TJiit 
 
 <hP 7 
 
 *-*- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 MRS. W. 
 
 BY 
 
 K. CLIFFORD 
 
 AUTHOR OF LOVE LETTERS OF A WORLDLY WOMAN, 
 AUNT ANNE, ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1894 
 
Copyright, 1894, 
 By MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD. 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed 
 
 AT THE APPLETOU PitESS, L . C. A. 
 
.... 
 
 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Everyone on Shooter's Hill had known 
 Katherine Kerr by sight since she was six 
 years old. She seemed to be always walking 
 up or down the great Dover Road — that 
 wonderful road that stretches from London, 
 through New Cross and Lewisham, across 
 Blackheath, over Shooter's Hill to Welling 
 and Bexley, and away to the coast far beyond. 
 Every morning she came out of the White 
 House, that was hidden among the trees, at 
 the corner of the little road that leads to Sev- 
 erndroog, and walked down the garden path- 
 way with the beeches overhead, opened the 
 
 iron gate and came out on to the high road. 
 
 (i) 
 
 912833 
 
2 A FLASfe OF SUMMER. 
 
 Close to the gate v®fc a well to which the 
 inhabitants went with their pails in days of 
 drought before the water company came to 
 help them. Just below was the grey little 
 church, and opposite was the post-office, es- 
 tablished for many a long year at an unobtru- 
 sive general shop ; and next to the post-office 
 the Red Lion, with its wide quadrangle and 
 tea gardens that were almost rural. To the 
 tea gardens, on Sunday nights, the soldiers 
 from Woolwich and the Government servants 
 from the Royal Military Academy brought 
 their sweethearts, and sat with them at little 
 wooden tables in trellis-made summer-houses, 
 drinking beer. They grew jovial as the even- 
 ing went on. Katherine listened to their 
 snatches of song and the din of voices till 
 darkness fell, and perhaps faint in the dis- 
 tance the bugle-call was heard: then gradu- 
 ally the merriment was hushed, and two and 
 two, always a he and she, the Sunday crowds 
 went down the hill and turned to the right 
 towards the barracks. The little road they 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 3 
 
 took was known as The Lane, and led to 
 Woolwich : at one corner of it was a stuffed- 
 bird shop, and on one side of the shop win- 
 dow were toys and story-books for children. 
 Katherine looked in at them now and then, 
 and hesitated before she spent a stray penny 
 on " Jack and the Beanstalk" or " Cinderella." 
 At the other corner were four houses standing 
 in a block, known as Ordnance Terrace. In 
 the garden of the first house there was a 
 peach-tree trained up against the stable : and 
 she used to see the flushed fruit among the 
 long narrow leaves in the late summer, and 
 think how good it would be to touch it with 
 her fingers. Lower down was a plantation to 
 which the Artillery men came in the morning 
 to exercise their horses, and the clatter of 
 hoofs, and the shrill bugle, and the rushing 
 among the trees made her wonder if it was 
 like a battlefield. Opposite, on the other side 
 of the main road, was a wide expanse of gorse 
 and blackberry bushes, the great trees of Sev- 
 erndroog and its ruined tower showing above 
 
4 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 them on the left; and on the right, beyond 
 the Scrubs, as the tangle of bushes was called, 
 a narrow road that led to Eltham went across 
 the landscape, and far beyond it stretched the 
 open country, showing the Crystal Palace in 
 the distance. 
 
 In the morning, when she came out of the 
 gate — every morning of her life from six to 
 seventeen, save on Sundays and during the 
 brief holiday periods — Katherine turned to her 
 left and went down the hill, past the church 
 on one side and the inn on the other, past the 
 stuffed-bird shop and The Lane that led to 
 Woolwich, and the four houses and the planta- 
 tion and the Scrubs. Then she came to where 
 four roads met, or, rather, two branched off, 
 right and left, the one on the left to Eltham 
 and the one on the right to Woolwich, for the 
 road behind her going upwards, and in front 
 of her going downwards, was but the same 
 great one. She used to stop for a moment 
 quite punctually at a quarter past nine and 
 look down the one that led to Woolwich, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 5 
 
 wondering if by chance the soldiers were com- 
 ing and with them their band. If there was 
 no sign of them she would look to the left to- 
 wards Eltham. At Eltham was an old palace 
 that had a moat, and on the edge of the moat 
 a crane stood on one leg. She always lingered 
 on the bridge leading to the palace to look at 
 the moat and wonder what the crane thought 
 about. She felt it had lived for hundreds of 
 years, and remembered Henry VIII. and Anne 
 Boleyn dancing in the great hall that was now 
 a ruin : and she wished she had been alive in 
 those days to entreat the King not to cut off 
 Anne's head. 
 
 But she never had time to linger at the 
 cross-roads ; the fear of Uncle Robert was be- 
 fore her eyes, still more of the tale telling of 
 Susan Barnes, who had looked after the house 
 since Aunt Evelina's death. So leaving her 
 dreams of romance behind she walked on half 
 a mile and, just as she came in sight of the 
 mile-stone in the distance, stopped at a long 
 low white house on the left. The house had a 
 
6 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 little narrow garden in front and green Vene- 
 tian blinds to its windows, that winter and 
 summer were always open. This was Mrs. 
 Barrett's school. Katherine went as a morn- 
 ing pupil, from half -past nine to one, and car- 
 ried a mighty list of lessons back with her to 
 learn in the drawing-room of the White House 
 by Severndroog. She hardly knew her school- 
 fellows, for Mr. Morris (her uncle) did not 
 wish her to make friends, and allowed no 
 visitors. But the school-hours were happy 
 enough, for Mrs. Barrett was fond of the little 
 lonely girl, and looked at her in a somewhat 
 kindlier fashion than she did at the rest of her 
 pupils ; and once — this was when she was 
 twelve years old — she gave her as a birthday 
 gift a little black satin workbag embroid- 
 ered with forget-me-nots. Katherine kept it 
 hidden away in a drawer, and thought it too 
 precious a thing even to look at very often. 
 
 At one o'clock she sallied forth from her 
 school along the road again, never forgetting 
 to turn her head when she came to the turn- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 7 
 
 ings to the right and left, and went up the hill 
 and back to the White House. Susan Barnes 
 was always waiting with a sharp eye to see 
 whether she had dust or mud on her shoes, 
 and a quick injunction to get ready for din- 
 ner. After dinner — she ate it alone four 
 days a week — she worked at her lessons till 
 tea-time : then Uncle Robert came home. , 
 
 "Well, what have you been doing?" he 
 would ask. She answered nothing, for she 
 was always in awe of him. " Behaved your- 
 self, eh?" On Susan's answer depended the 
 rest of the day. 
 
 "Oh, she's been tiresome, as usual," the 
 woman would say sometimes — "started five 
 minutes late for school and no one knows 
 what she did coming back — it was five-and- 
 twenty minutes past one by the clock before 
 she entered the gate, and then, instead of 
 having her gloves on, she carried them all in 
 a screw." 
 
 "Oh, that was it! I suppose you were 
 thinking of the soldiers or watching for the 
 
8 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 band : well, that's to make you do it again ! " 
 and he would give her a cuff on the ears. 
 Then she hid herself away to cry, but did 
 not hate him in the least, for she remembered 
 that just as he scolded her now so he used 
 to scold her Aunt Evelina. It was only a mat- 
 ter of course. 
 
 If Susan gave a good report he would 
 sometimes take her for a walk in the evening. 
 They generally went up the hill ; he and she 
 and Martyr, the big black dog. The road as 
 it ascended had been cut far back in the old 
 coaching days so as to make it less steep for 
 the horses. On either side was the high foot- 
 way protected by a hand-rail, and behind it 
 on the left she could see the top windows of 
 old-fashioned houses standing a little way 
 back behind tall fences and garden gates. On 
 the right there were hedges and thick trees, 
 bordering the grounds belonging to more im- 
 portant dwellings. Katherine used to think 
 of the stage coaches as she walked silently 
 beside her uncle, of the highwaymen, and the 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 9 
 
 legends of Robin Hood and Maid Marian. On 
 the top of the hill there was an old inn called 
 The Bull, and a little way from the door, 
 against a tree under which the coaches used to 
 draw up, some white stone steps by which the 
 travellers mounted to their places. When, she 
 had looked at the inn, she turned her head 
 quickly in order to catch sight of a little 
 path on the other side of the way that led 
 through some woods and round by the back 
 of Severndroog tower and over some fields to 
 Eltham. There were many delights in the 
 woods, for they were full of nut-trees, and iu 
 the autumn the nuts hung thick and green, and 
 amid the bracken and briar and underwood 
 the blackberries and wild raspberries trailed. 
 Sometimes, if Uncle Robert were in a good 
 humour, Katherine would push her hand into 
 his— it was not till she was ten or twelve years 
 old that she ventured on this little coaxing— 
 and say, " Let's go through the wood." Per- 
 haps he would say curtly, in a manner that 
 made her feel how absolute was his power— 
 
10 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "No; I want to go another way." Then 
 they trudged on toward Welling and over 
 Shoulder - of - Mutton Green, and home by 
 Plumstead Lane — a long walk for a little girl ; 
 it made her feet sore and aching. But there 
 were compensations, especially in September 
 when a flock of geese waddled over the 
 Green ; or in June when they went down 
 Plumstead Lane and past the strawberry -gar- 
 den. Once or twice in the summer after Mr. 
 Belcher first came from town and went back 
 again when he had had some tea and seen the 
 view from the White House windows, Uncle 
 Robert, in high good humour, took her into 
 the strawberry-garden. Then she sat in a little 
 summer-house and ate the reddest strawberries 
 that ever ripened in the sun, watching the 
 while some beehives in a far corner. She was 
 afraid of the bees ; bnt it was a wonderful 
 thing to think of the inside of the hives, with 
 a bee asleep in each little cell. In the middle 
 of the garden was a scarecrow made of two 
 sticks put crossways and a coat and an old 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. H 
 
 hat, with a mask for a face, and each armless 
 sleeve had a strawberry pottle sewn to the end 
 of it. It was worth being footsore and weary- 
 to go to the strawberry -garden, or even to pass 
 it by, and to remember that she had seen the 
 geese on the Green and the scarecrow, which 
 was visible enough from the road, and the still 
 beehive, all in one evening. 
 
 Or perhaps Uncle Robert would give in 
 about the woods. Then they had a lovely 
 walk : adown the narrow pathway under the 
 trees till they came to the stile — a difficult, 
 awkward stile that Katherine delighted in 
 ciimbing — through green fields, and over a 
 corn-field in which the poppies grew so thick 
 she could have gathered an armful in two min- 
 utes but that she knew Uncle Robert would 
 have strode on without waiting for her, and 
 through the churchyard, against which there 
 were some cottages, as though the dead and 
 the living lived in friendly communion. Thus 
 they went to Eltham, and from Eltham, when 
 they had seen the palace and the crane, they 
 
12 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 walked along the road Katherine passed on 
 her way to school and so up the hill again to 
 the White House. 
 
 But these walks were only in the summer. 
 In the winter- time her daily exercise was con- 
 fined to going to and fro from Mrs. Barrett's, 
 and sometimes in the afternoon to the post- 
 office and back with Martyr ; or, but still less 
 often, to Woolwich with Susan Barnes to 
 shop. When they went to Woolwich they did 
 not go down between the stuffed-bird shop and 
 Ordnance Terrace ; there was a short cut high- 
 er up, a little steep way called Constitution 
 Hill, that led into The Lane lower down than 
 w r here it started from the main road. It came 
 out opposite a public-house called The Eagle, 
 that also had tea-gardens belonging to it. A 
 man with a fair beard was generally standing 
 at the door. He was called Harding, and as 
 she went by he used to say " — Morning, Miss, 
 is the master quite well?" She always an- 
 swered "Yes, thank you, Mr. Harding," and 
 walked on demurely beside Susan Barnes, who 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 13 
 
 never condescended even to look at him : for 
 though Susan seldom went to church she had 
 very strong opinions, and considered that Mr. 
 Harding was a publican and a sinner. The 
 walk to Woolwich was an event in her quiet 
 life — under the trees on the common and on 
 through the white gate towards the Artillery 
 barracks,^ with the wide field in front, and the 
 Rotunda in the distance : sometimes the band 
 was playing, or the soldiers being drilled on 
 the parade as she and Susan went down 
 towards the narrow streets of the town. If 
 Susan's manner relaxed in the bustle of shop- 
 ping, she would take Katherine into the con- 
 fectioner's at Green's End, and say in her 
 hard, respectful voice : 
 
 " Better sit down and eat a cheese-cake or 
 two, Miss Katherine ; it's a long way back." 
 
 Katherine used to wonder, as they went up 
 the hill in the cold, grey twilight of the win- 
 ter, why so many people came to live in the 
 world, and what they all thought about it, 
 and whether they felt as she did, that it was 
 
14 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 full of mysteries and barriers. But after all 
 if life was occasionally a dull thing to her 
 and some days had their blows or bitternesses, 
 there was the expectancy of youth in her 
 heart, and the waiting for the unknown that 
 makes all things seem like passing clouds. 
 The winter evenings were difficult to get 
 through. She sat in the drawing-room alone, 
 and was supposed to sew till eight o'clock ; 
 but she used to get up now and then to play 
 at battledore and shuttlecock : for the draw- 
 ing-room was not crowded with furniture like 
 those of modern days, and there was a wide 
 space between the round table and the grand 
 piano. At eight o'clock she went down-stairs 
 to say good-night to Uncle Robert, and stayed 
 in the dining-room to drink a glass of milk 
 and eat three picnic biscuits before going 
 to bed. 
 
 This was her life til] she was nearly four- 
 teen. Then one morning just as Uncle Robert 
 was getting ready to go to town a letter came 
 with many foreign stamps upon it: when he 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 15 
 
 had read it he turned to Katherine with a face 
 so drawn and strange that she was frightened. 
 
 "Go and fetch Susan," he said. Susan 
 went into the dining-room and shut the door. 
 Katherine did not dare enter in upon them, 
 besides it was time to get ready for school ; but 
 when she came downstairs five minutes later, 
 she could hear that Susan was sobbing, and 
 her heart warmed to the stern old woman who 
 had taken care of her since she was a little 
 girl. She opened the dining-room door a little 
 way and said softly, "May I come in? " And 
 Susan answered in a kinder voice than usual, 
 "Yes, come along, Miss, and you must not go 
 to school to-day." 
 
 So Katherine went up and put her arms 
 round Susan and looked at Uncle Robert, who 
 stood quite still and almost rigid by the table, 
 on which the open letter was lying. 
 
 "Mr. Richard is dead," Susan said. "I 
 knew him since he was a baby." 
 
 " When did he die % " Katherine whispered, 
 awestruck. 
 
10 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "We don't know," Susan answered, wiping 
 away her tears, "but you must have a black 
 frock before you can be seen about again. 
 You won't go to town, Sir, to-day, I sup- 
 pose % " she asked Mr. Morris. 
 
 "Yes, I shall go; I want to see Belcher." 
 And slowly buttoning his coat, Mr. Morris 
 went out and down the pathway to the garden 
 gate with slow hesitating steps, as though he 
 had been half-stunned. 
 
 "Ah," said Susan, as she looked after him 
 shaking her head. "He's had a blow from 
 which he'll find it hard to rise. He thought 
 he knew the worst, but he was mistaken." 
 
 "Who was Mr. Richard?" Katherine 
 asked. 
 
 "He was your Uncle Robert's only son." 
 
 " And where has he been \ " 
 
 There was some hesitation in Susan's man- 
 ner before she answered — 
 
 " He has been in Australia, and other parts. 
 He went away," she added with still more 
 hesitation, "before you were born. He never 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 17 
 
 thought to see him again, but he never thought 
 to hear that he was dead ; it was bad enough 
 without that. Well, it killed his mother years 
 ago." 
 
 "What killed her?" 
 
 "Mr. Richard. He did what was wrong 
 and had to go away — they sent him away," 
 she added in a low voice. "They knew he'd 
 never come back, but they thought perhaps 
 some day he'd be all right out there. He is 
 no relation of yours, really," Susan Barnes 
 added. "You belong to the mistress's side of 
 the family ; so you needn't think there's any- 
 thing bad in your blood — not that there was in 
 his either. What he did he was led to do." 
 
 " Susan," Katherine asked, "have I any re- 
 lations besides Uncle Robert? I didn't know 
 there was Mr. Richard." 
 
 "Not a soul that I know of. You were the 
 daughter of the mistress's sister — half-sister 
 she was, and years and years younger — and 
 there were no more of them, but just those 
 two. Mistress married master, and your moth- 
 
18 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 er married a clergyman, who died and left her 
 with nothing. It was lucky for you that your 
 Aunt Evelina took you. But for her, you 
 hadn't a relation in the world nor a stock or 
 stone belonging to you." 
 
 Then Katherine asked a question that had 
 often puzzled her. 
 
 "Did Uncle Robert like Aunt Evelina f" 
 
 "Oh, yes, he liked her well enough; but 
 he was always a hard man, and had his way 
 wherever he went, and sometimes she'd sit 
 down and cry about it instead of getting up 
 and doing what he wanted. If he'd been a bit 
 softer with Mr. Richard, things wouldn't have 
 been so hard for himself now." 
 
 "Are they hard for him?" she asked won- 
 deringly. 
 
 "Yes, and they have been, and if they 
 hadn't it would have been different for you. 
 He wouldn't have cuffed you so often — I be- 
 lieve he's fond of you in his way ; but men are 
 always hard on women ; they've got the upper 
 hand, and they know it — and the only thing 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 19 
 
 we can do is to make the best of it. After all, 
 they earn the money, and they've the right to 
 be master." Then Susan went to the window 
 and pulled down the blind. 
 
 "What is that for?" Katherine asked, for 
 she knew nothing about death. 
 
 "It's for Mr. Richard — I wouldn't like to 
 think we didn't make the house dark a sin- 
 gle day for him. It may be months since he 
 died, but it's only this morning we heard of 
 it. You are all your Uncle Robert's got left 
 in the world now, Miss Katherine. There's 
 Mr. Belcher, he thinks a lot of him, and " 
 
 The rest of Susan's speech was lost as she 
 went upstairs to pull down the bed-room 
 blinds. Katherine felt as if she had looked 
 out a little farther into the world, and had 
 drawn back disheartened, for she had only 
 learnt that Mr. Richard had gone wrong and 
 died, and that Aunt Evelina had broken her 
 heart. 
 
 Since she was not to go to school that day, 
 she sat still for a while and thought about all 
 
20 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 manner of things that did not directly concern 
 herself. For as yet she had not realised that 
 she was anything more than a creature al- 
 lowed almost as a favour to live in the world 
 and look on at the people and the things that 
 were in it. That she had an individuality of 
 her own, and a life to live, a capacity to suffer 
 and rejoice— that she was, in fact, heiress in 
 common with the rest of her sex to all the 
 possibilities of humanity — had not yet dawned 
 upon her. She was only a lonely school girl, 
 whom experience had taught to submit, and 
 whose sense concerning the future was just 
 the curious one of waiting. 
 
 Susan's revelations, such as they were, drew 
 her nearer to Uncle Robert. She had always 
 wanted to like him, but had been half afraid. 
 Now she knew that any harshness he had shown 
 her had not been unkindness so much as an ex- 
 pression of many things he had suffered himself : 
 she felt a little frightened tenderness towards 
 him, and wondered if she could do anything that 
 would please him. She remembered that there 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 21 
 
 were some wall-flowers growing in the garden, 
 at the far end behind the bank of laurel : she 
 was certain he did not know they were there. 
 She had stood over them every morning before 
 he was down, and softly touched their petals : 
 they felt like velvet, and she liked, too, the 
 little close bunches of dark buds. Perhaps he 
 would be pleased if she gathered some into one 
 of the blue and white bowls, and put it on the 
 square table in the middle of his bedroom. 
 Once or twice her pupils had taken Mrs. 
 Barrett a bouquet of flowers to school ; one of 
 them gave her a little brass bowl on her birth- 
 day filled with violets, and Mrs. Barrett had 
 put it on the drawing-room table, and looked 
 happy all day because of it. Perhaps Uncle 
 Robert would be pleased too. So in the after- 
 noon she took down the bowl and went to the 
 garden without Susan seeing her, for she did 
 not want anyone to know what she was going 
 to do : she felt as if it would take away from 
 its tenderness. She filled the bowl with water 
 from the pump that was just outside the house, 
 
22 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 so full that it brimmed over, and went along 
 the pathway under the beech and larch trees, 
 and disappeared behind the laurel bank and 
 put it down beside her while she gathered the 
 flowers, carefully sorting the shades of brown. 
 Then she rose up from her knees, and was 
 about to carry it in her two hands back to the 
 house. As she passed the back door, painted 
 grey and with a little heap of stones beside it, 
 that led out on to the main road, a key turned 
 in the lock. Mr. Morris and a tall dark man 
 of about two- and- thirty entered the garden so 
 quickly that Katherine started and dropped 
 the bowl, which scattered itself with the water 
 and flowers at her feet. 
 
 " What does this mean ?" Mr. Morris asked. 
 " What are you doing ? " She looked up at him 
 with a white face and two blue eyes full of fright. 
 
 " I was going to put some flowers in your 
 room— because you were unhappy," she said in 
 a low voice. 
 
 The tall man with Uncle Eobert almost 
 laughed ; she saw it and turned away. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 23 
 
 "I thought you would be pleased," she 
 went on in a still lower voice, as if she re- 
 sented being heard by any one else. 
 
 Mr. Morris looked at her for a moment in 
 silence. 
 
 "Well, never mind," he said in a hard 
 voice, "have that mess swept up : you oughtn't 
 to pick flowers without asking leave. I don't 
 want to see you again to-day." He walked 
 towards the house without another word, and 
 Mr. Belcher, as the other man was called, fol- 
 lowed him. She stooped and gathered up the 
 flowers in one hand and ruefully put the bits 
 of broken bowl into a heap, and standing on 
 the heap of stones, threw them over the garden 
 fence into the ditch behind. Every morning 
 for a week afterwards she used to see them on 
 her way to school, till, unable to bear the sight 
 any longer, she surreptitiously buried them. 
 
 Then she hid herself behind the laurels, 
 and putting her gathered flowers a little way 
 from her, gave way to bitter disappointment, 
 till hiding her face in her arms on the little 
 
24: A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 grassy bank, she broke down altogether, and 
 sobbed. Presently she heard the sound of a 
 footstep and started. Mr. Belcher was coming 
 towards her with the amused expression still 
 on his face. 
 
 "In disgrace, eh?" he asked, insultingly it 
 seemed to Katherine. She rose to her feet and 
 stood looking at him, while a strange dismay 
 took possession of her. He was a tall man 
 and dark, not thin, and with something deter- 
 mined in his gait. He had brown eyes, cold 
 and large, and dark hair that had been care- 
 fully brushed and parted on one side ; it was 
 not thick, and it lay very close to his head. 
 He had a rather long upper lip, closely shaven, 
 a firmly shut mouth, and little side whiskers. 
 Though he was only two-and-thirty he looked 
 older, and like one a good deal taken up with 
 the affairs of life : keen, and with an eye to 
 main chances. There was something method- 
 ical in his manner and almost cruel in his ex- 
 pression : Katherine quailed a little before it, 
 but did not know that she was afraid of him. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 25 
 
 "I thought he would be pleased," she said 
 sullenly. 
 
 "People are seldom pleased when you 
 break their crockery : you should be more 
 careful." She did not answer a word. He 
 measured her with his eyes. " Why, you are 
 growing quite tall, Katherine, how old are 
 you— fifteen % " 
 
 " I am fourteen." He looked at her again. 
 
 "Come and walk round the garden," he 
 said. She hesitated and did not move. 
 "Come," he repeated with a little masterful 
 smile, u a walk will do you good." 
 
 Reluctantly she went forward step by step, 
 and walked beside him round the big untidy 
 garden, under the beech and larch trees, beside 
 the marigold-bed which did not yet show a 
 sign of life, and towards the little clump of 
 primroses that only she knew to be breaking 
 into bloom. She would not even look towards 
 it while she was with Mr. Belcher, she felt it 
 would be cruel to betray them to him : and 
 luckily he did not see them. 
 
26 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " I should make something of this garden 
 if the place were mine," he said almost to him- 
 self. 
 
 " Uncle Robert likes it as it is," Katherine 
 answered in a low voice, her soul full of oppo- 
 sition to everything he said. They walked on 
 again for a minute or two in silence, he still 
 looking at her now and again with a curious 
 smile. 
 
 " Shall I ask your uncle to forgive you for 
 breaking the bowl ? " he asked mockingly. 
 
 " It doesn't matter," she answered, the tears 
 coming into her eyes again. 
 
 "If I were you I'd take care not to offend 
 him ; he has a good bit of money to leave be- 
 hind, and if you play your cards well it may 
 come to you now." He said it with a meaning 
 look and a nod of his head that for some un- 
 known reason made her hate him. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 During the next three years, those that 
 followed on the news of Richard Morris's 
 death, Katherine felt herself to be under the 
 dominion not only of her Uncle Robert but 
 of Mr. Belcher. Mr. Morris appeared to grow 
 fonder of her, but he silently controlled every 
 action of her life— so that she did not dare to 
 spend a single hour in a manner of which he 
 would have disapproved. The sense of his 
 authority directed even the lonely walks in 
 the Eltham Woods which Susan Barnes some- 
 times allowed her to take on summer after- 
 noons. She never dared to stay among the 
 nut-trees and blackberry bushes to day-dream 
 or wonder about the future, but walked on 
 methodically and sedately, so that she might 
 
 (27) " 
 
28 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 not fail to get into the time she was out the 
 right amount of exercise. Her school lessons 
 went on regularly, though Mrs. Barrett's 
 pupils decreased in number, for the school- 
 mistress meant to retire in a year or two, and 
 had lost her eagerness. When she was six- 
 teen, Katherine made friends with Alice 
 Irvine, the daughter of an officer quartered at 
 Woolwich, a pretty girl, who went to Mrs. 
 Barrett's chiefly to fill out her time, for she 
 was nineteen and supposed to have finished 
 her education. The friendship soon came to 
 an end, for Alice Irvine went to India with 
 her father and the solitary break in the mo- 
 notony of Katherine's girlhood ended. Mr. 
 Belcher appeared regularly every Saturday. 
 She understood that he always came on busi- 
 ness, and was solicitor to some Company of 
 which her uncle was chief director, and they 
 evidently had a, great deal to talk over. He 
 seemed to manage Mr. Morris's affairs, and 
 gained an ascendancy over him till he almost 
 ruled the house. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 29 
 
 On the day she was seventeen a strange 
 thing happened. She had hitherto on her 
 birthday had a cake covered with white sugar. 
 It was severely put on to the tea-table by 
 Susan Barnes, and though Katherine was al- 
 lowed to cut it, she was not allowed to eat it 
 at will — it had to serve the household for the 
 next fortnight, and always to be undertaken 
 with an air of responsibility. But it was the 
 yearly recognition of her childhood, and 
 Katherine looked forward to it. This time 
 when Susan Barnes asked a week before if 
 she was to make Miss Katherine's cake, Mr. 
 Morris looked at her wonderingly. 
 
 "Cake?" he said severely; " why," no, 
 she'll be seventeen. A young woman ! What 
 does a young woman want with cake % " Then 
 when Susan had left the room he turned and 
 looked at his niece as if he were considering 
 some momentous question concerning her. 
 
 " You are very tall," he said at last, "you 
 have your mother's blue eyes and dark hair. 
 I suppose you're pretty," he added grimly. 
 
30 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 "I don't know what I'm going to do with 
 you ; in another year or two you ought to be 
 getting a husband." 
 
 It was the queerest thing to say, Katherine 
 thought, as she went to school. It opened a 
 vista of life in a part of the world that was 
 not Shooter's Hill, and with somebody who 
 was not Uncle Robert. When her birthday 
 came it was on a Saturday, and Mrs. Barrett 
 gave her a copy of "Lalla Rookh" in a dark 
 binding with gilt edges and a narrow green 
 ribbon marker. 
 
 "We shall separate soon, my dear Kather- 
 ine," she said tremulously, "but you have 
 been my favourite pupil, and I shall always 
 remember you. I shall retire in another year, 
 but perhaps your uncle will consider that your 
 education is finished even before that period, 
 and wish to take you away." 
 
 "I hope not," Katherine answered. "I 
 should be so sorry to leave you." And she 
 thought how dreary it would be to live morn- 
 ing after morning without passing the two 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 31 
 
 roadways she had looked down all her life. 
 Still, she was growing older, and she realised 
 it, even while she stood looking at her school- 
 mistress and the familiar school- desks, and 
 thought curiously of the world beyond the 
 soldiers and band, on the one side, and the 
 moat and immovable crane on the other. 
 There were times when a strange eagerness 
 came over her, so that she felt she could have 
 run along the great Dover Road, over the hill 
 and past the Bull through Welling and Bex- 
 ley, and on and on till she saw the white cliffs 
 on the far-away coast. She was like a bird 
 flapping its wings before it dared to fly. Some 
 day, she felt, without knowing that she did 
 so, they would bear her far away. 
 
 Mr. Belcher had arrived when she returned. 
 She wished Uncle Robert had been alone, and 
 that he and she had been going for one of the 
 old long walks together in the afternoon. " I 
 think he would have been kind to me," she 
 thought. 
 
 " Seventeen, I understand, Katherine," Mr. 
 
32 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 Belcher said. " Seventeen is always consid- 
 ered grown-up for a young lady. I have 
 brought you a present." He said it in a voice 
 that sounded like a dominant note in her life, 
 and he produced a brown leather case, the like 
 of which she had never seen except in the 
 shop windows at Woolwich. Her hands 
 trembled as she pressed the spring and dis- 
 closed a little gold neck-chain, from which 
 was suspended a heart covered with tur- 
 quoises. 
 
 " Is this for me?" she asked with a won- 
 dering smile. " Oh, thank you, Mr. Belcher. 
 It is kind of you." 
 
 "Mind you take care of it," he answered, 
 looking at a dimple in her cheek. " I don't 
 think the snap is very strong." 
 
 " I have a present for you too, Katherine," 
 Mr. Morris said, knitting his shaggy eyebrows 
 together. " But I waited till Belcher came be- 
 fore I gave it to you. Here it is, my dear." 
 Something in his voice made Katherine's heart 
 bound, while a sob that was half joy rose in 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 33 
 
 her throat. Then he too gave her a case, and 
 in it was a little gold watch. 
 
 "Perhaps it may be useful to you," he 
 added apologetically, as if he were half 
 ashamed of giving her anything ornamental. 
 
 " Oh, it is lovely ! " she sighed, full of joy- 
 ful surprise. She borrowed an old guard of 
 Susan's and put it round her neck, and tucked 
 the watch into her waistband, and felt that the 
 day was a happy one. 
 
 She wandered about the garden in the 
 afternoon and peered over the fence toward the 
 woods, and wished she could scurry away 
 round by Severndroog and over the fields and 
 through the churchyard to Eltham. Then she 
 looked round and saw Mr. Belcher. 
 
 " We are to go for a walk," he said. 
 
 " Is Uncle Robert coming too ? " 
 
 "No," he answered shortly, " we are going 
 alone. Come, I saw your hat in the hall." 
 
 She followed him meekly into the house, 
 not daring to refuse. He reached down her 
 hat and her little tweed cloak that hung be- 
 
34: A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 neath it ; there were some gloves in the 
 pocket ; and she walked out beside him, down 
 the pathway and through the gate, and on 
 to the main road. He hesitated a moment. 
 " We'll go over the hill," he said, and she 
 gave a sigh of relief ; for she had been so 
 afraid he would go to the woods. They 
 walked on in silence for ten minutes. Every 
 now and then he looked at her in a curious, 
 half-doubtful manner. When he spoke it al- 
 most made her start. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of being seven- 
 teen % " he asked. 
 
 She thought of the new experiences the 
 day had brought and answered with a little 
 sigh, " I think it is very nice." 
 
 " What do you suppose will happen to you 
 in the future I " 
 
 "I cannot tell," she said, looking forward 
 at the long white road that stretched into 
 the distance. Then, just as they were pass- 
 ing The Bull, he asked a surprising ques- 
 tion — 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 35 
 
 " Do you think you would like to go and 
 live in London 1 " 
 
 "I don't know," she answered doubtfully. 
 " There are so many people, and there are 
 
 no " She was going to say woods, but she 
 
 would not remind him of them lest he should 
 want to turn down the narrow pathway on the 
 right that led to one she knew, "—there are 
 no walks." 
 
 " You could drive in the park or go to the 
 theatre. Perhaps some day, if you get a good 
 husband do you think you'd like a hus- 
 band, Katherine?" 
 
 " No," she answered shortly. " I am not 
 old enough yet." 
 
 His steps slackened for a moment ; he 
 looked at the road ahead and hesitated. 
 
 "We won't go any farther this way," he 
 said decisively, and turned round quickly. 
 They retraced their steps till they passed the 
 Bull again. Just a few yards below it, turn- 
 ing off on the right, was a road overhung by 
 trees. It looked still and deserted. 
 
36 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " Where does this lead to ? " he asked. 
 
 " It is Shrewsbury Lane ; it leads to Plum 
 Lane. But it is getting late, and " 
 
 "Plenty of time," he answered; "come 
 along," and Katherine helplessly followed. 
 She pulled out her watch and turned it over 
 and looked at it, thinking she was unob- 
 served. 
 
 " You'd better take care of that watch," he 
 said; "he gave a good deal for it. I was 
 with him when he bought it." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of that," she said; "I 
 was thinking that it was very kind of him to 
 give it me — it was very kind of you to give 
 me the chain, Mr. Belcher." 
 
 " Do you like ornaments ? " 
 
 She considered for a moment. 
 
 " Yes, I think so," she said— and they went 
 on a little way in silence. Then she spoke 
 again. "If we lived in London we should 
 get a great many more books ; but I should 
 be afraid to go about alone, and there would 
 be no places to sketch — I had some lessons at 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 37 
 
 Mrs. Barrett's," she added hurriedly, "and 
 the country is so lovely." 
 
 " You could walk about alone if you were 
 married," he said, and looked at her mean- 
 ingly ; but she answered nothing. 
 
 They came to a narrow pathway that 
 turned off on to the left and led downwards 
 through an undergrowth of brake and briar 
 to Woolwich Common. 
 
 "This looks like a quiet way," he said; 
 "we'll try it." 
 
 "It's longer round. We should be late for 
 Uncle Kobert." 
 
 "Plenty of time," he said again decisively : 
 and again she followed him. It was a lonely 
 path, there was not a soul within sight or 
 sound. She lingered a little way behind ; but 
 he stopped and waited for her. "Take my 
 arm," he said. She shrank back in visible dis- 
 may, but he held it out, and she did as he told 
 her. " You'll never get married if you behave 
 like that," he said, "a wife always takes her 
 husband's arm and walks beside him." 
 
38 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 She did not answer a word, but a little 
 fright crept into her heart and stayed there 
 all that day and put a mark on the months 
 that followed. 
 
 At the end of the year she left school. Mrs. 
 Barrett's health failed, and she went away to 
 live with a sister in the country : so the win- 
 dows of the house down the road were closed, 
 and a padlock put on the gate. 
 
 This was at the beginning of the winter. 
 Katherine was growing older and impatient ; 
 her uncle was rather kinder to her, perhaps, 
 but he held aloof as much as ever. She had 
 sketched nearly every point in the neighbour- 
 hood, and read all the books in the house, car- 
 rying them usually to the steps of Severndroog 
 Tower. She found it better to sit there in the 
 sunshine safely hidden from everything, save 
 the crows and the trees, than to go to the woods 
 with their bare twigs and soddened pathways 
 and the frightened rabbits that scuttled through 
 the underwood. Mr. Belcher came as much as 
 ever, and his manner towards her was dif- 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 39 
 
 ferent. He did not talk to her much, but he 
 looked at her a good deal, and there was some- 
 thing in his expression that made her fear him 
 and invent excuses for hurrying out of sight as 
 much as possible on the Saturdays he spent at 
 the White House. 
 
 Then a change came. 
 
 Susan Barnes fell ill and kept her bed for 
 weeks, while Katherine nursed her, and gained, 
 at the same time, some knowledge of house- 
 keeping. After a time Susan grew better, but 
 she would never be good for anything again, 
 the doctor said ; and she pleaded to be allowed 
 to go to her own people at Bridge water to end 
 her days. Then, as if to complicate matters 
 further, the owner of the White House refused 
 to renew Mr. Morris's lease, and Katherine 
 knew that he was discussing closely with Mr. 
 Belcher the question of where to live if he had to 
 seek another home. He was growing old ; the 
 
 news of his son' s death had put twenty years 
 
 • 
 on to him ; the journeys to and fro from Lon- 
 don tried him sorely, his silences were longer, 
 
40 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 his instincts seemed to develop more and more 
 strongly in the direction of solitude. Even on 
 his walks he no longer asked her to accompany 
 him, and, stern and silent, turned away from 
 her half-appealing look as he left the house 
 and went on his way alone. She tried singing 
 to him once ; music-lessons had been included 
 in her course at Mrs. Barrett's, and the old- 
 fashioned school-mistress had taken care that 
 she learnt old English songs, and the new- 
 fashioned teacher had seen that the German 
 ones were not left out. She had the fresh 
 young voice of a thrush, but he only looked 
 at her coldly for a moment and said, "Keep 
 your songs for when I am out of doors ; I don't 
 care for music." 
 
 " He is a hard man," Susan muttered, "and 
 no one could ever get round him— though Mr. 
 Belcher seems pretty nigh doing it." 
 
 " Susan," asked Katherine, "must you go 
 away? I will do all your work for you, and 
 take such care of you if you will stay, you 
 dear old Susan ;" and she put her arms round 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 41 
 
 the old woman's neck ; but Susan did not re- 
 spond very kindly. During the long years 
 spent in his service she had learnt something 
 of her master's coldness and reserve. 
 
 "I am going to my own people, Miss Kath- 
 erine," she said, "I don't want to spend all 
 my days in service." 
 
 "But you have been all my days with me," 
 the girl answered, "don't you like me?" She 
 only said "like" and felt a little shy even of 
 that. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Miss Katherine ; I like you, es- 
 pecially since you've grown older; you were 
 very tiresome about not taking care of your 
 things when you were young. But I want to 
 go to my home — one's own is one's own all the 
 world over." 
 
 The one little pleasure of those months, 
 oddly enough, came through Mr. Belcher. It 
 was in the shape of a bull pup. He brought 
 it down with him for the first time one day 
 late in October, a white and black pugnacious 
 thing, with a queer ugly face and a brisk tail, 
 
42 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 and a loose, wrinkled skin that had a very 
 little body inside it. It was called "Dottel," 
 and took to Katherine immediately, and con- 
 soled her for Martyr's absolute indifference, 
 for the old black retriever cared for no one 
 but his master, and nothing but the door-mat 
 on which he lay from morning to night. She 
 found herself watching once or twice for Mr. 
 Belcher's coming, simply because it meant that 
 she would see Dottel pattering beside him, 
 slow and heavy, but ready to snarl and snap 
 on the least provocation. She used to beguile 
 him down the garden and through the back 
 gate by which she had once broken the flower- 
 bowl, on to the main road, and across to the 
 post-office, where they sold chocolates, and 
 back again, round the corner by the wall, 
 and along the Severndroog road and through 
 a gate into a brambly untidy field, and dis- 
 appear with him through the trees at the end 
 till she came to the tower and the little open 
 space around it. Then she would sit down 
 with Dottel on the steps and talk to him, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 43 
 
 and pull up his skin in ruts upon his body, 
 and tell him that he was hideous — "a dear 
 dog, but very hideous." 
 
 Thus came an end to many things. Quite 
 suddenly one afternoon in midwinter, as the 
 twilight was coming on, Mr. Belcher appeared, 
 just as he had appeared before her long ago 
 behind the laurel bank. 
 
 " Oh, that's it, is it ? " he said, with his odd 
 smile. "I wondered where it was you hid 
 yourself so often. It's getting late ; come 
 back." He gave Dottel a little kick : the dog 
 growled and showed his teeth for answer. 
 
 "I don't want to go back just yet," she 
 said. 
 
 " It's time," he answered curtly. u Come, 
 I've something to say to you." 
 
 With the habit of obedience to his sex 
 strong upon her, she rose and stood before 
 him as if waiting for his next command. 
 
 "Take my arm," he said, "it's getting 
 dark." They went back under the trees, over 
 the brambly field, and towards the gate ; but, 
 
44 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 instead of opening it, he stopped and leant on 
 it, and looked at her triumphantly. The twi- 
 light was gathering closer and closer round 
 them, but he could see her face plainly — a 
 girl's face with grey-blue eyes and a mass of 
 dark hair coiled tightly round her head. 
 " She'll be a good-looking woman some day," 
 he thought. " I believe she's as tall as I am 
 now," and he mentally measured her height. 
 
 " Let me see," he said, " how old are you, 
 Katherine S " 
 
 " Eighteen." 
 
 "Time for that husband we talked about." 
 
 "Please don't say that," she answered, and 
 her hand sought the latch of the gate. He 
 firmly lifted it off. 
 
 "That is what I mean to talk about," he 
 answered. "You can't go on living here for 
 ever. Do you think you would like to be mar- 
 ried \ " 
 
 " I never think about it, I am not old 
 enough." 
 
 "Eighteen's quite old enough. A man 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 45 
 
 doesn't want to marry a frump." He put his 
 face nearer to hers. "Give me a kiss," he 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, don't!" she exclaimed, with a little 
 cry that was half terror and half surprise. 
 " Please let me go back." She stooped towards 
 Dottel, who was wandering round her feet and 
 trying one uncomfortable attitude after an- 
 other. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " he said, with another laugh, 
 as if her resistance were part of a game. 
 " Don't you think you'd like to marry me?" 
 She looked up as if she thought he had gone 
 mad. 
 
 " Marry you, Mr. Belcher? Oh, no ! Why, 
 you are too old." It was said in sheer bewil- 
 derment, and without any offence in her voice. 
 
 " Thirty-six," he answered ; " excellent dif- 
 ference — the man should be a good bit older." 
 
 Thirty-six seemed a long way on towards 
 middle age to Katherine, who remembered him 
 a grown man ever since 'she was a little girl. 
 Moreover, Mr. Belcher, though he was moder- 
 
46 A PLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 ately tall, was a little inclined to stoutness of 
 figure, which added to his years, and his trim 
 whiskers and manner of dressing did not take 
 away from them. Katherine was silent for a 
 moment. Then she pleaded — 
 
 "Do let me go home, Mr. Belcher. Uncle 
 Eobert will be expecting us. " 
 
 " He knows all about it. Highly approves ; 
 and said we'd better settle it up at once. Do 
 you think you'll like living in London \ " 
 
 "Uncle Robert knows and approves? " she 
 said, unbelievingly. 
 
 "Yes, of course he does. So you'd better 
 give me that kiss." 
 
 She shrank back with dread. An expres- 
 sion shot from his eyes that showed that he 
 would reckon with her by and by. 
 
 " Oh ! very well," he said, with a disagree- 
 able laugh, "if you'd rather not. You will 
 have to come to it, and you'll find it much 
 more amusing to take me the right way than 
 to take me the wrong one. Come, we'll go 
 back : then you can ask your uncle. I should 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 47 
 
 think you must know by this time that when 
 he has made up his mind to a thing he'll carry 
 it through." He closed the gate after them as 
 they went on to the Severndroog road. " Per- 
 haps it's as well to tell you at once that it's my 
 method also, so come along " ; and with a jerk 
 he pulled her hand through his arm. " I shall 
 take you to the theatre, and give you some 
 pleasure now and then if you are a good 
 girl," he added as he drew her reluctantly 
 along. It was not five minutes to the house. 
 As they reached the garden he pulled up and 
 looked at her with an air of proprietorship ; 
 while Dottel, waddling on in front, stopped 
 as if he, too, had something to do with the 
 matter. 
 
 " Where is Uncle Robert % " she asked 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Waiting for you — he wants to give us his 
 blessing. Why, Katherine, you'll be Mrs. Ed- 
 ward Belcher, and live in Montague Place, and 
 look after the house and sit at the head of the 
 table. Rather different from Shooter's Hill 
 
48 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 and going to school ? You ought to be quite 
 pleased." 
 
 She did not speak a word till they reached 
 the house. Then she turned and faced him. 
 
 "I want to see Uncle Robert alone," she 
 said haughtily. And, leaving him in doubt 
 whether to follow her or not, she entered the 
 dining-room and shut the door. Mr. Morris 
 was sitting over the fire. 
 
 " Uncle Robert," she asked in dismay, the 
 excitement she had suppressed in the inter- 
 view that had just taken place flashing from 
 her eyes, and indignant incredulity making it- 
 self heard in her voice, " you don't want me to 
 marry Mr. Belcher, do you ? " 
 
 Mr. Morris looked up at her for a moment 
 in silence. 
 
 "Yes, I do," he answered firmly. " He 
 will make you a good husband and I shall 
 know that you are taken care of. He is well 
 off, and " 
 
 " Oh, but I can't, indeed ! " she cried, clasp- 
 ing her hands. " It would be dreadful." 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 49 
 
 " That is only because you are young, my 
 dear," lie answered kindly, but with determi- 
 nation that sounded like a decree, " and don't 
 know what is best for you. I have thought it 
 well over, and the thing is settled. Belcher 
 will be very kind to you " 
 
 " But why can't I stay with you ? I don't 
 want to go away." 
 
 "I am going away. I must, for the lease 
 of this house is up. I am very lonely since 
 my son died," he added in a lower voice. 
 " Probably I shall take rooms in London near 
 a club." 
 
 "Let me stay with you there," she plead- 
 ed, and put her hand on his. But he shook 
 his head. 
 
 "I want to be alone," he answered, "and 
 I am getting old, Katherine, and want to see 
 you settled. I have done the best I can for 
 you, and have told Belcher what my inten- 
 tions are, so that he'll have every reason to be 
 good to you. Now go away, my dear, and 
 don't be foolish." 
 
50 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "I can't be married to him, uncle. I don't 
 like him." 
 
 "You'll like him by and by, if he's good 
 to you." 
 
 " Let me stay with Susan " 
 
 " Nonsense ! I tell you the thing is set- 
 tled, we know what is best for you. Now go 
 away," and he took up his newspaper again. 
 She went out of the room, nearly falling over 
 Martyr, who whined and moved out of her 
 way. 
 
 "I must put a brick-bat round that pocr 
 old brute's neck and give him a wet bath," she 
 heard her uncle say, "he's only a misery to 
 himself and everyone else." 
 
 It was like a Fate-day Katherine thought, 
 and she remembered a mystical story she had 
 read the year before in which lives to live were 
 dealt out to the people and there was no es- 
 cape for them. 
 
 Dottel was on the stairs ; he got up un- 
 easily as she passed, went up a step or two 
 after her, then, as if he had changed his mind, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 51 
 
 stopped and waddled down again, and went 
 out to seek his master, who stood by the 
 garden-door, waiting in calm certainty till 
 Katherine had given over her foolish struggles 
 and recognised the inevitable. 
 
 " Susan," Katherine said, creeping up to 
 the woman, who was lying in the dark on her 
 bed, " are you better ? Can I talk to you % " 
 
 " Yes, come and sit down side of me, here, 
 Miss Katherine. I'm better." Susan raised 
 her pillows and turned her head round till 
 Katherine could see the clear unflinching eyes 
 looking at her through the shadow. 
 
 " Susan," she exclaimed, as if she felt that 
 her news would bewilder her listener, "they 
 want me to marry Mr. Belcher ; me — me, to 
 marry " 
 
 " Well, Miss," and Susan raised her head a 
 little higher. The girl sat down on the bed 
 despairingly, for those two words betrayed 
 that Susan too would be against her : so that, 
 breaking down, she pleaded her own cause 
 badly. 
 
52 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "But, Susan, he is so much older — and I 
 am so young — and I don't want to be married, 
 and I don't like him." 
 
 "If he makes you a good husband, you'll 
 like him after a bit." Oh, those terrible words, 
 "a good husband!" There was something 
 hopeless in the sound of them. 
 
 "But I can't, Susan." And she burst into 
 tears and put her face down on the bedclothes 
 that covered the woman's chest. "I don't 
 want to be married. I don't want anything 
 different, and I can't bear him," she sobbed. 
 "Uncle Robert says I must, and Mr. Belch- 
 er " 
 
 Susan raised herself still a little more and 
 tried to hold her. 
 
 "Look here, Miss Katherine," she said, 
 "your uncle knows what's best, and he's 
 made up his mind, and you'll have to do it. 
 Men's master, and we've got to give way to 
 them. You'll find that out all through life, 
 and you must just make the best of it. If 
 he gives you a good home and is kind to 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 53 
 
 you, you'll get on all right. Just don't make 
 a fuss about it," she said kindly, drawing her 
 arm tighter round the slim shoulders. 
 
 "But I hate Mr. Belcher," Katherine whis- 
 pered with a shudder. 
 
 "And I don't like him," Susan said, as if 
 the words were dragged from her. " Never 
 did. I expect he's a hard man ; but," she 
 went on doggedly, " men are hard — that's 
 what women have to find out, and the 
 wisest just says nothing and makes the 
 best of them. You take my advice, Miss 
 Katherine, and submit. You'll feel better 
 when you're settled down in a home of your 
 own." 
 
 " I like this home." 
 
 "This isn't going to be one for any of us 
 much longer. The lease is up, the master's 
 getting older, and I believe he wants to make 
 a change in his life ; and me — I'm going home 
 to Bridgwater, and they're going to put Mar- 
 tyr into the river before we go. It's all set 
 out by fate" — Katherine raised her head with 
 
54 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 a jerk, remembering the story-book — "and 
 you'll have to submit." 
 
 In six weeks' time she was married to Mr. 
 Belcher. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Katherine was too much of a girl to be a 
 companion to her husband, too unsophisti- 
 cated and inexperienced to hold a man who 
 was not even in love with her. He had noth- 
 ing to say to her nor she to him. Even their 
 honeymoon, though for the first few days he 
 watched her with a half -curious amusement, 
 bored him : before ten days were over he had 
 discovered a secret amusement in making her 
 wince under those little gibes that he knew 
 would sooner or later have a brutal develop- 
 ment. They went to Windermere and stayed 
 at the hotel near the station. The snow still 
 clung high and white to the mountains, but 
 the trees were sprinkled with early green, and 
 the spring flowers were hiding among the 
 
 (66) 
 
56 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 tangle of the woods and hedges. The beauty 
 of the scenery took Katherine altogether by 
 surprise. When it first burst upon her in the 
 railway-carriage between Oxenholm and Win- 
 dermere, the day after her marriage, she gave 
 a cry of joy and bewilderment. 
 
 " Oh, it is lovely, it is wonderful ! " she 
 said. Her manner pleased Mr. Belcher ; he 
 was almost tender as they stood an hour or 
 two later, by the lake's side, and waited for 
 more remarks akin to that one in the train. 
 But Katherine was not in the habit of talking 
 much, and, moreover, had never been on an 
 easy footing with Mr. Belcher, nor, indeed, 
 with anyone in her whole life except, perhaps, 
 her school friend Alice Irvine. She looked up 
 at the great hills and felt the beauty of the 
 whole place wrap round and round her like a 
 dream of which she was in the midst ; but, like 
 a dreamer, she had no words to say to the liv- 
 ing man beside her. They took long walks 
 almost in silence, while he thought of matters 
 wholly unconnected with his surroundings, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 57 
 
 and she felt the world stretch itself out before 
 her eyes and realised how little she knew con- 
 cerning it. Sometimes during that first week 
 Mr. Belcher used to look at her half con- 
 temptuously as she sat back in the boat which 
 the sturdy North-countrymen rowed across 
 the lake, or along the edge beneath the 
 shadow of the mountains, and wonder how he 
 was to get through the next three weeks 
 allowed to his honeymoon, with a schoolgirl 
 in a serge frock and a sailor hat. It bored him 
 after a time even to worry her. 
 
 Then, luckily, they made acquaintance 
 with a Mr. and Mrs. Oswell, who were staying 
 at the hotel. He was a barrister of forty, dark 
 and slim and leisurely, with kind grey eyes 
 that gave Katherine a sense of safety when she 
 looked at them. In some undefined manner it 
 floated through her mind that if Mr. Belcher 
 were cruel, Mr. Oswell would protect her. He 
 seemed to be fond of his wife. Katherine 
 used to see them walking up and down to- 
 gether in front of the hotel, after dinner, evp 
 
58 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 dently engrossed in each other's conversation. 
 Sometimes she heard them laughing as if they 
 were amused ; or if they were silent it was the 
 silence of two people who were companions. 
 " I can feel that they are married," Katherine 
 thought. " They are like the husband and 
 wife one reads about : they are very different 
 from us." She could not imagine that a time 
 would ever come when she and Mr. Belcher 
 would walk up and down and talk in a low 
 voice, and be content together. 
 
 At first sight Mrs. Oswell was hardly equal 
 to her husband ; she was a tall, handsome 
 woman, with a good many rings on her fingers, 
 and clothes too smart for a country hotel. 
 She was about two or three and thirty, per- 
 haps ; and had a manner that was a little 
 masterful, but it gave way immediately before 
 her husband's quiet one. She took pains to 
 be agreeable to Mr. Belcher, chiefly because 
 her husband had taken a violent dislike to 
 him, u which is thoroughly immoral of you, 
 Fred," she remarked. " Mr. Belcher is a so- 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 59 
 
 licitor, and rich ; I can see it in the cut of his 
 frock-coat at the table- d'hote, and you are the 
 inevitable barrister. The rest need not be ex- 
 plained." 
 
 " I hate the look of him, and I am certain 
 that he bullies that unlucky girl he has 
 married. I saw a horrible smile on his face 
 yesterday, when he had evidently said some- 
 thing that made her miserable." 
 
 " Probably there's something to be said on 
 both sides," Mrs. Oswell answered. " He can 
 be polite if it is expected of him : she expects 
 him to behave like a tyrant, so he dues." 
 
 The Oswells and the Belchers had a little 
 square table to themselves that night. Mrs. 
 Oswell, perhaps on purpose, informed Mr. 
 Belcher in the intimate manner of people who 
 have been together three days on board ship 
 or a week in the same hotel, how many 
 presents her husband made her, and how ter- 
 ribly she bullied him, though she humoured 
 him sometimes. 
 
 "Do you make your wife many presents, 
 
60 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 Mr. Belcher?" she asked. "You look like a 
 generous man." 
 
 "I should make a wife like you a great 
 many," he answered, with a smile that was 
 meant to be fascinating. 
 
 " Perhaps she does not humour you 
 enough. Mrs. Belcher," she went on, "al- 
 ways humour men ; it never does to be too 
 strict with them." Katherine, who felt that 
 Mrs. Oswell was a good-natured but rather 
 vulgar person, merely smiled across her soup. 
 
 "I don't think I shall find my wife too 
 strict," Mr. Belcher said significantly. 
 
 "Beast!" thought Mr. Oswell. "I'll bet 
 that girl runs away from him or breaks her 
 heart before she is five years older." Then 
 there followed a conversation that Katherine 
 was to remember all her life, for every word 
 seemed to burn itself upon her brain as 
 though it were a portion of her history ; and 
 yet the subject seemed a trivial one. "When 
 you have been married as long as I have," Mr. 
 Oswell said to Mr. Belcher, trying to make 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 01 
 
 things easier for her, "you won't be so con- 
 fident. Still, I manage to get my own way 
 sometimes — eh, Bee? Do you remember 
 when you had set your heart on going to 
 Ventnor, and I had set mine on a sea voy- 
 age \ " 
 
 ' ' You were a brute, " she laughed. * * He was 
 indeed, Mrs. Belcher. There are some horrid 
 boats that go to the Mediterranean every week. 
 Will you believe that he beguiled me to South- 
 ampton under the impression that I was go- 
 ing to the Isle of Wight, and calmly took me 
 on board one of them, and I sat quite still and 
 innocent, to discover presently that we were on 
 our way to Gibraltar % " 
 
 " Excellent experience for you, I should 
 think," Mr. Belcher said, trying to be pleas- 
 antly sarcastic. 
 
 "You ought to take your wife that trip 
 some day," Mr. Oswell went on; "they are 
 capital boats, picturesque route, and not at all 
 expensive." 
 
 " And they go to the Mediterranean ? " 
 
02 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 asked Katherine. It sounded like the other 
 side of the world. 
 
 " They go round by Gibraltar," Mr. Oswell 
 answered, glad to talk to her. " And there 
 you get your first experience of the South. 
 The scent of the orange-trees almost choked 
 me ; and the pepper-trees — long, drooping 
 pink bloom they have — were simply wonder- 
 ful." 
 
 "And such handsome men," Mrs. Oswell 
 put in. 
 
 "Yes, go on," Katherine said, not even 
 hearing her. "I would give anything to go 
 abroad." 
 
 "Then make your husband take you; 
 don't give him any peace till he does," Mr. Os- 
 well continued. " It's really an excellent 
 thing to do," he added, turning again to Mr. 
 Belcher. "From Gibraltar — you only stay 
 there a few hours — you get on to Genoa " 
 
 "To Genoa," Katherine repeated longingly. 
 
 — "Skirting the shore— seeing Spain and 
 Marseilles as you go by, superb olive-woods 
 
A PLASH OF SUMMER. fi3 
 
 and orange-trees and palms — mountains in the 
 background, vastly different from these hills, 
 I can tell you. It is a wonderful thing to go 
 to Italy for the first time. I like the small 
 places best myself — little places not overdone 
 with English people. There are a few of them 
 along the coast still." 
 
 "He ought to live in a tomb," Mrs. Os- 
 well said, laughing; "he delights in being 
 buried. Naples and Genoa were all very well, 
 and we picked up all sorts of pretty things at 
 the shops, but I couldn't bear those dull little 
 places where the people lived on macaroni 
 and looked at the sea and the mountains 
 all day, or went to Mass in the morning, and 
 spent their evenings around dim little lamps 
 that didn't even attract the mosquitoes. I 
 don't care for ' dear, dear abroad ' ; do you, 
 Mr. Belcher % " 
 
 " I generally stick to England," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 "That's what I like," said Mrs. Oswell ; 
 "give me Scarborough, or even Brighton, and 
 
64 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 a good spin along the King's Road behind a 
 pair of horses. What do you say, Mrs. 
 Belcher?" 
 
 But Katherine was feeding Dottel, who had 
 accompanied them on their honeymoon, and 
 made no answer. Perhaps Dottel was the only 
 compensating element in her marriage. He 
 was growing bigger though not gentler, and 
 the developing savageness of his nature was 
 a grim enjoyment to his master, who liked to 
 see people shrink away from him and draw up 
 their toes under them. 
 
 " Edward," she asked her husband timidly 
 as they stood by the door together for a few 
 minutes while the Oswells took their nightly 
 walk up and down, " do you like Mrs. Os- 
 well ? " 
 
 "Yes," he said with the leisurely air of 
 repletion that always beset him after a meal, 
 " she is the sort of woman I do like." 
 
 " She is very good-natured," Katherine said 
 gently, ashamed of not liking her better ; 
 " but I think she is rather vulgar." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. ,;;, 
 
 " Oh, nonsense! she has plenty of* go. 
 Men like lively women with lots to say for 
 themselves." 
 
 Mr. Oswell came np the steps. 
 
 " Would you care for a game of billiards ? " 
 he asked, while his wife put out her hand to- 
 wards Katherine. 
 
 " Come for a little stroll," she said, "and 
 let our husbands pursue their wicked ways 
 together.' 1 
 
 Katherine descended the steps gratefully : 
 a ttte-a-tete with one of her own sex was virtu- 
 ally a new experience. Mrs. Oswell took her 
 arm and looked at the pale, anxious face ; she 
 could see its eager, almost sad, expression even 
 in the twilight ; and her heart went out to the 
 slim girl. " It's an excellent thing to shunt 
 our men sometimes. They like us better when 
 they return," she said, trying to be lively. 
 " Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " I haven't had much experience of shunt- 
 ing them yet," Katherine answered with a 
 laugh, that was almost joyous. Mrs. Oswell, 
 
66 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 even though she were vulgar, made her feel 
 light-hearted, and her manner was distinctly 
 kindly ; besides, it was a relief to be free 
 of Mr. Belcher, even for a quarter of an 
 hour. 
 
 " Tell me, how long have you been Ma- 
 dame 1 " Mrs. Oswell asked confidentially. 
 " You look as if it had been the day before 
 yesterday." 
 
 "It was nearly a fortnight ago." 
 
 " And was he a widower ? " 
 
 "Oh, no! Why?" 
 
 "He looks it. I am glad he wasn't, can't 
 torment you with the virtues of his dear de- 
 parted — probably he'll find some other way," 
 she thought. "Why did you marry him? 
 Were you very much in love ? " 
 
 "I married him," Katherine answered re- 
 luctantly, "because my Uncle Robert wished 
 it, I think. I didn't want to be married so 
 soon." 
 
 "Never mind, it's a good thing over. 
 There's too much difference in your ages, of 
 
A PLASH OF SUMMER. 67 
 
 course, but he'll be all right if you manage 
 him properly. Don't let him bully you." 
 
 u Oh, no," Katherine said, rather distantly, 
 for she did not want to discuss her marriage 
 with a stranger. 
 
 "I always feel so much for men," Mrs. Os- 
 well went on, " we know so little about them. 
 I feel convinced that you know very little of 
 Mr. Belcher. A man of his age may have had 
 all sorts of troubles." 
 
 " Trouble?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, you don't know how badly he 
 was jilted when he was twenty- four, or that he 
 didn' t lose a lot of money later on— or that he 
 hasn't been bothered to death by relations, or 
 suffered horrible physical pain and said noth- 
 ing about it. It never seems to occur to wom- 
 en how much history a man may have on the 
 quiet. A woman's career is generally known 
 to all her intimate friends, and handed on to 
 her acquaintance ; a man's, as a rule, is only 
 known to himself — and perhaps to one woman 
 who doesn't appear." 
 
68 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "I wonder if he has suffered things " 
 
 Katherine said, looking out towards the lake, 
 and feeling, as she did so, that Mrs. Oswell 
 was pushing open the gate of life a little 
 wider. 
 
 "Disagreeable people generally have ; and 
 you know, my dear, he does look disagreeable 
 sometimes. I say it to reconcile you to it. I 
 always feel as if they were distributing round 
 the knocks they have received themselves. 
 But don't let him bully you. He's the sort 
 of man who will if he can. Look very good- 
 tempered, and laugh at him when he begins." 
 
 " You always seem to be laughing, Mrs. 
 Oswell." 
 
 u It's such a safeguard against crying. You 
 must let me come and see you when you're 
 in town ; I like you," she added suddenly. 
 "I wonder what our husbands are doing— I 
 hope Mr. Belcher will like Fred. Now, that 
 man, Mrs. Belcher, is simply an angel ; quali- 
 fied, I am thankful to say, with a few of the 
 weaknesses which apparently get worn out in 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 69 
 
 this charming world, so that there are none 
 left for a future one." 
 
 " Is it a charming world \ " Katherine 
 asked, looking up at her with curiosity. 
 
 " Delightful. The people in it are so nice, 
 occasionally bores, but kind, good creatures 
 most of them, let that comfort you to reflect 
 upon : it is the experience of someone a good 
 deal older than yourself. There are excep- 
 tions, of course ; but it is a wise thing not to 
 believe it, or else to think yourself the excep- 
 tion, and then you get along all right." 
 
 " I think," said Katherine, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, " you must be very happy." 
 
 " Yes, I'm very happy," Mrs. Oswell an- 
 swered quickly. " I'm a woman, and married 
 to the man I like best. I am strong and 
 healthy and well, and live in a beautiful 
 world, believing that the people in it mean 
 well towards me and each other, and that if 
 things go wrong it is merely an accident. And 
 I have the art of being amused." 
 
 u Yes ; and you are not afraid of — any- 
 
70 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 thing," Katherine said, afraid of betraying 
 too much. 
 
 "No, dear, of nothing," and Mrs. Oswell 
 gave her companion's arm a sympathetic 
 pinch. "My husband is an excellent com- 
 panion, and has never been disagreeable for 
 a minute. Of course, I pretend he has ; I 
 wouldn't let him know that he possessed the 
 ghost of a virtue for the world, he'd be 
 ashamed of it and try to live it down." 
 
 " I'm glad you said that about the world," 
 Katherine said, not heeding the latter part 
 of Mrs. Oswell's speech. "It makes me feel 
 happier." 
 
 " Happiness is so often merely the result 
 of one's own way of looking at things," Mrs. 
 Oswell answered, while she thought to herself, 
 "but if you find a way of looking at Mr. 
 Belcher and getting any happiness out of it I 
 shall be surprised." 
 
 The Oswells went on to Ambleside the 
 next morning. Mrs. Oswell took her place 
 on the top of the coach in high spirits, and 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 71 
 
 waved her hand to Katherine as they drove 
 away. 
 
 " A nice woman, Mrs. Oswell," Belcher re- 
 peated to his wife, "the sort of woman I like. 
 I wish you would learn to be lively, Kather- 
 ine." She looked round at him with a smile 
 that came and went quickly, like a flash of 
 sunshine on still water. 
 
 "Til try to be," she said as they walked 
 on. " You frighten me, sometimes," she went 
 on timidly, "but I want to be happy and to 
 make you so if I can — at any rate to please 
 you," she added, for it struck her that it 
 would be rather hopeless to try and make 
 so formidable a person as Mr. Belcher 
 happy. 
 
 " I shall let you know if you don't please 
 me," he said, with a sardonic smile. She 
 looked at him and hesitated before she found 
 courage to put the question that came to her 
 lips : 
 
 " Why did you marry me ? " she asked. 
 
 "I thought I might as well, there wasn't 
 
72 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 anyone else to do it, was there?" lie said 
 mockingly. 
 
 "No." They walked along the road in 
 silence for a minute or two. Then she looked 
 up at him as if she were speaking aloud her 
 thoughts. 
 
 " I've been thinking about it all night," she 
 said gently. " We are married and have to be 
 together all our lives ; but I feel as if I were 
 in your way. I don't think you like me very 
 much." 
 
 " Or that you like me very much ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, raising her blue eyes 
 truthfully to his, and speaking reluctantly, " I 
 don't like you much, though I feel that I am 
 bound to you and cannot get away. I am too 
 much afraid of you— but I want to like you. 
 I wish we could be friends and companions 
 like Mr. and Mrs. Oswell." 
 
 " Well, you see you are not Mrs. Oswell, 
 and I'm not Mr. Oswell, and that makes a 
 difference. I'm afraid I can't talk sentiment, 
 Katherine ; perhaps I shall when you are ten 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 73 
 
 years older, or someone else will for me. 
 Meanwhile, here we are at the hotel. You 
 had better go and walk about in the garden— I 
 have some letters to answer." 
 
 "I'll go and see Dottel," she said, with a 
 choke in her voice. 
 
 " Nuisance a schoolgirl is! " he said to him- 
 self. " She hasn't any flick. If she'd told me 
 to go and be d d I should have liked her." 
 
 Dottel was safely chained up in the yard, 
 for he was a visitor not wholly appreciated by 
 the hotel proprietor. She unfastened him and 
 took him with her up a little pathway to a 
 wooded knoll behind the hotel. The buds 
 were showing themselves on the brown trees, 
 and there were little clumps of primroses and 
 violets in the underwood. She remembered 
 the primroses she had tried to prevent Mr. 
 Belcher from seeing in the garden at Shooter's 
 Hill long ago, feeling that it would be sacri- 
 lege for his eyes to rest upon them ; and she 
 thought of Uncle Robert, who had gone by 
 this time to some rooms in Bloom sbury ; and 
 
74 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 of Susan Barnes away in Somersetshire with 
 her own people ; and of Martyr. Poor stupid 
 Martyr ! He was lying deep in the muddy 
 Thames half-way between the Old Swan Pier 
 and North Woolwich. She remembered the 
 day when for the last time he had dragged 
 himself down the garden, and with half-blind 
 eyes, and feebly wagging tail, followed her 
 uncle and Mr. Belcher to Woolwich. They 
 carried with them two bricks and some string, 
 and they had to keep looking back and call- 
 ing Martyr to prevent him from turning home 
 again. Mr. Belcher insisted on telling her, the 
 next time he came, how they had taken a lit- 
 tle boat, and rowed out towards North Wool- 
 wich ; and then they had tied the brickbat 
 round Martyr's neck, put his head in a bag 
 and, midway across the river, lifted him over 
 the side of the boat. He seemed to take a 
 pleasure in her tears, and went on with a ma- 
 licious laugh that tortured her and made her 
 angry even now while she remembered it. She 
 put her arms round a tree-trunk and drew up 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 75 
 
 closer to it, and told herself with strange un- 
 belief as though she doubted if it could be 
 true — that she was married to Mr. Belcher, and 
 had to spend all the years of her life with 
 him. 
 
 Then she looked at the blue lake beneath 
 and the great hills beyond, and was comforted. 
 The sunshine was sparkling on the water and 
 lighting up the streaks of snow on the moun- 
 tain-tops. " How beautiful it is," she said to 
 herself ; u the whole world seems to be beauti- 
 ful," and she remembered Mr. Oswell's account 
 of his travels and her talk afterwards with Mrs. 
 Oswell. "I should like to walk all over it 
 — alone. Perhaps some day when I am older 
 Edward will be different and take me to Italy, 
 only," and the tears rushed into her eyes, " I 
 should like so much better to go alone." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "That's over," Mr. Belcher said as they 
 took their places in the train at Windermere. 
 "Rather waste of time — don't you think so, 
 Katherine ? — going on a honeymoon, eh ! " 
 
 " I suppose people always go away when 
 they are married ? " 
 
 " Just as they do a great many other stupid 
 things. Perhaps we shall get on a little better 
 when we don't get quite so much of each 
 other. I think marriage is rather a mistake, 
 don't you?" 
 
 She was silent for a moment, then gathered 
 courage to answer. 
 
 " Sometimes I think life is rather a mis- 
 take ; but perhaps that is because I want so 
 many things." 
 
 (T6) « 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 77 
 
 " What more do you want than what you 
 have got % " 
 
 "I don't know," she said with a puzzled 
 look. 
 
 " That's just it — you don't know." 
 
 u Sometimes I feel as if I were not even in- 
 side the world, but only on the edge of it," she 
 answered, forgetting for the moment that she 
 was talking to Mr. Belcher, "and not inside 
 life but only in a dream of it." 
 
 "Been reading novels?" he asked with a 
 little sneer. 
 
 " No," she answered, and put out her hand 
 and touched his for a moment. " Don't 
 laugh at me, Edward, and let me tell you 
 things, being married makes me feel that I be- 
 long to you. I do so want you to— to " 
 
 "All in good time," he said, and giving her 
 finger a not unfriendly shake, took up his 
 paper. She sat and looked out of window for 
 an hour or two, and wondered what the house 
 in Montague Place would be like. After all, 
 she could not help the instincts of her sex, and 
 
78 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 she was almost elated, for was she not going to 
 live in London a married woman and be the 
 mistress of a house ? She would sit at the head 
 of the table and order the dinner every day— 
 at least, she supposed so ; she determined that 
 everything should be very punctual and 
 dainty. She wondered what the house was 
 like ; it would be easy to make the rooms look 
 pretty ; and she indulged in some visions of 
 elementary decorations such as Mrs. Barrett 
 had delighted in and her uncle had looked 
 upon with disapproval. 
 
 The day was closing in when they arrived, 
 and the house looked black and grim in the 
 deepening twilight. Her heart beat quickly, 
 and she felt as if she were treading the future 
 when she entered the doorway. Two servants 
 were waiting in the hall, a sharp-faced old one 
 who had been with Mr. Belcher's mother, and 
 a young one who was evidently kept in sub- 
 jection under her. 
 
 "Glad to see you, ma'am," the old one 
 said. "I am Gibson, at your service, I'm 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 79 
 
 sure ; and this is Harriet," nudging the young 
 one, " and if she has faults she'll do her best. 
 Walk in, Sir, glad to see you back. No, cab- 
 man," she cried in a shrill voice, "we don't 
 let any of them people come in carrying boxes. 
 My nephew will do that, he's here on pur- 
 pose," and she darted forward, thin and quick 
 like a gnat, while Katherine entered the din- 
 ing-room and looked round it wonderingly. ' 
 
 A lire was blazing, and there was a lamp 
 burning on the sideboard — a lamp that had no 
 shade on it and brought out clearly the colour 
 of the red flock paper on the walls. The table 
 was laid for two, with great spaces of white 
 cloth that made it look desolate ; and in the 
 centre was a large old-fashioned cruet-stand. 
 On the mantelpiece was a big marble clock, 
 and behind it a looking-glass that reached 
 nearly to the ceiling. The room was ugly, 
 with no attempt at decoration, and had but 
 few signs that it was lived in, yet it was fairly 
 comfortable and solid-looking — a certain sense 
 of dignity hung about it in spite of the red 
 
80 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 flock paper. Katherine thought of the trees 
 at Severndroog, and the scrubs, the gorse and 
 blackberry bushes, and the garden of the 
 White House. They had all gone out of her 
 life for ever. Then she looked round the room 
 in which she stood again, and felt that it 
 might come to feel like home if only the hu- 
 man beings who ruled her life would have it so. 
 She caught the reflection of her own face in 
 the glass ; there was a smile upon it, for life is 
 a wonderful thing with its fascinations and 
 promises and the great silence that we call 
 the future before us ; and she was young and 
 curious. 
 
 Mr. Belcher followed her into the room and 
 went towards a heap of letters she had not 
 noticed on the sideboard. He opened one and 
 began to read it. 
 
 "Oh," she exclaimed joyfully, going quick- 
 ly to his side, " perhaps there are some for 
 me." 
 
 " There are," he answered : "I am reading 
 one from your uncle." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 81 
 
 She looked at him in silence ; surely there 
 was some mistake ; she took up the envelope — 
 it was directed to her. She put her hand on 
 the other letters and picked out a second one 
 directed to her. 
 
 " Please let me open it," she said gently. 
 
 " You may open that," he nodded. "I 
 wanted to see what your uncle said." He 
 looked up for a moment and saw her face. 
 " A man has a right to open his wife's letters," 
 he said, " but she must not open his — you un- 
 derstand." 
 
 "I do so like opening them myself," she 
 pleaded. 
 
 "I may so like opening them myself, and 
 shall if it suits me," he laughed. " There! 
 there's your letter ; I've done with it. The old 
 fool has been writing to Australia ; a brilliant 
 idea has occurred to him that Eichard may 
 have married and left some children. I hope 
 he didn't ; it would make a good deal of dif- 
 ference to us. Who's that from ? " he asked, 
 looking at the letter in her hand. 
 
82 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " It is from Susan." 
 
 " Susan ? Oh, the old woman who couldn't 
 manage to die even with the help of a three 
 months' illness — I don't want to read her let- 
 ters. What do you think of the house ? It 
 belonged to Taylor the stockbroker, but he 
 couldn't afford it after the crash in American 
 railways some years ago, so I got it pretty 
 cheaply : rather a good stroke of business 3 
 You had better go upstairs and take off your 
 things," he said, with the quiet masterful man- 
 ner that directed her every movement. "I 
 wrote and ordered dinner yesterday, so I sup- 
 pose it is nearly ready. Harriet will show you 
 the way," and he rang the bell. 
 
 Then Harriet appeared with a flat candle- 
 stick and conducted Katherine up the desolate 
 stone staircase. 
 
 Mr. Belcher went back to his letters. 
 " Morris is an old fool," he thought. "Of 
 course, if they know that he is looking for 
 them, half-a-dozen brats will turn up and call 
 themselves Richard's. I ought to have insisted 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 83 
 
 on a settlement ; I may have saddled myself 
 with this girl for nothing at all. If she 
 wasn't to have Morris's money, I might just 
 as well have gone on amusing myself with 
 Florence. There's some life in her, and not 
 too much sentiment. I'm tired of this girl 
 following me about with her eyes that fill 
 with tears every time I choose to pinch her 
 hard enough." It was odd how much Kather- 
 ine's slim figure and young face annoyed him. 
 He liked a full-blooded, well- developed woman 
 with slow gait and full deep voice, who ex- 
 pected everything and took it as a matter of 
 course or with a scornful laugh, and insulted 
 him openly. Besides, he had never thought 
 women worth looking at till they were eight- 
 and-twenty ; by that time they had learnt to 
 know their way about and how to use their 
 tongues. He hated soft words, and despised 
 obedience even though he exacted it. Youth 
 and innocence were in his way ; he liked to 
 hurt it, to see it writhe and shrink from him. 
 He had married Katherine with his eyes open, 
 
84 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 of course, but with a clear and definite reason. 
 Besides, it had seemed a natural incident 
 enough. It was time he took a wife if he 
 meant to take one at all, and in theory he had 
 liked the idea of a young one : women were 
 for flirtation, but girls were for marriage. 
 Girls did not want equality and independence 
 of thought and companionship, and all the 
 modern nonsense that women were noisily 
 struggling for nowadays. The nonsense was 
 all very well to talk about, with other men's 
 wives or a woman you had no intention of 
 marrying, but a sensible man took care to ex- 
 clude it rigorously from the daily experience 
 of his own home. There he should be master 
 and the first and only consideration, and so 
 Mr. Belcher meant it to be in Montague Place. 
 
 " I'm going out," he said to Katherine after 
 dinner. " I want to talk to your uncle." 
 
 " May I go with you \ I should so like to 
 see Uncle Robert's new rooms." 
 
 " I want to talk to him alone," he answered. 
 "You had better do your unpacking to-mor- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 85 
 
 row," lie went on, always careful to arrange 
 her time as far as possible, "and go to bed 
 at ten. To-morrow you can set about helping 
 Gibson with the housekeeping." 
 
 " I think I can do it by myself after a bit," 
 she said timidly. "I did it at home when 
 Susan was ill." 
 
 " Gibson knows my ways," he answered. 
 
 He walked quickly towards Gower Street. 
 At one of the houses near University College 
 Mr. Morris had taken rooms. 
 
 He was at home, the servant said. Mr. 
 Belcher walked quickly upstairs to the first 
 floor. The door of the drawing-room was 
 opened by a tall woman of about eight-and- 
 thirty. She was dressed in black, and round 
 her neck there was a crucifix ; she looked im- 
 perious, but her manner was that of one who 
 had been executing an errand. 
 
 "Ah," she said, and her accent betrayed 
 that she was a Frenchwoman of somewhat 
 limited English. "You want Monsieur Mor- 
 ris? Le void." Mr. Belcher looked at her 
 
86 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 with astonishment. She motioned him into 
 the room and, shutting the door, disappeared. 
 
 " Who was the good lady kindly qualify- 
 ing your solitude ? " he inquired. Mr. Morris 
 was sitting by the fire in an arm-chair. 
 
 " She is a— a widowed sister-in-law of Mrs. 
 Merrick, who keeps this house. She lives 
 here." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "How is Katherine \ " 
 
 " She's all right. Do you like these 
 rooms ? " 
 
 " I don't think I shall stay in them long ; I 
 want to get into the country again." 
 
 " You'll be better there," Mr. Belcher an- 
 swered, " and safer," he thought, for a French- 
 woman about the place was an unexpected 
 turn in affairs. "I have been thinking," he 
 went on aloud, " that it's hardly fair I should 
 have the entire burden of Katherine's main- 
 tenance. I always expected that you would 
 make some definite settlement on her during 
 your lifetime." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 87 
 
 Mr. Morris looked up sharply, and was 
 silent for a moment before he answered. " It's 
 customary for a man to maintain his wife," he 
 said. " However, when you pay me back that 
 four thousand, I'll settle it upon her at once." 
 
 "You see," continued Belcher, without 
 noticing the remark, "I married her chiefly 
 because you wished it ; I believe you thought 
 it some compensation for the money I owed 
 you?" 
 
 "It was your own idea, and as for my 
 wishes, you married her because you thought 
 it time to get married, and because I told you 
 that as Richard was dead I should leave what 
 I had to her. It is not so much as it would 
 have been if things had turned out as you led 
 me to expect." 
 
 "A will is not a very good security for a 
 promise." 
 
 "You'll get no other," Mr. Morris an- 
 swered positively, "and if, as Madame Quib- 
 lier, the lady who left the room as you 
 entered, suggested to me a day or two ago, 
 
88 A FLASH OF SUxMMER. 
 
 Richard has left a wife or children, I shall 
 make a fresh disposition of my property." 
 
 " That idea about Richard is all nonsense ; 
 of course, if you make known in Melbourne 
 that you are seeking for grandchildren in 
 order to endow them, why every house in 
 Collins Street will produce some. However, 
 if you like I will advertise in the Australian 
 papers ? " 
 
 Mr. Morris looked at him carefully again. 
 "I think I can manage to do that myself, 
 thank you." 
 
 "It might be amusing to go out there and 
 see what it is like ; perhaps if you wait a few 
 months we could go together." 
 
 "We'll see," Mr. Morris answered brusque- 
 ly. "Go home to your wife, Belcher, that's 
 the best place for you," and he held out his 
 hand. 
 
 Belcher felt himself dismissed as cava- 
 lierly as he in turn treated Katherine. " I 
 shall have to keep a good hold upon him," he 
 thought as he went back. "Or with the 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 89 
 
 Frenchwoman on one side and Richard's 
 foundlings on the other he'll make a nice mess 
 of it. He's as obstinate as the devil, but a 
 woman might influence him. I wish I had left 
 marriage alone : it is only amusing for the first 
 week." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mr. Belcher suffered Katherine to live in 
 his house, and was civil to her. He even rec- 
 ognised that she had a right to be there, but 
 he took no trouble to make her life pleasant ; 
 and at the end of six months she knew him 
 little better than she had done at the end of 
 three. He consulted her about nothing, told 
 her nothing. She had virtually no share in 
 household matters ; Gibson saw to those, and 
 kept a sharp eye on everything — including 
 Katherine, whom she did not view too favour- 
 ably. Day after day went by with unvarying 
 monotony. Breakfast at eight ; Katherine 
 poured out the coffee while Mr. Belcher read 
 his letters and the paper. When he had fin- 
 ished it, he looked up and made a few curt 
 
 (90) 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 91 
 
 remarks, much as though she were an upper 
 servant who was bound to stay with him. At 
 nine he went out ; at a little before seven he 
 came back and generally inquired what she 
 had done during the day, not with the interest 
 of a husband who cared, but with the air of a 
 taskmaster who found some gratification in 
 knowing that the hours had been long and 
 difficult. After dinner, he read his papers 
 again or wrote letters. Once he tried to teach 
 her the mysteries of double dummy> but, find- 
 ing that she did not take a vivid interest in the 
 game, he put the cards away with a curt, " I 
 think we have had enough of that, thank 
 yon," and did not attempt it again. At ten 
 o'clock he sent her to bed, and as she left the 
 room she generally saw him reach down a box 
 of cigars from a shelf in the corner, as though 
 he meant to indulge in a pleasant hour after 
 she had gone. This was in the dining-room, 
 in which they always sat, for the drawing- 
 room was covered np with dusting sheets and 
 hidden from the light of day. There was a 
 
92 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 little room on the stairs to which Katherine 
 went if she felt that her presence was not re- 
 quired by Mr. Belcher in the dining-room ; 
 and he often made her feel that it was not 
 only not required, but in the way. 
 
 Mr. Morris spent the evening in Montague 
 Place occasionally, but his manner towards 
 her, though it was a little gentler, was not 
 more easy than formerly, and she knew that 
 he came to talk business with her husband, 
 and so left them together. Sometimes two or 
 three men came to dinner, and she sat silently 
 at the other end of the table ; for Mr. Belcher 
 looked displeased if she talked, and told her 
 once in a sarcastic manner after they had gone 
 that her conversation was not of absorbing 
 interest : so she took the hint and remained 
 silent. A few people, wives of solicitors and 
 anxious barristers, called upon her, and she 
 returned their calls and there the acquaint- 
 ance ended. Mrs. Oswell came now and then, 
 evidently out of kindness at first, and after- 
 wards because she liked the lonely girl. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 93 
 
 Katherine learnt many things from her: how 
 to dress (though for that purpose Mr. Belcher 
 gave her no money), and what to read, and a 
 little of what was going on in the world. 
 Thus in some dim fashion she began to under- 
 stand things better, and gained as much wis- 
 dom, perhaps, as it is given to unsophisticated 
 girlhood to know. 
 
 "She ought to read the modern people," 
 Mr. Oswell said ; and his wife lent her Tenny- 
 son and Browning and Swinburne. They left 
 her with the sense that had so often beset 
 her since her marriage — a sense that life had 
 cheated her ; that she stood by the gate of the 
 world, but Mr. Belcher held her back and would 
 not let her go through and take her share of 
 the chances beyond. 
 
 Now and then during the first months he 
 was good-natured after his own fashion. He 
 took her to a theatre two or three times, more 
 to amuse himself with her surprise at what she 
 saw than to give her pleasure. Once he took 
 her to Brighton from Saturday to Monday, but 
 
94 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 he met someone he knew and neglected her, 
 and when he went again he left her at home, 
 and she was glad enough of the three days in 
 silence and without him. She was never at 
 ease with him, never for a single hour, for 
 though her fear of him grew less as time went 
 on, her dislike of him increased, until it woke 
 up every nerve and sense in her to shrink from 
 his touch, from the sound of his voice, the 
 mere fact of his presence. The one comfort of 
 her life was that he went out every day and all 
 day. After a time he often went out in the 
 evening too. She never knew where he went 
 or what he did ; he gave no hint of his doings, 
 and she never dreamt of asking him for any 
 account of them. 
 
 But gradually she created a life for herself ; 
 a life of books and thought, and long walks, 
 and voyages of discovery into the far depths 
 of London. She made little attempts, too, at 
 helping others who were poorer than herself ; 
 but she had no money for these last, and so in 
 despair had to hold aloof. Some of her in- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 95 
 
 nocence vanished, some of her simplicity. She 
 knew perfectly why Mr. Belcher had married 
 her, and the half-contempt with which he re- 
 garded her. Sometimes she tried to soften 
 him, to win his regard or admiration, but it 
 was only done as a matter of duty or in rec- 
 ognition of the fact that she was his wife, and 
 with almost a dread of her efforts having any 
 success. Books had taught her the possibili- 
 ties that the world holds for each man or 
 woman who comes into it, and she looked on 
 aghast at the trick that fate had played her. 
 She guessed keenly enough what they were 
 like, those happinesses and miseries that are 
 but the complement of each other ; and she 
 realised still more keenly the bondage that 
 was her own portion. In those lonely days, 
 too, there stirred in her heart for the first time 
 a definite longing for human sympathy and 
 companionship, and a breathless knowledge, 
 though she drove it from her as a forbidden 
 one, that in human love lay the secret of 
 human joy. 
 
96 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 With all this, since she was but a mortal 
 woman, there came a little undercurrent of 
 happy vanity — for she was growing beautiful. 
 Her eyes were more tender, and the sight of 
 joy or sorrow that others carried, even though 
 they were strangers to her, had altered the 
 expression of her face. Moreover, walking 
 had made her figure lissom, and thrown back 
 her shoulders so that she looked tall and 
 supple. 
 
 "I should like to know the end of your 
 history," Mrs. Oswell thought, as Katherine 
 entered one afternoon, a glow of health on her 
 face and the dimple in her cheek showing it- 
 self more frequently than formerly. "It isn't 
 Mr. Belcher, or I am much mistaken." Then 
 she said aloud: "Well, you look as if you 
 had found your own two feet and stood on 
 them." 
 
 "I have done more," Katherine answered, 
 " for I have walked about the world on them, 
 and looked at the people." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 97 
 
 "And have come to the conclusion that 
 everyone else is needed by some one. No one 
 needs me — even Gibson thinks me in the way." 
 
 "Someone has need of you; that is why 
 you were born. Only you have not found it 
 out yet, and the world itself has need of you 
 too : we are all little bits in the great mosaic." 
 
 " I don't like to think that," Katherine 
 answered ; "it sounds so hopeless ; it is what 
 a fatalist might say. I would rather be an 
 atom of dust in the desert whirled along by all 
 the winds that blow — and thankful that there 
 are four of them — or a waif strayed by mistake 
 into the wrong world." 
 
 " My dear, your husband has need of you." 
 Mrs. Oswell said it from duty and tried to say 
 it positively. 
 
 "No. I wish he had; then I wouldn't 
 mind how badly he treated me." For she had 
 long ceased to disguise her life from Mrs. Os- 
 well, who had seen clearly what manner of 
 man Mr. Belcher was from the first, though 
 with easy good-nature she had tried to defend 
 
98 A FLASH OF SUMMER, 
 
 him. "He lias only need of Uncle Kobert's 
 money." 
 
 Mrs. Oswell put her hand on Katherine's. 
 " I don't believe in our lives being an atom 
 of dust in the desert. Perhaps one day, my 
 dear," she said gently, " you may have a little 
 child." 
 
 "I hope not." Her cheeks flushed, and 
 her eyes filled with tears. "If it were a boy, 
 he might grow up to be like his father : I 
 don't want to see more men in the world like 
 Edward. If it were a girl, it might be as 
 lonely as I have been, and make a marriage 
 like mine." 
 
 " It would have a mother." 
 
 "Yes," Katherine answered, clasping her 
 hands across her breast as if they held a little 
 one in them, " and she would be powerless to 
 help its life, and it would feel that she was 
 useless and ignore her, or perhaps it would be 
 sorry for her. I shouldn't like my child to be 
 sorry for me," she went on, lifting her head. 
 u I shouldn't like anyone in the world to be 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 99 
 
 that, unless it was someone much stronger 
 than myself — someone I loved." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Mrs. Oswell, "now we 
 are coming to it, and I can see the red light in 
 the distance." 
 
 " The red light I " 
 
 " It means danger." Mrs. Oswell counted 
 the gold bangles on her wrist. "My dear, 
 why don't you make your husband fall in love 
 with you?" 
 
 " My husband ! " Katherine exclaimed with 
 a shudder she could not hide. " I never see 
 him except at breakfast time : he's out all day, 
 and generally all the evening too now." 
 
 " You know," said Mrs. Oswell, forgetting 
 her tact in her eagerness to be clever, "I 
 shouldn't be at all surprised if there's some 
 woman he's fond of and goes to spend his 
 evenings with. You see he was six-and-thirty, 
 rather more, when he married you : a man 
 doesn't get to that age for nothing, and he 
 wasn't in love with you, dear ; that was plain 
 enough on your honeymoon." 
 
100 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " And plain enough every moment he has 
 been with me since," Katherine answered bit- 
 terly. But there gathered a little fire at her 
 heart, a little fierceness that increased her 
 hatred of Mr. Belcher as she thought of the 
 possibility of his having cared for someone 
 else, perhaps all the years of his life, and of 
 the manner in which he possibly spent his 
 evenings while she sat alone in Montague 
 Place. It put a sense of insult into her life 
 that had not been there before. 
 
 "Mrs. Oswell," she said, and burst into 
 tears, " it's a terrible thing to be a woman." 
 
 " Would you like to be a man ? " 
 
 "I wouldn't for the wide world," she an- 
 swered, with a little horror in her voice. 
 
 11 Would you like to be a horrid strong- 
 minded thing clamouring for rights ? " 
 
 " Of course not," Katherine said indig- 
 nantly. "I don't think I know what I want, 
 really." 
 
 " You'll find out one day," Mrs. Oswell 
 answered. " And when you do," she thought, 
 
A FLASH OF BUMMER. , ; : 101 
 
 "I wonder whether it Willie a'coni^or a 
 tragedy." 
 
 " I think I'll go away," Katherine said. " I 
 have found out a strange pleasure in life," she 
 added, turning to Mrs. Oswell with the quick 
 smile that was a fascination. "It is walking 
 about London looking at the people. Every- 
 one liyes a separate life and has a separate soul 
 and experiences and secrets, and hopes and 
 ambitions, some of which I know and others at 
 which I only guess. I like to see two people 
 together best, and to notice how they behave 
 to each other. The most interesting are a man 
 and a woman together." 
 
 "You have arrived at that fatal knowl- 
 edge, have you \ " said Mrs. Oswell. 
 
 " I think," Katherine went on, not heeding 
 her, " it must be the most beautiful thing in 
 the world to be the woman and to love the 
 man, if he is strong and handsome and clever 
 and everything in the world, and if he loves 
 you back again." 
 
 " My dear," laughed Mrs. Oswell, " I wish 
 
102 A FLAitul .OF SUMMER. 
 
 you'ccuM ;j$Vfi your husband. A woman can 
 love the strangest thing in mankind if only the 
 whim takes her. For Heaven's sake, go home 
 and get sentimental on Mr. Belcher. It's my 
 sincere opinion that if yon don't you'll come 
 to utter grief somehow and some day when 
 you find out that every woman alive is blessed 
 or cursed with a heart." 
 
 " I am different," said Katherine. " I have 
 only a little bit of one, but I am very lonely. 
 I think my role is to walk about the world 
 and look at it, but not to play any part. 
 Sometimes I feel like a crane I used to know 
 when I was a little girl : it stood on one leg 
 contemplating the moat by Eltham Palace. 
 Only I don't want to stand still as that did : I 
 should like to walk from one end of the world 
 to the other, it is such a beautiful place." 
 
 " And such a sad one." 
 
 " Yes, perhaps. Mrs. Oswell, you have 
 been very kind to me ; I am very grateful 
 and would love you for it if I could, but I 
 don't think I know how. They didn't teach 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 103 
 
 me in the days of my youth. Good-bye ; it's 
 nearly four o'clock and time to go home. Dot- 
 tel will be back." 
 
 " And your husband too \ " 
 
 ' 'No, he sends Dottel back by the office 
 boy." 
 
 "And goes off to spend his evenings else- 
 where," thought Mrs. Oswell. "Depend upon 
 it he doesn't spend them alone nor always with 
 his own sex; a man's vanity prevents him 
 from doing that." Katherine was looking 
 round the room : she knew by an instinct 
 that had been born in her that its colours were 
 incongruous, its nick-nacks too many, its ef- 
 fects crude and perhaps a little vulgar, but 
 still it showed that the woman of the house 
 had a voice in it, arranged her furniture as she 
 pleased, and took a pleasure in her home. 
 
 "I wish I had a home," she said. 
 
 "My dear child, you have!" Mrs. Oswell 
 exclaimed, almost startled. 
 
 "No. Mr. Belcher has a home, and lets 
 me stay in it, but I have no business there. I 
 
104 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 should like a room to decorate and make 
 pretty, and that my husband would come 
 home and admire. You said that everyone in 
 the world was needed by some one person. 
 Perhaps everyone in the world has a home 
 somewhere, but some go on and on and never 
 find it, or die before they reach it." 
 
 "But there is a little room you sometimes 
 sit in alone," Mrs. Oswell said; "why don't 
 you make that pretty % " 
 
 U I have no money. Uncle Robert gave me 
 a present at Christmas, but I spent it on beg- 
 gars and clothes." 
 
 "Doesn't Mr. Belcher give you any? 
 What do you do for postage-stamps 3 " 
 
 "Put them down in the weekly books; 
 but I don't use two a month," she laughed. 
 "Good-bye again. I must go back to Mr. 
 Belcher's house. I wish you hadn't said that 
 about another woman : it makes me shrink 
 from him a little more. I believe some morn- 
 ing I shall run away." 
 
 "And what will you do then?" 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 105 
 
 She looked back as she went out of the 
 doorway. " Walk all over the world, seek- 
 ing " 
 
 " Seeking what ?" 
 
 "I don't know yet— but I shall." • 
 
 " She is like a woman in a dream," Mrs. 
 Oswell said to her husband that night. " Poor 
 little soul, I wish she would wake up." 
 
 " Humph ! Perhaps she is better off in the 
 dream ." 
 
 " Perhaps — oh, Fred, dear, what a blessing 
 you are ! I feel as if I ought to say grace over 
 you, thanking God for my good husband as 
 children sometimes thank Him for their good 
 dinner." 
 
 "I don't think we have a bad time on the 
 whole " 
 
 " We have a splendid time," she answered. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 It was nearly Easter. Katherine had been 
 married more than a year. The buds were on 
 the trees again : there was blue in the sky, and 
 the sun was shining. The streets were full 
 of flower-sellers. People loitered as they 
 walked, looking in at the shops — or stayed 
 in the park to watch the carriages driving 
 quickly along — the faces in them looked as 
 though they had been told a secret that was 
 pleasant. 
 
 " I know what it is," Katherine said to her- 
 self, "they may look old, but they feel young. 
 Spring has touched their hearts, the sunshine 
 is in their eyes and they see how lovely it is. 
 
 I wish Edward n But as she thought of 
 
 him thei-e came back the memory of his jibes 
 
 (106) 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 1()7 
 
 and his mocking tone, his visible intolerance 
 of her presence. " I wish I could disappear 
 out of his life. I am like a prisoner at the end 
 of a chain that lets me go out a little way, just 
 so far, and never any farther." She stopped, 
 as she went along Oxford Street, at a flower- 
 stall. There were bunches of daffodils, round 
 balls of them, each with a few green blades in 
 the centre. 
 
 "Twopence a bunch, miss," the man said. 
 She had a shilling of her own, and walked 
 back to Montague Place with her arms full of 
 flowers. People looked at her as she passed 
 them by. Her dark hair was coiled up into 
 a knot, her grey-blue eyes looked fearlessly 
 ahead, as if into the future. She had the ex- 
 pression of a woman who is waiting and knows 
 that she has far to go before she reaches her 
 goal. But her face had grown more content. 
 The beauty of the world appealed to her so 
 strongly that her own life seemed too trivial 
 a thing to consider over much. Besides, she 
 felt that even that trivial thing, her own life, 
 
108 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 belonged to the world far more than to Mr. 
 Belcher. "I shall live in the world all my 
 days, whether I am with him or not, and be 
 buried in it when I die," she thought. He 
 did not want her, though between them there 
 was the terrible fetter of marriage — that she 
 hated and at which he chafed, but that neither 
 of them could break. " For only death or sin 
 could undo marriage, no matter how blindly 
 it was entered upon or how miserable it 
 proved," she thought hopelessly. 
 
 " A handsome girl," a man said to his wife 
 as they passed her. 
 
 "Beautiful," answered the woman. 
 
 Katherine heard them ; a smile came to her 
 lips and looked out of her eyes. " I wonder 
 if it is true," she said to herself: "to be 
 beautiful in a beautiful world sounds wonder- 
 ful," and she went on her way. "I wish 
 some giant would arrive," she thought, "and 
 sweep all these houses into the sea, and we 
 could devise some way of living without them, 
 under trees or in tents. If we could wander 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 109 
 
 away to the far ends of the world just as we 
 liked, how much better it would be. Then 
 Edward would not sit in an office all day and 
 listen to quarrels and grievances, and he would 
 think some good of human nature, just as 
 Mrs. Oswell does, and he wouldn't care for 
 money — he would be altogether different. 
 Perhaps his office is very ugly, and the peo^ 
 pie who go to him are mean and ugly too : 
 "trying to get money may have made them so, 
 and they reflect themselves in him. He may 
 have been quite different when he started in 
 life"— she was turning the key in the door 
 of Montague Place, and entered with her 
 daffodils. "If he would only be different 
 again ! I shouldn't fall in love with him as 
 Mrs. Oswell said, but I should like to admire 
 him and to think how good he was, and that 
 it was all my fault if we were not happy to- 
 gether." 
 
 He was going to dine at home that evening, 
 so she arranged some daffodils for the table, 
 wondering if they would please him ; but it was 
 
HO A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 a forlorn hope, she had made the place pretty 
 with flowers before and looked her best at din- 
 ner and tried all the artifices that yonth and 
 prettiness know — only to find them useless. 
 He had seen through them, and showed her 
 that he did, and gone out. It was four o'clock 
 when the flowers were done : two or three 
 hours yet before he came home. An idea 
 crossed her mind and took possession of her. 
 "I'll go and see Uncle Kobert," she said ; 
 " it's just possible I may find him in, and it is 
 a long time since I saw him." As if she had 
 been touched by a finger of fate, she turned 
 and went out of the house. She had only been 
 to see him once or twice before since he had 
 come to town, she never understood what hur- 
 ried her to him now. The Frenchwoman 
 opened the door and looked radiant. 
 
 " Oh, this is good ! " she cried ; "I am glad 
 that you have come ; there is great news. Go 
 upstairs, madame, and let monsieur your uncle 
 tell you himself." 
 
 The sitting-room was in a state of chaos. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. m 
 
 Mr. Morris was packing some papers into a 
 box; he looked at her with a moment's silent 
 bewilderment before he spoke. 
 
 " Katherine" — his voice was eager and hur- 
 ried — "I did not expect you. Why have you 
 come ? I have not told Belcher yet." 
 
 " What has happened, Uncle Robert?" she 
 asked. "Are you going away?" He looked 
 at her under his eyebrows while he answered 
 in the old hard manner that he only seemed 
 to maintain with a struggle. 
 
 "I had a letter to-day by the Australian 
 mail. Richard — my son, has left a wife and 
 two boys. I go to Liverpool to-morrow, and 
 sail for Melbourne on Wednesday." 
 
 U I am glad. Oh! dear Uncle Robert, I'm 
 very glad." 
 
 " Belcher won't be," he said shortly ; " he'll 
 think that I shall not leave you so much 
 money." 
 
 "What does it matter? People seem to 
 buy wickedness and misery with money. Per- 
 haps these children will make you happy." 
 
 8 
 
112 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "But what will your husband say?" She 
 stopped and considered ; a shudder passed 
 through her. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered, and quailed 
 a little. 
 
 " I did not know he was so hard, Katherine, 
 or I would not have let you marry him. I 
 thought I was doing the best I could for you. 
 A woman is better married, and there was no 
 one else." It was the only apology he could 
 bring himself to make, and he made it grudg- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Perhaps he doesn't mean " she be- 
 gan. 
 
 "I'm glad you have come," Mr. Morris 
 went on, not heeding her, "for I wanted to 
 give you this ; I wrote it out, and have been 
 wondering how to get it to you without his 
 knowledge. It is a cheque for two hundred 
 pounds. If I should not return, and he treats 
 you badly, it will help you to do something 
 or bring you out to Australia. Perhaps you 
 had better cash it to-morrow ; it is not crossed ; 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. H3 
 
 go to the bank, get notes, and keep them by 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Robert, could you not take 
 me with you? He does not want me, in- 
 deed " 
 
 "Nonsense! A woman's place is with her 
 husband," he said, with his old curtness, and 
 she knew there was no appeal. " I must have 
 a talk with Belcher ; there is a great deal to 
 say to him before I go. I'll come and dine 
 with you to-night. You had better go back 
 now. Tell him I shall be there by half-past 
 seven— and, Katherine, get that cheque cashed 
 to-morrow, but don't spend the money unless 
 you're obliged. Stay ! Can you take this 
 telegram for me % I must tell them to keep a 
 room for me to-morrow night at the hotel at 
 Liverpool, or I may find myself stranded ; I 
 sail on Wednesday morning. Now, good- 
 bye." He looked at her for a moment, and 
 the expression of his face softened. "You 
 have grown into a handsome girl," he said ; 
 "the Frenchwoman downstairs talks a good 
 
114 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 deal of nonsense about you, but I believe she's 
 right." He put his hands upon her shoulder 
 and kissed her forehead. That was his fare- 
 well, for, though he came to dinner that night, 
 she did not see him alone again. She asked 
 if she might see him off from Euston, but he 
 refused, though he seemed pleased at the re- 
 quest. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mr. Belcher hardly spoke to Katherine 
 that evening while her uncle was there, and 
 the next morning he seemed too much en- 
 grossed with his own thoughts even to be 
 aware of her presence ; but he looked back 
 with an expression that frightened her as he 
 left the house. It was the day Mr. Morris left 
 London ; she knew that he had some business 
 with her husband in the middle of the day, 
 and that was all. 
 
 The storm burst at dinner. He hardly 
 spoke till the cloth was cleared and Harriet 
 had left the room. 
 
 "Your uncle is probably in Liverpool by 
 this time," he said. 
 
 "I know," she said, feeling that there was 
 more to come. 
 
 (115) 
 
11(3 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " And has left me saddled with you for the 
 rest of my days." 
 
 "I am sorry, bat it is not my fault," 
 she said, and stood facing him on the hearth- 
 rug. 
 
 "If you had been a clever woman you 
 would have managed him. You haven't a 
 spark of cleverness in you. The result is that 
 he has made a totally inadequate provision for 
 you, and, if this woman and her brats get over 
 him, he'll probably make it worse still. I 
 suppose he calls that behaving like an honest 
 man. I don't. An old fool — he was always 
 an old fool ! " 
 
 "Please don't say that to me," she said 
 gently. "I am sorry he has gone, and I hope 
 he will find his grandchildren. They will 
 make him happier." 
 
 "Bosh! I hate sentiment. I wonder if 
 you know how tired I am of seeing you, -Kath- 
 erine. I only married you because Morris 
 wanted to get rid of you." 
 
 "He didn't," she flashed. He looked at 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 117 
 
 her for a moment and tried to cow her with a 
 still more bullying manner. 
 
 " He wanted to get rid of you, and there 
 was no other way of doing it. He was tired 
 of you, as I am." 
 
 "Why did you marry me? You knew 
 that I did not want you, and you were not 
 obliged to do it ; and you didn't do it because 
 you liked me, but only because you thought 
 you would get money by it. Oh ! I hate 
 money ; I hate nothing in the world so much 
 as money. But now that is done," she went 
 on quickly, with a tremble in her voice, " what 
 is the good of making me miserable ? I have 
 done nothing that I knew would vex you since 
 F ve come into the house. Why can't you be 
 kind tome?" 
 
 "I don't want to be kind to you. I know 
 that you dislike me, and I dislike you, wan- 
 dering up and down the house with your soft 
 footsteps like a cat. You are just like a cat ! " 
 
 "Why do you say such cruel things to 
 me ? I have done nothing to make you hate 
 
118 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 me so much. Is it because you like anybody 
 else?" she asked, remembering Mrs. Oswell's 
 unwise remark. 
 
 "Yes, I like someone else," he answered 
 triumphantly, "and always have. Somebody 
 who has plenty to say, and is quick and merry, 
 and doesn't bore one as you do." 
 
 "Why didn't you marry her?" she asked 
 scornfully. 
 
 u She was married, and found her husband 
 as great a clog as I find a wife ; but now he's 
 dead — he died six months ago— and she is 
 free, and I always hated girls : they are so 
 stupid." 
 
 "And I hate you," she cried, "more than 
 anything in the world. You married me for 
 money, and I'm glad you have not got it. I 
 hope you will never get any, and I shall write 
 and tell Uncle Robert so." 
 
 "You can write him anything you please. 
 He has gone to the devil, and I wish you 
 would go after him. I saw Williams, the 
 doctor, this afternoon, and he said that the 
 
A FLASH OF SUMiMER. H9 
 
 chances are nineteen to twenty against his re- 
 turning alive ; and he did his worst, as far as 
 you are concerned, before he started to-day." 
 
 She turned to leave the room without an- 
 other word. 
 
 "This has been a nice little scene," he said. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, and burst into tears, "will 
 nothing set us free % I never wanted to marry 
 you, and you have never cared for me ; it is 
 frightful to think that we are condemned to 
 be together all our lives. Couldn't we part — 
 or at least try to be a little better towards 
 each other V She unconsciously held out 
 her hand as if in pacification. With uncon- 
 trollable rage he struck it away. 
 
 "Get out ! " he said, opening the door ; "I 
 am sick and tired of the sight of you, and 
 have no patience with tears." She looked at 
 her hand unbelievingly and at him, then 
 walked slowly away. He heard her going 
 upstairs. He stood still for a moment. "I 
 wonder why I hate her so much. Some men 
 would like her — she is growing handsome. I 
 
120 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 believe I hate her because she doesn't light me. 
 I like a spice of the devil in a woman." 
 
 Katherine went into the little room she 
 called her own. It was still gay with daffo- 
 dils. She threw herself down on the sofa. A 
 corner as of something sharp made itself felt 
 against her chest ; she put up her hand to it 
 and remembered. It was the bank notes into 
 which she had changed her uncle's cheque. 
 
 She came down early the following morn- 
 ing, for sleep was impossible. The bitterness 
 and insult of the quarrel last night had stag- 
 gered her ; she shivered as she entered the 
 dining-room. There were two letters by her 
 plate on the breakfast table ; the top one was 
 addressed in Susan's handwriting, the other 
 she did not know. She slipped them quickly 
 into her pocket, for she knew that Mr. Belcher 
 would jeer at them even if he did not read 
 them. She heard him coming, and put her 
 hand to her throat for a moment to steady 
 herself. 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 121 
 
 "Good morning," he said, in the mocking 
 voice that always made her writhe; "slept 
 well?" She looked back at him with the 
 clear, unflinching expression that provoked 
 his admiration. 
 
 "Yes, I slept well," she said. "It was 
 happiness to sleep, for I forgot everything." 
 Her manner was distant, but so oddly cour- 
 teous that for a moment he was puzzled. She 
 stood looking at him, tall and scornful yet 
 polite, older by five years than when he had 
 married her, although it was only fifteen 
 months ago. 
 
 "In a temper?" 
 
 "No," she answered calmly. "Perhaps 
 we'd better have breakfast." She poured out 
 his coffee and put it beside him, with his pa- 
 per. There were some minutes of silence, then 
 he looked up. 
 
 " I think we arrived at a full understanding 
 last night," he said. " If you had been a clever 
 woman you would have wheedled your uncle 
 out of some money." 
 
122 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "I did not want it." 
 
 " There'll be next to nothing now when he 
 dies — that is, if he gets out there safely and 
 finds these brats. I should not wonder if he 
 makes a new will, and does away with the 
 little he has left you. He'll probably stay out 
 there. He has resigned his directorship and 
 everything else. Meanwhile, I'm saddled with 
 a log in the shape of a woman all my life. I 
 thought he was going to leave you twenty-five 
 thousand pounds, Katherine." She got up 
 and poked the fire. 
 
 " I'm glad you are not going to get it." 
 
 "Glad, are you?" he exclaimed, starting 
 up and staring at her face. 
 
 " Yes, glad ! " she cried. " You have made 
 me miserable. I'm glad you are not going to 
 get his money." 
 
 "You fool! " he exclaimed, and raised his 
 hand and struck her again, just as when she 
 was a child, and before he had grown more 
 gentle, her Uncle Robert used to strike her. 
 She turned, and looked at him with a face so 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 123 
 
 white and terrible that he was frightened. She 
 put her hand upon the bell ; he seized it and 
 pulled it away. "Go and sit down," he said, 
 and almost pushed her back into her place. 
 " Will you never understand that I was hood- 
 winked into marrying you — a schoolgirl I 
 don't care twopence about — thinking you 
 would have what you never will have? I've 
 not wanted to be unkind to you," he said 
 half apologetically, "but it makes me so 
 impatient to think that I am tied to a dum- 
 my, a fool, a log, a mill- stone ; and mar- 
 riage is so interminable." She got up again, 
 and stood on the same, spot where he had 
 struck her. 
 
 u I don't want it to go on," she said. " You 
 made me marry you. I was a baby, and did 
 not dare oppose you and Uncle Kobert. But 
 it is not marriage," she said with sudden bit- 
 terness ; "it's not like the Oswells' marriage, 
 or the marriage of the men and women I see 
 walking about. You have never been kind to 
 me, and you have given me no sympathy or 
 
12± A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 companionship since the day we started from 
 Shooter's Hill together." 
 
 "I've given it elsewhere." 
 
 " You have only insulted me and made me 
 miserable," she went on calmly, not noticing 
 his remark. "Why must we go on living to- 
 gether? I know you hate me, as I do you. 
 My one desire is to go out of your sight for- 
 ever. Let me go ! " 
 
 " You can go to the devil, if you like," he 
 said. And he thought, "She's uncommonly 
 good-looking, and I had no idea that there was 
 so much spirit in her. Perhaps, after all, she's 
 only artful, and not such a fool as I took her 
 to be." 
 
 "Let me go," she repeated, "and live with 
 Susan in Somersetshire, or in one of the little 
 cottages beyond the churchyard at Eltham." 
 And she thought of the palace and the crane. 
 
 " Who's to pay for the separate establish- 
 ment, I should like to know? It might, of 
 course, be amusing to go and see you in a cot- 
 tage," he sneered ; "it would make you seem 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 125 
 
 less like a wife — a wife is such a bore. I could 
 run down and dine with you sometimes. I 
 never understood why people should be forced 
 to live together all their days, and every day, 
 just because they're married. If you lived in 
 the next street, we should not hate each other 
 so much." 
 
 "If you would only let me go," she went' 
 on, not heeding his remark. "I could live 
 on very little money." 
 
 "I don't choose you to go away. Your 
 precious uncle would certainly do nothing for 
 you then." « 
 
 Gibson opened the door and looked in. 
 
 "Your portmanteau is ready, sir." 
 
 "Send for a hansom." Then he spoke to 
 Katherine again. "I am going out of town 
 for a few days. This is Wednesday — the day 
 your precious uncle goes on board at Liver- 
 pool. I shall be away over Easter. If you 
 hadn't been a fool I might have taken you 
 with me ; as it is, I shall get pleasanter com- 
 pany. When I return we'll continue our ami- 
 
120 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 able relations. I'll put two pounds on the 
 mantelpiece in case you want any money while 
 I'm away; you can keep an account of it." 
 He opened the door. " Is the hansom there ? " 
 he called. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, turning back to Kath- 
 erine ; "perhaps as we are going to be sep- 
 arated for a whole week we'd better kiss each 
 other." 
 
 "If you dare," she said scornfully, her 
 eyes flashing with anger. "I hate you — I 
 hate you — I hate you ! I would rather be 
 bitten by a tiger or stung — anything in the 
 world rather than let you touch me. Go 
 away, go away ! " He stood and looked at 
 her for a moment with amazement. Gibson 
 came to the door. 
 
 " Your bag's on the top, sir," she said. 
 
 He looked at Katherine again and laughed. 
 
 "You did that very well," he said, and 
 went out of the house followed by Gibson. 
 "If she were always like that," he thought, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 127 
 
 as he drove off, " she'd be something like. I 
 begin to think she's rather amusing, after 
 all." 
 
 The hansom drove away. Gibson came up 
 the steps, and closed the dining-room door as 
 she passed. Then Katherine walked up and 
 down trying to get calm. "I can't bear it," 
 she cried to herself, "I can't go on bearing it. 
 I would rather die than live like this. Uncle 
 Robert sails to-day "—she stopped and consid- 
 ered. "But there would be no time to over- 
 take him at Liverpool; he may have started 
 already. I'll telegraph to him," and she went 
 to the writing-table by the window ; "but no, 
 it would be no good. Oh ! " and with a sense 
 of insult that was not to be borne, she put 
 her hands against the side of her face that 
 he had struck. "I cannot— cannot live and 
 see him again ; I must go away somewhere. 
 Uncle Robert gave me the money — he surely 
 gave it me for this. I'll follow him out" — 
 but as she said it a feeling of despair came 
 over her, and she shook her head. "He 
 
128 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 wouldn't understand," she said; "he used — 
 he used" — she hesitated, for she could not 
 bear to remember unkindness after so many 
 years — u he used to strike me, too, when I 
 was little. He thinks about women as Edward 
 does — that they should have no feeling but 
 submission towards men, and take even blows 
 with meekness." It was the old idea, she 
 thought. But men were not like it in these 
 days, or only the few, and they the second- 
 rate men, who were afraid of being found out 
 if they did not protect themselves with tyran- 
 ny. The best men of any class were different. 
 She knew that it was so. She had seen Mr. 
 and Mrs. Oswell and all the people who walked 
 together in the streets of London. Little Har- 
 riet downstairs was miserable for months after 
 her father died, and her mother had nearly 
 died, too, of a broken heart. No one would 
 die of a broken heart for Mr. Belcher. "Oh, 
 I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" she cried, 
 and hid her face in her hands. "I will go 
 away — right away — and never let him see me 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 129 
 
 again. I will go to Susan and live with her." 
 Then she remembered that there was a letter 
 from Susan in her pocket, as well as another 
 in a strange hand — the letters she had found 
 on the table when she came down. Susan's 
 was merely to wish her a happy Easter, and 
 to say that she had not been well lately, and 
 had a niece coming to stay with her. Kath- 
 erine read it first from a sense of loyalty, but 
 she was curious about the strange one : it 
 made a break in the misery of that terrible 
 morning. It proved to be from a firm of 
 solicitors in Chancery Lane, and enclosed a 
 cheque for ninety pounds, a legacy less duty, 
 bequeathed her by Mrs. Barrett, who had died 
 three months before. She looked up with 
 amazement, a little dulled by the excitement 
 she had been going through. Ninety pounds, 
 and no one knew she had it, besides the two 
 hundred her uncle had given her on Monday ! 
 It was a fortune to Katherine, for she was 
 wholly unused to deal with money, and knew 
 but little of its value. It was surely a chance 
 
130 A FLASH OF SUMMER, 
 
 sent from Heaven? If only Mrs. Oswell were 
 in town she would have gone to consult her ; 
 as it was, she sat still with clasped hands 
 looking at the cheque. It was crossed and 
 payable to order. U I will go to the bank 
 and cash it, and then I'll go to Bridgwater 
 to Susan and have one happy peaceful week 
 before he comes back, and then — he shall come 
 and fetch me if he wants me. Poor Susan ! 
 if she is ill I can nurse her," she thought, 
 longing to be tender to somebody. "She will 
 be glad when she sees me. I cannot stay. I 
 must go— I must ; and it is best for both of 
 us. I cannot, cannot stay ! " she kept on re- 
 peating to herself as she went slowly upstairs 
 and, like a woman in a dream, gathered to- 
 gether most of her belongings. %i I had better 
 take them. I shall never come back unless 
 he makes me," she thought; " perhaps Susan 
 will like them when I am dead." She pulled 
 her trunk, the one she had taken to Winder- 
 mere, out from the corner. The lock was 
 broken ; it did not matter ; there was a little 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 131 
 
 strap on either side that would be fastening 
 enough. She began putting in one thing after 
 another till it was full, hardly knowing what 
 she did, only eager to get away from the 
 house, away from Mr. Belcher for ever and 
 ever. She took Uncle Robert's money out of 
 the little desk in which she had hidden it last 
 night, and put it in her bosom, and then she 
 looked at the cheque for Mrs. Barrett's legacy. 
 "I wonder if she knows about me now," she 
 said to herself, "or if the dead know nothing, 
 but lie in their graves straight and still for 
 ever." She went to the glass to put on her 
 hat and stared at her own face. It was like 
 a stranger's. Then she wandered aimlessly 
 round the room, as if trying to remember 
 something. "No, no; that is all." She 
 sighed and rang the bell. 
 
 "Harriet," she said, "send for a cab and 
 have this box put on it. I am going to Bridg- 
 water." 
 
 Gibson came up quickly. 
 
 "Does the master know you were going, 
 
132 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 ma'am?" he asked sharply; "and when are 
 you coming back ? " 
 
 "That does not concern you, Gibson," 
 Katherine answered quietly; "Mr. Belcher 
 will be here on Wednesday ; you had better 
 be ready for him." The box was put on the 
 cab, and she drove away. The two servants 
 looked at each other. 
 
 "He's kept too tight a hand," Gibson said 
 to herself, "just as his father did before him. 
 It's my belief she's gone away to cry her life 
 out with that old woman at Bridgwater." 
 
 "If I was in her place," thought Harriet, 
 " I wouldn't come back till I couldn't help 
 myself. He doesn't care a bit about her. 
 Lor ! she should have seen father and mother 
 and what they was to each other." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Katherine held her breath as she drove 
 away. She felt like a prisoner escaping, and 
 prayed that she might never enter the honse 
 again ; to live in it meant misery and degrada- 
 tion. A change must be made ; something 
 must happen. She would go to Susan, go any- 
 where — what did it matter where t— for the rest 
 of her days. She was cowed and insulted, 
 miserable and desperate. 
 
 44 But I will never go back," she said to 
 herself, "I will never, never enter the house 
 again. Uncle Robert's money and Mrs. Bar- 
 rett's legacy shall save me. I had better get 
 the cheque cashed at once. Oh, dear Mrs. 
 Barrett, thank you, thank you for leaving it 
 to me." At the bank she learnt to her sur- 
 
 (133) 
 
134 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 prise that they could not change it, and the 
 clerk explained the mystery of the two lines 
 across it. 
 
 "But I have no banking account," she said. 
 
 "Then the simplest way would be to take 
 it back to the drawers," he suggested, "their 
 office is only at the top of Chancery Lane, not 
 a hundred yards from here." 
 
 "Thank you," she said, and gave the clerk 
 a grateful look : he remembered it all that day. 
 
 The lawyers readily agreed to cash the 
 cheque for her, and when she had signed it and 
 some strange mark had been put upon it, a 
 messenger was sent to the bank. "I saw your 
 husband yesterday, Mrs. Belcher," the senior 
 partner remarked. 
 
 "Yes? He was to go to the country this 
 morning," she answered, with a little shudder 
 she could not help. 
 
 "And are you about to follow him?" he 
 asked politely. 
 
 "No, I'm going to a friend of my own at 
 Bridgwater." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 135 
 
 "I often saw him at Brighton during the 
 winter." 
 
 " Yes, he went from Saturday till Monday," 
 and she remembered how she had been left at 
 home — though she had been thankful enough 
 to be at peace — while he had possibly been with 
 somebody else, the somebody else he liked so 
 much, and who was now free. Surely she was' 
 right to go away ? She must and would — and 
 for ever. 
 
 "You have only twenty minutes to catch 
 your train," the lawyer said, as he handed her 
 the notes and saw her down to her cab. "I 
 wonder what made that beautiful girl marry 
 Belcher ? " he thought as she disappeared. " I 
 wouldn't give much for her chance of happi- 
 ness, poor thing. I have a notion somehow 
 that he doesn't know about this little legacy, 
 and I shall not feel it my duty to enlighten 
 him." 
 
 Meanwhile, Katherine drove on to Padding- 
 ton. "I feel as if I carried a fortune," she 
 thought, but she was cold and sick with misery, 
 
136 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 for Mr. Belcher's blow haunted her, and fear — 
 the fear that somehow he would overtake her 
 even before she reached the shelter of Susan's 
 little home at Bridgwater. This was why she 
 did not realise till the porter opened the cab 
 door that she was at least five minutes too late 
 for* her train. 
 
 " I must wait for the next," she said. 
 
 By some accident her box slipped as it was 
 being lifted from the cab and fell on to the 
 pavement ; the broken lock gave way, the lid 
 was twisted aside and one of the hinges 
 wrenched from its bearings. 
 
 " I am awfully sorry, miss," the porter said 
 apologetically, pushing back the contents of 
 the trunk. "It was quite an accident. I'll 
 tie a bit of rope round it." He carried it into 
 the station and then turned round. "Why, 
 the next train doesn't go for the next two hours 
 and a half, miss. You'll have time to get it 
 mended. There's a shop not two minutes off." 
 
 "Oh ! it doesn't matter," she said ; "it can 
 be mended at Bridgwater," and sat down in the 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 137 
 
 waiting-room. A half -frightened sense of ad- 
 venture came over her. She had never been a 
 journey alone in her life before, and the fact 
 that she was going to take it without the 
 knowledge of anyone who had control over her 
 made the little one to Susan seem a daring 
 thing to undertake. She felt as if a terrible 
 penalty must await it, but the penalty would 
 not come, at any rate, till the end of a week. 
 She counted the days to Mr. Belcher's return. 
 Six whole ones before he would drive up in a 
 hansom to Montague Place with Dottel — poor 
 ugly Dottel — on the seat growling and looking 
 out at the people passing by. He would ask 
 for her and hear that she had gone to Bridg- 
 water without his leave, without telling him, 
 without his money, for she had left the two 
 pounds on the mantelpiece in the dining-room. 
 She wondered if he would telegraph or write or 
 come. "But I won't go back," she thought. 
 " I will stay with Susan all my life or hide my- 
 self somewhere else." Then, stunned and 
 dazed at the events of the morning, she fell 
 
138 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 half asleep, while some jibbering fiend whis- 
 pered to her, " You'll have to go back — you'll 
 have to go back — he'll make you, and then 
 he'll treat you a thousand times worse. Some 
 day he'll kill you." 
 
 " He won't," she answered in a dream, "for 
 I will kill myself." 
 
 "You will never do that," the fiend said, 
 "for you want to live ; and if he does not kill 
 you, you'll have to live years— and years— and 
 years." Then a voice in the distance, that was 
 wholly different, and seemed to belong to some 
 pitying soul that stretched out its arms to her 
 and was sorry, tried to comfort her. " The 
 world is very beautiful," it said ; "you wanted 
 to walk all over it ; it is full of joy and sorrow 
 and work to do, and somewhere in it someone 
 has need of you, just as Mrs. Oswell said." 
 The tears came into her eyes, and her throat 
 was choked by a sob. 
 
 "I know, I know; but I am stunned and 
 blind and afraid," she answered. "What can 
 I do ?— where shall I go ?— oh, take me and hide 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 139 
 
 me away from the life I have known, and let 
 me be happy — just a little bit happy and safe, 
 and hidden from him." She put her head 
 down her breast, in order to show no sign 
 while the people passed to and fro, each one 
 full of his or her own concerns. Then there 
 came back to her like a message out of the 
 past, with a little reproach in it for not having 
 understood it at the time, 'Mr. Os well's talk at 
 Windermere about the boats to the Mediter- 
 ranean, and the little places along the coast 
 that his wife had despised. She held her 
 breath as she thought of them. It seemed a 
 daring, desperate thing to do, but she was a 
 daring, desperate woman. "If I could get to 
 one of them," she said to herself, " he would 
 never find me." It would be far better than 
 going to Susan. She thought of the blue sea 
 and the mountains, and Mrs. Oswell's descrip- 
 tion of how the people ate macaroni and basked 
 in the sun, and went to mass in the morning, 
 and sat round their little oil-lamps in the even- 
 ins:. It all came back as if it had been but 
 
140 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 yesterday. " He said that the boats started 
 from Southampton on Wednesdays. I will go 
 — I will go at once ! " she cried, starting up ; 
 but she did not know even how to get to South- 
 ampton, or from what station the train went, 
 and she was afraid to make many inquiries lest 
 Mr. Belcher should trace her, and drag her 
 back, gagged and pinioned. Chance befriend- 
 ed her: for once in her wanderings she had 
 passed a shipping office in Waterloo Place, 
 and it occurred to her that the best thing to 
 do would be to go there and inquire, even 
 though she missed the ship for this week. She 
 rescued her broken trunk from the heap of 
 luggage among which it had been placed, and, 
 breathless and almost irresponsible, drove off. 
 Four hours later she was at Southampton. 
 The boats sailed from there, surely enough, 
 though the day of sailing had been changed to 
 Thursday. She had decided that it was better 
 to fly from London at once, and taken her 
 passage to Genoa. She took it at the office in 
 Waterloo Place, and as Miss Katherine Kerr, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 141 
 
 for when the clerk had asked what name he 
 was to put on her ticket, she did not dare to 
 give her husband's ; moreover, she never want- 
 ed to be known by it again. 
 
 The Windermere experience taught her how 
 to enter the hotel at Southampton, and desper- 
 ation kept up her courage. She arrived in the 
 afternoon, and like a woman in a dream walked 
 about the place, looking across to the Isle of 
 Wight, and staring at the tall masts of the 
 ships and the busy life along the shore. Every- 
 thing was so strange to her, and like the set- 
 ting of a dream. She wondered if it were her 
 own self who walked about, or someone else 
 into whom she had been changed. As if some 
 impulse which was not her own controlled her, 
 she stopped before a trunk-shop and remem- 
 bered her broken box. The shop was full of 
 leather cases, P. and O. boxes, such as people 
 usually take on board ship for their cabins. 
 She had seen the passengers at the station 
 arriving with them from other ships. So she 
 entered, and bought one and a Gladstone bag, 
 
U2 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 and then, trying to imagine what else she 
 needed to make her resemble an ordinary 
 traveller, became possessed of wraps and other 
 things that helped to disguise her if here- 
 after Mr. Belcher tried to trace her by de- 
 scription. All this was done by chance or 
 fate rather than intention of hers. The old 
 box was given to the chambermaid, who, see- 
 ing that Katherine was young and sad, for 
 some sympathetic reason told her that in a 
 week's time she was going to America to 
 keep house for a brother whose wife had 
 died. 
 
 In the night, that first night she had ever 
 been adrift in the world, with no one having 
 knowledge of her whereabouts, some sort of 
 reaction overtook her. The thing she was 
 doing seemed so unbelievable when she calmly 
 considered it. She was running away from 
 home, from everybody who knew her ; she 
 was going out into the strange world alone, 
 among people she had never seen, and to some 
 place of which she did not even know the 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 143 
 
 name, and that was only a vague dream to 
 her. She sat up in bed and looked out into 
 the darkness, and considered her position in 
 sheer astonishment. " Perhaps I ought to 
 have gone to Uncle Robert," she thought. 
 But she knew that, though he had given her 
 two hundred pounds in case of an emergency, 
 he would sternly disapprove of her conduct. 
 "A woman must submit to the authority of 
 her husband," he would have told her, and 
 sent her back. Or Susan ? Susan would send 
 her back, too, cowed and submissive. She 
 was quite right not to go to Bridgwater. She 
 wished she had written to Mr. Belcher before 
 leaving his house, and told him that he was 
 free, that she would never trouble him again 
 nor cost him anything, and that he might 
 marry anyone else if he liked, for he should 
 never see her again. It would have been a 
 good thing to do. She ought to have thought 
 of it in London, for presently she would 
 not dare to write lest the postmarks be- 
 trayed her hiding-place. But it did not 
 10 
 
144 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 matter. He would only be glad that she 
 was gone, and go on with his life contentedly 
 enough. 
 
 "I will never go back," she said aloud. It 
 was not as if she had made him happy, or as 
 if he had liked her or needed her. She had 
 only been in his way. If she had stayed with 
 him he would have broken her heart, or else 
 —and she looked up as if she were listening 
 to something ; it was the recognition of a 
 strange possibility in her heart, and she could 
 hardly believe it — or else he would have roused 
 her and made her a bad and cruel woman, and 
 some day she might have killed him. She 
 understood now how it was that dreadful 
 things were done. Oh, it was terrible ! she 
 thought. ~No people in the world ought to 
 marry unless they felt that if no ceremony at 
 all had ever been known they would have 
 lived together just the same all their lives be- 
 cause they could not bear to live apart. That 
 would be marriage, but they were not married 
 — he and she — and she would never say that 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 145 
 
 they were again. When she had arrived 
 at this conclusion, she put her head 
 down on the pillow once more and tried 
 to sleep ; but she dreamt that Mr. Belcher 
 was sending down a shower of blows 
 upon her, and awoke to realise with shud- 
 dering thankfulness that she was beyond their 
 reach. 
 
 She went on board as early as possible the 
 next day, and breathed freely as she went 
 over the gangway. The stewardess told her 
 that, as there were so few passengers, she 
 could have a cabin to herself. The possibil- 
 ity of a companion had not occurred to her, 
 but she recognised the danger she had escaped. 
 She tried to stay on deck and watch the hurry 
 and bustle of getting away, but it was no good 
 — she could not bear it. She went to her cabin 
 and shut the door and sat on the sofa berth 
 beneath the port-hole, and looked at her new 
 P. and 0. box and the bag beside it, and trem- 
 bled with exhaustion— the exhaustion of con- 
 tinual excitement, of fear and daring. There 
 
146 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 were voices and footsteps coming on board, 
 and the loud click-clicking of the crane hoist- 
 ing bales of goods on to the deck. Then the 
 donkey-engine began, and presently the ropes 
 were gathered in and the captain's stentorian 
 voice gave orders from the bridge ; it was like 
 music to Katherine's ears. More going up and 
 down and crowding and talking, the occasional 
 rattle of a glass or dropping of some heavy 
 load, a shriek from the funnel and the stop- 
 page of the donkey-engine, a tremulous feeling 
 that shook the boat, and the rushing of the 
 water at the side. 
 
 "We have started," she cried, and rose to 
 her feet, trembling with excitement again. 
 She threw off her gloves and hat, and, kneel- 
 ing upon the berth, looked out of the port- 
 hole. Yes, they had started. The shore was 
 receding farther and farther from the ship. 
 She looked at the widening sea with a strange, 
 unbelieving joy. An indescribable sense of 
 security came over her ; a sob came into her 
 throat. Suddenly her eye caught a gleam 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 147 
 
 of gold ; it was the wedding-ring on her 
 third ringer. With a quick movement 
 she drew it off and flung it into the wa- 
 ter. "It is all over," she cried, "and I am 
 free ! " 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 Four days — a long draught of freedom and 
 contentment. The sea had been rough enough, 
 but it was deepest blue now, and the sunshine 
 was pricking it everywhere with gold. Light 
 and warmth everywhere, while a happy breeze 
 went by, touching the travellers on its way. 
 Katherine's face had lost the hunted look it 
 wore the day she came on board. The cap- 
 tain stared at her with undisguised admira- 
 tion, and wondered what might be her history. 
 Her fellow-passengers were disposed to be 
 friendly. But there was a natural dignity 
 that stood her in good stead, and helped her 
 to keep them at a distance. " Sensible girl," 
 a middle-aged man going out to Venice said 
 to himself ; "she knows her own business and 
 
 (148) 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 149 
 
 means to mind it." The ship arrived at Gi- 
 braltar on the fifth day, and the passengers 
 went ashore for a few hours. It was early- 
 morning ; the market was crowded, the main 
 street full of life. Katherine hesitated ; she 
 was half afraid, but she remembered that she 
 was by herself, and hoped to be so forever, 
 and gathered courage. She walked a little 
 way towards Europa Point, then the courage 
 fled ; she turned round quickly and went back. 
 "Not yet, not yet," she said to herself. "I 
 know it is all beautiful and strange, but I am 
 blind and deaf still, and feel safe nowhere but 
 on board." The ship was deserted ; nearly 
 everyone was ashore. She sat on deck and 
 watched the Rock and its wonderful gardens, 
 which were a mass of bloom, and the people 
 moving to and fro, and she looked across at 
 the African coast on the other side and thought 
 how wonderful it was to see the edge of an- 
 other quarter of the world. Mr. Belcher and 
 Montague Place seemed to have passed out of 
 her life, but the events of the last week had 
 
150 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 left her tired. By and by she would feel 
 better. 
 
 The day wore on, and the passengers began 
 to return. "They will ask me questions if I 
 stay here," she thought, and went down to her 
 cabin again — that blessed little cabin in which 
 she had sealed her freedom when she flung her 
 wedding ring through the port-hole. It was as 
 if she had drawn her pen across a terrible 
 chapter in her life that had only by some dire 
 chance been written on her memory. It was 
 so good to lie on the sofa, with the port-hole 
 open, to feel the sweet air coming in— air that 
 Mr. Belcher had never breathed in his life — 
 and all the sounds of happy life from the 
 shore. She heard voices as of arrivals, and 
 heavy luggage being carried on board — 
 quantities of it. It was put down with a 
 thud on the lower deck, ready for carry- 
 ing below or into the cabins. There was 
 a light footstep, and a woman's voice said 
 merrily : 
 
 " What a clean little ship it is ! We shall 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 151 
 
 enjoy our three days on board her," as it went 
 past Katherine's cabin-door. 
 
 " As long as the Immortal doesn't mind it, 
 I don't care," a man answered. "If he does 
 mind it, and he's going to be next us, I do." 
 
 "Look after the Mummy, George darling, 
 and I'll take care of the Immortal," the wom- 
 an, whose voice seemed familiar to Katherine > 
 answered back. Then she heard no more- 
 only the sound of the donkey-engine begin- 
 ning again, and more footsteps and voices 
 and confusion and hurrying, and she knew 
 that the ship was being made ready to move. 
 She longed for it to go on. She had discov- 
 ered that she loved the sea and board-ship ; it 
 made her feel like an infant being rocked in a 
 huge cradle by a wise and loving mother ; she 
 would be sorry when they reached Genoa, but 
 that was three days ahead — three good days 
 of life to live. How beautiful it was to be 
 alone ! "I should like to spend a lifetime in 
 this dear ship at sea," she thought. Then she 
 looked up though the port-hole again. The 
 
152 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 donkey-engine had stopped, the Rock was 
 going backwards, the ship had started. She 
 waited another hour in her cabin, then put on 
 a shady hat and went on deck. There were 
 only two or three people about, the middle- 
 aged man was reading a novel, and the Ger- 
 man husband and wife who had come on board 
 at Southampton stood watching Gibraltar as 
 the ship sped on away from it. Suddenly she 
 came upon an old lady sitting by the wheel- 
 house on a deck-chair ; a shawl was wrapped 
 round her shoulders, a railway-rug had been 
 put carefully over her knees. 
 
 u This must be the Mummy," she thought. 
 A closely written letter was pinned to the rail- 
 way-rug, so that it might not blow away : 
 its owner read it again and again while she 
 knitted. She looked up as Katherine passed, 
 and her ball of brown worsted rolled on to the 
 ground. Katherine picked it up, and saw by 
 chance that the letter pinned to the railway- 
 rug was dated from Simla. 
 
 " Thank you," the old lady said. She was 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 153 
 
 not very old — sixty, perhaps — but she looked 
 delicate and even feeble. She had grave dark 
 eyes and a sallow complexion, and quantities 
 of soft grey hair, half hidden in an old-fash- 
 ioned white lace cap. But above all there was 
 something stately about her. " What a beau- 
 tiful face ! " Katherine thought to herself, as 
 she turned away. U I wish my mother had 
 lived and looked like that, and had loved me." 
 Two people came up the companion and passed 
 by her ; she did not see their faces, but they 
 were evidently young. The man was tall and 
 soldierly, the woman was graceful. They 
 went to the old lady. 
 
 " Are you all right? " asked the man affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 " I've arranged all your things in your 
 cabin," said the woman, and again the voice 
 sounded familiar, " the Immortal is happy, and 
 so are we." Katherine walked the length of 
 the ship and came back to meet the strangers 
 face to face ; with a little cry of surprise she 
 recognised one of them and hesitated. 
 
154 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "Kathy!" The speaker was pretty and 
 piquant : she held up her hands with delight 
 and surprise. " My dear Thing! How did 
 you arrive here ? Don' t you know me ? I was 
 Alice Irvine, and went to Mrs. Barrett's." A 
 little dismay took hold of Katherine, though 
 her face lighted up with pleasure. "I won- 
 dered what had become of you," her friend 
 continued. " I should have gone to your 
 castle, only I know that the Ogre didn't allow 
 visitors." 
 
 "I thought you were in India," Katherine 
 said, ' ' and I am so glad to see you. You were 
 the only friend I ever had except Mrs. Bar- 
 rett," she added with unconscious pathos. 
 
 " We were in India, of course, but we went 
 back just a year ago, so that the baby might 
 be born in its native land — in English native 
 land, you know. It's downstairs with the 
 ayah. And this is George ; his other name is 
 Alford, and so is mine, but he's much nicer 
 when you call him by his Christian name. I 
 have been married four years." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 155 
 
 " What a long time ! " 
 
 "Well, I was much older than you, dear. 
 I see you are not married yet," and she looked 
 down at Katherine's ringless finger. "Now 
 speak to George, and shake hands — you two." 
 
 " I have often heard of you, Miss Kerr," he 
 said, doing as he was told. "How was it you 
 never wrote to us ? " 
 
 "Because I never wrote to her, she lived in 
 a castle with an Ogre," his wife explained. 
 " What has become of him, Kathy ? " 
 
 "He has gone to Australia to look after 
 some grandchildren who have turned up." 
 
 " And left you alone ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Katherine faintly, wondering 
 what she had better do. She could not ex- 
 plain on the spot that she was running away 
 from her husband. 
 
 "I didn't go to Woolwich this time," Mrs. 
 Alford went on ; " there was not a soul I knew 
 left- there, and I saw Mrs. Barrett's death in 
 the paper, so I didn't go to Shooter's Hill." 
 
 "I wonder if she saw my marriage in the 
 
156 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 paper," Katherine thought. " If she was in 
 India she probably didn't. Where are you 
 going % " she asked aloud. 
 
 "At present, my dear, we are going to 
 Genoa, in order to take George's mother so 
 far," and Alice nodded at the knitter. 
 " She looks such a sweet old lady." 
 " We came to England on her account as 
 well as the coming baby's. She is a dear! 
 But she is delicate, and can't get about much. 
 When we had to go to Gibraltar, she went with 
 us ; and we had a lovely winter," she sighed in 
 a voice of deep contentment. "Now we are 
 suddenly sent back to India — Heaven knows 
 why. I like it, of course, because my people 
 are there ; but George is sorry to leave his 
 mother, though he has a brother at Lahore to 
 console him. We are to pick up the P. and 
 0. at Brindisi, and have left our heavy lug- 
 gage to go by it from Gibraltar. Meanwhile, 
 we have skipped on in advance in this little 
 boat, in order to take the Mummy as far as 
 Genoa, and stay a week with her there. She 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 157 
 
 is on her road to summer quarters — she wants 
 to stay abroad another six months." 
 
 " All alone ? " said Katherine, as they sat 
 down on one of the side seats to continue their 
 talk. Travelling was not such a venturous 
 thing, after all, she thought, if a delicate old 
 lady could go about by herself. 
 
 " Yes, alas ! That's the sad part of it. A 
 niece was going with her, but she broke down 
 at the last moment, married a man who looked 
 like a nigger, and went to China instead. 
 Some people have no morality," 'she added, 
 as her husband sauntered back to them. "I 
 think it makes them more amusing, but George 
 would be shocked if I said it before him. He's 
 a beautiful dear," she added, looking up at him 
 saucily, "but he is the properest person in the 
 world ; so is his mother, so is Jim — the most 
 adorable Jim." 
 
 "Goose," said her husband. "What are 
 you talking about ? " 
 
 "I don't know," she said; "I never do — 
 it's too much trouble. Oh ! I was saying that 
 
158 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 you and the Mummy and Jim are all three 
 very strait-laced, and that a little crookedness 
 would be rather amusing. But I only say it 
 to shock you, dear," and she made a face at 
 him, "and I don't know in the least how it 
 came into this conversation." 
 
 "I think they are in love with each other," 
 Katherine said to herself, with the odd sense 
 of witnessing a new phase of human nature. 
 For even the Oswells, always on easy, happy 
 terms, did not look at each other as these two 
 people did. 
 
 "And now," said Alice Alford, picking up 
 the thread of her talk with difficulty, "the 
 Mummy has got to manage her summer 
 alone till she can persuade a stray rela- 
 tion to come out to her. That's why we 
 are taking her as far as we can on our way, 
 and left Gibraltar sooner than we should have 
 done." 
 
 " Why don't you take her to India % " 
 
 " Her health won't stand it, poor darling ! 
 or she would like it. Her other boy is there. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 159 
 
 She has only two children — George and Jim ; 
 and she worships Jim, who has a civil appoint- 
 ment out in Lahore. She is miserable because 
 he has been very ill ; but he is getting better, 
 and gone to Simla. Simla is the place where 
 all lively Indians under thirty go to when they 
 die — if their ghosts don't care to come home — 
 not that Jim is going to die, bless him. He is 
 only twenty-seven, and as handsome as he is 
 high, which is five foot ten. All the same, I 
 prefer George myself. Now, Kathy, tell me, 
 where are you going? I always called her 
 Kathy," and she looked up at her husband 
 again, "because there is something austere 
 about Katherine — which doesn't suit her. 
 Come, give an account of yourself. You have 
 told me nothing yet." 
 
 " You haven't given her a chance," Mr. 
 Alford laughed, and sauntered off so that he 
 might not interfere with confidences. Then 
 Katherine explained that she was going to 
 Genoa, and that she did not know what she 
 
 was going to do afterwards. 
 11 
 
160 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "You poor thing! Are you left loose on 
 the world ? And are you rich \ " 
 
 "Yes, I am left loose on the world, and 
 have all my fortune with me." 
 
 "Good heavens! Is it much? We'll rob 
 you." 
 
 "It's a little more than two hundred and 
 fifty pounds." 
 
 "Has the Ogre cast you adrift with that 
 noble sum ? " 
 
 "He hasn't cast me adrift," Katherine 
 answered; "he'll give me more if I want it." 
 
 "And why have you left Shooter's Hill ! " 
 Mrs. Alford asked. "And why didn't you go 
 to Australia with the Ogre ? " 
 
 "The lease of the house ran out, and the 
 Ogre did not want to take me to Australia." 
 
 " I see ; so he gave you some money and 
 left you to look after yourself. Well, I don't 
 think it's proper for you to be roving about 
 the world without a chaperon. But come and 
 look at the * Immortal ! ' it's the beautif ulest 
 Immortal that ever you did see." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. l(Jl 
 
 "You seem so happy," Katherine said, 
 much as she had once said to Mrs. Oswell. 
 
 " Happy ? " her friend answered, with more 
 gravity than she had displayed before. "I 
 should think so ! Why, I'm married to the 
 dearest boy on earth, and have the sweetest 
 baby, and a grey-haired angel for a mother- 
 in-law, and all the other belongings are perr 
 fection. Heaven will be thrown away on me 
 when I get to it. I have everything I want in 
 this world," and she gave a sigh of content. 
 " Don't you think George is very handsome \ " 
 
 " Very," Katherine said, with a laugh in 
 her blue eyes. 
 
 "He's just the sweetest, beautifulest old 
 darling in the world," his wife remarked, with 
 extreme satisfaction. "I think I know all 
 about you, Kathy, dear," she went on. "The 
 Ogre has deserted you ; given you some money 
 and left you to look after yourself. You can't 
 be very happy, I'm afraid." 
 
 "Not very, perhaps," Katherine answered 
 gently. "I feel like a waif. But it is a 
 
162 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 beautiful world," she added, "and I like 
 going about looking at it. I always feel 
 as if it were my own big estate — it is as 
 much mine as anyone else's — and I'm so proud 
 of it ! " 
 
 " What a funny idea!" Mrs. Alford said. 
 "But you always had funny ideas. Do you 
 remember the crane, and how you used to 
 think that Anne Boleyn danced with her head 
 in her pocket ? " And then they laughed and 
 went to see the Immortal. It was a soft little 
 thing, with yellow hair and blinking blue 
 eyes. Katherine stooped and kissed it, and 
 looked at it curiously. 
 
 " May I hold it for a moment 1 " she asked, 
 and took it in her arms, and felt afraid and 
 like a stranger in the world, unused to ordi- 
 nary human experiences. "What a wonderful 
 thing it must be to have a little child of one's 
 very own ! " she said. " Only I think one 
 ought to love — to love its father very 
 much." 
 
 "Why, of course," Alice said, staring 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 163 
 
 at her. " If you didn't, it would be hor- 
 rible." 
 
 " She's awfully lovely, darling," George 
 Alford said to his wife that evening. "Her 
 face is like a lily on a long stalk, and there's 
 something fascinating about her. She ought 
 not to be going about by herself." 
 
 "She says she is a waif, and going to live 
 at some little Italian place." 
 
 " She and the mother had better join on." 
 
 Then Mrs. Alford clapped her hands. 
 " George," she said, " you are a wonder ! You 
 always think brilliantly, even by chance. 
 Why shouldn't she and the mother really join 
 on ? It would be a comfort. Let us stick to 
 Katherine and make the mother take a liking 
 to her. It will simplify matters beautifully." 
 
 Before they reached Genoa Katherine was 
 as intimate with the Alfords as though she 
 had seen them constantly all her life; but it 
 was they who did most of the talking, for she 
 was naturally reserved, and her position made 
 
164 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 her more so, though in her heart she said 
 many things to them of which her lips were 
 silent. Had Alice not been married she would 
 have probably told her everything ; as it was, 
 that lady's chance remark about the Alfords' 
 love of propriety, for one thing, prevented it. 
 Besides, the life behind her was finished ; she 
 could no more speak of it than she could open 
 a grave and hold up the dead within. She did 
 not feel that she had committed a crime in 
 what she had done, but rather that she was 
 justified. Her marriage had been a mere 
 mockery of one with a man of whom she could 
 not think without a shudder. Thank God, she 
 had left him ! She looked forward, and not 
 behind, feeling that with every hour that 
 passed she was journeying towards life and 
 love and freedom : already she was tasting 
 their sweetness. She was almost happy — for 
 she chased away every disturbing memory — 
 for the first time in her life. 
 
 She delighted in the Alfords, in Alice's 
 ceaseless chatter and George's slow and in- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 165 
 
 dulgent tones, in the little soft Immortal, and 
 above all in the old lady. She had never 
 known a beautiful old lady before. She liked 
 to look at her face and watch her little stately 
 manners that were so lovable, yet that would 
 somehow make it impossible, Katherine felt it 
 even then, to give her a difficult confidence. 
 She liked to sit by her and watch her knit, and 
 hear her talk of her other boy in India, the 
 " adorable Jim," as Alice called him, and to 
 w T ait upon her with those little services that a 
 girl finds it so sweet to pay to one who is old 
 and picturesque. 
 
 "I wish you would go with her somewhere, 
 Kathy dear," Alice said; u she is all alone 
 in Europe ; don't you think you could join 
 your plans to hers 1 " 
 
 "I should like it," Katherine answered. 
 " She's so beautiful with her white hair and 
 stately figure ; but I can't think that she 
 would care to have me with her." 
 
 "My dear, she has taken an enormous 
 fancy to you," Alice answered decisively. 
 
166 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " But she knows so little of me." 
 
 "But I know so much, and I've told her 
 everything about you. She says you look so 
 good, and altogether has taken a violent fancy 
 to you. Goodness goes a long way with her, 
 she and George — oh! and with dear old Jim, 
 too, out in Lahore." 
 
 "Alice, I can't " she began, but George 
 
 Alford appeared. 
 
 "George, she's rather refractory," Mrs. 
 Alford said. " Come and tell her she must do 
 as she's told, and that it is strictly improper of 
 her to be going about the world alone." 
 
 "Miss Kerr," the old lady said that even- 
 ing, "my children tell me that you will be con- 
 tent to join your plans with mine for the sum- 
 mer?" 
 
 "If you care to have me," Katherine an- 
 swered meekly, feeling like an impostor, but 
 resolutely putting the feeling from her. And 
 so it was settled. They stayed at Genoa till 
 the George Alfords went on to Brindisi to meet 
 their P. and O. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 167 
 
 Mrs. Alford turned to Katherine as her chil- 
 dren disappeared. "My dear," she said, "I 
 am glad they have left me you, for I feel that 
 we shall love each other." The tears came into 
 Katherine's eyes so that she could not speak, 
 but the old lady saw her face and was satisfied. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 In the year that Katherine journeyed to- 
 wards it, no horrible railway spoilt Generoso, 
 it was merely a beautiful mountain in Italian 
 Switzerland, with a good but simple hotel half 
 an hour from the summit, and a farm and a 
 few scattered dwellings for the peasants and 
 goatherds. The hotel was whitewashed out- 
 side, the lizards ran over it in the sunshine. 
 There was a little flight of stone steps leading 
 up to the entrance, over which hung the great 
 bell that clanged to announce an arrival. In 
 front was a plateau that formed some sort of 
 garden, and had a summer-house at either cor- 
 ner. But it is too well known, too well remem- 
 bered as it was before the "improvements" 
 came, to make description necessary. Kath- 
 
 (168) 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 169 
 
 erine and Mrs. Alford went up from Mendresio 
 after staying at the Italian lakes in late June. 
 It was a little early and chilly for a mountain- 
 place ; but the old lady took a sitting-room 
 with a fireplace — the only one on that floor — 
 and when the clouds hung about and no sun- 
 shine came to lift them into heaven or to carry 
 them down to the valley, they sat and warmed 
 themselves by the crackling wood. Then it 
 was that they talked of India ; of Alice and 
 her husband, who were at Bombay ; and of the 
 Immortal, who was growing more beautiful 
 every hour, so the weekly letter told them ; 
 and of Jim, who was slowly getting better. It 
 seemed to Katherine that though she had never 
 seen him that she knew Jim best of all, for his 
 mother loved him best, and never tired of talk- 
 ing about him. 
 
 There were but a few people at the hotel at 
 first, but as the days wore on more and more 
 arrived. Katherine used to watch for them, 
 and think how good it was to see them coming 
 up from the plains below, happy in their holi- 
 
170 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 day time ; or seeking health on the beautiful 
 mountain- top, with hope written on their faces. 
 For many invalids came round the winding 
 pathway : overworked men and delicate wom- 
 en ; and some who were like to die but did not 
 know it. 
 
 It was mid-August. The world was full of 
 summer and drowsy happiness : a deep blue 
 sky was overhead. The hotel was nearly full ; 
 but Mrs. Alford and Katherine kept to them- 
 selves, and were wholly satisfied with each 
 other. 
 
 "I do not want to talk to these strangers," 
 the old lady said. "You never know who 
 people are in hotels, nor what burden one may 
 be taking on one's self with new acquaintance. 
 I am very shy of making any." 
 
 " You trusted me " Katherine began. 
 
 "But Alice had known you so long, my 
 dear. And then I loved your face. I felt that 
 you were good, and goodness is an old-fash- 
 ioned virtue that appeals to me." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 171 
 
 "I'm not good," she answered, "but I want 
 to be, and I will be if I can." 
 
 "I remember once having a terrible lesson," 
 Mrs. Alford went on. " It was when my dear 
 sister and I were in San Remo some years ago 
 — the year the boys first went to India — we 
 made acquaintance with a Mrs. Simpson. Such 
 a pretty woman, with a little boy of six to 
 whom she was devoted. We thought she was 
 a widow, but it turned out that she had run 
 away from her husband " 
 
 " Perhaps her husband had ill-treated 
 her?" 
 
 "That would be no excuse, my dear. A 
 woman must stay with him even if he ill-treats 
 her, just as she must put up with her life even 
 if it is full of pain. She has no business to run 
 away from the one nor to dispose of the other." 
 
 " Suppose a girl were made to marry a man 
 she disliked 3 " 
 
 "It isn't done in these days," the old lady 
 said, shaking her head. 
 
 "But if she did marry him ? " 
 
172 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "Then she must keep to it," the old lady- 
 said. "It is part of a woman's duty to prove 
 that marriage is sacred and binding, and every- 
 thing she does to weaken it she does to the dis- 
 advantage of her whole sex." 
 
 " But if the man doesn't love her 1 " 
 
 " She should try to win him, or bear her lot 
 in patience." 
 
 Then Katherine thought — " You must never 
 know ; I must never tell you." And the desire 
 to do so passed out of her heart. "There are 
 many ways of looking at the same things, and 
 each may be a right one, but the person who 
 sees from one point cannot sometimes see from 
 another," she thought as she looked up to 
 watch the lizards running up the house in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 "Katherine, do you never get any letters?" 
 Mrs. Alford asked. 
 
 "No," Katherine answered, "my uncle is 
 in Australia. There is an old servant, but she 
 does not even know where I am." She gave a 
 long sigh, for she often wondered how Susan 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 173 
 
 was, and whether Mr. Belcher had sought her 
 there. 
 
 u You must be very lonely, dear child ? " 
 
 "I have been, but I like it," Katherine an- 
 swered. "I like being with you, but I don't 
 want to be with anyone else, and when you 
 go back to England I shall stay somewhere 
 alone and out of it." 
 
 " I hope one day you will marry," Mrs. Al- 
 ford said tenderly. "Then perhaps you will 
 be very happy." 
 
 "Oh, no!" Katherine answered shudder- 
 ingly. "I know people are happy — I have 
 seen them. Alice and George are. But mar- 
 riage is a terrible thing : it is for one's whole 
 life." 
 
 " Some day, if you love anyone very much," 
 Mrs. Alford answered sadly, "you will think 
 how short a time that is, and pray that it may 
 be for a whole eternity too." 
 
 A still and sultry afternoon. Mrs. Alford 
 was writing letters by herself. Katherine was 
 
174 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 leaning out of her bed-room window — a narrow 
 slip of a room, looking towards the south and 
 the plains of Lombardy. From it she could 
 see two or three turnings of the pathway by 
 which the people came up from Mendresio. 
 They walked up in those days, or rode on 
 mules, or were carried in chairs by perspiring 
 porters ; and the great bell rang when they 
 were seen on the last turn of the pathway be- 
 fore they reached the plateau. Katherine used 
 to look down from her window and watch them 
 come towards the little double flight of stone 
 steps before the door, while the landlord hur- 
 ried out to welcome them and the mules were 
 unloaded. Once she thought how terrible it 
 would be to see anyone arrive who had known 
 her formerly, and for one moment the thought 
 paralysed her ; then she remembered that Mr. 
 Belcher did not travel, and that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Oswell were certain to be in England, so she 
 put aside her fear and gave herself up to the 
 glorious summer and all it had brought her. 
 She was so happy, so full through and through 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 175 
 
 of sweet content. She was living the natural 
 life of a girl who is with her mother : she was 
 loved and cared for and spoken to with caress- 
 ing words for the first time in her life ; she 
 drank in joy every moment of her life and 
 wished that she could live it over and over 
 again. 
 
 She looked across to Lombardy, thinking 
 that she ought to have made a sketch that 
 morning for Mrs. Alford to enclose in a letter 
 to India, and a little bit of white, low down in 
 the distance, caught her eye. It was the white 
 linen cap of a stranger who was coming up the 
 pathway. He was twenty minutes off yet, and 
 she knew that he would be out of sight again 
 in a moment. She reached down the opera- 
 glass the Alfords had given her at Genoa and 
 looked at him. He was on foot, but a mule 
 carried his luggage, and the mule-driver lagged 
 behind. She could tell that the stranger was 
 a tall man. He wore tweed clothes, and a 
 glass was slung across his shoulder. She did 
 
 not see his face; he kept it turned towards the 
 
 12 
 
176 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 plain till he was lost among the fir-trees, and 
 she knew that a good ten minutes must pass 
 before he emerged from them on the pathway 
 higher up. And then she remembered the 
 woman ill with consumption in the next room 
 but one to hers, who had said by accident one 
 day that she had left off having afternoon tea 
 because it mounted up her bill. Katherine 
 guessed that she was poor from the tone in 
 which she said it, though she tried to make 
 it disagreeable in order to disguise her pov- 
 erty. Ever since at four o'clock she had 
 made some tea, using Mrs. Alford's tea-bas- 
 ket, which she had borrowed, and some tea 
 she had bought herself at Genoa after finding 
 how bad can be the mixture that goes by the 
 name of tea on board ship. She rang for the 
 milk and lighted the spirit-lamp to boil the 
 water. Then she thought of the stranger 
 coming up the pathway, and went back to the 
 window. He was just by the nearer turn. She 
 watched him for full two minutes, and made 
 out that he was young and good-looking. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 177 
 
 " Five minutes more and he will be here," she 
 said to herself, and went on with her tea-mak- 
 ing. She carried a cup to Mrs. Alford at the 
 end of the corridor, and poured out one for the 
 consumptive woman, and as she did so there 
 was the clang, clang, of the arrival bell. She 
 went to the window and looked out. The 
 stranger was crossing the plateau that had a 
 summer-house at either corner. She turned 
 away and knocked at the door of Miss Ben- 
 nett's room. 
 
 " Come in!" 
 
 "I've brought you some tea." 
 
 "Oh ! thank you," the woman said sourly, 
 "but I'm not sure that it agrees with me." 
 She got up from the sofa on which she had 
 been lying. "It's very good of you to take so 
 much trouble," she said, as though she was 
 half bored by it. But she took the tea in her 
 thin hands and gulped it down eagerly. 
 
 u I will come for the cup in a few minutes," 
 Katherine said, and hurried to her own room. 
 Walking straight to the window she looked 
 
178 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 out. The stranger had just arrived. She 
 looked down, trying to see his face, not expect- 
 ing that he would see her. But, as though he 
 had known that she was there, he raised his 
 head, and they took a long look at each other. 
 She knew him directly ; she had often seen his 
 photograph. It was Jim Alford. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 Katherine heard him come up the cocoa- 
 nut-covered stairs and go along the corridor ; 
 someone was showing him the way. She 
 listened to his footsteps, and imagined his 
 face. He stopped at the end of the corridor, 
 knocked, and called " Mother." Then she 
 knew for a certainty that she was right. 
 
 Mrs. Alford opened the door quickly and 
 fell into her son's arms. u Oh, my dear," she 
 said, " this is a surprise." 
 
 "I thought you would say so," he laughed. 
 "I told them not to tell you that I was com- 
 ing, I wanted to drop down upon you un- 
 awares." 
 
 u My dear, oh, my dear, my dear!" she 
 said again as she pulled him into the room and 
 
 (179) 
 
180 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 pushed him gently into one of the velvet- 
 covered chairs with arms, beside the window, 
 "is it really you?" 
 
 " Yes— at least it seems like it." 
 
 "And are you better?" she asked, looking 
 at him as though she could hardly believe that 
 she was awake. 
 
 "Oh! I'm all right," he answered a little 
 uneasily, "though I have been pretty well rid- 
 dled with fever, I can tell you. However, it 
 has got me six months' leave, so I oughtn't to 
 grumble. Six months, Mummy ! think of that 
 and sing a psalm. We can go to Jericho to- 
 gether if we like." 
 
 "We'll go to England, my son, and that 
 will be better. Tell me about your illness, and 
 how you managed the journey." 
 
 "Not much to tell," he said cheerily. "I 
 fell sick and was like to die ; managed with 
 some diplomacy and a good many certificates 
 to get leave. Went by easy stages to Bombay, 
 took ship and sailed to Brindisi, crawled along 
 here. That's all. George and Alice send their 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. igl 
 
 love ; the baby's a bouncer, and more beauti- 
 ful than ever, so they'll tell you. Spent a day 
 with them all in Bombay. What have you 
 done with the pretty girl they found for you — 
 is she here still? Alice's friend, I mean." 
 
 " Yes, she's here, — and will be so glad to 
 see you, my dear." 
 
 " Oh ! will she I That's your idea, Mummy; 
 If she's the one who put her head out of win- 
 dow as I arrived, I shall be glad to see her. 
 How long is she going to stay with you 1 " 
 
 "Till I go back to England in September, 
 unless you want me, dear boy, to go anywhere 
 with you. She's so good and unselfish, that 
 I'm sure she would give me up." 
 
 "That's all right, then. Now let us talk 
 about somebody else. I was so sorry about 
 your illness last winter, nearly came home, 
 with or without leave." He took his mother's 
 hands and kissed them. "Still it was a com- 
 fort to you, wasn't it, having George and Alice 
 and the baby % By Jove ! what a fuss people 
 make about a baby when they have one for the 
 
182 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 first time. It is such a pity they don't begin 
 with twins ; upon my word I think it would 
 keep them quieter. What is your pretty girl 
 called — Kathy something, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Katherine Kerr," the old lady said va- 
 cantly, too much overjoyed to do more than 
 look at him. " You must come and see her. 
 Oh, wait, I'll call her." 
 
 "No hurry, Mummy dear," he said, hold- 
 ing her back affectionately. " It's good 
 enough to see you." 
 
 She looked at him long and fondly. " You 
 are handsomer than ever," she said; "but 
 you don't look well." 
 
 "I shall soon," he answered. "I believe 
 you are more beautiful than ever, Mummy, 
 since we are paying compliments. What sort 
 of people are staying here ? " 
 
 " I haven't looked at them. You see, I 
 have Katherine." 
 
 " I shall call her Kathy." 
 
 " You must call her Miss Kerr." 
 
 "All right, Mummy, I'll mind my man- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 183 
 
 ners. Look here, I must go and do some un- 
 packing, and then we'll have a long talk if you 
 like. I forget what number the beggar said 
 my room was, but it's a floor low r er down, and 
 I daresay I shall find it." 
 
 "I'll come with you to the end of the 
 corridor, and we will knock at Katherine's 
 room. I want her to know how happy I am," 
 she said lovingly. 
 
 Katherine heard their footsteps stop by 
 her door, and, opening it, stood facing 
 them. 
 
 "I watched you coming up," she said. 
 " I'm glad you are here. Mrs. Alford has been 
 so anxious about you." She looked at Jim 
 with clear blue eyes that were tender enough 
 when they turned to his mother— it proved 
 their capacity, he thought. 
 
 "I saw you leaning out of the window," 
 he said merrily, "and guessed it was you. 
 Alice was always talking of you, and George 
 joined in the chorus." 
 
 "And the Immortal*" 
 
184 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "Only cried. No doubt he'll do better by 
 and by. I hope you like this place, Miss Kerr ; 
 it is very kind of you to take care of the Mum- 
 my. She wants someone to look after her." 
 He put his arm round Mrs. Alford's shoulder 
 as they walked away. 
 
 " You must take him some walks, my dear," 
 the old lady said, looking back. "She has 
 had to go alone, poor thing," she continued to 
 her son as they went down stairs. "For I am 
 not able to do much ; I was never a good 
 walker, you know." 
 
 "You weren't bad, not what we call a 
 
 strider, but " Then their voices were lost 
 
 in the distance. Katherine went back to her 
 room, and, sitting down with her arms folded, 
 looked out into space. 
 
 "He's very handsome," she said to herself. 
 "He's much better looking than George; and 
 how fond be is of his mother ! It is lovely to 
 see them together." Then just because her 
 heart was light and hungered to take a little 
 brightness somewhere, she went in to see the 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 185 
 
 consumptive woman again, and asked if she 
 could do anything for her. 
 
 " Would you like me to read aloud? — I 
 often read to Mrs. Alford. Perhaps it would 
 help you to go to sleep sometimes," she said 
 humbly. 
 
 "No, thank you. I never heard any read- 
 ing yet that satisfied me," said Miss Bennett 
 ungraciously. 
 
 "I can understand that," Katherine an- 
 swered. "I read some Browning to myself a 
 little while ago, but could not imagine a living 
 voice that would do him justice." 
 
 " I don't like Browning. You can take that 
 volume of him away, if you like," Miss Bennett 
 said, nodding to a book on the table. " I don't 
 want it. I found it in a railway carriage." 
 
 "You don't want it ? " 
 
 "I am not well enough for him. He did 
 not write for sick and tired people. Besides, 
 I dislike poetry. Prose is good enough for 
 anything worth saying." 
 
 "Oh ! don't say that," Katherine answered. 
 
186 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " Between poetry and prose there is the same 
 difference that there is between speaking and 
 singing." 
 
 " And speaking is better than singing," said 
 the woman, " unless it is better than any that 
 I ever heard. Poetry is never good enough, 
 and singing is never good enough. Nothing is 
 good enongh in the world. That is what I have 
 found," she added, with a long, weary sigh ; 
 "but I started expecting too much, and noth- 
 ing has satisfied me." 
 
 "I expected nothing," Katherine answered, 
 "and started knowing of nothing to expect, 
 but now everything seems to be growing more 
 and more beautiful as I journey on ; but is 
 there nothing I can do for you, Miss Bennett ? " 
 
 "Only take away the Browning, and those 
 flowers. Mrs. Ball, the woman with the thin 
 husband, brought them. I dislike flowers near 
 me ; it disturbs me to see them die." 
 
 "I never thought of that," said Katherine 
 gently; "I'll arrange them in my room and 
 you shall come and see them only while they 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 187 
 
 are fresh. It's too late for you to go to the 
 Bella Yista to-night, I know, but I'll come and 
 see if you are able to walk there in the morn- 
 ing. Good-bye, if we don't meet again— we sit 
 so far apart at dinner, and you have so many 
 friends at table that I never come near you 
 down stairs." 
 
 "Not friends," said Miss Bennett, as Kath- 
 erine was going out of the door, " and they are 
 only kind to me because " — she waited till the 
 door was shut — "they think I'm going to die." 
 
 Katherine went along the corridor to Mrs. 
 Alford, for she knew that Jim was still down 
 stairs. The old lady was standing up tall and 
 stately, as she always looked when she rose to 
 her feet. 
 
 "Just one moment to tell you how glad I 
 am," the girl said gently, and held out her 
 hands. "It was a beautiful surprise for you, 
 and I don't wonder that you love him so 
 much." 
 
 "My dear, there is no one like him in the 
 world — like him and my other boy ; but Jim is 
 
188 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 my youngest and has always loved me most, 
 and I am so proud of him." Her voice was 
 low and full of happiness. She took Kath- 
 erine in her arms, and kissed her as if from 
 thankfulness to the day for its portion of joy. 
 "He's the strongest man I ever knew, and as 
 tender as a woman." 
 
 "I could hear it in his voice," Katherine 
 answered, u and I am so glad for you — hush! 
 he is coming. I will go away till dinner-time." 
 She hurried softly along the corridor again, 
 passing Jim on her way. "Your mother is 
 waiting for you," she said, and turned a radi- 
 ant face to him. "You will have two hours 
 together before the dinner-bell rings," and she 
 passed on. " What a world it is ! " she thought, 
 as she entered her room again; "the human 
 beings in it are so wonderful: they fill one's 
 heart." She sat down with an unaccountable 
 happiness possessing her to think of the blessed 
 lines on which her lot had fallen. 
 
 The watch on the table beside her — it was 
 the one that Uncle Robert had given her — 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 139 
 
 pointed a quarter to six before she rose from 
 her reverie. "Dear Uncle Robert," she said, 
 as she noticed the time, "I wonder if you have 
 found your children. I wish I had been a bet- 
 ter companion to you all those years, but I was 
 so afraid of you, for pain and trouble had made 
 you stern. Perhaps some day I shall dare to 
 go to you." She brushed out her hair ; it was 
 long and dark, with a little natural curl in it 
 that made it fall softly on her forehead ; she 
 twisted it up into a large knot behind, as the 
 Greek women twisted theirs in centuries gone 
 by, and fastened into her waistband a little 
 bunch of the flowers Miss Bennett had de- 
 spised. Then she went back to the sick wom- 
 an. " Let me take you down," she said, u Mrs. 
 Alford has her son," and she drew Miss Ben- 
 nett's arm through hers. 
 
 "You can't like being troubled with so 
 helpless a creature," she grumbled. 
 
 "I am sorry — so sorry for you, but I am 
 glad to be near you, because I am strong, and 
 one's strength is like one's money," she 
 
190 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 laughed'; u to be handed on — there's such a 
 joy in spending it." She took Miss Bennett to 
 her place at the far end of the table, then went 
 to her own by Mrs. Alford. Jim entered five 
 minutes later and sat down on the other side 
 of the old lady. She was conscious of him 
 every moment ; it was like an intoxication. 
 She heard his voice each time he spoke, and 
 knew when he looked her way. To think that 
 he was going to stay there with them, every 
 day, perhaps for weeks to come, seemed the 
 strangest thing on earth. 
 
 They went out of doors after dinner. Kath- 
 erine tried to leave the mother and son to- 
 gether, but he came swiftly up to her as she 
 was taking a side path towards the farm. 
 
 "My mother thinks that if I ask you very 
 humbly you will, perhaps, take me to the Bella 
 Vista," he said. 
 
 " I will take you without the humility," she 
 answered; "but would you not like to stay 
 with her this first evening % " 
 
 " She says it will only take us twenty min- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 191 
 
 utes to get there and back, and then we can 
 drink our coffee with her." 
 
 "Then let us start," and they walked on 
 together. 
 
 "She's the handsomest girl I've seen these 
 five years," Jim Alford said to himself. 
 "Wonderful expression her face has — both 
 brightness and sorrow in it." 
 
 "How long are you going to stay?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I have six months' leave. My mother 
 talks of remaining here for a bit ; then we shall 
 go to England. When are you going home ? " 
 
 "I have no home," she answered with a 
 strange little smile, as though the knowledge 
 pleased her. 
 
 "I know," he answered; "Alice told me. 
 Your belongings consist of an ogre in the shape 
 of an uncle — the description is hers, of course, 
 not mine — who went to Australia." 
 
 "He isn't an ogre, though he did go to 
 Australia, and I am fond of him." 
 
 "Beg pardon," he laughed. "I daresay 
 
 13 
 
192 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 he's awfully nice, and personally I'm rather in- 
 clined to ogres, though he isn't one, you say. 
 Are you going to stay abroad all the winter ? " 
 
 u Yes, all the winter." 
 
 " Where?" 
 
 "I don't know yet ; I never look forward." 
 
 " Better not," he said with a gravity that 
 surprised her. "If the present is worth any- 
 thing it's better to live in it. You'll think me 
 an awful duffer, but I want to sit down on that 
 seat there, if you wouldn't mind. I have not 
 been through with my fever very long, and 
 that pull up to-day was rather a long one." 
 His face was pale, he was trembling with cold. 
 "It's nothing," he said presently, with a shud- 
 der ; "the plaguy thing comes back to torment 
 one now and then." 
 
 " You have been very ill, I know," she said 
 anxiously. 
 
 "HI! Nobody knew how bad I was. I 
 was afraid they would tell the poor Mummy. 
 As a matter of fact, I bothered about getting 
 the leave because I thought I should never see 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 193 
 
 her again. But the voyage did wonders for 
 me, and I daresay this place will set me up, 
 
 and the Mummy and " he was going to say 
 
 " you," but he stopped, and said " all of it." 
 He looked up at her gratefully. "It was 
 such a comfort to know that you were with 
 her." 
 
 "How did you know? You've only seen 
 me to-day." 
 
 "I know everything about you," he an- 
 swered. "All about Shooter's Hill, and the 
 crane, and his one leg, and Eltham Palace. 
 There, you see, I'm quite set up in your 
 history." 
 
 "And I know something about yours, but 
 not much," she answered; "you live at La- 
 hore and " 
 
 " That's enough : there isn't any more, ex- 
 cept that I have a house there and live in it all 
 by myself." 
 
 "You ought to get married," she said 
 simply. 
 
 "Never saw anybody yet I wanted to 
 
194 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 spend all my life with. Did you \ I believe I 
 could go a little bit farther, if you like." 
 
 " Let me give you an arm," she said with- 
 out a bit of coquetry. 
 
 " There's something awfully straight about 
 this girl," he thought, "and she's perfectly 
 beautiful to look at. — " Thank you," he said ; 
 " I will, if I can't get along. I'm all right at 
 present. Did you \ " 
 
 "Didl-what?" 
 
 11 Ever see anyone you wanted to spend all 
 your life with I " 
 
 "No, never," she answered fervently, 
 " never, but I think," she added, " that people 
 are very good and kind. I have felt that more 
 than anything else lately," she added, as if she 
 spoke from conviction rather than experience. 
 
 " Yes, I'm sure they are — uncommonly 
 good lot, on the whole — a few exceptions, of 
 course." 
 
 " Oh, yes; there are exceptions," and she 
 shuddered. 
 
 "Beastly shame," he thought: "someone 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 195 
 
 has helped her to find that out already. I 
 should like to know who it was. I'd make 
 things a bit uneasy for him or her. Hullo ! — 
 here we are ! " he exclaimed, as they came 
 upon the view at Bella Yista. "By George, it 
 is splendid ! I'd no idea that it was so fine." 
 They stood together, looking in silence on the 
 magnificence that had suddenly burst upon 
 them. 
 
 "It makes one thankful for life, with eyes 
 to see and ears to hear," she said ; " to look at 
 it even once is compensation for years — that — 
 that — have been different." 
 
 " You speak as if you had suffered a great 
 deal." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have suffered," she answered, 
 with a scared look in her eyes that came and 
 went in a moment. 
 
 " I expect we all get our share. It's a good 
 thing, I suppose. We none of us know any- 
 thing till then, or understand it, at any rate." 
 
 "That is the pity of it, but don't let us talk 
 of anything but happiness," she said, looking 
 
196 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 up with a smile. " I have tried so hard lately 
 to drive — the rest out of my thoughts : and 
 this is such a beautiful day for your mother, 
 we ought to help her celebrate it. Come, let 
 us go back, the coffee will be ready." 
 
 "I wonder if we could ever get down to 
 that lake," he said, taking a last look at the 
 view ; " I mean to Lugano." 
 
 " There is a little path down," she said. 
 " Not the one you came up by to-day, but a 
 lovelier one. I went half-way down it the 
 other afternoon while your mother slept." 
 
 "Let's try it one day," he answered, as if 
 they were old friends, and it was a matter of 
 course that they should explore together. "I 
 say, are there any books here, at the hotel ? " 
 
 " There are some novels in the library," she 
 said, as they took their way back, "and I 
 have got a stray volume of Browning Lyrics." 
 
 " We'll bring it out next time we come this 
 way ; it will fit in with the surroundings pret- 
 ty well. But it's a dangerous book for two 
 people to read together." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 197 
 
 " Dangerous ? " 
 
 " Very," and he thought how blue her eyes 
 were. 
 
 "You look tired, my son," Mrs. Alford 
 said as they entered the summer-house. 
 
 " Yes, Mummy," he answered; "even the 
 happiest day one has known for years wears 
 one out a little. I shall be stronger in a month 
 or two, especially if I'm taken walks," and he 
 looked at Katherine. 
 
 " I shall take you one every day," she said 
 with a little smile, and left them together. 
 
 "At the end of a string," he said. " That's 
 a wonderful girl, mother. There is so much in 
 her face ; but I believe she has been ill-used at 
 some time or other. However, she seems to be 
 sunning herself in the time here." 
 
 "She never says so, but I fancy that her 
 uncle must have ill-treated her." 
 
 " Old ruffian ! I daresay he did." 
 
 They went to Bella Vista again the next 
 night, and up to the summit of Generoso two 
 mornings later to see the sunrise. 
 
198 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "It is such a comfort to me that you are 
 here, my dear," Mrs. Alford said to Katherine, 
 "for I cannot walk, and but for you, there 
 would have been no one to take Jim about." 
 
 "And he's not to be trusted alone, I sup- 
 pose I " he laughed. 
 
 " No," said Katherine, "neither am I ; that 
 is why we are sent together." 
 
 The rest was only natural : in a week they 
 were greatest friends, in a month — the hap- 
 piest month of Katherine's whole life — they set 
 their lives entirely by the wishes of each other. 
 He was not strong, but he had wonderful 
 spirits. "Not strong, but obstinate, describes 
 me," he said one day. "You see, it is difficult 
 to believe that up here Nature could do one a 
 bad turn, and I never feel content till I have 
 walked over every mile possible within reach 
 of headquarters." And Katherine, who loved 
 the world — just the beautiful world itself — be- 
 fore all things, or had till lately, usually went 
 with him, while the old lady looked after them 
 and rejoiced. She wanted her boy to marry — 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 199 
 
 she dreaded his going out to Lahore again, 
 alone. " A wife would take care of him," she 
 thought, and she had seen no one she liked so 
 well as Katherine. Her reserve, her belief in 
 the world, her absolute contentment in being 
 cared for, her delight in simple pleasures, and 
 a certain courtesy of manner that distinguished 
 her, all appealed to the old lady, who consid- 
 ered the girls of the present day undignified 
 or frivolous. 
 
 They went down to Lugano on foot one 
 morning, and searched among the covered 
 streets for curios, and lunched at the hotel, 
 and took the train back to Mendresio, and rode 
 up on mules to Generoso in time for dinner — 
 a whole day to themselves — while Mrs. Alford 
 stayed at home well satisfied to think of them 
 together, or tried to devise means by which 
 she might keep Katherine with her if she and 
 Jim did not fall in love with each other. 
 
 " I wish you would come to England with 
 us, my dear," she said one afternoon ; " there 
 is room for you at the little house at Chil- 
 
200 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 worth, and I shall be all alone when he goes 
 back to India in January. Couldn't you come 
 with me ? " Katherine was putting on her hat, 
 and Mrs. Alford could not see her eyes, but 
 there was terror in her voice as she answered — 
 " I can't go to England, dear Mummy ; 
 keep me till the last moment before you go, 
 and then I will take my separate way." 
 " You are so young to be alone." 
 "I know, but it has to be." She turned 
 and faced her. " I read a story book once," 
 she said suddenly; "in it was a description of 
 how lives were given out for people to live. 
 They were done up in packets and all mixed 
 up by the hand of Fate. As the people were 
 born one by one into the world Fate handed 
 them a packet, and in it was the life they had 
 to live. They never knew what was going to 
 happen to them except in that first moment 
 which they could not remember. But each 
 one's life for good or ill was in his heart, and 
 he had to live it. You are going home with 
 your son, dear Mummy, and I am going on." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 201 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "I don't know yet : but I shall soon. " 
 
 "My child, it may be that you are to come 
 to England, though you do not know it." 
 
 " Oh, no," and she turned away again. 
 
 "Katherine," the old lady said, trying to 
 see what lay behind the troubled blue eyes, 
 " I do not know what your life was there, but 
 I think you were very unhappy." 
 
 "Yes," and she nodded her head, "I was 
 very unhappy. I never had any happiness at 
 all, save that which the beauty of the world 
 gave me, till I left England, and saw you that 
 day on board ship. Here is Jim" — for they 
 had soon learnt to call each other by Christian 
 names. " You see, you and Alice were school- 
 fellows," Jim had explained, "and that is one 
 reason why we should not treat each other 
 with any respect ; and then we are not in Lon- 
 don, and we both like the Mummy, and lastly 
 it's such a bore to be Miss Kerr-ing and Mr. 
 Alford-ing each other, and we never do it be- 
 hind each other's backs." Her face lighted up 
 
202 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 as he entered, and with a sigh of relief she 
 chased away her memories. 
 
 " You and Mummy appeared to be having 
 an argument when I entered," he said, as they 
 went on their way to the farm. " What was it 
 about ? " 
 
 "We were talking of the end of Sep- 
 tember." 
 
 " Leave the future alone," he answered. 
 " I believe in taking the portion dealt out for 
 the day and getting all the good one can out 
 of it." 
 
 " Sometimes one is forced to think about 
 it against one's will," she said in a low voice. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment before he 
 answered. She wore a white dress and a big 
 white hat. She looked tall and slim and very 
 young ; but there was a womanly sedateness 
 about her that was very restful. He could im- 
 agine her living a simple country life, busy 
 with domestic affairs, and finding intellectual 
 employment enough for herself when they 
 were done. " She would look uncommonly 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 203 
 
 well," he thought, "at the head of a table, or 
 riding. By Jove ! how she would like the early 
 morning Indian rides — awfully proud a man 
 would be of her, too." He thought of his 
 house in Lahore and the stillness that filled it 
 now, and the courage it would take to break in 
 upon it alone. 
 
 u That is true, I have thought of it a great 
 deal lately, though as a rule I try to avoid it. 
 I like my work," he added, " in India and La- 
 hore. I have had such good days there. If 
 the Mummy keeps well and fever deserts me, I 
 should like the future to be like the past- 
 plus one. And you ? " 
 
 " I want it to be quite different from my 
 past," she said quickly. "It will be. I am 
 going on to places I have never seen and to 
 people I do not know. 
 
 " But have you left no people you care for 
 behind ? " 
 
 "There's Uncle Robert, but he is in Aus- 
 tralia ; and Susan, she has her own people ; 
 and Mrs. Oswell, she has her husband. There 
 
204 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 are no others — no others in the world except 
 the Mummy and you, and Alice and her hus- 
 band, and the Immortal." 
 
 " Couldn't you pull me out of that little 
 crowd and give me a place to myself ? " 
 
 " It might be a bad place." 
 
 " Anything is better than a crowd. But, I 
 say, do you mean always to be by yourself? 
 You know, some day you might want to get 
 married." 
 
 " Oh, no ; never, never ! " 
 
 " Well, that's encouraging," he thought, and 
 they went on for a few minutes in silence. The 
 pathway to the farm was defined by a primitive 
 railing, only wide enough for one person to 
 walk along it, yet somehow they managed to 
 walk two abreast. They sat on three-legged 
 stools at the farm, and drank milk out of little 
 bowls, while the bottle that Katherine had car- 
 ried in a straw basket on her arm was filled for 
 the benefit of Mrs. Alford and Miss Bennett, 
 who considered that tea-making was the event 
 of the afternoon. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 205 
 
 "We must come here on Sunday," Jim 
 said as they went back. "The goatherds and 
 the milkmaids dance in the evening. We 
 will come and look on ; it will be another 
 memory." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He drew her hand through his arm. A 
 sudden remembrance of Mr. Belcher made 
 her shudder. 
 
 " This rath way is constructed for people to 
 walk so," he said. "It is better than going 
 separately, especially when you don't want to 
 talk ; and we are not in a very chattering hu- 
 mour this afternoon." 
 
 " Sometimes one lives more keenly in 
 silence." 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Kathy % " 
 
 " I was thinking," she said, " that, even if 
 it means pain and bitterness, or being very 
 lonely, we should still be very thankful for 
 our turn of human life. It would have been 
 much worse to be a stone or a star instead of a 
 human being." 
 
206 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " You are a queer girl," he answered. " I 
 wonder if you know " 
 
 She drew away the hand he had taken. 
 " I don't know anything," she said, " and here 
 we are back again." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 September was creeping into the autumn. 
 The darkness gathered more and more into 
 the nights, and the days were growing 
 chilly. 
 
 "What a happy summer it has been!" 
 Katherine said to herself with a long sigh as 
 she watched the sunset. u If it would only 
 never come to an end ! I wonder if the Mum- 
 my dreams how happy she has made me." 
 But it was of Jim she thought. The whole 
 world had changed since he came, and a sense 
 of quick life that sometimes made her stand 
 still for joy was in her heart. He and she re- 
 membered so much now — books they had read 
 and sketches they had made, long saunterings 
 in the sunshine and the twilight, and talks of 
 
 14 (207) 
 
208 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 many things in which each listened eagerly to 
 hear the other's view concerning them. 
 
 But the summer was nearly over. 
 
 " We ought to be getting to the plains," 
 Jim said to his mother one night while they 
 sat over the wood fire. Katherine was not 
 with them then. It had seemed lately as if 
 she preferred to spend her evenings alone. He 
 looked at the clock once or twice, and towards 
 the door as a footstep came along the corridor ; 
 but he turned away when it passed on. "I 
 wonder what Kathy is doing ? " he said at last. 
 
 ' ' I think she likes to go and see Miss Ben- 
 nett." 
 
 u I daresay; it appears to me that there's 
 very little goodness of which she isn't capable. 
 I've been studying her all these weeks, Mum- 
 my, and have come to the conclusion that she 
 is a very remarkable person." 
 
 " I shall be sorry to go home without her." 
 
 "Take her with you." 
 
 " She won't go, my son ; I have often asked 
 her." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 209 
 
 "I expect the Ogre bullied her. Mother, 
 should you be glad if she cared for me ? " 
 
 "Do you mean if she would marry you, 
 Jim I " 
 
 " Yes, I mean that. I don't believe she 
 would ; for, though she seems to like being 
 with me, she has never given me a word of en- 
 couragement all the time. I have grown fond 
 of her," he said in a low voice, and stooped to 
 kiss his mother. " I never cared for auy other 
 woman in my life, and I don't feel as if I 
 could face going back to Lahore without her." 
 
 Just for one moment the old lady sat 
 silent. Had not her son loved her best all his 
 life \ Even though she had wished it, a 'little 
 dismay came into her heart when she realised 
 that someone else had taken possession of him, 
 but she swept it away. 
 
 "I'm very glad," she answered lovingly. 
 " She is the sweetest girl I have ever met. I 
 have often compared her with the underbred 
 and over- educated young women we are always 
 meeting nowadays." 
 
210 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " That's rather severe,'' he laughed. "But 
 you are a dear mother. I say, if she won't go 
 to England, couldn't we go on somewhere else 
 and take her with us % Not to an hotel, for I 
 always feel like a tame cat after a week in one ; 
 or else the women who sit and purr to each 
 other, and the men who play draughts in the 
 evening, make me feel pleasantly murderous. 
 Let us take a villa to ourselves somewhere, 
 with a garden for you to walk in, and not on 
 the top of a confounded mountain — I beg your 
 pardon, Mummy, but, you see, I can't do any 
 climbing now — some place where we could 
 drive about a bit, or perhaps she and I could 
 ride." 
 
 " You had better speak to her first." 
 
 " Not too soon," he said, shaking his head ; 
 "she's been a little hold-offish lately, I'm 
 afraid to rush it." 
 
 " Shall I try and find out \ " 
 
 "No, a man likes to try his own luck. 
 We are going out in the morning to make a 
 sketch from the top — to present to Miss Ben- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 211 
 
 nett. She said she hated photographs. Per- 
 haps something will come of it ; but don't ask 
 me. I will tell you when there is anything to 
 tell." 
 
 The door opened and Katherine walked in. 
 u May I come % " she asked. " They are play- 
 ing Consequences downstairs, and I am tired. 
 There's a new novel left behind by the young 
 men who came up yesterday and went down 
 to-day. and here it is : I stole it for the 
 Mummy." 
 
 "I like to hear you call me that, dear," 
 Mrs. Alford said, looking up with a smile. 
 The colour came to Katherine' s face, but she 
 went on as though she had not heard. 
 
 "Miss Bennett is very angry because she 
 was asked to write her confession in some- 
 body's book, and she put down that her idea 
 of happiness was silence, and the very young 
 man— who is, I think, a student— said that he 
 didn't believe it." 
 
 "Miss Bennett was having a row with the 
 landlord this morning," Jim said. "I heard 
 
212 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 him remark as I entered the bureau, 'Unless 
 that is done, Mademoiselle, we will consider 
 that you leave on Saturday.'" 
 
 " Perhaps it is because she has not paid her 
 bill. I am certain she is poor, and she is go- 
 ing to die," Katherine said, dismayed. "I 
 don't, mean yet — I mean that she will never get 
 well. She is in a consumption ; the doctor 
 downstairs told me that. He said she was 
 hanging on to life in the strange manner that 
 people do sometimes, long after its joy had 
 ceased. And she is poor : she betrays it in her 
 face and her shrinking tones, and the things 
 she denies herself. It seems as if death and 
 poverty were trying which could gain upon her 
 first." 
 
 " Couldn't we get some money to her? It 
 must be an awful thing to be dying and 
 stranded." 
 
 "Oh, I wish we could! But she is 
 sensitive. It would be so difficult to man- 
 age." 
 
 "Oh — well, we will see. Are we going to 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 213 
 
 do our sketch in the morning % " he asked after 
 a moment's silence. 
 
 ''Shall we?" and she looked at Mrs. Al- 
 ford. 
 
 " Yes, my love," the old lady said, and took 
 the girl's hands and drew her face down and 
 kissed it, and whispered, "I want you to go 
 with him." 
 
 Katherine drew back abruptly. ' * Alice and 
 I used to go out sketching long ago at Shoot- 
 er's Hill," she said. 
 
 " As if you were sisters," the old lady said 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Then Jim would be my brother." 
 
 "Oh, no; sister to Alice would make me 
 your brother-in-law, which is better. Sisters 
 bully their brothers, you know," he added 
 quickly. " I say, did you put down your con- 
 fessions ? " he asked, merely for the sake of say- 
 ing something. "I wonder what your idea of 
 happiness would be 1 " 
 
 "Freedom. It is the most blessed of all 
 things." 
 
214 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " There is a good deal of nonsense talked 
 about it," lie said shortly; "it depends upon 
 what you mean by freedom. Explain, made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 "I can't," she answered. "I am tired, and 
 must go. Good-night," and with a kiss to the 
 old lady and a look to him, she went slowly 
 from the room. 
 
 He looked after her for a moment. "You 
 women are strange beings, Mummy dear," he 
 said in a puzzled tone. " But it is getting late, 
 let us separate also. I have some letters to 
 write, and the post goes early." 
 
 " Good-night, my son." 
 
 "Now, then," he said when he was alone, 
 "let us see what can be done for Miss Ben- 
 nett." He looked up between the lines of his 
 letter of instruction to England to think about 
 Katherine. "I can't make her out," he said 
 once or twice ; " she is not a bit of a flirt, and 
 if I' m not an ass, she has sometimes looked as 
 if she cared about me ; but she has a manner 
 that makes her absolutely unapproachable. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 215 
 
 There's a curious mixture of simplicity and dig- 
 nity about her that I expect takes a more ex- 
 perienced hand than mine to manage." 
 
 But Katherine, standing before the open 
 window in her room, was quite content. "I 
 am so happy," she said to herself, "so per- 
 fectly happy — only I want it never to come to 
 an end. That is impossible," she sighed; "so 
 I must be thankful to have known him and 
 loved him, for I do love him with all my heart. 
 I don't care what it costs me, or what I have to 
 suffer for it by and by. If the pain is mine, so 
 is the love, and so will be the remembrance. 
 It can never make any difference to him ; he 
 will never know, and his mother will never 
 know. Oh, it can't be wrong," she cried, "he 
 shall never, never know — it can't be wrong!" 
 She stopped before the volume of Browning, 
 and, opening it at random, read as if in answer 
 to her thoughts — 
 
 Let us be unashamed of soul, 
 
 As earth lies bare to Heaven above ! 
 
 How is it under our control, 
 To love or not to love ? 
 
216 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "I wonder if he cares for me at all; but 
 that doesn't matter, it can make no difference. 
 I have to go my way and he to go his, and 
 nothing could make any difference." A flood 
 of memories overwhelmed her. " Oh, how 
 could Uncle Robert do it — how could he be so 
 cruel ! For I did not understand — but after 
 all, it was but the way that led to this, and to 
 think that makes me even thankful for all I 
 went through at Montague Place. I'm glad 
 — glad — glad," she added, with a long sigh. 
 " Jim has no need of me, that is one comfort ; 
 he will forget me as soon as I go, and while she 
 has him his mother does not need me. It is 
 only Miss Bennett who needs me, if anyone 
 does." She put out the light and went to the 
 window again ; she wanted, with her great 
 happiness, to look out at the world and up at 
 the sky and into space, and not to keep it in 
 a narrow room. "Why do people die for 
 love, and why are they so miserable about it, I 
 wonder % To know a man like Jim, and to 
 love him, is surely enough to live for and be 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 217 
 
 thankful. I shall be better all my life because 
 of these days, no matter what comes after 
 them. There is midnight as well as noon, and 
 we must take both in our twenty-four hours. 
 It seems such folly to grieve in the night, when 
 one might lie still and think of the day and 
 the happiness it brought one. That is what I 
 shall do when I live alone in my little Italian 
 place. I shall think of him and try to do all 
 the good I can, if I am capable of any, just as 
 a thank-offering for these dear days in which I 
 have been so happy." 
 
 There was no going out the next morning. 
 It was windy and rainy ; a thunderstorm was 
 coming over from Italy, and the firs were 
 wrapped in a heavy mist. " We must do our 
 sketch another day," Katherine thought, look- 
 ing disconsolately from the window on the 
 staircase. The landlord's daughter came out 
 of Miss Bennett's room ; she hesitated and 
 stopped. 
 
 u Miss Kerr," she said, " can I speak to 
 you % " and she opened the door of an empty 
 
218 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 room. "I ought not to tell you, but I know 
 you are a friend of Miss Bennett's, and per- 
 haps you will not tell anyone that I have 
 spoken to you. She has not paid us for some 
 time ; it is not much, for she looked so ill 
 when she came, that my father was sorry and 
 said as little as he could, but she has not paid 
 anything for weeks. I think my father would 
 forgive her altogether, for he feels that she is 
 poor, and he is sorry for her ; but she is so 
 haughty, so bitter, and to-day she treated 
 him with such scorn that he has declared she 
 shall not stay any longer. I thought I would 
 speak to her myself without his knowledge, but 
 she is unbearable, and told me to leave the room." 
 
 " Let me pay her bill." 
 
 " Oh, no! certainly not; but if you could 
 say something to her and make her a little 
 more polite." 
 
 " It is very difficult. I will try, but I 
 would not hurt her for the world. Be good to 
 her — I know you will. She is going to die," 
 Katherine said gently. She heard Miss Ben- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 219 
 
 nett coughing uneasily as she passed her door, 
 and went in as if to soothe her. "I am so 
 sorry," she said ; " the rain and mist are bad 
 for you." 
 
 " It doesn't matter. I am tired of waiting 
 first for one thing and then for another. Now it 
 is for the sunshine." Her face was very weary. 
 
 " You will be better when it comes," 
 Katherine said, and stroked the thin, badly 
 shaped hands. 
 
 " I don't want to be better. I shall be glad 
 enough to die. Life is too difficult to manage." 
 
 "It is very difficult," Katherine answered. 
 44 1 think that we ought to share things more 
 than we do. If the people who have hap- 
 piness, for instance, would set about giving 
 some to the people who have none ; if the 
 people who were strong could take those who 
 are weak to places where they would get well ; 
 
 if every strong man carried a weak woman 
 
 Oh ! I am talking nonsense." 
 
 "I have nothing to share," Miss Bennett 
 said grimly. 
 
220 A PLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "I have been thinking of something that 
 you could do for me," Katherine said, a happy- 
 thought striking her, "and it has come out of 
 this philosophy. I am all by myself in the 
 world, and I am very strong and happy, and 
 have money. I want you to share all my things, 
 my happiness and strength and loneliness. I 
 have no one to take care of ; if you would, let 
 me take care of you. I would take you away 
 to a little warm place in Italy, and you should 
 get strong again. I should like to begin at 
 once," she added, " though we needn't go away 
 from here directly." 
 
 Miss Bennett looked up quickly. " I sup- 
 pose they have told you that my bill is not 
 paid — or you heard me speaking about it in 
 the bureau yesterday. It is not convenient to 
 me to pay it just now." 
 
 " Let me pay it. I have plenty ; and if by 
 and by you have plenty and I have none you 
 can do the same for me. That is what I am 
 trying to propose — that we share things, you 
 and 1, for we are both alone in the world." 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 221 
 
 " I don't want it, thank you," Miss Bennett 
 answered, in her usual ungracious manner. 
 "I have written to England. They can wait 
 for their bill ; I don't care if it isn't paid at all. 
 They make enough by the English ; let them 
 lose a little." 
 
 " Oh, but that would be so unpleasant for 
 you ! " 
 
 "Well," Miss Bennett said, looking up, 
 " what then % I don't want to take a friendly 
 leave of the world. I should be sorry to go if 
 I found it too pleasant. It is better to feel a 
 satisfaction in dying than a regret." 
 
 " In dying 1 " Katherine said sadly. 
 
 "I know what is before me well enough." 
 She took her left hand away from Katherine 
 and stroked it with the right one, looking curi- 
 ously the while at its transparency. " I know 
 what is before me. What does it matter? I 
 have lived, and am going to die. Why do 
 people make so much fuss about it ? Life is a 
 great deal of trouble." 
 
 " I wonder why you are so bitter." 
 
222 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " Things went badly with me when I was 
 young, and I have never forgiven the people 
 who made them so." 
 
 " Don't you think you might now \ " Kath- 
 erine pleaded. 
 
 Miss Bennett shook her head. " I was 
 never able to forgive. Only God can do that, 
 and even He needs reparation. I don't under- 
 stand forgiveness among people who live a 
 little while and then die. No forgiveness will 
 undo a thing that is done, or unbury the years 
 that were ruined. My youth was ruined by 
 harshness and selfishness. It was done to 
 make me suffer, I suppose. I want to make 
 others worse for it sometimes. I feel as if I 
 had a grudge against the world and everyone 
 who lives in it. I can't help it. You mustn't 
 think I'm not grateful to you." 
 
 Katherine stooped and kissed her, and felt 
 that now she understood love's use and its 
 divinity. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Some news came for the Alfords that 
 obliged them to give up any idea of a villa 
 abroad, so they arranged to stay at Generoso 
 till the end of September, by which time, in- 
 deed, seeing that neither of them was strong, 
 it would be necessary to descend, even though 
 the hotel remained open. They meant to stay 
 a week in Milan, at the Cavour, and then 
 journey home. Jim reconciled himself by 
 thinking that the bracing air of England, 
 would do him good and lit him for a long 
 spell of service at Lahore. 
 
 " Are you going to live there all your 
 life % " Katherine asked. 
 
 " I expect so," he answered ; " till I am 
 sixty, at any rate, and pensioned off like a 
 respectable old buffer." 
 
 15 (223) 
 
224 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " And when are you going back « " 
 
 " In January. Meanwhile there is the 
 Mummy's house at Chilworth to see. She 
 built it for herself while I was away." 
 
 U A red brick house standing alone," Mrs. 
 Alford said, "near a wood. I wish you could 
 come and stay there." But Katherine shook 
 her head ruefully, for she felt this summer 
 holiday was indeed coming to an end — less 
 than another fortnight and it would be over. 
 
 Another fortnight ! - And then she would 
 never see him again. She had to go on into 
 the world alone for the rest of her days. u But 
 I don't care yet," she said to herself ; "while 
 there is another fortnight, how can I trouble 
 about what is to come after 1 " So youth and 
 its temperament conquered, and as the clouds 
 lifted from the mountain the fear at her heart 
 lifted too, and as the sun came out it brought 
 her promises and intoxicated her with happi- 
 ness and love. To look out across Italy or 
 down at the firs, to watch for the morning post- 
 man, his leather bag slung across his shoulder 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 225 
 
 as he appeared on the little turnings of the up- 
 ward path visible from her window, to see the 
 strangers coming and going, and all the time 
 to feel her heart brim over with life : what joy 
 it was —how could she think about the future ? 
 A glorious morning at last, still and warm. 
 Katherine and Jim Alford went out to make 
 their sketch for Miss Bennett. He was silent 
 with doubt and anxiety, for he was desperately 
 in love with the girl beside him. There was 
 something almost unreal about her to him. 
 She had come from nowhere, she had no past, 
 no pleasant memories to talk about. All he 
 knew was that Alice had known her for a lit- 
 tle while at school, that she had an uncle in 
 Australia, and no home in the world. She was 
 here by a chance, as though she had dropped 
 from the clouds, and she was going — only 
 Heaven knew whither. He felt sometimes as 
 if she were in reality the waif she called her- 
 self just passing by. He wanted to stop her, 
 to hold her fast, to take her back to Lahore 
 and give her all the things of which as yet she 
 
226 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 seemed to know nothing, and to feel that her 
 aloneness had made her doubly his. Mean- 
 while they walked on with the camp-stools and 
 the sketching things. She was silent, too, but 
 it was from sheer contentment that did not need 
 words, not even his words, to make it better ; 
 and if she thought beyond the moment, why, 
 the simple philosophy of the last few days 
 comforted her. The sun was shining and the 
 sky was blue ; all about them Nature was at 
 her best ; beside her walked the man she loved. 
 If she was no longer an unsophisticated girl in 
 some things — for marriage even such as hers 
 could hardly leave her that — love was alto- 
 gether an ideal thing to her, and absolutely 
 pure and unselfish. She was glad to love him, 
 glad that he lived in the world, and exultant 
 that that sweet summer morning had thrown 
 them together for a few hours alone on the 
 mountain-top away from everyone beyond. 
 And when they went back to the hotel, there 
 would be his mother, whom she loved too, and 
 there were still some days to come. Even 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 227 
 
 when she had to leave these dear people, she 
 would take with her the remembrance of the 
 wonderful time spent with them, the knowl- 
 edge that they had liked having her with them, 
 and she would love them just the same always 
 as long as her life went on. She looked up at 
 him : there were tears in her eyes and he saw 
 them. 
 
 44 Is anything the matter ? " he asked. 
 
 "No. It is only that it is all so beautiful 
 and I am happy, and wish it .could go on 
 always." 
 
 44 Why shouldn't it V 9 
 
 44 All things must come to an end, or there 
 could be no beginnings." 
 
 44 That's a paradox or philosophy or some- 
 thing ; you didn't pull it off very well." She 
 laughed away her tears. 
 
 44 It is so difficult to make jokes unless you 
 are used to it. — Nothing could be better than 
 this point for Miss Bennett's sketch. Let us 
 get to work." 
 
 They sat down and put their blocks on their 
 
228 A FLASH OF SUMMER. ' 
 
 knees, opened their little boxes of colours and 
 the covered cup of water, and worked for at 
 least half an hour. 
 
 "Well?" he said at last. 
 
 "I think we are getting on beautifully." 
 
 " So do I — going at it hard. Perhaps they 
 will put us in the Koyal Academy next year." 
 
 "Or the Luxembourg." Another half- 
 hour. 
 
 "Mustn't be too ambitious — a woman al- 
 ways is, though. I'm tired of industry," he 
 said, and putting away his colours, stood for a 
 few minutes looking over her shoulder till she, 
 too, gave up work. Then she turned round 
 on her stool and waited as if for him to speak. 
 He took it as an encouragement and gathered 
 courage. "I wish you would come back to 
 England." But she shook her head. "Why 
 not? Do you know," he went on gently, "I 
 think sometimes that you had a very bad time 
 when you were a child. Did they bully you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I suppose I was 
 properly brought up and it was good for me. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 229 
 
 I had no other children to play with," she 
 added, for she did not like to think unkindly 
 of Uncle Robert. " Perhaps that had some- 
 thing to do with my not being happy ; and, 
 Jim," she looked np at him with almost an 
 entreaty in her eyes, " I don't want to go back 
 to England ; don't let the Mummy ask me any 
 
 "I wish you would come with us; we 
 would try to make you happy, Kathy," and 
 he sat down on the ground by her camp-stool. 
 
 "I can't" — something in her heart warned 
 her that the conversation was becoming dan- 
 gerous — "I want to spend the winter in 
 Italy." 
 
 " And alone ? " She nodded her head, and 
 looked away into the distance they had been 
 sketching. " But, Katherine," and he put his 
 hand on hers. She started as if she were 
 afraid, for he was looking at her eagerly. 
 4 'Don't be angry," he said in a low voice as 
 she tried to get up. " I was only going to say 
 that it is rather odd, you know, for a girl to be 
 
230 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 abroad alone, staying about by herself all the 
 winter." 
 
 " Mrs. Carter, at the hotel, is all alone ; she 
 is not much older than I am." 
 
 "She is a married woman. Besides, we 
 want you with us." She tried to laugh away 
 her embarrassment. 
 
 "I can take care of myself," she said. 
 "Come, let us walk on. Alice said you were 
 very strait-laced ; but I won't do anything 
 wrong, though I am alone. I wouldn't for the 
 world," she added, as they gathered up their 
 things. There was not a soul within sound ; 
 even the hotel, a little way below them, was 
 hidden from sight. They could see nothing 
 but the sky line of the mountain range. They 
 walked on for a few minutes before he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " I don't believe you would. I don't think 
 you would know how. Will you be glad 
 when we are gone \ " 
 
 " Glad ! Why should I be that, when this 
 is the happiest time of all my life?" The 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 231 
 
 tears came into her eyes again ; but she turned 
 away so that he should not know. 
 
 " And of mine," he said, and put his arm 
 on her shoulder, and drew her a little way to- 
 wards him and looked at her face. " Yes, let 
 us stop a minute," he went on in a tone that 
 would not be resisted. " Look here, we might 
 lean against this rock, if you do not want to 
 lean against me— and the happiest time of my 
 life too, Kathy. I am so afraid to speak to 
 you, my darling, you have known me such a 
 little while, and perhaps you think I am just 
 a ruffian ; but Hove you and want you to stay 
 with me, and to belong to us for ever." She 
 trembled with fright, but she could not keep 
 the happiness out of her heart nor out of her 
 eyes, and he saw it there. " I want you to 
 come back with the Mummy and me, my dar- 
 ling. She loves you, and I love you, my sweet 
 one — I love you better than anyone in all the 
 world." She tried to turn away from him, but 
 perhaps she managed badly, for somehow her 
 head went on his shoulder, and he stooped and 
 
232 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 kissed her hair ; and she forgot to consider 
 whether it was right or wrong— only for a mo- 
 ment. Then she remembered : 
 
 " Yon mustn't — you mustn't ! " 
 
 4 'Yes, I must," he whispered back, for he 
 felt that she loved him and was satisfied. The 
 rest was only a matter of persuasion. " I must, 
 because I love you and want to keep you all 
 my life. Do you think you could endure it, 
 Kathy 1 " and he kissed her hair again, and 
 tried to raise her face to his. "Could ycu 
 marry me and go back to India with me ? " 
 
 u Oh, no, no ! " she said, and wrenched her- 
 self away. " You mustn't touch me; and I 
 can never marry anybody as long as I live ! " 
 He looked at her with astonishment ; she had 
 seemed passive a moment before, and it was 
 impossible that he could have mistaken the ex- 
 pression in her eyes. 
 
 "But I thought you cared for me," he said, 
 bewildered ; " did I misunderstand ? " 
 
 " I do ! " she exclaimed passionately, u I do 
 care ; it isn't that " 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 233 
 
 "And you know that Hove you," he said, 
 going forward reassured, but she put out her 
 hand to keep him off. 
 
 "No, no!" she cried in alarm; "you 
 mustn't do that — but yes, I know you care for 
 me— I felt it just now." 
 
 "Then why won't you let me love you, 
 darling ? Why won't you marry me % Is 
 there anyone else % " She hesitated and looked 
 at him, and longed to tell him the truth. But 
 had not Alice said that the Alfords were very 
 proper % And had she not herself heard what 
 the Mummy had said about Mrs. Simpson, the 
 woman who had left her husband ! And did 
 not everyone, so far as she knew, agree in 
 thinking that there was but one path to pur- 
 sue with a runaway wife, and that was to send 
 her back to her husband % Besides, she could 
 not bear to confess that she, who had let him 
 kiss her just now, and had been content and 
 happy to rest her head against him, was a mar- 
 ried woman, and had been passing herself off 
 as a girl. He would think her wicked, and 
 
234 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 despise her. She felt wicked, and despised 
 herself, for, as she stood facing him on the 
 lonely pathway, there rushed back with ter- 
 rible distinctness the remembrance of her 
 wedding-day and those awful words she had 
 said standing up in church beside Mr. Bel- 
 cher ; she remembered her wedding ring, and 
 signing her name in the vestry, and going 
 away — that terrible going away with Mr. Bel- 
 cher to Windermere. She thought of Mrs. 
 Oswell, the first person who had ever said 
 u Mrs. Belcher" aloud to her. She could see 
 in imagination the envelopes of the few letters 
 that had come directed to her in her married 
 name, especially the first ones that Mr. Bel- 
 cher had opened. Everything seemed to 
 stare her in the face as if aghast at what 
 she had done and was doing, and for the 
 first time she felt wicked and deceitful, 
 though she knew that she was neither. He 
 stood looking at her doubtfully, wondering 
 what to do. 
 
 " Won't you speak to me, my darling," he 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 235 
 
 said at last, "and tell me if there is anyone 
 else who cares for you ? " 
 
 "Anyone else who cares for me!" she re- 
 peated. "No, no one in the world, and no 
 one ever did, and I never cared for anyone 
 else." The "else" sent a flash of joy through 
 him. "For anyone else," she said again, as 
 though she knew what it was to him, " in my 
 whole life — and I never shall." 
 
 "Then, my. sweet, it is all right," he said, 
 in the happy voice she loved, and that this last 
 hour had seemed to be waking up some new 
 life in her to stir her heart and soul, and he 
 tried to reach her face again. But she drew 
 back with alarm that had more in it than mere 
 shyness. 
 
 "You mustn't," she cried, "you mustn't— 
 mustn't." 
 
 "But you love me, dear? You said you 
 cared for me. You meant it, didn' t you ? " 
 
 "Hove you more than the whole world," 
 she answered. " I think there was never, never 
 anyone like you," and she burst into tears. 
 
236 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "And you are going to marry me, my 
 darling." 
 
 "JNo, I can't," she answered firmly, still 
 carefully keeping him at bay. "I am never 
 going to marry anyone as long as I live." 
 
 "Dear goose," he said tenderly, "you are 
 going to marry me." 
 
 "No," she cried, and looked at him with 
 the hunted look that puzzled him sorely. " I 
 can't, Jim. I am not going to marry you — I 
 can never marry anybody." 
 
 "And you don't care for anyone else," he 
 said, "and no one cares for you, and never 
 did." 
 
 "Never — never," she said, and clasped her 
 hands and stood with her head bowed. He 
 looked at her curiously, up and down, almost 
 as if he wondered whether it could really be 
 she herself who stood there. 
 
 " Kathy," he said gravely, "I love you 
 with all my heart, and you say you love me, 
 and I want you to be my wife, darling. Won't 
 you?" 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 237 
 
 "No, I won't," she said very gently, "but 
 I love you," she pleaded. 
 
 "It is no use saying that," he answered 
 coldly. "I feel that somehow you are not 
 treating me fairly. Come, let us go." And 
 they walked back to the hotel in silence. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 She stopped by the steps and looked up at 
 him. " Would you mind," she said gently, 
 " not telling the Mummy before lunch? It 
 has been all so strange and sudden. I don't 
 think I could face her if you did. Let it be 
 till this evening." For answer he nodded his 
 head and lagged behind. 
 
 She went up to her own room — that room 
 in which she had thought over many things 
 and lived a lifetime while she looked out at 
 the plains of Lombardy — and shut the door 
 and put her hand to her head and tried to 
 realise whether she was awake or dreaming. 
 So many conflicting emotions beset her that 
 her brain was in a whirl ; and yet, almost 
 against her will, her poor human heart beat 
 
 (238) 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 239 
 
 for joy. For did not Jim Alford love her best 
 in the world, and want to marry her— to spend 
 his whole life with her? Only the terrible 
 mistake that had been made for her— she had 
 not made it for herself — stood between her and 
 that great happiness. But she could not dwell 
 on the mistake now, for the intoxication of the 
 moment rose above her knowledge of the im- 
 possibilities. Never once in her whole life had 
 she been loved before — her cheeks burnt for 
 joy and shame together while she remembered 
 it. Was it wrong % How could it be— this 
 thing that was true? Neither he nor she 
 would do anything wrong for the world. 
 
 Then she remembered his coldness, and her 
 heart stood still ; perhaps he would refuse to 
 be friends again — the friends they had been. 
 She did not think she could bear that. And 
 yet, for she felt that she must look things in the 
 face, suppose he did remain distant and angry % 
 It would break her heart. She could be con- 
 tent knowing that he loved her and disguised 
 his love with friendship, though they were a 
 
 16 
 
240 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 thousand miles apart, but not if he were 
 changed towards her. But of course he would 
 change towards her if she declared she loved 
 him and yet refused to marry him. What 
 could he think but that she did not care for 
 him so much as for her liberty, or so much as 
 he did for her — he who wanted her for his 
 whole life? She seemed to live hours while 
 one possibility after another presented itself to 
 her whirling brain. In the first moment of 
 wild excitement she had had an idea that he 
 would forget his proposal after a little while, 
 and go back to the old footing, and they would 
 be closer, happier friends than ever, with the 
 exquisite knowledge at their hearts that they 
 loved each other. "But no, no ! " she shook 
 her head, and realised that they could never go 
 back to it. Something in space that was like 
 a whisper from the world told her so. They 
 would remember that morning all their lives, 
 and hunger for more than had before contented 
 them. " And we might have been so happy, 
 life might have been such a wonderful thing ! 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 241 
 
 It is for people who feel as we do that mar- 
 riage was made, not for cruel or worldly peo- 
 ple to gain money or position by," and she 
 burst into passionate tears. " I ought to tell 
 him ! It would be fairer — it would be right — 
 even though it kills me, he ought to know ! " 
 But her courage failed her as she said it. He 
 would think her so wicked, and never under- 
 stand how she, a girl who had travelled alone 
 to Italy and unafraid of the world, had been 
 kept down and cowed in the old Shooter's Hill 
 days. He would never understand the insults 
 and sneers, apart from the blows that had 
 brought about the crisis of Montague Place. 
 
 Then the Mummy. She would have to 
 know, and had she not said that nothing jus- 
 tified a woman in leaving her husband ? They 
 would send her back — the Mummy and Jim — 
 they would despise her and send her back. 
 Perhaps they would think it a duty to write 
 to Mr. Belcher. Her heart grew cold at the 
 thought. She felt that she would rather live 
 any lonely or miserable life that could be de- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 vised for her on this earth than go back to Mr. 
 Belcher. She would infinitely rather die. She 
 got np and stood by the bed, looking out dis- 
 mayed into space. The great joy of earth had 
 come to her — the joy of being loved by the man 
 to whom her heart was given, but it brought 
 her only trouble and difficulty ; she had to put 
 it aside for the sake of a tie that was only an 
 idea. All trace of her marriage to Mr. Belcher 
 had vanished so completely from her surround- 
 ings, and even from her thoughts of late, that 
 it had become like a dream to her, or like a 
 nightmare that would only return to a sleeper 
 who dared to shut his eyes. " Oh, life is the 
 strangest thing in the world," she said to her- 
 self, and looked out of the window for a mo- 
 ment almost beseechingly, as if asking the 
 world she saw from it to give her counsel. 
 Then the door opened, and Miss Bennett 
 looked in. She was pale and haggard. Kath- 
 
 erine saw it with a start, and chokingly pushed 
 
 > 
 
 her own interests aside. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Bennett ! " she said, "I meant 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 24:3 
 
 to have gone to you this morning, but we went 
 out early to make that sketch from the top. I 
 fear we didn't get much done," and she looked 
 ruefully at the block she had thrown carelessly 
 on the table ; " but I will try and finish it to- 
 morrow. Sit here by the window, you look so 
 very tired." 
 
 " I have had a pleasant surprise and wanted 
 to tell you. Never mind about the sketch. I 
 daresay I should only give it away," she added, 
 with her usual lack of graciousness. " I am 
 going from here in a few days — in fact, as soon 
 as I can get away," and a smile broke over her 
 face. 
 
 " Something has happened to you," Kath- 
 erine said wonderingly — " something that 
 pleases you." 
 
 " Yes, it has. Perhaps it will please you, 
 too, for you offered to lend me your money." 
 
 " I wish you had taken it." 
 
 Miss Bennett shook her head. " I couldn't 
 take it from a girl. You may have little 
 enough, for all I know. This morning I had 
 
244: A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 a letter. Look ! " She took a registered en- 
 velope from her pocket. It contained bank- 
 notes for a hundred ponnds ; on a sheet of 
 paper that enclosed them were the words, 
 With best wishes. Katherine felt a throb of 
 joy go through her, for she understood — Jim 
 had done it, she was certain of it. She remem- 
 bered the expression on his face the other 
 night, when he said that it must be a bad 
 thing to be dying and stranded ; and his 
 mother had often told her of his easy gener- 
 osity. Oh, yes, it was he beyond all doubt. 
 She counted up the days that had intervened — 
 the days of bad weather — since that talk to 
 which he had never afterwards alluded. There 
 had been just time for him to write home and 
 direct the money to be sent in this manner. 
 " Yes, it is Jim," she said to herself, while the 
 tears came into her eyes. "It is like you, and 
 I am proud of you, and love you. Oh ! you 
 must never know how I have deceived you. I 
 will go away at once." She almost started at 
 the idea — it would solve so many difficulties. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 245 
 
 Then she stooped and kissed Miss Bennett 
 from sheer gratitude, for had not the sick wom- 
 an given her the knowledge of this good deed 1 
 
 " I don't know where they came from," Miss 
 Bennett said. " They may be a gift, or the 
 payment of a debt. I had just fifty pounds 
 left, and had written home for it. Now, per- 
 haps, I shall have enough left, when my bill is 
 paid, to last me till I die." 
 
 Someone walked along the corridor outside, 
 half hesitated, and went downstairs. Kather- 
 ine felt certain that it was Jim ; she knew his 
 step. 
 
 " Oh, don't talk of dying," she said gently. 
 "Life is sweet at its worst, and you may get 
 well. Tell me where you are going." 
 
 " To Italy. Perhaps I shall live through 
 the winter. When I am much worse my sis- 
 ter will come, but she will not be able to stay 
 long." 
 
 Katherine knew what she meant. This 
 planned meeting of life and death made her 
 shudder. 
 
246 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "But where, precisely, are you go- 
 ing?" she asked. "And are you going 
 alone 1 " 
 
 " There is a woman I know — she has a little 
 pension on the Italian Riviera — at Alassio. It 
 is just a little place, and hardly anyone has 
 heard of it. She and I have known each other 
 for years, and she does not talk. I want to be 
 with someone who is silent." 
 
 " But you can't go alone ?" 
 
 "I must, and this money makes it pos- 
 sible." 
 
 "Let me take you?" Katherine exclaimed. 
 " I am going from here ; I want to go. Oh, do 
 let me take you. I couldn't bear to think of 
 you on your way alone." 
 
 "I thought you were going to marry Mrs. 
 Alford's son." 
 
 "No, that is impossible; and they are go- 
 ing home very soon. Let me take you to 
 Alassio ; I won't talk ; I will be very silent. 
 And I want to go to some little Italian place — 
 that has been my intention, bat it must be a 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 247 
 
 place where there are no English at all. Per- 
 haps I might find one near you ; then I should 
 see you sometimes in the winter." 
 
 "I should like to see you ; you are a good 
 girl, and mean well," Miss Bennett said, and 
 Katherine heard her with infinite gratitude. 
 " There is an hotel half a mile out of Alassio, 
 low down on the shore. It has an orange gar- 
 den, the largest one I know, and the moun- 
 tains rise up beyond. It might do for you, 
 and I have heard that it is cheap : women who 
 are alone never have any money," she added 
 with grim sarcasm. "Or a mile farther on is 
 Laigueglia. There are no English there, and 
 very few Italians — only a cracked white marble 
 church, a few ruined houses, and desolate gar- 
 dens." 
 
 " When shall you be ready to go ? " 
 Miss Bennett answered quickly : "Directly 
 — in a day or two — as soon as I have packed 
 my things ; they will not take long— there are 
 only those two little boxes. But if you can't 
 be ready so soon I will wait. After all, it 
 
248 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 doesn't matter," and her momentary excite- 
 ment died away. 
 
 " I will tell you after lunch, or at tea-time 
 if that will do, when I can be ready." Kath- 
 erine followed the direction of Miss Bennett's 
 eyes and saw Jim Alford taking the downward 
 path towards Mendrisio. " Perhaps he is go- 
 ing away to avoid me," she thought, catching 
 her breath. "I will go when you like," she 
 said, turning to Miss Bennett. "Hark! there 
 is the luncheon bell. Let us go down," she 
 cried eagerly. 
 
 Mrs. Alford was taking her place at table. 
 
 "Has Jim gone away?" Katherine asked 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "No, my dear," the old lady said, looking 
 up with mild surprise ; "he has only gone out 
 for a couple of hours because he wanted to be 
 alone. He will be hack by three o'clock ; but 
 he talks of going to Milan for a few days. 
 I wish he would wait for me," she added. 
 "This is quite a sudden freak." 
 
 "I will go first," Katherine thought. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " But, my dear," Mrs. Alford said bewil- 
 dered, " Jim will be miserable when you are 
 gone, and so shall I." This was a couple of 
 hours after lunch, while they sat together in 
 the sitting-room that had gradually become 
 home-like. 
 
 "You will have him to take care of you," 
 Katherine answered; "he has only a few 
 months more to be with you. They will be 
 better without a third person, dear Mummy; 
 and I must journey on. Some day I shall see 
 you again, I hope." 
 
 "But you may not see him again for 
 years." 
 
 "I know," she said, in a voice that she 
 could not keep steady, for though she had 
 
 (249) 
 
250 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 faced this possibility in her own room, it was 
 harder to hear it put into words — they brought 
 her knowledge of how difficult it would be to 
 tear her life away from his. What ! never to 
 see him again or to hear his laugh, or walk be- 
 side him, or to read Browning — had he not 
 told her how dangerous it was ? He was going 
 back to England and then to India, and she — 
 Heaven alone knew where ; and the beginning 
 of this state of things was only a day or two 
 distant : it came upon her with an overwhelm- 
 ing sense that was not to be borne. She could 
 not live entirely without him. They must be 
 friends, very great friends. Nothing else was 
 possible, and even that was almost impossible 
 while the secret of her life remained one. U I 
 don't suppose," she went on in a dazed voice, 
 "I shall ever see him again after I leave here." 
 "Tell me," said the old lady, taking her 
 hands and trying to look into her face, "tell 
 me why you are going — is my boy nothing to 
 you? I have been hoping that you were a 
 great deal to each other." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 251 
 
 Katherine hesitated for a moment, and then 
 answered simply and out of a full heart, "I 
 think there is no one in the wide world like 
 him, but it can't make any difference, Mummy 
 dear. I can never go to England again while I 
 live." 
 
 "Were you treated so very cruelly, my 
 child?" 
 
 " I was very miserable there," she answered, 
 and she thought : " Oh, if I could only tell her 
 — if I could only tell her! But she would 
 never forgive me ; and she would send me 
 back." 
 
 " But your uncle is in Australia ? " 
 
 "It makes no difference, Mummy!" for 
 latterly she had quite dropped the more 
 formal address. "I want you to promise me 
 something — it is, not to tell anyone in England 
 that you ever met anyone called by my 
 name." 
 
 " My dear, what do you mean ? " 
 
 "Only — if I were discovered I should die ; 
 that is why I cannot go back." 
 
252 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " You are not giving me all your confi- 
 dence," the old lady said gravely. 
 
 "No, and I cannot." There was almost 
 agony in her voice. "I have learnt many 
 things in this last year," she went on, "and 
 one is, that people are judged not by the in- 
 tention in their conduct, but by its effect." 
 
 "I do not understand you, my dear," and 
 Mrs. Alford drew back coldly. 
 
 "Oh, don't, don't!" Katherine cried. 
 "Love me a little while longer; I am going 
 away in two or three days ! Only while I am 
 here, Mummy dear, so that the memory of it- 
 is not spoilt — won't you ? " She took the old 
 lady's hands and kissed them. "I always 
 told you that I was a waif ; perhaps you had 
 better forget all about me when I go, as you 
 would about a waif who has gone on into the 
 distance or the crowd. Oh, here is Jim ! Jim," 
 she said excitedly, "Mummy is angry with 
 me," and she put her arms round the old lady's 
 neck and kissed her. "This dear Mummy, 
 who has been so kind to me, kinder than any- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 253 
 
 one else in the wide world, and given me more 
 happiness than I ever knew in all my life be- 
 fore — enough to last me all my life. I have 
 not done any harm, dear Mummy, I have not 
 indeed — you needn't look so coldly at me. 
 Jim," she said, turning to him quickly, "I 
 want to talk to you all by myself. I may, 
 may I not, dear Mummy % Shall we go to the 
 farm once more, you and I, and get the cream 
 for tea % They will want their tea, you know, 
 Jim, and we shaVt be able to go again, for I 
 am going away " 
 
 " Going away ! " 
 
 " Yes, with Miss Bennett. I will tell you 
 on the way to the farm. Oh, do let us go," 
 she pleaded, for she fancied that he hesitated, 
 " just for a last, last time along the little path- 
 way. I will get my hat at once." She put her 
 cheek lovingly against the old lady's for a mo- 
 ment, then fled along the corridor. 
 
 "Jim," Mrs. Alford said to her son, "I 
 think I know that child's secret : the Ogre ill- 
 treated her and she ran away." 
 
254 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " Well, lie is safe in Australia now— and 
 I'll try what I can do this afternoon." 
 
 "I am ready, I am quite ready," Katherine 
 said, appearing at the doorway. He crossed 
 over to her quickly and they set off together, 
 down the stairs and out of the hotel and to- 
 wards the farm. " You are angry, I know you 
 are angry," she said, still speaking breathless- 
 ly ; "you and the Mummy are both changing 
 to me at the same moment." 
 
 "Changing!" he said, "when only this 
 morning I told you how much I loved you." 
 He turned and looked at her, and she saw the 
 expression on his face and faltered. 
 
 "And I love you, Jim, dear," she said, 
 looking back at him with her blue eyes full 
 of tears. "And I love you, God knows I do, 
 only indeed you mustn't ask me to marry 
 you." 
 
 He shook his head. "You are not treat- 
 ing me fairly, Kathy," he said tenderly, but 
 she knew by his tone that he meant what he 
 said. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 255 
 
 " But can't you feel that I love you, can't 
 you hear it in my voice, don't you know it ? " 
 she asked desperately. 
 
 "I do," he said, " and that makes it all the 
 more strange. " 
 
 " Doesn't it satisfy you, as the knowledge 
 of your love shall satisfy me ? Why must it 
 be marriage or nothing at all \ " and she drew 
 closer to him, for they were on the narrow 
 pathway going towards the farm, and not a 
 soul was within sight nor sound of them. 
 " Why can't we be friends — very dear friends 
 — all our lives? We might be just like 
 brother and sister — you never had a sister of 
 your very own " 
 
 "Nonsense," he said, and put his arm 
 round her shoulder, but she shook it off 
 quickly. " People cannot be brothers and sis- 
 ters, my child, when they are in love with 
 each other." 
 
 "Oh, but they can; and they can be 
 friends. Think how much better it would be 
 than nothing— nothing ! And if we can't 
 
256 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 marry, and we can't — for I don't want to be 
 married, and can't be ; and it is better to be 
 free — we might be friends." She was almost 
 incoherent with nervousness. " Very dear 
 friends — we could always be that — and we 
 could write to each other very often, and tell 
 each other everything we did and thought and 
 read, and be everything in the world that two 
 people parted by long miles can be." 
 
 "All this is nonsense, Kathy. You don't 
 know what you are talking about, my darling. 
 What you say may be all very well for two 
 friends who desire to be nothing more ; but 
 you and I love each other — at least I know 
 that I love you with all my heart," he said 
 simply. " I want you to come to me, to share 
 my life, to be with me always. And if you 
 loved me you would want it too." 
 
 They were within sight of the farm, and 
 stopped and looked at each other ; then sat 
 down on the little bank beside the pathway. 
 
 " I love you, and I do want it too," she said 
 earnestly. "But I cannot marry you, and — I 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 257 
 
 think," she added, bursting into passionate 
 tears, "that marriage is the most hateful and 
 terrible thing in the world." 
 
 " Well, that is rather an odd thing to hear 
 the woman you love best in the world say. " 
 
 " I mean the ceremony that binds you so 
 that you can never get away, no matter how 
 much you hate each other, nor how miserable 
 you are together. If you love each other and 
 promise to be faithful all your lives " — she 
 stood up in her excitement and looked at him 
 — " promise with your whole heart and soul, 
 oughtn't that to bind you ? And yet it 
 doesn't. People talk of making their vows 
 before G-od — doesn't God hear you when you 
 are alone \ " 
 
 "Katherine," he said, staring at her with 
 astonishment, "I don't understand this out- 
 burst. What on earth has make you think 
 so much about the marriage ceremony ? " 
 
 " Because I hate it," she said. " Because 
 it is an excuse to bind two people together 
 who want to be separate, and it fetters them 
 
258 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 when they want to be free. Jim," she went 
 on in a whisper while a flush dyed her face, 
 "is not this morning — should not the memory 
 of it be enough to satisfy us ? We can never 
 get away from it or forget it as long as we live. 
 Isn't it much more than the bond between two 
 people who have stood up in church together 
 and said things they did not mean ? Don't you 
 think God heard us just as much saying the 
 things we did mean as he would have heard 
 two people saying the things they did not 
 mean? And which do you think would be 
 marriage in his eyes ? " 
 
 u I do not understand you," he answered. 
 "You are talking nonsense, and not very 
 pleasant nonsense, my child. The marriage 
 ceremony may be only the public record of 
 the vows that people have made each other 
 in private ; but it was made by the strong for 
 the protection of the weak, and the strong 
 must protect it. I have no sympathy with 
 fads about marriage nor with any crusade 
 against those things that experience has 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 259 
 
 taught men to*be best for the majority. Come, 
 let us go." He turned towards the farm, and 
 with burning cheeks she followed him. 
 
 The bottle was filled with cream for the 
 afternoon tea. They refused the bowls of 
 cream the milkmaid offered them, and turned 
 on their way homeward in silence. 
 
 "It is the oddest thing in the world," he 
 thought, "that she should go off her head 
 about the marriage ceremony. Some women 
 are rather too eager for it. Perhaps the Ogre 
 wasn't happy in his domestic relations." 
 Somehow her talk had repelled him. He 
 liked a woman who reverenced forms and 
 ceremonies ; he even liked her to be a little 
 superstitious. "What put all that stuff in 
 your head about marriage?" he asked ; "you 
 couldn't have spoken more vehemently if you 
 had had a drunken husband who beat you 
 every Saturday night." 
 
 "Ah," she said eagerly, "now you have 
 touched it. Suppose a woman has a drunken 
 husband who beats her on Saturday nights, a 
 
260 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 man she doesn't love and has never loved, but 
 has married for some other reason ; or if a 
 man has a bad and wicked woman for a wife, 
 not a woman he has once loved, and so for the 
 sake of that remembrance is willing to bear 
 with, are they to stay together and be miser- 
 able all their lives ? " 
 
 ."Yes, I think so," he answered slowly; 
 "if they had not cared for each other they 
 
 should not have married " 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes ; I agree in that." 
 "But having done so, no matter for what 
 reason, I think they are bound to remain to- 
 gether if it is in any way possible, for the 
 more terrible, the more sacred, and the more 
 binding you can make marriage, so gradually 
 will you increase the respect for it. I neither 
 believe in easy marriage nor in easy divorce 
 myself. Just as the soldier is sacrificed for 
 the battle, so must the everyday individual 
 be sacrificed for the sake of the institution 
 that has been found to work best and to be 
 best for the majority. Katherine," he said 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 261 
 
 suddenly, "I hope you haven't been talk- 
 ing with any of the unpleasant women 
 who tell you that men are wicked and that 
 women are men's superiors, and all the rest of 
 it?" 
 
 "No," answered Katherine, wonderstruck, 
 "I don't even know what you mean. I think 
 men and women too, as a rule, are very dear 
 and good. All that I have known or seen, 
 with one exception" — and her lips turned 
 white, but still he was unsuspicious, "have 
 been. Men and women are just as good as 
 each other, it seems to me, though, of course, 
 the men are stronger and wiser than the 
 women — at least," she said, looking up with 
 the quick smile he loved, "it's nicer when 
 they are ; it makes them able to take care of 
 us : I can't think of anything better in the 
 world than being taken care of by anyone — 
 the man," she added shyly, "you love best in 
 the world." 
 
 "And you don't know ten thousand people 
 who have all married miserably % " he asked 
 
2G2 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 joyously, for it seemed as if things were com- 
 ing round to the point he wished. 
 
 "No," she said, with a little sorry laugh, 
 "I knew of one miserable marriage, but the 
 others," and she thought of the Oswells and 
 of George and Alice Alford, u have been per- 
 fectly happy. In England I used to walk 
 about alone and look at the people two and 
 two, always a man and a woman, and think 
 how glad they seemed to be together." 
 
 ' 'As we will be, my sweet, when we are 
 married," he said, and made a sudden snatch 
 as if to take her in his arms and kiss her. 
 
 "Oh, no," she cried, "never as long as 
 we live ! " and in her fright she dropped the 
 bottle of cream out of her. basket. It fell at 
 their feet and was broken. They looked at it 
 in silence for a moment, and swift as lightning 
 her thoughts went back to the day when she 
 had dropped the bowl of flowers. It had al- 
 ways seemed to her, in looking back, that 
 upon that day her childhood ended ; it flashed 
 upon her that perhaps on this day too there 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 263 
 
 ended something in her life — something that 
 would never come again. 
 
 He looked up and met her eyes. "Never 
 mind the cream," he said, almost indignantly, 
 " that does not matter, but I do not under- 
 stand you, Katherine. Do you mean to say 
 that it can never be % " 
 
 "No, never," she answered. "But cannot 
 we be friends % " she pleaded. 
 
 "No, we cannot," he answered decisively. 
 "That means — at worst, what I do not even 
 choose to mention to you " 
 
 "But, at best?" 
 
 " Something that may be satisfactory for 
 one, but never is for two. I shall go away to- 
 morrow or the next day," he said curtly, as 
 they entered the hotel, but she made no an- 
 swer, only looked round at him as they went 
 upstairs. 
 
 "I am going to lie down," she said, "and 
 shall not come in to dinner to-night, but I will 
 see you both afterwards in the sitting-room ; 
 perhaps there will be a fire," she added, with a 
 
264 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 little shiver, as she disappeared from his sight. 
 Then she went into her room once more, and 
 sat down feeling that she had only made him 
 love her less, and widened the distance between 
 them. " It is no good," she thought bitterly ; 
 " my life is my own; I have to suffer all its 
 pain, and yet I cannot fashion it as I like. I 
 might as well try to shape water with my 
 hands. A little life like mine, too. The secret 
 of the world seems to be that one has to sub- 
 mit to the powers that are stronger than one- 
 self ; no matter how much one's heart longs to 
 fight them, and it's the most terrible thing on 
 earth to do wrong, for sin is like a ball passing 
 from hand to hand, changing its shape and 
 colour as it goes along. If only Richard Mor- 
 ris had not done wrong Uncle Robert would 
 not have been so stern, nor have married me to 
 Mr. Belcher ; and if Mr. Belcher had not been 
 cruel I should not have run away and deceived 
 the Mummy and Jim." She stood up and con- 
 sidered it, looking out at the plains in the dis- 
 tance. "I think I understand," she said to 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 265 
 
 herself at last. "The great laws of life are 
 our masters and avenge themselves terribly on 
 those who dare to tamper with them. Only I 
 have been so happy," she went on, a little 
 gratitude coming into her eyes, u and I don't 
 care— I don't care what comes of it. I have 
 had a flash of summer right across my life. I 
 should never have known it if I had not come 
 here or if they had known. Oh ! think, 
 think ! " she exclaimed, clasping her hands, 
 " what it would have been to have lived all my 
 life and to have loved no one. I ought to be 
 very thankful for this that has come into my 
 heart." A sudden idea smote her as though it 
 came from Heaven. "And I will make it a 
 thank-offering," she said slowly, u a thank- 
 offering that shall try me sorely and cost me 
 much, but I will do it as a proof of the 
 strength of the love I bear him." She sat 
 down still and silent for half an hour ; a great 
 resolution took possession of her, and she de- 
 termined that nothing should tempt her to go 
 from it. 
 
266 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 She got up and made some tea for Miss 
 Bennett. 
 
 "Miss Kerr," the sick woman said, "these 
 people downstairs are very inattentive, though 
 I have paid their bill. I shall leave to-morrow 
 morning, and have ordered the chair to carry 
 me down and the mule for my baggage. If 
 you could come a day later, I would wait for 
 you at Mendrisio ? " 
 
 It was an unexpected stroke of good for- 
 tune. " But I will go with you to-morrow," 
 she exclaimed, "as early as you like, and 
 gladly." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Mrs. Alford was alone when Katherine 
 went to her after dinner. Jim had gone for a 
 stroll by himself : it was a sign of the changed 
 state of things that he had done so. 
 
 "He will be back directly," his mother 
 said apologetically, and sat down by the fire 
 and warmed her hands in silence. Katherine 
 crouched on a low stool at her feet, and watch- 
 ing the crackling wood. Presently she looked 
 up. 
 
 " Mummy," she said, " while you were at 
 dinner I put all your things tidy, and your tea- 
 basket is back in your room. Is there any- 
 thing else I can do for you this evening ? To- 
 morrow I am going away with Miss Bennett." 
 She kissed the old lady's hand as if to soften 
 the news of her sudden departure. 
 
 (267) 
 
268 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " To-morrow! " 
 
 " Yes, to-morrow," Katherine repeated sad- 
 ly. " There is no one else to take care of her. 
 She needs me ; you have Jim." 
 
 "He needs you too. I don't know what 
 there is in your heart, my dear, except that 
 it is something you are keeping from me. I 
 think you might have trusted me. I have 
 been very fond of you." 
 
 " And I of you, dear Mummy." 
 
 " Then why should you go ? You said you 
 were fond of Jim : I hoped you were, but he 
 has told me about this afternoon. He never 
 loved any other woman in his life — I thought 
 you cared for him." 
 
 "I do," she whispered. " I love him with 
 all my heart, and think there is no one like 
 him in the world. The mere sound of his step 
 makes my heart beat, and to hear his voice 
 and see his face are life and happiness to me." 
 
 "Then why don't you marry him, my dar- 
 ling?" the old lady said, taking her in her 
 arms. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 269 
 
 " I can't, I can't," and she crouched down 
 on her stool again and looked into the fire. 
 
 Then Jim entered, and Mrs. Alford 
 turned to him quickly, longing to bring about 
 an acute crisis of some sort. "Katherine is 
 going away to-morrow," she said, " she* and 
 Miss Bennett together." 
 
 " To-morrow \ " he echoed. 
 
 " Yes, and I want to say good-bye to-night, 
 so waited till you came." Then she turned to 
 his mother, " You have been very kind to me, 
 Mummy. I can't thank you now, but I will all 
 my life when I think of you." She had risen 
 from her stool and stood looking at them both. 
 
 Mrs. Alford took her hands and held them. 
 " You have been very kind to me," she said, 
 " except in going from me. Why won't you 
 stay, and why can't you make my son happy 1 " 
 Then Katherine stooped and kissed her, and 
 drew her hands aw r ay and crossed to the door, 
 which was shut. She had not spoken to Jim, 
 who waited awkwardly by the table in the 
 middle of the room, but she gave him a quick 
 
270 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 look, and as she did so he saw that her face 
 was pale, and her eyes had a strange hunted 
 look in them. 
 
 "Kathy," he said, "I didn't mean the 
 Mammy to say that to you, or that you should 
 be troubled again in any way. Say good-bye 
 to me, my dear, and God bless you." He went 
 towards her and held out his hand. She mo- 
 tioned him back, and stood half hesitating 
 with her back against the door, and faced him 
 and the old lady. 
 
 " Wait," she said, evidently speaking with 
 difficulty, "I want to tell you before I go, 
 though you will never speak to me again ; but 
 I made up my mind this afternoon when we 
 came back from the farm that you should 
 know the truth. It is better than anything 
 else — I make it my thank-offering for the hap- 
 piness of the past months." She spoke hur- 
 riedly, as if she were afraid lest her courage 
 should fail before she finished. "It is not be- 
 cause I don't want to stay with you that I am 
 going, or because — or because I don't love Jim. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 271 
 
 If I didn't it would not matter. He is more 
 than the whole world to me." He made a step 
 forward, but she put up her hands as if to keep 
 him back. "I am going away because — I — I 
 am married to somebody else." 
 
 " You are married!" the old lady ex- 
 claimed, while Jim looked at her as though he 
 thought she were mad. 
 
 " Yes, I am married," she said with a gasp 
 of relief at having brought it out at last. " I 
 was made to marry, but Uncle Robert did it 
 for the very best, I know he did," she added 
 gently. " He thought that every woman ought 
 to be married. I had no relations, and he was 
 afraid of leaving me alone in the world. I 
 know he did it for the best," she shuddered ; 
 "he meant to be kind; but I was miserable, 
 for I didn't love the man, I never did for a 
 single moment ; but I was powerless and help- 
 less, and had been brought up to think that 
 women were obliged to do as men told them. 
 It seems so weak and foolish to me now since I 
 have realised that we have each to live our own 
 
 18 
 
272 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 lives and to choose the great things in them for 
 ourselves." 
 
 "But whom did you marry?" Mrs. Alford 
 asked, bewildered. 
 
 "A friend of Uncle Robert's," Katherine 
 answered, speaking in the manner of a hunted 
 woman who had been brought to bay at last. 
 "I had known him since I was a little girl. 
 He was a great deal older than I — eighteen 
 years, I think— and I didn't want to marry 
 him, and told him so." 
 
 " Was he so much in love with you ? " Jim 
 asked. 
 
 "No," she answered sadly, shaking her 
 head. It would be mean and ungenerous, she 
 thought, seeing that Mr. Belcher was not there 
 to defend himself, to explain wholly how cruel 
 he had been— besides, her pride would not let 
 her confess his blows. Bat some things she 
 felt bound to say in self-defence. "No, he 
 was not in love with me, but he knew that 
 Uncle Eobert wished to see me married — and 
 he knew I should have Uncle Robert's money. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 273 
 
 He married me for that. I had no will of my 
 own in anything, and no one to consult — no 
 mother or sisters or friends, no one in the 
 world except Uncle Robert, who had had a 
 great trouble about his son. It made him very 
 unhappy, and he grew silent and morose, and 
 very stern, so that he hardly took any notice 
 of me." She said it gently, as if to soften her 
 words. u There was no one else except Susan, 
 who said that men were the stronger race, and 
 that women must obey them. Oh, you can't 
 understand, you can't indeed," she cried, clasp- 
 ing her hands, and looking up at Jim. "I 
 could not help myself in any way ; I felt like a 
 prisoner who was bound and had been born 
 bound. It never even occurred to me to make 
 a desperate struggle for freedom. I made a 
 little feeble one, but it was useless." 
 
 "But when were you married?" Mrs. Al- 
 ford asked, still bewildered, for Katherine's 
 story sounded so impossible. "You were so 
 very young." 
 
 " I was eighteen — it was the most dreadful 
 
274 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 day of my life — and that is what I meant," she 
 went on, turning to Jim, "about the marriage 
 ceremony. Why should words I did not mean 
 or say willingly bind me ? And why should he 
 be able without offence to any law at all to 
 marry me, not because he wanted me but be- 
 cause he wanted Uncle Robert's money ? There 
 is something very wrong somewhere that such 
 a thing should be possible," she said passion- 
 ately. "It ought to be the bitterest sin, the 
 most terrible disgrace, to marry for any reason 
 on earth except because you want to spend 
 your whole lives together, and care for each 
 other with all your hearts." 
 
 " That is the only reason an honest man 
 does marry," he exclaimed. 
 
 "I have thought about it so much," she 
 went on vehemently, as if she had not heard 
 him, u hour after hour as I sat in the next 
 room looking across the plains of Lombardy. 
 People who would be afraid to cheat or com- 
 mit crimes for which they would be put in 
 prison will take a false oath in a church and 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 275 
 
 say things they do not dream of meaning, and 
 never seem to have it on their conscience. Is 
 it because they think God will not tell their 
 fellow-men, or does not hear them, or because 
 they think that truth and honour have little to 
 do with marriage % ' - 
 
 " Katherine ! " Mrs. Alford exclaimed, look- 
 ing at her with astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, Mummy," the girl continued breath- 
 lessly, " I have thought and thought till I have 
 been nearly mad. People ought to hesitate 
 and think a great deal — unless they love each 
 other so much that there can be no doubt at all 
 about it — before they vow their whole lives to 
 each other. I think each one should go alone 
 and make a declaration before some official that 
 they want to marry, so that they are very sure 
 of themselves. Even if they are not terribly in 
 love — perhaps all people cannot be — they ought 
 to like each other best in the world and want 
 to be together. And the ceremony should be 
 the most sacred thing on earth — the most bind- 
 ing and the most blessed — and nothing should 
 
276 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 undo it, not even death, between people who 
 have been faithful and happy together and 
 loved each other all the time. When one dies, 
 the other should die too, or else should live 
 doing what the other had left undone. But 
 now, marriage, on which one's whole happiness 
 depends, is a careless, easy thing, done for 
 money or from fear, or because of a sudden 
 fancy, as if it lasted a month instead of a life- 
 time, and it is a mere chance whether it makes 
 for joy or sorrow — just a toss-up." 
 
 "But all marriages are not as you say," 
 Mrs. Alford said coldly, and still bewildered 
 by Katherine's confession. 
 
 " No, dear Mummy, they are not, but many 
 are ; and even one in a town should be a dis- 
 grace — like murder. It is worse than murder, 
 for it lasts longer. Mr. Belcher married me 
 because he wanted Uncle Robert's money, not 
 because he loved me ; and I married him be- 
 cause I was helpless and afraid of Uncle 
 Robert ; and I was young — only a school-girl 
 — and no companion for him, and he was none 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 277 
 
 for me. We were just two strangers living 
 in the same house. I was in his way, as a 
 stranger is ; he resented it when he saw me, 
 and lived his own life, so far as he could, with- 
 out me." 
 
 "Why didn't you try to love him?" Mrs. 
 Alford asked sternly. " He was your hus- 
 band." 
 
 "I did, I did!" she said in a despairing 
 tone, "but it was useless. All my life I had 
 been afraid of him, had never even liked him. 
 I can't explain what life was with him. Per- 
 haps it was all my fault — only I know this, 
 that I was the most miserable girl in the wide 
 world. One day," she went on quickly, "he 
 told me he was going away for a week. He 
 had been very cruel " 
 
 " Cruel ? " repeated Jim in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes," answered Katherine. "Perhaps I 
 ought not to say things against him while he is 
 not here, but he was cruel — cruel, and he went 
 away. I was nearly mad and hated him — I 
 never did anything else but hate him and 
 
278 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 shudder at his voice. When he had gone — 
 Uncle Robert had started for Australia — I ran 
 away. Yes, I did, Mummy," and the tears 
 ran down her face. " Uncle Robert gave me 
 some money before he went to Australia, and 
 Mrs. Barrett left me some, and I ran away. 
 That was how you found me on board ship. 
 Alice never guessed I was married. I had 
 thrown my wedding-ring into the sea " 
 
 "You should have told me," Mrs. Alford 
 said. 
 
 " I couldn't. I was afraid. I have thought 
 sometimes," she went on, for she reproached 
 herself concerning Mr. Belcher now that she 
 had put his conduct into words, "that he 
 meant to be kinder after we were married ; but 
 he was so much older, and I was such a school- 
 girl in mind, and he knew that I did not love 
 him, for I had told him so, and gradually he 
 learnt to hate me because he couldn't get rid of 
 me — that was what I meant, to-day, Jim," she 
 said, turning to him again. " I don't mean to 
 scoff at marriage, but I never felt that I was 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 279 
 
 married to Mr. Belcher at all, and I don't now, 
 only that I was his prisoner, and I can't feel 
 that I have been very wicked except in not 
 telling you before." 
 
 " You told me that you loved my son," Mrs. 
 Alford said. 
 
 " Yes, dear Mummy, and I do," she answered 
 in a low, sweet voice. "I love him with all 
 my heart, and shall as long as I live— but I 
 would not say it if I ever meant to see him 
 again after to-night. I thought we could be 
 friends, but I see now that he is right in say- 
 ing that it is impossible. You must not 
 think," she added as Mrs. Alford made a ges- 
 ture of indignation, "that I mean any harm, 
 for I think the greatest insult to love is to de- 
 face it with wickedness. And Jim was quite 
 right to-day when he said we were all bound to 
 respect those laws that were found to work 
 best for mankind, and that each individual 
 must abide by them, no matter how hard they 
 are ; just as a soldier must die in battle for the 
 sake of his country. I have expressed it all 
 
A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 so badly, but I have thought about it, and 
 thought about it day and night, and I will try 
 and do what is right always, for the sake of 
 you and Jim." 
 
 "Then, my dear," said Mrs. Alford solemn- 
 ly? "you will let your husband know your 
 whereabouts \ " 
 
 Poor Katherine's heart called out dumbly, 
 " Oh, I knew, I knew she would say it ! " But 
 she answered firmly, "No, Mummy, I can- 
 not." 
 
 "No, of course she can't," said Jim indig- 
 nantly, and then he turned to Katherine. 
 "My darling," he said, "everything is, and 
 must be, at an end between us in one way, but 
 I shall love you as long as I live, and we will 
 try to be friends or like brother and sister," he 
 added desperately. 
 
 "No," she answered, shaking her head. 
 "That cannot be now. I do not think," she 
 added in a whisper, " that it would satisfy me. 
 I want you to love me so much, much more 
 that it would be wrong — it is better that we 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 281 
 
 should be strangers— just hearing from each 
 other now and then," she, added wistfully. 
 
 "It's such a frightful puzzle, such a hole 
 for you to be in, my poor darling." 
 
 "You mustn't call me that," she said in a 
 tone of happy fright. " If you only won't 
 think badly of me, that is all I want. And if 
 I love you when you are in India— so far away 
 as that, it will seem like a religion and become 
 beautiful. Talk it all over with the Mummy, 
 Jim dear, and when you have thought it out, 
 perhaps you or she will write to me." And 
 before they knew what she was going to do 
 she had opened the door and vanished from 
 their sight. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Alassio is a very little place on the Italian 
 Riviera, half-way between Savona and San 
 Remo. Inside the town gates are only a 
 couple of narrow streets, worn into ruts like 
 the streets of Pompeii, hardly wide enough to 
 let two well-loaded donkeys pass each other 
 comfortably, a little square market-place, a few 
 primitive shops, and a couple of hotels that 
 have seen better days. Beyond the* gates are 
 two or three fairly new hotels, the old pictur- 
 esque church with its square towers, a few 
 villas, and, a little way above them, the Protest- 
 ant church built by a handful of devout Eng- 
 lish. Dotted about on the mountain sides at 
 irregular intervals are more villas, and here 
 and there a shrine or ruined chapel. In and 
 
 (282) 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 283 
 
 out the olive woods towards Albenga, the next 
 town to Alassio, winds a narrow Roman road, 
 along which Hannibal is said to have led his 
 followers into Southern Italy. 
 
 But though Alassio is a pleasant enough 
 place to the idler or the invalid, or to the 
 romantic in search of the picturesque, it has 
 no attractions for the frivolous or fashionable. 
 When Katherine and Miss Bennett journeyed 
 there, it was known to very few English folk, 
 and they kept its beauty a secret to them- 
 selves. It is on one side of a bay, as if it had 
 dropped there gracefully and quite by acci- 
 dent ; and a little way off— a mile or two, per- 
 haps — is the village of Laigueglia, which might 
 be Alassio's only child keeping respectfully at 
 a distance from its parent. These two have 
 the bay to themselves, and all along the shore 
 are really fine sands on which the children 
 seek for Venus's slippers, and play among the 
 boats and the brown sails and fishing-nets 
 hung out to dry. Close behind, in a grand 
 semicircle are the mountains ; there is no plain 
 
284 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 between them and the sea, save the sands and 
 as much ground as is necessary for the little 
 town to stand upon, and there is no visible 
 break in their chain. Besides the sand and 
 the sea and the mountains there are the olive- 
 woods and the maidenhair valley, and the 
 Banxia roses and the red berries of the sarsa- 
 parilla, and the acacia carubas, which are 
 especially line, and the palms and the pepper- 
 trees and the oranges that grow thick as apples 
 in Devonshire, and the lemons thriving so well 
 that five millions of them are gathered every 
 year in the district. And there are bits of 
 colour and patches of light, and bells that ring 
 by fits and starts, and clocks that strike at odd 
 moments, and a few well-to-do Italians, and 
 many peasant folk, pleasant to talk with and 
 picturesque to look at— all these, with the sun- 
 shine everywhere, make up the beauty of 
 Alassio. 
 
 At the end towards Albenga, Miss Crockett 
 kept a little pension in a villa that looked like 
 a Swiss chalet. It was almost the last house 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 285 
 
 in Alassio, and had a garden full of orange- 
 trees and pepper- trees, and geraniums that 
 grew half as high as a man. Behind were the 
 sands and the sea, and in front was a high 
 road. On the other side of the road was 
 a mountain covered with olive woods and 
 crowned by a ruined church that had a history 
 about a princess who had built it as a thank- 
 offering for having married her lowly born 
 lover. To the right stretched the white Cor- 
 niche road on its way to Albenga and the 
 towns beyond ; and to the left it went past the 
 villas and the church and the Grand Hotel, 
 and the turning to the station, on to the town 
 gates, through the town and out by the gates, 
 at the other end, past an hotel built low down 
 on the water's edge, and on, beside the railway 
 line and the great yellow sands and the blue 
 sea, to Laigueglia. 
 
 Miss Bennett was staying at Miss Crockett's 
 pension. The two women had known and dis- 
 liked each other all their lives. They had 
 both been governesses. Miss Bennett had 
 
286 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 broken down from ill-health; Miss Crockett 
 had done the same years before, but she was 
 better, and had been helped by some old pupils 
 to start the pension by which she managed to 
 make a living. She was never sure of filling 
 all her rooms, so was glad to take Miss Bennett 
 even at a moderate price, and Miss Bennett 
 thought it was better to be with her than with 
 a stranger. She had never pretended to like 
 Miss Crockett or to hold to her methods of 
 teaching, so she knew that too much civility 
 would not be expected of her. Thus it was 
 they came together with a certain amount of 
 congratulation, but with little sympathy on 
 either side. Miss Bennett's strength seemed 
 to be vanishing with the year : she gave more 
 trouble than other boarders, but by way of 
 compensation she ate less. The soft Italian 
 air was doing her good and putting her into a 
 friendly humour with the world— though not 
 with its people— before she said good-bye. 
 Her room was a front one facing the roadway 
 and the mountain ; for those that faced the 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 287 
 
 sea at the back were dearer and beyond her 
 means ; she could see the trains flashing 
 among the olive woods at the foot of the 
 mountain when she sat at the window — the 
 train from the Italian frontier going on to 
 Genoa, and the train from Genoa going back 
 to the frontier. The people in them were seek- 
 ing health or pleasure ; it was always the same 
 story, just as it had been at Generoso. She 
 used to look at them grudgingly, wondering 
 who was left to work, and who sat still to sor- 
 row, for the world about her seemed to be 
 given up to pleasure- taking or leisure. Well, 
 it didn't matter. Soon she would be away 
 from it all, and the world might go on as 
 it pleased. She had enough money, Miss 
 Crockett was not likely to over-charge or 
 neglect her, Katherine came to see her every 
 day: she liked Katherine, liked her better 
 lately since her face had grown white and thin 
 and very sad. A grim satisfaction came into 
 her eyes as she noticed it : the girl was being 
 made to pay, she thought, as all people who 
 
 19 
 
288 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 lived in the world and dared to bid for happi- 
 ness were made to pay at some time. 
 
 "Is there nothing more I can do — nothing, 
 nothing else ? " she would ask Miss Bennett 
 before she left her till the morrow. And the 
 answer was always the same. 
 
 "No, thank you, and it would be better to 
 get used to having nothing at all done for me, 
 I don't want to be sorry to die." 
 
 "Ah, we must all be that while the sun 
 shines and the trees have leaves and there is 
 a sky above our heads. I think sometimes I 
 would rather live in the bitterest pain than be 
 dead," Katherine said one day. 
 
 " The next world may be better." 
 
 "But I long for a share of happiness in 
 this one." 
 
 "Ah," answered Miss Bennett grimly, " we 
 all do ; but some of us die of hunger. I think 
 you shall go now," she added, " but it does me 
 good to see you come in of a day. I can't 
 think why you wouldn't stay here." 
 
 "I will if you like," Katherine answered, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 289 
 
 " if it will please you." It was saying a great 
 deal, and she knew it, but her heart ached so 
 much for the dying woman that she would 
 have done anything in the world to give her a 
 moment's pleasure. It haunted her day and 
 night, as a sort of refrain to her own life and 
 its anxieties, that Miss Bennett was dying, 
 that every day she was a little nearer to the 
 end that was already well in sight. She had 
 never beheld death, but now instinctively she 
 recognised it, and saw its marks upon Miss 
 Bennett's grey face, and in her eyes that had 
 grown large and bright and eager, and her 
 hands that were transparent, and her footsteps 
 that lagged feebly one after the other with 
 a pause between, as though the grim shadow 
 stooped and measured them. 
 
 Miss Bennett considered Katherine's ques- 
 tion. " No," she answered, " I think you had 
 better stay where you are. I know the people 
 here now, and it breaks the day better when 
 you come in the afternoon. You are a good 
 girl. I often wonder why you didn't marry 
 
290 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 young Alford. Women should marry if they 
 get the chance. It's a terrible thing when you 
 grow old to feel that you have missed the near 
 relationships of life. People who have done 
 that are only in the way. Besides, women 
 grow spiteful as they grow old if they are not 
 married, just as men grow obstinate and nar- 
 row if they are alone; each sex needs the 
 other to leaven it. It is better to be with a 
 disagreeable man than to grow disagreeable 
 yourself ! " 
 
 "Oh, don't let us talk of that; you don't 
 know how impossible it all is. I wish I could 
 do something more for you before I go, I do 
 so little ! " But Miss Bennett had closed her 
 eyes, and did not hear. Katherine, seeing 
 that she was comfortable, left the room softly 
 and took her way back to her own lodging. 
 
 She was living at Laigueglia, and was the 
 only Englishwoman in the village, which Miss 
 Bennett had described well enough — a little, 
 quiet street, a white marble church cracked by 
 earthquake, a railway station at which a train 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 291 
 
 stopped once or twice a day, and a few de- 
 serted-looking houses with gardens full of 
 orange-trees ; that was all. She had per- 
 suaded a woman who kept a little shop to let 
 her have a bed-room and to provide her with 
 the morning coffee and the midday meal ; the 
 rest she managed, with the help of a spirit- 
 lamp and some tea and biscuits, to arrange for 
 herself. 
 
 And here, alone from every one who even 
 spoke her tongue, she tried to face the prob- 
 lem of life and the future. She had plenty of 
 money at the present rate to last her a year 
 or two. The place was beautiful enough, the 
 Mediterranean and the mountains and the 
 wonderful vegetation were intoxicating ; but 
 they were not enough to satisfy her. "I 
 want more," she cried to herself; "I can't go 
 on for ever living like this, or measure my 
 thoughts and longings by the rule of right and 
 wrong. I want to live, not merely to eat and 
 drink and take up room in the world and do 
 nothing — nothing at all. I am of no use at 
 
292 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 all now unless it is to poor Miss Bennett, and 
 she will be gone soon ; if I were dead no one 
 would care, hardly anyone would even know. 
 Yes, Jim would be sorry, and perhaps the 
 Mummy." She sat down on the beach half- 
 way between the hotel, low down on the 
 water's edge, of which Miss Bennett had told 
 her, and Laigueglia. The hotel was a long, 
 rambling building, picturesque enough, with a 
 great orange garden to it, and immediately be- 
 hind the mountains rose up high and suddenly 
 towards the blue sky. Hardly any one stayed 
 at the hotel, and the few who did were Ital- 
 ians. A man and a woman were sitting in the 
 garden when Katherine passed, but she had 
 only seen them in the distance. They came 
 out from among the orange-trees now and 
 walked round to the front of the hotel, and 
 stopped as if they were watching the sunset. 
 Something made Katherine think that they 
 were English, but she could not see them well, 
 and since the man was certainly not Mr. 
 Belcher, whom she dreaded, or Jim Alford, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 293 
 
 for whom she longed, she went on with her 
 own thoughts, idly stirring the sand with her 
 fingers. She felt that somehow she must see 
 Jim again ; she loved him more and more 
 every day of her life. All space was empty ; 
 every sound seemed to echo in a desert ; the 
 hours dragged by and made themselves felt 
 to the uttermost second of every minute. 
 Beautiful ; oh, yes ! the place might be beau- 
 tiful, but it was an empty paradise, and she 
 was miserable. All sorts of desperate things 
 she might have done presented themselves to 
 her. "I wish I had never told," she cried, 
 while the b'ue water surged up to her feet as 
 if to listen. "I might have married him and 
 gone away to India and been happy all my 
 my life and never discovered. It wasn't as if 
 he had been going to live in England. Why 
 didn't I think of it and dare it? I know I 
 could have made him happy, and he would 
 never, never have known. It would have 
 done no one any harm ; how can a deed that 
 only makes people happy and does no one 
 
294 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 any harm be wrong? I can't understand it. 
 But I know this, that I would live a year 
 in prison darkness or bitterest pain for just 
 one hour more with him, and I shall never see 
 him again as long as I live. I used to think 
 that the mere fact of loving him and thinking 
 of him would be enough ; but it isn't. I want 
 to see him, and hear him, and to walk beside 
 him. Oh, how wicked I am ! — for I want him 
 to kiss me again, and it is all over for ever 
 and ever, and I have to live to the end of my 
 life as best I can. If we had only been like 
 those two people," she thought, as she watched 
 the strangers saunter back to the orange-trees, 
 "they look like Adam and Eve going into the 
 Garden of Eden. It has always been a man 
 and woman— a man and a woman — since the 
 world began. But I have to wander on and be 
 alone always, that is my portion, and some 
 day I shall be old and discontented, waiting 
 for death like Miss Bennett, and have had 
 nothing in life to satisfy me, and be hungry 
 and longing still. Jim will marry somebody 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 295 
 
 else in time — oh, to think of him married to 
 someone else — someone who has always been 
 happy and will be happier still when he loves 
 her, and she goes to spend her whole life with 
 him — makes me feel as if I want to die before 
 it comes to pass." She stood up and looked at 
 the sea — it seemed full of infinite wisdom and 
 understanding. "How foolish I must seem to 
 you ! " she cried, holding out her arms towards 
 it. " But I am so miserable ! I want to be- 
 long to Jim, to be his wife, to spend all my 
 days with him, and to be buried in the same 
 grave with him at last : the chance was mine, 
 but those awful words that I said, just for lack 
 of courage to run away from Uncle Robert, 
 have made it impossible for ever. It will never 
 be now — never — never. I might as well try to 
 walk across you to the horizon in the dis- 
 tance." She turned away with a long sigh, 
 and walked on towards Laigueglia, thinking of 
 the Mummy's letter ; for she had written to 
 Mrs. Alford soon after she had arrived at Lai- 
 gueglia. There had been a fortnight's long 
 
296 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 waiting before the answer came, and when it 
 did, though it was kind enough, it was firm in 
 its opinion that she ought to go back to her 
 husband, or to write to her uncle in Australia, 
 asking him to arrange a separation that was 
 legal. "Or, if you like" the letter went on, 
 "and have not courage to do it before, as I 
 think you ought, come to me at the end of 
 January, when Jim has gone. T shall be at 
 Chilworth, and if you like to tell your hus- 
 band to meet you under my roof, I will do my 
 best to help you to some arrangement with 
 him." How merciless it seemed: she had no 
 heart to answer it. Other reference to Jim, ex- 
 cept that one about his going, there had been 
 none in it, but the letter was dated from Milan, 
 and Katherine divined that they were on their 
 way back to England. More than a month 
 had passed since it came, but she could not 
 think of it calmly : it made her determine that 
 when Miss Bennett was gone she would jour- 
 ney on to some other place that had no mem- 
 ory of the morning that brought it. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 297 
 
 She could not go indoors yet, it was too 
 early. An idea struck her. She would go. 
 back to Alassio, through the little town, out 
 at the other end and on to Santa Croce, and 
 see the moon rise through a ruined doorway — 
 all that was left of some old church or monas- 
 tery — hidden among the woods high up above 
 Albenga. She looked in at the garden as she 
 passed the hotel. The strangers rose from a 
 seat among the orange-trees and suddenly 
 faced her. With a cry of fear she stood still, 
 for one of them in astonishment darted to- 
 wards her. It was Mrs. Oswell. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Mrs. Belcher ! " Mrs. Oswell darted 
 from her husband's side through the little 
 gateway and stopped in astonishment. Kath- 
 erine stood spell-bound and helpless, the tears 
 gathering in her eyes and her hands twisting 
 nervously together as she vainly tried to speak. 
 It was all over, she was discovered, and going 
 to be taken back, a prisoner, to a judge who 
 would be merciless. Then Mrs. Oswell, just as 
 if she had divined her thoughts, put her arms 
 round the girl's neck and kissed her. " Don't 
 be afraid," she said. "I have understood all 
 about it, and we are not going to telegraph to 
 Mr. Belcher ; so don't look at us as if we were 
 dragons." 
 
 "It is all right, Mrs. Belcher," Mr. Oswell 
 
 (298) 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 299 
 
 said reassuringly ; "Bee and I were very sorry 
 for you, and felt that things must have been 
 pretty bad or you wouldn't have done it." 
 
 "Where is he?" Katherine asked in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "In England, I suppose," Mrs. Oswell 
 answered in a tone of distinct satisfaction. 
 " Let that comfort you. But how did you get 
 here? Everyone thought you were at the 
 bottom of the sea," she added cheerfully ; 
 " your trunk turned up from the wreck of an 
 American liner, and its owner was supposed to 
 be drowned." 
 
 "Its owner?" Katherine said, dazed, 'and 
 my trunk ? Oh, I remember, I gave it to a 
 chambermaid at Southampton ! " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Belcher wears a hat-band for 
 you, and if you leave him alone I shouldn't be 
 surprised if some fine day he marries again." 
 
 "Oh! let him," Katherine cried, with a 
 great throb of relief, "and don't tell him that 
 you have found me. I was never really mar- 
 ried to him — I mean that it was never like 
 
300 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 marriage," she added, in answer to the surprise 
 on Mr. Oswald's face, "and we were miserable 
 together. Let him live his life as he will, and 
 let me go my own way." 
 
 " Are you alone, dear? " Mrs. Oswell asked 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " Alone? " Katherine repeated, not even un- 
 derstanding the question. " Why, yes. I met 
 an old friend on board ship and made friends 
 with her people," the colour came to her face 
 swiftly, " but they are not here. I am by my- 
 self at Laigneglia, and the only person I know 
 is a poor woman dying at Alassio." 
 
 Mrs. Oswell put her arm through Kath- 
 erine's. "Fred," she said to her husband, 
 " let us take her into the hotel and make her 
 dine with us ; the bell will ring directly — she 
 wants cheering up." 
 
 Almost before she was aware of it, they had 
 carried their point, and Katherine found her- 
 self sitting with them in the salle d manger of 
 the hotel. "And now, tell us what you have 
 been doing with yourself all this time." Mrs. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 301 
 
 Oswell's manner had not improved, though her 
 face was as kindly as ever. " You look as if 
 you had been standing still on one leg like the 
 crane you once told me about. " 
 
 " I have been journeying on in the world as 
 I always longed to do," she said with a little 
 rueful smile. "It is very beautiful, and the 
 people in it have taught me to be very thank- 
 ful for life ; but I have known that an end 
 must come. Oh, do tell me," she went on 
 eagerly, and yet even to mention the name 
 frightened her, " if you have seen — him. And 
 what he said and whether he tried to find 
 me?" 
 
 " We will tell you everything," Mrs. Oswell 
 answered, " as soon as you have eaten some 
 dinner. What a good thing this place is 
 empty, so that we can talk in peace ! Fred, do 
 hurry the waiter. Oh, you have ordered some 
 champagne — that was clever of you, it will do 
 her good, even if it is bad. Let me see the 
 label — I declare we are lucky ! No, my dear 
 Katherine, I have not seen Mr. Belcher, but 
 
302 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 Fred has, two or three times. I have seen 
 your aunt " 
 
 " My aunt ! I haven't one." 
 
 "Yes, you have," Mrs. Oswell answered 
 triumphantly. " Your uncle went to Australia 
 to look after his son's wife and two boys ; and 
 it seems that a Frenchwoman who lived in the 
 same house in Gower Street insisted on going 
 too." 
 
 "The artfulness of women is amazing," said 
 Mr. Oswell. 
 
 " Only when they are French, Fred dear. 
 Well, when they got to Melbourne it turned 
 out that the boys were alive and the mother 
 was dead. So your uncle married the French- 
 woman, and they all came back together, and 
 are living happy ever after." 
 
 "I can't imagine Uncle Robert married," 
 Katherine said in amazement. "Mr. Belcher 
 won't get his money." 
 
 " Serve him right." 
 
 "But how did you see her? You didn't 
 know Uncle Eobert." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 303 
 
 " No, but Fred had met him at your house, 
 and I was miserable about you, so I boldly 
 called on her and told her freely my opinion 
 of Mr. Belcher. She is a nice woman, and had 
 admired you when you went to see your uncle. 
 I am quite sure that she will be a friend to 
 you." 
 
 "How did you know that I had run 
 away ? ' ' 
 
 "I went to see you, and Gibson said you 
 had gone to Bridgewater, and gave me the ad- 
 dress, so I wrote to you there, and the letter 
 was returned to your house. I believe that 
 first set up your husband's suspicions on 
 his return. He was in a great rage, and 
 persisted in believing that a woman at Bridge- 
 water " 
 
 "Oh, poor Susan " 
 
 "Was hiding you. He felt certain that 
 you were there, for you had been traced to 
 Paddington. A month or two later there was 
 a sensational wreck, and among the things cast 
 up was the box with your name " 
 
 20 
 
304 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " Susan thought it would look nice, and 
 had it painted on when I was married." 
 
 "So Mr. Belcher concluded that you were 
 drowned, and," she added with the occasional 
 want of tact which had always distinguished 
 her, "I think he has quite done mourning for 
 you by this time." 
 
 " It sets me free," Katherine said, with a 
 long sigh of satisfaction ; " he shall never know 
 that I am alive." 
 
 "Well, but— I don't think that would be 
 quite fair," Mr. Oswell said. "Suppose some 
 day he married again — you would have led 
 him into bigamy. It is rather an unpleasant 
 fix, I know," he went on, looking at her with 
 the kind eyes that she remembered at Winder- 
 mere, " but we have to get out of our awkward 
 fixes in life with the best grace we can, and we 
 must all play the game fairly. You and Bee 
 had better talk it over presently. And in spite 
 of all things," he added, as he filled up her 
 glass, "we will drink to your happiness, Mrs. 
 Belcher." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 305 
 
 "Happiness! I never knew what happi- 
 ness was — till this summer," and the colour 
 rushed to her face again. 
 
 Mrs. Oswell watching her, thought sagely, 
 " Unless I am very much mistaken, my dear, 
 you have been in sight of the red lamp since 
 you took to journeying about the world alone. 
 A woman gravitates towards it as if by instinct 
 when her home relations go wrong." Then she 
 asked aloud, "What made you come to this 
 place, of all others ? " 
 
 "It was your talk at Windermere," Kath- 
 erine answered, looking at Mr. Oswell. "I 
 never dreamt that you would come again : 
 Mrs. Oswell said she didn't like the little Ital- 
 ian places." 
 
 "It's very odd," Mrs. Oswell said affection- 
 ately, "but no matter how much I dislike 
 them at first, I always come round to thinking 
 that the things Fred likes and does are the 
 best in the world. I positively longed to come 
 abroad again, and made him bring me here, 
 and now I am convinced that it is the loveliest 
 
306 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 place I ever saw. We are going away in the 
 morning to Monte Carlo, but we mean to get 
 home for Christmas — who would believe that 
 it only wants a fortnight to it, in this lovely 
 weather ? " 
 
 "And you won't tell Mr. Belcher that you 
 have seen me i " Katherine entreated. 
 
 " Did he treat you very badly ? " Mr. Oswell 
 asked. 
 
 "He made me miserable," she answered 
 sadly. "The morning I came away, and the 
 night before, he struck me— even to think of 
 him frightens me." Mr. Oswell was silent a 
 moment, then he answered slowly ; 
 
 " You will have to let him know that you 
 are alive, my dear young lady ; it may be hard 
 lines, but if there is a law one has to abide 
 by it. We will take care of you," he went on 
 gently, "and see that he doesn't ill-treat you. 
 Perhaps he would consent to a legal separa- 
 tion ; then, at least, you would not go about 
 dreading discovery, only it seems hard that 
 you should have no future before you but that 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 307 
 
 of a woman separated from her husband — 
 which is never a very satisfactory one." 
 
 " I did not dream what I was doing when I 
 married," Katherine said despairingly. 
 
 "People never do, my dear," Mrs. Oswell 
 said; u but still there yon are. Fred wants 
 to smoke, I know — he shall go and walk on 
 the beach while you and I sit in the orange- 
 garden and have a quiet talk ; and presently 
 we will take you back to Laigueglia. We 
 start by the early train, so we shall not see 
 you to-morrow. I can't think," she went on 
 as they walked down the pathway, u how I 
 could be so wicked to Fred as not to enjoy 
 Italy the last time he brought me." 
 
 "Are you as happy together as ever?" 
 Katherine asked. 
 
 "Happier." 
 
 "Were you very much in love when you 
 married ? " 
 
 "We liked each other better than anyone 
 else, and wanted to be together; but things 
 didn't always go smoothly the first year. I 
 
308 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 have never owned that to anybody else in the 
 world," Mrs. Oswell added. "It was difficult 
 for him, perhaps, to settle down with a woman 
 always abont him, to come home always to 
 the same face and the same sort of talk, and 
 to give up some of his bachelor habits — though 
 I am pretty easy-going — and of course I am 
 expensive, so that he has had to work harder, 
 and his responsibilities are greater because of 
 me." 
 
 "Yes; but he has had you to love him 
 and to think of him and welcome him home 
 every day, and to sympathise with him, and 
 to care for everything that concerned him." 
 
 "And he has cared for everything that con- 
 cerned me," Mrs. Oswell answered. "The ad- 
 vantages of his position, my dear, I leave for 
 his contemplation ; it is my business to con- 
 sider the disadvantages, and to try and lighten 
 them. We have each put up with the other's 
 shortcomings and been thoroughly happy to- 
 gether. I certainly love him more than any- 
 one else in the world — more and more as time 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 309 
 
 goes on— as he does me. But I suspect that 
 if we had not displayed some tact and forbear- 
 ance at times, especially in the beginning, we 
 could have drifted apart." 
 
 "Mrs. Oswell," asked Katherine slowly, 
 "are you saying this for me? Do you think 
 I ought to go back to Mr. Belcher 1 " 
 
 "I think you ought to let him know that 
 you are alive ; and, if you are to fight, why, 
 fight fairly." 
 
 "He made me marry him, and he delighted 
 in making me miserable." 
 
 "Made or not made, you did marry him. 
 I always feel so sorry for the disagreeable 
 people myself ; they have generally had some 
 knocks in life of which we know nothing ; but 
 I remember saying this to you at Windermere. 
 If things had always gone well and smoothly 
 with Mr. Belcher, he would probably have 
 been kinder and more gentle with you. We 
 pass on all things to each other." 
 
 "That is what I once thought about sin," 
 Katherine exclaimed. 
 
310 A FLASH OF SUMiMER. 
 
 "I think," Mrs. Oswell went on, not heed- 
 ing her, "that we should always try, as a 
 modern thinker said he tried, 'to accept the 
 facts as they are, however bitter or severe, to 
 be a lover and a student but never a law- 
 giver.'" 
 
 "It is so hard," Katherine whispered ; 
 "and Mr. Belcher need never even see me 
 again." 
 
 "I know it is hard," Mrs. Oswell an- 
 swered; "but try and consider things from 
 his point of view. It won't be pleasant for 
 him to have a discontented wife all his days, 
 or even to go about with an invisible millstone 
 round his neck, while you become that most 
 disagreeable invention of modern times, a lone 
 woman with a husband, a past, and a griev- 
 ance." 
 
 " What do you want me to do ? " she asked 
 slowly. 
 
 "Write to your uncle and ask him to try 
 and improve matters ; and, if they can't be 
 improved, why, of course, you must arrange 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 3H 
 
 a separation. Have courage, dear ; we will 
 stand by you, and I think your uncle's wife 
 will be a good friend to you." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Oswell ! " Katherine cried pas- 
 sionately, resting her head down on the back 
 of the seat, "I cannot do it, I cannot. It isn't 
 only that I don't care for him— I hate him and 
 shrink from him. He is horrible— horrible ! 
 even to think of him makes me shudder. 
 There cannot be anything in the world so 
 cruel as to be married to a man you don't 
 love ; and it isn't only that I don't love him," 
 she added desperately, "but that I love some- 
 body else. You have been very kind to me, 
 and so I will tell you all. I love somebody 
 else with all my heart and soul, and think of 
 him every minute of my life, and long to be 
 with him, and every day away from him— and 
 all my days must be spent away from him — is 
 an ache and a sorrow. He is not here, and I 
 shall never see him again." 
 
 "Thank God!" Mrs. Oswell said to her- 
 self. 
 
312 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "Ina little more than a month he will have 
 started for India, and I shall never, never see 
 him again," repeated poor Katherine woefully. 
 u But he loved me — he loved me so, and he 
 wanted to marry me. Oh! Mrs. Oswell, I 
 should have been the happiest woman in the 
 world." 
 
 "But didn't he know that you were mar- 
 ried ? " Suddenly Mrs. Oswell looked down at 
 Katherine's fingers: "Why, where is your 
 wedding-ring ? " 
 
 "I threw it into the sea," she answered, 
 with a satisfaction she could not help. "No, 
 he didn't know ; he thought I was a girl." 
 
 "But does he know now?" Mrs. Oswell 
 was a little shocked and bewildered, easy-going 
 though she was by nature. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; he knows everything, and prob- 
 ably despises me and thinks me even worse 
 than you do, for he and his mother — they were 
 together, and I stayed with them at Greneroso 
 — could not understand why I refused him, 
 though I loved him and made no secret of it, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 313 
 
 till I stood up one night and told them the 
 truth. But I could not bring myself to tell 
 them that he had struck me. It seemed un- 
 generous to tell that of a man they had never 
 seen, and who was not there to defend himself. 
 Besides, my pride would not let me confess it, 
 it was so humiliating, and when I had finished, 
 almost before they had had time to recover, I 
 vanished from their sight, and the next morn- 
 ing I got up very early and left a note for Miss 
 Bennett — she was to be carried down in a chair 
 from Generoso and did not want me till she 
 reached Mendrisio. I started on foot at five 
 in the morning. It was chilly and raining," 
 she went on with a shudder, " though after- 
 wards I saw the sun shining up on the moun- 
 tains. I shall never forget that long walk 
 down while I live — it was like walking down 
 from Heaven. Miss Bennett followed earlier 
 than I expected, and we got away by the morn- 
 ing train, perhaps before they even found out 
 that we had started. I wrote to Mrs. Alford 
 from here, but her answer showed that she was 
 
314 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 angry with me, and Jim didn't send me a 
 single word. All that is over, Mrs. Oswell, 
 but I love him with all my heart, and could be 
 happy with him, though we were beggars in 
 the street and he beat me every day. That is 
 the whole difference. How could I go back to 
 Mr. Belcher, and be a wife to him whom I 
 never loved at all — never did anything but fear 
 — while in my heart I am always with another 
 man and belong to him ? " 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Oswell, with a long sigh, 
 " it is a terrible corner, and I don't see what is 
 to be done." 
 
 "Leave me alone," Katherine entreated, 
 " and tell no one that you have seen me. You 
 shall hear from me later — after I have seen poor 
 Miss Bennett die, perhaps. Leave me alone 
 — wait — wait till I have thought it all out for 
 myself and write to you. I want to do what is 
 right, I do indeed, but some things are not to 
 be borne." 
 
 " There is no merit in doing right when it is 
 easy ; it is the difficulty that makes it virtue." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 315 
 
 "And even then it is only duty. Oh, Mrs. 
 Oswell, I have come to the conclusion that 
 morality is often the sorriest thing in the 
 world. But I am not a foolish girl any longer. 
 I am a woman who has suffered and thought, 
 and loved and striven, and I want to do my 
 best — my very, very best — but I must fight it 
 out alone ; I must be alone to work out my 
 own salvation or the reverse. Remember," she 
 added with a sob, " whichever it is — it will be 
 mine, mine to bear, for ever and ever." She 
 stopped, but her face was on her arm, which 
 was twisted over the back of the seat. Mrs. 
 Oswell looked at her puzzled ; these strong 
 emotions did not often come her way, and she 
 did not know what to do with them. 
 
 " Don't be so unhappy," she said. " Things 
 may turn out better than we imagine, and, of 
 course, though it may seem rather hard now, 
 it is a good thing that the other man is going 
 to India, for, after all, we women are very 
 human, my dear. I wish you would talk it 
 out with Fred — there is nothing like a mascu- 
 
316 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 line head for leavening two feminine ones, and 
 he liked you from the first. I feel sure it would 
 do you good if you talked it over with him, 
 dear." 
 
 " I can't talk it over with anyone any more," 
 Katherine answered desperately. " Let me go 
 back to Laigueglia. I am glad to have seen 
 you both. You have been very good to me, 
 and I know you will be, but let me be for a 
 little while, and then I will write to you ; and 
 till then promise not to say that you have seen 
 me." 
 
 " Yes, dear, I will, we both will." 
 
 "Now let me go." 
 
 " Are you in a pension ? " 
 
 "No, I have a room over a little shop in 
 Laigueglia. It looks on the sea. I want to go 
 back and sit in the dark and think it all out 
 by myself." 
 
 They walked back with her almost in 
 silence, along the bare white road, beside the 
 sea. The village was dark and still, though it 
 was hardly eight o'clock, for light is dear in 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 317 
 
 Italy, and the little lamp beside which the 
 peasants sit on the long winter evenings hardly 
 do more than betray the shadows round them. 
 The church at the end of the little street 
 looked high and staring white ; the sands and 
 the dark sea beyond were plain enough, but 
 they could make out nothing else. They 
 stopped before the house in which Katherine 
 lodged ; the shop was closed, there was no 
 sign or sound of life ; but she pushed open the 
 door and showed them that it had been left 
 ajar in order to admit her. Mrs. Oswell looked 
 curiously in at the narrow passage, but there 
 was nothing to be seen. For one moment 
 Katherine thought of asking her to enter and 
 see the room that was now her home, but her 
 courage failed, she wanted to be alone so 
 much. She was aching to get up to it — the 
 little whitewashed room with the coloured 
 pictures round it, and the fantastic ceiling 
 decorated in cheap Italian fashion— she wanted 
 to throw open the window and look outwards 
 towards the sea. 
 
318 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "Good-bye," and she held out her hands. 
 Mrs. Oswell kissed her on both cheeks. 
 
 " You must write to us," she said. 
 
 "After the New Year," Katherine answered, 
 putting her weary head down for one moment 
 on the friendly shoulder ; " I want to rest and 
 be still till then." 
 
 "It will be the best thing for you," Mr. Os- 
 well said understanding^, "and be assured 
 that we shall say nothing till you give us 
 leave." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 She groped her way up-stairs and pushed 
 open the door. The room was faint with the 
 scent of flowers she had gathered in the morn- 
 ing. She struck a match and looked round as 
 if to be sure that the place was the same one, 
 and she the same woman who had come back 
 to it after the experiences of the evening. A 
 white letter on the table caught her eye ; it 
 had come by hand and not by post. " Jim ! " 
 she cried. "A letter from Jim!" and she 
 clutched it in her left hand, while with the 
 right she tremblingly held the match to a 
 candle. Then she tore open the envelope. 
 
 " We are on our way to England, and I 
 stopped at Alassio, in order to see you. Am 
 going on by the next train, 10.20 to-niglit. 
 
 gj (319) 
 
320 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 Miss Bennett said you had left Tier to return to 
 your place, but there seems to be some mistake. 
 I will get food, and return at a little before 
 nine, and walk as far as the church and back. 
 If you get this, will you let me see you, even 
 if it is only for a minute f " 
 
 "And I might have missed you," she 
 gasped. " Oh, my dear ! To think I shall see 
 you again ! " She read his letter a second 
 time, and kissed it ; then joyfully extinguished 
 the light and went down the dark stairs, out of 
 the house and swiftly along the street, feeling 
 like a swallow flying south. Someone was 
 waiting by the church. She stopped and hesi- 
 tated, and a little cry escaped her. 
 
 "Oh, Jim, dear— oh, Jim! I thought I 
 should never, never see you again. I can't 
 bear it— I can't bear it, indeed. The happiness 
 is too great " — and she burst into tears. 
 
 "Why, Kathy— my dear Kathy." He put 
 his arms round her, and looked down at her 
 face, though in the dim light he could hardly 
 see it. "Is it as bad as that, my dear? I 
 
A PLASH OF SUMMER. 321 
 
 hoped that it was better for you, and that it 
 was only I who went on caring. I couldn't 
 make myself go away for ever without seeing 
 you once more, or without a single word " 
 
 "Oh, Jim!" she whispered with a great 
 sigh of thankfulness. "I thought we should 
 never meet again. Nothing in the world will 
 matter now." 
 
 "My poor little girl — look here — let us 
 come and sit on the beach. I saw a seat there. 
 The population of Laigueglia appears to be 
 dead and buried." 
 
 "Oh, to think that we are together again, 
 and by the Mediterranean," she said in a voice 
 trembling with joy. "It is like a wonderful 
 dream." And she clung to his arm as they 
 went towards the sea. "Now, tell me," she 
 went on, when they had found the seat — " tell 
 me, have you been angry — what did you think 
 — why didn't you send me a single word in the 
 Mummy's letter ? " 
 
 "Angry, my child? No. I have thought 
 nothing except that I love you, and for that 
 
322 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 reason had better not write. I was ill when 
 the Mummy wrote — that confounded fever got 
 hold of me again — but we thought that it 
 would worry you if you knew. I say, what a 
 wonderful place this is ! I wish we could stay 
 here for ever, you and I." He looked up for 
 a moment as a breath from the orange-trees 
 was wafted to him. To the left was the still 
 village, to the right the Corniche road going 
 on to Andora ; in front the sands and the sea ; 
 a little way ahead, at each end of the bay, 
 were the dark rocks, and on the left the island 
 of Grallinara ; in the background were the 
 mountains, and over everything the strange 
 spell of night and silence. "If we could only 
 have a century of it," he said, with a long sigh. 
 
 u Ah, if we could," she echoed eagerly. 
 "But tell me about the Mummy— where is 
 she i " 
 
 "At present she is waiting for me at Ven- 
 timiglia. We came from Genoa to-day, get to 
 England the day after to-morrow. I told her 
 I must see you again ; the train goes by the 
 
, A FLASH OF SUMMER. 323 
 
 station, and I couldn't pass it. She was very- 
 angry, and thought it wrong; perhaps it is, 
 but never mind. I got out at Alassio as we 
 came by, and go on by the next train, 10.20, 
 which is the mail through to Marseilles. We 
 should have had to wait for it in any case, and 
 I wait here with you." 
 
 u And she wouldn't come and see me too ? " 
 He shook his head. "And she won't forgive 
 me?" 
 
 "My dear, she wants you to write to your 
 uncle, or. else to go to England as soon as I am 
 gone, to her house, and to let her write to your 
 husband and see what can be done." 
 
 "And do you wish it too ? " 
 
 "I can't wish it," he said gently, "but 
 something ought to be done." 
 
 "He thinks that I am dead," and she ex- 
 plained briefly the mistake about her box and 
 the meeting with the Oswells. " Why should 
 he ever know that I am alive ? Jim, I have 
 been sorry that I told you," she whispered. 
 "You might have married me and taken me 
 
324 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 to India and nobody would have known. He 
 would have been thankful that I was dead, and 
 we should have been happy all our lives. It 
 would have done no one any harm. I couldn't 
 have done it because I couldn't have borne to 
 deceive you. But would it have been wrong ? " 
 
 " It doesn't do to fly in the face of the law ; 
 it has a way of avenging itself." 
 
 "Yes, I know — Mr. Oswell said that too; 
 but would it have been wrong in itself? 
 Would it be wrong if you took me away now 
 and he never knew that I was alive, and we 
 were faithful to each other all our lives % " 
 
 u It won't do, dear," and he shook his 
 head. "We have got to do the best we 
 can in the world and to put the best we know 
 into it." 
 
 "But it wouldn't do anyone any harm," 
 she pleaded. 
 
 "That is a thing we can never insure. 
 Look here, Kathy," he said, resting his two 
 hands across her shoulder and trying to see 
 her face through the darkness. "Suppose we 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 325 
 
 did as you say, and called each other man and 
 wife in India." 
 
 " I always feel as if I were married to you," 
 she whispered. 
 
 "Do you, my sweet? Tell me why." 
 
 "Because we loved each other and told 
 each other so, up at Generoso. And you 
 kissed me," she whispered, lower still, but with 
 a courage the darkness gave her, "and held 
 me in your arms, and I knew that you cared 
 for me, and I felt my heart so full of love for 
 you. Nothing can undo it, nothing as long as 
 I live, or try as much as I will — it is like a 
 marriage tie." 
 
 "And it shall be like one to me," he said 
 tenderly ; " but we are going to do the right 
 thing for all that, and not the wrong one. 
 Suppose, as I say, my darling, that we did live 
 as man and wife in India, and he found it out. 
 There would be a divorce." 
 
 "But that would set me free." 
 
 " At a terrible price. We might have chil- 
 dren some day, you and I ; we should wish for 
 
326 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 them if we were natural people. Would you 
 like them to grow up and find out our dis- 
 grace ? It is no good, my dear, nothing will 
 make a wrong thing right, and no amount of 
 repenting will ever undo it. We should have 
 to turn the world backwards to blot it out, 
 even though we were forgiven a dozen times 
 over, for a deed once done is done to all eter- 
 nity, that is what we so seldom realise. I 
 love you with all my heart, God knows ; but 
 I am not going to make the woman I love 
 afraid to look other people in the face. The 
 fact that we love each other ought to make 
 us strong enough to do the right thing, or the 
 love is rather poor stuff. The hardness of it 
 won't be all yours ; it will be worse for me in 
 India, knowing that you are with him, per- 
 haps, and with an indefinite dread that will 
 make me long to blow his brains out." 
 
 u Oh, Jim, I know that you are right," 
 and resting her face down on his hands she 
 kissed them. "Yes, let me," she said, as he 
 tried to draw them away. "Let me, I want 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 327 
 
 to kiss your hands, I am not good enough for 
 you to kiss my face — for I have been trying to 
 make you do wrong." 
 
 "No, she hasn't," he said tenderly, "she 
 is only a little weak woman — my little Eve, 
 and I love her, my dear, my sweet, I love her. 
 And since she can't be my wife, I will promise 
 her never to marry anyone else as long as I 
 live." 
 
 "But I should like you to marry and be 
 happy, Jim. When you say that you love 
 me it makes me feel as if I could do anything 
 in the wide world," and she took his hands 
 and put them together, and rested her fore- 
 head down upon them. "Anything in the 
 wide world," she repeated, after a long min- 
 ute's silence, "no matter how difficult it is. 
 It gives me strength, and I will prove it — I 
 will, indeed. Give me a little time just to 
 gather myself together, and you shall see. 
 Don't ask me— I can't tell you, but it shall be 
 done— not yet, but in a little time. When do 
 you start for India % " 
 
328 A FLASH OF SUMMER 
 
 "On the 26th of January." 
 
 "Till then," she said with a gasp. "Till 
 that day let yonr poor Eve live in her Eden, 
 to think of you and love you, and grow strong 
 to do that which is most difficult. Hark ! the 
 clocks are striking. Those are the Alassio 
 clocks ; we hear them all this way when the 
 wind is in the right quarter. What time does 
 your train go, Jim ? Ten-twenty ? That was 
 half -past nine," she went on excitedly. " You 
 must go, dearest, you must go, and perhaps 
 it is better. Let me walk back with you to 
 Alassio ; the late train doesn't stop here. Let 
 us have this one last walk together." 
 
 " No. You would have to come back alone 
 and in the dark. I shall scurry along quickly 
 enough by myself. We will have five minutes 
 more together here, my sweet, and then good- 
 bye." 
 
 " Shall you write to me ? " she asked. 
 
 " Better not. We shall hear of each other 
 through the Mummy. All things have to be 
 paid for, Kathy. Is even the sorrow of part- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 329 
 
 ing too big a price for having met and loved 
 each other ? " 
 
 "No," she whispered, "and I will make 
 it another-thank offering, Jim, dear, be sure 
 of that, though to-night I can't tell you how 
 or when it will be." 
 
 " It is time to go," he said reluctantly, and 
 turned her face up to his and looked at it as 
 though he never expected to see it again in 
 this world. Then they walked back slowly 
 to the village. 
 
 "Jim," she said, "you will go past Lai- 
 gueglia in the train. I will listen for it by 
 the open window, and shall see it as it goes 
 by between me and the sea." 
 
 "I sha'n't know which is your win- 
 dow." 
 
 "Yes, you shall," she exclaimed. "I will 
 light a candle and hold it up, and you will see 
 it in the darkness and know when you are 
 passing me." 
 
 "That is splendid, my darling. By Jove! 
 I have a box of lights in my pocket ; I will 
 
330 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 light one as an answer. You will see it plain- 
 ly. What ! is this the place already % " 
 
 "Yes, Jim, already," she answered woe- 
 fully. 
 
 A quarter past ten. She was standing by 
 the open window counting the minutes : five 
 more and he would start from Alassio. " I will 
 do it," she was saying to herself. "Oh, my 
 dear, my dear, what does the rest matter now 
 that I have had that one hour with you, have 
 seen your face and heard your voice and felt 
 your kisses % I could walk to the stake and be 
 burnt and not feel it while this joy is so strong 
 upon me. It helps me to know how they bore 
 things in the old days for love of Christ. Oh, 
 Jim, my dear, my dear! There is nothing I 
 would not do for love of you. Hark ! it is 
 coming — the train has started — he will be here 
 directly ! " With feverish haste she lighted 
 the candle and stood with it by the open win- 
 dow looking out into the darkness. Nearer 
 and nearer it rumbled — nearer— quicker — it 
 was passing. She waved the flickering can- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 331 
 
 die, and suddenly there was a little flash from 
 one of the windows of the dark train. A cry 
 escaped her: "Oh, my darling!" she ex- 
 claimed. "It is all over for ever and ever; 
 but I will do even that for love of you ! " 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The weeks dragged by. Every day lagged, 
 every hour drew itself out to the uttermost, 
 and yet each one as it passed left dread and 
 fright wrapped closer and closer round Kath- 
 erine's heart. She felt as if she were living her 
 last days of life ; in three weeks the end would 
 come, and she knew perfectly what that end 
 would be. Sometimes the old longing beset her 
 to journey on and see the rest of the world. 
 " My dear beautiful world," she said to herself 
 as she walked up the little red road towards 
 the spot where King Otho's daughter had once 
 lived in a cottage and found happiness, " I 
 wish I could go on — could tramp on through 
 you for ever, seeing all your seas, looking up 
 at your mountains, and staying to rest a little 
 
 (332) 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 333 
 
 among the people who belong to you. I am 
 strong and well and young, and don't want to 
 die ; but when I do I am glad to think that I 
 shall be put into the earth and grow into it till 
 I become just a little part of the world itself. 
 Perhaps some day I shall come out in the sun- 
 shine again, and feel it falling soft and warm 
 upon me ; or shall have seed planted in me 
 and flowers growing up, or wind myself round 
 the root of a great tree while my soul climbs 
 into a branch and looks down on the little 
 figures walking to and fro, till it is time for 
 them, too, to pay themselves as tribute into 
 the earth on which they have lived." 
 
 The New Year came. Miss Bennett was 
 dying, painlessly, but surely. Her sister had 
 arrived, a gaunt, cheerful woman, evidently 
 quite reconciled to her sister's going, and hop- 
 ing not to be detained too long away from her 
 husband and children. 
 
 " Poor Sarah was a woman who always 
 grumbled," she explained to Katherine — it was 
 the last afternoon of Miss Bennett's life. " She 
 
334 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 was never satisfied with things, and I don't 
 wonder ; she found them pretty hard, poor 
 dear. Father wasn't fond of her as a child, 
 and after mother died he hurried her away 
 from home to earn her living. She taught 
 French and music in schools for years, and 
 saved a little money, and went to stay with 
 some rich cousins in Staffordshire ; and that 
 was the worst thing that ever happened to her, 
 for she fell in love with a man who has been 
 the ruin of her life, though she hasn't seen him 
 for years and years now." 
 
 " How was he the ruin of her life ? " Kath- 
 erine asked. She and Mrs. Wells were walk- 
 ing up and down the garden of the pension, 
 while Miss Crockett watched a few minutes be- 
 side the invalid. 
 
 " He thought she was well off, so he made 
 love to her, and she liked him. Afterwards, 
 when he found she had no money, he jeered at 
 the idea of marriage, and deserted her. She 
 has never ceased thinking of him, or cared for 
 anyone else, though she knows perfectly what 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 335 
 
 he is. It is knowing what he is that has made 
 her so hard and dissatisfied." 
 
 " But do you think she likes him still ? " 
 
 " I feel certain that she thinks of him day 
 and night, though she hasn't seen him for fif- 
 teen years. He's a bad man, and cares for 
 nothing but money and hurting people who 
 come in his way. Some men like to see others 
 suffer, and he does ; for I know many things 
 about him besides his conduct to Sarah. I 
 saw him just before I left London, and told 
 him she was dying. He said she had written 
 and asked him to come out and say good-bye 
 to her." 
 
 "And he refused?" 
 
 "He was too busy, he said, and a cruel, 
 triumphant look came over his face, as if he 
 rejoiced that she was dying and alone. I don't 
 wonder his wife ran away from him, though he 
 only married her a year or two ago — a girl, 
 too, as if any girl would live with Edward 
 Belcher ! " 
 
 "Edward Belcher! Is that his name?" 
 
 22 
 
336 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 Katherine exclaimed. Mrs. Wells was look- 
 ing at the orange- trees, and did not see her 
 face. 
 
 "Yes, that is his name," she answered. 
 " And Sarah has spent her whole life loving a 
 man who doesn't even exist, or, rather, wasted 
 it, hoping he would be different and begin to 
 exist as she imagined him, and that he, who 
 has never cared for anything or anyone but 
 himself, would then begin to care for her. 
 Well, I have a good husband myself, and I 
 don't believe in men being bad, unless it is one 
 now and then, but I don't believe that men 
 ever suffer what women do on their account ; 
 it is a good thing if some of us can plague them 
 a bit. Let's go in. Miss Crockett said she 
 would put up a white handkerchief at the win- 
 dow when Sarah woke, and I saw her pin it to 
 the curtain." 
 
 Miss Bennett was awake and sensible. Her 
 eyes wandered restlessly round the. room. "I 
 don't want you, Grace," she said to her sister ; 
 "I want to talk to Katherine about her own 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 337 
 
 concerns, while you go and get her some tea. 
 I have been thinking about that money," she 
 said when they were alone — u the hundred 
 pounds that came to Generoso. Did you send 
 it to me % You wanted to give me some money 
 
 a few days before. I thought, perhaps " 
 
 She closed her eyes for a moment, unable to go 
 on. "Did you?" she asked, clutching at the 
 frill of the square white pillow under her 
 head. 
 
 "No, indeed, I didn't," Katherine an- 
 swered ; and wondered whether she might tell 
 her the truth. But while she hesitated, a 
 smile that was almost happy broke over Miss 
 Bennett's face. 
 
 "I am glad of that," she said, "and Grace 
 knows nothing about it either. I think," and 
 she looked up with a strange expression in her 
 eyes, "that it was sent me by someone I have 
 known a long, long time, and used to like very 
 much. I am glad he sent it," she whispered ; 
 "it shows that he thought of me, and wanted 
 me to be comfortable at the last. I wish you 
 
338 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 knew him, Katherine ; perhaps you will one 
 day. I heard only lately that he married 
 someone who was called Kerr. Perhaps it was 
 a relation — you will know him," she went on 
 in a half-rambling manner, "then you can give 
 him the message. Grace never liked him, and 
 perhaps she wouldn't give it." 
 
 " Give what message ? " Katherine asked, in 
 a low voice. 
 
 " To Edward. I should like him to know 
 that nothing made any difference — perhaps he 
 didn't mean to be unkind. He had to be pru- 
 dent — a man has to be prudent, you know. 
 Perhaps things were hard upon him when he 
 was a boy— it always tells oh people when they 
 grow up." 
 
 " What shall I say to him V 
 
 "That I sent him my love. I know you 
 will do it some day, for you are a good girl, 
 and I hope you will marry young Alford. 
 Don't let anything stand in the way — it is a pity 
 to let anything stand in the way— money or 
 anything." She shut her eyes for a moment, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 339 
 
 and then the smile broke over her face again, 
 "lam glad that I know," she said, in a happy 
 satisfied voice, " that he sent me his money — 
 he has given me everything I have had for the 
 last two months— he must have felt that I be- 
 longed to him." 
 
 That night Miss Bennett died. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Another fortnight, nearly three weeks, and 
 then Katherine sat in her little room at Lai- 
 gueglia writing letters. She felt as if she 
 would never get through them, for she stopped 
 so many times to gather courage : every word 
 seemed to be torn out of her heart and life. 
 The first one was to Mrs. Alford. 
 
 "Jim told me that you were very an- 
 gry," it ran, "and I could tell that it was so 
 from the letter you sent me before he came. 
 But you said in that letter, and he repeated it, 
 that you wished me to go to you if I did what 
 you and he considered to be right. And this I 
 am going to do, dear Mummy. I know Jim 
 starts on the twenty-sixth, a week to-morrow, 
 
 (340; 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 341 
 
 and on that day I shall leave Laigueglia and 
 journey slowly towards England, — slowly, for 
 my feet will have to be dragged one after the 
 other even though they are taking me to you 
 at Chilworth. I will write to my uncle by 
 this post, as you wished, telling him every- 
 thing that I have done, and giving him your 
 address, and saying that he will find me there. 
 I will write to Mr. Belcher too, telling him 
 that I am coming, and that Uncle Robert will 
 know my whereabouts. Now, will you forgive 
 me everything, dearest Mummy ? Though I 
 fear I do not do it so much for love of what is 
 right, as for love of Jim and you. But just as 
 I have learnt to see that of one sin another is 
 born, so perhaps of one good deed, and that your 
 kindness to me, and of one thing that is divine 
 —for surely love that is strong and pure is di- 
 vine — good may be born ! However terrible it is 
 to do, I know that what I am doing is right— 
 though it seems to me as if the wrong would 
 have been better, since it would have made for 
 happiness. But this, again, is only one of the 
 
34:2 A FLASH OP SUMMER. 
 
 tangles we cannot understand, and I know that 
 we should steer towards the light, though we 
 lose everything we care for most on the way. 
 I know, too, that I would give thankfully 
 and joyfully any hopes or happiness that 
 might be mine, or even my life itself, for love 
 of Jim and you, and I give you this deed in 
 token of it. 
 
 " I shall be with you on Monday night, 
 dear Mummy, and will tell Uncle Robert so. 
 Perhaps he will not come to me till Tuesday, 
 and then I shall have that little time alone 
 with you, and you will make me strong to 
 carry out all this ; and I will love you and try 
 to comfort you a little because Jim is with you 
 no longer. Let me send my love to him — for 
 love of him has only led me to do what is 
 right, dear Mummy, and I do not think that 
 Heaven would grudge it to me. Tell him that 
 I shall start on my journey towards you on 
 that same day — Friday, the 26th — that he will 
 start on his away from you. 
 
 " Your loving Katherine." 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 343 
 
 Then there came the long explanatory let- 
 ter to her Uncle Robert, and one to Mrs. Os- 
 we]l telling her all that she had done and beg- 
 ging that she might find a line awaiting her 
 when she arrived at Chilworth. And then she 
 wrote a little note to Susan, apologising for all 
 the trouble she had caused her, and hop- 
 ing that some day they might meet again. 
 Last of all there was the letter to her hus- 
 band. It was more difficult than any other to 
 write : 
 
 "..... You never cared for me," she said, 
 "but I do not wonder, for I was so much 
 younger than you, and knew so little ; I al- 
 ways felt in your way — and I was. But I was 
 not fair to you, and did wrong when I took my 
 fate altogether into my own hands, and I beg 
 you to forgive me and to let me live quietly 
 away from you, so that you do not remember 
 anything about me to vex you. It is no use 
 pretending that I care for you or could be 
 happy with you, for that would be untrue ; 
 but I will leave everything in Uncle Robert's 
 
344 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 hands ; he will tell you where I am and decide 
 what is best to be done." 
 
 She went out while her strength lasted and 
 posted her letters, feeling as if they held her 
 death-sentence, and she were going to follow 
 them to the place of execution. She walked 
 back along the sands and picked up a Venus's 
 slipper, and having looked at it wonderingly 
 threw it into the sea. She remembered the 
 orange garden behind the hotel, and went back 
 towards it, and up a mountain pathway for 
 half a mile and looked round at the sea and 
 the bay and the island, and the mountain 
 chain right and left of her : soon she would 
 have seen it all for the last time. She gath- 
 ered some Banxia roses, and went up higher. 
 There was a little ruined chapel dedicated to 
 the Virgin. She sat down and leant her head 
 against its wall. " She was a woman and suf- 
 fered, and it comforts me to sit here," she said 
 to herself. "If only I could understand things 
 better! Why should so many women have 
 prayed and wept out their hearts to the Yir- 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 345 
 
 gin if she cannot hear or help them ; and if 
 she can, why is the knowledge of it denied to 
 so many others ? It seems sometimes as if we 
 were all hopelessly blind and deaf, or as if 
 there were some strange senses in us tied down 
 and unable to explain the things that are or are 
 not. It isn't to be wondered at if most of us 
 go astray. If I wanted to make myself more 
 miserable still, it would be easy enough to sit 
 and think that love and pain and death and 
 the wide world's beauty are the only things 
 that really exist." 
 
 Friday morning — the twenty - sixth — 
 dawned. 
 
 She was going to leave Laigueglia by the 
 ten o'clock train. Jim would not start from 
 Chil worth till the afternoon, for she remem- 
 bered hearing him say that the Indian mail 
 started late. She had never travelled very far 
 alone by land before, but what did it matter ? 
 Suppose she were killed, it would not be worse 
 than going back to Mr. Belcher. She had mis- 
 calculated the time the journey would take 
 
346 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 when she wrote her letters. She might have 
 stayed at Laigueglia till Saturday night or 
 Sunday morning, and yet been in time to get 
 to Mrs. Alford's by Monday night ; but having 
 said that she would start on Friday, she could 
 not bring herself to depart from a word that 
 she had written. So she stood packed and 
 ready at the little station. The Italian woman 
 with whom she had lodged came to see her 
 off, and kissed her, and gave her a bough 
 of oranges as a parting gift, and Katherine 
 thought her heart would break when she heard 
 her last " Addio, Signora ! " as the train moved 
 off. She saw her own little window from the 
 train — the window to which she had held up 
 the light as Jim went by with an answering 
 flash. But she tried to keep down all thoughts 
 of him and of that night by the sea. It must 
 be forgotten ; everything must be forgotten, 
 except that for his sake — his sake, and not the 
 Mummy's, as her heart knew well — she was 
 going to do this saddest, hardest thing on 
 earth. 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 347 
 
 The train went on in the sunshine between 
 the mountains, and the landscape yellow with 
 oranges on the one hand, and the blue sea on 
 the other. She looked from side to side won- 
 deringly, and it seemed as if every moment the 
 earth grew more beautiful, but she was going 
 away from it. Past all the little villages with 
 the happy peasants in them, and the shrines 
 and the churches and the little town with the 
 prison in the shape of a cross ; past San Eemo, 
 with its big hotels and air of fashion ; past 
 Bordighera with its palm-trees, and on to 
 Ventimiglia ; then, like a dream-woman, she 
 got out to change over to the French side, 
 wondering if it could be really true that she 
 was awake, taking this journey alone, and in 
 order to give herself up to Mr. Belcher. 
 
 All manner of wild ideas came into her 
 head as she scurried along. She thought of 
 Eltham Palace and the moat, and the crane 
 standing on one leg. Perhaps it remembered 
 Anne Boleyn, and knew how she felt on her 
 way to Tower Hill. She thought of Alice 
 
348 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 Alford's joke about Anne dancing with her 
 head in her pocket in the palace of Eltham. 
 There was a gallery at one end in which the 
 musicians had sat, never dreaming that per- 
 haps some day their ghosts would come back 
 and sit there playing music that had no sound 
 in it, to an empty hall turned into a barn. 
 Katherine felt as if she were going through life 
 with her head in her pocket. Who knows j 
 She might dance or laugh— what did it matter ? 
 All the time she would be a dead woman. 
 And then she laughed out bitterly, and broke 
 down and cried, and told herself for the thou- 
 sandth time that nothing would matter more, 
 her life had come to an end, and she was going 
 back to Mr. Belcher for an eternity. She 
 slept at Marseilles, a long dreamless sleep, a 
 stranger in a strange land and a big hotel, and 
 wondered in the morning what to do next, for 
 she had too much time on her hands. It 
 would have been far better to rush the journey 
 through. Finally, she decided to stay all day 
 at Marseilles ; but she had no heart to walk 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 349 
 
 about. She was a prisoner going back to gaol, 
 and bad no business to behave like a free 
 woman. 
 
 So Saturday passed. Jim was in the train ; 
 she was not sure of his route, but she imagined 
 that he must be somewhere in the middle of 
 France. It was something to be in the same 
 land with him. " Good-bye," she said to her- 
 self ; "I am doing this for you, and you know 
 it by this time. Good-bye." She left Mar- 
 seilles that night, and travelled through to 
 Paris, and stayed another long day in an hotel 
 seeing nothing of the city to which she had 
 come. What a strange thing it was to be there 
 and not to move a step outward ! But she was 
 a prisoner, she told herself again, and had no 
 more right than she had heart to go a-pleas- 
 uring. She meant to start at night again— it 
 seemed easier to travel in the dark, for then 
 she could not see the distance lessening be- 
 tween her and her doom. But on the way to 
 Calais she shook off her depression, and felt 
 her courage come back. After all, Mr. Belcher 
 
350 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 was certain to consent to a separation. Had 
 he not told her that he liked somebody else 
 better \ Oh, how terrible it was to remember 
 that, and to think of poor Miss Bennett dying 
 happily because she imagined that Jim's 
 money had come from the man who had 
 ruined her life ! It was this last knowledge 
 that added a touch of horror to her thoughts 
 of Mr. Belcher. But Miss Bennett was at rest, 
 poor soul ; and as for her— for Katherine — she 
 felt that Uncle Robert would manage things, 
 and would not be so cruel as to let her go back 
 to jeers and blows ; and now that there was 
 probably no prospect of any money Mr. Bel- 
 cher would not desire it. 
 
 She reached Charing Cross in the early 
 morning, and still her courage held by her. 
 After all, she was going to the Mummy that 
 day, to see Jim's home, to hear how he had set 
 forth, and whether he had left a message for 
 her ; perhaps he had written her just a word 
 to wish her a last good-bye. But there was 
 another long day to get through first. She 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 351 
 
 felt shy of going to Chilworth before the even- 
 ing ; the Mummy would not expect her, and 
 might have other visitors. Then suddenly the 
 idea struck her that she would go to Eltham ; 
 the crane was gone long years ago ; but there 
 was the palace and the moat, and the way 
 through the church and across the corn-field to 
 the woods that led to Shooter's Hill. 
 
 So she walked through the quaint old place 
 that day and stood before the palace, and saw 
 the moat, and the little bridge and the gnarled 
 trees, that looked as if centuries had passed 
 since they were saplings. Then she went on to 
 the church ; and suddenly the bells rang out 
 a peal. Two people were being married ; she 
 wondered if they loved each other, and 
 whether they thought it all a joke, and mar- 
 riage a pastime that did not need much think- 
 ing about before they entered upon it, and, 
 above all, if they were taking each other of 
 their own free will or because they had been 
 talked and persuaded into it. She went across 
 the corn-fields, brown and bare in the winter 
 
 23 
 
352 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 sunshine, and over the stile to the woods. A 
 wooden hoarding had been put up on one 
 side of them : someone had enclosed half the 
 ground. What did it matter? Perhaps she 
 would never see them again. She trod the 
 dead leaves under foot, and looked up through 
 the brown boughs and twigs at the winter sky. 
 There were hips and blackberry briars trailing 
 on either side the pathway with scarce a leaf 
 upon them ; but the holly-bushes looked green 
 and sturdy. A thrush flew overhead, giving 
 out a sweet, fresh note, and a little robin 
 hopped along the ground as though it were a 
 bird of lowlier degree. She sat down on a tree 
 that had been felled, and spent a whole two 
 hours thinking : then a clock in the distance 
 struck two. It was time to go. She was afraid 
 to walk round by Severndroog Tower, for it 
 was there that Mr. Belcher had found her on 
 the evening that he asked her to marry him. 
 She took the narrow path that led to the high 
 road opposite the Bull, and walked slowly down 
 Shooter's Hill till she came to the turning with 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 353 
 
 the well at the corner. The White House was 
 only a step beyond. A high fence, through 
 which she could not see, half hid it from the 
 roadway ; but the strangers who had come to 
 live there had children, for she heard their 
 voices playing in the garden. She turned back 
 and went swiftly past the post-office and the 
 Red Lion, till she came to the lane between 
 the stuffed-bird shop and Ordnance Terrace — 
 an old lady in a widow's cap, and a girl stood 
 by the window of the first house. She thought 
 of them for a minute as she hurried round the 
 corner. She almost ran past the cottages in 
 the lane and on to the common, and through 
 the White Gate, and safely to the station. 
 
 It was more than an hour's journey from 
 Charing Cross to Chilworth, and the twilight 
 deepened into darkness as the train went 
 through the pine woods of Surrey ; but she 
 was there at last, and stood in the darkness 
 and cold wondering what to do. She had a 
 vague hope that there might be a message for 
 her at the station, with some direction to the 
 
354 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 house, but there was none. The way was up a 
 lane between two green hedges — the railway 
 porter pointed it out — she could scarcely see 
 it through the darkness. She walked on, 
 afraid of the loneliness and stillness, for half a 
 mile perhaps, then the road ascended, and she 
 could dimly see that there was an open space 
 with a road turning to the right and left. 
 
 u Mrs. Alford's," a man said in answer to 
 her inquiry; "take the road to the left — it is 
 the second house. You'll find ' Rooks' Nest ' 
 written up on the gate." Tired and footsore 
 with the long day's tramp, but with a sense of 
 scare and hurry that carried her along, she 
 went for another quarter of a mile, then she 
 stopped suddenly by a gate. It led to a house 
 with fir-trees standing up black and straight 
 beside it. She pushed open the gate and 
 found her way to the door. 
 
 The bell rang loudly, as though the house 
 inside were hollow. She could hardly keep 
 her trembling self upright while she heard 
 someone within coming to answer it. A tall 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 355 
 
 woman of five-and-forty stood and looked at 
 her. By the dim light of the hall Katherine 
 could see that she was pale and sorrowful- 
 looking. 
 
 ' 'Is this Mrs. Alford's?" she asked in a 
 voice she tried to make steady. 
 
 " Yes," said the woman slowly. " You are 
 the lady from Italy, I suppose? I am to let 
 you in — the mistress will see you for a minute. 
 Will you come into the dining-room?" She 
 led the way into a dark cold room, putting a 
 light she carried from the hall down on the table. 
 Then she shut the door and went towards Kath- 
 erine and looked at her. "The mistress said I 
 was to tell you first, ma'am, and before you 
 went to her," she said with infinite pity in her 
 voice. " You needn't mind my telling you in- 
 stead of her, for I have been with them more 
 or less these five-and-twenty years, and knew 
 Mr. Jim since he was a little boy." 
 
 "Yes," said Katherine, not dreaming of 
 what was to come. 
 
 "And the mistress told me how fond 
 
356 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 you were of him and what a blow it would 
 be " 
 
 "Yes, but what?" she asked, a dread of 
 something terrible taking hold of her. "Has 
 anything happened % " 
 
 "Yes," said the woman, nodding and speak- 
 ing in a voice that was almost a sob, " the very 
 worst that could be has happened. Mr. Jim 
 was to start on Friday " 
 
 "I know." 
 
 "And on Thursday night he died, dear 
 heart, and this day he was buried." 
 
 "Oh, my God ! " Katherine cried, and fell 
 forward. But the woman caught her and 
 almost carried her to the leather sofa behind 
 them, and sat down beside her, and took off 
 her hat and smoothed the hair from her fore- 
 head. "Oh, no, no!" she said presently "it 
 can't be — it can't be ! " 
 
 "Ah, poor dear, the mistress said you loved 
 him," the woman answered, " and what it 
 would be to you. It was the fever that took 
 him, on the top of a chill that he got just three 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 357 
 
 days before, and he seemed to have no strength 
 to fight it off, though he had always been a 
 strong man, and was, to look at, till the last." 
 
 Then a quarter of an hour went by, that in 
 looking back upon afterwards always seemed 
 to Katherine to have been like years. 
 
 " Did you say that she would see me ? " she 
 asked at last. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, she will see you," the woman 
 answered gently, with the helpful manner that 
 only belongs to an old servant, "but you 
 mustn't stay with her many minutes, for she 
 has gone through a terrible day, and the doc- 
 tor says she is better alone. But you shall 
 see her, and then you must come away with 
 me, and I'll give you food and put you to rest, 
 and you shall cry your heart out, dear, for 
 tears will help you most." Something in the 
 woman's manner told Katherine that she knew 
 the whole history of her coming. "There is 
 a letter for you," she went on, "but you had 
 better see the mistress first, and I'll get it for 
 you meanwhile." 
 
358 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 " Is it from Jim ? " slie asked, starting. 
 
 "No, it only came to-day." 
 
 Mrs. Alford was sitting in her own room in 
 a high-backed easy chair, over a deadened fire. 
 She turned her head, but made no other sign 
 till Katherine, kneeling down in front of her, 
 kissed her black dress. Then she lifted her 
 hands and put them on the girl's head and 
 folded her to her heart for a moment. 
 
 "He saw your letter," she said, "and told 
 me to take care of you, dear. But I can't 
 speak of it to-night, or think of any one but 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, Mummy, dear Mummy ! " came like a 
 little wail from Katherine's lips, and there was 
 a long silence. 
 
 "You shall belong to me," the old lady 
 said again; "but you must leave me alone 
 now. I am trying to think that it was a 
 blessed thing to have had him to love, but it is 
 hard to feel anything except that he has gone. 
 You must go to Elizabeth." Then Katherine 
 kissed her dress again, and the thin hands that 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 359 
 
 rested on it, and went reverently from the 
 room. 
 
 Elizabeth was waiting outside ; she had a 
 letter in her hand and a lighted candle. " Per- 
 haps you would like to read it." she said, and 
 held up the light as they stood on the staircase. 
 It was from Mrs. Oswell. 
 
 "My dear" it said, " I have seen your 
 aunt, and she has confided to me that your 
 uncle has given Mr. Belcher your address — 
 from a sense of duty, I suppose. Duty 
 has many cruel things in this world to an- 
 swer for. I let you know at once in case 
 he should be down upon you, but remem- 
 ber Fred and I will stand by you hard and 
 fast." 
 
 Katherine read it twice, but even theji she 
 was so dazed she could hardly take it in ; and 
 when she did it seemed so trifling a calam- 
 ity she could not realise it. She looked up 
 at Elizabeth bewildered. " Which was his 
 room ? " she asked, like a woman who was 
 dreaming. 
 
360 A FLASH OF SUMMER. 
 
 "That one just a few steps down," the 
 woman answered, "there — above the hall. 
 You had better not see it to-night, dearie." 
 
 "Yes, let me," she pleaded. Without a 
 word Elizabeth led the way and opened the 
 door. Stillness and death seemed to stare 
 them in the face. There was a bookcase be- 
 side the fireplace, and on the other side were 
 two portmanteaus and a tin case piled one on 
 the other. Between the windows and the fire- 
 place was a bedstead, but only a mattress 
 covered with a sheet was on it, and at the head 
 a pillow. Between the bed and the windows a 
 space seemed to have been cleared ; it looked 
 as though something had stood there that had 
 been carried out. 
 
 "Did he die there?" she asked, looking 
 towards the bed. 
 
 " Yes," nodded Elizabeth ; "with his head 
 on that pillow. It may be you would like to 
 be alone a few minutes," and putting the light 
 on a chest of drawers, she went softly from 
 the room. Then Katherine went up to the bed, 
 
A FLASH OF SUMMER. 3^1 
 
 and knelt down, took the pillow and hid her 
 face in it. 
 
 Suddenly there was a sharp ringing of the 
 front-door bell. She heard footsteps go to- 
 wards it, and buried her face deeper into the 
 pillow and pulled it round her head, and bit 
 its white cover, and kissed it with the wild 
 kisses of passion that only means despair. 
 Then the door was opened, and her own name 
 and a voice she knew well enough fell upon 
 her ear. Someone entered, and the street-door 
 was closed. 
 
 Mr. Belcher had found her. 
 
 THE END. 
 
A 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 JOURNEY IN OTHER WORLDS. A Ro^ 
 
 mance of the Future. By John Jacob Astor. With 9 full- 
 page Illustrations by Dan Beard. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "An interesting and cleverly devised book. . . . No lack of imagination. . . . 
 Shows a skillful and wide acquaintance with scientific facts." — New York Herald. 
 
 " The author speculates cleverly and daringly on the scientific advance of the earth, 
 and he revels in the physical luxuriance of Jupiter; but he also lets his imagination 
 travel through spiritual realms, and evidently delights in mystic speculation quite as 
 much as in scientific investigation. If he is a follower of Jules Verne, he has not forgot- 
 ten also to study the philosophers." — New York Tribune. 
 
 "A beautiful, example of typographical art and the bookmaker's skill. . . . To 
 appreciate the story one must read it." — New York Commercial A dvettiser. 
 
 "The date of the events narrated in this book is supposed to be 2000 A. D. The 
 inhabitants of North America have increased mightily in numbers and power and 
 knowledge. It is an age of marvelous scientific attainments. Flying machines have 
 long been in common use, and finally a new power is discovered called ' apergy,' 
 the reverse of gravitation, by which people are able to fly off into space in any direc- 
 tion, and at what speed they please." — New York Sun. 
 
 " The scientific romance by John Jacob Astor is more than likely to secure a dis- 
 tinct popular success, and achieve widespread vogue both as an amusing and interest- 
 esting story, and a thoughtful endeavor to prophesy some of the triumphs which science 
 is destined to win by the year 2coo. The book has been written with a purpose, and 
 that a higher one than the mere spinning of a highly imaginative yarn. Mr. Astor has 
 been engaged upon the book for over two years, and has brought to bear upon it a 
 great deal of hard work in the way of scientific research, of which he has been very fond 
 ever since he entered Harvard. It is admirably illustrated by Dan Beard." — Mail and 
 Express. 
 
 " Mr. Astor has himself almost all the qualities imaginable for making the science of 
 astronomy popular. He knows the learned maps of the astrologers. He knows the 
 work of Copernicus. He has made calculations and observations. He is enthusiastic, 
 and the spectacular does not frighten him."— New York Times. 
 
 " The work will remind the reader very much of Jules Verne in its general plan of 
 using scientific facts and speculation as a skeleton on which to hang the romantic 
 adventures of the central figures, who have all the daring ingenuity and luck cf Mr. 
 Verne's heroes. Mr. Astor uses history to point out what in his opinion science may 
 be expected to accomplish. It is a romance with a purpose." — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 
 
 " The romance contains many new and striking developments of the possibilities 
 of science hereafter to be explored, but the volume is intensely interesting, both as a 
 product of imagination and an illustration of the ingenious and original application of 
 science." — Rochester Herald. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
T 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 HANDY VOLUMES OF FICTION. 
 
 Each, i2mo, boards, with special design, 50 cents. 
 
 OURMALIN'S TIME CHEQUES. By F. 
 Anstey, author of " Vice Versa," " The Giant's Robe," etc. 
 
 Mr. Anstey has done nothing more original or fantastic with more success." 
 
 The Nation. 
 
 CjROM SHADOW TO SUNLIGHT. By the 
 •*- Marquis of Lorne. 
 
 "In these days of princely criticism— that is to say, criticism of princes — it is re- 
 freshing to meet a really good bit of aristocratic literary work." — Chicago Tribtine. 
 
 ADOPTING AN ABANDONED FARM. By 
 ■^-* Kate Sanborn. 
 
 " A sunny, pungent, humorous sketch." — Chicago Times. 
 
 N THE LAKE OF L UCERNE, and other Storks. 
 By Beatrice Whitby, author of "A Matter of Skill," " The 
 Awakening of Mary Fenwick," etc. 
 
 "Six short stories carefully and conscientiously finished, and told with the graceful 
 ease of the practiced raconteur." — Literary Digest. 
 
 DEOFLE AT FISGAH. By Edwin W. Sanborn. 
 
 J- " A most amusing extravaganza."— The Critic. 
 
 R. FORTNER'S MARITAL CLAIMS, and 
 
 other Stories. By Richard Malcolm Johnston. 
 
 o 
 
 M 
 
 A 
 
 " When the last story is finished we feel, in imitation of Oliver Twist, like asking 
 for more. " — Public Opinion. 
 
 /^RAMERCY FARK. A Story of New York. By 
 ^-^ John Seymour Wood, author of "An Old Beau," etc. 
 
 "A realistic story of New York life, vividly drawn, full of brilliant sketches." — Bos- 
 ton Advertiser. 
 
 TALE OF TWENTY-FIVE HOURS. By 
 Grander Matthews and George H. Jessop. 
 
 "The reader finds himself in the midst of tragedy ; but it is tragedy ending in 
 comedy. The story is exceptionally well told." — Boston Traveller. 
 
 LITTLE NORSK ; or, 0/' Fafs Flaxen. By 
 Hamlin Garland, author of " Main Traveled Roads," etc. 
 
 "There is nothing in story telling literature to excel the naturalness, pathos, hu- 
 mor, and homelike interest with which the little heroine's development is traced."— 
 Brooklyn Eagle. __ 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
 A 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HANDY VOLUMES OF FICTION. 
 
 ^Jach, umo, flexible cloth, with special design, 75 cents. 
 
 ABANDONING AN ADOPTED FARM. By 
 -*-* Kate Sanborn, author of "Adopting an Abandoned Farm," etc. 
 
 As a promoter of good spirits, a contributor to the gayety of nations, Miss Kate 
 Sanborn has gained a most enviable place among the writers of the day. Everybody 
 laughed over her " Adoption " of her farm. Her " Abandonment " is, if possible,, more 
 vivacious and entertaining. 
 
 /l/f-RS. LIMBER'S RAFFLE ; or, A Church Fair 
 •l**- and its Victims. By William Allen Butler. 
 
 This brilliant little satire, by the author of " Nothing to Wear," appears now under 
 his name, in a revised and enlarged form. 
 
 J^HE PURPLE LIGHT OF LOVE. By Henry 
 -* Goelet McVickar, author of "A Precious Trio," etc. 
 " A novel that holds the attention of the reader with its clever sketches of charac- 
 ter."— Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 HTHE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. By 
 
 •*■ Gilbert Parker. 
 
 " Unique in plot and subject, and Aolds the interest from the first page to the last." 
 — Detroit Free Press. 
 
 HTHE FAIENCE VIOLIN. By Champfleury. 
 
 " The style is happy throughout, the humorous parts being well calculated to bring 
 smiles, while we can hardly restrain our tears when the poor enthusiast goes to excesses 
 that have a touch of pathos." — Albany Times-Union. 
 
 T 
 
 RUE RICHES. By Francois Coppee. 
 
 " Delicate as an apple blossom, with its limp cover of pale green and its stalk of 
 golden-rod, is this little volume containing two stories by Francois Copp6e. The tales 
 are charmingly told, and their setting is an artistic delight." — Thiladelfhia Bulletin. 
 
 /J TRUTHFUL WOMAN IN SOUTHERN 
 '**- CALIFORNIA. By Kate Sanborn. 
 
 "The veracious writer considers the pros of the 'glorious climate' of California, 
 and then she gives the cons . . . . The book is sprightly and amiably entertaining. The 
 descriptions have the true Sanborn touch of vitality and humor." — Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 BORDER LEANDER. By Howard Seely, 
 
 author of " A Nymph of the West," etc. 
 
 " We confess to a great liking for the tale Mr. Seely tells. . . . There are pecks of 
 trouble ere the devoted lovers secure the tyina; of their love-knot, and Mr. Seely de- 
 scribes them all with a Texan flavor that is refreshing." — N. Y. Times. 
 
 A 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
M 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 ANY INVENTIONS. By Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 Containing fourteen stories, several of which are now pub- 
 lished for the first time, and two poems. i2mo, 427 pages. 
 Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " The reader turns from its pages with the conviction that the author has no supe« 
 -ior to-day in animated narrative and virility of style. He remains master of a powe* 
 ,'n which none of his contemporaries approach him — the ability to select out of countless 
 Jetails the few vital ones which create the finished picture. He knows how, wiih a 
 phrase or a word, to make you see his characters as he sees them, to make you feel 
 the full meaning of a dramatic situation." — New York 'tribune. 
 
 "'Many Inventions' will confirm Mr. Kipling's reputation. . . . We would cite 
 with pleasure sentences from almost every page, and extract incidents from almost 
 every story. «But to what end ? Here is the completest book that Mr. Kipling has yet 
 given us in workmanship, the weightiest and most humane in breadth of view." — 
 'Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Kipling's powers as a story-teller are evidently not diminishing. We advise 
 everybody to buy • Many Inventions,' and to profit by some of the best entertainment 
 that modern fiction has to offer." — New York Sun. 
 
 " ' Many Inventions ' will be welcomed wherever the English language is spoken. 
 . . . Every one of the stories bears the imprint of a master who conjures up incident 
 as if by magic, and who portrays character, scenery, and feeling with an ease w hich is 
 only exceeded by the boldness of force." — Boston Globe. 
 
 "The book will get and hold the closest attention of the reader." — American 
 Bookseller. 
 
 " Mr. Rudyard Kipling's place in the world of letters is unique. He sits quite aloof 
 and alone, the incomparable and inimitable master of the exquisitely fine art of short- 
 story writing. Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson has perhaps written several tales which 
 match the run of Mr. Kipling's work, but the best of Mr. Kipling's tales are matchless, 
 and his latest collection, 'Many Inventions,' contains several such." — Philadelphia 
 Press. 
 
 "Of late essays in fiction the work of Kipling can be compared to only three — 
 Blackmore's ' Lorna Doone,' Stevenson's marvelous sketch of Villon in the 'New 
 Arabian Nights,' and Thomas Hardy's ' Tess of the 1/ Urbervilles.' . . . It is probably 
 owing to this extreme care that ' Many Inventions ' is undoubtedly Mr. Kipling's best 
 book." — Chicago Post. 
 
 " Mr. Kipling's style i6 too well known to American readers to require introduction, 
 but it can scarcely be amiss to say there is not a story in this collection that does not 
 more than repay a perusal of them all." — Baltimore American. 
 
 " As a writer of short stories Rudyard Kipling is a genius. He has had imitators, 
 but they have not been successful in dimming the luster of his achievements by con- 
 trast. . . . 'Many Inventions' is the title. And they are inventions— entirely origi- 
 nal in incident, ingenious in plot, and startling by their boldness and force." — Rochester 
 Herald. 
 
 "How clever he is! This must always be the first thought on reading such a 
 collection of Kipling's stories. Here is art — art of the most consummate sort Com- 
 pared with this, the stories of our brightest young writers become commonplace."— 
 New York Evangelist. 
 
 " Taking the group as a whole, it may be said that the execution is up to his best 
 in the past, while two or three sketches surpass in rounded strength and vividness ol 
 imagination anything else he has done." — Hartford Courant. 
 
 "Fifteen more extraordinary sketches, without a tinge of sensationalism, it would 
 be hard to find. . . . Every one has an individuality of its own which fascinates tb» 
 reader." — Boston Times. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
RETURN TO the circulation desk ot any 
 University of California Library 
 or to the 
 NORTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 Bldg. 400, Richmond Field Station 
 University of California 
 Richmond, CA 94804-4698 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 • 2-month loans may be renewed by calling 
 (510)642-6753 
 
 • 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing 
 books to NRLF 
 
 • Renewals and recharges may be made 4 
 days prior to due date. 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 apr 2 2 iyy« 
 
 12,000(11/95) 
 
912833 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY