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 MIRAGE. 
 
 
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 [The right of translation and reproduction is reserved.}
 
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 Author of " Studies in the History of the Renaissance" 
 
 WITH PROFOUND ADMIRATION FOR THE RARE AND EXQUISITE 
 QUALITY OF HIS WORK. 
 
 GEORGE FLEMING. 
 Tyrol, 1877.
 
 " Natural laws we shall never modify, embarrass us 
 as they may ; but there is still something in the nobler 
 or less noble attitude with which we watch their fatal 
 combinations. "
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "PARTANT POUR LA SYRIE " I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 SHOWING HOW THEY WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE .... 14 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A CASE OF PHOTOGRAPHS . . . . . . . 23 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 GOING TO JERICHO 34 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 SHOWING WHY Miss VARLEY LOOKED AT THE STARS ... 47 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 'CROSS COUNTRY 55 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE 68 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP 82 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 SOME GOOD SAMARITANS 91 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 BLUE LILIES 100 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 IN ARCADY , . . m 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SHOWING HOW MR. STUART BROKE HIS BRIDLE . . . .119 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 BY THE WATERS OF GALILEE 133 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SCHON-ROHTRAUT *4 2
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 r.u;;i 
 DAWN 154 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 167 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 UN ENFANT nu SIKCLR 177 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 WHICH CONTAINS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY . 187 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " 1 1, N'EST D' AMOUR si TRISTE QUI N'AIT SON SOUVENIR" . 206 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 ONE SIDE OF THE QUESTION 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 THE OTHER SIDE 228 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END 2^8 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 ANOTHER STEP 248 
 
 CHATTER XXIV. 
 IN WHICH MR. LAWRENCE READS MERIME"E 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 ANOTHER LIFE , . , 266 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "AFTER THREE YEARS" 277 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 THE LAST LOOK BACK 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 MIRAGE , . , 307
 
 MIRAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 "PARTANT POUR LA SYRIE." 
 
 HER name was Constance Constance Varley. At thai 
 time she was probably between one and two and twenty ; 
 a fair-haired girl, with eyes as clearly, frankly blue as the 
 open blossom of a blue marsh-flower. Of her character and 
 disposition it is somewhat more difficult to speak. Indeed 
 I am inclined to believe that in those days there was no 
 one who had any very definite understanding of either. Miss 
 Varley herself had perhaps thought rather more about it 
 than is common with girls of her age ; but, on the whole, 
 one's own self-judgment is apt to be of a vague and desultory 
 nature, showing but little of that trenchant singleness of im- 
 pression that fine infallibility of decision which enable 
 us to classify the actions of our fellow-men. It has already 
 been observed that the difficulty of judging any human being 
 is materially increased by the slightest study of the subject. 
 But this was a consideration which, fortunately enough, 
 had never occurred to any of Miss Varley's acquaintance. 
 " Constance Varley, the dearest girl in all the world and my 
 intimate friend, has promised to come with us. Tom is 
 delighted. I am delighted. I am sure I need hardly ask 
 if you are not delighted too," Mrs. Thayer had written on 
 this occasion of their journey. " But young men are so 
 curious nowadays. Perhaps you do not care for pretty girls 
 any longer, Jack?" she added ; and Mr. Jack Stuart, reading
 
 2 MIRAGE. 
 
 the letter before his club fire, had laughed and thought 
 what an inveterate matchmaker little Fanny had become. 
 It was reported later that he had even grumbled a little 
 over the fact to his more intimate friends ; protesting that 
 things had got to a pretty pass when a man could not even 
 take a trip to the East without being let in for doing escort- 
 duty to a lot of women. It was also remarked with what 
 prompt and unanimous sympathy the complaint was re- 
 ceived ; an exhibition of feeling which certainly made it 
 difficult to account for the abnormal alacrity and interest 
 displayed by Mr. Stuart in his final consultations with his 
 tailor and bootmaker on the subject of his Syrian outfit. 
 
 " I do like your cousin ; I like him very much," Miss 
 Varley had assured her friend in the privacy of her chamber 
 that morning. " And then, you know, I had seen him 
 before, ever so long ago at The Farm so that he does 
 not seem a stranger. But I don't think he can have been 
 quite so imposing then ? At least, I don't remember those 
 boots." And then Mrs. Thayer had grown serious again, 
 and declared that Constance was always making the wrong 
 people appear ridiculous. " As though I should presume 
 to laugh at such a jeune premier as Mr. Stuart, Fanny ; 
 unless, indeed, I did it in self-defence merely, as a protest 
 against being dazzled," the girl answered carelessly. And 
 then her friend had been pacified, and kissed her, and they 
 had gone out together arm-in-arm into the windy solitude of 
 an Ismailian street. 
 
 There had been a good deal of previous discussion up at 
 Cairo as to the length of time to be devoted to Ismai'lia. 
 Mrs. Thayer had even waxed eloquent on the subject, 
 bringing a long array of facts and guide-books in support of 
 her enthusiasm ; but by six o'clock that evening I fancy 
 there was but little diversity of opinion left among them as 
 to the interest and merits of the desert town. For Ismai'lia 
 is only a singularly flat place a city built upon the levelled 
 sand the wide spaces and open look of its streets remind- 
 ing one of a sea-bathing village ; its houses running into 
 that hopeless style of ornamentation which suggests the 
 " villa to let." The greater part of them are but one storey 
 high, with enormous projecting roofs, from under which the 
 windows and doors peer out with a crushed yet indomitable
 
 "PARTANT POUR LA SYRIE? 3 
 
 expression, and bear a fantastic resemblance to the face of 
 a good man struggling with adverse circumstances. And, 
 indeed, as Major Thayer remarked, the whole place shares 
 in that fantastic and temporary appearance, and affects one 
 oddly after awhile, inspiring curious doubts as to its pro- 
 bable duration and the advisability of sleeping there. For 
 there was not a living creature abroad that day. As they 
 passed along the silent streets, through the large abandoned 
 squares, their advent seemed unnoticed and unheralded 
 save by the fierce and steady wind ; and although at first 
 there had been a gallant effort made at merriment, it was 
 not long before Mr. Stuart's allusions to the promised 
 beauties of the desert town were received with melancholy 
 resignation. By the time they reached the restaurant where 
 dinner had been ordered, I think their leading impression 
 was one of blank dismay. 
 
 At the cafe-door they all paused for a moment, looking 
 back. A fiercer gust of wind lifted a -cloud of sand across 
 the empty square. A thin despondent pariah-dog limped 
 painfully along, seeking for shelter from the blast. From 
 the large white house across the way, bearing the inscription 
 Pensionnat de Demoiselles, came the feeble tinkling protest 
 of an aged and unresisting piano. 
 
 " See Ismailia and die, Fanny," suggested Miss Varley 
 wickedly. 
 
 " On the whole, I think I should prefer to die first," 
 Mrs. Thayer answered, with conviction. 
 
 But as the evening wore on the situation brightened. A 
 long and intimate conversation with the buxom landlady, 
 who began by informing them, with pardonable pride, of 
 her fourteen years' residence dans cet affreux desert, and then 
 dismissed the entire Eastern question with a slight French 
 shrug, had had a reassuring effect upon their nerves. The 
 discovery, at the farther end of the hall, of the small theatre, 
 by the aid of which ces messieurs were wont to beguile their 
 evenings, was a still stronger argument in favour of the 
 problematic population. 
 
 "In fact, I think you might almost be justified in 
 stating, in your journal, that Ismailia was inhabited at a 
 comparatively recent period of the world's history," Major 
 Thayer remarked to his wife. "Iconfess I havehad mydoubts." 
 
 B 2
 
 4 MIRAGE. 
 
 Miss Varley was examining the stage. Miss Varley was 
 great at private theatricals. " Indeed, I consider that quite 
 one of my specialities," she informed Mr. Stuart in a con- 
 fidential aside ; " it is a pity we did not know of this place 
 before. We might have had a rehearsal this afternoon, -and 
 astonished the natives, with a view to charity, at night. I 
 should have liked that. And I should have liked to see 
 their faces at home when they heard, as they would hear, 
 that we were starring it in the provinces on our way to 
 Palestine." 
 
 Mr. Stuart laughed, and sprang up on the platform 
 beside her.' 
 
 " It is not half a bad little theatre this," he said, 
 approvingly. 
 
 " The very place for a play. Major Thayer ! " 
 
 "Well, my dear?" 
 
 " My name is Pauline, if you please. But what is the 
 ' Lady of Lyons ' without a lover ? I want a lover 
 
 " Why did you not ask me then ?" said Jack. 
 
 Miss Varley smiled. " I don't know about your making 
 a good lover," she answered calmly. She looked at him 
 critically. " You would probably move about too much on 
 the stage. Major Thayer, now, is famous for his Claude 
 Melnotte, but you 
 
 It was not the way in which Mr. Stuart was accustomed 
 to have his remarks received. It was a point which would 
 bear arguing, he observed, leaning up against the side 
 scene and looking down in Miss Varley's face. Miss 
 Varley might at least have given him a trial, he objected 
 perhaps a trifle more earnestly than the occasion abso- 
 lutely required. 
 
 In the pause which ensued Mrs. Thayer made another 
 discovery. The row of wooden boxes ranged along the 
 wall were found, on inspection, to contain the entire dra- 
 matic wardrobe of the missing company ; and half an hour 
 later any stranger happening in if such an event had been 
 a possibility in Ismailia would have been rewarded by 
 the spectacle of two gentlemen in Louis XV. costume and 
 powdered wigs sedately drinking their tea in friendly com- 
 panionship with a somewhat dubious Spanish peasant and 
 a young lady clad in complete bridal array.
 
 "PARTANT POUR LA SYRIE." 5 
 
 But for this last metamorphosis it was the landlady 
 alone who was responsible. If mademoiselle would only 
 allow her, she had suggested, there was in her own room 
 a costume but a costume ! Of the best ! It was but 
 even now that she had been engaged in repairing it. If 
 mademoiselle would permit ? And Miss Varley had laughed 
 but submitted. 
 
 As she reappeared some moments later the landlady 
 had followed her, a wreath of artificial flowers in her hand. 
 
 It was a thousand pities not to complete the toilette ; 
 and mademoiselle looked so like an angel in all that white ; 
 but what would you? It was a superstition, a betise ; but 
 mademoiselle could not have her orange-blossoms put on 
 by the hand of an old married woman. " Ca porte malheur? 
 she said. If monsieur now would consent* ? her quick eyes 
 swept over the group and fastened with ready tact on 
 Mr. Stuart. If mademoiselle would allow it ? And Miss 
 Varley again consented. 
 
 But as she threw off her wreath an hour later it was 
 with some slight petulant exclamation of dismay. 
 
 "Why do you give me orange-flowers with concealed 
 weapons in them, Mr. Stuart? You bring me bad luck," 
 she said, and held out her hand for him to see. A few red 
 drops were slowly trickling from a deep scratch across its 
 soft pink palm. " You are like the Greeks your gifts 
 are dangerous. I shall avoid them after this," she added, 
 laughing. 
 
 That Mr. Stuart's contrition was both sincere and 
 eloquent in its expression could easily be gathered from 
 the heightened colour with which Miss Varley turned away, 
 but his actual words were lost in the general. good-night 
 which followed. The two rooms provided for their party 
 were a few steps farther down the street large empty 
 chambers, with doors opening directly out upon the side- 
 walk. 
 
 " I don't think Ismailia has turned out so badly after 
 all," Mrs. Thayer remarked, sitting up in bed the better 
 to observe the slower movements of her companion. " At 
 least, you seemed to be enjoying yourself pretty well, 
 Constance. I wonder what Jack thinks of the way he 
 spent his evening now?"
 
 6 MIRAGE. 
 
 It was a question Miss Varley professed herself unable 
 to answer. 
 
 "Asa flirtation, I think it may be said to have been a 
 success. I do not think no, I really do not think I can 
 remember ever having seen anything progressing more 
 satisfactorily," Mrs. Thayer continued lazily from her 
 vantage-ground among the pillows. " But whether I ought 
 to countenance it as your chaperon " 
 
 " Is a point you may as well decide upon to-morrow 
 morning, dear. At least, I, for one, am going to sleep. 
 If my flirtations I never flirted in my life but if my 
 flirtations, as you choose to call them, succeed in keeping 
 you awake, it is more than they have ever done for me," 
 Miss Varley concluded, with a smothered yawn. 
 
 But her next action was perhaps hardly in strict ac- 
 cordance with the heartlessness of this speech. Indeed, 
 as she turned her face away from the open window, its 
 changed and softened expression was patent even to 
 Mrs. Thayer's sleepy eyes. 
 
 " Is there anything there to be seen ? What is it, 
 Constance ?" she demanded, raising herself upon one arm. 
 But Constance had blown out the light. It was nothing. 
 In fact, she was only looking at the night, to see if there 
 were any stars, she answered, with some confusion. But 
 the sky was covered with clouds again, and " that was 
 all," she said. 
 
 It was between six and seven o'clock the next morning 
 when they started for Port Said. At first the steamer 
 crosses a wide lake-like enclosure whose waves, of a deep 
 sea-blue, were lifting and tossing with what seemed a new 
 and delicious freshness after the long tranquillity of the Nile 
 voyage and then turns suddenly aside and enters the Suez 
 Canal, leaving behind it the billowy sand-hills of Ismai'lia, 
 to begin a long, long, endlessly long stretch of water, with 
 high steep banks on either hand, which only break at rare 
 intervals, and let one catch a glimpse of the vast level 
 desert beyond. When they started, the sky was still clear 
 overhead, but an ominous wind was tearing and scattering 
 the cloud-masses at the horizon, ruffling the long straight 
 strip of canal, and running along the low gray fringe of 
 shrubs that lines the water's edge.
 
 "PART ANT POUR LA SYRIE* 7 
 
 The little steamer moved but slowly forward. Now and 
 then they overtook some man, standing up to his waist in 
 the canal, sounding the depth of the encroaching sand. 
 Once, an Arab sportsman passed them, carrying a gun over 
 his shoulder, his head muffled in countless folds of linen, 
 his brown dress fluttering wildly in the wind. As they 
 drew nearer he slowly climbed the bank, turning again to 
 look at them, and making Miss Varley point out to her 
 companion the singular beauty and distinctness of a figure 
 seen against the desert sands. " It is a pity you were not 
 with us in Egypt," she added, carelessly. 
 
 As she spoke, Mrs. Thayer rose quietly from her chair, 
 gathered together her gloves and book and parasol, tapped 
 her husband on the shoulder, and deliberately walked away 
 to the farther part of the deck. And Constance looked 
 after her with a deprecatory smile. 
 
 " That is Fanny's little protest," she said, laughing. 
 "You see Major Thayer and I have simply driven poor 
 Fanny wild by talking about the Pharaohs; and as she 
 hated the Nile, and as she sternly disapproved of each 
 temple and tomb and pyramid, she always flies whenever 
 there is any symptom of our mentioning either." 
 
 " Eutyou liked it, didn't you?" 
 
 "Liked what? Egypt? Well, I don't think that is 
 quite the way I should put it. There are some things to 
 which the word would hardly apply, you know." 
 
 "Ah yes, I see. I suppose you must have found it 
 rather slow at times," said Mr. Stuart, simply. 
 
 Miss Varley smiled. It was not exactly the idea she had 
 intended to convey. " I meant oh, what is the need of 
 explaining things ? you know what I mean. I would no more 
 think of liking Egypt than of liking the starlight or the sea. It 
 is one of those things which does not admit of pretty epithets. 
 You would not think of calling a sunset pretty, you know." 
 
 " Why not ? except that I should say nothing about it, 
 in all probability. I never look at sunsets and that kind of 
 
 thing unless somebody tells me to. Now you " He 
 
 hesitated, and glanced at the girl rather dubiously. "My 
 cousin Tom must be the very fellow to get along well with 
 you, I suppose. Tom can talk poetry and all that sort of 
 stuff by the hour when he likes."
 
 8 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Oh yes. Major Thayer and I are quite in the habit of 
 doing that," she answered gravely. " You can have no idea, 
 until you have heard us, what extremely poetical people we 
 are." 
 
 Mr. Stuart laughed. But one could never tell when 
 Miss Varley was in earnest or when she was merely chaffing 
 a fellow, he complained. 
 
 " That is because everything is premeditated with me," 
 said Constance. " Somebody told me once that I was 
 inscrutable. I have been endeavouring to become so ever 
 since." 
 
 Mr. Stuart had never guessed a conundrum in his life. 
 But still, impossible to comprehend as Miss Varley might 
 be, he thought that with an effort 
 
 " As though you would be likely to make an effort !" 
 
 11 And why shouldn't I ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. Chiefly because it is not 'your 
 nature to,' I suppose." 
 
 " I should like to know how you found that out." 
 
 " Oh, I'm a student of character, Mr. Stuart ; and I have 
 theories ; I believe in intuitions and things." 
 
 " I defy you to tell me of a single leading trait of mine," 
 said Stuart, throwing himself back in his chair, and assuming 
 as severely non-committal an expression as was compatible 
 with a somewhat weak yet handsome countenance. 
 
 She looked at him with some attention. There can be 
 no doubt that she was distinctly impressed by the striking 
 symmetry of his features in their enforced repose. Whether 
 she understood their weakness it is impossible to say. 
 
 " You are the very reverse of indolent, Mr. Stuart. 
 Indeed, I am convinced that a kind of stern devotion to an 
 ideal of unremitting labour is as marked a trait of your 
 character as is your love of nature sunsets, and all that 
 sort of thing, you know," she added, mischievously. 
 
 They were both experiencing that slight but exhilarating 
 form of excitement which all young and healthy-minded 
 creatures experience in making one another's acquaintance 
 the delightful curiosity of the explorer into strange lands, 
 where each familiar object derives a new charm from its 
 unaccustomed surroundings. And, like other explorers, they 
 began by looking for resemblances. The discovery of dis-
 
 "PART ANT POUR LA SYRIE" 9 
 
 sonance and limitation belongs properly to the second and 
 later period of such studies. It is true that modern science 
 and the Geographical Society have curiously narrowed the 
 extent of lands as yet unclassified. I have sometimes 
 thought that what we have agreed to call the best society 
 has achieved a somewhat similar result. 
 
 But this, I need hardly say, was a reflection which did 
 not occur to Mr. Stuart. Nor do I think that either then 
 or later did he ever make any attempt at analysing his sen- 
 sations. For the present it was certainly quite enough for 
 him to sit beside this agreeable companion, whom chance 
 had thrown in his way, letting himself be easily amused, and 
 filling up the pauses between his remarks by lazily watching 
 the motion of her fingers. Constance had remarkably 
 pretty hands. At that particular moment they were busily 
 employed in alternately ruffling and smoothing down the 
 delicate tawny-coloured head of a large Syrian greyhound 
 the last purchase before leaving Cairo. She was leaning a 
 little back in her chair, the dog's head resting on her lap ; 
 and Mr. Stuart's eyes followed, with a certain involuntary 
 interest, the light, firm pressure of her touch, noting, with 
 an appreciative eye, the warm, creamy curves and shell-pink 
 dimples in the supple hand and wrist. An absurd and un- 
 reasonable impatience of her action mixed itself up oddly 
 enough with what he was saying. 
 
 " You will spoil that dog," he said at last, abruptly. 
 
 She glanced at him with some surprise. 
 
 " What spoil Lione ? Oh ho ; why should I ? Poor 
 old boy ! Do see what beautiful eyes he has, Mr. Stuart ?" 
 She took the dog's head in both hands, and held it up 
 towards Jack. " Such loving, melancholy eyes ! But I 
 don't believe in them one bit, you know. People tell me 
 that these greyhounds are wretchedly cold-hearted creatures 
 in their way; and indeed this fellow here did not mind 
 leaving his old master in the least. And he will follow any- 
 one he will go to Hassan as quickly as he will come to 
 me." 
 
 She let his head drop again, and one could almost have 
 imagined that the dog understood her words, to see him lay 
 a protesting paw upon her knee, and gravely thrust his cold 
 black nose into her hand.
 
 io MIRAGE. 
 
 "What do you keep the brute for then?" said Stuart. 
 
 " Oh, I like him. He reminds me of another dog I 
 knew once upon a time. And then all unreasoning animals 
 are fond of me. I don't entirely despair of winning his 
 affections yet, you see. Don't you believe I can ?" 
 
 But Mr. Stuart had moved his chair rather impatiently 
 to one side and spoke of something else. A moment later 
 he glanced around again. He leaned slightly forward, and 
 took up a string of amber beads which lay upon her lap. 
 
 " No, please. I can't possibly let you have my beads to 
 play with. I never let anyone touch them," said Constance, 
 quickly, putting out her hand. 
 
 "You had these on yesterday. Do you always wear 
 them, then?" holding the yellow string against the light. 
 
 " Always. I do not think I have been without them a 
 day for the last three years or more. And will you give 
 them back to me, please?" 
 
 "I don't really see why I should," said Mr. Stuart, 
 deliberately. " If I did, it would only be to gratify you, 
 and you have refused to gratify me. You would not take 
 my advice about that dog, you know." 
 
 " Poor old Lione ! " she said, laughing. She bent down 
 and laid- her cheek against the delicate tawny head. " As 
 though you and I were not to be friends any more ! But 
 we are above being dictated to in that fashion, are we not, 
 Lione ?" 
 
 " Here, Lione ! Come here, sir!" said Mr. Stuart, sharply. 
 
 The dog started, pricked up his ears, hesitated for a 
 moment, and then walked deliberately over to Jack. 
 
 " That is what Lione thinks about it. You see that I 
 am generous enough to refrain from any comment," said 
 that gentleman, with a triumphant smile. 
 
 Constance leaned languidly back in her chair. It was a 
 lesson not to count upon people not even upon dogs, she 
 said, and folded her hands meekly together. But the meek- 
 ness was somewhat out of harmony with the expression of 
 her eyes a moment later. " For a member of the Society 
 for the Promotion of Cruelty to Animals, I am glad to 
 observe that your instincts are rather better than your 
 principles," she said, and looked meaningly at the fingers 
 absently playing with Lione's collar.
 
 "PART ANT POUR LA SYRIE." 11 
 
 Mr. Stuart drew back his hand and looked extremely 
 foolish. But it was an altogether different affair, he ex- 
 plained. There was no resemblance between that weak 
 indulgence of a dog's worst susceptibilities, which Miss Varley 
 was fostering, and the kindly yet authoritative touch of a 
 master. It was only proper some acknowledgment should 
 be made of the animal's prompt and commendable recog- 
 nition of masculine superiority, he said. 
 
 And in the half-serious discussion which followed, Lione's 
 claims to attention faded entirely away, until like many 
 another blameless individual he found himself of not the 
 slightest interest to the very advocate who was pleading his 
 case. It was perhaps with a fortunate philosophy that he 
 accepted the situation, and laid himself down to sleep at 
 Mr. Stuart's feet. For human biography must, from a dog's 
 point of view, be chiefly characterised by a consistent lack 
 of logic. And much of what followed was strictly biogra- 
 phical. Whatever reason Mr. Stuart might have had for 
 listening with a certain pleasure to those details of Miss 
 Varley's home life, those descriptions of her father and step- 
 mother, those anecdotes about "the boys," Lione would 
 undoubtedly have heard them with the most disinterested 
 indifference. 
 
 Of Jack's past history I fancy there was something more 
 to tell ; and yet, broadly speaking, it could be reduced to 
 the commonplace college experience of an ordinary young 
 man. And following fast upon those years of hearty en- 
 joyment and involuntary study, came years of work 
 Mr. Stuart was in his father's bank in which the same 
 liberal hand seemed to preside over the proportion of 
 enjoyment to labour. Altogether, a life flowing smoothly 
 and cheerfully along a well-cut channel ; a healthy, pleasant, 
 harmless if not a picturesque existence. 
 
 Once only in the course of that morning the little 
 steamer stopped. It was at a small and dingy inn, built 
 close upon the water's edge, with a rickety wooden piazza 
 running around its front, and a poor attempt at a garden on 
 one side. A wretched little garden it was, full of great 
 boxes of earth, in which a few feeble geraniums and some 
 sickly-looking verbena-plants were vainly struggling for sub- 
 sistence. And there was something of this same suggestion
 
 13 MIRAGE. 
 
 of useless effort in everything about the place in the 
 loose and slouching figure of the man who waited on the 
 steps to receive such scanty orders for food as the travellers 
 might give ; in the gaunt mistrustful dogs, creeping warily 
 in and out among the tables ; in the pale and hollow-eyed 
 little woman, whose eager, sallow face was lighting up with 
 unfamiliar smiles in answer to Miss Varley's questions. 
 
 For, " Are those your own children ?" that young lady 
 was asking, in her gentlest voice. " You must find it very 
 difficult to keep them so wonderfully neat and clean. But 
 what a nice place you have got for them to play in here, and 
 how pleasant it must be for them to sit in the shade and see 
 the ships go by." 
 
 "They will be getting wilder, more like savages, every 
 year. Tony ! come here this moment and speak to made- 
 moiselle when she is good enough to notice you. But they 
 will not come when you call them. It is of no use," the 
 mother said in her complaining, peremptory voice. " They 
 are savages." 
 
 "They are dear little children, I think," said Constance, 
 looking up with friendly eyes. " And I am sure I have 
 something here in my bag that Tony would be glad to see, 
 if he would only come here for a moment." She held out 
 her hand, and the child crept shyly nearer, hiding his face in 
 his arm, and glancing at her furtively from behind the 
 shelter of each table-leg and chair, until at last he gained 
 courage to put his small brown fingers into hers. 
 
 And Jack looked on with an approving smile. 
 
 They were dirty little beggars, those children ; and as 
 for the girl, Mr. Stuart had never seen such a terrible squint 
 in his life. But then it always looked well to see a woman 
 take" to a child any child. It was the proper feminine 
 thing to do. And if there was a thing which Mr. Stuart 
 abhorred " As for myself I quite dislike children, 
 I assure you," said Constance, looking calmly up. " I have 
 two little half-brothers of my own, you know, and I find 
 them very disagreeable in a general way. Of course that 
 does not prevent one's being kind to the poor little wretches 
 when one has a chance ; but still " 
 
 " I wish you would not say such things about yourself. 
 With me, of course, it is different; but if anybody else
 
 "PARTANT POUR LA SYRIE." 13 
 
 should hear you make such a speech I should not like 
 it at all," said Jack, very decidedly. 
 
 And so the afternoon wore on. As the hours passed 
 the day grew darker, there were even a few drops of rain, 
 and then the wind rising once more and tearing the low- 
 lying mists asunder a brilliant burst of sunshine, which 
 turned to reddish gold the shining rosy breasts of a flock 
 of pink flamingoes rising from out the marsh. It was the 
 last bit of colour in the day. An hour later a violent storm 
 of rain and wind was blotting out the uncertain outline of 
 the town. Even before they left the steamer they could 
 already hear that dull booming sound of the surf upon 
 the shore, which in after days became a part of all their 
 impressions of Port Said. 
 
 The ladies were both tired that night, Miss Varley 
 especially so, and shortly after dinner they had gone to 
 their rooms. But an hour or so later, passing along the 
 corridor, Mr. Stuart came suddenly upon a lighted candle 
 flaring wildly in the draught, and heard a voice inviting him 
 to come outside upon the terrace and listen to the waves. 
 
 The rain had ceased. A fresh wet wind was blowing 
 steadily, strongly in, bringing with it the chill salty smell, 
 the monotonous roar of the turbulent seething sea. 
 
 " We shall have a rough passage to-morrow," the young 
 man said, looking up at the inky blackness of the sky. 
 
 Miss Varley did not answer. She was crouching against 
 the balustrade, wrapped in some thick white cloak. Her 
 hair was blown back from her face, her cheeks were pale, 
 her eyelids heavy, with the fierce caresses of the wind. As 
 they entered the lighted hall again Mr. Stuart was struck by 
 the singular abstracted look of her lips and eyes. 
 
 "There is not a star to be seen," she said absently, 
 glancing up as he closed and bolted the door. " Ever 
 since you joined us do you know this is the third suc- 
 cessive night there has not been a star ? I hope it is not 
 an evil omen."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SHOWING HOW THEY WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 AND perhaps Miss Varley was right. Perhaps there was 
 some occult influence at work. It certainly looked like 
 it the morning they came in sight of Jaffa---a still gray 
 morning, broken by brief sharp intervals of pattering rain. 
 A morning made even more monotonous by the slow 
 regular grinding of the waves against the beach ; made 
 even more disconsolate by the captain's hesitation as to 
 whether they could even get ashore. 
 
 For the harbour of Jaffa is a mere convention an 
 accident of wind and tide. A long scattered reef of rock, 
 the debris of the ancient city, reaches across from side to 
 side, broken only by two narrow clefts through which it is 
 just possible for boats to pass; while all about, a line of 
 leaping water, a cloud of high-tossed spray, flashes and 
 breaks beneath the overhanging town. For Jaffa is a city 
 set upon a hill, a storm-bound, sea-girt city, blanched, and 
 worn, and beaten by the wind ; the oldest city in the world, 
 gray, heaped, defiant, setting its steadfast face against the 
 sea. 
 
 And clinging to its steps, thronging its dark and tortuous 
 lanes, what strange, what multicoloured life is there ! Now 
 elbowed off the slippery stepping-stones by some wild 
 Russian pilgrim, his worldly goods slung in a cumbrous 
 roll across his back ; now crushed against some contem- 
 plative Turk smoking in his doorway by that long string of 
 heavy-laden camels, advancing with the calm consciousness 
 of size ; again, compelled to wade through a pool of water 
 to avoid this row of pushing, imperturbable donkeys ;
 
 HO W THEY WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE. 15 
 
 knocked about by the natives, shoved aside by every porter, 
 apostrophised in every Eastern tongue, splashed, muddied 
 to the eyes : 
 
 " Did not someone write a book on the ' Pleasures of 
 Eastern Travel ?' " asked Mrs. Thayer resignedly, as they 
 passed out from under the last crumbling and grass-fringed 
 archway. 
 
 A long wide common in the condition of a ploughed 
 field after an inundation made picturesque with domes of 
 snowy canvas, made dreary with mournful lines of Cook 
 tourists, each seated in his own mud puddle at the door 
 of his own tent and they had reached a lovely country 
 lane winding up the side of a hill between two gray-green 
 rows of prickly-pear. The noise and jar of the city fell 
 away from them as in a dream ; the sky was all blue and 
 tremulous after the rain ; a weak soft wind came wandering 
 across the fields, bringing with it the sweet breath of a 
 world in flower ; and, for the first time, Miss Varley realised 
 that this was springtime and springtime in Syria. 
 
 And, as the hours passed, this impression only deepened. 
 It was yet early in the afternoon as they rode out of the Jeru- 
 salem Gate. A delicate and evanescent sunshine flickered 
 and played about the day. The birds were singing in every 
 hedgerow, a warm and fitful wind dashed in their faces as 
 they cantered on. Looking for miles and miles away, there 
 was no tree, no house, no village to be seen. Only the 
 silence of satisfaction brooded above these flower-crested 
 fields, across whose billowy sweep the lavish spring broke 
 in a sea of life, of colour, and of bloom. 
 
 And they rode on and on. The sun sank lower on the 
 horizon, the pale sky whitened, grew more ethereal in the 
 east ; the pallid cacti crowded once more along the narrow- 
 ing path, until, at last, lifting from out the gray and gleaming 
 shadow of an olive-grove, they saw the tower of Ramleh 
 reddening in the sun. 
 
 Now, having once asserted that Mrs. Thayer, though a 
 small, was yet a perfect example of the typical American 
 woman, it is perhaps superfluous to add that Mrs. Thayer 
 was always tired. Indeed, a sensation of lively fatigue 
 might be said to represent her normal experience of life. 
 "I am afraid I have been tiring you. Won't you sit down
 
 1 6 MIRAGE. 
 
 and rest a moment, Fanny?" the Major was reported as 
 having said to her one evening at a ball. It was in the 
 early days of their engagement, and Miss Fanny smiled 
 rapturously at him in return. " Oh, thanks. But it isn't 
 of any consequence really. I have been tired ever since 
 I was ten years old, you see," she explained, complacently. 
 And a longer acquaintance had only induced her husband 
 to accept the statement as a fact. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer was one of those women whom it is very 
 safe to praise. As a girl, Miss Morgan had been a general 
 favourite ; as a married woman, Mrs. Thayer was universally 
 popular. From her cradle to her marriage the same exhi- 
 bition of pretty smiling indifference had won her the same 
 tribute and applause. The same quality of tact had obtained 
 an identical result. From the days of lollipops to those of 
 lovers, Fanny Thayer had never offended a single human 
 being her very success was veiled, and quiet, and endurable. 
 
 She was a little woman with many principles, absolutely 
 no passions, and very little digestion. A charmingly pretty 
 little woman, with a placid, affectionate disposition. She 
 was good-natured, clear-voiced, scrupulously truthful in 
 words, devoted to the Anglican Church, to novel reading, 
 to old silver, and to Major Thayer. She was both well- 
 informed and intelligent, making it a rule to read every new 
 book praised either in the Nation or the Atlantic Monthly. 
 She believed in " culture," but was also anxious to possess a 
 "liberal mind," for which purpose she eschewed modern 
 furniture, affected gowns of a peculiar make, and read 
 Matthew Arnold whom as a poet she secretly considered 
 to be far below Coventry Patmore and she was not in- 
 capable of literary self-denial. When it became a social 
 duty in Boston, she was among the first to read and 
 " analyse " the works of Turgeneff. But the novels in which 
 her very soul delighted were those of " Ouida." 
 
 In age, she was about seven or eight and twenty in 
 appearance, some four or five years younger a delicate, 
 thin little woman, with small regular features, very red lips, 
 and an appealing infantine smile. Her favourite amuse- 
 ment the one which called for all her skill and tact and 
 power of pleasing, the one containing too a strong delicious 
 thrill of vicarious excitement was matchmaking. I have
 
 HOW THEY WE NT. UP TO THE TEMPLE. 17 
 
 already stated that Miss Varley was her favourite friend. It 
 is even possible that these last two considerations had had 
 their share in suggesting this Syrian journey. Certainly any 
 other solution of Mrs. Thayer's sudden fancy for Eastern 
 research seemed an inadequate motive, viewed in the light 
 of her injured incredulity when brought face to face with 
 the ruined arches, the silent courts of Ramleh. 
 
 " A tower ? Another tower to climb when I have been 
 riding absolutely riding for hours ! Oh Tom, this is 
 really not considerate!" 
 
 " Poor Fanny ! But you are right Climbing was 
 distinctly not in the bond," said Constance gaily. 
 
 "Ifs a bore, of course. Seeing places is always a 
 nuisance. But I think you will find it rather mortifying 
 later on if you have not done it, Fanny. Why, even Cook's 
 tourists do Ramleh, you know," suggested Mr. Stuart. 
 
 " Very fine look-out by top, lady. Him not high tower," 
 added the ubiquitous Hassan. 
 
 But Mrs. Thayer only shook her head with a mild 
 obstinacy peculiarly her own. It was really a matter of 
 duty, she remarked gently it was her duty to abstain from 
 all superfluous exertion. It was of course difficult for people 
 in robust health, like Constance, for instance, to appreciate 
 the effort she had been making all day. It was the most 
 natural thing in the world that Tom 
 
 " Poor little woman ! But indeed I was afraid all along 
 it would be too much for you," Tom interrupted her, with 
 great contrition. 
 
 And then there was a general consultation, which ended 
 in Mrs. Thayer being put in her saddle once more, while 
 her husband walked along by her side. She would not hear 
 of the others following. It would be really too bad if they 
 all had to miss the view merely on her account. Mr. Stuart 
 would certainly not object to taking care of Constance ? 
 Mr. Stuart professed himself delighted. 
 
 They went up. The latest shadows of late afternoon 
 were creeping across the plain, but the far-off line of sea 
 was still shining in the sun, and a pale golden light floated 
 above the orange gardens of Jaffa. They leaned out over 
 the crumbling parapet together. From far below rose up 
 the clear shrill laughter of some children playing among the
 
 1 8 MIRAGE. 
 
 tombs. Two large brown birds started from their nest half- 
 way down the tower, and sailed slowly past without a motion 
 of their wings. Constance leaned farther out, and watched 
 them lose themselves in that wide sea of space. She made 
 a pretty picture standing there her face all rosy with plea- 
 sure and exercise, and in her eyes, and on her lips, a smile. 
 The gray old stones behind her brought out in strong relief 
 the delicate blonde colouring of her face and hair. The 
 tightly-fitting habit did perfect justice to each graceful supple 
 pose of the rounded figure. Mr. Stuart looked at her with 
 simple admiration. Nothing half so charming, the young 
 man thought, had ever come into his way before. 
 
 And perhaps this conviction may have become some- 
 what too apparent in the fixity and eagerness of his glance. 
 It is certain that, before many moments had passed, some 
 slight self-consciousness crept into Miss Varley's attitude. 
 The colour deepened a little in her cheeks ; an almost im- 
 perceptible rigidity tightened the muscles of her mouth ; 
 there was a certain embarrassment in the fluttering move- 
 ment of the hands that trifled with her whip. 
 
 " I think this tower is charming. I delight in towers," 
 she said abruptly. "There is something glorious in this 
 sense of height, of being lifted above the world out of life, 
 as it were. It makes all little things seem so petty. I 
 don't wonder Saint Simon Stylites was canonised. I believe 
 that living alone and on 'an elevation would even make a 
 saint of me." 
 
 " You don't get dizzy then ?" said Jack, conversationally. 
 "Some people do, you know. There was a man in my 
 class at Harvard ; that is, he would have been in my class, 
 only old Davies the mathematical examiner I was telling 
 you about, you know he conditioned him when he came 
 up for his last go at it ; gave him another year, in fact, which 
 was a great shame when you consider 
 
 " The moon ! Mr. Stuart, I see the moon. ' Sun, 
 stand thou still upon Gibeon ; and thou, Moon, in the 
 Valley of Ajalon.' Don't you remember ? And there it is." 
 She lifted up her hand and pointed to a pale vaporous disk, 
 the mere ghost of a moon, hanging far off above the darkling 
 hills. " How wonderful how wonderful it is !" 
 
 " Someone told me a good conundrum about that the
 
 HOW THEY WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE. 19 
 
 other day. Wish I could remember it. Something about 
 
 Joshua. ' Why was the prophet Joshua a ' No ; that 
 
 isn't it. ' When was the moon ' " 
 
 Miss Varley started, and looked up apologetically. It 
 was very stupid of her, but she had dropped her whip, her 
 favourite whip. Had they not better go down and look for 
 it ? she suggested innocently. 
 
 To reach camp they passed through the Turkish grave- 
 yard. The last glow of the sunset was reddening all the 
 quaint and narrow stones ; a mass of flaunting anemones 
 covered each grave, the blood-red colour bursting like 
 flames from out each crevice in the wall ; and a troop of 
 Syrian children were pursuing each other, with cries of wild, 
 shrill joy, along the path. But, as these two young people 
 rode on, the sun sank suddenly below the horizon ; a sharp 
 chill ran like a shiver through the air ; and from between 
 the swaying cypress-trees there came a group of women, 
 white-robed, and veiled, and silent as the dead. It was a 
 wonderful bit of effect the wilderness of wan, gray stones, 
 the sudden silence, the spectral, shrouded figures among 
 those funereal trees. It was an accident, of course. A 
 mere suggestion. Something which made Constance re- 
 member the far-off mystery of that shadowy moon. And 
 still the women stood there motionless ; their long loose 
 garments waving in the rising wind " quite like a trans- 
 formation-scene in a first-class London pantomime," Mr. 
 Stuart suggested cheerfully. 
 
 But Mrs. Thayer looked anxiously into her friend's face, 
 as they cantered up to the door of the largest tent a moment 
 later. " Surely you haven't been quarrelling with Jack, dear 
 child ? " she asked, with genuine concern. 
 
 " What an idea!" 
 
 " Well, I don't know," doubtfully ; " I thought you were 
 looking rather vexed." 
 
 " It would be difficult to be vexed with Mr. Stuart," the 
 girl answered dryly. " Mr. Stuart -was most amiable, 
 certainly. He saw something which reminded him of a 
 conjuring effect. He has been telling me all about it 
 about Maskelyne and Cooke their principal tricks, you 
 know, ever since we left Ramleh." And then, in answer to 
 the puzzled look which still cast its shade upon Mrs. Thayer's 
 
 C 2
 
 20 MIRAGE. 
 
 countenance : '* You dear little goose," she said lightly, resting 
 her hands upon Fanny's shoulders and looking affectionately 
 into her face, " why don't you cultivate a little Eastern 
 hospitality instead of standing there and criticising me? 
 Or is this intended for a base modern imitation of Abraham 
 entertaining the angel in the doorway of his tent ?" 
 
 They went in. These Syrian tents are luxurious resting- 
 places in their way. " It reminds me of a painted tomb, 
 don't you know. One of those Theban tombs, I mean," 
 said Major Thayer, looking around at the brilliant and 
 fantastic red, and blue, and white, and yellow decorations 
 of its canvas walls. " I think it simply enchanting," said 
 Fanny, enthusiastically, from the depths of the easiest chair. 
 " So picturesque ! give me that footstool, Jack so gipsy- 
 like and the cushion. Thanks. I never could understand 
 why soldiers make such a fuss about roughing it. I suppose 
 they can't help it though, being men." " Him very good 
 when him dry, lady," suggested Paolo, darkly. But it was 
 only the waiter speaking. The prophetic murmur passed 
 unheard. 
 
 The next morning the sun was still low in the east as 
 Constance threw open the curtains of her tent. Before her 
 lay a white and shining world, all glistening with dew. 
 Early as it was, the camp was already in movement ; a thin 
 blue smoke curled up from between the olive-trees, a group 
 of muleteers were taking their coffee before the fire. As she 
 crossed the field towards the picketed horses, a weird chorus 
 of welcome rose from beside the road, a sound which made 
 her start and drop her flowers, and then walk hastily back to 
 the shelter of the tents. For she had come upon a ghastly 
 sight, a circle of Syrian lepers hanging about the outskirts 
 of the camp, pale, crippled shapes, whose hollow cries for 
 alms rang like a mockery through the clean new gladness of 
 the day. 
 
 " Poor things ! I am not quite sure if it is right to pity 
 them, though. Being in the Bible, and all that, makes such 
 a difference. And anything so exceptionally horrible must 
 be accepted as the manifest working of Providence, of 
 course," Fanny remarked, looking mournfully about the 
 breakfast-table as she spoke. 
 
 " As though Providence "
 
 HOW THEY WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE. 21 
 
 " Now don't, Tom ; don't, there's a dear ! Don't be pro- 
 fane. It is such mauvais genre. And when you think we 
 shall see Jerusalem to-day ! Why it's like a pilgrimage, 
 something Oh that milk ! Constance, look at that milk, 
 will you? And after all that I've said. Really, Tom, I 
 wish you would speak to Hassan yourself about it. There 
 are some things in life that can't be borne, you know," said 
 Mrs. Thayer. 
 
 The day was cloudless. The lines of the hills were soft; 
 they seemed to lead the soul away into a dream of peace. 
 This Syrian scenery moves one with a strange emotion. Is 
 it religion ? is it the lingering superstition of childhood 
 the faint persuasive vision of far-off days? For the one 
 supreme goodness of the world's history has left a crowning 
 grace on field and sky ; the peace which passeth all under- 
 standing broods over these sunlit spaces ; there is the 
 shadow of a Presence among those far blue hills. It was 
 late in the afternoon before the travellers reached the level 
 road again. For hours the path had climbed higher and 
 higher through thin, pale olive-groves, past crumbling ruin 
 and wall, higher and higher among the pale and desolate 
 hills. And it was evening when they saw Jerusalem. Its 
 gray wall, its towers and domes, lay before them. They 
 had just made the last ascent of the road, and taken a last 
 turn, when, suddenly, the city of great renown small, gray, 
 impressive was there. Pilgrim and Crusader had been 
 here before them. For centuries that narrow road had been 
 pressed by hastening, weary feet; the eyes of countless 
 thousands had strained to see that spot; and with what 
 thoughts, with what deep reverence, what wonder, what 
 awe, begotten by no other city of this great world. Classic 
 Rome, marvellous Athens, radiant Paris, or mighty London 
 could they quicken and still the sense of all that is 
 momentous and unanswerable, like this gray Judean for- 
 tress, this old stronghold of religion, this shrine and this 
 tomb ? 
 
 They were a motley crowd of wayfarers upon the narrow 
 pass that day. Strange pilgrims, footsore and ardent; 
 strange pilgrims from the steppes of Russia, and from the 
 naked hills of Spain ; pilgrims from north and south, and 
 east and west spell-bound, and awe-struck, and dumb !
 
 22 MIRAGE. 
 
 And then, in the gray hush of that colourless twilight, 
 they all moved on together to where the best blood of the 
 great mediaeval ages has thronged ; to where the best 
 thought of all ages has turned ; to the gate whence came 
 forth the Jews and Gentiles who had known, heard, seen, 
 and crucified Jesus Christ.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A CASE OF PHOTOGRAPHS. 
 
 ONE day they rode to Bethany. The path wound about 
 the foot of the Mount of Olives, and then up a steep and 
 stony defile. As they rode on they looked down into valleys 
 and out across the rounded slopes of barren hills, all gray 
 with stones and dark with olive-trees, to where a line of 
 more luxuriant green followed the tortuous Jordan in its 
 course, and the Dead Sea water lay all blue and shining in 
 the light. It was a warm and windless afternoon, and the 
 gray old world seemed sleeping in the springtime sun. 
 Everything was full of an ineffable sense of repose, of peace, 
 and long unbroken silences. 
 
 Bethany itself is a small gray village, built of stone a 
 dozen houses walled about and made secure against the 
 Bedaween raids. At the sound of the clattering hoofs, a 
 troop of pretty ragged children came swarming out of every 
 hut an eager, laughing, light-footed band pushing about 
 the horses' feet, offering for sale wild masses of weeds 
 dragged from the nearest bank, crying, gesticulating, appeal- 
 ing : a sudden whirl of noise, and life, and colour. They 
 saw the house of Lazarus ; they clambered down a steep 
 and broken flight of stairs into the small dark opening of 
 the rock-hewn tomb ; they gathered wild-flowers by the 
 door ; they feed the guardian, they feed the children, they 
 feed some ancient women who were waiting on the road ; 
 and then they stood and looked at each other with that 
 blank, serious, somewhat embarrassed expression not un- 
 familiar to travellers upon consecrated ground. Nothing is 
 more perturbing than the absence of an unexpected 
 emotion.
 
 24 MIRAGE. 
 
 It was along the upper road that they returned to the 
 city. The stone-strewn fields were full of blossoming 
 almond-trees, a miracle of grace and colour among the 
 naked hills encompassing Jerusalem. There was even a 
 certain pathos in the mingling of this frail and exquisite 
 beauty with the bleak sternness of the landscape it was 
 like the tenderness of Christ crowning and transfiguring the 
 stern and rigid forms of the old Jewish faith. And as the 
 twilight fell about them, the rose-tinted bloom of the trees 
 seemed to deepen in colour, a faint pink flush glowed along 
 every rocky steep an effect inconceivably lovely as seen 
 against that background of gray sky, gray hills, and gray 
 and ghostly graves. For they had passed the Garden of 
 Gethsemane a small silent enclosure, made shadowy with 
 olive-trees, made sweet and bright with common cottage 
 flowers : the faint clinging smell of lavender, keen-scented 
 thyme, or rosemary could always bring that moment back to 
 Constance. They had left the garden behind them, and 
 had entered the shadow of the city walls, down in that 
 silent valley where the dead lie thick and close, a solemn 
 line of sentinels guarding the City of the Grave. And as 
 they checked their horses at the gate the last red colour 
 faded from the sky ; high overhead the pale new moon was 
 floating in a sea of silvery mist. 
 
 " And that was not a bad idea ; not a bad idea by any 
 means," remarked Mr. Stuart, approvingly, as he helped 
 Mrs. Thayer to dismount before the tents beyond the Jaffa 
 gate. 
 
 " You like Bethany, lady ? Very nice place. Some day 
 you go there, stay all day. Take your Bible and your lunch 
 with you, and make his picture," suggested Hassan, cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 " Oh, I shall certainly go there repeatedly. I think it is 
 quite the ideal distance for a ride," Mrs. Thayer concluded. 
 
 But in fact they never saw the place again. That night 
 the weather broke. The steady beating of the rain wakened 
 Constance more than once, and there was a certain fascina- 
 tion in the sound ; a singular exultation in listening to the 
 gusty wailing of the tempest held at bay beyond those 
 canvas walls. It was perhaps rather more singular than 
 agreeable seen by the dull gray light of morning. Mrs. Thayer
 
 A CASE OF PHOTOGRAPHS. 25 
 
 certainly found it so. By midday she had traversed every 
 shade of feeling comprised between an amiable resignation 
 to the inevitable, and a gentle but immovable determination 
 to avoid it. By one o'clock they had struck camp, and half 
 an hour later were safely under cover again but this time 
 at the Damascus Hotel. 
 
 It is a curious old house in its way. " A capital subject 
 to sketch. I should call it a 'Study for a Staircase,' myself," 
 the Major remarked. A quaint confusion of small stone 
 platforms and narrow stairs, where each room opens out 
 upon a different plane, and the safe crossing of the various 
 terraces becomes a cause for congratulation in wet weather ; 
 but it was a comfortable old place as well, and one which 
 Mrs. Thayer showed but little inclination to abandon. 
 
 " For if I never can take the slightest interest in anything 
 unless I am both warm and dry, and if the stones hurt my 
 feet, and the camels tread upon me well, look as though 
 they were going to tread upon me, then and if I hate Jews, 
 what is the use of my going out in this weather, Tom dear ? 
 And then you and Constance always see so much more 
 than I do. It's really a waste of energy for me to go 
 myself." 
 
 "faime mieux le croire que d'y aller voir. But unless 
 you are careful you will see Jerusalem with the eye of faith 
 and with that eye alone," Miss Varley answered her on 
 one occasion. 
 
 " I like that, when I am the only one, positively the only 
 one of you, who keeps a journal ! But you can't expect me 
 to see things and write about them too, and I have filled in 
 everything up to yesterday, Constance. Suppose you tell 
 me what you have seen to-day ? To reward you, I will make 
 you a cup of tea. You must be half-frozen, poor child ! I 
 declare it makes me shiver even to look out at such weather." 
 
 " Oh, it is not raining now. Tom says the weather is 
 clearing up. The clouds are blowing all away to seaward," 
 said Miss Varley, carelessly, walking over to the window as 
 she spoke. " But, oh Fanny, you ought to have seen the 
 sunset from the roof of the Armenian Convent ! We have 
 been up there for the last hour or more, exploring ; going 
 into chapels, and out upon terraces, and under archways, 
 and across wide empty courts a place as confused as a
 
 26 MIRAGE. 
 
 dream. When we had lost ourselves for the third or fourth 
 time we climbed a last staircase, and came suddenly out 
 upon a crowd of Greek pilgrims, women and girls, all dressed 
 in white, with beautiful, sad faces such faces, Fanny ! and 
 still, dark eyes. There must have been a hundred of them 
 at least, sitting in groups along the parapet, waiting for some 
 service to begin ; and behind them such a sunset a great 
 
 shining sky of gold ! It was like " She hesitated. " It 
 
 was like my child-idea of heaven, I think." 
 
 " Ah yes." 
 
 Mrs. Thayer poked the fire, drew her furs closer about 
 her, and leaned more luxuriously back in her chair. " Well, 
 go on ; and before that?" 
 
 " Oh, we had merely been wandering about, looking for 
 a walk. Down the Via Dolorosa, by the house of Pilate, 
 through the bazaars. You know how I delight in these old 
 streets. Somehow it seems a perfect revelation to me that 
 Jerusalem should be picturesque. And we have been in 
 wonderful places sombre and arched and vaulted passages; 
 ways where the light cut through the shadows like " 
 
 " Like the pavement through one's boots?" 
 
 " Well admitted ! " laughing ; " but then I console 
 myself for that by looking on these stones as on the very 
 ' rocks of offence for a gin and for a snare to the inhabitants 
 of Jerusalem.' But never mind that. After awhile we 
 found ourselves in that sunken courtyard before the Church 
 of the Holy Sepulchre. It was late, and the place was 
 almost empty ; no image-sellers ; not more than a dozen 
 bead-merchants ; not even a " 
 
 " Then Tom did not get my rosary, after all ?" 
 
 " Tom was not there." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I thought you said you both ' 
 
 " I meant Mr. Stuart and myself," said Constance. 
 
 "Ah yes. I see." 
 
 A pause. 
 
 " And was it with Tom or with Jack that you went to 
 your heavenly convent then?" 
 
 " With Mr. Stuart. Why?" 
 
 "Oh nothing. I merely ask for information's sake, 
 you know." 
 
 Miss Varley was silent for a moment. When she next
 
 A CASE OF PHOTOGRAPHS. 1 7 
 
 spoke it was with a somewhat quickened voice, with some- 
 what heightened colour on her cheek. "As far as that goes, 
 Mr. Stuart and I have been alone nearly all the afternoon. 
 Tom left us at the first bazaar. I had not the slightest idea 
 
 that you would mind our going on without him, and so 
 
 Why, Fanny, it was for you for your crosses that Tom 
 went. He said you told him " 
 
 Mrs. Thayer smiled a peculiar smile. " Well ! It is 
 of no great consequence, fortunately. There is really no 
 one we need care for here ; and, at the very worst, they 
 
 could only mistake you and Jack for " She checked 
 
 herself with a suggestive laugh. "Well, and afterwards? 
 For you really have told me nothing for the journal yet." 
 
 " But Mr. Stuart " 
 
 " I positively can't put him in again ; nor the weather. 
 Tom insisted last night my journal read like a meteoro- 
 logical report of Jack's proceedings already," said Fanny, 
 plaintively. And Miss Varley went on with her story. It 
 had been late in the day when the two had wandered into 
 the church. Coming out of the cheerless afternoon into 
 that close, warm, silent darkness, they had groped their way 
 along lured by the sound of distant music until they 
 reached the Russian portion of the edifice. Some brilliant 
 and peculiar service was being performed. From three to 
 four hundred pilgrims knelt upon the ground, each with a 
 lighted taper in his hand ; incense was pulsing out in clouds 
 of pale blue smoke ; the sound of music poured from out 
 the chapel-door ; the myriad candles rose and fell in flicker- 
 ing lines of flame, as their bearers stood or knelt to the 
 mournful chanting of the priests. It was a wonderful, 
 magical effect. 
 
 Standing aside, and in the shadow, Constance watched 
 the crowd stream down the chapel-steps a long procession 
 of figures men, women, children, clad in strange garments, 
 in cumbrous furs, all speaking of the North. And in each 
 hand there was a sacred light ; and on each face there shone 
 a wild and fervent faith. 
 
 " They were peasant-faces," she said ; " dull faces, 
 deadened by poverty, grown old and hard in dreary accept- 
 ance of privation and pain. But, as we stood there, I 
 thought of what that moment was to them ; I thought of the
 
 28 MIRAGE. 
 
 place this pilgrimage would hold in their memory the one 
 poem, the one emotion, the supreme flowering of all those 
 barren years of toil ; I looked at the uncouth, misshapen 
 feet, at the poor rough hands deformed by daily drudgery ; 
 I thought of all the steps that had been taken, of all the 
 weary days and nights those men had wandered on poor 
 human things, ignorant, superstitious, despised thousands 
 upon thousands of them crossing the bitter steppes of 
 Russia, the swollen rivers, the dreaded unfamiliar sea ; 
 giving up country, home, life even, to stand upon the spot 
 where One has stood to whom all men were equal, all 
 sorrow was sacred, all suffering was familiar. They were 
 only a handful of Russian peasants ; but, Fanny, I looked 
 at them, and I thought of the way in which we entered 
 Jerusalem, and it made me oh, it made me ashamed to be 
 alive !" 
 
 She had risen and gone to the window again a tall slim 
 figure, seen against the twilight gray the light lingering a 
 little upon her clasped white hands, upon the pure and 
 earnest face. There was a moment's silence in the room, 
 and then Mrs. Thayer moved uneasily, and coughed a little 
 dry cough, and spoke. 
 
 " I think we ought to be upon our guard against being 
 too much taken by these foreign ceremonies, Constance. 
 You know what dear old Dr. Adams used to say : 'If the 
 Catholic Church could only be clearly separated 
 
 " It is not that ! It is not Oh Fanny, can't you 
 
 understand ? It is not that they are Catholics or Greeks ; 
 it is not that they belong to any one church ; it is the faith 
 the belief the spirit of it all ! Some of them have been 
 a year upon the way. Think of what that means a year. 
 And they are coming always thousands of them. Coming 
 from north and south ; people of different race, of different 
 nature, of different life ; and all coming here, and all moved 
 by one common impulse of adoration, by one common 
 sorrow, by one great common need of hope, and pity, and 
 love." 
 
 She crossed the room quickly, and knelt down beside 
 Fanny's chair. " It is like finding a new horizon. It makes 
 all life seem larger one's own life smaller," she said. 
 
 But Mrs. Thayer only looked at her with gentle wonder.
 
 A CASE OF PHOTOGRAPHS. 29 
 
 " I don't think I care particularly about discussing such 
 subjects myself. I always think they have all been settled 
 for us by people who knew much more about it than we 
 possibly can," she said, with all the mild conviction of a 
 woman who never missed attending church except in the 
 severest weather, and wore " appropriate " bonnets in Lent. 
 And then, after a moment's pause : " Jack is quite right. I 
 never saw anyone look so well in a heavy cloak as you do, 
 Constance. I think it suits your figure, you know," she 
 added cheerfully. 
 
 But Constance did not answer. The last gleam faded 
 from off the gray old city at her feet ; here and there some 
 jewel-like spot of flame began to shine through the gray 
 monotony of twilight ; it was all so still that she could even 
 hear the slow dropping of the rain from off the eaves. The 
 gray clouds drifted slowly to the sea, she pressed her fore- 
 head wearily against the window-pane, and her thoughts 
 followed them out with a familiar longing a new and 
 passionate regret. 
 
 Conversation at table d'hote that night went on very 
 much in the usual way. 
 
 " Cook tourists ? oh dear me, no ! Only fancy, Maggie, 
 this gentleman thought we belonged to Cook ?" said a thin, 
 dark-haired, and vivacious young lady of some five-and-thirty 
 years to a stolid English maiden sitting by her side. And 
 the young person addressed as Maggie looked up with a 
 fine disdain. " We are travelling under the escort of 
 Mr. Gaze. We are a select party. And Gaze is very 
 genteel," she remarked calmly. 
 
 "Ah, I see. It must be very pleasant to be select," 
 said Major Thayer, gently. " I am afraid I should find it 
 rather trying myself, particularly with my plebeian tastes, 
 for / delight in Cook. I envy all the ' personally-conducted ' 
 people I meet. And I found a prophecy about them the 
 other day it is in Isaiah : ' For the multitude of thy 
 strangers shall be like small dust, and the multitude of 
 terrible ones shall be as chaff that passeth away.' Rather 
 neat, I thought, considering." 
 
 " My dear Tom ! " from Mrs. Thayer, in parenthesis. 
 
 And at that, old Mr. McMoon the same elderly, 
 smoke-dried, gray-haired Scotchman whom they had met
 
 30 MIRAGE. 
 
 at Jaffa: the man Miss Varley had nicknamed ".Lunar 
 Caustic " old Mr. McMooa then, looked up with some- 
 thing of a twinkle in his dull gray eyes. " You have no 
 heard my story yet, I'm thinking," he said, speaking with 
 great deliberation. "I was a Cookite myself in the 
 beginning we have all been monkeys once, you know 
 . but I left them at the second camp. ' Will ye no come and 
 join us at our friendly chants this evening, Mr. McMoon?' 
 says the head man to me. ' It is our custom here to praise 
 the Lord with pipe and tabor as we move along towards 
 Zion,' says he. 'As we go where?' says I. 'Towards 
 Zion; towards the Heavenly City,' says he, getting rather 
 red in the face. ' Very sorry, but I'm afraid there has been 
 some mistake. I'll complain about it at the office when I 
 get back, for I see my ticket has only been made out for 
 this world,' I said. And the next morning I left them." 
 
 Mrs. Thayer and Constance exchanged glances. " You 
 don't really expect us to believe that ?" said Miss Varley, 
 laughing. 
 
 " It's a fact, my dear madam, I do assure you. And 
 there was another young fellow there a harmless, feckless 
 sort of laddie who went abont in hunting trim ; so they 
 gave him the pick of the horses when we left Jaffa. ' And 
 why don't you come on and try a wee bit canter, then ?' 
 I asked him when we had been riding for a mile or two. 
 ' Oh Mr. McMoon,' said he, < someone has been meddling 
 with my boots, and I've lost one spur, and I don't like to 
 touch him up with the other,' said he. ' Why, man alive,' 
 said I, ' just you make one side of your horse canter and 
 never fash yourself but the other side will follow fast' 
 enough,' I told him." 
 
 " I saw you at the Holy Sepulchre to-day," said the 
 young curate opposite, leaning forward rather suddenly, 
 and speaking across the table with an elaborate air of not 
 hearing this last anecdote. " I saw you at the Holy 
 Sepulchre this afternoon, with your brother." 
 
 Mrs. Thayer looked up from her plate and smiled. 
 
 " I yes, I was there," said Constance, shortly. 
 
 " I think I overheard your brother asking for the 
 exact " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but Mr. Stuart is not my brother."
 
 A CASE OF PHOTOGRAPHS. 31 
 
 " Oh, ah, really ! I beg your pardon I'm sure, but I 
 thought I did not know and seeing you always together 
 I imagined " 
 
 " Have you decided whether we start to-morrow, Fanny?" 
 said Miss Varley, speaking in a very clear and incisive way. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer smiled again and looked down. " I no, 
 really, I don't know," she answered very gently. " Perhaps 
 don't you think you had better ask Mr. Stuart?" 
 
 And then after dinner they all go back again to the 
 Thayers' rooms, high up among the gray and crowded roofs. 
 A lamp is already burning on the table when they enter. 
 There is a heaped-up fire in the open grate. Fanny is 
 always a chilly little soul ; she crosses straight over to the 
 fireplace now, and nestles down beside it, holding up her 
 small, thin, white hands to screen her face. " Your cigarettes 
 are on the mantelpiece behind you, Tom," says Constance, 
 turning round with a lighted candle in each hand. An 
 ample supply of light is a requisite of happiness for Miss 
 
 Varley. " And I By Jove ! if we start off to-morrow, 
 
 I must write to the governor to-night," says Jack with a 
 smothered groan. 
 
 Four years ago Mr. Stuart, having in some mysterious 
 fashion successfully fulfilled the inscrutable requirements of 
 a university examination, delighted his family and surprised 
 himself by acquiring the undisputed right of attaching the 
 letters B.A. as an honourable distinction, a qualifying and 
 classifying appendix, to his name. And this, after some 
 thirty minutes of laborious silence, is the letter he entreats 
 Miss Varley to read : 
 
 "Damascus Hotel, Jerusalem, 
 
 March 25, 187. 
 "Mv DEAR FATHER, 
 
 "Yours of the 27th ult. came safely to hand, at 
 Cairo. Thanks for your offer of increasing the sum. For 
 the present I have more than enough, but will draw upon 
 you at Damascus, as you suggest, should I find my expenses 
 increasing. We reached Jerusalem safely last Monday week, 
 and have been seeing sights ever since. I called on old 
 Mr. Thurlow and gave him your letter, but the son is away 
 at present, and the matter will have to wait over until his 
 return. This will explain to you "
 
 32 MIRAGE. 
 
 "Oh, all that is nothing. Go on; that part is only 
 business," said Jack. 
 
 " explain to you any delay which may arise. Tell 
 
 mother Jerusalem is a larger place than she would expect to 
 find. And, by-the-way, exchange is lower here than at 
 Beyrout. It stands on the summit of a broad irregular 
 mountain range. It has a very dreary and desolate aspect. 
 White rocks project on every side from the scanty soil, 
 except where there is a fountain, or a dusky olive rears up 
 its round top and casts its dark shadow on the ground. The 
 city is very badly built, and the pavement beastly. How 
 sad is the contrast between former glory and present misery. 
 Clusters of tottering houses, in bad repair, and filthy lanes 
 occupy the building site of Solomon's gilded halls and 
 Herod's marble " 
 
 " You don't think it sounds a little, just a little, as 
 though you had been reading ' Murray,' Mr. Stuart?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't think the governor objects to ' Murray,'" 
 says Jack, with perfect seriousness. 
 
 " and Herod's marble courts. Yesterday we went to 
 
 see the wailing of the Jews. It was very amusing. We also 
 visited the Mosque of Omar." 
 
 " The Mosque of Omar. There. That is what stopped 
 me. I thought you might give me an idea or two about it. 
 Just enough to fill up this half-page, you know," says Jack. 
 
 Now, among all the wonderful and suggestive sights in 
 this most wonderful and suggestive of cities, surely that very 
 Mosque of Calif Omar is the crown. Those outer walls, 
 covered with Persian tiles, cream-white and blue ; that thick 
 and bursting tracery of bud and leaf and blossom, which 
 binds the pale-gray dome; the broad flagged walks; the 
 wide, green, flower-sweet stillness of the place, beneath the 
 swaying cypress-trees I question if Miss Varley had for- 
 gotten a single detail of all that proud and joyous pageant. 
 But the magic of beauty lies within. For every window is 
 sombre, yet luminous and glowing a mass of crushed 
 jewels, through which the sunlight 'filters to the floor. And
 
 A CASE OF PHOTOGRAPHS. 33 
 
 all about that dome resplendent with gold and green and 
 blue, deep as the inner petal of an iris-flower, clear as the 
 transparent depth, the pale-green light of a wave, and coil- 
 ing, serpent-wise, about the arch there runs a tracery of 
 mysterious characters, a strange and splendid writing on the 
 wall. And underneath this lies a barren hill-top, a naked 
 mountain summit the Holy Place made sacred to another 
 race of men. 
 
 "About the Mosque of Omar? No. I'm afraid I 
 cannot think of anything suitable," Miss Varley answers 
 slowly. 
 
 There is a folding case of photographs lying face down- 
 wards on the table, and as the girl speaks she turns it over 
 mechanically, then looks long and earnestly at the faces it 
 contains. It is only another version of the same family 
 circle you will find in the first collection of portraits which 
 chances to come your way. There is nothing particularly 
 new or striking in any of the personalities which it suggests, 
 and yet Miss Varley looks attentively at them all at the 
 elderly lady in black, with the firm- set mouth ("That's an 
 awful thing of mother, but fair people always photograph 
 badly, you know.") at the pretty girl with the elaborate 
 coiffure dating some two years back; at the banker's shrewd 
 and handsome features, so oddly reproduced in such quaint 
 miniature in the half-grown boy by his side. " That is not 
 bad of little Jim," says Fanny, carelessly, coming up and 
 looking over Miss Varley's shoulder ; " Jim looks like you, 
 I think." 
 
 " Oh, Jim has got the governor's nose, worse luck for 
 him," says Jack, complacently, with a half-glance at the 
 tarnished mirror which decorates the wall. 
 
 "Three or four photos and an empty place. I must 
 give you one of mine, Jack, to fill up. Or is that place re- 
 served for the future Mrs. Stuart ? " asked Fanny, looking up 
 with a smile. It is some few years now since the general 
 unaccountability of woman's actions has ceased to preoccupy 
 Major Thayer. And yet more than once that evening he 
 catches himself silently wondering what the deuce there was 
 in that remark to make Constance blush ?
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GOING TO JERICHO. 
 
 " BUT if you really want to know 
 
 " You know that I really do." 
 
 " And are perfectly sincere about it ? " 
 
 " Perfectly so." 
 
 " Well, in that case, I should advise you to oh, to ask 
 her the question yourself," said Mrs. Thayer, coolly, looking 
 up in her companion's face with a provoking little laugh. 
 
 It was two hours or more since they had left Jerusalem. 
 It had been early morning still as they sallied forth from the. 
 city-gate, a long confused line of gaily-caparisoned horses, 
 and stolid, baggage-laden mules ; the sun shining here and 
 there on the long matchlocks of the Arab escort, or on the 
 fluttering curtain of Fanny's palanquin and since then the 
 barren road had wound steadily, stonily down. The first fresh- 
 ness of the day died as they crossed the rosy cloud of blossoms 
 about Bethany. Since then the landscape had grown 
 strangely, monotonously arid a desolate mountain-side 
 gray stones, gray skies, and fields whose scanty covering 
 hardly veiled the rock, with here and there a patch of 
 burning red, where the crimson flame of the anemones cast 
 a glory about this pale and sterile land. It was two hours 
 or more since they had left Jerusalem. It was two hours or 
 more since Mr. Stuart had ridden on by the side of Fanny's 
 litter. And still he spoke of Constance. 
 
 " I don't pretend to know more about women than any 
 other man" (Mrs. Thayer smiled) "but a fellow can't 
 knock about the world as long as I have without finding out 
 a thing or two for himself; and I can assure you, Constance
 
 GOING TO JERICHO. 35 
 
 is by no means like any other girl," the young man went on 
 with simple earnestness, quite unmindful of the look of 
 suppressed amusement shining in his listener's clear brown 
 eyes. " I don't think I ever saw anyone like her before; so 
 proud, so independent, so wilful, and then so gentle with it 
 all. And she is so full of fun, and so clever, and bright ; 
 and then, all at once while you are talking to her, perhaps 
 there will come a look into her face as though she had 
 forgotten all about you, as though she did not even hear 
 your voice, or as if she were listening to some other voices 
 calling her from far off; and that wiil be, perhaps, just when 
 you are trying to be most pleasant, and then, just as you 
 have decided, she has the saddest face you ever saw in your 
 life why then she turns round and begins laughing at you 
 for being so grave, until until you think until, by Jove ! 
 you don't know what to think, you know." 
 
 " I am afraid the front mule has caught his foot through 
 one of those loose straps. I think he is going a little lame. 
 Would you mind making sure of it, Jack ? " said Mrs. Thayer 
 with perfect gravity. 
 
 " And then she is so kind, so careful of the people about 
 her. You do not know the trouble she takes, Fanny, but 
 I know it, for I have seen it. But if you should speak 
 to her about it that is quite another thing. It is an 
 accident, or you have been mistaken, or perhaps she will 
 only laugh at you for noticing it at all. Now there was 
 yesterday, for instance 
 
 " I wonder if it would be quite impossible to make them 
 step more together, Jack ? If you would only speak to Said 
 
 I am sure Thanks ! that is better so. And now, 
 
 you may go on with your anecdotes now, if you like," said 
 Mrs. Thayer, in a sleepy voice. 
 
 But Mr. Stuart was silent. "Don't be absurd now, 
 Jack," said Fanny carelessly, a moment later. 
 
 The road had taken a sudden turn to the left, one after 
 the other they could see the scattered horsemen gaining the 
 top of the opposite ravine. " Don't be absurd now, Jack. 
 This weather is really too hot to make it worth one's while 
 to get offended. And then you must remember this is not 
 exactly the first time I hear you indulging in a little harmless 
 sentiment. There was that Schuyler girl, for instance was 
 
 D 2
 
 36 MIRAGE. 
 
 it last winter, now, or was it only this spring I heard you 
 rave about " 
 
 " Oh, bother that Schuyler girl ! " said Mr. Stuart, 
 hotly. 
 
 " Ah, well, I never could see much in her myself, you 
 know. But then I don't believe in discussing other people's 
 tastes. It is generally safer not to discuss what you mean to 
 oppose," Mrs. Thayer rejoined calmly. " But as for this last 
 fancy of yours, I'll tell you what it is," cried Fanny in a 
 sudden, artless burst of confidence, " I'll tell you what it is, 
 Jack I'm going to give you a piece of excellent advice 
 don't try and get up a flirtation with Constance. For, in the 
 first place, you could not do it, you know ; and, in the next 
 
 place, I should not allow it ; and in the next Look 
 
 here, Jack. I am going to be perfectly frank with you. I 
 am not going to have Constance vexed or troubled, or her 
 pleasure spoiled by any such nonsense as that. And then, 
 on your own account, my dear boy " 
 
 " You are very good. But it does not strike you stand 
 still there, will you ! it does not strike you that all this 
 anxiety may be just a trifle premature? I don't presume to 
 say anything about Miss Varley, of course ; but as for myself, 
 I never found any very great difficulty in looking after my 
 own affairs hitherto, and and - that is a pretty bit of 
 view over there, Fanny, do you see ? " 
 
 "Very .pretty." 
 
 " Do you happen to know, have you the slightest idea 
 where Hassan intends to give us lunch to-day ? " 
 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 " I I Oh, confound it all ! I should like to know 
 
 what I have done that you should treat me so," the young 
 man burst out with sudden passion; "you who always called 
 yourself my friend ! If I am in a scrape I would like to know 
 who brought me here. And I did not no, I did not think 
 you would throw me over in this way just when I needed 
 your help the most," he said, with a curious break in his 
 voice, a curious look of trouble clouding his handsome sun- 
 burned face. 
 
 Have you ever tried to realise for yourself the feelings of 
 a small but active spider, towards yonder large and fatuous 
 bluebottle drawing nearer and nearer in ever-lessening
 
 GOING TO JERICHO. 37 
 
 circles to the puzzling, shining web the fine contempt, 
 the delightful thrill of anticipated triumph, the unhesitating 
 recognition of the beneficent intentions of nature, of the 
 great moral law so unmistakably expressed in the relative 
 positions of spider and fly ? I believe Mrs. Thayer under- 
 stood it all at that moment. It is true that we have every 
 reason to suppose that the spiders are less preoccupied with 
 the bluebottle's sensations than with their own. 
 
 Fanny was keenly conscious of rendering the most 
 praiseworthy, the most vital assistance possible to the 
 furtherance of the ultimate ends of Providence ; her mind 
 was filled with a quiet pleasure, her face with the friendliest, 
 kindliest light. It was with quite a new sense of gratified 
 power, with quite a new confidence in her own perspicacity 
 that she said suddenly : 
 
 " Did you ever meet Mr. Stuyvesant, of Newport ? You 
 cannot expect me to quarrel with you, Jack. That's a thing 
 I won't even do for Tom. Of course I can't help it if you 
 choose to resent my sympathy and call it patronage. As 
 I said before, there is no accounting for the fluctuations 
 of a man's taste. But, did you ever happen to meet 
 Mr. Stuyvesant?" 
 
 " Morris Stuyvesant, you mean ? Little man, with curly 
 hair, who keeps a yacht and drives four-in-hand in the park ? 
 Yes, I know him. He banks with us. Why ? " 
 
 "I never saw him. What is he like?" said Fanny, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Very much like anybody else, I suppose, except that 
 he has more money. I don't know much about him. He 
 belongs to quite another set from mine," the young man said 
 impatiently. " But I wonder you haven't seen him. He is 
 rather dull, I think a typical heavy swell and very fast, 
 and enormously wealthy. And there isn't a woman in New 
 York to-day who has not, at some time, tried to get him to 
 marry someone herself or somebody else. It's the one 
 creditable thing I've ever heard of him, by Jove ! to think 
 that they have not succeeded yet." 
 
 " Constance would not marry him," said Mrs. Thayer. 
 
 " Constance Well, I don't know," said Mr. Stuart, 
 
 bluntly, " women are women, all the world over, I 
 suppose." It was curious to note how the likeness to his
 
 38 MIRAGE. 
 
 father came out and deepened as he spoke. It was like a 
 prophecy a palpable foreshadowing of all the shrewd, 
 ordinary, undeniable convictions with which years were to 
 limit and bind about his life. " Women are women, I 
 suppose ; and Stuyvesant is awfully rich." 
 
 " So Mrs. Van Ness told me ; and the story is no secret 
 in any way. Everybody knew it down at Nahant, last 
 summer. It was while I was ill, you know, and Constance 
 was visiting Aunt Van. Sometimes I have thought if / had 
 been there but no ! I daresay it would have been of 
 absolutely no avail," she added, with a perfectly unaffected 
 sigh. " But Aunt Van was something perfectly awful. You 
 don't know Mrs. Van Ness, Jack. Ah well, it would be 
 difficult for you to understand it then." 
 
 " You don't mean to say stand still, you brute, when I 
 tell you to ! you don't mean to say, Fanny, that Morris 
 Stuyvesant actually had the effrontery, the- the cheek to 
 ask Constance to ask Miss Varley to marry him ! " 
 
 " It was a compliment, I know," said Mrs. Thayer, 
 gravely. " It was quite the match of the season. And 
 Aunt Van was so unhappy about it all ! When Aunt Van 
 is unhappy she has a way of saying 'my dear,' which is 
 simply paralysing. You feel that your life is merely a 
 wicked mistake. And then she will sit a whole evening 
 without speaking, looking at you and thinking about you 
 until you wish you were dead. And every now and then 
 there comes one small tear into the corner of her pale, 
 porcelain eyes. Constance says it is like drawing water 
 from a rock ; you feel as though you had interfered with the 
 economy of nature." 
 
 " And he he actually asked Constance to marry him !" 
 said Jack, between his teeth. 
 
 "Oh dear yes; such a scene. 'Why won't you marry 
 him, Constance ?' ' Because I don't care to, auntie dear.' 
 ' And why don't you care to then, when it is your duty, your 
 manifest duty, to be down on your knees thanking Provi- 
 dence and your old aunt for what they have done for you ?' 
 And so on. I'm not sure they did not call in the clergyman. 
 I know there was an appeal to the authorities at home. I 
 never quite understood that part of it myself," added Fanny, 
 thoughtfully. " Captain Varley is always uneasy about
 
 GOING TO JERICHO. 39 
 
 money. I should have thought he would have brought his 
 influence to bear, and I am not generally mistaken in such 
 matters." But, indeed, in this case Mrs. Thayer was only 
 partly right, Captain Varley being one of the many people 
 in whom that complaint of poverty is like the muscular con- 
 traction of a snake a mere mechanical indication of past 
 anguish, an appearance which endures long after its cause 
 has passed away. But Mrs. Thayer was partly right, as 
 usual. For it is a subject of no small wonderment to the 
 present writer to reflect upon the unbewildered accuracy 
 with which a limited mind can detect and estimate the 
 paltriest motives which influence its noblest fellow-men. 
 One wonders at times if there could be any impulse so 
 unworthy as to escape the instant recognition of one's 
 friends. 
 
 " I never quite understood that part of it myself," said 
 little Fanny, thoughtfully. " But it was a splendid offer a 
 splendid opportunity wasted. Has Constance ever re- 
 gretted it? I do not know. She is the Varleys are all 
 curious, in a way quixotic, romantic ; I hardly know how 
 to call it, but odd, decidedly. And Constance is very like 
 her father in that. You should see the woman Captain 
 Varley has married, Jack ! And I think she was quite 
 capable of caring for him, and yet refusing him for some 
 inscrutable reason of her own. Perhaps she was too proud. 
 
 Perhaps 1 have known hundreds of girls in my time, 
 
 hundreds of them, but I never knew even one who was not 
 a perfect little fool about matters of that kind," said 
 Mrs. Thayer, with an air of profound conviction. 
 
 They rode on for several moments in silence. It was now 
 nearly eleven o'clock. The heat had grown intense. For 
 the last hour the road had been steadily growing more wild 
 and more deserted, winding higher and higher among the fast- 
 nesses of the bleak and crumbling rock. The sky was colour- 
 less and blank and very low ; a sky of brass ; one wide, white, 
 blinding glare, beating pitilessly down upon this arid wilder- 
 ness of stone. The heavy silence of the noon lay all around. 
 One by one the white-cloaked horsemen of the escort had 
 ridden silently forward and disappeared among the rocks, and 
 now there was no living thing in sight but the covered and 
 curtained litter crawling slowly along the narrow mountain
 
 40 MIRAGE. 
 
 trail. And the mules rattled their betasseled harness ; 
 Mr. Stuart's horse picked his way cautiously among the 
 rolling stones, and chafed and champed impatiently against 
 his bit. From behind the palanquin there rose a slow and 
 wailing chant, the melancholy, monotonous song of the 
 Arab muleteer ; it seemed the very voice and expression of 
 all this dead and silent and shadowless land. 
 
 The mules rattled their betasseled harness, the palanquin 
 shifted round and lurched heavily to one side. " Oh, have 
 we got there at last ? but I think I have been asleep," said 
 Fanny, waking up with a start. 
 
 And this was the moment Mr. Stuart chose to make the 
 following surprising proposition. 
 
 " I have been thinking," the young man said gloomily 
 and indeed it was undeniable that he had been most un- 
 usually preoccupied for several moments past " I have 
 been thinking that I will not go any farther with you than 
 Jerusalem." 
 
 Mrs. Thayer was silent. 
 
 " It is not as though you could not all get on perfectly 
 well without me, for I am merely an addition a postscript, 
 as it were to the original party, you know." 
 
 And still Mrs. Thayer did not speak. 
 
 " Now there were those fellows I was talking to last 
 week," the young man went on, in a rather less decided 
 way, " they asked me to join them in the Lebanon. And 
 Hassan tells me there is still a little shooting left. And 
 and if I took the next steamer to Beyrout " 
 
 And then Mrs. Thayer looked up at him with a smile. 
 " I don't think I should go if I were you, Jack," she said, 
 in her clearest voice. She leaned a little farther out of her 
 litter, and laid her hand affectionately upon his arm " You 
 absurd boy ! But if you care so much to know what Con- 
 stance thought of him, why don't you ask her the question 
 yourself?" she said, with great good-humour. 
 
 And even as she spoke the road turned sharply to the 
 left ; a group of picketed horses stood in the midst of the 
 small platform before them; farther on some men were 
 boiling their coffee and smoking about the fire ; they had 
 reached the midday encampment, and already Constance 
 was coming lightly forward to welcome them to its narrow
 
 GOING TO JERICHO. 41 
 
 strip of shade. Mr. Stuart looked at her with a curious 
 mingling of question and surprise. It seemed to him that 
 he had never really seen her before. He thought of Fanny's 
 story ; but no ! how was it possible to associate any idea of 
 disappointment or regret with the glance of those clear 
 blue eyes, with that frank and happy smile ? 
 
 There was only a narrow strip of shade under the 
 crumbling walls of the deserted khan, and as Constance 
 took her place at lunch all the light from the wide open 
 sky seemed reflected in her face, and in the loose and 
 shining masses of her hair. 
 
 " And without even a hat, and with your complexion ! 
 Oh Constance, how burnt you will be ! " said Fanny, in 
 lazy remonstrance. 
 
 Miss Varley laughed. " Don't allude to bygones, dear. 
 I was fair once, I know ; but that was before we went to 
 Egypt. For now look, Mr. Stuart " she pushed back the 
 sleeve of her riding-habit above her wrist " look here. Do 
 you believe that can be a bit of myself ? or is it a case of 
 mistaken identity?" she said, laughing, and holding out 
 her hand. 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Jack, absently, still keeping his eyes 
 fixed upon her face. And then, after a moment, " I I beg 
 your pardon. I am afraid I did not quite understand what 
 you were saying?" And, indeed, the young fellow was in 
 a singular state of mental perturbation, and excitement, and 
 doubt. " The boy is looking quite upset. What have you 
 been doing to him, Fanny?" Major Thayer inquired, 
 pausing in the act of lighting his cigar, and looking 
 curiously at his cousin striding away. But Mrs. Thayer 
 only laughed. Syria was hotter, decidedly hotter, than 
 Egypt, she observed, with cheerful irrelevance. 
 
 The men had laid aside their empty nargilehs, the mules 
 were once more harnessed to the litter, rugs were being 
 rolled, and saddle-girths tightened for the descent, before 
 Mr. Stuart joined the others once more. As he came 
 sauntering up, the Major was pointing out the road to his 
 wife that road by which a certain man went down from 
 Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves. 
 
 " I believe this may have been the very inn ; or, at 
 least, the site is the same," said Fanny, with enthusiasm.
 
 42 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Look at its position, crowning the ridge, on the very 
 pinnacle of the pass, overlooking all the plain. Tom, I 
 believe this is the place. I know it is. If dear old 
 Dr. Adams were only here ! And Oh, here's Jack ! " 
 
 But Jack had passed on. " What are you looking at, 
 Miss Varley?" he asked, abruptly, going up and leaning 
 his arms on the broken parapet beside her, and staring 
 down into the depths of the ravine. 
 
 The girl smiled and pointed with her whip. " You see 
 those flowers there ? No, farther down ; on that little ledge 
 where the wall* is broken ? I was considering the lilies of 
 the field. They are the first ones we have seen. And 
 quite out of reach." 
 
 "Ah, yes. I see. Yes, they are out of reach," said 
 Stuart. 
 
 But half an hour afterward as the road grew more 
 abrupt, Miss Varley heard a clattering of horse's hoofs 
 pressing nearer and nearer, and presently someone rode 
 up and held out a handful of half-withered flowers. " There 
 there are your lilies," said Jack. 
 
 Constance started and looked round, and then the 
 colour rushed to her cheeks. " Oh Mr. Stuart ! But you 
 should not have done it indeed you should not." 
 
 " Oh, that was nothing at all," the young man said care- 
 lessly. " I'm not a bad hand at climbing. And I knew 
 you wanted them. And I thought I thought perhaps you 
 might give me one of them to keep," he added, with an 
 embarrassed laugh, and leaned forward and stroked his 
 horse carefully between the ears. 
 
 She looked at him a moment in silence a grave, in- 
 quiring look, which sent a curious thrill of excitement 
 through him and then an expression of great friendliness 
 and liking came into her face ; she gave him the flower 
 without a word. She gave him the flower, and for one 
 instant he touched her gauntleted hand, and he saw her 
 blue eyes looking into his. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, beneath his breath. Half un- 
 consciously he lifted his hat, with a curious feeling of doing 
 her homage, as he reined in his horse to let her pass by. 
 
 Now Stuart was nothing more than an honest, good- 
 natured, rather self-indulgent, rather talkative young fellow,
 
 GOING TO JERICHO. 43 
 
 you might object a perfectly commonplace character, in- 
 capable, in all probability, of any great passion ; unvisited 
 as yet by any deep or vital experience of life ; a character, 
 too, which the budding germs of a latent Philistinism the 
 barren blight of common sense would alone have debarred 
 from any claim to consideration as a hero of romance. 
 And yet, was ever a day so prosaic or so dull that some 
 subtle stirring of colour in the morning sky, some rosy reve- 
 lation of the dawn, has not linked it to all the infinite 
 possibilities of beauty? or ever a life too indifferent to 
 all joy not to feel and stir in the blossom-time of its 
 experience the brief, warm, heyday of its youth ? 
 
 It was four o'clock by the time they reached the foot of the 
 hills, and turned their horses across the long and undulating 
 plain. A fringe of trees, a tall and waving fringe of reeds, 
 lay straight across their track, marking the boundaries of a 
 little stream ; and a short, quick canter soe~i brought them 
 to its ford, where the tangled branches cast their deepest 
 shadow over the rushing, bubbling brook. No words could 
 describe the deep relief of that silence made only the 
 deeper by the low, cool murmur of the water's flow. The 
 riders stopped, or rather, the horses stopped halfway across, 
 drinking greedily, and wading farther and farther up the 
 stream till the water gurgled above their very knees. It was 
 all so still, the little birds in the bushes began to sing once 
 more, fluttering from tree to tree across the brook until the 
 horses would pause for a moment to look around them 
 before plunging their heads in again with deep and eager 
 delight. And then, after some ten minutes' halt, the little 
 caravan again pressed forward, up the steep side of a hill 
 and along a wide plateau, where the narrow bridle-path 
 wound in and out between the scattered clumps of mimosa 
 trees, until one had to bend to the saddle-bow to escape the 
 clutch of their thorny branches. 
 
 And then there came a company of mounted Bedaween; 
 brown-faced, brown-robed, and sullen-eyed marauders ; 
 and after them followed a troop of big brown cows, who 
 scrambled along like goats, stopping at every step to snatch 
 another mouthful of the short close grass, until the ad- 
 vancing cavalcade alarmed and separated the herd, and they 
 swept by the horses in wild and jostling disorder.
 
 44 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Exit the noble savage. Do you know those are the 
 first living creatures we have met in all this day ?" 
 
 " I should be sorry to hurt your feelings, Constance ; I 
 really should. Consequently I will not remark that your 
 favourite children of the desert look not unlike a group of 
 Digger Indians," said Major Thayer, slowly. 
 
 " Please God we not lose any chickens to-night," added 
 Hassan, with a groan. 
 
 The handsome sheikh bowed gravely in his saddle. 
 " The will of God be done." 
 
 And now the horses quickened their pace, and threw up 
 their heads and went off in a wild gallop, at sight of the 
 circle of canvas domes. That night the tents were pitched 
 by the side of Elisha's Well, a little, clear, splashing spring 
 which starts from under a high rock, runs past a fringe of 
 fern and flowers for a few hundred feet, and disappears 
 underground. And soon its tinkling lift and fall was the 
 only touch of coolness left. For with sunset the heat grew 
 more intense ; the wind became more sultry ; wild gusts of 
 dust and sand came whirling whitely down across the stony 
 platform from the hill-side above it ; and now the sky was 
 of a threatening sulphurous tone, and lurid gleams of light 
 broke through the heavy clouds, throwing a curious reddish 
 glow over all the green tangle of branches beneath. 
 
 As Constance came out of her tent and looked about 
 her, the air seemed to have grown thick with this suffused 
 yellow light. Nature was in suspense. There was a feeling 
 of suppressed horror in the livid light, in the wild shifting 
 of the clouds, in the low ominous muttering of thunder 
 dying away among the naked hills. 
 
 And as the night grew darker this sense of unrest and 
 expectation deepened. 
 
 " It is like the moment before a miracle like waiting 
 for some revelation," Constance said. And indeed the 
 very animals about the camp had caught the infection of 
 terror and disquiet ; the horses refused to eat, and stood 
 facing the wind with wildly-streaming manes ; and even 
 Lione thrust his golden head between Miss Varley's hands 
 and moaned and struggled in his sleep. 
 
 It was almost a relief after dinner when this tension of 
 silence was broken by a succession of savage cries a wild,
 
 GOING TO JERICHO. 45 
 
 high-pitched, rattling call, like the voice of some animal 
 grown fierce and unfamiliar with pain. And " There is 
 some Bedawy, ladies and gentlemen," said Hassan, pushing 
 back the door of the tent. " And the chief he come down 
 to do you honour and show you one dance." 
 
 And presently the chairs and rugs had all been carried 
 outside. A long line of men were drawn up in front of the 
 dining-tent ; at one end a shadowy group of veiled women 
 and children stood back awaiting .their turn ; and before 
 them, the old sheikh of the tribe, with a drawn sword in his 
 hand. As the travellers came out he began his dance, 
 accompanied by the howls and cries of all the spectators, 
 and marked by a certain rude rhythmic clapping of hands. 
 It was a singular and exciting performance ; for as the 
 words of the chant were changed the chief would vary his 
 action, now charging the whole line with a flashing sweep of 
 his sword ; now crouching to the ground as if in ambush, or 
 again throwing himself at their feet and writhing as if 
 wounded unto death. And after every change he would 
 come rushing up to Major Thayer, circle his sword about 
 his head, and again that wild and rattling chorus would 
 start the sleeping echoes of the hill. The two long white 
 cotton lanterns shook in the wind, casting long curious 
 shadows, wild unexpected gleams of light, upon those 
 savage shapes. Fanny had fallen asleep in her chair ; her 
 husband had long since strolled away. As Stuart lay 
 stretched out upon the Persian carpet at Miss Varley's feet 
 and looking up into her face, they two seemed, to the young 
 man's excited fancy, the only possessors of a new and 
 fantastic world ; a world peopled by shadowy, swaying 
 forms, full of strange sounds, of warm and sudden wind 
 full, too, of a pale and misty moonlight, of vague and 
 enervated and measureless delight. And Constance ? 
 
 He was lying, I have said, at her feet ; but not all the 
 width of the universe, had he but known it, could have held 
 those two farther apart. 
 
 For Constance, too, was thinking. And as, later on, she 
 lay upon her bed, tossing restlessly from side to side, it 
 seemed those thoughts had well-nigh banished sleep. The 
 wind had loosened the fastenings of her tent-door. Presently 
 she rose to tighten the cords, and as she did so, some
 
 46 MIRAGE. 
 
 sudden impulse made her pause and push aside the curtain 
 and look out. The moon had risen high above the clouds ; 
 a great, an infinite silvery stillness lay all about the sleeping 
 camp. From their stony platform she looked down upon a 
 waving sea of tree-tops a love-gift once to Cleopatra from 
 Mark Antony, and now a dark and rustling solitude where 
 only the night wind seemed awake. But as the girl stood 
 there at the door of her tent, the wind lifting her loosened 
 hair from off her forehead, blowing softly and coolly about 
 her small bare feet of a sudden, there arose a sweet 
 delicious gurgle of sound from among the tangled bushes. 
 It was the voice of a nightingale, singing to the silence and 
 to the stars. And as she listened, a change swept over the 
 grave proud face, her lips parted, her eyes grew soft and 
 filled with tears. She lifted her face imploringly, with a 
 sudden gesture of passionate emotion. 
 
 " Oh my love," she said, " my love, when when are 
 you coming back to me ?"
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SHOWING WHY MISS VARLEY LOOKED AT THE STARS. 
 
 IT was when Constance Varley first began to have her 
 frocks lengthened, her lessons shortened, and her opinion 
 more or less consulted in regard to both she was, in a 
 word, about fifteen years old when an event took place 
 which merits to be briefly mentioned. 
 
 It was at the close of morning school, and a certain 
 riotous stillness was beginning to make itself apparent 
 among the young ladies of the Misses de Walker's French 
 and Family Finishing Establishment. A subdued sound of 
 opening desks, the furtive rustling of contraband paper 
 parcels, a mysterious and increasing succession of smothered 
 laughs, were all witnesses to the absence of any high 
 authority. Matters were evidently approaching a crisis 
 delayed for a moment as all the heads were lifted, and all 
 eyes turned to watch the servant bringing a message to the 
 door. 
 
 " The young ladies will please give a little attention. 
 Silence there on the left ! Young ladies, I must really beg 
 you to be a little more respectful," said Miss Smith, looking 
 up, flushed and wearied, from a chaotic pile of accounts. 
 "Miss Morgan and Constance Varley are wanted in the 
 parlour." And then, as Constance passes her, " I think it 
 is your father, my dear," the governess adds in kindly 
 preparation. For it is a well-known fact that Constance 
 adores her father. She has seen him perhaps a dozen 
 times in all her life brief visits snatched in the interval 
 between each cruise and has already lavished an amount 
 of ardent hero-worship, of unquestioning admiration upon
 
 48 MIRAGE. 
 
 her idealised recollection of him, which cannot but give a 
 colouring and bent to all her after years. 
 
 " And you are never going away again, papa ; never, 
 never going away any more?" she says exultingly a moment 
 later, standing with both hands clasped about her father's 
 arm ; " you are going to give up the ship at last, and live on 
 that nice half-pay, and have a home in the country. Oh 
 papa, a home in the country for you and me together? 
 And Fanny shall live with us, of course Fanny shall live 
 with us always ; but I am to be the housekeeper, you know. 
 Fanny shall be the lady, but I am going to be your helper." 
 
 "And Aunt Van? Have you forgotten Aunt Van?" 
 says Captain Varley, smiling and smoothing back her 
 hair. 
 
 " Oh, bother Aunt Van ! " answers Constance, gaily. 
 " Papa, I wish you had a better-regulated mind ? It is a 
 deplorable thing to be so utterly devoid of seriousness in 
 discussing vital subjects. For listen to me, please. I want 
 some chickens. You may have all the cows and sheep and 
 oxen for your very own, but I must have some chickens 
 and a horse and and what else can people have who 
 are going to live in the real country and be as happy as the 
 day is long?" 
 
 And as she asks the questions Fate appears in the door- 
 way to answer it a dark-haired, deep-eyed Fate, who stops 
 and hesitates, and stands with a pile of loose and fluttering 
 papers in her hand. " I beg your pardon, I did not know 
 there was anyone here." 
 
 " Oh, it is not of the slightest consequence. You have 
 
 not disturbed us at all," says Fanny, coolly. " Only 
 
 Would you be so very kind as to shut the door carefully as 
 you go out ? There is really a terrible draught." 
 
 But Constance has already started forward and is taking 
 her destiny by the hand. " Come in, Miss Smith. Do come 
 in," she says in her friendly young voice. " It is only papa, 
 you know. And, papa, this is Miss Smith." 
 
 Captain Varley has already risen, and you see at a glance 
 where Constance got that fine upright carriage. " Miss Smith 
 will honour us by making use of the room. I am always 
 happy to see my daughter's friends," he answers with grave 
 courtesy.
 
 WHY MISS VARLEY LOOKED AT THE STARS. 49 
 
 " You forget that we are only school-girls yet. We could 
 hardly presume to call ourselves Miss Smith's friends," says 
 Fanny in her sweetest voice. " And " 
 
 " Miss Morgan is right. I am only the nursery governess 
 here. I teach the little ones their multiplication-table, and 
 keep the accounts, and hear the young ladies practise, 
 Captain Varley. Miss Morgan is quite right, I am not any- 
 body's friend," adds Miss Smith, turning very pale. 
 
 Poor Captain Varley turns from one to the other, from 
 his ward to his daughter's governess, with a puzzled look on 
 his frank and weather-beaten face. And it is curious to 
 notice how you see the expression repeated on the frank 
 young countenance by his side. For, as may already have 
 been remarked, Miss Varley's views of life are rather more 
 primitive than is usual even with young ladies who have 
 enjoyed all the opportunities for ignorance offered by a 
 liberal education. " In fact, you made a perfect little goose 
 of yourself, my dear," Miss Morgan informs her later on, in 
 private. " And as for the presumption of that creature in 
 
 accepting your father's invitation ! I won't go to the 
 
 theatre with you at all. Yes, I will. I'll go, and do what 
 you have not the sense to do yourself " 
 
 "Poor thing, and why should she not have a little 
 pleasure then ? " answers Constance, simply. And, indeed, 
 why should she not ? 
 
 Dressed in her best black gown, a bunch of flowers in 
 her hand, a red camellia in her hair ("It is years, years, 
 since anyone has sent me such flowers as these," she says 
 softly, looking up into Captain Varley's face, with a fine 
 expression of gratitude in those great dark eyes, which not 
 even the Misses De Walker's unpaid bills have yet contrived 
 to tarnish) dressed, I say, in her best, seated in the front 
 of an opera-box, a handsome man by her side, and all about 
 her a flood of light and music, why should not this poor 
 woman forget for an evening all the disappointments, the 
 regret, it might be, the remorse of her life ? For that Miss 
 Smith was a young person with experiences was really an 
 undeniable fact. 
 
 " It is a pretty stage seen from the boxes, is it not ? " 
 asked Fanny, bending forward with a sneer. 
 
 Miss Smith is a voung woman with a history, and you
 
 So MIRAGE. 
 
 may be sure her pupils at the Establishment are not un- 
 acquainted with the fact. But is she then so very much worse 
 than her neighbours ? If the truth must be told, it was 
 Fanny herself who was the chief narrator, the firmest 
 believer in these reports. Indeed, I never could persuade 
 myself that those particular anecdotes were any more worthy 
 of credence than any of the other thousand and one legends 
 which form the daily entertainment of our friends. For how, 
 to take only one instance, how, I ask you, was it probable 
 that Miss Morgan should be so thoroughly versed in all the 
 details about young Winslow's unlucky passion, or the reasons 
 which led to Miss Smith's change of home? As for her 
 having deliberately planned to attract Captain Varley's 
 attention, could it for a moment be believed that such 
 conduct was even possible under the sheltering wing of the 
 Misses De Walker's maternal and Christian care ? 
 
 " Maternal and Christian fiddlestick !" retorts Fanny, 
 with profound contempt. " Miss De Walker is an old cat, 
 and Miss Philena is another. They take their teachers 
 
 where they can pay the least, and as for that creature 
 
 Captain Varley is only my guardian, I know. But if he 
 were my father, Constance : 
 
 " If he were your father, Fanny But we will not 
 
 talk about that, dear. Only, the king can do no wrong," 
 said Constance, turning very pale. 
 
 And " Our poor Constance is as infatuated as ever, and 
 as blind as even Miss Smith could desire. Indeed, dear 
 Mrs. Van Ness, I fear it will not be very long before I shall 
 see myself forced to take refuge with you. For I fear the 
 catastrophe is even nearer than we think," Miss Morgan 
 wrote prophetically to a certain old lady at Nahant. It was 
 the one relaxation into strong dislike which Fanny ever 
 allowed herself, and she hated Miss Smith with all the 
 repressed virulence of a studiously amiable character. 
 
 And, indeed, it was not long before her prediction came 
 to pass. It was hardly a month, I think, after that unlucky 
 night at the opera before Miss Varley was wanted in the 
 schoolroom parlour again. The interview was very short, 
 and very quiet until just at the last. " I hope, I do hope 
 you will be happy, papa," the girl cried out, with a sudden
 
 WHY MISS VARLEY LOOKED AT THE STARS. 51 
 
 burst of passion, as her father was bidding her good-bye. 
 She took up his hand in both of hers, and laid her cheek 
 against it with a caressing motion that was habitual to her. 
 "You you won't forget me, dear?" she said very gently. 
 The Captain congratulated himself with honest satisfaction 
 upon the sensible fashion in which his little girl was 
 seconding his plans. 
 
 The days went on and on. Captain Varley was often in 
 town now, but it was seldom he found time to visit his 
 daughter's school. Once they met him walking down the 
 street. He was dressed with scrupulous care in entirely 
 new clothes, and was giving his arm to Miss Smith. Miss 
 Morgan threw up her head at the sight, and would have 
 walked on without speaking, but Constance stopped and 
 insisted upon shaking her future stepmother's hand. It was 
 not for her to question her father's choice, the girl thought 
 proudly, choking back her tears. The months went on and 
 on, and brought with them the marriage ; went on and on, 
 and now Miss Smith's matrimonial speculation had grown 
 to be an old story, and there were newer and more 
 interesting weddings in view. 
 
 "You must come and stay with me this year," wrote 
 young Mrs. Thayer, some six months afterwards. " I want 
 you, Constance and you will only be in their way at 
 home." And indeed by this time I think the poor girl was 
 amply conscious of the fact. For this ill-assorted marriage 
 was proving itself a great success to the two most intimately 
 concerned a success so complete that not even Mrs. Thayer 
 could question its duration. 
 
 As for Constance but whatever Constance felt, we know 
 how she had accepted the situation from the first. And as 
 the years rolled by, and there came other claimants to her 
 father's love, when baby fingers and baby voices had made 
 the final conquest of his home, I think there even grew to 
 be a certain kindness between Miss Varley and her father's 
 second wife. 
 
 " There's my good Constance ! But I always knew you 
 would behave like a good, sensible girl, my dear," the 
 Captain remarked to her with genuine pleasure. 
 
 And " Yes, papa ; I would do anything for you, you 
 know," the girl answered, and caught his hand in hers and 
 
 E 2
 
 52 MIRAGE. 
 
 laid her cheek against it with a silent caress, with a curious 
 new pang at her heart. The old love was there, the old 
 tenderness was there ; but the old passionate admiration, 
 the old ideal, where were they now ? 
 
 Constance had been a year or more at home she had 
 grown into a tall, serious-faced, sad-eyed girl of nineteen 
 before the long-promised visit to Mrs. Thayer came to pass. 
 As she thinks of those days now, they seem the nearest as, 
 indeed, they are the most vivid of her life. For it was at 
 Fanny's house, at The Farm, that Constance found the 
 second, the last, the supreme passion of her life. It was a 
 man most unlike her father whom this fond idol-worshipper 
 had now elected to fill the empty temple of her faith, but I 
 think there was a certain resemblance in the quality of the 
 deep and silent and loyal devotion she lavished upon them 
 both. 
 
 It is an old story now, dating some three years back. 
 Indifference, custom, time, new faces, and new lands have 
 come between her and her love. As she stands there 
 listening to the song of that nightingale, looking up at those 
 serene and melancholy stars, how weak, how short, the time 
 and distance seem ! It is evening now again in the old 
 house at home, a mild spring evening of three years before ; 
 she is walking up and down the garden path with the 
 children, and Fanny has written her a letter : 
 
 "Are you not coming back to me soon? Do come 
 back, there's a darling, for I really cannot do without you 
 any longer ; and surely Mrs. Varley is well enough to spare 
 you now ? Do come back. We all want you that is, all 
 but one. 'And when shall we see you at The Farm again?' 
 I asked that one, only this morning. 'Probably never. 
 Who ever heard of a man going to Paradise twice ? ' he said, 
 driving off. Pretty, wasn't it ? But then he has a way of 
 saying those pretty things, as you know. And, by-the-way, 
 he left his compliments for Sc/wn-Rohfrant, and another 
 message I have forgotten what. However, that is of the 
 less consequence as I question if we shall see that beau 
 tenebreux again. At all events, he has already sailed for 
 Europe. Tom swears it was business which called him 
 away. / think he was simply bored ; and, indeed, the only
 
 WHY MISS VARLEY LOOKED AT THE STARS. 53 
 
 wonder is we should have kept that unquiet spirit for so 
 long. Of course the saddest part of it all is the check it 
 gives to our unfortunate play. We are seriously proposing 
 to cast Jack Stuart for the missing part, and if you will only 
 come back " 
 
 And so on. 
 
 " Conny," said little Walter, plucking curiously at her 
 skirt ; " has oo been naughty, Conny? Is oo doin' to ky?" 
 
 She looked at him with a blank, bewildered face. She 
 stooped and loosened the little hands, and walked away 
 without a word. And, indeed, what words could describe 
 the storm of shame and incredulous despair, the wild agony 
 of longing which filled that proud and passionate heart? 
 The coming years might bring their slow-gathering proof of 
 loyalty, but it was at that moment, there in that sunny spring 
 garden among the budding trees, that Constance measured, 
 once for all, the force, the vitality, the depth of this her 
 wasted love. 
 
 And presently the brief flickering sunshine faded from 
 off the garden-walks, a face looked out of the window, a 
 servant came to the door, the children went clamorously in 
 to tea, and Constance was alone. 
 
 She was alone. It was a mild, warm evening at the end 
 of March. Spring had come, but the snow was still lying in 
 loose white patches in the hollows of the hill, and the air 
 was full of the damp, earthy smell of the freshly-ploughed 
 fields. Presently she paused in her aimless walking and 
 unclenched her hands, smoothed out the crumpled folds of 
 Fanny's letter it was too dark to read their meaning now 
 and sat wearily down upon the steps of the porch. 
 
 She was very tired. She leaned her head upon her 
 hand ; the tears rolled slowly down across her fingers ; she 
 never moved to brush them away. She was tired. From 
 across the road she could hear the chilly tinkle of the 
 thawing brook ; a thin white wreath of fog was creeping 
 slowly nearer between the trunks of the apple-trees in the 
 orchard. It seemed to her that she had seen it all before, 
 had lived through it all before, had known it from the very 
 first. 
 
 And now it was all over. " I doubt," said Fanny, " if
 
 54 MIRAGE. 
 
 we shall ever see him again." The intolerable weight of 
 time was pressing on her already, and it was not an hour 
 since she knew that he was gone. He was gone, and he 
 had left her " his compliments !" She stood up ; a hot 
 flush mounted to her forehead ; she pressed her hand 
 against her burning eyes. But no ; not even, in that first 
 moment of bitter bewildering pain, not even then would this 
 true heart swerve from its allegiance. And once more the 
 old faith, the old words, came to her lips : her king could 
 do no wrong. 
 
 The pale thin mist came creeping up the path, and the 
 wind blew keen and chill. She shivered. She lifted her 
 face from her hand and looked up, and there, above her 
 head, shining down to her through the leafless branches, she 
 saw a solitary star. 
 
 It was an old story of three years before. But as the 
 girl stood at the door of her tent that night, the same wind 
 seemed rustling and whispering through Cleopatra's trees. She 
 listened to the sweet, piercingly sweet rapture of the nightin- 
 gale ; she lifted up her eyes, and shining through the 
 breaking clouds far off, and pure and steadfast as her love, 
 she saw a solitary star. 
 
 And the nightingale went on singing, singing through the 
 night. The clouds drifted back and covered the sky, the 
 wind was hushed among the shadowy trees, but the nightin- 
 gale went on singing till the dawn.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 'CROSS COUNTRY. 
 
 AND in the gray of that dawn they started for the river 
 Jordan. The day had broken wan and pale, with no sun- 
 rise, only a cold dim light, which seemed to promise rain. 
 But how lovely everything looked about them as they rode 
 away from camp ! It was so early the very flowers were 
 still asleep in the grass, and only here and there the first 
 venturesome daisies and buttercups already opened their 
 eyes at the touch of the morning wind ; but how beautiful 
 were those far-off mountains which barred the horizon with 
 a quivering silver light ! They alone were resplendent in 
 this gray landscape, under this gray sky ; for, after passing 
 the few low ruins of stately Jericho, the travellers rode for 
 hours across a solitary and undulating plain a plain with- 
 out grass, or flowers, or trees only at rare intervals some 
 dense, dark growth of withered-looking shrubs, which seemed 
 clinging with a desperate tenacity to the sandy soil. There 
 was not a living thing in sight ; no movement but in the 
 sky, where the great loose masses of gray clouds were 
 ceaselessly and tumultuously drifting onward to the sea. 
 
 But the vegetation became more luxuriant as they 
 approached the river, and close by the water's edge there 
 was a tangled thicket of vine and bush and broad-leaved 
 sycamore-trees, which only parted in one place far enough 
 to show a glimpse of the turbid and sacred stream a small 
 and swift and muddy river, serving to fertilise a narrow 
 strip of land lost in the wilderness of Judea. 
 
 "So that is the Jordan?" said Major Thayer, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; Jordan, sir."
 
 56 MIRAGE. 
 
 " 1 wonder Now how wide should you say it was, 
 
 at a guess ?" 
 
 " I give it up. Where's ' Murray ?' " 
 
 " I wish, how I do wish Dr. Adams were here ! And 
 I should like to know the precise spot where the Israelites 
 crossed," said Fanny, with a sigh. 
 
 And then they all got off their horses, and Mrs. Thayer 
 asked for her Bible. It had been left in the palanquin; 
 no, in the tent. 
 
 " I am afraid he gone on with the baggage-mules, lady." 
 said Hassan, in a deprecatory way. And then for a few 
 moments they all wandered about under the willows and 
 stared at the stream. And the Arabs sat around in a semi- 
 circle, and thought heaven knows what they thought of 
 these Christian dogs. 
 
 " Will you have one bath, gentlemen ? The most 
 gentlemen what come here they go in the water," suggested 
 Hassan, with an anxious air. 
 
 " A bath ? Oh, hang it all, no." 
 
 Mr. Stuart strolled over to where Constance was sitting 
 by the bank. " Stupid river that, I think," he said, pointing 
 with his whip. 
 
 Miss Varley unclosed her eyes, and looked at it for a 
 minute. " It is small," she assented indifferently, and let 
 her head fall back once more against the tree. She was 
 not looking well this morning. Her face was pale and 
 weary-looking ; her eyelids heavy, her lips colourless. 
 
 " You seem tired," said Jack. 
 
 " No ; but perhaps I did not sleep enough." She sat 
 up and opened her eyes, and passed her hand over her 
 hair. " Did you hear that nightingale last night, Mr. Stuart?" 
 
 " Nightingale ? What nightingale ? I did not know 
 there was one," said the young man, in a conversational 
 manner. He took out his knife and cut a carefully-selected 
 branch from one of the willows. " And so there was a 
 nightingale?" he repeated vaguely, and sat down on the 
 bank by her side, and began stripping the bark from off 
 his wand. 
 
 Constance turned her head a little, and looked at him 
 and smiled. She slipped the string of amber beads off her 
 wrist and began swinging them slowly to and fro.
 
 'CKOSS COUNTXY. 57 
 
 " How long how long life seems on some days ! " she 
 said, looking down on the river at her feet. 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "Life? Oh I don't know. What is the matter with 
 life? I think it's very jolly. Don't you ?" answered Jack, 
 slowly. The breaks were when he stopped to contemplate 
 the effect of his work. 
 
 " There ! I call that a very pretty monogram now," he 
 said, presently, holding it up and gazing at it with a critical 
 eye. " It will make you a very good riding-whip in the 
 place of the one you lost." He twisted the stick about 
 and snapped it two or three times in the air. " Lione ! 
 here, Lione ! Come here, sir ! " But the dog only turned 
 his head round and yawned, and laid his nose upon his 
 paws again, winking with amiable indifference. 
 
 " Hassan is filling the bottles ; I must fetch you some 
 of the water to drink," said Jack, getting up slowly to his 
 feet. 
 
 And presently he came scrambling up the bank. 
 " Leave me a little, will you ?" he said, bending down and 
 giving her the glass with a smile. 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 She touched the water with her lips and then began 
 pouring it slowly out upon the ground. 
 
 " Oh, I say, Miss Varley, don't do that ! Why, I 
 brought it for you to drink ! " 
 
 " If you will look at the dust on the leaves of that 
 unlucky plant " 
 
 " But I want some water myself," said Stuart, quickly, 
 and laid a detaining hand upon her wrist. 
 
 Constance was very tall. Their two faces were nearly 
 on a level. The young man was looking straight into her 
 blue eyes, and there was something defiant, almost hard, in 
 their expression. He had never seen that look before. 
 " Let me go, Mr. Stuart." 
 
 " And you will give me the water then?" 
 
 She hesitated ; she looked at the ground and then out 
 at the river ; and then her eyelids drooped and there came 
 a sudden flush across her face. It was the second time 
 that Stuart had made her feel conscious. " There, take it, 
 please, and let me go," she said in a low voice, and there
 
 58 MIRAGE. 
 
 was nothing in her tone of the gracious indifference with 
 which she had hitherto spoken to Jack. 
 
 Mr. Stuart drank his water very slowly and looked 
 after her with a well-satisfied smile. " Good Lione, good 
 old dog," he said, and called the grayhound to him and 
 patted him on the head, " good old Lione." 
 
 " Qui m'aitne, aime mon chien" observed Fanny, watch- 
 ing them from a distance. Major Thayer had studied 
 French for four years at the military academy. So he only 
 opened his eyes and said nothing. 
 
 And in this way they saw the Jordan. 
 
 For, although it was nearly an hour longer before they 
 ceased to ride along its bank, the thicket had now grown 
 even denser than before ; and this was the last sight of the 
 river for many a day. It was with very different feelings 
 that two of that party were to look at the Jordan again. 
 
 But now the path wound through a vast jungle of tall 
 feathery reeds, " shaken by the wind," which shot up high 
 above the horses' heads ; and as they rode along, a wander- 
 ing gleam of sunshine turned all the yellow plumes into a 
 burning line of gold. And still, as they rode on, the 
 mimosa-trees grew ever farther and farther apart ; the 
 stunted, twisted, tamarisk-bushes, still leafless and spotted 
 with the black remains of last year's fruit, disappeared ; and 
 again they found themselves traversing a wide reach of 
 plain, green here and there with scanty patches of coarse 
 grass, but for the most part bare of even stones. 
 
 It was pleasant to Constance to be once more in the 
 midst of this voiceless calm a silence as profound, and yet 
 differing in quality from the silence of the desert. She 
 dropped her reins upon her horse's neck, she turned herself 
 carelessly about in her saddle a gallop was out of the 
 question here, where one dared not lose sight of the escort 
 and her eyes wandered well pleased from the soft lumi- 
 nous sky overhead, across the undulations of the plain 
 fawn-coloured, or gray, or palest brown, as the cloud- 
 shadows floated slowly by to the low and vast horizon. 
 And now all the weary look had vanished from her face, 
 and in its stead there had come an expression of deep and 
 quiet satisfaction. For she was singularly sensitive to 
 certain chance combinations of line and colour, this girl
 
 'CROSS COUNTRY. 59 
 
 Great spaces affected her almost in the same manner as 
 music. In some moods, she would find a sensation almost 
 too keen for pleasure in some perfectly unnoticeable effect 
 of light ; although as a general thing she avoided views, and 
 had a perverse dislike to celebrated landscapes and other 
 classified beauties of nature. Just now all the delicate, 
 shifting effects of a sirocco morning were transfiguring these 
 monotonous plains; and she noted with ever-renewed 
 pleasure how every bit of colour, each touch of crimson or 
 gold or blue in scarf or cufieh^ seemed to accentuate and 
 vivify the day. Long afterwards Constance remembered 
 this as the distinguishing quality of a day made memorable 
 by an indefinite yet all-pervading sense of impending change. 
 But the most important, because the most immediate, result 
 of all this was to make her forget about Jack. 
 
 For a moment it was only for a moment something 
 in Stuart's words, or face, or action had alarmed her with a 
 sense of oppressive scrutiny. His sudden assertion of inde- 
 pendent individuality this new revelation of his power to 
 insist upon and enforce a request had perplexed and 
 startled her pride to a degree singularly out of proportion 
 with the triviality of its cause. But it was difficult to mea- 
 sure the full significance of such a silent concession. It 
 was like stooping to pat some favourite dog, and seeing him 
 look up at you with human eyes. It cast a curious, an 
 alarmingly suggestive light upon much which had gone 
 before. But now, as Mr. Stuart fell naturally once more 
 into his usual place beside the palanquin talking for any 
 length of time to Fanny was calculated to inspire one with 
 a protecting and condescending sense of masculine supe- 
 riority which was not without its charm as he rode on 
 beside the palanquin, Constance looked at him earnestly 
 again and again, her face clearing after each furtive exami- 
 nation. Not that she was disposed to undervalue Stuart. 
 On the contrary. He was very kind ; handsome ; very 
 good-natured. He rode fairly well. And still Tole- 
 rance is not a spontaneous virtue, but rather the final result 
 of disappointment acting upon a noble mind. She filled up 
 the blank with an emphatic smile. The reasons which most 
 potently affect a woman's conduct are, perhaps, the only 
 ones she never puts into words.
 
 60 MIRAGE. 
 
 But now they came upon a country of low, rolling downs ; 
 and now the hills grew higher, with steep sides cut away 
 until there was barely room for the cavalcade to pass in 
 single file along their summits ; and presently the sheikh, 
 riding on in advance, halted, held up his hand, wheeled 
 about his horse, then dashed furiously down the stony side 
 of a ravine. 
 
 Before them lay a pale and restless sea. The heavy 
 surf broke in dirty yellow foam upon a beach bounded and 
 black with long curving lines of drifted wood bleached 
 boughs of forest-trees, scattered and heaped like lines of 
 dead men's bones upon this desolate shore. All the fore- 
 ground was in shadow ; but out at sea a ghastly sulphurous 
 light broke through the shifting clouds, turning the water to 
 a dull deep green. The day had grown oppressively hot, 
 and the white blinding haze on the far-off mountains, the 
 lifeless, enervating wind, the dim sunshine, the slow, sultry 
 splash of the waves seemed each to add to this oppression. 
 
 " I think I am sorry to keep you waiting, Fanny ; 
 
 but if Jack is going to have a swim I might as well be making 
 a sketch?" said Major Thayer, breaking the silence with 
 a start. 
 
 Have I given you any definite idea of Major Thayer ? 
 Imagine a tall, loose-jointed, large-boned man of about fifty ; 
 a thin man, with an abundance of straight black hair, 
 streaked here and there with gray, and a sort of hard good- 
 nature written all over the shrewd-eyed, resolute face the 
 type of face you see everywhere in America, on the seat of 
 an express-waggon or on the benches of the Senate. But 
 Major Thayer's life had reached to neither extreme. Some 
 thirty years before the time I write of, young Tom Thayer 
 was one of a class of West Point graduates, whom a paternal 
 government had plied for years with small but constantly 
 repeated doses of French Grammar, Fortifications, and the 
 Higher Mathematics, before sending them out to consider 
 upon these points in the undisturbed seclusion of a frontier 
 .post. But as not even four years of daily drill can wholly 
 eradicate all individuality, to these resources against ennui, 
 young Thayer added the then rather uncommon accomplish- 
 ment of a pronounced feeling for art, as symbolised by small 
 water-colour sketches of undecided merit. And it was this
 
 'CKOSS COUNTRY. 61 
 
 feeling, doubtless, which saved him from habits whose merit 
 ivas still more questionable. For thirty years ago the manners 
 and customs of the army officer were not yet above criticism. 
 Whisky and cards, until one's pay gave out, and then whisky 
 again, varied by such conversation as might be naturally ex- 
 pected from a party of isolated men, to whom pleasure was 
 limited by their respective powers of drinking, to whom litera- 
 ture was represented by some odd numbers of a sporting 
 novel, and to whom civilisation meant the extermination, in a 
 given space of time, of a given number of Indians such was 
 their commonest formula. 
 
 Second-Lieutenant Thayer had entered the United 
 States army with a certain amount of enthusiasm, a determi- 
 nation to distinguish himself speedily, and a confident 
 belief in the rapidity of well-deserved promotion. Of course 
 we all know that private interest has nothing to do with 
 advancement in a well-organised republic; and it is pre- 
 sumable that even in 184 the country had already 
 approximated to its present standard of official integrity. 
 But young Thayer had no influential friends. And sixteen 
 years after entering the service the enthusiasm had some- 
 what subsided, and Lieutenant Thayer was Lieutenant 
 Thayer of Fort still. 
 
 Perhaps this may have had something to do with it; 
 perhaps he was only carrying out a long-matured wish of 
 emancipation. In either case, one fine morning he went 
 through his last drill, made out his last report of missing 
 buttons and unregimental ties, shook hands with all his 
 former comrades at the gate, climbed into the army waggon 
 which already held his modest stock of worldly goods, and 
 started for the East. 
 
 Perhaps it was the fertility of resource of the native 
 American rather than the eternal fitness of things which was 
 illustrated by his next move ; for, three months after this 
 exodus, Mr. Thayer was occupying the chair of Professor 
 (of Belles Lettres, Painting, and Perspective) in a large Pres- 
 byterian College for Young Ladies, where tea-drinking took 
 the place of whisky, and gossip, dress, and religion offered 
 a pleasing change of topic from the familiar stories of his late 
 companions. He stayed there nearly six months. 
 
 It was a piquant enough contrast at the first ; but even a
 
 62 MIRAGE. 
 
 contrast need not necessarily be an improvement. I am 
 afraid Mr. Thayer was bored. You see it is quite within the 
 range of possibility that a middle-aged man, with inexpressive 
 eyes, and a necktie of the wrong colour, may yet be capable 
 of cherishing an ideal which even the most fashionably- 
 dressed young lady of his acquaintance may fail to satisfy. 
 Perhaps the young ladies, on their side, showed but little 
 inclination to discover the secret sentiments of this awkward 
 and silent man, whose embarrassed blushes presented a 
 somewhat startling contrast to their own becoming equanimity. 
 In either case the result was the same ; within six months 
 of his arrival at Princetown, Mr. Thayer again sent in his 
 resignation and departed. 
 
 He departed somewhat suddenly at the last. Rumour 
 averred that this unexpected haste was somehow connected 
 with an interview of an interesting and strictly private 
 character which the late professor obtained from one of his 
 youngest and prettiest pupils. But Rumour is a proverbially 
 fallacious goddess, even in the serene exclusion of a female 
 college ; and we need hardly credit this report further than 
 we like. Whatever matrimonial disappointment he may 
 have met with, Mr. Thayer's next reappearance was in 
 California, where he remained for some years : a period in 
 his existence which Fanny always vaguely but decidedly 
 referred to as, "The time when my husband was in 
 business " that elastic phrase which, in a mercantile com- 
 munity, may surely outrival charity in its capacity for 
 covering a multitude of sins. In this case it covered 
 nothing worse than an insurance-office, some experience 
 in the mines, an unlimited quantity of quartz, and a very 
 small one of gold. 
 
 It was not until after the close of the Civil War through 
 which he had passed in a sober, efficient manner that Mr., 
 now Major, Thayer once more returned to the East, and it 
 was with very different prospects. For this time the un- 
 expected inheritance of a rather handsome fortune stood 
 him in good stead a most becoming background to his 
 many excellent traits. At least such was the opinion of 
 Mrs. Van Ness, whom he chanced to meet the very day of 
 his arrival at Nahant, walking upon the sands with a young 
 frjend of Mrs. Van Ness, who needed but one moment to
 
 'CROSS COUNTRY. 63 
 
 see, remember, go through some rapid mental calculations, 
 and then advance towards him with a perfectly unaffected 
 smile ; a cordial greeting ; an invitation to dinner. 
 
 " For we shall not let you escape us now. It is our turn 
 to do something for you," she said ; and here Miss Fanny 
 looked up and smiled. "Do let us return a little of what we 
 owe to you to all the brave defenders of our country," said 
 Mrs. Van. 
 
 And there must have been something in the phrase which 
 struck the good lady's fancy ; for it was with a nearly identical 
 choice of words that three months later, she presented Major 
 Thayer with her blessing, a set of frail old china, and the 
 hand of her dear young friend. 
 
 Unfortunately this opportunity of making a study of 
 Major Thayer's impressions of married life is rendered 
 impossible by a total lack of material. For of the two 
 people most closely concerned in the experiment, one of 
 them was silent with the habit of half a lifetime ; and I am 
 under the impression that Mrs. Fanny knew very little about 
 her husband. Certainly she liked him very well ; at the first, 
 was even inclined to fascinate him into subjection, with all 
 the small and pretty persistencies of a kitten investigating the 
 unknown substance of its ball ; but what with one's toilet, 
 one's servants, and one's pastor, the affections must 
 necessarily be limited in their calls upon one's time. After 
 the second year of their marriage, Mrs. Thayer rather 
 neglected these little conjugal coquetries, sagely reflecting, 
 perhaps, that a devotion to society at large included one's 
 own husband to a quite sufficient extent. There were a 
 score of men scattered about the world to whose lips old 
 Tom's name was sure to bring a ready smile, a cordial word 
 of liking and rough affection ; but to this amiable and 
 demonstrative little woman he called his wife, he soon 
 assumed the place of a secondary providence, whom one 
 might always count upon in an emergency, and being 
 careful of course to propitiate it from time to time safely 
 and affably ignore among the minor pleasures of life. 
 
 And yet, on the whole, above all, seen in the proper 
 focus of her own comprehension of things, it must be con- 
 ceded that Fanny behaved pretty well. Just now, for 
 instance, she could scarcely be expected to derive much
 
 64 MIRAGE. 
 
 pleasure from this enforced halt by the Dead Sea ; but you 
 would hardly have guessed as much from the facile smile 
 with which she glanced around and beckoned to Constance 
 to draw near. 
 
 " You have been so quiet all the morning," she said 
 coaxingly, looking up into her friend's face. " Are you very 
 tired ? Very hot ? Jack says you have a headache ; is it 
 so?" 
 
 " Oh I am quite well," Constance answered, with a 
 quick gesture of dissent. 
 
 " Because Jack was afraid you might be over-tired." 
 
 Miss Varley smiled; opened her lips as if about to speak ; 
 thought better of it, and remained silent gazing absently 
 out at sea. 
 
 " You are not going to dismount ?" 
 
 " It was hardly worth the trouble," the girl answered, 
 hesitating, and then slipped her foot from the stirrup and 
 swung herself lightly down. One of the muleteers was 
 passing ; she threw him the reins and went and sat down 
 on the sand, in the shadow of Fanny's palanquin. It 
 seemed even hotter now that they were no longer in move- 
 ment, and there was nothing to break the silence but the 
 sleepy lapping of the waves. 
 
 " The world is small after all," said Mrs. Thayer, in a 
 meditative voice, and after a long pause. 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "Oh, I was thinking. I was speaking to Jack about 
 Morris Stuyvesant this morning. It is curious he should 
 have known " 
 
 "Speaking about Mr. Stuyvesant? Oh Fanny, how 
 could you do such a thing?" said Constance hastily, biting 
 her under-lip and turning very red. 
 
 " Well, and why should I not ? One must speak of 
 somebody or other. And what harm is there in 
 Mr. Stuyvesant's name, you silly child?" cried Fanny, in 
 high good-humour, nestling more luxuriously down amongst 
 her cushions, and smiling affectionately at her friend with 
 half-shut eyes. 
 
 And it was precisely this apparent innocence of any 
 ulterior motive which made it so difficult to resent any of 
 Fanny's actions. Somebody said once of Mrs. Thayer that
 
 'CAOSS COUNTRY. 65 
 
 she was a woman with the nature of a zoophyte. She was 
 gifted with a positive talent for small, incessant effort ; and, 
 like the work of that coral-insect to which she had been 
 likened, there was a wonderful power of cohesion, and 
 hardness, and resistance in all the accumulated mass ot 
 these delicate, imperceptible touches. Just now it suited 
 her plans for Constance's benefit and in point of fact, she 
 was as thoroughly well-intentioned a little woman as you 
 will often find it suited her plans, I say, to fill all her con- 
 versation with a thousand floating, intangible allusions and 
 implications, whose immediate effect was first to embarrass, 
 and then to force the girl into ever closer companionship 
 with Jack. 
 
 Constance did not feel particularly interested by young 
 Stuart. This vigorous, energetic young fellow, with his 
 keen enjoyment of life, his shrewd and limited intellect, and 
 his habit of looking at things from their most obvious and 
 commonplace side whose conception of his relation to his 
 fellow-man never rose higher, or went deeper, than an easy- 
 tempered wish that everyone might be as comfortable as 
 possible without disturbing existing arrangements ; and 
 whose most independent mental action was the sincere and 
 simple dislike he cherished for any man who did not get 
 along and enjoy himself without making a row over it 
 belonged to quite another section of humanity from himself. 
 There was no quality in common between them but their 
 youth, and yet by some fatality circumstances seemed con- 
 stantly conspiring to bring them closer together. 
 
 For example. They had found a lovely spot for their 
 noonday halt a wild and shadowy ravine, shut in by over- 
 hanging rocks a deep and fragrant resting-place, all redolent 
 with the faint and clinging perfume of the cyclamen. Lun- 
 cheon was just over, and they were lying about on the grass and 
 fern, glad to escape for an hour from the vision of that colour- 
 less, pitiless sky, and all the heat and burden of the other day. 
 
 " Does anybody know what has become of that game- 
 bag?" cried the Major, suddenly looking up from his cigar. 
 " Pass it over here, like a. good fellow. I should like to 
 have another look at that last bird you shot." 
 
 " Did Jack shoot those partridges ? I thought it was 
 the sheikh."
 
 66 MIRAGE. 
 
 11 Oh no," said Constance, innocently, " it was Jack." 
 
 Mrs. Thayer laughed. 
 
 "I I beg your pardon, Mr. Stuart," the girl stammered, 
 turning very pink. 
 
 " Why should you ? I like it," said Jack, with malicious 
 emphasis. 
 
 " Never mind, Constance. ' A rose by any other name,' 
 &c.," suggested the Major good-naturedly, throwing a 
 chicken-bone to the dog. 
 
 " I heard Dr. Adams read that once. It was to try the 
 effect of the new sounding-board. I never heard anybody 
 reading Shakespere like ' : 
 
 But had Miss Varley quite, lost her head in consequence 
 of this last blunder ? "I wish Dr. Adams were in Jericho," 
 she said, with sudden calm audacity. " He belongs to a 
 class of clergymen who are nothing in the world but so 
 many dragomen spiritual dragomen, I mean. They have 
 the same glib inexactness in their statements about the 
 holiest things " 
 
 " Constance !" 
 
 " The same fine indifference to irreconcilable facts," and 
 here she stopped and laughed, and looked demurely defiant 
 at Fanny. " They are equally accustomed to taking people 
 
 in and doing for them " 
 
 But Mrs. Thayer had assumed an appearance of blank 
 insensibility. She had a rare faculty which she shared with 
 many women, and a particular class of beetles for effacing 
 herself morally, for becoming at once flat and blind and 
 tenacious at the first symptom of attack. 
 
 " It was not difficult," she observed presently, with a 
 suggestion of cold disapproval in air and voice, " it was not 
 difficult to understand from whom these sentiments had 
 taken their origin. A girl's assertions are the merest reflex 
 of what she believes to be the convictions of the man she 
 most admires. And she had observed that ever since 
 
 Mr. " 
 
 " I beg your pardon for interrupting, but Lione is 
 
 eating up all the sardines," said Jack, with happy irrelevance. 
 
 It was curious what a repugnance the young man was 
 
 fast acquiring for even the slightest mention of Mr. Stuy- 
 
 vesant's name.
 
 'CROSS COUNTRY. 67 
 
 Not long after that they began climbing the road to Mar 
 Saba. From time to time a break in the interminable range 
 of hills let through some glimpse of the Dead Sea, now black 
 with storm, now glittering in the sun, or again, as they rose 
 higher above it, of clearest steely blue. And then, leaving 
 the last rounded hill-slope at their feet, and as the day was 
 fast drawing to its close, they reached a widened road hewn 
 out in the living rock. Above them towered a huge mass ot 
 mountain, so barren, so nakedly barren, that not even the 
 poorest shrub clings to its rock side ; below was the preci- 
 pice. It is a place where Nature seems flayed alive dead 
 and desolate and sterile as the lives whose long blind 
 agonies of patience have consecrated these stones. For 
 here, clinging to the side of the ravine, its gray walls a very 
 part of the gray rocks about them, they came upon the oldest 
 convent in the world a living tomb, buried in a wilderness, 
 in the name of a religion whose very principle was life. 
 
 F 2
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. 
 
 " WELL, Constance ! " 
 
 " I say, Miss Varley, what do you think of this for 
 weather?" 
 
 " Oh my dear child, how wet you are ! Don't come near 
 me, there's a darling. But you will surely take your death 
 of cold." 
 
 " I think," said Miss Varley, gravely, throwing back the 
 hood of her cloak, and making an ineffectual attempt at 
 closing her umbrella, " I think the Deluge was a dry joke in 
 comparison." 
 
 And the heavy downpour of the storm upon the canvas 
 roof, the wild gust of wind which blew upon the tent-door 
 at that moment, only seemed to add emphasis to the 
 remark. 
 
 It had been raining all through the night. It had been 
 raining all the morning. It was already threatening rain 
 the day before as they rode away from the almond orchards 
 encompassing about the gray old walls of Bethlehem with 
 a triple crown of pale and fragrant bloom. They were 
 camping now at Bethel, their tents pitched on the grass- 
 grown bottom of an ancient reservoir, which to-day's storm 
 seemed fast restoring to its original purpose. 
 
 " Him one very bad look-out very bad look-out for the 
 ladies, sir," said Hassan, taking off his fez with an air of 
 great despondency. 
 
 The men had been at work since dawn digging a trench 
 about the encampment, and already a thin treacherous stream 
 was creeping in beneath the sodden canvas, and settling in 
 little yellow pools about each table and chair.
 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. 69 
 
 Towards noon there came a slight break in the clouds. 
 Jack took up his hat and lit a cigar. " I can't stand this any 
 longer," he said, and went out. When he returned, an hour 
 later, the rain was pouring down harder than ever, and he 
 himself was stained with mud from head to foot. There was 
 a kind of village, a dozen Arab huts or so, higher up on the 
 hill, he explained, and he had met one of the natives, an old 
 man, who offered to show him a newly-discovered tomb. 
 " He said no one had ever been inside it but himself, an 
 Englishman, and two dogs. I thought I might as well add 
 my name to the list, particularly as the place is not yet down 
 in ' Murray.' " 
 
 "And you saw nothing inside?" 
 
 " Nothing but mud." 
 
 " You should not try to bring away all you see, 
 Mr. Stuart," said Constance, with a smile. 
 
 But it must be admitted that the situation was assuming 
 a dreary aspect. 
 
 " I remember just such a storm one night on the Plains 
 in '59," Major Thayer remarked as they sat down to dinner; 
 and a singularly incoherent repast it proved to be, brought 
 in by relays of dripping servants from the kitchen-tent across 
 the way. " Shall I give you some of this chicken, Fanny ; 
 or will you wait for the soup ?" 
 
 And, as he spoke, there came a sudden gust of wind 
 that seized upon the tent, shaking it violently from side to 
 side. 
 
 " There goes the table. Mind your fingers, Constance?" 
 said Stuart, with a reckless laugh. 
 
 And the next moment there came a long, tearing crash, 
 a shriek from Fanny, struggling in her arm-chair with the 
 foldings of her plaid, a quick snapping of cords and flapping 
 of wet canvas, and then the night and the storm seemed 
 rushing in upon them. The wind had blown over the tent. 
 
 It was only a moment, of course, before the men had got 
 it up again. But now, indeed, things were beginning to look 
 serious. 
 
 " It is very bad, I am afraid very dam bad for my ladies, 
 sir," said Hassan, with respectful regret. " Beds all wet ; 
 tent full of water 
 
 The men were hammering all around them at the pegs.
 
 70 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Those pins can never hold in this soft earth if the wind 
 rises again," said Stuart. 
 
 There was a moment's pause. Fanny had hidden her 
 head among the cushions ; Constance was standing beside 
 her, holding her hand, and looking anxiously at the different 
 speakers in turn. The cold had grown intense. 
 
 " Perhaps It seems to me that I do not hear the 
 
 rain," she said. 
 
 Major Thayer went to the doorway and looked out. He 
 drew his head in again with a sudden exclamation. " I 
 thought it was coming," he said, quietly ; and held out his 
 arm for them to see. The sleeve of his coat was all white 
 with freshly-fallen snow. 
 
 It was dark by this time, and Paolo was making an 
 ineffectual attempt at lighting the candles. 
 
 " Why don't you bring in the lantern ?" said Jack. 
 
 The insufficient light seemed to make their forlornness 
 more complete, and Fanny moaned feebly at sight of the 
 situation it revealed. 
 
 But half an hour later perhaps Mrs. Thayer was too 
 dismayed to moan. She was clinging with both arms around 
 the neck of a stalwart Syrian, muffled in sheepskins, and 
 looking like a brigand, who with bent head and cautious 
 footsteps, was picking his way among the stones and bog 
 towards the shelter of the village. The white drifts of snow 
 only gave greater value to the darkness; the driving sleet 
 dashed in her face whenever she lifted it to look about her ; 
 the wind was growing wilder with the falling night ; and 
 now, in surplus of horror, her guide was ascending a steep 
 and slippery path, and beginning to pant and stagger 
 beneath his load. 
 
 But now, surely the worst of it was over. They had 
 passed up a narrow stair, and in under a low stone archway ; 
 and Fanny found herself gently sliding to the earth. Before 
 her was a small vaulted enclosure, bare and absolutely 
 empty of any furniture but a roll of bedding hastily flung 
 upon the ground. The room was full of smoke, and at its 
 farther end she saw a fire, and Constance crouching down 
 before it warming her hands. It was very dreary, certainly, 
 but they had had to turn out a whole family to get even 
 that.
 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. 71 
 
 "And Hassan is delighted. He says it is one very much 
 better place than he expected to find," said Constance, 
 looking up with a laugh. 
 
 It was a wretched evening at the best. The narrow room 
 was barely large enough to hold the four mattresses and leave 
 a small clear space before the fire. It was impossible to 
 stand ; the smoke was too thick to allow them to sit up for 
 more than a few moments at a time ; and if the door was 
 opened window there was none a quick white drift of 
 snow came whirling in across the floor. 
 
 " I think I begin to discern some of the minor advan- 
 tages of civilisation," remarked the Major, grimly. 
 
 Once, towards morning, Constance awoke. The air had 
 grown very chill. The room was still full of a thin blue 
 haze, but the fire was blazing brightly, and Stuart was stand- 
 ing before the hearthstone piling on more wood. At the 
 slight sound she made, raising herself up upon her elbow, 
 he turned his head, saw her eyes open and watching him, 
 and smiled. 
 
 " I think the wind is falling. It is not snowing now," 
 he said in a whisper. 
 
 " It is so cold !" 
 
 " Come and warm yourself by the fire. Wait ; I will 
 make you a seat." 
 
 He dragged a rug from off his bed, rolled it up and 
 threw it down upon the floor. " There ; sit there," he said. 
 
 She came slowly forward, smiling a tall slim figure 
 gathering up the long dark folds of her habit in both hands. 
 Her face was all warm and rosy with sleep, like the face of 
 a little child. 
 
 " You look about six years old," said Stuart. 
 
 " Hush ! You will wake them up." 
 
 She sat down before the fire, blinking a little, and putting 
 up her hand to shade her eyes from the light. They began 
 talking together in whispers. 
 
 "Is it late?" 
 
 " Half-past three." 
 
 " I wish I could see if it has stopped snowing." 
 
 "Oh, you can look if you like. I have found a way to 
 open the door." 
 
 " Hush !" said Constance, with her finger to her lip.
 
 72 MIRAGE. 
 
 They listened a moment. 
 
 " No. Poor Fanny was awfully tired. I don't think 
 you would wake her easily," said Jack. 
 
 They both rose, and began moving cautiously towards 
 the door. Presently Miss Varley caught her foot in the 
 long folds of her dress and stumbled against the mattress. 
 Jack seized hold of her arm. " Be careful," he said ; and 
 then Mrs. Thayer sighed heavily, twice, and stirred in her 
 sleep. They held their breath. Was she awaking ? No ; 
 it was nothing. Stuart turned to his companion with a 
 comical smile of relief. He was still standing with his hand 
 upon her arm, and so close to her that he could see her 
 eyes shining in the firelight ; he could feel her breath 
 coming quicker with stifled laughter. 
 
 " Come on ! " 
 
 They crept to the door, and Jack opened it noiselessly, 
 an inch at a time. 
 
 " There is only a narrow ledge outside there. Mind 
 you don't slip off the step." 
 
 The night was very still and cold. They were looking 
 out across a wide plain ; the air was full of a strange uncer- 
 tain light, reflected from the snow. It was a starless night ; 
 the sky was broken and full of movement : one felt, rather 
 than saw, the ceaseless, tumultuous unrest of the wind- 
 vexed clouds. It had stopped snowing ; only now and then 
 a large flake floated slowly down and fell upon Miss Varley's 
 upturned face. They were standing under the shelter of a 
 small stone archway, built over the door. Beside them was 
 a second stairway leading to the roof. Constance laid both 
 her hands upon this parapet, leaning farther out. She 
 shivered. 
 
 " You are cold. Give me your hand again ; I am so 
 afraid you will fall," the young man said in a whisper. 
 
 The fingers he took in his were soft and warm. There 
 was something strangely magnetic in their careless touch. 
 He felt his own pulse quicken a sense of confused pleasure 
 which sent the blood pulsating faster through his veins. 
 
 " I wish she would say something I hope she will not 
 go away," he thought. 
 
 " You see I mean It is not snowing any 
 
 more," he said aloud, with an effort.
 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. 73 
 
 " I beg your pardon. But the wind blows all your words 
 away. I did not hear " 
 
 " I Oh, it was nothing." And then, after a pause : 
 
 " Miss Varley ! " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I wish you would tell me something." 
 
 "Tell you what?" she said again, after waiting a 
 moment. 
 
 What was he going to ask her ? Perhaps he hardly 
 knew it himself. But as he hesitated they heard the wind 
 rising far down beneath them in the valley, the dark mass 
 of clouds overhead was rent asunder with sudden force, and 
 for one instant, through their trailing edges, appeared the 
 pallid disk of the pale storm-troubled moon ; and in another 
 second the darkness closed about them, the bitter blast 
 swept in long gusty sighs over the field of snow. As 
 Constance turned her face towards him the wind caught in 
 her long and loosened hair, and blew it full across his lips. 
 
 They both laughed ; they both turned with a common 
 impulse to seek once more the shelter of the room. But 
 Constance was fast asleep she had been calmly asleep for 
 hours before he could free himself from the memory of 
 that clinging, silken touch. 
 
 The next morning broke cold and dark. A wild white 
 storm was raging among the hills, and now the heavy, noise- 
 less fall of snow was interrupted by fierce intervals of hail 
 and sleet. Unfortunately, they had all awakened early. 
 Indeed they had had but little inducement to prolong their 
 sleep ; still less, perhaps, to face the uncompromising length 
 of all those smoke-filled hours. For in their hurried exodus 
 of the night before it now appeared no one had contem- 
 plated the possibility of a lengthened imprisonment. 
 
 Their resources against ennui were singularly few, and 
 consisted chiefly in cigars, a small pocket Bible, and a frag- 
 mentary pack of cards the two latter a contribution from 
 the dragoman. Perhaps there was something in the very 
 incongruity of the gift which served as its antidote ; it may 
 be that even euchre requires a mind unhampered by preoc- 
 cupation ; certainly Mr. Stuart was the first to throw up his 
 hand, the first to declare that the game was not a success. 
 And although there was a certain satisfaction in knowing
 
 74 Mm AGE. 
 
 this was Bethel, although they had been nearly drowned 
 upon the very spot where Jacob slept and dreamed, still it 
 was really snowing too hard for one to care for Jeroboam. 
 
 Historical associations were all very well in their place. 
 " You need not laugh, Tom ! I'm sure there is not one of 
 you more interested in sacred geography than myself ; but, 
 oh, it was dreadful how one missed one's four-o'clock tea," 
 Mrs. Thayer remarked, with a yawn. 
 
 "And yet it might have been worse, you know," 
 Constance suggested cheerfully, looking up from one of the 
 desultory attempts at amateur cookery with which they tried 
 to diversify the day. " When you are anxious not to have 
 your chocolate burn, Mr. Stuart, you should keep your eyes 
 on the fire, and not be watching me. It might have been 
 worse, Fanny, after ail," Miss Varley said. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " We might have been here with Aunt Van ! " 
 
 Major Thayer laughed. There are limits to human 
 endurance, he objected, dryly, however little Constance 
 might take the fact into account. 
 
 And " Oh, of course. It is well known that poor Mrs. 
 Van Ness can never do anything to please Tom," his wife 
 remarked, with a sigh. 
 
 " What ! Not when she introduced me to you, my 
 dear ? " he asked, with perfect good-humour. 
 
 Constance smiled. Her earliest recollection of her aunt 
 was a peculiar one, she observed, turning to Stuart. It 
 dated back years and years ago, to the time when Mr. 
 Van Ness was still alive. Mr. Van Ness had been extremely 
 handsome. " My father remembers him as quite a young 
 man, and very proud of his complexion and hair ; but when 
 we children knew him he had been injured in a railway 
 accident. They told us he had been all patched together, 
 and we used to spend whole hours watching him in the hope 
 he might come undone," she added, with a laugh. "But 
 the first time I saw them my /ather had taken me down to 
 The Cottage with him perhaps as a palliative ; for he had 
 gone there with bad news about the marriage of one of our 
 cousins. I remember Aunt Van sitting on one side of him, 
 holding his hand and sobbing : ' Oh my dear Henry, if she 
 marries an unbeliever, think think of her immortal soul ! '
 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. 75 
 
 and Uncle Van on the other side: 'Bother her soul, Henry; 
 has the man means ? What means has the man got ? 
 Bother his soul ! ' " 
 
 " And, oh Constance, have you forgotten Miss Wallace ? 
 Miss Wallace is one of Aunt Van's protegees, Jack " 
 
 " She really is very good, you know." 
 
 " One of her protegees a thin little woman, with a long 
 thin neck and faded eyes and ringlets. In the afternoon 
 she puts on a black silk apron, and sits in her little garden 
 under a rose-tree watching the hens and reading Miss 
 Porter's 'Scottish Chiefs.' She is poor oh, wretchedly 
 poor ! but she traces her pedigree back to Sir William 
 Wallace ; and about twice a year she gets a letter from a 
 cousin who sends her money. She calls that ' a communi- 
 cation from the family.' " 
 
 Miss Varley had remarked as a curious fact that when 
 by any chance there has been a great man in any family, his 
 descendants seem to pride themselves upon getting as far 
 away from him as possible. 
 
 "Yes; but I must tell Jack about Aunt Van," said 
 Fanny, laughing. "You see she had taken a great fancy to 
 a particular dentist in New York Aunt Van is always 
 taking particular fancies and nothing would satisfy her but 
 giving the man a trial. She could not go herself perhaps 
 she did not care to ; so what does she do but send poor 
 Miss Wallace, with strict orders to have all her teeth drawn 
 out and an entirely new set put in at Aunt Van's expense. 
 ' It will be such a comfort to you, my dear, when it is all 
 over,' Aunt Van told her, patting her on the shoulder. 
 ' But, dear Mrs. Van Ness, I have never had a toothache in 
 my life ! ' ' The very reason you should take precautions. 
 There, my dear, there; we'll say nothing more about it,' 
 says Aunt Van, patting her again. And the poor thing 
 actually had it done. It made her very ill, I remember, and 
 Mrs. Van used to go down and look at her, and tell her how 
 thankful she ought to be to think it was all over. But she 
 has always been especially fond of Miss Wallace to this day." 
 
 Mr. Stuart laughed. " I should like to see her !" 
 
 "Oh, it is not unlikely. We left her at Naples; but 
 there was some talk of her joining us at Damascus before 
 we left."
 
 76 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Now, heaven forbid ! " ejaculated the Major, with 
 edifying fervour. 
 
 " What ! afraid of her are you, Tom ? And you, 
 Miss Varley, are you one of the victims too?" said Jack. 
 
 There was certainly something peculiar about Mr. Stuart 
 that day. He had hardly spoken to Constance twice since 
 morning, and yet the girl was constantly aware of his 
 attentive and persistent glance. " And you, Miss Varley, 
 are you afraid of her too ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, I like Aunt Van in a fashion. I have known 
 her all my life ; and she is really very kind-hearted if you 
 only agree with her." 
 
 Major Thayer shook his head dubiously, making some 
 confidential remark to his cigar. 
 
 " Well, I frankly admit it if Constance is not afraid of 
 her, I am," said Fanny, laughing. " But that is one of the 
 advantages of being small : you are not expected to be 
 uncomfortably brave." 
 
 But Mr. Stuart questioned the sentiment. The Major 
 went still farther he denied it. 
 
 " The pluckiest man I ever knew," he said deliberately, 
 " was a quiet, delicate-looking little fellow, and not much to 
 look at any way. It was quite at the end of the war. He 
 was with the sanitary commission people at first, and then 
 in the hospitals. Wouldn't fight because he was half a 
 Southerner by birth, and had some kind of scruple about it ; 
 but he knew the country, and if ever there was a bit of 
 dangerous reconnoitring to be done it was Lawrence who 
 volunteered." 
 
 " Lawrence ? What Lawrence ? You don't mean 
 Denis Lawrence, surely?" said Mrs. Thayer. 
 
 Miss Varley started. She got up suddenly, and began 
 collecting the cards scattered over the floor. 
 
 Yes ; Major Thayer meant Denis Lawrence. 
 
 "Why, you knew him, Jack. You must have seen him. 
 Wasn't he at The Farm three years ago, the winter you 
 were there?" 
 
 Jack recollected him perfectly. He had never ex 
 changed more than a dozen words with Mr. Lawrence 
 Fanny would remember he left the day of Mr. Stuart's arrival. 
 
 " Well, Constance remembers him at any rate."
 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. 77 
 
 Constance was building a card house. This is a delicate 
 operation, requiring a steady hand and undivided care. 
 Perhaps this was the reason her answer came with some 
 reluctance. " Yes, I remember him," she said. 
 
 "Once it was in the times of Mosby's raids, all the 
 country was upside down, and the niggers coming into 
 camp every day, each one with a different story he started 
 out to do a little scouting. Deuced bad weather it was, 
 raining as it only rains in Virginia, and go where he would 
 there wasn't a gray-coat to be seen. He was coming back. 
 He had stopped to get some supper in a cabin, when the 
 old darky comes running in : ' Look out, massa ! Massa 
 Mosby comin' up to the door ! ' Lawrence runs to the 
 window ; and, by Jove ! there was Mosby himself and a 
 dozen of his men, riding in at the gate. The house was 
 one of those one-room Southern shanties, built in a clearing, 
 with a wood pile at the back. Since our fellows came so 
 near trapping him at the Corner, Mosby was always precious 
 careful not to get caught without a sentry again ; so he posts 
 his men about the house, and comes in just as Lawrence 
 swings himself out of the back window and on top of the 
 wood. But, Constance, I am sure I have told you this 
 story before ?" 
 
 "Oh, please go on," said Miss Varley, very quickly. 
 Her card house had fallen to pieces at her feet. She was 
 sitting with her hands clasped tightly together ; and 
 Mr. Stuart noted with wonder, with admiration, perhaps 
 even with a certain instinctive and unreasoning jealousy, 
 the sudden excitement transfiguring her face. 
 
 "Well, the guerillas were in high spirits and made a 
 night of it. Twice they sent men out to bring in more 
 wood, and Lawrence felt them dragging the logs out from 
 under his pile, and heard them swearing at the rain. Just 
 
 before dawn they fired the cabin, 'to teach that d d 
 
 nigger to give gentlemen a better supper another time,' 
 and rode away. But the point of the story is that someone 
 asked Denis afterwards what he was thinking of while he 
 was there in hiding. ' Oh,' says Lawrence^-you know his 
 quiet way of speaking ' it was raining so hard, and I 
 take cold so easily ; I was wishing I had thought to bring 
 an umbrella.'"
 
 78 MIRAGE. 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "By-the-way, this Mr. Lawrence is a Catholic, isn't he?" 
 said Jack, suddenly, with an air of great unconcern. 
 
 " Oh yes ; his mother was a Catholic, you know. His 
 mother was a Miss De Bray, from Virginia. The De 
 Brays are all Roman Catholics, but I daresay Mr. Law- 
 rence " 
 
 Miss Varley found it impossible to imagine any reason 
 which should prevent Mr. Lawrence from belonging to any 
 form of religion he preferred ; still, as a matter of fact 
 "I remember his telling me once that, to him, the mind 
 of a modern convert to the Catholic Church was like the 
 walled-up window of a house. The outline of the window 
 was preserved, but serving as a repository for rubbish instead 
 of a passage for light." 
 
 " Would you mind saying that over again ? I am afraid 
 I did not quite understand the idea," said Jack. 
 
 Fanny looked at him with unaffected wonder. There 
 must surely be something abnormal in any set of circum- 
 stances so evidently disturbing to Stuart's equanimity. 
 
 It may be that the young man is aware of it himself. 
 
 " Confound that snow ! I I think I shall go out for 
 a little while, and see what Hassan has been doing with 
 those horses," he says presently, and he goes out with a 
 stride, and the door closes behind him. 
 
 Fanny has had time to fall asleep before he returns, 
 but Constance is sitting in precisely the same attitude, and 
 still playing with her cards. It has grown into a wonderful 
 erection by this time, that pasteboard castle at her feet. 
 And Mr. Stuart stands beside it, and looks at the young 
 architect with a sufficiently peculiar expression. 
 
 " I Fanny is asleep, you know, and it would be 
 
 a pity to wake her up ; but I thought It has stopped 
 snowing," says this considerate young man, " the clouds are 
 all blowing away. Put on your cloak and come up on the 
 terrace and see the sunset?" he suggests. 
 
 What a charming idea ! Constance is on her feet in a 
 moment. A sunset, the fresh air what could be plea- 
 santer ? " Where is your hat, Tom ? Do find your hat. 
 Has Mr. Stuart seen the Major's hat?" 
 
 " It There is a good bit of snow on the ground,"
 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. 79 
 
 Mr. Stuart remarks, " and if the Major has any fear of taking 
 
 cold " 
 
 " But how am /to go out then?" cries somebody else 
 
 in great perplexity. " I have only these boots " 
 
 It is a very pretty little foot Miss Varley holds out for 
 inspection, and Mr. Stuart, doubtless, is not unaware of the 
 fact. 
 
 " I don't think you will get your boots wet," the 
 young man says, looking very foolish ; " the fact is, I thought 
 you might like to go up there. And there wasn't much 
 
 snow on the steps. And so " 
 
 " And so somebody has been spending his time clearing 
 it off?" cries out the Major, with a laugh. " Certainly you 
 cannot do less than accept such primitive marks of good- 
 will from from the natives. Go, my dear Constance, go ; 
 it will do you good. But if you will excuse me I think I 
 shall remain indoors, and and take care of my rheumatism, 
 as Jack suggested." 
 
 And so presently these young people take their departure. 
 And presently Mrs. Thayer wakes up takes her head from 
 out the cushions, that is to say and looks about her with 
 a very sprightly air. 
 
 "Yes, they have gone. They went while you were 
 sleeping, my dear," says the Major, eyeing his wife rather 
 curiously. 
 
 "Oh, they have gone, have they?" remarks that lady, 
 with great satisfaction. " Well, let us hope dear Constance 
 won't catch cold." 
 
 " Let us hope dear Constance won't won't catch the 
 rheumatism, while we are about it," says Tom, with another 
 queer smile. 
 
 " Catch the rheumatism ? Catch the fiddlestick !" cries 
 Fanny, with great decision. " Jack is a dear good fellow. 
 I was always fond of Jack." 
 
 " Oh, so am I uncommonly. And, as you were saying, 
 Jack has a very good business head ; and when his father 
 dies he will come into a very pretty income, no doubt. And 
 and dear Aunt Van will be so pleased at your marrying 
 off Constance after her own failure in that line." 
 
 It is decidedly dark in this smoky little chamber, but I 
 think there is no doubt that Fanny blushes at this juncture.
 
 8o MIRAGE. 
 
 "Have I ever said a word about marrying off Constance?" 
 she demands with some trepidation. 
 
 "Never, my dear, never. Let me do you the justice to 
 say you have never mentioned it. And I don't think you 
 ever spoke to me much about that pretty Miss Schuyler 
 Jack was so infatuated with last year. Last year ? Stop ! 
 I think it was only this spring. But you should know, 
 Fanny ; you keep a better account of the boy's flirtations 
 than I." 
 
 " I I'm sure I don't know what you mean," says Fanny, 
 still more meekly. It was so seldom Major Thayer took 
 the trouble to put his observations into words, his wife was 
 apt to treat them with the kind of respect one accords to a 
 powder magazine. There was no means of estimating what 
 an explosion of all her little devices might be impending. 
 " I'm sure I don't know what you mean," says Fanny. " I 
 don't see what there was to laugh at in Jack's way of coming 
 for her. I thought it was very pretty myself." 
 
 " I thought you were asleep, my love ?" says the Major, 
 taking out his cigar-case. 
 
 " At all events, Jack is your own cousin your own 
 cousin, remember, and not a relative of mine," says 
 Mrs. Thayer with great dignity ; "and I think you might 
 I mean, I think She hesitated, she looked up, she 
 
 laughed, and laid her pretty head against her husband's 
 arm. " Don't interfere, there's a dear good old Tom," she 
 said coaxingly. 
 
 " /interfere? You are quite right in mapping out your 
 friends' careers for them, my dear child ; you certainly are 
 a very remarkable judge of character. / interfere with 
 Master Jack's amusements? Not if I know it!" said the 
 Major, grimly. "Jack is my cousin, you say? Very well. 
 I don't know that there is anything in that fact to prevent 
 his being a young idiot as well. For Constance won't 
 marry him. Constance, let me tell you, has no desire to go 
 and live in the streets of Gath. You cannot bribe her with 
 
 a country house in Ascalon 
 
 " Ascalon ! Gath!" Mrs. Fanny protested she had not 
 an idea what the Major could mean. 
 
 " I mean by George ! I mean that our cousin is a 
 young Philistine, my dear. An honest, good-looking, stupid
 
 STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE. 81 
 
 young Philistine, with no more chance of ever evolving an 
 idea from that handsome head of his than I have of being 
 made Prime Minister. I mean that Constance has more in 
 her little finger than that good-natured young donkey in all 
 his brain. I mean that Jack had better stick to leading 
 cotillons, and flirting with the Schuyler girls, and putting 
 his father's money into circulation for the next five years at 
 least ; and Constance " 
 
 " Constance is quite old enough to know her own mind 
 quite," said Miss Varley's friend, with some impatience. 
 " But, Tom " (she put her other hand upon her husband's 
 shoulder), " don't interfere, dear Tom. Let things take their 
 own course, that's all I ask of you," she said. 
 
 Major Thayer was in the habit of accepting his wife's 
 caresses with much philosophy. " All right. Only let me 
 light my cigar in peace," he answered good-humouredly. 
 " If Jack doesn't make a young fool of himself to please you, 
 you may be sure that Tom or Dick or Harry will. A man 
 can only be young once. Let the boy enjoy himself while 
 he can. He'll come upon his troubles fast enough and 
 come out of them too. Men have died and worms have 
 eaten them, but not for love," remarked this ex-Professor. 
 
 " I don't see how that applies to Jack," said Fanny, with 
 mild persistence. 
 
 But, for my part, I fancy the Major was not referring to 
 Jack.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 
 
 AT first she would speak of nothing but the view. " It was 
 a joy, oh such a joy, to breathe this air !" she said. She 
 threw back the hood of her cloak ; she leaned her arms 
 upon the parapet ; she looked down into the valley. The 
 desolation of the winter was about them. Here and there 
 a thin blue fillet of smoke rose steadily up through the 
 windless afternoon, and here and there the brown walls of a 
 house stood clear of the drifted snow. 
 
 The thaw had begun ; the air was full of its faint 
 whisperings the gurgling sound and the stir of running 
 water. 
 
 "I can't understand why you should look so happy 
 to-night ? " said Stuart, presently, leaning forward and 
 looking up into her face ; " what are you smiling to yourself 
 about ? You look," said the young man, suspiciously, " you 
 look like a person who has heard good news." 
 
 Constance laughed. " Well you have just told me we 
 should get away to-morrow," she answered evasively ; but 
 she had the grace to blush as she spoke. 
 
 " I I dreamed about you last night," said Jack, looking 
 away again and digging his stick into the snow. 
 
 "Did you?" 
 
 " It was a nice an extremely nice dream." 
 
 " Indeed," said Miss Varley, very gravely, opening her 
 blue eyes to their widest extent ; " indeed ! " 
 
 " And I say, Miss Varley Constance I wonder if 
 you would mind if I should call you Constance ? " 
 
 "Mind it? No!"
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 83 
 
 " What ! really not ? " 
 
 "Really not. Why should I? If it gives you any plea- 
 sure, call me so by all means. And then, you know, when 
 one remembers the example I set you the other day " 
 
 "But you've never called me by my name since not 
 once," says Mr. Stuart, eagerly. 
 
 " Haven't I ? How very neglectful I am, to be sure ! " 
 says Miss Constance, beginning to laugh again. 
 
 She is always laughing at him, Stuart thinks, savagely ; 
 and perhaps his face expresses some of the discomfiture he 
 feels, for presently : 
 
 " Have I really vexed you ? I am so sorry. Indeed I 
 did not mean to. But after all that smoke I think this fresh 
 air must be going to my head ! " somebody says, with the 
 utmost friendliness. " Come, Mr. Stuart come, Jack " 
 and here a dogskin gauntlet is held out to him " forgive 
 me, and shake hands, and make friends won't you ? " says 
 the owner of the glove. 
 
 Forgive her ! make friends ! Mr. Stuart is ready to 
 to In fact, you know he is ready 
 
 Perhaps it is quite as well for the duration of the present 
 peace that he is too much occupied in digging holes in the 
 snow with his stick to look up as he makes the foregoing 
 statements, and see the frank surprise, the mischievous 
 amusement that fill the blue eyes by his side. 
 
 " Look ! there is a man at his prayers," says Constance, 
 pointing with her hand, and then falls silent, watching the 
 tall figure on the opposite house-top, rising and bowing 
 a dusky shape against the winter twilight. There is always 
 a certain suggestion of melancholy in a figure seen thus a 
 black silhouette against a fading sky no longer an in- 
 dividual man, but a mere fraction of humanity half-hidden 
 in the gathering shadows. It is nature's revenge upon man's 
 daytime supremacy a transfiguration in which all the com- 
 monplace of appearance and existence disappear, are lost 
 in the great mystery of coming night. The last wan line of 
 crimson dies away behind the hills ; here and there a star 
 is shining in the pale cold blue of the sky. 
 
 " I should like to know what you are thinking of?" says 
 Jack, breaking a longer silence than has ever fallen between 
 them before. 
 
 G *
 
 84 MIRAGE. 
 
 Thinking of? The girl looks up at him with somewhat 
 wistful eyes. 
 
 " I was thinking of an old ballad I knew once," she says 
 slowly, beginning to count the amber beads about her wrist 
 as she speaks ; it is a familiar action of hers, and one that 
 betokens some inward perturbation. " An old German 
 ballad. I knew someone who - I mean, I have heard it 
 sung. Perhaps you know it : ' Sclwn-Rohtraut? It is 
 Schumann's music. I cannot tell you who wrote the 
 words." 
 
 " Oh, I should probably be not much the wiser if you did," 
 says Jack, simply. " You know I never did care much for 
 books." 
 
 And indeed this was quite true. Mr. Stuart's relation 
 to literature being not unlike that of a Newfoundland dog 
 to the water. He could acquit himself quite creditably 
 while in this unfamiliar element ; might even secure some 
 small waif or stray not too heavy to float, to which his 
 attention had been especially directed; and, once on dry 
 land again (so to speak), you may be sure he lost no time 
 in shaking off the last vestiges of his late exploit. 
 
 " I did not know you cared for German songs," he says. 
 
 " I care for this one." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I see Hassan bringing up the dinner. I can see 
 Abdallah's smile from this distance," remarks Miss Varley, 
 calmly, in answer to this last demand. 
 
 And this, I protest, is a full, a faithful account of the 
 momentous interview upon which Fanny had based so many 
 hopes. 
 
 But would Fanny believe it? She greets her friend 
 with her most innocent smile. They have kept dinner 
 waiting ? Not a bit of it ! Fanny likes to have dinner 
 wait. She is sure the air has done Constance good. Jack 
 was so very right not to let the Major expose himself. 
 Dear Tom cannot be too careful. 
 
 " Dear Tom can very easily be too hungry, though," 
 says the Major with a grin. 
 
 " I am very sorry. I knew we should be late. But I 
 could not get Jack to come down," says Miss Varley, 
 simply.
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 85 
 
 " Dear Constance !" Mrs. Thayer goes up and embraces 
 her friend with artless effusion ; " my dear Constance ! " 
 
 "Pray don't let me hurry you. What is dinner in 
 comparison to the affections ?" says the Major again, eyeing 
 his group. 
 
 " Dinner, Fanny ! and Tom shall tell us some of his 
 army stories at dessert. Tom has developed wonderfully of 
 late," cries Constance, gaily ; " I'm sure I never knew him 
 to be so interesting before." 
 
 And this time Mrs. Thayer does not offer any embrace. 
 
 When they leave Bethel, a feeble sun is struggling 
 through the morning mist. At first the road they follow 
 leads them across a field of stones, a plain of scattered ruins 
 buried in the half-melted snow ; and then, for a mile or two, 
 their path is the broken bed of a mountain torrent, where 
 the sure-footed Syrian horses scramble and poise like goats 
 upon the massive boulders, or splash, knee-deep, through 
 sudden icy pools. And now they have reached a lower 
 level, where rain, not snow, has fallen through the storm. 
 There is a stirring of colour among the hedgerows, a gleam 
 of scarlet anemones, a flash of yellow buttercups, some hint 
 of hidden sweetness from a starry clematis-vine. As they 
 go down, lower and lower, dry spots and sheltered nooks 
 appear. At midday they stop for luncheon at the Robber's 
 Fountain a high gray cliff towering above three brimming 
 basins of hollowed stone, and all overgrown with delicate 
 drooping fern and frail white tufts of cyclamen. 
 
 And now the road grows wider, and winds past endless 
 orchards of shadowy olive-trees ; gray-green as a mass, 
 shivering into sharpest silvery light as the wind stirs in their 
 branches. Then a long reach of pale young wheat " spring- 
 ing out of the earth, clear shining after the rain," so tender, 
 its colour is steel-blue in the sunshine, deepening to rings of 
 greenest emerald where, here and there, an olive stands 
 amongst the grain and casts its shadow on the ground. At 
 every step the terraced hills sink lower, the valley opens 
 farther out before them. A hundred new-born flowers look 
 joyously up from out the grass ; birds are calling to each 
 other from the shelter of the small young leaves ; a weak 
 wind is chasing the light cloud-shadows faster across the 
 plain ; it seems the very resurrection of the spring.
 
 86 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Do you see that village over there ? That is Shiloh," 
 says Constance, pointing with her whip. " Jack, if you will 
 ride up to Fanny and tell her that is Shiloh, I will bet you a 
 pair of gloves she mentions Dr. Adams's famous sermon 
 about the Infant Samuel three times within the next fifteen 
 minutes ! " 
 
 "Why do you so dislike poor Dr. Adams?" says 
 Mr. Stuart, reproachfully. 
 
 " I don't dislike him ; he bores me ; he is a big man 
 who is always making feeble puns and jokes mild, clerical 
 jokes, don't you know, with a musty flabby feeling about 
 them, as though he kept them in the same barrel with his 
 sermons." 
 
 "I wish I really do wish you would not say such 
 things," says Jack, with sudden gravity. 
 
 " What things ? and why not ?" 
 
 "Oh, laughing at people, and so on. I never heard my 
 mother or my sister laugh at a clergyman in my life," he 
 says in a very positive manner. And then there is a long 
 silence. Miss Varley is looking at the hedgerows with an 
 inquiring air ; Mr. Stuart is watching her face. 
 
 "You you are not angry?" he asks presently, riding up 
 closer to her, as he speaks. " Constance, you are not 
 angry? I would not offend you for the world !" 
 
 Miss Varley is not offended in the least; in fact, does 
 not see why she should be and says so, with exasperating 
 calm. 
 
 " And you will give up the habit for my sake?" 
 
 " Oh, if I had such a habit, and there was any harm in 
 it which, mind you, I don't admit and if I gave it up for 
 anybody it would certainly be to please Fanny," she answers, 
 carelessly enough. 
 
 "And you would not do it for me?" He rests his hand 
 upon the neck of her horse, and half checks his own, and 
 looks down into her face. They are riding in a narrow 
 sunken lane,- across which a branching fig-tree casts the 
 dappled shadow of its small young leaves. As they slacken 
 their pace Lione comes bounding back and looks up at 
 them and whines and rubs his golden-brown head against 
 Miss Varley's horse. 
 
 " You won't do it for my sake, Constance ? " says Jack. 
 It makes a very pretty group, seen from the palanquin.
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 87 
 
 She lifted her face up suddenly and looked at him 
 straight in the eyes. Once before he had seen this same 
 expression of distress, of defiance in her glance. " I wish 
 you would speak of something else," she says bravely, but 
 with a palpable effort. 
 
 " I will always do as you like," the young man answered 
 simply. 
 
 They rode on for nearly a mile without another word. 
 
 The camp that night was in the plain of Laban. A 
 hundred feet away from the tent-door a little spring bubbled 
 up amongst the fern-grown ruins of an ancient khan. Farther 
 on, a long green reach of meadow-land was dotted with 
 feeding herds big, brown-skinned cattle guarded by 
 brown-cloaked Bedawy. 
 
 It was a simple and patriarchal scene ; and after dinner, 
 as they sat in the doorway of the tent, drinking coffee, it 
 was pleasant to see these strange and savage figures sitting 
 motionless in the last level rays of the sun, or leaning upon 
 their spears, watching their flocks by night. 
 
 " That village we passed this afternoon was Shiloh/" 
 Fanny remarked, after a while. "Did you know it? I 
 wish someone had told me of it sooner, for Dr. Adams " 
 
 Jack laughed involuntarily, and looked over at Miss 
 Varley. She was sitting on the grass, playing with Lione's 
 ears as he rested his head on her lap. There was some- 
 thing very gentle, very subdued in her manner that evening. 
 She hardly spoke. Once or twice, as Jack looked up, he 
 felt her eyes fixed upon him. There was a singular 
 seriousness, something almost melancholy in their glance. 
 
 " Are you tired, child ?" asks Fanny, presently, leaning 
 back in her chair. 
 
 "Very." 
 
 " I'm sure I don't wonder at it ! That constant riding 
 is so fatiguing. Even I, with my palanquin, am quite used 
 up. I don't want to disturb you, Jack, but if you would 
 
 hand me that cushion Thanks. And there was 
 
 another little one. Constance is leaning on it. Oh, I 
 didn't see," says Mrs. Thayer, sweetly. 
 
 " Oh, take it, Fanny. Lione will do for a pillow quite 
 as well," the girl answers, laughing ; and, as she speaks, the 
 dragoman appears majestically smoking a chibouque, and 
 asks for a few words with Miss Varley.
 
 88 MIRAGE. 
 
 There is a moment's consultation, and then they see 
 Constance walking hurriedly away in the direction of the 
 kitchen-tent. Presently Luigi comes running back to fetch 
 a box. 
 
 "What is it?" Fanny asks, with languid interest. 
 
 " My lady want her medicine, lady. One man very bad 
 hurt," says Luigi, with the box under his a.rm. 
 
 It was so like Constance ! She was always doing these 
 ridiculous things. It was just the same way on the Nile ; 
 they used to come to her if anyone scratched his finger. 
 
 " As for me, I told Hassan from the very first I was not 
 to be disturbed about the men's accidents. My nerves will 
 not bear it. It is a question of health with me," says 
 Fanny. 
 
 " It is a question of health other people's health with 
 Constance," Major Thayer remarks, placidly. 
 
 "Oh, Constance has always had a mania for sacrificing 
 herself. It was exactly the same way at school. They 
 used to call her Don Quixote ; she had such ridiculous 
 fancies about things, not a bit like the other girls. She was 
 almost the youngest there ; but I think they were all a 
 little afraid of her, all except me. Constance can be very 
 severe over anything she thinks dishonourable ; and proud 
 proud as Lucifer if you take her the wrong way. But 
 I always knew how to manage her. There is nothing she 
 would not do for me," said Fanny, complacently. She 
 settled herself more comfortably back in her chair, and 
 glanced round at Jack. " Do call that dog away. I can't 
 endure to have him touch me," she said. 
 
 " Were you come here, Lione ! were you long at 
 school with Constance?" says Stuart, bending down to 
 examine the dog's collar. 
 
 " Always. That is I left before she did, of course ; 
 but we have been together since we were babies. You 
 know Captain Varley was my guardian. I remember," said 
 Mrs. Thayer, pensively, " I remember the last term before 
 I left school for good," with a glance at the Major, " there 
 was a girl we all hated : Walker her name was Mary 
 Walker. I think she was a cousin or something of the 
 principal, and they had her there for charity. She was an 
 ugly, shabby little creature, anyhow, and we none of us 
 would speak to her. She was in training to be a governess
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 89 
 
 reading for a French prize we could not understand 
 how it was she took so many honours, for she was a very 
 stupid girl, until one day, quite by accident, Constance saw 
 her copying her exercises out of some old book. It was 
 Constance's own work, I believe ; something she had done 
 for her amusement. That was one of the queerest things 
 about Constance ; she absolutely studied to amuse her- 
 self " 
 
 "Well?" said Mr. Stuart. It may be he too was 
 wondering in a simple way over this last announce- 
 ment. 
 
 " Well ! the end of it was very characteristic, certainly. 
 First, she made the Walker girl swear she would abandon 
 her evil courses as though that were likely ! but Constance 
 is so credulous. And then she stayed over Christmas week 
 in town you remember that Christmas week at Aunt Van's, 
 Tom ? she stays over all through the Christmas holidays 
 to coach that wretched creature through her grammar. She 
 got her diploma, I know, and after that they gave her a 
 salary, and her aunt made more of her. But I don't think 
 she ever thanked Constance." 
 
 " Don't you think it is time someone went to see what 
 has become of Miss Varley ?" said Jack, and went out with- 
 out waiting for an answer. 
 
 It had grown dark meanwhile. There was a leaping fire 
 in front of the kitchen-tent ; a circle of muleteers stood 
 around it, their shadows stirring curiously upon the canvas 
 wall at every motion of the wind-blown flames. The young 
 man sauntered up to the group and looked in. Miss 
 Varley was kneeling upon the ground ; Hassan was standing 
 near her holding a lighted torch. She had pushed the sleeve 
 of her habit back over her white arm ; there was a sponge 
 and a basin of water by her side. As Jack drew near, she 
 was already binding up the injured foot with a firm dexterous 
 touch. 
 
 " Ask him if that feels more comfortable, Hassan," she 
 said. " If it does not feel more comfortable, I will do it 
 all over again." She looked up at her patient with the 
 sweetest, the most compassionate smile. 
 
 " Taib, Abdallah ? " 
 
 " Taib, kefir/" said the man with a quick lighting up 
 of the wrinkled anxious face.
 
 90 MIRAGE. 
 
 A broad white smile flashed responsively around the 
 dusky ring of lookers-on. 
 
 "That Bedawy the one with the child is to have 
 some of that ointment to rub on his shoulder, Hassan," 
 said Constance, getting up to her feet and pulling down her 
 sleeve. And then, for the first time, she was aware of 
 Stuart. 
 - " What was the matter ? " 
 
 " Oh, it was only that unlucky old Abdallah. He is 
 always getting hurt. This time a mule stepped on his foot. 
 I hope Hassan will remember not to make him walk to- 
 morrow. I must get up early and see about it before the 
 train starts off," she said thoughtfully. And then, after a 
 moment's pause : "Considering that I never tied up as much 
 as a cut finger before we went to Egypt, and that I have 
 unlimited control of Fanny's medicine-chest, don't you think 
 I ought to be congratulated that so many of my patients 
 escape with their lives, Mr. Stuart ? " she added, laughing. 
 
 " I think that you are an angel of goodness to every- 
 body but me," said Jack. 
 
 They had adopted very early hours here in Syria. 
 Breakfast was on the table punctually at six o'clock, and as 
 a usual thing, the lights were all out in the tents long before 
 ten. But that night Miss Varley chose to sit up later. 
 Long after the camp had settled into darkness, a feeble 
 glimmer shone beneath her door. She had taken a key 
 from about her neck, had opened her box, and was sitting 
 before the table, reading. It was a manuscript volume a 
 journal evidently with here and there some loose papers, 
 some verses, a photograph, a half-finished sketch, thrust in 
 between its leaves. At first, she had written a few words in 
 it ; now she sat turning over the pages, looking at the dates. 
 The earliest of them was of three years before, the latest was 
 of yesterday, and on every page some words were constantly 
 repeated. Once, after a long pause, during which she had 
 sat so motionless you might have believed her sleeping. 
 Constance repeated these words aloud. The wind rustled 
 at the door of her tent, and the girl started up, her heart 
 beating, the colour coming and going in her cheeks ; and 
 yet there had been nothing to frighten her in what she said. 
 After all it was only a name the name of Denis Lawrence.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SOME GOOD SAMARITANS. 
 
 ONE long unbroken sweep of wheat-fields stretched past and 
 around them. The foot of the hills was thickly overgrown 
 with olives, circling, a silvery gray cloud, about the stones. 
 Higher up, the fig-trees twisted their quaint leafless branches 
 in a network of pale purple against the sky, or rested, a 
 violet smoke, in the crevices and fissures of the rock ; and 
 from mountain to mountain the valley flowed one wave of 
 living green. The sky was of a pale and cloudless blue, still 
 tremulous, still quivering with the spent passion of the 
 storm ; and spring, that ' child of many winds/ was in the 
 air, and all the world was filled with a sweet faint perfume 
 as of a hundred growing things ; a low melodious calling of 
 bird-voices ; the languid whisper of the breeze, running in 
 green-white waves across the rustling sea of wheat. They 
 were riding across one of the fairest plains in Palestine 
 across that parcel of ground that Jacob bought; where 
 Joseph wandered, looking for his brethren ; across the valley 
 where Joshua proclaimed the Law ; and on and on across 
 the sun-filled land, to the margin of that wayside well where 
 Jesus rested, being wearied with his journey, and spake with 
 the woman of Samaria. 
 
 I do not know how it happened that, as they rode along, 
 the conversation fell upon the strange history of Simon 
 Magus. Perhaps it was that Major Thayer had been 
 reading about him of late. It may be Miss Varley had her 
 own reasons for preferring to speak of some impersonal 
 matter. But surely there must be something fascinating 
 to the meagrest imagination in the story of this Samaritan
 
 92 MIRAGE. 
 
 fanatic ; this, mystic propounder of Egyptian myth and 
 Jewish doctrine ; this dreamer of dreams a prophet 
 bewildered by weak echoes of the large utterance of the 
 early gods ; this false Christ ; " The Osiris of a known age 
 a Jupiter within our era ; " this Syrian peasant to whom 
 a column was erected in far-off Rome Simoni Deo Sansto ; 
 this forerunner of Comte, worshipping the divine idea in the 
 guise of a woman ; this visionary, wise with strange wisdom 
 of the East; this impostor, performing daily miracles, "to 
 whom they all gave heed, in the city, from the least to the 
 greatest." 
 
 There was, I say, something singularly interesting in this 
 history listened to here under the very shadow of the Mount 
 of Blessing ; and so it came to pass that all through the long 
 sunny morning Constance and the Major rode apart. 
 
 But it was still early in the afternoon as they passed the 
 first houses of that ancient city, Shechem the modern 
 Nablous the city of running streams, and blossom-burdened 
 gardens, and sombre tunnelled streets. 
 
 As they drew up before the door of the tents they heard 
 a discharge of firearms ; a company of Turkish horsemen 
 were turning slowly away. It was the governor and his 
 escort, Hassan informed them in an important whisper. 
 
 " Governor very strong man here, sir. I tell him you 
 one big general, make him afraid. P'r'aps, I not tell him so ! 
 do something not please him, he take away one, two, three, 
 my men." 
 
 " Nice kind of person that," said Mr. Stuart, lazily. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; very big man, sir. Very bad man. I do him 
 honour. Wish I had more guns ; I fire another salute." 
 
 " Here, take my revolver," says Jack, good-naturedly. 
 He drew his pistol out of his belt and passed it over to the 
 dragoman. 
 
 " Oh Jack, how could you ! Think of the horrible 
 noise !" 
 
 " What ! does it really go off ! Do you know I am 
 rather surprised at that. I thought it was an ornament," 
 says Constance, smiling. 
 
 The young man turned rather red. " We can't all be 
 Mr. Lawrences," he said, dryly ; and this time it was Miss 
 Varley's turn to blush.
 
 SOME GOOD SAMARITANS. 93 
 
 After lunch they sallied out to inspect the city. And 
 here again Constance walked off with Tom, leaving the other 
 two to follow at their leisure. 
 
 They followed on for the most part in silence. Was any- 
 thing the matter ? Had he offended her ? Was it possible 
 
 that she did not understand The young fellow, stalking 
 
 gloomily along, revolving these and kindred questions in his 
 mind, must surely have been but a sorry companion. And 
 yet Mrs. Thayer did not seem displeased. 
 
 At first they went to Jacob's house, the house where the 
 father mourned for his son many days and refused to be 
 comforted. They pushed open the creaking gate and passed 
 from out the noisy street into an old and silent garden an 
 up-springing wilderness of rose-bushes and oranges, with 
 here and there a mossy peach-tree thrusting a branch of pale 
 pink blossoms across the narrow path. On one side stood 
 the so-called house an old church of the time of the 
 Crusaders, but with a Saracenic arch apparently of much 
 earlier date ; now it is used as a manufactory of clay jars. 
 They went in and looked about the deserted enclosure. 
 The workmen had all gone home. The place was quite 
 empty but for the rows upon rows of brown unbaked jars. 
 
 " It reminds me of a burlesque I saw once, ' Ali Baba 
 and the Forty Thieves.' What a capital place for a ballet," 
 says Jack. 
 
 Miss Constance laughs : " Poor Jacob !" 
 
 They go out. At the farther end of the garden they 
 come upon a dark shadowy pool. A single ray of sunlight 
 pierces the glossy green of the orange-trees that lean from the 
 terrace overhead and catches on a fringe of delicate grasses 
 and rank pale flowers. Beside it two gnarled and aged cacti 
 stand sentinel by the worn old gateway leading through 
 another garden to the square ruined tower of a mosque. Its 
 gray time-eaten stones are in full sunlight, high lifted above 
 the trees ; here and there a tuft of fern, a waving tuft of 
 yellow wall-flowers, makes a spot of colour on its wind-and- 
 rain blanched surface. There is a still, sunny silence 
 brooding like a charm over all the abandoned spot. 
 
 It was like the entrance to some enchanted castle, 
 Constance remarked, absently. Had Fanny had Mr. 
 Stuart observed those cacti ? "A cactus is a plant that
 
 94 MIRAGE. 
 
 always looks to me both deaf and dumb. And those fig- 
 trees up there by the wall, with their dark purplish twigs, 
 curved like fingers, and their leaves like open hands is 
 there not something uncanny to you about a fig-tree ? I saw 
 some to-day, as we rode along, with such intricate tracery of 
 branches they might almost have suggested the Saracenic 
 idea of ornamentation by lines." 
 
 " I don't know ; I never studied botany," said Mr. Stuart. 
 
 Once more they followed their guide down the long 
 dark street, arched tunnelwise above their heads ; picking 
 their way over slippery jagged stones ; growing suddenly 
 aware of the tumult of hidden streams, and turning a sharp 
 corner to come suddenly out of the gloom and darkness to 
 where a glorious rush of water leaped wildly over the edge 
 of a ruined archway, and fell in dazzling mist in the brim- 
 ming basin at their feet. Green masses of clinging fern, and 
 starry blooms, and cool pale water-flowers, hung down in 
 lovely profusion, glistening with moisture, and trembling 
 with the movement of the fall ; and looking through the 
 archway, and through the wonderfully clear water, they 
 could catch glimpses of a sunny lawn and trees waving in 
 the wind. 
 
 A little farther on they came upon the church of the 
 Samaritans. 
 
 " We go in to see the synagogue, of course ? " said the 
 Major. 
 
 " It was a bare upper chamber ; a white-washed room, 
 with curiously-shaped lamps swinging from the vaulted 
 ceiling. At one end a white sheet was drawn before the 
 Holy of Holies. The high-priest a young man with a 
 grave fervent face, the face of a dreamer and an enthusiast : 
 beautiful, ardent, impassioned, like the face of the boy 
 David the high-priest drew back the curtain, and brought 
 out and showed them the famous manuscript copy of the 
 Pentateuch. 
 
 It was a curious scene : the little group of sceptical 
 strangers, the roll of tattered vellum, the noble reverence of 
 the priest bending over it, the three or four slim Syrian lads 
 lounging in the sunny doorway, the small mean room, the 
 high place and the altar of that strange forgotten people who 
 feared the Lord and worshipped their own gods.
 
 SOME GOOD SAMARITANS. 95 
 
 As they came out into the street once more the party is 
 again divided. Mrs. Thayer wishes to return to the tents. 
 
 " Tom will take me there. You can go to the bazaar 
 with Constance," she said. 
 
 Mr. Stuart was entirely at Miss Varley's service. 
 
 " I think I shall go back with Fanny," that young lady 
 remarks. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " But, indeed, Fanny ". 
 
 " Go on with Jack, and wait for me in the bazaar. I'll 
 join you presently with Hassan. I'm going to make a 
 sketch," the Major says decidedly. And with this under- 
 standing they part. 
 
 It was an embarrassing moment for them both the 
 more so, perhaps, that neither was quite sure what had oc- 
 casioned this change. Of the two there was one who would 
 have given much to have escaped the necessity of any inter- 
 view. Naturally enough, this one was the first to speak. 
 
 " I am afraid we have been very selfish, Tom and I," she 
 says, with a slight increase of colour on her cheeks ; "Fanny 
 seems so tired. But these people are interesting. I think 
 this is a delightful place don't you ? " 
 
 " I think so now," says Mr. Stuart. 
 
 Some men passing along the road turn again to stare at 
 the strangers, and he returns their glances with a little of 
 that abounding contempt we instinctively exhibit towards 
 people who, in all probability, will never be in any fashion 
 connected with ourselves. 
 
 "It is so seldom Tom can be got to talk. Tom is 
 something like an Englishman in that respect. Did you 
 never notice how an American will invariably endeavour to be 
 interesting at any cost either to others or to himself? Now 
 an Englishman has the courage to be dull." 
 
 " Some of us are dull enough without that," says Jack, 
 moodily. 
 
 The Arabs are still standing watching him. They 
 whisper together. As the young man brushes by them there 
 is a hoarse cry of " Backshish ! " and then an insolent 
 laugh. It is only a trifling annoyance, but it comes charged 
 with the weight of the morning's exasperation, and sends 
 the hot blood flushing to his forehead. He turns upon
 
 96 MIRAGE. 
 
 Constance with that sudden irrational resentment of an 
 unpleasant impression which is perhaps at the bottom of half 
 the follies of life. 
 
 "Don't you think these small travelling parties are 
 a mistake ? " he says, with an air of elaborate impartiality. 
 " One sees the same people so continuously that in fact, 
 you see the same people so much." 
 
 Miss Varley is entirely of his opinion. She says so, and 
 then bends down and busies herself with the folds of her 
 habit to conceal a most unequivocal smile. 
 
 " Yes, I am tired of it," says Mr. Stuart. 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " I am tired of the whole thing. You treat me like a 
 boy. You laugh at me. You you attempt to to 
 patronise me, by Jove ! '"' cries the young man, turning 
 very red. " I don't like it. I don't think you are treating 
 me fairly, Constance," he says, with sudden firmness, with 
 an assertion of mastery in his voice that she has never 
 heard before. 
 
 Miss Varley draws herself up and turns full upon him, 
 and all the light and animation have gone out of her face. 
 
 " You are probably not aware of what you are saying. 
 
 You will excuse me if I fail to understand " she begins 
 
 very coldly ; and then there comes a sudden look of kind- 
 ness in her eyes. " What is the use of quarrelling, Jack ? 
 You know you are talking nonsense. When have I ever 
 done anything purposely to vex you?" she says very 
 gently. 
 
 A group of fair-haired Nablous children are standing in 
 a doorway. At the sight of the strange faces approaching 
 them they dart away like frightened birds, all but one, a 
 little boy of two or three, who stands in the middle of the 
 street and contemplates them meditatively. Such a flower- 
 face as it is ! with the beautiful open look of a peach-blossom 
 overblown. " Come here, you delightful little creature, and 
 get some backshish," says Constance, and holds up a tempt- 
 ing silver coin. There is a moment's hesitation, and then 
 the baby comes forward a few steps, stops, stares about him. 
 " Poor little thing ! " says Constance, and stoops to pick 
 him up. To her surprise the child resists her with sudden 
 shrill cries of alarm.
 
 SOME GOOD SAMARITANS. 97 
 
 ' Oh, put him down, do ! " says Jack, hastily. There is 
 quite a crowd around them by this time. 
 
 "Poor little thing ! You don't suppose it was afraid I 
 had the evil eye ? " begins the girl, and at the same' moment 
 a woman, veiled and shapeless in her cotton gown, breaks 
 through the ring, seizes the sobbing child in her arms, and 
 turns and addresses the crowd in high-pitched Arabic. 
 
 " Come on !" says Mr. Stuart again, and this time with 
 even stronger emphasis. " Let that little wretch alone ; it 
 doesn't want your money. Here, let's get out of this." 
 
 But this is not so easily done. It is true the crowd 
 parts before them, but only to close about on every side. 
 " Backshish ! " yells a tall one-eyed lad in a tattered gown, 
 who has followed them persistently since they entered the 
 bazaar. " Backshish ! " calls out a man, putting a hand on 
 Miss Varley's shoulder and stooping to look into her face : 
 
 " back " A vigorous push sends him staggering against 
 
 the wall. 
 
 " Take my arm ; don't be frightened," says Jack, cheer- 
 fully. ''If we can only get through this infernal bazaar " 
 
 A. shove from the yellow fanatic on the outside of the ring 
 sends the nearest beggar upon him. He turns, and a shove 
 from the other side flings Constance against his shoulder. 
 No sound ; but the double movement meant mischief. 
 
 " Oh what shall we do ?" says Miss Varley, turning 
 pale. 
 
 To her dying day she will never forget what takes place 
 within the next few minutes. 
 
 He took her hands in his; he looked at her with a 
 sort of despairing tenderness. 
 
 " Don't be frightened," he said ; " there is going to be 
 a row. Here, stand back under that arch, and don't move 
 whatever happens. Don't be frightened, and don't cry. 
 Don't cry, my darling, I'll take care of you." 
 
 As luck will have it, the arch of which he speaks is the 
 gaudy-painted doorway of the mosque. A savage howl of 
 execration runs through the crowd at sight of this new 
 outrage. They press forward, stop, waver ; and then Jack 
 turns and faces them and draws his pistol from his belt. 
 
 " Come on, then ! Why don't you come on, you black- 
 guards !" he calls out, in English ; and, as by the breaking
 
 98 MIRAGE. 
 
 of a spell, the sound of his voice evokes a very storm of 
 frenzy and abuse. With every moment the tumult increases. 
 A piece of mud knocks off his hat ; in an instant it is seized 
 and torn to shreds ; and the sight of his blonde Saxon face 
 is the signal for a new outbreak of impotent rage. Twice 
 already the jeering, hissing mass of infuriated men has 
 pushed and swayed up to the very limit pf the steps, and 
 twice the sight of his steady unblenching face has swept 
 them back again with a sound as of the surf grinding upon 
 the shore. And each time they have lessened the distance 
 between them. 
 
 He took three steps forward, paused, then deliberately 
 drew a deep line with the heel of his boot in the dust. 
 " We'll see who crosses that, my men ! " he says signifi- 
 cantly. A long howl of defiance is the instant answer. 
 And now, with one common impulse, the mob hurls itself 
 forward and stands straining and foaming like a pack of 
 craven white-toothed pariah-dogs on the farther side of the 
 barrier. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, my darling," says Jack ; his own 
 face is deathly pale, and great beads of moisture are standing 
 on his forehead. 
 
 There is a scuffle, a push ; one of the foremost assailants, 
 a half-grown lad in a long blue caftan, is sent staggering 
 across the mark ; he falls heavily on his face and is dragged 
 back by his nearest neighbours. And then comes an 
 ominous pause. 
 
 From his vantage-ground on the mosque-steps Stuart 
 overlooks the street ; and at this moment he is aware of a 
 disturbance in the spirit of the mob some new object is 
 drawing their attention. There is a cry of " Allah ! " the 
 sound of a low, wailing, inarticulate chant, a sudden falling 
 asunder of the close-packed men ; in the centre of this 
 space, advancing slowly towards him, is a creature a man. 
 It has the figure of a man but whether young or old it is 
 impossible to say. A strip of sheepskin is slung about its 
 waist, a long string of coarse amulets dangles from its neck 
 and down upon the naked breast, covered with hair like 
 the breast of an animal. On his head is a fantastic 
 crown of iron spikes, from under which long and matted 
 locks stream down over his thick arms, his naked shining
 
 SOME GOOD SAMARITANS. 99 
 
 shoulders, his fixed and vacant eyes. He comes slowly 
 forward, rolling from side to side in his walk, keeping time 
 to the monotonous lolling chant. The crowd have fallen 
 respectfully back, he stands alone in the centre of an open 
 space, looking at Stuart with a dull malignant smile. 
 
 " My God ! what shall I do ?" thought Stuart, clenching 
 his teeth. He moves, and the dervish catches sight of 
 Constance. A sudden, furious gleam of insanity trans- 
 figures the livid face. He turns, with a wild gesture of 
 exhortation he turns and harangues the mob. He turns 
 again he walks deliberately forward. Jack raises the 
 revolver slowly to a level. 
 
 And then a murderous silence falls upon the crowd. 
 The dervish comes steadily forward ; his foot is on the 
 line ; he looks up at Stuart with an idiotic laugh, and then, 
 like a mockery from heaven, they hear through the intense 
 silence the innocent bubbling laughter of a child. 
 
 The dervish passes the line. Constance springs forward 
 with a cry. The next sound is the click of the trigger 
 settling back in its lock !
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BLUE LILIES. 
 
 "JACK!" She springs forward and clutches him by the 
 arm. " Don't fire ! Hassan !" she says wildly, with white 
 breathless lips ; " Hassan Hassan " 
 
 And even as she speaks there is a clattering charge of 
 mounted men, a swinging of sabres, a slashing of whips, a 
 cheer. The surging mob sweeps back against the steps. 
 In a moment the dervish is seized, surrounded, forced bodily 
 into the shelter of the mosque. Major Thayer springs from 
 his saddle. The Turkish soldiers clear the piazza of the 
 last terrified stragglers. The dragoman rushes forward 
 flourishing his koorbash. 
 
 "Thank God!" says Stuart, seizing Constance by the 
 hand. And then, for the first time, Miss Varley breaks 
 down. 
 
 " Take me home take me home, Tom, to Fanny," she 
 says piteously. 
 
 " Will you ride ?" 
 
 " No ; I don't know ; take me home," she says, and 
 walks on blindly, clinging to his arm, the centre of an 
 excited, questioning, explaining group. 
 
 In three or four minutes they have reached the camp. 
 As they enter the tent, the girl turns to Stuart : 
 
 " I haven't thanked you. But you know," she says 
 brokenly. She gives him both her hands. Then she sits 
 down on a chair in a corner and begins to cry. 
 
 Mr. Stuart, too, sits down. He looks about him with a 
 bewildered air. 
 
 " Good heavens ! Jack, are you hurt ? Will you have
 
 BLUE LILIES. 101 
 
 some brandy? some water? Your face is as white as a 
 sheet ! Oh Tom, why don't you do something ? Don't 
 you see that Jack " 
 
 " I'm not hurt, Fanny. I've been badly frightened. I 
 never knew what it was like before," says Mr. Stuart, simply ; 
 
 " but I had Constance to take care of, you know, and 
 
 Look here !" 
 
 He threw his revolver down upon the table. Major 
 Thayer picks it up curiously, examines it, starts, and throws 
 it down again with an oath. 
 
 " I let Hassan have it for that salute. I had forgotten 
 all about it. You see it wasn't loaded !" says Jack. 
 
 The following afternoon found them still at Nablous. 
 Fanny did not feel well, for one thing ; her nerves had not 
 yet recovered from yesterday's excitement. Then Abdallah's 
 foot was no better, a horse had gone lame ; the head-mule- 
 teer had a wife in Shechem. 
 
 " In fact, the more I hear our delay explained the less I 
 seem to understand it," Major Thayer remarked testily. 
 
 They were winding up Mount Gerizim, and it was to 
 Miss Varley he spoke. The Major had all that aversion to 
 stopping which you notice in unoccupied people that 
 terror of a pause, which is so suggestive of the anticipation 
 of a corresponding vacuum. And just now this latest 
 annoyance found relief in a proposition peculiarly unaccept- 
 able to Constance, for : 
 
 " I shall stay here and sketch. Fanny particularly 
 wished me to get a good sketch of Nablous. And I think 
 she was quite right in advising me to take it from halfway 
 up the hill," he said. 
 
 Miss Varley suggested they could wait and all ride up 
 together, later. Mr. Stuart thought it would be a pity to 
 miss the sunset. Hassan was of opinion the horses needed 
 exercise. Of course it ended in their going on. 
 
 It was a sunny, breezy afternoon. As they turned their 
 horses' heads towards the distant mountain-top, a cool and 
 playful air blew freshly down upon them, luring them 
 onward to the wind-swept freedom of those heights. The 
 very greyhound, bounding on before, seemed instinct with 
 new force and life, making wild rushes at elusive birds, 
 flinging his supple, golden-brown body high in air, in
 
 102 MIRAGE, 
 
 frantic efforts to make will take the force of wings, or paus- 
 ing, erect and quivering, upon some overhanging rock to 
 watch their slower ascent. They were riding across a strik- 
 ingly beautiful country, over both sacred and historic 
 ground. But both were preoccupied, and both were 
 unusually silent. 
 
 We hear so much of woman's power of intuition now 
 that the exemption from all that power implies, is claimed 
 that possibly the phrase may serve once more to account 
 for the feeling of confused apprehension with which 
 Constance looked forward to the conclusion of this ride. 
 Indeed she had hardly recovered as yet from the excite- 
 ment and suspense of yesterday. Stuart's courage, his 
 devotion, the simple fashion in which he had accepted her 
 thanks, appealed, each in its different degree, to the keenest 
 instincts of her nature. And liking, admiration, a quick 
 responsive generosity that very habit of thrusting self into 
 the background which was so characteristic of this girl 
 were ranged upon his side ; were met, were answered by the 
 strong involuntary recoil with which she shrank from admit- 
 ting any claim the slightest which could modify her 
 sentiment toward Lawrence. 
 
 " He will never know what I gave him ; let me know 
 that I gave it all ! " was her inward cry. 
 
 There was a bitter satisfaction in the very completeness 
 of the sacrifice. But now, as she rode on, her predominant 
 sensation might have been translated into an unreasonable 
 conviction that something was coming. And it came. 
 
 The afternoon was singularly lovely. When they reached 
 the mountain-summit great patches of cloud-shadow were 
 resting like so many vaporous islands on the broad billowy 
 sweep of the plain. On one side, the blue line of the 
 Moabite mountains melted away in a dream of distant 
 horizons ; on the other, the wide reach of the Mediterranean 
 curved and glittered in the sun. 
 
 Halfway up, after they had left the Major, even after 
 they had passed the gray olive groves amidst the rocks, there 
 was an attempt at cultivation ; but here were stones 
 nothing but stones growing larger and larger as one 
 ascended, until the ground was littered with rows upon rows 
 of square-hewn blocks, and the confusion culminated in a
 
 BLUE LILIES. 103 
 
 ruined building, whose small white dome is a landmark for 
 miles across the plain. 
 
 Here they left the horses. A few steps farther on, the 
 massive Roman wall is broken into windows. Small knotted 
 fig-trees thrust their weather-beaten branches from between 
 the stones, and the red anemones, bending and flickering in 
 the wind like thin brown flames from subterranean fires, 
 added a touch of crimson grace " Love settling unawares." 
 
 "Those trees remind me of certain personalities," 
 Constance remarked, glancing round her. "Do you re- 
 member old Mr. McMoon ? " 
 
 " The old- Scotchman at Jerusalem who admired you so 
 much?" 
 
 "Yes. That is I don't know about the admiration. 
 I think there was something so pathetic about the poor old 
 fellow old, and unsightly, and grimly tenacious of life, like 
 one of those trees. Do you know he confided to me one 
 day, when we were all out on the roof, that he had been 
 devoting his life since he was eighteen to making money, 
 and, now that his fortune was made, he would like to devote 
 his money to getting back his life ? " 
 
 " The more fool he," said Jack, sententiously. 
 
 " Do you really think so ? He always seemed to me 
 more like a sermon on the folly of telling people to subdue 
 their desires while they are young, and wait for judgment 
 before they face the world. Giving him the use of his life 
 now was like throwing a smoked herring into the sea. He 
 had returned to his native element again ; but after a trial 
 by fire. He was just as much of a fish as ever, only he 
 couldn't swim ! " 
 
 Mr. Stuart smiled. It pleased him to fancy that Constance 
 was clever, as it had pleased him, a week before, to hear of 
 one of his old class-mates having distinguished himself by a 
 volume of translations from the Greek. The cleverness, in 
 his comprehension of things, bore, perhaps, the same relation 
 to real life as the dead language. Both were distinctions in 
 their way, and neither prevented a pleasant feeling of easy 
 superiority on the part of a man who understood, and acted 
 upon, the facts of existence. 
 
 But, just now, it pleased him most of all to lean against 
 these crumbling ruins and watch Miss Varley's movements,
 
 104 MIRAGE. 
 
 the proud and gracious pose of her head, the flush of colour 
 on her cheek. It was with a perfect, a luxurious sense of 
 satisfaction that the young man lounged by her side in the 
 broken embrasure, gazing idly down at those sunny fields, 
 and saw his future stretching out before him, cheerful, and 
 sunny, and secure as they. A premonition of approaching 
 happiness not of content, but happiness, full, unmeasured, 
 incalculable seemed to float in the very air around him, 
 seemed to shine and dazzle through all the sunlight of this 
 brilliant day. He looked up at Constance ; he looked 
 back again at the valley ; he smiled ; he drew a long 
 breath; he hesitated. It was a supreme moment in his 
 life. 
 
 " I don't know how it is," he observed presently; "when I 
 am not with you I am always waiting for you, looking for 
 you, expecting you. I feel as though I had something of 
 the utmost importance to tell you. And when you are 
 there- 
 He stopped and looked up suddenly ; then turned away 
 and began thrusting his stick between the crevices in the 
 stones. 
 
 "That is one of the many disadvantages of a small 
 party," said Constance, demurely. 
 
 " You know I never meant that ! " 
 
 " Indeed I know nothing of the kind ! I've a very 
 good memory, I assure you." 
 
 " I should like to think you remembered something else 
 I told you yesterday," said Jack. 
 
 She blushed, and felt herself blushing. 
 
 " What one says is of less consequence. I never shall 
 forget what you did. Never. I shall never thank you for 
 it, because " 
 
 " I don't want to be thanked. I would do anything for 
 you." 
 
 " You have done a great deal." She put out her hand, 
 and picked a flower growing on the arch above her head. 
 " I think we had better be going. Tom will be waiting,' 1 
 she said. 
 
 " Are you not comfortable where you are ? " 
 
 " Yes. But Tom 
 
 " Tom be hanged ! You are always in such a hurry tc
 
 BLUE LILIES. 105 
 
 go," says Jack, reproachfully. "Now I I am different. 
 And, beside that, I want you to stay here. I want to talk 
 to you. Constance." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I wish you would tell me something about yourself. 
 You always speak of other people of me. It is not my 
 own story I want to know, it is yours. Tell me " 
 
 " There is nothing to tell." 
 
 "Nothing?" 
 
 " Nothing. What sort of a story could I have ? What 
 do I ever do, what have I ever done that could interest you ?" 
 she answered, a little hurriedly. " I never went anywhere 
 until we came here. I never had an adventure in my life 
 until yesterday. I could give you the names of a thousand 
 books or so I have read in the last three years. I can't tell 
 you anything else. And if I did " 
 
 "Well? If you did?" 
 
 " You would not understand." 
 
 " Try me," said Jack, eagerly. 
 
 She shook her head. " You would not understand," she 
 said. 
 
 And I, for one, am inclined to believe that she was 
 right We see in others what we are prepared to see in 
 them, not what they actually represent. The difference 
 between these two people was a difference of temperament, 
 of aim, of quality, of a hundred irreconcilable things. 
 
 Above all, it was a difference of aim ; and there is, 
 perhaps, more vital separation implied in this difference of 
 desires than in the most opposing circumstance. 
 
 But of this, which she felt vaguely, he was quite uncon- 
 scious. He never imagined for a moment that a woman's 
 opinions were less open to modification of more import- 
 ance as regarded his relation to her than her dress. If you 
 had hinted to Mr. Stuart that Constance might object to 
 marry him because he took his idea of Browning from the 
 newspapers, preferred Mark Twain to Sophocles, and 
 thought the Mona Lisa a plain woman with a high forehead 
 not half so pretty as the photographs of half-a-dozen 
 girls he knew well, the probabilities are he would have 
 considered you mad. 
 
 " You spoke of three years ago. How strange it is we
 
 io6 MIRAGE. 
 
 should have known each other then. I had seen you, and 
 I did not know I mean who could have ever imagined 
 we should be here to-day together as as we are." 
 
 " Three years ! It is a long time," said Constance. 
 
 " You have not changed." 
 
 "You think not?" 
 
 She looked away down into the sunlit valley, and little by 
 little the light faded out of her face. 
 
 " I have changed," she said slowly. She twisted the 
 flower she held between her fingers, and laid its blossom 
 absently against her lips. " I have changed." 
 
 " Yes, so have I," said the young man eagerly. "I know 
 now what I didn't know then, Constance." He leaned 
 forward a little and took her hand in his. She did not 
 move away, but her fingers grew cold and trembled, and she 
 kept her eyes fixed upon her lap. " Give me that flower," 
 said Jack. 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Constance!" 
 
 And now she looked up and saw him standing before 
 her a tall, handsome fellow, his face all aglow with excite- 
 ment and passionate hope. Her eyes dropped. 
 
 " You will give me that flower ? " 
 
 " No," said Constance again. 
 
 " Look at me ! I Look at me, Constance, 
 
 dearest ! Why why do you think I want it ? " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 " See here ! " the young man said, impetuously. He 
 put his hand in his breast-pocket; took out a card-case. 
 His hand shook as he began turning over its leaves. 
 " Look ! " There was a Syrian lily pressed between the 
 pages. " Do you know where I got that ? You gave it to 
 me. You gave it to me on the way to Jericho. I shall never 
 
 forget that day. It was the first time I want you to 
 
 give me that flower because I love you. I love you, 
 Constance ! " 
 
 "No!" Miss Varley, too, had risen to her feet; she 
 had pushed away Lione's head ; her flowers had fallen to 
 the ground. And now she lifted up her face, and looked at 
 him with grave, compassionate eyes. " It is impossible," 
 she said gently.
 
 BLUE LILIES. 107 
 
 " Impossible, Constance ? But I love you ! " 
 
 "Yes. I am very sorry," she said. Her eyes were 
 full of tears. 
 
 And then there was a long silence. 
 
 " Dear Jack," the girl says presently, going up to him 
 and laying her hand upon his arm, " I am so sorry. If I 
 could have helped it But you you would not under- 
 stand." 
 
 " Do you think I did not?" he answers bitterly. " Oh, 
 you need not be alarmed. You are right enough. I am not 
 going to blame you. It is no one's fault but my own, and I 
 I loved you so ! " he says, with a sudden break and 
 tremor in his voice. 
 
 " Dear Jack ! " 
 
 " Constance, you do care for me you will ! I don't 
 say now, but some time ; you you must care for me some 
 time ! " he says wildly. " Constance ! you are so good, so 
 dear ; it is impossible you should be so cruel to me ! " For 
 the first time in his experience he has been exalted, lifted 
 above himself by a wave of supreme emotion. " I I can't 
 believe it ! " he cries, with a sort of bewildered rage. " It's 
 impossible. You cannot you will not mean it," he says 
 imploringly, seizing her hand in his. " Constance " 
 
 " I cannot, Jack. I like you ; I am very fond of you. 
 I will always be your friend " 
 
 " And you will never love me ? " 
 
 Miss Varley was silent. 
 
 "Never?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 "Well, that's hard !" said Stuart, drawing a long breath. 
 
 He got up ; walked away a few paces. Lione sprang to 
 his feet and stood watching him in eager expectation of the 
 signal to move on. 
 
 Constance too rose, and looked about her, and paused, 
 irresolute. She was profoundly moved by the sight of his 
 distress. 
 
 A woman can rarely persuade herself that by refusing to 
 marry a man she has not inflicted upon him a serious injury, 
 and this in the face of the clearest conviction of the utter 
 unsuitableness of the match. It is true that we are more 
 apt to estimate a gift by what it costs us than by the value it
 
 io8 MIRAGE. 
 
 represents to another. Before blaming Constance for this 
 for anything which followed it would perhaps be well to 
 remember how all her own conception of suffering was 
 centred, as it were, about this one phase of experience 
 the pain of baffled desire. Memory intensified her com- 
 prehension of Stuart's disappointment. The thought of 
 Denis was one with the impulse which made her go forward 
 a few steps and put out her hand. 
 
 " Jack ! " 
 
 Stuart turned, his sunburnt boyish face wearing a look 
 which surely it had never worn before. 
 
 " Don't distress yourself. It hasn't been your fault. 
 Other fellows have been through this sort of thing before 
 now," he says ; " only if you are expecting something 
 different " 
 
 There is a pause, and then: "Well ! that is over," he 
 says firmly. " Shall we go down ? Tom will be waiting." 
 
 This time it is Constance who hesitates. She hesitates, 
 and then, perhaps, with a sense of the hopelessness of further 
 discussion, perhaps even with some slight recognition of the 
 superior wisdom of silence, she gathers up her gloves and 
 whip and signifies her readiness to go. 
 
 Mr. Stuart's note-case is still lying on the window-ledge. 
 
 " You have left your pocket-book," she says, pointing 
 with her whip. 
 
 He took it up, looked at it, took out the faded lily and 
 held it in his hand. 
 
 " See ! I can let it go now, but it has left a stain," he 
 said, and let the discoloured petals flutter to the ground. 
 
 They walked down to where the horses were waiting, 
 without another word, and, once mounted, they picked their 
 way down the difficult mountain-trail with a burning con- 
 sciousness of the irrevocable and the changed. And as 
 they rode on thus in agitated silence : 
 
 " Hollo ! Why, you're not going to ride over me, are 
 you ?" said a brisk and cheerful voice. 
 
 It was Major Thayer the Major, whom they had quite 
 forgotten sitting upon his camp-stool in the shade of an 
 olive, smoking, his white hat resting on the back of his 
 head, and a quiet smile of middle-aged content playing 
 about his mouth as he sat and contemplated his sketch.
 
 BLUE LILIES. ICQ 
 
 The commonplaces of life reasserted themselves with a 
 start. 
 
 " Well, any new facts about the Samaritans ?" the 
 Major asked ; and it was Mr. Stuart who answered him, 
 with admirable composure. The ride had been well, quite 
 worth taking. It was rather rough on the horses, certainly. 
 He had noticed, as they were coming down, that Miss Varley's 
 horse was going a little lame on the off foot. But the view 
 was quite what " Murray " described. 
 
 " So you are glad you went, Constance ?" 
 
 Miss Varley had turned round to call Lione, She did 
 not hear. 
 
 " So it seems we have all been making good use of an 
 afternoon," the Major concluded cheerfully. "I don't 
 brag much of my sketches as a general thing ; but if you 
 
 will just look at that bit of distance there And the 
 
 way that minaret comes out between the trees Why, 
 
 hang it all, man, don't stand in your own light ! Here, pass 
 it over to Constance. And I think," said the Major, com- 
 placently, folding up his camp-stool and shutting up his box, 
 " I think, for once, Fanny will be satisfied with all of us." 
 
 And again it was Mr. Stuart who answered. He had no 
 doubt of it. And all through dinner through the ordeal 
 of Fanny's questioning all through the long evening which 
 followed, the young man preserved this unruffled calm. It 
 is true Mrs. Thayer observed he never looked at Constance; 
 but then, on the other hand, they spoke to each other often 
 and pleasantly ; nor in his manner of addressing Miss Varley 
 could his critic detect the slightest deviation from the 
 general tenor of his speech. It was only after dinner, when 
 the ladies had both retired, and Jack and the Major were 
 sitting together in that friendly silence which is the exclu- 
 sive prerogative of our sex, that Mr. Stuart exhibited any 
 symptoms of disquiet. 
 
 He got up, poured himself out a glass of whisky and 
 water, lit a cigar, set the glass down on the table, and threw 
 the cigar on the floor. 
 
 " I'm going out," he said briefly, and suited the action 
 to the word. 
 
 It was a still and starry night. The camp was pitched 
 on a small circular plateau overhanging the ravine. The
 
 no MIRAGE. 
 
 young man thrust his hands in his pockets, walked over 
 to the farther side and looked down. The shadowy mass of 
 Mount Ebal towered up darkly before him, dimly outlined 
 against the clearer sky. A sound of running water gurgled 
 softly through the stillness. He could hear the jackals 
 calling to one another from the coverts of the mountain. 
 
 He stood there a long while, meditating. He turned 
 his head and looked at a tent where the light was still 
 shining, he glanced up at the stars above him; once he 
 even whistled softly to himself, and it may be that at this 
 moment a vague idea of shooting jackals mingled with his 
 more sentimental musings. But there was, perhaps, less 
 philosophy than might have been expected in this patient 
 lingering to see the last glimmer of light extinguished in 
 that particular tent, or in the half-uttered blessing with 
 which he turned away. 
 
 " Stuyvesant couldn't do it. But I'll do it yet ! " he 
 said between his teeth with sudden energy, and looked up 
 as though taking the silent stars to witness of his resolve. 
 The stars shone calmly bright. It may be a more im- 
 passioned lover would have seen some cold and still denial 
 in that calm ; a more superstitious watcher might even have 
 attached some foolish significance to the wild, rattling peal 
 of derisive laughter with which the jackals greeted his 
 remark. But then, Mr. Stuart was not superstitious.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN ARCADY. 
 
 "AND then?" 
 
 " Oh, then we went all the way up to the top. I've 
 told you that before." 
 
 " And then ?" 
 
 " Then we did like the king of France." 
 
 " The king of " 
 
 " France. Who rode up a hill with all his twenty 
 thousand men, and then rode down again. Fanny, your 
 historical education has been neglected." 
 
 " I do wish you would be serious," said Mrs. Thayer. 
 
 " I am serious ; perfectly so. If you are curious to 
 know what we talked about, my dear, why that is another 
 question. I remember speaking of Mr. McMoon for one 
 thing. There was a fig-tree up there that looked exactly 
 like Mr. McMoon." 
 
 " Mr. McMoon had the face of a monkey," Fanny 
 remarked, impatiently. 
 
 " That only shows what a good old family he belongs 
 to. I think it is rather nice myself to resemble one's 
 ancestors," the girl answered gravely. 
 
 They were on their way to Samaria, riding along a 
 narrow path under leafy boughs by the side of a foaming 
 mill-race. Constance was near the palanquin ; Mr. Stuart 
 and the Major far on in advance ; and the expression on 
 Miss Varley's face was hardly in strict unison with the 
 nonsense she was talking. 
 
 Possibly Mrs. Thayer was aware of the discrepancy. 
 
 " I wonder," she said presently, looking up with an
 
 112 MIRAGE. 
 
 innocent air, " I wonder what Aunt Van we are sure to 
 meet Aunt Van at Damascus what she will think of Jack?" 
 And then, receiving no answer, " I am so disappointed in 
 Jack," she went on, in a regretful manner. 
 
 "Why, Fanny?" 
 
 "Well, one expects confidence from a friend? said 
 Fanny, softly. 
 
 Constance blushed. "I you must admit yourself, 
 Fanny, that there are certain things 
 
 " Oh, I was speaking of Jack, my dear. You and I are 
 very old friends indeed. It would be a pity if we could not 
 understand each other," said Mrs. Thayer, sweetly. 
 
 It was a fact that they had known each other a long 
 while. Looking back, Constance could hardly remember 
 a scene in her life in which Fanny had not played her 
 pretty complacent part. There was never a subject, save 
 one, in which Fanny's preference had not had its influence ; 
 or even a pleasure, again with that exception, in which 
 Fanny had not shared. And to a nature endowed with 
 the fatal gift of sentiment, this very habit of giving con- 
 stituted an irresistible claim. " Constance would do any- 
 thing for me," was Fanny's habitual formula. It seemed 
 to Mrs. Thayer a truly providential arrangement that she 
 should have this opportunity of superintending the fashion- 
 ing of her friend's life. For, curiously enough, the admi- 
 ration was chiefly on the other side. With all Fanny's 
 affectionate solicitude and she was really very fond of 
 Constance there was mingled some secret doubt and 
 wonder at a simple and generous credulity she was quite 
 unfitted to understand. For, indeed, it is rather remarkable 
 to what a superlative degree of contempt for human nature 
 the average individual can attain, by simply shutting his 
 eyes to the existence of any loftier standard than that by 
 which he measures his own acts. 
 
 But they are riding to Samaria. It is a soft gray 
 morning. The sky is overcast, and the warm gusts of wind 
 patter sharp raindrops in their faces, but as yet there is no 
 shower. They have not been riding long before the road 
 turns abruptly to the right, and begins climbing the terraced 
 hill to the breezy upland of old Samaria. Its rows of dis- 
 crowned columns, wind-eaten and worn and gray, stand in
 
 IN ARCADY. 113 
 
 an orchard of gray fig-trees, leafless as yet, but with some 
 subtle hint of colour playing about them and foretelling 
 spring. The loose thin veil of clouds gives a new tenderness 
 of colouring to the day. There is nothing jarring, nothing 
 to disturb this sweet monotony of soft gray skies, gray 
 olive-groves, and the fresh vivid green of the rain -awakened 
 grass. Some of the columns are stained with yellow lichen, 
 and all are defaced and time-worn. Nature has so taken 
 them to her heart they have become of the very texture of 
 the moss-grown trees about them ; and there seems nothing 
 startling, nothing incongruous, in finding them thus alone 
 amidst the freshness of the blossoming fields. 
 
 " I will make Samaria as a heap of the field and as 
 plantings of a vineyard," Constance quoted beneath her 
 breath. They had ridden up to the crest of the hill and 
 there dismounted. Major Thayer was making a sketch. 
 
 They were standing perhaps on the very site of the 
 great Baal temple. Here had been the groves of Ash- 
 taroth ; here the brazen serpent that Moses made ; and here 
 the flaming chariot and horses of the sun. Looking across 
 the swelling upland, " fair with the precious things of the 
 lasting hills, the precious things of the earth and the fulness 
 thereof," where the people had set up their images and 
 groves in every high hill and under every green tree, they 
 could see perhaps the very path the prophet had taken, 
 going out to the wilderness, to yet another chariot and other 
 horses of fire. 
 
 It was curious to turn from those Chaldean sages, grave 
 Eastern worshippers of all the hosts of heaven through the 
 turbulent blood-stained reign of Jewish prophet and king 
 to these pilgrims of a later day, these worshippers of another 
 faith, heralded by yet another Star in the East. And still 
 the young flowers smiled and danced like children in the 
 sweet morning air'; the patient mother-earth thrilled, 
 responsive, to the wooing touch of yet another spring ; and 
 all the familiar miracle of life swept, and breathed, and broke 
 with ever fresh insistence about the lonely hill. 
 
 An Arab was ploughing his orchard, among the 
 columns under the trees. At the end of the furrow he 
 paused ; he leaned his arms upon the plough the 
 sharpened root of a tree ; the big brown oxen stood still,
 
 H4 MIRAGE. 
 
 and all three turned their heads and gazed at the strangers 
 with slow indifferent eyes. He went on with his work 
 without even lifting his head as the travellers rode away. 
 
 Down by the village another surprise was awaiting them 
 a Gothic cathedral, roofless and sunken, but otherwise 
 entire. It was built 
 
 " Don't tell me it was built by the Empress Helena," 
 said Constance, laughing. " That terrible woman ! she is 
 as unescapable as original sin ! " 
 
 " This is where John the Baptist is buried. Will you 
 hand me that ' Murray,' Tom ? Yes ; here's the place : 
 
 ' The total length of the interior ' That's not it. ' A 
 
 little "chamber excavated deep in the rock, to which the 
 
 descent is by ' Oh Jack, would you mind going down 
 
 into that hole and counting the steps ? Dr. Adams would 
 be so interested " 
 
 "Then somebody must come with me to carry the 
 candle," said Jack. 
 
 " I'll go." 
 
 Miss Varley took a light from the dragoman. " Let me 
 go first. You might fall ; " and then Fanny, looking down 
 into the pit, hears only a confused murmur of voices. The 
 lights twinkle and disappear. 
 
 "Brava, Fanny. Very neat, indeed," says the Major, 
 laying down his sketch-book and beginning to sharpen a 
 pencil. " Very neat, my dear." 
 
 "Neat?" Mrs. Thayer looks about her with an air of 
 ingenuous wonder. "People have different opinions, I 
 know and, of course, I don't pretend to be much of a 
 judge of architecture ; but, upon my word, it is the first 
 time I ever heard the word applied to a ruin ! " she says, 
 with a toss of her head. 
 
 Major Thayer's laughter was distinctly audible in the 
 vault below. 
 
 " Tom is enjoying himself," said Constance, with a 
 smile. She held the candle higher and looked about the 
 blank walls of the dungeon. A long white lizard started at 
 the unwonted light, scurrying across the stones. There was 
 a slow dripping of water at the farther end of the room. 
 
 "Do you believe John the Baptist was really bu~ ; ^d 
 here?"
 
 IN ARC AD Y. 115 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Do you care ? " 
 
 " Not much. Do you ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 They both laughed. " Here ! give me the light to 
 carry," said Stuart, with sudden gravity. 
 
 "Constance I" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 He turned abruptly ; held the candle closer to the wall 
 and began examining the jointure of the blocks. 
 
 " There isn't any mortar. It looks more like Roman 
 work," he began. And then facing round suddenly : " You 
 said, yesterday, that we might be friends. Very well. I 
 accept your offer. We will be friends," he said, steadily, 
 and held out his hand. 
 
 Fanny looked at them curiously as they came up the 
 steps again and out into the dazzling daylight. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Oh, there was nothing ! " 
 
 " Not even the steps," says Major Thayer, gravely. 
 " Constance, are you a good judge of architecture ? Fanny 
 is " 
 
 " It was the least thing you could do, to go down and 
 look at the grave of your patron saint," says Fanny, hastily, 
 turning to Stuart. 
 
 Was John the Baptist Jack's patron saint ? The Major 
 professed himself profoundly ignorant upon these questions. 
 
 " But was not John, your namesake, the John who lost 
 his head for a woman for Salome?" he asks, with a 
 peculiar smile. While they were waiting for the horses, 
 Jack strolled away carelessly down the road between the 
 cactus-hedges. For a wonder he came back with his hands 
 full of flowers. 
 
 " Will you have some blue lilies ? " he said to Constance. 
 
 It was a long, still, uneventful morning. There was a 
 sense of ineffable repose in the sight of those soft low- 
 hanging clouds, in the touch of that soft and windless air. 
 At luncheon-time they left the rocky path, forded the wide 
 shallow bed of the brook that since earliest morning had 
 mingled its joyous babble with their own more desultory 
 talk, and stretched themselves out at ease upon the short
 
 n6 MIRAGE. 
 
 close grass of the mountain-slope. The horses were picketed 
 amongst the trees. A few paces off the muleteers were 
 coming and going, were piling armfuls of crackling thorn 
 upon the noonday fire. Now and then a pale gleam of sun- 
 light awoke a splendour of colour among the rocks, deep 
 embedded in flowers large cupped anemones, purple and 
 red and opal white ; white daisies, yellow chrysanthemums ; 
 rose-coloured cyclamen, and silvery mallows with dark 
 curling leaves, and low creeping thyme. Now and then 
 some sudden raindrops made a soft quick pattering overhead. 
 
 " Have you any money in your pockets ? Hark ! I hear 
 the first cuckoo of the spring," said Fanny. 
 
 They listened. The melancholy love-cry of the homeless 
 bird called to them from the far-off unseen woods. They 
 listened. There stole a sound of clear continuous fluting on 
 the air. A thin sweet sound of shepherds piping to their 
 flocks ; pure and remote as though floating down to them 
 from out some sunny vale of Arcady; a faint, unfamiliar 
 joyousness of melody, which made them pause, and turn, 
 and look, in the silence of incredulous delight. And as the 
 sweet sound ceased they heard the humming of bees deep in 
 thick-creeping thyme. 
 
 " This is pastoral. A perfect idyl," said the Major. 
 
 Lione lifted his sleek head, pricked up his ears, and 
 growled. 
 
 " There comes the little beggar himself," said Jack. 
 
 There was a soft pattering of many feet across the turf, 
 and the boy passed before them, still fingering his oaten 
 pipe, and followed by a troop of long-haired goats. 
 
 " Do listen to him again," said Constance. 
 
 They listened again. The dappled sunshine flickered to 
 and fro with the gentle stirring of the wind among the leaves. 
 The air was delicious ; the breeze was soft and fitful ; the 
 sense of peace profound. The boy went on playing. The 
 wise old goats shook all their venerable beards, nibbling the 
 flower-spotted grass. Here and there some black-faced 
 patriarch of the flock raised himself up, planting his sharp 
 feet firmly in the black ivy, and tearing down green wreaths 
 of honeysuckle, or stretched his long neck upwards to crop 
 the tender shoots of the wild olive. The boy played upon 
 his pipe. Jack tossed him a piece of bread. He let it lie 
 at his feet ; placidly looked and played.
 
 IN ARCADY. 117 
 
 " By Jove ! the little rascal isn't hungry," said Tack. 
 
 " How could you throw it at him in that way ? But do 
 listen," said Constance. 
 
 And now the shepherd blew more softly on his flute, 
 idly, slowly; the goats came trooping down together, jostling 
 each other, by twos and threes. He turned without a word, 
 and passed away between the olives ; and still, as he turned 
 away, the fitful notes stole plaintively back, borne by the 
 fitful wind. 
 
 " I call this exquisite," said Constance, with a deep-drawn 
 sigh of pleasure. 
 
 And it was exquisite. It was like Theocritus : some- 
 thing lovely, and young, and utterly untouched by care, full 
 of the simple delight of being. 
 
 " Dear child, what do you care for that boy and his 
 whistle and his nasty goats ? You haven't eaten a thing. 
 Do take a sardine. That little wretch knows nothing of 
 sardines and olives." 
 
 And here Jack, who was lying like a young Theseus, 
 leaning on his elbow, suddenly bent forward. 
 
 " By Jove ! Look look, quick ! Two lizards fighting. 
 See the little beasts. They mean mischief." 
 
 " Dear me ; how can you look at anything so horrid ? " 
 said Fanny. 
 
 "They are furious," said Jack. "See them twist. 
 There, they roll over ! He's caught the other fellow by the 
 throat. By Jove ! I believe he'll kill him in another 
 minute." 
 
 Tom leaned forward ; Constance turned ; Mrs. Thayer 
 went on eating pate de foie gras. 
 
 The lizards were locked together, ferocious, intense ; 
 their scaly backs were of the most vivid green. The one 
 had gripped the other by the under side of his throat, the 
 jaw sharp-shut upon its soft white skin. The victim was 
 panting, writhing, struggling for release. 
 
 " But he will kill him. Do separate them, do !" cried 
 Constance. 
 
 " Yes," said the Major, " it's a death-struggle. And look 
 at Madame Lizard hurrying off, she who has caused the 
 row. See her delicate ladyship scurrying away. Just like a 
 woman ! She can't endure the sight of her own mischief." 
 
 " She is horrid/' said Constance ; " an ugly gray thing,
 
 ii8 MIRAGE. 
 
 not worth looking at. But don't let that dreadful green 
 beast kill the other one. Do stop them, Jack." 
 
 Jack rose and pushed them apart with the end of his 
 riding-whip. They did not even notice his intrusion. 
 They were mad with battle. He had literally to pry them 
 apart ; and, as he did so, they swiftly ran in circles, head 
 to tail, and tail to head, snapping at each other's throats, 
 and again the weakest one rolled hopelessly over. Again 
 Jack pried them apart ; this time the smaller one tried to 
 escape, but only to be pursued, overtaken, seized. 
 
 And now even Fanny surrendered her comfortable seat, 
 and stood up to see the fray. 
 
 " How can you?" Constance asked. 
 
 " Oh, let them have it out. Why stop them ? It's 
 nature ; and I'm curious to see which will win." 
 
 " Yes," said Jack, " it's nature ; but the little fellow is 
 plucky, and he's Constance's protege. He shan't be killed." 
 
 " Yes," said Tom, " play Providence ; rescue the one 
 who shows the most fight." 
 
 And this time the larger one glided away, leaving his 
 victim panting among the olive-roots. 
 
 " Rather knocked out of time that last round," Mr. 
 Stuart remarked, poking him up with his stick. 
 
 " Oh Jack, please 
 
 " Hollo ! here comes my lady back again," said Jack. 
 
 The timid, plain little animal came out of its hole, and 
 furtively looked about. 
 
 " ' Oh woman, not too bright or good,' &c." said Tom, 
 leaning back and lighting his cigar. " She has welcomed 
 the hero of the fight, and now she comes out in pity to look 
 after the victim. There's a touch of nature for you ! Lovely 
 woman ! whichever side loses she wins, and finds time to 
 console both parties. And here endeth the first lesson. 
 Pass me those matches, Jack." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Fanny, tossing her head. 
 
 " No," said Constance, " she suffers for both sides. Her 
 sympathies are wide and impersonal. She is an angel of pity." 
 
 " As though a man wanted pity," said Jack. 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said Constance, thoughtlessly; 
 " you know it is the very next thing to love." 
 
 Mr. Stuart was looking at the landscape.
 
 CHAPTER XII, 
 
 SHOWING HOW MR. STUART BROKE HIS BRIDLE. 
 
 THE Plain of Esdraelon. 
 
 It was one day last winter, a Sunday, and Constance 
 was in church. It was a bitterly cold morning ; bitterly 
 cold, that is to say, for the. ragged groups of men and women 
 huddled about the station-house fires, loitering before the 
 eating-house windows, crouching over the gratings before 
 the newspaper offices to feel the warmth of the steam-fed 
 machines ; striving in a hundred forlorn fashions to retain 
 some hold upon their objectionable and unimportant lives ; 
 but here, in church, it was warm enough in all conscience. 
 It was too warm. Pastor, and discourse, and people all 
 were suffering alike for want of a little freshness. 
 
 Well, the Litany was over. A well-dressed congregation 
 had listened in well-bred silence to the repeated and melli- 
 fluous admission, on the part of the choir, that they were 
 miserable sinners. Saint Clare's is famous for its music. 
 Last winter the primo-soprano alone drew a salary of fifteen 
 hundred dollars a year. Her stage name, I believe, was 
 De Montmorency. The Litany was over ; the Ten 
 Commandments had been rehearsed with decorous speed. 
 The clergyman (a pale young man with a severe and 
 ascetic face ; a pastor who spoke to his prosperous flock 
 with a hardly veiled contempt, and the moment after was 
 well-nigh moved to tears at the thought of the Virgin 
 Mary ; an ambitious man, who yet would cheerfully imperil 
 his standing in the diocese and his future prospects in life 
 by the lighting of an extra candle for conscience' sake ; 
 an enthusiast, ready to undergo martyrdom for the folding
 
 120 MIRAGE. 
 
 of a chasuble ; equally ready, perhaps, to make a " neat 
 thing" out of the disposal of the church's corner lot) the 
 clergyman had glided into his pulpit, and the sermon had 
 begun. 
 
 It had begun, it had even been progressing for some 
 minutes, when those words, " the Plain of Esdraelon," fell 
 disconnected and imperative among the wandering thoughts 
 of Constance. And straightway there arose before her a 
 vision of wide fields. The crowded church grew dim, 
 faded away ; for miles and miles she saw the meadowland 
 opening out before her eyes here, a flaming mass of red 
 anemones ; there, yellow and white with myriad nodding 
 daisies ; farther on, a sheet of burning azure in the sun. 
 Again she saw the noble lines of the landscape lifting and 
 falling with the large freedom of the sea, to rise and lose 
 themselves at last in the shadowy blue mountains at the 
 horizon. The day was perfection ; the sweet rain-washed 
 air blew soft as a caress. All about them the tempered 
 intensity of the sunshine was transfiguring the land until 
 each sun-filled flower-cup burned with vivid and individual 
 life. And there is an intangible, an intoxicating quality in 
 this Syrian spring not to be rendered in words. There is 
 no element of sadness in the landscape here. Judaea, 
 silent and desolate and bare, has still a certain reticence, 
 a self-satisfied, self-sufficing expression in her very austerity. 
 The ineffable languor, the profound melancholy of the 
 Italian landscape, has no place among these abandoned 
 and luxuriant plains ; and yet, how often that morning had 
 they not been reminded of that "gray Campagna sea?" 
 Even Fanny spoke of it after awhile. 
 
 " I never could understand what people rave about the 
 Roman Campagna for," Stuart remarked. " For my part 
 I think, if people cared so much for the beauties of nature 
 as they pretend to, they would keep their enthusiasm for 
 places where there was something to look at, like the 
 Yosemite, for instance, or Switzerland. I can understand 
 admiring Mont Blanc, now, but the Campagna ! Why it's 
 nothing but a big field." 
 
 " And what do you do with your classics, then, you 
 young vandal, you?" the Major demanded. 
 
 " Well, I let them pretty much alone as a general rule,"
 
 HOW MR. STUART BROKE HIS BRIDLE. 121 
 
 said Jack, with his honest laugh. " I didn't come abroad to 
 write a book ; I came to enjoy myself. Classical associations 
 may be all very well in their way for some fellows. I like 
 something more modern myself. Why," said the young 
 man, with a great air of scorn, " I've spent the best part of 
 eight or nine years pegging away at Latin and Greek. You 
 can't suppose I like them ? " 
 
 " Jack, have you ever heard me calumniate my friends 
 in their presence?" said the Major, solemnly. 
 
 " The fact is," Mr. Stuart rejoined, " I'm an American, 
 and I'm glad of it. I don't care to belong to any country 
 where all the biggest men are in their graves. The fact is, 
 Europe has been exaggerated. I don't want to blame the 
 natives for what may not be entirely their own fault, poor 
 devils ! I don't censure any man for sticking up for his own 
 institutions, whatever my opinion may be of their merits," 
 said this magnanimous young critic ; " but when I want 
 something lively, something go-ahead-looking, I know where 
 to expect it, that's all ! Somehow, I don't seem to feel very 
 uneasy in my mind about America." 
 
 "I thought it was only the typical Britisher who was 
 supposed to travel for the purpose of dividing the world into 
 Englishmen and ' foreigners,' " said Constance. 
 
 " Oh, you mustn't imagine I'm not glad to have been 
 over on this side, for once. There's the Leaning Tower at 
 Pisa, now I shall always be glad to have seen the Leaning 
 Tower and Vesuvius ; and the Colosseum ; and St. Peter's. 
 St. Peter's was about as large as I expected." 
 
 " St. Peter's is like a tomb," said Constance. " All the 
 Roman churches are like tombs. But St. Peter's is like a 
 great receiving-vault where a dead religion is laid out in 
 state." 
 
 "Ah, Florence is the place for me," said Major Thayer. 
 " Florence and the pictures " 
 
 " Oh, I went to see the galleries too. Because I don't 
 like pictures you needn't think I don't go and see them," 
 said Jack, ingenuously. " I haven't missed a gallery yet 
 except when it was a question of catching a train. I was 
 more than two hours in the Uffizzi at Florence. There was 
 a Venus there, I remember Titian's Venus. I thought she 
 was very pretty."
 
 122 MIRAGE. 
 
 "Ah yes. It is considered rather a pretty thing, I 
 believe," said the Major, composedly, flicking at his horse's 
 ears with his whip; "when we go back we must try and go 
 over some galleries together, Jack. I should like to have 
 your opinion " 
 
 " But I'm not so sure I mean, I have not made up my 
 mind when and how I shall go back yet," Mr. Stuart remarked 
 gravely. 
 
 The Major opened his eyes, looked at Constance. She 
 was watching Lione. " Oh, indeed," he said ; " I didn't 
 know ; " and fell to whistling pensively. 
 
 At midday they halted by the side of a shallow brawling 
 river. A vigorous growth of thick up-springing oleanders 
 followed its course. Some Bedaween were watering their 
 cattle among the bushes. 
 
 " Are there many of those men about here, Hassan ? " 
 
 "Well, sir, plenty, sir." 
 
 " Do you know what tribe they belong to ? " 
 
 "How I know him, sir? You think perhaps I know 
 that kind of men." 
 
 " But somebody must know how many there are. 
 Doesn't the government take any kind of census?" 
 
 Hassan looked puzzled. He carefully rubbed a bit of 
 mud off the knee of his black trousers, coughed, gave an 
 order to the cook. 
 
 " The Major means, doesn't the Government ever count 
 these men. Send people out here to find out how many 
 there are and how they live," explained Mr. Stuart. 
 
 A look of dignified remonstrance came over the drago- 
 man's face. 
 
 "What for the Government count them? You think, 
 perhaps, Turkish Government got nothing to do but count 
 men," he said reprovingly. 
 
 Jack laughed. 
 
 " Well, they don't look a particularly formidable lot, in 
 spite of those long lances," the Major remarked leisurely, 
 taking a survey of the scene. 
 
 " No, sir ; very good men, sir. I tell the ladies be careful 
 not leave things about. Bedawy steal everything he see," 
 said Hassan doggedly. He felt that he was being cross- 
 examined. An unfair advantage had been taken of his
 
 HOW MR. STUART BROKE HIS BRIDLE. 123 
 
 willingness to impart information he did not possess. From 
 the blue tassel of his fez to the point of his patent-leather 
 boots, there was not an inch of his short, thick-set, broad- 
 cloth-covered body which did not protest against the 
 affront. 
 
 The day had grown very warm. It was the first time 
 since their arrival in Palestine that they had been compelled 
 to lunch out in the open. Fanny pitied them very much 
 from the vantage-ground of her shady seat in the palanquin. 
 It was especially hard, as she remarked, on poor dear 
 Constance, who had already been riding all the morning in 
 the sun. 
 
 The heat made everybody drowsy. As the afternoon 
 wore on, the train was more and more scattered a long, 
 irregular line of silent horsemen ; the jangling mules of the 
 palanquin slowly and noisily bringing up the rear. The 
 dragoman had loitered far behind, talking to an acquaintance 
 a little old man, muffled to his eyes in folds of white linen, 
 riding a diminutive donkey and followed by a boy carrying 
 his pipe whom they had picked up by the way. 
 
 The muleteers were half of them asleep, only now and 
 then some guttural malediction followed the stumbling of a 
 tired horse. Luigi was leading the way, humming an air 
 from an opera in shrill falsetto, sitting sideways upon a 
 baggage-mule among a battery of kitchen pots and pans. 
 
 ''May one ask what you are thinking of?" said Stuart, 
 suddenly, checking his horse to let Miss Varley overtake 
 him ; " you are very silent." 
 
 Constance blushed. They had been riding for some 
 distance in true Syrian fashion the horses following each 
 other in single file. It is an arrangement which has its 
 advantages. For example, she had been thinking of Stuart. 
 Some trivial accident, perhaps the mere catching of the sun- 
 light on the gold-woven cufieh twisted about his hat, had 
 turned her eyes in his direction. Stuart looked very well on 
 horseback ; Fanny had remarked the fact a hundred times, 
 and there was certainly nothing extraordinary in the 
 attention with which Constance watched his movements. 
 Some casual turn of his head, or hand, had reminded her 
 of the portraits she had seen at Jerusalem. One after the 
 other the faces of his family had risen before her. She
 
 124 MIRAGE. 
 
 remembered them all the portly father, with the self-satisfied 
 glance ; his pretty sister, his mother, the small boy-brother 
 with the pert and comical smile. They might have become her 
 brother and her sister, the girl thought with sudden wonder. 
 No one had ever spoken to her of the Stuarts, and yet, in 
 some subtle fashion, essentially feminine (one sees evi- 
 dences of this faculty in the subordinates of all ages) she 
 had constructed for herself a detailed plan of all their ways 
 and habits. With a curious interest she realised what her 
 own share in that life would have been. She saw herself 
 Jack's wife his companion living his life, shaping her own 
 existence to meet his requirements ; and not his alone the 
 requirements of his family, of his friends. She saw herself 
 transported to another milieu, in another atmosphere a 
 world untroubled by thought, cushioned by respectability, 
 secured against emotion. 
 
 She thought of Stuart, of Fanny's counsel. She had 
 reduced her life to an attitude of patient, and loyal, and 
 passionate expectation, until the very force of her purpose 
 had turned against her, and she shrank instinctively from 
 any decisive action. The very readiness with which she 
 was wont to submit her own to another's claim or purpose, 
 gave an inconclusive character to her experience. 
 
 But now a puff of summer wind blew gently in her face, 
 sweet with the wooing sweetness of a thousand flowers. 
 She thought of Lawrence. She looked at the figure moving 
 on before her ; she looked across the sweep of free wide 
 fields to the far, serene, unbounded sky. It was with a 
 delicious thrill of triumph Constance remembered that she, 
 too, was free. 
 
 " May one ask what you are thinking of? " said Stuart. 
 
 Constance blushed. She blushed and smiled, and shook 
 her head. " You are riding the new horse ? " she said 
 interrogatively. 
 
 " Yes. Shaitan." 
 
 " And how do you like him, Jack ? Hassan was very 
 enthusiastic." 
 
 " Oh, very well. He's not accustomed to this quiet 
 way of travelling yet, I fancy. See how he is fretting at the 
 bit. I shall have to give him a run before long to keep him 
 from pulling my arms off," said Jack, carelessly.
 
 HOW MR. STUART BROKE HIS BRIDLE. 125 
 
 ' Look !" cried Constance, pointing with the whip. 
 
 Two black an J-white storks rose heavily out of a field of 
 grain, their long wings flapping and their red legs dangling 
 in the air. They flew slowly, in winding circles, as though 
 anxious to guard or watch over their nest ; and a long 
 waving track in the wheat, the quick apparition of a sleek 
 brown head showed where Lione was bounding along in 
 pursuit. 
 
 " Hurrah ! two to one on the dog ! " cried Jack, gaily. 
 With a common impulse they touched their horses and 
 dashed up the hill. 
 
 On the level ground beyond, Luigi was trotting sedately 
 onward, his reins fastened to his pommel, the tin cans flash- 
 ing and shining in the sun. Every now and then the mule 
 would come to a standstill and fall to tearing up huge hasty 
 mouthfuls of wheat by the roots, until her master, missing 
 the tinkle of the bells, would rouse himself from his sleep 
 with a kick, and send her jogging on again, with much 
 shaking of long ears and rattling of loose tins. 
 
 " Mind your horse here," said Jack, looking back ; and 
 as he spoke his own horse shied violently across the road, 
 and then stood immovable, trembling and snorting with fear. 
 
 " Out of the way there, Luigi ! Confound you, man ; 
 can't you move ? Don't you see Miss Varley cannot pass," 
 said Stuart, impatiently. Lione had doubled again on his 
 track, the birds were hidden in the undulation of the 
 ground. 
 
 " It is of no use ; we have lost them !" said Constance, 
 looking about her eagerly. The sharp canter had brought 
 the colour to her cheeks and awakened her glance to new 
 life. " Oh, what a pity, I am so afraid Lione will be " 
 
 " By Jove ! there he goes now," said Jack, pointing to a 
 slight rise in the plain far away to the left. " Come on, we 
 can easily cut across again and join the road farther up." 
 
 He dashed the spurs into his horse ; cleared the ditch 
 at a bound. Before Luigi could utter a word of remonstrance 
 the two figures were flying fast across the upland. 
 
 " Oh, this is glorious ! " Constance cried. The horses 
 were quite fresh, and going with a will. 
 
 " Give Said his head don't you see how he likes it ? " 
 says Jack, looking back with a laugh.
 
 1-6 MIRAGE. 
 
 Down another dip of the ground, up a long hill, and on 
 and on across the short elastic turf to the quick falling 
 cadence of the hoof-beats, with the wind blowing fresh and 
 wild in their faces, as they dash on faster and faster yet. 
 Hassan has always been proud of his choice of horses, and 
 they do him no discredit to-day, dashing on in free measured 
 movement, the very embodiment of- lightness and joyous 
 strength. 
 
 " And Lione ? " says Constance, at last, drawing rein. 
 The wind has turned her cheeks to deepest rose ; the blue 
 eyes shine and laugh with the sheer exultation of life. 
 " And Lione ? " 
 
 They slacken pace and look about them. All sign of 
 cultivation has vanished far behind. Before them rises a 
 rolling hill on either side a lonely sweep of undulating 
 ground. They pause a moment and listen. They hear the 
 deep hurried breathing of the horses ; a lark is singing 
 somewhere in the profound blue depths of the sky. 
 
 " Let us go on to the top of that hill. Perhaps we 
 may see something. But slowly now; give the horses a 
 chance to rest." 
 
 They move on at foot pace. Constance pulls off her 
 gloves, unfastens her large felt hat. " Oh, what a good 
 gallop ! and oh, how hot, how hot I am ! " she cries gaily. 
 She puts her fingers up to her burning cheeks, and turns, 
 and lets the cool wind lift and ruffle her fine blonde hair. 
 " How lucky that tiresome Hassan was not there to stop 
 us!" 
 
 " Yes, we've done it this time and no mistake," says 
 Jack, with a laugh. The hill-top was farther off than it 
 seemed ; a quarter of an hour had passed before they reached 
 its summit. Again they looked around them. The low 
 westering sun struck every fold of the ground, every blade 
 of grass with warm and opulent colour. For miles and 
 miles before, behind, about them the vast green plain, the 
 grass-grown battle-field of a hundred combats, stretched 
 away in silent loneliness. 
 
 " I hope you are not tired. We shall have to ride fast 
 to reach camp before dark. I had no idea we had come so 
 far." 
 
 " You don't think we ought to go back by the road ? "
 
 HOW MR. STUART BROKE HIS BRIDLE. 127 
 
 Stuart shook his head. " Too late. I tell you I had 
 no idea we had ridden such a distance." 
 
 " At least I hope you know where camp is ? " Constance 
 inquired rather uneasily. 
 
 " Well, by George, I should hope I did ! A nice fix we 
 should be in otherwise ! " said Jack, smiling. " There, look 
 where I am pointing. You see that cleft in the hills ? not 
 there more to the right. That is Jezreel. If it wasn't for 
 that dip in the ground you could see the village. I made 
 Hassan point it out to me this morning." 
 
 " That ! why that is miles away," said Constance, follow- 
 ing the direction of his hand. 
 
 Oh, they could do it in an hour. But it was a good 
 bit, he admitted cheerfully. " Had they not better be moving 
 on ? " Miss Varley was afraid that if they were to do any 
 more fast riding she would have to trouble Jack to tighten 
 up the girth. " I'm so sorry to give you the trouble. But 
 I felt something give way at that last jump." He is out of 
 his saddle and at her side before she has finished speaking. 
 
 " Shall I hold your horse ? " 
 
 " Thanks, I think I can manage." He loosens a buckle, 
 lifts a flap, and gives a long-drawn whistle of dismay. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " 
 
 " Girth broken. You haven't got a knife, I suppose ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Or a piece of string? " says Jack, despondently, feeling 
 in all his pockets. 
 
 " I could give you my necktie ? " 
 
 She unfastens the ribbon from her throat, and the 
 operation of mending begins. Before it is half over Stuart's 
 horse turns restive, pulls, fidgets, stamps, attempts to kick. 
 " Do let me hold him. You can't do anything with that 
 creature at your elbow," Constance says, and takes the 
 impatient animal by the rein. 
 
 It was five minutes or more before the delinquent strap 
 was adjusted to Mr. Stuart's fancy, and meantime, far away 
 behind the darkling hills, the day was slowly dying in a royal 
 splendour of flame. When he looked up from his work a 
 sudden glory had fallen upon the world. Above their heads 
 and all about them floated a deepening glow of fire, as 
 though the very air itself had turned to rose-red flame.
 
 128 MIRAGE. 
 
 Constance was still sitting with uncovered head; she 
 was sitting erect in her saddle, looking off at the changing 
 lights with a vague mysterious smile ; and to the young 
 man's fancy all the radiance of the sky seemed centring 
 about her face, seemed shining in her deep large eyes, and 
 crowning with a crown of warm red gold the glorious masses 
 of her hair. He stood and looked at her in silence. Said 
 had dropped his head, and was cropping the grass at his 
 feet. The other horse was looking anxiously about him, 
 snuffing the air and stamping. The intense light gave a 
 singular air of wildness to his dilated eyes, his backward 
 streaming mane. 
 
 " Shall we go ? " 
 
 " Go ? Oh yes, we will go," Jack repeated, without 
 moving. 
 
 She looked up surprised, and met his eyes fixed upon 
 hers. His whole face was changed transfigured, as it 
 were by the intensity, the fervent adoration expressed in 
 that glance. His eyes held her captive ; the strange res- 
 plendent light seemed to shut them out together, to hold 
 them in a world apart ; her breath came quick and quicker j 
 it seemed a long while to Constance before he spoke. 
 
 " I wish to heaven I had never seen you ! " 
 
 Constance turned pale. " I am very sorry " she 
 
 began, and then stopped short and bent forward, and began 
 stroking her horse's neck. 
 
 Jack saw her lips tremble. " Constance ! " He put out 
 his hand appealingly, and checked the motion of her own. 
 " I did not mean that, Constance. Forgive me won't you 
 forgive me, dearest ? " 
 
 She lifted her eyes with an effort and looked at him. 
 
 " I You are so beautiful. By Heaven ! I don't 
 
 think I know myself how much I love you," Stuart answered, 
 with an involuntary tightening of the fingers about her wrist. 
 
 Mechanically Constance had gathered together her reins ; 
 the horses' heads were on a level. It was an opportunity 
 which Shaitan could not neglect. In an instant he had 
 seized his stable-companion by the lips. They both reared 
 Jack sprang forward a furious plunge a struggle a 
 sudden violent jerk of the head and Mr. Stuart staggered 
 back on the turf out of the reach of the vicious feet, just in
 
 HOW MR. STUART BROKE HIS BRIDLE. 129 
 
 time to save himself and see his horse galloping wildly across 
 the plain, the broken halter dragging on the ground behind 
 him. 
 
 He got up. He felt his arm. He looked first at the 
 runaway horse, and then at the strap and buckle remaining 
 in his clutch. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you that leather was rotten ? " he asked, 
 with rueful gravity. 
 
 The tone, the expression, the whole situation were too 
 much for Miss Varley's overtaxed nerves. Their eyes met 
 again, and with a common impulse they broke into a peal of 
 inextinguishable laughter. 
 
 "No, but really this is no joke," said Jack, checking 
 himself abruptly. " How the deuce are we going to get 
 home ? That's the question." 
 
 "Yes," said Constance; "how are we going to get 
 home ? " 
 
 Again they looked about them. From mountain-range 
 to mountain-range the vast plain lay, one trackless sea of 
 shadow. The light was still lingering on the hill-top ; and 
 now, for one brief instant, the white houses of Nain flashed 
 out with sudden distinctness, and faded slowly away in the 
 folding of the hills. A long distance down the valley a 
 dark object was moving rapidly onward a riderless horse 
 relieving sharply against the sky. 
 
 "You don't think that by galloping Sai'd at speed ?" 
 
 Stuart shook his head. " There is not a horse in the 
 camp who could come near him. And then look at the 
 start he has got the confounded brute ! " 
 
 " If he reaches the camp before we do he seems to be 
 running in that direction they will be terribly frightened. 
 It will look as though you had met with a bad accident," 
 said Constance. It was another reason for hastening on 
 their way. 
 
 The short Syrian twilight was well-nigh over before they 
 once more reached the level of the plain. " Have you any 
 idea how we can possibly find our way after dark ? " 
 Miss Varley asked. 
 
 After a moment's deliberation it was decided to follow 
 in the direction of the wind, which was now blowing steadily 
 from the north.
 
 130 MIRAGE. 
 
 For the first half-hour or so Mr. Stuart had walked along 
 by her side, his hands in his pockets; and both had been 
 inclined to make rather merry over the absurdity of his 
 position. But as the evening grew rapidly darker, when they 
 could no longer distinguish the configuration of the ground, 
 and as Said walked more uneasily, showing more and more 
 inclination to start at the lengthening shadows, "You had 
 better let me lead your horse," Jack said. And since then 
 they had hardly exchanged a word. 
 
 It was a very dark night. Above their heads rose a 
 solemn starless sky, a clear and sombre dome, marked here 
 and there with moving darker lines of cloud. As their eyes 
 grew more accustomed to the blackness, it was possible to 
 discern the more pronounced inequalities of the pathway, 
 and even the remoter indefinite outline of the hills. All 
 about them was darkness, silence a sense of mysterious and 
 illimitable space. Once, before they knew it, they found 
 themselves traversing a narrow field of wheat. The ripe and 
 restless grain rustled and whispered all about them in the dark- 
 ness, and Mr. Stuart started and peered anxiously around. 
 
 " Provided we don't run foul of any of those Bedaween," 
 he thought, with rising anxiety. He glanced up at his 
 companion, then hesitated, and checked himself as he was 
 beginning to speak. 
 
 As the silence deepened between them, a singular fancy 
 had taken possession of Constance. The darkness, the 
 profound stillness, the monotonous motion of her horse, 
 served at once to soothe and stimulate her imagination. 
 Naturally fearless, her blind feminine trust in Stuart's prowess, 
 her equally feminine incapacity for appreciating different 
 degrees of danger, prevented her from even suspecting the 
 possible peril of this wild night ride. She looked about her, 
 but it was only the better to contemplate the veiled mys- 
 terious beauty of the night. She lifted up her eyes it was 
 to see if not a star were shining in all that vast and shadow- 
 stricken sky. A strange, a solemn emotion, possessed and 
 filled her soul. She sat erect, motionless, feeling herself a 
 mere passive atom borne onward and onward into the 
 night ; but her spirit seemed freed and attuned to the very 
 wildness of the wind. The myriad small preoccupations of 
 these last weeks faded and fell away from her like a dream.
 
 HO W MR. STUART BROKE HIS BRIDLE. 131 
 
 For the first time for many days she felt alone, alone in 
 spirit ; and with a wild and fervent impulse her heart turned 
 and clung to the very thought of Lawrence. She looked 
 about her; the vast dim night was silent and calm and 
 mysterious as the grave. A deep and passionate impatience 
 the very sickness of hope long deferred surged in a bitter 
 flood about her overburdened soul. 
 
 " You are tired, Constance. I am sure I heard you 
 sigh," said Jack, tenderly. 
 
 " Yes, I am tired," Constance answered. It was hard 
 to keep her voice from trembling as she spoke. 
 
 And now Said started, quickened his weary footsteps, 
 and then paused and stood still. 
 
 " I think, by Jove ! I think we have struck the road at 
 last," said Stuart ; and at the same moment Constance 
 turned her head and broke into a low exclamation of 
 wonder and delight. For now the whole western sky was 
 flooded with pale and doubtful radiance, and away behind 
 a craggy hill-top they saw the growing splendour of the 
 slowly-rising moon. 
 
 " Yes, this is the right road, surely? We can't be very 
 far from camp, I think." He hesitated and thought a 
 moment. " Yes, I shall risk it," he muttered between his 
 teeth. " Hold your horse well in hand, Constance, and 
 don't be startled. I am going to fire a signal, on the chance 
 Hassan may hear." 
 
 He walked a few steps down the road and took out his 
 revolver. Three shots followed each other in quick succes- 
 sion, and seemed to startle the very depths of the silent 
 night. And then again all was quiet, save the quick, anxious 
 panting of the frightened horse. They waited several 
 minutes ; gradually Said grew quiet again, and yet no 
 answering signal came. 
 
 "Well, it was a chance," said Stuart, uneasily. "Hark!" 
 They strained their ears to listen. 
 
 " I am sure yes I am sure I hear hoof-beats," said 
 Constance, almost in a whisper. 
 
 And now it was easy to see that Said, too, had heard 
 them ; he started, pricked up his ears, and snuffed eagerly at 
 the wind. 
 
 " They are several horsemen. They are galloping fast. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 MIRAGE. 
 
 They are coming this way. I can hear them quite dis- 
 tinctly," said Constance, with rising excitement. " Oh 
 Jack, are you not glad? Hassan has found us at last. 
 Don't you hear them, Jack ? It is Hassan ! " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Stuart. He conies closer to her and 
 stands beside her horse. " I hate to have to tell you of it, 
 Constance " the words came out with reluctance " but I 
 must. It is not Hassan. The men are coming the wrong 
 way. Hush ! " he says, with sudden emphasis, and seizes 
 Said by the bridle. 
 
 " But, Jack " 
 
 "The Bedaween," says Stuart, in a warning whisper. 
 The strange horsemen are coming on at full gallop ; already 
 they can distinguish a small confused mass moving rapidly 
 across the plain. On the farther side from where they stand 
 a high bank shelters and conceals the road. For a moment 
 the pursuers seem pressing farther on. They hold their 
 breath in silence, crouching back into the shade. But as 
 the strange horses pass abreast, Said starts forward with 
 a low whinny of recognition. The enemy halts ; wheels 
 about ; a moment's parley ; and then as Stuart walks boldly 
 forward, a single figure detaches itself from the group, and 
 at the same moment the young man sees a long tufted 
 spear relieving sharply against the low-hanging moon, and 
 hears a menacing guttural voice challenging his right to 
 pass.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BY THE WATERS OF GALILEE. 
 
 STUART knew one word of Arabic ; he used it. He walked 
 deliberately forward, keeping his eyes fixed upon his inter- 
 locutor. " Backshish," he said, with conciliatory intonation. 
 The Bedawy halted. Stuart took another step forward. 
 The Bedawy wheeled about his horse, lowered his lance. 
 Jack's fingers fell carelessly upon the handle of the pistol in 
 his belt. "Backshish; Jezreel?" he repeated, in an en- 
 couraging voice. Then with deep conviction of the necessity 
 of saying something, and a desperate relapse into the ver- 
 nacular : " I don't suppose you want to get into trouble, my 
 friend," he remarked cheerfully. " That's a very neat little 
 affair of yours, that lance, I daresay ; but if you would 
 kindly keep it rather more out of the conversation " 
 
 The full moon had risen high enough to outline his 
 adversary in sharpest silhouette against the sky. He saw 
 the man rise in his stirrups and look about him. He saw 
 the light catch and run down the thin black length of spear. 
 The Bedawy turned in his saddle ; a wild hoarse cry of 
 command ; a sudden move forward of all the waiting horse- 
 men ; a pause ; a short parley. Two muffled figures 
 detached themselves from the group and rode slowly 
 forward. 
 
 " Now, don't let your friends excite themselves with too 
 much riding," said Stuart, recklessly. He spoke loud 
 enough for Constance to hear him. " But, by Jove ! I'd 
 give something to be well out of this," the young man 
 thought. The reinforcement was approaching with deliberate 
 composure. It looked decidedly unpleasant.
 
 134 MIRAGE. 
 
 Another moment, and the foremost rider had halted 
 directly in front of Jack. He halted, leaned forward, threw 
 back the folds of his long loose Arab cloak. To Stuart's in- 
 expressible astonishment he laughed ; he held out his hand. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Stuart? I'm very glad to see 
 you again ; but, if it's a fair question, I should like to know 
 what the devil you are doing here ? " remarked this midnight 
 assassin. 
 
 And five minutes later found them all riding on together 
 along the Jezreel road. It was only a mile or so to camp ; 
 the Bedawy guide could walk ; Stuart should take his horse. 
 The fellow deserved some punishment for having frightened 
 Miss Varley, Mr. Ferris averred politely. " Yes ; we heard 
 your shots. We thought someone was getting into trouble," 
 the gentleman riding beside Constance remarked. "You 
 will allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Davenant ? " said 
 Ferris. In a few words Mr. Davenant explained the situation. 
 
 " I persuaded Ferris to come across by night. The men 
 wanted to wait for the moon. But I thought it would be a 
 finer sensation to see it rising from out the darkness and 
 from behind the hills. It was really a very happy inspiration 
 of Mr. Stuart's that firing. Our men declared we were 
 attacked by Bedaween. It gave us a fine dramatic effect." 
 
 " Dramatic ? It was dramatic enough, certainly," said 
 Constance. 
 
 " But you were frightened, perhaps ? Ah, you will 
 , appreciate the value of the sensation better when you look 
 back at it. It was a point, don't you see ? a situation ; an 
 accent. And next to having a great sorrow which, of 
 course, is the finest experience I think accenting one's ex- 
 istence, multiplying one's emotions, heightening, intensifying 
 the quality of one's sensations " 
 
 Miss Varley turned and looked at her companion. 
 
 He had taken off his hat. The moonlight streamed full 
 and clear upon his face. That face was almost an ana- 
 chronism. It was like one of Holbein's portraits ; pale, large- 
 featured, individual ; a peculiar, an interesting countenance, 
 of singularly mild yet ardent expression. Mr. Davenant was 
 very young probably not more than one or two and twenty ; 
 but he looked younger. He wore his hair rather long 
 thrown back, and clustering about his neck like the hair of a
 
 BY THE WATERS OF GALILEE. 135 
 
 mediaeval saint. He spoke with rapidity, in a low voice, 
 with peculiarly distinct enunciation ; he spoke like a man 
 who made a study of expression. He listened like one 
 accustomed to speak. 
 
 " But a great sorrow, Mr. Davenant " 
 
 " Ah, that is the supreme experience, of course ; over- 
 powering sorrow suppresses civilisation; it links a man to all 
 the eternal verities of life. If I were a mother," said the 
 young man, fervently, " if I were a mother, I should wish to 
 have at least one of my sons meet with a tragic, a heroic 
 death. I should wish him to be slain in battle. There 
 would be something so sublime in one's despair. Great 
 
 sorrow perhaps great joy " The horse stumbled and 
 
 recovered himself cleverly. 
 
 " There he goes ! Davenant never will attend to what 
 he is doing. He's been off twice to-night already," said 
 Ferris, with a laugh. 
 
 "Can't ride?" 
 
 " Oh, forgets all about it ! Thinks of something he's 
 been reading, and mistakes his horse for a bookcase for all 
 I know." 
 
 "What is he English?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; an Oxford man. Young Oxford, and all that 
 sort of thing, don't you know ? A sort of early Christian 
 brought down to date, and adapted like a restored church. 
 But a capital fellow for all that. We've been travelling 
 together for the last six weeks, and the more I know him 
 the more I Davenant ! I say, Davenant ! " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " That's the turn there to the left." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Mr. Davenant. He went on 
 talking to Constance. He was speaking to her of Greece, 
 of Athens the city of the early morning rising in the 
 cool, pale, steady light of dawn, a new Aphrodite, from out 
 the lapping circle of the waves. He spoke to her of the 
 Parthenon, the one temple not a building a temple, as 
 complete, as personal as a statue. And that first sight 
 of the Acropolis, the delicate naked columns rising up in 
 the morning sunshine ; " It was like coming upon some 
 white Greek goddess. It made one feel " 
 
 " Hurrah ! I see a light. Yes, there are the tents 1 "
 
 136 MIRAGE. 
 
 cried Stuart, pressing forward. And there indeed was camp, 
 and loud-mouthed welcome from Lione, and all the rumour 
 and excitement of return. 
 
 " Hassan is still out looking for you. Oh Constance, I 
 have been so anxious ! I have been quite wild ; ask Tom. 
 And Shaitan has come home without his saddle ; I thought 
 I should faint when I saw him coming in. Tom wanted to 
 go and look for you, but of course I would not let him go. 
 I cannot endure to be left alone," said Fanny, sinking back 
 into her chair. " Thank you, Mr. Ferris ; oh, never mind 
 the cushion now. I am sure," she said, smiling very 
 sweetly, and leaning her graceful little head against the 
 chair, "I am sure that you fortunate people who have no 
 nerves " 
 
 " But perhaps Mr. Ferris will stay and dine with us, 
 Fanny. Oh, your tents are close by, next door in fact. It 
 won't be any trouble to you, and I'm sure we shall be very 
 happy to have you stay and your friend," the Major 
 interposed eagerly. 
 
 And after dinner this eagerness was explained. " I 
 have not brought anj-tning with me really. That portfolio ? 
 oh, there is nothing much in that," Mr. Ferris had answered 
 with some reluctance. He had been turning over a pile of 
 the Major's drawings for the last half-hour, with civil and 
 appropriate commentary. And Davenant was never of any 
 use on an emergency like this. 
 
 But presently, as Mrs. Thayer was rapturously and 
 quickly examining the contents of the portfolio : " Those 
 are worth looking at. I had forgotten I had them with me," 
 he said, and leaned over and laid some sheets of drawing- 
 paper on the table. " Designs for two companion pictures 
 the Plain of Esdraelon, you see. They are by by a 
 friend of mine ; a man I know in Damascus." 
 
 "Ah yes; I see. Not your own work then," said 
 Fanny, and passed them by with charming nonchalance. 
 
 " Will you show them to me ? " said Constance. 
 
 Both were unfinished sketches. The first was a study 
 of a woman a low-browed Syrian peasant-woman standing 
 in the doorway, one strong arm thrust behind her, dragging 
 together the black folds of the tent. A little child was 
 clinging, unheeded, by her side. Beyond the figure
 
 BY THE WATERS OF GALILEE. 137 
 
 stretched the level fields, and all her face was lighted up 
 with the strange glow of an unseen sunset that thin, 
 common face, transfigured, grown terrible and wild with 
 recollection of past and ineffaceable horror. 
 
 And underneath the drawing was written : " And Sisera 
 said unto her, Stand in the door of the tent, and it shall 
 be, when any man doth come and inquire of thee, and say, 
 Is there any man here ? that thou shalt answer, No." 
 
 Constance drew a long breath. She looked up. " I like 
 it," she said simply. 
 
 " And this," said Ferris " will you know what this one 
 means ? " 
 
 It was the same low-lying plain, by night. A wild 
 tumultuous sky torn with sharp lines of stormy light ; a dark 
 hill-ridge ; the uncertain outline of a tall muffled figure, 
 " taller than any other of the people from the shoulders and 
 upward;" and, farther on, two other shadows stealing 
 through the night. And next to it, roughly divided off by 
 a mere charcoal scratch across the paper, another study of 
 the principal figure. A man's face, looking out against the 
 dawn large noble features, with eyes shadowed by the 
 falling folds of the Arab headdress, with proud and patient 
 mouth ; a young and kingly face, grown pale and wan with 
 suffering and great weariness, and strange foreshadowing of 
 doom. 
 
 George Ferris was very much pleased with the girl's 
 manner of examining this work. Hitherto he had not paid 
 very much attention to her perhaps ; but now he turned and 
 favoured her with a perfectly respectful and perfectly ex- 
 haustive survey. Few details escape the interested eye of 
 an artist ; but for all that, the next morning he became con- 
 vinced that there had been still another discovery to make. 
 
 It was still very early in the morning. The fresh and 
 dewy fields were hardly shining yet in the first level rays of 
 the sun, a thin blue smoke was only now beginning to float 
 above the double line of tents, and the air was yet cool with 
 the coolness of night. 
 
 But lower down the hill there was plenty of sound and 
 life and confusion a noisy clattering circle of baggage- 
 mules, jangling with bells and gay with coloured trappings, 
 crowding thirstily about the flower-choked well ; and nearer
 
 138 MIRAGE. 
 
 camp, a long line of horses were being driven up the road. 
 The young men stood and criticised them as they trotted by. 
 
 " That wasn't a bad nag of yours the one you lent me 
 last night, Ferris." 
 
 " The sheikh has a better one, though. Those fellows 
 always get the best of everything," said Ferris, philosophi- 
 cally. 
 
 " Hollo ! why, they are saddling Miss Varley's horse 
 already ! We seem to be going to make an early start of it 
 this morning," said Jack. 
 
 They walked over through the wet grass to where the 
 grooms were bringing out the saddles. 
 
 " The fact is, Hassan, you ought to be most .uncommonly 
 obliged to me for not having massacred you in cold blood 
 last night," Stuart remarked conversationally. 
 
 Hassan seemed very much offended. 
 
 " Well, sir, I've been dragoman thirty years, sir ; and 
 my father, he dragoman before me : 
 
 " Oh, was he, though ? That explains. I could not for 
 the life of me imagine where you had got hold of such a 
 precious lot of rotten old saddles ; but of course, if they're 
 
 family relics I say, just tell that man to mind what 
 
 he's about, will you ? Those girths are not half properly 
 strapped." 
 
 " Miss Constance knows how to ride," said Hassan, 
 sulkily. 
 
 "Miss Constance shall not run the chance of being thrown 
 while / can help it," said the young man coolly. " And 
 what is that ?" 
 
 It was a bit of black ribbon hanging down from Miss 
 Varley's saddle. 
 
 " Oh, I see. The thing I used last night to mend your 
 jolly old strap," he said, indifferently. He hesitated a mo- 
 ment, patted the horse on the neck, unfastened the ribbon, 
 and put it deliberately in his pocket. 
 
 "A wise provision against future contingencies is the test 
 of the sage," observed Ferris, gravely, knocking the ashes 
 out of his pipe. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ; it may be useful," said Jack, in a 
 very offhand manner. 
 
 Mr. Ferris smiled. He had drawn his conclusions.
 
 BY THE WATERS OF GALILEE. 139 
 
 And, still in the early morning, they set out for Nazareth. 
 To-day, for the first time, the crimson and white and gold 
 of the flowers was relieved by patches of tall pale primroses. 
 And then, beyond the stony mountain-path, they came upon 
 the ancient cacti hedges girdling about the town. So old 
 are they, so massive and impenetrable is the close rampart 
 of their flat-palmed branches, they seem to have been there 
 from the very beginning of things, and to have started from 
 the mother-nursery of some elder world. Like some unholy 
 genii cruel, inactive, unfamiliar they stare weirdly out at 
 the life defiling before them century after century. They 
 bear an uncanny fruit the native children relish. " But 
 then, have we not seen them eating grass?" asks Fanny, 
 with a yawn. It has been a long ride, and Mrs. Thayer is 
 tired. They leave the bleak and stony defile behind them, 
 they climb the road, they come full upon this small gray 
 village spread upon the hillside ; and still they can feel 
 nothing but its insignificance, its barrenness, its dirt. 
 
 And later on, with the tents pitched on high ground near 
 the olive-grove looking down upon the convents, upon 
 the church-roofs, the huddled houses, the long blank road 
 that seemed to be leading nowhere this same impression 
 endures. 
 
 And it is only at night, when the shadows have massed 
 and simplified the broken outlines of the small pale hills 
 it is only at night, when a yellow sunset is dying away behind 
 the distant mountains ; when the voices of the women by 
 the Virgin's Fountain come floating softly up through the 
 silent gray evening, and the air is sweet with the smell of 
 the small common flowers in the grass it is only then, I 
 say, that they can feel any charm in melancholy abject 
 Nazareth. 
 
 Once more they started in the early morning. Once 
 more they saw the Mediterranean a deep blue line between 
 the mountain summits of the farther range once more they 
 rode across the plains. And what a lovely dream is spring 
 in that most lovely country ! The flower-covered slopes 
 rose up before them, breaking in billows of colour against 
 the tender sky; white cranes started from the tall grass 
 through which they waded ; from far-off woods the cuckoo's 
 voice came thin and floating on the wind.
 
 HO MIRAGE. 
 
 And all day long they rode in strange and silent solitude. 
 From Nazareth to Galilee is but deserted space. Only, at 
 long intervals, you see or pass some lonely village, perched 
 like a well-guarded nest on the edge of the precipice ; and 
 then again for miles and miles of sunny silence it is as 
 though some mighty storm-wind had swept all life away 
 with nature left, the only sovereign of space. 
 
 The afternoon was waning when they came in sight of 
 the Sea of Galilee. The great flanks of the hills dropped 
 down somewhat abruptly, to the lake. The whole character 
 of the landscape was large and simple and bare ; no trees 
 breaking the great flowing lines of the hills. After a some- 
 what rapid descent too rapid for Fanny's heavy palanquin 
 they came upon the flat stretch of sand reaching to the 
 old walls, the crumbling towers of Tiberias. The old city 
 has shrunk to a few squalid huts, rising brokenly above the 
 fields of burning bloom; and without the curiosity of passing 
 through it the little cavalcade pushed on to where the camp 
 had been pitched by the shore of the lake, some half-hour's 
 ride beyond the town. 
 
 It was a memorable ride to Constance. It was by 
 Galilee ! The sad gray water lapped the shore ; the 
 Moabite hills rose low against a sad gray sky ; the air was 
 a little chilly just enough to make you shrink into yourself. 
 They were all tired ; no fund of animal spirits was left, and 
 precisely on this account because physical being was so 
 quiescent mind and spirit rose unobstructed by the mere 
 accidents of travel, and were left to brood, as it were, over 
 the few great facts that consecrate the hill-slopes and the 
 Sea of Galilee. 
 
 Constance looked about her on that quiet evening, over 
 the idle wavelets along the lonely shore, to the cold shade 
 of the nearer hills, thrusting their rocky flanks into the very 
 water. She tried to realise the serene presence of the 
 Galilean the simple fishermen the storm on the lake 
 the sleeping master the disciple sinking in the waves. She 
 thought of the eager multitudes pouring out of that crowded 
 city where now only the flowers of the field flaunted and 
 flamed above the ruined walls. An infinite sadness filled 
 her soul the sadness of youth, of nature, of religion the 
 helpless stretching out of feeble hands. She looked ab-
 
 BY THE WATERS OF GALILEE. 141 
 
 stracted ; her impassioned wide-eyed glance wandered from 
 shore to shore, from sea to sky, unmindful of her com-, 
 panions. She felt for the moment alone. Could she hear 
 that voice ? could her spirit know the presence of that 
 Divine Goodness who walked and taught in the shadow of 
 these everlasting hills, by the waters of that plashing sea ? 
 The very doors of her being seemed open to all the infinite 
 possibilities of faith. 
 
 It was but for a moment, but in such moments the soul 
 grows. Touched with tenderness, athirst for something to 
 satisfy it, exalted by poetry and religion, she stood by the 
 waters of Galilee.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SCHON-ROHTRAUT. 
 
 THE lake-shore was covered with long white rows of tents. 
 
 " Oh, I think we shall find a great many people here to- 
 day," said Fanny, with a pleased expression in her eyes. 
 
 She drew back the curtain of the litter; picked up a 
 book that had fallen ; settled her cuff; put her hat straight 
 upon her head. " If you will take away those flowers from 
 the mules' harness, Tom ? I don't want to look like a 
 picnic." 
 
 Some ladies were crossing the beach to their encamp- 
 ment. They looked up curiously as the new-comers came 
 in sight; and, even at this distance, there was something 
 familiar in the aspect of the stout gray dresses, the strong 
 and serviceable white umbrellas they carried in their hands. 
 
 " It is it must be Constance, it t's the Vaughan- 
 Smythes ! " said Fanny, springing to her feet. And then 
 there followed much hand-shaking and loud recognition and 
 greeting by the shore. 
 
 " But you must have travelled very fast to have over- 
 taken vis ?" Mrs. Vaughan-Smythe remarked that evening to 
 Mrs. Thayer. " As for ourselves, Mahmoud has turned out 
 to be a perfect treasure so far. We have enjoyed our trip 
 so much. We have saved twelve hours already. Twelve 
 hours, without counting the three Sundays, since we left 
 Jerusalem. You make it a point to stop over every Sunday, 
 of course ? " 
 
 And Fanny smiled amiably in reply. 
 
 " Oh, we have had such adventures ! " she said, in her
 
 SCHON-ROHTRAUT. 143 
 
 clear rapid treble ; " oh, dear Mrs. Smythe, if you could only 
 have been with us yesterday ! " 
 
 " Yes ; it is very interesting, of course. We have been 
 here ever since four o'clock. We wanted to come early to 
 secure the best places and make sure of having fish for 
 breakfast to-morrow. Of course that is what one thinks of 
 first at Galilee the fish," Miss Adela Smythe was saying to 
 Constance. 
 
 " And when did you leave Nablous then, Mr. Stuart ? " 
 the pretty sister asked Jack. 
 
 " Nablous ? Let me see. This is Friday what, Saturday, 
 is it ? Ah, well then, we left Nablous four days ago. We got 
 there on a Monday morning." 
 
 " On Monday morning ? but you must have been travelling 
 Sunday to reach there so soon," said their hostess, in very 
 positive fashion. 
 
 Fanny smiled. She was intensely annoyed. " For one 
 never can tell what they will think of us for doing it," she 
 complained to Tom in the privacy of their own tent. 
 
 " The Major was not sympathetic. " It was all a 
 difference of nationality," he said deliberately, eyeing his 
 wife with some amusement. Fanny should have remembered 
 that the Smythes were English, and that an Englishman 
 would as soon leave his bath-tub at home as his conscience. 
 " They haven't our loose, easy, American fashion of travelling 
 without baggage, and keeping a running account with 
 Providence," said the Major, philosophically. And Fanny 
 was very much offended. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. "She was going to hear 
 service they were all going to hear service in the Vaughan- 
 Smythes' tent," she remarked coldly. " If they were heathens, 
 as Tom seemed to infer and, indeed, the way I hear you 
 talking to Constance sometimes would make one believe you 
 were not far wrong if they were heathens," Mrs. Thayer 
 said with plaintive emphasis, " at least at least it could not 
 be said she ever neglected to take advantage of such 
 opportunities as came in her way." 
 
 And " That you don't, my dear," said the Major with a 
 grin. 
 
 It was, perhaps, in consequence of this conversation 
 that the Thayer party were so very punctual the next morning.
 
 144 MIRAGE. 
 
 11 How do you do ? Ah, Mr. Stuart, how are you ? I did 
 not see you before. Fine weather, isn't it ? Yes ; shall we 
 have quite a little congregation this morning ? Brought your 
 camp-stools with you, I hope. That's right that's right," 
 said Mr. Smythe, weightily, holding out his large white 
 hand. 
 
 Mr. Smythe was a large portly man, of severe aspect 
 and indefinite mind. But this latter fact was of the less 
 consequence to him, possibly, that it did not prevent his 
 possessing large regular features, regular whiskers, a lofty 
 shining forehead, and a large sonorous voice an imposing 
 combination of attributes which had long since caused him 
 to adopt a parliamentary career. He had the reputation of 
 being very popular in the House. 
 
 Miss Adela greeted the new-comers with momentary 
 enthusiasm. " Oh, did you have fish for breakfast ? " she 
 asked, eagerly. 
 
 " No," said Constance, smiling. 
 
 " No ? Only fancy ! Why, our dragoman got up before 
 daylight to secure it ; he said he had bought it all." 
 
 " Ah, Mahmoud is a sharp fellow," said her father, with 
 decorous exultation. 
 
 And presently the service began. 
 
 From the place where Constance sat she could see the 
 rippling play of the water, foaming and breaking about a 
 bed of small shells, worn thin and white by the waves ; and, 
 far across the lake, floated a vision of solemn mountain 
 summits, lifting one above the other, crowned with the 
 radiant morning light. Involuntarily her attention wandered. 
 She glanced about the room. She caught Stuart's eye, and 
 a half smile passed over her lips at sight of his sleek brushed 
 head and general expression of decorous melancholy. She 
 looked at the doorway where Mahmoud sat in respectful 
 discomfort. "We were determined to have a Christian 
 dragoman for the Holy Land," said Mrs. Vaughan- Smythe, 
 " and we got him quite as cheap." And then a wistful look 
 stole into the beautiful eyes gazing out at that peaceful sea. 
 
 It was now about ten o'clock. The thin gray mist had 
 lifted from the lake, a cool light breeze ruffled the water to 
 a deeper blue ; through the voice of the reader she could 
 hear, quite plainly, the low wash of the waves UDon the
 
 SCHON-ROHTRAUT. 145 
 
 shore. Someone proposed a walk after the service. There 
 were more people out upon the beach, and they strolled by 
 more than one family group picking flowers for remem- 
 brance, or busily collecting shells. But presently they had 
 left the line of tents behind them, and now they entered on 
 a long and lonely stretch of sand. 
 
 Perhaps it was this very loneliness which prompted them 
 to look with something more than ordinary curiosity at a 
 tall and solitary figure, dressed in black, seated upon a rock, 
 her head resting upon her hand, gazing out to sea. There 
 was a great expression of sadness on the pale fine features 
 and in the listless pose. 
 
 "What a beautiful face, and how unhappy," said 
 Constance, with quick sympathy. 
 
 "It is Lady Janet Blank. No, I do not know her 
 personally. She has had a great deal of trouble with her 
 husband, I hear; and I fancy there is something, ah 
 something rather fishy about her," said Mrs. Vaughan- 
 Smythe, with a deprecatory smile. 
 
 " Ah," said Fanny, gravely ; " ah, really. How very 
 painful. So glad you warned me of it. Constance 
 Miss Varley was speaking to her little girl only this morn- 
 ing. And one can never be too careful, you know." 
 
 " Poor thing !" said Constance, in her gentlest voice. 
 She looked up at the brilliant gladness of the day, and back 
 at the lonely figure on the shore of that sea where the weak, 
 the helpless, the sinking had heard the voice of a Friend. 
 " Poor thing, I should like to ask her " 
 
 " My dear Constance 
 
 " But really, Miss Varley, you know- 
 
 "What, don't you mean to stop at Magdala, Mr. Stuart? 
 Only fancy ! Why, I would not miss Magdala for anything." 
 
 " Because of Mary Magdalene ? But surely wasn't there 
 something rather fishy about her ?" inquired Constance, 
 gravely. 
 
 Miss Smythe looked up in genuine surprise. 
 
 " Oh, really, you Americans are so very odd, you know." 
 
 And her father quite agreed with her. 
 
 " A very worthy people, my dear ; young very young 
 but worthy. I will not say I should hesitate to say they 
 are a nation without a future," said that gentleman magnani-
 
 146 MIRAGE. 
 
 mously ; " but there is a shocking spirit of levity about the 
 true American ; an entire absence of weight, you mark me 
 
 of weight which ah, which They are a glib people, 
 
 I don't deny it, but essentially slight, my dear, essentially 
 slight. They have no real conversation ; not what I call 
 conversation," said Mr. Smythe. 
 
 He spoke with some asperity, and his words were fol- 
 lowed by appropriate silence. It was only after a long 
 pause that his wife looked up from her book. 
 
 " Very good dinner we had to-day, my dear," she 
 observed thoughtfully. 
 
 " Very, my dear, very," said Mr. Vaughan-Smythe in his 
 most sonorous tones. 
 
 It was early the next morning when Constance came 
 out of her tent. The weather had changed for the worse. 
 There was a wan and chilly light on the mountains now, the 
 air was cold and still, and the only sound in the morning 
 was the moan of the gray and restless sea. But even if the 
 young day came in pale and colourless, there was plenty of 
 light and resolution in the face of the girl as she clambered 
 about the rocks, or sat down on the sands by Lione and 
 filled her lap with flowers. 
 
 This was how the Major found her, coming up with 
 young Stuart from their morning plunge in the lake. He 
 stopped to look at her with a certain pleasure in his face. 
 
 " Well, you look wide awake enough," he observed 
 approvingly. " Fanny not dressed yet, I suppose ? Well, 
 I will go and call her. Now mind you don't keep break- 
 fast waiting, Constance, there's a good girl," he said, walking 
 off through the tall wet grass. 
 
 " Do you intend not to say ' Good-morning' to me at all, 
 then?" demanded Mr. Stuart. 
 
 Constance smiled. 
 
 " I'm extremely happy this morning," she said incon- 
 sequentially. " Now at last I feel as though we were 
 really going to Damascus. I shall get some letters there. 
 I shall get two, perhaps three, letters from my father " 
 
 " But you haven't said ' Good-morning ' to me yet," said 
 Jack. 
 
 She had been busy fastening a great yellow marigold in 
 Lione's collar, but now she lifted up her face and he could
 
 SCHON-ROHTRAUT. 147 
 
 see the careless friendly look in her eyes and the faint fresh 
 colour the sea wind had brought to her cheek. 
 
 " This Syrian air must disagree with me ; I believe I am 
 growing rude," she answered gravely. "Good-morning, 
 Mr. Stuart. There, that is the great disadvantage of society 
 people are always making comparisons. Now, if you had 
 not spent your afternoon yesterday flirting with that pretty 
 Miss Smythe, why, perhaps you might never have discovered 
 how bad even my manners can be." 
 
 " Miss Smythe ! " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Smythe is very pretty. I think she is a very 
 nice girl," said Constance. " I like English girls ; I 
 like " 
 
 "You like talking nonsense, I think," he interrupted 
 coolly. 
 
 " Well, at least I don't deny my tastes," she answered 
 frankly. " But, really now, I don't see why you should call 
 it nonsense ; I really don't see why you should not flirt with 
 Miss Smythe, or fall in love with Miss Smythe, if " 
 
 She had been speaking almost at random, but now she 
 checked herself suddenly, and there was an expression of 
 embarrassment in her eyes. She glanced up timidly at her 
 companion. The young man had turned away his head. 
 There was a curious look on his face as he stood biting his 
 lip and staring at the pale and restless water. 
 
 " No ; I never supposed you did see it," he answered 
 shortly. 
 
 It seemed a long way back to the tents. 
 
 The shores of the lake are absolutely deserted. As they 
 rode, an hour later, by the ruined battlements of Tiberias 
 only invested now by scarlet poppies or the waving grass 
 a few miserable old Jews crawled out of their hovels to gaze 
 at the travellers, then, with some mysterious murmur of im- 
 precation, slunk back to their hiding-holes. Not a house 
 was to be seen on either shore; nothing but deep misty 
 ravines, filled with shifting blue shadows ; no sound but the 
 sullen beating of the surf. 
 
 As the path wound higher and higher they could see, 
 at every bend of the leafy road, the wide gray loneliness 
 of the mountain-girdled sea. And once quite suddenly 
 they came upon a wandering caravan of pilgrims men and 
 
 L 2
 
 148 MIRAGE. 
 
 women and children, clad in strange and beautiful garments : 
 a sudden, brilliant burst of vivid colour and gaily-caparisoned 
 horses and flashing arms. They passed each at foot-pace in 
 the narrow pathway. And then a sudden silence fell upon 
 the noisy train ; the men looked warily to their merchan- 
 dise, the women folded themselves more tightly in their veils; 
 it was the silent negation of an alien race. 
 
 And now indeed they seemed entering into the very heart 
 of solitude ; for now they had left behind them the mournful 
 swamps of Magdala, its ruined mill and the shallow brawling 
 river/where all day long the clustering oleanders flaunt their 
 frail rosy beauty in the sun ; and on and on they rode by 
 silent paths, through long wild stretches of leafy solitudes, or 
 out into the empty open fields between the yellow primroses 
 and the soft silver-gray of the sky. 
 
 And on the second day they reached the swamps of 
 Huleh. A primitive grandeur marks the long swelling lines, 
 the mountain barrier of that desolate unclaimed land. 
 
 Once, towards evening, they came upon a camp of 
 Bedaween. The small "black tents of Kidar " looked like 
 black bats flattened against the ground. The men were in 
 the pastures with the cattle ; a low-browed woman, with 
 shining silver ornaments about her wrists and hair, offered to 
 sell them some milk as they passed through the village ; some 
 thin, brown-skinned children sprang from the road and fled 
 with shrill wild outcry to the shelter of the tents ; and gaunt 
 and famished pariah-dogs pursued them with loud-throated 
 menace far into the open fields. And then one night came 
 the first revelation of Mount Hermon, rising in snow- 
 crowned solitude, far off against the roseate sky. They were 
 camping beside a nameless lake, where big brown buffaloes 
 trooped slowly down through the sedge to drink, and the 
 reedy shore was for a moment transfigured into a network 
 of gold by the magical weaving of sunset. Then night 
 crept over the land chill, homeless night, with the wailing 
 of wind and the sense of desolation. 
 
 It was the next day they reached Banias. 
 
 But even in this brief interval, a change had come over 
 the spirit of the little party. As Constance said, it seemed 
 at last that they were really going to Damascus ; something 
 of the city's restraint made itself felt. And now, indeed,
 
 SCHON-ROHTRAUT, 149 
 
 they could already look forward to the end of this free and 
 careless journeying, and more than one of them secretly 
 questioned what that end should be. It is true that when 
 Fanny attempted to give these questions a more tangible 
 expression, she met with but small success. 
 
 " How can I tell you what I mean to do, Fanny ? 
 What do I know of it myself? You take it for granted that 
 I am thinking always of what of what other people would 
 like," the girl said, somewhat bitterly; "but is there nothing 
 ever coming to me out of life ? Am I never to think, to 
 expect, to live, for myself?" 
 
 It was a settled conviction of Mrs. Thayer's that 
 Constance was incapable of very deep emotion. 
 
 " You ought to marry some man with plenty of money, 
 who would be very devoted to you and very indulgent; 
 someone who could give you a good position," she argued 
 seriously. "All those romantic and sentimental notions 
 are quite out of place with your character, Constance. 
 You're the dearest girl in the world, you know, and I love 
 you dearly ; but I don't think you will ever break your 
 heart over anybody much. And really, Constance, with 
 your good sense Tom always says you have more good 
 sense than any woman he knows and when you think of 
 your father at home and all those children, and you with your 
 habits and tastes, I don't know anyone who needs to make 
 a good marriage more than yourself, dear child," concluded 
 Fanny, with unsparing frankness. 
 
 The girl was walking by the side of the palanquin, but 
 now she turned her head away, and Mrs. Thayer could only 
 see the nervous trembling of her hands. 
 
 "There is Aunt Van, to be sure," continued that 
 prudent little person ; " of course, if you have really decided 
 never to marry, Aunt Van will have to do something for 
 you, I suppose. I daresay she would do it, even after that 
 Stuyvesant affair. But living with Aunt Van ! Why, surely, 
 Constance " 
 
 " It had not come to that yet. No, not yet ; " the girl 
 answered proudly, lifting up her eyes. And then, with 
 sudden change of manner: "Oh Fanny," she said pas- 
 sionately, " be good to me ; let me alone ? I know I 
 know everything you would say, dear, and it is all true, and
 
 ISO MIRAGE. 
 
 you are good to say it, only We have four days left, 
 
 haven't we? and then Damascus, and Aunt Van. But 
 those four days belong to me," said Constance. 
 
 It was not like her usual way of speaking. When 
 Mrs. Thayer thought it over afterwards, she sighed and 
 shook her head dubiously. There was something more 
 here than met the eye, the little lady thought something 
 she could not understand. 
 
 And meanwhile they were climbing up to Banias. 
 Climbing to the source of the Jordan, by sunny paths and 
 through pale fields of wheat ; by myrtle groves, and hoary 
 old olives, lightning-shattered and gray. There was a 
 delicate, continuous sound of running water in the air; 
 marble columns and many a fallen capital were lying on the 
 ground, deep hidden in tall weeds ; and far above their 
 heads, high on the mountain's slope, the crumbling citadel 
 lifted its ruined towers. 
 
 And now winding about the hillside, they pushed their 
 way through a leafy covert of thorn and myrtle to the 
 secret woodland paths. Frail white cyclamen grew in 
 abundance in these moist recesses, and rank buttercups 
 thrust their yellow blossoms through the branches to catch 
 and hold each wandering gleam of sunshine. At last, 
 pushing their way through the luxuriant branching, they 
 came upon a little open glade where the stream widened to 
 a pool. An oak-tree stretched its branches clear across the 
 river ; beneath its shade the thicket drew back, leaving a 
 little open space of smooth green turf. And now the horses 
 stood motionless, drinking in the water with the deep- 
 drawn breathing of content. The little river foamed and 
 splashed about their feet, to disappear some ten yards off 
 under a tangle of blossom-whitened boughs. 
 
 Here, in the home of the great god Pan, they seemed to 
 have discovered the most secret of his haunts. As Con- 
 stance looked about her, the leaves overhead rustled 
 suddenly as though stirred by the white hands of some 
 dryad, "with a face like spring," and the girl smiled to 
 fancy that by lifting up her eyes she could meet the mis- 
 chievous startled gaze of some belated faun, or hear in the 
 lift and fall of the splashing water the low laughter of the 
 nymphs hidden amongst sharp-flowering rushes. And then
 
 SCHON-ROHTRAUT. 151 
 
 as she looked about her she was struck with a sudden sense 
 of the curious silence of the place. There was not the 
 sound of a bird's song among the branches, not the flutter 
 of a bird's wing across the blue. She listened. A sudden 
 cloud passed over the April sky ; the flower-crowned laurels 
 flung their white arms wildly in the air ; a sudden gust of 
 wind shook all the sturdy branches of the oak, and hushed 
 itself with a shivering sigh among the reeds. And through 
 the sobbing of the water came a wild lament Pan, Pan is 
 dead ! 
 
 It was at Banias that they again fell in with Ferris at 
 Banias and under the trees. The night was warm and 
 still. They sat by the brink of the shadowy river, rushing 
 wildly down from its sacred cave beside the ruined shrines ; 
 they watched it for a moment, flowing thin and clear adown 
 that marble stairway which the footsteps of many a worshipper 
 had pressed they watched it, hastening downward through 
 the shadows, and the moon, riding high above the tree-tops, 
 whitened its foaming fall. 
 
 " Mr. Davenant," said Constance, looking vaguely up 
 above her, " why is it that oak-trees seem so mediaeval ? 
 Why should they make one think of old crusaders and knights 
 in armour, like some suggestion of an old romance ? " 
 
 " Ah, I have felt that too," said Davenant gravely. " It 
 is a Gothic tree, don't you know ? German in its spirit, I 
 mean, not Greek." 
 
 ' I know," said Ferris : 
 
 "Einstmals sie ruhten am Eichenbaum 
 Da lacht Schon-Rohtraut." 
 
 She looked up with a quick light on her face. " Oh 
 Mr. Ferris, do you know the rest of it ? I have not heard 
 that song not for years," she said earnestly. 
 
 Ferris was very willing to please this girl. He made an 
 effort to recollect the half-forgotten words ; in a rough way 
 he even translated them to Fanny. While the oak-trees 
 rustled overhead in the silence, and the river leaped and 
 whitened in the moonlight, he told them the story of 
 Rohtraut King Ringang's young daughter Rohtraut 
 beautiful Rohtraut who all day long would neither spin 
 nor sew, but only ride out into the wild free wood. And
 
 152 MIRAGE. 
 
 the young page sighed that he too might become a hunter 
 and follow the beautiful girl into the wild free wood. " And 
 after awhile," he went on, " after a little while, the young 
 man came to Ringang's castle in hunting-dress, and with a 
 horse to hunt in the woods with Rohtraut. ' Oh that I were 
 only a king ; I love her so dearly, this beautiful Rohtraut ; 
 but be silent, my heart, be still ! ' " 
 
 In a rough and broken fashion he tried to tell them how 
 one day there came one day when they rested in the oak- 
 forest, and how beautiful Rohtraut laughed. " Why do you 
 look at me," she asks, " why do you look at me so long- 
 ingly ? Nay, if you have the courage you may kiss my 
 beautiful lips." " Be silent, my heart, be still ! " 
 
 And here was it only fancy that the trees whispered 
 together more loudly through the windless night, and the 
 torrent paused to listen in the moonlight, as he told them 
 how the page trembled, and how he thought " she has 
 allowed it," and how he kissed the beautiful girl upon her 
 mouth? And then they ride so silently homeward, and 
 there is wild delight in the young man's heart. " And 
 though they made you into an empress to-day, what do I 
 care for that ? The thousand leaves in the wood they know 
 it they know that I have kissed her beautiful mouth. 
 Schweig stille, mein Herz, schweig still!" 
 
 " Ah !" said Davenant, slowly, " it is one of those songs 
 that die away from their music. Do you remember Schubert's 
 music, Miss Varley, and all the wild longing and passionate 
 desire of that accompaniment? I never knew but one 
 person who sang it well." 
 
 " It is a man's song, I suppose ? " said Stuart. " I have 
 heard of it once before." 
 
 " I know a friend of Ferris's who sings it," the young 
 man answered carelessly, " a countryman of yours, by-the- 
 way, and an artist. His name you may have heard of 
 him, perhaps is Lawrence Denis Lawrence." 
 
 He happened to be looking at Constance as he spoke, 
 and even in the uncertain light he could see the startled 
 look in her face. 
 
 " Perhaps you know him then ? " he said. 
 
 The girl drew farther back into the shadow. 
 
 "I have not seen him, no, not for a long time," she said,
 
 SCHON-ROHTRA UT. 153 
 
 with an effort ; and it was not Davenant alone who noticed 
 the steady suppression in her voice. 
 
 " Ah well, Lawrence is a capital fellow," said Ferris, 
 lightly. " I know him very well. We were together at the 
 Beaux Arts, in Paris, once ; I am going to meet him now 
 in a day or two. What," said the young man with some 
 surprise, " is it possible you did not know that Lawrence is 
 at Damascus ? " 
 
 And all night long the river flashed, and foamed, and 
 murmured, beneath the whispering trees ; and white stars 
 came, and shone, and faded, until the timid dawn awoke in 
 the east ; the topmost branches of the aspen blushed rosy- 
 red, a bird called to its mate rapturously through the silence, 
 and the river laughed with new joy for the new day. 
 
 And the desire of her heart had come to Constance.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 DAWN. 
 
 ONCE already that night Hassan had been awakened by the 
 fancied sound of footsteps prowling about the camp. Once 
 already, when he had gone out hurriedly into the darkness, 
 his camel's-hair abbas folded stiffly about him, and the wind 
 ruffling his thin gray hair, it was only to see the tranquil row 
 of white tents shining peacefully in the moonlight, and to 
 hear the vague sighing of the trees. But now, as he looked 
 cautiously around him, something moved out there in the 
 shadow ; a dark figure was coming slowly towards him, 
 lounging about in the moonlight, its hands in its pockets 
 and a cigar in its mouth. 
 
 "What's the matter, Hassan? Anything up?" Stuart 
 demanded in a low tone. 
 
 The young man laughed to scorn any suggestion that 
 harm might come to him of this ghostly wandering. 
 
 "You go to sleep now and let me alone. Catch the 
 fever ? That's a likely story ! and what the devil does it 
 matter to you if I do ? I tell you what it is, Hassan : the 
 care of this family is getting to be too much for your brain. 
 Now go to bed, there's a good fellow, and don't bother. 
 You'd better go to sleep. This is a capital place for sleeping, 
 you know. I stumbled over one of your guards a moment 
 ago, and I'm blessed if the fellow even winked," he said 
 good-humouredly. 
 
 He walked down into the darkness, and stared at the 
 swirling stream. 
 
 " She cares for me she cares for me as I do for that"
 
 DAWN. 155 
 
 he thought, and tossed his cigar into the water, and saw the 
 spark of fire sputter and go out. 
 
 The short summer night was well-nigh over : a light mist 
 floated above the river : already the low moon paled against 
 the paling sky. 
 
 "And those other fellows," he went on, thinking 
 savagely ; and there was perhaps none the less bitterness 
 in his reflections that they took this unsentimental form ; 
 "those other fellows, with their pictures and poetry and 
 stuff : is there one of them who knows her as I know her, 
 or who would do what I would do for her, for a word a 
 look anything ? They say I haven't any sentiment. Well, 
 I don't understand German that's true enough ; but can't 
 I be as spooney over a girl as any other fellow?" 
 
 He thought of other episodes in his experience. But 
 which one of those girls could ever be compared to her? he 
 asked himself, with cool ingratitude. Each little familiar 
 trick and turn of expression rose up distinctly before him. 
 There was one particular look of hers when anything had 
 pleased her, a look that came into her eyes 
 
 He stood there so long that a bird began singing in the 
 branches ; there was a deepening glimmer of gold behind 
 the trees, and of a sudden the river leaped and danced and 
 glistened in the sun. He turned his head. Here here 
 she was, Constance herself, coming through the long grass 
 to greet him, with spring in her face and white hands full of 
 flowers. 
 
 A happy inspiration came to Stuart. 
 
 " Oh no, the others are not awake yet," he answered, 
 somewhat eagerly. " Look here, Constance, suppose we 
 don't wait for them? Let us, you and I, go up to the 
 fountain together Pan's Fountain, don't you know ? There 
 will be such a mob of people when the others are all there," 
 he suggested artfully ; " and I know you don't like mobs." 
 
 Constance laughed. 
 
 " I am ready. I am ready for anything this morning," 
 she said confidentially ; and she looked at him with all the 
 gladness of life in her face. 
 
 They went up. It was a steep and rugged path beneath 
 the cliff, and the stones were still slippery with dew. The 
 wet myrtle branches spattered a shower of raindrops and
 
 156 MIRAGE. 
 
 white petals in their faces as they pushed their way past ; it 
 would be hours before the sun entered these leafy thickets ; 
 but already high overhead the sheer wall of red granite burned 
 redly in the morning light. And now they had reached the 
 goatherd's terrace, and before them, deep in the heart of the 
 mountain cavern, slumbered a dark and brimming pool. 
 
 The girl sat down on one of the fallen boulders; her 
 companion threw himself beside her at her feet. They 
 looked about them. It was a still morning. Some swallows 
 flitted sharply past, clinging with low uneasy cries to the 
 hanging water-plants overhead ; the joyous river foamed 
 from out the cavern, leaping wildly down through the leafy 
 cleft to the valley beneath ; below them the tall sycamores 
 swayed slowly to and fro in the sunlight ; there came a 
 pleasant sound of the winged wind in the tops of the 
 planes. 
 
 " Do you see those niches in the rock?" asked Stuart. 
 
 And then they both looked up at the empty shrines of 
 the nymphs, shrines curved like some delicate shell of the 
 sea. And on each but one of these forgotten altars grew 
 some blooming plant, the last tributes perhaps of that 
 eternal pagan, Nature, to her dead gods ; not mere white 
 lilies grew there, or the soft poppy with red leaves, but 
 rather young anemones, the flower of golden-haired Venus, 
 and inscribed leaves of hyacinth. 
 
 The ground was covered with low creeping thyme; 
 Constance dragged it off in wet handfuls from the dripping 
 rocks to make a garland for that only empty shrine. And 
 like two young Greeks, and with a fantastic seriousness, they 
 hung the purple tribute in its place. " It might be," the 
 girl said, smiling dreamily, " it might be that the old gods 
 were not dead but only sleeping ; and who could tell what 
 answer they would send ? ' For the entrances of the elder 
 world were wide and sure and brought immortal fruit.' " 
 
 The wise old goats had started off at sight of these 
 strange faces, but now they came trooping boldly back, 
 pushing their way to the water-splashed cave. And as these 
 two young people turned again to descend to the valley, 
 there was a sudden quick pattering of sharp feet among the 
 stones, a black-faced ram with a long white beard sprang 
 nimbly on a boulder, and, planting his sharp feet firmly
 
 DAWN. 
 
 157 
 
 against the rock, he reached his venerable head towards the 
 garland. 
 
 " Surely this is only the disguise of some old priest of 
 Pan," the girl said, glancing back mirthfully. " See, Jack 
 see ! he has actually reached it " 
 
 Stuart was standing a step or two below her, and she 
 touched his shoulder lightly to make him look up. 
 
 " Oh yes, I see," he said in a vague fashion. 
 
 They went down a little farther. A brook crossed the 
 pathway; the stones were slippery with water. It was a 
 steep and difficult descent. 
 
 " Here, let me help you. It is much harder coming 
 down. Give me your hand ; I can lift you over," the young 
 man said eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, I can spring," said Constance. 
 
 She stood balancing herself for a moment on the stone. 
 The little torrent foamed and splashed about her feet ; a 
 sharp ray of sunshine pierced the leaves overhead and 
 touched her hair and the delicate outline of her throat. 
 Stuart looked at her. 
 
 " Oh, very well. But if you fall you will hurt yourself; 
 and if you think I am going to let you have the chance of 
 hurting yourself, why why you are mistaken," he said with 
 sudden audacity. 
 
 He walked back deliberately through the shallow water, 
 and threw his arm about her waist and lifted her to the 
 other side. 
 
 " Constance, are you very angry ? " he asked. He bent 
 down his head and kissed her on the cheek. 
 
 For an instant she stood quite still, startled into 
 quiescence. She lifted up her face, and he in his turn was 
 fairly disconcerted by the look of mute reproach in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I did not expect that from you, Jack," she said simply. 
 Her lip trembled a little. " Will you let me pass ? " 
 
 "I shall not let you pass," he said boldly; but there was 
 more of entreaty than of defiance in his voice. " I shall not 
 let you leave me so. Oh, I know that you have a right to 
 be angry, but, Constance, I could not help it, dear. I am so 
 sorry. But you expect me to be with you, and see you, and 
 talk to you, and never tell you a word of how I love you,"
 
 158 MIRAGE. 
 
 he said doggedly, " and I can't do it ; I won't You should 
 not ask a man to do the impossible." 
 
 The branches rustled beneath them, and there was a 
 sound of approaching footsteps along the path. 
 
 " Oh, confound it all/' he said impatiently, " here comes 
 somebody of course ! And if you would only listen to me 
 for a moment, Constance ; if you will only say you are 
 not " 
 
 Well, it was an awkward meeting for everybody. 
 " And if this was to be the result of early rising," Mr. Ferris 
 remarked afterwards, " why, early rising was a mistake." 
 
 " I told you" all along what would be happening," he said 
 to Davenant ; " I knew we should walk into the midst of 
 some lovers' quarrel. And a nice mess it was we made ! " 
 
 Which was the more ungrateful that it was Davenant 
 himself who had saved the situation ; Davenant who 
 looked upon Jack Stuart as a Philistine who considered 
 him in simple good faith as a mere incident, of no possible 
 importance to art and who now came forward and was the 
 first to address Constance. 
 
 " Oh Miss Varley," he said earnestly, " I wish you would 
 come with me a moment. I want you to come and listen 
 to this falling water. Do you know that there was a marble 
 temple here once a fair, white temple to Pan ; and now 
 the temple is gone, the god is gone, and there is only the 
 river calling, calling from the secret places of the mountain. 
 It is like the voice of the old gods of Hellas like the 
 love of the Greeks in a man's life something luring and 
 irresistible, and full of mysterious power." 
 
 " Yes ; I will come with you," said Constance, very 
 quietly. 
 
 There was a burning and indignant flush on her cheeks, 
 but she spoke quite steadily, and there was little of embar- 
 rassment or hesitation to be detected in her firm proud 
 bearing as she turned and walked away. 
 
 " Are you going up ? Oh well, I am going down," said 
 Stuart. It was in no very enviable mood the young man 
 returned to camp. 
 
 But how was it possible to cherish resentment long on 
 such a morning? The hillside was a wilderness of joyously- 
 running water-threads ; and as they rode away from camp
 
 DAWN. 159 
 
 the horses picked their way across a soaked and spongy 
 soil. The hedges and bushes were ablaze with buds of 
 every colour, and flowers that breathed the odours of 
 Paradise. There was a certain bush of myrtle in blossom 
 which Constance will never forget it was only three days' 
 ride from Damascus. And hoAV the birds sang that 
 morning ! The very rapture and fulness of life seemed 
 looking at the girl from every flower along the pathway 
 seemed calling to her in every sound of running water and 
 the singing of birds seemed shining in the sunlight 
 seemed floating about her on every breath of the warm and 
 fitful breeze. 
 
 She rode between Ferris and the Major. There was 
 no end to the eager questions she asked. Should they 
 reach Damascus in the morning or at evening ? Could one 
 see it from a long distance off? Was it a very large city? 
 And here she bent over and busied herself with the adjust- 
 ment of her reins. 
 
 " Not so large as Cairo ? Oh, of course not. Cairo," 
 Constance said, " is a city where everyone seems lost. If 
 you have friends there, and they are not staying at your 
 hotel, it may be weeks before you see them at all." 
 
 The Major smiled. " I thought I heard you objecting 
 once at the quantity of people Fanny made us know at 
 Cairo ?" he said. 
 
 But there was no difficulty of that kind at Damascus, 
 Ferris observed, carelessly. Miss Varley would find there 
 was but one at least one civilised hotel. 
 
 And all day long they rode on much in this same 
 fashion, climbing steadily higher over rich green hill-slopes 
 and under darkly-luxuriant trees, until it was almost as good 
 as being in a park, Fanny observed approvingly. Mrs. 
 Thayer was not in the habit of paying compliments to 
 Nature. But with evening there came a change in the 
 character of the landscape. They were fast approaching 
 Mount Hermon, the ground had grown rocky, and already 
 there was a snow-chill in the air, and a thin bleak wind 
 whistling about the tents. It was not an evening for much 
 confidential discourse. 
 
 The next morning found them toiling through a labyrinth 
 of rocky defiles, deep in the heart of the hills. It was an
 
 160 MIRAGE. 
 
 arid and shadowless country a land of pale barren slopes, 
 where the grass grew thin and sear, crossed by a curious 
 network of small white paths, which meet and intersect, and 
 part, and climb again, like the curious tracery of lines on 
 the rind of a melon a sterile country, where the very 
 rock-forms seem poor and trivial and meaningless. But 
 presently the road narrowed to a track barely wide enough 
 for a single horse. For an hour or more they wound their 
 way along a steep limestone gully, between two walls of 
 towering rock. The day was terribly hot. The cruel sun- 
 shine glared pitilessly down upon the white rocks, the 
 ground under foot was hard like iron. For a long time 
 they rode on in silence, the very song of the muleteers was 
 hushed. The horses plodded wearily forward, with spiritless 
 drooping heads, and then Lione would run on a few steps 
 and lie down panting, trying vainly to crowd himself beneath 
 the prickly shade of the dead thorn-bushes, and startling 
 the great lizards basking in the sun. Once a caravan from 
 Damascus met and crossed their path a line of muffled 
 figures, silent and white and exchanged a listless salute. 
 And again there was nothing to be seen but the naked lime- 
 stone walls, the cruel sunshine, and, overhead, the pitiless 
 dark sky. 
 
 But now the Major, riding on in front, saw the horse 
 before him raise his head, prick up his ears, and start 
 forward with a low whinny of delight. The rocks turned 
 sharply to the right, opened out, fell back ; and now the 
 heat and glare had vanished, for a cool snow-wind swept 
 in their faces ; and before them, across a stretch of level 
 plain, the lord of mountains rose in white resplendent 
 majesty. 
 
 The track still wound upward, nearer and nearer to 
 the edge of that snow. And presently small flowers and 
 grasses started up beside the pathway ; a little brook sprang 
 suddenly from behind a granite boulder and ran singing 
 along the road ; a flock of big brown goats ran bleating 
 before the horses, and they entered a narrow valley all 
 silvery with olive-trees. 
 
 Here they dismounted for the noonday halt. It was 
 a silent and a peaceful spot. The little brook babbled 
 softly to itself among the grasses ; the wind lifted and
 
 DA WN. 161 
 
 stirred the silvery-gray leaves overhead ; a brindled old 
 sheep-dog, with a gentle sagacious face, left his flock upon 
 the hillside and came and made friends with Constance. 
 He even followed her as she strolled slowly along the 
 brook j he watched her gather flowers ; he gave a low growl 
 of warning, and placed himself protectingly before her, 
 when, leaning against an olive-tree, his hands in his pockets, 
 and his hat well over his eyes, they chanced unexpectedly 
 upon Jack. 
 
 He had not heard them coming, and now, as he started 
 and looked up at the sheep-dog's bark, there was something 
 so dejected in his attitude, an expression of such dumb half- 
 understood trouble upon the handsome sun-burned features, 
 that Constance never hesitated for a moment. She went 
 impulsively forward ; she held out her hand. 
 
 " We There isn't any reason we should not be good 
 
 friends, Jack, is there ? " she said in her gentle voice. 
 
 And however incoherent Stuart's answer may have been, 
 there was still a certain blunt earnestness about it which 
 touched her to quite a singular degree. For, " There is 
 
 nothing I would not do 1 would rather cut my hand off 
 
 than offend you," the young man assured her wildly ; " and 
 you you have hardly spoken to me for these two days." 
 And Constance was moved with something almost like 
 remorse as she thought of the way in which those two days 
 had been passed. To a noble, to a sensitive nature, it is 
 often in this very power which it possesses over another that 
 lies the secret of its heaviest bond. She looked at him, and 
 there was an expression of wistful trouble he had surely 
 never seen in that frank clear glance before. 
 
 " I am sorry," she answered sadly. " Sometimes 
 sometimes I think I ought to tell you, Jack " 
 
 A hot flush came over her face. She left the sentence 
 unfinished, and turned abruptly away. 
 
 And still the little brook babbled softly to itself among 
 the grasses ; the flickering sunshine came and went with the 
 stirring of the leaves ; the brindled sheep-dog followed their 
 gestures with his gentle intelligent eyes, and Stuart wondered 
 in silence over this strange, this delicious new shyness in his 
 companion. " Could it be possible ? " the young man asked 
 himself. He felt his pulse beat faster at the very supposition. 
 
 M
 
 1 62 MIRAGE, 
 
 A wild new hope, vague and wordless and strong, had 
 awakened, was even now stirring in his heart. When he 
 rejoined the others a moment later there was no one present 
 who did not feel the contagion of his impetuous high 
 spirits and content. He even endeavoured to encourage 
 art ; he asked Ferris to explain the mechanism of his sketch- 
 ing-box ; he listened with perfect complacency to Davenant's 
 remarks. 
 
 . "I know a man who has made the ascent of Mount 
 Hermon," that young gentleman was saying ; " he went up 
 to explore for temples. Do you know that there are places 
 here, in this very Lebanon, where the sun-worship is as 
 living, the rites as sacred, as in the old days of Nineveh?" 
 
 And as the spring wind rustled among the branches, and 
 fleet cloud-shadows passed across the sunny grass, they lay 
 beneath the olive-trees, looking out upon the sacred moun- 
 tain the lonely mountain where, from the Druse with his 
 half-Egyptian mysteries, to the Greek, to the Mahomedan, 
 to the Jew from Astarte to Christ there is not a religion, 
 not a faith, not a practice, but has found shelter amid the 
 inviolate sanctity of its snows. 
 
 It was night when they reached Rasheiya. For the first 
 time in many days the camp was pitched within the limits 
 of a town. There was something strange, almost impressive 
 in these long low lines of silent houses, in these dark and 
 narrow streets, where the horses' feet awoke a hollow echo 
 from the stones. 
 
 The tents were ranged around a lofty terrace set about 
 with a low wall ; and after dinner Constance slipped out un- 
 noticed and came and leaned upon this parapet. The night 
 was moonless, but high overhead there was a white glimmer 
 of snow under the stars, and the air had a sharp edge to it 
 as it swept coldly down from those bleak and lonely heights. 
 It was almost the first moment Constance had been alone 
 that day. Now, as she stood in this silent darkness, looking 
 out from the mountain-side across the shadowy stretch of 
 plain, a great trouble and longing were in her heart. She 
 looked out to the far horizon : somewhere in that darkness 
 a short day's journey off, lay the city of her dreams. But 
 somehow, in these last moments a deep shrinking distrust 
 had stolen into her very soul. She remembered the last
 
 DAWN. 163 
 
 time she had seen Lawrence ; the manner of their parting : 
 she thought with a sort of despair of the years that had 
 rolled between. All doubts, all fears, all hesitations seemed 
 to take form and substance in this chilly darkness. 
 
 She looked about her. The uncertain silhouette of the 
 town rose up in dark confusion against a clear cold sky. 
 She listened, and with a superstitious tremor she heard the 
 wailing note of a bugle borne faintly on the wind from the 
 barracks which crown the hill. For the moment, all her fine, 
 high-strung courage had vanished, had given place to some 
 wild presentiment of woe ; for the moment, she absolutely 
 dreaded the idea of Damascus. 
 
 She stood there so long that her dog, who had followed 
 her from the tent, grew impatient ; he came closer to her ; 
 he pushed his cold nose into her hand and whined. And 
 surely there must have been something reassuring in the very 
 touch of this unexpected companionship, for now she turned 
 suddenly and knelt down beside him, and laid her cheek 
 against his delicate head. 
 
 " Lione," she said with childish earnestness, " tell me, 
 Lione, how will it end ? " She looked wistfully out into the 
 darkness. " I have waited so long," she said, " I have 
 been so patient 
 
 The dog whined again and looked up in her face and 
 laid his paw on her hand. Someone threw back the door 
 of the tent ; a stream of light poured out into the night, and 
 a voice called " Constance ! " And presently Constance 
 came. She came in very quietly ; she sat down beside the 
 table ; she took up a book. When Fanny made some 
 remark she answered it. But she was very silent all the 
 evening, and Stuart remembered afterward how pale she 
 was, and how she did not give him her hand as they bade 
 each other " Good-night." 
 
 " Mrs. Thayer," said Davenant, reining up his horse 
 beside her, late on the following afternoon, " Mrs. Thayer, 
 do you know that in five minutes more we shall have 
 reached the road ? " 
 
 It was the first road they had seen since leaving 
 Jerusalem, and the very horses seemed impressed with this 
 evidence of approaching civilisation. They hesitated ; they 
 stood still ; they stepped daintily down upon this smooth 
 
 M 2
 
 1 64 MIRAGE. 
 
 white surface. With one accord they threw up their heads 
 and went off at a mad gallop beneath the overhanging cliffs. 
 And now they passed a small wooden station where men 
 with Arab faces and French livery came out to stare at 
 them as they cantered on ; and now a rumbling clattering 
 diligence rolled ponderously by. 
 
 " Are you sorry to be back in the world again ? " asked 
 Ferris, with a smile. He had taken a good deal of artistic 
 interest in watching Miss Varley's face these last two days. 
 As a general rule Mr. Ferris cared very little for women. 
 
 This was to be the last camp at Dimas. As they got 
 off their horses in front of the white row of tents it was with 
 a certain feeling of reluctance. The pleasant familiar life 
 was at an end. 
 
 It was only a bare and colourless desert which stretched 
 before them now a low undulating waste, set about with 
 blank gray rocks. But, as if to consecrate with some 
 peculiar beauty these last hours of their nomad life, a 
 wonderful sunset shone and flamed behind the barrier of 
 those pale ashen peaks. The young men brought out an 
 armful of Turkish rugs after dinner. They spread them 
 before the tents, along the terrace-wall ; they smoked, they 
 drank their coffee, they watched the slow and splendid 
 procession of the clouds. 
 
 Somehow the conversation had fallen upon Lawrence. 
 " By-the-way, George," said Davenant, suddenly, ' ' it 
 won't be much of a joke, will it, if you get back to 
 Damascus only to find that Lawrence has left ? " 
 
 " Well, no. Particularly as I have got those sketches 
 
 with me. But Oh, he will be there fast enough," said 
 
 Ferris confidently. 
 
 " I'm not so sure about that. We agreed to be only a 
 
 fortnight, you know ; and it's more than three weeks " 
 
 " What, you think he will be gone then ? I hope not. 
 I should be sorry to miss seeing Lawrence again. But 
 where did he think of going to, any way?" asked the 
 Major. 
 
 Mr. Ferris was engaged in lighting his cigar. It was an 
 act requiring some deliberation in this high wind, which 
 was perhaps the reason of his delay in answering. 
 
 " Oh it's only some nonsense of Davenant's," he said
 
 DAWN. 165 
 
 uneasily ; " Lawrence thought something of going to Persia 
 once. He never meant it." 
 
 "Oh, didn't he though?" said Davenant. "Why I 
 saw the beautiful " 
 
 Ferris turned on his elbow and looked at him. 
 
 " It is a pity the ladies are missing all this sunset," he 
 remarked quietly. "I never saw a finer one. Ah, there 
 they are at last." 
 
 He got up and offered his place to Constance. The 
 talk drifted in another way. 
 
 But somehow Davenant seemed possessed with one 
 idea. They had been speaking of the ruined temples, and 
 someone had observed how strange it was that there 
 never should have been any expression of plastic art in 
 Judaea. 
 
 It was easy enough to understand, the young Englishman 
 averred boldly. For what was the existence of plastic art 
 but an admission of a sense of the regnant force of physical 
 beauty ? What was Greek art itself but a recognition that 
 beauty is a form of goodness ? And what was Christianity 
 but the passionate pleading and protest of the suffering soul 
 against the pagan idea? 
 
 " For my part, I would rather not be merely an angel," 
 said Mr. Davenant ; " I love the earth. When I die I 
 should wish to be like one of the old Hellenic shades, still 
 rejoicing and sorrowing over the fortunes of my race full 
 of sad wisdom and pity unutterable." 
 
 " But really, Mr. Davenant !" said Fanny. 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it, of course," the young 
 man said, evidently following out his own line of thought. 
 " But how could you expect an expression of pure art from 
 a mixed people ? How could Syria produce anything but a 
 literature, when every civilisation of the old world Assyrian, 
 Persian, Egyptian, Indian had poured their science, their 
 legends, and their influence over the land ? If you destroy 
 the purity of the race, you have set the death-seal on the 
 possibility of a pure and distinctive art." 
 
 " Now hold on a moment, Davenant. I protest as an 
 American " 
 
 " As an American, my dear boy, you merely serve to 
 illustrate my theory. Why, look here. If you want a case
 
 1 66 MIRAGE. 
 
 in point, take Lawrence. We were speaking of Lawrence 
 before you came, Miss Varley " 
 
 "Yes?" said Constance. 
 
 She was leaning on her elbow, playing with the amber 
 beads about her wrist. But now she looked up and 
 listened. 
 
 " He is half a Frenchman, you know. At least, his 
 mother's family was French 
 
 " Southerners." 
 
 "Well, French Southerners then. They had French 
 blood in them at all events. And what is the consequence ? 
 Why, Lawrence is born a cosmopolitan. His feelings, his 
 sympathies " 
 
 " A cosmopolitan ? That is to say a man belonging to 
 nowhere in particular. A cosmopolitan ! Why, I'd sooner 
 be a flying-fish," said Jack.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS. 
 
 DAVENANT looked back ; there was a great light of enthu- 
 siasm on his face. 
 
 " ' For are not Abana and Pharpar,' " he said, " ' are 
 not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all 
 the waters of Israel ? ' " 
 
 They had left Dimas in the early morning, and already 
 the sky was paling with the noonday heat. It was a strange 
 country they were passing through. For hours they had 
 ridden across the short dead turf of the plain beside a blank 
 white road. It was a land of vast rolling slopes the dark 
 reddish soil broken here and there by the ploughman's 
 furrow. A country bare of vegetation, shadowless, naked, 
 vast, and grand, because of two grand things simple forms 
 and solitude. 
 
 It was some time now since they had left the baggage- 
 train behind them; the slow-moving palanquin had dwindled 
 to a mere black spot, crawling along the road. 
 
 " It was a capital idea to make you ride this morning," 
 the Major told his wife. 
 
 " Look here, Constance, I wish you would be reasonable 
 and change horses with either Ferris or me," Mr. Stuart 
 observed confidentially ; " that brute shies ; why, he jumps 
 across the road at the shadow of a leaf ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Constance absently. " But I like Shaitan," 
 she said, turning her face towards him with a smile. 
 
 There was a singular elegance and precision about her 
 every gesture that morning. Stuart noted with a certain 
 surprise that she moved more slowly. She spoke little, but
 
 1 68 MIRAGE. 
 
 her gentle voice seemed to have grown clearer, more bell- 
 like in tone, and tense, like the tense chord of an instrument. 
 Her very riding-dress was adjusted with more than usual 
 care. 
 
 " Can you fancy being so excited over the mere approach 
 to a city a city where there is no society nor anything?" 
 Mrs. Thayer asked Ferris with an indulgent smile. 
 
 They had passed the last mail-station, and now there 
 came a descent, an unexpected turn in the long and weary 
 road. A bald and sun-scorched cliff rose up on either side ; 
 the reflected heat was intense ; they had left the grass, and 
 the dust was rising in choking clouds about the horses' feet. 
 
 And now Davenant looked back. 
 
 A sudden turn in the road ; a sudden rush of streams ; 
 coolness and shade the sense of running water and the 
 shade of trees slow swaying poplars and leafy walnuts, and 
 the sunlight shining through pale apple-blooms. 
 
 " 'For are not Abana and Pharpar,' " the young man said, 
 " 'are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better 
 than all the waters of Israel ? ' " 
 
 The river foamed and whitened under overhanging 
 branches ; the cliffs towered up higher behind them ; the 
 "golden flowing" waters sank lower out of sight. " And 
 now we shall see the city soon," said Davenant to Constance. 
 
 She looked up and smiled, and did not answer. The 
 inconclusiveness of all her past experience had never fitted 
 her for a moment like this. She had spent her life in 
 dreaming of happiness until its reality had assumed the 
 aspect of a dream. She followed the others as in a vision ; 
 she heard them laughing, talking about her, riding faster and 
 faster down the narrowing mountain-gorge ; and the rapid 
 motion, the clattering of hoofs, the rush of the water, 
 seemed sweeping her onward in a sort of trance. 
 
 And now they galloped out again into the blinding sun- 
 light \ they left the road ; before them rose a low white 
 range of hills, and on the rocky crest a small white building 
 with a dome. They left the horses ; they toiled up the 
 sandy path. Stuart was the first one in the doorway. 
 " Come in," he said. He offered Constance his hand ; he 
 watched with a curious interest the sudden light in her eyes, 
 the sudden flush of colour on her cheek. For they had
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS. 169 
 
 stepped out upon a small rocky plateau where a swarm of 
 yellow butterflies hovered about the stones. Beneath them 
 lay a city and a plain a wilderness of deep up-springing 
 green a curving line of warm-tinted houses and glittering 
 mosques and sharply-piercing minarets. And beyond that 
 rose the violet mountains grown silver pale in the blinding 
 heat ; and beyond that the pale border-line of infinite desert 
 space : and all about the city a network of shining streams, 
 a foam of blossoming trees, circled and crowned the gardens 
 of Damascus. 
 
 They sat down in the shade of the building ; for awhile 
 they sat there in silence, looking at this wonderful sight. 
 But the more prosaic a nature, the sooner does it grow 
 familiar with rare beauty. Hardly a moment had passed 
 before Mrs. Thayer and Stuart were disputing some detail 
 in the view ; in a quarter of an hour they had completely 
 forgotten its existence. Jack was hungry, and Fanny forgot 
 to turn her head as they descended the hill. 
 
 And Constance followed them down as in a dream. 
 They mounted their horses again ; they rode past miles of 
 blossom-whitened orchards, by winding rivers, through poplar 
 groves and hedges white with may. And tall white irises 
 rose up beside the full and silent stream; and now they 
 had reached the level of the plain, and passed the first 
 bridge and seen the first house, all gilded and gay with 
 fantastic tracery on its walls, and hidden in deep trees. 
 
 "''And this is Damascus," said Davenant. But Constance 
 did not answer. She rode on at foot-pace, checking her 
 horse until the hot-mouthed brute curveted and pranced, 
 flecking his breast with foam. And she rode steadily forward, 
 reining him in, erect, silent, looking straight ahead ; with 
 wide open eyes, and a smile of vague triumph on the proud 
 and sensitive mouth. 
 
 It was a moment of exquisite delight. The barriers 
 were down, the long anguish of patience at an end. She 
 had risen to the climax of her experience the culminating 
 hour of youth, in which she held and possessed the world. 
 The barriers were all down, the years of restraint at an end ; 
 a surging flood of love love irresistible, compelling, 
 supreme had obliterated the last landmark of her past. 
 She rode beneath the flowering branches, and the sunshine
 
 i;o MIRAGE. 
 
 crowned her hair with golden touches, and the light wind 
 showered frail perfumed petals at her feet ; and the song of 
 the birds had a meaning, the sky was cloudless, and all the 
 world was full of gracious promise of fast-coming summer, 
 as she passed through the gates of the earthly paradise to 
 take possession of her life. 
 
 Presently they reached the hotel. They rode down the 
 tortuous street called Straight, and dismounted at a small 
 postern-door. It was their first experience of the interior 
 of a Damascene house, and they looked about with some 
 curiosity at the cool and spacious court, the shady divan, the 
 formal rows -of orange-trees, the plashing fountain in its 
 marble tank. 
 
 And here for a time the party separated. Davenant and 
 Ferris had rooms elsewhere in the town. 
 
 " I shall see you again this evening. We are all here 
 more or less in the evening," the latter said, as he stopped 
 to shake hands with Constance. 
 
 She looked up eagerly, as though about to ask some 
 question. Davenant was watching her. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I did not hear what you said." 
 
 She smiled and shook her head and gave him her hand. 
 It was nothing. The two young men walked down the 
 street together for some distance without speaking. 
 
 " It is a pity, for there is the unsatisfied soul of a poet 
 in that nature," said Davenant suddenly, with peculiar 
 emphasis ] and Ferris halted and stared. 
 
 He had thought himself pretty well accustomed to his 
 friend's mental vagaries by this time, but here was a new 
 development something in his tone, an earnestness of con- 
 viction in his manner, which filled him with amused surprise. 
 
 "Well, you are the rummiest beggar," he said good- 
 humouredly. He turned and scrutinised with keen amuse- 
 ment his companion's dramatic face. 
 
 " As a general rule I should not advise you to study the 
 unsatisfied souls of your young lady acquaintances too 
 closely, my boy," he said dryly ; " you might find Stuart 
 objecting to the process, you see." 
 
 They walked on a few paces. 
 
 " Shall we go and find out what's become of that fellow 
 Lawrence ? " said George.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS. 171 
 
 Constance had gone up to where the Major was busy 
 settling conditions with the turbaned proprietor of the inn. 
 She slipped her hand under his arm and stood silently by 
 his side. 
 
 "Well, Constance?" 
 
 "I like that man's embroidered jacket," Miss Varley 
 answered vaguely. She dipped her fingers into the water 
 and then dried them elaborately on her handkerchief. 
 "You are going are you going to the Consulate, Tom ?" 
 
 For letters ? Well, yes ; the Major had thought some- 
 thing of going there. 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for you ? " he asked, with a 
 smile. He looked curiously at her. " Is there anything you 
 want to know ? " 
 
 She turned her face away. This last hour had brought 
 its own" experience. She felt weaker, less sure of herself. 
 She felt, as never before, a sudden craving for support and 
 confidence. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do for you?" the Major 
 repeated. 
 
 She lifted up her honest eyes. " Yes," she said shyly, 
 her lips growing pale with the effort. 
 
 It was then that Fanny came up with some question 
 about the rooms. 
 
 " I will see about it," her husband said. He turned to 
 Constance. " You are going to the bazaars, you two ? I 
 shall take Hassan. If I hear any news about anyone 
 about about Aunt Van, for instance I will bring it to you 
 with your letters," he said significantly. 
 
 " Very well." The girl nodded assent. 
 
 "You may expect me in well, say in a couple of 
 hours," the Major said. He took up his stick. " You are 
 coming, Stuart?" 
 
 " Now, don't forget that we are waiting, Tom," expostu- 
 lated Mrs. Thayer. 
 
 Some people coming in at that moment hardly glanced 
 at the middle-aged man crossing the courtyard before turning 
 to gaze curiously at the handsome girl he had just left. But 
 in her eyes, at least, that commonplace gray figure was sud- 
 denly invested with all the dignity of fate. " In a couple 
 of hours," he had said. Her breath came quicker with
 
 172 MIRAGE. 
 
 suppressed emotion. She put her hand up, uncertainly, to 
 her lips. In a couple of hours. Her secret seemed slipping 
 out of her grasp. 
 
 Not long after that they went into the bazaar. They went 
 in with a Damascene courier, a wily Greek, with sleek face 
 and black uneasy eyes. From time to time Mrs. Thayer 
 was struck with the peculiar fashion in which he seemed 
 analysing her dress. 
 
 " One would think the man had never seen a woman in 
 his life ? " she complained petulantly to Constance. 
 
 " He seems to be more interested in the cut of your 
 over-dress, dear," said the latter with a laugh. 
 
 It was a Saturday afternoon, and the streets were 
 crowded. Men in white, men in scarlet, men in turbans, in 
 fezes, in scanty cotton shirts and flowing robes of silk passed 
 and repassed in mute and splendid throngs. A dusty 
 pulverised sunshine filtered softly through the chinks in the 
 boards overhead, piercing the deep amber-toned shadow 
 with sudden revelations and jewels of light. Now and then 
 the wild melancholy cry of a camel-driver, following the 
 slow and swaying footsteps of his beasts, jarred on the 
 golden silence with strange suggestion of far-off desert- 
 space. 
 
 They strolled slowly down the length of the silk bazaar, 
 lingering here and there as their eyes were caught by some 
 pigeon-throated gleam of colour, or the wind brought them 
 some new and subtle hint of fragrant gums and the prisoned 
 roses of Ispahan. And now the guide stopped and gazed at 
 Fanny persuasively. 
 
 " It is Saturday, madame, if you would see the house of 
 one Jew ? Very fine house," he suggested. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer was charmed with the idea. They entered 
 another courtyard ; it was a larger, more sumptuous interior 
 than any they had seen. An old woman, carrying a nargileh, 
 was crossing the court before them, her high inlaid pattens 
 making a clicking sound upon the marble floor. The courier 
 hailed her. They spoke for a moment or two in shrill 
 emphatic voices. 
 
 " She will call the ladies to see you," the man observed 
 with a complacent air. 
 
 He led them to a marble divan ; there was a Persian rug
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS. 173 
 
 upon the inlaid pavement; some gold-embroidered cushions; 
 a gaily-painted wall from which the plaster fell in patches. 
 It was now about three o'clock : a still and burning afternoon. 
 The broad fig-leaf shadows lay motionless upon the pave- 
 ment ; the blue of the sky was dulled and dark with heat. 
 They sat down amongst the tumbled tinselled cushions ; 
 presently a door opened on the other side of the court. A 
 group of unveiled women came slowly out into the blazing 
 sunshine ; they dropped their pattens at the foot of the 
 divan and crossed languidly over to where Fanny was sitting. 
 They threw themselves down on the cushions and gazed 
 fixedly at their guests. 
 
 " It is the sister of the gentleman what keeps this house. 
 You wait; p'r'aps by-and-by see the wife," the guide informed 
 them in a whisper. 
 
 And now another servant appeared, in loose white dress, 
 bearing a tray of glasses. And then came nargilehs, and 
 then a long pause. 
 
 The sunlight flickered on gold-wrought headdresses, on 
 brown and naked feet, on long delicate sinuous forms. 
 Presently a half-grown lad lifted the curtain behind them, a 
 lad with a smooth yellow face and a wizened look, and dull 
 and restless eyes. He came slowly down the steps and 
 spoke to the interpreter with a certain listless condescension. 
 A shrill series of exclamations followed suddenly upon his 
 .entrance ; a woman rose from the group and touche.d Miss 
 Varley on the arm. " You go in other room, see his wife," 
 the guide explained complacently. 
 
 There were three women sitting in this inner chamber 
 three Jewesses, with hard and splendid eyes, with loose 
 shawls about their waists, and close-fitting caps thick set with 
 pomegranate blossoms and artificial flowers and glittering 
 diamond studs. Some little children were sprawling on the 
 carpet at their feet; the walls were painted with intricate tracery 
 of colour ; a coarse cheap lithograph hung high under the 
 vaulted ceiling against some precious Persian tiles. A table, 
 covered with a cloth, stood against the entrance ; there was 
 another tray of sweetmeats, a new set of silver-mouthed 
 nargilehs on the floor. 
 
 And here, by-the-way, they discovered the true purpose 
 of their visit.
 
 174 MIRAGE. 
 
 "My lady come from Cairo," the guide began insinu- 
 atingly, glancing at Fanny. 
 
 " We have been to Cairo," said Mrs. Thayer. 
 
 " Cairo very fine place, my lady. The Khedive live in 
 Cairo." He took up the fold of her travelling-dress between 
 his fingers. " You get this in Cairo ? " he said. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer smiled uneasily ; she looked at Constance. 
 
 " I got it there yes," she said, with some reluctance. 
 
 And now the man hesitated. He looked about him ; 
 the woman on the divan followed his movements with in- 
 tensest interest. " My lady very kind. Very good lady. 
 PYaps you let one these women see how you make your 
 dress ?" he suggested feebly. 
 
 And Fanny once gone, there was nothing left to occupy 
 Constance. A feverish restlessness of impatience had come 
 upon her. She sat there a moment looking around with 
 blank unseeing eyes ; she got up, she wandered away across 
 the sunny court, and one or two of the women rose and 
 followed her. 
 
 She went up the wooden staircase at the farther end ; 
 above them was an open terrace, green vine leaves, and the 
 fierce red of pomegranate blossoms in the sun. She leaned 
 over the balustrade and looked down into the court. A 
 sleepy negress lounged with bare feet in the shadow of the 
 wall. There was not a sound in all the house about her 
 but the cool plashing of the fountain on the stones. She 
 leaned out over the balustrade ; a girl came silently up the 
 winding stair, and paused and leaned beside her. 
 
 Constance turned her head ; presently she recognised 
 the face. It was one of the young Jewesses the mother 
 of the little children they had seen below. The two girls 
 stood looking at each other for a moment in silence the 
 representatives of two antagonistic civilisations and gra- 
 dually the interest faded out of the new-comer's face. She 
 turned aside with the facile indifference of a child. She 
 crossed her long arms above her head with superb non- 
 chalance ; dragged down a flowering branch of vine. The 
 leaves fluttered slowly to the ground through her listless 
 fingers ; the long lashes drooped lower on her cheek ; her 
 light breathing hardly stirred the flashing diamonds on her 
 breast ; she stood motionless, in absolute repose.
 
 AFTER MANY DA YS. 175 
 
 And Constance looked at her. I don't know what 
 there was about this woman to remind the girl of Lawrence. 
 She noted with a sudden sinking of heart every detail of 
 that impassioned and unremembering beauty, the perfect 
 oval of her smooth sun-warmed cheek, the rings of shadow 
 about those delicate temples, the vapid scarlet mouth, the 
 dark mystery of the beautiful cruel eyes. These were the 
 women he had been seeing, she thought. She turned away 
 abruptly. She turned away her face, she looked up at 
 the blank blue sky above her, and her own eyes filled with 
 miserable tears. She dashed them indignantly away. ' The 
 white walls in the sunshine flashed and flickered before her, 
 and she stared down at them, a great sense of impatience, 
 a bitter feeling of impotence rising slowly within her as 
 she looked. She pressed her hand hard against the wooden 
 balustrade until it left a bruise across the soft white flesh. 
 
 The Jewess laughed. A small green worm had crawled 
 out from between the leaves. She laughed ; she broke off 
 a branch from the tree beside her, stripping it slowly of its 
 leaves, her eyes fixed exultingly upon the crawling insect. 
 And now she leaned curiously forward, with a quick move- 
 ment a sudden look of hatred and disgust flashing over 
 her face. She struck the thing with the end of her stick ; 
 she threw it against the wall, thrusting it back and striking 
 at it again and again her whole figure instinct and supple 
 with futile delight. 
 
 Involuntarily Constance put out her hand. 
 
 " Oh don't, please don't," she said. 
 
 It was a scene she remembered long afterward the 
 blazing sunlight, the cruel foolish laughter of her companion 
 the wretched insect crushed beneath their feet. For it 
 was at that moment she heard a voice calling her. " Come 
 down, Constance ! The letters are here." 
 
 She rose to her feet and went forward a step. " It has 
 come," putting out a hand blindly. 
 
 Hassan was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. 
 She brushed past him ; she went up to Fanny : " Well ? " 
 
 Mrs. Thayer did not answer for a moment. She held 
 an open letter in her hand. There was something which 
 amused her ; she laughed and crushed the thin blue paper 
 in her fingers.
 
 i/6 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Well ? Oh yes ; I had forgotten. There is a note 
 from Tom somewhere. We are to meet him. Why, 
 Constance, what's the matter with you ? Are you ill ?" 
 
 " I oh, it is the sun, I suppose. I have been standing 
 in the sun," incoherently. And then, her face flushing : 
 " You said there was a letter for me to read ?" 
 
 It was a leaf torn from a note-book, and written in 
 pencil. 
 
 " DEAR F, Tell the guide to take you to Aboo Antika's. 
 Will wait for you there. I send the letters by Hassan. 
 There is a pile of them here waiting for Aunt Van. And, by- 
 the-way, tell Constance they knew nothing about Lawrence 
 at the bank, but I have seen the consul's dragoman. He 
 thinks Lawrence has left for Bagdad."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 UN ENFANT DU SINGLE. 
 
 AND about the same time that Constance was reading this 
 letter, Ferris was standing in front of a closed door, making 
 the quiet street resound with his impatient knocking. 
 
 After three or four minutes of this exercise there came 
 a slow and distant shuffling of feet. 
 
 "The old idiot!" said Ferris, between his teeth. He 
 knocked again. The steps drew nearer and paused ; a hand 
 fumbled about the latch. 
 
 " You had better be careful how you introduce dan- 
 gerous characters into this palace of yours, my friend," the 
 young man remarked with a certain good-natured contempt.- 
 He put his hand in his pocket and took out a small piece of 
 money: " Here, Methuselah !" 
 
 The Arab's eyes lightened in their dim sockets ; he 
 bowed profoundly ; a smile flickered over his austere and 
 covetous face. 
 
 But Mr. Ferris did not linger to observe his sensations. 
 He walked on with an assured and familiar step through 
 the hot sunshine between the walls. There was a disused 
 bath-house at the farther end of the courtyard; a fig-tree 
 drooped before its entrance ; he put aside the branches and 
 looked in. 
 
 There was an artist's easel in the corner, and the artist 
 himself standing before it, whistling in an undertone, and 
 measuring something about his picture with a string. As 
 a shadow fell over his canvas he turned his head. He 
 caught sight of Ferris, and put out his hand, with a quick 
 look of pleasure on his face. It was a singularly' mobile 
 
 N
 
 178 MIRAGE, 
 
 and sensitive countenance for an American : hardly effemi- 
 nate, and yet you were puzzled by its suggestion of a 
 woman's face until you noticed the changeable gray eyes, 
 and realised how much this man must look like his mother. 
 
 He was a slightly-built young fellow too, rather under 
 than above the average height, with small clear-cut features, 
 a very firm and beautiful mouth, a quiet and rather indolent 
 manner. Major Thayer had called him insignificant-looking, 
 once ; no woman would have used the epithet. 
 
 " Well, George !" 
 
 " Ah ! they told me I should find you here," said 
 Ferris. 
 
 " Been back long ?" 
 
 " About three hours. I went up to the house for you 
 first. They said you had moved your traps over to the 
 other shop." 
 
 Lawrence nodded. "Old Ahmed is only waiting for 
 his brother's camels now to start. I have been expecting 
 to be off any day this last week," taking up his palette and 
 brushes and turning to his work ; " I am glad you are back 
 again in time to see me off, old boy. I had almost given 
 you up." 
 
 " Oh, Davenant would stop ;" absently this, and with 
 an air of chagrin. "We have been travelling with some 
 
 people Hollo ! Why, when did you do that ? That 
 
 is a good bit, by Jove ! Deuced good. And how well that 
 figure comes in there. Who is it? not Abdallah?" 
 
 " No, the other one ; I don't know his name. The little 
 chap who used to clean my brushes for me. I had him in 
 
 here one day, and Here's another thing you haven't 
 
 seen," taking up a second canvas from the corner. 
 
 Mr. Ferris looked at it critically for a moment. 
 
 " Yes ; I don't know where it is exactly." 
 
 " In the Arms Bazaar. I've been working down there 
 a good deal of late. The only thing finished is the back- 
 ground, of course. The figures are only indicated you see. 
 I've been making some separate studies for those." 
 
 " I see. I don't seem to fancy that sky much, Lawrence. 
 Painty, isn't it, rather ? There's a good bit of work there 
 on that wall." 
 
 " You think so ? I shan't have time to do much more
 
 UN ENFANT DU SIECLE. 179 
 
 to it, I'm afraid," taking up the canvas and looking at it 
 regretfully. 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry to hear you say that," Ferris answered 
 gravely. 
 
 There was a moment's silence; then the older man 
 glanced up from his work. 
 
 "Will you smoke?" 
 
 " I've got some here," taking out his own cigar-case. 
 
 " Yes ; I'm sorry to hear you are going, Lawrence. It's 
 a mistake a foolish business all round. I wish," said Ferris 
 suddenly, " I wish you would give it up, old fellow. I wish 
 to Heaven old Ahmed would refuse to take you ! " 
 
 Lawrence laughed. " Wait till you see the picture I 
 bring back. There is not another face in the East like it 
 not one. It is a type apart. And then the romance of the 
 thing, my boy ; the shadowless mystery of it all ; the long 
 desert journey ; the illimitable desert skies ; the silence of 
 waste place " 
 
 " Et cetera. I should expect to hear that sort of stuff 
 from Davenant," said Ferris. 
 
 His companion laughed again good-naturedly. " Well, 
 he isn't wrong half the time, the little beggar. Beauty is 
 a form of goodness, I daresay. At all events, it's the form 
 best suited to my comprehension. And you forget the 
 picture I mean to paint " 
 
 " Provided that old fool Ahmed will let you paint her, 
 which I, for one, don't believe. I sincerely hope he won't. 
 Why, the whole thing is an absurdity on the face of it ! A 
 six-weeks' journey with a mob of half-civilised savages across 
 a desert, on the chance of painting a girl you have only seen 
 once, and that by accident ! Why, if you did see her you 
 could not even speak ! " 
 
 " And I'm not so sure that is not the best part of it all," 
 said Lawrence lightly. " That and the getting to Ispahan. 
 I've been studying Persian while you were away, Ferris. 
 Old Ahmed is a capital master. On the whole I am not so 
 sure I shall not propose to marry into the family, and turn 
 camel-driver myself. But the choice is between the Desert 
 and Constantinople. I leave this in any case," turning to 
 his work with a gesture which dismissed the subject. 
 
 A silence, with nothing to break it but the slow dripping 
 
 N 2
 
 i8o MIRAGE. 
 
 of the fountain and the rustling of the fig-leaves out there in 
 the sun. Ferris strolled over to the window, and began 
 turning over some prints. 
 
 " By-the-way, I hope you knew I had that portfolio of 
 yours safely with me ?" he said : " the one with the Esdraelon 
 cartoons. I only found it out at Jerusalem. I suppose I 
 packed it up by mistake." 
 
 " Oh, that's all right," said Lawrence carelessly. 
 
 He went on with his painting. Before long he got up, 
 walked back a few steps, and looked intently at his work, 
 and then a satisfied look came into his face. In a moment 
 he began singing softly to himself : 
 
 Si je vous le disais pourtant, que je vous aime, 
 
 Qui salt, brune aux yeux bleus, ce que vous en diriez ? 
 
 L'amour, vous le savez 
 
 " You're a little in my light, old fellow." 
 
 L'amour, vous le savez, cause une peine extreme. 
 
 " But I say," breaking off his song abruptly, " you haven't 
 told me anything about your trip ? " 
 
 Ferris looked up from the etchings. " I have not done 
 much. A few sketches they are up at the house with my 
 traps but nothing of consequence. I was disappointed in 
 the country, rather." 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said Lawrence ; " there are fine 
 things there about Esdraelon. And how did Davenant like 
 it ? You said you had some people with you " 
 
 " By Jove ! I had forgotten all about them," the young 
 man said. " And they are friends of yours too. A Major 
 Thayer and his wife and " 
 
 " Major Thayer ! What, not old Tom Thayer, surely ? 
 Well, that is a joke ; and what the devil is he doing here, I 
 should like to know ? " 
 
 Well, Major Thayer was travelling, Mr. Ferris supposed. 
 Travelling, like anybody else. His wife was with him too, 
 and a good-looking man by the name of Stuart." 
 
 Lawrence nodded. " I know. Jack Stuart, his cousin. 
 I've seen him once or twice." 
 
 " And then," said Ferris, turning suddenly, and looking 
 his friend hard in the face, " and then Miss Varley is with 
 them too."
 
 UN ENFANT DU SIECLE. 181 
 
 Mr. Lawrence looked up for a moment with a puzzled 
 air. " Miss Varley ? " he said reflectively. His face lightened. 
 " Constance Varley ! Ah, that is good news, indeed," with 
 cordial pleasure. " A nice girl that, Ferris ; and honest and 
 fearless as the day. I saw a great deal of her three or four 
 years ago, before I left home. We were great friends that 
 winter, I remember. And so she is here ? " taking up his 
 brushes again and touching his picture softly with a pleased 
 smile. " I must go and look them up. I shall be glad to 
 see her. I don't think she will have forgotten me." 
 
 Mr. Ferris leaned farther back in his chair. " Miss 
 Varley is not, I should imagine, a person to forget old 
 friends. But if you are so much interested in her," with 
 another keen glance of inquiry, " if you are interested, 
 you may care to hear that she is going to be married to 
 Mr. Stuart shortly." 
 
 Lawrence started ; he looked up incredulously. " To 
 
 Stuart ! Why, I had heard To Stuart ! Constance 
 
 Varley going to marry that fellow ! Why, it's impossible, 
 Ferris. But are you sure ?" 
 
 " She has never told me of it herself," knocking the 
 ash from his cigar deliberately. " Of course not. I have 
 only known her four or five days ; and I hardly think it is 
 an official engagement yet." 
 
 " But that girl marry Jack Stuart ! " 
 
 "Well the friends expect it. Mrs. Thayer told Claude. 
 And Stuart seems a good enough sort of fellow in his way." 
 
 " I should not have thought it would have been Miss 
 Varley's way, that's all," said Lawrence dryly. " Poor little 
 Constance ! Well, it's the kind of match that must be made 
 in Heaven, I suppose. At least I know no one on earth 
 who would care to accept the responsibility of such a waste 
 of good material." 
 
 Ferris smiled. " How about Mrs. Thayer ?" 
 
 " Oh Mrs. Thayer ! That's another suitable marriage 
 for you, if you like. The fact is, marriage " 
 
 He stopped, threw down his brushes impatiently, and 
 faced round on his chair. 
 
 " Give me one of your cigars ; we will talk of something 
 else. I haven't seen anybody to speak to for a fortnight ! 
 I am beginning to forget the sound of my own voice."
 
 1 82 MIRAGE. 
 
 The conversation became technical. They criticised 
 some pictures. Ferris had been making some experiments 
 with a new kind of quick-drying oil. 
 
 " You could not have a better vehicle for hasty sketches. 
 You ought to try it, Lawrence," he said. 
 
 " Try it ? Try what ?" Lawrence started and begged 
 his pardon. 
 
 " The fact is, I was thinking of something miles away. 
 I have been living, the life of a hermit so long, I listen to 
 gossip like a woman," with an indulgent smile at his own 
 weakness. " Now, this marriage of Miss Varley's. But 
 you don't know the girl as I do ; you wouldn't understand. 
 Why, that girl had all the craving for beauty, for expression, 
 
 for utterance She had the temperament of an artist 
 
 once," with a puzzled look. 
 
 Ferris looked up slowly. " No ; I can't understand. 
 My own experience with women He got up hastily 
 
 and walked across to the window. " God knows it is hard 
 sometimes to understand what a woman wants," with a short 
 laugh, a dark flush creeping over his boyish face. 
 
 The other man glanced at him quickly, and then looked 
 steadily away. He had heard something of Ferris's past 
 history. " Poor old boy ! he's thinking of that girl he was 
 engaged to at Venice," he thought. 
 
 " I wish you had been here last night," he said aloud. 
 " There was a Mahomedan festa of some kind in the great 
 mosque. The bazaar was illuminated; there was a pro- 
 cession of dervishes with torches. I don't know what 
 saint's day they were celebrating, but the consul sent all 
 the strangers word it was safer not to show one's pale 
 Christian face abroad." 
 
 " You were there, of course." 
 
 " Well I find something rather amusing in being perse- 
 cuted for my religious convictions. I enjoy the injustice 
 of it " (with a laugh) ; " for, personally speaking, I confess 
 I am still seeking for that Christian religion of which I hear 
 so much, and which I find neither in superb cathedrals 
 erected in honour of a dogma, nor in discourses adapted 
 to the habits of a fashionable congregation, nor even in 
 religious picture-frames and 'sincere' effects of painted 
 glass, like our friend Davenant. The Catholics stultify and
 
 UN ENFANT DU SIECLE. 183 
 
 the Evangelicals starve me, and I am too fastidious well, 
 too selfish, too snobbish, if you like the word better to 
 turn Communist. A paganism, tempered by epigrams, is, 
 I believe, my present condition. When I discover the 
 means of reconciling the irreconcilable of serving God 
 and Mammon with a breath I shall join some well- 
 established Church. But until then " (carelessly) " I am 
 an experimentalist I worship at the altar of the unknown 
 god." 
 
 " Well," said Ferris, " I don't know. You would call 
 it the result of inherent Philistinism, I suppose, but I must 
 say I find heaven and earth about as much as I can manage, 
 even in their present organised condition. To be sure I 
 should not like to have to admit that to Davenant." 
 
 " Davenant ! " Lawrence laughed. " I want to see 
 Davenant. I am curious to know how Jerusalem has 
 affected him. When he went away from here his religious 
 formula reminded me rather of one of those statues of the 
 old gods you see occasionally in an Italian church. It was 
 a Venus re-baptised into a Virgin, and the halo was newer 
 than the smile. Have another cigar?" 
 
 " Thanks. Claude is a good sort of fellow, you know, 
 in spite of all his nonsense. He strikes me as a sort of epi- 
 tomised Europe. Now at home But I am curious to 
 
 see if he will accomplish anything ? He has talent." 
 
 " Too cultivated by half," said Lawrence sententiously. 
 11 1 tell you what it is, old boy this modern mania for culti- 
 vating oneself is nothing more nor less than suicidal. Why, 
 take the modern artist ; look at modern art. It is interest- 
 ing, if you like ; but what more ? interesting and impotent. 
 And it must be so, by Jove ! it must," sitting up and 
 speaking with sudden energy, "for culture is necessarily 
 self-conscious. Its final aim is refinement, not strength ; 
 beauty, not exhilaration ; the thirst for perfection and with 
 perfection, melancholy." 
 
 Ferris was leaning back, his hands clasped behind his 
 head, staring placidly at the ceiling. 
 
 " How about the Greeks ? " he said, looking up with an 
 amused air. 
 
 It was a long time since he had seen Lawrence in one of 
 these moods.
 
 184 MIRAGE. 
 
 The Greeks ? You don't imagine that the Greeks were 
 cultivated in our sense of the word ? Culture began with 
 the Renaissance, my dear fellow when life became complex, 
 when morality interfered, and a man ceased to lose sight of 
 himself in his art. Culture, I tell you, is self-conscious, but 
 genius is personal, and modern public opinion has sup- 
 pressed personality, and democracy has outlawed it. And 
 because there is a small set of we artists who see this, it has 
 become the fashion to try to be original to try to be 
 original, by Jove ! and men spend years endeavouring to be 
 spontaneous. Why, look at that thing," pointing to the 
 picture on his easel; " look at that thing if you want to know 
 what I mean. Clever ? of course it's clever damnably so. 
 
 And when you think I meant to paint pictures once 
 
 Ah well ! On nait demi-dieu et Fon meurt epicier ; and 
 that's about the end of it," taking up his brushes again with 
 a sigh. 
 
 He went on working in silence for several minutes, and 
 again the fountain dripped audibly through the stillness, and 
 the thin cold light crept farther down the wall. And 
 presently Ferris rose ; he stretched his arms, he looked 
 about him. " I must be going. I promised to meet Major 
 Thayer. Are you coming too ? " he asked. 
 
 Lawrence took out his watch and looked at it. 
 
 " I told the boy to come for my traps at five, and I 
 expect Ahmed at the cafd But give my compliments to 
 the ladies. I will call on them at the hotel. And, I say, 
 Ferris " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Don't say anything to them about my going ; there's a 
 good fellow. I can't have people canvassing my affairs, to 
 begin with ; and then, the fact is, your coming home has 
 demoralised me. I had forgotten that man is a social 
 animal while you were away. Upon my word I begin to 
 think something of leaving off work and going to Constanti- 
 nople instead. It's a plan that was suggested to me some 
 time ago. I've got some business there. That was one of 
 the advantages of Ispahan," with a peculiar expression ; " it 
 is some distance from Constantinople." 
 
 " Well, provided you don't start on that fool's errand to 
 Bagdad "
 
 UN ENFANT DU SIECLE. 185 
 
 " Urgent, in season and out of season, old fellow, eh ? 
 It is a foolish plan, I daresay ; but I should have thought 
 you would have appreciated it," smiling. "It was a painter's 
 whim, the dream of Un homme errant qui dime passion'ement 
 le bleu." 
 
 11 Un homme errant ? an erring man, I should translate 
 that," said Ferris, with a careless laugh. 
 
 And presently he went away. He went out into the 
 open courtyard, out into the blazing sunshine, his steps 
 echoing quickly across the sun-scorched stones ; and now a 
 door slammed to behind him. 
 
 It was curious to watch the change which came over 
 Lawrence. His whole expression altered suddenly, as only 
 a sensitive face can alter. He worked on doggedly for a 
 minute or two ; he got up irresolutely ; he took a turn about 
 the room. A large portfolio of drawings was lying open on 
 the chair where Ferris had left it. He glanced at it once or 
 twice, and closed it sharply, with a muttered exclamation of 
 disgust. 
 
 "By' Jove, old George is right! It is a fool's errand. It 
 is late, too, for me to begin," with a curious restrained 
 contempt. 
 
 He took a piece of paper from his pocket : part of a 
 letter, written in French, and in a woman's hand. He stood 
 looking at it quietly for a moment, his face growing troubled, 
 his lips set and stern. The paper was folded in such a 
 fashion there was one sentence he could not help but read. 
 It began abruptly : 
 
 "June, in Constantinople ? But some time I know 
 
 that you will come back to me. It may be now ; it may be 
 long years hence, when all the beautiful youth has passed 
 out of our lives, and you will look back to the days we were 
 together, and your heart will go near to breaking to know 
 that they can never come again. And it will have been 
 your own fault, Denis. You have sworn never to see me 
 again, and I know it, and I am waiting for you. I am 
 waiting to be forgiven, fattends" 
 
 He crushed the paper hard between his fingers. He 
 drew a long deep breath ; his face had altogether lost its 
 colour.
 
 186 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Grand Dieu ! qrfelle etait belle !" the young man said. 
 
 The broken fountain trickled slowly through the stillness 
 drop by drop, dripping down upon the marble floor. It was 
 a silent afternoon ; only, now and then, the fig-trees rustled 
 outside there in the sunlight ; a breath of warmer air stole 
 through the doorway into the bare whitewashed room. The 
 cold thin light crept in at the high window ; the colourless 
 stillness seemed to fall like a charm between him and the 
 outer world. He paced up and down for a long time, 
 thinking ; turning sharply at the corners, with knitted brow 
 and a slow and resolute step. One of these turns brought 
 him near the dripping fountain. He stopped and watched 
 it with a curious smile. The slow drops fell one by one into 
 the brimming basin in shining circles that rippled and 
 passed away. And the years of his life, as they too passed 
 in mute succession before him, seemed hardly less purpose- 
 less, less fatally purposeless, than these.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 WHICH CONTAINS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 
 
 Miss MARIE DE BRAY had only been home three months 
 from her French convent. Her letters to her five most 
 intimate friends they wrote to each other regularly twice a 
 week, and it was an understood thing that they were never to 
 forget one another her letters to her late companions, then, 
 were still full of delight and wonderment over her own dear 
 home, and her dear father, and her dear brothers, and the 
 dear old plantation life ; this young lady, in a word, was in 
 the happiest, the most impressionable, the most sentimental 
 frame of mind imaginable when she met her cousin, Henry 
 Lawrence. 
 
 It was on the occasion of that young gentleman's first 
 visit to the South. He had been spending the winter in the 
 neighbouring town of Richmond, and having awoke one 
 fine morning with a racking headache, and a very indistinct 
 recollection of its cause, it had occurred to him to have his 
 horse saddled, and, like a dutiful nephew, to ride over and 
 pay his respects to his old uncle and aunt. 
 
 What he thought upon meeting his cousin Marie has 
 never transpired. But it was not long before people began 
 to remark upon the fact that Mr. Lawrence's daily rides had 
 assumed one invariable direction. His face had become 
 familiar to every field-hand on the De Bray plantation. 
 There was a standing quarrel among the younger negroes as 
 to who should hold Mars' Henry's horse. Indeed, so con- 
 firmed a habit had these visits become, that when one fine 
 day he changed his hours and rode over early in the morning, 
 he found the stable-yard deserted by all but the smallest and
 
 1 88 MIRAGE. 
 
 blackest of the grooms. It was a great opportunity for 
 Zip. 
 
 " Mars' Edouard out shootin', suh," he said astutely ; 
 " Miss Marie gone done in the garden for flowers. Specs 
 Miss Marie all alone dah, suh. Tank you, suh," catching 
 the bit of silver with a grin. 
 
 Miss Marie was in the garden, and alone. She was 
 picking winter roses when her cousin found her. It may be 
 she had expected his coming, for she never looked up at his 
 approach, bending her face down over her basket with cheeks 
 that put to shame the paler winter flowers. 
 
 She had run a thorn into her hand ; she showed him the 
 scratch presently, looking up in his face the while with 
 innocent brown eyes. It was the prettiest, the dearest little 
 hand in the world, the young man declared, holding the 
 trembling little fingers in his own, and 
 
 " Nonsense, Harry ! " the young girl says, turning away 
 
 with a blush, and then Well, then, Mr. De Bray, senior, 
 
 who was also taking his morning stroll about the shrubbery, 
 had the opportunity of witnessing a very pretty scene. 
 
 " Your mother wants you. I think you had better go 
 in for a moment to your mother, Marie," he observed some 
 moments later, and in precisely the same tone of unvarying 
 courtesy his daughter had always heard him use. And then, 
 when Marie had crept away : " Well, sir ! " the planter said, 
 grimly, turning to his nephew. 
 
 Young Lawrence was indisputably a Yankee. His home 
 was in New England. He was known to have been some- 
 what wild at college. He was also known to have inherited 
 a hundred thousand dollars at his father's death. And for 
 three years back the De Bray cotton crop had hardly paid 
 the cost of its transport to the North. 
 
 " Well, sir ? " the planter said. 
 
 It was the finest wedding the De Bray family had seen 
 for years. It was like old times, the oldest negroes told 
 each other. And from little Zip in the stable-yard to the 
 bevy of bridesmaids, come all the way from the Charleston- 
 convent to grace the great event, through all the gamut of 
 black and white and yellow, there was not a voice but had 
 some word of praise for Henry Lawrence. The truth is he
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 189 
 
 was a very fascinating young fellow. When he took his 
 bride to Saratoga Springs, Mr. Lawrence was almost more 
 of a social success than his beautiful young wife. For one 
 thing, he cared more about this sort of pleasure than she 
 did. The gentle convent-bred girl was more repelled than 
 charmed by this first experience of the world. Her Southern 
 education had never prepared her for a life where only the 
 women were at leisure. She could not understand that 
 gentlemen should be in business. These dashing energetic 
 women frightened her. In a word, she was very shy, very 
 proud, very ignorant, very much in love with her husband, 
 perhaps a little jealous. And perhaps she had some reason 
 for this latter feeling. It may be she was not so far wrong 
 when she begged her husband to take her to their new 
 home. 
 
 And this in spite of frequent warnings. " Graveport 
 is a pretty old place, Marie. I've lived there all my life, 
 and of course I know every man, woman, and child in the 
 village. But it's different for you ; you won't find a soul to 
 speak to there, remember. But a woman never knows when 
 she's well off," her husband said. 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence listened with perfect incredulity. She 
 was in no way apprehensive about her future neighbours. 
 For had not Judge Poynter, the Member of Congress, the 
 one great man of Graveport, called upon her here already ? 
 And had she not spoken to that nice young Mr. Carter, 
 who had been so pleased to see his old friend Lawrence the 
 day they met him in New York ? who had told her so much 
 about the Graveport woods and beaches ; and had even 
 offered, with a blush, to send her a copy of his little book 
 of poems " Translations from the German, and Other 
 Verses" whose forthcoming publication was the cause of 
 his presence in the city, and thus, in a remote way, if she 
 would allow him to say so, had procured him the honour 
 and pleasure of knowing Mrs. Lawrence ? 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence accepted his compliments with perfect 
 gravity and respect. She could not in the least understand 
 why her husband should burst out laughing in the midst of 
 them. This Mr. Carter was the first living author she had 
 ever seen. She contemplated him with simple admiration. 
 She was pleased to think that her Harry should be on
 
 190 MIRAGE. 
 
 familiar terms with such a literary star. And, like every- 
 thing else, it tended to show what a remarkable man her 
 Harry was. 
 
 But it was not until the early autumn that Mr. Lawrence 
 took her home. A cool salt wind was blowing in from the 
 sea as they got out at the small country station of Grave- 
 port. The yellowing elms rustled their branches in welcome 
 against a sky of deep and cloudless blue. The pale golden 
 leaves fluttered down the droppings of some unseen bridal 
 torch about the young wife's path. 
 
 They had been at home a week when Lawrence came 
 in one morning and invited her to accompany him upon a 
 drive. " I'm going down to the village," the young man 
 observed carelessly. " There's nothing much else to do in 
 this confounded dreary old hole. If we see Bill Carter I'll 
 ask him to dinner, Marie. We're sure enough to find him 
 too," with a laugh he did not trouble himself to explain. 
 
 Graveport is a typical New England village, an old 
 seaport town grown too small for its shell a town with large 
 grass-grown wharves, where the tides come in unheeded, 
 and the little boys fish for flounders, and a few old fishermen 
 sit and gossip in the sun ; a town very proud of its elms, 
 with wide and ill-kept roads, and staring white houses with 
 inviolable gates and blinds. And, as the life of a New 
 England home centres about the kitchen-door, so, in this 
 village, it was only about the post-office and the market that 
 a feeble show of activity made itself felt. The linendrapers 
 displayed their goods more boldly to the public ; Miss 
 Richardson's bonnet-shop was gay with autumn fashions. 
 There was a rival flourish of blue and crimson in the 
 coloured globes at the chemist's window next door. 
 
 It was in front of this very apothecary's that Mr. Lawrence 
 checked his horses. 
 
 " I thought you were going to call on Mr. Carter, Henry 
 dear?" 
 
 " Oh, you come along with me," said dear Henry with a 
 grin. 
 
 The little shop was empty when they entered it, but the 
 drug-room door was left ajar, and a potent smell of camphor, 
 the subdued sound of pestle and mortar, gave evidence its 
 proprietor was within. " Hollo, Carter, are you busy ? Can 
 you come out and see my wife ? " said Mr. Lawrence.
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 191 
 
 Well, the apothecary came. He had on a gray alpaca 
 coat, the sleeves of which were neatly turned back over his 
 cuffs, and a large white apron was fastened about his waist ; 
 but this latter he hastily removed before shaking hands with 
 his visitors across the counter. He welcomed them to Grave- 
 port. He quoted Tennyson. He took some flowers from 
 a glass, and, wrapping their stems carefully in a piece of 
 white paper with " Carter, Apothecary," stamped in coloured 
 letters across it, he presented the whole with a neat little bow 
 and speech to his old schoolmate's lady. " I don't need to 
 ask you if you want anything in our line this morning, 
 Harry," he said ; but he insisted upon mixing some sal 
 volatile for Mrs. Lawrence, who indeed was sitting there 
 speechless and pale with mingled surprise and mortification. 
 
 " You've been furbishing up the shop, old boy, since I 
 was here," remarked that lady's husband, seating himself 
 comfortably upon the counter, and looking about him with 
 a knowing air. " Hollo, French soap ? Why, Graveport's 
 looking up in the fashionable world, Carter. And when are 
 you coming to dine with us, by-the-way ? Mrs. Lawrence 
 has been dying to hear the last news about your book." 
 
 Mr. Carter grew pink with pleasure. He stammered 
 something about appreciative souls ; he produced the 
 promised volume from his desk. It was handsomely bound 
 in blue and gold ; it was perfumed with the best sachet 
 powder ; there was a dedicatory inscription upon the title- 
 page ; and a little girl coming in at that moment with a 
 request for a bo'x of rhubarb pills, "which father says the 
 last wasn't made strong enough, Mr. Carter," the poet abso- 
 lutely kept his customer waiting while he finished reading 
 aloud a sonnet about the inner life. 
 
 And then on their way home, and for the first time, 
 Mr. Lawrence found fault with his wife. " For the sooner 
 
 you get rid of all these d d Southern notions, why, the 
 
 better it will be for all of us," he remarked with perfect 
 frankness. "Bill Carter not a gentleman? Well, he don't 
 keep a crowd of lazy niggers to do his work for him, if that's 
 what you mean. A man's a man in New England," said 
 Mr. Lawrence, "and a gentleman afterwards. But you 
 needn't have Carter at the house if you don't like. Hurt 
 his feelings ? Nonsense ! you're always bothering about 
 people's feelings. I wish you had considered mine a little
 
 192 MIRAGE. 
 
 more before you insisted upon coming here ; but that's just 
 like a woman never knows when she's well off. But it's 
 precious badly off you'll find yourself, / can tell you, if 
 you don't learn that Graveport is not in Virginia, my 
 dear." 
 
 The golden leaves were still falling along her pathway as 
 Mrs. Lawrence entered her home that day. The young wife 
 stooped and picked a handful from the grass and looked at 
 them wistfully. It may be she was remembering at that 
 moment that here, too, was the sign of ended summer and 
 only the dead leaves between her and the drifting snow. 
 
 And so, from the very beginning, there was but little 
 question of Mrs. Lawrence's unpopularity with the good 
 people of Graveport. Some few infatuated young men, 
 like Mr. William Carter, for instance, might put in a plea 
 on account of her beauty. It was easy to 'say that she was 
 good ; that she was equally gentle and gracious to everyone 
 about her ; that she was devoted to her husband, generous 
 even to excess to the poor ; the fact remained the same 
 she was not one of them. Before three months had passed 
 there was hardly an old woman in the village who had not 
 her own particular anecdote to tell about the new French 
 madame : how Mrs. Dodge had found her breakfasting at 
 ten o'clock in the morning ; how Mason the grocer had 
 to send to Boston for all the butter they ate ; and, for all the 
 airs she gave herself, how people had seen her laughing and 
 gossiping by the hour with that negro maid ! And I am 
 afraid that it must be admitted that Marie herself did little 
 or nothing to check the tide of all this popular wrath. The 
 truth is she refused their invitations ; she would not go to 
 their tea-drinkings, after the first ; she laughed at the Lyceum 
 lectures. " I am afraid there has been some mistake. I 
 can assure you I have never thought of being a governess," 
 she said, with her most superb air, to Miss Lucy Carter, when 
 that young lady called upon her to suggest a class in French. 
 " As mother thought you might not have much to do with 
 your time, Mrs. Lawrence, since Henry is away so much 
 from home," Miss Carter had added with a toss of her head. 
 Miss Carter had been the belle of Graveport in her day, and 
 it may be this allusion to her husband was not especially 
 satisfactory to Mrs, Lawrence.
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 193 
 
 Perhaps, all things considered, it was hardly to be won- 
 dered at that, long before the pale New England spring, the 
 Lawrences had drifted back to the city. It was the last that 
 Graveport saw of them for many and many a day. It is true 
 that from time to time vague rumours would reach there of 
 the fugitives : one year it was Mr. Carter who met them in 
 New York, whither he had taken his wife upon a bridal 
 tour ; again it was old Miss Richardson, going up to Boston 
 for her yearly collection of new fashions, who had chanced 
 upon Marie face to face, " and looking not a day older, my 
 dear, and her with all those little children ; " and yet again 
 the reports were of another character, and people shook 
 their heads with melancholy satisfaction over the tales of 
 young Lawrence's wild doings. " Poor Henry ! he was 
 always weak. But then, what could you expect with such a 
 wife? " as Miss Carter pertinently inquired. And then came 
 the rumour that they had gone to Europe. And then, quite 
 suddenly, the news that Mr. Lawrence was dead. 
 
 And almost before the excitement caused by this report 
 had died away, one fine October morning a carriage stopped 
 before the Lawrences' door. The unused gate creaked 
 heavily as it turned upon its hinges ; the lawn was strewn 
 with withered leaves from the old elms overhead. As Miss 
 Richardson hurried to her parlour-window, she could see a 
 black-clad figure pass through the brilliant sunshine among 
 the dying leaves. The children were delighted with this 
 rustling carpet ; they crowded about her; they pulled at her 
 dress ; " but she didn't seem to take no notice nor nothing," 
 Miss Richardson commented. And Graveport knew the 
 widow had come home. 
 
 Little Denis was a pretty boy of eight or nine, his sisters 
 " the children," as the boy called them contemptuously 
 were still in the nursery, under old black Jenny's rule, at the 
 time of this event ; and it was perhaps but natural that, as 
 the years went on, and they grew older, a thousand new ties 
 and associations should spring up between them and the 
 people of the village ties and associations their mother 
 could never understand. Indeed, to her dying day, this 
 lady remained a stranger to the place. And, for that matter, 
 her whole life was centred in her children : when she 
 addressed her neighbours on any other subject it was with
 
 194 MIRAGE. 
 
 the air of a dethroned princess addressing her inferior. 
 Since her husband's death she had become more French 
 than ever. She surrounded herself with negro servants. 
 At an age and in a community where a woman of thirty is a 
 faded, shattered, indomitable machine, she dressed herselt 
 in delicate and flowing robes of white, and knots of blue, 
 and ruffles of lace about her beautiful helpless hands. In a 
 land of sectarian prejudice, she was seen by credible wit- 
 nesses drinking coffee on her lawn at four o'clock on a 
 Sunday afternoon, in company with several strangers, and 
 one of these a Roman Catholic priest. " Settin' about a 
 table on the grass like a lot o' Crazy Janes without house 
 nor home, and her a widder woman, on the Sabbath ! It's 
 what I call a flying in the face of Providence," said Deacon 
 Davis grimly. 
 
 But perhaps the two worst counts against the innocent 
 sinner were, first, her attendance at the Catholic church, a 
 small stucco chapel erected- for the convenience of the Irish 
 mill-hands, where Mrs. Lawrence sat every Sunday morning, 
 looking serenely beautiful and unconscious of her surround- 
 ings ; and then the fact that she rode. For in that land 
 of invalid women and knock-kneed horses (harnessed on 
 Sunday afternoons when the family " carry-all " was needed 
 to take the family to church), it was Mrs. Lawrence's practice 
 to ride ; and the fishermen by the shore, the few woodcutters 
 amongst the pines, had long since grown accustomed to the 
 sound of muffled hoof-beats. The children had learned to 
 watch for their coming, crowding to the window to see the 
 gentle sad-faced lady canter by, and wonder at her boy. 
 
 " I met 'em again this aternoon. The Jedge was with 
 'em," Mr. Jones would remark at dinner Mr. Jones, a 
 scrupulously accurate man, who had been known to add a 
 date-stone to a pound of dates rather than give a customer 
 short measure. " I met 'em trapesing about, as usual. 
 The French madame had her lap full o' weeds, and the boy 
 was a sticking a lot o' them purple asters in her hat. They 
 seed me a comin', and the madame she asked ater you, 
 Mariar," with a side-glance at the sickly woman bending 
 above the stove. 
 
 " Where was it, father ? " asks the eldest girl. 
 
 " By them Folly Woods ; near the cross-road. She was 
 askin' her way to "
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 195 
 
 " I know the place. Do tell ! So she was there, was 
 she ? I used to go there to pull May-blooms when I was a 
 girl. I hain't seen those woods these fifteen years or more," 
 says Mariar, turning round to hush the crying baby in its 
 chair. " Mary Jones, if you don't let that little brother o' 
 
 yours alone ! and George, keep your fingers out o' that 
 
 molasses, sir. You had a genteel sufficiency an hour ago. 
 What was she goin' after, father ? Did she say ? " 
 
 "After more weeds, I reckon. The way that woman 
 litters up that house o' hern do beat the Dutch. Kiting 
 across the country like a white pine-dog with a popple tail ; 
 and the Jedge with 'em too a man o' his sense, and a pro- 
 fessor of religion ! I'd admire to know what that boy of 
 hers can come to, seein' such goin's on," said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 And Mrs. Jones's was not the only speculation on this 
 topic. For it was about this time, I think, that a certain 
 interview took place. 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence had stayed at home that day. It was a 
 still, warm, beautiful September afternoon. She was pacing 
 up and down the garden-walk ; the train of her white dress 
 brushed against a glowing border of brilliant autumn flowers; 
 the yellowing leaves were floating down in the same old 
 fashion from the frost-touched elms ; the mild autumnal 
 sunshine resting upon her flushed and pensive face a fair 
 and gracious and singularly youthful face it seemed in the 
 eyes of the man who saw it. 
 
 " For you know, dear Mrs. Lawrence, it is impossible," 
 Judge Poynter was saying, in a voice which I doubt if any- 
 one but this woman beside him would ever have recognised 
 as his; "quite impossible. Your boy will grow up how 
 old is he now ? fifteen ? sixteen ? in five years' time he will 
 'be a young man, with a life apart from yours, and you a 
 young woman still." 
 
 "I was six-and-thirty on my last birthday," said 
 Mrs. Lawrence. 
 
 "A young woman still; a charming woman always. 
 And to think of your throwing yourself away upon these 
 people here ! It is a shame, Mary a waste, a criminal 
 waste of faculties that were given you to be an ornament- 
 yes, and an honour to any society you deigned to enter, 
 by Jove !" with a sudden relapse into the Edward Poynter 
 of twenty years ago. " And as for this boy, he's a fine little 
 
 O 2
 
 196 MIRAGE. 
 
 fellow, and a brave little fellow, and we'll make an honest 
 gentleman of him a man you will be proud of, Mary. For 
 the boy's own sake I think you should say ' Yes,' my dear," 
 said the Judge. 
 
 I think she came very near saying it. She looked up at 
 the handsome, stalwart, gray-haired man beside her. I 
 think that she realised that here was a name and a position 
 any woman might be proud to accept ; and I think that for 
 a moment she wavered. I am sure that after he had left 
 her after she had watched him turn away sorrowful, incre- 
 dulous, protesting I am sure, I say, that she looked up at 
 the serene beauty of the sky above her, that she looked 
 around at the blazing garden-borders with quite a new sense 
 of narrowness and loss. Perhaps it was only the natural 
 regret of having wounded a friend ; perhaps some old thirst 
 for a wider life, some forgotten but living capacity for enjoy- 
 ment, for the pleasant excitement of admiration the 
 gracious privilege of giving pleasure had been awakened 
 by his words. There was an unusual flush on the widow's 
 delicate cheek, an almost girlish embarrassment in her 
 manner as she went forward to greet her son returning 
 home from school. 
 
 " I'm late and I know it, and I couldn't help it," that 
 young gentleman remarked cheerfully, vaulting over the 
 garden-gate with a dexterous toss of his books at the grinning 
 Jenny's head ; " I stayed to see Ned Mason's boat, and isn't 
 she a beauty? Ned's going to sea before long, mother. 
 He can't stand it at home since Mrs. Mason's married again. 
 Some people think it's queer of Ned to take it in that 
 fashion ; but / don't wonder at it, you know," said Master 
 Denis sagely. And to his dying day Denis Lawrence never 
 guessed why his mother threw her arms about his neck and 
 kissed him at that particular moment. 
 
 It was about this same time young Lawrence made up 
 his mind to become a painter. Of course the lad had 
 always had a taste for drawing. There was portfolio after 
 portfolio full of sketches with " Denis Lawrence, fecit," in 
 the corner, carefully stored away among his mother's trea- 
 sures. But when he was about nineteen, it so happened the 
 boy spent a winter in New York. It was there that for the 
 first time he saw the interior of an artist's studio; it was
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 197 
 
 there he abandoned all idea of college ; and it was then and 
 there he decided to study abroad. 
 
 At first Mrs. Lawrence would not hear of his going to 
 Europe. The very thought of his departure distracted her 
 with grief. She implored him not to leave her. She wrote 
 letter after letter to her brother at home, entreating him, 
 adjuring him by his responsibility as a guardian, not to 
 sanction her boy's departure. And in the midst of all this 
 agitation, and quite unexpectedly, Mr. Edouard de Bray 
 came north. 
 
 He arrived at Graveport one wintry evening, wrapped 
 up to his eyes in fur pelisses, and swearing violently and in- 
 discriminately at the Yankees and their climate ; and before 
 twenty-four hours were over, and to the lad's intense surprise, 
 the plans were entirely settled for Denis's sojourn in Paris. 
 
 His surprise might have been lessened perhaps had he 
 known then what he only heard years afterwards the pur- 
 port of an interview which took place between his mother 
 and his guardian the very night of the latter's arrival. 
 
 " Ma sceur, I have something to tell you," said Mr. De 
 Bray. He went to the door and locked it noiselessly. 
 "Are your children, are your servants all in bed?" he 
 asked. He took the widow by the hand, he led her gravely 
 to the fire, and, stooping down before it, he whispered in 
 her ear. 
 
 She started back with a low cry of terror. 
 
 " Hush ! someone may hear you," the Virginian said 
 again, and with the same strange solemnity of manner. 
 
 The short gray-haired man standing before that fire, 
 biting his nails and staring at the logs, had some 'of the 
 authority of a martyr about him at that moment. 
 
 " It may take all," he said slowly, stretching out his 
 hand. " Virginia will need all, my sister," with uplifted head, 
 and the passion of a lifetime flashing suddenly into the heavy 
 face. 
 
 They settled about the boy's departure : he was to remain 
 away a year. 
 
 "And you'll remember, my boy, you have given me 
 your word your word of honour as a De Bray that you 
 won't come home before that year expires," his uncle 
 reminded him with peculiar significance.
 
 1 98 MIRAGE. 
 
 The lad looked up curiously from his imperturbable 
 guardian to his mother's wan and tear-stained face. 
 
 " All right, sir. Not unless my mother sends for me," 
 he said stoutly. 
 
 There was only a week before his vessel sailed, and yet, 
 in the midst of all his wild excitement, the boy found time 
 to wonder whatever that promise might mean. 
 
 He found out soon enough. He had not been three 
 months in Paris when the catastrophe came. The flag was 
 fired on at Fort Sumter, and for awhile the lad was half 
 mad with rage and revolt. 
 
 " Our cousins, the other De Brays, have come back from 
 the country. My cousin, the Vicomte, has married a wife 
 young enough to be his daughter. She is one of the most 
 beautiful women in Paris," he wrote to his mother on one 
 occasion. " They want me to paint her portrait ; they ask 
 me continually to go and see them ; and have you not made 
 it impossible ? Shall I go to her house and let her think 
 me a coward ? or would you have me tell her how my own 
 mother has cheated me like a child?" 
 
 It was the first serious breach between the mother and 
 her son, and for a time it was difficult to say which suffered 
 from it the most. 
 
 " You tell me I am a De Bray. I answer you I am an 
 American," the young man wrote at last, in answer to one 
 of the widow's piteous letters. " And you would have me 
 stay here like a miserable sham, you would have me skulk 
 like a girl out of reach of danger, when there isn't blood 
 enough left in America to wipe out the insult to our flag. 
 My uncle may fight where he chooses ; my place is at the 
 North. I am coming to take it. I am coming home, 
 mother. Three, months from to-day the year I promised you 
 is ended. I shall stay here three months from to-day." 
 
 He stayed three years. At last, one bleak December 
 night, deep in the frozen heart of the New England winter, 
 and when all the elms stood white and rigid beneath a three- 
 days' fall of snow, at last Denis Lawrence came home. He
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 199 
 
 came home a man, and it was with an indescribable pang of 
 jealous sorrow the widow realised the fact : her boy was a 
 boy no more. 
 
 She went in to see him that first night, creeping stealthily 
 to the door of his room when all the house was hushed and 
 silent. It was long after midnight, but a light was burning 
 on his table as she entered, and Denis was seated before it, 
 his face haggard and wan, and buried in his hands. 
 
 He started and looked up at the sound of her gentle 
 entrance. "Is that you, mother?" he said wildly. He 
 clutched a portrait, some papers lying before him, and thrust 
 them hastily aside. 
 
 "Why don't you go to sleep, my darling?" the mother 
 asked, in the old, tender, well-remembered voice. She laid 
 her hand upon her boy's forehead and smoothed back his 
 tumbled hair. " Why don't you go to sleep, my boy ? " she 
 said trembling. 
 
 And Denis took his mother's hand in his and kissed it. 
 There was but little need of explanation between those 
 two. 
 
 The days went on and on. In spite of his mother's 
 guest, Miss Poynter, it was-but a dull house now, this home 
 to which young Lawrence had returned ; a poverty-stricken 
 house, the young man thought with bitter mortification, re- 
 membering the life he had led in the years he had been 
 away. 
 
 He chafed with inexpressible impatience at the thought 
 of his own helplessness. There was no more talk of his 
 going to the war now ; indeed, in those first days, the widow 
 would hardly bear him out of her sight ; and Denis saw with 
 alarm the change those few years had made in her appear- 
 ance. He spoke of it repeatedly to Miss Poynter; and 
 there was but little to comfort him in the young girl's report. 
 
 "She is a good girl," the widow said, speaking of 
 Charlotte, in one of her many conversations with her son, "a 
 good girl ; she has been a kind little companion to me this 
 summer. I missed your sisters sadly when they went away, 
 Denis." 
 
 " My sisters had no right to leave you," the young man 
 said. 
 
 " It is a dull house, my dear," said the widow, with her
 
 200 MIRAGE. 
 
 melancholy smile " and Mrs. Poynter was very kind in 
 inviting them ; and the poor children needed society. They 
 were glad to go. And yet I have done what I could for my 
 children," said Mrs. Lawrence. 
 
 Another time she told him about the money that had 
 been lost. " As for all the De Bray fortune it had gone 
 it had gone for a good cause," she said, her cheeks flushing 
 painfully. 
 
 And then, presently, as Charlotte Poynter got up and 
 left the room, " She is a good girl," the widow repeated, 
 looking after her affectionately. " She will be very wealthy, 
 Denis," she added timidly, after a moment ; " she will be 
 wealthy, Denis ; and you oh my darling, if you knew how 
 I have thought of you ! " 
 
 " It was impossible," the young man said impatiently, 
 " impossible." The very suggestion was irksome to him. 
 " I have done with - Miss Poynter's fortune is nothing 
 to me," he said. He frowned as he turned away. 
 
 It was a dull winter certainly. The weeks seemed to 
 stretch out to twice their normal length ; the weary battle 
 months rolled by with hardly a break in all their blood- 
 stained monotony. It seemed to- Denis sometimes that they 
 were buried alive ; he chafed against his captivity in bitter 
 silence, carrying the newspapers to his own room and 
 devouring their contents with eager humiliated eyes. He 
 paid very little attention to the women of his household on 
 those days, and perhaps it was only natural that they should 
 redouble in their efforts to please him. It was no easy 
 matter at times, but little Charlotte persevered bravely. 
 They had talked of Lawrence's coming for months before 
 his arrival, and I have small doubt but the mother had made 
 a hero of her boy. 
 
 One afternoon he was sitting with Miss Poynter in the 
 studio. For some weeks past he had been engaged in 
 making a study for a picture, a little bit of genre a girl's 
 head, an open window, and, beyond, a stretch of wintry sky. 
 As chance would have it, he was that day in a particularly 
 happy mood. Miss Poynter was an excellent sitter. He 
 was trying a new process of his own, and the picture promised 
 to be a success. 
 
 " I think, by Jove ! I think I've got it this time, and no
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 201 
 
 mistake," he said, with quite a new satisfaction in his voice. 
 He looked over to Charlotte for sympathy. 
 
 Miss Poynter was sitting by the window, crying. 
 
 She had had a letter from her cousin Edward that 
 morning. " He is coming he is coming to take me away," 
 the girl ended with a sob. 
 
 If Denis hesitated it was only for a moment. He laid 
 down his palette and brushes deliberately ; he crossed over 
 to the little shrinking figure beside the window; put his 
 arm about her waist. " Shall shall I tell Judge Poynter 
 you would rather stay here with me, Charlotte ? " said 
 Mr. Lawrence. 
 
 It was not a rapturous wooing. There was still light 
 enough in the short winter afternoon to finish the picture 
 after everything else was settled. And Denis went back to 
 his work. It was his first decidedly successful picture. "A 
 charming bit of sentiment and colour," the critics called it 
 It was bought by Goupl in the course of the following 
 summer. He sold it very well. " As though there was any 
 use in that, while there is all my money lying idle, and you 
 will not even take me where I could spend it," Mrs. Charlotte 
 observed disdainfully. They had been married over six 
 months, and this was not the first remark of the kind which 
 young Mrs. Lawrence had made. It had been a singularly 
 unsuccessful marriage from the first. And this not because 
 Charlotte was a badly-intentioned or even a bad-tempered 
 woman. She would have made a happy wife to some other 
 man, Lawrence would think at times. And then very likely 
 he asked himself how it was that this poor little girl, with 
 her exacting and unsympathetic nature, her cramped intensity 
 of aim, should be doomed to this blind struggle with all the 
 perplexities of such a life as his ? It was not an easy question 
 to answer. " For, after all, I am exactly the same, my poor 
 little Charlotte ! I am exactly what I was when you wished 
 when you consented to marry me," he said to her one day ; 
 " I have not changed." 
 
 " Changed ? No. But I thought you would," said 
 Charlotte naively. And perhaps in those few words she 
 had unconsciously summed up half of " the old woe o' the 
 world." 
 
 It was at the end of one of their reiterated discussions
 
 202 MIRAGE. 
 
 upon the old, old subject her desire to live in Paris. 
 Paris ! Like the recollection of some anterior existence, the 
 name came back to Lawrence with all its old luring suggestion 
 of passionate delight. He shivered and closed his eyes. 
 The face was there still the old beautiful face. He stood 
 up abruptly. " You cannot go. / have to content myself 
 with home," with sudden faltering in the well-trained voice. 
 
 His wife sat working by the window, some elaborate 
 mechanical work which somehow seemed a part of her. She 
 looked up now, glancing at him with helpless irritation, with 
 pale persistent eyes. 
 
 " There was nothing to lose one's temper about," she 
 said presently. " Goodness knows I don't expect you to 
 agree with me, Denis. I wish you would sit down and take 
 a book or act like anybody else. You make my head ache 
 walking up and down," pressing one thin white hand against 
 her temples ; and, after a moment's silence : " I am not 
 going down to Graveport again, I suppose you know that, 
 Denis ? I am tired of the country ; I hate it. And you 
 must stay where I do this summer, do you hear ? People 
 are talking about you already," with fretful insistence, 
 " people are talking about the way you neglect me for your 
 mother, and we have not been married a year." 
 
 And this was to go on all his life. He stood with his 
 back turned upon her, looking through the gathering dark- 
 ness at the stretch of empty road. He had sold his liberty 
 for this. And other men, other men his face changing 
 suddenly they were at the South those others, fighting, 
 themselves a part of all the grandeur, the splendour, and 
 stress of a heroic cause ; while he the thin, complaining 
 voice jarred on his nerves with cruel iteration it was his 
 part, he had chosen it, his part of all the possibilities of life. 
 
 He stood there a long time ; there were two paths 
 opening out in life before him ; he stood there until he had 
 made his choice. If there was temptation left in the old 
 dreams, he foreswore it that night ; he thrust it from him. 
 The life before him might be barren, but come what might, 
 he could live it like a man. 
 
 He looked up quietly. With a sudden revulsion of 
 feeling he stooped and took his wife's hand in his. " I wish 
 I could please you better, Charlotte," he said.
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 203 
 
 She was counting the stitches in her work ; she glanced 
 up, her lips still moving. 
 
 " Don't," she said petulantly, and moved away her 
 shoulder. 
 
 It was a little thing, but it hurt him afterwards to 
 remember it, for it was almost the last word they ever 
 exchanged together. 
 
 Before nightfall Lawrence was speeding eastward in 
 answer to an urgent telegram. It was not even his mother 
 who had sent it, and with a terrible sinking of the heart he 
 hastened on his journey, the slow night dragging on before 
 him, and she, it might be, drifting beyond his reach. 
 
 It was an hour or two before morning when he reached 
 Graveport. A foggy, summer night, " white with the white- 
 ness of what is dead " a night of ghastly silence, through 
 which you rather felt than heard the low grind of the distant 
 waves upon the beach. He reached the house, his footsteps 
 echoing loudly down all the wet and silent street. He went 
 in. The doof had been left open ; a light was flaring in 
 the draught. There were voices and people in the hall ; he 
 passed them all unheeded, with rigid face, with slow and 
 heavy footsteps he was going to his mother. It was old 
 Jenny who opened the door to him. There was a smell of 
 incense in the room. He saw a white bed, some people 
 standing about it. 
 
 " 'Pears like as if she had been waitin' for you, Mars' 
 Denis," the old woman said, her black face twitching con- 
 vulsively ; " waitin' for the turn o' the tide." 
 
 He went up to the bed. She was lying there very quietly, 
 but she opened her eyes and looked at him as he bent over 
 her. Her lips moved painfully : 
 
 "Charlotte?" 
 
 He took her hand in his. 
 
 " Yes, dear, yes. We are very happy together," he said 
 soothingly. 
 
 A light of sudden joy filled all the dying woman's face. 
 
 " My boy ! " she said. She gathered up her strength in 
 one supreme effort and turned and laid her lips against his 
 hand. 
 
 The man in black rose from his knees and made the sign 
 of the cross devoutly.'
 
 204 MIRAGE. 
 
 " The Blessed Virgin give you strength to bear your loss, 
 my son," he said ; and Denis looked at him stupidly. 
 
 " She is gone. Gone ? " he repeated, with a pitiful 
 incredulous smile. 
 
 Old Jenny had dragged herself moaning to the window ; 
 she threw it wide open now with the dumb wordless super- 
 stition of her race. The wind had risen ; the night air 
 rushed in clammy and chill. The harassed trees creaked 
 painfully through the silence, their dark arms tossing wildly 
 against the paling sky. Already the swift summer night was 
 ended ; already the light was breaking over the storm-vexed 
 waves ; the morning tide was ebbing to the sea. 
 
 And presently came morning the cheerful common 
 day, filling the world with pleasant stir and sound ; and 
 later on Judge Poynter had arrived, coming back from the 
 dead woman's room with a face which moved even Denis to 
 faint companionship of sorrow. It was the first thing that 
 had roused him; and now, towards evening, he began to 
 write letters. There were despatches to be sent ; his sisters 
 to be summoned. His wife 
 
 All day he had been conscious of people moving about 
 him ; moving with decent and kindly pretence of sorrow, 
 with lowered and respectful voices, and muffled footsteps 
 that seemed to jar slowly, one by one, upon his brain. 
 
 Now, as he paused to listen, it seemed to him that these 
 footsteps moved more hastily ; there were people crowding 
 before the house. Well, it was nothing to him ; and there 
 was still his wife to write to. His wife ! 
 
 The door opened and let pass two men ; one of them 
 was Judge Poynter. " It was kind of him to come again, 
 very kind," Lawrence said, getting up mechanically, and 
 facing him, his hand grasping the back of a chair. He had 
 been writing to Charlotte 
 
 The Judge looked at his companion. " Tell him," he 
 said hoarsely ; he threw himself down in a chair and covered 
 his face. Denis watched him curiously, he stood there watch- 
 ing him through all the broken story which followed, and by 
 a sort of double consciousness, taking it all in the while with 
 ghastly clearness of detail Charlotte's impatience at his 
 sudden journey, her jealous following. " She was always 
 difficult to manage, poor girl, poor girlj" the Judge broke in
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LAWRENCE FAMILY. 205 
 
 with a sob and then the crowded transport train a broken 
 rail an accident. 
 
 " It was the will of God, my son," the priest said 
 solemnly ; and Denis turned and looked at him. The 
 will of God ! and this man, this good-hearted Irishman with 
 his coarse red hands knew all about it ? The will of God ? 
 repeating the words after him with patient effort to under- 
 stand the will of God, and poor futile little Charlotte 
 dead ! 
 
 " My poor boy," the Judge said, wringing his hand, "my 
 dear boy, if you could only make an effort rouse yourself." 
 There was something in the patience of the young face that 
 turned and looked upon him which struck the old man 
 dumb. 
 
 And after they had left him the Judge coming back 
 from the door again to ask what he could do when they 
 had left him alone it was still this same shocked sense of the 
 incongruous which would keep uppermost. His mother 
 his mother was a saint, the tears coming slow and burning 
 to his eyes ; but Charlotte, poor little Charlotte, crushed 
 out of life, alone, the familiar little voice hushed, its com- 
 plainings ended ! A week ago those thin tenacious hands 
 had seemed strong enough to shape all the coming years for 
 him, and now 
 
 The room was growing full of shadows. He rose 
 mechanically and walked over to the window and looked 
 out The habitual attitude brought back its own shock of 
 remembrance. Again he saw a white road stretching out 
 through the twilight, and leading where ? Some boys were 
 tramping cheerily homeward, singing in rude chorus the 
 refrain of a soldier's song. He beat time to the words un- 
 consciously, the light coming steadily into his eyes. He 
 drew a deep breath, and stood up suddenly. Life was not 
 all his own yet it seemed ; not his own while there was work 
 that work to do.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " IL N'EST D'AMOUR si TRISTE QUI N'AIT SON SOUVENIR." 
 
 AND after all they met in the bazaar. Mrs. Thayer had 
 been buying silks. " For if Aunt Van arrives here to-morrow 
 or next day and Tom says there is every chance of it I 
 had better have all my money spent before she gets here. I 
 don't want her to think me extravagant," she observed to 
 Constance pensively. " If I could only decide whether 
 scarlet or this pale-yellow was most becoming. And gold 
 thread ? Do you really think now gold embroidery would 
 not look theatrical ? " with a perplexed frown. 
 
 They were deep in the bazaars of Damascus deep in 
 those cool, dim, vaulted spaces, with the lustre of silks, the 
 gleam of metal and porcelain about them, and the odour of 
 gums and curious spices filling the dusty air in a world 
 where all the business of life is carried on in fashions and 
 under conditions totally different from ours, and dignity, 
 tranquillity, and splendour are jostled by strange and loath- 
 some shapes. 
 
 "Now, do you think gold thread theatrical?" says Fanny 
 with her busy frown. 
 
 Constance gave some vague answer. They were sitting 
 upon the small bright carpet beside the attentive cross-legged 
 merchant ; and between them lay a glistening heap of fine 
 tissues and stuffs and silks. Opposite them another tall 
 olive-skinned merchant, in an apple-green robe, was buying 
 sweetmeats at a stand, on either side of which a loose white 
 net was stretched across the shops whose owners were at 
 prayers. A string of donkeys wandered slowly by, their 
 trailing loads of brushwood just clearing the houses on
 
 SON SOUVENIR. 207 
 
 either side ; and now the gentleman in green had found an 
 acquaintance they stopped to speak. A low mysterious 
 call, the imperative tap of a bronzed finger on her arm, made 
 Constance start and look round. A barefooted Arab was 
 standing beside her : he smiled furtively, unrolled one end 
 of his dingy voluminous turban. 
 
 " Oh Fanny ! " the girl said, catching her breath. It was 
 a roughly-set turquoise ring, a marvel of blue. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer asked the price. 
 
 " No good man, my lady. You go jewel bazaar byme- 
 by," the guide answered evasively. The man took back his 
 ring with serene indifference. He thrust his hand into his 
 breast and drew out a mass of bracelets tinkling with golden 
 coins. " Mafeesh ? " he sauntered away a few steps and 
 leaned against a pillar ; a ray of sunlight touched the tar- 
 nished embroidery of his dress, its white folds fell around 
 him in straight lines ; not a muscle moved ; he looked as 
 though he might have been standing there for the last 
 thousand years. 
 
 And now a troop of white-veiled women came gliding 
 down the dusky street, their footsteps falling noiselessly 
 upon the beaten earth, flitting from shadow to sunlight, from 
 gloom to gold, as dumb and vivid as a dream. And now a 
 broad-hatted Englishman trotted by on his donkey. He 
 closed his umbrella before the sherbet-seller, and instantly 
 a pet sheep, henna-stained and all crossed and barred with 
 patches of crimson dye, rushed up and knocked it out of his 
 hand. 
 
 " Dear me ! very extraordinary animal that," said the 
 stranger mildly, putting up his eye-glass to look reprovingly 
 at the sheep. 
 
 Presently a beautiful Jew boy, with straight small features 
 and scarlet lips, went sauntering past, carrying a painter's 
 box and traps, and in a moment more the painter himself 
 followed, a young man, and talking to Major Thayer. 
 Something his companion said seemed to amuse him ; he 
 laughed, he took off his hat, and stood facing the wind. 
 
 " Why, Constance," said Fanny, with a sudden start 
 " why, good heavens ! Constance, it's Mr. Lawrence." 
 
 She looked up quietly. " I know," bending suddenly 
 over to look at some embroidered stuff.
 
 2o8 MIRAGE. 
 
 The two men were talking busily. 
 
 " But look here, Thayer ; that's all rubbish, you know," 
 the younger man was talking rather earnestly as they came 
 within earshot of the ladies ; " that Persian brand is all a 
 mistake. Why, ten times out of twelve you don't even get 
 real tobacco, and I've heard lots of fellows " 
 
 He looked up. Mrs. Thayer was beckoning to him. 
 
 " You hav'n't quite forgotten us, I hope, Mr. Lawrence?" 
 giving him her hand with a brilliant smile. 
 
 He made some appropriate answer. 
 
 " And you, Miss Varley," glancing rather doubtfully at 
 the girl's grave face, "you have not forgotten " 
 
 She did not smile in return. 
 
 " No," putting out her hand shyly, " I haven't for- 
 gotten." 
 
 Their fingers met, the colour flushing suddenly across 
 her throat and cheek. She turned aside, pulling about the 
 silks upon her lap with tremulous fingers. 
 
 The young man stood and looked at her a moment in 
 silence. He was a trifle disappointed in her manner it 
 seemed. 
 
 " We can't stop. I'm going with Lawrence to see some 
 famous bits for sketches. I think I will begin one to-day, if 
 the light holds out," said the Major, looking about him criti- 
 cally. " Lawrence is on his way to some cafe by the river- 
 side. I met him by accident, and brought him here quite 
 by force, I assure you, Fanny " 
 
 " Oh, of course. Mrs. Thayer would know how much 
 truth there was likely to be in that," the young man assented 
 carelessly. He reached out his hand and pulled down one 
 end of a silken cufieh. 
 
 " You ought to buy some of those coarser Bedawy hand- 
 kerchiefs, Mrs. Thayer. The colour is simply superb. And 
 don't you like old things better ? This modern stuff is all 
 very commonplace, as poor and mechanical in design as a 
 Roman scarf," tossing back the silk contemptuously. He 
 glanced up and down the street, then turned again to Con- 
 stance. "It is too early yet to ask you what you think of 
 Damascus ? " with a doubtful inflection in his voice. 
 
 This time she looked at him. 
 
 " I have not seen it. I think it must be the most beautiful
 
 SON SOUVENIR. 209 
 
 city in the world," she said, her face lighting up with a sudden 
 swift smile of delight. 
 
 Lawrence was very much pleased. He came and leaned 
 against the wall beside her. 
 
 " You must have lots of news to tell me about the people 
 at home," he said, and incontinently fell to talking about 
 Damascus. He was going to a certain native cafe'. " I go 
 there very often. It isn't the sort of place to see in a crowd, 
 you know," with an imperceptible glance towards Mrs. 
 Thayer, " but I wish you weregoing there with us. I should 
 like to have you see it as it is looking now, when there are 
 only a few shadowy old men in the darkest corners, and the 
 sky is growing pale and cool, and all the sunshine has gone 
 off the river. This bazaar is stifling, but out there you will 
 find the wind again, and the waving of trees, and the motion 
 of running water. Perhaps, if you stay here long enough, 
 you will hear the people at your hotel say they have been 
 to these cafe's ; but that is all nonsense. They go there in 
 mobs, and the dragomen bully them. But now if you went 
 
 there with me It is all cool and very silent, you know, 
 
 and there are tables out on the platform above the water 
 where one might sit 
 
 " Yes !" She leaned forward eagerly. " But can I go ? 
 can I go really?" 
 
 " Well," he said, laughing, " why not ? If the Major is 
 willing to take you 
 
 " There was little or nothing to remember in all the walk 
 which followed, but this girl remembered it all her life. She 
 was very silent that afternoon, listening for the most part 
 very quietly to the talk of her companions. It was more 
 than three years since she had heard his voice ! 
 
 " Are you tired ? I am afraid the walk has been too 
 much for you," the Major asked her once ; and Lawrence 
 smiled to himself at the question, for indeed there was but 
 small suggestion of fatigue in the still contentment of her 
 face. And as for her well, she was happy, as one is happy 
 perhaps twice or thrice in a lifetime. The strange and 
 beautiful figures about her passed and repassed like the pale 
 figures of a dream. Once a line of heavy-laden camels went 
 swaying by, and Lawrence laid his hand upon her arm. 
 
 " Take care !" he said.
 
 210 MIRAGE. 
 
 They were standing close together for an instant, her 
 dress brushing against him when she moved. Her arm 
 trembled, her hands growing cold and nerveless under his 
 touch. She looked away with sudden shyness. She had 
 not seen him for three years ! 
 
 And when they got to the cafe" : " This is a very nice 
 place for your sketch, you know, Major. I've done those 
 buildings myself. But of course Miss Varley can't wait for 
 you out here. There'll be a mob about you before you 
 know where you are," the young man remarked. 
 
 " Oh, of course not," said Major Thayer, good- 
 humouredly. The old fellow was very fond of Constance. 
 It was he who suggested that they should wait for him on 
 the wooden platform outside near the river. " I daresay 
 Lawrence wont mind looking after you for a few minutes. 
 I shall be right here ; in the next room, you know," with 
 sudden guilty remembrance of Fanny's injunctions. 
 
 They went out on the platform. A very old man with 
 a black turban and a long white beard rose up and bowed 
 gravely at their entrance. 
 
 " That is an old acquaintance of mine. An Armenian 
 merchant. He has bee'n giving me lessons in Persian of 
 late ; I daresay he is waiting for me now," nodding to him 
 carelessly as they passed. " Sit here. I am going to order 
 some Damascene sweetmeats for you. You know you were 
 always as fond as a baby of sweets 
 
 " But I don't want to keep you from your lesson," the 
 girl said shyly. 
 
 " And if I want to be kept ?" 
 
 " I see a rose the first rose of the season. Summer 
 has come," she said incoherently, bending suddenly forward 
 to look at the full and silent stream. 
 
 The water rushed swiftly by without a ripple or a sound) 
 only the delicate-footed wind kept up a low continuous 
 murmuring amongst the deep water-splashed foliage of the 
 trees, and high up above them a single palm leaned in full 
 sunlight from a garden-wall. 
 
 " It is such a beautiful world !" the girl said suddenly, 
 looking up with a level radiant glance. 
 
 " I should like to make a drawing of you some day," 
 Lawrence told her presently. " You will pose for me some
 
 SON SOUVENIR. 211 
 
 time? and are you going to stay? You have told me 
 nothing of your plans." 
 
 " Aunt Van is coming. One can't have Aunt Van and 
 settled plans at the same time, you know," with a careless 
 laugh. "But you, Mr. Lawrence? You never used to 
 have plans once, I know," resting her cheek upon her hand, 
 and looking at him frankly. 
 
 Lawrence did not answer for a few minutes. Some 
 chance turn of her head or hand, some faltering inflection 
 in her voice had struck him with a sudden flash of recollec- 
 tion, evoking another face from out the past. The likeness 
 troubled him. 
 
 " I ? my plans ?" he repeated absently. " I had nearly 
 decided to go to Constantinople, but now " 
 
 " Now ?" catching her breath anxiously. 
 
 He frowned slightly, still keeping his eyes fixed upon 
 the river. 
 
 " I have an idea for a picture You remember that 
 
 talk we had about my painting once ? I have often thought 
 of what you said that day. It is enough to make a man 
 stick to his work at any cost to have been believed in in that 
 fashion," turning to her with one of his rare sudden smiles. 
 
 She could hardly trust herself to speak about that past, 
 she remembered it all so well. But he alluded to it con- 
 stantly lightly, easily, with a blurring over of details, a 
 confusion of names and dates she invariably noted, and 
 without comment. 
 
 " It scarcely seems three years ago, does it?" he said to 
 her once. " What have you been doing all that time ? You 
 have not changed in the least," looking at her with slow 
 scrutiny. 
 
 " I have been living at home," said Constance simply. 
 
 " I think I have done nothing but read. You said 
 
 I remember somebody told me once that women never read 
 anything through. I don't think anyone could say that of 
 me now," with a low happy laugh. 
 
 There was nothing especial, nothing to remember in all 
 that silent idle afternoon, and yet they both remembered it. 
 
 "It is so long since I have seen anyone to speak to 
 beside a lot of men. I am really very glad you have come," 
 said Lawrence. " While I am here you must let me show 
 
 p 2
 
 212 MIRAGE. 
 
 you something of the city ; there are lots of out-of-the-way 
 places where I can take you you and the Major and 
 Mrs. Thayer." 
 
 " Jack Mr. Stuart is travelling with us," said Constance 
 abruptly. 
 
 She had utterly forgotten his existence until that moment. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence was looking at her with attention. 
 
 " Mr. Stuart ? ah yes. Ferris told me that he was 
 that he was with you." 
 
 He got up and stood leaning over the balustrade, 
 looking down at the water. He put out his hand and 
 plucked a rose from the trellis beside him. 
 
 " You know the story about roses ? " he said, crumpling 
 the crimson petals in his hand. 
 
 "The story ?" 
 
 "It is part of an Arabian love-song," said Lawrence, 
 absently. " How, when Eve was driven out of Eden she 
 lingered outside at the closed gate praying the angels for a 
 single flower to carry with her into exile. And the angel 
 looked at her, and because she was so exceeding fair he 
 threw her out a single red rose a rose of Paradise. And 
 ever since that day every descendant of Eve, at some time 
 of his life and once has smelt the perfume of that flower, 
 and after that after that and until he dies well ! There 
 are earthly roses, fortunately," looking down with an odd 
 expression at the crumpled flower. 
 
 " You are crushing it," said Constance, putting out her 
 hand. 
 
 " He did not see the gesture. The old Armenian 
 merchant had been watching them with patient gravity since 
 they entered. When Lawrence moved he laid down his 
 pipe and stood up. He approached them now and bowed, 
 standing deferentially aside and not looking at Constance. 
 
 " You will excuse me, Miss Varley," the young man 
 said, " if I leave you an instant to speak to Ahmed ? " 
 
 And then, as they were talking together, he took out his 
 pocketbook to look over some notes, and as he held it open 
 in his hand the wind caught up a crumpled piece of paper 
 and threw it at Miss Varley's feet. 
 
 Lawrence rejoined her again in a moment ; he was 
 looking rather annoyed.
 
 SON SOUVENIR. 213 
 
 " I told you old Ahmed was a merchant, didn't I ? 
 Well, he is going almost immediately. His caravan is' 
 nearly ready now ; he starts for Bagdad within three days." 
 
 She answered nothing to this. Old Ahmed and his 
 movements were equally indifferent to her. 
 
 "But, oh Mr. Lawrence," she said suddenly, "is not 
 this paper yours ? I picked it up " 
 
 He took it from her and looked at it. It was the letter 
 he had been reading an hour or two before. 
 
 " Yes, it is mine," he said in a low voice, and after a 
 slight pause. He held it in his hand in an undecided way 
 for a minute or two, then tore it deliberately across into 
 strips and flung them into the river. 
 
 " Do you know what sort of a thing is a protested note, 
 Miss Varley ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Well, that was one," pointing to the fragments and 
 speaking in a harder voice than she had ever heard him use 
 before. " There are natures," he went on presently, " so 
 absolutely truthful that they make every wilful fascination 
 seem tawdry as a stage jewel in comparison. It is fresh air 
 and sunshine after ' the perfumed shade of the forbidden 
 tree.' One respects such natures, Miss Varley," looking at 
 her with a great expression of liking in his eyes. 
 
 By this time the Major had finished his picture. He 
 came in, holding it in his hand, and very much pleased. 
 
 " Not so bad, not so bad, I think, eh Lawrence ? " con- 
 templating the sketch fondly at arm's-length. He glanced 
 about him curiously. " So this is the sort of place you talk 
 about, is it ? Nice sort of place for a hot day, perhaps. I 
 don't see much in it myself. You are coming to dine with us 
 to-night, my boy ? Nonsense ! but you must. Mrs. Thayer 
 told me to bring you ; and we don't disobey orders, do we, 
 Constance ? Hollo ! you've lost your rose," pointing to some 
 scattered petals on the floor. 
 
 " Mr. Lawrence never gave it to me," said Constance. 
 
 When they reached the hotel the first person they saw 
 was Jack Stuart, leaning against the doorpost, smoking. 
 He threw away his cigar and took off his hat as Constance 
 approached him, but otherwise he did not trouble himself to 
 move.
 
 214 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Hollo, Jack ! Why, where have you been ? and what 
 have you been doing with yourself?" said the Major. 
 
 " I have been amusing myself," said Jack shortly. It 
 seemed an unsuccessful form of entertainment by his voice. 
 
 " You ought to have been with us. Lawrence took us 
 to a cafe, and let me see ; I think you must remember 
 having met Mr. Lawrence ? " 
 
 The two young men looked up at each other and nodded 
 distantly. 
 
 " I saw you at The Farm, I think ? " 
 
 " I believe so," said Denis carelessly. 
 
 They went into the courtyard together ; the light was 
 stronger here than in the narrow street. When they reached 
 the fountain, Stuart turned and looked with keen attention 
 first at Lawrence and then at the girl. He was a shrewd 
 observer of faces, and something in her attitude as they 
 came up the street, some slight expression of languor in the 
 proud and erect carriage, the turn of her head, the shy swift 
 smile with which she answered some chance remark of her 
 companion nothing, everything had struck him with some 
 sudden intimation of the truth. " But proving nothing," he 
 told himself, "proving nothing," looking down at the plashing 
 water with a quick nervous shiver, as though the summer 
 night had suddenly grown cold. 
 
 " My glove, please, Mr. Stuart. It is there by your foot," 
 said Constance, turning. Her voice too had changed ; it 
 was gentle as ever, but tremulous, vibrating with the same 
 baffling intangible sense of change. He stooped and handed 
 her the glove, looking straight into her eyes as he did so. 
 The colour shifted uneasily upon her cheek. 
 
 " It is some lovers' quarrel," thought Lawrence, curiously, 
 watching them with coldly critical eyes. He took the Major 
 by the arm. "You have never finished that story about old 
 Johnson ? I have not seen him since we were in the hospital 
 together Swearing Johnson we used to call him there," 
 turning aside to leave the others freer. And it might have 
 been the Major's story which brought that look upon his 
 face. 
 
 The twilight deepened into darkness, a cool and odorous 
 darkness, full of faint scent of flowers and the sound of 
 water falling. The wind was hushed ; the lamp hardly
 
 SON SOUVENIR. 215 
 
 flickered by the doorway, but from time to time the small 
 new leaves overhead rustled suddenly and were still. 
 
 They were sitting out in the courtyard after dinner, all 
 of them sitting or lying upon the cushions of the divan, 
 and Davenant was at Miss Varley's feet. There was some- 
 thing about this girl which appealed irresistibly to the young 
 man's imagination a simple largeness of line and joyousness 
 of nature and repose. " She is as fresh and harmonious and 
 passionless as the early morning," he said one day quite 
 seriously to Ferris. And now, as they lounged in the 
 uncertain moonlight for now the young crescent moon had 
 climbed above the tree-tops, and the thread of water glistened, 
 the fig-leaf shadows fell upon the marble floor the charm 
 of her personality possessed him ; he offered her a secret 
 homage of sentiment as delicate and elusive as those 
 shadows. 
 
 Her fan had fallen to the ground ; he opened it wide 
 and held it up against the moonlight. 
 
 " I wrote, some verses for your fan, for your Japanese 
 fan, the other day," he said dreamily ; and after a moment, 
 and as no one answered, he began to repeat some lines, half 
 to himself, and in a low and singularly well-modulated voice : 
 
 A flowery fan for a white flower hand 
 (White cranes flying across the moon) 
 
 A breath of wind from a windless land 
 A breath in the breathless noon. 
 
 Flowers that blossom a wind that blows 
 ( White cranes sailing across the sky) 
 
 A sigh for the light love, the love that goes, 
 A flower for the loves that die ! 
 
 " Very pretty," said Fanny, as he finished, " very pretty 
 indeed. But I'm afraid you will think me sadly stupid for 
 asking and indeed it is hardly a fair question to ask but 
 what did you intend it to mean, Mr. Davenant ? " 
 
 " Ah, but I never explain things," said Davenant, in his 
 most languid tone. 
 
 There was an awkward silence, broken at last by the 
 Major's voice, inquiring of Lawrence if he knew what had 
 become of their old regimental chaplain. 
 
 " Oh, he gave up the army, and went to Paris after the
 
 216 MIRAGE. 
 
 war. He is more High Church than ever now, and has 
 an especial day for hearing young ladies confess. I heard 
 about him only the other day," said Lawrence carelessly, 
 " and curiously enough, I heard of him from a man he had 
 just converted." 
 
 The Major laughed. 
 
 " May I ask what there is so curious in that ?" said 
 Mrs. Thayer, rather sharply. 
 
 " Well," rejoined Lawrence very calmly, " perhaps there 
 is not much in it after all. Tom was only remembering 
 some old story about our chaplain the Infant Samuel, the 
 soldiers called him. I don't throw any doubt upon the 
 man's conversion myself, you will please observe. Indeed, 
 I think it highly probable. He is by no means the first 
 man who has been saved by the voice of a humble preacher 
 since the days when Balaam was saved by the voice of an 
 ass." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Fanny blankly. 
 
 And then a moment later : " Constance dear, it is really 
 growing quite chilly, and I see you have no wrap," she said 
 softly. " Don't you think it is time to leave the gentlemen 
 to their cigars and their stories ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Thayer, if you mean me, I am mute from this 
 time henceforth," said Lawrence, laughing. 
 
 Mr. Stuart sprang up : " I will fetch Constance a shawl," 
 glad of any excuse for doing something. He came back in 
 a moment. "This is yours, I think?" he said, but he did 
 not offer to put the wrap about her, and it was Ferris who 
 took it out of his hand. 
 
 " Mr. Stuart has exhibited his taste. You should always 
 wear white, Miss Varley," said Lawrence, " soft flexible 
 white things like this," taking up a corner of the drapery. 
 It was almost the first time he had spoken to her that 
 evening, and she turned to him at once with a soft sudden 
 stir of pleasure. 
 
 "Yes," she answered simply, drawing the shawl more 
 closely about her. 
 
 The moon had long since vanished behind the dark and 
 rustling trees ; the sky was pale and starlit and very 
 silent. 
 
 " A night for music," said Davenant, " for the sound of
 
 SON SOUVENIR. 217 
 
 falling water, and the clear notes of stringed instruments, 
 and song." 
 
 " You used to sing once upon a time, Lawrence ?" 
 " Oh yes, do," said Mrs. Thayer suavely. She had a 
 strong antipathy to Lawrence. 
 
 The young man hesitated a moment ; he looked up at 
 Constance. "I don't know," he began doubtfully; and 
 then, as still she did not speak, he moved slightly, and 
 leaning on his elbow, looking up at the pale luminous sky 
 above him, and in a clear and singularly flexible voice, he 
 began to sing : 
 
 \Vie heisst Konig Ringang's Tochterlein ? 
 Rohtraut, Schon- Rohtraut ! 
 
 In the faint half-light Stuart could see the girl start and 
 lean forward at the first familiar notes ; but what could he, 
 what could any of them know of the deep and passionate 
 sadness and longing which filled her heart at the sound of 
 those old and unforgotten words ? 
 
 Darauf sie ritten schweigend heim, 
 
 Rohtraut, Schon-Rohtraut ! 
 Es jauchzt der Knab' in seinem Sinn ; 
 Und wiirdst du heute Kaiserin 
 Mich sollst nicht Kranken : 
 Ihr tausend Blatter im Walde wisst 
 Ich hab' Schon-Rohtraut's Mund gekiisst 
 Schweig stille, mem Herz, schweig still ! 
 
 He had begun carelessly enough, but as the sentiment 
 of the lines touched his imagination, his voice deepened 
 and gained in tone. The- last words were given with a 
 curious and passionate restraint, and as he ended and for 
 a moment no one spoke only the splash of the fountain 
 sounded through the silence. 
 
 " That is a very old song, you know," he said at last, 
 turning to Constance. 
 
 " I remember it," the girl said quickly ; and then, as 
 Mrs. Thayer moved, she too arose, and they all walked on 
 together towards the house. 
 
 The " Good-nights " were said at the foot of the stair- 
 way leading to the upper gallery surrounding the court. 
 
 " Good-night, Constance dear," said Mrs. Thayer, leaning 
 over this balustrade.
 
 218 MIRAGE. 
 
 The girl was waiting while Lawrence lighted her candle. 
 
 " Well, Constance, good-night," said the Major, turning 
 to follow the young men to the door. 
 
 A lamp was burning at the foot of the staircase ; its 
 light shone full upon her face. She was strangely pale, and 
 her eyes were dewy and dark with emotion ; they glistened 
 in the light as she took her candle from Denis. 
 
 " Good-night, Mr. Lawrence," she said shyly. She went 
 up a step or two and looked back at him, " Good-night ! " 
 
 The young man started. " Won't you give me your 
 hand?" he said. He just touched her fingers. "Good- 
 night, Constance." 
 
 She lifted her eyes for an instant and looked at him. 
 Without another word she turned and went slowly up the 
 stairs. Her room fronted the street. The window was 
 open and the flickering flare of a street-lamp streamed redly 
 in as she entered. She locked the door behind her, and 
 set her candle down upon the table. A mirror hung before 
 her ; she leaned both hands upon the table, she looked 
 long and earnestly at the reflection in the tarnished frame. 
 
 " After three years ! " she said aloud. 
 
 The sound of her own voice startled her. She gazed 
 fixedly at the face in the glass, and, as she gazed, a wave of 
 happy colour swept over her delicate cheek. 
 
 " Good-night, Constance, you happy Constance ! " she 
 whispered under her breath. Her face burned ; she put up 
 her hands before it. She leaned over with a sudden motion 
 and blew out the light.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ONE SIDE OF THE QUESTION. 
 
 MEANWHILE the young men had gathered about the street- 
 door; they were talking and lighting their pipes. It was 
 rather late that evening to go anywhere ; would not Mr. 
 Stuart come round to their lodgings with them and have 
 something, Mr. Ferris suggested politely. There was some 
 very fair Lebanon wine. 
 
 " Oh, bother the rooms!" said Davenant quickly; "come 
 round to the cafe and hear some native music." 
 
 " The dancing-girls here were not worth looking at after 
 Cairo," Mr. Lawrence remarked confidentially to his cigar. 
 
 " Thank you," said Stuart stiffly, " I'm engaged ; " and 
 there was an intentional emphasis of refusal in his manner 
 which made the others turn and stare. 
 
 " Well," began Davenant, as Jack walked off, " well, of 
 all the cheeky " 
 
 " Be quiet," said Ferris, in a stage whisper. " Perhaps," 
 he went on aloud, "we may be more fortunate with you than 
 with your cousin, Major ? " 
 
 As for Stuart, he went down by the river, he sat on the 
 parapet of the bridge and stared at the dark swift water 
 rushing by through the night, with the dumbness of baffled 
 desire in a nature which knew no expression for itself but 
 action. All the strong common sense, which was the domi- 
 nant quality in the young man's character, warned him 
 against the encroaching influence of Constance. 
 
 " If I can't do anything else I can go away," he thought 
 desperately. " I'll go away and leave her," taking up a 
 stone and flinging it savagely at the nearest pariah-dog. The
 
 220 MIRAGE. 
 
 animal limped away with a sharp yelp of discomfiture, and 
 even in the depths of his misery the young man could not 
 restrain a smile. It died away as suddenly as it had come. 
 He turned back towards the hotel. There was a light still 
 shining in her room as he came down the street ; but even 
 as he turned to look at it again a shadow moved quickly 
 across the curtain, and the candle was blown out. 
 
 The courtyard was empty and quiet enough when he 
 reached it. He met no one on his way to his room but a 
 sleepy servant, who sprang up from the mat on which he was 
 dreaming to salute Stuart gravely as he passed. The others 
 had long since gone their different ways. 
 
 " Oh, come along and take a walk, Lawrence," Davenant 
 had suggested, as they passed down the narrow street. 
 
 Ferris laughed. " I believe you two fellows never sleep 
 at all," he said with lazy amusement. And so the young 
 men parted. 
 
 It was a quiet and very beautiful night. They strolled 
 along the river's bank for some distance beyond the town. 
 The sky overhead was pale and luminous with the wan 
 radiance of the stars, and out here in the open fields the 
 world seemed larger ; the damp wind from the water blew 
 more freshly about them. 
 
 "Ah," said Davenant, "this was indeed worth coming 
 for ; " taking off his hat and letting the breeze play coolly 
 about his bared forehead and throat. He threw himself 
 down on the short close grass by the river's brink. "Sit 
 down, Lawrence, won't you ? " 
 
 They sat there a long time in silence, listening to the 
 water's stealthy flow. The river poured by them through 
 the open fields, dark and mobile and dumb. 
 
 " Black as the waters of accursed Styx," said Davenant 
 dreamily. He turned, leaning upon his elbow : " Lawrence ! " 
 
 " I hear." 
 
 " That girl is in love with you," abruptly. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence did not answer for a moment. " If you 
 mean that for a joke, Davenant " 
 
 " A joke ! I ? and on such a night, in this divine 
 silence ? I would as soon I would as soon think of writing 
 a parody on the ' Antigone,' " the young man said indig- 
 nantly. And then, as Denis did not answer : " I said that
 
 ONE SIDE OF THE QUESTION. 221 
 
 girl was in love with you," he repeated placidly ; " and so 
 she is. I don't think she knows it, though. I hope she 
 won't find it out, myself. You would not wish her to, 
 either, if you could only have seen the divine melancholy in 
 her eyes while you were singing. I thought of Shelley's 
 ' Prometheus ' : 
 
 Thine eyes are like the deep, blue, boundless heaven 
 Contracted to two circles underneath, 
 Their long fine lashes, dark, far, measureless, 
 Orb within orb, and line through line enwoven. 
 
 And then, don't you remember ? Panthea asks : 
 Why lookest thou as if a spirit passed ? 
 
 No, I hope that she will never know that she has loved 
 you." 
 
 Lawrence moved uneasily. 
 
 " I don't know whether you are aware of it, my boy, but 
 you are certainly talking greater rubbish than usual, it seems 
 to me," forcing a careless laugh. 
 
 He took up a stone and flung it into the water. 
 
 " Miss Varley and I only say it to put a stop to a a 
 ridiculous discussion into which her name should not be 
 brought Miss Varley is engaged to be married to Stuart," 
 bringing out the last words with great distinctness. 
 
 "Well?" said Davenant simply. 
 
 The reply staggered him. 
 
 " Well why, man, don't you understand English ? She 
 is engaged to be married, I tell you ; has been in love with 
 the fellow for years for all I know to the contrary ; and then, 
 because she listens to a beautiful song, with some human 
 
 sentiment, you want me to believe You might as well 
 
 tell me I was in love with Mrs. Thayer," with a short laugh. 
 
 " Mrs. Thayer," said Davenant seriously, " is a very 
 pretty woman. She reminds me of nothing so much as of 
 a paper doll. I can see no use for natures of that quality 
 in the world, if it is not to serve to heighten and intensify, 
 by force of contrast, the divine anguish of thinkers and 
 poets. Yes, they have their use, perhaps, after all. But as 
 for Miss Varley are all her people Americans, Lawrence?" 
 
 "No; I don't know."
 
 222 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Because it would be an interesting fact to verify. As 
 a mere matter of opinion, I feel convinced she has European 
 blood in her. Perhaps on her mother's side ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Lawrence. 
 
 " You see," said Davenant, thoughtfully, " the few 
 American women I have known impressed me rather diffe- 
 rently. It's a commonplace to say that they lack sentiment, 
 but a commonplace fact. They are lovely, but they have no 
 hold upon the imagination ; their very beauty affects me 
 like the keen and brilliant sunshine of a windy day. Now, 
 
 Miss Varley to go back to what we were saying you're 
 
 not asleep, Lawrence ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Miss Varley is quite different. When I look at that 
 girl and realise the beautiful artistic capacity for suffering, 
 and for deep passionate emotion in that nature, and then 
 when I look at Mr. Stuart and reflect upon the hideously 
 comfortable and bourgeois happiness he will stifle her under 
 Lawrence," said Davenant, raising himself up and speak- 
 ing with a mournful solemnity, " I feel as though I were 
 seeing some piece of rare and exquisite Venetian glass 
 some thin, priceless, wave-tinted marvel of beauty given 
 over into the hands of a German beer-drinker. I feel as 
 though I were witnessing a sacrilege." 
 
 " Oh, come now," said Lawrence sharply, " Stuart isn't a 
 bad fellow in his way." 
 
 " Bad ? oh dear no. He's quite incapable of badness, 
 poor devil !" said Davenant, with serene compassion. " He 
 hasn't even the consciousness of his superb brute force. 
 Think of the calm sweet exultation of a Greek in such per- 
 fection of physical power ! And he ! I was looking at him 
 this evening ; why the fellow does not even know how 
 handsome he is," with a faint smile of contempt. 
 
 "Ah well, other people are not so blind, perhaps," 
 Lawrence suggested with a short laugh. He rolled over 
 and leaned his face upon his hands, looking down at the 
 swift moving darkness below him. The very silence of the 
 night seemed full of remembrance and subtle suggestion. 
 He moved uneasily. " You are ready to go home, 
 Davenant ?" 
 
 " I was thinking," the young man said dreamily, " if I
 
 ONE SIDE OF THE QUESTION. 223 
 
 were richer, and ten years older, I should marry Miss Varley 
 myself." 
 
 " You marry Miss Varley !" 
 
 " Oh, there are objections, I know." He spoke placidly, 
 and precisely in the manner with which he would have dis- 
 cussed some old picture. " There are many other emotions 
 I wish to experience before I marry emotions absolutely 
 essential to the artistic consummation of a life. I was think- 
 ing more of Miss Varley when I spoke. And yet, do you 
 know, I can quite well imagine that Mr. Stuart would be an 
 agreeable lover? He's a good-natured creature, and very 
 pleasant to look at, and love modern love I mean not 
 the fatal demoniac possession of the Greek poets, but the 
 love of these latter days sad with insatiable desire, faint 
 with pity, and overshadowed with the awful sense of its own 
 import and brevity the modern passion of love," said 
 Mr. Davenant reflectively, " is, to my thinking, like the 
 mirage of the desert a semblance, a reflection of far-off 
 beauty cast upon shifting sands." 
 
 " You have tried it, of course ? " said Lawrence dryly. 
 
 "And in all probability," Davenant continued he did 
 not pay the smallest attention to the interruption " in all 
 probability they will be married, and be as disgustingly con- 
 tented with the polite inanities of life as all the other members 
 of society one knows. Still, I don't know, I have some hope 
 for Miss Varley." 
 
 " Some hope that she may be picturesquely miserable, 
 perhaps ? " 
 
 " A-hope that this unconscious love of hers and I really 
 can assure you that the higher part of that girl's nature is in 
 love with you, Lawrence a hope, I say, that this love may 
 prove a saving influence in her future life a beautiful grave 
 in which she will keep her soul, as in a place out of sight 
 a holy place, 'full of the sound of the sorrow of years.' I 
 think, in your place, I should not have allowed that " 
 mildly " and yet perhaps you are right. It may be one of 
 those sublime sacrifices to self which art demands. Your 
 life is formed already, and it might be very fatal to a man's 
 artistic development to marry young, don't you think ? " 
 
 Lawrence did not answer. He was quietly stretched out 
 on the grass listening. No other man alive would have been
 
 224 MIRAGE. 
 
 allowed to speak to him in this fashion, he thought ; but this 
 boy, Davenant, Claude why, his very unconsciousness of 
 offence privileged him. He lay there a few minutes longer, 
 quite motionless. Perhaps he was waiting to hear if Davenant 
 had no more to say ; but as the younger man remained silent, 
 he got up presently with some inarticulate exclamation and 
 walked away. Davenant let him go without a word. 
 
 He walked on restlessly. It was a warm still night, but 
 he shivered nervously as he flung himself down beside the 
 river, pressing both hands before his face, with a resolute 
 effort to think it over calmly and dispassionately this 
 strange revelation he had heard. 
 
 And, to begin with, what truth was there in it ? At 
 another time he might have scoffed at the very idea, passing 
 it over as the idle chatter of a romantic boy ; but here, 
 to-night, with the recollection of the look she had given him 
 still vividly before him no, it was not all a jest ! with a 
 sudden curious thrill of excitement. He was not in the 
 least in love with Constance. No ! He asked himself the 
 question gravely, and the answer was still the same. In 
 love ! Why, up to this morning he had quite forgotten the 
 girl's existence. And she had been a child when he had 
 known her before a mere child and then to suppose that 
 she would have remembered him all these years ! It was 
 preposterous, looking up with a half-apologetic smile at his 
 own folly. 
 
 He got up, humming an air carelessly, and pacing to and 
 fro along the path between the thin dark trees. 
 
 He thrust his hand in his pocket and took out his pipe. 
 A quiet smoke would set him all right, perhaps. He was 
 nervous, uneasy. "There must be thunder in the air," 
 looking about him curiously. 
 
 . The starry sky overhead was clear and bare of clouds. 
 The sleeping city lay dark, huddled, and silent at his feet. 
 The river flowed between him and the houses, flowed noise- 
 less and shadowy between the ramparts of its banks. There 
 was nothing stirring in these wide open fields nothing but 
 the damp river-wind touching his face like a caress. 
 
 He let his hand drop irresolutely to his side. What did 
 this boy know of the real needs of men and women ? " This 
 world and life's too big to pass for a dream" he muttered to
 
 ONE SIDE OF THE QUESTION. 225 
 
 himself, passing his hand impatiently across his face. But 
 was it a dream ? 
 
 All day long he seemed to have been under the influence 
 of some inexplicable emotion something of too impalpable 
 a nature to be grasped and throttled and thrust away ; and 
 Davenant's words seemed only to have given the phantom 
 
 form and substance, and yet It was absurd. He ought 
 
 not to think of it. He would not think of it. 
 
 He sat down beside the bank again and looked moodily 
 at the water. Well, granted the worst, granted that she was 
 in love with him unconsciously in love had Davenant said ? 
 what then ? There was this Stuart she was engaged to 
 marry a pleasant manly fellow Davenant abused him, to 
 be sure ; but then, what did that signify ? Claude was full 
 of these odd dislikes. A man whom all her friends approved 
 of; a good match too, he believed trying to remember 
 some story he had heard about Stuart's father. Yes, a good 
 match, and madly in love with her, that was easy enough to 
 see. A suitable marriage in every way, his reason told him. 
 And as for Constance Varley well ! granting again the girl 
 had had some other fancy, why, women got over these 
 fancies in time they got over most things he told himself 
 with a smile. 
 
 Ordinary women yes ; but Constance ? The sweet 
 grave face rose up before him distinctly a face as loyal and 
 simple as a child's. She had always seemed to him the 
 most absolutely truthful creature he had ever known, this 
 little friend of his, thinking of her with a touch of tenderness 
 as of a child. But was it a child's face that had looked into 
 his on the stairs that night ? In that one brief glance he 
 seemed to have read all the passion of surrender of a 
 human soul. He thought of it now with a certain reticence, 
 with a sense of profanation, a chivalric respect for the 
 woman's heart she had betrayed. He could soon turn this 
 sentiment into love if he liked he could do that with a 
 sudden flash of troubled delight ; but who was he to do it ? 
 The young noble figure seemed to his imagination like one 
 moving apart, looking down with beautiful ignorant eyes 
 upon the turmoil and stain of life ; and was it for him to 
 bring her to its level ? And then the thought would come 
 again he did not love her. No. A whole world of dead 
 desires, " old memories, faiths infirm and dead," seemed
 
 226 MIRAGE. 
 
 lying deep between him and the glance of those tender 
 wistful eyes. But she was a good girl very good poor 
 little Constance ! 
 
 And then, for the first time in years, he thought long 
 and steadily of his wife, going back over the old story with 
 grave compassion and regret. And, good God ! how little 
 he had missed her ! He thought how he had seen her that 
 last day, full of eager demands and fancies jealous, poor 
 child ! of his very mother's love. Her life seemed to have 
 gone out suddenly a mere pebble tossed into the sea ; 
 gone down, out of sight. Lawrence was not what is tech- 
 nically called a religious man, but he had something of the 
 soul, something of the sensitive imagination of a poet. He 
 looked up now with a sudden passionate appeal at that 
 mute and fatal sky. 
 
 The after years came back to him, in that strange 
 unfamiliar hush before the dawn one after one the fruitless 
 years came back with question of their use. He saw 
 himself again a boy at home ; a young man facing life 
 eager, expectant, self-reliant ready to answer to any call, 
 full of all generous enthusiasm and purpose ; and all this 
 but such a short time ago ! And how could it have been 
 otherwise ? He was not a man addicted to morbid self- 
 study the very inherent logic of his French blood would 
 have saved him from that; but to-night he seemed, as 
 never before, to look back upon his past experience as on 
 an inevitable and fatal progress from the delight of desire to 
 the quiet acceptance of defeat. For these were things 
 which were over for him now. 
 
 He looked the fact steadily in the face saw it as 
 any other practical man could have done unbiassed by 
 its relation to himself. It was over looking up gravely 
 and Constance, perhaps, all unconscious, had saved him 
 from the greatest mistake of his life. A vestal virgin with 
 a quiet smile at Davenant's fancy a vestal virgin rescuing 
 another's existence by the mere fact of her own serenepresence. 
 He got up from his place and walked slowly back to 
 where he had left Davenant. The lad had fallen asleep by 
 the river. One arm was thrown back under his head, and 
 his pale large -featured face was uncovered to the sky. 
 He was sleeping as quietly as a tired boy. Lawrence did 
 not awaken him. He stood looking down at him a moment,
 
 ONE SIDE OF THE QUESTION. 227 
 
 listening to his peaceful breathing. How many other 
 fellows he had seen lying just so on those old battle-fields 
 at the South. Men who had given their lives for some- 
 thing, while he 
 
 And there were chances for him yet yes, chances. He 
 had plenty of talent ; something of the old hunger for work 
 coming back at the thought. 
 
 He sat down presently, clasping his hands behind his 
 head and staring up above him at the paling stars. Yes, a 
 vestal. Davenant was right. The day might come perhaps 
 when he should tell her of it. It should come, if she chose ; 
 an eager smile coming over his mouth and eyes. If she 
 chose. And if not well, the child's life would not have 
 been disturbed for nothing ; and she should never know. 
 There should never be a word to bring a look of trouble 
 into that grave, sweet, innocent face. 
 
 The brief southern night had been waning while he 
 pondered. Already there was a breath of moaning in the 
 blue-gray air about him ; the sky was paling ; the river ran 
 more blackly across the open fields, with here and there 
 the glitter of a star upon its rapid current. In the last few 
 minutes the light had been creeping steadily all about him. 
 The trees on the hillside began to detach themselves one 
 by one from the confused mass of their fellows. The far-off 
 mountain-peaks were growing darker, the colour was faintly 
 stealing back across the meadows,, and already a tint of 
 yellow light was stirring in the eastern sky. 
 
 The wind was growing chilly with the dawn. 
 
 " Wake up, Davenant," Lawrence said ; " you can't sleep 
 here any longer, old fellow," bending over and touching the 
 other's arm. 
 
 " Hollo, what's the row ? " said Davenant, springing to 
 his feet. 
 
 The other man laughed. 
 
 " You haven't caught cold, my boy ? " laying his hand 
 kindly on the lad's shoulder. 
 
 " Why, what did you wake me for ? " Davenant asked, 
 looking about him with a bewildered air. "Why, Lawrence, 
 the morning hasn't come ? " 
 
 And Lawrence, too, looked about him confidently. 
 
 " It will be morning soon," he said. 
 
 Q 2
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 THE next morning, at about eleven o'clock, Major Thayer's 
 dragoman, Hassan, was quietly sitting at the entrance of the 
 hotel, smoking a nargileh. He had not long since returned 
 from the bazaar, whither he had accompanied his party, 
 leaving them safely in the hands of " one very good guide," 
 when a stress of important business absolutely necessitated 
 his departure ; and now, as he sat in the cool and quiet 
 courtyard, puffing meditatively at his pipe, and from time to 
 time consulting the rows of figures in his private account- 
 book, a gentle satisfaction was slowly creeping over his 
 anxious and weather-beaten countenance ; he looked with 
 benign indifference in the faces of the passers-by. 
 
 He might have been sitting in this way for perhaps a 
 quarter of an hour, when a sudden and unaccustomed sound 
 disturbed the dignified silence of the street, and a moment 
 after a cumbersome travelling-carriage rolled slowly into 
 sight. Hassan looked at it with some attention. 
 
 " It is Mahmoud the son of Abdallah, Mahmoud of 
 Beyrout," he said to himself presently, as the equipage drew 
 near enough for him to distinguish the features of the 
 gaudily-dressed individual on the box beside the coachman; 
 nor did the old man move or look up again as the horses 
 drew up with a flourish before the hotel door. 
 
 The new-comers were three in number two ladies, and 
 a tall elderly man dressed in black, with a white scarf about 
 his hat, who got out first, accepting Mahmoud's proffered 
 help with a certain awkwardness, and then waving him aside 
 and turning slowly and stiffly to assist the ladies out. The
 
 THE OTHER SIDE. 229 
 
 first to descend was a small active-looking woman, with 
 short high-kilted skirts, and a girl's hat pushed back from 
 the faded eager face. 
 
 " Dear me, Edwin, is this the hotel ? " she demanded. 
 " Why, I thought it was an old palace. I'm sure the guide- 
 book says so. Dear me ! And is this man smoking, the 
 landlord ? We want three rooms front rooms and a salon 
 
 and What, not the landlord ? Where is the landlord, 
 
 then ? " turning sharply to Hassan. 
 
 "The man Mahmoud attends to that, my dear," the tall 
 man in black remarked slowly. 
 
 And at the same moment the lady in the carriage 
 looked round. " My dear Mrs. Gard, pray do not give 
 yourself the trouble. Mahmoud will make all those arrange- 
 ments for me, and oh, Mahmoud, voulez-vous prenez the 
 ah, the basket, you know," pointing to a silken roll upon 
 the seat before her. " My little pet is fast asleep still," pat- 
 ting the bundle with her plump and well-gloved hand. 
 
 But by this time the news of the arrival had spread all 
 over the house ; the turbaned landlord appeared, bowing in 
 grave welcome, and half-a-dozen servants began taking out 
 the various rugs, fur cloaks, and cushions with which the 
 carriage was filled. The lady followed last of all, her short 
 fat person almost disappearing under the voluminous character 
 of her wraps. 
 
 " You will inquire if Major Thayer is in the house, 
 Mahmoud," she said, slipping her hand under Mrs. Card's 
 thin arm. 
 
 "Yes, my lady." 
 
 " And order tea." 
 
 " Yes, my lady." 
 
 " And ah, yes the basket. I cannot bear to have the 
 poor darling out of my sight. I am sure that if he waked 
 he would miss me," turning with a complacent smile to 
 Mr. Gard. 
 
 " I was not aware," that gentleman began slowly, "I was 
 not previously aware that the animals belonging to this 
 species " 
 
 " Beg your pardons, gentleman," said Hassan, rising 
 gravely, "but I think you ask Major Thayer? The Major 
 my gentleman."
 
 2 3 o MIRAGE. 
 
 "Ah," said the last comer, looking at him with some 
 interest, "you are Major Thayer's dragoman, then? Very 
 curious he should not find anything more useful for you to 
 do. Go at once and tell him I am waiting for him, if you 
 please : Mrs. Van Ness you will not forget the name." 
 
 She turned and mounted the stair, still leaning upon 
 Mrs. Gard. The rooms which had been assigned to her 
 were in the front of the house. " The best there are, I 
 suppose ? " she said, looking about her critically ; " it does 
 not make much difference for a day or two. I shall not 
 remain here longer. And oh, very well, Mahmoud ; put 
 the basket down there, in the sun. Excuse me, Mrs. Gard, 
 but if you would not mind moving I am sure my little pet 
 will enjoy that chair. And Mahmoud ! " 
 
 "My lady?" 
 
 " Go," said Mrs. Van Ness, sinking down upon the sofa, 
 " go at once, at once, you understand and find Major 
 Thayer. And tell the man below I shall not need the 
 carriage." 
 
 "Yes, my lady," said Mahmoud, bowing and shutting 
 the door so respectfully and noiselessly behind him that 
 Mrs. Van Ness could not repress an approving smile. 
 " That poor creature quite worships me. I call it touching 
 to see that kind of devotion in a common person," she 
 observed languidly. There was a tacit war going on between 
 Mrs. Gard and the dragoman. She looked up grimly now, 
 setting her pale coarse lips more firmly together. "I do not 
 believe it," she said. 
 
 Meanwhile the subject of these remarks was passing with 
 the utmost deliberation through the courtyard where Hassan 
 was still smoking in the shade, and talking to the driver. 
 
 " Well ? " said the latter, looking up with some anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, you had better wait," remarked the younger 
 dragoman carelessly. " She may not use you, but she pays 
 all the same." He turned to Hassan. "Your beautiful 
 boy is well, God willing ? " with a grave inclination of his 
 supple and sumptuously-clad figure. 
 
 " My son," said the old man slowly, " is well ; may God 
 avert the omen ! He will be better, oh Mahmoud, when thy 
 father hath repaid me for those stores." 
 
 There was a moment's silence.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE, 231 
 
 " My father is an old man," said Mahmoud presently ; 
 " his beard is white." 
 
 "They were English stores," said Hassan slowly, 
 " potted meats and pickles." 
 
 " The season has been bad." 
 
 " Forty bottles of pickles," said Hassan, looking at his 
 pipe, " and the preserved meat of the howadji." 
 
 " My father will try the case with you, for know that 
 there are law-courts in Beyrout, oh Hassan." 
 
 " What," said the old man with a sneer, " has the cadi 
 then ceased to be thine uncle?" 
 
 Mahmoud did not seem to have heard this remark. He 
 drew an embroidered pouch from his belt, and began rolling 
 a cigarette between his dexterous yellow fingers. 
 
 They smoked for several moments without speaking. 
 
 " Do your howadji stay here long ? " he asked finally, a 
 conciliating smile creeping over his insolent and servile 
 face. 
 
 " God knows." 
 
 " My lady is a great American princess. The money 
 flies from her hands like the sand before the wind. But 
 God hath visited her with the curse of the Englishman ; she 
 cannot remain still. If," said Mahmoud suddenly, " thy 
 howadji remain, she too will tarry in Damascus the blest ; 
 and if she tarries thou shalt be paid, oh Hassan, thy just 
 debt, yes, and something over." 
 
 Hassan looked up : " The debt in full ? " 
 
 " By the beard of the Prophet ! " 
 
 The old man took off his fez and passed his hand 
 through his venerable gray hair. " Mashallah. In the name 
 of God, so be it ! " he said solemnly. 
 
 It was nearly twelve o'clock when Constance returned 
 from the bazaar. She went up to her room ; the door was 
 open, and Fanny was standing before the mirror, looking at 
 herself with an expression of deep anxiety. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, dear ?" the girl asked, stopping 
 in the doorway. 
 
 " Constance," said Mrs. Thayer, impressively, " Aunt 
 Van has arrived." 
 
 " Aunt Van ! When ? Where is she ? I'll go and see 
 her."
 
 232 MIRAGE. 
 
 " She has been here perhaps an hour," said Fanny 
 mournfully, " and she has brought a clergyman and his wife 
 with her, my dear people she picked up on the way, I 
 suppose ; and she has got a tame lizard in a basket ; and 
 she has made me pull this hat to pieces and change my way 
 of dressing my hair." 
 
 Constance laughed. 
 
 " Where is she ? You make Aunt Van twice as unreason- 
 able by being so afraid of her, Fanny. Now she never does 
 those thing to me. Poor old auntie ! " 
 
 " Poor old Well ! " with a resigned sigh, " she is 
 
 waiting for you, you know." And then as Constance still 
 lingered in the doorway : " That dress becomes you ; you are 
 looking very well to-day," said Fanny thoughtfully. And 
 indeed, within these last two days, the girl's large and noble 
 beauty had seemed to awaken into new colour and life, 
 blossoming out like a rose that feels the stirring of the 
 summer about its secret and folded leaves. There was a 
 change in her face too a look of dependence ; something 
 more childish and yielding in the expression of the proud- 
 cut mouth. " A handsome girl," Fanny thought, looking 
 after her critically ; " a little larger than I like to see a 
 woman though," with true American distrust of flesh and 
 blood. 
 
 Mrs. Card too looked curiously and attentively at 
 Constance as she entered her aunt's room. Mrs. Van Ness 
 had all the garrulity of a selfish woman, and it is probable 
 that her present companion knew somewhat more about 
 Miss Varley's private affairs than that young lady ever 
 imagined. She came in now with rather a pleased look 
 upon her face. 
 
 "Well, Aunt Van!" 
 
 Mrs. Van Ness was standing beside the window. She 
 turned and embraced her niece with effusion, with a lingering 
 pressure to her ample bosom, a soft rustle of silks, a faint 
 scattering of familiar perfume on the air, which carried 
 Constance back to the very earliest associations of her child- 
 hood. 
 
 " Ah," she said, pressing her warm plump hand heavily 
 upon the girl's shoulder, " ah, my dear, I am so very glad 
 you have come at last. It seems quite romantic meetin
 
 THE OTHER SIDE. 233 
 
 you here. Fanny has told me everything. I have a thousand 
 things to ask you." 
 
 Here Mrs. Gard got up and left the room. 
 
 " You remember her, of course ? The clergyman's wife 
 at Bellevue. A good creature and perfectly devoted to me. 
 She cannot bear the courier ; and if you knew the trouble I 
 have between the two ! Why, they are both as jealous 
 
 about me It's quite touching, I assure you," said 
 
 Mrs. Van Ness languidly. She sank back upon the sofa. 
 " You have not told me what you think of my lizard, 
 Constance." 
 
 Constance turned and looked at the animal in question, 
 who was sunning himself complacently upon a cushion on 
 the floor. 
 
 " It seems so like home to see you with your pets, 
 Aunt Van." 
 
 " He is such a romantic little darling, I could not live 
 without him. I am quite devoted to him. Mahmoud got 
 him for me this morning at Beyrout. He nearly bit 
 Mr. Card's finger off on the way down here ; the poor dear 
 man is so clumsy." 
 
 " I don't remember Mr. Gard," said Constance. 
 
 " Why, the clergyman at Bellevue, my dear ; the man 
 who had sunstroke. You are looking very well yourself, 
 Constance. Come here, and sit by me. Fanny has told 
 me all about Mr. Stuart, you know," said Mrs. Van Ness 
 suddenly. "I know old Mr. Stuart. My dear husband 
 used to bank with him ; and I congratulate you, my dear," 
 patting her niece approvingly upon the shoulder. 
 
 " Aunt Van " 
 
 " There, my dear, there. You need say nothing more 
 about it. I understand," said the little lady on the sofa, with 
 a gracious and patronising air. " It is true that at one time 
 I had other views for you, Constance ; but, taking everything 
 altogether " 
 
 " This is really too absurd," said the girl, getting up im- 
 patiently and nearly knocking over the lizard. " My dear 
 Aunt Van " 
 
 " My dear Constance ; there is not the slightest use in 
 your arguing with me upon the subject. I will not for a 
 moment imagine that my niece my niece, I say could
 
 234 MIRAGE. 
 
 have given any young man the encouragement you have 
 given Mr. Stuart without 
 
 " I have never given Mr. Stuart the slightest encourage- 
 ment." 
 
 " Without having considered all the consequences ! A 
 young woman of your age, Constance " 
 
 " I am only one-and-twenty, Aunt Van." 
 
 "A young woman of one-and-twenty is a responsible 
 person," said Mrs. Van Ness severely, while the lizard 
 blinked approvingly from his cushion in the sun. And then, 
 and with an increasing coldness of manner, she proceeded to 
 ask her niece a few questions. Had Constance then abso- 
 lutely no plans or intentions for the future ? had she then no 
 idea of the state of her father's affairs ? 
 
 " What you are expecting or what you are waiting for I 
 confess I am unable to understand. You are of age, and I 
 might wash my hands of your affairs. I have not," said 
 Mrs. Van Ness, pressing her perfumed handkerchief against 
 her pale and glittering eyes, " I have not been accustomed 
 to much confidence from you, Constance ; but still, as your 
 only near relative, as an old aunt who has always been kind 
 to you, and proud of you, and 
 
 " Dear Aunt Van," said the girl, kneeling down quickly 
 beside her and trying to take her hand. 
 
 " And when I think," went on the handkerchief, " that I 
 used to imagine that that you cared for me '"' 
 
 "You know," said Constance earnestly, " that I am not 
 ungrateful." 
 
 " Ah gratitude ! " 
 
 " If there is anything I can do to prove it " 
 
 The handkerchief dropped. 
 
 " Then why won't you marry Mr. Stuart ? " demanded its 
 owner briskly, looking sharply at her niece. 
 
 The girl's face flushed. She made an effort to rise, but 
 the jewelled ringers were laid upon her arm. 
 
 " Poor Jack ! " she said bitterly. " I don't think he 
 would thank you for this, Aunt Van. I don't care for him. 
 If Fanny has told you everything, perhaps she has not for- 
 gotten to tell you that. I don't love him ; I Good 
 
 heavens ! " she said suddenly, getting up to her feet, her 
 proud lips beginning to tremble a little as she spoke, " am
 
 THE OTHER SIDE. 235 
 
 I to marry a man simply because he is a good match 
 because he has money ? Other girls I " 
 
 " Other girls fall in love, Constance. I presume that is 
 what you mean, although I must say I had not expected to 
 hear this sort of objection from a practical and sensible 
 young woman like yourself," with a cutting little laugh. 
 " However, so be it. We will consider it settled that you 
 are waiting for some young man whom you can love. 
 Excuse me, my dear ; that is precisely what you have been 
 saying. And therefore, as you will not marry, may I ask 
 what you intend to do ? You are not bad-looking," 
 said Mrs. Van Ness calmly, " and I have heard that people 
 consider you clever. As my niece you will always have a 
 certain entree into society, although I cannot imagine the use 
 this privilege will be to you, living upon a secluded country 
 farm in the society of a parcel of children and your step- 
 mother. It is no affair of mine, my dear. You are old 
 enough to decide these questions for yourself. No ; excuse 
 me, I am not angry. Mrs. Varley, (t perp'etuite, is perhaps 
 hardly the companionship I should have chosen for you," 
 said Mrs. Van Ness, shrugging her shoulders contemp- 
 tuously ; " but there is no accounting for tastes in this world. 
 Be kind enough to ring the bell, Constance. My head 
 aches," pressing two jewelled fingers languidly against hei 
 forehead ; " I wish to order tea." 
 
 The girl put out her hand and complied with the request 
 mechanically. There was something in the warm and over- 
 perfumed atmosphere of the room, in the familiar tones of 
 her aunt's voice, in the very look of her cold blue eyes, which 
 overpowered Constance with a feeling of mental lassitude 
 and discouragement. All the hope and dream of the last 
 few days seemed degraded and outraged by this chilling 
 flood of common sense. Mrs. Van Ness had the faculty of 
 a prosaic nature she made beautiful things seem impossible. 
 
 " I shall not say anything more about this matter," she 
 went on now with deliberation. " You are quite mistaken 
 in supposing I have ever urged you to marry money. It is 
 the commonest thing in the world " (pensively). " Look 
 at Fanny Thayer, look at half the people you know. 
 Mr. Lawrence Fanny tells me he spent the evening with 
 you yesterday."
 
 236 MIRAGE. 
 
 11 Yes ; " in a low voice, after a slight pause. 
 
 Mrs. Van Ness looked keenly at her niece. 
 
 " Mr. Lawrence is a case in point. I knew his wife a 
 little thin creature, with a pretty face ; a cousin of the 
 
 Edward Poynter who married But what was I saying? 
 
 ah, yes, about your friend Mr. Lawrence ; he married his 
 wife for money, notoriously. His own fortune had gone with 
 the war the Lawrences' fortunes are always going with 
 something 
 
 " I think," said Constance, suddenly bending over and 
 looking at the lizard, " I think that Mr. Lawrence was very 
 fond of his wife." 
 
 " Has he told you so ? Nonsense, my dear child. 
 That is the difference between a man and a woman," said 
 Mrs. Van Ness meditatively ; " the longer a man is married 
 the more apt he is to be fond of his wife, while a 
 woman " 
 
 She passed her handkerchief across her lips. 
 
 " Hand me those salts, Constance. My dear husband 
 used to say there were two important things in life religion 
 and money, and plenty of both. The one is, I trust, within 
 the reach of all of us," in a hasty voice ; " but the other 
 the other, Constance," laying her hand impressively upon 
 the girl's arm, while the lizard, lifting up his white and 
 skinny throat, seemed watching her with grotesque malice 
 from his sunny corner, " the other " 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 " Oh, Fanny may come in. Fanny knows all about it. 
 We were speaking of Mr. Stuart, Fanny, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Van Ness graciously, " and we should be glad to heai 
 anything ' : 
 
 " Oh, I never speak on the subject, thank you. Constance 
 can do me the justice to say / have never tried to force her 
 confidence," said Mrs. Thayer gloomily. 
 
 The new hat was less becoming Tom had told her so 
 and she was deeply aggrieved. 
 
 " / am not capable of interfering with another person's 
 comfort, or saying that so-and-so is not becoming when 
 
 " Do you happen to know if the tea is passable in this 
 hotel? "said Mrs. Van Ness, looking at her steadily; "I 
 have ordered some tea."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE. 237 
 
 For the last few minutes Constance had been standing 
 by the window. She leaned forward now, a smile breaking 
 'over her face. Her eyes brightened. 
 
 "You have nothing more to say, auntie? Tom is 
 beckoning me," pausing an instant before shutting the door 
 behind her. 
 
 Mrs. Van Ness and Fanny looked at each other without 
 a word. The younger woman sprang up and hurried to the 
 window. 
 
 " No, there is only Tom," she said in a puzzled voice, 
 and as though answering a question. " Oh, and Jack I 
 see poor Jack and that Mr. Lawrence. Oh Aunt Van !" 
 
 "Ah!" said Mrs. Van. 
 
 " You don't think Mr. Lawrence " 
 
 " I wish you would be kind enough to ring that bell 
 again, my dear ! " 
 
 Mrs. Thayer obeyed in mortified silence. But silence 
 was not Fanny's strong point. " Constance is so peculiar," 
 she began again ; " do you know, Aunt Van, I should really 
 advise you " 
 
 Can you imagine General Von Moltke listening to the 
 critical suggestions of a young militiaman ? 
 
 " I think, my dear," said the little old lady very dis- 
 tinctly, " that this is a matter which requires tact. Perhaps 
 you had better leave it entirely to me, Fanny ; it requires 
 tact." 
 
 It had been a pleasant morning for the lizard.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 
 
 THEY were all standing in a group before the fountain, when 
 Constance joined them. Lawrence noticed she was looking 
 rather pale. 
 
 " Yes," said Davenant, lifting his hat automatically, 
 "that is one of the strange things of experience, that it can 
 be shared with dumb beings who evoke a thousand thoughts 
 and fancies which endear them, just as there are certain 
 people one may meet and live with and like, who yet remain 
 outside of all the sentiments and feelings that have been 
 quickened by a common life with them. Are you fond of 
 animals, Miss Varley ? " 
 
 " Davenant means that we are going to see the last of 
 our horses. Hassan sends them off to Jerusalem to-morrow," 
 said Jack. 
 
 " Hassan tells me he cannot get us a passage, and he is 
 afraid we may have to wait here another ten days. Very 
 provoking, but not his fault. He is dreadfully cut up about 
 it though, poor old fellow. I suppose he is afraid we will 
 think he has not managed well," said the Major, in his 
 good-natured fashion. 
 
 " The dragomen my experience is doubtless limited 
 but the dragomen I have chanced to meet have by no means 
 seemed to me to justify their reputation for extortion or 
 double-dealing. I find these Syrians a simple and a child- 
 like race of men," said Mr. Gard hesitatingly. He took off 
 his hat and passed his hand with a weary indecision across 
 his high and narrow forehead. 
 
 " Your head aches, Edwin. Let me 
 
 " No, my dear, no," impatiently. " My wife is perhaps 
 unduly anxious since my accident a very Martha troubled 
 about many things, but women are creatures of extremes, 
 I observe," with an apologetic smile to the Major.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 239 
 
 And through all this sound of voices the water dripped, 
 the fig-leaves rustled in the sunlight. Overhead, loose 
 masses of cloud were drifting in slow procession across a 
 blue and opaque sky. 
 
 "The summer is coming," said Constance, smiling as 
 she met Lawrence's glance. She bent down and stroked 
 Lione. " My dog has made friends with you already, I 
 see," pulling the long silken ears slowly through her fingers. 
 
 " I like dogs, you know." 
 
 " I remember," passing her hand more caressingly over 
 Lione's head. 
 
 " I think these creatures should be kept in the stable," 
 said Mrs. Gard. 
 
 " Ah," said Davenant mildly, " you don't believe in the 
 transmigration of souls then, I suppose?" 
 
 Mrs. Gard turned sharply and looked at him, her faded 
 face flushing a dull red. " Perhaps this gentleman is not 
 aware I am a clergyman's wife, Miss Varley," with a 
 nervous, uncertain laugh. 
 
 " Oh, I am sure Miss Varley agrees with me " (dreamily), 
 " I really like this old Egyptian idea. It binds one so firmly 
 to the whole mysterious sequence of life, and our attach- 
 ments to animals grow to mean so much more than mere 
 habit or association. Why, take a favourite dog what is 
 the impression he leaves upon you in his absence? One 
 remembers a look, perhaps, for there is something in the 
 glance of an animal which is like the glance of children 
 a look from a world out of which we have grown and yet 
 faintly remember." 
 
 "Oh, come now," said Stuart, in a soothing and con- 
 ciliatory tone ; " a horse is a horse and a dog is a dog, my 
 good fellow." 
 
 "And an appointment is an appointment," said the 
 Major, taking out his watch. 
 
 The trusty Hassan was waiting for them in the doorway. 
 They went out slowly, Constance and Lawrence passing out 
 together together, but not talking to each other, as Stuart 
 noticed with mingled irritation and relief. He remembered 
 afterwards how through all the idle sauntering, the desultory 
 chatter of that morning, there had been a singular per- 
 sistence of observation in Lawrence's attitude, a look which 
 suggested a question piercing through all the careless
 
 240 MIRAGE. 
 
 quietude of his manner. Once, as they were standing for 
 a moment side by side : " You are going away before long, 
 I think you said," Stuart remarked abruptly. 
 
 The other man nodded. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " I don't know. I never have plans." 
 
 " A precious queer way of travelling, that," said Jack 
 impatiently. 
 
 The young fellow could hardly be civil. He was in 
 a rage of jealousy and angry suspicion, and the worst of it 
 was that nobody seemed to care or be aware of it but 
 himself, and, perhaps, Mrs. Gard. 
 
 The eager-eyed little woman looked at him curiously 
 once or twice as they crossed the square before the hotel, 
 going over to see the horses. 
 
 It was a picturesque group they found there : a dozen 
 horses, a little company of muleteers, fine hardy Syrians, 
 in all their bravery of silken scarfs and sashes and yellow 
 slippers, fresh from the bazaar. 
 
 "And so good-bye to all the old days," said Stuart, 
 looking at them regretfully. He coloured a moment after, 
 meeting Mrs. Card's eye. The woman's notice embarrassed 
 him. He turned to her husband. 
 
 The Major and Mr. Gard were discussing the politics 
 of their country, standing with perturbed and absorbed 
 faces, their elderly backs turned upon the world at large, 
 deep in the question of the new Army Reductions Bill, 
 " which, as a minister of the gospel, I cannot but approve," 
 Mr. Gard was proclaiming sententiously. 
 
 The Major shook his gray old head. 
 
 " The country is going to the dogs, my dear sir." 
 
 " Let it. If it goes in the name of Christianity that is 
 all I ask in the name of Christianity." 
 
 " You are getting over-excited, Edwin dear." 
 
 " I say let it go. It can't do better. And I appeal to 
 you as an army man to answer me frankly : Have you, or 
 have you not, gone forth to meet these unfortunate Indian 
 brethren of ours with outstretched hand 
 
 " That I have," said the Major, with a grin. 
 
 " With words of peace upon your lips " 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 Stuart turned his head.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 241 
 
 " Shaitan is leaving, Jack. Won't you come and say 
 good-bye to the poor old fellow ?" asked Constance, in her 
 clear girlish voice. 
 
 He crossed over quickly to where she was standing. 
 
 " You had forgotten the dear old horse," she said re- 
 proachfully ; " the horse who brought me into Damascus," 
 reaching up her hand to pat its glossy neck. 
 
 " That was only yesterday," answering the tone rather 
 than the words. 
 
 "Only yesterday," she repeated softly, with a slow 
 irrepressible smile, which hurt him as nothing else could 
 have done. 
 
 He turned away sharply. 
 
 " You are ill," she said, with a sudden change of manner, 
 catching a glimpse of his pale averted face. 
 
 " No." 
 
 The frank blue eyes watching him so kindly seemed to 
 trouble him. He moved abruptly. 
 
 " You are not sorry that thing is over," he said 
 brusquely, indicating with a nod the train of horses and 
 attendants before them. 
 
 Constance hesitated. 
 
 " It has been quite perfect in its way. There are 
 
 things I shall never forget some of the days we spent 
 
 together," the colour deepening a little on her cheek. 
 
 Jack looked up eagerly. 
 
 " Nor I. Do you remember " He wanted to ask : 
 
 " Do you remember that day "at Nablous ? " but something 
 stopped him. " Do you remember Esdraelon ?" he said. 
 
 " And the night we were lost ? You were so very kind to 
 me that evening." 
 
 "And our meeting Ferris. It was a close shave that 
 time, by Jove !" with an eager laugh. 
 
 Whatever jealous doubts had tormented him that day 
 were forgotten now in the familiar delight of her presence. 
 
 He drew a long breath, looking about him with a sudden 
 sense of pleasure. " One feels cramped and restless in the 
 city. I could not sleep last night." 
 
 "Last night? I was awake too," said Constance 
 smiling. 
 
 " I meant to have asked you. I saw the light in your 
 window. See here, Constance," a quick pleased look
 
 242 MIRAGE. 
 
 coming into his handsome face. " I have an idea. Can't 
 we have another ride together, just you and I ? Say we go 
 to-morrow ; I can get the horses 
 
 " Not to-morrow. Mr. Lawrence has asked me to ride 
 with him to-morrow," she said. 
 
 Perhaps it was just as well that Davenant interfered. 
 He joined them now, his hat pushed back a little from his 
 forehead, a look of quiet pleasure upon his mild and 
 abstracted face. 
 
 " I have been looking at those horses," he said, coming 
 up to where Constance was standing ; " they are wonderfully 
 like women delicate, swift, proud, affectionate." 
 
 " Affectionate !" repeated Stuart. 
 
 "Oh, don't bear malice, Jack. I'm sure Shaitan was 
 more surprised than yourself on the only occasion you ever 
 came to grief together," carelessly. 
 
 " A horse is like any other good thing in this life," said 
 Davenant ; "you must be alone with him to know him. I 
 don't boast much of my own riding " (with frank simplicity), 
 "but I think, after watching an Arab going over these 
 Syrian hills at full speed, one gains quite a new revelation 
 of the beauty of the old Centaur fable the doubled ex- 
 istence ; the keen animal enjoyment ; the appeal to all the 
 higher life of the senses and dominion over nature in her 
 hidden places ; the knowledge of the silent uplands under 
 strange constellations and secret sea-washed places of the 
 world." 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said Lawrence doubtfully, " we 
 have been long enough trying to get free from animal con- 
 ditions ; I hardly covet going back to them myself, not 
 even to meet my ancestors." 
 
 He turned to Constance. " I think there is some plan 
 for going to the jewellers' bazaar. You will come? Mrs. 
 Gard is going," putting out his hand and touching the fan 
 that hung from a ribbon at her waist. He opened and shut 
 it slowly. " Is that the Japanese fan for which Davenant 
 wrote those verses ? It's a good bit of colour, you know, 
 with that gray dress," looking at her with a smile. And 
 presently there was a general move towards the bazaar. It 
 was a delightful May morning a warm breezy day full of 
 delicate sunshine and the flicker of young leaf-shadows on 
 the ground, and the girl's happy glance wandered, full of a
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 243 
 
 still content from blossoming earth to sky that blue stain- 
 less sky of summer she had never yet looked on with him 
 by her side before. For it had been in winter, and in the 
 bleak New England spring that she had known Lawrence ; 
 listening to him, walking by his side through this warm and 
 caressing air, seemed a new and exquisite refinement of 
 delight. 
 
 " Where were you a year ago to-day ? " she asked him 
 once, after a long silence. 
 
 "A year ago ?" 
 
 " Last May. I was at home " a vivid picture of the 
 place rising up before her. There was a certain hill behind 
 the house there, the highest point for miles around, over- 
 looking a wide stretch of characterless landscape a confused 
 reach of low meadow-land, and arid rock-strewn pasturage 
 and endless straggling lines of weather-beaten fence. And 
 there was a road winding up this hill; a sunken sheltered lane, 
 where the small brown tree-buds glistened first in the mild 
 March afternoons, and the barberry bushes still kept a few 
 scarlet clusters long after the first snow. Now, as she 
 spoke, the vision of this place came back to her with the 
 recollection of all the evenings she had waited there to see 
 the sunset cast some brief interval of beauty about this 
 joyless New England world. A hundred familiar memories 
 came back to her of short wintry afternoons, dying redly 
 above a mute and snow-stricken country ; of warni June 
 nights, and long hours full of the ineffable melancholy of the 
 spring, and with one thought, one longing, running through 
 them all and that a thought of Lawrence. For in those 
 years that were past now past Denis Lawrence had grown 
 to mean to her all the desirable, the precious, the ideal part 
 of life. It said something for this man's sincerity of nature 
 that even now, after all these years of idealisation, and face 
 to face with the disenchanting touch of reality, it seemed 
 to this girl the one good thing in all her life to remember 
 how she had loved him. 
 
 The silversmiths' bazaar was vast and cool and shadowy ; 
 a roofed enclosure divided into square raised compartments 
 by countless narrow passage-ways ; a place of dim light, 
 and the glow of furnaces, and the sound of metal striking 
 metal. They wandered on from one small platform to 
 another. The outer sunshine streamed in through the
 
 244 MIRAGE. 
 
 small narrow openings, high up between the lines of rude 
 stone columns supporting the vaulted roof streamed in on 
 the crouching, and swaying, and prostrate forms of the 
 workmen, white-clad and blurred, seen through the curling 
 smoke, the light catching here and there on some pale 
 heap of wrought silver, some mass of glittering coin, or 
 quaint mysterious amulet, graven with strange characters 
 and set about with dull and curious stones. 
 
 Constance was looking at a collection of these charms 
 against the evil eye when her sleeve slipped back a little, 
 and the keen glance of the native workman caught the 
 yellow gleam of amber about her wrist. He leaned forward 
 a tall sinuous Arab, clad in dark-coloured robes, his head 
 bound about with fane white linen. He leaned forward and 
 looked and smiled. 
 "Tattl" 
 
 He held out a small fretted band of gold to Constance. 
 " I don't understand," the girl said quickly. 
 " I think, as near as I can make it out, he wants to buy 
 your beads," said Lawrence. " See, he is offering you thai 
 other bracelet in exchange. He says they are very good. 
 Would you mind letting him look at them ? " putting out his 
 hand to take the string of amber. 
 
 He looked at it a moment before giving it back to her. 
 " You used to wear that when I first knew you," he said. 
 " It suits you that amber," slipping the smooth yellow 
 balls through his fingers. " I remember breaking the clasp 
 of this once." 
 
 " You had it mounted for me ; I am superstitious about 
 it," said Constance. " I have worn it such a long while now 
 as a charm." 
 
 Lawrence looked at it curiously. 
 
 " It is getting worn thin again. Let me take it ; I can 
 have it put in order for you," fingering the beads with a 
 certain childish pleasure 
 
 He was still holding them in his hand when Stuart came 
 up with some message. 
 
 " I have been looking for you everywhere, Constance." 
 
 " I have been sitting here." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Card wants you. They are going to buy 
 
 perfumes, and Hassan is waiting, and You have lost your 
 
 beads," his eye resting suddenly upon her bared white wrist.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 245 
 
 " Mr. Lawrence has got them for me." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Lawrence," repeated Jack slowly. 
 
 He was not a man to notice trifles. He was singularly 
 free from whims and fancies. A man who prided himself, 
 as a general rule, upon the cool and reliable quality of his 
 common sense. And yet it required an effort now for him 
 to keep his temper an effort which made him clench his 
 hand and brought the blood mantling to his face. 
 
 " Well, come when you are ready," he said, with an 
 elaborate assumption of indifference, and addressing himself 
 pointedly to Constance. As much as possible he avoided 
 looking at her companion. 
 
 " I am afraid poor Jack must be ill to-day," the girl said, 
 glancing after him anxiously. 
 
 They went out into the street again and through the 
 small quiet square where the vendors of perfumes assemble 
 old men for the most part, and many of them Jews. 
 They sat down on the carpet before a shop a dingy array 
 of shelves and dim glass bottles, and dry glittering piles 
 of gums and heavy lumps of incense. A wrinkled old 
 man, with a long white beard and a curious fur cap upon 
 his head, came out to take their orders. He served them 
 reluctantly, with tremulous yellow hands that shook as he 
 held the precious drugs up against the light, gloating with 
 old covetous eyes over their thick and enervating odours. 
 
 When they left this place the air about them was heavy 
 with escaping perfume, and for hours the faint scent clung 
 to their hands and the folds of their hair and dress. 
 
 They went back into the main bazaar. 
 
 " I should like to have another look at that old mosque," 
 said Mr. Gard. 
 
 They paused before it, watching the natives pass through 
 the cloistered court or loiter about its delicate trickling 
 fountain, or disappear into its cool and sombre depths. 
 
 " Dear me," said Mrs. Gard, with a sigh, " when one 
 thinks that all this belonged to the Christians once ! And 
 now to see it in the hands of those nasty Arabs : people 
 without a religion or or " 
 
 " Or morality," suggested Mr. Gard. 
 
 " Or anything else," added his wife. 
 
 " Pardon me," said Davenant seriously ; " but surely you 
 forget their rugs ? "
 
 246 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Rugs ?" repeated Mrs. Card. 
 
 " Well, Persian carpets then, if you like the term better. 
 When I think of what treasures there are in that building, 
 what old and priceless fabrics from what remote and forgotten 
 looms, and when I reflect that we are even debarred from 
 entering in all humility to gaze upon this lost beauty, it 
 justifies in my mind what I have always considered as one 
 of the fatal mistakes of the middle age I refer, of course, 
 to the later crusades." 
 
 " Well, I never ! " said Mrs. Gard blankly. 
 
 She looked round as though appealing to Stuart for 
 sympathy, but Stuart was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 Meantime Mr. Lawrence was speaking to Constance 
 about his proposed journey to Bagdad, speaking of it rather 
 as of a remote possibility a plan of the past " A plan I 
 had undertaken half out of desire to find myself once more 
 in the desert, because the fascination of vast horizons and 
 great silence was still about me ; and half perhaps well, 
 to get rid for awhile of my own personality. I have 
 been growing restless here of late dissatisfied. People 
 don't understand," thrusting his stick into the ground 
 impatiently. 
 
 "You are dissatisfied with your work perhaps," said 
 Constance, doubtfully. 
 
 " My work ! " he laughed. " It is kind of you to call it 
 by any such name, 'Miss Varley. I'll tell you what I wish 
 you would do though. Come and see it. I've got rather a 
 nice place here in old Ahmed's house. You remember the 
 Armenian I pointed out to you yesterday?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Well, I'm staying in his house at present. A jolly old 
 place. I wish you would come and see it. Come to-morrow 
 with Mrs. Thayer." 
 
 " I will ask her," looking up at him eagerly. 
 
 They had come in sight of the hotel now. " I wonder if 
 Jack went home ? " Constance suggested. It troubled her, 
 in the midst of her own exceeding content, to think of 
 Stuart's disappointment. She had never felt so inclined to 
 friendliness towards him as now, when anything but friend- 
 liness was impossible. All the generous impulse of her 
 nature the deep tenderness born of a hopeless love, and 
 going out with quick compassion to all futile and hopeless
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 247 
 
 longing intensified and vitalised her sympathy, and gave 
 her a feeling of comradeship with Stuart. As she said to 
 herself simply, she was sorry for Jack. 
 
 They came upon him quite unexpectedly now, standing 
 beside the fountain, speaking to one of the men staying in 
 the hotel. He looked up and nodded as they passed. 
 
 " You had better make up your mind to do it," his com- 
 panion was saying. " You'll find it decidedly pleasanter 
 
 going there with a party, and the other men " and a 
 
 moment after Constance heard him laugh. 
 
 She had stopped at the foot of the staircase to say good- 
 bye to Lawrence. 
 
 " We shall see you this evening ?" she asked. 
 
 "This evening?" he hesitated. "I have half an en- 
 gagement. . Yes, I will come," looking suddenly into her 
 face. " I must make interest with Mrs. Van Ness," smiling. 
 " I must get leave to take you out riding to-morrow." 
 
 He lifted his hat and walked quickly away. As he 
 passed out of the door Stuart turned and looked after him. 
 
 " I seemed to know that man by sight," his companion 
 observed carelessly. " Friend of yours, isn't he?" 
 
 " No," said Stuart. 
 
 He excused himself a moment later. " I must speak to 
 that lady a minute," looking over to where Constance was 
 standing with her hand on Lione's collar. 
 
 " All right," said the stranger, nodding good-naturedly. 
 " You can always find me again if you make up your mind 
 to join us. You had better come, I think." 
 
 Stuart waited until he had left the courtyard. He 
 walked over deliberately to Constance. " I should like to 
 speak to you," he said. 
 
 " To speak to me ? " the girl looked up wonderingly. 
 " Why, certainly, Jack. Is there anything " 
 
 "I should like to speak to you, alone. If you will 
 kindly step into the parlour with me. The place is quite 
 empty at this time of the day. I shall only detain you a 
 moment." 
 
 There was something in his tone, or perhaps in the un- 
 usual formality of his manner, which touched the girl's pride 
 to the quick. She dropped Lione's head, stood up, and 
 looked the young man steadily in the face. 
 
 " As you like ; I am quite ready," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ANOTHER STEP. 
 
 As Stuart had said, the drawing-room was empty : a large 
 vaulted room, built for coolness, with narrow darkened 
 windows, and a brimming marble basin into which a thread 
 of glittering water fell back without ripple or sound. As in 
 all Damascene houses, the room was divided in two parts by 
 a raised platform covered with Persian carpets ; but here a 
 concession to European luxury a table and some chairs 
 had been added to the furniture, and a couple of large 
 ostrich eggs swung slowly before the doorway, suspended 
 from the ceiling by a string. 
 
 A broad divan of leather made the circuit of the room 
 against the wall. Constance crossed over and took her seat 
 upon it in the farthest corner. Her dog had followed her 
 in, and came and lay down at her feet. She turned her 
 head a little and glanced from under her eyelids at Stuart. 
 She drew a long breath and pressed her gloved hands 
 tightly together. She waited for him to begin. 
 
 His first words startled her. 
 
 " Did you happen to notice that man I was speaking to 
 out there a moment ago ? " indicating the courtyard with a 
 nod. 
 
 She looked up. 
 
 " I saw nothing especial about him." 
 
 " No," with a short laugh, " only I was not sure that you 
 had noticed him. I'm going away with him. I'm going to 
 Baalbeck, to-morrow." 
 
 Constance said nothing. 
 
 "You don't ask me why I am going?"
 
 ANOTHER STEP. 249 
 
 " I suppose you want to see Baalbeck," she answered, 
 looking straight before her. She would have given some- 
 thing just then to avoid further explanation. 
 
 " Oh, that's it, of course," the young man said defiantly. 
 
 He stood where he was for several minutes, his hands in 
 his pockets, his eyes fixed on the ground. Through the 
 silence he could hear her light hurried breathing ; a bee flew 
 in at the open doorway, and dashed itself audibly against the 
 window-pane. 
 
 " Constance ! " 
 
 His whole manner had changed to one of utmost gentle- 
 ness. He sat down on the divan beside her, and laid his 
 hand very quietly upon hers. 
 
 " Do you think I am going away on your account ? " he 
 said. 
 
 She did not move her hand. She looked at him without 
 speaking. Her face was quite pale. 
 
 " I think," said Stuart, after a moment's silence, " I think 
 it would be well for us to understand each other better. I 
 
 think " He drew himself back abruptly. " You have 
 
 believed that I was jealous to-day." 
 
 She moved uneasily at that. 
 
 "You ask me questions " 
 
 " I was jealous ; you are right," said Stuart quietly. 
 
 He waited a moment, trying to collect the words. 
 
 "I said we ought to understand each other better," 
 looking at her gravely. " Until we came here I thought, I 
 believed, there was a a chance of your caring for me 
 in time. I should not tell you this now if it did not 
 
 explain I'm not very good at explanations," with a 
 
 faint smile, his face flushing red. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 " Until we came here," the young man went on more 
 rapidly, " I had always that hope before me. I thought 
 
 that in time I have never cared for anyone as 
 
 I have cared for you. It seems to me now that I must 
 have loved you from the first day I ever saw you. I 
 don't go in much for being clever myself not like those 
 other fellows but I know enough to see the difference. I 
 could admire you. To be sure I couldn't tell it to you in 
 German, 1-ke Lawrence."
 
 250 MIRAGE. 
 
 She looked up quickly, but he did not give her time to 
 speak. 
 
 " I suppose you think that all this doesn't make much 
 difference ; that I tried to get up a flirtation with you because 
 you were the only girl there ; and the consequences serve 
 me right. Fanny told me as much as that once on her own 
 account. I didn't take the trouble to deny it to her, but I 
 should like to have you know" his voice grew suddenly 
 husky ; he passed his hand impatiently across his lips " I 
 should like to have you believe that I loved you as well as 
 any man can love. That's what I wanted to say to you. I 
 gave you everything," getting up and walking hastily to the 
 door. 
 
 He stood there for a minute or two, staring out at the 
 blinding sunshine. 
 
 Constance had not moved. There was a brass plate lying 
 on the table before her. When he began speaking her eyes 
 had fastened upon this unconsciously. She sat mechanically 
 tracing the arabesques graven upon it with her finger, with 
 the dull persistence of a fever-dream ; with a sickening 
 realisation of the cruelty of her silence deepening with 
 every moment that passed. 
 
 He came back and stood before her. 
 
 '" There's not much more to be said now between us. 
 You've been very honest with me. I I never blamed you. 
 You will be glad to remember that, only Look here, Con- 
 stance," he said, with sudden passion, and stooped and took 
 both her unresisting hands in his, " don't think I want to 
 worry you. Lots of fellows have had this kind of trouble ; 
 I suppose I can bear it as well as they. But there is one 
 thing I want to ask you " 
 
 "Yes, Jack." 
 
 " You do care for me a little, I know ; or, stop ! I 
 don't mean that ; but you like me ? You won't mind saying 
 that : you like me ? " 
 
 "Yes," the tears gathering slowly in her eyes. 
 
 " Then " he drew a long breath " isn't there anything 
 I can do, anything? I'm not a man to say what I don't 
 mean ; you know me well enough for that ; but if there was 
 anything about myself that I could do or change," watching 
 her face intently, " I'd wait any length of time."
 
 ANOTHER STEP. 251 
 
 I think what hurt her the most in this speech was the 
 sense of its utter uselessness. The simple loyalty of this 
 girl's nature was too deeply ingrained, too much a part of all 
 her daily self to leave room for hesitation, much less doubt. 
 But her imagination was touched by the piteous hopeless- 
 ness of his appeal. She lifted her eyes a moment and then 
 looked steadily away, her face growing white and rigid and 
 expressionless. She was accustomed to be very honest with 
 herself. Deep down below all the passion of pity, the 
 natural womanly emotion of the hour she was aware that 
 nothing stirred responsive to his voice that she did not 
 really suffer ; that that inmost self which thrilled with infinite 
 tenderness at Lawrence's most careless word was dumb here 
 dumb and apathetic. All the innate honesty of her nature 
 held her wordless. 
 
 " If there is anything that I could change," he said. 
 
 She repeated the words to herself blindly, trying to 
 realise their significance to him as a man might wrench a 
 paralysed limb to prove to himself its vitality. 
 
 She put up her gloved hand to her lips ; there was a faint 
 perfume clinging to it still of which she was distinctly 
 conscious. She tried to speak, and the horrible silence 
 lengthened between them ; and she knew, without looking, 
 what expression of desperate hope was dawning in the eyes 
 fastened upon her face. 
 
 " If you tell me to stay," he said, " nothing more than 
 that I can wait," with a curious catching of his breath. 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 " I can wait," getting up to his feet with sudden uncon- 
 trollable excitement. "I won't trouble you, don't fear. You 
 are not bound to anything. But I think you'll understand 
 some day. I'm not afraid to leave my life in your hands," 
 with a nervous laugh. 
 
 She looked up without speaking, and something in her 
 face checked him in his triumph abruptly. 
 
 He hesitated ; his hands pressed hard upon the table 
 which stood between them. The room was very still ; the 
 fountain glittered silently in the sunshine ; now and then a 
 warmer gust of air came blowing in at the open door. The 
 bee was still beating his life out hopelessly against the 
 window ; there were footsteps crossing the courtyard ; Lione
 
 2J2 MIRAGE. 
 
 lifted up his head from between his paws and listened with 
 ears erect. " Sometimes I think it would be a relief to you 
 if I went away," said Stuart slowly, " a relief? " 
 
 If this were only the story of Constance Varley, I think 
 it would have finished here. I believe that in that moment 
 she resisted one of the greatest possible temptations to 
 insincerity the impulse to put an end, at any cost, to all 
 this misery; for perhaps the most betraying form of- in- 
 sincerity consists in this conscious self-abandonment to 
 temporary high-pitched impulse. 
 
 Her lips trembled and turned pale ; he could see her 
 eyes glistening in the half-darkness ; she had never seemed 
 so beautiful to him, so desirable as now. 
 
 " I think you had better go, dear Jack," she said. 
 
 The footsteps in the court drew nearer. Lione scrambled 
 to his feet and shook himself and growled. It was Mr. 
 Gard who entered ; he came in with his hat in his hand, 
 with a deep-drawn sigh of content. "For the sun is growing 
 intolerably hot, I assure you. You young people have shown 
 your discretion in selecting this shady place." 
 
 No one answered for a moment. He looked at them 
 both, not curiously, but with a slow and mild surprise. 
 
 " I am not interrupting you, I hope ? " 
 
 " I was only explaining my future plans to Miss Varley. 
 I think of going away to-morrow, Mr. Gard. To Baalbeck." 
 
 " But not for a lengthened period, I presume ? " 
 
 He looked at Constance before answering. " I do not 
 know," he said. 
 
 Mr. Gard had seated himself on a chair beside the table. 
 
 " I find it difficult to use those lounges," with a grave 
 smile at the divan. " I see you prefer them, Miss Varley. 
 And what is this a recent purchase, perhaps ? " taking up 
 one of the brass plates from the table. 
 
 " No," said Constance. 
 
 " I thought you might have been making purchases in 
 the bazaar. They have certainly a peculiar interest of their 
 own, these brazen vessels, being, one can imagine, fashioned 
 much in the same way as the brazen censers of the rebellious 
 children of Israel. Have you any idea of the probable 
 antiquity of these ? " turning the platter curiously between 
 his long thin hands.
 
 ANOTHER STEP. 253 
 
 " I don't know anything about those things," said Jack. 
 
 " Ah, you are not an antiquarian, I see, like your friend 
 Mr. Lawrence. A very interesting young man, I found him. 
 We had some slight conversation together this morning ; I 
 thought him remarkably well informed." 
 
 " I believe that he and Davenant know all about old 
 carpets and old cracked teacups and that sort of thing. I 
 don't go in for that kind of information myself." 
 
 " I confess I am somewhat of the same frame of mind," 
 said Mr. Gard slowly ; " my opportunities for acquiring such 
 tastes have been few," speaking with a certain regret. " In 
 my time this diversity of pursuits was hardly expected from 
 a young man. We were educated on a somewhat severer 
 method ; but it paid, sir, it paid. We worked in those days," 
 his voice growing rapid and thin. "We tried without 
 ceasing. There's a new set of men come in since then, 
 Mr, Stuart. They say we lack scientific training and all that. 
 Maybe it's true. I don't deny it. But it seems hard to hear 
 when a man has worked on through poverty all his life, 
 doing his duty by the light that was given him. I am not 
 an old man, sir ; there is work in me yet," holding up his 
 hand with an unsteady laugh. 
 
 " Edwin ! " Mrs. Gard had come in without their 
 hearing her. 
 
 She went and stood beside her husband's chair, chafing 
 his hand between her own roughened fingers. " Is your 
 head getting bad again, dear? I thought I heard your 
 voice," turning distrustfully and with a certain defiant 
 anguish from Constance to Stuart. 
 
 Mr. Gard looked at his wife doubtfully, with an excited 
 reddened face. "I I was only speaking to Mr. Stuart, 
 Mary," pressing his other hand wearily to his forehead. 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 " The sun would give anyone a headache to-day," said 
 Constance gently. 
 
 " Don't you think you had better come with me and lie 
 down a little while, Edwin ?" 
 
 He rose irresolutely. " I I am very well where I am. 
 Let me pick up my own hat, Mary. I desire you not to do 
 those things for me," with a nervous twitching of his 
 careworn irritable mouth.
 
 254 MIRAGE. 
 
 " Very well, dear." 
 
 She looked back anxiously at the other two from the 
 doorway; a grotesque little woman, ill-dressed and fussy 
 and commonplace, but with something about her which 
 brought the tears to the girl's eyes. " I believe I believe 
 that is as good a woman as ever lived. I admire her, I 
 respect her," she said with sudden passion. 
 
 " What, Mrs. Gard ?" asked Stuart doubtfully. 
 
 He had hardly noticed the scene which had taken place 
 before him. The old man had got a little excited, there 
 was nothing so wonderful in that. In a certain way I think 
 he was even grateful for the interruption. It had steadied 
 his nerves. He was an obstinate fellow in his own way, 
 Stuart. When he had looked at a thing long enough it 
 never seemed so impossible. And back once more on the 
 ordinary level of life he felt surer of himself. He was 
 determined to profit by every opportunity. 
 
 " I believe," he said now with more firmness, " that it 
 is Lawrence, and Lawrence alone, who is standing between 
 us. Stop a moment, Constance " as the girl made some 
 sign of dissent " hear me out. You can safely leave me 
 this much hope, I think. It won't make much difference 
 to you, and to me it would be something to remember," 
 with a sudden quiver in his voice. He took her gloved 
 hands in his, and held them tightly for a moment. " If ever 
 I know that he that you are not together, I shall believe 
 that there is still a chance for me, that's all." He dropped 
 her hands and turned away, and then came back and stood 
 before her silently. 
 
 " I think you will find that I don't forget, Constance." 
 
 He left her without another word.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 IN WHICH MR. LAWRENCE READS ME'RIME'E. 
 
 LAWRENCE had gone directly home. A group of models 
 were waiting before the door of his studio ; he had been at 
 some pains to induce these men to pose to him, but now he 
 sent them away with hardly a moment's hesitation ; he 
 wished to be alone. Like all naturally undemonstrative 
 men gifted with quick and mobile sympathies, the continued 
 presence of a crowd of people fatigued his nerves, and 
 ended by throwing him into a state of lassitude and pro- 
 found melancholy. Now, as he opened the door, the cool 
 silence of his room gave him a sensation of positive pleasure. 
 He looked about him ; everything was as he had left it the 
 day before ; the window was still open, the same locust was 
 chirping from time to time among the fig-leaves the only 
 sound, except the rustling of some loose papers the wind 
 had scattered on the floor. 
 
 He picked up one of these papers as he entered ; it was 
 a letter from his sister. " I must answer this," he thought, 
 and tossed it over on the writing-table, and threw himself 
 down on his divan. 
 
 The hot glare of the streets seemed still before him, in 
 confused impressions of colour and movement and light. 
 He pressed his hand before his eyes ; there was another 
 face, a soft and harmonious personality which seemed to 
 belong more fitly to this moment of satisfaction and repose. 
 There was a sense of radiant self-reliance about Constance 
 which was infinitely attractive to him. He thought of her 
 now with a look of pleased recollection on his face. He 
 had found in her that most .fascinating of qualities an 
 idealised reflection of himself. " She is just about where / 
 was two or three years ago," he thought. He was charmed 
 by the way in which they understood each other ; being with 
 her was like breathing once more in the fresh atmosphere
 
 256 MIRAGE. 
 
 of his own youth ; when he listened to her he found again 
 the expression of his own old dreams and desires, untouched, 
 as yet very eager, unwearied of life. What had attracted 
 him was shown to him again, but clad with a new expression, 
 and instinct to him with a new sense of beauty and fleetness 
 and loss ; but he no more imagined that he had a part in 
 bringing this about than he held himself responsible for her 
 love of animals or her taste in dress. 
 
 There had been two or three trifling incidents in their 
 morning's experience together which came back now with 
 irritating accuracy. That anxiety about Stuart, for instance. 
 How was it reconcilable with with 
 
 " Why I might as well be Davenant, and be done with 
 it," he said aloud with sudden impatience. He got up 
 hastily, crossed the room, and sat down before his writing- 
 desk, with the gesture of a man who has come to some 
 decision. He glanced over his sister's letter, took a piece 
 of paper, and began to write : 
 
 "Damascus: May, 187 . 
 " MY DEAR KATE, 
 
 " I start for Bagdad to-morrow. I have not the slightest 
 idea how long " 
 
 He threw the pen down with some muttered impatient 
 exclamation of disgust. Going to Bagdad ? The plan was 
 an absurdity. Why, there were lots of things to do in 
 Damascus. These people, whose presence had disturbed 
 him, would be gone in a week at the farthest, and there 
 would be nothing more to interrupt his work. 
 
 "They would be gone," with a feeling of the same 
 sudden and inexplicable irritation. 
 
 He took up his pen again and fell to drawing designs 
 on the paper cover of the nearest book. It happened to be 
 a volume of Me'rimee's " Letters." 
 
 Lawrence had long ago passed that stage of literary 
 development which exalts into genius the jaded and careful 
 ennui vi this elaborate Parisian; but the book had the charm 
 of old association for him. He opened it now at random ; 
 he opened it at a passage in which Me'rimee alludes to his 
 first visit to Italy : 
 
 *' When I left Paris I felt myself on the verge of a great
 
 MR. LAWRENCE READS MERIMEE. 257 
 
 passion," he says ; " but I reflected upon all it would cost 
 her, and it seemed to me that such love as I had to offer 
 could never requite her sacrifice. I left Paris, and she has 
 never known the truth. Elle rien sut jamais rien" 
 
 The words made an impression upon him. There was 
 something in the idea which appealed to all the refining, 
 and perhaps a little fantastic chivalry of his nature. " Elle 
 n'en sut jamais rien." There was a delicacy of sentiment, a 
 subtle generosity about the feeling which touched his 
 imagination with a foreshadowing of silent and tender regret. 
 After all, it was only a different version of his resolve of 
 the night before. It was Constance who should decide the 
 situation ; but would she ? It was with an inexplicable rest- 
 lessness and impatience he waited for that answer to come. 
 
 He was still sitting before his desk, looking vacantly out 
 at the narrow strip of sky above the barrier of broad fig- 
 leaves, spreading green and fan-like in the windless afternoon, 
 when someone knocked at the studio-door. 
 
 " Come in ! " 
 
 It was Ahmed the Armenian who entered. He came 
 forward slowly, with measured steps. 
 
 " The long-expected are here, oh howadji." 
 
 " The deuce they are ! " said Lawrence. He got up 
 hastily. " When do you start ? " 
 
 Ahmed stroked his beard gravely. It might be to- 
 morrow night. Allah was great ; it might not be till after 
 to-morrow. If the howadji still intended going with a 
 penetrating look from his keen old eyes it was necessary to 
 be ready at any moment. 
 
 " The desert is wide, howadji." 
 
 " The feet of thy camels are swift, oh Ahmed," the young 
 man answered absently. 
 
 He looked down at the open book before him : " Elk 
 rien sut jamais rien" 
 
 "I am going to the hotel again to-night," he added 
 slowly. " I am going to see some friends there. When I 
 return you shall have my answer. You shall have my 
 answer before I sleep, oh Ahmed." 
 
 " Mashallah ! So be it, in the name of God," the old 
 man said. 
 
 He left the room with the same leisurely dignity of 
 gesture, and Lawrence was once more alone.
 
 258 MIRAGE. 
 
 The afternoon light was failing rapidly; there was a 
 grayish tinge now creeping over the fig-trees ; the sky, seen 
 through them, had grown cooler in tint, and the life of the 
 city had awakened ; he could catch a murmur of voices, 
 the sound of far-off laughter, and the dull thrumming of a 
 native drum, marking the cadence of a song. 
 
 The noise came from that cafe by the river to which he 
 had taken Constance. He would go there now, he thought ; 
 and took up his hat and threw it down irresolutely. Some 
 bits of old leather and stuff were hanging on the walls ; he 
 unfastened two or three of these and folded them together, 
 and tossed them back in a heap upon the floor. It was 
 useless beginning his preparations for departure yet. 
 
 But Davenant coming in at that moment was struck at 
 once by signs of displacement and change. 
 
 "Hollo!" he said, staring round him, "why, what have 
 you been doing? You're not going away, Lawrence ?" He 
 sat down on the divan and pushed his hat off his forehead. 
 " How long is it since you have been at the hotel ? " 
 
 " Not since morning," carelessly. " Have a cigar, 
 Claude?" 
 
 "Ah, then you can know nothing about it. Thanks, 
 no j I won't smoke." 
 
 " Know nothing about what? Has has anything hap- 
 pened at the hotel ? " 
 
 " Well, I've been making rather a fool of myself, I think," 
 said Davenant mildly. He looked around the room again, 
 and then up at the ceiling. " I say, Lawrence, have you 
 got any money to spare ?" 
 
 Denis nodded. 
 
 "Plenty. How much do you want?" getting up and 
 going over to his trunk. 
 
 " I'm really very much obliged to you, old fellow " 
 
 " Oh, that's all right. You startled me, though," taking 
 up a cigar and lighting it. "I thought something might 
 have happened to to the hotel." 
 
 "I can return it to you next month," said Davenant 
 earnestly. " I meant to have sailed for home directly if you 
 could not let me have it ; third class." 
 
 Lawrence went on smoking in silence a few minutes. 
 
 " I won't preach ; but don't get into worse scrapes than 
 you can get out of," he began doubtfully.
 
 MR. LAWRENCE READS MERIMEE. 259 
 
 " Oh," said Davenant, " you couldn't have helped doing 
 the same thing yourself. I never saw one like it five hun- 
 dred years old at the least, and in almost perfect preser- 
 vation " 
 
 " IV/iat?" said Lawrence, laying down his cigar. 
 
 "Five hundred at least. You never saw anything 
 more exquisite. I happened to be just in time to save it. 
 Mrs. Van Ness you've seen her, Miss Varley's aunt ? " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " She was going to buy it, and have the work transferred 
 to some new piece of stuff absolutely new modern stuff 
 fancy that ! " 
 
 Lawrence laughed. 
 
 " If you would not mind telling me what it was to begin 
 with, Davenant " 
 
 " Well," said Davenant reflectively, " I should call it an 
 inspiration a poem in colour. I can't describe it ; but 
 imagine a piece of frail blue-gray silk, thin and silvery, and 
 worn and very old, and all inwrought with strange beasts 
 and growing plants ; great blossoms in flat bright tints, in- 
 termingled with fantastic animal forms a splendid and in- 
 determinate life. And scattered all through it, binding the 
 work together, a rain of sweet and curious flowers flowers 
 delicate and precise in form, and of faint colour. And 
 Mrs. Van Ness was going to transfer it ! Upon my word," 
 said the young man earnestly, " she made me feel quite 
 ill." 
 
 Lawrence laughed again. 
 
 " You haven't seen Ferris lately ?" 
 
 " He was round at the consul's this morning, getting 
 letters. I asked him to come to the hotel, but he said he 
 wouldn't. Ferris doesn't care much for women, I think." 
 
 " Ferris," said Lawrence slowly, " is one of the best 
 fellows alive. I had some letters this morning too," looking 
 over at his table. " One from my sister. They are both 
 married now, my sisters. I wish someone would found a 
 society for the selection of brothers-in-law." 
 
 "I don't object to mine particularly," said Davenant; 
 " to be sure I don't see much of him. Their house is pure 
 Elizabethan, and they have finished it with Louis Quinze 
 chairs those gilt things, with legs, don't you know. I'm 
 sorry, for I was very fond of my sister." 
 
 S 2
 
 260 MIRAGE. 
 
 " But when it's a question between furniture and family 
 affection " said Lawrence, with quiet amusement. 
 
 " Oh, of course. Still I go down there every autumn for a 
 few days, to shoot. Last year I shot a dog," he added mildly. 
 
 They stayed there talking until the room had grown 
 quite dark, and then went out to dine together. Lawrence 
 looked back as he was closing the door. 
 
 " Forgotten anything ?" asked his companion, pausing on 
 the stairway. 
 
 "Nothing." The heavy door swung to behind them 
 with a crash. 
 
 " I shall know all about it," thought Denis, " before I 
 open that door again." 
 
 He ran lightly down the steps and linked his arm in 
 Davenant's. " Come on and find Ferris. Who knows 
 when we three shall dine together again," he said gaily. But 
 even Ferris noticed that he was not like himself that night. 
 
 The hotel parlour seemed already full of people and 
 lights when they entered it. There was quite a crowd about 
 Mrs. Van Ness ; the floor in front of her was strewn with old 
 rugs and stuffs and porcelains and arms, and an almond-eyed 
 Syrian and a wrinkled old Jew were kneeling on the platform 
 placidly unfolding yet more of the precious things of the East. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Lawrence " she looked up graciously, hold- 
 ing up a fat and jewelled hand " you are the very person I 
 wanted to see your fine artistic taste, you know. And isn't 
 this too enchanting, quite romantic all these beautiful 
 embroideries and things?" 
 
 " Have you been getting many of them ? " said Lawrence. 
 
 The old Jew had looked up with grave alarm at the 
 young man's appearance, and had begun hurriedly rolling 
 some silken stuff together. 
 
 " I know that old fellow the greatest old cheat in 
 Damascus," Denis commented carelessly. 
 
 "Oh," said Mrs. Van Ness, "but my dragoman, 
 Mahmoud, sent for him for me as a special favour; he 
 always sends his assistant to sell his things unless to persons 
 of great consequence. Such a romantic idea ! I really 
 think you must be mistaken, Mr. Lawrence, for Mahmoud 
 is perfectly devoted to me. He never would allow anything 
 of that kind, I assure you." 
 
 " I see," said Lawrence shortly.
 
 MR. LAWRENCE READS MERIMEE. 261 
 
 Constance had looked up and bowed gravely as he came 
 in. She was sitting a little away from the others, and nearer 
 the window, working. Half the length of the room was 
 between them, and he was conscious of the slightest move- 
 ment. He was still standing by Mrs. Van Ness, looking 
 down at a piece of linen she was showing him ; but he 
 knew when Stuart went over to speak to the girl. 
 
 " Oh, Persian, I should say ; Persian decidedly," he 
 said aloud. 
 
 He could have given no name to this vague and potent 
 feeling which was gradually taking possession of all his 
 being ; he did not wish to name it. Only he was conscious 
 of some subtle and uneasy delight which seemed to creep 
 between him and the outer world. It is, perhaps, with some 
 such unresisting pleasure that the trees in the orchards feel 
 the rose-white promise of their blossoms burst from the 
 barren branches at the warm compelling touch of spring. 
 
 He had, in reality, been but a very few minutes in the 
 room before he went over to where Constance was sitting. 
 He stood leaning against the wall, his hand on the back of 
 a chair, looking down at her moving fingers. It was a 
 work belonging to Mrs. Van Ness over which the girl was 
 busy, but he could not know this, and something in her 
 constrained attitude and bent head annoyed him. He was 
 a man full of fancies. There seemed to him something 
 ominous in her silence to-night. 
 
 The swift white fingers trembled a little as he watched 
 them. She looked up. 
 
 " You have seen Mr. Stuart ? " 
 
 " Not to speak to." 
 
 " I think he was looking for you," said Constance. She 
 bent her face over her work. " Jack is going away to- 
 morrow," turning to him naturally, with a sudden passionate 
 craving for understanding and sympathy. 
 
 He did not answer. She glanced at him again a moment 
 later, thinking he had not heard. He was looking out at 
 the moonlight in the courtyard with the expression of a man 
 whose thoughts were miles away. Her eyes fell again with 
 a feeling of baffled expectation. She had thought all 
 day of this moment, and now it seemed that he did not 
 care to speak or listen. She kept her eyes fixed upon the 
 sewing. " You are industrious to-night," said Fanny, passing.
 
 262 MIRAGE. 
 
 Constance had lost all that fine colour; she was looking 
 quite pale and insignificant, Mrs. Thayer thought. 
 
 " Mr. Lawrence ! " 
 
 Mrs. Van Ness had crossed the room slowly, with a 
 rustle of silk and a dropping of shawls and a scattering of 
 faint perfume on the air. " I want to speak to you ; and 
 you have not seen my lizard," she said. The young man 
 followed her reluctantly to a sofa beside the door. 
 
 " Sit down ; " she pushed away some pillows, and made 
 a place for him by her side. " I really have a great many 
 things to talk to you about. My lizard is upstairs. He has 
 bitten Mr. Card twice already," with languid amusement ; 
 " but some people are so clumsy, you know. He is the 
 most affectionate little creature in reality 
 
 " Mr. Card is ? " 
 
 Mrs. Van Ness laughed. " Poor Mr. Gard. He is our 
 old clergyman, you know. At least my dear husband used 
 to go and hear him ; I never went to that church. And 
 entre nous, you know," tapping Lawrence's arm confi- 
 dentially, " the poor old man is really quite " she 
 shrugged her shoulders significantly. "-He has beenflasse 
 de mode for years ; an excellent man, but such a very dull 
 preacher, and so shockingly poor ! He had sunstroke last 
 year, and his wife says that is the reason he resigned his 
 parish ; but the fact is," looking cautiously about her, and 
 lowering her voice mysteriously, " they would have got rid 
 of him any way I know it. They had found a younger 
 man to take his place, and really a young clergyman is so 
 much more popular, you know. My dear husband always 
 said it would make a difference of fifty per cent, in the pew 
 rents when Mr. Gard was gone." 
 
 " Pleasant for him, poor devil ! " said Lawrence com- 
 passionately. 
 
 " Oh, you are a Roman Catholic, Mr. Lawrence ; you 
 don't understand these things. His old congregation 
 behaved quite handsomely, you know ; they gave him a 
 silver teapot with an inscription. To be sure he could not 
 live on that," with a deprecating smile. " He had got 
 some employment as a book-agent, when I brought him 
 and his wife abroad. I'm very fond of helping people ; I 
 like gratitude," folding her luxurious drapery about herself 
 complacently.
 
 MR. LAWRENCE READS MERIMEE. 263 
 
 "Gratitude?" repeated Lawrence absently, "that pre- 
 supposes a most generous nature in the recipient. My 
 mother used to be fond. of poor people " 
 
 " I knew your mother ; a beautiful girl she was, and very 
 shy. I met her once at a reception at Judge Poynter's the 
 Member of Congress, I mean." 
 
 " I know," said Lawrence. 
 
 " Ah, of course," with a recollecting smile, " of course. 
 He's a connection of yours, I remember, by marriage. 
 Well, what was 1 saying ? ah yes. Your mother. I wanted 
 to bring her out a little ; I tried to give her a dinner ; but 
 there was something the matter with you you had some 
 ridiculous cold or other and she would not come. Your 
 father came without her. You are not like your father," 
 turning to look at the young man with a critical glance. 
 
 " I remember your wife too," she said a moment after, 
 
 " a little Hm ! " calling herself to order abruptly. " I 
 
 remember everybody, you see, Mr. Lawrence." 
 
 But Lawrence was silent. There was something which 
 troubled him in this sudden evoking of dead faces out of 
 the past at this moment, and when he most desired to hold 
 his life, plastic and unshackled, in his grasp. 
 
 " You must come and dine with me when we all get back 
 to New York again. You are going back soon, I suppose ?" 
 
 " I ? " said Denis, looking up with a start ; " how can I 
 tell?" 
 
 " I'll give you a dinner if you will let me know when you 
 arrive," said Mrs. Van Ness blandly. " A little dinner. I 
 have never had more than eight people at once at my table 
 since my dear husband died. Eight has been my limit," 
 laying her hand impressively upon the young man's arm. 
 " Eight, ever since." 
 
 Mrs. Thayer had been watching this long conference 
 with some uneasiness. She passed them now ; looked out 
 at the clear moonlit, sky for a minute. " Jack will have a 
 lovely day for starting to-morrow," she said. 
 
 " Is Mr. Stuart going ? " asked Davenant. He began to 
 speak of his own departure. " I feel like a man who has 
 been on a spree," he said ; " this sumptuous life of the 
 East, this splendid use of colour and material, has given me 
 an excess of sensation. These nigs and scarves, and all this
 
 264 MIRAGE. 
 
 wrought metal and worked linen and incense, amongst 
 which these placid Orientals bask as unconscious of its 
 significance as the insect of the colour of its glittering wings 
 excite me still ; but they no longer satisfy me ; and I turn 
 back instinctively to that Europe over which arose those two 
 stars of the material and the spiritual life the Venus of the 
 Greeks and the Virgin of the Italians." 
 
 " Dear me. Do you suppose he means the Virgin Mary?" 
 asked Mrs. Gard in a horrified whisper to Constance. 
 
 " Yes," said Davenant, turning to her in all simplicity, 
 " that is what I mean. The worship of Venus is homage to 
 the supreme beauty in woman ; the worship of the Virgin is 
 homage to her most sacred form of suffering the two ideas 
 which form and resume all the world of art and literature, 
 and without which our life would be that of the Oriental a 
 sumptuous and wordless and sterile thing." 
 
 " Oh," said the old Major, with his dry smile, " you forget : 
 
 A Persian's heaven is easily made, 
 "Tis but black eyes and lemonade. 
 
 A rare old song we used to think that in the days when I 
 was young. You boys don't read Tom Moore." 
 
 " I should hope not, indeed," said Fanny with a toss of 
 her head. She had no particular opinion about Moore, but 
 any allusion to the Major's youth inspired her with a vague 
 feeling of resentment. 
 
 Where Fanny was, the conversation was apt to grow 
 personal. In a few minutes they were all discussing the 
 details of a recent social scandal, with whose principal actors 
 they were all more or less acquainted. " And I must say I 
 should like to know what made her do it," Fanny concluded 
 candidly ; " and unfortunately that is the one point one can 
 never hope to understand." 
 
 " I think I can understand it," said Constance quietly. 
 She hesitated and looked out at the splashing fountain in 
 the moonlight. "There are some appeals a man has no 
 right to make," she said with sudden passion. 
 
 Lawrence looked up quickly. " You would have had 
 him keep silence then ? " 
 
 " If I had been in his place," said Constance proudly, 
 " I would have kept silent though I had died,"
 
 MR. LAWRENCE READS MERIMEE. 265 
 
 They went out into the courtyard together. It was a 
 pale blue-gray night. There was not a breath of wind 
 stirring ; the very shadows thrown by the young moon were 
 motionless and half transparent ; and the moon itself was 
 reflected, a thin and yellow disc, in the smooth surface of 
 the brimming pool. 
 
 Lawrence lingered a little behind the others. " I want 
 to speak to you a moment," he said, and stood there irre- 
 solute, dipping his ringers in the tepid water, and breaking 
 the placid reflection into wide gleaming circles of light. A 
 mad impulse to tell her everything was on him, and still his 
 lips were sealed by what he believed to have been her 
 instinctive protest against listening to his speech, " I want 
 to ask you " he began again and hesitated. 
 
 " Yes ?" 
 
 The branches stirring a little overhead, the moonlight 
 shone down full upon the pure and sensitive face a child's 
 face it seemed to him, and troubled with a child's dim 
 apprehension of pain. 
 
 One moment he stood irresolute. Then he looked up 
 quietly. " I have told your aunt I was coming for you to- 
 morrow. You will like the horse I have got for you, Miss 
 Varley a very spirited creature; but he has been ridden 
 by a lady before." His tone was the same that he would 
 have used to a mere acquaintance. And yet, as he turned 
 by the doorway to bid her good-night, there was something 
 in his manner which made her put out her hand involun- 
 tarily, and speak. 
 
 " There is something the matter, Mr. Lawrence. I I 
 have been wanting to ask you all the evening." She 
 pressed her hands together nervously. " You are in trouble, 
 or something has happened since I saw you this morning. 
 You have been doing something " 
 
 "I," said Lawrence, looking at her steadily, "I have 
 been reading Merime'e." He took her hand in his, and 
 held it for a moment. " Good-bye," he said slowly. 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 He looked up smiling. " You mean it is only good- 
 night ?"
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ANOTHER LIFE. 
 
 CONSTANCE was in her own room the next morning when 
 Mrs. Gard knocked at the door. 
 
 " Come in l"~ The girl started up, surprised at the un- 
 expected face of her visitor. " I thought it might be Fanny," 
 she said half apologetically ; and then, with instinctive hos- 
 pitality, hastened to make the new-comer comfortable, 
 pushing the one easy-chair nearer the window, which stood 
 wide open this mild spring morning. There were some 
 books and a half-finished letter lying upon the table, but she 
 had been sitting before them with folded hands, she did not 
 herself know how long. 
 
 " I hope that Mr. Gard is better this morning has got 
 over his headache?" she said presently, seeing that her 
 guest showed no disposition to speak. 
 
 Mrs. Gard looked up quickly. " I wanted to tell you 
 about that. He my husband he is not well ; the least 
 thing excites him, and for strangers who do not know " 
 
 " But I do know," said Constance, with a ready wish to 
 spare her the pain of telling ; " my. aunt has told me." 
 
 The little woman opposite looked up with eager eyes. 
 " She has told you ?" leaning forward a little and catching 
 at her breath. 
 
 Miss Varley glanced about her uneasily. " I heard that 
 Mr. Gard had had sunstroke," she said gently. " I was very 
 sorry to hear it." 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " And that that he had given up his parish. It must 
 have been a great sorrow to you," looking up with grave 
 compassion.
 
 ANOTHER LIFE. 267 
 
 She moved her hand impatiently, as though putting 
 herself out of the question. " And she told you nothing 
 else about him, then? Nothing about the reason of his 
 leaving ?" 
 
 Constance looked at her bewildered. 
 
 " She said he had sunstroke and never told you how or 
 why, and you never thought to ask her, or she answered 
 you as she did that Mr. Lawrence last night. They thought 
 I did not hear them talking of Edwin. A dull old man, 
 they called him, and shockingly poor ; and the parish the 
 parish would have got rid of him anyway. Our own parish, 
 Miss Varley," clasping her thin rough hands together, and 
 looking down at them with a certain bewildered incredulity. 
 " And she said she knew it ; that they had come to her 
 for advice." 
 
 " I am sure," said Constance, hesitating, " I am sure that 
 my aunt meant nothing unkind. And I know that Mr. 
 
 Lawrence If you will tell me what you would like him 
 
 to know, I promise you that he shall hear it to-day," lifting 
 up her blue eyes frankly. 
 
 Mrs. Gard did not seem to notice the offer. 
 
 " Our own parish," she repeated vacantly. " Why, 
 Miss Varley, we went there when we were first married, 
 Edwin and I ; and we made it our home. It was a poor enough 
 place until Edwin came, just a small country church ; and he 
 started everything the evening service for the mill-hands, 
 and the Sunday-school, and the Wednesday prayer-meetings; 
 he never missed one of them in twenty years, summer or 
 winter, until last year. There wasn't another minister in all 
 the country round who could say as much," with a sharp 
 nod, " not one. And to call him a dull preacher ! Why, 
 we have had people visiting us people from Boston, who 
 had heard everything and they said they had never listened 
 to better sermons than my Edwin's," a dull look of pleasure 
 creeping over her strained and anxious face. 
 
 Perhaps it was some relief to her to say these things to 
 Constance. People had a way of coming to the girl with 
 stories which demanded sympathy ; she never failed to meet 
 them ; whatever trouble she might have of her own thrust 
 out of sight and speechless ; and in all things she had found 
 it easier to give than ask. She listened now in silence.
 
 268 MIRAGE. 
 
 " It was a poor little place of ours our parish but there 
 were green fields all about the village, and country air and 
 quiet ; that was what made Edwin think of it," putting up her 
 hand nervously to her coarse colourless lips. " It was a 
 terrible summer in New York, and we heard how the people 
 were dying every day in the city, and he thought it was his 
 duty to give some other man some younger man a chance. 
 He told me of it one night after the evening service we 
 were walking home together ; " sitting up abruptly, " and the 
 next week he had gone there and made the exchange, and 
 
 before the month was over It is the man whose place 
 
 he took who has got our parish now Edwin's parish," 
 repeating the words with dogged protest. 
 
 " Do you mean to say he took it ? " the girl asked 
 indignantly. 
 
 Mrs. Gard looked up. 
 
 " People must live, you know. And when Edwin was 
 
 not strong enough Edwin will not have me speak of it. 
 
 He says it was the will of Providence; but I say I say it 
 was our home," with a sudden break in the thin harsh voice. 
 She got up presently. " I didn't mean to have troubled you 
 so long, Miss Varley." She turned towards the door and 
 looked back. " I am a clergyman's wife," she said hurriedly. 
 " I have a right to speak. I have been listening to you all 
 since I have been here. I have sat by and heard you speak. 
 I have heard those young men talk of their carpets and their 
 pictures, and laugh at this, and sneer at that, and talk of the 
 
 proper understanding of life Life ! there is not one of 
 
 you who knows what the word means. You call yourselves 
 artists ; I say you are nothing but lookers-on people who 
 
 stand by and weigh and criticise, while others And while 
 
 you are talking about life my Edwin has gone out and acted ; 
 
 he has laid down his life for another, while you And you 
 
 have everything in this world," the dull colour rushing 
 suddenly to her faded cheek. 
 
 "I think you should be very proud of your husband," 
 said Constance simply. 
 
 Mrs. Gard stood still a moment, fumbling nervously with 
 the key in the lock. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she said presently, taking out her 
 coarse cotton handkerchief and passing it quickly over her
 
 ANOTHER LIFE. 269 
 
 face. " I'm sure I didn't mean to be uncivil, Miss Varley, 
 and after all your aunt's kindness to my husband " 
 
 She hesitated, and put her hand in her pocket and looked 
 up wistfully. 
 
 " I thought I'd like to show you " with a hesitating 
 
 glance at the girl's face. " It's a photograph we had taken 
 of Edwin's testimonial the silver teapot and tray they gave 
 him in the parish. It isn't a very good photograph, but if 
 
 you look at it by the light I copied the inscription on 
 
 the back there," with a foolish embarrassed laugh. 
 
 Miss Constance took the poor little bit of cheap card- 
 board in her hand and looked at it for a moment steadily, 
 and then she turned and looked at her companion. The 
 sharp commonplace face had grown almost beautiful by the 
 mere force of sincerity and tenderness. She stooped with a 
 sudden impulse and kissed Mrs. Gard upon the cheek. 
 
 " When the time comes I think some of us may be 
 
 ready to give up our lives too," she said. 
 
 The undemonstrative New Englandwoman looked down, 
 embarrassed by the unusual caress. 
 
 " I I did not mean to be uncivil," she repeated vaguely, 
 and slipped out of the room a minute later with a mute and 
 doubtful glance. 
 
 It was a very mild spring day. 
 
 When she was once more alone, Constance turned 
 instinctively to the window, resting her arms upon its 
 cushioned ledge, and looking out absently at the soft and 
 luminous gray of the sky. 
 
 It was one of those silent colourless days when every 
 sound seems to come from far off, and every note of colour 
 is intensified to twice its normal value. A day full of light 
 warm gusts of wind and quick drops of rain which wet 
 nothing, the sun shining the while behind the clouds with a 
 silvery and muffled glare. 
 
 She leaned upon the window-sill and looked out absently. 
 
 Once Major Thayer passed under her window ; he was 
 coming back from the bazaar with Mr. Gard, and looked up 
 cheerfully and called her name. She watched them pass in 
 at the open doorway, the clergyman following last with stiff 
 alacrity, a smile upon his thin ascetic face. He held his 
 hat in his hand as he came in, and the light shone down
 
 270 MIRAGE. 
 
 full upon his high bald forehead and its meek fringe of 
 smooth gray hair. 
 
 And this man had known supreme self-sacrifice to an 
 ideal ? 
 
 She looked after him meditatively, pausing there on the 
 threshold, as it were, of her own experience, with the soft 
 enervating wind blowing about her, in a world made fair and 
 sweet with the rapturous awakening of the spring, lingering 
 a moment to look back at this other life, with a vague and 
 anxious inquiry. He had answered the question in his own 
 way ; but how when it came to her ? 
 
 The day deepened into noon. She began to move about 
 her room restlessly, fingering her riding-whip, straightening 
 the feather in her hat, dwelling in a hundred different ways 
 upon the details of her preparation. For this ride had grown 
 to assume a curious importance in her eyes. She looked 
 forward to it with a curious unworded presentiment ; the 
 colour flushing softly to her cheeks as she thought how, out 
 there in the silent fields, there might come some look, some 
 
 word And even to herself she did not end the sentence, 
 
 standing suddenly still, on her face a smile of grave and 
 incredulous delight. 
 
 It was after twelve o'clock when Fanny came up for 
 her. 
 
 Stuart was going to Baalbeck. His friends had started ; 
 his horse was waiting at the door. 
 
 "He is only delaying to say good-bye to you," Mrs. 
 Thayer told the girl reproachfully. 
 
 It was not an impassioned parting. They shook hands 
 by the foot of the stairway. 
 
 " Well, take care of yourself, Constance," said Jack, in 
 his matter-of-fact voice. 
 
 On the whole, I think he was inclined to feel a little 
 ashamed of his previous emotion. 
 
 He turned back once more as he was going out of the 
 door. 
 
 " I mean what what . I told you yesterday. I'll come 
 back then," with an emphatic nod and a new look of firm- 
 ness about his mouth. And then he took her hand in his 
 again and held it. 
 
 "You'll come back? "said the Major, catching at his
 
 ANOTHER LIFE. 271 
 
 last words ; " oh you'll come back soon enough, never fear. 
 I think I'd back our attractions against Baalbeck." 
 
 And so, with a good-natured laugh on the old man's 
 side, they parted. 
 
 " It will do the boy good. I don't half like the way he 
 is looking," the Major said to himself softly, gazing after the 
 horseman clattering down the street. And then he turned 
 and contemplated Miss Constance's pale face with a smile of 
 considerable humour, as much as to say : " Good heavens ! 
 what tragic young fools these are." But I don't think that 
 Constance paid much attention to his meaning. 
 
 She looked up now, drawing a deep long breath, with 
 the action of a person putting some puzzling question out 
 of mind. She slipped her hand under the Major's arm and 
 paced slowly up and down the courtyard at his side. 
 
 " I wish I knew someone who could tell me what I wish 
 to know," she said half aloud. 
 
 The Major looked at her with undisguised alarm. 
 
 " My dear, ask Fanny," he began ; " Fanny is the proper 
 person " 
 
 And then Constance laughed. 
 
 " I was thinking of the significance of life," she said, 
 with a touch of her old imperiousness. " It seems to make 
 so little difference what one tries to do " 
 
 " A man must be very young to think it makes any 
 difference," said the Major philosophically. " You young 
 people fancy that your little plans and hesitations and 
 
 decisions are shaping life, and. all the while But mind, 
 
 I am not giving you any advice, you know." 
 
 "No," said Constance, smiling; "you send people to 
 Fanny for that." 
 
 " Exactly," the Major assented with perfect composure ; 
 
 " and when you have been married as long as I have 
 
 But now about this ride I suppose you've heard that I'm 
 ordered out for escort-duty ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; you're coming, of course," said Constance, 
 looking down. 
 
 The Major smiled to himself confidentially. 
 
 " Don't mention it at headquarters," he said aloud, 
 " but I'm beginning to find it rather a bore to have to regu- 
 late my movements by Mrs. Van Ness." Adding hastily a
 
 272 MIRAGE. 
 
 moment later : " To be sure it always pays better to give in 
 to a woman than to have a row with her ; she's sure to 
 carry her point either way." 
 
 And then he turned and looked at Constance again with 
 an air of amused relief. It was perfectly evident the girl 
 had not been listening to a word of what he said. 
 
 She went back to her own room presently. The absolute 
 quiet of intense expectation had taken possession of her. 
 As the hours passed this self-control only deepened. 
 Fanny, moving restlessly in and out of the room, found her 
 always in the same attitude sitting quietly by the window 
 looking out at the sky. 
 
 " And what you can find in that dull gray day to stare 
 at is more than I can see," the little woman told her at last 
 with secret impatience. 
 
 " If you watched it long enough you would see that all 
 those clouds are moving," the girl answered, looking up 
 with a sudden smile in her blue eyes. There was some- 
 thing in the silence, the still and ceaseless unrest of this 
 colourless day, which suited her fancy. She could feel the 
 minutes passing one by one, and the sensation gave her a 
 certain pleasure. She had no wish to hurry the flight of 
 time ; on the contrary, this pause of suspense seemed to her 
 inexpressibly grateful. She kept her thoughts turned reso- 
 lutely away from what might be coming, only from time to 
 time she felt her heart beating quicker, and once she put 
 her hand up to her eyes with a sudden smile to find them 
 full of tears. 
 
 But all the day was not full of this same silence. Down 
 by old Ahmed's house, near the shoemakers' bazaar, the 
 narrow street was crowded with loitering groups of men. 
 Now and then these groups were scattered by the passing 
 of the bare-legged porters bending double under the weight 
 of their heavy bales ; new-comers were constantly arriving, 
 and at every moment the door opened to give passage to 
 some anxious-faced merchant or swarthy Bedawy, with scant 
 discoloured drapery and imperturbable gait. At one 
 moment a large white donkey came trotting down the street, 
 shaking his crimson trappings and bells, and everyone made 
 way respectfully for its master, Ahmed himself coming to 
 the door to receive the small wrinkled old man in the
 
 ANOTHER LIFE. 273 
 
 brown-and-white striped abbas and the yellow handkerchief 
 bound about his temples with cords of camel's hair. 
 
 As the gate was thrown open before him, the men wait- 
 ing about outside could catch a brief glimpse of a crowded 
 courtyard, a curious medley of bales and boxes and rope- 
 bound saddles and lines of waiting dromedaries, huge 
 threadbare-looking beasts, moving their long thin necks 
 restlessly from side to side, or crouching in uncouth rest 
 along the narrow strip of shadow by the wall. The place 
 was full of men and noise and colour the guttural moaning 
 of camels and voluble Arabic voices, and white-clad figures 
 and fluttering robes of blue. 
 
 " By Jove ! a fellow can't help but envy you," said 
 Ferris, looking out at the shifting crowd. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence, to whom the words were addressed, was 
 taking a last look at his old studio. Here, too, was every 
 sign of movement and change ; bare walls and corded boxes, 
 and a confused litter of papers and half-finished sketches 
 and empty colour-tubes-strewing the tables and floor. 
 
 He looked up now. " I have left you that portfolio of 
 drawings. And, by-the-way, Ferris, there's a lot of blue 
 tiles at Aboo Antika's I've got the old beggar's receipt for 
 them somewhere ; I told him to send them round to you. 
 I should like to have you keep them. They will do to 
 build a mausoleum to my memory," with a laugh. " You 
 know you never expect to see me back." 
 
 And then again, after a moment's silence : " You'll be 
 glad to hear old Ahmed has come to terms at last." 
 
 "About that girl?" 
 
 Lawrence nodded. " It's all settled ; I'm going to paint 
 her. It suddenly occurred to our friend Ahmed that, being 
 an infidel Jewess already, it could hardly hurt little Ayassa 
 much to win her dowry from the exceeding folly of a dog 
 of a Christian. It is a view of the case I take care not to 
 discourage. I shall make something out of that I think, 
 old fellow," looking up with a confident smile. " I believe 
 old Ahmed hardly expected me to go," he added presently, 
 " and indeed until last night " 
 
 The fascination of desert travel seemed to have taken 
 possession of Lawrence already. He went out a dozen 
 times in the course of the morning to watch the preparations
 
 274 MIRAGE. 
 
 of the caravan. This silent and sober prevision of great 
 distances, and a barren and lifeless land, affected his imagi- 
 nation, The Bedawy sheikh halted a moment under his 
 window, and the sight of his keen and fleshless face, the 
 thin black beard and piercing eyes looking out from under 
 the shadow of his gaudy headdress, gave him a curious 
 thrill of excitement. He sat down and began telling Ferris 
 of his former experiences of desert stretches seen at dawn, 
 of long silent journeys through the cooler hours before the 
 morning, and evening encampments, and changeless skies 
 high arched above illimitable space. And through all his 
 rambling talk, through all the enforced quiet of his manner, 
 Ferris detected, or thought that he detected, the presence of 
 some unwonted emotion held out of sight. This very 
 restlessness was something new in Lawrence. 
 
 On entering the studio his friend had found him busied 
 in nailing up some of the various boxes which filled the 
 room, and although he rose at once, throwing away his 
 hammer with some muttered allusion to the cursed stupidity 
 of these Arab fellows, it had struck Ferris even then that 
 there was something beside the mere desire of travel which 
 was urging him on to push his preparations beyond the 
 possibility of recall. 
 
 " You might have left all this until to-morrow," he sug- 
 gested once, looking around at the dismantled studio ; "you 
 will find it deuced uncomfortable work waiting all the after- 
 noon with nothing especial to do." 
 
 " I've got an engagement," said Lawrence ; " I am going 
 out riding. I promised to show Miss Varley some gardens 
 outside the gates." 
 
 Mr. Ferris was silent a moment. 
 " Stuart has gone away, I think Davenant told me ? " 
 " Stuart," said Mr. Lawrence, looking his friend steadily 
 in the face, " has gone for four or five days to Baalbeck." 
 
 " I suppose you have told them all the people down 
 there at the hotel, I mean that you were leaving ? " 
 
 The young man coloured slightly. " I have not men- 
 tioned it. I have not seen anyone since it was finally decided ; 
 it is not a matter of such very great importance," looking 
 out of the window absently. " I hate to have my affairs dis- 
 cussed by a lot of women," he said, with sudden irritation.
 
 ANOTHER LIFE. 275 
 
 Mr. Ferris smiled significantly. " I took a curious liking 
 to that girl, you know," he added presently with a certain 
 irrelevance, and Denis did not ask him what he meant. In 
 the silence which followed there came a knock upon the 
 studio-door. " I say, Lawrence hallo, Ferris, and how did 
 you come here? I say, Lawrence, there's a boy out here 
 who's asking after you," said Davenant, putting in his head. 
 
 He came in and looked about him disconsolately. " I 
 hate these changes. I wish I had not come to spoil my old 
 impression. Do have that boy in, Lawrence. He's got a 
 beautiful face, I noticed, and it will be something to look at," 
 with a reproachful glance at the bare walls. 
 
 The boy was the same boy Jew of whom mention has 
 been made already; a half-grown lad, whom Denis had 
 picked up between two and three o'clock on a bitter March 
 morning, half starved and nearly speechless with the cold. 
 He had been turned out of the house where he worked some 
 day or two before, and had been living in any way he could 
 ever since, prowling about th<f bazaars by day, and fighting 
 with the pariah-dogs for the warmest corner at night. On 
 further inquiry he admitted frankly that he had been turned 
 out for stealing his late master's dinner. He also remarked 
 casually that that was the way he had been getting his 
 dinners ever since, and there was a naive unconcern about 
 his way of mentioning the fact which appealed forcibly to 
 Lawrence's taste for the morally picturesque. He took the 
 boy home with him that night from motives which, I am 
 bound to admit, had more to do with the state of the tem- 
 perature and the relative thickness of their coats than with 
 the higher forms of justice ; and the lad had attached him- 
 self persistently to the young man ever since, carrying his 
 painting-traps from place to place, spending whole days 
 waiting for him outside the doorstep a loyal and patient 
 and utterly irresponsible little scamp. 
 
 He came in now, carrying a small folded package, which 
 he placed listlessly upon the nearest table. He went and 
 leaned against the wall, an effeminate supple figure in scarlet 
 and white, gazing calmly at the three young men with his 
 still dark oriental eyes. "And what will become of that 
 fellow when you leave ? " said Ferris. 
 
 " Oh, I take the boy with me. That is the worst of 
 
 T 2
 
 276 MIRAGE. 
 
 playing amateur providence," with a careless look and 
 laugh. 
 
 "You are always picking up desperate characters, 
 Lawrence. You will have to be suppressed some day from 
 motives of sound political economy," said George. 
 
 The package had come unfastened as the boy laid it 
 down ; some yellow beads were lying on the table. 
 
 " More tribute to the beautiful Ayassa ? If it's anything 
 worth looking at, I wish you would hang it up in a con- 
 spicuous place. These naked walls are simply intolerable," 
 said Davenant, putting his hand to his eyes as though they 
 ached. 
 
 Denis laughed. " It is only a string of beads I have been 
 having mended for Miss Varley." 
 
 But he neither touched nor looked at them until the 
 others had left him, and even then he hesitated a moment 
 before taking the bauble into his hands. A man with some- 
 thing of a woman's sentiment for trifles I have called him ; he 
 looked at these beads now with a curious attention, holding 
 them a long while between his fingers, as though the mere 
 contact brought him, in some mysterious way, in closer rela- 
 tion to their owner. He found some fanciful analogy 
 between the impression the girl had made upon him and these 
 smooth delicate circles of sunshine-coloured amber. "Some- 
 thing apart and mysterious and inimitable," he thought idly, 
 slipping the yellow chaplet through his fingers, and, as about 
 everything else which she had worn the day before, he 
 noticed that about these beads there lingered the faint 
 suggestion of clinging r/riental perfume.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "AFTER THREE YEARS." 
 
 THEY started. There was quite a little crowd collected 
 about the doorway to see the young girl appear in her 
 riding-dress. Mrs. Van Ness herself had come down into 
 the courtyard, where she stood leaning upon Fanny's arm, 
 and watching her niece's movements with coldly-unfavour- 
 able eyes. 
 
 " And to think, my dear, that your husband should 
 insist upon finishing that sketch before he starts. A man 
 of his age ! It is really too ridiculous," she said with 
 sudden exasperation, as .the injudicious Lione brushed by 
 her with one of his ecstatic bounds. 
 
 " I am sure, Aunt Van, if you knew the trouble I have 
 had in persuading him to go at all," Fanny protested in 
 her plaintive little voice. 
 
 And then they both turned to look at the tall erect girl 
 moving swiftly down the winding stair, and holding up her 
 habit and fastening her gloves as she came. 
 
 " Such a lovely day, Aunt Van ! Down, sir ; be quiet, 
 Lione ! Such a day for a ride ! " she said, with such frank, 
 eager joyousness in all her manner that even Mrs. Van Ness 
 was startled for the moment into something very like assent; 
 and it was only when they had started down the street 
 together, Miss Varley's horse shying and prancing at every 
 wave of Lione's golden-brown ears it was only when the 
 two were fairly off upon their expedition that the old lady 
 devoted herself to the pleasing task of finding fault with 
 Fanny, which she did with an ingenuity of insinuation and a 
 calm severity of conclusion which would, I fear, have afforded 
 a certain grim and retributive satisfaction to the Major.
 
 278 MIRAGE. 
 
 11 For I find something shocking, positively shocking, 
 quite inconvenant, in the way you allow Constance to dis- 
 pose of her own time. Constance has a will of her own ? 
 Nonsense, Fanny ! A woman of your age," looking 
 Mrs. Thayer stonily in the face, " should know how to 
 manage better than that. There, my dear, you need not 
 answer me. I know what I am saying perfectly well. I 
 consider," said Mrs. Van Ness calmly, " that my niece is 
 as good as engaged to young Stuart. She does not think 
 so, but I do. And under the circumstances nothing could 
 be in more deplorable taste than the slightest suspicion of a 
 flirtation with Mr. Lawrence a charming young fellow; a 
 capital listener ; rather different in that respect from your 
 husband, my dear Fanny, who never seems to be aware 
 that I am speaking a charming young fellow," said 
 Mrs. Van Ness majestically, " but not a marrying man." 
 
 But this was a consideration which did not seem to have 
 occurred to either of the riders. It would have been 
 difficult indeed to have found two people more thoroughly 
 well satisfied than they, as they picked their way leisurely 
 along the crowded streets, the horses slipping and starting 
 over the smooth round stones until the noise of the 
 clattering hoofs overpowered every other sound ; and their 
 riders were silent, only turning their heads from time to 
 time to exchange a well-contented glance. Once, as they 
 were passing Ahmed's house, the cries of the camels 
 frightened Constance's horse, who shied violently across the 
 road. She was a brave rider and independent to a fault, 
 but now, when Lawrence laid his hand upon her reins, she 
 gave them up without a word. It seemed the most natural 
 thing to them both that he should have assumed entire 
 control of their movements. He spoke of it at once : 
 
 " I am taking it for granted that I know which way you 
 wish to go," he said smiling. 
 
 She looked up brightly. 
 
 " I like to be tyrannised over," she said, and then, all at 
 once, it seemed to her that she had always liked it 
 
 They rode on. Some half-a-dozen Turkish soldiers were 
 lounging and smoking about the city-gate; a laden camel 
 was crouching by the roadside ; a heavy ordnance-waggon 
 jolted noisily on before them between two lines of sordid
 
 "AFTER THREE YEARS? 279 
 
 yellow wall ; a few paces more, and a palm-tree nodded to 
 them from some hidden garden, the creaking waggon 
 stopped with a clank before the barrack-door, and another 
 gate lifted before them its piles of Roman masonry. 
 
 " Now ! " said Lawrence, pointing with his whip. The 
 horses sprang forward with a common impulse. The river 
 rushed and foamed on a level with the turf bordering the 
 wide white road; and there were tall green poplar-trees 
 standing deep in the limpid water, and all strong, vigorous- 
 growing things were there tall bulrushes, and low thick 
 willows, and dark beds of lily-leaves up-springing greenly 
 beneath a pale and luminous sky. 
 
 "At last ! " said Lawrence, drawing a deep breath. 
 
 She looked all about her, and laughed for very joy. 
 " At last ! " 
 
 And then for many minutes there was no other word 
 spoken ; no sound but the muffled beat of horses' hoofs 
 sweeping along in quickening cadence on a line with the 
 water's flow. 
 
 It would be difficult to say what the young girl was 
 experiencing in those moments. A feeling of wild delight 
 and of unreality above all, a sentiment of unreality mingled 
 in the strangest fashion with the purely physical exultation 
 in rapid motion and the touch of the warm moist wind. It 
 was a gray, sunless day, but the horses stopped of their own 
 accord at the foot of the second hill, panting deep breaths, 
 with heaving flanks and breasts all streaked and shining 
 with heat. 
 
 " There must be a touch of khemseen in the air. We 
 shall have to take it a little more quietly," said Denis, 
 leaning back in his saddle, and pulling off his hat. 
 
 They went on at foot pace. In that first long gallop 
 they had left all sight, all suggestion of the city far behind. 
 They were passing now between two long lines of blossoming 
 orchards, deepwalled-in spaces of white and spreading boughs. 
 
 When they ceased to ride fast the day seemed to grow 
 more still ; there was not a breath of wind stirring, not a 
 sound ; they were entirely alone, only all about them there 
 were great dome-like masses of bloom and whiteness rising 
 up against the gray of the sky. The river, too, had wan- 
 dered away; but when they listened they could catch a
 
 280 MIRAGE. 
 
 hundred faint murmuring sounds of water, the voice of 
 countless unseen brooks deep hidden in the orchard-grass. 
 It was like some forgotten day which had strayed back from 
 its place in the very early spring ; the atmosphere was tepid 
 and moist, as on some silent afternoon in April, with every 
 now and then a thrill of warmer and more enervating air. 
 The sky was low and gray and restless. The horses were 
 content to walk on slowly, whinnying from time to time, and 
 striking the ground with impatient feet. 
 
 Once, when they were passing before a high wooden 
 paling, Lawrence pointed out the place to her. 
 
 " Ahmed's garden. I have had it opened for you. I 
 told the Major to meet us there. We will dismount, and go 
 in and see it, if you like, on our way back." 
 
 " You must positively let me get a sketch of you to-day," 
 he said, a moment later. " The merest outline, a pencil-note 
 will be enough ; but I want it this afternoon." 
 
 She smiled, well pleased. "Whenever you like to-day 
 or to-morrow." 
 
 " You have been telling me that for the last three days," 
 said Denis. 
 
 " Is it really only three days since we came here?" with 
 
 a startled glance. " Why, it seems " She hesitated, a 
 
 sudden realisation of what those three days counted for in 
 her life sweeping over her and checking her speech. " But 
 you shall have the sketch whenever you please," she said 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " I hardly think that I shall have time to-morrow " 
 
 lie paused so long that she looked up surprised. 
 
 "To-morrow?" 
 
 He opened his lips to speak of his journey. I do not 
 know what impulse it was which kept him silent. The 
 day was so harmonious ; they were both so contented ; there 
 seemed something absolutely brutal in marring this fine 
 unison with any thought of change. And with those 
 questioning blue eyes fixed upon his face it seemed easier to 
 speak of anything but leaving. 
 
 " Tell me what was the matter with you last night," he 
 said, putting out his hand, and drawing a wisp of her horse's 
 thin mane through his fingers. " I wanted to ask you 
 several times."
 
 " AFTER THREE YEARS." 281 
 
 Her cheek flushed a little. "You? Why you were 
 talking to my aunt," she said evasively. 
 
 " I have made a very good impression on Mrs. Van 
 Ness," said Lawrence smiling. " And, by-the-way, she has 
 not told you that I am a very charming fellow?" 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " Ah well, that is all to come then. You wait and see. 
 I am exceedingly charming quite remarkably so in fact ; 
 and when I go home to New York, whenever that event may 
 occur, I am to be invited to a dinner in consequence ; to a 
 little dinner." 
 
 "Only eight?" 
 
 " Only eight, of course. I call that exceedingly dis- 
 respectful of you, Miss Varley." 
 
 She laughed. "And yet I am fond of my aunt, you 
 know in a fashion." 
 
 "So is Mrs. Thayer." He dropped the lock of coarse 
 black hair and straightened himself suddenly in his saddle. 
 " You will not tell me why you were so sad last night then ?" 
 looking keenly at her. 
 
 She was silent, the flush deepening upon her face a girl 
 made reticent by temperament as well as habit, unused to 
 sympathy. She would have told him anything ; but even to 
 herself the words seemed meagre and unsatisfactory when 
 they came. But it was impossible he should not understand. 
 
 " Mr. Stuart had told me he was going away. It is only 
 
 for a few days, but I knew it was my fault, and There 
 
 are some things that seem so hard to do. I could not help 
 being sorry," her eyes filling suddenly with tears. 
 
 He was the only person who would understand her. It 
 was so easy, so natural to tell him everything. She turned to 
 him now eagerly. " And then Aunt Van had been finding 
 fault with me all the morning, you know." 
 
 "About Mr. Stuart?" 
 
 She looked up relieved. It was plain he must under- 
 stand to have asked that question. There was something in 
 the expression of his face which made her shrink back 
 doubtfully, the same baffled disappointed feeling of last night 
 creeping over her. And yet he had not said a word ; he 
 was only looking straight ahead at the long empty road, his 
 hand resting carelessly on his horse's neck.
 
 282 MIRAGE. 
 
 " It was about Mr. Stuart ? " 
 
 He turned and repeated his question gravely ; and some- 
 how, she could not have told why, but it seemed to her that 
 there was more in his meaning than in the simple words. 
 Yet she answered him with all her customary directness. 
 
 " Yes ; about Mr. Stuart." 
 
 " Aunt Van does not mean any harm," she said, inco- 
 herently, a moment later, bending over to stroke the horse 
 between his eyes; "I would not like you to think that. 
 Only one's relatives have a way of expecting you to be 
 happy after their own ideas of happiness ; although, I must 
 say, my experience of near relatives is rather limited. I 
 think there cannot be many girls with so few people belong- 
 ing to them as I " breaking off with a confused laugh. 
 
 He looked at her fixedly for a minute or two. " Is 
 Mrs. Van Ness your only aunt? Tell me all about her. 
 Tell me something more about yourself. It seems curious 
 to think how little I know about you in reality," bending 
 forward a little with one of his rare sudden smiles. What- 
 ever might have been the motive which had made him 
 irresponsive, it was plain that he had rid himself of its 
 influence for the nonce. " Tell me," he said ; and she no 
 more hesitated to grow communicative at his bidding than 
 one of the blossoms about them would have hesitated about 
 unfolding its petals in the sun. 
 
 There was so little to tell, she answered. Mrs. Van 
 Ness was her only near connection ; yes. " Aunt Van was 
 my mother's half-sister, and much, very much the elder of 
 the two. My mother was only twenty when she died," the 
 girl said softly. " My father has a picture of her taken just 
 after their marriage, an old-fashioned pastel thing, with pink 
 cheeks and her hair all brushed back ; but I think it must 
 have been a good likeness, it looks so very much like me." 
 
 She was silent for a moment, looking out wistfully at the 
 sweet spring fields. " She was only twenty, younger than I 
 am," she repeated softly, " only twenty, and my father loved 
 her so dearly, and she died. You see, I can't help caring 
 for Aunt Van a little, can I ? " turning to Lawrence with a 
 sudden appeal. 
 
 She was so near that he could see the very quivering of 
 her lips. He put up his hand to his own mouth uneasily,
 
 " AFTER THREE YEARS? 283 
 
 smoothing down the ends of his moustache. " Engaged to 
 marry Stuart," he reminded himself once or twice ; chance 
 words out of Mrs. Van Ness's confidences coming back with 
 gathering meaning. "Damn the woman !" he thought savagely. 
 
 " You ought to wish me joy," he said to Constance a 
 moment later ; " this is my birthday. To-day I'm thirty- 
 one. I suppose that is a reason for being congratulated ? " 
 
 "Eight, nine only nine years older than I," said 
 Constance. 
 
 He nodded. " Nine years in point of fact, perhaps, but 
 I am incalculably older than you in reality. Why, I had 
 half got through with life before I was your age. There 
 must be centuries of experience between us by this time," 
 with a sudden tone in his voice which seemed to push her 
 miles away. 
 
 She looked up at him with a patient puzzled glance. She 
 had done nothing ; there was no reason he should be unkind 
 to her she thought, with a sudden childish passion of resent- 
 ment. It was unkind, unjust. 
 
 "You should take that horse up a little more on his 
 curb, Miss Varley. So. These Arab horses are unreliable 
 brutes. And I can't be responsible for you if you are not 
 obedient," adjusting the reins slowly, and looking into her 
 face the while. He saw something there which seemed to 
 amuse him. " Yes, it is my birthday. We used to have a 
 way of celebrating our birthdays when I was a boy at home : 
 presents first, of course ; and then, before we went to sleep 
 at night, a sort of general confession, an overhauling of all 
 the year's mistakes. I used to look forward to that part of 
 it with a sort of nervous horror when I was a little fellow ; 
 it is only as one gets older that one learns to take a paternal 
 interest in the enumeration of one's faults." 
 
 She bent down and touched Lione's head with the lash 
 of her riding-whip. 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Now you are very proud," watching her averted face 
 with the same attentive amusement. " A few years ago, if 
 anyone had told you that, you would have felt very unhappy 
 about it and promised to reform ; and now I want you to 
 observe how the best of us degenerate you are playing with 
 your dog and thinking "
 
 284 MIRAGE. 
 
 She looked up and laughed. 
 
 " Well ? " closing her mouth defiantly. 
 
 " The Sphinx in person ? No ; I don't read thoughts. 
 Your pride is so much a part of you," he said suddenly, 
 " that I honestly believe it would be easier for you to stand 
 by and see your dearest hope founder than put out your 
 hand or save it by a word." 
 
 She turned to him with a startled air. 
 
 " Would I ? I don't know," the colour rising suddenly 
 about her throat and cheek. 
 
 " I know it," said Lawrence gravely. " Now, my own 
 faults my own faults," flicking his horse's ears, with a frank 
 careless laugh, " are vastly worse, belong to quite a lower 
 order of moral turpitude. For one thing, I am more easily 
 diverted from my purpose than anyone you ever knew. I 
 should call it a certain plasticity of nature if I were describ- 
 ing the trait to an outsider ; but between you and me," con- 
 fidentially, " I think it is a horribly mortifying fact. My 
 only line of self-defence is a sort of stony obduracy," 
 laughing. " For if I once begin to listen to the voice of 
 
 the charmer ! And the worst of it is that it isn't people 
 
 alone, but days, places, the very commonest things which 
 influence me. Why. the mere fact that the wind is blowing 
 
 from a certain quarter I'm like a French revolution 
 
 you know the story? " with a sudden touch of mockery " I 
 can't build my barricades if it rains." 
 
 " But that is only one fault if you call it a fault," said 
 Constance seriously. " For my part I think I am just a 
 little tired of hermetically-sealed natures. At least I don't 
 
 know The outside world seems to me to be something 
 
 more than just a side-scene or a farm." 
 
 " Did it ever occur to you that there might be people 
 yet, susceptible to precisely those influences which the Greeks 
 embodied in all the wild and beautiful creatures of the water 
 and the woods in fauns and dryads and the shy white 
 nymphs ? It's all very well to call that sort of thing mythical," 
 said Lawrence, " but it was no more a fiction than the religion 
 of the Egyptians was a fiction until the Greeks appeared, or 
 than the religion of the early Hebrews, with all its strange 
 admixture of idol worship and curious Chaldean lore. Why, 
 the high places of these very hills around us were once as
 
 "AFTER THREE YEARS." 285 
 
 sacred to unseen and beautiful or terrible presences as the 
 most nymph-haunted wood in Greece. And who knows 
 what tales will be told in the course of some thousand years 
 of a religion which peopled the remote and silent places of 
 mountain and forest and lagoon, with wayside shrine and 
 cross, until there is hardly a spot in Catholic Europe 
 untenanted by the effigy of a god ? And then all the long 
 litany of saints It will not be difficult for our descen- 
 dants to trace out our mythology, I fancy." 
 
 Constance smiled. 
 
 "The plastic nature again, Mr. Lawrence? I might 
 have thought Mr. Davenant was speaking if I had shut 
 my eyes." 
 
 " Oh, come now," said Denis hastily, " I said plastic, 
 you know, not imitative. I believe in the niceties of language, 
 Miss Varley " 
 
 " In discussing your faults ? " 
 
 " In speaking of myself generally. And I don't know 
 about the wisdom of confessing any further. It might affect 
 your present opinion " 
 
 "Try me," said Constance, with her clear confident 
 glance. 
 
 The horses had been moving on while they were talking. 
 They had reached the extreme limit of the Field of Damascus, 
 a vast and undulating plain of reddish soil, streaked here and 
 there with lines and patches of young grass. The circling 
 hills seemed nearer and darker under this effect of colourless 
 sky, and between them and that farther range of mountains 
 they could catch a gleam of silvery-looking water, a still, 
 unruffled lake, at which Lawrence glanced curiously from 
 time to time. 
 
 " Do you think it would be too far for us to ride out 
 there ? " Constance asked, pointing to the water with her 
 whip. 
 
 He looked at her gaily. 
 
 " If one could get there ! It is odd enough, but this 
 place, this red clay soil and that gap over there in the hills, 
 remind me so strongly of a certain part of Virginia. I spent 
 part of a summer there once." 
 
 " I know," the girl said eagerly ; " when you were 
 fighting when you were in the war."
 
 MIRAGE. 
 
 When I was looking on at other people fighting, you 
 
 44 Ah," she said, hinting quickly, with a great light in her 
 face. '"I know more about it than you think. I know 
 what you did I know the Major has told me." 
 
 ** The Major is growing imaginative. But a woman will 
 never understand what a plain prosaic thing the greater part 
 of a war must be. You forget the camp-life and the tedium 
 and the dulness. And you're right about that, perhaps ; 
 there's nothing very heroic in bad rations and muddy roads 
 and toothache. I think that was one of the greatest 
 shocks I ever had in my life" (laughing) ; ** the first time I 
 slept under canvas there were three men in my tent with the 
 toothache. I went down there with the idea that every man 
 fighting for the North was something between a martyr and 
 a hero, and I found them grumbling over a camp-fire, with 
 their fkces tied up in handkerchiefs like so many old women. 
 Fancy indulging in hero-worship about a man who swore at 
 you for not being a professional dentist !" 
 
 ** But you did other things beside that,** she insisted ; 
 ** you were in a battle j you were wounded yourself trying 
 to help some wounded men; Tom has told me. And 
 I think I would rather have done that what you did 
 than - * She bent down and examined the buckle- of 
 her reins critically. " I wish you would tell me aH about 
 it," the light growing bright and steady in her eyes. 
 
 44 But you know it all; there isn't any story,* said 
 Lawrence quietly* ** There were a lot of us down there. 
 I wasn't a soldier myself, you know." 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " I know. You were one of the Sanitary Commission 
 people; you were taking care of the poor men in the 
 hospitals, saving their lives--" 
 
 ** And trying to keep them provided with tolerable soup 
 and biscuits. We might as well stick to facts while we are 
 about it, Miss Varley. Wett I realty don't know how to 
 make anything out of such an unromantic experience. I 
 happened to be out with the ambulance-men one day. 
 There had been a lively skirmish going on for a couple of 
 days all along the front, and a good many men were missing, 
 shot or bushwhacked, we did not know which ; and so, as I
 
 " AFTER THREE YEARS." 287 
 
 said before, some of us started out to look them up. We 
 knew where we were going when we started to a place 
 where they had driven in our pickets the night before." 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Well, we got there and found a couple of graycoats 
 alive still our men had" come down on them so quick that 
 they hadn't time to carry off their wounded, so we sent 
 these two into camp on stretchers. They both died on 
 their way there, poor devils ! and we started for home our- 
 selves. And then I really can't tell you how it happened 
 there was a lot of firing, and we all started down the hill 
 at a run, dodging in and out behind the trees, and the first 
 thing I knew I tripped over something and found myself 
 lying on my back among the sassafras-bushes with a couple 
 of bullets in me." 
 
 She nodded gravely, rubbing the buckle softly with the 
 finger of her glove. 
 
 " Go on !" 
 
 " Well, that was about the end of it, as far as I was con- 
 cerned. I suppose I must have fainted then loss of blood 
 and all that sort of thing, you know because, when I opened 
 my eyes again, I could see the stars shining down between 
 the sides of the gully. It was a beautiful starlight night, I 
 remember, and I could see, everything about me the cracks 
 in the rocks, and the leaves on the bushes nearest me, and 
 then the face of the man the man I stumbled over, you 
 know." 
 
 She looked up. 
 
 " I suppose he had been dead a good while," said 
 Lawrence slowly ; " a young fellow he looked like a gentle- 
 man, too, with long hair like a young Virginian. I couldn't 
 move much, you know, so I just lay still and looked at him : 
 he had a fine face, not disfigured in the least. And then 
 towards morning it got awfully cold, and then I felt as 
 though somebody was sawing me in two with a piece of red- 
 hot iron ; well that was pretty bad. And then two or three 
 times I died. And every time I came to, there was this 
 fellow lying still beside me with his eyes wide open ; and at 
 last I got so that I found a sort of companionship in having 
 him there ; and I suppose I went off my head a little, for I 
 remember quite well hearing myself speaking to him, and
 
 288 MIRAGE. 
 
 saying the most beautiful things you can imagine about death 
 and immortality and swearing frightfully all the while." 
 
 " And then ?" 
 
 "Well, then but this was after an interval of two or 
 three hundred years you know, and I did not much care 
 what happened then, just before daybreak, I saw some 
 lights moving through the bushes, and I heard the voices of 
 some men, and I couldn't call out to them. Perhaps that 
 was the worst moment of it all, when I found I could not 
 speak above a whisper. However, they came up all the 
 same I warned you in the beginning that it was a very 
 mild tragedy, Miss Varley and one of them put his lantern 
 down over the top of my bush " 
 
 "And then, what did he do? what did he say?" asked 
 Constance. 
 
 Lawrence looked up and laughed. " He said I was in 
 civilian's dress, you know he said, ' Hollo, here's another 
 
 of those d d newspaper correspondents ; ' and that put 
 
 me in an awful rage, because I knew the man by sight ; his 
 name was Jackson. So I bided my time, and the moment 
 they had poured some brandy down my throat I opened my 
 eyes as wide as I could, and I said : ' Don't be a fool, Bill 
 Jackson ; ' and there, as far as I know, the war ended. It 
 was nothing but surgeons and hospital-gruel after that." 
 
 He gathered his reins together as he ceased speaking, 
 and the horses went off across the plain at a gallop. " You 
 still want to go as far as that lake ? " he asked presently, 
 looking back over his shoulder at Constance. 
 
 " Something in his tone puzzled her. " If it is not too 
 far," she began doubtfully, trying to see what he meant by 
 his face. " Is there anything peculiar I don't quite under- 
 stand is anything the matter with that lake, Mr. Lawrence ?" 
 
 " Look at Lione," motioning with his whip. 
 
 The dog had been bounding on before them, he had 
 reached the edge of the gleaming water now, and ran 
 straight forward, the shining waves parting and falling away 
 from him on either side. 
 
 " It is the mirage," said Denis quietly ; " is it possible 
 you did not know it ? But indeed I hardly remember ever 
 having seen such a perfect one before." 
 
 " Mirage ? " she repeated incredulously. 
 
 They checked their horses and stood still looking at it.
 
 "AFTER THREE ' YEARS." 289 
 
 The wide shining expanse of water lay apparently but a 
 stone's throw off, seeming to gather into itself and focus all 
 the light of the day and sky. " Mirage," said Constance 
 slowly. She forced a smile, even tried to laugh, when 
 Lawrence insisted that they ought to ride on until they 
 reached the lake, since that had been her object ; but the 
 laugh proved a failure ; there was something strangely 
 disconcerting about the illusion just then. 
 
 " And I thought I had meant that to be the end of our 
 ride," she said, with a touch of superstitious regret. It was 
 the merest folly, but it sufficed to make her face a little 
 graver as they turned their horses' heads homewards. And 
 on the crest of the hill she paused and looked back at the 
 still and glittering phantasm with a sudden shiver of dumb 
 unreasonable dread. 
 
 "Are you looking for Lione?" the young man asked 
 carelessly. " He has passed us already, I saw him running 
 down the road." 
 
 " Oh, he has learned to take care of himself." 
 
 She answered lightly, but it was not so easy to shake off 
 the disturbing impression. Now, at this moment, when her 
 life seemed trembling in the balance for good or ill, the 
 slightest incident, a word, a look, seemed to have gained a 
 sudden vital importance. There were no trifles in her eyes 
 to-day. They went back by another road. The river had 
 joined them again ; full-fed and swift and silent beneath its 
 canopy of boughs. And now, in attempting a short cut, 
 they passed through an abandoned Turkish cemetery 
 hundreds of ruined stones crowding about the white-domed 
 tomb of a santon. It was a singularly deserted-looking 
 place, all overgrown with thick rank grass. A peach-tree 
 leaned its full and pink-tipped branches against the weather- 
 beaten grave, and one small twig which had burst into 
 premature blossom brushed its rose-coloured petals against 
 Lawrence's shoulder, as the riders picked their way between 
 the fallen stones. 
 
 " Ah, there is something for you. You must have that," 
 the young man said, bending from his saddle. 
 
 Flower o' the peach 
 
 Death for us all and his own life for each. 
 
 " Here, Miss Varley." 
 
 u
 
 290 MIRAGE. 
 
 She took the blossoms silently, and fastened them in her 
 dress. They made a pretty spot of colour there, Lawrence 
 told her, glancing back. " You always used to wear flowers. 
 I never remember having seen you at The Farm without 
 some flowers about you. I always thought I had a good 
 memory for details, but I never knew how good it was until 
 within these last few days," he said, watching her curiously. 
 
 She caught his look and turned her face away. 
 
 " I remember things a long while. We shall be late, 
 I am afraid, Mr. Lawrence. You said the Major was to 
 meet us, I believe ? " with a sudden hurry in her voice. 
 
 She looked down at her blossoms two or three times as 
 they cantered along the road, putting up her hand to touch 
 them. It was a long time since he had given her flowers. 
 
 When they reached the gate of Ahmed's garden they 
 both dismounted, Lawrence leading the horses by their 
 bridles along the narrow path. It was a large and green en- 
 closure which they now entered ; a vegetable garden at first ; 
 a place thick-set with apricot : trees, divided into squares by 
 countless small channels of running water, the ground quite 
 covered by thick, dark, spreading leaves. Farther on was 
 an open space of grass, where Lawrence tethered the horses, 
 and beyond that the ground sloped rapidly down to the 
 river ; a long white stretch of trees in fullest bloom. 
 
 They took a path which led them to the water. The 
 fruit-trees met and branched above their heads ; thick foam- 
 white masses of cherry-blossom, and sturdy apple-boughs, 
 all clustered over with crisp rosy flowers, and the frail 
 shivering beauty of the pear. And here, in these sheltered 
 places, were young peach-trees, with bare shining stems, and 
 here and there a single rose-flushed star ; and down in the 
 hollows the full-petalled flesh-coloured quince-blossoms, 
 which opened wide among the coarser leaves. It was not 
 an orchard ; it could not be called a flower-garden ; it was 
 only a place of blossoming the home of all strong green 
 things ; for here were broad-leaved vines climbing between 
 the branches, and a tangled network of rose-bushes streaked 
 with dullest red ; and on the ground the grass was gay with 
 tall rank buttercups and the flaunting yellow of the melon- 
 flower ; and by the edge of the river were all thick growths 
 of water-plants, and leafy lisping poplars " the verdurous
 
 "AFTER THREE YEARS* 291 
 
 wall of Paradise ; " and everywhere the clean moist smell of 
 the earth, the feeling of abundant moving water, the sense 
 of exuberant vegetable life. 
 
 There was something in the languid softness of the air 
 which made the slightest movement an exertion. They 
 rested now, warm and breathless, upon a dark elastic couch 
 of lily-leaves close by the river's brink. A pale and silvery 
 sunshine was breaking through the clouds. 
 
 " Listen ! it seems as though one could almost hear the 
 things growing in this stillness," Constance said ; and then 
 for several minutes they were silent, she fanning herself 
 slowly with a bunch of the stiff lily-leaves, and Denis lying 
 upon his back, his hands clasped behind his head, looking 
 up at the gray sky through the motionless white boughs. 
 
 It was a delicious moment of satisfied animal existence. 
 They could feel themselves living, a part of all the still strong 
 life about them, growing slowly conscious of a hundred 
 well-nigh imperceptible sights and sounds the varying voice 
 of the water, and sudden mysterious thrills and shivers 
 among the leaves a whole new world of noiseless insect- 
 existence; the low sharp note of some passing bird; the 
 ceaseless dropping of over-blown petals into deep grass. 
 
 In the intervals of sunshine the trees seemed to grow 
 larger and whiter. 
 
 " How far can you see?" the young girl asked, after a 
 long pause. "A moment ago all the line of that hill came 
 out in shadow, and there, between those poplars, I could see 
 something shining, a line of yellow close to the horizon a 
 line of desert sands." 
 
 " The desert ! " repeated Lawrence vaguely. " ' In the 
 desert love builds triumphal arches out of the shifting sands.' 
 That is a Persian proverb, you know. I think," picking up 
 a dead bit of wood and snapping it in two between his 
 fingers, with a sudden impatient recollection of Stuart, " I 
 think it is an everyday fact." 
 
 He tossed the broken splinters in the stream and sat up 
 abruptly. The charm of silence was broken with the first 
 intrusion even the imaginary intrusion of another person- 
 ality. He sat up now and talked, talked to her with an 
 impulse of confidence which he had never felt but once 
 before in his life towards any woman. They spoke of many 
 
 U 2
 
 292 MIRAGE. 
 
 things, but it was noticeable they spoke more of things than of 
 people ; of books which they had read ; of impressions which 
 they had received ; of a hundred personal fancies and desires 
 peculiar to each and yet shared or understood by the other. 
 
 " You are the only person I ever met who reminded me 
 of my mother," Lawrence said to her once. " No two 
 people could have grown up under more widely-differing in- 
 fluences, and yet there is something a certain quality of 
 nature. She was, in one sense of the word, an ignorant 
 woman ; she never cared for politics or literature ; she lived 
 and died a fervent Roman Catholic, an ardent Southener 
 and believer in the divine right of slavery there is hardly a 
 point on which, as I grew older, we two were agreed ; and 
 yet, when I remember her now, I can see that there has never 
 been a good impulse in my life, a love of the beautiful, a 
 recognition of high purpose in others, which I cannot trace 
 directly to my mother's influence. She was a woman who 
 evoked goodness in others as the sun brings life out of the 
 frozen earth," he said slowly, with a sudden thrill of emotion 
 in his well-controlled voice. 
 
 It was the first time since she had known him that 
 Constance had heard him speak of his early life. She 
 listened to him now with a silent passionate tenderness, ex- 
 tending back through all those unknown years, for she was 
 curiously ignorant of any but the most evident facts of that 
 past. Lawrence was a man who seldom spoke of himself; 
 and since the very first days of their acquaintance, in 
 speaking to others, his name had never crossed her lips. 
 
 As he talked to her now o'f those old boyish days, he 
 seemed, with every careless familiar detail, to grow nearer 
 and more inexpressibly dear ; and at every word she shrank 
 more into herself, growing more reserved and silent. She 
 had been used to think of him as of an ideal, isolated, away 
 from the contact of common associations and ties ; and this 
 new aspect of his life impressed her with a curious sense of 
 bewilderment ; it seemed so full and self-sufficing an 
 existence, and she so much a stranger to it all. 
 
 She had asked him some question about his mother. 
 
 "The girls my sisters were never so intimate with 
 her," he said. " I don't know how it was, but in some way 
 we two always seemed to belong more particularly to one
 
 "AFTER THREE YEARS." 293 
 
 another. Long after I was grown up we were in the habit 
 of going off constantly on expeditions, travelling, amusing 
 ourselves together, until I was quite a young man until " 
 (with a sudden effort) " I married." 
 
 She bent her head, keeping her eyes fixed upon the 
 water. " Yes," she said gravely, " I know." 
 
 But there had been something in the words which 
 jarred upon them both. The girl rose hastily a moment 
 after. " If we should miss the Major ! You told him to 
 meet us at the gate yonder," in a tone which seemed to put 
 an end to the discussion. 
 
 She followed him silently to the gate. It was some- 
 thing which she had never felt before this dumb and 
 burning passion. They had never hitherto been thrown 
 into close enough personal relations to evoke a feeling of 
 
 jealousy, but now Her hand trembled at his touch as 
 
 he helped her into the saddle, but the eyes which met his 
 glance were steady as ever and unspeakably sad. It was a 
 look he remembered long after; at the moment it had 
 slipped aside, crowded out of mind by the merest detail of 
 fact. For the Major was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 " If you really care about meeting him, we might walk 
 our horses back as far as the cross-roads. He is after his 
 time now. We are sure to find him at the turning." 
 
 They started back accordingly. The day had grown 
 darker; the uniform gray sky was parting now, torn into 
 jagged flying strips of cloud. " A sea-sky, that," Lawrence 
 remarked idly, glancing up at the hurrying and vexed mists. 
 The words seemed to bring back some other recollection. 
 
 " I had a letter from a friend of mine. You have been at 
 Nahant, Miss Varley ? " looking at her with a new attention. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You went a good deal into society there ? you knew a 
 great many people ? " 
 
 " I was staying with my aunt last summer. Yes, we went 
 out a great deal. I did not like it," she said indifferently. 
 
 " I had a letter from a man there, a day or two ago. I 
 daresay you know him Morris Stuyvesant. He and I are 
 rather old friends." 
 
 It amused him for the moment to see the effect of his 
 words in the sudden colour which flushed across her cheek.
 
 294 MIRAGE. 
 
 But she answered with the simple straightforwardness which 
 gave a purpose and a meaning to her slightest word. I did 
 know Mr. Stuyvesant. He is a friend of my aunt's. I 
 should not have thought," looking at him gravely, "that 
 you would have made Mr. Stuyvesant a friend of yours." 
 
 He did not reply at once, and when he did it was only 
 to say quietly : " One has to know all kinds of men. I've 
 seen a great many worse fellows than Stuyvesant," but he 
 was annoyed at himself all the same ; he felt fastidiously 
 irritated at the thought of having introduced this stranger's 
 name between them. It suited him for the moment to 
 ignore everything but the pleasure of this frank responsive 
 companionship ; and already a dozen things had occurred 
 since they started to remind him of the limitations set all 
 about their intercourse. This one spring afternoon might 
 be all that they should know of each other for years, he 
 
 thought regretfully ; for as Mr. Stuart's wife And then 
 
 he looked away across the opening fields before them. But 
 was it true ? he asked himself. Was it ? 
 
 " If you don't mind waiting here a moment, the Major 
 is sure to join us now in a minute or two," he said aloud ; 
 " and meanwhile I might get my drawing." 
 
 He drew a small sketch-book out of his pocket as he 
 spoke. They had halted at the turning of two roads. 
 Behind them lay the foamy sea of blossoms, before them, 
 the bare and melancholy plain stretched to the city-walls. 
 The tepid fitful wind blowing across these open spaces came 
 to them sweet with inexplicable sweetness, and faint with all 
 the languor of the spring. It was the hour for sunset, but 
 the sad gray sky hung pale and irresponsive above the 
 empty plain. It was only far off and low down by the 
 horizon that a warmer flush a colour pale as the later 
 crocus which comes with the autumn skies showed where 
 the day was dying slowly behind the shadowy hills. 
 
 Denis had nearly finished his sketch. He lingered over 
 his work for a moment, looking up from his drawing at the 
 pure and noble outline of the face before him. In those 
 few days it had already become associated in his mind with 
 some of the loveliest things in nature, with soft and limpid 
 skies, spring winds, and all the large and liberal stirring of 
 life about the new-born year. But now he looked at her
 
 "AFTER THREE YEARS." 295 
 
 with something of a more personal feeling ; with an irritated 
 chafing at the very vagueness of their relations, with a sudden 
 desire to break out of this charmed space of silence into 
 whatever of real life for good or ill might lie beyond. His 
 journey, his plans, his intentions, had sunk into the insig- 
 nificance of a dream. All the refining of sentiment, the 
 hesitation which was natural to him had abandoned him at 
 this moment. The whole world seemed to have narrowed 
 down to this ; an open plain, a sad spring twilight, and the 
 face of this silent girl. 
 
 But he made an effort to speak in his ordinary tone. 
 " You have forgotten that I had something of yours all this 
 time, and yet I think it is something you care for," putting 
 his hand in his breast-pocket and drawing out her amber 
 beads. "You will let me put them on for you?" His 
 own voice sounded to him uncertain and strange. She held 
 out her bared wrist without speaking, and he wound the 
 string of beads about it awkwardly, his fingers growing 
 suddenly irresolute as they touched the firm white flesh. 
 
 She drew back shivering. " I think I mean " 
 
 She turned her head abruptly, put out her hand and 
 picked a leaf from off the nearest branch, and looked at it, 
 and threw it away. 
 
 There was a long silence after this. He was sitting with 
 his hand upon the crutch of her saddle. From far down 
 the darkening road came the muffled clatter of horsemen 
 riding fast ; their own horses stirred uneasily at the sound, 
 pricking up their ears, with a low whinny of expectation. 
 "I hear someone coming," said Constance beneath her 
 breath. 
 
 He did not heed her speaking. " I want to ask you 
 something," he said irresolutely. He passed his hand 
 quickly over his face and looked at her. " I ought not to 
 have spoken to you about Stuyvesant. I knew that you 
 had refused to marry him. I thought I would like to ask 
 
 you why if it was, because " To save his life he could 
 
 not have mentioned Stuart's name at that moment. " Do 
 you love anyone else?" he said brusquely, with a sudden 
 determination to face and know the truth. 
 
 She shivered again as though the wind had struck her. 
 For three years she had waited for some such moment, and
 
 296 MIRAGE. 
 
 now words failed her ; she tried to speak, and felt her lips 
 tremble. She could not look at him ; and now did he not 
 understand. And then through the silence she heard the 
 measured hoof-beats coming nearer and nearer. 
 
 " I did not marry Mr. Stuyvesant," repeating his words 
 
 blindly, " because I loved someone else. Because It 
 
 is three years now three years " 
 
 " That you love Stuart ? I knew it !" He spoke the 
 words out sharply, putting up his hand as though to pre- 
 vent her saying them. " I think God knows," with a 
 
 sudden generous effort, "I hope you will both be happy. 
 He he is a good fellow, Stuart. He deserves his luck." 
 
 He was careful not to look at her as he spoke, keeping 
 his face turned towards the approaching riders, jealously 
 careful of anything which might cast so much as a shadow 
 over the happy unconsciousness of her love. Every tender, 
 every chivalric instinct in his nature had been touched by 
 the brave simplicity of her confession. He was silent now 
 until he could command his voice fully. " That is the 
 Major and Hassan, .of course; but I cannot make out the 
 third figure," he said. 
 
 The men were drawing rapidly nearer, and now the 
 Major raised his hat to Constance. 
 
 "So sorry to have kept you waiting," his kindly old 
 voice ringing cheerily through the twilight; "but I bring 
 news, Lawrence. You're under marching orders again, my 
 boy," bringing up his horse alongside of them. " Here, 
 Mustapha, Selim what the deuce is the fellow's name? 
 Give us a look at that paper." 
 
 The third rider was Lawrence's own servant, the little 
 Jew boy, muffled in an Arab cloak. He came up now at a 
 canter, waving a letter above his head : " From my Lord 
 Ahmed, oh howadji." 
 
 The young man glanced over the scrawl eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, it's too late to read that now," the Major said ; 
 " why, you'd require an hour to figure out those hierogly- 
 phics; but we've brought the gist of it with us, my boy. 
 They are in a dreadful state of excitement about you down 
 there at the hotel. You haven't a moment to lose, you 
 know, for your caravan starts for Bagdad, or the Mountains 
 of the Moon, or wherever else you are going, to-night. That's
 
 "AFTER THREE YEARS." 297 
 
 what you call short notice, eh, Constance ? but it's nothing 
 to what we were used to in the old army days." 
 
 The girl was looking down vacantly at the reins between 
 her fingers. She gathered them tighter together now. " I 
 think we had better ride fast to the hotel. Mr. Lawrence 
 will be hurried," in a subdued monotonous voice. 
 
 The Major laughed. " As practical as ever, Constance ! 
 But you are quite right." 
 
 " Come along, Lawrence ; Constance is right you 
 haven't a moment to lose. And you'll see that I shall be the 
 only one to say I mean to miss you," turning his horse's 
 head about with his shrewd good-humoured laugh. 
 
 It was not twenty minutes' hard riding to the hotel-door. 
 The courtyard was full of men when they entered. Old 
 Ahmed had sent messenger after messenger, and there was 
 a sudden chatter of excited voices, a sudden pressing 
 forward of urgent hands as Lawrence dismounted from 
 his horse. He put them all aside impatiently, helping 
 Constance out of the saddle, and following her to the 
 foot of the stairs without a word. 
 
 " I'm sorry, very sorry, to sa^ good-bye to you," he said 
 simply. 
 
 It was growing dark in this walled-in place ; one of the 
 last comers had brought with him a lantern ; the light 
 flashed for an instant across the girl's white and rigid face, 
 and then he could see nothing more but the silhouette of 
 her figure relieving darkly against the wall. 
 
 " Come on, Lawrence ! Look sharp about it, and I shall 
 have time to ride round and see you fairly off before dinner." 
 
 She put out her hand with a sudden movement. " I 
 hope you will be very happy, Mr. Lawrence. Good-bye." 
 
 He bent down over her hand and kissed it, but I think 
 she was hardly conscious of it at the time. She turned, and 
 left him standing at the foot of the stair, and looking after her 
 as she had left him once before, but with what a difference ! 
 
 Mrs. Thayer was passing down the upper gallery. The 
 girl stopped and spoke to her. " Yes, a very pleasant ride, 
 thank you. Mr. Lawrence is going, Fanny, if you care to 
 say good-bye." 
 
 " What ! going away ?" 
 
 She looked back and nodded without speaking. The
 
 298 MIRAGE, 
 
 door of her room was standing open ; she went in suddenly, 
 and closed and locked the door behind her. Her room 
 was in the front of the house ; her window was still open as 
 she had left it that morning \ she could hear the sound of the 
 men's voices, the clatter of hoofs upon the pavement below. 
 
 She crossed over slowly to where her small travelling- 
 trunk had been thrown in one corner, bending over it and 
 opening it with a curious deliberation. She took out a small 
 sealed package and laid it upon the table, and then she 
 lighted a candle, her gloved hands beginning to tremble a 
 little, so that she had to strike three or four matches before 
 she could get one to burn. 
 
 She tore off the paper covering and took out of it a 
 journal. There were some loose papers, a sketch, a photo- 
 graph lying upon it ; but these she put carefully to one 
 side, tearing out each leaf of the book methodically, and 
 holding it over the flame until it curled and crumbled into 
 ashes between her fingers. And, last of all, she took up the 
 photograph. The fire charred and blackened it along the 
 edges ; she let it fall ; she drew a long breath, leaning hard 
 against the table, and then for the first time she lifted up 
 her eyes and saw herself in the glass. 
 
 " After three years ! " 
 
 She looked down at her hands and began to pull off the 
 blackened gloves nervously. The room was full of smoke 
 and the pungent smell of burning paper. She looked over 
 at the window through which the smoke was floating slowly 
 out and melting into the quiet gray of the evening. 
 
 " After three years ! " she repeated again slowly, looking 
 down with a pitiful laugh at the dust of crumpled ashes on 
 the floor. And then for a few minutes she ceased to think 
 at all, standing there quite motionless long after the last red 
 sparkle of fire had died away, and the last glimmer of light 
 had sunk into ashes and dust.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE LAST LOOK BACK. 
 
 DURING the week which followed Ferris saw a good deal of 
 Miss Varley. 
 
 By his quiet attention he managed very often to keep her 
 occupied shielded from the questions and observations of 
 her aunt ; and in thinking of these sad old days of her 
 youth, she has often had occasion to remember and be 
 grateful for an unobtrusive kindness of which at the time she 
 was hardly aware. 
 
 The Major, too, was very good to her. How much he 
 understood or had guessed of her story Constance never 
 knew she never cared to ask. She accepted whatever 
 came to her in those days with a silent and well-nigh dogged 
 endurance, which rarely looked beyond the matter in hand. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer may have noticed that she was a trifle 
 thinner and paler and more quiet than usual. Mrs. Van 
 Ness patted her upon the shoulder and spoke of Constanti- 
 nople. " When your nice young friend, Mr. Stuart, returns 
 
 from Baalbeck, my dear " And both of them rejoiced 
 
 in private over this most fortunate turn of affairs, discussing 
 the girl's possible disappointment placidly, with essentially 
 feminine scepticism. And then they spoke eagerly of her 
 probable establishment, and criticised the Stuart family at 
 large, and were both of them as sincerely glad as they were 
 both, in their different degrees, sincerely fond of Constance. 
 
 "If only Tom does not spoil it all with his foolishness!" 
 Fanny sighed. 
 
 It was just a week after Lawrence's departure, and the 
 Major had taken Constance out for a ride. They had gone 
 again to Ahmed's garden.
 
 300 MIRAGE. 
 
 When they reached the cross-roads the Major had 
 proposed taking another direction. 
 
 " I should like to go back to where to where we rode 
 a few days ago," the girl answered steadily. 
 
 "As you please, my dear," turning about his horse's 
 head with as much wonder over feminine perversity as 
 could well be expected of a married man with a taste 
 for philosophy. 
 
 And when they had reached the gate he let her go in 
 alone. 
 
 " I shall stay here and sketch," rubbing his short gray 
 beard doubtfully. He called her back again as she was 
 turning away. " Don't stay too long on the damp grass by 
 that river, child. It's unhealthy low, marshy ground. The 
 whole country seems designed for frogs or angels. It's no 
 place for human beings subject to rheumatism," fitting his 
 palette leisurely across his strong large hand. 
 
 But there was no smile on his vigilant face as he watched 
 her pass quietly out of sight between the rose-bush hedges. 
 He looked after her with a rough tenderness which would 
 rather have astonished Fanny. 
 
 " Poor little girl ! " he said, shaking his grizzled head 
 thoughtfully. It is possible that his thoughts had wandered 
 back to a time when he too was young and most miserable. 
 " If she could only know for how short a time it makes a 
 difference," he said, and fell to painting philosophically 
 life being brief, and moist water-colours a precarious posses- 
 sion at best in such a climate. 
 
 It was a sea-blue summer day. There was nothing 
 about her but had undergone some change since the last 
 time Constance had walked between these hedges. The 
 ineffable hesitation of the spring-time had vanished. Every 
 note of colour was accentuated. The trees cast a deeper 
 shadow across the path, the soft new grass was brilliant with 
 new flowers, the reign of the blossoms was over, and in their 
 place a thousand small green leaves were glistening in the 
 sun. Already there was a new full breath of opening roses 
 upon the drier air. 
 
 It was only down by the river that nothing was altered 
 neither the swift, smooth, abundant flowing of the water, 
 nor the strong thick growth of the water-plants, nor the
 
 THE LAST LOOK BACK. 301 
 
 bitter smell of beds of lily-leaves. She sat down under the 
 same old poplar-tree ; a ray of sunlight slipped between its 
 branches, and the restless movement of the foliage kept a 
 perpetual play of light leaf-shadows dancing about her hands 
 and hair. She could not have told herself what motive had 
 prompted her to revisit this place; only, through all the 
 dreary days and nights through which she had been living, 
 she had been haunted by a restless desire to come here once 
 again ; and now she drew a deep breath, and looked about 
 her with the air of a person who has accomplished some 
 purpose. 
 
 She leaned her face upon her hand and closed her eyes 
 like one physically tired. And she was weary enough, poor 
 child ! weary of effort of long and loyal and fruitless effort 
 and weary above all of idle questioning of fate. It might 
 be easy now to see how all this could have been averted ; 
 but even now, when she thought of it, her silence towards 
 Lawrence seemed to her to have been the one inevitable 
 fact ; the only thing she could have done ; the one moment 
 to which she looked back with a sort of despairing pride. 
 For he had congratulated her upon her marriage with -Stuart. 
 He had congratulated her ! closing her hands hard one 
 upon the other, and looking down at them with a pitiful 
 laugh. 
 
 And then for a moment all thought of self was swept 
 away in one passionate revulsion of feeling, in one wild 
 desire to see him, to be with him, to speak to him again 
 to see him for one moment. 
 
 She did not cry these long years of repression, this life- 
 long habit of self-control stood her now in good stead tout 
 she turned and pressed her cheek against the rough bark of 
 the tree. He had leaned there beside her only a week ago. 
 She put up her hand to her throat helplessly, her blue eyes 
 growing dark and misty with a look of unutterable grief. It 
 was the farewell of a loyal and patient heart dumb and 
 faithful even unto death. 
 
 For Constance had made up her mind to marry Stuart. 
 
 If she had not been thrown into close personal relation 
 with Denis Lawrence it is possible it is probable that the 
 devotion to this ideal might have sufficed for many years to 
 fill her life. But once brought near to him, the old barriers
 
 302 MIRAGE. 
 
 broken down, the girl's dream had changed into the pas- 
 sionate love of the woman. There was no return possible to 
 the old condition of things. For she did love him. He had 
 never perhaps been so inexpressibly dear to her as at that 
 moment. There was not a look, not a familiar gesture, the 
 turn of his head, the trick of his voice, which she did not 
 remember, and go over again, and look at with a passion of 
 hopeless pain with something, it may be, of the yearning 
 anguish of a mother looking upon the dead face of her child. 
 For it was not a common love this girl was losing, it was the 
 loyal devotion of all her life, that had grown with her growth, 
 the ideal of her existence it was more than all this, it was 
 her youth which Constance Varley buried that day. 
 
 And she did love him. Whatever anyone else might 
 think of Lawrence, he was to her still what he had always 
 been always since the first day she had known him. Only, 
 then she had loved him and hoped, and now the hope was 
 dead. 
 
 She looked down at the stream flowing by her in cool 
 and beautiful and unreturning waves, and there came to her 
 at that moment a sudden revelation of the awful futility of 
 all experience the fatal passing away of youth and love, of 
 sorrow and joy, to one common and swift and inevitable 
 end. The sunshine shone upon the abundant water; a 
 thrush was singing rapturously to its mate among the haw- 
 thorn bushes ; the full-leafed summer trees waved in the 
 warm still air ; the sky was of a deep and fleckless blue ; 
 there was not an object in all this beautiful world about her 
 but rejoiced in the ample fruition of its life ; and for the 
 first time she felt herself an alien to it all a troubled human 
 soul, questioning, and unanswered, and alone. 
 
 She thought of Stuart ; the possibility of making him the 
 happier for her own existence had come to represent to her 
 the only significance of her life. It was what Denis's 
 mother would have done in her place, she thought ; that 
 woman " who was so sad in her own life she spent it all in 
 making others happy." And then as she repeated the words 
 she could almost hear his voice saying them, and then again 
 it seemed to her that she could not bear it. If she had ever 
 cared in the least for Stuart, if she had ever felt the first 
 spontaneous impulse of attraction towards him, she could
 
 THE LAST LOOK BACK. 303 
 
 never have decided to have married him then. But the 
 thing came to her as a sacrifice ; she herself had had one 
 chance for happiness in life and lost it, and her first instinct 
 was to put out her hand to give to another what she herself 
 might never have. 
 
 For she had no illusions about that probable future. 
 What life was coming to her she saw and understood, clearly 
 and simply, with no mental reservations, with a despairing 
 acceptance of duty and limitation alike. 
 
 To live, to comprehend the highest beauty, the pro- 
 foundest significance of every passing moment ; to know the 
 ecstasy of love ; to know the blessedness of possession, the 
 rare blessedness of gift this is success in life, and this 
 is happiness. But to make of suffering the key-note to 
 another's pain ; to learn from loneliness the pity for 
 another's grief; to merge all sorrow, all despair, in one 
 wide brotherhood of understanding surely this, too, is 
 success. 
 
 Success, but not happiness. 
 
 In this brief life we all die many times in friendship 
 outgrown, in faith, in changed experience. Surely they too 
 may be called blessed to whom this death comes quickly, 
 to whom past love remains ideal, hidden away safe from the 
 touch of time and change, deep in some charmed and silent 
 space of life. 
 
 But Constance was rather acting upon than thinking of 
 these things. When, as she fancied, she had prepared her- 
 self to surrender all the old dreams, the old desires, she had 
 not counted upon the influence of this place. It was here 
 that she had come with Lawrence in the still spring after- 
 noon which already seemed so far, so very far away ; it was 
 
 here Her hand in passing over her dress had brushed 
 
 against some faded blossoms still fastened in it from the 
 other day's ride, and now the only thing left to her out of 
 all the days that had been. She sat looking at them quietly 
 enough for a moment, and then her proud lips began to 
 tremble, she put her hands out with a passionate gesture. 
 "Oh my love !" she said aloud, and the bitter tears rose 
 slowly to her eyes, as she said it, " oh my dear love, I could 
 have made you so happy if you had only let me !" 
 
 And then through the murmurous silence of the summer
 
 304 MIRAGE. 
 
 day, she heard the quick tramp of a man's step coming 
 towards her through the grass. And then, for an instant, 
 she leaned heavily against the tree, and her heart seemed 
 beating up in her throat, and she felt her very lips grow 
 cold. 
 
 It was Stuart who joined her there under the poplars. 
 She knew it ; she had known it all along ; but she pressed 
 her hand hard against her lip before she answered him ; her 
 voice seemed to have grown broken and beyond her control. 
 
 He came up rapidly and caught her hands in his. 
 " Constance ! " 
 
 It was not until long afterwards that he remembered 
 that she had expressed no surprise at his sudden reappear- 
 ance. "I I have come back," he said breathlessly. "I 
 couldn't stay away any longer. And they told me at the 
 
 hotel that you were out here and It's a very nice place 
 
 you've found here," without taking his eyes off her face. 
 
 "Yes," said Constance. 
 
 " I saw old Tom at the gate, you know. Baalbeck is a 
 fine old place, for a ruin. I should think one could get a 
 little shooting out there occasionally; we saw some par- 
 tridges. Tom asked me to tell you that he was ready to go," 
 with a nervous laugh. 
 
 " I am ready," she answered gravely. And neither of 
 them moved. 
 
 The low sunlight shining in beneath the trees filled all 
 the space about them with a reddish glow. He stood and 
 looked at her a moment in silence the woman he loved. 
 
 The young fellow's voice had grown unsteady with 
 excitement as he repeated her name. 
 
 " Constance ! " 
 
 She turned her head and waited. 
 
 " I saw Davenant at Baalbeck. He is going to 
 Palmyra " 
 
 " I know." 
 
 " He said he told me Lawrence has gone away, 
 
 Constance." 
 
 She put her hand up to her throat suddenly. " Yes," in 
 a sharp unnatural tone. " He has gone." 
 
 He did not care for her manner. It was the fact, not 
 the words, he wanted. He came close by her now. Her
 
 THE LAST LOOK BACK. 305 
 
 hand was hanging by her side ; he took it in his and looked 
 down at it, lying, white and nerveless, in his grasp. " I told 
 you I should come back, and I am here, Constance," closing 
 his fingers slowly over hers as he spoke. 
 
 She looked at him now. "I will tell you something. 
 You are very good to me, Jack. I don't know why you 
 should care for me. It is rather hard to understand, this 
 life " (with a little pitiful smile), " but at least one can be 
 honest. You say that Mr. Lawrence " 
 
 He put out his other hand quick. " Don't speak to me 
 of Mr. Lawrence, dear. You need not tell me. I don't 
 want to know. We have all of us had our fancies for other 
 people, I suppose," with blunt simplicity, a kind sweet- 
 tempered look coming into his clear blue eyes. " I don't 
 imagine you are different from other people. Heaven 
 knows, I might not care to have to own up to all my own 
 flirtations." He stopped abruptly and looked at her, the 
 colour rising slowly to his handsome face. " I'm not afraid 
 of Lawrence or of Stuyvesant," with a delicious thrill of 
 triumph, "or of any other man, if you say once that you 
 
 will be my wife. I You've got all my life in your 
 
 hands, Constance, and for the rest I trust you." 
 
 There was a moment of profound silence, and then he 
 saw her breast heave suddenly. 
 
 She stood up and turned her face away and loosened 
 her hands. 
 
 " I have the right to say that you can trust me utterly," 
 she said. 
 
 The red glow of the sunset was all about them now. 
 He stood looking down at her with a kind of bewildered 
 delight. Jealousy, except the immediate personal jealousy 
 of a rival present in flesh and blood, was a passion absolutely 
 unknown to Stuart ; his nature was too objective for that. 
 Where Lawrence would have driven himself mad with 
 persistent imaginings he saw nothing but the facts her 
 presence. 
 
 " Constance ! " repeating her name again and again. 
 " Constance ! " And she was to be his wife. 
 
 And then I think it was that poor Jack indulged in the 
 one piece of sentiment of his life. 
 
 " Do you remember that day on Mount Gerizim ? You
 
 306 MIRAGE. 
 
 were very unkind to me that day, dearest; I asked you to 
 do a great many things for me that day, and you would not. 
 You would not even give me the flowers you wore ; do you 
 remember ? and now you will give me this," touching the 
 faded peach-blossoms in her dress. "I want it as a sign 
 a promise." 
 
 ' She looked at him and then down at the flowers. " I 
 cannot give you these, Jack," she took them out of her 
 dress and held them in her hand ; " they are dead." 
 
 " But I can get you some others in a minute," said Stuart 
 eagerly. He swung himself lightly down the bank to where 
 a belated cherry-tree spread its white boughs across the 
 little river. The blossoms were over-blown, and fell and 
 scattered at his touch. " I'll get them yet ! " he called out 
 gaily, trampling in amongst the river-reeds. 
 
 She held the faded blossoms in her hand and looked at 
 them. It was all she had left. She crushed them against 
 her lips with a sudden passionate gesture, and then her 
 face grew quite white ; she stretched out her hand slowly 
 and let the poor dead flower fall into the stream. It caught 
 for an instant among the grasses, and then the water seized 
 it and swept it out of sight. 
 
 " And I have brought you back nothing but empty 
 hands," said Stuart. "The blossoms are all faded. I might 
 have known it before I went after them. The spring is 
 over now." 
 
 He took her hand in his and led her away through the 
 sunny garden. At first there was a trampled spot among 
 the lily-leaves where their footsteps had pressed, but before 
 long the freshness of the evening had lifted up the grass ; 
 the wind had blown away the scattered blossoms by the 
 river; the thrush was singing once more in wild full-throated 
 rapture it was all as though they had never been.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MIRAGE, 
 
 SOME two or three seasons have passed since then ; but there 
 are still a good many people in London who recollect the 
 furore of admiration which raged for awhile in a certain 
 artistic set the year Denis Lawrence brought back his 
 pictures from the East. It is true that he had arrived 
 there at a singularly fortunate moment, and when the critics 
 were already beginning to inquire if there was nothing then 
 in modern art between the production of pictures in every 
 way adapted to the family circle and the work of a school, 
 the chief of which was like Lazarus one risen from the 
 dead, and with the scent of the grave about him ? 
 
 Lawrence had not been in town a month before his 
 name became the signal for discussion in the studios. 
 People went and looked at his large picture (the " Study of 
 a Jewess "), and came away and shook their heads. And all 
 the men of genius, who had ideas they did not know how to 
 paint, said it was preposterous ; and all the men ' of talent 
 who knew exactly how to paint the ideas they did not have 
 said it was rubbish. And then Mr. Lawrence sent his 
 picture to the Academy. 
 
 It was accepted ; it was hung on the line. And then 
 more people went and looked at it ; and at the dinner-parties, 
 and between the entr'actes of the opera, all the young ladies 
 asked their partners : " Who is this Mr. Lawrence ?" 
 
 The answer varied. He came from New York, and had 
 studied for year> under Gerome at Paris ; you found that 
 out by looking at his drawing. He came from the South, 
 and had been a Confederate general. He was immensely 
 
 \
 
 308 MIRAGE. 
 
 wealthy, and painted for his own amusement. He had not 
 a penny to his name, poor devil ! and had been sent over by 
 a charitable association : " You know they do those things 
 in America." 
 
 And this went on for about a week. 
 
 There happened to be at that time a young man writing 
 for a certain influential journal, by the name of Challoner. 
 He was an enthusiastic fellow, and very anxious to dis- 
 tinguish himself, and he had met Lawrence in Paris and 
 travelled up to London with him by the Dover mail. And 
 so he sat down and wrote a review of the Academy exhibition, 
 in which he demonstrated to his own entire satisfaction that 
 the " Jewess " was not only the most remarkable picture 
 there, but one of the most remarkable pictures of modern 
 times. Well, of course this made a great disturbance. 
 There were other articles in other papers to prove that the 
 " Jewess " was a daub, and counter articles on the opposite 
 side to assert and maintain its pre-eminence. 
 
 And in the midst of all this confusion, someone 
 discovered that the picture was absolutely not for sale. 
 
 And so in this way people concluded they had met a 
 new genius in the young artist and an American genius, 
 which made it even more wonderful. He had two reception- 
 days in the week by this time ; his brother-artists advised 
 him to go and study in Rome ; he could have spent his life 
 refusing " private views ; " in a word, his success was 
 complete. 
 
 One afternoon, late in the season, a party of three or 
 four of us were standing before Lawrence's easel. It was 
 the first time we had been thrown together, he and I, since 
 the old Parisian days ; I was struck by the change which 
 had come over him since then. He seemed to me much 
 older ; not merely older in years, but in thought, in feeling, 
 in aim above all, in aim. He had become at once more 
 positive and less serious in his way of looking at things. 
 And there was something of sadness about him too, as in 
 every imaginative man who has taken his own measure and 
 learned by experience the limitation of his effort. He 
 worked much harder, but he seemed to have less belief in 
 his work ; he was what the French call cfctacM from many 
 things. " I have missed my chance somewhere/' he said
 
 MIRAGE. 309 
 
 to me one day. " When was it ? I cannot tell you, but 
 something assures me that it is gone, and so Calypso s'est 
 consolee du depart d 1 Ulysse (with a laugh) ; " mot, je me console 
 de la realite" 
 
 Of course these are not entirely my first impressions, 
 but I recollect that even that afternoon he seemed to me to 
 have lost to an extraordinary degree the expectation of life. 
 Lawrence and I are very old friends, and I confess I 
 watched him then with some curiosity. 
 
 Challoner was there too that afternoon, and he had 
 brought some ladies with him. I was introduced to one 
 of them, a Mrs. Sinclair ; a very pretty woman, with large 
 brown eyes, with which she made incessant play while she 
 was speaking. 
 
 " But of all the things you have shown us, Mr. Lawrence, 
 I think I enjoy and covet that head the most," she said now 
 with a graceful movement of her fine shoulders. 
 
 It was a portrait which Lawrence had just uncovered, 
 and for a moment no one else spoke. 
 
 "You were thinking of the Mona Lisa in that back- 
 ground. I see," said Challoner after an interval of silence. 
 
 " It is wonderful, wonderful ! " said Mrs. Sinclair, under 
 her breath. She went nearer and looked at it more steadily. 
 " Mr. Lawrence, you read Browning surely ?" 
 
 "Why? "said Denis. 
 
 " Don't you remember it ?" opening her beautiful eyes 
 upon him suddenly; "why, that is the very expression 
 Browning speaks of 
 
 "... only I discern 
 Infinite passion and the pain 
 Of finite hearts that yearn." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair's voice was not the least of her attractions, 
 and after this little bit of declamation it was felt that there 
 was nothing more to say. Lawrence saw his visitors safely 
 out of the door of the other studio and came back ; he 
 found Challoner still standing before the portrait, looking 
 at it with his head on one side, his hands in his pockets, 
 whistling softly to himself. 
 
 " I don't pretend to say you are always up to your own 
 mark, Lawrence," he said argumentatively, " but when you
 
 310 MIRAGE. 
 
 do try for certain things, by Jove ! there isn't another man 
 in London can touch you. This head, now. There's a 
 delicacy and a solidity in those flesh-tints ; there's a strength 
 and a sweetness in that modelling. Why, it's enough to 
 make an ordinary man's reputation as a portrait-painter. 
 Finish it for the next R.A., like a good fellow, and won't 
 I just give it a lift?" 
 
 " I can't. It's a portrait taken without the permission 
 of the original," said Lawrence. " I don't think it's a bad 
 thing myself. But the original was better." 
 
 He moved the picture round into a more favourable 
 light, and then I, too, began to look at it. It was my first 
 impression of a face which was destined to become very 
 dear and very familiar to me later on, and perhaps some 
 vague presentiment of the fact made me examine it with 
 more than ordinary attention. 
 
 It was the life-size study of a girl's head. The face was 
 slightly aside ; she was dressed in some dark tightly-fitting 
 garment, and the eyes and forehead were shaded by a 
 broad-brimmed cavalier's hat. Perhaps no better idea of 
 the impression it produced could be given than by the lines 
 which Mrs. Sinclair had quoted ; for there was a singular 
 suggestion of sadness about the grave sweet eyes and on the 
 small close mouth, a suggestion very happily carried out in 
 the sentiment of the background. Only the face could be 
 said to be finished. Behind it was a slight indication of 
 pale luminous sky, a low horizon, a gleaming line of som 
 strange water. The whole picture was full of this curious 
 reflected light. The hands and the upper part of the figure 
 were roughly blocked out, and it was characteristic of Denis 
 that he had left the lower part of his canvas still uncovered. 
 
 " There is something curious about that sketch," he 
 said now, looking at it meditatively. " There are days 
 when I hate it, and have to turn it to the wall not to run 
 my palette-knife through it. There are days when it stares 
 at me like a material reproach, the visible sign of my falling 
 off." 
 
 He took a turn up and down the studio. " Talk about 
 knowledge and all that sort of stuff," he began again, stopping 
 in front of the picture, " why, there is more in that head 
 more expressed, not worked out, mind you than I can
 
 MIRAGE. 311 
 
 reach again by studying twenty years for it. The thing is 
 an accident, the mere expression of an influence," he said 
 moodily, " it isn't a measure of my work." 
 
 " But, my dear boy, all you have got to do is to fall 
 in love with your next model if you can only paint by 
 inspiration and all that sort of thing," said Challoner. 
 
 I happened to be looking at Denis, and I saw him 
 change colour at the speech. 
 
 " Confound your falling in love ! " he said hastily " you 
 don't suppose I was ever in love with that girl, do you ? " 
 He bent down and looked more closely at the portrait. " She 
 is married now," he said. "-It's three years or more since 
 that head was painted, and full two years since I saw the 
 notice of her wedding in an old newspaper. I remember I 
 was at Bagdad at the time." 
 
 The girl's face interested me, and I asked who it was 
 she had married. 
 
 " A man by the name of Stuart. A good sort of fellow, 
 too ; but with about as many brains as your little finger and 
 rather less imagination. From something she told me one 
 day the very day I got the hint for that portrait, by-the- 
 way I imagine she had been in love with him for some 
 time for several years, in fact. I suppose she thought him 
 handsome and so he was but a man of that calibre can 
 only be interesting while he is desperately in love. In the 
 
 ordinary wear and tear of life Ah well ! ' Allah is great, 
 
 no doubt, and Juxtaposition his prophet ! ' ' : 
 
 " Well, I don't know. I should not have thought that 
 girl would have made that kind of mistake," said Challoner 
 thoughtfully. "Why," looking up from his cigar with a yawn, 
 " why, she would have done better to have taken a fancy to 
 you, Lawrence." 
 
 " Ah well ! but then you see she never did. But I 
 think," said Lawrence, with sudden seriousness, "I think she 
 had one of the noblest natures it has ever been my privilege 
 to meet." 
 
 We spoke of something else after that ; Lawrence 
 wanted me to go and dine with him at his club, I remember. 
 
 " I won't promise you anything particularly wonderful in 
 the way of a dinner ; they are getting deuced careless with 
 their cooking of late ; but old Ferris will be there," he said,
 
 312 MIRAGE. 
 
 " and another man I want you to meet a capital fellow I 
 knew in the East. I know you will like him a man by 
 the name of Davenant." 
 
 It was only as we were all going out of the studio 
 together that Challoner spoke of the picture again. . 
 
 " You can say what you like, Lawrence, but, by Jove ! I 
 stick to my own opinion," he said doggedly, stopping to 
 take a last look at the portrait of Constance. " I'll bet you 
 a hundred pounds that such a face was never intended to 
 belong to a woman without a name and a history !" 
 
 " Then you would lose your money, my dear fellow, let 
 me tell you," Lawrence answered carelessly. " As for the 
 name, if I ever decide to finish it, I shall call it ' Mirage ;' 
 but it is a face absolutely without a history." 
 
 The door shut noisily behind them, filling the empty 
 old house with a hollow echoing sound. And then the 
 room grew very quiet. For a little while the pale afternoon 
 light made a glimmering space about the window, the colour 
 slowly fading out of picture and carpet and stuff. It lingered 
 for a moment more on the sad sweet face of Constance, and 
 then that too faded away into the deepening night. ^ 
 
 THE END. 
 
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