10 
 
 I U \3^ 

 
 BARBARA DERING
 
 JMOVELS. 
 
 THE IVORY GATE. By WALTER BESANT. 3 vols. 
 
 THE MARQUIS OF CARABAS. By AARON WATSON and 
 LILLIAS WASSERMANN. 3 vols. 
 
 BOB MARTINS LITTLE GIRL. By DAVID CHRISTIE 
 
 MURRAY. 3 vols. 
 
 TREASON-FELONY. By JOHN HILL. 2 vols. 
 TRUST-MONEY. By WILLIAM WESTALL. 3 vols. 
 THE THOUSAND AND ONE DAYS: PERSIAN TALES. 
 Edited by JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY. 2 vols. 
 
 A SOLDIER S CHILDREN. By JOHN STRANGE WINTER. 
 i vol. 
 
 THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT. By MARK TWAIN, i vol. 
 
 THE FATE OF HERBERT WAYNE. By E. J. GOODMAN. 
 
 i vol. 
 
 A LOST SOUL. By W. L. ALDEN. i vol. 
 MAID MARIAN AND ROBIN HOOD. By J. E. MUDDOCK. 
 i vol. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. By 
 
 W. H. MALLOCK. i vol. 
 
 THE DOWNFALL. By EMILE ZOLA, i vol. 
 
 MY FLIRTATIONS. By MARGARET WYNMAN. i vol. 
 
 LONDON : CHATTO & WINDUS, 214 PICCADILLY, W.
 
 BARBARA DERING 
 
 AMELIE RIVES 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE QUICK OR THE DEAD? ETC. 
 
 -Life teaches us 
 
 To be less strict with others and ourselves : 
 Thou lt learn the lesson, too. So wonderful 
 Is human nature, and its varied ties 
 Are so involved and complicate, that none 
 May hope to keep his inmost spirit calm 
 And walk without perplexity through life. 
 
 GOETHE : Iphigenia 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1892 
 
 [All rights reserved}
 
 v.\ 
 
 SOCRATES. . . . Every discourse, once written, is tossed about from 
 hand to hand, equally among those who understand it and those for 
 whom it is in no wise fitted ; and it does not know to whom it ought, 
 and to whom it ought not, to speak. And when misunderstood and 
 unjustly attacked, it always needs its parent to help it ; for, unaided, 
 it can neither retaliate nor defend itself. PLATO : Phaedrus.
 
 BARBARA BERING 
 
 i. 
 
 MORE than two years had passed since Bering left 
 Kosemary. There was a soft, gold-gray mist over every 
 thing; the tulip-tree leaves glimmered a pale yellow 
 against the dark evergreens on the lawn ; the Indian- 
 corn, standing in great tasselled shocks, gave forth a 
 dry rustle now and then as a field-creature scampered 
 through it ; a crow could be heard sometimes very faintly, 
 as though drowsing on its listless, slow-moving wings ; 
 but, except for such noises, the warm autumn day was 
 silent and the air still. 
 
 Barbara was walking through the cornfield, reading as 
 she went. Her figure, in its dimly-tinted gown, looked 
 thinner. She was pale, and her mouth had a tired bend 
 at its fine corners. 
 
 Under her broad hat her hair was gathered into a 
 VOL. i. 1
 
 2 BARBARA BERING 
 
 sleekly-plaited great knot, like that of a school-girl. 
 She looked younger, and at the same time there was an 
 expression of deeper experience in her large eyes, as she 
 lifted them gravely from her book to the murky blue of 
 the hills or the rich colouring of the meadows through 
 which she was passing. 
 
 Presently she came to some words which seemed to 
 her like a personal message : 
 
 As long as suffering seems grievous to tliee and tlwu 
 scekest to fly from it, so long will it be ill with thee, and 
 the tribulation from which thou fliest will everywhere folloio 
 thee. 
 
 If tliou set thyself to do what thou oughtcst, that is, to 
 suffer and to die to thyself , it ivill quickly be better with 
 thee, and thou wilt find peace. 
 
 I do try, she said aloud, as though speaking to some 
 invisible presence. Her lip quivered a little, like that of 
 a child when it wishes to signify that it means to be 
 good, and she looked up appealingly into the calm sky 
 above her, which seemed like a symbol of the peace for 
 which she yearned. 
 
 Barbara had outgrown much of her old, wayward 
 impulsiveness in these long lonely months. She seemed 
 to herself to have faded mentally, as pastel portraits
 
 BARBARA BERING 3 
 
 fade sometimes, until their once vivid colours are only 
 dull half-tones. She seemed to have lost even her 
 power of suffering keenly. The pain that haunted her 
 was scarcely more than that sense of heaviness with 
 which a narcotic veils physical anguish. Usually, when 
 she thought of Bering, it was with a pitying regret for 
 the misery which she had caused him sometimes with 
 a swift, fleeting desire to have him with her. She was 
 very lonely. 
 
 He hates me, I suppose, she told herself. He thinks 
 dreadful things of me ; but I deserve it. It is only what 
 I ought to bear. I ought to have been brave and to 
 have borne what I brought upon myself. After all, life 
 is so very, very short. I am nearly twenty-nine now. 
 I believe women change a great deal between twenty- 
 six and thirty. I could have made him happy if I 
 could only have conquered my miserable self. How 
 morbid I was ! It seemed to me that Val \yas follow 
 ing me and laughing at me with someone else. As if 
 the great wise dead could condescend to such pettiness ! 
 It was very awful. I seem to have passed through a 
 furnace. There is no sap of life left in me. And 
 yet one longs so for love, for companionship. Her 
 eyes filled slowly with tears which did not fall. She
 
 4 BARBARA BERING 
 
 began to read again, and again the words seemed like 
 a message : 
 
 What I have given I can justly take away, and restore 
 it again when I please. 
 
 When I give it, it is still Mine ; when I take it away 
 again, I take not anything that is thine ; for every best gift 
 and every perfect gift is Mine. 
 
 How strangely God speaks to me out of books ! 
 thought Barbara, with her old conviction in Heaven-sent 
 coincidences. How sweet these dear, old-fashioned 
 sentences are ! She lifted the little volume and pressed 
 her lips upon the open page with more emotion than she 
 had felt for a long while. 
 
 A gun fired suddenly in the next field made her start. 
 Something in the man s dress and bearing, as he walked 
 after the rabbit he had shot, reminded her of Bering. 
 She stood still, and her heart began to beat quickly. 
 
 How strange such likenesses are ! she said to herself. - 
 But I must ask him not to fire so near the house. It 
 will frighten away the birds on the lawn. 
 
 The sportsman proved to be a young Canadian, 
 whom she knew slightly, and he promised not to fire 
 again until he had reached the north-west end of the 
 meadow. In spite of this, however, Barbara decided
 
 5 
 
 to go still farther away into the woods. The sound of 
 a gun always irritated her ; so she walked rather rapidly 
 until she reached a large tree just within the outer fringe 
 of -the forest. As she looked at it she was swept 
 suddenly back into the past as though on a strong 
 wind of memory. It was the tree in which Bering 
 had found her playing with the greyhounds. She put 
 her ungloved hand against the rough bark and gazed at 
 it curiously. How such a thing would have made her 
 suffer two years ago ! Presently she sighed and with 
 drew her hand. 
 
 I wonder if it s better to be like this ? she asked 
 herself. I seem only half alive. 
 
 Then, sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree, she 
 tried to fix her attention again upon her book. But 
 somehow her thoughts wandered. She seemed to see 
 Bering, to hear his voice, as though he were actually 
 with her. The words of A Kempis grew suddenly 
 cold and unreal to her fancy, as though written from 
 a standpoint too much apart from human interest. 
 
 Barbara was one of the women who idolize the 
 absent. She remembered only the kind and sympa 
 thetic moods of Bering. His harsh words had all been 
 forgotten. Like most generous, impulsive characters,
 
 6 BARBARA DERING 
 
 she forgave fully and forgot in spite of herself, and when 
 she wished to record some offence committed against her, 
 unless she wrote it down at once, she had a blurred 
 and incoherent memory of it in less than a fortnight. 
 Dering appeared to her always pale and sorrowful, 
 never rough and indignant. Often she had an almost 
 intolerable desire to write to him and beg him to 
 send her some words of forgiveness with which to com 
 fort herself in moments of acute self-reproach. The 
 thought of his saddened life made her heart settle 
 heavily in her breast. She could not analyze the feel 
 ing exactly. She wished to see him, and yet the 
 thought of it was painful. She longed for his com 
 panionship, and yet dreaded the revival of the old 
 unrest that it might bring. She would have given much 
 to ask his forgiveness personally, and yet the fear of 
 hearing him refuse it filled her with a childish terror. 
 
 If I could see him, just for a minute, I think it 
 would help me, she murmured. A long, catching sigh 
 broke from her, and she let her forehead sink against 
 her upturned palms. Someone stepped upon the fallen 
 leaves at her side. 
 
 Barbara, said the voice of Dering.
 
 II. 
 
 BARBARA did not look up at once. For an instant she 
 was overcome with actual, sharp, physical fear. Then, 
 with the effort that we sometimes make to wake from 
 a terrifying dream, she started convulsively and lifted 
 her eyes to his face. She was so white that he, in his 
 turn, grew frightened. 
 
 I ought to have let them tell you. I have hurt you. 
 Forgive me, he said, speaking in the old rapid way, 
 that seemed as familiar as the brown-leaved oaks about 
 them. What can I do ? Tell me. Let me help you, 
 he urged. I m miserable about it. Great blundering 
 idiot that I am ! 
 
 < It was so sudden, Barbara managed to say. 
 Her lips were still colourless. I was thinking of of 
 you just at that moment. Things startle me more than 
 they used to.
 
 8 BARBARA DERING 
 
 You don t look as strong as you did, he said anxiously ; 
 then with great gentleness, My poor Barbara ! 
 
 Please don t, she said, trembling. I can t bear it. 
 
 He sat down beside her and lifted the fallen book 
 mechanically from the ground. The same old A 
 Kempis ! he could not help exclaiming, with a smile. 
 Do you still open books for advice and comfort as you 
 used to do ? 
 
 I know it s very childish, she said, flushing. 
 
 I always loved it in you, he answered, rather 
 absently. But what heavy markings ! And here s a 
 page all puckered. Dear ! he ended, with a sudden 
 change of voice, how you must have been suffering all 
 this time ! 
 
 It was fair ; I deserved it, she said eagerly. I m 
 so glad to be able to tell you that. I think I m a better 
 woman for it. Please don t think I m pretending to be 
 humble. These things are so hard to say. But I hope 
 you will believe me. 
 
 Your face shows it, he answered, looking at her. 
 What a wonder you are ! I thought I might have 
 exaggerated your eyes in this long absence. But I 
 haven t. They re marvellous. And there s something 
 more more I don t mean " womanly " exactly. Help
 
 BARBARA BERING 9 
 
 me out, dear. We were always frank with each 
 other. 
 
 Perhaps you mean they are gentler? she suggested, 
 almost timidly. I ve changed very, very much in some 
 things. She turned away suddenly from his steady gaze, 
 a deep crimson floating even over her smooth throat. 
 
 Have you ? he said. I wish I thought you had 
 changed " very, very much " in one particular thing. 
 
 Barbara He paused, so that her name lingered on 
 
 her ear like a caress before the sentence was finished. 
 You must know why I am here. 
 
 She could think of nothing to say. Her lips refused 
 to move, and she trembled. 
 
 But you shall not have more pain to bear, he con 
 tinued. Don t look like that, as though you were afraid 
 of me. 
 
 No, no ; indeed I m not, she whispered. 
 
 Well, then, try to be quiet. I ll only say gentle, 
 soothing things. And if I make you unhappy I ll go 
 away without another word. 
 
 No, no! protested Barbara, her lips quivering; and 
 then with a sudden, uncontrollable burst of tears she 
 sobbed out : It is so good to see you. I have missed 
 you so.
 
 io BARBARA BERING 
 
 Bering sat rigidly self-controlled, beating the palm of 
 one hand softly with his doubled fist, in his determina 
 tion not to startle or offend her by any demonstration 
 of feeling, and in a few moments she was quite calm 
 again. 
 
 I haven t cried for a long while, she said at last, 
 in a shy voice. I m dreadfully ashamed of myself. 
 I think it must have been the shock of seeing you so 
 suddenly. 
 
 Why, of course it was, he assured her. The most 
 natural thing in the world. But I m afraid you ve been 
 on a great strain. 
 
 I think it s more the loneliness, she said simply. 
 One gets so pent up. 
 
 Gad! I know the feeling, exclaimed Dering. I 
 never could talk of myself to anyone but you. Other 
 chaps chaff so, and, as a rule, I make an awful mess of it 
 with women. 
 
 There was silence for a few moments, and then he said 
 suddenly : 
 
 Take off your hat, will you ? I ve a fancy to see you 
 without it. 
 
 Barbara drew out the long pin which fastened it above 
 her plaits and uncovered her shining head .
 
 BARBARA BERING n 
 
 Yes, I thought so, said Bering. You ve got it 
 arranged differently. You look more like the Milo than 
 ever with that crinkly parting. And you ve got a little 
 nick in your right eyebrow just as she has. 
 
 I m afraid mine is nothing more romantic than a scar 
 from varioloid, replied Barbara. 
 
 Well, it s delightful, all the same. By Jove ! that 
 parted hair makes you look wonderfully meek ! 
 
 I feel meek, she said with a smile. 
 
 Then it s just a mental coiffure, too, which you 
 happen to wear this afternoon. Fancy you meek ! 
 
 I see you don t believe how I have changed. 
 
 I confess I can t accept the idea of your meekness. 
 
 I shall have to prove it to you. 
 
 There are ways I could suggest. 
 
 Of course people might differ in their ideas of 
 meekness. 
 
 Of course. 
 
 Some people might call spiritlessness meekness. 
 
 Well, isn t it ? 
 
 No, I don t think so ; not exactly. 
 
 You are much thinner, too, observed Bering with 
 irrelevancy. 
 
 Am 1 ? she asked, pinching mechanically her loose
 
 12 BARBARA DERING 
 
 sleeve. Yes, I suppose I am ; but then I always was a 
 fausse maigre. 
 
 I don t like to see you looking so pale, either. 
 
 No, I don t like that, confessed Barbara candidly. 
 I often wish it wasn t vulgar to use a touch of rouge. 
 
 Eouge is devilish, said Dering harshly. If a woman 
 whom I liked were to use rouge, and I found it out, I 
 believe I should hate her. 
 
 How unjust ! exclaimed Barbara. It s nothing but 
 a custom, after all. 
 
 It has disagreeable associations. I ve always thought 
 it a hideous idea. But your paleness is lovely. I only 
 dislike it because it means you have been ill. 
 
 Oh no ! said Barbara. I m almost terribly healthy. 
 Sometimes I have thought that physical pain would be a 
 great relief. 
 
 Oh, you poor soul ! exclaimed the young man. 
 He half put out his hand impetuously, then drew it 
 back. 
 
 You have changed, too, she said, after awhile. You 
 are thinner yourself. 
 
 Oh, I ve been knocking about so. For one thing, I 
 walked a good bit over the Himalayas with an English 
 officer not long ago ; I got pretty sick of it, too !
 
 BARBARA DERING 13 
 
 I wish women could do that sort of thing, sighed 
 Barbara. 
 
 Well, so they can nowadays. 
 
 Yes ; but one doesn t like the idea of scampering 
 around the globe by one s self. 
 
 I should think not, said Bering, with rather a grim 
 smile. I should think not, he repeated slowly, this 
 time with a laugh. 
 
 Barbara rose under a sudden impulse. 
 
 It is getting chilly, she suggested. Suppose we 
 walk. 
 
 The sun had appeared through a molten - looking 
 gap in the gray clouds, and there was an uncertain 
 wind. As they walked the haze gradually cleared, 
 and a great green-gold star flared out in the north-east. 
 
 How I love the smell of the corn! said Barbara, 
 throwing back her head with one of her free gestures, 
 and the pennyroyal ! It is the essence of autumn to me. 
 
 She stooped, and gathered a spray of the little, trans 
 parent blue flowers, with their rough dark leaves, 
 crushed it to bring out still more the pungent odour, and 
 held it close to her nostrils. 
 
 How keen you are about everything ! exclaimed 
 Bering.
 
 14 BARBARA DERING 
 
 1 No, not about everything, she answered seriously. 
 I was thinking to-day how much less I feel things than 
 I used to. Sometimes I fancy I have quite the sensations 
 of a very old person. 
 
 That s first-rate ! he cried, laughing. There never 
 was such a naive creature. No wonder other women 
 seem flat after you. 
 
 Do they ? asked Barbara, out of sheer embarrass 
 ment, not at all knowing what she said. 
 
 As bits of paper, answered Bering briefly. 
 
 Barbara could not help laughing. 
 
 You seem rather fond of playing with paper dolls, 
 then, she retorted. I have heard of you in London and 
 Paris and Borne. And this summer I am sure you were 
 very gay at Newport. I even heard the name of the 
 young girl you were engaged to. 
 
 I have been trying awfully hard to fall in love with 
 someone ever since I last saw you, said Bering 
 honestly. 
 
 Barbara was glad that the purplish veil of the twilight 
 hung between them. She felt that he was watching 
 her narrowly. As they passed under the low-hanging 
 boughs of an old cherry-tree, she saw that here and there 
 upon the sleek twigs were little knots of white bloom.
 
 BARBARA DERING 15 
 
 Why, it s blossoming and in September ! she ex 
 claimed. 
 
 She broke off a bit and held it out to him. 
 
 Thank you, Barbara, he said quietly. Spring flowers 
 in autumn. It is a good omen. I feel cheered.
 
 III. 
 
 How is Siegfried, the fair, the unlovable, the tiger-lily 
 maid of Kosemary ? asked Dering, as they went -up the 
 low stone steps at the back of the house. Does she 
 still knit as many baby-socks and drop as many stitches 
 as ever ? 
 
 How absurd ! I had forgotten that you called her 
 "Siegfried," laughed Barbara. Yes, she is just the 
 same. 
 
 Everything seems the same, he said, with a sort of 
 curt breath that was his nearest approach to a sigh. 
 But where are you taking me ? This isn t the way to 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 No. I m a great musician now. I have a music- 
 room. 
 
 They went up a short stairway and she opened a 
 door. Before them lay a long, wide apartment, witl- a
 
 BARBARA DERING 17 
 
 large window at one end, which framed the dying light 
 without, and through which they saw the vapoury 
 saffron of the just-risen moon magnified by the mists, 
 which were again gathering. Beyond, the fields lay 
 dully gold, fretted with violet shadows, and some dead 
 acacias were etched against a rose-brown sky. A curious 
 smell of lemons, fur, and flowers filled the room. In the 
 immense fireplace the core of a wood-fire glowed richly. 
 There were heavy curtains of crimson brocade, and the 
 walls were panelled to the ceiling with light oak. A 
 grand piano stood among a little group of lemon-trees in 
 one corner. 
 
 Pictures of the sea, in storm and calm, hung low, 
 above the lounging-chairs and carved tables. There 
 was a lion-skin on the hearth. 
 
 I spend most of my time here, said Barbara. I 
 have never played for you, have I ? 
 
 No ; you had no piano when I was here before. I 
 love music. Can t I have some now ? 
 
 Presently ; but let us get warm first. You know my 
 lazy ways. To be entirely happy I must have on a 
 tea-gown. I will send you some tea while I am gone. 
 
 Left alone, Bering threw himself on a sofa which was 
 drawn up to one side of the fireplace, settled down 
 
 A 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 1 8 BARBARA BERING 
 
 among the heap of cushions, with his head thrown back 
 on his interlaced fingers, and his eyes closed. The 
 feeling uppermost in his brain was that he was again 
 under the same roof with Barbara. Somewhere, not far 
 away, she was brushing out the ripples of her vivid hair ; 
 the things that she loved and touched daily were all 
 about him ; the very cushions upon which his head 
 rested held that perfume of iris and damask roses with 
 which he always associated her. She would come again 
 in a few moments, and he would speak with her and 
 watch the firelight in her eyes and on her glancing 
 throat. Barbara Barbara Barbara the very name 
 had a strange charm and vitality in it. How short now 
 seemed the years which had been so long spent away 
 from her ! 
 
 All things come to him who knows how to wait, 
 he muttered drowsily, and just as he finished speaking 
 the door opened and she stole in. He gazed at her 
 curiously as she came forward with long, slow steps, 
 and at last stood silent before the fire, looking down 
 at her graceful hands, which she held out as though to 
 warm them. She was all in white. An old necklace 
 of seed-pearls and great green jewels made splashes of 
 colour in the flickering light.
 
 BARBARA BERING 19 
 
 That is the same gown you used to wear, he said 
 quietly, though his heart was jumping. 
 
 Yes, was all that she answered. 
 
 But I never saw the necklace before. 
 
 No ; it s an old family relic. These aren t real ; 
 they re what the French call bijoux defantaisie. It s a 
 French thing. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 Will you play for rne now ? asked Dering finally. 
 
 Are you sure that you really love music ? she returned 
 smiling. 
 
 I tell you I dote on it! he exclaimed, rather im 
 patiently. Please don t tease rne. 
 
 Very well, said Barbara docilely, and moved towards 
 the piano. A low, murmuring ^nelody began to float 
 through the room. Dering, who loved music without 
 comprehending it, closed his eyes and drew in his breath 
 luxuriously, half fancying that the light touch of her 
 fingers was falling upon his hair. He told himself that 
 he had had a bad dream last night, that no surly years 
 of dogged resolution separated the past from the present, 
 and that when she took her hands from the piano- 
 keys she would come and slip them into his with 
 the old freedom. But, instead, she let her white length
 
 20 BARBARA DERING 
 
 sink slowly into a deep chair on the other side of the 
 fireplace, and said that she was too tired to play any 
 more. A little Angora kitten trotted suddenly out 
 of the shadows, and, jumping upon her knee, began 
 to pat with one paw at the jewel which fastened her 
 gown. She caressed it, smiling, and Bering could hear 
 distinctly its loud purr of delight. Somehow this irritated 
 him. 
 
 You used not to like cats, he said rather gruffly. 
 
 But I always liked kittens, returned Barbara. 
 
 That distinction s a little beyond me. 
 
 Why, they re quite different, I think. Kittens are 
 dear rnites, so so Could one say cuddlesome? 
 
 One could if one felt the need, he answered, with the 
 dry laugh that she remembered. 
 
 Now I ve vexed you! she exclaimed penitently. 
 Get down, Higgles. Higgles struck the lion-skin with 
 a soft bounce, and began to play good-naturedly with her 
 evasive tail. 
 
 What has become of the greyhounds ? said 
 Bering. 
 
 Oh, they sucked eggs, so that they had to go. But I 
 have a supreme favourite now that takes the place of all 
 the rest.
 
 BARBARA BERING 21 
 
 What on earth can that be ? A bear cub ? he 
 suggested crossly. 
 
 Barbara laughed. 
 
 No. It s my horse, Wilful. Such a dear ! The 
 colour of my hair, with a white splash on his forehead, 
 and red silk nostrils. His muzzle would fit in a teacup, 
 and yet he s seventeen hands. Such hoofs ! like black 
 onyx, and his pasterns spring out of them like gold- 
 tiames. He s as wild as a hawk, and I was going to say 
 as kind as a kitten, but the simile might jar, she ended 
 mischievously. She could never resist teasing him in 
 one of his surly fits. 
 
 This is another new taste, he said, still glum. I 
 didn t know you rode. 
 
 Yes, very well, she assured him, with feigned gravity. 
 I ll put Wilful over some fences for you. 
 
 Snake-fences ? asked Bering, with his grin. If 
 he jumps snake-fences, you ought to call him Pegasus. 
 
 How very witty ! said Barbara, and they both laughed. 
 Neither spoke for some moments, and then Dering said 
 suddenly : 
 
 Hold up your hand a second. 
 
 She did so, wondering. 
 
 No. Your left hand.
 
 22 BARBARA DERING 
 
 She drew it from under the kitten, which had again 
 jumped into her lap, and lifted it in the firelight, then 
 started and flushed, dropping it among the folds of her 
 gown. 
 
 So you found it ? asked Dering, whose mood was 
 undoubtedly malign. 
 
 I I hate you when you speak to me like that ! 
 she cried, springing imperiously to her great height. 
 You make me hate you ! she repeated passionately. 
 Her heart had not throbbed with such emotion for many 
 months. 
 
 Dering s eyes were masterful. As he gazed at her in 
 silence she turned her head nervously aside, and presently 
 went over to the open window, through which the moon 
 light now fell in a long, barred pattern upon the polished 
 floor. He followed her. She heard his voice at her 
 shoulder. 
 
 You d be apt to forgive what a man said under thumb 
 screws eh, Barbara ? 
 
 You can be so horribly cruel, she gasped. 
 
 And you ? 
 
 I have done nothing nothing. 
 
 Not this time, but that evening we were both thinking 
 of just now.
 
 BARBARA DERING 23 
 
 When you say things like that to me you change all 
 my thoughts. 
 
 Thoughts of what, may I ask ? 
 
 Of you. 
 
 Of me? Barbara! 
 
 No ! don t touch me. You have been too cruel. 
 Don t don t ! 
 
 But he had her hands in his. Their eyes defied each 
 other. In the man s was a certain mocking look. She 
 saw it at once, and her pupils spread with anger. 
 
 You wild thing ! You tigress ! How you would like 
 to hurt me ! But I have you fast. 
 
 Let me go ! You rouse all the wickedness in me. 
 You make me wicked. I felt so gentle to you. I wished 
 to make amends to you. When you hold me like this 
 something in me rises against you. Her voice changed 
 suddenly to a sort of wail : Jock ! Jock ! do you really 
 mean to hurt me so ? 
 
 She felt him drop to his knees beside her, and draw 
 the soft stuff of her gown close about his face. They 
 remained in this position for a second or two, quite 
 silent, then she stooped and touched his curls timidly 
 with her lips. 
 
 Oh, Barbara ! he whispered, with a great boyish sigh,
 
 24 BARBARA DERING 
 
 and, putting up his hand, pressed her cheek against his, 
 and so held her in her bending attitude. 
 
 Is it sweet ? he asked presently, still in a whisper. 
 
 Yes, she answered, trembling. 
 
 As it used to be ? 
 
 More, trembling greatly. 
 
 More ? Darling, then give me your lips. 
 
 No, no ! Let me go now. To-morrow to-morrow, 
 Jock. I promise. Indeed, indeed ! Let me go. 
 
 To-morrow, then ? You swear it ? 
 
 Yes, yes ! I swear it. 
 
 But when, to-morrow ? Where ? When, Barbara ? 
 
 I don t know. Only let me go now. I am ill I am 
 dizzy. I have promised. You hurt my throat keeping 
 it bent so. 
 
 1 One minute. Let me kiss you. 
 
 I cannot. I must not. It is for life and death this 
 time. It will be final. I must think I must pray. I 
 tell you, you are really hurting me. 
 
 Well, then ! 
 
 He released her, with a quick breath, and jumped to 
 his feet ; but before he could speak to her again she had 
 slipped past him with a supple movement and left the 
 room.
 
 IV. 
 
 THE next morning, while he was drinking his coffee 
 in the same lodging that he had occupied on his former 
 visit to the neighbourhood, Beauregard Walsingham 
 entered and placed a small blue envelope beside his 
 plate. Bering s heart gave a quick flare of expecta 
 tion, and he handed Beauregard a silver piece, which 
 the small black at once tucked away into one of his 
 cheeks with his old gesture and a low bow of thanks. 
 When he was alone, Bering tore open the envelope 
 with an eagerness which gave his eyes a stern glare 
 and drew a deep mark between his dark brows. As 
 he read, the expression of his face died into a pale 
 quietude, and he ended by crumpling the note slowly 
 in one hand and tossing it into the fire. It had run 
 as follows : 
 
 There is to be a country dance to-night at an over-
 
 26 BARBARA DERING 
 
 seer s house two miles from here. I know his wife very 
 well, and have helped her to nurse her children in ill 
 ness, so I can invite myself and bring any friend I 
 choose with me. Aunt Fridis will chaperon us. I 
 fancy it will be very funny. Do you care to come? I 
 am going. B. 
 
 When Bering reached Eosemary that evening Bar 
 bara was not ready, but she entered in a few moments 
 buttoning her long glove. Her short gown of trans 
 parent black with its gold belt gave her a girlish look. 
 Her hair was twisted high into a sort of helmet shape, 
 and in it sparkled a winged comb of small diamonds. 
 
 You beauty! said Bering, under his breath, watch 
 ing her from his place at the mantelshelf, but not coming 
 towards her. 
 
 What ? she asked, a little nervously. I didn t hear 
 what you said. 
 
 Oh, I ll tell you all about it on our way home, said 
 Bering quietly. I suppose our Siegfried is very wonderful 
 in ball attire ? 
 
 No ; she s rather nice. I did her myself. 
 
 Miss Fridiswig here entered in a dark-green silk 
 with black lace draperies. Her curls had been im-
 
 BARBARA DERING 27 
 
 prisoned into careful plaits, and her small red nose 
 elaborately powdered. She giggled and circled about 
 Dering, flirting her unusual costume this way and that 
 for his admiration. 
 
 You re positively stunning, Miss Fridis, he assured 
 her, and she coyly fastened in his button-hole a white 
 carnation and a bit of fern as a reward for this gallant 
 speech. 
 
 The road was terribly rough, but there was brilliant 
 moonlight, and they did not seem long in reaching the 
 scene of the dance. Along the whitewashed fence 
 which surrounded what in Virginia is so often called 
 the circle that is the round plot of glass edged 
 with a carriage-way they saw traps of all sorts and 
 unsaddled horses. The monotonous sound of a tinny 
 piano and two fiddles scraped against their ears. 
 
 Inside was a merry noise of dancing, laughter, and 
 shrieking. Barbara grew quite excited, and the small 
 feet of Miss Fridiswig pattered on the floor of the 
 carriage. 
 
 Come ! cried Barbara. Do let s hurry ! I m afraid 
 we re late now ! 
 
 They entered a narrow hall lighted by a kerosene- 
 lamp, and a glistening black girl beckoned them up-
 
 28 BARBARA DERING 
 
 stairs to take off their wraps. When they came down 
 their hostess met them, affable and glowing in a 
 costume of lace window - curtain over Turkey - red 
 calico. 
 
 Now, this cert n y is nice of you to come, Mis 
 Pomfret ! The gyrls cert n y will be pleased ! she said, 
 clasping Barbara s arm in a moist but hospitable palm. 
 They re darncin th Coquette. All the young fellows 
 re engaged, but you n Mr. Mr. 
 
 This is Mr. Dering, Mrs. Twampler, put in Barbara, 
 flushing. 
 
 You n Mr. Dering 11 make ellergant partners. Then 
 she broke off and stared at Dering in a way that made 
 him frown. 
 
 He had given a swiff guess at what happened to be 
 the truth namely, that Mrs. Twampler had heard the 
 story of his former acquaintance with Barbara. 
 
 His frown deepened into an air of such grimness that 
 his hostess gave a nervous laugh and began to arrange 
 the large hair-brooch which dented her ample chin. 
 
 She then provided chairs for Barbara and Dering, 
 who said that they did not know how to dance the 
 Coquette, and, after seeing them settled, bore Miss 
 Fridiswig away.
 
 BARBARA BERING 29 
 
 Try not to look quite so glum, whispered Barbara, 
 presently, fanning herself and looking at the dancers, as 
 though not thinking of her companion. I thought it 
 would amuse you. You really make me feel as though 
 I were boring you. 
 
 Did you ever try to find Mark Twain funny when 
 you didn t feel in the humour ? 
 
 Ye-es. 
 
 Well, then, you have an excellent idea of my present 
 sensations. 
 
 But act a little. Can t you pretend ? After all, it s 
 not very flattering to me. 
 
 What on earth made you bring me to this confounded 
 place, then ? It s enough to put a seraph out of temper. 
 Idiots ! 
 
 I m sure I didn t urge you to come. 
 
 No ; but you knew perfectly well that I would. I 
 was determined to see you to-day. 
 
 Now that you see me, you don t seem to appreci 
 ate it. 
 
 In this den ? I fancy not ! 
 
 Barbara was silent, trying not to laugh. The fact 
 was that she had taken this desperate means of delay 
 ing her interview with Bering, and could not help find-
 
 30 BARBARA DERING 
 
 ing his impotent rage amusing, although her soul was 
 torn with its great struggle. She had not slept the 
 night before. The hand that held her fan trembled, 
 and tears were as near her eyes as laughter to her 
 lips. 
 
 Good Lord ! this is too much ! burst forth Dering 
 suddenly in a whispered explosion. There s that in 
 fernal ass ! 
 
 Who ? Where ? asked Barbara, startled. 
 
 Why, there in front of you, dancing this monkey- 
 shine. I forget what it s called. There ! in that flowered 
 waistcoat. Our old friend Buzzy ! What an ape ! 
 
 Hush ! said Barbara. He hasn t seen us. Don t 
 look at him. 
 
 Buzzy, who was coquetting to a huge girl in blue 
 silesia, fastened up her square waistless back with white 
 shoe-buttons, capered on, unconscious of the angry eyes 
 which Dering had fastened upon his pomatumed locks. 
 He wore a dress-coat too large for him, lined and faced 
 with bright blue satin, a tie to match, and a waistcoat 
 embroidered with rosebuds. 
 
 The Coquette is a dance which is executed in the fol 
 lowing manner : The company being arranged in a circle, 
 the young man or woman whose turn it is to coquette
 
 BARBARA DERING 31 
 
 advances with coy movements, which keep time to a 
 spirited tune, towards the person opposite. At the last 
 moment a toss of the head or a tantalizing placing of 
 the hands behind the back signifies that the male or 
 female coquette has decided to select a different partner, 
 and this engaging performance is renewed indefi 
 nitely. 
 
 Had Bering not been in one of his most perverse 
 moods, he would have driven a much longer distance 
 over rougher roads to see Buzzy s present antics ; but 
 there are moments in which our sense of humour seems 
 crowded out by fiercer emotions, and Bering followed 
 with sombre eyes the evolutions of the flowered waist 
 coat about the silesia bodice. He even watched, without 
 a smile, one lank \vornan of thirty-five, who was at least 
 six feet tall, and who wore a pale-green cotton-velvet 
 corsage over a skirt of pink tarlatan, giggle through the 
 most complicated contortions before six different swains, 
 and select finally a dapper little youth of twenty, with 
 a cosy dimple in his chapped chin. Once only during 
 the evening \vas there so much as a flicker about his 
 lips. It was when, just before supper, the women, old 
 and young, left the room, and returned having their 
 front ringlets frankly powdered with flour. Brunette
 
 32 BARBARA BERING 
 
 and blonde alike had adopted this coiffure, and bore 
 themselves with a self-satisfied air, evidently the result 
 of conscious beauty. 
 
 After supper a repast of which Bering had refused to 
 partake, in spite of Barbara s urgings a polka \vas struck 
 up, and Mrs. Twampler was seen coming towards them 
 with the blue-silesia young woman hanging behind, but 
 still advancing, though reluctantly. 
 
 Mis Pomfret, this is Miss Huggins from over Turkey 
 Mountain. Mr. Bering, sir, let me interjuce yuh tuh 
 Mis Huggins. She s mighty light on her feet, she 
 added, as though in apology for the young lady s 
 solid figure. She s heaps the bes darncer down our 
 way. I hope, sir, she continued, extending one com 
 fortable hand, upon which rested the fat white fingers of 
 Miss Huggins, boneless, and with square, dark-rimmed 
 tips I hope, sir, you ll oblige me by darncin this 
 polka with her, as yuh don t seem tuh be havin a very 
 gay time. 
 
 Barbara was at first too appalled by Bering s expres 
 sion to feel any inclination to laugh, but as she saw him 
 helplessly advance and place his arm across the vast 
 back of Miss Huggins, she started up, and, after looking 
 wildly about her for an instant, rushed to the nearest
 
 BARBARA BERING 33 
 
 window and, flinging up the sash, thrust her head far out 
 into the frosty glare. 
 
 Mind ! that button s loose ! called Mrs. Twampler, 
 following her. What s the matter ? Th room too 
 warm ? 
 
 Yes, yes, murmured Barbara. Can we stay here a 
 little while, Mrs. Twampler ? 
 
 Why, o cose, said Mrs. Twampler cheerily. Yuh 
 do look sorter weakish. Will yuh have some blackb ry 
 cordial ? 
 
 No ; thank you so much ! You are very, very kind, 
 said Barbara, who was apt to gush to the lower classes 
 in her excessive desire to be civil. I never drink cor 
 dials. 
 
 Don t yuh, now ? Why, yuh look s if twould be reel 
 good fuh yuh. Do yuh have rheumatism ? Pokeb ry an 
 whisky s perffeckly ellergant fuh rheumatism. Lemme 
 give yuh haffer bottle. Do now ? 
 
 No, no, I never have rheumatism ; but thank you ever 
 so much all the same. How delicious this air is ! Is is 
 Mr. Dering still dancing ? 
 
 No, he ain t darncin now. He s fannin Pussy 
 Huggins. She does darnce beautiful that girl, though 
 yuh wouldn t think it from her fat. But, then, fat people 
 
 VOL. i. 3
 
 34 BARBARA BERING 
 
 oughtn t tub be so heavy by rights. I ve heard tell as how 
 reel fat people float in th water like corks. Is it true, 
 you reckon ? 
 
 I I don t know, said Barbara hesitatingly. I think 
 it is. 
 
 Well, I clare ! exclaimed Mrs. Twampler. It s hard 
 tub take in, ain t it, now? But you d better come way 
 from this winder fore yuh ketch yo death. Oh, here s 
 my nephew, Horace Buzzy. I think you wuz very kynd 
 tub him onct on th way tub Charlottesville. Didn t his 
 waggin break down, or somethin ? 
 
 Did you say his first name was was Horace? asked 
 Barbara in a low voice, with her head still out of the 
 window. 
 
 Yes. His ma loves them hifalutin names. He s 
 got a sister name Una, an another name Antonet, an 
 his little buddy s called Norval. You know it s from 
 that verse of poetry bout th Grampus hills. Some 
 body told me th other day that them hills went under 
 water in Scotland an came up in Faginia ez th Blue 
 Eidge, but I reckon they wuz gasin . Here s Horace 
 now. Howdy, Horace? cose you know Mis Pom- 
 fret? 
 
 Well. I reckon ! hyah ! by ah ! exclaimed Bux/y.
 
 BARBARA BERING 35 
 
 Wuzn t that bout th wust busted waggin ever you 
 saw, Mis Pomfret? Then, without waiting for a 
 reply, See yo fren s back. Wuzn t he jess ray in with 
 me bout two years ago? and again he became mirth 
 ful. 
 
 You cert n y have been flirtin shameful with Pussy 
 Huggins, Horace. Ef I wuz th other gyrls I wouldn t 
 speak tuh you tub. save yo neck. 
 
 Well, you couldn t be but one other gyrl ! cried Bu//y 
 jovially. Though there is enough o yuh tuh make two, 
 Aunt Looly ! Hyah ! hyah ! 
 
 He then turned to Barbara : 
 
 Say, Mr. What s-his-name, yo friend s run off with 
 my mash. It s jess bout fyar you should come long with 
 me, don cher think? Less have a polka. 
 
 Barbara was protesting, and Buzzy endeavouring to 
 put his long arm about her waist, when she saw Bering 
 approaching with an expression of condensed fury about 
 his lowered brows. He said good-night to Mrs. Twampler 
 with an abruptness which astonished that kind soul, 
 and, bearing the drowsy Miss Fridiswig off on his other 
 elbow from her nook by the fire, placed both ladies 
 in the carriage before they were quite aware of what had 
 happened.
 
 36 BARBARA DERING 
 
 I m cold ! I ve left my mantilla upstairs ! whimpered 
 Miss Fridiswig, shivering. How very impetuous Mr. 
 Bering always is, Barbara ! 
 
 Yes, it s certainly rather chilly, assented her niece, 
 who was laughing weakly. 
 
 Bering, who had dashed off when Miss Cabell began 
 speaking, now returned with an armful of wraps, in 
 which he proceeded to enfold his companions. Miss 
 Fridiswig struggled bravely to get her mantilla adjusted 
 properly to her little figure, but Barbara submitted with 
 entire meekness to having her long cloak thrown about 
 her upside down and its sleeves crossed upon her lap. 
 This feat accomplished, Bering arranged his silk muffler 
 fiercely about his throat, drew on a pair of fur-lined 
 gloves, and flung himself into the carriage beside 
 Barbara. 
 
 I suppose I need not apologize, he said behind his 
 teeth, as they drove off. I suppose you have had 
 enough fun at that delightful entertainment. By gad ! 
 my coat smells yet of that Huggins creature s patchouli ! 
 I m glad you find it so amusing, Barbara. I fancy you 
 won t mind my smoking until you ve thoroughly indulged 
 your inclination for mirth. A good cigar will be better 
 than this stench, at all events !
 
 BARBARA BERING 37 
 
 He lit a cigar with savage energy, and, drawing 
 the rugs about him, settled himself grimly in one 
 corner. 
 
 I suppose it will add to your amusement to know 
 that I ve caught a cold into the bargain ! he announced, 
 before relapsing into final silence. 
 
 If you have pneumonia, I promise to come and nurse 
 you, said Barbara, with soft seriousness. 
 
 Umph ! returned Bering grumpily.
 
 V. 
 
 AFTER a while Barbara stood up and put on the cloak, 
 which Dering had only tucked about her shoulders. 
 Miss Fridiswig had drawn her tiny heelless slippers up 
 on the seat, and was napping comfortably, with her 
 head on her huge old-fashioned muff. 
 
 Does this smoke bother you ? Shall I throw away 
 my cigar ? asked Dering suddenly. 
 
 Oh no, she answered ; I don t mind it at all, and 
 Aunt Fridis is asleep." 
 
 I m going to throw it away, at any rate, he said 
 finally. 
 
 The horses were walking slowly up a steep hill, and 
 the branches of some shrubs brushed softly against the 
 sides of the carriage. 
 
 Are you very tired, Barbara ? he asked again after 
 some moments.
 
 BARBARA DERING 39 
 
 A little. It s rather pleasant. 
 
 Why in the name of common-sense did you drag me 
 and yourself to this ridiculous thing ? 
 
 I sometimes they are very amusing. You were 
 very funny with Miss Huggins. 
 
 Oh, I dare say. 
 
 But I am glad you saved me from Buzzy. 
 
 Impudent jackanapes ! 
 
 Is Miss Huggins as beautiful a "darncer" as Mrs. 
 Twampler said ? 
 
 Ugh ! What an awful thing she was to touch ! 
 And how abominably she smelt ! If there s anything I 
 loathe, it s patchouli. Are you comfortable? 
 
 Yes, thank you. 
 
 He leaned forward to draw the wrap more securely 
 about her, and his hand touched hers. He let his 
 fingers rest where they were, and her hand, though it 
 quivered a little, was not withdrawn. In the silence 
 that followed they descended another hill and crossed 
 a stream. 
 
 What a cool night for this season ! she said, under 
 her breath. 
 
 Yes, awfully, replied Bering. He had her hand 
 in both his now, her lithe arm lay lightly along his
 
 40 BARBARA DERING 
 
 sleeve. She had turned her head, as though looking 
 at the brown fields without. 
 
 There was something about him that dominated and 
 mastered her as of old, though her soul was not at 
 peace, and she felt uncertain as to the road that she 
 was to follow. 
 
 She sat quite motionless. His touch was like an 
 elixir of life flowing through her veins, which had so 
 long been numb. At least one would live in the pre 
 sence of this man. Existence would not be the mere 
 consciousness which it was under ordinary circum 
 stances. 
 
 He leaned a little towards her, and half involuntarily 
 she made a motion of agreement. Their cheeks were 
 very near together. Presently they touched, but still 
 no word was spoken. She felt his face turning slowly 
 until his lips rested on the delicate curve just below 
 her ear. 
 
 How your heart is beating ! he whispered. 
 
 Yes, I know. 
 
 Barbara. 
 
 Hush ! Don t. She will hear you. 
 
 1 Faugh ! She is sound as a tabby. 
 
 She may be pretending.
 
 BARBARA DERING. 41 
 
 How you dote on teasing me ! eh ? But I know 
 you. Give me your hand, I say. The other ! There, 
 now ! Come to me again. 
 
 I cannot ! I cannot ! Don t ask me. Oh, why is it 
 so sweet ? 
 
 Because it is meant to be because you must yield to 
 it. Darling, why can t you just give yourself to me with 
 out all this fuss ? We could be married so easily. There, 
 I ve startled you now. You d be off like a shot if you 
 could. Come, Barbara ; come, my beauty ! Let me take 
 you and make you happy. I could. 
 
 Yes I I think that. 
 
 Then stop struggling. Tell me you will marry me. 
 Never mind haunting thoughts ; only be my wife, and I 
 will exorcise them. Never fear. 
 
 Barbara s pulses were vibrating wildly. She was 
 confused by crowding thoughts. At last one stood out 
 clear, definite. She owed this man a reparation for 
 the way she had treated him in the past. The old 
 morbidness was gone. She could not add to or take 
 away from her dead husband s happiness. Besides, 
 for Dering she felt a love new, different, but very 
 powerful. Life without him seemed to hold nothing 
 but loneliness. With him she might accomplish many
 
 42 BARBARA BERING 
 
 things which now appeared impossible. He felt that she 
 was wavering, and pressed her close against his side. 
 
 There is only one end of it for us both, Barbara. 
 Why do you take such delight in drawing out the 
 agony ? Why not give in ? You ll have to. You 
 can t send me away a second time. What a preposter 
 ous ass I was to listen to you ! I ought to have turned 
 back at the lawn gate. I know you would have given 
 your little finger to call me from the window. Why 
 don t you answer ? Oh, my dear witch, have I seen 
 into your heart ? Did you call me, Barbara ? Did 
 you write me a letter next morning and tear it up ? 
 You did ! You are blushing. I can feel your cheek 
 grow hot against mine. You have loved me through 
 it all ! Eh, enchantress ? As I ve loved you in spite of 
 my rage ? For, gad ! I teas furious with you. Your 
 talons drew blood, my dear. I thought I hated you 
 for a long time, but afterwards I couldn t get away 
 from you. I swore I d never see you again, and then I 
 took a steamer from Liverpool. Then, when I landed 
 in New York, I swore I d never cross Mason and 
 Dixie s line, and the next day I found myself here ! 
 What a rat-a-plan the dear heart keeps up ! You look 
 like a great snow-queen in this dim light, with gems for
 
 BARBARA BERING 43 
 
 eyes. Your eyes stir me, Barbara. What is it that I 
 see in them ? 
 
 Barbara seemed to be gazing at her own rapid 
 thoughts, whirling as in circles of fire against her 
 closed lids. She heard herself saying in a broken 
 whisper : 
 
 Do you think I could make you happy ? Do you 
 think you would not get out of patience with me? I 
 have changed. I am more reasonable, but still I am 
 different. You would have to be very patient. Please 
 let me go. I can t think so close to you. 
 
 Dering gave a low laugh of exultation and released 
 her. She leaned back, covering her face with her hands. 
 What would be their future spent together? How 
 would it really seem to be the wife of this man, who 
 looked at her with Val s eyes, yet without his gentleness? 
 who spoke to her with Val s voice, yet without his 
 tenderness ? who fascinated her, conquered her, and 
 yet so often failed to comprehend her ? She had suffered 
 so intensely. What she craved was rest in love. Would 
 Dering really give her this ? Would he be patient ? 
 Would he never feel angry and incensed against her 
 when their moods happened to clash? She sat erect 
 suddenly, with a sharp indrawn breath.
 
 44 BARBARA BERING 
 
 What is it ? What is the matter ? asked Dering 
 quickly. 
 
 Suppose I were to marry you and you were to get 
 angry with me? I could not bear it. It would kill 
 me. 
 
 My own dear, as if I could muster up a vexed feeling 
 against you ! 
 
 But you said you had. You said you had been 
 furious with me. I d rather die than have that. 
 
 Now, Barbara, said Dering in a rather hope 
 less voice, are you really going to drum up such 
 feeble, threadbare objections now that all the others 
 have been done away with? I must say it s rather 
 rough. 
 
 I must say what I feel, she returned desperately. 
 I must say everything that s in my heart, because this 
 time it is final. 
 
 Well, I should say, remarked Dering, with grimness. 
 
 It s final, of course, she went on, getting a little 
 excited ; and I must be sure you must be sure. 
 
 I m sure enough. Pray don t bother about me, he 
 replied, laughing again. I really can t have you wast 
 ing force on that score. 
 
 Well, then, I must be sure for you. Suppose I dis-
 
 BARBARA DERING 45 
 
 appointed you dreadfully. Suppose I couldn t make 
 you happy. Suppose you found that I didn t love you 
 as as you expect to be loved. 
 
 She paused, and her brilliant eyes regarded him 
 anxiously. He nodded reassuringly at her over his 
 calmly-folded arms. 
 
 I ll attend to those matters if you are sure of your 
 self. That s all I ask. Your love quite satisfies me, 
 if that will be any help to you in coming to a 
 decision. 
 
 I want more than anything else to make you happy, 
 faltered Barbara. I have been very wretched over my 
 cruelty to you. 
 
 Oh, well. I was dreadfully impatient, he admitted 
 easily. I ought to have given you more line. Fishing 
 you is like fishing a salmon you need lots of line and 
 time. I am being patient enough now. Don t you 
 think so ? 
 
 Yes. You are very good to me, she replied, some 
 what absent-mindedly. 
 
 To herself she was saying over and over, Could I 
 give him up again ? It seemed to her it would be 
 like tearing off an arm to put Bering from her a second 
 time. Then why did she not find rest and peace in
 
 46 BARBARA BERING 
 
 the thought of marrying him, now that her feverish and 
 unnatural fancies about Val had all vanished ? Surely 
 he would wish her to secure such happiness and comfort 
 as remained to her in this life. It was not any thought 
 of Val that disturbed her at this vital moment. She was 
 possessed rather by a vague and half-realized dread, 
 which trickled in bitter drops through the delicious, 
 gushing draught of unexpected love and sympathy. 
 Why was there not more satisfaction in her feeling for 
 Dering? "Why could she not give herself to him at 
 once, and with that sense of completion, of with 
 holding nothing, which makes the purest ecstasy of 
 love? 
 
 Well, he asked suddenly, are you asleep, Bar 
 bara ? 
 
 No/ she said. I ve been thinking. 
 
 Does it take such a tremendous effort to make up 
 your mind ? How nattering ! 
 
 She moved uneasily, again covering her face with her 
 hands, but did not answer. 
 
 Afterwards she felt Bering s arm about her, and, 
 almost in spite of herself, her tense figure relaxed in his 
 steady embrace. Little by little her head sank down 
 upon his shoulder. She was very tired. There was no
 
 BARBARA DERING 47 
 
 passion in her feeling for him then. It was one half of 
 gratitude, half of willing submission. He desired to 
 dominate, to conquer her. She was anxious, almost 
 eager, to yield. They sat thus, silently clasping each 
 other, until the carriage drew up before the door of 
 Kosemary.
 
 VI. 
 
 THE hall-clock was striking eleven when they entered, so 
 she asked him to come into the music-room and have a 
 cup of tea before going away. Miss Fridiswig curled up 
 sleepily in a large chair before the drawing-room fire, 
 and said that she would wait for them there. In her 
 drowsy mind she was feebly conscious of thinking some 
 such words as these : I do hope, if Barbara is going to 
 marry that Mr. Dering, she ll do it pretty soon. It 
 ruins my digestion sitting up as late as this. I don t see 
 why she potters so about it. It s exactly like my new 
 pepper-and-salt barege. It s new, but no one can tell it 
 from the old one. I can t see any difference myself, 
 except, perhaps, it cuts a little under the arms. He is so 
 exactly like Valentine. I really think that it s sheer 
 perversity that makes her hesitate. I m sure he is very 
 good to come back after she had treated him so abomin-
 
 BARBARA BERING 49 
 
 ably. Dear ! dear ! how sleepy I am ! and I suppose he 
 won t think of leaving before twelve. 
 
 The two others in the meantime had reached the 
 music-room, and Bering, in his evening-dress, made a 
 rather incongruous figure as he arranged the fire, carrying 
 great hickory logs from the wood-box under the window- 
 seat to the tiled hearth. Barbara, in her place behind 
 the huge, old-fashioned silver urn with its dented coat 
 of arms, could not help smiling as she watched him. 
 
 I am as bad as a boy about liking a big blaze, he 
 said, coming towards her. Oh, my dearest girl, isn t 
 this comfy? 
 
 Barbara had a sudden rush of spontaneousness. She 
 bent her face backward with a gleeful little laugh of 
 pleasure, and pressed her soft crown of hair against his 
 breast. Bering was sometimes very wise. His response 
 to this movement was a gentle hand laid lightly against 
 the curved throat, while with the other he tilted the now 
 boiling water from the urn into the empty cups. Even 
 the kitten, which approached with an exuberant purr, 
 was kindly greeted. He stooped, and, lifting it by the 
 nape of its sleek neck, placed it on the arm of the big 
 chair beside Barbara. 
 
 Why, I am happy ! I am happy ! Barbara was 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 BARBARA BERING 
 
 telling herself in utter astonishment. How dear he is ! 
 how kind ! how companionable ! 
 
 The shadowy dread which had beset her during their 
 drive home had entirely gone. She felt that she could 
 trust herself to him with a feeling of perfect peace. 
 
 How prettily you drink ! exclaimed Bering suddenly. 
 Oh, sweetheart, is there anything you don t give a 
 charm to ? Even your faults are bewitching. I could 
 not part with one thing about you. My dear lily, the 
 little freckles make you all the lovelier. 
 
 Barbara stooped with a swift movement, and kissed 
 his hand as it held her teacup and saucer. 
 
 Don t ! you ll make me break the cup, he exclaimed. 
 Oh, Barbara, Barbara, Barbara ! is this heaven, or is it 
 not ? 
 
 I love you, she returned, trembling, and almost in a 
 whisper. I love you, Jock ; we are going to be happy, 
 after all ! I cannot realize it. Tell me it is true. Tell 
 me that you believe it. 
 
 Believe it ! cried Dering. He set the things that he 
 was holding upon the tray, and, turning, took her into his 
 arms. Do you belong to me ? he asked, in a deep breath. 
 Is it for always? 
 
 Yes, for always I swear it ! she answered, under a
 
 BARBARA BERING 51 
 
 sudden conviction. I will never change again. You 
 can trust me absolutely this time. 
 
 Can I ? he asked, holding her closer and closer until 
 it was painful. But of this she gave no sign, only nodded 
 in reply to his ardent whisper. You do swear it ? 
 
 Yes, yes, she said, turning her head eagerly from 
 side to side, as though looking for something. Let me 
 go for a minute, she went on. Darting over to a table, 
 she returned with a book in her hand. It is a Bible, 
 she told him, putting it into his hand and keeping her 
 own upon it. I will swear to you on this that I will 
 never change. 
 
 That you will marry me ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And soon ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 In a month ? 
 
 She dropped her eyes for a moment, and her strong 
 lip wavered. Then she answered, in the same still 
 voice : 
 
 Yes. 
 
 He drew the Bible gently from under her fingers and 
 placed it on a chair. Then he put his arms about her, 
 holding her in a throbbing silence which had something
 
 52 BARBARA DERING 
 
 solemn in it. He did not attempt to kiss her. With her 
 forehead bent forward upon his breast she stood quiet, 
 waiting for him to speak or move. 
 
 At last he said : 
 
 If you should by any chance fail me this time, you d 
 do me a mortal injury. 
 
 "What can I say ? she said desperately, her face 
 quivering. Then suddenly a brilliant look flowed into 
 her brown eyes. 
 
 She drew a little away from him, and began to pull 
 eagerly at her wedding-ring. It came off in her hand 
 with a leap, and she turned and thrust it out to him. 
 
 There ! I give you that ! Is that proof enough ? 
 
 Dering gazed steadily into her eyes with a powerful 
 look of determination. 
 
 Come with me, he said finally. 
 
 She leant willingly upon him, and they walked over to 
 the fire together. 
 
 Here, he said, putting the ring into her fingers, 
 throw that into those hottest coals there. 
 
 She did so without flinching. 
 
 Now ! he cried, and, turning, they kissed each otlu r 
 with mutual ardour.
 
 VII. 
 
 BARBARA and Bering had been married two weeks. She 
 was still very shy with him, and the fact of signing her 
 name Barbara Daring still sent a sharp pang through 
 her, as though she were driving a needle into some help 
 less creature. 
 
 As regarded her husband, she had sometimes a fleet 
 ing sensation of being slightly apart from him in cer 
 tain mental questions, while Bering had discovered that 
 a very impassioned woman may also be supremely 
 spiritual. Although neither admitted it, even to them 
 selves, they were beginning to jar a little on each other 
 in those trivial nothings which make the all of married 
 life. 
 
 Bering s manner often caused Barbara to wince, 
 while some of her ideas and objections struck him as 
 weak and sentimental. Still, this slight coolness that
 
 54 BARBARA BERING 
 
 blew across their intense feeling, from time to time, 
 was no more serious in its effects than the chill of an 
 early autumn day, which is only unpleasant as long as 
 one remains in the shadows. In moods of sunshine the 
 two were as near and dear to each other as before their 
 marriage. 
 
 One day after their return to Rosemary, Dering, 
 coming in from a long ride, found Barbara at the library 
 window with a book in her hands. He slipped behind 
 her and began to read over her shoulder. It was an 
 unmeasured delight to feel her heart quicken its beats 
 under his touch and to see the bright colour leap along 
 her throat. 
 
 What are you reading ? he said at last, referring to 
 the poems of Rossetti which she held. 
 
 This one "Her Love, " she answered. It is so 
 exquisite. Men so seldom really understand women. I 
 love to find a poem like this, written by a man. 
 
 Let s see, said Dering. I don t know his poems at 
 all. So they read together the sonnet in question. It 
 was this : 
 
 HER LOVE. 
 
 1 She loves him ; for her infinite soul is Love, 
 And he her load-star. Passion in her is 
 A glass facing his fire, where the bright bliss
 
 BARBARA BERING 55 
 
 Is mirrored aud the heat returned. Yet move 
 That glass, a stranger s amorous flame to prove, 
 And it shall turn, by instant contraries, 
 Ice to the moon ; while her pure tire to his 
 For whom it burns clings close i the heart s alcove. 
 Lo ! they are one. With wifely breast to breast, 
 And circling arms, she welcomes all command 
 Of love her soul to answering ardours fanned. 
 Yet, as morn springs or twilight sinks to rest, 
 Ah ! who shall say she deems not loveliest 
 The hour of sisterly sweet hand in hand ? 
 
 Her back was to him, so that she did not see the 
 smile of frank amusement which disclosed his bright 
 teeth, but something in his tone stung her as he said, 
 laughing : 
 
 By gad ! he did make her out rather a rnolly-coddle 
 in the end ! I don t think we ever tried the what is it ? 
 Let me see again. Oh yes, " the sisterly sweet hand in 
 hand." Did we ? 
 
 I don t think you exactly comprehend what Eossetti 
 means, she answered a little coldly. He doesn t mean 
 sawny sentimentalism like that of two country bumpkins 
 at a fair. He is trying to express that deep undertone 
 of mutual understanding and rest and bliss that perfect 
 love brings. I suppose it was rather daring to try to 
 describe it. Anyone knows what you mean when you
 
 56 BARBARA DERING 
 
 try to express passionate love, but even when poets 
 attempt to put into words that spiritual essence of love 
 which is not mere affection, or companionship, or or 
 anything else that is generally known, it is like trying to 
 describe a subtle harmony to someone who has never 
 heard it. 
 
 What eloquence ! said Bering, rather nettled in his 
 turn. Do you really mean to say that you d rather 
 hold my hand than have me kiss you ? 
 
 I think one has different moods, she returned hesi 
 tatingly. 
 
 But, good Lord ! that Kossetti fellow says the woman 
 in his sonnet prefers it ; or if he doesn t say it, he hints 
 it. Let s see it again. 
 
 No, don t, said Barbara, rather unkindly. Let s put 
 it back in the bookcase and forget that it was ever 
 written. Did you have a pleasant ride ? 
 
 Dering looked at her with obstinate lips. 
 
 Do you really fancy, my dear girl, that I am going 
 to be brushed aside like that ? I want you to be so very 
 kind as to come over here to the sofa and explain just 
 what you understand by that rather astonishing state 
 ment. 
 
 Oh, dear, dear! sighed Barbara, I m sure I don t
 
 BARBARA BERING 57 
 
 know exactly what it does mean now. I m completely 
 mixed up. 
 
 Well, come over here, and I ll help you unravel a 
 thought or two. Come ! rather peremptorily, as she 
 hesitated. 
 
 I don t like it at all, Jock, when you speak to me in 
 that tone, she said, flushing. I am perfectly willing to 
 do w r hat you ask, but I am certainly not going to run at 
 your bidding like a good little girl. 
 
 Why, positively, you re cross about it, Barbara ! 
 I didn t think you d make such a fuss over a little 
 thing! 
 
 It s not I, she said, her eyes beginning to flash. 
 I m sure I would have let it drop at first. It was you 
 who would discuss. Besides, it isn t a little thing, either. 
 It s a vital question, and one that I find we disagree 
 upon. 
 
 By Jove ! we do disagree, if you mean to say that you 
 prefer feeling a sort of mawkish friendship for me to what 
 I thought was a fiery love. After all, I suppose women 
 are all more or less alike. 
 
 Who am I more or less like? asked Barbara, with 
 tartness. Whom are you classing me with ? 
 
 I don t like your tone any more than you liked mine
 
 58 BARBARA BERING 
 
 just now, he retorted curtly, and, rising, moved over to 
 the window with his hands in his pockets and his lips 
 pursed as though to whistle. 
 
 I beg your pardon, said Barbara, feeling a wild and 
 undignified desire to cry. She took up a book which 
 lay on the table and made an elaborate pretence of 
 reading. Then, all at once, something stirred in her 
 heart. She felt that she had been sharp and hasty, and 
 that, although he had hurt her more than he knew 
 by laughing at words which seemed to her to express 
 her inmost soul, she had been wrong to visit such an 
 unintentional thing upon him. If some of their opinions 
 already made a slight barrier between them, was she 
 not very wrong and unwise to risk increasing it by any 
 show of resentment ? She threw down the book, and, 
 rushing over to his side, with one of her eager move 
 ments slipped her arms about his throat, and drew down 
 his head to hers. Bering s neck bent a little stiffly under 
 her strong clasp. 
 
 My love ! I am so sorry, she whispered. I was very, 
 very, abominably, hideously cross, and you can punish 
 me in any way that you like. 
 
 Still Bering s eyes remained distinctly cold. 
 
 I shouldn t mind your having been cross, he said, if
 
 BARBARA DERING 59 
 
 I could get at my offence. I can t make out what I said 
 to put you in such a rage. 
 
 You couldn t call it a rage, Jock, Barbara returned, 
 also cold again. It isn t very just of you to say that I 
 was in a rage. 
 
 Oh, well, hang it all ! he exclaimed impatiently, for 
 goodness sake don t let us go on splitting hairs in this 
 childish fashion ! Call it righteous wrath, or just indig 
 nation, or whatever you will. I never saw you disagree 
 able like that before, and it makes a mighty big change 
 in you, I can tell you that. 
 
 Oh ! said Barbara, turning away with a pale face. 
 
 You ve shown yourself ill-natured and unkind, Bering 
 fumed on. And if I were inclined to be rude I might 
 add silly. Where are you going ? he broke off. I ll be 
 very obliged if you ll pay me the ordinary respect of 
 remaining until I ve finished speaking. 
 
 I d rather not, answered Barbara quietly. I think 
 we should both be sorry afterwards if I were to stay. 
 
 Well, look here, said Bering, frowning, I demand 
 it of you, no matter what you think. I m not used to 
 having women treat me as mammas treat naughty school 
 boys. 
 
 I m not used to being spoken to in this way, either,
 
 60 BARBARA BERING 
 
 said Barbara. Her eyes had grown black, and her face 
 looked dangerous, with its white, compressed lips and 
 dilated nostrils. What cause did I ever give you to 
 think me a meek Griselda who could be ordered about at 
 will ? 
 
 Come back ! thundered Dering. 
 
 Barbara smiled and went out, closing the door softly.
 
 VIII. 
 
 BARBARA, having locked her door, stood in the centre of 
 her bedroom and looked about her with a dazed air. 
 Then, as the consciousness of what had passed between 
 herself and Bering grew upon her, she threw her 
 self down upon the floor and buried her face in her 
 folded arms. At first no tears would come, but pre 
 sently she began to feel - herself shaken by short sobs, 
 which she controlled in a moment or two by a great 
 effort. 
 
 I won t ! I won t ! she kept saying, in a soft voice. 
 He shall not make me cry ! I will not let him make me 
 cry ! Then she sat up and pushed back her heavy hair. 
 How dreadful ! she murmured. I almost dislike him! 
 It frightens me ! 
 
 With a sudden, sickening swoop, the thought of Valen 
 tine s gentleness came down upon her. She hid her face
 
 62 BARBARA BERING 
 
 again and uttered some desperate words of prayer. She 
 felt sure that God would not let this awful torture remain. 
 And presently, as she knelt waiting, the vividness of the 
 present came to her relief. 
 
 He is my husband ! I do love him ! she whispered, 
 with a great gush of tears. But how harsh he was ! 
 How cruel ! I can t realize that he really spoke to me 
 like that. Oh, what a bitter world ! 
 
 She rose and went to the window, gazing sadly out at 
 the dark box-bushes, against which showed a yellow 
 lacework of autumn leaves. The sun had nearly sunk 
 behind the violet-gray of the far hills. Slanting beams 
 struck across the withering grass on the wide lawn, and 
 touched the rose-gray seed-pods on a magnolia-tree near 
 the window, making the half-disclosed scarlet beans shine 
 like jewels. A rabbit came jumping suddenly towards 
 her, then swerved to one side and disappeared among 
 the shrubbery. Overhead, two crows flew slowly, with 
 social cawings, their bodies showing a rusty black in the 
 gold light. 
 
 There was a sadness through it all, and Barbara pressed 
 har hands together with a long catching breath. 
 
 What a poor, poor blind fool I was to think that 
 happiness could come twice in one life ! I was wrong
 
 BARBARA DERING 63 
 
 just now; but he made me so indignant. It has always 
 made me wicked to be taunted and ordered about. I 
 would have done anything he wished if he had only been 
 gentle. Oh me ! how hard it all is ! I know I was 
 very, very wrong, but I did say I was sorry, and he met 
 me with such coldness. It makes my cheeks burn to 
 think of it. How terrible the intimacy of marriage is 
 unless it goes wdth absolute tenderness, and, oh, how 
 he always laughs at that word ! Oh, he doesn t under 
 stand ! He doesn t understand ! she ended, beginning 
 to cry heart-brokenly and sinking on the floor by the 
 window. 
 
 And I am afraid he will never let me teach him 
 that he doesn t care to learn ! There seems to be only 
 one side to his love for me. If one could see the meaning 
 in it all sometimes ! There is one thing at least. I am 
 learning that I need a great, great deal of discipline. I 
 have such a craving for happiness. It is wrong, I think. 
 I care much more for other people than I used to do ; but 
 how obstinate I am ! When I think of how he looked at 
 me just now, I feel so defiant, so insolent ! I feel as 
 though I should only taunt him and aggravate him if he 
 came to ask my pardon. I 
 
 A half -hesitating knock at the door made her start.
 
 64 BARBARA DERI KG 
 
 It s Jock, Barbara, said a low voice from without. 
 
 The blood rushed into her face, and she sat where she 
 was, quite silent, her hands gripped together, her lips 
 just curved with a revengeful little smile. At the moment 
 she felt hard and cruel and as though he were, in some 
 sort, her enemy. 
 
 Barbara, said Bering again. 
 
 Still she was silent. 
 
 After a moment or two he turned away, and she heard 
 his footsteps going from her along the uncarpeted floor 
 of the hall. 
 
 He treated me insolently, she said, with her teeth 
 fast shut. No man shall speak to me like that; and she 
 remained in the gathering twilight, her heart growing 
 more and more desolate and bitter, her body beginning 
 to shiver as the fire died out on the hearth. 
 
 All at once someone flung up one of the windows with 
 a bang, and she looked up to see Dering leap into the 
 room from the top of the portico outside. 
 
 She got to her feet and stood facing him with defiant 
 eyes, but he. came and crushed her in his arms as 
 though she had been a wilful child, and began a be 
 wildered outpour of regret, apology, repentance, reproach 
 love.
 
 BARBARA BERING 65 
 
 You cruel, cruel, beautiful, wicked, devilish darling ! 
 lie ended finally, and Barbara began to laugh in spite of 
 herself. If you haven t the knack of torturing a man 
 out of his wits down to a fine point ! First you go and 
 tell me that you agree with a bloodless numskull who 
 says that holding hands forms the sum of human bliss ! 
 Then you follow it up by telling me you don t agree with 
 me on a vital question ! Then you treat me with the 
 coolest insolence, and walk off in the middle of what I 
 am saying to you, shutting the door in my face ! Aren t 
 you ashamed, honestly ? 
 
 Yes, I am, she said, her face roguish in one of the 
 flashing changes which gave her her potent charm. I 
 told you so ; but you were too odious ! 
 
 Yes, I know I was, he admitted. I haven t a very 
 nice temper. 
 
 Indeed you haven t ! No one ever spoke to me so in 
 all my life. Do you know there was one minute when I 
 almost hated you ! 
 
 I felt something rather like it for you, he returned, 
 laughing. 
 
 But you did begin it, Jock ! I m sure you ll be just 
 about that. I didn t want to discuss it from the first. 
 Now, did I ? 
 
 VOL. i. 5
 
 66 BARBARA BERING 
 
 That s just what provoked me. You ve such a grandiose 
 way of waving aside anyone who does not agree with you 
 exactly. 
 
 Oh, Jock ! what a horrid picture you make of me ! 
 
 Well, said Bering, dragging at his moustache and 
 assuming a grave, rather judicial air, you have some 
 faults that you re not at all aware of. That s one of em. 
 
 I don t see why you waited until now to tell me about 
 it, she answered stiffly, her head, with its ruffled flame- 
 like hair, very erect. I must confess I like people to 
 speak out frankly at the time not go on for months 
 laying things up, as it were. 
 
 I m speaking frankly now, and you don t seem to like 
 it much. 
 
 That s not the question at all. Why didn t you speak 
 at first ? 
 
 Well, you see, my dear girl, I had such an awfully 
 hard time getting you to marry me at all, that I cer 
 tainly wasn t going to risk my chances by setting up as a 
 Mentor. 
 
 Can you think of anything else that displeases you 
 about me just now ? asked Barbara quietly, but with a 
 feeling of angry protestation swelling in her heart. 
 
 In married life the first occasion of fault-finding is
 
 BARBARA BERING 67 
 
 au event from which conjugal dates are evolved. Bar 
 bara remembered that this was the twenty-second of 
 October, and was, moreover, sure that she would never 
 forget it. 
 
 Can you ? she repeated, as Bering stood silent, still 
 pulling at his moustache. 
 
 Yes, I can, he answered at last, rather abruptly ; 
 but I m not such an ass as to mention it. I ve fussed 
 you up enough for one day. 
 
 I m not in the least fussed up, as you call it, said 
 Barbara icily ; and I would much rather have all the 
 charges against me mentioned at once. 
 
 Oh ! exclaimed Dering, exasperated, who the mis 
 chief spoke of " charges against you"? Do you really 
 fancy yourself faultless ? By Jove ! you have been 
 shamefully spoiled and flattered ! It s a wonder you 
 are as simple and natural as you are. 
 
 Thank you, said Barbara. 
 
 He wheeled about suddenly. 
 
 I tell you what it is, he remarked energetically, we re 
 both acting like idiots to stay here squabbling in this 
 barn of a room. I m catching cold this minute. I can 
 always tell. What on earth possessed you to let the fire 
 go out?
 
 68 BARBARA BERING 
 
 There s the bell," said Barbara. If you ring twice, 
 Martha Ellen will come and make a fire. 
 
 Martha Ellen ! jerked Dering, with an angry laugh. 
 Why on earth do most negro girls have these double- 
 barrelled names? Why don t you call her Martha or 
 Ellen ? 
 
 You can, if you choose, said Barbara dryly. She 
 will answer to almost anything. My name for her is 
 Barneses. Perhaps you would like that better. 
 
 Jove ! exclaimed Dering, with another laugh, you 
 can make yourself unpleasant. I m sorry I should have 
 had to mention one of your failings to you, but, as your 
 husband, I don t choose to be made ridiculous in the 
 eyes of the world by the absurd childishness you some 
 times indulge in. 
 
 Barbara rose, and, going to the dressing-table, lifted 
 one of the big ivory brushes and began to smooth her 
 disarranged hair with hands that trembled. Then she 
 looked at him in the glass until their eyes met, when she 
 said, in a cold, quiet voice : 
 
 I shall not forget what you have said to me. 
 
 No; it s my wish that you should not, he returned, 
 staring back at her with hard eyes, which she wondered 
 how she could ever have thought handsome.
 
 BARBARA DERING 69 
 
 It s seven o clock, she then said, glancing down at the 
 little Louis Quinze watch of old red enamel which lay 
 on the pincushion. If you ll be so kind as to go, I 
 should like to dress for dinner. 
 
 All right, he said, rising at once. Only I hope you 
 won t dawdle as much as usual. The soup is always 
 cold, and this country cooking is beastly at the best. 
 
 I shall be punctual, said Barbara; and he closed the 
 door rather noisily and went off, whistling, Wait till the 
 clouds roll by, Jenny, with elaborate flourishes.
 
 IX. 
 
 BARBARA, left to herself, turned around, with hands 
 clinched at her sides and furious eyes fastened on the 
 shut door. 
 
 I hate him ! I hate him ! she said, in a voice low, but 
 of condensed energy. I hate you ! she repeated, as 
 though addressing someone before her. Then she gazed 
 about her, as though in search of some relief. A little 
 square yellow stain on one of the walls near the fire 
 place caught her attention. It was evidently the mark 
 made by a picture which had hung there a long time. 
 She ran over and laid her cheek against it. Oh, Val ! 
 she said, with a deep sob. Then, turning quickly away, 
 took her forehead between both palms and pressed it 
 hard, whispering to herself, No, I must not do that. I 
 shall go mad if I begin that. 
 
 She threw herself on the sofa presently, feeling all
 
 71 
 
 of a sudden weak and cold. In the confused whirl of 
 emotions that beset her she could not single out that 
 which was strongest. Her mind seemed to be a tangled 
 and fiery web of new fierce thoughts which frightened 
 her. She gave herself up to the clutch of what she 
 considered despair with that sense of the finalness 
 of things which so often misleads the newly married. 
 It was impossible that she could ever again feel love 
 for a being whom she had once allowed herself to 
 hate. It was impossible that one who really loved 
 her should speak to her as Bering had spoken this 
 afternoon. The old familiar rustling in the boughs of 
 an elm near her window struck her as derisive. She 
 seemed to be someone else, and the objects in the room 
 had to her an air of disapproval. Then, in her be 
 wildered brain, she tried to go back over what they 
 had said to each other and to see where she had been 
 wrong ; but before she could remember anything con 
 secutively, Bering s last words struck her memory s ear 
 like a blow, and set every nerve tingling with angry denial. 
 He does not choose that I I shall make him ridicu 
 lous in the eyes of the world ! Oh, what words, what 
 words to speak to a woman ! And we have only been 
 married two weeks !
 
 72 BARBARA DERIXG 
 
 That vague dark terror that she remembered came 
 down upon her. My God, what is our life going to 
 be? she said aloud in a childlike tone of great fear. 
 She felt her throat beginning to ache and the pressure 
 of coming tears behind her eyes, then started up and 
 began to unhook her morning gown and to look nervously 
 into different drawers and closets for the dress that she 
 wanted. She would not ring for Barneses. She could 
 not bear the thought of even the most loving eyes watch 
 ing her through this grim hour. As she drew the last 
 fold into place the gong sounded for dinner, and she 
 turned to leave the room, but, coming back, fell upon 
 her knees for a moment. 
 
 Don t, don t make it too hard ! I will try to bear it, 
 was somehow all that she could find to say, and in reply 
 she seemed to hear these stern words repeated in a voice 
 of cold severity : I have somewhat against thee because 
 thou hast left thy first love. 
 
 She almost ran from the room, driven by a dread sense 
 of friendlessness and isolation. In some strange way the 
 very silence seemed urging upon her the truth of Bering s 
 criticisms. 
 
 Perhaps it is so perhaps I am all that he says, 
 she thought, pausing on her way downstairs to grasp
 
 73 
 
 the railing of the banisters, with a terror-stricken look, 
 as though she had met some spectre coming up. Then 
 she heard Miss Fridis wig s little feet pattering through 
 the hall, and ran down to join her. Dering was stand 
 ing before the dining-room fire in evening-dress as they 
 entered. His face had a frozen, stolid look, as though 
 carved in metal. Looking at Barbara, he saw only 
 that she was very pale and that her lips and eyebrows 
 were haughty. His thoughts of her had not been 
 gentle. He was a man of quick, imperious temper, 
 not accustomed either to opposition or to the ways of 
 women. Pride and resolution were probably his 
 strongest characteristics, and Barbara had wounded the 
 first and roused the second. He liked to impress his 
 individuality upon others, and he was determined that 
 Barbara should conform to his ideas in a general sense, 
 if not in detail. 
 
 Their discussion over Eossetti s sonnet had left him 
 smarting in two ways. First, her tacit criticism upon 
 his comprehension of love had angered his vanity, and, 
 secondly, the mere idea that her keen passion for him 
 was waning into a poetic sentimentality gripped him 
 with that spasmodic kind of pain which brings with it 
 a savage irritation. He felt that she loved him when it
 
 74 BARBARA DERING 
 
 harmonized with her mood, and that when he opposed 
 her she could instantly call up the icy irony of manner 
 which had so galled him during the past interview. 
 
 At the same time, with a strange, vehement under 
 current of feeling which swept his thoughts in an opposite 
 direction, he was conscious that her exquisite feminine- 
 ness and beauty roused in him an intense adoration, and 
 that in hurting her he W 7 as forcing upon himself throes 
 of bitter pain. In addition to all this he was haunted 
 by the memory of her wild fluctuations, uncertain 
 humours, frankly cruel egoism, throughout their first 
 engagement. He felt that he was dealing with a 
 powerful and incalculable force, and that he had no 
 certainty as to whether her love for him would remain 
 steadfast under trying circumstances. This doubt, how 
 ever, w r as soothed by his firm belief in his own mastery 
 of the situation and strength to compel events into the 
 order which he wished them to assume. Upon one 
 thing he was absolutely determined : Barbara shoul d 
 acknowledge that in him she had found her conqueror. 
 In his secret mind he considered that his cousin 
 Valentine Pomfret had been a rather weak and un 
 availing fellow, and he \vas given to saying that he de 
 tested chaps who went about as though they had springs
 
 BARBARA BERING 75 
 
 in their backs and moved by electric shocks ; this being 
 Bering s method of expressing his dislike for the usual 
 drawing-room manner of this century. 
 
 He watched Barbara furtively during dinner. Every 
 motion of her large, fair hands, every turn of her supple 
 throat under its clear and elastic skin, every flicker of 
 her straight brows and dark-red lips, thrilled him with 
 that sense of supreme personality which the being we 
 love holds for us even in lapses of indignation. To 
 him she appeared self-satisfied, indifferent, cool, while in 
 reality her heart dragged heavily like a sick thing in her 
 breast, and the food which she was eating seemed to 
 have no taste. 
 
 It is all over, she was saying to herself. I have 
 married him and I dislike him. It was an illusion, a 
 fascination. He is cruel and cold-hearted. Every fibre 
 of me loathes him to-night. 
 
 She went upstairs very early, threw herself into the 
 wide bed, and slept heavily, like a child after a long fit 
 of sobbing.
 
 WHEN Barbara woke the next morning she was astonished 
 to find that her mood had changed during the night, 
 and that her anger against Bering had died down into 
 a feeling of isolated hopelessness and grief. She heard 
 him moving about in his dressing-room, and the snapping 
 of a newly-kindled fire told her that he had just got up. 
 She felt that she was very weak, because of a strong 
 yearning which tempted her to put her lips against the 
 crack of the door which separated their rooms and bid 
 him good-morning. 
 
 I seem to have no strength of purpose, she told 
 herself, tossing about impatiently, while Rameses flung 
 open the Venetian blinds, letting in a twinkling sluice of 
 October sunlight, and filled her tub with water, which 
 gave forth an icy crackle as it gushed into the hollow 
 of zinc. While she waited for these preparations to be
 
 BARBARA DERING 77 
 
 made, she read in one of those little books of which 
 women are so fond. It was called Daily Strength for 
 Daily Needs, and the title had been a source of great 
 amusement to Dering, who found it unique. She turned 
 to the page dated October the twenty- third. There was 
 a verse from the Psalms, a bit of Lucy Larcom s poetry, 
 and two selections, one from George Eliot and one from 
 Frederick Eobertson. The extract from Eomola was 
 as follows : 
 
 You are seeling your own ic-ill, my daughter. You 
 are seeking some good oilier than the law you are bound to 
 obey. But how will you find good ? It is not a thing of 
 choice. It is a river that Jlows from the foot of the In 
 visible Throne, and flows by the patli of obedience. I say 
 again, man cannot choose his duties. You may choose to 
 forsake your duties, and choose not to have the sorrow they 
 bring. But you will (jo forth-, and what will you find, my 
 daughter ? Sorrow witltout duty, bitter herbs and no 
 bread with them. 
 
 Barbara lay quite still after reading this, her hand 
 thrust deep into the loosened masses of her hair, her 
 eyes upon the golden flutter of the leaves against the 
 dark-blue atmosphere, shrouding the great evergreens 
 beyond.
 
 78 BARBARA DERING 
 
 Yes, it is my duty/ she said finally, iu a firm voice. 
 How hard it seems to be for me to learn things ! I 
 don t want to be wrong and wicked, and yet, somehow, 
 I am always stumbling into such burning mistakes ! 
 
 She turned absently to the next page, and saw this 
 extract from Mrs. Stowe s writings : 
 
 Talk of hair-cloth shirts and scourgings and sleeping on 
 ashes as means of saintsliip ! There is no need of them in 
 our country. Let a woman once look at her domestic 
 trials as her hair-cloth, her ashes, her scourges, accept 
 them, rejoice in them, smile and be quiet, silent, patient, 
 loving under them, and the convent can teach her no more. 
 She is a victorious saint. 
 
 Barbara dashed from the bed with a gay laugh. 
 
 Kamie ! she exclaimed, seizing the smiling little 
 negress by both arms ; Kamie dear, I m going to be a 
 victorious saint ! 
 
 Well, you cert n y is pretty; I don keer what else 
 you is, answered Martha Ellen, drawing her delicately- 
 formed, rough little hand, with a loving gesture, over her 
 mistress s brilliant hair. 
 
 Dear Eamie, I m. going to be "pretty is as pretty 
 does." That s much better. Does Tobit ever make you 
 feel like being " ugly is as ugly does," Eamie ?
 
 BARBARA BERING 79 
 
 Tobit s mighty aggravatin" sometimes, Miss Barb ra. 
 I kin sca cely hole my han s. 
 
 How is he aggravating? Is he cross to you ? 
 
 No, that s jes hit. I cyarn make him cross, I done 
 keer what I do. He s jes ez kind en good! They nuver 
 wuz such a man bout bein good in sickness. 
 
 Well, that is nice, Eamie ! I m going to give him a 
 watch at Christmas. Martha Ellen sank down on the 
 hearthrug under the weight of her emotion. 
 
 Miss Barb ra, ef you give Tobit a watch, Tobit 11 
 bust ! 
 
 Are you sure you wouldn t like him to " bust," 
 Eamie ? asked Barbara wickedly. Eameses shook her 
 head in solemn denial. 
 
 I is ben think all sorts uv things, Miss Barb ra, but 
 you does git so mixed up. An hit cert n y does seem as 
 how dee Lord does favour de men-folks. Sometimes, 
 when Tobit have stay out so late at night, I is ben sit 
 down en plead wid dee Lord tuh let hit thunder an 
 lighten, cause Tobit s awful fraid uv thunder, an I 
 clare tuh gracious, Miss Barb ra, sometimes he ain t ben 
 put he foot in dee house two seckints fore hit pour down 
 wid rain like buckets wuz bein upsetted. But hit don 
 nuver begin till he safe indoors.
 
 8o BARBARA DERING 
 
 What a shame ! exclaimed Barbara, -with the ready 
 sympathy which made her servants give her such un 
 stinted adoration. They had all been happy slaves, and 
 born on the estate, or else the children of such slaves, 
 and they treated their young mistress more like a beloved 
 child or a superior sister, than a person apart from them, 
 holding a distant authority. 
 
 Husban s is somctliin , that s shore! sighed Barneses, 
 drawing a long blue silk stocking over her arm, and 
 turning the foot that Barbara might slip it on more 
 easily. You cert n y icuz brave tuh try hit two times, 
 Miss Barb ra. 
 
 Yes, I think I was, Ramie ; but then you never 
 know what you ll do until you do it. I suppose you 
 think if Tobit was to to disappear, you d never marry 
 again ? 
 
 No, honey-chile, said Rameses solemnly. Martha 
 Ellen don think nothin bout that. She know, ef God 
 wuz tuh lif her outer trouble onct, she cert n y w an t 
 goin tuh put her paws in no other trap men-folks could 
 set for her. 
 
 So you think marriage is a failure, Ramie ? 
 I dunno bout others, Miss Barb ra, said the little 
 woman shrewdly; hit cert n y is ben fail fuh me.
 
 BARBARA DERING 81 
 
 After Barbara bad put on ber gown of creamy serge, 
 and arranged her hair in sleek compactness, she looked 
 as fresh and pure as some white bird just out of its dip 
 in a morning pool. Her face was no longer pale and 
 wretched as on the night before, but in ber eyes and 
 about her lips was a look of alert determination, that 
 grew as she searched among the trifles on her writing- 
 table for pen, paper, and sealing-wax. After settling 
 everything to her liking she sat down, and, bending low 
 above the sheet in front of her, as though afraid that 
 someone might peep over her shoulder, wrote the follow 
 ing note to Dering : 
 
 DEAK, I feel that I have been wrong and have 
 wounded you, and I do want to make friends again. I 
 can t say more than that I m sorry. Can I, my Jock 
 o hazel e en? (Don t think I ve made a mistake here 
 in writing e en instead of dean!!! It is meant for a 
 pun !) I mean to be the goodest girl in the world from 
 this day on, though I won t say you were all in the 
 right. But I am sorry, and I have been hideously 
 unhappy all night, and here is a kiss if you want it 
 from your 
 
 BARBARA. 
 
 VOL. i. 6
 
 82 BARBARA DERING 
 
 She ended by drawing a somewhat scraggy circle on 
 the paper and placing her lips upon it, as children do 
 when they send kisses in a letter ; then sealed the little 
 envelope with a huge, documentary - looking seal, and 
 started off to slip it under Bering s door. After doing 
 this she ran downstairs, wishing to get away before 
 he could call her, and was startled to see, lying on one 
 of the hall tables, an envelope addressed to her in his 
 handwriting. 
 
 She lifted it with a sudden flash of pleasure quicken 
 ing her face 
 
 How dear of him ! she said, in a low voice. He 
 has written to me, too-! 
 
 Alone under the big walnut-trees on the lawn, she 
 stood still, and, thrusting an eager thumb beneath the 
 flap of the envelope, tore it open : then saw that there 
 was only a line or two, and her heart fell. This was 
 Bering s message : 
 
 1 DEAR BAKE ABA, Bently has been badgering me for 
 years to come and have a deer-hunt with him in the 
 Eagged Mountains, and, as this seems about as good a 
 time as any, I m off. Yours, 
 
 M.
 
 BARBARA DERING 83 
 
 Barbara stood gazing down at the bit of paper in her 
 hand, while her lips and nostrils whitened slowly. 
 
 Mixed with the stab of pain, which came in the con 
 sciousness that he wished to leave her, was a vehement 
 feeling of wounded pride, when she reflected as to what 
 others might say and think. 
 
 They will say that he is bored ; that he is tired of 
 me ; that I weary him. Then she turned and walked 
 a little way, not saeing the objects about her very 
 distinctly. 
 
 How could he ! she said aloud, looking up at the 
 dazzling autumn blue with its fretwork of little dark 
 twigs, on which, here and there, spun a gay copper- 
 coloured leaf. That sharp feeling of repulsion and anger 
 which had so consumed her a few hours ago returned 
 stronger than ever. She walked slowly back to the 
 house, and, opening Bering s door, lifted her note to him 
 and, after smiling at it for a second, tossed it into the 
 fire. His, however, she kept. 
 
 I ll look at it whenever I m inclined to be impulsive, 
 she told herself. Then she sat down in one of the old 
 oak chairs with which the lower hall was furnished, and, 
 taking her chin into the palm of her right hand, stared 
 before her at the vivid day outside. She had a distinct
 
 84 BARBARA DERING 
 
 fear of pondering too deeply upon this new aspect of 
 affairs, and made an effort to concentrate her thoughts 
 upon the masses of small polished leaves which the great 
 box-hedge in front of her was swinging gently in the light 
 wind. 
 
 Before she knew exactly what had happened, a car 
 riage stopped on the gravel, and someone, standing in 
 slight silhouette on the threshold, knocked at the open 
 door.
 
 XL 
 
 BARBARA did not wait for a servant, but came forward 
 herself, assuming a pretty look of hospitality. She did 
 not recognise her visitor until within a few feet of her, 
 and even then hesitated. It had been a long while 
 since she had seen Eunice Denison twelve years at 
 least, and they had both been schoolgirls then, and not 
 intimate ; but it seemed to her that this almost shadowy 
 suppleness of outline and floating walk could not belong 
 to another woman. 
 
 Is it really you, Eunice ? she asked a little shyly. 
 Yes, I see it is. You haven t changed much, after all. 
 It s your expression, I think. 
 
 And yours, returned Mrs. Barnsby ; but somehow 
 you look younger, Barbara. 
 
 Do I ? said Barbara, still shy. She had never been 
 quite at her ease with this woman, and now it seemed to
 
 6 BARBARA BERING 
 
 her that the pale, clear little face was colder and less 
 easy to read than ever. 
 
 Mrs. Bransby had eyes of a cool blue, with graceful 
 eyebrows and long curved lashes. Her dark, shining 
 hair grew in great quantities from a broad but low band 
 of forehead. Her mouth, with its wide, deeply-curved 
 lips, was very lovely. She was one of those women whom 
 fanciful people at once associate with frail and faintly- 
 coloured flowers, and in her dress of some soft lilac tint 
 she reminded Barbara at this moment of a drowsy branch 
 of heliotrope. 
 
 She entered the hall with her languid, swaying gait, 
 and sank into the chair from which Barbara had just 
 risen, looking about her and saying finally : 
 
 What a pretty old hall ! You must love this place 
 very dearly. Barbara. 
 
 Yes, I do, replied Barbara. I never feel quite me, 
 so to speak, anywhere else. 
 
 Mrs. Bransby gave her slow smile, and lifting her 
 narrow graceful hands, in their gloves of pale-gray suMc, 
 began to unfasten her veil. 
 
 Oh, let me do it ! urged Barbara girlishly. You will 
 strain your sleeves, and I do so love to " potter about " 
 people.
 
 BARBARA BERING 87 
 
 I must be horribly frowzy, said Eunice, just touching 
 the thick hair under her little hat of violets. 
 
 Oh no/ said Barbara; hair like yours is lovely blown 
 about. But perhaps you would rather come to my room 
 and arrange it. 
 
 Thanks ; you are very good. I should like that. 
 
 Admitting a guest into one s bedroom establishes at 
 once a state of mental as well as physical ease. Bar 
 bara felt much less constrained as she moved about, 
 arranging little details for her friend s comfort. She 
 ended, to her own astonishment, by asking to be 
 allowed to brush the wavy dark hair which Eunice 
 had shaken over her shoulders, and soon the two 
 were chattering brightly together, like children en 
 gaged in tricking each other out to look like grown 
 people. 
 
 Barbara found that Eunice had been married ten 
 years, and that her two daughters were named Lois and 
 Winifred ; that her husband had bought an old house in 
 the neighbourhood, called The Poplars, where they had 
 now come to live, and that she was oh yes, quite 
 happy. 
 
 I am so glad that we are to live near each other, 
 said Barbara warmly. Women do need women so
 
 88 BARBARA BERING 
 
 much sometimes. I have always wanted a real woman 
 friend. 
 
 I am so cold in my manner. I repel people so, mur 
 mured Eunice, colouring delicately. I always manage 
 to say the wrong thing. 
 
 But what difference does manner make if one s heart 
 is warm ? asked Barbara earnestly. Sometimes those 
 people those seemingly cold people, I mean have the 
 most glowing natures. 
 
 Mrs. Bransby, who had been looking rather sadly out 
 of the window, now turned her quiet blue eyes upon 
 Barbara, smiling a little. 
 
 I am smiling because I fancy how astonished you 
 would look if I told you something. 
 
 Ah, do tell me ! said Barbara, leaning forward, 
 with her ardent air of self - forgetfulness. Is it- 
 pleasant ? 
 
 Oh, it s not anything very much ; only I m not in 
 the habit of saying such things. You can believe me. 
 What I was thinking was this : you ve always had such 
 a strange, decided charm for me. 
 
 I ! exclaimed Barbara, genuinely amazed. Why, I 
 thought you almost disliked me. 
 
 No ; I was a little afraid of you.
 
 BARBARA BERING 89 
 
 Afraid of me ! But why ? 
 
 You were so vivid, so daring; you never seemed to be 
 afraid of anything, to dread anything. I was always a 
 mousie creature. 
 
 But I don t dare everything now, said Barbara, 
 shaking her head. There are some things that I 
 dread with all my heart. I understand how you feel, 
 though. 
 
 I was like a gray pigeon and you were like a cardinal- 
 bird. You used to fascinate me. You had the same 
 charm for me that a generous wood-fire has for a chilly 
 temperament, only I was always so afraid of boring 
 you. 
 
 Why, I had that same feeling about you, said Bar 
 bara. You seemed so placid and self-contained. You 
 were always reading some deep book. I thought that I 
 would only disturb you if I spoke to you. 
 
 I used to watch you from a distance, continued 
 Eunice. You seemed like a free woodland thing. There 
 was such zest in your voice, in your laughter. 
 
 And you, returned Barbara ; I used to watch you, 
 too. You seemed like a delicate porcelain vase in 
 which a love-letter is hidden. I longed to speak 
 with you and ask you what you thought of life, of love.
 
 90 BARBARA BERING 
 
 The less one dreams such dreams the nearer one is to 
 content. I am teaching my girls not to have romantic 
 ideas, said Eunice, with uneager bitterness. I hope 
 they will never marry. 
 
 It is a great risk, Barbara admitted. She grew 
 suddenly pale, and felt that Eunice was regarding 
 her questioningly. One never knows. There is no 
 way of judging before marriage, she went on falter- 
 ingly. 
 
 Barbara ! exclaimed the other. Tell me. Why do 
 you think that marriages are so often unhappy ? 
 
 I don t know, answered Barbara, not meeting her 
 eyes. I don t know, she repeated sadly. There is 
 something all wrong about it. One can never tell what 
 will happen afterwards. For one thing, men are so 
 much more material than we are. Passion with us is 
 an imaginative, half -spiritual thing. Their ideas of it 
 are generally very practical and matter-of-fact. A man 
 cannot understand that his very way of taking your hand 
 in his may set your heart beating happily or chill you to 
 the marrow. 
 
 Eunice s lips were parted. Her wide eyes were fastened 
 upon Barbara. She seemed to be quivering through and 
 through with some life-giving emotion.
 
 BARBARA BERING 91 
 
 Yes, yes, she said, in_a tone of urgent expectancy, as 
 Barbara paused. 
 
 As a rule they don t care for the little things which 
 make up life for us, Barbara went on. I suppose 
 women do regard detail too much. It s so in art as well 
 as in love. We ought to look more to the broad masses 
 and the general composition of things. 
 
 I suppose a tack in one s shoe is a detail ? asked 
 Eunice quietly. 
 
 Somehow the two women found that their hands were 
 tightly clasped together. Under an impulse entirely 
 new to her Eunice leaned forward and pressed her lips to 
 Barbara s forehead. When they looked at each other 
 their eyes were full of tears.
 
 XII. 
 
 WHEN Eunice had gone away, Barbara walked down the 
 low stone steps of the south porch upon the faded grass 
 of the lawn. The day had grown warmer. The dim blue 
 masses of the distant woods quivered through ascending 
 sheets of intense, crystal-clear heat. A bird near by 
 uttered a spring-like note. 
 
 Barbara s unshaded face showed a pale-gold freckle 
 here and there in the dazzle of autumn light. Her hair 
 was a splendid banner of fire. As she walked onward with 
 her buoyant, power-suggesting gait, her white gown beat 
 ing about her in the wind, with motions suggestive of a 
 happy freedom, there was a tired, unhopeful look in her 
 eyes, which seemed out of key with the rest of her vivid 
 being. 
 
 She reached a gate crusted with flat rosettes of green- 
 gray, black-lined lichens, paused, hesitated, then, resting
 
 BARBARA BERING 93 
 
 her arms along its top, stared out into the shimmer of 
 delicate air. Perhaps it was the contrast of her own sad 
 ness, but as she stood there a sense of the world-joy that 
 was pulsing in the sunlit spaces about her began to steep 
 into her senses, physical and mental. 
 
 A small green creature on the top of the gate near her 
 elbow stretched out first one fine serrated leg, then 
 the other, then spread its frail wings, refolded them in 
 their brittle-looking sheaths, and slowly waving its hair- 
 like antennae, began a shrill, vibrant chirr of absolute 
 content. A spider was busily engaged in weaving its 
 web between the latch of the gate and a lilac-tree above ; 
 not a foot away, in the warm grass, something stirred, 
 glided, was still. 
 
 She had that subtle sense of being gazed at. Staring 
 more intently, she saw a pair of sparkling eyes, no larger 
 than one seed of a blackberry, set obliquely in an arrow- 
 shaped head. The young snake remained breathless to 
 her sight, its burning, bronze-brown squares unchanging, 
 its dapper head erect. 
 
 I would not hurt you, my dear, said Barbara, address 
 ing it gravely. Why are you afraid ? Go home to your 
 pretty mate. 
 
 At the sound of her voice the moccasin lowered its
 
 94 BARBARA BERING 
 
 crest and slithered away under an evergreen beside the 
 gate. 
 
 She smiled to herself, I should have killed it, I sup 
 pose. It was a poisonous snake. But why kill a thing 
 that is only poisonous in self-defence ? Besides, these 
 sun-rays reached us both at the same moment, and we 
 both love sunlight. Somehow, on a day like this, one is 
 conscious with a great triumph that God makes His sun 
 to shine on the just and the unjust, on serpents as well 
 as on flowers, that His whole world to its very core is 
 glowing with His love. You, too, little one. I won t 
 spoil your wheel of lace. I shall be undignified and 
 climb instead. 
 
 Putting her hands on the low gate, she sprang, boy- 
 like, into the field beyond. The atmosphere of the day 
 was a warm violet in the shadows, a rose-gold in the 
 light. The nestling straw-stacks in the hollow of a near 
 meadow shone silver dashed with piak. -The golden- 
 rod was turning to ashes on its tall stalks. Little apple- 
 like yellow balls, growing low in the rank weeds, tapped 
 against her feet as she passed. 
 
 She was walking aimlessly, striving to draw into her 
 self some of the plenteous sufficiency of the hour. Her 
 thoughts danced as changefully as the glistening cloud of
 
 BARBARA BERING 95 
 
 gnats that spun before her in circles of steely light. As 
 she nibbled a bit of sassafras which she had broken in 
 passing, her thoughts flew back to her childhood, to her 
 girlhood. She dropped the sweet-smelling twig suddenly 
 and stood quite still. She could see Valentine standing 
 there beside her, the flash of his smile, his extended 
 hand, slender, strong. 
 
 How these childish things come back ! foolish jests ! 
 little trivial love-speeches ! It seemed to her that her 
 heart trembled within her. I must reason with myself, 
 she said aloud. I see quite clearly that I would have 
 been far braver, far nobler, if I had contented myself 
 with the memory of my dear She broke off again, 
 then went on in a whisper, the tears falling : Oh, he is 
 my dear ! I cannot help that, my love for him is so 
 pure, so high, it cannot clash with any duty. Why do I 
 always remember those dreadful words, " Yet I have 
 somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first 
 love "? God s face seems always frowning upon me. 
 Dear Val, dear Val, be my good angel and help me, and 
 teach me how to be good, how to do what is right ! 
 
 She lifted her tear-washed face, with eyes closed and 
 quivering, and hands pressed against her breast. 
 
 When she went back to the house, it was with the
 
 96 BARBARA BERING 
 
 determination to accept naturally and with courage the 
 life which she had prepared for herself. 
 
 It was a week later that Rameses knocked at the door 
 with a telegram, which ran as follows : 
 
 Splendid weather. First-rate sport. Four big fellows 
 for the hall. Be with you at 6 p.m. 
 
 She could not help laughing as she recalled the king s 
 letter in Buy Bias : Madame, il a fait beauconp dc rent 
 ct j ai tu6 sept loups. 
 
 Bar-bara had suffered intensely during the past week. 
 She was not exactly in the mood which Bering would 
 have chosen her to wear for his reception. Instead of 
 answering his wire, she sat down at once and wrote a 
 pretty note to Eunice Bransby, asking her to spend the 
 afternoon and dine with her ; of course, if Mr. Bransby 
 was at The Poplars, she hoped he would come too. 
 
 When Bering reached the station, a few hours later, 
 he felt rather astonished to see that Barbara was not 
 in the trap which had been sent to meet him. Then 
 he gave his shoulders a half-pleased, half-vexed shake, 
 and muttered to himself, She s still sulking, the big 
 darling! He thought that it would be excessively 
 pleasant to spend the next hour or so in coaxing her out
 
 BARBARA DERING 97 
 
 of the dumps, and drew little imaginary sketches as he 
 sent the cart rattling vehemently over the abominable 
 roads. 
 
 She ll be cold at first, the blessed angel awfully 
 cold ; then she ll give me the devil of a dose of sarcasm, 
 then she ll get rather sad and forlorn, the beauty ! Gad ! 
 how I do r ote on her ! Get along, you snail, or I ll sell 
 you ! You can t trot against a cat ! Then let me see. 
 I don t know whether I ll hold her and kiss her or not. 
 I ll just get my arms around her, and she ll probably 
 kiss me. What a mouth ! And how proud she is, the 
 vixen ! By Jove ! she is a vixen ! Couldn t have stood 
 any other kind. Does me lots of good ; as for that, egad ! 
 I ll do her .a lot before we re through ! It s like spanking 
 a queen with her sceptre to tell her of her faults. I swear 
 it is ! 
 
 He broke off and laughed appreciatively, a gay, boyish 
 laugh. His eyes were clear and bright as gems. There 
 was a wholesome brownness over his face and throat. 
 His curls needed cutting. He had suffered as well as 
 Barbara during this eventful week, but in- an entirely 
 different way. Her emotions had been conflicting, tear 
 ing, of the kind that wear holes in the fabric of the spirit. 
 Bering s had consisted in an intense desire to be with her, 
 
 VOL. i. 7
 
 98 BARBARA BERING 
 
 to return and let her bully him to her heart s content, 
 and, at the same time, of a virile, almost sullen deter 
 mination to remain where he was. But _it is impossible 
 to be a genuine sportsman, in pursuit of big game, and 
 to allow entirely sentimental passions to absorb you. 
 Dering had finally yielded, without reserve, to the wood 
 land soothing which stole over him. After each day s 
 hard shooting he had been too tired to do more than fling 
 himself down on his bed of pine-boughs and sleep like an 
 exhausted boy. 
 
 When he reached Eosemary, one vigorous leap took him 
 from the wheel to the portico. She was not there to met t 
 him. He gave his shoulders another shake, and began 
 darting into different rooms in search of her. At last his 
 face softened, and he said : 
 
 The dear ! She s waiting for me in our room. 
 
 He went up the stairs on tiptoe, three steps at a time. 
 At Barbara s door he paused. She was talking to some 
 one, probably Kameses. He waited a second longer and 
 then entered. 
 
 Oh ! it s you, Jock ? said Barbara, coming forward 
 with a cup of tea in her hand. How nice and brown 
 you look ! This is Mrs. Bransby Eunice Denison. I ve 
 told you about her often.
 
 BARBARA BERING 99 
 
 Bering had a flashing desire to grind, with disagreeable 
 intensity, the slim hand which Mrs. Bransby held out to 
 him. His anger against Barbara came back with a force 
 which astonished him. It was like the slap of a wave 
 whose force and distance one has miscalculated. He 
 turned off, saying curtly : 
 
 No, thanks. I don t want any tea. There s a 
 parcel for you that came by express, Barbara, and 
 two letters. Do you know where Tobit is ? I want a 
 tub. 
 
 Tobit was rung for, and Barbara came back smiling, 
 somewhat selfishly, Eunice thought. 
 
 Can you be a little cruel sometimes, Barbara ? she 
 asked in her pale voice. 
 
 Barbara tossed her head back on the frame of her chair 
 and let the firelight gild her throat. 
 
 Oh, I don t know," she said. Most of us can and do, 
 I suppose. But it s nonsense to call us like cats. Are 
 lions never cruel, may I ask? 
 
 In a different way, said Eunice. Cats know how to 
 produce a more elaborate suffering. 
 
 You are mistaken if you think I like to make people 
 suffer, returned Barbara, a little coldly. 
 
 Dear Barbara, said the other, I did not say that
 
 ioo BARBARA BERING 
 
 you liked to be cruel. It is only that that She 
 paused, her face flushing. 
 
 That what, dear ? asked Barbara, with one of her 
 swift changes to entire gentleness. 
 
 It is this, went on Eunice, speaking rapidly and 
 looking down. I feel that your husband has a grande 
 passion for you. It seems a senseless thing to say, 
 after just this glimpse of him. I never spoke so to 
 anyone before. But but such feeling is is very rare. 
 All women don t win it. It it is a mistake to think 
 that men, as men, are necessarily very intense in their 
 feelings. 
 
 Barbara knew by the quick pulses in the hand which 
 she had taken in hers how her friend s heart was 
 beating. 
 
 Eunice glanced at her shyly, almost timidly. 
 
 He looked so disappointed when he saw me, she 
 said in a low voice. I I Do let me go away 
 now, Barbara. I can explain it perfectly to Godfrey, 
 and we can come to-morrow instead. 
 
 No, said Barbara, her face hardening again. No ; 
 I shall be very hurt if you go. We were having the most 
 delightful talk. But, of course, if you want to 
 
 Oh no ! no, truly ! exclaimed Eunice hurriedly.
 
 BARBARA BERING 101 
 
 Please don t think me impertinent. Of course, you 
 
 know best. Only We were talking of Sara in 
 
 Cleopatra, I think. 
 
 Ah, yes ! that was it. Do you remember how she 
 says, " Pure politique riest ce pas ?"
 
 XIII. 
 
 BARBARA and Godfrey Bransby were mutually repelled 
 at first sight. It was a mental sensation exactly corre 
 sponding to the physical one which may disturb the 
 most excellent cat in the world at the sight of the 
 worthiest dog. 
 
 Bransby could not have explained himself clearly, 
 but the colour of Barbara s hair struck him as being 
 too intense for good form, and her figure suggested 
 a pedestal so forcibly as to be rather theatric. He 
 thought of the different stage Galateas whom he had 
 seen, and was forced to the conclusion that Mrs. 
 Dering would fill the role more completely than any of 
 the others. He did not like the easy grace of her 
 attitudes. She looked too strong for a woman. Her 
 powdering of faint yellow freckles was too realistic. 
 She struck him as an American autumn strikes some
 
 BARBARA BERING 103 
 
 artists, as too vivid, too daring, too brightly-coloured. 
 Bransby was fond of saying that he looked upon woman 
 as the highest product of Christianity, and Barbara 
 suggested paganism in all its broader meanings, just as 
 her figure suggested that of a heathen goddess. When 
 he found in the course of the evening that she could ride 
 half-broken colts, train a dog thoroughly, keep a shuttle 
 cock up to a thousand, swim, run, and jump like a boy, 
 he could hardly keep his violent dissent from showing in 
 his face. 
 
 I have scarcely any doubt, he told Eunice on his 
 way home, that Mrs. Dering is the sort of woman 
 who smokes cigarettes. I trust that you will be^very 
 guarded in your relations with her. She seems to me 
 most unfeminine. That dagger-like arrangement that 
 she wore in her hair struck me as disagreeably bar 
 baric. Then she said several things that I considered 
 decidedly irreverent, not to say verging on the blas 
 phemous. That anecdote from " Life," in which a child 
 alludes to the Deity and Santa Glaus in the same 
 sentence, was, to rne, intensely shocking. I also heard 
 her say something about Bossetti. I hope, Eunice, that 
 you will promise me that you will not let Mrs. Dering 
 lead you into reading such authors. They are unwhole-
 
 104 BARBARA D BRING 
 
 some and unnatural. These overstrained sensations 
 are not what men and women feel nowadays. I am 
 devoutly thankful, my dear, that you are a sensible, 
 practical, self-contained woman. You make me very 
 happy indeed. 
 
 At this point he had taken her hand loosely in his 
 and brushed the corner of her mouth with his stiff 
 moustache. As he leaned back again in his side of the 
 carriage, he did not see the rather odd smile that stirred 
 his wife s lips. 
 
 The dinner had not been very exhilarating. Barbara 
 accentuated the bad impression she had made on Bransby 
 by talking a great deal. Bering, who had a royal way of 
 remaining entirely silent when he chose, said not a word, 
 while Bransby was politely nor, -committal, and Eunice 
 struggled shyly with a sense of embarrassment, born of 
 the knowledge that she and her husband were the cause 
 of Bering s ill-humour. 
 
 How on earth did you come to strike up such an 
 intimacy with these people ? demanded Bering crossly, 
 when the Bransbys had left. The man s cut out for 
 a monk. I never saw a more bloodless, self-satisfied 
 rigidarian, to coin a word. You wonder how he ever 
 permitted himself the indulgence of marriage !
 
 BARBARA DERING 105 
 
 He is detestable, said Barbara, but she is lovely. 
 She makes me think of a lovely ice maiden 
 
 Bah! returned Bering, with gruffness; she isn t 
 cold. It s the man. He s a monstrosity. 
 
 He probably thinks that we are monstrosities, said 
 Barbara easily. 
 
 Yes, he hates you cordially, my dear. I wonder he 
 lets his wife associate with you. 
 
 Perhaps he won t, now that he has met me. 
 
 Perhaps not. What a jolly awakening she must have 
 had after her marriage ! 
 
 Marriage has rather that result, as a rule. 
 
 Well, you ought to be a good judge, said Dering 
 brutally, goaded to this by the insinuation of her re 
 mark. 
 
 Barbara left the room. Opening the hall door, she 
 went out into the darkness. After awhile she could 
 see objects dimly, and the sharp stars that pierced 
 through the film of night. Wilful was cropping grass 
 near the tall acacia clump. She whistled, and he came 
 to her, feeling for sugar w y ith his velvety lips. Then, 
 her arms about his strong neck, she let the tears 
 gush as they would, while he rubbed his head against 
 her so ardently that she was pressed rather roughly
 
 106 BARBARA BERING 
 
 against the stem of one of the trees behind her. A 
 snuffing sound about her feet startled her. Bering s 
 Irish setter had found her and was leaping up in the 
 gloomy air. 
 
 Good boy ! you ve found her, said Bering s voice, not 
 two yards away. Bown, now ; down, you brute ! Bid 
 he frighten you, Barbara ? Barling ! I ve come to tell 
 you how sorry I am. 
 
 She began to sob despairingly, her arms still about the 
 neck of Wilful, who was too familiar with Brick to have 
 been startled by his sudden appearance. 
 
 Oh, Barbara, Barbara, said Bering, agonized, what 
 a devil I am sometimes ! I honestly believe I am pos 
 sessed. How I have hurt you ! What can I say ? Every 
 thing seems so tame. Look ! I kneel to you, dearest ; 
 I worship you ; I adore you ; you are my queen, as always. 
 
 You you I am sure you didn t mean it, said Bar 
 bara, stammering. 
 
 Oh, but I did, I did! cried Bering, with terrible 
 honesty. You will never know how it galls and stings 
 me sometimes, darling, to remember that you loved 
 someone before you loved me. It s like hot nippers tear 
 ing me. That s all, Barbara, I swear it. When I m 
 cruel to you, try to remember that.
 
 BARBARA BERING 107 
 
 Yes, it is dreadful. It is dreadful to me, too, sobbed 
 Barbara. 
 
 Bering dragged away her hands, and bent his face so 
 near that she felt his quick breaths. 
 
 Barbara, we are very cruel to each other sometimes, 
 he whispered ; but au fond, we love each other more 
 than most eh, dearest? Look! I am famished for a 
 kiss ! Oh, Barberina, I have thought of your lips all 
 this past week ! What a fool, what a double-dyed fool, 
 I was to go away from you ! Will you kiss me now, my 
 blessed angel? I m a starved Jock. 
 
 Oh! sighed Barbara, lifting her arms from WilfuTs 
 neck, if you love me, what does it all matter? And he 
 took her to his heart. 
 
 Now, he said peremptorily, after a few moments, 
 come into the house and let me make you comfortable. 
 What an evening we can have over our wood-fire ! Oh, 
 my dearie, what it is to be with you again ! 
 
 He took her up to their room, and, after finding her 
 dressing-gown which he liked best, began to brush out 
 and plait her heavy hair. 
 
 Sometimes, Jock, you treat me exactly like a big 
 doll, she said with a smile, as she let her head give to 
 his eager brushings.
 
 io8 BARBARA DERING 
 
 A doll ! I never thought of such a thing. You are 
 the most delicious morsel of flesh and blood I ever 
 imagined. 
 
 Oh, please don t speak to me as though I were an 
 ortolan ! said Barbara, rather pettishly. She felt chilled, 
 and that her mood was arrested all of a sudden. Bering 
 threw the brush on the table and stood before the fire, 
 grinning a little. 
 
 You dear seraph ! he said. I suppose you d really 
 appreciate the sort of husband that St. Cecilia had? I 
 can t help being a man s man. I wish to heaven I did 
 have more of the feminine in me ! but it just isn t there. 
 What are we going to do about it ? 
 
 If you would listen to me - began Barbara slowly, 
 her eyes on the fire. 
 
 Oh, Barbara ! he exclaimed, throwing himself against 
 her knees and clasping the arms of her chair in either 
 hand, don t be artificial ! I m not in the mood to 
 appreciate the sisterly, sweet hand-in-hand affair. I 
 warn you, frankly. You are the most beautiful of 
 women, and not my sister, but my wife. Would you 
 really have me love you as your brother, Barbara ? 
 
 No ! no, indeed ! she assured him. But 
 
 But what ? but what ? he repeated eagerly. Are
 
 BARBARA BERING 109 
 
 you going to criticise the laws of God ? Do you mean 
 to say, " Yes, of course, Providence is right, but it seems 
 strange He didn t order things another way. I should 
 have made love less vehement"? That sort of stuff 
 always seemed to me such impertinent bosh, dear. I 
 love you as God meant men to love their wives in 
 tensely, wholly. You are not my sister ; I am not your 
 brother. 
 
 A perfect love is both spiritual and passionate, 
 said Barbara timidly, Men most men will not 
 understand that. I I don t deny that, Jock. I only 
 mean that if you were more gentle ! women love that 
 sort of love. They must cast out fear before they can 
 love perfectly. 
 
 Are you afraid of me, then, Barbara ? 
 
 Not of you of your moods sometimes. 
 
 Bering got to his feet and stood pulling his moustache 
 soberly. 
 
 Men don t understand women, do they ? he asked 
 finally. 
 
 Perhaps we don t understand men any better, ad 
 mitted Barbara. 
 
 It s all this accursed civilization/ he grumbled on ; 
 our race is getting anaemic. It isn t your fault ; you re
 
 no BARBARA DERING 
 
 a fin-du-sikcle woman, and can t help yourself. I m a 
 savage, and ought to be tamed. 
 
 If you mean by fin-du-siecle that I m a Laodicean 
 creature like the woman in "Notre Conr," you are very 
 wrong. I seem to explain myself very badly. I irritate 
 you, and that makes me very awkward. 
 
 Well, I don t seem to do anything but irritate you, 
 returned Dering. You make me feel a colossal idiot. 
 It s my fault, of course. 
 
 I told you I should disappoint you, said Barbara in 
 a whisper. 
 
 Oh ! he exclaimed, exasperated as usual after one of 
 their jolting discussions ; why do you always hark back 
 to that beaten old covert? I am not disappointed ; I am 
 only trying to get at your point of view. It seemed to 
 me that I rather got on \vith you before our marriage, 
 and now I only seem to fuss you up. 
 
 Barbara was suddenly convinced that she w 7 as in the 
 wrong nothing but the present moment seemed clear 
 to her. He was there, young, loving, bonny. She 
 had wounded him. She was his wife. He gave her 
 unstinted and impassioned devotion. Also Eunice s 
 words came back to her: I feel that your husband has 
 a grande piassion for you. . . . Such feeling is very rare.
 
 BARBARA DERING in 
 
 All women don t win it. She looked up at him with 
 an exquisite glow of love in her large eyes and opened 
 her arms. Stooping a little, he lifted her upon his 
 breast. 
 
 Is it all right, Barbara ? 
 
 Yes, my own. 
 
 You forgive me ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 ( Fully, freely ? 
 
 Oh, my dearest ! she said, looking up at him. A sort 
 of touched quiver went over his face, and then he bent it 
 down against hers.
 
 XIV. 
 
 IN spite of her suddenly affectionate mood the night 
 before, Bering was conscious, upon thinking matters 
 over, that Barbara after marriage, compared with Bar 
 bara during their engagement, rather reminded him of 
 Rosamond s famous purple jar. He could not explain 
 the apparent change in her nature and character, and 
 it never occurred to him that certain changes in himself 
 had anything to do with it. He felt aggrieved, misled, 
 baffled. Women seemed to him impossible creatures, 
 to whom the attraction of the moon consisted in the 
 fact that its other side remained a mystery. As for all 
 this talk of soul and communion of heart and spiritu 
 ality, it might do very well in a convent or monastery, 
 or even between a certain angelic description of min 
 ister and his female parishioners, but between two 
 young, vigorous, glowing beings it was either a pose
 
 BARBARA DERING 113 
 
 or a failure. He had a sore, angry feeling that Barbara 
 looked down upon his love for her as something to be 
 put up with, since he was that singularly constituted 
 being, a man, and could not help himself. He wondered, 
 with a fierce contraction of his heart, whether, if they 
 had a child, she would not love it far more than she did 
 him, and his feeling of secret contempt for the dead 
 Valentine grew in proportion to what he considered 
 Barbara s unreasonable and difficult humours. What 
 a precious molly-coddle he must have been if he sub 
 mitted to this sort of thing ! he reflected moodily. I 
 don t believe he had any force or fire in him. It 
 seemed to him that his salamander was growing cool in 
 his hand, was turning to a bit of charcoal. His manner, 
 however, did not give a hint of the resentful bitterness 
 accumulating within, and Barbara thought that she was 
 acting up to his most exacting demand in thus keeping 
 from him the restless questionings and doubts which 
 filled her own mind. 
 
 Another form taken by his concealed irritation was 
 that of a steady dislike for the Bransbys. It was as 
 inevitable that he and Bransby should clash as that 
 there should be a sputter when ice and fire come in 
 contact. Mrs. Bransby, however, was not so distasteful 
 
 VOL. i. 8
 
 H4 BARBARA DERING 
 
 to him personally. His objection to Barbara s growing 
 intimacy with her was that objection felt by so many 
 men to the confidences apt to be exchanged between 
 not entirely happy married women, and which so fre 
 quently include the husbands in the case. That Bar 
 bara should discuss him, directly or indirectly, with 
 anyone roused in him a very frenzy of anger. Then, 
 too, he felt for Eunice that grand scorn which very 
 strong young things are apt to feel for those which are 
 paler and more fragile. He did not comprehend the 
 attitude of apparent agreement which she adopted 
 towards her husband. She seemed to him cowardly and 
 dull, and he wondered why Barbara liked to be with her. 
 Besides, the very fact that his wife should care so much 
 for another woman s society showed that he was not 
 sufficient in his position of husband. 
 
 Miss Fridiswig found him less like Valentine day by 
 day, and at last wrote him down in her diary as au 
 exceedingly rude young man, with an unregenerate 
 temper ; and if he considered Barbara to be changed by 
 marriage, his aunt-in-law pronounced him to be quite 
 another person. He was shortly freed from such com 
 ment, however, as about this time Miss Fridis left Kose- 
 mary to make her home with her only sister.
 
 BARBARA DERIXG 115 
 
 One of the most curious transformations which had 
 taken place in him was the growing desire to remodel 
 Barbara into an entirely different woman. Traits that 
 had charmed him in her as a sweetheart seemed totally 
 out of place in a wife. He felt instinctively that Bransby 
 disapproved of her exuberant vitality, and while he longed 
 to thrash Bransby, he told himself that Barbara was too 
 untrammelled, both in her opinions and in her mode of 
 expressing them. In a word, he was overwhelmed by 
 that subtle sense of responsibility in the bride which 
 so often prevents modern bridegrooms from being as 
 thoroughly joyous as their positions might seem to 
 warrant. 
 
 Like most of us, Bering possessed two distinct natures, 
 and, as he had once said to Barbara during their first 
 days of acquaintance, if his cousin had been Valentine, 
 he was certainly Orson. This bit of self-accusation was 
 true to some extent, and the conviction regarding her 
 lack of love for him, which from time to time forced 
 itself upon him, brought to the surface all the irritability 
 and harshness which was generally dormant in his really 
 sunny nature. 
 
 He was bewildered, nettled, disgusted, at this change 
 in himself, but the very fact of the self-control which he
 
 ii6 BARBARA BERING 
 
 exercised for the most part made his lapses, when they 
 did come, more vehement. 
 
 At one time he told himself that she did not love 
 him ; at another time that she was incapable of loving 
 anyone. Again, it was a vague, dreary jealousy of the 
 dead Valentine, whose ghost seemed ever sliding in 
 between them. The very fact of the temporary idle 
 ness in which they were living served to whet his 
 temper and make him restless and nervous, for he was 
 a man of intense physical activity, given to all sorts 
 of athletic sports, such as polo-playing, racquets, ex 
 cursions into wild countries after big game, and the 
 monotony of Bosemary was beginning to pall upon him, 
 even in spite of Barbara s presence. He was anxious 
 to go to Melton for the winter, and feared that this sug 
 gestion might not meet with her approval, although she 
 knew that he was, before anything, a being of active 
 out-door life. His entire lack of self-analysis and anything 
 like an appreciation of involved imaginative tempera 
 ments was another element of discord between them. 
 
 As Eunice had said, his feeling for his wife was cer 
 tainly a <jrandc passion, and the doubt of her love for 
 him drove him at times to desperation. Once or twice 
 wiien alone in his own room or out on horseback Lot,
 
 BARBARA BERING 117 
 
 scalding drops had been wrung from him by what he 
 considered her almost cold-hearted course towards him. 
 As for tenderness, he regarded it as the accompaniment 
 to weak and sluggish natures, and despised it accordingly. 
 Barbara did not imagine what he suffered, and, in her 
 turn, doubted the quality of his love for her. She some 
 times thought that she had worn out his patience by her 
 unlucky habit of introspection, and made daily resolutions 
 as to reserve and caution in her talks with him, which 
 were, however, not always kept unbroken. 
 
 A man who has had very little experience of gentle 
 women buys very dearly his knowledge of his wife. 
 Dering was fond of saying that he was no carpet- 
 knight, and his lack of all effeminacy was very admir 
 able, but there is a certain feminine quality without 
 which the character of no man is wholly lovable, and the 
 possession of which does not signify weakness, but 
 strength. Dering was male to the core. His very re 
 ligion had a sort of fierceness in it. His love of life in 
 cluded a fiery criticism of its shortcomings even coarse 
 ness to him seemed pardonable as a sort of exuberant 
 vitality. He loved all animals, and yet was an ardent 
 sportsman, and could shoot his ailing dogs and horses 
 when occasion demanded.
 
 n8 BARBARA BERING 
 
 He had more respect for a daring criminal than for 
 a weak saint. The warlike and revengeful God of the 
 Jews was more to his taste than the Messiah, although, 
 in accordance with a strange and contradictory con 
 ventionality, he was apparently the most orthodox of 
 Christians. 
 
 Fierce, bright, conquering women were his ideals. A 
 virtuous Cleopatra seemed to him the perfection of 
 womanhood. He saw nature actual and mental in 
 crude, brilliant colours, unmodified by any half-tones. 
 One phase of Barbara s character had captivated him, 
 and he thought he knew the entire woman. Marriage 
 developed different and more complicated aspects of 
 disposition, and he was baffled, indignant. 
 
 Life for him was divided into the well-defined and 
 charming emotions first, that of keen delight; second, 
 that of practical enjoyment. That his kisses should 
 fail to thrill the woman he loved because his mood 
 did not harmonize with hers would have seemed to him 
 a diverting absurdity. That to be called a tigress, 
 and roughly embraced when her whole being craved 
 gentleness and consideration, should stir in her profound 
 depths of opposition he \vould have regarded as im 
 possible. His nature was of so savage a vitality that
 
 BARBARA DERING 119 
 
 he preferred the cruellest exuberance of feeling to its 
 sweetest restraint. 
 
 Physical suffering, except in its forms of positive 
 anguish, did not appeal to him. The lassitude of lesser 
 ailments only galled him, and produced an assured be 
 lief that they were the result of self-indulgence, and 
 could be dispelled by a brisk drive or walk. Religious 
 questioning found in him only a fierce intolerance. He 
 was quick and harsh in his judgments, especially of 
 women, but only in regard to faults of hypocrisy, 
 falseness, self-righteousness : with an unexpected and 
 beautiful tenderness, the sins of frailty he always par 
 doned. He was generous to excess, and his generosity 
 was not restricted to material matters. His sympathy 
 went out to the whole world. He longed to lead men to 
 a higher platform to widen their views, their hopes, 
 their ambitions. In some respects he was a singularly 
 reserved man. It was strange how little he spoke of 
 himself and his feelings, when his whole being was 
 sometimes concentrated for days in the efforts to dis 
 cover some vent for his powerful energies. 
 
 He had never been really unconditionally in love 
 until he saw Barbara. The two or three sentiments 
 in which he had before indulged were all backed by
 
 120 BARBARA BERING 
 
 excellent reasons, and coldly analyzed as they pro 
 gressed, until they had finally ended in ennui. His code 
 of ethics had been that of most club-men, and formu 
 lated would have run something in this way : Have 
 your fling as a young fellow. Do everything that amuses 
 you, so long as you live up to the social idea of a 
 gentleman and don t wrong any virtuous woman. He 
 added one clause, however : Be true to your wife after 
 marriage. 
 
 Before his marriage with Barbara, Dering had been 
 positive of many things which now appeared far less 
 certain. He had often told himself that were he to 
 make a mistake, and find himself bound to a cold, 
 prudish, unloving woman, he would leave her without a 
 qualm, and make a new life for himself in some other 
 part of the world. But in all his ideas of life and 
 marriage he had never accepted genuine, passionate love 
 as a factor, and now its vast glare had blotted out all 
 lesser twinklings, while its rays, concentrated in the 
 burning-glass of present feeling, shrivelled the flimsy 
 theories upon which they struck, as actual rays wither 
 bits of paper. 
 
 Not that he considered Barbara cold or prudish. She 
 had certainly been rather cold to him for some time,
 
 BARBARA BERING 121 
 
 but he felt sure that it was not a real characteristic of 
 her nature, and that in reality she was the glowing 
 creature that he had thought her from the first. It 
 was this very conviction that frenzied him. In spite of 
 her care, her affectionate ways, her pretty moods of half- 
 childish coaxing and love-making, Bering felt that he 
 did not touch the central spring of her nature. There 
 was some way in which he failed some way in which 
 she tacitly criticised him, and, as he had once said in a 
 bitter mood, compared him to some secret standard 
 which he failed to reach. 
 
 The old abandon had gone from her voice and eyes. 
 He was sometimes conscious, with a withering at his 
 heart, that she drew away from his kisses, and then 
 returned them, all the more eagerly, to make up for the 
 involuntary motion. 
 
 She had at times moods of deep despondency which 
 jarred upon him inexpressibly. Again, she would wan 
 der off into the winter woods alone and be gone for 
 hours, with only her deerhound and the Angora kitten, 
 which often followed her on her long walks in spite 
 of ice and mud. On these occasions Bering accepted 
 with a dogged bitterness his position of unwanted 
 husband, and never attempted to find her or to meet
 
 122 BARBARA DERIXG 
 
 her on her return. Painful scenes constantly took place 
 between them, in which the blame was often on both 
 sides. She was not of a yielding or submissive nature, 
 however, and the two strong wills tested each other in 
 fierce tussles, which very frequently failed to advance 
 the supremacy of either. In the intervals between such 
 encounters these singular beings often spent days of 
 gay companionship, during which they would both 
 fancy that the cruel scenes of the past could never be 
 renewed.
 
 XV. 
 
 GODFREY BRANSBY was one of those men who, when 
 they marry a woman, decide that she must find in her 
 husband the end and fulfilment of every desire. His 
 egotism was of the Oriental sort, which requires that, 
 whatever charm the beloved may possess, it must be 
 exercised only for the lover, the owner. Eunice had a 
 sweet contralto voice ; but since her marriage she had 
 only sung for Bransby, except on certain rare occasions 
 when he had allowed her to exercise her talent for the 
 benefit of the choir in his native parish. He did not 
 entirely approve of her singing her babies to sleep, 
 but so long as she chose hymns for lullabies made no 
 positive objection. On most points of domestic freedom 
 he was very rigid. He considered low-necked gowns 
 immoral, no matter how modestly they were cut, and 
 although Eunice had charming round arms and shoulders
 
 124 BARBARA DERIXG 
 
 like rose-petals, tur evening-dresses were always made 
 with the severity of a bride s, up almost to the lobes of 
 her small ears and close about the wrists. He permitted 
 no artificial curling of her hair. The trimming of her 
 pretty oval nails was superintended conscientiously, and 
 she was made to cut them in a natural curve, instead of 
 the sharp points which were then in vogue. Ear-rings 
 were forbidden; open-work silk stockings pronounced 
 indecent on account of the little glimmer of flesh which 
 showed through the fine meshes ; also every very close- 
 fitting style of corsage. 
 
 Mentally, his supervision was, if anything, more strict. 
 Eunice was requested not to read certain novels, be 
 ginning with The Heart of Midlothian, Adam 
 Bede, and Jane Eyre, and ending with La Morte 
 and Eobert Elsmere. Even some of Tennyson s 
 poems were tabooed, such as Fatima, Launcelot and 
 Guinevere, Love and Duty. Browning was only 
 permitted in selections, while the only copy of Walt 
 Whitman which ever found its way into the house was 
 burned leaf by leaf, having been dismembered with the 
 tongs to prevent the contamination of direct contact. 
 The word passion and the state of mind which it ex 
 pressed he considered equally coarse and undesirable.
 
 BARBARA BERING 125 
 
 A wife, he had said, should be a delicate echo, and 
 respond only when her husband had spoken. He con 
 sidered that a glacial demeanour was necessary to proper 
 respect in his attitude towards the woman who bore his 
 name. His modes of expressing his affection for her 
 were automatic, and his words of endearment precise and 
 bloodless. 
 
 After being thrown with Bransby for awhile, one felt 
 sure that, had he been allowed an interview with Provi 
 dence, he would have suggested certain modifications 
 in the method of existence, proposing in definite and 
 well-considered terms a new plan of creation, in which 
 bodies would be made out of some non-sensitive material 
 and nature reduced to a calm propriety. Eunice was 
 made to understand frequently in many indirect ways 
 that Bransby had asked her to become his wife from 
 necessity rather than choice, and that, had the world 
 permitted such a relationship, he would greatly have 
 preferred their tie to be that of a fond brother and 
 sister. His children he seemed to regard with chill 
 philosophy, as the outgrowth of a material and mistaken 
 system on the part of nature, and his nearest approach to 
 any paternal interest had been when, at Winifred s birth, 
 he had expressed his regret that the child was not a boy.
 
 126 BARBARA DERING 
 
 In appearance he was small, slight, blond, with ex 
 quisitely modelled hands and feet. His hair was of a 
 straight, pale brown; his eyes the same colour. He wore 
 a short, pointed beard, which was here and there streaked 
 with gray, and his lips were colourless, but well shaped. 
 
 When he had first met Eunice Denison, she had been 
 a girl of eighteen, shy, reserved, romantic, and full of a 
 pure and hidden fire. Bransby had seemed to her the 
 ideal of all that was princely and soul-satisfying. As a 
 lover, his somewhat metallic manner had appeared only 
 a refined self-control. Her own intense emotion had 
 filled his touch with a magnetism which it never had, 
 and when his lips touched hers in the first kiss, her 
 virginal nature, thrilled to its very centre by the idea of 
 self-surrender rather than by any actual contact, did not 
 stop to demand if the caress were warm or cold. Now, 
 after ten years of marriage, she had learned to look upon 
 her own former innocent exuberance of love as something 
 unrefined, unwomanly, undesirable to conquer every 
 natural, healthy impulse of affection, to force into silence 
 the cravings of her keen and delicate nature. Her 
 husband s kisses were placed upon her cheek or forehead ; 
 when he took her hand, it was in a limp and almost 
 deprecatory clasp. He repelled all confidences of an
 
 BARBARA BERING 127 
 
 emotional or introspective nature, and was annoyed if on 
 his birthday or at Christmas any especial souvenir was 
 prepared for him by Eunice. He considered the custom 
 childish and overstrained. It was absurd, he said, to 
 expect a rational creature, at a stated time, to be in a 
 mood either to receive or bestow certain gifts. Besides, 
 it suggested an insufficiency in their surroundings which 
 was distasteful to him. If his wife desired anything she 
 had only to tell him of that desire. He could think of 
 nothing that she lacked. Jewels he detested, with the 
 exception of pearls, and Eunice had several magnificent 
 strings of the moony globules. With jewels out of the 
 question, nothing occurred to him that would make an 
 appropriate present. His children did not love him 
 in the least, and were very candid in their admission 
 of this fact to each other, but never confided it to 
 their mother, although she shared every other thought 
 of their inmost souls, because, as Win expressed it, 
 Mammas are generally fond of papas, even when 
 they re rather horrid, and it might hurt her to know we 
 quite abominate him. Lois agreed that this was a very 
 wise and rational conclusion, and so their most fervid 
 dislike of their father was only expressed by the demurest 
 silence.
 
 128 BARBARA BERING 
 
 Bransby s views on religion were also very narrow and 
 severe. On Sunday his wife and daughters were re 
 quired to go to church twice in all sorts of weather, 
 while pastimes of every kind and the reading of any 
 but religious books were forbidden. He believed in a 
 hell of actual flame, in predestination, and that all persons 
 who had once unworthily partaken of the Holy Com 
 munion had eaten and drunk their own damnation, and 
 were without hope of future salvation. At least these 
 were some of the theories which Bransby believed that 
 he believed; his whole inner man was such a tangled 
 web of artificialities and acquired opinions that it was 
 difficult to decide which was the original creature and 
 which the stuff of created personality. 
 
 As for his dislike of Barbara, it increased each time 
 that they were thrown together. There was something 
 in her keen presence which accentuated his own incapa 
 city for feeling of any kind, and which caused him to 
 experience a sensation resembling that of an ill- 
 humoured and gouty person who is forced to watch the 
 blithe movements of a happy child. In addition to this, 
 her very existence was a contradiction of all his theories 
 about the submissive attitude which was required of 
 woman in the married relation. Barbara expressed her
 
 BARBARA DERING 129 
 
 own views fully on all subjects, often took the lead in 
 conversation, and did not hesitate to disagree with her 
 husband openly and in the frankest manner. She had 
 her own ideas on the position of wives, the education of 
 children, the race question, the future of women, and the 
 attributes of the Deity. She had said on one occasion 
 that she considered women in many respects the 
 superiors of men, and to verify her statement had quoted 
 Goethe s words : 
 
 The woman soul leads us upward and on. 
 
 She had said that she thought the clause Serve and 
 obey should be struck from the marriage service that 
 it was a formula of slavery, not the proud declaration of 
 a willing and equal comradeship. She had even stated 
 that she thought it wrong to require two people to swear 
 by the most solemn oaths to love each other until death 
 did them part, since love was controllable only in a nega 
 tive sense, and could not be compelled into being ; that 
 if it once ceased to exist there was no power which had 
 ever been known to resurrect it, whether by command or 
 exhortation. 
 
 Bransby, when in her presence, felt herself dominated 
 by a more vigorous individuality, and was unpleasantly 
 
 VOL. i. 9
 
 130 BARBARA DERING 
 
 conscious that her clear eyes pierced through the flimsy 
 veil of self-important reserve with which he had rendered 
 mysterious his philosophy of domestic existence, much 
 after the fashion in which sheets of gauze are lowered 
 between the audience and the ghost in clever dramatic 
 performances. 
 
 His aversion to her reached its height one morning 
 when, during Eunice s absence, he opened a note from 
 Barbara to her, marked by the word Immediate, 
 strongly underscored. 
 
 DEAREST, Barbara had written, 
 
 Can you come to me? I need you desperately. 
 I need your wise, quiet judgment. I am very, very 
 wretched more so than I should dare put into words. 
 I seem to have come to the end of the world, and to be 
 gazing into gulfs of whirling blackness. Oh, you see 
 how I exaggerate even now when I do not wish to do 
 so ! My heart feels like a ball of red-hot metal in my 
 breast. I long, I almost pray for tears, but they will 
 not come. We have grown so close during the last 
 weeks that I seem to feel your dear heart beating 
 against mine. I trust you. I believe in you. I honour 
 you. I have always dreamed of a perfect friendship
 
 BARBARA BERING 131 
 
 with some woman, and in you I have found all that I 
 could ask. I am so humble. You shall scold me as 
 though I were a very child, like dear Win or Lois. I 
 will do what you say, Eunice darling, only come and 
 help me. I know you will come. I know you will let 
 nothing keep you, and I pray that I may not have to 
 wait long for you. 
 
 Your BARBARA.
 
 XVI. 
 
 WHEN Eunice returned from her ride, Bransby met her 
 in the hall with Barbara s note in his hand. She un 
 wound her long veil of gray gauze while he spoke to 
 her, wondering at the look of concentration on his pale 
 face. 
 
 Here is a note, Eunice, which was sent to you by 
 Mrs. Bering a few moments after you left. I could 
 not, of course, have had any idea of the frenzied and 
 personal nature of its contents. I must say that it adds 
 to my unfavourable opinion of Mrs. Bering. It is ex 
 aggerated, morbid, overstrained I might even say in 
 delicate. It is unpleasant to me to think of your having 
 with this woman an intimacy such as she alludes to. 
 It is also intensely disagreeable to me to have her 
 address you in violent terms of endearment such as I 
 have never permitted myself to use. In a word, I hope
 
 BARBARA DERING 133 
 
 that when you answer this unrestrained and unferniume 
 effusion you will find some dignified and lady-like method 
 of expressing your disapproval to the writer, and of tell 
 ing her, at the same time, that you will be unable to call 
 on her to-day. 
 
 During this speech Eunice stood very quiet by one 
 of the broad hall-windows, her riding-crop bent across 
 her black skirt, the outline of her cheek traced airily 
 under a furze of goldish strands. Once or twice the 
 blood had streamed into her face even to her clear 
 temples. When her husband finished speaking, she held 
 out her hand before answering him, as though to receive 
 her note. 
 
 Bransby gave it to her in the envelope. 
 
 I will wait for you to read it, he said. You can 
 then judge for yourself whether I am justified in my 
 opinion. 
 
 It seemed to him that she took rather long to master 
 its contents. I presume, of course, that you agree 
 with me ? he said finally. 
 
 There was a slight pause ; Eunice felt her heart beat 
 ing quickly. She had never before thought it worth 
 while to oppose her opinion to that of her husband. 
 She now said, speaking rather slowly : No, I do not
 
 134 BARBARA BERING 
 
 agree with you, Godfrey. I am sure you don t under 
 stand Barbara. Then, too, you must remember that 
 this note was not meant for you to see. I am very sorry 
 that you should have chanced to read it. 
 
 Bransby could not believe that he had grasped her 
 exact meaning. Do you intend to say that you endorse 
 those extravagant, unrefined ravings which you hold in 
 your hand ? he demanded finally. 
 
 I think that Barbara has a passionate, emotional 
 nature, and that she has written to me under the 
 pressure of some great pain, answered Eunice. There 
 is nothing in her words that strikes me as unre 
 fined. 
 
 Does this mean that you intend opposing me in the 
 matter, and continuing your friendship with Mrs. Dering? 
 asked Bransby coldly. 
 
 I should be sorry to oppose you in anything, Godfrey. 
 I hope that you do not think me so utterly lacking in 
 character and principle as to be contaminated by Barbara 
 Dering, even if she were all that you think her, and 
 I hope that you will not absolutely forbid my answer 
 ing the cry of a fellow-creature who is in such desperate 
 straits. 
 
 I am not a petty tyrant, said Bransby stiffly. If
 
 BARBARA DERJNG 135 
 
 my wishes are not enough in such a case," I should despise 
 myself for resorting to commands. 
 
 I am glad of that, answered Eunice, with a certain 
 shy firmness, for I should have felt obliged to go in any 
 case. The promises of friendship seem as sacred as oaths 
 to me. 
 
 Yes, as sacred as your marriage vows apparently, 
 said Bransby, crimsoning. Do you mean to tell me 
 openly that you would disobey me in order to keep 
 some sentimental agreement made with this headstrong 
 woman ? 
 
 I promised to honour you when I promised to obey, 
 said Eunice, in a low voice. Could I honour you 
 if, just in order to show your authority, you were to 
 try to make me cruel to someone of whom I am very 
 fond ? 
 
 Upon my word, sneered Bransby, I see the effect 
 of her untrammelled teachings upon you already. You 
 make an apt pupil, my dear Eunice. I had never 
 thought to hear my wife one whom I thought the 
 quintessence of gentlewomanly refinement treat me to 
 a display of the vulgar modern ideas on the sacred sub 
 ject of matrimony. 
 
 Eunice lifted to his her clear blue eyes. Don t say
 
 136 BARBARA BERING 
 
 such things to me, Godfrey. It is not just. I am sure 
 that a poor friend could only make a poor wife. I would 
 not be human if I could listen in coldness to this prayer 
 for help. I must go to her, Godfrey, and at once ; I hope 
 you won t make it hard for me. 
 
 I shall leave you entirely to the dictates of your own 
 conscience, said Bransby pompously, moving off with 
 measured steps. In reality, he was physically dizzy 
 with the sudden violent anger which had grasped 
 him, when he realized that the docile creature of ten 
 years submission had turned suddenly and opposed 
 her will to his. He was too bewildered to think of 
 any immediate means of coercion, but his whole slug 
 gish obstinacy was hardening itself into a barrier to be 
 placed between Eunice and the accomplishment of her 
 desires. 
 
 Eunice, in the meantime, not waiting to change her 
 habit, had another horse saddled, and rode off at once to 
 Eosemary, where Martha Ellen met her at the door and 
 led her to Barbara s room. 
 
 The two women stood gazing at each other for a 
 moment, very pale, and then Eunice put out her arms 
 and drew Barbara to her, holding her fast and pressing 
 her head against her breast, as she pressed the heads of
 
 BARBARA DERING 137 
 
 her children when they were in trouble. That sentence 
 about Lois and Win had gone to her heart s core. 
 Barbara did not sob or utter any word ; she only clung 
 fast to Eunice, and every now and then a long-drawn 
 shudder shook her whole body. 
 
 At last she said, without lifting her face : 
 
 I knew you would come. 
 
 Eunice did not answer, but pressed her lips with a sort 
 of eagerness on the bent head. Then she led Barbara to 
 a sofa and made her lie down, kneeling beside her, still 
 with her arms about her neck. 
 
 Oh, Barbara, she whispered after awhile, can t you 
 tell me what it is, dear ? Your eyes hurt rne, they are 
 so full of pain. 
 
 I am almost afraid to speak, said Barbara in a 
 whisper ; I don t seem able to think clearly. There 
 is only one thing which rings in my head, something 
 about " good the final goal of ill." Then I want more 
 than anything to do what is noble and brave, what is 
 my duty. I don t want to consider myself. Of course 
 one can no more help thinking of one s self under the 
 stabs of such agony than one could help bleeding from a 
 sword-thrust. 
 
 But what is it, dearest ? Can t you tell me ? It
 
 138 BARBARA DERING 
 
 would ease your poor heart. You know I would not 
 crfticise wouldn t quote texts or axioms to you. 
 
 No, no, indeed ! You are the very soul of sympathy. 
 I could never have sent for you unless I had known 
 that. And I want to speak, only I can t think con 
 nectedly. And then, too, I don t want to say more than 
 is right, more than I should say. Oh, Eunice, I want to 
 say the truth, the truth, the truth ! But how am I to 
 know that I ought to say it ? 
 
 You can be sure of one thing, Barbara dearest. I 
 shall not think hard thoughts of anyone ; life is too 
 sorrowful for us all. I never judge, Barbara. When 
 people do things that seem wrong or mistaken to me, I 
 always say to myself, " You cannot know what tempta 
 tion they had, what struggles they endured before 
 yielding." Nearly every life seems to me to be the grave 
 of some great renunciation. 
 
 Ah, my dear, my dear ! you must have been very 
 unhappy yourself to have had such thoughts. 
 
 Yes, I have had sorrows. Perhaps they would not 
 seem great to other people, but I have found them 
 sufiicient. I think our trials are generally those that 
 touch our most sensitive points. You know some 
 people find a burn far harder to bear than a cut with a
 
 BARBARA BERING 139 
 
 knife. It would be foolish for one who did not think 
 burning intolerable to say of someone else who w as 
 shrieking and writhing under such a wound, How 
 cowardly ! 7 have been burnt. I did not make such au 
 ado. 
 
 Dearest Eunice, said Barbara, we both find burning 
 an anguish, and we have both been terribly burnt. Isn t 
 it true ? 
 
 Eunice pressed her cheek to Barbara s, but said 
 nothing. After a moment Barbara went on, speaking 
 very slowly : 
 
 You never knew my my the man I first mar 
 ried, did you ? Well I I loved him with my whole 
 being mind, soul, body. Oh, how strange it seems 
 to be lying here in this room and saying such words 
 calmly ! 
 
 She felt Eunice s arms tighten about her, and heard 
 her draw a deep, catching breath. 
 
 And and I loved the man who is who is Oh, 
 
 Eunice, I do love Jock ! 
 
 My dear one, I know you do. 
 
 I even thought I loved him more. He seemed to me 
 stronger, more powerful, more splendid. Some wonderful 
 vitality about him dazzled me. 1 was bewildered. I had
 
 140 BARBARA BERING 
 
 great struggles, but in the end he made my the the 
 other, seem pale, vague. Even then I suffered horribly. 
 I was tormented by dreadful thoughts. I was like a 
 mad woman. I was so cruel. I thought only of myself. 
 And I sent him away. 
 
 My poor dear, whispered Eunice. Wait a little 
 while. You are trembling so. 
 
 No, darling ; let me finish. I must say it all out 
 to you now. Where was I ? Ah ! I sent him away. 
 And then how lonely I was, how wretched for two 
 years ! I went over and over my cruelty and selfishness, 
 until I seemed the most wayward, undisciplined, hopeless 
 creature on earth. I longed to atone for my cruelty, 
 and yet I was afraid. I felt that I loved him, and 
 yet I was afraid to call it love. And then, all of 
 a sudden, one day he came back. I scarcely know 
 how I felt at first. His old power over me returned, 
 but I was afraid. Something about him frightened 
 me. I felt that he could be very cruel. I had suffered 
 so much. I shrank from more pain. But he was 
 lovely. So kind, so gentle, so full of care for me. Oh, 
 Eunice, I was a coward ! I was so sad, so lonely ! This 
 love came to me like a warm cloak to one who is slowly 
 freezing out in the dark. There was no one to tell me
 
 BARBARA DERING 141 
 
 that we can love our highest loves but once that the 
 truest strength in a man is always gentle that the 
 noblest men are womanly, too, just as the noblest women 
 are manly. Because he mastered me, dominated me, I 
 thought he was greater than than the one I first loved. 
 And so I married him. 
 
 She paused, and Eunice shivered. Somehow this last 
 sentence fell as awfully on her ear as the deep sound of 
 the first clod that strikes a lowered coffin. 
 
 I married him, went on Barbara, after a few moments. 
 And then and then She stammered and hid 
 her face with her hands. Suddenly she took them 
 away. Oh, Eunice, she whispered, how much 
 easier it is to bear the loss of a great joy than the 
 presence of a galling burden ! Do all women have to 
 learn what real love is, I wonder, by finding out its 
 opposite? Heart-thirst is so much more terrible than 
 heart-hunger. 
 
 Oh, my dear, yes, yes ! said Eunice, with a sort of 
 sob. 
 
 Sometimes, Barbara hurried on sometimes it 
 seems as if I must go mad, as if I could not bear it 
 at all the terrible bewilderment of different feelings 
 tearing and tugging at each other. I find myself think-
 
 142 BARBARA DERING 
 
 ing of Val, longing for him. And then I come to my 
 self with a start of terror. I remember that I have for 
 feited my right to think of him. Do you understand the 
 full horror of that thought ? Do you ? Do you ? If I 
 had not loved him as a wife should love it would be 
 different ; but I did. I loved him perfectly in every 
 way. He seemed to know my thoughts before I spoke, 
 as I knew his. When we had been silent we used nearly 
 always to begin speaking of the same subject. He 
 was always gentle. I suppose that Jock would have 
 thought him very weak. I try to go to my Bible fcr 
 comfort, and I see such terrible things. This morning I 
 came upon what Christ said to the woman who had had 
 five husbands. There can never be but one real holy 
 marriage. I cannot think how I was so foolish, so blind, 
 as to think that after such a perfect union as mine I 
 could find another. But I did not send for you to com 
 plain. What I want is to know my duty and then to try 
 to do it. It is not any social law that will keep me to 
 this bond which I have taken upon myself. I would 
 never care for any merely conventional restraint. What 
 holds me is the fact of Jock s love for me. I will never 
 do anything to bring myself peace at the price of a 
 fellow-creature s misery. Besides, I do love him dearly,
 
 BARBARA BERING 143 
 
 dearly. It is ouly the awful suddenness of it. He can 
 be so horribly cruel. My soul cowers sometimes under 
 his words like a dog that has been often beaten. Some 
 times he seems to hate me, to be possessed of some evil 
 spirit. 
 
 Perhaps he feels instinctively that you do not love 
 him as you have loved another, said Eunice in a low 
 voice. That would madden a passionate, imperious 
 nature. Perhaps he thinks you cold to him. 
 
 But I am only cold to him after some dreadful 
 scene. Then I cannot help it. How could one re 
 spond to passionate love just after passionate abuse ? 
 I do try, but it is like the reflection of a torch in ice. 
 
 I know how hard how hard it is, said Eunice. 
 Sometimes it seems as though one would welcome the 
 harsh, frigid embrace of the Jungfrau in contrast, doesn t 
 it? 
 
 My poor Eunice ! Have you felt that, too ? 
 
 Marriage teaches one very varied emotions, said 
 Eunice, with that almost phlegmatic bitterness which Bar 
 bara had noticed before. I think it is the hardest and 
 the deepest lesson that life holds for us. 
 
 And what do you think the lesson is ? asked Barbara 
 eagerly.
 
 M4 BARBARA BERING 
 
 To be great-minded in spite of the littleness of 
 others, to conquer one s self, to develop one s higher 
 nature, to forgive always, to ask for forgiveness, to be 
 torn with briers and not to cry out, to learn more 
 and more how to love without judging, and to believe 
 that God is all love, and that, therefore, justice can 
 have no part in Him. But, Barbara, dear, dear Bar 
 bara, you must remember that all this has come to me 
 through years of dreary striving. Such words must 
 seem so chill, so unmeaning to you, in all the fiery 
 freshness of your pain. It seems almost as though one 
 were to offer a bit of court-plaster to a poor creature 
 who was being sawn asunder. I know how you suffer, 
 poor child, poor child ! And there is not any real com 
 fort that anyone can give just at first. But the hottest 
 flames die into ashes if we have patience ; and I think 
 we are given our one great opportunity when we are 
 called on to suffer as you are suffering now. And then, 
 oh, my child, he loves you ! Say that over and over to 
 yourself. After all, he loves you with a great, ardent, 
 consuming love. He is not tepid, or cold, or self- 
 righteous. He is a man in every fibre. I have seen 
 that in the few glimpses I have caught of him. He has 
 terrible, terrible faults ; but they are outside ; they are
 
 BARBARA DERING 145 
 
 excrescences which may be cut off. Some natures are 
 like bits of poor marble : the little thin dark vein runs 
 through and through. One may chip and chip until 
 the brittle stuff lies all about one, but still the stain 
 is there to the very core. I sometimes think that with 
 strong characters nearly all things are possible. With 
 too much material one can cut away, can modify ; but 
 with too little what can even God do but strain the poor 
 stuff to its greatest compass ; and then how thin, how 
 flimsy it looks, after all ! I think that a noble, high- 
 natured, unselfish woman, married to a vigorous man of 
 generous impulses, can make almost anything of him 
 that she desires no matter what his faults of impulse 
 and temper are, no matter how much of the brute, the 
 Pan, there may be kneaded in with those energetic forces 
 that make up most genuine men. It is what you have so 
 often said to me, " The woman-soul leads us upward and 
 on ;" and there is no woman-soul that can lead a man so 
 high, so far, as the soul of the woman who has become 
 his wife. 
 
 Barbara drew a deep breath, and pressed her face 
 close to Eunice s breast. 
 
 You do comfort me you do comfort me, she mur- 
 . mured. You put into words what my heart is strug- 
 
 VOL. i. 10
 
 1 46 BARBARA DERING 
 
 gliug to define, and you make me feel how with me you 
 are just a dear sister who has suffered too, and who is 
 trying to help me to the place of calm where she stands. 
 One feels that your God is a God of great, broad, shelter 
 ing wings, not a sort of Jewish Jove, waiting to hurl 
 down wrath and retribution at the first offence. Some 
 times, Eunice, I think that if I were a great painter 
 I should represent Christ carrying a little goat in His 
 arms. When I think of Him I cannot help feeling that 
 humanity is Divine rather than that Divinity is human. 
 Somehow the conventional idea of heaven horrified me 
 even as a child. I remember how I used to shock 
 grandmamma by saying that I would ask God to give 
 me a country place, and not make me live in the New 
 Jerusalem ! And this year, in reading one of Henly s 
 poems, I came upon the self-same thought. Then I had 
 another theory which comforted me. I used to imagine 
 that if I tried with all my might to be good I would 
 live a new and higher life, but still a human life, on 
 every star in space before I reached the orthodox heaven. 
 I always had such a vigorous love of human nature. It 
 seemed to me that most religions were striving to reduce 
 matter, and even God, to what they believed in an 
 original chaos. It used to madden me when grand-
 
 BARBARA DERING 147 
 
 mamma tried to make me call myself a poor worm. 
 Somehow I felt that it was insulting the God whose 
 visible thought I was. And, oh, Val understood rne so 
 perfectly, while Jock thinks me so wild and unbridled in 
 my views ! Somehow, he seems changed in every way 
 since our marriage. I don t seem to be able to make 
 him happy, even when I try the hardest. Do you care 
 for Plato, Eunice ? Sometimes he soothes and lifts me 
 up as no one else does. I read something this morning 
 that agrees so exactly with what you have been saying 
 to me. Wait a minute ; let me get the book. Here it 
 is. Listen. Isn t this wonderful ? 
 
 " Honour the soul. Truth is the beginning of all 
 good ; and the greatest of all evils is self-love ; and 
 the worst penalty of evil-doing is to grow into like 
 ness with the bad. For each man s soul changes, 
 according to the nature of his deeds, for better or for 
 worse." ! 
 
 Ah, yes, said Eunice, her eyes bright and blue as 
 flame, that is it ! " The greatest of all evils is self- 
 love." Barbara darling, I know you do not think I 
 have been preaching at you. I think you absolutely 
 unselfish at heart. Such selfish things as you have done 
 have been through ignorance, not through wilfulnes?.
 
 I 4 8 BARBARA DERING 
 
 You have such a gentle, big, loving heart, it cannot lead 
 you wrong. I feel that. Indeed, I know it. You will 
 grow into a sort of dear Titauess of goodness. Oh, 
 Barbara, Barbara ! after all, to do what our hand findeth 
 to do with all our might, to love and help others, to 
 grow as perfect as we can through suffering that is 
 the greatest of all. And then to find love and sympathy 
 when one has given up expecting them ! I, too, have 
 always dreamed of a friendship such as ours ; I, too, 
 have always felt that there could be a woman-friendship 
 equal to any that has ever been between men. I am 
 shy, I have the habit of reserve, I feel that I express 
 myself so coldly ; but I do love you, Barbara. I will be 
 true to you through everything. You can trust me. I 
 will never change. 
 
 Tears were running down her cheeks as she finished 
 speaking, and Barbara s face was also wet. They kissed 
 each other solemnly, and sat for awhile with hands 
 clasped, their cheeks pressed close together. 
 
 You will believe in me, then, Eunice ? said Barbara 
 presently ; you will believe that I am going to try with 
 all my strength ? When I make blunders and fail in 
 what I try to do, you will forgive me ? 
 
 Dearest, we will forgive each other always ! cried
 
 BARBARA BERING 149 
 
 Eunice, touched by the sorrowful humility in her friend s 
 voice. 
 
 I know how trying I must be, continued Barbara ; 
 I have such aggravating faults. But oh ! she broke 
 off, and a smile rippled suddenly over her face some 
 times, when one is in a certain mood, and one s husband 
 becomes rather boisterously affectionate, it is as if one 
 were famished aud longing for iced sherbet, and a broiled 
 partridge were offered one instead ! 
 
 Or a bit of stale bread, said Eunice dryly. 
 
 And yet, dear, went on Barbara, we are not the 
 bloodless creatures that we are generally thought to be. 
 Did you ever notice how, when a woman is considered 
 very ardent, she is thought to be an exception to the 
 general rule ? Men are fond of saying that we cannot 
 keep a secret ; and yet, when I think how well we have 
 hidden that fact for ages, until even scientists speak of 
 us as lacking in fire, I cannot help smiling at the popular 
 belief ! We are trained to be hypocrites. We are 
 trained to regard all healthy, natural, vivid impulses as 
 unrefined, unfeminine, immodest. A girl likes even her 
 lover to fancy that she yields unwillingly to his kisses. 
 Oh, if I had a daughter, I would teach her that passion 
 in love, iu religion, in friendship, in patriotism, is a
 
 150 BARBARA DERING 
 
 great, pure fire created by God, and not to be scorned 
 by man ! That a woman who errs through love is a 
 nobler creature than her sister who marries for con 
 venience ; that true modesty regards all natural im 
 pulses as clean ; and that it is only immodesty which 
 could turn away with a blush from the grand nakedness 
 of the Milo ! I love to think that Christ s first miracle 
 was at a marriage. You know I was speaking of Plato 
 just now. Did you ever think that Christ was the only 
 philosopher who honoured the human body and soul 
 equally? Plato would cultivate the soul always at the 
 expense of the body ; the Epicureans the body at the 
 expense of the soul ; but Christ fitted the broken arc 
 together and declared it to be Divine. When I think of 
 the people who criticise love in all its aspects, it seems 
 to me something like this. There is a great red rose 
 growing in rich soil. One comes by and says, " What 
 lovely form ! What exquisite perfume ! But there is 
 something in the colour that shocks me ! It is too 
 violent ! Too blood-like !" Another says, "The colour 
 and form are beautiful, but what a pity that it has to 
 grow in that ugly black earth !" Then comes a poet or a 
 woman who really loves, and says, " How perfect in every 
 way ! And how much we learn when we think that out
 
 BARBARA BERING 151 
 
 of the loving darkness of the dust this flower has drawn 
 such living beauty !" 
 
 Oh, Barbara, Barbara, Barbara ! breathed Eunice. 
 Her face was glowing, her eyes of a violet darkness. 
 How could you help making any man happy with 
 such ideas of love and life ? You seem to open win 
 dows in one s soul and let in great strains of music. I 
 never used to be ashamed of feeling. I was not naturally 
 a hypocrite. But but 
 
 She broke off suddenly and went over to the fireplace. 
 Barbara did not follow her, but sat quite still, her large 
 eyes full of a tender comprehension. 
 
 Sometimes when when I was first married, con 
 tinued Eunice, her face still turned away, I used to 
 stretch out my arms, when I lay awake at night with 
 Godfrey asleep beside me, and I used to think, " It is like 
 being crucified. This is my cross I am lying on." When 
 Win came I was afraid that I was going to worship her. 
 Oh, how I loved her ! how I doted on her ! You will 
 be happier when you have a child, Barbara. 
 
 Do you think so ? said Barbara dreamily. I have 
 thought of that so often. But, then, if he were to be 
 harsh to it, or if it were to look at me with unloving 
 eyes ?
 
 152 BARBARA DERING 
 
 Yes, those doubts are natural, answered Eunice. 
 Godfrey has a sister who seems terrible to me. Her 
 name is Lydia, and she believes in a hell of actual fire. 
 She thinks any great feeling is a sin, and sometimes 
 her eyes seem dreadful, so large and cruel ! Her hair 
 curls like snakes. She has a cruel, beautiful nose. Her 
 mouth is dreadful, too so flat, so pale. I used to fear 
 that Win might look like her, might be like her, but you 
 see how different she is in every way. She is the joy of 
 my life. I shall pray for you to have a sweet little girl, 
 Barbara darling. 
 
 I I am afraid, whispered Barbara timidly. Not 
 of the physical pain, she hastened to add, noting the sur 
 prised look in Eunice s clear eyes ; only of the added 
 sorrow that it might be. But, whatever comes, I shall 
 try to think of Jock before myself, and to keep true to 
 my own ideal. And in heaven in some other world 
 somewhere some time You do believe, do you not ? 
 She did not complete these incoherent sentences, but 
 stood gazing at Eunice through thick-gathering tears, 
 her hands clasped against her breast in the ardent gesture 
 peculiar to her. 
 
 Dear heart, I do, I do! said Eunice. There are 
 some lines of Browning that always comfort me. I will
 
 BARBARA BERING 153 
 
 say them to you. And with her arm about Barbara she 
 repeated the grand wor.ds in her quiet voice : 
 
 " There shall never be one lost good ! What was shall live as 
 
 before. 
 
 The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound. 
 What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good 
 
 more. 
 
 On the earth the broken arcs : in heaven the perfect 
 round." 
 
 Ah, that rouses ! That is as stirring as a trumpet- 
 call to hope ! cried Barbara. Dear, blessed Eunice, I 
 will remember those lines, and your strong comforting 
 words to me this afternoon, whenever I am tempted to be 
 wretched and disheartened. 
 
 Thank God I have been able to help you ! answered 
 Eunice brokenly. Remember, I shall be always the 
 same. 
 
 And I, said Barbara. God bless you and keep you ! 
 
 They kissed each other again, and then Eunice rode 
 home in the purpling twilight.
 
 XVII. 
 
 BARBARA S child was born on a gray, chill day in 
 October, a year after their marriage. She had been 
 very ill. Her first unconscious cry of agony had sent 
 Bering dashing out into the still gloom of the frozen 
 night, his hands to his ears, his heart nearly suffocating 
 him. 
 
 His suffering during the next hours was only a con 
 tinuation of what he had been enduring for several 
 months. A savage, deep, unconquerable jealousy of the 
 unborn child had been growing and festering in his 
 heart ever since he knew of its coming. He pictured 
 Barbara to himself lavishing upon it the passionate 
 devotion which for a long while he felt that he had 
 failed to arouse in her. He tortured himself with all 
 sorts of improbable yet possible conjectures. He had 
 never admitted it to himself, and yet it was Valentine
 
 BARBARA BERING 155 
 
 Pornfret s shadow that he felt between himself and 
 Barbara. What if this child were to develop mental 
 traits that would be an eternal reminder of Barbara s 
 lirst marriage ? Could he help hating it ? He clinched 
 his teeth in his effort to force down a rising desire. He 
 had almost wished that it would die at its birth at 
 least, it would only mean another complication, another 
 barrier, another source of endless discussion. When 
 poor Barbara tried to speak to him of the future, he 
 wounded her with his brusqueness. He would turn 
 the subject at once ; sometimes with a jest that 
 shocked her, sometimes with a coolness that brought 
 stinging tears. He became silent, morbid, almost a 
 monomaniac on the subject. It was scarcely ever out 
 of his mind. When he woke in the night it haunted 
 him. It was his first thought in the morning ; and 
 yet he never alluded to it of his own accord. He 
 imagined every sort of future complication. If it were 
 a boy, it would grow up to disappoint them, to make a 
 fool of itself at college, to squander money, to become 
 a sport and a noodle, and jeer at his ideas of guiding 
 humanity into higher places and mitigating the world- 
 suffering. As a daughter, he saw it vain, frivolous, 
 headstrong, pert, and pretty always with Valentine s
 
 156 BARBARA DERING 
 
 gentle, irritating ways, the mere memory of which 
 scraped along his nerves like a fine comb through tangled 
 hair. 
 
 As he walked back and forth over the ice-stiff grass, 
 he became aware, with a great, engulfing amazement, 
 that he wished to pray, but doubted whether it would 
 do much good after all. His faith had never had the 
 supreme test before : he felt the great fabric give and 
 strain as rising passions tore at it with almost equal 
 force. Somehow, until to night, he had felt that God 
 was with him personally, approvingly. Now he began 
 to question the system of the universe under that vehe 
 ment rebellion at the idea of losing the one treasure 
 which more than any other emotion can shake the human 
 heart to its centre. 
 
 Only the day before he had spoken harsh, unloving 
 words to her. He had seen her great eyes slowly brim 
 with tears under his tone and manner, and they had 
 vexed him. There was no doubt of her suffering now. 
 Even as he thought, another of those wailing cries that 
 he so dreaded thrilled to him through the bitter air 
 and brought out a fine beading on his uncovered fore 
 head. He put his arms about a tree, near which he 
 stood, and grasped it as though it had been some living
 
 BARBARA BERING 157 
 
 thing which could save him from his own terror and 
 self-reproach. Her dog came snuffing about his feet. 
 He looked upward through the floating, inky foliage 
 of the tree whose trunk he clasped. Her face seemed 
 burnt on the night wherever he turned. The scene of 
 their first meeting came back to him as though it had 
 been yesterday. After all, was there another woman 
 like her on earth ? Women more faultless certainly, 
 more submissive, more willing to accept the popular idea 
 of life, with whom domestic existence would be more 
 tranquil, whose views on vital questions would be less 
 disturbing but one just like her? Never! Even with 
 her faults, would he wish her to change in any essential 
 quality ? 
 
 Oh, my God! my dear God ! he broke forth suddenly. 
 Let her live ! Let her love me ! Let me teach her to 
 love me ! Show me how to be what she would like ! 
 Help us to understand each other ! Help her ! Help 
 her ! Save her from this horrible torture ! 
 
 He could hear his teeth clacking together as he stopped 
 speaking. It struck him as being grimly droll, and he 
 gave a sort of mirthless laugh. A tide of memory 
 began to sweep over him as though he were drown 
 ing. He held her in his arms. He kissed her wonder-
 
 158 BARBARA DERING 
 
 ful mouth. She loved him. She pressed him to her, and 
 gazed up at him with the old love-look. Then with a start 
 he came to himself again. She was lying in her pretty 
 room upstairs in mortal pain. Perhaps she was dying. 
 
 If you will let her live, I will be so good ! I will he 
 so good! he heard himself stammering. It seemed to 
 him that hours had passed. Then he could stand it no 
 longer, and went back to the house. He wandered into 
 every room which held a tender memory of her, and at 
 last threw himself on the divan in the music-room, his 
 face buried in the cushions which held the subtle perfume 
 of her hair. 
 
 It was Eunice Bransby who came and stooped over 
 him, putting her hand very gently on his shoulder. 
 
 It s all right, she said, smiling, but very pale. You 
 have a little daughter. 
 
 He stared at her so crazily out of a face white and 
 drawn almost past recognition, that she took his hand in 
 both hers before repeating : 
 
 It s all right. Barbara is safe. 
 
 Bering struggled terribly for a moment, then dropped 
 his face again into the tumbled cushions and broke into 
 that harsh, agonized sobbing which comes to some men 
 only once or twice in a lifetime.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 BAKHAEA was not one of those women whose exuberance 
 of maternal instinct leads them to caress every baby of 
 average comeliness and cleanliness whom they may 
 chance to meet. Her nature was maternal certainly, 
 but in the broadest sense of the word. She yearned 
 over all living things with that impartiality of true 
 motherliness which will nurse a wounded hawk as 
 tenderly as the broken-winged bird which it has sought 
 to kill. Her term of expectancy had not been cheered 
 with those ecstatic dreams which brighten the waiting of 
 most young mothers. At times she even dreaded the 
 coming of her child, and imagined that it would be cold 
 and uncongenial, and given to criticise her, as it grew 
 older ; but she depended a great deal on the maternal 
 instinct which was supposed to arrive with all children, 
 and which she thought would bring her a portion at
 
 160 BARBARA BERING 
 
 least of the triumphant buoyancy which women were 
 said to feel on such occasions. 
 
 When the little warm, fragrant flannel bundle was 
 laid beside her, however, she only experienced a vague 
 sense of unreality, mingled with a faint revulsion at 
 what, in her weak state, seemed to her the generally 
 unnatural aspect of life at that moment. In her heart 
 she wished that they would take it away and not let ht r 
 see it until it got more attractive and human-looking, 
 and then, as scalding tears slowly forced themselves 
 between her closed lids, she wondered if she would have 
 felt more loving to it if Jock had been kinder to her 
 before its birth. 
 
 He was not allowed to see her for several hours 
 after Eunice had come to him with the news that he 
 had a daughter. When he entered the room he was 
 confronted by the great bed, which looked to him as 
 broad and white as a roof covered with new-fallen 
 snow. Barbara lay pale and quiet, her eyes wide, her 
 rich hair smoothed out on either side of her face. The 
 delicately-pointed ruffles of her thin nightgown only 
 accentuated the clear whiteness of her face. Her lips 
 were parted, and of a dry, deep crimson. She did not 
 .smile when ishe saw him. Her eyes seemed looking past
 
 BARBARA BERING 161 
 
 him and not at him. He felt himself shuddering, and 
 glanced nervously about. They were alone. He knelt 
 beside her very cautiously, ventured to take one of her 
 pale hands, and drew it to him. 
 
 Forgive me forgive me, Barbara my poor, beau 
 tiful Barbara ! How you have suffered ! and I I too ! 
 I have been in hell. But you will forgive me. You 
 always forgive me. We will conquer life yet, my darling, 
 my darling ! How I adore you ! You are my saint now ! 
 You have been martyred, and for me ! You have borne 
 all this for me ! But say you forgive me. Let me hear 
 you say it. 
 
 I say it, answered Barbara in a dull, slow voice. 
 
 Oh, Barbara ! Do you mean it, when you say it like 
 that ? I cannot think that you really mean it. Do you, 
 my own, my life s blood ? 
 
 I mean it, she repeated in the same voice. 
 
 Her eyes stared at him, but, alas ! past him, over his 
 head. Dering gave a desperate, uncontrollable sob. 
 
 Oh, God ! he whispered. Don t you love me any 
 more, Barbara? Is it over ? Have I killed your love? 
 
 Oh no/ said Barbara in a school-girl tone, as though 
 she had the words by rote. Then she began to chant 
 them in a sort of sing-song, Oh no ! Oh no ! 
 
 VOL. i. 11
 
 162 BARBARA BERING 
 
 Bering gazed at her for a moment, and saw that she 
 was wandering. He left the room and went out into 
 the moist, windy dawn. The past year seemed to stand 
 clearly before him, each month numbered in order. 
 They had been married in October. In November 
 their disputes had begun. December had seen them 
 bitterly angered against each other. January was 
 worse. February still more terrible. He broke away, 
 with an angry gesture, from his own reminiscences, 
 and walking briskly onward, his head down, began to 
 examine himself, his conduct, his attitude towards the 
 woman whom he had married. He had never forced 
 himself upon her, never insisted upon any caress 
 which she had not been in the mood to bestow. His 
 conscience was clear on that point. On the other hand, 
 he had given way to utter harshness against her 
 he had laughed at what he had chosen to call her 
 feminine idiosyncrasies. He had disregarded her 
 shy hints about gentleness and tenderness in married 
 love-making. He had, in a word, made himself in every 
 particular a splendid foil for a dead and consequently 
 idealized husband. He ground his teeth as this 
 thought gripped him, but then remembered that the 
 only child she had ever borne was his, and trembled in
 
 BARBARA BERING 163 
 
 the realization, his set features relaxing. The fact of 
 their failure to make one another happy baffled him. 
 Their mutual trust was entire. He knew that, no 
 matter what state of irritation might beset them, they 
 were proof against all ignoble jealousies and suspicions. 
 He knew her absolute purity too thoroughly ever to let 
 a doubt of her cross his mind, and he was convinced that 
 she yielded him a like confidence. If he was ever jealous, 
 it was of the ghost of a former love. He had a desperate 
 sense sometimes of struggling with phantom shapes 
 which eluded him, yet remained as real while as 
 intangible as the air he breathed. 
 
 Then all at once he was overwhelmed with a sense of 
 what she had suffered physically because of him. The 
 idea of that precious body racked with slow and terrible 
 torture seemed to cripple his own limbs. He leaned 
 against the rough rails of a snake-fence, and, pressing 
 his forehead against his arms, gave a bitter moan of be 
 wildered unhappiness. 
 
 Life seemed very pointless and harsh to him just then. 
 He found it in him to pity the poor little scrap of humanity 
 which might have cost his idol her life. In the natural 
 order of things she would some day have to suffer for 
 another being the very anguish which had given her life.
 
 1 64 BARBARA BERING 
 
 He told himself that the day of miracles had passed, and 
 yet found that he hoped for some miracle which would 
 change the iron monotony of his pain ; and then he was 
 strongly tempted to give his strained nerves their way 
 and laugh aloud, long, boisterously. How absurd it all 
 seemed! He had thought that the world was. his oyster ! 
 And he was not even able to conquer his own wretched 
 ness, much less that of others ! 
 
 Barbara was very ill for some time after that first visit, 
 but at last she was stronger, and one day sent for him to 
 come to her, as she lay wrapped in a delicate pink 
 dressing-gown, which reflected upon her pale face and 
 gave her the semblance of an April bloom. She held out 
 her hands to him as he entered, and he noticed that her 
 rings were loose for her. Something in this trivial 
 fact touched him deeply. He quickened his steps, and, 
 throwing himself on his knees beside her, gathered her 
 to his breast. She lay with great tears blotting her 
 sight, one hand gently caressing his curls. Both felt 
 that wondrous nearness which only a past and mutual 
 pain can bring. 
 
 How strange how strange it all seems! she whispered 
 finally ; and when Bering lifted his head she saw that his 
 eyes, too, had been hot with tears.
 
 BARBARA BERING 165 
 
 It is good to suffer, she said, smiling. It brings such 
 peace. 
 
 I thought that you would never love me again, 
 returned Dering, with a sort of sob. 
 
 Dear Jock ! We have both so much to forgive and 
 forget. 
 
 Oh no ! You mustn t say that, Barbara. You have 
 so much more to forgive than I have. 
 
 Perhaps you mean it is harder for me, because I am 
 a woman. 
 
 Yes, I think that is what I meant. My dearest, how 
 lovely you look ! 
 
 But so horridly pale, dear. 
 
 I love you pale. I told you that once before, didn t I? 
 
 Yes ; I thought you only said it to be nice. 
 
 I m not much given to that sort of thing. 
 
 They both laughed, then Dering said, flushing and 
 looking rather conscious : 
 
 And the the it where is it, Barbara ? 
 
 Oh, it ! replied Barbara, and blushing too. Then 
 she assumed a serious look, and said : I ll send for it 
 her, I mean. But haven t you seen her while I ve been 
 ill? 
 
 No ; I didn t want to, said Dering grimly. Your
 
 1 66 BARBARA DERING 
 
 friend, Mrs. Bransby, thought I was an odious savage, I 
 know. But you were so ill I should have hated it if 
 you had died, and so I refused to look at it. Do you 
 think me a monster, darling ? 
 
 No. I I love you for it, said Barbara shyly. 
 4 Only you couldn t have hated it really, you know. It s 
 a very dear baby. Now please don t laugh ! It is, I 
 assure you. Wait until you see it. Ah ! here it she is, 
 I mean. Now give it to me, Aunt Polly. There, look at 
 it, Jock. It isn t red at all. 
 
 Why, that s a fact ! exclaimed Bering. The rogue ! 
 How it scowls ! It s got a devil of a temper, hasn t it, 
 Aunt Polly ? 
 
 4 Hit s right fractious, marster, admitted Aunt Polly 
 honestly. 
 
 4 Why, it s downright pretty! exclaimed Bering, after 
 a moment more of absorbed scrutiny. It s got eye 
 brows. I never heard of a baby with eyebrows. And 
 such a lot of hair curly at the ends, too ! What a 
 pretty rascal ! I should like to hold it. May I ? 
 
 4 Bon t you think you might er twist it ? asked 
 Barbara nervously. I don t quite like to handle it 
 myself. You ve no idea how how india-rubbery it is, 
 Jock.
 
 BARBARA BERING 167 
 
 But then it s a small you, Bab dearest. 
 How funny ! You never called me " Bab " before ! 
 No ; but it s a dear little name, isn t it ? What is 
 this minx to be called ? 
 
 Not Barbara ! that is, if you don t mind. My 
 mother s name was Fairfax Katherine Fairfax. Would 
 you mind Fairfax Eunice? I like our Virginia way of 
 giving girls family names, don t you ? 
 
 Hullo ! she s laughing. She likes it, too ! exclaimed 
 Dering. What pitfalls of dimples ! She s a perfect 
 dear ! Does your name please you, Lady Fair ? 
 
 He turned and clasped Barbara and the child with 
 sudden vehemence. 
 
 You re all mine both of you! he said, with a sort 
 of exulting gaiety. Then he turned Bar-bara s face so 
 that he could look at her eyes. You feel that you are 
 more mine now than you have ever been another s ? he 
 asked, in the deep voice that with him always meant 
 great emotion. 
 
 Yes, she said solemnly. 
 
 He rested his lips upon her forehead in a long kiss, 
 and they remained motionless with the sleeping child 
 between them, as though afraid of breaking some blissful 
 spell. Afterwards, when little Fair had been taken away,
 
 1 68 BARBARA BERING 
 
 and they sat holding each other s hands and looking out 
 into the pearly twilight, Dering drew a great catching 
 sigh, and burst forth : 
 
 How terrible I have been to you, my poor dear ! I m 
 afraid I m an infernal savage. Love makes me actually 
 cruel sometimes. 
 
 But then I have tried you dreadfully, said Barbara. 
 Don t let us speak of those fearful times now. They 
 are over, over, over. 
 
 Yes, forever, said Bering positively. 
 
 Unbernfen ! Barbara could not help exclaiming, and 
 added three warning taps on the window-sill, while they 
 both laughed together. 
 
 During those moments of happy gaiety Deriug forgot 
 the jealous doubts which had poisoned the last few 
 months for" him. It was as impossible to call up past 
 suffering in this intense present as it is to imagine one 
 melody while listening to the actual chords that compose 
 another. Then, too, as far as physical semblance went, 
 the child was, as he had said, a small Barbara, with no 
 suggestion of either himself or Valentine in its clear 
 face. His nature had undergone one of those quick 
 changes which transformed him, often without warning, 
 into a different being. He was all gentleness and sun-
 
 BARBARA BERING 169 
 
 shine. Barbara could not help asking herself if she had 
 not imagined much of the past anguish. Could the man 
 who stroked her hair so tenderly, who closed her lids 
 with the gentlest kisses, who spoke to her with such 
 delicate love-phrases, could he ever really have glared at 
 her with furious eyes, pushed her from him with harsh 
 roughness ? 
 
 The mere memory sent a cold trickle of revulsion 
 through the sweet warmth of her mood. She gave a 
 little shiver, and then, with a swift movement as though 
 appealing to him for protection from some terrifying 
 presence, clung to him and pressed her face against his 
 breast. 
 
 He held her fast with broken words of love and com 
 fort, feeling in her sudden gesture only the nervousness 
 that comes after any intense strain of mind or body, and 
 realizing with a moved surprise that she was dearer to 
 him than she had ever been as sweetheart or newly- 
 married wife.
 
 XIX. 
 
 SOME weeks later Barbara found herself walking through 
 the rolling meadows that separated Eosemary from The 
 Poplars. She was alone, except for the dogs, as Bering 
 had been called unexpectedly to New York, and her 
 mood was one of exultant freedom. Nothing seemed 
 to her more impossible than that the child which she 
 had left rosily sleeping was her flesh and blood, actually 
 a part of her being, spiritual and physical, who would 
 one day progress unto calling her mother. She 
 laughed as she ran along with her hand on her deer- 
 hound s collar. 
 
 The day seemed a gray globe of whirling wind. Over 
 head the sky was streaked with flying feathers of cloud, 
 driven in all directions by the opposite air-currents. 
 The broom-fields swept against the rich violet of the 
 hills in overlapping billows of pale rose-yellow, gray-
 
 BARBARA DERING 171 
 
 white, of straw-colour, of rich burnt-orange. Here and 
 there the faint-red curve of a path was beaten out along 
 a slope, upon which the tawny growth rippled in the 
 sheets of wind. 
 
 Barbara had a love of the open fields equal to that 
 which she felt for the ocean. She would always cross 
 them in preference to keeping the road, scrambling 
 over fences and through patches of bramble and under 
 brush to attain her end, and finding her reward in the 
 friendly solitude which she loved, the whirr of startled 
 birds, the close darting of small creatures whose homes 
 were in the tussocks of wild grass and broom disturbed 
 by her venturous feet. It seemed to her that she pos 
 sessed her own soul more completely during these com- 
 panionless walks, and she was learning to look forward 
 to them as the means of developing a certain new 
 growth of mentality of which she had begun to be con 
 scious during the past months. Hers was a being which 
 responded generously to the teaching of sorrow, which 
 was never hardened by it, but lent itself to that power 
 ful moulding with the plastic readiness characteristic 
 of large natures. Even in her past waywardness and 
 egoism there had always been a distinct vein of humility 
 which made her willing to accuse herself of wrong-
 
 172 BARBARA DERING 
 
 doing on the least occasion, and by which she had often 
 been led to misrepresent herself to others through the 
 excessive harshness of her self-criticism. It was in 
 this spirit that she now accepted the pain which had 
 come to her through her marriage with Dering. She 
 told herself that she had been exacting, inconsiderate, 
 almost wilfully trying, for in the first shock of disap 
 pointment she had given herself up to a sense of hope 
 lessness, which found its only relief in an attitude of 
 minute criticism, and made of their daily intercourse a 
 sort of magnifying-glass to classify his detailed failures 
 of tact and responsiveness. She had married him with 
 the idea of atoning to him for her former cruelty, and she 
 had ended by allowing herself to be overwhelmed at the 
 lack of that very joy which she had decided to be im 
 possible of attainment by most people, and certainly not 
 twice to be received by anyone. 
 
 As she walked rapidly along through the soft December 
 wind, she began thinking of her life as a novel in three 
 volumes. Her marriage with Valentine had been 
 the first, ending with his death ; her meeting with 
 Dering and the first year of her life with him the < 
 second, which had been closed by the birth of their 
 child ; while now she stood as it were in the first chapter
 
 BARBARA DERING 173 
 
 of the third,, wondering what it would unfold ; and she 
 quickened her steps in a rush of sudden determination 
 which seemed to force onward her body as well as her 
 mind. 
 
 The mother-sense had begun to stir in Barbara with 
 a certain bird-like quality which lent itself to wide- 
 winging thoughts. She had not experienced any pecu 
 liar ecstasy in the mere bodily beauty of her child, who 
 was very exquisite, but as the strange, quiet gray eyes 
 gazed up at her from her knee with that steadfast 
 seriousness of babyhood, she was thrilled by a solemn 
 and exalted sense of the spiritual individuality which 
 made this small creature different from all others, and 
 invested her with that dignity of isolated consciousness 
 which we call life. During her hours of deep reflection 
 she was visited by those ineffable visions full of the holi 
 ness of spiritual light, which come to us when ponder 
 ing how we may work the good of others, and help to 
 supreme beauty some soul which has been knit to ours 
 through love. 
 
 She longed to speak of these new and vast yearnings 
 to someone who would comprehend that they were 
 not merely the outbursts of a young mother over her 
 first baby. She knew that Dering was not in touch
 
 174 BARBARA DERING 
 
 with her here. By some acute instinct developed through 
 repeated suffering of the same kind, she felt that he 
 would resent her mental absorption in another, even 
 though it were his own child, and was careful not to 
 make the baby the subject of discussion unless he first 
 alluded to her. This repression, which she had practised 
 conscientiously, made her doubly anxious to see Eunice, 
 who had been obliged to leave for Florida the day after 
 Fair s birth on account of the illness of Bransby s sister. 
 Indeed, her craving to be with this wonderful friend 
 amounted to keen mental hunger, and by the time that 
 the gray, vine-laced walls of The Poplars gleamed 
 through the purplish tracery of the trees upon the oval 
 lawn, she found that she was almost running, in her 
 eagerness of anticipation. 
 
 As she walked towards the house over the bleached 
 grasses, she saw that the wide doors of iron-bound oak 
 were open, and that outlined against the ruddy square of 
 the hall fireplace a tall figure, heavy with crape, was 
 standing in an attitude of repellent erectness. 
 
 Barbara at once guessed this to be Mrs. Crosdill, the 
 sister of Bransby, who, as Eunice had written, would, 
 probably return with her to Virginia. Although she was 
 not near enough to distinguish the stranger s features, a
 
 BARBARA BERING 175 
 
 sense of antagonism possessed her and made her hesitate 
 for a moment. Before she could exactly realize the 
 emotion which had chilled her, however, Winifred came 
 darting across the lawn, her floss of dark-brown curls 
 spinning hatless in the wind, her clear, alert little face 
 one sparkle of delight. 
 
 Oh, you dear ! you dear ! you dear ! she cried, 
 dancing about Barbara in a sort of frenzy. Oh, I 
 do feel really religious bout your coming ! It makes 
 me b lieve in prayer, cause I did pray so hard you d 
 come! You can t think how horrid and and sort 
 of fungusy she makes things. The whole hall smells 
 of her dreadful crape. And she s worse than papa 
 bout Sundays, and has such a graveyardy way of 
 talking. 
 
 Hush ! You must hush, Win ! said Barbara, giving 
 her a soft pinch of warning. I suppose by " she " you 
 mean your aunt, and she s coming towards us. 
 
 Oh, dem ! groaned Win. 
 
 Barbara was nearly startled into one of her ringing 
 laughs, but managed to repress it and assume a severe 
 air. 
 
 My child ! What a horrid word ! Where did you 
 hear it ?
 
 1 76 BARBARA DERING 
 
 Why, it s what that Mantalini man says, Barbara 
 dear. I thought everybody knew that. It isn t any 
 harm when you crook your finger for quotation-marks, 
 and I m going to say it to Aunt Lydia some day. I 
 am ! she ended, looking stubborn, as Barbara shook her 
 head. 
 
 Mrs. Grosdill here reached them, and, before speaking 
 to Barbara, said in a cold voice of admonishment : 
 
 Winifred, I am sure that your father would be dis 
 pleased to see you in this high wind without a hat. Go 
 and fetch Lois s, if you can t find your own. 
 
 Oh, mother wouldn t care ! responded Win airily, ac 
 centuating this word with a provoking inflection ; and 
 this is mother s dearest friend, Mrs. Bering. Why don t 
 you speak to her and tell her to come in ? 
 
 A faint purplish flush streaked Mrs. Crosdill s cheeks. 
 Her mouth had a thin wideness and her eyes a round 
 brilliancy which struck Barbara as frog-like. They looked 
 at each other and felt that mutual aversion which Bar 
 bara and Bransby had also experienced at first sight. 
 Mrs. Crosdill said formally : 
 
 lam sorry, but neither my brother nor Eunice is at 
 home to-day. Will you come in ? You must be cold. I 
 should think it was too windy for walking.
 
 BARBARA BERING 177 
 
 Why don t you tell her that mother said she d be back 
 in an hour ? said Win vindictively. She s been gone 
 most an hour now. 
 
 Winifred, said her aunt, eyeing her vividly, you are 
 very impertinent. I shall speak to your father. 
 
 But Winifred remained unmoved, and hopped along on 
 her slender, black-stockinged legs, feigning an elaborate 
 lameness, with two old weather-beaten croquet-mallets 
 for crutches, and murmuring coolly : 
 
 I don t see why you will drag papa in, cause you 
 must see he don t bother bout us, one way or another. 
 
 Again Mrs. Crosdill flushed dimly, but said nothing 
 this time. When they were in the hall, she closed the 
 front doors and rang for tea, then sat down, and under 
 the cover of conventional conversation examined narrowly 
 Barbara s personal appearance, while Winifred flitted 
 from window to window in a state of nervous expecta 
 tion. 
 
 I can t see why mother takes so long to come back/ 
 she cried finally, rushing towards them in her usual im 
 petuous fashion and flinging her elbows into Barbara s 
 lap, while she grasped her chin with all ten little fingers. 
 Do you think anything could have happened to her ? 
 She s riding Dervish, you know, and he does cut up so. 
 VOL. i. 12
 
 178 BARBARA DERING 
 
 Oh no, I m sure not, dear, said Barbara, stroking 
 the wild mop of curls. 
 
 Your mother has not been gone more than half an 
 hour, Winifred, put in Mrs. Crosdill in her measured 
 voice, the mere sound of which seemed to put the nervous 
 child into a state of almost feverish irritation. 
 
 Oh, deed I do think she has, Aunt Lydia, she said 
 rebelliously. I think it will be too bad if you let Bar 
 bara go before she comes back. 
 
 I shall be only too glad for Mrs. Bering to stay. 
 Eeally, the manners of these nineteenth-century children 
 ave lamentable, she added, turning to Barbara and speak 
 ing across Win s tousled head. 
 
 The latter flushed a bright rose, drew down her black 
 brows in a scowl, and shot a glance of condensed loathing 
 at Mrs. Crosdill from her dilated gray eyes ; then, after 
 a moment spent in silent consideration, walked away to 
 the other side of the hall, and seemed busy with the 
 objects on one of the large tables of carved oak, which 
 were covered with the latest French, English, and Ameri 
 can periodicals, several photographs in leather frames, 
 and books of etchings. 
 
 You have been very ill, haven t you? said Barbara at 
 last, searching about for some topic of common interest.
 
 BARBARA DERING 179 
 
 Yes ; I have been threatened with consumption for 
 two years. I had an attack of rheumatic bronchitis 
 soon after reaching Florida the same thing Brown 
 ing died of, you know. My physician says that if they 
 had given him salicylate of soda he would be alive now. 
 How dreadful it seems to think of the life of a great 
 genius like that being dependent on a drug ! Barbara 
 exclaimed, and was at once conscious of an icy stream of 
 disapproval which poured into Mrs. Crosdill s polished- 
 looking brown eyes. 
 
 I must say that I never thought of it in that light, 
 she replied stiffly. It was the will of God that Robert 
 Browning should die. If it had not been so some 
 one would have been inspired to give him salicylate of 
 soda. 
 
 I didn t know that doctors had usually to be inspired 
 before they could write a prescription," said Barbara, 
 angered at what she considered the decided insolence of 
 Mrs. Crosdill s manner.^ 
 
 At this awkward point Winifred shot towards them 
 a^ain, holding in both hands, high over her head, a large 
 photograph, her red mouth pursed malevolently, her eyes 
 two shining streaks of mischief behind their bushy black 
 lashes.
 
 i8o BARBARA DERING 
 
 Do you see this old gentleman, Barbara? she called 
 out. He s a bishop, and if Aunt Lydia was a Eoman 
 Catholic she d hang him over her bed, and pray to him 
 as they do to the Virgin Mary. Ain t his hair curly ? 
 I know he puts it up in papers every night ; but, 
 of course, Aunt Lydia wouldn t say so, even if she 
 thought it. 
 
 Barbara was aghast at the convulsion of anger which 
 distorted Mrs. Crosdill s face. It grew suffused with 
 blood, the veins in her prominent forehead swelled. 
 She made a fierce, hawk-like pounce, and caught the 
 child by the arm, tearing from her the photograph, 
 which she placed on the chair from which she had 
 risen, then lifted her free hand as though to strike. 
 Barbara leaped to her feet determined to interfere, but 
 saw at once that Winifred was fully capable of pro 
 tecting herself. 
 
 If you touch me, she said in a low voice, I ll kill 
 you. And there was something so dangerous in the 
 curious quiet of her tone that Mrs. Crosdill released 
 her. 
 
 You wicked little creature! she exclaimed. God 
 will punish you for your blasphemy if your weak and 
 self-indulgent mother does not !
 
 BARBARA DERING 181 
 
 Winifred looked like a pale flame of fury. 
 
 If you dare to say such things of my mother, I ll beg 
 God, night and morning, to punish you ! she said between 
 her sharp little teeth. If I am wicked, it is you that 
 make me wicked. I could most b lieve God was Hate if 
 I stayed long in the house with you. 
 
 Winifred ! Winifred ! said Barbara, but in such a 
 gentle tone, and with her arms so tenderly outstretched, 
 that after a second s quivering pause the child darted 
 to her, and, pressing her face against her breast, burst 
 into a wild passion of tears. 
 
 Just here Eunice entered. She seemed to comprehend 
 the situation at once, for she said to Barbara, in a low 
 voice : 
 
 Bring her up to my room, dear. Then, turning to 
 Mrs. Crosdill, she added coldly : I am very sorry, Lydia, 
 if Win has been naughty to you again. She shall ask 
 your pardon later, if she has been. 
 
 Oh, as for that, she is always insolence itself to me, 
 replied that lady bitingly. 
 
 Eunice left the room without saying anything in 
 response to this gracious speech, followed by Barbara, to 
 whom Win was yet clinging with the wiry tenacity of a 
 desperate kitten.
 
 XX. 
 
 AFTER Win had been admonished and disposed of, the 
 two friends, left alone, put their arms about each other, 
 and remained with their cheeks pressed close for several 
 moments. Then Barbara said, putting Eunice from her, 
 and regarding her with tender gravity : 
 
 You look thinner, dearest. Has that dreadful woman 
 been wicked to you ? 
 
 Eunice shivered a little, pushing back her hair, which 
 had been pressed down about her forehead by her riding- 
 hat. 
 
 She is dreadful ! she said finally, drawing a long 
 breath. Sometimes, when I have been alone with 
 her and Godfrey for several weeks, I feel as though I 
 were losing my identity. They make me so unspeak 
 ably wretched. They are so narrow their views of 
 life are so narrow She broke off, and, catching
 
 BARBARA BERING 183 
 
 Barbara suddenly to her, kissed her eagerly on cheeks 
 and eyes. 
 
 You are all the real life that I have ! she exclaimed. 
 When I am with you I seem to feel, to vibrate. 
 Usually I only exist. I have been starved for you, 
 Barbara. Sometimes I have thought that I should die 
 if I did not see you and I have suffered ! One can go 
 through so much in a few weeks. Such upheavals, such 
 mental earthquakes ! 
 
 She began to walk up and down, unbuttoning her habit 
 nervously. Barbara followed her, and threw about her 
 the delicate peignoir of faint blue cashmere which she 
 found on the sofa. The white arms and neck had a frail 
 look. Their network of lilac veins was too apparent 
 for beauty. When she had thrown herself into an arm 
 chair, Barbara knelt down before her, and drew off the 
 small riding-boots. 
 
 If you ring for your maid we can t talk, she had 
 exclaimed when Eunice protested, so the latter submitted 
 with a deep sigh of relief. What cold little feet ! said 
 Barbara, taking one in both hands, and then holding it 
 against her breast to warm it. And what feverish eyes ! 
 Eunice darling, what have they been doing to you ? Do 
 tell me. You have that look of having been through
 
 1 84 BARBARA BERING 
 
 something written all over your face. Has she have 
 they has has your husband 
 
 Hush ! hush ! whispered Eunice, half starting up. 
 Don t speak so loud, Barbara. He doesn t like you as 
 it is. If he heard you say such a thing he would move 
 heaven and earth to separate us. 
 
 A woman-tamer, murmured Barbara, with a con 
 temptuous curl of her arched lips. Yes, he does hate 
 me. I can feel it whenever I go near him. And she 
 does, too ! She strikes me as terrible. There is some 
 thing like iron about her iron sheeted in ice. I can t 
 help believing that these over-pious people are hypocrites, 
 
 * 
 
 Eunice. They are always discovering in others the faults 
 which they have taken such care to conceal in themselves. 
 She gives me a frozen feeling that Mrs. Crosdill. And 
 then children have such instincts about people. Look 
 how Win detests her ! 
 
 Yes, both the children dislike her, said Eunice in a 
 tired voice. She seems to frighten Lois, and Win is 
 always being disagreeable to her. You can t think how I 
 hate to make the child apologize to her, Barbara, even 
 when it is right. She does take such delight in humiliat 
 ing people. But you, my dear one ! You have told me 
 nothing of yourself and little Fair.
 
 BARBARA BERING 185 
 
 Barbara laughed. 
 
 There is nothing much to tell. Fair is very pretty, 
 and I don t yet feel like her mother. I don t realize her. 
 I suppose I shall after awhile. I am not a delirious 
 mamma. 
 
 Eunice smiled and closed her eyes for a minute or two. 
 As Barbara watched her she became more and more 
 struck by the other s pallor and great air of weariness. 
 Seating herself suddenly on the arm of the chair, she 
 drew her against her breast and held her there. 
 
 Ah, that is good ! that is good ! whispered the poor 
 woman. You are so human, Barbara. Your heart beats 
 so strong and fast under my cheek I feel as though I 
 were coming to life in your arms like some poor thing 
 taken out of the snow. And yet I I have been trying 
 to get dead. I seemed to be coming to life again there in 
 Florida. She leaned her head back on Barbara s 
 shoulder with an abrupt movement, and lifted her blue 
 eyes, which had that intense, flame-like radiance that 
 Barbara had noticed once or twice before. I am going 
 to tell you something, Barbara. I wonder what you will 
 say to me. I have never spoken of such things even to 
 a journal until now. But I am going to tell you every 
 thing.
 
 1 86 BARBARA DERING 
 
 1 Yes, my sweetheart; tell me all, answered Barbara, 
 her arms tightening about the slight figure. You must 
 know that I could only be loving and tender to you, no 
 matter what you told me. 
 
 Eunice turned her head and kissed the shoulder upon 
 which it rested, then went on speaking, in a quick, even 
 tone. 
 
 I have been unhappy ever since I was married 
 She broke off, and with a sort of exultation exclaimed : 
 Oh, God ! how good it is to have it out at last ! What 
 relief ! I felt as though my heart would burst. Barbara 
 went on stroking the dark head with one powerful, 
 fair hand, but said nothing. That soothes me. Don t 
 stop, Barbara, murmured Eunice ; then she went on 
 with what she had been saying : Yes, I have been 
 very unhappy for eleven years. It s a long time, Bar 
 bara. 
 
 Yes, darling, I know. 
 
 I have struggled with myself. I haven t let myself 
 be morbid. I have done my duty at least, what I saw 
 to be my duty. I have tried not to shirk anything. 
 Do you remember what I said to you about the 
 lesson of marriage? Well, I thought I had mastered 
 that. Perhaps I felt too strong. God wanted to
 
 BARBARA BERING 187 
 
 test me. You see I thought I was dead mentally, 
 emotionally. That is where so many women fall into 
 error. They think the ocean has dried up, when it is 
 only the tide that has gone out. Well, there is nothing 
 remarkable or romantic in my little one-sided story, 
 but I I saw this winter in Florida I met there a 
 man you see, I felt so secure in my coldness, my 
 
 deadness She stopped again, and drew away from 
 
 Barbara, covering her face with both hands. I don t 
 know how to say it exactly, she continued brokenly. 
 There was nothing. He was only a gentle, under 
 standing, sympathetic friend to me ; but he made me 
 see no, he made me feel what life could be w r ith 
 with a nature like his the light, the warmth, the 
 colour the touch of soul on soul ! There was nothing 
 morbid in what I felt. The terrible struggle was 
 about my attitude to Godfrey. My life with him 
 seemed such a corpse-like mockery. I thought if I 
 could only be free could only have my spirit and 
 body to myself. Oh, Barbara, I could be so happy 
 only dreaming of an ideal, even if I never actually 
 possessed it ! But as it is, I don t even possess my own 
 personality ! She wrung her hands together with such 
 bitter intensity that one of her rings cut into the flesh
 
 1 88 BARBARA BERING 
 
 and a little drop of blood oozed out from beneath the 
 bright diamonds. 
 
 1 1 am the property of another, she went on bitterly, 
 and of one who has not the excuse of intense feeling 
 in his tyranny. If I could feel that he loved me was 
 jealous, even ; but no, no ! it is not that. He merely 
 wishes to domineer, to compel, to master. I cannot 
 understand it. I cannot understand the man-spirit, 
 Barbara. 
 
 What woman can, my own? said Barbara, with 
 bitterness. It is only when a man has something of 
 the woman in him that he can understand us or we com 
 prehend him. 
 
 And then, too, he my husband is weak ! weak ! 
 weak ! exclaimed Eunice. She made a wild gesture with 
 her arms as though breaking some restraint. Yes, I 
 will say it. He is weak. He is even afraid of me in some 
 things. I can t respect him ! I can t respect him ! 
 
 Her voice was a wail of pain. 
 
 1 My darling ! my darling ! said Barbara ; what 
 misery you have been through ! How horribly you must 
 have suffered ! 
 
 Ah, yes! she cried; and the worst of it is that to 
 them our suffering has always something ridiculous in it.
 
 Not that Godfrey has ever seen me cry. No one has ever 
 seen me like this but you, Barbara. Somehow I seem to 
 have come to the end of my strength. I am like a silly 
 bird that streaks the ceiling with its blood in trying to 
 get out of the room where it is captive. I don t seem to 
 care for anything to-day but my freedom, my freedom, my 
 freedom ! I want to be free free again ! I want to be 
 a girl free myself ! I haven t been myself for eleven 
 years ! 
 
 Barbara felt that her own face was scorched with 
 tears. She could not speak, and pressed her friend s 
 hand to her silent lips. Presently Eunice started to her 
 feet and began moving silently about the room, her eyes 
 wide and scintillating, her hands wrung energetically 
 together. 
 
 It makes me wild, she said, in an excited whisper. 
 I think what I have missed, and I feel desperate. It is 
 the lack of patience that is at the bottom of nearly all 
 human misery. If I had been more patient not so 
 romantic ! I thought that Godfrey was the most ideal of 
 men. I took his silence for wisdom, his narrowness for 
 purity, his coldness for self-control. He is not a man. 
 He is a thing of snow and putty. I could make a man 
 love me !
 
 190 BARBARA DERING 
 
 Barbara stared at her utterly astounded . 
 
 She had drawn her slight figure upward in an attitude 
 of triumphant self-confidence, one round fragile arm 
 making an energetic line above her head, the hand 
 clinched, the finger-nails white in their convulsive ten 
 sion. Her nostrils were dilated, her lips half smiling. 
 She looked strangely young, and, at the same time, there 
 was an air of life-knowledge about her which made her 
 seem thoroughly the woman. 
 
 1 Yes ! I could have made him love me adore me ! It 
 is not only you splendid creatures who know how to rouse 
 feeling and lavish it in return. My life is a waste of 
 snow ; but it might have been different ! it might have 
 been different ! 
 
 She paused, burying her face in one of her flowing 
 sleeves and overcome with sudden weeping. 
 
 Eunice, said Barbara, going over beside her, you 
 helped me so much when I was desperate. Can t I help 
 you now ? I have suffered, too. It was you who taught 
 me how to bear it. 
 
 Oh, you ! you ! cried Eunice. What can you really 
 know of what I feel? You have had love perfect- 
 perfectly returned. It is we poor wretches who have 
 had nothing to whom the future seems unbearable. I
 
 BARBARA BERING 191 
 
 am a woman young, pretty ; yes, pretty. I have an 
 ardent heart a deep need of tenderness, of comprehen 
 sion, of companionship. I believe in ideal relations 
 between men and women, the sanctity of the marriage 
 bond. I am not afraid of suffering, mental or physical. 
 I have tried all my life to serve God, to do my duty, 
 to exercise self-control, to create a worthy character, 
 and look at me ! look at me as I stand here ! I am 
 thirty years old, and I have never been loved in my 
 life ! 
 
 Barbara was very pale. 
 
 I cannot say empty words to you, she whispered 
 at last. I cannot tell you that there is compensation 
 for such a lack. There is none. But your mood will 
 pass. I have had many like it. It will pass. You 
 will see that there is no use kicking against the pricks. 
 You will come back to your steadfast self to your 
 calm, beautiful mastery of life. You are so above it all, 
 Eunice and and- I would give my very life for you, 
 darling ! 
 
 Eunice came towards her, holding out both hands. She 
 kissed her solemnly on the forehead. 
 
 You are the greatest blessing my life has ever had, 
 she said, in a low voice. I think it was because, in
 
 192 BARBARA DERING 
 
 spite of my barren existence, I believed in great friend 
 ship, in affinity of soul with soul, that God sent you to 
 me. Sometimes I have thought that we create God as 
 much as He creates us. If we strongly believe in Him, 
 He exists for us. If we turn from Him with conviction, 
 He ceases to be. I never lost my faith in friendship, and 
 now I have you. 
 
 And you! cried Barbara. What are you to nie? 
 The very essence of compensation the realization of 
 my ideal of a woman s highest feeling for a woman ! Ah, 
 Eunice ! we are fond of clamouring about the higher 
 education of women, but it is the higher education of men 
 that is needed. We understand them for the most part, 
 and why? Because we individualize, while they generalize. 
 We study one especial man, and so learn to comprehend 
 him and his needs. We say he likes this or that, does 
 thus and so will need one thing or be angered at 
 another. Men say, " Women are all like this one !" How 
 one longs for a woman Buddha sometimes ! It is that 
 feeling of the lack of comprehension in men that has done 
 so much towards creating Mariolatry, I think. Some 
 times it does chance that a husband comprehends his 
 wife as an individual being, and then the marriage is 
 genuinely a marriage.
 
 BARBARA DERING 193 
 
 Ah, Barbara ! Barbara ! moaned poor Eunice, 
 putting up her hands as though to ward off some sharp 
 blow. Don t tell me of the Brownings or Charles 
 Kingsley and his wife ! Sometimes I am tempted to 
 think that they only had a double lock on their skeleton s 
 closet, and heard the rattle of his dancing all the same. 
 Is there such a thing as a happy marriage? Do you 
 think so, Barbara? You say your first marriage was 
 perfect, but, then, it wasn t more than a honeymoon ! It 
 lasted such a little while ! Perfect marriage means the 
 survival of undisturbed devotion through the daily 
 friction of years. I cannot believe in it. I cannot ! I 
 cannot ! 
 
 Barbara made no reply, and presently Eunice asked 
 abruptly : 
 
 Do you know any happy marriages among your 
 acquaintances, Barbara ? 
 
 I knew one, answered Barbara sadly : a young 
 minister. He was very happy in his marriage. He had 
 been married six years when his wife died. That was 
 four years ago. 
 
 And he has not married again ? said Eunice in 
 credulously. 
 
 Barbara shook her head. 
 
 VOL. i. 13
 
 194 BARBARA DERING 
 
 What a wonderful man ! exclaimed Eunice. 
 
 Yes ; I told him so once. 
 
 But he will in time, I suppose, said Eunice, with 
 chill bitterness. How strange it seems that men and 
 women cannot be satisfied with one complete love, no 
 matter how short a while it lasts ! 
 
 Barbara covered her eyes with one hand ; the other was 
 clasped tightly about Eunice s riding-cap, which she had 
 lifted from the floor. A sense of great pain and humilia 
 tion was upon her. She felt that Eunice had spoken 
 without thinking, but from her heart. At last she 
 looked up. 
 
 I failed there, she said gently. But our own fail 
 ings bring us so close to others. It seems to me that in 
 noble natures great mistakes are always the stepping- 
 stones to great virtues. 
 
 Yes, yes, murmured Eunice ; but her eyes had an 
 absent-minded look. Presently she broke forth again : 
 What I have felt from the first is so terrible. It 
 has taken all the poetry the kindred spirit out of life 
 for me. Sometimes when I have gone to the woods and 
 fields for consolation, the trees seemed to me no more 
 than the glaring canvas in a theatre, the sky like a bit of 
 cloth painted blue, with holes punched in it to mimic
 
 BARBARA BERING 195 
 
 stars. I was loved with the deliberation of a machine. 
 Only the most vivid and intense love can consecrate the 
 bond of marriage. I was the bride of a wooden puppet, 
 whose love words flowed forth like sawdust, and who 
 took occasion to explain to me, before our honeymoon 
 was over, that the love between men and women was, on 
 the whole, a concession to the vulgarity of nature and a 
 thing never to be alluded to even indirectly. How I 
 have loathed it ! I longed to kill myself. I questioned 
 God. My body seemed to me a vile, unworthy thing. 
 It was you, you, Barbara, who taught me to see that 
 high passion is a consecration that it is only lukewarm 
 sensuality that desecrates. 
 
 She pushed her thick hair back from her forehead and 
 held it there for a moment or two, then went on : 
 
 I think that if I were to see Win married to one of 
 the average young men of to-day, of whom poor Godfrey 
 has such a horror one who is proud of having had his 
 amours, his mistresses, his club-dinners ending in drun 
 kenness she laughed bitterly if I were to see that I 
 should be as bad as a murderess, Barbara. I should 
 pray God to kill him. I should be capable of killing him 
 myself. I would rather see her dead now my precious 
 baby, all my own, in her clean little coffin than the
 
 196 BARBARA DERING 
 
 miserable wife of a creature who had worn off the edge 
 of all feeling in picking the locks of pleasure ; who 
 would tell his wife coarse anecdotes, and get angry when 
 
 she cried instead of laughing. Who would God 
 
 help me ! my brain seems in a fever ! She sank 
 suddenly upon the sofa, her lips white. As Barbara 
 came over beside her she turned upon her a look of 
 piteous appeal. Life and love and marriage should be 
 so beautiful, Barbara, she said, whispering. Why is it 
 all so desperately sad ? 
 
 It is because men and women do not understand 
 each other, I think, answered Barbara, and will not 
 realize that God having made the world pronounced it 
 good. Instead of trying to put ourselves in sympathy 
 with Nature, we flatter ourselves that we can improve 
 upon her. It seems to me that everything is too much 
 in extremes. Take Tolstoi and Swinburne, for example. 
 One lauds even vice if it has a sensual beauty. The 
 other preaches that even the highest form of passion be 
 tween men and women is unnatural, and should be sup 
 pressed as much as possible. We cannot seem to 
 reconcile the two elements. If we could only do 
 that, it seems to me that life would be well worth 
 living.
 
 BARBARA DERING 197 
 
 Ah, well, said Eunice with hard deliberation, I 
 don t think that life could ever seem very well worth 
 living to me again. You see, I am married to a man 
 who let me know, before the first year of our marriage 
 had passed, that he considered the most stupid and 
 petty-minded girl above me, merely on account of her 
 maidenhood. It seemed to me, in that moment, that I 
 could be crucified oh ! so willingly, if it could save 
 women from such torture. 
 
 Barbara s face grew suddenly radiant. 
 
 Eunice darling, let us live for them ! she exclaimed. 
 Let us teach Win and Lois and Fair to live for them, 
 too ! Oh, if 1 could only write great poems and books 
 to help them ! But, at least, I can live my life, so that 
 those who come in contact with it will be helped and 
 comforted. Let me try to comfort you now, my dear, 
 dear heart. Best on my great love for you. Think 
 how I honour and respect and comprehend you. As 
 long as we can be to each other what we are, life 
 holds sweetness for us. Look how you have helped 
 me to conquer myself to realize my duty ! I have 
 accepted my lot. I am content. I would not change 
 one circumstance in my fate even if I had the power. 
 It seems to me, dearest, that the most comforting
 
 198 BARBARA DERING 
 
 words ever said were, " All things work together for 
 good to them that love God." And more and more I 
 believe that our love for God can only come to Him 
 acceptably through our love for each other. Do not 
 think that you " have come to the end of your strength." 
 It is only that, for the moment, you are overstrained. 
 It has been too much for you, these lonely weeks 
 spent with two such alien natures. Really, darling, I 
 should be quite mad if I had had to nurse Mrs. Crosdill 
 through an attack of rheumatic bronchitis. She s 
 terrible enough in comparative health bat ill ! The 
 strain must have been almost unbearable. But now 
 that you have come back to me, all will get easier, 
 more natural ! We shall have such drives and walks 
 together ! Such hours of beautiful companionship ! 
 Cheer up, my blessing, and when you feel that your 
 life is objectless and dreary, think of your Barbara, 
 and how you have helped her and are helping her all 
 the time. 
 
 As Barbara went on speaking, Eunice s expression 
 grew very wistful and tender. Her blue eyes were 
 soft with tears. Then she framed Barbara s glowing, 
 beautiful face in her thin white hands, and said in
 
 BARBARA DERING 199 
 
 the voice of one who makes a prayer of thanks 
 giving : 
 
 My own dear, great-hearted Barbara, I am so glad 
 when I think of how I loved you and believed in you 
 against all the world !
 
 XXI. 
 
 EUNICE was ten minutes late for dinner that evening, 
 and when she came downstairs Bransby and Mrs. 
 Grosdill were already seated at the table. Bransby was 
 one of those men who are made profoundly indignant by 
 unpunctuality at meals, and to-day this feeling was 
 accentuated by the knowledge that Barbara Bering was 
 the probable cause of Eunice s tardiness. He looked at 
 her with a disagreeable flattening of the lips as she 
 entered, while his sister continued to push the morsels of 
 food about in her plate with an air of tacit approval of 
 his unspoken words. 
 
 I suppose it was Mrs. Bering whom I heard whistling 
 down the lawn just now like an unmannerly school 
 boy, although she knows perfectly well that we dine 
 at seven, and that I have a rooted objection to your 
 being late for meals ?
 
 BARBARA DERING 201 
 
 These sentences were uttered in a crisp, grating tone 
 that one would use to a naughty child. 
 
 It was not Barbara s fault that I was late, said 
 Eunice quietly. I did not feel well. I dressed 
 slowly. 
 
 Bransby s disagreeable expression increased. 
 
 Another thing that I have noticed, he observed 
 in his measured voice, is the air of suppressed, I 
 might say morbid, excitement which you have after 
 one of your seances with Mrs. Dering. And I might as 
 well tell you now that she has made exactly the same 
 impression upon Lydia that she made upon me the first 
 moment that I saw her. 
 
 Exactly, observed Mrs. Crosdill, leaning back in 
 her chair and playing with an ostentatiously simple 
 ring of green enamel which she wore above her wedding- 
 ring. 
 
 Eunice said nothing in reply to this, but poured her 
 self out a glass of sherry. 
 
 You agreed with me about her appearance, too, did 
 you not, Lydia ? 
 
 I thought her an extremely sensual type of a cer 
 tain vulgar conception of good looks, replied Mrs. 
 Crosdill briefly. I detest that dyed -looking hair,
 
 202 BARBARA BERING 
 
 and her lips are almost as thick as a negro s ; still, I 
 suppose she is undoubtedly what some people would call 
 handsome. You think her handsome, I believe, Eunice ? 
 
 Eunice, who was drawing patterns on the damask 
 table-cloth with the point of her knife another thing 
 which always roused Bransby s disapproval answered 
 rather slowly : 
 
 To me Mrs. Dering is the most beautiful woman it is 
 possible to imagine. 
 
 Mrs. Crosdill gave an indescribable srnile, and Bransby 
 exclaimed, rather explosively for him : 
 
 I must really ask you not to express yotirself with 
 such intense exaggeration, my dear Eunice. I should be 
 very much mortified for any of my friends to think Mrs. 
 Dering your ideal of beauty. It smacks of a certain-^- 
 er I might say lack of refinement in your nature, which 
 I am sure is not there. 
 
 Perhaps, said his wife, our ideas of refinement are 
 different. 
 
 Bransby flushed and darted a glance at his sister, who 
 responded with a look of pitying sympathy. 
 
 It pains me very much to think that our ideas on 
 any subject so important could possibly be opposed, he 
 said at last, with great stiffness.
 
 BARBARA DERING 203 
 
 Again Eunice made no reply. It seemed to her that 
 she was sitting between two human crabs, each of whom 
 would give her a nip as long as she remained where she 
 was. There was nothing for it but endurance, and she 
 called up all her self-control to help her through what 
 she foresaw would be an almost unendurable hour and a 
 half. Bransby waited, as though for her answer, and, 
 finding that she remained silent, observed with increasing 
 irritation : 
 
 I have been intensely displeased to hear that Wini 
 fred has again been impertinent to her aunt. If this 
 is not stopped, I shall have to take steps in the matter 
 myself. 
 
 Winifred apologized to you, did she not, Lydia ? 
 said Eunice coldly, lifting a pair of ice-blue eyes to Mrs. 
 Crosdill s prominent brown ones. 
 
 Yes ; but I cannot say that I approve of a system 
 which permits a child to be as insolent as she chooses 
 on the condition that she buys herself off from punish 
 ment afterwards by an apology. 
 
 Yes, put in Bransby, Lydia is absolutely correct. I 
 do not think that you have any ideas of true discipline 
 whatever, my dear Eunice. You are altogether too 
 tender-hearted.
 
 204 BARBARA BERING 
 
 Mrs. Crosdill again turned her green ring, and said 
 deliberately : 
 
 What Winifred needs is a good whipping now 
 and then, and afterwards to be shut in a darkened 
 room. 
 
 Yes, that seems to me a very good solution of the 
 problem, agreed Bransby, darting an oblique glance at 
 his wife. 
 
 But Eunice did not look at him. She fixed her eyes 
 again upon those of Mrs. Crosdill ; the dilated pupils 
 made them seem a dark violet. 
 
 I wish no suggestions from anyone about the 
 disciplining of my children, she said, in her clear, ex 
 quisitely-modulated voice. I hope you won t give your 
 self useless trouble in making any more, Lydia. 
 
 1 Certainly, if I am not to be allowed to interest 
 myself in my brother s children, I must accept the 
 alternative, I suppose. You shall not be annoyed 
 further. 
 
 But Bransby was now in a tremor of suppressed 
 anger. 
 
 You and I will discuss this matter later, Eunice, he 
 said, in a stifled tone. 
 
 Eunice made a quiet movement of assent.
 
 BARBARA DERING 205 
 
 After five minutes of silence Bransby broke out 
 again : 
 
 The more I see of that woman, the more I dislike 
 her. She must certainly have some mysterious power 
 over you, Eunice. Otherwise your feeling for her is 
 inexplicable. 
 
 Hypnotism/ suggested Mrs. Crosdill softly. 
 
 Upon my word, he exclaimed, I believe you have 
 solved the problem ! There has always seemed some 
 thing unnatural about the whole matter to me. You 
 have really given me new light, my dear Lydia. I am 
 convinced that Mrs. Bering has some hypnotic power 
 over Eunice. How can one possibly account for her 
 infatuation in any other way? She, a woman of delicate 
 breeding, shrinking refinement, almost super-sensitive 
 feelings, suddenly to form an intimate friendship, and 
 against my wishes, too, for this showy, hoydenish, 
 forward, exaggerated woman, who wears that low- 
 necked style of dress which is a disgrace to modern 
 civilization, and actually chastises her dogs with her 
 own hands ! 
 
 Oh, Godfrey ! Come, I cannot believe that ! You 
 must be mistaken about that ! cried his sister, almost 
 giving vent to a judicious shriek of horror.
 
 206 BARBARA DERING 
 
 Eunice s expression, which had at first been one of 
 controlled anger, subsided into an air of extreme bore 
 dom. 
 
 I can t see why you should both continue to discuss 
 a subject which seems so painful to you, she said finally, 
 seeing that they seemed waiting for her to speak. I 
 am assuredly not going to attempt a defence of Barbara. 
 That I love and respect and admire her with all my 
 heart is a quite sufficient reason to myself for what you 
 choose to think my misplaced friendship. 
 
 I do not consider that at all a becoming way for 
 you to speak to me, Eunice, said her husband, colouring 
 darkly. However, if you admire Mrs. Bering so in 
 tensely, I can understand it, for she treats her husband 
 with unmitigated disrespect on the least occasion. 
 
 She looks like a very self-assertive person, put in 
 Mrs. Crosdill. There is something very unfeminine 
 about her. 
 
 At least she is not a hypocrite, returned Eunice, 
 always in the same even voice. I am beginning to 
 think that most very vociferously conventional and pious 
 people are hypocrites. How astonished some of them 
 will be when, as Christ said, they see the publicans and 
 harlots going into heaven before them !
 
 BARBARA DERING 207 
 
 Eunice ! cried Bransby. His face had the same 
 convulsed look that his sister s had worn during her fit 
 of anger with Winifred. He was silent a moment, 
 gripping the edge of the table with both hands. Mrs. 
 Crosdill had shrunk back in her chair, and was look 
 ing down into her black crape lap as though faint with 
 wounded modesty. 
 
 That I should live to hear my wife my wife use 
 such a word! stammered Bransby at last. It is 
 horrible ! 
 
 Christ used it, said Eunice mildly. 
 
 Mrs. Crosdill made a movement as though to rise. 
 
 If there is going to be a blasphemous discussion I beg 
 that you will excuse me, Godfrey, she said in a low 
 voice, addressing herself solely to her brother. 
 
 I have said nothing blasphemous, returned Eunice, 
 speaking sternly for the first time; and I shall be very 
 glad for you to leave the table if you intend treating 
 me with the rudeness that you have used to me since I 
 entered the room. 
 
 Mrs. Crosdill stared at her, too astonished to take 
 advantage of the permission that had been granted. 
 During the eleven years of Eunice s married life she had 
 never spoken with such decided authority on any subject.
 
 208 BARBARA BERING 
 
 Bransby, whose stinging irritation was increasing in 
 proportion to his sense of powerlessness, actually brought 
 his doubled hand down on the table with some force, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 Let me tell you, then, that I consider it blasphemous 
 to compare yourself to Christ, or to choose such ex 
 pressions for repetition ! Do you mean to compare your 
 self to Him ? 
 
 It is what we are told to do. He is our Model. 
 We are supposed to imitate Him as closely as possible. 
 It is the only way in which we can tell how far we 
 have progressed in goodness. Everything is compara 
 tive. 
 
 Do you mean to excuse that that obscene word 
 which you used just now ? 
 
 I don t consider the word obscene, Godfrey. It is 
 a name for a certain class of women, just as " gentle 
 woman" or "prude" is for others. It seems to me rather 
 strained that before my husband and his married sister I 
 cannot talk frankly of any recognised fact. 
 
 Mrs. Crosdill, who had recovered herself, here put in 
 shrilly : 
 
 I beg, at least, that you will remember that / object 
 strenuously to any such facts being discussed in my
 
 BARBARA BERING 209 
 
 presence. I am not one of the modern married women 
 who make the holy estate of matrimony an excuse 
 for all sorts of indecencies and immoral conversations. 
 I feel as polluted by low and vulgar expressions as 
 though I were still a maiden, and I only hope that you 
 will give me warning the next time you intend to use 
 such language. 
 
 Eunice merely gave her a cool glance, and said 
 slowly : 
 
 You are very trying, Lydia. 
 
 I can say the same thing of you, most emphatically, 
 Eunice, retorted Mrs. Crosdill angrily. You show 
 no consideration for my feelings whatever. You have 
 certainly changed in many ways. I suppose it is this 
 intimacy with Mrs. Bering. You have always been 
 easily influenced. 
 
 I think we had better not continue this painful 
 conversation, said Bransby with some hurry. It is 
 not only intensely disagreeable in itself, but it prevents 
 digestion. 
 
 I shall be only too glad to remain silent, asserted his 
 sister, curving her long neck. 
 
 The rest of the meal was passed without a word, 
 and as soon as it was over Eunice went up to her own 
 
 VOL. i. 14
 
 2io BARBARA DERING 
 
 room. She had a lamp brought in, and, drawing her 
 favourite chair to the fire, sat with her hands clasped 
 over a little volume of Wordsworth s poems, trying to 
 smooth her frayed nerves, and to find a solution for her 
 saltless domestic life. She was just reading to herself, 
 in a sort of sobbing whisper, those exquisite lines from 
 the sonnet to a skylark : 
 
 Type of the wise who soar, but never roam, 
 True to the kindred points of heaven and home, 
 
 when the door opened slowly and her husband entered 
 the room. 
 
 This bedroom of Eunice s had something of her own 
 delicate personal charm. Its windows, curtained with 
 a serni-transpareut silk of a purplish lilac, looked out 
 upon a haze of winter trees, accentuated here and there 
 by dark evergreens. The walls were panelled with wood 
 faintly tinted with the same rosy lavender. Silver sconces 
 held clusters of wax-candles on either side of the toilet- 
 mirror, which was framed in silver and ivory, while one 
 of its many doors, half hidden by its lilac draperies, con 
 sisted of a large pier-glass. The bed was of carved white 
 wood ; the chairs daintily covered with flowered satiny 
 stuffs. In the air was a faint odour of heliotrope, and on 
 the walls charming water-colours, chiefly of spring and
 
 BARBARA BERING 211 
 
 winter landscapes. In this matter of arranging her own 
 room Brausby had given her entire freedom, and it was 
 the one spot in the great bare house which she really 
 loved. 
 
 She started to her feet as he came in, her entire sur 
 prise at this visit written in her widely-opened eyes and 
 parted lips. Something in her very astonishment irri 
 tated him still more. 
 
 This heavy perfume is stifling ! he exclaimed, looking 
 about him. No wonder you look pale! I cannot think 
 that such an atmosphere is healthy. 
 
 Eunice drew herself together with a start. She became 
 once more the quiet image which he had learned to regard 
 with suavity as the highly desirable result of his conjugal 
 teachings. 
 
 Shall I open a window ? she asked, in her soft voice. 
 
 No, no ; of course not, he said impatiently. The 
 wind is blowing a hurricane ; it will be bitter cold by 
 to-morrow. 
 
 How sad for the poor coloured people ! Eunice could 
 not help exclaiming. They suffer so terribly from the 
 cold, and they have that world-wide horror of the 
 poor - house. I was thinking only yesterday, growing 
 suddenly animated in her momentary self-forgetfulness,
 
 2i2 BARBARA D BRING 
 
 how nice it would be if we could build, as it were, a 
 little village of cabins, Godfrey, say each to consist of 
 one room, neatly furnished, and then to rent them out 
 at merely nominal sums, say a dollar a month, just to 
 keep the poor souls from feeling that they were living 
 entirely on charity. Do you think it would be prac 
 ticable ? 
 
 I must say that I do not, replied Bransby. Who 
 would provide their food ? 
 
 We might easily make an arrangement for that. 
 But why separate cottages ? Why not one large 
 comfortable building ? 
 
 No ; it is just that that I wish to avoid. I don t 
 think anyone realizes how most people resent living in 
 herds. Why, I was talking with one of the old, old 
 slaves the other day, and she was telling me of how 
 she had been depressed merely by paying a visit to the 
 poor-house. " Oh, honey," she said to me, " it was 
 drefful ! All dem pore creeturs so mizzubul en den jes 
 bleged tuh be mixed up tugedder ! Feared tuh me 
 heaven would n be all we hoped fuh ef we could n git 
 out o de crowd." Just the feeling of self-respecting 
 individuality that it would give them to have their one 
 little room to themselves would be a blessing beyond
 
 BARBARA DERING 213 
 
 words to them. If I could do it I would pull down 
 every " poor-house " in the world and build little villages 
 in their stead. Besides, the mere name is an insult. 
 I 
 
 Excuse me for interrupting you, Eunice, here put in 
 Bransby, but I came to speak on other very important 
 matters with you. I shall be happy to discuss this one 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Certainly, she said, with a sensation of inward 
 shrivelling. 
 
 Bransby drew up another chair and sat down oppo 
 site her. His senses were not in the least roused by 
 the warm, glowing room, or by the loveliness of the 
 woman before him, whose fair throat emerged exqui 
 sitely from its collar of silver-fox fur, and the scarlet of 
 whose lips was accentuated by the pressure of a slight 
 forefinger against them. The streak of sensuality 
 which exists in most cold natures, and which was not 
 absent from his, had never been touched in the slightest 
 degree by his wife. As they sat studying each other, 
 while apparently gazing into the fluttering blaze of the 
 wood-fire, a sense of antagonism began gathering like a 
 slow but powerful electric current in the heart of husband 
 and wife, he resenting the fact that after years of colour-
 
 214 BARBARA BERING 
 
 less submission she had suddenly opposed him, she 
 recalling with cold scorn detail after detail of his blood 
 less tyranny. 
 
 Her advantage in the interview which was about to 
 take place lay in her thorough knowledge of him and 
 his theories, while her real nature was as undreamed by 
 him as though it did not exist, and the ideas of life which 
 had been accumulating almost unconsciously in her mind 
 year by year she had never expressed to him or to any 
 other. 
 
 I hope you will believe that my intention in what I 
 am going to say to you is wholly a generous one, he 
 began at last a little nervously. I am sure that you 
 will admit that whatever things I have opposed you in 
 have been with an idea of your good. 
 
 I admit that you have thought them for my good, 
 Godfrey. I believe that you are a thoroughly con 
 scientious man. J 
 
 Indeed? asked Bransby, nettled. lam glad that 
 you do me that justice. However, to come frankly to 
 the point, it is about this this intimacy of yours with 
 Mrs. Bering that I wish to spea.k to you. 
 
 He paused as if expecting her to make some reply, 
 but she merely said, after a moment or two :
 
 BARBARA BERING 215 
 
 Go on. I am listening. 
 
 You know my opinion of Mrs. Bering, then con 
 tinued Bransby. I consider her a coarse, unbridled 
 woman, who can only injure so delicate a nature as 
 yours by contact. It s the old story of the porcelain jug 
 and the iron pot floating down stream together. I notice 
 after only one year of your intercourse with her a great, 
 a serious change in you. I do not think you know how 
 this knowledge has grieved me. 
 
 In what way am I changed, Godfrey ? 
 
 Well, for one thing, your manner has grown more 
 assured, more self-assertive. You do not hesitate to 
 disagree with me before my sister and openly at the 
 table. You oppose your views to mine almost with an 
 air of boldness. In a word, you have lost some of that 
 subtle, exquisite aroma of true femininity which is as 
 tine and as easily brushed off as the down on a moth s 
 wing. I feel that you are growing away from me and 
 all my views of life that we are getting totally out 
 of sympathy. 
 
 And when were we ever in sympathy, Godfrey ? 
 
 Bransby started and lifted his large, pale-brown eyes 
 to hers. 
 
 Do you mean to say that you think we were ever
 
 216 BARBARA DERING 
 
 in sympathy you and I ? she went on before he 
 could speak. Have you ever looked out the exact 
 meaning of the word " sympathy "? I have. It means, 
 among other things, "an agreement of affections, likings, 
 tastes, temperament, pleasure, sufferings." Have we 
 ever had this agreement of feeling ? Our affections 
 have never been for the same people, nor our likings 
 for the same objects. Surely, our tastes are as opposed 
 as the poles ! Tolstoi is your master, your ideal ; you 
 have often told me so. I adore music. I was even 
 gifted with a good voice. You forbade me to cultivate 
 this gift except in the most weary, commonplace 
 directions. You told me that such music as that of 
 Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Gounod, Wagner, was im 
 moral, evil, unduly exciting, and morbid. You scarcely 
 liked me to sing my children to sleep. The birds were 
 free to sing. God had given them voices, and they 
 had no one to silence them ; but I was your wife, you 
 were my husband, having authority. You silenced me. 
 You took away from me this supreme and holy plea 
 sure. You never doubted that you were right, never 
 questioned that God had been mistaken in bestowing 
 on me the talent for music. As for our temperaments, 
 you do not even know mine. When a woman finds
 
 BARBARA BERING 217 
 
 that the man whom she has married is cold, phlegmatic, 
 unaffectionate in his nature, do you suppose that she 
 is going to let him see that hers is warm, thirstily- 
 loving ? Is it to be imagined that when her husband 
 tells his wife of a fortnight that passion is an outcome of 
 fallen human nature, and is only acceded to in moments 
 when the lower self is uppermost can you possibly 
 dream that after that she will not strive with every 
 nerve to hide from him the fact that she possesses one 
 spark of passionate feeling ? And yet you disciples of 
 Tolstoi do not hesitate, after carefully explaining how 
 degrading is this fact of man s desire, to condemn the 
 women you have made your wives to submit to every 
 condition of marriage, and to bear your children whom 
 you do not love when they are born. 
 
 Do not love my children ! echoed Bransby, catching 
 at the one assertion in this outpour of long pent-up 
 feeling which he could undertake to refute on the spur 
 of the moment. I not care for my children ! You 
 must be beside yourself. When have I refused my 
 children any pleasure, any advantage ? What is the 
 matter with you to-night, Eunice ? Are you mad ? 
 
 She was of a brilliant pallor. Her eyes seemed black, 
 but she spoke in the same rapid, intensely quiet tone :
 
 218 BARBARA BERING 
 
 No, Godfrey, I am not mad. I think I am quite 
 sane for the first time in my life. I seem to see every 
 thing so clearly. As for your not refusing your children 
 any pleasure or advantage, the essence of love is 
 more subtle than that. We might be willing to bestow 
 every material benefit on some heathen whom we had 
 never seen, but could we at the same time honestly 
 say that we felt a personal love for him ? I was so 
 young when I married you, Godfrey. My ideals of 
 life were so keen and fresh. I was prepared to accept 
 life unquestioningly as you interpreted it to me. And 
 now now, after eleven years of marriage to you, I 
 feel that I have never given you one spontaneous emo 
 tion that I have never received one whole-hearted 
 moment of affection from you. In the " Kreutzer 
 Sonata " yes, I have read it, I have taken that step 
 of my own free will. I feel that I am a free, indi 
 vidual being. I alone am responsible for my own soul ; 
 not you or any other human being. I say, then, that I 
 have read the " Kreutzer Sonata," and that I am think 
 ing of the passage where Posdencheff says that Charcot 
 would have declared his wife hysterical. You probably 
 think that I am hysterical, and yet in Tolstoi s book 
 the man says that they were living immorally. Surely,
 
 BARBARA DERING 219 
 
 there is no such cause in our case ! You are the 
 coldest of husbands, I the most frigid of wives ! Tolstoi 
 would not admit that I might be suffering from starva 
 tion for love, would he ? He thinks that he is wiser 
 than nature more far-seeing than God. She paused, 
 a sudden crimson staining her white cheeks, one hand 
 at her breast. Ah! she cried, he has much to 
 answer for, that Tolstoi of yours. In his " Kreutzer 
 Sonata " he has given married people a hideous weapon 
 with which to wound each other. The cold woman 
 can always say to her husband, " You are a sensual 
 monster! Eead what Tolstoi says about you!" The 
 cold husband can say to his wife, "Passion is a deg 
 radation. I will give you the Kreutzer Sonata and 
 you can see for yourself." And then, after trying to 
 turn the world topsy-turvy with his harsh, impossible 
 theories, look how inconsistent he is ! Look at his im 
 mense family ! his wife and children dragged, willy-nilly, 
 into a barren poverty ! his last contradiction of his own 
 teachings ! For I read in to-day s paper that he had pre 
 sented a manifesto to the Eussian Government declaring 
 that unless it guaranteed to feed the people until next 
 harvest, and faithfully performed the pledge, there would 
 be a revolution, in which he himself would take part.
 
 220 BARBARA DERING 
 
 And this from the man who teaches that on no pretext 
 must we resist evil ! But it is on a par with his other 
 declarations. Four years ago Matthew Arnold said, in an 
 article in the Fortnightly, " Count Leo Tolstoi is about 
 sixty years old, and tells us that he shall write novels 
 no more !" And then see ! He gives to the world his 
 " Kreutzer Sonata." He desires that men should abstain 
 from all alcoholic drinks, and yet the Christ that he 
 worships made wine for the marriage guests after they 
 were well drunken ! He declares that marriage is a 
 deviation from the doctrine of Christ a sin ! And yet 
 it was at a marriage that Christ performed this miracle 
 of making the new wine ! He condoned by His pre 
 sence a fact which, according to Tolstoi, he regarded as 
 a crime ! It is monstrous ! It is hideous ! It is abomin 
 able ! 
 
 Bransby was staring at her, his eyes fixed, his face 
 contorted. He even trembled slightly. 
 
 Is this all ? Have you said what you meant to say ? 
 he stammered finally. 
 
 But Eunice had begun to walk about the room, eagerly, 
 restlessly, like some graceful prairie-creature that has 
 been caught and caged, her long gown making a mysteri 
 ous sound over the rich carpet.
 
 BARBARA DERING 221 
 
 Ah, no ! All ? It is not half ! Do you think that I 
 can utter in twenty minutes the unspoken thoughts of 
 eleven years ? I do not mean to reproach you. God 
 forbid ! You are very kind to me. You give me every 
 luxury. It is not your fault that I have failed to rouse 
 any response in you that your nature is a cold one. 
 What I wish is a certain liberty. I must think and read 
 and feel for myself. I must select my own friends. I 
 can understand perfectly that Barbara Bering should be 
 uncongenial to you. She is the refutation of every belief 
 that you cherish. She is like a splendid living passion 
 flower, and you wish only lilies sculptured in marble. 
 She dares to feel, and to declare feeling a noble thing. 
 Her husband adores her, honours her, comprehends her. 
 She is more sacred to him because of her wifehood 
 than she could ever have been as a girl. That she has 
 grave faults you would find her the first to acknowledge ; 
 but she is trying, day by day, to conquer them. We 
 strengthen each other. I have helped her through ter 
 rible hours. She has been my good angel in many a dark 
 moment. But she worships nature and man as God 
 has made them, not as Tolstoi would have them ; and, 
 unlike me, she has had full, wholesome, comprehending 
 love !
 
 222 BARBARA DERING 
 
 Yes, cried Bransby viciously, from two hus 
 bands ! 
 
 Eunice s face, which had been of a tender, glowing 
 rose-colour, grew suddenly as hard and chill as porce 
 lain. 
 
 Certainly, she said quietly. If you choose to look 
 at it in that way. I am not at liberty to discuss her 
 private affairs. Indeed, I am not trying to defend her or 
 her ideas. What I want to say is this : a crisis has come 
 in my life. I have begun, as I said, to see and feel for 
 myself. I intend to educate my children according to 
 my own views, not those of your sister, and I want to 
 ask that you will not oppose me. I also wish to be quite 
 frank and honest with you, and to tell you that I cannot, 
 on any consideration, give up my friendship for Barbara. 
 Of course, I will not ask her to this house if it is dis 
 agreeable to yon, but I intend to write to her and 
 to receive her letters. Another thing is this : I cannot 
 submit to your sister s insolence. You must speak to 
 her, or I will take the children and leave for some 
 watering-place. I might go back to Florida. Yes, I will 
 say it. I wish to say everything to-night, to have done 
 with it. It has been hard enough to me to speak at all ; 
 but I think that your sister has a bad heart, Godfrey. I
 
 BARBARA DERING 223 
 
 think she is a hypocrite. Thank God, you have never 
 been that ! 
 
 You flatter me, said Bransby hoarsely. 
 
 He had been forced to run the gauntlet of such unusual 
 sensations during the last half-hour that he felt mentally 
 as well as physically breathless, and was throbbing with 
 a curious kind of numb resentment which he scarcely 
 realized at the moment. One fact of which he was con 
 vinced was that of Eunice s sudden rebellion. He was as 
 startled as a man who, pacing the deck of a well-ordered 
 ship on a summer night, is bewildered by the sudden 
 flare of vividly-coloured signals. He had come to read 
 his wife a lecture on inconsiderate friendship for eccen 
 tric and daring characters, and she had suddenly broken 
 the silence of eleven years by a flood of vehemently ex 
 pressed original opinions opposed in every particular to 
 his own austere ethics. 
 
 In the meantime she had sunk into a chair near the 
 table and hidden her face upon her folded arms. Her 
 loosened hair made a soft dusk over her bent shoulders. 
 She felt that she had spoken, that she had been born 
 again as it were of water and of the spirit. She would 
 go to sleep a different Eunice Bransby from the one 
 who had waked in the carved white bed only that
 
 224 BARBARA BERING 
 
 morning. She was more her own, less her husband s, 
 than she had ever been. Happiness she had given up 
 trying to clutch, as a child releases a dead winged 
 thing which it has held until it has grown cold. But 
 the higher visions of life lay beyond her. To make 
 herself one with the great purposes of existence, to 
 become a cheerful co-worker with nature, to accept 
 mystery as a tender boon, suffering as a dear friend, 
 death as a holy interpreter, to turn the flames of her 
 own anguish upon the darkness of others and show them 
 how to live and love more worthily by its keen light- 
 that was left to her ; that joy remained, serene, inviolate, 
 untarnished. 
 
 Bransby, watching her, thought that she was only 
 exhausted by her intense outburst. After pondering for 
 some moments, he said, with great magnanimity : 
 
 Well, good-night, my dear. You are overwrought 
 and tired now. After a quiet night s rest we can discuss 
 all this more satisfactorily. Do not annoy yourself 
 when you awake to-morrow in a calm mood. I quite 
 understand that you have been in a superexcited and 
 unnatural state this evening. I ought not to have come 
 to you when I saw that you were not feeling well. 
 
 Thank you. Good-night, said Eunice mechanically,
 
 BARBARA BERING 225 
 
 holding up her pale cheek sidewise to receive his un- 
 flexible kiss. When he had gone she flung herself down 
 on her knees, and, wringing her hands together, moaned 
 out : 
 
 Oh, my God ! Thou who art Love, Thou who rnadest 
 men an# women and decreed marriage, have mercy on 
 me ! havW^eyc on me ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORP.
 
 000 140 759