the help- 
 mate of his life. 
 
 Above them the stars gleamed through the silver 
 haze of mist, glistening on wet willow and feathery 
 crown of rush ; about them lay the silence of the warm 
 summer night, with only the rhythmic beat of oars 
 and the ripple of the stream. 
 
 It seemed to Van Someren a charm that nought 
 could break, a stillness far removed from the busy 
 haunts of men, this wordless communion with an- 
 other's soul. 
 
 But to April it held but a passing spell of peace. 
 Her faint meed of gratitude touched no border line 
 of love. She rested body and mind only to stir again 
 to the old sense of duty, to face the danger of the 
 hour. 
 
 The perpetual need for stern control, the ceaseless 
 apprehension that had been her share for many a 
 weary year, wearing away her youth and nerves, keep- 
 ing her ever on the alert, had grown into a habit as 
 strong as life itself. And now, as ever, it stirred her 
 from her dream. With a sharp physical movement,
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 125 
 
 pulling herself together, she threw off her lassitude 
 and sweet forget fulness. 
 
 "I had better tell you, I think, what has happened 
 up to now." 
 
 Van Someren started at the brisk sound of her 
 voice, waking abruptly out of fairy-land. 
 
 "Sure." He nodded his head, forcing himself to 
 attention. 
 
 "I think there are two thieves; but I can't, of 
 course, be certain it is so difficult to locate a noise 
 in the dark." 
 
 She leaned forward, peering past him at the banks, 
 steering carefully, as her words ran on. 
 
 "We locked up the house in the usual way at ten 
 and then went to bed, my two maids and myself. As 
 it happened, I couldn't sleep" the occurrence was not 
 so rare as her light tone suggested "and at last I 
 felt sure I heard someone or something move in the 
 room under mine. So I stole out on tiptoe and looked 
 down from the gallery into the hall below. There 
 was a faint gleam of light under the dining-room 
 door. Then, as I stood there holding my breath, I 
 caught the unmistakable noise of a file . . ." She 
 paused to guide the boat past the little island where 
 once before she had gone aground. 
 
 "What did you do then?" 
 
 The tell-tale dimple peeped out from its hiding- 
 place. 
 
 "Ran back into my room and double-locked the 
 door." 
 
 Van Someren laughed aloud ; but his eyes betrayed
 
 126 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 his admiration. The rare honesty of the answer 
 swept away the last germ of suspicion that rankled in 
 his heart. 
 
 "Then I began to think it out. There's a silver- 
 cupboard, you see, between the dining-room and pan- 
 try, with a door that opens into each. They're locked 
 at night and my maid takes away the keys. Oddly 
 enough the thought of a burglary has never crossed 
 
 my mind. In town, you see " She stopped and 
 
 bit her lips. 
 
 "It doesn't happen often, I suppose," he finished 
 the broken phrase. 
 
 "No." She went on hurriedly, conscious of her 
 slip. "I couldn't get to the servants they sleep above 
 the kitchen, with a separate staircase you have to 
 cross the hall. But the house is built on a slope, and 
 the landing-door at the back opens on to another 
 level with a short flight of steps. So I dressed quickly 
 and got out that way and down to the boat-house 
 below. That's the whole adventure as far as it 
 goes." 
 
 "Not a very pleasant one for a girl alone." He 
 saw her little start and went on quietly. "By the 
 way, my name's Van Someren Lorimer Van Som- 
 eren. But perhaps you know it already?" His eyes 
 were on her face. 
 
 At the somewhat obvious hint, she gave a quick 
 frown. For the first time she felt ashamed of her 
 borrowed plumes, a strange reluctance to masquerade 
 under his steady gaze. 
 
 "And mine is . . Panhasard. Mrs. Panhasard."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 123 
 
 To her intense surprise he laughed aloud. And at 
 the sound he saw her stiffen, the head, with its wind- 
 tossed wealth of hair, raised with a touch of dignity 
 on the slender neck; an indescribable air of aloofness 
 seemed to enfold her, as she announced in a cold, 
 clear voice: 
 
 "I believe we are nearly there." 
 
 He dashed into explanation of his sudden merri- 
 ment. "I was thinking how strange it is that we 
 have . . . never met!" Again he smiled to himself, 
 hugging his secret close. "Of course you don't under- 
 stand, but the fact is, my sister talks of you from 
 morning until night your name is a household word ! 
 And I am just realising that it's you, with the cart 
 and brown harness and the roan cob that shies at 
 every milestone! You see, I know all about you." 
 
 Her face cleared and she echoed his happy laugh. 
 "Your sister rides, doesn't she? I pass her every 
 day in a grey riding-habit. The interest is mutual!" 
 
 "That's Sister. She's mad on hunting here in Oc- 
 tober. But I won't let her out as yet without a lead- 
 ing-rein it's a sore point at home but I'm very firm. 
 You see, it's like this" his voice went suddenly 
 grave "I'm Father and Brother, too there's no one 
 else but me. Our parents are both dead and we've 
 lived together ever since Sister left boarding-school." 
 
 She looked up at him sympathetically. "Of course 
 the responsibility I understand that. But it must 
 be nice for you to have her always with you." 
 
 "Surely." His face softened, the firm mouth ten- 
 der. "I couldn't leave her in New York by herself.
 
 128 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 She'd just have been too lonesome without her house- 
 hold tyrant. But it's a bit dull for her when I am 
 up in town, with no play-fellows." 
 
 He paused, catching her sudden gesture. 
 
 "Is this the place?" and slowed down to enter the 
 narrow boat-house. 
 
 Noiselessly he shipped his oars and sprang out on 
 the bank, fastened up the boat, and felt for his re- 
 volver. 
 
 At the sight of the small, deadly weapon Mrs. Pan- 
 hasard gave a little shiver, which did not escape the 
 keen, grey eyes of the man. 
 
 "You'd better stay here I think whilst I recon- 
 noitre." 
 
 But she stepped ashore quickly, spurning the sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 "I'd sooner come with you. Besides, you don't 
 know the house." 
 
 "I think you're better here." His voice was mas- 
 terful. For a moment they stood there facing each 
 other and he became aware of a difference in her 
 expression of a new touch of dignity that not all 
 her hatless air of disarray could lessen. 
 
 "I prefer to come." She was changed under his 
 frowning eyes to a woman accustomed to rule, to be 
 obeyed by men, and all his native obstinacy rose at 
 the sight of her slight smile, as, disregarding his 
 wish, she moved past him, head erect, to face the 
 lonely path. 
 
 "In any case" his voice matched her own "I go 
 first."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 129 
 
 Here were two wills, equally strong, suddenly at 
 war. 
 
 She paid him no attention, but walked on doggedly, 
 for all her courage feeling her heart beat a trifle 
 faster as the shadowy trees closed in about them. 
 
 Then she felt a firm hand on her arm. 
 
 "Mrs. Panhasard . .. ." 
 
 The name sounded oddly in her ears, brought her 
 back with a start to a sense of her new position. 
 
 "Well if you like," she said weakly; and then she 
 gave a low laugh of amusement at herself. 
 
 "Thank you." He was past her, walking noise- 
 lessly, a tall, broad-shouldered figure, blotting out the 
 light. 
 
 "There are three steps," she whispered, "and then 
 a little gate." 
 
 He obeyed her directions, and now, as if to aid 
 them, the moon rose wanly over the scene. By its 
 light, to his surprise, he saw the curious formation of 
 the ground: the cliff rising ahead fringed with the 
 belt of firs, the shelving sharp descent where the old 
 house clung and the flight of uneven steps cut in the 
 hillside that would bring them at the rear of the 
 building level with the bedrooms. 
 
 No light shone from the windows anywhere. The 
 silence seemed a heavy thing, palpable and dense. But 
 as they paused to consider their plans under the lea 
 of the wall a faint, faint sound broke on their ears, 
 the unmistakable grating noise of a window being 
 forced up. 
 
 "Stay here !" Van Someren's face was alight with
 
 130 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 the glow of coming battle. "Don't move, please!" 
 He was gone with quick noiseless strides in the direc- 
 tion of the lawn. 
 
 She waited breathlessly, her senses on the alert. 
 
 "Hands up!" She heard the cry. Then quickly 
 in succession the revolver rang out twice; then a 
 pause that frightened her more than all the sounds 
 together. 
 
 Forgetful of his injunction, April started in pur- 
 suit, but before she could reach the grass Van Someren 
 reappeared. 
 
 "It's all right, Mrs. Panhasard; hope you weren't 
 frightened. One of them's got away, but I've winged 
 the other fellow." 
 
 He spoke as cheerfully as though he had bagged 
 a partridge. 
 
 "Is he hurt? badly, I mean?" Her woman's in- 
 stinct got the better of her judgment. 
 
 To her surprise she found she was trembling in 
 all her limbs, the inevitable reaction of over-strained 
 nerves. 
 
 "No, no." He answered her quickly, divining her 
 distress. "Only a touch in the leg. You'd better 
 come in, I think. You must be awfully tired with all 
 your exertions." 
 
 He blamed himself absurdly at the sight of her 
 white face, as they made their way along to the open 
 French window. 
 
 But at this moment comedy brought the stimulus 
 she needed. 
 
 For from a room above a lusty country throat
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 131 
 
 shrilled out wrath and terror through the still night 
 air. 
 
 "Help! Help! Murder! Fire! !" 
 
 Mary Tuckett, in curling-pins, was waking the 
 countryside. Beside her Lottie's round red face 
 shone like the Harvest moon. 
 
 "There's a MAN!" The housemaid's voice rose 
 in a shrill crescendo and a dramatic arm "robed in 
 white samite" waved from the window, pointing at 
 Van Someren. 
 
 April gave a shaky little laugh. 
 
 "It's all right, Mary! Lottie, do stop screaming," 
 she called up to them from the lawn, where she stood. 
 But no whit pacified the babel of sound increased. 
 
 "Oh, mum, do come in afore we're all on us mur- 
 dered in our beds." 
 
 "Nonsense!" April's voice was severe. "It's all 
 over now, there's nothing at all to fear. Get your 
 clothes on, and come down to me." 
 
 At the quiet note of command, the two heads with- 
 drew, but not before Mary's last remark had reached 
 the pair below. 
 
 " 'Tis the furriner from oop t'riverside. What be 
 he a-doing here at this hour o' night?" 
 
 "I'm afraid my character's gone." Van Someren 
 lit the lamp, as April followed him into the dining- 
 room. 
 
 "You'd better have something to take." He moved 
 across to the sideboard. "What's this, whiskey?" 
 and poured some in a glass. 
 
 "No, thanks" as he brought it across "I'm quite
 
 132 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 all right, really." Then, as he insisted: "I never 
 touch spirits. But do have some yourself." She 
 smiled back bravely, still a little pale, but sure of her 
 control. 
 
 He watched her, marvelling at her quick recovery, 
 stirred anew to deep admiration. 
 
 She looked so fragile, so utterly feminine, as she 
 lay back buried in the deep arm-chair, he could not 
 guess that the life she had led had brought her cour- 
 age up to finer heights of endurance than many a 
 strong man's. 
 
 "Well, here's luck!" He raised his glass, his eyes 
 on her face. "And now I must go and see to your 
 visitor, whom I left cursing volubly and holding onto 
 his leg. I won't be gone long and here comes the 
 chorus . . ." 
 
 For the door opened to admit Lottie's buxom form, 
 followed by Mary Tuckett, still tugging at the last 
 refractory button of her tight cotton frock. 
 
 They listened, open-mouthed, to April's explana- 
 tion, Mary insisting "it had to be, on account of that 
 there magpie." 
 
 "It always brings misfortune, mum, and thank 
 God t'was no worse I see it myself twice, flying 
 across the lawn and yesterday, in me tea-cup, there 
 was a stranger to the 'ouse didn't I tell you, Lottie ?" 
 She paused for confirmation; then, suddenly prac- 
 tical, announced a curiosity to see the wounded man 
 and help the foreign gentleman who had "behaved 
 that clever." 
 
 Lottie, more timorous, decided it was her
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 133 
 
 "bounden duty" to explore the silver cupboard, and, 
 as April sat there quietly, in obedience to the Ameri- 
 can's wish, glad indeed to rest her weary limbs, vague 
 sounds of tribulation reached them from the lawn. 
 
 Back came Van Someren, hot and tired, bearing 
 the latest news. 
 
 The wounded man was no other than the bereaved 
 groom a Londoner whom April had taken on a writ- 
 ten testimony. 
 
 Mary Tuckett was with him, improving the shining 
 hour, in the stables, where he now lay until the Doc- 
 tor's advent. 
 
 "So I'd better be moving, and bring him right 
 away. You go to bed, Mrs. Panhasard. I'll see to 
 everything. Is the quick way to the village round 
 by Horrock's Farm?" 
 
 He stood there, strong and capable, looking down 
 at her. 
 
 "Trouble? Not it!" in answer to her protest "to 
 tell you the truth I'm just enjoying myself ! It isn't 
 often one gets the chance of an adventure and this 
 one" he smiled, subtly conscious of more than she 
 was aware "is the best I've come across for many a 
 long day." 
 
 He shook hands warmly, waving aside her thanks. 
 "You can't beat it unless you cheat!" he cried back 
 from the door.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MARY TUCKETT was annoyed. Justly so, she felt. 
 
 It was not every day so she explained to an ad- 
 miring village audience that "thieves break through 
 and steal where moths and rust corrupt." 
 
 A little doubtful of the quotation she went on hur- 
 riedly : 
 
 "Not that we've many moths up at t' Landslide 
 too much 'bitter apple' for that ! and the missus' furs 
 safe in 'coal storage'." 
 
 But it certainly was disheartening in a place "where 
 nothing happened" to find that the melodrama had 
 but a single act. 
 
 For Mrs. Panhasard declined to prosecute. The 
 silver had been recovered and the fact that the in- 
 jured man still lay in hospital (whither the doctor had 
 promptly removed him with the help of the Slingsby 
 ambulance) and that in view of his fractured leg he 
 would probably "go short" as Mary expressed it 
 "to the end of his born days", seemed to point a moral 
 of sufficient warning to others. 
 
 But under this April hid a far stronger motive. 
 She did not desire publicity at this juncture in her 
 life. 
 
 Van Someren, listening to her reasons, accepted 
 her decision without further comment. He held no 
 
 134
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 135 
 
 brief in favour of supporting the British law. The 
 doctor, a busy man, commended her attitude. He 
 had neither time nor desire to appear at the Slingsby 
 Assizes, and if "the widow" as she was believed to 
 be by all the village gossips shrank from unwelcome 
 notoriety, as a man he approved her conduct, as a 
 physician marked the signs on her face of nervous 
 wear and tear. 
 
 Despite the servants' talk the two men interested 
 helped April to hush up the affair, and Mary was de- 
 prived of long-drawn-out excitement. She found a 
 certain consolation in the freedom it allowed her to 
 impart secretly her version of the matter: how she 
 had stood by her mistress' side throughout the " 'ail 
 of bullets", that "might ha' shot anyone anywhere in 
 the dark !" and, braving the possibility of the wounded 
 man's fury, had flown on her errand of mercy "to 
 see if the corpse had stirred". 
 
 The fact that he was a Londoner, unknown to Cod- 
 dell fame, though depriving the burglary of some local 
 excitement, provided satisfaction in a new reminder 
 of the iniquity of Town. 
 
 The Vicar heard of it and hurried round to in- 
 quire, but, under April's skilful lead, discovered on his 
 return that the talk had chiefly dwelt on a certain rare 
 edition "of a Kempis that had fetched a fabulous sum 
 at Christie's that same week. He soothed his wife's 
 irritation at the barren lack of detail by producing 
 with the gentle shame facedness that invariably accom- 
 panied his poor attempts to beg a generous subscrip- 
 tion from the lady for the restoration of the Porch.
 
 136 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 The only practical outcome of the whole lurid ad- 
 venture was the installation of yet another Tuckett 
 to attend the roan cob ; a tall, shy youth, with an eye 
 for Lottie's charms. 
 
 Also the advent of The Dog; small in itself, yet 
 filling its chosen place in April's story of life as an 
 insignificant atom of marble may complete a pavement 
 of mosaic. 
 
 The dog arrived this wise, on a sunny afternoon: 
 
 The Vicar had departed, a loaned book in one 
 hand, shabby hat in the other. He had a habit of 
 walking bare-headed down the lanes. It seemed he 
 blessed God, outside his parish Church, continually, 
 for the sight of a tree or a child's happy face, dream- 
 ing his way along through a world of virgin green, 
 as pure and simple a gentleman as God, perhaps, re- 
 quired. 
 
 The villagers all loved him with a slight lack of 
 respect the sort of pitiful love that cripples learn to 
 know. In all material trouble they went to the Vicar's 
 wife; they ran her, so to speak, as an emergency 
 agent of Heaven, expected to produce coal, sharp ad- 
 vice, baby clothes and soup. 
 
 But when Death touched the cottage with a re- 
 morseless hand, they barred the door in the good 
 woman's face and wailed aloud for the Vicar. He 
 knew by instinct the words of consolation, prayed 
 with them as they understood, on the same human 
 level. Their quiet contempt for a man who suffered 
 daily nagging, whose absent-mindedness aroused 
 open smiles and sneers, vanished in the hour of
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 137 
 
 grief when he towered far above them on a pinnacle 
 of faith. 
 
 For he had that rare gift that is known as "voca- 
 tion." He lived for his beliefs and lived also in them; 
 far removed from the spirit of the day, lost in a world 
 of trust and confidence that was a perpetual thorn in 
 the side of his practical wife. 
 
 She clung to the tenets of a pessimistic creed. 
 Hell-fire to her burned clear as incandescent. She 
 did not wish salvation for any but "the Good," nor 
 that the Lord should deign to stoop to unrepentant 
 sinners. 
 
 Eustace Moneypenny was broader in his views, 
 holding serenely that all men were brothers, that Sin- 
 ner and Saint alike should look to Paradise. 
 
 The pardoning of the thief upon the cross was to 
 him the visible token of divine compassion, divine 
 redemption from sin. 
 
 To her his crucifixion beside the Lord was chiefly 
 a punishment he had earned by evil deeds, a physical 
 scourge to mark his flesh and teach him humility. 
 Only by suffering should he be allowed in Heaven 
 and even there, in her heart of hearts, she resented 
 the chance of a meeting. 
 
 Between her and her husband was fixed this wide 
 gulf that human understanding of his she labelled 
 "laxity." 
 
 Perhaps he had walked bare-headed too long in 
 God's sunshine, dreaming of infinite mercy, infinite 
 compassion. 
 
 To-day as he paced along, down the narrow, dusty
 
 138 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 lane, his gentle mind was filled with his new parish- 
 ioner. His facility for divining the sorrows of man- 
 kind had pierced the outward shield of April's world- 
 wise ways. He saw deep down in the smiling eyes 
 the shadow of a grief, that questioning of a soul 
 perplexed that had caught Van Someren's pity. 
 
 On he went bare-headed, his eyes fixed on the trees 
 ahead, where the cottage roofs at the cross- ways 
 added a note of red. A lark rose up from the corn 
 in soaring flight on flight, opening its heart of song 
 like a chalice to the sky. The vicar followed it 
 dreamily in its course. Now it was but a speck 
 against the sapphire heavens. Instinctively he paused, 
 his old eyes straining upward ; and at that precise mo- 
 ment he heard a shout behind, a clatter of running 
 feet, and something large and woolly and unexpected 
 took him in the rear. 
 
 Over he went, hat and all, scrambling in the dust, 
 and lay there for a moment prostrate in amazement; 
 until a small hand was slipped beneath his arm and a 
 panting voice exclaimed : 
 
 "Oh I am so sorry ! I hope you're not hurt ?" 
 
 Somewhat cautiously with this assistance he rose 
 to his knees, mechanically gathering up the dusty 
 clerical hat. 
 
 Then he became aware of a large sheep dog, sitting 
 squarely before him, astonished as himself. Aware, 
 too, of a girlish face, with bright eyes that struggled 
 between ready laughter and tears, bending over him 
 with solicitude, striving to explain. 
 
 "He didn't mean it, really" the sing-song voice
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 139 
 
 went on with a lilt and slight drawl that suggested 
 the Southern States "he slipped his collar, you see, 
 and then he bolted from me, straight down the road, 
 as slick as he could go. If you hadn't stopped dead 
 he'd have got past all right 
 
 She gave a sigh of relief, as realising his position 
 the vicar rose to his feet, surveying his new friend 
 with humorous, kindly eyes. 
 
 "My dear young lady" he almost purred as the 
 vigorous little hands began to brush the dust from 
 off his whitened coat "I quite understand how it 
 happened. I had no business to stop like that, sud- 
 denly without sounding a horn!" 
 
 She laughed at his metaphor and followed it up 
 promptly. 
 
 "And his brake I reckon wasn't in working order! 
 was it, old boy?" she patted the great dog's head 
 "you're one of those dear old clumsies that every one 
 calls 'well-meaning.' " 
 
 Thereupon she fastened the collar more tightly 
 round his neck, slipped on the leash and, grasping it 
 firmly, held out her other hand. 
 
 "I do hope we're forgiven?" she said orettily, 
 "we're sure repentant, both of us." 
 
 The vicar protested gaily there was nothing to for- 
 give, adding with what for him was a rare touch 
 of curiosity: 
 
 "Your face seems somehow familiar. Haven't I 
 seen you occasionally at Church?" And a twinkle 
 came into the old eyes as he modified the statement. 
 
 "That's so. I do come . . sometimes. But it's
 
 140 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 a long walk, you know. We live at Riverside my 
 brother and I. We came here in May." 
 
 "Dear me, dear me," he waxed apologetic. "I re- 
 member now my wife told me several times I fear. 
 I will come and call if I may at the very next oppor- 
 tunity. This is a scattered parish and the distances 
 are great . . ." 
 
 "Sure" she broke in on his lengthy explanation 
 "we'd be vurry pleased, Brother and I to see you." 
 
 "And you'll have this ruffian chained?" 
 
 He laid his hand caressingly on the dog's shaggy 
 coat; including in his love for humanity the faithful 
 friends of man. 
 
 "Oh, that's for Mrs. Panhasard," she nodded her 
 head wisely. "He's not mine, you see, he only ar- 
 rived to-day. But Brother's been looking around for 
 something . . . big and important in dogs," her lips 
 parted in a merry smile, shewing her white teeth. 
 "Something that looks fierce and isn't to keep off 
 thieves, you know. I'm taking him there now, or at 
 least I was, before he took you on his way." 
 
 They laughed simultaneously. 
 
 "Well, good-bye," he raised his shabby hat as she 
 retraced her steps towards the distant gate of Mrs. 
 Panhasard's house. 
 
 "What a dear old thing !" she said to herself. "I'm 
 so glad, pup, that you found him for me. Heigho ! 
 it's a dull life . . ." for, despite the fact that they had 
 thankfully fled from the heat-wave in town, she felt 
 her exile more in the quiet countryside. "Now, I 
 wonder how I shall like your new mistress? She
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 141 
 
 looks a perfect peach, sitting in that high cart! but 
 Brother said very little, only that she was nice. And 
 now I come to think of it most Englishwomen seem 
 'nice' nothing more and nothing less you just stop 
 there . . ." 
 
 Arrived at the long drive, she peered in doubtfully. 
 "I wish Lorry would come the train must be late 
 again. How dark it looks and lonely. I'm sure it 
 must be haunted. We'll just go a few steps, pup, 
 and sit down and wait. I'd want a nerve to go up 
 alone and explain who I am." 
 
 She settled herself comfortably on the root of a 
 giant lime, gazing upward to watch the bees above, 
 searching for honey among the scented flowers. 
 
 The sheep dog squatted down and panted, appar- 
 ently for amusement, for the cool beneath the trees 
 forbade the thought of heat. Presently he moved 
 nearer, great trustful eyes fixed on the girl's face, and 
 thrust a cold black nose forward on her knee. 
 
 "It's like a pickled walnut," she told him solemnly 
 but you are about the dearest old pup that ever 
 happened." 
 
 She played with his soft ears, every now and then 
 glancing back at the gate, feeling the silence weigh 
 heavily upon her. 
 
 Then somewhere far away came the sound of a 
 child's voice singing as it approached, with an under- 
 current of trotting hoofs, along the dusty lane. 
 
 "Listen!" she raised her head, trying to catch the 
 words, and as the rider neared them smiled at the 
 quaint song.
 
 I 4 2 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "If a pig wore a wig, 
 What should we say? 
 Treat him as a gentleman 
 And say 'Good day !' 
 
 If his tail chanced to fail, 
 What should we do? 
 Send him to the tailoress 
 And get one new . . . ." 
 
 A grey pony, sedate and fat, swerved round the 
 corner, mounted by a boy in a sailor-suit with a dark 
 gipsy face. 
 
 "Hullo!" He reined up his steed, staring at the 
 girl. 
 
 His first intention of warning intruders off his liege 
 lady's land vanished as he surveyed the pair before 
 him. 
 
 "That's a nice dog," he said politely, encouraged 
 by her smile. "What's his name?" 
 
 "He hasn't got one yet. He's new, you see." 
 
 "A puppy?" His little air of knowledge amused 
 Miss Van Someren. 
 
 "We 11," she drew the word out with her faint 
 musical drawl, "not exactly. About the same age 
 in dogs, I guess, as you and me." 
 
 He realised instantly she was bent on teasing him. 
 
 "Ah a good age," he approved. 
 
 Her laugh rang out, fresh and sweet and good to 
 hear. 
 
 "He's for the lady who lives here" she explained 
 the matter "to frighten away thieves. I'm waiting 
 for Brother to come and take him up to the house."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 143 
 
 "Oh!" A light of sudden joy illumined the Bosun's 
 face. "Is your brother the man that shot the burglar 
 in the leg?" It was plain he revelled in the adven- 
 ture. "How fine! And he's coming here now? 
 to-day?" 
 
 With a deft movement he wriggled down to the 
 ground, drew the single rein over his arm, thrust his 
 small hunting-crop under the other and approached 
 a step nearer. 
 
 "I'd like to see him," he added ingratiatingly. 
 
 "So you shall," said his new friend, "if you wait a 
 bit." She moved closer to the tree. "There's a cor- 
 ner here," pointing to the smooth root and drawing 
 her skirt aside. 
 
 Down he sat beside her. 
 
 The grey pony cropped contentedly at the grass. 
 
 "D'you think . . ." The Bosun fidgeted, his gipsy 
 face turned eagerly towards Miss Van Someren, 
 "d'you think he'd let me fire it off, myself, one day?" 
 
 "Rather!" She liked his spirit. "Haven't you got 
 a gun?" 
 
 "No," he dug his heel moodily into the earth, 
 "Skipper won't let me, and Darling's always 
 afraid." 
 
 "Who's Skipper?" she asked him lazily. 
 
 "Skipper? Oh, he married Darling, you know." 
 
 The matter seemed slightly more involved. 
 
 "And Darling?" she persisted in her sweet drawling 
 voice. 
 
 The boy looked up surprised. 
 
 "She's my mother, of course."
 
 144 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "And what's your name?" she went on serenely 
 with her catechism. 
 
 "Clifton Eric Stanhope Clifton. But I'm called 
 mostly 'Bosun.' I'm going to be a sailor, you see. 
 At least, I'm not quite sure." 
 
 "Would you like to go to sea?" Her eyes were 
 fixed on that strange white lock that gleamed in the 
 dark hair, as he pushed his sailor cap to the back of 
 his small head. 
 
 "Well, I used to think I should. But since Alan's 
 big brother has come home, I'd rather be a soldier, 
 just like him. That's why," he raised earnest eyes to 
 the girl's face, "I want to fire that gun." He broke 
 off, jumping to his feet. "Here he comes!" he 
 shouted. "Hurrah!" 
 
 For, absorbed in each other, they had failed to see 
 a bicycle bearing down upon them, a streak of silver 
 that caught the sunlight above the dusty hedge. 
 
 "Hello!" Lorry turned the bend and sprang to 
 the ground beside them. "There you are, Honey! 
 the train was mad late. Who's the new beau, this 
 time ?" 
 
 "This is Eric Stanhope Clifton," said Miss Van 
 Someren gravely, "generally known as 'the Bosun,' 
 I am told." 
 
 "Vurry glad to meet you." The pair shook hands. 
 "You going our way ?" He gave the diminutive Nim- 
 rod a leg-up into the saddle, and the odd trio set out 
 together up the drive, the girl recounting merrily her 
 adventure with the vicar. 
 
 Van Someren walked between the pair, one hand
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 145 
 
 pushing his bicycle, the other tucked in his sister's 
 arm, while the small boy stole admiring glances at 
 his hero. 
 
 The dog followed sheepishly at the end of the leash, 
 with the apologetic droop of his kind. Every now 
 and then he threw his head up and snuffed at the air, 
 wondering in his perplexed soul where they were 
 taking him. 
 
 "Come along, pup, and look spry if you can!" his 
 present mistress adjured him as they neared the house. 
 "You're more like a thief yourself than anything / 
 ever saw." 
 
 "He'll cheer up bye and bye," said Lorry consol- 
 ingly "he's just a bit lonesome in a strange land. 
 Now, then, here we are." 
 
 He rang the bell, straightening his shoulders, re- 
 pressing the excitement he felt the longing to see 
 again the lady of his dreams. 
 
 "Mrs. Panhasard in?" Miss Van Someren asked 
 nervously, as the trim Lottie answered the door. 
 
 "Yes, miss in the garden will you please come 
 this way?" 
 
 The small boy had clattered round to the stables, 
 quite at home by now in his new friend's house. 
 
 They followed the maid silently, through the empty 
 hall and the pleasant room beyond with its bowls of 
 flowers, its books and other instinctive signs of a 
 cultured woman's taste. 
 
 The girl was a trifle pale. Despite her high spirits 
 and gay mannerism, she suffered acutely from shy- 
 ness, courageously concealed, and a first call was al-
 
 146 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 ways a subtle penance to her, particularly among 
 strangers in a strange and alien land. 
 
 She glanced at her brother, wondering a little at 
 the light upon his face. His eyes shone and he moved 
 with a quick and eager step. 
 
 "She must be vurry nice," she whispered to herself, 
 slightly consoled by his evident elation. "I do hope 
 she's not as stiff as Mrs. Bounderby." 
 
 For the Senior partner's wife had been a sore in- 
 fliction. 
 
 "Come along, pup !" The dog was dragging on his 
 leash, as they passed down the steps from the draw- 
 ing-room to the verandah. 
 
 "Mr. and Miss Van Someren." 
 
 The names rang sonorously in their ears as Lottie 
 stood aside, with a demure glance at the new visitors. 
 
 April rose from a deck-chair, a smile upon her face, 
 dainty and fresh and self-possessed, in her plain 
 linen gown. She wore a garden-hat of coarse burnt 
 straw, wreathed round with dandelions and fluffy 
 white clocks, and save for the little diamond watch, 
 that hung from its slender chain, no jewellery but the 
 plain gold ring marred the simplicity of her dress. 
 
 Nevertheless there clung about her an air unmis- 
 takable, fine of a woman of the world; conscious of 
 a position that no one could gainsay, utterly at ease 
 and yet dignified. 
 
 She moved to meet her guests with cordial out- 
 stretched hand. 
 
 Miss Van Someren, with a nervous smile, awaited 
 her brother's introduction. Alas for ceremony for
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 147 
 
 unrehearsed effect ! For the dog, trailing behind, sud- 
 denly stiffened his ears; a row of bristles rose upon 
 his back; he gave one deep-toned growl and a great 
 bound forward as the black cat stirred to attention 
 beneath the table for tea. 
 
 At the sudden unlocked for impetus down went 
 Miss Van Someren, like the vicar, on both knees. 
 Away sped the cat, a black streak of fear! The 
 leash slipped from the girl's hands and caught round 
 the table-leg; cups and plates went headlong with an 
 avalanche of cakes. 
 
 Never was seen a more complete confusion as the 
 American girl struggled up, scarlet to the eyes. Her 
 brother had dashed away after the main offender, 
 who, tugging himself free, was off in hot pursuit 
 of the cat. 
 
 April, the first alarm over, was speechless with sud- 
 den laughter and Lottie had flown back to repair the 
 disaster. 
 
 Then from the room within came the climax to the 
 scene. A sound of light steps and the Bosun's childish 
 voice : 
 
 "You there, Mrs. Pan? I've brought a message 
 from Darling. And the Burglar-man's here he's got 
 a dog for you ... a beauty! have you seen him?"
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 BUT the afternoon was to prove one of further sur- 
 prises. 
 
 For no sooner had the party on the lawn recovered 
 from the advent of the dog and settled down peace- 
 fully to tea than a sound of approaching wheels 
 warned April of another visitor. 
 
 "I wonder who it can be?" she addressed Miss 
 Van Someren. "I hope it's not Mrs. Moneypenny!" 
 She smiled at the American girl. "Do you know the 
 vicar's wife?" 
 
 "No, though I've just met the Vicar. But I've seen 
 the lady in church in her cunning little hat or is it 
 a bonnet, do you think? Brother and I have names 
 for everyone and we call her 'Mrs. Noah' ! She only 
 wants a wooden stand to be just perfect." 
 
 "Have you a name for me?" April enquired mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 Miss Van Someren crossed her neat little feet 
 where she sat in the basket chair and gave a quick 
 glance at her brother for directions. 
 
 Van Someren frowned and April laughed aloud. 
 
 "Very well," she said, "we will leave it a mystery. 
 But I hope ..." she paused to extinguish the lamp 
 under the silver kettle. "I hope it's not 'Mrs. 
 Japhet.' " 
 
 148
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 149 
 
 "It's a vurry nice name," said Miss Van Someren 
 hastily, "but perhaps you'd think . . . you see" she 
 tried to explain the position "it was when we didn't 
 know you." 
 
 "Why that makes it worse !" said Lorry desperately. 
 
 "And now I must hear it," April laughed back 
 "do tell me : I promise to be forgiving." 
 
 "It's . . ." the American girl coloured, bright eyes 
 raised with a gleam of mischief under their long 
 lashes. 
 
 "We called you 'the Peach,' " she said, "Brother 
 and I." 
 
 "How delightful!" April was much amused. "I 
 feel highly flattered. But I wish you hadn't said it 
 was 'before you came to know me.' " 
 
 She looked up, as quick steps sounded through the 
 house and there appeared Majendie, unannounced, 
 evidently a little taken aback to find April thus sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 "I wasn't asked to the party, but I've come!" he 
 explained. His smile broadened as he recognised the 
 pretty American. 
 
 "Why, Boris!" April rose from her chair. 
 "Wherever have you sprung from?" 
 
 He stepped through the open window and stood 
 for a moment holding her outstretched hand, drink- 
 ing in eagerly the welcome on her face. 
 
 "Like the Frenchman's little star ,1 'shot and shot 
 . . .' And presently I shall 'disappear.' Don't be 
 alarmed. The simple truth is this. I only received 
 your letter to-day and when I heard of the burglary
 
 150 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 I felt I must run down and see that all was well. 
 Please forgive me?" 
 
 "But I'm delighted. Where's your luggage, boy?" 
 
 He hesitated for a moment, looking down at her. 
 Then: 
 
 "At the 'Admiral Rodney,'" he confessed. "I 
 didn't mean to stay, really. But I thought of that 
 dreadful slow train back that stops every now and 
 then to take a nap; it's like a jibbing horse or rather 
 a jibbing nightmare! So I threw a tooth-brush and 
 a copy of the New Witness into the nearest bag and 
 blessed the memory of the hen-pecked Tom Judkins." 
 
 "What nonsense!" April's voice was indignant. 
 
 Van Someren from his chair on the lawn narrowed 
 his grey eyes, watching the pair before him, trying 
 to place the new-comer in the altered scheme of 
 things. 
 
 "There goes your cab!" as a sound of wheels 
 scrunching the gravel reached them, "run after it, 
 quick, and tell the driver to bring your bag here." 
 
 "It's awfully good of you!" Majendie was off, 
 cutting across the grass in the direction of the gate, 
 the 'Bosun' who had greeted him with effusion 
 tearing after on his short brown legs. 
 
 "It's Boris Majendie," the hostess turned to her 
 other guests, "my cousin." She brought the word 
 out with an effort. "He's come down from town a 
 little late perhaps! to catch the burglars." 
 
 "He'd catch anything at that rate, I should say." 
 Van Someren smiled, curiously relieved, as he watched 
 the tall figure swing easily out of sight.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 151 
 
 At his sister's silent signal, he rose to his feet. "I 
 think we'd better be moving," he suggested unwill- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Oh, please don't go yet. Why, you've only just 
 come! And I want to show your sister over the 
 house. There's a quaint old 'powder-closet' leading 
 out of my room that I'm sure she'd like to see a relic 
 of those days when one's hair was dressed in a pyra- 
 mid to last the whole week ! I'm glad it's no longer 
 the fashion." 
 
 Her visitors settled down again with a little sigh 
 of relief. The girl was enjoying herself, set at ease 
 by April's simple charm. 
 
 "I'd sure love to! It's a vurry old house, I sup- 
 pose? But then . . ." 
 
 She broke off as Boris reappeared through the 
 drawing-room window and was introduced to the 
 pair. 
 
 "Everything's old in England," she continued, "why, 
 even our cottage here is a real antique. Yesterday," 
 she turned to that interested youth, who had drawn 
 up a chair between her and his hostess and was 
 obediently drinking tea, "I made a great discovery. 
 On our bath-room window-pane," her voice held a 
 note of awe, "someone has scratched with a dia- 
 mond ring 'J ane Jones, 1720.' Now isn't that won- 
 derful?" 
 
 "The limit," said Majendie solemnly. "But why 
 on the bath-room window? Perhaps it was the first 
 bath that Jane Jones ever took? Or it might have 
 been her last ? The shock doubtless killed her,"
 
 152 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 He gave a deep sigh, fastidiously picking a piece 
 of angelica off his cake. 
 
 Miss Van Someren glanced at him doubtfully and 
 caught a tell-tale quiver near the wide humorous 
 mouth. 
 
 "It's a luxury, I opine, a bath-room in this coun- 
 try?" 
 
 Their eyes met for a moment and they both 
 laughed. 
 
 "Hit!" said Majendie meekly. "But still we're 
 getting cleaner, inch by inch, layer by layer. Why, 
 in the latest Workmen's Buildings there's a bath-room 
 to every flat." He reached across for another cup 
 of tea. "JNv convenient too they generally use 
 it for coal." 
 
 "We've got a coal-truck," the Bosun chipped in. 
 "Skipper made it himself to bring the coal to the 
 kitchen, you know, from the cellar in the yard and 
 sometimes I ride in it." He giggled suddenly and, 
 sidling up to the girl, slipped a little hand into hers. 
 
 "Would you like to hear," he began insinuatingly 
 "of the first ride in it that I ever gave a kid ?" 
 
 "Yes do tell me." She lifted the little fellow up 
 on to her lap, where he sat very stiff and upright but 
 evidently pleased. 
 
 They made a pretty picture so Majendie thought 
 the dark gipsy face close to the fair smiling one, 
 with its halo of fluffy hair, that held a deeper tone 
 than Van Someren's smooth head. 
 
 "We 11?" she encouraged him in her sweet drawl- 
 ing voice.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 153 
 
 The Bosun rearranged his lanyard, exhibiting with 
 pride a large clasp-knife. 
 
 "It's got four blades," he said in a hurried aside 
 to Majendie, "and a corkscrew and a little thing for 
 stones in horses' hoofs. Well Darling had a party 
 tennis, you know, and someone brought a kid a 
 girl" he gave a little expressive snort "all dressed 
 up, with pink ribbons and white shoes and beads." 
 His disgusted face delighted his audience. "Well, I 
 kept clear, fielding for tennis balls ; and then someone 
 said: 'My little girl would like to play with your 
 little boy . . .' and I knew I was in for it." His 
 voice took a tragic note. "Darling told me to take 
 her to see my rabbits, and we were just crossing the 
 yard it's rather muddy, you know, and she kept on 
 babbling about her 'pitty shoes' when I saw the coal- 
 truck . . ." 
 
 "And you put her in it and took her for a ride?" 
 Majendie roared with delight "pink ribbon and beads 
 and all?" 
 
 "Rather," said the Bosun with an appreciative grin. 
 "She had four goes up and down the yard. It 
 wouldn't have mattered so much on a dry day" he 
 added thoughtfully "or if Jim hadn't left such a lot 
 of coal-dust in it." 
 
 "Wasn't there a row?" 
 
 "You bet," said the un-repentant sinner. "Skipper 
 gave me a licking." He felt the American girl's arm 
 draw him a shade closer. 
 
 "Didn't it hurt any?" she asked. 
 
 "Lor', no!" said the 'Bosun' carelessly. "I'm pretty
 
 154 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 tough. But oh! she was a sight a perfect pie-bald 
 at the end I've always loved that coal-truck ever 
 since. I say," his thoughts flew off at a tangent 
 "have you asked your brother about that gun?" He 
 wriggled round to look in his fair friend's face. 
 
 "He's the man that shot the burglar, you know," he 
 explained to Majendie. 
 
 "Not yet, but I'll be sure not to forget," said Miss 
 Van Someren. "Will you come down and have tea 
 with us one day?" 
 
 "May I ?" he slid off her knee with a longing glance 
 at his hero. 
 
 "To-morrow?" he suggested with a little skip of 
 
 joy- 
 
 The next moment he was off and away after a 
 butterfly that had sailed across his path. 
 
 "That's one thing about England I just find per- 
 fect" Miss Van Someren watched the graceful little 
 figure in its headlong course "the children, you know. 
 They seem younger than ours and perhaps . . . not 
 quite so spoilt." 
 
 "Well we don't give them gold nurseries and dolls 
 with diamond eyes." 
 
 "Oh but that's the usual exaggerated way you 
 English look at us. You just pick out one phase of 
 life the millionaire phase and think it applies to 
 the whole of New York City!" 
 
 They settled down to the inevitable controversy on 
 Anglo-American differences. 
 
 Meanwhile at the other side of the tea-table Van 
 Someren was talking to his hostess.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 155 
 
 "He's a good guard so they tell me," he referred 
 to the big dog. "They wanted to find him a home 
 and I thought perhaps if you cared for him he 
 might be of use here." 
 
 "How kind of you to remember me " she ap- 
 preciated the delicate way he made his little offering. 
 "I needed a dog badly. I am so pleased to have him. 
 By the way, has he a name?" 
 
 "Not that I know of. We must find him one 
 if you think he deserves it, after hunting your 
 cat." 
 
 "We'll ask Mr. Majendie," April suggested, smil- 
 ing. "He's sure to think of something classical and 
 appropriate !" 
 
 She turned to Boris, who had been listening to a 
 recital of the Vicar's accident. 
 
 "First a parson and then a cat," she heard him say 
 "evidently a dog of Catholic tastes. I should like 
 to see this sportsman." 
 
 "So you shall," said April, "when you've quite fin- 
 ished tea. We want a name for him what do you 
 suggest?" 
 
 "Describe him carefully." Majendie closed his 
 eyes. 
 
 "We 11 " began Miss Van Someren at her 
 
 hostess* little nod. "He's big . . . and hairy . . . 
 and prone to get into any sort of muss . . ." 
 
 "Esau!" Majendie slapped his leg "that's it! 
 the very thing. D'you think a 'muss' of pottage is 
 his form? And we all know he's a 'mighty Hunter 
 before the Lord' Master Esau Panhasard." His
 
 156 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 eyes surveyed April mischievously as the other guests 
 laughed. 
 
 To his surprise she frowned. 
 
 "You don't like it?" he persisted wilfully. "Then 
 he shall be called 'Bob' like every other sheep-dog 
 in an orthodox establishment. And now I want to 
 see him? Will you be my guide, Miss Van Someren?" 
 He stood up, looking down at her whimsically, one 
 eyebrow raised, a tiny flicker of temper in the dark 
 brown pupils. 
 
 But April checked him again. 
 
 "I'm afraid you'll have to wait, Boris, or go by 
 yourself. I want first to show Miss Van Someren 
 over the house." 
 
 She turned to her pretty guest. 
 
 "You would like to see it, wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Surely." The girl smiled back. But it seemed to 
 Majendie in the nature of a snub. For the first time 
 it dawned on him that April treated him like a child : 
 that unforgivable sin to the man who is still conscious 
 of his youth! 
 
 Van Someren, aware of slight friction in the air, 
 suggested himself as a substitute and the two men 
 moved off together towards the distant stables. 
 
 For a moment April watched them, her mind work- 
 ing in unconscious comparison. Boris, slight and 
 supple with the easy carriage that was a part of him, 
 inherited as casually as the old name he bore. Van 
 Someren with a lesser grace, yet in every firm step 
 suggesting a hint of power; broad-shouldered, ca- 
 pable, equally independent.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 157 
 
 They talked a little stiffly as they went, as though 
 each realised a subtle antagonism that was based on 
 a deeper sentiment than racial prejudice. The Ameri- 
 can would have willingly unthawed but the English- 
 man's cool manner roused in him a note of irrita- 
 tion, a suspicion of condescension that galled his 
 pride. 
 
 At the gate leading into the yard Majendie paused 
 and lowered his voice, conscious of the presence of 
 the groom. 
 
 "I want to thank you," he said, "for your kindness 
 to my cousin. It was lucky for her she had such a 
 capable neighbour." 
 
 Van Someren nodded his head. 
 
 "It wasn't a pleasant adventure for a lady all alone. 
 I was very glad to be of any service." 
 
 Majendie looked at him: at the square jaw and 
 finely-proportioned head, and caught an equally ap- 
 praising glance from the keen grey eyes. 
 
 "That's why I brought her this dog," the other con- 
 tinued. "I don't think it's safe in this lonesome house 
 without some form of guard." 
 
 "Very good of you," the Englishman answered with 
 a slightly amused smile "but I don't really think 
 there's any need for alarm. I should say a burglary 
 happens here about once in a century." 
 
 He whistled to attract the groom's attention. 
 
 "Bring that dog out, will you? I want to have a 
 look at him." 
 
 "Yessir," the man touched his forelock and disap- 
 peared, and presently, with a leap and a bark of joy,
 
 158 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 the great shaggy creature came rollicking towards 
 them. 
 
 Boris opened the gate and went quickly through. 
 "Good old fellow good man! You're a beauty, 
 aren't you?" 
 
 The dog jumped about him joyfully, scenting a 
 would-be friend glad to be set free from the dark 
 coach-house. 
 
 "Steady now, steady." He took the rough head 
 firmly in his hands and, opening the dog's mouth, 
 looked inside at the formidable teeth. 
 
 "He's quite young still, I see. Well-bred, too! 
 Where did you pick him up?" 
 
 He turned to Van Someren, leaning on the gate, 
 watching the scene a little wistfully. City-bred, he 
 held no country lore, and although he loved animals 
 he did not understand them. 
 
 "I was told he was all right" he evaded the ques- 
 tion "hardly a lady's pet perhaps, but good enough 
 for the purpose." 
 
 "Rather. Why, he wants a drink!" as the dog 
 went nosing round a bucket that stood half-empty in 
 the yard. 
 
 "Poor old chap! Haven't they thought of it? on 
 a day like this, too!" His voice was plainly indig- 
 nant. He caught up the bucket and emptying it by 
 the pump, poured out a vigorous libation for his 
 friend, tilting it down so that the dog could easily 
 reach the water. 
 
 "We'll go round to the kitchen now and get him 
 something to cat."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 159 
 
 It seemed to Van Someren as though the animal 
 had curiously changed hands; that Majendie's air of 
 ownership extended to the whole establishment. An 
 uncomfortable suspicion began to stir within him. 
 Was he more than a cousin, this finely-built young 
 man? Again his mind drifted back to that memorable 
 meeting. Did the secret of that second ring lie in 
 Majendie's hands? 
 
 They reached the kitchen in silence, the dog trot- 
 ting between them. 
 
 "Good-day, Mary!" Majendie, unabashed, stuck 
 his head in at the window. "What a nice savoury 
 smell!" 
 
 He sniffed it up delightedly as the buxom cook 
 turned round from her place by the fire. 
 
 "Lor', Mr. Majendie, you did make me start! How 
 are you, sir glad to see you, sir !" 
 
 She wiped her hand on her apron and held it out 
 obedient to his gesture. For the two were great 
 friends and Majendie had a way with servants that 
 made him instantly popular. 
 
 Van Someren looked on with hardly-concealed sur- 
 prise. Here was this orthodox Englishman, stiff- 
 backed and aloof, shaking hands cheerfully with the 
 cook. 
 
 "This is Mr. Van Someren, Mary." 
 
 The American followed the other's lead, with a 
 shade of hesitation, that did not escape the woman. 
 
 She dropped him a country curtsey with a prim 
 "Good-day, sir," and turned away at once to execute 
 Majendie's wishes regarding the dog.
 
 160 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Van Someren's rejected hand went nervously into 
 his pocket. He felt oddly rebuffed in this land where 
 he found himself continually at fault. He could not 
 understand that what was natural with Majendie 
 might appear in the mind of the country-woman as 
 "a liberty" with him. His democracy blinded him to 
 the finer lines of a country in which for countless 
 generations service has held high honour: the pride 
 of the lowly-born in knowing and keeping 'their place' 
 side by side with their superiors by birth. 
 
 "Lorry, Lorry . . . ! Is that you ?" A voice cried 
 above him, and his sister's face appeared as she leaned 
 through the window. 
 
 "I want you to come right here and see this perfect 
 view. Mrs. Panhasard says you may, and it's up the 
 stairs and the first door to the left." 
 
 "Off you go," said Majendie good-naturedly, "I'll 
 look after Esau," and Van Someren, somewhat glad 
 to escape, obeyed the girl's directions. 
 
 "That's the gentleman as shot the thief, isn't it, 
 Sir? But I expect the Missus 'as told you everythink. 
 Him and his sister live up t'riverside. From furrin 
 parts they be, America, I'm told." 
 
 Mary sniffed, consciously superior. 
 
 "Well," Majendie smiled, "he proved pretty useful 
 the other night, wherever he hails from." 
 
 He took the plate of scraps from the cook, and put 
 it before the dog, still inwardly amused as he remem- 
 bered his parting injunction to April to "get to know 
 her neighbours." 
 
 "Yessir, and a bad business it were for Jim Saun-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 161 
 
 ders not that 'e didn't desarve it, but 'e'll go short 
 
 fer life. 'Scuse me a minute, sir " she bustled off 
 
 and, opening the oven door, peered anxiously within. 
 
 " Tis a h'apple-pastry, sir, and they do catch that 
 quick ! But as I was a-saying, sir, to me cousin Tom 
 to-day 'im as has took 'is place in the stables now 
 it were bound to 'appen, sir. We 'ad the warning, 
 we did, three times over. A corpse in the candle, sir, 
 the night afore, and one magpie as I went to pick 
 some parsley in the garden ..." her voice grew 
 gradually more dramatic to Majendie's inward joy 
 "an* when I looked in me tea-cup, sir, that evening 
 after tea, there it were, as plain as a pike-staff: a 
 Stranger to the 'ouse and trouble and tears ..." 
 
 "Well it's a good thing it's over," said her lis- 
 tener cheerfully. 
 
 But she looked up into his face with eyes that 
 seemed far away and he noticed for the first time the 
 curious intent stare of those that have that mysterious 
 sense that is known as second-sight. 
 
 "Eh, but is it, sir?" was all she said. 
 
 And despite his healthy young scepticism Majendie 
 felt a curious shrinking at the words : the infection of 
 superstition old as the world itself.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 "I WISH/' said Majendie sadly, "you'd move a little 
 to the left. Your hair is taking all the colour out of 
 that copper beech." 
 
 But April refused to stir from her comfortable 
 position, propped against the trunk of the fine old 
 tree. Her hat lay beside her, and a warm ray of 
 sunlight piercing the narrow glade played with red 
 gleams about her head and started off to the pale 
 bracken beyond the woodland path, that was strewn 
 with last year's beech nuts and the feathery brown 
 dust of multitudinous leaves. 
 
 At a little distance the slight figure of a girl bend- 
 ing over an easel, utterly absorbed in her sketch of 
 the far-off mill, broke the monotony of green and 
 beside Majendie on a gipsy fire of dried twigs a kettle 
 was singing fitfully, screened from the wind by an 
 open red sunshade and a small picnic hamper. 
 
 Boris lay stretched out on the soft ground, one 
 hand comfortably supporting his head. He had long 
 since resolutely refused to 'watch the pot.' 
 
 "The only chance of its boiling is to pretend it's not 
 there. And I want to talk about myself it's so 
 rarely I get the chance." 
 
 "I'm too sleepy to listen," April protested lazily, 
 "but if it's any relief to you, talk on, my dear child." 
 162
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 163 
 
 "Well," said Majendie, nothing abashed, "I'm very 
 much interested at present in myself. I'm thinking 
 of a new departure in life. Merely matrimony." 
 
 "What?" April sat up, wide awake now. 
 
 The man laughed softly at her incredulous expres- 
 sion. 
 
 "I was afraid it might be a shock. I ought perhaps 
 to have broken it more gently like the tactful fisher- 
 man : 'We've brought the corpse 'ome, missus yer 
 'usband as was' You can't beat that for simple sug- 
 gestiveness! Well, to proceed. The facts are these: 
 My own profession, gentlemanly and over-crowded, 
 barely pays for my cigarettes. Journalism about cov- 
 ers my washing. The charity of that somewhat care- 
 less couple who brought me into the world allows me 
 a meat meal most days. And the rest is covered by 
 what are pleasantly known as 'standing accounts/ 
 Now, that's all serene so long as they remain so; but 
 lately they've begun to run in hot pursuit, you under- 
 stand. You can see them almost any day tearing all 
 over the Temple and down Fleet Street after me. The 
 worry of it is ruining my complexion." 
 
 He passed a hand lovingly over his smooth face. 
 
 "Now what is a man to do?" He raised his left 
 eyebrow whimsically. "I can't cheat at chemin-de- 
 fer or run a bogus company, or accept commission for 
 the sale of a friend's bad wine. I'm incapable of any- 
 thing gentlemanly and inoffensive to keep afloat on 
 the so-called social tide. I haven't even the knack of 
 being pleasant to people I thoroughly despise on the 
 chance of crumbs or fizz that fall from the rich
 
 164 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 man's table. But I can make love . . . beautifully." 
 
 He paused to enjoy April's amused disgust. 
 
 "Now there's a certain lady, possessor of what was 
 known in the good old days as a 'ripe charm.' A 
 little over-ripe perhaps, but we can't afford to cavil. 
 And of late she has shown a singular predilection for 
 my society. She's not young, but not quite old, and 
 her purse simply bulges. It's as much as I can do to 
 carry it from her brougham to the Ritz! So, why 
 shouldn't I do it? why . . . why . . . why?" 
 
 He sang the phrase lustily in a deep musical voice 
 and a startled bunny leisurely crossing the path threw 
 up its heels and bolted into the bracken. 
 
 April's eyes followed it for a moment and then came 
 back to Majendie. 
 
 "If I thought you were really serious I could give 
 you a thousand reasons." 
 
 He rolled over on his chest, his elbows dug into 
 the mossy ground, his chin propped on his hands, star- 
 ing up at her. 
 
 "I am serious," he said in a different voice. "Al- 
 beit I strive to cloak my emotion under a ribald 
 manner." 
 
 April frowned. 
 
 "Then you might as well come and ask me to ap- 
 prove of your committing suicide." 
 
 "Phew . . .!" Boris whistled. "That's rather 
 strong, isn't it?" 
 
 A silence fell between them, broken by the stirring 
 of the leaves and the occasional note of a bird hidden 
 in the branches.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 165 
 
 "Well?" Majendie watched her, "I'm waiting for 
 your reasons." 
 
 "Supposing," April hesitated "supposing you mar- 
 ried this lady for the sake of her money which in 
 itself is a horrible idea . . ." 
 
 "One minute," he interrupted her, "I don't agree 
 with you there. It's a bargain, pure and simple, a 
 commercial undertaking. She provides me with a 
 luxurious home and I give her in return," he smiled 
 mischievously, "my youth, beauty and brains and the 
 chance of sharing my coming fame." 
 
 "I thought you said you were serious?" But she 
 could not restrain a laugh. 
 
 "So I am. Do go on." His voice was penitent. 
 
 "Well we will set aside the mutual advantages. 
 But you can't obliterate the main drawback the total 
 lack of love. Supposing, after marriage, you met 
 someone you really learned to care for?" 
 
 "You seem to take it for granted that I'm utterly 
 heart-whole now." 
 
 He looked at her a shade wistfully, drinking in the 
 picture she made against the dark background of the 
 tree. 
 
 "Oh, I think you've had your flirtations, plenty of 
 them, too! Why, 7 know of a dozen during the last 
 few years. Your heart is like an hotel !" She laughed 
 back at him. 
 
 "But it may have its Royal Suite-^-its Holy of 
 Holies reserved to the end of time for the presence 
 of its Queen." 
 
 His voice sank and into his face came a look of
 
 1 66 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 tenderness, betraying a deeper mood, a hint of pain 
 that awoke in her a faint answering fear. 
 
 It was not possible . . .? she said to herself, and 
 thrust the thought aside, but not before the quick 
 wonder of it was mirrored in her eyes. 
 
 "And since," he went on slowly "one cannot live 
 in a dream: since a man's ideal may be far and away 
 above him, the next best thing is to make the best of 
 what is within his grasp." He gave a short laugh that 
 seemed directed against himself. "Secure 'ripe charm' 
 and bulging purse against the inevitable day the day 
 of reckoning. 
 
 'For love and debt 
 And disappointment have me in a net.' " 
 
 He quoted the words lightly. 
 
 "And that reminds me . . ." He hunted in his 
 pocket and produced a little book, turning the pages 
 over quickly in search of a favourite passage. "I 
 know you're fond of verse just listen to this : 
 
 'And heaven's dimmest rafter 
 Shall tumble to our laughter, 
 
 While we leave our tears to your hopeless years 
 Though there be nothing after; 
 And while your day encloses 
 Its lorn and tattered roses, 
 We shall pluck the stars from your prison bars 
 And bind celestial posies. 
 
 An hour to heap our treasure, 
 And tread our careless measure,
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 167 
 
 An hour of dreams where the rainbow gleams, 
 
 And the moonlight takes its pleasure. 
 
 An hour to find what bliss is 
 
 In freer worlds than this is; 
 
 An hour to lie 'twixt earth and sky, 
 
 And conquer time with kisses.' " 
 
 He read well, his face alight with the beauty of the 
 words. 
 
 And again as April watched him she saw clearly 
 the dual nature of the man : the sensitive soul of the 
 idealist at war with the material side his strong 
 sensuality and love of ease. 
 
 All her woman's heart went out to help him in the 
 battle, pity awakening a love that was curiously im- 
 personal ; in which she held no active part, but seemed 
 to stand aside sheltering this fellow-soul from the 
 selfsame disillusion that she had, bitterly, survived. 
 
 "Well?" he looked up, his eyes straining for her 
 approval "it's Richard Middleton, you know, the 
 man I told you about the last time I was here. I've 
 always meant to give you this if you care to have 
 it." 
 
 He tossed the book into her lap and drew a shade 
 closer. 
 
 "It's beautiful." She nodded her head gravely, 
 "and quite dear of you to give it me." 
 
 She held out a hand in gratitude. 
 
 He took it in his own and bending his head pressed 
 his hot lips against it. 
 
 "I would like to give you . . . the whole world !" 
 he said huskily, " 'to pluck the stars from your prison
 
 1 68 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 bars' . . ." His voice trailed away into a silence 
 that seemed strangely articulate. Still holding her 
 hand, he moved the cool fingers up to his brow. She 
 could feel the pulses beating in it, the soft un wrinkled 
 skin of youth, the thick young hair that crowned it. 
 
 It seemed to her, still in that curious impersonal 
 mood, that he lay at her feet like a woodland sacri- 
 fice, offered up by Pan in mockery the beautiful 
 young strength of him, the ardent soul to the one 
 woman living who dared not dream of love. 
 
 That it was more than a dream, that the man was 
 wholly serious, she could not realise. Yet the sweet- 
 ness of it like a south wind blowing across the desert 
 of her life held her for a spell unconsciously. 
 
 Then, with a quick-drawn breath, she took her hand 
 away. Cruelly-kind she brought him back to the hard 
 material world. 
 
 "And what about tea?" she said in a steady voice. 
 
 He raised his head sharply as though she had dealt 
 him a blow and, meeting her kind, grave eyes, flushed 
 to the roots of his hair. 
 
 "Ah well !" He stretched his arms above him with 
 a well-acted yawn. "I believe I was half-asleep. 
 What's that confounded kettle up to?" 
 
 He turned on it ruthlessly, hiding his resentment. 
 
 "The unexpected, as usual, has occurred it's ac- 
 tually boiling," he announced. "And now for the 
 Vicar's daughter ! Do you think the grossly material 
 claim of food is likely to appeal?" 
 
 "Monica . . . Tea !" April called. 
 
 The girl turned her head with a start.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 169 
 
 "Oh, please one minute," she cried back and bent 
 to her task again. 
 
 "There! I told you so," said Boris reproachfully. 
 "She has a soul above mere bread-and-butter." 
 
 "Unlike myself," said April with a smile. 
 
 "The Queen can do no wrong." The boy's voice 
 mocked. "Though I sometimes wish that Her Maj- 
 esty were a shade less 'praktisch.' Do you like bread- 
 and-butter thin or thick?" 
 
 He seized the loaf and a knife and, as she rose to 
 her feet offering to assist, waved her imperiously 
 away. 
 
 "No, no. Leave it to your slave. Besides I must 
 get seasoned to domesticity." 
 
 He gave her a quick, malicious glance, as the third 
 member of the little party joined them, forbidding 
 further discussion on the subject. 
 
 "Well, is the picture finished?" April asked. 
 
 "I think so," the girl answered shyly. "I'm so 
 afraid of spoiling it if I touch it up any more." 
 
 Majendie looked up with a flash of sympathy. 
 "Best leave it alone," he agreed, "it doesn't do to 
 overdo even a good thing." 
 
 "Charm should be never over ripe," April suggested 
 sotto voce. 
 
 "By the way" an oblique train of thought carried 
 her back to the American girl's pseudonym for her- 
 self "do you know the Van Somerens, Monica ?" 
 
 "No, but I think Mamma is going there this after- 
 noon, on her way back from a call with Matilda at 
 the Gervases'."
 
 1 70 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Not Sir Hugo Gervase?" April asked quickly. 
 She caught Majendie's warning frown and bit her lip. 
 
 "Yes do you know them? They've taken Sleyd 
 Hall for the shooting this season." 
 
 "I've met them," April confessed, "a long time ago 
 quite casually they wouldn't remember me." 
 
 She bent over the tea-things, her face, with its tell- 
 tale note of panic, hidden from her guest. "Is it far 
 from here, Sleyd Hall ?" At any cost she must know. 
 
 "About nine miles, I think. It's on the Swatham 
 Road; a beautiful old place, but, like so many others, 
 the owners can't afford to keep it up. They let it 
 every year and live in the Dower House. There's 
 good shooting, you see, and it's close to two packs. 
 Still it seems very hard they can't live in it them- 
 selves." 
 
 "Very," April agreed. She dared not look at Boris, 
 who was watching her nervously. 
 
 That her Godfather of all men! should elect to 
 settle in the district was a formidable flaw in her 
 scheme of independence. 
 
 What would happen if she met him? She shivered 
 at the thought, aware, not for the first time, of the 
 tangled web about her. 
 
 It had seemed so easy to hide away, secure under 
 an alias, in this buried country-place with the full in- 
 tention of living a hermit-life. 
 
 But circumstances beyond her control had forced 
 friends upon her and she was beginning to learn the 
 fact that there is no form of curiosity so determined 
 and suspicious as that bred in a village far removed
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 171 
 
 from town. More than once she had found it difficult 
 to evade all allusion to the past in her conversations 
 with Mrs. Newcomen, who, too well-bred to press the 
 point, wondered a little at times at her neighbour's 
 reticence. 
 
 Mrs. Moneypenny could be soothed with a cheque 
 in the interest of the parish poor or the building of 
 the Porch. 
 
 The Van Somerens took her on trust she held no 
 fear of them. But Sir Hugo Gervase . . . ? Here 
 was a death-blow to all her tranquil hopes. 
 
 Now as she sat there sipping her tea, watching the 
 little artist slowly lose her shyness under Majendie's 
 chatter, she felt as though her holiday were drawing 
 to a close : that she trembled upon the brink of an un- 
 pleasant revelation that might carry her even to the 
 verge of disrepute. 
 
 She held no fond illusion on the charity of the 
 world. Her motives for the hermit-life would be 
 surely disbelieved. 
 
 For she stood in that curious position that as yet 
 has no social grade open to every suspicion from 
 bad and good alike. 
 
 It is a striking fact that in an enlightened age and 
 legally in the right a woman rarely passes through the 
 narrow gate of divorce without a trace of dishonour 
 clinging to her name. Although she may be admitted 
 as pure as Caesar's wife, the fact of her husband's sin 
 involves her subtly in the eyes of her sex. 
 
 April Panhasard had lived a life of secret martyr- 
 dom, had endured ignominy of body and of soul; but
 
 172 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 when at length at the end of her strength she had 
 sought a legal remedy it was to find herself exposed 
 to the censure of the majority. 
 
 It seemed to bring to her standard the riff-raff of 
 society, a curious declasse set she had never deigned 
 to know; whereas old friends shrank back and new 
 ones smiled or sneered, and she felt herself a failure, 
 social and domestic. 
 
 Brave as she was the bitterness of it slowly sapped 
 her courage. She had reigned so long by right of 
 birth and her husband's high position that this inward 
 knowledge of being thrust without the camp, through 
 no personal fault, after years of bearing a burden 
 intolerable and prolonged, seemed a crowning injustice 
 in a country labelled "free." 
 
 For until Divorce is recognised for the Sexes on 
 equal terms, in the sight of both Law and Society, as 
 a clean and fitting end to matrimonial wrongs it will 
 always be the weaker sex who suffer the injustice 
 the woman who goes under in her struggle with the 
 man. 
 
 At present in this country Divorce is little more 
 than a public punishment for the sinner in the case: 
 an advertisement of adultery base and undignified, 
 providing a spectacle as barbarous and degrading as 
 ever filled a Roman Amphitheatre in gladiatorial days. 
 
 Many a man and woman taking this into account 
 continue to drag on an existence that is in essence 
 un-moral and holds no possible outlook, sooner than 
 face the degradation of the Law as it stands. 
 
 For Separation that specious compromise between
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 173 
 
 liberty and public opinion entails not only a sacri- 
 fice, financial and otherwise, but robs its victims of 
 personal freedom and hope of future happiness. 
 
 And now as April's thoughts turned to Sir Hugo 
 Gervase she wondered how she would stand in her 
 Godfather's worldly eyes? If the kind old face would 
 grow stern with further misunderstandings, if again 
 she would be treated as the woman who had failed? 
 At times like these she was seized with mistrust of 
 her own reasoning. Would it have been possible still 
 to fight on ? Could she have endured it up to the gates 
 of death mentally and physically equal to the strain? 
 
 She had laid her hand to the plough, and herself 
 turned back . . . 
 
 "Mrs. Panhasard." She started as from a dream. 
 "You look so tired don't you think we ought to be 
 getting home?" 
 
 Monica's gentle voice, the timid affection of the 
 childish face seemed like a breath of warm love across 
 her misery. 
 
 "I'm afraid . . . I'm very stupid to-day," she 
 roused herself resolutely, conscious of her guests. "I 
 think the heat makes me drowsy." She offered her 
 little apology, smiling back into the dark eyes. "But 
 there's no need to hurry it can't be getting late." 
 She noticed suddenly that the two had packed the tea- 
 hamper and guessed that Majendie had divined her 
 desire to be left undisturbed. 
 
 "How nice and tidy! That's very good of you 
 and now may I come and see your sketch ?" 
 
 "If you care to," the girl colored with pleasure.
 
 174 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "It's very slight, you know, and . . . and amateurish." 
 
 "Me, too," said Majendie promptly. He slipped a 
 hand through April's arm, helping her to her feet, 
 his back turned to Monica, who could not see his face. 
 
 Looking up in it with sad eyes in which he read 
 her thoughts, April caught such a look of pity, of 
 pain and understanding that her own filled with sud- 
 den tears that were born of gratitude. 
 
 "You dear boy" she said under her breath and 
 then inconsequently, "what a foolish woman I am!" 
 
 The girl had slipped away to place the cherished 
 picture in the most-approved light and the two were 
 left alone, facing each other, surrounded by the trees. 
 
 "Foolish? God knows you aren't that." 
 
 His voice was grave, his face so full of steady loy- 
 alty, the admiration he felt and the sorrow he divined, 
 that a little sob escaped her, wrung from her full 
 heart. 
 
 Impulsively, hardly thinking what she did, she took 
 his head in her hands and drawing it down kissed him 
 gently on the cheek. 
 
 Not for a moment did Majendie misjudge it, though 
 the swift physical shock sent his heart galloping. 
 With a supreme effort he held himself in check. 
 
 "Thank you," he said unsteadily, "I'll never forget 
 that."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CAPTAIN NEWCOMEN did not approve of his wife's 
 new friend. 
 
 To Candida herself the slight cloud of mystery that 
 shadowed April Panhasard detracted no whit from 
 the charm of her society. To her somewhat uncon- 
 ventional spirit the fact that the widow as she was 
 considered to be by all at Coddell-in-the-Dale offered 
 none of the threadbare methods of introduction, but 
 pursued an even course heedless of people's hints, 
 placed her instantly in a broader world than that peo- 
 pled by Mrs. Moneypenny and her kind. 
 
 April's perfect self-possession and the subtle at- 
 mosphere about her that sense of gentle birth that 
 is as undefinable as it is unmistakable allowed no 
 loophole for doubt as to her origin. Her reticence 
 was so clearly akin to pride that Candida's imagina- 
 tion fostered the idea of a secret sorrow rather than 
 any need for concealment in the lady's evident desire 
 for seclusion. 
 
 But John Newcomen's charity was narrower in its 
 limits. He mistrusted what he could not understand. 
 Orthodoxy social and religious was the basis on which 
 he built his views. He looked askance at the friend- 
 ship that grew beneath his eyes and yet could find no 
 adequate reason to forbid it. He did not realise that 
 175
 
 i;6 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 to his wife this association with a cultured woman of 
 the world was like a breath of sea-air in the hedged- 
 in valley of narrow country ways. 
 
 Intellectual and imaginative, Candida found little 
 in common with the sport-loving, easy-going bucolic 
 temperament. She had grown accustomed to a self- 
 absorbed existence; loving her child passionately, her 
 garden and her motor. But beyond these material 
 distractions she craved for the interchange of ideas 
 with a class to whom literature and art were more 
 than casual subjects to be glanced at in the papers. 
 Unconsciously she missed that environment of thought 
 which, alien as she had been to her former husband's 
 temperament, had nevertheless educated her in her 
 life with Geoffrey Clifton. 
 
 For the wall of estrangement slowly upreared be- 
 tween the sailor and herself had proved a subtle bar- 
 rier to mental intercourse. The old days of happy 
 argument were over. To disagree in a life a deux 
 leads to ultimate reunion; and that pleasant form it 
 takes, known colloquially as "making it up," held 
 dangers they each in secret feared. 
 
 For a long time, it is true, Newcomen had striven 
 to convince his wife, on his own religious grounds, 
 that what she lacked in life was a definite belief. 
 
 But his very severity had undermined good inten- 
 tion, rousing in Candida a spirit of opposition based 
 on her painful theory that her husband regarded her 
 as a woman fundamentally "weak." 
 
 She attributed their inward want of accord to a 
 lack of respect that in reality did not exist. Had he
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 177 
 
 but stooped to pet her, to be more than uniformly 
 "kind," her sunny nature would have responded with 
 an ardour of gratitude. 
 
 Her steadily growing conviction that Newcomen 
 had married her from chivalry and pity, without a 
 deeper passion, roused her sensitive pride and hid 
 from her the truth : that she herself had fallen in love 
 with the man. 
 
 So that when the news reached her of his appoint- 
 ment in home waters and she realised that this would 
 mean periodical visits, she was torn asunder between 
 the two poles of feeling the unconscious longing for 
 his proximity and the knowledge of the strain it would 
 entail. 
 
 No more would a spell of solitude leave her to her 
 dreams. Meetings and partings, explanations and 
 evasions would multiply and bring with them their 
 secret hopes and fears. 
 
 The Bosun hailed the announcement with unmiti- 
 gated joy. Despite his step-father's severity the boy 
 worshipped him, seeing with the clear eyes of child- 
 hood the efforts of a man towards a simple justice 
 unbiassed by the affections. 
 
 In his little heart he resented the knowledge of the 
 slight tie between them. His own parent as he 
 firmly believed Geoffrey Clifton to have been had 
 died before his birth and, although his mother had 
 married again almost immediately, the "Skipper" was 
 not his property, his own "real father," and herein 
 lay a grievance which he nursed secretly. 
 
 It is doubtful whether Newcomen ever realised the
 
 178 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 place he held in the heart of Derrick Kilmarny's son : 
 the pitiful desire of the child to earn his step-father's 
 approval. 
 
 Candida, with her mother's instinct, guessed the 
 tragedy, seeing in Newcomen's cool attitude another 
 of those circles that widened out from the first stone 
 thrown: the sin that still lived on with its endless 
 chain of consequences. 
 
 "Was it never to end?" she asked herself in de- 
 spair, the same sad question that April Panhasard 
 voiced. 
 
 Unconsciously between the two women, sympathy 
 sprang up, bred from a common bond of failure, a 
 grudge each bore to life. 
 
 Constantly the motor would wind round the lanes 
 that led to the old house buried in the woods. Can- 
 dida drove herself, the Bosun tucked beside her, eager 
 to jump out when it stopped in front of the stone 
 porch and call in his shrill boy's voice for his dear- 
 est "Mrs. Pan." 
 
 Rarely could she resist the appeal of the kindly pair, 
 but on one point only was she firm. Whenever the 
 Swatham road was mooted as destination, no coaxing 
 speech of the child, nor pleasant pressure upon his 
 Mother's part could lure her forth from duties in- 
 doors. 
 
 For she dreaded the chance of meeting with her 
 God- father at Sleyd. 
 
 To-day, as the car stood waiting, the Bosun's face 
 wore a dejected look. The Skipper was at Ports- 
 mouth, returned to active work, and the two women
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 179 
 
 had planned a day's shopping in town. He would be 
 left alone with Susan, the old nurse, who still lived 
 on with the mistress she had served so long. 
 
 As April came down the steps, Candida was struck 
 afresh with her grace and dignity. She looked tall 
 to-day in her dark coat and skirt, a touch of mystery 
 added by the wide-brimmed hat with its black lace 
 veil that completely shrouded her face. 
 
 "You are covered up!" Mrs. Newcomen laughed, 
 conscious of her own light frock and sunburnt skin; 
 the golden hair rioting under a round toque that 
 matched her blue eyes. "You really look like London 
 whereas I" she shrugged her shoulders gaily 
 "am the true country mouse!" 
 
 "You forget I am to chaperone you," April replied 
 as she stepped up into the motor. Through the thick 
 veil she could feel the other's eyes upon her and went 
 on evasively: 
 
 "I always get untidy, travelling and, with the 
 heavy responsibility that I've already mentioned, I 
 'considered it my duty' to be garbed in 'decent black.' " 
 
 They both laughed at her parody of Mrs. Money- 
 penny's manner. 
 
 " 'My duty to the parish,' " Candida corrected. 
 "Poor dear lady ! what a perfect type she is of middle- 
 class virtue strongly streaked with spite!" 
 
 She turned the corner neatly and whirled towards 
 the station, pausing at her house to pick up the chauf- 
 feur with a strict injunction to the latter to be sure 
 and drive back. For a story had reached Newcomen's 
 ear that, during their absence one day, the Bosun had
 
 i8o APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 been seen gaily steering the car at full speed through 
 the somewhat perturbed village. 
 
 They reached London in time for lunch and went 
 to Candida's club, a quiet, country affair close to Vic- 
 toria Station, deserted in August and looking some- 
 what forlorn; from thence to the Stores and up to 
 the west end shops to turn finally their tired footsteps 
 in search of tea. 
 
 The empty streets had a strange unfamiliar look, 
 with here and there a chattering group of Americans, 
 the guttural "Ja wohl!" of a German or the neat fig- 
 ure of a French-woman. The shops themselves were 
 changed, teeming with "Bargains" marked in dollars 
 and notices hung up "Ici on parle frangais," etc., to 
 lure the foreign visitors. London was in the throes 
 of the dying Summer Sales an unpleasant place, 
 dust-driven and shabby. 
 
 "Here's a tea-shop! won't this do?" 
 
 Candida paused before a narrow entrance, where 
 the carefully curtained windows allowed a narrow 
 vista full of Japanese suggestion. 
 
 "Excellently, I should think," April led the way 
 
 "although I've never been here before Why! 
 
 it's quite pretty, isn't it?" 
 
 For they emerged from the passage into a pleas- 
 antly-furnished room, cool and scented with the faint 
 fragrance of tea, bright with little tables and clean 
 white cloths and Oriental porcelain of fine and trans- 
 parent make. 
 
 "Now what will you have?" April was playing 
 hostess. "Tea or coffee there's iced coffee perhaps ?"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD ; 181 
 
 They settled themselves down in a comfortable 
 corner, glad to escape the dust and heat outside. 
 
 The place seemed devoid of life as if the owner 
 hardly hoped for customers in August; but as Mrs. 
 Panhasard turned to the glass behind her to raise 
 her veil, she saw the reflection of a further room be- 
 yond, screened by heavy curtains, half hidden in 
 obscurity. 
 
 For a moment, thoughtlessly, she watched the two 
 people who formed its only occupants. 
 
 Then, slightly amused, turned to her companion. 
 
 "A pretty waitress absorbed in a flirtation." So 
 she explained her smile to Candida. "I hardly like to 
 disturb her, but still we want our tea." 
 
 Candida laughed and followed her friend's gaze 
 through the draped doorway. 
 
 A tall man stood there, his back turned towards 
 them, one hand on the arm of a girl in a lavender 
 print dress, with a frilled muslin apron tied with a 
 cherry riband. 
 
 She was looking up at him with mischief in her 
 eyes, full red lips parted, showing her even teeth. The 
 man behind the curtain was talking in a low persua- 
 sive voice; the steady murmur reached them without 
 a sense of words. A lock of the girl's fair hair that 
 was elaborately arranged, brushed high above her 
 forehead and brought down in little curls over her 
 ears, had slipped from its position and lay across her 
 cheek. ,.*. , 
 
 Neatly, with steady fingers, the man smoothed it 
 back, fastening it in place as he still talked on. It
 
 182 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 was the natural action of the lover or the husband, 
 received with the same nonchalance a touch of fa- 
 miliarity that needed no apology. 
 
 But just at that moment a woman bustled into the 
 room. 
 
 "Chloe . . . Chloe!" she called "where are you?" 
 and the fair girl came forward into the shop, sud- 
 denly conscious of the presence of customers. 
 
 "Tea or coffee, please?" She fingered the tablet 
 that hung from the riband at her waist, as the pair at 
 the table eyed her curiously. 
 
 She had a face, pretty and round, that was at once 
 child-like and insolent a contradiction often to be 
 seen in large cities. She gazed boldly at them with 
 bright aggressive eyes, swaying a little on her feet, 
 with a conscious pose of the head, a sure knowledge 
 of herself, oddly at variance with her smooth skin and 
 soft childish mouth. 
 
 She was at once Innocence and Guile; Eve after 
 the apple, still a little frightened, assuming airs that 
 doubtless tickled the serpent! of mature experience. 
 
 "Tea for both of us and sandwiches and ... do 
 you like cake?" April asked her guest. 
 
 The girl, awaiting Mrs. Newcomen's reply, gave a 
 quick backward glance into the room beyond, and, 
 as Candida hesitated, the other actor in the little 
 comedy appeared. 
 
 He walked down the further side of the shop, look- 
 ing neither to right nor left, nodded to the book- 
 keeper, now seated at her desk beside the door and, 
 apparently ignoring the girl in lavender, settled his
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 183 
 
 hat more firmly on his head and passed out into the 
 street. 
 
 Despite herself April gave a little start of surprise. 
 There was no possible mistake. The man was Boris 
 Majendie ! 
 
 After the first moment of amazement and distaste, 
 the instinctive shrinking that a woman like April Pan- 
 hasard must inevitably feel at the suggestion of an 
 intrigue with a class below her own, she experienced 
 a sense of thankfulness at remaining unrecognized. 
 
 She stole a glance at Candida, but evidently no 
 inkling of the truth had pierced her friend's serenity, 
 as she leaned back in her chair, glad to rest from the 
 labours of the day. The waitress had disappeared, an 
 empty tray in hand; the book-keeper was busy with 
 a ledger before her. 
 
 April drew a deep sigh of relief. Outwardly the 
 position was unchanged. 
 
 She tried to face the facts with an unprejudiced 
 eye. But under all her broad-mindedness and the 
 simple word "flirtation" she could not rid herself of a 
 harder prejudice a fear, sinister and remote, that 
 the little scene she had witnessed was no mere passing 
 folly of youth and environment. 
 
 It was the key-note to what she had always feared, 
 the instability of the man's moral character; that ma- 
 terial weakness that lay under so much that was ideal- 
 istic and strong. 
 
 She looked at the girl again as she came back with 
 the tea. She was certainly not of a class that needs 
 no label. Undeniably pretty, without meretricious
 
 184 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 aid, with the charm of youth and freshness and a cer- 
 tain simplicity, she nevertheless could not aspire to 
 gentle birth, for all her assumed air of lofty self- 
 possession. 
 
 From the people she came: with her manicured 
 nails, her carefully-chosen speech, her boldly-carried 
 head. "Lady-like" she was, but never like a lady. 
 
 That Boris Majendie should stoop to trifle with her, 
 that she should without hesitation accept it as her 
 right, added an air of custom to the simple little scene 
 that was not without significance to a woman of the 
 world. 
 
 And quite suddenly April remembered the picnic 
 in the woods and Majendie's attitude of devotion to 
 herself. She had the curious sensation of having 
 been betrayed, conscious notwithstanding of the ex- 
 aggeration it implied. 
 
 Running along this line of thought she saw how 
 solitude could warp the sense of perspective within a 
 woman's mind attach false values to the ways and 
 words of men. And hurting herself deliberately she 
 drove the moral home. To think that a boy like Ma- 
 jendie could really care for her! 
 
 Meanwhile Candida drank her tea, contented to be 
 silent, happily unconscious of the mental condition of 
 her companion. 
 
 The incident by her had long since been forgotten. 
 She had not noticed Majendie pass behind her chair 
 and even had she done so it is doubtful whether she 
 would have recognized a man with whom she had 
 exchanged but a few brief words.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 185 
 
 Only once did her thoughts recur to the waitress 
 in the tea-shop, as they drove towards the station 
 surrounded by their parcels. 
 
 " 'Chloe' what a curious name for a girl of her 
 class." 
 
 April looked at her thoughtfully for a moment be- 
 fore replying. 
 
 "To what class would you say she belonged?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh the small shop-keeper one perhaps not even 
 that some little farmer's daughter come up to town 
 with a greed for London life apparently enjoying 
 the process heartily!" 
 
 She laughed and then with a sudden touch of grav- 
 ity : "Isn't it odd how men care to flirt with those 
 beneath them? So different to us. The mere idea 
 of laughing, say, with a chauffeur or a footman gives 
 one a shivery feeling all down one's spine. Men are 
 contradictory creatures. I don't suppose we ever 
 really grow to understand them." And she gave a 
 sudden sigh, thinking of Newcomen. 
 
 They caught their train easily, found the car wait- 
 ing for them at the Junction and parted in the dusk 
 at Mrs. Newcomen's door, where the Bosun in de- 
 fiance of rules and regulations was perched on the 
 gate waiting for a peep at his "Darling" before he 
 went to bed. 
 
 To April was left the lonely return to the dark and 
 empty house. 
 
 It seemed to her indeed more desolate than ever 
 with this shadow of mistrust that hung about her
 
 i86 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 friend. In vain she tried to escape the depression of 
 her mood as she went down the wide staircase to her 
 solitary dinner. 
 
 And there upon the table she found a single letter, 
 written in the well-known, hurried hand. 
 
 Half -eagerly, half-distaste fully she opened it and 
 read it. 
 
 "Very dear liege lady" so the words ran "I am 
 longing to see you again absurdly hopeful that you 
 will, on the instant, sit down to that Chippendale 
 bureau and taking up a scratchy but thrice-blessed 
 pen! indite the magic word that means so much 
 to me. 
 
 "It won't need time, it won't entail thought. Just 
 'Come' on a sheet of lilac paper. 
 
 "And behold ! by the next train or whatever train 
 you wish (an Express for choice but indeed, no 
 matter!) a traveller will emerge at Coddell-in-the- 
 Dale to wit 
 
 "Your lonely . . . 'Cousin' 
 
 BORIS."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 NEXT morning she woke early. The sun was pouring 
 in at the edges of the blind and a busy party of jack- 
 daws in the high trees outside filled the air with their 
 incessant chatter. 
 
 She went to the window and threw it wide open 
 and at the slight noise the birds rose in a cloud of 
 fluttering wings and moved off to settle again on the 
 moss-grown roof of the stables where they renewed 
 their important conference. 
 
 The young day smiled back in April's face as she 
 stood for a moment looking out over the dewy lawn, 
 the sky clear and radiant, the scene so bathed in sum- 
 mer glory that her spirit leaped in response and, hur- 
 rying over her dressing, she crept out noiselessly by 
 the landing door and down into the garden. 
 
 The only note of life besides a fat brown thrush, 
 scientifically engaged in the murder of a snail, was 
 added by a bark of recognition from Esau, warming 
 his shaggy coat in the sunshine outside his kennel. 
 
 She loosed the sheep-dog, who bounded about her 
 in clumsy ecstasy, and together they turned down the 
 drive and out into the open road beyond. The clear 
 air blew in her face, the sun shone down upon her 
 and she felt that peculiar exhilaration that comes 
 from being abroad before the world's astir.
 
 188 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 The depression of overnight had completely passed 
 away, leaving in its place a slight feeling of shame as 
 she recalled to mind her pessimistic mood. She could 
 think now of Majendie's flirtation with a smile and 
 find a touch of humour in the boy's last letter even 
 a trace of pity as she thought of dead, dispirited Lon- 
 don where he lingered on, and compared the fresh 
 beauty of the country scene about her. 
 
 Quite suddenly she wished that he were there trudg- 
 ing along the narrow lane between hedges wet with 
 dew, where the traveller's joy, with its feathery tufts, 
 sparkled like a veil diamond-strewn, and the scent of 
 the moist earth rose like incense on the air. 
 
 A hare crossed the road in short hurried bounds 
 towards a field of corn that was slowly ripening, and 
 Esau, with a bark of joy, started in pursuit. 
 
 "Come back come to heel ! Good dog . . . !" she 
 cried, cracking the whip she carried to enforce the 
 command; and a voice answered her own, greeting 
 her from round a bend of the road. 
 
 "Good morning, Mrs. Panhasard! You are out 
 early but isn't it just a crackerjack of a day?" 
 
 Van Someren's tall figure was bearing down upon 
 her, broad shoulders squarely set, the thoughtful face 
 lit up with a smile of pleased surprise. 
 
 "Well this is good. You going for a walk ? And 
 Esau too . . ."as the dog crept back through a gap 
 in the torn hedge. "May I be permitted to join you?" 
 He shook her outstretched hand. 
 
 "I was just wishing for a companion," said April 
 happily, "someone to witness my extraordinary vir-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 189 
 
 tue! Why is it, I wonder, one feels so righteous at 
 rising early in the morning? as if one had achieved 
 a feat unheard-of before!" 
 
 "I suppose it's the sensation of getting even with 
 Time which always means being a pace ahead of the 
 rest of mankind." 
 
 "What you call 'getting a hustle on,' " April laughed 
 back at him, as he turned and fell into step quietly 
 by her side. 
 
 "Or 'shaking a leg,' " Van Someren suggested, his 
 eyes upon her face, flushed with the quick exercise 
 and gay beyond its wont. 
 
 "And that reminds me, you'll never guess what I 
 came out to see? the reason for what you call my 
 'extraordinary virtue.' " 
 
 "No, what?" They paused for a moment instinc- 
 tively, by a stile where a foot-path crossed the fields, 
 winding into the dale, a sudden break in the high 
 wall of hedge. 
 
 "I've been abroad for two hours already, on my 
 own wild adventure." 
 
 He swung himself on to the topmost rail, worn 
 smooth by many a country pair and scored deep with 
 names. 
 
 "Will you try it ?" he asked her with a laugh, hold- 
 ing out his hands, "it's quite easy and you can rest 
 against that post." 
 
 For a moment April hesitated, then, half -amused at 
 herself, yielded to the temptation. 
 
 "It's years since I sat on a stile !" she said merrily, 
 turning a little so as to gaze across the fields "and
 
 i 9 o APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 what a lovely view." She gave a start of surprise 
 that nearly threatened her balance. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried joyously "the Hounds! Don't 
 you see them? They're right away over there in the 
 hollow by the spinney . . ." 
 
 Van Someren followed her gesture, eager as her- 
 self. Against the purple background of the distant 
 woods, little specks of scarlet came and went, horses 
 moved in scattered twos and threes and faintly on the 
 breeze they heard the music of hounds giving tongue 
 that stirring, quivering note that grips a man's 
 heart. 
 
 A horn shrilled across it and the busy group dis- 
 persed; a faint streak of mottled white that moved 
 close to earth, the pink coats behind it and, with a 
 gap between, the dark wave of riders spreading out 
 in a fan. 
 
 April's cheeks were flushed, her breath came fast. 
 "Cubbing" she said in a tense voice, her eyes strain- 
 ing after. 
 
 "And that's precisely what I came out to see," 
 Van Someren's voice was full of amused despair, "I 
 missed the road somehow and wandered up here. 
 Still, I've had my reward," he added under his 
 breath. 
 
 But April did not heed him. "I wish they'd come 
 this way." She watched the last horseman vanish 
 into the dale and drew a breath of open disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 The American laughed softly. 
 
 "It seems about the one thing that rouses British
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 191 
 
 enthusiasm. Racing rides it close and, after that, 
 shooting." 
 
 She turned on him with a slightly indignant frown 
 and caught a glance that somehow puzzled her. She 
 could not realise he was revelling in her pleasure, 
 happy that she was happy, content it should be so. 
 
 "Next to a horse, a gun," he went on mischievously, 
 "next to a gun," he paused then risked it "a wom- 
 an. That's about the standard as far as I can guess." 
 
 "Really?" April's voice was cold. "In America, 
 I suppose this Trinity of excellence is merged in a 
 single cult ..." 
 
 "And that?" He had already regretted his sudden 
 impulse. 
 
 "The Almighty Dollar." She gave him an answer- 
 ing glance that was tinged with quiet scorn. 
 
 But Van Someren, unmoved, smiled down at her. 
 
 "I'm afraid," he said quietly, "I've expressed my- 
 self badly. It's up to me now thoroughly to explain." 
 
 "Do." She leaned back against the post, idly study- 
 ing him a little touch of aloofness still about her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well it's like this " he stared straight ahead. 
 
 "It strikes me, coming new to the land, that every- 
 thing here has to give place to 'good form.' It's a 
 sort of fetish that entails important sacrifices. The 
 covering up of all wholesome feeling, for instance. 
 The only outlet for a man's enthusiasm seems to be 
 on the question of sport" 
 
 "Well even allowing that," April contended, "it 
 hardly warrants your remark concerning my sex."
 
 192 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "It all follows on," Lorry was obstinate. "I can't 
 stand the Englishman's attitude to women. It's full 
 of forms and ceremonies, I'll admit, but what it lacks 
 is simple reverence. With us, you know, women are 
 everything. We put them first, in every way where 
 they deserve to be." 
 
 April's slight irritation died away before the in- 
 terest she felt. 
 
 "And you don't think over here we are treated 
 equally well?" 
 
 "No." His mouth shut firmly with the square chin 
 thrust out. "I don't say, mind you, we're any more 
 moral it's not a question of that but I do think" 
 his voice grew gentle "we're kinder to women. I 
 wouldn't have Sister marry an Englishman not if 
 he were a Duke !" 
 
 "Why?" April watched him, wondering a little. 
 
 "It's difficult to locate it it's the national point of 
 view." He frowned, bringing his shaggy brows 
 sternly together, trying to elucidate the difference he 
 felt. 
 
 "In America, as I have said, we worship our 
 women. In England it seems to me you worship your 
 men. You spoil them, utterly," his words came 
 quicker "it's tradition, I reckon, and a lot of other 
 things. They still pose as the Lords of Creation, ex- 
 pecting a sort of homage from the so-called weaker 
 sex. I remember on board ship, there was a pretty 
 little woman, English a 'grass-widow' she called 
 herself and she was talking to sister one night when 
 J was by and she said laughingly: 'If you want to
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 193 
 
 see as little of any one man as possible, marry him, 
 my dear. It's never been known to fail !' 
 
 "Of course she was half in fun, but somehow her 
 speech stuck and I've often thought since it didn't 
 lie any. For an Englishman doesn't make a comrade 
 of his wife. She's something between a toy and an 
 unpaid housekeeper! He don't want her company 
 outside his front door it's 'bad form/ to begin with, 
 to be tied to his wife's side. But he likes to find her 
 there when he comes back home, and his house pretty 
 and bright, and the bills kept down. There's not 
 much worship in it it's a matter of convenience 
 and once the courtship's over, she's stranded, to my 
 mind. You go to a smart restaurant any night in the 
 week you'll hardly find a single pair who are just 
 husband and wife! Where married people are in it 
 it's always a square party. They don't chum around 
 alone anywhere. Now I don't say there's no real love 
 to be found, but I do say this : that this Fetish 'Good 
 form' takes the place of natural affection. For what 
 does a man marry for if it's not to be together to 
 enjoy his wife's company more than any other? 
 That's where your lower classes are far more human ; 
 they aren't afraid to let it be seen they're fond of one 
 another. We work for our women, and work for 
 them hard they aren't just conveniences for our own 
 creature comforts, and although we can't afford the 
 time for much social work, we share our pleasures 
 when they come and enjoy them the more!" 
 
 Something sturdy and resolute in the man's whole 
 attitude caught April's attention as she sat there lis-
 
 194 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 tening. Not a little of his argument found an echo 
 in her heart, but her innate patriotism forbade open 
 agreement. 
 
 "I like to hear two points of view" so she tem- 
 porised "but you know we say in England that you 
 go to extremes; that the American woman rides 
 rough-shod over men looks upon them in fact as 
 the cashiers of her pleasure." 
 
 "And why shouldn't we be?" said Van Someren 
 simply, "what's the use of work, or money or fame 
 if we can't make the woman we love all the happier 
 for it?" 
 
 April laughed suddenly, but her eyes were very 
 bright. 
 
 "It's a new idea," she smiled, "you must give me 
 time to absorb it." 
 
 For a second he looked at her with a straight pow- 
 erful glance. 
 
 "It's my idea," he said, and his voice vibrated. 
 
 A silence fell between them, broken at last by the 
 sound of trotting hoofs. 
 
 A dog-cart was approaching and April jumped 
 down to lay a warning hand on Esau's collar. 
 
 The doctor saw the pair and pulled up quickly. 
 "Good-morning, Mrs. Panhasard, 'morning, Van 
 Someren. You are out early you put me to shame." 
 He smiled at them out of a tired face that the clear 
 light lined with merciless precision. 
 
 "How's that, Doctor?" asked the American. 
 
 "Well you're up and I'm just going to bed! 
 For an hour or two, at least, if I can fit it in.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 195 
 
 Don't tell Mrs. Moneypenny or there'll be a village 
 scandal !" 
 
 "Some errand of mercy?" April suggested sweetly. 
 She patted the chestnut mare who turned her head 
 towards her, knowing by instinct an experienced 
 caress. 
 
 The Doctor nodded and, realising sympathy, felt 
 a little of the burden slip from his weary shoulders. 
 
 "A case of D. T.," he said bluntly. "Such a good 
 chap, too! I've been with him all night." 
 
 Van Someren's face stiffened. Drink was a pet 
 aversion of his, and somehow he resented the men- 
 tion of it to April. But, to his surprise, she shewed 
 no symptom of a woman's usual recoil. 
 
 "Poor fellow!" she said gently "what a terrible 
 curse it is." 
 
 The Doctor's capable face softened at her words. 
 Broadmindedness to him was the Gateway to 
 Heaven. 
 
 "You're right there, Mrs. Panhasard and, in this 
 instance, doubly so. It's hereditary, you see, which 
 makes it all the harder . . ." 
 
 "Still," said Van Someren carelessly, "I suppose if 
 he fought against it, really started in to pull him- 
 self together . . ." 
 
 The Doctor snorted. "He can't." His voice was 
 harsh "not without outside help. And even 
 
 then " He shrugged his shoulders with a touch 
 
 of helplessness. "I wonder" he looked the Ameri- 
 can shrewdly in the face "when people will really 
 wake up to the fact of its being a disease and not
 
 '196 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 merely vicious instincts or weakness of the will. 
 That's the rock on which all Temperance ships foun- 
 der. When the patient gets beyond a certain stage 
 you might as well condemn a man for inheriting con- 
 sumption !" 
 
 Van Someren was silent, weighing the doctor's 
 words, but a curious, strained expression had come 
 into April's face. 
 
 "I quite agree with you." She looked with a touch 
 of despair into the kind eyes above her. "Do you 
 think there will ever be found a real and permanent 
 cure?" 
 
 The Doctor stared past her to the quiet fields be- 
 yond. 
 
 "Outside the use of drugs and forcible restraint I 
 know of only two. And every now and then, by the 
 mercy of God, they pull a man through." 
 
 "And those?" 
 
 He started at the anxiety in her voice. And sud- 
 denly he realised that the question was one that 
 touched her very closely. 
 
 "The fear of death," he answered solemnly, "or 
 the love of a woman." 
 
 "Ah ... !" said April. Her hand went up to her 
 throat, as though the muslin collar stifled her. 
 
 Van Someren watched her with a lover's anxious 
 eyes. She looked so white and startled he had mur- 
 der in his heart as he realised that the Doctor's speech 
 had somehow shaken her. 
 
 But almost immediately she pulled herself together, 
 addressing the latter in her clear, even voice.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 197 
 
 "Well we mustn't be keeping you out of bed. 
 You're very tired, I'm sure, and ought to be getting 
 home." 
 
 "Not at all" he stooped down from the cart and 
 shook her outstretched hand "it's been a pleasure to 
 have met you a little ray of sunshine after a dark 
 night. Good-bye, Mrs. Panhasard." He nodded to 
 Van Someren, standing stolidly beside her, and 
 touched the chestnut mare lightly with his whip. 
 
 But, as he turned the corner of the road, his smile 
 faded away as he shook his grey head. 
 
 "Poor soul !" he said to himself. "That's the trou- 
 ble, is it? Her husband, perhaps, or father ... I 
 read it in her face."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 VAN SOMEREN parted from April at the entrance to 
 the drive. He had to hurry back to breakfast with 
 his sister before catching the morning train to town. 
 But this early walk was destined to be the first of 
 many others, filled with a sense of novelty to the lady 
 of the Landslide. 
 
 For she learned the views first-hand of a nation 
 not her own; of a quicker, younger race that had yet 
 to pass through the test of experience, but held the 
 virtues as well as the faults of its immaturity; and 
 although they argued hotly from motives of patriotism 
 each gained respect for the other in the process. For 
 they had this in common : honest thought and purpose, 
 a clear vision of mankind, a definite hope for the 
 future no set religious creed but a certainty that 
 somewhere a Power moved slowly with a perfect Plan 
 of Good. 
 
 Many prejudices were weighed and abandoned as 
 they paced side by side, absorbed in earnest talk. 
 Moreover April was forced to admit that, on ques- 
 tions regarding her sex, Van Someren's point of view 
 found a far-off echo in the dreams and ideals of her 
 own girlhood days. 
 
 The care he took of her in their long rambles to- 
 gether, his unfailing steady respect and a certain un- 
 198
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 199 
 
 selfishness rare in the men she knew, caused her to 
 realise that his boast of American chivalry went 
 deeper than mere words. 
 
 Her husband's vacillating character had forced her 
 early in married life to the conclusion that she must 
 learn to depend entirely on herself. And, although 
 her own strong nature rose to the secret call, she 
 had never known the restfulness of body and of mind, 
 that many a woman owes to a man's love and care. 
 
 Now for the first time she came in daily contact 
 with a type less familiar ; a capable, shrewd and essen- 
 tially virile being, moved by a deeply protective instinct 
 towards the weaker sex. 
 
 She knew that many a man can temporarily rise to 
 supreme heights of altruism towards one woman 
 whose favour he desires; but to extend the same, as 
 a natural right, to all womankind for no personal 
 profit but as a plain rule of life evoked her wonder and 
 gave her food for thought. 
 
 She did not blind herself to the fact that Van 
 Someren admired her she accepted it as a part of 
 their steadily-growing friendship; but she found it 
 difficult to gauge her feelings in return. 
 
 She liked the man immensely, realising his worth. 
 Yet at times she felt ruffled by a certain unconscious 
 roughness, a want of social tact that jarred upon her 
 taste. 
 
 It was the New world at issue with the Old : whole- 
 some and vigorous but lacking the "patine" of age. 
 Instinctively it shocked her; his indifference to tradi- 
 tion, his democratic creed, and the downright practical
 
 200 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 outlook with which he faced problems that a polite 
 world is contented to ignore. Not that he ever in 
 word or deed could be considered coarse. The man 
 was clean to the depths of his soul, but innocent of 
 veneer. 
 
 Nevertheless moments there were when April felt 
 strangely humble before his earnest views of life, his 
 imperishable ideals. And she grew to enjoy more 
 and more their early walks together, braced by his 
 steady friendship, his utter care of her; sleeping the 
 sounder for the knowledge that she would wake next 
 day to wander forth in a dew-washed world with this 
 strong new friend of hers. 
 
 When Majendie came on the scene the plot thick- 
 ened somewhat. 
 
 He arrived one night by the evening train after 
 an open invitation from April in the morning. 
 
 "Any day." She had written and he needed no 
 second bidding. 
 
 She welcomed him heartily but, sensitive to a fault, 
 he noticed the slight difference in her manner towards 
 him, a hint of change that in no way impaired her 
 friendliness but seemed to ring a knell on the old 
 intimacy. 
 
 He swallowed it in silence, exerting all his charm; 
 witty, daring, pathetic he rang the chords in turn. 
 And indeed there was something strangely lovable 
 about him. He seemed as flawlessly cut in body and 
 in mind as some rare stone bearing the mark of a 
 master's workmanship. 
 
 April felt herself sinking under the old spell as
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 201 
 
 the clever tongue ran on, the dark eyes watched 
 her. All his personal magnetism rose in self-defence, 
 his knowledge of women, his hidden passion for 
 her. 
 
 He was purely delightful there was no doubt about 
 it! Her feet danced to the tune that he piped like 
 a mischievous faun. 
 
 The very contrast of his gay flippant talk, the 
 polished words he used and his subtle sense of humour 
 seemed like a breath of the old world after her excur- 
 sion into the new : provided that atmosphere of leisure 
 and of culture that, somehow, Van Someren's deeper 
 nature missed. 
 
 She laughed, she scolded, she un-thawed, her eyes 
 bright with amusement as they sat together long 
 after the coffee had been cleared, still in the din- 
 ing-room before the cheerful fire. For the day had 
 turned in cold with one of those bleak evenings that 
 England grants to summer in a moment of for- 
 get fulness. 
 
 "I love it," said Majendie, spreading out his hands 
 before the blaze, delicate fingers with long nails, ar- 
 tistic as his mind. "There's something about a fire 
 that stirs the domestic instinct. I'm utterly happy 
 tonight my dear, thanks be to you." 
 
 He threw the end of his cigarette into the heart 
 of the coals, and slipped down on to the rug in one 
 of his easy attitudes, his handsome face towards her 
 as she lay back in the chair. Her cheeks were warm 
 with the glow that played upon her hair, drawing 
 sparks of light from her little beaded shoes that rested
 
 202 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 on the curb, and darting off again to linger on the 
 white hands folded on her lap. 
 
 "The fire and you," he went on lightly, "bring 
 to the surface the best that in me lies. I feel like 
 a holy cherub worshipping at your feet; one of those 
 creatures, all head and wings, you see on a carved oak 
 screen. Albeit just happily aware that I possess a 
 body too holding on tightly to my remnant of a 
 heart!" 
 
 "About so big ... I fancy." She laughed back 
 at him, drawing an invisible circle in the air "a 
 little chipped and threadbare, like most young men's, 
 but able to beat loyally on behalf of a friend." 
 
 "Well, you should know best." He looked straight 
 into her eyes, his own slightly dilated, his mouth in 
 a whimsical smile. "It passed into your keeping many 
 moons since. I leave it to you to judge it to break 
 it if you choose." 
 
 "Boris! " she stirred in her chair, "you're not 
 
 to talk like that." 
 
 "Can't help it tonight. Just listen to the wind!" 
 For it moaned in the open chimney like a spirit that 
 was chained. "It always frightens me that horrid, 
 lonely sound. I want comforting badly : you might 
 be a little kind. . . ." He stretched a daring hand 
 up on to her knee, taking her reluctant fingers in his 
 own. 
 
 "How cold they are!" his voice grew suddenly 
 tender "in front of this blazing fire. I tell you what, 
 April" he began to chafe them gently "you're over- 
 doing it with these ridiculous morning walks. It's not
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 203 
 
 good for you ; you can't burn the candle at both ends !" 
 For, somewhat unwisely, she had mentioned her ex- 
 cursions with Van Someren. "You can see how 
 serious I think it when I fall back on well-worn 
 platitude." 
 
 "My hands are always cold." She drew them 
 quietly away "it's a want of vitality, or perhaps old 
 age!" 
 
 "Or the nature of April. Cold hands and a warm 
 heart?" 
 
 He leaned against the corner of her chair, his eyes 
 still on her face, wistful brown eyes that studied her 
 intently. 
 
 "What a beautiful name it is." He repeated it 
 thoughtfully "it suits you somehow better than 
 Petronilla." 
 
 And in a low voice he began to quote those lines 
 that breathe the very soul of sunshine and Spring 
 showers : 
 
 " 'April, April, 
 Laugh thy girlish laughter 
 Then, the moment after, 
 Weep thy golden tears. 
 April, that mine ears 
 Like a lover greetest, 
 If I tell thee, sweetest, 
 All my hopes and fears; 
 April, April, 
 
 Laugh thy golden laughter, 
 Then, the moment after, 
 Weep thy golden tears.' "
 
 204 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 The music of it ceased. But it seemed that neither 
 of them cared to break the silence that followed 
 that rarer praise than speech. 
 
 The wind moaned in the chimney and the high 
 trees without creaked and groaned in the riotous 
 summer gale. 
 
 A coal fell with a little clatter on the hearth and 
 quite suddenly Majendie stirred as though awakened 
 from his dreams. His hands went out and he gripped 
 each arm of April's chair as he leaned over her, his 
 face white and strained. 
 
 "Oh, my dear my dear " he cried, "I do love 
 
 you so. Oh April April! " 
 
 It was impossible to mistake the note of sincerity 
 in his voice, the passionate pleading of the eyes so near 
 her own. 
 
 Her first instinct, that of self-protection the far- 
 off inheritance of Eve sent her hands swiftly to his 
 shoulders to thrust him back and away from her. 
 
 Then tact came to her aid, together \\ith a curious 
 pity, driving away fear. 
 
 "I hope not." Her voice was grave, her steady 
 eyes held him motionless. 
 
 "You mustn't forget, Boris . . . everything." The 
 veiled appeal to his chivalry disarmed the man. He 
 drew back a little, feeling the rebuff. 
 
 "I don't." His face grew hard. "I couldn't resist 
 telling you. That's all. But I think you must have 
 guessed . . . the truth, long ago." 
 
 Watching him, she was conscious with a stab of
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 205 
 
 self-reproach that she had judged him lightly, mis- 
 understanding him. 
 
 And slowly, almost remorsefully, she shook her 
 head. 
 
 "Well . . . you do now." He rose to his feet 
 and standing tall and straight before her, with that 
 touch of ribaldry never far removed in a com- 
 plex nature like his from moments of deep emo- 
 tion. 
 
 "So the 'cat's out of the box,' as Monsieur d'Haricot 
 says !" 
 
 A quick feeling of revulsion seized her. 
 
 No woman worthy of the name can listen quite un- 
 moved to a man's declaration of love. Whether or 
 no the feeling be returned it is a supreme tribute 
 to her personality. And to a thoughtful mind the 
 seriousness of the situation with the fear of giving 
 pain holds a definite note of responsibility. 
 
 That he should stoop to jest the very moment after 
 came as a shock to April's self-respect. 
 
 "Ah well. . . ." She smiled with a hint of scorn. 
 "I'm glad to see you're not really serious. And I 
 
 think now " she glanced at the clock, "it's time 
 
 to say good-night." 
 
 She stood beside him, her hand outstretched, her 
 manner one of half -amused indulgence. Years rolled 
 between them telescopically. Boris cursed in the 
 depths of his angry soul. 
 
 "Certainly. I mustn't keep you up. Especially in 
 view of your early morning walk." He smiled with 
 an effort that pointed the jealous speech. "Forgive
 
 206 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 my digression in the realms of romance that poem 
 of William Watson's is largely responsible." 
 
 But his sensitive lips quivered as he spoke, betraying 
 the pain he tried in vain to hide. 
 
 The impulse of her generous heart drove her to 
 heal a wound that was mainly self-inflicted, and her 
 new-born dignity vanished in the pity that she 
 felt. 
 
 "Boris . . ." her voice pleaded "I don't know 
 what to say. I can't scold you tonight and 
 yet. . . ." She paused, searching for words, "I can't 
 bear the thought that our friendship may suffer. You 
 have been so much to me so loyal and true. ... I 
 wouldn't have you misunderstand me for the world! 
 But we mustn't play with fire, boy," she almost 
 whispered the words "not you . . . and I, Boris, 
 dear." 
 
 The earnestness of her speech, the appeal of her 
 sad, blue eyes, roused all that was fine in Majendie's 
 curious nature. He guessed too the hidden thought 
 that lay behind the words that this must be the end 
 of their long intimacy. 
 
 "I know," he said, "I know. . . . And it's all my 
 fault. But don't drive me away. I couldn't bear that ! 
 If you only guessed what you are to me the one 
 good thing: clean, exquisite, sweet in my . . . God 
 knows what of a life!" The tears stood in his brown 
 eyes as he looked down at her. "I promise that I'll 
 never . . . worry you again you needn't be afraid 
 I mean what I say. If only you'll put up with 
 me ... and all my rotten ways. . . ." His voice
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 207 
 
 broke ; his boyish, badly-chosen words shewed her but 
 too plainly how deeply he was moved. 
 
 " Tut up with you' ?" She laid her hand quietly in 
 his, "I ask for nothing better than to have you for 
 my friend." 
 
 For a moment they stood there looking at one an- 
 other, conscious of the danger which had passed over 
 them. Conscious too they were entering on a new 
 lease of comradeship, a nearer understanding than 
 had yet reigned between them. 
 
 Nevertheless, in her heart, as she went up to bed, 
 April wondered dimly if she had chosen well. She 
 could not bring herself to drive the boy away. His 
 pitiful speech had altered her intention. The con- 
 sciousness that her influence was good and her own 
 affection for him became strong factors in the case. 
 Had he been an older man the way stood clear, but 
 she shrank from a parting forced upon her by a few 
 ardent words, knowing that the heart of youth is 
 quickly lost and won, believing that his love for her 
 was but a passing phase. 
 
 For she could not quite rid herself of a certain 
 memory connected with the tea-shop and the fair- 
 haired waitress there; it forced a note of frivolity 
 that confused the main issue. She resolved simply to 
 see less of Majendie, without openly breaking the 
 friendly link between them. And full of this idea 
 she sat down forthwith and wrote a note to Miss Van 
 Someren, inviting her and her brother to a picnic 
 next day. This would shorten, she felt, the long 
 tete-a-tete before Boris should return to town. For
 
 208 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 a moment she wondered what the American would 
 advise. Then smiled at herself as she pictured the 
 two men. The contrast between them was not without 
 humour. But she added a brief postscript excusing 
 herself from an early morning walk that they had 
 planned together for the day following. 
 
 Which perhaps betrayed which way her fancy 
 veered. .
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 "AND how is John the Baptist?" Majendie asked 
 politely. 
 
 John the Baptist was the swan that lived on the 
 island below the Van Somerens' house. The Amer- 
 ican girl had bestowed the title upon him in con- 
 sideration of the fact that he was a staunch adherent 
 to the Doctrine of Total Immersion. 
 
 "Joanna, you mean?" Majendie was conscious of 
 fresh mischief in her fair smiling face as he sculled 
 her along in his hostess' boat through the sunny after- 
 noon. 
 
 "Joanna is quite well, thank you." 
 
 "Why this sudden metamorphosis?" Majendie en- 
 quired. "Was she a Rosamund in disguise? It's 
 rather alarming to me." 
 
 "Don't you worry any!" Miss Van Someren 
 laughed. "Personally, I consider the original name 
 more fitting, but we couldn't keep to it, see? She's 
 gotten three eggs and is sitting on them in a nest 
 among the willows. Something had to be done, so 
 we changed it to Joanna." 
 
 "How delightfully practical you Americans are!" 
 Majendie's voice was grave. "Now, I should never 
 have dreamed of that. I should just have continued 
 to call her John the Baptist and ignored all the rest !
 
 210 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 a neat example, by the way, of orthodox British 
 propriety." 
 
 "But we're real proud of her," said Miss Van 
 Someren gaily. "And I'd sooner be a 'Joanna' any 
 day than a 'John'." She gazed ahead up the shining 
 reach of water. "I wonder whenever Lorry means 
 to stop. He's rowing as if he were out for a race." 
 
 "I believe that knot of trees beyond the mill is 
 the place Mrs. Panhasard has chosen for tea." He 
 darted a look over his shoulder, measuring the distance 
 between the boats. "We're coming up with them fast 
 despite this unwieldy old tub." 
 
 He settled down again to his work, the sun dancing 
 on the little waves turned up by the sculls, the wide old 
 rowlocks creaking under his efforts. 
 
 On either side green meadows lay, moon-daisies 
 peering above the high grass, bright patches of poppies 
 flaunting down the borders of the hedge. The 
 meadow-sweet and wild thyme that clustered on the 
 bank filled the warm air with its sharp, sweet scent, 
 and great clusters of Herb-Robert and flowering rush 
 dipped to the water's edge, where already the wet 
 brambles had caught the Autumn tints, adding a vivid 
 blood-red note to the moist clay beneath. 
 
 The American girl leaned back in the boat, basking 
 in the heat. She watched Majendie with a calm and 
 reflective eye as he swung backwards and forwards, 
 his thoughts far away. 
 
 He was so obviously indifferent to her society that 
 she could not resist a certain sense of amusement. 
 Long ago she had guessed his feelings towards the
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 211 
 
 lady she called the "Peach," and not an atom of 
 pique disturbed her tranquil mind. He was definitely 
 pigeon-holed as "Mrs. Panhasard's beau," and with 
 that feminine esprit-de-corps typical of her nation she 
 was interested in the affair merely as a spectator. In 
 her heart of hearts, she fostered the notion of his 
 attachment to their hostess, realising, with a shadow 
 of apprehension, that her own brother bid fair to be- 
 come a victim. 
 
 For, much as she liked and admired the lady at 
 the Landslide, she did not welcome the idea of a 
 serious entanglement. 
 
 Her thoughts turned ever towards her native land ; 
 she wished for no further anchor to hold them in 
 British ports. Provided it were not serious, she never- 
 theless reflected that it did Lorry good to take an 
 interest in the opposite sex. His distaste for all flir- 
 tations hitherto had made him at times severe towards 
 her own. Now she smiled to herself he was grow- 
 ing broader-minded. But she could not bear to think 
 that suffering might ensue. He would "take love 
 hard" so she expressed herself as seriously as he 
 took all other grave questions. Therefore Majendie 
 and his suit were open to encouragement and she 
 smiled at him sweetly from her end of the boat. 
 
 "Say, I'm getting broiled! can you reach that 
 parasol?" 
 
 He drew his sculls into one hand and leaning back 
 dragged it out from underneath his coat where it lay 
 beside the tea-hamper in the bows. He cast a glance 
 as he did so in search of the distant boat.
 
 212 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "They've stopped." He gave a sigh of relief as 
 he handed the sunshade across. 
 
 "Cheer up!" said Miss Van Someren. She looked 
 him laughingly in the face and added : "We shall soon 
 be with 'the peach'." 
 
 Majendie colored underneath his tan. 
 
 "Well, it's pretty warm work rowing on a day like 
 this." His voice was perhaps more ungracious than 
 he knew. 
 
 "If I were an English girl," the other went on 
 smoothly, "/ should be rowing, I guess, and you'd be 
 sitting here. But then I'm a free-born American. 
 And it's vurry good for you! It makes me tired to 
 see the way your women- folk behave." 
 
 "Oh come now," Majendie was fairly taken aback. 
 "I don't think we're slackers not by any means. And 
 as to your suggesting that our sex is 'spoilt', that's just 
 because in your country it's the other way round." 
 
 "Sure, and the right way too." She laughed 
 triumphantly, showing a row of white pointed teeth. 
 Cool and dainty she sat there, immensely self-pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 "Is there anything else you would like?" Majendie's 
 voice was bored, as she opened the rose-coloured sun- 
 shade and smiled from beneath its shade. 
 
 "Heaps," said Miss Van Someren, with an ex- 
 pressive wave of her hand, "an iced drink, for in- 
 stance, and the comfortable reflection that I'm not here 
 merely to balance the ship." 
 
 Majendie's eyes twinkled, and the boat moved on. 
 "You're not much good for that though you'd make
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 213 
 
 an excellent cox. About seven stone two, I should 
 say." 
 
 Miss Van Someren dropped the steering ropes and, 
 despite the pink sunshade, clapped her little hands. 
 
 "A compliment !" she addressed the blue sky. "Ac- 
 tually a compliment. At last !" 
 
 "Oh if that's all you want I might make a further 
 effort." 
 
 "Try," said the girl sweetly as they ran into the 
 bank. 
 
 "Well, shall we say that your steering," he pushed 
 out vigorously, "approaches an originality that's purely 
 exceptional." 
 
 "Not bad for an Englishman," she conceded the 
 point. And here a hail reached them from Van 
 Someren himself. 
 
 "Hurry up, you two we want our tea. Seems to 
 me Sister's gotten you into trouble!" He same strid- 
 ing along the bank towards them. In the distance 
 they could see Mrs. Panhasard's white frock outlined 
 against the dark clump of trees. 
 
 "Throw a rope out I'll give you a tow. ..." 
 
 "Never!" said Majendie with scorn. For the 
 other's activity was contagious. 
 
 " 'Let a man contend to the uttermost 
 For his life's set prize, be it what it will!'" 
 
 "Say!" Miss Van Someren's face lit up. "That's 
 Browning, I guess." 
 
 "Guess again," Majendie suggested.
 
 214 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "You won't rattle Sister that way," said her brother 
 from the bank. "She's belonged to a Browning Club 
 since she was sixteen." 
 
 "I give in," said Boris humbly, "as ever in the face 
 of knowledge. I must confess that Browning is rather 
 beyond me." He looked down mischievously at the 
 girl. 
 
 "Now do you mean to tell me, seriously, that you 
 can follow all his longer work. Sordello, for in- 
 stance?" His face was quizzical. 
 
 "We . . . 11," she considered the question gravely. 
 "Here and there I opine he's open to doubt. But he's 
 the finest poet you've got he's IT, we reckon." 
 
 Majendie choked and recovered himself. Then 
 with a blank face. 
 
 "I'll give you an instance," he said, and appeared 
 lost in thought. 
 
 "This will do." He started to declaim the words 
 in a dramatic voice : 
 
 " 'Oft have I seen an enigmatic bat 
 
 Skirl through the zenith in his crystal hat, 
 While Charon, sailing in his western barge, 
 Gave to great Hancock's man peculiar charge 
 To ride full-tilt against Subjunctive Mood, 
 And fatten padlocks on Antarctic food.' " 
 
 Slowly as he proceeded the pretty face changed, be- 
 wilderment giving place to indignation and finally to 
 amused appreciation. 
 
 "Ah . . . !" She said as solemnly when he came to 
 a pause. "It wants a British mind thoroughly to
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 215 
 
 appreciate it. It's so vurry British in sentiment so 
 terribly uncompromising. Happen Mrs. Panhasard 
 might be able to assist. She's probably accustomed to 
 the writings of ... Majendie !" 
 
 And with this she stepped out of the boat on to 
 the bank. 
 
 April greeted them gaily. .She had enjoyed her 
 long row with Van Someren, who had been in his 
 most optimistic mood. Business had been going well 
 with him of late and another secret hope, that threaded 
 its way through all his future dreams, seemed to gain 
 form and colour from the radiant Summer day. 
 
 "Well you have taken your time! we've been 
 here half an hour." 
 
 She addressed Majendie, who smiled ruefully. 
 
 "What with running into the bank and having my 
 leg pulled the entire way it was distinctly an acrobatic 
 feat. But being in charge of the commissariat we felt 
 tolerably sure of you in the end." 
 
 They landed the tea-hamper and started to unpack. 
 
 "Woe worth the day!" said Boris suddenly. 
 "They've forgotten the milk." He held up the empty 
 flask with a dramatic gesture. "Now what's to hap- 
 pen? If you'd followed my suggestion " he looked 
 at April severely "and just packed whiskey and 
 soda this could never have occurred." 
 
 "There's a farm over there." Van Someren was 
 practical. "It's only two fields off." He stood up. 
 "Give me the bottle. I'll be back by the time the 
 kettle's boiling." 
 
 "A great thought." Majendie struggled to his feet.
 
 216 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "I'll come too," he announced, "milk the cow, if neces- 
 sary." 
 
 "We'll all go," said April, "as soon as the fire's 
 lighted that is," she turned to her other guest "if 
 you think you'd like a walk? I'm so sorry that this 
 has happened it's very careless of Mary Tuckett 
 I shall have to scold her." 
 
 "Oh please don't it all adds to the fun." Miss 
 Van Someren slipped a hand through her brother's 
 arm. Seeing which Majendie's face cleared. The 
 narrow foot-path by the river drove them into pairs 
 and he found himself leading the way by April's 
 side. 
 
 "We'd better skirt this hedge I think. The farmer 
 won't bless us if we go through his hay-field. It will 
 save us a good step and the grass is quite dry." 
 
 He glanced approvingly at April's well-shod feet. 
 
 "Anyone can see you're a real country-woman." 
 
 "You don't say!" she mimicked the pair who fol- 
 lowed in their wake, her voice too low to reach their 
 ears. "What a nice child she is! and pretty too- 
 so dainty in her way." 
 
 "Yes, Grandmamma." He looked askance at her. 
 "We're only waiting for your blessing now." 
 
 For he had guessed the thought that underlay her 
 words. 
 
 "And talking of blessings . . ." he peeped over the 
 hedge and drew back quickly, his face aglow with 
 mischief, one hand upraised to silence the little party. 
 
 "Sh!" he whispered. "Trespassers will be prose- 
 cuted but oh! do come gently and look."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 217 
 
 Gingerly they peered through the thin screen of 
 hawthorn. 
 
 Below them, on a mound of new-cut hay, the plump 
 figure of Mr. Puddephatt reposed. And not, alas! 
 alone. 
 
 For seated close beside him, her mouse-coloured 
 head supported by his shoulder, was Matilda, the 
 Beauty the Vicar's "Right Hand." 
 
 Their backs were turned to their delighted audience 
 and one arm of the curate in its dark grey sleeve was 
 passed firmly round Matilda's ample waist. 
 
 Beyond stretched the field in peaceful solitude, with 
 the distant farm and its grey roof and tumbled-down 
 cow-sheds. To the left a small plantation of spruce 
 protected the lovers from the curious eyes of man. A 
 Sabbath-like calm brooded over them; they seemed as 
 much a part of the scene as the hay-ricks themselves, 
 complacent, plump and self-absorbed as two young 
 sheep. Little they recked that tragedy crept close to 
 their "pastorale!" But Majendie's quick eyes, at that 
 moment, had discovered a moving figure approaching, 
 dressed in "sober black." "Look!" he whispered dra- 
 matically. "It is . . . I'm sure it is!" 
 
 Unheeded, unconscious herself, from the other side 
 of the firs, a slight and angular person moved quickly 
 towards them. 
 
 There was no mistaking the curious hat she wore, 
 a bonnet without strings, independent of the seasons, 
 but enhanced in summer-time by a frugal bunch of 
 lilac, in winter by the presence of some starved red 
 berries.
 
 218 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Mrs. Noah herself," Miss Van Someren gasped. 
 "Oh dear, oh dear isn't it just fierce?" 
 
 "Something must be done," Majendie said hur- 
 riedly. "She'll be on them in a minute. Lie low 
 all of you and leave it to me!" 
 
 He was off, running like a hare, whilst the three 
 behind watched him breathlessly. 
 
 He sprang through a gap in the hedge level with 
 the firs and then, apparently, went deliberately mad. 
 
 "Oh oh oh !" he yelled, his back discreetly turned 
 towards the young couple. "It's a wasp! damn it 
 all!" and commenced to caper wildly. 
 
 Mr. Puddephatt leaped to his feet; Matilda, with 
 an activity that seemed incredible, fled into safety be- 
 hind the high hedge, there to find herself confronted 
 by Mrs. Panhasard and her friends. 
 
 She gave them one wild glance and took to her 
 heels, as hard as she could go, her round face crimson. 
 
 "Oh oh oh!" yelled Majendie gallantly as Mrs. 
 Moneypenny turned the corner of the firs and quick- 
 ened her steps with a magisterial air. 
 
 "Young man!" she cried, and then again still more 
 sternly: "Whatever is the matter? You must stop 
 this behaviour." 
 
 "I can't," moaned Majendie, "it's the devil and all !" 
 
 "How disgraceful of him!" sobbed April, overcome 
 with mirth. "Look at the Curate's face oh do 
 look. . . ." 
 
 For Mr. Puddephatt, regaining his dignity, was ap- 
 proaching the pair from the rear with magnificent 
 composure.
 
 APRIU PANHASARD 219 
 
 The vicar's wife to do her justice realised that 
 the victim's suffering" was acute. 
 
 Majendie was holding his leg firmly with both 
 hands. 
 
 "It's crawled up," he said in a loud anguished voice, 
 "I daren't let go and I can't kill the brute oh oh! 
 there it is again!" 
 
 Mrs. Moneypenny fell upon her knees. 
 
 Practical in an emergency she knew what to do. 
 She clasped Majendie tightly round the calf. 
 
 "Look for it," she commanded, "look for it at 
 once." 
 
 Gingerly the young man disclosed a purple sock. 
 "Ahem !" said the curate now abreast with them. He 
 stopped as though aghast at the sight of his vicar's 
 wife in this extraordinary and compromising position. 
 Mrs. Moneypenny's toque had fallen over her eyes; 
 her face became the colour of a ripe Autumn plum. 
 
 "It's a wasp." Her voice was strained and 
 curiously eager. She seemed to be pleading for the 
 curate's understanding. 
 
 Majendie winked above the toque into the round 
 pink face and a faint answering twinkle appeared in 
 Mr. Puddephatt's eye. 
 
 "Got it!" said the sufferer in an exultant voice as 
 under the curate's steady gaze the lady's hands fell 
 limply to her side. 
 
 He shook his leg vigorously and drove his heel 
 into the ground where an imaginary wasp had bitten 
 the dust. 
 
 "It's dead," he said in a solemn voice and heaved a
 
 220 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 sigh. Then courteously assisted the vicar's wife to her 
 feet. 
 
 "I'm deeply indebted to you," he bowed to the 
 lady "it is Mrs. Moneypenny, is it not?" 
 
 But the Vicaress still smarted from a sense of in- 
 justice. She gave him a stony stare and straightened 
 her toque. Far away across the fields Matilda's blue 
 'dress fluttered out of sight in a bee-line for the 
 .vicarage. Mr. Puddephatt smiled pleasantly, con- 
 scious of the fact. 
 
 "Always helpful," he murmured gently, "ever the 
 Good Samaritan to those in distress-s-s." He had a 
 pulpit habit of leaning on his sibilants. 
 
 The little, wizened woman drew herself upright, 
 feeling herself reinstated anew before her world. 
 
 "And now, young man," she said, turning to 
 Majendie, "I trust in future you will learn to mod- 
 erate your language." 
 
 "Oh do let's go to the rescue," said Miss Van 
 Someren; "he's such a bright boy!" She stepped 
 through the hedge. 
 
 "Say, you hurt any, Mr. Majendie? The British 
 wasp seems to have a pretty active sting." 
 
 She looked up innocently into the Vicaress' face as 
 April and Van Someren followed. 
 
 The thought of her large audience did not tend 
 to soothe the matron's ruffled sense of propriety. But 
 April came to the rescue with a slight feeling of pity. 
 
 "We couldn't see what happened " she risked the 
 kindly fib, "but we heard him call out and all hurried 
 after."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 221 
 
 She ran on smoothly explaining the accident of 
 the empty milk-flask and introduced the Van Somerens 
 to the clerical pair. 
 
 And so, as Majendie summed it up later, "All was 
 for the best in the best of possible worlds and poor 
 old Puddephatt nearly wrung my hand off!" 
 
 They made their way to the farm and, completing 
 their purchase, returned to the scene of the picnic, 
 conscious of tea well-earned. 
 
 Then, as the shadows deepened, back to the boats 
 again, the brother and sister together "to save," as 
 she explained, "the worry of sorting out" when they 
 should reach the Van Somerens' destination. 
 
 It was a fortunate arrangement, as it afterwards 
 transpired, for April's peace of mind received a 
 sudden shock. The heavier boat as usual fell far 
 behind, a manoeuvre not entirely unaided by Majendie. 
 And as they passed the island where Joanna lived 
 they narrowly missed the bows of another craft that 
 met them round the willows with unlooked-for speed. 
 
 It proved to be a canoe with a deep red sail, steered 
 by an old man who raised his cap courteously. 
 
 "My fault," he cried, "so sorry!" and then with a 
 sudden start, "Why, God bless my soul! it's Petro- 
 nilla herself!" 
 
 Majendie, with a glance at his hostess, obediently 
 shipped his oars and the other man in the canoe let 
 the sail go flapping and, seizing a boat-hook, grabbed 
 at the bank. 
 
 The next minute they had drawn alongside and Sir 
 Hugo Gervase was grasping April's hand.
 
 222 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "My dear this is a pleasure, I thought you were 
 abroad. You remember Kilmarny, surely? Why, 
 you played together as children." 
 
 The dark man in the bows nodded his head gaily. 
 "You've not forgotten the apple-pie bed and poor old 
 Fraiilein Schmidt?" 
 
 His voice, rich and sweet, with a faint Irish brogue, 
 seemed strangely familiar to April's ears. 
 
 "Why, you're Deny'!" she cried. "Of course I 
 remember now." 
 
 "Another god-child," said the old man, "he's keep- 
 ing me company while the family's at Dinard." He 
 glanced at Majendie, and April introduced him. 
 
 "Any relation to 'Chick' Majendie?" he asked. For 
 he was one of the veteran tribe now slowly dying out, 
 to whom a well-known name opens the flood-gates of 
 memory. 
 
 "Son that's all!" Boris smiled back. 
 
 "God bless my soul !" Out came his favourite 
 phrase "Chick's son well, well. . . ." 
 
 He stared at him for a moment. "You've got your 
 grandmother's eyes. Lord, what a handsome woman 
 she was! I remember her in the old days at Cork. 
 Your Russian Granny, I mean. Every boy was in 
 love with her, including meself," he chuckled at the 
 recollection. "I was barely nineteen and she was . . . 
 Heaven knows what! but pretty as paint, with the 
 wittiest tongue fine havoc she made among us all! 
 And her brother Boris ? You wouldn't remember him. 
 He got killed in a duel abroad, about some Viennese 
 woman. . . ."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 223 
 
 "I was called after him," Majendie explained, "and 
 I believe when I'm scratched I shew a good layer of 
 Tartar!" 
 
 Sir Derrick Kilmarny meanwhile was talking to 
 April. 
 
 "I'm only here till the tenth my wife's at Marien- 
 bad, but joins me in Scotland for the twelfth. I'm 
 awfully glad to meet you again. Do come to Sleyd 
 before I depart." 
 
 Sir Hugo twisted round. 
 
 "Of course she must. Tomorrow, eh, what? 
 Where are you staying, my dear?" 
 
 "At a house . . . not far from here." April's 
 cheeks were red. "Everyone thinks I'm abroad. But 
 I'm really having a rest a quiet time in the coun- 
 try " 
 
 She broke off, painfully conscious of the hawk-like 
 old eyes that were steadily watching her. 
 
 "Well, when are you coming to Sleyd?" He stuck 
 to the point obstinately. 
 
 April saw that it was impossible to evade the in- 
 vitation. 
 
 "Friday?" she suggested, "would that suit you? 
 And please, may we be alone just the three of us?" 
 She included Kilmarny in her glance. "The fact is" 
 she took her courage in both hands "no one knows 
 I'm here and I don't want them to! It's the only 
 way to be free from worrying letters," she smiled, 
 "and 'kind advice,' I find." 
 
 "And what about this boy ?" he touched Majendie's 
 arm. "You'll bring him along with you? I'd like
 
 224 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 to have a chat over old times his father was in my 
 regiment, you know." 
 
 "Sad to say I shan't be here," Majendie interposed. 
 "I'm only down for the day, you see. Perhaps some 
 other time. Or if you ever come up to town, Sir, we 
 might meet then ?" 
 
 He saw with an inward smile what he, somehow, 
 had expected : a shade of relief in Sir Hugo's face at 
 the form of his excuse. "It would never do," he said 
 to himself, "he should think I was staying with her. 
 There's tangle enough as it is without adding to 
 it!" 
 
 "And if we don't take care you'll miss your evening 
 train." April seized the excuse, anxious now to de- 
 part before they should probe further. 
 
 The hint was not lost upon Kilmarny, who drew 
 in the boat-hook and picked up his paddle with a 
 glance at his host. 
 
 "Well, we mustn't keep you, pleasant as it is. 
 You'd better drive through the Bartons' place," her 
 Godfather advised, "it will save you over a mile of 
 that long Swatham road. Give my name at the lodge 
 and they'll let you through. Friday then at two." 
 They all shook hands. 
 
 "Goodbye, Majendie. When you write remember 
 me to your father. Goodbye, my dear, goodbye." 
 The old man settled himself in the stern as the canoe 
 slid away under Kilmarny's guidance. Then he 
 twisted round to shout between his hands: 
 
 "You'll have to bring someone with you, mind, to 
 open all those gates."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 225 
 
 The red sail filled with a last touch of colour as 
 they rounded the bend. Then the green islet slipped 
 in between. 
 
 "Phew !" said Majendie. "I'm glad that's over."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING Sir Hugo's warning about the 
 gates, on the Friday morning April set out alone. She 
 decided to drive round by the longer route sooner 
 than risk the chance of gossip between her groom 
 and the servants who might recognise her up at Sleyd 
 Hall. 
 
 But as she passed the Newcomens' house the Bosun's 
 voice hailed her. He was sitting on the gate, with a 
 rueful countenance. 
 
 "Darling's gone up to town to have her tooth out 
 I do hope it won't hurt very bad and she's staying 
 there till tomorrow to meet Skipper. So I'm all 
 alone and . . ." (this under his breath) "Susan 
 is so cross !" 
 
 He looked so small and forlorn, perched on the 
 topmost bar, that Mrs. Panhasard yielded to a sudden 
 impulse. 
 
 "Would you like to come with me for a nice long 
 drive?" 
 
 The moment the words had passed her lips she 
 realised her mistake. 
 
 The effect on the Bosun was electrical. He gave 
 a glad: "Rather!" and scrambling down from the 
 gate was in the cart beside her before she could collect 
 her scattering ideas. 
 
 She tried a remote chance. 
 226
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 227 
 
 "You must ask Susan first, you know." 
 
 "I can't," the Bosun chuckled, "she's gone down 
 the village to see Mother Tuckett. But Griggs will 
 tell her." 
 
 He hailed the gardener, mowing the croquet lawn. 
 
 "Will you tell Susan when she returns that I've 
 gone with Mrs. Pan. And I shan't be back for ever 
 so long!" His voice vibrated with glee. April saw 
 there was no way out of it. 
 
 "Not until after lunch," she added to the man. 
 "He'll be all right. I'll see him home myself in time 
 for tea." 
 
 "Yes'm very good, mum." Griggs beamed at the 
 pair. He and Susan were old foes. She was the 
 domestic dragon of Candida's establishment, ruling 
 the place by virtue of long service. 
 
 "Goodbye, Griggs." The child cried shrilly over the 
 hedge as the roan cob arched his neck and trotted down 
 the lane. 
 
 The Bosun pulled the rug in place and sat up 
 straight beside the lady he adored, as proud a little 
 soul as the world could hold. 
 
 "Why we're going to Swatham!" as she turned 
 the corner sharply to the right. 
 
 "Not quite all the way," April explained. "Does 
 your mother happen to know Sir Hugo Gervase ?" 
 
 "No. Up at Sleyd you mean? We know the 
 Daunceys there. They live in the little house close 
 to the last lodge." 
 
 "Well, that's where we're going. To Sleyd Hall 
 for lunch. So you'll be able to shew me the way. Sir
 
 228 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Hugo says if we cross the Bartons' place it's a short 
 cut that saves us over a mile." 
 
 "Course it does. There's a lot of gates those nice 
 swinging ones." He turned his bright face towards 
 her, watching her handle the reins. "When we come 
 to the cross-roads it's round again to the right and 
 up the hill past the lunies' place until the Foxton 
 woods." 
 
 " 'The lunies' place' ?" She echoed the words with 
 a glance for enlightenment. 
 
 The Bosun bit his lip and his face went red. "I 
 forgot. Darling scolds me whenever I call it that." 
 
 "But what is it?" Light broke in on her. "A 
 lunatic asylum?" 
 
 "Not 'xactly. It belongs to a doctor and he has 
 people to stay who aren't quite right, you know" he 
 tapped his forehead with a significant gesture "and 
 people called dip. ... I can't remember the word." 
 He stuck with a vexed frown. "It's very long and 
 difficult but I think it means they drink." 
 
 "Dipsomaniacs." Her face looked suddenly tired. 
 
 "That's it." He gave a shout of joy as a young 
 covey of partridges whirred up behind the hedge. 
 
 The roan cob tried to shy but April had him in 
 hand. 
 
 "Steady now steady, Peter." She smoothed his 
 side with the whip. 
 
 "One two three," and up to seven the boy counted 
 eagerly. "That's Farmer Beeton's land. Skipper 
 shoots there sometimes, and once when they cut the 
 corn I went out with him."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 229 
 
 So, with many a winding turn of the narrow coun- 
 try roads, and on through the Bartons' park a wel- 
 come change from the dust of the highway they 
 came at long last to the lodge of Sleyd Hall. 
 
 The drive, moss-grown and ill-kept, ran between 
 meadow-land and a straggling border of woods, where 
 here and there felled trees still lay and the close cut 
 roots of others bore testimony to a recent sale of 
 timber. 
 
 A forlorn air of poverty lay over the wide park, 
 with its broken palings and ill-swung gates and the 
 far-off bleak old house. 
 
 It looked like a broken-down and shabby gentle- 
 man, conscious of noble birth, resentful of his clothes; 
 poor and proud and powerless under the new reign 
 King Money the usurper with his train of sycophants. 
 Down in the hollow nestled the grey and ruined 
 chapel where the grass grew high above the graves 
 of the long- forgotten dead and on a knoll beyond a 
 pillar of stone crumbled, set there to mark the gallant 
 deed of a hero of the house. 
 
 The haunting sadness of it shrouded the country- 
 side like the folds of a mouldy cloak thrown over the 
 face of death and April felt a shiver run across her 
 bones as the great trees closed above them and blotted 
 out the sun. 
 
 She was glad when the drive ended at a high hedge 
 of yews, protecting the terraced front of the house 
 and the rose garden between. 
 
 On the steps Sir Hugo stood, a spaniel beside him, 
 talking to Kilmarny, who had just returned from a
 
 230 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 ride, and the two men came forward to greet the ap- 
 proaching guests. 
 
 "I've brought a young neighbor of mine. I knew 
 you wouldn't mind. Take care, Bosun, now," as the 
 child jumped out of the cart, stumbled and would have 
 fallen, had not Kilmarny caught him. 
 
 He looked up at the tall man above him ; into dark 
 eyes strangely like his own. 
 
 "Thank you," he said shyly. "Awfully clumsy of 
 me," and dragged off his sailor cap as they entered 
 the house. 
 
 "I think I'm rather early." April glanced at the 
 clock. "It was difficult to judge how long the drive 
 would take." 
 
 "All the better, my dear," Sir Hugo answered 
 heartily as they crossed the stone paved hall hung 
 with ancient armour. 
 
 "I say!" The Bosun pulled up dead before a figure 
 in shining breastplate and helmet, the quaint visor 
 down, the long pointed boots spurred incredibly. 
 
 "Golly! that's fine." 
 
 Sir Derrick laughed aloud. "And this chap, what 
 d'you think of him?" 
 
 He gave a little start as he spoke, looking down 
 at the child. Instinctively his hand went up to his 
 own sleek head, smoothing back the lock that lay, 
 conspicuously white, in the dark hair over his left 
 temple. 
 
 "That's odd," he said to himself. "I never saw it 
 before. Just in the same place too. . . ." He watched 
 the boy intently as he darted from the man in armour
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 231 
 
 to look at a torn banner that hung above a cluster 
 of pikes in the embrasure of the window. 
 
 Meanwhile Sir Hugo had led April into the morn- 
 ing-room. 
 
 "We can have a chat before lunch." He dragged 
 a chair forward into the deep bay that looked out on 
 the rose garden and dipt yew hedge. "I want to hear 
 all about you, now. It's good to have you here." 
 
 April laid a hand lovingly over the gnarled fingers 
 outstretched to her. 
 
 "My dear Uncle Hugo, I don't know where to 
 begin." 
 
 "Well, first of all, how are you?" He settled him- 
 self on the low window seat, his back turned to the 
 light that fell upon her face. "You're looking very 
 sweet and more like a girl than ever! Whatever 
 you've been up to, my dear, it's done you a power of 
 good. Now, let's hear all the story from the open- 
 ing scene to the curtain! Eh! Mrs. Panhasard of 
 Coddell-in-the-dale." 
 
 "Oh!" April gasped. "You know then . . ." and 
 she paused. Then laughed to her heart's content, con- 
 scious of relief. 
 
 "How absolutely like you . . ." she choked back 
 her amusement. "How truly Uncle Hugo to ferret it 
 all out!" 
 
 "Quite by accident," the old man gave a chuckle. 
 "A caller I had the other day seemed rather worried 
 in mind. Looking upon me apparently as a sort of 
 walking Debrett she aired the name Panhasard and 
 asked for information. Told her I'd never heard of
 
 232 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 it and didn't want to either! She wondered if you 
 were fit to mix with the parsonage." He smiled 
 grimly, then, seeing she looked concerned, he went on 
 quickly in a reassuring voice. "Not that Mrs. Money- 
 penny has the faintest suspicions nor that lumpish 
 daughter of hers with eyes like a Pekingese! But 
 after I met you with that boy I put two and two to- 
 gether. You see she mentioned to me your . . . 
 'cousin' Mr. Majendie!" 
 
 April flushed to the eyes; she looked the picture of 
 guilt. Here was retribution descending with a ven- 
 geance. 
 
 "The 'cousin' who only 'runs down for the day' ? 
 eh?" He threw his head back and roared at the 
 recollection. "Oh, 'Stormy Petrel' for shame! I 
 didn't think it of you. I'd like to tell Lady Caroline 
 'pon me soul, I would. But that's a nice boy I quite 
 approve your taste ! He's 'Chick' all over again with 
 a dash of his Russian Granny." 
 
 "Uncle Hugo." April's voice pleaded, but she could 
 not resist the infection of his high spirits. He be- 
 trayed beneath his chafing tone such confidence in 
 herself that her own sense of mischief rose in re- 
 sponse. 
 
 "Well, since you know all about it, there's nothing 
 more to tell." 
 
 She drew off her driving gloves and pulled the 
 fingers out. 
 
 "There's a little hole in the thumb! Dear me, I'm 
 getting shabby. This leading the simple life is quite 
 demoralising."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 233 
 
 She lifted calm, blue eyes to the old man's eager 
 face, reading the curiosity that lay so plainly there. 
 
 "And how is Aunt Marion? and when is she com- 
 ing home ? And Theo and her charities ? You must 
 tell me all the news." 
 
 "You little monkey!" He caught her by the arm. 
 "Out with it now I'm not to be had by that wheedling 
 way of yours. Besides which" his face went sud- 
 denly grave "I don't approve of it it's a bit risky, 
 you know what's the meaning of this precious mas- 
 querade ?" 
 
 Then she told him the story from beginning up to 
 end, watching the keen old face flash from grave 
 to gay, soften with sympathy and finally settle down 
 into amused disapprobation. 
 
 "It won't do," he summed it up, "you take my 
 advice. Of course I quite see how this tangle has 
 occurred, and if it wasn't you, I should say 'vogue la 
 galere' ! But you don't want to get landed into a 
 serious scrape. Your decree's not absolute yet, you 
 mustn't forget that. Take an old man's advice, and 
 get off abroad. Mix among people who know you 
 again, as a sort of alibi. That parson's wife, for 
 instance; she's a mischievous old hen. And she 
 doesn't love you either. She's suspicious to her boots. 
 You go off abroad and get a fresh maid. Half the 
 worries of life come through the servants' hall. It's 
 gossip, not guilt, my dear, that undoes us all, and 
 it's not the bad things we do, it's the mad ones that 
 tell. That's the simple truth you take my word 
 for it."
 
 234 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 April nodded her head. 
 
 "I suppose you're right. All the same. ..." She 
 found it difficult to give a sound excuse. 
 
 "I don't want to go. I've grown fond of the 
 place." She looked straight past him at the sheltered 
 garden beyond. 
 
 Sir Hugo watched her, his eyes narrowing. 
 
 There was something more he felt that she had 
 left unsaid. 
 
 And presently she went on in a lower tone of voice. 
 
 "It's done me ... worlds of good a sort of 
 breathing space. I think my nerves, you see, were a 
 little . . . out of hand. The peace ... it was like 
 a sanctuary oh, you can't understand !" She hit the 
 arm of her chair a sudden sharp blow. "I don't think 
 anyone knows . . . what I've gone through." 
 
 "My poor child," the old eyes filled with tears, and 
 for a moment silence knit them close. 
 
 Then the noise of the gong in the hall outside 
 boomed and echoed and died away, startling the 
 pair. 
 
 "Lunch!" He rose to his feet. "We'll talk of this 
 later. You must be famished, my dear. Now, 
 where's that boy gone to?" 
 
 He strode across to the door, erect and powerful, 
 despite his many years, glad of excuse for action to 
 hide his sudden weakness. For he loved this God-child 
 dearly and he knew the ways of the world. He guessed 
 that gossip hung like a cloud about her name; that 
 the recent case had lost her many a so-called friend. 
 His own wife had stiffened at mention of the suit,
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 235 
 
 holding fast to the old views, the old desperate creed. 
 "Whom God hath joined together let no man put 
 asunder!" But God to her was the priest who had 
 read the marriage service. She did not pause to con- 
 sider if the heart of Heaven approved? 
 
 Sir Hugo was one of the few who knew what lay 
 beneath, the long years of struggle and sorrow and 
 deadly shame. 
 
 He knew her to have attempted that sad heroic 
 task: the salvation of a man caught in the toils of 
 drink. 
 
 That she had failed but added to the bitterness of 
 her cup. For she had loved her husband, had hoped 
 against hope! had watched through the long years 
 his own pitiful struggle, the one step up and the two 
 down, the slow degradation. 
 
 She took the broad view of the case hereditary 
 disease and threw her whole life into the fighting 
 chance. But after her child's death, her strained 
 nerves gave out and in her physical weakness she 
 lost her influence. 
 
 And as though the mainspring controlling his weak- 
 ened will had snapped, he slipped from her downhill 
 into depths untold. Nevertheless her pride kept the 
 tragedy secret, aided by the cunning of the victim him- 
 self. For an atom of self-respect, some far-off in- 
 herited strain, sent him away from his own kind 
 when his enemy gained the day. And when the in- 
 evitable hour of separation came, she hid the main 
 offence; knowing the law but needed the well-worn 
 vulgar plea, an infidelity that was, in truth, but the last
 
 236 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 of many others ! So that the world wondered, seeing 
 with envious eyes the luxury she owed mainly to her 
 marriage; saying indulgently she "might have over- 
 looked it," quoting the old adage anent the public 
 wash-house. 
 
 All this Sir Hugo Gervase had watched silently, 
 his own desire to help hampered by his wife. For 
 although April called him "Uncle" there was no 
 blood-relationship, no tie beyond the simple fact that 
 she was his God-child. 
 
 So that his heart was sore as he led the way to 
 lunch, remembering the bright-eyed girl of the old 
 happy days. 
 
 "There you are, Derry! Will you sit here, my 
 dear?" He drew out her chair for her with old- 
 fashioned courtesy. "And the child (I forget his 
 name) he'd better have a cushion." He nodded to the 
 footman who solemnly arranged it. 
 
 "That all right? And now I hope you've got 
 thundering appetites." He took his place in the great 
 oak chair with its high carved back. 
 
 "And what have you been up to?" he smiled at his 
 small guest who sat beside Kilmarny with a bright, 
 excited face. 
 
 "We've been all over the stables," the Bosun raised 
 his dark eyes, full of pleasure, in response. 
 
 "And he's chosen his mount," said Kilmarny, with 
 a wink at the old man. "He thinks that chestnut 
 hunter of yours about up to his weight." 
 
 Sir Hugo laughed heartily. 
 
 "He's got a good eye for a horse. D'you ride,
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 237 
 
 sonnie? But I'm sure you do, from the very look 
 of you." 
 
 The Bosun's cheeks were red. He admitted the 
 soft impeachment, with a sidelong glance at Derry, 
 his new delightful friend. 
 
 "I've got a pony," he said, "and I knock about 
 the lanes but Skipper won't let me hunt yet, although 
 I'm learning to jump. My pony's name is Crab, 'cos, 
 when he gets excited, he likes to go sideways." He 
 giggled joyously. 
 
 "Well, that's better than backwards," Sir Hugo 
 smiled at April. "What's the little lad's name? I 
 don't think you told me." 
 
 "Eric," began April, but Kilmarny broke in. 
 
 "Why, there's only a T)' between us. I'm 'Derrick' 
 you know." 
 
 "And, by Jove! he's got your white lock." Sir 
 Hugo was suddenly struck with the odd coincidence. 
 
 "Come to think of it, the boy's not unlike you. He 
 reminds me of a picture your Grandfather used to 
 have. D'you remember the one I mean? as a child 
 in riding-breeches." 
 
 "His other name is Clifton," April interposed. 
 "His mother married again, you see. She's a Mrs. 
 Newcomen. They're near neighbours of mine, I'm 
 glad to say." 
 
 A curious look passed over Kilmarny's face. He 
 reached for the decanter and filled up his glass. The 
 wine ran over, leaving a red stain on the cloth and 
 he bit his lip as he caught Sir Hugo's mischievous 
 eyes.
 
 238 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "That's a bad sign, Deny." He had seen the hand 
 shake. "You're getting nerves, my boy, or taking 
 to the bottle!" 
 
 "It's that confounded mare of yours," Kilmarny 
 found his voice, "she nearly pulled my arms off on 
 her way home this morning. By the way, I hear 
 there's cubbing on Wednesday at six o'clock, at Four 
 Elms bridge wherever that may be?" 
 
 "Why it's quite close to Coddell." The Bosun 
 was excited. "Oh, are they really coming hunting 
 our way ?" 
 
 "Seems so, you'd better get up and see." Kilmarny 
 eyed the boy. 
 
 Something wistful in the glance caught April's at- 
 tention and she remembered suddenly she had heard 
 that the fine old place he owned still lacked an heir. 
 
 Little she guessed the tragedy that lay underneath, 
 to which today's lunch had added a fresh act; as 
 Kilmarny talked on recklessly in his soft Irish voice 
 conscious that he sat by the side of his own child. 
 
 Candida's son and his! A pain gripped him hard. 
 The boy he never could own, the heir he coveted. 
 
 And a memory of the mother, sacrificed for ambi- 
 tion, swept across him with pitiless insistence. 
 
 Meanwhile the meal had come to a close and coffee 
 was served on the terrace. 
 
 The little boy refused it and went off with Kil- 
 marny, who guessed that the other pair would like to 
 continue their talk. 
 
 "That's a nice child," said the old man thought-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 239 
 
 fully. "Derry seems quite wrapped up in him pity 
 he hasn't a son. . . ." 
 
 Then he turned back to the subject nearest his 
 heart. 
 
 "Well now, my dear, about yourself. I hope you've 
 been thinking it out. How soon can you be off?" 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Hugo!" She temporised, stirring her 
 coffee slowly. "You're going a little fast. I took 
 the place for six months at least and I've only been 
 there three! I can't disappear without some sort of 
 excuse." 
 
 "The fact is, you don't want to go?" 
 
 He looked at her shrewdly but she avoided his gaze, 
 apparently absorbed in the wide view before her. 
 
 "I don't wish to be inquisitive," he went on steadily, 
 "but I fail to see the charm of being buried alive 
 and alone! in a God-forsaken place like Coddell-in- 
 the-dale. Of course you were ill when you came 
 there and wanted a quiet rest. But now . . ." his 
 eyes shewed frank admiration. "You look like a girl 
 again 'fit' isn't the word! Don't you think," he 
 watched her closely, "it's about time you emerged 
 from that rather dismal 'rest cure' ?" 
 
 April frowned; at a loss what to reply. It came 
 as a surprise to her, the force of her reluctance. Only 
 a few weeks since she had been wondering too if this 
 solitude were the best thing for her, acutely aware of 
 the loneliness of the old house in the woods. 
 
 What had caused this undoubted change in her out- 
 look? Why should she feel the sting of parting from
 
 240 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 a place that had held but the passing charm of a 
 need for solitude? 
 
 "I don't know why it is," she spoke her thoughts 
 aloud, "but I simply hate to go. I've grown to love 
 the place." 
 
 "Well, you'd grow to love the next," Sir Hugo 
 suggested comfortably, "unless, of course, there's any 
 further inducement?" He gave a little start as he 
 saw that his words went home and a faint colour 
 crept up under her clear skin. 
 
 "It can't be Majendie," he said to himself, "she can 
 see the boy in town." 
 
 "There's Mrs. Newcomen. . . ." But she spoke to 
 gain time, to recover her lost ground in the shock of 
 enlightenment. 
 
 For in a flash she knew what had altered her point 
 of view. Her honest mind ran back to a certain defi- 
 nite date that marked the first of many a morning 
 walk. 
 
 Half-angry with herself, half -amazed at the notion, 
 she realised that the secret lay with Lorimer Van 
 Someren.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE BOSUN had a secret. He hugged it tight, mis- 
 trusting speech, in a silence that at any other time 
 might have made April wonder. But now as they 
 drove homeward through the sunny afternoon, her 
 own mind was too full of perplexity to feel more than 
 thankful for the child's preoccupation. 
 
 For her thoughts moved in a circle around Van 
 Someren. The fact of her newly-discovered interest 
 in the man was the very spur needed to hasten her 
 departure. 
 
 Facing the danger in her own determined way she 
 realised she was learning to lean on his strength, to 
 turn to him in moments of weariness and doubt and 
 to connect him subtly with her everyday existence. 
 
 That danger lay in an intimacy so strictly one of 
 friendship, so unlike all others in her busy social life, 
 had never so much as occurred to April's mind. Un- 
 consciously she had built a house of cards, taking 
 infinite pleasure as it rose higher and higher under 
 her slim hands. 
 
 Now, with a shrewd blow, Sir Hugo had dislodged 
 it, bringing her back to realities and a world of men 
 and women. 
 
 The knowledge that he was right, that the perilous 
 game must end, she did not really question, sad though 
 it left her. 
 
 241
 
 242 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Oddly enough what her God-father guessed but 
 kept discreetly hidden, that "further inducement" to 
 the beauty of the Landslide was the one factor needed 
 to clinch his argument. 
 
 For she could not place Van Someren on the same 
 plane as Majendie; she knew the former to be too 
 masterful for that. Despite his admiration, his steady 
 care for her, on matters he deemed important she 
 could not bias his views. 
 
 The truth was he influenced her more than she 
 influenced him in those long morning walks that 
 had grown a daily habit. Thoughtful and atten- 
 tive, deferential to her desires, he never stooped to 
 flatter, nor lowered his standard to win a smile from 
 her. 
 
 And although it gave her a sense of safety in his 
 hands, a curious feeling of rest, sheltered from the 
 storm and stress of life, she saw that a hidden peril 
 endangered her personality that she might become 
 absorbed in the strength of another. 
 
 Long since she had determined she would never 
 marry again. Although divorce had ended the strain 
 of her married life she did not admit to herself that 
 she was morally free. 
 
 Widowhood alone could set her on that plane and 
 here her bitter experience forbade a further venture. 
 Therefore she saw distinctly she must never allow 
 herself to step across the borderline of friendship with 
 a man. But she had drifted so gradually into this 
 intimacy that she found, to her dismay, it was not easy 
 to break. Never perhaps had Van Someren held so
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 243 
 
 strong an appeal as in the hour she decided that safety 
 lay in flight. 
 
 And as if Fate guessed this and laughed within her 
 sleeve the American stood on her doorstep as she 
 drove up to the house. 
 
 "Hello! there you are." He helped her down 
 from the cart. "I've come on a begging errand from 
 Sister and myself. They told me indoors you would 
 be home to tea, so I waited on the chance in my usual 
 dogged way. Hope you don't mind ?" 
 
 He smiled down at her, but she avoided his eyes, 
 feeling a guilty stab at the sight of his happy face. 
 
 "Of course not. I'm very glad to see you." She led 
 the way into the cool paved hall. 
 
 The quaint beauty of the place gripped her heart 
 anew and she felt for a moment an insane desire to 
 cry. 
 
 "We'll have tea here, I think. It's so hot outside." 
 Regretfully she gazed round the dim panelled walls. 
 It breathed of home to her, with its books and flower- 
 ing plants and away through the window the far-off 
 purple hills. 
 
 "You look tired." Van Someren's voice was grave. 
 He felt instinctively there was something amiss, as he 
 pulled forward a chair and hunted round for a 
 cushion in the thoughtful way to which she had grown 
 serenely accustomed. 
 
 "I think perhaps I'd better be off you've had a long 
 drive?" 
 
 He stood in front of her trying to read her mind. 
 
 "No. Don't go." Her voice was abrupt. "It's
 
 244 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 simply . . . that I'm longing for my tea." She pulled 
 herself together and smiled back at him. "Please sit 
 down and don't look so restless! I want to hear 
 what Sister's message is." 
 
 He obeyed her quietly without further comment. 
 
 "To tell you the truth" he stooped to push a foot- 
 stool nearer to her feet "I feel rather shy about 
 it altogether. She's set her heart, it seems, on giving 
 me a Birthday despite the fact that I've outgrown 
 velvet suits! It's a sort of bully treat to make me 
 feel young and she doesn't think it complete unless you 
 join in." 
 
 He gave a little laugh and added: "She's right 
 there. So do say you will? And set my mind at 
 ease." 
 
 "But first of all I must know what the treat's 
 going to be ? I can't promise anything in this reckless 
 fashion." 
 
 Lottie brought in the tea and arranged it before 
 her, followed by the black cat, who sidled up to Van 
 Someren, rubbing her sleek head against his out- 
 stretched hand. "If you please, mum, the gardener's 
 sent in radishes. He says they'll be getting too big 
 and he thought he'd better pull them." 
 
 The little maid placed the dish with its red roots 
 invitingly in the middle of the table as she glanced 
 across for her mistress' approval. 
 
 "Quite right, Lottie; they do look nice." April 
 smiled sadly, knowing the end was drawing near ; this 
 simple homely life that had proved so short and 
 sweet.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 245 
 
 And suddenly with the thought her mood veered 
 round. A spirit of revolt tempted her to snatch the 
 few remaining hours as yet vouchsafed to her. 
 
 She turned to Van Someren, her eyes bright and 
 hard. 
 
 "I've changed my mind," she laughed. "I'm going 
 to be so rash! I promise to come to the Birthday 
 treat even if it includes swing-boats !" 
 
 "Now that's real nice," the American's face lit up. 
 "Sister'll be fairly tickled to death when I tell her 
 what you say. And as for me" he looked so young, 
 so boyishly delighted that April's hand shook as she 
 passed him his tea. "Why, I feel like a clam at high 
 tide!" 
 
 She had to laugh at this, as he went on impetuously 
 developing the scheme. 
 
 "It's all mapped out. We're going up to town. 
 By the two o'clock train tomorrow, if that suits you? 
 We're taking rooms for the night at the Great Central 
 Hotel it's handy for the station and not a bad place. 
 Well, then we'll do a dinner the best we can find 
 and go to the theatre and on to the Savoy and we 
 don't return to Coddell until the Monday morning." 
 
 "Sunday, I suppose, is given up to rest the neces- 
 sary rest after the Birthday treat?" 
 
 She felt a little staggered at the magnitude of the 
 affair, realising too late she had promised her sup- 
 port. 
 
 "Not it! To my mind it's the nicest part. I've 
 chartered a little launch, an electric launch, at Staines, 
 and we're going to spend the whole day lazing on the
 
 246 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 River. Sister chose Staines on account of Magna 
 Charta." 
 
 At this typical touch April's mirth never so near 
 at hand as when it bordered tears riotously turned 
 the scales in favour of laughter. 
 
 "Why on earth . . . Magna Charta?" She got it 
 out at last. 
 
 "Well, you see, in America we think a lot of that 
 it's a side-light from history on national character. 
 You're surely proud of it?" He gave her a puzzled 
 glance but found it hard to resist the infection of her 
 mood. 
 
 "Do have a radish and tell me all about it." Her 
 blue eyes danced with amusement as she confessed 
 herself. "I've left my education such a long way 
 behind that I can't connect the event in any way with 
 Staines." 
 
 "You don't say!" he stared at her, "why, it was 
 signed there or at least thereabouts at a spot called 
 Runnymede. It must have been a slap-up blow for 
 the King the first dawn in Britain of the democratic 
 spirit. . . ." 
 
 "Well that's one way of looking at it," April con- 
 ceded and went on hastily, seeing that argument might 
 follow, "it's on the way to Windsor I think I re- 
 member now." 
 
 "And that's another reason. Sister's very keen at 
 seeing the Castle from the water. We've got a print 
 at home that she thinks real cunning, with the trees 
 and the Round Tower and a lot of flags flying. We 
 
 thought when we got to Datchet we'd try and find 
 
 
 

 
 APRIL PANHASARD 247 
 
 your cousin and take him along with us if he cares 
 to come. He told me he's generally there for a day 
 or two week-ends." 
 
 His keen grey eyes watched her and under their 
 veiled appeal April answered impulsively the unspoken 
 question in them. 
 
 "Why, that would be splendid a young 'beau' for 
 Sister." 
 
 And then quite suddenly she flushed rosy-red, 
 realising too late the obvious inference. 
 
 Into Van Someren's face came a sudden glad light. 
 He opened his mouth to speak, then quickly checked 
 himself. 
 
 April made an elaborate business of filling up the 
 tea-pot, but the man was not unconscious of her in- 
 ward discomfiture. 
 
 "Sure." The simple word somehow balanced mat- 
 ters. "I like Majendie," he said, "he's gotten a sense 
 of humour." 
 
 "He's a dear boy," she gave a sigh of relief. "I've 
 known him, you see, ever since he was a child." 
 
 "That so?" Van Someren rose to his feet. He 
 felt he must be gone. He could not trust himself. 
 That little slip of hers, pairing the two together, had 
 sent the blood rioting to his heart. He could have 
 caught her up in those strong arms of his, never again 
 to let her go far from their reach. 
 
 "Well, I must hustle along and give Sister your 
 answer. I've got to wire to town and fix things 
 up." 
 
 "Wait a minute! tell me again, what time is the
 
 248 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 train? And I've never yet thanked you for asking 
 me to come." 
 
 "Two o'clock, at the Junction. And, as to any 
 thanks well, we hardly dared hope that you'd be so 
 vurry kind." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I come and fetch you both in the 
 cart?" The thought struck her as they were shaking 
 hands. "That's what I'll do. You'll be ready? 
 About half past one?" 
 
 "You can bet your life on that !" 
 
 He smiled down at her. Regretfully he let her 
 fingers go, and turned away from the old stone porch. 
 
 She watched him for a moment striding down the 
 drive. 
 
 "And many happy returns of tomorrow!" She 
 called after him. 
 
 Van Someren turned, bare-headed, for a last look 
 at her. His eyes shone like stars and he held his 
 head high. Again she was caught by the sense of the 
 man's power; the happy, thoughtful atmosphere in 
 which he seemed to live. 
 
 "He's a dear!" she said to herself. "I really don't 
 know how ..." She left the sentence unfinished 
 with a quick-drawn sigh. 
 
 "So long!" Van Someren cried, and turned out 
 of sight, and then to himself he echoed her parting 
 speech. 
 
 " 'Happy returns of tomorrow?' " He cut down a 
 nettle with his stick as he went. "Well if she's part 
 of it . . ." 
 
 And he smiled at the far-off hills.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 RUNNYMEDE, a damp meadow inhabited by cows, fell 
 somewhat short of Sister's ardent hopes. 
 
 "Not even an 'otel!" Her voice breathed disgust 
 as she looked across the buttercup-studded waste. 
 
 Still it was something to have eaten mayonnaise on 
 a site made famous by the first great strike. The 
 phrase, "a blow for independence," sounded more 
 resonant after a glass of champagne, and their gaiety 
 was further enhanced by the ironical cheers of a 
 passing "joy-boat", a densely-packed Thames steamer, 
 with its mixed cargo of men and women and babies, 
 concertinas, and beer. 
 
 "Well I'm happy." Van Someren stretched him- 
 self luxuriously on the grass, as April smiled down at 
 him from under a Japanese sunshade that added a 
 note of colour, Eastern and bizarre, to the soft batiste 
 frock she wore in honour of the occasion. 
 
 The American girl glanced at her with an approving 
 eye. Long ago she realised the costliness of April's 
 "simplicity". 
 
 "It's stunning, that get-up! Paris, I guess?" 
 
 April nodded her head gaily. 
 
 "And quite new," she said, "out of compliment to 
 your brother's birthday-treat." 
 249
 
 250 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 She smoothed down the embroidered folds with the 
 satisfaction every woman feels at another woman's 
 praise. 
 
 Her wide black hat, in a coarsely plaited straw, was 
 garlanded with a wreath of tiny flowers, and under 
 it her hair gleamed fitfully like copper that gains an 
 added glamour when shadows fall across it. 
 
 A ray of sunshine, piercing the hedgerow behind 
 them, played with her diamond-studded watch, that 
 swung, as ever, on a chain around her neck. 
 
 "Do let me see ..." Miss Van Someren's little 
 hand stole toward the coveted object. 
 
 "Why it's nearly three o'clock!" She turned it 
 over idly, admiring the delicate setting of the stones. 
 
 At the back a disk of enamel, deep blue, and inset 
 with brilliants in the form of initials, was surmounted 
 by a graceful coronet. 
 
 "P ... G ... E." The girl read it out. "Say, 
 that's cunning! A legacy, perhaps?" She raised her 
 eyes curiously to April's face. 
 
 The latter looked down with a start of annoyance. 
 
 "The watch? Yes it was left to me." 
 
 She drew a breath of relief as she saw her explana- 
 tion accepted without demur. 
 
 But Van Someren was watching with his keen 
 grey eyes, and again he glanced moodily at her bare 
 left hand, searching for the ring that still puzzled 
 him with its curious history of which he held a part. 
 
 Would he ever, he wondered, be cognisant of the 
 whole? And what would then result laughter or 
 tears?
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 251 
 
 He pondered upon it, brows knit together, until his 
 sister's voice roused him from his dreams. 
 
 "We ... 11, you don't look happy, whatever you 
 may feel. Cheer, Lorry ! You're only a year older." 
 
 Van Someren sat up, clasping his hands round his 
 knees, and faced the pair of pretty women. 
 
 "How could a man be anything else?" He waved 
 his hand toward them. "Of course I am as happy 
 as the optimistic frog! Did you ever hear the story 
 of that famous veteran?" 
 
 He spoke to Mrs. Panhasard, but his sister an- 
 swered for her. 
 
 "Oh, do tell it, Lorry." She slipped a little hand 
 through April's arm. "You'd just love it, if you 
 haven't heard it before." 
 
 "Please," said April persuasively. 
 
 Van Someren, nothing loth, responded to the call. 
 
 "It's an old yarn, I must tell you, that crops up 
 every year at one of our Yale dinners. We don't 
 think the evening is quite complete without it. You 
 sure you don't know it?" 
 
 "Sure." April smiled. 
 
 "Well," Van Someren proceeded: "Once upon a 
 time, two frogs went prospecting in a dairy. They 
 happened upon some milk in a pan, and, trying to 
 drink it, both fell in. The sides were high and slip- 
 pery and there seemed no way out. Now, one of 
 them was an optimist and the other a pessimist, and, 
 as they swam round and round, they started to air 
 their views. 
 
 "Said the pessimist: 'Reckon this is a fierce busi-
 
 252 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 ness. We've got to drown some time, so what's the 
 use of struggling? It's just Fate, and that's all there 
 is to it.' So he threw his head down and his feet up, 
 and went under glop . . . glop . . . glop! A few 
 bubbles and he was dead. 
 
 "But the optimist, still swimming round, figured it 
 out otherwise. 'It's up to me to try,' he said, 'and, 
 while there's life, there's hope! And, if I can't make 
 good, I'll still have the fun of putting up a fight.' 
 
 "So on he went, paddling around and thinking very 
 hard, when suddenly he hit something solid with his 
 foot. There was a pat of butter as big as a shirt 
 button ! 
 
 "'Hello,' said he, 'here's hoping!' and started in 
 in earnest, churning up the milk and watching the 
 curds gather. At last the island was so big he gave 
 a little spring 'Hop' he was on it 'hop' he was 
 off and over the rim of the pan. 'Hop' for the dairy 
 door, and there he was, free again." 
 
 "It's a fine moral, isn't it?" Van Someren joined 
 in the laughter that his carefully told story had 
 evoked. 
 
 "So you think it never does to admit a sense of 
 failure?" Something in April's eyes made the man 
 pause. 
 
 "I think it's sounder to hold on and take the fight- 
 ing chance. There's sometimes a way out that no- 
 body can see. But it wants courage, good and plenty" 
 his face was grave "for there's nothing half so 
 hard in life as just having to wait." 
 
 "That's quite true," April nodded her head. "And
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 253 
 
 it's particularly the handicap of my sex. Men have 
 more often the chance of making 'things happen', 
 whilst women have to wait at home and try to learn 
 patience." 
 
 "They turn the scaies sometimes," Van Someren 
 suggested, "and we do the waiting whilst they make 
 up their minds!" 
 
 His mouth was twisted into a whimsical smile, 
 conscious he was learning a lesson of patience him- 
 self. 
 
 "We . . 11, - guess Mr. Majendie won't see us to- 
 day." His sister stifled a yawn. She disliked seri- 
 ous discussions. It seemed to isolate her and bring 
 the pair together, and as chaperon she decided to in- 
 terfere. 
 
 "Come along, then" April rose to her feet "but 
 you can't expect energy after a banquet like this! 
 Still I think I can reach the launch and collapse in a 
 basket chair that is, if I make a real sturdy effort." 
 
 "Would you like to be carried?" Van Someren 
 asked, with a laugh. 
 
 "Me first," said his sister lazily from the bank. 
 
 "Well, hold tight, Honey." 
 
 He stooped down, and, gathering up the dainty little 
 figure, started to run with her across the stretch of 
 meadow. "Oh oh oh!" cried Miss Van Someren 
 in mock alarm. One arm clasped her brother's neck, 
 and the other clutched at her skirts, whence two tiny 
 feet and a generous display of silk-shod ankles 
 emerged. 
 
 "Don't drop me, Lorry." She clung to his broad
 
 254 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 shoulder. But he ran all the faster, exulting in his 
 strength. 
 
 "Now will you be good?" He lowered her onto 
 the launch that was moored against the bank in a 
 stretch of deep water. 
 
 "Dear old brother." She pulled his face down to 
 her, kissing him warmly on both his sun-burnt cheeks. 
 
 For they were very devoted, and not ashamed to 
 shew it, each proud, in their way, of the other's per- 
 sonality. 
 
 April, following in their wake, watched the little 
 scene with a sudden touch of envy, feeling the old 
 loneliness rise up around her. 
 
 Something in her face enlightened the young girl, 
 and she spoke impulsively her thought aloud. 
 
 "You'd like him for a brother, too ?" 
 
 "Indeed I should," said April. But, as she met 
 his gaze, to her keen mortification, she felt the colour 
 rise under her clear skin. 
 
 Van Someren held out his hand to help her down 
 on the launch, as his sister slipped away to give an 
 order in the cabin. 
 
 "I'd sooner," his eyes shone, "you'd choose her 
 for a sister." 
 
 The moment the words were out he would have 
 recalled them, as he saw that April gathered their 
 full significance. 
 
 But once again she was mistress of herself. She 
 looked straight past him at the meadows beyond. 
 
 "It comes to the same thing if I take you for my 
 brother."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 255 
 
 "Not quite," said Van Someren steadily. 
 
 "You're a little hard to please." She dared not 
 meet his eyes. 
 
 "Perhaps" his voice sank "my ideals are too 
 high." 
 
 "Up stream or down, Sir?" The engineer touched 
 his cap. Van Someren consigned the man, well 
 not to Runnymede. 
 
 "Datchet," he said impatiently. The word, rasped 
 out, sounded curiously like a mild imprecation. 
 
 It caught April's fancy, and she laughed aloud, 
 thankful for the relief of the unlooked-for interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 "I must go and help . . . 'Sister,' to pack the 
 plates!" She turned and fled, avoiding Van Some- 
 ren's helpful hand, and down the little ladder that led 
 to the cabin. 
 
 But, before the narrow doorway swallowed her 
 from sight, he caught one swift glance upward where 
 he stood watching her. 
 
 In it he read fear, indecision, and something else 
 that turned the river beside him into a blaze of gold : 
 that made the blue sky bluer and the green English 
 fields into a garden fair with the presence of hope. 
 
 The launch glided on between the low banks, and 
 still Van Someren stood there, staring into space. 
 
 Below in the little cabin the two women talked as 
 they packed away the litter of plates that the engineer 
 had washed. 
 
 Their conversation, skillfully upheld by April, had 
 turned on the inexhaustible topic of Paris shops.
 
 256 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 She was not sorry to stay there and collect her 
 startled thoughts, as they passed through the lock 
 with its bright border of flowers and on round the 
 islands to the smooth reach beyond. And at last Van 
 Someren hailed them from above. 
 
 "Come up and see the Castle! You're missing 
 everything," for Windsor, grey and massive, rose 
 upon its hill. 
 
 "Why, it's vurry like the picture." Miss Van 
 Someren was pleased. "There's the Round Tower 
 with its flag!" She grew quite excited. "I like it 
 even better than the real Tower of London or the 
 Abbey, or any other of your show sights. And, as 
 for Buckingham Palace, it makes me feel mean. 
 Why, it's not half as imposing as our own Customs 
 House!" 
 
 "Here we are at Datchet." April pointed out the 
 irregular low houses lining the right bank, "and 
 there's the landing-stage." The launch slowed down. 
 "But I haven't the faintest idea where Boris is to be 
 found. We shall have to make inquiries somewhere 
 in the town." 
 
 "Call it a town?" Van Someren smiled. "We'll 
 throw out a search party and trust we don't get lost." 
 
 They landed and walked along the narrow main 
 street, full of Sunday couples and children in their 
 best, stray dogs and bicycles, and an occasional shut- 
 tered shop. 
 
 "Here's an Inn," said Van Someren, as they crossed 
 the railway line. "I think I'll make tracks for the 
 local barkeeper. He'll know, sure, where Majendie
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 257 
 
 is hiding." In a minute or two he rejoined them, 
 radiant with news. 
 
 "It's up the road and round to the left and on by 
 the Church the third cottage on the right, and it's 
 called" he laughed " The Nook.' There, now, 
 aren't you proud of your little brother?" He tucked 
 a hand in his sister's arm, and they started off again. 
 
 Following his directions, they skirted the Church- 
 yard, passed through a gate, and into a narrow lane. 
 The place looked damp and lonely in the shadow of 
 the yews that peered like hired mourners over the 
 crumbling wall. 
 
 A curious feeling of discomfort invaded April's 
 mind, the gloomy place so different from what she 
 had imagined. 
 
 "I hope he'll be glad to see us," she said to her- 
 self, as they passed the first cottage, that was labelled 
 "Ivy Bank". 
 
 Next came "The Hollies", to let, dilapidated. 
 
 Then, with an air somewhat gayer than the others, 
 enhanced by lace curtains that veiled its four win- 
 dows, a bungalow, with "The Nook" painted above 
 the gate. 
 
 "Here we are!" The American lifted the latch. 
 "Shall I ring?" He found the bell, as they paused 
 in front of a green door at the *nd of the strip of 
 garden. 
 
 "I believe you've broken it," Miss Van Someren 
 whispered, as the sound pealed out in the closed-in, 
 quiet lane. 
 
 A pause of expectancy; but no one appeared. "Oh,
 
 258 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 here's a knocker, too." He gave a sharp tat-tat, and 
 they all stood there, waiting patiently. 
 
 The door opened at that, half-way, and a girl looked 
 out 
 
 She seemed to be bewildered at finding strangers 
 there, and, for a moment, she stared at them in 
 silence, a picturesque figure in the shadow of the 
 porch. 
 
 For she wore a kimono of soft lilac silk, drawn 
 round her slender form, betraying carelessly a neat 
 foot in a high-heeled shoe and a lace petticoat. 
 
 Her hair, fair and shining, was waved high above 
 her round, childish face, and brought down in little 
 clusters of curls that hid her ears and the hand that 
 held the door was carefully manicured, and albeit 
 the left innocent of rings. 
 
 "What d'you want?" She tossed her head, as she 
 spoke, with a slightly aggressive glance at the aston- 
 ished trio. 
 
 "I'm afraid we've made a mistake," the American 
 answered courteously, "we were told a Mr. Majendie 
 was living here." 
 
 "Well, so he is. But I don't think you can see him." 
 She drew the door still closer, and gave a swift glance 
 backward, as a man's step echoed noisily through 
 the house. "I think he's gone out." 
 
 She waited a second, then threw the door wide 
 open, drawing with one hand her kimono about her. 
 
 "If you'll come inside," she said, "I'll go and look 
 for him." 
 
 Van Someren glanced at April, who nodded her
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 259 
 
 head. She could not find her voice for the shame 
 that possessed her. 
 
 For the girl in the kimono was indeed no stranger. 
 There was not a shadow of doubt. It was "Chloe" 
 of the Tea-shop. 
 
 Afterward she wondered why she had entered the 
 house, but at the time the shock so bewildered her 
 that she followed the girl obediently into the sit- 
 ting-room, Van Someren and his sister bringing up 
 the rear. 
 
 The situation was acute with discomfort, as they 
 stood there in a silence that no one cared to break. 
 
 April's eyes wandered round the somewhat untidy 
 room that was still wreathed in fresh cigarette smoke. 
 
 On the table beside her a work-basket lay, filled to 
 the brim with a heap of unmended socks, and down 
 by the fire-place a pair of soft slippers suggested that 
 the owner had just changed into boots. 
 
 The mantel-piece was littered with unframed pho- 
 tographs of women and of men, singly and in groups. 
 Here a Cricket Eleven leaned up against an actress, 
 signed in scrawling letters, "your devoted Kitty". 
 There a large portrait of Chloe herself the cheap 
 inspiration of a Brighton post-card "artist". 
 
 Something about the whole room made April's 
 blood creep the faint odour of scent, the stale smell 
 of cigars. A pile of torn music lay upon the piano 
 that was draped clumsily with a faded strip of cre- 
 tonne. 
 
 It had the appearance of a house let year by year, 
 growing each season shabbier, more stained, and more
 
 260 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 sordid ; with that curious air of non-respectability that 
 cannot be defined but lurks in dark corners. 
 
 "I'm afraid he's not in." Van Someren spoke at 
 last. His foot tapping the floor betrayed his nervous 
 tension. 
 
 But, as he spoke, the door opened and Chloe re- 
 appeared, her face rather white, her bright eyes vin- 
 dictive. 
 
 "He's gone out," she said. "I expect he's on the 
 river." 
 
 She held the door wide and they took the hint with 
 alacrity. 
 
 "Will you leave your name?" She scrutinised 
 April and then turned her glance on Miss Van 
 Someren. 
 
 Curiosity was stamped on her pretty, moody face, 
 a faint envy that bordered on insolence. 
 
 "No, thanks." Van Someren's voice, still cour- 
 teous, was deadly cold. "I think we'd better write." 
 He gave a sigh of relief as he saw his women-folk 
 pass out before him into the road. 
 
 "Good-day." He raised his hat and the front door 
 closed. 
 
 Once outside the house he saw his way clear. The 
 whole thing must be treated on a common-place foot- 
 ing. The fact of Majendie's cousinship and a certain 
 sense of pity the indulgent attitude of one man to 
 another drove him to hush up the somewhat obvi- 
 ous scandal. 
 
 "Bad luck," he said cheerfully, "on poor old Boris ! 
 On the very day of all when he'd gotten down guests.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 261 
 
 That was a pretty girl in that mauve kimono. I'd 
 like to have seen the rest of the party! He'll sure get 
 cold feet when he learns we've been here and run 
 across some of his ... theatrical friends." 
 
 He slipped one hand through his sister's arm, walk- 
 ing between the pair; and then, without apology, the 
 other through April's, as they marched up the de- 
 serted, shady lane. 
 
 The simple way he did it seemed to call for no 
 excuse, and as he intended broke the tension of 
 her mood. 
 
 "And now, children," he went on, in his happy, 
 boyish voice, "what about tea? I think we'd better 
 be content to have it on the launch. These little river 
 'otels don't look up to much! Personally, I think 
 Datchet's about played out unless it is the Sabbath 
 that's cast a blight on it." 
 
 Miss Van Someren laughed merrily. Her brother's 
 words had lightened a certain uneasy doubt that, not- 
 withstanding the freedom that her own country per- 
 mitted that casual, unchaperoned attitude toward 
 mixed comradeship had made her feel uneasy in 
 Majendie's establishment. 
 
 "Pity we missed him" she took his cue cleverly 
 "perhaps he's gone out wasp-hunting again ! And, as 
 to tea, I vote for the launch, don't you?" 
 
 She turned her smiling face towards Mrs. Pan- 
 hasard. 
 
 "Far nicer," said April, as they came out on the 
 road and the American's hand slipped away from her 
 arm.
 
 262 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 She gave him a shy glance, full of gratitude, divin- 
 ing the chivalry of his excuses for Majendie. She 
 dared not pause to probe into her own heart, but shut 
 the door resolutely on her sick disgust. Nevertheless 
 the shadow of it dimmed the afternoon, with its hint 
 of treachery, its sordid background of life. 
 
 She felt in an odd way soiled by the man's prox- 
 imity those wistful eyes that said so much, the lips 
 that had touched her hands. 
 
 And, all the while, as he laid his boy's love at her 
 feet . . . She could not finish the phrase, but gave 
 a little shudder, as the face of Chloe rose up, with its 
 insolent, childish smile. 
 
 Nevertheless, against this dark bewilderment, as a 
 ray of light is heightened by a bank of heavy clouds, 
 so Van Someren's character shone forth clear. 
 
 Clean and strong and loyal, he called to her re- 
 spect. And another link between them was forged 
 out of pain.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE mists of early morning hung over the country- 
 side as Sir Derrick Kilmarny rode forth from the 
 gate of Sleyd Hall. 
 
 The air, chill and moist, suggested that Autumn had 
 laid one daring foot across the boundary-line of 
 Summer and the leaves fluttered down obedient to her 
 step on the grass burnt yellow by the fierce August 
 sun. 
 
 So dreary indeed had been his first glimpse of the 
 day that, when his man called him, Derry was half 
 inclined to turn over again. But the memory of his 
 promise to meet the little boy stirred him into a 
 sudden wakefulness. 
 
 For he had planned to take the Bosun for his first 
 day's cubbing, an adventure made more thrilling to 
 the child by the fact of its secrecy. 
 
 No one was to know! He could saddle his own 
 pony and be there at the rendezvous by half-past five 
 o'clock. To this Kilmarny had agreed with all the 
 more readiness from the fact that, had the New- 
 comens known, complications might have ensued. 
 
 In his easy-going way he never paused to reflect 
 that he was leading the child into possible mischief. 
 
 The Bosun's sporting proclivities were after his 
 own heart. He promised himself some happy hours in 
 263
 
 264 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 his son's company. Now, as he jogged along, saving 
 his horse for the work ahead, his thoughts turned to 
 Candida and the one romance of his life. 
 
 Intrigues there were innumerable blurring the back- 
 ward vista but this, the nearest approach to love that 
 the man had ever known, stood out clear and golden 
 through the empty, selfish years. It seemed to him 
 now, in the grey light, down the long, lonely road, 
 the one good gift offered him that he had wantonly 
 spurned. 
 
 Candida How the name brought back the 
 
 sweetness of those days, the laughing face with its 
 sunny curls, the blue and trustful eyes. 
 
 Grudgingly he compared her to his wife at Marien- 
 bad and wondered, not for the first time, at the folly 
 of his marriage. For Julian Dirke's widow had 
 proved but poor comfort the shadow of the woman 
 he had wooed as Dirke's wife. 
 
 Childless, petulant, cold, ever seeking excitement, 
 she w r earied him with her jealous love, her sullen fits 
 of spleen. 
 
 Even that ambition that had prompted him to the 
 step, the political influence that she undoubtedly held, 
 had been undermined by her faults of character. 
 
 For, as the years passed on and her beauty faded 
 swiftly, her sharp tongue undid what Dirke's fame 
 had achieved and her large group of friends gradually 
 scattered, leaving her but the empty prestige of the 
 past. The fall of that Government mainly upheld by 
 Dirke had forced his disciple slowly into the back- 
 ground.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 265 
 
 For a time his eloquence, more facile than inspired, 
 had made him a marked man on the Opposition 
 benches. 
 
 But he had tired of a life that waxed monotonous, 
 as the Liberals settled down to their long term of 
 office. 
 
 Little by little he let the reins slide, urged thereto 
 by the natural indolence that strengthened with mid- 
 dle age. 
 
 Then for a year he vanished on a distant sporting 
 tour, glad to escape the tedious days beside his 
 nagging wife. 
 
 For his character lacked stability, his ambitions 
 were short-lived. The "easiest course" was the motto 
 he nailed up for the forties. 
 
 Still handsome, though a little inclined to super- 
 fluous flesh, he flirted in surface fashion with any 
 pretty woman. Men voted him good company and he 
 went the social round in a circle where luxury had 
 itself become a burden. 
 
 But under it all, at times, he felt the lonely blank, 
 the fierce need of an aim in life and a woman's 
 sympathy. He dared not think of the future, of a 
 barren old age . . . conscious that he was the last of 
 his line that the blame was mainly his. 
 
 So as he rode along through the Bartons' neigh- 
 bouring park, where the high bracken served as a lair 
 for the timid deer, and pale shafts of sunshine fell 
 athwart the trees, his face was set in a dreary mask 
 that was not unlike despair. 
 
 For the thought of the child with his gipsy face
 
 266 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 waiting beyond the hill, with eager eyes watching for 
 the father he could not own, drove home a lesson he 
 had learned to overlook: that "Might-have-been," the 
 saddest of men's secret Hells on Earth. 
 
 As he came to the last gate he heard a sound of 
 hoofs, striking noisily on the hard lime-stone road, 
 and looking over his shoulder descried another rider, 
 bound for the same destination as himself. 
 
 Sir Derrick paused with his riding-crop on the top- 
 most bar, grateful for the knowledge of another man's 
 presence, and as the stranger passed through and 
 thanked him for his civility, he gave a little start of 
 pleased recognition. 
 
 "Why you're Dr. Sartoris, surely?" 
 
 He looked at the well-knit figure riding a big bay 
 horse, and went on with a warmth he could hardly 
 have explained. 
 
 "You've forgotten me I expect, but I've not for- 
 gotten you. I was once a patient of yours!" and he 
 laughed pleasantly. 
 
 The stranger's face lit up. He had the keen and 
 quietly powerful look of the London specialist, 
 tempered by a certain hearty charm that earned for 
 him affection as well as respect. 
 
 "I do remember you, but I can't recall your 
 name," he paused thoughtfully, his thick brows, 
 that overhung the blue-grey eyes, brought sharply to- 
 gether. 
 
 "Now let me see it must be a good many years 
 ago. You came to me with a slight trouble in the 
 throat?"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 267 
 
 "That's it. I'm Kilmarny. Sir Derrick Kilmarny. 
 I had tonsilitis pretty badly too and you got me 
 right in time for an electioneering speech an im- 
 portant one it was, and I was in a hole. One doesn't 
 easily forget a good office like that." 
 
 "Of course!" Sartoris looked at him as they rode 
 side by side. "I always remember a face but I'm not 
 good at names. You're on your way, I hope, to 
 the meet at Four Elms Bridge?" 
 
 "I am if I don't miss the road." 
 
 "Well, I can be your guide if that's what you want. 
 I'm staying with the Bartons and I know the country 
 well. My host's given up riding since a fall when he 
 lost his nerve, but he always keeps a good mount or 
 two for his friends." 
 
 "I suppose you're taking a holiday," Kilmarny sug- 
 gested. Something vigorous and keen in the other's 
 personality dispelled those phantom miseries that had 
 dogged his lonely path. 
 
 "Just for a week-end too busy for more. But 
 there's nothing like a day with the hounds to blow 
 away the cobwebs." 
 
 They passed out of the lodge gates and on to the 
 dusty road. 
 
 "The country wants rain badly, the ground's as 
 hard as a stone. But the heavy dew last night looks 
 like the drought lasting." 
 
 So, on trivial topics, they chatted fitfully until they 
 came to the steep hill below the Foxton Woods. 
 
 "It's just over the brow," Sartoris explained, "be- 
 yond that grey house you can see among the trees."
 
 268 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Who lives there?" Derry asked as they started 
 the ascent. 
 
 "One of my own fraternity, I understand. He 
 keeps a Private Home slight mental cases and 
 dipsomaniacs. It's a dreary-looking place, with those 
 high stone walls." 
 
 "Not easy to get out," Kilmarny hazarded. "I 
 thought it was a convent when I passed the other day. 
 By the way, d'you know some people called New- 
 comen? They live in the dale at a village called 
 Coddell." 
 
 Sartoris shook his head. "I can't say I do." 
 
 "There's a child who rides," Kilmarny went on. 
 "I promised to meet him at the cross-roads this morn- 
 ing. His first day's cubbing he's a sporting little 
 chap." 
 
 "A red-letter day for him!" The specialist smiled. 
 "I can still recall my early enthusiasm; though it's a 
 good long way behind me now !" 
 
 They reached the brow of the hill, passing high iron 
 gates that added a sinister suggestion of prison to the 
 house. 
 
 "And there he is!" A note of excitement rang in 
 Kilmarny 's voice as in the far distance he saw a little 
 figure, patiently awaiting them on a fat grey pony. 
 
 The Bosun waved his cap, frantic with delight. His 
 shrill greeting reached them as they trotted down the 
 hill. 
 
 "I saddled Crab myself," he cried as he cantered 
 towards them, "and I've been here since five o'clock, 
 to make sure of you."
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 269 
 
 They pulled up by the side of the road and Kilmarny 
 jumped off and threw the reins to Sartoris, who smiled 
 indulgently at the happy, excited child. 
 
 "Down you come, Bosun, I want to see to your 
 girths." For his quick eye noted that the saddle had 
 slipped. 
 
 "Look out he's sure to kick!" The small boy 
 warned him as Derry tightened the straps under Crab's 
 round form. 
 
 "They're all asleep at home," the Bosun's dark eyes 
 were dancing in his head, "nobody knows! I heard 
 Susan snoring. But I didn't dare draw the bolts of 
 the front door. I got out at last, through the 
 pantry window. Oh, isn't it just a galumptious 
 day?" 
 
 He sniffed up the misty air, standing there erect, 
 every muscle a-quiver in his little body. 
 
 "Now then up you go!" He was seated in the 
 
 saddle "Your stirrups are too long isn't that 
 
 better?" 
 
 Derry looked up into the bright young face, one 
 hand on the lad's knee, feeling a curious tenderness 
 that held a hint of pain. 
 
 Sartoris, watching the pair, with eyes that had 
 learned to take in humanity at a glance, was struck 
 by the curious likeness existing between them, and a 
 certain wistful longing in the man's attitude. 
 
 "He loves that boy," he said to himself, and a 
 faint inspiration came to him that closely touched the 
 truth. But he thrust the thought aside, with a man's 
 distaste for gossip, unconsciously drawn by the charm
 
 270 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 of the child as he trotted along beside them, full of 
 happy importance. 
 
 They turned to the right down a narrow curving 
 lane, leaving the main road to Coddell behind. Two 
 more horsemen passed them and away in the distance 
 they could hear the steady throb of further trotting 
 hoofs. 
 
 "There's a short cut," the Bosun said, "by Farmer 
 Gales' field. I've often come here, you know, with 
 Darling, blackberry ing." 
 
 He rose in his stirrups, staring ahead. 
 
 "There it is. Hurrah! the gate's wide open." 
 
 And he led the way across deep cart-ruts, dried hard 
 by the sun, into a wide meadow where a flock of 
 sheep were grazing. In the dip below, a farm-house 
 nestled and beyond it a thread of water gleamed, 
 spanned by a stone bridge white in the sunshine. 
 
 On the further side of this a crowd of riders stirred 
 and little dots on the hill announced the advent of 
 others. 
 
 "Four Elms Bridge," Sartoris explained "I expect 
 they'll draw that covert beyond the ploughed field." 
 
 "We must make for the gate over by the farm." 
 The Bosun gave directions in his shrill boy's voice. 
 
 "Come up, Crab." He touched the grey pony with 
 his whip, who scenting turf beneath his feet broke 
 eagerly into a canter. 
 
 "You follow me." He grabbed at his cap that the 
 uneven going threatened to dislodge, whilst the two 
 men, with an amused glance at each other, tacitly ac- 
 cepted the child's leadership.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 271 
 
 "Steady now don't go so fast!" Derrick called 
 after. 
 
 Through the still air came the crack of the hunts- 
 men's whips and it acted as a spur to the Bosun's wild 
 excitement. 
 
 "There they are !" he cried and raised his hunting- 
 crop as a line of pink coats came slowly into view. 
 
 Kilmarny's horse pecked and recovered with an ef- 
 fort. He shouted anxiously to the boy ahead. 
 
 "Hold him in, can't you? It's full of rabbit-holes." 
 
 But Crab, infected with his rider's fearlessness, in- 
 creased rather than slackened their headlong pace. 
 
 And in a moment the unseen peril caught them, as 
 Derrick spurred his horse forward, one hand out- 
 stretched for the rein. 
 
 Down went the grey pony, with a sharp, ominous 
 thud, that the close-cropped grass was powerless to 
 soften. For the earth was like a hard crust baked in 
 the sun that had blistered the countryside day after 
 day. 
 
 The boy flew over his head like a stone out of a 
 sling, and lay as he fell in a sickening, crumpled heap. 
 
 "My God!" The words were wrung from the 
 depths of Kilmarny's soul as he flung himself off his 
 horse and knelt beside the child. 
 
 "He's all right . . . he's only stunned . . ." he 
 found himself crying wildly as he gathered up the 
 little limp body in his arms. 
 
 For a moment the field and sky swam round before 
 him. Then he heard Sartoris speak, with a stern new 
 note of command.
 
 272 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Don't move him let me see." 
 
 Skilful, tender hands were passing over his burden, 
 as Kilmarny waited in breathless suspense. 
 
 The child's head hung back, the face still warm with 
 life, lips parted with the joy that had thrilled his 
 little soul. 
 
 But Death was there too the shade of eternal 
 night. Gently the surgeon closed the dark eyes. 
 
 How long he knelt there Kilmarny never knew. 
 Indistinctly he gathered the drift of the other's 
 speech. 
 
 "Quite instantaneous , . . painless, thank God! 
 . . . the crowning mercy of a broken neck . . ." 
 
 Mechanically he rose to his feet and looked round 
 for his horse, which stood there patiently, in that 
 dumb sympathy that lies in scenes of tragedy between 
 man and beast. 
 
 The sun poured down, vanquishing the mist, and far 
 away there sounded the gay note of a horn. 
 
 Pitilessly the ringing hoofs clattered over the 
 bridge, as the heedless crowd swept forward after the 
 pink coats. 
 
 Many a man had Sartoris watched go to his death, 
 in the old Hospital days, with an unmoved face. But 
 never, he told himself, a scene as cruel as this, the 
 snapping asunder of this bright young life. 
 
 He felt an odd lump rise in his throat as he watched 
 the agony on Kilmarny's face. 
 
 "It's no good," he said huskily "there's nothing to 
 be done. And after all . . ." he looked down at the
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 273 
 
 still, small form "he's gone ... at the height of his 
 joy as we'd all like to go . . ." 
 
 He turned away abruptly, stooping to gather up the 
 child's cap and whip, that lay, out-flung, beyond them, 
 on the turf. 
 
 "I'll see to the pony I'm afraid he's broken his 
 leg. And get a cart or something from that farm 
 over there." 
 
 Kilmarny, still in silence, mounted his horse. 
 
 "Give him to me." His voice, dull and strained, 
 seemed to come from far away, loud in his ears. He 
 bent down for his burden, holding out his arms. 
 
 "You'll do the rest?" Sartoris nodded his head. 
 
 "The name's . . . Newcomen. Coddell-in-the- 
 dale." 
 
 Suddenly he remembered he had no claim on the 
 man and began a half-hearted apology. 
 
 "That's all right . . ." The specialist checked the 
 intention. "Wish I could do more." He looked up at 
 the pair. 
 
 Derrick bare-headed with that strange white lock, 
 that the sunshine singled out in his dark and glossy 
 hair. The child with the same mark that added the 
 last touch to that resemblance Sartoris had caught. 
 
 "I was sure of it," he said under his breath. "God 
 help the man it's been a bitter blow." 
 
 Without another word Kilmarny turned away, the 
 dead body of his son pressed against his heart. 
 
 On and on, through the green lanes that wound 
 down to the vale, past the shining river with its reeded
 
 274 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 flowery banks, on rode Derry, to Coddell-in-the-dale. 
 
 And beside him a phantom kept pace with his 
 horse; remorselessly it hunted him through sunlight 
 and through shade the knowledge that had come too 
 late to stay the curse. 
 
 For of all a man's sowing no harvest is so sure as 
 the full reaped measure of irresponsibility. 
 
 Lightly he had lived, lightly he had loved . . . 
 
 So with their dead child in his arms he came to 
 Candida.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 "You must get the funeral over the sooner the 
 better." 
 
 The village doctor, as usual, spoke his mind. New- 
 comen watched him, a question on his face. 
 
 "You think then ... ?" He could not voice his 
 fear. 
 
 "I don't like it at all. It's this unnatural calm. If 
 only she'd break down ..." 
 
 He lingered in the porch as though reluctant to de- 
 part. "Send for me at any time never mind the 
 hour. And if she does cry don't attempt to check 
 her." 
 
 He wrung Newcomen's hand in hearty sympathy. 
 
 "You're her husband," he added, "and understand 
 her moods. It's one of those cases where a Doctor's 
 powerless. Love, not medicine, is what she needs just 
 now. It's a cruel business . . ." His eyes were dim 
 as he got into the cart. 
 
 Newcomen closed the gate gently after him and 
 walked back to the house with that furtive hushed step 
 that seems such a curious tribute to the presence of 
 death. 
 
 The blinds were down and no one stirred within; 
 as though a hint of sound or light could filter through 
 to the senses of the dead child above. 
 
 Never had the man felt so acutely his despair nor 
 275
 
 276 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 realized the impotence that hedged him round. The 
 depths of the gulf between him and his wife seemed 
 fathomless, a pit no human hands could bridge. 
 
 And in his cruel pain remorse found a part. 
 
 Many and many a time had he wished the child 
 away, had grudged him the measure of his mother's 
 passionate love. But that Heaven should grant his 
 prayer with a tragic suddenness that threatened the 
 very reason of his best-beloved warred with his ortho- 
 dox and narrow creed of life and sent him blindly 
 stumbling out into the dark. For the first time for 
 many years he found he could not pray. He had a 
 dazed notion that God had cheated him. If the 
 answer to prayer was to be man's undoing, religion 
 was a mockery and faith itself a snare. 
 
 In his tired brain, where the busy thoughts ran 
 on, an odd phrase drifted, gathered in his wanderings : 
 the memory of a legend of far-away Provence, subtle 
 as the lore of its ancient peasantry. 
 
 "God keep you from the wolf and from your heart's 
 desire." 
 
 His "heart's desire" ... He knew it was the truth. 
 
 The dusk deepened into night, a breathless close 
 calm brooded over the garden and the silence of the 
 house. 
 
 Once old Susan came out timidly, eyes rimmed with 
 weeping and stood by his side, under the dark ver- 
 andah. 
 
 "She won't let me in ..." her shrunk lips quiv- 
 ered. "The door's locked against me ... oh, my 
 bonnie lamb !"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 277 
 
 The tears poured afresh down the lined old face as 
 Newcomen in sympathy laid a hand on her arm. 
 
 "It's no good, Susan, we must bide her time . . . 
 We'll be there when she wants us, you and I." 
 
 Moved by the misery of the bent old form he 
 stooped down and kissed this faithful servant and 
 friend. 
 
 "Oh sir . . . thankye, sir." She struggled for ex- 
 pression. "It du be mighty sore to stand by and wait. 
 Many a time I've taken her on these old knees of mine 
 and she's laid her head against me and cried the 
 pretty lamb! But now she won't have a word with 
 old Susan! She's there all alone and I can't hear 
 nothing. I've listened and I've listened but there never 
 come a sound it's the silence as scares me, sir, it 
 seems onnatural." 
 
 For Candida upstairs was guarding her dead. A 
 fixed idea survived the hour of her shock. 
 
 Dimly she felt they plotted to take the child from 
 her all that remained of her earthly happiness. 
 
 Rigid she sat there beside the still form, watch- 
 ful, alert, nursing her delusion. For, in truth, the 
 blow had temporarily unhinged her and she hardly 
 yet realised that the Bosun was dead. 
 
 All that pierced the haze of her stricken soul was 
 a sense of conspiracy that hung in the air, the old 
 knowledge that Newcomen had never cared for 
 the boy, that Susan herself guessed the secret of 
 his birth. 
 
 So by the side of the little wooden bed, she sat 
 there, motionless, the sentinel of Death.
 
 278 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 The first faint streak of dawn divided the sky, a 
 knife thrust that gaped in the heart of the night. 
 
 Slowly the grey light filtered through the blind, 
 where Newcomen sat, outside his wife's door. 
 
 He rose at last, on tip-toe, crossing to the window 
 to draw aside the curtain with a sigh of relief. For 
 when the Creator made night as well as day he added 
 a new burden for humanity in pain. 
 
 A chill breath of air blew in the sailor's face and 
 he took a deep breath of it before he returned and 
 for the hundredth time in the long dark vigil placed 
 his ear against the crack of the door. 
 
 He heard a faint sound, the rustle of a dress and, 
 before he could draw back, a hand upon the key. 
 
 The door opened slowly and Candida looked out. 
 
 For a moment's silence they stood there face to 
 face. 
 
 "What do you want?" Her hand was at her 
 throat in the old nervous gesture that brought back 
 to the man another scene of pain in the dead years 
 behind them. 
 
 What prompted his reply, the serene inspiration that 
 led him by a swift, sure current to her help, New- 
 comen could never explain to himself. 
 
 For what he answered was in its bare simplicity. 
 
 "I want to see the child." And then he caught his 
 breath. 
 
 A faint smile crept into the mother's face. She 
 passed a bewildered hand across her brow as though 
 she struggled to understand his words. 
 
 Then, with a natural gesture, she held out her hand.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 279 
 
 "Come," she said and drew him into the darkened 
 room. 
 
 The curtains pulled close shut out the hint of dawn, 
 but on the washing-stand a night-light flickered. 
 
 Even then he saw with a pitiful comprehension that 
 a book shaded the feeble flame from the eyes of the 
 dead child. 
 
 So uncertain was its light he could hardly make 
 out the still outline that lay in its narrow bed. All 
 his hope centred on those hot, dry fingers that clung to 
 the grasp of his own longing hand. 
 
 Suddenly the old fear swept across his wife. 
 
 She turned round, placing herself between him and 
 the dead. 
 
 "You won't take him away ?" her voice rose, shrill. 
 
 "No, no." With an effort, he answered quietly, "I 
 give you my word of honour, dear." 
 
 The fear in her eyes faded out again. 
 
 Gently she drew away the intervening sheet and 
 they stood there, side by side, gazing down on all that 
 was left of that ardent little life that had filled the 
 quiet house with the sound of a child's feet. 
 
 "May I?" Newcomen watched her face. 
 
 Stooping down he kissed the cold curved lips. And, 
 as he did so, a sound broke from his wife, a faint, 
 fluttering sob that caught at his heart-strings. 
 
 "Oh my darling my darling . . ." His hands 
 went out to her; the tears poured down, unheeded, 
 over his face. 
 
 And at the sight of the strong man's grief the frozen 
 deeps in Candida's soul shivered and broke apart.
 
 280 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "John," she cried "you . . . you . . ." and then, 
 wildly, "He's dead! my little son my baby . . ." 
 and she was in his arms . . . 
 
 So out of the great void that hides the Eternal 
 Will, a love shaped and quickened and flamed into' 
 life. From sin and sorrow, the parents, was under- 
 standing born that human charity that touches the 
 divine. 
 
 For the child that had divided them with his loving 
 little hands joined them together in his tragic death 
 and the last ripple of the stone flung in heedless youth 
 quivered and sank away into the eternal calm.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 VAN SOMEREN heard the sad news on his return that 
 evening and his thoughts instinctively turned in the 
 direction of the Landslide, divining the distress of the 
 woman he loved. 
 
 After a hurried dinner he remounted his bicycle 
 and despite his sister's protest that evening calls were 
 not the custom in England, he wished her an im- 
 patient good-night and set out in quest of April. 
 
 Miss Van Someren watched him go, splashing up 
 the lane; for a sudden torrent of rain had succeeded 
 the long drought, turning the hard roads in the Dale 
 into running streams of water that poured down from 
 the hills to join the river below. 
 
 "Poor old Lorry! it's a case, sure." She shaded 
 her eyes with her hand "Oh, I wish we'd never left 
 New York!" 
 
 Then her courage re-asserted itself as she turned 
 back into the house, remembering a fragment of dis- 
 jointed talk at dinner. 
 
 For the company Van Someren served desired his 
 speedy return. Trade flourished across the water and 
 they needed his active brain, those powers of adminis- 
 tration which he undoubtedly possessed, no longer 
 useful in his present position. No one was more eager 
 to agree with this change of plans than the little
 
 282 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 American girl. The mere thought of New York and 
 her many friends there brought with it a wave of 
 longing for her home. But Van Someren was torn 
 asunder between love and duty. For the first time in 
 his life he realised a force before which ambition itself 
 seemed to pale, and his face shewed the conflict as he 
 reached the long drive with its dripping arch of trees 
 and eerie shadows beneath. 
 
 He found April under the verandah, with Esau by 
 her side. In her lap she held a letter that the post 
 had brought that day, in the cramped old-fashioned 
 writing of Sir Hugo Gervase. 
 
 She greeted her visitor quietly, without any shew 
 of grief, but he felt instinctively that she knew of the 
 Bosun's death. 
 
 He pulled his chair round facing hers, with the 
 narrow table between them, studying her face for a 
 moment thoughtfully. 
 
 Then very simply he explained his late appearance. 
 
 "I had to come. I felt so worried about you." 
 
 April nodded her head, divining his hidden thought. 
 
 "It's dreadful, isn't it? Poor Mrs. Newcomen I 
 can't bear to think of what she's going through. 
 And he was such a darling ..." Her voice shook on 
 the word. He could see that she controlled herself 
 with a painful effort. 
 
 "If it hadn't been for me " she seemed to be think- 
 ing aloud "it never could have happened that's the 
 awful part. I can't forgive myself for my share in 
 the disaster. Oh! how I wish I'd never gone to 
 Sleyd!"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 283 
 
 "I don't quite catch on," Van Someren looked per- 
 plexed "would you mind telling me why you blame 
 yourself?" 
 
 "You don't know . . . ?" She gave him a quick 
 startled glance ; then started to supply him with the 
 details he lacked, of her visit to Sir Hugo and the 
 child's meeting with Derry. 
 
 "Now do you understand?" Her white, sad face 
 shewed the despair she felt. 
 
 "Sure." His voice was pitiful. "But I think you're 
 confusing the point. If anyone is to blame it's that 
 man Kilmarny. He had no earthly right to take the 
 boy out hunting without his parents' leave that's 
 where the fault lies." 
 
 Then, as she answered nothing, he leaned forward 
 towards her, and laid a sympathetic hand over hers, 
 clasped tightly together on the edge of the table. 
 
 "Now, look here, Mrs. Panhasard . . ." 
 
 But at his touch she started, her nerves suddenly 
 jarred. The colour rose to her face and vehemently 
 she turned on him. 
 
 "I'm not Mrs. Panhasard! don't call me by 
 that name I can't keep it up ... this living a 
 lie ... I oughtn't to have come here ... I see it 
 all now" 
 
 Her breathless jerky words startled the man, and, 
 feeling her control slipping from her grasp, April rose 
 to her feet, and fled into the house. 
 
 The thoughts went whirling through Van Som- 
 eren's brain as he gathered the significance of her 
 reckless speech.
 
 284 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Not "Mrs. Panhasard"! what could she mean? 
 Was he nearing the heart of the mystery at last? 
 
 Impetuously he followed her through the open win- 
 dow, where in the dim light he could see her stand, 
 her back turned towards him, her head bowed in her 
 hands. Her shoulders rose and fell with her sharp, 
 stifled sobs and all Van Someren's love leaped up at 
 sight of her tears. 
 
 He took a quick step forward and, before she could 
 protest, she felt his strong arm around her, the deep 
 voice in her ear. 
 
 "Oh, Honey, Honey don't cry so ! I'm not going 
 to let you break your heart like this. I don't care a 
 damn who or what you are ! You're the woman I 
 love, and that's enough for me!" 
 
 Gently he turned her towards him so that the twi- 
 light from without fell on her face, disfigured with 
 tears. He did not attempt to kiss her but stood there 
 still, one arm around her shoulders, waiting patiently. 
 
 And in her weakness it seemed to April as if the 
 actual strength of the tall powerful figure soothed her 
 tired nerves. She felt a strong temptation to cry 
 aloud the fact, to admit herself conquered, and reap 
 consolation. 
 
 Then the nobler side of her nature stirred to life, 
 remembering the barrier that her conscience recog- 
 nised. 
 
 She freed herself gently, mastering her tears. 
 
 "Please . . . please . . ." she whispered. He 
 moved away from her. 
 
 "Very well." A note of chagrin sounded in his
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 285 
 
 voice. "It shall be as you wish I think you know 
 that. But if you would confide in me ... would tell 
 me the truth . . ." 
 
 She raised her head at this and met his pleading 
 eyes. 
 
 "You shall know . . . everything it's only fair to 
 you," and went on despairingly, avoiding his gaze. 
 
 "I don't know what you'll say I don't know what 
 you'll think . . . but I'm not free even if ... I 
 cared." 
 
 He came closer at her speech, with a startled look 
 on his face. 
 
 "Not free!" His worst fears were being realised. 
 "You mean your husband's living?" 
 
 "Yes." She whispered the word. It seemed to her 
 suddenly a wall of strong defence against the prompt- 
 ings of her own mutinous heart. 
 
 But as she realised the pain in his grey eyes, and 
 the knowledge grew with it how dear indeed he was, 
 she went on hurriedly, destroying her only guard. 
 
 "I ... divorced him in May." 
 
 "Divorced him !" Van Someren almost shouted his 
 relief. "That all?" He gave a short uncontrollable 
 laugh. "Lord! how you frightened me, Honey," he 
 said. 
 
 "But you don't understand " She sank down 
 
 on the sofa, with a sudden physical need for support, 
 foreseeing the fight that was bound to ensue. 
 
 "I shouldn't ever dream of marrying again not 
 whilst ... he lived. I shouldn't think it ... 
 right."
 
 286 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Will you tell me the whole story?" His voice 
 was quiet now but through it rang a thrill of triumph 
 which he was powerless to suppress. 
 
 "I want to hear everything if you feel up to it." 
 He settled himself down to listen by her side. 
 
 So, in the deepening dusk, she laid her life bare, the 
 early disillusion, the slow death of love. Then the 
 long strain of the hopeless fight she waged, as drink 
 claimed its victim, with a sure, insidious hold. The 
 death of her child, her own broken nerve and the 
 agony of doubt that still haunted her : the feeling she 
 had "turned back from the plough," her life work 
 undone, through physical lack of strength. 
 
 And as Van Someren listened his admiration 
 grew; pity and anger swayed him and infinite relief, 
 as step by step she justified his passionate faith in 
 her. 
 
 "Oh, Honey, what a life! the almighty grit of it. 
 You ought to have freed yourself years and years 
 ago." 
 
 "I couldn't." April shivered "there was no case 
 then you see. Besides the desperate hope that kept 
 me struggling on. It's terrible to feel that you're the 
 last hold that you stand between a man and his 
 moral suicide. And until I was so ill I kept my in- 
 fluence. I pulled him through, and helped him, time 
 after time. And then ... I couldn't bear it the 
 secrecy, the strain I just gave in, gave up, and let 
 things take their course." 
 
 "And quite right too it wasn't fit for a woman! 
 But what d'you mean by not having a case? Seems
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 287 
 
 to me you'd as sound a one as you could wish. Why, 
 it was hardly safe to live with such a man!" 
 
 "That doesn't count from a legal point of view." 
 She smiled a little bitterly at his astonished face. 
 "You can't obtain a divorce in this country for drink. 
 Not even for unfaithfulness, however flagrant it is, 
 unless you can prove personal cruelty as well." 
 
 "Are those your laws?" His voice was eloquent. 
 "Thank God, we don't treat women that way ! Why, 
 it's slavery, not marriage. D'you really mean to say 
 that you've got to go on living with any sort of mutt, 
 provided he has enough control to keep his hands 
 from off you?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "And he with you?" 
 
 "Oh dear, no. He can be freed at the first sus- 
 picion of his wife's moral conduct. A few love-let- 
 ters, the testimony of servants, a solitary visit to any 
 man's rooms . . . Oh don't let's talk of it it's all 
 ... so revolting." 
 
 "You poor little soul !" He choked back his opinion 
 of her country, conscious of the strain on the tired 
 white face. "But you haven't told me yet what 
 brought you to Coddell about the wisest thing you 
 ever did in your life!" 
 
 She smiled a little sadly at his enthusiasm and went 
 on with her story : her desire for a hiding-place, where 
 she could rest and gather up the threads of her life, 
 unknown, exempt at last from painful publicity. 
 
 Van Someren understood. He remembered that 
 curious look that had roused his pity and wonder
 
 288 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 when first he saw her face ; a shrinking that somehow 
 warred with her air of dignity the hurt suspicion of 
 a creature badly-used. 
 
 "So now, Honey," as at last she paused for breath, 
 "it's up to me to prove all that I have preached. You 
 come to my country and leave the past behind. You've 
 only got to say . . . that you care . . . just a little! 
 I don't think, somehow, you'll ever live to regret it." 
 
 His hands were stretched out to her, his strong 
 face pleaded. 
 
 "I want to make up to you for all you've gone 
 through to shew you the very best that love can give. 
 To work for you and care for you and share my life 
 with you if only, my darling, you'll trust yourself 
 tome?" 
 
 But April rose to her feet. She dared not look at 
 him. 
 
 "I can't ... I can't!" She clasped her hands to- 
 gether. "Don't you see that I still am not morally 
 free? that I never ought to care for anyone again?" 
 
 "But you do." Mercilessly he drove the fact home. 
 "And after all it's nothing more than old-world 
 prejudice. You're free even here with your med- 
 iaeval fool laws you're doubly free in my land don't 
 forget that !" 
 
 "Lorry," a note of panic crept into her voice, "you 
 wouldn't ask it of me against my own beliefs? To 
 act against my innermost sacred sense of honour?" 
 
 Then as he bit his lips, fighting it out in silence, 
 she went on desperately, conscious of the temptation. 
 
 "I think too much of you, putting aside myself.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 289 
 
 You're one of my . . . lost ideals something I can't 
 express ! And then to wrong you by any weakness of 
 mine ..." a sob broke from her. "For though I love 
 you, Lorry, if ever I married you, believing myself 
 morally another man's wife, I'd be dragging you 
 down too we'd be utterly miserable it never would 
 mean peace for you or for me." 
 
 Van Someren wheeled round and walked to the 
 window. With blind eyes he looked out on the dim 
 English scene, the sloping shadowy lawn with its dark 
 belt of trees. The moon, a young crescent, was rising 
 over the river and it lighted up the conflict upon his 
 weary face. And to April as she watched came the 
 full realisation of the sacrifice she asked and the loss 
 it entailed. 
 
 "If ever I were free," she stood by his side, "and 
 if you still cared ..." She broke off midway and 
 her whole heart went out in one bitter cry. 
 
 "It's not that I love you too little but that I love 
 you too much . . . Oh, Lorry, Lorry!" He caught 
 her in his arms. 
 
 "You're right." His voice broke. "You're all I 
 ever dreamed." He fought for a moment, his lips 
 against her hair. 
 
 "It shall be as you wish though it's hard cruel 
 hard. But I want you to remember." He looked into 
 her eyes . . . "That I'm still there, Honey. There 
 all the time waiting for you, longing for you, listen- 
 ing for a sign. You'll never be alone again, as long 
 as you live. There'll always be one man who's near 
 you in spirit, whose thoughts are with you, Honey, by
 
 290 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 day and by night who loves you with every fibre of 
 his soul." 
 
 "I know ... I know." She was crying quietly 
 now, her face hidden against him, sure of herself at 
 last. "And some day, Lorry, some day, perhaps, we 
 shall see our way clear, our way to happiness. But, 
 until then, we must struggle on as bravely as 
 
 we can " She lifted a wet face and looked up at 
 
 him. 
 
 "You won't let it hurt you more than you can help ! 
 You'll go on with your work and 'make good' just 
 the same ? I couldn't bear to think that I had spoilt 
 your life." 
 
 "Sure." He smiled back at her. "I'm going to 
 work . . . for you! I'll never give up hope or be- 
 lieve this is the end. For I'm dead certain still it will 
 come right at last it's in that perfect plan that's hid- 
 den from our eyes. But don't forget meanwhile what 
 I've been telling you. You're never now to feel you're 
 alone any more one word and I'll come, wherever 
 I may be from the ends of the earth, the moment 
 you call." 
 
 Gently he smoothed back the hair from off her 
 brow, drinking his fill of the pale beautiful face, with 
 its steadfast eyes shadowed in pain, those blue eyes 
 that gave up the secret of her love. 
 
 "I shall go away from here as soon as I can," he 
 went on quietly, speaking his thoughts aloud. "As 
 a matter of fact I'm wanted badly home. I got my 
 marching orders by cable today and was nearly torn 
 asunder by the unexpected call the knowledge of my
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 291 
 
 duty and the fear of losing you. I don't think . . . 
 I'll see you after tonight. I don't think it's good 
 . . . for you or for me. So long as I'm certain that 
 you really understand that you give me your word 
 that if you are in trouble you'll send straight for me, 
 wherever I may be?" 
 
 But she could not answer him. Her eyes were on 
 his face, engraving on her memory the lines that she 
 loved. She took as women will a picture of him 
 there, to be stored away, a holy thing, against her 
 loneliness. 
 
 At last a sound startled them, the distant step of a 
 maid, going round the dark old house to fasten window 
 and door. 
 
 It forced on them the realisation of the lateness 
 of the hour, that Time would not wait for the lagging 
 feet of Love. 
 
 "I promise you, Lorry." 
 
 She lifted up her face and, for a long moment, they 
 clung to each other. 
 
 Then, resolutely, he put her away. 
 
 "God keep you, Honey . . ." and went out into 
 the dark.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 "WELL, what did you expect?" April's voice was 
 not encouraging. 
 
 Majendie crossed his long legs, and flicked a minute 
 speck of dust off his blue serge suit. 
 
 "I suppose, even at Coddell-in-the-dale" he stole a 
 glance at her, where she stood, her back half -turned 
 to him, looking out on the lawn "y u can't depend 
 on a fatted calf? at a minute's notice, too! Still, a 
 little veal 'en casserole', or a delicate frilled cutlet 
 would go far to comfort me after the late 'husks'. 
 I'm not one of the modern, nut-eating young men. 
 My tastes are healthy, primitive . . . too primitive, 
 perhaps!" 
 
 "If you're going to talk like that, Boris" she 
 gathered up her basket and scissors off the table 
 "perhaps you will excuse me. I want to cut some 
 flowers." 
 
 "Why this sudden horticultural enthusiasm? They 
 look much better growing as they are." 
 
 She turned on him with a touch of temper, uncon- 
 sciously cruel. 
 
 "The flowers are for the Bosun's funeral." 
 
 "What!" He was on his feet. "Oh, I say, you're 
 joking? Not that jolly little chap? not . . . dead?" 
 292
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 293 
 
 His horror and amazement touched the soft spot in 
 her heart. 
 
 "Yes, isn't it dreadful? An accident on Tuesday." 
 
 "Oh, my dear!" He was by her side, genuinely 
 moved. "Oh, April do forgive me what an utter 
 beast I am!" 
 
 "You didn't know." Her voice was kind ; then the 
 insidious memory returned. "But anyhow oh, 
 what's the use of talking!" With a shrug of her 
 shoulders she stepped down into the garden. 
 
 The boy followed her, at his wit's end how to pro- 
 ceed. This unforeseen tragedy had broken his line of 
 defence. He could no longer carry out his original 
 game of bluff, based on that very excuse Van Someren 
 had conceived. For he did not know that April 
 already possessed his secret; that for weeks she had 
 known of the existence of Chloe, and the intrigue 
 she had glimpsed in the far-off London tea-shop. 
 
 He was saved from further disaster by the im- 
 pulse that succeeded to tell her the whole truth what- 
 ever came of it. 
 
 "Would you rather that I went away and left 
 you?" But his voice betrayed the reluctance that he 
 felt. "I oughtn't to have come." 
 
 At this she relented. His humility rang genuine, 
 his sympathy sincere. 
 
 "No since you are here, just help me with these. 
 Later on ... we'll talk." She handed him the bas- 
 ket and began to cut the first white chrysanthemums 
 of the year, that stood in a row of pots against the 
 sheltered wall.
 
 294 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 The second blooms of the roses followed in their 
 wake, with heavy fragrant heads, where the rain-drops 
 still glistened. 
 
 "That's all, I'm afraid." She paused reluctantly, 
 and called to the gardener beyond them, busily en- 
 gaged in digging a trench for celery. 
 
 He drove his spade into the damp ground and 
 came forward obediently, a bent old figure, with slow, 
 rheumatic steps. 
 
 "There's them lilies in the green'ouse, mum. But 
 I was a-saving 'em up for the flower-show later." 
 He rubbed the earth ruefully off his gnarled hands, 
 and added: 
 
 "Beg pardon, mum, but as you're this way, mebbe 
 you'd like to see that fall o' soil last night?" 
 
 "Yes I'll come." She remembered, with a start. 
 "Mary told me something about it I hope it's done 
 no harm?" 
 
 "It's fair buried them old pig-styes, mum." 
 
 He grumbled on, pessimistic after his kind. 
 
 The weather, as usual, was answerable for much, 
 but this new disaster he attributed to Providence: 
 the Providence of the poor that wields a heavy flail, 
 to balance so he held its indulgence to the rich. 
 Prepared for trouble, even Majendie was a little 
 taken aback, when he came to the narrow space be- 
 neath the high cliff. For a mass of chalk and soil 
 had given way above, where the drought had cracked 
 the ground about the fringe of firs. 
 
 The violent storm of rain had loosened its fragile 
 hold, and now the roots of the trees emerged nakedly,
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 295 
 
 like the tentacles of an octopus, reaching out for 
 prey. 
 
 "It doesn't look too safe," Boris pronounced un- 
 easily. "You'll be having the whole place about your 
 ears one night." 
 
 The gardener seemed to take an acid pleasure in 
 the thought, conscious, perhaps, that he slept in a cot- 
 tage down the lane. 
 
 "It's done it afore" he shook his grey head "but 
 this be the wust fall as ever I seed." 
 
 "You'd better have some help to clear it away." 
 
 April dismissed the affair somewhat indifferently, 
 conscious of her own coming departure. 
 
 "I must write and inform the landlord." They 
 turned back to the house, and, lowering her voice, she 
 went on quietly: "I'm leaving here, you see in a 
 very short time." 
 
 "Leaving the Landslide?" Majendie stared at her. 
 "Not really! You're going away? for good?" 
 
 "Yes." She began to tell him of her interview 
 with her godfather, and how she was resolved to abide 
 by his advice. 
 
 "And where are you off to?" His face fell at the 
 news. He felt he had lost her, irrevocably. 
 
 "I'm not sure somewhere abroad." 
 
 She looked up and caught the boy's worried glance, 
 the wistful eyes that watched her in sad compre- 
 hension. 
 
 "I can't somehow take it in. It's all too sudden." 
 
 He .moved restlessly under the burden of his suspi- 
 cions.
 
 296 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "You'll let me know . . . where you are?" He 
 ventured at last. 
 
 Her slim hands were fastening the pale flowers to- 
 gether, binding them into a last sad offering to the 
 dead. Her face was hidden from him, shadowed by 
 her hair that wonderful hair of hers, that gleamed 
 like a halo about the head of a mediaeval saint. With 
 the tall lilies on her knee, the droop of her white 
 neck, she suggested some picture, such as Lippi loved, 
 a madonna that a master had spent his soul upon. 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Oh!" An exclamation of pain escaped him at the 
 word. "Is it as bad as that? Is no forgiveness 
 possible?" 
 
 "Please . . ." She checked him with a gesture of 
 her hand. "I would rather not talk of it. It is ... 
 your own affair." 
 
 But he stood there obstinately, looking down at her 
 where she sat on the garden seat, absorbed in her 
 task. 
 
 "Oh, you women!" He spoke bitterly. "How the 
 best of you will hit a man when he's down !" 
 
 She started at this, her pride pricked by the speech. 
 
 "That's hardly fair, Boris." Her voice was digni- 
 fied. "But, if I have misjudged you, you have only 
 to explain." 
 
 To her surprise he took her at her word. 
 
 "Very well. I will." 
 
 "One minute, please." She went indoors with the 
 flowers and gave directions for their delivery. Then, 
 with the colour in her cheeks, more nervous than she
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 297 
 
 cared to confess, she returned to the man waiting im- 
 patiently without. 
 
 He drew forward a chair for her and then sat 
 down, facing her across the narrow table. 
 
 It struck her suddenly that here was the identical 
 scene where she herself had confessed her deception 
 to Van Someren. 
 
 The knowledge in a curious way softened her mood 
 as she thought of his sympathy and her own hesita- 
 tion. For love begets pity for the whole world of 
 lovers; and, looking into the boy's face, she could 
 not remain blind to the suffering that was there so 
 plainly manifest. 
 
 "I'm not going," Majendie began, "to defend what 
 I have done. But I want you to hear all before you 
 start to judge. I know" he stared past her "it's 
 practically impossible for a woman to realise . . . 
 some things about a man. They can't, for instance, 
 discriminate between real love and passion. They 
 won't admit that the two can well exist apart. Now, 
 I know what you think that I've been playing a 
 game, leading two lives, pretending to care for you! 
 And all the time carrying on a secret intrigue; a sort 
 of poor Don Juan, spending his time, fooling around 
 among a pack of women!" 
 
 His voice rose heatedly, his lips curled with dis- 
 dain, as April sat in silence, a frown upon her 
 face. 
 
 "Now, I don't want to shock you still less hurt 
 your feelings. God knows it's hard enough to find 
 you involved you, above all people ! Petronilla . . .
 
 298 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 I never meant you to know I never dreamed you 
 could." 
 
 He leaned forward a little and spoke in a lower 
 tone. 
 
 "I told you once how I pictured you, how I always 
 saw you stand: a little blue madonna, in a far-off 
 golden shrine. Something quite holy, something 
 apart, that a man must love in a spirit of reverence. 
 Well you are there still you will stand there for- 
 ever nothing can really alter it, short of death it- 
 self. But out and away from that, there's a more 
 material side one is a land of dreams the other, 
 a man's life." 
 
 He saw her give a slight movement of recoil, 
 and went on hurriedly, before she had time to 
 speak. 
 
 "I'll tell you the story just the bare outline. 
 About a year ago a man I knew at school asked me to 
 go and look up his young sister. She'd got some weird 
 notion concerning independence and had taken a post 
 as waitress in a tea-shop in Town. I used to drop in 
 and have tea sometimes, but she quickly tired of it 
 and went down home a good thing, too it's a rot- 
 ten life for a girl ! But she introduced me to another 
 waitress there an awfully pretty child, though not 
 in her class. Well the long and the short of it 
 was . . . she rather took my fancy." He paused for 
 a moment, with a furtive glance at April, and was 
 momentarily surprised by the expression of her face. 
 For she knew he was speaking the plain, unvarnished 
 truth. She was interested by it, with a fugitive, vague
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 299 
 
 hope that the boy might clear himself at least par- 
 tially. 
 
 "She led a lonely life, a stranger herself in town 
 and poor isn't the word to describe her condition. I 
 found this out by accident, and after that, somehow, 
 I used to take her out and we'd have dinner together. 
 It seemed a howling shame a girl like that, you know 
 half-starved" he shrugged his shoulders "for 
 that's what it amounted to. And then I found she'd 
 other worries to bear as well. The usual story, of a 
 would-be benefactor a married man, disgustingly 
 old and quite disgustingly rich. He'd already given 
 her presents in a fatherly sort of way, and she didn't 
 know what to do when she realised what he meant. 
 It's hard when the shoe pinches, and there's no earthly 
 outlook and a girl's as pretty as paint and on her own 
 like that." 
 
 He broke off for a moment, his young face thought- 
 ful. Then he took the bit between his teeth and 
 plunged in again. 
 
 "Well I'm not a saint ! I don't suppose I'm worse 
 or better perhaps than most of the men one meets. 
 And I was about fed up with London and London 
 ways. It's all right when it's new and you've got 
 plenty of cash you can hold your own with your 
 own sort and have a clinking time. But after a bit 
 it's the loneliness that grips a man hard. You're only 
 a mere unit in the busy social crowd, and to keep in 
 the swing means constant expense. There's precious 
 little real friendliness about nobody wants you to 
 drop in to have a chat and smoke. If they've not got
 
 300 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 a party on they're taking a rest themselves. One gets 
 sick of the Halls, and, as for the average club if 
 you've joined an old respectable one, it's as gay as a 
 family vault. Well there you are, you see, night 
 after night with nothing for it but home to your 
 empty, dingy rooms. That blank return! You can't 
 think how one gets to dread the thought . . ." 
 
 He gave a little shrug of unpleasant reminiscence. 
 
 "You see, at school, in the holidays, at one's cram- 
 mer's, there's always someone. You get so used to 
 having people around that you don't in the least real- 
 ise what living alone will mean." 
 
 "It must be dreary," April's voice was grave, "but 
 I suppose your work to a certain extent absorbs you?" 
 
 "Yes if you've got any!" He gave a short laugh, 
 "But mine's principally hanging around waiting for 
 a miracle. Of course, I've plenty of pals, and I knock 
 about with them, but it's not quite the same. I like 
 women's society. I believe I'm really domestic, and, 
 as to thinking of marriage, it's about as useful a no- 
 tion as arranging one's life in Heaven. At any rate 
 I couldn't dream of it in my class, on my income." 
 
 "But you wouldn't marry beneath you?" 
 
 She spoke impulsively. Surely he had not com- 
 mitted this last fatal folly! 
 
 "No I don't think so but what's a man to do? 
 That's the curse of the present day you can't marry 
 young. And a man was made before a monk in the 
 interests of the race! we won't argue about it it's 
 an indisputable fact. Well, I'm getting away from 
 the point," He steered from the obvious quicksand.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 301 
 
 "One day, we were dining together, and I saw she 
 was looking ill worried to death, in fact, and the 
 truth came out later. She'd made up her mind that 
 poverty wasn't really worth it to throw her bonnet 
 over the mill and hey presto! for pretty clothes. 
 Well I liked her and I couldn't stand the thought. 
 So I mapped out an alternative course of action. 
 Bradsby had lent me his cottage and, although it 
 wasn't luxury, still" he gave a little smile "it had 
 its compensations. We were both to continue our 
 work; run up by the morning train and back again 
 in the evening in time for a simple meal. It might 
 have been idyllic if only she'd learnt to cook . . . 
 Lord! the messes we ate!" His face was eloquent. 
 "Of course you'll say the whole thing was wild, im- 
 provident, wrong utterly immoral, without a shade 
 of excuse. That's the woman's view. But to my 
 mind it had the merit of a certain . . . sweet sim- 
 plicity. It was out and away better than the average 
 life in town." 
 
 He paused for a moment, his brows knit, and April, 
 watching him, saw there was no bravado in it, but a 
 simple statement of what he really felt. 
 
 "You don't seem to have weighed your own re- 
 sponsibility : to have thought of the girl's position or 
 what was to be the end !" 
 
 At her serious voice Boris turned with a start. 
 
 "The girl ? Why, of course I did." He spoke im- 
 patiently. "She was bound to come to it, as I've 
 already told you. Half her friends, you see, were 
 being . . . helped by men. Why, it's practically rec-
 
 302 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 ognised in most of the swagger shops. Those pretty 
 mannequins how d'you suppose they live? They 
 can't support themselves in decency on their wages." 
 
 "Is that really a fact, or largely exaggerated." 
 
 April's face was grave as the thought sank home. 
 
 "It's a fact. Why? It can't be news to you?" 
 
 He stared at her in honest surprise. Then a shade 
 of malice crept into his face, as he went on deliber- 
 ately, glad to vent his own scorn on anything that 
 was handy. 
 
 "They're sacrificed, if you like, to a higher cult 
 than morality in the interests of large dividends, the 
 commerce of the nation. Of course we ignore it like 
 many unpleasant things; say the . . . disabilities of 
 our main streets after dusk. It's the virtue of shut 
 eyes. Mrs. Grundy got the notion from Watt's pic- 
 ture of Hope blindfold among the stars ..." 
 
 He checked the ribald fancy, half -angry, half- 
 amused, and went on with a serious countenance. 
 
 "Well, you see how it came about? The . . . epi- 
 sode, I mean. But all this only covers one side of the 
 story. What I want you to understand what's far 
 more difficult" he leaned forward with wistful, trou- 
 bled eyes "is my . . . unexplained attitude to your- 
 self." 
 
 "Is it necessary?" She drew back a little. Then, 
 as she saw him wince, repented her decision. 
 
 "Very well if you wish to. I said I would listen." 
 
 "Thank you." But his voice showed his keen mor- 
 tification. 
 
 "Of course you think what any woman would
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 303 
 
 that I'd no business here. And, perhaps . . . you're 
 right." He gave an eloquent gesture, a half shrug of 
 his shoulders, oddly foreign, that reminded her of his 
 Russian origin. "But, you see, it all began before I 
 really knew you, before I learned to care well, more 
 than a friend. And then ... it was too late. I 
 couldn't give you up. But you had your revenge if 
 ever you dreamed of one!" 
 
 The bitterness he felt vibrated in his voice. 
 
 "I wonder if you can guess can possibly imagine 
 the misery your very unconsciousness brought at 
 times ? For, if ever a man was haunted, I was haunted 
 by you. Your hair, your voice, your eyes, would 
 rise up and mock me stand like a ghost beside that 
 other . . . pretence at passion! Oh, April, April!" 
 the name was almost a cry "if you can't forgive 
 or pity just pause a moment and think: what my 
 love for you meant the hopelessness of it! the 
 knowledge that you trusted me your utter sweet- 
 ness to me and all the time I knew what a damned 
 fool I was!" 
 
 His voice choked; he struck the table with his 
 hand. He dared not look at her; he could not hope 
 for grace, but his facile tongue ran on, pouring out 
 despair. 
 
 "Did you ever read some poems by a man called 
 Ernest Dowson? There's one of them that's writ- 
 ten in words of blood and flame. If anything on 
 earth could make you understand the Man's view, 
 as utterly opposed to the Woman's the real, naked 
 sight of a virile soul in pain, stripped of orthodoxy,
 
 304 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 innocent of moral it's these two verses that always 
 bring your face to torture me." 
 
 He threw his head back, thinking for a moment, 
 then, with eyes half -shut, utterly absorbed in the 
 words : 
 
 " 'I have forgot much, Cynara ! gone with the wind 
 Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, 
 Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; 
 But I was desolate and sick of an old passion. 
 Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: 
 I have been faithful to thee, Cynara ! in my fashion. 
 
 'I cried for madder music and for stronger wine, 
 But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, 
 Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine; 
 And I am desolate and sick of an old passion, 
 Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: 
 I have been faithful to thee, Cynara ! in my fashion.' " 
 
 Carried away by the lines, he hid his hot face for 
 a moment in his hands. 
 
 And then it seemed to him that a miracle happened. 
 For he felt a light touch on his hair, gentle fingers 
 that lay there for a moment tenderly. 
 
 "Poor boy!" Her eyes were full of tears. "My 
 poor boy," she cried. 
 
 "April!" He raised his head and stared at her. 
 "April " He could not get beyond her name. 
 
 "Perhaps" she looked at him with a faint, sad 
 smile '"I'm not one of those who 'hit a man when 
 he's down'. I do try to be fair, I do try to be just. 
 For what's the use of life" her eyes were far away 
 "of all the sin and suffering we have each to bear,
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 305 
 
 if it doesn't lead in the end to a broader charity a 
 faint realisation of the mercy we ask of God. 
 
 "I think you've done a cruel wrong to that poor, 
 heedless child. I can't find an excuse for it, but I do 
 see this that somehow, along your own lines of 
 
 thought and principle " She paused, at a loss for 
 
 words, leaving her meaning plain. 
 
 "But I blame myself, too it ought not to have 
 happened not . . . my part I should have real- 
 ised." 
 
 "My dear" he gave a little laugh that shook mid- 
 way "however could you help it? The Queen can 
 do no wrong. But you won't go away and send me 
 never a word ? You won't punish me with utter ban- 
 ishment?" 
 
 Simply, in answer, she held out her hand. It was 
 a silent pardon that he recognised. He bent his head 
 over it; then drew back quickly, before his lips could 
 touch the fingers that he loved. And this act of re- 
 nunciation, more than any words, shewed her his 
 repentance, his sensitive chivalry. 
 
 It wiped away her last scrupulous shadow of doubt, 
 and she made up her mind on the question that was 
 troubling her. 
 
 "Boris" she looked at him "will you do some- 
 thing to please me ?" 
 
 "Anything." He jumped at a chance of earning 
 forgiveness. 
 
 "You must wait and hear first and think it carefully 
 through. It's something Sir Hugo has written and 
 suggested."
 
 306 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Sir Hugo Gervase?" He looked surprised. 
 "About me? really?" 
 
 "Yes." She hunted for the letter and spread it 
 out before her. "It seems an old friend of his is in a 
 difficulty. His son has been very ill, with an attack 
 of typhoid fever. He's now convalescent, but it's 
 left him delicate, and the doctors have recommended 
 a sea voyage to the Cape and on to Japan, America, 
 and home that way. It will take about nine months, 
 or possibly a year they're very well off and can 
 afford to do it comfortably. But he wants a com- 
 panion to travel with the boy; older than himself, but 
 young enough to amuse him. Not a tutor he has a 
 horror of that someone bright and healthy who'll 
 be kind and sympathetic. 
 
 "Sir Hugo thought of you and suggested I should 
 ask you. All expenses paid and it might lead in the 
 end to something permanent. This is all rather vague, 
 but there's a large estate and this is the only son; 
 and, of course, he understands that if a man gives up 
 his own work for a year he naturally expects some 
 adequate compensation. I don't think you need worry 
 at all upon this point it's open to discussion when 
 a meeting is arranged. The main thing is" she 
 paused and looked at him, her eyes clear and kind, 
 searching his own "they want to find a man whom 
 they can thoroughly trust." 
 
 "Oh !" Majendie flushed scarlet. He bit his lower 
 lip. 
 
 "And you . . . think you could recommend me 
 for the post?"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 307 
 
 "Yes." She nodded her head. "I do, Boris, now." 
 
 He sat for a moment speechless, staring straight 
 before him, realising all that her simple speech im- 
 plied. 
 
 "It means a year's absence: a year away from 
 you." Jerkily the words fell from his lips. 
 
 "I think, perhaps," she smiled at him, "hard as it 
 sounds, it's wise. But you'd have to start soon. 
 Now, is that possible?" 
 
 "Quite. There's nothing to keep me." He saw 
 her puzzled frown. "I've shut up the cottage." 
 
 She gave a little start. 
 
 "But . . . ?" She hesitated under his dark eyes. 
 
 "She's gone home," said Boris. "That's over 
 for good. She's gone back to her people. I think 
 we were both glad. A life of perpetual picnic is apt 
 to drag a little especially when it rains and all the 
 chimneys smoke! I don't want to talk of it but 
 your visit, the other day, gave me the excuse: to go 
 to the door like that! Oh, and lots of other draw- 
 backs. It was getting too expensive. She'd given up 
 the tea-shop a few weeks before and was spending 
 her leisure hours acquiring a trousseau. She'd lie in 
 bed all day whilst the place went to pieces and the 
 food\ . . . Anyhow, it's all over" he gave a sigh 
 of relief "though it's left me pretty broke, between 
 you and me. Sweet simplicity has its price! And 
 another sage reflection is how much virtue owes to 
 satiety and discomfort. I suppose there's some merit 
 in the well-used adage. At any rate, I'm 'good' now 
 but I'm not particularly 'happy'."
 
 308 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 This was the Boris of old, flippant, but sincere, one 
 eyebrow raised in a whimsical self -depreciation. 
 
 And April could not scold him. She felt an in- 
 tense relief to hear of Chloe's departure and to see her 
 way clear. 
 
 "Then you'll call on Sir Hugo's friend ? And talk 
 it well over?" 
 
 His face fell suddenly at her quiet tone of voice. 
 It held out for him a definite note of finality. 
 
 "You wish it, April?" His brown eyes pleaded for 
 him, wistful and dark with pain, awaiting her deci- 
 sion. 
 
 An odd foretaste of loneliness swept across her 
 heart. It seemed the last stroke of the knife that cut 
 her adrift. 
 
 But beyond that she saw a future for the boy a 
 definite turning-point in his aimless, lonely life. 
 
 "Yes." She nodded her head. She could not say 
 more. 
 
 "Then I'll do it!" said Majendie, "if only to 
 prove ... I care."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE night was close and still, with the presage of a 
 storm. In the stableyard beyond the shadowy garden 
 Esau was holding converse with the moon, a pessi- 
 mistic performance, regular and sustained. 
 
 The melancholy sound troubled April, herself rest- 
 less with the electricity in the air. She finished her 
 dinner hastily, and passed out onto the lawn, turning 
 her steps in the direction of the kennel. 
 
 The dark cliff rose overhead with its feathery rim 
 of firs like a black wall cutting the blue-green evening 
 sky, and above it again, purple, ominous, a thunder- 
 cloud hung, lined with a copper glow. The moon in 
 a watery halo seemed to retreat before it, throwing 
 an opal fan of light on the cobblestones of the yard. 
 It magnified the shadows and cast a silhouette, gro- 
 tesque and misshapen, of Esau's shaggy head on the 
 whitewashed wall of the stables beyond. 
 
 April passed through the gate and called to the big 
 dog, who greeted her in return with a frantic bark of 
 delight, freed from the obsession of that blank white 
 face that shone down on his misery with such a frozen 
 calm. 
 
 She bent to unfasten him where he squirmed at the 
 end of his chain. Then, as he broke away in a cur- 
 vetting dance around her, she called him back to 
 309
 
 310 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 heel, and, slipping the lash of her whip through his 
 strong collar, led him by her side out into the garden. 
 
 But when they came to the stone seat under the 
 high bank, she sat down breathlessly, conscious of the 
 oppression in the air. The dog lay at her feet, pant- 
 ing a little, his black nose outstretched, the red tongue 
 hanging, where beads of moisture gathered and fell 
 on the path below. 
 
 "Poor old fellow ! it must be hot work wearing a 
 motor-coat on a sultry night like this." 
 
 She stroked the rough head, glad of his company, 
 a little sadly, too, as she thought of another parting 
 and that she must leave her shaggy friend behind. 
 
 The memory of his coming drifted across her 
 mind; that merry scene that seemed such years and 
 years ago. For the tragedy of the child's death and 
 her own secret troubles had played a trick with Time, 
 casting all but the latter weeks into a distant past. 
 
 The Van Somerens had sailed. Majendie in his 
 turn had paid his farewell visit to the lady of the 
 Landslide. The Newcomens' house was shut; for 
 the sailor had taken his wife to a little fishing village 
 within an hour of his ship, where her heart could no 
 longer be torn by the ghost of pattering feet. April 
 was definitely alone at last, faced with the details of 
 her own departure. 
 
 Her plans were carefully laid. The servants al- 
 ready knew of her approaching visit to "friends in 
 the North". 
 
 The house was on her hands until the end of Oc- 
 tober and she had declined an offer to renew the lease.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 311 
 
 She decided to slip away without formal farewells 
 and write from abroad her final arrangements. The 
 servants could stay on, expecting her return until 
 the time drew near for giving up the house. 
 
 Meanwhile April packed her scattered belongings, 
 filled with a vague dread of all that lay before her. 
 To go back into the world and take up her position, 
 nervously aware that the old order had changed: to 
 face again gossip and unfriendliness under the smil- 
 ing mask that hid her hurt pride. 
 
 Nevertheless a curious comfort walled her about, 
 the knowledge of Van Someren's unchanging love for 
 her. At times in the solitude of the house among the 
 trees it seemed an actual presence, a spirit that hov- 
 ered near that neither Time nor Space could sever 
 from her own. 
 
 The memory of his last words that he needed but 
 a sign to call him back to her on the fleet wings of 
 love, one word and she would see that strong face 
 again was like the dream of a sunlit port to a weary 
 mariner. 
 
 But to-night, as she sat there under the cliff with 
 the sheep dog at her feet, she felt a cloud of depres- 
 sion closing over her ; a brooding sense of danger that 
 hovered in the air and was more than the influence 
 of the approaching storm. 
 
 She stirred herself at last, resolved to fight against 
 it, and, holding the dog by his improvised leash, she 
 walked across the lawn towards the river banks. 
 
 The silence could be felt. Not a bird nor a leaf 
 stirred. All Nature held her breath in a mute prayer
 
 3 I2 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 for rain. The water when she reached it seemed 
 like a great snake, stretched between the willows where 
 the leaves drooped mournfully. Only a patch of irises, 
 yellow and persistent, hung out their bannerets against 
 the dark boat-house ; and April moved towards them, 
 attracted by their beauty, in the waning light as the 
 moon crept up to the thunder-cloud. 
 
 But as she paused beside them a sound broke on 
 her ear, faint but unmistakable, from the shadowy 
 belt of trees. Something was stirring there ; she heard 
 the twigs snap and simultaneously the dog began to 
 growl. 
 
 A faint thrill of fear raced through her veins; she 
 bent her head to listen, above the beating of her 
 heart. 
 
 Silence. Then, afresh, the dry leaves rustled, the 
 dry earth complained beneath a stealthy tread. Again 
 Esau growled, straining at his collar with that fierce 
 low snarl that claims origin from the wolf. 
 
 "Steady, boy, steady." April held him back. Then 
 she raised her voice. "Who's there?" she cried. 
 
 The noise ceased at once. But the dog stood 
 tense, his hair bristling up in a ridge along his spine. 
 Looking down at him, she gathered fresh courage, 
 conscious of the strength of her four-footed friend. 
 
 She walked boldly forward, peering among the 
 trees. Surely a dim form moved among the shadows 
 there? 
 
 "If you don't come out at once," her voice rang 
 sharp, "I shall loose the dog on you." 
 
 "For God's sake, don't!"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 313 
 
 The quick cry startled her with its sharp note of 
 fear. 
 
 And something else besides; for, from its hiding- 
 place, dead memories stirred a breathless doubt that 
 gathered form and shape, as into the light a man 
 limped forth, in answer to her call. His clothes were 
 white with dust ; he tottered on his feet, his dark hair 
 was matted about his white face. Only his eyes, 
 bright and feverish, seemed alive in the haggard 
 countenance. 
 
 For a moment he stared at her, dumbfounded as 
 herself. 
 
 "Petronilla! You!" He staggered back a pace 
 and caught at a low bough to steady himself. 
 
 She very nearly loosed the dog, who growled 
 furiously. Then her anger rose, sweeping away 
 fear. 
 
 "How dare you!" She whispered it, pale cheeks 
 aflame. "How dare you come here to my house 
 like this?" 
 
 And still he stared at her, as though he saw a 
 ghost. 
 
 "I didn't know" he found his voice "I swear 
 I didn't know . . ." 
 
 The last words faltered, he clutched at the tree, 
 but the weak fingers slid away, he swayed on his feet 
 and went down, helplessly, in a crumpled heap before 
 her. 
 
 A wave of disgust passed over April's face. She 
 gave a quick glance back at the silent house. The 
 blank windows answered her ; there was no help near,
 
 314 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 and she braced herself to face the task that awaited 
 her. 
 
 The dog seemed to understand as she drew away 
 the leash. 
 
 "Lie down good boy. Be quiet, now!" He 
 squatted, nose outstretched, watching with an air of 
 disapproval as she kneeled by the side of the pros- 
 trate man and laid a hand nervously upon the thin 
 wrist. 
 
 The pulse beat feebly, and, as she raised his head, 
 the eyelids flickered in their blue-shadowed depths. 
 Then the dark eyes opened and a faint wan smile 
 stole across the lines of the weak but beautiful mouth. 
 "So . . . sorry" feebly the words came "ashamed 
 to ... trouble you . . . like this." 
 
 The simple apology touched her, and, exerting all 
 her strength, she drew him a little nearer to the 
 friendly tree, so that he lay, propped, with his shoul- 
 ders against it. 
 
 "Is that better ?" Her voice was gentle now, as she 
 saw a spasm of pain contract the thin face. 
 
 "It's this . . . confounded . . . ankle!" he 
 winced as he spoke "I believe I've ... broken 
 it ... getting over . . . the wall . . ." 
 
 He closed his eyes again, incapable of more, whilst 
 April steadied him, collecting her wits. 
 
 He seemed to have sunk back into unconsciousness 
 again, but, as she rose to her feet, a faint whisper 
 reached her. 
 
 "Petro . . . nilla . . ." It was but the echo of her 
 name.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 315 
 
 "Yes?" She bent over him. "I'm going to fetch 
 some help." 
 
 "No, no ! Don't leave me !" He caught at her skirt 
 with a desperate clutch of the thin, nerveless hand. 
 
 "Don't . . . call . . . anyone. I've run . . . 
 away . . ." he gasped, "and if they . . . sent me 
 back. My God, no! not that . . .!" 
 
 His voice rose shrill, his face was pitiful. Instinc- 
 tively she soothed him, a steady hand on his. 
 
 "No one shall know you're safe here with me." 
 The old phrase rose by custom to her lips. He looked 
 up at her with sudden comprehension. 
 
 "I'm not drunk." Simply he stated the fact. "I'm 
 starving that's all! No food . . . since yesterday." 
 
 Her face warmed with pity; but she wondered, 
 nevertheless, what lay behind the incredible adven- 
 ture. 
 
 "I'm going to get you some. You must trust to 
 me." Gently she disengaged her dress from his grasp. 
 "Shall I leave the dog with you? He'll see that no 
 one comes." 
 
 "Yes." He nodded his head with a sigh of relief. 
 
 Her brain worked quickly as she sped across the 
 grass. 
 
 "Not brandy ... I daren't ! Let me fhink, let me 
 think . . ." 
 
 But when she reached the dining-room the question 
 answered itself. For there before her lay her neg- 
 lected coffee, left at last by Lottie, who had failed to 
 find her mistress. 
 
 "The very thing" she caught it up, one hand
 
 316 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 against the silver "it's still hot that's lucky!" She 
 glanced at the sideboard and added a large slice of 
 cake to the tray. 
 
 Across the lawn again to the shadows by the boat- 
 house where the lax figure lay propped against the 
 tree, the sheep dog beside him, stiffly on guard. 
 
 She held the hot coffee up to the man's lips, her 
 mouth tight with the effort to overcome her physical 
 distaste as she supported the limp head with her 
 arm. And slowly he revived. He took the cake from 
 her and ravenously devoured it, conscious of nothing 
 but the presence of food. Then when the last crumb 
 had disappeared, the last drop was drained from the 
 little coffee-pot, he leaned back with a sigh of relief, 
 looking up at her. 
 
 "I want you to understand," his voice sounded 
 stronger, "I've run away from Foxton from that 
 private . . . hell there." 
 
 A sudden light broke in on her. 
 
 "Do you mean the Doctor's place where they take 
 in patients . . . dipsomaniacs?" 
 
 "Exactly." Bitterness lay in the word. "I've been 
 there ... a fortnight" he gave a little shudder 
 "I give you my honour I didn't know that you . . . 
 were anywhere in the neighborhood. It's all like a 
 dream. They told me it was a 'rest-cure'. I'd 
 been . . . pretty bad, and I chose Foxton among 
 some other places, because it seemed to be off the 
 beaten track. I thought you were abroad I swear 
 it, Petronilla." 
 
 "Of course you couldn't tell." She nodded her
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 1317 
 
 head. "But why did you run away? Weren't they 
 kind to you?" 
 
 "Kind!" His voice rose excitedly, his thin face 
 worked. "I'd sooner drown myself in the river down 
 there than go through the torture of those days . . . 
 and nights again!" 
 
 A sudden peal of thunder drowned the last words, 
 and, as April started with the deafening clap, the first 
 drops fell on the dry leaves above. 
 
 "You can't stay here" she winced again at another 
 vivid flash, and the rain began in earnest, straight 
 shafts of water that rattled on the ground "it isn't 
 safe. Besides, you'll be soaked through and through. 
 Do you think, with my help, you could get as far as 
 the house?" 
 
 "Whose house is it?" he asked suspiciously, but 
 drew himself up into a sitting position. 
 
 "It's mine. I'm quite alone. Try and stand 
 now." 
 
 Shakily, his hands in hers, he rose to his feet. 
 
 "If I could hide here for a day or two? until 
 the hunt's over . . ." His face hardened suddenly, 
 as he saw her expression. "Oh, I know it's damned 
 unfair! a mad thing to ask but it's my only chance! 
 it's that or the river. And, honestly, I don't care 
 which . . . I'll never go back alive that's certain, 
 Petronilla. You can decide for me I leave it in 
 your hands." 
 
 Full well she knew the mood: the half -boastful 
 threat of the dipsomaniac in his hour of dark depres- 
 sion. But the rain lashed down and the sky was torn
 
 318 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 in two by a forked, venomous streak that let loose 
 the thunder. 
 
 This was no time to weigh conventional scruples. 
 "Come." She drew his arm steadily through hers, 
 calling to Esau to follow her at heel. 
 
 Limping, pausing, catching his breath, he stumbled 
 up the path, aided by the boughs of the trees on either 
 side. 
 
 Painfully, at last, they reached the verandah and 
 stood for a second, thankful for shelter. Then on 
 again towards the open window, where the lamp shed 
 a warm welcome towards them. But, as April neared 
 the light, a sudden weakness took her a shrinking 
 that verged on the borderline of nausea. 
 
 That he should enter the house the house of mem- 
 ories . . . 
 
 She steadied herself, her hand upon the latch. And 
 it seemed as if her mood infected the man. The 
 same reluctance held him back a scruple of good 
 taste the ghost of that fine breeding not wholly laid 
 by drink. 
 
 "I can't I daren't" he shivered "it's no good, 
 Petronilla." 
 
 At this she turned and looked at him a little won- 
 deringly. 
 
 In the golden light of the lamp within he could see 
 her shining eyes, a faint, proud smile that lay upon 
 her lips. 
 
 For there and then it came to her the supreme 
 revelation: that nothing now could touch her, she set 
 her soul free.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 319 
 
 Never again could failure fret at her heart with 
 the knowledge she had left him a weakling to his 
 fate. 
 
 Strong and sweet and pitiful she stretched forth 
 her hands and helped the husband of her youth into 
 sanctuary.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE DOCTOR came and went. She told him the whole 
 story, but under that seal of confession that in mod- 
 ern times applies to the medical man as often as the 
 priest. He listened gravely to her, deeply interested, 
 stirred to the depths of his virile soul by the woman's 
 steady courage. They held the same broad view on 
 the question of drink, foreseeing that day when Sci- 
 ence should prevail, sweeping away the litter of sen- 
 timental ignorance that lies so thick about this form 
 of hereditary disease. 
 
 But they saw, too, the stumbling-block that lay in 
 its path : a public condonation for the vicious and the 
 weak that large army of wastrels that lies midway 
 between the casual drinker and the dipsomaniac. 
 
 April's immediate fear was not for a lack of sym- 
 pathy. She had guessed the Doctor's theories that 
 day in the lane when with Van Someren she had met 
 him returning from his patient. But she wondered 
 what his professional attitude would be when she dis- 
 closed the fact of her husband's flight from Foxton. 
 She knew that "medical etiquette" was a strong force 
 to combat. 
 
 But here she was met by an unexpected factor in 
 support of her request for absolute secrecy. Foxton 
 House bore a curious reputation, and the country doc- 
 tors around eyed it askance. It was a commercial 
 
 320
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 321 
 
 venture of a Swedish physician. A fully qualified 
 man, he yet held himself aloof from those of his 
 fraternity in the neighbourhood. Rumour ever at 
 work around locked gates hinted the patients were 
 ill-fed, the alleged "cure" a fable. The visiting in- 
 spector could lodge no open objection, but there it 
 was an eyesore in the frank countryside. 
 
 April's entreaty, added to this, swept aside those 
 scruples that the Doctor voiced half-heartedly before 
 he accepted the case. Once won over, he was a sturdy 
 ally, anxious as herself to keep the matter quiet. 
 
 He saved them both the constant dread of possible 
 discovery by sending a letter up to be posted in town 
 in which the sufferer, withholding his address, declined 
 to return for the completion of the "cure", and, know- 
 ing the man with whom he had to deal, enclosed a 
 further cheque to settle the affair. For the Doctor 
 plainly saw that the patient's shattered nerves could 
 stand no further strain on his vitality. 
 
 The ankle was badly sprained, a mere question of 
 time, but the weakened constitution was a far graver 
 matter. He lay in bed, passive, willing to be nursed, 
 pathetically eager to meet his wife's wishes, a shadow 
 of the man who twelve years before had won her 
 girlish and inexperienced heart. 
 
 To the household he was known as Mrs. Panhas- 
 ard's brother. The two country maids accepted with- 
 out demur the theory of a sudden visit to Coddell, 
 turned into tragedy by a motor accident, from which 
 in the storm he had painfully made his way, step by 
 step, to the door of his sister's house.
 
 322 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 The story sounded so thin that April's courage 
 sank as she poured it desperately into their wonder- 
 ing ears. But any excitement was welcome in the 
 lonely, dull old house, and the bustle of preparation 
 absorbed their reasoning powers. 
 
 Mary Tuckett revelled in calf's foot jelly and soup 
 and a long recital of a strange coincidence : how 
 her mother's brother had once sprained his knee. Lot- 
 tie, not to be beaten, remembered the fate of a cousin, 
 whose arm had been broken, falling out of a tree. 
 The cure had been expedited undoubtedly by splints; 
 she offered to assist when the Doctor bandaged the 
 patient. 
 
 They turned the morning-room into a hospital ward 
 where the invalid later on would be saved the steep 
 stairs. 
 
 And, so long as he lay in bed, April saw her way, 
 but she feared the days to come, the hour of conva- 
 lescence. 
 
 For the Doctor was rigid as herself on one point. 
 Not a drop of alcohol must pass the patient's lips. 
 This was the only hope. At present in his weakness, 
 the "cure" he had half-achieved still held the craving 
 under, but how long this would last the Doctor could 
 not say. 
 
 He knew that the first taste of drink was to precipi- 
 tate disaster. The man was sodden through and 
 through; it had reached the weakened brain. 
 
 But the faint flag of hope still fluttered from the 
 mast, and April turned her eyes to it with that strong 
 optimism that the constant failure of the past could
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 323* 
 
 dim but not destroy. She had a curious certitude that 
 approached superstition that Fate could not have 
 thrown the man once more across her path without 
 some hidden motive, a consolation, perhaps, for all 
 that she had suffered unjustly at his hands. 
 
 If only she could build him up, put new strength 
 into him, guarding him from temptation whilst a 
 better habit formed, a miracle might be wrought at 
 the end of the chapter, and she could go forth with 
 a great burden lifted, upheld by this knowledge to 
 face her lonely life. 
 
 The unconventionality of this "second act" of Di- 
 vorce hardly claimed its fair proportion in her mind. 
 It was in keeping with the whole fairy-tale that had 
 gathered about her at Coddell-in-the-dale. 
 
 But she wondered what Van Someren would say 
 when he heard of it. She did not write to him, with- 
 held by a scruple, knowing the natural jealousy of 
 the man. After it was over she would tell him the 
 adventure, and, perhaps, add to it a crown of suc- 
 cess! 
 
 She knew that she was doing right, herself "making 
 good". She had no ultimate doubt of her lover's 
 opinion; but, meanwhile, she suppressed the news in 
 her weekly letter, fearing to awaken his loving appre- 
 hension. 
 
 Her feeling towards her husband was curiously 
 complex. Of passion there was none, long since burnt 
 out. She shrank from him, but mastered it in the 
 interests of duty. He took the place merely of a sick 
 and helpless child, who had strayed to her for shel-
 
 324 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 ter, orphaned and alone. But the thin thread of habit 
 ran through it all. He had played too long a part in 
 her intimate home life to become a perfect stranger 
 at the mandate of the law. Love was utterly dead, 
 but pity remained, strengthened by the knowledge of 
 how well she "understood". 
 
 She realised still more the truth of all she preached 
 that only death could leave her morally free. The 
 father of her dead child, the man who turned to her 
 for strength in his weakness at every feeble step, could 
 not be laid aside as one virtually slain, leaving a road 
 clear for the man whom she loved. 
 
 But even Van Someren's image grew dim in her 
 mind during the anxious days when the Doctor came 
 and went. For exposure and shock had brought on 
 a chill, and the chance of Pneumonia that danger to 
 the drunkard hovered persistently overhead. 
 
 Hovered but passed away, and, after a watchful 
 week, the patient commenced to mend, steadily to 
 gain ground. 
 
 He shewed a sudden interest in his own recovery, 
 began to welcome food, and best of all to sleep, 
 that far-off hopeless quest of the dipsomaniac. 
 
 The Doctor himself wondered at the change in his 
 condition. 
 
 Mary Tuckett ascribed it to "the beef -tea always 
 jellied !" But the truth was that he had that recupera- 
 tive power that so often accompanies the type whom 
 drink attracts. 
 
 With his subtle charm of manner, his low, musical 
 voice, and that air of good breeding that still clung
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 325 
 
 about him, it was easy to conceive the attitude of his 
 world, forgiving him his weaknesses for the sake of 
 his company. 
 
 Lottie, the red-cheeked, was his immediate slave. 
 She admitted it in the kitchen, but gave as her ex- 
 cuse that he was "as like the missus as two peas in a 
 pod anyone could see that they was brother and sis- 
 ter!" 
 
 Oddly enough, there was a faint resemblance; a 
 simplicity that achieved an effect of dignity. The 
 same slender hands and high-arched, narrow feet, the 
 small head well-set, the pallor of the skin. 
 
 The village heard the news with indifferent interest, 
 still absorbed by the funeral of the Bosun. 
 
 But Mrs. Moneypenny, like an old war-horse, threw 
 up her head and snorted, scenting fresh battle. 
 
 Here was the opportunity so long denied her, a 
 chance of probing the mystery that veiled the unknown 
 lady. A Brother! The Vicaress thanked her God 
 for the answer to her prayer. Now she could probe 
 thoroughly Mrs. Panhasard's past! 
 
 But when she called to enquire, Lottie stood firm. 
 Her mistress was "not at home". Her mistress was 
 "quite well". Her mistress would be "sorry to have 
 missed Mrs. Moneypenny". 
 
 "Perhaps Mrs. Panhasard's brother ... I don't 
 know his name?" 
 
 "Mr. Desmond," said Lottie, filling in the pause. 
 
 "No doubt Mr. Desmond would like to see the 
 Vicar?" The lady turned up viciously the corner of 
 her card.
 
 326 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Yes'm. I'll enquire when the mistress comes in." 
 
 But Mrs. Moneypenny suspicioned the evasion. 
 
 "You're quite sure she's out !" She raised her shrill 
 voice. "I wonder that she likes to leave her patient 
 alone." 
 
 "Mr. Desmond's asleep, mum. He's getting on 
 nicely." Loyally the little maid resented the sugges- 
 tion. 
 
 She opened the door of the Governess Cart with 
 a swing of her tails. 
 
 "Nasty old cat!" she said to herself. "Always 
 peering and poking about where she ain't wanted." 
 
 Meanwhile the Vicaress gathered up the reins, her 
 face dark with the unexpected check. 
 
 "You will please tell your mistress that the Vicar 
 will call." She turned the long-suffering animal's head 
 down-hill. He knew what that tug at his old mouth 
 meant and decided to move as slowly as he could. 
 
 But here a sound of wheels fell on his ears. The 
 Doctor was driving up behind the chestnut mare. So 
 the brown pony altered his determination, and "showed 
 off" by ambling at his normal homeward pace. 
 
 The Vicaress bowed coldly. The Doctor raised his 
 hat. There was no love lost between the village pair. 
 She knew of old that he brooked no interference and 
 overcame her desire to return and "talk things out". 
 
 As the dog-cart drew up before the stone porch, 
 April, fresh and smiling, peeped forth from the hall. 
 "You've just missed a friend of yours." She ven- 
 tured to appear as the distant gate clicked behind the 
 pony-cart. "Don't tell her you saw me. I'm sup-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 327 
 
 posed to be far away, neglecting my patient for 
 healthy exercise!" 
 
 "So you can now whenever you feel inclined. 
 He's practically well. He can get up tomorrow." 
 
 She led the doctor into the cool drawing-room. 
 Then, as the door closed, her smile faded away. 
 
 "Is that really so? You think it's . . . wise?" 
 She looked up at the grave face of the thoughtful, 
 kindly man. 
 
 "I shan't let him walk at all. He can lie on the 
 sofa. We'll check his getting about as long as we 
 can." 
 
 "Thank you." She understood. "That's all I 
 feared." Their eyes met comprehensively; there was 
 no need for words. 
 
 He smiled as he gazed at her at the sweet oval 
 face, with its glory of hair, and clear, unflinching 
 eyes. 
 
 "You're quite certain," he went on, following up 
 the thought, "there's nothing in the house that's likely 
 to attract him ? I really believe, you know, they have 
 a sixth sense in the same way that water-finders real- 
 ise water only, unfortunately," he shrugged his 
 shoulders, "it doesn't, with them, appeal to the teetotal 
 side!" 
 
 "There's one bottle of brandy in the sideboard in 
 the dining-room; that's literally all there is in the 
 place. It's locked up securely, and you'll laugh, I 
 expect !" she drew a key forth from inside her dress, 
 suspended on a narrow ribbon around her neck "it's 
 with me night and day." She nodded her head wisely.
 
 328 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "I'd get rid of it, but I don't quite like to in case of 
 an accident or sudden illness, you know. The lock is 
 a Chubb, so there can't be any risk. And the servants 
 don't take beer luckily for us ! They're both of them 
 teetotalers, and Tom Tuckett, too. All the Tucketts 
 are. So I think we're safe unless, of course, he 
 can get as far as Coddell." 
 
 "Well we'll try and stop that anyhow for a bit. 
 He doesn't seem to want it, but you never can tell. 
 The cunning that they shew is a part of the disease 
 you can never, never trust them! They can't trust 
 themselves." 
 
 He moved towards the door. 
 
 "I shan't let him know how the ankle really is. He 
 must stick to the sofa for another week at least." 
 
 "Yes." Her face was thoughtful, for, tucked in 
 her belt, was a letter from Sir Hugo that troubled 
 her sorely. 
 
 This indefinite lingering on annoyed the old 
 man, and he wrote very strongly, urging her to 
 depart. 
 
 "Can I see Lord Essenden now ? I'm rather rushed 
 today." 
 
 "Of course." Her conscience smote her as they 
 passed into the hall. "You'll find him quite cheerful. 
 He sleeps so much better without those awful 
 dreams. It seems to be making another man of him. 
 I really begin to think . . ." 
 
 She left the phrase unfinished, but her blue eyes 
 were shining as she lifted them to his. 
 
 The Doctor smiled back into the brave face. "I
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 329 
 
 hope so this time. If anyone could work a miracle, 
 it's you." 
 
 He watched her pause before the door to tuck 
 away carefully the tell-tale ribbon that hung around 
 her neck. 
 
 "You ought to have been a nurse." His voice was 
 abrupt. But she realised the magnitude of the com- 
 pliment implied.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 SEPTEMBER with his harvest moon had sauntered in 
 dry-eyed. And, wherever his russet tunic brushed 
 the burnt-up grass, red leaves and golden bracken 
 quivered beneath his touch; and the chestnuts fell, 
 and the acorn-cups, and the trees cast off their dead 
 and across the corn the mellow voice of Autumn 
 filled the land. 
 
 Then in the radiant heavens a little cloud appeared, 
 large as a man's hand, black against the blue ; a shep- 
 herd's warning this, known to the countryside as a 
 forerunner of heavy rain, the pregnant "bag o' soot." 
 
 Great banks of purple drove up from the West, 
 massed like an army and began to loose the hail. 
 
 The crops still standing went under like trampled 
 gold; the orchards bowed their heads and mourned 
 their fallen fruit, and a gleaming veil of rain knit 
 the sky to earth and sent the river flooded forth in 
 tumult through the dale. 
 
 Tonight the violence of the storm seemed to have 
 reached its height. Like a prisoner trapped between 
 the hills the wind spent itself in impotent gusty fury 
 against the high trees. Boughs creaked and branches 
 snapped and the gale went whistling by, driving the 
 rain in a whirl of wet before its beating wings. 
 
 It dashed against the walls of the Landslide as it 
 330
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 331 
 
 passed, and the old house quivered and shook with 
 every blow. The rain upon the window-panes, in 
 ceaseless vibration, stung the sense of hearing like a 
 distant Catling gun, and the wind pierced its way 
 through every chink and crack, as though its spirit 
 claimed the right of entry there, to hold a Witches' 
 Sabbath in the dim panelled hall. 
 
 The hour was close on midnight, but April could 
 not sleep, though her room was partly sheltered by 
 the overhanging cliff. She could hear the belt of 
 firs shudder and creak and moan, where it clung des- 
 perately to its perilous foothold. And at last, tired 
 of lying there staring into the dark, she rose from her 
 bed, and, crossing the room, stirred up the dying 
 coals into a blaze. For Lottie had insisted that the 
 room "felt damp" and that a "bit o' fire were always 
 company". 
 
 April threw on a dressing-gown, and, pulling an 
 arm-chair close, with her feet on the fender, warmed 
 herself in the glow. 
 
 Her thoughts turned instinctively to her visitor be- 
 low, with that insistence with which illness absorbs 
 the mind. 
 
 In two days now she drew a breath of relief 
 her husband would depart, and she herself be freed 
 from the constant anxiety, the secret apprehension. 
 
 Despite her optimism, she could not feel sure that 
 the present happy state of things would last indefi- 
 nitely. But at least she had this comfort, that he 
 stood on firmer ground : went out towards the test a 
 saner, stronger man. He owe'd to her a breathing-
 
 332 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 space in which, with clear eyes, he could look towards 
 the future and face a fighting chance. 
 
 She had staked her last venture, had justified her- 
 self. No more could conscience claim from pity or 
 dead love. With much to lose and nought to gain 
 she had gone back to the past and had laid for ever 
 the ghost of that haunting regret. 
 
 So, with renewed faith in herself, she saw her path 
 ahead; alone, yet knit in spirit with the life of an- 
 other, and the face of Van Someren smiled back from 
 the fire, gathering dim shape in the changing heart 
 of the coal. 
 
 But here her dreams were broken by a sound that 
 startled her a low rumbling noise that rose above 
 the storm. It ceased as it came, like a sudden roll 
 of thunder. She walked across to the windows and 
 pulled aside the blind, wondering a little if lightning 
 played a part in the war of the elements that raged 
 round the house. 
 
 Darkness void of moon or stars brooded over the 
 night, and she went back again to her old place by 
 the fire. 
 
 She felt too wide-awake for the possibility of sleep 
 and decided to finish a book that had interested her 
 but had given way to her manifold duties as nurse. 
 
 She searched for it on the table that stood beside 
 her bed and then remembered that it lay where she 
 had thrown it down on the window-seat in the din- 
 ing-room below. 
 
 Taking up the candle, she softly opened the door 
 and made her way on tiptoe down the stairs, crossed
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 333 
 
 the dark hall and drew a breath of relief as she found 
 herself safely within the dining-room. 
 
 She was placing the candlestick on the Chippendale 
 side-board the object of Majendie's early admira- 
 tion when her attention was caught by the angle at 
 which it stood. 
 
 For someone had pulled the further end forward 
 into the room, so that it jutted out, crooked, from 
 the wall. 
 
 She did not pause to consider the reason for the 
 deed, but with that sense of proportion known as "a 
 straight eye" she put one hand behind it to guide it 
 into place, whilst with her knee she pressed against 
 the heavy piece of furniture. 
 
 To her intense surprise her fingers encountered 
 space. The back of the side-board seemed open to 
 the air. 
 
 She drew her breath in sharply and, picking up the 
 candle, peered down into the shadows behind. Half 
 of the panel was gone and a jagged splintered edge 
 suggested that the missing part had been torn away 
 by force. 
 
 She thrust her hand nervously through the gap in 
 the splintered wood, a horrible suspicion creeping into 
 her brain. There was no doubt about it the cup- 
 board was empty! 
 
 To make doubly sure she drew out the key that 
 hung from its ribbon against her bare neck, and, turn- 
 ing it in the lock, lowered the light so that its rays 
 shone into the narrow space. 
 
 The brandy was gone. She could see now a crack
 
 334 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 that ran right across the back of the piece and in the 
 centre had been enlarged with the help of a knife in 
 the worm-eaten, thin partition of wood. 
 
 A feeling of utter horror descended on April 
 as she stood there, powerless, in the grip of de- 
 spair. 
 
 That this could have happened, at the eleventh 
 hour . . . this unforeseen and cruel death-blow to 
 her hopes ! 
 
 The clock on the mantelpiece chimed slowly twelve 
 and with the broken silence her brain began to work. 
 
 Was it yet too late? Could anything be done? 
 
 Resolutely she turned towards the closed door. 
 Opening it, noiselessly, with the candle in her hand, 
 she stole across the hall to the room where her hus- 
 band lay. 
 
 Here she paused, holding her breath, listening in- 
 tently. Someone was stirring within and a faint ray 
 of light filtered through the crack around the shrunk 
 old wood. 
 
 For a moment April hesitated, battling with her 
 fears, then, with a steady hand, she tapped upon the 
 door. 
 
 "Come in !" She threw it wide and paused on the 
 threshold, nerving herself to meet whatever lay be- 
 yond. 
 
 The room seemed aglow. For besides the bright 
 fire three candles stood burning on the table by the 
 bed. And propped against the pillows, with flushed, 
 excited face, her husband laughed back at her, a 
 glass in his hand.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 335 
 
 "Why . . . it's Stormy Petrel to your blue eyes, 
 my dear!" He tossed off the remainder of the drink 
 as he spoke. "Now it's no use scolding it's too 
 late for that the deed's done and you must admit 
 it was devilish neat, too!" 
 
 He threw his head back and laughed noisily 
 laughed till he choked and coughed and fought for 
 breath. 
 
 "Damn it all!" he reached out a hand above his 
 head for the bottle that stood on the mantelpiece be- 
 side him. 
 
 But April's eyes had seen it. With the courage 
 born of despair, she moved quickly forward, her face 
 white and set. 
 
 "No, you don't !" He was out of bed, divining her 
 intention, seizing his treasure with a fluttering white 
 hand. 
 
 He stood there, swaying slightly, an evil smile on 
 his face. 
 
 "Cyril" she clasped her hands together as she 
 spoke, her whole will set on rivetting his attention. 
 "Think for one moment. Think how brave you've 
 been! and how you've won back health . . . and 
 steady nerves . . . and sleep," 
 
 She leaned a little towards him, her eyes holding 
 his. 
 
 "Are you going to throw it away? by a silly, 
 schoolboy trick. Think of what it means? not to- 
 night but tomorrow of the old horror the old 
 black despair . . . Surely it's not too late to play 
 the man again?"
 
 336 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 She saw his face quiver, that her words went home, 
 and went on desperately, following up the thrust : 
 
 "At least you owe me this ! I ask it in return for 
 all that I have risked. I've had such hope for you 
 won't you try ... Cyril . . . won't you try once 
 more ?" 
 
 He seemed to hesitate under her steady gaze. Then 
 a look of cunning altered his expression. 
 
 "Not this time, my dear. It's my show, now." 
 
 He felt for the bed behind him and sat down on 
 the edge. 
 
 "If you're a wise little woman you'll see the point 
 of it." 
 
 With the bottle clasped against him, as a child 
 hugs a toy, he raised the other hand with feeble 
 emphasis. 
 
 "It's like this " Solemnly he shook his finger 
 
 at her. "You've all had your way with me, at Fox- 
 ton, and here with that fool of an old Doctor mud- 
 dling around! But now . . . it's my innings . . ." 
 his voice rose shrill; "justice shimple justice 
 thatsh-all-I-shay ..." 
 
 With the wild light in his eyes those fluttering, 
 restless hands, she realised the hopelessness of all 
 argument; that he was past reason, beyond sanity, 
 that she could do but harm by active intervention. 
 
 And yet she dared not go ! To leave him, sitting 
 there with the burning candles by his side, the brandy 
 in his grasp! 
 
 Unconscious of the picture that she made in the fire- 
 light, with that glory of copper hair that fell about
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 337 
 
 her face, she stood there watching him, praying for 
 a sign. 
 
 The long lines of her dressing-gown gave her a 
 childish grace and she held the folds together with 
 one hand at her breast, where the lace edge of her 
 nightdress with its blue ribbons peeped, showing the 
 round white beauty of her throat. 
 
 "You're looking very charming tonight, my 
 dear." 
 
 The man's voice roused her with its carefully-ar- 
 ticulated, flattering speech. 
 
 "Little Stormy Petrel what a good name it is ! 
 shame ole' Stormy Petrel an' devilish pretty, too!" 
 
 A new fear seized her the sense of her own peril 
 and she backed quickly towards the half -closed 
 door. 
 
 But before she could reach it he had slipped in be- 
 tween and violently turned the key in the lock. 
 
 He held it up to her, wild eyes on her startled 
 face. 
 
 "Not so fast, my dear" again that jarring laugh 
 "you weren't invited here but since you've come, 
 you'll stay! I don't want the house roused about my 
 ears." 
 
 He seemed suddenly steadied under this new sus- 
 picion, conscious too of a further excitement that 
 stirred the weakened brain. "It's not every night I 
 can have a chat with my wife." He pushed a chair 
 towards her. "Sit down," he said. 
 
 Her courage rose anew under the sting of pride. 
 
 "You seem to forget?" She looked him straight
 
 338 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 in the eyes, her head held high, though her heart was 
 beating fast. 
 
 "Oh, no," he sneered at her. "I'm not so bad as 
 that! But the situation has you must own a cer- 
 tain charm!" He turned deliberately and poured 
 some more brandy in his glass. 
 
 "I'll drink a new toast in honour of the occasion." 
 He raised it in mid-air with a hand that suddenly 
 shook, spilling part of the contents down the sleeve of 
 his pyjamas. "To the King's Proctor," he cried, and 
 tossed it off. 
 
 She saw clearly then. The whole generous folly 
 of the past anxious weeks rose up and overwhelmed 
 her. 
 
 "You daren't!" The words rang out with the scorn 
 of a challenge. Horror and loathing held her as she 
 stared back at him. 
 
 "And why not?" Still he smiled as his eyes ran 
 over her from that halo of shining hair to the little 
 high-arched feet. 
 
 "Come, come, Petronilla d'you think I want to 
 lose you . . . ? And as to the law" he gave a mock- 
 ing laugh "it's not likely to recognise your version 
 of the story. Oh, no, my Stormy Petrel I've got 
 you now tight. You're my wife still you can't get 
 away from that." 
 
 He took a step towards her, with restless hands 
 outstretched. 
 
 "Come kiss and be friends it's no good sulking 
 now . . ." 
 
 For a moment she stood paralysed by this crown-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 339 
 
 ing insult powerless to move before the unsteady 
 figure. 
 
 And then it seemed to her that a presence inter- 
 vened, that she was caught back by a strong loving 
 arm, and the deep voice sounded, urgent in her ears. 
 
 "Through the window, quick, and go for the dog 
 the dog will protect you the dog and the storm . . ." 
 
 The numb feeling passed ; she was across the floor, 
 her hands tore the curtain aside, wrenched round the 
 handle. The strong wind without entered into the 
 sport, forcing the window back and with a roar and 
 leap it filled the low room, the candles guttering, as 
 she slipped past into the rain and the noisy blustering 
 dark. 
 
 The gale seemed a live thing that clutched at her 
 skirts, her wet hair was blown, blinding, across her 
 eyes, as, with bent head, she fought her way across 
 the soaking grass that sucked the thin slippers at each 
 step from her feet. 
 
 But little she heeded the discomfort of her flight 
 her whole soul bent on that haven beyond the cliff 
 where Esau Van Someren's gift would answer to 
 her call. 
 
 A wet rose-tree as she passed, through the dark, 
 flung out a mischievous arm to hold her back. She 
 heard the thin flannel of her gown rip across and the 
 thorns tore her bare flesh as, heedless, she ran on. 
 
 But in the welcome lull as she reached the shelter- 
 ing cliff the sound that she dreaded fell on her listen- 
 ing ear. 
 
 "Petro . . nilla . . .!" and then the echo of a
 
 340 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 laugh as the wind caught it up and tossed it on to her. 
 
 On she pressed, breathless, fear lending wings to 
 the little bruised feet on the steep stony path. 
 
 And then in a moment she was conscious of a 
 check. She was up to her ankles in loose soil and 
 clay, stumbling ever forward with bruised hands out- 
 stretched, climbing, sinking, grazing her knees, fight- 
 ing for her breath. 
 
 Sharp stones came rattling down from the cliff, 
 stinging like spent bullets upon her face and neck, 
 and with a cry she gave a last desperate spurt, con- 
 scious that the gate was near at hand now, looming 
 up before her out of the night. 
 
 "Esau . . . Esau !" she shouted to the dog ; but her 
 voice was drowned in a sudden dull roar as though 
 a mighty wave broke overhead and the air was full 
 of a suffocating weight that drew her back and 
 under, forced her to her knees . . . 
 
 In a great horror she went down into the dark.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 POWDERY-WHITE and pearl pink Martigues lay in the 
 sun, like a fair and naked woman risen from the sea. 
 Her slender feet still dipped in the blue of the Etang, 
 her hands were flung above her head, voluptuously 
 she stretched one rounded shoulder to the hills, one 
 white arm to the west. 
 
 The olives bound her dainty head and high above 
 her brow a slender cross rose up to the halo of the 
 heavens: the symbol of a Faith new to her pagan 
 pride that had smiled on the swarthy faces of Phoe- 
 nician galley-slaves. 
 
 It dominated her, this straight black crucifix with 
 its stern note of penance, of hidden power and pain. 
 About its base lay piled that towering heap of stones 
 that Legend whispers lie there, each one a pilgrim's 
 sin. 
 
 But ever beneath its shadow the siren, Martigues, 
 smiles that slow sweet smile of the South that wel- 
 comes her Lord the Sun and lifts a fold of the 
 bridal veil that the Mistral, passing, flung on her rose- 
 pink walls and Judas-trees and the green-grey roofs 
 of her town. 
 
 For the North wind holds the secret. By night and 
 by day he scatters the chalk white dust with his pfodi- 
 341
 
 342 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 gal artist hand ; and mystery is born, a hidden loveli- 
 ness under that silvery sheen, soft as the breast of a 
 dove. 
 
 About her, like veterans of an army left on guard, 
 dark cypress-trees are stationed, silent, in single file. 
 Bent and gnarled and battered, grey-headed, they 
 protect her vineyards from the icy breath that drives 
 across La Crau. 
 
 Away to the North the hills rise up with jagged 
 cliffs of chalk, and in between is spread that wide 
 azure lake where the Rhone, with a last tremor, 
 pauses, hesitant, before she glides through the ancient 
 town to her lover the tide-less sea. 
 
 Beauty . . . beauty everywhere! But to April's 
 weary eyes it seemed too divine; subtly to emphasise 
 the world as God designed it and the contrast wrought 
 by man. 
 
 She stood on a little promontory above the still 
 lake, looking back at the town bathed in the sunset's 
 glow, watching the curved black prows of the fishing- 
 boats, homeward bent, with their brown sails like 
 night-moths, that skimmed across the blue. 
 
 A cold breeze came stealing towards her on the 
 bank, flicking the quiet water into mare's-tails as it 
 passed, and April, with a shiver, turned back to the 
 road, inexpressibly weary, with that heavy cloud that 
 lay persistently for the last few weeks over her ach- 
 ing head. 
 
 She could not quite define the sense of ill-health, 
 that weighed down her limbs and seemed to numb 
 her will. She had a strange presentiment that some-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 343 
 
 thing threatened her, some further calamity that noth- 
 ing could avert. 
 
 It seemed that she moved forward like a woman in 
 a dream, flying from the past, from the nightmare of 
 those days that had culminated in her husband's tragic 
 death. She thought bitterly at times it would have 
 been kinder far to have shared Lord Essenden's fate : 
 to have gone down, gone out, from the memory of 
 man than to live on, unhurt, save by serious shock, 
 to face all that followed, alone and unbelieved. 
 
 The accident itself, that heavy fall of cliff that had 
 cut short the life of an unhappy man, seemed veiled 
 from her in a dim uncertain haze from which she 
 had emerged, cruelly awake, to the grim ordeal of 
 the public enquiry. 
 
 For the second time she had heard, on eager news- 
 boy lips, the London streets ring with the echo of her 
 name. 
 
 "Tragic death of an Earl!" The cry resounded 
 still, the staring leaded type rose before her eyes. 
 
 For the nine-days' scandal had proved a treasure- 
 trove to the Summer papers, starved for lack of news. 
 The facts of the case were embroidered generously; 
 her own retreat to Coddell, her assumed fantastic 
 name, the secret visit paid her by the husband she'd 
 divorced, the gossip of the village, the sneers of the 
 town, dished up in pungent form for the greedy, won- 
 dering crowd. 
 
 Alone the harassed Doctor had stood by her side, 
 but powerless to save her from public opinion. There 
 was no hushing up a scandal like this, no mitigating
 
 344 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 the plain unvarnished truth this living with her di- 
 vorced husband under a pseudonym and his own 
 tragic death in her garden at night. 
 
 Even Sir Hugo was swept with the tide, bitterly 
 upbraiding her for this last deceit. 
 
 Majendie was far away, Van Someren in New 
 York. Never was a woman more utterly alone. 
 
 As soon as her presence could be dispensed with in 
 town she had slipped away to Paris to a quiet hotel, 
 and there by chance had met an artist friend of hers 
 full of a recent visit to the "Venice of Provence." 
 
 It sounded so restful a spot, so remote from the 
 world that April welcomed the thought of a brief 
 sojourn there; conscious, too, that Marseilles would 
 be near at hand, a gateway to distant lands, where 
 oblivion lay. 
 
 But even at Martigues peace was not for her. Her 
 shattered nerves forbade it, and the longing for sleep 
 that mocked her weary eye-lids night after night. 
 
 For a woman cannot live by courage alone. At the 
 end of a long strain she comes to a breaking-point, 
 when the body cries aloud a protest to the soul, when 
 vitality gives out and Dame Nature stirs to punish 
 poor humanity that oversteps her law. 
 
 And now it seemed to April that she held on to life 
 to hope, to sanity by a single silver thread: Van 
 Someren's promise, that gleamed, faint but clear, 
 through the tangled net around her that the dark 
 Fates wove. 
 
 Somewhere help lay. Somewhere in space a soul 
 answered back to her faltering prayer. Somewhere
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 345 
 
 One believed ; would look into her eyes and know that 
 she was clean and true and worthy to be loved. 
 
 She bowed her head as she struggled on up the 
 white stony road and the tears came trickling down 
 over her pale cheeks; tears of sheer weakness, of 
 knowledge that at last the flesh could bear no more, 
 that the spirit's flame lay low, flickering with this 
 feeble far-off breath of hope. 
 
 Somewhere . . .? She clasped her hands and to 
 the cross above, black and still and silent against the 
 evening sky, she sent up a last prayer from that dark 
 Gethsemane where her soul lay wrestling with her 
 wounded womanhood. 
 
 Two peasants passed carrying firewood, bundles of 
 twigs from the cork-trees on the hills, balanced firmly 
 on their stiffly-poised heads; their swarthy faces hid- 
 den, their supple bodies slim by contrast with their 
 baggy trousers of blue corduroy, drawn into clumsy 
 gaiters at the knee, of checked brown and yellow felt, 
 and these in turn lost in their black sabots. 
 
 They gave her no sign of greeting save an incurious 
 glance, for this was a country beyond that Southern 
 track where the Englishman is met with a welcome on 
 each face, dark eyes eager for his well-filled purse. 
 
 April quickened her steps, past the straggling yard 
 where the salt fish hangs to dry all day in the sun, 
 past the public-baths that are open but four months 
 in the year for who would dream of washing when 
 the Mistral chills the blood? Then down into the 
 dusty "place" with its double row of planes, its sleep- 
 ing curs, its cafes, its big "boulangerie."
 
 346 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 Here little groups of girls, their shawls around 
 their heads, were loitering and gossiping, the day's 
 work at an end ; the fisher- folk were coming up from 
 the quays beyond the bridge and the first lamp gleamed 
 in the shadow of the Church. 
 
 The Hotel du Petit-Paradis that anachronism in 
 a town visited for the sake of its Pagan charm stood 
 white and square, an ugly pendant to the long string 
 of planes. It was labelled by a notice board adver- 
 tising the lure of excellent garage and far-famed 
 "Bouillabaisse." 
 
 Indeed the place reeked of both, petrol and saffron ! 
 with a flavouring of stale beer, and that musty- 
 fusty smell due to the polish used daily on its floors 
 and the unopened windows of a provincial hostelry. 
 
 April's soul sickened as she entered the hall and 
 made her way to the counter where the letters always 
 lay. 
 
 The courier was in, but "Rien pour Madame !" The 
 proprietor shrugged his shoulders with a smile as one 
 who hints that the fault was not his; if he had his 
 way, Madame should have letters by each succeeding 
 post! 
 
 Madame had taken a walk? The weather was su- 
 blime as ever in Martigues, that highly favoured 
 town. And tonight they would be gay! A party 
 had arrived, for dinner, from Marseilles in two large 
 motor-cars. 
 
 The shrieking throb of a gramophone and a sound 
 of shuffling feet from the salon beyond seemed to 
 emphasise the fact. The evening would be "gay"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 347 
 
 there was no doubt about it; as gay as nine vigorous 
 children of the South, freed from restraint and full 
 of red wine, black-bearded, sonorous, quarrelsome and 
 vain, can make it in the interests of a birthday fete. 
 
 The gong rang for dinner. April's head swam as 
 she walked into the stuffy room where the hungry 
 company was already gathered round the steaming 
 bouillabaisse. 
 
 She slipped into her corner in the angle of the wall 
 which was hung with a collection, wonderful and di- 
 verse, of water-colors and oils, pastel and black-and- 
 white, the payment-in-kind of many a needy artist. 
 
 The waiter, hot and breathless, with the sudden 
 invasion, thrust a large tureen under her nose, where 
 the bread powdered with saffron floated on oily broth 
 and a greasy plateful of grey mullet boiled to rags 
 flanked it and was crowned by an empty cray-fish 
 shell. 
 
 It smelt rank and fishy. April pushed it away, 
 turning in disgust to the coarse country bread. 
 
 A great roar of laughter broke out at some jest 
 made by the leader of the "jeunesse de Marseilles." 
 
 Someone was eating sausage redolent of garlic and 
 the penetrating odour filled the stuffy room. The 
 waiter in his haste tripped on the polished floor, let- 
 ting fall a cascade of clattering knives and forks. 
 
 April, with a little gasp, rose to her feet. She could 
 bear it no longer the heat, the noise, the smell; her 
 eyes were dim with the faintness creeping over her. 
 With a great effort she crossed the crowded staring 
 room and gained the hall beyond, lips tight with the
 
 348 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 struggle to master quivering nerves. She paused for 
 a second to draw a breath of air, her hand against 
 the wall, steadying herself. 
 
 Then a strange thing happened. For, as she moved, 
 the floor, with its alternate tiles of black and white, 
 moved slowly, too; telescoping back, empty foot by 
 foot, into infinite perspective, miles and miles of 
 space. 
 
 Still she struggled forward, her dazed mind bent on 
 reaching the stone stairs that slowly sank away. Back 
 . . . ,back . . . back . . . She clutched at last the 
 rail, her face white and frightened, and the crowning 
 horror fell. For the stairs were over-lapping, sliding 
 step on step, slipping backwards, too . . . and a red 
 wheel turned in her head hot with pain, and a great 
 roar of waters rose up in her ears . . . 
 
 She tried to cry for help, but no voice came. And 
 then she was moving forward; swept into that head- 
 long pace where all things receded into distance with- 
 out end caught up and dragged along into eternal 
 void, a vortex full of dazzling light that fiercely sucked 
 
 her in! 
 
 ******* 
 
 They brought the Doctor to her, a withered gruff 
 old man. 
 
 "La Grippe," he pronounced it. She must be put 
 to bed. 
 
 They closed every window and carried in a stove 
 that smelt of scorching lacquer and a vast eider down. 
 
 And when she moaned for "Water!" they thought 
 her surely mad. Water without or within was dan-
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 349 
 
 ger magnified ! So the chambermaid concocted a won- 
 derful "tisane," tepid and sweet, flavoured with the 
 flowers of the lime. 
 
 And all the time there was one thing she needed but 
 could not say. For as the fever left her and she lay 
 there sane again, but weak with such a weakness that 
 to move seemed a pain, she realised that she had lost 
 the name for familiar things, that she was like a 
 little child who can point but not explain; that words 
 did not fit that words would not come to that slow 
 tongue of hers at the bidding of the brain. 
 
 She tried to tell the Doctor. But he had his set 
 idea. It was plainly Influenza in a very serious form. 
 
 There had been fever? Bon! and pains in the 
 head? He clung to the well-known symptoms and 
 needed nothing more. 
 
 She must try now to eat. And sleep and rest her 
 brain. To ... 'wash her face ?' He laughed at her ! 
 But her face was quite clean. This mania of the 
 English to wash when one was ill! He shrugged 
 his shoulders and left her with an empty water jug. 
 
 Madame was "tres nerveuse," he told the host be- 
 low. Plenty of good strong bouillon, and fish and 
 tender fowl. And quiet that was essential and no 
 evening air. 
 
 Madame would soon pull through Madame no 
 doubt was rich? He and the host discussed it with 
 the help of a "vermouth" . . . 
 
 So the long days passed and the restless weary 
 nights. And still she was tormented by that elusive 
 need. Something that was missing that her sick
 
 350 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 spirit lacked? that she could not put a name to, but 
 knew in her dreams something that would save her, 
 would cure her frightened soul . . . 
 
 And all the while below, in a dusty pigeon-hole, 
 Van Someren's letter lay, forgotten, out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 How she reached Avignon April never knew. A 
 great fear drove her, a fear she dared not name. 
 
 She had but one thought now, one infinite desire: 
 to see the smooth white cliffs of England stealing up 
 under a grey sky, above a grey sea. To leave this 
 chattering, clattering noisy land of France, where peo- 
 ple talked so quickly and life seemed to flow in a 
 feverish excitement of quarrelsome fluency. 
 
 To look once more on little fields of lush grass, 
 moist and green, on peaceful homesteads sheltered by 
 shady oak and elm, on the stolid quiet faces with their 
 slow Northern tongue; instead of the white glare, 
 the vast lonely tracks of scorched rock and stony 
 earth that seemed a sepulchre. 
 
 It nerved her for her journey. But as the train 
 approached the broad, swift-flowing river and Avig- 
 non rose sheer above its fortressed walls, its broken 
 mighty bridge, and the stronghold of the Popes met 
 her aching eyes, she realised anew that it could not 
 give her strength ; that inch by inch she must fight her 
 way over those weary miles that still lay between her 
 and the grey belt of sea. 
 
 Dimly she remembered her last visit there, as a 
 child with her parents, long since dead; the short 
 halt on their way South in the quiet, quaint old town, 
 351
 
 352 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 sanctified by age and taking its long rest after i\\2 
 turbulent early days of religious and civic strife. 
 
 Now, to her surprise, as she slowly made her way, 
 leaning upon her stick, feeble step by step, to the 
 station yard beyond, she found the place alive with 
 clamouring hotel-porters, cabmen, chauffeurs, touts. 
 After a long wait for luggage she took her seat in the 
 crowded omnibus, gorgeously upholstered and drawn 
 by a pair of horses that, with liveried men, seemed a 
 new departure in the management of the sleepy old 
 hotel of hallowed memories. 
 
 They rattled through the narrow streets over the 
 cobble stones, with a triumphant flourish of cracking 
 whips, and turned into the court-yard where oleander 
 and fig still clung lovingly to the crumbling ancient 
 walls. 
 
 For the Hotel de 1'Europe in mediaeval days had 
 been the palace of the Archbishopric and still retained, 
 to "the eyes that see", a furtive haunted air of in- 
 trigue and temporal power and secret tyranny, that 
 have left ghostly visitants in the cloistered inner courts 
 who stir when the great, chiming bells ring out before 
 the dawn. 
 
 So weary was April that she went straight to bed 
 in the narrow cell-like room allotted to her. 
 
 The place seemed alive, like a vast rabbit-warren, 
 with its twisting corridors and innumerable dark 
 stairs. Bells pealed and voices called and maids and 
 valets ran, with the bump, bump of luggage resound- 
 ing through it all. 
 
 The waiter brought her soup and a wing of that
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 353 
 
 fowl which by some invisible decree must always ap- 
 pear in a French table d'hote, night after night; and, 
 shame- faced, hides its head under various "noms de 
 plume" but is of the same "feather" throughout the 
 masquerade ! 
 
 "Jean, Jean . . . !" A voice shrilled out in the 
 corridor beyond and with a frantic gesture the waiter 
 sped away, but moved perhaps by a vision of that 
 sweet white face, so weary in its halo of gleaming 
 hair, returned anon to enquire Madame's further 
 needs. 
 
 "You seem . . . busy to-night?" April liked his 
 looks. The man had honest eyes under swarthy 
 brows. 
 
 "Toujours, toujours! Madame." He spread out 
 his hands; all day, all night in the season it was ever 
 the same. 
 
 He piled up the plates with a conjuror's skill and 
 paused, balancing the tray on a steady turned-back 
 palm. 
 
 It was due, so he said, to the excellent catering. 
 The chauffeurs were fed the same as "Monsieur le 
 President." 
 
 And the chauffeurs it seemed, under the new 
 regime this era of the motor-car made or marred 
 custom, bringing in their train master and man 
 wherever the food promised well on the great white 
 roads. 
 
 "They eat they are pleased they return" he 
 shewed his strong white teeth "they say it is the best 
 halt from Paris to the South or they are short of
 
 354 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 petrol or a tyre gives or a screw que voulez-vous ?" 
 he smiled at her "it is human nature, hem?" 
 
 All night long, as April, worn-out, lay tossing to 
 and fro on the hot feather-bed, the place hummed with 
 life like a busy human hive and the motor cars poured 
 into the cobble-stone garage ; hooting, snorting, grind- 
 ing brakes and the omnibus rumbled out, with the 
 lighter click of horses' hoofs and that ceaseless whip 
 that cracked. Then steps in the corridor and luggage, 
 bump on bump. And once she heard an English 
 voice that mourned forgotten "soap" and the inevi- 
 table response in a gruff bass key that adjudged all 
 countries "dirty" except his priceless own! 
 
 So daylight dawned clear and white. She watched 
 the sun's rays steal between the slats of the shutters 
 to the floor and a little lull succeeded, broken again 
 alas! by a noise of boards being polished and the 
 heavy tread of the "boots." 
 
 April rang for her coffee and the friendly waiter 
 came. 
 
 Madame had not slept? Impossible! how was 
 that? The noise of the motors? Ah one accustoms 
 oneself! Madame should change her room away 
 from the garage. Over there (he pointed) in the 
 little further court the rooms were small but quiet 
 he would speak to the "patron". 
 
 Back he came later a picture of delight. It was 
 all "bien arrange". She could move in after twelve. 
 Madame would be on "his floor" still he rubbed his 
 horny hands with a sympathy that held a broad hint 
 of finance.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 355 
 
 So night came round again after a weary day, 
 lonely and long and suffering, for her head was racked 
 with pain. Sleep ! She must have sleep. She longed 
 for it, she prayed, full of that nervous horror that 
 weighed upon her brain. 
 
 Her room looked into a little court, so narrow that 
 the sun could barely penetrate the deep damp well. 
 Upon the further wall two birds in a cage were hung 
 outside the airing-room of the hotel laundry: two 
 little huddled birds ! once like herself so full of joy 
 and life, now, with clipped wings, weary prisoners 
 forgetting how to fly. 
 
 She watched, as the light faded, how the restless 
 swallows dipped from the square of evening sky 
 above, in hurried aimless flight. 
 
 They seemed to mock the prisoners with their shrill 
 passing note as their free pinions sank and rose and 
 skimmed the dreary cage. 
 
 She drew down the blinds and turned out the light. 
 The place was still at last as she crept into bed. Only 
 the big bells tolled from the Chateau des Papes, the 
 swallows still twittered their uneasy "good-night." 
 
 She was just sinking away into feathery space 
 when a door slammed below with a sound of heavy 
 feet that clattered on the paving-stones of the echoing 
 court-yard. Backward and forward the loud steps 
 came with ever that grating, noisy door to mark the 
 ebb and flow. 
 
 April rose at last and, pulling aside the shutter, 
 peered down angrily into the dark well, to find it now 
 alight with a lantern and the glow thrown from the
 
 356 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 busy still-room beyond. The court was used as a 
 passage-way from the Garage for chauffeurs, a short 
 cut to the service-room, where, night and day, those 
 meals were served "fit for a President," and the serv- 
 ants fore-gathered to smoke and drink. As the hours 
 wore on the noise seemed to increase, fitful bursts of 
 laughter, the clatter of plates, a gay voice in song and 
 the slamming of doors, magnified in the narrow tunnel 
 of the court. 
 
 Worn-out April lay, crying helplessly, too utterly 
 ill to reason or to pray. She had taken a sleeping- 
 draught and the drug denied its power added to 
 the strain of her quivering nerves. 
 
 But again, as daylight dawned, there came a little 
 lull, a brief breathing space and the wings of sleep 
 touched her. She fell into a doze full of troubled 
 dreams to awake with a cry and sit up, breathless, 
 her hands to her head. 
 
 The letter? His letter the answer to her own? . . . 
 
 In that dawning moment the secret lay bare. This 
 was what she needed, this was what she sought, the 
 baffling desire that had haunted her. 
 
 Van Someren's reply! She threw back her hair 
 and gave herself a little shake to stir the sluggish 
 brain. Van Someren's face rose up and warmed to 
 life, the grey eyes shone, the strong mouth smiled 
 at her. 
 
 It seemed at last she heard the key turn in her 
 prison door. Help was coming to her, she had but to 
 wait and gather up her courage in patience and in 
 faith.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 357 
 
 She could almost smile when the waiter came with 
 her coffee and enquired if Madame liked her new 
 room? if Madame had "well-slept"? 
 
 The luxury of water, hot and plentiful, after the 
 discomfort of the Martigues hotel, helped her through 
 her dressing and she slowly made her way through 
 the winding passage and down into the hall. 
 
 The Manageress greeted her with a chilly smile as 
 April asked for information in nervous, halting 
 French. 
 
 She had been ill, she said, and was hardly strong 
 enough for the long journey before her without a 
 few days' rest. 
 
 If the Manageress knew of some quiet place en 
 route? that she could recommend with a passable 
 hotel? 
 
 Her last words faltered, she leaned on her stick, 
 wearied by the effort to make herself plain. 
 
 The old woman looked at her with a faint shade 
 of pity, marking the thin white hands, the nervous, 
 quivering face. She took down a bundle of circulars 
 from the rack and turned them over quickly with a 
 business-like air. 
 
 There was Valence an easy run and the hotel 
 "assez bien" with a garden, she believed and from 
 there Madame could go to a certain thermal station 
 a few miles away where the waters were said to hold 
 a miraculous cure. 
 
 "Valence." April nodded her head The glib 
 tongue ran on. There was a train at two, the Paris 
 express, it: stopped at Valence . . . Here the tele-
 
 358 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 phone bell rang. "Hallo . . . !" She stooped to it 
 whilst the thoughts cleared anew in April's tired 
 brain, evolving a plan. 
 
 If only she could sleep! the garden tempted her 
 . . . Surely with a garden there would be quiet near ! 
 
 "You wish to give up your room?" the Manageress 
 returned. "Bien, Madame. The omnibus will start 
 at 1.15." 
 
 "Yes I will leave by that. Thank you very much." 
 The pitiful blue eyes were raised to the black. "And 
 I want to send a telegram." 
 
 With a shaking hand she began to write the words 
 on the empty form. Then with a frown she paused, 
 pencil in air, a look of strain on the delicate, puzzled 
 face. 
 
 "If Madame would permit. I spik a leetle Engleesh 
 ... I could save Madame ze peine, per'aps?" 
 
 "Oh, thank you!" April moved aside gratefully. 
 "It's to the Hotel at Martigues the Hotel du Petit 
 Paradis. If you would please say all letters to Va- 
 lence to the Hotel de la Poste." It sounded apposite. 
 
 The few English words sent her pulses fluttering. 
 She watched the other write rapidly, translating her 
 message, and finish with a flourish of the fine French 
 hand. 
 
 "Voila!" the manageress passed it to the chasseur 
 "and tell Pierre to fetch down luggage from 44 
 for the two o'clock train et depechez-vous done!" 
 
 The sharp voice had returned, the business-like man- 
 ner. 
 
 "Madame desires her account ?"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 359 
 
 April nodded her head. The momentary excite- 
 ment had left her limbs shaking. 
 
 She crawled slowly upstairs and lay down on her 
 bed. 
 
 Followed the rattling drive over the cobble-stones, 
 the bustling station, the shrill note of the train. Then 
 the long journey, with the whir of the wheels, the 
 stuffy heated carriage like an endless bad dream. 
 
 Valence at last. More cobble-stones; the weary 
 formalities of luggage and of room; and then a sense 
 of silence bought at a heavy price of utter isolation 
 in a world unknown. 
 
 Dinner was served her; she left it to the man. 
 Even through her misery a faint amusement shone 
 when, with an air of profound deliberation, another 
 dark-browed waiter with kindly black eyes suggested 
 that "poulet" was the very dish for her. 
 
 So to rest at last, in the quiet dim old room, with 
 its scanty furniture, its heavily-curtained bed. 
 
 Sleep . . . sleep . . . She tossed and turned and 
 prayed for it to come, that golden gift of God to 
 man, valued alone when lost. 
 
 And then as the kindly presence hovered over 
 her she sat up with a cry of infinite despair; her 
 hands to her ears, her eyes wide with fright, as again 
 noise rose up, overwhelming her. 
 
 The shrill note of fiddles, a pattering on the floor, 
 the throb of a monotonous well-worn waltz, high 
 laughing voices, quick pulsing feet . . . 
 
 She rang for the chambermaid as the clock struck 
 eleven.
 
 360 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Mais oui! they danced tonight in the salon be- 
 low " . . . ("la jeunesse" again! la jeunesse de 
 
 Valence). It was a grand evening for the sleepy 
 town . . . For tomorrow was the marriage of Mon- 
 sieur Jouve's son he who was the manager 'Aux 
 Dames de France.' A fine business that as Madame 
 no doubt knew? with shops everywhere "et tout ce 
 qu'il y a de mieux !" 
 
 This night they danced at the party for the bride - 
 Mademoiselle Berthe, la belle-soeur du maire. "Pas 
 si jeune que c.a!" an expressive wave of hands 
 "mais une dot! . . ." the white teeth flashed expres- 
 sively. 
 
 What pity Madame was "souffrante !" it was a 
 pretty sight ... To sleep? "Ah non!" she 
 laughed joyously no one would close their eyes 
 mistress or maid! "But then one could sleep most 
 nights in the year !"
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 "A PITY that Madame must leave Madame had 1'air 
 
 malade " the fat proprietor eyed her with suave 
 
 sympathy. There was also a "petit supplement" as 
 Madame herself would see. If only she had given 
 up her room overnight ! he shrugged his heavy shoul- 
 ders but business was business ! The omnibus was 
 five francs. Yes, each way. Madame's luggage was 
 of a weight ! . . . and Madame's dressing-case could 
 
 hardly be included in the "petits bagages " The 
 
 extra attendance was for meals upstairs and the 
 lights? "mais voyons! the lights were always 
 charged !" 
 
 April knew they cheated her, but paid the bill in 
 full, seeing the greedy face through a misty blur; 
 glad to escape that harsh insistent voice, the beady 
 eyes full of half -insolent pity. 
 
 She climbed into the omnibus, whilst around the 
 step a crowd of servants clustered, pestering for tips, 
 wishing her "bon voyage", suggesting she forgot how 
 much she was indebted for their unfailing care. 
 
 Swaying, jolting, slipping on the greasy cobble- 
 stones, the lumbering conveyance carried her away. 
 
 Dreading the fresh journey, clinging to her purse, 
 knowing that her wits were fast forsaking her, April 
 sat huddled in a sick despair. 
 361
 
 362 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 A porter helped her out. She stood there dazed. 
 
 Madame had not her ticket? Madame must make 
 haste! The train was nearly due and the luggage to 
 be weighed. "Billets" to the right, "bagages" to the 
 left. 
 
 Someone hustled her. Leaning on her stick she fell 
 into the queue of townsfolk pressing on, excitable, 
 vociferous, with that lack of courtesy peculiar to a 
 station crowd abroad. 
 
 She tried to rally her thoughts as she found her- 
 self in turn looking into the sour face of the ticket 
 vendor there. But in front of the narrow opening, 
 her memory played her false. She bit her lip and 
 stammered : 
 
 "Un billet premiere classe?" 
 
 "Whereto?" The official glared down at her. "Eh 
 bien, Madame?" he rapped on his desk. 
 
 A peasant woman behind with a market-basket 
 pressed impatiently against her. "Mais, depechez- 
 vous, Madame!" 
 
 And still she stood speechless, with white, strained 
 face, struggling to recall the name that evaded her. 
 
 Her mind was a blank, she trembled on her feet 
 it seemed to her the moment spread into eternity. 
 
 She heard a man swear and a girl's mocking laugh. 
 
 "Tiens c'est une folle!" 
 
 And then, in despair, she was swept on again, past 
 the narrow space, out into the hall by the impatient 
 crowd. 
 
 She felt with her hand blindly for the wall; in the 
 shelter of the book-stall, she paused to get her breath.
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 363 
 
 This then was the end the end of everything 
 "Cest tme folle!" the shrill voice lingered in her 
 ears. 
 
 All her pride lay shattered and the tears streamed 
 down. She stood there weeping like a child lost in 
 the dark. 
 
 The busy crowd dispersed, and with a sudden roar 
 the express tore in on its journey from the south. 
 
 Carriage doors slammed and luggage was thrown 
 out, porters ran and shouted, and into the empty hall 
 a thin straggling line of passengers appeared, mainly 
 "du petit commerce," armed with rug and bag and 
 here and there the black portfolio of the law. 
 
 An old peasant woman, wrinkled face aglow under 
 her frilled cap, was clipped in the embrace of a buxom 
 young matron, a child, armed with a toy-balloon, 
 clinging to her skirts ; and beyond the little group two 
 "pioux-pioux", laughing noisily, blocked up the gang- 
 way with their haversacks. 
 
 A tall man in an overcoat shouldered his way de- 
 terminedly past, followed by a truck piled up with 
 luggage and over-topped by a crate full of live ducks, 
 quacking dolorously, their necks outstretched. 
 
 "Pardon, Madame !" A blue-bloused arm 
 
 thrust April back in the corner, where she stood, as 
 the porter tried to turn the cumbersome affair. For 
 a second it seemed that a heavy cabin trunk must 
 surely fall and crush her and she gave a shrill cry, 
 wrung from her nerves, as she crouched against the 
 wall, her eyes wide with fear, her hands upraised. 
 
 The man in the overcoat wheeled sharply round
 
 364 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 and turned a keen glance full on her face : that white 
 frightened face in its halo of hair that shone in the 
 shadows surrounding her. 
 
 Then, through the misery clouding her brain, April 
 heard a voice that came from far away, a voice that 
 called to her, the old fond name : 
 
 "Honey! it's you!" Someone clasped her hands 
 . . . trembling she looked up into her lover's eyes. 
 
 The next thing she remembered was she was sitting 
 on a trunk, a hard cabin trunk with metal bands, the 
 sharp taste of cognac in her mouth, and Van Someren 
 was leaning over her. 
 
 "Don't talk, Honey just stay still." 
 
 The face near her own was full of anxious care. 
 This was Heaven, no doubt, at the end of the dark. 
 . . . She closed her eyes again with a fluttering 
 happy sigh. 
 
 As the spirit filtered quickly through her veins, 
 things became warmly, pleasantly confused. She had 
 a dim idea that strong arms carried her out into the 
 sunshine, the cool, sweet air. Then they were jolting 
 over cobble-stones, her cheek against a coat that felt 
 human and warm. The rough frieze pricked her skin, 
 but she smiled as she lay, propped against the broad 
 shoulder that meant so much to her. 
 
 Once she moved her head and a voice said : "Dear ?" 
 just that and no more and she was at rest again. 
 
 Then blurred memories of the kindly chamber- 
 maid, the same low room with its slippery bare floor, 
 the bed with its heavy curtains looped through a
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 365 
 
 crown and the welcome touch of the cool smooth 
 sheets. 
 
 So, effortless, sleep came to her; sleep, dreamless 
 sleep ! with its silver wings enfolding her tired spirit, 
 as a mother rocks her child, a smile upon her lips, 
 knowing all is well. 
 
 April awakened slowly as sick people will into 
 a quiet consciousness, hazy and sweet, and saw with- 
 out wonder that she was not alone. 
 
 For the setting sun shone with an amber glow 
 through the open casement on the figure of a man. 
 He sat on a high chair, within the window bay, feet 
 planted apart, head a little bent as though he thought 
 deeply in that rigid pose, afraid to move a muscle, 
 ears on the alert. The grey eyes under their fair, 
 shaggy brows stared straight ahead and once he bit 
 his lip and then again he frowned, wrestling with the 
 problem that absorbed his mind. 
 
 For a time April watched him under half-closed 
 lids, realising slowly all his presence meant : the love, 
 the unswerving faith that had carried him day by 
 day, over land and sea, in answer to her cry. 
 
 "Lorry." He turned with a start, a quick anxious 
 smile. 
 
 "You awake, Honey? feeling better, dear?" 
 
 "Sure." The old word rose tremulous to her lips 
 in a sudden sweet mischief that breathed of sanity. 
 
 "Tell me how you got here? I don't quite under- 
 stand." 
 
 He crossed the room on tiptoe and stood beside her
 
 366 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 bed, looking down at her with a quick throb of joy 
 to find the sweet face peaceful, the blue eyes raised 
 to his, clear as a child's, in steady comprehension. 
 
 "Certain it won't tire you?" 
 
 "No." She shook her head and slipped a little 
 hand, half-shyly, into his. 
 
 "Well it's quite simple." He drew up a chair and 
 sat down facing her in the soft half-light. 
 
 "I mailed you a letter, weeks back, to Martigues, 
 but the fool porter lost it or never gave it you. I 
 guess he's sorry now!" he gave a grim smile "for 
 I got tearing mad ... to come all that way and miss 
 you by two days it was the limit, sure! And then 
 just as I'd fixed up to hunt at every halt between 
 there and Paris your telegram came. I'd missed the 
 only train for Pas-des-Lanciers isn't that the name? 
 So I had to wait and catch the first express to-day 
 and well, the rest you know." 
 
 He stooped and kissed her hand. 
 
 She gave a little shiver as her memory cleared. 
 
 "And found me like that! Supposing you hadn't 
 come? Lorry!" She sat up suddenly, her face 
 white and strained. "That woman called me mad" 
 her voice was sharp with fear "you don't 
 think . . . you don't think . . . ?" the words would 
 not come. 
 
 "Why, Honey!" He caught his breath, his heart 
 wrung with pity. Then steadily he finished the wild 
 broken phrase: "that you're likely to go mad?" His 
 voice rang clear. "I think you stand as good a chance 
 as a snowball in hell!"
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 367 
 
 He saw the strained look leave the weary eyes, a 
 faint, quivering smile steal to her lips. 
 
 "A 'snowball in hell' " she repeated the words. 
 "Isn't that like you !" and lay back again. 
 
 "It's been my daily fear" she spoke beneath her 
 breath "it's lived with me and slept with me and 
 haunted my dreams! the thought of going mad, 
 abroad and alone, of losing that last hold ... oh! 
 can you understand?" 
 
 "My poor darling" the tears were in his eyes 
 "but it's all over now, a nightmare of the past. And 
 we won't talk of it you must just get well and leave 
 all to me and believe what I say. There's nothing 
 wrong with you except shattered nerves. I give you 
 my honour that's all there is to it. It's a thorough 
 breakdown from trouble and shock. I've seen many 
 a case among my own friends we're a nervous race, 
 you see, and we live at a strain. All you need is rest, 
 utter rest and care. And I'll see you get it, too! 
 that's why I'm here !" 
 
 She smiled again at that and turned on her pillow, 
 watching him with grateful eyes, with that intent 
 look of the physically weak that takes the place of 
 action. 
 
 Then again she spoke. 
 
 "Lorry you got my letter?" 
 
 "The last one? from Martigues ? why, yes it's 
 here." He drew out his pocket-book and shewed her 
 the contents. 
 
 "All yours, Honey! They've kept me alive these 
 months,"
 
 368 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 "Then you know . . . everything?" 
 
 "Sure." He nodded his head. 
 
 "About . . . my husband's death?" He could 
 barely catch the words, and he realised that some- 
 thing fresh was troubling her. 
 
 "I read it in the papers first. And then your letter 
 came." 
 
 In the papers ! She looked at him, knowing 
 
 what they said. 
 
 "And what did you think? Tell me, Lorry 
 quick!" 
 
 He saw her suspense and answered hurriedly. 
 
 "I'm afraid I was so terribly glad, I just said 
 'thank God.' " His voice sounded guilty, for he won- 
 dered jealously how far her husband's death had 
 affected her. "To know you free at last!" He 
 drew a deep breath. 
 
 "But what did you think?" Her blue eyes searched 
 his face and she watched the light break in on it, 
 comprehension grow all his love and trust shining 
 back at her. 
 
 "Oh that? Why I thought . . . nothing at all! 
 Newspaper trash! Of course I understood. It was 
 fine and good, whatever the world might say. D'you 
 think I'd ever doubt you? ever dream of it? Why, 
 I'd shoot myself first, and deserve it, hands down!" 
 
 She gave a little sob of passionate relief, her fingers 
 clasped together, her face warm with pride. 
 
 "I ought to have known ... oh! you dear, you 
 dear! But I've worried dreadfully, wondering what 
 you'd say, wondering why you didn't write, almost in
 
 APRIL PANHASARD 369 
 
 despair. And just now I watched you, sitting in the 
 window, with your face so grave and sad, puzzling 
 over something, and I thought forgive me, dear 
 it might have been that all that dreadful story raked 
 up again." 
 
 "Silly child !" He stroked back the beautiful soft 
 hair that fell in a cloud about her pale face "you've 
 got to quit fretting now and start in getting well. 
 I'll tell you, if you like . . ." he looked down at her, 
 his eyes so full of worship that a faint colour stole 
 under her transparent skin as she met his warm 
 glance. 
 
 "I'll tell you the hard nut that I was cracking there. 
 I was wondering how I'd find out the law of the land. 
 And my French isn't perfect not pure Ollendorf! 
 I eke it out with German and gestures and cash!" 
 He threw his head back and gave a happy laugh. 
 
 "I must tell you, Honey! an adventure en route. 
 In the luncheon car on my way from Paris, I hap- 
 pened to leave my gloves behind. So back I went to 
 the table, which was filled with the next relay a lot 
 of chattering, little men with napkins under their 
 chins. And to them spake Lorry, in his best New 
 York-French 'J'ai laisse mes dents, la sur le table.' 
 
 "You should have seen their faces! Disgust isn't 
 the word. And then I realised the joke and stood 
 there and roared! They thought I was crazy and 
 gave me the frozen mitt. They were Dent's gloves 
 you see, that's how I got mixed and my French, as 
 I said before, is somewhat 'nouveau art.' Still I 
 guess it works all right in sections it's correct. And
 
 370 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 I thought I'd go round this evening and hunt up the 
 mayor. It's no good waiting, is it?" he smiled down 
 at her. "I'd like to have the right to look after you 
 now." 
 
 Simply he laid his plan of action bare. 
 
 "I want to get a hustle on I hate losing time. It's 
 too late to be married today . . ." his eyes sought 
 the clock; "but what about tomorrow, would that 
 suit you, sweet?" 
 
 For a moment April stared at him in speechless 
 amazement. Then, slowly, the sweet lips curved, the 
 eyes began to dance; she hovered, delicious, on the 
 verge of mirth. 
 
 Half -humorous, half -aggrieved, he looked back at 
 her. 
 
 "Perhaps I've put it badly I always was a chump!" 
 
 At this her laugh rang out, rippling and clear the 
 first real laugh through all those weary weeks. And 
 life was sweet again, and hope encompassed her . . . 
 
 Her hands stole to his shoulders, she drew his head 
 near, her soft lips to his cheek, her voice still full of 
 mirth ; and then and there she summed him up, loving, 
 merciless : 
 
 "You great big baby! You dear American!"
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 IT was a Winter day, born of snow and frost, with 
 the nip of the North wind that swept the streets clear. 
 
 The sky, grey blue and far away, formed a back- 
 ground for the clouds that were heaped-up like cot- 
 ton-wool in gathering bank on bank, and over them 
 an orange sun was perilously poised as though a touch 
 might send it rolling into space. 
 
 The cold was intense, but even at this hour Bond 
 Street was crowded, both pavement and road. All 
 the world was shopping, for Christmas loomed near, 
 and the windows, where the frost had left a delicate, 
 lace-like rime, were full of temptation : of much that 
 man might need and many things that no one could 
 possibly desire! 
 
 Women wore harassed faces, consulting little lists, 
 clutched their purses firmly and shivered in their furs. 
 Small children dawdled, ever dragging back breath- 
 lessly to long for treasures forbidden them by Nurse. 
 
 In the dip by Conduit Street, a cold policeman 
 stood, with an aggressive air manufacturing "blocks." 
 Right under his nose a taxi was wedged between two 
 other vehicles, puffing noisily as it ticked away "tup- 
 pennies" like a busy money-spider, held up to allow 
 the side-streets to disgorge a steady flow of traffic 
 across the narrow road. 
 
 371
 
 372 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 A man lowered the window and his face shewed 
 clear ; clean-shaven, fair, with keen grey eyes. 
 
 "Anything up, Inspector? we've no time to spare!" 
 and a sweet voice inside laughed mischievously as the 
 cold policeman vouchsafed no reply. 
 
 "It's all very fine, Honey! but there's heaps to 
 be done." 
 
 Van Someren drew in his head and pulled up the 
 glass. 
 
 "Just look at that huge van !" he gave an impatient 
 sigh "now what does it want to come promenading 
 in Bond Street for?" 
 
 "To see the Christmas shops, of course." 
 
 She smiled as he turned and drew the end of her 
 sable stole tighter round her throat. 
 
 "You look stunning now like a little chipmunk! 
 Two bright eyes peering out of a fluff of fur! And 
 you'll want wraps, good and plenty, tomorrow on the 
 boat we're in for a cold week on the water, dear." 
 
 "I like it," said April "I always love the sea. You 
 needn't be afraid of a troublesome . . . wife." 
 
 He gave her a sunny look as he noticed the slight 
 pause, and tucked a hand into her wide muff. 
 
 "I can't believe it somehow" his voice was low 
 "it seems too good to be real like the end of a fairy- 
 tale. In a few hours, Honey," he gave a little laugh, 
 " 'April Panhasard' will belong to the past. I wonder 
 if you're sorry at all? it's been a dandy name . . . 
 I wish old Boris were here I always liked that boy. 
 We'll try and catch him, though, on his way back 
 home. He must bring his young charge to have a
 
 APRIU PANHASARD 373 
 
 look at the States. You'd like that, wouldn't you ? to 
 see the 'cousin' eh?" 
 
 He laughed again as a faint flush colored her 
 face. 
 
 "I'm very fond of him" she gave him a teasing 
 glance "it might be dangerous, you never can tell!" 
 
 "That's the best of life" he refused to be drawn 
 " 'You never can tell !' it's the essence of adven- 
 ture." He glanced at his watch. "And extremely ap- 
 propriate to the present situation. Confound that 
 policeman ! I shall get out and push !" 
 
 But as he said the words the taxi gave a kick, the 
 cold autocrat lowered his hand, and they were jerked 
 forward, into a motor bus with which they played 
 "cup and ball" up the narrow hill. 
 
 "I heard from Sister this morning's mail," Van 
 Someren ran on, "she's terribly glad to think we sail 
 tomorrow and, incidentally, bring home Harry Dy- 
 son Tremayne!" He gave a little laugh. "The kid's 
 rather fond of him, between you and me. It was 
 cruel bad luck that, just as we returned, he had to come 
 over to Europe himself. They were engaged, you 
 know, two years back and then she broke it off it's 
 a long story but I fancy it's going to turn out right 
 in the end. We were at Yale together he's a real 
 sport ... I'd sooner Sister married him than any 
 other man." 
 
 "She sent me a sweet letter, too I'll shew it you 
 bye and bye." April twisted round to look into his 
 
 face ; "but I want to ask you a little favour now 
 
 Oh, it's nothing much . . ." She had an air of guilt,
 
 374 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 like a child who hugs a secret tight, yet longs to let 
 it slip. 
 
 "Out with it, Honey." He watched her, amused; 
 then, as she went on, he gave a slight start. 
 
 "I should like, when we get there, to buy ... it 
 myself. I've a notion it will bring us luck, somehow. 
 Besides ..." she hesitated afresh, avoiding his gaze. 
 
 "Why sure if you want to." In his voice was a 
 touch of the swift excitement that was stealing over 
 him. Was he to know at last? the mystery laid 
 bare that he had thrust so loyally away from his 
 mind. 
 
 For never by a word or sign had he questioned her. 
 It seemed to lack chivalry; and the thought that he 
 had spied in a moment of unconsciousness on April's 
 troubled past the memory of that pleading look that 
 she had given him there, on their first strange meeting 
 for ever sealed his lips. And now quick wonder 
 rose. He breathed a silent prayer that this, the last 
 faint barrier, might go down into dust. With an 
 effort he controlled himself, his hands shut tight and 
 his voice when he spoke was almost indifferent. 
 
 "May I humbly ask the reason I'm defrauded of 
 my rights ?" 
 
 She looked, half -shyly, back at him. 
 
 "Promise you won't laugh ?" and as he nodded his 
 head, his face oddly grave, "I bought . . . this one 
 . . . there." She touched her left glove. "It was 
 a sort of pledge. You'll perhaps understand." 
 Her words came hurriedly. "I wanted to feel free 
 to start life again and I couldn't with . . . 'his'
 
 APRIL PANHASARD ,375 
 
 ring on my hand. Of course I had to have one! it 
 made . . . things easier. So I just went and bought 
 it and I took a sort of vow never to look back but 
 only . . . ahead. To try and believe that the Future 
 still held something good . . . something I couldn't 
 see to try and be brave." 
 
 "My darling!" The cry rang from the depths of 
 his heart. He tasted in that moment the fairest fruit 
 of all that life bears to the few who love in loyalty. 
 
 Regardless of everything he drew her near to him 
 and kissed the sweet face that had lost its look of 
 strain. 
 
 The taxi slackened speed with a grinding of the 
 brake. 
 
 "Lorry, will you behave!" 
 
 With a flushed smiling face, she opened the door 
 and stepped down to the pavement. 
 
 A man, passing, gave her a long admiring glance, 
 drinking in the beauty of her sweet unconsciousness. 
 
 But she looked neither to right nor left. Serene 
 and dignified she chose the exact moment, a gap in 
 the busy stream; with a quick swing of supple hips, 
 head daintily erect, she moved across and the portals 
 of Percy Edwards swallowed her up. 
 
 Van Someren followed, smiling to himself. He 
 watched her cross the shop with a deliberate step and 
 pause before the counter at the further end. 
 
 A suave individual with pink hands and an air of 
 perfect possession moved forward to ask her needs. 
 
 "What can I shew you, moddam?" 
 
 A shaft of winter sunlight drifted to where she
 
 376 APRIL PANHASARD 
 
 stood and burnished her hair, warming the clear pal- 
 lor of her skin, against the dark background of the 
 panelled wall. 
 
 "I want a wedding-ring." 
 
 The shopman gazed at her and gave a little start 
 as a faint memory stirred. 
 
 "Certainly, moddam. Twenty-two carat, I pre- 
 sume ?" 
 
 She tried in vain to check the laugh that threatened 
 her dignity as the "precious" voice went on in a silky 
 undertone: "We always recommend it the only 
 quality we guarantee to wear" 
 
 He turned away gracefully, with a bend of the 
 waist to draw out the identical velvet-lined case. 
 
 Van Someren leaned on the edge of the counter 
 watching April. 
 
 "Oh, Lorry!" she whispered "isn't it too quaint? 
 It's the same man and the same words the 'moddam' 
 and all!" 
 
 "But don't drop it this time for me to pick up! 
 Eh, Honey? or have you forgotten, dear?" 
 
 He stood there, square and tall, a formidable 
 guard, screening her from the further group of busy 
 purchasers. 
 
 She gave a little gasp. Her sea blue eyes went wide. 
 She forgot the listening salesman, the ring and all the 
 world ! 
 
 "Why . . . why!" she caught his arm "it can't 
 be ... it was you!" 
 
 "Sure," said Van Someren, smiling back at her. 
 
 THE END
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 JUL 2 
 
 DOE 2 WKS FRO 
 
 B1994 
 
 
 DATE RECEIVED 
 
 315
 
 000037128 6 
 
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