J
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 i 
 
 The Vineyard 
 
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 T. FISHER UNWIN.
 
 The Vineyard 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN OLIVER HOBBES 
 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
 LONDON LEIPZIG 
 
 II Paternoster Buildings Inselstrasse 20 
 
 PARIS 
 
 3 Rue Auber 
 
 1904
 
 Copyrighted Edition 
 [AI/ Rights Reserved^
 
 
 "He beholdeth not the way ot the Vineyards." 
 
 65_
 
 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " He beholdeth not the tuay of the Vineyards J" 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 " But from the light and fiery dreams of love 
 Spring heavy sorrows and a sleepless life, 
 Visions, not dreams, whose lids no charm shall close, 
 Nor song assuage them waking." 
 
 Atalanta in Calydon. 
 
 " I TELL you I won't stand it ! It is not to be en- 
 dured 1 It is the most unfair thing I have ever heard 
 of!" 
 
 " Don't get excited. That's no use," 
 *' But, I ask you, what right has my father to 
 cripple me ? The capital is next to nothing as it is, 
 and to tie it up in this outlandish way is madness — 
 ruin ! It places me like this." 
 
 The speaker pressed his two wrists together as 
 though they were handcuffed, and, with despair 
 darkening his face, he paced the small room as though 
 it were a cage. He was handsome, magnificently built, 
 and seven-and-twenty ; his gait showed the effects 
 of military drill, and his bearing the influence of 
 military associates, yet he lacked the stamp of a 
 
 A
 
 2 THE VINEYARD 
 
 regular soldier ; his voice was most agreeable, yet 
 it had a provincial harsh intonation which broke out 
 occasionally, giving the effect of a second tongue 
 interrupting his speech ; his dark eyes were direct 
 and candid, yet he had the habit of closing them 
 from time to time, either to conceal their expression 
 or to collect his thoughts, which often strayed. 
 As he looked at his companion, a tall spare man of 
 forty, who was poring over an ordnance map, his 
 desperate glance softened into docility. 
 
 "It's the most unfair thing I have ever heard of," 
 he repeated, but with less vehemence : " the most 
 unfair. Did I at any time ask for much ? " 
 
 " That's what I ventured to tell your father. 
 That is why I have got the sack after fifteen years 
 of devoted service 1 " said the spare man, whose 
 nervous hands trembled, and whose restless eyes 
 belied his languid manner. " I made up my mind 
 on the spot that I would put you on your guard. 
 You are not supposed to know the contents of your 
 father's will : now I have prepared you for it." 
 
 "Yes, I am prepared for it, and, so far, I thank 
 you ; but that won't make it easier for me to get on 
 with him." 
 
 The little room in which they were talking had a 
 small oval table in the centre, a davenport in the 
 corner, and at the side an old-fashioned mahogany 
 sideboard protected by a cover of American cloth and 
 set out with a large locked tea-caddy of Chinese
 
 THE VINEYARD 3 
 
 inlaid work, an empty cut-glass flower-vase on a 
 filigree electro-plated stand, and a polished brass tea- 
 urn which was never used. There was a canary in a 
 green cage ; a stuffed duck in a case. On the walls 
 there were smooth portraits in dingy oils of stout 
 matrons in caps and black satin, and pink old gentle- 
 men with whiskers and gold watch-chains ; the 
 horsehair sofa and chairs were adorned with coloured 
 antimacassars, and the three books on the one shelf 
 near the fireplace were bound volumes of The Quiver 
 for the early seventies of eighteen hundred. It was 
 not easy to pace this narrow apartment, so Federan, 
 after uttering a few more exclamations of anger and 
 astonishment, sat down by his other companion — a 
 woman, shabbily dressed, who sipped a glass of port 
 wine and nibbled a piece of seed-cake. She had 
 lifted her veil to her worn eyebrows, and, painfully 
 interested, she stared at the man with the map ; her 
 absorption was so complete that she tried to drink 
 the cake and bite the wine. Federan, who was 
 observant, noticed this, but he had no heart to smile. 
 Besides, he knew the woman and her vague, moon- 
 struck ways too w^ell. 
 
 "It's a shame," he said; "a cruel shame. What 
 shall I do, Coolidge ? " 
 
 "You must have irons in the fire," said Coolidge. 
 " The old man's paralysis may linger on for years. 
 Take time by the forelock. That is why I called 
 your attention to these facts within my knowledge."
 
 4 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " You mean that business on the Franton estate. 
 I hate risk, however ; I don't believe in it." 
 
 At moments Federan could show obstinacy, but he 
 loved peace, and one of the things he enjoyed most 
 was losing an opinion which oppressed him or placed 
 him in disagreement with any man. Want of faith 
 in a project, no matter how unsound, was in itself an 
 acute distress to his sanguine nature. Coolidge, who 
 had watched him grow up, played with his optimism 
 as an expert angler would with a young trout. 
 
 " The Franton estate is a pretty large one — four 
 hundred acres," said Coolidge. "It belongs ab- 
 solutely to Miss Tredegar. There is coal on that 
 hnd— coal!'' 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Coolidge, speaking for the first 
 time, " do you think that Miss Tredegar could be 
 got to sell it ? They tell me she changes her mind 
 fifty times a day ! " 
 
 *'That is because she has not men to deal with," 
 replied Coolidge, annoyed at the interruption. " She 
 is shut up with a parcel of women, and they are all 
 fools together." 
 
 Federan looked out of the window at one of the 
 most charming gardens in that part of the country. 
 It was famous for its lilac trees, which were now in 
 full bloom. There was also a large dovecote, and he 
 could see the doves flying in and out of their small 
 habitations. He loved flowers and colour, and the 
 country in spring and summer-time. He was a
 
 THE VINEYARD 5 
 
 solicitor's son, and he had formed what are known as 
 excellent business habits ; but just as he found it hard 
 to doubt he found it difficult to hate, and while he 
 never allowed himself to confess his intense impatience 
 under business matters, he had, he knew secretly, no 
 taste for such things and no skill in dealing with 
 them. Still, as he lacked imagination, he had never 
 been able to decide what line of life or what possible 
 career would have suited him better. He was dis- 
 contented — not because he was ambitious, not because 
 he was actually dissatisfied with his lot as lots went, 
 but because the routine of his days irritated him by 
 its monotony. His anger of ten minutes ago had 
 already passed : he was beginning to wonder whether 
 he had not made perhaps too much fuss. Well 
 housed and well fed, he had enough to maintain a 
 decent appearance ; he kept a couple of horses and a 
 trap ; he hunted. He began to think that he could 
 be happy on next to nothing if the lilacs would only 
 remain for ever in flower, and the warm Whitsundays 
 might last all the year round. He wondered how 
 Coolidge could sit studying the map when the chairs 
 on the lawn looked so comfortable and the cooing 
 of the doves made one drowsy. Nevertheless, the 
 business habit was in him, and he answered his 
 friend : 
 
 " The question is, would Miss Tredegar sell the 
 place at the market value ? " 
 
 " Of course, that's the question," said Coolidge ;
 
 6 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " that's where you have to show your gumption and 
 diplomacy." 
 
 " She has wanted to sell the place for years," re- 
 plied Federan, " but you know what women clients 
 are. The moment they get an offer they don't want 
 to accept it." 
 
 The garden gate was opened by a young girl in a 
 white dress, who carried some books in a strap and 
 a large blue parasol. She crossed the lawn without 
 looking in at the window and disappeared. Federan 
 blushed deeply, and pretended to brush a fly from 
 his forehead. 
 
 " There's Miss Sussex," said Mrs Coolidge ; " she's 
 got back earlier than usual from school." 
 
 Federan stood up and looked in the glass over the 
 fireplace ; he had almost convinced himself that the 
 imaginary insect;had stung him. 
 
 " The worst of it is," he said, " everything worth 
 having costs money. You can't stir without it — you 
 can't get what you want. People say ' Gather the 
 roses while you mav.' I'd gather them fast enough if 
 I could see them. But where are they ? When you 
 find them they have to be bought and paid for." 
 
 Meanwhile the girl in the white dress had looked 
 on the hall table for letters, found none, and gone up- 
 stairs to her small study in the attic. It was so high 
 that she seemed, there, to be living in the branches of 
 the trees — far above the doves, yet still a long way 
 from the stars.
 
 THE VINEYARD 7 
 
 Jennie was the daughter of a certain Sir Fortescue 
 Sussex, the fifteenth and last baronet of his race. His 
 father before him had impoverished himself by con- 
 tributing too heavily to the Conservative Party funds 
 — in the hope, it w^assaid, of obtaining a peerage. Sir 
 Fortescue succeeded at the age of tw^entv-five to the 
 claims and the debts ; he married for love the fifth 
 daughter of a scholarly vicar; a post w^as found for 
 him in the Foreign Office, where it was the work of 
 two earnest officials to keep him excusably employed. 
 
 Always well dressed, always good-looking, always 
 courteous, and always agreeably stupid — "straight, 
 but a fool," — it was a surprise to his small circle when 
 he died suddenly of over-anxiety about his work. His 
 work ? when did he work ? what did he do ? He 
 died, nevertheless, because he took the business of 
 Imperial England too much to heart. He had, it 
 seemed, great ideas which he could not formulate, 
 and immense ambitions for which he knew himself 
 unfit. Lady Sussex, assisted by a friend who was also 
 a Fellow of Balliol, settled down in her small house 
 in Chelsea to the self-imposed task of writing his life 
 and editing his letters. The volume, when finished, 
 was to be called Sunt Lacrymcs Rerum : a Memoir of 
 F. S.y because she herself thought Latin dignified, 
 and the deceased gentleman detested publicity. Five 
 years passed : the book was not finished, but Lady 
 Sussex married the Fellow of Balliol, who accepted an 
 appointment in Australia, where the bride was called
 
 8 THE VINEYARD 
 
 plain Mrs Denton, and considered an admirable 
 woman for being known as Lady Sussex in brackets 
 only. Jennie was passionately fond of her mother, 
 who was lovely, plaintive, accomplished, sweetly silly 
 and unassailably chaste ; much as she loved her one 
 child, she loved the idea of a protector still more — she 
 could not live alone, and she was unable to feel that 
 her gifts from God were conscientiously employed in 
 the society of women friends and the companionship 
 of her daughter. 
 
 " Mamma is too young and much too beautiful to 
 have a grown-up girl," Jennie saw, and admitted. She 
 refused, therefore, to accompany the bride and bride- 
 groom to Australia ; she remained in England to 
 finish Sunt Lacrymes Rerum^ and read for the B.A. 
 degree of the University of London. Several relatives 
 had suggested that she might teach, or become a 
 journalist, or, best of all, get a secretaryship. One 
 second cousin — a widowed duchess, not the mother 
 of the heir, not rich, not influential in London — was 
 nevertheless the great lady of Cumbersborough, where 
 she lived in an old Grange and painted little pictures 
 in oil, mostly of sunsets. The Duchess had never 
 troubled to see Jennie, but she recommended her 
 strongly for the post of English mistress at a select 
 private school for the daughters of the nobility and 
 gentry at Franton. This institution was prosperous 
 because it was connected by an electric tram with 
 Cumbersborough, where delicate persons of import-
 
 THE VINEYARD 9 
 
 ance were often ordered for their health and the sea 
 air. They took furnished bungalows and sent their 
 youngest children to Mrs Marblay's seminary. 
 
 Miss Sussex, who was engaged on the strength of 
 her introduction, received seventy pounds a year for 
 her services and a percentage on the dancing class — 
 which, under her supervision, proved more popular 
 than the lectures on the Napoleonic epoch. She 
 lived as a paying guest with the most reluctant Miss 
 Leddles, who also consented to receive her on the 
 strong representations of her Grace, which amounted, 
 locally, to a command. 
 
 " We can't offend the Duchess," said Miss Daisy. 
 "Miss Sussex, you see, is a very near relative of 
 hers." 
 
 It occurred to the malicious and Radical and un- 
 received of the neighbourhood that some accommoda- 
 tion might have been found for Jennie at the Grange. 
 This plebeian murmur, penetrating, as such coarse 
 whispers will, to the most exclusive sanctuaries of 
 Cumbersborough, caused a real uneasiness. And, by 
 all the rules of loyalty, the few who were admitted 
 to be on terms of something approaching intimacy 
 with the Duchess, were loud in protestations that 
 they feared her action would never be fully under- 
 stood by the world at large. The Vicar, however, 
 who had the nicest perceptions of what one owes to 
 oneself, pointed out that the suggested arrangement 
 "would never do," and the impenetrable mysterious-
 
 lo THE VINEYARD 
 
 ness of the phrase in no way detracted from its 
 finality or its immediate acceptance by the well-bred. 
 Jennie was very pretty — too pretty, one would say, 
 to be studious. Her appearance, indeed, had been a 
 serious shock to everybody — from the Duchess down- 
 wards. She had the rich blush and the glad brown 
 eyes and the red-brown hair, which mean splendid 
 bodily health : her willowy figure, her slender waist, 
 shapely dimpled hands and small feet were cast in the 
 coquette's mould. As she took off her hat, she 
 sang, in a thrilling, emotional voice, " Under the 
 Deodars," from The Country Girl^ the score of 
 which stood, much worn by use, on the desk of the 
 cottage piano near the window. The bookcase by 
 her bedside contained popular editions of Ruskin, 
 Thackeray, Rossetti, Swinburne and Keats : Ouida's 
 Two Little Wooden Shoes^ Miss Broughton's Red as a 
 Rose is She^ and Not Wisely but too Well. These all 
 had an appearance of being in constant use. Her 
 writing-table had a small mahogany revolving stand, 
 which contained abridged Greek, Latin and French 
 dictionaries, Le Phe Goriot, Illusions Perdues, Jebb's 
 translation, with notes, of the Antigone, a cheap text 
 of Plato's Republic^ and a school edition of Terence. 
 She kept, by the bottles of red and black ink, a 
 delightful miniature, in the manner of Lawrence, of 
 Lady Sussex at seventeen. It was the girl's one 
 grief that she could never hope to resemble this 
 ineffable mother — with the perfect Greek nose and
 
 THE VINEYARD ii 
 
 the amazing hair — her own. There were three 
 picturesque hats on the top of the chest of drawers, 
 and several coloured gowns hanging on hooks upon 
 the door. She unloosed her book strap, and corrected, 
 with curious diligence, for more than an hour, a 
 collection of small children's compositions on the 
 subject of Charles I. She placed marks and com- 
 ments in red ink at the end of each exercise, and 
 had just finished her task as the clock struck six. 
 Then someone from the garden below threw a 
 pebble at her window. Laughing, she looked out, 
 and showed no surprise at finding Gerald P'ederan 
 standing there. 
 
 "Time !" said he — "time ! My aunts have not 
 come back. Why two aged spinsters should attend 
 mothers' meetings is a mystery to me. But I want 
 my tea, and I am sure you want yours." 
 
 *' I am coming," she answered. She ran down the 
 stairs at full speed, and went into the small room 
 where Federan and the Coolidges had been not long 
 before. Federan was already standing at the tea- 
 table. 
 
 "Two lumps of sugar, or one? " said he, as she 
 entered. He felt suddenly embarrassed, and he felt 
 glad to have something to say when she came in. 
 
 " One, please," said Jennie ; and, as her heart was 
 beating uncomfortably, she went to the window, 
 leaned out, and sighed : " How beautiful the lilacs 
 are!"
 
 12 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " Yes," said Federan, " the garden is lovely. It 
 can make one forget the house and this appalling 
 room. I often wonder how you can stay here." 
 
 "I wanted to be quiet. You see, I must work 
 for that examination. The school is small ; I don't 
 get overtired during the day, and I have my evenings 
 free for reading." 
 
 "It seems strange," said the young man, "that 
 a girl your age should care so much more about work 
 than play. That's one of the reasons why I admire 
 you — your character, I mean. You don't mind my 
 saying so ? " 
 
 " I like to be encouraged," said Jennie, shyly. She 
 took her accustomed place at the tea-table, and lifted 
 her eyes to his with the caressing defiance of a 
 woman when she is certain that she has nothing to 
 provoke which would not be altogether agreeable. 
 
 " I was getting rather cynical — especially about 
 girls — just before you came," said Federan. "Life 
 seemed something like words without any music — till 
 I met you. A man has friends — any amount of 
 friends, and he can enjoy himself. I have had my 
 share of fun as well as another, and I can throw my- 
 self, heart and soul, into anything that's lively. But 
 you want more than liveliness as you go on in the 
 world. You know all about me, don't you?" 
 
 "I know that you went to South Africa." 
 
 " I wanted to remain there — it's a white man's 
 climate, and no one is narrow-minded. I came back
 
 THE VINEYARD 13 
 
 because of my father's bad health. Can you tell me 
 my lines?" He held out his hand, which was sun- 
 burnt and badly scarred : nevertheless, it was an 
 artist's hand — not the hand of a fighter or a plodder. 
 "What about the life line ? " he asked. 
 
 " It has crosses on it. The head line is wonder- 
 fully clear." 
 
 " I am glad of that. And the heart r '* 
 
 " The heart is . , . very kind." 
 
 « Nothing else ? " 
 
 " Very impulsive." 
 
 " That is true. Nothing else ? " 
 
 He drew a little nearer, and their shoulders 
 touched. 
 
 " Very fickle," said Jennie, with seriousness. 
 
 "Your one mistake," said Federan. "And look 
 again ! Does anyone come into the heart ?'* 
 
 "I can't see in this light," said the girl, moving 
 away. 
 
 " I can see," said Federan. 
 
 But Jennie went to the window once more, where 
 she stood motionless, watching the shadows on the 
 lawn. 
 
 " Have you noticed how the whitethorn has come 
 out in the last two days ?" she asked presently ; " the 
 trees are covered with blossoms." 
 
 "I am not thinking about the trees. I don't 
 believe you are, either ! " 
 
 He was looking very handsome, and he had an
 
 1+ THE VINEYARD 
 
 audacity of manner which seldom fails to stimulate 
 the feminine spirit. 
 
 "If I am not thinking about the trees, what 
 should I be thinking of?" she asked. 
 
 She felt his arm slipping round her waist, and, 
 reddening, she turned away with such delightful 
 grace that he could not be sure he had received a 
 repulse. But he did not venture so near again. 
 
 "I want you to look at me," he said; "the 
 blossoms may be pretty, but I am more deserving ! 
 Somehow, the first time I saw you — " 
 
 " How it poured with rain ! We had to wait in 
 the church porch, and I was sorry I wore my oldest 
 hat ! " 
 
 " We had a good opportunity to talk, because we 
 were chaperoned by Aunt Daisy, who is not only 
 deaf, but also a little blind. In these propitious 
 circumstances, I felt we were not strangers at 
 all." 
 
 '' I had the same feeling. It was as though we had 
 a great deal to speak about, though nothing to say ! 
 We seemed to understand, and then — " 
 
 " Well, what else were you going to say to me ? '* 
 By this time the whole sky had changed : a green 
 mild light had come over it, the trees were looking 
 darker, and some reflection of the sunset fell upon the 
 purple of the lilacs. The pony trap, containing the 
 two Miss Leddles, rattled up to the gate, and the 
 stable-man, rolling down his sleeves, ran out from
 
 THE VINEYARD 15 
 
 the kitchen, where he had been watching the maid 
 peeling apples for the Sunday pudding. 
 
 "They have come back," said Federan. "Isn't 
 that always the way ? " 
 
 But the girl went down the pathway to meet the 
 late arrivals. 
 
 " Dr Rench stopped us," called out the elder Miss 
 Leddle in a cross tone : " I hope you didn't wait for 
 tea ? " 
 
 " We dawdled over it," said Federan, shortly ; " we 
 have eaten nothing." 
 
 Miss Leddle, who was tall, lean, and upright, 
 turned a keen glance from one to the other. 
 
 " I sha'n't attend any more meetings," said she, 
 with an air of extraordinary decision.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 " Who hath given man speech ? or who hath set therein 
 A thorn for peril and a snare for sin r " 
 
 Atalanta in CalyJon. 
 
 The Miss Leddles were incapable of sitting down 
 in their best gowns, mantles and bonnets to their 
 evening meal. Complaining loudly of the unex- 
 pected delays which disturbed the decent orderliness 
 of life, they went to their bedrooms, which were on 
 opposite sides of the first landing, and proceeded to 
 eflfect what is called a change. Miss Leddle had just 
 resigned the majesty of a black silk in favour of a 
 brown cashmere, and substituted a plain comb for 
 two jet ones, when her nephew tapped at the door 
 and walked in. 
 
 " I have had a call from Coolidge," he said : " he 
 has come down for the Bank Holiday, and I am 
 wondering whether you could put him up for the 
 night." 
 
 Miss Leddle frowned. She had never been able to 
 
 forgive her dead and plainest sister's marriage, but she 
 
 took a ferocious pride in Gerald, who, she considered, 
 
 resembled herself. His faults were encouraged on the 
 
 i6
 
 THE VINEYARD 17 
 
 ground that the poor boy could hardly be different in 
 view of his mother's insipidity ; his virtues were 
 extravagantly overpraised because they were supposed 
 to be the fruit of Miss Leddle's own watchful care, 
 unceasing prayers and elevating influence. To frown 
 upon him was painful, especially as it called up a very 
 sullen expression on his face. 
 
 "I don't care for Mr Coolidge," she said : "your 
 father dismissed him while you were away, but he did 
 not give his reasons." 
 
 " Then why do you take it for granted that he 
 must be in the wrong ? He has been a good friend 
 to me, and if I could arrange this meeting it would be 
 worth my while. I don't want favours, however, from 
 anybody." 
 
 He seldom wanted anything else, and no one was 
 better aware of this than his aunt. But she liked to 
 keep him deeply obliged to her. At the word " favour " 
 the lines of her prudent mouth relaxed. 
 
 "You don't understand, dear. Any friend of 
 yours is welcome, of course." 
 
 "Then do try and arrange it. It is only for a 
 couple of nights, at most." 
 
 " It's against my judgment," she said, " but I will 
 do it." 
 
 " Dear old pet ! " he exclaimed, and went away 
 whistling, while the grim spinster muttered self- 
 reproaches under her breath. She was not one who 
 could enjoy her own folly. 
 
 B
 
 1 8 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " What's the matter with Gerald ? '* asked the 
 younger Miss Leddle, known as Miss Daisy. She 
 had heard the young man on the staircase, and now, 
 fastening her alpaca bodice, she stood on the threshold 
 of Lydia's room with the anxiety of a Court favourite 
 on the door-mat of a royal apartment. Would her 
 reception be less cordial than usual ? She had two 
 little prominent teeth which touched her lower lip 
 and intensified her air of thoughtful meekness. 
 There is a meekness which is wholly unconscious. 
 Miss Daisy knew that the earth was hers by inherit- 
 ance—if merit and the gospel promise were not in 
 vain. Her complexion was still soft ; her gentle grey 
 eyes still kept some of the innocent tenderness which, 
 as a little girl, she had felt for dolls ; human beings 
 she had always feared, and the solitary living creature 
 she had ever loved was a cow. Had she not first be- 
 come acquainted with that animal as a newly-born 
 calf, she would have feared her also. 
 
 " Shut the door ! Gerald wants Coolidge here for 
 Whitsun," said Miss Leddle. " I can't bear the man. 
 The more I see of men the more I dislike them. 
 They upset everybody." 
 
 " So many have never been the same since they 
 returned from South Africa," replied Miss Daisy, who, 
 being mild, heard all the village gossip, and, being 
 intelligent, had gained a scientific, if impersonal, 
 knowledge of the masculine character. " They have 
 come back excited," she went on ; " they have got
 
 THE VINEYARD 19 
 
 new, go-ahead ideas. They always say, while they 
 are away, that they long to be home, but after the 
 first day or two they are unsettled and want to be off. 
 Let him have his Coolidge." 
 
 '* What will people say? Does it look well? It 
 may mean a quarrel with James. James would not 
 understand our receiving his discharged clerk as a 
 guest.'* 
 
 "We need not tell James," observed Miss Daisy. 
 
 " No ; that is true." 
 
 " James is often very crochety. Besides, Coolidge 
 may not be the best friend in the world for Gerald, 
 but he is safer than Miss Sussex. She is flirting with 
 him and unsettling his mind." 
 
 The two maiden ladies looked long, earnestly, and 
 fondly at each other. 
 
 " I am sorry we took Miss Sussex in as a boarder," 
 added Miss Daisy. " Gerald never used to come and 
 see us very often, and now, all of a sudden, he finds 
 there never was such air as the air here." 
 
 The momentary agreement between the sisters 
 perished at a suggestion so unflattering to Miss 
 Leddle's sway over her nephew. 
 
 " You are quite wrong," she said crossly. " James 
 being ill and unable to attend to business, it stands to 
 reason that Gerald has to come over here and see the 
 clients. He is perfectly welcome. He told me him- 
 self he has got an appointment to-morrow at the 
 Manor ; and as for Miss Sussex — "
 
 20 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " She is with Gerald in the dining-room. Do you 
 hear them laughing ? " 
 
 Peal after peal of fresh, clear laughter — a man's 
 shout and a girl's rippling mirth — formed a sort of 
 symphony with the hoarse notes of the staircase 
 cuckoo-clock hooting the half-hour. Both of the 
 middle-aged women felt a sharp pang of jealousy, and 
 realised that Jennie was an intruder, a disturbing 
 element in the joyless household. For the first time, 
 probably, in their lives, they spoke in unison : " We 
 don't want her. She must go." 
 
 A love of young people is not common in elderly 
 persons. Real sympathy with youth is a rare and 
 touching quality, which depends on one's imagina- 
 tion, but even more on one's experience — and less on 
 one's experience of happiness than on one's experience 
 of difficulties and disappointment, for the people who 
 are kindest to the young are usually those who have 
 had sorrow. The Miss Leddles had missed the spells 
 and magic of existence, and its tragedy had passed 
 them by : the sameness of their days had given them 
 placid constitutions, and the squalid adventures of 
 their impecunious neighbours had made envy, or any 
 desire, of courtships out of the question. Had they 
 ever read, had they ever fed their souls with romantic 
 dreams, they might perhaps have longed for a more 
 profound knowledge of life ; but they kept in close 
 touch with the crude realities of village domesticity, 
 uncouth wooings, husbands out of work or sick, ailing
 
 THE VINEYARD 21 
 
 children, crowded cottages. The men of the district, 
 moreover, were either their social inferiors or so much 
 above them that they had never received any senti- 
 mental advances from the sex which they invariablv 
 described as " the opposite." 
 
 Marriage viewed thus held nothing to attract the 
 well-to-do Miss Lydia and Miss Daisy, and the 
 flirtation betwean Jennie Sussex and Federan was the 
 solitary affair of the kind which had ever caused them, 
 in the character of spectators, the least touch of 
 chagrin. Jennie came from the great city of 
 London ; at Franton there was no other girl with 
 such a pretty face, such a symmetrical figure, such 
 alluring ways. It was impossible to dislike her ; nor 
 were the Miss Leddles women who detested beauty 
 and charm because they themselves lacked both. But 
 beauty and charm alarmed them — they knew nothing 
 of such elements — and they had a superstitious dread, 
 a prophetic distrust, of power manifested on the lines 
 of witchcraft. 
 
 "That lass is a witch," Miss Leddle had declared 
 more than once. 
 
 And indeed, when the two sisters entered the 
 dining-room that evening and found Jennie singing 
 French ballads to a guitar in the dusk, they might 
 have been excused for thinking her a most unsuitable 
 addition to the select society of an obscure parish. 
 The song was harmless enough — "// itait un berger " 
 — but it sounded very wicked in Miss Lydia's ears.
 
 2» THE VINEYARD 
 
 Jennie's eyes were flashing, and Gerald^ fascinated, 
 was watching them as a bird watches a light. 
 
 " I have a message for you, Jennie," said Miss 
 Leddle, taking her own arm-chair at the head of the 
 table. " Dr Rench wants you to go out to Franton 
 Manor." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Jennie, greatly surprised. 
 
 " To brighten up Miss Tredegar. They say she is 
 moping up there, sick of books, sick of her garden, 
 sick of her life generally. She does not care for her 
 mother, and this makes the poor lady the more 
 determined to keep her away from everyone else. 
 But Dr Rench says that she can't go on as she is. " 
 
 " I might go on Saturday afternoon," said Jennie, 
 who, having planned to accompany Federan to a gala 
 that afternoon, took great pleasure in making it 
 appear still undecided. 
 
 The young man showed his pique by remarking 
 only that, as the road to Franton Manor was long, 
 his dog-cart was at her disposal. 
 
 " Poor Miss Tredegar," said Miss Leddle : " she 
 has never been the same since some boating accident. 
 It seems to have destroyed her nerves, and she has 
 fallen into a melancholy." 
 
 Gerald concealed the inward interest he took in the 
 discussion, and asked, half yawning : " I suppose she 
 has been crossed in love ? " 
 
 The sisters thought this suggestion scarcely respect- 
 ful ; it conveyed a slur, in their opinion, on Miss
 
 THE VINEYARD 23 
 
 Tredegar's moral character. They dared not look 
 at each other, and Miss Daisy flushed deeply. 
 
 " You forget that you are speaking of a lady ! " 
 said Miss Leddle, in a severe tone. 
 
 " Can't real ladies love ? " said her nephevir. 
 
 No one spoke after that, and when the aunts had 
 finished their meal, which they made with studied 
 slowness, Federan, wishing them a short good-night, 
 left the room. Jennie had been in sympathy with 
 him ; he had felt the incentive, the solace, and the 
 commendation glowing under her downcast eyes, and 
 the struggle between the old and young forces of that 
 household was now declared. Although Jennie brought 
 out her school-books, and the sisters played Halma till 
 bedtime, all three were sad and absent-minded. Miss 
 Leddle had to read more Psalms than usual before she 
 could sleep, and Miss Daisy, who always arranged 
 her locked cupboard on Saturday nights, took less 
 pleasure than usual in contemplating her treasures. 
 These consisted of a number of china ornaments, a 
 box of brooches, a packet full of bits of lace, and a 
 bunch of blonde curls (tied with blue ribbon) which 
 had been cut from her own head when she had scarlet 
 fever at the age of nine. These blonde curls repre- 
 sented the soul and the existence Miss Daisy might 
 possibly have enjoyed but for the force of circum- 
 stances. That particular evening she was ashamed of 
 them — she knew not why. They clung to her cold, 
 skinny fingers ; when she held them against her fore-
 
 24 THE VINEYARD 
 
 head they fell over her eyes, and she looked artificial 
 — almost like the noisy women of the county town 
 on market days. She restored them to the chocolate- 
 box lined with silver paper in which they were kept. 
 
 "I shouldn't fancy myself with a fringe," she 
 murmured : " I'd look so fast ! " 
 
 Federan, meanwhile, had struck out into the high- 
 road on his way to the "Eight Bells" Inn, where he 
 knew he would find Coolidge. Being a man of 
 indolent and reluctant critical faculties — a constitu- 
 tional defect which often passes for patience — he did 
 not become despondent on the subject of his aunts' 
 provinciality. From early boyhood he had accepted 
 them, without wonder or complaint, in the great 
 scheme of the universe, and he would as soon have 
 attempted some reconstruction of the planetary 
 system as any active revolt against the prejudices of 
 Miss Lydia and Miss Daisy ; he would as soon have 
 wondered why grass was green rather than violet as 
 why the Miss Leddles were excellent rather than 
 pleasant women. So kind and yet so unlovable were 
 these blameless ladies, that if they ever performed a 
 good work they did it so thoroughlv that those who 
 might have felt tempted to follow a less perfect 
 example became discouraged ; they kept the standard 
 of worthiness, as it were, too high, and their deeds of 
 charity, like the creations of artistic genius, spoilt the 
 market for the moderate achievements of less resolute 
 souls. No one wished or hoped for any alteration in
 
 THE VINEYARD 25 
 
 the Miss Leddles ; on the other hand, no one wished 
 or hoped to resemble them. " How tiresome they 
 are ! " muttered Gerald, and then he put them from 
 his mind. 
 
 It was a warm, starry night, sweet-scented and 
 serene. The young man would have enjoyed a walk 
 with Jennie, and, as he marched along, he had a 
 lonely feeling — for he was one who found no pleasure 
 in solitude, and nothing but perplexity in meditation. 
 Moreover, his senses demanded some tie : it might be 
 idle, it might be absorbing, it might be dangerous, it 
 might be merely sentimental — it had to be, that was 
 all, or he became morose, full of foreboding gloom, 
 listless and uneasy. 
 
 " Gerald must always have some woman in his 
 heart!" his father would complain, with that 
 bewilderment at sentimentality which one finds in 
 those who married young, for good, but perhaps not 
 sufficient, reasons. Human love is not a single and 
 simple impulse, but an emotional force of innumer- 
 able complications : there are a number of causes 
 which go to produce that restlessness of temperament 
 which demonstrates itself in brief caprices, in attach- 
 ments without faith, in affections without endurance. 
 It may be nature working in disguise ; imagination, 
 in some cases, makes the disguise more important and 
 more powerful than the primitive instinct, and it 
 often happens that the pursuit and study of individuals 
 is more pleasing than the concentration enforced by
 
 26 THE VINEYARD 
 
 the despotism of a great passion. Ties, for instance, 
 in the case of Federan were never bonds : easily 
 made and broken, they were to him the little 
 tragedies inseparable from the life of a young man 
 who was at once romantic and ineligible. Everyone 
 knew that he could not afford a wife ; he had never 
 proposed to any girl, although he had been fond 
 enough of several, in the course of his adventures, to 
 have drifted into matrimony with any one of them on, 
 roughly, seven hundred a year. But he had some- 
 thing under three hundred, paid irregularly ; this 
 kept him sober in action even when his chivalrous 
 desires would almost have passed for the courage 
 which comes from self-confidence and strength. 
 
 " What is the use ? " he would say at the hours of 
 tearful parting. "My dear, what is the use?" His 
 dear would sob ; he himself would turn pale and 
 remain haggard for days. " This is life," would be 
 his next word of comfort. 
 
 He was now deeply interested in Miss Sussex, and, 
 whereas he had always before been able from the fond 
 beginning to face the sad farewell, he now shrank 
 uneasily in his clothes, and frowned, and sighed, and 
 beat the wayside hedges with his walking-stick at the 
 idea of any break with this new friend. He was not 
 without hopes that she might care for him, but what 
 could he offer her ? The philosopher may be delivered 
 from the oppression of facts by losing himself in his 
 own ideas, but an ordinary man will think only when
 
 THE VINEYARD 17 
 
 he must, and thought to him — so far from being the 
 anodyne for egoism, is self-revelation at its plainest. 
 Federan could not enjoy the emotions and moods of 
 love, because he vi^as driven to consider the uncom- 
 promising sobriety of an empty purse. 
 
 The parlour of the "Eight Bells" was a small 
 room with pictures of Derby winners and engrav- 
 ings of the county noblemen on its walls. Coolidge 
 was sitting there, with a glass of whiskey-and-soda by 
 his side, smoking a cigarette and reading the morn- 
 ing paper. 
 
 " So you have come ? " he said. 
 
 " Of course," replied Gerald : " you were going to 
 tell me more about that scheme." 
 
 " Oh, well," said Coolidge, pulling his hat, which 
 he constantly wore, over his eyes, " I have given you 
 the tip. There is coal on the Franton estate, and I 
 can introduce you to the backers — dummy backers, 
 some of them. We don't want a whole lot in the 
 concern — three sound men of business who will have 
 enough common sense not to meddle — and the whole 
 thing is plain sailing. Just you get the land." 
 
 " But suppose there isn't any coal," said Gerald : 
 *' what then ? We shall have a white elephant on 
 our hands : no one could pretend we could do any- 
 thing useful with it." 
 
 " But I tell you," said Coolidge, with a little more 
 animation, "I have a copy of Paxton &c Grainger's 
 report,"
 
 28 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " Then why don't they take it up themselves ? " 
 
 "Because their hands are too full as it is, and they 
 never work in a hurry. They are keeping it up 
 their sleeves. Why did Lord Hambourn have the 
 expert down at his place ? A report is getting about 
 that there is coal. Coal! And you can look on 
 without risking a penny ! What are you made of?" 
 
 " I will turn it over in my mind. Of course, it 
 may be a tremendous thing. I only wish I could 
 work it without a syndicate." 
 
 " Ah, that would be the ideal arrangement, but 
 it cannot be managed." 
 
 " I am not so sure." 
 
 "Well, if it comes to that," said Coolidge, picking 
 his words and watching their effect under an assumed 
 carelessness, " it depends on the price Miss Tredegar 
 will accept. There is your aunt's seven thousand, 
 which could easily be re-invested, and there are 
 several little odd sums more or less under the control 
 of the firm." 
 
 Coolidge's method in managing the son of his 
 former employer was based on very close observation 
 of the young man's temperament. There was a 
 certain perversity in him which made him reluctant 
 to take any step or to recommend one strongly to 
 others : in fact, he never knew how little he wished 
 to do a thing until someone else particularly urged 
 him to do it. The secret, therefore, of getting one's 
 way with him was to drive him in an opposite direc-
 
 THE VINEYARD 29 
 
 tion. CooHdge had only to affect carelessness over 
 any project in order to have it carried out, even with 
 great difficulty, by his admiring friend. 
 
 " After all," said Coolidge, lighting another 
 cigarette, " you had better not mix in the affair. 
 Responsibilities don't suit you. To be candid, I am 
 rather sorry I have told you as much as I have. 
 These speculative ideas amuse me a little, merely as 
 ideas. You do not suppose that I vv^ould want you to 
 carry them out. I would even say, for God's sake, 
 don't ! " 
 
 " But I want to carry them out," said Federan. 
 "1 am very grateful for your suggestion." 
 
 "It looks," said Coolidge, in his odd drawl, "as 
 though I wanted to interfere and meddle with your 
 private affairs." 
 
 " Not at all," said Federan, hastily ; " pray don't 
 think so. I want you to be interested in my affairs. 
 I want you to know about them — no one could advise 
 me so well as you." 
 
 " No, no, no — I would rather not," said CooHdge. 
 "I shall never forgive myself. The thing came 
 before me, and I passed it on to you without realising 
 all it might lead to." 
 
 "I will do anything you say," exclaimed Federan 
 impetuously — "anything !" 
 
 Coolidge still murmured, " No, no," but he left 
 Paxton Sc Grainger's report on the table. 
 
 " May I have this ? " said Federan.
 
 3© THE VINEYARD 
 
 "You had better burn it," said Coolidge : "far 
 better." 
 
 "You haven't confidence in me," said Federan, 
 much hurt. "You don't think I should have the 
 patience to see the thing through." 
 
 " Why do you want to make money ? " suggested 
 Coolidge. "I am sure I don't know why I went on 
 as I did this afternoon. It was all theoretical. Take 
 my word for it, the happiest lives are led by those 
 who fear nothing, know nothing, and want nothing. 
 As for toiling and moiling to get a little more money, 
 it is rather low — degrading, in fact. If I had not a 
 wife," here he sighed deeply, " well, my life would 
 not be what it is. But you are a single man : you 
 have only to please yourself." 
 
 "But," said Federan, "I want to get more out of 
 my life than I get at present. I think I could : why 
 shouldn't I try ? " 
 
 "Ah, that is another point," said Coolidge: 
 "another point altogether." 
 
 "It is not for me to set the world right," said 
 Federan. " One man going against the whole 
 modern movement will simply make an ass of himself. 
 It is only cutting yourself off from your friends to 
 stand apart." 
 
 "Still," insisted Coolidge, "it is not the ideal 
 thing," and his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 Fedx^ran felt immensely sorry for his friend, and 
 remembered his wife and his large family and his
 
 THE VINEYARD 31 
 
 sordid difficulties. He regarded Coolidge as a rather 
 great sort of man, the victim of circumstances. 
 
 "You have had to do it," said he. 
 
 " Oh," said the other, with an ironical laugh, " I 
 have had to do a good many things." 
 
 "Well, what is good enough for you is good 
 enough for me," said Federan, heartily. 
 
 " Better leave it alone," said Coolidge, getting up : 
 " far better." 
 
 But he knew that he had gained his point, and, 
 being wise, he decided to end the discussion. When 
 one human being attains, by over-persuasion or 
 management, the apparent mastery of another, it 
 should always be remembered that the persuaded one 
 has a willingness for some motive, either secret or 
 expressed, to be led. The weakest individual has a 
 lurking strong desire somewhere, which, never sus- 
 pected and never acknowledged, is, perhaps, never 
 asserted except under the encouragement of an outside 
 influence. Temptations are not dangerous unless 
 they appeal to a tendency or a need. Had Coolidge 
 been aware of Gerald's sudden passion for Jennie 
 Sussex, he could not have taken so much pride in his 
 own diplomacy. He had merely given an idea to a 
 man who was in search of one — the eternal element 
 in all transactions between the determined and the 
 receptive. 
 
 " Hullo 1 " he exclaimed, *' it is getting late. Hodson 
 has promised to give me a lift to the railway station."
 
 3z THE VINEYARD 
 
 "Don't forget," said Federan, "that aunt expects 
 you for Whitsun." 
 
 "It is very kind of you," said Coolidge, "and I'll 
 be glad to come." 
 
 Federan went out into the hall with him, and saw 
 him climb into the carrier's van beside packages, 
 hampers and the like, and this seemed to him a 
 humiliation nobly borne.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "Antisthenes answered one very wisely that told 
 him Ismenias was an excellent player of 'the flute. 
 ' But yet he is a naughty man,' said he, otherwise 
 he would not be so cunning at the flute ashe is.' . . . 
 And Philip of Macedon said to his son Alexander the 
 Great, that at a Feast had sung passing sweetly. — ' Art 
 thou not ashamed, son, to sing so well ? ' " 
 
 Plutarch's Lives. — North. 
 
 During the service next morning at the parish 
 church, Federan amused himself by studying the 
 few girls of the district for whom he had once felt 
 the stirrings of attraction, and about whom he had 
 often endeavoured to reach that romantic form of 
 despair in which young people of both sexes take such 
 peculiar satisfaction. But the longish nose (once 
 worshipped as purely Roman) of Miss Charlotte 
 Gillespie now seemed exasperating, and the ruddy 
 appleish cheeks of Miss Ada Bampton looked coarse, 
 and the docile eyes (once compared to those of the 
 gazelle) of Miss Katie Dunmore were stupid, and the 
 grace of Miss Izzie Barker was lankiness, and the 
 plump Miss Jessie Hammond was a monster (poor 
 Jessie once admired as Rubensesque), and the ethereal, 
 C 33
 
 34 THE VINEYARD 
 
 pale Miss Lilian Arbuthnot (in former days the Elaine 
 of his imagination) was now a sickly and affected 
 minx. He listened to the hymns, however, as he had 
 never listened before, because Jennie's voice, although 
 she sang quietly, was the sweetest in the choir : 
 
 " When God of old came down from Heav'n, 
 In power and wrath He came ; 
 Before His feet the clouds were riven, 
 Half darkness and half flame." 
 
 The Miss Leddles kept their gaze on their prayer- 
 books, but they were quite aware that Gerald seemed 
 more attentive than usual ; that his expression was 
 inclined to melancholy ; that he had new gloves, new 
 boots, and a new necktie, and they gathered, from 
 the manner in which he placed his hat under the seat, 
 that it was either new or freshly ironed. 
 
 When the vicar gave out the text for his sermon — 
 " Grant us to have a right judgment in all things 
 . . . the prince of this world cometh," — they glanced 
 obliquely at their nephew's tie, and sighed with 
 emphasis, and looked gratefully toward the pulpit. 
 Federan did not hear one word of the discourse : he 
 wondered instead whether Jennie would allow him to 
 walk home with her, whether she would be nice to 
 him, whether she was a flirt, whether she found him 
 dull and provincial. Men seriously in love are always 
 modest. At last he caught the familiar " The blessing 
 of God Almighty," and, after a decent pause, he was 
 the first in the congregation to step into the aisle.
 
 THE VINEYARD 35 
 
 His aunts blushed, and offered longer thanksgivings 
 than was their custom. This was done by murmur- 
 ing the same act of praise twice slowly. When they 
 ventured to move from their respective cushions, 
 their nephew was already waiting at the foot of the 
 gallery stairs for Miss Sussex. There happened to be 
 a choir practice that day — a rehearsal of the evening 
 anthem — so, at the sight of Miss Leddle's black silk 
 mantle, moving slowly behind the other mantles 
 down the centre aisle, Federan went up to the organ- 
 loft. The two aunts looked for him in vain, and 
 when they reached the cheerful churchyard they 
 fancied that the several groups which had gathered 
 there according to social precedence near the most 
 important graves were discussing Gerald's latest 
 infatuation. When Mrs Marblay herself plucked 
 Miss Daisy by the sleeve, both of the sisters knew, 
 with sinking hearts, that a crisis of some kind had 
 been reached in Franton affairs. Mrs Marblay was 
 known as "such a lady," and if she ever spoke to any 
 one after church, that honour was reserved either for 
 Mrs Tredegar of the Manor or the infirm widow of 
 the donkeyman — by preference the latter, because 
 she was always grateful for the distinction, whereas 
 Mrs Tredegar was sometimes plainly bored. 
 
 "Dear Miss Leddle," said Mrs Marblay, " can you 
 spare me a minute or two ? " and she led the way to 
 a granite tablet inscribed to the memory of a certain 
 Major the Hon. Francis Ashe, an elderly bachelor
 
 36 THE VINEYARD 
 
 who had died suddenly at Cumbersborough, and 
 whose tomb had been given, by silent unanimous 
 consent, to Mrs. Marblay for a Sunday rendezvous, 
 because she was well connected. 
 
 "Dear Miss Leddle," repeated Mrs Marblay, 
 "I'm so unhappy. I'm afraid Miss Sussex will have 
 to leave us. I don't want to offend the Duchess, but 
 Miss Sussex is too clever — if you know what I mean 
 — for my little school. Doesn't she sing well ? " 
 She rolled up her eyes. " Isn't her French quite 
 extraordinary?" Here she looked perturbed. 
 "Have you seen her dance ? " Here she studied the 
 square toes of her own cashmere boots. " I shall never 
 find her equal," she continued, "and I cannot hope to 
 replace her. But she excites the children ; she's too 
 animated. And, in fact, // doesrCt do. She has turned 
 the drawing-master's head. He's a delicate young 
 man and nothing to look at — one has to be so careful ; 
 but she admired his studies in still life, and his mother, 
 whom he supports, is heart-broken. And one of my 
 senior pupils' brothers, Colonel Nash's eldest boy, 
 calls sometimes for his sister. It doesn't do. The 
 Colonel himself came last week, and seeing Jennie in 
 the class-room, he remarked, ' You won't keep that 
 very long.' Military gentlemen are brief, but — you 
 know 1 " 
 
 The Miss Leddles, who were unacquainted with 
 any military gentlemen, implied that indeed, to their 
 cost, they knew.
 
 THE VINEYARD 37 
 
 (( 
 
 They grasp a situation," said Mrs Marblay. 
 
 "But her personal conduct leaves nothing to be 
 desired, I trust ? " said Miss Leddle, praying inwardly 
 and sincerely for strength. The eyes of the parish 
 seemed burning into her back, and, as a fire, con- 
 suming her very raiment. 
 
 "The personal conduct of Miss Sussex is, so far, 
 satisfactory," said Mrs Marblay ; " but, to be frank, 
 her heart is not in her work. She is thinking perhaps 
 of other things. I know that she reads Byron, and 
 last week I was obliged to cancel her second lecture 
 on the Romans. You would have thought it was a 
 chapter from a novel — so different from dear Miss 
 Banham's method. I'm too miserable about it all, 
 but she must go. It doesnt do. The parents are 
 beginning to get uneasy," 
 
 By this time Federan and Jennie, in animated 
 conversation, were seen coming out of the church. 
 The girl bowed, " almost regally," as Mrs Marblay 
 said later, " right and left" to her acquaintances, and 
 proceeded down the path on to the high road, with 
 the proud man carrying books by her side. After the 
 excitement, however, of defying the assembled parish, 
 Gerald could find nothing to say It was enough for 
 him to hear her dress rustle, and watch her charming 
 face, and feel her shoulder sometimes brush against 
 his as they walked along. It had been complained by 
 certain female critics that her figure was not 
 "domestic"; beyond doubt it was beautiful, and 
 
 1651 
 
 H
 
 38 THE VINEYARD 
 
 every male creature in Franton thought privately, at 
 any rate, that Federan could not be expected to 
 resist her. His heart v^^as full of words and 
 inexpressible feelings : the music he had just heard, 
 the solemnity of the old church, the bright sunshine 
 and the hedges covered with blossoms, mingled to 
 make one strong emotion — the desire somehow 
 to be a better man than he had been in the 
 past. 
 
 " You're a good influence," he said abruptly. " 1 
 hate a lot of things I once thought well enough in 
 their way. I'm thick-skinned and pretty hard, but 
 when I'm with you I seem to change. And it's 
 because you're fascinating. I don't believe you are an 
 angel by any means." 
 
 I never said I was," answered Jennie. 
 
 I don't think pious thoughts when you sing 
 hymns. You make them sound like ' I arise from 
 dreams of thee.' I tremble all over, and my head 
 
 
 swims." 
 
 *' That is because they don't have the windows 
 open." 
 
 " No ! that isn't the reason. It is the same when 
 you sing to the guitar. I don't know whether I hate 
 it or love it." 
 
 " Well, I won't sing to you again. That settles 
 the doubt." 
 
 " You couldn't make me forget what I have heard 
 already."
 
 THE VINEYARD 39 
 
 " Why should I want you to forget it ? " said the 
 girl. 
 
 "It has made me unhappy; it has made me dis- 
 contented ; it has made me hate myself; it has made 
 me sick of all I ever did, and all the people I ever 
 liked." 
 
 " I don't mind that, either. I think I shall keep 
 
 on singing." 
 
 " Will you keep on being friends with me ? " he 
 said eagerly. 
 
 "Of course. What kind of a tree is that over 
 
 there ? " 
 
 " An elm. I wonder, now, whether I want your 
 
 friendship ? " 
 
 " It seems to me," said Jennie, " that you don't 
 know what you want." 
 
 " I do. I do indeed. Shall I tell you ? " 
 
 " Another time, yes. Meanwhile, we can wonder 
 about each other." 
 
 " You don't care much, do you, for anybody ? " 
 
 " No, not much." 
 
 "And yet, that can't be true. I'll swear you're 
 not heartless. Are you heartless ? " 
 
 This absurd dialogue, which seemed tragic to the 
 man and most entertaining to the woman, was in- 
 terrupted by Dr Rench's brougham, which was driven 
 at a sharp rate past them. 
 
 *' Miss Tredegar must be ill again. The 
 Tredegars were not in church," said Jennie.
 
 40 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " I hope she is ill," said Federan, " because I have 
 an appointment to see her to-morrow and I dread it. 
 I can't tell you how I dread it 1 " 
 
 Then he remembered his long talk with Coolidge 
 and the scheme about the property. 
 
 " I can't, " he exclaimed, half aloud. 
 
 " You can't what /"' asked Jennie. She turned her 
 countenance toward him — she wore a mocking 
 smile, but there was something in her eyes which 
 made him hope. 
 
 "I can!" he said, — "I can!" And he grew 
 pale from the force of his desires. 
 
 " What are you talking about ? " she asked. 
 
 " I'll tell you some day," he answered. 
 
 The rest of the way they kept silent.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 " Imagination, the source of all our passions and 
 all our errors, so far from controlling the will, be- 
 comes its substitute," Voltaire. 
 
 Whilst Mrs Marblay was uttering her complaint 
 to the Leddle sisters, another group, composed of 
 individuals in the front rank of Franton and 
 Cumbersborough society, had collected round the 
 vicar's wife, Mrs Gillespie. She had been the 
 daughter of an eminent Under-Secretary, and she had 
 something, therefore, of past official life to raise her 
 above the dead level of rustic prejudices. Some 
 ladies made no secret of their preference for her 
 opinion rather than that of the Dowager-Duchess on 
 any particularly fine point in etiquette. The present 
 dilemma had reference to the invitations for the 
 annual subscription ball, which always took place on 
 the Monday after Whitsun, in aid of the local 
 Cottage Hospital. Lady patronesses, especially 
 chosen from the large and mixed hospital committee, 
 organised the entertainment, bought the tickets at a 
 reduction, and distributed them to the "suitable." 
 
 41
 
 42 THE VINEYARD 
 
 In reality it was several private dances amalgamated 
 into one function : careful hostesses found the 
 arrangement economical, and it was also a great 
 business and distraction. The tyranny of the 
 executive (newly elected each autumn), the badness 
 of the supper, the impossibility of getting asked to 
 the afiPair unless one had " a friend at Court " ; the 
 dresses one saw when one was found worthy of 
 admission ; the strange, often injudicious, conduct 
 which never failed to take place on the part of some, 
 at least, of those present ; the speculations for days 
 before, the gossip for days after the event, kept a 
 number of elderly, or bedridden, or disappointed, or 
 philosophic, or cynical persons not merely alive, but 
 eager to live. The Charity Ball was to Cumbers- 
 borough circles what the soul is to the body — the 
 fountain of all emotions. 
 
 "Ought Miss Sussex to be asked?" was the 
 question presented to Mrs Gillespie's consideration. 
 The Dowager-Duchess was a subscriber and the 
 supreme patroness, but it was her rule, in order to 
 avoid the peril of exciting jealousies, never to send 
 out, or initial, or suggest the sending, of an invitation 
 card. She observed this Quixotic resolve with such 
 scrupulosity that, although she always sent flowers 
 and fruit for the table and three footmen to direct the 
 waiters of the leading confectioner, she herself did not 
 attend the ball — again in order to avoid the danger 
 of seeming to notice one lady more than another.
 
 THE VINEYARD 43 
 
 "One can't be too careful," she would say to her 
 real friends — who all lived in London, and thought 
 her rather tiresome and never wanted her at their 
 parties. It was felt that the Duchess could not ask 
 Jennie to the ball. On the other hand, would she 
 not think it a strange oversight if her own second 
 cousin (and an acknowledged relationship into the 
 bargain) were left out in the cold ? 
 
 "She must be asked, of course," said Mrs Gillespie. 
 "And how in the world was she forgotten ?" 
 
 Mrs Rowland, the wife of Colonel Rowland, did 
 not know. Mrs Puddifant, the wife of Edgeham 
 Puddifant, M.P., declared that the matter had only 
 just been brought to her notice. Mrs Bouverie- 
 Copeland, the widow of the late Charles Bouverie- 
 Copeland, Q.C., could but express profound regret at 
 the awkwardness of the whole situation. 
 
 "Is Miss Sussex to be regarded qua school-gover- 
 ness or qua a baronet's daughter ? " as she put 
 it, having mastered precision in thought under the 
 guidance of the deceased barrister. "Would one 
 be accused of favouritism if one governess were 
 asked and not another ? Wouldn't it be thought 
 snobbish to make a glaring distinction in Miss Sussex's 
 case ? " 
 
 " We run that risk," said Mrs Gillespie ; " but 
 I'm afraid it is unavoidable. Perhaps she won't 
 accept." 
 
 " Mr Federan has accepted," said Mrs Rowland.
 
 44 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " Men are so scarce, one had to ask him," she added, 
 apologetically. 
 
 " You were quite right," said Mrs Gillespie. 
 " He seems very gentlemanly, and the Federans are 
 quite nice people." 
 
 " But," observed Mrs Hovi^land, " if Miss Sussex 
 comes, I hope she won't dance with him the whole 
 evening. In that case, he is as good as no man at all 
 so far as the rest are concerned." She had three 
 unmarried daughters. 
 
 Each lady had a keen sense of humour where the 
 others were droll, and exchanging sly twinkling 
 glances which meant, " She wants Federan for one 
 of her own girls," they separated with every outward 
 manifestation of neighbourly love. 
 
 When the Miss Leddles entered their house, they 
 found that Jennie had gone to her room. In crossing 
 the garden her hat had caught in a lilac bough, and 
 much as she enjoyed talking to Federan — perhaps 
 because she liked him — she would not remain with 
 him while she had doubts about her appearance. He 
 made a bitter remark when she seemed more 
 interested in her own hair than in his conversation, 
 and as he watched her move away, holding her long 
 dress in one hand and her hat with the other, he had 
 mournful thoughts on the lightness of women's 
 minds. 
 
 " She doesn't care two straws about me," he 
 murmured.
 
 THE VINEYARD 45 
 
 Jennie glanced in her mirror, and then smiled from 
 the window to Federan, who had remained standing 
 where she had left him, on the lawn. He was 
 handsome, she thought, and then she reproached 
 herself for attaching so much importance to mere 
 looks. Was he in love with her ? He wished her to 
 think so. She sat, well concealed by the dimity 
 curtains, and rested her face on her hands while she 
 considered him slowly. It was her habit to think 
 rather than to observe, to imagine rather than to 
 penetrate; and her fancy, once attracted, wove such 
 colours round its object, threw such lights and shades 
 upon it, invested it with such rare, strange qualities, 
 that, at the close, it became an image of what was 
 not, painted by a caprice which owned no law. 
 
 At first the young man seemed a mere figure in 
 the landscape which stretched away to the church- 
 fields — two paddocks separated by a wide path and 
 bordered by tall elms. The sweethearts of Franton 
 walked, on Sunday afternoons, in these pleasant acres, 
 or sat on the fence, or, when the season was dry, on 
 the banks of the long ditch, kicking their heels and 
 working patterns with sticks in the dust. Now the 
 roadway, chequered by long shadows and brilliant 
 bars of sunshine, was deserted : a few birds hopped 
 about, and sometimes a twig fell, or a young rabbit 
 rushed into the open. The sky was a little troubled, 
 ai)d its delicate blue was veiled by gathering clouds 
 more violet than grey ; now and then a sharp gust
 
 +6 THE VINEYARD 
 
 of wind made the tree-tops sway and the leaves rustle 
 in unison. Far away the low purple hills stood 
 clearly — as they do before rain — against the horizon ; 
 the cottage roofs up on the high road were red, 
 or red-grey with lichen, or red-green with moss ; 
 from every kitchen chimney the smoke rose in gusts 
 and sudden flights ; and the light upon the pasture- 
 land showed up the strange changing hues of the 
 grass, now emerald dark, now yellow, now sunburnt 
 to the colour of dust or sand or hay. It was like one 
 of Constable's pictures, Jennie thought, remembering 
 hours she had once spent in former days with an old 
 friend in the National Gallery. But she did not 
 wish to remember that old friend now, and she 
 looked again at Federan. Franton she knew, and 
 its slow-thinking, slow-moving people were not for 
 her. Business was their life ; romance was hers — 
 good in itself even though nothing came of it. She 
 had tried to hide her soul out of sight ; her mother, 
 the Miss Leddles — no one knew her thoughts or 
 feelings ; the music burning at her heart like wine 
 was inaudible ; the wonder at the world, the desire 
 for love, the passionate fear of disillusion, the reluct- 
 ance to hear all that could be heard lest she should 
 hear too much — these were her own secrets, never to 
 be told. She knew every word of " The Triumph 
 of Time " ; she had never loved, and she had never 
 been deceived — yet the lines she found herself con- 
 stantly repeating were these :
 
 THE VINEYARD 47 
 
 I shall go my ways, tread out my measure, 
 Fill the days of my daily breath 
 With fugitive things not good to treasure, 
 Do as the world doth, say as it saith ; 
 But if we had loved each other — " 
 
 "But if we had loved each other." Surely the 
 bitterest woe of human destinies was in that cry. It 
 was not a reproach — for who can love at will ? Still, 
 that was the foregone alternative in so many lives ; 
 either the man or the woman had to feel that the one 
 thing which could make all the difference was lack- 
 ing. Generally, in self-mockery, they drove the 
 eternal bad bargain ; finding the hope too far away, 
 they took the disappointment, which is always so 
 terribly near. This she would never do, she thought ; 
 and again she looked at Federan. 
 
 One still finds, in provincial or yeoman families of 
 good stock, a strength and beauty which seems a 
 survival of the old traditions. The solicitor's son, 
 who was of Norse extraction, seemed the prompt, 
 gay, fearless Siegfried of the Hero-book — Dragon 
 killer and Prince-royal, blacksmith and horse-subduer, 
 handsome, as the old singer has expressed it, "as if 
 he were limned on parchment by a master's art," 
 which is the best way of saying that he fulfilled 
 incomparably the romantic ideal. Every woman 
 who saw him felt and acknowledged his charm ; he 
 was, moreover, the finest rider in the county ; he had 
 won the Victoria Cross in Africa and the Challenge
 
 48 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Cup of the Frampshire steeplechase. Jennie decided 
 that he was superb, and from that hour the mystery 
 in tragic love was no mystery to her. 
 
 " And she said, ' O Sigurd, Sigurd, now hearken while I 
 
 swear 
 That the day shall die for ever and the sun to blackness 
 
 wear, 
 Ere I forget thee, Sigurd, as I lie 'twixt wood and 
 
 sea 
 In the little land of Lymdale and the house that fostered 
 
 me. 
 
 That was the promise of Brynhild to her lover, and 
 as the words came to the girl, it seemed her promise 
 also — her promise to Federan. The rising wind 
 moaned in the chimney and shook many blossoms 
 to the ground ; the hill lines deepened, the little tame 
 rook that often cawed on her window-sill now 
 perched there in silence with his head on one side, 
 as though he were listening for the sound of the 
 sharp summer rain in the laburnum trees. Jennie 
 recalled Gerald's glances, the things he had said, the 
 pressure of his hand when he said good-night and 
 good-morning. She had been told that he was a 
 flirt, that his affections were sudden and brief, and 
 her heart contracted painfully at the thought of the 
 several girls he had cared for in the past. Each must 
 have left her trace and impress — if not for deep, 
 certainly for long continuance on his memory. The 
 element of sun and azure which should be the
 
 THE VINEYARD 49 
 
 perpetual atmosphere of first love had already, with 
 Jennie, the sea's wild throb and salt. Was Federan 
 merely trifling with her, as he had trifled with others ? 
 Conscious, and almost fearing the intensity of her 
 feelings, she had also an instinctive certainty that 
 the young man was, this time, very much in earnest. 
 But her reverie had made her nervous, and before she 
 ventured downstairs she read some quiet pages from 
 The Pilgrim's Progress^ and tried to think about 
 Christian's conversation with Piety. 
 
 Charlotte, the maid in the kitchen, was cutting a 
 lemon into singular designs for the garniture of the 
 roast veal, when the postman, dressed in his Sunday 
 clothes, tapped at the back door. She saw him 
 first passing the window, and she could not believe 
 her own eyes. 
 
 "La! Mr Staylings !" she exclaimed, lifting the 
 latch : " whatever is the matter ? " Her face was 
 crimson, for although she had no reason to suppose 
 her charms had upset his judgment, she was wonder- 
 ing wildly whether he had come, driven by some 
 inscrutable and unaccountable impulse, to make her 
 an offer of marriage. Simple women in the country 
 are never wholly unprepared for miracles. 
 
 ** Is Miss Sussex at home ? " said he. " Here's a 
 letter I have overlooked somehow. It ought to ha' 
 been delivered yesterday." 
 
 Charlotte, bitterly disappointed, dropped into a 
 
 D
 
 50 THE VINEYARD 
 
 chair and returned by degrees to the dulness of a 
 world in which probabilities were far too common. 
 On recovering from her trance, she stared so mourn- 
 fully at Stay lings that the staid man, in spite of his 
 better knowledge, felt guilty. 
 
 " Don't look at me like that ; it's an accident that 
 might happen at any time," said he. " Had I better 
 see Miss Sussex myself ? " 
 
 *' The funny thing is," answered Charlotte, in a 
 confidential, alluring manner, " that she has been 
 asking for letters ever since she has been here, as 
 though she was expecting one. She has come down 
 morning after morning, and sort of looked at the 
 side-board — without seeming to look. Lately she has 
 gone by without looking for it. She has got bright 
 again. I do wonder whether this is the letter." 
 
 Staylings shuffled on his feet, and fixed a wistful 
 gaze on the garden gate. 
 
 " Pleasant as this is, miss," he said, at last, " I must 
 be getting on." 
 
 He lingered a moment or two longer — not because 
 he wished to stay, but because Charlotte's wronged 
 air made it difficult for him to go. When he finally 
 left it was on tiptoe — as though he were creeping out 
 of church before the Litany began. As he went, he 
 murmured again, with an imbecile, propitiating smile : 
 " Pleasant as this is — " 
 
 The delayed letter was brought to Jennie, by Miss 
 Leddle's orders, when they were all sitting on the
 
 THE VINEYARD 51 
 
 lawn taking coffee after their early dinner. It was a 
 rule of the house that no messages of any description 
 should be delivered immediately before or during a 
 meal. Old Mr Leddle had established the custom, 
 and in forty years it had never been relaxed. Federan 
 saw Jennie turn pale when she examined the envelope. 
 She opened it at last, and read its contents with a 
 changing countenance, sometimes smiling and some- 
 times a little vexed. Then, encountering the in- 
 quisitive glance of Miss Daisy, she pressed her brow 
 with her hand, slipped the letter where some flowers 
 were thrust in her bodice, and looked away into the 
 distance quietly. The aunts, whom Gerald had 
 annoyed by coming to the table very late and eating 
 salad only, pursed up their lips, lifted their eyebrows, 
 and otherwise indicated a hope that he was not blind 
 to Miss Sussex's agitation. They were becoming 
 hourly more jealous of her influence ; she was not of 
 their class — a good class, with much pride of its own : 
 to them she represented, in spite of her poverty, the 
 frivolous world of fashionable, shameless women, who 
 were considered good so long as they kept out of gross 
 scandals, and beautiful if they used enough paint and 
 hair-dye. There is no loving-kindness even in the 
 best of provincial Christians for ill-behaved members 
 of the aristocracy ; there is rather a fierce consuming 
 wrath and a desire for swift vengeance. Revolution 
 and the democratic spirit in England come, not as 
 they do elsewhere in Europe from the common
 
 52 THE VINEYARD 
 
 people, but from the solid wage-paying and wage- 
 inheriting of the nation. Miss Leddle's suspicion of 
 Jennie expressed the normal attitude of the highly 
 respectable country-bred toward a girl brought up 
 among titled or well-known persons in London. 
 The word " fast " conveyed precisely Miss Daisy's 
 opinion of the outsider's dangerous qualities ; and 
 Miss Leddle could not see why her nephew should 
 allow himself to be made a plaything of by a foolish 
 attachment. That Sunday afternoon the two 
 spinsters, interested in Franton and Cumbersborough 
 gossip only, were unusually irritated because Jennie, 
 in the hope of entertaining them, had told anecdotes 
 during dinner about the celebrities her father had 
 known and she had met. Was she trying to dazzle 
 them ? Did she ask them to think that folk who 
 were mentioned in the newspapers had quality of 
 another and better sort than the landed gentry of 
 Frampshire ? Talk about Miss Tredegar of the 
 Manor, or Lady Jane Ricksworth of the Hall, or the 
 Bagot-Hubbards, or the Pangbournes, was always 
 well worth hearing, but who — out of London — cared 
 two buttons for London people. Had Jennie ever 
 lived or visited much in provincial society she would 
 have known this. Not knowing it, she wondered in 
 vain why the sisters were so sullen. 
 
 " The coffee is getting cold," said Federan, unable 
 to bear the silence any longer. " I wish I could take 
 your interest in the clouds ! "
 
 THE VINEYARD 53 
 
 She was still leaning back in the wicker-work 
 chair ; her hat was pulled over her brow, her strictly 
 beautiful feature — but he could see a heavy coil of 
 chestnut hair at the nape of her neck, and her delicate 
 chin, and her curved mouth, and the tip of her 
 straight nose. The one luxury Sir Fortescue had 
 been able to afford his daughter was a horse ; she was 
 too tall to look her best in the saddle, but she rode 
 well, and by riding she had gained a suppleness and 
 grace which showed to great advantage when she was 
 either walking or dancing or resting. She reminded 
 Federan of the slender, elegant goddesses, with slight 
 hips and long limbs, of modern sculpture — fragile but 
 not heroic, lovely but not commanding, bewitching 
 but not terrible, tender but not passionate. He had 
 often bought magazines which contained photographs 
 of these marble women exhibited in the Salon and 
 the Academy, and he had always destroyed them in 
 anger because they seemed to him artificial, mis- 
 leading types of excellence. Yet here, at last, before 
 his eyes was the imagined unattainable in actual flesh 
 and blood. He too read poetry, and he too had a 
 memory for fine lines : 
 
 "Through thy garments the grace of thee glows," 
 
 occurred to him as he studied her, but his aunts dis- 
 turbed him by their presence ; he wanted to be alone 
 with Jennie in the garden of lilacs. 
 
 *' A very old friend of mine is on his way home from
 
 54 THE VINEYARD 
 
 West Africa," said the girl ; " this letter is from him. 
 He has known me ever since I was a child. I had 
 not heard from him for a whole year." She laughed 
 nervously, as people often do from force of habit : the 
 sound has the notes but not the inspiration of mirth, 
 and for the proud it is often a way of sobbing. " I 
 was just beginning to forget him. I suppose it was 
 because I had not heard." 
 
 Miss Leddle and Miss Daisy expressed their dis- 
 pleasure at this strange turn in the conversation by 
 rising with much dignity from their chairs, and 
 moving, like timid geese, across the lawn into the 
 house. 
 
 Federan was so glad at their departure that he for- 
 got its ominous abruptness, and Jennie was so ab- 
 sorbed in her own thoughts that she already seemed 
 alone for some time. 
 
 " Why did your friend go away ? " asked Gerald. 
 
 " He went away to make a fortune," said the 
 girl. 
 
 " Has he made it ? " 
 
 «I don't know." 
 
 *' I used to wonder why men wanted money. I 
 shall never wonder again. It isn't because they are 
 vulgar — half the time it is because they wish to buy 
 something beautiful. Beauty and happiness are so 
 costly. Think how humiliating it is to say to your- 
 self, ' I love that woman. If she were my wife I 
 could believe in all the big ideas ; I could lead a life
 
 THE VINEYARD 55 
 
 with joy in it, and take the sorrow of death, and 
 believe in the world to come and the goodness of 
 God ; I could work — and I would be faithful. But 
 — but — but — where's the money for the first step — 
 just the first step ? ' When the steady, dull ones 
 come to that point, they either marry money or a 
 useful drudge. When the passionate ones come to 
 it, they won't quite sell their souls, but they over-eat 
 and over-drink, and they try to forget what they 
 really want. Just when they think they have for- 
 gotten, someone will sing a song, or they'll see a 
 picture, or there will be something in an early 
 morning or in the sky at night, or they will meet a 
 woman — just the kind of woman they had buried 
 with their old poetry books — and then the remorse and 
 the self-condemnation and the self-disgust begin all 
 over again, but ten hundred thousand times worse. 
 A man is never happy with the second bt ,t, or the 
 third best, or, indeed, with anything less than the 
 ideal he is capable of imagining. So long as he can 
 imagine something better than what he possesses 
 already — so long as he can feel that he has missed 
 something he might have had but for ill luck or no 
 chance, he's bound to be miserable." 
 
 Blind jealousy of the absent friend had given 
 Federan a greater vehemence than he showed as a 
 rule in conversation. He felt that he was defending 
 his own past, possibly his own future. 
 
 Miss Leddle, who sat at her bedroom window,
 
 56 . - THE VINEYARD 
 
 which commanded a view of the garden, trembled at 
 the sound of her nephew's voice. She could not 
 hear his words, but the air had caught the spell and 
 electricity of emotion. 
 
 Jennie answered him quickly, lest by saying too 
 much he should hurry them both into avowals which 
 were not quite ripe yet for declaration, and spoil a 
 suspense which was not wholly suspense, but rather a 
 day-dream from which she was most unwilling to be 
 roused. If he had asked her then whether she loved 
 him, she could not have given the right answer. To 
 know a truth in one's soul is by no means the same 
 thing as being able to confess it in plain speech j 
 great passions and beliefs live, no doubt, from the 
 moment of their first conception in the mind, but the 
 life is a seed-life — they have to grow into vigour 
 secretly, till at last the unutterable and indefinable 
 sentiment deepens into the dominating and acknow- 
 ledged influence of a life. Love is in its most ex- 
 quisite phase perhaps when it is stealing force from 
 every thought, gaining mastership, here a little and 
 there a little, from every word and look and action — 
 when it is still to be argued with, still to be doubted, 
 put down, and wisely controlled. Jennie was now 
 certain enough of Federan to ignore the perilousness 
 of her own position ; she was like a swimmer who, 
 exultant in overcoming great waves, forgets the 
 undercurrent. 
 
 " This friend of mine," she said, pleased at Gerald's
 
 THE VINEYARD 57 
 
 display of feeling, "is not like you. With work, a 
 friend, and a pipe, he feels himself already next door 
 to heaven. He would call everything that you and I 
 might wonder about 'obvious.* Sometimes I think 
 him clever ; sometimes I am half afraid that he is 
 stupid." 
 
 " Is he in love with you ? " asked Federan. 
 
 ''Surely not." 
 
 " Then let me see you tear up his letter." 
 
 Her instinct was to obey, but she repressed the 
 craving as a weakness. 
 
 "I couldn't do that. I must read it again." 
 
 "I'll burn to-night every letter I possess — if you 
 will only tear up this one " he exclaimed. 
 
 The unfortunate allusion to his own corre- 
 spondence drove the colour from her cheeks and 
 added fervour to her resolve : " Some letters are 
 better burnt. This kind of a letter is better kept. 
 Fll go in now and answer it." 
 
 She left her chair and walked away toward the 
 house, re-reading her friend's communication as she 
 went. Federan, heart-sick with jealousy, admiring 
 her body, fearing her spirit, and blind to the offence 
 he had given, followed. But Miss Daisy called to 
 him from her window : " Don't smoke in the draw- 
 ing-room, Gerald." 
 
 " The most awful room in the house ! " he ex- 
 claimed angrily : " not a chair one can sit in, a little 
 table at every turn, a piano that is always locked on
 
 58 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Sundays, lamps that give no light, and photographs 
 of all the relatives I detest ! Is it necessary to ask 
 me not to go there ? " 
 
 Jennie was now out of sight. With an oath and a 
 scowl, he turned away toward the road which led to 
 the supposed coal district round Franton Manor.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 " Ye are like them that sleep on the top of a mast, 
 for the Dead Sea is under you — a gulf that hath no 
 bottom. . . . Simple said, 'I see no danger'; 
 Sloth said, ' Yet a little more sleep ' ; and Pre- 
 sumption said, ' Every tub must stand upon its own 
 bottom.' And so they lay down to sleep again." 
 — John Bunyan [The Pilgrim s Progress). 
 
 Jennie's letter was dated from some station in 
 Nigeria, and it ran as follows : — 
 
 "My dear, dear Rose and Moon, — 
 
 " (My little pocket copy of old Khayyam may be 
 an excuse for the form of address — in case you resent 
 my lapse into metaphor.) Rose and Moon, there- 
 fore, I repeat. You know how I hate writing. The 
 moment the pen gets into my hand it begins to 
 jump about. If I could whistle all I want to say, it 
 might be easier, but steel, ink, and paper are detest- 
 able. I have been very busy : twenty men under 
 me : some were blacks, and they bore the climate 
 better. Five of us died, and I had a touch of the 
 fever myself. The fact is, one gets the good pay 
 because of the climate and the risk — fortunately one 
 has no time to think about either. You must not 
 fear that I am becoming sentimental, but I miss our 
 
 S9
 
 6o THE VINEYARD 
 
 Sunday talks and the Queen's Hall concerts more 
 than anything. Of course, I knew they couldn't 
 last. At first I used to fancy I heard your voice a 
 dozen times a day — this was always on Sundays, 
 Habit plays such tricks. I have a collection of your 
 photographs — from the time you were one year and 
 seven months to the year you used hairpins and 
 twisted up the lovely long braid. I sha'n't bore you 
 any more now. This scrawl is not worth the post- 
 age. Do write to me when you have time. — Your 
 affectionate friend, John Harlowe." 
 
 Harlowe was the son of a distinguished but poor 
 member of the Indian Civil Service — the late Sir 
 Harvey Harlowe, K.C.S.I., K.C.M.G., CLE., ex- 
 Lieutenant-Governor of the North- West Provinces 
 and Oudh. John was the seventh child of this 
 eminent man. who died, it was thought, in order that 
 his life assurance might pay his creditors. At any 
 rate, he perished by sufficiently natural means ; his 
 liabilities were scrupulously met, and his family were 
 left to deal with the problems of existence as best 
 they might. John went out as a mining expert to 
 Nigeria ; he was considered very clever in his own 
 line, and the Directors of the Company who em- 
 ployed him really hoped that he would live long 
 enough, at least, to fulfil his mission. Jennie had a 
 true friendship for the plain, alert, unassuming young 
 man, but she had never been in love with him : she
 
 THE VINEYARD 6i 
 
 was able to persuade herself that she had not en- 
 couraged him except as a good comrade. There is 
 no woman, however, who Joes not love to be loved. 
 The girl knew that poor John was her slave, and his 
 letter made her more unhappy than impatient. She 
 could think of nothing to say in reply. When she 
 sat down at her table she still saw Federan's face 
 before her eyes, and Federan's words still rang in her 
 ears, and the touch of Federan's hand when he first 
 met her that morning still seemed to clasp her willing 
 fingers. So she closed the blotting-book, and waited 
 on, feeling her thoughts gathering force, and knowing 
 well the point to which they tended. They meant, 
 in the present, an irresistible joy, and in her fore- 
 boding a permanent yoke. Against her knowledge, 
 if not against her inclination, Federan had stolen her 
 heart. It was no longer her own — it was his. She 
 hoped, and hoped sincerely, that he was an uncon- 
 scious thief, for she had more than a normal share of 
 that caution most women possess in betraying the full 
 force of their affection. She would love him always 
 and him alone, without a wavering thought, but she 
 did not wish him to be so certain as she was of such 
 constancy. 
 
 The world, misconstruing his charm of manner, 
 believed him false ; the world declared that he was 
 a self-indulgent, idle scamp ; the world pretended 
 that he cared for no one and had been born to 
 come to evil ; the world maintained that he was ever
 
 62 THE VINEYARD 
 
 too happy to rest on others the consequences of his 
 own misdoings. True, \P. was the little world at 
 Franton, and it seemed to have its circumference 
 contained within Mrs Marblay's private boudoir 
 behind the schoolroom at the seminary, and it seemed 
 to speak with the tongue of Mrs Marblay. Never- 
 theless, its warning was bitter, and the girl, in 
 defying it, knew that whether the theatre of one's 
 life is set in the greatest city or in a remote parish, 
 the strokes of gossip are unrepealable. Tattle over 
 an obscure tea-table has all the essential vitality, if 
 not the mighty events, of secret murmuring among 
 the powerful. In the one case a humble career, in 
 the other a whole nation, may be in the balance, 
 but in both instances the world — the discerning, 
 unsparing, remorseless world — manifests its spirit. 
 It is, moreover, the one prophet who works, it would 
 seem, with ingenious energy, to make adverse pre- 
 dictions come to pass. Jennie had heard her father 
 say this often ; but she had never altogether under- 
 stood his bitterest sayings — they did not touch her 
 life or her brief experience. Now that she was 
 thrown upon her own resources. Sir Fortescue's old 
 conversation on distant political affairs rose in her 
 memory with a new and near and fearful import. 
 The individual is but the symbol of the great mass, 
 and the history of a country is but the story, on the 
 heroic measure, of any one human being. And just 
 as a country on the verge of war will wait, with
 
 THE VINEYARD 63 
 
 enthusiasm and closed eyes, for the unexpected turn 
 of affairs, some miraculous intervention, some 
 awakening to a new and diflFerently ordered universe, 
 the young girl smiled at her own fears, and, trying 
 not to think, she listened only to the mysterious 
 beautiful promises of passion and youth. All that 
 evening she kept silent, rapt in the enchantment of 
 her hopes. She went to bed early, and Gerald did 
 not return till midnight. Miss Daisy had to go 
 downstairs in her dressing-gown to unbar the door 
 and let him in. Jennie heard him say that he had 
 supped with Coolidge. 
 
 The next morning Mrs Howland's coachman rode 
 over on a pony with a basket of roses for Miss Leddle 
 and an invitation to the ball that same night for Miss 
 Sussex. Would she come with Mrs Howland's 
 party ? It was short notice, but Jennie had the 
 dress she had worn to her mother's second wedding 
 — a pretty pink dress covered with old lace, the one 
 valuable heirloom in her possession — and she danced 
 about the room with delight at the prospect of 
 appearing in this finery at the Franton Town Hall. 
 When she spread the garment out upon the bed for 
 Miss Leddle and Miss Daisy's inspection, and showed 
 them her small slippers and silk stockings, her long 
 gloves and her feather fan, they admitted that it 
 would be mistaken pride to remain at home. 
 
 "But who is this driving down through the 
 Church-fields road ? " exclaimed Miss Leddle, who
 
 64 THE VINEYARD 
 
 was near the window. "Is it Mrs Tredegar? It 
 is, and Miss Tredegar is with her." 
 
 She saw the vehicle — an open landau drawn by two 
 fat grey horses — turn the corner, and she heard it 
 halt, a few moments later, at her own gate. The 
 visitors' bell, which was seldom used, rang loudly, 
 and the sisters, flushed, wondering, and excited, 
 hastened away in their noiseless cashmere shoes to 
 change their morning attire for something more 
 elaborate. 
 
 In that part of the world no lady was ever expected 
 to be quite prepared, so far as her own raiment was in 
 question, to receive sudden callers. Rooms were 
 supposed to be swept and garnished — that was the 
 infallible sign of good management — but a housewife 
 who was always found spick and span in her best 
 gown, and did not have to keep visitors waiting while 
 she dressed in order to receive them, would have 
 created a bad impression. In the first place, she 
 would have the air of one who looked to find the 
 whole neighbourhood on her doorstep — an arrogant 
 assumption ; secondly, it would point to extravagance, 
 vanity and wilful pride. Nevertheless, after one had 
 waited twenty minutes or so for the mistress of the 
 house, it was right to pretend by one's air that she 
 had been detained for every impossible reason except 
 that of dressing for the occasion. One had to look 
 as though she had breakfasted at eight that morning 
 in black silk trimmed with bugles. Such is the
 
 THE VINEYARD 65 
 
 actual hypocrisy of social etiquette when it is analysed. 
 When Miss Leddle and Miss Daisy, therefore, were 
 assuming the garments they considered appropriate 
 to a ceremony so important as the reception of Mrs 
 Tredegar under their roof, what was their amazement 
 to hear from Charlotte that Miss Sussex only had 
 been asked for ? They heard Jennie leave her room 
 and run down the staircase to the hall. 
 
 Miss Leddle restored her garnet brooch to its case, 
 and stalked superbly into her sister's apartment. 
 
 " I am wondering," she observed, with that irony 
 which is the substitute for humour in many women, 
 " whether I am mistress of my own house 1 " 
 
 On catching sight of Jennie, Mrs Tredegar made a 
 hasty remark to her daughter, and alighted from the 
 carriage. 
 
 " You are Miss Sussex, I believe ? " she said clearly, 
 before crossing the threshold. She was a tall woman, 
 with a nervous manner and a suspicious, unsympathetic 
 expression of countenance. Her features were hand- 
 some, but pinched ; the skin was tightly drawn over 
 the bridge of her well-cut nose ; she wore her grey 
 hair brushed back from her bomb-shaped forehead, 
 and her grey eyes, which had once been languorous, 
 were now full of an indolent distrust. The ways of 
 mankind, to her, were as little worth opposition as 
 confidence. 
 
 " Have you heard from Dr Reach ? " she said, 
 following Jennie into the drawing-room. " Has he 
 
 E
 
 66 THE VINEYARD 
 
 told you about my daughter — who is sadly weak and 
 ill ? She does not get on with people, as a rule, but 
 Dr Rench seemed to think that you might suit her. 
 You are bright and lively ; Rachel is feeble and 
 morbid." She remained standing — an imposing 
 figure in a long mantle, plumed bonnet and trailing 
 skirt — a personage of the last generation, vigorous, 
 full of scorn for the minor emotions. " I suppose I 
 am right in assuming that you don't find school work 
 altogether congenial," she continued. "Would you 
 leave Mrs Marblay and come to us ? " Then she 
 held out her two hands towards Jennie and smiled, 
 adding, " Do. I know you will. It is agreed, 
 then?" 
 
 " I should love to come. But your daughter 
 doesn't know me." 
 
 " She is in the carriage now. I'll call her in." 
 
 Mrs Tredegar went to the open window, beckoned, 
 and then turned round. "She walks slowly. If she 
 is querulous, be patient." 
 
 " Really, mamma, it is the greatest bore getting 
 out of the carriage. You know I hate it," were 
 Rachel's words as she came into the room. 
 
 " This is Miss Sussex, dear. She has promised to 
 come to us. " 
 
 *' How do you do?" said Rachel, nodding her 
 head and putting out her hand rather ungraciously. 
 " I may as well tell you that I am bored to death. 
 May I sit down ? You know, Miss Sussex, it is
 
 THE VINEYARD 67 
 
 sheer waste of time for vou or anyone else to 
 attempt to amuse me. Dr Rench doesn't understand 
 my case." She spoke, as it were, without any 
 punctuation or difference of tone in passing from one 
 subject to another. Self-absorbed rather than self- 
 conscious, she talked as though her ideas and her 
 words had no sort of connection. She was good- 
 looking and graceful, very sallow, in spite of a touch 
 of rouge on each cheek, and far too thin — in spite 
 of the art exhibited in the arrangement of her clothes. 
 People in Cumbersborough who had travelled would 
 say that she looked like the Sarah Bernhardt of 1885. 
 
 "Our house is just the dullest in the world," she 
 went on, " and I think it is very good of you to be 
 willing to visit us. I have a passion for frankness. 
 I think it a pity to start with any false notions on 
 either side. Who is that man in the garden ? " 
 
 "It is Miss Leddle's nephew," said Jennie, too 
 startled to blush. 
 
 " I didn't know that she had a nephew," said 
 Rachel. " Who is he ? What is his name ? What 
 does he do ? Fancy old Miss Leddle having a 
 nephew ! It is almost interesting. He has not got a 
 bad fio-ure." 
 
 " Don't you think, darling," said Mrs Tredegar, 
 " that we had better be going now ? " 
 
 "You always interrupt, mamma, just when I am 
 getting a little amusement. Now that I have taken 
 all the trouble to come in, you might let me sit still
 
 68 THE VINEYARD 
 
 in peace for a little while. Miss Sussex and I are 
 beginning to like each other. But what an ugly 
 room ! How you must hate it 1 Is he nice to 
 talk to ? " 
 
 " Who ? " said Jennie. 
 
 "The nephew-man. How old is he ? I wish he 
 would turn round. Has he got a moustache or a 
 beard ? I hate beards." 
 
 " This is his photograph." 
 
 Rachel could not restrain an exclamation of surprise 
 when she first glanced at the picture, although she 
 assumed quickly enough an air of indifference. 
 
 " I suppose one would call him handsome," she 
 admitted, after a pause. The photograph represented 
 a view, in profile, of Federan's head and shoulders. 
 His dark, waving hair was smartly brushed after the 
 military fashion ; the two girls noted, breathlessly, 
 his excellent brow and nose and mouth and chin, his 
 full throat, his large but well-turned ear, the Jleur-de- 
 -lys pin in his necktie, his admirable tweed coat, the 
 carnation in his buttonhole, his general air of 
 passionate charm. He seemed to be gazing, bravely, 
 but without arrogance, proudly, but with a certain 
 sweetness, straight in front of him — not at an 
 individual, but into the ineffable future. On the 
 stage such a face would 'have made its owner's 
 fortune. 
 
 Rachel displayed discernment in her next remark. 
 " He looks like H. B. Conway, the actor who played
 
 THE VINEYARD 69 
 
 the lover always in Robertson's pieces. Mamma used 
 to adore Conway : she has his photograph as Captain 
 Something-or-other in Ours. It almost makes me 
 laugh to think of that funny comical old Miss Leddle 
 having such a handsome relation. It is so quaint. 
 If you come to us, nice Jennie-person, what will you 
 read to me ? What sort of books ? Not Esmond^ 
 I hope. I am so tired of people who want to read 
 Esmond 2i\o\xdi, I would rather talk. I like talking 
 sometimes. And when are you coming ? Have you 
 arranged to send the carriage for her, mamma ?" 
 
 "I have to see Mrs Marblay first," said Jennie. 
 
 Mrs Tredegar owned that she had already con- 
 sulted Mrs Marblay, who was entirely agreeable to 
 the new plan. 
 
 " In that case I can come this week." 
 
 " Our lawyer-man is coming on Thursday," said 
 Rachel. " I wasn't well enough to see him to-day. 
 We have got to settle something stupid about the 
 property. You know it is my property. I do hate it 
 so. It bores me ; it is imbecile to spend such a lot of 
 money on stone walls, or wiring to keep birds from 
 the fruit. And I loathe fruit." She reflected for 
 an instant, and added, "I don't mind peaches." 
 
 " I am sure, dear child, that Miss Sussex is not in 
 the least interested in our tiresome affairs." 
 
 " Anyhow," said Rachel, ignoring her mother, " I 
 want you to come. Perhaps you can be there when 
 the lawyer-man calls, because I abhor business, and I
 
 70 THE VINEYARD 
 
 do not understand it, and they make me sign things 
 which I cannot, and I will not, read. Too tedious. 
 Now, mamma, I'll come. Would it be nearer to go 
 through the garden ? We shall have to pass the man, 
 but I don't suppose he will mind." 
 
 Gerald heard them coming, however, and went to 
 the stable-yard. After they had driven away he 
 joined Jennie, who was standing on the front steps 
 gazing after the carriage. 
 
 "And so those were the Tredegars of Franton 
 Manor," he exclaimed. " Miss, they tell me, is a 
 regular devil." 
 
 "I have promised to live with them." 
 ''Why?" 
 
 " I felt sorry for the girl. She looked as though she 
 had never loved anybody, or been loved." 
 
 " All the same, you don't seem very delighted at 
 the prospect of joining her." 
 
 Jennie sighed deeply, and unaccountable tears filled 
 her eyes. "I've been very happy here," she answered, 
 "but I have stayed long enough. There's a Fate 
 sending me away. I felt something coming. I 
 couldn't think what it was." 
 
 " The life at this house isn't the life you're used to," 
 said Federan, moodily. " You will feel more at home 
 up there. Don't you suppose I know the difference 
 between your set and mine ? " 
 
 Her attraction for him depended far more than he 
 himself was aware on that very difference in their
 
 THE VINEYARD 71 
 
 caste to which he referred. He was proud of his own 
 sound ancestry, but his people, through lack of 
 fortune or proper ambition, had never been able to 
 take their right place in the county. Every day he 
 met men who were as far inferior to him in birth as 
 they were above him in merely social estimation. 
 The rich brewers and bankers and members of the 
 Stock Exchange who were gladly received by the 
 Frampshire nobility were obscure indeed — if pedigrees 
 counted — in comparison with the Federans. This 
 made the young solicitor morose — especially when he 
 realised that he would be expected to content himself 
 with a burgess wife, and see the world, to which his 
 own nature and instincts were irresistibly drawn, 
 closed against him. He thought his taste was refined, 
 because he craved the luxurious and extravagant life of 
 the idle rich classes, and he mistook his sympathy 
 with easy morals for an intellectual breadth of view. 
 Such cravings and such errors in judgment ought 
 never to be confused with snobbery. Federan's faults 
 arose from his passions, his love of ease and pleasure, 
 not from any deep or even subtle vulgarity ; he was 
 not vulgar, and he was oddly free from personal 
 vanity. This exemption, in fact, redeemed his frequent 
 heart affairs from the worst that can be urged against 
 the ordinary sort of unconsidered philanderings. He 
 never thought that it would be difficult for any woman 
 to break with him ; the pain of separation, he invariably 
 believed, was always almost wholly on his own side.
 
 72 THE VINEYARD 
 
 "You will get to Franton and forget all about 
 us," he said. "When I go there it will be as Miss 
 Tredegar's man of business. She put me off to-day, 
 and wrote as though I were a lad coming to measure 
 curtain-rods ! " 
 
 "She had never seen you, then. She didn't 
 know you." 
 
 " Then why should she assume that I am a kind 
 of servant ? Because my father has allowed these 
 people to treat him with impertinence. I don't 
 blame an ill-bred woman ; I blame my father, who 
 is not ill-bred, but foolishly undignified. On the 
 other hand, if I were rich, even an ill-bred woman 
 would be polite enough." 
 
 " Ah, don't be cross ! " said Jennie ; " let us think 
 about the ball to-night. I'm going. Mrs Howland 
 has asked me." 
 
 But her gaiety had departed : the music, the 
 movement, the colour, the pleasure, the joyous 
 anticipations called up in her mind by Mrs 
 Rowland's invitation were suddenly dissipated, and 
 her spirits fell. She realised that she was about to 
 leave the small, still house with its pretty garden ; a 
 few days would pass, and then she would never again 
 be able to help Miss Daisy by carrying every evening 
 the plates of cold meat, the butter, the cake, the 
 jam, and the fruit pies from the supper-table to the 
 larder ; she would never again be allowed to iron 
 Miss Leddle's ribbons and best handkerchiefs, or wash
 
 THE VINEYARD 73 
 
 the china ornaments, or darn the worn backs of the 
 drawing-room chairs ; she would never again have 
 the privilege of sharing the simple, homely life led 
 by the two spinsters. To her it had been a new 
 and gentle experience — a time stolen from the old 
 order of things ; almost a dream, or a peaceful 
 comedy in which she had played, for a brief period, 
 a hushed part. 
 
 " I have been happy here,*' she exclaimed ; '* and, as 
 it must end, I am glad it will end in a dance." 
 
 " It's a little country dance — it will seem nothing 
 after the big parties in London." 
 
 " But I was never happy in London." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " My father was a disappointed man. He would 
 take me out and sigh the whole evening. He would 
 look at the friends who had left Oxford when he left 
 it : two are Cabinet Ministers, one is a Lord of 
 Appeal, one is an Ambassador, one is a Director of 
 the Bank of England, another is a Bishop. None of 
 them compared with him when he was at Balliol — he 
 was the cleverest of them all. And he lived to see 
 them become great worldly successes, while he 
 plodded and looked on. I didn't care — I was always 
 proud of him. But he cared, not because he envied 
 them — that wasn't his feeling — but because life didn't 
 seem fair. * It's the unfairness,' he used to say : 
 * those fellows may deserve all they have got. I 
 deserved something, too, and I did not get it. The
 
 74 THE VINEYARD 
 
 race is not to the swift. Then why race ? Why strive 
 for a prize ? ' Could there be any happiness with a 
 mind so sad as that ? " 
 
 " There's a good deal of truth in your father's view. 
 Why race, indeed ? There was a big benevolent 
 man — he looked like the pictures of God in illustrated 
 Bibles — who used to visit the grammar school I 
 attended years ago. He had his pocket always full of 
 new pennies — never enough to go round. So he 
 would throw them among the boys, and they 
 scrambled for them — sprawling and grovelling and 
 kicking on the ground like puppies hungry for food. 
 I would never scramble. The whole thing seemed 
 ignominious. But the big benevolent man with not 
 enough for everybody is terribly symbolic." 
 
 " I could be contented without new pennies here," 
 said Jennie, thinking aloud. 
 
 Federan flushed with surprise at the encouragement 
 offered by her enthusiasm for simplicity, and, had he 
 cared for plain living himself, he might there and then 
 have owned how much he loved her and how slender 
 his resources were. But, strong as his passion was, 
 his misgivings about poverty were even stronger. 
 The idyllic dulness of his home was a very old story 
 to him ; the quaint household customs of his aunts, 
 who were not " too proud for dairy work or sale of 
 eggs," held no classic grace or suggestion for his 
 mind ; he was not ashamed, he told himself, of their 
 mode of living, but he thought it rather squalid.
 
 THE VINEYARD 75 
 
 " You may like it," he said to Jennie, " because of 
 Its novelty. You would tire of it on the first wet 
 week in autumn ! People pretend that one must 
 have wealth in order to live decently in big cities. 
 But one must have wealth in the country also : — 
 
 'Would I had fallen upon those happier days 
 That poets celebrate. . . . 
 
 Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts 
 That felt their virtues.' 
 
 I remember that because I once tried to put it into 
 Latin. The poets were liars." 
 
 '* You are in a bad humour," said Jennie, " and 
 I'll go back to my room." 
 
 " Wait ! " he exclaimed ; " there's a spider on 
 your hair. * Matin — chagrin ; midi — souci ; soir — 
 espoir.' This is a case of souci." 
 
 " Yes," she said, blushing and laughing, " anxiety 
 about you — not about myself. Don't kill the 
 spider." 
 
 She was still laughing when she turned away, and 
 she smiled till she reached her own room. Then she 
 locked the door and burst into tears. Perhaps she 
 was a little hurt because Federan had shown no 
 interest in the prospect of seeing her that night at 
 the ball. The pink dress looked ghostly on the 
 bed ; the old school-books, which she had renounced, 
 had never before seemed so precious. She put them 
 into a wooden box, and sat down on the floor by the
 
 76 THE VINEYARD 
 
 box, weeping as though she were weeping over the 
 dead. 
 
 "It's all over," she sobbed to herself; "it's all 
 over." 
 
 Perhaps she meant that the romantic prelude had 
 been played ; that the business of life was about 
 to begin. 
 
 i
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 "The best critic that ever wrote, speaking of some 
 passages in Homer which appear frivolous, says in- 
 deed, that they are dreams, but the dreams of 
 Jupiter." Steele. 
 
 Federan killed the spider by wrapping it in an 
 ivy leaf and crushing it under his heel. Then, 
 because he disliked being alone, he called his aunt's 
 watchdog, and strolled away to his favourite haunt — 
 a small plantation, known as the pinetum, on the 
 way to the big paddock. Federan's whistle was a 
 threat rather than an entreaty, and Roy, the terrier, 
 cringed as he followed him, and halted when he dared 
 and looked back wistfully toward his kennel by the 
 back gate. Gerald had no doubt now that at last he 
 was irrevocably in love. His quiet manner, which 
 had disappointed the sensitive girl, was the result of 
 a most unusual exercise, on his part, of self-control. 
 She was so much more fascinating and exquisite than 
 any woman he had ever met that he laboured under 
 the disadvantage common to every man who is deeply 
 infatuated : he feared his chances j he doubted his 
 own power to win her affection ; he knew — men are 
 far less than women the dupes of self-deception — he 
 knew how little he deserved her. True, she was his 
 
 77
 
 78 THE VINEYARD 
 
 destiny, but people missed their destinies. Indeed, 
 was not the whole machinery of heaven and hell and 
 the earth perpetually set in motion to dissociate those 
 who were born to be together, and disorganise things 
 which were created to work in unison ? So, at least, 
 it seemed to Federan. There was no pledge of 
 Providential goodwill, therefore, in the fact that he 
 had met his fate. What was lago's advice to the 
 love-sick Roderigo : " Put money in thy purse. . . . 
 Make all the money thou canst : put money enough 
 in thy purse." The young man had seen Othello 
 played at Southampton by a provincial company, and 
 lago had seemed to him the one reasoning character 
 in the tragedy. The admonition, " Put money 
 enough in thy purse," had become with Federan the 
 one answer to every enigma in the universe : it saved 
 him the trouble of thinking ; it was his reply to his 
 aunts when they reproached him for idleness ; it was 
 his excuse for hating cordially those who were able to 
 lead the kind of existence which he longed for and 
 could not afford. Jennie, however, was worth an 
 eflFort : the mere remembrance of her smiling eyes 
 and lips, her splendid hair (once he had caught her 
 drying it by the kitchen fire ; she was sitting on the 
 wide fender, and the splendid hair, waving and ruddy, 
 fell to her knees), her figure, her voice, her weakness 
 for looking in the glass (she enjoyed her own appear- 
 ance), made his heart beat and his pulses throb, his 
 face flush and his strong frame tremble.
 
 THE VINEYARD 79 
 
 ** I must get the money somehow ! " he exclaimed, 
 and he struck Roy because the dog exasperated him 
 by looking so resigned to the misery of his lot. 
 " Silly ass of a dog 1 " he muttered. " Go home. Did 
 you hear me ? Go home ! " 
 
 He turned back himself and went to Miss Leddle, 
 who, wearing a linen sunbonnet, was in the poultry- 
 yard studying a pair of drakes she had just bought from 
 a neighbour. 
 
 " When can you spare me a few minutes," said 
 Gerald, "just to talk over the reinvestment of that 
 seven thousand ? " 
 
 "My dear boy I It will mean days of considera- 
 tion!" 
 
 She looked with meaning in the direction of 
 Charlotte. Miss Leddle could not bear to have her 
 private affairs discussed before a third person or with- 
 out due warning. 
 
 " Of course," said Gerald, " it is more difficult to 
 place a small sum than a large one. You realise that, 
 don't you, aunt ? " 
 
 "I like a mortgage better than anything," said 
 Miss Leddle : "a good mortgage is always satisfactory." 
 
 " Well, I suppose you will be guided by me in any 
 case. What am I here for ? " 
 
 " I am only too glad of your advice, my dear. 
 But," she added, "at a proper time. I am thinking 
 about these drakes now. This one, when his time 
 comes, will make a fine hat. I never saw richer
 
 8o THE VINEYARD 
 
 feathers. He's really a beautiful bird, but I wish he'd 
 take to his food better. Here, chookie — chookie 1 " 
 
 Uttering this peremptory endearment, she scattered 
 some grain from her basket, and, holding her drab 
 skirt well above her short striped black, mauve and 
 orange petticoat she stalked around the yard, followed 
 by Charlotte and a dozen docile hens. 
 
 Gerald thought, " How long would Jennie do 
 that ? " and yet he almost wished that his aunts 
 would be gathered to their fathers and leave him the 
 property. He knew the wish was abominable, but he 
 asked himself, " What can one expect ? Suffering 
 makes the best of us selfish. So long as there isn't 
 enough to go round, people will want to see the 
 crowd thinned a little. That's inevitable. It is 
 false sentiment to pretend otherwise." 
 
 Then he remembered the circumstance of his 
 mother's death, which occurred when he was a little 
 boy : how the poor pale body lay on the best bed under 
 a white linen sheet covered with wreaths; how his 
 father sat quite still and Miss Daisy told him it was 
 his duty, for Gerald's sake, to eat mutton broth 
 and poultice his chest ; how the mourners wept and 
 drank sherry and ate up all the cakes ; how he had 
 two new suits of black clothes which were kept in a 
 drawer while he wore his coloured ones as usual except 
 on fine Sundays : how he had found it all very dreary, 
 and how he used to cry at night because he missed 
 his mother, who, he thought, was ugly, but good j how
 
 THE VINEYARD 8i 
 
 he used to infer, for that reason, that devils and other 
 evil creatures were probably handsome, because they 
 were not good. Then, with another wave of memory, 
 he saw again the thin stark body, so tranquil, so 
 awfully tranquil, under the white sheet, and his eyes 
 filled with tears. Then he remembered the footsteps 
 of the undertaker's men, and the screwing down of 
 the coffin-lid, and how he could never pass the door 
 again where that dreadful work was done without a 
 shiver. 
 
 " Chookie ! chookie ! " exclaimed Miss Leddle, still 
 absorbed in her moping drake. " Chookie ! chookie ! " 
 
 No ; he did not want her to die. It was a horrible 
 thing that the possession of so small a treasure as a 
 little house with a poultry-yard should have to come 
 to him through the cruelties of death. And, after all, 
 he would not like any house after the memories of a 
 family funeral — it would be quite spoilt for him. No ; 
 he did not want her to die. The remedy suggested 
 by Coolidge was a gamble, no doubt, but the winnings 
 to be gained, if all went well, were considerable. 
 The Franton Manor estate was to be bought at a 
 nominal price by a small private syndicate and de- 
 veloped into a thriving coal district. Coolidge had 
 already, under the oath of secrecy, approached Colonel 
 Rowland, Mr Sarramy and Mr Lux on the subject; 
 he had given them no names, no details, and no facts, 
 but he had roused in them an eager appetite for dead- 
 certain fifty-per-cent. dividends. Gerald was to see
 
 82 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Miss Tredegar on the following Thursday and begin, 
 with due caution, the necessary negotiations. It 
 seemed to him, as he considered the matter, that the 
 gods were now working in his favour, for, if Jennie 
 went to Franton, her influence would be useful in 
 inducing Miss Tredegar to sell her property. He 
 went back to the house determined to prepare Jennie's 
 mind for that mission. He called her, in his agreeable 
 voice, from the foot of the stairs. She came down, a 
 little pale, more subdued and more beautiful after her 
 tears. 
 
 "I'm tired of being idle and alone," said he; 
 " besides, as you are going to leave us, won't you 
 spend the rest of the last morning with me ? 
 There's a whole half-hour before lunch. Come and 
 walk in the paddock. I'll lend you my felt hat." 
 
 His light grey Homburg hat hung on a peg in the 
 hall ; she put it on, studied herself seriously in the 
 mirror, and said she looked frightful. But they 
 started at once for the paddock. 
 
 " This," he said abruptly, " is probably the only 
 real happiness I shall ever know ! " 
 
 " What do you mean r " 
 
 " No one in the world could ever be to me what 
 you have been. You believe that — don't you ? " 
 
 " Of course I believe it," she answered lightly ; 
 " why shouldn't I believe it ? I cannot feel flattered. 
 No one matters very much to you." 
 
 " For God's sake, don't talk that way. The
 
 THE VINEYARD 83 
 
 moment I feared and yet longed for is here — I am 
 caring too much. That's the most faithful word I 
 ever spoke. I have waited a weary long time for 
 you, but you have come. And I sha'n't change — no, 
 not even if you change. Old or young, or sick or 
 well, or happy or sad, you are the one woman for me, 
 dear. If I were a king and had my choice out of the 
 whole world, I'd say, * This is my queen ; this is my 
 joy ; this is my lady and my love.' My devotion to 
 you is the one good thing that ever happened in my 
 life." 
 
 Jennie did not hear all he said — she was too 
 troubled ; her feelings were stirred indescribably ; 
 but, whatever it was, she thought it would have called 
 her back from the grave. 
 
 " I thought," she said faintly, " I thought we were 
 talking in fun." 
 
 "But you must have known this was coming. 
 You did not suppose that I came here day after day 
 just to ask after Aunt Daisy's sciatica ? Can't you 
 feel what I have to say — what I must say ? I haven't 
 the right to say it, because I have nothing to offer. 
 It's a question of pounds, shillings and pence. But, 
 never fear, I'll get the money somehow. I swear it. 
 I don't want you to make sacrifices and live in 
 misery, but I do want you for my wife. Don't 
 answer me quickly. I want you, and till I die I'll 
 want you. If you care for me even half as much as 
 I care for you, I'll be satisfied. It isn't your love I'm
 
 84 THE VINEYARD 
 
 asking for — it's you yourself. Girls can't love as 
 men love — it wouldn't be right if they did." 
 
 "I cannot answer you now," said Jennie. "I 
 cannot ! Have you counted the consequences of all 
 this?" 
 
 Her lip was quivering, and she dared not look at 
 him. 
 
 "I'm mad with love for you," answered Federan, 
 "but I have counted the consequences. For weal or 
 woe, I'm yours." 
 
 " Love to me," said the girl, " has a much more 
 serious meaning than it may have for you. If I 
 once gave it, I might not be able to take it back, 
 and then — don't you see — " 
 
 She could not finish the sentence. 
 
 " Have you given me any ? Have you given me a 
 little ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " I don't know. Please let me go in. I don't 
 know." 
 
 " Have I made you unhappy ?" 
 
 " I don't know," she repeated. 
 
 " Will you dance with me to-night r " 
 
 The simpler question was a relief, and she was able 
 to throw him a quick glance which had something in 
 it of her original audacity. 
 
 "Oh yes ; I'll dance a quadrille with you !" 
 
 Then they both laughed. 
 
 "I'm not coming in to dinner," he said. "I am 
 going to meet Coolidge."
 
 THE VINEYARD 85 
 
 " He's a great friend of yours ? " 
 
 "The cleverest man I know, and in some ways the 
 noblest. The tragedy of his life was his marriage, 
 and then — he's a gambler. It is hereditary. He 
 can't help it." 
 
 *' They say — Lucky at cards^ unlucky in love and 
 friendship. Do you believe thct ? " 
 
 She seemed to be dreaming that she spoke : her 
 real being was still fast bound in the enchantment of 
 Federan's declaration. 
 
 " He has been unlucky in his choice of a wife. 
 She's for ever in tears and she wears blue flannel 
 jackets. She had some money. Give me your 
 hand." 
 
 She was stepping over some small logs which the 
 gardener had been chopping up for firewood. With- 
 out hesitation, she gave Federan her hand, but after 
 she had done so she remembered vividly some of the 
 things they had been saying to each other «i few 
 moments before. 
 
 "Too late!" he exclaimed, observing and under- 
 standing her sudden embarrassment. "What you 
 have once given, you know, you are not able to take 
 back!" 
 
 His face lit up with the pride of mastership, and he 
 had never before looked so handsome, because he had 
 never before been so happy. 
 
 "How do you know I want it back ?" said Jennie, 
 snatching it away and running swiftly, as though she
 
 86 THE VINEYARD 
 
 were being blown along by the breeze, toward the 
 house. 
 
 The picture of her that day in her violet-coloured 
 dress running past him over the grass sprinkled with 
 daisies remained with Federan all his life ; the slight 
 pressure of her small white hand had burnt like a seal 
 into his palm ; the scent of the perfume she used 
 seemed sweeter than all the summers of the earth. 
 No money could buy such a picture or such emotions 
 as he felt then. A truer instinct than he commonly 
 heeded warned the young man that the very discipline 
 of poverty makes the heart and spirit and body strong 
 for love. It is the poor who know the intensity of 
 human affection — the poor and patient who have to 
 labour and toil for that price to the uttermost farthing 
 which ransoms the simplest delight. 
 
 Miss Daisy, at the meal table, was in a sarcastic 
 mood. She had encountered the village dressmaker, 
 and heard many rumours about the ball. 
 
 " Many have been invited," she declared, " for the 
 pleasure of watching the County dance ! There'll 
 be a rope drawn across the room — they pretend it 
 makes more space. It is really put there to separate 
 one lot from another. Young women go to balls to 
 catch partners for life 1 " She laughed prettily at her 
 own jest, and for a moment a bright reflection of her 
 youth seemed to fall on her faded face. " There's no 
 need to look for men. One takes a husband nowa- 
 days as one takes a house — according to one's income.
 
 THE VINEYARD 87 
 
 Poor Sally Always can't afford more than half-a-crown 
 a week ; Rachel Tredegar can offer her two thousand 
 a year. As for me, I wouldn't give a groat to any 
 man alive to bear me company for so much as half a 
 day. I'd sooner have his room than his company." 
 
 This speech was not uttered with bitterness. She 
 disliked men just as she disliked horses and cows ; she 
 considered them stupid, uncertain and naturally 
 ferocious. The idea of love-making filled her with 
 horror ; she would turn her head away in unfeigned 
 disgust from courting couples. 
 
 " Explain it 1 " she would say to her elder sister — 
 who could never explain it, although the phenomenon 
 in question did not offend her taste so much as it 
 excited her sense of humour. In the poultry-yard she 
 had learnt a good deal about humanity's frailties. 
 Moping drakes and enamoured swains had much in 
 common, she knew. 
 
 "Miss Mavers has some new false teeth for the 
 ball," observed Miss Leddle ; "and Mrs Rowland's 
 grey evening body has been dyed a lovely lavender, 
 but she'll wear her new mantle over it because of her 
 cold." 
 
 The twinkle in Miss Leddle's eye made it abund- 
 antly clear that she was not deceived by Mrs How- 
 land's cold. The mantle was handsome, and some 
 reason had to be found for wearing it in the 
 ballroom. 
 
 " Where's Gerald ?" said Miss Daisy, suddenly.
 
 88 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Jennie blushed, and told them that he had gone to 
 meet Coolidge. 
 
 "Mark my words," said Miss Leddle, with 
 solemnity : " the day he first met Coolidge was an 
 evil day for him. Gerald's own father dismissed 
 Coolidge from his office. It's a bad thing to keep 
 friendly with the enemies of one's own flesh and 
 blood. They will work their malice none the 
 less." 
 
 Jennie's heart sank at these sinister words, and her 
 throat seemed to close. 
 
 " Gerald can be led," said Miss Daisy : " there he 
 takes after his mother. She was the unhappiest 
 of women. She followed her fancies wherever 
 they took her. At last, she had a fancy for death. 
 I can see her now, as I look back, sitting and 
 reading poetry instead of doing needlework. My 
 sister and I," she added, looking toward Miss Leddle, 
 " made all Gerald's clothes till he was put into 
 knickerbockers. But Emmeline hated sewing. She 
 would sit, as I tell you, and look across the street at 
 the windows opposite. Mr Federan's house is on the 
 high street on account of his business. ' The trees 
 ought to be coming out now,' she'd say ; or else, ' I 
 haven't seen a sunset for ever so long ' j or else, 
 * People who are discontented are to be pitied, not 
 blamed.' She went on so, that Mr Federan offered 
 at last to change his place of residence and move out 
 into the country. *It isn't worth while,* said she:
 
 THE VINEYARD 89 
 
 * haven't I a new wall-paper with roses on it?' 
 When she was dying she put up her hand to gather 
 those very roses ofF the wall. She followed a fancy to 
 the last." 
 
 " My poor father's dying words were : ' If I fall 
 asleep, take care of the candle,' " said Miss Leddle ; 
 " that will show you, Jennie, that there is some sense 
 all the same in our family ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 " When the Nicene Emperor Vataces presented to 
 his Empress a crown of diamonds and pearls, he in- 
 formed her with a smile that this precious ornament 
 arose from the sale of the eggs of his innumerable 
 poultry. . . . The lesson was still more useful than 
 the revenue." Gibbon. 
 
 At nine o'clock that night the ladies of Cumbers- 
 borough and Franton were standing in rows before 
 the several mirrors placed in the cloak-room at the 
 Town Hall. Some were arranging their hair ; 
 others were powdering their cheeks and noses ; some 
 were absorbed in the ecstatic contemplation of 
 their own reflections ; some were pinning up torn 
 flounces ; others were missing buttons from their 
 gloves; many were talking, giggling, whispering 
 comments about each other, and offering loud 
 compliments to their respective intimate friends. 
 Smiles of reassurance were on nearly every coun- 
 tenance as it became evident that no girl could 
 claim to be the beauty of the ball. The pretty ones 
 were as pretty as ever, the plain ones were no 
 plainer than usual, but, on the contrary, much im- 
 proved by the unaccustomed excitement. On these 
 
 90
 
 THE VINEYARD 91 
 
 occasions the least attractive, from whom no glory 
 is hoped for, are frequently a surprising success, and 
 the belles are often a disappointment — too much is 
 expected from them. It was a glad moment when 
 Miss Charlotte Gillespie remarked that Miss Lilian 
 Arbuthnot's serene brow had been sadly disfigured 
 by a wasp-bite, and Miss Isabel Barker, whose arms 
 were thin, had the pleasure of sympathising with 
 Miss Jessie Hammond over the misery of a plump 
 cheek considerably swollen by toothache. Miss Ada 
 Bampton created a slight chill of uneasiness among 
 the company by wearing a new primrose silk gown 
 (which came from London), and a locket with 
 Mizpah on it in seed pearls. But, on the whole, 
 when the band struck up the first bars of the 
 Lancers, everyone felt self-satisfied, good-humoured 
 and entitled to an evening's enjoyment. There 
 were a number of young men — including a few 
 officers who had been invalided home and sent to 
 Cumbersborough ; the floor was capital ; the supper- 
 room, decorated with flags and garlands and made 
 to look as much as possible like a restaurant, was 
 full of little tables (an innovation) — one constantly 
 said to one's partner or one's mother, " Have you 
 seen the supper-room ? Such a transformation ! It 
 has never been so well arranged before." In all the 
 corridors there were large tubs full of geraniums 
 and ferns ; in the tent there were coloured fairy 
 lights and quiet corners for conversation ; guests
 
 92 THE VINEYARD 
 
 were not supposed to use the staircase which led on 
 to the roof, but it was not shut off, and it was 
 sufficiently illuminated for those who wished to study 
 the sky during the course of two valses or so. 
 
 All these highly satisfactory details had been 
 noted by those whom they most concerned, the 
 Lancers had just ended, and the first bars of 
 Amoureuse were being played, when a superb, dis- 
 concerting couple were seen entering the ball-room. 
 They advanced towards Mrs Rowland and her 
 select party, and they were recognised — at first with 
 delight because beauty is irresistible, and afterwards 
 with rage because beauty is too rare — as Jennie 
 Sussex and young Federan. So splendidly matched 
 a pair would have made any assembly in any sur- % 
 
 roundings somewhat bitter ; and although there is * 
 
 an acknowledged inequality in the distribution of 
 gifts, a limit is fixed to the endurance of those whose 
 modest allotments have to be accepted with Christian 
 fortitude or explained by Pagan philosophy. Time 
 teaches the disconsolate that, if backs are fitted to 
 burdens, apparent blessings come heavily weighted 
 with adversity ; hence many, on observing things 
 too enviable for their weakness, gather strength from 
 the hope that certain wonders are too good to be 
 true. Jennie and Federan produced this comforting 
 impression on the greater number of those who had 
 been cruelly startled by the first sight of such 
 romantic lovers. Lovers they were beyond question :
 
 THE VINEYARD 93 
 
 the new absorbing influence which had come into 
 their lives separated them utterly from those looking 
 on ; to them the decorated hall full of people seemed 
 a distant vision watched from some great height ; 
 they saw forms moving, but they were far away ; 
 they heard a murmuring, but it seemed no louder 
 than the drone of insects ; their ears caught the sound 
 of the music, but it was neither so sweet nor so 
 intoxicating as the passionate rhythm of their own 
 thoughts. 
 
 When Jennie's eyes encountered Mrs Rowland's, 
 it was like the sun shining on granite. Agatha 
 Rowland stared at Jennie's white neck, and observed 
 that her arms were not red above the elbows ; she 
 would not allow herself to admire Jennie's dress, but 
 she became dissatisfied with her own, and she moved 
 away lest her partner, a young subaltern who was 
 convalescent after influenza, might ask to be pre- 
 sented to Miss Sussex. Federan, however, placed 
 his arm round Jennie's waist, she put her hand 
 lightly on his shoulder, and the two, smiling, 
 silent and ecstatic, joined the other whirling couples 
 till the music ceased, when they found them- 
 selves a little giddy and very much oppressed by the 
 presence of so many people. They had driven 
 together in a hooded gig from Miss Leddle's to the 
 Town Hall — a journey of three miles by brilliant 
 moonlight. In passing the grounds of Franton 
 Manor they had noticed the peacocks, with their
 
 94 THE VINEYARD 
 
 tails hanging down like dusky banners, asleep in the 
 trees, and Federan had said he would sooner walk 
 in the woods than go to the greatest ball ever given. 
 For a moment — so strong was the spell of the June 
 night and so seductive the call from the green 
 solitude, that they had almost decided to alight, tie 
 the horse to a gatepost, and wander under the 
 elms. 
 
 "We sha'n't be missed," Federan had said per- 
 suasively : " it's such a chance to enjoy the earth in 
 peace." 
 
 "Can't we go there some other evening ?" 
 
 " No : other nights we should meet a lot of yokels 
 and their lasses." He had often wandered there 
 himself with the pretty daughter of a dairyman, and 
 the recollection of that chapter in his career made 
 his face glow uncomfortably. " Besides, how could 
 you get away from the Tredegars ? Ah, come ! It 
 is our last chance. You're not afraid, are you ? 
 Besides, where's the harm ? " 
 
 " There's no harm. And I have always wanted 
 to walk through a wood at night — as goose-girls do 
 in fairy stories — and lose my way and find a diamond 
 crown." 
 
 "Then come with me !" 
 
 He pulled up the horse and looked ardently into 
 the girl's sparkling eyes. The road in front of them 
 was deserted, but thev heard the rumble of wheels 
 behind them.
 
 THE VINEYARD 95 
 
 "Drive on! drive on!" said Jennie, suddenly 
 afraid of her ovi^n recklessness. " Did you think I 
 meant to do anything so mad ? Drive on ! Don't 
 let those people pass us." 
 
 She herself, as she spoke, jerked the reins, and, 
 leaning past Federan, seized the whip, which, in her 
 agitation, she used so sharply on the animal's back 
 that he broke into a gallop. 
 
 " That is mad, if you like," exclaimed Federan : 
 "Don't you know that we are on the top of a hill ?" 
 
 The horse was a young colt who had been out 
 twice only before in harness, and, thoroughly terrified 
 by the unfamiliar touch on the reins and the unex- 
 pected sting of the cord, he rushed at full speed down 
 the most dangerous bit of road in the county. 
 
 Jennie closed her eyes, held her breath, and 
 thought, " We shall die together." 
 
 " If you had been with any other driver, my lady," 
 said Federan, presently, " there would have been no 
 more dancing for you in this world." 
 
 Then she saw that his face was as grey as ashes. 
 
 " I'm very sorry," she said, pulling his sleeve 
 lightly. 
 
 They did not speak after that, and although they 
 had entered the ball-room together, no further word 
 was uttered from the time of the wild gallop down 
 the hill till they had ended the first waltz. During 
 the dance each had been conscious that the feeling of 
 anger between them had added a savage, almost cruel.
 
 96 THE VINEYARD 
 
 joy to the familiarity of spinning together in a con- 
 ventional embrace round a crowded ball-room while 
 the band played. He had never been so close to her 
 before, and he had never before touched her waist. 
 An idea — or was it a sensation ? — came to him while 
 they were dancing, that it would be good to go round 
 and round that way with Jennie for an eternity till 
 they reached the height of some bottomless abyss, 
 and then to sink and sink for another eternity, never 
 knowing whether the passion urging him on was too 
 wild a love or too vehement a hate. The knowledge 
 that, in order to win her, he would have to do 
 violence to the habits of indolence and selfishness, 
 which he had heretofore unscrupulously indulged, 
 made him resent her power even while he yielded 
 to it. 
 
 " I wonder," he said abruptly, " whether the man 
 who ruined himself to buv the pearl of great price 
 ever came to detest the sight of the pearl. To 
 possess one perfect thing means great happiness, no 
 doubt, but a number of imperfect things gives one 
 more choice, more variety, more liberty in living, and 
 they are less responsibility." 
 
 Jennie could not understand this utterance, because 
 she did not know the dreary and dishonest schemes 
 with regard to the Franton estate which were grow- 
 ing daily stronger in Federan's mind. She did not 
 know that he was mortgaging his conscience in order 
 to make the money which he considered indispensable
 
 THE VINEYARD 97 
 
 to the most ordinary kind of domestic contentment. 
 She did not know the painful throbs of misgiving 
 which accompanied all the pleasure he took in her 
 companionship. While she was asking herself what 
 his strange words meant, Allan Helmyng, the draw- 
 ing-master at Mrs Marblay's, came timidly to her 
 side and asked for a dance. He was a delicate young 
 man who had won three medals at the Royal 
 Academy Schools, and broken down from overwork 
 in London air. His mother was the widow of a 
 captain in the merchant service ; she lived in a little 
 villa at Cumbersborough, where she looked on to the 
 sea and designed humorous menu cards for a Court 
 stationer in Bond Street. 
 
 Helmyng .and his mother adored Miss Sussex, and 
 estranged many of their useful neighbours by refusing 
 to see any fault in the lovely creature. She promised 
 him a polka, whereupon several other men from 
 Cumbersborough, observing his good luck, were civil 
 to him in order to get an introduction to Jennie. 
 She had now been twenty minutes in the ball-room, 
 and her success was indisputable: but she read the 
 penalty of her triumph in every face she passed. 
 
 "Let us go out into the old playground," said 
 Federan : "I know the way." 
 
 The Town Hall was next to the Parochial School 
 
 of St Matthew, and the playground, illuminated 
 
 with Chinese lanterns, had been thrown open as a 
 
 sort of promenade between the dances. It was still 
 
 a
 
 98 THE VINEYARD 
 
 so early that no one had yet acquired sufficient self- 
 assurance to brave the jeopardy of this equivocal 
 paradise. 
 
 Jennie and Federan w^alked round it till they came 
 to the swing, which had a seat just wide enough for 
 two. When, therefore, Mrs Puddifant looked out of 
 the window of the council-room, to which she had re- 
 tired for the purpose of inspiring the local reporter of 
 the Frampshire Times and Cumbersborough Herald, she 
 beheld a girl and a man swinging together in the 
 moonlight. Their laughter floated toward her ears. 
 
 " Dear me ! " she said : " can you recognise them, 
 Mr Whiston ? " 
 
 " It is young Federan,'* said Whiston : " I'd know 
 the fine shape of his figure a mile off ; and the lady, 
 unless I am greatly mistaken, is Miss Sussex." 
 
 "Impossible!" exclaimed Mrs Puddifant, with 
 every evident sign of believing him : "how could it 
 be Miss Sussex ? She wouldn't do such an odd 
 thing, would she ? " 
 
 "'Tis Miss Sussex, for all that," replied Whiston ; 
 *' She's long from the knees down, and almost as long 
 again from the knees up. My eye is all for build. 
 I can hardly be mistaken in a build." 
 
 This seemed rather indelicate to Mrs Puddifant, 
 whose figure was not all it had been in some respects, 
 and very much more than it had been in others. She 
 pulled down the blind and said, with an air which she 
 described later as one of hauteur : " You can say that
 
 THE VINEYARD 99 
 
 my train has a foundation of broch6 with raised 
 azaleas in velvet. My daughter's dress is of blue 
 tulle ; her ornaments are simple v^^ild flowers." 
 
 Federan was now asking Jennie why she laughed 
 at him whenever he tried to tell her that he loved 
 her. 
 
 "It's cruel to doubt me," he protested, "and I'm 
 at a loss how to convince you." 
 
 " You think you love me. What would happen 
 to me if I believed you ? " 
 
 "I can't well say, but I should want the belief to 
 make you happy. It would do so if you cared for 
 me. I'm afraid you do not care for me." 
 
 « Yes, I do." 
 
 " But how much ? *' 
 
 " Oh, well, a great deal. Enough, at least, to sit 
 out here in a swing with you, when I might be 
 dancing with the little fat captain." 
 
 " If this could be my last moment of life, Jennie, 
 I'd be glad to die," he said, with a sombre look, "just 
 as we are." 
 
 " You didn't think so when we were galloping 
 down-hill in the gig ! " 
 
 "That would have been horrible and violent. But 
 here it is calm ; I can see the stars, and all men are the 
 better for looking at them — far better than for any 
 of the vain things they are apt to take glory in. 
 Many a man's love has been a curse to him. Before 
 this, I have given much liking to the wrong persons,
 
 loo THE VINEYARD 
 
 and I have lived and acted each time as though I had 
 pitched upon a dish fit for the gods. Yet, under it 
 all, I always knew that I was indulging a bias of 
 fancy. But the human heart pines till it can find 
 some excuse for playing the fool." 
 
 " I won't dispute that with you.'* 
 
 " Yet the real sighs and the sleepless nights, the 
 real misery and anguish one suff^ers over these false 
 aff"airs ! " 
 
 " Nothing is utterly false. A sham jewel is 
 genuine paste ; it may not be what it passes for, but 
 it is, nevertheless, something that has a fine colour 
 and shines." 
 
 " I used to repeat ' my dear love ! my dear love ! ' 
 to myself over and over again about a girl I dared not 1 
 
 look at carefully. And I used to stand on the heath * 
 
 alone in storms, and call, ' Come ! O come ! I want 
 you ! ' to another girl who always tired me when I 
 met her, although I hated to own it. I am telling 
 you about things now that I have never confided to a 
 living soul. You can judge for yourself how little I 
 wish to deceive you. There's a saying of Seneca's, 
 'I will discover to you a philter that has neither 
 drug, nor simple, nor enchantment in it : love, if you 
 would raise love.' If that be true, and I hope it is, 
 you ought to know that this time I am truly taken — 
 body, mind and soul, and you ought to give me your 
 love in return. Or," he added, studying her enig- 
 matic face, " trust me. Tell me something about
 
 THE VINEYARD loi 
 
 your own thoughts. You are the only woman that 
 ever puzzled me. I never troubled to ask what any 
 other one thought. Indeed, the less they said the 
 longer my fcndness lasted. When the end came, it 
 was always because of some saying that opened my 
 eyes." 
 
 " When I love, it will be with my eyes open." 
 
 "Then you would be too soon undeceived, 
 perhaps. A discerning woman would find few men 
 worthy." 
 
 " But if she loved, in spite of her discernment as 
 you call it, there would be no hope of her changing, 
 poor soul. After twenty years of reflection, she 
 would be no wiser than when she was first caught. 
 If I were a man, I'd pray for the love of the dis- 
 cerning." 
 
 " But as you're a woman — " 
 
 " I'd pray for the love of a man who saw me well 
 and then became immediately blind ! It wouldn't be 
 necessary for him too see anybody else ! Now I have 
 given you a glimpse at least of my mood. The 
 worst is, I am not likely to change it. My fault is 
 jealousy. Had you guessed it ? " 
 
 " I may have wondered what made your character 
 as fascinating as your face. Now you have told me 
 the secret. Jealousy is the bitter-sweet that gives 
 you that long, doubting look. Don't doubt me, but 
 be jealous. It will save me from being quite a fool 
 about you. It's bad when a woman is too calm and
 
 I02 THE VINEYARD 
 
 secure. I'd sell my soul to know for certain that I 
 could break your heart." 
 
 She touched the ground with the tip of her toes 
 and swung once or twice to and fro. 
 
 " Your love-making is double-edged," she said at last. 
 
 " Do you compare mine with that of other men ?" 
 asked Federan, scornfully. " It's hard to know what 
 others say to women, but each has his hour of satis- 
 faction when there is any talk of what girls will 
 accept as gospel ! Disdain like yours isn't common. 
 It would throw a damp on the boldest nature." 
 
 " So you find me disdainful ! I am all humility. 
 I cannot believe that I could call out this devotion 
 you describe. Nor do I think you have such 
 devotion to offer." 
 
 She was half in earnest, and the truth under the 
 words which she had meant in raillery struck her 
 after she had uttered them, as a certain kind of fallen 
 twig will if one steps upon it. 
 
 " I may not describe it rightly," he admitted, * or 
 you may understand it in some other sense than I 
 mean it ; I am no master of words. When I speak 
 of love, I don't know whether it is a good or an evil. 
 If it has been the salvation, it has also been the 
 undoing of many. So we won't call it devotion, 
 because it is often selfishness. I feel that I can't live 
 without you, and I want to live. This is why I 
 endure your pride and your laughter. I am deter- 
 mined to win you round."
 
 THE VINEYARD 103 
 
 "I must be a very good actress," she said 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "In what way ?" 
 
 " In every way." 
 
 But the music had stopped, and a few couples, 
 having seen the pair in the swing, ventured into the 
 playground. 
 
 "My next dance is with Allan Helmyng," said 
 Jennie, rising; "and the one after is with Major 
 Winton." 
 
 "Throw them both over,'* said Federan, eagerly, 
 "and come for a drive with me. There is no peace 
 here. It is our last evening. No one will miss us." 
 
 "I must keep my promise to Allan Helmyng." 
 
 " Besides, Coolidge is now at home with my aunts. 
 He has promised to play dummy whist with them and 
 amuse them. We can take a long drive." By this 
 time they were on the threshold of the entrance-hall. 
 "I'll harness the pony myself — the stable-boys are all 
 drinking. We can get away by ourselves, and see 
 St Wilfred's Church by moonlight." 
 
 St Wilfred's was a ruin about nine miles ofF, on 
 the way to Cumbersborough. People who are wise 
 in time over one form of recklessness are often carried 
 by the original strength of the temptation into some 
 other far worse imprudence. Jennie's excitement 
 had reached a high pitch, and the proud but 
 passionate girl believed that she had so impressed 
 Federan by her assumed frigidity that she could
 
 I04 THE VINEYARD 
 
 venture to indulge her sudden desire for a wild drive 
 alone w^ith him across the country. 
 
 " One couldn't have a better night for seeing the 
 view," she said, gazing with unconcern and a beating 
 heart at the stars. 
 
 "Then dance with Helmyng, and meet me at the 
 side-door afterwards. I'll be waiting there with the 
 trap for you." 
 
 " St Wilfred's," she said steadily, " was built in the 
 eleventh century. I confess you tempt me. I do 
 not care for balls, whereas a drive on a June evening 
 is perfect." 
 
 This frankness, she hoped, would also be disarming. 
 
 " Here is Helmyng now," said Federan, who was 
 flushed, delighted and surprised. " I know you will 
 keep your word to me — if you are so resolved not to 
 break it to him." 
 
 She smiled, and Helmyng, who was advancing 
 gladly toward her, found her eyes as deep as wells and 
 as softly inscrutable as dark flowers. Yet a little 
 shiver of anguish passed through him, because he had 
 the poet's dolorous instinct for the subtle. A less 
 sensitive man would have taken Jennie's glance for 
 himself. Helmyng knew better — and he caught the 
 after-look as one catches the echoed last bar of a long 
 song.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 " He who far off beholds another dancing, and all the time 
 Hears not the music that he dances to, 
 Thinks him a madman." Calderon. 
 
 Helmyng, as he watched Federan leave the ball- 
 room, could not resist saying, " What a fine head ! 
 Artists are often blamed nowadays when they choose 
 handsome models, or make handsome people appear so 
 on canvas. They are accused of vulgarity — as 
 though beauty and right proportions could ever be 
 vulgar. Vulgarity is a matter of expression. For 
 instance, who ever saw it in the face of the dead ? 
 No corpse is vulgar; perhaps because it can no 
 longer pretend." 
 
 He had been wondering whether there was not 
 something a little common and gorgeous about 
 Federan — a coarseness which might develop later. 
 But the idealism which made his moral languor seem 
 a thread in his tragic destiny, rather than a fault he 
 could control, had also transfigured his countenance, 
 giving it the ominous melancholy which comes from 
 a mind that thinks in bitterness and self-condemnation 
 — when it thinks at all. 
 
 105
 
 io6 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " If I were asked to design a romantic hero," 
 added Helmyng, " I'd draw Federan. But he ought 
 to wear a coat of mail and a winged helmet — he is 
 modern hj mistake." 
 
 Jennie seized the remark as an excuse for gazing 
 after Federan till he was out of sight. Then she 
 turned to Helmyng and said, as they joined the 
 dancers, " I wonder, each time I see him, where he 
 came from. I can never get used to his appearance." 
 
 Although she danced, the musicians, she thought, 
 had lost their spirit : the garish light made everyone 
 look haggard and grotesque : the chattering, 
 murmuring, laughing crowd disturbed her mood 
 and broke in upon her secret happiness, as noise 
 affects the dream of a tired sleeper. It does not rouse 
 him fully, but it sends a shaft of discomfort through 
 his rest and changes a soft vision into a strident 
 nightmare. Many of the girls were flushed and 
 smiling ; their partners, panting and dizzy, were 
 grinning affably as a substitute for conversation. A 
 large, heated group were pushing, elbowing and 
 hastening toward the buffet, where loud complaints 
 of mismanagement suddenly filled the air. The iced 
 lemonade had failed. 
 
 " There will be a fresh supply," Colonel Howland 
 was announcing ; " half a gallon was spilled by an 
 accident." 
 
 Some looked incredulous ; some said rather loudly, 
 " That's all very well ; " and the couples who, a
 
 THE VINEYARD 107 
 
 minute before, had been staring with celestial sweet- 
 ness into each other's eyes, glared like hungry 
 animals, and became too sullen, from trifling thirst, 
 to remember the ill effects of bad temper even on 
 the finest features. 
 
 The chaperons were huddled together in a corner 
 out of the draught, but although they maintained a 
 steady fire of comments on everyone present, each 
 was privately engrossed in watching the progress of 
 her own daughter or daughters ; each fumed and 
 shifted uneasily when she saw an ineligible man pass 
 by ; each pretended when partners were scarce that 
 her girl had a weak chest, and was only allowed an 
 occasional round dance ; each told the other stories 
 about the few marriageable men in the room, and all 
 condemned the indiscretion of Miss Sussex. 
 
 " As I was saying, she has turned Gerald Federan's 
 head ! " Mrs Marblay would remark at intervals, 
 whenever every other topic seemed on the verge of 
 exhaustion. This utterance never failed to stimulate 
 flagging malice, and the matrons would pluck up 
 fresh courage for a further dissertation on the fast 
 young women of London society. 
 
 ''Give me," cried Mrs Puddifant, "a well-brought- 
 up true country girl. People who go down well 
 enough in London can't get, thank God, into county 
 circles." 
 
 Mrs Puddifant thanked God so much and so often 
 for the social laws which she herself invented, that
 
 io8 THE VINEYARD 
 
 she was looked upon as a very good sort of person — a 
 little loud, perhaps, but with her heart in the right 
 place. She seemed, indeed, the privileged child of 
 Providence, so intimate was her apparent knowledge 
 of the Divine policy toward her fellow-creatures. 
 Whenever Mrs Puddifant declared that " Heaven 
 would not allow it," she carried as much weight as 
 the Chief Constable of Franton on the precise amount 
 of elasticity in the Early-Closing and the Game 
 Laws. 
 
 "Romance seems to have died out in England," 
 said Helmyng ; "there is no great love poetry read 
 or written now, and the men who imitated Tenny- 
 son, George Meredith, Swinburne and Browning 
 belong already to the old school. Perhaps women 
 have lost much of their mystery, and so they have 
 ceased to be inspiring. People are anxious enough 
 to love, I believe. But to love well is a career in 
 itself, and the men who have the time lack the 
 nature, and those who might have the nature work 
 for money till they have neither feelings nor 
 thoughts : they become machines." 
 
 Although Helmyng was hardly more than five- 
 and-twenty, he seemed to have renounced every hope 
 of joy in this life. The first impression of his face 
 was one of delicate suffering, and when he lowered 
 his eyelids their long lashes threw a shadow on his 
 emaciated cheeks. But a mad and destructive energy 
 seemed to beat behind his strong brow, and the lines
 
 THE VINEYARD 109 
 
 around his mouth betrayed a self-repression carried to 
 cruel extremes. The mask of a cautious provincial 
 concealed his famishing, vindictive self, and there 
 was, in certain of his wild, swift, furtive glances, the 
 look of a forest beast in bonds. A fellow-student 
 at the Academy Schools had called him a satyr 
 without pipes : he could neither play music nor 
 scamper with his kind ; his whole existence was 
 one of those conveniently described by others as 
 wasted. It often seemed, in his moods of despair, 
 that he lived in perpetual and mean struggle with 
 the whole of mankind ; the constant, unnecessary 
 dissimulation of his real sentiments gave him an 
 exaggerated estimate of his own merit, and a way- 
 ward contempt for his associates : " truth in all the 
 world is both hated and believed," was a quotation 
 ever on his lips, and his rare laughter was reserved 
 for his one bitter amusement of paying ironical defer- 
 ence to the imbecilities of the human race. As he 
 praised Federan, he watched Jennie's impassioned 
 face, and he thought, " Does she suppose I really 
 admire that oiled and curled Assyrian bull ?" 
 
 Nevertheless he loved her the more because he 
 could despise her folly. It soothed the eternal ache 
 of his pride to think that she was as unconsciously 
 gross and weak as most women — led by the senses 
 though pursuing what she took to be an ideal. 
 
 "Silly, beautiful creature ! " he said to himself, and 
 he was no longer afraid of her.
 
 no THE VINEYARD 
 
 He still trembled ; he still bowed his head when 
 she made the most trivial remark ; he still touched 
 her waist timidly as they danced down the hall. 
 But his imagination had grown bolder : he thought, 
 " We are made of the same clay after all." 
 
 He smiled slyly under his rigid mask by way of 
 affirming this new strange intimacy with her heart. 
 A tenderness he had never before experienced came 
 over his spirit : for once he felt at peace with the 
 crowd — perhaps he had caught the pleasure, in an 
 exquisite, vague, indefinite form, of their more vulgar, 
 wholly sensual sympathies. 
 
 When they reached the door Jennie said, with a 
 blush, '' I don't care to dance any more. Mr 
 Federan is waiting to drive me home. Will you 
 come out with me ? " 
 
 He offered her his arm, having determined now to 
 accept her infatuation as the mockery and discipline 
 of his own. The band was still playing ; the corridor 
 was deserted ; and the gas, which was always lowered 
 for economy's sake during the dances, gave a melan- 
 choly sallow light. But through the opened door 
 they could see the dark blue sky filled with bright 
 stars, the shuttered houses opposite, and a little way 
 off, down the road, Federan standing by his horse 
 and gig. Helmyng felt Jennie's hand tighten on 
 his arm : she pressed closer to him, as though she 
 were half afraid, and yet she walked more quickly 
 than he.
 
 THE VINE'^ARD m 
 
 cc 
 
 You haven't your cloak yet," said Helmyng. 
 
 " Then tell him I'm coming. I'll get my cloak." 
 
 She disappeared before he could offer to accompany 
 her, and the young man found himself suddenly alone 
 with a suffocating jealousy. He was standing, just 
 as she had left him, when she returned wearing a 
 shawl over her shoulders and a white lace scarf 
 wound round her head and face. Her eyes under 
 the lace shone with a brilliant, almost violent charm. 
 She had thrown her train over her arm, and the lace 
 petticoat underneath, which fell a little below her 
 ankles, was so light that, as she moved, it fluttered in 
 the summer breeze. Helmyng noticed her small 
 embroidered shoes and her arched instep. 
 
 " Don't tell anyone," she whispered. " I know 
 it's wrong, but I want to go — I must go." 
 
 She signalled to Federan, and, smiling, hastened 
 out to him. Helmyng, stifling a cry of despair, 
 heard her flying step on the gravel, Federan's low 
 voice ; saw him help her into the gig, saw him mount 
 the box and drive away towards Cumbersborough, 
 Then he caught sight of his own wan face and 
 wasted form in a mirror : he too was young, but 
 with what a youth — over-worked, warped, unlovely ! 
 It was more than he could bear. He hated Federan 
 — he hated Jennie. 
 
 " I was happy enough till I met her," he told him- 
 self, although he knew this was a lie. He had never 
 been happy. Still, he repeated the falsehood and
 
 112 THE VINEYARD 
 
 crept away, murmuring it, not to weep but to hide 
 his agony. 
 
 " We'll take the longest road," Federan said to 
 Jennie : " past the old tollgate and the riverside 
 walk." 
 
 She made no reply, and neither of them spoke for 
 some minutes. Each was afraid lest someone should 
 call them back : they held their breath, and Gerald 
 peered anxiously from right to left as he drove in 
 order to assure himself that the street was deserted. 
 
 " This was the right thing to do," he said, at last ; 
 "it humiliates me to be in a crowd." 
 
 They were still on the high road, and the shining 
 rails of the electric tramway lay before them like long 
 placid serpents stretched out in the moonlight. Far 
 off a solitary man was proceeding in the direction of 
 the Church lanes. Jennie started when she saw him, 
 for there was something curiously familiar in his gait. 
 She stared fascinated and almost terrified. 
 
 " Is that somebody ? " she asked in a nervous 
 voice. 
 
 " No one in particular," answered Federan. 
 
 " It is a man, then ? " 
 
 " What did you think he was ? A ghost r " 
 
 " Yes, I thought I knew him." 
 
 " Impossible. It's a stranger." 
 
 She said no more, but continued watching the 
 figure as it drew nearer. 
 
 " We'll pass him," said Federan ; " he's a disturb-
 
 THE VINEYARD 113 
 
 ing element. How pale you look all of a sudden ! 
 He has frightened you." 
 
 As they reached the wayfarer, he halted and called 
 out, " Am I right for Franton ? " 
 
 Jennie cowered and drew her veil tighter. 
 
 " Quite right," said Federan. 
 
 "Thank you," replied the man, and the next 
 moment he was hurrying on in the dust of their 
 wheels. 
 
 " I was right, I knew him," said Jennie, who was 
 trembling with an inexplicable agitation. " I know 
 him. It's John Harlowe. And I let him pass with- 
 out a word — my old friend. I let him pass without 
 one single word. I hid my face. Where has he 
 come from ? Why is he here ? " 
 
 "Shall we turn back?" asked Federan, sarcastic- 
 ally. He stopped the horse ; he studied her distressed 
 countenance, and grew livid with suspicion. 
 
 "Shall we turn back?" he repeated. "Yes or 
 no ? He can drive you — if he can drive. I'll walk. 
 Yes or no ? " 
 
 " We can do no good by changing our plans," she 
 faltered. "We don't know where he's going." 
 
 " Oh, the hypocrisy 1 He's on his way to see you. 
 I know that, although I don't know him." 
 
 " He couldn't have any intention of calling at this 
 hour." 
 
 " Then w^e may as well go on. But I swear you 
 shall decide : — which is it, yes or no ? "
 
 H4 THE VINEYARD 
 
 They were now close to a winding road edged with 
 old lime-trees. The sweet odour of the leaves and 
 the fields beyond filled the air ; the caressing wind 
 brought with it the stolen perfume of honeysuckle 
 and roses ; above the stillness a practised ear could 
 detect the fuming strain of the sea striking the beach 
 on the Cumbers borough coast, and, at fixed intervals, 
 white shafts like milky wings spread across the sky 
 above the Cumbersborough lighthouse. Federan 
 waited impatiently for the girl's reply, and was 
 about to repeat his question, when he felt her cool, 
 light hand steal into his and as gently steal away. 
 The movement was so childlike, appealing, unsought, 
 that at the touch no feeling or desire seemed left in 
 him except that deceptive, passionless, languorous 
 adoration for the woman which is but a brief mood 
 and to which all the illusions of platonic love are due. 
 He drove on, although he slackened the horse's speed 
 and drew Jennie's hand once more into his own. 
 This time hers trembled and fluttered like a caught 
 fledgling. She was, at the moment, far less calm 
 than he. The sight of Harlowe had made her realise 
 how greatly she had changed since their last meeting. 
 Now she had a new knowledge of gladness — a glad- 
 ness which came burdened with something like 
 guiltiness, and something like terror ; it was a peril, 
 a menace, an awakening and a privilege : the in- 
 sidious inheritance left by the first of the happy and 
 the first of the sinners. She doubted no more that
 
 THE VINEYARD 115 
 
 she loved and was loved in return, and the acute need 
 of living — to the full, to the bitterest, to the hardest, 
 and to the most joyous — dominated her with a 
 mastery beyond the understanding, or suspicion, or 
 conception of Federan. Women love more wildly 
 and intensely than men, becau;e they lead purer lives 
 and are more ignorant of those crude physical laws 
 the half-knowledge of which vitiates so much modern 
 psychology. If men lived, as a rule, as most women 
 live, they too would place love first in their existence. 
 Passion, like the sun-ray which consumes a flower and 
 merely stimulates a weed, burns fiercely in the inno- 
 cent, although it affords the experienced an occasion 
 only for amused self-introspection. This is why that 
 April unconscious poetry of life known as first love is 
 touched with an irresistible charm which will sweetly 
 haunt memories the least accessible to dreams and 
 bend natures the most stubborn before beauty. 
 
 "I thought Harlowe was in West Africa," said 
 Jennie, presently. 
 
 "Are you thinking of him?'''' exclaimed P^ederan. 
 
 "I was thinking how I have changed since he 
 went away." 
 
 " Did you ever love him ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Could you ever love him ? " 
 
 She answered quickly, but with a cold voice, while 
 the hand he was holding became stony, " Never." 
 
 " Have you the gift of loving, Jennie ? "
 
 ii6 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " I am afraid it has been denied me." 
 
 " I believe that," said the young man, sighing with 
 a melancholy which was entirely feigned. All lovers 
 are instinctive comedians : their words and their 
 actions, whether on the heroic-tragic or the idyllic- 
 pathetic scale, are always mere improvisations, pre- 
 ludes, symbols, or, what is called in music, a cadenza 
 in the great concerto, the passages a -p'lacere^ inter- 
 rupting the solemn air. 
 
 "Your one fault," continued Federan, venturing 
 to put his disengaged arm round the rail of her seat. 
 They had reached a few yards of newly-mended road, 
 and the stones were not yet rolled. 
 
 " Do you mind my loving you ? " he asked ; ** does 
 it displease you ? And yet I can't help it, even if you 
 are displeased. Forgive me all the same. But I'm 
 talking nonsense. Why shouldn't you love me in 
 return ? " 
 
 " I don't know why I shouldn't." 
 
 *' Let me look into your eyes, then. You keep 
 me at such a distance ! The moment I loved you 
 I ceased to be an acquaintance. I'm your lover — I 
 ought, therefore, to look into your eyes and find 
 what I can. That's my one poor privilege." 
 
 She laughed, and although they had now passed the 
 rough piece in the road he kept his arm on the rail. 
 
 *' You could only see what I chose to show in my 
 eyes. If I wished, I could make them empty. It 
 might mean," she added, " a little trouble."
 
 THE VINEYARD 117 
 
 '* Why— trouble ? " 
 
 " Because I do like you," she said naively. 
 
 The light, now ruby-red, now topaz-yellow, of 
 the lighthouse glowed in the distance, and an abrupt 
 turn in the leafy lane revealed a sudden view of the 
 sea and the great rocks known as "The Seven 
 Sisters." These, as they pierced the glassy water, 
 stood up like the risen spectres of barbarous dead gods 
 roughly hewn and long forgotten : they had the 
 semblance of human forms and a grim majesty. In 
 storms they would appear to dance and mix with 
 the fury of the waves — little sprites, without malice ; 
 but the calmness of the night made their strength 
 sinister and their immobility terrific : one could 
 imagine them scanning the horizon for prey — the 
 merchant traders, the obscure sailing-boats and 
 fishing-smacks which drifted fatally that way, in 
 certain numbers, every year. 
 
 " Then if you like me," exclaimed Federan, " why 
 can't you love me ? " 
 
 Jennie looked past the rocks and turned toward 
 the glittering moon-path which stretched out — a 
 glorious way — as far as the eye could reach. 
 
 ** You do ! " he cried : " Oh, Jennie, you do ! My 
 God 1 you do ! I'm not a fool to think so. Wishes 
 come true sometimes. Do you love me ? Can you 
 love me ? " 
 
 His arm was now round her neck and his fajewas 
 bent down close to her own. When she tried to
 
 ii8 THE VINEYARD 
 
 answer his question, his lips caught the word. Un- 
 resisting, silent, quivering, and stifling with tears she 
 could not shed, in a state as near sorrow as it was far 
 from any describable happiness, she felt her heart 
 beating out in her bosom the measure of her 
 surrender — not to a stronger will — but to an un- 
 deniable influence. They rode on bound in a 
 common spell and lost in an intoxicating confusion 
 which neither of them cared to disturb by definite 
 speech or promises. Affection had lent Federan — 
 who was for once subdued by real earnestness — that 
 sure instinct which gives the expression of passionate 
 love all the intensity without the forbidding coldness 
 of self-restraint. He was a practised lover, and, as he 
 had an intuitive appreciation for the timiditv, the 
 innocence, the eternal modesty and quickly-roused 
 resentment of pure women, he won the trust of girls 
 as gracefully as he broke in horses, by a constraining 
 charm, never by brutality. 
 
 Before they turned homeward, Jennie had promised 
 to become his wife, and he had kissed her face from 
 white to rose and from rose to white again.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 " Monsieur, je ne suis qu'une femme, et, par con- 
 sequent, mon JM2;ement est peu de chose ; mais il me 
 parait que les tristesses et les amours de messieurs les 
 auteurs ne ressemblent guere aux tristesses et aux 
 amours des autres hommes." Baudelaire. 
 
 John Harlowe, as he marched along the road, 
 paused only to refill and light his pipe, and to enjoy 
 some of the charming bits of landscape which made 
 the whole neighbourhood seem — to his eyes, fatigued 
 by the tropical sun — an enchanter's garden. This 
 was his country, this was his native soil ; the dear 
 England of so many longing hearts and loving toasts ; 
 not the England of the politician's knavish tricks, but 
 the England of i.he patriot and the poet, where 
 
 "Summer's hourly-mellovnng change 
 May breathe, with many roses sweet. 
 Upon the thousand waves of wheat." 
 
 At a farewell dinner given to him by his comrades in 
 
 West Africa he had used these very words, and 
 
 rounded his remarks (described as "most eloquent" 
 
 in the local newspaper) with that particular quotation 
 
 from In Memoriam. He heard again the cheers, the 
 
 119
 
 I20 THE VINEYARD 
 
 clinking glasses, the thumps on the table and the 
 stamping on the floor, which had followed his essay 
 into rhetoric. "And they were right," he thought : 
 "how beautiful it is ! how peaceful. Thank God I 
 am an Englishman ! This is my home !" 
 
 The special train which was running from the 
 county town for the ball that night had brought him 
 to Cumbersborough two hours sooner than he ex- 
 pected, and, as he possessed a sanguine temperament, 
 the accident struck him as an omen altogether 
 favourable to his secret hopes — the vagueness of 
 which by no means excluded their intensity. To one 
 of his straightforward disposition, anticipated happi- 
 ness brought none of that mysterious terror which 
 underlies so often the promise of joy ; with his senses 
 entranced by the scene and his reverie, his heart 
 overflowed in gratitude to Providence for what he 
 regarded as peculiar blessings. He had almost worked 
 the youth out of his body, and he had been so near 
 to death that he had caught too much, perhaps, of its 
 tranquillity, but he had received personal congratula- 
 tions and a gold watch from the firm whose interests 
 he had represented in West Africa ; further, they 
 had off^ered him a considerable appointment as the 
 manager of a large coal district in England. At the 
 moment he was the owner-designate of a good house 
 with a garden and twelve hundred a year. He could 
 now acquiesce serenely when moneyed men were 
 mentioned as those who might marry whom they
 
 THE VINEYARD 121 
 
 pleased ; and the indulgent smile, which had softened 
 all his features when he passed the pair of lovers in 
 the gig, lingered for the rest of the way in his con- 
 tented gaze. He had not recognised Jennie, but as 
 she drew the lace scarf over her countenance, it was 
 his fate to admire the movement and mistake it for 
 a pretty, instinctive shyness on the part of the un- 
 known girl. (Timidity in women was, in his opinion, 
 their sweetest grace ; he thought it extraordinary 
 that he loved Jennie, who lacked it.) The lace, by 
 the irony of circumstances, was a white mantilla 
 which he himself had brought her some years before as 
 a present from Spain. His dreams, however, were as 
 simple as his actions, so, with Jennie's adored image 
 always shining for him at his journey's end, he might 
 well have passed her blindly a dozen times on the 
 road. The very directness of some natures is their 
 misfortune ; such visions see the world as a neatly- 
 coloured map, and men and women as clear-cut 
 symbols. When the map is found misleading, or the 
 symbols cannot be formed into the desired arabesque, 
 the plain seer curses his own blundering and tries 
 again — never doubting his rules — to make the inexact, 
 exact. 
 
 Harlowe, in appearance, was a slight, erect young 
 fellow, of medium height, with an eager, hatchet- 
 shaped face, eyes the colour of tobacco, a prominent 
 nose and a dark moustache. His skin was sunburnt, 
 but the veins showed clearly on his narrow cheek-bones
 
 121 THE VINEYARD 
 
 and gave him a permanent, if deceptive, ruddiness ; his 
 teeth were very white, and his hair grew well on his 
 head ; even a provincial hair-cutter had not been able 
 to clip out, as it were, bald patches behind his ears or 
 scollops on his temples. This was evident because 
 he had thrust his cap in his pocket. Well-bred, 
 maladroit and sensitive, he was one of those men 
 given to unutterable fineness of feeling and conven- 
 tional language, who go though life chivalrously, but, 
 in the vulgar judgment, without pleasure for their 
 pains. They have success of a luckless, meritorious 
 kind, or glory without the crown of picturesque 
 accessories. The compassionate had sorrow for 
 Harlowe even at his brightest hour, and, in proclaim- 
 ing his praises, they would add, " Poor young man I " 
 as a sighing refrain. The fact is that he was too 
 normal, too equable, too sincere for the complicated 
 social system of his own day : his most impatient 
 saying was, " Well, I suppose, it's all part of the day's 
 work " ; or, ** So many worlds, so much to do, so 
 little done, such things to be " : his favourite Canticle 
 was Nunc dimittis ; as a lover he liked the words of 
 popular love-songs and felt them all — " I'll sing thee 
 songs of Araby," for example ; as a man, he read 
 trade journals, the Times when he could get it, and, 
 the Standard as a rule. His devotion to Jennie had 
 grown in a curious manner. Some women, it is 
 admitted, excite love spontaneously either by their 
 beauty or some evident quality, at first sight : others
 
 THE VINEYARD 123 
 
 have to be studied for months before they seem to 
 possess any charm at all, or show any power in using 
 it. It is seldom, however, that the same woman can 
 produce effects so contrary even on different men ; 
 but Jennie, who had captured Federan at once, had 
 actually displeased Harlowe during the first years of 
 their acquaintanceship. She had reminded him of 
 the gipsies with wild eyes who dwelt in the caves of 
 Granada ; her swinging walk had seemed to him 
 unladylike ; he detested the little mirror which she 
 gazed in constantly and carried attached to the gold 
 chain in her belt ; he thought her habit of powdering 
 the tip ot her nose in his presence most Bohemian ; 
 he disapproved of her high heels, her swishing silk 
 petticoats, her passion for novel-reading, and her large 
 feathered hats ; her singing, which stirred all his 
 emotions painfully, was the one thing which made 
 him acknowledge the original taint in mankind ; her 
 reckless curiosity about the problems of life emphasised 
 the terrible contrast he saw between this girl who 
 offended his taste, and his own gentle mother, who 
 wrote to him weekly about her garden, her pigeons, 
 her economies and her rheumatism. One day he 
 accompanied Jennie to the Academy, where they 
 disagreed about every picture they looked at, and 
 he promised himself that he would never willingly go 
 to a public place with her again. People stared at 
 her, and this caused him excruciating annoyance — 
 an annoyance which transcended anything in his
 
 124 THE VINEYARD 
 
 former experience. They had tea together, never- 
 theless, in a tea-room in Bond Street, and they 
 talked coldly, without catching each other's eyes, 
 about the dampness of the summer, the hopelessness 
 of trying to like absolutely impossible people, and the 
 excellence of toasted buns when they are really light 
 and really hot. Jennie, then, instead of asking him 
 to pass the sugar-bowl, stretched past him and took 
 it herself. Their hands met ; he tingled in some- 
 thing like agony from head to foot ; the next instant 
 he thought he would have to shoot himself; an 
 instant later he realised that the thunderbolt, the 
 classic eternal thunderbolt, had fallen. He was in 
 love. Thev had been together in the autumn in 
 Hadley Woods ; they had walked in Kew Gardens 
 on many a day in June ; they had spent starry 
 twilights on the river, John rowing and she 
 steering ; they had passed each other sugar hundreds 
 of times, touched hands hundreds of times, and 
 now, after three years of intimate animosity, in a 
 crowded shop, at a querulous hour, without reason, 
 without warning, with anger in his heart, and ennui 
 in her listless attitude, he had to realise that their 
 unsatisfactory relationship had developed, on his side, 
 into a torturing, irresistible, imperious need. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " she had asked. " Are you 
 tired of fighting ? " 
 
 She had always liked Harlowe, and had even been 
 accused, by his family, of running after him. In the
 
 THE VINEYARD 125 
 
 first instance, the young man, flattered by an idea 
 which he repudiated, had been drawn to Jennie's side 
 solely by his mother's condemnation of the girl's 
 apparent advances. Few women show the least dis- 
 cernment in their diagnosis of each other's feelings, 
 and men are frequently led into irretrievable dilemmas 
 by listening to the counsel of their female relatives 
 and friends where the love of women is in question. 
 Jennie wrote to Harlowe, accepted his invitations, 
 gave him books, showed anxiety when he caught cold, 
 and wept openly when he went away on long expedi- 
 tions, because she was not in love with him and there- 
 fore had no self-consciousness in showing her affection. 
 Of the two, she had always been the one to make 
 peace after a misunderstanding : she sent several 
 letters in return for any one of his, and she would 
 often say, as much in earnest as in jest, but always 
 without resentment, that he did not appreciate her. 
 
 " I get on your nerves, don't I, John ? " she would 
 ask placidly ; " you think I am detestable. Every- 
 thing I say and do seems wrong to you. That must 
 be why I adore you so, John dear ! " 
 
 The ominous calm of the adoration escaped him — 
 escaped him at least until the hour of the thunderbolt. 
 Then, when her eyes met his in sisterly tenderness 
 and she repeated the question, '*Are you tired of 
 fighting?" he knew that the fight for him, so far 
 from being ended, had just begun. He was leaving 
 for West Africa that week, and, fearing his success, he
 
 126 THE VINEYARD 
 
 did not venture to press his suit or make any declara- 
 tion. Had he spoken, it is possible that she might have 
 accepted him : there was no other man between them ; 
 she liked him better than anyone else in the world. 
 An engagement would have been a tragic mistake, but 
 it was a mistake she might easily have made. The 
 young of both sexes often take the still happiness of 
 being loved for love itself. Harlowe was good-looking 
 enough and magnetic enough to seem greatly superior 
 to the average run of bridegrooms, and, within the 
 limit of temperate sentimentality, he offered physically 
 and otherwise every excuse for a marriage of alSection. 
 His bride could feel that her friends were not wonder- 
 ing why she cared for him. Jennie told herself that he 
 was extremely like Guy Mannering : the day before 
 he sailed she thought she would break her heart if she 
 did not marry him. 
 
 He spent that day in shopping and packing ; they 
 had fifteen minutes together, and they discussed boot- 
 makers ; he did not propose, she did not break her 
 heart ; but she cried a little, and conceived a strong 
 repugnance for his photograph. Pretending that it 
 did his expression no justice, she locked it away. It 
 was now at the bottom of her box — under the pile of 
 old school-books in her room at Miss Leddle's. He 
 had written once or twice, but the letter dis- 
 appointed her ; the last one was the best. It came 
 too late, for she read it in Federan's presence on the 
 Sunday before the ball.
 
 THE VINEYARD 127 
 
 Harlowe, by this time, had reached the avenue of 
 tall elms whose linked branches, meeting overhead, 
 were pierced by shafts of moonlight, and formed a 
 covered aisle nearly half a mile long. 
 
 "Howl am enjoying myself ! " he thought; and 
 all sorts of great, indefinable desires passed through 
 his soul. He felt as though he had but to open his 
 arms, spread his wings and fly toward the sky, for 
 delights which did not belong to the earth at all, but 
 to a different, purified, everlasting, rapturous life 
 elsewhere. If the world and the flesh have their 
 voices for men, so, too, the stars and the sea, great 
 mountains and towering trees, have their haunting 
 call. 
 
 Presently the flaming gas-lamps of the Franton 
 High Street twinkled in the distance. Harlowe 
 passed a small chapel belonging to the Bible Christians, 
 a brewery, a group of small cottages and a tap. 
 Here he paused to ask the barman the way to Miss 
 Leddle's house. The barman, with the suspicion, 
 caution and inquisitiveness of all provincials, did not 
 answer the question at once, but declared that the 
 Miss Leddles would be in bed and asleep at that 
 hour. Harlowe ordered a glass of beer. 
 
 "They may be sitting up for Miss Sussex," 
 observed the man, after a long meditation. "She's 
 gone to the ball." 
 
 At this unexpected reference to Jennie, poor 
 Harlowe's pulse began to beat in treble time.
 
 128 THE VINEYARD 
 
 *' To-morrow will do," he said, careless. " Can I 
 get a bed here ? " 
 
 Provincial langour now began to creep through the 
 barman's limbs. He scratched his head, gnawed his 
 fingers, arranged some glasses on the shelf by his side 
 and roused a sleeping cat. 
 
 "Yes," he admitted, with evident reluctance; 
 "there's a bed." 
 
 He led the way up a creaking staircase to an insup- 
 portably musty room, so full of pictures, beaded pin- 
 cushions, articles covered with shell-work, mugs with 
 painted views and frilled curtains, that it seemed to 
 have no other furniture. However, there was a bed, 
 a wash-hand stand, a dressing-table, and a small 
 window which was apparently always closed. The 
 atmosphere had the stale odour of old carpets, old 
 apples and old onions. 
 
 "In passing this inn," said the barman, in a new, 
 impressive voice, " Her Royal Highness the Princess 
 of Wales's horse cast a shoe. During the delay 
 occasioned by that accident, Her Royal Highness 
 partook of refreshment in this apartment. The tablet 
 above your head to the right describes the date, 1867, 
 and the occurrence : below, in a frame, is the letter 
 sent by Her Royal Highness's Equerry. We never 
 let this room under" — he waited, studied the 
 traveller, and resumed — "under seven shillings per 
 day." 
 
 Harlowe secured the lodging, opened the window.
 
 THE VINEYARD 129 
 
 and sat watching till past midnight, for the carriages 
 returning from the ball. He wondered whether 
 Jennie had really attended it ; she did not care for 
 dancing. Several vehicles rattled by : the curate's 
 wife's hired landau came first ; then the brougham and 
 pair of Dr Rench ; the dog-cart of the poor man's 
 physician, Dr Mayler ; the Colonel's omnibus for a 
 party ; Mrs Tredegar's barouche lent to Mrs 
 Gillespie : Jennie might have been in any one of these 
 conveyances. At last he went to bed, where, on a 
 mattress of evil-smelling feathers, he tossed and 
 turned, disappointed for some reason, sleepless and 
 irritable. The parish church clock had chimed one 
 when Federan drove his gig at full speed into the 
 town. John leapt out of bed in time to see it pass. 
 Clouds were now floating, like immense black butter- 
 flies, moths, lizards and archaic birds, across the sky ; it 
 was impossible to discern the features of Federan or 
 his companion. But Harlowe recognised them with 
 a pinch of envy as the lovers, and when he fell asleep 
 much later he dreamt that he was pursuing the pair 
 over a deep clear sea full of elm-trees. And a bird, 
 under the sea, sang a song about the Princess of 
 Wales's horse till the barman said, " The Miss 
 Leddles are in bed at this time, unless they are sit- 
 ting up for Miss Sussex." " Miss Sussex ! " screamed 
 the bird, turning into a goose: "she doesn't dance, 
 she doesn't dance ; didn't you know that ? You're 
 a fool, a fool, a fool ! "
 
 130 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Harlowe woke at six in the morning with these 
 words in his ears, and the feather bed risen on each 
 side of him as though he were lying between two 
 towerino- bolsters. Where was his blissful mood of 
 
 o 
 
 the night before ? Nothing had happened to change 
 him, and yet — 
 
 " Well," he said to himself, " one can't expect to 
 keep up at that pitch. No one ever goes twice on 
 the same stream — different waters are constantly 
 flowing down." 
 
 Jennie was sitting in the porch half asleep that 
 noon when she heard Harlowe's voice calling her 
 name. She followed the direction of the sound, and 
 saw him standing looking over the hedge straight at 
 her. She was not surprised, but, obeying a disquiet- 
 ing impulse, she assumed an air of great astonishment, 
 of which she was immediately ashamed, although she 
 made no attempt to modify it. 
 
 " Oh . . . Johnnie ! You . . . John ! I had 
 your letter yesterday. It has been a long, long time 
 coming. It must have been delayed in the post. 
 How are you ? How brown you are — and thinner ! 
 But you are the same John — ^just the same." 
 
 As she spoke she went down the path to meet 
 him, and she laughed hysterically at the end of each 
 short phrase. He blushed, forgot the things he had 
 intended to say, and held his hands out toward her 
 over the gate. She laughed again.
 
 THE VINEYARD 131 
 
 "How like you! Why don't you lift up the 
 latch and come in ? " 
 
 She remembered the day he went away, his stupid 
 conversation and her bitter tears ; her laugh grew a 
 little cruel and more gay. 
 
 "So these are your lodgings ?" exclaimed Harlowe. 
 "I couldn't help being pleased when your mother 
 wrote me that you were at a village twelve miles 
 from a railway station. It sounded lonely; but I've 
 been lonely too, although I can't believe now that I 
 have been away. When you are there I can forget 
 everything disagreeable." 
 
 His fond glance, which confessed far more than he 
 supposed, fell like a burning shadow on her face, and 
 she turned away impatiently, asking herself why he 
 was so much more ardent so much too late. But she 
 was easier to love than she had been before her own 
 passion for Federan. Her eyes, her features, her 
 whole person, her very movements and gestures had 
 lost the illusiveness of immaturity ; she seemed a 
 woman now, seductive, emotional, very young, al- 
 together human. Harlowe thought that he himself 
 had changed, or that he had forgotten her extreme 
 fascination. 
 
 " I am going to scold you," said Jennie. " Why 
 didn't you write oftener ? I couldn't understand it, 
 and I don't think I shall ever understand it." 
 
 " It was the climate. I didn't want you to know 
 that I was ill. That is all over, past and done with.
 
 132 THE VINEYARD 
 
 But I could never have done a thing without you. 
 You were my last thought at night and my first in 
 the morning. You have been such a help and a 
 hope." 
 
 " Don't talk about hope — I never do." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I don't know exactly ; but ... if you had only 
 written, John ! Somehow I thought you had for- 
 gotten me. Life seemed so dreary." 
 
 He was pleased at th's display of feeling, and once 
 more betrayed, in an artless glance, his entire devo- 
 tion to her. 
 
 *' I never dared to hope that you cared so much as 
 all that. It was only to spare you any anxiety. If I 
 didn't write, it wasn't because I didn't send you 
 messages by every cloud, and every wave, and every 
 leaf ! Didn't you feel my constant thoughts in the 
 air around you ? " He blushed at his own senti- 
 mentality. " I didn't know," he added naively, 
 " that I could say anything so nice as that ! " 
 
 " Neither did I ! " said Jennie, smiling. 
 
 " And how pretty you are ! " he went on, gaining 
 courage : " you were always a pretty girl, but the 
 country air has given you rosy cheeks." 
 
 She winced at the expression, because she wished 
 to be pale. 
 
 " May I stay here a little while ? " he asked. 
 
 "We can walk in the meadows." 
 
 She told him about her experience at the school,
 
 THE VINEYARD 133 
 
 and her new plans with regard to Rachel Tredegar. 
 " The Tredegars," she explained, "are clients of Mr 
 Federan." 
 
 « Who is he ? " 
 
 " Miss Leddle's nephew." 
 
 The conversation dropped. Harlowe could think 
 of nothing to say, although he had always supposed 
 that they would talk for hours when they first met 
 after their long separation. His heart grew heavy, 
 and a dreadful sadness came over his spirits. He 
 could not formulate his misery, but he felt that he had 
 lost his place in her life. He wished he had never 
 come back ; he had been happier by himself, feeding 
 on empty hopes, looking forward to the realisation of 
 vain day-dreams. 
 
 " I was happy out there," he said suddenly. " I 
 didn't know it at the time, but I was." 
 
 "Perhaps you'll go back," she suggested, not 
 meaning to wound him. 
 
 ** I may," he said ; " I have seen you and that is 
 all I wanted. You know I don't go in for 
 compliments — it seems odd always when I make 
 one." 
 
 "You're bolder in that respect than you used to 
 be." 
 
 " They are nothing new so far as my thoughts go, 
 but one gets into the habit of supposing that it's 
 rather an ass who says pretty things to women. The 
 fact is, I reel somehow that there is a sort of cloud
 
 134 THE VINEYARD 
 
 between us — it is a sort of veil, not much 
 perhaps — " 
 
 " Yes, John ; I know ! " 
 
 She stood still ; she laughed no more ; she was 
 serious, tearful, almost beseeching. Harlowe was 
 now agitated, and the hardest elements in his nature 
 — the elements she knew nothing of — were roused. 
 
 " That cloud used not to be. We were more than 
 friends — we were great friends. " 
 
 "Yes," said Jennie, "if men and women ever are 
 real friends. But are they ? " 
 
 " You have hit the difficulty exactly ! There is a 
 danger of my becoming insincere. There is in- 
 sincerity even in silence. 1 want to ask you straight 
 out — did you want me to come back when I was 
 away ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes. I wanted you to come back. I 
 thought I should be so glad to see you. ... I was 
 glad, I am glad — " 
 
 " But not in the way I mean ? Why mince 
 matters ? You know what I feel toward you, and 
 perhaps you know what I have been hoping all these 
 months. It could not have been much of a secret. 
 Don't mind about hurting my feelings ; let us only 
 be truthful. I have got a suspicion that someone 
 has come between us." He grew livid as he spoke, 
 and a strange thought seemed to wake in his eyes, 
 which pierced her with entreaties and a bitter 
 discernment.
 
 THE VINEYARD 135 
 
 "It began by your not writing," said Jennie; 
 "and it is true — there is somebody else. I didn't 
 think it would ever happen, but it has happened. I 
 was not bound to you in any way." 
 
 He laughed this time. 
 
 " You were free — perfectly free. Never reproach 
 yourself." 
 
 "All the same, I've tried not to like him — I 
 avoided him," she continued. "The thing seemed 
 impossible. Now, I cannot keep it from you — we 
 are engaged. He knows how poor I am — he loves 
 me just for myself. But I am not at all happy — not 
 so happy as you think." 
 
 " Who is ? " said Harlowe ; " who is ? " 
 
 " I have a knife in my heart all the time," she 
 went on. " I shall always need you." 
 
 "Don't ask me to look on! I'm not a faithful 
 Dobbin who sits about for years and praises the other 
 fellow. I can't do that — I hate the man. I should 
 hate him just the same if he were an angel from 
 heaven. He has got you — he has cut me out. 
 Think what you please of me, Jennie — that is me, 
 at any rate. I cannot love my enemies." 
 
 " He isn't your enemy." 
 
 " He has cut me out, hasn't he ? What worse 
 could he do me ? I can keep an open mind about 
 him, and if you care about him it ought to be 
 enough." 
 
 " That sounds poor fun,"
 
 136 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " Most things are poor fun — ^judged as fun. Are 
 you quite sure you know your man r " 
 
 "Indeed, I do know him," she said proudly j yet 
 she sighed. 
 
 " I am not talking of him ; I mean myself," replied 
 Harlowe. "I don't understand this nonsense about 
 being happy because you are. I couldn't hang 
 around watching you live your life with some other 
 man. It is not in me, and I cannot do it. If you 
 marry him, I'll go away — clear out root and branch, and 
 although I shall want to see you again every day and 
 hour all my life, I sha'n't see you. It will be because 
 I can't. I would sooner cut my throat. Now do 
 you understand ? " 
 
 If he had shown all this spirit a year sooner, 
 she thought, the whole story might have been 
 different. 
 
 " Be patient," she pleaded ; " don't let us part in 
 anger. You haven't heard everything." 
 
 She was wondering why he had not asked, at least, 
 his rival's name. But Harlowe's anger had passed 
 beyond his control, and, without another word, he 
 left her because he feared his own tongue. She 
 watched him staggering and stumbling like a blind 
 man across the meadows to the road. 
 
 " I'm sorry," she said ; " I'm sorry." 
 
 He could not hear her : he could hear only the 
 bird in his wild dream — " You're a fool ! a fool ! " 
 He stared about him for some refuge — some place
 
 THE VINEYARD 137 
 
 where he could hide his chagrin and yield to his 
 anguish. 
 
 "I want to wake up," he said to himself. "I 
 must wake up. None of this is true." 
 
 But he knew he was lying. He was already 
 awake, and it was all true.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 "The carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he 
 that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the 
 anvil, saying, ' // is ready for the sodering.' " 
 
 Isaiah xli. 7. 
 
 The original structure of Franton Manor had been a 
 farm, but in 1875 it was purchased by a wealthy 
 spinster, who, having succumbed to the agreeable 
 courtesies of an impecunious local architect, provided 
 him with work by having the building, which was 
 purely Jacobean, pulled down and a sham Palladian 
 mansion erected in its stead. The architect married 
 the young cousin of his benefactress — a step which 
 showed his entire misconstructionof that lady's views, 
 and when she died of syncope, thirty years later, it 
 was found that all her property had been bequeathed, 
 without condition, to her god-daughter, Rachel 
 Tredegar. At first the girl had been pleased by this 
 romantic stroke of fortune : as an heiress her 
 situation seemed exalted above mean ideas. She had 
 a languid body but an exuberant imagination, which, 
 instead of expressing itself through the medium of 
 some art, wove visions of such overpowering force 
 that they were more enervating, and certainly more 
 insidious, than the realities of life. Before she had 
 
 138
 
 THE VINEYARD 139 
 
 reached her twenty-sixth year, she had passed through 
 so many histories, suffered so many emotional crises 
 of the fancy, she had thought so much, felt so much, 
 thrilled so much, and lived so long in the world of 
 her own creation, that she was like a feeble flame in a 
 closed cupboard. The faintest breath of fresh air 
 from the open will put it out. Women twice her 
 age, who had met life face to face from day to day, 
 were not so satiated, bitter, fatigued and irritable as 
 this girl who had never known an hour of real pain, 
 of actual grief, or genuine pleasure. Having alienated, 
 by her egoism, the few friends who were connected 
 with her family, she lived alone with her mother at 
 Franton Manor, where she indulged to the full her 
 passion for solitude and her curious extravagance in 
 dress. It was her favourite amusement to pretend 
 that she was two persons — the chivalrous lover and 
 the capricious mistress — and she would maintain long 
 silent dialogues and adventures for weeks at a stretch 
 between herself and some hero from a novel by Paul 
 Bourget, or Flaubert, or the younger Dumas, or de 
 Maupassant. In other moods she would become the 
 exquisite amorous pair from one of Henry Harlan d's 
 romances, or Rosalind and Orlando, or Manon 
 Lescaut and des Grieux, or Charlotte and young 
 Werner. Mrs Tredegar had no clue to these 
 vagaries of a mind which was exotic rather than 
 unbalanced, and it was thought in the neighbourhood 
 that she feared for Rachel's sanity. She refused to
 
 I40 THE VINEYARD 
 
 see visitors, returned no calls, and dwelt, accessible 
 only to the doctors and the lawyers, in proud despair, 
 watching her daughter's apparent somnambulism, and 
 estimating, by guesswork, the dressmaker's bills which 
 she was never permitted to see. One day the un- 
 happy lady lost her self-command, and, bursting into 
 distressing cries, flung herself, terrified, into the 
 arms of Dr Rench. 
 
 " My daughter is mad 1 " she said. " One of these 
 nights she will kill herself and me. I am really 
 frightened. She mutters to herself; she eats alone ; 
 she wanders about at all hours in the grounds ; if she 
 sees anyone — even a gardener — she hides. They 
 have orders to keep out of her sight. She won't go 
 to bed till three in the morning ; she never gets up 
 till the afternoon. Sometimes she lives on biscuits 
 and wine — nothing else ; then it will be fruit only ; 
 then milk only ; then meat — quantities of meat. She 
 leads a living death. You cannot keep the truth from 
 me — she is mad." 
 
 " She is hysterical," said Dr Rench. " You must 
 make her see people." 
 
 After that Mrs Tredegar found a certain relief in 
 saying to Rachel whenever a scene came — the odious, 
 inevitable scene, with harsh recriminations, with sense- 
 less reproaches, and finally tears — " You are mad ! " 
 
 Long seasons would pass during which the mother 
 and daughter lived wholly separate, never speaking 
 or meeting. At brighter times, when Rachel aban-
 
 THE VINEYARD 141 
 
 cloned fiction and poetry for religious works or 
 biographies of the holy, they would take drives to- 
 gether and play cards together in the evening. But 
 intercourse of the kind was exceptional, and by 
 degrees it became a strain to each of them. In a 
 comedy everyone must have some intention at least 
 of acting : Rachel was the one comedian in these 
 farces at Franton Manor ; to her mother every word 
 was always serious, always momentous, and it soon 
 became tiresome to play the parts of Buddha or 
 Ignatius Loyola to a woman who thought the former 
 was a wooden idol in the East, and the latter one 
 of the old masters. 
 
 Jennie had been in this strange household for a 
 week when Mrs Gillespie met Miss Leddle at the 
 grocer's in the High Street. 
 
 " I hear," said the vicar's wife, " that Miss Sussex 
 has had a wonderful influence on poor Rachel. 
 They tell me she gets up for breakfast, walks about 
 the garden, dresses for dinner, is kind to her mother, 
 and altogether changed ! " 
 
 " And she has been able to see Gerald," said Miss 
 Leddle, not to be outdone in news : " he has been to 
 Franton three times this week. He tells me she 
 shows quite a head, and takes the greatest interest in 
 business affairs." 
 
 " How wrong it is then to give way to feelings of 
 despair !" exclaimed Mrs Gillespie. " The afflicted 
 girl may yet recover."
 
 142 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " I believe she has never had anything the matter. 
 My nephew^ says she is the cleverest woman he ever 
 met," said Miss Leddle. 
 
 This information produced such an efiFect upon Mrs 
 Gillespie that, when she seated herself in her basket- 
 phaeton, she turned the pony's head toward Franton 
 Manor. She had no hope of being received by Mrs 
 Tredegar, but it always soothed her curiosity to drive 
 up to the entrance, survey the outside of the house, 
 and study the butler's face when he came in reply to 
 her summons. Drover, the butler, was famous for 
 his prudence, but from long habits of unnatural and 
 stifling reticence, he had so trained his features that 
 they conveyed, when he chose, his inmost feelings. 
 Mrs Gillespie, who gave his wife her old clothes, had 
 become an adept in translating Drover's twitches, 
 blinkings and lip-play into language of the nicest 
 precision. The old man on this occasion came to the 
 front door with his brows arched in astonishment, 
 and a smile which showed all his discoloured teeth ; 
 he informed Mrs Gillespie that all the ladies were at 
 home. He waved her groom toward the stable, and 
 led the visitor across the hall into the library — a 
 handsome room which Mrs Tredegar used as her 
 boudoir. The ladies kissed each other, and while 
 Mrs Gillespie was wondering how she could account 
 for her visit, Mrs Tredegar made a signal to Drover 
 to bring up some tea. 
 
 " To tell the truth I came in on the spur of the
 
 THE VINEYARD 143 
 
 moment. I heard indirectly that Rachel was much 
 better. I hope you both like Miss Sussex ? " 
 
 "So far," said Mrs Tredegar, in a grudging 
 manner, " the experiment has been a success. You 
 know the vulgar proverb about new brooms ! But 
 I always feel that in everything that relates to 
 Rachel's happiness — she's the most capricious of all 
 mortals — " 
 
 She did not finish the sentence, for Rachel herself, 
 in a yellow velvet tea-gown, glided into their 
 presence. Her face was more heavily rouged than 
 usual, and her hair was arranged in Recamier curls 
 on her forehead. As she caught sight of Mrs 
 Gillespie she started with admirably-assumed sur- 
 prise, threw back the curls from her face as actresses 
 do when they wish to suggest illness or fatigue, and 
 sank back, with a wan smile, on to her couch, which 
 was covered with a magnificent Indian shawl. 
 
 " How nice it is to see you ! " she murmured 
 graciously ; and choosing a rose from a vase by her 
 side, she inhaled its perfume as she closed her eyes. 
 
 "Are you quite sure that you are well enough to 
 see Mr Federan to-day ? " said her mother. 
 
 " Of course I shall see him. I am determined to 
 take a proper interest in my own affairs." 
 
 " You are quite right, dearest ; but all the same, 
 is your head equal to it ? I think he tires you." 
 
 "My head is much better than people sup- 
 pose," said the girl. "It must indeed be strong
 
 144 THE VINEYARD 
 
 to bear this impossible domestic fracas which only 
 takes place when anything worth doing is even 
 contemplated ! One is supposed to have energy 
 and to spare for the coachman's accounts and mis- 
 doings, for discussion about the cook's character, 
 and the choice of wall-paper for the pantry ; but 
 plans for the future, or questions which affect my 
 entire life, are thought beyond me. I have a good 
 mind to get rid of this place and travel. I am getting 
 very sick of it. The East calls me — I want to go 
 to Benares. The Hindoos have a religion : I want 
 to see someone with a religion he believes." She 
 opened her languid eyes. "Forgive me, dear Mrs 
 Gillespie. What would the vicar think ? I am 
 always saying the wrong thing.*' 
 
 *' Let me see Mr Federan first, and hear what he 
 has to propose," said her mother, impatiently. 
 
 " No. I am not a child. You try to make me 
 out an imbecile. I don't appeal to you, Mrs. 
 Gillespie," she added, " because it would be unfair to 
 drag you into the discussion." 
 
 She threw a cold glance at her mother's flushing 
 face, and sank back once more on the many em- 
 broidered cushions which supported her back. The 
 visitor, whose emotions were divided between the 
 discomfort of feeling unwelcome and the interest of 
 hearing a quarrel, was about to take her leave when 
 Jennie entered the room. Mrs Gillespie had never 
 before realised the girl's beauty.
 
 ^ THE VINEYARD 145 
 
 " Good heavens ! " she thought : " how fortunate 
 there's no son or husband in the house ! " 
 
 Then she rose, kissed Jennie kindly, and took her 
 leave. In crossing the hall she observed a dark 
 young man standing with his hands crossed behind 
 him, looking with forced interest at some family 
 portraits. She asked Drover who this stranger was, 
 but the butler himself did not know. Giddy from 
 hearing and seeing so much that was inexplicable and 
 extraordinary, the vicar's wife drove home, nor did 
 she feel easy in her spirit till she had confided her 
 belief to the vicar that everyone at the Manor had 
 madness in some form. " Money never comes with- 
 out its curse," she added. 
 
 When Mrs Gillespie had gone, Jennie went up to 
 Mrs Tredegar. " I really came in to ask you if I 
 might show the garden to a very old friend, Mr 
 Harlowe, who has come over to see me especially." 
 
 '* This is the pleasantest room in the house," said 
 Rachel, before her mother could reply: "ask your 
 friend in here. I'm going upstairs." 
 
 "I will see Drover and tell him," sighed Mrs 
 Tredegar ; and she stepped out through the long 
 window which was open on to the lawn. 
 
 Rachel stood up ; her eyes darkened, her brow 
 showed heavy lines, and her face, which had a 
 picturesque quality, became peevish, undistinguished 
 and almost vulgar. 
 
 **My mother wears me out," she said. "I was 
 
 K
 
 146 THE VINEYARD 
 
 feelinff a shade better. I must rest again before Mr 
 Federan comes." 
 
 She left the room, and Jennie paced the floor 
 nervously till Drover announced Harlowe. His 
 countenance vv^ould have seemed hard and even 
 menacing but for the soft expression which rose to 
 his eyes the moment they met Jennie's. 
 
 "I am glad you have come," she said. "You 
 haven't enjoyed your holiday. You might have spent 
 it much better elsewhere." 
 
 " I have seen you, and that is all I wanted. Are 
 you happy here ?" 
 
 '*'rhey are both very kind to me." 
 
 " Why shouldn't they be kind ? " he asked angrily. 
 "They ought to worship you." He reddened. "I 
 haven't behaved well all this week. I have been sulk- 
 ing. I ought to have gone away, but I couldn't. 
 And I have decided to put myself out of court, and I 
 will just ask the questions that a relation would ask. 
 I suppose," he added bitterly, " you look upon me in 
 that light — as a sort of half-relation ? This engage- 
 ment — who is the man ? " 
 
 "Gerald Federan. But, dear John, the engagement 
 is a close secret. No one must know about it." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because old Mr Federan Is ill." 
 
 " Not a good reason," he said, with a gesture of 
 impatience. Jennie pretended to smile, but her voice 
 was unsteady as she answered : " It is the best reason
 
 THE VINEYARD 147 
 
 I can give." Then, after a short silence, during 
 which she looiced away, she leant forward, touched his 
 arm, and said, with entreaty : " Be kind about it. 
 You don't know how nervous I am ! The other day 
 I was stunned, stupefied by happiness ; I wondered 
 why I didn't think. But I have been thinking 
 since." 
 
 He did not reply : he did not move. 
 
 " Don't begrudge me that one happy day ! " she 
 said. 
 
 " Your happiness," he said harshly, " is as strange as 
 my misery. I was stunned, too. I wondered why 
 your news hurt so little ; but the first pang grew and 
 grew by degrees until it became a real agony — 
 suflFocating, unendurable. It caught my heart and 
 caught my throat — as though two iron hands gripped 
 me. I have never loved anyone except you. I may be 
 weak to let you know how much you are to me. But 
 neither one's strength nor one's work nor one's despair 
 avail : the poorest creature in his love may be 
 luckier than the conqueror of the world ! Generosity 
 is not in my line, and you mustn't expect it. I will 
 do this man Federan bare justice. I wouldn't injure 
 him, but I am not going to make it easy for him. And 
 I'm not going to pretend to like him." 
 
 " Have you met him ? " 
 
 "Yes ; I picked him out in a crowd." 
 
 "That wouldn't be difficult," she said proudly: 
 " he's very handsome."
 
 148 THE VINEYARD 
 
 "Beyond question." 
 
 " But what is the use of this bitterness ?" she ex- 
 claimed. " What have I done to you, after all ? 
 Surely I may love whom I please ? " 
 
 " Haven't I said so ? " 
 
 " Then why dwell on the painful things which 
 neither of us can help ? It's unfair." 
 
 " Give me a little time. One can get used to any- 
 thing. But I'm unsettled ; I have been living in a 
 fool's paradise, and the awakening is never pleasant. 
 My love for you kept me isolated, I suppose, from the 
 rest of the world. I had one of my own, I thought." 
 
 "Then can't you understand w^, John ? I'm the 
 same ; everybody in love is the same." 
 
 " You make me laugh ! " he exclaimed ; " you are 
 like all romantic women — you have no sense of 
 humour. Let us both be nice to each other — because 
 you love Federan as well as I love you ! But I'll say 
 no more on the subject. I'm not such a brute as I 
 sound. I will ask a few questions I ought to ask 
 because I have been an old friend. Did you tell me 
 that Federan was Miss Tredegar's lawyer ? " 
 
 "Yes. But she finds the estate too dull; they 
 want to get rid of it. Mr Federan is trying to 
 arrange the sale. He may buy it himself." 
 
 " I can understand their wanting to get rid of it, 
 but why should Federan wish to buy it — a bad invest- 
 ment ? It won't pay him 2 per cent. — even if he lets 
 the place."
 
 THE VINEYARD 149 
 
 " He is very clever. He wouldn't make a mistake. 
 He must have some idea." 
 
 "Do you know what that idea is ?" 
 
 « No ; I will ask him." 
 
 " Yes ... I should ask him — if I were in your 
 place." 
 
 These rapid words were hurled to and fro as 
 though they were jugglers' knives; they were not 
 meant to wound, but the risk seemed great, never- 
 theless. 
 
 " You talk in a doubting way," said Jennie, hotly. 
 " I don't like that tone." 
 
 "I can't help feeling interested on your account. 
 Why should Federan make a foolish investment ? 
 Besides, is he a capitalist?" 
 
 " The money belongs to a syndicate." 
 
 " The more need for caution. He mustn't spend 
 the syndicate's money in a reckless way. I know 
 the grab, bluster and bluff of modern business. It 
 means getting as much as you can for as little as you 
 can give. I prefer to earn a straight fee for straight 
 work. That is the only way for a white man to 
 live." 
 
 " You have hurt me all the same. I know you 
 are a true friend, but I can't allow you to doubt 
 Gerald — that would be disloyalty to him." 
 
 "Well," said Harlowe, standing up, "your un- 
 reasonableness takes me more than all your good 
 sense ! What do you know about business i "
 
 150 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " Nothing. All I know is that women are sacri- 
 ficed for it daily. None of us are beautiful enough to 
 hold our own against it. I begin to fear that to love 
 a woman is a career in itself." (Here she quoted 
 Helmyng). " Lovers in poetry and novels are usually 
 idle ; one is seldom told a word about their working 
 hours ; they are nearly always rich enough to go 
 round the world, either to follow some woman or to 
 forget her. In actual life ths average man can forget 
 her as a matter of course by merely attending to the 
 demands of his profession." 
 
 "My girl," said Harlowe, "if you were quite 
 satisfied you wouldn't talk that way." 
 
 She coloured and smiled for the first time during 
 their conversation. 
 
 " Gerald," she said, " detests business." 
 
 The subtlety of this remark puzzled him for a few 
 seconds, but he understood her at last. 
 
 " You mean, you are his career." 
 
 "That's what I meant." 
 
 Harlowe, struck by her beauty and her arrogance — 
 the excusable arrogance of youth and love — sighed. 
 
 " He's no exception. You are the exception ; you 
 are a beautiful woman, and he has taught you your 
 power. It is, and it will remain, a great power — 
 until he owns vou." 
 
 He winced at the thought, and his jealousy stung 
 him just as a sudden acute stab of pain will penetrate 
 and intensify a steady ache.
 
 THE VINEYARD 151 
 
 "I must go," he said : "my tongue will run away 
 with me. May I come down again ? " 
 
 " Not to quarrel ? " 
 
 " No, honey, not to quarrel. . . -" 
 
 He was fond of the coon songs which were sung 
 in musical comedies at the Gaiety Theatre, and 
 "Honey" had always seemed to him a name for 
 Jennie. 
 
 "Good-bye, honey dear," he said, taking her hand 
 and looking earnestly into her face : " when I get 
 alone I blame myself for it all. As I told you, I've 
 been living in dreams, and I thought they were real, 
 because you were real. It didn't follow, you see." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, looked her up and 
 down, tightened his lips, and made all his features 
 rigid. 
 
 "You are good by accident," he continued: 
 "there's the unaccountably evil gipsy the whole time. 
 I've always seen it." 
 
 "Gipsy women are faithful.' 
 
 "Yes, to handsome men. Good-bye ! " 
 
 When Rachel returned, twenty minutes later, she 
 found Jennie sitting at the writing-table. Her plain 
 gown of blue voile, without trimming or a single 
 jewel, showed the lines of her graceful figure, which 
 still had the indecision of immaturity ; her arms and 
 hips were perhaps too slight, and her hair, dressed 
 high that day, showed a neck as white and delicate as 
 a child's.
 
 152 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " You look about fifteen ! " said Rachel : " you're 
 young, I know, but you seem innocent as well. 
 Have you ever been in love ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Rachel's eyes, which were full of a curious know- 
 ledge, grew brighter. 
 
 " Then how does one know when one really cares ? " 
 
 " There is no rule," said the other, laughing. 
 
 " What is it to be really in love ? " insisted Rachel. 
 " Perhaps I'm incapable of it. I have a horror, too, 
 of actualities : real flesh and blood can be so re- 
 pulsive." She shivered. " Still, I see sometimes 
 approximations to the ideal. So tell me — what is it 
 to be in love ? " 
 
 "To find someone who is . . . all you live for 
 • . . everything, everything you have in the world !" 
 said Jennie. 
 
 " Then was all you live for, and all that, the man 
 who called here and left just a little while ago ? " 
 
 " No," said Jennie, after some hesitation. 
 
 Rachel lost her languid manner, sat bolt upright, 
 and exclaimed, " What 1 Have you been engaged 
 all this time to someone ? I will know I You must 
 tell me ! " 
 
 "Do you think you ought to ask ?" 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Please don't — as a favour." 
 
 "I will — I will — I will !" said Rachel, vehemently. 
 " I am beginning to be amused by human beings.
 
 THE VINEYARD 153 
 
 I'll guess. Is it a man down here ? All the vicars 
 are married ; the curate with asthma is too ill, the 
 curate who is muscular is too plain, and the curate 
 with the tolerable figure is too poor — although it is 
 always the poorest and the plainest men who don't 
 seem afraid to propose." 
 
 "Why shouldn't it be some man in London?" 
 said Jennie. 
 
 Rachel had suddenly grown sombre : she looked at 
 Jennie with almost malignant envy, mixed with a 
 certain remorse for her own lost purity of soul. 
 Where had she not dragged it ? No wonder she felt 
 old, haggard and weary. 
 
 " It cannot be," she murmured, " and yet it's likely ; 
 it is — it is ... I see by your face it is ... it is 
 Gerald Federan. You cannot deny it. It is — is it ? " 
 
 In her agitation she turned over the silver vase of 
 roses ; but Jennie, who had moved to the window, 
 did not notice this. She had determined not to 
 betray her engagement, for she had promised Federan, 
 against her will, to say nothing. 
 
 "If I answer one question it would mean answer- 
 ing all," she replied, "and you don't know yet how 
 firm I can be when it is necessary." 
 
 Rachel bit her lip. 
 
 " My dear," she said lightly, "you have no sense of 
 humour." 
 
 '' Mr Harlowe told me the same thing half an hour 
 ago."
 
 154 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " Perhaps you don't need it. Humour is the 
 refuge of the disappointed wise : the disappointed 
 unwise take to religion. For the present you won't 
 miss either — you're a very lovely person. Of course, 
 you couldn't consider Mr Federan. I was teasing you. 
 Didn't you know that ? You could make a brilliant 
 marriage. But when Mr Federan comes, I want 
 you to go out of the room. It is awkward for him 
 to talk business before a third person, and I am not 
 precisely a child ! I shouldn't mind your being here, 
 but mamma would be jealous." 
 
 " I would much prefer not to be present. It is 
 awkward for me too." 
 
 "If I should want you I will call you,orsend for you." 
 She watched Jennie leave the room ; then she 
 sprang with agility from her seat and went to the 
 mirror. Her face contracted with real nausea of dis- 
 satisfaction. She admired her own undeniable 
 elegance, because her ruling passion was self-love : 
 the rouge on her cheeks, her pale, scarcely visible 
 eyebrows, her full-curved painted mouth and tinted 
 hair, pleased her taste for the baroque ; but the con- 
 sciousness that all these effects were produced mainly 
 by artifice was humiliating. 
 
 « And the fatio-ue of it all ! " she muttered : ** why 
 can't I look this way without so much trouble ? I 
 am tired out before I can see anybody !" 
 
 Then she flung herself on the sofa and tried to 
 sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 "Si tu gardes ta foi, qu'importe qu'elle mente ! 
 La beaut6 de I'amant n'est qu'au coeur de Tamante, 
 Et I'univers entier n'est qu'une vision." 
 
 Anatole France. 
 
 Federan, after the night of the ball, passed through 
 every degree of exultation and despair. But he threw 
 himself feverishly into Coolidge's schemes, because 
 they offered the one solution to his pressing need of 
 money. Hovvr could he marry without money ? 
 And if he married, he wished to marry at once, while 
 his love was sweet and fierce. It was horrible, how- 
 ever, to feel obliged to cheat one woman in order to 
 gain another. His interviews with Rachel Tredegar 
 were painful ; her attitudes, her soft voice, her 
 glances, the subtle corruption of her whole person- 
 ality, fascinated while they disturbed him ; they 
 seemed to his provincial mind the manners of a grande 
 dame^ and altliough he was fully conscious that they 
 did not please the best in his nature, he began to wish 
 that Jennie had a note of the same kind, and he said 
 to himself, " These things keep a man ; one's best is 
 the least part of one — that is only human.'* 
 
 155
 
 156 THE VINEYARD 
 
 On his side, he appealed to Rachel's real, if vitiated, 
 sense of beauty. She felt that she could gaze at him 
 for hours, just as she might gaze at some noble 
 statue. Here she deceived herself; it was not her 
 habit to gaze for hours at the inanimate under anv 
 form. 
 
 This, then, was his mood and hers when the time 
 came for their fourth interview. He was ashamed of 
 his schemes ; she wished to find excuses for meeting 
 him frequently. She was annoyed to see him accom- 
 panied by Coolidge when he was ushered into the 
 library at the appointed hour. 
 
 "This is Mr Coolidge, whom I mentioned in my 
 last letter. He will speak for his client," said 
 Gerald. 
 
 She bowed coldly, and said, " Mr Federan has 
 told you that I wish to sell this property. I know 
 that few people would care for it." 
 
 " Still," said Gerald, watching the rhythmic action 
 of her long white hands, as they caressed and 
 smoothed the folds of her velvet gown — " still, a 
 purchaser might be found. From one point of view, 
 you are bound to make a bad bargain." 
 
 "A certain sum of money that I want, and which 
 will amuse me, is better than a place which nobody 
 wants, and which bores me to death ! " she replied. 
 
 "Just so," said Coolidge, speaking for the first 
 time. "I am in a position now to speak on behalf of 
 a client who feels disposed to make an offer. He
 
 THE VINEYARD 157 
 
 knows it is most inadequate from one point of view, 
 but it relieves you from the burden. I feel some 
 reluctance in mentioning the figure." 
 
 " No ! no ! let me hear," said Rachel. 
 
 *'Well, roughly, the whole estate for — say ten 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 She turned, without altering her expression, toward 
 Federan : he could not tell whether she thought the 
 offer absurd, or worth discussion. 
 
 " What would you expect if you were in my 
 place ? " she asked. 
 
 " I could only advise you to consider it," he said 
 uneasily. 
 
 " I don*t wish to consider anything. I want to be 
 guided by you." 
 
 " If you want to travel, get rid of an expensive 
 house, all the men's wages and the up-keep of a 
 country seat, this is an opportunity. But, financially, 
 it*s a compromise." 
 
 He did not conceal his repugnance for the subject : 
 it was hateful — a degradation. 
 
 "Who is the client?" asked Rachel, saying in- 
 wardly, " Look at me. Look at me 1 " 
 
 Federan obeyed the unuttered command, and her 
 eyes, with their almost forbidden intelligence, dilated, 
 melted and languished as they encountered his, which 
 seemed to implore her pardon. 
 
 " My client is a London man, in the City," said 
 Coolidge, apparently blind to this curious by-play.
 
 158 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " I think I may as well accept his offer," said 
 Rachel. " In fact, I know I will." 
 
 "I don't like to hurry you. Take twenty-four 
 hours," said Gerald. 
 
 "I want it settled at once," she said firmly. "I 
 never need more time for dull things." 
 
 She was impatient for Coolidge's departure : his 
 drawl, his caution, his sly stare, affected her nerves. 
 
 " Mrs Tredegar might oppose the idea," said 
 Gerald. 
 
 "She opposes everything," replied Rachel, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " You ought to tell her the proposal. I should feel 
 more at ease," he insisted. 
 
 " Then to satisfy you — for no other reason — I'll 
 go now and tell her." 
 
 She rose from the sofa, and leaning gracefully on 
 each chair and table she passed, as though each step 
 was an effort, she reached the door, which Federan 
 opened. 
 
 "It won't be necessary for me to remain. Miss 
 Tredegar," said Coolidge. " Federan will communi- 
 cate your decision to me." 
 
 She agreed, inclined her head, and went out. 
 
 " This can't go on I " exclaimed Federan ; " I 
 swear it can't. She must be told the facts." 
 
 Coolidge with reproachful gravity asked, " What 
 are the facts ? " 
 
 " The coal idea," said Federan.
 
 THE VINEYARD 159 
 
 ** An idea is not a fact," said Coolidge, sadly. 
 " You forget that this is a speculation — indeed, a 
 gamble. Miss Tredegar has at least the guaranteed 
 ten thousand — we have the possibility of finding coal. 
 She must gain in any event, whereas we stand to lose. 
 But, since I have seen her, the best notion of all has 
 come into my head." 
 
 " What was that ? " 
 
 " I can't think why it never occurred to me be- 
 fore — it is self-evident. She's a pretty woman, and 
 she likes you. And how are your own feelings 
 getting on all this time ? Perhaps you haven't 
 asked yourself that question." 
 
 " You are talking pure madness," said Federan — 
 " pure madness." 
 
 "You are more interested than you imagine in 
 that strange, melancholy girl ; but God forbid that I 
 should urge you, or any man, to marry ! As a third 
 person looking on, I could not help noticing Miss 
 Tredegar's manner. You have a strong chance, and 
 if I were worldly I'd call you a fool to miss it. How- 
 ever, as I have to catch that London train, I must 
 
 go." 
 
 He wrung Federan's hand affectionately, gave him 
 a long, eloquent look, and went on, — 
 
 " Don't I loathe it all as much as you do ? What's 
 the use of depressing each other ? All business is 
 rotten ; the old noble way of robbing one's neigh- 
 bour-Baron, and stealing his land by brute force, was
 
 i6o THE VINEYARD 
 
 straightforward at anyrate. But if you abandon this 
 deal, you won't soon find another so clean — taken all 
 round. I'm right, believe me. Aristotle kept a 
 druggist's shop in Athens, and Plato sold oil at a 
 profit in Egypt ! If I owned a good oil, I, too, could 
 be an idealist." 
 
 With these words he turned on his heel, and, 
 sio-hing, left Federan to his own reflections. 
 
 The young man, cut off from the immediate 
 physical influences — always too strongly felt by him 
 
 of Rachel and Coolidge, was able to distinguish 
 
 between the forces at work in his soul. He cared 
 nothing about Rachel ; he still kept his blind fond- 
 ness for Coolidge ; he loved Jennie with all the love 
 he could give, and it seemed that, once married to 
 her, once the Franton mines disposed of, he could 
 lead an honourable life in a hunting county as a man 
 of moderate but independent means. He saw it all : 
 a little house, with just the beginnings of a stock- 
 farm, in Leicestershire ; he saw the stables — the fine 
 hunters, worth any money, and bought as he knew, 
 infallibly, how to buy them ; the old-fashioned garden 
 with herbaceous borders for Jennie j the nursery for 
 two pretty children — a dark boy, and a fair girl, with 
 blue eyes and waving hair to her waist ; the summer 
 evenings they would spend under trees drinking 
 coffee ; the merry winters, the sporting autumns, the 
 spring journeys to London and Paris just to keep in 
 touch with the outside world ! There was a life a
 
 THE VINEYARD i6i 
 
 man might live and enjoy — once sure of the right 
 woman and the fixed income. It could be done if 
 one understood horses, on two thousand a year 
 pleasantly, given love and great beauty in the house- 
 hold. Could one have everything ? Was not one 
 willing to practise a certain amount of self-denial for 
 the sake of a girl one adored ? What a charming 
 picture, and so possible ! For why, in God's name, 
 should it be impossible ? What a fool he would be to 
 sing,— 
 
 " Ah ! fuyez ! douce image ^ mon ame trop ch^re ! " 
 
 " So you admire Chaplin's work ? " said Rachel's 
 voice at his elbow ; " but that engraving does the 
 original no justice." 
 
 During his soliloquy he had strolled in front of 
 a reproduction of Charles Chaplin's morbid study 
 known as "Souvenirs," in the Luxembourg Museum. 
 The blonde woman, with dishevelled hair, half-open 
 mouth, flushed cheeks, and drowsy eyes, oflfended 
 Federan's inherited prejudices ; it seemed to him that 
 a man would have to be very young or rather gross to 
 have such a picture in his house. 
 
 "I suppose it is well painted," he said awk- 
 wardly. 
 
 "My father knew the artist," said Rachel, invent- 
 ing an adroit lie. "I see we are alike, Mr Federan ; 
 we both suffer from the curse of fastidiousness, and 
 cannot accept the conventional squalor. But you are 
 
 I.
 
 1 62 THE VINEYARD 
 
 a man : you can search, if you choose, for your ideal. 
 I am a woman, and I must either starve because I 
 cannot feed on husks, or eat the husks till I perish of 
 disgust. I prefer to starve — in any event. I cannot 
 escape ' the infinite v/hich is in us ' — or my horror of the 
 cruelty, the hideousness of life. In the Middle Ages, 
 souls like mine — the over-civilised in every genera- 
 tion — found refuge in nunneries. But what is left 
 for us in this century of doubt and luxury ? You see, 
 I like the luxuries ! " 
 
 She had brought a faint odour of verbena into the 
 atmosphere, and Federan once more had to admit 
 that she possessed peculiar magnetic attractions : she 
 wore an air of the amoureuse in French comedy, and 
 she moved like Madame Barter — that is to say, her 
 gowns always seemed transparent, although they were 
 not. 
 
 " I will talk freely to you," she continued, 
 "although we were utter strangers to each other a 
 week ago. But there are friendships of an hour and 
 antipathies of a day : don't you agree ? Mamma 
 refuses to advise me — hers is the unkindness of a 
 lifetime. She may be right. Can't I take my 
 risk of regrets as well as another ? I have quite 
 decided to sell the place ; it has grown hateful to 
 
 me." 
 
 Then, sitting next to him, with her eyes fixed 
 softly on his, she told him of her pitiful childhood 
 spent alone, always alone, without brothers or play-
 
 THE VINEYARD 163 
 
 mates or sisters. Her father, a man of aesthetic 
 tastes, had spent many months of each year in Italy 
 and France ; there, at hotels, she had learnt French 
 and Italian by talking to the chambermaids and valets. 
 What a life for a little girl ! She described her 
 melancholy, her gradual disenchantment, the painless, 
 mysterious sickness of soul and body which had 
 made them all fear, when she was seventeen, that she 
 would die. Was it a decline ? No, but a weariness, 
 a malaise^ an inexplicable discontent. And so she had 
 never known the delight of companionship ; she had 
 lost, through disuse, the gift of making friends — she 
 had none ; she was solitary, therefore, and " desiring 
 what she had not, the beautiful." She tried not to 
 see what others saw, since she could not feel as others 
 felt. 
 
 Federan, bewildered and flattered by these con- 
 fidences, stammered out, " Many girls are like 
 that." 
 
 " But," she said, " I have only been unhappy lately. 
 I had yielded to what I took for the irreparable. I 
 stood in the world as though I were a little stone 
 statue in some neglected corner of a garden." She 
 watched, she said, the flowers, the trees, the insects 
 buzzing and flitting, the birds, the butterflies, the 
 showers, the long twilights, the dawns, the sunsets. 
 She saw nothing too close — it was all dim, distant, 
 intangible : without knowing it she had been happy 
 in her sombre pleasures of watching and dreaming.
 
 1 64 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " I am afraid," said Federan, " all this business has 
 worried you." 
 
 She hesitated. " Perhaps it has called me to life. 
 You, at least, have always been welcome." 
 
 The oppressive stillness of the house, which was 
 disturbed only by the hoarse croaking of the frogs in 
 the stone pond, was suddenly broken ; and Jennie, at 
 the piano in the drawing-room, was heard singing 
 Sophie's song from Massenet's Werther : 
 
 Du gai soleil, plein de flamme, 
 
 Dans I'azur resplendissant, 
 
 La pure clartd descend 
 
 De nos fronts jusqu'^ notre ame, 
 
 Et I'oiseau qui monte aux cicux 
 
 Dans la brise qui soupire, 
 
 Est revenu pour nous dire 
 
 Que Dieu permet d'etre heureui ! 
 
 Neither Federan nor Rachel spoke till she had 
 finished. 
 
 " Yes ; God permits happiness," said Rachel : " if 
 we are blind enough to give our terrified joys — such 
 as they are — that name ! But with such a voice, 
 an ugly woman could charm one into any belief 
 — till she stopped. Of course you admire Miss 
 Sussex ? " 
 
 " Who would not admire her ? " he answered, 
 dismissing the question as lightly as he could. 
 
 But Rachel persisted: "I remember your saying 
 the other day, when we were walking by the tulips,
 
 THE VINEYARD 165 
 
 that you had never thought of marriage till quite 
 recently. Did you think of marrying Jennie ? " 
 
 She spoke feebly and slowly, with trembling lips, 
 which seemed to kiss and implore the empty air. 
 
 " It is true that I never thought seriously of 
 marriage till the other day," he replied ; ** but 
 thoughts may mean little, and I am seldom sure of 
 myself. One seems drawn, pushed, or dragged 
 through life by unseen forces. That is why I want 
 you to take time over the present question. May I 
 put the whole matter in writing for you ?" 
 
 " Yes : write. I can't tell you how grateful I 
 feel ! " she faltered ; " you are so good to me." 
 
 Then, stepping nearer to him, she glanced away to 
 the fountain which was playing over the noisy frogs 
 in the stone pond on the lawn. Something in her 
 drooping, averted head, her sigh, her embarrassment, 
 her touch, and the scent of verbena in her hair, 
 stirred his gallantry as much as his pity. She felt a 
 kiss pressed softly on her hand. 
 
 " Why did you do that ? " she asked, not at once, 
 but after a moment's hesitation. 
 
 " An irresistible impulse, I suppose. Are you 
 angry ? " 
 
 She showed an astonishment at the question which 
 she had not displayed for the caress. " It is the 
 custom abroad," she observed : '' how could I be 
 angry ? " Smiling she offered him her other hand, 
 inviting a repetition of the formality. This self-
 
 1 66 THE VINEYARD 
 
 possession piqued him, and he began to fear that he 
 had made too much of a trifle. He kissed her left and 
 caught her right again. 
 
 " Three times is not the custom," she said. But 
 they both laughed, and when he drove away he saw 
 her standing on the lawn by the fountain. The frogs, 
 who were used to her presence, kept up their croaking, 
 and as she remained there, immovable and frail, in her 
 diaphanous draperies, she seemed like some enchanted 
 captive in a legend, half a tree, half a woman, and 
 wholly dolorous. 
 
 "These people," he thought, " who have the mis- 
 fortune to be born above the common anxieties of 
 bread-winning, make the more importance of the 
 few things they are able to grieve over. It seems we 
 all must take our share of misery." 
 
 A reflection so philosophic could not but appease 
 the least contented mind : Federan smiled to himself 
 all the way home, and had droll ideas about the 
 polygamous tendencies of the natural man.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 '* But God said, 
 
 ' I will have a purer gift : 
 There is smoke in the flame.' " 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 The following day, which was Sunday, Miss Leddle 
 celebrated the anniversary of her birth. She had 
 prepared an early dinner of ox-tail soup, fried soles, 
 sweetbreads, roast lamb, ducklings, chicken and ham 
 pie, fruit tarts with cream, jellies, tipsy-cake, blanc- 
 manges, and a fine dessert : she exhibited port, 
 sherry, claret, cider and lemonade on the sideboard. 
 The wine in her cellar was excellent, because it had 
 all been selected by old Mr Leddle, and she did not 
 trust herself to buy a fresh supply. 
 
 "This," she would say, " will last my lifetime." 
 Several relatives and friends, with their young 
 children, had been invited to the feast, and there 
 were ten guests altogether, including Jennie and 
 Gerald Federan. Jennie had not been able to see 
 Federan alone since the night of the ball, and she had 
 counted the moments till Sunday dawned, for she 
 had resolved to persuade him to make their engage- 
 
 167
 
 1 68 THE VINEYARD 
 
 ment public. The ordeal of meeting her lover with 
 the secret betrothal in their souls and an outward 
 air of coldness was humiliating to her pride. Many 
 women enjoy the ironies of a false position — it 
 gives them a sense of cheating the world and fate j 
 but Jennie's recklessness was defiant, and her courage 
 loved the even, never the odd, chance. She wished 
 to face the consequences of her actions, and the 
 trick of slyly evading them, if possible, held no 
 fascination for a heart as wild as a gipsy's. There 
 were moments when Federan described this wildness, 
 to himself, as egoism : he liked mysteriousness, and 
 with all the influences of a small town in his blood, 
 he liked to stimulate, baffle, and amaze provincial 
 curiosity. On this point the faint note of antagonism 
 between the lovers had not yet sounded its warning. 
 
 Jennie, at Miss Leddle's table, was maliciously 
 placed between Mr Revere, the town clerk, and Mr 
 Harding, the organist. Revere was engrossed in 
 reckoning the amount of life still allotted to his 
 neighbours. If any name was mentioned, he would 
 screw up his eyes, put his head on one side, dilate 
 his nostrils, and say, " Ah, well, I'll give him another 
 ten years yet ! " or, " He'll live to see us buried ! " 
 or, "She's bound to go before her good husband !" 
 or " He won't live, mark my word, to scratch a grey 
 head!" He was an agent for a Life Assurance 
 Company, and his observations were received with 
 painful interest. His wife, a thin woman, who sat
 
 THE VINEYARD 169 
 
 opposite, was encouraging her two children to eat 
 more than Mr Harding*s little girls. She smiled 
 proudly at her hostess on the conclusion of each 
 course, saying, " I'm really ashamed of their 
 appetites." Mr Hamerton, a widower, and the 
 manager of Edgeham Puddifant's Brewery, rallied 
 the little darlings, and wagered that they would 
 not be able to manage three helpings of cherry 
 tart. 
 
 " What a pity it is," observed, in a loud whisper, 
 Miss Leddle's unmarried cousin, Adelaide Mason, 
 " that Mr Hamerton has no family ! He's such a 
 fatherly, kind man." 
 
 Harding and a certain Mr Tonge, who was a 
 retired, well-to-do merchant, became involved in a 
 heated discussion about the existence of God. The 
 organist had opened peacefully over the fried soles by 
 a reference to the miraculous draught of fishes, but by 
 the time they had reached hot ducklings Mr Tonge's 
 views about the moral government of the world 
 became sinister in the extreme. 
 
 " Would a just and merciful God," said he, " allow 
 the sufifering we see daily of poor dumb animals and 
 birds ? " 
 
 He consumed half a duck, and complimented Miss 
 Leddle on her excellent cook. 
 
 *' The food melts in one's mouth," he confessed. 
 
 Mr Tonge had also views on politics : " We are 
 all equal," he maintained, "I may be a Radical, if
 
 I70 THE VINEYARD 
 
 you like — a revolutionist even. We are all equal in 
 the sight oi men" 
 
 This was his best and locally famous saying. It 
 meant that Mr Tonge felt equal to the highest and 
 noblest anywhere — not, of course, that the lowest 
 and meanest were, by any chance, the equals of 
 Mr Tonge. 
 
 The ladies kept silent, feeling it, no doubt, a 
 privilege to hear such intellectual conversation. 
 
 " Mr Tonge 's brain is so active," said Miss 
 Mason, " that he has had erysipelas several times." 
 
 The Harding children, who caught the remark, 
 stared at him after that till he became quite uncom- 
 fortable, and he thanked the God he did not believe 
 in for his childless state. 
 
 Jennie scarcely spoke, and Federan, to the chagrin 
 of his aunts, remained moody and sarcastic. He 
 wore such a supercilious air that they were afraid he 
 would offend their charming friends. Miss Daisy 
 and her sister exchanged glances and looked at 
 Jennie. It was all her fault : Gerald had been the 
 nicest, dearest boy in the world until he had met Jennie. 
 
 After dinner, which lasted for nearly two hours, 
 the party, most of whom had glazed eyes and an 
 air of stupefaction, moved on to the lawn, where 
 coffee was served and the gentlemen were allowed 
 cigarettes. 
 
 "The smoke will keep away the gnats," said 
 Miss Leddle, graciously.
 
 THE VINEYARD 171 
 
 Photograph - albums and picture - books were 
 produced. Mrs Tonge's pet terrier, who accom- 
 panied her everywhere because she had no family, 
 sat panting, with bulging sides, in the shade. He, 
 too, had eaten too much, for a great treat, and 
 because he was such a good little dog. 
 
 "How that dog enjoys life!" exclaimed Mr 
 Revere, with something approaching envy ; " and 
 he must be getting on, too ! " 
 
 Mrs Revere's children were quarrelsome and 
 flushed : they cried, fought and suffered till the maid 
 was called to take them to the poultry-yard, where, 
 unobserved by tender-hearted Mr Tonge, they teased 
 the fowls, and began to feel happier. But the little 
 Hardings, who had not eaten enough, were 
 wondering when they would have tea. They 
 moped on chairs. 
 
 " What a sweet pair ! " murmured Miss Mason. 
 " I could watch them for ever ! " 
 
 Fedcran, unable to endure the restraint and 
 stupidity any longer, asked Jennie to come for a 
 walk. 
 
 " How can you stand this ? " he asked angrily j 
 " you look as though you enjoyed it ! " 
 
 " You were there 1 " she answered, taking his 
 arm. 
 
 " Do be careful ! Some one might sec us ! " said 
 the young man ; but a large low cherry tree, thick 
 with leaves, was already between them and the
 
 lyi THE VINEYARD 
 
 guests. This was not a joyous prelude. "You are 
 a darling," he went on, " but do remember that it is 
 most important " — he dropped his voice still lower — 
 " that our engagement should be kept secret." 
 
 " Still a secret ? But why ? — I want to understand 
 why." 
 
 *'You know what old people are — they want to 
 know first. I must tell my father first." 
 
 ** Haven't you told him yet ? " 
 
 " No. I must choose the right moment. My 
 love for you is the one good thing that ever happened 
 to me. You believe that, don't you? Well, then, 
 the instant the world knows about it my happiness 
 will be poisoned. As my aunt says, 'The cat will 
 be in the milk-jug!' She hits the truth off some- 
 times." 
 
 * 
 
 By this time they had reached the small kitchen- 
 garden, with fine fruit-trees growing on its walls, 
 numbers of gooseberry and currant bushes, and little 
 beds of forget-me-not, pansies, heliotrope, and 
 mignonette. It was very hot and sweet-smelling. 
 Jennie sat down on a wheelbarrow and Federan on 
 the wooden edge of the cucumber frame. This, he 
 reflected, was very different from the ramble with 
 Rachel Tredegar through the romantic deserted 
 paths of the Italian garden at Franton, where marble 
 goddesses on pedestals danced immovably to the 
 unheard piping of a bronze Apollo. How exquisite 
 was the silence there ! how refined the life I Cypress
 
 THE VINEYARD 173 
 
 trees had surrounded them ; magnolias filled the air 
 with their perfume ; the nightingales had sung ; the 
 tender breeze blew lilac blossoms to the ground. 
 
 "And from this undefiled Paradise 
 The flowers . . . 
 
 When heaven's blithe winds had unfolded them, 
 As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem, 
 Shone smiling to heaven, and every one 
 Showed joy in the light of the gentle sun." 
 
 Here the tortoise, kept by Miss Leddle to eat insects, 
 lumbered painfully over the gravel ; a broken water- 
 ing-can and a rusty hoe suggested the many demands 
 on the handy man's time ; the flies buzzed and bit, 
 and wasps were feeding odiously on the unprotected 
 wall-fruit. 
 
 "If you have any influence with Miss Tredegar," 
 said Federan, " keep her up to the idea of selling 
 Franton." 
 
 " Why are you anxious about its sale, Gerald ? " 
 
 " Because it is a big deal," he said deliberately. 
 " I may as well tell you. You can be trusted — you 
 are not like other women." He longed to unburden 
 his mind ; he thought he would feel less miserable if 
 Jennie were in the plot. " I have had a private tip. 
 There is coal on the estate." 
 
 " Does Rachel know that ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. It has nothing to do with her. 
 This is a speculation." 
 
 " But it is her land." 
 
 " It ceases to be her land after she sells it,"
 
 174 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " But that coal would affect the price." 
 
 " The coal is not an absolute certainty. That is 
 our risk. We buy the land on the chance of the 
 coal being there. Don't you see ? " 
 
 « Perfectly. Will you tell her ? " 
 
 " My dear child," he asked sarcastically, " is this a 
 prayer-meeting ? You don't grasp the situation. 
 Business is business." 
 
 The hum of the bees, the scent of the plants, the 
 heat of the sun, the fruit on the walls, and the distant 
 cries from the poultry-yard, all blended in her re- 
 membrance of Federan's phrase, "Business is busi- 
 ness." It seemed a long time before either he or she 
 spoke again. She leaned forward at last, and appealed 
 to his handsome face. "But you aren't like that, 
 Gerald ? " 
 
 " No, not by nature. I can't marry without 
 money — can I? And I can't have money unless I 
 make it. Don't get that strange look into those 
 beautiful eyes." 
 
 " We can be poor. I am used to poverty." 
 
 " You know nothing about it, in reality. Do you 
 suppose I'd drag you down to this infernal existence? 
 How little you know me ! " 
 
 " If we were together we could make our own 
 home as we pleased, forget what we pleased, live as 
 we pleased — " 
 
 " On what ? Three-pounds-ten a week ? Shall I 
 live on my father in his old age ?"
 
 THE VINEYARD 175 
 
 " Then we needn't marry just yet.** 
 
 " We can waste all our youth in waiting ! You 
 can get tired and sallow : I can get sour and bald ! " 
 He laughed bitterly. " Say we wait two years ? 
 Too long ! too long ! We sha'n*t be waiting for 
 dead men's shoes : we shall be waiting for the death 
 of our own passions." 
 
 " You think too much of riches and pleasure," said 
 the girL "I'll love you more when you are sour 
 and bald, because I'll know what made you so." 
 
 " Pleasure ! " repeated Federan : " is this pleasure ? 
 To broil out here in the sun — because I can see you 
 nowhere else in peace — and quarrel about squalid 
 .ifFairs — because I can't exist, it would seem, without 
 squalor, — and wonder how I can least disgracefully 
 earn enough money to keep a wife ? Pleasure ! I 
 saw a play in Paris once, about two people who loved 
 each other. They hadn't a penny — yet they dined 
 at restaurants ! They lived in an attic full of roses — 
 yet no one ever asked them for rent. The girl was 
 always pretty, the man was always gay. It was all 
 smiles and sunshine and enjoyment. How was it 
 done ? " 
 
 " That was only a play." 
 
 " You have said it ! Let us, therefore, consider 
 actual things." 
 
 Jennie sighed. " If Rachel sells Franton, who will 
 pay her ? " 
 
 "The Syndicate. They are Coolidge's backers.
 
 176 THE VINEYARD 
 
 He has got the backers ; they rely on him, and he 
 relies on me." 
 
 " It sounds like the house that Jack built ! " said 
 Jennie, in despair. 
 
 " Miss Tredegar can take shares in the company 
 after it is floated. But you must see that the risk is 
 ours. We take the land ; we cannot swear to the 
 coal. I wish every transaction were half as clean." 
 He tried to remember all that Coolidge had told him. 
 
 "Why not put the chance before Rachel ?" asked 
 Jennie. 
 
 "She might refuse to sell, or she would ask too 
 great a price for the land. As it is, she has no 
 anxiety." 
 
 " But where did Coolidge get his report ? '* 
 
 " From Paxton & Grainger's expert." 
 
 " Paxton & Grainger ? Why, that is John 
 Harlowe's firm. He has been to Spain and to 
 America and to West Africa for them. He can tell 
 you much better than Coolidge." 
 
 " I don't want him," said Federan, shortly. 
 
 "But you want to know the truth. You don't 
 want to make mistakes, or lose your friend's money ?" 
 
 " I want Harlowe to mind his own business." 
 
 "That is his business," she said, with her eyes full 
 of tears. " How can you speak so to me ? " 
 
 He was immediately repentant : took her ''n his 
 arms ; kissed her reproachful lips, the tears from her 
 eyes, and her white throat.
 
 THE VINEYARD 477 
 
 u 
 
 I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm not myself. It's 
 hard to love you so much and to feel under such 
 accursed restraint. If you follow your heart at every 
 turn you'll follow a bad guide. I'll never again 
 revive this dreadful talk. We'll forget it." 
 
 While he could feel her in his arms he did forget 
 everything that troubled him, and, as sweet music 
 lulls a sensitive listener, her body charmed away his 
 ill-humour and his gloomy forebodings. 
 
 " For such a wife," he said, " what would I not 
 do!" 
 
 The instinctive certainty that he really loved her 
 was still so strong that Jennie, too, forgot how 
 unhappy she had been a moment before. She was 
 conscious only of his handsome face and his strength 
 and his earnest voice and his thrilling kisses. When 
 she tried to speak, she could not. 
 
 " You're not angry with me, Jennie I " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " I suppose it wouldn't seem fair to the others," he 
 went on, " if we had so much love and a great fortune 
 as well ! Do you wish you had never seen me ? Ah, 
 let us be like this always — never any other way — but 
 always like this 1 " 
 
 As they returned to the group on the lawn, Miss 
 Mason was leading the alarmed Mr Hamerton toward 
 the pig-sty. He was fond of the black sow, and it 
 gave him innocent delight to poke her sides with his 
 walking-stick. But the presence of the simpering 
 
 M
 
 17^ THE VINEYARD 
 
 young woman disturbed, on this occasion, the inno- 
 cence of Mr Hamerton's bliss. 
 
 " That man is really a pearl among men ! " said 
 Mrs Tonge. 
 
 The Hardings and the Reveres were leaving ; 
 Federan had to assist his aunts in speeding the parting 
 guests. Jennie stole away alone to the kitchen- 
 garden, and lived again, in .memory, through her last 
 minutes there with Gerald. They had been brief, 
 but their spell was still upon her : the narrow walls 
 seemed to melt, like clouds, and the vision beyond 
 was a lovely scene of light, and flowery fields, calm- 
 flowing rivers, and terraces as stairs reaching to the 
 sky. She thought she could fly forth on wings to 
 that lovely world : nay, was she not there already ? 
 
 " So you have wandered here ! " said Miss Leddle, 
 coming in, followed by a party, at the green door ; "I 
 want to show the pump to Mr Harding."
 
 CHAPTER XI II 
 
 "II a prechd que ce monde n'est qu'un songe, que 
 tout est ici-bas image et figure, que le vrai royaume 
 de Dieu, c'est I'iddal, que I'id^al appartient a tous." 
 
 Ernest Renan. 
 
 Two weeks after Miss Leddle's birthday party the 
 negotiations in connection with the sale of Franton 
 Manor were complete. Federan, pursued by his own 
 scruples, smarting under the memory of Jennie's 
 upbraiding, had silenced his conscience by refusing 
 firmly to advise the acceptance of the first ofFer. "It 
 is too little," he maintained. It happened, also, that 
 Mrs Helmyng, the artist's mother, consulted him 
 about the investment of a small legacy which she had 
 unexpectedly, or, as Federan thought, providentially 
 received, and this contribution was added, therefore, 
 to the original price. The purchase-money, collected 
 thus from various sources, was presented to Rachel 
 Tredegar in the form of a cheque drawn by Coolidge 
 for fifteen thousand pounds. When Gerald handed 
 it to her she exclaimed : " The price of a few happy 
 days I I don't want it," and her eyes filled with 
 tears, which, because she made no effort to control 
 
 179
 
 i8o THE VINEYARD 
 
 them, rolled prettily in glittering drops down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 He could not pretend to misunderstand such words, 
 or the impassioned glance which accompanied them. 
 The happy days had been the days he and she had 
 spent together discussing the details of the sale. 
 
 "Where am I to go? what am I to do?" she 
 asked. 
 
 They were in the morning-room — a large upper 
 apartment which contained some old French furniture 
 upholstered in faded yellow silk. A Louis XVI. 
 chandelier with pear-shaped lustres hung from the 
 ceiling : on one of the mahogany and malachite 
 consoles was a rare jardinih-e en eventail of apple-green 
 Sevres, much gilded, and on the other stood a Louis 
 Quinze clock supported by figures of Loves holding 
 up garlands. The walls, covered with Beauvais 
 tapestry, were intersected by three large windows, 
 which, overhung by very faded crimson brocade 
 hangings, looked out on a part of the grounds, half 
 natural and half artificial, known as The Paysage. 
 This quiet grove, in which Corot might have set his 
 innocent nymphs, was formed by willow trees and 
 tall acacias, so planted that, but for the sky which 
 showed through the open spaces in the distance, the 
 light, on a bright day, would seem as soft, green, and 
 subtle as the light of the moon. Wild flowers, vines 
 and ferns covered the ground ; far ofF the blue sea 
 swayed almost voluptuously against cliffs which
 
 THE VINEYARD i8i 
 
 looked grey in the strong glare, and the crests of the 
 hills which flushed into the white horizon seemed like 
 rose-coloured clouds. 
 
 Watching this scene on such a day, the last 
 owner of Franton had sunk into her last sleep ; 
 and Rachel, who had an instinct for dramatic 
 contrast, chose that room in which to sign away 
 her inheritance. 
 
 "What am I to do ?" she repeated. 
 
 She was sitting, in a white lace dress, on a carved 
 white-and-gold arm-chair. On the table by her side, 
 a gilt Bacchante, holding a bunch of grapes and up- 
 lifting a thyrsus with vine-stems, supported a bronze 
 candelabrum. Rachel, as she spoke, stroked the 
 Bacchante's feet, and displayed, at the same time, the 
 curious eighteenth-century rings on her own nervous 
 fingers. 
 
 "I am under a curse, Mr Federan," she said : "I 
 am afraid no one and nothing can save me. Renan 
 has written somewhere that the real kingdom of God 
 is the kingdom of ideals. No doubt he meant ideals 
 of a certain kind. There are other ideals which make 
 the real hell of the damned. That is my city." 
 
 These strong words, uttered by a fragile, almost 
 consumptive woman, whose face was now distorted 
 by emotion, seemed a voice from another world. 
 
 " You are too much alone," exclaimed Federan : 
 "everyone says so." 
 
 A strange sly smile was the only reply she ofiFeredj
 
 1 82 THE VINEYARD 
 
 and he found himself counting her rings to sec 
 whether they made one of the lucky numbers. 
 
 " I want you to feel satisfied, you know, about this 
 sale," he said presently. 
 
 "I am perfectly satisfied, thank you. I shall go to 
 India." 
 
 ** Why so far ? " 
 
 " You don't understand, — it is still too near. I am 
 flying away from my own thoughts." 
 
 Before he answered he thought he would look in 
 the mirror. He did so, and found Rachel herself 
 gazing earnestly at his reflection. She had been 
 watching it the whole time. Their eyes, after the 
 surprise and self-consciousness caused by this en- 
 counter in the looking-glass, moved and met more 
 directly face to face. 
 
 " I wish I could help you," said Federan, with less 
 distinctness than usual. He advanced suggestions 
 about travelling, and he referred to his own constant 
 longing to see other lands. He pointed out that a 
 man's true bent is always, in the beginning of life, 
 as much unknown to himself as to others. Why 
 was it, then, a matter of surprise that a man should 
 differ so widely from himself at different times, 
 and, after acquiescence in one mode of living, reject 
 what was once his best ambition ? " Let me confess 
 it," he owned. " I envy you. When you leave 
 Fran ton, I shall feel left behind." 
 
 " But I am going alone," she said quickly.
 
 THE VINEYARD 183 
 
 '* You ought not to go alone." 
 
 " Do you want me to take Miss Sussex ! " said 
 Rachel. 
 
 He felt the blood rush from his heart to his brows. 
 The girl, then, suspected the truth, and the moment 
 had come for him to declare it. If he loved Jennie 
 there was no more to be said. But the knowledge 
 that he had urged the sale of Franton for his own 
 advantage made him ashamed ; he feared Rachel's 
 cleverness and her scorn ; he knew, too, that she was 
 capable of cancelling the agreement. 
 
 " What has Miss Sussex to do with the question ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " I thought you might wish her to remain here 
 with you," answered Rachel. 
 
 "She never entered my mind — till you spoke of her 
 a minute ago." 
 
 This was not wholly a falsehood, but had it been 
 possible to recall his words the moment after they 
 were uttered, he would have done so. He no longer 
 coveted the many beautiful objects in the room ; and, 
 with sickness in his spirit, he almost wished for a sight 
 of the dusty high-road and the days of his humble 
 ambitions. Yet there was something in Rachel 
 herself — a delicacy of body, a lassitude of soul — which 
 seemed to penetrate and fascinate his own indolence. 
 Their effect was to make him equivocal in speech, 
 unwilling to think, as languid in all his desires as he 
 was in his remorse : watching her, he lost equally the
 
 184 THE VINEYARD 
 
 power to sustain a purpose or a scruple ; he asked 
 himself whether serious love was not a dream, and the 
 very transaction in which he was engaged seemed 
 remote and unreal. But there was a surging oppres- 
 sion in his heart and a singing in his ears ; a fermenta- 
 tion of his senses which flowed from his feet to his 
 head as a kind of madness. What did it mean? 
 Before this, his life and his sensations had been simple 
 enough : his loves, his moods of tenderness, and 
 his admirations had amused and satisfied him ; but 
 Rachel called to some reluctant force in his being of 
 which he seemed to have no experience, and over 
 which he had, apparently, no control. She was the 
 incarnation of all that subtly weakened and under- 
 mined his character — the yearnings for luxurv, 
 idleness, sensuous refinements, and disguised sensu- 
 ality. He feared her, distrusted her, hated her, but 
 as a man fears, distrusts and hates his own secret vice. 
 Through this enervating obsession, the remembrance 
 of Jennie's purity rang out clearly at intervals as 
 the warning bell of a buoy in dangerous waters. 
 
 "I thought Jennie was a great friend of yours," 
 said Rachel ; "she told me so." 
 
 He explained that people, living under the same 
 roof and meeting almost daily at the same table, 
 became, without knowing it, intimate. " She is a 
 charming girl," he added hastily. Then he went 
 further, and pointed out that no one stood answerable 
 for the treacheries of animal magnetism.
 
 THE VINEYARD 185 
 
 " That's a strange subject," said Rachel, with a 
 prudish air, which pleased him by its modesty with- 
 out discouraging the turn of their conversation. 
 
 "Animal magnetism makes half the sweetness and 
 all the trouble of life !" he explained. 
 
 She assented, but acknowledged, at the same time, 
 her ignorance of scientific laws. All she knew was 
 that outside the walls, beyond that garden of peace 
 full of soft sounds, fragrant air, and flowery walks, 
 there were the suffering, toiling poor, and lonely 
 people weeping in solitude. "I have wept, never- 
 theless, as bitterly as any of them ! " she said. 
 
 The occasional sharp cries and twitterings of birds, 
 the bark of a dog, the heavy roll of cart-wheels in 
 the distance, the report from the woods of some 
 rabbit shooter's gun were all that disturbed that 
 pastoral silence, a silence which makes sometimes 
 for sadness and sometimes for a numbness of the 
 faculties. 
 
 " ' I have no great good hap in all my days, 
 
 Nor much good cause to make me glad of God ! ' " 
 
 continued Rachel, " but I have acquired a certain 
 patience — ' the last save death ! ' " 
 
 Federan smiled enviously and with resentment 
 because she had never felt the need of money. He 
 wondered what she could have wept over, and re- 
 flected that she did not know when she was well off. 
 ** Good Lord I " he thought, " how people alter !
 
 i86 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Once I mooned about the fields thinking of love. 
 Now I want nothing on earth except a fortune. If 
 this silly fool were to spend even one sleepless night 
 over money matters, she'd change her tune. How 
 people alter ! Good Lord 1 " His outward air re- 
 mained sympathetic, attentive, and indulgent. 
 
 She complained that all the hours, ideas, ardour 
 and delight one had for the beautiful and divine 
 things of life, such as art, love, travel, friendship, 
 were exhausted in the struggle for gain and wealth. 
 
 " Although I want wealth," he said, " it is not for 
 the pleasure, God knows, or the excitement of 
 business, but in order to enjoy the very things of 
 which you speak. Happiness is expensive : mere 
 respectability costs so much. I say this from 
 morning till night, and perhaps I am bitter on the 
 subject. Still, if one is truthful, there is nothing 
 else to say. Shall I be a hypocrite r " 
 
 At every beat of her heart, Rachel fancied that she 
 heard his beating in response, and she was under the 
 dominion of an irresistible impulse to touch him, to 
 gaze through his eyes to the very depths of his 
 soul, and cast her shadow there. She swayed in his 
 direction as a vine seems to grow toward a tree, and 
 as the morning mist will hang round a root, her 
 will enveloped his. All her hope and all her happi- 
 ness depended on him, she told herself. Was he not 
 the one relief she had ever found for the starving 
 egoism of her own nature ? She had come to the
 
 THE VINEYARD 187 
 
 end of her resources — she could no longer feed upon 
 her own fancies. They had failed her at last, and 
 she knew her own desolation. In every imaginary 
 scene in which she had acted a romantic part, she 
 had prepared herself for this actual crisis. Reality to 
 some dreamers is a pain or a disappointment : to 
 others it is a kind of drunkenness which never grows 
 sober. In Rachel's case experience proved intoxicat- 
 ing ; dreams, which she had once thought the ex- 
 quisite and true side of existence, the real kingdom 
 of man, already seemed thin, colourless, futile ; and 
 her first sip of life made her desperate for the whole 
 draught. " Here is a human being I can look at with 
 my eyes wide open," she confessed to herself. When 
 he was not there her days seemed endless : she watched 
 the clock, and started at every sound. His presence 
 had become a necessity — not as the beloved is always 
 longed for, but as the tortured mind or body cries out 
 for some stilling drug. While Federan was with her, 
 she could forget her sickly and fancied disabilities for 
 leading the life common to women — women who 
 loved plain men blindly, questioned never, suffered 
 the pangs of brutes, and rejoiced over coarse and 
 dissonant joys. Was not their blindness the truest 
 vision? Were their pangs merely brutal, and their 
 joys so coarse? Brutality and coarseness began to 
 take, to her mind, weary of the factitious and in- 
 sincere, other names, other shapes. 
 
 One morning, after Federan had left her, she
 
 t88 the vineyard 
 
 picked up a clod of fresh turf full of live worms and 
 insects. "The earth!" she exclaimed, and kissed 
 it. " Why have I hated you so long ? But I didn't 
 understand." She wondered, nevertheless, why she 
 did not shudder, and she was amiable all that day 
 because she had conquered, without an effort, a 
 repugnance she had once believed invincible. 
 
 She told Federan the story, and added : " I can 
 see beauty now in worms. I want to love them ? " 
 
 He considered this sentiment morbid — if not a 
 little mad ; but he said aloud she was full of original 
 ideas and always gave him something to think about. 
 His reply made her wince : it seemed to her trh 
 paysan, yet she was flattered none the less, and tried 
 to twist the words "You are full of original ideas" 
 into something approaching a declaration of love. 
 Was it his awkward way of paying a compliment ? 
 "You always give me something to think about." 
 Did he wish her to know that she had a power over 
 his soul ? 
 
 " You find it hard, sometimes, to form decisions," 
 she said, presently, "and this makes you misleading." 
 
 "Never wilfully or deliberately so," he replied. 
 
 They talked for an hour on abstract ideas and 
 vague suppositions ; the man cautious, ill at ease, 
 and double-voiced : the woman listening as one 
 listens to a foreign language, translating the 
 ambiguous into her own idiom. After he had gone 
 she rushed to Jennie, who was dressing for dinner.
 
 THE VINEYARD 189 
 
 " I can't dine — I can't eat ! " exclaimed Rachel : 
 " food sticks in my throat. Sing me something 1 
 Sing to me ! Sing Kundry's song to Parsifal." 
 
 She burst into tears at the first chord, and moaned 
 the notes to herself, under her breath, while Jennie 
 
 sang. 
 
 " That Mr Federan is tris paysan" she said super- 
 ciliously, in the middle of the song ; " but he is very 
 good-looking, and so sane. So sane ! " 
 
 Federan, meanwhile, as he walked away to his 
 aunt's house, jerked his shoulders as though he were 
 shaking off some clinging grasp, and he tried to 
 remember what he had said to give Miss Tredegar 
 the impression that Jennie was no more to him than 
 any other young girl of his acquaintance. He had 
 asserted nothing, denied nothing. Miss Leddle and 
 Miss Daisy, noting his sombre face when he entered, 
 became uneasy. They were pleased at his new 
 friendship with Miss Tredegar, and they had owned 
 to each other, in long pleasant conversations, the 
 strong probability of a marriage taking place between 
 their nephew and the heiress. They now referred 
 
 to Jennie thus : " As for that girl ! " Miss 
 
 Leddle had received many unaccustomed marks 
 of peculiar deference from the tradespeople since 
 Federan had been seen driving constantly to Franton 
 Manor. Mrs Puddifant, after a University Exten- 
 sion meeting at Mrs Gillespie's, had drawn Miss 
 Daisy aside in order to recommend her own dress-
 
 19© THE VINEYARD 
 
 maker, a person of great taste and reasonable charges. 
 She went so far in afFable condescension as to lift up 
 a corner of her own overskirt in order to show Miss 
 Daisy the excellent quality of the foundation, the 
 sewing and the trimmings. This gracious act was 
 symbolic of the county's attitude : the Misses Leddle 
 were found worthy to consider the quality of its 
 foundations personally exhibited, and the Misses 
 Leddle, who had always been too poor and too 
 exclusive to seek rich society, were now flattered by 
 their own hopes and Mrs Puddifant's genial advances. 
 
 " These Cumbersborough people," said Miss 
 Leddle, "are well enough, after all, if one knows 
 how to take them ! " 
 
 Miss Daisy owned that Mrs Puddifant was as 
 much a lady, consideringy as any she had ever met, 
 and in good breeding a miss, as all the world knew, 
 was as good as a mile. In the use of figure Miss 
 Daisy abhorred precision, and when Federan pointed 
 out the absence of any connecting link between the 
 idea of a mile and the idea of good manners, the 
 lady thanked God she was no pedant. 
 
 "I suppose you saw Jennie ? " she said. 
 
 " No," said Federan, shortly. 
 
 " You may depend," said Miss Daisy to her sister 
 when the two were alone, later, " that girl has given 
 him the right to be rude. He's tired of her." 
 
 Miss Leddle hoped so. " Miss Tredegar is such 
 a sweet, ladylike creature," she added.
 
 THE VINEYARD 191 
 
 In her heart she preferred Jennie. So, too, did 
 Miss Daisy. But it made them shiver agreeably 
 all over when they indulged in spite — perhaps 
 because they allowed themselves that pleasure so 
 seldom.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 " Presque tous les hommes d'action inclinent h. la 
 fatalit^, de meme que la plupart des penseurs inclinent 
 a la Providence." Balzac. 
 
 Yafford, which was a small harbour in the reign of 
 Henry II., is now the county town of Frampshire. 
 It stands in a hollow surrounded by hills from which 
 the River Wellow runs to join the Franton stream on 
 its way to the sea. On market-days the High Street, 
 with its few fine Jacobean buildings, gabled and ivy- 
 clad, would be filled by farmers, shepherds, carriers, 
 butchers, and land-agents, carts and horses, vans and 
 donkeys, dogs, boys, and smiling young women. The 
 " Wheatsheaf Inn " and the " Bugle," both popular 
 houses, would have their bars, parlours, and stables 
 overcrowded : the bleating of sheep and the lowing of 
 cattle would mingle with the sound of voices, the 
 cracking of whips, and the rumble of wheels on 
 cobble-stones. But, at other times, the town would 
 be silent, and during summer the flies droning on the 
 blinds, and during winter the frozen water cracking 
 in the cisterns, would be all that was audible in the 
 
 drowsy thoroughfares. 
 
 192
 
 THE VINEYARD 193 
 
 The office of the house occupied by the elder 
 Federan, and in which the business of the firm, 
 Messrs Federan & Son, was transacted, faced the 
 Town Hall, a picturesque old building of the fifteenth 
 century, with a solar or range of open shops outside. 
 The office walls were lined by deed-boxes bearing 
 county names of distinction, and enlarged maps of 
 various private estates. The diagram, for instance, of 
 Mr Puddifant's Grange was somewhat larger than 
 the map of Europe. A large table covered with 
 papers, files, deeds of every description, and reference 
 books, stood near a globe and a copying-press in the 
 middle of the room. A small black cat dozed all day 
 on the green rep curtains which trailed a yard or so 
 on the floor, and a photograph of the senior partner in 
 the Seventies, with his wife, and Gerald, as a child in 
 christening robes, hung in a carved oak frame over 
 the mantelpiece. The wheeled-chair in which old 
 Federan now sat for a few hours each morning was 
 rolled near his mahogany desk in front of the window. 
 Here, when work was slack, a musical-box in a rose- 
 wood case (purchased at the Great Exhibition at the 
 Crystal Palace of 1851) would be opened, wound up, 
 and set playing for the old solicitor's amusement : he 
 never wearied of *' Robert, toi que j'aime," "Drink 
 to me only with thine eyes," "Flow gently, sweet 
 Afton," and " The Overture to Zampa." He had 
 been what is called a fine figure of a man in his youth, 
 but he was now bent by disease, and his face, which 
 
 N
 
 194 THE VINEYARD 
 
 had once been handsome, had so dwindled with the 
 years that it seemed to consist of a twitching mouth 
 only, while his eyelids, weighed down by long white 
 lashes, fell so heavily over his eyes that he appeared 
 almost sightless. 
 
 A week after Gerald's final interview with Rachel, 
 Federan senior was sitting as usual in his chair, making 
 laborious entries in a note-book, and glancing up at 
 intervals at the clock. Sometimes he rang a small 
 hand-bell by his side, and, when the summons was 
 answered by the office-boy, he would ask in querulous 
 tones whether Mr Gerald had not arrived yet. On 
 receiving a negative reply he would shake his head, 
 frown, and continue his difficult calculations. The 
 bell of the Grammar-School had barely finished 
 striking the closing-hour, and the laughter and 
 cries of the liberated boys were filling the High 
 Street, when the younger Federan entered the office. 
 He had been to Edinburgh for a client, and the 
 fatigue of the long journey ofi^ered an acceptable 
 explanation for his haggard appearance. 
 
 " I've been working out some of your ideas," said 
 his father, irritably, "and I'll have nothing to do 
 with them. I follow them quite well, but I will 
 have nothing to do with them." 
 
 Gerald controlled an angry reply, and, leaning 
 aff^ectionately over the old man's shoulder, closed the 
 book in which he was making, with a paralysed hand, 
 illegible figures.
 
 THE VINEYARD 195 
 
 *' My dear father," said he, " in your state of 
 health, why try and mix in these things ? Why not 
 leave them to me ? " 
 
 " I have been in this business now^ for fifty years, 
 and my father before me. I do not pretend to keep 
 pace virith these modern notions in the way of specula- 
 tion, but there are certain ideas of honesty which I 
 hope will never grow old-fashioned. I don't see how 
 you could have advised Miss Tredegar to accept 
 Coolidge's offer. Besides, can Coolidge pay ? That 
 is the point." 
 
 "Would he make the offer," said Gerald, im- 
 patiently, " if he could not stand to it ? I don't 
 suppose it is his own money." 
 
 " Then whose money is it ? " 
 
 "I don't think that is our business. A man planks 
 down his fifteen thousand pounds on the table, I don't 
 see that we have any right to ask him where it comes 
 from. If the money is not his, then the estate is not 
 his. You cannot put a house and four hundred acres 
 of land in your coat pocket and walk off with it. 
 You are getting fussy, father ! " 
 
 "I know that Coolidge has no money of his own," 
 said the old man, obstinately, " and I know that if 
 there is any purchaser who is willing to pay fifteen 
 thousand pounds for the Franton estate, he would be 
 perfectly willing to pay a great deal more. But he 
 wouldn't employ Coolidge. That is not Coolidge's 
 line of business at all, and, in fact, there are a good
 
 196 THE VINEYARD 
 
 many things I want to ask you about — things that 
 are puzzling me more than I like. Now, what about 
 your aunt's seven thousand that has to be re-invested ? 
 And then that mortgage down at Doulton — and that 
 legacy of Mrs Helmyng's ?" 
 
 The young man wiped his forehead and strolled 
 over to the window. 
 
 " Here am I barely back from that niggling 
 business at Edinburgh," he exclaimed. ** Do give 
 me a moment's breathing space. It is all right. 
 You have been too ill — I couldn't rush up to you with 
 every little note and every twopenny - halfpenny 
 transaction. It is all right, I tell you. Will you 
 wait till Sunday ? I can give you everything you 
 want to know on Sunday afternoon." 
 
 " I never work on Sundays. It has always been 
 my principle not to work on Sundays, and, please 
 God, I will not do so now. Sunday is a day of rest." 
 
 " Well then, Monday. I have got the most awful 
 headache from this east wind." 
 
 As he spoke, he noticed the form of Mrs Coolidge 
 advancing up the street, and, as she was a woman 
 who rarely ventured out, he was filled with a sudden, 
 instinctive apprehension that she was the bearer of dis- 
 turbing news. She was tall and slim, with large sway- 
 ing hips, and the shoulders of an immature girl. Her 
 face, which had once been of the type associated with 
 the drawings of Burne Jones, was now ruined from the 
 stress of constant anxieties, and grown almost waxen
 
 THE VINEYARD 197 
 
 from a life of many illnesses passed indoors. There 
 was something ominous in the mere outline of this 
 living diagram of disappointment, grief, and despair. 
 As she halted at the street door below, the young 
 man's heart sank, and heavy lines, already too set for 
 his age, appeared as suddenly on his brow as wrinkles 
 do on the smooth sands after a wearing tide. 
 
 "There is somebody coming now," he said j "I 
 wonder what she wants." 
 
 " Who is it ? " said his father. 
 
 Gerald was about to give the name, when he 
 checked himself and lied without hesitation : " It is 
 Mrs Taylor." 
 
 "I can see her." said old Federan. " She has come 
 about the land over by Woodbury." 
 
 " You can't see her : it is out of the question," said 
 Gerald, firmly. " Now do be guided by me. You 
 will kill yourself. Shall I see her here or shall I go 
 out ?" He put his hand on the back of the chair. 
 
 "Wheel me out — do !" said the senior partner, 
 bitterly. " I can see you don't want me. I am in 
 your way in more senses than one. Wheel me out 
 by all means ! " 
 
 Gerald shrugged his shoulders with impatience, 
 wheeled the old man into the adjoining room, in 
 which they usually took their meals, and closed the 
 double doors which divided the living rooms of the 
 house from the office. 
 
 Mrs Coolidge, as she entered, lifted her veil to its
 
 198 THE VINEYARD 
 
 usual line just over her eyebrows, and sank into the 
 first chair she saw. 
 
 "Bert has gone ! " she said, in a voice which had 
 become a chronic moan. 
 
 " Gone ? Gone where ?" asked Federan. 
 
 " The old fit has come over him again. He has 
 been as good as gold for months, but lately, when 
 he has been alone, that restlessness — you know it — 
 began. Very kind to me and the children. I know 
 what that means : he sees the fit coming himself." 
 
 " Where has he gone ? " 
 
 "Oh, he has gone a long way this time. To 
 California. You know he went to town about that 
 business for you ? That was about a fortnight ago. 
 When did you last hear from him ? " 
 
 " I heard yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, you don't know him ! He had arranged 
 that with one of his friends. Writes letters ahead 
 and has them posted from day to day. He has played 
 that trick with me often. But that isn't the worst. 
 He has got that money." 
 
 "Good God !" 
 
 "That fifteen thousand. You were wrong to 
 trust him. He must never be trusted with money. 
 He has been paying off a few debts here to make it 
 easier for me and the children, but he has drawn most 
 of it and has got it with him." 
 
 "But he wouldn't ruin me! He knows perfectly 
 well—"
 
 THE VINEYARD 199 
 
 ** But you know as well as I do that nothing stands 
 in his way when the fit is on. He'll make his calcula- 
 tions for months in advance. He knows when the 
 fit will take him, and he prepares for it. He'll get the 
 money somehow.'' 
 
 " Well, if he has let me in for some of the money, 
 perhaps I could still keep things going on the general 
 scheme." 
 
 Mrs Coolidge gave her rare, gay, and always in- 
 appropriate laugh — the one thing left from her youth : 
 " Don't you believe it ! That report from Paxton 
 & Grainger was a fake. Didn't he want the money, 
 and don't you suppose that he knew Miss Leddle's 
 seven thousand was waiting for re-investment i " 
 
 " A forged report ! " 
 
 " He's very clever. . ." 
 
 " But the seven thousand pounds . . . you don't 
 understand. It is not my loss — it is my aunt's money 
 — trust money. I am responsible for it. And the 
 rest ? And the cheque — Miss Tredegar's cheque ?" 
 
 " It will be dishonoured," said Mrs Coolidge. 
 " You can't get blood out of a stone, and when you 
 have been through as much as I have, you'll under- 
 stand that." 
 
 "But there's his letter to me — that's enough. It is 
 posted from London, and he dated it yesterday ... I 
 can't believe — " 
 
 " He is in California at this very moment." 
 
 '*You take it very quietly, I must say — my ruin !"
 
 200 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " If I can stand his ruin, I can stand yours — can't I ? 
 And if I have had fifteen years of this, you don't expect 
 me to find it more of a worry than usual ! I've got 
 three children to think of. I've got to keep up for 
 their sakes. As for revenge you can do what you 
 please — if you can catch him. I don't feel that any- 
 thing could hurt me now. When a train passes over 
 a living person, it kills 'em, but the iron rails get used 
 to it and it doesn't hurt 'em. I'm no longer a woman, 
 I think I'm an iron rail. I'm going back now. I'm 
 very sorry, but I have always told you not to trust 
 him." 
 
 She was too agonised by the miseries of her own 
 position to pay much heed to Coolidge's dupe, and, 
 having delivered her tidings, she disappeared as un- 
 graciously as she had entered. Federan, stunned, sat 
 at the table with his arms stretched out straight in front 
 of him and his empty hands extended palms upward. 
 All the beauty had gone from his countenance, which 
 was livid, and his eyes seemed to be fixed upon some 
 threatening vision. What was to be done ? Why had 
 Coolidge deceived him ? If there were no thousands 
 at the bank for Rachel — the sale would be null and 
 void. She, at least, would lose nothing. But who 
 was to refund the Syndicate's money ? He saw 
 himself facing Colonel Howland, Mr Lux and Mr 
 Sarramy, all of whom had subscribed to the purchase 
 fund. " And why am I in this position ? " he thought ; 
 " why ? because I loved a woman and trusted a friend."
 
 THE VINEYARD 201 
 
 It seemed too hard, and yet he knew that the story 
 could never be made to sound so piteous to others as 
 it did to himself. 
 
 " I shall be blamed." Again he was conscious of 
 making an under-statement. The threatening vision 
 before him was not blame — but ruin ; the humiliating 
 and gloomy bodings in his mind were not delusions 
 but the actual consequences of his folly. Before he 
 could perceive the reality of the danger, or the 
 preciousness of the time still left him, three visitors 
 were announced. As he read their names on the 
 slate brought in by the office-boy, he became ghastly. 
 The cruelty, without motive and without end, of 
 men toward each other, pierced his soul, and he 
 asked himself why such things were. He meant 
 so well, he asked so little ; why, then, at the thought 
 of meeting his fellow creatures at a disadvantage did 
 he feel such a weight at his heart — such a terror and 
 such a repugnance in his mind? "We all want to 
 get on ; we all want happiness and a few pleasures," 
 The boys playing and shouting in the street below 
 reminded him of his own careless childhood, and he 
 wished he was dead. Then he thought how terrible 
 it was that a man of his age and abilities and vigour 
 should be driven by the harshness of fate to prefer a 
 grave to the world. But the appeal to death was 
 insincere. The strength of body and the desire of 
 the eyes which had led him into sin made him eager 
 to live and to enjoy, and under all his melancholy,
 
 202 THE VINEYARD 
 
 the pulse of life kept up its valiant beat — there was 
 force in his muscles, swift blood in his veins, and a 
 tingling in his nerves. His time had surely not 
 come yet. Death — for him ? Had he not been 
 looking forward to the little house in Leicester, 
 with its perfumed garden, and the twittering 
 swallows, the doves on the lawn, and the rose leaves 
 drying in the sun. Was he to go, after all, to that 
 centre of the earth where there would be no one ever 
 to share the burden of solitude and the woes of 
 longing? He thought of Jennie and her beauty, 
 of his ideals, of his love, and the image of death 
 faded as the moon in early morning fades in the 
 shining of the sun. 
 
 When the tramp of men's footsteps on the stair- 
 case reached his ear, the instincts and habit of 
 physical courage stood him in good stead ; the 
 determination to overcome his difficulties gave him 
 the flush and aspect of success. He rose, opened 
 the door wide and welcomed the callers as though 
 they had arrived, by a happy accident, in time to 
 hear some fortunate news. 
 
 Colonel Howland, the leader, was a retired officer 
 of mild, grey and well-bred appearance, dressed in 
 a blue serge suit, and carrying a straw hat. Mr Lux 
 belonged to the tradesman class of the old school. 
 He wore small reddish side-whiskers, his com- 
 plexion was florid, and his sharp eyes imprisoned a 
 cautious geniality. Mr Sarramy was thin, nervous,
 
 THE VINEYARD 203 
 
 and sullen ; his frock-coat was too long and his 
 trousers were too narrow. When he accepted the 
 chair which Federan offered him, he sat turning his 
 silk hat round and round by the brim as though he 
 were shaking bad flour through a sieve. Terriers 
 have been known to inherit the begging trick from 
 a trained mother. Mr Sarramy's maternal grand- 
 father had kept a general store in Cape Colony. 
 
 *'I have called about that Franton investment," 
 said Mr Lux, looking at his companions for 
 support; "we have been waiting for that further 
 communication. And then, as you told me it would 
 mean a railway for certain, I made a bid for that 
 property to the north of Franton. If coal i^ in one 
 place, you must get it to another ! " Here he gazed 
 first at the Ordnance map of Franton where it hung 
 on the wall, and then at Colonel Rowland, a timid 
 man. " I was the first to think of that — yet it is as 
 plain as A B C," he added ; "• still, it's a speculative 
 venture." 
 
 " If you're nervous, I'll buy in your shares," said 
 Federan, with audacity. 
 
 " A deal is a deal," said Sarramy ; " if you can 
 reassure us, we will stand to our bargain, but we 
 must know where we are." 
 
 Federan threw back his head, and smiled. "This 
 is not a company, gentlemen ; this is a strictly con- 
 fidential and private enterprise. It's not a big con- 
 cern, so far as the preliminary output goes."
 
 204 THE VINEYARD 
 
 (C ' 
 
 The land purchase, that is to say,'* observed 
 Howland, speaking for the first time. 
 
 Mr Sarramy paused in his operations with the 
 imaginary sieve. "You can't work mines for 
 nothing. Expenses later will be enormous." 
 
 " It's a speculation, isn't it ? If you lose your 
 head, there is no chance for anybody," said 
 Federan. 
 
 Mr Lux found this remark intolerable, and he 
 hastened to beg, ironically, Mr Federan's pardon. 
 
 " This is not a speculation," said he, " this is an 
 investment — 'as safe as the Bank of England' — 
 those were your very words." 
 
 " How much money have you got in the con- 
 cern ? " said Federan. " Two hundred pounds ? 
 Well, what's that ? It's always somebody with two 
 hundred pounds in the concern who makes all this 
 row!" 
 
 Mr Sarramy put his hat on the floor and stood up. 
 " Not at all ! Right is right, and I don't mind 
 waiting ; but I must see hope for my grandchildren, 
 if not for myself." 
 
 Here his voice broke, rather from anger than any 
 softer emotion, 
 
 " Yes, but you oughtn't to get uneasy over it every 
 other day," said Gerald. "Why, in South Africa 
 and in the States — " 
 
 "We are not in the States," said Lux. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Colonel Howland, timidly, "Mr
 
 THE VINEYARD 205 
 
 Fcderan wishes to say that one cannot expect an 
 immediate profit even from the safest enterprise." 
 
 Gerald threw a grateful glance in the Colonel's 
 direction. It implied that he felt the immeasurable 
 advantage of having at least one gentleman to deal 
 with. " Colonel Howland has put the case in a nut- 
 shell. I can't conduct business on these lines, Mr 
 Lux. If I put a proposition before you, you 
 think well of it, and you put your money into it, and 
 I put mine, I deny your right to come badgering me 
 because I can't show you an immediate hundred per 
 cent, profit. It is ridiculous ! Why, we have only 
 just acquired the land. It is precisely ten days since 
 Miss Tredegar agreed to sell Franton. All I can say 
 is — if any of you are dissatisfied, I shall be extremely 
 pleased to buy you out ; but you must give me 
 notice, of course. I don't walk about with fifteen 
 thousand pounds in my waistcoat pocket ! I should 
 have to realise some of my private securities." 
 
 " We don't wish to press at all," interposed 
 Sarramy, a little pacified at the mention of securities ; 
 *' but certain rumours — " 
 
 " The fact is," said Lux, with an unpremeditated 
 air of confidence, " we have just heard that Coolidge 
 is in it. Coolidge hasn't a very good name, and he 
 has been paying his bills lately." 
 
 Gerald seemed amazed. " I'm sorry that it goes 
 against a man to hear that he is paying his 
 debts."
 
 to6 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " But what on — what on r " said Mr Lux, darkly ; 
 " that is my question." 
 
 Again Colonel Rowland betrayed the greatest dis- 
 comfort. " Don't you think, Mr Lux, that perhaps 
 names ought not to be mentioned ? " 
 
 " I don't want any false politeness," said Lux ; " I 
 shall have my say." 
 
 " Coolidge has as much right to join the Syndicate 
 as you have, and, if you get your money back — " 
 
 " I want more that my money back ! " said Lux, 
 with indignation. " I want my time, I want my 
 interest, I want my wear and tear, I want my in- 
 fluence ! Do you suppose that Mr Sarramy would 
 have put in but for me ? Do you suppose that 
 Colonel Rowland — " 
 
 " I don't suppose anything," said Gerald. "I have 
 given you my answer. I say I'll buy you out. I'll 
 give you your interest — a fortnight's interest on two 
 hundred pounds ! That won't be much." 
 
 Sarramy was for mildness. " We only ask to be 
 reassured." 
 
 "Yes, reassured," said Rowland. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, you can be perfectly assured 
 that whether there is coal on the Franton estate or 
 not, you shall not lose a penny — not a penny — not if 
 I sell all I possess ! " 
 
 *' No heroics, please, Mr Federan," said Mr 
 Sarramy, in his loftiest manner ; " I still think we 
 might be kept better informed of what is going on."
 
 THE VINEYARD 207 
 
 " Utter nonsense ! You can't do business that 
 way." 
 
 "Well, could you give us an undertaking r" sug- 
 gested Sarramy. 
 
 " No ; I will not give any undertaking," said 
 Gerald. " I give you my word. It is between 
 gentlemen. If that isn't good enough for you, you 
 can take any other line you please. Get the town 
 crier, bellow all over Yafford that there is coal on 
 the Franton estate — give away the whole show I You 
 were perfectly willing to come in, and it was on the 
 strict understanding that everything should be kept 
 quiet until the sale was completed. If you want 
 more shareholders in the concern, I can get them ; 
 but, of course, that means a greater division of the 
 profits." 
 
 "We don't want to be precipitate," said Sarramy, 
 uneasily. " We don't want to lose our tempers." 
 
 Lux agreed. " No, no ! " said he. 
 
 " Then, perhaps, Mr Federan will send us a line in 
 the course of the next few days," said Colonel 
 Rowland, rising ; " that seems fair." 
 
 "Fair! I should think so! The wonder is this 
 town sticks together ! Why don't the very bricks 
 pull apart ? " asked Gerald. " You are so blind to 
 your own interests. The moment a good thing 
 comes alons each one tries to see if he can circum- 
 vent it. He will cut off his nose to spite his face. 
 You can't wonder that the best brains of this
 
 io8 THE VINEYARD 
 
 country go to the Colonies and America. They 
 won't stand your pettifogging ways ! " 
 
 "Well, I'm a bit quick-tempered," owned Lux, 
 *' but, so long as you say we can rely on the integrity 
 of the affair, we need not detain you any longer 
 to-day. So I will say good-morning." 
 
 They shook hands all round and smiled. 
 
 "We understand each other, I'm sure," said 
 Federan. 
 
 " Quite so, quite so. Good-day," Colonel Howland 
 murmured, and being still the leader by right of social 
 precedence, he went first down the staircase. 
 
 Lux and Sarramy cautiously studied each other 
 behind his back. They thought they would save 
 their money, but they doubted whether they would 
 make any profit by the transaction. So they each 
 nourished a grievance, and their steps were slow.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 "We are 
 
 League-sundered by the silent gulf between. 
 You burly lovers on the village green, 
 Yours is a lower and a happier star." 
 
 George Meredith. 
 
 Jennie was waiting below in the narrow hall when 
 the three men came out. Mr Sarramy winked at 
 Mr Lux as they recognised her figure, and Colonel 
 Rowland acknowledged her bow coldly. His wife 
 disapproved of the girl, and although he thought his 
 wife in the wrong, he felt bound to preserve the 
 severity of the family attitude. But Jennie ran 
 lightly past them up the uncarpeted oak staircase till 
 she reached Federan's office, the door of which still 
 stood open. He was pacing the floor, and talking to 
 his housekeeper. 
 
 " I'm all right," he was saying ; " take the 
 musical box to my father. Keep it playing, it won't 
 disturb me." 
 
 As he swung round he saw Jennie, and for a 
 minute he feared his eyes were playing him some 
 trick. 
 
 o 209
 
 no THE VINEYARD 
 
 "I was just thinking of you," he said. "But why 
 on earth have you come here ? A most foolish thing 
 to do — but come in." 
 
 He was glad to see her, nevertheless, and his glance 
 passed with pleasure over the details of her face and 
 her dress. 
 
 " I had to come," said Jennie, who, he noticed, was 
 pale. " I must warn you. Coolidge has been lying 
 to you. There is no coal in the Franton district. 
 Paxton's report was quite the other way. I know 
 this for a fact. I wrote up to Mr Harlowe, and here 
 is his copy of the real report." She held out a 
 letter. 
 
 " So," said Gerald, with a sneer, " Harlowe has been 
 
 interfering ? " 
 
 " Yes, he has," said Jennie, " in your interests. I 
 hope it isn't too late. The Syndicate will say they 
 have been deceived. There is no coal." 
 
 Gerald smiled coldly. " I know that as well as 
 you do." 
 
 " You know it ? " 
 
 " I know it now, and I'm landed." 
 
 " Have you known it all along ! " 
 
 " Does a man for choice court disaster ? I'm in 
 for it now, and there's only one way out of it. I 
 must square the Syndicate somehow. They are local 
 men — Colonel Howland, Lux the wine-merchant, 
 and Sarramy — all quite solid. We wanted to keep it 
 a little local ring. I arranged it in perfect good faith.
 
 THE VINEYARD 211 
 
 Coolidge has made a fool of me." For the first time 
 that day he seemed on the point of losing his self- 
 control. His attachment to Coolidge was still strong, 
 and he was not dead to the agony of his betrayal by a 
 friend ; but he cleared his throat, shifted the ink- 
 bottles on the table, and went on: "If I sacrifice 
 you over it, don't I sacrifice myself? Don't I give 
 up everything I care for ? I've got to find the 
 money and buy these fellows out." 
 
 " But you haven't got the money," i>aid Jennie. 
 
 " I shall borrow it." 
 
 ''How much?" 
 
 *' Fifteen thousand pounds." 
 
 "Fifteen thousand ! On what security ?" 
 
 " How you do pester one ! A good deal of money 
 passes through our hands." 
 
 " It isn't trust money, is it, Gerald ?" 
 
 *' No — well, that is — yes, in a way. But it is all 
 safe-guarded." 
 
 " How safe-guarded ? " 
 
 " You don't understand. Coolidge has gone off 
 with fifteen thousand of the money himself — cleared 
 out with it — and he knows I daren't say a word, 
 because he could give away the whole plan, and our 
 business here would be completely ruined. I should 
 be done for. Now, there is only one thing I can do ; 
 the idea came to me like a flash." Here he paused. 
 The thought was evidently easier than its expression 
 in words. He drummed with his fingers on the
 
 212 THE VINEYARD 
 
 window-pane, and Jennie could hear the musical-box 
 in the next room tinkling out "Sweet Afton." 
 *'I may as well tell you," continued Federan ; '*it is 
 not an idea I'm proud of, but it is a way out. I must 
 put the whole case before Miss Tredegar. I cannot 
 say what view she will take of it. It isn't my fault ; 
 I've been let in. Now is your chance to show how 
 you care for me — if you do ! " 
 
 He did not recognise himself in this speech, and it 
 did not represent his feeling, or what he would have 
 wished to say. He repeated mechanically, *' Now is 
 your chance to show how you care for me — if you 
 do." 
 
 Jennie said nothing, but he answered her silence. 
 
 " You can't think any worse of me than I think of 
 myself. I am playing as low down as I can play, but 
 I'm in a corner and I'm fighting for my life. I've 
 got my back to the wall and I appeal to you ! I ask 
 you to stand by me. You're the only woman in the 
 world I ever cared for, and if you turn against me and 
 betray everything I've told you in confidence and set 
 her mind against me, which you could do, I shall be 
 ruined." 
 
 "Do you expect me to help you to deceive 
 Rachel ? " said Jennie, quietly. 
 
 " I am not deceiving her." 
 
 " You must be deceiving one of us." 
 
 Jennie told her story in quick phrases. Rachel 
 had entered her room late the night before, knelt
 
 THE VINEYARD 213 
 
 down by her bed, and said : " Are you sure that there 
 is nothing between Gerald Federan and any woman ? 
 If there is any one you must have heard of her from 
 his aunts." 
 
 She asked the question and smiled, and praised 
 Jennie's long braids of hair while she spoke. But she 
 went on to say that, from Federan's manner, she had 
 gathered he was quite free. 
 
 *' Could any man like such a mass of selfishness ?" 
 he interrupted ; " but of course the least hint of our 
 engagement to a jealous, morbid creature — so exacting, 
 so domineering, so bent on having her own way — " 
 
 " But I have told her now." 
 
 "What did you tell her ?" said Federan, quickly. 
 
 "She asked me a question, and I saw no reason 
 why I should lie about it any longer — even for your 
 father's sake," she added, with a note of sarcasm. " I 
 tried to tell her the day after you went away. I wish 
 I had succeeded. You didn't write to me. I couldnt 
 write to you. I saw letters addressed by you coming 
 each morning. I told myself they were on business. 
 I saw her answering them, tearing up copy after copy 
 before she was satisfied. And still I wouldn't let 
 myself doubt you. I have waited — waited a whole 
 week in suspense — bewilderment — everything except 
 complete distrust. I wouldn't believe that you could 
 deceive me so. There seemed to be no motive. 
 Was it because you wanted to flatter her into selling 
 the property ? But she would have sold it without
 
 214 THE VINEYARD 
 
 flattery. If you were mercenary you would never 
 have allowed yourself to care for me. . . . Nothing 
 came right. Nothing was reasonable, and I couldn't 
 believe her. But now — I know that she spoke the 
 truth." 
 
 " I don't know what she told you," said Gerald, 
 *' but you know I don't care for her." 
 
 *'I know nothing," said the girl. "I don't see 
 why you spoke to me in the first place. I don't see 
 why you asked me to marry you." 
 
 " If I hadn't asked you to marry me," said he, '' I 
 shouldn't have felt compelled to make something to 
 live on ! This is now, I think, the twentieth time I 
 have tried to make that clear." 
 
 The humiliation of this discussion stung him to the 
 quick. It meant the degradation of his love — the 
 one beautiful and ideal passion of his existence ; the 
 one thing which had promised to come right and 
 had given him, already, unforgettably tender hours. 
 That he should now be saying such harsh things to 
 the being whom, under all his anger, and egoism, 
 and callousness, he still loved next to his own com- 
 fort, was a hard lesson in self-revelation. 
 
 " But I'll own," he added, " if you like, that I have 
 been unwise." 
 
 " You see," said Jennie, with a bitter smile, " she 
 asked me if we were engaged. You gave her the 
 impression that we were not. As I told you, I didn't 
 want to believe her."
 
 THE VINEYARD 215 
 
 "No one pays any attention to women's lies about 
 
 men." 
 
 "What strange women you must have known !" 
 
 " I tell you," said Gerald, " I am not myself. If you 
 care for me at all — " 
 
 He hesitated ; he had said that already so often, and, 
 as he now despised himself for the appeal, he had not 
 the courage to sustain it. 
 
 "The truth is," said Jennie, "that you have been 
 playing with both of us." 
 
 " Make some allowance for a man at his wits' end." 
 
 " You saw she liked you. I can say that because 
 I know you have a dread of appearing a coxcomb." 
 
 He winced. 
 
 "You saw she liked you," she continued, " and you 
 encouraged it. I find her truthful. Naturally, she 
 preferred to think that you loved her better, far better, 
 than you ever loved me. She hasn't yet asked herself 
 whether you could love anybody. Please, please, 
 regard yourself as absolutely free. She is rich, after 
 all, and you always say that money can buy ideals. I 
 wish I could have helped you. I wish you could have 
 seen life difiFerently. I didn't love you with a common 
 love ! Why didn't you let me go on ? I was so 
 happy — so happy when you first spoke. Why didn't 
 you let me go on thinking there was no one like 
 you in the whole world ? Why did you destroy all 
 that ? " 
 
 "I didn't want to destroy it," said Gerald, doggedly.
 
 2i6 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " All that is good in me is yours — eternally yours. 
 Believe that or not, as you please. It's the truth." 
 
 " I know there's good in you," said Jennie. "Why 
 don't you follow it ? I won't talk about love. That 
 is at an end between us. I am stunned and wounded. 
 ... I suppose I loved you because you were handsome, 
 because you were willing to marry a poor girl. . . , 
 Oh, because of a thousand things I thought I saw ! 
 But if I die — if it kills me — I'll cure myself of my 
 mistake." 
 
 "Jennie !" said Gerald, going forward. 
 
 " No, no ! I will never willingly see you again — 
 never, never again 1 " 
 
 Stifling a sob, she went out. Gerald followed her 
 to the top of the staircase, but on the landing she 
 turned and faced him once more, and repeated, '* I 
 will never willingly see you again." 
 
 "That's nonsense ! " he said ; " you don't mean it." 
 
 Jennie glanced away from him, and said, with some- 
 thing that resembled flippancy although it was not : 
 " You find it hard, perhaps, to believe that any woman 
 can be in earnest.** 
 
 Federan shrugged his shoulders. " Can one talk 
 on the staircase ? " 
 
 Jennie had again turned, and once more he followed 
 her. But the Tredegars' carriage had driven up to 
 the entrance, and he heard Mrs Tredegar's voice in 
 the hall inquiring whether Mr Federan was dis- 
 engaged.
 
 THE VINEYARD 217 
 
 Mrs Tredegar started violently at the sight of 
 Jennie, and the girl, who was almost intoxicated by 
 misery, explained her presence outside the office by 
 saying that she had been obliged to consult Mr 
 Federan on business. The older woman pursed up 
 her lips. 
 
 *' Rachel is very unwell this morning," she said ; 
 **she has asked for you several times. I may 
 be detained — so don't wait for me. Take the 
 train to Franton. Brooks will drive you to the 
 station." 
 
 The footman helped Jennie into the landau and 
 she was hurried away over the cobble-stones, past the 
 "Wheatsheaf" and the "Bugle," the Grammar- 
 School and the old church — all of which she saw as 
 shadows on a flimsy sheet — for the world had grown 
 unsubstantial to her sight, and its promises had turned 
 to desolation and its brightness to the colour of tears. 
 She no longer heard any dreamy melodies by the way, 
 or dulcet voices calling out sweet passionate songs 
 above the damp cold winds of the sea. 
 
 Mrs Tredegar, whose handsome face was strained 
 and feverish, swept into Federan's room, and would 
 not accept his outstretched hand. 
 
 " We are not friends," she said, " and I cannot pre- 
 tend to like you. I have brought you a letter from 
 my daughter, who is so ill that I am doing violence 
 to my own pride in order to satisfy her whim. Read 
 it. Afterwards I can have my say."
 
 2i8 THE VINEYARD 
 
 The letter which she gave him ran as follows : — 
 
 " Franton Manor. 
 " My dear Mr Federa\, — There seems to be some 
 difficulty at the bank about that odious cheque. I am in 
 no hurry over the matter, but when can you come to see 
 me ? I am reading Newman's Apologia now. Too 
 marvellous. What a study of a divided mind ! Substitute 
 two individuals for the two Churches, and you have every 
 man s difficulty — every woman's problem. — Yours ever 
 sincerely, Rachel Tredegar. 
 
 "I am supposed to be very ill. But I may talk to 
 friends. If you come, don't let us once refer to 
 business." 
 
 He was touched by the gentleness, which came 
 so softly after the anguish of his scene with Jennie, 
 and he thought, " Here's true love." The jealous 
 mother, who watched his face changing while he 
 read, could have snatched the paper from his 
 hands. 
 
 " Do you think," she said, abruptly, " that my 
 daughter, with her health and her tastes, ought to 
 have sold Franton ? She likes the country in spite of 
 her grumbling. No one could feel, moreover, that 
 the sum your clients offered was at all adequate." 
 
 " You see," said Gerald, " it is just selling a man a 
 thing he doesn't want. Nobody wants that place. 
 It is too out of the way. There is nothing special 
 about the climate or scenery to attract speculators. 
 There are no springs about ; you couldn't work it 
 
 into a cure."
 
 THE VINEYARD 219 
 
 " Yes, yes, it is quite true, but one never knows ; 
 the agricultural interest might come up again." 
 
 "Oh, never." 
 
 "Well, of course,! don't pretend to be a woman of 
 business. I was anxious, and I had to satisfy myself." 
 
 " I take no responsibility. I couldn't advise Miss 
 Tredegar. She complained a great deal about 
 boredom and the expenses of the estate ; I merely 
 mentioned to her that I had a client who was pre- 
 pared to give fifteen thousand pounds to relieve her of 
 the white elephant. The rest was entirely for her- 
 self." 
 
 "Quite so. My daughter is legally her own 
 mistress, and she has absolute control of the property. 
 She is unfettered. . . ." She hesitated. "There is 
 something else I want to say, Mr Federan. . . . 
 You see my husband has been dead many years, and 
 I am obliged to be both father and mother. . . . 
 Now, I know what my husband would do in my 
 place." 
 
 " What is that ?" said Gerald, rather huskily. 
 
 "Well, it is difficult," answered Mrs Tredegar, 
 " but he would say that you seem to have been pay- 
 ing my daughter certain attentions which go beyond 
 mere business civilities. Am I wrong in thinking 
 this?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You must be aware that I could not entirely 
 approve of such a match ? "
 
 220 THE VINEYARD 
 
 "I cannot follow any special objection. This is a 
 case where even her own father couldn't do much 
 either in the way of opposition or encouragement." 
 
 "I quite understand," said Mrs Tredegar. "At 
 the same time, I don't wish to quarrel. I can't 
 believe that any man could care for her. Her temper 
 and her health are shattered." 
 
 " I don't agree with you. I think that she has 
 been kept in the most unkind subjection — from the 
 best motives, no doubt ! " 
 
 " So that is your view : " This meant " So you 
 declare war r " 
 
 " That is my view," said Gerald. 
 
 "Well," she sighed, " if you have it in your power 
 to make my unfortunate daughter happy, I wish you 
 well. But have you that power r " 
 
 "Surely, that is for her to decide." 
 
 "I may as well give in. I have no influence over 
 my child — none ! I can only hope for the best." 
 
 The carriage, of which she was so proud, had re- 
 turned from the station ; and she suffered intensely at 
 the thought that Federan was quite aware that the 
 horses and vehicle belonged to Rachel, that the re- 
 spectful servants were in Rachel's pay, that she 
 herself was a dependent on Rachel's bounty. She 
 wished him good-bye, and this time he did not offer 
 to shakejiands, but as she was perverse, she held out 
 her own, and covered her retreat by adding a smile of 
 condescension.
 
 THE VINEYARD «2i 
 
 It was difficult for Federan to trace the path and 
 determine the scope of the plan in his mind, but such 
 as it was he called it Fate, and in his despair he 
 accepted it as the solution of his difficulties. It was 
 paying the price, that was all. His love had been 
 real ; his hopes, God knew, had been natural ; but 
 luck had gone against him. He was neither incon- 
 stant nor dishonest, yet the unforeseen had forced 
 him to seem both, and he did not feel that life could 
 ever again be to him what it had been in the past." 
 
 "Still," he thought, "my business is with the 
 world as it is, not as it might be." 
 
 Old Federan and the housekeeper, in the adjoining 
 room, discussed the young man while the musical-box 
 played. They agreed that he drew many troubles 
 upon himself by his ideas. 
 
 " And they are foolish ideas," said his father, "and 
 he has entered into a resolution of making his fortune 
 by them. Don't answer me, for I can tell, by your 
 face, what you are going to say. You think he's 
 handsome, and you hope he'll marry money." 
 
 "There's more water glides by the mill than the 
 miller knows," replied the woman, with the delight 
 of country people in dark sayings, " and no one 
 misses a thin slice from a cut loaf. You can take 
 that as you like, sir. It may be that Mr Gerald has 
 good hopes this time. Whenever you see two front 
 teeth a little apart, you can be sure that means luck." 
 
 " This fool's talk of lucky teeth has been his ruin,"
 
 222 THE VINEYARD 
 
 exclaimed old Federan. " Lucky teeth and new 
 moons have been all he's ever heard since he was 
 born." 
 
 " What is to be, let be. I'd sooner have a space 
 between my teeth than a coach and four," said the 
 housekeeper.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 " In old times the mason's rule which was in use 
 at Lesbos was not of wood or iron, but of lead, so as 
 to allow of its adjustment to the uneven surface 
 of the stone brought together for the work. This 
 illustrates the nature of equity in contrast with law." 
 
 Newman. 
 
 The journey by rail from YafFord to Franton lay 
 through a rural district — hedged fields of barley and 
 wheat, fields of heather and clover, fields of long 
 grass and newly mown hay ranged in soft ridges ; the 
 meadow land, with a shed here and there, or a large 
 grey barn, or clumps of oaks and elms, had horses and 
 cattle feeding on the pasture ; sheep grazed on the 
 low hills, flocks of geese fed by the streams ; near 
 Yafiford there was a timber-yard well stacked with 
 wood, and a coal-station. The little gardens of the 
 red brick dwellings were full of scarlet runners, roses, 
 wild orchids and fox-glove ; pigeons perched on 
 many of the roofs, blackbirds strayea through the 
 small orchards ; at Franton there were the long 
 glass-houses of Mr Lux's private nursery, vases of 
 geraniums, young trees and shrubs. It was less 
 
 romantic than the scenery near the coast, but it had 
 
 223
 
 224 THE VINEYARD 
 
 a soothing charm, the measured rhythm of quiet 
 industries and humble lives. Jennie saw nothing. 
 For ten days she had been suffering from a dumb 
 jealousy and despair which she was too proud to 
 analyse. She knew that Federan loved her — because 
 a woman's secret instinct in such a case is never at 
 fault ; but she knew also, by another instinct as 
 subtle and as infallible, that his love was not simple 
 enough to be profound, and not pure enough to be 
 strong under adversity. It was an emotional reckless 
 appetite which owed its force — not to his own heart, 
 but to her beauty. She had observed, with piercing 
 misgivings, that he loved her best when she looked 
 best, and already, in the first flush of their engage- 
 ment, she had found herself dreading the time when she 
 might no longer seem young or brilliant or vivacious. 
 Just as the melodious verses, love songs, rich colour, 
 sensuous music and the ideal in art gave Federan 
 thrills of pleasure, the very words age and illness 
 made him melancholy. Jennie laughed at his 
 sensitiveness, affecting to think that it meant no 
 more than the aversion of the vigorous animal for 
 disease and debility. She had also seen him yield to 
 the flattering fascination of Rachel's ways. When 
 she tried to believe that all men were capable of many 
 loves and many degrees of love, she remembered 
 Harlowe's stubborn affection, which, so far from 
 leading him into entanglements, kept him cold and 
 scornful toward every other woman, no matter how
 
 THE VINEYARD 225 
 
 attractive, except herself. Why could not Federan 
 show the same spirit ? In one of his letters he had 
 quoted Marvell's lines : — 
 
 " The love which us doth bind. 
 But fate so enviously debars. 
 Is the conjunction of the mind 
 And opposition of the stars." 
 
 He acquiesced, she thought, too lightly in the 
 opposition of the stars. Nevertheless, as a lover he 
 was ardent, enthusiastic and devoted ; while Harlowe 
 in the same character was moody, bad-tempered, 
 given to fault-finding and grudging of compliments. 
 It was impossible to pretend that Harlowe possessed 
 Federan's charm — which was the everlasting, 
 amazing charm of sex undisciplined and defined. 
 The girl, while she condemned his failings, saw that 
 they were the classic faults of the hero in true epic. 
 What of Odysseus ? of vEneas ? of Sigurd ? of 
 Tristan ? of Lancelot ? of Tom Jones ? " Perhaps 
 I'll die before I get old," she thought ; for hours this 
 hope could keep her happy. And finding authority 
 in romance for his potential infidelities, she had tried 
 to excuse his business schemes by imagining that she 
 understood them ill, or weighed them according to 
 some fantastic code unfamiliar to minds engaged in 
 commerce. He had talked about " playing the 
 game " ; he had insisted on his own sincerity of 
 purpose ; he had reproached her for admitting a doubt 
 
 p
 
 226 THE VINEYARD 
 
 of it ; he had given her half a dozen justifications for 
 every step taken in the affair. And yet . . . She did 
 not enter into these arguments, but she did not love him 
 the less because she could not enter into them. And 
 yet . . . While the train followed its course through 
 slumbering villages and farm lands, a sharp pain 
 avv^oke in the girl's breast, and she grewr v^^eary of the 
 skies. Little by little each word and look and 
 gesture of the scene with Federan repeated itself in 
 her memory, and as one gradually comes back to the 
 rouehncss and loudness of life after an anaesthetic, the 
 whole discussion — its significance, its brutality, its 
 violent contradictions of all her dreams, and its 
 irremediable bitterness — seemed to break her spirit. 
 Tears like rain fell down her cheeks ; she rocked to 
 and fro — as she had once seen a peasant woman 
 crying and rocking herself beside the dead body of a 
 man. It seemed as though grief and all the emotions 
 she had once thought sacred and individual took root 
 in the very muscles, and had to obey some law in the 
 great mechanism of the universe. Federan had felt 
 the humiliation of a quarrel, she now felt the 
 humiliation of suffering visibly the mental agitation 
 which she wished to bear in silence and as a secret 
 thing never to be disclosed. But when uncontrollable 
 grief takes possession of a strong soul it comes almost 
 as a child that must be indulged and compassionately 
 treated ; the Jennie that wept and swayed and 
 moaned seemed a younger sister to the hidden heart-
 
 THE VINEYARD 227 
 
 broken Jennie who tried to wonder why tears had to 
 be shed. At last her body grew obedient ; she dried 
 her smarting eyes, and, when the train stopped at 
 Franton, the strain of the sea and the strong breeze 
 lifted her thoughts to the freer atmosphere of ever- 
 lasting things. Perhaps her heartache was trivial, but 
 it hurt. Perhaps her love story was a small matter, 
 but if the world went on just the same in spite of it 
 she could not. The everlasting things were for the 
 old ; alas ! she wanted the ephemeral elusive glad- 
 ness one snatched while young from flying hours and 
 days. 
 
 Rachel's maid was waiting in the avenue which led 
 to Franton Manor. She aped her mistress as well as 
 she could, and she offered a perpetual caricature of 
 Rachel ; her towzled hair was carefully disordered 
 with the intention of following the R6camier coiffure ; 
 she wore, without Rachel's grace, one of Rachel's 
 dresses, dyed, but not altered ; she had caught some 
 of the inflexions of Rachel's voice, and assimilated her 
 vocabulary. 
 
 On catching sight of Jennie, for whom she was 
 watching, she wrung her hands almost as elegantly as 
 Rachel herself might have made the gesture. 
 
 "Oh, I am too alarmed ! Last night she was sad, 
 but calm. And how quiet she was this morning ! I 
 feared that quiet — for she has turned against her 
 medicines and her massage ; she calls them cowardice, 
 and she says she is paying for the poisons which her
 
 228 THE VINEYARD 
 
 ancestors for a hundred years drank, inhaled and 
 injected under the skin. She is raging. The 
 moment you had left the house — and someone was 
 mad enough to tell her you had gone — she sent notes 
 to Mrs Gillespie and Mrs Rowland. Then she fell 
 into a swoon — not one of her swoons, but a regular 
 swoon ! " Here, never having seen her model in 
 circumstances of real earnestness, the maid became 
 natural, threw her apron, a piece of frilled muslin, 
 over her head, and wailed out in her native dialect at 
 the top of her resonant voice, " Don't say she's 
 going to die ! I dreamed three nights of white 
 horses ! They say she's ill enough to be prayed for. 
 She must be dying if they pray for her in church. It's 
 the last thing they do, miss. And only yesterday she 
 gave me that rich blue evening — all passementerie. 
 Oh, those white horses ! I'll never forget them as 
 long as I live. Their tails swept the ground, and the 
 fair man in my dream who was driving them said, 
 * They eat cake, bless you ! ' It was all rubbish like 
 that, and I woke up thinking, * I don't like the looks 
 of the fair man.' I was bitter cold too ! " She sobbed 
 as she walked along with Jennie to the house, and 
 said presently, after a violent shudder of unfeigned 
 grief, " The passementerie is such a mass of beads that 
 it will never dye black, or go with first mourning ! " 
 Rachel meanwhile was in the rose garden, reclining 
 on a bench by the pond in the centre where a stone 
 Cupid, pouring water from a cornucopia into a blue-
 
 THE VINEYARD 229 
 
 tiled basin, sat astride on a stone dolphin. She loved 
 the spot, for she had walked there on Federan's arm, 
 and this association with him and with high and noble 
 ideas rested like a caress on her memory. Mrs 
 Gillespie, Mrs Rowland, Mrs Bouverie-Copeland 
 and Mrs Puddifant sat on chairs by her side. Their 
 common-place appearance ruined the picture, and 
 they seemed like actresses in ulsters rehearsing their 
 words in some elaborate stage scene. 
 
 " You see how ill I am ! " had been Rachel's 
 greeting. 
 
 The four ladies had looked at her with curiosity, 
 and exchanged glances which they hoped conveyed 
 no shadow of their thoughts. 
 
 " I cannot recover. I have had a blow," she 
 continued. " I don't wish to be hard on Miss Sussex, 
 but I must put the case before you — in justice to 
 my friend, Mr Federan." 
 
 Closing her eyes, she recited the little history, as 
 she understood it, of a fortnight. 
 
 '^ And did Miss Sussex tell you that she was 
 engaged to him ?" said Mrs Gillespie. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mrs Puddifant, after several entreaties and a good 
 deal of coughing, referred to certain rumours which 
 she was not ill-natured enough, she confessed, to 
 particularise. 
 
 <' Old Mr Federan has always been called respect- 
 able," said Mrs Rowland, who looked like an elderly
 
 230 THE VINEYARD 
 
 unmarried, retired major. "I don't know much 
 about the son. He called upon my husband about 
 some project which he has in his head. The worst 
 is that the colonel was taken with the idea, and he 
 sold some securities in a very safe old thing, and is 
 going to plunge on this new scheme." 
 
 " Every road leads to business — eternal business," 
 murmured Rachel. 
 
 "I shouldn't get upset," suggested Mrs Puddifant. 
 
 Mrs Gillespie, who never flinched from her duty, 
 mentioned the necessity of seeing life whole, as 
 Matthew Arnold had so finely said. 
 
 Mrs Bouverie-Copeland, whose legal mind had 
 prompted the judicious reservation of her opinion, 
 now held forth. 
 
 " I do not care for Miss Sussex. When I was a 
 girl I felt, thought and acted as all my young friends 
 and relations thought, felt and acted. I hate people 
 who are not like anybody else. Miss Sussex is a 
 being apart. She has been allowed too much liberty. 
 She might really be a married woman. This liberty 
 is the great evil of the day. It is not confined to 
 Miss Sussex, and I must say simply what I think 
 right. Gerald Federan is a flirt, and by no means 
 in a paltering way. He goes to great lengths. He 
 leads girls on." 
 
 " He certainly leads girls on," said Mrs Howland. 
 
 " And few men actually propose in so many words," 
 observed Mrs Gillespie,
 
 THE VINEYARD 231 
 
 On this point all four matrons were unanimous. 
 
 " A proposal in so many words," said Mrs Bouverie- 
 Copeland, "is almost unknown." 
 
 " They have to put out feelers," said Mrs Gillespie, 
 who had a masculine simplicity of phrase. 
 
 "A girl, therefore, may easily be led to understand 
 that she has received an offer," said Mrs Bouverie- 
 Copeland. "There is no position more painful to 
 all parties concerned." 
 
 "Then you don't think Jennie lied to me?" said 
 Rachel. 
 
 The ladies made faces till Mrs Puddifant owned 
 boldly that she for one did not know what to think. 
 
 " Everything ends that way, too," exclaimed 
 Rachel ; " but you were all very kind to come." 
 
 Fruit and wine and cake were brought out to the 
 visitors, and the conversation, on account of the 
 footmen, was adroitly directed towards this question : 
 "Do bread-crumbs make gold-fish burst ? " 
 
 There were a few in the blue-tiled basin under the 
 stone Cupid. 
 
 Jennie, in the library where Federan had first met 
 Rachel, was talking to Dr Rench. The physician 
 — an excellent man, but too healthy himself to have 
 much insight into the maladies which spring from 
 ideas — looked grave. 
 
 " Miss Tredegar's life hangs by a thread," he said. 
 "The least shock, the smallest annoyance, will send 
 the pendulum the wrong way,"
 
 232 THE VINEYARD 
 
 The patient was to be kept cheerful ; her melan- 
 choly fancies were to be discouraged. 
 
 " Everything must be bright," he went on, " but, 
 mind you, it is most serious. I will not look in 
 again this afternoon, as a second visit would excite 
 her alarm. I suppose there is nothing on her mind." 
 He dropped his voice, and talked into his hat. " She 
 seems interested in young Federan. It would not be 
 a bad thing in some ways. Her life is very blank, 
 and, really, this district is no place for young people. 
 A great many would say, ' She is lucky to get him,' 
 and, upon my word, class distinctions are no longer 
 what they were. If you bring up a girl in this lonely 
 place till she is about seven-and-twenty " — he put up 
 his hand — '*ah, well, a word to the wise." 
 
 ** And you say the least shock would be fatal r " 
 asked Jennie. 
 
 " Ouite fatal. But don't anticipate anything of 
 the sort.'' 
 
 " What would be called a shock r " 
 
 " She is ill, she is sentimental, she is unreasonable. 
 If she has set her affections on anyone, and she has 
 any reason to think that the man cares for anyone 
 else, or, as she is of an excessively jealous tempera- 
 ment (inherited, I fear) — had ever cared for anyone 
 else — you will try to recollect that she is ill — seriously 
 ill. A strain — and the whole thing will be at an 
 end. Now, I'm not a croaker, as you know, but I 
 speak plainly enough this time."
 
 THE VINEYARD ajS 
 
 "I understand," said Jennie. 
 
 " For the life of me," added the good-natured man, 
 who thought Jennie an exceedingly handsome, sensible 
 young woman, " for the life of me, I cannot see so 
 much to make a fuss about in Gerald Federan. 
 These little tiffs and misunderstandings often mean 
 no more than a determination to get one's own way. 
 It isn't the man — it's the display of will-power." 
 He pressed her hand, admired her fine complexion, 
 said, " If I could prescribe that, what a fortune I'd 
 make ! " and went out thinking it a thousand pities 
 that she had to endure the Tredegars' nonsense. 
 
 Jennie went with uncertain steps to her own room, 
 and sat down on her bed. "It is certain. Gerald 
 has deceived her. Everything is at an end now. 
 There's no doubt. I must go away for ever from 
 them both. It is hopeless." 
 
 Until that moment one hope had lingered in her 
 soul, just as one swallow must always be the last to 
 leave the changing trees. She had no longer any 
 thoughts, but the sentence, "It is hopeless! hope- 
 less ! hopeless ! " seemed to ring with a hundred 
 voices through the walls, and she told herself that she 
 wanted no other world elsewhere, no higher life, no 
 joys incomparable to those she had already known 
 for a short while ; the silent grave for inert dust was 
 best of all. 
 
 " When I am dead he will be sorry." 
 
 She remembered his protestations, his kisses, his
 
 234 THE VINEYARD 
 
 entreaties, and the passion in his brilliant eyes ; the 
 emotion he could never wholly overcome even at the 
 mention of her name. Rachel herself had declared 
 but a few days before, " Mr Federan always blushes 
 when one speaks of Jennie or he sees a bit of her 
 handwriting.*' 
 
 Alas ! alas ! how little these signs might mean ! 
 
 Then, with a revulsion of feeling, she felt she must 
 live. " Can't I live without him ? I will forget him. 
 Can't I pretend to forget him ? Oh, how unhappy I 
 am ! " A sudden wave of triumph fell upon her 
 thoughts. " But he did these things for me. He 
 wanted the money for me. His love for me made 
 him dishonest. His love for me has been his ruin." 
 
 This was true enough to weep over, and true 
 enough to be hailed as something undeniable in so 
 much that was bewildering. He had loved her, he 
 loved her still. Thus, for an hour, she suffered the 
 most contradictory thoughts — which always returned 
 as small pains shoot backwards and forwards from a 
 constant greater one with increased torment, to the 
 central warning : " It is hopeless ! hopeless ! hope- 
 less!" 
 
 On Mrs Tredegar's return from YafFord, Rachel 
 went with her from the garden to Jennie's bedroom. 
 Tagg, the maid, and Lovelock, the housekeeper, 
 followed, declaring that the stairs would be the death 
 of their mistress. They ignored Mrs Tredegar,
 
 THE VINEYARD 235 
 
 whom they regarded with malice and distrust as a 
 visitor who stayed too long. Did she pay them their 
 wages ? 
 
 "I am in the employ of Miss Tredegar !" said the 
 housekeeper, invariably. 
 
 Rachel, on entering Jennie's room, walked pain- 
 fully to the mirror on the dressing-table. "I look 
 fifty years old !" she exclaimed, striking her reflection 
 — but not too hard, because she thought it unlucky 
 to break a looking-glass. Her eyes seemed to contain 
 all the vitality left in her frame, and the ghastliness 
 of her features made the fury which illuminated them 
 the more forbidding. 
 
 " What was Rench saying to you about me ?" she 
 asked, fixing Jennie with a bitter smile which showed 
 the disappointment, unavailing regret and despair 
 of youth wearing away in purely selfish emotions. 
 " He wants me to be happy. He talks about happi- 
 ness as though it were something in a bottle." A 
 cry broke in her throat. " Oh, Jennie, I did like you 
 very much. I like you still, but you have not been 
 all that you ought to have been. You told me an 
 untruth. I know it is not true." 
 
 For an instant she had felt in her mind, which 
 with many evil things, had also dreamed dreams of 
 heroism and loyalties, that she was condemning her- 
 self to perpetual lies, self-deceptions and shame by 
 her wild love for Federan. Still, why not ? She 
 would be, perhaps, his slave, his fool. The end did
 
 236 THE VINEYARD 
 
 not matter. He had given her what life itself had 
 not given her — sweet joys and deep feelings which 
 did not fail or pass. Her haggard countenance grew 
 proud, she felt she was under a curse, for which she 
 sought no pity and no relief. 
 
 " You told me you were engaged to Mr Federan," 
 she said. " One of you must be deceiving me. 
 Were you trying to make me unhappy ? Don't you 
 know that, whatever I think or whatever I do, I can 
 never beat peace with myself? I'm doomed." 
 
 " You say that so often ! " exclaimed Mrs Tredegar, 
 wearilv. " You are too much alone."' 
 
 " And you say that so often," replied her daughter. 
 " I am always alone just because I*m doomed. But 
 you never understand. Jennie understood a little. 
 She has failed me now — utterly, utterly. Why," she 
 said suddenly — " why did you tell me such a lie 
 about that man ? " 
 
 Jennie looked at her eyes, which were encircled 
 with dark lines ; and she remembered Rench's fear. 
 
 *'Iwas never engaged to Mr Federan, "said Jennie, 
 looking steadily at the wan and miserable woman, 
 " I told vou a He." 
 
 This false confession produced at first a stupefying 
 effect. Rachel's instinct doubted it, but in the con- 
 fusion of impulses the one she obeyed was the one 
 which offered an explanation of Federan's conduct. 
 Her eyes grew kinder ; they softened curiously as 
 they met Jennie's,
 
 THE VINEYARD 237 
 
 (( 
 
 But you like him," she insisted ; "you wanted to 
 take him from me — you wanted to separate us. You 
 like him ? " 
 
 " I loved him. He never loved me, and we were 
 never engaged." 
 
 "There !" said Rachel, beginning to cry ; " you 
 hear her, mamma." 
 
 Mrs Tredegar, who saw, with violent irritation, 
 the influence which Jennie still kept over her 
 daughter, turned with almost serpentine vindictive- 
 ness towards them both. 
 
 "Do you believe her ?" she said contemptuously. 
 "I met her two hours ago coming out of Federan's 
 office. I met her myself." Absorbed in the gratifi- 
 cation of her own spite, she did not see the awful 
 alteration in Rachel's face, and she mistook the 
 alarm on Jennie's for the fear of being detected in 
 deceit. "I met her myself," she continued, "and 
 there must be something between them. Everyone 
 says so. She has made this statement either to screen 
 him or herself. I will say what I know. I will not 
 be silent. There is some understanding between 
 Jennie and that man. If she has ever lied she is lying 
 now ! " 
 
 " How could you meet her at his office ? " asked 
 Rachel, quickly. " Why were you there ? " 
 
 The adroitness, the unexpectedness of this question, 
 dismayed her mother. 
 
 " I went on business of my own," she stammered.
 
 238 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Rachel screamed out for Tagg. 
 
 " You are all in league against me — all of you ! 
 You all He to me and deceive me 1 I have no one to 
 trust in and no one to turn to. You all treat me as 
 though I vi^ere a fool ! I will believe no one ! You 
 are all liars — liars ! " 
 
 She stumbled across the room, and fell, pressing 
 her hand to her heart, in the corridor. 
 
 " You have killed her ! " said Jennie. " Don't you 
 know ? " 
 
 " I know I am my wretched child's one friend." 
 
 But Rachel, at her mother's approach, screamed, 
 " No one shall touch me ... no one ! " 
 
 She allowed Jennie, however, to place a cushion 
 under her head. 
 
 The servants, in reply to the calls, ran to and fro 
 suggesting remedies. Mrs Tredegar was incon- 
 solable. 
 
 " If Rachel dies," she said to Tagg, " I shall never 
 smile again." She implored Rachel to speak, but she 
 would not. She remained on the floor, gasping, half- 
 supported by Jennie's arms. 
 
 Mrs Tredegar then locked herself in her boudoir, 
 and made a humble request : — 
 
 "When it is all over, please send someone to 
 
 me. 
 
 No one answered her. But in the scullery far 
 below, the kitchen-maid, who was a newcomer and 
 never allowed upstairs to see the gentry, heard Mrs
 
 THE VINEYARD 239 
 
 Tredegar sobbing dread fully, and as the sobs frightened 
 her, and she was too young to remember that she 
 would get full wages if the establishment were 
 suddenly dispersed, and excellent mourning in any 
 event, she ran away to her poor home, leaving her 
 box behind.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "Think not my silence forgetful ness, or that my 
 love is as dumb as my papers ; though business may 
 stop my hand, yet my heart, a much better member, 
 is always with you." George Herbert. 
 
 Harlowe had entered upon the duties of his new 
 appointment, and he was endeavouring to find that 
 happiness in work which he had lost in love. So long 
 as he remained engrossed by impersonal and professional 
 matters he felt contented ; but he began to dislike 
 music and pictures, anything that was beautiful, any- 
 thing which recalled his old thoughts or sentiments 
 about the world. One morning, however, he asked 
 himself, " Why am I writing so many tedious letters ? 
 Why am I holding so many long conversations with 
 estimable persons who are also engaged, as I am, in 
 killing time ? I'd sooner work in a garden over 
 dahlias and chrysanthemums." This became his new 
 dream. He read a book about New Zealand, and he 
 promised himself a farm and fat cattle out there some 
 time, before he grew too old. The bush was the 
 place for a man. '* The glades of glittering leaf- 
 clouds and clear torrents and filmy ferns" (so he read) 
 
 240
 
 THE VINEYARD 241 
 
 called him, so he affected to believe. He would 
 wander in the forest of Tane, rest under giant trees, 
 work out the price of lumber and cultivate wheat. 
 All these pleasures were for that some day which had 
 become each year of his life still more indefinitely 
 remote, and now, alas ! so easy to wait for. The 
 hurry was over. But he formed an insincere practice 
 of thinking quite earnestly, " Yes, please God, one of 
 these days I shall settle in New Zealand." He 
 thought it just as many good people speak of longing 
 for Heaven — when the time comes for the realisation 
 of that long-desired change, they will order prayers 
 offered for its delay. They believe in the Heaven or 
 they would not order the prayers, but there is in this, 
 as in most hopes which have grown habitual at some 
 expense to their intensity, an inadmissible preference 
 for the craving rather than its appeasement. Jennie's 
 letter asking for particulars of the Franton district 
 roused Harlowe from this unsatisfactory state of 
 mind. He began to fear that she was not happy after 
 all, and, as his love was unselfish, he grieved. That 
 Federan was involved in a dishonest speculation was 
 no surprise to him ; it had been a certainty in his 
 mind from the beginning, and it had been hard 
 indeed to sit down in patience under such a presenti- 
 ment. Jennie, driven forward by fate and circum- 
 stance and mad first love, had but a poor chance of 
 drawing back in time ; she offered an example of the 
 inutility of human effort, the powerlessness of ordinary
 
 242 THE VINEYARD 
 
 religious faith against the passion of instinct and the 
 transports of imagination. Another man might have 
 seen some opportunity for his own claim in the after 
 days of the girl's disillusion ; Harlowe, too candid to 
 be astute and too ignorant of women to know their 
 possibilities for suffering and transition, had still 
 something better to guide him than cunning or 
 experience, and that was his own affection. 
 
 "If she did not love me before, she will not love 
 me after her eyes are opened," he thought ; and 
 having a store of little maxims which saved him 
 many long soliloquies, he added, '' ' He complains 
 wrongfully on the sea that twice suffers shipwreck.' 
 She threw me over once. It would be my own 
 fault if she threw me over a second time." But he 
 resolved to put a brave face on his wounded pride ; 
 a new protective tenderness stole over the love 
 which had once been so reluctant in confessing 
 itself, and so much too hard under rejection. Several 
 hours were spent in composing the letter which 
 contained the true copy of Paxton & Grainger's 
 report. How should he tell the facts most gently ? 
 How could he avoid the tone or semi-tone of the 
 prophet proved faithful ? How might he, without 
 offering excuses for Federan's conduct, best save 
 poor Jennie from some, at least, of the mortification 
 which she would, incurably, have to feel? To 
 excuse Federan was beyond his power ; to speak of 
 him with impartiality was also impossible ; at last
 
 THE VINEYARD 143 
 
 he managed to write a letter in which Federan's 
 name did not occur. After it was posted Harlowe 
 attacked his day's labour with feverish energy. 
 Another of his maxims — " Living well is the best 
 revenge" — sustained him up to a certain point, but 
 toward the evening, when he wandered on to the 
 hillocks surrounding the town, and saw the fires of 
 the great engineering works burning in the distance, 
 their smoke lashing the peaceful summer sky, their 
 chimneys rising like black impregnable pillars of 
 some barrier between himself and the flowery world 
 of nightingales, loves, delicious retreats and alluring 
 insecurities — when he saw all this and heard the 
 church bells chiming out monotonous hours for 
 him, but perhaps ecstatic ones for other men, the 
 New Zealand dream itself melted away in the cool 
 and careless breeze, the maxims kept silent, and he 
 rebelled against the loneliness of his lot. 
 
 That same night he took the express to London, 
 and the next morning he left London for Franton. 
 
 *' She is unhappy, and I can help her," he 
 told himself. In the train he read ten news- 
 papers, and as a consequence ten obituary notices 
 of the same eminent statesman, lately deceased. 
 He compared the facts, detected discrepancies, and 
 felt that such an occupation was not merely divert- 
 ing but instructive. When he thought he might 
 safely glance at his watch, he saw that one hundred 
 and fifteen minutes had been well numbed.
 
 244 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Encouraged, he bought at a junction several six- 
 penny magazines and The Mining Engineer^ the new 
 number of which was just out. 
 
 " Here's luck ! " he exclaimed, having determined 
 to be moderate in all his desires. When he reached 
 Franton late in the afternoon, he liked the look of 
 everyone at the station — from the guard to the 
 boy at the bookstall ; he experienced some difficulty 
 in choosing a flyman — they were all so obliging. 
 He decided, eventually, in favour of the one, the 
 least pleasant perhaps, who had first caught his eye. 
 
 "That is the fairest way." 
 
 Franton air seemed to possess remarkable qualities ; 
 the place itself was out of the way, the train service 
 was abominable, and the local inns could not be 
 recommended. But, apart from these drawbacks, 
 Franton was well worth a visit. As the fly passed 
 through the high iron gates of Franton Manor he 
 heard the peacocks screaming, and he seemed to be 
 entering a deserted domain. Not a leaf stirred ; 
 no butterfly, or moth, or bird or living thing could 
 be seen ; the unoccupied porter's lodge at the 
 entrance was covered with red and yellow roses ; 
 the boughs of the trees in the orchard were heavy with 
 apples : but he felt that the roses would fall at a touch, 
 and the apples prove sour eating. His spirits grew 
 depressed, and he drove along looking backwards over 
 his shoulder in the direction of Miss Leddle's cottage. 
 
 Mrs Tredegar, exhausted by sobbing, was moan-
 
 THE VINEYARD 
 
 245 
 
 ing on her bed, when a servant, bearing Harlowe's 
 card on a salver, came to her bedside. The gentle- 
 man had asked for Miss Sussex ; Miss Sussex vi^as 
 waiting hand and foot on Miss Tredegar — she could 
 see no one, and no one, on any pretence, except 
 Dr Rench and Tagg, was admitted into the sick- 
 room. What was to be done ? Mrs Tredegar 
 vaguely remembered Harlowe's name, and swift 
 malice prompted her to make mischief without loss 
 of time between this individual and Jennie. Realis- 
 ing that the traces of tears on her face would aid 
 the eloquence of all she intended to say — she did 
 not try to remove them, but descended as she was 
 to the drawing-room. When she stood in the door- 
 way of that apartment, Harlowe was immediately 
 impressed, as she knew he could not fail to be, by 
 her age, her stateliness, and the majestic candour 
 of her grief. In subdued tones she told the young 
 man as much as she knew, and more than she 
 understood, of the situation in regard to Federan, 
 and her daughter's most serious state. Harlowe was 
 about to interrupt her with the assertion that, to 
 his certain knowledge, Jennie and Federan were 
 engaged to be married, when he remembered that 
 the matter had been confided to him under the 
 strictest promise of secrecy ; but he maintained 
 stoutly, in defence of his friend, that she was as 
 incapable of telling a lie as she was of disturbing 
 another woman's happiness.
 
 246 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Mrs Tredegar smiled in pity. " She is a dangerous 
 girl — for men/' 
 
 He was wholly unable to seize the real meaning of 
 words in a certain order of ideas. He could make 
 nothing of Mrs Tredegar's remark, but his whole 
 being rose in anger. " I won't allow her to remain 
 here another day," he said hastily ; *' no one could 
 ever have one doubt of her." 
 
 Again he had to check himself. A friendless girl 
 is thrice friendless when a man attempts her defence. 
 Mrs Tredegar became indulgent and intelligent, if 
 much colder in her manner. 
 
 " I knew your father," she said, and, shaking her 
 head, sighed deeply. 
 
 The interview thus came to an end, and Harlowe 
 left the Manor with a feeling that his call would be 
 used against Jennie by her enemies, and converted 
 into a compromising attention. 
 
 " I can do nothing for her — did I wish it ever so 
 much. The one person who is able, and must be 
 made to help, is Federan." 
 
 He ordered the flyman to drive to the local railway, 
 and there he caught a train, after waiting two hours, 
 for Cumbersborough. There were no trains to 
 Yafford till the following day. 
 
 Gerald had replied to Rachel's note by telegram, 
 saying that he would call at Franton, if she would see 
 him, early on the morrow. No answer came to him,
 
 THE VINEYARD 247 
 
 and he passed a night of agony, realising that, by- 
 some means, he would have to raise fifteen thousand 
 pounds within a week. His aunt might be persuaded 
 to wait for her seven thousand ; but when a man is 
 penniless and without resources, a large sum which 
 has to be found may be reduced by half and still re- 
 main a crushing liability. To add to his fears, Colonel 
 Howland had sent a letter by express messenger to 
 say that he must insist on further details. His wife, it 
 seems, had been so perturbed by Rachel's story, that, 
 while she did not attach the slightest importance to 
 the love affair, she had the gravest apprehensions 
 about the safety of Colonel Howland's investment. 
 Had Federan not remembered tales of good tidings 
 which came with the dawn, and legends of men who 
 committed suicide when an hour's endurance would 
 have brought them news of an unexpected legacy, he 
 would have blown his brains out. If the two women 
 at Fran ton were unhappy, he was in a far worse 
 plight, for, in his case, remorse and despair were 
 added to his sentimental misfortune, while disgrace 
 and absolute ruin seemed, failing a miracle, his in- 
 evitable punishment. By the time Harlowe arrived 
 another night was near at hand, and Federan was 
 beginning to shudder at the prospect of a second 
 encounter with his conscience, his forebodings, and 
 his temptation to put an end to the whole thing 
 quickly. 
 
 Harlowe was the first to speak. He stood in the
 
 248 THE VINEYARD 
 
 office and looked his successful rival straight in the 
 eyes. 
 
 " We ought to know each other," he said ; "Miss 
 Sussex is a friend of mine. I don't think you can be 
 aware that they are having a good deal of trouble at 
 Franton. Miss Tredegar is dangerously ill — she's 
 not expected to live." 
 
 Federan sav/ his hopes were overturned. *'Is she 
 dying ?" he asked, after a dreadful pause. 
 
 " So her mother told me." 
 
 *' I shall soon have more trouble than I can stand," 
 exclaimed Federan, and his voice failed. " I have 
 been deceived by Coolidge." 
 
 " That coal on the estate ? I knew you were 
 being taken in there. I couldn't suppose that you 
 wished to take in other people." 
 
 " Speculation is speculation after all," said Gerald, 
 with a sharp glance, *' but I draw the line at a few 
 thmgs. I have been horribly deceived and let in." 
 
 "But Jennie mustn't be ruined." 
 
 "How do you mean — ruined? What has she to 
 do with it ?" 
 
 Harlowe answered him scornfully. "You must 
 know. You have forced her to deny your engage- 
 ment." 
 
 "The eno-ao-ement is broken off." 
 
 "Thank God! I disapproved of you from the 
 first. I didn't like you." 
 
 "That is frank."
 
 THE VINEYARD h9 
 
 "I wish to be frank. I disliked you. I felt that 
 you were a man who couldn't be trusted. I call you 
 weak. I call you cowardly. Do you know what the 
 love of a good woman means ? Do you think you 
 can whistle to it, call it back at your pleasure or send 
 it away ? If so, I venture to say that you are greatly 
 mistaken." 
 
 " I don*t ask you to think well of me," said Federan ; 
 " but I ask you, for her sake, to try and make peace 
 between us." 
 
 " For her sake ! " exclaimed Harlowe. " You're 
 pretty sure of yourself ! " 
 
 " I am sure of her. She doesn't know yet all I 
 have been through. When she hears the facts — " 
 
 "It isn't for her happiness to believe in you." 
 
 " It isn't for her happiness to doubt me." 
 
 "If I can induce her to put you, for ever, out of 
 her mind," said Harlowe, " I shall do so. I can quite 
 believe that you fascinated her, that you interested 
 her, that you did everything in your power to make 
 yourself indispensably agreeable to her. I can believe 
 that she loved you, but that she could continue to 
 love you after such conduct as this I doubt entirely." 
 
 "Your doubt is natural," said Federan ; "any man 
 in your position would entertain it. You see, perhaps, 
 a chance for yourself." 
 
 " That is my affair. But I don't see a chance for 
 a man who is a liar." 
 
 Federan shrugged his shoulders. " I excuse you
 
 25© THE VINEYARD 
 
 because things look black against me. I am pre- 
 pared to make every reparation in my power." 
 
 " The reparation ought not to be neccessary. I 
 consider that your actions have been unpardonable. 
 She couldn't respect you or trust you again. I'd 
 sooner see her dead than reconciled with you." 
 
 " Then it's war to the knife, is it ?" said Federan. 
 
 " There is no war and there are no knives so far as I 
 am concerned. I'm a plain dealer, and I am telling 
 you frankly what I think about you. And you are 
 at perfect liberty to tell me, in return, what you think 
 of me." 
 
 " Oh," said the other, '* I'm not going to waste 
 time on that. I haven't slept a wink for a week. I 
 may as well tell you. Coolidge has bolted with the 
 purchase-money — bungled the whole thing horribly. 
 The manager at the bank got suspicious. Rowland 
 and that devil Lux were after me like hounds. I don't 
 blame them — it was a swindle from A to Z ! But I 
 am as much fooled as they were ; what is more I am 
 utterly ruined, whereas they have merely lost, perhaps, 
 some money. Do you expect me to play the Romeo 
 with all this worry on my mind ? What can I do r" 
 
 Harlowe had a sudden inspiration. " Would you 
 go abroad if I could get you an opening r " 
 
 " I'd go anywhere." He went over to the horse- 
 hair sofa and threw himself upon it. " I'm dead beat 
 — ^just dead beat. On my honour I don't care what 
 happens."
 
 THE VINEYARD 251 
 
 Harlowe, a soldier's son, could not forget that 
 Federan, now so broken, so spiritless, so weary, had 
 been a good fighter once. What blight had destroyed 
 his manliness ? how had he fallen to this mean 
 disaster ? 
 
 "I want her to forget me. I want her to be happy 
 But I can never again be happy," muttered Federan, 
 and he turned his face to the wall. 
 
 Every man, sooner or later, has to utter his own 
 epitaph. Hariowe's thin lips trembled, and he felt 
 that Federan himself had justly ended the conversa- 
 tion. There was no more left to be said.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 "Away with all those vain pretences of making 
 ourselves happy within ourselves, of feasting on our 
 own thoughts, of being satisfied with the conscious- 
 ness of well-doing, and of despising all assistance and 
 all supplies from external objects. This is the voice 
 of pride, not of nature." David Hume. 
 
 Federan remained where he had flung himself on 
 the horsehair sofa, dizzy with heart-sickness. Want 
 of sleep and fatigue had added physical illness to his 
 misery ; he seemed to be falling through the air to 
 distant, yawning depths ; the room seemed to be 
 melting away, and the floor dissolving. He cursed 
 his fate ; he wanted to strike out at his adversaries. 
 He would soon be known as Coolidge's tool, as a 
 rascal, as a fraudulent trustee. What had become 
 of his strength ? Could he not show himself on the 
 Hio-h Street at any moment, and be pointed out as 
 young Federan, the best rider in the county, the 
 winner of the Challenge Cup, the yeoman who had 
 been given the Victoria Cross for heroic bravery in 
 South Africa ? No. The provincial townspeople 
 cared nothing at all for glory unaccompanied by 
 collateral securities. They would merely say that 
 
 252
 
 THE VINEYARD 253 
 
 they wondered how he could show his face, and all 
 his achievements would give the cynical material 
 only for the coarsest sarcasm — the sarcasm of men in 
 petty ways of business who envied venomously, not 
 fine reputations, but those who could even find any 
 sums to steal or misappropriate. To see the colour 
 of money showed to them a kind of unjust Provi- 
 dential favouritism. Imaginative minds, or minds 
 warped by the perpetual striving in the meanest ways 
 against the meanest difficulties, regard many tempta- 
 tions as a decided privilege — a distinction. Money 
 gambled away on the Stock Exchange and the merry 
 women of great cities, the credit given to well-known 
 people and the opportunities squandered on those 
 who appear to have already more than they can re- 
 gard, fill the provincial heart, too often crushed, 
 slighted and misunderstood, with a rage which is not 
 always impotent. Federan had nothing to hope for 
 from his neighbours and fellow-townsmen. He re- 
 membered an incident of disgraced prosperity in the 
 case of the Marchmonts — county people — who, in 
 consequence of unfortunate transactions in company 
 promoting, had been obliged to leave, at short notice, 
 the mansion which their ancestors had held for three 
 centuries at Cumbersborough. Federan himself had 
 been a boy of ten at the time, but he remembered the 
 unfortunate Marchmonts being driven down the 
 High Street by the third-rate jobmaster, who wore 
 a shamefaced expression, to the Commercial Inn of
 
 254 THE VINEYARD 
 
 YaflFord for a night's lodging. They had been refused, 
 with excuses, accommodation at the "Wheatsheaf" 
 and the "Bugle." Once they had spent three 
 hundred pounds a week among the tradespeople of 
 that very town. 
 
 " Ah, why didn't I stay out there ! " exclaimed 
 Federan, thinking of South Africa. But neither out 
 there nor anywhere was any welcome waiting for a 
 young man, ever so handsome, with an empty purse 
 hanging by never more superb legs. 
 
 "It was not empty last year. I had something. 
 I was respected." Then he cursed his sentimentality 
 — his damnable, senseless, fatal sentimentality. 
 What, in his sober moments, had he always main- 
 tained ? Beauty cost so much ; fastidiousness was 
 a luxury ; happiness, peace, the decencies were so 
 expensive. Long after Harlowe had left the office 
 Federan fancied he was still there answering his 
 thoughts and reproaching him for his cowardice. 
 
 "I'm a coward. My God ! I must be ill or 
 going mad. I have never before been a coward. I'll 
 pull myself together and astonish you yet. I've got 
 the pluck of the very devil. Ask anybody you like. 
 But pluck depends on one's health." 
 
 An unfamiliar rustle in the room made him turn 
 from the wall. 
 
 " Who's that r " he called out, as a woman's figure 
 advanced timidly, and took up a position at his feet. 
 The twilight was dim that day ; the scent of verbena,
 
 THE VINEYARD 255 
 
 which Rachel used, mingled with the musty odour 
 of the deeds and parchments ; the dress, worn by the 
 figure, suggested in some way a dress he knew. 
 
 " Rachel ! " he exclaimed—" dear Rachel 1 " 
 
 *' It's me, sir," said Tagg, with an infinite suavity, 
 for she was much flattered. " Miss Tredegar has 
 sent me to you. She's very ill, but she sends you her 
 kindest regards, and hopes you will come to-morrow 
 at any time." 
 
 " Here's love," he thought again, and, as his breast 
 swelled, he felt it was impossible to help being fond 
 ofa girl who could show herself so generous. "A 
 true woman," he sighed, burying his face in the hard, 
 crocheted cover of the sofa cushion. 
 
 Tagg, in her confidential occupation of lady's-maid 
 in the best families, had seen many men cry, and she 
 knew how to conduct herself. She remained quiet 
 and longed to get home in order to tell her mistress 
 how Mr Federan was feeling the news of her illness. 
 " He cried like a child," she intended to say ; or else, 
 " Great sobs shook his frame," — a phrase which 
 she encountered frequently in the few novels she 
 could tolerate. Neither phrase was an accurate 
 description of the phenomenon, but she did not rate 
 accuracy above style. During the silent but thrilling 
 interruption caused by Federan's long silence, she 
 decided finally on the " Great sobs shook his frame." 
 His hands alone had moved, and both these were 
 clenched. She thought, therefore, of adding — in order
 
 256 THE VINEYARD 
 
 to make her description wholly lifelike : " He threw 
 up his strong arms." Tagg herself had never 
 witnessed this gesture accompanied by weeping, but 
 again her respect for tradition proved stronger than 
 her own knowledge. The "strong arms" episode, 
 therefore, could not possibly be omitted from her 
 future narrative. 
 
 " You are quite sure that she is getting better ? " 
 said Federan at last, rising. 
 
 "She was so afraid, sir, lest you should worry 
 about the bulletin, that she sent me on purpose with 
 a personal message." 
 
 Federan, with one hand in his pocket, was pacing 
 the floor. 
 
 "No wonder! What a fine, handsome man!" 
 thought Tagg ; and he was not unconscious of her 
 reverential admiration. 
 
 When he drew his hand out of his pocket it 
 contained two sovereigns for Tagg, which she 
 accepted with the dignity of a queen receiving taxes. 
 He had just been considering whether he could offer 
 it ; in the dim light she looked so much like Rachel, 
 and a few delicacies in judgment still tormented his 
 unconquerable fastidiousness. The encouragement 
 of Tagg's manner was overwhelming. He saw 
 every one of his debts being paid ; the little house in 
 Leicestershire assumed the dimensions of Franton 
 Manor ; the impertinent doubts of Colonel Howland 
 were already being dismissed with that curtness
 
 THE VINEYARD 257 
 
 which they merited so thoroughly. He rang the 
 bell for the housekeeper, who came in with heavy 
 steps. Port wine and cake were ordered for Miss 
 Tagg. Miss Tagg was probably fatigued by the 
 journey from Franton. Miss Tagg might like to 
 hear the playing of the musical box — a curiosity in 
 its way — while he wrote a letter. 
 
 Miss Tagg, after partaking of refreshment and 
 noting that the housekeeper was a decent body for 
 one in a small walk of life, made this observation : 
 "What a magnificent specimen of manhood!" and 
 jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction 
 of Federan's office. 
 
 Federan no sooner found himself alone than he 
 closed his eyes and fell fast asleep in the arm-chair. 
 An hour later the housekeeper was sent in to say that 
 Miss Tagg would not inconvenience him for worlds 
 — not for worlds — but she was afraid she would lose 
 her train. He lifted his head, and tried to answer, 
 but it seemed as though he would have had to sleep 
 even if a regiment with fixed bayonets stood facing 
 him. The housekeeper left the room on tiptoe, and 
 beckoned to Tagg, who was outside. Tagg, with 
 one finger on her lips, acted on the signal, and the 
 two women stood over the young man, who had sunk 
 again into a deep slumber. The elder of the two 
 murmured a prayer for him ; the younger coloured 
 crimson, and sighed ; they both reluctantly left him 
 alone.
 
 258 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Tagg, on the landing, said, " That's more moving 
 than any letter, I'm sure. I'll tell Miss Tredegar 
 how pale and worn he looks. My word ! I'm not 
 surprised that the ladies are mad to get him. He's 
 one in a lifetime." 
 
 All that night Rachel kept Tagg by her side 
 describing again and again without variation the 
 interview with Federan. 
 
 " How long did he cry ? was he really crying ? did 
 you see his tears ?" 
 
 " They glistened on his lashes even when he lay 
 asleep," swore Tagg. 
 
 " Was he merely drowsy as men often are, or was 
 it real exhaustion ? " 
 
 "It was nature asserting itself," said Tagg; "the 
 strongest must yield. It was a sleep like death !" 
 
 *' Don't say death," said Rachel, whimpering. 
 "What did he say when you gave him my 
 message ? " 
 
 "It seemed as though he couldn't take it in all at 
 once, but at last he said, in his masterful way, ' Are 
 you sure she is better ? ' " 
 
 " Yes, his way is masterful," said Rachel, who 
 wished to think so ; " many would call him arrogant. 
 This makes him enemies. He is never arrogant with 
 me. But was he really crying, Tagg ? You are 
 quite sure ? " 
 
 And so on, all over again once more. Tagg 
 described the colour of the tie he wore, his boots, the
 
 THE VINEYARD 
 
 259 
 
 pattern of his trousers, the links in his cuffs. Would 
 his hair be called brown or dark brown } would his 
 eyes be considered his finest feature ? But what a 
 nose ! Like a statue's. And his figure ! 
 
 " I have seen some figures," said Tagg ; " there 
 was Captain Trevelyan, that Lady Montfort ran 
 away with — a very fine man. But Mr Federan 
 would beat him any day." 
 
 ** What else did he say when you gave him my 
 message ? " 
 
 The unwearied faithful Tagg yawned, but began 
 afresh : " He threw up his strong arms, and great sobs 
 shook his frame." 
 "I can't believe it." 
 " If it was the last words I uttered ! '* 
 "I thought men never cried." 
 
 " They all cry — but not before each other if they 
 can help it, or unless they know it's a true friend." 
 
 Thus it went on from the rise of the moon till 
 pallid dawn — the eager questions from the feeble, and 
 the drowsy answers from the vigorous, voice. Jennie, 
 who was trying to sleep in the dressing-room, heard 
 the strange murmuring duet, but she could not catch 
 what was said. Once she went in and implored 
 Rachel to rest. 
 
 " I am having a good night," said Rachel, 
 
 strangely ; " for once it is pleasant to lie awake." 
 
 She asked for another pillow — a blue satin one, and, 
 
 propped up on many cushions because of her beating
 
 z6o THE VINEYARD 
 
 heart, she fell into a long reverie, watched the 
 shadows cast on the ceiling by the play of the night 
 light, heard the fluttering of the silk curtains 
 against the open window, and composed the things 
 she would say to Federan when they met. What if 
 she found any preoccupation in his eyes — the desire 
 that was not for her ? What if he tried to excuse 
 himself? She had made far better excuses for him than 
 he could ever offer. She would entreat him only to 
 keep silent while she, always smiling, spoke his 
 defence. What had he done ? Here she refused to 
 think, lest the vile details of legal business should 
 disturb the supreme, ineffable languor in her soul, or 
 the rush of her troubled senses toward a fuller life. 
 And each time a pang of jealousy made her wince, 
 she tried to soothe the pain as a mother soothes a 
 suffering child — as though it were not her own 
 suffering, but something harder to bear ; and each 
 time a suspicion of Federan's honesty broke through 
 her dream she put out her hands, and, affecting to 
 play, added their shadow to those already on the 
 ceiling. Tagg, opening her eyes once, and observing 
 this fantastic movement of the dancing figures 
 among the still ones over her head, was terrified ; 
 she thought of spirits and bad signs. But for the 
 supernatural, as she imagined it, she had no courage, 
 so she covered her head with a sheet and said, with 
 many mistakes, the Lord's Prayer backwards till she 
 fell asleep again.
 
 THE VINEYARD 261 
 
 Federan walked up the avenue the next morning ask- 
 ing himself, " What shall 1 say ? how shall I begin ?" 
 But he studied the trees and shrubs and plants with 
 new interest, and thought that the raptures of the 
 spring and the treasures of the autumn could be en- 
 joyed to perfection at Franton. How one changed ! 
 The continual flux and revolution of one's ideas led to 
 unexpected developments. He rang the house-bell 
 nervously, but he saw, by old Drover's face, that 
 he was welcome. As he mounted the staircase he 
 beheld himself reflected at full length in one of 
 the old French mirrors. The effect was almost as 
 though his own portrait, by a modern master, had 
 been added to those of the Tredegars in the gallery. 
 When he reached the door of Rachel's room his heart 
 began to beat heavily, and he wished he had not 
 come. But she was his last hope, and he blamed 
 himself for his ingratitude. 
 
 She was lying on a couch ; a white scarf was bound, 
 in the classic style, around her head ; her hands were 
 folded, and her limbs stretched out as though she were 
 a piece of marble carved into a tombstone. She 
 had colour in her cheeks and lips, a red rose in her 
 bosom ; she smiled when Federan came in. 
 
 " Your illness hasn't changed you," he said. He 
 wanted to add that she looked younger, which was a 
 fact ; he gazed at her instead with an admiration 
 which she, at least, had never seen in his eyes before. 
 
 She hastened to speak — lest he should utter jarring
 
 262 THE VINEYARD 
 
 or imprudent or self-condemnatory words. " They 
 tell me I need solitude and repose," she said, *' but I 
 have had both so long." 
 
 She explained her views of solitude ; how it made 
 every necessary contact with strangers and the world 
 outside more and more difficult ; how one preyed 
 upon one's own spirit j how one lost all sense of pro- 
 portion. 
 
 He became very pale, and, drawing his chair nearer 
 to her side, took one of her hands. " But why have 
 you been ill ? " he asked. " I am afraid it is all 
 worry." Then, because he found sympathy in her 
 smile, he told his story : '* I was never born for 
 business and money-making. My own wants are so 
 simple. Give me a horse and fresh air — I'll sleep 
 under hedges and eat hips and haws, rabbits, any- 
 thing. There is no squalor in the open. What I 
 hate, what oppresses me, are the small rooms, the 
 odour of a kitchen, household drudgery and the 
 economies. Take the life at my aunt's cottage. 
 They do everything decently, yet one hears too 
 much sweeping, dusting and bustling; as you cat one 
 course you smell the next ; that is not roughing it 
 — that is gentility. Gentility is unendurable." 
 
 She agreed, and, in order to divert him, asked 
 questions about his life in South Africa during the 
 war. 
 
 *' Ah, that was a man's life ! " he answered, " You 
 did as you were bid j there was camp routine : you
 
 THE VINEYARD 263 
 
 shot others, and were shot at; you took care of your 
 horse. I wish now I had stayed there." 
 
 Her fingers grasped his more tightly ; " Did you 
 like it so much ? " 
 
 "Better than respectable poverty here, infinitely 
 better than robbing my neighbour." He pointed out 
 the essential dishonesty in all commercial dealings. 
 "Men of the highest integrity commit themselves to 
 things in business which in private affairs would fill 
 them with shame. A chivalrous sense of honour and 
 astuteness in business are irreconcilable terms. The 
 first principle of trading is to buy as cheaply, and to 
 sell as dearly, as possible. The seller is defrauded and 
 the buyer is swindled. Rents are too high, wages are 
 too low. The struggling industrious man cannot 
 get a small loan to save him from ruin, whereas the 
 rich thief can get vast sums at any time." 
 
 This bitter prelude fatigued the girl, who cared, 
 and knew, nothing about business. She wished to 
 discuss her emotions. 
 
 "You must leave all this," she said softly. 
 
 ** Ah, but how ? At this instant I am a ruined 
 man. A friend " — he referred to Harlowe — 
 " has offered me a berth in the Colonies. I was 
 tempted to go. But your message came, and I am 
 here." 
 
 Rachel trembled. She implored him not to explain ; 
 she understood enough already, and, as she said this, 
 she drew from under her pillow a sealed envelope
 
 264 THE VINEYARD 
 
 which contained the dishonoured cheque. ** It is 
 there," she said, and looked away. 
 
 Federan, with deliberation, tore it in small pieces, put 
 them in the grate, struck a match and set fire to the 
 heap, which he watched consume away into flaky ashes. 
 
 " I'm glad it is destroyed," he said, " but I cannot 
 burn the loss which it represents. That must be made 
 good somehow." 
 
 She raised herself on her elbow, and stared at 
 him. " What way occurred to you first r " 
 
 " There are not many ways open to one," he 
 answered ; " we needn't discuss them." 
 
 Then he walked back to her and said, simply 
 enough, " Think what you will of me. I was 
 tempted, and I fell. Other men would not have 
 called the matter a temptation — they would have 
 called it a legitimate speculation. I can but say that 
 to me it seemed horrible. This will show you that I 
 acted against my conscience ; I knew better. I am 
 worse, therefore, than Coolidge." 
 
 He would not hear a word murmured in condemna- 
 tion of Coolidge ; and Rachel, who seemed fretful 
 under this restraint, secretly admired his loyalty to a 
 scoundrel whom he had loved as a brother. 
 
 "Coolidge lost his soul when he married," said 
 Federan j " here, I know all, and therefore I pardon 
 all." 
 
 "I can give you the money," exclaimed Rachel; 
 " what is money to me ? What has it done for me ? "
 
 THE VINEYARD 265 
 
 " I shall never forget your kindness. But I cannot 
 take money from a woman." 
 
 "Call it borrowing," she suggested. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Why am I not a man ? " she cried, bursting into 
 tears. " You would take it from a man. I meant to 
 be a friend to you ; whereas, I see, I have hurt your 
 feelings. But why be so proud ? I am not proud — 
 at least, with you." 
 
 "Ah, be reasonable. Fifteen thousand pounds — 
 how could I accept it, even as a loan?" 
 
 " If I lent it, on a mortgage, to an utter stranger, 
 it would be called a good investment. Why, then, 
 can't I lend it to you ?" 
 
 " I have no securities to offer." He took both her 
 hands. "It is impossible. You humiliate me by 
 pressing the point." 
 
 She felt, by this very admission, that they had 
 already become closely intimate. 
 
 "I will press the point," she answered; "at any 
 risk — because I am right." 
 
 Suddenly, she began to wonder whether he had ever 
 taken Jennie's hands, or kissed them, and a deep flush 
 of jealousy swept over her face. 
 
 " My hands are not so pretty as Jennie's — are 
 they?" For the first time that day she studied his 
 expression, and she saw that he did not seem well 
 or happy, but, on the contrary, aged, care-worn and 
 wretched.
 
 266 THE VINEYARD 
 
 "Another day," he said huskily, "I'll talk about 
 Jennie." 
 
 " No ! No ! I'll never speak her name again. 
 You were a little in love with her — I know it." 
 
 He could bear it no longer. " I have deceived you 
 there, too. We were engaged. She has broken it 
 off now ; but we were engaged." 
 
 Rachel snatched back her hands, and pressed them 
 both to her heart. This was her chronic gesture — 
 the one she made unconsciously. 
 
 "I wish," she said, with a distorted face, " that you 
 had kep<- on lying about it." 
 
 This jealous agitation about a girl seemed to him 
 miserable in contrast with his money troubles.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "Why was not I born in that golden age 
 When gold yet was not known ? " 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 The first strangeness of the interview with Rachel 
 had worn away, and Federan, during a pause, looked 
 round the room. Old prints in ebony and gold 
 frames, and strips of Florentine embroidery, were 
 hung on the green walls. The furniture, covered 
 with chintz, was simple ; there were piles of finely- 
 bound books on the tables, and arranged on shelves ; 
 the air took its outdoor fragrance from bowls of roses, 
 vases of carnations, and small orange trees in wooden 
 tubs. Below the wide windows a stone terrace led 
 to a flower-garden, and beyond that there were yew- 
 trees curiously cut, clumps of oaks, beech, and 
 spreading cedars, a landscape of fields outlined by 
 low hedges, and at last a ridge of hills. Rain-clouds 
 were gathering in the sky, and the wind howling 
 down the chimney had an echo of the sea beating 
 on the beach. Federan, who, an hour before, had 
 doubted his star, and seen himself disowned and dis- 
 inherited, denied by his friends, expelled from his 
 
 267
 
 268 THE VINEYARD 
 
 club, and persecuted in his native town, came to the 
 conclusion that he was pardoned, adored and indis- 
 pensable : he accepted this as certain, and he deter- 
 mined to act upon the certainty of it. Evidences in 
 Rachel, minute but abundant, delicate but effective, 
 had united to bring him to this belief; he, in return, 
 was soothed by her silky charm, which emanated 
 partly from her dress and partly from her manner. 
 He thought, "I won't deceive her any more, or 
 ever again. I will tell her the truth. Treachery 
 kills a woman's love, while jealousy will keep it 
 burning. When men lie to women who love them, 
 they are fools." 
 
 He asked, " Will it disturb you if I walk about ? 
 I want to tell you many things."' 
 
 " This room is a woman's room," said Rachel, 
 blushing faintly : " it must seem like a cage or a cell 
 to you. Please walk about." 
 
 He stood up, threw back his head, expanded his 
 chest, and, with one hand in his pocket, paced the 
 floor just as he had paced his own office for the 
 admiration of Tagg. Rachel wished he were less 
 handsome, in order that she might prove the spiritu- 
 ality of her affection. 
 
 "It is very easy," said Federan, clearing his throat, 
 "to attach too much importance to love affairs. In 
 every vow we make there is a secret note of perjury 
 and we can be absolutely certain of our hopes only — 
 because we live more earnestly in the life we imagine
 
 THE VINEYARD 269 
 
 than in the life we lead. We always know that the 
 life we have must change, whereas we believe our hopes 
 will never change. At least, that has been my idea." 
 
 Rachel listened with her eyes half-closed and her 
 lips parted in a smile. Federan's candour and im- 
 pulsiveness oflFered two permanent provocations to 
 women : the one by its defiance of their sentiment- 
 ality, the other by its mastery over their sense. His 
 cynicism made the girl's heart as pale as her face ; 
 but she forgot his philosophy and her own when, 
 halting abruptly to clasp her hand, he said between 
 his wise reflections, " How can I talk sensibly — as I 
 must — if you have such long eyelashes ? " 
 
 Making the most of her eyelashes and his softer 
 mood, she whispered, " You'll take that money ? " 
 
 *' My dear, you ask impossibilities." 
 
 The sweetness of this " My dear " made her deaf to 
 the rest of his speech. It entered her mind as some 
 lovely phrase of music, and sank into her heart, while 
 he continued the exposition of his views. " But the 
 hopes change too. Obstinacy or vanity often force 
 us to pretend that they remain. I am not dreaming 
 of denying constancy — isn't constancy the main cause 
 of our dismay when we find our soul undergoing 
 some subtle, irresistible, even unwelcome develop- 
 ment ? ' If man were constant, he were perfect,' is a 
 false saying. If man were strictly constant, he 
 would be dead. I'm tiring you, but I want you to 
 know me, and understand me."
 
 27© THE VINEYARD 
 
 "I do — without your telling me a word." 
 
 " No — no ! Every woman will have it that she 
 can read any friend ' like a book.' Men are lazy and 
 allow the delusion to pass. I won't. And my 
 egoism would be inexcusable if — " 
 
 He stopped short, and his face grew haggard again ; 
 the steely lines which had been slowly forming for 
 several weeks showed plainly. 
 
 " My egoism," he repeated, " would be inexcusable 
 in any ordinary friendship. But what you might call 
 your understanding of me would be too flattering. I 
 need, at this moment, not kindness, not pity — but 
 condemnation. By condemning me you will save 
 me. By finding me doubled-tongued and unreliable 
 you may help me to be sincere." 
 
 The prudence which is always ingrained in the true 
 burgess and middle-classes was still strong enough in 
 Federan to dictate the only possible terms of his 
 redemption. As a child he had read each morning 
 the following lines, illuminated, framed and hung over 
 the mantelpiece of his nursery : — 
 
 "We must to virtue for our guide resort. 
 Or we shall shipwreck in our safest port." 
 
 He felt secure with Rachel, but where a man of more 
 luxurious education would have been satisfied to have 
 his faults, for the moment, obscured by her fancy, 
 and his punishment, also for the moment, annulled by 
 her fortune, his inherited instincts warned him that,
 
 THE VINEYARD 271 
 
 unless her devotion rested on an actual knowledge of 
 his affairs, she, too, would in the end repudiate him — if 
 not openly by her actions, at least secretly by her 
 scorn. Finally, he knew, as a lawyer, the common 
 error of those in the wrong, who, seeking advice, 
 conceal the very facts which are injurious to their 
 case and alter its whole complexion. 
 
 *' You must know," he insisted ; and although she 
 winced painfully every time Jennie's name was 
 uttered, and although the fire of life which had burnt 
 so brilliantly in her eyes died out, giving place to a 
 weary sadness and distrust, he told the story of his 
 engagement, adding the smallest details and his most 
 intimate thoughts. 
 
 " You love her still," said Rachel, at the end, in a 
 veiled voice ; " I can see you do." 
 
 " Not in the old way." 
 
 " That's only because you are worried. If you 
 were happy, it would soon be in the old way 
 again." 
 
 " I think you are wrong. But I won't make 
 foolish protestations. You wouldn't believe them." 
 
 "I don't see why you should be so suddenly precise 
 and conscientious," she said; "it bewilders me, and 
 I hate it. You were nicer when you were not 
 sincere." 
 
 " Formerly I tried to please you. Now I'm not 
 trying to please you : I am merely trying to speak 
 the truth."
 
 272 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " You want to ease your own mind, and you don't 
 care what I think of you." 
 
 " I care so much that I will not have your good 
 or bad opinion of me depend on any illusions." 
 
 " I don't care how many illusions you have about 
 me," she said with petulance ; and she thought of 
 the rouge on her cheeks and lips, the artificiality of 
 her movements, her talk, and her ideas ; the unreality 
 of every one of her feelings — except the passion for 
 him. But this one genuine emotion was, without 
 her knowledge, purifying, simplifying, chastening 
 her whole nature. She wondered, " Do I want 
 him to be happy, or do I want him for myself?" 
 and she hoped that he would soon take her hand 
 again. 
 
 " You are too clever for the provinces," she said ; 
 "you have no outlet for your ability — no oppor- 
 tunities. I want you to take some position in 
 London. Have you ever thought about politics ? 
 My relations have a little influence." 
 
 " I have never thought of anything except how 
 best to be idle and contented." 
 
 She could scarcely restrain her tears. 
 
 "This new candour of yours is another name for 
 selfishness. It hurts me — yet you keep it up because 
 you want to be natural." 
 
 " Why should it hurt you to know me in my true 
 colours ? " 
 
 " I want to be your friend."
 
 THE VINEYARD J73 
 
 " You are my one, my dearest friend," 
 
 This assertion, from a man who has just proved 
 himself truthful to the point of barbarity, had more 
 effect on the girl than many hours of honied love- 
 making. Her eyes, which had been as dull as extin- 
 guished lights, seemed to catch fire again : they 
 blazed, and softened, and blazed once more when 
 they met his. 
 
 "All the same," she said, for fear of betraying 
 herself, " I do not intend to fall in love with you. 
 Your candour is catching." 
 
 This stroke, in its way, was as good as his own ; 
 it wounded his vanity, but roused his admiration 
 for her spirit. 
 
 "I have learnt," he said, "that your friendship 
 is better than the deepest love of any other woman. 
 I haven't dared to think what your love would be." 
 
 Thus he slipped back into the old, easy, seductive 
 insincerity. But she was acquiring a taste, under 
 his influence, for downrightness, no matter how 
 crude, and her discernment was now prompt in 
 rejecting mere rhetoric. 
 
 "That's all ball-room talk," she answered ; "stage 
 talk, book talk, any talk except heaven and hell talk 
 — the two places where everybody has to drop 
 pretences." 
 
 " When I marry, I want the talk to be just the 
 thing you describe — heaven and hell talk." 
 
 " When you marry ! " she exclaimed, lifting 
 
 s
 
 274 THE VINEYARD 
 
 herself on her elbows, and turning on her side. 
 The marble pose was therefore lost. 
 
 "Yes. You may think it strange that I speak 
 of marriage when you have just said that you cannot 
 love me and I have just told you that I am ruined. 
 But it's a better, more sacred, more hopeful beginning 
 than those conventional lies which people often tell 
 each other when they are contemplating marriage. 
 There is a reckless, self-seeking love — " 
 
 "The love I long for," she thought, with a 
 cutting sigh. Yet, not to discourage him, she said 
 exquisitely, "That selfish love of which you speak 
 has its beauty. Don't let either of us blame it, 
 because we are only able to oflfer each other friend- 
 ship." 
 
 " I can't swear that I do not love you ! " said 
 Federan ; " I was immensely attracted to you — 
 from the first. The attraction was so strong that it 
 seemed, then, a sort of disloyalty to Jennie." 
 
 Since Rachel had told him that she did not intend 
 to love him, the problem of wooing her had solved 
 itself. He could now plead his own cause, and, 
 without seeming to take advantage of an affection 
 which he could not in the circumstances pretend to 
 requite fully, he was able to assume, for argument's 
 sake, that the case demanded entreaties on his part, 
 and bare tolerance on hers. The tone he used was 
 the tone of one who, conscious of a certain worth, 
 begs to be tolerated. He saw no hope, but . . .
 
 THE VINEYARD 275 
 
 He had no position, no future, but . . . He had 
 led a life of which he was now ashamed, but . . . 
 And he was not one to surrender easily. Oiie had 
 to work out one's own salvation. What had 
 Browning written ? here, he quoted Browning : — 
 
 " Saul, the failure, the ruin he seems now, — I bid him 
 
 awake 
 From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find 
 
 himself set 
 Clear and safe in new light and new life, a new harmony 
 
 yet 
 To be run, and continued, and ended — who knows ? — 
 
 or endure ! " 
 
 Why, he asked, try to say and think badly what 
 great poets have thought and said with incomparable 
 clearness, for us ? 
 
 As a piece of architecture will assimilate, by 
 weathering, to the visible quality of rock and cliff 
 surrounding it, and so become a natural feature of 
 its landscape, a man's constant reading will transmute 
 and colour his ideals although it may not govern 
 his actions. For this reason the charge of hypocrisy, 
 or of a want ofhmnour^ is inconsiderately made against 
 those who are, by confession, great lovers of noble 
 poetry, and, by their deeds, disreputable or mean. 
 But, to continue the comparison, however much a 
 piece of architecture may grow, by the effect of 
 climate, to resemble exteriorly what it is not, it will 
 be found, on close examination, a faithful tribute to 
 its first vulgar or beautiful design. The design
 
 276 THE VINEYARD 
 
 remains ; and a man's inherited nature remains — 
 a thing apart from his soul, which, suffering all the 
 shudderings and quiverings of flight, is often bound 
 immovably to some disabled intelligence. Federan 
 was too self-conscious not to see the misaj-plication 
 of fine sentiments to his particular case. 
 
 "The eternal Pecksniff in man!" he exclaimed 
 suddenly, "and especially in me!" 
 
 But the quotation had already offered Rachel an 
 inexhaustible source of hopes : she grew more and 
 more quiet, more and more gentle, graciously sad and 
 wordless — but for the soft exclamation, " I know 1 
 I know ! " which she murmured from time to time 
 during his narrative. 
 
 He found this dulcet, kind companionship so 
 endearing, that, just as she had wished he were less 
 handsome, he, for the same reason, and with equal 
 honesty, forgetting, for a redeeming instant, his own 
 necessities, wished that she were poor. And he now 
 felt convinced that although Jennie and he had seemed 
 designed for each other's admiration, enjoyment, and 
 passionate love, they were inimical in spirit : neither 
 of them had any bent for the bearing of the other's 
 burdens, or any mercy for each other's shortcomings. 
 The man Jennie had imagined him to be needed no 
 compassion, and the woman he had seen in her had 
 nothing homely, except the virtue of obedience. It 
 had all been a mistake ; its memory — it had not yet 
 become a memory only — would be a physical ache,
 
 THE VINEYARD 277 
 
 and its result, a perpetual regret that what had pro- 
 mised so much had failed so utterly, ended so soon. 
 He wanted to tell Rachel this, but his feelings on 
 that subject were still inexplicable in speech. She 
 knew, however, by instinct, that, much as he felt the 
 business difficulties, he had received worse blows, 
 which no wealth could ease, in Jennie's contempt 
 and the treachery of Coolidge. She had many false, 
 many insecure notions of life, but she had never 
 committed the vulgar error of over-estimating the 
 power of money. In order, therefore, to share his 
 secret trouble and identify herself more closely with 
 his thoughts, she composed a story about a deep love 
 she had once had, and lost. 
 
 " Once, years ago, there was some one," she began : 
 "I met him in Paris. He was an author, and 1 
 longed to join him in a garret — as much as possible 
 like the lodgings of Des Grieux, or Werther, at the 
 Opera Comique ! That was indeed 'a dream in the 
 dawn of life — a shadow before its noon.' On my side 
 there was real love, on his there may have been love 
 also ; but whenever he left me, it always seemed as 
 though our conversation together had consisted of 
 enigmas and reticences. We were never natural. I 
 thought that did not matter : hour after hour, day 
 after day, night after night I comforted myself by 
 thinking, 'Surely we must understand each other if 
 wc love each other.' Each time we met we drifted 
 further apart."
 
 278 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Federan felt a pang of jealousy, but, as the history 
 had so much in common with his own, he was fascin- 
 ated, and watched her face with delight. 
 
 " We parted at last," she continued. " You 
 cannot imagine — I cannot tell you — how much I 
 suffered in coming to that resolution. Afterwards, I 
 suffered still greater grief in regretting the estrange- 
 ment I had made irreparable. It was a vision, a 
 deception, but I wanted it back again. If I could 
 have called it back at will, there were many, many 
 times when I would have done so. 
 
 * When the lute is broken, 
 Sweet tones are remembered not' 
 
 was not the case with me. I remembered the sweet 
 notes too well. I could not forget them because they 
 were unreturning." 
 
 She gazed past him ; but although she conveyed, 
 with art, the idea of a woman mourning over some 
 hope for ever dead, Federan was made to feel that the 
 sorrow had its recompense in the lulling sympathy 
 she was able, through knowledge, to offer him at that 
 moment. 
 
 " You see," she said presently, " we have both 
 had our troubles." 
 
 The sentimentality of her invention and the pathos 
 of her manner touched him, just as sentimental and 
 pathetic scenes on the stage brought quick tears to 
 his eyes. She had told her story consummately well 
 because she had thought of him only while she told it.
 
 THE VINEYARD 279 
 
 "Where is the man now?" he asked, suddenly 
 betraying the provincial intonation and inquisitivcness 
 which she had called, in discussions with Jennie, tres 
 paysan. 
 
 " The man ! " she stammered taken by surprise ; 
 "oh, the actual man doesn't matter. It was the 
 vision that mattered." 
 
 Federan decided at once that he had no dangerous 
 rival to strive against, and his curiosity died out. " A 
 girl's love aflfair," he told himself, " the simple love 
 which tests the heart without satisfying it — the love 
 which the French call Pamour d'essai. It schools a 
 nature for the fuller, deeper, true love." 
 
 " You must not tire yourself," he said aloud. 
 
 " I am not tired. I feel quite well," she answered, 
 astonished at her own happiness and abandoning herself 
 to a new dream. 
 
 Federan, too, was tranquil, and he now noticed the 
 subjects of the engravings on the walls. Till then he 
 had merely seen the frames. No man could presage 
 his future from his present, he knew, but he felt a 
 security of mind he had never before known. He 
 thought, " I am exceedingly fond of this girl. I 
 am devoted to her. I would rather be shot than 
 deceive her. This is the best feeling I have ever had 
 about any woman." 
 
 The pauses in their conversation became frequent 
 and a little oppressive. Following the simplicity of 
 his instincts, he stooped during one of the pauses, and
 
 28o THE VINEYARD 
 
 kissed her cheek. No man had ever kissed her 
 before ; and as her ideas grew coherent, she reflected, 
 " I know now why common couples who kiss but 
 never talk don't quarrel." 
 
 But she asked Federan, " Do you think it was quite 
 nice of you to have done that ? " 
 
 " Really," said he, with good-humour, "you are a 
 child." 
 
 An outward primness in women appealed irresistibly 
 to his taste. Jennie had always been a touch too 
 spontaneous. When he rose to leave, kisses were not 
 merely given, but, with dove-like gentleness, ex- 
 changed. 
 
 Before he left the Manor, he went into the library 
 and wrote Rachel a letter in which he asked her to 
 marry him. Drover, wise-eyed, carried the missive, 
 heavily sealed, up the staircase while Federan sauntered 
 down the avenue toward the town. There was a 
 steeplechase on the morrow, and he was glad that 
 he had not, in a fit of despondency, withdrawn his 
 name from the list of riders. His strength had 
 returned, and at the prospect of a wild race over 
 obstacles and dangers his blood tingled. 
 
 " I shall win," he exclaimed ; " and that will please 
 her." 
 
 Rachel, who would have enjoyed a long meditation 
 on her love, was despatching a dry but imperative 
 communication to Federan's bankers ; Tagg was 
 ordered to take the note and deliver it personally.
 
 THE VINEYARD 281 
 
 Tagg suspected that money was being parted with, 
 and she became rueful, long in the face, and taciturn. 
 
 " Right is right," she kept murmuring, with 
 irritating monotony. 
 
 ** What's the matter, Tagg ? " asked Rachel. 
 
 Tagg, subdued, replied that Mr Federan's name 
 had been entered for the steeplechase at Wedders- 
 town. She had seen the list in the local paper. . 
 
 "He's a superb rider," said Rachel — "quite 
 superb." 
 
 " Could you see him taking the water-jumps ? " 
 asked Tagg, morbidly. 
 
 Rachel shuddered, grew pale, and covered her face. 
 "I couldn't watch him. But I want him to ride," 
 she said. 
 
 " His daring is awful," said Tagg. 
 
 "It terrifies me," said Rachel, glowing with pride. 
 "If I opposed him, Tagg, he would be ten thousand 
 times more reckless. I dare not say a word. You 
 may have that mauve silk jacket ; I'm tired of it." 
 
 Tagg, taking the cue, and mentally designing 
 many alternative uses for the jacket, said, while 
 Rachel sealed the letter for the bankers, " Come 
 what will, he*s a magnificent specimen of manhood." 
 Then she dropped into her dialect, — 
 
 "* Them as have had happiness have nought to look 
 forward to,' as my poor mother used to say. 'Tis 
 sure un can't have it past and future as well. All 
 your happiness, miss, is to come."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 " Forget the dead, the past ? O yet 
 There are ghosts that may take revenge for it." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 Jennie, during the first part of Fedcran's visit, had 
 been in the library on the storey below Rachel's 
 boudoir ; but the sound overhead of the once-loved 
 voice talking in confidential tones to another woman 
 was more than she could bear. She ran out of the 
 house to the woods, and wandered through them a prey 
 to jealousy — wringing her hands, biting her lips and 
 longing for the relief of tears. Near the pheasant 
 preserves, where she often walked in order to feed the 
 birds and talk to them, there were dead rats, weasels, 
 stoats, jays, magpies, cats, mice and rabbits hanging 
 on a long string as warnings to other vermin. 
 
 " How like Bluebeard's wives ! " she thought, "and 
 all foolish creatures. Why doesn't my heart break 
 or turn to bronze ? How can I live unless it 
 changes ?" 
 
 She felt it must be breaking, and began to weep 
 with such violence that all the pheasants hid them- 
 selves and the wood grew silent. Her thoughts, 
 
 282
 
 THE VINEYARD 283 
 
 wandering and confused, returned invariably to the 
 same subjects — the deceitfulness of human hopes, the 
 treachery in love, the misery of disappointment ; 
 while the dreams and phantoms of her soul rose 
 before her. They had been so beautiful, so joyous: 
 now, indeed, they were the very ghosts of ghosts. 
 Still, one had always the sky and trees. She looked 
 at the sky and the trees. Alas ! they could not make 
 her happy : they were not enough ; they made her 
 loneliness more agonising. She made her way at 
 last, by the gamekeeper's cottage and garden, to the 
 high road, and walked, drooping, stumbling, grace- 
 less, in the direction of Cumbersborough. 
 
 At the end of the first mile she met Harlowe, but 
 she greeted him without surprise. An expression of 
 unaccustomed hardness had settled on her pale, 
 strained features, and she seemed to him changed 
 almost past recognition. 
 
 "What is the matter?" he exclaimed. "You 
 look so ill — as though you were hunted." 
 
 There were walls of rough stone on each side of 
 the road, which ran, at that point, below the level of 
 the fields, which rose upward to the hills on one side, 
 and on the other declined toward the beach and the 
 sea. 
 
 " Let us climb up there and sit down," said 
 Harlowe : " I'll help you. You walk too much. 
 You'll kill yourself." 
 
 She half smiled and half trembled. " I shall never
 
 284 THE VINEYARD 
 
 give in till I die. I can hold my head up : no one 
 shall know that my spirit has gone. But the pain is 
 here — always here." 
 
 She pressed her heart, and he felt that she scarcely 
 saw him — she was so absorbed in her own despair. 
 They found a seat on the trunk of a large maple 
 which had been blown down during the gales of the 
 early summer. A thin white veil of clouds covered 
 the sky, and the sea, which had lost its movement, 
 seemed to mingle its silvery fluid with the vapours of 
 the horizon. The sweetness, the solitude, the peace 
 and gentle melancholy of the scene were delicious to 
 Harlowe. 
 
 *' We can be happy and quiet here," he said. 
 
 She longed to press her throbbing temples against 
 the jagged clifF behind them. The long white wind- 
 ing road below seemed to lead to some impassable 
 gulf J the spire of the parish church of Franton 
 seemed to recede into an infinite distance. 
 
 " I told a lie to save someone else," she said. " I 
 ought not to have done it, because no one can be 
 saved by telling lies. I have nearly killed myself, and 
 I have helped no one." 
 
 Then she recalled vividly the wooing sound of 
 Federan's voice talking to Rachel in the room over 
 the library. 
 
 "That is not quite true, either," she added: 
 "Rachel is another woman. But I wanted to save 
 Gerald too, because I loved him, John, Once I did
 
 THE VINEYARD 285 
 
 love him. He was weak — that was his fault ; and I 
 was hard. I wasn't kind. I said things no man 
 could forgive. I have driven him to her," 
 
 "A man can't be driven to a woman he doesn't 
 like," said Harlowe, with more honesty than 
 tact. 
 
 " Haven't I told you he is weak ? '* 
 
 " Then you don't want him. You would despise 
 him." 
 
 " I told him I would never willingly see him again. 
 But for weeks I loved him ; I have only despised him 
 for a few days. I keep remembering the love and 
 forgetting the hate." 
 
 "You want me to make excuses for him, but that 
 I cannot and I will not do. One must either count 
 for something or nothing in this world. One must 
 be able to take a stand, if need be, alone." 
 
 "And I'll get over my trouble alone," she said 
 hotly. " I feel bruised and beaten and blind. You 
 can't help me ; no one can help me. For a short 
 time, while Gerald and I loved each other, I was 
 under a spell. Nothing seemed able to hurt me, and 
 nothing, I thought, could hurt him. But the woman 
 I was three weeks ago is dead." Her spirit cried out 
 again in self-reproach, *' I might have been kinder to 
 him. We parted cruelly. If we hadn't parted 
 cruelly 1 " 
 
 " You can't prove an argument in the face of 
 facts," said Harlowe; "all the blame is on his side.
 
 286 THE VINEYARD 
 
 But I might go on for hours — I'd have nothing to 
 show for my labour and pains." 
 
 The inutility of his own affection made it seem, to 
 his practical mind, a kind of vice — a thing to be 
 ashamed of. As he furtively studied her face, which 
 had still its warm beauty, its wilful youth, its passion- 
 ateness, which a touch or an influence might convert 
 into delicate but uncontrollable animalism, he thought, 
 " Here is too much to struggle with. She does not 
 care for me, and I must go away. I cannot hang 
 about. I'm losing my grit." 
 
 He looked once more at her face as one looks at a 
 lovely scene for a last farewell ; and his soul, with 
 pity and unappeasable desires, dissolved within him. 
 Then he looked away. 
 
 '' I called on Federan," he said : " I spoke my 
 mind, and I did my best to help him." 
 
 "If I could not help him, how could you?" she 
 asked, jealously. " Tell me this : if love can die out 
 in this way, why love at all ? why read so much about 
 it? why write such lies about it? And it doesn't die 
 in peace or rest in peace. I feel scarred all over, and 
 the scars burn." 
 
 Harlowe moved uneasily and kept his eyes on the 
 sea. "It doesn't always die. You are still fond of 
 that man. He is riveted in the heart you think is 
 broken. It isn't broken — it is beating for him ; and 
 if he passed by now, your colour would rush back 
 into your face and your eyes would shine. I believe
 
 THE VINEYARD 287 
 
 your very hair would get that red-gold tinge it has 
 when the sun strikes it." 
 
 She blushed at the idea, yet instinctively, hastily, 
 eagerly, with a foolish secret hope, scanned the road, 
 and, with an unreasonable disappointment, found it 
 deserted. 
 
 "If we could have been always together, in some 
 quiet place, far away from the rest of the world ! " she 
 said. " The others made the mischief." 
 
 She buried her face in her hands, and pressed her 
 fingers on her closed eyelids as though that action 
 could shut out the intruding light which lit up her 
 world too clearly. She wished to die, and the wish 
 had that real thirst which the young alone feel, in 
 hours of disillusion, for death. She wished to vanish 
 like a flame into the darkness and the shadows : the 
 white butterflies soaring past her in the sun, the bees 
 on the wild flowers near her feet, and the peaceful 
 sheep winding their way, while they fed, up the 
 downs, mocked her by their serenity. 
 
 " He loved me," she said : " he said so, and I knew 
 he meant it. I was not deceived. We were too 
 happy. I might have known it could not last. 
 Now there's an iron wall between us. I was unjust ; 
 I was unkind. I ought to have made his faults my 
 own and suffered for them with him. If he was 
 disappointed in me, how have I disappointed him ! " 
 
 *'I shouldn't trouble myself about his feelings," 
 said Harlowe : " he cannot have much sensitiveness.
 
 288 THE VINEYARD 
 
 He is like those people out at sea on a very narrow 
 plank who try to push everybody else oflFl He 
 consulted his own will and pleasure, and only wants 
 to have his own way. I'm sorry I can't encourage 
 you. That isn't true," he added, " I am glad there 
 is no wrong bias in my prejudice against him. You 
 found him out not a day too soon." 
 
 Every fibre in his being felt the irritation of her 
 beauty, which was not for him ; the softness of her 
 low voice, which was still in tune with Federan's ; 
 and the witchery of her eyes, which still held the 
 abandonment of her love for Federan. 
 
 She sobbed, and drooped by his side as poplars bend 
 in a storm. " I've said good-bye to everything ! I 
 hate the summer — it's the loneliest time of all if you 
 have no one. You think I had romantic ideas. You 
 are wrong. We were to be very poor, I knew, and 
 I didn't always see how we were going to live. This 
 tortured me, because he has a dread of poverty." 
 
 ** Poverty — with you !" 
 
 " You can't console me, because you don't under- 
 stand me." 
 
 " Would to God," exclaimed Harlowe, " I could 
 live to myself rather than try to understand you 
 or help you I I may say the wrong thing, but I 
 have loved you better than twenty Federans could 
 love anybody. You talk of your good-bye to 
 everything. What have I got? What have you 
 given me in return for all these years ? *
 
 THE VINEYARD 289 
 
 "I never promised you anything. I never told 
 you I loved you. I never said I could not live 
 without you. But he said all these things and much, 
 much more to me. Why did he say them if he did 
 not mean them ? " 
 
 *' I daresay he meant them when he said them — 
 and you liked to hear them said. People confuse 
 pleasure with happiness." 
 
 "I can't argue about it. What use are wise 
 people ? They don't seem able to prevent misery.*' 
 
 " What use are dreamers ? " asked Harlowe, 
 hotly. 
 
 " They have at least their dreams." 
 
 "But they don't last." He stood up and struck at 
 the tree with his heavy walking stick. " Once for 
 all, this must end. I shall make you hate me. We 
 cannot agree. Plain sense and honesty offend you. 
 I have seen enough of life not to play with it. I 
 suppose you have not. Well, your eyes will open 
 some day. You've been dear, intensely dear, to me. 
 I've read of a man who used to pray to be saved 
 from his own heart. That will be my prayer for the 
 future." 
 
 She scarcely heard him : she did not care what he 
 said or what he prayed for. To be alone with her 
 own thoughts was all for which she wished. But she, 
 too, rose, and they walked together to the wall, 
 where he took her hand while she jumped down on 
 to the road. 
 
 T
 
 «90 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " Which way were you going ? " she asked. 
 
 " Your way." 
 
 " You mean Franton way ?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " I'm going to Cumbersborough," she said, with a 
 quick flush — for the intention was sudden, " to see 
 Mrs Helmyng. She isn't well." 
 
 "Then you think we ought to part here ?" 
 
 She nodded her head. " You own we don't 
 agree." 
 
 "Still, if there was a chance for me, how gladly I'd 
 bear the coldness and the hard words 1 " 
 
 " You are as weak as I am ! " she said, with a 
 cruelty which sprang from self-contempt ; " of 
 course we can do nothing for each other." 
 
 When he replied, the answer came like the cut of 
 a whip. " May God forgive you ! I swear I 
 won't ! " 
 
 In a moment she admired him and was repentant. 
 "I didn't mean to be unkind. I'm beside myself. I 
 don't know what I'm saying. I didn't mean to be 
 unkind. 
 
 But his anger choked him. " It's too late," he 
 said ; "I've sworn. If I break my oath, you'll have 
 the right to taunt me again. That's not to be 
 borne I'll never forgive you ! I call God to 
 witness ! " 
 
 The latent, half-instinctive animosity which she 
 had provoked in him during the early days of their
 
 THE VINEYARD 491 
 
 acquaintanceship now revived, and the long repression 
 of his love gave his anger and his hatred, once let 
 loose, a double madness. He thought he loathed her 
 scornful lips, vv^hich looked as freshly red as cherries 
 in comparison with the unaccustomed pallor of her 
 cheeks. The little mirror on the gold chain hanging 
 from her waist caught his attention ; and, as she had 
 gazed in it so often, he snatched it with his hand, 
 wrenched it from her belt, flung it on to the road, 
 ground it into the dust under his feet. 
 
 " There ! " he said, " that's how I'll trample your 
 image from my heart ! You'll find me not so 
 weak." 
 
 The indulgence of his fury gave him a strange 
 sense of exaltation ; the almost brutal need of assert- 
 ing his superior force, in some way, was satisfied ; he 
 had been able at last to dominate her mood, to show 
 himself the master, to defy the insolent beauty which, 
 as an acid, had eaten into his whole nature —which 
 had been a pain and a torture always, from the 
 beginning. So, in his wrath, he believed. 
 
 "But for you, or that^^ he added, grinding his 
 heel once more into the shivered gold and glass — 
 "and that has as much worth as you have — I might 
 have led a proper life, not a dog's life. I might not 
 have lost my old ideas." 
 
 " I see now what has kept me from loving you," 
 said Jennie ; " there is always a reason." 
 
 Harlowc laughed, " The reason is in my face. I'm
 
 2gt THE VINEYARD 
 
 plain. I'm nothing to look at. I have worked hard, 
 and I bear the marks. You prefer some showy 
 scoundrel." 
 
 " No — the reason is in you. You're vindictive. 
 You're tyrannical. Your work has made you pitiless 
 and envious. You have lived too much among slaves. 
 Go back to them. Go, while I can still try to think 
 of your old kindness and the old days." 
 
 She picked up her long blue skirt and flung it over 
 her right arm, while the silk petticoat underneath 
 fluttered its flounces round her ankles. This method 
 of lifting her dress when she walked was perfectly 
 modest, but unusual. The movement, by its grace 
 had delighted Helmyng at the ball. It exasperated 
 Harlowe, and as she went away from him he allowed 
 himself to think. " All the tricks ! Every one ! 
 My poor mother summed her up years ago ! The 
 dancer's foot — she'd dance on me ! And the spices of 
 Arabia ! Don't I know them ! They are in the skin. 
 There's foreign blood, too, in her veins. The hussy ! " 
 
 But he found it hard to breathe : his throat was 
 parched ; his lips and eyelids twitched. A terrible 
 magnetism drew his body and his will toward Jennie, 
 and he longed to pursue her — if only to tell her that 
 she was seeing him for the last time. 
 
 " I'll curse her ! I'll curse her ! " he said to himself. 
 But he refrained from the curse and followed the road 
 to Franton. " She's a vain woman. She likes the 
 false better than the true.'*
 
 THE VINEYARD 293 
 
 He looked back : she was still sailing along with 
 her black gauze scarf floating in the wind, and her 
 skirts now clinging to her limbs, now wreathing 
 round them like the draperies of nymphs in Italian 
 pictures. 
 
 " I must forget her.** 
 
 He continued his walk, and his former ideas of 
 devotion, of self-sacrifice, of pure affection — the 
 affection which made a man's soul better — made him 
 laugh out loud, just as he had laughed about his own 
 plain face. 
 
 "I have never loved any other woman. She loves 
 Federan now, but she'll love many more as well." 
 
 This thought, which cut like a blade through his 
 heart, he repeated, because it hurt him so much, and 
 because something within him protested against its 
 injustice and its savagery. 
 
 " Some day I shall find peace. It's all my temper 
 — I can't bear to be beaten. I'll never see her again 
 — never, never again." 
 
 This phrase worried him, and became a marching 
 rhythm, till, after he had walked a mile or two, it 
 lost its authority, and seemed left behind somewhere 
 in the distance. 
 
 "Whether you give in to a woman or whether 
 you break with her, you are bound to regret it. 
 Either way — it doesn't matter. There's no cure. 
 A right one will spoil you for the other kind ; the 
 other kind will spoil you for the right one. And wc
 
 294 THE VINEYARD 
 
 all meet Miss Wrong very early in the day, and most 
 of us meet Miss Right too late. Who is happy ? 
 What's the matter with the world ? If men spoke 
 out they would all tell pretty much the same tale. 
 The happy time is the moon-calf time. I had ideals 
 when I was a moon-calf I " 
 
 He tried to feel his sentiments reconquered by the 
 mere recollection of a young lady who had lived with 
 her parents near his crammer's house in a Bayswater 
 Square. The young lady had fluffy blonde hair, blue 
 eves and a short waist ; she sat near her window 
 warbling "For ever and for ever," "Some Day," 
 "Ask nothing more of me, Sweet," and " Only once 
 more," while the young gentlemen played tennis. 
 How it all came back ! The tinkling instrument, 
 the girl's insipid profile, the eternal black velvet 
 butterfly bow in her flaxen hair — much crimped — 
 and the shrill treble voice insisting — 
 
 " I think of all thou art to mc, 
 I dream of all thou canst not be : 
 My life is cursed with thoughts of thee, 
 For cv-er and for ev-er." 
 
 The words were those, or nearly those. How 
 they had mingled with the hard hitting — pom-pom — 
 of the tennis-balls ! How his heart had thumped 
 when the girl's mamma, dressed in tweed, moved, at 
 intervals, to the drawing-room window to gaze with 
 suspicion and beneficence into the square 1 How 
 the girl herself would sometimes steal on the balcony
 
 for a little air, and recline on a wicker-work chair 
 with turkey-red cushions, reading The Lady^s Pictorial, 
 and fanning herself with a Japanese fan bought at 
 Whiteley's ! Appealing innocent creature ! Where 
 was she now ? Not one of the susceptible young men 
 who had longed to hear her sing for ever had taken 
 any active steps to insure her constant presence by 
 his side. Where was she now ? . . . And then the 
 life — the wonderful promenading life of Westbourne 
 Grove ! Harlowe, and a number of other young 
 men destined, by ambitious and often distinguished 
 parents, for diplomacy, the civil service, the army, 
 and the bar, rounded off their costly education by 
 strolling, in the pride of their youth and the glory of 
 new raiment, through Westbourne Grove, where 
 ladies of peculiarly striking charms also strolled after 
 tea-time. Harlowe tried to think he had enjoyed 
 that dashing existence — tried to persuade himself that 
 the girl with the songs had been the good angel he 
 had neglected. 
 
 " I'll go and see her." 
 
 Did she still live in the square ? Was she still 
 unmarried ? 
 
 " O Jennie ! Jennie 1 what are you driving me 
 to?" 
 
 The young lady's name was Simpson — Lena 
 Simpson. Her papa was a barrister, and her mamma 
 belonged to an excellent old Anglo-Indian family — 
 the Cullomores.
 
 " I'll look her up ! Dear little Lena ! I believe 
 she loved me." 
 
 A cart happened to be passing, and he asked the 
 man to give him a lift so far as the railway station. 
 Thus he caught the express for London. He reached 
 London at five o'clock. The air of the city was ex- 
 hausted ; the dry vi^ind blew particles from the urood 
 pavement and the refuse of the streets into Harlowe's 
 eyes ; the noise of the traffic deafened him ; the scurry- 
 ing crowd of ashen men and women on the pavements, 
 the deserted Houses of Parliament, the sluggish sunless 
 river, the Green Park filled with sleeping vagabonds 
 and quarrelling children, deepened his sense of unen- 
 durable loneliness. He had intended to drive first to 
 his club, but he changed his mind and gave the 
 cabman an address in Bayswater, — 
 
 "Durham Square — I forget the number." 
 
 All the houses in Durham Square are alike ; 
 Harlowe knew the Simpsons' house by its position, 
 A parlour-maid answered his summons. 
 
 " Was Mrs Simpson at home ? " 
 
 He was conducted to the drawing-room. Yes, 
 there was the piano, but it was closed. The terra- 
 cotta plush curtains, much faded, still hung from the 
 mantelpiece, disclosing, not a grate, but a basket of 
 artificial ferns. The carpet vj^as new, the chairs had 
 been re-covered with a brighter chintz j a number of 
 old photographs representing the famous Cullomores 
 in various stages of military and civil distinction had
 
 THE VINEYARD 297 
 
 been removed, and in their stead there were views, in 
 frames, of Lucerne and the Italian lakes. Presently 
 a lady about thirty-five, whom he had never seen in 
 his life, came in. She was dressed very fashionably, 
 he thought, and she resembled the strono; wives of 
 invalids at hydropathic establishments. He expressed 
 the hope that he was not disturbing Mrs Simpson. 
 
 **I am Mrs Simpson," she said. "But," she 
 added, observing his surprise, "you may not be 
 aware that the first Mrs Simpson died two years ago. 
 Mr Simpson and I were married last June. We 
 have, in fact, just returned from the Continent. 
 That is why we happen to be in town." 
 
 The views on the wall were explained. He 
 thought the situation awkward, but murmured con- 
 gratulations and wished he had not called. 
 
 "And how is Miss Simpson?" 
 
 Lena was not strong. Mr Simpson thought of 
 sending her away. She wanted to become a hospital 
 nurse ; but of course one had to take to that sort of 
 thing while one was young. 
 
 "It is so droll," said the lady, "to have a step- 
 daughter older than one's self. I can't get used to 
 it. I wonder whether you ever met my first husband 
 — Raymond Haddington?" here she sighed pro- 
 foundly, with unmistakable regret. " He was killed, 
 one of the very first, in the war. I thought I should 
 never get over it. But Mr Simpson has been such a 
 dear kind friend to me. Between ourselves, Lena
 
 igi THE VINEYARL 
 
 seems to feel the marriage. I do my beat to keep 
 peace, but she is jealous. It's a great grief to Mr 
 Simpson. Would you like to see poor Lena ? " 
 
 Yes, he would like to see her. She rang the bell 
 and resumed her monologue — 
 
 " I told her to come if I rang. She's so shy and 
 odd. She told me you were one of her mother's 
 friends, as I didn't know vour name. Of course I 
 had heard of it. Sir Harvey Harlowe's Life is in 
 Mr Simpson's library. Quite a book to buy — the 
 illustrations are so good. Lena gave it to her father 
 as a Christmas present, and he was very pleased. 
 Oh, we often speak of you, I assure you. I long to 
 get out of this dreadful house and move to the other 
 side. All my friends are on the other side. People 
 say, ' You can always take the blue 'bus.' But the 
 blue 'bus is an odious thing. Mr Simpson is begin- 
 ning to give in about the other side. Lena is all for 
 Bayswater. She's used to it. I shall never get used 
 
 to it." 
 
 The door opened, and a small woman, with a faded 
 flush and shining eyes, dressed in deep mourning and 
 carrying a blind grey pug, came into the room, 
 
 "Miss Simpson !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Mr Harlowe ! " She held out the dog. " Have 
 you forgotten him ? It is Romeo.** 
 
 He had bought the animal at a bazaar a long time 
 before, christened him and given him to her. But in 
 those days Romeo was a charming puppy, and wore
 
 THE VINEYARD 199 
 
 a scarlet ribbon round his neck. Lena had not 
 changed so sadly as her dog. What she had lost in 
 youthfulness she had gained in plaintive grace ; but 
 when she said, in answer to one of Harlowe's 
 questions, that she had given up singing, he felt 
 relieved. He did not want her to sing any more. 
 
 "We must make a completely fresh start," he 
 thought, "on new lines." 
 
 Mrs Simpson said ingenuously, " I am sure you 
 two would like to talk," and tripped out of the 
 room. 
 
 **She is very kind to papa," said Lena, at once. 
 
 Harlowe observed that the house had no doubt 
 seemed very lonely to Mr Simpson after his sad loss. 
 He noticed with satisfaction Lena's neat figure, her 
 tidy hair, her clear complexion, and her meek adoring 
 glance. He did not know it, but she had grown to 
 believe, and her relations had been taught to think, 
 that Harlowe was the love of her life. The legend 
 had grown, as such legends do, round the unmarried 
 of both sexes. The single state has to be explained, a 
 love has to be found, a credible storv has to be in- 
 vented. Lena's real love had not been Harlowe at 
 all ; the two absorbing passions of her girlhood had 
 been bestowed in the one case on her singing-master, 
 and in the other on her cousin — a young man who 
 made a good marriage, and afterwards obtained a 
 staiF appointment under Lord Roberts. She often 
 came across his name in The World — " Eddie Cullo-
 
 360 THE VINEYARD 
 
 more." But now that the brilliant Eddie was married 
 to his Lady Maude Blechmere, Lena had put him 
 from her mind. Harlowe was still left. Harlowe 
 therefore became that mysterious, indispensable factor 
 in every woman's existence — the fate she had possibly 
 missed, or the fate she might possibly surrender to. 
 Harlowe suggested a little walk in the dear old 
 square. They went out together, and, as he had 
 known her for such a long time, he lost a good deal 
 of his loneliness, and he forgot many weary recollec- 
 tions. 
 
 " How do you like living with your stepmother ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " I try to be nice about it." 
 
 He described his own house : a comfortable house 
 enough, but he could not arrange flowers. What 
 was a house without flowers ? Again : a man by 
 himself was often tempted to work late into the 
 night. A mistake. Further : say one made friends. 
 Hospitable as people were, one could not intrude into 
 domestic circles : one could not become a hanger-on 
 in any family. It was very pleasant in the square : 
 the sun had set ; a little breeze stirred the leaves of 
 the trees. 
 
 "Did you think I would come back?" asked 
 Harlowe. 
 
 "You never said you would," answered Lena. 
 " That's the odd part. Yet here I am. Isn't life 
 strange ? "
 
 THE VINEYARD 301 
 
 " Too extraordinary." 
 
 They found a sheltered seat under a plane-tree, and 
 Lena, because it was so warm, took oflF her black 
 gloves. 
 
 "I never touch the piano now," she said, glancing 
 down at her thin fingers. "Music is so good at the 
 Queen's Hall : one needn't strum any more." 
 
 " We must go to some concerts." 
 
 The power of the legend was upon her, and she 
 thought that no woman had ever loved any man 
 so long and so faithfully as she had loved Harlowe. 
 What a pretty story it was ! And it was, perhaps, 
 coming to a happy end after all. It was like sailing 
 into a calm haven after many nights on a shoreless 
 sea. The peace she felt reached him, and soothed 
 his anger and captivated his aching, desolate heart. 
 
 "This is what I want," he thought: "a kind 
 good girl — a girl who hasn't been spoiled by men and 
 flattery." 
 
 "Dear Lena," said he, aloud, "I have a very lonely 
 home, and I have come to ask you to share it with 
 me. I'm not badly ofF, and I'd do everything I could 
 to make you happy. I have come back to you be- 
 cause I had to come back to you. Something made 
 me come." 
 
 " Mamma," she said, blushing, " used to say : 
 *John Harlowe is the one. He'll come for you 
 some day when you think you can't bear things 
 much longer.' "
 
 3oa THE VINEYARD 
 
 " So your mother said that ? *' 
 
 " Yes ; a short time before she died." 
 
 " Well, I'm here." 
 
 She took out her pocket-handkerchief and dried 
 her eyes. " Sometimes," she said, " it was hard to 
 believe. . . . You never wrote, or anything." 
 
 " I'll make up for that," said Harlowe ; " I'll show 
 your people that your mother was right. She saw it 
 all from the beginning. I am the one for you — you 
 are the one for me." 
 
 The girl sighed and began to say, " I wish we had 
 known it also, and sooner," but she checked herself. 
 
 '' Dear Lena, I am devoted to you," he said. 
 
 He could not kiss her in the square, because it was 
 a public place, and the impulse to do so was not over- 
 powering. He pressed her hand, she pressed his 
 gently in return, and they walked back slowly, side by 
 side, to the house. 
 
 The amiable and astute Mrs Simpson, who had 
 been watching them with opera-glasses from her bed- 
 room window, came to meet them in the hall. 
 
 " Surely," said she, artless yet reproachful, " you'll 
 dine with us, Mr Harlowe ? My husband will be so 
 disappointed if you run away again for years before 
 he has seen you." 
 
 " This time," said Harlowe, " I am not going 
 away for years."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 "We must beware we presume not to sit as gods in 
 judgment upon others, and rashly, as our conceit and 
 fancy doth lead us, so to determine of this man, he is 
 sincere, or of that man, he is an hypocrite." 
 
 Richard Hooker. 
 
 Jennie, meanwhile, had caught the electric tram 
 to Cumbersborough, and alighted at Mrs Helmyng's 
 door about half-past two in the afternoon. The 
 Helmyngs' house, built of stone, two storeys high, 
 designed before red-brick villas became the fashion, 
 was one in a small block, on a side street, far from 
 the sea and the fields. A brick wall with an iron 
 railing enclosed some laurel bushes well clipped as 
 a hedge, a plot of turf, a few shrubs, and a lime tree 
 which filled the space between the gate and the 
 front door : long curtains of green silk hung at 
 each of the five windows, which were all open ; 
 and whereas the bells at the other houses were 
 of brass, the one at No. 3 was of bronze. 
 
 Mrs Helmyng was lying on a couch in the room 
 which Allan used as a studio — a room full of plaster 
 casts, unfinished canvases, pieces of drapery, old 
 pewter, and easels, but otherwise unfurnished. 
 
 303
 
 304 THE VINEYARD 
 
 When Jennie came into it she drew a long breath : 
 "I love the smell of paint and all the signs of 
 work ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 "Have you heard our news?" asked Mrs 
 Helmyng. " Bonnat, who was Allan's master in 
 Paris, has sold one of his pictures to a dealer for 
 four thousand francs. It was in the Salon, but 
 Allan had no hopes about selling it." 
 
 " He must be happy at such a success ! I suppose 
 it's a beautiful picture." 
 
 Mrs Helmyng sighed. "A very beautiful picture. 
 Bonnat says it is finer than any Daubigny ; but 
 nothing seems to make my son happy." 
 
 Mrs Helmyng had white hair, the pale complexion 
 which often accompanies it, and very black eyes. 
 She had been the belle of a cathedral town in her 
 youth, and her elopement with the dissipated but 
 handsome Dudley Helmyng of the Merchant Service 
 had created a great deal of scandal ; ruined, it was 
 said, her father's promotion in the Church (he was 
 the Bishop's chaplain), and injured the chances of 
 five younger sisters. She had been made to suffer 
 in many ways for her imprudence : the marriage had 
 not taken place without delay ; Helmyng's relations 
 were indignant because she was penniless ; her own 
 were distracted because Helmyng's father kept a 
 shop — a large hardware shop — in Oxford Street. 
 
 "The man, I hear, sells saucepans and grid- 
 irons," complained the wife of the Chief Constable
 
 THE VINEYARD 305 
 
 of Frampshire, whose own money was invested 
 partly in a gun factory and partly in a fashionable 
 restaurant. 
 
 Helmyng, soon after he became Captain Helmyng, 
 died of liver, morphia, and drink, leaving his wife 
 in wretched circumstances and his son with shattered 
 nerves. Allan, however, had genius. Encouraged by 
 his mother, who had a gift for loving, he worked 
 admirably till his health failed, when the doctors 
 ordered him to Cumbersborough. 
 
 " Now," thought his fellow-students and rivals, 
 "he's done for. Poor Helmyng! Besides, would he ever 
 have sold well? " 
 
 Mrs Helmyng explained that Allan had gone down 
 into the High Street to order some turpentine. A 
 good sign. He had not been painting at all lately. 
 She glanced at Jennie. 
 
 " I was much condemned for marrying his father. 
 No doubt he had faults, and I may have been 
 unwise. If one loves one can make great sacrifices 
 without feeling them. And the children of those who 
 love each other have talents and charms which make 
 atonement for the follies of their parents. I regret 
 nothing. Allan has an almost religious adoration of 
 beauty and a proud faith in his own dreams which 
 ordinary people do not understand. They generally 
 think there is a disproportion between the delicacy of 
 artists' work and the almost gross brutality of their 
 lives — when they can be known. Allan's love for 
 
 V
 
 3o6 THE VINEYARD 
 
 beauty is not confined to his art. Under his bitter- 
 ness, he has deep feelings." 
 
 She had heard the rumour of Jennie's entanglement 
 with Federan, and she was wondering how she could 
 find out the whole truth of the matter. Allan had 
 not mentioned Jennie's name since the night of 
 the ball, but his habit of silence was growing daily 
 stronger. The few sketches he made recalled Jennie : 
 when the news reached him about the sale of his 
 picture, he had brought anguish to his mother's heart 
 by saying, " It comes too late ! " 
 
 " I was the same !" thought Mrs Helmyng : " I was 
 the same after I married his father. I cared for no one 
 else. I wanted to tell him what I thought and what 
 I felt — with mv eyes fixed on his soul. And when I 
 could not see him, I wanted to die. That was love. 
 My son and I are alike. What is to become of my 
 son ? " 
 
 "You don't look well," she said to Jennie: "I'm 
 afraid you're not happy at Franton Manor." 
 
 " I am going away from Franton. I can't stay 
 there." 
 
 Surely, if the girl was engaged to Federan, she 
 would not care to leave Frampshire. 
 
 " Allan and I wish to spend the autumn in Rome," 
 said Mrs Helmyng. " We feel so rich now he has 
 sold his picture. Why don't you join us? The 
 greatest expense is the journey. Once there, we can 
 go to a very comfortable pension"
 
 THE VINEYARD 307 
 
 "To Rome ! " said Jennie, delighted — " with you ? 
 I could start to-morrow ! " 
 
 Mrs Helmyng smiled. " Allan will be so glad. 
 He is the best of sons ; but my education was old- 
 fashioned. I cannot follow all his ideas, and I am not 
 the companion he ought to have." 
 
 She said this with deliberation, because she did not 
 wish Jennie to forget that Allan would be in the 
 party. 
 
 " I like to hear him talk," said Jennie, " but I am 
 always afraid of boring him." 
 
 " That isn't the danger," said his mother, with a 
 soft sigh. " He admires you greatly, and he always 
 tells me that you have been such a friend to him. I 
 do not believe that any man can work well in any 
 sphere unless he has a good woman friend, in whom 
 he can trust, and to whom he can turn for sympathy. 
 If you read the lives of famous men, you will find 
 that each one had some friendship of that sort. 
 
 Jennie, listening eagerly, flushed at the prospect of 
 losing herself and forgetting her own despair in some 
 intellectual devotion to a brilliant young man with 
 whom she had always felt curiously intimate, although 
 they had never exchanged a confidence. He under- 
 stood her, she thought. She flushed more deeply, a 
 few moments later, when he came into the studio. 
 His figure was emaciated : he had never been conven- 
 tionally good-looking, and, since the ball, he had 
 grown a small dark beard, which made his fine eyes
 
 3o§ THE VINEYARD 
 
 seem larger and darker, and his cheeks paler, than 
 they had ever been. His manner, Jennie thought, was 
 courteous, but cold ; and she felt disappointed. Mrs 
 Helmyng was too tactful to refer to the journey to 
 Rome, and they looked at unfinished sketches till the 
 time came for Jennie to leave. Then Helmyng 
 offered to accompany her to the tramway. 
 
 When they were alone in the street, he said : " I 
 am crushed at my mother's happiness about the sale 
 of my picture. Once it might have meant some- 
 thing to me. It means nothing now. I have always 
 known that the picture was good, — if I had not 
 thought so, it would have been an impertinence to 
 send it to a public exhibition. But its commercial 
 success — not its real value — pleases my mother. She 
 thinks now that the neighbours will be impressed, 
 and that her absurd relations — they are unhappily 
 mine as well — will forgive her for marrying the man 
 she loved. Women have such long memories. She 
 still broods over those old slights and squabbles 
 which occurred twenty-six years ago. My poor 
 mother ! " 
 
 The rumour that Federan was in money difHculties 
 had already reached Cumbersborough. Allan, on 
 the pretence of buying turpentine, had, as a matter 
 of fact, been trying to find out more precise gossip, 
 in order to protect, if possible, Mrs Helmyng's small 
 investment. His worst fears had been confirmed by 
 Colonel Howland, whom he met outside the Imperial
 
 THE VINEYARD 309 
 
 Hotel, where he had been telephoning vainly to 
 Federan at YafFord. 
 
 " The man isn't there. They say he is at Franton 
 Manor. Can we have a warrant issued for his arrest ? 
 And he is also mixed up in some painful way with 
 that Miss Sussex. A bad business altogether," 
 
 All this had been poured into Helmyng's ear half 
 an hour before he saw Jennie in his studio. What 
 was he to do ? The temptation to say all he knew 
 against Federan was strong, because he abhorred him. 
 But he bit his tongue at the sight of Jennie's sad face. 
 "Something is wrong," he thought. "I must not 
 hurt her." 
 
 "Mr Helmyng," said Jennie, suddenly, after they 
 had walked a short distance, " you saw me drive 
 away with Mr Federan on the night of the ball. I 
 shouldn't like you to think that we were merely 
 flirting. It was serious — at least, I was serious. We 
 were not quite engaged when we started, but we 
 were engaged when we came back." Her cheeks 
 were now flaming. " He had already told me — that 
 is, he had said enough for me to feel justified in 
 seeming, perhaps, a little reckless for that one 
 evening. The engagement is broken off now. That 
 is all I wanted to say." 
 
 Helmyng drew a deep sigh of joy, but he kept his 
 eyes lowered, because he felt the heat of her cheeks, 
 the agony of embarrassment she was suffering, the 
 love she still had for Federan,
 
 310 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " Federan," he said, " is a man I have never been 
 able to knov/ well. But he is very handsome." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He has the artist's temperament." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oddly enough, far more of what is called the 
 artist's temperament than artists themselves, as a rule, 
 have." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 All this was pleasant to her. She had broken with 
 Federan for ever, yet she longed to hear him praised, 
 excused, explained, if possible. 
 
 "If you have broken ofF the engagement, I am 
 sorry for him. I must be sorry for him. I do not 
 know what he may have done, but the punishment is 
 awful." 
 
 " No 1 no ! he does not love me now." 
 
 " In his wounded self-love he may say anything." 
 
 " It was my own fault. I failed him. I cannot 
 tell you more, but he was in trouble, and I was harsh." 
 
 Helmyng asked gently, " Forgive me if I ask too 
 much. Is there no hope of any reconciliation be- 
 tween you ? " 
 
 " No hope," she said, with vehemence. "I should 
 despise myself if I ever dreamt of a reconciliation. 
 You don't want me to despise myself? " 
 
 "I could never question your sense of justice in 
 any case. But I feel sorry for Federan. He has 
 brought it all on himself, no doubt, still — "
 
 THE VINEYARD 311 
 
 "It is killing me to break with him ! I am telling 
 you more than I have dared to tell myself. Yet if it 
 kills me, breaks me in pieces, I must nevertheless be 
 firm." 
 
 The last time she had been on that road Federan 
 had been driving by her side ; the scene vi^as still the 
 same — scarcely a leaf, she thought, was missing from 
 the trees, the hedges were still full of honeysuckle 
 and blackberry blossoms ; the ducks on the small 
 common still quacked by the horsepond, and all these 
 familiar external conditions made her changed senti- 
 ments harder to bear, more poignant, a crueller 
 mockery. 
 
 "I don't want to take the tram," she said; "all 
 my fellow passengers seemed so happy when I came 
 over this afternoon that they made me feel worse. I 
 didn't see how they could be happy when I was so 
 wretched ! " 
 
 At every step she left in the dust a faint trace of 
 her narrow shoes and rather high heels. Helmyng, 
 who was fanciful, thought, "I wish my heart could 
 be smoothed out as easily as a dusty road," and with 
 his walking-stick he erased one of the footprints. 
 He remembered all he had suffered alone by himself, 
 and in crowds, in his small damp studio in Paris, in 
 the room with a skylight in a West Kensington side- 
 street which he had shared with another Academy 
 student. He had always known that he was con- 
 sidered morose, disagreeable, moody, and rather coij-
 
 312 THE VINEYARD 
 
 ceited — a dry and sinister fellow. What did they 
 know of his pride and his impatience ? of his soul 
 weighed down by unutterable ambitions and unrealis- 
 able powers ? of his fatigues — so difficult to conquer ? 
 of his temptations — so strong to his temperament 
 and yet so repulsive to his better genius ? What did 
 they know of his discouragements, his disgusts, his 
 inspirations, or his work ? Had he not told himself 
 ever since he was eighteen, "No woman will ever 
 love you, and you will never be understood. You 
 will live your life as you have passed your half- 
 holidays at school — with your nose against a shop- 
 window longing for beautiful things which are not 
 for you ? " 
 
 Jennie was now one of these beautiful things which 
 were not for him. 
 
 "Tell me about your pictures," said Jennie: "I 
 am tired of myself." 
 
 " I can talk better about other men's pictures. Do 
 you know the Botticelli in the Royal Palace at 
 Florence ? The girl's face is the loveliest one, I 
 think, Botticelli ever composed : she is like you. 
 They call her Pallas. You remember it ? " 
 
 He took Bonnat's letter from his pocket-book and 
 made a rapid sketch on the envelope. 
 
 " There ! The eyes, the upper lip — you see ? 
 It's too tender, too unsophisticated for Pallas Athene. 
 When I think of that picture and the Primavera I 
 want to bury my brushes."
 
 THE VINEYARD 3^3 
 
 She liked to be compared with tender, beautiful, 
 and matchless Botticelli pictures. 
 
 "May I read what Bonnat has written to 
 you?" 
 
 " He is too generous altogether, and he is always 
 prejudiced in favour of his own pupils. I don't deny 
 I am flattered by his criticism. But you shall read 
 the letter another time." 
 
 " No ! Now, please." 
 
 He gave it to her, and she halted on the road to 
 read it. One passage made her thoughtful ; trans- 
 lated into English, it ran thus : — 
 
 " I am asking myself what sorrow you have had lately. 
 There is a melancholy — so tragic, so famished, so over- 
 whelming in this particular work, that I fear you are 
 passing through some crisis. You have caught the gaiety, 
 the very madness and intoxication of the Summer : you 
 have put it, with supreme beauty and skill, on canvas, but 
 you have done it from the outside — as though you yourself 
 were in a dark cave and watching the world through some 
 little hole. Another time join in the madness ; be less 
 distant and calm. The calm does not deceive me : it is 
 another name for death in the soul. But the saddest 
 histories in the world are the histories of its men of 
 genius." 
 
 Jennie looked at Helmyng, but he had turned 
 away and was smoothing out, with his stick, one 
 more of her footprints. Was he really a great man 
 — a man like Botticelli, or Turner, or Corot — a man 
 whose pictures might one day hang in the National 
 Gallery and be lectured on by university professors ?
 
 314 THE VINEYARD 
 
 He seemed almost insignificant j he led such an 
 ordinary life ; no one paid him any especial attention 
 or thought him remarkable in any sense — except for 
 his bad humours. The county had not heard of his 
 existence, and the well-to-do barely knew him by 
 sight ; the tradespeople did not think his custom 
 worth having. ** Yet," she thought, "strangers may 
 come here some day, from all parts of the globe, to 
 see the little house where Helmyng lived with his 
 mother." 
 
 " Bonnat is very sympathetic," she said, "and the 
 French have great insight into character ; but I hope 
 he is mistaken about your unhappiness." 
 
 " He may be. I won't maunder about it anyhow. 
 My belief is that everyone feels a gnaw or a pinch 
 somewhere, and things are more even than they 
 would seem, judged outwardly." 
 
 He remembered all the far-ofFand confused afflic- 
 tions of his adolescence : the morbid loves, the sullen 
 struggles between his imagination and his experience, 
 the tumult and the torture of a nervous system tuned 
 to the highest key of life and played on in the lowest 
 depth of melancholy. And yet, under all the fatigue 
 which seemed a disease, and the prostration, which 
 often destroyed his powers of work — an immense will 
 to live, to create, to enjoy existence, and to proclaim 
 the triumph of his dreams over mortality, had never 
 yielded. That was true: his will had never yielded. 
 He set his lips, and Jennie, walking by his side^
 
 THE VINEYARD 315 
 
 thought of the sick kings who led great armies out 
 to victory, of the fainting saints who had controlled 
 vast congregations, of the bent men whose mighty 
 music thrilled the spheres, and the sad ones whose 
 joyous words had the warmth of the sun. She began 
 to feel a little afraid. 
 
 "How can I talk to him?" she thought: "he 
 must think me so silly. I will read some clever 
 books. And yet, he is always patient with me. I'll 
 ask him if he would like me to be clever." 
 
 " Would you like me to be clever ? " she asked, 
 abruptly : " because I'm not. When I think too 
 much, my head aches. I like to go on . . . this 
 way. Sometimes, without any warning, an idea flies 
 into my mind. Then I think, 'I will tell that to 
 Mr Helmyng next time I meet him.* But I forget 
 it, often, before I see you." 
 
 " You give me, without knowing it perhaps, too 
 many ideas." 
 
 This pleased her, too, and she smiled. 
 
 "Will you promise to finish some of those 
 sketches ? I know a little about pictures — not 
 much ; but papa knew a great deal. He once wrote 
 an article on Wattcau and Goya for the Nineteenth 
 Century. His chief at the War Office was annoyed, 
 and told papa it was a bad thing to get known as a 
 dilettante. I remember the very words, because papa 
 quoted them again and again." 
 
 I happen to have that article," said Helmyng: 
 
 ((
 
 3i6 THE VINEYARD 
 
 *' it was a piece of real criticism. Your father had 
 an artist's soul." 
 
 " I am writing his life," said Jennie, with a pang 
 of remorse — she had not touched the manuscript for 
 weeks : " it is called Sunt lacrymee rerum." 
 
 But her attention was suddenly attracted to a man 
 and a boy who were pasting a large bill announcing 
 the Weddestown Races on the advertisement board 
 outside the " Three Bells " Inn. 
 
 " Your cousin has invited me to her box to- 
 morrow," said Helmyng : "are you going ? " 
 
 Jennie's misery began afresh. " I can't go," she 
 said, in distress. " Mr Federan will be riding for 
 the Challenge Cup. I can't go. How could I 
 go?" 
 
 "You must go," said Helmyng: "you have spirit 
 — show it. You don't wish him to think that you 
 are afraid of seeing him ! " 
 
 " I'm not afraid ! Yes, I am," she added, in a 
 humbler voice ; "you are right." 
 
 "If you have the courage to own it, you have 
 the courage to conquer it." 
 
 She wanted to lean upon his arm, but she paused in 
 her walk, and turned her face, which was now full of 
 shadows, especially round the eyes, toward his. 
 " One moment I think I don't care so much after 
 all ; then I find that I do care." A slight sorrowful 
 contraction appeared at the corner of her mouth, and 
 she seemed as irresolute as her words. " You will
 
 THE VINEYARD 317 
 
 think I have unintelligible romantic notions," she 
 said ; " but just as there are many people who cannot 
 visit graves, I cannot bear to see anyone vv^ho has 
 disappointed me." 
 
 "Each time you see him,*' replied Helmyng, "he 
 will be less and less a disillusion — more and more a 
 man, a human being. And as a human being you 
 will judge him newly." 
 
 " You take his part." 
 
 Helmyng winced at the thought of the hatred he 
 had been able to stifle and disguise. 
 
 " You surely cannot think that I ought to forgive 
 him ? " she said. 
 
 "No; but you flatter him too much by refusing 
 to see him. He will not believe that you have 
 changed. And until you consent to see him I my- 
 self shall not be able to think that your heart is quite 
 out of his power." 
 
 "You have said it. My heart has been in his 
 power. I must get free." 
 
 The enslaved Helmyng declared, — 
 
 " It is natural that a proud woman should want her 
 liberty." 
 
 " You can still think, then, that I am proud ? " 
 
 " I know it. If you were not proud, you would not 
 be suffering so intensely." 
 
 " How do you understand these things so well ? " 
 
 He did not know ; perhaps it was a matter of 
 instinct, he said.
 
 3i8 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " I think you are right, and I will go to the Races," 
 said Jennie, presently. 
 
 He observed the beauty of her arms, of her 
 shoulders, of her profile, and of her rich brown hair. 
 In the pleasure of that contemplation he forgot his 
 rage against Federan ; and there was something in 
 these rare but brilliant and passionate glances which 
 revived the girl's afflicted spirit. 
 
 *' How can I help liking him ? " she thought. 
 "I liked him at first sight, before I knew Gerald." 
 
 She found herself humming a song, and she looked 
 quickly at Helmyng for fear he should think that she 
 had exaggerated her grief, or was by nature shallow. 
 But he accepted the song as simply as he had listened 
 to her confession of folly ; both were, to him, matters 
 of nature beyond her control or his own wonder. 
 
 "It is strange," she thought, "but I could have 
 had twenty minutes more time with Gerald on the 
 night of the ball if I had not gone back to the room 
 for my dance with Helmyng. I wanted to go back, 
 I could not break my word to him." 
 
 She knew now that she would have to attend the 
 Races, but the prospect was not so painful as it had 
 been, and the thought that Helmyng would be there by 
 her side stilled the wild beating of her heart. They 
 stopped, at the end of their long walk, at the Franton 
 post-office, and Jennie sent a telegram to the Duchess 
 accepting her invitation for the morrow. Helmyng 
 wrote it out, in order to save her the trouble, he said.
 
 THE VINEYARD 319 
 
 of taking ofFher gloves. He had seen that her hand was 
 trembling ; that she was still, in spite of her resolve, a 
 little reluctant to sign the warrant for a painful ordeal. 
 
 " It will be an ordeal," she said, as they left the 
 post-office. 
 
 Helmyng lowered his eyes : he felt such a profound 
 pity for her weakness and such an invincible deter- 
 mination to assert his own will. 
 
 " See it through ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " I know you arc right, but something may come 
 over me at the last moment — when I am dressing. 
 I'll get cold from head to foot ; I sha'n't have any 
 strength. I know everything is at an end between 
 us, and that we can never, never, never care for each 
 other again. I don't love him now." 
 
 " Did you ever really love him ? " said Helmyng, 
 gently. 
 
 She seemed almost terrified by the question, then 
 she resented it. " Would all this have mattered if I 
 had not loved him?" As Helmyng remained silent, 
 she went on — " I don't know. What is love ? 
 Could I justify myself — could you find an excuse for 
 me, leaving love out of the story ?" 
 
 " I asked, did you really love him — the man, the 
 man the world sees ? " 
 
 *' Yes, every inch of him." 
 
 Helmyng thought. " One can recover from the 
 love of inches ! " But he would say nothing bitter, 
 nothing cynical, nothing piercing.
 
 320 THE VINEYARD 
 
 "If no one is completely happy," he answered, 
 " no one is completely unhappy. On the other side 
 of the limit fixed to all suflFering and all joy, there is 
 a sort of stupor." 
 
 He could not have owned this the day before, and 
 even at that moment it seemed more consoling than 
 true. 
 
 "I hope I shall attain the stupor to-morrow," said 
 Jennie. 
 
 Afterwards, when he finally said good-bye to her 
 and left her at the Manor gates, she wondered how 
 he knew so much about love, and she tormented her- 
 self by speculations about his life in London and 
 Paris. Who was the woman ? where was she ? was 
 it hopeless ? Perhaps he would tell her the whole 
 history some day. Would she dare ask him about it ? 
 No. Already she feared his reserve, and dreaded any 
 sudden coldness in his voice. He had been just in 
 his remarks about Federan : she almost believed that 
 he liked Federan. It seemed strange, in the circum- 
 stances, that he liked Federan at all. Yet, why 
 strange ? Ah, who was the woman who had taught 
 Helmyng so much about love ? and why was he in 
 despair ? Did Bonnat know the story ? Then, when 
 Drover, the butler, told her, as she entered the house, 
 that Mr Federan had been gone for some time, the 
 old jealous agony stole through her limbs and veins. 
 Why was not Helmyng there to take her part ? 
 Why did she have to bear the hardest things alone ?
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 Two separate divided silences, 
 
 Which, brought together, could find loving voice ; 
 
 Two glances which together would rejoice 
 
 In love, now lost like stars beyond dark trees. 
 
 ROSSETTI. 
 
 The Weddestown Races were organised mainly by 
 noblemen and others in Frampshire who were 
 anxious to attract a high-class sporting population 
 toward their respective properties. A county soon 
 becomes languid and negligible unless it has some 
 centre of activity into which the passions and tastes 
 of its inhabitants can converge. Something had to 
 be done for the drowsy province. The Marquis 
 of Frampshire declared privately that agriculture 
 was played out, that the health resort and seaside 
 hotel business had been worked to death, that 
 scenery, as a draw, meant cheap trippers, that 
 birthplaces of famous men were a bore. So he 
 laid out an exceedingly picturesque course on the 
 outskirts of his own park, built a grand-stand, 
 inaugurated a club, and, after three or four years, 
 the Weddestown races became as fashionable as any 
 semi-private meetings of the kind in England. Every 
 X 321
 
 322 THE VINEYARD 
 
 individual in the county who had a spare bedroom or 
 so entertained a house-party for the three days ; 
 boxes in the grand-stand were at a premium ; tickets 
 for the enclosure were reserved for members of the 
 club and their friends ; the club itself was bound by 
 peculiarly exclusive and old-fashioned regulations — 
 " On the lines," the Marquis had said, " of the 
 Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes, which, out of season^ 
 fulfils one's idea of a club. During the Regatta 
 week, I'm told it is intolerable, and I avoid it. At 
 other times I do as I please there, and I'm quite fond 
 of the place." 
 
 Jennie's cousin, Constance, Duchess of Lereford, 
 gave a garden-party every year, and attended the 
 races every year : these were her public appearances, 
 and the rest of the time she lived in comparative 
 seclusion. Having read the lives of Isabella D'Este 
 and Vittoria Colonna, she wished, within her narrow 
 opportunities, to foster the arts, and produce a kind 
 of renaissance in Frampshire society. But she was 
 not a rich woman ; she found it hard to maintain her 
 house and establishment in the dignified style con- 
 sidered proper to her rank ; her influence, she soon 
 found, depended rather on the amount of money she 
 could keep in local circulation than on the kind 
 thoughts and right feelings she was so anxious and 
 able to dispense liberally This discovery, to a mind 
 essentially timid in spite of its ambition, had been 
 depressing ; she kept a journal, which was to be
 
 THE VINEYARD 323 
 
 published after her death, and she wrote charming 
 letters to a Canon of St Paul's — who was her greatest 
 friend. She had married the Duke of Lereford for 
 his position ; but among duchesses she was not 
 considered important, because she was poor and 
 childless, and, though she belonged to an excellent 
 family, she was not allied with any powerful one. 
 When people looked up Sir Fortescue Sussex and his 
 kin in Burke they found the stock antique, the 
 early history chivalrous ; the moral, — " Noblesse oblige^ 
 commercially appraised, has no surface value." 
 
 Lady Frampshire, one of the Megbies — a great 
 banking firm — said openly, — " I remember her as a 
 girl in the cheapest frocks, without a penny in her 
 pocket, too glad to be invited anywhere. How she 
 got on no one knew. She couldn't pay her cab-fares, 
 and when she came for a week-end she remained for 
 months. Lady Lessing made the match. She was 
 in love with the Duke herself, and married him, as a 
 last precaution, to that simpleton, in order to shut 
 people's mouths. It answered. That's the cleverness 
 of Hortensia Lessing. Anyone would say, *How 
 could it answer ? ' All I can tell you is — it did. 
 Hortensia Lessing and the Duke were really fond of 
 the poor little thing, and now, even though the Duke 
 is dead, Hortensia is still very kind to her : has her 
 at Southcourt for the big shoots ; yes, and when the 
 Prince and Princess go there. That will show 
 you. That's Hortensia all over ; once her friend
 
 324 THE VINEYARD 
 
 you are always her friend — her worst enemies own 
 that." 
 
 The widowed Duchess awoke, on the morning of 
 the races, with a leaden weight in her breast. She 
 knew too well the artificiality of her power in the 
 neighbourhood, and she shivered at the prospect of 
 meeting the crowd of London people who were 
 always invited by the Frampshires, Peverils, Pang- 
 bournes, and others for the event. Constance Lereford 
 was not pretty ; she had a longish nose, a sallow 
 complexion, a wide mouth, and a great quantity of 
 black hair, which made her head imposing, if out of 
 proportion to her body : she wore long pearl earrings, 
 and her figure was willowy. But, wishing to resemble 
 the photographs of bereaved Royal personages, she 
 clad herself in tailor-made mourning, which was far 
 too harsh for her picturesque, intelligent counten- 
 ance. 
 
 When her carriage drove up to the gates of the 
 enclosure, and she saw the flags waving, when she 
 heard the strains of the military band, and recognised 
 a number of faces, she smiled correctly right and left, 
 held her lilac silk parasol a little higher, and felt that 
 she was creating, after all, a certain sensation. The 
 Frampshires and their party had already arrived ; the 
 boxes were crowded, and the Duchess, out of per- 
 versity, had invited no one except Jennie and Allan 
 Helmyng. They were both waiting for her at the 
 entrance ; and the three crossed the lawn, climbed
 
 THE VINEYARD 3*5 
 
 the stairs, took their places, and gazed around at the 
 dazzling lively scene as though they were quite 
 unaware that every field-glass in the assembly had 
 been turned with frank curiosity toward the Duchess's 
 box. Who were her friends ? Not a soul among the 
 county gentry had ever seen Helmyng, or heard of 
 him. Jennie's astonishing beauty drove several gentle- 
 men to the assertion that her name was on the tip of 
 their tongues. One swore that he had seen her at 
 the last Court ball. She was Lady Somebody Some- 
 thing's girl. Helmyng, it was decided, was an eccen- 
 tric peer, a relative of the late Duke's. 
 
 " Is he in love with her ? " asked young Mrs 
 Peveril, immediately. Her life was spent in conjec- 
 turing who loved whom. 
 
 Jennie surveyed the course while her cousin pointed 
 out the dangerous corners, the worst jumps. Several 
 hundreds of well-dressed couples were sitting on chairs 
 or walking on the lawn in front of the stand : more 
 had congregated in the large paddock to the left in 
 order to judge the horses, see the riders, and consider 
 their bets. A dense black line of shouting, chatter- 
 ing, tittering, excited spectators had gathered on each 
 side of the course, where fortune-tellers, and photo- 
 graphers, vendors of drinks and cakes, scent-squirts 
 and racing cards, camp-stools and fruit, were adminis- 
 tering, under competition, to the needs and fancies of 
 the mob. Many, having unharnessed their horses, 
 had drawn up their vehicles to the side, and the drags.
 
 326 THE VINEYARD 
 
 brakes, farmers' carts, governess-carts, dog-carts, gigs, 
 and wagonettes were packed together with democratic 
 fairness in the order of their arrival, and filled with 
 representatives of every class in Frampshire. 
 
 Helmyng, who was gradually learning — as clever 
 young men must — that he had far more in common 
 with his fellow-creatures than he had ever supposed 
 was the case — responded to the excitement, the glow, 
 the pleasure and the humanity around him. Where 
 he had once suspected, in his yearning for the stars 
 and vagueness, the hatefulness of a large crowd, he 
 now felt its lovableness, its good-humour, its patience, 
 and its profound unconscious philosophy. The poor 
 sad nervous Duchess, with her mask of set friendliness, 
 bowing unwavering bows to acquaintances who were 
 themselves masked, sad, and nervous, offered a tragic 
 contrast to the blowsy radiant women who stared at 
 her and her set from the people's side of the course. 
 The talk, simpering and laughter went on : the 
 London ladies, covered with artificial precious stones 
 and clinging muslin, or clad in cloth gowns, severely 
 cut, either flirted, or complained of their health, or 
 discussed, in the slang of the stable, the horses, or 
 watched each other, or started in couples, nominally to 
 see the animals and actually in pursuit of the officers 
 in the paddock. 
 
 Sir George and Lady Pangbourne occupied the box 
 next to the Duchess of Lereford. Sir George had an 
 air of sorrow, and his wife, a drooping conciliatory
 
 THE VINEYARD 327 
 
 woman, made conversation by assuring the members 
 of her party and her acquaintances that they looked 
 extremely well. Her remarks reached Helmyng from 
 time to time. 
 
 " How well you are looking ! But why didn't you 
 bring your husband r No ! Not the gout again ? 
 I must tell him about Colonel Warboys. He has 
 found a wonderful cure. Colonel Warboys, you know, 
 is the dear whose daughter married Lord Alfred 
 Debenham. She looks so well. Is she here to-day ? 
 Do find her. Ah, dear I^ady Chillingworth. How 
 well you are looking ! Where is the General ? He 
 was looking so well, I thought, the other night. 
 Are you going to the Soames' garden-party on 
 Saturday ? " 
 
 " That everlasting croquet ! " exclaimed Lady 
 Chillingworth. 
 
 " You needn't play. Daisy Soame never plays, and 
 I fancy Charlotte Soame doesn't play. But I cannot 
 be sure." 
 
 "I saw Charlotte play at the Peverils' last 
 week." 
 
 " Did you ? It's a pity she's so stout, although she 
 looks well, and it suits her, poor thing. George says 
 that she dances beautifully." 
 
 " Stout girls often do," said Lady Chillingworth. 
 
 A rouged, buoyant, and emaciated woman, dressed 
 in painted gauze and wearing an immense Rubens hat 
 covered with plumes, peeped in at the Duchess's box.
 
 328 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " What do you think, Connie ? That little pig of 
 a man, Captain Hallard, is going to ride that old 
 crock Godiva. I hope she'll break his beastly little 
 neck." 
 
 She stared at Jennie and went on, "I'm putting 
 all my money on Federan, a local man. Colonel 
 Bellebrough and his lot are simply furious, because 
 Federan's a rank outsider, and they say he has no 
 business to ride at all. There's an awful row going 
 on. I daresay it is rather hard luck to be beaten by 
 a perfect nobody. He's not a member of the Club, 
 and it is quite irregular. Major Beaumont is gnash- 
 ing his teeth. The crowd will have Federan, it 
 seems. You ought to have heard them cheer him. 
 The Lord-Lieutenant wasn't in it. He looked 
 pretty sick, I can tell you. Lady Frampshire says 
 that Federan is quite a person one can know, and 
 too good-looking for words ! The officers' feeling 
 against him is snobbish jealousy. The darlings are 
 snobs ; I always tell them so. And I must put my 
 money on him if he is going to be tiresome and win. 
 I'll come back presently, dearest, and tell you more." 
 
 She showed her teeth at the Duchess, stared again 
 at Jennie, and disappeared. 
 
 "That," said the Duchess, "is Mrs Tommie 
 Montgomery. She is staying with the Frampshires." 
 
 Jennie had heard of the lady, who was the greatest 
 social success of the most fastidious, the most 
 cultured, and, in its own opinion, the most powerful
 
 THE VINEYARD 319 
 
 set in London. She could talk, it was said, on any 
 subject, and it was certain that her husband had large 
 means. Several poor gentlemen of taste adored her, 
 and few women had the courage to deny her 
 delightfulness. 
 
 " Look," they would say, " at Leila Montgomery." 
 They would look at Leila, and they beheld a slight 
 person of coarse fibre and infinite amiability, un- 
 scrupulous, uneducated, aflFectionate, defiant, and 
 easy-going. 
 
 " She has all the elements," Lady Frampshire said, 
 " of a popular success." 
 
 Jennie wondered. Has Mrs Montgomery ever 
 loved ? ever suflFered ? ever wanted anything she 
 could not get ? Has she ever shed a tear ? felt a 
 pain in her soul ? Has anyone she cared for ever 
 died in anguish, of over-work ? Does she know 
 anything about money troubles ? " 
 
 The forlorn girl imagined that nobody could talk 
 so loud, or show such vivacity, or grin with such 
 persistence, unless she were happy. 
 
 At last several races were run : the noise and 
 shoutings and discussions grew louder, more confused, 
 more spasmodic : the note of gaiety changed to a 
 minor pitch ; the bursts of laughter were false, 
 forced, and vulgar : money had been lost, hopes had 
 been reversed, the pleasant excitement became 
 charged with anger, anxiety, suspense, and the din 
 of recriminations. The steeplechase for the Challenge
 
 330 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Cup, which was the great event of the day, had 
 roused a great deal of ill-will. Federan, who, it had 
 been rumoured, would not ride, had nevertheless 
 appeared in his most dashing, devil-may-care mood, 
 on his chestnut mare ; and he had been recognised, 
 with loud oaths of constancy, by the mob, cheered, 
 re-cheered, and backed heavily — much to the ex- 
 asperation of the officers of distinction, who, at the 
 eleventh hour, had entered their names for the Cup 
 under the belief that Federan would be absent. 
 Jennie saw him gallop down the course ; his face was 
 paler than usual, but he had never looked so hand- 
 some. She cowered behind Helmyng, and, as the 
 roar of affection rose from the crowd, and the murmur 
 of admiration gathered volume in the boxes, tears 
 gathered in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks 
 under her veil. 
 
 "Be plucky," whispered Helmyng; "take the 
 glasses. Don't let them see you. Thank God, they 
 are watching him, not you." She broke, in her 
 agitation, the slight gold chain on her chatelaine, to 
 which her purse was attached. It fell with the purse 
 to the ground. Helmyng picked them up, but she 
 begged him to put both in his pocket as she had 
 none. She was trembling and she held his arm. 
 
 The Duchess, whose thoughts were with hei 
 Canon, took no interest in the mob or the riders or 
 the squabbling. She gazed at the sky, which was as 
 colourless as her own life, and she wished she had
 
 THE VINEYARD 331 
 
 remained at home, where she could meditate undis- 
 turbed on the possibility of re-marriage and the 
 sacrifice of her title. It gave her so little satisfac- 
 tion ; it had proved such a dreary adornment. Yet, 
 whenever she thought seriously of resigning it, her 
 spirits sank. Why had the Canon not been born a 
 duke ? What a tiresome, ill-arranged world ! 
 
 "I cannot watch him," said Jennie. " When does 
 the race begin ? " 
 
 "They are at the starting-point now," answered 
 Helmyng. 
 
 There were three false starts. 
 
 " I can't bear it," said Jennie. 
 
 "You must. They're ofF now. He's in superb 
 form. Fisher is leading." 
 
 " Take me away ! " 
 
 " 1 will not. He is all right. Now the first 
 jump. Over ! It's child's play to him. Fisher's 
 down. Hard luck." 
 
 " Take me away ! " 
 
 " Federan's third now. He's saving himself." 
 
 A silence. 
 
 " Take me away ! " 
 
 " Well done ! He's still third, but he's over." 
 
 Another silence. Would it ever be broken ? Was 
 he dead ? Had she grown deaf from terror ? 
 
 "What is it now ?" 
 
 " The water jump. He's caught up. He's 
 leading. Another man down."
 
 332 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Jennie felt the horse's hoof on her eyes, her brow, 
 her heart — surely she was in the ditch : not insensible, 
 but in agony. A yell of delight broke from the mob. 
 Fedcran had cleared the water-jump in his usual 
 style. 
 
 " How many more ? " 
 
 "Three more. He can ride. It's a beautiful 
 performance. Give him his due." 
 
 There was the same strain, the same silence, the 
 same agony ; a redoubled yell of gratification from 
 the lookers-on. Jennie's head was swimming ; every 
 nerve had its own pain, and with every beat of her 
 pulse she heard a tolling doom. But her fears were 
 unnecessary. Federan cleared in turn three more 
 obstacles, and won the race easily. 
 
 " What a fuss about nothing ! " said Helmyng : 
 " I told you he'd win." 
 
 "Who has won ?" asked the Duchess, languidly. 
 
 Mrs Tommie Montgomery ran down the corridor 
 behind the boxes, clapping her hands, and screaming 
 like a peacock before rain, " I've won fifty pound. 
 What a dear man ! " 
 
 Lady Chillingworth in the next box resumed, with 
 roving eyes, a conversation. " First his poor uncle 
 died of inflammatory gout — such a painful disease ! 
 Then his cousin was thrown in the hunting-field. 
 Too shocking. Then his own poor father died of 
 typhoid fever — caused by drinking milk at a wayside 
 inn in the Balkans. The rashest thing to do !
 
 THE VINEYARD 333 
 
 Then his eldest brother, Charles, was drowned in the 
 Solway Firth. A succession of fatalities." 
 
 '* And Charles always looked so well, too ! " 
 murmured Lady Pangbourne. 
 
 The inanity of this mechanical prattle — rattled off 
 by rote and listened to by the distracted — was more 
 than Helmyng could bear. " There is nothing worth 
 seeing now," he said, in the bitter, violent and con- 
 tracted tone of a man who has lost patience as much 
 with himself as v/ith his circumstances. 
 
 Federan, greeted by volleys of applause, cantered 
 down the course to see the two injured riders he had 
 left behind — Major Fisher, who had a dislocated 
 collar-bone, and Captain Laidlaw, who had broken 
 his wrist. 
 
 The Duchess murmured, '* The horrid ambulances 
 are over there. It's a barbarous amusement. Last 
 year a man in the 17th was killed. I'm quite ready 
 to go." 
 
 Helmyng and Jennie accompanied her to her 
 carriage ; they thanked her for her great kindness. 
 She invited Helmyng to lunch on the following 
 Sunday, and Jennie for the week-end. Then she 
 drove away — the first person of consequence to leave, 
 and although no one followed her example for some 
 time, it was acknowledged that her vacant box left a 
 
 gap. 
 
 Mrs Montgomery, having secured her fifty pounds, 
 said loudly, " I'm fond of the woman myself. She's
 
 334 THE VINEYARD 
 
 trh grande dame. A little too duchessy and on her 
 hind legs now and again, but that comes of living 
 among country frumps. They'd all be sitting in her 
 pocket if she didn't stiffen her jaw. Why doesn't 
 she amuse herself, like other people? Don't ask 
 me. 
 
 Jennie and Helmyng walked in the dust down 
 the long line of carriages till they found their fly. 
 
 "We'll drive to Franton. It is only fourteen 
 miles. The train will be impossible," said 
 Helmyng. 
 
 " As you please." 
 
 After they had passed the crowd, and turned from 
 the high road into a lane, Jennie's anger burst forth. 
 "You had your way. You kept me there. You 
 saw that I was on the verge of a breakdown. . . . 
 Nothing mattered. You had your way. In your 
 place I would have acted very differently. Never 
 mind ; I know what I think of you." 
 
 She did not know what she thought of him, but 
 she feared that no man who loved a woman would 
 have risked, to such a point, the danger of thwarting 
 her mood. 
 
 "But you did not break down," said Helmyng: 
 "you saw it through." 
 
 The salt of her tears still smarted on her eyelids. 
 "You have no perception," she answered, and her 
 voice failed. 
 
 To-day I've been your faithful friend — nothing 
 
 (('
 
 THE VINEYARD 335 
 
 else," said Helmyng. " I did not once think about 
 myself: not once. If I had been weak, you might 
 have been weak. Believe me, or not, as you please, 
 it was the moment for decision." 
 
 *'You have dragged me through knives. A brave 
 performance, I must say. Men speak of running the 
 gauntlet — a trifle to this day's work ! " 
 
 "The knives you felt were on his account. 
 The knives I felt were on yours. We have both 
 endured a good deal of slashing — if you consider the 
 situation." 
 
 She coloured a little, and said, almost in raillery, 
 " That's all very well. Nothing you can do will 
 ever make me think you tactful." 
 
 "To be tactful, or to be thought so, is not, I own, 
 my chief aim in life." 
 
 She tried to catch his glance, but he looked steadily 
 away. 
 
 " He is cold and analytic and self-contained," she 
 thought: "his knowledge of things is wholly 
 artistic : people, to him, are phantoms. If I interest 
 him, it is because he thinks I look like Botticelli's 
 Pallas. How dull for me 1 " 
 
 "You are not in touch," she began, "with natural 
 feelings. You care for nothing except ideas. The 
 idea of a sword in one's heart is not especially painful 
 — the feel of it is quite another matter. I have 
 suffered, in this last hour, more than you will ever 
 dream of in your whole existence."
 
 336 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " How can I contradict you ? You are alive, I 
 know, and whoever lives pays for living." 
 
 The carriage rumbled on, and the horse's heavy, 
 even trot seemed to regulate, by degrees, Jennie's 
 whirling thoughts. 
 
 " I hope you don't expect me to see Gerald 
 again ? " she asked. 
 
 " I hope you won't lose the spirit you have shown 
 to-day." 
 
 " Don't try to deceive me. I had no spirit. I 
 know too well." 
 
 " Confess now ; you are glad you went ; you 
 are glad you remained." This time he turned, 
 looked well into her beautiful soft eyes, and writhed 
 under the torture of keeping his own inexpressive. 
 
 "She must not know for certain that I care," 
 he said to himself. " The instant she is sure, she 
 will try to play upon me. I shall be played upon, 
 and then she'll pity me and whimper for Federan. 
 I'll not be a supreme fool if I can help it." 
 
 "Confess," he repeated aloud j "you are glad you 
 went." 
 
 "I'll never say that. I am just where I was 
 before, — every bit as miserable, and ten thousand 
 times more discouraged. Formerly I suspected my 
 weakness ; you have proved it to me. Look at that 
 hollvhock growing gloriously on a stick ! " She 
 pointed to a cottage garden they were passing. 
 " Take away the stick : the hollyhock, glory and
 
 THE VINEYARD 337 
 
 all, will be on the ground. You were the stick 
 to-day ; we both know what I was. Thank you ; 
 I've had my lesson. If you were anybody else, I'd 
 hate you." 
 
 He was gazing up a path through a meadow where 
 the old pear trees, bent by the strong wind that 
 swept across the common, resembled broken arches. 
 The grassy road was deeply entrenched by cart- 
 wheels, but the spaces between the ruts were full of 
 poppies and gorse, wild marguerites and purple 
 thistles. Birds, in that district, were so tame that 
 they lingered on bushes near the footway, or perched 
 on the backs of fat sheep. A robin redbreast was 
 resting placidly on the rail of a stile as Helmyng and 
 Jennie drove by. She saw that Helmyng was 
 observing these details — taking an artist's pleasure 
 in them. 
 
 " You have got an eternal refuge," she said : 
 "your art comes first." 
 
 "I like to think so." 
 
 He was still entreating himself not to prove a 
 supreme fool — after all. 
 
 " Life is made so easy for men. Gerald wins a 
 
 race. You have sold a picture which, they say, will 
 
 be hung in the Luxembourg. I read that in the Dally 
 
 Mail this morning. They compare you with 
 
 Whistler. What are a silly girl's feelings to you 
 
 or to Gerald ? He can ride. You can paint. What 
 
 is left for me ? I can weep my soul out, and die." 
 
 y
 
 338 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " You know how to turn the screw ! I have 
 worked hard : I have gained a small prize. But 
 I think it has come too late." 
 
 "Suppose it had not come at all ?*' 
 
 *' I can imagine myself being worse off than I 
 am. In that sense I am fortunate. But otherwise 
 I have not had the things which stimulate one's 
 will, by offering it what flatters it, what satisfies it. 
 My achievements have been an effort — the fruit 
 of labour and sorrow, not the fruit of joy and 
 impulse. No doubt some of the most beautiful, 
 the most enduring, the purely disenfranchised 
 objective work of the world has been done by 
 slaves : they had so much to forget that they 
 hurled themselves — mind, heart, and body into their 
 tasks as men leap from a burning ship into the 
 sea. A man's un happiness may be good for his 
 work, I grant you, but it is not good for him. 
 Never think so." 
 
 She smoothed the folds of her dress, watched him 
 cautiously, and said, " You need not answer me. 
 But I have told you so much about my troubles. 
 Won*t you tell me about yours ? " 
 
 " Formulated they would sound too foolish. One 
 wishes to be what one is not. One wants to have 
 what one cannot get. One believes something one 
 does not really think. One feels there is splendour 
 somewhere one has not seen : one waits and waits and 
 waits for some one else who does not come, I don't
 
 THE VINEYARD 339 
 
 say I'd be less desolate if she came. Fate brings the 
 unwilling often." 
 
 " Men do not need love as women need it." 
 
 " Some pretend they do not, but they all have their 
 attachments. There are degrees in love, as in every- 
 thing else. I don't wish you to think, however, that 
 my troubles were love troubles. My own ideas were 
 my troubles." 
 
 She sighed, and said, ironically, "I could very 
 well bear the troubles which came from an idea. I 
 see we are not alike. The wonder is that we have 
 become such friends. But you are easy to talk with 
 because you are impersonal." 
 
 "I try to be just." 
 
 " You succeed." 
 
 Then she remembered the complete and voluntary 
 devotion he had shown her during the days at Mrs 
 Marblay's school. Had he changed ? Had he recon- 
 sidered her ? What had she done ? " I suppose you 
 will live in Paris, or abroad, after this ? " she asked. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " I'm tired of 
 Cumbersborough. I hope you won't break your 
 promise about Rome." 
 
 *' I meant to speak of that. It was your mother's 
 suggestion." 
 
 " So she told me. I was not looking forward to 
 the journey. Now I do. We'll see Rome together 
 — not the usual sights, but the country outside the 
 walls."
 
 340 THE VINEYARD 
 
 He looked at her again, and he noticed that her 
 mouth was less mournful : she was smiling for the 
 first time that day. " In Rome, who knows ? " 
 he thought, " she may grow to depend on me." 
 
 "Let us stay in Italy a long while," said Jennie. 
 " I want to begin again. ... I want to forget, 
 Gerald always declared that money alone could buy 
 happiness." 
 
 "I won't talk false sentiment. Money makes a 
 difference ; it is in one way or another at the root 
 of most sorrows. One cannot move without it. 
 Philosophers, as a race, have been men of private 
 means. Federan himself said that to me the last time 
 I saw him. He was right. The over-anxious have 
 no time to moralise," 
 
 She trembled, but a wave of quiet passed over her 
 face, making it simple again and childlike. 
 
 " I'll quarrel no more with life. I'll take it as it 
 comes. I suppose I tried to make it over to please 
 myself, leaving out the hard facts. They wouldn't 
 seem so hard if they were called essential. But every- 
 one pretends at first that they are unnecessary. And 
 the intense wild feelings we take for love, may not be 
 love. ... I don't know. . . . I'll be patient." 
 
 Helmyng longed to take her in his arms, and pro- 
 mise her all the happiness she had lost. 
 
 " You haven't had a feeling, I am sure," he said, 
 *' that wasn't deep and wasn't true." 
 
 " But selfish all the same," she added. " I was
 
 THE VINEYARD 341 
 
 proud of him, and proud because he loved me, and I 
 wanted him for myself. When he disappointed me, 
 my pride was revolted. I was ashamed of him. I 
 am ashamed of him now. There ! At last I know 
 what is hurting me the most. I am ashamed of 
 myself for having cared so much for a man who could 
 be such a liar. If he had grown old and plain and 
 tired, I should have gone on loving him just the same. 
 But I can't forgive the treachery. That has humbled 
 me to the dust in my own eyes." 
 
 This was a new aspect of her grief, and Helmyng 
 thought it the right one. 
 
 " We are both proud," he said. 
 
 The self-mastered dread the tyranny of a domin- 
 ant afiFection, and stubborn men, who yield lightly 
 enough to their fancies and the caprices of chance, 
 suspect, and subdue, and try to ignore their strongest 
 feelings. Helmyng now wondered whether art and 
 pride could not, by themselves, fill his life. 
 
 " Why should I care so much ? " he thought : 
 "she's the loveliest thing I have ever seen, but 
 beauty in people has not the everlasting power of 
 beauty in art. Take the bronze Apollo at Florence ! 
 Take the Night of Michael Angelo ! Take a 
 Velasquez ! a Corot ! certain poems, certain phrases 
 in music, certain harmonies in colour, certain 
 orchestral symphonies ! They enter one's soul : 
 they don't excite this egoistic hysteria, this romantic 
 melancholy that dies when the senses tire."
 
 342 THE VINEYARD 
 
 His mother had ever warned him, " Don't marry 
 a woman whom you can just manage to live with, 
 but the woman without whom you cannot live at 
 all." He could live without Jennie, or at least he 
 could live after a fashion, feeling old while he was 
 young, and beyond joy before he had reached it. 
 
 Jennie's gloved hand rested on the red velveteen 
 cushion of the fly, quite close to him. He wished to 
 take it, he thought he could do so calmly, and he 
 meant to say, "Beautiful child, keep as you are 
 always. Ask no more questions. Your tears will 
 never burn you up. Your desires will never weigh, 
 like mud, upon your wings. Never watch the 
 falling stars ; never see the creeping shadows." But 
 he dared not take her hand, and he could not utter a 
 word. 
 
 Knots of villagers were collected now at every 
 turn of the road, and women, with their children, 
 were leaning over every gate. 
 
 "I wonder whom they are waiting for?" said 
 Jennie, suddenly. " This is unusual. One can 
 walk or drive here for miles and never meet more 
 than a cart or a few labourers." 
 
 Helmyng replied that there was very little wayside 
 life in rural England. One always wondered who 
 did the field-work and who occupied the cottages. 
 The people, where they existed, apparently dwelt in 
 their backyards or drudged in their back kitchens. 
 He stopped the carriage, and called to an old man.
 
 THE VINEYARD 343 
 
 who, having spread his coat on a heap of stones, sat 
 upon it smoking. 
 
 " Why are so many people about ? " asked Helmyng. 
 
 " Young Federan," said the man : " 'un's coming 
 to Franton. We wants to see *un. 'Un has won 
 the Cup again." 
 
 For a second Jennie hoped, " Perhaps he is coming 
 to me ! " Then she said, " He is coming over to 
 see his aunts ! They'll be very excited." But the 
 truth pierced her at last. " He is going to Rachel," 
 and she sank into the corner of the carriage. 
 
 Helmyng did not speak ; a poet had said to him 
 once, "There is absolutely nothing in the world 
 but youth. It lasts a short time — don't resist it." 
 
 " Youth has resisted me," he said to himself 
 bitterly ; and he believed that Jennie, womanlike, 
 thought it a greater thing to win a challenge cup 
 than to paint a beautiful picture. "If Federan were 
 to come now and put the Cup at her feet, she would 
 forgive everything. Perhaps she is right. Why 
 condemn the senses ? On doit dire du bien le bien. 
 But for me — the idea, the unchangeable, constant 
 silvery idea I If she cared for me, as she cares for 
 him, what could I give her ? No other woman can 
 ever come between us, but one's intellectual passions 
 are exacting — far more insidious than the quickenings 
 of mere sentiment — a matter often of wine, and 
 opportunity, and climate. Still, one is a man first 
 and an artist afterwards. What rubbish is talked
 
 344 THE VINEYARD 
 
 about the artistic temperament — especially by the 
 idle and unproductive, who loaf about, mistaking 
 their limp backbone for heavenly-mindedness ! " 
 
 The light had grown softer : he could see the 
 white new moon : the sky over the hills was deeply 
 blue : the rich green foliage of the trees had some- 
 thing vibratory and perfumed — there were so many 
 shades of green, so many pungent scents, so many 
 leaves that moved and trembled and thrilled and 
 quivered in the breeze. 
 
 "One is a man first," he thought again: "the 
 heart won't sleep." 
 
 At last the carriage stopped at Franton Manor. 
 
 " I want to walk up the avenue," said Jennie : 
 "the sound of carriage wheels disturbs Rachel. If 
 you walk with me you'll lose your train." 
 
 " That doesn't matter." 
 
 " But your mother is waiting for you." 
 
 This did not matter either : he saw, however, that 
 Jennie wished to be alone. 
 
 "Good-bye, then. I'm afraid you are tired." 
 
 "Yes, I'm tired," she answered: "all the same, 
 I'm glad I went." 
 
 " Is that really so ?" 
 
 "Really so," she said. 
 
 After he had left her she realised that the day, 
 apart from the race-meeting, had passed happily. 
 She was sorry it was over. Then her face grew 
 crimson. "I am recovering. I am an unfaithful
 
 THE VINEYARD 345 
 
 woman. . . . But I liked Helmyng from the be- 
 ginning. He has always held his own. And he 
 was on another plane. It is clear, too, that he cares 
 nothing much about me any more. He's cured. 
 But in Rome he may be nicer. How coldly he said 
 good-bye ! " 
 
 She sat down on a stone bench in order to pick ofF 
 some small wisps of straw which had caught her lace 
 flounces as she left the course j and she said, as she 
 threw away each piece, " He loves me : he loves me 
 not." She was saying this anxiously when a horse 
 ridden by a tall man trotted down the avenue. The 
 rider was Federan. She grew rigid : she stood up ; 
 she said to herself, "I am not seeing him willingly, 
 yet I am able to see him." 
 
 In the distance, with the wind blowing her 
 garments, she seemed to Federan as splendid as the 
 statue of Nike in the Louvre and as inaccessible : 
 not a girl, but a goddess. He felt sick from humilia- 
 tion and the acute sense of all he had sacrificed and 
 all he had destroyed. The horse, obedient to his 
 faintest touch, slackened her speed. Federan jumped 
 from the saddle. 
 
 " I wanted to see you," he began : " I was wonder- 
 ing how it could be arranged." 
 
 She looked down and saw there were several more 
 straws on her flounce. Then she met his beseeching 
 glance calmly, without reproach, without any pleasure 
 in the desperate affection she read there.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 For winning love we win the risk of losing, 
 And losing love is as one's life were riven ; 
 It cuts like contumely and keen ill-using 
 To cede what was superfluously given. 
 
 Thomas Hardy. 
 
 There were blue hydrangeas growing round the 
 stone bench, and they were protected by a high hedge 
 of flowering myrtle. The silence was so calm and 
 the solitude so sweet that long-forgotten pictures of 
 peace, of happiness, of tender inspiring love, rose 
 before the young man's sombre mind, and he could 
 find nothing to say. While poverty faced him, he 
 had at least the illusion that riches brought felicity : 
 now that a fortune was his for the asking, he had no 
 illusions at all. He might be saved from public 
 dishonour, but he could not be saved from the accus- 
 ing voice within. His dreams were his best, and he 
 had sold them for a few luxuries. 
 
 " I wanted to tell you," he said, " that Rachel 
 knows everything. I am tired of lies. I deceived 
 her : I misled her, — purposely, in the first place. 
 But I have made a clean breast of it. God knows 
 why you ever cared for me, or why she cares for me 
 
 346
 
 THE VINEYARD 347 
 
 now. There's a divine goodness in women that 
 humbles a man's conceit." 
 
 "There was nothing divine in my love for you. 
 It was selfish — a madness. Her love is better than 
 mine." 
 
 He thought she must be acting — perhaps with some 
 intention of making his situation less difficult and his 
 chastisement less severe. Women, he had observed, 
 having once conquered their jealousies, often erred on 
 the side of generosity. For it was an error to 
 attempt to persuade him that Rachel's love exceeded 
 her own. 
 
 But Jennie continued : " She's more constant, 
 more patient than 1 am. The moment I saw you 
 were not so tall as I had imagined you to be, I began 
 to change. Your handsomeness became another kind 
 of handsomeness — it didn't count. Oh, forgive me ! 
 But that's true. I cannot keep loving any one who 
 is not strong. I know you have won cups and 
 crosses. That strength is good, yet there's another 
 strength I'd rather have. I was proud of the cups 
 and crosses. I'm still proud of them — because they 
 must give you a certain satisfaction. I was proud of 
 you when the people cheered to-day. But I'm too 
 weak myself to be kind to weakness. Some women 
 help and encourage half-hearted men. I cannot. 
 I'm just as unfaithful and just as uncertain as you 
 are. We are too much alike. We loved and 
 flattered our own faults in each other,"
 
 348 THE VINEYARD 
 
 She was now very agitated, but her earnestness 
 amazed him. How the girl had altered ! 
 
 " I wasn't strong enough to help you, Gerald. I 
 want somebody to help me — somebody I can obey and 
 follow. If I had followed you, where should we have 
 gone ? " 
 
 She was dressed in grey of some transparent, diaphan- 
 ous, floating material, which seemed to emanate, like a 
 vapour, from the block of stone on which she stood. 
 Her pretty mouth, which he had kissed so often and 
 so passionately, seemed insensible or asleep : it no 
 longer provoked him, or defied him, or enticed him ; 
 her eyes were as dim as the sea under a mist ; she 
 was fading from him, leaving him for ever. A flame 
 ran through his veins : " No ! no ! It is all because 
 we were young," he exclaimed: "we are not to 
 blame. It was natural enough. Give me another 
 chance, Jennie. I can't let you go. I see now how 
 you have suffered on my account. Give me another 
 chance. I have disappointed you." 
 
 "Will you disappoint Rachel also?" she asked. 
 " Can't you keep your faith with anybody ? " 
 
 " I'll tell her, if you like, every word I've said to 
 you. She understands me : she makes allowances for 
 human nature. In the long run, she will score." 
 
 " Yes, because she will take you on any terms. 
 She began well by seeing you plainly : your faults ap- 
 pealed to her cynicism. To her, you were always a man : 
 to me, you were an ideal. There's the diflFerence."
 
 THE VINEYARD 349 
 
 " You are not yourself. This strain isn't natural. 
 Bear in mind, I have had my dose of trouble during 
 the last few days, and it may well be that I haven't 
 made the best of my case. I don't pretend it's a 
 strong one. You may call me unfaithful and dis- 
 honest, or anything you please, but if you think I'm 
 not just as devoted to you as I ever was, you do me a 
 cruel injustice." 
 
 " Yet you are engaged to be married to another 
 woman 1 " 
 
 "I am not. I have told another woman my 
 wretched, humiliating story ; if she consents to be 
 my wife, she'll be my redemption," He laughed 
 bitterly. " I'll need a lot of redeeming. Ah, Jennie 1 
 if you can't forgive me, try to forget where I failed. 
 The dead sleep in peace under the sod : let your love 
 die, then, — don't let it turn to hate. Don't tell 
 yourself that it wasn't beautiful once — never say it 
 was folly. Say it's dead. As for me, I'll go on loving 
 you, without hope, of course, but never without a 
 certain happiness." 
 
 " We weren't for each other, Gerald ; it wasn't to 
 be," she said, with a tremor in her voice. " I have 
 spoken hardly to you, and it shames me to remember 
 the bitter words I used and the revengeful thoughts 
 I had. It didn't seem a quarrel with some one else, 
 but a terrible, grievous struggle with myself. We 
 drag each other down — we may be too much alike. 
 I've said that already. If life were all kisses and
 
 350 THE VINEYARD 
 
 dancing, we might have held eternally together : each 
 kiss would have been sweeter, and each vow would 
 have seemed truer than the last. But there's so 
 much more than dancing ! We didn't bear one 
 single test. You didn't want to be poor with me ; 
 you didn't want to live in a humdrum way with me ; 
 you were not willing to take one risk of being in the 
 least less comfortable than you were ; you would not 
 make one sacrifice ; you would not work. If we 
 could have gone to some small palace in a sheltered 
 garden, and wandered in orange groves, and heard 
 nothing but nightingales, and possessed all the horses 
 and riches and servants and liberties that money can 
 buy, then we might have gone on well enough — till 
 I lost my youth. I know it, oh, I know it too well. 
 I would have gone in an attic gladly with you. That 
 doesn't matter. Clodhopper lovers will do more for 
 each other than we did. The love that glorifies 
 meanest things, the love that shuts out every doubt, 
 the love that takes all of you — leaving nothing for 
 misery — was not for us. It all comes back to this — 
 it wasn't to be." 
 
 He could not deny her indictment : it was true. 
 " You know that song you used to sing," he said 
 huskily ; *' it always sent a shiver through me — 
 
 ' Rappelle-toi, lorsque les dcstinees 
 M'auront de toi pour jamais s^par^, 
 Quand le chagrin, I'cxil et les annees 
 Auront fl^tri ce ccEur desesp^r^, 
 Songe a mon triste amour songc k I'adieu supreme ! ' "
 
 THE VINEYARD 351 
 
 " This is a kinder parting than the last," she 
 answered, "but ... it is a parting. And it's for the 
 best." 
 
 " I want you to be happy." 
 
 "Yes — yes. And I — you." 
 
 "This is saying good-bye to my soul." 
 
 " No, it is saying good-bye to a mistake." 
 
 " The sweetest days of my life. My God ! they'll 
 never come again." 
 
 " But the sad, cruel days won't come back either." 
 
 " Kiss me good-bye, darling." 
 
 She covered her face with her hands. " Don't ask 
 that." 
 
 "I meant — as a friend." 
 
 " No ! I am sorry ! I must say no. That's 
 ended." 
 
 The shadow of his future — after too much drinking, 
 too much eating, too much ease and idleness, fell 
 ominously on his countenance, just as the tremulous, 
 intangible hours to come seem to haunt a sun-dial. 
 It is not the past alone which has its ghosts. But 
 Fcderan himself found encouragement in Jennie's 
 refusal to kiss him. Surely it meant that he had 
 not lost his old power over her yielding, flower-like 
 nature. Had he not called her often, in his solitary 
 raptures, his fragrant, lovely rose, his to hold, to have, 
 to inhale, to press, to enjoy, to delight in ? 
 
 " Dearest," said he, stepping nearer, " we hoped, I 
 know, to share every thought till we became one
 
 352 THE VINEYARD 
 
 soul. But there's no originality in that. It's the 
 common case, and we must not blame each other 
 because we can't accomplish the impossible. Our 
 dream is everybody's dream at some time, but it has 
 been realised by no one. I'm giving up poetry. It 
 makes me discontented." 
 
 She looked at him again. It was her last look at 
 the man he had never been : once more he seemed 
 the Sigurd, the hero, the king of her body and the 
 well-beloved of her soul. 
 
 " If I had followed you," she asked for the second 
 time, " where should we have gone ? We should 
 have reached a blind alley and been prisoners there — 
 unable to turn back." 
 
 "What a fancy 1 There is always a way out. . . ." 
 
 " Perhaps — after disenchantment and despair. 
 And where can the disenchanted go ? They have 
 lost their footing in the real world — they have found 
 out the deceptions of the unreal. There is no place 
 for them." 
 
 " Then what are your plans ? " he asked abruptly : 
 " you must have some. You're still a girl . . . you 
 are just beginning life. You'll get to see things in 
 another light." 
 
 She blushed, and said she was going abroad with 
 the Helmyngs. 
 
 "The drawing-master ? " 
 
 Federan could not express his astonishment-, he 
 was stupefied ; he opened his eyes, looked at her, and
 
 THE VINEYARD 353 
 
 wondered what he was thinking, suspecting, imagin- 
 ing. . . . 
 
 " Why with the Helmyngs — of all people ? " 
 
 « I like them." 
 
 "I know very little about them." 
 
 " They are quiet, very proud, very poor — almost as 
 poor as I am." 
 
 He bit his lip. " No doubt you will have an 
 interesting time. Helmyng, they say, is clever. 
 But — isn't the arrangement rather odd ? Is it quite 
 proper ? " His inconsequent provincial ideas of 
 etiquette added a sting to his other profound mis- 
 givings. 
 
 " Quite proper, I should say," answered Jennie. 
 
 ** You were always rather Bohemian in your tastes," 
 he said thoughtfully. 
 
 The mare, tired of waiting, was pawing the 
 ground and rubbing her nose against Federan's 
 shoulder in order to attract his attention. 
 
 "Be quiet. Pretty Girl," he said, filled with an 
 inexplicable anger ; " keep still ! " 
 
 Pretty Girl tried the effect of a playful bite. 
 He turned round and hid his face in her soft 
 mane. 
 
 "I am not forgetting you," he said. "Thank 
 God, I've got you. I'm not your ideal, am I ? " 
 
 The animal's magnificent brown eyes, humid, in- 
 dulgent, and full of something transcending human 
 tenderness, looked at him gratefully. He threw one 
 
 z
 
 354 THE VINEYARD 
 
 arm round her neck, said good-bye again to Jennie, 
 and walked away, as though he were the led and not 
 the leader, by Pretty Girl's side. He offered a fine 
 enough picture, if movement and modelling alone 
 could satisfy the heart. 
 
 Jennie knew, that, although there still were many 
 more good-days and good-byes to be exchanged 
 between Federan and herself, the eternal adieu, the 
 one that is never spoken, had been made in the office 
 at YafFord. But as she grew more used to her 
 disillusion, she began to understand that it was 
 Federan's love of pleasure which had been the cause 
 of all his own trouble and her own ; and because 
 she loved pleasure herself, and with pleasure all that 
 was beautiful, rare, moving, subtle, and luxurious, 
 she had been drawn to him irresistibly. She still 
 felt the magnetism of his presence and the old delight 
 in his handsome face. She had forgotten, in her 
 hours of uncontrollable misery, how handsome he 
 was, or, if she had known it, she had not thought 
 sufficiently about it as something which counted for 
 more, in a direct encounter, than the most binding 
 moral ideas. The whole time they had been talking, 
 she had noticed, with joy, all the points she had 
 always admired in his countenance and his figure : 
 she had felt what a pity it was that he and she had to 
 part ; while the anguish of jealousy throbbed in her 
 bosom when she reminded herself that he was going 
 to Rachel — who loved him in spite of his treachery,
 
 THE VINEYARD 355 
 
 in spite of his weakness. Rachel did not see the 
 degradation of accepting a man on any terms. For 
 a second, Jennie almost wished she could be as 
 insensitive as Rachel j and she began to draw com- 
 parisons between Rachel's future life with Federan 
 and her own desolate life with no one. She could 
 not imagine herself ever loving any man as intensely 
 or as unselfishly as she had loved Gerald, and the 
 idea of yielding to a lesser love shocked her pride. 
 Federan, by his conduct, had humiliated her, no 
 doubt, to the dust, but her own feeling for him had 
 always been romantic, always ideal, always something 
 which she could think of as a gift from God. It 
 had helped her to understand so much, and it had 
 given her such visions of earthly happiness, such 
 insight into the secret forces of humanity — the forces 
 which keep men and women inseparable in spite of 
 the clash and peril and ugliness of outward events. 
 
 What was she to do ? She had a voice : perhaps 
 she could become a public singer, and find, as men 
 find, the refuge for her loneliness, and the cure, in 
 a career. Helmyng, who had been, as it were, in the 
 background of her meditation, seemed to come nearer 
 when she thought of careers and art. It was evident, 
 from Bonnat's letter, that Helmyng had a great 
 future in store for him. She looked down at the 
 remaining straws in her flounces. Did he care for 
 her ? She knew it. But she also knew that any 
 absorbing intellectual work makes men capricious
 
 356 THE VINEYARD 
 
 and grudging in their love : that they differed 
 essentially from women, who were ever willing, 
 under the stress of a great passion for some one 
 individual, to renounce power and glory in both 
 worlds. The woman without a human love sees 
 no happiness for herself in heaven and no agony to 
 fear in hell. Knowing all this, it seemed trivial to 
 pluck straws, for an omen, from a muslin flounce. 
 She wanted to cry — to weep and weep and weep, 
 because she belonged to the suffering, incompre- 
 hensible sex, who are eternally distracted between 
 their loneliness of body and their loneliness of soul — 
 paying, backwards and forwards, for one with the 
 other, debtors always, either to their dreams or to 
 their compromises, — the dreams that cost too much, 
 the compromises that can never be paid for. 
 
 " I could enjoy life, but I do not enjoy it,** she 
 thought : " I see all the gladness, and the gaiety, but 
 it is not for me. Is it for anybody ? " 
 
 It was so hard to be young, and all alone in a 
 world where every tree and flower had its companion, 
 or perished. She had no companion, but she had to 
 go on living, and she was expected to go on laughing. 
 Of course she could think of others, and find her 
 peace in theirs : she could lead a life of silence, self- 
 abnegation, and prayer. But prayers for what ? 
 For peace ? She did not want peace — she wanted 
 her illusions back again ; she wanted once more the 
 drive with Federan after the ball, she wanted to hear
 
 THE VINEYARD 357 
 
 him say once. more that he loved her and her only, 
 she wanted to stand by his side and lean her head 
 against his breast, and believe once more that he 
 vi^ould so hold her for better, for worse, for richer, for 
 poorer, till death. How could she pray for such 
 impossibilities ? Yet how could she pray sincerely 
 for anything else ? She had a strong religious sense, 
 a sense of the unseen and the mysterious, but she 
 could not accept the orthodox theory and pictures of 
 a future existence ; and the practice of destroying 
 one's health by fasts, insufficient sleep, overwork, and 
 no recreation — as a means of seeing more truly into 
 the Divine origin of mankind — seemed to her simple 
 logic almost insane. How could she trust the specu- 
 lations of the exhausted ? When she felt well she 
 loved this world, and when she felt ill she was too 
 tired to care about the next. This seemed to her a 
 reckless, perhaps wicked state of mind, and it added a 
 deeper pang to her unhappiness. 
 
 " I am not a good woman," she thought : "I am 
 not pious, I have not even got the consolations of 
 religion. I am all for the lusts of the flesh." 
 
 Yet this was not true either ; the truth was that 
 she longed for human aflfection. 
 
 " Please God — " she began, and finished by blush- 
 ing deeply. 
 
 The last wisp of straw worked out thus : — " He 
 loves me."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Lord, what is man ? why should he cost Thee 
 
 So dear ? what had his ruin lost Thee ? 
 
 Lord, what is man, that Thou hast over-bought 
 
 So much a thing of nought ? . . . 
 
 Love is too kind, I see ; and can 
 
 Make but a simple merchant-man. 
 
 Richard Crashaw. 
 
 Rachel, meanwhile, had been forbidden by Dr 
 Rench to leave her room, and she spent the day in a 
 fever of suspense. Federan, after the races, had sent 
 her a telegram, but when it came she placed it on 
 the table by her bedside and left it there unopened, 
 dreading to read its contents. 
 
 "If he has lost the race, Tagg," she said, "I 
 shan't be able to bear his depression, and if anything 
 has happened to him, it is my own death-warrant." 
 
 Tagg implored her to break the envelope. 
 
 "I dare not. I'm such a coward. See how I'm 
 trembling," said Rachel. 
 
 About five o'clock in the afternoon Tagg suggested 
 that she might saunter into the village and hear what 
 rumours were afloat. 
 
 This Rachel forbade : ** I can't be left alone. I 
 
 358
 
 THE VINEYARD 359 
 
 die at every sound. Who would be a woman ? 
 Why did I let him ride ? I could have kept him 
 away ! " 
 
 "And he would have hated you ever after for 
 making him break his word. That's men all over," 
 said Tagg. "Last time he won, I remember, he 
 came over to see his aunts, and the people stood at 
 corners to cheer him. The wind is in the right 
 quarter now : if there's any cheering, I can hear it." 
 
 " Listen with all your might," said Rachel. 
 
 Tagg perched herself on the high window-sill : 
 Rachel swallowed a sleeping-draught and folded her 
 hands. Half an hour passed. Then Tagg, with a 
 cry, thrust her head out of the window. 
 
 " They are cheering. I hear them distinctly." 
 
 *' It is your fancy," said Rachel : " listen again." 
 
 They both listened. The sound was faint, but it 
 was unmistakable, and it came a little nearer, grew a 
 little louder. 
 
 " Could they be cheering anybody else ? " asked 
 Rachel. 
 
 " Now is the time," said Tagg, " to open the 
 telegram." 
 
 The sleeping-draught had dulled the acuteness of 
 Rachel's feelings, and she broke the seal. 
 
 " / have won. Am coming" she read. 
 
 She threw her arms round Tagg's neck, she cried, 
 she laughed : 
 
 " They are cheering him. He will take his right
 
 36o THE VINEYARD 
 
 place in the county yet. He shall go into Parlia- 
 ment " She repeated this half a dozen times, and 
 kissed Tagg and kissed the telegram. 
 
 Tagg retorted by shedding a few tears and losing 
 her temper. 
 
 " You might have known this two hours ago if 
 you had opened the thing, and you need not have 
 taken that beastly drug. And now, instead of 
 having plenty of time to dress in, you must hurry 
 yourself. 
 
 Garments of every shade, every material and every 
 fashion were brought, by Tagg, from the wardrobes. 
 Some of the gowns had never been worn, others were 
 almost shabby. 
 
 " This comes of giving in to so many fancies," said 
 Tagg. 
 
 At last her mistress chose a dress copied from one 
 worn by Bernhardt in the first act of Francesco de 
 Rimini. 
 
 " It won't suit you to-day," said Tagg, " I'd wear 
 something more like real life — one of the embroidered 
 muslins. It looks quiet — more like a lady that is 
 just engaged to be married." 
 
 "What nonsense you talk ! " said Rachel, who was 
 delighted nevertheless ; " I am sure you read the 
 Family Herald^ 
 
 "I never look at the paper ; what I'm telling you 
 now stands to reason. When a lady has money and 
 she wants the gentlemen to feel at home, she can't
 
 THE VINEYARD 361 
 
 dress too plain. A single but handsome jewel worn half 
 hid will remind him that the wherewithal is handy." 
 
 "You are too quaint for words, Tagg. Where do 
 you pick up your language ? " 
 
 Tagg tossed her head : 
 
 " Language," she said, " is nature to some." 
 
 The embroidered muslin was found, and Rachel 
 wore it — with a large sash, and a bunch of pink roses 
 and heliotrope. When Federan, embittered by his 
 conversation with Jennie, was shown into the draw- 
 ing-room, Rachel, smiling, was there. He was so 
 grateful for the welcome that he called her 
 " Darling " and meant it ; he took her in his arms, 
 and after a long pause, she sobbed, — 
 
 " I should have been just the same — if you had not 
 won. I adore you. It is idolatry. You may as well 
 know. It may make you vain, but it will also make 
 you careful. If you deceive me after this, I'll kill 
 myself. It is as serious as that." 
 
 There is one form of love which springs so directly 
 from the very spring of life that the most egoistic 
 man will feel abashed when it is offered him, and the 
 lightest woman is afraid to recognise it, for it goes 
 deeper than any appetite, and it can soar higher than 
 any flight of celestial philosophy. Federan knew 
 well enough that the cause of this love was not in 
 himself, it did not depend on his looks or his merits 
 or his manners. It came from something far away 
 and not common.
 
 362 THE VINEYARD 
 
 " You don't make me vain, dear Rachel," he said ; 
 ''you make me ashamed." 
 
 A stillness came over her ; she pressed his hand 
 against her cheek : 
 
 " I could be clever. I could hide it all. They say 
 that we can manage men better by being reserved. 
 But I don't want to manage you. I want to love 
 you, and I want you to know that I love you." 
 
 She asked him questions about the race and the 
 people he saw. Were they nice to him ? 
 
 ** Oh, as pleasant as possible." 
 X "I'm glad of that. I have ambitions. I won't 
 tell you now. Another time." Then she said 
 abruptly : " Have you heard from Coolidge ? " 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " Why do you always take his part ? " 
 
 " He was kind to me when I was a boy. He took 
 me out for my half-holidays. He was the one person 
 who ever gave me any pocket-money or any 
 pleasure." 
 
 " But he betrayed you ; he deceived you ; he 
 might have ruined you." 
 
 "All that, I admit," said Federan, "was a very 
 bad joke." 
 
 She could not persuade him to use a stronger 
 term. She admired his loyalty again, and thought 
 it noble, till a sudden flash of instinct showed her the 
 situation in its true light. Federan's unwillingness 
 to criticise his friend arose from the fact that he
 
 THE VINEYARD 363 
 
 himself had embarked with a bad conscience upon 
 the original enterprise. She forgot that she was to 
 have been the victim of their intrigue, and she re- 
 proached herself for having revived a subject which 
 gave him pain. She did not know that her gentle 
 forgiveness had touched notes of remorse in his 
 unhappy soul which no penalty could reach, and of 
 which bare justice could never guess the existence. 
 He had just seen Jennie, and he felt that he could 
 never love Rachel as he loved the beautiful, way- 
 ward, uncompromising girl whose pride was stronger 
 than her heart. He felt that, much as he owed 
 Rachel, sweetly as she soothed him, kindly as she 
 judged him, dear as she was becoming by her tender- 
 ness, she was not the woman who belonged, by 
 right, to his destiny. It was all a mistake — one of 
 those mistakes which can never be mended. His 
 mind was still with that unyielding, defiant figure 
 standing by the stone bench of the avenue ; he still 
 saw the young, angry face, the long, wet eyelashes, 
 and the eyes full of farewell, pitiless condemnation 
 and resentment. What were the advantages of 
 fortune if one craved the unpurchasable ? 
 
 "I have ambitions for you," repeated Rachel, 
 touching his arm. 
 
 He listened eagerly : 
 
 "I want to please you," he said. "I have never 
 worked well since I was born, but I'll work for you. 
 I have never been faithful to anyone, but I'll be
 
 364 THE VINEYARD 
 
 true to you. And I hope I have done with lies, 
 dear Rachel." 
 
 He intended to say more, but she stopped him. 
 
 " You have seen Jennie ? *' 
 
 " I have." 
 
 In the effort to escape from her own sensation on 
 hearing this piece of news she pulled off her rings, 
 and they rolled down her dress to the floor — she 
 cared not whither. They were valuable : Federaii 
 observed them, but she was glad that he did not 
 pick them up. 
 
 *' Yes, I have seen Jennie," he said. " It was a 
 dreadful meeting. It was as though we had both met 
 after death — looking and talking as we looked and 
 talked in life, but being dead all the same. I can't 
 describe it. I can't bear to think of it." 
 
 "You are very fond of her, Gerald. You singled 
 her out of the whole world. But don't blame me 
 if I ask you never to see her again." 
 
 This was not a wise request, she knew ; but the 
 thought of his having been with Jennie had kindled 
 such a desperation within her that prudence seemed 
 contemptible. She moved away from him, and she 
 felt that they had grown, in a second, wide gulfs 
 apart. 
 
 « My God, my God ! " she thought, « I'll die if he 
 hesitates." 
 
 "I'll promise anything you wish," he said; "but, 
 in any case, she can't come between us now."
 
 THE VINEYARD 365 
 
 "Shp is between us. She's as much between us as 
 though she stood here — in front of me." 
 
 " That's a nervous fancy," he replied, but he knew 
 she was right. 
 
 " Do you want to see her again ? " 
 
 " No. How can you ask such a question ?** 
 
 " Is it a strain to see her ? " 
 
 "An intolerable strain." 
 
 "Then, don't you know what that means? She 
 is knit up somehow in your very bones. How can I 
 fight against a thing that's constitutional ! See her ! 
 I don't care. If I had met you first it might have 
 been diff'erent. She hasn't taken you away from me 
 — I am trying to take you away from her. I am 
 trying to make you untrue — a bad beginning. She's 
 the one, of course ! " 
 
 "You would not think so if you had overheard our 
 
 conversation." 
 
 « What did she say ? " 
 
 " She is going to Italy with the Helmyngs." 
 "You will never make me believe that she cares 
 for Helmyng — except as a friend." 
 
 " That may be, but for some reason, and in one 
 way or another, she likes him." 
 
 " Do you mind very much ? Ah, you do ! " 
 
 "We shall never be happy, Rachel, unless we both 
 
 put her out of our thoughts. I wish, from the 
 
 bottom of my heart, that I had never cared for any 
 
 woman except you. But there were others — before 
 
 I
 
 366 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Jennie. I have often been in love. You alone have 
 understood me. I don't say that I'm worth under- 
 standing." 
 
 She came to his side again, and wondered when 
 she could trust her voice — it had suddenly gone. 
 
 " Won't you help me, Rachel ? " he said ; " won't 
 you try and make something of me ? It will need a 
 miracle — a miracle of love that the best man on earth 
 at his best could not deserve. And I'm one of the 
 weakest at my worst. I can stick on a horse, and I 
 can march miles ; I can shoot, and all the rest of it. 
 Judged from the outside, I do pretty well. But you 
 know me as I am. I'm no catch." 
 
 She fetched a deep sigh : did his inches, his 
 shoulders, his looks count for nothing ? " But 
 you're so handsome," she said involuntarily ; " it 
 makes me forget sadness just to watch you." 
 
 '*It doesn't make me forget sadness — just to be 
 watched." 
 
 This was said in his old manner, because he always 
 quickened under admiration and responded to it — as 
 animals do. 
 
 " I was depressed when I first came in," he went 
 on : " there's a reaction after the excitement of a 
 race. In such moods one says more than there is to 
 say — one exaggerates and twaddles and maunders. 
 Do forgive me." 
 
 He thought her charming and grace itself; 
 every one of her movements was picturesque, and
 
 THE VINEYARD 367 
 
 her excessive femininity made his confessions of 
 moral weakness very easy. He kissed her, and im- 
 plored her to be sensible. She said she was, if any- 
 thing, too sensible. She trembled at her own sense 
 — which could be grim. 
 
 Tagg, fearing that her mistress would get over- 
 tired, ventured into the room. She pointed to the 
 clock and stammered out — " Dr Rench's orders." 
 
 " You are quite right, Tagg," said Federan : 
 "we must take care of her. And what is more, 
 I won't allow her to climb those stairs." 
 
 He lifted the unresisting woman in his arms, and 
 carried her, as though she were a child, along the 
 corridor and up a small flight of steps to the door of 
 her room. 
 
 " Well, I never ! " exclaimed Tagg, following. 
 
 Mrs Tredegar, hearing an unfamiliar footstep, 
 came out of her boudoir, and in consternation 
 surveyed the group. The three smiled at her, and 
 she realised that Federan was already the master of 
 the house. 
 
 " Is Rachel as light as she looks ? " she asked with 
 irony.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 Lord, I have fasted, I have prayed. 
 And sackcloth has my girdle been. 
 To purge my soul I have essayed 
 With hunger blank and vigil keen ; 
 O God of Mercy ! Why am I 
 Still haunted by the self I fly ? 
 
 R. H. Froude. 
 
 Mrs Helmyng, after Allan had left home for the 
 
 racecourse, went round to the little Catholic church 
 
 close by — although she was not a Catholic, and 
 
 prayed that her son might be happy. She sat there 
 
 in a dark corner by herself — out of the world's way — 
 
 too loving and lonely a woman to suppose that a 
 
 young imaginative man could exist at all without 
 
 some romance to inspire his life. He was a great 
 
 artist, and he worked all day — but work by itself 
 
 was not enough. Of this she was certain. She 
 
 had watched all his eflForts, shared his struggles, 
 
 done her best always to encourage him, but he was 
 
 too self-reliant to accept encouragement graciously 
 
 even from her. 
 
 *' What is to become of my son ? " she asked, as 
 
 she knelt in the dim side-aisle. " Haven't I had 
 
 trouble enough for both of us ? Surely so much 
 
 trouble isn't necessary. God intended us to be happy, 
 
 we make ourselves unhappy. It is not God's fault." 
 
 368
 
 THE VINEYARD 369 
 
 She believed in human love and divine love, and 
 she thought that love could accomplish anything. 
 When she sat, as she often did, for hours in the 
 church, her gladness was in remote recollections of 
 words, tones, scenes, and little acts of her engage- 
 ment and married life — innocent trivialities which 
 were inexpressibly precious to her heart. She kept 
 them to herself because she was afraid of Allan, 
 afraid of her few friends, afraid of everybody except 
 God, with whom she never felt sentimental or 
 guilty, and in whose house she always found it so 
 easy to meditate on her secret feelings and memories. 
 
 When she asked, therefore, " What is to become of 
 my son ? " she thought that some day her question 
 would be kindly answered. She had been sitting in 
 her corner for a long time ; an old woman had 
 dusted the pews ; a few stray girls had been in to 
 light candles and pray ; some children had passed 
 through on their way to a Catechism class; half 
 a dozen small boys had made their confessions to the 
 parish priest. The priest himself, in leaving the 
 box, had thrown his usual puzzled interrogatory 
 glance in Mrs Helmyng's direction, and as usual she 
 had shrunk back, unwilling to break the spell of 
 mystery and silence which she could find only in that 
 quiet spot. She had lost all count of the hours, but 
 she knew that it must be nearly six o'clock, because 
 the Sacristan was lighting the gas lamps for Benedic- 
 tion. How peaceful it had been ! She wondered 
 whether Allan was enjoying himself with Jennie — 
 
 2 A
 
 370 THE VINEYARD 
 
 whether he would come home in brighter spirits ; 
 whether he would be able to remember what the 
 Duchess wore : whether he had received many 
 congratulations about the sale of his picture. She 
 was slipping quietly out by the side door when she 
 noticed Allan himself in the opposite aisle. He was 
 on his knees — an attitude in which she had not seen 
 him since he was a little boy learning his prayers. 
 What did it mean ? At first she feared he was in 
 trouble — men sought religion, as a rule, when things 
 went wrong with them. She longed to go to him, 
 but she dared not ; and, in an uneasy frame of mind, 
 she returned home to wait for him there. The even- 
 ing was sweet and fresh, calm and melancholy : there 
 was such a hush over the town that she walked almost 
 on tiptoe for fear of hearing her own solitary steps ; and 
 there was such a soft light in the sky that she thought 
 of nights in June long ago, when she was a girl. 
 
 Allan found her, when he came in half an hour 
 later, sitting at the window painting menu cards. 
 Her humour was whimsical, and she drew delicious 
 fays, elfs and fairies, or flowers that danced. 
 
 "Have you enjoyed yourself?" she asked. 
 
 *' Oh yes — but more in remembering it than at the 
 time. I drove with Miss Sussex to Franton, and I 
 took the tram back. Federan won the Challenge 
 Cup. He's superb on a horse." 
 
 "How is Jennie ?" 
 
 " She likes him, mother. She will never like any 
 one else so much."
 
 THE VINEYARD 371 
 
 **I was very fond of a young barrister before I 
 loved your father. I have never told anyone that, 
 but it's true. I should like to think I had only had 
 one love, but I was absolutely devoted to Charlie 
 Haversham." 
 
 She blushed, and Helmyng never knew what the 
 harmless admission cost her ; but she made it in the 
 hope of relieving his mind about Jennie. 
 
 "I was heart - broken about Charlie on a 
 Wednesday," she continued, "and on Thursday I 
 accepted your father. He spoke just at the right 
 moment. If he had put it off even a week — I 
 might have answered him differently. High-spirited 
 girls must be taken by storm. I was high-spirited ; 
 so is Jennie.** 
 
 Helmyng became thoughtful. 
 
 "If a man really wants a thing, he will ask for it," 
 said his mother ; " and if he really loves a woman, he 
 will take any risk rather than lose her." 
 
 '* You mean all this for me, of course," said 
 Allan. "Dear mother, Jennie doesn't see me as 
 you do." 
 
 She looked at him gravely. 
 
 " Did I say so ? But she will see a man of genius 
 and character." 
 
 He wanted to ask more about his father's abrupt 
 wooing ; yet the subject was difficult. Mrs Helmyng, 
 he knew, had been as beautiful in her own way as 
 Jennie was now, and his father had been erratic, poor, 
 obscure and unpopular.
 
 372 THE VINEYARD 
 
 "Can a girl love one man on Wednesday and 
 another on Thursday ? " he asked. 
 
 " They will break off with one man on Wednesday, 
 and listen to another on Thursday." 
 
 " To be listened to, as you call it, is not what I 
 mean." 
 
 " Your father did not ask me whether I loved him. 
 He acted as though it had all been settled for us. 
 We were coming home from a picnic. We had 
 lost the others, and we were taking our time because 
 it was a glorious afternoon. He said, 'I suppose you 
 know that I have got to look out for you : you're such 
 a little fool.' It took away my breath. I thought 
 him rude, but, of course, truthful. ... In the 
 end I ran away with him, as you know, and we had 
 troubles. But I never regretted the marriage — 
 never, never." 
 
 "If one didn't hear these true stories one could 
 never know what men really say to women." 
 
 As she had at last broken the reserve of a lifetime, 
 she told him more of his father's brusque sayings and 
 doings. Presently she found herself laughing gaily, 
 as she had not laughed for years, at some of the 
 dialogues which had taken place during her courtship. 
 
 "It always made him angry to think that he loved 
 me," she said. " If I ever dragged a little compliment 
 out of him, he would look injured for days. If he 
 ever showed any real feeling for me, he would be almost 
 cruelly cold afterwards. That was his disposition." 
 
 *'I don't see how you stood it," said Allan, who
 
 THE VINEYARD 373 
 
 recognised the similarity between his father's tempera- 
 ment and his own. 
 
 "Well," she said, colouring, "it wasn't always 
 easy for me. I had my days of impatience." 
 
 Allan went to his studio, looked at his canvases, 
 and said to himself: 
 
 " What more do I want than these ? They are 
 always here — waiting for me. I cannot disappoint 
 them, because they are themselves my moods." He 
 sat down and thought of many plans : then he hunted 
 through an old bookcase for a map of modern Rome. 
 
 When his mother came in an hour later to call him 
 to his supper she found the following lines scribbled 
 on a sheet of paper and placed on his palette : 
 
 " / am going to Franton^ as I find I have Mm S.'s 
 purse in my pocket. She gave it to me to hold because the 
 chain broke. I must ^ of course^ return it immediately." 
 
 He had gone out by the studio door through the small 
 back-garden. Mrs Helmyng wondered whether he had 
 kept the purse on purpose, as an excuse for seeing Jennie 
 again that day, or whether he had really forgotten to 
 hand it back when they parted. It seemed, in either 
 case, as though Fate were working in her boy's favour. 
 
 Helmyng reached Franton about nine o'clock. 
 The trains were late on account of the races : he met 
 all his acquaintances, and he heard a great deal of 
 contradictory gossip about Federan's affairs. At the 
 station he saw Miss Mason and the widower exchang-
 
 374 THE VINEYARD 
 
 ing fond glances over the weighing-machine, and 
 tittering about the mechanical fortune-teller. 
 
 " If every one could be so easily satisfied as Miss 
 Mason," he thought, " happiness would be almost 
 universal." 
 
 Mrs Puddifant, in a rustling purple poplin, spoke to 
 him because she had observed him sitting in the 
 Duchess's box. 
 
 " A delightful day. Such a treat to see all the 
 aristocrats and the nicest people. Quite like the 
 Row on Sundays ! " 
 
 Mrs Marblay was even more gracious. She had 
 read the news about his picture in the Daily Mail : — 
 
 ** Such an honour ! I hope you'll never forget that 
 you taught in my little school." She drew him aside, 
 and added confidentially : — 
 
 " I'm so thankful that the Duchess invited Miss 
 Sussex. Many thought she would not — on account 
 of the stories about young Federan. An imbroglio^ 
 indeed. The Duchess can afford to have the courage 
 of her own opinions. But what is it about young 
 Federan ? Does any one know exactly ? Is it true 
 that he is privately married to Miss Tredegar ? One 
 hears such reports ! One doesn't know what to 
 believe. Poor Miss Sussex ? A pretty girl, but a 
 face is not always a fortune. Proverbs do a lot of 
 harm. There's the dear Viscountess Raynbeigh 1 
 She sees me." Mrs Marblay's whole body contracted 
 in spasms of the purest pleasure : — 
 
 " How charming she looks in that exquisite gown I
 
 THE VINEYARD 375 
 
 I think she would like me to speak. Have you never 
 met the Viscountess?" Mrs Marblay drifted away 
 toward a lady who looked mournfully resigned to the 
 trying duties inseparable from a county race-meeting. 
 
 Helmyng, in bitter wrath, pushed his way through 
 the crowd and bribed a flyman, by six times his 
 ordinary fare, to drive him to Franton Manor. As 
 he was about to entef the gates, another fly was 
 leaving. There were two small boxes on the seat by 
 the coachman, and the initials " J. S." in white paint 
 showed plainly in the bright moonlight. Jennie, darkly 
 veiled, wrapped in a long travelling-coat, was sitting 
 alone far back in the vehicle. Helmyng jumped out 
 of his own battered landau and stopped hers : — 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To London. I can't stay at Franton. It's 
 impossible. I cannot go to Miss Leddle's." 
 
 " Then come to my mother." 
 
 He opened the carriage door, sat down by her side, 
 and told the man to drive on to the station. His own 
 fly followed. 
 
 '*I felt that you would need your purse," he said : 
 *' something made me come at once." 
 
 " I had a little money — not much — in my jewel- 
 box." 
 
 " You will come to my mother ? " 
 
 " I didn't think of it ; but for this one night I'll 
 be grateful if she can take me. I met Gerald after 
 you had gone. We had to speak. ... It is really 
 all at an end. . . . He's dining there. He's with
 
 376 THE VINEYARD 
 
 Rachel. They are engaged. . . . When I said 
 good-bye to her she kissed me and she cried. We 
 said nothing. She understands." The poor girl 
 spoke in gasps. **It*s over now. Thank God, it's 
 over ! I'm glad I saw him once more. It made my 
 feeling quite clear to me." 
 
 The wheels knocked against a heavy stone, and 
 she was thrown by the jolt against Helmyng's arm. 
 The blood rushed from his heart to his head. He 
 ceased to think ; but her words, — " It made my feel- 
 ing quite clear to me," seemed just the something he 
 had been waiting for. And, as he had no words of 
 his own, his mother's story came back to him : "/ 
 suppose you know that I've got to look out for you,^^ He 
 repeated them aloud — unconsciously, with no premedi- 
 tation, or before he could even consider their effect. 
 
 Jennie smiled, because the omen of the straws on 
 her flounce had proved true, and Helmyng had spoken 
 at the one moment which he himself would never 
 have chosen had Destiny not driven him to speak. 
 
 They said nothing, and they did not move till the 
 fly stopped at the station. He helped her out, 
 bought her ticket, and watched her boxes being 
 labelled. They got seats in a crowded compartment 
 full of excursionists who chatted, sang songs, and 
 devoured buns and fruit. 
 
 But the two idealists gazed together at as much as 
 they could see of the magnificent starry sky through 
 the railway-carriage window. 
 
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