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 . NOTICE 
 
 This Rook is the Property of 
 Mrs. W. E. Halsell, Viiiita, Oklahoma. 
 
 When it is loaned no privilege except 
 that of reading it is extended. 
 
 YOU are requested to read it PROMPTLY 
 and RETURN AT ONCE DIRECTLY TO 
 THE OWNER.
 
 HE AND HECUBA
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 A NO TEL 
 
 BY 
 
 BARONESS VON HUTTEN 
 
 AUTHOR OF MAKK D IN MAKING, ouu LADY OF THE BEECHES 
 
 VIOI.ETT, ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 D. A1TLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1905
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 Published, October, 1905
 
 TO 
 HENRY JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 WHOSE KINDLY CRITICISM 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SHORT STORY OF THE SAME NAME 
 ENCOURAGED ME TO LENGTHEN IT TO ITS 
 
 PRESENT FORM, 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 
 
 ON THE 
 
 PRINCIPLE THAT 
 A CAT MAY LOOK AT A KING 
 
 2225^10
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE Earl of Yarrow leaned back in his low chair, his 
 delicate hands crossed on the rug that covered his knees, 
 his quiet brown eyes fixed on the smouldering fire. 
 
 Behind him a great window glimmered faintly against 
 the evening sky, and beyond, seen between two fantasti 
 cally clipped yews, stretched the sea. Yarrow could see 
 the chill evening scene by raising his eyes to the old gold- 
 framed mirror, and the contrast between the two pictures 
 before him gave him a delicious feeling of lazy well-being. 
 Before the fire Lady Yarrow sat sewing, and opposite 
 her, rather huddled in his chair, one thin leg crossed over 
 the other, was the Rector, Mr. Dudley, the light of a red 
 light falling on his beautiful old white head. 
 
 " And this most beautiful person was discovered in 
 Biarritz? " the old man asked after a comfortable si 
 lence. Do you know anything about her ? 
 
 " Only that she is the most beautiful person," re 
 turned Lady Yarrow, her smooth, dark head bent over 
 her work ; that wretch to your left fell so violently in 
 
 1
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE Earl of Yarrow leaned back in his low chair, his 
 delicate hands crossed on the rug that covered his knees, 
 his quiet brown eyes fixed on the smouldering fire. 
 
 Behind him a great window glimmered faintly against 
 the evening sky, and beyond, seen between two fantasti 
 cally clipped yews, stretched the sea. Yarrow could see 
 the chill evening scene by raising his eyes to the old gold- 
 framed mirror, and the contrast between the two pictures 
 before him gave him a delicious feeling of lazy well-being. 
 Before the fire Lady Yarrow sat sewing, and opposite 
 her, rather huddled in his chair, one thin leg crossed over 
 the other, was the Rector, Mr. Dudley, the light of a red 
 light falling on his beautiful old white head. 
 
 " And this most beautiful person was discovered in 
 Biarritz? " the old man asked after a comfortable si 
 lence. " Do you know anything about her? " 
 
 " Only that she is the most beautiful person," re 
 turned Lady Yarrow, her smooth, dark head bent over 
 her work ; that wretch to your left fell so violently in 
 
 1
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 love with her at first sight that I was forced to make 
 friends with her to save a scandal ! ! 
 
 Borrow, Borrow ! This is really alarming. I won 
 der what Rebecca will say ! 
 
 Lord Yarrow, who was still called Borrowdaile, his 
 former name, in the very frequent absent-minded mo 
 ments of his uncle, laughed. 
 
 " I think I could make a pretty good guess. Now, 
 mind, don t you get me into trouble in that quarter! 
 You yourself will be crazy about Madame Perez, but 
 * Aunt Rebecca ! And she is, as well as being splen 
 didly beautiful, most good-natured and simple, and has 
 been particularly kind about posing to me; hasn t she, 
 Mary? " 
 
 Indeed she has. She is a great boon to him, Uncle 
 Charles, and a hint for Mrs. Dudley she gave up going 
 to no less a person than the Duchess of Berwick in order 
 to come home with us ! 
 
 " Did she, indeed! Well, I am glad of that on Re 
 becca s account. I am afraid I must be going, however," 
 the little old man nodded, looking at his watch ; " it is 
 growing late, and you know how long it takes me to dress ; 
 I am so clumsy." 
 
 You clumsy ! Mary Yarrow repeated, indignant 
 ly, with the instant partisanship any quotation from the 
 redoubtable Mrs. Dudley never failed to rouse in her. 
 " Well, that is too much! " 
 
 Both men laughed as Mr. Dudley rose. " Am I not 
 allowed to abuse myself ? Mary, dear, I must trot along 
 and your beauty will still be beautiful to-morrow 
 
 2
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 he broke off at the sound of trailing skirts in the corridor; 
 and as the door opened Lady Yarrow reached out and 
 turned a flood of electric light on the new comer. 
 
 " Madame Perez our uncle, Mr. Dudley! " 
 
 The Rector s blue eyes danced with delight as he gazed 
 at the most magnificent creature he had ever beheld, and 
 Lord Yarrow, after a short pause, said teasingly, " Well, 
 Uncle Charles did I tell the truth? " 
 
 No, Borrow, you did not ! For the excellent reason 
 that no words could! " 
 
 Madame Perez laughed good-naturedly with frank 
 comprehension of his words, and sat down in a low chair, 
 her brown velvet skirts billowing about her in graceful 
 waves. 
 
 She was really extraordinarily lovely with her great 
 masses of wonderful gold-bronze hair, the darkness of 
 her shadowy eyes, and the redness of her perfect, rather 
 small mouth. 
 
 Added to the charm of her beauty, she possessed the 
 strong attraction of absolute simplicity of manner, and 
 as she warmed her hands at the fire and chatted with 
 Lord Yarrow, the Rector watched her with a nai ve ex 
 pression of rapturous delight. 
 
 " You will find us very quiet," the old man said at 
 length, " and all of us but your host and hostess, very 
 dull. Borrowdaile has a great many good points, but I 
 must confess to its being very dull, and you, I fear 
 
 Madame Perez laughed, as Lady Yarrow rang for 
 tea. " Oh, no, I too am very dull. I am a big, sleepy, 
 stupid woman. 
 
 3
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Uncle Charles doesn t believe you. Look at his 
 face," put in Lady Yarrow. " She likes to say she is 
 stupid, Uncle Charles. She ought to be, you know, if 
 there were such a thing as fair play in the world but 
 she isn t. I m not saying she isn t lazy! " 
 
 It was at this juncture, as Madame Perez, who faced 
 the door, was smiling in deprecation at the Hector, that 
 the door opened a second time, and a second clergyman 
 came in, with the air, in spite of a certain harshness in 
 his face, of one at home in the house, and glad to enter 
 there where a place awaited him. 
 
 Mary gave him her hand, he bent over Yarrow, and 
 then, greeting the Rector with a sudden softening in his 
 dark face, turned to Madame Perez, to whom Mary Yar 
 row introduced him. 
 
 King Hardy was at that time forty-two years old, but 
 his face, with its grim frown, and deep-cut lines about the 
 mouth, looked older. 
 
 His eyes, deepset under their heavy, overhanging 
 brow, were of a bright light gray that contrasted oddly, 
 almost unpleasantly, with his dark, weather-beaten skin. 
 He wore a thick moustache, one-half of which was very 
 gray, the other being almost quite black, as was the rough 
 short-cropped hair, growing rather low on his brow. 
 
 Rosalba Perez summed the man up as plain, elderly, 
 and uninteresting. Then, as he began to talk, in a rather 
 musical voice, and his face broke into a smile at some re 
 mark of the Rector s, she modified her first opinion, and 
 set him down as plain, elderly and interesting. 
 
 After a few commonplaces, Hardy announced the ob- 
 4
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 ject of his visit. A man in the neighborhood, a mason, 
 had fallen that afternoon and broken both his legs. I 
 carried him home and fetched the doctor, he explained, 
 " but it s going to cost a lot of money to cure him, and 
 I can t do it. So you may, George. 
 
 He ended abruptly, and bending forward, pushed a 
 protruding log back into the fire. 
 
 Thanks. You say you carried him home, Yarrow 
 answered. You mean to his house ? 
 
 Hardy turned, with a little half-defiant laugh. No. 
 I mean to my house. I have an extra room there, and I 
 can look after the poor chap. I know something of nurs 
 ing, you know." 
 
 " / know," said Dr. Dudley, suddenly, " a great 
 many things, King." With a little, almost womanly 
 gesture, he laid his hand on Hardy s arm, where it trem 
 bled slightly until the younger man, covering it with his, 
 said : All vanity, sir. No man knows so much as he 
 thinks. Lady Yarrow, you have given me cream, which 
 I hate." 
 
 Lady Yarrow changed the cup, and the subject, and 
 Madame Perez wondered what it was all about. 
 
 A few minutes later, Hardy rose, and helping Yarrow 
 out of his chair said good-bye to the others, and left 
 the room with his host leaning on his arm. " Highway 
 robbery introduced into the drawing-room," observed the 
 Rector. " He will get no end of money out of Yarrow, 
 Mary. 
 
 " Yes," answered Mary, very gently. 
 
 Madame Perez watched her meditatively for a few 
 5
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 seconds, and then said: " Is he also a Reverend? And 
 what curious manners he has ! 
 
 Lady Yarrow nodded. " Yes. He is Rector of Car- 
 bury, the village through which you came on your way 
 from the station. He is rather gruff but the best man 
 in the world. Isn t he, Uncle Charles ? 
 
 Mr. Dudley smiled. " He is a very good man, and 
 does more good in a week than most of us in a year. I 
 love King Hardy. 
 
 Madame Perez shrugged her shoulders slightly. 
 
 " I always salute goodness when I am shown it but 
 I cannot say I find this particular good man very how 
 does one saysimpatico? " 
 
 Mary laughed. 
 
 1 Vain woman. You mean, that you and your beauty 
 were not noticed by him! Ah yes I too was once 
 used to a certain amount of admiration, and Mr. Hardy, 
 I am sure, does not know that I am not as hideous as the 
 Witch of Endor." 
 
 " The Witch of Endor, my dear, was probably a 
 young and handsome woman," remarked the Rector, 
 " for she is supposed to have done much mischief " 
 
 At all events, Mr. Hardy certainly is as blind as a 
 bat, or he wouldn t have sat for half an hour opposite 
 Madame Perez, without looking at her ! 
 
 Out in the chill November air, the man who had sat 
 for half an hour opposite Madame Perez without looking 
 at her, was hurrying homewards, his trousers turned up 
 over his coarse boots, his hat jammed down over his 
 eyes. 
 
 6
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 He had a roll of bank notes in his pocket, the memory 
 of Yarrow s sympathy should have been vividly in his 
 mind, and was in reality somewhere in the back part of 
 his consciousness, but the man s memory had carried him 
 back many years into his youth. On he hurried, splash 
 ing unheeding through the mud, responding half-uncon- 
 sciously to the curt greetings of the few people he met. 
 He did not see the lighted windows of the village through 
 which he passed ; he did not look with a kindly smile into 
 the occasionally open cottage doors, where the fleeting 
 pictures of humble comfort usually pleased him; he did 
 not pause at the solitary cottage half-way between the vil 
 lage and his Rectory, where a sick boy lay, expecting a 
 cheery word from him. 
 
 He was deep in one of the terrible memories that 
 were the bane of his life, and knowing his weakness as he 
 knew his strength, made not the slightest effort to fight 
 against what he called his demon. 
 
 He saw, instead of the steep, dark country road and 
 flat gray fields about him, a yellow-white terrace, on the 
 balustrade of which climbed giant heliotrope and small, 
 shaggy roses. 
 
 Overhead, instead of the low-hanging dark sky, a 
 vivid, starlit vault, streaked from time to time with a 
 falling star. 
 
 Instead of the smell of wet mud, and rain-soaked, 
 half -bare hedgerows, his nostrils inflated to catch the 
 odors of a thousand heavy-scented flowers. Instead of 
 being King Hardy, Rector of Carbury, a middle-aged, 
 hard-working man, he was King Hard} 7 , nephew r of Mr. 
 
 7
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Hardy of Bishop s Hardy, twenty-five years old, travel 
 ing in Italy for his pleasure. 
 
 The hurrying man took off his hat and wiped his brow 
 with his handkerchief as he spoke the words aloud. 
 
 There she sat in the long chair beside him. He had 
 called her many names, his treasure, his soul. Low 
 browed, dark-eyed, with white teeth and a voice that 
 made his heart tremble 
 
 On and on he went, his thoughts as well as his feet 
 faster and faster as the house on the hill grew larger and 
 more distinct. 
 
 He remembered the lace that edged her yellow gown 
 that night. He remembered the rose he put in her hair 
 but he had reached his gate, and there was no more time 
 now. 
 
 Later, when he was alone in his study, the demon 
 would come back, he knew. And the immediate 
 cause for the visit of the demon was the tawny-haired 
 woman in the loose velvet gown at Borrowdaile House. 
 
 There was no particular resemblance, he knew, but it 
 was the type good-bye, then, until later. 
 
 Pausing a minute outside, and drawing a deep breath, 
 Hardy opened his house-door and went in.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 TIIE corridor was unlighted, and the Rector, stumbling 
 on a chair, nearly fell. His study door was half open, 
 and he limped into the small room in which the remnants 
 of an untidy fire glowed faintly, showing up with a 
 curious distinctness the shabby discomfort of the torn 
 rug, the faded green rep furniture, and the broken- 
 shaded lamp on the table. 
 
 He fumbled for matches, but there were none in their 
 place, so going to the door he called in a very gentle voice, 
 "Katie! " 
 
 An invisible door opened somewhere to his right, and 
 with a strong smell of frying meat, came the answer. 
 
 " Light my lamp, please; I have no matches." 
 
 " I ve got my meat in the pan, Mr. Hardy, and I 
 can t leave it. I m sorry, but I can t do everything at 
 once. MacDougall was playing jackstraws with the 
 matches ; they must be somewhere around. 
 
 Hardy went back and lighting a bit of paper in the 
 red ashes, used it as a torch until he found the matches, 
 and lighted the lamp himself. 
 
 He had not reproved the servant for her way of 
 speaking to him, for she was a hard-working soul whose 
 good qualities he appreciated, and he worked patiently, 
 
 9
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 closing the shutters and mending the fire, but as the light 
 grew stronger it showed a frown on his face that indi 
 cated a bitter sense of disgust and unavailing anger kept 
 down by his whole will. 
 
 On the sofa lay a child of four years old, asleep, with 
 its mouth open, its arm hanging to the floor. On the one 
 arm-chair lay a half -empty nursing bottle, the long brown 
 tube dropping slow drops of milk to the rug, where they 
 had formed a small puddle. Hardy picked it up, set it 
 on the chimney-piece, and then, still frowning, bent and 
 gently wiped the sleeping child s little nose on his own 
 handkerchief. God help me ! " he said, half aloud, as 
 he turned, and took off his coat, his collar and his cuffs. 
 
 These carefully folded away in a drawer, he drew on 
 a shabby dressing-gown, one sleeve of which was smeared 
 with some sticky substance ; it was jam. Bending to the 
 lamp he scraped it off with a paper knife, and then going 
 to the kitchen, rubbed it with a damp towel. 
 
 Katie stood by the stove, her head tied up, frying the 
 chops, the smoke of which hung about her in clouds. 
 
 " d you find the matches, Mr. Hardy? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, Katie. I see you have toothache again. I am 
 sorry. I d have it out if I were you. 
 
 The girl shook her head. "I m afraid to. Oh 
 there s MacDougall waked up. He ll wake the baby, he s 
 yelling so." 
 
 Hardy hurried back to his study to find the child, its 
 fat face seamed and crimson with sleep, sitting up, and 
 calling loudly for its bottle. 
 
 " Be still, MacDougall, I ll fetch your milk. Be a 
 10
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 good boy, and don t wake Baby and Little Baby." He 
 was conscious of his weakness towards his children, but 
 there was no middle way for him. On days such as this, 
 when he had a feeling very like hatred towards all his 
 surroundings, his only refuge was in this great gentleness 
 that deluded every one, and nearly killed himself in its 
 accomplishment. 
 
 As he came back from the kitchen again, this time 
 with the bottle filled with milk, his wife came slowly 
 downstairs, a baby of a little more than a year in her 
 arms. 
 
 She wore a loose drab dressing-gown of some sort, and 
 her slippers clacked as she walked. 
 
 " Dear me, King, what is the matter with MacDou 
 gall? " she began, fretfully, following him into the 
 study. " He woke Anabel, and I m just worn out. Har 
 old was so fretful all day." 
 
 I m very sorry, Abby, my poor girl. Be still, Mac- 
 Dougall. What s wrong with Harold? " 
 
 " Stomach-ache, I suppose," she returned, sinking 
 down into a chair as MacDougall subsided into quiet, 
 hugging the precious bottle to his breast. " I never saw 
 such children as ours for stomach-ache. I m sure they 
 haven t it from my side. None of us ever had it as far 
 back as I can remember." 
 
 Hardy laughed harshly. " Then it must be an in 
 heritance from the Hardys. Isn t MacDougall too old to 
 have a bottle, Abby ? 
 
 She did not notice his little outburst; it was a very 
 little one, and she was not observant. 
 3 11
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Of course he s too big, she answered ; " he s a 
 naughty boy, and a black man will fetch him if he 
 doesn t learn to eat nicely with a spoon. 
 
 Before the indignant MacDougall could protest, Ka 
 tie, who had been in the opposite room, setting the table, 
 announced that dinner was ready, and the little baby be 
 ing luckily asleep again, and laid in a safe position on the 
 sofa, the rest of the family grouped itself around the 
 table. Hardy closed his eyes and asked the blessing, and 
 the meal began. The soup was cold and greasy ; the chops 
 burnt outside, raw \vithin; the potatoes soggy and un 
 cooked. 
 
 Hardy partook of everything, grimly, doggedly, with 
 out knowing what he ate. Two of the elder boys had 
 been quarreling, and one of them had a swollen nose. 
 
 " Didn t I just knock you out with one finger! " said 
 the other, sucking up his soup noisily. 
 
 " You lie, you beast. You used your beastly boots, 
 and that s cheating." 
 
 " Be silent, Eustace," interrupted the father. 
 " Anna, scrape that sauce off your bib. Katie, a fresh 
 bib to-morrow for Anna. Abby, try to eat another chop, 
 my dear " 
 
 At length it was over, the children had said good 
 night to their father, the elder ones shaking hands with 
 him, the younger bestowing on him kisses which he re 
 turned with a " God bless you." Then he locked the 
 study door and sat down at his table. 
 
 Katie, in the kitchen, had a visitor, a young butcher 
 from Borrowdaile. 
 
 12
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " I seen him a-pounding up that there lane this even 
 ing, but e didn t see me. He s a rum un, your master. 
 
 Katie tossed her head. " He s a very good master, 
 and a very good man, too, Mr. Ibbetts. He has enough to 
 worry most men an make em as cross as Sancho, but e s 
 never cross. Like a lamb, e is which you can t be ex 
 pected to reckonize, your last lamb being an old ram, Mr. 
 Ibbetts! " 
 
 Mr. Ibbetts was not impervious to sarcasm, and went 
 on to explain that he meant no arm, not e, and that so 
 far as c knew, Mr. Ardy was an angel. 
 
 He s as kind as kind can be, every one knows that, 
 he added, " but Vs queer and absent-minded at times. 
 Like enough planning one of his good deeds." 
 
 This recalled the injured mason to Katie s mind, and 
 knocking at the study door, she reminded her master of 
 his presence and probable need of help. Hardy groaned, 
 as the girl went back to the kitchen, and then falling to 
 his knees he prayed in silence for a few minutes before 
 going, humbled and sad, to his neglected guest. 
 
 The man lay on his back, his head buried uncomfort 
 ably in the soft pillow, his face, seen by the light Hardy 
 brought with him, distorted with pain and impatience. 
 
 If you d ave let me go home to my wife I wouldn t 
 ave been forgot like this, he began as Hardy raised his 
 head and rearranged the pillow. " All very well to ave 
 nothing but milk, but it s ard on a man not to ave even 
 the milk." 
 
 " I know, Briggs, I know," answered Hardy, hum 
 bly. " I did forget, and I beg your pardon. The milk 
 
 13
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 is coming, and the doctor will be here in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 Begging pardon don t do much good, when a man s 
 got such pains in is legs as I have. That s wot comes of 
 letting other folks meddle with your private affairs, I 
 didn t want to come ere, you can t deny that. You may 
 ha meant kindly, I m not saying no to that, Mr. Ardy, 
 but as far as comfort goes, I d ha been better off at ome, 
 with the old woman to look after me. 
 
 Hardy sat by him in silence, his head on one hand, 
 and received the rough blows, which grew worse as the 
 milk did not come, without protest. 
 
 It was the old story. He had meant kindly in bring 
 ing the man here, and then, forgetting him, had done 
 more harm than good, and was filled with shame. 
 
 He had sat there in his study, given up completely to 
 the torturing joys of dreaming of the old days when he 
 had sinned and been splendidly happy, while up here in 
 the dingy, dark room, his suffering guest lay neglected. 
 The light from the lamp fell on his bowed head, showing 
 the coarse white hairs that were strewn sparsely among 
 the dark locks; the square low brow seamed with two 
 deep lines, and now drawn with remorse and pain; the 
 deep eye sockets, the short straight nose, and the mous 
 tache so heavy that the mouth, when in repose, was com 
 pletely hidden. 
 
 The feverish, homesick, coarse-grained man in the bed 
 talked on, growing rougher and more cruel as time 
 passed, but Hardy, his jaw set grimly, one hand clenched 
 in the shadow, did not answer. 
 
 14
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 When the milk came, he gave a little to his patient, 
 and as he set down the cup, a ring at the house-door 
 echoed up the narrow stairs and caught his ear. Telling 
 Katie to sit with Briggs for a minute, Hardy ran softly 
 down and, opening the door, admitted the doctor. 
 
 " Good evening, Tench, I am glad you have come," 
 he said, shaking hands with the little man in the long 
 coat. " He s suffering a good deal, poor fellow." 
 
 Ugh. Homesick, too, I 11 be bound ? 
 
 Hardy nodded. " Yes. Perhaps I was wrong, I 
 often am. You know the way, and if you ll go up I ll 
 mend the fire here and get out some whisky for you. 
 Tench," he added as the doctor started upstairs 
 " just step a little softly, will you, like a good fellow. 
 My wife my wife doesn t like my bringing people in, 
 you know, and she was out this afternoon, so I haven t 
 mentioned it to her. 
 
 Tench nodded and tiptoed his way past the door be 
 hind which he could picture the helpless helpmate of his 
 friend sitting in dreary idleness. 
 
 Katie, having overheard some of the sick man s re 
 marks, seized the opportunity of being alone with him 
 to give him a severe scolding. Tench found the two 
 enjoying a battle that had brought a bright color to the 
 cheeks of his patient and a too-great heat to his big hands. 
 
 After sending the loyal and sharp-tongued woman 
 out of the room, and examining Briggs, the little doctor 
 went downstairs, rubbing one ear thoughtfully. 
 
 " He s going to have a bad night I fear, Hardy. That 
 she-devil of yours has been pitching into him and work- 
 
 15
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 ing him into a fever Katie, I mean," he added hastily, 
 as Hardy looked up aghast, and he s restless and home 
 sick. I ll write out a prescription for him, and if you ll 
 let Katie go down with me I ll go to Woolley, and have 
 him make it up it s a quieting draught." 
 
 He drank his whisky standing, and then drew on his 
 coat, that Hardy had hung by the kitchen stove to dry, 
 and was now steaming and spongy. 
 
 " Call the girl, will you? " 
 
 Hardy hesitated. " If you ll have the prescription 
 made out, Tench, I ll see that it s fetched in half an 
 hour." 
 
 " Very well. Good night." The doctor growled 
 inarticulately to himself as he went down the slip 
 pery garden path. He knew perfectly well that 
 Hardy would fetch the medicine himself, but he did not 
 dare remonstrate. The Rector, left alone, locked the 
 house, sent Katie to bed with a poultice of his own mak 
 ing on her aching cheek, and then, after a final look at 
 Briggs, who had fallen into a restless sleep, went out into 
 the rainy darkness. At the garden gate he came on a 
 woman standing looking up at the house. It was Mrs. 
 Briggs, a scold and an inciter to rebellion, an avowed ene 
 my to all parsons, and an unavowed but well-known 
 friend to the bottle. It s my man, she began at once. 
 I was wondering ow e is. I ain t a-doing no arm. 
 
 Hardy paused a minute. She was horribly antipa 
 thetic to him, and he dreaded the tale her tongue would 
 tell of his household circumstances, but she was Briggs s 
 wife, and she was not drunk. 
 
 16
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, gently, reopening the gate, 
 " you would like to see him, Mrs. Briggs? Or even to 
 to spend the night with him ? I can t give you a bed, but 
 I can give you a mattress " 
 
 The woman accepted his offer eagerly, curiosity as to 
 the interior of the Rectory mingling with her anxiety 
 about her husband. Hardy went back with her, showed 
 her the way upstairs, and then, leaving her sitting by the 
 sick man, once more went out. 
 
 He came back, the medicine in his pocket, aching with 
 the effort he had been making for hours, and tired to 
 death, but an hour later, when the clock struck half-past 
 twelve, he lay down, dressed, on the broken-springed 
 sofa in his study. He had given his mattress to the wo 
 man upstairs. 
 
 17
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A WEEK late, La.dy Yarrow, coming in from a walk, 
 was met at the house-door by her guest, who told her, be 
 tween the puffs of a cigarette, that she, Madame Perez, 
 had rented the Liscom place, and meant to pass the win 
 ter there. 
 
 Mary looked into the lazy eyes with surprise. Lis 
 com House! But why, if you can stand it here, don t 
 you stay with us ? Yarrow will be broken-hearted ! 
 
 But you won t. Ah, I know that you don t like me, 
 and believe me, I am not in the least offended. You are 
 far too good to offend. If I were here, always dans votre 
 cliemin, you would soon hate me, and I should be sorry 
 for that! For you see, I like you hugely one says 
 hugely ? " 
 
 Lady Yarrow laughed. " One says hugely on oc 
 casion. Come and tell me more about your plans, and 
 don t imagine that I don t like you, for I do, indeed. 
 
 Tall and graceful she led the way upstairs, into her 
 morning-room, and when the maid had left them, the two 
 women sat down and smiled expectantly at each other. 
 Madame Perez spoke first, slowly, weighing her words a 
 little, as she leaned back in her chair. 
 
 " Dear Lady Yarrow, liking is such an elastic 
 word, isn t it? In English, I mean. One likes one s 
 
 18
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 tailor because he makes good skirts; one likes one s maid 
 because she understands hair and lace, and one likes 
 one s friends sometimes. Loving of course is different. 
 One can love with all one s strength without being loved 
 in return, whereas of all the people I have ever known, 
 I am my own self the only one who can like unreturned. 
 How did we get to this point? I began with telling you 
 about Liscom House Well, I like you very much, and 
 you do not like me at all. Or rather, you like me through 
 your husband s pleasure in my beauty. 
 
 She paused, and Mary, quite taken aback by the out 
 burst of discerning frankness, answered in kind, as best 
 she could. 
 
 " I protest. You and I have little in common. Noth 
 ing, I might say, and therefore we could never really be 
 friends, but, so long as you insist on talking about it, I 
 have not yet seen in you anything that I dislike." 
 
 The other woman laughed. " Voila! not yet, you 
 say. You are like a traveler in a dark night who knows 
 that when he can see he will see bones and things. You 
 understand? Now I know that you will never let me 
 know you, but that if I did I should see only things I ad 
 mire and respect. And this is why I am staying on in the 
 neighborhood. I like it all so much. I like the sea, and 
 believe this I like giving Lord Yarrow the pleasure of 
 painting me." 
 
 There was a certain simplicity in the way she uttered 
 the last words that touched Lady Yarrow. 
 
 " Thanks. I do believe you, and I am very grateful 
 to you for your patience. Another thing, Madame Perez 
 
 19
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 I can not tell you how much I admire your lack of 
 vanity. 
 
 Madame Perez laughed a little. " No, I am not vain. 
 Perhaps because most people bore me, and I don t care 
 what they think. Enfin, it is not to my credit. One 
 is born either vain or not vain ! : 
 
 " A very fatalistic view," returned Lady Yarrow, 
 poking the fire gently. 
 
 " Fatalistic? Yes, I am that. Most Catholics are, 
 though they do not know it. But consider. Men see me 
 and say, My God, what a beauty, and then they bore me 
 and I bore them in return, and they go away. It is so 
 simple! However, I like some people very much. You 
 will understand me when I say that I more than like 
 Lord Yarrow. I love him, and he shall paint me until one 
 days he says, Madame Perez, I have enough. Go away. 
 And your old uncle with the face of an angel with human 
 eyes. Him I love, too. I don t love you. A woman never 
 loves another woman unless it be of her family, born in 
 her blood, but just to see you, and hear you sing O 
 wtisst ich nur, I am staying. In your house, no, with 
 all thanks for your goodness to me, but near you, where 
 I can see you as much as you can support." 
 
 In all the six months she had known Madame Perez, 
 Mary Yarrow had not heard her talk as much as in that 
 half-hour in the little chintz-hung room; and never, in 
 spite of the disquieting, unsolicited personality of her 
 remarks, had the Englishwoman been so near liking the 
 other, who had so unexpectedly understood her and the 
 nature of her feelings. 
 
 20
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " You are a very extraordinary person," she said 
 after a short pause, and you embarrass me, but I appre 
 ciate the kindness to my husband, which is also a kind 
 ness to me, and I hope you will not repent having decided 
 to take the house. It is a charming house, by the way, 
 and I hope to see you often in it, as well as here, where 
 you will always be welcome." 
 
 Madame Perez rose. Thank you. You are now go 
 ing to Lord Yarrow and I to take a walk. To-night you 
 will sing me the Brahms song." 
 
 She walked slowly to her room, trailing her skirts, 
 which always seemed longer and more graceful than the 
 skirts of other women, her head bent, her hands clasped 
 behind her. Half an hour later she was going up the long 
 avenue of the house she had rented for a year, a big key 
 in her muff. 
 
 It was about three o clock, and a yellow, lifeless sun 
 cast shadows on the frozen grass, which was already sil 
 vered in sheltered places. 
 
 The air was chill ; it was going to be a cold night, and 
 winter was coming. 
 
 Madame Perez paused from time to time, and looked 
 about her with the bright eyes of one gazing on a new 
 possession. The old trees, each one bent slightly towards 
 the sinking sun as though bowing to it, but in reality not 
 saluting, but humbled by their enemy the sea-wind, 
 pleased her, and she determined to have a heating appa 
 ratus put in the little Greek temple at the top of the slope 
 behind the evergreen hedge. 
 
 " I shall have it glassed in," she thought, " and 
 21
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 warm, with red cushions and an open fire and I shall 
 sit there when it is very cold and snowy, and be warm, 
 and comfortable, and alone." 
 
 The house, a rather neglected building of Queen 
 Anne s time, stood at the top of the gradual slope, and its 
 red walls, still festooned with shabby patches of creepers, 
 seemed to have drawn into itself all the warmth and com 
 fort of the scene. 
 
 Madame Perez stood still for a few minutes, looking 
 at it with new eyes. The last time she had seen it it had 
 been potentially, now it was actually, hers. I shall live 
 here, she said, aloud, and be happy, and ill possibly, 
 and even, possibly, suffer here." Then she started, 
 for King Hardy stood beside her, and he had heard. 
 
 " You are trespassing, Monsieur," she began, laugh 
 ing, and holding out her hand, the key in it, to him. 
 " The house is mine, and the ox and the ass it is all 
 mine. 
 
 Hardy shook hands with her and stood with bare 
 head. " You have bought it? " 
 
 No. But I have rented it, and I am going to live here 
 for a year. As I was telling myself, I am going, in this 
 house, to be happy, unhappy, give dinners, have head 
 aches possibly even die here. Can you not imagine my 
 coffin being jolted down the steps there, and the neighbors 
 standing around trying to look sorry 1 ; 
 
 I hope you will be happy, he returned, a little ab 
 sently. " It is cold, is it not? " 
 
 They had met once since that first time at Borrowdaile, 
 at a dinner at the Dudley s, but had not found that sym- 
 
 22
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 pathy that goes to making friendly acquaintance. Hardy 
 had indeed avoided her, as having been the indirect cause 
 of one of the worst mental debauches, as he savagely 
 called them, that he had had for months. 
 
 The man shivered in his thin overcoat, while she, 
 warm and rosy in her sables, smiled politely and waited 
 for him to take his leave. 
 
 Suddenly he said, as he picked up the key that she 
 had let fall, and holding it in his hand, " If you are go 
 ing to live here for a year, Madame Perez, you will be 
 my parishioner." 
 
 " Yours? No, I am a Catholic, and besides, I 
 thought this house was in Mr. Dudley s parish? " 
 
 " No. Liscom is just within my bounds. We are 
 very poor, we of Carbury, and for two years have had no 
 one to help us, except Lord Yarrow, who is my friend. I 
 warn you, I am very bold about begging, and shall beg 
 of you, although you are a Catholic! " 
 
 She looked at him thoughtfully. " I can fancy 
 that you are bold. Well, I will help you, Mr. Hardy. 
 That is, I will give you money. I will not help trim the 
 church, nor visit the poor. I hate the poor near me. I 
 mean in England. Of course the poor of southern coun 
 tries are to be envied rather than pitied." Hardy did 
 not care in the least for her opinion as to the poor of 
 southern countries. 
 
 Then you will ? Thank you a thousand times. If 
 you knew how I have been dreading the winter for 
 them." 
 
 " Let me know what you need. There is no Catholic 
 23
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 church here, and I like English sermons. You won t 
 mind my going to Mr. Dudley s church? " 
 
 He held out his hand. " Not at all, not at all. My 
 church is not for women like you, and you will be in bet 
 ter hands than mine at Borrowdaile, God knows. 
 
 She watched him as he walked quickly down the ave 
 nue, his square head thrown back, still uncovered in his 
 excitement. He walked very well, and she decided that 
 she liked him, his zeal for his people reminding her of 
 certain missionary priests in the old days in Chili. 
 
 Still thinking of Padre Ignacio, she opened the door 
 of the house and w r as about to go in, when footsteps 
 caused her to turn, and she saw Hardy again. 
 
 " I am very idiotic, Madame Perez," he said, joining 
 her, " not to have realized at once that you mustn t go 
 through this empty house alone. Allow me to accompany 
 you." 
 
 " There is no danger; I am not afraid." 
 
 " You may not be afraid, but the house has been, 
 empty for two years. Do you wish to go upstairs first ? : 
 
 Surprised, she allowed him to lead the way, opening 
 windows, unlocking doors, and showing her short cuts 
 through the rooms that she had not seen before. 
 
 " It was one of the pleasantest houses in the coun 
 try," he said once. " It will be good for Carbury to 
 have it inhabited again." 
 
 They went in silence down the echoing stairs, and 
 into the evening. The sun had disappeared behind a 
 curtain of dull gray clouds ; it was very cold. 
 
 Madame Perez shivered and turned up her fur collar. 
 24
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " One could not live in England without furs. The 
 cold here gets into one s very bones. 
 
 Hardy looked at her with a rather grim smile. He 
 knew what cold in one s very bones means, but he did not 
 try to tell her. He was happier than he had been for 
 days; a publishing house in London to which he had 
 written, had promised to read his book on the Apostolic 
 Succession, and somehow he was hopeful of its being ac 
 cepted this time ; Briggs was better, and Hardy had, by 
 a series of self-inflicted penances, at length found it pos 
 sible to forgive himself his weakness of a week ago, and 
 his forgetfulness of the poor man. Now this new parish 
 ioner had come, with both hands full of money, and 
 money was what he needed. The proudest man in the 
 world as regarded his own affairs, so sensitive about his 
 poverty as to have alienated several good friends by his 
 ferocity when even the subtlest offer of help was made, 
 or even when none such had been made, and his own 
 sore imagination was at fault, he was, in the matter of 
 his poor people, determinedly and often troublesomely 
 persistent in begging. 
 
 " I give all I can, and you may help me out," he had 
 often said, as if conferring a privilege, and in those cases, 
 not infrequent, when the privilege was roundly denied, 
 and declared a nuisance, he was not to be shaken off, 
 and went on making his appeals without the slightest 
 sense of shame. 
 
 Madame Perez, he saw, was a very rich woman, whose 
 carelessness in money matters he would scrupulously use 
 for the good of his poor. 
 
 25
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 And Madame Perez, walking through the chill dark 
 with him, was thinking of good old Padre Ignacio, years 
 ago, when she was a fat-legged little girl with hanging 
 curls and a vivid interest in her own sins as a matter of 
 confession. 
 
 They closed the heavy gates that she had opened 
 alone, and, still in silence, went through the muddy vil 
 lage streets. 
 
 There is something in the homely comfort of evening, 
 in winter ; in the splashes of light as cottage doors open 
 and close; in the steady glow from small uncurtained 
 windows, that appeals to the imagination, and Hardy 
 turned up the collar of his shabby coat with a little thrill 
 of pleasure in thinking that he would soon be at least 
 warm. There was also to be beefsteak pudding for din 
 ner, and a beefsteak pudding was one of his pet dishes, 
 and one of Katie s strong points. 
 
 At length they reached the little south gate of Bor- 
 rowdaile House, and he paused. " Good night, Madame 
 Perez. Thank you very much for your promise to help 
 my people. And I hope you may indeed be happy at 
 Liscom. 
 
 He held out his hand, and she put hers, warm from 
 her muff, into it. " Chi vivrd verra," she answered, 
 lightly. 
 
 Hardy started back as if stung, and to her surprise, 
 stumbled away without speaking. His peace was gone; 
 who lives will see, it was she who had said it with a 
 little shrug, a thousand times to him. 
 
 With a dull groan he turned towards home; it was 
 26
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 not that he loved the woman he had loved long ago ; he 
 had seen her once since, grown thin, yellow, and hard- 
 eyed and his heart had not stirred. It was that the 
 memory of his youth and his sin brought back to him, 
 with all the force of the memory of a man with a strong 
 imagination, the very feeling of his lost youth and happi 
 ness. It was an unavailing, involuntary, painful effort 
 to go back into the times when " les lauriers n etaient 
 pas encore coupes." 
 
 He plodded up the steep road, his head bent, the lines 
 in his face, could they have been seen, relaxed into a sort 
 of hopeless sadness. 
 
 His laurels were cut long ago ; yet the scent of them 
 persisted in torturing his nostrils. 
 
 27
 
 CHAPTER IY 
 
 MRS. DUDLEY was one of those women who, when 
 their sons marry, should, instead of " old Mrs. So-and- 
 So," be called "Mary, Mrs. So-and-So," as one sees writ 
 ten of dowagers higher in the social scale, Mary, Lady 
 So-and-So." Charles Dudley had often said that he felt 
 himself to be very deficient in not giving a title to his 
 wife, and when his only son, also Charles, married, the 
 elder man had gravely apologized to his wife for his ina 
 bility to offer her at least the official title of " Rebecca, 
 Mrs. Dudley. Mrs. Dudley was a very imposing wom 
 an, with one of those paralyzing faces in the presence of a 
 joke that have at one time rebuked and impressed most 
 of us. Who has not felt ashamed of understanding a 
 silly pleasantry evidently uncomprehended by some one 
 who looks on with cold eyes ? Without being icily regu 
 lar, her features were to a great extent null, and her face 
 presented that inharmonious expression given by youth 
 ful hair above a time-worn complexion. 
 
 However, she was a good and conscientious woman, 
 and according to her nature, a good wife. 
 
 In earlier days, when young Charles was a baby, 
 Charles the Elder had confided to his friend and cousin, 
 the then Earl of Yarrow, his surprise at his wife s moth- 
 
 28
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 erhood. " To see her, you know, holding the poor little 
 beggar on her knee and looking at it as though she rather 
 liked it and wondered where the dickens it came from 
 it is wonderful, Yarrow! " 
 
 The young Charles had thrived, however, and grown 
 to be surprisingly like his mother. 
 
 Dudley used to watch the little fellow s solemn ef 
 forts at play, his cold reception of the stories of Red Rid 
 ing Hood, Jack o the Beanstalk and other heroes, his 
 tranquil acceptance of aprons as a means of saving his 
 clothes, with a wonder not unmixed with sadness. The 
 night of the day when the news came of the exemplary 
 youth s marriage with a music hall song-and-dance artist, 
 his father wrote to Lord Yarrow, then at his place in the 
 next county: 
 
 4 It is deplorable, shocking, and humiliating for the 
 family. I dare say Rebecca is prostrated, and I hope that 
 you, as a relative, will also feel the shock, but for my part, 
 George, I confess it is the first act of the poor lad s life 
 that has ever given me real pleasure, and hope for him, at 
 once. The thought of his having the character to marry 
 at six-and-twenty, and knowing, as he certainly must, 
 something of the world, a girl from the stage that he 
 had the courage to risk his mother s anger, and the inevi 
 table trouble his act will bring him, shows me that there 
 is more in the lad than I had thought. The girl is young, 
 pretty, and he must love her, so perhaps she ll make a 
 man of him, as he will, I trust, make a fitting wife for a 
 gentleman, out of her. 
 
 Lord Yarrow, delighted with the very characteristic 
 29
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 letter, showed it to his new daughter-in-law, Mary Bor- 
 rowdaile, and she declared herself to be wildly in love 
 with the writer, whom she had never seen. When the 
 Borrowdailes came to Borrowdaile to live, and the young 
 woman learned to know her new old uncle, as Dudley 
 called himself, the falling in love proved mutual and the 
 Rector confided in her the pleasure he derived from his 
 semi-occasional visits to London, where his son and 
 daughter-in-law and the small Rosalind were living. 
 
 Once, when Charles junior had had trouble with a 
 very dreadful person whom he was obliged to admit on 
 certain terms of intimacy, as she was his undeniable 
 mother-in-law, Lady Yarrow accompanied the old man 
 on his voyage of consolation, and partly by her tact and 
 charm, though no doubt chiefly by her position as Lady 
 Yarrow, and her uses as a future source of comfortable 
 boastfulness, brought the troublesome Mrs. Linker to 
 reason and humbleness, to the content of every one. 
 
 The Rector loved Mary Yarrow dearly, and she was 
 much more deeply versed in the woes of the neighbor 
 hood than the masterful Mrs. Dudley suspected or would 
 have approved. 
 
 The old man had held in his arms and christened the 
 poor little Lord Borrowdaile, who lived only a few days, 
 and of whom no one ever spoke ; he had been told a story 
 of which only Yarrow, a man no longer in England, an 
 other man, and an old lady in the next county knew the 
 truth ; once, when a story about the falling and ruin of a 
 new bridge somewhere in Argentine had appeared in the 
 paper with a list of dead and wounded added, Lady Yar- 
 
 30
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 row had sent for him and he had passed hours watching 
 her walking up and down the room with close-wrung 
 hands and white lips ; after which he had dined with her 
 and Yarrow, who knew nothing of the story in the Tele 
 graph, and was that evening greatly interested in a bar 
 rel of new old china come down from London, which the 
 three unpacked and admired after dinner. That was 
 over four years ago, and had never been mentioned since, 
 but neither of the two friends had forgotten it, nor the 
 day when a revised list of the killed in the accident was 
 published, and Lady Yarrow sent the Rector a clipping, 
 under which she had written Thank God. 
 
 Four years was as a day to the old man, but he had 
 not forgotten his youth, and realized with thankfulness 
 the length, to a young and healthy woman, of the 1,461 
 days. 
 
 Lord Yarrow, who had for years been an invalid, at 
 his best in a long chair, greatly encouraged the friend 
 ship of his uncle and his wife, and watched the two with 
 the kindest of smiles in his eyes. His uncle was perfect, 
 and his wife better than perfect to those eyes, so what 
 wonder that they reflected love and gentleness as they 
 rested on the old man and the young woman. 
 
 One morning late in November, Mary Yarrow came 
 into her husband s study, dressed for a walk. Half un- 
 sciously she had, since her close association with Ma 
 dame Perez, adopted a strikingly simple mode of dress, 
 and to-day, in her close brown gown and small toque, 
 looked, Yarrow thought, more stately and high-bred than 
 ever. 
 
 31
 
 " Where is the tailor-made lady going? " he asked, 
 as she took his hot hand in hers and stood looking down 
 at him. She had never been drawn towards the sick as a 
 class, but as her affection for her husband grew, her sen 
 sibility to every slightest variation in his condition in 
 creased so that she, not he, was like a barometer register 
 ing his every change ; and his every change must be, they 
 both knew, ultimately for the worst. 
 
 " What is it? " he asked, gently, seeing in her eyes 
 the stab at her heart. " Do I look ill? I slept well, 
 dearest. 
 
 " Oh, Borrow, Borrow, I do love you! " she cried, 
 dropping to her knees and gathering the hand she held 
 to her breast. 
 
 I know. You have made me the happiest man in the 
 world for five years, and sometimes I feel as though I 
 were good for five years more." 
 
 He spoke very gently, with the gentleness he always 
 had when thinking of the time just before they married. 
 He knew the whole story, she having told him herself, 
 and its existence had never been ignored by either of 
 them. Slowly she rose. 
 
 " I am going to see Uncle Charles, Borrow," she said, 
 with a change of tone that answered not his words but 
 that was in his voice. " We are going to plot about the 
 Hardys. Something must be done, and he is so fright 
 fully fierce. I asked him to let me be god-mother to the 
 last baby, and he nearly bit my head off. Now there s 
 another one coming, and it is going to be a hard winter, 
 and I know they have hardly enough to eat." 
 
 32
 
 " Yes; it is very terrible, and he is wrong to be so 
 proud with old friends. He won t even let me tip my 
 own god-son at Christmas. Poor King! " 
 
 Lady Yarrow fastened her boa. " Poor King is a 
 mule. Uncle Charles thinks I might possibly manage 
 her, but I don t know " 
 
 Her little burst of half-remorseful sentiment over, 
 Lady Yarrow spoke briskly, and after calling Jarvis, her 
 husband s man, to arrange the easel and the lights for the 
 forthcoming sitting, went quickly away on her errand 
 of intrigue and mercy. 
 
 Rebecca, Mrs. Dudley, was at home, and suspect 
 ing that something was afoot, insisted on Mary s staying 
 in the drawing-room, and sent for the Rector to come 
 there, instead of allowing the younger woman to go at 
 once to the study, as usual. 
 
 " So you have taken to those very plain gowns, too, 
 have you? " Mrs. Dudley began. " I do think them so 
 extremely indecent. The back, you know." Mary bit 
 her lip. 
 
 " Indecent is such an elastic term, as Madame Perez 
 says, isn t it ? How shocked you would be, for instance, 
 if one of the Apostles should suddenly come in, in his 
 loose dressing-gown-y garment and no boots." 
 
 " My dear! " 
 
 Mary wasn t in the least dear to Mrs. Dudley, and 
 understood that the term was used rather as an oppro 
 brious epithet when addressed to her by that lady. 
 
 " Yes. I sometimes hem meditate on such things. 
 Oh, Uncle Charles, Mrs. Dudley says I am indecent! " 
 
 33
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The Rector paused in a square of sunshine from the 
 window, his little bent figure and decidedly bowed legs 
 drawn against it distinctly. 
 
 " If you are indecent, my dear, then I wish all wo 
 men were indecent!" 
 
 Mrs. Dudley frowned. " I wish you would be more 
 careful in your speech, Charles," she said. " That 
 sounds very shocking for a clergyman of the Church of 
 God." 
 
 Of England, my love, protested the Rector, mild 
 ly. " And I merely meant that I wish there were more 
 women like Mary." 
 
 " Will you come for a walk with me, Uncle 
 Charles? " Lady Yarrow asked. It was malicious of her 
 to call him that quite so often in the presence of the lady 
 whom she invariably addressed as Mrs. Dudley. 
 
 He cannot go this morning. The Rector never goes 
 out on a Thursday morning, as he is busy with parish 
 business." 
 
 " The Rector is a worm, and as such, my love, he 
 sometimes cannot resist a turn. Come, Mary, let us 
 take one. The sun is glorious, and we ll go down to the 
 cove. 
 
 Mrs. Dudley was not hurt. She was never hurt, but 
 she was angry, and left the room at once with much dig 
 nity and a back view that, considering the new cut of 
 self-respecting skirts, amused Mary. But in a few min 
 utes the old man and the young woman, walking sea 
 wards, with the strong breeze blowing their hair back over 
 their ears, had quite forgotten the little scene, and were 
 
 34
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 busy plotting about that most irritating and imprac 
 ticable Hardy. 
 
 " If he won t hear reason, you ll have to go to see her. 
 No doubt she will prove more sensible, poor woman," the 
 Rector said, scrambling nimbly up a steep, stiff-frozen 
 bank, and turning to help Mary. " The man has no 
 right to condemn his family to misery to save his pride. 
 A very unrighteous sort of pride, I consider it, too. But 
 I 11 make one more effort to make him see reason. I don t 
 quite like sneaking even in such a good cause." 
 
 " Nor do I," she answered with vehemence. " One 
 can t help respecting him, but he is cruel to his children 
 and ruining them by indulgence at the same time. I have 
 no patience with him." 
 
 " I have. I have a great deal. By Jove, Mary 
 there he is! Suppose I run on, beard him, and then 
 rejoin you. He can t kill me out of doors in broad 
 daylight Mary nodded, and the old man was off, 
 actually running over the frozen, hummocky grass. 
 
 " Hardy! Hey, King! " she heard him call, and 
 then she saw the younger man turn back. 
 
 Half hidden by the irregularities of the ground, she 
 sat on a big stone and waited. The grass, silvered with 
 frost and now ceding to the noon warmth, hung in tan 
 gles, bent and broken, curved and stiff, small drops of 
 water hanging from some of the blades, other blades like 
 tiny swords. Mary watched it closely; it was beautiful 
 on its way; she wondered what wee beasts had deserted 
 the tiny jungle at the approach of cold; on what de 
 serted homes she was looking unknowing. Nature had 
 
 35
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 never interested her particularly, but she knew how to 
 use her eyes, and intuitively studied anything that was 
 put before her. When at length she heard footsteps she 
 said, without looking up : " Well, what did he say ? 
 
 He said, returned a voice that brought her to her 
 feet with a start of dismay, that he resented and would 
 always resent any meddling in his private affairs, and 
 that he considered such meddling from anybody from 
 anybody, Lady Yarrow a " 
 
 " A damned impertinence," she finished, quietly. 
 
 Hardy burst into a rough laugh. Yes. I beg your 
 pardon for being rude, but that I can not and will not en 
 dure. You and Mr. Dudley have no more right to inter 
 fere with my private affairs than I have to interfere in 
 yours, and it must stop. 
 
 Ah. I quite admit that we have no more right to be 
 interested in your children than you would have to be 
 in ours if if we had any ; no more, Mr. Hardy, but as 
 much. You are Borrow s friend, have been his friend all 
 his life, and if if our little boy had lived, and you had 
 seen us neglecting him injuring him to gratify a stupid 
 weakness that we called our pride, would you not try to 
 change things? " They had gone instinctively back to 
 the road, and turned towards the village. Mary had 
 quite forgotten Mr. Dudley. 
 
 " The cases are not analogous. I do not neglect my 
 children, he answered, his voice hard with his effort at 
 self-control. 
 
 " The cases are analogous. You may not neglect your 
 children, but you ill-treat them. Look at them. Are 
 
 36
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 they what the children of a gentleman ought to be ? No. 
 You arc a poor man with a large family, and you are al- 
 towing this silly, stiff-necked pride to ruin them. It is 
 your duty to let Borrow help you. He would let you 
 help him in a similar case." 
 
 Hardy was very white, and looked like an animal at 
 bay. 
 
 " Good morning," he gasped, suddenly. " I can 
 not control myself any longer," and he was off, leaving 
 Mary rather frightened at her own daring, and yet glad 
 that she had forced the man to hear the bald truth for 
 once. Suddenly she laughed aloud. She had forgotten 
 Mr. Dudley ! Turning again, she went back to find him. 
 
 37
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THAT afternoon Mrs. Hardy was sitting in a rocking- 
 chair which would not rock, as one rocker was broken, 
 looking out of the window. 
 
 There was little to see; the small garden, sloping 
 steeply to the road ; the gate, of which the top hinge was 
 missing; a row of bare currant bushes; a round bed in 
 which no flowers had been planted for over two years; 
 beyond, the frozen road with long narrow strips of ice 
 gleaming in the deep ruts, the village huddled at the foot 
 of the hill. 
 
 Mrs. Hardy knew the scene by heart, and neither 
 loved nor hated it : she simply looked at it because it was 
 there. 
 
 In her bed in the corner the baby was asleep, and the 
 next child, also asleep, lay on a sofa, a chair in front 
 of it. 
 
 The carpet was worn to a colorless confusion of de 
 sign, and was ragged in more than one place ; the water- 
 jug had no handle, and the basin was of another pattern. 
 On the table near Mrs. Hardy stood a basket full of 
 worn clothes, stringless and buttonless, but she was not 
 sewing. 
 
 A clock downstairs struck three ; but the clock on the 
 38
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 chimney-piece opposite her said twenty minutes before 
 four. Mrs. Hardy sighed patiently. There was after all 
 no particular use in knowing the exact time. It was a 
 blessing to have MacDougall away at Miss Tench s, and 
 the babies both asleep. 
 
 She heard footsteps on the stair, and looked uneasily 
 around, drawing a pair of trousers from the mending- 
 basket and passing her hand through a great hole in the 
 seat, a harmless deception that she hardly even hoped 
 would deceive the new comer ; King had a way of looking 
 as if he thought things. Hardy came in, walking very 
 softly in his coarse boots. " Both asleep? That s a treat 
 for you, poor old girl! " he said, sitting down. 
 
 He had not been home to luncheon, and looked ill, she 
 thought. " Where s MacDougall? " 
 
 " Miss Tench came and took him to spend the day 
 with her. It s such a relief, King." Tears came to her 
 eyes, and her thin lips shook. 
 
 " Of course it is a relief, Abby. Do you think I 
 don t know what a a hard life you have. But I 
 can help it. You know I can t help it? " he added, 
 wistfully. 
 
 I know. Of course you can t. If I were not always 
 so tired. You don t know what it is to be always so tired. 
 Oh, laws! " 
 
 He winced. Ten years ago she had not said "Oh, laws." 
 He looked pityingly at her thin hair, screwed into a tight 
 knob ; at her bony temples, at the hollows in her cheeks. 
 Ten years ago she had been fresh, and energetic and gay. 
 Smitten suddenly, he laid his arm about her hard shoul- 
 
 39
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 ders and kissed her tenderly. " Poor girl," he whis 
 pered, "my poor girl." 
 
 She cried unresistingly now. Cried until her nose was 
 red and glossy, her eyes swollen. King was always so 
 good and patient with her. 
 
 I know how awful everything is, she sobbed. I 
 always look like the Witch of Endor, and I m so old and 
 hideous, and the children running wild, but I can t help 
 it, King. I seem to be just lamed, somehow. 
 
 He groaned. That was it, she was lamed. She had 
 many good qualities, and a little ordinary comfort would 
 be to her as rain to a flower but that little ordinary 
 comfort he could not give. 
 
 Aching with remorse and anger with Lady Yarrow 
 for putting him to this added torture, he held his wife 
 close until she was calmer. 
 
 " If I could," he said, " God knows how happy I d 
 be, Abby, but I can t." 
 
 " Of course you can t," she returned, a little sur 
 prised, not knowing of his repeated refusals of help, 
 and drawing his handkerchief from his pocket. 
 
 * The other day I saw the doctor s new lamp. A let 
 down lamp on chains, King, and it almost killed me not 
 to be able to give you one like it. 
 
 Hardy laughed. You dear silly little woman ! 
 What do I care about a let-down lamp on chains? I d 
 like to give you things. A man doesn t need much. I r d 
 give you a new gown; blue, I think; blue was always 
 your color Hulloa, Little Baby is either going to have 
 a convulsion, or wake up! " 
 
 40
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Mrs. Hardy went to the bed and in the ensuing noise, 
 for Baby as well as Little Baby awoke too, he said good 
 bye and went downstairs. 
 
 Half an hour later she heard the dragging of the fall 
 ing gate in its rut, and looking out, saw her husband go 
 up the road towards an outlying hamlet where he had 
 some sick people. 
 
 According to the two clocks, it was either about five 
 or about six when Katie, very important and rather 
 floury, announced to her mistress that Lady Yarrow 
 was downstairs, and wanted very much to see Mrs. 
 Hardy. 
 
 Where is she, Katie ? the poor woman asked, anx 
 iously. 
 
 " In the study, ma am. Luckily I seen her coming, 
 and redd up a little. The fire is burning, too." 
 
 Mrs. Hardy put on a shawl and went down, leaving 
 Katie in charge of the babies. 
 
 Mary stood in the middle of the room, with a good 
 deal of color in her cheeks, her eyes bright. Her coming 
 had been entirely unpremeditated, and was the result of 
 her having seen as she drove homewards after a visit, the 
 Rector of Carbury headed towards a distant village. 
 
 Mrs. Hardy greeted her with a timid cordiality tinged 
 with surprise, and Mary was about to sit down when a 
 loud yell from upstairs caused her hostess to start up, 
 her hand pressed to her heart. "It is Baby," Mrs. 
 Hardy murmured. " You will excuse me for a minute, 
 Lady Yarrow." 
 
 Mary caught her by the arm. " Mrs. Hardy I am 
 41
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 very fond of children let me go up with you. I I can 
 say what I have to say better upstairs than here. 
 
 " What you have to say? I I must go, I m afraid 
 she has fallen off the bed. 
 
 Mary followed without waiting for further permis 
 sion, and a minute later sat in the rocking-chair with 
 Harold, who was crying loudly out of sympathy, on her 
 lap, while Mrs. Hardy walked up and down trying vain 
 ly to soothe the baby, who had indeed rolled to the floor, 
 Katie having turned for a second to protest against the 
 other child s swallowing a reel of cotton. Mary s blue 
 eye took in the whole room at once, and a lump came to 
 her throat as she hugged the heavy child close. 
 
 She thought of the beautifully arranged nurseries at 
 Borrowdaile used for less than a week, and closed since 
 then. She realized through what terrible straits Abby 
 Hardy must have come to be able to live in a room like 
 this. It wasn t the poverty of it; it was the dull, hope 
 less untidiness, the lack of any attempt at ornament or 
 even order, that told her so much. 
 
 At length Mrs. Hardy, having quieted the baby, gave 
 it to Katie, and sent her downstairs. Then she came 
 and tried to take the other child from Mary. 
 
 " It was very kind of you, I am sure, Lady Yarrow," 
 she said, " to hold that heavy boy. I often wonder why 
 our children are so fat; neither Mr. Hardy nor I were 
 ever fat, and Harold isn t particularly healthy " 
 
 But Mary held the child tight. No, no, Mrs. Hardy, 
 let me keep him, please. And please sit down, and let 
 me say something to you." 
 
 42
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Mrs. Hardy sat down, folding her crumpled 
 shawl afresh. "I m sure I don t know what Mr. 
 Hardy would say if he knew I let you come up here. 
 The drawing-room is really rather nice, only it s so 
 cold." 
 
 " That s just what he mustn t know," Mary inter 
 rupted her eagerly. " You mustn t tell him. And you 
 mustn t tell him what I m going to say now. Did you 
 know that I saw him this morning ? 
 
 " No. He was not at home for luncheon, and I only 
 saw him for a few minutes when was it 1 
 
 Mary laughed. " Near the village and he was 
 abominably rude to me! " 
 
 Rude ! King ! I am sure you misunderstood him, 
 Lady Yarrow. My husband is never rude. 
 
 But he was. He treated me as no man has a right 
 to treat one of his friends, who is very proud of being his 
 friend." 
 
 " Oh, Lady Yarrow, please explain to me. I don t 
 understand, and you don t look angry. The poor wom 
 an s eyes filled with tears, and she clasped her hands, thin 
 hands that to Lady Yarrow seemed more pitiful in their 
 useless whiteness than would have been the most work- 
 worn in such a house. 
 
 " I am not angry, Mrs. Hardy. It was he who was 
 angry, and this is why. You will not mind my saying 
 that I know you to be very poor, and to be very poor 
 when one has children must be terrible, and cruel, and 
 hideous. Mr. Hardy was angry at me for telling him that 
 he is egoistic and wrong-headed in refusing for his chil- 
 1 43
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 dren the help my husband has for years been longing to 
 give him. 
 
 " Help? How do you mean? " 
 
 " I mean money," Mary went on boldly. " Money 
 is the only thing that can help you. Just think how un 
 reasonable and unjust he is. If he were my husband s 
 brother, or even a distant cousin, and his heir, he would 
 not hesitate to let Borrow help him. Don t you see? " 
 
 " Lady Yarrow," Mrs. Hardy said, with a certain 
 dignity, we can not borrow money, for we could never 
 pay it back. As our children grow older, we of course 
 grow poorer, and God knows how it will end; but we 
 could never pay back a penny if we borrowed it." 
 
 Mary rose. I must go, dear Mrs. Hardy, for I am 
 deathly afraid of Mr. Hardy. You are a woman of sense, 
 and you are a mother. Believe me, if my little boy had 
 lived, and we had been poor, I should not have hesitated 
 one second. I should not have let my husband s oldest 
 friend lend me money ; I should have been generous to 
 him, and to my child, and taken the money as a gift. 
 
 She took a tight roll of paper from her pocket, and 
 opening Abby Hardy s hand closed the fingers over it. 
 That is not money, she went on hurriedly, it is it 
 is little frocks and little shoes " 
 
 " It is bread and meat, Mary Yarrow it is bread 
 and meat," cried the older woman, sinking into a chair 
 and sobbing helplessly. " You don t know what it has 
 been. You can t know, and I ve no spirit left; I can not 
 refuse to take it. King would kill me, but I can t help 
 it." 
 
 44
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Mary took her in her arms and kissed her. I can t 
 say how generous you are, and how I thank you," she 
 said. " Only women can do such things. Now I must 
 go, and be careful, Mrs. Hardy, and don t let him 
 notice. Don t tell him I was here." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer she ran downstairs 
 and into the evening, her cheeks flushed with triumph. 
 She was heartily glad to have been able to help the poor 
 woman whose heart certainly was slowly breaking, and 
 there was another sentiment mixed with this one de 
 light at having at last got the better of King Hardy s 
 obstinacy. 
 
 She met him in the village, and rather to her alarm, 
 he stopped her. " I beg your pardon, Lady Yarrow," 
 he said, with his curious, stiff humility, " for having 
 been so rude to you and Mr. Dudley this morning. I am 
 also sure that you both meant well." 
 
 " I forgive you very willingly, Mr. Hardy," she an 
 swered, holding out her hand, though you were entirely 
 in the wrong. May I ask whether you did throw my 
 uncle over the cliff? I couldn t find him when I went 
 back, and have not seen him since. 
 
 Hardy laughed. " No, I only sent him home the 
 other way ; I was bound to have it out with you. And 
 
 now " 
 
 Now," she interrupted, " I suppose that you have 
 had the satisfaction of snubbing me so thoroughly, you 
 are feeling much set up and inclined to say nunc dimit- 
 tus. Later she told her husband that she had been 
 mentally running her tongue out at him all the while. 
 
 45
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE southern room at the end of the hall at Liscom 
 House had been chosen by Madame Perez for her boudoir, 
 because of a great square window that let in the sun, and 
 a small conservatory at the opposite end that she had 
 filled with plants and flowers, and the door of which was 
 always open, filling the room with the smell of damp 
 earth and green things. 
 
 When King Hardy was shown into this room, one 
 morning about a week after Lady Yarrow s visit to his 
 wife, he paused for a minute on the threshold, literally 
 taken aback by the blaze of color that met his eyes. 
 
 The walls were covered with red silk, the low chairs 
 were filled with cushions of the same color, and on the oak 
 floor was spread a magnificent old Turkey carpet in 
 which, though red was again the predominant note, all 
 the old bright colors were blended into a feast of luxu 
 riant brilliance, softened by time into the perfection of 
 harmony. 
 
 Hardy stood staring at this masterpiece of an art of 
 which he had formerly been a not wholly ignorant devo 
 tee, until a low laugh from Madame Perez, whom he had 
 not seen, aroused him, and he went quickly forward, 
 holding out his hand. What a paradise you have made 
 
 46
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 of this old room, he said, and where did you find that 
 rug? " 
 
 She laughed again, this time at his abruptness. 
 " I got it years ago in the East. It is a good one, 
 isn t it? " 
 
 It is a treasure. He sat down by the big fire-place 
 in which great logs smouldered, and drew a deep breath. 
 Red is the most beautiful color in the world, he went 
 on, looking around. Sometimes I am really hungry for 
 it. And this is just the right shade. I have often won 
 dered why so few rooms are hung with it. 
 
 Madame Perez smiled. She could not tell him that 
 most women would look like ghosts surrounded by the 
 splendid color, and his unexpected enthusiasm surprised 
 and amused her. He was the last man in the world whom 
 she would have suspected of a love of color. 
 
 The very water-colors in the narrow gold or ivory 
 frames were full of that to-day rather neglected charm ; 
 not a gray sea, but a bit of blue water dazzling in its 
 brilliance; not a dull cloudy sky was there, but a sunrise 
 and a dawn vied with each other in the splendor of their 
 purple and gold, their rose and silver. 
 
 A curious note introduced into the scheme of the 
 room was a life-size copy of the Venus de Milo, who stood, 
 cold and white, yet living vividly, in one corner, outlined 
 against a square of Turkish embroidery. Hardy s keen 
 gray eyes traveled quickly from wall to wall, from pic 
 ture to picture, and then back to the rug, which was the 
 best of all for him, not excepting, she noticed quite un- 
 resentfully, the beautiful woman in the white woolen 
 
 47
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 gown who sat opposite him, bending over a tapestry 
 frame. 
 
 At length Hardy spoke. " You must think me quite 
 mad, Madame Perez, but as I said, red is an old passion 
 of mine, and when I was a boy I lived with an uncle who 
 had one of the first collections of Turkey carpets in Eng 
 land, so all this is a delight to me. 
 
 I am very glad. There is so little out-of-door color 
 in this country that a poor barbarian like me must make 
 herself a nest where the primitive passion for it can be 
 satisfied." 
 
 " All passions are primitive," he returned. " Civili 
 zation has had no power over them, any more than it has 
 had over the features of man. Two eyes, a nose and a 
 mouth we had in the beginning, and two eyes, a nose and 
 a mouth we have now. It is the same with Love, Hate, 
 Revenge and the rest of them they are all there, as they 
 were in Cain s day." 
 
 She paused in her work, a needle threaded with gold 
 poised in the air. " You think that? " 
 
 Yes ; why not ? I don t think it, I know it. So do 
 you know it. So does every one who is honest with him 
 self." 
 
 Time has, according to your Darwin, done away 
 with tails, she protested, to lead him on. 
 
 Because tails were not essential to life taking for 
 granted the correctness of Darwin s theory, in which I 
 don t believe " 
 
 She laughed. " Is a nose essential to human life? I 
 doubt it ; yet we still have noses. 
 
 48
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Anger is not essential, nor jealousy but they are 
 part of a whole, and as I started out by saying, as prim 
 itive." 
 
 " We of the South are more primitive than you 
 Northerners. How do you account for that ? she went 
 on. 
 
 Hardy sat for some time staring at the rug, his head 
 on one hand. 
 
 " As a rule you are less well educated," he returned, 
 after a rather long pause. Your primitive passions are 
 less crowded than ours by cultivated tasks, fads, and so 
 on. Southern women are often like children " 
 
 " Have you been in Southern countries, then? " 
 
 He sat up in his chair with a jerk. Yes, long ago, 
 when I was young. Madame Perez, I hope you have not 
 forgotten your promise to help my poor people? " 
 
 " No. I have not forgotten." 
 
 I came this afternoon to beg you to give me some 
 money for a poor family whose father has just died. 
 There are eight children ; the mother is ill, and they are 
 in a very bad way. 
 
 She rose and going to a little table, opened the drawer 
 and came back, dragging her draperies like a lazy god 
 dess, a purse in her hand. How much shall I give you, 
 Mr. Hardy? " 
 
 " A five-pound note would mean everything to me 
 but I ought to tell you that the family is not what we call 
 a deserving one. The mother is ill, but she also drinks, 
 and the children are no better than they should be." 
 
 " Oh, I don t mind that at all, you know," she an- 
 49
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 swered, giving him the money. I am so full myself of 
 more or less wonderful capacity for evil, that I have a 
 sympathy for the wicked. I am sure I should steal and 
 swear and go to the dogs if I were poor and hungry. One 
 says go to the dogs ? 
 
 The sudden little air of appeal was attractive, and he 
 laughed as he thanked her for the money. 
 
 You are very humble minded. I do not believe you 
 could ever be so very wicked. 
 
 But yes ! The tax on wickedness might be progres 
 sive, like the income tax. Poor people should be allowed 
 to steal a little, and lie, more than we who are rich. 
 
 " That is a very original idea," he answered, sitting 
 down again, though he had meant to go. " If carried 
 out, it would produce a revolution in society. 
 
 Yes. For instance, the man who is a gentleman and 
 politely unkind to his wife, should be more punished 
 than the peasant who jumps on his, with his boots on. 
 
 But the lady never tells at least she never has her 
 husband up before the Bench it would be hard to 
 prove. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! One knows. But in more extreme cases 
 my plan would be practicable. The duke who is untrue 
 to his wife in the polite civilized way, should be fined 
 half his fortune, whereas the bricklayer who runs away 
 and leaves his wife ought to be fined, say, a tenth of his 
 wages. 
 
 Hardy, of course, saw her weak point, and pounced 
 on it, and suddenly, finding themselves so seriously dis 
 cussing the problematical justice of a problematical law, 
 
 50
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 they burst out laughing, and he took his leave, thanking 
 her again for her aid, and accepting with pleasure her in 
 vitation to come and see her again soon. The rest of the 
 afternoon he passed in the village making visits and buy 
 ing a few necessities of life for the poor family whose 
 shortcomings had had so little effect with the generos 
 ity of the strange woman at Liscom House. Hardy was 
 very happy that afternoon. He was bringing help to 
 children, he had been amused, Madame Perez no longer 
 threw him into the depths of memory, and the recollec 
 tion of the charming room and the beautiful rug gave 
 him a growing sense of delight. 
 
 Half unconsciously he put off the moment of his re 
 turn home, but at length it came, and as he went up the 
 garden path he stood still for a minute, and looking up 
 at the sky, in which a few cold stars already shone, he 
 gathered up his strength to fight against the reaction he 
 knew must come. 
 
 The modern curse of introspection was his, with all its 
 danger and horror. In the long years that he had lived 
 in his poverty, he had learned to scan his every thought, 
 his every act, not with the sympathetic eyes of one who 
 can forgive himself much, but with a cold sense of justice 
 that crucified him over and over. 
 
 Physically, he had himself under an almost perfect 
 control ; he could and did go without sleep, without food, 
 without proper clothing, either to help some one else, or 
 to punish himself, time and time again. 
 
 But the involuntary side of his mind was stronger 
 than the voluntary; he had never gained an enduring 
 
 51
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 mastery over his moods ; at times a great wave of disgust 
 at himself, his life, his surroundings bore down on him 
 and overwhelmed him completely for the time. He was 
 in no way a sensuous man, and believed that he could 
 have been content with little, but the lack of that little 
 threatened to overpower him, and he knew it. 
 
 Standing there under the stars he realized that his 
 unusual happiness and contentment of that afternoon 
 was bound to be followed by a fall into the depths of 
 emotional torment. He prayed for help, and knowing 
 that the prayer would not be fulfilled in any human way, 
 went slowly into the house. 
 
 The first thing that met his eyes on entering was Mac- 
 Dougall, sitting on the lowest step of the stairs, a sugar- 
 bowl in his lap, a pleasant smile on his blotched face. 
 " Good! " the child said. He was the least attractive of 
 all the children, and now, in his soiled apron and frowsy 
 hair, looked more than ever uninteresting. 
 
 " Give me the sugar-bowl, dear; you will be ill," 
 Hardy said, gently. " Where is mamma? " 
 
 "Bed. Mamma ill." 
 
 As Hardy started upstairs, Katie came rushing down 
 carrying Harold, tightly rolled in a shawl, a woolen 
 scarf about her own face, which was red with tears. 
 Oh, Mr. Hardy, she said, she s very bad this time, 
 and the doctor was here, and Miss Tench took all the 
 children home for the night. She carried little Baby, so 
 I m taking Harold now." 
 
 Hardy sighed. He was not alarmed ; he was used to 
 these occasions and to the kindly interposition of Maria 
 
 52
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Tench, who always sent the children back ill from over 
 eating. 
 
 11 Perhaps I d better carry Harold down to Miss 
 Tench s, he suggested. Mrs. Hardy might need you. 
 And I ll take MacDougall, too." 
 
 " Oh, no, Mr. Hardy," the girl returned, giving the 
 baby into his arms and unwinding her scarf, thereby dis 
 playing a much swollen and glossy cheek, " MacDougall 
 has a bad throat, and the doctor said as he wasn t to go 
 out. E ll be a good boy, won t you, dear? " 
 
 Hardy sighed again as he went down the garden 
 path. MacDougall, then, would fall to his share. When 
 he had given Harold to good Miss Tench, and said good 
 night to the children, who were enjoying themselves as 
 noisily as was usual on such occasions, to them the most 
 festive of the year, he hurried home, and went up to see 
 his wife, whom he found in a most exceptional state of 
 irritation. She had been in bed with neuralgia for the 
 three days following Lady Yarrow s visit, and had that 
 afternoon planned to go to the village the next day and 
 buy some new flannel, two small pairs of shoes and one 
 or two other inconspicuous luxuries before her illness. 
 And now the poor woman lay in bed, the flannel was un- 
 bought, and in a little card-case in a drawer near at hand 
 lay the money, as useless to her for weeks as though it 
 had been in China ! 
 
 After vainly trying to soothe her, Hardy went down 
 stairs. On his writing table lay a letter with the printed 
 address of the publisher to whom he had sent his book. 
 It was a letter, not the usual bulky package ! He took it 
 
 53
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 up, turning it over and over with hands that shook. It 
 meant so much to him. Then suddenly he slipped to his 
 knees and prayed aloud, fiercely, passionately: " Oh, 
 God, you know, you know. You have seen. Let it be 
 that they have accepted it. Let it be. My children are 
 growing up to be savages. I am growing hard and bad. 
 So little would help us. You know. In His name who 
 died out of His pity for us, pity me now, and let it be. 
 
 Without rising, he reached for the letter and opened 
 it " And therefore beg to return the MS. with thanks." 
 Hardy rose with a rough laugh. The package was there, 
 too, just outside the circle of lamplight. He tore it open, 
 looked at the carefully written pages on which he had 
 spent so much time, and in which he had just noAV had 
 such hope, and, crushing them down into the embers in 
 the fire-place he watched them flare up and burn. 
 
 54
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 AN hour later, his hat jammed tight down on his brow, 
 his coat-collar turned up, Hardy stood at the top of the 
 steep flight of wooden steps that led down to Cliff, to the 
 little watering-place, Sabley-on-Sea, in his parish. The 
 wind had come up and blew strongly against him with 
 an occasional scurry of dry snow, but he did not notice it, 
 although he had no overcoat on. He hardly knew how he 
 came to be where he was ; he had been walking aimlessly 
 over the downs until he was tired, but he had no recollec 
 tion of leaving the house, nor of a determination to come 
 to Sabley. After standing for some time gazing through 
 the darkness at the lights of the little town below him, 
 he went slowly down the steps, clinging close to the rail 
 ing as the wind shook the frail structure until it quiv 
 ered. He had eaten nothing since luncheon, and it was 
 now about seven o clock. He was hungry, and, worn out 
 with the agony of his torturing thoughts, limp and weak. 
 But as he reached the sandy path at the foot of the steps 
 he drew a deep breath of relief, for his mind, worn out, 
 was in a pleasant, lazy, blank condition, free from active 
 pain, and content. 
 
 Sabley, a town of 10,000 inhabitants, was still awake, 
 55
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 and as it was Saturday night the shops were open. Hardy 
 went slowly down the little street, pausing from time to 
 time to look in the lighted shop-windows, with no partic 
 ular destination in view. 
 
 In a short time he would have to turn back towards the 
 dark downs where the wind, he now remembered, blew so 
 hard, but in the meantime the street was comparatively 
 sheltered, and the shops pleasant to see. Sabley as a 
 whole was given over to Dissent, but its few Church of 
 England members were parishioners of Hardy s, though 
 the summer visitors went to a smart new church about a 
 mile the other side of the town. As the weary man 
 leaned against the railing before a very large and at 
 tractive shop-window towards the end of the street, it oc 
 curred to him that the shop belonged to one of his parish 
 ioners, and he went in. 
 
 " Harper," he said, as the man hurried forward to 
 meet him. " Don t you think you d better take down 
 that advertisement of Leroy s ? It s a very indecent pic 
 ture, and you re a church warden, you know. 
 
 Harper rubbed his chin respectfully, as though it had 
 been his Hector s. " The girl on a bicycle, you mean, sir? 
 Well, I don t know, Mr. Ardy. It is a bit loud, but it s 
 this way, sir. The public likes its things loud nowadays ; 
 their game, their noospapers an their pictures. Leroy s 
 champagne ain t much good, between you an me, sir, an 
 the picture ain t much good neither, but they goes. 
 That s it, Mr. Ardy, they goes." 
 
 Well, well, I can t force you, Harper, but I m sorry 
 you look at it in that way. What s bad is bad, there s no 
 
 56
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 getting around that, and you are in a responsible posi 
 tion ; you have an influence 
 
 Harper was fond of his Rector, and valued his good 
 opinion. " Seeing as you looks at it that way, Mr. 
 Ardy," he hastened to say, " I ll take it down, and 
 you look played out, sir, won t you take a glass of Mar 
 sala with me? I ear as ow Mrs. Ardy, poor lady 
 The Rector held out his hand. 
 
 " Thanks, no Marsala, Harper. Yes, Mrs. Hardy is 
 ill. I I must be getting back to her. 
 
 " Nothing I can do for you, sir? No coffee nor 
 chawc late? I ve got Soochard s now, the very latest, I 
 assure you. Sabley knows what s what ! Hardy ex 
 plained that they always drank tea, and were supplied 
 for the present, and escaped from the man s well-meant 
 importunities into the cold air which was now filled with 
 small thick flakes of whirling snow. 
 
 Some of the shops were being closed, and at the door 
 of one of them he was stopped by the owner, w r ho was in 
 the act of putting up the shutters. 
 
 " Ah. Good evening, Mr. Ardy. A cold evening, 
 sir." 
 
 " Good evening, Glegg." 
 
 The little book-shop was a never-ceasing temptation 
 to the book-hungry man, and now, as he stood in the snow, 
 looking into the lighted, book-lined room, he was as much 
 to be pitied, if not more, than the conventional tramp be 
 fore the cook-shop. 
 
 " I ve a lot of new books just down, sir," Glegg went 
 on, setting the shutter on the ground and making way 
 
 57
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 for the clergyman to pass in. " An I take all the best 
 magazines now, too. Perhaps Mrs. Ardy might like the 
 Queen or the Lady s Pictorial? " 
 
 " I ll take a Queen for her, Glegg; it may amuse 
 her." 
 
 " All them books there is new, sir," the bookseller 
 went on, rolling up the magazine. " And all but one is 
 novels ! It s wonderful how novels does sell, nowadays. 
 That one on top, the red one, is the book of the day, Mr. 
 Ardy. The Heart of Philada. I ve not read it my 
 self, but it s in the third edition and the papers is full 
 of it." 
 
 Hardy opened the book carelessly; anything to keep 
 his eyes from the sober volumes behind him. " Bah! " 
 he exclaimed, suddenly, throwing the book down, 
 "filthy stuff! " 
 
 " Yes, it is pretty bad, Mr. Ardy, what I ve seen, 
 but that s what sells nowadays. The worse the book 
 the greater the sale. 
 
 " It is outrageous, Hardy answered, paying for his 
 magazine and taking it. It is horrible. 
 
 " Orrible it is, Mr. Ardy but that s wot the pub 
 lic wants nowadays. One sees it everywhere, and the 
 more it gets the more it wants! Why, some of them 
 novels, written by women, too, most of em, I wouldn t 
 offer em to you, Mr. Ardy ! Good evening, Mr. Ardy 
 thank you. 
 
 Hardy fought his way back through the darkness and 
 the storm, glad of the darkness, and was met at the house 
 door by Tench, just going home. " Another girl, 
 
 5S
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Hardy," the little doctor said, shaking hands with him, 
 and omitting the conventional congratulation. " Good 
 God, man, where have you been? You look worse than 
 your wife ! 
 
 Hardy laughed. " I forgot my dinner and have been 
 tramping about. I was in Sabley it is cold 
 
 Tench pulled him in the house and looked at him 
 sharply. " You take a glass of hot whisky and water 
 when you ve eaten, and go to bed. I don t like your 
 looks, Hardy, and I don t want you to go to pieces. 
 
 " I shan t go to pieces. I m all right. Thanks, 
 Tench. Goodnight." 
 
 Hardy took off his coat and boots, put on his dressing- 
 gown and, after drinking a glass of milk, went upstairs. 
 
 His wife was asleep, and the new baby lay beside her. 
 He stood by them for a few minutes. Abby looked ill, 
 she was ill, there was another baby his book was burnt 
 all these things were, and he did not care particularly. 
 As he turned softly to go downstairs, the nurse came in. 
 
 " I m glad you ve come, sir, she took on awful. / 
 never see her so upset, poor dear. She kept talking about 
 when Algy was born, and the flannel skirts she made 
 him. It was a pity to hear. 
 
 Hardy started. He remembered the flannel skirts 
 and all the other little preparations ; he remembered her 
 joy, and his ; their plans, their hopes. His eyes filled with 
 tears, and he was about to go downstairs when she awoke, 
 and seeing him, began to sob feebly. " Did you see her, 
 King ? Poor little tiling ! It is so awful that she isn t 
 welcome. Do you remember when Algy was born? It 
 5 59
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 was so different. Oh, King, I am so tired of it all, and I 
 am so wicked. 
 
 Filled with remorse and pity he knelt by her and 
 tried to comfort her. " We ll name her shall we? 
 Theodora ? You know what it means 1 And we will love 
 her dearly. I think she will be very pretty, Abby, and 
 have your pretty hair. My poor girl, don t cry " 
 
 Gradually she became quiet and at length sent him to 
 her drawer to fetch her a handkerchief. As he closed 
 the drawer, something fell from the handkerchief to the 
 floor, and after wiping his wife s eyes and kissing her, 
 Hardy picked up a little card-case and, to avoid 
 the slight noise of reopening the drawer, carried it 
 downstairs with him. He closed the house, banked up 
 the kitchen fire to save the worn-out and sleepy Katie, 
 tucked MacDougall into his crib, and went back to his 
 study. His fire was out, and as he rebuilt it, the crisp 
 black sheets that had been the book he loved, caught his 
 eyes. 
 
 " It was no use. Such books don t sell, as Glegg 
 said," he thought, wearily. " It was well written and 
 full of hard study, but they don t sell." 
 
 When the fire was burning brightly, he rose from his 
 knees and went to his writing-table. He had no sermon 
 for the next da} r , as he had meant to write it that even 
 ing. The subject was thought out, he knew all that he 
 wished to tell his people, and had only to write it down. 
 
 He looked at his watch ; it was not yet eleven, and he 
 could not sleep. The big sheet before him, Hardy took 
 up his pen, the same with which he had written the book, 
 
 60
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 and wrote in his small, neat hand the text he had chosen. 
 " In my Father s house are many mansions." He was 
 very fond of the idea of the divine Fatherhood ; the ten 
 derness of it appealed to him as something of particular 
 importance to his poor little congregation, and it often 
 entered into his simple sermons. To-night, touched by 
 the scene with his wife, and by the sight of the 
 helpless little child upstairs, he wrote a few phrases full 
 of warmth and truth that brought comfort to himself. 
 He wrote easily, in pure English, free of long words, and 
 his conscientious wish to avoid phrases that his people 
 could not grasp, together with his scholarly purism of 
 thought, had given him a style that he knew was good. 
 At the end of the first page he paused and re-read what 
 he had written. 
 
 " It is good," he said aloud. " I can write, what 
 ever the publishers may choose to do! " He turned the 
 page, took up his pen and wrote: " This thought of 
 God s being our Father 
 
 Suddenly his left hand fell on the old card-case he 
 had thrown down on the table, and still thinking of his 
 sermon, he opened the little book, in which, long ago, 
 Abby had kept her cards. A second later the white paper 
 lay before him unfolded. It was a hundred-pound note. 
 
 Sweat stood on his forehead, his hands shook, and 
 then his quick mind had found the truth. Lady Yar 
 row s meeting him in the village; her contented smile; 
 Abby s happy face that evening. He knew. He knew, 
 and it must be hours before he could confront Lady Yar 
 row ; days before he could tell his wife of his discovery. 
 
 Gl
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 A night to be lived through before he could speak to 
 any one, during which he must suffer alone. For the first 
 time in his life he was angry with his wife; he hated 
 her for humiliating him. For an hour he sat there, star 
 ing at the bank note, his face gray and set. It was horri 
 ble, but worse was to come. For the time came, towards 
 morning, when, in the ghostly light from the window he 
 had thrown open, there came to him the realization of 
 what the hundred pounds must have meant to his wife 
 before she could consent to take money from Mary Yar 
 row. He felt the sting of their poverty as it must seem to 
 the poor mother; he felt the ache in her heart at seeing 
 her children hungry and half ragged. She had suffered 
 beyond her strength, and tempted, had fallen. 
 
 The man groaned aloud in his misery. Could he put 
 the card-case with its secret back in its hiding place and 
 ignore his discovery? Could he accept the ignominy 
 of charity for his wife s sake? There was no moral 
 wrong in living on alms. Could he do it? He had no 
 way of making good the loss to his wife and his children. 
 His book was a failure and he had destroyed it suppose 
 he had no right to deprive them of this honestly come by, 
 humiliating aid 
 
 The momentary temptation took the strength out of 
 him, and for a minute he cowered to the window- 
 frame, half falling. Then, suddenly, with a little hoarse 
 cry he stumbled to his writing-table, took a fresh sheet of 
 sermon paper and wrote at the top of it in carefully fan 
 tastic letters: " He and Hecuba." 
 
 G2
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE title had come into his head quite by chance, but 
 the story grew under his hand with an amazing ease and 
 rapidity. He wrote on, covering page after page of 
 foolscap with his neat writing, pausing only to take a 
 fresh sheet, or to lay the completed one out of danger of 
 smudging. 
 
 Day came slowly, creeping at the pale windows, 
 fighting its slow fight with the lamplight, bringing a new 
 chill to the air. The fire went out, the lamp went out; 
 behind the thick, gray clouds over the sea a pale yellow 
 glow, as cold as the clouds themselves, became visible, the 
 distorted apple-trees in the thriftless garden drawn 
 black as the vanquished night, against it. 
 
 The nurse came soft-footed down the stairs and went 
 into the kitchen ; Hardy heard the noise of pouring coal, 
 the slam of a distant door, without realizing it; the 
 broad table was sown thick with paper, the floor near 
 him as well. 
 
 On and on he wrote, his brows, drawn deep over his 
 eyes, half hiding their steady light as he worked. For 
 years the man had read no new novels, and very few old 
 ones ; he had no theories as to novel writing, or as to the 
 style in which they should be written. He made no plan 
 
 63
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 for his book, blocked out no chapters ; did not know even 
 the names of his characters until, when he needed them, 
 then they were ready named, as clear to him as if they 
 were printed under his eye. 
 
 He was, he felt, subconsciously, not only writing a 
 novel to gain money; he was laying a ghost, killing the 
 living torment of years. For he was writing his own 
 story. It was the story of his own youth, when, sinning, 
 he had been happy as he had never been since in his life- 
 struggle for goodness ; it was the story of that year in 
 his life which, in his real purity and goodness, seemed 
 to him the most horrible and unforgivable in the world ; 
 it was the outcome of years of bitter longing and remorse, 
 so closely interwoven that he could hardly disentangle 
 the meshes that had seemed to hold him fast as in a 
 frightful net of steel. 
 
 And in what may be called his literary simplicity, he 
 was telling the story, a story as old and as new as the 
 hills, in the first person, without the least attempt at lit 
 erary adornment, describing the scenes with a minute 
 fidelity that he himself did not realize, it being the es 
 sence of the thousands of times that he had not thought 
 of them, but been literally possessed by the memory of 
 them. 
 
 There was, in the actual facts of the case, absolutely 
 not one original or even dramatic circumstance, until the 
 very last. He had loved the woman, she had loved him, 
 and they had betrayed the husband and his friend. In 
 the end they had been discovered, the husband had chal 
 lenged the young Englishman, who found in himself all 
 
 64
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 the horror of bloodshed that was a part of his character, 
 and yet, not daring to refuse the man he had injured the 
 satisfaction that to that man was the only one possible, 
 was obliged to accept the challenge. 
 
 Hardy had fired in the air ; his bullet, striking a tree, 
 rebounded, struck the Italian, and killed him instantly. 
 After this the hatred of himself, the forced interview 
 with the woman, the sight of whom drove him nearly to 
 madness, his flight 
 
 It was to this climax that his characters were leading 
 him rather than he them, though as yet he was in the 
 pleasant days of the very beginning; the days of lazy 
 driving over pleasant mountain roads, of evenings in {he 
 dusky drawing-room when the light of the scattered wax 
 candles caught gleams of gold from high cornices, and 
 flickered over the faded satin of the scant furniture; of 
 fire-fly lit garden walks, heavy with the odors of thick- 
 skinned white flowers. As he wrote, a faint smile rested 
 on the man s face, revealing itself in the relaxed mus 
 cles about the invisible mouth, and softening the lines 
 about his eyes. 
 
 The house was awake now; Katie in the next room 
 opened the blinds with a subdued bang; and the regular 
 sweep of a broom reached him. It was this sound that at 
 length aroused him to a sense of his surroundings. His 
 pen paused, began again its steady motion, paused again, 
 and fell from his fingers, while he looked up with hag 
 gard, questioning eyes. It was day ! 
 
 Rising, he went to the window, moving stiffly with 
 cramp and cold, and opened it. Beyond spread the sea, 
 
 65
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 the sun had come out, the clouds full of pale color that 
 was reflected in the still gray water. 
 
 " Ye waters of the Lord, bless ye the Lord, " 
 Hardy said aloud, stretching his arms out into the morn 
 ing, and drawing in deep breaths of the chill air. He 
 heard the nurse walking softly but heavily about over 
 head. 
 
 After a short pause he gathered his papers and locked 
 them away in a drawer. As he did so, his eyes fell on 
 the neglected sermon and the little card-case. Sitting 
 down he wrote on a piece of paper " From King Hardy 
 to Lady Yarrow, who will understand," and putting it 
 and the bank note into an envelope, addressed it to 
 Lady Yarrow. Then, avoiding the servant, he went up 
 to his room. The day passed as a day in a dream. 
 
 In church he watched the five small faces ranged by 
 good Miss Tench, hardly realizing that they belonged to 
 him. They did not anger him, as they had in his days 
 of madness often done ; they were merely far off, remote 
 from his consciousness. 
 
 He preached an old sermon, one of his earlier ones 
 a better one, as to substance, he realized, with a curious 
 spirit of criticism, though decidedly inferior in style, 
 than any of his later compositions. It was on the Beati 
 tudes. 
 
 " Blessed are the pure in heart " he paused imper 
 ceptibly as he came to the words. What was he ? What 
 was the story locked away in his drawer at home ? for 
 they shall see God." 
 
 As he was putting on his coat in the vestry, after the 
 66
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 service, Harper, the grocer and church-warden, came in. 
 1 * Good morning, Mr. Ardy. That was a very fine ser 
 mon this morning, sir." 
 
 "I m glad you liked it, Harper." 
 
 I ope, sir, as what you said about the pure in eart 
 wasn t a little hit at me? I mean about that h ad 
 vertisement. 
 
 Hardy rose from tying his boot lace, the veins in his 
 temples dark. " What an idea, Harper! Not in the 
 least, not in the least, man. The sermon was written two 
 years ago." 
 
 "I m very glad. Very glad, indeed. I m as easy 
 going as most men in my line o business, Mr. Ardy, but 
 I wouldn t like it said as I was impure o heart." 
 
 Hardy shook hands with him and struck out over the 
 fields homewards. 
 
 The conversation had given him a slight shock, but he 
 was too busy forcing his thoughts away from the story 
 with which his brain was filled, into a suitable Sunday 
 channel, to have it make any deep impression on him. 
 Conscientiously he went through his round of duties, 
 read the evening service, taught his class of young men in 
 the school, and read for an hour from the Bible to a pecu 
 liarly critical and captious old woman whose reverence 
 and admiration for Christ seemed to express itself by a 
 systematic and ill-natured depreciation of those who sur 
 rounded Him. 
 
 " But Christ himself loved John, you know, Mrs. 
 Burrage," Hardy protested, patiently, after an outburst 
 of scorn over some fancied delinquency on the part of 
 
 67
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 that apostle. Mrs. Burrage, who chewed tobacco, spit 
 with venom and accuracy into the fire. 
 
 " E was lonesome-like, no doubt, poor dear, and 
 John was the likeliest, cordin to the pictures. Some- 
 thin like my Enry before e took to drink." 
 
 Briggs, the bricklayer, who, thanks to Lord Yarrow s 
 generosity, had had the best of care, was also to be vis 
 ited that day, and Hardy bravely partook, by the bed on 
 which the injured man still lay, of tea and cakes pre 
 pared by Mrs. Briggs herself, that good woman having 
 become quite reconciled to a parson who brought such 
 substantial benefits with him. 
 
 Hardy dined that evening at the Tenchs, and an 
 swered the thousand questions of the older children re 
 garding the new sister, on the desirability of whose 
 presence in the w r orld there was a marked division 
 of opinion. 
 
 Tench, when the two men were smoking together over 
 the fire, explained at some length to Hardy the nervous 
 condition of his wife. " She needs building up, Hardy. 
 A complete change would be the best thing for her, 
 but I suppose you can t hem spare her, so we shall 
 have to try what port and beef -juice will do. I ve 
 never seen her so weak as she is this time, even after 
 the twins." 
 
 Hardy winced. " Yes, yes. Port and beef -juice, " 
 he repeated. Anything else you can suggest, Tench ? 
 
 And Tench, the kindest little man in the world, long 
 ing to help his friend, whose straits he perfectly realized, 
 could say no more. 
 
 68
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 At about ten o clock Hardy went home. His wife was 
 awake, and, thinking of the bank note that she supposed 
 to be in her drawer, in a rather hopeful frame of mind. 
 " I have been thinking," she said, " of cutting down the 
 merino cloak your Aunt Merrick gave Anna, and having 
 it dyed for a coat for Harold. Then my flannel petti 
 coats will do very nicely for the older girls I quite hate 
 flannel of late, for some reason. And oh, you will see 
 I have a whole trunkful of old things that will look like 
 new when I Ve made them over. It s only a little strength 
 I need." 
 
 He knew that she was lying ; that the old things that 
 would look as well as new were to be new bought with 
 Mary Yarrow s money the money he had sent back that 
 morning. With an ache in his breast he listened to her 
 cunning paving of the way. She had always been the 
 most truthful of women, and now she was lying to him. 
 Silently he listened, and at length left her, satisfied with 
 her cleverness, and went downstairs. The house was 
 very still ; it was after eleven. He sat down and 
 tried to read. It was impossible, his brain refused to 
 obey him and wandered off repeatedly to the for 
 bidden subject. 
 
 He opened the window and stood looking out into the 
 darkness. It brought him back to that other darkness, 
 the palpitating, fragrant darkness of summer southern 
 Italy that is only not light. Seizing his hat, he rushed 
 out into the garden and paced up and down the narrow 
 path repeating aloud parts of the Old Testament learned 
 as a task when he was a boy. 
 
 69
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 At length the Borrowdaile church clock struck mid 
 night, and content with his fantastic adhesion to the let 
 ter of the Law against the Spirit of which he was tran 
 quilly transgressing, the man went back to the house, 
 took out his MS. and began work at it again. 
 
 70
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 KING HARDY was a little drunk. No one but he knew 
 it, for he had himself well in hand, and after the first 
 glass of champagne had gone to his head a toast pro 
 posed by the Rector of Borrowdaile to a certain change 
 in South Africa he had been very careful. 
 
 He sat between Rebecca Dudley and a little Miss 
 Lyon. Opposite him, seen, to his slightly bewildered 
 gaze, as through a mist of pink roses and dancing lights, 
 Madame Perez s bare shoulders and beautiful head. 
 
 Gravely he told himself that her gown was of black 
 velvet ; he had seen it before dinner. 
 
 Lady Yarrow wore white, Miss Lyon pink, Mrs. Dud 
 ley purple, with a necklace of amethysts mounted in 
 Roman gold. 
 
 Hardy had been very hungry, for he had sent his 
 share of the family luncheon to a poor family in the vil 
 lage, but after his soup, found his appetite to have fled, 
 and he sat, talking little, gazing dreamily at the flowers, 
 the silver, and at the beautiful woman opposite him, in a 
 delicious half stupor in which he knew he could indulge, 
 protected as he was by his character for ascetic sobriety, 
 and his impassive face. 
 
 " How is Mrs. Hardy? " Mrs. Dudley leaned forward 
 over the low tangle of roses. 
 
 71
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " She is very well, thanks." He spoke slowly, his 
 eyes fixed steadily on her. 
 
 " And the little girl? " 
 
 The little girl is very well, too, he went on. Sud 
 denly a cold fear came over him. Suppose some one 
 asked him the new baby s name ! He had forgotten it. 
 And Mrs. Dudley always asked the new baby s name ; it 
 was one of her principles that people liked to have her 
 ask the new baby s name. What on earth should he say 
 if she should ask it ? 
 
 Then he found that he didn t care one way or the 
 other. If she did, he d tell the truth and own that he 
 had forgotten ; they would all think him mad, but that 
 did not matter ; whom the gods wish to destroy they first 
 make mad ; possibly the gods wished to destroy him ; that 
 didn t matter, either 
 
 " Oh, no, 7 didn t read it," Miss Lyon was saying. 
 " Papa wouldn t let me. He said it was horrid. Did you 
 read it, Sir Ludovic? " 
 
 Sir Ludovic closed his mouth, a proceeding with 
 which he was obliged to prepare a remark, unkind nature 
 having made it slightly open in moments of repose. 
 " Oh, yes, I read it. All of us fellows did. Don t see 
 any harm in it anyway. Don t see why your father 
 wouldn t let you read it. He took you to see Mrs. Taii- 
 queray. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Ludovic," Lady Yarrow came to the res 
 cue, it is a horrid book. I think Miss Lyon is perfectly 
 right. There is no reason for a girl s reading such stuff. 
 Sir Ludovic, who in spite of his loose-hinged jaw, and 
 
 72
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 consequent air of amiable foolishness, realized perfectly 
 well that Miss Lyon was a year older than he himself, 
 therefore twenty-six, and that she had the amiable 
 though unexpressed wish of being the best of wives to 
 him, subsided into silence with a smile. 
 
 Hardy looked at Miss Lyon curiously. In a few 
 months she would be reading and denying his book. He 
 wondered whether she would like it? Madame Perez 
 turned to speak to Mr. Dudley, and the diamonds on her 
 neck stirred brilliantly. 
 
 Black velvet, Hardy reminded himself again. Her 
 gown was no lower than Lady Yarrow s or even the sim 
 ple Miss Lyon s, but the splendid long slope of her shoul 
 ders and the magnolia-like quality of her skin made her 
 seem much more decollete than the others. Yarrow s 
 latest picture of her was just finished, and after dinner 
 was to be shown. 
 
 Mrs. Dudley, who had seen it a few days before, was 
 telling of a portrait of herself painted in her youth by 
 a very celebrated German painter of whom no one pres 
 ent had ever heard. 
 
 " I wore a blue gown and a lace scarf just open at the 
 neck," she said. 
 
 The dinner went on. Hardy listened, and spoke lit 
 tle, but this was his habit and no one noticed particularly. 
 The atmosphere, the soft brilliance of the lights, the two 
 glasses of wine he had drunk, the scent of the roses, had 
 a most delicious effect upon him. He was very happy; 
 happier than he had been for years. For a fortnight he 
 had worked at his book, living in it, knowing no 
 
 73
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 effort, no weariness beyond that in his hand that from 
 time to time forced him to lay down his pen and stretch 
 his cramped fingers. Too conscientious to neglect the 
 least of his duties, he had gone through the monotonous 
 round day after day, auditing the accounts of the differ 
 ent little clubs and addressing the two societies and vis 
 iting the sick as well as reading the usual services. 
 
 Therefore he had been compelled, in his overpower 
 ing interest in his book, to steal time for it from the late 
 nights and the early mornings. Wrapped in his great 
 coat, for the winter had set in very cold, and he would 
 not allow himself extra fires, he sat hour after hour at 
 his writing table, his hand blue and pinched, traveling 
 rapidly over the paper originally dedicated to a so widely 
 different purpose. He lived at those times, existed at all 
 others, in spite of the strong curb he put on his thoughts 
 when once the MS. was locked away and the pen laid 
 aside. The woman in the book, Gilda, he called her, was 
 a living, breathing, sinning woman, no creation of a how 
 ever vivid fancy; the man was himself. Himself at 
 twenty-seven, seen and understood by himself at forty- 
 two. 
 
 He laid bare every thought of the boy s heart, 
 thoughts vain at first, and innocent, as the boy would 
 not have believed them, as the man knew them to be, and 
 then showed in his terrible truth and simplicity, the 
 growth of the sin, the blackening of the innocence. It 
 was all there, analyzed by a man who all unknown to 
 himself possessed a rare gift for analysis, and in whose 
 tortured memory the often reviewed scenes had grown 
 
 74
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 to a perfection of truth and detail that needed only the 
 touch of pen and ink to become alive. 
 
 The thing had taken hold of him with such a force as 
 to obliterate all memory of his original idea in writing 
 it. He had forgotten that he was working for money, 
 and knew only the keen joy of artistic creation. 
 
 He had lost all feeling of anger with his wife long be 
 fore he told her, very gently, of his sending the money 
 back to Lady Yarrow, and had met Lady Yarrow for the 
 first time after his discovery, with a dignified reproach 
 that surprised her into begging his pardon. 
 
 Mary thought of it now, as she watched him gazing 
 absently at the roses. He looked very tired, but some 
 how, nevertheless, younger and more human than she had 
 ever seen him. The side he showed even to the friends he 
 loved and in his way he loved the Yarrows was the 
 stern side which was his armor against the world, and 
 Mary had never suspected him of the possession of an 
 other. 
 
 The dinner was very dull. Mary Yarrow hated be 
 ing dull, and these small dinners, too small for ceremony, 
 too large for cosiness, were a cross to her. Even Mr. 
 Dudley was not amusing ; he had a bad cold in his head, 
 and knew that he would be well scolded for it, later. 
 
 Hardy had eaten nothing, and before the welcome 
 signal for the ladies to go passed him on its way to Mrs. 
 Dudley, he hastily drained his wine glass. This state of 
 conscious Nirvana was too delicious to forego, for once 
 there were too many disagreeables to be faced on the 
 awakening. 
 
 6 75
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 As he held the door open, Madame Perez paused in 
 passing him and smiled into his eyes in a way that struck 
 him as rather unnecessary, though not unpleasantly be 
 wildering. 
 
 Do not stay long, she said. I am going to die of 
 boredom, and I want to talk to you. 
 
 Hardy had had little to do with women in his life. He 
 had studied hard at Oxford, and at five-and-twenty made 
 a tour around the world with his uncle, who showed it to 
 him as a planet on which flourished cities and towns in 
 teresting for their position and architecture, but filled 
 with, on the whole, somewhat superfluous people. They 
 traveled for two years, during which the young man met 
 not one woman of his own class. Then, his uncle being 
 called home from Rome on the business that proved to be 
 the commencement of his financial ruin, Hardy had lin 
 gered in Italy, and the one woman had come into his life. 
 Later he had in his remorse and agony buried himself in 
 study at his uncle s country house, and had just taken 
 orders when the crash came that reduced him from the 
 position of heir to a very rich man to that of an absolute 
 ly penniless curate of twenty-nine with no prospects of 
 any kind. 
 
 After a year in the north of England someone had 
 offered him the poor living of Carbury, and before 
 going to it he had married Abby Brent, the pretty daugh 
 ter of his rector out of a mixture of liking, loneliness, 
 and satisfaction in her being the absolute antithesis of 
 Silvia Aldobrandi. 
 
 These were the two women he had known, Silvia Aldo- 
 76
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 brandi, a ripe woman of the world, several years older 
 than himself, and Abby Brent, the country girl who had 
 never been a day from home in her life, and whose sim 
 ple brain could conceive no one more splendid than the 
 sad-eyed young man who had been around the world ! 
 
 He went back to the table and sat listening to a lively 
 discussion of Lord Roberts, with absent eyes still bent on 
 the flowers, beyond which no white shoulders now rose. 
 He hoped Madame Perez wanted to give him more money 
 for for whom? He and his own family needed help 
 more than any of his parishioners. 
 
 He burst into a sudden laugh, and Sir Ludovic looked 
 at him approvingly. " Not a bad story, was it? " the 
 young man asked. " And Waring vows it s true." 
 
 Lord Yarrow waited until the other men were talking 
 together again, and then said in a low voice: " What 
 did you laugh at, King? " 
 
 Hardy shook his head. At something I was think 
 ing of." 
 
 If she didn t want to give him money, why did she 
 ask him to come soon ? Her eyes were as yellow as a pan 
 ther s though panthers might have violet eyes for all he 
 really knew. 
 
 What a lot of stuff people take for granted, don t 
 they? " he asked Yarrow. " I mean in the way of 
 knowledge. And how little one knows from one s own 
 observation! " Yarrow was a little surprised. 
 
 " Yes, that is true. I was thinking yesterday, while 
 painting, what stuff people talk about complexions, for 
 instance. Mary, as an example, looks very white, but 
 
 77
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 in painting her I have to use a lot of blue, and the skin 
 tints in my picture of Madame Perez are almost entirely 
 made up of green! " 
 
 " I should have thought yellow. By the way, how 
 long is that boy going to scold about Lord Roberts ? Your 
 uncle is half asleep." 
 
 Yarrow nodded. " Yes. And Mary will be half 
 asleep upstairs. Why don t you go ? Make Mary sing. 
 
 Hardy obeyed willingly, after drinking the rest of 
 his wine. Things were still veiled to him in a roseate 
 mist, but he was perfectly his own master. When he en 
 tered the drawing-room he paused for a few seconds by 
 Lady Yarrow and Mrs. Dudley, who were politely spar 
 ring in a corner, and then went and sat down by Madame 
 Perez, whose side Miss Lyon vacated at his approach. 
 
 " Here I am," he said, simply. 
 
 She looked at him keenly for a few seconds, and then 
 asked with a smile : Well how do you like it ? " 
 
 " How do I like what? " 
 
 " The effects of no food and too much wine." 
 
 " How did you know? " he asked, slowly, his gray 
 eyes fixed on hers. 
 
 " Oh, I know a number of things. Do you know 
 what magnetism is? " 
 
 He laughed. " I don t believe in it." 
 
 " Oh, don t you. Well, I do. And if you were a few 
 years younger and a little different from what you have 
 made yourself, there would be, little as I thought it the 
 first time I saw you, a good deal between you and me." 
 
 " What I have made myself? What do you 
 78
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 mean 1 " No woman had ever spoken so to him and he 
 asked his question with serious interest. 
 
 Madame Perez laughed. " Do you think I don t 
 know that your life is one struggle to be what 
 you are not? Never mind Lady Yarrow is going to 
 sing." 
 
 The other men had come in now, and the little party 
 sat listening, each member of it carried by the something 
 in Lady Yarrow s voice that made it what it was, far 
 away from the actual scene. Even Mrs. Dudley s eyes 
 were fixed with a curious intensity, and her husband s 
 full of unconscious tears. 
 
 Hardy sat with folded arms, his head sunk on his 
 breast, his eyes half closed. Madame Perez watched him 
 with the interest of a woman who has deliberately put a 
 thought of herself into a man s mind, and is clever 
 enough to be able to watch it germinate. 
 
 As a matter of fact the thought was at present in a 
 very elementary state, and Hardy more conscious of the 
 feeling of youth that had come to him, of the exquisite 
 lack of responsibility, the non-existence of to-morrow, 
 than he was of any individual whatever. And if there 
 was a personal trend in the thoughts which were too 
 vague to be called thoughts, it was towards the Silvia 
 Aldobrandi of the long ago. 
 
 Lady Yarrow was singing a modern French song 
 now " L oubli me serait odieux Seule elle peut mon 
 mal guerir." Mr. Hardy had personally no ills. Look 
 ing up he met Madame Perez s eyes. " Et j aime mieux 
 en mourir? " Lady Yarrow s beautiful voice died 
 
 79
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 away, and after a little pause, which no one broke, she 
 rose. 
 
 Hardy stared at her a minute, then back at Madame 
 Perez, who was watching him curiously, but he saw 
 neither the one nor the other. 
 
 Suddenly he held out his hand. " Good night, Ma 
 dame Perez," he said, absently. " I am going. I have 
 some work to do 
 
 Her eyes followed him as he made his hasty adieus, 
 and then when the door had closed behind him, a smile 
 came to her lips, and she shrugged her shoulders slightly. 
 
 80
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT was four o clock, the following afternoon, and 
 Hardy sat before his writing-table, his hands lying 
 loosely on the green cover, his eyes vacant. The lamp 
 was lit, but the curtains were not drawn, and the room 
 was filled with the melancholy, uncertain shadows of 
 mingled daylight and lamplight. The fire had gone out ; 
 the hearth was a waste of ashes. Hardy had just come 
 in and was very tired. 
 
 He had written all night, not going to bed at all. All 
 night, until the pale dawn crept in at the windows, he had 
 been living in the past, loving the beautiful woman whom 
 he called Gilda, but who was the Silvia Aldobrandi of his 
 youth. There she had been, with her voice, her eyebrows, 
 the quaint little movements of the hands that set her 
 apart from all other women ; and there he had been, liv 
 ing it all over again, aghast, horrified, yet unable to re 
 sist, because he loved her. Aldobrandi, too, had been 
 there, small, alert, with serene vanity in his power over 
 women, his conquests of whom he related often to the 
 Englishman, every light word he uttered a blow to the 
 boy s feeble defences against the evil that was besieging 
 him. He had read it all over when he first came back 
 
 81
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 from the Yarrows read it through a faintly swaying 
 mist that lent at once a curious vagueness and a poignant 
 distinctness to it all. 
 
 It was he who sat there with the beautiful woman in 
 his arms ; it was to him she whispered ; he smelt the gar 
 denias in her hair, he felt her bare arm on his neck. 
 And then he had come to the end of the time the last 
 sentence ended abruptly This had been the point at 
 which his conscience had awakened, that conscience that 
 had been torturing him ever since ; and it was in the state 
 of half intoxication, while he still floated in the clouds 
 of pleasure and luxurious dreaminess that had caught 
 him up with his second glass of champagne, that he must 
 take down, minutely, the record of what followed those 
 sunny days. He had come to the tragedy. It was just 
 here, after the walk in the olive grove, that the torturing 
 remorse that had drawn the lines in his face, had 
 gripped him. 
 
 Wrapped in his shabby dressing-gown he began to 
 write. The paper swam before him, under the noiseless 
 skimming of the pen. And here came the sudden 
 change of style that so puzzled people later. For his 
 view-point had changed. He had not moved, but the 
 earth had swung around under his feet, and he saw 
 everything differently. He saw, after, as it seemed to 
 him, years of blindness, the folly of renunciation, the 
 wickedness of denying to one s heart the love that is the 
 one spark of Divinity left to us ; the needlessness of re 
 grets, lasting a lifetime, for what priggishness considers 
 Sin. 
 
 82
 
 His anguish at parting with the woman who clung 
 to him even when his hands were red with the blood 
 that ran in her child s veins looked to him, in this cu 
 rious enlightenment, a useless sacrifice. On and on he 
 had written, rising unconsciously to a height of lyrism 
 that vaguely pleased him, writing what was poetry as 
 beautiful in its feeling and expression as it was rotten in 
 substance. 
 
 The horror of the duel he passed over lightly; it was 
 no longer horrible to him. It was the natural outcome 
 of the natural sequence of events for which he had been 
 put into the world. Aldobrandi had done what he had 
 done, a hundred times, according to his own accounts, 
 and now, by a stroke of ill-luck the projecting branch 
 of a tree causing the rebound of a bullet sent into 
 the air with a ridiculously Quixotic intent, had cut 
 the knot, and he, the " I " of the book, had been a 
 thousand times a fool for his frantic refusal of the 
 situation. 
 
 The lamp fluttered as he wrote the last words half 
 a page of brilliant self-mockery and went out. He had 
 not lighted the candle ; it was day. 
 
 Going to the window he had stood there a minute, 
 and then, hurriedly stuffing the MS. into an envelope 
 addressed and stamped it, and, early as it was, had put 
 on his coat and hat and going down to the village, put it 
 in the letter box. 
 
 The air had made him curiously sleepy, and on re 
 gaining his study he had, too tired to make the effort of 
 going upstairs, fallen asleep in his chair. An hour later 
 
 83
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 he had been called to a sick bed and a busy day had 
 begun. 
 
 Now, towards evening, he sat, worn out, his occu 
 pation gone, his brain empty, his relaxed hands heavy 
 on the table. 
 
 The lamp stood between him and the study door, so 
 that when at this point a small hand began an assault 
 on that door, and at length succeeded in opening it, he 
 merely said, blinking under his eyebrows : Run away, 
 MacDougall, father is busy." Then a sudden strong 
 smell of hot-house flowers reached him, he started, hold 
 ing up his head to the light, and saw Rosalba Perez 
 standing before him, holding the small guide by the 
 hand. In her arms, across the dark fur of her cape and 
 muff, she carried a great sheaf of long-stemmed red 
 roses, such as Hardy had never seen. 
 
 " I hope I do not disturb you," she said, without 
 coming forward. " I have brought these roses for Mrs. 
 Hardy, and this little man who was in the garden 
 brought me here. 
 
 " You are very kind very kind, indeed," he stam 
 mered, dumping a doll and the nursing-bottle out of the 
 armchair and offering it to her. " Will you not sit 
 down? " He was overwhelmed with a two-fold confu 
 sion. His weakness the night before must, he knew, be 
 in her memory still; then he wore the ragged dressing- 
 gown, and his collar and cuffs lay on the table. His face 
 whitened with his cruel embarrassment and he stood 
 looking hopelessly at her, wordless. 
 
 " The roses were sent to me this morning from Lon- 
 84
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 don, by an American. They are called American Beau 
 ties. It is a good name, don t you think? All the 
 North American beauties I have seen are like them 
 with beautiful heads and too long, too slim bodies. How 
 is Mrs. Hardy? I hope she will let me come and see her 
 soon informally. I love little babies." 
 
 She talked placidly on without the slightest sign of 
 confusion or of recognition of his, until the man had 
 gathered his wits together and could answer her. He ad 
 mired the roses, promised to take her kind messages to 
 his wife, sent the violently protesting MacUougall to 
 have Katie take off his coat and overshoes, and then 
 when the door closed, he said, stiffly: " It was very 
 kind of you to come, Mrs. Perez, but you can see for 
 yourself that that we can not receive people. We are 
 too poor. It is so cold in this room that I dare not ask 
 you to take off your furs, or you would shiver; I am 
 wearing this old dressing-gown to save my coat, and my 
 collar and cuffs are on the table so that I can wear 
 them again to-morrow. Such a house as this is no place 
 for a woman like you to visit." His tone grew rough 
 as he went on, and at last was almost rude. 
 
 She listened, her eyes fixed on him, and then, after a 
 short pause, came her answer. 
 
 What was the name of the Scotch poet who wrote 
 the poem, A man s a man for a that ? " 
 
 " Burns," faltered Hardy. 
 
 " Good. I like you, Mr. Hardy, and I don t care a 
 button whether you wear a collar at home or not; I like 
 you, and I don t care whether your dressing-gown is old 
 
 85
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 or not ; I like you, and unless you chuck me out, I mean 
 to stay for a few minutes, now that I m here, because I 
 walked and I m tired." 
 
 He drew a deep breath. " It is very kind of you to 
 say you like me, though I m sure I don t see why you 
 should. A clergyman who gets drunk at a dinner is not 
 a particularly estimable specimen of humanity, and I 
 have been very rude to you. 
 
 She laughed. " What a terribly uncompromising 
 man you are. You were no more drunk the other night 
 than I was." 
 
 " I was. I did not stagger, and my tongue was not 
 thick, but I was under the influence of wine, and you 
 know it." 
 
 " Very well. Just as you like. Are you writing a 
 sermon ? " She turned towards the table. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I ll not ask whether you are writing a book, be 
 cause you would bite my head off if I did. Does Mrs. 
 Hardy like oysters? " 
 
 He stared at her. " Oysters? I m sure I don t 
 know. 
 
 " Then I must find out. My American adorer, prac 
 tical as well as poetic, also sent me a barrel of Ameri 
 can oysters, Blue-Points, and as I happen to detest the 
 nasty, slimy things I am graciously presenting them to 
 my neighbors. The Yarrows love them, and so does Mr. 
 Dudley, so you must take only a third of the barrel. 
 Now I m going. Tell Mrs. Hardy to try eating them raw 
 ugh! if she can, and if she can t, one cooks them in 
 
 86
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 cream or in butter. And please let me know when I may 
 come and see the new baby and her mamma. Please 
 don t be disagreeable, for I m lonely, and can t bore the 
 Yarrows all day long. Good-bye." She held out her 
 hand, smiled, and, beaten on all sides, he accompa 
 nied her to the house door, the lamp, held high in 
 his hand, flooding light on his shabby attire and 
 ruffled hair. 
 
 As he opened the door, two or three of the children 
 came running in, nearly upsetting him and the lamp. 
 
 " Dear me, are these all yours? " she asked. 
 
 " These and four more," he returned, laughing a 
 little grimly. " Algy, you are old enough to shake hands 
 with Madame Perez like a gentleman." 
 
 The boy, a tall, rather handsome little fellow of elev 
 en, held out his hand and stared with evident admiration 
 at the beautiful face looking down at him. 
 
 I say, are you English ? " he asked, with a certain 
 shy eagerness. 
 
 " No. Why? " 
 
 With a quick glance at his father, he answered, " Be 
 cause I think you must be a Circassian." 
 
 His meaning was so obvious, the compliment so sin 
 cere, that even Hardy laughed, and then, looking out 
 into the gathering darkness, Madame Perez declared her 
 self afraid of walking home alone, and asked Algy to 
 accompany her. 
 
 Very shy and very proud he walked off beside her, 
 Hardy lighting them as far as the gate, and then, still 
 dazed from the suddenness of her onslaught and his de- 
 
 87
 
 feat, going back to the study, where the roses still lay, 
 their pungent perfume filling the room. 
 
 " Roses and oysters. It will be loaf sugar and 
 lamb chops next." He sat down and looked at the flow 
 ers. There had been no such roses then, years ago and 
 Silvia was a slight, thin woman, rather of the type of 
 Duse, whose picture he had seen. There was not the 
 least resemblance between her and this overpowering 
 South American who wouldn t be snubbed. 
 
 Taking the roses he went up to his wife, who, in 
 formed by MacDougall of the arrival of a beautiful lady 
 with red flowers, was waiting impatiently to hear who it 
 was. Oh, dear me, King, how awful, she cried, when 
 he had given her the roses and told her who the visitor 
 had been. " And you not even with a collar on." 
 
 Like Mr. Tulliver, this wifely sympathy affected him 
 in a way diametrically opposed to that which its giver 
 not unreasonably expected. 
 
 " I was embarrassed," he admitted, rigidly truth 
 ful, " but it was idiotic of me. There is no moral harm 
 in a man s wearing a ragged dressing-gown, and it is 
 better to save one s collar than to run up a laundry-bill. 
 Madame Perez is a woman of sense, Abby; you will like 
 her." 
 
 Abby peered at him with wan eyes across the flow 
 ers. Why, King ! I shall like her, no doubt, but you 
 are so so 
 
 " So cross-grained, poor little woman. And you are 
 right. She is a very pleasant woman, but she is no 
 friend for us, and will probably see it herself and not 
 
 88
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 come any more." Then he added reluctantly: " Though 
 she did say she was coming. She is sending oysters to 
 you. This news was too much for the poor little wom 
 an, who had not dared to utter a reproach or a protest 
 about the returned bank note. 
 
 Without answering, she began to cry, her mouth 
 drawn piteously, but uttering no sound. 
 
 Hardy did not notice it for a few minutes, and 
 then, when he did, drew her head to his shoulder and 
 held her patiently until she was quieted. 
 
 " Some one, an adorer, she said, sent them to her, 
 and, as she dislikes them, she s dividing the barrel be 
 tween Yarrow, the Dudleys and you. Under the cir 
 cumstances, you see, I really couldn t refuse." 
 
 An hour or two later the Yarrows, who were dining 
 with Madame Perez, laughed at her childish delight in 
 the oysters. 
 
 " I must paint you as the Goddess of Greediness," 
 Yarrow said. 
 
 She paused, looking thoughtfully for a second at the 
 fat little exile on her fork. " You must never tell that 
 Terrible Reverend that I eat oysters," she said at 
 length. 
 
 " Why? " asked Lady Yarrow, curiously. Then the 
 other woman told the story, ending with : 
 
 " I knew she liked oysters and I knew that pig 
 headed man would throw them at me if I did not invent 
 some beautiful romance to salve his horrible pride 
 Dios! how I did lie." 
 
 89
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE Bishop, describing, in connection with certain 
 later events, his luncheon with the Rector of Carbury, 
 grew very eloquent. 
 
 " I had known him as a boy, you know; his uncle, 
 poor Hardy, was my neighbor and distant cousin and 
 King was a charming young fellow r a little in the 
 clouds and impracticable, all that branch of the family 
 is and rather more than other youths inclined to an 
 innocent Sybaritism that made it the whole thing that 
 day seem the more pitiable and incredible to me. 
 
 Mr. Dudley nodded. " I did my best to persuade 
 you to come to me, if you remember, he said. 
 
 " I know. But my business was with him and I was 
 afraid of hurting him. Besides, I didn t suspect any 
 thing of that kind. My dear Charles, it is no breach of 
 confidence to tell you now that I never sat down to such 
 a meal in my life. 
 
 1 The table-cloth had a great hole in it; the silver 
 was gritty with that sandy stuff they clean it with; 
 the plates cracked and nicked She sat there, poor 
 woman, draped in an awful greenish shawl, her eyes 
 filling with tears from time to time, though God knows 
 I did my best to eat and be cheery. Cheeriness is a 
 
 90
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 much neglected quality nowadays and Hardy, as white 
 as death, with a frown that made him look so like his 
 poor uncle, yet, of course, not apologizing for anything 
 it was really horrible." 
 
 Hardy, struggling to meet the good little man half 
 way in his kindly efforts at smoothing over the situation, 
 was in a state of mind nearer insanity than he had any 
 suspicion of. 
 
 His Lordship came over from Sabley, where he had 
 been visiting on some parochial business, and when it 
 was over announced to Hardy, in his friendly little 
 way, that he would gladly stay to luncheon if he were 
 asked. 
 
 The rest of the morning was a horrible nightmare. 
 Abby burst into tears when her husband announced 
 the guest, declared that there was nothing in the house 
 to eat: that she was ill, and that King must tell the 
 Bishop, or get rid of him some way. 
 
 Hardy explained to her patiently that as that was out 
 of the question she must do her best. He knows we are 
 poor, dear, and will not expect much." 
 
 But he knew that any man expected more than his 
 Lordship that day got; that the chops were burnt, the 
 eggs in the omelet not quite irreproachable, the potatoes 
 uneatable, and the jelly more like glue than anything 
 else. Then the children who were present at the meal 
 ate carelessly, bolting their food, and in spite of an 
 occasional sharp reprimand, addressing Katie from time 
 to time. Hardy had not fully realized before how ut 
 terly unattractive and spoiled they were. Even Algy, 
 ? 91
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 the eldest, the only one with anything approaching good 
 looks, had, in his clumsily-made Sunday suit, something 
 of the clodhopper. The consciousness that their bad 
 manners were to a great measure due to their father s 
 carelessness, did not tend to console that father. 
 
 It was one of the most horrible episodes of his life, 
 that meal with the rosy, kindly, little Bishop, and when 
 it was at length over, and his Lordship had hurried 
 away, as Hardy knew, for something to eat elsewhere, he 
 turned to his wife, and deliberately said the first word of 
 reproach he had ever uttered to her. 
 
 " You might at least have seen that the eggs were 
 fresh." 
 
 Sinking down on the stairs she burst into helpless, 
 plaintive tears. " Oh, King, I know! Do you think I 
 don t know ? It is my fault and yet I can t help it. If I 
 were different from what I am, I could bear things bet 
 ter ; but I have no strength, no energy. It would be bet 
 ter if I should die. I am of no use to anybody, and you 
 are ashamed of me." 
 
 He looked at her with cold eyes. It was true. He 
 was ashamed of her; he was ashamed of their children; 
 he felt within him such an unexpected capacity for 
 cruelty that he dared not speak for a minute. 
 
 " If you were only kind to me I could bear it," she 
 went on, sobbing still ; but you are not. Why did you 
 take the money away from me? I could have done so 
 much with it. If we are poor as beggars, why not own 
 to it, and accept the alms people offer us? " 
 
 Be still. You are my wife and I am your master. 
 92
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 I am not a beggar and I will starve, and starve you and 
 the children as well as the Bishop he broke off 
 with a fierce laugh, " before I will accept charity. Do 
 not forget that." 
 
 Without pausing he turned and went into his study, 
 locking the door behind him. 
 
 It was only a few days before Christmas, and a num 
 ber of letters lay awaiting him. Mechanically he read 
 them, taking notes of their contents; answering one or 
 two. The events of the day had upset him to a degree 
 that he fully recognized as inexcusable ; he was perfectly 
 pitiless to his own weakness, and while he worked the 
 feeling of self-loathing rose stronger and stronger. 
 Other men had burdens and bore them. His were break 
 ing him down. He had lost his temper and spoken 
 cruelly to his wife, who, however incapable she might be, 
 was at least as brave as he, and who, moreover, rarely 
 complained. A few clays ago, he, a clergyman, had not 
 only taken too much wine, but, enjoying the dulling of 
 painful, enhancing of pleasant sensations it brought him, 
 had deliberately drunk more. 
 
 He had written in the form of a novel, the shameful 
 story of his own life, and was trying to sell it and it 
 was also the shameful story of a woman he had loved 
 for money. With a little ejaculation of angry disgust, 
 he finished his work, and rising, took up his hat. After 
 a sharp struggle with himself he went upstairs and into 
 his wife s room. " Abby," he began, in the studiously 
 gentle voice, " I have come to beg your pardon, my 
 dear." 
 
 93
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Oh, King! " she spoke in a high whisper, for the 
 baby was asleep in her arms. 
 
 " I was very unkind to you a little while ago," he 
 went on, " and I am sorry." 
 
 You are so good, King ! I was impatient, too, and 
 I know how awful it is to be so discontented I often 
 am now. We have so much, after all, haven t we? " 
 Happy in his words and kindness, she had already lost 
 the impression his harshness had made on her. Above 
 the small red face of the sleeping child her worn one 
 smiled up at him, the eyes glassy and swollen, the thin 
 lips dry. 
 
 Hardy set his teeth to prevent the escape of a groan. 
 His own miserable cowardice showed plainer than ever 
 to him, compared to her pitiful little courage. " God 
 has given us what He thought wisest, dear; we will try 
 to be happy." Then, kissing her and the baby, he went 
 downstairs and into the cold evening air. 
 
 It is hard work, trying to be happy possibly not 
 worth while, after all. Striving for virtue, he pon 
 dered, as he made his way down the hill, is different; 
 striving for strength ; or for courage. After all, happi 
 ness has come to have an altogether disproportionate im 
 portance in the eyes of the world. He, with his in 
 stincts, might as well try to grow a foot taller as to be, 
 in his circumstances, a happy man. Very well. God 
 would forgive him his lapses, and help him to be a good 
 one. 
 
 Without seeing her, he passed Madame Perez, who 
 was getting into her carriage in front of the post-office 
 
 94
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 in Borrowdaile. She paused, her foot on the step, and 
 looked after him. " What a curious man he is," she 
 thought, " and how near being a most interesting one, 
 poor fellow." As she passed him leaning back among 
 her furs, she repeated aloud: "pobrecido." 
 
 95
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 " WHEN I was a child," Madame Perez said, after 
 a long pause, during which the sound of Yarrow s gen 
 tle movements alone broke the silence, " I had a nurse 
 who used to tell me of a man who could see in the dark, 
 and the thought that that man might be hidden in my 
 room watching me as I slept, used to cause me untold 
 terror 
 
 Yarrow laughed. " I accept the hint. It is rather 
 dark, but come and look ! As he spoke he turned on 
 the electric light, and rising with a little groan of relief, 
 she came, and, standing beside him, examined the prog 
 ress of the picture. It was the best of the many he had 
 painted of her, and something of its charm lay in the 
 fact that it was painted in the dusk. He had caught the 
 glow of her red gown, the gleam in her ruffled hair, as 
 the last of the winter daylight lay on them, and there 
 was something in the softness of the picture that brought 
 out surprisingly the beauty of the vivid coloring. 
 
 " For the first time in my life," she said, at length, 
 " I feel vain. Am I really like that? " 
 
 You are really like that. You are the most beauti 
 ful woman I ever saw." 
 
 She started. " You said that just as my husband 
 96
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 used to say it. Such a world of mental reservation in 
 your voice ! 
 
 " Mental reservation. Possibly. There is always 
 that when a man, loving one woman, praises the beauty 
 of another," he answered, slowly. 
 
 " And sometimes when he loves the one he is prais 
 ing. My husband loved me for a time." She sat down 
 again, her eyes fixed absently on the gray square that 
 was the window. 
 
 Yarrow, watching her, felt his hand go out instinct 
 ively towards a stump of charcoal that was near him. 
 Long as he had known her and profited by what he 
 knew was pure kindness, to paint her a dozen times, he 
 had never seen her with just that expression. But then, 
 it was the first time that she had ever mentioned her. 
 husband to him. 
 
 For a time ? "he repeated, very gently. 
 
 She made a long-drawn, inarticulate sound of assent 
 in the throat. " Yes. For a time, and in a way. I was 
 very young. I am only five-and-twenty now." 
 
 The light fell full on her at an angle that threw no 
 shadows on her face. Her head, resting against a gold- 
 embroidered pillow, was turned a little, showing the 
 flower-like curve of the beautiful chin that would one 
 day be too fat. Her mouth was curved into a new look 
 almost of pathos. 
 
 Yarrow, feeling rather guilty, drew a drawing 
 block to him, set it silently on his easel, and answered: 
 How old were you ? 
 
 " When I married? Just seventeen. Think of the 
 97
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 folly of marrying a child of seventeen ! What else could 
 he expect? " 
 
 Yarrow, who hadn t the least idea what the unknown 
 man in question had got, did not answer. 
 
 " The most beautiful woman I ever saw. It was 
 so like him! Shall I tell you about it? I have some 
 times thought I would like to tell you that I ought to. 
 My husband is not dead, Lord Yarrow. 
 
 Without any particular reason, Yarrow had taken 
 this for granted, but he could hardly say so. 
 
 " He was unkind to you? " he asked, sketching in 
 the blurred mass of her hair. 
 
 " No. Oh, no. He was a very good man, I believe. 
 It was this way. I was at Valparaiso, visiting an aunt. 
 There was a balcony, where I used to sit. He used to 
 pass by. He was very handsome; I can see him now* 
 He came to the house one evening it was a dance and 
 asked me to marry him. It was very romantic and sud 
 den. He was not rich, and my father refused. Then 
 I used to drop notes to him from the balcony, and he 
 used to give me the answers in church. It was very 
 wrong, and very amusing. At length my father died 
 suddenly, and my mother let me marry him. I suppose 
 to get rid of me. I was very troublesome." She told 
 the story simply, pausing between the sentences, her eyes* 
 still fixed, as though she saw again the old days. 
 
 Yarrow worked quickly. In a few minutes he would 
 have her sketched in, and it would be the best of all his 
 attempts. And then ? 
 
 " Oh, we were happy for a time. I loved him as 
 98
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 much as a child of seventeen is capable of loving. Then 
 I found that I was beautiful, and I used to coquetter. 
 He was jealous, I suppose. I did torment him, poor fel 
 low. He was young, too, and hadn t an idea how to 
 manage me. There was no one in particular I mean. 
 I didn t fall in love with any one, but things grew worse 
 and worse, and at last I went back to my mother. She 
 wasn t at all glad to have me, poor soul. 
 
 She moved suddenly and Yarrow threw down the 
 charcoal. " It was all a pity," he said, a little ab 
 sently. 
 
 Yes. I hope it hasn t harmed him in any way. It 
 may have, of course. I mean if he wanted to marry any 
 one else. Luckily I myself have never wanted to mar 
 ry! " She rose and shoved the long pins afresh into the 
 hair he had disarranged. 
 
 I thought I d tell you this you have been so very 
 kind and hospitable to me. Women living apart from 
 their husbands are in an awkward position, but I have 
 never been talked about, somehow." 
 
 Yarrow thought that he knew why. Admiration, like 
 other things, can pall, and she must have had more than 
 enough of it to suit her, for she was not at all vain. 
 
 " It is late, and I must go. Will you tell Lady Yar 
 row I am sorry she is not well? " 
 
 " Thanks, it is only a headache." 
 
 She put on her hat and long fur cape, and bade him 
 good-bye. I am dining here to-morrow, so sans adieu." 
 
 The corridor was still unlighted, and as she left the 
 room a servant passed her, followed by a man in a long 
 
 99
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 ulster, who drew aside as she approached. Bending her 
 head in its big plumed hat, in acknowledgment of his 
 courtesy, she swept by, to stop suddenly, clutching at 
 the wall as he called, on reaching the room she had just 
 left, Borrow, dear old boy ! 
 
 She stood for a minute listening; then the door 
 closed, and she went on. At the house door she met an 
 other man, who stopped as he caught sight of her face. 
 For God s sake, he cried, what is wrong ? 
 
 She caught at his hand, steadied herself, and drew 
 him with her into the night. 
 
 " My husband is in there," she whispered, " with 
 Yarrow. You must see him and make him promise not 
 to tell." 
 
 " Your husband! " 
 
 " Yes, yes; did you think I was a young miss? " she 
 returned, impatiently. " Go. You must see him some 
 way and make him promise. 
 
 " I don t understand," said Hardy, drawing his 
 hand from hers. " Explain to me. What mustn t he 
 tell? And why are you so agitated? There s nothing 
 to be ashamed of in having a husband, is there ? 
 
 She drew away from him and leaned herself against 
 a tree. " I ve just been telling Yarrow a long story ex 
 plaining myself. Lies every word of it. Now, do you 
 understand? " 
 
 Hardy stood immovable. " Lies. Why did you 
 lie? " 
 
 She burst into a harsh laugh. " Are you an idiot? 
 Because if I told him the truth, he d have put me out, as 
 
 100
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Woodvil did. Now do you see? Because I chose to 
 have him, Yarrow, respect me. Because I Now have 
 you enough reasons? " 
 
 I see. And I am to intercede for you, to save your 
 name with these people, who are my friends? Why 
 should I help you to deceive them; what are you to 
 me? " 
 
 " What s he to Hecuba? " she mocked, " or Hec 
 uba to him? Bah! You have suffered. You have a 
 remorse. You are unhappy. Be a man, not a coward. 
 
 Hardy started as if she had struck him; but it was 
 not the word coward that caused it. It was her quota 
 tion. Did she know ? Could she know ? He shook him 
 self impatiently. He was a fool. Of course it was 
 chance. 
 
 " The room is full of the studies of you," he said, at 
 length. " He will have recognized them. It is too 
 late." 
 
 In the gathering darkness she took him again by the 
 hand. " No. They have all but one been sent to Lon 
 don to be framed. And that one is on the easel 
 pushed aside. Let us look in at the window. 
 
 Hand in hand they crossed the crisp cold grass to 
 the side of the house. The shutters were still open, and 
 swung round on its swivel towards the back of the chair, 
 the portrait looked out at them. Facing them, too, stood 
 the man who had come, looking down at the invisible 
 Yarrow. A short, broad-shouldered man, with a hand 
 some dark face, thin as though from a recent illness, one 
 arm in a sling. He was talking ; they could see the eager 
 
 101
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 pleasure in his face; he used his one available hand in 
 quick gesticulation. 
 
 That is your husband 1 Hardy asked, slowly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And he doesn t know you are here? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 They were both silent for a few minutes, during 
 which they watched the unconscious man, who was now 
 walking slowly about the room, as he talked. 
 
 " He does not look like a bad man," Hardy said, at 
 last. 
 
 "He is good, I tell you! " 
 
 " You still love him? " 
 
 She turned impatiently. " What on earth is the 
 matter with you 1 You talk like a madman. What has 
 that to do with it? " 
 
 Woodvil, in his tour about the room, had come before 
 the portrait, and stood, his back to the watchers, in a 
 sudden rigid stillness. In a few seconds he turned and 
 they saw his face. 
 
 " Now it is too late," the woman whispered. " He 
 will tell. I shall be disgraced, and you do not care." 
 
 " He is not going to tell yet. And you shall not be 
 disgraced. 
 
 Turning, he left her, standing alone. Her hands 
 clasped tight she cowered under the tree. At last Hardy 
 came into the room. She saw the introduction, the hand 
 shake, the preliminary conversation. Then she saw the 
 door open again and Lady Yarrow came in. The arrival 
 had evidently been announced to her, for she showed 
 
 102
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 only the conventional surprise necessary on such an 
 occasion, and sitting down, the conversation became gen 
 eral and evidently agreeably animated. At length Wood- 
 vil looked at his watch, asked a question, and they all 
 rose, Yarrow s long, lean hand .appearing to the watch 
 ing woman from the black mass that was his chair, and 
 touching the bell by him. 
 
 They were going to dress for dinner. The servant 
 who came in answer to the bell helped Yarrow from his 
 chair. Woodvil watched with pain in his set face, and 
 then, as Mary performed some trifling service for her 
 husband, Rosalba Woodvil saw Hardy touch Woodvil 
 and say a few words to him that elicited a look of in 
 quiry ending in assent. He had done it. 
 
 Shivering with excitement she stood watching as they 
 all left the room, her own face being the only one look 
 ing at her, and did not move until at last a housemaid 
 came and closed the shutters; brutally, it seemed, shut 
 ting her out into the cold. 
 
 " In the outer darkness, " she said aloud, turning 
 at last towards the avenue. 
 
 An hour later a village boy brought her a note. 
 
 He is going away to-night. He will not tell. H. 
 
 103
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MADAME PEREZ read the note several times, and then 
 burned it. She knew the two men with whom she had to 
 deal, and she knew, though one of them must hate her, 
 and though she had made use of the other in a way that 
 would probably be hard for him to forgive, they would 
 both keep faith with her. 
 
 This curious trust in honorable men by women who 
 are, themselves, quite unscrupulous, is a curious 
 thing, but it exists, and it was hers. She drew a 
 deep breath, and sitting down by the fire slowly 
 warmed her hands, rubbing them softly over and around 
 each other with a sense of comfort in the heat. It was 
 nearly seven. In a few minutes they would be dining 
 at Borrowdaile; Jacques Woodvil, her husband, would 
 be sitting there between her friends, and for her sake, 
 tacitly lying to them. A little pang smote her. She was 
 sorry, for she knew his horror of deceit. It had caused 
 much unnecessary trouble between them. 
 
 " A note, Madame " She started and stared up 
 at her maid with something like fear in her eyes. A 
 man from Borrowdaile is waiting for an answer, Ma 
 dame." 
 
 The long, gray envelope, with the white coronet was 
 104
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Lady Yarrow s, she knew, and her hands shook as she 
 tore it open. It contained, however, only a few hurried 
 words, asking her to dine with them at eight, quite in 
 formally, as an old friend of Lord Yarrow s had come 
 unexpectedly, and they wished to spare him the horrors 
 of a " family dinner." 
 
 An old friend of Lord Yarrow s! She smiled. It 
 would be very amusing, and Jacques would keep his 
 word. 
 
 Tell the man to say I shall be very happy to come. " 
 
 When the woman had gone she rose and taking up a 
 small Empire mirror that lay on the table, looked at her 
 self. " I shall wear black," she said, aloud, " and no 
 jewels at all." 
 
 The only vanity she felt was that of being, in her 
 splendid health, superior to all signs of the very real 
 emotion she had in the last few hours been through. 
 Without even drinking a glass of wine she dressed in the 
 plain black, lusterless gown, and drove off in her snug 
 brougham, resplendent in her brilliant beauty, and 
 smiling in triumph at her strength of nerves. 
 
 A thaw had come after Christmas, but the last few 
 days had been cold again, and to-night it was freezing 
 hard under a bright moon. As the carriage went up the 
 avenue she leaned forward and, looking out to the right, 
 smiled at something she saw on the silvered lawn. It 
 was a dark, irregular track leading to the space beneath 
 the study windows her and Hardy s footprints. 
 
 As she took off her cloak she noticed the maid who 
 helped her watching her with such evident ecstatic ad- 
 
 105
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 miration that half unconsciously she turned and looked 
 at herself in the glass. The excitement, the love of the 
 dramatic to be so amply satisfied in the next few minutes, 
 had brought to her cheeks a splendid color that caused 
 her intense pleasure. 
 
 " I never looked so well," she thought, and then, 
 with a nod to the woman, went to the drawing-room. 
 
 Woodvil stood by Lady Yarrow in front of the fire. 
 He looked very pale, she could see, and his arm was still 
 in the sling, but he was evidently unprepared for seeing 
 her, for he waited unmoved until Lady Yarrow intro 
 duced him to " Madame Perez," and then bowing low, 
 murmured some conventional politeness that answered 
 every purpose. 
 
 " I think I saw you on your arrival," she answered. 
 " You came late this afternoon? " 
 
 Yes. I only landed yesterday. 
 
 From she had nearly said from South Amer 
 ica, " but something in his face warned her, and she 
 broke off short, turning her pause into an interrogatory 
 one. 
 
 " From Capetown." 
 
 " Mr. Woodvil has been in South Africa for two 
 years, Madame Perez," Yarrow informed her from the 
 corner, where she had not seen him, and then dinner was 
 announced. Mary Yarrow was grateful to her neighbor 
 for helping her out. For many reasons a dinner a trois 
 would have been very uncomfortable, and Madame Perez 
 being a perfect stranger to Woodvil, would, she thought, 
 make things easier. 
 
 10G
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 It occurred to her as she watched Woodvil s ever re 
 curring glances at his vis-a-vis that her design had been 
 more of a success that she had expected. He spoke little 
 directly to Madame Perez, but he seemed to be keenly 
 conscious of her presence. Years ago he would not have 
 noticed another woman when she, Mary Yarrow, was be 
 side him, but evidently Time and Absence had done their 
 work. 
 
 Lady Yarrow s devotion to her invalid husband was 
 well known, and year by year it grew stronger and 
 greater, while Woodvil had faded to a memory not 
 altogether painful. His coming had been a shock to her, 
 but chiefly in anticipating its effect on Yarrow. Glanc 
 ing at Yarrow now, she smiled. He had felt no shock, it 
 was plainly to be seen, but an agreeable one of pleasure. 
 Mary shrugged her shoulders slightly. Had Yarrow 
 known her better than she had herself? And Woodvil, 
 too? 
 
 An oval looking glass hung opposite her, brilliantly 
 lighted by small clusters of electric lights in the shape 
 of roses. Looking past Yarrow, who was listening 
 vaguely to some anecdote of the war told by his friend, 
 she saw herself rising from behind a mass of delicate 
 greenery. She wore white, with the Yarrow pearls 
 around her long neck. 
 
 She was a handsome woman, somewhat pale, perhaps, 
 and beside Madame Perez s magnificent proportions, a 
 little too slight. She realized with relief that she had 
 not gone off since the old days those five days long ago, 
 when she had learned to know Jacques Woodvil, and 
 8 107
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 they had loved each other and said good-bye. It was 
 rather absurd. The good-bye had been very tragic to 
 them both, and here he was in her house calmly eating 
 his dinner and flirting with another woman. 
 
 Yes, he certainly was flirting with Madame Perez. 
 
 " Mr. Woodvil " she began suddenly. 
 
 Madame Perez was a woman with a past, a woman 
 who had lied when lying suited her, and who lived a life 
 of selfishness. 
 
 Lady Yarrow was a woman of high principles, of ab 
 solute truthfulness, and of, in the one way that counts 
 for a woman, a perfectly clean record. 
 
 Yet when Woodvil, responding to his hostess, turned to 
 her, Lady Yarrow did something that the other woman, 
 either from kindness or indolence, would have shrunk 
 from. She opened her wide blue eyes at the man, hold 
 ing his, and forcing him by the magnetism of her gaze, 
 to realize something that he himself had hardly believed 
 to be still true. 
 
 Woodvil did not start, and he betrayed himself only 
 to her who had forced him to it, but when she had asked 
 him some trifling question in which, with a smile, she in 
 cluded her husband, his appetite had gone, leaving him 
 feeling a little giddy. 
 
 At length, dinner over, he had the chance of speak 
 ing to Madame Perez. 
 
 Yarrow, tired by the excitement, had gone into the 
 study to rest for a few minutes, and Lady Yarrow was 
 called out of the room by a telegram requiring an imme 
 diate answer. 
 
 108
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 You must go away from this place, Woodvil said, 
 without preliminaries. " I won t have you deceiving 
 them." 
 
 " You promised not to tell, and I shall stay. I am 
 doing no harm Jacques." 
 
 " That may be, but you are here under false pre 
 tenses. 
 
 " Those of being an honest woman, you mean." 
 
 " Yes," he returned, doggedly, stirring a log with 
 his foot. 
 
 " Let me stay." 
 
 " No." 
 
 It was characteristic that she took instinctively, after 
 the first burst of defiance, the humble tone of Southern 
 women towards their husbands. Also, that alone with 
 him as she was, she made not the least effort to influence 
 him by her beauty. There was humility in her voice but 
 no cajolery. 
 
 " Since then, Jacques, I have done nothing." 
 
 Once is always. You are not fit to be in Lady Yar 
 row s house." 
 
 He was not a hard man, and had, since he had left 
 her many years ago, often thought of her with pity. It is 
 also possible that Lady Yarrow s momentary relapse at 
 dinner had, by reminding him so vividly of other days, 
 made him more cruel than he would otherwise have been. 
 
 " I am going to-night," he went on, in Spanish. 
 " Your friend, the parson, is sending me a telegram 
 I can t stay here now and you must go, too. I will give 
 you a week. Do you understand? " 
 
 109
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 11 If I don t go? " 
 
 " Bah, you ll go," he answered, contemptuously, as 
 Lady Yarrow came back. 
 
 We are besieged with telegrams this evening, she 
 said, laughing. " Here s one for you, and Borrow 
 hopes you ll come to him in half an hour." 
 
 She had been full of repentance since dinner, and 
 her vanity satisfied, determined never to do it again. 
 Now, however, coming back to the drawing-room she 
 found her guests talking together in a manner so en 
 grossed, that what in old days had been her besetting 
 temptation, stirred again. 
 
 " Sing something," Yarrow had said. And Yar 
 row s room was out of earshot. 
 
 " You are enjoying speaking Spanish," she said, 
 gently. " I will not interrupt you. I will sing a lit 
 tle." Crossing the long room to the piano she opened 
 the keyboard, and sang. 
 
 Woodvil, surprised by what he felt to be her malice, 
 could not understand. What had he done? He could 
 not talk to his wife while she, Mary, was singing those 
 songs. He rose abruptly and going to a window, parted 
 the curtains and stood looking out. 
 
 Lady Yarrow had loved him once, but she did not 
 love him now, or she could not have chosen those songs. 
 When at last she began very softly " The Night has a 
 Thousand Eyes " he left the room without a word. 
 
 Mary sang the song through without turning. 
 
 " He is very impolite, Lord Yarrow s friend," ob 
 served Madame Perez. 
 
 110
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Yes. He is impolite." 
 
 " Borrowdaile," Woodvil was saying just then, 
 " I ve got to go. I thought I could stay, and God knows 
 I wanted to see you, dear old man, but I can t stand it." 
 
 Yarrow looked up at him. " Poor Jacques. Is it 
 still Mary? " 
 
 "Yes. It is still Mary." 
 
 Yarrow held his two thin hands out to his friend. 
 
 " Then go. It is hard that it should have been just 
 she, but we can t help it." 
 
 The two men sat talking until towards dawn, and 
 then, refusing a carriage, the younger walked off 
 through the cold darkness to the station. He had not 
 seen Lady Yarrow again, and he had not even thought 
 of the other woman. 
 
 " I was an ass to come," he said, aloud, pausing to 
 light his pipe. And after a second or so he added, " I ll 
 accept that offer of Sim s, after all." 
 
 Ill
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 JANUARY passed, and Hardy did not see Madame 
 Perez again. Humiliated by having unhesitatingly 
 done her bidding that night at Borrowdaile, filled with 
 anger and disgust with her, he had avoided her with 
 great care, not even going to Borrowdaile. This avoid 
 ance was the easier for the reason that there was an epi 
 demic of malignant measles in the group of fishermen s 
 cottages that formed part of his parish, and in order to 
 be of use to the fierce, sullen people who resented all 
 help but his, he had arranged with Mr. Dudley to have 
 the older man s curate take his services for a fortnight, 
 and had gone to live at the Point for that time. 
 
 These people, called by their more respectable neigh 
 bors the Pointers, were not pleasant people. They were 
 dirty, poverty-stricken and indolent; given to very bad 
 language and worse behavior. From the first year of 
 his Rectorship, however, Hardy had devoted himself 
 peculiarly to them, and he knew that they were 
 fond of him. There was possibly in the fact of his own 
 poverty something that drew him nearer to them than if 
 he had been rich and prosperous, and his unfailing read 
 iness to do anything in his power to help them, had had 
 its effect. There was a rough side to his tongue that ap 
 plied without hesitation whenever he found it necessary, 
 
 112
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 without deference to muscle or reputation, also pleased 
 the dark-faced Pointers, and when the epidemic broke 
 out, and Hardy came, with a small box, declaring his 
 intention to stay and help fight it down, there were no 
 cries of surprise betraying enthusiasm, but rather a 
 murmur of satisfaction, as a community, at its own lack 
 of astonishment, and a buzz of serene " I told you so- 
 ism. 
 
 The Rector lodged with an old woman, voted by a 
 gathering of prominent Pointers to be the cleanest in 
 the place, and lived chiefly on bread and salted fish. 
 
 Tench gave him the necessary directions, he chose 
 one or two women and a boy as his aids, and day after 
 day, night after night, worked almost unremittingly, 
 fighting the disease, and burying those who died in spite 
 of his efforts. 
 
 He rose the cold mornings after his brief sleep, stiff 
 and tired, to work until late at night bending over sick 
 beds in filthy huts, full of evil smells, fighting not only 
 the disease, but, in spite of his popularity as a man, 
 much opposition as a nurse. 
 
 " What s houses built for if they re to be open like 
 out of doors? " was a question which was triumphantly 
 asked him on all sides, as he labored for fresh air. And 
 his objection to the bad smells, while considered as per 
 fectly proper if a trifle absurd, for a gentleman, was 
 met with outspoken scorn when advanced as a plea for 
 one of his patients. 
 
 " Mother don t mind the smells; she s used to em," 
 he was told, with incontrovertible truth. 
 
 113
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 But in spite of these and many other drawbacks and 
 hardships it was not an unhappy time for the man. He 
 was too busy to think, and his hampering moral person 
 ality with its aches and throbs was at rest. He had for 
 gotten that he had a wound in his conscience, and the 
 wound had ceased to bleed. The rare privilege was his 
 of changing his pain, and it refreshed him as fully as 
 most of us have at one time or other imagined it would 
 us, could it be ours. 
 
 Gone his hours of struggle, his days of disgust, his 
 sleepless nights of waking nightmare, the hard work of 
 self-set task rested while it tired him, and he forgot him 
 self in others. 
 
 One night in February as he was going home very 
 late, he noticed something in the air. It was hardly to 
 be called a fragrance, for there was a potent smell of fish 
 at the Point that forbade rivalry in that line, and it was 
 hardly a change of temperature, for Hardy shivered as 
 he strode up the narrow street in his worn great-coat. 
 There was a faint moon riding high, and tempted by the 
 thought of the light on the water, he turned to the right 
 down a narrow lane, and went to the little wharf. 
 
 The sea was quiet; asleep, it seemed, lapping softly 
 against the flimsy pier. Hardy, fresh from the hot air 
 of a sick room, took off his hat and stood looking with 
 contented eyes out over the faintly silvered stretch of 
 gray shadow. 
 
 " The waters of the Lord, bless ye the Lord ! " he 
 said, aloud. He was fond of the phrase. 
 
 He was tired and at peace. The memory of his 
 114
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 trouble, self-created and self-inflicted, he realized, 
 though without the power of ignoring them on that ac 
 count, seemed insignificant and afar. The feeling of his 
 unimportance, his smallness, the shortness of his life, 
 came over him consolingly. For the time he was one 
 with the sea, the moon, the Great Hush of God s Nature, 
 and looked as It must, on the petty woes of petty man. 
 
 "God forgive me," he went on half aloud, " for my 
 ingratitude. I have so much that others have not. I 
 .have the love of a good woman. I have, with God s help, 
 saved souls for Him. I have given men to the nation. 
 And my very suffering for that old sin is a blessing to 
 me, as it shows me, in spite of it, not wholly bad. 
 
 He heard the strokes of his church clock vibrating as 
 if half frozen in the still air. It was one o clock. With 
 a long look at the sea, he put on his hat and started in 
 land. He had not been so near happiness for months, 
 and accepted it gratefully, but unquestioningly as a 
 child. It was not that he w T as doing his duty by his poor 
 people; he did his outward duty always; it had become 
 routine work, and exacted no self-command. It was not 
 that anything had changed, for he knew that when he 
 went back home he would find everything just as he had 
 left it, if not a little the worse for his absence. Nor did 
 he attribute his mental condition to any emotional cause, 
 for he hardly knew himself to be emotional, and more 
 over it was by no means the first time that he had stood 
 at a lonely hour watching the sea. 
 
 In spite of the man s morbidity, his introspection and 
 exaggerated sensibility in many directions, there was in 
 
 115
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 him a certain straightforward simplicity that led him to 
 feel, without thinking it consciously, that his good mood 
 came direct from the heart of God, as his bad ones did 
 from the devil. Suddenly, as he neared the little house 
 where he lodged, he stood still. The feeling in the air 
 that had attracted his notice before grew stronger. 
 What was it? With a little groan he recognized it. It 
 was the feeling of spring. 
 
 The cold that still held was going to break up, and 
 the first warm days were coming ; the faint spring scents 
 were coming; the first froth of green on the trees was 
 coming; first primroses were coming. Spring, sweet, 
 sad, disquieting time, was coming. 
 
 116
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 EVERY day for a week Madame Perez expected a let 
 ter from Woodvil, enforcing his command to leave. She. 
 was a woman of much obstinacy and much daring, but 
 she was too indolent to keep up a sustained resistance 
 to a will stronger than her own. She knew that if he 
 wrote her that she must leave Borrowdaile instantly, 
 she would go. But she was more than comfortable where 
 she was; she liked her neighbors, enjoyed the house she 
 had made so characteristic of herself, and until she was 
 obliged by a fresh command, would not move. If she 
 had determined to create a scandal by claiming Wood 
 vil for her husband, his wish and command would not 
 have deterred her for an instant, her dramatic nerve 
 being strongly developed; but there was nothing 
 dramatic in doing what to every one but herself and 
 him would be only what was expected. Staying on at 
 Borrowdaile would in that case lose its charm of quiet 
 comfort, and give no excitement in return. The game 
 was decidedly not worth the candle, for after all her 
 liking the place was merely a caprice, and was sure to 
 die a natural death before long. If she went away now 
 it would be but hastening by at most a few months an 
 inevitable ultimate act of her own, and save her the 
 
 117
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 trouble of fighting for something about which her feel 
 ings were very passive. 
 
 So she shut herself up at home for a week, reading a 
 good many novels, yawning a good deal, and wondering 
 why the expected peremptory letter did not come. 
 
 Lady Yarrow came to see her once, and brought her 
 a message from her husband. " He has begun a new 
 sketch of you, and sits and stares at it in the most mel 
 ancholy way," Mary said, laughing. " Do come and 
 let him work a little. 
 
 " Oh, yes. I will come, but I may go away any, 
 day." 
 
 " Go away? Where? And why? " 
 
 Madame Perez laughed. " Why? Whence and 
 whither, who knows? Like all solitary people I am 
 very capricious. I have no reason in particular, but I 
 am beginning to want to move on. And then, I think I 
 am beginning to want clothes. Probably I shall turn up 
 in Paris before long." 
 
 Rather to her own surprise Lady Yarrow was sorry 
 to hear this bit of news. Madame Perez had proved an 
 agreeable neighbor, not given to over-much running in 
 unannounced, yet always to be had when wanted, and 
 her readiness to pose for the unsatiable Yarrow had 
 never faltered. 
 
 " I shall miss you," Lady Yarrow said. " It has 
 been very nice having you." 
 
 Madame Perez smiled at her. " Thanks. It is good 
 of you to say so. I knew you would not mind me; I 
 think I told you so ; didn t I ? I am too lazy to be very 
 
 118
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 troublesome. By the way, has Lord Yarrow heard from 
 his friend the queer man who was so rude when you 
 sang? " 
 
 Mary shook her head. " No. They never write 
 often to each other, and doubtless Mr. Woodvil sailed for 
 India Saturday. He had an offer to build a bridge 
 somewhere in North India, and accepted it, Yarrow 
 thinks. He is a civil engineer, you know." 
 
 Madame Perez laughed. " I should have said an 
 uncivil one. I did not like him, Lord Yarrow s friend." 
 
 "He is a very good sort, however, and was probably, 
 Yarrow says, upset by the telegram that came from the 
 firm who made him the offer about the bridge. He had 
 to decide at once, and he had just got back to Eng 
 land." 
 
 That afternoon Madame Perez went for a walk, and 
 taking a steep path back of her house, came out on the 
 downs. It was a gray, windy day, the sea being tossed 
 into lumpy, lusterless waves that, breaking on the rocks, 
 made a sullen noise. 
 
 As she walked, rather hampered by her long skirts 
 and heavy furs, Madame Perez turned over in her mind 
 the events of the last week, inspecting them carefully 
 from many sides, a thing that gave her great pleasure. 
 She wondered whether her husband really had sailed, 
 and considered the probability of his sending her from 
 India the order she only half dreaded. He had 
 got quickly out of the galley as was his wont, and 
 possibly distance would soften his resentment at her 
 daring to come to Borrowdaile under the false pretenses 
 
 119
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 she herself had so crudely named. As she had told him 
 she had only the one thing for which to reproach her 
 self and as far as that was concerned, had done but lit 
 tle self -flagellating even for that. It seemed now that 
 she was to be able to stop on at Liscom House, but 
 would she, after all? It was dull, and Yarrow was 
 weaker, so that little by little he would be lost to her as 
 a resource. Mary Yarrow she admired and liked, but 
 they had nothing in common. Hardy she had frightened 
 and probably disgusted by the blunt announcement of 
 the situation between her and Woodvil. The mild 
 amusement he had afforded her was over, and on the 
 whole she would consider Paris in the near future. 
 
 She had passed the road leading to the church, which 
 lay in a hollow, sheltered from the sea winds by a clump 
 of distorted trees. Before her extended the gray downs ; 
 above her the sky, gray, too, and on her right the gray 
 sea broke on the gray rocks. 
 
 Pausing she looked down at the breaking waves. A 
 little shiver passed over her. It is a gray life ; a terri 
 ble, dull, futureless life, here," she thought, and her 
 imagination flew off to sunny blue seas with yellow sands 
 gleaming in the sun. 
 
 It was the last of January. Carnival was late that 
 year. She could be in Nice in a week. The Raratoffs 
 were there, the San Cirillos, the Herbert Motts She 
 turned on hearing footsteps, and came face to face with 
 Hardy. 
 
 He started back as he saw her, and withdrawing to 
 a distance of a few yards, hat in hand, said : 
 
 120
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " How do you do, Madame Mrs. Woodvil? " 
 
 " Madame Perez, if you please. Won t you shake 
 hands with me? " 
 
 " No. I am in quarantine. I ve come from the Point 
 that group of houses yonder. They have black mea 
 sles there, and 
 
 " And you are taking care of them. I know; Lady 
 Yarrow told me. You are a very good man, Mr. 
 Hardy." 
 
 11 No. I am not a good man. I must go on. I have 
 to be back early." 
 
 She stopped him with a gesture. " Not yet. You 
 must let me thank you for what you did for me that 
 night." 
 
 " I don t want to be thanked." 
 
 His surprise at meeting her there so far from her 
 house, passing away, his manner was tinged by his dis 
 like of her. 
 
 A slight smile came into her eyes as she watched him. 
 " Are you sure you stand there, so far away, for fear 
 you might injure me? Is it not rather that you fear I 
 might injure you ? 
 
 " In fear you might injure me? " he repeated. 
 Yes. That I might corrupt your innocence." 
 
 Hardy winced. It was very disagreeable to him to 
 have met her, and he had hoped to escape at once, with 
 no specific reference to the last conversation. This, how 
 ever, was evidently not to be. 
 
 " I am not innocent," he said, slowly. " And I 
 have no right to judge you." 
 
 121
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Before speaking again she paused. Among her qual 
 ities was that one, essentially Spanish, of serene delib 
 eration. Her face, so brilliant in coloring, could be very 
 immobile, and in repose was absolutely quiet. He 
 watched her with some curiosity as she visibly prepared 
 her answer to his remark. 
 
 " You despise me," she said, at length, not as a 
 question. 
 
 " No. I do not despise you. I pity you." 
 
 Ah ! I desire pity no more than I deserve scorn. 
 What is pity but gentle scorn ? We pity a fallen woman 
 in the street, and draw aside to let her pass. Mentally, 
 now, you draw aside to let pass me! " 
 
 Hardy could not deny the truth of what she said, 
 and was silent. Before he could speak she had gone on, 
 hastily, stung by his speechless acknowledgment. 
 
 " And for what are years, is Time, if not to cure? 
 They say the whole body changes every seven years 
 why not, then the soul? If I was bad then, I may be 
 good now. And it wasn t so very bad. I loved him." 
 
 "That is no excuse," said Hardy, suddenly, with a 
 stern frown, directed far more at himself than at her. 
 " That is no excuse whatever. Good God, there is no 
 excuse. It is done, and ended, forgotten by most peo 
 ple, but it is not for you to forget it. That is God s jus 
 tice. One can not forget. It is unforgettable as it is 
 unforgivable. 
 
 She stared at him in amazement. His face, thin and 
 worn from his hard days and sleepless nights, was burn 
 ing with a dull, red flush that seemed centered in his 
 
 122
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 eyes ; his voice shook with strong feeling utterly incom 
 prehensible to the woman he was apparently denounc 
 ing. 
 
 In the old days Padre Ignacio had scolded her, 
 prayed over her, admonished her, but that had been the 
 voice of the Church, conscientious, measured, not unen- 
 couraging. This was a man who seemed personally to 
 hate her for the sin she had so easily and so long ago 
 forgiven herself. There was something in his voice that 
 stirred in its vehemence, depths either long asleep, or 
 never before existent, in her complicatedly simple nature. 
 
 " Unforgettable and unforgivable, " she repeated, 
 at length. " You think that? " 
 
 I know. And I know that in your breast you know 
 it, too. That you lie awake at night seeing it over and 
 over again, the first days, half innocent, the struggle, the 
 ceding then the despair. You can not forget. God 
 help you. You can not." 
 
 The knowledge that these things were not, that she 
 had for years hardly remembered what to her was be 
 come a mere unlucky incident of her youth, brought 
 with it a new feeling that was curiously like shame. This 
 man, in whose rough, rather unsympathetic goodness she 
 believed, attributed to her feelings she had not. There 
 fore she was wanting ; therefore she blushed. 
 
 " You are very good, Mr. Hardy. But you are 
 hard. You ask all that because you can not under 
 stand. " Forgetting his having come from the Point, she 
 drew near, looking at him with eyes that glowed in the 
 gloom. 
 
 9 123
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " I am not hard. I pity you." 
 
 " You pity from a height, then. As Christ may 
 have pitied." 
 
 Hardy started, the red died from his face, leaving it 
 white and stern. 
 
 Hush ! Do not say that. I do not pity you in that 
 way. I have no right to. I pity you with no Christ-like 
 compassion, for your sin is my sin, and there is blood 
 on my hands." 
 
 His voice was harsh with the pain of telling this 
 woman this thing. He knew it was an unnecessary hu 
 miliation, but his conscience, touched on the raw by her 
 words, forced him to the agony of the avowal. When 
 he had ceased speaking, he stood half unconscious for 
 a second, until she laid her hand on his arm, her eyes 
 full of tears of pity for him. 
 
 This, then, is your secret, she said. 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " And you have told me. A woman whom you do 
 not respect. A\ r hy? " 
 
 " Ah, why! I could not let you think me a good 
 man. 
 
 Without another word she turned and left him. 
 
 He had let her call herself a woman whom he did 
 not respect, and on seeing his agony over his own old 
 fall, she for the first time realized what she seemed to 
 him, a man whom she did respect. 
 
 124
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IT was raining softly the day Hardy came home after 
 his quarantine. On a hill a man was plowing, and the 
 smell of the damp, fresh-turned earth reached him; 
 there was a film of green on the larches, other trees were 
 bourgeoning, and in a hollow he found a primrose. 
 
 He stopped at one or two houses in the village, and 
 was amused at the lack of approval his late doing met 
 there. 
 
 Carbury hadn t had an epidemic since 71, and 
 plainly looked on them as evidences of a very low moral 
 atmosphere. 
 
 It was also not pleasing to Carbury that old Mrs. 
 Kite had been obliged to submit to burial by the Bor- 
 rowdaile curate. In a word, Carbury regarded its Rec 
 tor as having been gadding, and disappeared. 
 
 As he left the village behind him, Hardy met Lady 
 Yarrow driving herself in a dog-cart, and turning, she 
 insisted on taking him home. 
 
 " You ve been catching it," Her Ladyship began 
 at once, as he sat down beside her. " They ve led poor 
 Mr. Bates a dog s life, comparing his many failings to 
 your correspondingly abundant virtues, but I knew 
 that wouldn t prevent their having it in for you, too." 
 
 125
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Yes, they were rather short with me, most of 
 em. But the Pointers are my people as much as the 
 Carburyites, and the Pointers needed me the more. 
 What could I do?" 
 
 Lady Yarrow turned, her eyes laughing under her 
 wet sailor-hat. "Do? Surely you only did what any 
 sensible father of seven would have done at such a 
 time ! You fall short of your obvious duty only in not 
 catching the measles and bringing it home to your 
 children as a gift." 
 
 Hardy was silent for a moment. " You mean that 
 it was far-fetched?" he asked in a slightly irritated 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose I did mean that, among a few other 
 things that I ll not mention. But then, I am hope 
 lessly commonplace, and if I have any wings at all they 
 are too bedraggled in earth s mud to be available for 
 flights. Yarrow thought you quite sublime, but I con 
 fess my sympathies were with your wife." 
 
 " There are two sides to every question, and Abby 
 was of course a little nervous that was her share. Be 
 sides, measles are not dangerous if properly nursed." 
 
 " Oh, but they are. Did you know that poor 
 Madame Perez has them it and has been exceedingly 
 ill?" 
 
 Madame Perez ! 
 
 " Yes. The doctor she has Burroughs sent for 
 a London man, she was so bad, poor thing, and she may 
 have to be in a dark room for weeks." 
 
 Hardy stared without speaking at the brown, foam- 
 126
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 ing waters rushing towards the little bridge they 
 were passing. " How did she catch it? " he said at 
 length. 
 
 " She had no idea; she was perfectly well until one 
 evening she dined with us, and had a chill after dinner. 
 I ve not seen her, as Yarrow has never had the measles, 
 but I ve seen the doctor, and he says it has been a quite 
 unusually severe attack." 
 
 Hardy said nothing. It was of course extremely 
 improbable that she could have caught the disease from 
 him in the minutes she had stood by him in the open 
 air, but the conviction had him nevertheless in its grip, 
 and made him wretched. When he spoke again, it was 
 to mutter a few conventional words about his being 
 very sorry, and hoping Madame Perez would soon be 
 quite well. 
 
 They reached the gate, sagging a little lower, he 
 noticed, than when he had left, and thanking Mary, 
 he went slowly up the muddy path, from where the 
 gravel had long since mysteriously disappeared. 
 
 The children were waiting for him upstairs in the 
 room in which he found his wife in bed, and the wel 
 come was boisterous. 
 
 He kissed them all around, answered their ques 
 tions, asked a few about their lessons, their games, etc., 
 and then, as soon as possible, sent most of them out 
 of the room and sat down by his wife s bed. 
 
 She had fallen and hurt her side a few days before, 
 and the doctor made her stay in bed. The noise of 
 the children had made her tired, and in a rather queru- 
 
 127
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 lous way she told the little chronicle of the time of his 
 absence. 
 
 Algy had nearly cut his hand off with his pocket 
 knife ; Harold had had the croup she had written that 
 and MacDougall s throat had been bad again. The 
 new baby, the " Little, little Baby," the other children 
 called it, was very ailing Katie had had her tooth out 
 after days of wailing expectancy, but the ache had 
 remained; she had learnt a very good kind of rice- 
 pudding out of a housekeeping paper lent her by Miss 
 Tench; she had been obliged to get a pair of shoes for 
 Anna; mutton had gone up two pence, but eggs were 
 a penny cheaper. 
 
 Hardy listened drearily. He was tired out and 
 needed a rest, instead of which he had this. 
 
 " Katie says the coals are nearly out," went on the 
 thin voice from the crumpled pillows. 
 
 Hardy rose. " I ll order some," he said, bending 
 and kissing her. " Are you glad to have me home again, 
 dear? " 
 
 11 Oh, yes, King. Of course I am. It did seem so 
 useless, your going, though." 
 
 " By God s help it wasn t useless," he returned, un 
 consciously a little stern. 
 
 " Of course you helped them, but you may have 
 brought it back with you, King! " 
 
 " The doctor said I could come, dear. I have been in 
 quarantine, you know. Now I must go downstairs. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 Katie had lit his lamp, and it was so warm that he 
 128
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 needed no fire. All the misery of the little room seemed 
 to rise up and cry out to him as he entered it. 
 
 There was to be beefsteak for dinner, he noticed, as 
 the kitchen door opened. He wished with an almost 
 frantic longing that he might once sit down to a meal 
 the items of which he should not know beforehand. 
 Staring at the torn rug, which had a new hole burned 
 into it, he remembered the delicious, restful colors of the 
 rug in the Red Room at Liscom House. Then the 
 thought of Madame Perez came to add its note to his 
 despair. 
 
 " Weak fool that I am! " he told himself, impa 
 tiently. Other men rose superior to their surroundings. 
 He alone could not. Possibly he was going mad. He hated 
 himself for his lack of will power. The reaction from 
 his rather exalted mood had come, and he, the chip on 
 the water, was tossed back to that rock from which the 
 work at the Point had floated him. 
 
 " And now that poor woman is ill," he thought, 
 " and even that is my fault." 
 
 He recalled her sudden movement of compassion, the 
 tears in her eyes as she laid her hand on his arm when 
 he had told her his secret. She had understood him; 
 she had been sorry for him. They w r ere fellow sinners. 
 They needed each other. He had spoken harshly to her, 
 flagellating himself by his words, but she could not 
 know that, and yet she had forgiven him so gently. 
 Even now, full of softened pity for her as he thought 
 of her ill and alone, his rigid conscience did not attempt 
 to condone her. She was a woman who had sinned, but 
 
 129
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 she was a woman who pitied his hideous misery, and who 
 w r as alone. 
 
 Suddenly the disgust of his surroundings and him 
 self rose to such a height that he with difficulty re 
 strained a cry. Terrified by this sign of his own weak 
 ness he caught up his hat and went out into the garden. 
 Walking up and down the springy grass, disregarding 
 the now fast-falling rain, he tried to force his mind into 
 the state of comparative contentment that had been his 
 of late. For he attributed all moods and caprices of 
 memory to the mind. Of temperament he thought lit 
 tle. He was discontented with his lot, and even though 
 he admitted that that lot was a hard one, he counted 
 himself wicked in that he was not satisfied with it. His 
 conscience, rigid as iron, waged war unending with his 
 nervous, sensitive, half-starved temperament, and con 
 stantly lost battles through the very instability of its 
 adversary. 
 
 There was a light in his wife s window. " Poor 
 Abby ! " he thought, forcing himself to a tender thought 
 of her. Then he turned and, facing the other way, an 
 other light came to his sight. " She has no light, poor 
 woman," his thoughts went rapidly on. " She is there 
 in a darkened room, face to face with her past, smarting 
 with my hard words." 
 
 Without really forming a plan to go to Liscom House 
 he left the garden, and went down the hill. It rained 
 very hard; the mud quashed under his feet, splashing 
 his ankles. He did not notice it ; moving was better than 
 standing still, and the farther he could go, the better. 
 
 130
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The butler looked very much surprised when Hardy s 
 ring brought him from his cozy quarters below stairs, to 
 the door. 
 
 " Madame Perez is better, thank you, sir. Yes, it 
 as been pretty bad, sir. She is h up a little every day 
 now, but yes, no light is allowed in the room, sir." 
 
 Brooks smelt of hot buttered toast and tea. He 
 looked warm and comfortable. Hardy left his compli 
 ments and best wishes for the invalid, and went back 
 through the rain. As he passed the post-office the letter- 
 carrier came out. 
 
 11 Oh, Mr. Hardy," the man called out, and then 
 gave him a letter. " I was just a-goin up to the house, 
 sir, but it s such a wet night I takes the liberty- 
 Hardy took the letter and went on home. When he 
 reached the study he put on his slippers and the dress 
 ing-gown and sat down at his table. The letter was wet, 
 for he had forgotten to put it in his pocket. Pulling off 
 the envelope, he drew the lamp towards him and read it. 
 
 His book was accepted, the publishers offering him 
 a large sum down for the English rights, and a gen 
 erous percentage on sale. 
 
 Sinking deep into the springless chair as if he had 
 no spine, Hardy buried his face in his hands, tears trick 
 ling through his fingers. 
 
 131
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A FEW days after the acceptance of his book Hardy 
 was called downstairs from his wife s room by Katie. 
 " It s a a woman, sir," the girl told him, her bare 
 floury arms rolled in her apron. " I don t know who 
 she is, an er H English is something ridic lous. 
 
 Hardy went into the study and found Amelie, Ma 
 dame Perez s maid, standing by the window. 
 
 " A letter, sir," she began promptly. " Madame 
 told me to give it only to you in person. 
 
 Hardy took the long, narrow envelope and opened it. 
 " Tell Madame Perez that I will come," he said. 
 
 The woman gone, he sat down and read the note 
 again. It was written in pencil in curiously large, strag 
 gling characters like those of a child, and merely said, 
 without any formal beginning : Will you come to see 
 me this afternoon ? I need help about my husband. 
 
 " R. P." 
 
 Hardy had been at home nearly a fortnight, and 
 though he had twice inquired at her door for the sick 
 woman he had not asked to see her, and beyond a few 
 words from Mary Yarrow, whom he met in the village, 
 had heard no news of her. Lady Yarrow, moreover, 
 had not seen Madame Perez, so her news, such as it was, 
 
 132
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 was second hand. The measles had taken their usual 
 course, and the patient was progressing favorably ex 
 cept for her eyes, which seemed peculiarly sensitive to 
 light, so that she was still in a darkened room. 
 
 Hardy had not lost his feeling of guilt about the ill 
 ness, though he recognized its unreasonableness, and the 
 thought of the poor woman shut up alone with her mem 
 ories was very sore to him. But he had been unusually 
 busy making up arrears of work and had also been away 
 from home again. A few days after he had received the 
 letter from the publishers in London, he had been called 
 to the death-bed of his only relative, a maternal aunt, 
 and as the old woman rallied after his arrival, only to 
 sink again just as he was preparing to leave, he was 
 away for five days, an absence during which his paro 
 chial duties again accumulated. 
 
 Mrs. Merrick, it was found on the opening of the 
 will, had left her small fortune to Hardy, and he went 
 home the richer by about 100 per annum. When he at 
 length reached home he found his wife again ill, and to 
 his relief she did not ask the amount of the legacy, mere 
 ly turning her face away to hide the tears that rolled 
 from her closed eyes. 
 
 May I have another maid, King? " she asked, at 
 length, when she could speak. " You will see how much 
 I could do with some one to help me." 
 
 Hardy laid his hand on her hot forehead, pushing 
 back the scanty hair tenderly. " Yes, dear. You shall 
 have a maid, and we ll begin by treating the children 
 to a new pair of boots all round." 
 
 133
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Anna needs flannel petticoats more, and poor Mac- 
 Dougall s great-coat is a sight! " 
 
 Hardy winced, but nodded. " You shall choose 
 yourself, dear. But one thing I am choosing for you a 
 new gown. It will have to be black, of course, but it 
 shall be nice soft, hairy stuff, like like a red one of 
 Madame Perez " 
 
 This was all a week in the past, now, and as he sat 
 rereading the note, the new maid, under whose uncouth 
 energy the house had already taken on a tidier air, was 
 washing the dining-room windows. Hardy watched her 
 red hand fly over the soapy glass with a feeling of de 
 light. His study windows were to be washed next. The 
 rug before the empty fireplace was darned, a rough sur 
 face of gray yarn that showed no great artistic talent 
 on the part of the worker, but as he looked at it, his eyes 
 filled with tears. Yesterday he had found Abby sitting 
 on the floor, patiently working the needle in and 
 out of the worn fabric, and he remembered the pride 
 with which she had smiled up at him. He had noticed 
 other little things, too ; a patch in his dressing-gown ; a 
 new, particularly inconvenient arrangement of his few 
 books ; a new shade on his lamp. He was an observant 
 man in some ways, and all these little indications 
 touched him deeply. 
 
 Once there was a lemon-souffle for dinner. " This 
 is delightful, Abby, he exclaimed, warmly, meeting her 
 expectant eyes. " I am sure you made it yourself! " 
 
 " Yes, I did. I thought we could afford it for once, 
 now and you were always so fond of it. 
 
 134
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 One day he took the three elder boys to Sabley-on- 
 Sea and fitted them out with cheap, ready-made clothes. 
 When they came home he produced a box of chocolates 
 and three bottles of cocoa-wine for his wife. 
 
 Not one, not even Tench, had dared mention his in 
 crease of income to him, and he was glad, for his book 
 had brought him a big lump sum, which he was carefully 
 spending, and questions as to the amount of the legacy, 
 which was supposed to account for his entire increase of 
 income, would have forced him to a direct lie. 
 
 He realized with grim amusement the inconsistency 
 of his dread of this possible falsehood with the lie his 
 life had become. One curious result of his suppressed 
 life had been the slow development of a sense of humor 
 that had been lacking in his earlier years. Between his 
 attacks of remorse and self-loathing came days when he 
 watched himself and his feelings with a strange detach 
 ment of sympathy, as if he had been another man. 
 
 The morning of Madame Perez s message was one of 
 these times, and standing mentally aloof from his own 
 personality, Hardy had been studying himself with an 
 amusement that brought grim lines about his mouth and 
 a rather unclerical light to his gray eyes. He saw his 
 satisfaction in his wife s change, the improvement of the 
 children and the state of his whole household, in some 
 thing very near its real light. His selfish content min 
 gling with the better happiness of seeing others happy, 
 was perfectly plain to him, and also the care with which 
 he cultivated the feelings that excused, to a certain ex 
 tent, his position. 
 
 135
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 As he walked up the avenue to Liscom House an 
 hour later, his eyes rested on the pleasant evidence of 
 spring on grass and bough, he smiled at himself as he 
 had done many a time before. 
 
 " After all the mental pain that has been sent me as 
 a discipline," he told himself, " I am a good deal of a 
 boy still." 
 
 That he could see this was much, but he did not be 
 gin to realize the truth of his own words, as so often hap 
 pens. 
 
 Madame Perez s butler led him for the first time up 
 the broad stairs, down a long corridor hung with very 
 ugly Georgian portraits, and then, without knocking, 
 opened a door to the left. 
 
 Hardy stood still for a second, trying to accustom 
 his eyes to the darkness, and then, as the door closed be 
 hind him, took a step forward. As he did so, a soft 
 hand slipped into his, and Madame Perez s voice, broken 
 by a little amused laugh, said: " Let me lead you I 
 am used to it, and you come from the sunlight. 
 
 Presently he found himself sitting in a low chair, 
 near the chaise-lounge, on which he could just make out 
 the white figure of his hostess. The darkness, the un 
 known room, the memory of his last interview with her, 
 kept him dumb for a few seconds, and then, awkwardly, 
 he managed to find a few words of condolence for her ill 
 ness and hopes for her speedy complete recovery. 
 
 She laughed, his embarrassment amusing her. Ah, 
 yes. It is they are how does one say? a very tire 
 some illness, but this with the eyes is the worst. 
 
 136
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " It must, indeed, be tiresome." 
 
 She, used to the darkness, could see that he was sit 
 ting very stiffly erect in his low chair, his big, square 
 shoulders outlined against the pale, golden plush. She 
 watched him in silence for a few minutes, and then, 
 jerking a pillow lower settled herself comfortably and 
 began. 
 
 " It is very kind of you to come, Mr. Hardy. I I 
 have several letters from my husband and I am not 
 allowed to read them. You, being the only person who 
 knows must read and answer them for me." 
 
 " Is there no one else? " 
 
 " No. I have put off asking you, as I knew you d 
 hate doing it, but they must be answered." 
 
 He hesitated. They were both thinking of that last 
 talk on the downs, he trying to find pity for her, she 
 reading his mind with curious ease. 
 
 " I know you despise me," she went on, at length, a 
 faint note of bitterness in her voice, " but I think you 
 will help me." 
 
 He rose. " Yes, I will help you. If you will give 
 me the letters I will read them and come to-morrow, if 
 it suits you, to tell you 
 
 No, no. Here they are. Go into the next room and 
 read them, and tell me now what he says. Then yon 
 can answer at once. Paper and everything are ready 
 there. Come, let me lead you." 
 
 Again she slipped her smooth hand into his and led 
 him across the room, the soft silk of her flowing gown 
 rustling faintly as she walked. There was a delicate per- 
 
 137
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 fume about her; he did not know what it was, but he 
 liked it. 
 
 " There is the door. Now please wait until I have 
 turned. 
 
 He obeyed her, and then, opening the door, went into 
 the next room. 
 
 When he came back she was waiting for him, and, 
 once more perfectly blind from the sudden transition 
 from daylight to darkness, he followed helplessly. As 
 he reached his chair he stumbled on her long gown and 
 nearly fell. " I have torn it! "he cried, as she steadied 
 him with both hands. 
 
 Never mind. Tell me. What does he say ? 
 
 " He says that that you must go away from here." 
 
 " I know I know but is that all, in the three let 
 ters? " 
 
 Hardy hesitated. " It is the substance of all three, 
 though the last two are very peremptory. He had not 
 known of your illness, of course " 
 
 "No. Where is he?" 
 
 In London. Shall I write him that you have been 
 ill? " 
 
 She sank down among her pillows, and for a few min 
 utes did not answer. Then he heard her laughing softly, 
 as if under her breath. 
 
 " He is such a a prig! And it gives him such a 
 satisfaction to make me obey! Well please write that 
 I refuse absolutely to go. That I like being here. That 
 I have made friends and shall stay. How surprised he 
 will be! " 
 
 138
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " I think you ought to obey him," Hardy said, 
 stiffly. 
 
 Of course you do. Do you not see that your think 
 ing so is one thing that determines me not to?" 
 
 " No. I don t see that I have anything whatever to 
 do with it." 
 
 " Oh, but you have! I have been shut up here so 
 long; it has been so dull; I must have a little amuse 
 ment now, and you amuse me ! She clapped her hands 
 softly together with a little tinkle of rings and brace 
 lets. 
 
 It was a sudden freak; two minutes before she had 
 had no intention of teasing him, but his uncompromis 
 ing stiffness, his evidently unchanged opinion of her, 
 goaded her into mischief. 
 
 " If I amuse you so much the better for you. But 
 I am rather in a hurry. Kindly tell me what answer I 
 am to write, Mrs. Woodvil." 
 
 " Very well. The good Samaritan writing for the 
 poor sinner : Greetings to the nine-tailed Bashaw ! The 
 poor sinner refuses to obey ; the nine-tailed Bashaw may 
 go hang! She burst out laughing, as he rose an 
 grily. 
 
 " If you have nothing serious to tell me, you would 
 have done better not to have sent for me," he said, 
 evenly. " I am a busy man and have no time for 
 
 She rose, too, and stood looking at him. 
 
 " No time for what? Is it quarreling, this? Or 
 trifling? " 
 
 " It is nonsense," he said, roughly, " and a kind for 
 10 139
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 which I have no taste. You owe obedience to your hus 
 band. Obey him." 
 
 Laying her hand on his arm, she answered, with a 
 complete change of voice: " You are right. Forgive 
 me. Will you write and tell him that I will go as soon 
 as the doctor allows me. And I am sorry I was dis 
 agreeable and I thank you for coming." 
 
 He stooped and took up his hat. " I will write at 
 once this afternoon. I have an engagement now, and 
 must go. Good-by." 
 
 When he came out again into the sun, he stood a 
 moment looking around him with wrinkled eyelids, and 
 then, taking off the hat he had just put on, walked 
 quickly down the spongy driveway. It had been a cu 
 rious experience. She was a strange woman. 
 
 140
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THERE was a garden at Borrowdaile House that Lady 
 Yarrow, on her arrival there as a bride, had at once ap 
 propriated as her very own. It was a walled garden, of 
 course, for where is the charm of a garden in which one 
 can not be alone, free from the curious eyes of the rest 
 of the world? and the wall was itself a thing of great 
 beauty. 
 
 Built long ago of red sandstone, Time had softened 
 and faded its hue to a mellow pink, crumbling the soft 
 stone to a generous softness for the roots of moss and 
 tiny plants ; around the top of it ran a series of medal 
 lions, in each of which grinned or frowned a wonderful 
 face, each one different, but all cleverly carved, and all 
 grotesque. Over the faint arabesque of moss that crept 
 over the rich surface of the wall, clun e * and swung fes 
 toons of roses, ivy and quaint old creepers for which 
 the gardener had no name, but Lady Yarrow, then Lady 
 Borrowdaile, on first discovering the faces had ruthlessly 
 cut and bent away from them the encroaching tangle of 
 branches, until now, after five years of time in which 
 they had become accustomed to the new thraldom, they 
 curled themselves like living picture frames about the 
 grinning or frowning faces that looked like devils or 
 satyrs crowned with beauty. 
 
 141
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The pride of the enclosure, however, was a giant 
 jessamine that was planted to the left of the door lead 
 ing from the house into it, and hung, splendid with scent 
 and rich with a wealth of blossom over that door, and 
 down on the blind wall high up which it had climbed. 
 It had been brought home by the Lord Yarrow of Queen 
 Anne s time, and there was a legend attached to it. 
 
 This young Yarrow, a few months after he had 
 with his own hands planted the jessamine in the little 
 walled garden, brought home his bride; and from the 
 first time she stepped from the door into the sunlit en 
 closure at dusk, she, too, had loved the jessamine, and 
 used to wear sprays of the starry blossoms in her 
 hair. 
 
 Through the long warm evenings the two young 
 people used to sit there, planning and hoping and loving 
 each other. Then at last when winter had come and 
 gone, and the jessamine was again in flower, Lord Yar 
 row used to come often alone, or with his lady leaning 
 on his arm. 
 
 One evening they sat late under the stars, and she 
 broke a long spray of the flowers and wove herself a 
 crown out of them. The next morning Yarrow noticed 
 a branch hanging dark and dank, as though frost-bitten. 
 It was in summer, there had been no frost, but the 
 branch was dead, and, calling a gardener, he had it cut 
 away. That evening the little Lord Borrowdaile was 
 born, and lived only a few hours. 
 
 Later the same thing happened again, and shortly 
 after a new Yarrow came, bringing his bride. It was 
 
 142
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 winter when her first child was born and died, and the 
 jassamine was banked with straw and fir branches, but 
 Lord Yarrow, who knew the story, already growing to 
 be a superstition, uncovered it, and found, as he had half 
 expected, a branch of it sapless and dead. When the son 
 was born who carried on the name, the jessamine in full 
 pride of its first bloom, waved living tendrils trium 
 phantly, each leaf a glossy green and so it went on. 
 
 Once, in the reign of the second George, a Yarrow, 
 who had inherited from his mother a hot head and a 
 lack of reflection, rooted the plant up and burned it in 
 his rage at the death of his heir and his wife. When he 
 came back from the Continent, years after, he found the 
 jessamine flourishing again and full of flowers. He had 
 failed in his intention of destroying it, and his nephew 
 blessed its greenness on four occasions. 
 
 George, Lord Borrowdaile, had said nothing to his 
 young wife of the legend, and did not even mention to 
 her the existence of this little garden until she found it 
 out by accident one day, and took immediate possession 
 of it. It was on the side of the house that was shady in 
 the summer afternoons, and the old trees just outside it 
 deepened the shadow and thickened the dark grass 
 which formed the middle, in the center of which stood 
 an old sun-dial that had grown in the course of years 
 to be quite useless after twelve noon. In the four cor 
 ners grew masses of old-fashioned roses, and none of 
 these things had been changed. 
 
 Lady Yarrow loved sitting in the shadow on a long 
 chair, watching the sunlight fade from the wall, and the 
 
 143
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 shadows lengthen. "When there was a wind she enjoyed 
 the tossing of the trees outside and the quiet within. 
 
 And the jessamine was the joy of her heart, though 
 her husband, giving no reason, had asked her not to 
 wear the white blossoms as she had once done. 
 
 When the baby was born she was so ill that no one in 
 the house thought of the jessamine, and it was only on 
 the evening of the day when the poor little Borrowdaile 
 died that Lord Yarrow wandered out into the garden, 
 and, half-unconsciously, looked at it. He was not in the 
 least a superstitious man, but at the sight of a long 
 branch of jessamine hanging limp and dark he shivered 
 slightly. It was, of course, mere chance, but it was un 
 deniably uncanny, and there in the darkened room lay 
 his poor little son. As he stood in the dusk, holding the 
 blighted branch in his hand, a scurrying, creeping noise 
 behind him attracted his attention, and he turned to see 
 the head and shoulders of one of the under-gardeners 
 appearing over the wall. 
 
 " What are you after? " he asked sharply, as the 
 man, having drawn himself to the top of the wall, 
 paused for breath. 
 
 " Oh, my Lord! I " 
 
 Yarrow insisted. 
 
 " It was just, my Lord, to see if if what they all 
 says is true about the jessamine I am very sorry, my 
 Lord " 
 
 Yarrow called him down, and then in a few words 
 told him to cut the dead branch away, and showed him 
 how to pull dow T n a blooming one to hide the scar. 
 
 144
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " My son is dead, Hammond," he said, gently, while 
 the man worked, " and the branch of jessamine is dead, 
 too. It is quite impossible that the one fact should be 
 the cause of the other, but I want no talk about it. 
 You understand? " 
 
 " Yes, my Lord." 
 
 " I have not scolded you for your curiosity. You 
 will do me the favor of not mentioning what you have 
 seen. Now give me that, and go." 
 
 The gate being locked, the man again scaled the wall, 
 and Yarrow, going into the house, lit a fire in his study, 
 and sat by it while the flames vanquished the dead 
 branch. 
 
 Mary Yarrow had never heard the story. Years 
 had passed since then, and one day now late in March 
 Mr. Dudley, coming to see him, found Lord Yarrow 
 in a wheel-chair, a plaid over his knees, a cap on 
 his head. 
 
 " Where on earth are you going, George? " the old 
 man asked. " It is raw and cold outside." 
 
 Yarrow looked up at him with a peculiarly sweet 
 smile that seemed to begin in his hollow eyes. 
 
 Dear Uncle Charles, I am so happy to-day ! 
 
 Mr. Dudley was conscious of a movement of impa 
 tient irritation. His heart was aching and throbbing at 
 the changes in his nephew s face, and his nephew had 
 the cruelty to be happy. 
 
 Yarrow watched him for a minute, and then under 
 stood. Reaching out he took the Rector s hand in both 
 his and held it close. " You remember the famous jes- 
 
 145
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 samine? Well I am going out to say a prayer to it. 
 It must be very good to us this year." 
 
 " Borrow! " Mr. Dudley dropped his hat and 
 stepped on it unheeding. 
 
 11 Yes. I am very happy, Uncle Charles. She only 
 told me an hour ago. It seems too good to be true, and 
 I must placate that wretched jessamine." 
 
 " I d dig around its roots and look for worms if I 
 were you. You surely don t believe that rubbishy 
 story? " 
 
 Yarrow laughed as the servant came in and prepared 
 to wheel him into the corridor. 
 
 It is rubbish, no doubt, but I believe in it. 
 
 The Kector picked up his hat and trotted over the 
 marble floor beside the chair. 
 
 So I do, he admitted, but don t you ever give it 
 away to Rebecca. She d be most awfully indignant 
 with me ! 
 
 In the garden, when the servant left the two men 
 alone, it was sunny and still, though the tossing of the 
 trees above the wall indicated that it was windy in less 
 sheltered places. The grass was already very green, and 
 near the sun-dial the crocuses shivered. 
 
 The jessamine, untouched all winter, had just been 
 divested of its coverings, and clipped a little here and 
 there. " It looks like a convict," Yarrow said. " Isn t 
 it curious, the way it has been going on all these 
 years ? All the unlucky beggars who have seen it blight 
 ed in that way have taken good care to make a note of it 
 so I have documentary evidence of the truth of the 
 
 146
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 story." He hesitated, and then in a low voice told the 
 incident of his own discovery at the time of little Bor- 
 rowdaile s birth and death. 
 
 The Rector listened in silence, his mobile face glow 
 ing with interest, his childlike blue eyes wet. 
 
 " Mary doesn t know, does she? " 
 
 "No. There was no use, and ah, if only I can last 
 till then. I have a feeling that only I can keep the vil 
 lainous jessamine in order." 
 
 Last till then ? Don t, Borrow ! 
 
 Yarrow laughed gently. " Don t last? I probably 
 shan t, dear old man. I m getting steadily worse, 
 though I don t think Mary has noticed. She mustn t, 
 for it would distress her." 
 
 The Rector wiped his eyes. " Distress her! I 
 should think it would. Are you sure things are so 
 bad? " 
 
 Yarrow hesitated, his brown eyes resting lovingly on 
 the old man s face. Yes, I am sure. Only you won t 
 think me a muff for saying that I don t consider it very 
 lad? " 
 
 You never were a muff in your life. 
 
 A far-off gardener was whistling over his work; the 
 two men paused and listened. " It s that young chap, 
 Hammond, who is to marry little Alice," Yarrow went 
 on, absently. 
 
 " Yes. She is a nice little lass. I hope they ll be 
 happy." 
 
 Yarrow paused a minute and then went on, his thin 
 hands loosely clasped on the plaid. I mean that after 
 
 147
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 all, my dying isn t such a very bad thing. I was born 
 patient it is a poor little ha penny virtue, and proba 
 bly given to me as a compensation for other things. At 
 all events I ve never done any very vigorous kicking, 
 but I ve been tired of it very often. And, of course, as 
 I grow weaker I grow tireder. I look forward with 
 great calm to the last of it, Uncle Charles. 
 
 The Rector nodded. He could do no more. 
 
 " Mary has been an angel," continued the speaker, 
 without looking at him. " I loved her for years before 
 she would have me, but when she did at length make up 
 her mind to put up with me, she did it in earnest. She 
 has developed wonderfully in some ways." 
 
 " She loves you dearly, George," the Rector inter 
 rupted, suddenly, straightening up on his bench, and 
 putting his handkerchief in his pocket with an air of 
 decision. 
 
 4 Dearly ! She doesn t love me at all, you wicked 
 old man, and you know it! " Yarrow smiled at him 
 with perfect serenity as he spoke. 
 
 Under the wrinkles on the Rector s face crept a slow 
 blush. He had lied, and he was caught. The two facts 
 were too much for him. He sat like a culprit, his wet 
 eyes raised appealingly. 
 
 " Mary is very fond of me; she likes me; we are, I 
 think, absolutely in sympathy with each other; and she 
 has been happy with me in a way. But I may tell you, 
 on an occasion such as this, that years ago she loved an 
 other man, and once is always with her. Now, I m no 
 
 148
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 hero, God knows, and if I d been as other men are 
 I d have fought with that memory, and I d have won. 
 But I m not as other men are, and there was no use. 
 So I ve taken what she could give, and God knows I ve 
 been grateful. She has made me very happy. Very." 
 He broke off and reaching out, passed his hand absently 
 across the mesh of jessamine branches near him. 
 
 "I m telling you all this because some one ought to 
 know. When I m dead I hope I mean this I hope 
 that the other man can manage I should, in his 
 place he is married to a good-for-nothing \voman and 
 has every reason for divorcing her he s a good sort, 
 and my friend, and I want them to be happy. If the 
 question ever should come up, Uncle Charles, she ll turn 
 to you. Make them see that too much resignation is 
 weakness. I ve thought it all out, and I believe that the 
 God who was the God of the Old Testament, likes people 
 to help themselves. Likes a certain amount of fight, 
 in short! " 
 
 Charles Dudley sat in silence for a few minutes. The 
 gardener s whistling grew nearer and passed; the sta 
 ble clock struck twelve. 
 
 At length the old man rose. " Well, God bless you, 
 Borrow. I understand, and I ll do my best. I quite 
 agree with you. And I am sure that you will be per 
 mitted to see your son." 
 
 Hurriedly shaking hands with his nephew he opened 
 the door and went into the house. Yarrow sat for some 
 time without moving. 
 
 149
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 He was a very truthful man and had meant all that 
 he said. It was not hard for him to contemplate the 
 Death face to face with which he had stood most of his 
 life. He was tired; and now he looked at the leafless 
 jessamine with a smile. " It must be a boy, you 
 wretch! " he said, half aloud. 
 
 150
 
 C PI AFTER XIX 
 
 " HE and Hecuba " appeared early in April. It was 
 a success. The kind of success that fills the papers 
 with discussions as well as with criticisms. Some critics 
 considered it a wonderful book ; others a mere temporary 
 sensation. Anonymous, it was attributed to different 
 authors, all of them men of note, and two of whom an 
 swered the accusation in a London paper. The one, an 
 American, Anglicized by years of living in England, 
 wrote with a sort of plaintive dignity, asking what he 
 had ever written that laid him open to the charge of be 
 ing guilty of " He and Hecuba, which, clever as it 
 undoubtedly is, and pulsing with life, is so obviously a 
 first book? " Then, gently, with much kindness and a 
 little mild sarcasm, he drew attention to the slight crudi 
 ties of style of which he had never, even in his earliest 
 efforts, been guilty. 
 
 Hardy, who had, through a curious, unexplained 
 feeling of shrinking, arranged with his publishers to 
 have the proofs corrected by them, knew nothing of 
 this, a curious, unexplained scruple preventing him from 
 reading the book notices in his one London paper. He 
 had not seen the book itself, restrained by the same curi 
 ous reluctance to bring himself again in touch with the 
 old story. 
 
 He had written a book that had been bought at a 
 151
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 remarkable price by one of the first publishers in Lon 
 don; the money had brought him comfort and ease; 
 what the story was, he knew, for it was his own story, 
 but how he had told it, in what vein, in what words, he 
 had forgotten. 
 
 The other great man to whom the book was attrib 
 uted was a west country man who had suddenly, a few 
 years before, astonished the English-speaking world 
 with a psychological novel which in keenness, ruthless- 
 ness, and knowledge of the world, was still unrivaled. 
 
 Hardy was too ignorant of contemporary literature 
 to have appreciated to the full the compliment paid to 
 him by the Day in attributing his work to the au 
 thor of " Puppets," but he might have learned some 
 thing of it in reading the dispute the question imme 
 diately raised, particularly when at length Henry Craw 
 ford himself stepped quietly into the arena, and in a 
 short, pithy letter proved his ignorance but intense ad 
 miration of the man who had written He and Hecuba. 
 
 One day he saw a copy of his book lying on a table 
 at Borrowdaile House, but a fit of shyness prevented his 
 even referring to it, and neither of the Yarrows men 
 tioned it. The first edition was sold out in a fortnight, 
 a new one came out at once, and in the papers the war 
 still raged. Hardy s percentage on sale was large, and 
 with the third edition he was to have an increase. 
 
 The sale in America was proportionately great, and 
 the American papers devoted columns to the book, which 
 was considered un-English in its vividness and fire, as 
 well as a great study in psychology. 
 
 152
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Hardy s charities grew rapidly at this time; he gave 
 new hymnals to the Sunday school, subscribed largely 
 to the village charities, rebuilt a burned cottage at his 
 own expense, and, in a word, gave with both hands of 
 the money that came to him in checks larger than any 
 he had seen for years. The pleasure he derived from 
 this was very keen; keener, possibly, as it also some 
 what healed his conscience, than that caused by the bet 
 ter condition of things at home. 
 
 He was curiously scrupulous, too, as to the in 
 crease of expenses in his household, something that he 
 did not stop to analyze holding him back from giving 
 to his wife and children more than what he had grown, 
 in the light of bitter circumstances, to consider the ne 
 cessities of life. His children wore ill-made, cheap 
 clothes and coarse boots ; his wife although, manlike, he 
 would have loved to deck her out in finery that would 
 have been ill suited to her faded middle age had but 
 one new gown; the difference was that wholeness had 
 taken the place of holes, sordid decency that of the hor 
 rible slovenliness that had been so unbearable. 
 
 As for himself, he had only some new surplices 
 and a pair of boots. In the village, and in his parish 
 work, he was even more unsparing of himself than 
 ever. 
 
 Shortly after he had written to "Woodvil telling him 
 of Madame Perez s consent to leaving Borrowdaile, 
 a fire had broken out at the Point, and Hardy, sum 
 moned in the night, was severely burned in his efforts 
 to conquer it. His right hand and arm were useless for 
 
 153
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 a long time, causing him torturing pain and many 
 sleepless nights. During the long hours he lay and 
 thought of many things, wondering often why, with the 
 writing of his book, his old terror and horror of the past 
 had left him. It was as though, having confessed him 
 self to the paper as he had been and as he had done, he 
 had received absolution for his old sin. The knowledge 
 and sorrow for it were, of course, still there, but he was 
 their master, not their slave, as he had been for so many 
 weary years. 
 
 In spite of his suffering with his burns, and the lack 
 of repose caused by it, he looked better and younger 
 than he had for months. The lines about his eyes and 
 mouth were smoothed into the background, his eyes grew 
 less somber. Mary Yarrow and Mr. Dudley, comment 
 ing on it, attributed the change to the legacy. 
 
 ; I wish she could come to life again, the old aunt, 
 Mary said, drawing her needle through the long slip of 
 filmy batiste she was hemming, " just long enough for 
 me to thank her ! 
 
 She must have been richer than any one thought, 
 the Rector returned. " The Bishop knew her and he 
 thought she was rather poor. 
 
 " Dear old thing, perhaps she was hoarding for the 
 Hardys. Dear me, how he did jump on us that day, 
 didn t he? " 
 
 One warm, moist morning, when little wisps of mist 
 hung over hollows in the wet earth, hiding early violets, 
 Hardy hired the phaeton of the Borrowdaile Arms, and 
 drove his wife to Sabley-on-Sea to buy a bonnet. The
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 old one, she told him, in a little flutter of excited pleas 
 ure, was really quite too awful to wear with her new 
 gown. 
 
 " Yes, but you are to have another gown, too, my 
 dear," he said, gathering the reins and prodding the fat 
 pony with the blunt whip. " I want you to have a gray 
 gown and a gray bonnet. The gown is to be made with 
 fluffy hem flummadiddles down the front. Lady 
 Yarrow has one made that way, and I like it. 
 
 Her answer was a laugh with a sob in it. " Oh, 
 King, you are too good to me. I really don t need it. 
 Only last week the three pairs of stockings, and now a 
 gown and a bonnet. You ought to get something for 
 yourself! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Abby! My best coat is only six years 
 old, and black always looks well enough. See how blue 
 the sky is! " 
 
 Once he got out and picked a bunch of violets for 
 her, which she tucked into her gown with a flush of 
 pleasure that tortured him keenly. It was years since 
 she had been driving, and the gentle exercise delighted 
 her and brought back to her thin face something of the 
 humble beauty that had been hers long ago. 
 
 They bought the stuff for the gown after much de 
 bate, and, after leaving it at the dressmaker s, where 
 Hardy waited while his wife was being measured, went 
 on to the shop where hats were sold. 
 
 This new shape is very becoming, ma am," the 
 young woman told them, but Mrs. Hardy s eyes filled 
 with tears as she looked at herself in the glass. 
 H 155
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " No, I have grown too old," she said, simply. 
 " Show me something else, please." 
 
 At length they chose a small, flat, gray straw with a 
 bunch of primroses on one side, and when it had been 
 firmly pinned to her thin plaits, and a dotted veil drawn 
 over her face, Mrs. Hardy turned to her husband with 
 a faint blush. 
 
 " Do I look nice, King? " And Hardy, as he an 
 swered, felt his throat contract. 
 
 The fat pony once more coaxed into shambling motion, 
 they drove slowly down the little street. 
 
 " I it is so silly I feel as if every one we met w r ere 
 looking at me, King! " 
 
 " And so they are, my dear. It is how many years 
 since we ve been here in a wheeled thing! And that 
 hat certainly is very becoming." 
 
 He was thoroughly sincere. The change that a little 
 happiness, and comparatively good food had brought 
 about in her, seemed to him to be crowned that morning 
 by the new hat and her pride in it. There was a light in 
 her faded eyes, a glow on her cheek that seemed almost 
 like beauty to him. As they passed Glegg s shop, Hardy 
 pulled up. Glegg stood by the door in his shirt sleeves ; 
 he was one of those people who are the first to perspire 
 in the spring and to shiver in the autumn. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Glegg?" Mrs. Hardy said, 
 taking up her little purse from her lap. Have you the 
 latest Lady s Pictorial? She tried to look uncon 
 scious that it was the first time for years that she had 
 bought a magazine. 
 
 156
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Certainly, ma am. One minute." The little man 
 bounded into his shop, and came back with his arms full 
 of books and magazines. He had heard of the legacy. 
 
 " There s the Lady s Pictorial, Mrs. Hardy, and 
 there s the Queen, the Strand, and the rest and 
 here s the newest books, just down yesterday, the very 
 latest publications." 
 
 One by one he handed the books to Hardy, who 
 passed them to his wife. 
 
 " Stanley Weyman s newest and Gertrude Ather- 
 ton s and there s He and Hecuba. That s the book 
 of the day. They say it s by a member of the Royal 
 Family." 
 
 Mrs. Hardy s thin lips quivered with excitement as 
 she took the gaily bound volume. She opened it, read a 
 few lines, and pushed it away with a little gesture of 
 offended delicacy. " Oh, King," she cried, " it s hor 
 rid! " 
 
 Hardy laughed harshly. " A sign of the times, 
 Abby. Come, choose your magazines and let us go on. 
 Just put them down to me, Mr. Glegg. " 
 
 As they drove on, she stroked the cover of the top 
 most magazine gently. 
 
 " Isn t it delightful to have a little money? I 
 haven t bought anything since Anna was born. Dear 
 old Aunt Merrick, I I hope she knows! " 
 
 Turning, he looked at her, the frown fading from his 
 eyes, his lips shaking a little. 
 
 " Dear Abby! " he said, softly. 
 
 157
 
 CHAPTEE XX 
 
 ROSALBA PEREZ, as she called herself, sat in an arbor 
 made of a very old and very carefully clipped yew-tree, 
 eating chocolates. In the cool, green light she, in her 
 white gown, looked very lovely and a little uncanny. 
 Her heavy, bronze hair, unloosed, hung in regular waves 
 to the ground over the back of her cane chair, and rest 
 ing there on the soft moss, seemed to have caught in its 
 meshes all the color in the world, leaving only a gloomy 
 green for other things. The shadows in the folds of the 
 beautiful woman s gown were green, the lights on her 
 slightly hollowed cheek green, the hand with which, with 
 a little silver gilt nipper, she carried the chocolate to her 
 mouth, was also shaded with green. 
 
 And outside, she knew, there was an unusually bright 
 sun for May in England, and every one but herself was 
 enjoying, basking in, and talking about, that same sun. 
 
 She had come here out of pure contradictoriness, 
 after a walk to Borrowdaile House, where she had found 
 Lord Yarrow and Mary in the walled garden, fire-wor 
 shipping, like every one else. Yarrow, now too weak 
 for any sustained effort, had, as usual, sketched her 
 roughly in water colors as she sat, her hands clasped 
 about her knees, chatting to them. 
 
 " Water is no medium with which to paint you, 
 158
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 most beauteous lady," he had said. " If I could dip 
 my brush into sunlight and then into the color, perhaps 
 I could get an idea of you. 
 
 The two women had laughed at him indulgently, 
 Mary with tears in her eyes. She recognized, by his 
 greater frankness of speech, that he felt the time of con 
 ventionality to be about over for him; that he was en 
 joying his privileges as a man almost dying, to say what 
 he chose. 
 
 " You flatter," Madame Perez said, in answer. " I 
 have grown thin and ugly since my illness. I was too 
 long in that dark room; I am like a blanched potato 
 shoot." 
 
 Lady Yarrow looked up curiously. " You are a lit 
 tle pale," she said. " Have you had any worry? " 
 She had never spoken so intimately to the other woman 
 before, and the impulse came from a variety of reasons. 
 Her prospective motherhood had greatly softened her, 
 and her not to be denied prospective widowhood in 
 clined her very tenderly towards those who loved her 
 husband. Rosalba Perez was not a woman whom she 
 would ever be really fond of, and she had never quite 
 trusted her, but the sincerity of the South American s 
 liking for and admiration of Lord Yarrow was very evi 
 dent to her, and something about the woman s face to 
 day had moved her to pity. 
 
 Have I a worry? Yes. I have a worry, Lady 
 Yarrow. Thank you for the way you said that. 
 
 Yarrow watched them dreamily. His wife, pale, 
 with olive rings about her eyes, and a weary droop of 
 
 159
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 her smooth head; the other with her splendid coloring 
 softened a little to something more human than he had 
 seen in her before, a slight fold between her level brows. 
 
 Mary Yarrow was a very good woman, he knew. He 
 knew the best of her, and the worst, and had watched, 
 since their marriage, the gradual unfolding of her char 
 acter to the good influences he had brought to bear on 
 her. He had seen her grow from a vain, coquettish girl 
 with a sharp tongue, though a radically good heart, into 
 a gentle, unselfish woman, hiding under a serene exterior 
 an old wound that the man, in his great-mindedness, 
 could realize without a pang, to be still existent. That 
 woman was his wife, sewing, in the little sunny garden, 
 on some tiny garment for her baby. Beside her the other 
 woman, of whom he knew, in reality, nothing. She had 
 told him her story, and though he had made no sign, he 
 had not believed her. Her curious lack of vanity had, 
 combined with her unusual beauty, interested him psy 
 chologically as well as artistically, and though he knew 
 she had lied to him, he liked her. 
 
 King Hardy, a man who had sinned himself, had 
 been unable to forgive her the sin she had herself con 
 fessed to him. 
 
 Yarrow, whose life had been almost irreproachable, 
 understood by instinct something of what her past must 
 have been, and though she had lied to him, sympathized 
 with and forgave her. Her way of answering his wife s 
 question had pleased him, and when, shortly afterwards, 
 she rose and took leave of them, he said to Mary: 
 Dearest, never be hard on that woman. 
 
 1GO
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Mary looked up. " I know. Am I hard on her? " 
 
 " No. I don t want you to love her, but don t be 
 hard on her." 
 
 For a few minutes Lady Yarrow stitched in silence. 
 
 " Borrow don t you think she is a strange crea 
 ture? " 
 
 1 Yes. Very. It is abnormal for any woman to have 
 so little vanity." 
 
 " I didn t mean that. I meant that she she must 
 have what people call a story a past. I wonder if her 
 husband isn t alive." 
 
 " Yes. She told me so once." 
 
 " Ah ! Men must have loved her, and she seems so 
 undisciplined so childish in some ways. I wonder 
 whether she left her husband with another man? " 
 
 Yarrow paused an instant before he answered. I 
 have thought so at times. But she is curiously lacking 
 in sentiment I should say, in spite of her beauty, that 
 she is cold in temperament. Perhaps the lack we feel in 
 her is rather owing to too little than to too much 
 love." 
 
 Meanwhile, the object of their friendly discussion 
 had walked home, changed her gown, and, bored by a re 
 mark of her maid about the beautiful sun, had gone to 
 the yew-tree arbor, and was sitting in the green gloom, 
 absently eating chocolates. Beside her, on a table fash 
 ioned on a low bough, lay a book and a couple of letters. 
 The letters were both opened, one of them, indeed, hav 
 ing a date of the previous week. At length, without ris 
 ing, she reached out and took them. 
 
 161
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Why have you not obeyed me ? " the earlier began, 
 abruptly. I have let you do as you like for years, but 
 you are still my wife, and I exact this act of obedience 
 from you. Go at once. J. W." 
 
 " Still his wife! If we were not Catholics I should 
 have been his late wife years ago or his ex-wife." 
 
 The other letter was larger, written in a tone of 
 moderation but obviously the outcome of much self-con 
 trol. She reread the last sentence several times. " The 
 rest of England and all the continent is open to you so 
 far as I am concerned, but I will not have you at Bor- 
 rowdaile. If I do not hear from you at once I will 
 come. J. W." 
 
 " I wonder," she said, aloud, as she put the letter 
 slowly back into its envelope, why I am supposed to be 
 peculiarly dangerous to Borrowdaile. He surely isn t 
 afraid that Yarrow will fall in love with me? Poor 
 Yarrow. 
 
 The letter had come two or three days before, and was 
 still unanswered. Hardy had written to Woodvil three 
 weeks before, that Mrs. Woodvil would leave Bor 
 rowdaile as soon as the doctors allowed her to travel. A 
 few days after the letter had gone she had been allowed 
 to have a little light in her room, and within ten days 
 had been in the garden with a green shade on her eyes. 
 She had not seen Hardy since, but once, wandering at 
 the edge of her small park, she had met Algy, his oldest 
 son, -and sent a message to him. 
 
 " Tell your father," she had told the boy, " that I 
 am going Wednesday." The following day she had ex- 
 
 162
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 pected Hardy to come and he had not come. She had 
 heard from the Yarrows that he had been very busy at 
 Easter, that his baby had died, and that his wife was 
 unwell, but these things did not explain his not coming 
 to say good-by to her. With all her lack of vanity she 
 had come, through years of experience, to have a certain 
 unexpressed, unanalyzed faith in the effects of her beau 
 ty on men, so that Hardy s evident unconsciousness of it 
 irritated her, though she had only twice and one of 
 those two times in a perfectly dark room ! tried to use it 
 as an active force against him. And now he did not come. 
 He would let her go away without a word. Day after 
 day she put off her departure, and now, as she lounged 
 in the arbor, she had reached the pitch at which one 
 knows that something must be going to happen. The 
 very stillness of the May morning seemed to her the 
 hush before some great event, and bored and discontent 
 ed as she had been for weeks, she awaited the event with 
 a smile. When it came she smiled on for a second, and 
 then said, with a little wave of her hands, " How do you 
 do ! Won t you come in ? 
 
 Woodvil and Hardy, who had come up from oppo 
 site directions and stood facing each other, one at each 
 side of her, stooped and entered the little enclosure. 
 
 " How do you do? " Woodvil held out his hand, 
 and Hardy, frowning, gave him his. Then there was a 
 short silence. " I have come," Woodvil began present 
 ly, " to see why you do not go away from here as you 
 promised. As Mr. Hardy knows all about it I may as 
 well come to the point at once. 
 
 163
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Mr. Hardy has evidently come to ask the same 
 question," she returned, carelessly. 
 
 " Yes. I did. I came, too, to say good-by to you, 
 which I will do at once and go," Hardy went on. 
 
 He was too tall to stand upright in the low arbor, and 
 stood bending his shoulders forward, his hat in his hand. 
 Woodvil, half a head shorter and conspicuously graceful 
 in his slight way, looked a boy beside him. 
 
 She looked at them for a minute, and then the old 
 instinct to tease Hardy came back. About Woodvil it 
 mattered less, and she did not try to resist punishing the 
 other man in the way nearest at hand. 
 
 Don t say good-by, she said, smiling. It would 
 be a great waste of time, because I am not going." 
 
 " Not going!" The words were written in both their 
 faces. 
 
 " No. Not going. If you, Jacques, choose to tell 
 people that I am your wife, I shall be delighted to have 
 you come and stay with me here. The house is very nice 
 and there is plenty of room 
 
 " You are crazy, Rosalba," he said, a little roughly. 
 Then, turning to Hardy, with a curious reliance on a 
 friendship that was as yet purely potential, he went on : 
 " You had better go, Hardy. I must have this out with 
 her." 
 
 Hardy nodded. "Yes. Good-by." 
 
 As he backed out, Woodvil added, hastily, " If you 
 should see either of the Yarrows, please don t mention 
 having seen me. I go back by the twelve-three train 
 and shan t have time to look them up." The bough fell 
 
 164
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 with a little shimmer of lights and shadows and the two 
 were alone. 
 
 " I hope you will be reasonable and do as I ask you 
 without further parley," he said, in Spanish. 
 
 " If you were reasonable you would not ask me to 
 go. "What harm do I do here ? 
 
 He hesitated. " I don t say you are willingly doing 
 harm. But you are living among my friends under false 
 pretenses 
 
 " Then tell your friends. Yarrow knows I am not a 
 widow. 
 
 " There is no use in raking up dead and gone stories. 
 I am quite willing to believe that you are are doing no 
 harm. God knows I am ready to believe the best. Even 
 if that had never happened, you and I couldn t have 
 lived together. That we are bound in this way is my 
 fault; you were too young to know." 
 
 She was silent, looking at him. 
 
 " Please go away. I shall be very grateful to you. 
 Yarrow s my dearest friend I can t bear to have you 
 surely you understand." 
 
 You mean that if he knew, he wouldn t let his wife 
 know me? " 
 
 " Partly that, yes," he answered, gravely. 
 
 She rose, and twisting her hair slowly over one hand, 
 fastened it with a big tortoise-shell comb. 
 
 " I will not go," she said. " I like it here, and I 
 like the Yarrows. I have never done anything any 
 thing wrong since then, and I do no harm here. But I 
 will tell Lord Yarrow, if you like, myself, and do as he 
 says." 165
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Woodvil started with a little exclamation. " No, no. 
 You mustn t tell Yarrow ! 
 
 She looked at him with a certain softening in her 
 eyes. " You are very fond of him, Jacques. Well, 
 then, and that which will be much harder, I will tell her. 
 She shall judge." 
 
 He turned white and did not answer at once. Then 
 he said, slowly, weighing every word. 
 
 " No. There is no use in telling her. It would only 
 worry her, and no English woman could answer any 
 thing that wouldn t hurt you. Stay, I have done my 
 best, and I am beaten. Remember, though " she 
 turned and looked at him curiously " you put me in a 
 horrible position, and when Yarrow is dying and sends 
 for me, as he will, you must not let me see you before 
 him. I couldn t keep up the comedy." 
 
 " It isn t a comedy," she said, holding out her hand. 
 " It s the most real thing I have. I love Yarrow and I 
 would love her, too, if she would let me. Thanks, 
 Jacques. I ll remember, and really, I ll do nothing to 
 complicate matters. I suppose there s no use in my 
 offering you luncheon? " 
 
 Then she was alone. " I have fought and I have 
 won what ? she said aloud. I wonder ! 
 
 166
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 " CONSOMME, roast beef, roast fowl, and vegetables, 
 salad, pineapple ice, fruit, coffee." The menu was 
 pinned to the kitchen wall and every time Katie passed 
 it she stopped and reread it slowly, aloud, her voice cul 
 minating in an expression of awe at the pineapple ice, 
 and sinking, through fruit, back to commonplace coffee. 
 
 Hardy had made the list, cutting ruthlessly from the 
 more elaborate one proposed by his wife. " Timbales 
 and such things are out of place in a house like ours," 
 he said, decidedly, and besides, Katie mustn t have too 
 much to do or she ll muddle everything. We ll have an 
 ice from Sabley; it will save labor. You ll have to look 
 after the consomme. Mind it s not greasy. 
 
 Mrs. Hardy nodded, but without conviction. " It s 
 a very plain dinner for a Bishop," she returned. 
 
 " So long as it s good, the plainness doesn t matter," 
 he returned, with a grim smile at the recollection of the 
 last meal of which His Lordship had partaken under his 
 roof. " And have enough fowl for every one to have 
 white meat. I don t believe any one in the world really 
 likes the dark." 
 
 This was ten days ago, and now the great evening 
 had come, and everything was ready; the pineapple ice 
 
 167
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 packed in a tub, stood to the great excitement of the 
 older children, who were dining in the kitchen, and 
 helping the much irritated Katie outside the door ; the 
 fruit, piled high in a glass dish and adorned with green 
 leaves, was on the table ; the four tiny coffee cups, relics 
 of an old-time dozen, stood on a tray in the back hall. 
 The fowls, beautifully browning, hissed in their gravy, 
 and the kitchen smelt like Heaven. 
 
 The younger children were at the Tenches, but Algy, 
 Anna, and Eustace were crowded into the hot little 
 room, condemned by Katie who, in a new print 
 gown and white cap, was doing something amazing to 
 little balls of potato scooped out that afternoon by 
 Martha with a brand-new tin instrument to silence. 
 
 " Mother looks perfectly glorious, 1 Anna volun 
 teered, after a long pause. " Lady Yarrow sent her 
 some roses, and she has a bunch pinned on her gown ! 
 
 " Mother s all right, if you like," commented Algy, 
 reaching the chopped parsley humbly to Katie, " but 
 have you seen father. Father is the handsomest chap 
 in the county, I tell you that." 
 
 The others were silent. It had never occurred to 
 them that their dark-browed father was handsome, yet it 
 seemed hardly filial to admit as much. 
 
 He s got on a new collar that shines like glass, and 
 he s splendid. I went into the study while you were 
 looking at the table. Table! " 
 
 Anna laughed aloud at the tone of disgust in which 
 the word was spoken. She was the cleverest of the chil 
 dren and had a sense of humor. 
 
 168
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " The table looks very pretty, Your Worship. There 
 are roses in the middle, and new salt-cellars, and 
 the best table-cloth. Our ferns are lovely, too, Algy ; the 
 fireplace is full of em." As she spoke, the door opened 
 and Mrs. Hardy came in, a nervous smile on her lips. 
 "Everything all right, Katie?" she asked. "Did 
 Martha do the potatoes oh, yes, very nice. Not too 
 brown, Mr. Hardy says. And don t forget that the cof 
 fee must be jet-black, will you? It doesn t matter how 
 much it takes for this once." 
 
 Katie looked up. " No, ma am, I won t forget noth 
 ing. My fowls are splendid, and the soup s as free of 
 grease as water. My, I knew them curls d be becom 
 ing! " The faithful creature s eyes were full of the 
 most respectful admiration, and Mrs. Hardy appre 
 ciated it. 
 
 I m glad you think so, Katie, she answered. Do 
 you like my gown? " 
 
 It was the gray gown, with the collar cut off for the 
 occasion, a small triangle of stringy neck exposed, edged 
 with a little scrap of lace. The curls, admired of Katie, 
 had brought a feeling of heat to Hardy s eyes when he 
 first saw them, they were so pitifully, obviously, the re 
 sult of hot irons, and somehow so inappropriate to the 
 high, shining brow under them. The roses, some of those 
 sent by Lady Yarrow, were pinned to the flat corsage 
 with an old gold arrow tipped with a topaz, that had be 
 longed to Mrs. Hardy s mother, and was cleaned to a 
 brassy brightness with soap and water. She was still 
 talking to Katie, repeating some directions for the hun- 
 
 169
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 dredth time, when the door-bell rang, and Katie untying 
 the blue-check apron with one hand grabbed up her stiff 
 white one and flew away, followed by her mistress. 
 
 It was the Bishop, rosy and dapper, who greeted her 
 a minute later in the fern-filled drawing-room which she 
 entered so rarely that she found herself furtively exam 
 ining it during the ensuing conversation. The lace cur 
 tains, recently mended, were rigid with cleanliness and 
 starch ; the few books on the table lay with irremediable 
 stiffness. They were books that could not look natural, 
 somehow, and they all had gilt edges. The pictures, two 
 or three old portraits and an old Venetian scene, were 
 fairly good, and in ugly, good, old-fashioned frames. 
 The carpet was rather dreadful, and the table cover a 
 tinsel-embroidered horror, the gift of Miss Tench. But 
 there were branches of apple-blossom in the ugly vases 
 on the chimney-piece, roses on the table, and the fire 
 place was a mass of ferns. And it was her own draw 
 ing-room; the distinguished-looking man talking to the 
 Bishop was her husband; the Bishop was her guest 
 and the simple dinner Tds going to be good. The poor 
 woman s face softened and grew younger in her happy 
 pride. 
 
 The other guest, Madame Perez, arrived on the stroke 
 of eight, taking the Bishop quite by storm, she was so 
 beautiful in her simple violet gown, a diamond star 
 catching the lace at one side of her corsage. Mrs. Hardy 
 \vas grateful to her for the simplicity of her gown; 
 Hardy, without admitting it himself, for the diamond 
 star. 
 
 170
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Am I late? " she asked, as she shook hands with 
 her hostess. I am so sorry. My coachman is, I found 
 on getting out, very drunk most drunk, and had been 
 under the impression that we were going to Borrowdaile 
 House 
 
 " These lanes are dangerous when one isn t sure of 
 one s coachman," the Bishop observed, when he had 
 been introduced to her. 
 
 " And then our lane is not much frequented by the 
 like of Pratt," Hardy observed, giving his arm to Ma 
 dame Perez. 
 
 The Bishop noticed the lack in his voice of the bitter 
 ness which would have been in it a few months ago, and 
 cast yet another benedictory thought to the shade of 
 Mrs. Merrick. 
 
 The dinner was good, and His Lordship was hungry. 
 Also, opposite him sat the most beautiful woman he had 
 ever seen in his life, and he had already promised to 
 lunch with her the following day. Hardy, who had not 
 wished to introduce what he considered a discordant ele 
 ment into the little dinner, listened with amazement to 
 the easy flow of words with which the usually silent 
 woman led the conversation into channels easy to all. 
 Once in a rush of his old jealous resentment, he thought 
 savagely, " She is taking pains to help us out," and he 
 abruptly changed the subject to that of cottage sanita 
 tion, which bored the Bishop and evoked a look of mild 
 surprise from his wife. Ashamed of himself, he began 
 at once on the former subject with a suddenness that was 
 very noticeable. 
 
 12 171
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Have you read The Sky-Pilot ? "he said, charg 
 ing headlong into His Lordship s mild remarks as to 
 Condy s Fluid. 
 
 " The Sky-Pilot ? No, I think not. I read few 
 novels; no time. But speaking of books again, have you 
 read Canon Carr s Defence of Queen Caroline ? No? 
 A wonderful book, Hardy. The subject is a difficult one, 
 eh? And especially so for a clergyman. Well, the book 
 is a poem. There isn t one offensive word in it, though 
 he goes to the bottom of the affair most impartially." 
 
 " Ah! " said the Rector. 
 
 " I gave it to my wife to read," went on His Lord 
 ship. " It is delightful to come across such a book; de 
 lightful. One of the worst features of this age is its ten 
 dency to nasty literature. 
 
 But surely English books are so very nice 1 Ma 
 dame Perez bent towards the speaker over the roses. The 
 Bishop shook his head sorrowfully. 
 
 " Dear lady, ten years ago English books were bet 
 ter than any others it was safe to give nine out of ten 
 unread into the hands of a young girl. Now what 
 with George Moore and the rest bah ! 
 
 " George Moore and the rest probably do not con 
 sider the possibility of giving books unread into the 
 hands of a young girl, the end and aim of novel-writ 
 ing, remarked Hardy, very much to his own surprise. 
 
 " Have you read Garston Humphrey ? " asked His 
 Lordship, drily. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Or oh, there are dozens of them. 7 don t read 
 172
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 era, but my son-in-law does, and I know. I burned a 
 book the other day, Madame Perez," he added, turning. 
 
 " Indeed? " She was peeling a peach, the jewels on 
 her fingers, as Hardy watched them, flashing in the can 
 dle light. 
 
 Yes. A book of which you have no doubt heard. 
 It has created a great sensation. He and Hecuba, it 
 is called, and it is one of the worst books I ever looked 
 into in my life. My wife is an old woman, but I burned 
 the thing that it might not fall into her hands." 
 
 Hardy took up his claret and drained it deliberately. 
 
 " The man must have made a great deal of money 
 by the thing," went on the Bishop, unconsciously, " for 
 they tell me the sale has been enormous. The worst of 
 it is no wine, thanks is that in spite of certain signs 
 of its being a first book, there is great strength of an evil 
 sort in the book. Bah! " 
 
 Hardy nodded. " Shocking," he mumbled, like a 
 man without teeth. He was trying to recall what there 
 was so outrageous in what he had written, but his mem 
 ory was a blank. 
 
 " Such books are on our Index," Madame Perez ob 
 served, smiling. "It is so very useful, the Index as a 
 catalogue. 
 
 Smiling at her little joke, but with severity in his 
 blue eyes, His Lordship went on: " I wish we had an 
 Index in the Church of England; we need one nowa 
 days; books like that are criminal in my eyes." 
 
 " What is the subject? " 
 
 Mrs. Hardy, who remembered having had the book in 
 173
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 her hands in Sabley, the day of the drive, started as 
 Madame Perez asked the question. 
 
 " The subject my dear lady the Seventh Com 
 mandment. The lesson of the book, the folly of adher 
 ing to it. It is told, the story, in the first person, with 
 a vividness of description, a baldness of phraseology that 
 is perfectly appalling. It it carries conviction with 
 it, to a certain extent. It is, as one of the papers put it, 
 * a fragment torn by a ruthless hand from the fabric of 
 life. " 
 
 " But your Lordship read it? " 
 
 Up the Bishop s rosy face crept a wave of deep red, 
 so hot that it forced tears to his eyes. Yes. I read it, 
 I am ashamed to say. In the first place, I have a scheme 
 to which it more or less appertained, but chiefly, I fear, 
 because it interested me." 
 
 Hardy burst into a short, hoarse laugh. 
 We must not let that fact go any further, my 
 Lord. It might encourage the man to write another 
 book! " 
 
 Madame Perez dipped her slim fingers into her fin 
 ger-glass and shook the water daintily from them. Her 
 eyes were fixed on Hardy, and as they rose from the 
 table he met her gaze. There was in the short space be 
 fore she turned away, an accusation, a defiance, and a 
 mutual challenge. 
 
 174
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE next day, as Hardy went through the village 
 from Borrowdaile House, he was overtaken by Madame 
 Perez in her pony-cart. 
 
 Stopping him with a little, peremptory motion of her 
 whip, she gave the reins to the groom, and taking up a 
 package that lay beside her, tried to open it. The string 
 was stout, however, and did not break. Hardy took it 
 from her, broke the string with a wrench of his strong 
 hand and gave it back to her. 
 
 11 I ve been to Sabley-on-Sea," she said, holding the 
 unopened package and smiling at him, the sun glinting 
 in her brown eyes. " Can you guess for what I went? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Get in and I ll drive you home." 
 
 " Thanks, I am not homeward bound. I have sev 
 eral visits to make. A beautiful day, isn t it? " 
 
 " Very beautiful. Una bellissima giornata." 
 
 He started nervously. He had not slept, and was, 
 she saw, a little pale. 
 
 " You speak Italian? " he asked, calmly enough. 
 
 " Yes. Well, as you will not come with me, I will 
 not detain you. I have something for you a little 
 souvenir of our delightful evening yesterday." With 
 
 175
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 a warning glance at the groom she drew the paper from 
 her package, and showed him two books bound in red, 
 with black arabesques on the cover. 
 
 " It is the book the Bishop spoke of He and Hec 
 uba. I went to get it for myself, and it occurred to 
 me that you might like a copy, too. I understood you to 
 say that you had not read it ? " 
 
 Hardy felt the ground slipping from under his feet, 
 the little village street with its low-browed cottages 
 looked misty and strange to him. 
 
 " I did not say I had not read it," he answered, 
 after a pause, during which the possibility of his an 
 swering, " I have seen the book, but not opened it," slid, 
 rejected, through his mind. 
 
 Madame Perez, her face glowing with delighted mis 
 chief, watched him while he spoke. 
 
 " Ah, I was mistaken, then. At all events read it, 
 and the next time I see you we can talk it over if it 
 ~bears talking over, which, according to your dear little 
 Bishop, seems unlikely ! Of course, a Bishop is bound 
 to be strait-laced, but even the papers rather objected 
 to some of it. Of course, you have read the criti 
 cisms? " 
 
 Hardy took the book and slid it into his pocket. 
 " No, I have seen no criticisms," he answered, quietly. 
 " I rarely see newspapers, and almost never read book 
 notices. Thanks, very much; good-by." 
 
 Turning abruptly he swung down the street, splash 
 ing unheeding through a puddle of water, hissed after 
 by some geese, curtsied to by a couple of children. 
 
 176
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Madame Perez watched him with a smile. She had 
 been sure the evening before; now she knew what 
 doubly sure" meant. 
 
 Hardy interested her more and more the longer 
 she knew him ; he appealed at once to the best and to a 
 certain gamin-like love of teasing that was in her. She 
 was a little afraid of him, could laugh at some of his 
 qualities, she respected, pitied, and admired him all at 
 once, and this combination of sensations that he gave her 
 pleased her in its unusualness. The polite aloofness 
 with which he treated her, his evident disregard of her 
 beauty, the Hebraic way in which he viewed her posi 
 tion, as a woman who had sinned, had, however, hitherto 
 prevented her feeling herself really drawn to like him 
 humanly. Something was lacking, she had not troubled 
 herself about what it was, but he was too remote, too 
 good, in spite of his confession to her, for her to have 
 more than a mental feeling for him. Last night, the 
 Bishop s description of the book, which already interest 
 ed her through criticisms she had read of it, had given 
 her a little thrill of curiosity. The man who had writ 
 ten it had lived, and knew, according to both the cleri 
 cal and the newspaper critics, what he was writing 
 about. 
 
 The phrase " a fragment torn by a ruthless hand 
 from the fabric of life," had caught her fancy. She 
 would read the book ; it might be a bad one, but that, of 
 course, made no difference, and it was real and vivid 
 and full of heart-beats. 
 
 Looking around the little table as she listened to the 
 177
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Bishop, she thought with amusement of the contrast 
 the author of the book would afford to the two good, 
 narrow, conscientious men before her. 
 
 Then, as she roused herself at the signal for depart 
 ure, she had glanced at Hardy, and something in his set, 
 dark face told her that he and no other had written 
 " He and Hecuba." 
 
 Without speaking, she accused him; without speak 
 ing, he neither admitted nor denied ; he defied. 
 
 During her half hour s tete-a-tete with Mrs. Hardy, 
 talking of measles and garden flowers, butchers and em 
 broidery, her busy brain was working, and though she 
 did not again, in the course of the evening, look at 
 Hardy otherwise than in the most casual way, she knew. 
 
 For the first time for years she was excited. It was 
 so unusual, so utterly unexpected. It was hardly credi 
 ble and yet it was true. 
 
 Of course she considered the possibility of the Bish 
 op s having exaggerated the unconventionality and the 
 reality of the book, but, curiously clinging to the hope 
 of its being something startling, she recalled, as she lay 
 awake in her big, dusky room, several of the more severe 
 criticism that she had read. She wanted an interest in 
 life, a real, living interest, and if King Hardy, the man 
 whose asceticism and unselfish zeal in his work had re 
 pulsed her emotionally, while it attracted her intellect 
 ual admiration, had written this novel of which every 
 one was talking, that sensation would be hers! And 
 now as she sat in the pony-cart, she congratulated her 
 self warmly. 
 
 178
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The interest, the sensation were hers. 
 
 " There s some cows corain behind us, Madame," 
 the groom s voice recalled her to herself. Her ponies 
 disliked cows, and taking the reins she drove briskly up 
 the street away from them. 
 
 She had intended going around the shady way to see 
 Mary Yarrow, but the book beside her held too keen an 
 interest to be put aside. 
 
 In a few minutes she sat again in the yew arbor, 
 which had become a favorite lounging-place of hers, and 
 \vith a big silver paper-cutter slashed open the thick 
 ribbed pages of He and Hecuba. " Luncheon is served, 
 Madame." The butler stood in a jagged spot of sun 
 shine, holding back a low branch. 
 
 " I will come presently." She did not look up, and 
 turned the page as she spoke. 
 
 The cook, who had a temper, gave the scullery maid 
 a particularly bad quarter of an hour while the luncheon 
 shriveled and browned and no one came to eat it. An 
 hour passed ; the cook was alone, the scullery maid being 
 in the drying ground, accepting consolation from an 
 under-gardener ; the butler slept in his pantry. 
 
 Then Madame Perez rang, ordered a chop and a glass 
 of claret, and while she waited turned over again the 
 pages of the book she had just read. Her cheeks glowed, 
 her eyes were bright. 
 
 Hardy could play the saint, nurse measle patients, 
 burn himself up in village fires, and wear old clothes as 
 much as he liked. He could confess himself a sinner, 
 could treat other sinners with cold apartness as much as 
 
 179
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 he liked; he could, in a word, do everything he liked to 
 prove himself to be that which he was not. 
 
 She knew now what he was. She knew the possibili 
 ties that lay in him; she knew, as she put it, from his 
 had beens, " his could bes. She recalled him as he 
 was physically ; big, strongly built, dark, with the square 
 back to his head, the curly, grizzled hair, the deep-set 
 eyes the strength of his lean hands. She opened the 
 book at the one place where the teller of the story spoke 
 of himself. 
 
 I love you, the woman had said to him, because 
 you are big and strong and have blood in your veins." 
 That that had been said to King Hardy Madame Perez 
 knew with absolute certainty. And it threw a strange, 
 new light over the man s personality. It had been said 
 years before, but was essentially true even to-day; he 
 was still big and strong, that she had known. What she 
 had not known, though she now realized that she must 
 owe her interest in him to the fact of her unconsciously 
 feeling it, was that he had what she would call blood in 
 his veins. 
 
 That he had written such a book was astonishing 
 enough to interest any one ; that he should have written 
 it as he had, from a view-point so diametrically opposed 
 to the basis on which he had built his later life, was what 
 brought to her the tingling of impatience to see him, to 
 " have it out with him." 
 
 The dramatic side of her had been in abeyance for 
 months; the quiet life among the people she liked, and 
 
 180
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 who were so kind to her, had brought to the surface most 
 of the good in her nature, leaving the bad passive. 
 
 She was not an actively, wilfully bad woman; in 
 deed, there are in the world comparatively few such ; she 
 belonged to the great class of women who are passively 
 unprincipled in small things while they believe them 
 selves, and are, for a time, careful in great things. 
 "When the crisis comes to such a woman it finds her, of 
 course, unprepared for resistance, and usually sweeps 
 her away into depths never contemplated by her. 
 
 Rosalba Perez had never traded on her beauty as an 
 attraction to men ; used from very early girlhood to sud 
 den prostrate adorations, they had, in losing their novel 
 ty, lost all charm. 
 
 The average man had no interest for her, though she 
 was capable of strong likings, as in Lord Yarrow s case. 
 Often she had liked a man, admired and respected him, 
 to be interrupted in her friendship by an abrupt dec 
 laration of love or unmistakable signs of the coming of 
 such a declaration, that destroyed instantly the slightest 
 interest in the unlucky creature who had proved too 
 weak to withstand her beauty. 
 
 Rich, she had traveled, amused herself after the 
 fashion, and taken, as a rule, each day as it came, with a 
 sort of stolid serenity. Since her separation from her 
 husband she had never met a man who caused her to 
 wish herself free, and at last, giving up the " compan 
 ions " she had long taken around with her, she had de 
 termined to live the rest of her life in peace and allow 
 
 1S1
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 herself to be bored no longer with those most uninterest 
 ing specimens of humanity who are, as a rule, the only 
 ones who are inspired to offer themselves as company to 
 young women in her position. 
 
 She had known King Hardy for months, seen him 
 often, and never seriously thought of him as a possible 
 distraction until she read that book, showing him in a 
 light so strongly at variance with the exterior he showed 
 the world. 
 
 But now, as she studied isolated bits of the story, and 
 flushed with the sincerity of it, the desire, inevitable in 
 a woman of her stamp, to get behind the mask and see 
 the real man, took possession of her. 
 
 She had no plan for making him fall in love with 
 her; her idea was to interest herself; to use the unex 
 pected medium of entertainment to its fullest extent. 
 A few minutes after she had finished her luncheon, a 
 groom was riding up the hill with a note for Hardy. 
 
 182
 
 MRS. HARDY was in the garden, kneeling on the grass, 
 and prodding about the roots of a young climbing-rose 
 with a pointed stick. She had no talent for gardening, 
 and often, in her ignorant zeal, injured the plants she 
 wished to help. Katie, who had " the lucky hand," as 
 she herself called it, could stuff seeds into the ground 
 with her thumb, sprinkle earth over them, and in the 
 shortest possible time up the shoots would come, strong 
 and flourishing. Mrs. Hardy recognized the difference 
 between the result of her labor and that of the girl, with 
 plaintive wonder, and now that she had a few extra 
 shillings to spend in beautifying the shabby little gar 
 den, she had planned a radical change in its appearance, 
 and with the help of a book on gardening that took for 
 granted a practically unlimited expenditure, had begun 
 the day before on her campaign. Algy was helping her 
 and a man from the Point had been busy all the morn 
 ing wheeling away barrows of earth and turf, for sev 
 eral new flower-beds were in the plan. 
 
 It was a warm day in late June, the sun shone 
 brightly on the dark, upturned earth and flower-speckled 
 length of grass, drawing a strong hot scent from the 
 straggling gilly-flowers that were the only floral relics 
 of former years. 
 
 183
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Algy, in his shirt-sleeves, was resting, seated on the 
 low wall, fanning himself with his hat ; the Pointer was 
 gone for the minute. 
 
 Mrs. Hardy dug energetically at the lumpy earth, 
 her thin figure in its dark print gown bent almost to the 
 ground, her thin hair hanging in wisps, curly at the 
 ends, about her reddened face. 
 
 It looks to me, mother, the boy began at length, 
 glancing at the great plots of bare earth around him, 
 "as if we have bit off rather more than we can 
 chaw. " 
 
 Oh, Algy, what a horrid expression ! 
 
 " American. I heard Tench use it to father. I 
 mean that, after all, the end of June is late to be plant 
 ing flowers. And then we ve made such a lot of beds. 
 Those seeds won t begin to fill em up ! 
 
 His mother turned, tears of nervous vexation in her 
 eyes. " Do you think so? The book said to do it that 
 way, and your father said I might try. The effect of 
 the solid masses of color is so good at Liscom House. 
 
 He laughed. " Oh, Liscom House. Those things 
 weren t set out as seeds! They were half grown in the 
 green-house first. There are four gardeners there, 
 too." 
 
 " If you are tired, dear," she began, but he jumped 
 down from the wall and took up his spade with energy. 
 " I m, not tired, only it s hot. You look tired, though. 
 Let s stop when that one bed is cut straight. We can t 
 plant things in this heat, anyhow." 
 
 Mrs. Hardy rose. * I know. Well dear me, I am 
 184
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 stiff. Of course those plants at Liscom aren t seedlings. 
 And of course ours won t be like them, only it would 
 be so nice to have the garden a little pretty, wouldn t 
 it? " 
 
 The boy nodded. I wish our yew could be clipped. 
 That arbor where she reads is stunning." 
 
 " Where who reads? " asked his mother, absently 
 looking at a man riding up the hill. 
 
 " Madame Perez. The tree is bent over, the boughs, 
 and clipped into a little house. She has a chair in it, 
 and there s a table on one of the branches. It s a rip 
 ping place." 
 
 " He s coming here, Algy run to the path it s a 
 note," she interrupted, pulling down her sleeves in 
 stinctively. The boy came running up the path, carry 
 ing the note gingerly in his earthy hands. 
 
 " It s for father, from her. Speaking of angels, 
 eh? Shall I take it in? The man is waiting for an 
 answer. 
 
 Mrs. Hardy took it, and instead of entering the house 
 went to the window on the right of the door, and pushed 
 it open. " King! " she called. 
 
 Hardy came to the window, a pipe in his mouth. 
 " What is it? " 
 
 She gave him the note. " From Madame Perez; the 
 groom is waiting. What pretty paper, King! " He 
 tore it open and read it hastily. 
 
 " What does she say? " 
 
 " I must send an answer," he returned, withdrawing 
 into the room. As he did so his sleeve caught in the cur- 
 
 185
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 tain, the note fell from his hand, and after fluttering 
 for a minute over the window sill, dropped to her feet. 
 
 Stooping, she picked it up. " What a dear little 
 monogram ! Gray paper is very smart now. I read it in 
 the Queen only yesterday. 
 
 Give it me, he said, holding out his hand. 
 
 " Mayn t I read it? It s such a curious hand " 
 
 " Give it me, Abby, " he repeated in a repressed 
 voice that caused her to look up from her inspection of 
 the stationery. He was frowning fiercely, his invisible 
 mouth, she knew by the lines near it, tightly closed. 
 
 " Why, King," she faltered, obeying him instantly, 
 " I didn t mean to annoy you." 
 
 Tearing the letter across he crumpled it up, and, 
 stuffing it in his pocket, came out into the sunlight. 
 
 11 Algy, tell the man I say very well. That will 
 do." 
 
 Then, as the boy left them, he went on quickly, tak 
 ing his wife s hand: " I beg your pardon, my dear, for 
 being so fierce." 
 
 " Oh, never mind. I really wasn t curious I mean 
 about what she wrote. Only the paper was so pretty, 
 and the writing so queer. I suppose you thought I was 
 ill-bred? " 
 
 No, he answered, truthfully, I didn t want you 
 to read the note, that was all. 
 
 u I know, I know. I have never been curious about 
 your private business, have I? Of course, a clergyman 
 has parish business and confidences made him. 
 
 He watched her and saw that, though she spoke 
 186
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 bravely, a little demon of suspicion had sprung from the 
 incident. The demon, he knew, could be consigned to 
 everlasting oblivion by a word from him now. At length 
 he spoke. " This has nothing to do with parish work, 
 Abby, and nothing to do with a confidence made in 
 me. It was merely a note asking me to come and see 
 her this afternoon." 
 
 The demon grew to full proportion as he spoke; she 
 was over-tired and warm; her garden projects seemed 
 suddenly utterly impracticable; tears came to her eyes. 
 
 " Are you going to the yew-arbor? " she asked hope 
 lessly. 
 
 He started. " The yew-arbor? What on earth do 
 you know about the yew-arbor? " he asked, in surprise. 
 
 " Algy told me. It must be lovely there; so cool. 
 And I am so tired and hot and old." 
 
 The last word was almost a break-down, and filled 
 him with compunction for his unnecessary frankness. 
 For after all his frankness had been merely nominal. 
 He had no reason for concealing from his wife his proj 
 ect of drinking a cup of tea with Madame Perez; and 
 his reason for destroying the note was that in it she had 
 made a reference to the book, and he could not tell Abby 
 that he purposed, however much against his will, talk 
 ing the book over with the woman who, with her, had 
 heard the Bishop s condemnation of it. 
 
 But it was impossible to explain without lying, and 
 though he was letting her suffer the pangs of a perfectly 
 unnecessary jealousy, his conscience, while it allowed 
 him the falsehood, kept him dumb on the subject. 
 13 187
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Poor girl, you are done up," he said, gently, put 
 ting his arm about her thin shoulders, and leading her 
 into the house. " You must lie down for a while, and 
 I ll have Katie make you a cup of tea. Shall II " 
 
 " Oh, King! Come and sit with me, will you? I 
 I don t feel well." Her implicit faith in him could 
 not be shaken by such a trifle, but she was profoundly 
 troubled and too awkward to do any of the innocent 
 pumping another woman might have resorted to. She 
 put on a dressing-gown and lay down on the bed, while 
 he, still stung by a remorse which the poor soul recog 
 nized, and naturally attributed to a false source, sat by 
 her and told her all the little scraps of news that he 
 could recall. 
 
 The Tenches had a new stair carpet ; red. Molly Kit- 
 terick s baby had an inflammation of the eyes that 
 threatened blindness; the Cricket Club Tea was to be 
 the following Tuesday; Lord Yarrow was very weak 
 they could only hope that he would live to see his 
 baby. 
 
 At length, when he rose, she gathered her courage 
 together and said: " Remember me to Madame Perez, 
 King, and tell her not to forget her promise to come to 
 tea some time." It was a great effort and he appre 
 ciated it. 
 
 " I 11 tell her, dear. I m sorry I can t explain about 
 the note, but I can t." He kissed her kindly and went 
 his way to the yew-arbor, as she had guessed. 
 
 He had not yet read his book; a pile of letters and 
 papers having awaited him on his return home, and a 
 
 188
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 half-finished sermon for the next day claiming the rest 
 of his time, rather to his satisfaction, for he did not 
 care to analyze his reluctancy to read what he had 
 written. 
 
 When he drew back the bough that served as door 
 to the arbor, and entered its cool gloom, Madame Perez 
 looked up and held out her left hand to him. 
 
 " How do you do, Herbert Branscombe," she said, 
 lazily. 
 
 Then you do know. He let the branch fall to its 
 place, shutting him in with this woman who knew his se 
 cret, in whose hands lay his honor before the world, 
 and whom he began to fear. 
 
 " Yes, I know. And I wonder if you know what a 
 wonderful man you are? " 
 
 11 II A wonderful man? No. I certainly do not 
 know that." He sat down on the one vacant chair and 
 dropped his hat to the ground. 
 
 But that is what you are. You have not only lived 
 a tragedy, but you have known how to make other 
 people, in reading your book, live it, too ! 
 
 He did not answer. The feeling of helplessness, of 
 being in a prison with one who was going to be his tor 
 turer, grew stronger. The smell of the pines by which 
 they were surrounded was heavy in the late afternoon 
 sun ; a bird outside sang discordantly ; the burring noise 
 of a lawn-mower reached his ears. 
 
 Madame Perez sat leaning back, her half-bare arms 
 resting on the arms of the chair shining white in the 
 strange light, her hands quietly clasped under her chin. 
 
 189
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " It is too bad," she went on, slowly, after a pause, 
 " that you published anonymously." 
 
 I could do nothing else, he returned, stiffly. 
 
 She laughed. " Oh, yes. The book, as a book, is 
 great enough to bear abuse. They will soon forget the 
 parts they disapprove, and remember only the great 
 ness of it. You, even as a priest, could have lived it 
 down. 
 
 " It is not a great book. And it seems to be one that 
 no clergyman had a right to publish 
 
 She caught the peculiarity of his phrasing. " It 
 seems to be. What do you mean? You ought to have 
 your own opinion about it." 
 
 " You have no right to catechize me, Madame Mrs. 
 Woodvil, but as long as you have guessed, I will tell you, 
 before we close the subject for good, that I have no opin 
 ion about the book s harmfulness, because I have for 
 gotten it." 
 
 " Forgotten it! " Her hands dropped, and she half 
 rose in her surprise. 
 
 " Yes. I of course I remember the story, but I 
 have forgotten how I told it, and that seems to be its 
 chief cause of complaint. When I finished it that 
 night after the dinner at the Yarrows, I was not in a 
 condition to know quite what I wrote I mean, he cor 
 rected himself, " I was drunk. Then " 
 
 " Then? " she repeated, breathlessly. 
 
 " Then, I have not tried to recall it. It is too 
 painful to me." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 190
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 After a pause, he said, slowly. You have read it ; 
 what do you think of it? " 
 
 " I told you. It is wonderful." 
 
 " Yes, but the Bishop was very severe. Is it as 
 bad as that? " His eyes were fixed eagerly on hers; he 
 had gripped his hands tight about his knee ; she saw the 
 knuckles whiten. 
 
 " Of course my point of view is not the same as the 
 Bishop s," she answered, " and what value can my 
 opinion have for you? " Her voice changed to one of 
 bitterness as she spoke. " You have not spared me, Mr. 
 Hardy; you have showed me plainly what you think of 
 me why should you care what I think of you ? 
 
 " I didn t ask you what you think of me. I asked 
 you what you think of my book." 
 
 " And your book is you or rather Branscombe is 
 and you are Branscombe." 
 
 His brows drew together as if in sudden pain. 
 
 " I trust to God that I am no longer Brans 
 combe. 
 
 " But you are. That is just it. You can t help it. 
 You can bury starve Branscombe do what you will ; 
 he is there, living, and you can t kill him. And why, 
 in Heaven s name, should you try ? He was a man with 
 blood in his veins he loved, he felt! " Her slight 
 accent grew stronger in her excitement. 
 
 " And I? Do I not live, do I not feel? Ah; yes, I 
 feel, whatever you may say." 
 
 " Feel, yes. Pain, hunger, sleep what have you 
 felt beyond these physical sentiments for years? Have 
 
 191
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 you ever felt the the joy, the rapture that was his 
 yours that morning in the olive grove, for instance? " 
 
 Hardy rose. " All this is quite useless," he said, 
 quietly. " You have discovered my secret, and will be 
 tray it or keep it as you choose. I do not wish to discuss 
 my past life with you or with any one so I will go. 
 Good-by." 
 
 Before she could answer he was gone. He was gone, 
 but he was still there ! That was the advantage she had 
 over him. He was there in the red book. 
 
 192
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 LORD YARROW lay in bed, facing the windows, which 
 were open, and framed the glories of a midsummer sun 
 set. 
 
 Across the bars of crimson and gold that melted 
 softly into purple as he watched, birds flew, black as 
 ink; a larch off to the left, still hung with rain drops, 
 glittered and gleamed, each separate leaf edged with 
 fire. 
 
 " Dear old place." 
 
 Lady Yarrow, sitting in a big chair by the bed, 
 started up as her husband spoke. " What is it, dear? " 
 
 " Nothing. But I do love the old place, Mary. It 
 was kind of you to come here to live. Most women 
 would have insisted on Yarrow." 
 
 " I liked this better, Borrow," she answered, sim 
 ply, and I love it better every day. 
 
 " Shall you stay on? " he asked, after a pause, dur 
 ing which the light faded from the larch, leaving it a 
 darkening mass against the paling sky. 
 
 " Yes, dear," she returned. She knew what he 
 meant, and that nothing troubled him more than an 
 emotional acceptance of such remarks. 
 
 193
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " But, if it s a boy, when he s of age, he will want 
 to live there. It will be perfectly natural, for, of course, 
 it s a much more splendid place than this. 
 
 Turning, she laid her hand on his and smiled at him. 
 " Then he may go, and I will stay here; and if he 
 should be a she? " 
 
 " For your sake I could almost wish it a daughter 
 means so much more to a woman but the old race must 
 continue, Mary. I am almost sure it will be a boy, and 
 the feeling makes me so happy. By the way, is the 
 jessamine all right? " 
 
 " The jessamine! what makes you think of that? " 
 
 " Oh it came into my head. I like the old thing, 
 you know. Have you noticed it of late? " 
 
 She shook her head. " No, I ve not been in the 
 walled garden for ever since you have been in bed. 
 
 " And that is ten days? " 
 
 " A fortnight to-day, dear." 
 
 The glory had faded from the windows ; the sky, still 
 pale rose color, was melting into gray; the birds had 
 disappeared. The scent of roses came up to them from 
 the garden, the sound of a woman s voice singing in the 
 distance. 
 
 " What day is this? " Yarrow asked at length, clos 
 ing his hand gently around his wife s. " I mean the 
 date." 
 
 " It is the 14th of August." 
 
 So, the glorious twelfth is over ! I have something 
 to tell you, Mary." 
 
 " Yes? I wonder what it can be." 
 194
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " I had Jarvis telegraph to Woodvil to come down 
 some day this week." 
 
 Is he still in England? I thought he said he was 
 going to India." 
 
 lie did. I asked him to put off going for a little 
 while." 
 
 Again understanding, she said nothing. 
 
 " You needn t see him, of course, if you don t care 
 to. But he is my oldest and dearest friend. You un 
 derstand." 
 
 " Yes. Whatever you do is right. Whatever you 
 have done all your life has been right. I don t believe 
 any woman who ever lived has been so proud of her hus 
 band as I am of mine. The voice was very steady, per 
 haps a little too steady. 
 
 My dear girl ! What I want you to remember, 
 when the time comes, and you are sorrowing for me, is 
 that you have made me perfectly happy. That every 
 minute since you married me I have thanked God for 
 letting you do so. We have never talked much about it, 
 but you know that I always understood, and you mustn t 
 forget that my greatest wish as a dying man, is that you 
 may be happy." 
 
 She could not speak now, and bent her head in si 
 lence over his hand, remaining thus awhile in the solemn 
 silence of the evening and the room so soon to be a 
 death chamber. At length he moved his hand gently, 
 and she leaned back in her chair. 
 
 " I wish you would go and walk a little now, dear," 
 he said, gently. It will do you good. Go into the dear 
 
 195
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 little walled garden and bring me a bit of jessa 
 mine." 
 
 11 I never go there now," she protested, rising. " I 
 always go to the terrace. 
 
 " But if I ask you? And I want the bit of jessa 
 mine." 
 
 She left the room slowly, and until she came back, he 
 lay wondering half feverishly about the jessamine. He 
 was not a superstitious man, but a faint belief in this 
 particular superstition was in his blood, and now as he 
 lay in the dusk, watching the darkness come in at the 
 windows, he longed for her return with an almost sick 
 ening eagerness. 
 
 The two angels were drawing so near, he thought. It 
 was a race between them; his imagination almost saw 
 them soaring towards the house across the pale sky, the 
 black and the white wings outspread. If only the white 
 wings proved the better! If only the white angel 
 reached the goal first ! 
 
 He could welcome the other then with serenity. His 
 man came in and went to the windows to close them. 
 Wait a little, Jarvis. Give me ten minutes. Before 
 the ten minutes were over Mary had come in. 
 
 It is such a beautiful evening, she said, but the 
 windows must be shut now, it is growing cooler." She 
 rang as she spoke. 
 
 Mary you were there in the walled garden ? 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 " Did you bring me ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 196
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Is the the whole plant healthy? No dead 
 branches? " 
 
 " No," she answered, faintly surprised, " it is cov 
 ered with flowers." 
 
 She put into his hand a little damp spray, the scent 
 of which reached him at once. 
 
 In his weakness he could barely restrain the " thank 
 God " that would have seemed so disproportionate to 
 her. 
 
 The days passed slowly, each one taking with it a lit 
 tle of his strength, bringing with it a clearer vision of 
 the two angels. 
 
 They seemed to him to be winging their steady way 
 from afar, and that his eyes only were clear enough to 
 see them. 
 
 His bedroom was in a wing, and by shoving his bed 
 a little out of its place early in the morning, his nurses 
 gave him the happiness of seeing the sun rise every day. 
 
 And in the morning, in the glow so different from 
 that of the evening, the two angels were as visible as 
 they were when the sun had gone down. They grew 
 more distinct as time passed. He even saw them during 
 the day, and he never mentioned them to any one, partly 
 because he perfectly recognized that they were a hallu 
 cination ; partly because they were very sacred to him. 
 
 About a week after the picking of the jessamine, 
 Woodvil came. It was evening when he arrived, and 
 when he entered the room Yarrow did not at first notice 
 him. 
 
 The sick man lay with his eyes fixed to the sky, which 
 197
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 was brilliant but massed with purple clouds which pre 
 saged a storm. 
 
 Woodvil stood quite still, watching the face of his 
 friend, and drawing deep breaths to steady the voice he 
 knew would shake when he spoke. 
 
 At length, however, as Yarrow did not move, the 
 man in the door was taken with a little shiver of terror, 
 and, hoarsely, he spoke the other s name. 
 
 Woodvil ! Dear old boy ! Do you see, the white 
 one is ahead! " 
 
 Then, quietly, he explained, as he could not have 
 done a week ago, what he meant. 
 
 The two men sat talking in low voices for a long 
 time. Jarvis closed the windows, lighted one lamp, and 
 left them alone. They talked of their boyhood, the 
 greater part of which had been passed together; of the 
 old school in Paris, the holidays at Yarrow and at 
 Brighton, where the then Lord Yarrow had a house. 
 
 " Do you remember how your mother danced for us 
 once ? And how lovely her foot was in the pink shoes ? 
 
 Woodvil nodded. Don t I ? Do you remember the 
 boat your father gave us, that we named the Laura for 
 that little red-haired imp of Farrar s? " 
 
 On and on they talked, laughing at times, at times 
 pausing. At length the sick man, after a longer pause 
 than usual, began with a new note in his voice: 
 " Jacques, there is something I must say to you." 
 
 " Then why don t you? " 
 
 " Because it is going to be hard for me to say, and 
 harder for you to listen to. But I must say it, so here 
 goes. Why don t you divorce that woman? " 
 
 198
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Woodvil started. " I am a Catholic, George." 
 
 " I know. But there is one ground on which your 
 Church recognizes divorce. 
 
 Yes. Well, I 11 tell you. When it happened, she 
 was only eighteen, and I had misunderstood her and 
 treated her in the wrong way it was my own fault, 
 more than hers. No one knew about it; there was no 
 particular scandal; every one had known that we didn t 
 get on well together, and we had been in the country 
 no one had suspected anything else. The man was her 
 cousin and had always been about the house. She went 
 back to her people, and I to Patagonia, as you remem 
 ber. Afterwards she had taken her father s name 
 again and was living at home there was no use in mak 
 ing a row. Unless I had made a public scandal I could 
 not have got a decree, so I let it drop. 
 
 But in case you had wished to marry ? 
 
 The other man was silent for a few minutes, his mo 
 bile, fine-cut face a little white in the faint light. 
 
 " After I had let it drop for so long, I had no right, 
 for ends of my own, to retract the pardon I had given 
 her." 
 
 " I think," said Yarrow, very distinctly, as he fin 
 ished, " that you have been wrong all along. You have 
 a right to your own life you ought to do it now, and be 
 a free man to begin again." 
 
 " Borrowdaile! " 
 
 " Yes, Jacques, I know, but you must let me speak, 
 old boy. You love her still, you know you do." 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it." 
 199
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 But it has. I am dying. She has been an angel to 
 me; she will mourn me very sincerely; but Jacques 
 must I say it ? She loves you. 
 
 Woodvil groaned. " No, no, don t! Yarrow you 
 mustn t. 
 
 " I must. In a way you are right. It will be hard 
 on her, on the poor little Spaniard but it is a case of 
 the survival of the fittest. I must fight for my own. 
 Some day you must tell Mary all this. "Woodvil was 
 silent. 
 
 Yarrow had always been unlike other men, but this 
 was almost impossible to meet. 
 
 Woodvil had just arranged a meaningless phrase to 
 say when the door opened and Lady Yarrow appeared 
 in a dressing-gown. " I have come to say good-night, 
 dear." 
 
 Yarrow roused himself. " The white angel," he 
 murmured, and then, with an effort of will, took in the 
 situation. " Mary, dear Woodvil is here." 
 
 " Ah." Without shyness she came in, her flowing 
 gown brushing over the carpet, and held out her hand. 
 " It is kind of you to come. Then she went to the bed, 
 kissed her husband, and left the room. 
 
 When the sun rises, Yarrow went on, as the door 
 closed, " I ll have them call you, and I ll show you the 
 angels. 
 
 200
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 " WHATEVER you may say, Charles," observed Mrs. 
 Dudley, turning the cock of the coffee-urn with a little 
 jerk, " I consider it really indecent of her." 
 
 The Rector laughed. " Poor Mary! First you find 
 her skirts indecent, and now her conduct. 
 
 " And you, of course, think that everything she does 
 is right." 
 
 " Everything! That would be going pretty far, 
 wouldn t it? No, I shouldn t say that, but I like her 
 skirts I like the way they bulge out about her feet 
 and in this particular case I don t see how she is to be 
 blamed! " 
 
 The sun shone in at the open windows, glancing on 
 the old silver and the delicate china that the Rector 
 loved, drawing flashes of light from the gilded frames 
 of the portraits on the green and white striped walls, 
 and sweetness from the window boxes of heliotrope. 
 The Rector, whose chair was near one of the windows, 
 reached out his thin, old hand and broke off a little tuft 
 of the purple sweetness as he spoke. He was very fond 
 of heliotrope, and had a way of wearing a bit in his but 
 tonhole, which his wife condemned as unsuitable. 
 
 Mrs. Dudley watched him for a minute as he sniffed 
 at his flower, and then remarked, " I have frequently 
 
 201
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 told you, Charles, that it is dangerous to smell flowers 
 in that way. There are often insects on them, and they 
 sometimes go up the nose. A cousin of my mother s suf 
 fered greatly once from having a little beast up her nose. 
 It laid eggs in the mucous membrane, and was very tire 
 some, indeed." 
 
 The Rector knew the story, and laid his heliotrope 
 on the table. 
 
 I d like some coffee, Rebecca, he said, shoving his 
 cup towards her. 
 
 He always drank two cups, and never without a pro 
 test on her part. 
 
 He awaited the protest, and it came. " Coffee is so 
 bad for the nerves, Charles, and you are nearly seventy. 
 I read yesterday an account of a new kind of malt coffee 
 that they say is not only excellent for the health, but 
 also very delicious." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, my dear, but I think I ll 
 continue to take my malt in my beer," he interrupted, 
 hastily. " Ah, what is that some one galloping." 
 
 A groom drew up outside the windows. 
 
 " Good morning, sir. If you please, Mr. Dudley, I 
 was to tell you that it s a boy, and Her Ladyship is do 
 ing well." 
 
 "A boy! Thank God! Go to the kitchen, Roger, 
 and tell them to give you some beer. Rebecca, it s a 
 boy, bless its heart!" 
 
 Mrs. Dudley poured the cream into his coffee with 
 a severe face. 
 
 And that man in the house ! 
 202
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " She could hardly have put it off, could she? " the 
 old man interrupted, frivolously. " No, no, no more 
 coffee, thanks. I must go and see George. Thank God 
 he has lived to see it." 
 
 He rose and going to his wife raised her red face 
 with his hand. " You are glad, Rebecca, you know you 
 are. Give me a kiss! " 
 
 " I am glad, of course. But at least get that man 
 out of the house, Charles, if you have to ask him to stop 
 here. It is unseemly." 
 
 The Rector dropped his chin and sighed. " Un 
 seemly for poor George to want to see his oldest friend 
 on his deathbed! I can not see it." 
 
 " Everybody knows that he was wildly in love with 
 her and she with him. No doubt they still are, and even 
 if they aren t 
 
 Mr. Dudley hurried out of the room. He considered 
 himself to be unduly sharp-tongued when roused, and 
 he was roused now. 
 
 Down the road he trotted, his hat under his arm, the 
 mottled shadows of the trees edging the dusty way 
 glancing on his soft white hair and pink bald spot. 
 Twice he stopped to speak to some one he met; once to 
 the doctor, who, tired after his sleepless night, was am 
 bling homeward on his old bay mare. 
 
 A boy, Tench, a boy ! the Rector cried, forget 
 ting that Tench knew all about it. 
 
 " A particularly fine boy, Mr. Dudley, with the Yar 
 row head and a voice like a I don t know what. He 
 roared so that we all laughed, even Her Ladyship." 
 14 203
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 And she? Is she all right? " 
 
 " Perfectly. It is a very sound nature. She ll be 
 about in no time." 
 
 " And Lord Yarrow? " 
 
 The little doctor hesitated and looked off across the 
 meadow to his right, on which several cows were grazing, 
 knee-deep in moist-looking clover. 
 
 His Lordship is very weak, you know. But never 
 in my life, Mr. Dudley, have I had such pleasure as I had 
 when I told him. He was lying watching the sun rise 
 we had not told him his wife was ill and when I came 
 in he did not seem to find anything strange in my being 
 there at that hour. It is a very beautiful face, Mr. Dud 
 ley, do you not think so? " 
 
 " I do, indeed, Tench; go on." 
 
 " His Lordship had, several times, in a sort of wan 
 dering he is subject to resultant from weakness said 
 something about angels. It seems that there are two an 
 gels I don t quite understand, but he has mentioned 
 them more than once in my hearing. I gave him a glass 
 of a tonic wine first, and then I told him. He smiled 
 at me, and then said something I didn t catch, but for 
 the word angel. After a bit, tears came to his eyes and 
 rolled down his cheeks I shall never forget it." 
 
 The Rector held out his hand. " Thanks for telling 
 me. I am going there now; I may see him for a few 
 minutes, I suppose? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly. Good-by, Mr. Dudley." 
 
 The two men parted, the good doctor leaning 
 limply over his horse s neck, the Eector almost dancing 
 
 204
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 down the sun-speckled road, his bowed legs and slight 
 frame nearly grotesque in their excessive thinness. As 
 he entered the village he met Hardy. 
 
 " Heard the news? " he cried, while the younger 
 man was still at some distance. 
 
 No. What is it 1 I have just come from the Point. 
 A man was killed there last night in a drunken quarrel. * 
 
 " Oh, dear me, dear me! " The Rector never heard 
 of a case of drunkenness without reproaching himself 
 his one glass of ale or beer per day, and feeling that he 
 ought to abandon it. 
 
 " Yes. What is your news? Something agreeable, 
 I should say." Hardy s dark, tired face softened as he 
 looked down into the old man s excited blue eyes. 
 
 Yarrow has a boy ! A boy ! 
 
 They stood talking for a few minutes, leaning against 
 the railing of the little bridge, under which the water, 
 worn to a mere thread by long heat and drought, held 
 its silent way. 
 
 " Yarrow s friend, Jacques Woodvil, is there," Mr. 
 Dudley went on. " Mrs. Dudley says I must dispose of 
 him in some way. He came last night, I believe." 
 
 Yes, I met him on his way from the station. Lord 
 Yarrow sent for him, he told me. He expected to go 
 back to London to-day or to-morrow. 
 
 " Ah! That will please Rebecca. Rebecca found his 
 being there queer." 
 
 Hardy nodded without speaking. He knew Rebecca. 
 A few minutes later Mr. Dudley was dancing up the 
 avenue at Borrowdaile House, singing to himself, as was 
 
 205
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 his way when very happy, a few bars from "Hear me, 
 Norma. 
 
 The house door was open, the butler standing near it, 
 talking to the housekeeper. After mutual congratula 
 tions Lord Yarrow s nurse was sent for, and consented 
 to Mr. Dudley s having a few minutes conversation with 
 her patient. 
 
 Yarrow lay very still among his pillows, a dreamy 
 smile on his lips. He was happy, but very tired. After 
 a time, the smile broadening, he asked : But where is 
 your hat, Uncle Charles? " 
 
 The Rector turned, looked on the table, on the floor, 
 in his chair. No hat was there. 
 
 He rang and Jarvis, after a search in the hall, pro 
 nounced that there, also, no hat was to be found. The 
 Rector rose, crestfallen. 
 
 " I must have left it somewhere." 
 
 " But where did you go before you came here? " 
 Yarrow s hollow eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Nowhere, George," faltered the old man. " I 
 came straight here; / must have dropped it on the 
 road! " 
 
 Yarrow held out his hand. " Rebecca will go for 
 you. 
 
 Mr. Dudley groaned. " I know she will. Well 
 good-by, my dear boy. I ll come back when I ve found 
 it, and see the Prince. May I? " 
 
 Of course you may. I warn you, though, he s very 
 plain, as the little girl said of the chimpanzee. Are all 
 small babies so frightful? " 
 
 206
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Mine was. And he had an awful way of choking 
 over his fists. 
 
 Shaking hands hastily with his nephew, he took his 
 leave, and retraced his steps homeward, searching for 
 the missing hat. 
 
 Luckily he found it at the edge of the dusty grass, 
 where he had stood talking to the doctor. Two minutes 
 later he met his wife, who, her skirt hitched well up out 
 of the dust, a large, sensible, ugly hat shading her face, 
 was on her way to the village. " Dear me, Charles," she 
 said, fixing him with her eye, " what have you been up 
 to? " 
 
 " Up to, my dear? Up to Borrowdaile House," he 
 returned with a little, nervous laugh. 
 
 " You look strange. Did you lose something? " 
 Then the Rector took courage. " I will not be scolded 
 to-day," he said, " on Borrowdaile s birthday. Another 
 word, my love, and I 11 kiss you on the highway ! 
 
 207
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 " HE and Hecuba " was locked away in a drawer in 
 Hardy s writing table. 
 
 After his talk with Madame Perez in the yew-arbor 
 he had put it there, and for weeks had had the courage 
 and the weakness to keep it there, in spite of the gnaw 
 ing curiosity that tormented him. He was afraid 
 to read it; afraid of ruining the comparative mental 
 calm that had been his since he had sent away the MS. ; 
 afraid of losing his great pleasure in spending the money 
 it was bringing him. 
 
 About a fortnight after his interview with her, Ma 
 dame Perez sent him a great package of criticisms of his 
 book that she had had collected by a clipping agent. It 
 came by the morning post, and Katie brought it to him 
 as he sat with his family at breakfast. 
 
 Feeling his wife s eyes on him, he flushed uneasily; 
 her vague suspicions were directed in an almost ludi 
 crously wrong direction, but they hurt her, he knew, and 
 he could not explain them away. 
 
 The very fact of her not asking what the package 
 contained annoyed him, so that when Algy, attracted by 
 the heap of greenish blue papers on each of which a 
 newspaper item was fastened, inquired about them, he 
 
 208
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 answered very gently: " Nothing of interest to you, 
 Algy; notices of a new book, that is all." 
 
 " All that about a book? " 
 
 " Yes. It is a book that Madame Perez is interested 
 in, and wants me to read." 
 
 " Dear me, King, what is it? Why doesn t she lend 
 it to us? " his wife asked, relief in her voice and face. 
 What is the name of it ? " 
 
 " Why doesn t she lend it to us? Katie, you may 
 burn those papers. I ve no time, Abby, to waste on 
 book notices. Will you give me another cup of coffee? " 
 
 MacDougall, whose manners had made great progress 
 of late, caused a lucky diversion just here by suddenly 
 reverting to his old way of eating porridge with the 
 handle of his spoon, and the subject of the package was 
 not again brought up. 
 
 After breakfast, Hardy, touched by something in his 
 wife s eyes, as she started upstairs, a child in each hand, 
 said to her: " By the way, Abby, I forgot to give Ma 
 dame Perez your message about coming to tea that day. 
 Why don t you write her a note and ask her to come to 
 morrow ? I 11 be at Sabley on the commission and out of 
 the way." 
 
 " Oh, King! Wouldn t you rather be here? " 
 
 He laughed. " No, dear, a man is only in the way 
 on such occasions." 
 
 " But I thought you liked her so much," she fal 
 tered. 
 
 " I wonder why you thought that? I admire her 
 she is undoubtedly very handsome in her way, and she 
 
 209
 
 is rather amusing, I suppose; but I can t say I exactly 
 like her. What little I have seen of her character I have 
 not particularly admired." 
 
 Abby Hardy s light eyes filled with tears, and she 
 sat down on the step, taking the smaller of the children 
 in her arms. 
 
 " King I have been so awfully silly will you for 
 give me? You remember that note that you wouldn t 
 let me see ? Well I was jealous about it. I thought you 
 admired her, and that she admired you. 
 
 He laughed again, with relief this time, at having 
 quieted her without lying. 
 
 " Oh, you goose. Do beautiful women as a rule ad-> 
 mire me? Or I them? I haven t laid eyes on Madame 
 Perez since that day. 
 
 " Oh, I am ashamed. It wasn t that I doubted you, 
 you know, only now that I can have nice clothes, King, 
 I realize so much more than before how old and plain I 
 have grown." 
 
 He laid his hand on her thin hair with genuine ten 
 derness. " My dear girl, we are growing old together, 
 you and I, and, believe me, I mind it no more in you 
 than I do in myself. You have been the best and most 
 uncomplaining wife in the world, bearing your share 
 and my hastiness like an angel. If you had the 
 smallpox to-morrow and became perfectly hideous, it 
 would make no difference to me. Nothing could change 
 my affection for you. 
 
 When he was alone in his study, the door closed, he 
 went to the window and stood looking out into the 
 garden. 210
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The plans recommended by the gardening book had 
 proved practicable only as to the cutting of the turf into 
 numerous new beds ; the seeds had not sufficed, and two 
 oblong beds which Hardy, seeing his wife s shame and 
 disappointment, had wished to complete by a new order 
 to the seed-man, were still bare of all growth. 
 
 " The fault was mine, King. I don t want you 
 to spend another penny. Please," she said, and he 
 yielded. 
 
 The long plots of bare earth, one on each side of the 
 garden path, looked like neglected graves, it occurred to 
 Hardy, as his eyes fell on them. The flowers in the 
 other beds, planted too late, were struggling feebly into 
 blossom ; only the honeysuckle on the wall and the row 
 of hollyhocks to his right were really worth considera 
 tion as garden ornaments. 
 
 " Poor Abby," he sighed. The memory of his first 
 sight of her rose before him. She had stood in the small 
 north country Rectory garden, surrounded by asters of 
 all colors, the sun beating down on her pretty head. She 
 had been very pretty in a simple way. 
 
 Well so had he been a handsome enough young fel 
 low in those days. Time spares no one; even Madame 
 Perez s rather flamboyant beauty would fade sooner or 
 later ; she would grow yellow and thin or more proba 
 bly fat and shapeless, as so many southern women do. 
 
 Abby, eager to show her contrition, had sent Algy 
 down to Liscom House with a note, and Madame Perez 
 had accepted the invitation to tea very graciously. 
 
 She had been delightful, Abby told him afterwards, 
 211
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 and wore the most beautiful silver gray batiste gown 
 encrusted all over with lace. 
 
 He himself, back from Sabley earlier than he had ex 
 pected to be, had gone to the Dudleys instead of com 
 ing home for tea. He had not wished to see Madame 
 Perez. Indeed, he wished that she would leave the place. 
 Her knowledge of his two-fold secret chafed him, and 
 the consciousness that she greatly enjoyed her hold on 
 him, and the suspicion that she would not, at a pinch, 
 hesitate to use it, made him angrily uneasy. But she did 
 not go; nearly a month had passed since he had seen 
 her, and she was still here. 
 
 The day after the birth of little Lord Borrowdaile, 
 Hardy, who had been to see Yarrow and inquire for 
 Lady Yarrow, came face to face with the woman whom 
 he felt to be his potential tormentor, as he made his way 
 down the shady avenue. 
 
 Bowing stiffly, he would have passed her, but she 
 stopped him. Mr. Hardy, she said, gently, are you 
 angry with me? " 
 
 He was too simple-minded to see that the change of 
 tone was merely a weapon that she was using against 
 him. " Angry! " he paused, and then answered delib 
 erately, Yes, I have been angry with you. 
 
 " Because of the book. Well will you forgive 
 me? " Her face was very serious, quiet with that cu 
 rious immobility that was one of its characteristics. 
 
 " Forgive you? Surely there is no question of for 
 giveness between you and me, Madame Perez. 
 
 She had been chafing for weeks over her inability to 
 212
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 manage him ; his persistence in avoiding her, her knowl 
 edge of his half disdain of her, adding a zest to her de 
 termination to get the better of him. 
 
 Moreover, the book had a strange fascination for her ; 
 she had reread it a half dozen times, seeking, and find 
 ing in the man whose story it told, a charm and interest 
 that roused all the worst of the womanhood in her. This 
 man, this Hubert Branscombe, was a man whom she 
 could understand, who could understand her; he was a 
 man who could love, and who could love her; he \vas a 
 man whose love would interest and amuse her, and 
 there he was a trifle older, but in all essentials the same 
 man, and instead of amusing her by loving her, he dis 
 liked and avoided her ! It was not to be borne. 
 
 As she stood with him in the quick-fading and re 
 turning sunlight, mottled by the restless movement of 
 the leaves, it came to her with a force that took her by 
 surprise, that he must love her. 
 
 He must say, in that deep, soft voice, often broken 
 with harsh notes that had been the first thing in him to 
 attract her, the words he had said to that other woman 
 in the book. No not the same, but other, stronger 
 words, for he had lived and suffered since then, and all 
 his powers had strengthened. He was a deeper-natured 
 and stronger Branscombe. 
 
 " Surely this is no question of forgiveness between 
 you and me? " The words rang in her ears while she 
 laid her plans, and, with a sigh, set them going. 
 
 " Is there not? I think there is. You disliked my 
 knowing that you wrote the book, and I teased you 
 
 213
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 about it. I had no right to, and I beg your pardon. 
 Moreover I promise never to tell what I learned by 
 chance. 
 
 An involuntary sigh of relief was his first answer, 
 and then, grateful, he thanked her. 
 
 " It was a curious chance that betrayed your secret 
 to me, mine to you," he went on, after a pause, " and 
 on the whole you have been kinder to me than I to you. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders gently. " Ah but you 
 consider mine unpardonable and, if I were God, I 
 should have forgiven yours at once." 
 
 He started. " If you were No. Believe me, I 
 condone my sin no more than I do yours. 
 
 His expression had hardened again. 
 
 " I know. You are remorseless. Some day I will 
 tell you why." 
 
 Why ? Why I am, as you say, remorseless 1 
 
 " Yes. I know, and you do not. Mr. Hardy, will 
 you not be friends with me? I am very lonely, and I 
 like you." 
 
 She spoke very simply, something almost childlike in 
 her voice, and in the curiously limpid brown eyes that 
 looked almost levelly into his. 
 
 He hesitated. " Friends, Madame Perez? You are 
 very kind, and I thank you, but I am very busy, and 
 besides, I have, I fear, no talent for friendship. Yar 
 row is my friend, and Mr. Dudley I never had a wom 
 an-friend in my life." 
 
 That is not surprising to me. You have not needed 
 one. You and your wife understand each other so well 
 
 214
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 that you have never needed any other woman. But I 
 confess my motive in asking you was selfish. You do not 
 need a woman-friend, but I I need a man-friend. 
 
 It was all very banal and absurd. She lowered her 
 eyes to hide an irrepressible glint she felt there, but 
 when she raised them, limpid as at first, she saw that 
 she had succeeded. Banality was the only way with 
 him. He did not like her, was not even attracted by her, 
 but an appeal to his help was a different matter. 
 
 If ever I can help you in any way, he said, still a 
 little stiffly, " I shall be very glad." 
 
 Holding out her hand she thanked him gently, and 
 went her way to the house. 
 
 How cold he was, how curiously simple, in spite of 
 the obvious subtleties of his nature! If she had been 
 Mrs. Burrage, the old one-eyed enemy of the Apostles, 
 he could not have met her advance with less enthusiasm. 
 
 He was a puzzle that she must unravel, for under, be 
 hind his sincere coldness, lay all those other qualities 
 that she hoped to get at. The very difficulties inspired 
 her with an enthusiasm that was delightful. There was 
 a possibility that she must consider, however, and as it 
 occurred to her she stood still for a moment, biting her 
 lip, and narrowing her eyes. He might have loved that 
 other woman with all the love that was in him ; he might 
 be she smiled as she found the word and dismissed the 
 possibility simultaneously a burnt-out crater ! 
 
 215
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THROUGH the long gray days Lord Yarrow lay listen 
 ing to the steady beat of rain on the windows, his room 
 darkened by occasional swoops downward of the wind- 
 tossed trees. 
 
 The fine weather that had held so long, was gone, 
 and in the resolute wet the trees took on something of 
 an autumnal air, though September had not yet come. 
 The flowers that the sick man brought in every 
 morning, and the best of which he made into nosegays 
 for his wife, grew faded, the veins in their soaked petals 
 more noticeable, as are the veins in a hand rendered 
 transparent by illness. One angel had come, and now 
 the man in the bed was quietly awaiting the other. 
 
 Sometimes they brought the baby and laid it beside 
 him; he never tired of looking at its little red face, and 
 the feeble grip of its fingers brought to him one of the 
 keenest pleasures he had ever known. It was a fine, 
 strong boy, Tench had told him, but it was a superfluous 
 bit of information. 
 
 He knew that the child would live ; he could see him 
 at successive stages of his life first learning to walk, 
 holding to his mother s black skirts then seated for the 
 first time on a horse then the face grew longer, and 
 
 216
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 smiled at him over the shiny whiteness of an Eton col 
 lar and so on. The Yarrows all went to Eton and then 
 to Christ Church. This one would do the same, he could 
 trust his wife not to interrupt the old order of things. 
 Later, possibly, politics, and, surely, a wife, and an 
 other little baby. 
 
 This was the inevitable end of the dying man s 
 dreams, and sometimes, as the little creature beside him 
 stirred, he looked at it not quite sure whether he were its 
 father or its grandfather. 
 
 Woodvil, who was stopping at the Rectory, came 
 every day, and the two men would talk together of 
 the future of the child, who was the godson of the 
 younger. 
 
 Yarrow never again referred to the subject which 
 had so distressed his friend. He had expressed his opin 
 ion and his wish, and that was enough. 
 
 Woodvil, on the other hand, had put the matter out 
 of his mind, as one which only the weakness of illness 
 had led his friend to mention. He was not a religious 
 man, and his life would have borne no such close in 
 spection as Yarrow s, but he had been born a Catholic, 
 and the idea of protesting against the laws of his church 
 had never occurred to him, even years before, when leav 
 ing Mary Carmichael had been like cutting at his heart. 
 Since then he had traveled, worked, and being blessed 
 with a healthy nature, both moral and physical, had not 
 been actively unhappy. 
 
 On coming back, the autumn before, and hearing her 
 sing, it had come to him with a pang that he had not f or- 
 
 217
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 gotten her as completely as he had hoped, so he had gone 
 away again, and only Yarrow s inevitably near death 
 had kept him in England. 
 
 Of the three men, Yarrow, Hardy, and himself, he 
 was the least intellectual and the simplest, and now 
 awaited the end, which would bring him, with much sor 
 row, much relief, with a certain unconscious philosophy 
 that smoothed for him a way that would have been un 
 bearable to many men. As soon as it was over he would 
 go away without seeing Lady Yarrow, and there was a 
 certain scheme for bridging a great river in India that 
 would prove sufficiently interesting to distract him from 
 unprofitable musing. 
 
 Mrs. Dudley watched the man she found so singular 
 with great interest. She was a good woman, and very 
 curious, and as the days passed, and the time when Lady 
 Yarrow might be expected to become visible again drew 
 near without making her a widow, Mrs. Dudley s emo 
 tion increased. Would Mary see him? Or wouldn t 
 she? Would he stay for the funeral, or would he, as 
 would undoubtedly be more delicate, leave the minute 
 his friend s eyes closed ? 
 
 The Rector, naturally the only person to whom she 
 could express her anxiety, laughed at her. 
 
 " Scuttle away without stopping to pack his things. 
 Oh, yes, nothing more likely, my dear! " 
 
 However, Rebecca Dudley was not used, she told her 
 self, to being understood by her husband. " Under 
 stood " means " agreed with " to so many women. 
 
 Personally, Woodvil was very agreeable to her; he 
 218
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 was not at all a troublesome guest, and, admirable qual 
 ities, he neither smoked nor came late to his meals. 
 
 Mr. Dudley, who was losing a good part of his life 
 with his nephew, spent hours at the bedside, often silent, 
 sometimes, lulled by the sick man s regular breathing 
 and the hush of the rain, sleeping in his chair. Yarrow 
 grew daily weaker, but his mind was at times curiously 
 clear. Once, waking from a half-sleep, he asked, 
 abruptly : 
 
 " Uncle Charles, why did you ever marry her? " 
 
 The old man started. 
 
 My dear boy ! What does it matter now ? She is 
 a very good woman." 
 
 " I know," Yarrow went on with a little laugh, 
 but why ? She never was pretty, was she ? : 
 
 " I ought to rebuke your frivolity, but well, I can t. 
 No, she wasn t pretty. To tell you the truth, it was a 
 a mistake." 
 
 " So I have always thought. But how? " 
 
 The Rector crossed his legs and, laying the tips of his 
 thin fingers together, gave himself up to the joy of nar 
 ration. He had never in his loyal life told a soul, but 
 Yarrow was dying, and it would be a certain relief to 
 explain. 
 
 " You see, I visited her father, Sir William Glynn, 
 when I was a curate. It was a delightful house; Sir 
 William the most genial, pleasant of men. Lucy was 
 like him." He paused reflectively. 
 
 And Rebecca took after her mother, finished Yar 
 row. " I I never heard of Lucy, Uncle Charles." 
 15 219
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The Rector chuckled. " Yes. Distinctly after her 
 mother. And oh, yes, there was Lucy. Lucy was 
 younger. That is, in effect, the whole story. I was very 
 young and rather awkward. I meant Lucy and and 
 they thought I meant Rebecca. 
 
 After all these years, a feeling of indignation rose up 
 in Yarrow at his gentle words. They thought he meant 
 Rebecca ! It was unnecessary for him to ask who thought 
 so. They was of course Rebecca herself ! 
 
 He laid his chill hand on his uncle s knee. Dearest 
 old man," he said. 
 
 The rain kept on, and at last the first of September 
 came. Lady Yarrow, wheeled into the room on a couch, 
 lay there all the day, the baby, when quiet, beside her. 
 After her first visit, when he was, of course, not ad 
 mitted, "VVoodvil came in the evenings, when she was not 
 there. 
 
 Once or twice Hardy had come, and her couch was 
 rolled into the next room. 
 
 Yarrow seemed to like seeing people; even some of 
 the old tenants and outdoor servants were brought to 
 him. He was very tired, and glad to go, but he liked 
 saying good-by. 
 
 At last, one day in September, the end came. It was 
 evening, the rain pelting down with a sudden access of 
 vigor, the wind blowing up strong from the sea. The 
 Rector and Woodvil were sitting with Yarrow, when, 
 without speaking, he fainted. 
 
 Mary, sent for hurriedly, came in leaning on the 
 nurse s arm, and without noticing the two men who lin- 
 
 220
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 gered, sat down and took her husband s head in her 
 arms. He came to in a few minutes to find himself thus 
 held. " Ah. It has come, Mary," he said, slowly. 
 Good-by, Jacques, dear old boy. Don t forget. Good- 
 by, Uncle Charles, you must stay downstairs." 
 
 They wrung his hand and left the room hastily and 
 hushed. 
 
 In the corridor they met the nurse, bringing the boy 
 downstairs to " say good-night to his papa." 
 
 Without a word, the old man took the little creature 
 and carried it back into the bedroom, the nurse follow 
 ing in surprise. 
 
 Woodvil found his hat and coat, and went out into 
 the wet, alone. After all, it is hard to be alone. He 
 walked slowly down the road, through Borrowdaile vil 
 lage to the Rectory, to find Mrs. Dudley awaiting him. 
 
 " Where is the Rector? " she asked, slowly, as he ap 
 peared alone. " It is nearly eight o clock." 
 
 " Yes I am sorry the Rector is staying on, Mrs. 
 Dudley. Yarrow is dying." 
 
 Mrs. Dudley gave a little inelastic spring of excite 
 ment. "Dear me! Poor fellow. Well I shall be sorry 
 to lose you, Mr. Woodvil, but Henry can put up your 
 things whenever you wish him to." 
 
 Woodvil, who somehow was feeling particularly lone 
 ly, as well as sad, smiled at her, his white teeth glinting 
 in the lamplight. 
 
 " Are you putting me out? " he asked. " Won t 
 you keep me till after the funeral? " 
 
 " Then you think you had better stay? " 
 221
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 He sank down in a low chair near the fire and leaned 
 his curly head on his hand. " Why shouldn t I stay? 
 He is or was my best friend, Mrs. Dudley." 
 
 Something in the utter dejection and forlornness of 
 his attitude and voice touched her. 
 
 After a pause, she said, gently for her: " I know; it 
 is a great loss to you; but we are his uncle and aunt, 
 you know, and Lady Sally is an old and close friend of 
 mine " 
 
 He looked up, with eyes that twinkled a little behind 
 the tears that stood in them. " Ah. You mean that 
 old story? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 And then Jacques Woodvil did what probably aston 
 ished Rebecca Dudley as much as it would have some 
 third person, for she realized fully that she was not one 
 of those women to whom confidences naturally come. 
 He told her, in a few words, his version of the week long 
 ago when he had met Mary Carmichael at the house of 
 old Lord Yarrow. " I couldn t marry, you see " he 
 finished, so that was the end of it. And it is five years 
 ago." 
 
 " It was very sad " 
 
 Woodvil rose. " Yes, it was sad, but there was no 
 help for it, and do you think it justifies your turning 
 me out now? " 
 
 It must, in justice to her, be said that Mrs. Dudley, 
 touched and somehow convinced, did not hesitate to fol 
 low the new lead of her opinion. 
 
 " No, I do not," she answered, promptly. " And 
 222
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 stay here with us until the funeral is over. Now let s go 
 to dinner." 
 
 Woodvil couldn t eat, and, still prompted by the cu 
 rious new softness that he had managed to find in her 
 hard-shelled nature, she sent him to his room, whither 
 a few minutes later he was followed by a servant with 
 whisky and soda on a tray. The workings of one per 
 sonality on another is a curious study, and it is safe to 
 say that had Woodvil been even the most charming and 
 touching of women, her treatment of him, middle-aged, 
 hard-featured, and sharp-tongued as she was, would 
 have been different. 
 
 223
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 ABBY HARDY was not a clever woman, and she cer 
 tainly was not a suspicious one. Her husband s avowal 
 to her of the nature of his sentiments for Madame Perez 
 had effectually quieted what she in her sudden, piteous 
 consciousness of her own unattractive middle age had 
 felt on first seeing him in a measure, as it seemed to her, 
 intimate with the beautiful mistress of Liscom Place. 
 
 That Hardy could ever be in the slightest degree un 
 faithful to her and to his duty had not occurred to her ; 
 she had little imagination and she had the habit of years 
 to fall back on. But that evening at the dinner, while 
 the talk about the book was going on, she had caught the 
 gaze of Madame Perez fixed on Hardy with a curious 
 intensity that had first interested, then startled his wife. 
 
 Madame Perez was much younger than she, and until 
 that moment it had never occurred to Abby that in 
 growing old, she was leaving her husband still hovering 
 on the boundary of youth. 
 
 Now, her eyes, following those of Madame Perez, 
 seemed to see clearly that whereas she herself was a 
 faded middle-aged woman, on whom no man would ever 
 again look with more than a pitiful kindness, her hus 
 band was still, comparatively speaking, a young man, 
 
 224
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 and undoubtedly a striking-looking, if not a handsome 
 one. 
 
 Something like a flash of intuition, too, showed her 
 that his stern face could have an attraction for the glow 
 ing, beautiful Southern woman who was watching him 
 so closely. 
 
 And the worst of it was that, to her, Madame Perez 
 seemed absolutely irresistible. 
 
 In the long years she had been Hardy s wife, she 
 had, all unconsciously, while admiring him with her 
 whole heart, learned to feel, rather than see, some of 
 his weaknesses, and she realized that while his strong 
 will and his iron sense of duty would prevent his wrong 
 ing her by the slightest act, his emotionality, which 
 worked in a sort of strange independence, apart from 
 his will, could submit to the right kind of pressure, and 
 make him wretched. 
 
 And, the charm of Madame Perez s personality being 
 to herself the strongest Abby Hardy had ever encoun 
 tered, the poor woman gave a little physical shiver as 
 she caught the sudden gleam in the South American s 
 eyes as they rose from the table. 
 
 The impression faded during the evening, and was 
 almost entirely lost in the following days. 
 
 Then came the incident of the note, and for an hour 
 her misery had been heart-breakingly acute, for it 
 seemed to her that the worst had come to pass; that 
 Madame Perez had begun to use her siren wiles, and 
 that Hardy would inevitably fall at her feet. 
 
 Madame Perez, to do her justice, would, had it 
 225
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 occurred to her, have spared the other woman at this 
 stage. The great idea of seeking, in the elderly Hardy 
 of to-day, the passionate nature of the man in the book, 
 not yet having occurred to her, and there being not the 
 slightest question of any feeling between herself and 
 Hardy beyond her almost boyish love of teasing, she 
 would have shrunk from giving a pang to the poor 
 woman of whom her only feeling was one of careless 
 pity. 
 
 That the note, with its mention of the book, would 
 embarrass Hardy, she knew, and took a malicious pleas 
 ure in the thought, but Abby Hardy was of too little 
 significance to her to be even remembered. 
 
 Mrs. Hardy, when she had gone to her room that 
 day, looked in her glass, and with a burst of helpless 
 tears told herself that the end was a foregone conclusion. 
 What must come, must come, for she herself was weapon 
 less. 
 
 Then Hardy had brought her a cup of tea, and in his 
 gentle way, stroking her hot brow and hands, and uncon 
 sciously adopting a voice suited to a child who suffers 
 because he cannot understand, had gradually quieted 
 her. 
 
 She felt the sincerity in his voice, in his eyes, and let 
 herself be consoled. 
 
 Ashamed of herself, moreover, for her suspicions, 
 she had, as far as possible, mentally dropped the subject, 
 until the day when the bundle of newspaper cuttings 
 had again forced it on her. 
 
 The poor woman s misery over this insignificant 
 226
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 event was such that she felt, as she started up the stairs 
 with the children, that death was her only refuge. She 
 would pray to die. 
 
 In the buoyant relief of Hardy s frank words, in every 
 one of which the truth rang, her shame and remorse 
 were painfully keen, and her subsequent happiness the 
 greater. From that day to one shortly after Lord Yar 
 row s funeral, which had taken place in the next county, 
 at Yarrow, Mrs. Hardy had been very content and busy. 
 Algy was to go to school in a few weeks, and as there 
 were many children to be provided with winter clothes, 
 Miss Ibbetts, the Borrowdaile dressmaker, a cousin of 
 Katie s friend, the butcher, but, by reason of her occu 
 pation, a person almost painfully genteel, was already 
 installed upstairs, hard at work. 
 
 The chairs and tables of the little room were half- 
 buried in rolls and packages of stuff of different colors ; 
 an ironing-board stretched across the back of two kitchen 
 chairs; the portable sewing machine in one window; 
 the cutting board leaning against the wall ; these things 
 so delightfully significant of prosperity, hardly left 
 space for the two women, who, hard at work, talked to 
 gether spasmodically. 
 
 Miss Ibbetts, a thin woman of forty, with a rigidity 
 of carriage that poor Abby secretly admired, and a very 
 elaborate coiffure which changed conscientiously accord 
 ing to the exigencies of fashion, as announced in the 
 "Queen," took the last pin from her mouth, after a 
 longer pause than usual, and began, without moving her 
 upper lip: " Yes, I observed to her, as she was so ob- 
 
 227
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 stinate: Well, Mrs. Penniwell, if the mountain won t 
 come to Hamilton, Hamilton will have to come to the 
 mountain. And I went." 
 
 Mrs. Hardy bit her lip. 
 
 " She is certainly a very determined woman. Will 
 that hem be deep enough? " 
 
 "Yes. I noticed the other day that passamentary 
 is coming in again. I sat behind that lady who has taken 
 Liscom Place Madame Perez in church. Her cloak 
 was one mass of it, and that cloak came from Paris, I ll 
 be bound. That is," she added, primly, " I fancy so." 
 
 Most of her clothes do, no doubt. She is very rich, 
 I believe. She gives Mr. Hardy a good deal of money 
 for the poor." 
 
 " Does she? I saw her yesterday going into Bur- 
 rage s with some packages." 
 
 " Burrage s? Dear me, I shouldn t have thought 
 she d care for visiting," ejaculated Mrs. Hardy, thread 
 ing her needle. 
 
 " Perhaps she only went in with Mr. Hardy. He 
 was with her, and I didn t observe her carriage. 
 
 There was a short silence, while matters readjusted 
 themselves in Mrs. Hardy s mind. King had not lied to 
 her; King did not admire Madame Perez, but Madame 
 Perez did admire King. 
 
 In spite of her utter inexperience, she realized that 
 visiting the poor, with a woman of Madame Perez s 
 stamp, could only be the means to an end. 
 
 And, King did not admire Madame Perez now, but 
 how long could such a state of affairs last? Abby had 
 
 228
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 read very little in her life, and during the last years 
 almost her only books had been certain thin, badly 
 printed, blue paper-bound ones that came to Miss Tench 
 in connection with a subscription to a perfectly harm 
 less, but highly absurd " story paper." Years ago, on 
 reading the first of these tales, Abby Hardy had laughed 
 at them, but gradually, in the absence of other reading 
 matter, had learned first to read them seriously, then 
 with interest, and finally with passion. And now, as 
 she stitched nervously at her seam, her full eyes low 
 ered, she felt as though one of the bad angels of the 
 books had come to life and applied herself to the se 
 duction of her, Abby s, hero. 
 
 " She is really ravishing," went on Miss Ibbetts, 
 suddenly, " so extremely distinguee." Abby could not 
 answer. 
 
 229
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 WHEN Hardy came in that evening, he was very 
 white ; the lines in his face looked deeper. 
 
 Mrs. Hardy, who, contrary to her habit, was down 
 stairs when he entered, watched him in silence as he took 
 off his wet coat and boots and put on a dressing-gown 
 a new one and slippers. 
 
 " Did you see Madame Perez this afternoon? " she 
 asked, when he had sunk into a chair. 
 
 " Madame Perez? No, why? " he returned, in 
 differently. 
 
 Her lips shook. " I wondered." 
 
 He had leaned back and closed his eyes. 
 
 For a few minutes she studied his weary face with a 
 keenness that she felt to be rather cruel, and then, 
 urged by the unbearableness of her position, burst out 
 
 " Oh King but you did yesterday!" 
 
 Opening his eyes he stared at her for a minute, and 
 then asked, impatiently : What did I do yesterday ? 
 
 " You saw her. You were with her." 
 
 " Saw whom? Oh, Madame Perez. For Heaven s 
 sake, Abby, don t bother me with that woman." 
 
 Without the year-long influence of poor Miss Tench s 
 blue books, his tone would have satisfied his wife, but 
 as it was, she only shook her head. 
 
 230
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 You were seen with her, she said, rather solemnly. 
 
 Controlling himself with an evident effort, he said, 
 gently, " No doubt. She took some things to some 
 poor people, and I went with her. Why shouldn t I? 
 Surely you don t mind? " 
 
 " But I do mind, King, I do. I can t help it. She 
 is so beautiful." She burst into tears as she spoke, and 
 hid her distorted face in her hands. 
 
 " Abby, Abby you are not jealous and at this 
 time of day ! Don t be absurd, my dear. What is Ma 
 dame Perez to me, or I to her? 
 
 " She is nothing to you yet, I know," she sobbed, 
 wildly, but you are to her, and, and I am so old ! 
 
 He rose, and going to her, laid his hand on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Listen to me," he said slowly. " I have told you 
 that I that Madame Perez s beauty is perfectly in 
 different to me, and that personally I d really rather 
 never see her again. I don t admire her character, and 
 if she is to get on your nerves this way, I shall hate her. 
 Surely you believe me. Stop crying, now, and be sen 
 sible. I am utterly upset to-night, and I need my wife." 
 
 " I do believe you, King, I do indeed. Only I am 
 afraid of her." 
 
 " Well, I am not," he returned, with a little laugh. 
 " Abby there is diphtheria in the village." 
 
 Springing up she faced him, her face red and 
 swollen, her eyes still wet. " Diphtheria! Oh, King, 
 who has it and is it very bad? " 
 
 " There are four cases the Smith children, two of 
 231
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 them, the youngest Bui-rage, and Mary Snape s baby. 
 I thought Nora Burrage looked very bad, yesterday, 
 and asked Tench to look in. Just now, I met him, and 
 he told me. Two of the cases are nearly a week old, and 
 not one of them had been declared. After all I have 
 said on the subject." 
 
 " Are any of them very bad? " she asked, feeling 
 vaguely for her pocket. 
 
 " Yes. The Snape baby is lost, Tench says, and he 
 can t be sure about little Nora. It is a terrible thing, 
 a disease like that in Carbury. The water supply is 
 shameful, and the people themselves, though they look 
 down on the Pointers, really quite as dirty as they 
 are." 
 
 " Will it be an epidemic, King? " 
 
 " God knows. Willy Snape is sickening, but he has 
 been inoculated the worst of it is that the serum is 
 so dear and so dangerous if not absolutely fresh. 
 Tench is wonderfully generous, but he s not a rich 
 man " 
 
 " I can help a little, King," she said, finally suc 
 ceeding in finding her pocket, and taking from it her 
 handkerchief and her shabby little purse. " I haven t 
 spent all my money for this month, and I can get on 
 without new gloves; one gets so used to luxuries." 
 
 Hardy took the handful of silver and looked at it 
 sadly. 
 
 !< My poor girl. Thank you, dear. I have some 
 thing, too, and Lady Yarrow and others will help." 
 
 Abby nodded. " I know. King, why don t you go 
 232
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 now, and ask them? I mean Lady Yarrow and Ma 
 dame Perez. It is early, and dinner can wait a little." 
 
 Hardy felt himself to be much more touched than 
 the occasion demanded. 
 
 After a pause he decided to do as she suggested. It 
 would show her that he had not taken her little outburst 
 as having any serious meaning, and it would give him in 
 his restlessness the satisfaction of doing, having done, 
 something definite. 
 
 Back down the hill he went through the soft rain, 
 his heart full of pain. 
 
 The people he lived among were dear to him, and 
 the thought of the danger they were to run, above all, 
 the danger in which their children would be, should the 
 diphtheria spread, was very dreadful to him. Lord 
 Yarrow had been in his grave only about ten days, but 
 no feelings of conventionality withheld Hardy from 
 going to the house and asking to see Lady Yarrow. 
 The butler s hesitation he hardly observed, and, buried 
 deep in thought, walked slowly up and down the draw 
 ing-room until the widow came in. 
 
 He started at the sight of her black gown, and then, 
 seeing that she carried her baby, his stern face relaxed. 
 
 " It is good of you to see me. And it is a good sign 
 for the success of my errand that you have brought 
 Yarrow with you." 
 
 Mary smiled sadly, and drew the covering from the 
 child s face. 
 
 " Yes. Yarrow came with me. Hush he is asleep." 
 
 Hardy had always admired her, in an absent way, 
 233
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 but it seemed to him to-night as though he stood in the 
 presence of some one beautiful and wonderful. The very 
 bend of her smooth head as she looked down at her baby 
 impressed him as something half sacred. 
 
 For a second he paused, innocently unconscious that 
 this sentiment, never felt by him in his wife s case, was 
 due to the mere human beauty of the woman before him, 
 and then, before he had broken the silence, she spoke. 
 I hear that there is diphtheria in your village. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I am so sorry, Mr. Hardy. When I was told, I 
 knew that you would come, so we are prepared. 
 
 Again with the little sad smile she pointed to a small 
 velvet bag that hung by a ribbon from the baby s neck, 
 resting on the pillow on which she carried him. 
 It is his first offer it will not be his last. 
 
 Slipping the ribbon from under the child s neck she 
 held the bag to Hardy. It was heavy. 
 
 I think, she went on, that every one who knew 
 my husband will miss him, but I don t want you to miss 
 him in that way. You must always come, not to me, 
 Mr. Hardy, but to our son, when you need money for 
 your people, and he will help you all he can. 
 
 Hardy thanked her confusedly, and a few minutes 
 later was once more outdoors, stumbling down the dark 
 avenue, the little bag, so heavy in proportion to its size, 
 bearing down one of his pockets. 
 
 As he splashed through the wet he laid his plans, 
 and by the time he was seated in the Red Room at Lis- 
 com House, they were in a state of rough completion. 
 
 234
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Madame Perez was dressing for a dinner when his name 
 was brought to her. 
 
 She hesitated for a minute when her maid had given 
 her the message. 
 
 11 What time is it? " 
 
 " Nearly seven, Madame. Shall I bring Madame s 
 white tea-gown? " 
 
 Madame Perez looked narrowly at herself in the 
 glass, and then, kicking off her bedroom slippers, sat 
 down. 
 
 " No. Tell Bowles to ask Mr. Hardy to wait a few 
 minutes. Then dress me." 
 
 The dinner was to be a large one, and the gown on 
 the bed was an elaborate white one, half covered with 
 Mechlin lace. 
 
 When at length it was hooked and laced to perfection 
 the maid fastened a chain of splendid diamonds about 
 her mistress s neck, and catching up her gloves, Madame 
 Perez went downstairs. 
 
 How do you do friend ? she said softly, coming 
 in behind Hardy, and laying her hand on his shoulder. 
 He started up, taken aback by her appearance, as she 
 had intended him to be. 
 
 " How beautiful you are," he stammered, with the 
 simplicity of a child. 
 
 " Am I? I am glad, if it gives you pleasure." 
 
 She stood near him, her hands, holding the long 
 
 gloves, clasped before her. Somehow the man, pale, 
 
 tired, with muddy boots and a wet coat, pleased her 
 
 more than ever. lie smiled, dreamily, looking at her for 
 
 16 235
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 a second, and then, with a little shake of the head, 
 laughed aloud at himself. 
 
 What an idiot you must think me ! Well I will 
 not detain you. I have come to beg, Madame Perez. 
 
 " To beg? " 
 
 His change of tone gave her a little shock. She re 
 called, involuntarily, the scene in the garden in his book 
 the scene in which he had, with the realization of his 
 forty-odd years, described the wiles with which Gilda 
 had wrung from the unwilling boy his first declaration 
 of love. 
 
 A little smile stirred her lips as she looked at him. 
 There was much of the boy in him still. 
 
 11 To beg? " 
 
 " Yes. There is diphtheria in the village in two 
 of the poorest houses there." 
 
 He stood waiting, having in fact asked for nothing, 
 yet waiting for her to give. 
 
 You want money ? Ah, yes, money is easy to give, 
 and easy to receive. It is the other things that one 
 mustn t ask for," she returned slowly, looking deep 
 into his clear, uncomprehending eyes. 
 
 " The other things ? " 
 
 " Yes. Friendship and affection, and love." 
 
 She watched the shadow of understanding come to 
 him, but held him fixed with her gaze. 
 
 " I see," he said, at length, " no reason why one 
 should not ask for friendship when one needs it." 
 
 " And affection ? " 
 
 " And affection." 
 
 236
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 He did not move, but his face hardened as she went 
 on. 
 
 " And love? " 
 
 " Most people are loved by some one. I see that 
 every day. The poorest, least attractive boor in my 
 parish has a wife who loves him. It is in his house, by 
 the way, that one of the diphtheria cases is." 
 
 Rosalba Perez s soft mouth stiffened into a thin line. 
 
 " Then they are happy, in spite of everything," 
 she answered, her voice still studiously gentle. 
 
 " How much money do you want? " 
 
 Hardy drew a deep breath of relief. He had felt 
 the danger, without quite realizing it, and now it seemed 
 past. 
 
 " You are very good. The more you can give, the 
 better. I will be a faithful steward." 
 
 She opened the drawer from which she had given 
 him her first offering, on the occasion of his first visit, 
 and taking from it the same purse, handed it to him. 
 
 " Take it all, it isn t very much. And when you 
 need more come again." 
 
 Feeling for some reason ashamed of himself, he 
 thanked her. " You are very good, Madame Perez and 
 we are friends, you know? " 
 
 She laughed gayly. 
 
 Yes? Then you may, in token of our friendship, 
 kiss my hand. You have been in countries where it is 
 the custom a pretty custom 
 
 Years ago, in the warm, heliotrope-scented garden, 
 Silvia Aldobrandi had taught him to kiss her hand, 
 
 237
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 laughing at the awkwardness of the English hand 
 shake. 
 
 He had taken her hand, raised it to his lips, felt his 
 heart-beats hurry and then, dropping it unkissed, 
 caught her in his arms. 
 
 That had been the beginning, and she had read it all 
 in the book. 
 
 For a minute he hesitated, and then, making a half- 
 caricatured bow, took her hand on his finger, and raising 
 it in a grotesque curve to his mustache, kissed it cere 
 moniously. 
 
 You see, I am no cavalier, and for years I have not 
 been out of ungraceful England so forgive my awk 
 wardness. 
 
 She stared at him in genuine surprise. 
 
 His tone, that of a half-mocking man of the world, 
 was new in him. 
 
 Could it be possible that he had simply not under 
 stood ? Then, as he took his hat, and bowing again, left 
 the room, she caught sight of his face, and smiled. 
 
 He had understood. 
 
 238
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 SHE was right. Hardy had understood; and as he 
 went homewards, her money in his pocket, his feelings 
 were very complicated. 
 
 His opinion of her character being what it was, it is 
 not surprising that he was tempted to look on her now 
 as something almost inhumanly bad. 
 
 He by no means considered himself as a good man. 
 His life, which for years had been admirably unselfish 
 and kind, was as nothing to him, when compared with 
 that one event years ago. That had stamped him as a 
 wicked man, and as a wicked man he still thought of 
 himself. 
 
 He was a sinner whose greatest efforts could only 
 in a slight measure cancel his terrible sin. But his office 
 was sacred. As a clergyman of the Church of England 
 he considered himself sacred, and this woman had delib 
 erately tried to tempt him. Therefore, she was to him 
 a monster. 
 
 She was, however, a monster who gave money to his 
 poor, and before he decided to renounce her utterly, he 
 must consider. 
 
 The money meant a great deal to his people; what 
 239
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 he must do was to balance the pros and cons ; to decide 
 whether, in plain English, the game was worth the 
 candle. 
 
 She was very beautiful, very seductive in her delight 
 ful room, her hand was very soft, and he was a man 
 weaker, he thought, than other men. 
 
 " I should," he told himself, with a gravity that, to 
 an outsider, would have bordered on the ridiculous, 
 * have liked to kiss her hand. 
 
 But he had resisted her, and probably she would let 
 him alone in the future. 
 
 Meantime, the money was there in his pocket, and 
 with it he could do a great deal. 
 
 It was indicative of the man s essentially simple 
 character that, in spite of his early experience, the only 
 possible parallel in his life to this later one, it never 
 occurred to him that Madame Perez could be in love 
 with him. 
 
 Silvia Aldobrandi had been, and before he had loved 
 her, but even this suggested nothing to him in the present 
 case. 
 
 Madame Perez wanted him to make love to her, him, 
 a married man and a clergyman; therefore, Madame 
 Perez was a very bad woman. Further than that he did 
 not go. He was a middle-aged, shabby, hardworking 
 man, she a young, beautiful, rich woman, and the possi 
 bility of her having been actuated by other than motives 
 of malicious mischief did not occur to him. On his way 
 through the village he was stopped by a man who told 
 him that another case of diphtheria had appeared, and 
 
 240
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 that the doctor was still at the house. This turned his 
 thoughts into a new channel, and he reached home, his 
 mind as innocent as a baby s of all thoughts of the beau 
 tiful woman he had just left. 
 
 The sight of his wife s face, pale and anxious, brought 
 it back with a shock. 
 
 " King," she began at once, " you won t go into 
 any of the infected houses, will you? It is too danger 
 ous for the children." 
 
 Hardy changed his coat and sat down, telling her of 
 his success with Lady Yarrow and Madame Perez, and 
 with her counted the money, which amounted to a very 
 large sum. 
 
 " I knew Lady Yarrow would be generous, King, 
 but I am ashamed of having been so silly about 
 Madame Perez. She is really very good. 
 
 " She is very free with her money, at all events. I 
 am starving, Abby ; what have you for me ? " 
 
 After glancing at his letters, which he had not 
 noticed before going out, and among which he saw one 
 from the Bishop, they went to the dining-room and he 
 made a hearty meal, she watching him. 
 
 It struck him as curious that to-night, just when he 
 had for the first time proof of the correctness of her 
 intuitions regarding Madame Perez, she should be so 
 convinced of the unjustness of her suspicions. 
 
 " I knew all along that I was silly, King, for if she 
 was that kind of a woman, of course she would have 
 gone in for Sir Ludovic or Lord Winship or even for 
 poor Lord Yarrow, who admired her so much." 
 
 241
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Hardy poured out a glass of ale. " You mean I d 
 be too humble prey for her? " he asked, laughing with 
 a slight feeling of annoyance. 
 
 " Yes, from her I mean the imaginary her point 
 of view. For of course she is really too good and kind 
 to do anything of the sort don t you think? " He 
 started. 
 
 " My dear Abby, you do put the most difficult 
 questions. 
 
 " I only meant that as she gives so much to the 
 poor she must be kind, and anything of that sort would 
 be so terribly unkind." 
 
 He rose. Yes, very unkind. Well, I must go and 
 see what the Bishop has to say, and write one or two 
 letters." With a feeling of great relief he closed his 
 door behind him, and sat down. 
 
 His room, still shabby, was comfortable now; his 
 chair had new springs and was covered with a sober 
 brown imitation leather; the sofa was re-covered, and 
 only a few days before he had come home to find a new 
 rug stretched before his fireplace a cheap, inartistic 
 rug, but whole, and cheerful looking. Altogether, there 
 was a great difference between what the room had been, 
 and what it was now. 
 
 He frowned and looked uneasily towards the drawer 
 in which " He and Hecuba " was locked away. He 
 wished the book was not there ; the thought of it haunted 
 him. 
 
 At length, with a sigh, he opened his letters, all of 
 them short and unimportant except that of the Bishop, 
 
 242
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 which he read last, his face changing curiously as he 
 turned the closely-written pages. 
 
 Suddenly he laid it down on the table, and then for 
 the first time noticed that it was lithographed from His 
 Lordship s handwriting. 
 
 He glanced again towards the locked drawer. It 
 had come, then ; that which, in one form or another, had 
 been bound to come. The lock was of no avail to him; 
 his book must come out of its hiding-place, and he must 
 read it. 
 
 For the Bishop s letter announced the beginning of 
 his crusade, vigorous and picturesque, against Yellow 
 Literature; and contained, besides his brief announce 
 ment of his purpose, a letter sent by him by the same 
 post to every clergyman in his diocese, to be read by 
 these clergymen aloud in church the following Sunday. 
 Hardy read the spirited, well-chosen words slowly 
 through several times, and then, opening the drawer at 
 his right hand, took out " He and Hecuba," and began 
 to read. 
 
 He read rapidly, turning the pages with a quick 
 gesture, never pausing, until suddenly, dropping the 
 book to the floor, he groaned aloud: "My God, did 
 I write that? " 
 
 It seemed hardly possible. The book was brilliant, 
 but brilliant as is a surgeon s knife, flashing as it cuts 
 its way into a hideous sore ; it was all true, every word 
 of it, drawn with miniature-like fidelity from the pict 
 ures his morbid conscience had for years been impressing 
 on his memory. 
 
 243
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 He had written it, and yet it was so new to him. 
 He took it up, and read to the end without stopping. 
 Sometimes he laughed, sometimes opened his eyes wide 
 to keep the tears that blinded him from falling. The 
 vividness, the strength of it, the almost miraculous in 
 tensity, took him completely by surprise. 
 
 The end, that part which he had written after the 
 dinner at Borrowdaile House, drew the color from his 
 face. It appalled him. 
 
 He had lived the story; he had not added to it one 
 word; it was absolutely true; yet the latter part of it 
 terrified him in its cynicism, in its evil. 
 
 The whole thing was evil, but this was, in the way he 
 had told it, full of a wicked strength, a power for ill 
 that almost stopped his heart. And he had written it. 
 
 At length he rose, wiping the sweat from his face. 
 
 "It is a wonderful book," he said, slowly, aloud. 
 " An amazing book. And the man who wrote it is a bad 
 man, and that man, God help me, is I." 
 
 As he finished, some one knocked at the door. 
 
 " Oh, King, MacDougall has the croup ! Won t you 
 come? " 
 
 With a gesture of despair he answered from his 
 place : I will come at once, Abby. 
 
 He listened to her footsteps as she went upstairs, 
 and then, going to the window, flung it open, and 
 leaned out into the damp air. 
 
 He felt that he could not go to his wife and child 
 without purification. 
 
 244
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Then, with a jarring laugh, he tossed the book into 
 the drawer and locked it. 
 
 " Touching it can hardly contaminate me," he said, 
 " seeing that I wrote it." 
 
 MacDougall was ill all night, so ill that towards 
 morning Hardy went for the doctor. 
 
 The rain had ceased, and the east was clear with a 
 transparent light, that meant better weather. Weary 
 with his long vigil, the new trouble for the time reduc 
 ing the older one to insignificance, Hardy enjoyed the 
 walk in the sweet air. 
 
 He was too worn out for consecutive thought, and 
 the relief of not hearing the sick child s labored breath 
 ing seemed positive happiness to him. The little doctor 
 hurried down, his face still wrinkled with sleep. 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Hardy," he exclaimed, putting on his 
 coat by the light of a candle. " She has her share." 
 
 Hardy nodded. "Yes. PoorAbby." 
 
 " You look done up yourself, Hardy. You mustn t 
 burn the candle at both ends. You aren t as young as 
 you once were. 
 
 Hardy laughed. " Forty-three, Tench. I m well 
 enough, but I haven t been in bed at all to-night. I 
 was reading. 
 
 Tench echoed his laugh, but in a more genial key. 
 " To be perfectly honest, so was I reading! I read till 
 after three, old fool that I am. And a novel, too, He 
 and Hecuba ; have you read it ? " 
 
 " Yes. Did did you like it, Tench? " 
 245
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 They had reached the garden gate. 
 
 " Like it? Well it s clever. One of the cleverest 
 books I ever read, but of course, from your point of 
 view, it s rotten." 
 
 Hardy laughed again. " Yes, it s rotten," he re 
 peated, opening the gate. 
 
 246
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THAT morning s post brought Hardy a large cheque 
 from his publishers, his share of the sale of his book in 
 America. In the accompanying letter, the publishers 
 urged him to send them another novel as soon as pos 
 sible, offering him a large sum for it, and 25 per cent, 
 on sale. " The sale of He and Hecuba has been so 
 phenomenal," they wrote, " that we cannot express 
 strongly enough our opinion that, by not bringing 
 another book on the market immediately, both you and 
 we would be guilty of the greatest mistake. 
 
 It was the most intense relief to Hardy to sit down 
 at once and write an unconditional refusal to this offer. 
 
 " So help me God! " he exclaimed, as he stamped 
 his letter with a blow of his fist. 
 
 What was done was done, but he would do no more. 
 As soon as he was at leisure, he locked his door, and re 
 reading the Bishop s letter, took his book from the 
 drawer and began it again. 
 
 MacDougall was better, and as he read, he could hear 
 the regular sound of his wife s new rocking-chair up 
 stairs, and her crooning voice as she hushed Harold to 
 sleep. 
 
 The day had borne out the promise of the dawn, and 
 was fine; the sun shone in at the well-washed windows, 
 
 247
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 one of which was open, and the narrow strip of gray 
 that was the sea glinted in the light. From time to time 
 Hardy looked up from his reading, and stared absently 
 at the heavy-leaved trees outside. The more- he studied 
 his book the more he saw the unredeemed badness of it, 
 the strength it held for evil. And yet, as he went on, a 
 feeling of pride rose up in him. Pride that he could 
 have written it; that the easy, strong English was his; 
 the knowledge of the natures described in it; the light 
 sketching in of scenes that were as vivid as pictures. 
 
 Its cleverness amounted almost to genius, and its 
 cleverness was his. 
 
 A resentment against the circumstances that pre 
 vented the sweets of celebrity being his a longing to 
 tell some one that he had written it, and a bitter shame 
 that he had been capable of it, mingled themselves inex 
 tricably in his mind. 
 
 What he wanted he did not know. The book was a 
 sin, and at the same time a glory. 
 
 It carried him back, ah, how it carried him back into 
 his youth. He saw, and felt and heard, the sights, the 
 emotions, and sounds of that far-off time the book fell 
 from his hands; his demon had him fast in his clutches 
 again, only, this time, he was a willing victim. 
 
 The feeling that remorse would follow, was wanting, 
 for the first time; he was young again, living again, 
 happy again and then, the sunlight ceasing to fall on 
 him caused him to look up. 
 
 Madame Perez, laughing, stood in the window. 
 
 * Dreaming, are you ? she said. Dreaming over 
 248
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 the book. Oh, don t you see what a wonderful book it 
 is? " 
 
 He rose. 
 
 " Yes, it is wonderful," he said slowly. " What are 
 you going to do ? " 
 
 " What am I goin? to do? " 
 
 " I mean, are you coming in? You have come to 
 see Abby ? 
 
 ; No. I have not come to see Abby. I have come to 
 see you. You, you, you! " As she spoke, she entered the 
 room. " Oh, not the you of to-day. Not the sombre, 
 busy, Rector of Carbury; what have 7 to do with him? 
 I want the other you. The you of then the you of the 
 garden, of the olive-grove, of of the drawing-room 
 with the spinet. 1 " 
 
 He had grown white. " I think you must be mad, 
 Madame Perez, he said, that man is dead long ago. 
 But the Rector of Carbury is glad to see you, and 
 will call " 
 
 She caught his arm as he turned. 
 
 " No, no, stop! Call no one. And don t lie. He 
 is not dead. He is alive. Those are his eyes and his 
 head and his lips he is there, but stronger and more 
 splendid than ever, and I love him." 
 
 As the possibility of this had never occurred to him, 
 now it never occurred to him to doubt its truth. 
 
 He stood, rigidly still, staring at her, and then at 
 length said: " You must go, and never come back. I 
 I will try to forget." 
 
 But she laughed. "Forget. You can not forget. 
 249
 
 No man in the world could forget. I love you, I say, I ! 
 And I knew only last night. And you love me, or you 
 will in a few minutes." 
 
 The strangeness of her last phrase arrested his atten 
 tion. Or you will in a few minutes. 
 
 The sound of the rocking-chair still came to him 
 through the thin ceiling; the crooning voice upstairs 
 went on; and he was to love this woman in a few min 
 utes. 
 
 " You have read your book now," she went on, 
 breathlessly, " you have read the end. And you were 
 not drunk when you wrote it; you were inspired. It 
 is all true. What matters anything else ? What does it 
 matter? All these years you have tried not to be that 
 which you were made, and you have failed ! Failed ut 
 terly ! You are the old King Hardy, the man who loved 
 and forgot, and lived." 
 
 He had never seen her so beautiful as now in her 
 passion. 
 
 " Love is God of all," she went on, rapidly. " The 
 poets all say it, and they are right. 7 never knew until 
 now. If it were not true, why should I, Rosalba Perez, 
 be here in this way, humbling myself to you? Tell 
 me that! " 
 
 " I can tell you nothing, but you must go. You 
 must go at once." 
 
 He took her hands that had been clinging to his 
 unresisting arm and forced them away from him; then 
 slowly, he pushed her to the window. 
 
 " Go," he repeated. "Go." 
 250
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 She was about to speak again when the regular sound 
 overhead ceased and footsteps crossing the floor attracted 
 her attention. 
 
 " Yes, I will go," she answered, hastily, glancing 
 towards the door. " And you you will stay, and re 
 member." 
 
 The footsteps were on the stair now, and Madame 
 Perez had disappeared. Hardy stood quite still for a 
 minute, and then pulled the curtains together with a 
 jerk, changing the light in the room to a golden dusk. 
 
 His wife, however, did not come in, and shortly 
 afterwards he heard her go upstairs again. 
 
 He sat for nearly an hour, huddled in his chair, 
 trying to think, but succeeding only in feeling and see 
 ing over again the scene he had just been through. She 
 had been right. He remembered. Remembered every 
 word she had said, every change of expression in her 
 beautiful eyes, every touch of her hands on his arm. 
 
 He had told her she was mad ; he had sent her away, 
 but he remembered. And he must always remember. 
 Suddenly his foot touched the book he had dropped to 
 the floor on first seeing her. 
 
 As if it had been a foul reptile he caught it up, and 
 after staring at it with hatred for a minute or more, 
 he knelt by the fireplace, and wrenching the gaily-bound 
 covers off, tore the thick pages across, and laid it in 
 the grate. Then he set fire to it, and watched it burn, 
 the flames flickering over his grim face, until it was a 
 heap of ashes. 
 
 That was done. Rising, he stood deep in thought. 
 17 251
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 He had sinned in writing the book, and this was his 
 punishment. He was made the prey of the wicked love 
 of a wicked woman; he was living in comfort provided 
 by his own wickedness; his life was in vain; he was 
 damned. 
 
 He could not read that letter of the Bishop s in 
 church, he, who had written the worst of the books 
 against which the letter was written. 
 
 There was only one thing to be done. A thing that, 
 in the woe it would work to innocent people, would break 
 his heart; a thing that would probably lose him his 
 means of livelihood, and certainly the esteem of all good 
 men. 
 
 And this thing he would do. He would do it, and 
 at once. 
 
 Taking his hat, he went upstairs. The babies were 
 asleep in the tidy room; his wife, in a fresh, neatly- 
 made dressing-gown sat sewing by the window. He 
 paused in the doorway. It was a homely, comfortable 
 scene, and the content in his wife s face as she looked up 
 made it very tragic. 
 
 Abby, he said, abruptly, I am going to see the 
 Bishop on business. I can just catch the train, and 
 will stop the night. Good-by." 
 
 " To see the Bishop, dear? " she answered, thread 
 ing her needle. " Very well. Have you packed your 
 bag are you ready ? 
 
 " I am ready, yes." 
 
 " Then, good-by and King " She flushed and 
 hesitated, her eyes filling suddenly. " Could you get 
 
 252
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 me two yards of imitation Valenciennes about half an 
 inch wide? I I am making some things Oh, King, 
 God is going to give us another little baby." 
 
 Hardy kissed her hastily, and with a muttered an 
 swer, rushed downstairs and out into the evening. 
 
 That was the end, then. He could not do it. It was 
 out of the question. 
 
 253
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 OCTOBER passed slowly, nothing happening, beyond 
 a series of deaths in Carbury; and Rosalba Perez, alone 
 with the passion that had taken her so suddenly by 
 storm, looked forward with horror to the winter. 
 
 The epidemic, now an established, inevadable fact, 
 was very severe, the steady bad weather making the 
 work of stamping it out the more difficult. Almost every 
 day there was a little funeral, and most of the people 
 in the village mourned some child. Tench did his best, 
 and Lady Yarrow s bounty was inexhaustible, but the 
 disease had taken a peculiarly virulent form, and the 
 good little man s efforts seemed almost in vain. 
 
 Twice, Madame Perez had seen Hardy. Once as she 
 drove home from Sabley-on-Sea, she had met him walk 
 ing, and stopping her carriage, called him. 
 
 " Where are you going? " she asked him perempto 
 rily in French. I am going to the Point, he answered 
 in English. 
 
 " May I drive you? " she spoke English too, this 
 time. 
 
 " Thanks, I prefer to walk." 
 
 And he had gone on, with a stiff bow. 
 
 The second time she saw him was at the Dudley s, 
 254
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 where, on going to the drawing-room, she had found 
 him alone. 
 
 " Mrs. Dudley asked me to wait," he said, as the 
 servant closed the door. She looked at him closely for 
 a minute and then held out her hand. " Will you for 
 give me ? I think I must have been mad. 
 
 " Yes, I forgive you; and I told you at the time 
 that you were mad." 
 
 Her hand, by a violent effort, lay passive in his, 
 and then she withdrew it quietly. It was the book, I 
 suppose," she went on, with a reflective smile. " It is 
 horribly human the book." 
 
 Hardy raised his heavy eyes. "It is a horrible 
 book," he said. 
 
 " No, no. But I am a Southern woman, remember, 
 and I have never loved; perhaps I may be forgiven for 
 having fallen in love with a man in a book ! 
 
 He flushed. " Anything I may have to forgive you 
 is forgiven long ago," he said, and then Mrs. Dudley 
 came in and cut the conversation short. 
 
 As she went up the avenue at Borrowdaile House a 
 fortnight later, Madame Perez was thinking of the inter 
 view. Hardy had looked very ill, and very unhappy. 
 She knew from one of her servants that he had nearly 
 fainted in church the Sunday after her visit to him at 
 his house, and had been prepared for a change in him, 
 but the haggard lines in his face had startled her, and 
 the black half of his mustache had grown nearly as 
 gray as the other. 
 
 She loved him with a fierce, jealous love in which 
 255
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 there were many elements, and she knew that she her 
 self went for comparatively little in his suffering. There 
 was something else, and she could not understand what 
 it could be. 
 
 His book, to her, was such an amazing piece of work 
 that she could not believe that he really regretted it. 
 Nor could she realize what his declaration of authorship 
 would mean. 
 
 It was a bad book, but there are many such, and 
 this one had so many redeeming qualities, from her view 
 point. 
 
 Loving him, she would have been proud to tell every 
 one that he had achieved the novel. 
 
 Loving him, she had no pride, and would have knelt 
 at his feet if by so doing she could have assured her 
 self of one spark of love for her in him. 
 
 What she had begun in mischief had turned to ter 
 rible earnest for her, and the marks of mental suffering 
 were in her face. 
 
 She did not even know whether Hardy loved her, 
 and the hopelessness of battering at the gates of his 
 rigid, expressionless coldness drove her nearer to mad 
 ness than any Anglo-Saxon can easily understand. To 
 have got into that book, and lived for one hour the life 
 of Gilda Cesarini, she would have given years of her 
 life. 
 
 Twice she had tried to see Hardy, and failed, once 
 by her sending a message to him, begging him to come 
 to see her, once by sending him a bank note for the poor 
 people in the village. 
 
 256
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The message he had simply ignored, the money had 
 been promptly acknowledged in a formal note of three 
 lines. 
 
 And now there was a rumor that one of his children 
 had diphtheria, and she had come to see Mary Yarrow, 
 and learn through her, if possible, the truth of the 
 report. 
 
 The butler led the way to the drawing-room, and 
 opened the door. " Her ladyship is in the Cedar Par 
 lor, Madame " and crossing the floor to the opposite 
 door, she was about to go into the small room where 
 Lady Yarrow spent much of the time, when something 
 arrested her feet, and she stopped short. 
 
 The Cedar Parlor, paneled, as its name indicated, 
 with delicately carved wood, and picked out with thin 
 lines of gilding, was but faintly lighted by a tall bronze 
 lamp near the dying fire. 
 
 The gilding on the walls gleamed faintly, here and 
 there, the glass fronts of china-cabinets reflected the 
 reddish light, the air was sweet with invisible roses. 
 
 On a low chair by the fire, her baby on her knees, 
 sat Lady Yarrow, her pure profile outlined against the 
 glow in the grate. Near by, looking down at her, stood 
 Jacques Woodvil. 
 
 " Of course I hated to come," he was saying, " but 
 what could I do? One can t ignore a letter like that." 
 
 She nodded. " No. You had to come. The day he 
 gave it to me the letter he said something, but not 
 much. I never dreamed of such a thing." 
 
 " Nor I." 
 
 257
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 There was a short silence, then the man went on : 
 
 " He was the best fellow that ever lived, Mary; the 
 very best. I would take his advice on any other subject 
 on God s earth but this." 
 
 So would I. It must have been because he was 
 ill." 
 
 Woodvil shook his head. " No. It was not that. 
 He always felt that way. Before I had ever seen you 
 he tried to make me do it, and that time at Yarrow, 
 when he saw how things were going, he tried again. 
 
 She drew a quick breath that was almost a sigh. 
 
 "Then? Oh, how good he was." 
 
 Madame Perez, hidden behind the curtain, under 
 stood nothing of the conversation, but a feeling that it 
 was in some way of importance to her, kept her in her 
 place. 
 
 " He was very good," Woodvil agreed. 
 
 Mary looked up at him. Why don t you sit down ? 
 We have talked it over, we have done as he wished, we 
 have done our best." 
 
 He obeyed her in silence, and drew his chair a little 
 nearer. 
 
 " Yes, we have done as he wished, as as nearly as 
 possible. God knows I wish more had been possible." 
 
 She was silent, bending a little lower over her baby, 
 and then, suddenly, laying his hand on the baby s breast 
 very gently, he went on : " Before I go, won t you say 
 something? Something for me to remember? " 
 
 " Something ? " 
 
 " Yes. You did the other time." 
 258
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " The other time, I told you that I loved you and 
 that God was cruel to us." 
 
 "Yes. And now? " 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. " Now I can only say 
 I love you, but God is not cruel to us." 
 
 " Thank you. Then you do? " 
 
 Yes. He knew. I never stopped ; I couldn t. 
 
 Woodvil bent his curly head over the baby until his 
 face was hidden. After a pause he rose. 
 
 " Thank you for telling me. Ah! if I had never 
 seen her! " 
 
 Rosalba Woodvil understood. It was she who was 
 the obstacle. 
 
 Without reflection she stepped out of the darkness 
 into the faint light. 
 
 " Jacques," she said, abruptly, " I have heard it 
 all. I have been listening. 
 
 " Rosalba you! " 
 
 No, no I am so sorry for you. Lady Yarrow, 
 / am his wife, and he would have told you, no doubt, 
 long ago, only I made him promise not to." 
 
 Lady Yarrow had risen, and stood white and angry, 
 her baby pressed close to her breast. 
 
 You had better go, Rosalba, Woodvil said quietly, 
 you don t in the least realize what listening means to 
 English people." 
 
 Wait, Jacques. I don t care a pin for what listen 
 ing means to English people, but now that I know 
 can t I help? " 
 
 " Can t you help? You are crazy." 
 259
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 She turned to Lady Yarrow, her hands clasped. 
 
 " In God s name, don t hate me now. I want to 
 help. You love him and he loves you " 
 
 Mary Yarrow drew away. " I cannot possibly dis 
 cuss this matter with you, Madame Mrs. Woodvil, and 
 I will ask you to excuse me ; I am tired. 
 
 Without another word she left the room, her black 
 gown trailing softly over the old inlaid floor. 
 
 For a few minutes Jacques Woodvil stood looking 
 at his wife, his face gradually softening. 
 
 You have done an awful thing, he said, at length, 
 but I believe you meant well. As long as you heard so 
 much, I had better tell you that Lord Yarrow left a 
 letter for me in which he expressed a wish that I 
 should divorce my wife and marry Lady Yarrow, 
 whom I have known for years. I was obliged to see her, 
 as he insisted on it, but I am leaving for India next 
 week. 
 
 Her eyes did not waver ; she looked at him as stead 
 ily as he at her, and still he saw the curious new look in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Jacques must you go? " 
 
 " Must I go? " he burst into a short laugh. " If I 
 stayed what then 1 
 
 " Couldn t you do as he wished. I mean, couldn t 
 you divorce me 1 " 
 
 " Nonsense, Rosalba. You know that I can t 
 without an awful scandal." 
 
 Taking up a box of cigarettes, he lighted one, and 
 puffed at it impatiently. 
 
 260
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " I don t mind the scandal. And if he thought it 
 right, why, it is right," she went on doggedly. " He 
 was very good, and he knew." 
 
 Woodvil took out his watch. It is late, and I have 
 just time to catch my train. Good-by. " 
 
 He held out his hand. " Jacques at least believe 
 that I am sorry. I admire her very much, and I loved 
 him." 
 
 He did not misunderstand her meaning. 
 
 " He deserved it. I do believe that you re sorry, 
 Rosalba. Good-by. 
 
 " Wait. You must say good-by to her. I ll fetch 
 her." 
 
 Without thinking of the rebuff that probably awaited 
 her, she hurried upstairs, and down the corridor to Lady 
 Yarrow s room. 
 
 " He is going," she said, without any preface, " go 
 and say good-by to him." 
 
 Mary rose and looked at her haughtily, but the other 
 woman was too much in earnest to mind. " Oh, go," 
 she insisted, " whatever I ve done, he is innocent, and 
 he may never come back." 
 
 Lady Yarrow left the room without speaking, and 
 Rosalba Perez followed her as far as the drawing-room 
 door, and then, passing on, left the house. 
 
 Mary, after an instant s hesitation, went into the 
 Cedar Parlor, and with a few words parted once more 
 from Jacques Woodvil. 
 
 261
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 KING HARDY had never been a happy man, but the 
 agony he suffered during that autumn was so keen as 
 to make the preceding years look, in retrospect, blissful 
 to him. He had read the Bishop s letter that Sunday, 
 in church, pronouncing the words with difficulty, but 
 forcing himself to enunciate each one very distinctly, 
 and in a strange monotonous voice that seemed to be 
 that of another man. His wife s announcement to him, 
 as he was on the point of going to the Bishop and avow 
 ing his authorship of " He and Hecuba," had taken 
 his strength away from him. In a flash he had seen 
 things as they had been, as they must inevitably become 
 again should he give up the money the book was bring 
 ing him. 
 
 He shuddered as he remembered his despair a few 
 months ago; he had even, in his bitter poverty, ques 
 tioned the right of God to send him children without 
 providing the means for bringing them up as the 
 children of a gentleman should be brought up. 
 
 He remembered the horror of the autumn days the 
 year before; the cold; the insufficient food; the soiled 
 table cloths ; the brutalizing untidiness of everything. 
 
 262
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 He recalled with even greater horror the effect of 
 these things on himself ; his resentment ; his weak despair, 
 what had grown to be at times almost a loathing for 
 the children of whom the worst side of him was ashamed. 
 
 And if he confessed to the Bishop, giving up the 
 money he had saved, and that which was to come to him 
 from foreign editions of his book, all these things would 
 come back, accentuated to him a hundred-fold after 
 the months of respite he had had. 
 
 And after all, had he the right to sacrifice his 
 children to his own ease of conscience? 
 
 The sophistry of this reasoning he did not see, but 
 during the four days before the Sunday on which, by 
 reading the Bishop s letter in church, he must decide for 
 either the one line of action or the other, he argued it 
 over and over with himself by the hour. 
 
 The strength of his nature allowed him to keep 
 his mind unceasingly concentrated on the problem, even 
 while he \vent mechanically through his round of duties ; 
 the weakness that was in him hid from his honest eyes 
 the falsity of his reasoning. 
 
 At last he had decided. 
 
 It was a choice of evils; a choice of suffering for 
 him. Either by securing the peace of a quiet conscience 
 he must ruin the lives of his wife and children, or by 
 securing to them the comparative comfort that was 
 theirs now, he must take to his heart a burden that 
 would grow heavier as the years went on, and be prob 
 ably, in the end, his damnation. 
 
 The effect this book had had on Madame Perez 
 263
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 brought home to him more clearly than could have any 
 number of critiques the evil of the thing he had done, 
 and his morbid mind, exaggerating that evil, began 
 to see in the novel fatal harm to every one who touched 
 it. 
 
 Once, coming back from London, where he had been 
 on business connected with his late aunt, a young girl 
 in the carriage with him was reading the book. He 
 watched her cut a few pages, and leaning back in her 
 place, listlessly turn the first pages. She was a pretty 
 girl with curly reddish hair, on which perched a fur 
 toque trimmed with violets. While she read, Hardy 
 studied her face; he saw the listlessness vanish, a new 
 light come to her eyes. The charm of the thing had 
 reached her. 
 
 Counting the pages as she turned them, he could 
 about keep pace with her in the story. 
 
 Now she had come to the scene in the olive-grove 
 now she was in the dusky old church at early mass, 
 now it was evening in the garden 
 
 Leaning forward he found himself saying : Pardon 
 me, but who gave you that book to read? " 
 
 The girl started, stared at him, and then, seeing that 
 he was a clergyman, answered, No one. I bought it. 
 Something about her upper lip reminded him of his little 
 daughter Anna. 
 
 "Will you excuse me for suggesting that you ask 
 your mother to read it, before you go any further? " 
 
 " My mother! Is it so bad as that? " 
 
 " It is very bad, he returned, gravely. Very. 
 264
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Smiling at him, her pretty eyes full of mischief: 
 " Then I shouldn t think of giving it to mamma. I am 
 very particular about what she reads." 
 
 In his earnestness he hardly understood, and she 
 saw it. 
 
 " I beg your pardon; one gets so in the way of 
 chaffing; if the book is so awful I ll not read it, 
 and I am sure my father would thank you for telling 
 me, if he were here." 
 
 With a last look at the enchanting page she closed 
 the book and handed it to Hardy. " You must take it, 
 though, or I can t resist," she said, "it is frightfully 
 interesting." 
 
 They were passing over a bridge as she spoke, and 
 Hardy, opening the window, threw the book into the 
 water felt as if he had rescued the girl from ever 
 lasting flames. 
 
 The long, gray days dragged by, drenched in warm, 
 unhealthful rain. In the village the epidemic still raged, 
 strengthened by the bad weather, and Hardy, doing in 
 his despair the work of three men, grew thin and 
 old. 
 
 He had rented a long-deserted cottage not far from 
 his own house, and there, with Tench s help, made for 
 himself a kind of quarantine. 
 
 In a chest of drawers, the only furniture in the house 
 beside a bed and two wooden chairs, he kept linen and a 
 couple of suits of clothes, and hither he came, after his 
 visits to the infected houses, to change and fumigate 
 himself before going home. 
 
 265
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 For he could not keep away from the houses of 
 mourning. Going into danger, helping with his own 
 hands the poor suffering people, was the only way in 
 which his tortured mind received a little calm. The 
 precautions he took were for the sake of his family; 
 he felt a sort of savage pleasure in risking his own 
 life. 
 
 Mary Yarrow, shut up, on her baby s account, in 
 her park, was his greatest help at this time. Every day 
 she sent a great wagon-load of soup, milk, wine, and 
 other things to Tench s temporary headquarters in the 
 village, and whatever money was needed had only to be 
 asked for. 
 
 When, early in December, the disease began to rage 
 among the grown people as well as the children, Hardy 
 wrote to her that they must have nurses, and a few 
 days later she had provided six, from a London hospital. 
 
 Hardy at this time saw very little of his wife and 
 children. Abby, in spite of his precautions, was in a 
 state of helpless terror, watching the children with an 
 agonized scrutiny, and every time Hardy touched one of 
 them he saw in her eyes a dumb reproach. 
 
 There was in her no courage with which to meet 
 an emergency, and pitying her, as well as vaguely re 
 lieved by being alone, he spent more and more of his 
 spare time in the little cottage by the bridge, sleeping 
 there, at last, almost every night. He had chosen his 
 evil, of the two that he believed to have been offered to 
 him, but it was a very hard one to bear, and he had not 
 learnt to forget it. 
 
 266
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The memory of Madame Perez, too, was always with 
 him. He had had the strength to put her away from 
 him, and to refuse to see her, but he had none to pre 
 vent the picture of her standing there in his study 
 coming to him perpetually. 
 
 The old torture of remembering the days when he had 
 loved Silvia Aldobrandi, was gone the demon laid by 
 his writing the book but this newer memory was a 
 worthy substitute, in point of strength, to make him 
 suffer. 
 
 He realized perfectly that he did not love Madame 
 Perez ; that his feeling for her had grown out of vanity, 
 and was a base one. This he told himself over and over 
 again, but it did no good. 
 
 He despised her, he almost hated her, but he longed 
 to see her with a strength that terrified him. 
 
 Disgusted with his weakness, he struggled against it, 
 prayed for help against it, and felt his struggles and 
 his prayers to be in vain. 
 
 He could keep away from her, but if he should see 
 her, whence could he take the strength to resist what 
 he called, by a curious old-fashioned word, her wiles? 
 
 He had not lost his faith in God, he had lost his 
 faith in himself. 
 
 One evening as he sat over his fire in the cottage, 
 a knock came to the door, and he knew, with a reason 
 less, absolute surety, that Rosalba Perez stood without. 
 
 Rising very softly, he stepped across the floor and 
 turned the key in the lock. Who is there ? 
 
 " It is I Rosalba." 
 
 18 2G7
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " I can not let you in." 
 
 She laughed angrily. "Nonsense, I won t eat you, 
 and it is pouring." 
 
 I can not let you in. 
 
 The ridiculous side of the situation did not occur to 
 him, but it did to her, and she laughed again. 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 I told you at Mrs. Dudley s that I was sorry ; that 
 I had been a goose, she went on. Are you afraid of 
 me? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Ah ! There was triumph in her little exclama 
 tion. You are afraid of me. Then you love me. 
 
 " I do not love you. But " 
 
 " But ? " 
 
 There is no use in this. I will not let you in, and 
 you will take cold." 
 
 He had sat down, facing the painted deal door. 
 
 " I will go," she said, " if you will explain your 
 but. " 
 
 (< I was going to say that there is evil in every man, 
 and that you appeal to the evil in me." 
 
 She burst out laughing. " I feel like the temptress 
 in a play. I should wear a scarlet gown like Athendis 
 in the Maitre des Forges. 
 
 As he did not answer, she went on, in another tone: 
 
 "Very well; good-by, Pyramus. Dream of me." 
 Then she was gone. 
 
 He waited for some minutes, wondering at the in 
 credible vulgarity of her coming to him there at that 
 
 268
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 hour; the absence of all pride in her gave him, in spite 
 of his disdain of her, a shock. 
 
 He was, on the whole, however, glad that it had 
 happened. He was a gentleman, and this woman, in 
 spite of her beauty and position, could not be what he 
 had been taught to consider a lady. The memory of his 
 conversation through the door with her would surely 
 help to cure him of his strange longing for her. 
 
 After a time he rose, and opened the door. A little 
 fresh air would do him good. 
 
 Pausing for a minute on the threshold, and looking 
 up the hill towards the light in the window where his 
 wife, he knew, sat at work, he stepped out on the damp 
 grass. 
 
 As he did so, a burst of mischievous laughter caused 
 him to turn, and Madame Perez, her face glowing in the 
 lamp-light, stood by him. 
 
 " Caught! " she cried. " Poor little bird! " 
 
 He did not attempt to control the expression of his 
 eyes, and as she caught it, she flinched. 
 
 " Ah, yes vulgar and base," she said, pushing 
 back the shawl she wore over her head. 
 
 " My good man, have you no sense of humor? Can 
 you not see that it was all a comedy? Do you seriously 
 believe that I love you? " 
 
 He flinched in his turn. " My sense of humor, what 
 ever it may be, is quite beside the question, Mrs. Wood- 
 vil. I do not understand you, that is true enough. What 
 you do not understand, apparently, is that I have no 
 wish to study you and no time. My opinion of the way 
 
 269
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 in which you lower your womanhood by doing as you 
 have done, would not interest you, so I will say good 
 night." 
 
 Bowing very low, he passed her and went into the 
 cottage. 
 
 270
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 " OH, King, if you had only listened to me! " 
 
 It was a very gentle, pitiful reproach, but it stung 
 him sharply as he looked into her wan eyes and sought 
 for an answer that he could not find. 
 
 " You could do no good in the village," she went 
 on, wringing the thin hands, " and, now 
 
 A low, muffled wail coming from the half-open door 
 near which they stood, interrupted her. " Oh, my God, 
 my God ! she exclaimed, as she left him. 
 
 lie stood still in the dimly-lighted corridor, looking 
 after her, seeing her still after she had gone; a thin, 
 shapeless figure in a loose dressing-gown, with untidy, 
 scanty hair, and a drawn, thin face. 
 
 She was so pitiably thin. 
 
 Through the half-open door he could see part of the 
 bed, the table laden with bottles, glasses, spoons, the 
 quiet figure of the nurse rising as his wife went in. 
 
 The clock struck eleven; Tench said he would come 
 before midnight. 
 
 Slowly, feeling his own uselessness, he went down 
 stairs and into his study, his head fallen forward on his 
 breast. 
 
 It was Christmas eve, and the irony of it brought a 
 smile to his grim face. 
 
 271
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Christmas eve, and Anna was lying there being 
 choked to death by the horrible film in her throat; and 
 the germ of that film he had brought to her. Had given 
 it to her with a kiss, probably, or a touch of the hand. 
 It was characteristic of the man that he did not give 
 the least consideration to the fact of his having un 
 doubtedly taken all possible precautions against in 
 fection ; what he had done was of no avail, hence of no 
 importance ; as a punishment for his sin, God had made 
 him the cause of his child s death. 
 
 Rigidly, doggedly, he accepted this view of the case, 
 and made no excuses, asked no extenuation. 
 
 He had been living on the devil s bounty, and thank 
 ing God for it ; now he knew better. 
 
 Madame Perez had gone out of his mind altogether; 
 he had not unduly blamed himself for his feeling for 
 her, for he looked on her as a wicked woman who delib 
 erately tempted him. 
 
 Now he had forgotten her, and could think only of 
 the children God had sent into the world to be ruined 
 by him, their father. A sudden blasphemous doubt 
 quivered through him. God 1 
 
 Tench found him crouched in the low chair by his 
 empty grate, his face almost blank with the exhaustion 
 of prolonged mental suffering. 
 
 " Come, come, Hardy, this won t do," the little 
 doctor exclaimed, one hand laid on the other man s 
 shoulder. " You are nothing but skin and bone now, 
 and you will die if you let yourself go on in this way. 
 
 " God has let me go, Tench." 
 272
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Nonsense, man. Come, your wife wants you. You 
 must be brave for her sake." 
 
 " And Anna? " 
 
 " Anna can not live through the night, Hardy. I 
 have done all I could." 
 
 Hardy rose without a word, and walked steadily 
 upstairs. Abby was sitting by the bed, watching the 
 distorted face of the agonized child. " Pray, King! " 
 she said, as he entered, and obediently he fell on his 
 knees. 
 
 No words came, however, and dumbly they waited. 
 That for which they waited came quietly at dawn, and 
 then Hardy carried his wife into the next room and laid 
 her on the bed. 
 
 He himself was conscious of nothing but an over 
 whelming fatigue, and, sitting down by the frosted 
 window, fell into a sleep that lasted until morning. 
 
 The next day passed dully, and on Tuesday, Mac- 
 Dougall sickened. 
 
 Hardy had never loved this child as much as he had 
 the others; he was a clumsy, fretful, unattractive boy 
 who had all his short life given trouble in one way or 
 another. Now, suddenly, the father-love tacitly denied 
 him sprang up in Hardy s heart, and it seemed to the 
 man as if this child was the one for whom he could 
 sacrifice any two of the others. Remorse had laid his 
 heavy hand on him once more. Tench at first was hope 
 ful, then suddenly, one noon, the child died. The 
 children had all been taken, on the first signs of Anna s 
 illness, down to the hospitable house beyond the village, 
 
 273
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 where kind Miss Tench had so often harbored them, but 
 MacDougall had been brought home as soon as the 
 nature of his symptoms had declared themselves, and 
 Hardy and his wife and the faithful Katie had lived 
 there in quarantine ever since, aided by the nurse Mary 
 Yarrow sent, and whose presence was accepted as a 
 matter of course by the Rector and his wife. 
 
 The day MacDougall was buried, it rained, and the 
 wind and dampness were acceptable to Hardy as he read 
 the short service. 
 
 He had reached the pitch of mental numbness, and 
 hardly realized, as he repeated the solemn words, that 
 the child in the little coffin was his own. February had 
 gone, and spring would soon be coming; there, on the 
 bank opposite the churchyard, the first violets always 
 came. He raised his heavy eyes and looked up the 
 dingy, rain-soaked slope. Violets. 
 
 When he reached home it hardly shocked him to 
 find his wife gone to bed with a bad throat. It was all 
 of a piece with the rest. It was his punishment; she 
 would die; he would live on; it was God s Vengeance. 
 
 That God sets Mercy before Vengeance, did not 
 occur to him. His eyes had never been darkened by 
 thoughts of pity ; he believed in the old God of the Old. 
 Testament, and as he had sinned, that God was bound 
 to punish him. 
 
 It was part of his punishment that he should live. 
 Blessed Death was not yet for him. The doctor looked 
 very grave after his short examination of Mrs. Hardy, 
 but could not yet be sure of the nature of her illness. 
 
 274
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 The next day, a Sunday, he was sure. It was diph 
 theria. 
 
 Hardy listened to him very quietly, assented to all 
 that he said, and then went upstairs. 
 
 " Oh, King," the sick woman began at once, " you 
 will be all alone! " 
 
 " Yes. All alone." That she might recover did not 
 occur to either of them as a possibility. 
 
 He sat holding her hand for a time in silence, and 
 then began to speak, slowly, distinctly, in methodically 
 arranged words. 
 
 " Abby, this is all my fault." 
 
 No, King ; no, dear. You did everything the doctor 
 told you Oh, my head aches so! " 
 
 " It is my fault. Years ago, when I was young, I 
 committed a terrible sin. The mills of God grind slowly, 
 but they grind exceeding small! " 
 
 She looked up blankly. " "What mills, dear? We 
 have plenty of flour King, my head aches so ! " 
 
 When night came, he still sat beside her, her hot 
 hand in his cold ones. 
 
 275
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 LADY YARROW had not seen Madame Perez since that 
 day in early November when Woodvil had gone away, 
 and now it was the third of March. 
 
 Shortly after the curious interview in the Cedar 
 Parlor, Borrowdaile House had presented to the world a 
 blank face ; little Lord Yarrow and his mother had gone 
 to spend the holidays with Lady Sally Wincott, near 
 Yarrow, the great place that had been closed since the 
 death of the old lord. 
 
 Lady Sally lived in a charming house, every inch 
 of which Lady Yarrow knew, as she had spent her 
 motherless girlhood there, and been married under its 
 roof. The mistress of the house, a clever, asthmatic 
 woman, now growing older and sharper-tongued than of 
 yore, welcomed her two guests with delight, and was 
 enthusiastic enough about the baby to satisfy even his 
 rather exigent mother. 
 
 " Rebecca wrote me all the particulars," she said, 
 one morning, as the two ladies sat together in the cheer 
 ful drawing-room, both busy with needle-work. " I am 
 glad he lived to see his son, poor fellow." 
 
 Mary looked up. " Yes. It made us both very 
 happy. 
 
 276
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " Happy! Well h m perhaps happy is hardly 
 the word, Mary." 
 
 " I think it is, Aunt Sally." 
 
 " He was dying, my love." 
 
 The younger woman did not speak for a moment, 
 for her aunt, of whom she was very fond, was not the 
 person she would have chosen as a confidante. 
 
 Then, as she had no alternative but that of a silence 
 which began to tell on her nerves, she went on : 
 
 " I don t think he minded dying." 
 
 Lady Sally s thread broke with a snap. " Not mind 
 dying! Then, my dear, you hadn t made him happy. 
 A man who has a new-born son doesn t want to die if 
 he is happy." 
 
 Mary turned her face, a little worn and aged, to the 
 window, about which the bare boughs of the birches 
 tossed drearily. 
 
 " Dear Aunt Sally, do you know, you are the only 
 blood-relation I have in the world? You mustn t be 
 unkind to me, when I come to you for sympathy. 
 
 " Unkind, Mary? I don t want to be that; but you 
 are hard to understand." 
 
 " You used to say I had no conscience; do you re 
 member? You were wrong, for I have so much, so 
 much! Too much, I have often thought, for Yarrow 
 was right in saying that I couldn t help it." 
 
 " Help what? " Lady Sally looked up alertly. She 
 was fond of her niece, but Mary had never before made 
 any of the ordinary uses of the blood-tie that bound 
 them ; her aunt had never got near her, and she knew it. 
 
 277
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Lady Yarrow rose, and taking the baby from the 
 nest of cushions on a sofa where he was sleeping, came 
 back to her chair. 
 
 " Aunt Sally you remember Jacques Woodvil? " 
 
 " Of course I do, and I must say I considered it, 
 Well, to say the least imprudent of Yarrow to have him 
 at Borrowdaile. " 
 
 Imprudent ? What do you mean ? 
 
 Lady Sally did not dare say what she had meant, 
 nor, as she looked at her niece, was she quite sure of 
 having meant anything at all. 
 
 " Yarrow knew all about it," Mary went on, when 
 the sudden change in the old lady s expression had 
 pacified her anger. 
 
 " He knew all about it before I married him. And 
 he never forgot it. And he also knew what I couldn t 
 help that I never forgot Jacques. Aunt Sally, tell 
 me tell us, that I really did my best! " 
 
 Lady Sally was embarrassed. She was an intensely 
 practical woman, with little understanding of any kind 
 of sentimentality, and this sudden emotional appeal 
 from her self-contained niece troubled her. 
 
 She had not been there to see; she knew little of 
 what Mary had done in the matter how could she tell 
 her that she had done her best? 
 
 " My dear child," she said slowly, " I hope you 
 did. Borrowdaile Yarrow was a very good man." 
 
 Mary held her little Yarrow closer, and looked into 
 his face. 
 
 " I did try," she said, very low. " And in a way 
 278
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 I loved him better than any one in the world. He was so 
 good that I would have cut off my right hand to have 
 been to him all that he needed to give to him all he 
 deserved! It is this that has so tormented me, Aunt 
 Sally. I did my best, but it was not enough. I gave 
 him almost everything, but that one little part of me 
 I couldn t give him, and he knew it. And he was so 
 good! " 
 
 She broke off with a little cry of pain. 
 
 Lady Sally fought savagely against her own dumb 
 ness for a moment, and then, suddenly, bent over the 
 sleeping baby. " Mary, how he looks like his father! " 
 
 And then the much-needed tears came, and Mary 
 Yarrow let them fall unheeded on the little face on her 
 bosom, for they were good tears and could not hurt it. 
 She told her aunt about Yarrow s letter to Woodvil ; 
 that Woodvil had come to her, and that he had left her 
 as he left her years ago, because he was tied to a 
 worthless woman. 
 
 Lady Sally s amazement at the identity of the 
 beautiful Madame Perez, with the woman in question, 
 knew no bounds, and her indignation with Woodvil for 
 tamely submitting to his bondage, brought back a smile 
 to her niece s sad face. 
 
 " Aunt Sally, Aunt Sally, you an advocate for 
 divorce ! What would the Rector say ! 
 
 " I don t care, my dear, it is absurd. He has every 
 right to get rid of her, and he ought to do it for your 
 sake." 
 
 Mary s face was a little proud as she dabbed her 
 279
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 tears gently from her baby s face. " He has no right 
 to do anything for my sake, Aunt Sally and I have my 
 son." 
 
 The winter, which brought such disaster to Carbury, 
 was mild and pleasant in more healthful Yarrow, and 
 Lady Yarrow s placid face soon bore no sign of other 
 than a natural grief, while the little Yarrow grew strong 
 and rosy. 
 
 Once or twice Mary heard from Mr. Dudley; then 
 he was called to the Riviera to a dying sister, and for 
 several weeks she heard no news from Borrowdaile. 
 One day in early February, she received a letter 
 from King Hardy, asking for more money for his poor 
 people, and telling briefly of the continued distress in 
 his village. 
 
 When she sent the check, she wrote him, asking for 
 a more comprehensive account of the epidemic, and also 
 asking casually for news of Madame Perez. 
 
 Hardy in replying said: " I have not seen Madame 
 Perez for several weeks, but believe that she is still 
 here. Some one, I forget who, told me that she is very 
 much afraid of diphtheria, and hardly leaves her house 
 in consequence of that fear." 
 
 The day following the receipt of this letter, Lady 
 Yarrow wrote to Madame Perez, sending her her long- 
 meditated, never-accomplished, words of pardon. 
 
 " DEAR MRS. WOODVIL I fear that I was very rude 
 to you the day your husband left my house, but I was 
 much upset for several reasons, none of which, I am 
 sure, it is necessary to specify to you. I see now that 
 
 280
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 you meant to be kind in what you said, and I am sorry 
 I could not see this at the time. Will you kindly let 
 me know something of your plans for the future? It 
 is better to tell you frankly that I shall make mine so 
 as to avoid seeing you again, though I can say, with 
 perfect truth, that I wish you well. If you are staying 
 on at Liscom, I shall go abroad for the present, but if 
 you are leaving, I shall come home early in April. 
 
 " Yours, very truly, 
 
 " MARY YARROW." 
 
 She carried this letter herself to the post-office, and 
 coming back another way, passed through a little, long- 
 neglected park, and by a quaint red-brick house, over 
 grown with creepers, the blind windows of which looked 
 to her as sad as blind eyes. 
 
 In this house had lived the dearest friend she had 
 ever had, an old woman who had died shortly after her 
 marriage. 
 
 It had been on much such a day, six years before, 
 that she had rushed up the path to the house, full of 
 remorse and sorrow, to undo a wrong she had wantonly 
 done in a blind rage with the whole world, on learning 
 of Jacques Woodvil s marriage. 
 
 And how gentle and understanding the old lady had 
 been, and how 
 
 It all came back to her so clearly as she stood on the 
 soft grass and gazed at the closed windows. Life seemed 
 to her a very sad thing as she went slowly homeward. 
 Even Yarrow, who had been to her an angel, had had 
 no real reward. She had been unable to forget Wood- 
 
 281
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 vil, and cruel chance had brought him back into her 
 life only to leave it emptier than before. Then, for she 
 was a well-strung nature, with sound nerves, she forced 
 her thoughts into other channels, and walked rapidly 
 home to her baby. 
 
 A week passed before a letter came from Madame 
 Perez. 
 
 " DEAR LADY YARROW," it said, " You are right in 
 thinking that I would have helped you if I could. It 
 is better for you yourself to render me justice. As to 
 my plans, I go away the first of April, so you may 
 come home then. Before I say good-by to you, let me 
 add one word. If I have been wicked, as it seems I 
 have, I have got paid out now. You may think 
 yourself unhappy, and you may be, but your life is 
 Heaven to mine. You have done no wrong; you are 
 good, and the man you love respects as well as loves 
 you. You can be at peace with yourself. I, if I were 
 not a coward, would kill myself to-day. 
 
 " ROSALBA WOODVIL." 
 
 Lady Yarrow could make little of these words, and 
 after a futile attempt at answering them, gave it up, 
 and put the memory of the woman away from her. 
 Thus for her February passed quickly; uneventfully. 
 
 And March came. 
 
 282
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 PERHAPS it can not be said that Rosalba Woodvil s 
 acute pain during those weeks arose from an awakened 
 conscience. Possibly the conscience becomes atrophied 
 from lack of use, and it is certain that she herself would 
 have jeered at the thought of her ever having had such 
 a moral vermiform appendix. However, her sufferings 
 were surely out of all proportion to any realization of 
 wrong-doing she may have had years before during her 
 life with Woodvil. She had loved her cousin, and 
 though she of course knew she was doing wrong, had 
 never had any innate conviction of the guilt of loving 
 him. 
 
 Hardy s mental attitude towards her had two effects. 
 It had made her vividly ashamed of her past, and it 
 had increased her love for him to an almost maddening 
 extent. 
 
 During the first days of the epidemic, she had 
 stayed at home, trembling at every sound, almost faint 
 ing when the bell rang. He was going to die. 
 
 Then, as time went on and he did not take the 
 disease, she grew calmer. 
 
 She herself was afraid of infection, and having for 
 bidden all her servants to go to Carbury, and rarely 
 leaving her own grounds, the news she heard was slight 
 and rare. 
 
 19 283
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Then came Lady Yarrow s letter. Over and over 
 again the other woman read it, and the oftener she did 
 so the stronger grew her conviction that Mary Yarrow 
 was a very good woman, and that she, Rosalba, would 
 do almost anything to help her. It was not her fault 
 that Woodvil, true to the spirit of his mother s religion, 
 refused to divorce her. She had begged him to do so, and 
 feeling that her unselfishness in enduring the scandal 
 of a divorce for the good of another woman would 
 raise her in Hardy s eyes, she wrote her husband again 
 and again, urging him to come back to England and 
 obtain his freedom. 
 
 This she did not tell Mary, merely writing her the 
 few words that puzzled Lady Yarrow, and accepting 
 stolidly the unbroken silence that followed her impul 
 sive note. When Anna Hardy died, Rosalba wrote to 
 town for flowers, which she sent with her card to Hardy, 
 but which he did not acknowledge. 
 
 Then followed the death of the second child. 
 
 The lonely woman in the great house, childless, un 
 imaginative, selfish, felt in her love for the man, a pain 
 almost as keen as his own. " Ugly little creatures," 
 she said aloud, with a shrug, " but they are his." 
 
 This time she sent no flowers, but wrote him a note, 
 writing as any warm friend might do. 
 
 This effort, too, met with no response. 
 
 The next day as she sat in the red room, a servant 
 came in. " Poor Mrs. Hardy is took, too, ma am," the 
 woman said. * The butcher s boy just saw the Rector. 
 
 Rosalba rose, " Where? Where did he see him] " 
 284
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " In our village, ma am. He was at the apothe 
 cary s. Ibbetts says he looks just terrible." 
 
 Five minutes later the inhabitants of Borrowdaile 
 were surprised by the sight of Madame Perez walking 
 down the village street wrapped in a dark shawl from 
 head to foot. She walked quickly, seeing no one until 
 she came face to face with Hardy at a turning. 
 
 " At last," she said, joining him and going up the 
 steep lane through which he was making a short cut 
 homeward. " You have lost your poor little children," 
 she went on, before he could speak. " You know I am 
 sorry. And now she, your wife, is ill." 
 
 " Yes. Aren t you afraid of infection? " 
 
 " No. I am afraid of nothing, now." 
 
 " You had better go back. It is rough walking here, 
 and you will get wet feet." 
 
 She laughed, and stopping, caught his arm and held 
 up one of her feet. They were clad in little fur-trimmed 
 sapphire-velvet slippers. 
 
 " You are crazy," he said roughly. 
 
 " I ran out to see you Re," she retorted, calling 
 him by the rolling Spanish equivalent of his name. 
 " You must know that I am suffering with you. I am 
 sorry for you. 
 
 His grim face softened. " I believe you. Thanks. 
 Now I must hurry. I have fetched medicine." 
 
 He raised his hat hurriedly, showing suddenly 
 whitened hair and a brow wrinkled as that of an old 
 man, and left her. Then she turned and went back to 
 Liscom House. 
 
 285
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Hardy climbed the hill, crossed the bridge, and 
 went on to his desolate home. The meeting with 
 Rosalba Woodvil had had absolutely no significance for 
 him. All his thoughts, confused and dim, were centered 
 in the room upstairs where his wife lay, her poor eyes 
 fixed, he knew, on the door through which he should 
 come. 
 
 The nurse met him and took the medicine without 
 a word, and together they went upstairs. 
 
 " Master seems fair dazed," Katie told the baker s 
 boy the next morning from the window. " It s a good 
 thing he ain t got no ope, though. The ups and downs 
 is too awful." 
 
 " She s going to die then? I say, Katie, you re 
 getting plump." 
 
 " Plump, indeed. Get out, Billy Haver. This is 
 no time for your nonsense. Yes, the nurse says it s a 
 bad case." 
 
 Katie was crying. She was fond of her mistress, 
 she was full of pity for her master and the children, 
 and she was of an emotional nature and thoroughly 
 enjoyed her own misery. 
 
 Abby Hardy died as she had lived patient, pitiful. 
 At the last she could not speak, but her pale eyes, so 
 expressionless in life, grew eloquent, and Hardy 
 answered nearly all of her unasked questions. Yes, the 
 children were all well. Baby had cut a tooth. The 
 Tenches would keep them until the house was safe 
 then, sending the nurse out of the room, he went on. 
 " Abby, my poor girl, I have made you unhappy. I m 
 
 286
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 a bad, weak fool, and you have been good to me. Yes, 
 yes, I know, you love me. You have been a good woman 
 you must ask God to forgive me 
 
 Contrary to Tench s entreaties and orders, Hardy 
 insisted on burying his wife himself. 
 
 He met the coffin at the churchyard gate, as he met 
 all the dead of his parish, and walked by it to the 
 grave. Tench, Katie, and the nurse, were almost the 
 only onlookers, for all the gentry in the neighborhood 
 had gone away, as the panic grew serious, and the vil 
 lagers were afraid of the raw, bleak wind that blew. 
 
 Hardy s voice was firm, and he read the beautiful 
 service most poetically. 
 
 As he came to the words, " Thou knowest, Lord, 
 the secrets of our hearts," he glanced up from his book 
 for a second, and his eyes fell on Rosalba Woodvil, who 
 stood a little to one side, a rosary in her hands. 
 
 Her eyes held his for a fraction of a minute and 
 then suddenly a flush came to her face, and her eyes 
 glowed with a golden light. She realized that he was 
 now free. 
 
 And Hardy, seeing her thought, stumbled in his 
 reading, lost his place, and paused. 
 
 The little group around the grave stared open- 
 mouthed, and the doctor, fearing a sudden loss of 
 strength, went quickly up to Hardy as if to help him. 
 The Rector did not notice him. 
 
 For a minute he stared blankly before him, and then 
 suddenly raised his voice, and said angrily : Go. You 
 have no right here. Go! " 
 
 287
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 In her amazement the woman obeyed, and before 
 Tench could speak, Hardy had taken up the thread of 
 the service and went on steadily to the end. 
 
 The little doctor, disturbed and distressed, fore 
 seeing the scandal the scene would give rise to, whis 
 pered as he left the churchyard that Hardy had a high 
 fever, and that he, Tench, feared he was on the point of 
 falling ill. 
 
 On his way across the fields to Borrowdaile, he over 
 took Madame Perez, as he believed her to be, and once 
 more advanced his theory as to the cause of Hardy s 
 unheard-of behavior. 
 
 11 He is on the point of breaking down," the good 
 little man went on, and God knows he has had enough 
 to make him." 
 
 " Ah, yes. Very much trouble." 
 
 The beautiful woman spoke absently, but Tench 
 saw that she was not at all offended with Hardy, and 
 he went his way thoughtful. 
 
 288
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 HARDY went home, and locking himself into his 
 study, sat down and tried to collect his thoughts, which 
 had been wavering and wandering for days. It had 
 not occurred to him that he might be going mad ; indeed 
 that thought rarely comes to those whose minds are 
 really on the point of slipping from the hinges. 
 
 On the contrary, it seemed to him that he was at 
 last punished enough, that God s just wrath must be 
 appeased, and that he would probably die. 
 
 It would be asking too much to demand living from 
 a man in his condition. He could not live, so he must 
 be going to die. 
 
 Languidly he looked around the little room; at the 
 photographs, recently taken, on the chimney-piece; at 
 the new curtains at the windows; at the crystal ink 
 stand the children had given him for Christmas. 
 
 A curious smell of burning was in the air; it was 
 the nurse disinfecting the house; he had noticed on 
 coming up the path that all the upper windows were 
 wide opened to the purifying wind. 
 
 The rest of the children would soon be coming home. 
 He wondered vaguely how many there were left. They 
 would come home or no. First, he must die, and be 
 put out of the way. He wondered whether Madame 
 
 289
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Perez would come to mock at his funeral too. Who 
 would read the service over him ? 
 
 Probably Dr. Dudley, who was expected home in a 
 few days. His sister had died. Everybody died. 
 
 After a time Katie knocked at his door to ask if he 
 would have tea. 
 
 He told her that he did not wish to be disturbed; 
 that he was going to lie down. 
 
 Evening drew on, and night shut down softly over 
 the world. The grayness of the sea seemed to steal up 
 to meet the blackness of the sky, and all was still. In a 
 tree outside one of his windows, a bird s nest hung, 
 and as the darkness grew, a star seemed to rest on it 
 like a bird. Hardy wondered whether, if he climbed 
 the tree, he could catch the star, or whether it would 
 fly away. 
 
 At last, he fell asleep, and slept for hours. When 
 he awoke he was stiff and lame all over. Sitting up, 
 he swallowed once or twice. Yes, his throat was sore. 
 It was all right. He lit the lamp, drew down the cur 
 tains, and made a fire. It was very chill and cold. 
 Some one moved overhead. Abby looking after one of 
 the children. No, Abby was dead. 
 
 He looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly 
 ten o clock. 
 
 Katie knocked again, and when he sent her away, 
 she went to bed with a satisfied feeling that his grief 
 was all that it ought to be. She would tell every one 
 that he did not eat a bite all the day of the funeral. 
 
 Hardy cowered over the fire, drawing a vague com- 
 290
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 fort from the warmth, and then, suddenly, rose and 
 opened a window. If he kept himself warm, he might 
 get well. 
 
 It was cold and still outside ; a sea- fog had crept in 
 landward, and hung pall-like on the trees. Some of the 
 children were playing in the garden; he heard Mac- 
 Dougall s grating little voice. It was a pity the child 
 had such a disagreeable voice. No, MacDougall was 
 dead. 
 
 The pain in his throat was worse, and his head swam 
 so that he held to the window-frame for support. 
 
 Suddenly Madame Perez stood by him, wrapped in 
 the long shawl that made such beautiful folds on her 
 tall figure. 
 
 " I I couldn t stay away," she stammered. " I 
 had to see you." 
 
 Hardy looked at her stupidly. " What do you 
 want? " he asked. 
 
 " Let me come in, it is cold. What do I want? 
 Listen." She pushed by him, closed the window, and 
 drew him to the fire. 
 
 Lady Yarrow comes back the day after to-morrow, 
 and I must go to-morrow; I promised her." 
 
 Hardy put his hand to his head. " You promised 
 her I don t understand. 
 
 " Because she will not see me again. I am Jacques 
 Woodvil s wife you see? " 
 
 With a little exclamation in Spanish over his dul- 
 ness, she hurried on: " She loves Jacques and he, her. 
 Mon Dieu! And they can t marry because of me." 
 
 291
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Hardy put out his hand and touched her arm hesi 
 tatingly. 
 
 " You ought to die, too, you know," he said, with a 
 grave conviction in his husky voice. 
 
 She laughed. " Ah, die! No, I am going to live. 
 You and I are going to live, King. And they shall 
 marry the two saints." 
 
 " He can not marry until you die," he repeated, 
 vaguely. 
 
 " He can. You and I go away together, alma di 
 mi alma, you and I, now, to-night. Then he must 
 divorce me. It would be too much." 
 
 " Too much. Ah, yes." 
 
 " And you and I; what do we care, Hubert Brans- 
 combe ? Ah, I know that you love me. And I love 
 you, and we will live, you and I ! ! 
 
 Breaking into a torrent of Spanish she knelt by the 
 chair into which he had sunk and caught him in her 
 arms. And it is a good deed ! It makes room for her, 
 for Mary Yarrow. Even the Church will forgive us. 
 The Church understands. Ah, mi Ee, mi Re! " 
 
 Hardy pushed her away and rose. He understood 
 now, and remembered everything. 
 
 " Go," he said sternly, " you are a wicked woman, 
 and I hate you. I have been punished, I am going to 
 die, and you would ruin me again. Go ! " 
 
 " King! " she stammered, cowering with uplifted 
 hands, " you are mad! " 
 
 " I am not mad, thank God. I have been mad, I 
 am ill and I did not understand. Now I am sane 
 
 292
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 again. Listen. I do not love you. I never did. God 
 has not let me love any woman. Twice I have thought 
 that I did another man s wife, long ago, and my own 
 wife, later. Neither was real love. Real love is a mix 
 ture of many things, no one of which alone can be called 
 by the name. Earth and dew and light and life make 
 a rose, but no one of them alone is a rose. You are a 
 beautiful woman, but I never loved you. And you 
 you do not love me. You, too, cannot love. Now I see, 
 now I know." 
 
 " You are a fool," she cried harshly, " a poor 
 fool! " 
 
 11 Yes. I am a poor fool. But I have repented of 
 my sin and I have been punished, and now God is 
 going to forgive me." 
 
 He raised his haggard face to the sky, in which 
 many stars shone. For the first time in his life the 
 certainty of mercy had come to him. After a long 
 pause, he added gently, " You must go now. This 
 house is dangerous." 
 
 " I am not afraid." 
 
 The clock struck midnight. 
 
 * And if any one should see you " 
 
 "Ah, bah! What do I care? Tell me that again. 
 That you do not love me." 
 
 Yes. I do not love you." 
 
 " And you never did? " 
 
 "No. I never did." 
 
 But I ! You lie when you say I do not love you. 
 I do! I love you, and only you. I would die for one 
 kind word from you." 
 
 293
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 He started. " I do not mean to be unkind, and I 
 forgot. I have the diphtheria. It is coming on me. 
 You must go." 
 
 For a minute she stared at him, and then, with one 
 movement, flung off her shawl, and springing at him 
 caught him about the neck and kissed him repeatedly 
 on the mouth. Ah, then I, too, will have it. I, too ! 
 Give it to me," she gasped. " I, too, will die." 
 
 Weak and ill, he could not contend with her spas 
 modic, frantic strength, and when she at last released 
 him, fell heavily into a chair. 
 
 Then, suddenly, the terror of death caught her, and 
 with a cry she rushed out into the night, uttering short, 
 sharp ejaculations of fear. 
 
 294
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 A MONTH later Mary Yarrow, Mr. Dudley, and 
 Tench sat together in the library of Borrowdaile House. 
 
 Lady Yarrow was very pale, and her hands shook as 
 she made the tea and poured it into the graceful cups. 
 
 Mr. Dudley watched her some time in silence, and 
 when she had given him bread and butter and settled 
 back in her chair, he began abruptly: " Suppose you 
 tell us all about it, Tench. One hears all sorts of tales, 
 and it is better that Lady Yarrow should know the truth 
 from you yourself, though I wrote her " 
 
 Tench nodded. "Yes." 
 
 The firelight played fantastically on the beautiful 
 old paneling of the walls and ceiling, and made quaint 
 shadows behind the old-fashioned dimity-covered chairs. 
 
 As Tench told his story, Mary Yarrow, who had but 
 just come home, looked absently about the room, her sou 
 venirs of the last meeting with one of the people con 
 cerned in the tale mingling with the present. Then, her 
 baby had been but a few weeks old ; now, he was a big 
 ruddy fellow of eight months a personality, and a com 
 panion. 
 
 Then it had been autumn, with sad rain on the 
 windows and dying leaves fluttering through the heavy 
 air; now mid-May had come, there were flowers in the 
 
 295
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 garden, and the plowed-up earth about the village was 
 rich with green. 
 
 Tench had folded his hands, the ill-shaped little hands 
 that had done so many kind things, and was speaking. 
 
 " I was just going to bed, as I said," he went on, 
 " when I heard the gate click, and, instead of going 
 upstairs, opened the door. There she stood in a white 
 gown, limp with the fog, as even an angel s garments 
 must have been in such a one. I asked her to come in, 
 and she fell on her knees, begging me to save her life. 
 Naturally, I thought she had gone mad, but I could 
 see that she was in for at least a bad cold, and calling 
 my sister, I got a dressing-gown warmed and put on 
 her, and then she sat with a pair of my slippers on. 
 She wouldn t say a word before Maria, but when we were 
 alone again, she began at once begging me to save her 
 life. I ll have diphtheria and die, she wailed, clasping 
 her throat. Cowardice is a disgusting sight to a doctor ; 
 we see a good deal of it, too." 
 
 " But also much beautiful patience, Tench," inter 
 rupted the Rector. 
 
 " Oh, yes, patience, of course. Well, little by little 
 I got it out of her that she had been of all places in 
 the world at poor Hardy s. She talked very wildly " 
 the little man broke off in some embarrassment and 
 glanced uneasily at Lady Yarrow. 
 
 " She she was certain she had caught the disease 
 from him, and of course I couldn t say definitely that 
 she hadn t. It was too soon. I was sorry for her, for 
 her nerves were in a bad state, but such a total lack of 
 
 296
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 reserve is very embarrassing. And when she repeated 
 that Hardy was ill, I, of course, bundled her off as 
 quickly as I could, and went up to look after Hardy." 
 
 The speaker broke off again. 
 
 " I gathered, in two words, from what she said, that 
 she was Mr. Woodvil s wife, and that she, well that 
 she, in short, was in love with Hardy. 
 
 The Rector stroked his thin knees pitifully, as if they 
 had been Hardy s. " Poor fellow, poor fellow," he said 
 softly. 
 
 " I found Hardy very ill, with a high fever and a 
 terrible throat. Of course I couldn t ask him any ques 
 tions, and I saw that he imagined the visit of Madame 
 Mrs. h m! of the lady in question, to have been a 
 dream. It was just as well, and I never corrected the 
 impression. He died of heart-failure, as you know, 
 which was a very merciful death." 
 
 There was a short pause, after which Mary asked, 
 without looking up, " And she? " 
 
 " She sickened the third day and sent for me. 
 When I told her what it was, she telegraphed Sir John 
 and Dr. Prothero, as I ve told you." 
 
 The Rector cleared his throat. " Poor woman." 
 
 " Yes. Father Bingham came and I believe she took 
 the Communion. The room smelt of burnt wax when I 
 came that morning. She was unconscious most of the 
 time, and and talked a good deal raved, you know. 
 She was afraid to die, a thing that happens more seldom 
 than one might think, my lady." 
 
 Mary nodded. " Yes." 
 297
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 " But she insisted on knowing about her condition, 
 and at length I had to tell her that there was no hope. 
 She thanked me, though she could hardly speak, and 
 turned away. An hour later they called me and it was 
 all over. Where she got the pistol, God only knows." 
 
 The Rector leaned over and poked the fire gently. 
 
 " She was afraid to await God s time, poor soul. 
 May He be merciful to her." 
 
 Tench rose. His task was done, and its accomplish 
 ment had been made easy for him. 
 
 " My sister sends her respects, Lady Yarrow," he 
 said, as she gave him her hand, " and she will come to 
 morrow, as you wrote, to talk over the children. We 
 are fond of them, and are glad that your great good 
 ness enables us to keep them." 
 
 It would be a pity to break up what remains of the 
 family, she said. I am glad I can help. 
 
 When the doctor had gone, Lady Yarrow caught up 
 a shawl that lay on a chair, and taking the Rector s arm, 
 said : Now we will go, uncle dearest. People who have 
 dear dead surely can not doubt the immortality of the 
 soul. Imagine Yarrow being nothing now! " 
 
 " Yes, my dear, you are right. I have felt all day 
 as though he were with us. Mind you, don t tell Re 
 becca that, he added with a little laugh. They crossed 
 the spongy lawn and the shadowy park, to the road, 
 and after a few minutes reached the churchyard. 
 
 Lord Yarrow had had a horror of stone vaults and 
 lay under the grass just by the entrance to the family 
 burial-place. 
 
 298
 
 HE AND HECUBA 
 
 Lady Yarrow carried a basket, and when they had 
 reached the grave, knelt by it and set down her light 
 burden. 
 
 The Rector, taking a trowel from his coat-tail pocket, 
 and giving it to her, they set to work to plant about the 
 mound a row of crocuses. 
 
 It was growing dark, but they worked quickly, and 
 when they rose, the basket empty, the soft-voiced old 
 church clock boomed six into the evening air. 
 
 Mary Yarrow paused. " He would be glad, Uncle 
 Charles," she said. 
 
 " Is glad, my dear, is glad." And they went their 
 way, believing it. 
 
 At the house-door they separated. 
 
 " Thank you, dear old man, you have helped me in 
 sorrow and in joy. Give my love to Aunt Rebecca." 
 
 He laughed half-sadly, as old people do at the joy of 
 the young, for he knew what a world of happiness lay 
 beneath the simple words, and baring his head to her, 
 trotted off down the avenue, the newly risen moon car 
 icaturing his bent back and bowed legs in his bouncing 
 shadow. 
 
 Mary Yarrow watched him out of sight, and then 
 turned to go in. Dinner was at eight. As she went up 
 the steps to the door, a long, piercing shriek, mellowed 
 by distance and dampness, reached her ears. A soft 
 blush crept up to her brow. 
 
 It was the train. 
 
 THE END 
 
 20 299
 
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 Dollars and Democracy. 
 
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